(^:>- 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 I o 
 
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 1 p^ 
 
 ]W^ 
 
 /t?
 
 
 POEMS.
 
 ASPROMONTE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 ^vn 't^^jS^f^.^ 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1869. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BV 
 
 Si'OTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARU 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 These poems were written several years ago, between 
 the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. This is mentioned, 
 not as an irrelevant extenuation of their faults, but as 
 some explanation of their peculiarities. Their publi- 
 cation has been deferred, in the hope that following 
 years might produce better work: but circumstances 
 having led to a different development, they are now 
 put forward with the hope that they may find a few 
 friends before they are quite out of date. 
 
 Jimt 1 6, 1869. , 
 
 830i>39
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 POEMS FOR ITALY. 
 
 ASPROMONTE .... 
 THE EXECUTION OF FELICE ORSINI 
 BATTLE HYMN .... 
 TWO SONNETS TO GARIBALDI 
 TO THE MEMORY OF ORSINI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 3 
 
 14 
 63 
 69 
 
 71 
 
 DRAMATIC LYRICS, 
 
 VIOLET ' 77 
 
 DE PROFUNDIS 81 
 
 MANY VOICES 86 
 
 THE IRIS 90 
 
 THE CHILDREN 93 
 
 ARCTIC CHRISTMAS 95 
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAF 99
 
 viii Contents. 
 
 MIS CELLANEO US. 
 
 PAGE 
 A WEEK IN JULY I09 
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD I25 
 
 THE INDIAN SUMMER I30 
 
 MIDNIGHT ON CALVARY 1 35 
 
 THE lady's STEPS -139 
 
 FRITZ AND WILHELMINA I42 
 
 NORTH WINDS I45 
 
 DWELLERS IN PARADISE 1 46 
 
 AN ORPHAN 148 
 
 ADELAIDE 152
 
 POEMS FOR ITALY. 
 
 t,Z B
 
 ASPROMONTE. 
 
 Garibaldi — but his charm is overthro\\Ti, 
 
 Garibaldi— but his flag is in the dust, 
 Garibaldi — but a prisoner to his own, 
 
 Garibaldi — but foredoom'd by sentence just. 
 Garibaldi — but a criminal and fool, 
 Garibaldi— but the world's faith has grown cool ; 
 Garibaldi — but a name for scoffs and scorns. 
 
 For the pity and the moral of the wise, 
 But the laurel leaves have sharpen'd into thorns, 
 
 But the Lion low with his lost fortune lies ; 
 Garibaldi — but in helpless wounded pain, 
 Garibaldi— but the fallen, never to rise again. 
 
 Garibaldi, but you arc yourself for ever ! 
 
 But you never were so noble and so dear ; 
 Garibaldi, but Christ neither now nor ever 
 
 Has loos'd His hand from holding yours to cheer 
 But^'the Comforter is with you all the while, 
 Making still your silence radiant with your smile ; 
 
 II 2
 
 4 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Garibaldi, but you are our own, our Master, 
 
 But the little ones and foolish cleave to you, 
 But around our fallen Hero we close faster, 
 
 But now i' this dark hour truer are the true. 
 Garibaldi, but we love you, we adore you, 
 Garibaldi, but our hearts are breaking for you ; 
 But the Right endureth, though the Wrong prevaileth. 
 Garibaldi — God is with you still when this world faileth. 
 
 High on Aspromonte flashed the red shirts early. 
 
 Up in the midst of them the glory of his face. 
 Low on Aspromonte, ere the day was over, 
 
 He was down and bleeding, bound in helpless case. 
 Hands of brothers pour'd that crimson — nevermore 
 Tears can wash it from the holy Tricolor. 
 
 Alas ! Alas ! could they hit him where he stood. 
 Himself throwTi between the ranks, with passionate 
 cries 
 
 Calling on them but to spare each other's blood. 
 And so, falling, gave himself a sacrifice. 
 O, the pity and the passion of that morrow, 
 
 When, all lost, all ended, he th' invincible 
 Lay there stricken in his ruin and his sorrow. 
 
 Prisoner in the hands of those he loved too well.
 
 Aspromonte. 5 
 
 Over rugged mountain-paths without complaint 
 Carried through long hours of torture, white and faint, 
 
 By the faithful, silent in his silence all, 
 
 Marching slow and soft as at a funeral. 
 Overhead all day the scorching August quiver'd. 
 
 While the laurel leaves look'd sadness, shading him, 
 As they bore him from the land he had deliver'd. 
 
 Helpless, shatter'd, hot with anguish heart and limb ; 
 No salute, or sign, or murmur as he passed ; 
 But once, looking up, he waved his hand at last : 
 Farewell ! — kneeling on the shore the people shiver'd. 
 
 Stretching out their hands long after the white sails 
 had grown dim. 
 
 How have they received him back to his own country % 
 
 He, the man who threw himself into the front for those 
 Who, standing aloof, let him bear the peril only, 
 
 And now have forsaken him when the rough wind 
 blows. 
 Has the King himself come forth to welcome him. 
 
 Remembering the kingdom that he gave him % 
 Have they made a palace ready for him % 
 
 Could they not comfort if they could not save him ? 
 
 Did they not crown him first ere they forgave him % — 
 Courts of law to judge the rebel and to try him. 
 
 Prison portion for the criminal found due.
 
 6 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Haste officious to disown him and deny him, 
 This is royal recompense for service over true. 
 
 There on Varignano frowns the fortress where 
 Italy keeps her captive, weeping over him ; 
 Passive, his part over, in their ward and care, 
 
 If perchance they may even yet recover him. 
 Through the damp and gloomy prison walls we go 
 To the chamber where they have laid him to endure, 
 Faded, and bare to the North, forlorn and poor ; 
 Open doors, and many footsteps passing to and fro. 
 Anxious looks, and undertones, and busy hands ; 
 And in the midst of them a narrow bed and low, 
 And a pale face leaning upwards — the face that we all 
 know, — 
 A pallid face with its own smile, that lightens all the 
 lands. 
 Looking into his eyes, the shadow and storm are past; 
 Not a word to utter, our wild tears come too fast ; 
 It is yourself. Garibaldi — we havekiss'd your hand at last. 
 
 Lying pallid with his face to the heavens. 
 Swooning silently under the surgeon's knife, 
 
 Pierc'd to the soul where he looked for comfort. 
 Dimly eclipse boding over his life ; 
 
 Wasted away in the sleepless fever —
 
 Aspromonte. 7 
 
 But the lip still set in its calm of old, 
 Child-like caressing, serene as ever, 
 Patient as heretofore pitiful-soul'd : — 
 'And we know that deep into heaven those absent eyes 
 behold. 
 
 Do we understand you, Garibaldi ? 
 
 Truly, I think not so. 
 We rejoice in you, we would die for you, 
 
 Wliere you go, we would go ; 
 Near you we feel nearer heaven : 
 
 Is not that enough to know ? 
 Can the lesser contain the greater 1 
 
 For ever the law says, ' No.' 
 Even if over his forehead 
 
 It were not sculptured plain, 
 How in perfect power harmonious 
 
 The heart is match'd with the brain ; 
 Must we break in pieces the grandeur 
 
 That we cannot receive ? 
 God is not us'd, half finished 
 
 His noblest works to leave. 
 And yet there are some among us 
 
 Who, claiming respect and rule, 
 Can smile and say : 'What a pity 
 
 A hero should be a fool.'
 
 8 Poems for Itaiy. 
 
 O, foolish Garibaldi ! 
 
 That might have been cross'd and starr'd 
 With diamonds, and set among princes, 
 
 And had gold for his reward ; 
 And chooses rather in prison 
 
 To be lying stiff and scarr'd, 
 His fortunes all risked headlong, 
 
 Ruthlessly crush'd and marr'd, 
 With his name from its marvellous glory 
 
 Fall'n in the world's regard, 
 And his own whom he saved, upon him 
 
 Sitting in judgment hard. 
 
 Rose-coloured Repubhc of Christ ! 
 
 So long in coming to pass ; 
 So long that our hearts are weary. 
 
 And our faith grows cold, alas ! 
 But to this the nations are yearning 
 
 In their fever and complaint ; 
 And for this the silent workers 
 
 In their patience do not faint. 
 And for thirty years one Prophet, 
 
 Rejected, despised, abhorr'd. 
 Has been crying in the wilderness : 
 
 ' Make straight the way of the Lord ! ' 
 And yet we go on blindly
 
 Aspro77ionte. 
 
 Caring not to understand, 
 Nor to lift our eyes to the letters 
 
 Trac'd out by the shining hand. 
 But surely we need that vision 
 
 To interpret what is dark ; 
 As he sees it, his face set forward, 
 
 Fearlessly on to the mark. 
 
 For we need discipline, guidance, 
 
 Restraints and rigours of rule ; 
 And only a few of the foremost 
 
 Are coming out of school. 
 But another kingdom is coming, 
 
 Whose dawn is in the sky, 
 And they who watch on the mountains 
 
 Have a vision that it is nigh ; 
 Light, light through the mists is breaking, 
 
 So that all may walk thereby ! 
 Already in far-off echoes 
 
 The new glory thrilling o'er us ; 
 ' The Lord shall reign for ever and ever ! ' 
 
 Swelling on in marvellous chorus ; 
 The blue of the heavens upbuilding 
 
 A mighty temple before us. 
 And over the arch is written 
 
 In letters orient-gilt,
 
 I o Poems for Italy. 
 
 The perfect law of liberty : 
 ' Love, and do what thou wilt.' 
 
 And he is of that kingdom : 
 
 The glory around his head 
 Is only the ray auroral 
 
 By which his footsteps are led. 
 Not that he himself is greater 
 
 Than other men might be ; 
 All by toilsome ways will later 
 
 Arrive where now stands he ; 
 But that, loving, therefore living 
 
 The life divinely true. 
 Without law or line, unerring, 
 
 Single-hearted he goes through : 
 Standing before our Father 
 
 With the heart of a little child, 
 Perfect duty and perfect freedom 
 
 In that clear faith reconcil'd ; 
 And that, walking amid shadows 
 
 That wait for a higher birth, 
 He acts in its presence already 
 
 As though it were come on earth, 
 Type and token of the future. 
 
 To the famishing of dearth.
 
 Aspromonte. 1 1 
 
 And therefore the world's heart throbs to him, 
 
 In conscious travail and pain, 
 Stretching out her hands and tossing, 
 
 Till her Lord shall come again. 
 And therefore the poor and simple, 
 
 In their weakness and distress, 
 With passionate blind devotion, 
 
 Around him kneel and press. 
 Feeling themselves made sacred 
 
 In his reverent tenderness. 
 The heart of the people, breaking, 
 
 Knows its own woe and need ; 
 'The brother of Jesus Christ,' they say, 
 
 Poor, pining souls indeed ! 
 
 You have given him your love, Italy ! 
 
 It was all he would take from you : 
 Well may you weep and wail his hurt, 
 
 Who trusted that you were true ! 
 Had you, now bitterly rueing, 
 
 Been worthy of him, alas ! 
 This deed, which has no undoing, 
 
 Would never have come to pass. 
 When he came forward, giving 
 
 The signal forth, Be men !
 
 12 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Did he look for such an answer 
 
 To be given him back again % 
 What was that small love-token 
 
 You sent him the other day, 
 So that, bone and sinew broken, 
 
 Struck dowTi to earth he lay % 
 Could you find nothing more tender 
 
 Than a bullet to kiss his feet ? 
 Strange homage for you to render ! 
 
 When fronting once more you meet, 
 How will you look at your lover 
 
 Halt of step and pale of cheek ? 
 Surely your face you must cover 
 
 Though never reproach he speak. 
 
 There is One in Heaven, Garibaldi, 
 
 ^^^lOse face we have not seen : 
 But thinner to you than to us lies 
 
 The veil that hangs between. 
 He has made you for His own work ; 
 
 He has kept you spotless through ; 
 And you know better than we can, 
 
 AVhat He has called you to do : 
 Some day you will go forth again, 
 
 And He wall go with you.
 
 Aspromonte. 
 
 If we would but look up, to us 
 The heavens would open too ! 
 
 Now, courage ! Has his cause with him 
 
 Gone down in this overthrow 1 
 Are works and prayers thrown backwards ; 
 
 And all in vain 1 Oh no ! 
 Those eyes that see the farthest 
 
 Declare that it is not so. 
 How often we know already, 
 
 Wlien the arm of the conqueror fails, 
 When the wise have sunk despairing, 
 
 The martyr at last prevails. 
 So our hopes are with you, whether 
 
 Your fortunes rise or fall ; 
 For you are Garibaldi, 
 
 And God is over all !
 
 14 Poems for Italy. 
 
 THE 
 
 EXECUTION OF FELICE ORSINI, 
 
 March 13//^, 1858. 
 
 ' Fuor se' dell' erte vie, fuor se' dell' arte.'— Dante. 
 
 Part I. 
 THE STREETS OF PARIS. 
 
 A DAY to be much remembered, 
 
 Sad and sublime; 
 Written in letters of red 
 
 In the book of Time. 
 Not a coronation morning, 
 
 With its light of purple and gold, 
 And floods of mighty music 
 
 In hallelujahs rolled : 
 Not a young bride led home 
 
 From royal halls afar, 
 All pallid and pearl-glittering, 
 
 A sweet and tremulous Star :
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 15 
 
 Not a conqueror's State entry, 
 
 With his armies marching back 
 Under triumphal arches, 
 
 A ghttering scarlet track, 
 When the wide streets glare in sunshine, 
 
 And the bells ring out all day, 
 And the people shout together. 
 
 Knowing not what they say : — 
 Only a winter's morning, 
 
 Crowds standing silent by, 
 A prison and a scaffold. 
 
 And a man brought out to die. 
 
 In the cold, damp darkness. 
 
 Between the night and day, 
 With nerv'd and solemn heart. 
 
 Forth we take our way 
 To follow to thy martyrdom — 
 
 Last hom.age we can pay ; 
 To watch with our own eyes 
 
 The setting of this star ; 
 To bear thee faithful company 
 
 Down this dark road, as far 
 As where the soul and God 
 
 Alone together are.
 
 1 6 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Paris is all astir ; 
 Another day for her 
 
 Of tragedy. 
 Sunrise is not for long, 
 Yet onward pours along 
 The ever-thickening throng 
 
 Continually. 
 Fresh streams from every street 
 A ceaseless press of feet, 
 In quick and countless beat ; 
 
 All one way they fare. 
 The darkness seems alive — 
 
 A breathing, moving thing. 
 With a strange awe we strive : 
 This hollow murmuring 
 
 In the damp, leaden air, 
 This vague and heaving sea 
 
 Of shadows undefin'd. 
 Hurrying confusedly, 
 
 Seems every sense to bind 
 In nightmare weight of gloom ; 
 For silently they come : 
 A horror-quiet broods 
 Over the multitudes ; — 
 No wild cries — no word
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 17 
 
 Above their breath is heard : 
 The air is only stirred 
 
 By a vague whispering hum. 
 
 Sudden and startHng comes 
 A long, loud roll of drums ; 
 
 And the echo clear 
 Of bugle notes afar 
 Winds down the Boulevards : 
 
 Be ready — the hour is near ! 
 Through the darkness and the damp, 
 On comes the clatter and tramp 
 
 Of the squadrons down the street : 
 A shock — a rushing past ; 
 Furiously and fast 
 
 The heavy, hurrying feet 
 Over the stones are sped. 
 ' To guard the scaffold,' said 
 A voice beside us, low. 
 Did ye not mark it when 
 
 They pass'd the lamp below — 
 How cold and blue the steel 
 Flash'd out % — Did ye not feel 
 A sudden shrinking then? 
 
 And the ring of spurs and reins 
 Came like the clank of chains. 
 c
 
 I g Poems for Italy. 
 
 Heaven help us all this day ! 
 
 Would we were far away. 
 Already, in foreshadowing, 
 
 Our spirits sink and cower ; 
 Yet he has given up all things 
 
 To suffer death this hour. 
 
 The light becomes more clear; 
 The daybreak draweth near, 
 Yet brings no warmth to cheer, 
 
 Nor sunrise glow. 
 No sun will shine to-day; 
 The dark fogs drift away ; 
 The skies are leaden grey, 
 
 Sullen and low ; 
 White and ghostly sheets 
 Of mist hang o'er the streets, 
 
 Wet with trodden snow. 
 Dismaller and drearer 
 Ever as we draw nearer 
 
 Seems the way to grow. 
 To the great burial garden 
 
 Onward now it turns ; 
 Past long lines of tombstones. 
 
