JC-NRLF 
 
 D31 
 
POEMS. 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ERNEST MYERS. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 1877 
 
 [All rights reserved] 
 
OXFORD: 
 
 BY E. PICKARD HALL, M.A., AND J. H. STACY, 
 PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE WORLD'S WINTER i 
 
 1 COULD YE NOT WATCH ONE HOUR ' . . . 6 
 REVERIES DE VOYAGE I 
 
 I. LUGANO 15 
 
 II. FLORENCE 18 
 
 III. ROME 20 
 
 IV. ROME 24 
 
 V. ATHENS 26 
 
 VI. ARCADIA 28 
 
 VII. ITHOME 32 
 
 VIII. LEAVING ATHENS 33 
 
 IX. SYRACUSE 35 
 
 ITALIA REDIVIVA 39 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 ETSI OMNES, EGO NON 41 
 
 'IF BUT THY HEART WERE STONE' ... 43 
 
 TO A DWELLER IN A GREAT CITY . . . 45 
 
 PHILHELLENE .47 
 
 THE LOST BROTHER AMONG THE NATIONS . . 54 
 
 A STORY FROM AELIAN 56 
 
 YOUTH AND TRUTH 58 
 
 PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR 61 
 
 'THEY SAY THY ART IS FAILING' .... 63 
 
 REST 64 
 
 ACTA MAGNANIMORUM : 
 
 I. THE LIBERATION OF DORIEUS ... 67 
 
 II. KALL1KRATIDAS . . . . . 71 
 
 III. THE WRECK OF THE l BIRKENHEAD ' . -73 
 ON THE SAME 76 
 
 IV. THE DEATH OF JOHN CHIDDY ... 77 
 ON REVISITING THE CUMBRIAN HILLS . . 8 1 
 
 MONTIGENA . .82 
 
 FROM HORACE 84 
 
 FROM LOUIS BOUILHET 86 
 
 SONG 89 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THREE SONNETS: 
 
 I. THE BANQUET 93 
 
 II. THE LOST SHEPHERD 94 
 
 III. REBUKE 95 
 
 LOVE'S ADVERSARIES: 
 
 LOVE AND FATE, I 99 
 
 j, II 100 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH, I IO2 
 
 >j II 104 
 
 HI 106 
 
 THE NIGHT'S MESSAGE in 
 
 PINDAR 112 
 
 MILTON 113 
 
 DARWIN II 4 
 
 SIDNEY'S FAREWELL 115 
 
 THE DEATH OF GIORGIONE 117 
 
 'THE SEA-MAIDS' MUSIC* 121 
 
[The first in order of these poems appeared in the Cornhill 
 Magazine in 1874, and the author has to thank the courtesy of 
 Messrs. Smith and Elder for permitting its republication.] 
 
THE WORLD'S WINTER. 
 
 C AIDST thou, The night is ending, day is near ? 
 
 Nay now, my soul, not so ; 
 We are sunk back into the darkness drear, 
 
 And scarcely soon shall know 
 Even remembrance of the sweet dead day ; 
 
 Ay, and shall lose full soon 
 
 The memory of the moon, 
 
 The moon of early night, that cheered our sunless 
 way. 
 
 Once, from the brows of Might, 
 Leapt with a cry to light 
 Pallas the Forefighter; 
 Then straight to strive with her 
 She called the Lord of Sea 
 In royal rivalry 
 
2 THE WORLD* S WINTER. 
 
 For Athens, the Supreme of things, 
 The company of crownless kings. 
 A splendid strife the Queen began, 
 In that her kingdom making man 
 Not less than equal her own line 
 Inhabiting the hill divine. 
 
 Ah Fate, how short a span 
 Gavest thou then to God and godlike man ! 
 The impious fury of the stormblasts now 
 Sweeps unrebuked across Olympus' brow ; 
 The fair Forefighter in the strife 
 For light and grace and glorious life 
 They sought and found not; she and hers 
 Had yielded to the troublous years; 
 No more they walked with men, heaven's high 
 interpreters. 
 
 Yet, o'er the gulf of wreck and pain, 
 How softly strange there rose again, 
 
THE WORLD'S WINTER. 3 
 
 Against the darkness dimly seen, 
 Another face, another queen, 
 The Maiden Mother, in whose eyes 
 The smile of God reflected lies; 
 Who saw around her gracious feet 
 The maddening waves of warfare meet, 
 And stretching forth her fingers fair 
 Upon the hushed and wondering air 
 Shed round her for man's yearning sight 
 A space of splendour in the night. 
 
 Are her sweet feet not stayed ? 
 Nay, she is also gone, the Mother-maid : 
 And with her all the gracious company 
 That made it hope to live, and joy to die. 
 The Lord is from the altar gone, 
 His golden lamp in dust overthrown, 
 The pealing organ's ancient voice 
 Hath wandered to an empty noise, 
 And all the angel heads and purple wings are flown. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE WORLD'S WINTER. 
 
 Wherefore in this twice-baffled barrenness, 
 This unconsoled twice-desolate distress, 
 
 For our bare world and bleak 
 
 We only dare to seek 
 A little respite for a little while, 
 
 Knowing all fair things brief, 
 And ours most brief, seeing our very smile, 
 
 Mid these our fates forlorn, 
 
 Is only child of grief, 
 And unto grief returneth, hardly born. 
 
 We will not have desire for the sweet spririg, 
 
 Nor mellowing midsummer 
 
 We have no right to her : 
 The autumn primrose and late-flowering 
 
 Pale-leaved inodorous 
 Violet and rose shall be enough for us: 
 
 Enough for our last boon, 
 That haply where no bird belated grieves, 
 
THE WORLD'S WINTER. 5 
 
 We watch, through some November afternoon, 
 The dying sunlight on the dying leaves. 
 
 Ah, heard I then through the sad silence falling 
 
 Notes of a new Orphean melody, 
 
 Not up to earth but down to darkness calling, 
 
 Down to the fair Elysian company, 
 
 Ah then how willing an Eurydice 
 
 The kindly ghosts should draw with noiseless hand 
 
 My shadowy soul into the shadowy land; 
 
 For on the earth is endless winter come, 
 
 And all sweet sounds and echoes sweet are dumb. 
 
'COULD YE NOT WATCH 
 ONE HOUR?' 
 
 A RISE, put on thy strength, 
 O soul released at length 
 
 From thy blind bondage in the cave obscure : 
 Let night call unto night; 
 Thou to the comely light 
 Lift thy confronting brow, serene and sure. 
 
 Why turn thy glances back? 
 
 Here glows thy glorious track, 
 Bright with the dawn and light of forward feet: 
 
 A daughter of the morn 
 
 New-risen and new-born, 
 Why tarriest thou to take thy birthright sweet? 
 
'COULD YE NOT WATCH ONE HOUR?' 7 
 
 Poor soul, thou art perplext, 
 
 Thou hast so long been vext 
 By shadowy hopes that baffling beckoned thee : 
 
 What wonder thou wert fain 
 
 To list whatever strain 
 Amid the dimness spake consolingly? 
 
 Of that enchanted shade 
 
 Thou hast renouncement made, 
 Yet weepest for the flowers that round thee grew: 
 
 Bleak seems the field and bare, 
 
 Shorn of its harvest fair; 
 Not yet is death of old things birth of new. 
 
 But other seed more blest 
 
 Is in the kind earth's breast : 
 Watch yet one hour; thy recompense is nigh: 
 
 Yea, and thy Gods that were 
 
 Are here again more fair, 
 All human, all divine, that cannot die. 
 
8 'COULD YE NOT WATCH ONE HOUR?' 
 
 How long, how long, forlorn Humanity, 
 Must thou gaze forth from Naxos' shore in vain 
 For vanished sails that ne'er come back to thee, 
 For Theseus' arms that clasp thee ne'er again ? 
 
 Let thy sad eyes look round; 
 
 The young God ivy-crowned, 
 Splendidly coming up out of the sea, 
 Is stretching forth his hand to marry thee 
 With marriage-ring of the new bridal-vow. 
 Be glad, for thy best life begins but now; 
 For he shall breathe a new love in thy veins, 
 And shall drown utterly all regretful pains, 
 Pouring thee draughts of his celestial wine, 
 And blessing thee with kisses o'er and o'er, 
 Until he set thee for a heavenly sign, 
 To be a starry splendour evermore. 
 
