THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 The Professor 
 
 AND OTHER I'OEMS
 
 THE PROFESSOR 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON 
 Of Etcn College 
 
 0VT6 (pvyelv evfiape<i ovtc (pepeirV 
 
 JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD- 
 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK 
 
 I 900
 
 Printed by 
 
 Richard Folkard ft Son, 
 
 Devonshire Street, London, W.C.
 
 f K 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 ' PAGE 
 
 The Trofessor i 
 
 Thomas Gray 71 
 
 Ode in Memory of Mr. Gladstone - • - 91 
 
 MONNOW 99 
 
 759522
 
 TO MY SISTER MARGARET 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
 
 IVhat do I remember of the bygone days? 
 Little of the sorrow^ something of the praise. 
 
 Pleasant games of childhood^ in the pleasant shade^ 
 Toiling at a pleasure^ playing at a trade ! 
 
 Often yery weary^ never glad to rest^ 
 
 Takjng love and laughter with a reckless zest. 
 
 Claiming^ howso heedless^ still to be approved; 
 Cold Xo those that loved me^ wroth with those I 
 loved. 
 
 Now that I am older ^ what is left behind? 
 Still the restless wonder^ still the childish mind. 
 
 Still I take, unthankful, service, love, delight. 
 Laugh to see the morning, murmur at the night. 
 
 Do I doubt Ihy goodness, question of Thy will? 
 Father, Lord, forgive us — we are children still. 
 
 vii
 
 The Professor
 
 AT TWILIGHT 
 
 Dear fellow-labourers, whom unseen I own, 
 
 My heart goes out towards you, in this grey 
 Soft hour ; I wonder if you too have known, 
 As day succeeds to day. 
 
 The early sadness, slowly gathering strength. 
 
 The stillness of the long laborious noon. 
 The strong o'er-mastering ardour, till at length 
 The darkness falls too soon ?
 
 AT TWILIGHT 
 
 The large sun drops ; the vapours in his track 
 
 Roll westward, and the distant stars draw nigh ; 
 The silent wood grows sinister and black 
 
 Against an emerald sky. 
 
 Now, ere the lamp's warm circle on the floor 
 
 And on these patient hands be calmly thrown, 
 The soul may slip unchallenged from her door. 
 And wander forth alone. 
 
 I quit the land; I hoist the throbbing gear; 
 
 The shallop rocks, the seaward wind blows free, 
 The huge sail flaps and bellies, as I steer 
 Into the plunging sea; 
 
 That lonely sea, where should some sudden sail 
 
 Gleam o'er the hissing breaker, gleam and fly. 
 Yet no bewildered mariner may hail. 
 No pilot make reply.
 
 ON THE HILL 
 
 I WOULD not dwell with Passion ; Passion grows 
 By what he feeds on — sense and sound and 
 
 sight — 
 The myriad bubbles dancing to the light, 
 The frenzied fragrance of the wanton rose. 
 But Love may dwell with me : pure Love, that 
 glows 
 The richer through the cold and lonely night; 
 And gilds with warm effulgence, brave and 
 bright. 
 The frosty sparkle of unsullied snows. 
 
 5
 
 ON THE HILL 
 
 When Passion throbs and quivers, Love is still 
 And piteous ; swift to picture, apt to bend 
 And listen; at the shut of evening gray- 
 He rises, threads the valley, climbs the hill. 
 
 To stand beside the milestone, stand and say 
 So many leagues divide me from my friend.
 
 SELF* 
 
 This is my chiefest torment, that behind 
 The brave and subtle spirit, the swift brain, 
 There sits and shivers, in a cell of pain, 
 
 A groping atom, melancholy, blind, 
 
 Which is myself; — though, when spring suns 
 are kind. 
 And rich leaves riot in the genial rain, 
 I cheat him, dreaming : slip my rigorous chain. 
 
 Free as a skiff before the dancing wind. 
 
 * This poem appeared in a sequence of sonnets pub- 
 lished in Lord Fyet and other Poems (1897), but it was 
 originally written for The Professor.
 
 SELF 
 
 Then he awakes : and vexed that I am glad, 
 In dreary malice strains some nimble cord, 
 Pricks his thin claw within some delicate 
 
 nerve ; 
 And all at once I falter, start, and swerve 
 From my true course, to fall, unmanned and sad, 
 Into gross darkness, tangible, abhorred. 
 
 8
 
 BY THE FIRE 
 
 Strange spirits are abroad to-night; 
 
 They shadow my contented mood; 
 The hearth is clean, the lamp is bright, 
 
 Yet nought seems equable or good. 
 
 The sighing spirit sits alone, 
 
 And dreams her dearest hope is vain. 
 With dumb unreasonable moan 
 
 She brims and drains the bowl of pain. 
 
 As he that in some ancient fray. 
 
 Far off, in legendary years, 
 Flung hauberk, shield, and helm away, 
 
 And gathered in a hundred spears.
 
 BY THE FIRE 
 
 She sees the end of every quest 
 
 Is weariness and little good ; 
 And all she dreamed of loveliest 
 
 A phantom of the leaping blood. 
 
 Decay or swift disease may seal 
 These vivid senses, one by one; 
 
 These windows, whence the soul can feel 
 The moving air, the steady sun. 
 
 Meanwhile in some sequestered cell 
 The dumb and sightless soul is pent; 
 
 Inly immured, and guarded well 
 In dreamless, passionless content. 
 
 This body dies to rise again 
 
 In other forms, in beast and tree; 
 
 But where at length, when nerve and brain 
 Are wasted, shall the spirit be ? 
 
 10
 
 AT THE LABORATORY WINDOW 
 
 O SUBTLE and secret change, that over the world 
 art sped, 
 .Wafted out of the South on the warm wind's 
 delicate wing ; 
 See, my metallic worm uplifts his elated head, 
 Crawls in his glassy prison, and throbs with 
 the pulse of spring. 
 
 Ay, there is something more than the metrical 
 march of days ! 
 Life, like a drowsy sleeper, is restless and fain 
 would wake ; 
 
 II
 
 AT THE LABORATORY WINDOW 
 
 And the shy heart leans and listens to hear what 
 the spring wind says, 
 When the low-hung mist dissolves, and the 
 infinite glories break. 
 
 So to my garden I creep, like a truant boy to 
 his game, 
 Snatching a heightened joy from duty that 
 waits to be done ; 
 And a sudden hope is born, and leaps in my 
 heart like flame, 
 Watching my springing bulbs, and telling 
 them one by one. 
 
 Hooded and muffled close, they creep, like ghosts, 
 to the day, 
 Parting the wind-dried crust, their desolate 
 winter bed, 
 
 12
 
 AT THE LABORATORY WINDOW 
 
 And lo, in the shattered urn, so weathered and 
 old and grey, 
 A delicate snowdrop pushes, and droops her 
 serious head. 
 
 13
 
 A DREAM 
 
 I DREAMED that as I gazed upon the sky 
 
 A bright star sh'pt and tumbled from its sphere. 
 It veered and swooped, until it dropt, to lie 
 Upon my table here. * 
 
 So small it seemed, a globe of swimming light; 
 Now clouding dark, now flashing swift and 
 large. 
 Like silent lightning on a summer night, 
 Below the horizon's maro-e. 
 
 o 
 
 I thrilled with hope, I stretched an eager arm; 
 " Here sleeps," I cried, " the secret of the 
 spheres ! " 
 But as I touched it, it was soft and warm. 
 And wet with human tears.
 