 And cold funeral urns ;
 
 Execidion of Felice Orsini. 19 
 
 Where the living have made 
 Of the dead a trade. 
 Bare, bleach'd crosses stand 
 Stiff" on either hand, 
 Showing dismal white 
 In the chill half-light. 
 All things black and dolorous : — 
 
 Coffins with sable pall; 
 Dark plumes and hearse-trappings, 
 
 Heavy on every wall ; 
 A horror of the charnel-house 
 
 Overshadowing all ; — • 
 Only the pallid Immortelles 
 
 Some brighter thoughts recall ; 
 Fresh and fair, yet never a wreath 
 
 But tears thereon shall fall. 
 And if the way were clear, 
 
 As three hours hence 'twill be, 
 The cypress at the gates 
 
 Before us we might see, 
 Guarding that sad harvest field, 
 
 Sown darkly in decay, 
 Where twenty generations 
 Are mouldering to clay. 
 But we will leave them, lying 
 In their desolate array — 
 c 2
 
 20 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Not of the Dead, but the Dying, 
 Our hearts are full to-day. 
 
 Now we are close at hand : 
 Before us outlined dimly 
 La Roquette rises grimly, 
 Black as death and sorrow — 
 Holy ground to-morrow. 
 Countless thousands stand 
 Already crowded there, 
 Filling the open square, 
 And stretching every side 
 Far up the streetways wide. 
 
 Till, lost in gloom and haze. 
 The vague, dim, human tide 
 
 With shado^\y motion sways ; 
 Who motionless and still, 
 
 While even he has slept. 
 
 Through the night-frosts have kept 
 Their vigils faint and chill. 
 
 They gather'd yester-eve, 
 
 A\Tien the snow began to fall ; 
 
 The long, dark hours toU'd heavily. 
 
 Standing they counted all, 
 And the day dawns on pale faces 
 Waiting to see him fall.
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 21 
 
 Nor these perhaps alone 
 This night has wakeful known. 
 The lamps bum on the altars 
 In the churches all night long ; 
 Surely some pious souls 
 
 Have stay'd since evensong 
 To pray for the passing soul — 
 
 Christ, shrive him from his wrong ! — 
 O ! all good souls and true, 
 Spare him a prayer or two, — 
 
 'Tis but little while ye may; 
 Grudge not of tears a few, 
 He gives his blood for you. 
 
 He is dying to-day. 
 The light that flash'd all Europe through 
 
 Is vanishing away — 
 The arm that like the lightning flew 
 Wherever there was work to do. 
 Braving all pain and peril anew. — 
 O God ! Thou know'st his heart was true 
 Even in this offence ! 
 Then watch for one hour longer, 
 
 One hour yet more intense, 
 In this dark mid-lent season. 
 For him who goeth hence ; —
 
 92 
 
 Poems for Italy. 
 
 The haughty hero-spirit, 
 Parting in penitence. 
 
 While in the Tuileries, 
 Sleepless and ill at ease, 
 Silent as Fate's decrees, 
 
 As morn came on; 
 Waiting till all was o'er, 
 Through hall and corridor 
 Restless the Emperor 
 
 Pac'd up and down ; 
 Thinking we know not what ; 
 If sorrow, utter'd not. — 
 Emperor ! have you forgot, 
 Thinking of him, one day 
 Long ago, years away. 
 
 Nearer the morning skies, 
 When under one command 
 He and you took your stand 
 Comrades, and, hand in hand, 
 
 Look'd in each other's eyes ; — 
 At your own peril, both 
 Utter'd the same high oath, 
 Self-doom'd for broken troth, 
 
 Then parted from each other? 
 Since then, through chance and change, 
 Each by rough ways and strange.
 
 ExectUion of' Felice Oi'sini. 23 
 
 Ye to the goal have past 
 Separate ; and now, at last, 
 Once more your fates are cast 
 
 In the world's eye together. 
 Each doom'd, by fortune's stress, 
 By each, yet not the less 
 Too great for bitterness ; 
 Still that bond feels unrent. 
 Through all between that went. 
 By that old sacrament, 
 
 He is your brother. 
 Those days when truth seem'd true, 
 One vow was on you two ; 
 He has kept his — and you ? 
 
 Now, past recall 
 He goes ; when next you meet 
 At the same Judge's feet. 
 Your work will be complete ; — 
 
 Hear you no call? 
 
 There, on the farther side, 
 
 Before the prison gates, 
 The scaffold yet undy'd. 
 
 The sacrifice awaits ; 
 All the eyes around 
 Thereon are strain'd and bound,
 
 24 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Where the hideous frame 
 Rises gaunt and tall, 
 Its cords wound up for working, 
 
 Dull red painted all ; 
 The hard block ready laid. 
 The overhanging blade, 
 Horrible they loom 
 Through the thinning gloom. 
 
 Wlio now feels heart among us 
 To tempt this Aasible doom % 
 A wide-swept space around 
 Of clear'd and open ground. 
 By guards on three sides bound ; 
 Deep files on either hand, 
 Flank'd by the horsemen stand, 
 An iron wall ; 
 Rein'd steeds in close lines drawn, 
 Naked swords upright borne, 
 Helmets on fierce brows worn, 
 Motionless all. 
 Driven back by armed stress, 
 Surging, the people press ; 
 From every house in Paris 
 
 Every man has come — 
 Some as to a spectacle, 
 As to an altar some ;
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 
 
 Careless and free of speech, 
 
 Or stricken stiff and dumb. 
 Ah ! many a crowd has gathered here 
 
 In the grey morning Hght, 
 And many an erring spirit 
 
 Has taken hence its flight ; 
 But never morning dim 
 
 So full of awe drew nigh, 
 And never man like him 
 
 Stood here before to die. 
 
 These were the words that went. 
 With low, c^uick breathings blent. 
 From one to another sent. 
 
 Among the crowds : 
 ' Saw ye not at the trial 
 
 The look that was in his eye, 
 WTien he tum'd to his false comrades, 
 
 And said, " I pardon ye ? " 
 Have ye read that last message 
 
 Unto his people sent ? — 
 The letter written yestereve, 
 
 His dying testament ; 
 As an emperor to an emperor, 
 
 And yet no scorn nor pride ! 
 Hard task to sign the death-warrant,
 
 26 Poems for Italy. 
 
 With that sheet spread beside ! 
 
 Ah ! feelings strange and dim 
 
 Plead in our hearts for him 
 More than we dare say. — 
 If he had had his way, 
 We might have stood to-day 
 Like men, and spoken out. — 
 
 Nor law nor priest has might 
 
 To give unerring light 
 
 Whereby to read aright 
 
 His just award : — no doubt, 
 
 Murder is deadly sin; 
 
 Yet there was therein 
 
 Nothing for him to win 
 
 Save what is here ; — 
 
 And as it draws so near, 
 
 Terrible and clear. 
 
 Does it not strange appear 
 That one of high estate, 
 So gifted and so great. 
 
 Without constraint or call, 
 
 Should have forsaken all 
 
 Honour'd, and sweet, and dear, 
 
 With purpose firm to go 
 
 To shame, and death, and woe, 
 And none to thank or cheer %
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 27 
 
 Has he not given his name 
 Unto reproach and shame, 
 Good men's soitow, proud men's blame; 
 From history to claim 
 Only a murderer's fame ? 
 Yea ; has he not besides, 
 
 In a whole people's cause, 
 At his own cost defied 
 
 Divine and human laws ; 
 The guilt of innocent blood 
 
 For ever on his head, 
 To stand before his God, 
 
 His hands yet reeking red % 
 Strange mystery, any heart 
 Could choose such awful part ! 
 Was it madness % — who can tell ? 
 Or was it something else 
 
 We know not of? — Ah! well; 
 What is it is stronger than fear, — 
 Stronger than Death and Hell % 
 
 Not with the beat of rolling drum. 
 Or wild fifes wailing, dost thou come. 
 Tyrannicide, unto thy doom ; 
 Nothing of sound or light
 
 28 Poems for Italy. 
 
 The spirit to excite 
 To the stern delight 
 Of martyrdom. 
 The lamps are going out, 
 
 The stars died long ago ; — 
 The death-knell from the chapel, 
 
 Dull, and deep, and slow, — 
 A sick heart-throb in every stroke, — 
 
 Tolls heavily to and fro. 
 In the glimmer and gloom of dawning, 
 
 In the winter's mist and chill. 
 In the people's shiver and shudder, ' 
 
 Far off, and ghastly still : — 
 In the serried steel-clad circle. 
 
 Whose grim and glaring eyes 
 In hungry glee are fix'd to see 
 
 How the assassin dies ; — 
 With never the face of an old friend 
 
 Standing by thee brave and true ; — 
 God and thy own heroic heart 
 
 Alone to bear thee through.
 
 Exeat t ion of Felice Orsini. 29 
 
 Part II. 
 THE PR IS N. 
 
 Candlelight and morning gloom 
 Struggling in the prison-room, 
 That dim and desolate chamber, where 
 The dpomed for their fate prepare. 
 
 A hush'd and solemn company- 
 To-day is gathered there ; 
 Some standing passionless, 
 
 With faces stern and still. 
 At their appointed post, 
 
 Hirelings for good or ill ; 
 Some with clasp'd, quivering hands, 
 
 Now fever-flushed, now pale, 
 Cold sweat upon their brows. 
 
 Limbs that faint and fail. 
 Three black and hateful-brow'd, 
 
 Of rude and iron limb, 
 With cool and practised hands, 
 
 About their labour grim ; 
 Felon's or martyr's blood, 
 
 It comes alike to them.
 
 J 
 
 o ' Poems for Italy. 
 
 Two with deep pious eyes, 
 Mild with consolation, 
 That will unshrinking stand, 
 Strong in Christ, cross in hand, 
 
 Lighting the way. 
 And in that silent ring 
 One .wild and fluttering — 
 One with the face of a king 
 
 On his croAvning day. 
 
 Standing amidst them all, 
 In that accursed hall, 
 Fetter'd in helpless thrall, 
 Vile hands upon thee laid. 
 In robes of scorn array'd, 
 
 How grand thou art ! 
 Those cold and curious eyes. 
 Thine aspect stranger-^\ise 
 Nor shrinks from nor defies, 
 
 But stands apart; 
 In unapproached strength, 
 Resolv'd and fix'd at length. 
 
 There is no human eye, 
 Nor human aid, intrudes 
 Into that solitude's 
 
 Heroic agony.
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 31 
 
 All clos'd and still, — and yet 
 The anguish thou hast met 
 One awful seal has set 
 
 Too visibly. 
 Since we saw thee last, 
 What wild change has past, 
 As the furnace-blast, 
 Over thy brow ! 
 In one week that white hair ! — 
 Witness perforce is there 
 What thou hast had to bear 
 Of pangs nigh to despair, — 
 
 All over now. 
 Upon that glorious face 
 There is little trace 
 
 Of conflicts that have been ; 
 Calm thou standest now. 
 With grave, majestic brow ; 
 Passive and marble-still ; 
 Through thy frame no thrill 
 
 Nor tremor seen ; 
 No quick flashes rise 
 From thy deep dark eyes, — 
 Fathomless there lies 
 
 A veiled soul therein.
 
 '^2 Poems for Italy. 
 
 This was all thy face betray'd 
 Unto the eyes of men ; 
 
 What more our hearts may read 
 We cannot tell again. 
 
 Yet though thus tranc'd thou seem, , 
 
 Past thee, as in a dream, 
 What crowding pictures gleam 
 
 Out from the past. 
 All over, and so soon, — 
 Not forty years are done,i 
 And life for ever gone, — 
 
 The one die cast ! 
 How fair and sunny shines 
 That home amid the vines, 
 
 Far off in Imola; ^ 
 How soft the day declines 
 Over the Apennines, 
 
 Purple afar. 
 Fearless and full of truth, 
 What joy it was in youth 
 
 To feel at every breath 
 The dawn of manhood breaking, 
 
 ' Orsini was born in 1819. 
 
 * From nine to tliirty years of age Orsini's liome was at Imola.
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 33 
 
 With passionate dreams awaking, 
 And deep thoughts purpose taking 
 
 For hfe and death. 
 That young, full-hearted vow * 
 Of thy whole self, which thou, 
 Fulfill'd and seal'd, wilt now 
 
 Deliver back to God. 
 Thy first steps on the way 
 Which, straight on, till to-day 
 
 Thou in firm faith hast trod; 
 Those Roman prison-dens accurst. 
 Where thou, all slowly withering 
 In darkness and in chains, didst first 
 Measure thy power with suffering, 
 And felt it equal to the worst, — 
 
 Yea, even to the doom ^ 
 Of terror and despair that fell 
 Upon thy youth a freezing knell — 
 Young Life, and Love, and Hope, farewell ! 
 
 Long torture till Death come. 
 God give patience to the end, 
 Or some swift succour send, 
 
 ' ' At the age of twenty-two I was admitted a member of the 
 secret societies.' — Orsini s Memoirs. 
 
 * At the age of twenty-five, Orsini was condemned to the galleys 
 for Hfe. The amnesty granted in 1846, by Pius IX., prevented the 
 execution of this sentence.
 
 34 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Or soon call home ! 
 Deliverance at last ; — 
 When tvvo long years are past, 
 
 The act of grace has come. 
 
 1849. 
 
 Then arose that dawn sublime, 
 That short, glowing, glorious time. 
 The third Rome in her bridal prime ; 
 When Mazzini's words of fire 
 
 Rang through the halls of Rome, 
 And the tricolor wav'd out 
 
 Over St. Peter's dome ; 
 Hark ! the clash of the bells above. 
 
 The people's shouts below 
 For Rome and the Republic ! 
 
 Life is worth having now. 
 Then, chosen by the people. 
 
 Thy eloquent voice was heard 
 Thrilling throughout the Capitol, 
 
 Till hearts beneath it stirr'd. 
 And men rose up to follow thee, 
 
 And thou didst lead them on
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 35 
 
 Where there was. danger to be dar'd, 
 
 Or glory to be won. * 
 Where the dead thickest 
 
 Strevv'd the red ground ; 
 Where rattled fastest 
 
 The sharp musket sound, 
 Where the battle hottest 
 
 Thunder'd around — 
 Fiercest and foremost 
 
 There wast thou found. 
 And when the golden time was rent 
 With lawless deeds and violent, 
 And others vainly aid had sent, 
 Thy strong, and just, and fearless hand 
 Gave peace and safety to the land.^ 
 And at the blood-red setting 
 
 Of that scarce hailed star, 
 When three great armies gather'd, 
 
 Like vultures from afar ; 
 And all around the city bound 
 
 • In June 1849, Orsini led five hundred men to the relief of 
 Ascoli, besieged by the Neapolitan army. — Vide Farini's History, 
 vol. iv. 
 
 "^ Ancona was kept in a state of terror by brigands and assassins, 
 who committed open robbery and murder. Mazzini sent several 
 commissioners to repress them, who failed to do so. He then sent 
 Orsini, who immediately restored security. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 Poc7izs for Italy. 
 
 AVith narrowing rings of war, 
 That fiery baptism-tide, 
 Ye, Romans, side by side. 
 Did at your posts abide 
 
 Stedfast through all. 
 How it comes back again. 
 
 That night before the fall ! 
 When the solemn, lighted city 
 
 Up unto God did call ; 
 \Vhen the lightning and the thunder 
 
 Burst through the battle's brawl ; 
 When the streets were shaking under 
 
 The hail of bomb and ball, 
 Till down, in storm asunder, 
 
 Crash'd the defended wall ; 
 When the one look of Mazzini 
 
 Still'd the tumultuous Hall, 
 And the eyes of Garibaldi 
 
 Were shining over all. 
 
 1849 to 1856. 
 
 All over ! It was nobly striven ; 
 What use against all earth and heaven? 
 So, into bitter exile driven,
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 37 
 
 The strife begins again. ^ 
 All that story, yet half-told, 
 Of danger strange and manifold, 
 Thirst and hunger, heat and cold, 
 Wanderings wild by field and flood, 
 Deeds of daring, wounds and blood, 
 
 In peril and in pain. 
 Often into prisons cast, 
 Yet no bonds could hold thee fast ; 
 From their hands escap'd and past. 
 
 And forward once again. 
 Through the snares set in thy path, 
 Baffling all an empire's wrath ; 
 From city unto city forth, 
 Calling men to rise and arm, 
 By the mighty power and charm 
 Of thy presence and thy name. 
 Keeping still the spark aflame. 
 Stirring life where'er they came. 
 And high hope upbore thee still, 
 Thy great mission to fulfil ; 
 Nothing might dismay or chill, 
 
 ' On the fall of the Roman republic, Orsini retired to Nice. For 
 several years he resided there at intervals ; most of his time being 
 spent in organising insurrections in Lombardy and Tuscany. Once 
 during this period he was obliged to take refuge in England.
 
 38 Jt^oems for Italy. 
 
 Till that bitterest stroke of fate 
 
 Thy honour and thy love betray'd — 
 The foul and faithless wrong that made 
 Thy heart and home so desolate.' — 
 Lifelong shadow o'er thee thrown, 
 A wound that will not heal : — 
 Heartsick and reckless, thou art gone 
 On desperate errand all alone — 
 Unto none thy purpose sho^vn — 
 
 None bidding thee farewell. 
 Thou, the hunted and the bann'd, 
 Into the heart of the strange land, 
 Barest, with wild purpose plann'd, 
 To raise it with thy single hand.^ 
 Taken at last ! and by a foe 
 Never wath life will let thee go : 
 Too deep and deadly debt they owe; 
 Thou knowest what to look for now. 
 All thy sufferings ever told, 
 
 ' ' I had been robbed of my happiness, and was yet unrevenged 
 on the destroyer. I shall find him yet. ' ' The hope before I die 
 to stand face to face \vith the traitor who has so foully wronged 
 me.' — OrsiuPs Memoirs. 
 
