THE REPENTANCE OF .p^. MAGDALEN 6 UESPAR Hi ' ggsepss '' ':''- I GILMOUR'S BOOKSHOPS PTY. LTD. (NEAR MICK SIMMONS LTD.) 708 GEORGE ST. SYDNEY. ' CoTO^WL THE REPENTANCE MAGDALENE DESPAR TOEtMS. G. ESSEX EVANS. SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, LIMITED ST. DUNSTAN'S HOUSE, FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET. 1891. [All rights rescn-cd.] V. - DEDIC/TIOfJ. |tn Jftemoriam : J&. January, 22, 1890. Beyond the deepening shadows of Death's night God giveth perfect light ; When earthly love and light no more can shine He giveth love divine ; And on the weary heart, where sorrows cease, He sets His seal of Peace. II. His Rest is sure, His Love is strong and deep. Why should we weep For those who, in the silence gently stirred, His Angel's voice have heard, And following, passed, led by a tender hand Into the Unknown Land ? 1440887 CONTENTS. PAGE THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR ... ... 7 THE BLACK KNIGHT JOHN RAEBURN AN ECHO EVENING: A FRAGMENT ODE ON THE JUBILEE ... ALONE MV LITTLE SWEETHEART THE RIVER OF DEATH LOVE AND AMBITION ... A MEDLEY FREDERICK III. A FEDERAL SONG ORPHEUS TO EURYDICE ODE ON THE AUSTRALIAN CENTENARY ... MARY MAGDALEN!; ... THE BAR IMMUTABLE ... RETROSPECTION ... ... ... ... ... IN THE BIG WARD ... ... ... ... IN MEMORIAM : "TO VIOLA" ... ... ... DEATH ... ... ... ... ... 6 CONTENTS. PAGE THREE YEARS AGO ... ... ... ... ... 92 TO NINA ... ... ... ... ... 94 ON THE DEATH OF LONGFELLOW ... ... ... 96 CHRISTMAS POEMS ... ... ... ... 97 TO BRENDA SLEEPING ... ... ... ... IO2 LANCELOT ... ... ... ... ... 103 LOVE AND FAME ... ... ... ... ... 104 THE SINGER ... ... ... ... ... IO7 DISCONTENT ... ... ... ... ... IO9 VALE ... ... ... ... ... ... 112 AUSTRALIA MILITANT ... ... ... ... 114 THE SHEPHERD'S LAST SLEEP ... ... ... 115 SUBMISSION ... ... ... ... ... 116 MARION RAYNE ... ... ... ... 117 SAILING ... ... ... ... ... ... 119 YOU AND I ... ... ... ... ... 120 THE CHURCHYARD OF THE SEA ... ... ... 121 LOVE'S AMBUSH ... ... ... ... 122 LOVE'S CONQUEST ... ... ... ... ... 123 A JINGLE FOR MUSIC ... ... ... ... 132 THE RUSSIAN ADVANCE ... ... ... ... 133 TO THE AUTHOR OF " MORN A LEE" ... ... 134 THE SPIRIT OF NATURE ... ... ... ... 135 THE LAND OF SHADOWS ... ... ... 136 LOVE ... ... ... ... ... ... 138 "ANIMUS NON MORTALIS EST"... ... ... 139 WAR ... ... ... ... ... ... 140 TO THE NEW YEAR ... ... ... ... 143 THE SORREL MARE... ... ... ... ... 144 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENfe DESPAR. PART I. i. " O THE richness of Morn ! O the freshness of Spring ! When the heart is upborne as a bird on the wing ; When the fire in the hearts of the poets bursts forth in the songs that they sing ; " In the depths of my heart when my girlhood was young I have felt myself part of the songs that they sung, Of words that were mingled with music in measures that trembled and swung ; "When I dreamt that the world was made only for me The white waves that curled on the shores of the sea The myst'ry of Nature the breath of the Spirit that broods over forest and lea. u In the midst of the wild as a wild-flower I grew With the heart of a child that was tender and true In the calm of seclusion unbroken where pleasures were simple and few. 8 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. " I can see my home still, the wide view it com- mands From the crest of the hill where the head-station stands O'erlooking the waste of blue waters that circle the shim- mering sands. " In the bright bygone hours never shadowed by care, In a garden of flowers where the roses were fair, They held me the Queen of the Roses the purest and stateliest there. " Not till then had I known that I wore on my face As a light that is thrown from a heavenly place The jewel of beauty, impearled on my brow, the sign- manual of fairness and grace. " Tho' I knew not of love, of the radiance that gleams As a light from above, as the glint of bright beams That colour the grayness of Life with the richness and beauty of dreams ; " Yet I formed an ideal of the fancies that start, Of whispers that steal from the depths of the heart, And I mused o'er a love that was deathless, that sorrow and pain could not part." THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. g ll. " In the youth of the year When Winter is dead and the strength of her reign has been broken, When Nature has donned the soft colours of Spring as a token, And hearts that were weary are filled with a gladness unspoken That Spring-time is here ; "When on forest and plain Rich hues lie unsullied, reborn in their brightness and splendour, In dark-green and emerald, carmine and azure, tints subtle and tender, Fresh from the hand of the Artist Immortal, the touch of the Sender Who paints them again ; " When solitudes teem With the life and the glory with which all existence is glowing, When laden with music and rich with perfume the slow zephyrs are blowing, When Spring waxing strong with the strength of young days into Summer is growing, I woke from my dream. " And, waking, I passed From the dreaming of visions whose influence held me and bound me To the light of a faith and the strength of a love that will ever be round me, For here, on the desolate station, the Fate that I dreamt of had found me Had found me at last ! io THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. " Not the hero and lord Of the castles I built in the hours of an indolent leisure, Not the youth in the flush of his prime seeking beauty and pleasure, Whose heart was afire with high hope and a love without measure For her he adored. " Not such was the man To whom I had given the best gift that a woman possesses, The faith of a heart yet untouched when her soft voice confesses The passionate sweetness of Love with its sighs and caresses Giving all that she can. u The autumn of life Had silvered the locks once as dark as the wing of the raven, Had tempered the passions that oft make a strong spirit craven, And Time's rugged ploughshare on face and on brow had engraven The scars of the strife. " In his eyes Love still sees That light that in sorrow or trouble burns brighter and clearer From the soul of a strong man and just, to whom honour is dearer Than wealth or high fame or soft ties that are firmer and nearer And better than these. THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. H " Why need be retold What is old as the Earth is, but still in its passion and yearning Is new, ever new, with its longings, hopes, fears, and heart-burning, Is new, ever new, to the heart that its soft creed is learning The new tale that is old ? " O light was ray heart When the bells from the church on my marriage morn gaily were pealing, And we on the steps of God's altar together were kneeling And uttered our vows before Him who our compact was sealing Till Death did us part. " Ah ! Why had they said Not age with gray hairs and grave face for bright youth was created, Only Youth in the glow of Life's morning with Youth should be mated ? Ah ! Why do those words haunt me now in these days evil-fated When I would I were dead ? " in. " Life is like a mighty river rolling onward to the sea, Past low meadows, rocky headlands, still it flows un- ceasingly, Swerves in curves, and flows in stretches, ever varying its force As the banks contract or broaden in the channels of its course. 12 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. But to all who sail its waters comes a time when Fate may glide Slowly, calmly, gently onwards with the ripples of its tide ; So to me ere yet I dreamt of aught of sorrow, shame, or ill, Came a time of sweet contentment when my days were pure and still. " Four long years we lived together on the station by the sea, Far from that old well-loved homestead which had been the world to me ; Here no belts of yellow sandbanks form a stretch of shimm'ring strand, But the beetling crags and headlands rise abrupt on either hand ; And for gentle ripples falling with slow music on the shore, Wild and high above the storm wind you may hear the breakers roar. Four long years in cloud and sunshine lived we on this rugged coast, Where the cries of wand'ring sea-birds seem the wailings of a ghost ; Where on winter eves at midnight bursts the giant hurri- cane, Shakes the four walls of the station till the timbers start again. " Four long years in cloud and sunshine lived we by the restless sea, Where each day was as another in its calm monotony ; But my heart was changing slowly, and I felt with secret pain Friendship take the place of Love where only Love itself should reign. THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. 13 Was it only woman's fancy made me think him cold, austere Till I felt the love I bore him tempered with an unknown fear ? Was it that my heart rebellious scorned that grave and courteous air, Longing for a wilder spirit with more fire to do and dare ? Wrapt in cares of which he spoke not, tho' his smile was kind and mild I, a wife, with woman's longings, to be treated as a child ! So I nursed my wrongs in silence, musing o'er my wounded pride, Till a barrier grew between us whom no barrier should divide. Often in those days I fancied I could hear those words of truth ' Youth, not age with fifty winters, should be wedded unto youth.' " Three long years in cloud and sunshine we had watched our darling grow Like a flower upon the mountain, bright as light, and pure as snow ; Only one was mine to cherish, but a fairy full of grace, In whose laughing eyes and features once again I saw my face ; All the love and all the yearning in a heart as wild as mine, All my hopes and my ambition centred in this gift divine. Where to southward of the station lies a little sanded bay, Bringing back to me the memory of a careless childhood's day, Here at times I oft would linger with the child in early spring, Dreaming of the Unknown Future, wond'ring what the years would bring. 14 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. u Was it that a curse from Heaven lingered over mine and me ? Oft methought I heard God's anger in the moaning of the sea ; For the child I loved so dearly, the sole solace of my pride, Like a flower before the storm blast sickened in the Spring and died. And we laid her in her beauty on the cliffs beside the bay, Where so oft at morn and evening I had watched her careless play. On the dark and pine-crowned mountain lies her lonely little grave, And for dirge we heard the sea-wind and the beating of the wave. " Then for days I lay in fever, shrieking with fierce voice and wild ; Cursing God and cursing Nature for the deathbed of my child. And beneath its weight of sorrow slowly my proud spirit sank, Till at last my senses left me and my life became a blank. "Weak and ill at last I wakened from that dark and dismal night, But the world seemed changed around me and the sunshine lost its light ; And the Springs of Hope were withered, and love's flame had ceased to burn, And I knew a power had left me that would never more return." THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE, DESPAR. 15 PART II. i. " Changed I was, my love grown colder, vivid fancies thronged my brain, Forms and faces hovered round me, and I turned from them in vain ; And a madness fired my spirit till I could not bear the place Haunted by the tender memory of one little childish face. " So at last we sold the station, left that wild and rugged shore, Changed the calm of Nature's fastness for the busy city's roar. For the. years had made us wealthy, richer far than those we met, And I longed for some excitement that would teach me to forget. " In those days of calm seclusion I had thought not of the worth Of the royal gift of beauty Nature gave me at my birth. Then a girl unformed and simple, now a woman 'midst my peers, And my mirror showed my beauty had but ripened with the years. What to woman were gold tresses, Grecian face, imperial form, But to hold mankind in bondage and to take the world by storm ? " Statelier than all women round me, with an air of careless pride Little cared I for their hatred with men thronging to my side. 1 6 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. Still my husband, ever with me, spoke no word and made no sign That he knew the gulf was widening fast between his life and mine. So I plunged into the vortex of a wild and reckless set, Ever seeking fresh excitement that would teach me to forget. " Was it only sorrow drove me to those scenes with folly rife? Or the thought of something missing in the lottery of life? Often came again the memories of a better, purer day, When at morn from heated ballrooms swift our carriage rolled away. Who shall read a Avoman's secret ? or divine what women think ? One kind word perchance had saved me when I trembled on the brink, But his coldness numbed my spirit, and I moved unto my fate, Love first changing into friendship, friendship changing into hate. " Well I knew my beauty lingered as a theme on every tongue, And I learnt to love the homage of the men who round me hung, Till the thirst for admiration at last became a daily need Ah ! what misery in the sowing of that single deadly seed ! Fatal is the gift of beauty to a woman weak and proud ; Better far for her the features of the homeliest in the crowd. THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. 17 Drinking of the wine of flattery till its fumes had turned my brain, Thinking only of the worship of the fools who thronged my train, Conquest but succeeded conquest when all bowed beneath my spell, Till in all the pride and splendour of my vanity 1 fell." n. " O, fain would I hide Myself and my shame in the depths of the fathomless sea, Beneath storm, beyond calm, where no echoes of past days can be ; In a tomb deep and wide Where wrapt in a mantle of darkness and peace I might slumber afar From the noise of a world where the voices of Sorrow and Memory are. " Hope ! Is there hope ? Ah ! the hope that shall shine in the gloom of the Valley of Death ; Yea ! E'en 'neath the wings of dark Azrael, the chill of his breath ; What courage can cope With Fate when repentance avails not, tho' tears may have fallen like rain ? Can the rose that is soiled in the dust of the way its lost beauty regain ? " Peace ! Is there Peace ? Ah ! the peace that is hers whom no woman forgets or forgives ! The stigma of shame that no penitence ever outlives ! For her shall not cease 2 1 8 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. The frost of contempt and keen words and the stings of the arrows of scorn. Ah ! better for her who shall fall in her pride had she never been born ! " Light ! Is there light In the deepening of shadows gigantic that gather and roll- In the veils of black darkness o'erwhelming the shudder- ing soul Like wings of the night ? Not from man, not from woman, comes mercy to those who shame's pathway have trod. Hope, Peace, Light, alone can be found in the infinite mercy of God. " O pitiless fate ! O frailty of woman ! that heeds not tho' danger be clear, That stifles the voices of warning, refusing to hear That hears when too late ! Canst thou cleanse the soiled lily of honour by pain and remorse of long years, Tho' thou cherish its life with thine anguish and water its petals with tears ? " O for pow'r to forget When Mem'ry is madness, and thought as the stabbing of swords, When the sneer of contempt and the lingering sting of his words Are haunting me yet ! ' I have torn thy false face from my heart, thou art nothing to me save a name, And o'er thee shall linger for ever the horror and curse of thy shame.' . THE REPEXTAXCE OF MAGDALEXE DESPAR. 19 " Ah ! where shall I find Some refuge of darkness, some cave of oblivion, deep- hidden, serene, Where hushed are the voices of Mem'ry and shades of the past are unseen, Where the senses grow blind 'Neath the spell of a peace that is brooding supreme o'er an echoless shore, And the dreams of dead hopes and lost honour shall reach me and haunt me no more ? " ill. " How weary the years To the heart that is reckless of aught that the future may bring ! That heeds not the glory of summer, the freshness of spring ; When sorrow and tears And the sharp aching throb of remorse burn fiercely like fire in the brain, And only the ghosts of past days and the shadow of evil remain. " I have learnt he is dead ; Nor ever again shall I list to that voice once so tender and true Nor ever again shall I see that strong face which no fear could subdue. I have learnt he is dead ; He has fallen enthroned with the brave in their glory, yet scorning to yield or to flee, But breathing no word of forgiveness and leaving no message for me. 20 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. u I have learnt that he fell 'Midst the storm of the battle that raged far away on the hot blinding sand, Serving unknown in the regiment where once he had held a command ; And the sound of his knell Was the thunder of cannon, the rattle of bullets swift hissing like rain, And his shroud was the flag he defended his bier was a mound of the slain. " Methought that I woke 'Midst the combat, and saw the blue gleaming of steel bristling bare ; But haggard and white were the faces that manned the four sides of the square ; Then came the long stroke Of galloping hoofs shaking earth in their thunder, and peal upon peal, Then the crash and recoil of the squadrons that reeled from those walls of blue steel. " 'Midst murderous rain, The square closing up, filling gaps made by dying and dead, Returning with volleys defiant each death-dealing chal- lenge of lead ; Then sounded again The rush of wild steeds, and the redd'ning of sabres, the loud grinding shock, Where alone 'midst the waves of the battle those heroes stood firm as a rock. THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. 