 ; . SURRENDER 
 
 I, IN my chill and celibate content, 
 
 Have little claim to murmur: but I pine 
 To feel a warm hand tremble into mine, 
 
 And loving lips above my forehead bent; 
 
 And yet my dreams are charged with high 
 intent 
 To do, to be, to suffer ; to refine 
 My troubled thought, till these thin strains 
 combine 
 
 With larger themes, in airy concord blent. 
 
 15
 
 SURRENDER 
 
 Ah, but I miss the human utterance, 
 
 That yearning, as the magnet for the pole, 
 Still wavers, till the secret current set 
 Towards its true home : in indolent regret 
 I linger : could I break the sickly trance ! 
 And in one fierce surrender, find my soul ! 
 
 i6
 
 AT THE GRANGE 
 
 The sheltering pines are black and still, 
 No breeze to stir the listening ferns; 
 Beyond the shoulder of the hill 
 The sunset burns. 
 
 The lamp within the casement sheds 
 
 Through glimmering leaves a warmer glow ; 
 Soft moths across the garden beds 
 Flit large and low. 
 
 The weary horse plods clinking home, 
 
 Plods softly down the sandy lane. 
 The swift bat flickers in the gloom 
 Across the pane. 
 
 17 C
 
 AT THE GRANGE 
 
 Faint through the silent meadows heard. 
 
 Murmur the hazel-hidden streams, 
 Beside dark copses, where the bird 
 Is wrapt in dreams. 
 
 Rich peace, cool silence ! Who could think 
 
 That any heart were restleSs so? 
 That any shivering soul could sink 
 In baseless woe ? 
 
 Restless — to find the world so sweet. 
 
 Yet craving momently to hear 
 One foot among all other feet 
 That draws not near. 
 
 Fearful — because the shadow stays 
 
 To whelm the half-completed task, 
 ^Withholding through the golden days. 
 The boon I ask. 
 
 i8
 
 AT THE GRANGE 
 
 Nay, nay ! be master of thy fate ; 
 
 Knit close the bonds that shall endure; 
 And if thou canst not yet be great, 
 Be calm, be pure ! 
 
 19 c — 2
 
 9 
 
 A SERMON 
 
 I KNOW not what the preacher said : — 
 His words fell muffled in a dream, 
 
 By clause and clause, from head to head, 
 He traced a sad and subtle scheme j 
 
 Through legal maze, on dizzy height. 
 The curious metaphysic trode : 
 
 He held with all his tedious might. 
 The mirror to the mind of God. 
 
 20
 
 A SERMON 
 
 The mind of God ! and all the while 
 His large wind thundered in the tower, 
 
 And on the casements of the aisle 
 Pelted and tapped the driving shower: 
 
 Qld grandsires shivered at the sound ; 
 
 How cold among the slanting stones, 
 The comfortless and ugly ground, 
 
 Where they must lay their aching bones ! 
 
 But lovers sat in blushing thought, 
 And heeded not the unkindly skies ; — 
 
 Then, with an awkward rapture, caught 
 The sudden glance of wistful eyes. 
 
 21
 
 10 
 
 A REMINISCENCE 
 
 I WANDERED by the frozen pond, 
 
 In the nipping eager weather, 
 And there I met two lovers fond 
 
 That walked and leaned together. 
 They were not comely, rich, or wise, 
 
 They had no past, no story. 
 But either pair of eager eyes 
 
 Was lit with tender glory. 
 A frosty haze bedimmed the sky, 
 
 The red sun flared thereunder. 
 Gilding a pompous canopy 
 
 Where they might walk and wonder. 
 
 2a
 
 A REMINISCENCE 
 
 How glossy-green, on the covert-edge, 
 
 The gemmed and guarded holly ! 
 The fat thrush piped in the wintry hedge 
 
 To feed their melancholy. 
 How large and new the mystery 
 - That set them softly guessing. 
 While overhead the spacious sky 
 
 Renewed the ancient blessing. 
 And I was part of their young dream, 
 
 Of the merry pageant round them. 
 Transfigured by the heavenly gleam; — 
 
 For nothing could astound them. 
 The children smiled to see them blest. 
 
 And mocked their fond entwining. 
 They passed into the golden west. 
 
 And left me half repiningj; 
 Rich store had I of sober days, 
 23
 
 A REMINISCENCE 
 
 And contemplations lonely, 
 Some little wealth, some human praise, — 
 
 They had each other only. 
 And yet I'd give, unenvied pair. 
 
 My intelledlual vision, 
 To be so sweet a mutual care. 
 
 To cause such dear derision. 
 And I too passed, a lonely form, 
 
 In the nipping eager weather, 
 Yet it somehow made my heart more warm 
 
 To think of them together. 
 
 24
 
 II 
 
 AT WORK ' 
 
 O FICKLE hand, how indolent thou art ! 
 O vacant eyes, how idly ye observe ! 
 What thoughts are these that make my foolish 
 heart 
 -' From its dry purpose swerve? 
 
 Shall I, who hardly reached the rugged heights 
 
 Which others onlv dream of, shall I lend 
 This hoarded strength to transient delights, 
 Delay, return, descend ? 
 
 Shall I, the first to tread this silent land, 
 
 Whose glimmering paths lead upwards un- 
 explored, 
 
 25
 
 AT WORK 
 
 Shall I abjure the conquests I had planned, 
 Let fall the flashing sword? 
 
 Within what shameless horrors have I pried, 
 
 In cells where law from conscience sits apart ! 
 Only, it seems, I have not classified 
 The secrets of the heart. 
 
 A woman's heart ; — I know, in grim array, 
 Each delicate vein, each ordered ligament, 
 But ne'er descried the dim and secret way 
 The rapturous message went. 
 
 I seem, methinks, untimely lingering here, 
 Too tender-hearted, touched with vague 
 surmise; 
 Shall I grow mild and maidenly, and fear 
 My vidtim's piteous eyes? 
 
 26
 
 AT WORK 
 
 Nay, more relentless! Could I wrest from life 
 One secret more that should my purpose serve, 
 A thousand brutes should feci my icy knife 
 Prick through each tingling nerve. 
 
 My purpose? Ah I the shame ! I care not now 
 
 For chill humanity, its loss and gain, 
 I only dream to spare one gentle brow 
 The lightest touch of pain. 
 
 37
 
 12 
 
 FATIDICA 
 
 Oh ! I had thought to find some haggard, stern, 
 Sad prophetess, with dim and cloudy brows, 
 With eyes like winter suns, that under boughs 
 
 Knotted and black, in frosty silence burn. 
 
 But thou, methinks, art delicate and fair. 
 
 With childish hand, and gracious pitying eye, 
 Too sweet to rend the veils of mystery, 
 
 And solve the stubborn riddle of despair ! 
 
 Yet suddenly, through guarded lips, breaks forth 
 A smile that ripples all the face of death. 
 And penetrates and glorifies my fears; 
 As icy stars that shiver from the north, 
 
 Frosting my sleeve, at touch of human breath 
 Fall and dissolve, and tremble into tears. 
 
 28
 
 13 
 
 PEACE 
 
 Linger, O rapturous hour, 
 
 Before the sunlight die, 
 Before the flying shower 
 Sweep from the west, and scour 
 The patient, tearful slcy. 
 
 The world's at rest, with will 
 
 And leisure to be fair ; 
 The trees are golden still. 
 Despite the ascetic thrill 
 Of winter in the air. 
 