 ' Orsini, in December 1854, travelled alone through Hungary, 
 Austria, and Transylvania, on a revolutionary mission whose import 
 he never fully revealed.
 
 ■Execution of Felice Orsini. 39 
 
 Heap'd upon thee hundredfold : 
 Fever, famine, freezing cold, 
 Their utmost malice wreak'd on thee, 
 Entreated so despitefully, 
 The very gaolers wept to see 
 Thy patience and thy misery.* 
 And thou, as darker clos'd thy fate, 
 Rising more glorious and great : 
 Standing before thy judges, 
 
 No friend or witness nigh, 
 Pallid and feverstricken, 
 
 But the proud light in thine eye-^ 
 ' Ye have your chains and tortures, 
 
 And I have heart to die.'^ 
 The heavy chains, the damp, dark cell. 
 In the Mantua citadel; 
 The weary waiting for thy doom. 
 Alone within that living tomb ; 
 The hope that flash'd on thy despair, 
 The deed that only thou couldst dare, 
 That terrible midnight, that wild tale 
 That froze our cheeks long after pale, 
 
 ' Orsini was arrested at Hermanstadt, in Transylvania. For the 
 terrible sufferings which followed, and which nearly cost him his life, 
 see his Austrian Dungeons. 
 
 ' See Orsini's account of his examinations at Mantua.
 
 40 Poems for Italy. 
 
 The dizzy height, the balance frail ; 
 
 Our hearts within us shrink and quail, 
 
 Only thine might never fail ; 
 
 It reads not like the deeds of men ; 
 
 God and the angels were with thee then ! ^ 
 
 1856 to 1858. 
 
 Bread of exile once more thine, 
 Full of bitterness and brine; 
 Damp, downward-pressing skies, 
 Cold looks from stranger eyes ; 
 Passionate pleadings thrown away, 
 Homesick pining day by day. 
 Strong health fretting to decay ; 
 Till ovenvearied, overwrought, 
 How or whence we know not brought, 
 In fatal hour flash'd this thought, 
 
 Thy strained sense before. 
 Then the strife, the fever pain, 
 Fire and frenzy of the brain — 
 
 ' See Orsini's account of his marvellous escape from Mantua, 
 March 1856. He then came to England, where he remained till 
 December 1857, endeavouring in vain to excite the Government and 
 the public to interfere in behalf of his country. 
 
 I
 
 ExectUion of Felice Orsini. 41 
 
 Thank God, that worst pain is o'er ! 
 Hatred shall be nevermore. 
 Thy last perilous journey past,^ 
 Thy terrible secret ripening fast; 
 Mid the giddy whirl and press 
 
 Of this fair city, heard without, 
 In thy chamber's loneliness. 
 
 By day, with nerved hand and stout, 
 Working on, and violent death 
 Hanging over every breath \^ 
 Mid the laughter and the light 
 Of the glittering streets by night. 
 Moving, as in a dream, apart. 
 With one stem purpose in thy heart; 
 The outward calm, the inward fire. 
 The dark hour drawing nigh and nigher. — 
 The night of horrors,^ the wild cry 
 That through the darkness rent the sky : 
 
 ' Orsini left London for Paris, on his last attempt, December 
 
 1857- 
 
 ^ The preparation of the bombs used by Orsini was attended with 
 great danger. He undertook the task alone, and was obliged to 
 work with a thermometer always in his hand, to prevent an explo- 
 sion. 
 
 " Januaiy 14, 1858. Orsini himself was terribly wounded; he 
 was dangerously ill afterwards, of fever, brought on by his bodily 
 and mental sufferings.
 
 42 Poems for Italy. 
 
 On that hour we cannot dwell, 
 It is too near and terrible. 
 It is over — let it be, 
 And all those after days to thee, 
 Of madness and of agony. 
 Over, too, with all its glow, 
 
 That last triumphal hour, 
 When multitudes once more stood hush'd 
 
 Beneath thy spirit's power. ^ 
 Back to thy cell, whence thou 
 Wilt come but once more now, 
 There all alone to hear 
 Death's footsteps coming near, 
 Hour by hour more clear. 
 Death-doom'd, and with the brand 
 Of murder on thy hand, 
 To go before God's throne. 
 
 And all those innocent souls 
 But just before thee gone. 
 Crying for vengeance there. 
 Drowning in blood thy prayer, 
 
 Barring thy way. 
 Mortal anguish, spirit's groan. 
 All that God and thou alone, 
 
 ' See Orsini's magnificent speech at his trial, February 25, 1858.
 
 Exectttion of Felice Orsini. 43 
 
 Here within these walls, have known. 
 
 And the parting yesterday; 
 Children's arms, so soft and small, 
 Round thy neck in passionate thrall, 
 Where the sharp axe next must fall. 
 
 Ah, let it be ! — Not now 
 Thoughts such as these must must wake 
 The settled strength to shake 
 
 From that majestic brow. 
 
 No man stirred or spake, 
 None durst the silence break, 
 
 Fall'n on the room. 
 Thou takest little heed. 
 As at their work they speed, 
 
 To clothe thee for thy doom ; 
 No sign by which to read 
 
 Thy spirit's light or gloom. 
 Thou dost not start to feel 
 The cold touch of the steel. 
 
 As round thy neck the locks 
 Are shorn away. 
 
 That the other steel may find 
 No hindrance in its way.
 
 44 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Never a motion, never 
 
 A wandering of thine eyes; 
 The minutes steal away, 
 And thou hast nought to say: 
 
 How cold and still it is. 
 Nearer we may not draw ; 
 Hush'd we stand in awe, 
 
 With lingering passionate eyes 
 Gazing for the last time 
 Upon that presence sublime, 
 That in its power and prime 
 
 Is passing away for ever. 
 The world has seem'd of late 
 So noble and so great, 
 All rapt and consecrate 
 
 Unto thy name : 
 Thou, who the air hast fill'd 
 
 With thy great fame. 
 Who day by day hast thrill'd 
 
 With words of flame. 
 For whom in midnights still'd 
 
 Our wild prayers came ; 
 Who even now hast power 
 To make this fearful hour 
 
 Unutterably dear : — 
 Too soon it will be past.
 
 ExeciLtion of Felice Orsini. 45 
 
 We shall have looked our last ; 
 Gulfs unsounded cast 
 
 'Twixt thee and us to-morrow. 
 Ah ! rather have thee near 
 In all this woe and fear, 
 Than be without thee here, 
 Alone in sorrow. 
 
 He who was join'd with thee, 
 
 And played thee such ill part. 
 And now thy doom must share. 
 May not an aspect wear 
 So lofty in despair, 
 
 But spurreth feverishly 
 His sinking heart. 
 Wild words upon his tongue, 
 
 Cold drops upon his brow ; 
 Thou hast some thought to spare 
 
 For others, even now. 
 Thou, the slander'd and betra/d, 
 To the weaker and afraid 
 Turnest with thy holy aid. 
 In the depth of thy own struggle and woe 
 The pardon was given long ago }■ 
 
 ' See Orsini's speech at his trial, February 35.
 
 46 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Passion is over, scorn is past, 
 And overflowing love at last 
 
 Has all thy soul possest. 
 'Twas thy last prayer yestereven 
 His life might be forgiven ; 
 ' My blood alone be given ! ' ' 
 
 And now to him addrest, 
 With an o'ermastering charm, 
 
 On his strain'd ear descend 
 The grand, grave words, ' Be calm, 
 
 Be calm, my friend ! ' "^ 
 
 Now it is ordered all, 
 
 As the law commands : 
 The shoes are off thy feet. 
 
 The cords are on thy hands ; 
 The long robes o'er thee cast, 
 And on thy head at last 
 
 Plac'd the black veil and hood. 
 Then one lightning streak 
 Flash'd over eye and cheek. ^ 
 
 ' See Orsini's second letter to the Emperor. 
 
 ' Pierri talked incessantly, with feverish excitement. He was 
 interrupted by Orsini with the words, ' Be calm, my friend, be 
 calm. ' 
 
 ' ' WTaen the hood was placed over his head, his face, which 
 hitherto had been calm and impassive, became flushed for a moment, 
 and his eye lighted up.' — The Times.
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 47 
 
 Up in a fervent flood 
 Rush'd the proud Roman blood : 
 Before us crown' d he stood 
 : In the glory and the flush 
 
 Of the martyr aureole, 
 And his dark eyes lighted up 
 
 At the kindling of his soul ; 
 And on the stedfast lip 
 
 Broke forth a smile divine : — 
 Upon our hearts for ever 
 
 That moment's look will shine. 
 
 Sorrowful around thee 
 
 Together noAv they crowd ; 
 Thou, their dying prisoner, 
 
 All their hearts hast bow'd.^ 
 In accents low and broken 
 The farewell words were spoken ; 
 The farewell back was given 
 
 In accents low and still ; 
 Perhaps the thought that moment 
 
 Came with a sudden thrill : 
 
 ' ' Orsini spoke little ; but when the governor of the prison and 
 some of the officers approached him, he bade them, in a low tone of 
 voice, farewell. The turnkey of his cell announced to him in a tone 
 of regret that his last moment was come. Orsini thanked him for 
 his sympathy.'
 
 48 Poems for Italy. 
 
 ' Better to be as he is 
 Than doing a tyrant's will' 
 
 We are ready — all is done; 
 The hour is all but run ; 
 Beating one by one, 
 
 Loudly the seconds pass. 
 No heart-sick lingering or delay, 
 Short and stem is the work to-day. 
 Thou, full conscious of thy doom. 
 Hast brav'd Death — and he is come. 
 Neither doubtful nor afar, 
 Only the door ajar 
 Few moments more will bar 
 
 The scaffold from thy gaze.
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 49 
 
 Part III. 
 
 THE SCAFFOLD. 
 
 Seven strokes toll out the hour, 
 
 Chim'd harsh and slow ; 
 Now courage ! and God help us all ! 
 
 It is time to go.^ 
 Ere the last sound has died, 
 With sudden motion glide 
 The prison doors aside ; ^ 
 
 Look upward now ! 
 It rises gaunt and grim 
 Athwart the shadows dim, 
 Looming in ghastly shape ; 
 No rescue nor escape. 
 Forward ! It must be fac'd. 
 
 It is not over yet : 
 Well that thou hast a hero's heart, 
 
 Or how could this be met % 
 
 ' ' The moment of moving now came, and the Abbe Hugon cried 
 out, " Courage ! " ' 
 
 * ' The prison clock stnick seven : before the last sound died 
 away, the door leading to the scaffold opened as of itself. ' 
 
 E
 
 50 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Over the flinty courtyard 
 
 The dark procession go, 
 Lighted tapers flickering, 
 
 Funeral shadows throw ; 
 The death-knell tolling, tolling, 
 
 Ever more sad and slow ; 
 And a faint hymn chanted 
 
 Quivering and low ; 
 ' Mourir pour la patrie ! * 
 
 It is even so. 
 
 On to the slaughter led, 
 Headsman and priest between ; 
 Hands bound behind his back, 
 Long penance shroud of black, 
 Bare feet and veiled head, 
 And a conqueror's proud tread 
 
 Up the steps fifteen. 
 Via Dolorosa ! 
 
 A rude rough way ; 
 Yet mid the mockeries 
 
 Of this dire array 
 There is a glory on thee 
 
 They cannot take away. 
 Now most of all we feel, 
 O Hero ! we would kneel
 
 Executiott of Felice Orsini. 51 
 
 In homage unto thee. — 
 One went up for this world's weal 
 In shame to Calvar}^ 
 
 r 
 
 / 
 
 It seems thou wouldst miplore 
 Leave to speak once more 
 
 In all men's hearing free.^ 
 Thou turnest, we can see, 
 Towards them wistfully, 
 Those throngs of gazers there, 
 Who noAv must witness bear 
 
 For thee to history. 
 But they are driven back 
 
 Too far for this to be ; 
 Too mighty mastery lies 
 In thy voice, in thine eyes ; 
 Not for enslaved ear 
 Patriot's last charge to hear : 
 
 So thou must have denial. 
 Yet fear not, O full heart. 
 Unread from earth to part ; 
 Love can those words divine, 
 
 ' ' When Orsini appeared on the platform, it could be seen, from 
 the movement of his body and of his head, thougli covered by the 
 veil, that he was looking out for the crowd, and probably intended 
 addressing them, but they were too far off.' 
 
 E 2
 
 52 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Needeth nor voice nor sign ; 
 All our hearts beat with thine 
 
 Through this last trial. 
 Farewell ! farewell ! The cry 
 Ariseth far and nigh ; 
 From the land across the sea, 
 From thine own Italy, 
 From souls in slavery 
 Whom thou didst seek to free, 
 All the world holds of sympathy 
 
 Is round thee now. 
 All the world waits to-day 
 For the tidings that will say. 
 Thou art pass'd away. 
 In many a distant home, 
 
 Thou know'st not it may be 
 iMany a tear ere night 
 
 Will fall for thee. 
 Yes, as thou standest there, 
 Nations in despair 
 Lift their eyes to thee. 
 Wailing passionately — 
 
 * Oh, that it should be thou ! 
 For thy love to us 
 Perishing, and thus ; — 
 
 Who will save us now ? '
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 53 
 
 What a deadly stillness, 
 
 What an awful pause ! • 
 Closer and closer o'er us 
 
 The black cloud draws. 
 In one shuddering silence 
 
 Thousands are bound ; 
 What a horror of darkness 
 
 Gathers around ! 
 Dizzy our eyes and dim — 
 
 The earth reels to and fro ; 
 With wildly rattling pulses 
 
 The gasped moments go. 
 A dark and fearful passage 
 
 We are entering with thee ; 
 But thy calm aspect lighteth it ' 
 
 Gloriously. 
 
 Thou hast reach'd the place of death — 
 
 Here we must part ; 
 We may go no further 
 
 With thee, noble heart. 
 So now blessings, and adieu ! 
 Only One can take thee through ; 
 Nothing more we can do, 
 
 ' 'The prisoners remained exposed upon the platform while an 
 usher read the decree of the Court, condemning them to the death 
 of parricides.' — Gazette dcs Tribunaux.
 
 54 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Save, mid the breathless shiver 
 Of the death-agony, 
 Pray our last prayer for thee, 
 Felice Orsini, 
 
 Once ere we sever : 
 ' God give thee now good speed, 
 Help in this last great need, 
 Glory and martyr's meed 
 
 Now and for ever ! ' 
 
 ' Miserere, Agnus Dei ! ' 
 
 The crucifix he kiss'd ; ' 
 ' Thanks, and farewell ! ' One moment 
 
 The priest's hand he press'd ; 
 Then turn'd and stood in fixed mood, \ 
 
 To his last work addrest. 
 
 Then the veil they rais'd ; 
 
 But the face on which they gaz'd 
 
 Was calm and glorious still. 
 Brows that darken'd not nor pal'd, 
 Eyes that neither quiver'd nor quail'd 
 
 When the first stroke fell.^ 
 
 • 'Orsini and Pierri embraced their spiritual attendants, and 
 pressed their lips to the crucifix offered to them.' 
 
 ■i I piem was executed first. Orsini was then taken in hand. 
 His veil was raised, and his countenance still betrayed no emotion.
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 55 
 
 On to the block with steady tread, 
 Though before him the newly dead, 
 And comrade's blood gush'd red 
 
 And warm across his way. 
 ' Vive la France ! ' then he said, 
 
 'Vival'Italia!' 
 Down sunk that noble head ; 
 Shudderings and silence dread ; — 
 
 Angels, make way ! 
 
 Stand still, great world, a moment ! 
 
 Fold your hands and pray : 
 ' O God, let all tyranny 
 
 From earth pass away ! 
 Thy kingdom come ! and never 
 
 Let there again be need 
 
 Of such o'erwhelming deed. 
 
 Or of such vengeful meed. 
 Earth to deliver ! ' 
 
 Over ! — Through all these weeks. 
 Hallowing their gloom and pain, 
 
 Before he was fastened to the plank, he turned in the direction of 
 the distant crowd, and, it is said, cried, " Vive la France !" " Viva 
 r Italia ! " '
 
 56 Poems for Italy. 
 
 The shadow of thine agony 
 
 Over the world has lain, — 
 A haunting, passionate presence, 
 
 Beneath whose fixed strain. 
 We who kept watch with thee have pass'd 
 
 Through fires of heart and brain. 
 Now we draw breath, and say, 
 
 ' Thank God !— Well done ! ' 
 And out of this Gethsemane 
 
 At last thy crown is won ; 
 Safe mid the stars for ever, 
 
 Thou brave, long suffering one ! 
 
