IJil'WJl S3y , Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/balladsotherpoemOOtennrich BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS BY ALFRED TENNYSON LONDON "C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., i PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1880 {TJie rights of translation and of rejproductmi are rese^'ved) TO ALFEED TENNYSON MY GRANDSON Golden-hair'd Ally whose name is one with mine. Crazy with laughter and babble and earth's new wine, Now that the flower of a year and a half is thine, O little blossom, O mine, and mine of mine, Glorious poet who never hast written a line, Laugh, for the name at the head of my verse is thine. May'st thou never be wrong 'd by the name that is mine ! CONTENTS. -•o^ BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. PAGE The First Quarrel 1 KlZPAH • • 13 The Northern Cobbler 25 The Revenge : a Ba^^lad. of the Fleet . . 40 The Sisters . . . • 53 The Village Wife ; or, The Entail . . . . 71 In the Children's Hospital . • , . . .87 Dedicatory Poem to the Princess Alice . . 97 The Defence of Lucknow 99 Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cobham . . .112 Columbus . . 125 The Voyage of Maeldune 140 I VI CONTENTS. Page De Profundis: The Two Greetings 156 The Human Cry . . . .... 161 SONNETS. Prefatory Sonnet to the * Nineteenth Century ' 162 To THE Rev. W. H. Brookfield . . ... 163 Montenegro 164 To Victor Hugo 165 TRANSLATIONS, ETC. Battle of Brunanburh . » . . , 169 Achilles over the Trench 179 To THE Princess Frederica of Hanover on her Marriage .,.•.•..• 182 Sir John Franklin 183 To Dante .184 THE FIRST QUAPdlEL. (In the Isle of Wight.) I. * Wait a little/ you say, * you are sure it 11 all come right/ But the boy was born i' trouble, an' looks so wan an' so w^hite : Wait ! an' once I ha' waited — I hadn't to wait for long. Now I wait, wait, wait for Hany. — No, no, you are doing me wrong ! Harry and I were married : the boy can hold up his head, The boy was bom in wedlock, but after my man was dead j Z THE FIEST QUARREL. I ha' work'd for hiin fifteen years, an' I work an' I wait to the end. I am all alone in the world, an' you are my only friend. II. Doctor, if you can wait, I'll tell you the tale o' my life. "When Hany an' I were children, he call'd me his own little wife ; I was happy when I was with him, an' sorry when he was away. An' when we play'd together, I loved him better than He workt me the daisy chain — he made me the cows- hp ball. He fought the boys that were rude an' I loved him better than all. THE FIRST QUARREL. 3 Passionate girl tho' T was, an' often at home in dis- grace, I never could quarrel with Harry — I had but to look in his face. III. There was a farmer in Dorset of Harry's kin, that had need Of a good stout lad at his farm ; he sent, an' the father agreed ; So Harry was bound to the Dorsetshire farm for years an' for years ; I walked with him down to the quay, poor lad, an' we parted in tears. The boat was beginning to move, we heard them a-ringing the bell, ' I'll never love any but you, God bless you, my own Httle Kell.' B 2 4 THE FIRST QUARREL. IV. I was a child, an' be was a child, an' he came to harm ; There Avas a girl, a hussy, that workt with him up at the farm, One had deceived her an' left her alone with her sin an' her shame, And so she w^as wicked with Harry ; the girl was the most to blame. V. And years went over till I that w^as little had grown so tall, The men would say of the maids * Our Nelly's the flower of 'em all.* I didn't take heed o' them, but I taught myself all I could To make a good Avife for Harr}^, when Harry came home for good. THE FIRST QUARREL. 5 VI. Often I seemed unhappy, and often as happy too, For I heard it abroad in the fiekls * I'll never love any but you ; ' ^ I'll never love any but you ' the morning song of the lark, ^ I'll never love any but you ' the nightingale's hymn in the dark. VII. And Harry came home at last, but he look'd at me sidelong and shy, Yext me a bit, till he told me that so many years had gone by, I had grown so handsome and tall — that I might ha' forgot him somehow — For he thought — there were other lads — ^he wasfear'd to look at me now. 6 THE FIRST QUARREL. VIII. Hard was the frost in tlie field, we were married o' Christmas day, Married among the red berries, an' all as merry as May— Those were the pleasant times, my house an' my man were my pride, We seem'd like ships i' the Channel a-sailing with wind an' tide. IX. But work was scant in the Isle, tho' he tried the villages round. So Harry went over the Solent to see if work could be found ; An' he wrote ' I ha' six weeks' work, little wife, so far as I know ; I'll come for an hour to-morrow, an' kiss you before I go-' THE FIRST QUARREL. 