21 " Ah ! I saw him still there, Unmoved 'midst the gleaming of sword play, the can- non's deep roar, In one hand the flag that he guarded, in one the long sabre he wore ; His thin silver hair Streamed wild in the breath of the battle, and full on his resolute face Was the glow and the light of a spirit that yields not, but dies in its place. u But it was not to last, For swift the dark squadrons had rallied the square was a handful of men, And the strength of the foe unto theirs was e'en greater than sixty to ten ; Till, wild as the blast, One desperate charge overwhelmed them, yet dying they scorned still to yield, And fighting they fell at their posts every man but mown down like the grass of the field. "My heart is as stone, But the tears of my grief will not flow tho' I would I could weep For the mem'ry of Love that was tender and faith that my folly held cheap, Ah ! too late we own, With tones of self scorn and upbraiding and pangs of unquenchable pain That we know not the worth of a heart till we lose it and seek it in vain. 22 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. " Perchance it is best ; I have wronged him in thought and in deed by a wrong that no tears can repair. Ah ! would it were /and not he who was lying in majesty there ! He has found a last rest, He has fallen enthroned with the brave in their glory, yet scorning to yield or to flee But breathing no word of forgiveness and leaving no message for me. " O desolate years ! I am weary and stricken, and fain would I lay me at peace Where the roar of the noise of the world and its follies and vanities cease, Its hopes and its fears. Yet one thing remains to a spirit as saddened and hope- less as I, To seek the old home where my darling is sleeping and look on her grave ere I die." PART III. Night has come ; o'er vale and mountain fast her sable robes are sweeping, Fainter wanes the dying sunlight ling'ring slow by shore and lea, Not a whisper mars the silence round the spot where she is sleeping Save the murmur of the breezes and the music of the sea. THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. 23 With melodious sound and nearer beat the waves with ceaseless motion, Beat the waves in measured cadence falling on the rocky strand, And the low wind sighs responsive to the rhythm of the ocean Like the song of some sweet singer echoing thro' a dreary land. All th' immeasurable ether gleams and glows with light supernal, Glitt'ring points of red and crystal, trembling bars of silver white, Watchfires where the armed angels guard the throne of the Eternal, Outposts of a host unnumbered, scattered through the Infinite. 'Tis the grave ; no urn of marble crowns the site with classic splendour, On the headstone gray and rugged hangs a single faded wreath, Wild flowers round it and above it emblems of the pure and tender None are half so sweet and spotless as the flower that lies beneath. Here, where Peace on wings majestic rules the Night as her dominion, Watches with her shield of Silence at the grave beside the sod, Dreamlessly the child is sleeping 'neath the shadow of her pinion, Far from passion, toil, and sorrow ; near to Nature and to God. 24 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR, "Tiny blossom that hath faded ere the summer's noon and beauty, Whom an angel's hand hast gathered in the sweetness of the Spring ; Little feet that have not learnt to tread the iron path of Duty, Have not felt the sword of Sorrow, or the bitter shames that sting. " It is better thus, my darling ! Better than a dark to- morrow Where the fruits of Love and Pleasure turn to Passion and Despair, For the joy of Life is lesser than the burthen of its sorrow, And I would that God would lay me in the grave beside you there." ii. " Deeper, wider grows the darkness o'er the forest softly stealing ; Shadowy trees as dim and gloomy as the shadows they have thrown Gird me round with walls Cimmerian as I weep in silence kneeling By the grave that holds within it all that I can call mine own. " What is Life ? A changeful season bright to-day and dark to-morrow ; Say not : ' Those who sow in anguish shall at last in gladness reap.' Rather say : ' The fruits of Folly shall be reaped in pain and sorrow ' Then, the voice that all must answer and the last long dreamless sleep. THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. 25 " Hark ! On pinions swift, untiring, sweeping southward, sweeping shoreward, Over continent and ocean comes the wild wind flying fast, Like a god he conies to conquer from his Kingdom in the Nor 'ward, And a clarion voice is ringing 'Tis the spirit of the blast ! " Hark ! Again that voice, resounding, swells and sinks in trembling motion, Ringing nearer, ringing clearer, like a sweet-toned silver bell, ' Magdalene ! Magdalene ! ' echoing shoreward from the ocean 'Tis my darling's voice that calls me. 'Tis the voice I loved so well. " Not a sound the dark trees stir not. Am I waking ? Am I dreaming ? Silence in the shadowy forest, silence in the wilderness, But in arching blue above me crystal stars are coldly gleaming Like the eyes of those who judge me, cruel, stern, and pitiless. " List ! From utter darkness round me once again that song sonorous, As of those whose souls unfettered soar beyond these prison bars, Comes, with sound of rushing pinions, voices in celestial chorus, Mighty waves of deep-toned music rolling heavenwards to the stars. 26 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. " 'Tis as tho' the skies were sundered and the starry hosts, descending, Bring the joy of the Immortal to a soul in dark despair, 'Till I hear the mystic echo of those voices strangely blending Ling'ring in one trembling note, and dying on the midnight air ! " But one clear voice dies not ever : over mountain, shore, and hollow, ' Magdalene ! Magdalene ! ' ever calling from the sea. 'Tis my darling's voice that calls me, and with trembling steps I follow Whereso'er that voice shall lead me till it lead at last to Thee." in. Mute she sped ; thro' lonely forests on her feeble foot- steps bore her Weird ravines, dim haunted valleys, where the storm sprites range and rave, Till the shelving hills dipt eastward, and she saw at last before her, Wide and far, a pall of darkness on the sleeping summer wave. Till by yellow sands and shingle, dim dark rocks, gaunt cliffs and hoary, Stood the woman pale and weeping, with sad heart and weary feet, And the harvest moon arising smote the heavens with sudden glory, Trembled on the faint horizon where the sky and waters meet, THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. 27 Clothed the misty deep beneath it with a weird and pallid splendour, Shot a ray of stainless silver 'thwart the wave from East to West, Cleft th' empurpled dusk asunder with a radiance white and slender, With a stream that flashed and trembled on the purple ocean's breast Which to weary eyes that watched it seemed a path to Realms Immortal, Seemed a path of light celestial that the angels might have trod, From the shores beyond the Dawning to the verge of Death's dark portal Leading from this vale of shadows to the Majesty of God. Flash the vaulted heights with brilliance, myriad gems that gleam and quiver, And the ocean's shining bosom mirrors clear the jewelled dome ! <( Heaven above and heaven beneath me ; and beyond the silver river Still she calls me . . ' Magdalene ! ' . . Darling I am coming home." Then the clarion voice vibrated over ocean, shore, and hollow " Magdalene ! Magdalene " ever calling from the sea ; And she answered, " I am ready. Onward ! Onward ! I will follow Wheresoe'er thy voice shall lead me till it lead at last to Thee." 28 THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. From her soul she felt the burden of her sorrow slip and sever, As the mists disperse and vanish, fading at the face of Day; All the passion and the fever of the brain were gone for ever All the fierce unrest and longing sank in peace and passed away. IV. " I am bound by a power that is deathless, a yearning divine That draws my soul onward, resistless, my child, unto thine, That lifts my sad heart with a gladness unspoken to thee, Thy voice from the sea. " Lo ! the shame and the shadow of sin that lay dark on my breast They have lifted and vanished as mists from the blue mountain's crest Thro' the silence of death, thro' the gloom and the glory of Night, I shall pass into light. " Thy voice like the sound of sweet melody trembles and falls, Thy voice like the peal of the clarion thrills me and calls Calls me to thee at the gates of High Heaven in the Realms of the Blest And I pass to my rest." THE REPENTANCE OF MAGDALENE DESPAR. 29 And as one who moves and gazes fixed and silent in her dreaming, With a step that did not falter and a heart that did not shrink, Like a goddess in the moonlight, with her fair hair round her gleaming, Passionless, erect, and stately, passed she, slowly, to the brink. With her blue eyes wide and dreamy, golden locks around her clinging, Bride of Death and crowned with beauty fair as hers whose name she bore, Following onward, following ever, where that clarion voice was ringing, Down the calm and silver river passed she, silent, from the shore. Deeper, deeper, grew the waters closing round her and above her, Dimmer grew the dusky shore-line fading faintly in the West, Till the purple star-flushed ocean clasped her to him like a lover, Drew her in his strong embrace, and hid her, sleeping, in his breast. But the Night-breeze blowing shoreward bore a sound o'er vale and hollow, " Magdalene ! Magdalene ! " ever calling from the sea, And the trembling echo answered, " Onward ! Onward ! I will follow Wheresoe'er thy voice shall lead me till it lead at last to Thee." THE BLACK KNIGHT. FIERCE were the feuds on the Borderland When the sword was Law in the days of old, When the world was ruled by the mailed hand, And the might to seize was the right to hold. In the gory tracks of the War God's feet Rapine and Terror came following fast, As each slumbering town and peaceful street Awoke to the sound of the trumpet's blast. Then the day was bright with the glint of arms ; Then the night was red with the fires that leapt From burning hamlets and Avasted farms Where the ruthless floods of invasion swept. From across the Tweed came the clansmen bold, And Northumberland's spearsmen barred the way But an English Earl lay rigid and cold Ere the Borderers fled from that deadly fray. Three years rolled onward, and Time had spread A mantle of peace by the Northern rills ; No trumpet's blast and no martial tread Woke the echoing voice of the slumb'ring hills. THE BLACK KXIGHT. 31 t On the armoury wall hung the tall war-shield. And the good sword rusted within its sheath, And the knights who charged on the battle-field Now followed the chase o'er the purple heath. But again they come ! From across the Tweed Rush the lawless Borderers forth to war ; With gath'ring strength and with stealthy speed They march 'neath the light of the morning star, Till the gleaming line of their battle-van By noonday breaks thro' the leafy wood, And the message speeds onward from man to man : " The castle is girt by the Northern brood ! " Then spreads a tumult of fierce surprise And swords are girded with stern intent As the creaking drawbridge upward flies And the archers rush to the battlement. In the spacious hall of that castle gray Sat the widowed Countess whose noble lord Was slain in the arms of Victory Three summers since by a Northern sword. Ah ! Too well she guessed as she heard the din The dire import of that echoing shout, The tramp of the armoured guard within And the rattle of shafts on the walls without. As she sped from the hall to the ramparts high, Where the faithful ranks of her vassals stood, All hearts beat fast as she passed them by In the pride of her perfect womanhood. 32 THE BLACK KNIGHT. Like a vision of beauty in dreamland born She stood in the midst of those mail-clad knights As a wild flower blooms in the bearded corn, Or a bright star gleams in the misty heights. But white was her cheek as the driven snow Ere its mantle covers the Autumn leaves, And her dark eyes shone with feverish glow As she glanced t'wards the Northern helms and greaves. Then she spake to the Chief of that silent band, Who stood sternly watching the moving foe, While the good swords shone in each knight's right hand, And the shaft on the string of each archer's bow : " Speak ! Where is the boy ? " Not a voice replied ; Not a warrior stirred ; but from face to face There flashed the dread which they could not hide " In the ruthless hands of that hated race ! " " I come from the Chiefs who have crossed the Tweed, And I speak in the words which they spake to me, Yield the castle up : drop the bridge with speed, Or the boy shall swing on the nearest tree." Then answered Humont of Chillingham Keep (The dead Earl's brother), and roundly swore, Till the castle walls were a ruined heap To fight for the monarch whose badge he wore. A more fearless heart on a battle plain Beat not in Britain or north of the Tweed, But his mind was made of a warlike grain, And his faith was the faith of the Spartan Creed. <( Go hence, Sir Herald, to whence ye came, And tell the Chiefs of yon Northern horde That they who dare offer such terms of shame Shall find reply at the point of the sword ; THE BLACK KNIGHT. 33 And if but one hair of the young child's head Be harmed by them then for every hair A Northumbrian blade shall gleam blood-red, When Humont of Chillingham storms their lair." Then the Countess, turning her troubled eyes, Spake with trembling lips, and with gesture wild ; " Will ye stand and look while my darling dies ? I love my king, but O, my child ! my child ! " But they looked at the forest of spears which shone On the plain beneath, and their bold hearts fell At such terrible odds. Oh ! was there none Who would save the boy whom she loved so well ? There was one ! He had loved with a hopeless love, Had loved her as maid, and widow, and wife, With a faith as pure as the stars above, The one pure faith of a sinful life. For his youth had been wild, and his hands were red With the blood of crime, and the fearful fame Of his prowess and lawless deeds had spread Till the Border rang with his hated name The Black Knight, Conrad, whose sword and plume When far in the battle they gleamed and tossed On the field where the brave Earl met his doom Had turned the tide when the day seemed lost. Dark was that plume as the raven's wing, Black was his armour from head to heel, And the two-edged sword none but he could swing Was wrought and fashioned of bluest steel. His face was pale, but it was not fear That had blanched the bronze on his rugged cheek, But a passion that told in a single tear The depth of a thought which he could not speak, 3 34 THE BLACK KNIGHT. From its sable sheath leapt his shining sword ; By the cross of its hilt and by Holy Rood He swore he would wrest from that savage horde The only joy of her widowhood. Then he looked at the faces that burnt with shame ; And the hosts of the North he gazed upon ; And he said, as his colour went and came : " They have slain the sire ; shall they slay the son ? " The Countess heard ; and her heart was sore With mingled sorrow and joy and pride As she thought of the love she had scorned before And the faith of a heart she had cast aside. She strove to speak, but she strove in vain ; She strove to move, but her limbs seemed stone ; And her bosom heaved like the troubled main When its surface is ruffled and tempest-bloAvn. And the passion that swelled in her tender breast Had made her face like the face of the dead As her hand to his bearded lips he prest And passed from her sight with a steady tread. Then the Black Knight turned and with steady hand Filled the crystal goblet and raised it high Till it glittered and flashed like a shining brand In the mellow light, as he made reply : " Thro' the lists of Life rides an Unseen Knight On a phantom steed from the Realms of Gloom, And he challenges all to stand and fight Ere they pass thro' the gates of the silent Tomb. What matters it then, since we all must fall At the fatal thrust of his viewless spear, If I meet him now 'neath the castle wall For the sake of the boy whom she holds so dear ? THE BLACK KNIGHT. 35 > I have charged ere now at the bristling banks Of a steel-blue line when all hope seemed wild ; I will tilt with Death in the Northern ranks For the pure young life of this fair-haired child. Fill the goblet up with the blood-red wine, Be it Life ! be it Death ! we are comrades true, Drink thou to my sword in the battle-line ! I will pledge the sweet face which I leave with you ! " With the drawbridge down, and the postern wide, And a steady grip on the bridle-rein One touch of the spur to the stallion's side, And he shot like a bolt for the open plain. With his visor barred, and his broadsword freed, And his black plume tossed in the wind's strong breath, When the long low strides of the gallant steed Beat stronger, faster, he rode to his death. Breathless they watched from the plain from the gate> Both friends and foemen struck dumb to see One warrior charging fearless and straight The deep ranks of the Northern chivalry. From the plain from the gate from the castle roofs No sound was borne on the balmy gale Save the echoing thud of galloping hoofs And the clank of the rider's sable mail. He crashed thro' the ranks of that armoured band Ere a sword was drawn or a shaft had sped, Till he reached the tree where a cruel hand Had just swung the boy to a branch o'erhead. One circling flash of the shining blade And the cord was cut and the boy was free One strong bold reach with his arms he made, And the child sat firm on his saddle-tree. Then broke the thunder of falling blows, As they rained like hail on his sable gear ; . 36 THE BLACK KNIGHT. And the gleam of his sword as it fell and rose, And the ring of his war-cry proudly clear. And louder and louder the tumult roared, And brighter and brighter fresh steel flashed forth, As high in the midst of that savage horde His dark plume waved o'er the crests of the North. And swift was the hiss of his Southern sword As it swung like a reed in his strong right hand, And short was the shrift of each warlike lord, If it beat down the guard of his Northern brand. Beneath the shade of his tall black shield He covered the boy on his saddle bow, And the strength of a nature that could not yield Gave nerve to his arm and illumined his brow. But the odds were long and the strife was sore, And thrice in the conflict they saw him reel, And thrice the crest that ne'er bent before Was lost to their sight in that sea of steel. But ever it rose ! At his terrible tilt The Borderers shrank till his broadsword good, Erst blue as the river, from point to hilt Was crimson and dripping with Northern blood. Quoth the seneschal on the castle wall ; " No blade in Britain this day could stand 'Gainst such frightful odds. The boy must fall With the bravest heart in our native land." But, maddened to frenzy, he charged again ; The black steed sprang to the spurred heel ; He thrust to the heart and he clove to the brain Wherever he struck, as he cleared a lane. To the right, to left, the Borderers reel At the terrible sweep of that dripping steel. And the weight and strength of the brave black steed And the cut and thrust that was sure and straight Broke through their ranks, and at headlong speed He raced once more for the castle gate. THE BLACK KNIGHT. 