^ LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE /o . ^4^ Cj^^ ^ ^^ /t^p,^ C-, LYRICS AND BALLADS LYRICS & BALLADS BY ■ A'l*' MARGARET L. WOODS AUTHOR OF 'a village TRAGEDY* LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY & SON ^nfiltsfjfrs in ©rtinarg ta^n IHajtstn tfjc ©ttrm 1889 *»^^ 0^5/ L9 7 TO JHg Jatl^er ant Moi^n CONTENTS Rest . 3 To THE Forgotten Dead . 5 L'Envoi 7 Gaudeamus Igitur . 9 The Sowers . 14 The Song of the Lute Player 17 "Again I saw another Angel" 20 A Ballade of the Night . 23 Passing 25 The Songs of Myrtis 27 Tasso to Leonora . 37 Nocturne 43 The Earth Angel . 46 Genius Loci . 47 Ghosts . 48 To THE Earth . 51 The Death of Hjorward • 57 Vlii CONTENTS PAGE Rameses .... . 67 A May Song .... . 80 Twilight .... . 83 At the Barricade . . 85 Young Windebank . . 89 An Eastern Legend . 92 The Eternal .... . 98 REST To spend the long warm days Silent beside the silent-stealing streams, To see, not gaze, To hear, not listen, thoughts exchanged for dreams See clouds that slowly pass Trailing their shadows o'er the far faint down, And ripening grass, "While yet the meadows wear their starry crown : To hear the breezes sigh Cool in the silver leaves like falling rain. Pause and go by, Tired wanderers o'er the solitary plain : REST See far from all affright Shy river creatures play hour after hour, And night by night Low in the ^Vest the white moon's folding flower. Thus lost to human things, To blend at last with Nature and to hear What song she sings Low to herself when there is no one near. TO THE FORGOTTEN DEAD To the forgotten dead, Come, let us drink in silence ere we part. To every fervent yet resolved heart That brought its tameless passion and its tears, Renunciation and laborious years, To lay the deep foundations of our race, To rear its stately fabric overhead And light its pinnacles with golden grace. To the unhonoured dead. To the forgotten dead, Whose dauntless hands were stretched to grasp the rein Of Fate and hurl into the void again TO THE FORGOTTEN DEAD Her thunder-hoofed horses, rushing bhnd Earthward along the courses of the wind. Among the stars, along the wind in vain Their souls were scattered and their blood was shed, And nothing, nothing of them doth remain. To the thrice-perished dead. L' ENVOI Like the wreath the poet sent To the lady of old time, Roses that were discontent With their brief unhonoured prime, Crown he hoped she might endow With the beauty of her brow ; Even so for you I blent, Send to you my wreath of rhyme. These alas ! be blooms less bright, Faded buds that never blew, Darkling thoughts that seek the light — Let them find it finding you. VENVOI Bid these petals pale unfold On your heart their hearts of gold. Sweetness for your sole delight, Love for odour, tears for dew. GAUDEAMUS IGITUR Come, no more of grief and dying ! Sing the time too swiftly flying. Just an hour Youth's in flower, Give me roses to remember In the shadow of December. Fie on steeds with leaden paces ! Winds shall bear us on our races, Speed, O speed. Wind, my steed, Beat the lightning for your master, Yet my Fancy shall fly faster. GA UDEAMUS IGITUR Give me music, give me rapture, Youth that's fled can none recapture ; Not with thought Wisdom's bought. Out on pride and scorn and sadness ! Give me laughter, give me gladness. Sweetest Earth, I love and love thee, Seas about thee, skies above thee, Sun and storms, Hues and forms Of the clouds with floating shadows On thy mountains and thy meadows. Earth, there's none that can enslave thee. Not thy lords it is that have thee ; Not for gold Art thou sold, GAUDEAMUS IGITUR But thy lovers at their pleasure Take thy beauty and thy treasure. While sweet fancies meet me singing, While the April blood is springing In my breast, While a jest And my youth thou yet must leave me, Fortune, 'tis not thou canst grieve me. When at length the grasses cover Me, the world's unwearied lover, If regret Haunt me yet. It shall be for joys untasted. Nature lent and folly wasted. Youth and jests and summer weather, Goods that kings and clowns together GAUDEAMUS IGITUR Waste or use As they choose, These, the best, we miss pursuing Sullen shades that mock our wooing. Feigning Age will not delay it — When the reckoning comes we'll pay it, Own our mirth Has been -worth All the forfeit light or heavy Wintry Time and Fortune levy. Feigning grief will not escape it, What though ne'er so well you ape it — Age and care All must share, All alike must pay hereafter. Some for sighs and some for laughter. GAUDEAMUS IGITUR 13 Know, ye sons of Melancholy, To be young and wise is folly. '1'is the weak Fear to wreak On this clay of life their fancies, Shaping battles, shaping dances. While ye scorn our names unspoken, Roses dead and garlands broken, O ye wise, We arise, Out of failures, dreams, disasters, We arise to be your masters. THE SOWERS Woe to the seed The winds carry O'er fallow and mead ! They do not tarry, They seek the sea, The barren strand, Where foam-flakes flee O'er the salt land. Where the sharp spray And sand are blown. In the wind's play The seed is sown. THE SOWERS 15 Falling on shore It cries, " The earth Opens her door ! There shall be birth " From thee far place, From thee fair hour, Splendour and grace Of leaf and flower." Falling on sea It cries, " Again Com'st thou to me, Refreshing rain — *' Only more great, More strong thou art Like to my fate, Like to my heart." I6 THE SOWERS On barren shore, Or sullen wave, When storms are o'er It finds a grave. THE SONG OF THE LUTE PLAYER Still as a star came to my breast A joy unbidden, Not to be known, not to be guessed, So fair, so hidden ; And now within 'tis hke the starry night, The unimagined pure ethereal height, Trembhng in loneUness at its own