7 X. So I set to righting the house, for wsisn't he coming that day 1 An' I hit on an old deal-box that \yas pushed in a corner away, It was full of old odds an' ends, an' a letter along wi' the rest, I had better ha' put my naked hand in a hornets' nest. XI. * Sweetheart ' — this was the letter — this was the letter I read — • * You promised to find me work near you, an' I wish I was dead — • Didn't you kiss me an' promise 1 you haven't done it, my lad. An' I almost died o' your going away, an' I wish that I had.' 8 THE FIMfc>T QUARREL. XII. I too wish that I had — in the pleasant times that had past, Before I quarrell'd with Harry — my quarrel — the first an' the last. XIII. For Harry came in, an' I liimg him the letter that drove me wild. An* he told it me all at once, as simple as any child, ' What can it matter, my lass, what I did wi' my single life ? I ha' been as true to you as ever a man to his wife ; An' she wasn't one o' the worst.' ' Then,' I said, ' I'm none o' the best/ An' he smiled at me, ' Ain't you, my love 1 Come, come, little wife, let it rest ! THE FIRST QUARREL. 1^ The man isn't like tlie woman, no need to make sucli a stir.' But be anger'd me all tlie more, an' I said * You were » keeping with her, When I was a-loving you all along an' the same as before.' An' he didn't speak for a while, an' he anger'd me more and more. Then he patted my hand in his gentle way, ^ Let by- gones be ! * ' Bygones ! you kept yours hush'd,' I said, ^ when you married me ! By-gones ma' be come-agains ; an' site — ^in her shame an' her sin — You'll have her to nurse my child, if I die o' my l}'ing in! You'll make her its second mother ! I hate her — an' I hate you ! * 10 THE FIRST QUARREL. Ah, Harry, my man, you had better ha' beaten me black an' blue Than ha' spoken as kind as you did, when I were so crazy wi' spite, • ' Wait a little, my lass, I am sure it 'ill all come right. XIV. An' he took three turns in the rain, an' I watch'd him, an' when he came in I felt that my heart was hard, he was all wet thro' to the skin, An' I never said ^ off wi' the wet,' I never said ^ on wi' the dry,' So I knew my heart was hard, when he came to bid me goodbye. * You said that you hated me, Ellen, but that isn't true, you know ; I am going to leave you a bit — you'll kiss me before Igor THE FIRST QUARREL. 11 xy. * Going ! you're going to her — kiss her — if you will/ I said, — • I was near my time wi' the boy, I must ha' been light i' my head — • * I had sooner be cursed than kiss'd ! ' — I didn't know well what I meant, But I turned my face from him, an' he turn'd his face an' he went. XVI. And then he sent me a letter, ' I've gotten my work to do ; You wouldn't Idss me, my lass, an' I never loved any but you ; I am sorry 'for all the quarrel an' sorry for what she wrote, I ha' six weeks' work in Jersey an' go to-night by the boat.' 12 THE FIRST QUARREL. XVII. An' tlie wind began to rise, an' I thouglit of him out at sea, An' I felt I had been to blame ; he was always kind to me. Wait a little, my lass, I am sure it 'ill all come riglit ' — ■ An' the boat went down that niojht — the boat went down that night. 13 RIZPAIL 17—. I. Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea — And Willy's voice in the wind, ' mother, come out to me/ Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go ? ' For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at the snow, 14 RIZPAH. II. We should be seen, my dear ; they would spy us out of the town. The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down, When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak of the chain, And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drenched with the rain. III. Anything fallen again 1 nay — what was there left to fall ] I have taken them home, I have number'd the bones, I have hidden them all. What am I saying ^ and what are yoic ? do you come as a spy ? Falls ] what falls 1 who knows ? As the tree falls so must it He. IIIZPAH. 