37 But she who watched from the battlement Had seen with growing terror, and wild, That his gear was stained and his armour bent, And he swayed in his seat as he held the child. Till his face grew white with a sudden pain As he fell to the ground with a hollow groan, And the maddened steed with a trailing rein Bore the child to the castle gate alone. Then strong as the tide of the torrent sets Was the rush of the North on its helpless prey ; But the hurtling hail from the parapets Guarded the ground where the Black Knight lay. While the cross-bow shafts were as deadly rain They bore him in whom no fear could quell, And the clank of the bridge as it rose again Smote on their hearts like a funeral knell. All bruised and bleeding they bore him in, And they knew as they bore him that ne'er again Would his broadsword clash in the steel-rung din, Or his war-cry float o'er the battle plain. The pure white flame of a deathless love Burnt in his soul, and his brow grew bright With a radiance that seemed to the eyes above Like a faint reflex of celestial light, Till the waves of passion lashed high and broke Over his soul in a stemless tide, And rushed to the cold blue lips and spoke With the strength of a love which he could not hide " I have loved the clash of the ringing steel When it gleams blood-red in the mailed hand, And the crash of the charge when the riders reel, And the short sharp tones of the stern command ; 38 THE BLACK KNIGHT. The brunt of the battle when deadlocks hold The steeds and the riders in grappling vice, Where the hate is bitter, and hearts are bold, And a faulty thrust is not given twice. I have loved the bay of the deep-mouthed hound, And the mellow swell of the bugle horn, When the short green sward was a jewelled ground With the diamond dew of the early morn. I have done with the chase and the martial strife, And I crave them not, for thy dark eye saith That the love which I could not win in life Shall be mine for ever, my love, in death. Bend down thy dark and sorrowful eyes Till the burning rays of their light illume The vapours of Death, and the mysteries Of the path which lies thro' the gates of gloom. clasp me still closer to thee, and lay My sinking head on thy trembling breast ! 1 had prayed to fall where the broadswords play, But to breathe my last in thine arms is best. With the blood of crime has my hand been stained ; My faults are many, and virtues few, But one light that never wavered or waned Was the guiding star of my love for you. And it may be yet in that Unknown Land, Where my soul, ere long, shall have entered in, That a true deed done by a strong right hand May balance the weight of a life of sin. My heart throbs slow with a tremulous beat, The words I would utter sound faint and low ; But the touch of your warm red lips is sweet, And whisper you love me before I go. I have played mv part in the world of strife, And why should I linger for lesser bliss ? Ah ! what now are the years of a misspent life To one single hour of a death like this ? " JOHN RAEBURN. i. " DEAD ! Who says she is dead ? . . . I hold his letter before mine eyes. Gone from the Valley of Shadows to the light of ineffable skies ! He writes ' She is dead,' and I know of no cause to suspect that he lies. " He writes ' She is dead ! ' and the light of a hope that I dreamt would not die Has flickered and waned into darkness and left but the pitiful cry : ' God gathers the flo\vers that are purest and best and thou shalt not ask why.' " Not dead ! for the soul is immortal. She lives where these eyes cannot see, And I sit here alone in the silence, and commune, O Sorrow, with Thee. But living or dead, till I cease to be, she can never, never be dead to me. " Who shall write with a fearless hand the secret thoughts of his inmost soul ? Bare his thoughts to the common gaze like written words on an open scroll ? Tell of the fever of passionate love that none can conquer and few control ? 40 JOHN RAEBURN. " Who shall judge by the outward man what the inner life of that man may be ? Judge of the currents that dart beneath by the placid breast of the sleeping sea ? Read the truth of the things we see not by the light of the things we see ? " Sweet yet sad seem the days long gone when Youth looked round on the world and said : 1 See how the garden of Life is garnished with lilies white and with roses red.' Ne'er a thought of the autumn winds when leaves are scattered and flowers are dead. " Years have rolled, but it seems not so, since first I came from the mother-land, Since the day I wandered down by the sea and heard the waves beat loud on the sand. Who shall say the trifles of Life are not the work of an Unseen Hand ? " The Unseen Hand of a changeless Fate that bends our souls to a Higher Will, That gathers lives from North and South for the destiny they must each fulfil, From Life, thro' Death, to that Unknown Land the goal and zenith of good or ill. " Ah ! Trifles in Life, tho' we heed them not, are stoutest links in the brittle chain. We heed them not, but they bind us fast, with a clasp we can never break again, Their silken weft has the strength of steel, tried in sorrow and proved in pain. JOHN RAEBURN. 41 " Hers was fair as an angel's face in its passionless calm and its sweet repose, And I stood and watched the gentle heave of her tender breast as it fell and rose Like lazy waves on a summer sea when winds are dying and silence grows. " She had fallen asleep on the yellow sand where the sunshine played with her golden hair, And the heavy fringe of her eyelids drooped on a cheek as pure as the lilies fair, And over all hung the shadow of Peace and the scent of the sea- weed everywhere. " Why tell the tale that was never new since man's first love to the world was told ? The songs which the poets sing to-day are but the songs which they sang of old, Yet the theme will live in its deathless bloom when hands are withered and hearts are cold. "We dreamt in those days of a faith too deep, of Love made stronger than Death can be, And our souls were filled with a passionate fire that surged and swelled like a southern sea ; Tho' bitter the hour of our parting proved, she whispered, ' My soul is given to thee ! ' " Far out West, where the breath of the wind is as the blast from a furnace mouth, I made my home in the wilderness, in the land of fever and fiery drouth ; But my soul was hers and it lingers still by the breezy shore of the pleasant South. 42 JOHN RAEBURN. " I have borne the damp of the chill morass and the burning heat of the tropic day, Five years have I toiled for the woman I love with a faith that Time shall ne'er decay, Fortune has smiled on my strong right hand ; but all that I care for has passed away. " Too late I learn all her heart concealed. ' Too late ! too late ! ' the Echo saith. Her letters ceased as her hand grew weak, and fainter and fainter her parting breath. The beauty she wore as a royal robe, alas ! was the fatal beauty of Death. <( She is gone ! with her heavenly face and the voice that rang out over the sea ; And I sit here alone in the silence and commune, O Sorrow, with Thee. But, living or dead, till I cease to be she can never, never be dead to me." ii. " Three years since she died ! and Time has calmed the first wild fever of grief and pain, The wound has partly healed, tho' I deemed such sorrow could never find peace again, For the sword struck deep to mine inmost soul, and the scar will ever remain. " Do I love her less in these days ? Not so, for her memory still is a sacred thing ; Often methinks I hear her voice in the mystic chants that the wild winds sing When they sigh thro' the forest and over the plain like the moan of a spirit wandering. JOHN RAEBURN. 43 " Times have changed, for the tide of Progress, rolling westward, has reached me here ; I have crept from my shell, and mixed with men, and grown more kindly and less austere ; Can it be that the spell of the buried Past is slowly lessening year by year ? " Few are the friends I can call my own, but one have I found out here in the West, And a truer nobler heart than his never beat in a human breast ; Our stations join and my happiest hours are spent with him as a welcome guest. " A gaunt old man with a kingly face and a daughter fresh as an English May ; Like summer and winter they seem to me the dark brown locks and the silver gray. Let me search my soul Is it friendship alone that draws my steps so oft that way ? " Brown-eyed Edith a child of Nature free as the air of her native strand ; There are few as fair, there are none more true, none gentler, none sweeter in all the land ; But she lacks the grace, the imperial ease, of her I found asleep on the sand. " Child ! if Love should come thy way and whisper low with his rosebud mouth Breathe on thy soul with the fire of his breath as fierce and strong as the wind of the Drouth Ah ! thou wilt love with the passionate love that is born of the sun and the South ! 44 JOHN RAEBURN. " Am I false in my thoughts to her who said, soft in my ear, ' All my soul is thine ! ' False ! whilst I see, thro' the haze of the past, the death- less eyes of my Margaret shine My dead love's eyes as I saw them last, lit with the light of a love divine ? " Have I grown vain with the rolling years ? or have I read her secret aright ? Why has she grown so silent and strange ? Why were there tears in her eyes last night ? Can it be love that flushes her cheek, then turns its damask to deadly white ? " Can it be true that Edith loves loves with a passion as fierce and free As that which shook the strength of my youth, years ago, by the sunny sea ? Have I pierced to the depths of her soul and read that she loves loves me ? " Ah ! I am sick of this lonely life ; faint with the stress of these weary days. I am growing gray in the wilderness ; quaint, old- fashioned, in all my ways. Can it be there is happiness yet hidden deep 'neath the shadowy haze ? " Can J go to her now, look in her eyes, fearlessly take her hand in mine ? And say those words which I said but once, ' O my love, all my soul is thine ! ' Hypocrite ! No ; for the eyes of the Dead gaze on this life from the Life Divine ! " JOHN RAEBURN. 45 r III. " Married ! Is it the hand of Fate ? Edith and I are married at last ! Two quiet years of wedded life and I still clasp my sorrowful secret fast. I have steeled my heart, I have said to my soul, ' It is time to bury the Past.' " Do I give to her as honest a love as the faithful homage she pays to me ? She is all that is womanly, tender, and true ; she is all that a wife should be. Trustful heart, couldst thou read my thoughts how would thy husband appear to thee ? " Two years have flown since we stood together, sad and silent, the night he died Stood by his couch and watched his life ebbing away like a falling tide. Friend ! Thou hast passed thro' the River of Death : is there joy and peace on the farther side ? " He whispered softly, I scarce could hear he placed her delicate hand in mine, ' Raeburn,' he said, with his dying breath, ' guard her, love her, this trust is thine ! Take my wildflower unto thy heart. Thou art the oak and she is the vine.' " Poor child ! Poor child, with her passionate heart ! Bitter and wild were the tears she shed. ; I folded her trembling form to my breast, tender and few were the words I said. In that darksome room our troth was plighted hers and mine alone with the dead. 46 JOHN RAEBURN. " I stood with her at the altar of God, I swore the vow and I bent the knee, But I heard a voice that she could not hear, and I saw a face that she could not see ; For Memory rose from the Shadowy Past and stood like a spectre over me. " Am I to waste my life in dreams till Death shall me in his arms enfold ? Better to turn to the new love glowing than muse in silence over the old, Better to bury my hopeless grief deep in the grave where her heart lies cold ! " Lo ! I will cast off, for ever and ever, all that has held my spirit in thrall. I will taste >of the wine and honey of life ; I have lived too long on the wormwood and gall. I have done Avith the Past. I have severed the chain. I will turn to Edith as all in all. " Margaret ! hear if the dead can hear the sighs of our souls in that Life above Where thou standest an angel of God beneath the wings of His brooding Dove ! Shall I not cleave to this womanly heart ? Have I not vowed to cherish and love ? " Passionate love will last for a season, wither the heart and weary the breast ; Is the prize for which we have striven worth all the fever of fierce unrest ? Love that flows like a summer river, musical, passionless, is the best. JOHN RAEBURN. 47 " Time the Merciful, Time the Healer, who takest the sting of our sorrows away And calmest all the unsatisfied longing, surely thou sayest to all to-day : ' Brood no more on the things that have perished, grasp your happiness while you may.' "Truth sits enthroned on her pure white brow, and Honour shines in her clear brown eyes ; What tho' she hide the depth of her love beneath the mask of a sober guise, Is not the faith of a heart like hers more sweet than all passionate memories ? " IV. " The Morn has come in his glorious sheen of royal crimson and silver-gray, And the wings of Night are spread for flight before the shield of the armed Day, And the face of the Earth is lit with joy and the hills are flushed with a roseate ray. u For he comes like a lover whom Fate has held far away from his loved one's side, And his eyes are keen with the fire of his thoughts and the fever of longings unsatisfied ; He comes in the passion and pride of his strength to clasp the Earth as a bride. " Fresh and blithe is the morning air, the dew still glitters on grass and tree ; And the mystic spell of the wilderness, the charm of the Bush, creeps over me. There are times when a man can say to his soul : ' It is happiness only to be / ' 48 JOHN RAEBURN. " There is peace around, there is peace in my heart, as I drive alone thro' the silent land, And mark once more that the Drouth is o'er and Nature, stretching a gracious hand, Hath changed bare plains into pastures green as tho' by the wave of a fairy's wand. "There is peace in my heart, and a sense of joy thrills my being and fills my breast ; After the grief and tension of passion Happiness comes as a welcome guest ; After the turmoil of weary years God has given me quiet and rest. " Ah ! What is that yonder ? I know those horses the blue-roan colts that I sold to Gray ! The Dalmora buggy, with the old man and Walter ! What can be bringing them down to-day ? They seem in trouble two traces broken and the wheels gone down in that bed of clay. " 'I'm afraid that I shall not be able to help you. I can give you this cord to splice up the gear. It only requires a little patience and those two colts will soon pull you clear. Yes. I must hurry on to the Five-mile. Caxton, of Woodside, is coming here. " ' What did you say ? You are going there also ? Some one expecting waiting for you ? A governess coming up from the South ? She will find this Western life something new. I will tell her, then, from you if I see her that you will be there in an hour or two.' JOHN RAEBURN. 49 " Caxton not come ? Without writing to tell me ? Well! I will trust in his promise no more. Where can this governess be whom they spoke of? I can see some one there thro' the open door. I suppose I had better go in and explain the reason why Gray was not here before." v. " I enter the room of the little inn some one is standing over there, Her face in the shadow, half turned away. I can only see she is tall and fair, For the room seems dark as I pass within, and my eyes are dazed by the noontide glare. " Something familiar about the face ! Calmly she moves out into the light. Why does she suddenly tremble and start ? Why does her cheek turn deadly white ? We stand and gaze in each other's eyes, and a mist arises before my sight. " We stand and gaze, but we do not speak, for the shadow of Fate hangs overhead, And I see once more those deep sad eyes, and the graceful curve of that stately head. Has she risen again in the beauty of old ? ' Mine own true love ! Not dead ! Not dead ! ' " She has come to me thro' the gates of Death, and her eyes are wet with the angels' tears ; And Heaven shall mourn there are none more pure in all the throng of her starry peers. She has loved with the strength of a deathless love thro' all the grief of the bitter years. 4 So JOHN RAEBURN. " Ah ! I forget those Aveary years, the sword of Sorrow, the secret pain, I only know that I clasp her now mine own true love in these arms again. ' O Queen of my soul ! Lift up thine eyes ! Who but thee in my heart could reign ? ' " She pillows her golden head on my breast, she lifts up her radiant eyes to mine, And I feel the sense of their mystic power mount thro' my brain like the fumes of wine. They have not changed. They are still the same. Lit with the light of a love divine. " It is all a dream that we parted, love. We are sitting again on the yellow sand ; We hear the boom of the bursting surf ; we see the white foam flung on the strand. It is all a dream that we parted, love. Who was it spoke of the Western land ? " What do I say ? No dream ! No dream, but the iron hand 'neath the velvet glove The iron Hand of that Destiny decreed by the Unseen Powers above ! . . . If loyal to Love, disloyal to Honour untrue to all I have sworn to love ! " Deep and wide is the gulf that parts us. All my gain shall but end in loss. Thou and I on opposite banks must watch the waters eddy and toss ! Thou and I on opposite banks but we may not cross but we may not cross ! JOHN RAEBURN. 51 "Who shall comfort the comfortless, breathe peace to the heart that is desolate ? Sin to covet forbidden fruit ! and sin to strive 'gainst the hand of Fate ! Given me back from the mouth of the grave given me back Too late Too late ! " She has told me all. I can see the truth. 