THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ENGELBERG AND OTHER VERSES Time and Death. Page 37. ENGELBERG AND OTHER VERSES BY BEATRIX L. TOLLEMACHE (Hon. Mrs. LIONEL TOLLEM.ACHE) Sie hiiren nicht die folgende Gesange, Die Seelen deiien ich die ersten sang ; Zerstoben ist das freundliche Gedninge, Verklungen, ach ! der erste Wiederklang. Goethe. PERCIVAL AND CO. KING STREET, COVE NT GARDEN EoiiDon 1890 6trv9 PREFACE Some of these verses have already been pubh'shed in T/ie Acadcjiiy, Maanillaiis Magazine, TJic Spec- tator, The Journal of Education, and elsewhere ; and I wish to thank the Editors who have kindly allowed me to republish them. Biarritz, iSgo. 96C CONTENTS Engelberc, No. i . Engelberg, No. 2 . May at St. Moritz Snow in August . To Wordsworth , The Glacier Stream Winter at St. Moritz Lou's Doij. . The Children's Gardens Brothers and Sisters Spring in August . To Gahrielle von B. The Child's Song . The Alpine Flower . Alpine Heights Sic Donec . Resi- and Unrest — Handel and JiEiniiovEN T\ IIAeHMATA MAeHMATA . PAGE I 3 5 8 9 10 13 15 17 19 21 23 26 27 29 31 32 34 VUI CONTENTS TnK Poet and the Bee The Magic Ride . Wordsworth nAAINFENESIS . St. Moritz in July Thoughts by the Sea A Sea-Change Biarritz Sands Gav on— Good-Night A Picture . The Legend of Rostherne Mere The Wanderer Only an Echo The Bridge The Door . Links for a Diary Shall Love be changefu The Rainbow Te Deum Laudani' togei'her To a Blind Friend The Wounded Bird Peg LI To Nina (In June) In an Album Law IS THEiK Master The Lighthouse, Biarritz 35 37 39 40 41 44 47 49 51 54 58 61 63 64 66 68 70 72 74 76 78 79 80 82 84 85 87 CONTEXTS Darkness and Light One is taken and the other left The Blind Man The Forsaken Chamber . The Vision and the Thorn Time and Death . On the Death of the Emperor Frederick EriTAi'H on General Gordon The Christmas Holidays The Quaker's Grave Across the Dee Memories . Tatton Mere The Deserted Room The Prisoner The Ship "When Little Folk grow Bigger' The Winds Spring Let go "Christmas in Rome." From Paul IIeyse IX S8 89 90 92 95 97 98 100 lOI 103 105 lo- res 1 10 1 12 114 116 120 122 124 126 ENGELBERG, No. i Time flies in busy vales below, But here above he drops his wings, He climbs with footsteps calm and slow, Or pauses while the gay lark sings. Time snatches from us, so it seems, In busy towns each happy hour ; But here above he gives sweet dreams. Through cloudless days in some still bower. Time carries us to Death's dark gate With hurried flight, in vales below ; But here above he seems to wait, And only bids us higher go. B ENGELBERG For on the mountain slopes we learn One lesson froai our teacher, Time : 'Tis we who give him wings to earn What they alone can reach who climb. ENGELBERG, No. 2 I AM lonely, I am lonely, Said the mountain to the cloud, Come around me, come, if only My barrenness to shroud. Not a flower here is clinging, Not a bird above me singing. But the cruel eagle's eye Is on me as he hovers O'er the victim he discovers, A little lamb must die. In the silence of the night I watch the stars so bright, ENGELBERG And their solemn march is dumb, But I hear the constant flow Of the river down below, Waxing louder when the hum Is over of the day ; But I must ever stay Without a voice or motion. O clouds, once born of ocean. Come round me with caressing, Your touch shall be a blessing ; Come round me, come, if only To greet me — I am lonely. MAY AT ST. MORITZ Where marble forms of ice and snow Lay chiselled, now the waters flow, And breath and life so warm and sweet Are round the ancient mountain's feet. The crocus o'er the fields will roam, Until the golden age has come Of glist'ning kingcups shining far From the green earth, as many a star From blue-black sky shall shine to-night, And quench the flowers' softer light. Far up the hills the browsing goats Ring tiny bells with treble notes. MAY AT ST. MORITZ And climb and play, from rocks they leap And climb again where narrow, steep, And rough the path leads on. What joy To follow now the gay herd boy ! The long dark winter nights are o'er, And cattle in their stalls no more Need linger, in the flower-strewn grass They ring their bells and lowing pass With dark moist nostrils snuffing air That fresh and cool from pastures fair Brings tidings sweet. The foaming streams Rush down anew, and murmur dreams That haunt them from their winter's rest, While hushed they lay with sleep oppressed. Ah, would that we might sometimes taste This joy of wakening life ! We haste. As goaded on by hope and fear, Through every season of the year, Nor pause enough to gather strength ; MAY AT ST. MORITZ " Our life is all too scant a length," Wc cr)' ; " no time to us is given For peaceful thoughts, but onward driven We toil for pleasure or for gain ; Nor pause lest others should attain The prize we seek, and thus till death We striv'e. Can we take breath And look around with calmer thought ? " Ah, fools ! in winter's rest is wrought A needful work. No life may cease, But rather grow in that still peace, And hidden germs enclose the power That later opens out in flower. SNOW IN AUGUST " The scorching sun through summer days Has robbed me with his jealous gaze, My rocks are bare, my whiteness soiled. For hardy footsteps here have toiled. Come, gentle flakes, and weave a dress And clothe me with new loveliness." So spake the mountain, and the sky With lowering clouds and pitying eye Looked on, while softest flakes flit down And settle on the mountain crown. And clothe anew in purest white The bareness of that Alpine height. TO WORDSWORTH A WELL known voice that lingers in our cars, Amid the crowd we hear its welcome sound, And yet in vain we seek and look around, That voice the listening heart alone still hears. Thus up the mountain climbing ever higher, I hear thy voice, O Poet, in the rush Of foaming stream, or in the solemn hush Of snowy height, where toiling I aspire ; This voice is but an echo of the book That charmed my youth ; and now familiar grown With Nature's record, where thou bad'st me look, I am with thee and Nature, — not alone : I am with thee in this wild rocky nook : Wordsworth, thy voice still speaks from every stone. THE GLACIER STREAM Gray cold water. Snow's swift daughter, Ah ! ye know not what ye leave, Solemn stillness, Alpine chillness, Will ye not in valleys grieve ? Gray cold river. We must shiver In the shade of gloomy pine, Yet thy breath Gives health and saith " Vigour, ardour, both are mine." THE GLACIER STREAM ii Through pastures green And wild ravine Thou hurriest on, but whither ? Yet thy swift race Hath charms and grace To lure us watchers hither. For men below Can trace the snow From winter trance awaking, Amid the flowers In April hours Her icy bed forsaking. Gray cold water, Snow's swift daughter, Ah ! ye know not what )'e leave, Alpine flowers, Peaceful hours, Will ye not in vallc}-s grieve? 