 O longing listener on the stormy shore, 
 
 Are they so harsh, the sounds that round thee roar ? 
 
f COULD YE NOT WATCH ONE HOUR?' 
 
 A little while, thy disentangling ear 
 
 Amid the tuneless din shall hear 
 An under-streaming subtle symphony, 
 A mystic maze of ordered melody 
 Drawn out in long importunate agony, 
 With tender piteous straining 
 Of lute to lute complaining 
 Pleadingly ever, and with keen replying 
 Living intensely in pain, and almost dying, 
 Until the trumpet's pealing voice 
 Bids the wondering world rejoice, 
 And all-compelling sweeps along 
 The faltering feet of stringed song. 
 
 Yet are there moments sweeter far than all, 
 And holier far, that on the spirit fall 
 
 Of him who, midst the eager strife 
 Of Hate and Death with Love and Life, 
 A little quiet space may win 
 From war without and war within, 
 
io ' COULD YE NOT WATCH ONE HOUR f 
 
 And suddenly from the dim earth borne on high 
 
 Upon the wings of his great ecstasy 
 
 To some still mountain-top of magic spell, 
 
 Shall gaze into the things invisible, 
 
 And know with purged and understanding eye 
 
 The wondrous forms of fair futurity. 
 
 Then let the marvel of the whole 
 
 Strike on the wishing, wondering soul, 
 
 That her serene delight shall seem 
 
 Most like the pious painter's dream, 
 
 Presenting how in solemn wise 
 
 They come with ancient mysteries 
 
 To dedicate the Child Divine 
 
 Within his Father's golden shrine : 
 
 And fair boy-angels bravely clad 
 
 On either side are softly glad ; 
 
 Not yet their lips will touch the flute, 
 
 Not yet their fingers wake the lute, 
 
 Nor may the dreaming gazer know 
 
 How sweet the spell-bound flood shall flow, 
 
< COULD YE NOT WATCH ONE HOUR?' n 
 
 But dreams in wonder more and more 
 Of some consummate act in store, 
 Wherein shall fit fulfilment be 
 Of such divine expectancy. 
 
REVERIES DE VOYAGE. 
 
I. LUGANO. 
 
 TE LIQUIDI FLEVERE LACUS. 
 
 A "\ 7 HAT time beneath the southern face 
 
 Of the two-fronted Alpine pile 
 I lingered for a little space 
 
 Where the blue lakes in sunshine smile, 
 
 Full fondly may my heart recall 
 How all the purple peaks aglow 
 
 Burned o'er the steep-set woods that wall 
 The length of lordly Lario. 
 
 Yet was not that the dearest time, 
 Nor yet when on the evening air 
 
 The strange soft bells with answering chime 
 Made sounds as sweet as sights were fair. 
 
1 6 LUGANO. 
 
 But this it was that bade mine eyes 
 With tender mindful joy be dim, 
 
 That all about the happy skies 
 
 There seemed a voice that spake of Him 
 
 Who surely on these shores had found, 
 As even on his own Mantuan plains, 
 
 The sweeter grace wherewith he crowned 
 The grace of sweet Sicilian strains; 
 
 Who haply in the summer-tide, . 
 
 Where browsing goats the chestnuts stir, 
 Heard from the mountain's shaggy side 
 
 The singing of the vine-dresser. 
 
 Beneath such pure nocturnal skies 
 
 Menalcas' carol rang afar, 
 And Daphnis raised his wondering eyes 
 
 To the new sign of Caesar's star. 
 
LUGANO. 
 
 O sweetest singer, stateliest head 
 And gentlest ever crowned with bay, 
 
 It seemed that from the holy dead 
 Thy soul drew near to mine that day. 
 
 And all fair places to my view 
 Were fairer ; such delight I had 
 
 To deem that these thy presence knew 
 And at thy coming oft were glad: 
 
 That these to thy last going gave 
 Thine own brave Umbro's elegy; 
 
 For thee Cerisio's, Lario's wave, 
 
 The limpid lakes made moan for thee. 
 
II. FLOKENCE. 
 
 r\ SURELY surely life is fair, 
 
 And surely surely hearts are true; 
 Be witness, balm of April air, 
 
 And boundless depth of midnight blue. 
 
 The trouble of an hour ago, 
 
 That seemed to gather round our way, 
 Is vanished as the last year's snow 
 
 That hid the hills of Fiesole. 
 
 And softly still the moonlight falls, 
 O love, and makes for thee and me 
 
 An Eden mid the bay -leaf walls, 
 The odorous bowers of Boboli. 
 
FLORENCE. 19 
 
 How gently o'er our spirits move 
 
 The golden hours we feared would die ! 
 
 The very flame that threatened Love 
 Has lent us light to see him by. 
 
 c 2 
 
III. ROME. 
 
 To THE STATUE OF LOVE 
 CALLED < THE GENIUS OF THE VATICAN/ 
 
 Love, by spoiling strangers torn 
 From thine Hellenic home, 
 For ever wingless left to mourn 
 In this high place of Rome ; 
 
 O Love, to me who love thee well, 
 Who fain would hear and mark, 
 
 The secret of thy sorrow tell, 
 And why thy brows are dark. 
 
 It is not for thy vanished wings, 
 Thou madest no more mirth 
 
 Amid thine Hellas' lovely things, 
 In the sweet spring of earth. 
 
ROME. 
 
 And still sweet airs of Athens flow 
 
 From marble tresses shed ; 
 The old Ionian glories glow, 
 
 O Love, around thy head. 
 
 The little Love who smiles below, 
 
 Thy loveliest brother boy, 
 Knows no such spell to loose his bow, 
 
 No care to cloud his joy. 
 
 He bends to string his bending bow 
 
 In playful haste to harm ; 
 Two thousand years that come and go 
 
 Have spared his childish charm. 
 
 But thou hast caught a deeper care; 
 
 His smile is not for thee; 
 Thou canst not all so lightly wear 
 
 Thine immortality. 
 
ROME. 
 
 O is it that thy spirit knew 
 
 Its solitary fate, 
 That, whatsoe'er of beauty grew, 
 
 Thou might'st not find thy mate? 
 
 Or is it that thy thoughts had range 
 O'er the sad years to come, 
 
 Of beauty suffering envious change, 
 Of music marred and dumb, 
 
 Of other gods and other lords 
 Than thine and thee aware, 
 
 Of struggling shapes and fiery swords 
 Vexing thy quiet air ? 
 
 Ah, not to men who round thee rove 
 
 Thy secret wilt thou tell: 
 Thus then, O fairest, noblest Love, 
 
 O saddest Love, farewell. 
 
ROME. 23 
 
 Yet if some pang of stifled pain 
 
 Move thee from mystery, 
 In a dim dream returned again 
 
 Murmur a word to me. 
 
 So I might rise and speak it then 
 
 In understanding ears, 
 That word might stir in hearts of men 
 
 The inmost springs of tears. 
 
IV. HOME. 
 
 GUIDO'S ' AURORA.' 
 
 \\ 7*E too see the clouds that surround her, 
 
 We too see the track of the car ; 
 But none sees her herself, none hath found her, 
 There is none she hath honoured so far. 
 
 But this painter, scarce meriting, knew her 
 When he painted that picture of light ; 
 
 O fortunate Reni ! you drew her, 
 
 For she made herself plain to your sight, 
 
 As she comes, the bright goddess of morning, 
 With the dawn in her eyes and her hair, 
 
 Making glad with a jubilant warning 
 The depths of the amorous air ; 
 
ROME. 25 
 
 And the car of the god follows after, 
 Led forth by the Hours on his way; 
 
 Led forth to the sound of their laughter, 
 And leading the light of the day. 
 
V. ATHENS. 
 
 AX ANCIENT SCULPTURED TOMB. 
 
 . TIT E goeth forth unto the unknown land, 
 
 Where wife nor child may follow; thus far tell 
 The lingering clasp of hand in faithful hand, 
 And that brief carven legend, Friend farewell. 
 
 O pregnant sign, profound simplicity ! 
 
 All passionate pain and fierce remonstrating 
 Being wholly purged, leave this mere memory, 
 
 Deep but not harsh, a sad and sacred thing. 
 