'Tis written with fire on my heart and brain. Our letters passed thro' a villain's hands. He sold his honour her love to gain. He said ' He is dead,' and he wrote me a lie. We believed, and we never wrote again. " He loved her then ? Was this the friendship he swore to me in the days that were ? I would give the years I have yet to live only to see him standing there, To meet him alone Be his strength what it may, I am armed with the strength of mine own despair. u We two alone where no ear could hear ! We two alone where no eye could see ! Mercy ! Yea, I would mete to him the mercy he rendered to mine and me. I would shoot him there like a dog where he stood, tho' I passed with him to Eternity." VI. " Going to Dalmora ! She, the new governess ! She ! with her beauty of mind and face, Waiting there where the coach had left her. Why was she not met at the place ? Ah ! I remember. To think that our meeting was brought about by a broken trace ! 52 JOHN RAEBURN. " Trifles ! This is how Fate impending works great issues from little things, A random blow on a wound half healed, and Hope falls stricken with trailing wings. Trifles ! a careless stroke of the pick may strike the gold, or the hidden springs. " Now, I am calm. I stand once more encased in mine armour of self-control. Could I stem the rush of the pent-up passion surging as waves of the Tempest roll ? When all things else were as things forgotten, and each sought each with the eyes of the soul ! " Back to the station ! In these few hours how all the current of life has changed, Flowing again in the old old channels, the hills and valleys where once it ranged. Back to the station ! Back to Edith, with courage failing and faith estranged ! " To live so close scarce twenty miles and all our meet- ings but grief and pain. So near, yet so far parted for ever. Did she not say, ' We have severed the chain ; The Past is buried ; the book is closed, never, friend, to be opened again ' ? 11 Back to the station ! to take up once more the quiet routine of daily life. How can I look with a fearless gaze into the faithful eyes of my wife, The truest, tenderest wife on earth, who shall never know of this inward strife ? " JOHN RAEBURN. 53 " Am I so weak that I canno^ say, ' I will be true what- soe'er betide, True in action and true in thought ' ? Have I no honour, no manly pride ? Yes. I will honour and love to the last the woman whose place must be at my side. " Ah ! but Love is not governed by Will. Love has no law. 'Tis unfettered and free. Canst thou stand on the yellow sand and curb the tide of the rising sea ? . . . . . . Get thee behind me, Satan, for ever. . . . Tempt me no more in my misery. " Edith and she are the closest friends. She has ridden down to Dalmora to-day. She likes her better than any one else. ' We must have the new governess over to stay, So sweet and so sad. Such a beautiful face.' I answer and laugh in a careless way. u She has come to my home, she is under my roof. My heart beats fast as I touch her glove ! Grown so fragile she seemeth to me like an angel sent from the Heavens above. I see them yonder standing together my wife and the woman I love. " No ! Not love ! I have crushed the memory. Edith, alone, until Time shall end. I, too, can turn from fruit forbidden ; I, too, can accept what Fate may send. ' The Past is buried ; the book is closed, never again to be opened, friend ! ' " 54 JOHN RAEBURN. VIII. " It is better to die, better to sleep, to lay down one's burden and be at rest, To cast off for ever the shackles of sorrow, the passions and sins of a troubled breast, To cross the bounds of the darksome river. Death is not terrible. Death is best. " I am spent with the struggle that rends my spirit and leaves me far from the wished-for goal Faint with the effort to curb and weaken the strength of the passions I cannot control, Whilst Love and Honour like mailed knights contend for the prize of my soul. "Why should I strive to deceive myself? Sophist ! thy platitudes are but vain ! Turn as thou wilt from the days that were, truth will triumph and truth will reign. No ! Thou canst never bury the past. No ! Thou canst never unrivet the chain. " Then it were wiser to seek a haven where Memory's echoes no more shall mock, Wiser to grasp the buckler and halberd and close with Death in a mortal shock ! The Coward's refuge ! I will not seek it The Rae- burns come of a different stock ! " Here the diary ends ; for the hand that had written, wrote no more on the page of Time. It is only the tale of two ruined lives ; and one has passed to a happier clime Passed from the feverish dreams of Earth to the widening vistas of Life sublime. JOHN RAEBURN. 55 > IX. They found him lying a shattered wreck 'neath splin- tered woodwork and broken wheel, And his face was pale as the face of one on whom Death's Angel has set his seal, But life still throbbed in the sinking frame, in the flaccid muscles once strong as steel. " Bend closer, Edith. Don't cry, my darling ! Death must come to us all some day Who will guard you and who will keep you now that I am going away ? Closer, Edith I am growing fainter There is something yet that I wish to say. " There is a book a diary, Burn it ! Some things are better lost in the grave ! Promise me you will never read it. I have tried to be true I have tried to be brave Have I failed in my duty to you, my darling ? Have I failed to fulfil the trust he gave ? " Ah ! but who is that standing there ? Have you brought her to see me before I die ? Kiss me, Edith The shadows deepen the light has faded out of the sky Margaret give me your hand again The Past is buried Good-bye Good-bye !" . . . Two women are sitting, side by side ; they watch the shadows that play on the wall, And the darkness is creeping up from the East to cover the Earth like a funeral pall ; No voice is heard by the listening air and the silence of Death broods over it all. 56 JOHN RAEBURN. Deep are the thoughts in the heart of each thoughts which they feel yet never shall say ; Hand in hand they sit in the silence till Dawn has come in his mantle of gray ; But they know that their souls are bound together by the strength of a bond that will not decay. He has fallen asleep, he is buried deep in his lonely grave 'neath the Western sod ; He will tread no more on that Unknown Shore the path of Sorrow his feet have trod ; He has passed to the realms of Eternal Peace " where they are as the Angels of God." AN ECHO. IN the harmony of ages floating from the dreamy Past, In the old romantic legends where the seeds of song were cast, In the pleasant fields of Fancy, whence the flowers of genius sprung, Can Ave find a path untrodden ? Can we find a song unsung ? Lamps of Genius burning brightly thro' the mists of bygone days, With the light of strong endeavour ever mingling with their rays ; Dreams of dreamers, chants of singers made immortal in their song, With a soft and tender cadence, or a passion fierce and strong, Like the chimes from distant belfries, like the restless winds that blow Northwards with tempestuous fury, southwards musically slow ; Like the thunderous roar of breakers bursting on a rocky strand, Or the rhythm of the river murmuring softly thro' the land ; Sinking, rising, soaring upwards sound their melodies sublime Sound the Voices of the Ages echoing thro' the Halls of Time. 58 AN ECHO. What is left us ? Shall we wander midst the fields their feet have prest ? Sing again the songs they sang us in their passion of unrest ? Sing of Nature, 'neath whose influence all the poet's instinct stirs Feels the throbbing of his pulses beat in unison with hers ; When the Dawn's grey veil of vapour falls before the face of Day, And the arrows of the sunshine chase the shadowy night away ; Like a goddess in her splendour, robed with many a roseate hue, In the mantle of the morning, jewelled with the glittering dew ? Softer is the calm of sunset, mellower light on plain and tree, Placid purple clouds, like islands floating in a golden sea, When the crimson-tinted sunlight sinks and pales in waning rays, And like rush of many waters, come the thoughts of other days ; Till the creeping mists grow deeper and the evening air is still With the awe of solemn shadows hanging darkly on the hill ; Till with wide and rapid pinions sweeps the Spirit of the Night, And our thoughts are carried onwards in the current of its flight, Through the wreathing mists of darkness where the mid- night reigns alone From the regions of the Finite to the bars of the Un- known. AN ECHO. 59 All our songs are but the echoes of the chants long heard before, All our loves and our ambitions like the wave-beats on the shore, Coming, going, passing, ending with their restless hopes and fears, Till at last in silence buried in the cenotaph of years. EVENING : A FRAGMENT. THIS is the hour of Rest ! Nature doth sleep, Draped in the shadowy garments of the night, And from the vast immeasurable height, The stars of Heaven their silent vigils keep, The emblems of Eternity. They stand, God's sentinels, without the gates of Heaven. This is the hour of Peace ! There is no sound. The fitful voices of the wandering winds Have died in hollow murmurs. Near and far Upon the sleeping Earth, beneath, around ; Descends the mantle of a deeper calm. It is the Spirit of the Night that speaks " A still, small voice " but with a magic power It sinks into the heart, till the wild wars Of earthly passions and corroding cares Disperse like clouds before the rising sun. This is the hour of Thought ! In this still hour The nature we inherit from High God, In conflict with our baser attributes, Rises triumphant, bidding us prepare For holier thoughts and higher destinies. O Man ! If thou wouldst gauge thy littleness, And know thine impotency, go behold The stars of Heaven ! For if thy mind conceives, And counts them held by beings such as we, With hopes, ambitions, loves, akin to ours, In what proportion dost thou find thyself EVENING: A FRAGMENT. 61 To the united millions of all worlds ? One single grain in miles of desert sand, One single drop in oceans wide and deep Such is the import and significance Of thy small life ! For if such globes are ruled By the same laws this earthly world obeys, If Death has entered other spheres than ours, Where unknown myriads have been born and died, As we must live and die and be forgot, Then Man's imagination cannot grasp Nor hold such totals of immensity ! Such things are hid, nor can we raise the veil ; Such thoughts will rise, nor can we bid them stay, But on quick wings they bear us unawares To vaster problems than Man's mind can solve. ODE ON THE JUBILEE. O QUEEN, the shadow of whose throne O'er half the world is cast ; Thy people's glory is thine own, Their love for thee shall last. Empress of Nations ! Wide and far 'Neath Southern Cross and Northern Star Thy sons are gath'ring fast To pay thee homage who hast been For half a century a Queen. Behold how strong that throne may be Whose firm foundation stands, Not on a despot's tyranny Nor strength of armed bands, But on a People's love and trust Of her whose reign is good and just ! Love, which the Ocean spans, Hath bound our fealty to her throne, Whose joys and sorrows are our own. Not less a Queen we deemed her when The God of Love drew near ; And she a ruler over men Bent down a listening ear ; The robes of Empire could not hide The beating heart of England's bride, Nor make her choice less dear ; Her bridal wreath and bridal gems Seemed more to her than diadems. ODE ON THE JUBILEE. 63 And now in zenith of her sway She sits upon the throne ! The glory of that bridal day Is gone : she reigns alone ! Ah ! Who shall read the thoughts which pass Like creeping shadows o'er the grass, When noon to eve has grown, Within her heart, and bring again The Past with all its shadowy train ! Forget not, ye whose hearts are keen To pay the homage due, Altho' an Empress and a Queen She is a woman too ; And womanlike her thoughts will turn From pomp and state she may not spurn But bears with calmness through, To those she lost who cannot see The glory of her Jubilee. God save her ! Hardly can be found A life more fair and pure ; The love of millions guard her round And make her throne secure ! The power of noble womanhood That bore the grief and chose the good Shall make her name endure. A life and reign so nobly spent, Will be her stateliest monument. ALONE. THE purple hills rise far behind, Before me spreads the plain, The tall grass shakes beneath the wind Like surges on the main. Thin mists have girt each low hill's crest, The hot sun swims in cloudless blue, A mirage gathers in the West And trembles into view : It gathers in the swimming haze, A silver lake of dazzling sheen, Its waves are bright with dancing light And tender tints of blue and green. A phantom sea, calm, limpid, wide, Sailed o'er by phantom ships ! Ah ! well I know that rippling tide Could never cool my lips. My tongue is swollen in my mouth, My fevered lips are cracked and dry, I hear the Spirit of the Drouth Whisper : " Thou soon shalt die ! " The living shadow of a man, The living shadow of a horse, Thro' heat and glare, in grim despair, We stagger on our unknown course. Comrades, whose worth was sternly tried In hunger, thirst, and pain, I ne'er shall see you at my side, Nor clasp your hands again ! ALONE. 65 Mine own weak hands scarce feel the reins, The hot wind burns my withered cheek, So calm, so awful are the plains The silence seems to speak. It almost seems to speak and say : " Those wronged by thee demand redress, The hour draws nigh when thou shalt die, Alone within the wilderness ! " Thro' shimmering grasses on I ride Across the yellow plain. My comrades one by one have died, And I alone remain. They sickened one by one, and died, The stout of heart, the strong of hand ; Some lie upon the dark hillside, And some upon the sand. Where never white man trod before, Thro' scrub, o'er plain, by mountain cleft, We forced our way, until to-day This horse and I alone are left. Down ! with a long and stagg'ring stride, The good horse falls to earth, With staring eye and nostril wide Small need to loose the girth ! There's hopeless anguish in his eyes, A rattling in his throat I hear, " Water " is what he mutely cries, But not a drop is near. He feebly sniffs my sunburnt hand, He feebly answers my caress, Then gives one moan : I stand alone Alone within the wilderness ! MY LITTLE SWEETHEART. MY sweetheart is but five years old ; She has not learnt decorum yet ; Her cheeks are pink ; her hair like gold ; Her eyes are violet. And very sweet she seems to me A little fairy full of grace, With all her ringlets blowing free About her roguish face. She pinches me, she pulls my hair, She steals my watch to hear it tick ; I can't exactly tell you where She hid my hat and stick. And oh ! she makes such " dreadful eyes " This little angel without wings. Do other angels in the skies Think of such wicked things ? But sometimes she is very good And sits sedately on my lap And hears me preach (as elders should) But doesn't care a rap. And then she creeps up close to me, And lays her cheek against my own, Whilst round my neck coquettishly Her tiny arms are thrown. MY LITTLE SWEETHEART. 67 She tells me all her little cares ; Her childish griefs, and childish joys ; How it was she who stole the pears ! And how she hates the boys ! Ah ! little maid, at sweet seventeen You will not speak your heart to me ; You will not kiss me then, I ween, Or sit upon my knee. You will have scores of lovers then, And go to dances with your mother ; And learn to play off gentlemen The one against the other. You will " sit out " in dusky nooks, And flirt, and smirk, and " take an ice," And think too much about your looks And won't be half so nice. You will have grown a skilful hand At drawing fish within your net ; And few, I think, will long withstand Those eyes of violet. I pray, dear, you may never feel The wrench which tears two lives apart, The careless smiles which oft conceal The anguish of the heart ; That Peace may fold thee in her wings, No thought arising, half confes't, In spite of all that knowledge brings That childhood's hours were best. THE RIVER OF DEATH. I DREAMT that I stood by the River of Death, And the breath of the wind was an icy breath ; And the shades that hovered upon the bank Heaved, and wavered, and rose, and sank. And the shore was lit by a darkening light Which shot thro' the Realms of Eternal Night ; And the spell which hung on the heavy air Was the spell of sorrow and dark despair. Then I heard low wails, and sad echoings, And sighs like the sweeping of heavy wings ; But the tide rolled on, and its turbid wave, Flowing for ever, no answer gave. I strove to pierce thro' the distant gloom Where the vague gigantic shadows loom ; I strove to see to the farther shore, But the rolling mists gathered more and more. Then I stood on the brink, and I thought how strong, Yet calm, that River had flowed along ; Silent and mystical and sublime, From the Springs of Sin on the verge of Time. Passionless, darksome, yet ever on It rolled thro' the ages past and gone ; And it gathered the streams of Life as it went. Till they one by one with its waters blent. THE RIVER OF DEATH. 