 29
 
 PEACE 
 
 Why are these moments few 
 
 On the unhappy earth, 
 When skies and friends are true, 
 And hearts are born anew 
 In some redeeming birth ? 
 
 The mood, the place, the friend,- 
 
 All these are mine to-day, 
 I feel your fancy bend 
 To mine, and softly blend 
 With all I dare not say. 
 
 Sometimes my heart is high 
 But lonely, or my friend 
 
 Is merry when I sigh. 
 
 Or else the sullen sky 
 
 Is cloud from end to end. 
 
 30
 
 PEACE 
 
 Exultant and amazed, 
 
 I greet the kindling mood; 
 My hopes upheld and raised, 
 My soft suggestion praised. 
 
 My silence understood. 
 
 The anxious question fails. 
 
 And hope, aloft the skies, 
 Her cloudy ladder scales, 
 And faith unreasoning veils 
 Her melancholy eyes. 
 
 Stay, rapturous hour, and steep 
 
 My soul, till daylight fade; 
 Before the darkness leap 
 From tree to tree, and creep 
 With silent lapse of shade. 
 
 31
 
 14 
 
 THE SONG 
 
 Speak, speak, music, and bring to me 
 
 Fancies too fleet for me. 
 
 Sweetness too sweet for me, 
 Wake, wake, voices, and sing to me, 
 
 Sing to me tenderly ; bid me rest. 
 
 Rest, Rest ! ah, I am fain of it ! 
 Die, Hope ! small was my gain of it ! 
 
 Song, take thy parable. 
 
 Whisper that all is well, 
 
 Say that there tarrieth 
 
 Something more true than death. 
 Waiting to smile for me ; bright and blest. 
 
 32
 
 THE SONG 
 
 Thrill, string : echo and play for me 
 All that the poet, the priest cannot say for me ; 
 Soar, voice, heavenwards, and pray for me, 
 Wondering, wandering ; bid me rest. 
 
 33
 
 15 
 THE ROSEBUD 
 
 I THINK the rosebush shyly pressed 
 Her fragrant head against my breast; 
 It jarred across my busy mood, 
 My grim and serious solitude; 
 And yet so sweet and soft it seemed, 
 Such tender incense towards me streamed, 
 I plucked and wore it ; while I plied 
 My task, alone and heavy-eyed. 
 It seemed to nestle, soft and warm. 
 Above my heart, beside my arm. 
 And now, this morning, languid grown, 
 These sorry petals must be thrown 
 
 34
 
 THE ROSEBUD 
 
 To some sad heap of tumbled things, 
 With sightless eyes and shattered wings, 
 To moulder into dust, beneath 
 The rich and fervid hands of death. 
 That is your story ! now to sleep ! 
 Yet some unslumbering memory keep 
 Of him whose spirit, rude and sour, 
 You sweetened through one patient hour. 
 For, Rose, to suffer, and to share 
 The heritage of man's despair. 
 Gives eyes, and souls, and almost wings 
 To lifeless dust and soulless things. 
 Enough ! the fatal hour is sped 
 Above your pure and drooping head ; 
 The secret of the dark who knows? 
 You know it, may not tell it, Rose. 
 
 35 D— 2
 
 i6 
 AFTER THE INTERVIEW 
 
 A GRACIOUS and tender spirit 
 Has bent from her starry ^sphere. 
 
 What was there in me to merit 
 A gift so daring and dear ? 
 
 Did she pity me, dark and lonely — 
 So rich, did she yearn to bless 
 
 A heart that aspired not, only 
 Was fainting for weariness ? 
 
 I seemed, as I sat beside her, 
 So angular, harsh, and grim, 
 
 As lean as a dusty spider 
 
 That swings in his cordage dim. 
 
 36
 
 AFTER THE INTERVIEW 
 
 Tenderness or compassion ? 
 
 Whichever it was, 'twas sweet, 
 As I flung, in my awkward fashion, 
 
 A dreary heart at her feet. 
 
 , Glory and grace attend her. 
 
 Worship and hope most dear. 
 That spirit, gracious and tender, 
 Who bent from her starry sphere. 
 
 37
 
 17 
 IN THE DAWN 
 
 Some souls have quickened, eye to eye, 
 
 And heart to heart, and hand in hand ; 
 The swift fire leaps, and instantly 
 They understand. 
 
 Henceforth they can be cold no more ; 
 
 Woes there may be, — ay, tears and blood. 
 But not the numbness, as before 
 They understood. 
 
 Henceforth, he saith, though ages roll 
 
 Across wild wastes of sand and brine, 
 Whate'er betide, one human soul 
 Is knit with mine. 
 
 38
 
 IN THE DAWN 
 
 Whatever joy be dearly bought, 
 
 Whatever hope my bosom stirs, 
 The straitest cell of secret thought 
 Is wholly hers. 
 
 Ay, were I parted, life would be 
 ' A helpless, heartless flight along 
 Blind tracks in vales of misery 
 And sloughs of wrong. 
 
 9 
 
 Nay, God forgive me ! Life would roll 
 
 Like some dim moon through cloudy bars ; 
 But to have loved her sets my soul 
 Among the stars. 
 
 39
 
 i8 
 
 THE REWARD 
 
 Love unashamed, divine, O, hidden from peering 
 eyes, 
 Bh"ndlv I traced thy course, and heedlessly 
 touched thy hand. 
 Slowly the mist rolls back from the infinite 
 centuries, 
 Back to the secret of God, and the door of the 
 silent land. 
 
 Twain in the ancient garden together, a man 
 with a maid. 
 Pace in the field, waist-deep in aster and golden- 
 rod j 
 
 40
 
 THE REWARD 
 
 And lo, One walks in the cool, in the immemo- 
 rial shade ; — 
 Hushing their eager talk they hear the foot- 
 fall of God. 
 
 I too have heard him pass, but out in the desolate 
 wild, 
 Crushing the ancient bones that rattle about 
 his feet, 
 Under the dark ravines where the horrible crags 
 are piled, 
 Out in the hissing surges that under the pre- 
 cipice beat. 
 
 There, in a silent horror, I stumbled along his 
 track, 
 Down to his desperate den, with frenzy and 
 raging shame, 
 
 41
 
 THE REWARD 
 
 And the toppling ice-crags roared, and the loud 
 caves thundered back, 
 When in the awestruck silence I shuddered, 
 and cried his name. 
 
 Courage, O timorous heart ! too long hast thou 
 made complaint, 
 Crying in desolate places and under the heed- 
 less night, 
 Crying, importunate, shrill, — but only an echo 
 faint 
 Rang on the black-ribbed ledge, and under 
 the hollow height. 
 
 So with my pride outworn, my stubbornness 
 over-thrown. 
 Humble in hope, I learn what the pure in 
 spirit see, 
 
 42
 
 THE REWARD 
 
 Guessing from one soft heart that nestles against 
 my own, 
 All the desire of the world, and the hope of 
 the years to be. 
 
 Wherefore I stretch my hand, as a child in a 
 darkened room 
 Clutches affrighted, and laughs to feel the 
 encircling arm ; 
 So I bend to the night, and smile in the starlit 
 gloom, 
 Smile as the stars fade out, and the dawn 
 comes tender and calm. 
 
 43
 
 J9 
 IN absence' 
 
 Ah ! if I only knew 
 
 If it were well with you, 
 
 'Twere well with me. 
 You in your silent dreams 
 Rest, where the southern streams 
 
 Fall to the sea. 
 