 Not otherwise to the hall of Hades dim 
 He fares, than if some summer eventide 
 
 A message, not unlocked for, came to him 
 Bidding him rise up presently and ride 
 
ATHENS. 27 
 
 Some few hours' journey to a friendly house, 
 Through fading light, to where within the West, 
 
 Behind the shadow of Cithaeron's brows, 
 The calm-eyed sun sank to his rosy rest. 
 
VI. ARCADIA. 
 
 THE TEMPLE AT BASSAE, DEDICATED TO APOLLO THE 
 
 HELPER BY THE PEOPLE OF PHIGALEIA 
 
 AFTER A PLAGUE. 
 
 /^\F all fair scenes let this be called most fair; 
 
 Not for the prospect only, plain and hill 
 Upsoaring to the solitary snow 
 Or merged in silver shining of the sea, 
 And these grey columns faintly flushed with rose, 
 Divine in ruin not for these alone : 
 The Presences of Gods are all around. 
 But now amid the oaks of Arcady 
 Pan passed me, hidden by the russet leaves 
 That trembled at his coming, and I knew 
 
ARCADIA. 29 
 
 By their glad shuddering that the God was there; 
 And far to the East, where stern Taygetus 
 Rears his steep snows against the blinding blue, 
 Lo, in the hanging cloud-wreaths hardly seen, 
 Stalk the dread phantoms of the Dorian Twins, 
 Still tutelar, and o'er the tomb forlorn 
 Of their discrowned Sparta watching well. 
 
 But chiefliest where I stand is holy ground. 
 Helper Apollo 1 by that name revered 
 In this fair shrine with song and sacrifice, 
 What sacred prompting urged the votive zeal 
 Of Phigaleian folk so high to build 
 Thy temple, lone amid the lonely hills? 
 Perchance some citizen flying in dark dread 
 From the plague-stricken city of his folk 
 Paused in this place; then suddenly he was ware 
 Of One who stood beside him, whose bright head 
 Makes even Olympus brighter when he comes. 
 And the sweet air wherein gods breathe more sweet: 
 No rattling darts of death his shoulder bare, 
 
30 ARCADIA. 
 
 As once at Troy, nor like to night he came, 
 
 But robed in dewy radiance of the dawn. 
 
 Almost he might have seemed his Healer Son, 
 
 Koronis' child, yet more august than he. 
 
 " Return unto thine house ; the plague is stayed : " 
 
 So spake he; and the wondering man returned 
 
 And found the vision true, and told his folk 
 
 Of that bright God who helped them, and they heard 
 
 And worshipt, and with full hearts fervently 
 
 On this fair spot, where in the vision stood 
 
 That mighty Helper of the hurts of men, 
 
 They reared this pillared temple chastely fair, 
 
 This sister of the Athenian maiden-shrine, 
 
 This Dorian mood breathing through silent stone. 
 
 O noble symbol of a noble life, 
 A life wherein all vigour and all grace, 
 All quickening impulse and all chastening thought, 
 The inspiration of things old and new, 
 Of high tradition and of bold advance, 
 Should meet to mould a human soul divine, 
 
ARCADIA. 31 
 
 Serene and strong, a healthful harmony ; 
 And all this goodly thing be consecrate 
 Unto that Power of Healing, whose high task 
 Is wrought of Man's hands and of God's alike, 
 Of God as Man, at his most Godlike then. 
 Verily such life were as this stately shrine, 
 Which seems, albeit of sculptured pediment, 
 Of metope and of cornice left forlorn, 
 Yet not less holy therefore or less fair, 
 Only more mild and more majestical. 
 
VII. ITHOME. 
 
 TT is no God that haunts the cloven crest 
 Of this Messenian mountain of old fame, 
 But thou, the peer of Gods, immortal name, 
 Epameinondas, whom these heights attest 
 Saviour and Father of a race opprest. 
 
 Even now the diadem of thy towered wall 
 Not quite has crumbled, and shall well recall 
 That day of pride, when, at the imperial hest 
 Of thy strong stamp and splendour of thy spears, 
 
 Messenia stirred, and sprang to reassume 
 Her ancient heritage of the Dorian peers, 
 
 Fierce Sparta's spoil; and after dolorous 
 
 gloom 
 
 Of that long death through thrice a hundred years 
 Arose in scorn of tyrants from the tomb. 
 
VIII. LEAVING ATHENS. 
 OAirON TE <HAON TE. 
 
 1VTO relic rare, O Attic soil, from thy fair shores 
 
 returning, 
 No clay or marble disinterred I bear beyond the 
 
 sea; 
 Too many such lament their home in stranger halls 
 
 sojourning 
 
 The remnants of thine ancient art, let these abide 
 with thee. 
 
 One simple spoil thou wilt not grudge of all thy 
 
 treasure-troven, 
 
 One gracious gift, beloved land, I take with 
 conscience clear 
 D 
 
34 LEAVING ATHENS. 
 
 A handful of thy wild-flowers, by fairest fingers 
 
 woven, 
 
 And a wreath of Attic olive-leaves, "a little thing 
 but dear." 
 
 Hymettus' golden honey-bees that haunt his thymy 
 
 covers 
 Of all their joyous pasturage have no such joy as 
 
 mine, 
 For o'er these petals dried and dead a subtler 
 
 fragrance hovers, 
 
 And Memory can mix from these a honey more 
 divine. 
 
IX. SYRACUSE. 
 
 HPHIS is the seventh day since my glad eyes 
 
 Beheld the holy plain of Marathon. 
 Seven days : but in the story of the earth 
 Is writ, From Marathon to Syracuse 
 Are seventy years and seven; for so long 
 Endured that city's prime which was the world's. 
 In this blue slumbering harbour at my feet 
 Clashed the great combat of extreme despair, 
 The agony of Athens : those grey slopes 
 Hold yet the cruel quarries where the sun 
 Beat fierce upon the pain of godlike limbs, 
 Which erst upon the great day of the feast 
 Rode radiant to Athene's citadel. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 SYRACUSE. 
 
 City of Theseus, thou too, having dared 
 Much nobly, like thy champion prince of old, 
 Wert lastly over-daring to thy fall. 
 But not on those dark ways shall Memory pause, 
 Dark ways of Erebus and hounds of hell; 
 Rather shall she bethink her with what front 
 He met the twy-form monster, Minotaur, 
 Unterrified, and smote, and ended him, 
 And with what thanks round that bright athlete 
 
 thronged 
 
 The clinging hands and glad adoring eyes 
 Of those fourteen, plucked by his hand from death. 
 
 Like danger threatened then the hopes of Earth, 
 O saviour city, when the barbarous hosts 
 Swarmed westward, and the multitude of isles 
 Trembled, and Thebes Kadmean, and the soil 
 Which bred Achilles ; but thy champion arm 
 Took up the perilous challenge, and struck home. 
 
ITALIA REDIVIVA. 
 
 "\A/ HAT thou S h the branch be broken 
 
 And fit for winter flame, 
 Yet shows it still a token 
 
 Of the high wood whence it came/' 
 
 So sang the ancient singer : 
 And, though we deemed her dead, 
 
 We saw a glory linger 
 Round that beloved head. 
 
 But lo, the leaves are springing 
 From that dead branch and dry, 
 
 New life thy breath is bringing 
 O saviour Liberty. 
 
40 ITALIA REDIVIVA. 
 
 And these memorial mountains, 
 And woods of grey and green, 
 
 And voice of falling fountains, 
 Shall hail thee for their queen: 
 
 And gates of famous story, 
 Made pure from tyrants' sin, 
 
 Fly back to greet the glory 
 Of thy fair feet entering in. 
 
 Like mighty waters meeting 
 Our voice with hers shall cry 
 
 A great acclaim of greeting 
 England to Italy: 
 
 A voice of gratulation 
 
 O'er Alp and plain and sea, 
 
 Nation to new-born nation, 
 The free soul to the free. 
 
ETSI OMNBS, EGO NON. 
 
 TTERE where under earth his head 
 
 Finds a last and lonely bed, 
 Let him speak upon the stone: 
 Etsi omnesy ego non. 
 
 Here he shall not know the eyes 
 Bent upon their sordid prize 
 Earthward ever, nor the beat 
 Of the hurrying faithless feet. 
 
 None to make him perfect cheer 
 Joined him on his journey drear ; 
 Some too soon, who fell away; 
 Some too late, who mourn to-day. 
 