69 And I thought of the millions whose weary feet Have stood on the brink where the shadows meet ; Have stood in their doubt and their misery By the River that flows to the Unknown Sea Of those who have heard, like a rolling drum, The voice of the waters whisper " Come ! " For only those who are called by Death Can hear the words which that River saith. Like the wash of the waves on a far-off shore They hear the sound of the black flood's roar, And deep in the stream where the tide runs strong Interpret the words of its mystic song. And I said, " O River, darksome and wide, Is there room for me on thy silent tide ? For my soul is filled with a fierce unrest, And I fear not the chill of thine icy breast. " The waters of Life are bitter, I ween, Tho' the sun shines bright and the leaves are green But peace comes not with the spring wind's breath, For it lies far down in thy depths, O Death ! ''Where the sin and the sorrow and fierce unrest Are buried deep 'neath the dark wave's crest, And the longings wild and unsatisfied Are swept away on thy rushing tide." Still no answer came from the gath'ring gloom Where the vague gigantic shadows loom, But the tide rolled on, and its turbid wave, Flowing for ever, no answer gave. LOVE AND AMBITION. AMBITION, cased from head to heel In armoured dress of glittering steel, Strode up a pathway narrow ; Seeking for foes with warrior's joy, He met a rosy little boy, Armed with a bow and arrow. " Come, foolish child, and give," said he, " That silly plaything up to me ; You'll harm yourself I fear." " Nay," quoth the urchin with a grin, "I see a chink your armour in, So do not come too near." With loud contempt the giant laughed ; Quick on the string Love placed a shaft, And bent his golden bow ; The aim was swift, the aim was true. Straight through the chink the arrow flew, And laid the giant low. Dying, he raised his drooping head : " I deemed no foe on earth," he said, " Could thus my breastplate pierce ; Idiot to fail to recognize That godlike form, those shining eyes, Which rule the universe." A MEDLEY. EASTWARD in the skies of morning rosy tinges streak the gray, Bars of crimson change to golden glitt'ring heralds of the day, Like a blood-red shield uprising swims the sun in palest blue, Crowns the hills with crests of splendour, flashes on the trembling dew ; Till the grass seems strewn with jewels, loosely strung, and red with dawn Nature's gems that gleam and quiver on the bosom of the Morn. Far to Eastward, far to Northward, stretch the hills in purple chains, Far to Southward, far to Westward, waves the grass on yellow plains ; Fresh and blithely blow the breezes, drive the cloud, and move the lea With the roll of grassy billows surging like a northern sea. Ah ! what mem'ries stir within me as I ride thro' scenes like these, Thro' the silence only broken by the voices of the breeze. Voices of the rushing west wind chanting anthems weird and grand, Mystic melodies of Nature that few hearts can under- stand. 72 A MEDLEY. I have loved the voice of Nature loved the music of the breeze, Sighing with a tender cadence thro' the branches of the trees ; Loved the triumph of the Tempest blinding flash and deaf'ning roar, When Heaven's batteries have opened, echoing from shore to shore. Soft and tender is the fancy which thro' all my being thrills, When the chequered lights and shadows play upon the purple hills ; When the burning skies to westward fade to floods of amber light, And the lemon tints of sunset melt into the dusks of night. By the campfire in the silence when the light begins to wane, Echoes of the dead, dead voices seem to fill the air again ; When the tall stems of the gum trees stand like sheeted sentinels, And the curlew's plaintive wailing sounds like weird funereal knells ; Grander than the noblest poem, awful in its mystery, Is a voice from mem'ry speaking when that voice has ceased to be. I have sung the thoughts within me tho' the world may sneer and say : In the vain pursuit of shadows he has cast his life away. Never shall he merit honour who but Avorks for praise alone ; Never shall he gain a triumph who despairs when over- thrown ; Never shall he wear the laurel who grows dumb when critics sting Whom the dread of censure silenced when the spirit bade him sing ! A MEDLEY. 73 On the deep sea of existence like frail barks our lives are blown, Where the helmsman's hand is hidden and the harbour is unknown. He is best and he is noblest who has kept through good and ill Something of his purer nature, something of his child- hood still. But our souls grow stained and deadened, dark with passion, sin, and care, And we sow the seeds of folly, reap the harvest of despair. When amidst the roar of combat, thrust for thrust, and stroke for stroke, Sabres flash from blue to crimson, hissing through the rolling smoke ; When the bugle note is silent, and the rushing squadrons reel, Meeting in a shock like thunder, crash of harness, clash of steel, Gladly would I fall in battle fighting in the foremost van, For the sword of Sorrow pierceth deeper than the sword of Man. Idle thought ! To deem that dying thus could expiate our sin, That the soul could with the body perish in the battle's din. Death is but the gloomy portal to the realms of the Unknown, Where the laws that rule all Nature centre in one law alone ! In the light beyond the Shadow, in that light beyond the light, Where the secrets of existence flash at last upon the sight ; 74 A MEDLEY. In the deep beyond the distance, in the sphere beyond the spheres, Truth has hid the golden keynote to the mysteries of years. Ah ! I doubt not that hereafter we shall pass from change to change, All the spirit growing finer, all the thought with wider range ; On from region unto region where no mist our vision mars, Till we see with perfect insight in some life beyond the stars. There are deeper myst'ries hidden in the frailest flowers that blow Than in all the lore of ages, all that greatest thinkers know. Deem not tho' the flowers are withered that they will not come again ; Winter sees them fade and perish, Spring will bring them with the rain. Deem not tho' we pass in silence that we pass for ever- more Here we only grope in darkness wand'ring by an un- known shore. Death will make us heirs of knowledge and unroll before the sight Vistas of eternal splendour widening thro' the Infinite. FREDERICK III. OBIIT JUNE 15, 1888. " His life was gentle ; and the elements So mixed in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, this was a man." SHAKESPEARE. ON lordly terrace, and on palace wall, An awful silence crept ; With noiseless footsteps up the columned hall An unseen presence swept God's angel, Azrael, whom men call Death, Breathed on the monarch with his icy breath. And as he passed, grasping his viewless brand, The shadow of his wings Darkened the eagles of the Fatherland, From peasants unto kings Rolled, like deep murmurs of a funeral drum Thro' the wide world, a voice, " The end has come ! " The world is German in this common grief ; She mourns the man alone. Above the diadem, the laurel leaf, The sceptre, and the throne, She sees the hero-soul ; and manhood's pride Is nobler such a man has lived and died. 76 FREDERICK IIL Look not upon the monarch but the man Whom Death at length has freed. Hero of nobler victories than Sedan ! The grandeur of whose creed The world saw, and the world-wide whisper ran, " Above the pride of kings, this was a man." A FEDERAL SONG. THEY lay the stone whose eyes may never see A Nation's turrets rise above the plain. They sow the seed who may not reap the grain ; Futurity Will bless that toil which wrought thro' stress and strain, Her Unity. It yet shall be. Build on, and heed not scorn ; Build fair and strong a nation's towering height ; In massy grandeur weld her scattered might By schism torn. After the darkness and the Dawn's gray light Cometh the Morn. Build on ! Build on ! Hold with a nerve of steel, Above all meaner pride and jealous hate, That higher faith which makes a nation great. They rightly feel Who take for the broad basement of the State The Common-weal. Build on ! Build on ! Deep-pulsing thro' the land, Thro 1 all this island-continent there stirs A throb, a voice, she feels, and knows is hers, From strand to strand A whisper stealing thro' the Dawn avers The hour at hand. 78 A FEDERAL SONG. Build on ! Build on ! E'en as the restless' blue Circles her sleeping mountains, silence-bound, Our hope, our faith, our love shall gird her round With fealty true, Whilst from the old-world wrecks which strew the ground, We build anew. ORPHEUS TO EURYDICE. THERE is no joy in Heaven if Love be not, But, if we love, this Earth may yet be Heaven. For what is Hell or Heaven but seed we sow, Grown to maturity, within the soul ? This is the law of Nature and the gods That each be free to act, yet by his acts Achieve his misery or happiness. Then choose we Heaven. Let Duty temper love ; For thro' its iron gate and flinty path We reach the happy meadows, and, beyond, The Highest Good ; and, if that path be rough, Deep-shadowed, dreary, 'tis not all so dark But Love can light it ; for the soul that grasps Love only, spurning duty, knows not Love, But passion, which consumes the soul and leaves A Hell within it. Therefore, O my Love, Choose we the better part. Let passion be ; And, if our lot be lowly, and our lives The common round of petty care and toil, Who is there that would choose voluptuous ease, Feeling his manhood in him ; and his heart Strong to resist the buffets of the world, The long stern struggle, and the frequent fall ? For in the toil and in the strife alone We find our strength, until at last we stand High on Olympus, even as the gods. There shall we gaze back at the years and know 8o ORPHEUS TO EURYDICE. 'Twas for the best. Ah ! in a world like ours There is no obstacle but falls before The strength of an indomitable will Linked to a love like thine. Come thou to me. My soul is thine. Thou art my destiny. The gods have whispered it. Thro' all this Life Thy soul and mine are wedded, and beyond, Thro' Death, to the Hereafter, Love shall lead And we shall follow. It is Destiny. No change can alter and no power avert The Unseen Hand that gathers where it will Two lives, and welds them in one living love. ODE ON THE AUSTRALIAN CENTENARY. GIRT with the wreathing mists And shadows of the night, Dark-robed, Australia lay And waited for the light ; And heard the night wind whisper soft and clear : " Land of the Southern Cross, the Dawn is near ! The Dawn is near ! " Soft in the Eastern skies, Flushing the summer sea, She saw her morning rise The morn of Liberty. Then sang the wind across the ocean's foam : " Land of the Southern Cross, the Dawn has come, The Dawn has come ! " Blest with God's grace divine, Queen of the Southern Sea ! Bright shall thy glory shine, Great shall thy future be. Our hope, our faith, our love, on Him we cast. " Land of the Southern Cross, the Dawn is past, The Dawn is past ! " Past with its quivering rays Forecasts of things to be ! Past to the riper days Of larger Liberty ! Then sing, ye summer seas that guard our home : " Behold ! The Dawn is past ! The Day has come, The Day has come ! " 6 MARY MAGDALENE. A CHILD of sin and crowned with shame Unto the Master's feet she came ; From shapely head to ankle bare Fell the broad ripples of her hair ; And for a soft and radiant dress She wore her loveliness. A perfect form, a faultless face, Fairer than sculptor's art could trace ; Ripe as the full rose in its prime Ere yet it feels the touch of Time ; But now with suppliant eyes she stood The type of fallen womanhood. Meekly she stood, whose wanton pride Had flung all purity aside ; Whose lips had tasted poisonous wine The deadly vintage of that vine Whose green and comely branches bear The fruit of Passion and Despair. Silent she stood, with weary feet, And heart whose joy had ceased to beat ; For all the charms that Pleasure brought Calmed not the maddening voice of thought, The fierce unrest, the cruel pain, Of one who hopes and hopes in vain. MAR Y MA GDALENE. 83 The sunshine wrapt her in its fold And tinged her burnished hair with gold ; On silken lashes, darkly hung, The beaded tear-drops, trembling, clung ; She seemed more fair in her despair Than ever in the days that were. No gift she brought yet one complete Who washed with tears the Master's feet. She gave a gem of priceless worth Above the jewels of the Earth ; For, with true faith, and eyes with sorrow dim, She gave her heart to Him. THE BAR IMMUTABLE. IN the long lingering hours when Earth lies hid In robes of darkness, and the night has come To reign alone in calm sweet majesty, When Sleep on aerial wing has fled away And given no solace to the throbbing brain, Oft have I trod the corridors of Thought And watched, as from the tombs of Memory The ghosts of long dead years arise and pass In slow procession erstwhile, Kings of Time, But now dethroned, discrowned, and sceptreless ; Shrouded in silence and in mystery. Glide on, ye Phantom Monarchs of the Past, In solemn grandeur ! From the sepulchres That fringe the burial ground of centuries Gray rolling clouds and misty damps arise Wherein vivific currents flash and dart ; As meteors crossing the ethereal blue At dazzling speed for one swift instant crown The brow of night with splendid aureole ; So flashes Memory's lightning thro' the Past Whitening the shadows, 'till all luminous The vista stretches, and the eye discerns The half-forgotten scenes, the moving throng Of old familiar faces : All that was But nevermore again on Earth shall be. With solemn steps I pace the paths I trod In youth's sweet spring, when inexperienced thought THE BAR IMMUTABLE. 85 Pictured the Future as a pleasant dream And gilded life with rich deceptive hue ; I hear again soft and reverberant The echoes of dead voices in the air ; And all the good and evil of long years Is mirrored in the glass of Retrospect. But what avails it, if we ever thus Stand gazing down the misty aisles of thought And robe our lives with Mem'ry's fantasies ? Time's rushing flood has reached and passed them by, And still sweeps on. For who and what can stand Before the force of that resistless flood ? All, all, go down before it. Beauty, Age, The golden dreams of Youth, fair Fancy's halls, The airy castles proud Ambition built, Swept at its touch to cold Oblivion's shore. The mystery of Life hangs o'er my soul In weighted horror. For what shall we gain If by long arduous pilgrimage we reach The highest pinnacles of human thought ? 'Tis but the limit which our faculties May touch but not exceed : The key of Death Alone can ope the gates of the Unseen. A higher gift than reason must be ours Ere we can comprehend that germ of life Which permeates Nature, understand the Pow'r That rules ethereal principalities, Makes chaos worlds, conceives eternities. Rough lies the path, dim-lighted, and beyond The dark Unknown : That bar immutable, At which our thoughts in weak confusion pause And beat their wings against the gates of Heaven. RETROSPECTION. ALONE she stood, with careless grace, Like one whose thoughts were far away : Upon her tender girlish face I watched the lights and shadows play ; I watched the fringes of her eyes Sweep her soft cheek ; and overhead From the calm heights of summer skies, Thro' leafy boughs the sunbeams spread ; Nor could I judge which seemed most fair, The sunshine or her golden hair. Around her feet the violets grew ; Above her head the woodland birds Made music in a key so true, I would not change it into words. 'Twas Nature's song in Nature's scene, And she was Nature's fairest flower ; And that which is and might have been Were all unthought of in that hour. I had not learnt, I did not guess, How joy can turn to bitterness. The Past is gone. The rolling years Have brought their pleasures and their pain And change, and manhood's hopes and fears, Will chase such phantoms from the brain. RETROSPECTION. 87 Our lives in different grooves are cast, And she has other cares to bear ; The misty curtain of the past Divides us from the days that were. Yet through the haze I often see That face which once was all to me. It may be that the influence Of those old days hangs round me still ; It may be that a finer sense Will guard the hand from deeds of ill ; It may be that, if aught of good My life has shown or tried to show, If aught of suffering was withstood With seeming patience, all I owe To her I loved, whose memory brings The thoughts of nobler purer things. Scoff not at youth. In youth alone Our thoughts are pure, our hearts are true ; For then we have not learnt to own How vain the phantoms we pursue. And what is life, and what is man, Without that freshness of the heart Which once was ours, but never can Return when youth and faith depart ? Time gives us much, but who will say As much as all it takes away. IN THE BIG WARD. A WAN white cheek on the pillow lying ; A fevered gleam in the dark brown eye ; Not twelve years old and the boy is dying Inch by inch as the days roll by ! Inch by inch as the days are fleeting The young life drifts where its pain shall cease, Where the weary heart shall stay its beating, And the soul shall sleep 'neath the wings of Peace. In the white-washed ward there are faces dreary, Low moans of anguish and laboured breath ; But none so patient and yet so weary As the child who lies there waiting for death. Men scorn thee, Death, amidst squadrons crashing, When the red steel leaps in the strong right hand ; Men hold it but gain when sabres are flashing To die for their faith and their Fatherland. Men face thee, Death, with a nerve unshaken, On the deadly breach in the fortress wall ; But bravest he Avho by hope forsaken Endures like the child in this white-washed hall. Ah ! Why must the children suffer and languish, And wince and quiver beneath thy thong ? Why crush, O Death, with thy terrible anguish The pure young lives that have done no wrong ? IN THE BIG WARD. 89 'Tis hard to know that the strong are dying, Yet manhood and death may be reconciled ; But O 'tis harder to hear the sighing, And watch the pangs, of a helpless child ! Friend ! Who knows in the dim hereafter If shall be meted to him again For tears and anguish, sweet love and laughter, A cycle of joy for a season of pain ? But this we know that the curse primeval, Which strikes alike at the weak and strong, Spares not the children, who did no evil, But stays their laughter and stills their song. IN MEMORIAM. (VIOLA, A TALENTED CONTRIBUTOR TO The Queemlander, WAS LATELY DROWNED AT SEA.) SWEET is the sleep of Death that brings Release from life, relief from pain ; Where Trouble's joyless echoings Can never reach the ear again ; But the white wings of Peace are spread Like Angel's pinions overhead. Sleep on ! where the dark billows roll And the sea-breezes whisper low ; Sleep on ! Beyond our weak control A deeper wisdom wills it so ; What men call Death is but the shadowy night Which links the Finite with the Infinite. Deep be thy sleep, beyond all pain ; Nor doubt that in the Spheres above The majesty of Death shall wane Beside the majesty of Love. Tho' Death may pluck the purest flowers and best, 'Tis but that God may fold them closer to His breast. DEATH. O DEATH, and must thy marble hand Be laid upon each human heart ? Can none dispute thy dread command, All-powerful tyrant that thou art ? Seeming afar, but ever near A sword suspended overhead, How slight the causes can appear Which hurl the sword and part the thread ! And often in the early