 Forests and meadow lands 
 Disjoin our willing hands. 
 Sever our hearts, 
 
 44
 
 IN ABSENCE 
 
 Still, over stream and hill, 
 Beckons my spirit till 
 Daylight departs. 
 
 We for so brief a space 
 Run our divided race, 
 
 Seems it not hard 
 That from these sharp delights 
 Of common days and nights 
 
 We grieve debarred ? 
 
 We, like twin stars that run, 
 With each the other's sun. 
 
 Fiery and fleet, 
 Poised in one spacious night. 
 And bathed in mutual light 
 
 Still softly greet. 
 
 45
 
 IN ABSENCE 
 
 Nay, but the sages say 
 That on some sudden day 
 
 Of sound and flame, 
 The spell that half divides 
 Breaks, and the airy tides 
 
 With huge acclaim, , 
 
 Thunder, and inwards roll, 
 And soul to sundered soul 
 
 Must swiftly run : — 
 They, in their wild unrest 
 Leap to each other's breast. 
 
 And both are one. 
 
 46
 
 20 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD 
 
 Oh, if we are dissevered, you and I, 
 
 Some sad, implacable, and far-ofF day, — 
 You on the kindly earth designed to stay, 
 
 I sortiewhere in the unsubstantial sky. 
 
 I will be patient in the silent world. 
 
 Trace all its sombre capes and valleys dim, 
 Ihiportunc of the brisk-eyed cherubim 
 
 Where first your spirit-wings must be unfurled. 
 
 But if within the vast bewildering throng 
 Of all the souls of all who ever died. 
 We miss the meeting, why we will be true; 
 
 I think it will not seem so very long — 
 For you will search for me, as I for you — 
 When I shall turn and see you at my side. 
 
 47
 
 21 
 
 TIDINGS 
 
 Blow, wind, blow ; and rivulet flow 
 Down by the moor to the bridge I know. 
 
 Stream, be wise: ere the ripple rise, 
 Catch the image of pure grey eyes. 
 
 She who stands in the meadow lands. 
 Gathers her cowslips with tender hands. 
 
 Bid her throw in the pool below 
 One of her cowslips : let it go ! 
 
 Let it ride on the brimming tide. 
 Slip to the river, and wander wide. 
 
 48
 
 TIDINGS 
 
 Flower, swim down to the smoky town 
 Whisper a message before you drown ; 
 
 I shall go when the warm winds blow. 
 Wend my way to the bridge I know. 
 
 Under the tree, by the grassy lea, 
 Has she a tender thought of me ? 
 
 49
 
 22 
 
 PERPLEXITY 
 
 Nay, there is something, something ! she was sad 
 And silent ; 'twas to pleasure me she smiled, 
 More like a child that sufiFers, a brave child, 
 
 Than one whose heart was virginal and glad. 
 
 It seems as though there were some secret shrine 
 She dares not yet surrender : " Here, and here," 
 She saith, " He shall be welcome; he is dear 
 
 And honoured ; — yet my inmost heart is mine." 
 
 So one may linger by a minster-door, 
 
 When lawn and glaring roadway swim with 
 heat, 
 
 50
 
 PERPLEXITY 
 
 And through the barred gate see the glim- 
 mering vault, 
 Cool marble tombs, and dim sepulchral floor, 
 And read he may not enter, may not halt 
 A moment there, where all is still and sweet. 
 
 51 E— 2
 
 23 
 
 THE DOUBT 
 
 A SUDDEN traitorous terror leaps 
 
 Out of the darkness on my heart, 
 And stabs it through and through, and creeps 
 
 Some space apart, 
 That should the helpless fallen thing 
 Stir hand, or moan to feel its pain, 
 With frenzied passion it may spring, 
 
 And smite again: — 
 Is then this heart of mine too weak 
 
 To bear the wilful rush of joy, 
 Sharp ardours, such as pale the cheek 
 Of girl and boy ? 
 
 52
 
 THE DOUBT 
 
 Iknow not; — faint and shuddering 
 
 I from my dreams of bliss am hurled, 
 As that barbaric reckless king, 
 Who swayed the world, 
 Yet saw, beyond the riotous band, 
 Across the rich uproarious room. 
 The crawling shadow of the Hand 
 That wrote his doom. 
 
 53
 
 24 
 
 SILENCE 
 
 Grave, indifferent, slow, 
 
 Over the sodden sand, 
 Wave after wave, as I go. 
 
 Flounces and arches stiff, 
 Then, like a hollowed hand, 
 
 Flaps, and the thin tides run 
 In a blanket of foam to the cliff, 
 
 Under a shrouded sun. 
 
 Wearily on as I go. 
 Day upon tedious day 
 
 54
 
 SILENCE 
 
 Beats on the jaded nerve, 
 
 Morning and noon and night, 
 
 Swells in a sluggish curve; 
 Crimson to crimson light 
 
 Flares, and the sick hours flow. 
 Dull, monotonous, gray. 
 
 55
 
 25 
 
 THE LABYRINTH 
 
 And can it be, while thus I thread 
 The devious plot of winding ways, 
 Inextricably intertwined, 
 With hurried breath, and startled tread, 
 That, out beyond the twilight maze, 
 The vagueness, cruelly defined. 
 Lie quiet lawns, and fountains fed 
 
 With spouted waters, sunlit glades. 
 And soft applause of dovelilce wings. 
 And temples of unearthly peace. 
 Where labour in a moment fades 
 To happy weariness, that flings 
 
 The tired limbs down, that ache to cease 
 From toiling, under grassy shades? 
 
 56
 
 THE LABYRINTH 
 
 Meanwhile, in this bewildering gloom, 
 I linger, thrusting weary foot 
 Past weary foot, and stumble on 
 
 From woe to woe, from doom to doom, 
 To where, beside the elm-tree's root, 
 "" It seemed a sudden radiance shone. 
 
 And fragrance breathed from spires of bloom. 
 
 Ah ! easy triumph, when I came 
 
 At morning through the pillared gates, 
 Through branching alleys, dewy-wet ; 
 But now my heedless feet I blame. 
 And wonder what dim error waits. 
 What weary leagues to traverse yet, 
 That seem the same, and not the same. 
 
 57
 
 26 
 
 COURAGE 
 
 I HAVE been brave in my way, 
 
 Though men did not call mc brave ; 
 
 They deem that I creep away, 
 If ever a pennon wave 
 
 Over the flashing fray. 
 
 Yet I have lain through the night 
 
 Shuddering, open-eyed. 
 Straining my aching sight 
 
 To see what leant at my side. 
 Angel or sullen sprite. 
 
 58
 
 COURAGE 
 
 Then in the haggard day,- 
 Cruel and cold it shone, 
 
 Sighing in sad dismay, 
 I bind my armour on; 
 
 I have been brave, I say. 
 
 59
 
 ^1 
 
 FAREWELL 
 
 Let me say one latest word, , 
 
 Let me touch but once your hand, — 
 It seems that I have erred ; — 
 
 Ah ! I understand. 
 My darling, 'tis not you 
 
 That I blame, the dream you dreamed, 
 Those eyes of tearful blue, 
 
 That were mine, it seemed : 
 You were dazzled by the praise 
 
 I had won, by the fame 
 That decks my dreary days, 
 As the gilded frame 
 
 60
 
 FAREWELL 
 
 That girds a haggard face, 
 
 And a withered hand, 
 Lending a hollow grace : — 
 
 Ah ! I understand. 
 .But the sudden radiance flits. 
 