 Thus was thy victory won ; 
 And when the deed was done, 
 Out went the fiery sun ^ 
 
 In wrath and fear ; 
 Shadow and tremor fell, 
 Like the echo of a knell, 
 By hands invisible 
 
 Toll'd through the upper air. 
 All faces in our sight 
 Pal'd in that awful light 
 Neither of day nor night : — 
 
 And all abroad, 
 
 ' The great eclipse of the sun at noon, March 15, 1858, two days 
 after Orsini's execution.
 
 E.xeaition of Felice Orsini. 57 
 
 Over the land at noon, 
 Darkly th' eclipse came on — 
 For a great soul had gone 
 
 Back unto God. 
 They laid thee in the prison-yard, 
 
 Coldly and silently ; 
 But the palaces of heaven 
 
 Were hung with black for thee, 
 And the planets strew'd the pall 
 Above thee for thy funeral. 
 
 So we take leave of thee, 
 
 Felice Orsini : 
 
 Thy like we shall not see 
 
 On earth again; 
 Never one century 
 
 Gave two such men. 
 From thy grave we part 
 With hush'd and reverent heart, 
 And comfort in our pain, 
 Feeling that not in vain 
 
 Such life and death could be ; 
 With hope a coming year 
 Will yet make all things clear 
 By glorious consequence ; ' 
 
 ' The writer holds in firm faitli that the Emperor's sudden change 
 of poHcy, whence tire war in Italy and all the late and present
 
 58 Poems for Italy. 
 
 And we shall wholly see 
 Through this dark mystery 
 
 Of Providence : 
 Why one who had stood fast 
 
 In lifelong constancy, 
 Who had so nobly past 
 Through all adversity, 
 Should have been tried at last 
 
 So strangely, fearfully. 
 None, knowing thee, can doubt 
 Thy heart was pure throughout ; 
 
 None can thy steps have track'd, 
 And not felt from the first 
 The martyrdom the worst 
 
 To thee lay in the act. 
 None hath known, or could know. 
 The conflict and the woe 
 Through which thy soul did go 
 
 Ere it gave way. 
 With brain tost to and fro, 
 Seething in ebb and flow, 
 Throbbing and turning so, 
 
 glorious events have sprung, was immediately caused by Orsini's 
 dying letters ; and from the moment of his martjTdom believed that 
 the salvation of his country would be wrought thereby, though with- 
 out knowing how. That Orsini's last hours were cheered by the 
 same faith, we have good reasons for believing, i860.
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 59 
 
 Aright thou couldst not tell 
 Whether from heaven or hell 
 Those voices round thee fell, 
 
 Ceasing not night or day ; 
 And in that agony, 
 None helping thee, didst cry, 
 
 As we may deem — 
 ' O, save me from this hour ! 
 Is there no other power 
 
 My nation to redeem % 
 Flesh and spirit both 
 Abhor it, faint and loth ; 
 Far gladlier would I go 
 To death by tortures slow. 
 To dungeons earth below. 
 All men can make of woe ; — 
 Their utmost power I know. 
 Yet, seeing it is so. 
 And I am call'd thereto, 
 I may not shrink nor flee 
 From this now laid on me. 
 O Mother Italy, 
 Life, name, and liberty. 
 And soul, if needs must be, 
 Were all vow'd unto thee. 
 
 And I have kept that vow
 
 6o Poems for Italy. 
 
 With single heart and true, 
 All good and evil through, 
 
 As I will keep it now. 
 For when young life was shining, 
 And heart with heart entwining, 
 I chose without repining 
 
 A dark and cheerless road : 
 Therein these many years, 
 Through all that nature fears, 
 In loss, and pain, and tears, 
 
 Straight forward I have trod ; 
 Till unto me remain'd 
 Only a name unstain'd ; 
 Now, that must perish too ; — 
 There will be still a few 
 
 To judge me tenderly. — 
 It must be : all I ask. 
 Is strength for this stem task; 
 And for the rest, my God, 
 
 I trust my soul to Thee. 
 If, in Thy charity, 
 There is no room for me ; — 
 If it must be indeed 
 Thy laws eternal need 
 That for this loathed deed 
 
 I perish utterly : —
 
 Execution of Felice Orsini. 6i 
 
 If Thou wilt cast me out, 
 
 I that have clung to Thee 
 In anguish and in doubt, 
 
 And wrestled fearfully 
 To know Thy truth ;— yet still. 
 
 Millions for rescue call ; 
 
 It must be, — one for all ; 
 Here am I, — do Thy will ! ' 
 
 So thy resolve was taken, 
 And thou, revil'd, forsaken, 
 Didst bear that cross unshaken 
 
 On through the gates of death. 
 And past them, at God's feet, 
 We know that thou didst meet 
 Award more just and tender 
 Than any we could render : 
 
 YP(\o knew thy worth as He 1 
 Upon His mercy cast, 
 Toil and travail past. 
 Thou hast found thy home at last. 
 
 And all is well with thee. 
 The crwie by death is expiate, 
 Thou hast bow'd unto thy fate. 
 Thy place on earth is desolate, 
 And it was just :
 
 62 Poems for Italy. 
 
 But the exalted faith, 
 The hope that triumpheth, 
 The love prov'd unto death 
 Tender, and true, and pure, 
 These cannot but endure ; 
 And in God's love secure, 
 Through sorrow-clouds obscure, 
 
 Humbly we trust ; 
 Thankful that He has given 
 Another Star to' Heaven, 
 Another name of worth. 
 To the memories of Earth. 
 
 Thou the crown of thorn 
 
 With stedfast brows hast worn, — 
 
 The world's reproach and scorn, 
 
 A heart by wild thoughts torn, 
 
 Dungeon depths forlorn. 
 
 And this dread judgment-morn : 
 
 The utmost thou hast borne. 
 
 And it is o'er : 
 A name far down to shine, 
 Rest in the Life Divine, 
 The red rose crown is thine 
 
 For evermore.
 
 63 
 
 BATTLE HYMN FOR GARIBALDI'S 
 BRITISH LEGION. 
 
 VOLTURNO, i860. 
 
 God bless the cause of Right ! 
 God help us in the fight ! 
 
 Guard us from ill ! 
 Soldiers victorious, 
 High hopes and glorious, 
 One hero over us, 
 
 God save him still ! 
 
 His voice went through the land : 
 Could true hearts idle stand 1 — 
 
 So we come too. 
 Red shirts, and English guns, 
 Strong hands and steady ones, — 
 England said to her sons, 
 
 ' God go with you !
 
 64 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Bold sons of many lands 
 With us have shaken hands 
 
 In brotherhood ; 
 Fast bound for good and ill, 
 By the same work and will, 
 By the same breathless thrill 
 
 When first we stood : — 
 
 Stood face to face with hirn, 
 Stood hand in hand with him. 
 
 Pledged him our faitli ; 
 Saw his smile fade again, 
 Heard his low voice, and then 
 Felt we were nobler men 
 
 Henceforth till death. 
 
 Now, Garibaldi, then. 
 Here are thy Englishmen, 
 
 Stout hearts and free; 
 Take us, thy work to do, 
 Where thou goest, we go too, 
 Thou guiding us safe through, 
 
 God guiding thee. '
 
 Battle Hymn. 65 
 
 Under those wings divine, 
 On that high path of thine, 
 
 Forward in might! 
 With the Archangel's sword, 
 Bearing to earth abroad 
 This message of the Lord, 
 
 ' Let there be light ! ' 
 
 Heralds of life they find us, 
 Through all the way behind us 
 
 Peals down the strand 
 One Hallelujah Chorus; 
 Christ's own Elected o'er us, 
 Darkness and doom before us 
 
 Over the land. 
 
 Better than life at ease, 
 Better than gold's increase. 
 
 Doing and daring ; 
 Following his path that lies 
 Through summer Paradise, 
 Welcome in all men's eyes, 
 
 His fortunes sharing. 
 
 F
 
 66 Poems f 07' Italy. 
 
 Feeling the blood leap free, 
 Marching to victory, 
 
 Foremost in fight ; 
 And when the day is won, 
 Hearing him say ' Well done ! ' 
 Standing at set of sun 
 
 Red in the light. 
 
 Not all ! — we have lost some ; 
 Speak low ! — 'twas martyrdom : 
 
 Brave eyes are dim, 
 When on some battle-eve 
 Brothers to earth we leave ; — 
 Sweet hearts at home \vill grieve, 
 
 God comfort them ! 
 
 Who next % We know not yet 
 Whose sun to-day will set \ 
 
 God's will be done ! 
 Safe in His hands we are. 
 Who dies in Holy War, 
 Heaven's angels are not far ; — 
 
 Home, every one !
 
 Battle Hymn. 67 
 
 Now for a glorious day ! 
 Red miles of war array 
 
 Massed firm and ready : 
 Wave out, sweet tricolor ! 
 Our Chief is gone before, 
 Far off the first deep roar 
 
 Mutters already. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 * * * * 
 
 High in the hottest place 
 Lightens the Lion-face 
 
 Over the fight. 
 On, where he leads the way ! 
 Each one as best he may 
 Trust his own arm to-day, 
 
 God and the Right ! 
 
 Pulses of cannon-shocks; — 
 Earth in the thunder rocks, 
 
 Nearer replying. 
 Hell-fury, fire, and brawl, 
 One voice rings over all, 
 That voice whose tender fall 
 
 Comforts the dying. 
 F 2
 
 68 Poems for Italy. 
 
 Rattles the hot hail fast ; 
 This way they come at last, 
 
 Bearing down hither ; 
 On them, through steel and smoke ! 
 Hand to hand, stroke to stroke ! 
 Hurrah ! their ranks are broke, 
 
 Charge all together ! 
 
 Now strike victorious, 
 Or every man of us 
 
 Here dead Avill fall ! 
 Viva I'ltalia ! 
 
 All down the line, hurrah ! 
 Darlings in England — ah ! 
 
 God bless you all !
 
 69 
 
 7 WO SONNETS TO GARIBALDI. 
 August i860. 
 
 O Lion-face, O heart of this world's heart ! 
 
 The battle-clouds roll off, the thunders dear, 
 When face to face we see thee as thou art, 
 
 The face that we have worshipped many a year. 
 The face that long ago the artist-dreamers 
 Gave to the kneeling world for the Redeemer's 
 
 In living presence walks the earth abroad, 
 
 And we of this day may behold it near : 
 High o'er the heat of battle lightening ; — 
 
 Or Sabbath mornings, leaning on thy sword, 
 An hour of rest in conflict, listening 
 
 In silence to the words of Christ thy Lord, 
 Whose kingdom thou art sent on earth to bring 3 — 
 
 Or in a sterner presence overawed : —
 
 70 Poems for Italy. 
 
 11. 
 
 Standing by sick-beds in the hospitals, 
 
 Where thy young warriors stricken down are lying, 
 Watching for thy slow shadow down the walls, 
 
 And where for one more look of thee the dying 
 Linger from hour to hour. The moanings cease 
 
 Under the yearning pity of thine eyes ; 
 
 And the caressing hand, that fondly lies 
 On fevered foreheads, smoothes them into peace. 
 
 And they whose pain is nearly over now 
 Lie still, and smile up in their agony 
 With angel-eyes of deathless love to thee, 
 To die and suffer for thy sake content, 
 For ever thine by that last sacrament, 
 
 A father's kiss upon their dying brow.
 
 71 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF FELICE ORSINI. 
 
 With the same smile we see thee stand 
 That Hghted up the hving land ; 
 Across the starlands thou art come 
 With thy deep eyes of martyrdom, 
 As when we saw thee last : — not yet 
 Can we that hour of doom forget ; 
 
 That cold March morning when the snows 
 
 Were underfoot, and thousands rose 
 
 Ere dawn, to see a hero's close; 
 
 And thou in silence too didst rise, 
 
 And through the darkness gleamed thine eyes. 
 
 Led forth unto the sacrifice. 
 
 They looked upon thee at the last ; — 
 One smile of lightning flashed and passed, 
 Across thee from the distance cast : 
 Since then we have with thanks believed, 
 Just before Christ thy soul received. 
 Even then thine anguish was retrieved.
 
 "ji Poems for Italy. 
 
 The sun went out, — we could but weep : 
 No tender hands, — we might not keep 
 Watch over thee in thy last sleep : 
 And over thee we sang no psalm, 
 Lying at last so cold and calm, 
 Beyond our comfort or our harm. 
 
 Ah me ! thou borest heavy doom. 
 Prisoner white-haired amid the gloom. 
 That saw the numbered hours consume ; 
 While in thy brain the phantoms whirled, — 
 Hearing the voices of the world 
 In wrath and scorn against thee hurled. 
 
 Leaving thine Italy held mute, 
 There l}'ing, trodden underfoot, 
 Nor turned to render thee salute ; 
 Up to the ruthless torturers given, — 
 Despairing hands stretched out to Heaven, 
 While deeper in the nails were driven, — 
 Thou who hadst suffered so, and striven ! 
 
 Each coward had a stone to throw 
 Against the mighty lying low ; 
 None cared to spare thee for thy pains ; 
 Thy hand, they said, had drawn the reins
 
 To the Memory of Felice Orsini. 73 
 
 More tightly, riveted her chains : — 
 Thy woe is past, thy work remains. 
 
 There standest thou without applause, 
 Taken on thee a people's cause, 
 The debt, the doom, of broken laws ; 
 A cross of death, a crown of thorns, 
 A brand of blood, a scourge of scorns : — 
 O wait until the morning dawns ! 
 
 The dawn is on the mountain's brow, 
 
 The prison doors are open now. 
 
 Thy work is done, — and where art thou ? 
 
 In some cold graveyard, dust to dust ; 
 
 Spirit to spirit with the just, 
 
 Far in some better world we trust. 
 
 And knowest thou what thou hast done, 
 Thou morning-star before the sun, 
 Who mad'st thyself the victim one ? 
 Knowest thou from that very day, 
 The salt-flood turned and ebbed away, 
 The East was quickened with a ray ? 
 
 If thou hadst lived until this day, 
 Thou hadst been in the foremost way ;
 
 74 Poems for Italy. 
 
 The name that went down in edipse, 
 Had now been hailed by nations' lips ; 
 And thee at Garibaldi's side 
 The world had known and glorified. 
 
 Had this been best ? Ah, who can tell ? 
 God guardeth his Beloved well, 
 Quiet beneath their Immortelles. 
 Thou speakest with thy dreamed eyes : 
 * Friend, we who are in Paradise, 
 Know now our Father is most wise.'
 
 DRAMATIC LYRICS.
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 When the buds and blossoms first 
 In the sudden sunshine burst, 
 Love came with the sweet spring-tide ; 
 All the earth was glorified, 
 Violet ! my young fair bride. 
 
 Violet ! with thy young eyes 
 Tender as the twilight skies ; 
 On thy cheek the first faint rose 
 That in Aurora's garden blows 
 When the sunrise overflows. 
 
 Fresher and tenderer than the spring ; — 
 
 On thy finger I slipp'd the ring ; 
 
 I saw, the old church windows through, 
 
 The branches waving to and fro. 
 
 All in their first greenness and glow.
 
 78 Dra77iatic Lyrics. 
 
 Like a lily, bridal-drest, 
 
 White and blue violets on thy breast, 
 
 White star-flowers upon thy brow, 
 
 Violet, I see thee now ! 
 
 The Angel of First Love wert thou. 
 
 Violet, we stood hand in hand, — 
 The birds were singing through the land,- 
 Thy little fingers clasp'd in mine, 
 Thy sweet eyes hidden — I am thine — 
 Thy long hair round thee a halo-shine. 
 
 The sunny world lay fair and wde. 
 We gazed out silent, side by side. 
 And heard on the warm western breeze 
 A murmur of the early bees 
 Among the blossoming apple-trees. 
 
 And when I brought thee home at night, 
 The earth was silent with delight ; 
 The meadows lay all still and green, 
 Hesperus with passionate sheen 
 Glittered into thine eyes serene.
 
 Violet. 79 
 
 But when the Moon of Roses came, 
 And all the garden was aflame, 
 All the violets were gone ; — 
 She died the last, my little one, 
 Softly she died, at set of sun. 
 
 On thy face a smile was set 
 
 Like an angel's, Violet ; 
 
 Thy hair hung round thee, a bright cloud ; 
 
 My lips to thy cold Hps I bowed, 
 
 And then for anguish cried aloud. 
 
 That was a long time ago ; — 
 Under green grass thou liest low, 
 And over thee the violets blow ; 
 And it is harvest time to me. 
 Who in my April cherished thee. 
 
 It has been another world to me 
 Since then, Violet, wanting thee; 
 I have grown in wealth and fame. 
 My home and haunts are not the same, 
 I never hear nor speak thy name.
 
 So Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 Yet mid the heat and hurry ever, 
 Like a breath of violets in fever, 
 See I a sweet spirit ghde, 
 Young and fair and tender-eyed, 
 Mid soft shadow glorified. 
 
 The spring comes ever round again, 
 With living sunshine and soft rain ; 
 Then the violets arise. 
 With their meek and fragrant eyes 
 Looking at me angel-wise. 
 
 Summer airs green garlands bring 
 In full flush of blossoming ; 
 Red and white and blue are met ; — 
 I see them not ; — my eyes are wet, 
 Thinking of my dead Violet. 
 