42 ETSI OMNES) EGO NON. 
 
 Yet while comrades one by one 
 Made denial and were gone, 
 Not the less he laboured on : 
 Etsi omnes y ego non. 
 
 Surely his were heart and mind 
 Meet for converse with his kind, 
 Light of genial fancy free, 
 Grace of sweetest sympathy. 
 
 But his soul had other scope, 
 Holden of a larger hope, 
 Larger hope and larger love, 
 Meat to eat men knew not of: 
 
 Knew not, know not yet shall sound 
 From this place of holy ground 
 Even this legend thereupon, 
 Etsi omnes, ego non. 
 
'IF BUT THY HEAKT WERE STONE." 
 
 TF but thy heart were stone 
 
 Strong stone or steel 
 
 It never had made this moan, 
 
 It never had learnt to feel. 
 
 The storm should never have swept 
 
 Over the place of its rest, 
 It never had listened and leapt 
 
 At the cry of a life opprest. 
 
 It had never been shaken and torn 
 At the sight of a loved one's pain, 
 
 It had never stood still, forlorn, 
 
 At the thought "Is there meeting again?' 3 
 
44 "IF BUT THY HEART WERE STONE." 
 
 It had stood by itself secure, 
 
 Bound round and beneath and above, 
 
 Fenced from the plaint of the poor 
 And free from the fires of love. 
 
 Thou hadst smiled in godlike mirth, 
 Thou hadst lived serene, alone, 
 
 Thou hadst lived a lord of earth, 
 If but thy heart were stone. 
 
TO A DWELLER IN A GREAT CITY. 
 
 CTAND still in this thy city, 
 
 And listen through the throng 
 To the terror and the pity 
 Of an awful undersong; 
 
 Grim sounds unnumbered blending 
 
 To load the blackened air, 
 Unresting and unending, 
 
 A chorus of despair: 
 
 "About, above, and under, 
 There holds us night and day 
 
 A chain we cannot sunder, 
 A debt we cannot pay. 
 
46 TO A DWELLER IN A GREAT CITY. 
 
 "No act of ours had bound us; 
 
 From our first hour of earth 
 The net was knit around us, 
 
 We are bondmen from our birth. 
 
 " So hath it been, so is it, 
 So shall it still be done, 
 
 Till one with vengeance visit 
 The things that shame the sun. 
 
 "No charm to soothe or quicken 
 Dead weight of weary strife, 
 
 No shade for souls that sicken 
 In the furnace-fire of life ; 
 
 "No hope of more or better 
 This side the hungry grave, 
 
 Till death release the debtor, 
 Eternal sleep the slave." 
 
PHILHELLENE. 
 
 I. 
 
 me all the store of knowledge, grant 
 me all the wealth that is, 
 
 Swiftly, surely, I would answer, Give me rather, give 
 me this : 
 
 Bear me back across the ages to the years that are 
 
 no more, 
 Give me one sweet month "of spring-time on the 
 
 old Saronic shore; 
 
 Not as one who marvels mournful, seeing with a 
 
 sad desire 
 Shattered temples, crumbling columns, ashes of a 
 
 holy fire; 
 
48 PHILHELLENE. 
 
 But a man with men Hellenic doing that whieh 
 
 there was done, 
 There among the sons of Athens, not a stranger 
 
 but a son. 
 
 There the blue sea gave them greeting when their 
 
 triremes' conquering files 
 Swam superb with rhythmic oarage through the 
 
 multitude of isles. 
 
 There they met the Mede and brake him, beat 
 
 him to his slavish East; 
 Who was he, a guest unwished-for bursting on 
 
 their freeman's feast? 
 
 There the ancient celebration to the maiden queen 
 
 of fight 
 Led the long august procession upward to the 
 
 pillared height. 
 
PHILHELLENE. 49 
 
 There the hearts of men beat faster while the glad 
 
 Hellenic boy 
 Ran and wrestled with his fellows, knew the struggle 
 
 and the joy. 
 
 From the deep eyes in his forehead shone a radiance 
 
 brave and fair, 
 Flashing down his shapely shoulders ran the splendour 
 
 of his hair. 
 
 Man with man they met together in a kindly life 
 
 and free, 
 And their gods were near about them in the 
 
 sunlight or the sea. 
 
 There they sought the feet of Wisdom, pilgrims on 
 
 a holy quest; 
 Ray by ray the sun of knowledge dawned upon the 
 
 wakening West. 
 
 E 
 
50 PHILHELLENE. 
 
 Every thought of all their thinking swayed the 
 
 world for good or ill, 
 Every pulse of all their life-blood beats across the 
 
 ages still. 
 
 -Vain the vision, vain the longing : passionless 
 with marble frown 
 
 Law of Fate and law of Duty gaze the gathering 
 fancies down. 
 
 Ah ! their light has set and left us groping for its 
 
 fitful gleams; 
 Like a dream their glory glimmers from the far-off 
 
 world of dreams. 
 
 Wherefore dream we not, but rather wake with 
 
 disenchanted eyes, 
 Turning steadfast brows of purpose on our sad 
 
 realities. 
 
PHILHELLENE. 51 
 
 Not for us the fair illusion of their fond imaginings ; 
 Yea, themselves undid their glory, sowing seeds of 
 greater things. 
 
 Who shall throw his manhood from him, choose 
 
 the portion of the boy? 
 Who shall make undone the done thing? who shall 
 
 bring us back the joy? 
 
 Shall we shun the harsher struggle, feeble with 
 
 regretful fears, 
 Long to lay our birthright from us and the burden 
 
 of the years? 
 
 Nay, our burden is our glory: nay, we would not 
 
 though we could. 
 Is it well done? it is well done; this too shall be 
 
 greater good. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 PHILHELLENE. 
 
 II. 
 
 A Y, let our fates be such, for such they are : 
 
 So ordereth the voice oracular 
 Of the slow-moving, ever-moving years, 
 Too stern, too kind, to stay them for our fears; 
 And our own breasts that know a younger age 
 Our creditor for ampler heritage. 
 Yet whoso anywhiles hath lingered long 
 In that high realm of unforgotten song, 
 This man, methinks, shall never quite set free 
 His soul from that constraining phantasy; 
 Still sometimes in a lonely place and fair, 
 Where the warm south-winds stir the rainy air 
 And sigh themselves to silence, shall his ear 
 In that vague wistful sighing seem to hear 
 From dreamy regions of the elder earth 
 A mournful music sweeter than our mirth; 
 
PH1LHELLENE. 53 
 
 Some harping of the god of golden head 
 By Delian waters waiting to be dead, 
 Some voice of wailing wood-nymphs amorous, 
 Far off, within a vale of Maenalus. 
 
THE LOST BROTHER AMONG 
 THE NATIONS. 
 
 TTE is no more, that brother dear and fair, 
 
 Whose living made the whole world glorious; 
 His wings are closed, and for no sigh or prayer 
 Shall that bright brother fly again to us. 
 
 What though the earth hath many a son full strong 
 To the wide brotherhood of peoples born, 
 
 These to a dark and wingless race belong, 
 And with the mother for their lost one mourn. 
 
 Ah me, and yet of old time not in vain 
 
 The queen of Eryx and Idalion 
 Wept sore for her Adonis, till again 
 
 From the pale wave of envious Acheron 
 
THE LOST BROTHER AMONG THE NATIONS. 55 
 
 
 The longed-for Hours slow treading, soft and slow, 
 
 Bare back her love, delivered from the deep ; 
 But our Adonis no return shall know ; 
 He sleeps, unwakening, an eternal sleep. 
 
 Far far away in some enchanted glade, 
 
 The world's most secret and most solemn place, 
 
 He sleeps unchanging in the twilight shade, 
 A grave smile hovering o'er his heavenly face. 
 
 Yet some, by grace vouchsafed to faithful love, 
 Are thither rapt to gaze upon the shrine, 
 
 Where on his calm couch in the glimmering grove 
 Lie the bright limbs of the dead boy divine. 
 
 Thenceforth if any time there come to these 
 Some sweeter melody, some sight more fair, 
 
 They dream they catch his call among the trees, 
 His golden wings upon the stream of air. 
 
A STORY FROM AELIAN. 
 