 And you see across the gloom 
 The dry old soul that sits 
 In his dusty room. 
 * I have lived so long with death, 
 With hereafter and before, 
 That I breathe the icy breath 
 Of the further shore. 
 A ray of gracious light 
 
 On my tubes and phials played. 
 On the lancets keen and bright 
 Of my savage trade. 
 
 6i
 
 FAREWELL 
 
 Would I prison it? Not I ! 
 Let it wander hence afar; 
 Let it seek the happy sky, 
 And its native star. 
 This is my answer, this: 
 
 See, I loose your pitying hand, 
 I ask no word, no kiss, 
 
 And I understand. 
 
 62
 
 28 
 
 ' ' PATIENCE 
 
 The flower must sicken on the tree 
 
 Before it change ; 
 The doom that seems so strange to thee 
 
 Is not so strange ; 
 Hearts before thine have felt their thrill 
 
 Grow faint and thin, 
 Have deemed the blackening wave too chill 
 
 To venture in. 
 Eyes, sad as thine, have wondered why 
 
 They wondered not, 
 
 63
 
 PATIENCE 
 When elders whitened, and on high 
 
 Clear suns were hot. 
 In thy sick veins no more the air 
 
 Runs sharp as wine ? 
 Look round thee : thou wilt find despair 
 
 More dark than thine. , 
 
 64
 
 29 
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 Nay, nay, my sweet ; it is not well 
 
 That thou should'st sorrow : ah, be free ! 
 I did but loose the piteous spell, 
 
 And gave thee back thy liberty. 
 And thou shalt find some gracious mate 
 
 To worship thee, to bend above, 
 More apt than I to dedicate 
 
 His gallant prowess to thy love ; 
 And when some tender voice shall name 
 
 Thee " Mother," from thy guarded nest, 
 
 65 F
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 I too will come, and softly frame 
 
 A blessing on the trebly-blest ; 
 And thou shalt think of me as one 
 
 Whose soul, in days far-ofF yet dear, 
 Thou didst irradiate, as the sun 
 
 Who, circling in his statelier sphere. 
 Awakes, by some sequestered stream, 
 
 A flower, that in his narrow tomb 
 Had slept in blind despair, to dream 
 
 Of sweetness, and be crowned with bloom. 
 It blooms, it flushes; though the dew 
 
 Upon its tender leaves be wet. 
 It knows the source from whence it drew 
 
 Its sweetness, and shall draw it yet. 
 
 66
 
 30 
 THE DIARY 
 
 I WANDER in dark ways 
 
 Of hope and strength bereft, 
 Yet I give my Lord the praise 
 
 For the Httle that is left. 
 I have set a thorny fence 
 
 Betwixt me and the light : 
 Outside are innocence 
 
 And all things free and bright ; 
 Sweet face that smiled on me, 
 
 Hands that my path might guide ! 
 
 67 F— 2.
 
 THE DIARY 
 
 Will they not let me be ? 
 
 They are all outside, outside. 
 It is Thy pleasure then 
 
 That the heart of flesh should fail? 
 Thou didst engender men 
 
 To be desolate and frail. 
 Merge into rapturous pain 
 
 This dreary, desperate woe, 
 Break, break, uncertain chain, 
 
 Let the tortured spirit go ! 
 
 68
 
 31 
 
 AMEN 
 
 - Return, sad sister. Faith ; 
 Dim, unsubstantial wraith ! 
 Return, thy votary saith, 
 
 He needs thee now : 
 Thou wert serenely fair ! 
 But some diviner air 
 Gleams on thy silvered hair, 
 
 And crowns thy brow ; 
 
 Thou wilt return, and I 
 Shall rather sing than sigh, 
 In that great company 
 Of souls forlorn : 
 
 69
 
 AMEN 
 
 One with all hearts that break 
 For some beloved's sake. 
 The hopeless hearts, that ache 
 And dare not mourn. 
 
 Wherefore, since pain and pride 
 Must sleep unsatisfied, — 
 Because Thy heart is wide, 
 
 And dim our ken, — 
 To that vast prayer that rolls 
 Beyond the frozen poles. 
 With all desirous souls 
 
 I cry, Amen. 
 
 70
 
 Thomas Gray
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 Utrumque sacro digna silentio 
 Mirantur umbrae die ere; — 
 
 [Time; — March, 1771. Place; — Rooms in the Hitchatn 
 Building of Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. Gray is 
 understood to speak..] 
 
 'TwAS at Ferrara, in a palace court, — 
 The shafts methought of that vast colonnade 
 Too slim and slight to bear the incumbent mass 
 Of plinth and ashlar, and the luscious wreaths 
 Of fruit and foliage looped from knob to knob — 
 But that I hardly noted : 'twas a bird, 
 A monstrous bird, the tyrant of the crag, 
 With gilded claws and beak — a yellower fire 
 
 73
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 Flamed in his eye — that dragged a gilded chain 
 And ponderous ball, and loathed his servitude. 
 And once he raised himself with urgent wings 
 Winnowing the drowsy air, and grasped the frieze 
 With shrieking claws — but soon the swinging 
 
 weight 
 Thrust him, all glaring, to the dust again, 
 So that he fiercely beat his prisoned wings, 
 And bit the unyielding metal, vexed at heart; — 
 I could have wept to hear the portress laugh. 
 
 And I of late, raising these weary eyes, 
 That taint the radiant beam with motes that flit 
 Across my vision, thick as summer flies, 
 Have seemed to see the baflled gaze, the glance 
 That sad bird cast about him, as he stared, 
 And snufFed the fragrant enervated air. 
 So strange a heaviness has grown of late 
 
 74
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 About me, from the hour when glimmering dawn 
 Peers through my latticed panes, and from the 
 
 court 
 The wholesome sounds smite the distempered 
 
 brain 
 With most unmanning horror, clutch the heart 
 In difficult panic, thick with labouring sighs ; 
 Then in that shadow-land the dreaming mind — 
 Lilce some new fly with crumpled wings undried, 
 Breathless and dizzy from her unborn trance, — 
 Retraces step by step her backward road, 
 Down to the gates of nothing ; dips her brush 
 To dash with radiant dyes what might have been, 
 But smears what is, and what is yet to be, 
 In most portentous dimness. 
 
 First I see 
 My mother, tender, careful, sore beset 
 
 75
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 With sordid fears and fierce unloving words, 
 
 And almost maddened with the faltering touch 
 
 Of all those baby hands about her breast, 
 
 That clung a moment and unclasped again. 
 
 And were not: yet to me, sad heir, bequeathed 
 
 The intolerable legacy of love,^ 
 
 Dumb love, that dares not own itself enthralled,, 
 
 Creep to the dear confessional of fate. 
 
 But from some piteous instinft, hangs amazed. 
 
 And slips into the silent throng again. 
 
 Next, I remember how, a puny child, 
 I drowsed and fretted o'er the outlandish task, 
 Hard haunting names and misbegotten words. 
 Like barbarous arms and shells from over sea, — 
 Till all at once, as men, that pierce a well 
 And batter, dizzied with their own hot breath. 
 Drill through some cool and limpid reservoir, 
 
 76
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 And hear the din of waters breaking out, 
 Cooled through old years in green unnoted caves, 
 So, as I fumed, I was at once aware 
 Of magic hands that beckoned, robes that waved, 
 As though some pompous multitude swept by ; 
 As Hermes drove to regions vexed and dim 
 The helpless ghosts, so Virgil waved his wand, 
 And faces grew upon the hollow air. 
 The snarling trumpets, and the noise of war. 
 And once, but once, since that wild thunder- 
 stroke. 
 The voice of waters, deep, ineffable, 
 Hath thrilled my heart, when Ossian, shaggy- 
 haired, 
 And veiled in flying rack of ragged cloud, 
 Swept from the Northern wild, and smote his harp 
 With such a stormv elemental rao;e, 
 
 77
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 It made mc mad, — he with such yearning deep, 
 With such unconscious savage nakedness, 
 Out of the world's youth, impotent, half-beast, 
 Half-hero, leaned and cried upon the air. 
 