 Many a maiden passes me 
 
 With sunny brow and smile of glee, 
 
 Young bright eyes upon me shine ; 
 
 Violet, amid them all I pine 
 
 For that more beautiful smile of thine !
 
 De Profundis. 8 
 
 One hour of Eden in the morn, 
 At noon the wilderness forlorn ; 
 Hope waiteth till the sun is set ; — 
 There will be a summer yet 
 For thee and me, my Violet. 
 
 T 
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 Out of the voices of the air. 
 
 That fill the great world everywhere, 
 
 One floated past me, with a sigh 
 
 O'erweighed and broken down : 
 ' The sun shines sadly in the sky, 
 For I am young, and I must die. 
 
 And die without my crown. 
 The hope I trusted in, that still 
 I might be chosen by God's will 
 Some noble purpose to fulfil. 
 
 Was sent but to befool. 
 What worthy offering to present 
 For all the golden talents lent, 
 
 G
 
 82 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 For all the earnest striving spent % 
 With empty hands, I forth am sent, 
 
 That should have been so full. 
 And what is left, when will is vain, 
 When every nerve is wild with pain. 
 And a dull fire is in the brain, 
 
 The thoughts to overrule ? 
 They mil not work, they wander on, 
 All power, but power of suffering, gone 
 And I have missed a greater one, 
 
 And glory these above. 
 Youth's angel has not come to me ; 
 I have not known the mystery 
 Of hand to hand, and heart to heart, 
 Of life that is not life apart : — 
 
 I have not looked on love : 
 Before my hour I go to lie 
 
 In a forgotten tomb : 
 No one will bless me when I die. 
 
 Alone amid the gloom.' 
 And, weak and broken, many a word 
 Of deeper anguish yet was heard, 
 
 That moaned and wailed away. 
 Eat as I sadly strove to hear, 
 I heard another voice come near 
 In accents sweeter and more clear;
 
 De Profundis. 83 
 
 ' Listen,' it spake, ' I pray : 
 
 dying heart, where'er thou be, 
 One also stricken speaks to thee ; — 
 Sometimes an angel says to me 
 
 Words solemn-sweet and calm \ 
 Upon the fever of my grief 
 Pouring a music of relief 
 
 Like a mysterious psalm, 
 Till all my spirit sinks to rest : — 
 So thou too, howsoe'er distrest 
 
 Or hopeless thou have been, 
 Take comfort in what comforts me : — 
 If he has not yet come to thee, 
 
 1 know that some day thou shalt see 
 
 That angel I have seen. 
 I cannot tell thee of his face. 
 Nor promise in what form or place 
 
 He will be at at thy side. 
 But this I know, — for I have known 
 All in the wilderness alone, — 
 When thou art neanng to thy home, 
 Behold the Bird of God shall come 
 
 Over the waters wide, 
 To bear the olive to thy soul, 
 And leave thee from his aureole 
 
 One ray that shall abide; 
 G 2
 
 34 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 To tell thee in thy hour of need, 
 There is a Christ for all, indeed ; 
 He cometh soon, all hearts that bleed 
 
 To bind up tenderly. 
 Soon shalt thou find thy faith was true, 
 Thy will fulfilled in works shalt view. 
 And what thou hadst not strength to do 
 
 Is not required of thee. 
 Art thou too weak % Dost thou complain 
 Of the long weariness of pain, 
 Of agony through nerve and brain. 
 
 Darkly bewildering ? 
 The thorn was twisted round His brow, 
 Part of His love thou knowest now : 
 Enter into that hour of woe 
 Which I beheld, but cannot know, — 
 
 Thank God for suffering ! 
 The depths before thee open on: 
 Thou canst not know, till hope is gone, 
 How faith and love may live alone ; 
 Nor till the mind is past control, 
 The grandeur of the inner soul 
 In its own consciousness. 
 To feel, of life's last hope bereft. 
 Nothing is lost, for God is left, — 
 Yea, this is blessedness !
 
 De Profundis. 
 
 Ah, yes, my God, my grief grows calm ; 
 What is there of despair or harm 
 
 While Thou art still Thyself? 
 In deepest hell I yet will trust, 
 And worship Thee, O Thou All-Just ! 
 Leave me my love at least they must, 
 
 Because it is myself — 
 Words fail — the tears are in my eyes, 
 Such sweet and solemn thoughts arise 
 Out of the west, when the sun dies, 
 
 And from the silver sea 
 Of twilight, o'er the pallid gold. 
 Glows Hesper forth, as fair as old, 
 
 In diamond royalty. 
 Be patient but till set of sun, 
 And whether life be lost or won, 
 The sweet clear night still cometh on. 
 
 The stars upon her breast. 
 The shadows pass, the splendours come, 
 Consoled for evermore at home. 
 For Love is Lord of all, in whom 
 
 We lose ourselves in rest'
 
 86 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 MANY VOICES. 
 
 I WANDERED on out of the town 
 
 Towards the end of May ; 
 The morning sun shone on the spire, 
 
 The market-place was gay; 
 But the minster-bells were tolling 
 
 Behind me all the way. 
 
 ' What were the minster-bells tolling 
 As you came out of the town ? ' — 
 ' O sorrow, sorrow, sorrow ! 
 
 My love is dead and gone, 
 It is the merry May-time, 
 And I am left alone.' 
 
 I passed among the hawthorns. 
 
 Heavy with tinted snow ; 
 There was a flutter of young wings 
 
 Alive in every bough ; 
 All the little birds together 
 
 Were singing loud and low.
 
 Many Voices. ^'] 
 
 ' And what were the little birds singing 
 In the hawthorns with one breath 1 ' — 
 ' O my heart is breaking, breaking, 
 
 O young life turned to death ! 
 The sun shines dark upon me, 
 And the May air sickeneth.' 
 
 I went down through the valley 
 
 To the stream above the mill ; 
 The cool brown waters glidingly 
 
 Passed by me deep and still ; 
 The noon-flies flickered in the shade 
 
 Or sunshine at their will. 
 
 ' And what did the mill-stream murmur 
 Silver-sliding to its leap % ' — 
 '■ O weary, weary anguish ! 
 
 Through the long days to weep ! 
 Down in the quiet waters 
 How sweet it is to sleep ! ' 
 
 I crossed the brook to the hayfields 
 
 With meadow-sweet a-scent \ 
 The tall field daisies smil'd at me 
 
 As underfoot they bent ; 
 And the long ripe grasses rustled 
 
 Around me as I went.
 
 88 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 ' And what did you hear in the rustling 
 Of the field-flowers and the grass % ' — 
 ' O stricken-down and broken ! 
 
 Down to the dust, alas! 
 
 In patience and in lowliness 
 
 The bitterness will pass.' 
 
 I went up through the meadows 
 To the churchyard on the hill; 
 
 And there I found a cross and mound ; 
 The mound was bare earth still ; 
 
 There I lay down and let my heart 
 Break into sobs at will. 
 
 ' And did you hear no whisper, 
 There lying, heart to heart % ' — 
 ' O love, love, love ! for ever 
 My own where'er thou art ; 
 Be comforted, my darling. 
 We are not far apart ! ' 
 
 Then I lay still an hour or more, 
 
 And slept a long sleep there ; 
 I woke and it was evening, 
 
 The sunset fill'd the air ; 
 And the sweet church -bells were ringing 
 
 The call to evening prayer.
 
 Many Voices. 89 
 
 ' And what were the church-bells ringing 
 At the time for evening prayer % ' — 
 * Home, home, home ! in our Father's House, 
 
 And many mansions there. 
 Christ rose on Easter Sunday, 
 And God is everywhere.' 
 
 I stood up, and beneath me 
 
 Stretch'd out the golden plain ; 
 Through the green-shadow'd pastures 
 
 The herds mov'd home again ; 
 And the full, glorious river 
 
 Unrolling to the main. 
 Far onward wound and widen'd 
 
 Through leagues of open land ; 
 Till on the furthest verge gleam'd out 
 
 A line of yellow sand, 
 And the white evanishing glory 
 
 Of breakers on the strand. 
 
 ' What uttered through the sunset 
 The voice of those far seas ? ' — 
 ' I could not hear it plainly. 
 But listening by degrees. 
 The choral swell of waters 
 
 Rolled into words like these : 
 " The Lord shall reign for ever and ever !
 
 90 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 His kingdom standeth fast :][ 
 Thanks be to Him for victory ! 
 
 When darkling faith is past, 
 When death and hell are conquered, 
 
 Love is alone at last ! " ' 
 
 THE IRIS. 
 
 With faint steps from a sleepless night, 
 
 Into the garden forth at noon 
 I went, and found there no delight, 
 
 For all the year was out of tune. 
 The July air was warm, not sweet. 
 
 There was no sunshine in the land; 
 Without a sign or sound, to greet, 
 
 Stood the dark trees on either hand. 
 Dim lay the heaviness and blight 
 
 On all the grey oppressive air : — 
 My heart grew heavier at the sight 
 
 Of the dull scene that should be fair.
 
 The Iris. 91 
 
 And mournful thoughts about me past, 
 
 Of spring, gone without flowers or sun, 
 Of summer, that might be the last, 
 
 Of harvest time and nothing done : 
 Of dreary paths without a clue. 
 
 Of thwarted work and earnest will : 
 Of thorny straits gone bleeding through. 
 
 And none the nearer heaven still. 
 Of all Divine impulses wide 
 
 Of charity and hope, forbidden ; 
 And duty on the other side — 
 
 Between them both God's will was hidden — 
 And in the dust gold talents lying. 
 
 Without the strength to take them up ; 
 Of f^ith too weak and vague for dying ; 
 
 And that most bitter, hopeless cup, — 
 Of flesh o'erwrought and wearied brain, 
 
 And nerves unstrung, and all unrest ; 
 A deep-set ill that turns to pain 
 
 All things that should be pleasantest. 
 
 In sorrowful foreboding lost, 
 A sudden splendour caught my eyes 
 
 From tangled flower-beds, where it crost 
 The green, light leaf-cloud, sunbeam-wise.
 
 92 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 A gorgeous Iris I saw stand, 
 
 Arrayed in deep and dusky flame ; 
 Like rainbows to a rainy land, 
 
 Its marvel-glory to me came. 
 It spoke like sunlight unto me, 
 
 It thrilled me with an arrowy fire 
 Of answer to the mystery 
 
 And pining waste of my desire : 
 * God can work without thee, sad heart ! 
 
 Thy weakness will not stay the world ; 
 Nor worlds, in order, each apart. 
 
 Through all the spiral orbits curled. 
 One great good Will is Love and Life ; 
 
 It ruleth on, it triumphs still, 
 It works its own best ends through strife, , 
 
 Through mystery and seeming ill. 
 What thou hast been ordained to be, 
 
 Is well ordained, and must be so : 
 If the good never come to thee, 
 
 Some better purpose thou shalt know. 
 'Tis blessedness to do God's will, 
 
 Already if thou canst discern, — 
 That same to suffer, dark and still, 
 
 May be the lesson yet to learn.'
 
 93 
 
 THE CHILDREN. 
 
 Father and mother, many a year 
 
 In rain and sunshine we have lived here, 
 
 And the children — 
 And now that the winter days are come. 
 We wait and rest in our own old home ; 
 
 But where are the children 1 
 
 All so young, in the times of old 
 Not a lamb was missing from our fold. 
 
 And the children — 
 God's ways are narrow, the world is wide, 
 I would have guarded them at my side ; 
 
 But where are the children % 
 
 We walk to the house of God alone, 
 
 From the last year's nest the birds have flown, 
 
 And the children. — 
 Alone by the silent hearth we sit, 
 The chambers are ready, the fires are lit ; 
 
 But where are the children 1
 
 94 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 My life is failing, my hair is grey, 
 I have seen the old years pass away, 
 
 And the children — 
 My steps are feeble, my voice is low, 
 I am longing to bless you ere I go ; 
 
 But where are the children 1 
 
 I had a dream of another home ; 
 
 I thought when He called us I should come, 
 
 And the children — 
 And say, at the feet of Our Father in Heaven 
 Here am I, with those Thou hast given : — 
 
 But where are the children ? 
 
 The day of the Lord is coming on ; 
 We shall meet again before God's throne. 
 
 And the children — 
 Father and Mother, we trust, shall stand 
 Together then at God's right hand : — 
 . But where are the children ?
 
 95 
 
 ARCTIC CHRISTMAS. 
 
 I HAD a garden down in the south, 
 Snowed with myrtle, rosy with vine. 
 
 If it had come by prophet's mouth, 
 That hard message, with power and sign, 
 
 ' Get thee hence, and leave thy garden ! ' 
 
 I should have held back, crying, * Pardon ! 
 Too much — I cannot. Is it not mine % ' 
 
 So, without escape or warning, 
 Came an angel with face of WTath, 
 
 Laid my Eden waste in the morning, 
 Shut the gates and led me forth ; 
 
 Set flaming swords against each comer ; 
 
 From my paradise of summer 
 Drove me out into the north. 
 
 All alone, cut off returning-. 
 
 Winter and wilderness everywhere ; 
 
 Looking back with a hopeless yearning, 
 The trees were rocking black and bare ;
 
 96 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 The damp dead leaves were strewing the way, 
 The chill rain began to pour through the grey, 
 And for^vard I must fare. 
 
 Through the great cities, perished with hunger ; — 
 The bare gaunt workshops had ceased their din. 
 
 Not a fire glowed from the windows longer, 
 Through the empty streets the rain drove thin. 
 
 The people were in ; I met no faces, — 
 
 Waiting silent in their places 
 Till the fever should begin. 
 
 Northwards still, and the sleet came flying 
 With the whisding wind, so eerily ; 
 
 Beside me long flat sands were lying, 
 Shimmering out to a far cold sea ; 
 
 Where the flocks of stormy sea-birds hover, 
 
 Nothing else for the sky to cover 
 But the salt sand wastes and me. 
 
 Jagged white spectres nodded their heads, 
 Dead-white against the smoke-black sky. 
 
 Where the awful mountain wilderness spreads 
 In a cloudy winter-world on high ; 
 
 Under their giant horror, then, 
 
 The ghastly darkness of day began 
 In freezing twilight to die.
 
 A7'ctic CIuHstmas. 97 
 
 Falling ever thicklier and stillier, 
 
 Lay the snow o'er the Arctic girth ; 
 Ice-shapes looming stonier and chillier 
 
 Over the desolate field and firth. 
 Numb as a corpse the earth was lying, 
 All things were dead, and I was dying ; — 
 
 Was there ever a summer on earth ? 
 
 Dead I lay there, dead in the snow, 
 Wrapped in God's last merciful calm, 
 
 Till the vision of the days ago 
 Stole around me with Eden balm ; 
 
 And I saw her lying clothed in white, 
 
 Lovely as on our marriage night, 
 Closed eyes and folded palm. 
 
 blessed vision, that held me fast. 
 Moments or years, in a rapt suspense ! 
 
 What was the perished sunshine past, 
 
 And the dark way's pains, for this recompense ? 
 
 Heart of home in the world-wide waste ; 
 
 One motion forward, and all was past 
 In vanishing darkness hence. 
 
 1 wept such tears as I had not wept 
 
 Before, in a twice-dealt agony ; 
 Till lustrous at last before me stept 
 
 H
 
 98 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 And stood on the snow a Child ; and He 
 Spake unto me, ' Lo ! I am bom ; 
 Wherefore, then, dost thou weep, and mourn 
 
 The dead whom I keep for thee % ' 
 
 All are gone as I wake at home — 
 
 The desolate home, that once was gay ; 
 
 The bells are ringing, for Christ is come, 
 ' Christ is born ! ' in the air they say 3 
 
 Not to the gardens of earthly delight, 
 
 Into the winter, into the night, 
 The Lord is born to-day. 
 
 Time to rise ! The sunshine has perished, 
 The air is chill and the skies are grey ; 
 
 The poor to be fed, and the weak to be cherished, 
 And the lost to be rescued, where are they ? 
 
 * ^^'ith you always ; ' though heart be breaking, 
 
 Let it work and keep down the aching ; 
 Christ will take care of it some day.
 
 99 
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 
 
 I LAY this charge upon you, 
 My truest, tenderest friend, 
 
 That to these words, when I am dead, 
 You for my sake attend. 
 
 I have not seen you for so long. 
 
 In all my grief and pain ; 
 And now I think I never 
 
 Shall see your face again. 
 
 * 
 
 For I am far in stranger-land, 
 And sinking heart and flesh ; 
 
 The rain streams down my lattice, 
 My tears stream down afresh. 
 
 II 2
 
 lOO Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 I have not one to turn to, 
 God has forsaken me quite ; 
 
 And I am going all alone 
 Into the empty night, j 
 
 I never had a tender hand 
 
 Of mother, sister, friend, 
 About me in my sicknesses ; 
 
 But when my life shall end, 
 
 Oh, if you can, come to me then, 
 
 Kiss me before I die ; 
 There will be no one at that hour 
 
 Will want you so much as I. 
 