Hght. Heaven of my joy, fair though thou art, A hght for ever, Yet there's a grief hid in my heart Like the great river. At times a httle while it seems to sleep, 1 8 THE SONG OF THE LUTE PLAYER And then a voice cries to it from the deep, And all its floods over my spirit sweep. Hast thou a joy ? Though but a flower O maiden, bring it. Though but a dream of morning hour, Yet will I sing it. And as a bird that calls its mate my strain — Listen, the lute begins like falling rain — Shall call the Spring and Spring return again. Hast thou a fear hid in thy heart, A sorrow sleeping ? Light though it be, soon to depart, I'll sing it weeping. The ruined shrines shall answer as I sing, In hollow tombs of many an ancient king Forgotten woes shall waken murmuring. THE SONG OF THE LUTE PLAYER 19 Then in my song, maiden, I'll weave The world's emotion, Ij'assion of souls that laugh and grieve, And Earth and Ocean. The silver spheres shall hush awhile their quire, Saying, " Return, lost star of our desire, Lend us again thy music and thy fire." Only my joy, only my pain May not be spoken. These would I tell, earthward again The song drops broken. Sleeping I dream my joy, my sorrow sing. I wake — the lonely night is listening To one long sigh, breathed from a shattered string. "AGAIN I SAW ANOTHER ANGEL" I DREAMED a dream within a dream. An angel cinctured with the gleam Of topaz and of chrysoprase, And circled with the lambent rays That lightened from his sheathless sword, Leapt into heaven's deserted ways, And cried, "The message of the Lord." Then suddenly the earth was white With faces turned towards his light. The nations' pale expectancy Sobbed far beneath him like the sea, But men exulted in their dread, " AGAIN I SAW ANOTHER ANGEL " And drunken with an awful glee Beat at the portals of the dead. I saw this monstrous grave the earth Shake with a spasm as though of birth, And shudder with a sullen sound, As though the dead stirred in the ground. And that great angel girt with flame Cried till the heavens were rent around, " Come forth ye dead ! " — Yet no man came. Then there was silence overhead : But far below the ancient dead Muttered as if in mockery ; And there was darkness in the sky. And rolling through the realm of death, Laughter and some obscure reply, With tongues that none interpreteth. AGAIN I SAW ANOTHER ANGEL " Ay, laugh ye undeluded dead ! The wrathful vintagers that tread The wine-press of the world ye know. How often shall your graves below Rock to the thunder of their feet ? The angels of the whirlwind sow Fierce seed the children take for wheat? O seed of blood ! O seed of tears, Thick sown through all our human years, What harvest do the days return ? New thorns to break, new tares to burn, New angels sent on earth to reap. This is the recompense we earn — Lie still, ye dead, lie still and sleep. A BALLADE OF THE NIGHT Far from the earth the deep-descended day Lies dim in hidden sanctuaries of sleep. The winged winds couched on the threshold keep Uneasy watch, and still expectant stay The voice that bids their rushing host delay No more to rise, and with tempestuous power Rend the wide veil of heaven. Long watching they Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour. Hark ! where the forests slow in slumber sway Below the blue wild ridges, steep on steep, Thronging the sky — how shuddering as they leap The impetuous waters go their fated way, And mourn in mountain chasms, and as they stray 24 A BALLADE OF THE NIGHT By many a magic town and marble tower, As those that still unreconciled obey, Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour. Listen — the quiet darkness doth array The toiling earth, and there is time to weep — A deeper sound is mingled with the sweep Of streams and winds that whisper far away. Oh listen ! where the populous cities lay Low in the lap of sleep their ancient dower, The changeless spirit of our changeful clay Sighs in the silence of the midnight hour. Sigh, watcher for a dawn remote and gray. Mourn, journeyer to an undesired deep, Eternal sower, thou that shalt not reap, Immortal, whom the plagues of God devour. Mourn — 'tis the hour when thou wert wont to pray. Sigh in the silence of the midnight hour. PASSING With thoughts too lovely to be true, With thousand, thousand dreams I strew The path that you must come. And you Will find but dew. I set an image in the grass, A shape to smile on you. Alas ! It is a shadow in a glass, And so will pass. I break my heart here, love, to dower With all its inmost sweet your bower. What scent will greet you in an hour ? The Sforse in flower. THE SONGS OF MYRTIS THE SONGS OF MYKTIS 29 Lend me the lyre again, The long forsaken ! One tone it must retain, One song of all the store I gave to it of yore Sleeps there to waken. Wreathe me the lyre again ! Moonflowers and sorrel Gather by stream and plain, Weaving a thousand flowers Under the wild-rose bowers, But not the laurel. 30 THE SONGS OF MYRTIS Give me the lyre again ! As Heaven that sent it Sucks from the earth her rain, So from the trembhng lyre My soul shall drink the fire That once she lent it. THE SONGS OF MYKTJS 31 II Lend me thy wings, O dove, But for a day, And I will fly away, Fly to my love. Fearst thou I shall delay ? Ah no, thou needst not fear, Because though I should stay But for a moment's space, To look upon his face, I shall return with love enough to last a year. THE SONGS OF MYRTIS III When the world's asleep, I awake and weep, Deeply sighing say, " Come, O break of day, Lead my feet in my beloved's way." When the morning breaks, When the world awakes, Then a dream too dear Haunts me like a fear. And as one in sleep I linger here. THE SONGS OF MYRTIS 33 If some star of heaven Led him by at even, If some magic fate Brought him, should I wait, Or fly within and bid them close the gate ? 