 My sober manhood gained, not apt for jest 
 Or loud uproarious revel, such amaze 
 Of intertwined and tortuous passages, 
 By which mankind wind backward to the dim 
 And wailing Chaos, to the feet of God, 
 Yawned vague before me, that I hastened on. 
 And so, through many a dim and dreaming day. 
 Wandered alone in labyrinthine glooms. 
 And trackless wastes, with sight of giant souls, 
 Whose robes I seemed to touch, and see their 
 
 brows 
 Contracted grim, and hear their muttered speech i 
 Bishops and earls, tyrants and orators, 
 
 78
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 Hugh with caressing gestures, Hereward 
 
 With lion's mane, Morcar and Waltheof, 
 
 Edward Confessor with his maiden flush, 
 
 And Alfred, with a demon at his brain 
 
 And clouded eyes at council ; Alcuin 
 
 And stately Charlemagne ; the pomp of Rome, — 
 
 Pale Nero softly smiling, Cato stern. 
 
 Imperial Caesar with his haggard brow, 
 
 Anjl Sulla with the blotched and seamy face; 
 
 Or Alexander flashed, a meteor light. 
 
 In sudden radiance ; Alcibiades 
 
 Divinely insolent, and Socrates 
 
 Battered and bruised in some prodigious strife. 
 
 All these I saw, and lingered, glad at heart. 
 
 In stately harbourage of gardens cool, 
 
 By splashing fountains, leafy colonnades, 
 
 White temples, bosomed deep in swelling woods, 
 
 79
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 Where slender statues seemed to tread on air. 
 
 And lastly, wearied of that bright young world 
 Of eager glances, laughing certainty, 
 I turned away, and drove my plough afield 
 In tangled wastes, Bengala and Cathay, 
 And stumbled through the tombs of nameless 
 
 kings, 
 Old dynasties, and fierce outlandish saints, 
 Gods, demigods, till like a river vast 
 From cold Siberian hills, the stream of time, 
 By haggard capes and icy promontories. 
 Weltered and widened to a shapeless sea. 
 
 Yet to what purpose all this waste of years? 
 These vast abandoned schemes, these hopeless 
 
 hopes ? 
 I know not : save it were to warm and soothe 
 The shuddering soul, that fills its prison walls, 
 
 80
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 When blank and bare, with scrawls of boding fate, 
 
 And filmy shapes and dreary fantasies. 
 
 Yet pleased perchance — I bare my inmost 
 
 thought ! — 
 With shadowy fame, that like a royal cloak 
 Hung loose, and masked my wasted, naked frame. 
 And, while I scorned the crowd, yet pleased to 
 
 to note 
 That I was noted, — ah the sorry thought ! — 
 When idle babblers hushed their vacant talk 
 To gaze at me, and whisper I was one 
 Who held deep converse with the secret muse. 
 It pleased me, aye it pleased, to wrest respect 
 For me, the scrivener's son, from ancient names. 
 Effete inheritors of sires, whose deeds 
 Are stamped and blazoned on the storied page ; — 
 For witness ye : — beside our garden-end, 
 
 8i G
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 Behind the leafy butts, where Ridley loved 
 To walk, and con the scripture o'er and o'er, — 
 The hollow vaulted sphere of plaster,* daubed 
 To show the posture of the firmament 
 To gazers, wondering at the measured chinlcs, 
 The levers and the wheels, who briskly praise 
 Our learned eccentric's ingenuities 
 Agape, yet never wondered at the stars, 
 Or stayed to gaze upon the enormous night. 
 
 O Earth, farewell, my Earth, whom 1 have 
 loved 
 More like a patient lover than a child, 
 
 * Dr. Roger Long, Master of Pembroke and 
 Lowndcan Professor of Astronomy (d. 1770), a learned 
 and eccentric man, constru6led a species of orrery or 
 celestial sphere in a domed building in the comer of the 
 inner court of Pembroke. 
 
 82
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 O leafy aisles, and winding rushy glades, 
 Deep forest dingles, wiiere I loved to lie 
 Sequestered, while the sun wheeled overhead. 
 And westering tinged the glimmering boles with 
 
 fire; — 
 The tagged raincloud beating from the West, 
 The pure and spacious morning : — I have watched 
 With faithful heart, and fond obsequious eye. 
 The .sweep of punctual seasons, when the spring 
 Enlaced the privet hedge with tender spears. 
 And sudden greenness leapt from bush to bush. 
 When swelled the peach, when bulged the buxom. 
 
 plum. 
 When birds were mute, or fluted shrill and high^ 
 What time the figtree furled her leafy claw. 
 And yellowing planetrees dangled velvet balls. 
 Aye, in pursuit of some unheeded spirit, 
 
 83 G— 2
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 My weary foot through trackless solitudes 
 Has threaded slow, by high and heathery moors, 
 And passes, where the dripping ledges lean 
 Together, and the writhing rowan clings, 
 And shows her fretted leaf against the sky, 
 Up to the brows of white and haggard rocks, 
 And shoots of stone, and caves, where clammy 
 
 drops 
 Distil in horror from the flinty brows 
 Of mountains, monstrous fantasies of God. 
 
 All these I would have sung, but dim constraint 
 Pressed close my stammering lips and trembling 
 
 tongue; 
 It needs some ready singer, some young heart 
 To throw a sacred sunshine of its own 
 On these dark haunts, and read the riddle right 
 Of monstrous laws, that work their purpose out 
 
 84
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 For trembling man, unheeding how they crush 
 A thousand hopes, so one sure step be gained. 
 One soul set higher on the stairs of God. 
 Not I, who scarce, through sad laborious days, 
 Can write, and blot, and write the languid verse. 
 Erase the erring strophe, gild the rhyme. 
 Set and reset the curious epithet. 
 And prune the rich parenthesis away ; 
 Then thrust, but with a secret tenderness, 
 As erring maidens clasp their babes of shame, 
 My puny, piteous weakling from the doors. 
 
 And ye, my friends, whose souls are knit with 
 mine, 
 I would not linger late, and make parade 
 Of ceremonious weakness, fond adieux. 
 With grave-eyed piteous faces round my bed ; 
 
 85
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 For some are passed beyond the life I know, 
 
 Who smile and beckon me in sudden dreams 
 
 With most unearthly radiance; some forget 
 
 The gracious years, or flourish, whirled away 
 
 On fuller tides; Horace,* the ailing lord 
 
 Of plaster palaces and hollow groves. 
 
 Absorbed in half-a-hundred tiny arts, 
 
 Master of none ; who cannot learn to merge 
 
 The fretful patron in the equal friend ; — 
 
 The plump precentor,t with his tragedies 
 
 And pompous odes that tune their notes from 
 
 mine 
 
 Yet droop and wither to a sickly end. 
 
 And last and dearest, he| who flashed across 
 
 ♦ Horace Walpole. 
 
 + William Mason, Precentor of York, and an indif- 
 ferent poet. 
 