15 IV. Who let her in 1 how long has she been ] you — what have you heard ? "Why did you sit so quiet ? you never have spoken a word. — to pray with me — yes — a lady — none of their spies — But the night has crept into my heart, and begun to darken my eyes, V. Ah — you, that have lived so soft, what should you know of the night, The blast and the burning shame and the bitter frost and the fright 1 I have done it, while you were asleep— you were only made for the day, I have gathered my baby together— -and now you may go your way. 16 KIZPAII. VI. Nay — for it's kind of you, Madam, to sit by an old dying wife. But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an hour of Hfe. I kiss'd my boy in the prison, before he went out to die. * They dared me to do it,* he said, and he never has told me a lie. I whipt him for robbing an orchard once when he was but a child — ^ The farmer dared me to do it,' he said ; he was always so wild — And idle — and CDuldn't be idle — my Willy — he never could rest. The King shoull have made him a soldier, he would have been one of his best. EIZPAH. VII. But lie lived with a lot of wild mates, and they never would let him be good ; They swore that he dare not rob the mail, and he swore that he would ; And he took no life, but he took one purse, and when all was done He flung it among his fellows — I'll none of it, said my son. VIII. I came into court to the Judge and the laAvyers. I told them my tale, God's own truth — but they kill'd him, they kill'd him for robbing the mail. 18 RIZPAH. They hang'd liim in chains for a show — we had always borne a good name — To be hang'd for a thief — and then put away — isn't that enough shame 1 Dust to dust — low down — let us hide ! but they set him so high That all the ships of the world could stare at him, passing by. God 'ill pardon the hell-black raven and horrible fowls of the air, But not the black heart of the lawyer who kill'd him and hang'd him there, IX. And the jailer forced me away. I had bid him my last goodbye ; They had fasten'd the door of his cell. * mother I ' I heard him cry, . KIZPAH. 19 I couldn't get back tho' I tried, he had something further to say, And now I never shall know it. The jailer forced me away. X. Then since I couldn't but hear that cry of my boy that was dead, They seized me and shut me up : they fasten'd me down on my bed. ' Mother, O mother ! ' — ^he call'd in the dark to me year after year — - They beat me for that, they beat me — ^you know that I couldn't but hear ; And then at the last they found I had grown so stupid and still They let me abroad again — ^but the creatures had worked their will, c 2 20 KIZPAH. XI. Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was left— I stole them all from the lawyers — and you, will you call it a theft ?— My baby, the bones that had suck'd me, the bones that had laughed and had ciied — Theirs ? no ! they are mine — not theirs — they had moved in my side. XII. Do you think I was scared by the bones ? I kiss'd 'em, I buried *em all — I can't dig deep, I am old — in the night by the churchyard wall. My Willy 'ill rise up whole when the trumpet of judgment 'ill sound, But I charge you never to say that I laid him in holy ground. RIZPAH. 21 XIII. They would scratch Mm up — they would hang him again on the cursed tree. Sill? yes — we are sinners, I know — let all that be, And read me a Bible verse of the Lord's good will toward men — ' Full of compassion and mercy, the Loid ' — let me hear it again ; * Full of compassion and mercy — long-suffering.' Yes, O yes ! For the lawyer is bom but to murder — the Saviour lives but to bless. 7/e'll never put on the black cap except for the worst of the worst, And the first may be last — I have heard it in church — and the last may be fiist. 22 pjzrAH. Suffering — long-suffering — yes, as tlie Lord must know, Year after year in the mist and tlie wind and the shower and the snow. xir. Heard, have you ? what 1 they have told you he never repented his sin. How do they know it 'i are tlisy his mother 1 are yoio of his Idn 1 Heard ! have you ever heard, when the storm on the downs began. The wind that 'ill wail like a child and the sea that 'ill moan like a man ? XV. Election, Election and Keprobation — it's all very well. But I go to-night to my boy, and I shall not find him in Hell. EIZPAII. 23 For I cared so much, for my boy that the Lord has look'd into my care, And He means me I'm sure to be happy with Willy, I know not where, XVI. And if he be lost — but to save m^/ soul, that is all your desire : Do you think that I care for my soul if my boy be gone to the fire ? I have been with God in the dark — go, go, you may leave me alone — You never have borne a child — ^}'ou are just as hard as a stone. XVII. Madam, I beg your pardon ! I tliink that you mean to be kind, But I cannot hear what you stay for my Willy's voice in the wind — 24 RIZPAH. The snow and tlie sky so Imght — lie used but to call in the daik, And he calls to me now from the church and not from the gibbet — for hark ! Nay — you can hear it yourself — it is coming — shaking the walls — Willy — the moon's in a cloud Good night. I am going. He calls. 