34 THE SONGS OF MYRTIS IV The weary moon goes down into the West As one that fain would rest, And nothing now is waking in the skies Except the luminous eyes Of stars that watch thee where thou wanderest. Wilt thou not also rest ? Now all the earth lies hushed in shadowy sleep, City and plain and steep ; Only the river journeying from afar Towards the Northern star Rolls through the slumbering world its waters deep, That whisper to thee " Sleep." THE SONGS OF MYRTIS 35 And now is peace in that beloved breast, Peace, the long absent guest ; For fear is dead, and sorrow sleeps forgot, Love only slumbers not. Love wakes for thee that doubting tarriest. Wilt thou not also rest ? TASSO TO LEONORA TASSO TO LEONORA 39 Reproach me not because the many chide, Calling me prouder than an Emperor's son, For so the shepherds called Endymion, When he had won the mateless moon to bride. Proud ? — Oh, a monarch must forget his pride, On whom the light of such a love hath shone, Showing him worth but dim oblivion, A mortal set at an Immortal's side. Rather one face, one hour, one master-thought Stamped on the body and soul of him he bore, And the world's business like a distant roar To that tense mind his slackened senses brought. And men he scorned not, save as the unborn Or the forgetful dead sleeping appear to scorn. 40 TASSO TO LEONORA II No, there is none in all the earth save thee, And never was, not through the length of time. One is the sea whose everlasting chime Cradles the world, however variously Named on its sundered shores, and thou, my sea, Streamest through every spiritual clime ; The kings of thought, the laurelled lords of rhyme, Are names of thine or silent shades to me. Thou to this heart canst never more be mute, Though of that dumb fraternity of Death, While there is sweetness in the viol and lute And power in speech of man, and while with breath Drawn from the world's worn air I fan the flame That shatters and consumes and re-creates this frame. TASSO TO LEONORA 41 III I SHALL forget thee — yes, I shall forget Thee and the Heavens that glorify the night, Those silver summits trembling in the light Of the descended moon, suns that have set, Earth and the shoreless waters, all that yet Has winged my soul for her tempestuous flight — And dreams they send to seek me shall but light On some gray stone wreathed with the violet. Mingling thy dust with men that knew thee not, Of me forgetful then thou'lt not complain, And all we were shall be so much forgot They who the history of our days rehearse Shall call my grief a phantom of the brain, Thy name a flower wrought on a poet's verse. 42 TASSO TO LEONORA IV Thou art a sword that's sheathed in my heart, , To be by no adventure drawn again, A divine vintage flooding every vein With an immortal joy, even such thou art. The Maenad Hours amid their dancing start With haggard eyes from that empurpling stain. — " See ! Is it wine or blood ? " they shriek in vain, And heavily with garments dyed depart. The Muse's self, the fierce relentless Muse Art thou, that dotli in love of man delight. Kindling upon the lips her kisses choose A flame that shall eternally be bright. Fanned by Mnemosyne with fervent breath, And watched by those grim guardians. Time and Death. NOCTURNE The desolate heath Over the sea Is the place for me When night is near, When a wind upleaps Seaward and sweeps The horizon clear. Widening beneath Darkens the heath. Sullen and far Hark how they roar, Waves of the shore, 44 NOCTURNE Trees of the wood. Heaven in her cloud, Earth in her shroud, Sullenly brood. Smiles a white star Silent and far. Under the height Yonder a glare Reddens the air, Where in the bay Rigging and spars •' Glow with their stars, City and quay Glitter to-night Under the height. O but for me Purple of pine NOCTURNE 45 In a sandy chine, When the night-wind's breath Will bare us soon The wan young moon. A desolate heath Over the sea Is the place for me. THE EARTH ANGEL Beloved spirit, whom the angels miss, While those heaven-wand'ring wings thou foldest here, Love musing on thee, Love whose shadow is fear, Divines thee born of fairer worlds than this, And fain ere long to re-assume their bliss. Stay, winged soul ! for earth, this human sphere. Claims thee her own, her light that storms swept clear, Her righteousness that love, not peace, shall kiss. 'Twas out of time thou camest to be ours. And dead men made thee in the darkling years, Thy tenderness they bought for thee with tears, Pity with pain that nothing could requite, And all thy sweetness springs like later flowers Thick on the field of some forgotten fight. GENIUS LOCI Peace, Shepherd, peace ! What boots it singing on ? Since long ago grace-giving Phcebus died, And all the train that loved the stream-bright side Of the poetic mount with him are gone Beyond the shores of Styx and Acheron, In unexplored realms of night to hide. The clouds that strew their shadows far and wide Are all of Heaven that visits Helicon. Yet here, where never muse or god did haunt, Still may some nameless power of Nature stray, Pleased with the reedy stream's continual chant And purple pomp of these broad fields in May. The shepherds meet him where he herds the kine, And careless pass him by whose is the gift divine. GHOSTS Where the columned cliffs far out have planted Their daring shafts in the Northern foam, There hangs a castle that should be haunted, A ruin meet for a spectre's home. For heavily in the caverns under The hidden tide like a muffled drum Beats distinct through the level thunder Of the wintry waste whence storm-winds come. And fire has blackened the mouldering rafter, And stairs have crumbled from bolted doors ; At night there's a sound of wail and laughter, And footsteps crossing the creaking floors. GHOSTS 49 And in and out through the courts forsaken Wild shapes are drifted from hall to hall, AVith a trumpet sound the towers are shaken, And banners flutter along the wall. 