 X Charles Victor de Bonstetten. 
 
 86
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 My wintry gloom, a sweet and vivid ray, 
 Flashed fromia land of ancient mountainous snows, 
 Himself more pure, and charmed me from myself. 
 Out of my shadowy cave of bitter thoughts. 
 To warm and welcome sunshine — seized my hands 
 With laughing hands, and drew from me my store 
 Of hoarded learning, while I learnt from him, 
 From those pure eyes so sweetly raised to mine, 
 By youthful jest and petulant questioning. 
 To stablish and repair my ancient faith 
 In gracious love and sweet humanities, 
 That in my sunless gloom had half-decayed. 
 
 Farewell, beloved ; child of my heart, farewell ! 
 And ere the dark stream thrust me from the shore. 
 Know that these failing lips at last pronounced 
 A thousand blessings on my tender child. 
 
 87
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 And now once more, before the^dizzy will 
 Relax her tremulous grip, ere nerve and limb 
 Prove traitor to the faint and failing brain, 
 I will look forth upon the spacious heaven. 
 Will mount the battlemented tower, and see 
 League upon league the interminable fen 
 Ripple his steely waters to the wind, 
 Glint in the horizon, break in reedy waves 
 On woody islands crowned with byre and barn. 
 Where all day long the goodman, biding, hears 
 No sound save clack of waters, or the drum 
 Of bittern, or the curlew's whistle faint. 
 Or scream of ruffs, that stamp the marge to mire. 
 Or booming of a culver down the marsh, 
 Or grave entreating bells, that ring the folk 
 To sermon, in the pauses of the wind. 
 But I, beyond the fen, the holy towers, 
 
 88
 
 THOMAS GRAY 
 
 Beyond the sluggish sea that laps the ooze 
 With melancholy murmur, hear a cry 
 That calls me, and is answered by the lapse 
 Of pulses throbbing faint, intimate pangs 
 Abhorred ; as old dismantled priories, 
 That seem to doze across the summer fields, 
 Yet slip, dismembered by the intruding frost, 
 That cracks their hoary bones, and as they muse, 
 With sudden start and shock portend decay. 
 
 89
 
 Ode in Memory of 
 W. E. Gladstone
 
 ODE 
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE RT. HONBLE. WILLIAM 
 EWART GLADSTONE* 
 
 Et pa'vit eos in inmcentia cordis sui: et intellectibus 
 manuum suarum deduxit eos. — Psalm : Lib. Ixxviii. 72. 
 
 Give thanks to God ! our Hero is at rest, 
 
 Who more than all hath laboured, striven, 
 aspired ; 
 And now hath won his sleep — the last — the best 
 His soul desired. 
 
 Now, though the warlike rumours swiftly run, 
 Though mighty nations toss in fierce unrest, 
 
 * This Ode was written to be recited at Eton on the 
 4th of June, 1898. 
 
 93
 
 ODE IN MEMORY OF W. E. GLADSTONE 
 
 Though the harsh thunder of the throbbing gun 
 Roars in the West, 
 
 Here all is still : beneath his castle walls 
 
 Sprouts blade, and bush, and every tender thing. 
 And hark, the jocund throstle ! how she calls 
 To Hope and Spring ! 
 
 Peace on the smitten hearts that sorrow ncarj! 
 
 Now that the toil-worn warrior sinks to sleep. 
 The nations listen, half afraid to hear 
 A nation weep ; 
 
 And patriots weep, strong souls on alien shores. 
 
 And men whose feet with saving peace arejshod. 
 And every heart that silently adores 
 Freedom and God. 
 
 94
 
 ODE IN MEMORY OF W. E. GLADSTONE 
 
 Freedom and God ! — these first — but still he served 
 All peaceful labours, and the world's strong 
 youth ; 
 Yet in the wildest onset, never swerved 
 From sternest truth. 
 
 The fight he scorned not; 'twas the prize he 
 scorned ! 
 He chose the scars and not the gauds of fame, 
 GaVc crowns to others, keeping unadorned 
 His homely name. 
 
 Spring after spring, beneath the budding elm, 
 
 Not worn with toil, yet joyful in release. 
 He shook the dust of battle from his helm, 
 And pra6lised peace. 
 
 Intent for rest — as he had hardly fought — 
 Hid from the world, the uproar and the fret, 
 
 95
 
 ODE IN MEMORY OF W. E. GLADSTONE 
 
 Plunged in an instant in sercner thought, 
 He could forget ! 
 
 While yet his words made havoc of men's fears, 
 And thrilled reverberant through the spell- 
 bound throng, 
 Smiling he stept from empire, tb the years 
 Through Time, through song, 
 
 Immortal made, old knights and spouses true. 
 
 And for as his enkindled eyes could scan. 
 He shot his arrowy thought, and pierced, and knew 
 The soul of man. 
 
 Or in the village temple, morn by morn, 
 
 He cleansed his pure heart with a humble 
 prayer, 
 And rose on Zion's songs, beyond the bourne 
 Of earthly care ; 
 
 96
 
 ODE IN MEMORY OF W. E, GLADSTONE 
 
 And last the Father willed one pang of love, 
 
 From wisdom's fiercest fire, one glowing coal 
 Should touch his lips, to chasten and to prove 
 The stainless soul. 
 
 Swift, swift was patience perfect: where he lay, 
 XVhat heart could fail, what lips could murmur 
 then ? 
 He whispered, 'twixt the darkness and the day. 
 His faint Amen. 
 
 Eton, remember ! How shall men forget 
 Thy heroes' roll, thy burden of renown. 
 The bright surpassing jewels strongly set 
 Within thv crown. 
 
 Till God's vast purpose silently enfold 
 
 The thoughts that are not and the things that 
 are, 
 
 97 H
 
 ODE IN MEMORY OF W. E. GLADSTONE 
 
 Till mercy reign, in gentle glory rolled 
 From star to star ? 
 
 Not mighty deeds, in keenest foresight planned, 
 Strong words, sweet motions of bewildering 
 grace, 
 Not these receive at God's all-judging Hand 
 The loftiest place. 
 
 But they who keep, through warfare and through 
 ease, 
 Tho' praise, tho' hate about their name be 
 blown. 
 The childlike heart, the childlike faith — for these 
 Are next the Throne. 
 
 98
 
 Monnow 
 
 H — 2
 
 MONNOW 
 
 AN ODE 
 
 " Then Christian and Hopeful out-went them again, 
 and went till they came to a delicate Plain called Ease, 
 where they went with much content : but that plain was 
 but narrow, so they were quickly got over it." 
 
 The road was weary ; and beside the road, 
 
 Beyond the meadow quivering in the sun, 
 The crystal Monnow murmured as it flowed ; 
 Monnow^ the clearest of clear streams that 
 run 
 By shingly reaches, where the cattle drink, 
 Through islets dense with shadowy burdock- 
 leaves, 
 
 101
 
 MONNOW 
 
 By high red scarps, with alders on the brink, 
 In ghmmering pools; — a leaping troutlet 
 weaves 
 Swift rings, that cross and circle, till the ripples 
 sink. 
 
 It is the Spring ! How swift her tripping feet 
 Tread these sequestered valleys, though she 
 dare 
 Not venture yet, where winds blow shrill and 
 fleet, 
 And all the down is washed with keener air; 
 Yet here each quickset hedge is green with 
 gems; 
 The bold moist king-cup stares upon the sun 
 From oozy creeks; the sweetbriar's polished 
 stems 
 
 102
 
 MONNOW 
 
 Grow rough with crumpled tufts, and one 
 
 by one, 
 The cowslips wave a crown of clustered diadems. 
 