25 TEE NORTHERN COBBLER. I. Waait till our Sally cooms in, far thou mun a' sights^ to tell. Eh, but I be maain glad to seea tha sa Wty an' well. * Cast awaay on a disolut land wi* a vartical soon-^ ! ' Strange fur to goa fur to think what saailors a* seean an' a' doon ; * Summat to drink — sa' 'ot ] ' I 'a nowt but Adam's wine : What's the 'eat o' this little 'ill-side to the 'eat o' the line 1 ^ The vowels at, pronounced separate!}' though in the closest conjunction, best render the sound of the long i and y in this dialect. But since such words as crdiin\ daUn\ wliaij (u(l)y &c., look awkward except in a page of express phonetics, I have thought it better to leave the simple i and y, and to trust that my readers will give them the broader pronuncia- tion. ^ The 00 short, as in * wood.' 2(j THE NORTHERN COBBLER. II. ' What's i' tha bottle a-stanning theer 1 ' I'll tell tha. Gin. But if thou wants thy grog, tha mun goii fur it down to the inn, J^aay — fur I be maain-glad, but thaw tha was iver sa dry, Thou gits naw gin fro' the bottle theer, an' I'll tell tha wny. III. Mea an' thy sister was mai-ried, when wur it 1 back- end o' June, Ten year sin', and wa 'greed as well as a fiddle i' tune : I could fettle and clump owd booots and shoes wi' the best on 'em all, As fer as fro' Thursby thurn hup to Harmsby and Ilutterby Hall. THE NORTHERN COBBLER. 27 We was busy as beeas i' the bloom an' as 'appy as 'art could think, An' then the babby wur bui-n, and then I taiikes to the drink. jv. An' I weant gaainsaiiy it, my lad, thaw I be hafe shaamed on it now. We could sing a good song at the Plow, we could sing a good song at the Plow ; Thaw once of a frosty night I slither'd an' hurted my huck,^ An' I coom'd neck-an-crop soomtimes slaape down i' the squad an' the muck : An' once I fowt wi' the Taailor — not hafe ov a man, my lad — Fur he scrawm'd an' scratted my faace like a cat, an' it maade 'er sa mad ^ Hip. 28 THE NORTHERN COBBLER. That Sally she turn'd a tongue-banger,^ an' raated ma, ^ Sofctin' thy braains Guzzlin' an' soakin' an' smolikin' an' hawmin' ^ about i' the laanes, So'i sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch thy 'at to the Squire ; ' An' I loook'd cock-eyed at my noase an' I seead 'im a- gittin' o' fire; But sin' I wur hallus i' liquor an' hallus as droonk as a king, Foiilks' co3stom flitted awaay like a kite wi' a brokken string. V. An' Sally she wesh'd foiilks' cloliths to keep the wolf fro' the door, Eh but the moor she riled me, she druv me to drink the moor, » So Did. 2 Lounging. THE NORTHERN COBBLER. 29 Fur I fun', when 'er back wur turn'd, wheer Sally's owd stockin' wur 'id, An' I grabb'd the munny she maiide, and I weiir'd it o' liquor, I did. VI. An' one night I cooms 'oUm like a bull gotten loose at a faiiir, An' she wur a-waaitin' fo'mma, an' cryin' and tearin' 'er 'aair. An' I tummled athurt the craadle an' sweiir'd as I'd break ivry stick C furnitur 'ere i' the 'ouse, an' I gied our Sally a kick, An' I mash'd the taables an' chairs, an' she an' the babby beal'd,^ Fur J knaw'd naw moor what I did nor a mortal beast o' the feiild. Bellowed, cried out. 30 THE NORTHERN COBBLER. VII. An' when I waakecl i' tlie murnin' I seead that our Sally went laamed Cos' o' the kick as I gied er, an' I wur dreadful ashaamed ; An' Sally wur sloomy ^ an' draggle-taail'd in an owd turn gown, An' the babby's faace wurn't wesh'd an' the 'ole 'ouse hupside down. VIII. An' then I minded our Sally sa pratty an' neat an sweeat, Straat as a pole an' clean as a flower fro' 'ead to feeat : An' then I minded the fust kiss I gied 'er by Thursby thurn ; Theer wur a lark a-singin' 'is best of a Sunday at mum. * Sluggish, out of spirits. THE NORTHERN COBBLER. 31 Couldn't see 'im, we 'eiird im a-mouiitin' oop 'iglier an' 'iglier, An' then 'e turn'd to the snn, an' 'e shined like a spailde o' fire. * Doesn't tha see 'im/ she axes, ^ fur I can see 'im 1 ' an I Seead nobbut the smile o' the sun as danced in 'er pratty blue eye ; An' I says * I mun gie tha a kiss,' an' Sally says ^ ISToa, thou meant,' But I gied 'er a kiss, an' then anoother, an' Sally says ' doant ! ' IX. An' when we coom'd into Meeatin', at fust she wur all in a tew, But, arter, we sing'd the 'ymn togither like birds on a beugh ; 32 THE NORTIIERX COBBLER. An' Muggins *e preiicli'd o' Hell-fire an* the loov o' God fur men, An' then upo' coomin' awaiiy Sally gied me a kiss ov 'ersen. X. Ileer wur a fall fro' a kiss to a kick like Saatan as fell Down out o' heaven i' Hell-fire — thaw theer's naw drinkin' i' Hell ; Mea fur to kick our Sally as kep the wolf fro' the door, All along o' the drink, fur I loov'd 'er as well as afoor. XI. Sa like a graat num-cumpus I blubber'd awaay o' the bed— * Weant niver do it naw moor ; ' an' Sally loookt np an' she said, THE NORTHERN COBBLER. 