'Tis but the storms and the seas enchant it, Its ghosts are shadow and wind and spray. If ever a phantom used to haunt it. That too was mortal and passed away. The ghosts have found where the hills embosom A windless garden — they walk at noon. When the beds and branches burn with blossom. And hardly wait for the rising moon. When the starry charm of the night is broken, And the day but lives as a child unborn, They pass with echoes of words once spoken And silent footsteps and eyes forlorn. 50 GHOSTS They seem as shadows of morn and even, For ever fading to come again ; They are as shadows of tempest driven, Stormily sighing across the plain. For these depart as the rest departed, The garden under the hill shall be As ghost-forsaken, as past-deserted As the castle over the Northern sea. TO THE EARTH Mistress and slave of the sun, Dancer with shining feet, Gladly thou springest to greet The year that is new begun. Huntress who fliest with fleet Hounds of the glittering air. Again thou risest to chase the phantom year to its lair. Long ere the threescore and ten Pass us, the sum of our years, Empty their pageant appears, Old to the children of men. TO THE EARTH April with laughter and tears Tells a monotonous tale, Winds of the Autumn in vain wildly and solemnly wail. Thou whom the ages bereave Autumn on Autumn, behold, Thou art not weary or cold ; Eagerly dost thou receive Sunshine and rain as of old, Comest again as a bride Crowned with immortal delight, dead to the years that have died. Hear, O ye planets, her voice ! The vast and jubilant strain Mountain and ocean and plain Utter when she doth rejoice. Surely the sound shall attain f TO THE EARTH 53 Through sunless spaces afar, Till it touch the silver heart of some high enthroned star. No — for thyself is the tale, But for thine own hast thou sung. Often the meadows among, Laid by the stream in the frail Shadow of April, there rung Round me the voice of delight, Murmur immense of the Earth joying alone in her might. Once like a lover I heard. Once like a lover I pressed Kiss after kiss on thy breast, Once all the rapture that stirred, Streamed from the South and the West, Flamed from the field and the sky. Seemed for my heart to exult, seemed to my soul to reply. 54 TO THE EARTH Ah, could one bosom, one brain Half of thine ecstasy hold ? Lifetime of mortal unfold One of thy mysteries ? Vain, Vain was the dream. As of old Messengers worn with the way Fell at the Delphian's gate, fall I before thee to-day. Hark how the Pythoness cries ! Priest to interpret is none, Never a word to be won Out of the rushing replies Echoes pursue ere they're done. Only I know 'twas a song Passed me, escaped ere it taught me too the joy of the strong. Well mayst thou. Mother, be glad. Great in a quenchless belief, I TO THE EARTH 55 Well may we grow in our brief Journey indifferent or sad. Witnessing often the leaf Broaden and wither, we see Never the full up-shoot and branching growth of the tree. Thou hearest the giant heart Of a forest beating low In the seed that faint winds sow On an island far apart ; And thou canst measure the slow Lapse of the glittering sea, Where it falls and clings round the land like a robe at a bather's knee. Yea, thou hast witnessed the whole Agelong up-building of things ; Through the ephemeral Springs One indestructible soul, TO THE EARTH Sleepless, unwearied, that brings Order from chaos at length. Out of the fading and weak infinite splendour and strength. THE DEATH OF HJORWARD The Norns decreed in their high home, " Hjorward the king must die to-day," — A mighty man, but old and gray With housing long on the gray foam, And driving on their perilous way His hungry dragon-herd to seek Their fiery pasture, and to wreak On southern shrines with flame and sword The WTath of Asgard's dreadful lord. Seven days king Hjorward then had kept His place in silence on his throne. 58 THE DEATH OF HJORWARD Seven nights had left him there alone, Watching while all the palace slept, Wan in the dawn and still as stone. But when they said, " The King must die," A shout such as in days gone by Shook the good ship when swords were swung, Broke from his heart and forth he sprung. "Sword, sword and shield !" he cried, "and thou Haste, let the winged ship fly free. Yonder there shivers the pale sea. Impatient for the plunging prow, I hear the shrill wind call to me — Hark, how it hastens from the East, 'Why tarriest thou ?' it cries, ' the feast To-night in Odin's hall is spread. They wait thee there, the armed dead." THE DEATH OF HJORWARD 59 "They wait me there I Ho, sword and shield ! What hcro-foces throng the gate ! Not long nor vainly shall ye wait. I too have not been weak to wield The heavy brand, I too am great, Hjorward am I. No funeral car Slovr rolling, but a ship of war Swift on the wind and racing wave, Bears me to feast amons; the brave. " Slaves, women, shall not sail with me. Nor broidered stuffs, nor hoarded gold. But men, my liegemen from of old. Strong men to ride the unbroken sea, And arms such as befit the bold. Come forth, my steed, thou fierce and fleet, Once more thy flying hoofs shall beat 6o THE DEATH OF HJORWARD The level way along the strand, The hard bria;ht sea-forsaken sand." So the horse Halfi came, and rose The hounds that wont to hunt with him, Shaggy of hide and lithe of limb. And we too followed where repose The dragon-ships in order grim, Hastening together to let slip Svior, the dark shield-girdled ship, That like a live