12 THE GLACIER STREAM When the millvvheel you are turning, For your rugged mountains yearning, You will ask : " Shall we never softly rest As of yore on granite breast, In the sunbeams bask ?" Now ye mix with mortal life, Join in all the care and strife Of the city's din ; Under bridges with swift motion Rushing onward till the ocean Ye may win. WINTER AT ST. MORITZ Winter is here, and the feathery flakes Are falling so softly side by side, Weaving a vesture new which makes This ancient earth like a }'outhful bride. Pale she lies till the bridegroom sun Wakens a blush on her calm sweet face, And his dazzling beams are swift to run To clasp her at once in warm embrace. But the maiden earth he long must woo, Till the snowy veil at last shall rise. And crowned with flowers and bathed in dew, She lifts up her love-filled tearful eyes. 14 WINTER AT ST. MORITZ Then, flushed with deh'ght, the ardent sun Lingers and listens to her glad lay ; — Ah, hark ! how merrily streamlets run In the beams of the laughing month of May. LOU'S DOLL I've brought you Dolly to christen, She's such a little dear, She'll be very still and listen, And never shed a tear. You say she's only a Dolly, And hasn't got a soul, More than a piece of this holly, Or the flowers in the bowl. But I love my Dolly dearly. And try to make her good, I can't understand it clearly, But no — she's not just wood. i6 LOU'S DOLL And if she were — who made her ? — - I always say a prayer When down in her cot I've laid her, She sleeps so sweetly there. You tell me the stars that twinkle Are made by One above, And the soft blue periwinkle, And all the flowers I love. You tell me that He is tender, As father is to Lou, That He loves us, — will He send her A little soul all new ? For I love her so, my Dolly, I know she's not just wood. Do take her, nor think it folly To try to make her good. THE CHILDREN'S GARDENS Four little gardens all in a row, With sunny wall for shelter behind, In one the roses were all ablow, Sweet-peas and clove-pinks scented the wind. The next was sober as Quaker's dress, Gray with lavender, rosemary, thyme ; Fragrant as treasures in oaken press, Brought long ago from an Eastern clime. The third an orchard, once white, now green, And red with apple and pear and quince, And a mossy seat where fairy queen Might feast on fruit with a fairy prince. i8 THE children's GARDENS The fourth a tangle, where briers and weeds No flower or fruit or fragrance yield, No sign of the hand each bower needs, — No garden here, — but a wasted iield. BROTHERS AND SISTERS Brothers and sisters never more to meet Beneath familiar roof, — and if ye call The roll of names, the number incomplete Brings memories back, and tears are fain to fall. The house is lonely where you used to dwell, Like the seed-vessel over-ripe that rends And scatters far and wide from every cell Seeds that may reach the wide world's far-off ends. And on some isle perchance bring forth a flower, Unknown before to dwellers so remote, Clinging to birds in their migrating hour. Or on some tiny raft in safety float. 20 BROTHERS AND SISTERS How many germs of fruitful deeds go forth From hearth once kindly warm to all around, Brothers and sisters, scattered South and North, Ye bear new blossoms to some unknown ground. See, 'tis the side reversed of that old tale That bid the brethren close united be ; Break the old bonds, or stretch them till they fail To hinder wider growth and thought more free. Though not beneath one roof again ye meet, How wide is heaven that overarches all. How far thought travels, and how quick the feet Of love to follow where the loved ones call. SPRING IN AUGUST Where the gray rock shadow throws, There the purple primrose grows ; Long ago her sister fair Blossomed in our English air : Spring is over in the dale, Where once bloomed that sister pale. He who will the mountain climb Feels again the sweet spring-time. Where the melting snow in rill Hastens down the lake to fill, And the rocks arc blushing red With the tiny campion's head, — 22 SPRING IN AUGUST Not a footstep but doth press On some sweet new loveliness : Spring, too long asleep, alights Fresh and pure on these lone heights. From the hot and dusty vale. Where bold Summer doth prevail. Let us hasten here away, With shy Spring on hills to play ; Where she lingers we would fain Meet her year by year again. Berni7ta Hospice. TO GABRIELLE von B. Who is under the beech-trees playing Now and again from green boughs swaying, Child Gabrielle ? Only an hour it was ago, Out of a book, in accents slow, You learnt to spell English words for your English friends, — One is so tall to you he bends His head grown white ; And as chestnuts 'gainst the Alpine snow Your tawny locks that curling flow Gleam warm and bright. 24 TO GABRIELLE VON B. Time hurries on, there's no delaying — Are you grown old, or still love playing. Child Gabrielle ? Your merry laughter seemed to bring Again my own forgotten spring ; My eyelids fell. And other voices, other sounds, Beyond the present narrow bounds The chorus swell. But you, who thought me idly dozing, — Your little hand in mine enclosing Broke through the spell. May never dream be broken through More rudely than by such as you. Child Gabrielle. Life is a circle, incomplete, Till youth and age together meet, TO GABRIELLE VON B. And oft we tell Of days when in the mountains w^iiling You won our hearts with }'Our beguiling, Child Gabrielle, THE CHILD'S SONG Melt quickly, O snow, For the flowers below Are waiting to peep From their winter sleep ; And the purple bell Shall ring out thy knell, — Nor needest thou grieve The pastures to leave, For thou shalt arise, And float in the skies, A cloud bright and fair. In the golden air : Then, why longer bide While the spring flowers chide ? THE ALPINE FLOWER Little flower, if I bear Thee from this thy mountain air, Bid thee 'neath our mists and gloom Open out thy tender bloom. Wilt thou strive with us to live, Foreign land thy fragrance give ? I would fain to England bring Tokens of the Alpine spring. Ah ! can I for thee secure Breath of heaven so fresh and pure ? No, I will not bear thee home ; Rather let me forth and roam 28 THE ALPINE FLOWER To the Alps in search of thee, Where thou dwellest lone and free. On the rock-strewn windy down, Far away from smoke of town. There my steps to thee I guide, ' Through the sunny hours abide, And from thy sweet breath distil Purest joy my heart to fill. ALPINE HEIGHTS Like mighty thinkers, there they stand Above the soft green pasture-land ; They yield no common yearly food, To such lone heights ne'er climbs the wood. " What do these giant idlers there ? " I asked ; and streams the answer bear. Which, foaming through the summer heat, Rush down the rocks, and round the feet Of those gray mountains coolness bring, — The coolness of their glacier spring. " Oh, brown would all these pastures lie, If never peak had towered high 30 ALPINE HEIGHTS Above the zone where corn and oil Can flourish and repay your toil. Those grand calm heights, like sages, hold Such treasures heaped from times of old, Such stores of ice and snow to yield Their cooling draught to thirsty field ; Those rugged shoulders bravely bear New burdens