 So for the last time, dearest, 
 Bear with me, and forgive 
 
 A sick child's foolish fancies, 
 Who has not long to live. 
 
 I give you this last trouble 
 And labour for my sake, 
 
 That with your own hands, dearest, 
 You shall my white robe make.
 
 TJie Fall of the Leaf . ■ loi 
 
 All straightly gathered to the throat, 
 
 And worked with simple bands 
 Of delicate ruffled edging 
 
 Around the neck and hands. 
 
 Let it be fine and deHcate, 
 
 Because I once would lie 
 Lovely and tender to behold 
 
 Unto a loving eye. 
 
 And if my hair be still as long 
 
 And bright as it is now ; 
 Smooth back the tresses either side, 
 
 And lay them from my brow, 
 
 And let them flow down over me 
 In long, loose, shining fold. 
 
 As they do in these desolate nights, 
 Wrapping me from the cold. 
 
 And then take from my ^nger 
 The pearl ring that I wear. 
 
 And place it over your wedding-ring, 
 And keep it always there.
 
 102 Dramatic Lyrics. 
 
 Lay in my hands no token 
 Of laurel or of palm ; 
 
 Will it not be enough for me 
 Not victory, but calm ? 
 
 Lay them together on my breast, 
 
 There let them folded lie, 
 As one whose best deed was a prayer, 
 
 Whose life was but a cry. 
 
 And once at last smooth over 
 My forehead with your hand ; 
 
 I shall wish to be alive again 
 To feel it and understand. 
 
 Here I He sobbing in the dark, 
 Stretching out my hands in vain ; 
 
 Knowing I never can find yours 
 To clasp and kiss again. 
 
 Oh, will you not be sorrowful ? 
 
 Alas ! I know you will. 
 Sweetest, if I could comfort you, 
 
 I would be living still.
 
 The Fall of the Leaj. 103 
 
 And once before you leave me, 
 
 Kiss me that I may rest ; 
 And then when it comes over you, 
 
 I, too, am crown'd and blest, 
 
 Kneel down to God our Father, 
 
 And say, if thou canst say, 
 ' He -bringeth the outcasts home again, 
 
 And those that are out of the way.' 
 
 And I will not be buried here 
 
 Among the long dank grass. 
 And shiver of the falling leaves, 
 
 Where only strangers pass. 
 
 But there, where I have lived my life. 
 And dreamed my dreams, and sung, 
 
 And wandered, through my fitful youth, 
 The well-known ways among. 
 
 There is a churchyard off the road, 
 
 Down to the stream inclin'd, 
 Crowded with stones and shapes in front, 
 
 But quieter behind.
 
 ro4 Di^amatic Lyrics. 
 
 A little while ago it was 
 A fair and quiet spot ; 
 
 It may be but a crowded place, 
 ^\^^en I shall be forgot. 
 
 There, looking for the minnows, 
 The tOAvn-bred children play, 
 
 The only witnesses to them 
 Of sweet streams far away. 
 
 And I know every step of the way 
 That leads from it to your door ; 
 
 I have walked there so often, 
 As I shall walk no more. 
 
 Tliere let me be laid lowly 
 
 Where the short grass grows green 
 No stone, no token — who will care 
 
 For what I might have been ? 
 
 Only you will come there sometimes. 
 
 The dearest that I had ; 
 And think of me in the sunshine, 
 
 And my spirit will be glad.
 
 The Fa II of the L eaf. i o 5 
 
 And perhaps on Easter Sunday, 
 When sweet winds begin to blow ; 
 
 When the pear-trees in the valley 
 Are white with blossom-snow, 
 
 My father may come there slowly, 
 
 And hear no other sound 
 But the little birds all singing, 
 
 And the young leaves bursting round, 
 
 And my voice miss'd for ever — 
 
 And feel as the shadows fall, 
 That I cannot walk back home with him, 
 
 Nor meet him in the hall : 
 
 And dim through tears behold me, 
 
 A sweeter, happier child ; 
 At last no shadow in the home 
 
 Where all are reconcil'd.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS.
 
 A WEEK IN JULY. 
 
 SUNDAY. 
 
 The lilies stood out in the sun 
 
 Against the glossy laurel-green, 
 
 And many a summer-folded screen 
 Of foliage, woodbine-overrun. 
 
 The house behind a shadow threw 
 
 Cool on the new-mown churchyard sward. 
 On trailing ivy, darkly starr'd, 
 
 And the low hedge of shining yew. 
 
 They full in front, a dazzling mark, 
 
 O'erflowed the garden with their light ; 
 
 When the churcli clock struck twelve last night 
 
 T saw them shining through the dark.
 
 no Miscellaneo7is Poems. 
 
 I think that Christ's ow-n hand did mould 
 The Hly, when the rest had been 
 Fashioned by angels, as serene 
 
 The sixth da^s da^vn began to unfold 
 
 O'er solitary Eden lawTis, 
 
 Waiting their crown amidst the hush ; 
 
 \Vhile darted through the green the flush 
 
 Of the first rose, without the thorns. 
 
 ***** 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 MONDAY. 
 
 Under a bush of barberries 
 
 That seemed to ripen as I lay, 
 Turning to crimson, as the day 
 
 Mounted to noon through glowing skies. — 
 
 Up in the blue my eyes Avere lost, 
 High overhead, in vivid light, 
 Ceaseless the swallows' breasts of white 
 
 Forwards and backwards flash'd and crost.
 
 A Week in July. 1 1 1 
 
 The garden flowers rose dazzlingly 
 
 Beside the lawn, the walks among ; 
 The m)n:iad-blossomed roses hung 
 
 An arch in air against the sky. 
 
 Beneath me the green valley fell ; 
 
 And past the brook, the lone hillside 
 Of moor and copse, and pasture wide, 
 
 In the broad sunshine stretched as well. 
 
 The sloping turf whereon I lay, 
 
 Starr'd with dry golden flowers, was warm 
 
 Unto my hand ; no voice or form 
 Broke the still glory of the day. , 
 
 TUESDAY. 
 
 Three years he lies on his low bed, 
 
 In his dark chamber night and day. 
 From all life-converse laid away. 
 
 The naked thatch above his head. 
 
 The little window far behind 
 
 With one straight ray across the gloom 
 Makes groping twilight in the room ; 
 
 For him he might as well be blind.
 
 1 1 2 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Yet sweetly the small window frame 
 The heathy hill-side picture sets, 
 Sparkling with tiny rivulets, 
 
 In May a sheet of spiky flame. 
 
 And a hoar apple orchard placed 
 
 Close by, through all the year in suit 
 Swings boughs of bloom and leaf and fruit 
 
 In the green garden off the waste. 
 
 But he, that old man, cannot turn 
 
 Nor move, and lies, his face away 
 From what few glimpses of the day 
 
 Another prisoner might discern. 
 
 To narrowest deprivation tied. 
 
 He murmurs never, still content 
 To take the hours as God hath sent, 
 
 In patience meek and dignified. 
 
 Thus, through a long-drawn living death 
 
 He keeps his manhood true and whole, 
 The peace of heaven within his soul, 
 
 In utmost simpleness of faith.
 
 A Week in July. 1 1 3 
 
 So, mindful how forlorn he lay, 
 
 I brought a mirror in my hand, 
 Jhat he might once more understand 
 
 By sense, the long-lost light of day. 
 
 By careful measure of the light 
 
 I held and moved it till there came 
 The comer of the window frame 
 
 Reflected straight before his sight. 
 
 Till, broken first and fluttering. 
 
 Caught in the mirror came and went 
 'Mid the unshapely dark long-pent, 
 
 A blue ethereal glimmering; 
 
 Then held there, settled bright and calm, — 
 The sky ! the sky ! the heavens above ! 
 The blue great depths of light and love : 
 
 The three years had not done them harm. 
 
 The same young skies of other years ! 
 And bending half across, one bough 
 Of apple leaves, drawn clearly, now 
 
 Against the glowing space appears. 
 
 I
 
 1 1 4 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Far up the sky shone on between : 
 
 A low and rusthng wind we heard, 
 And in the mirror the leaves stirred, 
 
 Each sweet and wondrous leaf of green. 
 
 His dim eyes lightened to the blue. 
 
 He gazed, and gazed, and speechless still 
 He scarcely breathed, to gaze his fill 
 
 On the old world brought back to view. 
 
 ' I see the sky and leaves again ! ' 
 At last he said, and happy lay : 
 A few square inches of the day 
 
 Such deep contentment may contain ! 
 
 WEDNESDAY. 
 
 I WENT out when the day grew cool. 
 An hour from sunset, far and free 
 To gather wild flowers, and with me 
 
 Two orphan children from the school. 
 
 We went down through the elm tree lane. 
 Till by the mill we crost the brook, 
 And past the shady hollow took 
 
 The other side our way again,
 
 A Week i7i July. 115 
 
 Up the steep lane, where the tall hedge 
 With honeysuckle down was weighed 
 O'er ferns and foxgloves half in shade, 
 
 Until we came out on the edge 
 
 Of the great moorland, stretching brown, 
 O'er which to me there ever dwells 
 The mystery as of magic spells, 
 
 And hoar enchanted glow at noon. 
 
 But now at sunset a wild light 
 
 Flared on the crimson tracts of heath ; 
 
 And the long grasses wav'd beneath 
 A melancholy breeze's flight. 
 
 We went on heaping ferns and flowers, 
 Blush-tinted bells and waxen white 
 Of heath, and sundews exquisite, 
 
 Sparkled all o'er with fairy showers. 
 
 The golden rods of asphodel 
 
 Shook, as with firm light steps we trod 
 O'er the deep moss and spongy sod 
 
 Strewed with the small bog-pimpernel. 
 I 2
 
 1 1 6 Misccllaneotis Poems. 
 
 We talked of country lore, of ferns 
 
 With mystic letters stamped inside, 
 
 Of hard-found nests where lapwings hide 
 
 Their eggs amid the heath, in turns. 
 
 We past the dripping woodland cleft. 
 
 Where hanging ferns clos'd overhead 
 On grey rocks, and the streamlet's bed 
 
 Rough passage to the thicket left. 
 
 We passed the level of brown moss, 
 Above the borders of the wood. 
 Lying in breezy solitude, 
 
 With sunset shadows stretched across; 
 
 Where on June evenings I have found 
 That fair mysterious flower i upright 
 And single-stalked, in green and white 
 
 Springing enchanted from the ground; 
 
 A haunted, shadowy gleaming flower. 
 
 Scentless by day, but through the gloom 
 Floated in rapturous perfume 
 
 Of orange-blossom, one dream-hour. 
 
 ' The Buttei-fly Orchis.
 
 A Week in July. 1 1 7 
 
 Past the wild hollow, craterlike, 
 
 I wander'd half a summer's day 
 
 To find, where th' rare bog-bean in May 
 
 Throws up a rosy fringed spike 
 
 From leafage smooth and broad, and makes 
 A fairy floating island, plac'd 
 In the grey centre of the waste : 
 
 And past the shallow pools and lakes 
 
 Where the tall crested birds by day 
 
 Stalk to and fro and dip their heads ; 
 And where the cotton grass outspreads 
 
 White silken streamers in array. 
 
 Then downward turning, we came past 
 The lone grey cottage on the moor, 
 In its green orchard nook secure. 
 
 Homelike and shelter'd from the blast; 
 
 With the young ash trees grouping near; 
 
 Where smoothest greensward from the door, 
 Sprinkled with daisies, spreads before, 
 
 And a tiny brooklet, silver clear,
 
 1 1 8 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 All wreath'd with thick forget-me-not, 
 
 And golden speanvort with its leaves 
 Pointed in flowing, threads and cleaves 
 
 Its light way through the open spot. 
 
 The Irish boy, with his fair brow 
 
 And wide blue eyes, a child whose look 
 Itself all hearts in pleasure took 
 
 To see his smile, was standing now 
 
 Triumphant, with his hands o'erfuU 
 
 Of white silk plumes, amid the moss; 
 His radiant face and hair across 
 
 Flushed the wild sunset, beautiful. 
 
 . The other with his eyes of love 
 
 Walk'd close by me, and on my face 
 He gaz'd as on a charmed place, 
 And hardly from my side would move. 
 
 And now the twilight had begun 
 To darken over hill and dale ; 
 Across the valley glimmer'd pale 
 
 Lights from low windows, one by one.
 
 A Week in July. 1 1 9 
 
 Ah, there stood homes, tho' bare and poor ! 
 The lapwings rose disturb'd, and screamed 
 Above our heads, the night-moths gleamed, 
 
 And we were out upon the moor. 
 
 THURSDAY. 
 
 ITpoN a winding height, our way, 
 
 With low wood rolling to its base ; 
 And far below, for miles to trace, 
 
 Clear at our feet the valley lay 
 
 In cool delicious depths of green. 
 
 And evening stillness of repose — 
 In one clear light of golden-rose 
 
 The distant West glow'd on serene : 
 
 But over lowlands near at hand 
 The very air was dewy-green ; 
 The waters wander'd through a scene 
 
 t3^ 
 
 The very heart of summer-land. 
 
 The fresh and feathery elm-trees stood 
 The silent meadow-grass above ; 
 The quiet shadows did not move 
 
 Through all the lovely solitude.
 
 1 20 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 A green sweet Eden, wild and low 
 Winding far off amid the hills ; 
 For ever cool'd by hidden rills, 
 
 Under the leafage trickling slow. 
 
 The great white owls, with floating wings, 
 Over the twilight meadows hung 
 In the soft, silent air, and swung 
 
 Across with sudden glimmerings. 
 
 Then, downward winding, we drew near 
 The rocky orchard, rising steep, 
 Standing in thick grass ankle-deep, 
 
 With bursting springs descending clear. 
 
 Meeting in one white network all, 
 
 Foaming and cool, round beds of stone 
 With golden saxifrage o'ergrown, 
 
 And pour'd in one wild waterfall.
 
 A Week ill July. 1 2 1 
 
 FRIDAY. 
 
 Light summer clouds sail'd on aloft ; 
 The shadows of the afternoon 
 Were slanting over mound and stone, 
 
 In the green churchyard, warm and soft. 
 
 I sat beneath a cedar tree, 
 
 Around me golden disks of flowers. 
 Long-stalked, through all the noon-day hours 
 
 Had floated on a deep green sea ; 
 
 But now were closing, folded green, 
 
 Lost in the long grass, lately mown. 
 Which, now once more luxuriant grown. 
 
 An emerald setting lay between 
 
 The velvet-dark of cypresses 
 
 And young, fair-shooting deodars ; 
 On the low steps the ivy-stars 
 
 Clung in a tangled wilderness.
 
 122 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 The ancient church-tower, golden-hoar, 
 
 Stood up into the summer air 
 
 Against the vivid blue, in bare 
 And stedfast service evermore. 
 
 Fronting the sun, while round and round 
 
 The jackdaws wheel'd with sudden cries, 
 And swallows shot into the skies 
 
 And back again without a sound. 
 
 The white and yellow butterflies 
 
 Flutter'd low down and skimm'd the grass ; 
 
 I saw their waving dances pass 
 In airy light before my eyes ; 
 
 Sitting beneath the canopy 
 
 Of cedar branches spreading low ; 
 While, rapture-beautiful and slow, 
 
 The golden hours mov'd thro' the sky.
 
 A Week in July. 123 
 
 SATURDAY. 
 
 The sun shone on the village street: 
 
 The low doors, standing open, made 
 In the grey walls retreats of shade, 
 
 Amid the glowing summer heat. 
 
 Aloft against the azure hght 
 
 The slender grasses ripe and tall 
 Stood tufted on the rough stone wall 
 
 Mellowed with lichens warm and bright. 
 
 Low, thatched old gables, overgrown 
 
 With ivy, caught the morning lights ; 
 By shining, silvery pigeon flights 
 
 Sometimes in soft, swift shadow thrown. 
 
 The Gothic buildings of the school 
 
 Stood open wide, with many a one 
 Coming and going in the sun, 
 
 Over against the churchyard cool.
 
 124 Miscella7icous Poems. 
 
 In the arched doorways, with the sky 
 Behind them through another door, 
 Stood simple forms of girls, before 
 
 They mov'd to greet us going by. 
 
 Shelter'd all round, but hoar with age 
 Still on the hill-side lay the church ; 
 And with the cross above the porch. 
 
 The ivy-mantled parsonage. 
 
 All round, bright life to service given. 
 Voices of youth, and looks of bloom, 
 Blessing of love, and peace of home. 
 
 And over all the smile of heaven.
 
 125 
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. 
 
 The pearly purple clearness 
 
 Of heaven's gates at mom 
 Through closed eyehds interwove 
 
 With dreamings of the dawn ; 
 And down the gleaming shadowy ways, 
 
 In long low light withdrawn, 
 I saw the young hours brightening back 
 
 Far off where I was born ; 
 All peach and apple blossom, 
 
 With promise and delight, 
 A heaven of cloudless sun by day. 
 
 And golden stars by night. 
 Bright lay the way before me, 
 
 And brighter to its close, 
 The farther future ever lit 
 
 With deeper tints of rose ; 
 Till where, amid the western heaven. 
 