thing from the steep Fled eagerly into the deep. Fly fast to-day, proud ship, fly fast. Scatter the surge and drink the spray ; Hjorward is at thy helm to-day For the last time, and for the last THE DEATH OF HJORWARD 6i Last time thou treadst the windy way. The oarsmen to t]ie chiming oar Chant their hoarse song, and on the shore The folk are silent watching thee Speeding across the wide cold sea. The wind that rose with day's decline Rent the dim curtain of the west ; Clear o'er the water's furthest crest We saw a sudden splendour shine, A flying flame that smote the breast And high head of the mailed King, His hoary beard and glittering Great brand in famous fights renowned, And those grim chiefs that girt him round. "The gate," he muttered, " lo ! the gate," Staring upon the sky's far gold. 62 THE DEATH OF HJORWARD Yea, the wild clouds about it rolled Showed like the throned and awful state Of gods whose feet the waves enfold, Whose brows the voyaging tempests smite, Who wait, assembled at the bright Valhalla doors, the sail that brings This last and mightiest of kings. As swift before the wind we drave, We surely heard from far within Their shining battlements the din Of that proud sword-play of the brave ; And Hjorward cried, " The games begin, The clang of shield on shield I hear. Wait, sons of Odin, wait your peer !" Then as that sudden splendour fled, With one great shout the King fell dead. THE DEATH OF HJORWARD 63 And as sonic folcon struck in flight Reels from her course, and dizzily Beats with loose pinions down the sky, So Svior reeled 'twixt height and height Of mounting waves, and heavily Plunged in the black trough of the sea ; And o'er her helmless, full of glee, The roaring waters leapt and fell, Sweeping swift souls of men to Hell. We seized the helm and lowered the mast, And shorewards steered thro' night and wind ; We seemed like loiterers left behind By some bright pageant that had passed Within and left to us the bhnd Shut gates and twihght ways forlorn. And coldly rose the strange new mom, 64 THE DEATH OF HJORWARD Ere to the watchers on the shore We cried, " The King returns no more." Return, ah ! once again return ! Cross the frail bridge at close of day, And pale along the crimson way Of sunset when the first stars burn, Ride forth, thou king-born — look and say If on the wide earth stretched beneath Thou seest any house of death, High sepulchre where monarchs be, Like thine up-built beside the sea. Far have I journeyed from the moan Of northern waters, wandering By tombs of many a famous king, Where swathed in shrouds and sealed in stone They slumber, and the tapers fling rilE DEATH OF HJOKWARD 65 A dimness o'er them, and the drone Of praying priests they hear alone ; Shut out from earth and bounteous sky, And all the royal life gone by. But Hjorward, clothed in shining mail, Holds kingly state even where he died, At Svior's helm. On either side The hoary chiefs who loved to sail In youth with him sit full of pride, Leaned on their arms and painted shields Dim from a thousand battle-fields, Looking upon the King, and he Turns his helmed brows towards the sea. Across his knees his naked brand Is laid, and underneath his feet The Goth horse Halfi, and the fleet 66 THE DEATH OF HJORWARD Great hounds he loved beneath his hand. And when the storms arise there beat Salt surges up against his grave. He surely sometimes feels the brave Ship Svior quiver in her sleep, Dreaming she treads the windy deep. There overhead year after year The moorland turf and thyme shall grow, Above the horizon faint and low The same wild mountain summits peer ; The same gray gleamy sea shall sow With foam the level leagues of sand, And peace be with that warrior band, Till dim below the bright abodes Gather the twilight of the gods. RAMESES From the ancient Poem of Fentaur, the Egypt iaii scribe. King Rameses marched to the Northward, to the borders of Kadesh he came, He marched hke his father Mentu for Orontes that waters the same With the troop that has "Victory Bringer" and the name of the King for its name. But ere he was come to the city the Vile One or Khita arose, From the shores of the sea unto Khita he summoned King Rameses' foes. 68 RAMESES They gathered as grasshoppers gather, like locusts assembled they lay And covered the mountains and valleys, and no man was left by the way. There led them the lord of the Khita and bore with him treasures untold, He emptied the realm of its treasure, he stript it of silver and afold. Like sand were the men and the horses, he had gathered them all to the war ; The well-armed champions of Khita stood three upon every car. Countless they crouched in their ambush, they were hidden west of the town, They rushed on the troop of the sun-god, and horse and foot went down. KAMESES 69 Yea, unawares they had smitten the host of the King and possessed Kadesh that Hes by Orontes, on the bank of tlie stream to the West. King Rameses heard and he armed him, like Mentu he rose in his pow'r, He seized his arms for the battle, he clutched them like Bar in his hour, And swift from their stalls in the vanguard, from the stable of Rameses came His steeds that were mighty to bear him — "Victory in Thebes " was their name. Fast, fast in his fury he drave them, he brake through the ranks of the foe, The King he alone and none other, then he turned to behold them, and lo ! 