for the coming year. But mortals will not read aright, Nor know that, from each barren height, Unquenched the living waters flow Which verdure bring to fields below." SIC DONECi Not yet — not yet the light : Underground, out of sight, Like moles we blindly toil. On — though we know not where,- Some day the upper air, The sun, and all things fair, We reach through the dark soil. 1 Tlie motto of the Egertons. REST AND UNREST— HANDEL AND BEETHOVEN With step exultant up the music stair Hear how the mighty Handel marches on, Leaving this earth for happy regions where No storms disturb the breast, but peace is won. Were rest our guerdon here, this voice of praise Would lift us with its joyous notes aloft, But ah ! how far from rest the rugged ways Our lives must stumble o'er; nor smooth nor soft The path we climb. Beethoven's tangled chords That wail and struggle, panting to be free, And reach resolving sounds, this clash of swords In music stirs us ; " Whose the victory ? " REST AND UNREST 33 We ask with ears intent, for thus our hfe Is wrestHng ; — angels up and down the stair With equal step may tread, not theirs the strife, — Nor theirs the palm of victory to bear. D TA nAQHMATA MA©HMATA No royal road to learning leads, They tell us in our childhood's days, No gentle hand may pluck the weeds Of ignorance which choke the ways Of folly, but the sharpened tool Of toil and suffering must be used. To clear the soil and cleanse the pool. The grains of corn must first be bruised, Ere they become the wholesome food Of man, and man himself must bear Stern discipline to work his good. Each furrow ploughed by iron share. THE POET AND THE BEE Poet The roses by my cottage door, Dear Bee, you visit now no more ; I miss the old familiar hum, The buzz of wings that said you'd come. Bee I came and robbed the honey store, 'Tis why I visit you no more ; The fragrant petals soon will fade, The honey in my comb is laid : But, if I robbed, it was to keep Your treasure safe ; ah, do not weep. 36 THE rOET AND THE BEE When summer's o'er that roses die, But watch where homewards now I fly. Poet Can sweetness stay when hfe is fled ? Bee Like verses when the poet's dead. THE MAGIC RIDE A LITTLE one climbed on my knee and said, " Play with me now awhile, Be a magic horse." I nodded my head. And answered with a smile. She mounted her magic steed and flew Over seas and countries wild. And all that I told was fresh and new To ears of a simple child. She saw it all with her dreamy eyes. The treasures and wonders rare, In lands where the magic courser flies Over castles in the air. 38 THE MAGIC RIDE But twilight fell, the little one slept. And the magic ride was o'er, For only while childish fingers kept The reins could we freely soar. Through Poesy's playground on and on, Where never a boundary lies ; — The charm of the magic horse was gone When closed were the childish eyes. WORDSWORTH Poets are stars ; — and some with eager eyes Watch for one star that slowly mounts the skies, And leads to lowly roofs where hidden lies The Lord of all. This star, our Wordsworth, shone while many lay With eyes fast closed, or wandered all astray ; This light shines on until the perfect day Our sight recall. Bright star, still beaming o'er the vales, the meres, And mountain-tops, th)^ light this world endears To wise men watching ; for earth now appears Heaven's entrance-hall. nAAINFENE^lS What is old age that cometh on so fast ? 'Tis the ripe fruit that only waits to fall On withered leaves until some wintry blast Sweep through the forest with its shrill stern call. Chestnuts, rough-rinded, seek the earth again, And children, tossing yellow leaves in play, Find treasures, cleaving prickly balls in twain ; They keep the nut and throw the husk away. What is old age that cometh on so fast ? 'Tis but a husk, that hides the germ within ; Death shakes the fruit, he blows the cruel blast, That life may yet a richer harvest win. ST. MORITZ IN JULY The vale has doffed her vesture white ; Here in July the cuckoo sings, And o'er the pastures flit the bright Brown butterflies on poised wings. On purple thistles crimson moths Lie dreaming of their plighted troths, Till dusk arouse them to their play ; While bees intent on sweetness sij) Pale nectar from the violet's lip. Or pierce through gentian bell their way. The meadows, rich with campion pink, Grow blue beside the moistened brink 42 ST. MORITZ IN JULY Of foaming stream, and shining gold Is scattered with a lavish hand, While myriad insect eyes behold The lovely Alpine summer land. In coolest shadows of the mount, In kindly hollows, snowflakes rest. And, dying, feed from their pure fount The crocus white for bridal drest. Time hastens on ; while flowers are gay Let us pluck some to bear away, — Not the bright golden globe That loves in marsh to live ; Though rich its royal robe, No fragrance can it give. Nor cull the lover's blossom blue. That fades, and, dying, leaves no trace How fair was once its heaven-lent hue, It has no still abiding grace. ST. MORITZ IN JULY 43 Choose rather lowly thyme, And in a poet's book Let it by some sweet rhyme Lie, that our fancy took. Then will two treasures there be stored ; A fragrant herb from green hillside, And thoughts more precious that have soared With winged words, nor could abide Mute on this earth, like as when birds Sang in the woods, and our own heart Melted, and poured itself in words, Thus Nature taught the poet art. THOUGHTS BY THE SEA Is this our ancient dwelling-place, This green and dancing foam-flecked sea, So full of ever-varying grace That more and more appeals to me ? I stand where drives the fine salt spray. And watch the heaving crested waves : Blue skies entrance me not to-day, I only hear the roaring caves ; — Hark ! voices now in chorus swelling, " Shake off earth's dust, thy fellows we. This is the old primeval dwelling, This fresh and glorious bounding sea ; THOUGHTS BV THE SEA 45 Here is no lot of toil and care, No curse has reached this happy realm, No groans or sighs from upper air Can grieve us or our peace o'erwhelm." I stooped and listened with amaze ; — Rest, peace, seemed all enough for bliss ; Perchance in those green depths where plays The mermaid I had sunk ere this, — But, ah ! what brushes by ? A soft And rapid touch of wing, and I, Bewildered, spell-bound, look aloft. And lo ! a seagull in the sk)- ; A bird that landward flew and took My troubled thoughts to homely ground ; That giddy height I swift forsook, Nor stayed to hear th' enchanting sound : " Better earth's toil and cares," I cried, "Which all the nobler self will train. Than aimless, idly, there to glide ; 46 THOUGHTS BY THE SEA White bird, good omen, come again. Our fate is not to sink, but soar, — Brave storm-bird, wheel aloft, and raise Our eyes above the clouds, the more We weary of earth's trodden ways. A SEA-CHANGE Whence comest thou, my soul, what mighty powers Urged thee to change unconscious hfe for hours Measured in turns by partial joy or pain, Leaving the depths where peace and silence reign ? Unknown, unknowing, thou hast slumbered, till A billow rolling carried thee to fill The hollow 'mid two rocks, and now alone, An individual pool 'twixt walls of stone. Thou art left, a new-born self, a living soul No longer hidden in th' unfathomed whole. Alone, apart from the great heaving main, Thus must endure, enjoy, and thus attain 48 A SEA-CHANGE The conscious self, throbbing with keen desire And new-felt need ; for in the dull dark mire Growth has begun, — the pool is brimming o'er With life that listens for the ocean's roar. How long, my soul, how long wilt here abide, Left a lone pool by the slow ebbing tide ? Oh, for a little while 'tis well to lie A tiny mirror to the boundless sky ; For in these hours of individual birth We learn alike our weakness and our worth. The soul, developed here, will watch and yearn For that full life to which it must return. When o'er the pool the flooding spring-tides sweep. And once again unite it with the deep. BIARRITZ SANDS Behold this narrow strip of earth That every day receives new birth, Baptized by the sea. These yellow sands we firmly tread Anon shall be the ocean's bed, Whence we are fain to flee. O faithless sands, that bask and sleep Beneath the sun and never keep One impress on )-our shore ; 'Tis fire ye need to fuse and mould Your shifting atoms, till, like gold To coin from rugged ore BIARRITZ SANDS You change ; and in the builder's hand Ye are no more poor fickle sand, But steadfast well-hewn stone. Then carved, as on a grave, shall be The wave-marks of a bygone sea, And footsteps ye have known. GAV ON— GOOD-NIGHT Have you seen her, have you seen a Little maiden, KataHna ? On the wild ground near the shore Where th' Atlantic breakers roar, There I saw her in the gloaming. In the winter twilight roaming With her comrades, merry-hearted, Laughing, chattering, till she parted, Calling to them out of sight, " Gav, gav on — good-night, good-night !" 52 GAV ON— GOOD-NIGHT Have you seen her, — have you seen a Little Basque girl, Katalina ? Soft brown eyes, and tangled hair, Not too shy a mouth to spare Smiles and answers in a tongue French or Basque that sweetly rung. Needing oft an explanation, — Were we not of different nation ? As one picks with glad amaze Primroses in wintry days, Thus she seemed a little flower Sent to brighten stormy hour. When her path from mine diverged, Where the green waves wildly surged. On the endless yellow sands. There she left me, waved her hand. And the strange soft sound, " Gav on," Murmured as she wandered on. GAV ON— GOOD-NIGHT 53 Never once again I've seen a Little Basque girl, Katalina ; But the strange soft words, " Gav on," , In my ears still ringing on, Bring again that winter night, Katalina, child, good-night. A PICTURE I KNOW a garden where the soft green lawn Lured me to linger in the early dawn ; The flowers, freshened by the drops of dew, Greeted my eyes with every varied hue. Onwards I wandered under flickering shade Of oak and beech, a wistful, dreaming maid. And now a poet's verse I called to mind, Or strove, in mighty thinkers' prose, to find Some problem solved ; for oft, to those who think. Old puzzles with new faces bid them shrink From rashly grappling with the world of thought Or human life, ere they have humbly sought A PICTURE 55 The great old teachers, Plato, Paul, and Him Whose life was more than words, for words are dim. His deeds are lamps, that brighter, farther shine, That men may see, and seeing, hail Divine. But oft, when weary of each sect and school, I wandered down to where a sheltered pool, Far from trim beds and planted alleys lay ; Here nature ruled, and 'wildered was the way. The fresh air off the rippling waters blew. And thoughts in feelings merged, and cares with- drew. While the loved scene engraved itself in me. Which now, though years have passed, I plainly see, — I see the lilies, each a fairy bed. Yellow and white, with smooth green leaves out- spread. 56 A PICTURE The gleaming drake sails on with shining track, And sunbeams linger on his glossy back ; I see the shy coot gliding near the bank, Where the tall rushes in their serried rank Feel the cool wind above, the waves below, And shelter tender broods with whispers low. Here the bright heads of purple loosestrife peer Out of the tangled growth around the mere, And the rich scent of drooping meadowsweet. Like incense rises the new day to greet. Upon this bank I rest ; my eyes and heart Are filled with all the beauty, which is part Of Beauty higher, born of perfect Good. — I rose, as one who in that Presence stood. — Had a new sun, with mighty power endowed, Shone on my soul ? My humble spirit bowed To Love revealed anew ; for the pure light Broke through the film, and I received sight. A PICTURE 57 Have I not since oft striven to iwiwind, Some tangled problem of this life, and find That love of nature leads to love of God, And love divine is like the magic rod That points to hidden treasures ? Men of old Followed its guiding till they found the gold. THE LEGEND OF ROSTHERNE MERE One summer morn in the stillness I heard The sound of the mower, the song of the bird ; The heavy dew on the grass still glistens, The blackbird pipes out his note, and listens For the tender reply Of his mate who is nigh ; And the cuckoo hid in the wood doth mock The sound of our merry Black Forest clock, Only he chimeth the hours all wrong. As if time were nothing while days are long. Oh ! life is pleasant these mornings in June, While the heart with nature can keep in tune. THE LEGEND OF ROSTHERNE MERE 59 Through the old lychgate onward I pass, And softly tread on the churchyard grass, Down the steep bank to the cool bright mere. No ripple yet on its surface clear, Not a breath of wind to sway the reeds That guard the bank with the water-weeds. In depths below doth the mermaid dwell : Her bosom is lustrous as the shell With pearly gleams on the sandy shore, Her tresses are tangled evermore, And ever she combs those locks so bright. And bathes her eyes in the pure moonlight ; Those dewy eyes are so wan and sad, For never the sunlight made them glad ; She fain for love and pity would sue. But, banished under the waters blue, She bidcth until the fearful spell Is broken by merry peal of bell. Folk say that bell should hang in the tower, 6o THE LEGEND OF ROSTHERNE MERE But down it rolled to the mermaid's bovver. No mortal could hang that wilful bell : " In the silver mere I fain would dwell," It murmured, " where currents calmly flow ; I will not rock where the fierce winds blow. Nor mark each footstep of stern old Time, Nor toll a dirge, nor ring out a chime ; Many we call to the church within, But one is left out, and not for sin ; I will not ring in the upper air. Till she I love may be with me there ; Only when cometh each Easter-tide She shall toll me, my water-bride. That he who heareth the sound may pray That we may arise some Easter-day." THE WANDERER s. Sweet bird, thy cage is broken, Take win"; and flv ; Too long hast thou been captive,- Now seek the sky. But tell me where thou flittest Ear from my sight ; Thy song no more ma\- rouse me In dim twih'ght. Shall all the past da}'s perish Like violets crushed, Or be as streams in winter Which frost has hushed ? 