 Here will I lie a little, till the sun 
 
 Slope westward, and the vale be brimmed 
 with shade, 
 And hear the bubbling waters briskly run. 
 
 Till every drowsy sound,— the clinking spade. 
 Lowing of cattle from the tilted down. 
 
 Crying of cocks, the slowly-creaking wain. 
 
 In deep content the peaceful thought shall 
 
 drown, 
 
 Ay, even the measured puffing of the train, 
 
 That hurries busy hearts from town to dusty town. 
 
 Stream, stream, thou hast a spirit, hast a soul, 
 I doubt not— thou art real, as I to thee: 
 103
 
 MONNOW 
 
 Ncckan or Nymph, fond Fay or merry Troll, — 
 Some conscious self, some breathing mystery! 
 No copse but hath its Dryad, each dark stone 
 Its crouching Lemur : oh, the foolish dream ! 
 Wc have driv'n far hence, for all their piteous 
 moan. 
 Our faithful sprites:— but thou, swift-leap- 
 ing stream, 
 O presence, and O voice, by me art surely known ! 
 
 I know thy secret ! how thy shivering rill 
 Leaps high on Cusop bluff, among the stones : 
 
 Till swelled by Escley brook, from Vagar hill, 
 Then, where by Craswall Chapel sleep the 
 bones 
 
 Of grey-frocked friars, is heard a larger sound: — 
 'Tis Olchon^ dimpling o'er his stony bed, 
 
 104
 
 MONNOW 
 
 Olchon^ from many a rood of moorland ground, 
 From heathery dingles, bare, unvisited, — 
 Him too thou dost enfold, and onward thou art 
 bound. 
 
 Onward, ay onward; — fed by falling streams, 
 
 Still changing, yet eternally the same ; — 
 
 And men are born beside thee, dream their 
 
 dreams. 
 
 And leave the falling shadow of a name; 
 
 Still thou dost leap, and carve thy shelving 
 
 shore, 
 
 And push each boulder further from its home, 
 
 Till, in the widening vale, thou hear'st the roar 
 
 Of wide-flung breakers, white with crested 
 
 foam, 
 
 And drinlc'st the pungent brine along thy oozy 
 
 floor. 
 
 105
 
 MONNOW 
 
 What art thou ? the philosopher shall say ! 
 
 A tempered element, that suns distil, 
 In some convenient fissure bound to stray ! 
 And one would claim thee for his grumbling 
 mill. 
 And one would praise thee that thou may'st be 
 drawn 
 Through fretted watercourse, and brimming 
 leat, 
 To fill the blade, to quicken lea and lawn, 
 To make the grass rich and the pasture 
 sweet, 
 And fill the dripping pitcher in the half-lit 
 dawn. 
 
 I blame not thee ! all things of hourly birth 
 Are born for simple service ; serve thou too I 
 
 io6
 
 MONNOW 
 
 But I that linger sadly on the earth, 
 
 Shortlived as fire, and fading as the dew, 
 Must dream thou hast a fairer destiny, 
 
 For him that marks thee truly: thou art 
 meet 
 To gather healing from the gusty sky. 
 
 To give cool thoughts to travel-laden feet, 
 To serve unknown a secret ministry 
 Of honour, and delight, and mysteries pure and 
 sweet. 
 
 To me to-day thou speakest ! let me hear 
 Thy certain voice, that hearing, I may 
 taste 
 
 Thy sweet light-hearted rapture, void of fear 
 And envy, swift without inglorious haste. 
 
 Now that the level sunlight softly broods 
 
 107
 
 MONNOW 
 
 On park and pasture, over field and fell, 
 And dims with haze the moorland solitudes, 
 I am attuned to listen, apt to spell 
 The solemn secret, hid in leagues of dreaming 
 woods. 
 
 Ay, by thy tender pleading, gracious stream, 
 
 I am made patient : I am one with light 
 And glory; one with every sacred dream 
 
 Of pure delays and undiminished might. 
 One little step ascended nearer Heaven, 
 
 One vantage gained, that, howsoe'er I 
 grieve, — 
 By din of fretful days dismayed and driven,— 
 Deep in my soul 'tis easier to believe 
 That all things are made new, all dark desires 
 forgiven, 
 
 io8
 
 MONNOW 
 
 But see, the sun descends o'er Cusop hill, 
 
 And sudden shivers down the dingle run ; 
 Cold is thy voice, inhospitable thrill. 
 
 That mock'st the smouldering embers of 
 the sun. 
 The glory fades : my dreams are cold, are cold ! 
 Homewards I hasten ; yet within my heart 
 A treasure sleeps, not bought with any gold, 
 '• That shall outlast the striving and the smart 
 That weary soul and brain, where men are 
 bought and sold. 
 
 MonnoWj yet hear me, till my tale be done ! 
 
 Speed all thy rushing waters, leap and dart. 
 Forget my mournful questioning: softly run ! 
 
 Hast thou not spoken with me, heart to 
 heart ? 
 
 109
 
 MONNOW 
 
 Such golden hours are few, as beacon-pyres 
 In high hill-places, that, one festal night, 
 Leap into roaring and tumultous fires, 
 
 To spell a people's joy from height to height, 
 And bridge the jubilant trails with infinite desires. 
 
 no
 
 LYRICS 
 
 By A. C. BENSON 
 
 Fcap. %vo. 5s. net. 
 
 "His singular charm lies in the loving and lovable 
 particularity with which he looks upon nature. . . . An 
 impressive temperament and personality so reveal them- 
 selves, though with reticence and dignity, making a true 
 music out of their circumstances." — Academy. 
 
 "Whatever touches Mr. Benson's feelings or imagi- 
 nation finds ready expression in verse ' Lady 
 
 Kitty ' is a very pleasing and sympathetic poem 
 
 ' In a Garden,' too, is full of that vivid word painting so 
 characteristic of the former volume. We almost fancy we 
 can smell the ' warm luxuriance of the Phlox ;' and in the 
 poem 'My Poet,' Mr. Benson has very truly embodied the 
 surprise and dismay felt by many an ardent hero- worshipper 
 on being first brought face to face with some cherished, and 
 until that moment, unseen idol of the world of books." — 
 Spectator. 
 
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 poetic interpretation of Nature is present in these poems, 
 and much gentle sentiment." — Standard. 
 
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 manner grows sweeter and more assured," — Speaker. 
 
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 is sincere, unaffected, and has observed certain things which 
 most people do not observe, and with so vivid an interest ir 
 them himself that his record of these things in verse seems 
 to suggest a new almost possible kind of poetic substance." — 
 
 " Mr. Benson's muse is something more than delicate 
 and graceful, though its exhibits these qualities in a con- 
 spicuous degree." — Morning Post. 
 
 " He has all the artistic equipment for great work." — 
 Guardian. 
 
 '■^ Lord Vyet and other Poems strikes us as more full of 
 original thought and suggestion than anything he has yet 
 published. . . . 'The Shepherd' is a thoroughly fine 
 portrait drawn by a master hand, and the subtle poem called 
 ' Self is full of power." — Spectator. 
 
 " It is something to be able to read with genuine respect 
 for the author, a volume of verses ; but it is a better test of 
 their poetical quality if, after shutting the book, we are able 
 to remember them." — Academy. 
 
 JOHN LANE, London and New York
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 rm L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 
 
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 pp. 
 
 U099 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 380 331