 A TROOP of boys went bathing to the sea, 
 
 All fair, but one the first in youthful bloom : 
 Him marked a Dolphin, tenderest of his kind, 
 Far off, and joined his gambols in the wave. 
 And a great love grew up between the twain : 
 For day by day the boy came to the shore, 
 And day by day the faithful fish was there, 
 And on his back would bear him merrily 
 Amid the dashing waves, a burden dear. 
 But on an unblest morn, what time their mirth 
 Was happiest, and the boy in trustful glee 
 Upon his friend had stretched his limbs at length, 
 And backward leaned, and shouted to his steed, 
 Ah me, the sharp spear of the Dolphin's fin 
 
A STORY FROM AELIAN. 57 
 
 Pierced his fair side and spilt his tender life. 
 So there was no more play between the twain. 
 But that poor fish, perceiving how the foam 
 Was crimsoned all with blood about his track, 
 And the sweet voice, which was his music, hushed, 
 Knew that all joy was slain, and agony 
 Seized him, and he desired himself to die. 
 
 So to the beach he bore him mournfully 
 Amid the dashing waves, a burden dear ; 
 And on the beach he laid him softly down, 
 And by his side gave up his grieving soul. 
 
 But the boy's comrades, sorrowing for their mate, 
 Took up the corpse and washed it of the blood, 
 And laid it in a grave beside the sea, 
 Beside the sea, beneath the yellow sand, 
 And by his side they laid the Dolphin dead, 
 Remembering that great love he bare the boy. 
 
YOUTH AND TRUTH. 
 
 TVTOW in life's breezy morning, 
 Here on life's sunny shore, 
 To all the powers of falsehood 
 We vow eternal war : 
 
 Eternal hate to falsehood; 
 
 And then, as needs must be, 
 O Truth, O Lady peerless, 
 
 Eternal love to thee, 
 
 All fair things that seem true things 
 Our hearts shall aye receive, 
 
 Not over-quick to seize them, 
 Nor over-loth to leave ; 
 
YOUTH AND TRUTH. 59 
 
 Not over-loth or hasty 
 
 To leave them or to seize, 
 Not eager still to wander, 
 
 Nor clinging still to ease. 
 
 A band of many tempers, 
 
 Of many moods are we ; 
 Some kindly god hath yoked us 
 
 With a yoke of liberty ; 
 
 Of various brain and temper, 
 
 Of many strains and stocks, 
 Some sworn to godlike Milton, 
 
 And some to genial Fox. 
 
 Some cherish far-sought knowledge, 
 Some laughter keen and rare, 
 
 Some drink to Galileo 
 
 And some to bright Voltaire. 
 
60 YOUTH AND TRUTH. 
 
 But one vow links us ever, 
 That whatsoe'er shall be, 
 
 Nor Life nor Death shall sever 
 Our souls, O Truth, from thee. 
 
PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR. 
 
 ' T-JE came with me home to my dwelling, 
 
 He abode with me all that night, 
 But ah me for my tale and its telling, 
 He was gone with the dawn of the light. 
 
 He was gone without whisper of warning, 
 He was gone, and he comes not again; 
 
 He heeds not the voice of my mourning, 
 He leaves me alone to my pain." 
 
 Thou also, O Earth, art forsaken, 
 
 And the song of the maiden is thine; 
 
 For ever thine eyes as they waken 
 Look wistful for lovers divine. 
 
62 PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR. 
 
 Bright visions and presences splendid, 
 
 They have loved thee a night and a day ; 
 
 From the void of the ether descended 
 To the void they are vanished away. 
 
 O Earth be at peace from thy sighing, 
 For the sound of thy sorrow is vain : 
 
 There be others to come at thy crying, 
 To come, and to leave thee again. 
 
'THEY SAY THY ART IS FAILING." 
 
 HP HEY say thy art is failing, 
 They warn thee of decay, 
 Thy poesy is paling 
 
 Before their prose to-day. 
 
 The song-birds hear the warning. 
 They yield can Time be wrong? 
 
 Yet in the twilight morning 
 Shall steal an hour for song. 
 
 The nightingale shall steal it, 
 In the deep wood o'er the hill: 
 
 Deem not, she doth not feel it, 
 Yet know, she sings there still. 
 
REST. 
 
 hast thou done, and with benignity, 
 Who didst behold and beckon me to thee; 
 For all the old cares unkind, while here I lie, 
 Are wholly vanished that seemed so sore, 
 And this sweet hour at least I must deny 
 That I shall see or know them any more. 
 
 For I, in this fair rest abiding here, 
 Nor forward look nor back for joy or fear, 
 But am, and am at peace, as one who swims 
 Drifting half-sunk in a deep spring-water, 
 Cool, cool and soft around his soothed limbs, 
 And murmuring music in his dreamful ear. 
 
ACTA MAGNANIMORUM. 
 
I. THE LIBERATION OP DORIEUS. 
 
 In the year 406 B.C., seven years after the annihilation of the 
 Athenian army before Syracuse, and two years before the final 
 defeat of Aigospotamoi, the Athenian fleet took prisoner one 
 Dorieus, a member of the great Rhodian house of the Eratidai, 
 who had brought ships to the aid of Sparta against Athens. 
 Dorieus had himself been thrice crowned at Olympia, and his 
 father Diagoras had won the boxing-match there in the year 464, 
 when Pindar wrote for him the ode called the Seventh Olympian, 
 which the Rhodians engraved in letters of gold in the temple 
 of Athene at Lindos. 
 
 It was the custom of the time either to release prisoners of war 
 for a ransom or else to put them to death. The Athenians 
 asked no ransom of Dorieus, but set him free on the spot. 
 
 A H, my Athens, those were years of anguish, 
 
 Since thy proud host perished o'er the foam, 
 Left to rot upon the field, or languish 
 Pent in Dorian prison-pits of doom : 
 From that dire defeat 
 Turn'st thou back to meet 
 Foes without and fiercer foes at home. 
 F 2 
 
68 THE LIBERATION OF DORIEUS. 
 
 Yet in those nine years, when need was sorest, 
 
 How thy high heart stirs and strives alway ! 
 Still the Queen of Light, whom thou adorest, 
 
 Breathes some brightness through the dolorous day : 
 As we read, the page 
 Glows with noble rage \ 
 Deadly wounded, thou hast turned to bay. 
 
 But, more glorious than thy glorious anger, 
 
 Shines thy sudden mercy in its stead; 
 Clutched by death, nor agony nor languor 
 Bows the bearing of thy queenly head : 
 Fearless yet and free 
 Sayest thou, " I am she, 
 Athens yet, though half my force be fled. 
 
 "Ay, amid this darkened age and dwindled, 
 Still my sons have memory of their fame ; 
 
 Now for one fair moment see rekindled 
 One divine spark of the ancient flame; 
 
THE LIBERATION OF DORIEUS. 69 
 
 Know them, now as then, 
 Marathonian men, 
 Champions of the high Hellenic name. 
 
 " Rhodian Dorieus, thou hast fought to tame me, 
 
 Fought and failed, and yielded to my spear: 
 Hadst thou conquered, conquest could not shame me, 
 So to thee too can no shame come near; 
 Still thine eager sight 
 Keeps the battle's light, 
 Still thy brave brow fronts me without fear. 
 
 "But to mine eyes other light around thee 
 
 Hovers yet upon thy clustering hair, 
 Light of silvery olive-leaves that crown'd thee 
 When the Great Games hailed thee victor there ; 
 When the mid-month moon 
 Heard the swelling tune 
 Heralding the athlete strong and fair. 
 
70 THE LIBERATION OF DORIEUS. 
 
 "Nor in vain the Theban eagle, soaring 
 
 High in heaven the golden clouds among, 
 Bare thy sire's name for eternal storing, 
 Sealed in labyrinth of splendid song ; 
 Still in golden line 
 From the Lindian shrine 
 Flames his praise the sunlit seas along. 
 
 " By the spell of those Pindaric splendours, 
 
 By the old Athenian chivalry, 
 By thy sire, and by my sons, defenders 
 
 Of that God who crowned both him and thee, 
 Noble Rhodian foe, 
 Gird thy sword and go, 
 Athens gives thee greeting, thou art free." 
 
H. KALLIKBATIDAS. 
 
 The Athenians' magnanimity in liberating Dorieus was even 
 surpassed in the same year by the Spartan admiral Kallikratidas, 
 that glorious exception among his countrymen, who, having taken 
 certain Athenians prisoners of war at Methymna in Lesbos, set 
 them all at liberty, declaring that he would never keep Hellenes 
 in bondage. 
 