62 THE WANDERER Come back, sweet bird, and tell me Of foreign climes ; I, too, some day must wander Beyond earth's chimes. ONLY AN ECHO Only an echo — but the note Lingers, and like a charmed boat Over a sea of sound doth float. Ah ! come nearer, that still clearer I may treasure the sweet measure. Whence the music — who began ? Never heard by ear of man : Only an echo sweet and low Reacheth the car of man below. Only an echo — shall the sound Somewhere by earnest soul be found ?- In a world far off, and yet so near That echo can reach the listening ear. THE BRIDGE Parted, united, there they stand, Those massive piers, on either hand ; Ever the water flows between, Only one arch above is seen, Each to each gives his strength to bear Burdens which both together share. If Time shall loose the well-knit stone, Both will suffer, not one alone. The cruel flood which rushes down Some day may break the keystone crown. Ah ! shall a stronger Builder's hand Those ruined piers on either strand THE BRIDGE 65 Bring together, that once again The perfect arch may bear the strain Of flood beneath or crowd above, Built with the massive strength of love ? F THE DOOR Per angusta ad augiista ^ See ! one pursued by hated foes runs down A narrow street and seeks an outlet there, But tall gray houses rise up everywhere, And meet his gaze with unrelenting frown. Urged by his mighty need, he knocks and waits At a closed door, while nearer through the air The cruel shouts surge on, until despair Well-nigh has seized him, then — ah, see! the gates 1 The motto is taken from an old doorway at Coire. THE DOOR 67 Fly Open now, a brighter vision smiles On the poor hunted soul, and joyous sounds Of welcome reach us : we can tell no more ; We have not stepped across the magic bounds Of that grim threshold ; — still the street beguiles Us, and we linger on outside the door. LINES FOR A DIARY See the white pages of this unwrit book, I bring it you to fill them for that nook Where Time lays up each volume ; write it clear, Let no dark blots deface the coming year. Let bad thoughts go, only record the good ; Judge others when in their place you have stood ; Yet judge, compare, for thus we daily learn, Only, take heed, yoit will be judged in turn. When impulse gives you wings, look if they're white, Then boldly fly, yet keep this earth in sight. Shun anger, well — but if you're always cool You lose a weapon 'gainst a knave or fool. LINES FOR A DIARY 69 The will is free, you boast it every day, Where there's a will should there not be a way ? The will's a ploughshare, be it weak or strong, — Brace yours to cut the furrows deep and long. Gain friends each year — this is the only store We seem to lose, yet may keep evermore. If Death would rob, tell him he cannot thieve, Love's most our own when parting most we grieve. All happy days too swift and noiseless glide. Then keep some record which may yet abide When days arc darkened and life's lamp burns low : 'Tis by the past we learn the way to go. Yet what we do is less than what we are. As is the light of yonder shining star More worth to us than his swift course through space ; What care we if we may but see his face ? Go, little book, and may your owner live As pure a life as these white leaves I give. SHALL LOVE BE CHANGEFUL? Shall love be changeful as the waning moon ? Shall shadows darken this — life's highest boon ? Change, if there be, should yet be only growth, Love waxing stronger, fuller, than in days — Those youthful days — of early plighted troth, So rich in burning words of love and praise. Deeper the love now lies, as carved names Lie in the heart of oak where none may see, Until the woodman's axe the timber claims. And cleaving strokes the woodland secret free. SHALL LOVE BE CHANGEFUL ? 71 A living love, that from its first green shoot, When summer comes sends forth the fragrant flowers, And for dark days, when joyous tones are mute, Still stores up autumn wealth in sheltering bowers. No shallow stream, whose life the sun may kill ; No torrent with a stony bed laid bare ; But a deep ocean from whose waves distil Soft clouds that shield us from the summer's glare. THE RAINBOW There are who live amid the snow, For them no rainbow colours glow, But wandering flakes, so wild and white, Like aimless atoms, now alight, Now flutter, as some windy gust Drives them along in silvery dust ; Hither and thither blindly hurled, All colour, form, from this fair world They steal away : — Ah, blame not those For whom no gleaming rainbow glows, Their hope is gone, and chilling doubt Shuts them from heaven's great wonders out ; THE RAINBOW 73 They left the pleasant path below, And, climbing, reached the barren snow ; Some friendly hand may yet again Lead them to where the freshening rain Falls on the pastures, and the flowers Smell sweeter after April showers. And in each varied brilliant hue Show forth the blessing of the dew. Then hope shall fill their hearts again Who see the sunbeam paint the rain. And thoughts may freely upwards rise On that bright arch that mounts the skies. TE DEUM LAUDANT Be near us on the mountain side, Where naught can nourish human pride ; Be near us, Thou, whose law we read In snowy height or humble weed. All speak of Thee, in various tone Their voices hail Thee God alone. " Awake, awake ! " cries the glad leap Of torrent roused from icy sleep. " I wake, I wake ! " my soul replies. And with fresh hope I lift my eyes. " Shake off thy cares," the mountain calls As thundering down the snowdrift falls. TE DEUM LAUDANT 75 Then chill despair I fling away, For beams of love upon me play. " New life, new joy, in coming hours," Whisper to me the opening flowers. They teach me, this is highest praise Life sweet and pure which law obeys. Truly, O Lord, Thou art not far From mountain top where nought doth mar The tokens of Thy gracious touch. The voice of men is overmuch Our ears within ; a silent time We need to hear a higher chime. TOGETHER God's world is very wide, And two may, side by side, Up the steep moorland climbing, While valley bells are chiming, Each view a different scene. Still holding loving hands, One sees the wide corn-lands And those that reap and glean. While, looking towards the sky, One sees the wild birds fly, Driven by strange unrest They wheel and leave the nest. TOGETHER 77 Then south unerring hie. o Her sight is bounded low, While Jiis doth wandering go To join that winged band. His eye would fain pierce through The cloudy sky, to view That far-off unknown land. But oft their eyes will meet In love that doth complete Delight still new though old ; With hands firm-clasped they turn, And each from each shall learn New visions to behold. TO A BLIND FRIEND Dear silent eyes that never can convey The inmost thought, the deepest, truest feeling, Like daisies closed upon some stormy day, Their wealth of gold from