70 R AMESES The chariots of Khita by thousands had compassed him round and there lay The hosts of the Vile One of Khita as a bar in King Rameses' way, The tribes of the sea and the mountain, the numberless nations from far. And the bravest champions of Khita stood three upon every car. "Was there one of my chariots with me? Of my captains and lords was there one ? Nay, but they fled from the battle, and Pharaoh remained there alone." Then Rameses cried unto Ammon : " Deniest thou, father, thy son ? Wherein have I sinned against Ammon, what deed without him have I done? RAMESES 71 Arc the monuments vain I have made thee? For nought was the sacrifice slain ? The thousands of bulls for thine altars and captives in throngs for thy fane, And lands hast thou counted as nothing ? and treasures as utterly vain ? All odorous woods I have brought thee, the incense was sweet in my hand. I finished thy courts, and thy gateways of stone over- shadow the land, With masts I adorned thee the portals, 'tis I who have brought unto thee The obelisks hewn at Syene, and galleys that bear o'er the sea The wealth of the world to thine altars the hand of King Rameses steers — I have given thee stone everlasting, a house for a million of years. 72 RAMESES Such gifts were they given aforetime ? Of old hast thou witnessed the same? On him who rejecteth thy counsels, on him be confusion and shame, But I who have honoured thee, Ammon, my father I call on thy name. The multitudes gather against me, I stand amid nations unknown, I stand here alone with no other, they are many and I am alone ; My chariots and horsemen have left me, they heeded me not when I cried. But better than millions of horsemen, ay better than sons at my side, And more than a thousand of brothers though marshalled about me they fought. Is Ammon who maketh the labour of multitudes even as nought. JiAMESES 73 Behold it is thou that hast done it, I blame not thy counsels, I cry To the ends of the earth, I invoke thee ! " The house of Hermonthis on high Re-echoed the voice of my crying, he heard and he came like the wind, I shouted for joy at his coming, as hastening he called from behind ; " It is I, it is Ammon thy father, I am eager to help thee my son, The lord and the lover of heroes, I am Ra the victorious one. My heart has rejoiced in thy valour, I stretch forth my hand to the fray. And better than millions of horsemen shall Ammon befriend thee to-day." 74 R AMESES He spake and the word was accomplished. Like Mentu I shoot to the right, I grasp to the left in my fury, I break them as Bar in his might. Two thousand five hundred the chariots, I see them, they shall not withstand, I am there in the midst with my horses, I trample them as it were sand. They found not their hands for the battle, amazement befell them and fear. They slackened the bowstring before me, they knew not to handle the spear \ Yea, one on another I hurled them and headlong they fell in the flood, As crocodiles fall in the river so fell they, I drank of their blood. King Rameses said, " 'Tis my pleasure that none shall return from the fight, KAMESES 75 Not one shall arise of the fallen, nor any look back unto flight." And there was the Vile One of Khita, he stood 'mid his legions to see ; Beholding the valour of Pharaoh he trembled, he turned him to flee. The King was alone. Then he mustered his bravest and sent them to slay King Rameses, numberless horsemen assembled in battle array. I say to my hand, "Thou shalt taste them," and, lo, in a moment of space I spring like a flame to devour them — they perish each one in his place. I hear through the wind of my rushing how one of them cries to the other, 76 JiAMESES " Not a man, not a man is against us, beware of the god, O my brother ! The mighty have seen him and straightway their arrows have dropped from the bow. They Hft not a hand when he cometh, his countenance layeth them low. Like Ra in the front of the morning his quiver is laden with flame, 'Tis Sechet consumes us before him, 'tis Bar that possesses his frame." Like a griffin the King has pursued them, they come to the meeting of ways. They flee but they cannot escape him, he calls to his men as he slays, " Ho, courage my horsemen and footmen ! Look back for a little and see RAMESES 77 How I conquer alone with no other but Amnion that fighteth for me." My charioteer, even Menna, was with me and he was afraid, In the press of the chariots he trembled, his spirit was greatly dismayed. *' O Prince and protector of Egypt, O gracious and mighty," he saith, " Thou fightest alone against many, how now canst thou save us our breath ? King Rameses, gracious and mighty, we cannot escape from our death." But Rameses cried to him, "Courage, ho, courage, my charioteer ! Behold, as a hawk I will pierce them and rend them, why then shouldst thou fear ? And what to thy heart are these herdsmen, since Ra will not brighten his face. 78 * R AMESES On millions of such, the ungodly, he loveth to humble their race." King Rameses rushed on the vanguard, he brake through the ranks of the foe. Six times he has sundered and broken the ranks of the Khita and low He has laid them, the caitiffs of Khita, they trembled before him and quailed, They fled but they could not escape him, like Bar in his hour he prevailed. And now when my horsemen and footmen beheld me they worshipped afar, They praised me as Mentu the mighty, the sword un- resisted of Ra ; For the god, yea, the god, was beside me, 'twas he who had brought it to pass JiAMESES 79 That nations were scattered before me and were to my horses as grass. They marched from the camp in the evening, they came in their wonder and stood Where I brake through the tribes and the mighty of Khita lay whelmed in their blood, The sons of the chief and the kinsfolk — and morning arose on the plain, It lighted the field, and in Kadesh was nowhere to tread for the slain. A MAY SONG O Shepherdess come, Come wander away ! For young is the morning And fresh is the May. A green world about us, A blue world on high, White bloom on the branches, White clouds in the sky. O were we two poets We'd loiter to sing Through the sun-wakened city The joy of the Spring. A MA V SONG 8 1 And were we two painters ■\Ve surely should stay To capture for ever The fresh-coloured May. But beauty of May-time Escapes from our praise ; We should miss our sweet meaning And miss the sweet days. There's piping and singing In thicket and grass, And murmur in meadows Of streams as they pass, And high in the Heaven There's a lark that upstarts With the song of the May And the song of our hearts. 