spring, When hope is young and life is sweet, Is seen the shadow of thy wing, Is heard the echo of thy feet. And oft thou comest unawares, When life is in its summer prime, Turning our pleasures into cares And summer into winter time ; Seeming afar, but ever near So when at length our parting breath We yield Thee in another sphere Thou giv'st us Life, Almighty Death. THREE YEARS AGO. NOT many years have passed away Since last I saw that gentle face ; Not many years ! To those whose hearts are light and gay The time of such a little space Swift disappears. But those few years have been to me A weary blank eternity. Three years ago ! I knew you then, You were the fairest of the fair ; Three years ago ! Your beauty stirred the hearts of men, They said none could with yours compare I loved you so, I felt with pride my bosom swell To hear her praised I loved so well. Where beauties grew like comely flowers, Your stately grace outshone them all, Like some sweet rose Which from the sheltering leafy bowers Has climbed the garden wall, And lovelier grows ; Blooms Queen amongst the roses there, Sweet like her sisters, but more fair. THREE YEARS AGO. 93 You thought it was a boyish dream That future years would drive away ; Three years have past. That years like centuries can seem, That weeks seems years, an hour a day, I know at last ; But still my " boyish dream " remains, Still in my heart thine image reigns. " Come what come may ! " I know that now For ever thou art lost to me, In three short years. To Fate's relentless law I bow, And wish all happiness to thee, Till Death appears With lightning stride or footstep slow ; I love you as " Three Years Ago." TO NINA. NINA, if a heart be true Whatsoever it endures, Faithful as the skies are blue, Nina, then that heart is yours. If I sought a friend to find (When my friends were far and few) Loving, pitiful, and kind, Nina, I should turn to you. Think not, tho' the Ocean wide, Restless, seething, rolls between, Those upon the farther side Your devotion have not seen. Think not tho' Pacific's tide Keeps you hidden from our view That we, as the seasons glide, Think less lovingly of you. You have proved your love to be No mere empty hollow form But a stout old oaken tree Which can weather any storm. And, as years roll on, its root Shall but gain a firmer hold. Friendships like the juice of fruit But grow mellow when they're old. TO NINA. 95 And tho' now Australia's sky Forms our starry canopy, Yet our thoughts will often fly To our home beyond the sea. In a race the winning steed Boldly all the fences clears, So our thoughts like coursers speed And outstrip the crawling years. And when Time has done his worst, And our heads are old and gray, Some of us our chains have burst, And those left care not to stay ; When a mound and hollow urn Tells the world we are no more, Friendship's torch will brighter burn, Nina, on another shore ! LINES ON THE DEATH OF LONGFELLOW. 1 THE singer mute, the lyre unstrung, Dust first from off earth's bosom sprung To earth return ! Yet a great quenchless torch of song, Lit by no feeble hand, shall strong For ever burn. Its light shall shine from strand to strand, And, blazing o'er that Western land ; The ocean span ; And great posterity shall read The tenets of a Christ-like creed Goodwill to man. And though within the grave they lay An earthly tenement of clay, And mourn thy loss, Thou standest by thy Master's side Who for thy sake was crucified Upon the cross. Far truer honour than the wreath Of sadly coloured laurel leaf, Which decks thy tomb, Was the great throb of sympathy For all those near and dear to thee, In this their gloom. 1 The poet died on the 27th of February, 1882. CHRISTMAS. ONCE more breaks the joyous morning ! Christmas Day is here ! Once more see the welcome dawning Of a glad New Year ! Once more gather round the entrance Of the church's door, Rich and poor, and proud and lowly, Strong and weak, the meek, the holy ; Gathered there to worship Him whom heaven and earth adore. Happy faces ! Bright reflections Of the hearts within ; Faces showing stern corrections For some former sin ; Faces aged, and worn, and weary ; Faces young and fair, Faces beautiful from sorrow, Faces careless of the morrow, Faces gloomy, sad, and thoughtful, All are there. CHRISTMAS. WITH sAveet memories, kindly faces Thronging joyous in his train ; Thro' the world Old Christmas paces, Binds us with a golden chain, Chains of Love and bonds of Friendship, fetters firm yet light to bear, And before his face the shadows fade and vanish into air. Yet amidst our Christmas gladness Comes a feeling deep and wide, Runs a vein of tender sadness Like some zephyr o'er the tide, As we speak with softened voices and a secret cruel pain Of those hearts we loved, whom Christmas nevermore will greet again. Not for long and not for ever Is our sojourn here below ; Sorrows throng and Death will sever Hearts which no dissensions know ; Yet while we remember sadly those we ne'er shall see again Let us keep a hearty greeting for the friends who still remain. CHRISTMAS. 99 Then with gentle tact, not wrongly, Put aside the vacant chair, Not because we feel less strongly, That the loved one is not there ; But because Life lies before us and we all must bear our load, And we needs must cheer each other for we climb a rugged road. Shall we vex our dear ones living By our mem'ries of the Dead ? Shall we sadden this thanksgiving By the fruitless tears we shed ? If the spirit be Eternal, Death and Sorrow, what are they But the gates unbarred which open upwards to the larger Day? THE UNKNOWN LAND. CHRISTMAS again ! With a solemn tread Comes the Monarch old and gray, To join the years that are gone and dead, The hopes that have passed away ; And with mournful eyes I watched him stand On the shadowy verge of that Unknown Land. His brow was not crowned with the silver frost, He wore not his robe of snow ; His wreaths of holly-tree were lost, And his wand of mistletoe ; But in emerald robes of leaf and moss He stood 'neath the light of the Southern Cross. And heavy the burden the old man bore On his shoulders wide and vast, To the tomb of the years that have gone before, To the silent shades of Oblivion's shore, To the Sepulchre of the Past ; The thought, the faith, the hope, the fear, Of millions were laid on the dying year. And I said : " Old man, with the beard of snow, And the dim and failing eyes, Where are the friends of long ago, Who have learnt the secret we do not know ; And shall they yet arise To greet us again with outstretched hand On the shadowy shores of that Unknown Land ? " THE UNKNOWN LAND, 101 Then in solemn tones the seer replied : " All things must pass away ; But those who strive to stem the tide, Who bear in labour side by side The burden of the day, Shall grasp again on that silent shore The hands of those who have gone before." He was gone, but I did not see him go In his green and leafy dress ; For I sat and thought of the care and woe In many a home that I used to know ; And the joy and happiness Which Death removes with unsparing hand, But which God restores in that Unknown Land. TO BRENDA SLEEPING. (FROM "LORAINE," AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.) O PEACE ! Kiss her eyes with thy wings, let her slumbers be sweet And calm 'neath the shadow of pinions majestic and still, With dreams like the music of waters in rhythmical beat, And guard her for ever from sorrow and shield her from ill; From the taint of my love, from the passion and quench- less unrest, The storm of despair which is rising tumultuous and fierce ! O Peace, if thy wings have for ever forsaken my breast, Fold them closer around her like shields which no sorrow can pierce ! LANCELOT. I SEE thro' mists of dark despair, Her stately form arise ; The glimmer of her golden hair The radiance of her eyes. Mercy is thine, Immortal Powers ! make her soul, beyond the skies, Pure as the amaranthine flowers That bloom in Paradise. My soul conceived the deadly sin, And on my soul let vengeance fall. I bow the knee to Heaven's decree But in Thy love forgive her all. Too late ! Too late ! for hope or prayer ! My eyes grow glazed and weak, I stagger in the blinding glare, Too faint at last to speak ; My soul is sick and dark within ; A voice is pealing thro' the air : " Who sow the deadly seeds of sin Shall only reap despair." And, stricken by that awful voice, 1 sink upon the burning sod ; And in the Fate for which I wait, I recognize the hand of God. LOVE AND FAME. NIGHT shook o'er Earth her raven locks, Black clouds had curtained all the sky ; And with long sighs and bursting shocks, The restless winds went roaring by. A sculptor sat in loose attire, With dreamy eyes fixed on the blaze ; Within the glowing heart of fire He saw the scenes of other days. In many a line from wall to wall The blocks of milk-white marble stood ; Cupids, and stalwart knights and tall, And types of lovely womanhood. Pale was his face, and thin with care None sought to buy his works of Art ; The darkness of a grim despair Was spreading slowly o'er his heart. u Alas ! " he sighed, " no man may be A prophet in his native land ; Or Fate has laid her curse on me, And marred the cunning of my hand. " And she I love says ' Love is dead,' And laughs to scorn my dreams of Fame ; The light of other days has fled, And left me only care and shame. LOVE AND FAME. 105 " I cannot carve upon the stone The vision that I see in air The face of her I love alone, The face that haunts me everywhere. Then in his ear a whisp'ring voice Spake softly : " Carve upon the stone The angel vision of thy choice The face of her thou lov'st alone. " Carve thou Love's Angel, sweet and fair, With deathless face and wings outspread, The Power that rules us everywhere ; And she will say ' Love is not dead.' " Then from his seat the sculptor rose ; The fadeless light of genius shone Upon his brow. With skilful blows He wrought upon the milk-white stone. And slowly from the stone there grew The outlines, mystical and grand ; And, tho' unseen to mortal view, An angel sped the sculptor's hand. Long hours he wrought with steadfast face Till the dim grays of morn flushed clear ; Noon passed, and twilight grew apace, And Night's dark pinions hovered near. And still he wrought, and when the Dawn Crowned the blue hills with roseate light, Bathed in the glory of the morn Love's Angel shone in spotless white, 106 LOVE AND FAME. With deathless face, and wings outspread ; And smiling, from the milk-white stone, Her face who said that Love was dead The face of her he loved alone, But made divine. He gazed, and knew The vision he had seen in air ; Then on the ground his chisel threw, And slept beside the Angel there, Slept long and sound a dreamless sleep The sleep of Death. And she who said " Love is no more " crept there to weep, " O my true love, Love is not dead." Night shook o'er Earth her sable locks ; Black clouds had curtained all the sky, And with long sighs and bursting shocks The restless winds went roaring by. The wild winds sang : " When Death shall free The throbbing brain, the toiling hand, Then, only then, a man may be A prophet in his native land." THE SINGER. SHE sang of Hope, of happy days, Of glorious spring and summer's prime Softer than old-time minstrels' lays Uprose that melody sublime. She sang of Faith, of firm resolve, Of strong unwavering constancy ; To trust and live till death should solve The problem of life's mystery. She sang of Death that sceptre grim Of pain, and age, and faltering gait ; Of eyes once bright, now faint and dim ; Of hearths and homes made desolate. She sang of Love ; and as she sang Her colour came and went again ; No words can tell how clearly rang The cadence of that sweet refrain. She sang no more ; for on that night There came a shadow and a gloom Which hid the singer from our sight, And hung around a darkened room. And now she sings where angels sing A nobler song in spheres above ; Where Death no more can enter in, And Hope and Faith are lost in Love. io8 THE SINGER. But from the echoes of the past Her voice comes ringing back again, To tell the hearts who knew her last That Hope and Faith and Love remain. DISCONTENT. DOES the daily round seem dreary ? Does the path of life seem rough ? Do we find our steps grow weary, Thinking we have toiled enough ? In the west Looms the stormy cloudy weather With no shining silver lining, Soul and body tire together ; All we feel a yearning pining But for rest. Cease my soul this sinful sighing ; Is thy path to be all roses ? Prizes won without the trying ? Pleasures where no cross opposes What you will ? Is another's lot so sunny That thou need'st must thus repine Is the corn and oil and honey To be nobody's but thine ? Peace ! Be still ! 'Tis the path we all must follow, 'Tis the common destiny j Pleasure's prizes are but hollow, Sweet delusive mockery. Time doth teach I io DISCONTENT. Life is meant to be not pleasures, Not all dull laborious toil, But two happy blended measures Acting as a counterfoil Each to each. There are stars whose rays have never Reached this world of sin and sorrow ; Travelling onward, travelling ever, Still their advent is to-morrow, Still to-morrow ! Through immeasurable spaces, Through the voids all uncreated, Past the high eternal places, Still their advent must be dated, " Still to-morrow." Like the starlight which is roaming Earthwards, though without our view, Perhaps to-morrow in life's gloaming Some glad change may come for you As the ray, Long deferred and long expected, Seems a brighter hue to borrow From the hopes of years reflected In its advent not " to-morrow," But " to-day." There are silent depths of ocean Which no sounding line can measure, Airy regions where the motion Of the kingly eagle's pinions Is unknown. The vast secrets whicrrare hidden, Like some deeply buried treasure, All shall solve when they are bidden, To death's drearisome dominions But alone ! DISCONTENT. in There are secret workings hidden, In the dull monotony ; Though foreknowledge is forbidden, Veiled from human scrutiny. Leave to One Who can comprehend our yearnings Human weakness, doubt, and sorrow All thy passionate heart-burnings : He will not forget thy morrow When thy work is done. VALE. WITHIN my soul I hear the strain The cadence of a song which tells That Life is mingled joy and pain, And made of greetings and farewells. Ever the currents of Life's tide Flow thro' the channels Fate has made O'er plain, by rugged mountain-side, And now in sunshine, now in shade. I pray the Unseen Hand may steer Your course through life with face serene, With deeper joys from year to year, Where Care's dark shadows are not seen. If Northern skies should seem bereft Of that which makes the Southern fair, Our sun has kissed your eyes and left Its rays of softened glory there. So do not say you fear to dwell Where skies are grey and winds are chill The radiance of a sunnier clime Will linger round your presence still. And when through other scenes you roam And other voices greet your ear, Your thoughts at times may wander home To dwell with some who miss you here ; Then if my " rude untutored lines " By chance offend not, let them be As links within a chain which binds My homage to your memory. VALE. 113 Life is a maze where paths entwine But to diverge as Fortune tends Until we pass that trembling line Where Love begins and Friendship ends. And still within my soul I hear That song's sweet melancholy swell, And all that I will whisper, dear, Is simply greeting and Farewell ! AUSTRALIA MILITANT. (WRITTEN ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE AUSTRALIAN TROOPS FOR THE SOUDAN.) BLOW soft, ye southern breezes, blow ! For see How bright the star which guards our destiny Sheds its soft ray ! Sail on, ye warriors, on your northward course, And bear the banner of the Southern Cross Far in the fray Where the old war-worn standard waves, and dare Beside those glorious folds to plant it there ! When furious and fast the battel runs, Australia's eyes will watch her soldier sons ; When through the haze Of battle clouds the dusky hordes appear, Australia's sons will hold her honour dear. Should glory's rays Shine where the southern banners proudly wave, Then not in vain her chivalry she gave ! When the swift-shooting spear and hissing ball Sing through the thinning ranks, and comrades fall ; When like the blast Bursts the wild charge upon the square again Bursts like a flood the human hurricane ; Then stern and fast In the dread breach may Young Australia stand, Firm as the mountains of her native land ! THE SHEPHERD'S LAST SLEEP. IN the old log hut the shepherd lay, His fevered cheek by the hot wind fanned ; And he dreamt of the dear ones far away, And the fields and the flowers of his native land. And o'er his face crept a tender smile As he dreamt of one who was dearer still, And the stately home in his native isle. Ah ! if dreams could only their vows fulfil ! To the old log hut by the lonely creek With naked sword came the Angel of Death ; Pale grew the sleeper's hectic cheek As he felt the touch of that icy breath. In the lonely bush in a far-off land, Where the wattles bloom and the brigalows wave Laid to his rest by a stranger's hand, The exile sleeps in his nameless grave. SUBMISSION. EACH thinks no trial harder than his own ; Each thinks his cross the heaviest is to bear ; There are no hearts where sorrow is unknown, And care is everywhere. There is no sweet without some bitter sting No rose without a thorn ; The man who shall not know what anguish is, Is yet unborn. Yet some there be who murmur at their lot, And waste their strength in striving to be free ; Some who, impatient, crave they know not what, And brood in vain o'er what can never be. And some there be who round their fetters twine A garland of fresh leaves and roses fair Brave hearts, who struggle on and ne'er repine, And gladness carry with them everywhere. Oh, restless, seething mass ! Humanity ! Borne down, yet struggling on in mute despair ! There is no cross which man on earth hath borne Which man still cannot bear. MARION RAYNE. THE roses have climbed up the garden wall, But one hangs highest above them all The sweet Queen-Rose on her slender stem, With the morning dew for a diadem ; As her delicate leaves to the sun she spreads The roses beneath her must hang their heads, Sweet Marion Rayne ! The lilies that float on the still