passers by concealing. Bid now thy lips fulfil a double task, Smile oftener, since they fain must smile alone. And when some answering look we vainly ask. Give words whose sweetness shall at once atone. THE WOUNDED BIRD Found in our pathway, just a bird's wing, Cruelly wounded, how can he sing ? How can he soar ? Maimed evermore. Poor little bird — there's many a soul Maimed on this earth, never is whole. Never can raise Her anthem of praise. Shall we meet ever, poor little bird ? Is there a land where yet may be heard Those who restrain Their voice in dumb pain ? PEGLI QiLCB mine abibis in loca ? Morning after morning, in the bright ItaHan spring, I heard the steady hammers of the busy ship- wrights ring. And plank to plank was added till ribs no longer gaped, And slowly grew the marvel — a ship was being shaped. Morning after morning, till there came at last a day When waves were softly plashing, but the ship was far away. PEGLI 8i 'Twas in the early twilight the ropes were cut, and swift Her strange new life she entered, and buoyant waves uplift. And carry her afar on old Columbus' track. Ah ! who are we to hinder or wish to call her back ? JVe cling to earth so blindly, but s/ie sees lands unknown, Her sails are wings to bear her ; but we are left alone, Morning after morning, on that fair Italian shore. To watch the shipwrights working, and wonder evermore. G TO NINA (IN JUNE) 'TiS summer time, the year's at noon In this bright leafy month of June, But spring, I see, methinks its grace I read in this fair maiden's face, So pure, so fresh, with Hmpid eyes As brown and clear as streams that rise In northern glens ; her locks have caught The ruddy hue of pine-stems sought By merry squirrels in their play. O, what recalls sweet spring to-day As this smooth brow with thoughts untold. TO NINA (in JUNE) 83 Which later days shall all unfold, As these soft lips not yet compressed With hidden griefs ? Her heart, at rest, Is like a quiet pool at dawn ; She is in her shy grace a fawn, Unstartled yet by stranger's gaze It greets the world with glad amaze. We who have felt life's dust and heat Are quick this breathing Spring to greet ; As travellers tread with joy the grass, With eyes refreshed we onward pass. IN AN ALBUM This page is white, But must be read, What thought of mine shall stain it ? It must be wise, Or yield surprise, Or borrow light By others shed, And if not wisdom- — -feign it ! LAW IS THEIR MASTER Herodotus Up to the sky, down to the earth, The sails of the windmill go round, Dark days of sorrow, bright days of mirth, — While the wind blows corn will be ground. Up to the sky, higher and higher, Blown by each gust, hither and thither, Poor paper kite, fain wouldst aspire ? Aimless as leaves fly when they wither. 86 LAW IS THEIR MASTER Steadily onward wheels travel round, Hasteless, restless, bearing their load ; See the boy's hoop start with a bound, Slacken, fall, lie spent in the road. Brightly the comet flames in the sky, — Sailor, this is no guiding star ; Look to the Pole, thy compass eye : So shalt thou reach the land that is far. THE LIGHTHOUSE, BIARRITZ No home of pleasure or dear household days, But a bleak tower whose single beauty lies In the bright flame piercing the murky skies And lighting far-off seamen on their ways. Shaken by rain or storm that madly plays About the rough-hewn stones ; where breakers rise And toss their foaming crests, as horse that hies To the far goal, or shaggy hound that bays At castle gate and would an entrance win. There are a few such brave beleaguered souls Who bear a beacon light, and hear the din Of a great strife below, and the winds oft Would ruthless beat them down, but the wave rolls And breaks, — leaving their steadfast flame aloft. DARKNESS AND LIGHT Day closed me in with blinding glare, or sight Of careful trifles : welcome, hand of night That opens wide the door and lets in space ; A part I'm now of great creation's whole, Learning from stars my future path to trace, Trusting to heavenly lights to lead my soul ; For in the darkest hour, while men sleep, They know the watchers shine above to keep The powers of ill aloof, but garish day Brings back the fight 'twixt good and ill alway ; And as the sunbeams light up earth once more. The hand that opened closes now the door. ■ ONE IS TAKEN AND THE OTHER LEFT Sadly you left ere the play was o'er, Ah ! but you missed the noise and the crush, I And the dull drop-scene where just before All was action, and now a hush Of the actor's voice and music's thrill ; You left the scene, 'twas so gay and bright, But tt'^ — wc stayed, and we had our fill, — And the lamps went out, and all was night. THE BLIND MAN " Lord, in Thy anteroom I linger long, Saying, ' He surely will appear at last,' Now runs a whisper through the crowd, among Sad weary hearts, ' The audience hour is past.' 'Tis hard to wait when hope's support is gone." Thus spake one blind, nor saw the gleams of light That told the presence of the Holy One A little while now hidden from our sight, A door stands open that each sigh and prayer. Each note of cheerful praise and thankful cry. May reach the Master's ear ; with sightless stare The blind man lifts his voice nor hears reply. THE BLIND MAN 91 But one beside him pitying cried, Alas ! How hard to hope, no beam of light is thine, Thou seest no tokens of His presence pass, No ray through thy dark thoughts can haply shine ; Yet have I heard such eyes may open wide At His command. " I wait," the blind replied. THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER Lament on moving to an Attic In my chamber below The soft shadows play, Which the apple boughs throw At the dawn of the day. Many hopes and bright fancies I cherished while there, And the shadow still dances To leaves in the air. THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER 93 But another may twine, With shadows that pla}', Joyous fancies once mine As dreaming I la}\ Another shall waken And watch them at play, My shadows forsaken That once were so gay. They told me how brightly, Without in the sun, The summer wind lightly His task had begun. That branches were rocking And lulling their leaves. While cool shadow mocking Like Echo deceives. 94 THE FORSAKEN CHAMBER When moonbeams were glancing, They waved in her light, Like fairy folk dancing On Midsummer night. But no bough reacheth here Playful shadows to throw. And I shed once a tear For my chamber below. THE VISION AND THE THORN Heaven opened once before th' Apostle's eyes ; " One vision only," he impatient cries, And asks for more, and blinded goes forlorn. And Christ the answer gave, " Not so, the thorn Must often prick thee, lest thou e'er forget A crown of thorns upon My brow was set." Once in a while heaven opens, and the seer A glory sees, a voice is in his ear. Then all is gone, and clouded o'er the morn, And he, whose lot it was to see, a thorn Henceforth shall prick him, lest in careless ease He lose the vision and the blessing cease. 