82 A MA V SONG O Shepherdess come, Come wander away ! For young is the morning And fresh is the May. TWILIGHT Come, let us go, For now the gray and silent eve is low, The river reaches gleam, And dimly blue in windings of the stream Its heavy rushes bow. The day is past, the world is dreaming now. The world is dreaming now, let us too dream. And dreaming be The vision of our souls like this we see. Where unsubstantial skies Blend with the Earth's obscure realities. Let us recall the blind 84 TWILIGHT Forewandered years and round their temples bind Fresh coronals of lovelier memories. For dreaming here We shall remember joys that never were, That might and might not be ; One rich remembrance with its alchemy Transmuting all Time's store, Till the sad years exult and deem they bore Only the long, long love 'twixt thee and me. AT THE BARRICADE Was it a living woman there, Crouched by the barricade ? I said, " We have shelter and food to spare, Come in and rest, for the game is played." For a moment she lifted her heavy head. Lifted her heavily drooping hair, For a moment as a bayonet blade Gleams in a flying moonbeam, gleamed Her face upon me passionate-eyed — But calm as a girl's at her needle seemed Her voice as she replied. " 'Tis not worth while to rest," she said, " I shall so soon be dead." 86 AT THE BARRICADE Sunny and still was the long white street ; You might have fancied the gracious and gay City was sleeping away the heat Of a cloudless summer day. Not a soul save her in the street — But hark ! There's the regular tramp of marching feet ! They are coming, the Versaillais. By bridge and boulevard marching on, Like conquerors proud of a battle won, Like avengers glad of a vengeance done ; And never a man to meet them there ! AVill no one face them ? Will no one dare Fire a last shot for the barricade ? Yes — a shot, another and yet another. One racing close on the heels of the other. Six flying straight for the ranks, that swayed Back for a startled moment, then ' AT THE BARRICADE 87 Hoarsely roaring for slaughter and strife, With a tiger bound took the barricade. Throbbed in their ears as on they came The low fierce voice of a distant flame ; Pouring over with bullet and knife, They were ready to clash with a murderous horde. Ready to close with desperate men, Eager to struggle and smite and wade Onward as conquerors, deep in blood. But not to face one woman, one Waiting them there alone. As a tiger the lone hunter's eye Baulks in its spring and holds amazed, Growling, crouched reluctantly, Thus paused they and thus gazed. Still as herself the captain stood Awhile and then there clashed his sword, AT THE BARRICADE Suddenly dropping into its sheath. " You're a brave woman, you ! Two of my men shot dead ! " "But two ? God forgive me ! It is too few. I should have taken a life for a life. All of us, all you have done to death, The father first, but the boys fought well. ' They will live to avenge us yet,' I said. Two of the four at Neuilly fell And two — just here I found them dead. But I not yet am wholly slain — Finish your work. Fire once again." YOUNG WINDEBANK They shot young Windebank just here, By Merton, where the sun Strikes on the wall. 'Twas in a year Of blood the deed was done. At morning from the meadows dim He watched them dig his grave. Was this in truth the end for him, The well-beloved and brave ? He marched with soldier scarf and sword, Set free to die that day. And free to speak once more the word That marshalled men obey. 90 YOUNG WINDEBANK But silent on the silent band That faced him stern as death, He looked and on the summer land And on the grave beneath. Then with a sudden smile and proud He waved his plume and cried, "The king ! the king ! " and laughed aloud, " The king ! the king ! " and died. Let none affirm he vainly fell, And paid the barren cost Of having loved and served too well A poor cause and a lost. He in the soul's eternal cause Went forth as martyrs must — The kings who make the spirit laws And rule us from the dust. YOUNG WINDEBANK 91 Whose wills unshaken by the breath Of adverse Fate endure, To give us honour strong as death And loyal love as sure. AN EASTERN LEGEND In cloisters dim and haunted She met me and I said ; " Art thou the queen enchanted Of whom long since I read ? Whose heart a great magician Has hidden from her birth, Either in the deep ocean The forest or the earth." She seemed a monarch's daughter Her body like a palm, Her voice like silver water That speaks when all is calm. AN EASTERN LEGEND 93 She answered, " It is hidden." And smiHng dreamily, " But messengers unbidden Bring news of it to me. The wildest nights creep hither All dumb, with muffled feet, Yet through the halcyon weather I often feel a fleet Fresh wind about me blowing And power within my breast, As of the great seas flowing ; That do not ask for rest. " O then my heart is driven I know 'twixt shore and shore. The moon is large in heaven, The gathering waters roar. 94 AN EASTERN LEGEND " The sullen trees unshaken Keep charmed shadow here, Nor know how woods awaken Afar when spring is near. Yet from the boughs wild voices Are sometimes calling me ; The soul of me rejoices, ■ . The frozen blood runs free, And needs I must go roaming And sing and laugh alone, While through the magic