lagoon Are pale as the rays of the crescent moon, And I strove to judge, with a sweet despair, Which was the fairest that floated there ; An equal homage I paid to each, Till I spied one floating beyond my reach Sweet Marion Rayne ! The violets lie thick in their modest bed, And sweet on the air is the scent they shed ; I have plucked the flowers that you love the best To lie on the heaven of your tender breast ; But the sweetest flower in the tiny sheaf I found concealed 'neath a shady leaf, Fair Marion Rayne ! It is high to reach to the red red rose ; The water looks deep where the lily grows ; 1 1 8 MARION RA YNE. But tell me, dear, may the lily rare, Or the rose, be plucked if a heart can dare ? Must the fairest flower that Nature made Bloom on alone till her beauties fade, Sweet Marion Rayne ? Is it pride that shines in your deep dark eyes, And makes your soft bosom sink and rise ? Is it love or pride that has blanched your cheek- That trembles on lips which refuse to speak ? And why is your face so cold and set ? Is true love hid like the violet, Sweet Marion Rayne ? SAILING. AH ! How freshly blew the breezes As they bore us from the shore ! All that pleasure's senses pleases Lingers round those days of yore. As our snow-white lateen sail Bellied out before the wind, And our boat beneath it reeling Onward rushed until 'twas heeling Almost o'er ; And we flew before the gale And the white waves roared behind. When you raised your voice to sing In a key so strong and true, E'en the sea-birds on the wing Seemed to pause and list to you. Deep the meaning of your song Rolled into mine inmost soul ; All the ocean air was ringing With the sweetness of your singing, And my secret kept so long Burst at last from my control. YOU AND I. (SONG FROM " LORAINE," AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.) WE met, you and I, in the morning fair When the sun shone bright and the skies were blue. No shadow of sorrow, no thought of care Had chilled the breath of the summer air, And my soul went out to you Went out with a fierce and passionate beat, Went out with a fervent and quivering heat, A love that was tender and true. We parted, Love, in the twilight grey, When the mists had gathered over the sea. And I knew that the Dawn of another day, The sheen on the sea, and the strong sun's ray, Could bring no happiness back to me. Ah ! What is there left but grief and pain For the heart that loves and loves in vain ! But I pray in my grief that thy life may be Crowned with the joy of a shadowless calm. And my heart will follow thee over the sea For my soul is linked with thy destiny To guard from sorrow and shield from harm, Tho' my love is nothing to thee. Tho' the love that I crave for thou canst not give And I ask for nought or thy whole heart's store The love that I bear thee will blossom and live When my soul has passed to the Unknown Shore ; The love that I bear thee will blossom and live When Time and Sorrow shall be no more. THE CHURCHYARD OF THE SEA. FULL many a fathom buried deep In silent rest they lie ; In Ocean's coral caves they sleep To 'wait eternity Whose lives the Brave the True the Free- Were swallowed in the angry sea ; Who now have found a calmer rest In Ocean's breast. 'Midst shattered wrecks, 'midst treasure vast, The sunken wealth of ages past, They slumber side by side ; Captains and tars before the mast, The husband and the bride ; The brother bold, the sister dear, The hoary sage, the buccaneer, The meek, the sons of Pride : Death knows of no distinctions here Beneath the rolling tide ! And when our time shall come to learn O grave ! thy mystery, Where can our bones find fitter urn Than in thy depths, O Sea ? To lie beneath the restless wave Far in some hidden ocean cave With these the Free the True the Brave Until eternity ; And let the tranquil voiceless deep Our secrets keep. LOVE'S AMBUSH. WHEN first the little God of Love, Descending from the skies above, Alit on earth, he closed his wings And gazed around on earthly things ; Then sought with eagerness to find A dwelling suited to his mind. Full long he sought with cheerless face, Nor found the wished-for resting-place ; Till, almost sinking with despair ; He spied a woman, young and fair. Quick, with a cry of glad surprise, Love ran and hid in woman's eyes ; Ambushed in those sweet eyes he lay, And shot his arrows every way ; Of many a spark his target made, On many a heart his arrows played ; So strong his bow, so true his aim, He changed each spark into aflame ; But flames to fiercer flames soon turned And while the furnace brightly burned, The wicked imp enjoyed the fun And laughed to think what he had done. My friend, if you'd be good and wise, Gaze not too long in woman's eyes. But if you needs must gaze Beware ! The God of Love may still be there ! LOVE'S CONQUEST. I SEE them gather for the fight Beneath the castle wall ; Full many a bold and doughty knight \Yho shall, before the evening's light, Within th' arena fall ; But now each in his pride and might Awaits the bugle call. Each knight is in full armour dressed, With glittering lance in hand ; Brightly on breastplate, helm, and crest, The golden rays of morning rest ; And, by ambition fanned, High beats within each warrior's breast The hope of Edith's hand. Each pawing war-steed shakes his mane, Impatient of delay, And fretted by the curbing rein, Curvets, and paws the earth again, And snorts to join the fray ; Then, finding all his efforts vain. Yields to his rider's sway. High o'er the lists the royal stand Its lofty front uprears : There sits the monarch of the land, Bravest of all that martial band, Surrounded by his peers ; And his the warlike mind that planned That mustering of spears. 124 LOVES CONQUEST. And on that serried mass of mail-clad men From balcony above A galaxy of beauty, which no pen Could draw save that of Love, Looked down with glance so arch and bright and free That Love his pen had dropped in ecstasy. Fairer than all the daughters of the court, Who all were young and fair, Like some pale lily freshly culled, and brought Amidst the roses, and yet losing nought Of her pure glory there (Nay, rather there her matchless beauty shone The lovelier by the sweet comparison), Sits Editha the fair. All round her head her wavy golden hair Clusters, then like some sea Falls rippling o'er her shoulders, thick and fair, Until it gains her knee ; Her eyebrows black as jet : a silken fringe Of kindred hue shadows each violet eye, Where burns a light so queenly, pure, and true, That of that company Of knights and vassals all that courtly train Not one but would have died to save her pain. Her face is oval, and her ruby lips Half-parted not in scorn Like two twin rosebuds which the queen bee sips Upon some dewy morn, Reveal, like ocean pearls, her teeth of snow ; Her nose one straight fine line joined to a forehead low But wide ; her throat, an ivory column rose below : The clinging drapery worn LOVE'S CONQUEST. 125 Displays the soft curves of her splendid form Model for Venus ; born to take by storm. But, ever and anon, there came and went Upon her cheek a hue Which rivalled damask, till its power was spent. Then once again there grew A deadly pallor over all her face, Her sweet eyes roamed o'er all that peopled space, As if in search of one whose knightly place Was vacant ; and it threw A cruel anguish in those tender orbs, A sickening dread, which all things else absorbs. But hark ! the first of the alarms The heralds quickly sound, And chargers prance, and knights adjust their arms O'er all the tourney ground ; And beauties forward lean, and to their charms Are added sparkling eye and rosier cheek ; But whiter grew one cheek, and her heart's qualms No soothing solace found ; But pale, betwixt anxiety and dread ; She sat like one whose only hope has fled. Hark ! List again ! The second trumpet sounds Its warning clear and shrill ; Then rises, 'midst that sheen of spears and shields, The Great Knight victor in a hundred fields, And all around with gathering strength there steals O'er valley and o'er hill The glad shout of a nation, when it feels Its monarch worthy of his crown. Then seals Each one his lips, while he his wish reveals : " It is my Sovereign Will, 126 LOVE'S CONQUEST. Who proves himself the doughtiest in the land Hath for reward my daughter Edith's hand ; Ope ye the lists ! " Forth from the crowd rode out a knight Upon a coal-black steed ; His armour, bruised in many a fight, Was of wrought iron, black as night, And from his helmet, waving bright, A scarlet plume was freed ; All else from helm to iron spur Was black as wing of scavenger. His sturdy war- steed, stoutly made, His burden seemed to spurn, And well his rider's seat displayed By many a prance and turn ; And on his ponderous iron shield (Weapon which he alone could wield) In tall red letters stood revealed, That all who saw might learn, Those flaming letters side by side, Spell out his haughty motto, " Pride." Then, rising in his stirrups high, He shakes his quiv'ring lance ; Harsh rings his hoarse and boastful cry, And wild his courser's prance : ' My name is Pride. I dare you all, By this good lance, beneath this castle wall, Before my king, his peers, and courtiers all, And yonder maid's sweet glance ; For never yet in battle, list, or fight, Have I my equal found in any knight ! LOVES COXQUEST. 127 The fight was fierce ; the fight was hard and long ; But now the fray is o'er ; And many a warrior, skilled, and brave, and strong, Lies on that sanded floor ; And leaning hard upon his battleaxe To gain the strength his wounded body lacks, Stands Pride alone, amidst those bloody tracks All dyed with blood and gore. His boast not vain ; for in that awful fight Not one was found to prove the better knight. His armour broke, his helm clove to the eyes, The gay plume cut away, His gallant steed lifeless beside him lies, Where many another lay ; And in those blood-stained lists, 'midst shattered spears And groans of dying men and women's tears, His haughty head once more he proudly rears The Victor of to-day ! By sheer indomitable will he conquers pain And mounts another steed to fight again. The first three knights who fell before his sword The awful blade of Pride Greed, Meanness, Avarice, each a mighty lord, Xow silent side by side. Honour and Truth, both fighting nobly, fell ; Passion, a very demon, hot from Hell. Friendship, a stout old knight, who bore him well And clove the helm of Pride ; Falsehood, a cunning knave, wily, and skilled at feint. Old Generosity, Young Self-Restraint. All these he slew, and many minor foes Who strove to stem his wrath. And now his iron gauntlet down he throws, But not a knight comes forth : 128 LOVE'S CONQUEST. Then with a mighty shout the people cry, " There now remains no knight who dares to try His maiden shield against, in chivalry, The warrior of the North. Redeem, O King, thy pledge, and let us see The victor wed the maid of high degree ! " Then up the monarch rose, and strove to speak Amidst that deafening roar, And pale as death again grew Edith's cheek, And wilder than before Her eyes sought vainly in that heaving crowd For him to whom her secret troth was vowed, And, seeing nought, her golden head she bowed To Fate's relentless law ; When from yon distant hills, and grove of trees, A silver note comes floating on the breeze. So loud, so clear, so silvery it broke Upon the ears of all, That in the mind of Pride a fear it woke That perhaps his star might fall ; Then, bursting thro' the trees at headlong speed, A warrior mounted on a snow-white steed Is seen : and Edith's heart is freed From thoughts which did appal, And, as the evening sun falls on his golden mail. No eyes can look thereon and yet not quail. The lists are reached, he reins his panting steed Beneath the monarch's stand, And with a glance which well his cause doth plead, Surveys the lovely band ; Then from his courser swiftly doth alight, And there before her eyes, and in their sight, Lifting the gauntlet of the man of might, Restores it to his hand. LOVE'S CONQUEST. Then with an oath Pride roars in wrathful need : " Bring me fresh armour and another steed." Now Pride is mounted, and the trumpets sound ; The lances are in rest ; The stallions gallop forward with a bound ; Bent is each knightly crest. They meet the shock the deadlock and the people's shout ; But neither falls from his high saddle out Tho' two good lances strew the ground about. Can neither prove him best ? Without there ! Bring fresh lances to each knight Sound trump again, and onward with the fight. Again they meet. Again each lance is split, Again fresh steel is brought. What ho ! Fresh topic for the minstrel's wit How gallantly they fought ! Once more another lance, once more the shock, The crash of steel on steel : I see one rock, Rock in his saddle, and fall headlong down, 'Tis Pride. His fall is wrought ; He falls upon the sand that mighty lord Then leaps upon his feet, and draws his sword. Now, noble minstrel, string thy tuneful lyre And sing thy battle lay. The stranger knight springs off his steed of fire, And flings his lance away ; Then, man to man, they stand upon the sand ; Never in all the annals of the land Such fight was fought, and well each strong right hand Makes his good broadsword play. But not a sound is heard save steel on steel Or the sharp gasp when back both champions reel. 9 130 LOVE'S CONQUEST. But quickly they recover, and again Fiercer the battle grows, And blows are showered thick as April rain, Yet neither backward goes. But, see ! Oh, Fate ! Pride one false pass has made And swift as thought the stranger's glittering blade Circles around the head defenceless laid And batters down his foe's, Crashes thro' helm and visor to the brain, And fairly cleaves the head of Pride in twain. 'Tis done. The ruddy life-blood stains the ground, And Pride at length is dead. Then once again the murmur flies around ; " Who is this knight ?" they said. " Who is this stranger clad in golden mail, Before whose steel our doughtiest champions quail, Who rides yon Arab with the flowing tail ? Let him unbar his head." But when he heard them, and unbarred his head, " 'Tis but a boy ! " in wonderment they said. A boy, but an Apollo of a boy ! He stood before the King, His handsome face diffused with love and joy, And in his hand a ring ; His hazel eyes sparkling with keen delight, His armour bruised and dinted in the fight, He looked the very picture of a knight ; He said, " This ring I bring, Oh, king ! I now make my demand : Bestow on me thy peerless Edith's hand ! " My name is Love, they call me the Sublime, My wings are Mirth and Joy ; It is my fate all thro' existing time Always to be a boy. LOVE'S CONQUEST. 131 'Tis not my maiden field, for I have fought Since Time, and Earth, and all things first were brought From Chaos ; and this sword has bought Full many a victory. I have a few more fights ; then shall be given to me All things, and I shall rule eternally." So, near the lists, where so much blood was shed, Love and the maid of high degree were wed. But Love arose from by his loved one's side And spoke unto the King, And said, " I have a balm that, whatsoe'er betide, Will back the life-blood bring." Then quoth the monarch, eagerly : u Restore my fallen knights to me ! " Then Love stepped down, and with his healing balm Gently closed up the wounds in Friendship's side ; Then with his silver trumpet broke the calm, And Friendship rose from by the corpse of Pride ; And Generosity and Self-Restraint he cured, And Truth and Honour who death had endured ; But Meanness, Falsehood, Passion, Pride, and Greed, Were left with Avarice, hungry crows to feed, Till some one, finding all these slaves of sin, Dug a big hole, and flung such carrion in. A JINGLE FOR MUSIC. " That is best which liest nearest Shape from that thy work of Art." SAID the Master : " Build the Palace From the stones which lie around, From the blocks which are the nearest Lying strewn upon the ground ; Time will test which is best Blocks which we have never tested Or the stones which lie around." So they worked and built the Palace From the stones which lay around, From the blocks which were the nearest Lying strewn upon the ground ; 'Till the last block was cast And a stately palace builded From the stones which lay around. Let us build a stately nation From the love that lies around, From the love, and truth, and honour Which is nearest to be found ! Till the shout echoes out : " Lo ! the strength that made the Nation Was the Love that girt her round." THE RUSSIAN ADVANCE. THE roll of drums, the bugle peal, The clink of spurs, and a martial tread, The prance of steeds, the rumbling wheel Of cannon. The sheen their bayonets shed Glittering keen in the morning red ; While the Russian Eagles float o'erhead. Lurid the danger signals glow, And thicker gather the clouds of war, And rumours which tell of the coming foe Ill-omened harbingers fly before ; And then with a dim and distant roar, , Which the echoing hills again repeat, Like the boom of the surf on some rock-bound shore, The thunder of thousands of marching feet. Onward they come in the morning gray, Southwards the tides of their legions roll In the gloomiest hour of Britannia's day, Sullenly South to their Indian goal Proudly and loudly their drummers play ; Proudly and loudly their bugles peal ; 13ut stern and stubborn to bar the way Stands a bristling wall of British steel. TO THE AUTHOR OF " MORNA LEE.' A GREAT thought clothed with living words That burn upon the heart and brain, A note struck on Love's strongest chords Nor struck in vain. Not loud, but deep : mystic song Far-echoing thro' the Halls of Thought, With weird vibrations that belong To the Unsought. Trembling upon the verge of things Seen dimly, or in broken gleams, Like Unknown Truths whose radiant wings. Brighten our dreams. A voice which from the air above Speaks to all hearts ; a fervid breath Of faith unshaken ; and a love Stronger than Death. THE SPIRIT OF NATURE. GENIUS of the Universe ! In every soft or freshening breeze Which stirs the branches of the trees, 1 hear the music of thy voice The rhythm of a mystic song Whose cadence haunts the spirit long, And bids the shades of care disperse, And makes the restless heart rejoice ; For, lo ! the presence of a power Unseen, but felt, hangs o'er the hour ; Soft as the breeze which evening brings I hear the rustle of its wings ; And feel the shadow of its might Like the calm silence of the night. Spirit of the Wilderness, Solemn and grand and passionless ! Thy voice is in the winds that roam Without a resting-place or home ; Thy garb is Nature's loveliness. In the stern tempest's sullen roar 1 hear thy songs of triumph soar ; In the soft breeze that sinks and dies The swell of tender harmonies ; And wild and musical and free I feel their subtle influence steal And cast a glamour over me, Until I cry with fierce appeal : "Would that my restless heart could be Light as the breezes, and as free ! " THE LAND OF SHADOWS. " That undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveller returns." THERE is a land from whose mysterious shore No echoes can return to us again ; No sign, no sound, of gladness or of pain Tell of the myriads who have gone before. There is a stream beneath whose turbid wave Millions have sunk, and millions yet shall sink ; Dark are the gath'ring shades upon the brink Unknown the shore its utmost waters lave. But in the death-like silence of the night, When the long shadows deepen near and far, 'Tis strange to meditate how frail a bar Severs the Finite from the Infinite. Beside the darksome margin of that stream We, each, shajl stand unaided and alone Upon the trembling verge of things unknown, Where all the Past shall melt as doth a dream. A dream ! Why not ? Have we not dreamt before ? Flashes of recognition glimmer through The new dreams are the old, the old the new, And we, in visions, pass from shore to shore. Vague influences waken, and a ray Illumes the hidden chambers of the mind Echoes and forms and faces left behind In some existence that has passed away, THE LAND OF SHADOWS. 