 A few months afterwards Kallikratidas was killed, leading his 
 fleet at the great battle of Arginousai. 
 
 " T STRIVE with Athens but to win once more 
 Her equal sword among the guardian band 
 Of powers Hellenic for the Hellenic land. 
 
 Brothers, bear back this message to her door. 
 
 There lies the foe eternal, there the war 
 Holy .and just." He pointed with his hand 
 Eastward to Susa, o'er the Mysian strand 
 
 And sinuous bays of that ill-trusted shore. 
 
72 KALLIKRATIDAS. 
 
 O heart heroic, Sparta's noblest son, 
 
 At what a height thy soaring spirit burns 
 
 Star-like, and floods our souls with quickening 
 
 fire! 
 
 Too soon, great heart, thy generous race is run, 
 Too soon the scattered night of hate returns, 
 And dark Lysander's unrelenting ire. 
 
HI. THE WRECK OP THE 
 'BIRKENHEAD.' 
 
 On the 26th of February, 1852, about 2 o'clock in the morning, 
 the troop-ship ' Birkenhead ' struck on a rock off the Cape of 
 Good Hope, and it immediately became manifest that the ship 
 must very shortly sink. The crew numbered 130, the troops 
 on board 480, with 20 women and children. Three boats were 
 lost in launching, and the remainder could carry few beside the 
 women and children. These were embarked, under the care of as 
 many of the crew as could accompany them without overloading 
 the boats. The rest of the crew, and the troops, drawn up on 
 the deck, remained and sank with the ship. 
 
 HPO England's flag a challenge 
 
 Came from the rebel sea: 
 
 "Yield us your babes and women, 
 
 Yield us your pride, and flee!" 
 
74 THE WRECK OF THE c BIRKENHEAD? 
 
 O Sea, thy wrath hath fooled thee ! 
 
 Sea, thou art over-bold ! 
 Know'st thou not then that banner? 
 
 Thou knew'st it surely of old. 
 
 Across the waste of waters, 
 Of help and hope forlorn, 
 
 Their level eyes untroubled 
 Looked with a quiet scorn. 
 
 For honour and for pity 
 
 They made their choice to die, 
 
 And the great name of England 
 Held up their hearts on high. 
 
 Still on the deck unswerving 
 
 The bayonet-line gleamed bright, 
 
 Then, with the plunging vessel, 
 Plunged to eternal night. 
 
THE WRECK OF THE < BIRKENHEAD? 75 
 
 So made they sure their triumph 
 
 Over the rebel sea; 
 For Death stood near to serve them, 
 
 And sealed their victory. 
 
THE SAME. 
 
 r "PHEIR unblanched lips drank up 
 
 Death from the sea; 
 They quaffed this loving-cup, 
 England, to thee. 
 
IV. THE DEATH OP JOHN CHIDDY. 
 
 On the 3 ist of March, 1876, near Bristol, a large stone had 
 fallen from a quarry in front of a railway-train running at full 
 speed. A quarryman named John Chiddy, who was working 
 near the place, caught the stone from the rail and saved the train, 
 but was himself struck dead by the engine. 
 
 "\ X HTH roar of whirlwind wheels 
 
 The flashing train flies by; 
 No shock the traveller feels, 
 He hears no cry, 
 
 Nor starts, nor holds his breath, 
 Nor wonders, nor looks back; 
 He saw not what dire Death 
 Couched in his track. 
 
;8 THE DEATH OF JOHN CHIDDY. 
 
 But one man saw, and stayed not; 
 
 One man sprang forth to save; 
 And for their lives who prayed not 
 His own life gave. 
 
 The train bore on in thunder 
 The travellers on their way : 
 Beneath them, cloven asunder, 
 Their saviour lay. 
 
 No more his life-blood wets 
 The iron pathway's side: 
 The iron folk forgets, 
 For whom he died. 
 
ON REVISITING 
 THE CUMBRIAN HILLS. 
 
 r\ NATIVE land of hills and limpid lakes ! 
 
 O dearer far to me than fertile plains ! 
 After how long exile in southern towns 
 Once more do I revisit thy grey rocks, 
 And thy large air, and sound of falling streams. 
 Whereof when I remind me oftentimes, 
 Waking, or in delusion of sweet dreams, 
 I count my lot thrice blest that I was born 
 In such a land, among so brave a race, 
 Where not in vain hath Nature ministered 
 Majestic service to the mind of man. 
 
MONTIGEWA. 
 
 TV/TIGHT I but die knowing some sure advance 
 
 In the long travail of humanity 
 Toward truth and freedom and high-hearted love, 
 And seeing this England (which to call mine own 
 Shall ever thrill my heart as her free flag 
 Thrills with the sea-wind in it) pure and strong, 
 Not cankered quite with gold and gold-ward lust; 
 Then might I leave in mine appointed time 
 Life, and the things for which this life is dear, 
 This goodly fellowship of faithful friends, 
 True-eyed congenial spirits, youth's best prize, 
 And the sweet smiles of women, and the gifts 
 Of Nature, glories of the even and morn, 
 The voice of seas and streams and murmuring woods, 
 
MONTI GEN A. 83 
 
 Flowers, and the joy of birds; these should I leave, 
 
 Not unregretful truly or unamazed 
 
 At the quick doom which mocks the hopes of men, 
 
 Yet not perturbed, or over-loth to fare 
 
 Forth from this April morning we call life. 
 
 Yet, might so much to craving fancies fall, 
 Fain were I, might I choose, that I should die 
 Among my native mountains, where these eyes 
 First woke to love of beauty, where I roamed 
 An eager child, clasping my father's hand. 
 Ah, great and gentle spirit, early found, 
 And all too early lost, so might I dream 
 That in the ancient voices of the hills, 
 The moorland wind, the lonely cataract, 
 Or in the hovering cloud-wreaths, thou wert. near 
 So might my life be rounded with one joy, 
 The peace of Nature's presence and of thine. 
 
 G 2 
 
FROM HORACE. 
 
 To THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. 
 
 r\ CRYSTAL -CLEAR Bandusian spring, 
 
 Well worthy the sweet offering 
 Of wine, with flowers engarlanding, 
 
 / A kid to-morrow morn I vow, 
 
 Whose budding horns upon his brow 
 
 Foretell his lustihood, 
 His fights' and loves ; but all in vain, ' 
 So soon his sacrifice must stain 
 
 The rills of thy cold flood. 
 
FROM HORACE. 85 
 
 The fiery dogstar's angry heat 
 Touches not thee; thy cool retreat 
 The tired plough-oxen know and love, 
 And all the flocks that round thee rove 
 Have found thy waters sweet 
 
 Thou too with famous streams shalt be 
 Enrolled in new nobility, 
 For sake of this my song that sings 
 The oak-crowned rocks whereout thy springs 
 Come leaping laughingly. 
 
PROM LOUIS BOUILHET. 
 
 AN ECLOGUE. 
 
 Traveller. 
 
 HPHE moonless dark has covered all the plain; 
 O silent shepherd, whither art thou fain? 
 
 Shepherd. 
 
 My path, O traveller, is a path of care; 
 While others sleep I alway onward fare. 
 
 Traveller. 
 
 And that dark flock that lengthens from thy feet, 
 Hath it no bell nor any pastoral bleat? 
 
 Shepherd. 
 
 O traveller, see thou tell it unto none, 
 Of all my flock no voice hath any one. 
 
FROM LOUIS BOVILHET. 87 
 
 Traveller. 
 
 Ah me, that flock! it frights me in the gloom; 
 It seems of spectres gathering from the tomb. 
 
 Shepherd. 
 
 O traveller, see thou tell it unto none, 
 It is the flock of my desires foredone. 
 
 Traveller. 
 Ah God! the throng comes thickening through the 
 
 night, 
 And on, and on, beyond my failing sight 
 
 Shepherd. 
 
 Count thou no more, for, as the minutes flee, 
 For each one monster more is following me. 
 
 Traveller. 
 
 What God enchains thee to these spectral sheep? 
 Come shepherd, come unto our flowery vale; 
 There o'er my thatch the honeysuckles creep, 
 And at my window sings the nightingale. 
 
88 FROM LOUIS BOUILHET. 
 
 Shepherd. 
 