gloaming Strange lights are tossed and blown. " 'Tis when mid forest branches My heart keeps watch and sees As wind the water blanches, How spring makes red the trees. AN EASTERN LEGEND 95 About my tranct;d slumber At moments rise and sweep Dread visions without number That battle and that weep ; And more than men who waken I know of Death and Birth, Because my heart is taken And buried in the Earth." I said : " The habitation Of dreams is not for thee. Tell me what incantation, What toil can set thee free ? Surely thy soul desireth The sun and moon for light, Ay, and the glow that fireth The festal halls at night. ^ AN EASTERN LEGEND The springtime in its sweetness, The summer in its strength, The world in its completeness Thou shalt possess at length." Pale, with a solemn gesture Either of prayer or pain, She wrapped her in her vesture. Nor looked on me again. I heard a hollow crying In all the palace around, Like echoes far replying To unperceived sound, A clash along the arches . Long drawn on either side, As of a guard that marches — . It rose and passed and died. AN EASTERN LEGEND 97 Her saw I not, nor even Shadows of living things, Save that without the seven Great sphinxes stirred their wings ; They who with sleepless vision For ever contemplate, SmiHng in still derision, The world and men and fate. THE ETERNAL Earth is His garment and also lieaven, Its skirts are broadened from day to day By a million shining shuttles driven Through a formless woof till a form is given, And the suns break forth like the buds in May. The rushing river, the pulsing ocean, The clouds when they clash and find a voice, Are as folds that heave with a heart's emotion, That cling and swing with the dancers' motion When the sunburnt girls of the South rejoice. Lo, when the vision of Man perceiveth Beneath what all living eyes can see, THE ETERNAL 99 The mighty and jubilant heart that heaveth, The Life that the dance of the forces weaveth, He trembles perceiving and bows the knee. And first he worships the Life in Nature, He fashions him gods of earth and sky, Strong, senseless lords of the sentient creature, He lends them language and name and feature, And an ear to hear when the nations cry. He rears him altars where clouds are driven Like dumb white surf on the crags below. Set in the midst of the spacious heaven They watch while the world is tempest-riven, How the lamps of God serenely glow. But the years go by that deaden wonder. And mute in the desert of the mind He sits at last, while the wind and thunder THE ETERNAL Sweep past and the deep Earth trembles under, Yet the Spirit therein he cannot find. He cries, " Art silent and dark for ever, Thou Fear, Thou Light of the Universe ? Wilt Thou as soul from body sever The might of Thy dread from Man's endeavour ? Speak to us Thunderer, though Thou curse ! " Answer, O Spirit, in exultation ! Spirit of God that still doth move Over the deep of our Creation, Spirit of Man in aspiration, Answer with Mercy and Law and Love ! Printed by R. & R. Clakk, Edinburgh. BY THE SAME AUTHOR In small post 8vo. y. 6d. A VILLAGE TRAGEDY By Margaret L. Woods. " A story of no common merit." — Athejiceton. " The Village Tragedy embodies what is probably one of the most impressive narratives ever compressed in so small a space. It is, as the title indicates, a sad story, but for many its gloom will perhaps be rather an attraction than otherwise." — Globe. " The author promises to take a foremost place among actual novelists. The cruel decrees of destiny, as they affect her hero and heroine, are developed with equal power and pathos. Yet there are not wanting signs to show that she possesses a vein of humour as genuine as the tender- ness displayed in many of her present pages." — Morning Post. " Powerfully and ably written." — Academy. " An interesting, powerful study of village life, written with such terseness and force as to make it rank with some of the best novels of our time. The descriptions are most admirable. " — Guardian. PRESS OPINIONS " The writer has a keen appreciation of nature and a deep knowledge of character, especially rustic character. You breathe fresh air and rustic life in every page. There is much power, pathos, and quiet humour, besides a con- siderable dramatic force." — Pall Mall Gazette. " One of the strongest, saddest, and most artistically written and constructed stories I have come across for a long time. There is a brilliant future before its author." — Truth. " We should advise every one who reads this tale to read it twice, and to let no long time elapse between the first and second readings. The reader sits spellbound, and has little leisure to notice the fine touches of thought and expression which are to be found in almost every page." — Oxford Magazi7ie. " Here is the work of a poet, a true sonnet without verse, mournful to actual pain, tragic indeed, yet how true, how quiet, how pure ! A vignette, no doubt, in a very low key, and a very narrow range, but in that key and within that range, of the kith and kin of the Village Tragedies of the masters ; of George Eliot, TourgenefT, Georges Sand, Tolstoi, Ohnet. . . . Yes ! this is indeed the work of a poet ; full of intense pity for all that is pitiful in the common ; full of calm, resolute, piercing observation of men, circumstance, and English life ; full of melody and colour, though of sombre colour ; a tale told in an English speech as pure, simple, and pellucid as ever our best have used, and such as but few are now found to use." — Professor Frederic Harrison in the Niticteenth Century. DATE DUE CAYUORD PRINTED IN US. A. UC SOUTHFRN RFGIONAL LIBRARY FACIl ITY lll'l I'M! Hi Hi III: II 1 AA 000 867 706 4 NWEBSIT"^ F cA, RWfn^'^^V^ilfillii «„«»«..- 2438 ^^^^^^^^IK'' '' *