96 THE VISION AND THE THORN For day by day th' Apostle toiled and taught, O'er Greece and Asia roamed, and bravely fought His Christian fight, and many now his word To Christlike life and noble thoughts has stirred, A life at ease ? Ah, no ! — One vision bright, The frequent thorn, both, through the darkest night, Both urge him on, until the dawn through gloom Shall break, and brier bursteth forth in bloom. TIME AND DEATH There are some old-world spots I know where Time, A gray old man, still wields his scythe, and where He dares to stop and whet the blunted steel — A garden trim, a church close by, whose chime Is sweet to hear, no taint of smoky air, No hum of city noise, we scarcely feel Time's presence or his work, until grim Deatli Arrests his step, and in low accents saith, " Take up the spade and dig a bed full deep ;" The darkness falls, the gray old man is gone, And Death and I as comrades left alone ; Ah ! is it Death, or only kindly Sleep ? II ON THE DEATH OF THE EMPEROR FREDERICK Not only on the battle-field With wonted courage thou didst wield Thy sword of might, When cruel sickness laid thee low, Another weapon thou couldst show In thy last fight. For, though 'tis Death that wins, some say, We cannot reckon thee to-day Weak and discrowned ; Thou hast but left this lower sphere, ON THE DEATH OF THE EMPEROR FREDERICK 99 Death cannot follow ; he is here, But thou hast found A vantage spot he cannot tread, Thy valiant spirit, upwards led, Gives Death defeat. Three months of power and of pain, And we may grieve thy life, thy reign, Not here complete ; Thy eagle soul has soared above These lower plains where Death can rove ; Thou hast a name, Glorious among the warriors bold, The heroes of the days of old Thy kinship claim. EPITArH ON GENERAL GORDON Where lies our hero ? not as kings of old In Egypt lie, embalmed with pious care ; No pyramid be raised his bones to hold ; He needeth none, but resteth where No change can come, our hearts shall be his tomb, — Lie there, brave Gordon, while we weep thy doom. THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS The holiday time has come, But the boys where are they now ? The boys who made the home So bright 'mid frost and snow. The holiday time — 'tis years Since I counted the short'ning days, Then hark ! for the ringing cheers Their boyish voices raise. But, the boys are gone : one wed, A man who is full of care. The other, ah ! he is dead — And winter days are bare. 102 THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS Yet Christmas joy is meet, Though the holidays never come With the boys we loved to greet And bid them welcome home. THE QUAKER'S GRAVE Burton, Cheshire A LITTLE village with a church above, A church whose Founder's name was surely love, And yet within its pale no place was found For this one grave, this green and silent mound. 'Tis in a wood, and oft my rambles led Me past the spot where lies the quiet dead ; I was a child, knew naught of party strife, Nor all the discords which distract our life. Yet felt how strange it was to shut out one Whose life a pure and gentle stream had run. It seemed a grave where birds would love to sing, And green leaf-shadows dance in breezy spring. 104 THE QUAKER'S GRAVE Not lonely, for the path runs close that wends Still upwards till the wood in moorland ends ; There the gaunt mill spreads out its whirring sails To catch each wind that moans around and wails, Here Peace herself has come, and where she trod Rest, silent worshipper, thou Friend of God. ACROSS THE DEE Lift me, brother, into the swing ; The hedge is high, I cannot see The blue Welsh hills where harpers sing Across the swiftly flowing Dee. I have a harp, the strings are dumb To other ears, but not to me ; I'll sing until the sound shall come From old Welsh harps across the Dee. Lift me, brother, and swing mc high Above the hedge that I may see The blue Welsh hills and sunset sky. Across the swiftly flowing Dee. io6 ACROSS THE DEE I cleave the air as bird on wing, Blue hills and golden clouds I see, And music floats — swing, brother, swing, I hear Welsh harps across the Dee. MEMORIES The water laps upon the sandy shore, Beneath the oak-tree roots the rabbits play While summer's dusk is slowly creeping o'er The shining mere, the woods that fringe the bay. I know each flower that blooms upon that shore, The arrowhead, the purple loosestrife tall, And lowly centaury's pink star, while o'er The lesser herbs the fragrant brackens fall. Time robs me not, for when I close my eyes The old familiar scenes come back again, My mind is fuller and perchance more wise, The years now gone not wholl}- passed in vain ; Yet something lost of childhood's sweet surprise Brings back old days with mingled jo}' and pain. TATTOX MERE At dawn I passed beside a silent mere, So still, so smooth, it mirrored calmly here Its own green banks, the heavens, the passing cloud. And some gray willow with its branches bowed. The day was closing ere I passed again, The north wind blew a fierce and angry strain ; The cry of wild geese sailing o'er the wood, The plash of wavelets reached me as I stood, The rushes bent and rustled in my ear, How quickly changed the lovely placid mere ; Yet not unwelcome are the signs of strife, The rushing wind, the scream of birds, for life TATTON MERE 109 Is here that slept, but now with stir and strength No more with passive heart receives, at length Knows the new joy of motion, voice, and gives To man the sympathy of all that lives. THE DESERTED ROOM I CALL beneath the window The old famihar name, The boughs wave green before it, And all seems just the same. I call a little louder, The window's open wide. And soft white curtains flutt'ring Bring visions of the bride. I call, but none doth answer, Till rain begins to beat, And trickle down the window Like tears for one so sweet. THE DESERTED ROOM iii The twilight lingers sadly, As knowing that the gloom Must soon make dark and cheerless The once bright happy room. I wander through the garden, And daisies that I pressed Beneath my feet then whispered, " We know where she doth rest." THE PRISONER Fret not, poor bird, because thou caged art, Because of this wide world so small a part Is known to thee. Sing, sing the louder, that thy song may reach The hearts of many, and they whisper each, " He sings to me." Thou canst not fly abroad and choose thy mate, Thou must be patient, till some happy fate Bring her to thee. THE PRISONER ir Thou art a prisoner, but thy song can soar ; Sing, sing the clearer, love will fly before. For love is free. The cloistered nun who sits in narrow cell, Sending her soul in heaven afar to dwell, May show thee how Within a cage to spread thy wings and love. Sing, sing the sweeter, sing and soar above, No prisoner now. THE SHIP " There lies a ship, whose masts are black, At anchor in the bay, She only waits a favouring wind To bear me far away." Thus spake my friend, the while we paced At eve the shell-strewn shore, Across the sea he looked as one Who dreads the billows' roar. As one who fain would find a path Where other ships had sailed ; But the great waves rolled ever on. And clouds the distance veiled. THE SHIP 115 Then turning pressed my hand, " What hour Who wots that wind may blow, How soon these well-known cliffs shall fade, As sinks the sun below ? And you and I may never tread Again these well-loved sands ; " " But we shall meet," I cried, " although It be in distant lands." Each to our several homes we went, While the soft twilight gray Grew deeper till at last it hid The dark ship in the bay. • • • • • The summer night soon yields to dawn, I woke, — white sails at sea, The black masts gone, but where ? — " Come back, white sails, for me." "WHEN LITTLE FOLK GROW BIGGER Translated from the Dutch of Dr. Beets When little folk grow bigger, Ah ! then, my love, my life, Then, after times of trouble, A time of rest, dear wife. My hair may then be grizzled, Your forehead show some lines, But if the heart keep young, love. How little bode those signs. Four daughters, and three boys now, They keep the house alive. The youngest counts but two years. The eldest, three times five. 