 The glory overflows. 
 Now, standing at that western gate. 
 
 Looking back whence I came,
 
 126 Miscellaneous Poevis. 
 
 Those long grey desert pathways 
 Could never be the same — 
 
 Behind me all in shadow, 
 Before me all aflame. 
 
 Rose the ideas of youth again, 
 
 With grand and glorious eyes, 
 The visions of immortal things 
 
 And works that should arise. 
 Large talents feeling for the air. 
 
 Life bursting into song ; 
 The keen and dauntless spirit, 
 
 In hope and purpose strong. 
 For labour in the vineyard. 
 
 Or battle against \\Tong ; 
 Deep, deep into the morning 
 
 Dreaming, for life was long. 
 Ah, full and fair the shoots of spring 
 
 Waved over all the plain ; 
 Now come the harvest angels — 
 
 Where is the golden grain ? 
 O Life, of all thy working day, 
 
 Does only this remain % 
 Of torn and tangled fragments, 
 
 Not one without a stain.
 
 The Light of the World. 1 2 7 
 
 The dead stood up before me 
 
 Once more, as they had been, 
 My own to love and comfort, 
 
 In daily dearness seen ; 
 Sweet faces that all silently 
 
 With my wild moods had pleaded, 
 Whose unreproachful sadness 
 
 Fell on me then unheeded ; 
 Who looked to me for sunshine. 
 
 And found not what they needed. 
 ' Come back to me one little hour, 
 
 And I will tend you so ; 
 Oh, if you were but mine again, 
 
 I would not let you go ; 
 If I had known you would have died ! 
 
 Too late, too late I know.' 
 
 The cold hand shook not in my tears, 
 
 No eyelid flushed or fell ; 
 They spoke in clear calm voices, 
 
 ' We rest, and we are well ; 
 All is forgiven long ago ; — 
 
 With thee we may not dwell.' 
 They passed away and out of sight 
 
 Ere I could say farewell.
 
 128 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 And every beggar in the street 
 
 I ever had passed by, 
 ' O stay, that I may help you now ! ' 
 
 But they made no reply ; 
 Then I knew what it was to beg, 
 
 And no man heed my cry ; 
 I wept aloud for anguish. 
 
 None stopped to ask me why ; 
 
 And then I saw One standing 
 
 In the December night, 
 With bare feet on the frozen ground, 
 
 And in His hand a light. 
 The wondrous face was turned this way. 
 
 Full in the lantern shine ; 
 Under the thorns the deep eyes looked 
 
 Their message into mine, 
 As then He knocked and waited 
 
 Before a close-shut door, 
 With withered red-leaved creepers 
 
 And tall dry weeds grown o'er ; 
 No stir, no answer from within. 
 
 Yet knocking evermore. 
 Ah ! I remember now how long 
 
 I turned away and slept.
 
 The Light of the Wortd. 1 29 
 
 While under the cold stars all night 
 
 His patient watch He kept, 
 Though all the yearning angels 
 
 Were wearied out and wept. 
 ' Here am I ; nor will I depart 
 
 Until Thou let me in ; ^ 
 
 The heavens are far behind me, 
 
 One human soul to win ; 
 That thou mayest know My mercy 
 
 Is greater than thy sin.' 
 
 ' Light of the World ! I know thee now, 
 
 That might have been my own ; 
 And I have chosen darkness : 
 
 Now darkness cometh on. 
 And it is I must call in vain ; 
 
 The Lord of Light is gone.' 
 Then, in despair, unto the winds 
 
 The door I opened wide ; 
 And lo ! the same as ever, 
 
 That bright One stood beside, 
 With the same smile upon Thy face, 
 
 O Crowned, Crucified, 
 As when Thy hand stretched o'er the sea 
 
 To Peter, who denied. 
 
 K
 
 i.^o 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 I sank in bitter weeping 
 
 Beside the open door — 
 ' O good Lord, give me back one hour 
 
 Of all that went before ! ' 
 I heard a deep voice tolling, 
 
 ' Nevermore, nevemiore ! ' 
 On it went echoing under, 
 
 Down to the gates of hell ; 
 Helpless and broken-hearted, 
 
 Into Christ's arms I fell ; 
 I heard the angels saying, 
 
 ' He doeth all things well.' 
 
 THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 The pale-blue heaven unclouded stays 
 From day to day, and now indeed 
 
 The fairest of October days, 
 
 By the broad reaches of the Tweed, 
 
 With softest sunshine fills the band 
 Of silver-purple liquid light, 
 In the noon silence. Sabbath bright, 
 
 Unrolling through the Autumn land.
 
 The Indian Summer. 131 
 
 Half-stripped, the wooded banks lift high 
 A carven lacework of grey boughs, 
 
 Soft brown and gold against the sky ; 
 And here and there full-gloried glows 
 
 Some crown the spoiler has passed by, 
 In crimsoned, passionate repose, 
 Waiting until the north wind blows, — 
 A pale flower ripened to a rose, 
 
 ' One last rich hour before I die ! ' 
 
 Not long ago, all overgrown. 
 The heavy-foliaged bank shelved down, 
 At noonday laid in twilight brown ; 
 When, as the sunbeams slanted through, 
 A million dancing emeralds threw 
 
 A glowworm sparkle back again. 
 Now bright in sunshine everywhere 
 The shining grey-ash stems are bare. 
 
 And thinly overspread 
 By delicately figured shade, 
 In mottled motion on them laid 
 
 From the pale witch-elms overhead. 
 Still hanging forth their wreath ; — 
 Light crossed with shade, for shade with light; — 
 And withered leaves to-day are bright ; 
 
 K 2
 
 I -,2 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Half of them on the ground are spread, 
 Mosaic pavement gold and red, 
 And some still flutter overhead, 
 
 And some are borne along the stream, 
 
 And all the air is full of them. 
 Dancing away to death. 
 
 Now after hoping long and vain. 
 The summer is come back again. 
 With angel eyes and brow serene. 
 To show us what she might have been ; 
 All the regrets she cannot speak, 
 In the flushed silence of her cheek. 
 And the child-tender eyelids meek 
 
 In their translucent fall. 
 We watched her coming from the south 
 With joyous welcome to her youth ; 
 The suff"ering, worn by sickness, blest 
 The angel that should give them rest ; 
 
 She came and mocked us all. 
 For she was gloomy, cold, and wild, 
 A fitful, weeping, passionate child. 
 Uncertain even when she smiled ; 
 
 But that is over now ; 
 The waywardness and grief are past. 
 She has a tender heart at last.
 
 Tlie Indian Smnmei\ 133 
 
 She comes to take farewell to-day, 
 So beautiful, we can but say 
 ' With us a little longer stay ! ' 
 But doom is on her brow. 
 
 All lovingly and lingeringly 
 
 Flooded in golden ecstasy 
 
 Flows the great river's heart, as he 
 
 Through the clear silence, mellow-warm, 
 
 Knows the approaching of her form ; 
 
 Her robes around her dim ; 
 Faint floating veils the light shines through 
 Tinged airily with mountain blue 
 
 As she comes down to him ; — 
 Down soft and slow through sunlit space, — 
 She hovers o'er him face to face, 
 Her warm arms spreading to embrace ; 
 Her spirit eyes are close to him, 
 Her sweet eyes that will soon be dim ; 
 He feels her lips a moment prest, 
 Her golden hair upon his breast, 
 And an unutterable rest 
 
 Circling through all his spirit thrills, 
 And into motion quietest 
 
 The gliding current stills.
 
 1 34 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 A golden haze on Cheviot hes, 
 
 And it is midday now — he knows 
 That when this day in sunset dies 
 
 She will go from him ; and the snows 
 Will bury her upon the hills, 
 
 And winter ^\^nds howl over her. 
 So this last day for him she fills 
 
 For ever lovelier. 
 
 The soft wind and the yellow leaves 
 
 Are having their last dance together, 
 
 Up and down, an oriole feather. 
 
 ' O life, and love, and summer weather ! 
 
 Is this our parting % ' Even so : 
 
 A little gust of wind, and lo, 
 
 A flight of golden butterflies 
 
 In slow and airy quiver 
 Winged downwards, and each dead leaf lies 
 
 Floated along the river. 
 And over them the lost ^vind sighs. 
 
 They lying calm for ever.
 
 135 
 
 MIDNIGHT ON CALVARY. 
 
 The night was come after the day 
 
 Of the great Agony, 
 When Peter from Jerusalem 
 
 Went up to Calvary. 
 
 Alone and silently he passed 
 
 Out of the eastern gate, 
 Above all others on the earth 
 
 Stricken and desolate. 
 
 The nightingales sang not that night, 
 For Christ lay dead on earth ; 
 
 The olive-leaves stayed whispering 
 As Peter wandered forth. 
 
 The moon came slowly up the east, 
 A glittering, large full moon ; 
 
 And the dumb land grew clearer : 
 Midnight was coming soon. —
 
 1 36 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 The Master was not watching 
 Up on the hills in prayer. — 
 
 He stood still in the shiver 
 And darkness of despair. 
 
 He lifted up his eyes, as one 
 That wakens from a swoon, 
 
 And he saw the three gaunt crosses 
 Stand black against the moon. 
 
 Apace he hurried up the hill 
 
 Where, a few hours ago, 
 Under the burning sunshine, 
 
 Christ had gone up so slow. 
 
 « 
 
 On the one side lay Golgotha, 
 Trodden and heaped around ; 
 
 On the other side all quiet. 
 The rocky Garden ground. 
 
 The moonlight glanced across the flowers, 
 And struck the broad white stone, 
 
 The door of that new sepulchre 
 Where Christ was laid alone.
 
 Midnight on Calvary. 137 
 
 Down stricken to his knees he fell, 
 
 And sobbing out aloud, 
 Where John had stood all stedfast, 
 
 His face to earth he bowed. 
 
 ' O Master, blessed Master ! 
 
 Is this the end of all % 
 And was that our last parting 
 
 This morning, in the hall ] 
 
 ' One look straight through the darkness 
 
 Ever against me cries ; 
 It 
 /^ O silent Lord, I cannot bear 
 
 The sorrow of Thine eyes ! 
 
 ' Betrayed, forsaken, slandered, 
 In bitterest need and woe ; 
 
 I was not with Thee here, Lord ; — 
 Ah ! that it should be so ! 
 
 ' We know not whither Thou art gone, 
 We do not know the way ; 
 
 All light, and hope, and comfort. 
 Are gone from earth to-day.
 
 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 ' Left all alone, and in the dark, 
 If I had been more wise, 
 
 I might have been this very hour 
 With Thee in Paradise. 
 
 * O Lord, have pity on me now. 
 That my heart may not break 
 
 Before I have done or suffered 
 Aught worthy for Thy sake.' 
 * * * * 
 
 First seen of Mary Magdalene, 
 
 Of Peter after next ; — 
 The words that then were spoken 
 
 Are written in no text.
 
 139 
 
 THE LADYS, STEPS. 
 
 Ready for her flight she stands, 
 With her jewels in her hands ; 
 She is hostage for her lord ; 
 Trusting to his monarch's word, 
 He has sheathed his rebel sword, 
 Waiting for the law's award 
 
 In his Buchan tower. 
 She has overheard it said. 
 How his promise is betrayed. 
 How a price is on his head ; 
 If he be not warned to-night, 
 Murder comes with morning light ;- 
 
 She will fly this hour. 
 
 From the foemen's bounds secure, 
 Past with stealthy step and sure. 
 
 Mute and holding breath ; — 
 A wild day's journey lies before 
 She can see her own home more j
 
 140 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Over moss and moor, the track 
 Leads through desolate sheep-walks back, 
 Buchan wastes and forests black, 
 A race for life or death. 
 
 Evening fell all wild and red, 
 Storm clouds gathered overhead ; 
 Faster through the gloom she sped. 
 
 Heard the plover cry, 
 Heard, where moorland waters meet, 
 On the hills the last lamb bleat ; 
 Crushed the thorns against her feet, 
 Past her blew the slanting sleet, 
 On her shoulders low boughs beat ; — 
 Through the shadows firm and fleet- 
 That white form went by. 
 
 Through the low air comes a stir. 
 Near and nearer after her ; 
 Armed horsemen, pricking spur, 
 Flash into the landscape dim, 
 Death to her and death to him ; 
 She is straining e/ery limb 
 O'er the open ground. 
 The low wall before her lay. 
 With a leap she cleared the way
 
 The Lady s Steps. 141 
 
 O'er the stones, and there they stay : 
 ' The lady's steps ^ unto this day 
 By the garden bound. 
 
 Ah ! for help when need is most ! 
 
 Help is none, and all is lost. 
 
 In a ring of flashing swords. 
 
 No time is now for many words. 
 
 Standing stately by the brook. 
 
 Back from her brows the hair she shook ; 
 
 In one rapid moment took 
 
 Round on every face a look. 
 
 Dauntless spoke aloud — 
 ' That great day is coming, when 
 God shall judge the sons of men ; 
 I shall know you all again 
 When we meet before Him then.' 
 Eyed the steel without a frown, 
 Proudly spoke, and then knelt down 
 
 Meekly unto God. 
 
 To the lake the burn ran red ; 
 Moaning voices, it is said, 
 
 Haunt the place at fall of day ; 
 Through the reeds the low winds sigh, 
 And the wildfowl's waiUng cry
 
 142 MisceUa^ieous Poems. 
 
 Rings a curfew in reply ; 
 While, with one long note, on high 
 The straight black thread of rooks sails by, 
 Stretching to the farthest sky 
 On their homeward way. 
 
 FRITZ AND WILHELMINA. 
 
 Two fair children, sister and brother, 
 King's son and daughter, clinging to each other, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 He high of heart, and strong and stout of will, 
 She bright and brave, and a spirit all athrill, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 Prince and princess truly, but no princely life, God knows, 
 Hard fare and harder words, bonds and mocks and blows, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina.
 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 143 
 
 'Rough times are coming — we will cling together, 
 Fast heart to heart through all the stormy weather, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 Through the blinding darkness, through the pelting storm, 
 Hold fast together, keep your young hearts warm, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 Heavier crashing thunderclouds, blackening almost unto 
 
 death, 
 The king's son is in prison, the king's daughter lan- 
 
 guisheth, 
 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 Parted, sister and brother, dark times are come indeed, 
 Now must we pray for each other in our need, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 Face to face once more, ere the world sunders you twain, 
 Out of your youth's prison, changed, ye meet again, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 He henceforth a man and silent, a ruler among men, 
 Great to be called, but never the free in heart again, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina.
 
 1 44 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 She to be a royal mother, a sweet star in the land, 
 One whom all could love and few could understand, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 Children, were they so bitter, the troubles of your youth, 
 WTien ye were all each other's in tenderness and truth, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina 1 
 
 Worse things the age will bring you, when ye shall be 
 
 apart, 
 Cold faith, and broken reeds, and hardening of the heart, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina. 
 
 Now perhaps, the long day over of earthly toil and pain, 
 In the Palace Gardens ye are young again, 
 Fritz and Wilhelmina.
 
 145 
 
 NORTH WINDS. 
 
 The March winds rave between the hills, 
 Cold run the steel-blue shining rills, 
 Through the wide void a wailing shrills. 
 
 The sun is high at equinox, 
 
 The cold blast the pale sunshine mocks. 
 
 Helpless the giddy rookery rocks. 
 
 Ice gathers on the scarce-loos'd flood, 
 
 The sap stands still within the bud. 
 
 Chill slackens soon the heart's young blood. 
 
 The far heights start out one by one, 
 Down the hill-sides cloud-shadows run 
 Across the cold glare of the sun. 
 
 The long marsh in the windy vale 
 With sedges lightens and turns pale, 
 Pointed one way before the gale. 
 
 L
 
 146 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 There were some flowers short time ago, — 
 When the wind falls will come the snow; 
 O fooHsh flowers, why did ye blow % 
 
 All wan and dazzling overhead 
 
 The Arctic flood is tost and spread : — 
 
 Methinks the Spring itself is dead. 
 
 DWELLERS LN PARADISE. 
 
 They come to me in yearning dreams, 
 
 Afar I see them stand : 
 One day I, too, shall see them, 
 
 Living in their o\\x\. land. 
 
 The bright eyes of the poets 
 Shine from that glorious sphere ; 
 
 And artists, dream enraptured, say 
 The Beautiful is here. 
 
 There art thou, Virgin-Mother, 
 
 And thou next glorified, 
 O young inspired heroine, 
 
 That mid the red flames died !
 
 Dwellers in Paradise, 147 
 
 And martyr-maidens pallid-browed, 
 
 Christ's lilies stedfast-hearted, 
 With the very smile upon their lips 
 
 They wore as they departed. 
 
 They who commune with each other 
 
 Downward from age to age, 
 With the same great book before them 
 
 Unfolding page by page. 
 
 Interpreters of that great song 
 
 God has written in the skies, 
 Beholding in the peopled dust 
 
 Divinest mysteries : — 
 
 The Beautiful, the Glorious : — 
 
 How fast the vision fills ! 
 O fold of God, take me too in, 
 
 Lost out upon the hills ! 
 