 Not there, O traveller, in thy happy land, 
 Not there in peace this pallid brow may dwell; 
 My flock and I must drink on Lethe's strand, 
 And pasture in the plains of asphodel. 
 
SONG. 
 
 
 
 C TAY me no more ; the flowers have ceased to blow, 
 
 The frost begun: 
 Stay me no more; I will arise and go, 
 
 My dream is done. 
 
 My feet are set upon a sterner way, 
 
 And I must on; 
 Love, thou hast dwelt with me a summer day, 
 
 Now, Love, begone. 
 
THREE SONNETS. 
 
I. THE BANQUET. 
 
 , as when sometime with high festival 
 A conquering king new realms inaugurates, 
 
 The souls of men go up within the gates 
 Of their new-made mysterious palace-hall. 
 And on their ears in bursts of triumph fall 
 
 Marches of mighty music, while below, 
 
 In carven cups with far-sought gems aglow, 
 And lamped by shapes of splendour on the wall, 
 
 The new wine of man's kingdom flashes free. 
 Yet some among the wonders wondering there 
 
 Sit desolate, and shivering inwardly 
 Lack yet some love to make the strange thing fair; 
 
 Yea, to their sad souls rather seem to be 
 Sheep from the sheepfold strayed they know not 
 where. 
 
II. THE LOST SHEPHERD. 
 
 A Y me, the kindly shepherd comes not now 
 
 Whose feet were once so fair within the fold, 
 
 In whose high presence were our fathers bold. 
 They said, his tender heart would not allow 
 His sheep to perish ; his side and his bright brow 
 
 And hands and feet were bleeding ; so they told. 
 
 But of the face of him might none behold 
 Even a little, save he be somehow 
 
 Seven times refined in love's refining fire. 
 This man should haply something see aright. 
 
 Alas, and must he know as he draws nigher 
 The longed-for image from the straining sight 
 
 Of his sad eyes and pain of his desire 
 Receding, rapt into the lonely night? 
 
III. REBUKE. 
 
 "\X 7ITHAL a still voice in an under-strain 
 
 Low in my heart half audible there seems : 
 
 " Visions of visions," saith it, " dreams of dreams, 
 What doth thy soul with these, O over-fain 
 To have done with doubt, to rest, and to see plain? 
 
 Yet not without a plea thy yearning eyes : 
 
 How last a gift is patience to the wise ! 
 But thou art born for more than longing pain. 
 Look forth and know thine order among men : 
 
 Nor sire nor son but even thyself art thou; 
 
 The land for them; thy home is on the sea. 
 Yet shall the wild waves cast thee now and then 
 
 Some pearl-like word to bind about thy brow: 
 
 This first: where Love is, must Faith also be." 
 
LOVE'S ADVERSARIES. 
 
LOVE AND PATE. 
 
 I. 
 
 TT hath gone forth, the all-o'erwhelming word; 
 
 Through the void silence of my heart it pealed : 
 It hath gone forth, even though thou hast not heard, 
 The exiles' doom to everlasting sealed. 
 
 For other eyes the sun shall bend his course, 
 The sweet surprise of his fair seasons bringing, 
 
 In other veins the blood shall gather force, 
 
 With voice of birds and happy flowers upspringing : 
 
 While we, thrust forth from regions warm and clear 
 And sunny seas that far between us roll, 
 
 Inhabit each our several mansions drear, 
 The Arctic thou, and I the Antarctic pole. 
 H 2 
 
LOVE'S ADVERSARIES. 
 
 LOVE AND PATE. 
 
 II. 
 
 T WOULD to God, my darling, you and I 
 
 Were somewhere lying very silently 
 Beneath the green sod of a mountain glen, 
 A place untilled and far from feet of men, 
 Yet not with stones made rough, not harsh and bare, 
 But greensward slopes with scattered woodland fair: 
 And there should be no birds to mock at us 
 With their full notes of descant amorous ; 
 No nightingales should madden the sweet air 
 With passion such as ours in days that were : 
 For that is long since over and quite gone, 
 And our hearts can but ache to think thereon. 
 
LOVE AND FATE. 101 
 
 But sometimes when a still night flooded all 
 That serene place with moonlight mystical, 
 Then might we feel the heart of the great Earth 
 Beating through ours in peace that knows not mirth : 
 For that mild light should be to her more kind 
 Than parching sunshine or the strenuous wind: 
 And is not she too weary of the weight 
 Of her great being and mysterious fate, 
 And wearier ever of the restless race 
 Of foolish men, that for the little space 
 Of their poor lives are hurrying to and fro 
 To vex their souls with ever-gathering woe? 
 And so perchance in such sweet night and still 
 Likewise through us might some dim memory thrill 
 Of days forgotten long and far away, 
 When in her breast first without form we lay, 
 And no power yet had quickened heart and brain 
 To this immense capacity of pain. 
 
LOVE'S ADVERSARIES. 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 I. 
 
 /^\F all the songs the birds sang, 
 
 But one remains with me, 
 The song to which the words rang 
 Of an ancient elegy. 
 
 Of all the powers that moved me, 
 
 My heart remembereth 
 But one, even Love, that loved me, 
 
 And one that hated, Death. 
 
 Why call the voices yonder 
 That stirred my soul of yore? 
 
 Leave me to dream and ponder 
 And image o'er and o'er 
 
LOVE AND DEATH. 103 
 
 The haloed hair that crowned her 
 
 With a crown of Paradise, 
 The grace that flowed around her 
 
 From the sweet and suasive eyes, 
 
 The voice as soft and tender 
 
 As the still sea on the sands, 
 The supple form and slender, 
 
 And the little loving hands. 
 
104 LOVE'S ADVERSARIES. 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 II. 
 
 TN dreams I visited the world below, 
 
 Where waking yet, alas, I may not go. 
 
 It was that night, I knew it in my dreanv 
 Wherein her shade should reach the Stygian stream. 
 
 On that drear bank, beneath the sombre air, 
 I waited shivering till her shade were there. 
 
 But envious ghosts closed round me as I stood, 
 Their chill hands on the fountain of my blood. 
 
 So when she came I could not speak or stir; 
 I scarce had joy to look once more on her. 
 
LOVE AND DEATH. 105 
 
 Shrouded and veiled she to the shore drew nigh 
 Where that grim bark was waiting silently. 
 
 Still veiled, she took her place within the boat; 
 She bowed her sweet head down, and knew me not. 
 
 She knew me not, and the ghosts froze my breath; 
 Little I won by that foretaste of death. 
 
 She took her place within the waiting bark, 
 And it moved forth upon that water dark. 
 
 Then once, but once, her breast heaved suddenly; 
 Then knew I well, that was a sigh for me. 
 
 Ah me, but yet beyond this stream, I think, 
 Another water would they have thee drink. 
 
 But thou by Lethe's river, O my love, 
 Wilt not as yet be fain to drink thereof. 
 
106 LOVE'S ADVERSARIES. 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 III. 
 
 AR up a lonely mountain glen 
 That sleeps between the folded hills, 
 There lies a glade unknown to men, 
 
 Where even the brook her babbling stills. 
 
 The brook becomes a brimming pool, 
 And beech and oak with meeting shade 
 
 Whisper across the waters cool 
 The blisses of that quiet glade. 
 
 The solitary dewfalls wet 
 
 Green turf below, green leaves above ; 
 And there, 'mid those green leaves, was set 
 
 The dwelling of a gentle dove. 
 
LOVE AND DEATH. 107 
 
 To that sweet bird, that peaceful place, 
 With winged steps my feet would fly; 
 
 And there we dreamed away the days, 
 The happy days, my dove and I. 
 
 One eve I hasted to the grove; 
 
 My thought would fain my feet outrun; 
 But as I neared the place of love 
 
 A sudden cloud obscured the sun: 
 
 No murmured welcome could I hear; 
 
 The pulses of my heart were quelled : 
 And lo, upon the streamlet clear 
 
 A floating feather I beheld. 
 
 A thunderbolt had cleft the oak 
 
 Wherein my bird had built her nest : 
 
 No other tree had felt the stroke 
 But that one home, that only breast. 
 
io8 LOVE'S ADVERSARIES. 
 
 That glade shall never greet again 
 My feet that wander wearily, 
 
 Nor sound nor sight appease my pain, 
 Since my loved bird is lost to me. 
 
THE NIGHT'S MESSAGE. 
 