'WHEN LITTLE FOLK GROW BIGGER' 117 How much by day their tending On mother's hands is thrown, Through night hours, too, you're brooding. Until they be upgrown. For friends you've httle leisure, 'Tis spent on girls and boys. Some work, or word of kindness, Each passing hour employs. Your pencil now is idle. Your books you read no more ; When little folk grow older You'll study as of yore. Our bridal journey, dearest, Was but a little way. The parsonage — no farther. And there your footsteps stay. Not yet have we two travelled Together far from home. Ii8 ' WHEN LITTLE FOLK GROW BIGGER When little folk grow bigger We'll then together roam. I only half enjoy them, These journeys far and wide ; My heart goes back to you, dear, My thoughts with you abide. I pluck in haste each pleasure, Thank God I'm home again ; When little folk grow bigger We'll go together then. When little folk grow bigger, (No doubting look or fear, Your smile is full of sadness, I almost see a tear). When little folk grow bigger, (They're full of health and life) Our golden age will follow, My own, my dearest wife. 'WHEN LITTLE FOLK GROW BIGGER' 119 The children gather round us, The years are speeding fast ; Yet not complete our number, Another, see, at last. My fourth dear son, we greet you. You've come in joyous days. You'll soon be growing bigger And learn to give God praise. Nay, never fear, your mother Will welcome you with joy, She's nursed so many children, She'll nurse another boy. ■ • • • Ah, me ! Dear life, swift vanished, Dear life we could not save, The children will grow older, But by their mother's grave. THE WINDS Blow, fresh west wind, I love thee well, The spray is driving on the shore, Soft foam-balls float, and many a shell Is strewn where all was sand before. Blow, soft south wind, and bring the scent Of gorse and thyme, all odours sweet. And bring white clouds with shadows lent To temper all the summer heat. Blow, cold north wind, for not unkind I'll call thee on this autumn day ; Let fly the chaff, but leave behind The grain thou whirlest in thy play. THE WINDS 121 Blow, winter wind, and drive the snow. And make the hearth more bright and clear, There's not a wind that may not blow While those I love are round me here. SPRING When Spring awakes, she lightly shakes The hoar frost from her mantle green, And bids the showers with richest dowers Embellish all the woodland scene. 'Neath her caresses trees their tresses Loosen to float before the wind ; 'Mid thickest bushes warbling thrushes Now build their nests so softly lined. Spring's here again, I'll banish pain. And cares which weighed me down too long, Winter is o'er, I'll singing soar Above the noisy busy throng. SPRING 12: Spring opes her eyes, stern winter flies With all his rough and stormy crew, Soft zephyrs blow, green rushes grow, And gladly wave him their adieu. What sweeter time, the year's first prime. When Age in Nature's youth grows young. The earth, a child, is fair and mild As when the ancient poets sung. LET GO Let go the rope and cross the bar, On crested billows bravely ride, Frail skiffs may shun the port afar, Good ship in harbour ne'er would bide. Let go the rope and slowly rise Earth-gazers, with your floating ball. Horizons widen, ye are wise. Forsaking earth ye see her all. Let go, let go, sweetbriers cling And strive to hinder steps that climb, Ye thoughtless ones push on and fling The roses back, nor lose your time. LET GO 125 Let go, dear child, your toys and check Your merry game, run on to where Your mother calls, and round her neck Fling loving arms, — your treasure's there. Let go, let go, could we but be Children neglecting fragile toys, Sailors forsaking land for sea, Travellers whom no vain lure decoys, — Let go the chain of lower jo}'s, And let the higher soul soar free. CHRISTMAS IN ROME" From Paul Hcysc. No tree with tapers lit, no Christmas joy, We sit alone in silence, side by side, And wherefore ? — Each one knows, yet each will hide ; Three little graves afar our thoughts employ, This feast for us is silent ; childish toy. Nor Christmas bells, nor mirth with us abide. For ever round our hearth there seems to glide The pale sad semblance of each darling boy. * CHRISTMAS IN ROME ' 127 Ah well ! Although we oft must quail and shrink, And quaff in haste the bitter cup of pain, One bitt'rer still might yet be ours to drink. And this our very life blood's fount would drain. And life itself would ebb if 'tween us twain, True hearts fast bound, once broken were the link. II I'd many talents in the olden days. Could cut out tinsel stars and tapers light, And when the Christmas-tree was sparkling bright Would ring the eager watchers in to gaze. The well-built fortress I could boldly raze "With leaden soldiers marching, after fight Store of sweet ammunition bring to sight From bomb-proof bastions, spreading glad amaze. I had a comrade then, I loved him well, As were he part of me, how groat a part ! 128 ' CHRISTMAS IN ROME ' In many wars we fought, my gallant boy, He'll never hear again the Christmas bell. Nor rush to me with full and merry heart, Clapping his little hands with childish joy. Ill Yet we to Christmas feast, we too were bid, Not the green northern fir decked out, with light, An avenue of cypress, black as night, Below the silent Cestius pyramid. Slowly we wandered there the tombs amid. And read the long-forgotten names ; in fight They too were wounded and have passed from sight. And the kind mother-earth their wounds has hid. Far, far above the misty blue appears The Capitol's calm giant head, grown gray Watching the generations rise and fall. * CHRISTMAS IN ROME ' 129 You plucked two violets from a grave, and tears Burst from your eyes, list'ning, while loud and gay The birds were singing on the garden wall. Printed by R. it K. Clakk, Ediidiut-gh UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-32m-8,'58(5876s4)444 PR Tollemache - S%9 Engelberg UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FA AA 000 461 083 PR SSk9 T2l|le