 L 2
 
 148 MiscellaneoiLS Poems. 
 
 AN ORPHAN. 
 
 Lying on thy little bed, 
 
 Still and pale, as thou wert dead ; 
 
 On thy ami thy drooping head 
 
 Has sunk down wearily : 
 In a deep exhausted sleeping. 
 After tempest-floods of weeping, 
 Fall'n into the angels' keeping ; 
 
 For no friend else is nigh. 
 Ever in the narrow room 
 Colder and colder falls the gloom ; 
 The evening darkens, and the rain 
 Beats on the narrow lattice-pane j 
 And the one grey poplar, shaking 
 By the window, ever making 
 Mournful music to thy waking, 
 
 Rocks its shadow by. 
 All things round are bare and rough, 
 But thou art soft and young enough
 
 All Orphan. 149 
 
 For tenderer comforting and cheer 
 Than any that thou findest here, 
 Under the cold, strange sky. 
 
 Life has come on thee unawares, 
 In a cold flood of griefs and cares j 
 Troubled thou art and desolate 
 In mind and body, and estate, 
 
 And spent with misery. 
 In thy helpless softness thrown 
 Out upon the world alone ; 
 Only faces all unknown, 
 
 To meet thee carelessly ; 
 Stranger speech within thy ears, 
 Bread of exile and of tears ; 
 And no memory of sweet years 
 
 To console thy pain ; 
 And in thy heart-broken sorrow. 
 No good visions of to-morrow 
 
 Thy patience to sustain. 
 Prayers are darkly drowned in doubt, 
 And the heavens are blotted out 
 
 By the blinding rain : 
 In thy anguish left so lonely. 
 Is but one hope for thee only, 
 
 Never to wake again.
 
 1 50 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Thou sleepest softly now, and yet 
 Thy eyelashes are freshly wet, 
 And on thy cheeks two tears are set, 
 As if thy dreams could not forget : — 
 
 But who will care for these 1 
 As they are so they must be. 
 No one will kiss them away for thee, 
 
 Lying there until they freeze. 
 All around thee golden-rare, 
 The heavy loosen'd rain of hair, 
 With a mantle royal-fair, 
 
 Enfoldeth thee to rest. 
 Soft young hands and fair of mould. 
 Small as a child's ten years old, 
 As white as snowflakes and as cold. 
 
 Are folded on thy breast ; 
 Together passionately entwin'd, 
 As they had sought about to find 
 Some caress of tender kind. 
 And meeting none of sister or mother. 
 Are tightly clasp'd in one another 
 
 With yearning moumfullest : 
 Fingers not chisell'd out of stone, 
 But like white roses at sunrise blown. 
 Into that shape and sculpture grown, 
 
 By angel fingers prest.
 
 An Orphan. 151 
 
 Thy brows are calm at last in sleep, 
 But, haunted still with pain, they keep 
 A shadowy look, so dark and deep, 
 Whoso beholdeth can but weep, 
 But thou still slumberest. 
 
 The silent sadness of thy face 
 Thrills like a sighing through the place ; 
 Yet thanks at least be for the grace 
 Of this hour's quiet breathing-spacQ 
 
 Amid the waters wild. 
 Though thy young heart in its breaking 
 Sees it not, yet unforsaking 
 Christ o'er thee a hush is making 
 
 To give thee slumber mild : 
 He giveth His beloved sleep : 
 
 He loveth thee, poor child !
 
 I S2 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 ADELAIDE. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 A YEAR, it is not a year ago 
 Since he came, who loved me so, 
 Where I lay in the primroses low 
 
 Moaning my complaint : 
 For the fate fixed for me ere I was bom, 
 Away in the cloister, lonely and lorn, 
 I that was full of the fire and the mom, 
 
 And for yearning of Life grew faint. 
 
 I with my long hair's golden grace, 
 
 And the flickering Northern Lights in my face, 
 
 Over the snow, and my pride of race. 
 
 Of Suabian ancestry, 
 QueenHke stature, and moulded limb ; 
 Yet not worthy Avithal of him ; — 
 The dark-eyed artist whom God sent forth 
 Over the mountains into the North, 
 
 That he there might light on me.
 
 Adelaide. 153 
 
 He met me there in the April wood, 
 It was not long ere we understood 
 How our hearts had fated been. 
 
 sweet young spring days, so fresh and cool. 
 Each hour more green and more beautiful, 
 When the flowers were waking up from sleep. 
 And the birds sang all together to keep 
 
 Our whispers safe within. 
 
 What were all those words he said ? 
 What were those sweet words murmured 
 Under the boughs enlaced ? 
 
 1 cannot tell — some sounds remain, 
 Some echoes, only not so plain, 
 
 Come sighing o'er the waste. 
 ' Alas ! motherless fair child. 
 Yearning against the world so wild,' 
 
 A voice was wont to say — 
 ' I know the darkness of thy fate 
 Is bound upon thee as a weight, 
 
 That grows more crushing day by day. 
 There is no pride, there is no scorn 
 
 In all thy stateliness, my queen, 
 The hght beneath those eyehds born. 
 When Love himself at last shall dawn, 
 
 Shall meet him trustful and serene,'
 
 1 54 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 And more and more — that voice flowed on 
 Like silver streams beneath the sun. 
 Ah ! already my heart was won, 
 Perhaps too lightly, perhaps too soon, 
 
 But it was his for ever. 
 And if we each did love so well, 
 Could any sorrow that befell 
 
 Our hearts hereafter sever % 
 
 And so it came, that one night late, 
 I went forth from my father's gate, 
 
 All trembling and alone ; 
 With all my do\\Ty, my gold hair, — 
 And stole past moonlit pathways fair, 
 In shadow, breathless and aware, 
 Through tangled woods, where May's first air 
 
 Breathed in the midnight tone. 
 And on that midnight still and lone, 
 In a grey chapel, overgrown 
 
 With ivy, by the stream. 
 With ruined arches overhead. 
 And glimmering lights, the words were said 
 That made us one, and we were wed. — 
 
 Ah, still it haunts my dream ! — 
 As down the river, amid the balm 
 Of the May birthnight our boat went calm,
 
 Adelaide. 155 
 
 And I lay half in swoon. 
 The full moon with the face of a saint, 
 
 Looked on us as in benison ; 
 Sweet voices from the convent choir 
 
 Chanted the midnight orison ; 
 It floated over the waters dim, 
 
 As we went gliding on. 
 
 We travelled in fear, we travelled fast, 
 
 Till danger of pursuit was past ; 
 
 Then freedom and love had come at last. 
 
 They say that it was deadly sin. 
 
 But nothing told me so within. 
 
 Onward we went, hand in hand. 
 
 Through the warm and sunny land \ 
 
 Never was seen, by sea or shore, 
 
 A spring so beautiful before : 
 
 The hawthorn boughs dropt show'rings sweet, 
 
 Of snowy petals at our feet ; 
 
 It was a still suspended rain 
 
 Of beauty betwixt earth and tree ; 
 The blossom-clusters hung in vain, 
 
 A veil across the mystery 
 Of the green wood-worlds we past thro', 
 \nd sunny orchards, where the dew 
 
 Still on the lush grass lay.
 
 1 56 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Purple veins of violets 
 Ran like dark -blue rivulets 
 
 Winding thro' the moss away ; 
 Wild white stars from the dark woods gleam'd ; 
 
 Blue eyes from the hedgebanks laugh'd at me ; 
 And the sunward opening valleys seem'd 
 
 All robed in a blossom-lace to be. 
 
 Wondrous liquid strains of song 
 Through the leaves trill'd loud and long 
 
 From the nightingale's wild heart \ 
 Madly darting high and low, 
 Running all the compass through, 
 
 In silver notes apart : 
 With sudden passion bursting free, 
 Into a flood of melody, 
 Rising, soaring, shrill and clear, 
 Falling soft as the fall of a tear. 
 While we held our breath to hear 
 
 Under the leaves. 
 
 And little children gazed at me 
 
 With eyes that were full of wonder and glee ; 
 
 Then ran to their cottage-door and cried, 
 ' O mother ! mother ! come and see !
 
 Adelaide. 
 
 The princess with the golden hair, 
 Is come from the enchanted hall, 
 
 And the knight who broke the spell is there, 
 They are passing this way side by side \ 
 It is all true I How beautiful ! ' 
 
 Deeper into the summer 
 
 ^\'e wander'd every day ; 
 There lay a thicker shadow 
 
 Over the grassy way. 
 Untir'd wayfarers, when the Moon 
 Of Flowers was passing into June, 
 From dawn till evening came too soon ; 
 Till in the east the stars were rising. 
 
 And the west lay still a golden sea, 
 And suddenly thrill'd by the chiming 
 
 Of the Vesper-Bell's far melody. 
 Oh, prayer and praise were easy then ! 
 
 Our prayers were all of charity 
 For tlie \vide world of fellow-men, 
 
 That were not richly blest as we. 
 And the world lay around us there. 
 With its great mountains in the air, 
 Slowly drawn near for us to climb. 
 In all its beauty and its prime : — 
 O love, that was our Eden time ! 
 
 r/
 
 158 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Across the mountains joumey'd we, 
 And entered into Italy ; 
 And through enchanted pathways past 
 To Florence, and were home at last. 
 I had had dreams of heaven before, 
 But now my heart was running o'er, 
 And satisfied for evermore, 
 So rapt in love were we. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 When the November darkness fell, 
 
 That year on Florence came as well 
 
 A deadly fever, — and he died : 
 
 I could not save him at his side ; 
 
 So suddenly he sank away, 
 
 Nor had the strength farewell to say, 
 
 And from the heavens died out the day. 
 
 I watched beside him a night and a day, 
 With strangely beating and burning brow, 
 
 I sat and gazed on the lifeless clay. 
 It was all that earth held for me now. 
 
 It was a wild and stormy night 
 For a soul to go forth all alone ;
 
 Adelaide. 159 
 
 There was no moon or stars to light 
 
 The staircase up to the great throne ; 
 But the fierce winds were blowing all abroad, 
 And the blinding rain in torrents pour'd 
 Through the blackness of the sky; 
 And moaning voices went thro' the air, 
 With sounds as of spirits wailing there, 
 
 And sometimes a piercing shriek swept by, 
 And howls of demons' strife ; 
 
 All the hghts of heaven and the saints on high 
 Were blotted out of hfe \ 
 
 I, only I, a living curse, 
 
 In all the dead dark universe. 
 The wet panes glimmer'd all shining and black, 
 
 And fearful faces were looking in, 
 But never his face to mine looked back. 
 
 Through all the horror and whirl and din. 
 When broke the chilly morning light 
 My hair hung round me, grisly-white. 
 
 And so the day came round agam ; 
 
 A day of dearimess and rain ; — 
 
 The withered leaves against the pane 
 
 Rattled in their death-agony 
 
 Ere the blast whirled them from the tree.
 
 i6o MiscellaneoiLS Poems. 
 
 The dead within, and the storm mthout ; 
 
 One all raving, and one at rest : — 
 Never a ray of sun in the south. 
 
 Never a ray of hope in my breast. 
 
 \Vhen a night and a day had come and gone, 
 
 And the face of the dead was beginning to change, 
 
 Suddenly I heard below 
 
 Sounds of strange voices,— no, not strange ! 
 
 If my heart could have sunk more low. 
 
 It had sunk then, to find them near, 
 
 My kindred who had track'd me here, 
 
 As bloodhounds track a wounded deer. 
 
 And I, who had been motherless, 
 
 Whose childhood had known no caress, 
 
 Nor comforting in sicknesses. 
 
 Gazed on them in despair. 
 Of their reproaches and their scorn 
 I little heeded — I had borne 
 Too much, — yet one so all-fcrlorn 
 
 They might have known to spare. 
 They took me — I, who had no friend 
 To help, whose life was at an end. 
 Back to my cloister'd doom to spend 
 
 The long death-anguish there.
 
 Adelaide. i6i 
 
 So back by the same roads we past 
 We travelled in the summer last. 
 We came by winter and by night ; 
 The mountains were so ghastly white, 
 Like shrouded giants stiff and cold, 
 The grimness of their stony sleep 
 In freezing distance to behold 
 
 Made all my veins with horror creep. 
 
 And now I am here, and I do not know 
 
 AVhether I am mad or no ; 
 
 They have cut off all my long bright hair, 
 
 They have taken the ring he gave me to wear, 
 
 And a fever runs thro' me, nerve and brain, 
 
 Consuming me ever va\h fire and pain ; 
 
 I sicken and sicken day by day, 
 
 Pining to death in prison away; 
 
 Through the hateful round of the daily rule, 
 
 With nought that is free or beautiful, 
 
 Through the lonely nights in my narrow cell, 
 
 Through the hopeless years stretching forwards still, 
 
 One voice rings ever and everywhere, 
 
 O lost for ever ! despair ! despair ! 
 
 Oh let me die, and feel no more ! 
 What does this sickness come before ? 
 
 M
 
 1 62 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Could I too die and pass ? 
 This burning pain is all too strong ; 
 How long, O cruel heavens ! how long 
 
 Will you so close, alas ? 
 What matters it unto despair. 
 Whether death cometh foul or fair 
 
 To lead us to the tomb ? 
 Only come soon, that I may know 
 The best or worst of joy or woe 
 
 That waits me as my doom ! 
 A year ago I was a child, 
 I remember the young face that smiled 
 
 From the mirror back to me : 
 Now I can feel the hollows deep, 
 And dark lines worn by lack of sleep 
 Under the eyes that fain would weep 
 
 To loose their misery. 
 
 My strength is failing from me fast, 
 
 I think that I shall die at last. 
 
 So lonely ! — oh ! I stood by thee 
 
 Beloved, in thine agony! 
 
 I did not shrink for fear or woe, 
 
 Thy heart and mine the secret know.
 
 Adelaide. 163 
 
 And wilt thou not then near me be 
 When the solemn hour comes to me 1 
 It will not be terrible to thee, 
 For thou art where they feel no pain, 
 And thy heart can never ache again, 
 
 I know I would descend from heaven, 
 To dwell in hell, if thou wert there ; 
 
 Look down then from thy bright place given, 
 And comfort me in my despair ! 
 Hold me one moment to thy breast, 
 And say farewell — then I could rest 
 
 O ray beloved, my noble one ! 
 
 Such a little time we had in the sun ! 
 
 O glorious eyes, so tender and true, 
 
 Look but once the dark midnight through ! 
 
 O voice of mine, so tender and sweet. 
 
 That ever my coming step would greet, 
 
 And sent through my heart such keen delight ; — 
 
 It flashes back through the lonely night ! 
 
 Alas ! where am I ? It is gone ; 
 
 O stay with me, — I am alone ! 
 
 Nay, think not thus to cheat thy pain, 
 
 He will never, never, come back again !
 
 1 64 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 The frost is broken off the plain, 
 The young year is come round again, 
 
 And the sun shines afar. 
 Like shadows over the long grass, 
 Sweet thoughts come over me and pass, 
 
 Ere I know what or whence they are. 
 My brain is weak, I scarce can see. 
 But strange sweet voices speak to me ; 
 
 And without visible sign or token 
 Save the sweet voices of the earth 
 In summer's melody and mirth^ 
 
 God's spirit to my soul hath spoken, 
 
 And to my spirit brought the calm, 
 And to my heart, that erst was broken. 
 The precious slumber-balm. 
 
 Ah me, my race is nearly run ! 
 How little have I served or done 
 Here in the world beneath the sun : 
 God's mercy be my stay !
 
 Adelaide. 165 
 
 I was but given little grace 
 Whereby we take heroic place; 
 Nothing of that strength of heart 
 Which makes a triumph of each part : 
 
 And at the close of day, 
 As after weary v/ays a child 
 Comes to its father reconciled 
 
 By love and trust alone, 
 So I go forth my Lord to meet, 
 Laying my heart before His feet, 
 
 Its suffering all its crown. 
 
 Love, we two shall meet otherwhere ! 
 
 O love, it will not be so long ! 
 
 Love is immortal, love is strong. 
 Stronger than death, and than despair : 
 For despair hath been, and is now forgot, 
 And death is here, but I heed him not, 
 For I am coming, coming to thee ! 
 I wait till the veil falls off, to see 
 
 Thine eyes of eager welcoming — 
 And love is shining so clear and bright, 
 That my soul needeth no other light ; 
 
 Then love, thou hast the triumphing !
 
 1 66 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 The air is balmy-warm in May, 
 The days are lengthening to the day 
 
 When all the shadows cease. 
 They are more kind and gentle now ; 
 For the great Angel on my brow 
 Has set the mark of peace. 
 He coraeth on with sleep and rest ; ■ 
 Take me, beloved, to thy breast ; 
 
 The stilly night is falling ; 
 With closed eyes and silent soul, 
 I hear as some great organ's roll 
 
 Over the waters calling. 
 The sweet heavens open evermore, 
 Christ stands beside the open door 
 
 To let me enter in ; 
 I can but fold my hands, and part 
 With a deep trust within my heart 
 That love at last shall win. 
 
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