 AST night there came a message to mine ear 
 Saying : Come forth, that I may speak with thee. 
 
 It was the Night herself that called to me. 
 And I arose and went forth without fear 
 And without hope; and by the mountain-mere, 
 
 In the great silence sitting silently, 
 
 Drank in amazed the large moon's purity : 
 Yet was my soul unsoothed of any cheer. 
 But when the moon had set, a great mist lay 
 
 On the earth and me, and to its wide soft breast 
 Drew forth the secret woe we might not say. 
 
 Then slowly, its brooding presence lightlier pressed, 
 It heaved, and broke, and swayed, and soared away : 
 
 And the Earth had morn, and I some space of rest. 
 
PINDAR. 
 
 (PREFIXED TO A TRANSLATION OF THE ODES.) 
 
 OON of the lightning, fair and fiery star, 
 
 Strong-winged imperial Pindar, voice divine, 
 Let these deep draughts of thy enchanted wine 
 Lift me with thee in soarings high and far, 
 Prouder than Pegasean, or the car 
 
 Wherein Apollo rapt the huntress maid. 
 So let me range mine hour, too soon to fade 
 To the dull presence of the things that are. 
 Yet know that even amid this jarring noise 
 
 Of hates, loves, creeds, together heaped and hurled, 
 
 Some echo faint of grace and grandeur stirs 
 From thy sweet Hellas, home of noble joys. 
 First fruit and best of all the western world, 
 Whatever we hold of beauty, half is hers. 
 
MILTON. 
 
 TLTE left the upland lawns and serene air 
 
 Wherefrom his soul her noble nurture drew, 
 And reared his helm among the unquiet crew 
 Battling beneath; the morning radiance rare 
 Of his young brow amid the tumult there 
 
 Grew grim with sulphurous dust and sanguine dew ; 
 Yet through all soilure they who marked him knew 
 The signs of his life's dayspring, calm and fair. 
 But when peace came, peace fouler far than war, 
 And mirth more dissonant than battle's tone, 
 He, with a scornful sigh of his clear soul, 
 Back to his mountain clomb, now bleak and frore, 
 And with the awful Night he dwelt alone, 
 In darkness, listening to the thunder's roll. 
 
DARWIN. 
 
 T TNRESTING and unhasting Labourer, 
 
 Thy faithful toil and eye intuitive, 
 And all the gifts a lavish life can give, 
 Have crowned thee Nature's chosen Interpreter. 
 The attributes august we feign in her 
 Are verily of thy being, and shall live 
 Linked with thy name, what chance soe'er arrive, 
 A memory and a music rich and clear. 
 Therefore henceforth thy spirit evermore 
 
 Shall seem inhabitant of each thought and thing 
 
 It pondered; whether where the murmuring bee 
 Buries his bright plumes in the blossom's store, 
 Or where within the coral's rampart ring 
 Sleep the still pools amid the clamorous sea. 
 
SIDNEY'S FAREWELL. 
 
 f^\ SONGS, my songs, that came so rarely to me, 
 
 So rarely, yet so sweetly, all my own, 
 How thrilled the liquid ether through and through me 
 On the fair sheen of your young wings upflown. 
 
 Lo now they call to me, the sterner voices, 
 In sterner sort bidding to serve my kind; 
 
 Ay, and within me my own soul rejoices, 
 Scenting the scent of battle on the wind. 
 
 Yet, O my songs, full loth were I to grieve you, 
 Albeit ye came so rarely to my call : 
 
 But for a little, let me deem, I leave you; 
 I will return and make amends for all. 
 
 I 2 
 
n6 SIDNEYS FAREWELL. 
 
 Here, where the sunlight through the green leaves 
 falling 
 
 Blesses your happy valley far withdrawn, 
 Once more my feet shall wake the echoes calling 
 
 To trembling twilight or to trembling dawn. 
 
 Here shall once more the strange familiar gladness 
 Throb through me, hearkening to your holy things, 
 
 And here once more the sweet mysterious madness 
 Shall lift me heavenward on your wondrous wings. 
 
THE DEATH OF GIORGIONE. 
 
 T T is all done ; I can no longer move 
 
 This hand, which while it lived could quicken life 
 Even in dead things, but now itself is dead. 
 I have painted my last picture : all is done. 
 O suns and moons of Venice, fare ye well! 
 O Venice, my beloved, I must die. 
 
 Die ? but the life is quick again within me, 
 My heart and all my veins are full of fire, 
 Such as the sunset rains upon the sea 
 In mine own Venice, where these eyes must close. 
 Ay, and in this supreme and speechless hour 
 A thousand thousand sounds and sights of glory, 
 Delicious dreams and multitudinous, 
 i 3 
 
n8 THE DEATH OF GIORGIONE. 
 
 All memories ten times intensified 
 
 Even from the extreme intensity of old, 
 
 Throng on me and overthrow me and make me mad. 
 
 They are all singing, all the wondrous voices 
 That sang by night in Venice to the moon: 
 The sound of joy august, a popular voice, 
 Proclaiming triumph of Venetian arms ; 
 The sound of sailors' carol, full and clear, 
 Singing the songs of Venice o'er the brine, 
 Children of Hadria, fierce and frank as he; 
 The sound of lutes, pleading to charmed ears 
 Of women fair as daughters of the gods; 
 And when these fail, I hear the evening wave 
 Before the black prow ripple soothingly, 
 Or heave large breasts against the marble stair, 
 Softer than doves'; but softer yet the sound 
 Of answering heart-beats and of whispered love. 
 
 They are all glowing, all the glorious colours 
 That swelled my soul with rapturous emulation 
 To flash them back to nature, flame for flame. 
 
THE DEATH OF GIORGIONE. 119 
 
 I see the sunrise flush the northern hills, 
 
 Coneglia to Cadore, range on range; 
 
 And all the pomp of man and pomp of God 
 
 That met beneath the morning on the waves, 
 
 When the Republic royally went forth 
 
 With all her armaments and admirals, 
 
 Banners and blazons; and the Ring was thrown, 
 
 And the City married to the eternal Sea. 
 
 Lo in this moment all that I have dreamed 
 And all that I have painted, this I am. 
 I am that youth, his hair with vine-leaves crowned, 
 Who feels amid the revel a mailed hand 
 Set on his shoulder, and at the touch awakes 
 The moan of memories unmistakeable 
 That murmur in his ear, The end is come. 
 I am the wondrous player playing music, 
 Into whose human and mysterious eyes 
 Some spirit, speaking through my hand, has breathed 
 The unread open secret of a soul. 
 And I am there where the hot swooning day 
 
r20 THE DEATH OF GIORGIONE. 
 
 Broods o'er the teeming stillness quiveringly, 
 And golden light distils from golden limbs, 
 Voluptuous, naked in the summer bower : 
 While sounds of summer pipings, hardly heard, 
 Stir springs of tears that rise not to the eyes. 
 
 And all that bower with me is sinking slowly 
 Down through the dark earth, with unchanged air, 
 To the dim realm Elysian, where we dream 
 Beneath another sun and other stars. 
 
 O other sun be thou as fair as this, 
 But kinder ; send me not so soon away ; 
 Lend me more life before the second death, 
 If second death there be, or second life. 
 
 Be there or be there not, I am too weak 
 To think thereon, or think again at all. 
 A cloud creeps up : the earthly colours reel ; 
 Mine eyes, that longed for light, are tired of it; 
 Tired; and my hand is dead; and I desire 
 A little space at least of gentler dreams, 
 Of gentler dreams a space, or gentlest sleep. 
 
'THE SEA-MAIDS' MUSIC.' 
 
 /""^NE moment the boy, as he wandered by night 
 Where the far-spreading foam in the moonbeam 
 
 was white, 
 
 One moment he caught on the breath of the breeze 
 The voice of the sisters that sing in the seas. 
 
 One moment, no more : though the boy lingered 
 
 long, 
 
 No more might he hear of the mermaiden's song, 
 But the pine-woods behind him moaned low from 
 
 the land, 
 And the ripple gushed soft at his feet on the sand. 
 
122 < THE SEA-MAIDS 3 MUSIC.' 
 
 Yet or ever they ceased, the strange sound of their 
 
 joy 
 
 Had lighted a light in the breast of the boy; 
 And the seeds of a wonder, a splendour to be, 
 Had been breathed through his soul from the songs 
 
 of the sea. 
 
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