33 * I'll upowd it ^ tha weiint ; tliou'rt laike the rest o' the men, Thou'll goa sniffin' about the tap till tha does it agean. Theer's thy hennemy, man, an' I knaws, as knaws tha sa well, That, if tha seelis 'im an' smells 'im tha'll foller 'im slick into Hell.' XII. * Xaay,' says I, ' fur I weiint goii sniffin' about the tap.' ' We'cint tha 1 ' she says, an' mysen I thowt i' mysen * mayhap.' * Noa : ' an' I started awaay like a shot, an' down to the Hinn, An' I browt what tha seetis stannin' theer, yon big black bottle o' gin. » I'll uphold it. D 34 THE NORTHERN COBBLER. XIII. * That caps ovvt/ ^ sa^'S Sally, an' saw slie begins to cry, But I puts it inter 'er 'ands an' I says to 'er, ^ Sally,' says I, * Stan' 'im tlieer i' tlie nalime o' the Lord an' the power ov 'is Graace, Stan' 'im theer, fur I'll loook my hennemy strait i' the faace, Stan' 'im theer i' the winder, an' let ma locok at 'im then, E' seeiims naw moor nor watter, an' 'e's the Divil's oan sen.' ■ ■ ■ } XIV. An' I wur down i' tha mouth, couldn't do naw work an' all, IS'asty an' snaggy an' sha'aky, an' poonch'd my 'and wl' the hawl, ^ That's beyond everything. THE NORTHERN COBBLER. 35 But she wur a power o' coomfut, an' sattled 'ersen o' my knee, An' coiixd an' cDodlecl me cop till agean I feel'd mysen free. XV. An' Sally she tell'd it about, an' foalk stood a-gawmin' * in, t As thaw it wur summat bewitch'd istead of a quart o' gin; An' some on 'em said it wur watter— an' I wur chousin' the wife. Fur I couldn't 'owd 'ands off gin, wur it nobbut to saave my life ; An' blacksmith 'e strips me the thick ov 'is airm, an' 'e shaws it to me, ' Fecal thou this ! thou can't graw this upo' watter ! ' says he. * Staring vacantly. D 2 36 THE NORTUERN COBBLER. An' Doctor 'e calls o' Sunday an' just as candles was lit, ' Thou moant do it/ he says, * tha mun break 'im off bit by bit.' * Thou'rt but a Methody-man,' says Parson, and laays down 'is 'at. An' 'e points to the bottle o' gin, * but I respecks tha fur that ; ' An' Squire, his oan very sen, walks down fro' the 'AH to see, An' 'e spanks 'is 'and into mine, ' fur I respecks tha,' says 'e ; An' coostom ageiin draw'd in like a wind fro' far an' wide. And browt me the bocots to be cobbled fro' hafe the coontryside. THE NORTHERN COBBLER. 37 XVI An' theer 'e stans an' theer 'e shall stan to my dying daay ; I 'a gotten to loov 'im agean in anoother kind of a waay, Proud on 'im, like, my lad, an' I keeaps 'im clean an' bright, Loovs 'im, an' roobs 'im, an' doosts 'im, an' puts 'im back i' the light. XVII. Wouldn't a pint a' sarved as well as a quart Kaw doubt : But I liked a bigger feller to fight wi' an' fowt it out. Fine an' meller 'e mun be by this, if I cared to taUste, But I moiint, my lad, and I weant, fur I'd fe'al mysen clean disgraiiced. 38 THE NORTHERN COBBLER. XVIII. An' once I said to the Missis, * My lass, when I cooms to die, Smash the bottle to smithers, the Divil's in 'im,' said I. But arter I chaanged my mind, an' if Sally be left aloan, I'll hev 'im a-buried wi'mma an' taake 'im afoor the Throiin. XIX. Coom thou 'eer — yon laiidy a-steppin' along the streeat, Doesn't tha knaw 'er — sa pratty, an' feat, an' neat, an' sweeat 1 Look at the deaths on 'er back, thebbe ammost spick-span-new, An' Tommy's faace is as fresh as a codlin 'at's wesh'd i' the dew. THE NORTHERN COBBLER. 39 XX. ^Ere's our Sally an' Tommy, an* we be a-goin to dine, Bail con an' taates, an' a beslings-puddin' ^ an' Adam's wine : But if tha wants ony grog tha mun goii fur it down to the Hinn, Fur I weiint shed a drop on 'is blood, noa, not fur Sally's oan kin. ' A pudding made with the first milk of the cow after calvincr. 40 THE REVENGE. A Ballad of the Fleet. I. At Flores in the Azores Sir Eicliard Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away : ' Spanish ships of war at sea ! we have sighted fifty- three ! ' Then sware Lord Thomas Howard : ^ Tore God I am no coward ; But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, ^ THE REVENGE. 