137 Faint dreams, dim memories of bygone things Not wholly unfamiliar, for they seem The reflex of some long-forgotten dream Whose light and sweetness still around us clings. Such lights will flash and vanish : as we glance We scarce can read the truths their beams illume ; We are but children groping through the gloom, And all our knowledge is but ignorance. But from the Future, from that silent sphere, That Shadowland no mortal foot shall tread, Cometh no sign, no Avhisper, of the dead ; No sound, no voice, no echo to the ear ; No answer save the silence. And the veil Is lifted not, nor shall be, till we stand Within the confines of that Shadowland Upon whose verge the stoutest spirits quail. Oh, well for him who hears with steadfast soul, When, like the muffled beating of a drum, The voice of those dark waters whispers " Come," Nor fears the brink where the deep shadows roll. Dogmas and creeds will vanish ; but the Power Which permeates Nature, whose diviner plan Is shadowed dimly in the heart of man, Will still uphold his soul in that stem hour. That Power whose work is endless never done That breathes in all things in those realms unknown, Will bind the world's religions in one zone, And blend the creeds of all men into one. LOVE. LOVE knows no law save love alone. It springs From the eternal majesty of God, From the infinity of God Himself, Essence of Life, the Sov'reignty supreme Which bends our natures to a higher Will ; And, in the fadeless bowers of Paradise Where amaranth flowers and thornless roses bloom, Where angels tread the starry floors of Heaven, In the celestial harmonies that roll Vibrating thro' the vast ethereal spheres, Unfathomable spaces of futurity, Love's voice goes forth unchallenged, absolute, Reigning thro' all for God Himself is Love. O Power Illimitable ! Power Divine ! That, deathless, burst th' enthralling bonds of Death, And, rising, soared beyond th' eternal stars, On thy strong pinions bear our spirits up, So may we wear thro' all this maze of Life, Thro' the dark shadows of terrestrial days, The jewel of imperishable love That Time and Death and Sorrow cannot dim. ANIMUS NOX MORTALIS EST. WHERE afe they now the poets of all time, Who charmed- the world with melody and rhyme, And thoughts sublime and deep ? Think'st thou they have expired ? No. He who said Their torch is quenched, and they are cold and dead, Hath lied they do but sleep. And in another purer atmosphere, Their songs shall peal more sweetly and more clear Than e'en they did on earth ; And gath'ring strength from what we cannot see Shall swell in one great burst of harmony, With wider nobler girth. WAR. IMPERIOUS Goddess ! proud Bellona ! stay, So I may strive to read thy secret heart ; Tear from thy cruel face the mask away, And let men see thee as thou really art. That lofty air, that brave yet scornful smile, But hides the pitiless stern features 'neath The mask by which thou dost men's hearts beguile To risk their lives to win thy laurel-wreath. Thy gorgeous pageantry, thy nodding plumes, The martial music's glorious stirring swell, Are but the shrouds for twice ten thousand tombs For twice ten thousand but Death's solemn knell. Two hostile hosts ablaze with glittering steel ; The thunder of artillery ; the shock Of charging squadrons ; the proud bugle-peal Clear, loud, yet silvery, as tho' to mock Some dying soldier's agonized appeal To Heaven for mercy ; then the tiny square, Lost in the dense gray haze of battle-cloud While charging hordes press round it everywhere, Still sternly stubborn but as sternly proud, Defiant, and immovable and like the rock O'er which old Ocean's mountain billows tear, Break, burst in thunder, yet can not Move from its native fastnesses one jot. And men with quickened senses as they hear The bugle-call, the clash as steel meets steel, WAR. 141 And see their native banner's crest uprear High o'er them then can only feel, As the battalions of the foe appear In columned grandeur nearer and more near, Their pulses throb, and the warm life-blood glow, And care for nought save victory o'er the foe. Thus ever, Goddess ! when w r ith naked sword Thou standest, crying " Glory onward go ! " Men have been ready to obey thy word, Nor count the odds, nor heed that blood must flow ; And so it is, has been, will be, thy plan So long as earth is earth, and man is man. That is one side the picture ; but I would If so be that I can a landscape draw Depict both light and shade, as artist should, And paint the awful shades of glorious war. I see the moonlight on the battle-field When all is silent and the fight is o'er, And there Death's harvest ; 'tis a mighty yield, Yet hath he reaped such yields full oft before. And there they lie not singly, but in heaps, In ghastly heaps ; the dying with the dead All intermingled while the cold wind sweeps Across and moans their requiem overhead. And this is War ! Great, glorious, awful War ! Whose praises poets still are wont to sing With all its pomp, and majesty, and awe ! Yet, to my mind, it seems a gruesome thing To think that for each wretch maimed, wounded, torn By shot, and left stark dead upon the plain, Some loving hearts (tho' far away) must mourn Must weep in bitterness must weep in vain. " He dies with honour who doth fall in war," They say, and count the heroes of the strife. 142 WAR. Can this, the loved one to his home restore, Or fill his nostrils Avith the breath of life ? A warrior's grave they deck with laurel leaf, And honour him whose honour knew no stain, But to his nearest (in their hopeless grief), The laurel fades the cypress will remain. Imperious Goddess ! when it is thy plan With martial majesty to set the task For man to battle with his brother man, Show each thy countenance without the mask. TO THE NEW YEAR. Go forth, O Year, bearing our destinies The hopes, joys, sorrows, and the happiness Which make the sum of our existence here ! The burden of all human life and death Is on thy shoulders, and from day to day Will broaden as thy steps draw nearer home. Lift then thy torch of promise and fair hope To light the millions on their onward march ; And, if thy reign be wise, remember this, No lesser power than Love can rule a world Of such complexity of end and aim. THE SORREL MARE. I SAW an angler by a stream Which flowed on gently, rippling by, And at every sound a watchful gleam Came and went in his hazel eye ; And every day for a week or two In that self-same spot his line he threw. There is an old manor-house not far away, With many a quaint old gateway and tower, And every morn at the break of day, Ere the sun has risen in all his power, A gray old groom on a sorrel mare Comes riding through the gateway there. In the town hard by, at the " Boar's Head tr sign (A tavern where liquor is cheap and good), Some Roundhead soldiers over their wine Are yarning as only old comrades could ; And at last some one old Praise-the-Lord Brown- Begins running his comrades' horses down. " There is no horse like my stallion gray From Yorkshire's moors to old London town For speed and strength, and courage and stay ; No racer in England can gallop him down ! Ho ! comrades all, in a flagon of ale Here's health and long life to old Martingale ! " THE SORREL MARE. 145 Then up they stand and their glasses clink ; " Here's health to old Martingale ! " they say ; And down goes the liquor without a shrink As with jovial faces the toast they drink Of Praise-the-Lord Brown's old stallion gray. u Ho, fools ! " think I ; " none of you, I swear, Have seen the stride of that sorrel mare ! " A day or so after, the news flies round " The Roundheads have captured Charles the King ! " The Crop-ears, who've got him safe and sound, Will past the Manor their prisoner bring. But still as before (what I'm telling is true) In that self-same spot that angler threw. They come ! they come ! those crop-eared curs ; And he in the middle must be the King ; I hear horses tramp, and the jingle of spurs, As 'neath their riders the chargers spring ; But that angler bold is quite unconcerned, Nor have I as yet his secret learned. But see ! They pass quite close to the brook, And the angler turns to see them go by ; He makes a swift sign with a meaning look, And I see the King has caught his eye ; But of all that crowd none the sign did see Save I and the King and that angler free. They pass, and the angler unscrews his rod ; His fishing is done for a good long while ; He picks up his basket from off the sod, And goes away with a curious smile. But what is that close to the hedge over there ? Zounds ! It's old Giles on the sorrel mare ! 10 146 THE SORREL MARE. By good St. George ! 'twas a sight to see When the fisher let go his rod and line And the mare from old Tom got nearly free, As she whinnied and pranced and commenced to whine. Ah ! well, my bonny, you knew who was there ; And you've carried that fisher before, I swear ! They talk for a minute he and old Giles While the mare puts her muzzle right into his hand ; " Is she fit," he asks, with one of his smiles, " To carry me down to Dover's sands ? " " Fit ? Yes," says Tom ; " and further than that, If she ain't, Sir Fulke, I'll eat my hat." One foot's in the *tirrup but u Hist ! can't ye hear ? " And back 'midst the oak trees the cavalier strode. u I hear a clatter of hoofs so near, They must be coming right down the road ; By our Lady ! a troop ! and Praise-the-Lord Brown ! Zounds ! He's found me out, and will run me down ! " Now into the saddle without a word, And turn her head for Dover's sand ; And over the fence she flies like a bird, . And down the road comes that crop-eared band ; But riding first, on his stallion gray, Old Praise-the-Lord Brown shows his men the way. " There he goes ! " yells Brown : " the spy ! the spy ! The plagues of Egypt be on his head ; And fifty pounds of my pay give I To the man who eatches him 'live or dead ! " " Aha ! " chuckles Giles from behind the hedge, u Your turtle's too close to the water's edge ! " THE SORREL MARE. 147 Then over the hedge with a bound they go ; The gray horse high o'er the blackthorn sped ; They are racing now and their hands are low, But the chase is already two fields ahead. Quoth Giles to himself, " A brave mount, I declare, But 'twill take a better to catch the mare ! " Sir Fulke stands up in his stirrups high, And glances round and waves his hand ; He has gained every stride three fields now lie 'Twixt the sorrel mare and that crop-eared band ; But leading his comrades by half a field Steadily onwards the gray horse stealed. O ! 'tis gallant to ride on a mare like Bess ! Firm turf beneath, and a gaining stride ; And never she seemed to feel work less As he patted her neck with honest pride ; Like clockwork she galloped, like lightning flew Thro' the lush grass heavy with diamond dew. But straight ahead looms a bullfinch fence, Black and gaunt with a stiff oak rail He steadies the mare ; she knows his sense She shortens her stride yet does not quail ; O'er the rasping spires like a dart she sped : He needs such cattle who rides for his head ! " O my Bessie ! " he cries, exulting now, As he slackens speed ; he must save her strength : He wipes the sweat from his wringing brow And takes up a hole in his stirrup's length ; Full well he knew had she failed him there It had be.en his last ride on his sorrel mare. 148 THE SORREL MARE. But the gray is a gallant horse and true Over timber or grass he is hard to beat And the rider who steers him is dauntless too, With an iron nerve and a faultless seat : Scarce stirred the tips of the bullfinch tall As he rose like a bird o'er that thorny wall. Sir Fulke has dallied a little too long And the stallion behind him can travel and stay ; But he laughs, for the sorrel is galloping strong, And he shouts to Brown in his careless way : " The mare 'gainst the gray for a flagon of sack, And my head is the stake if you take me back ! " And now o'er timber, and now o'er grass, O'er plough, and stubble, and field, and feh, O'er blackthorn walls like a flash they pass, Eager horses and reckless men ; As she tops the ditch by the slope of the hill, Three fields ahead she is teading still. With arching neck and a length'ning stride Splashed and spattered with foam and mire, She does not flinch where the brook is wide ; Where the clay is softest she does not tire ; The heart that ne'er quailed in the martial strife Will not fail him now when he rides for his life. The old mill race runs swift and deep, He can hear the swollen waters roar ; He can see the current eddy and sweep, But safety lies on the farther shore : Bold is the rider and staunch the mare Who faces the breadth of its waters there. THE SORREL .WARE. 149 But Sir Fulke is calm, if the stream is wide ; His hand is steady, his face is set ; The heart that danger has proved and tried In chase and battle is dauntless yet : He laughs as he thinks of the troopers near, She is sound as a bell, she can jump like a deer. From bank to bank thirty feet if an inch ! The thud of her hoofs is a steadier beat ; She pricks her ears, but she does not flinch ; He settles down with a firmer seat : A swift rush a wild bound she shoots thro' the air And lands him safe with a foot to spare. " Safe ! Safe at last ! Long live King Charles ! I will toast him in Dover ere set of sun ; Baffled by Bess be all crop-eared carles, Who follow her heels in a hunting run ; An old jack-boot and a flagon of ale Is all I would offer for Martingale." (< Not so ! " quoth old Brown, " I've another Bess here, We'll prove which is best, as you're anxious to try." The carbine was true, and the target was near, And keen down the barrel he laid his eye : A flash a report and an agonized scream And the sorrel lay, dying, across the stream. " Dying ? Not dying, but dead ! Bess is gone, And never again will that gallant heart beat ! Oh, never again on her back to be borne ! Oh, never again her soft whinnies to greet ! Be it rider or horse, be it soul or clay, No braver spirit has passed away. ISO 777^ SORREL MARE. " There she lies with her glossy coat muddy and red, And those rich brown eyes glazed which so brightly could shine ; A vile Crop-ear's bullet has shattered her head Who gave up her young life a forfeit for mine ! Oh, Praise-the-Lord Brown, you've a long score to pay ; And I'll pay it with interest settling day ! " No need now, ye bullies, for further pursuit : They forded the stream and arrested their prey. No answer he gives them ; his strong voice is mute ; And their summons to rise up he does not obey : But sits still like one stunned, with her head 'on his knees, And the dead sorrel mare is the sole thing he sees. Then slowly he rises and o'er her does stand, His handsome face wearing a dull look of pain, As he stoops o'er her corse, with his knife in his hand, And severs a lock from her beautiful mane ; Then they bind him and carry him off to the town, But he speaks not a word, and looks moodily down. Sir Fulke was not murdered, nor hanged as a spy ; Though he stood before Cromwell and spoke for his king ; But was doomed for long years in a prison to lie, Till from over the water the glad news took Aving ; And Praise-the-Lord Brown, in a drunken fray, Was shot through the head on his stallion gray. To the Second King Charles now the English look ; To Sir Fulke the manor has been restored ; His boys now fish in the rippling brook, Or play at men with their father's sword ; And oft by old Giles is the story told Of the sorrel mare Bess and her rider bold. THE END, Sn&e recant UN WIN BROTHERS CHILWORTH AND LONDON. A Catalogue of American and Foreign Books Published or Imported by MESSRS. SAMPSON Low & Co. can be had on application. St. Dutistan's House, Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, London, October, 1889. 3 Selection from tbe SU'st of Books PUBLISHED BY SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, LIMITED. Low's Standard Novels, page 17. Low's Standard Books for Boys, page 18. Low's Standard Series, page 19. Sea Stories, by W. CLARK RUSSELL, page 26. ALPHABETICAL LIST. A BBE Yand Parsons, Quiet life. From drawings ; the motive ** by Austin Dobson, 410. Abney ( IV. de W.~) and Cunningham. Pioneers of the Alps. With photogravure portraits of guides. Imp. 8vo, gilt top, 2is. Adam (G. Mercer'] and Wd/ierald. An Algonquin Maiden. Crown 8vo, 5^. Alcott. Works of the late Miss Louisa May Alcott : Aunt Jo's Scrap-bag;. Cloth, 2s. Eight Cousins. Illustrated, 2s. ; cloth gilt, 3-r. 6d. Jack and Jill. Illustrated, 2s. ; cloth gilt, y. 6d. Jo's Boys. 5.?. Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, &c. Illustrated, cloth, 2s.; gilt edges, 3-f. 6d. Little Men. 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