41 And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick. We are six ships of the line ; can we fight with fifty- three T II. Then spake Sir Eichard Grenville : * I know you are no coward ; You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. But Tve ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore, I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.' - III. So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that day, Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; 42 THE REVENGE. But Sir Bichard bore in hand all his sick men from the land Very carefully and slow, Men of Bideford in Devon, And we laid them on the ballast down below ; For we brought them all aboard, And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord. IV. He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight. And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight. With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow. THE REVENGE. 43 ' Shall we fight or shall we fly ? Good Sir Kicharcl, tell us now, For to fight is but to die ! There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.' And Sir Kichard said again : * We be all good English men. Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet.' V. Sir Kichard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so The little Hevenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe. With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below ; 44 THE REVENGE. For half of their fleet to the right andhalf to the left were seen, And the little Kevenge ran on thro* the long sea- lane between. VI. Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks and laugh'd, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft Running on and on, till delayM By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd. THE REVENGE. 45 VII. And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud Whence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud, Four galleons drew away From the Spanish fleet that day, And two upon the larboard and two upon the star- board lay. And the battle-thundei broke from them all, VIII. But anon the great San Philip, she bethought her- self and went Having that within her womb that had left her ill content ; And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand, 46 THE KEVENGE. For a dczen times they came with their pikes and miisqueteers, And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dos: that shakes his ears When he leaps from the water to the land. 'o IX. And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty- three. Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came, Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle- thunder and flame ; Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame. THE REVENGE. 47 For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so could fight U3 no more — God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before 1 X. For*he said * Fight on 1 fight on ! ' Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck ; And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone. With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead. And himself he was wounded again in the sice and the head. And he said * Fight on ! fight on ! ' 48 THE REVENGE. XI. And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring ; But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that we still could sting, So they watch'd what the end would be. And we had not fought them in vain, But in perilous plight were we, • Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain. And half of the rest of us niaim'd for life In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife ; And the sick men down in the hold wex^e most of them stark and cold. And the pikes were all broken or bent, arid the powder was all of it spent ; THE KEVEXGE. 49 And the masts and tlie rigging were lying over the side ; But Sir Eichard cried in his English pride, * We have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again ! \Ye have won great glory, my men ! And a day less or more At sea or ashore, AYe die — does it matter when 1 Sink me the ship, Master Gunner — sink her, split her in twain ! Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain ! ' XII. And the gunner said * Ay, ay,* but the seamen made reply : * "We have children, we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives. » E 50 THE REVENGE. We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go ; We shall live to fiQ:ht a^^jain and to strike another blow.' And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe. XIII. And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then, Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Kichard caught at last. And they j^raised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace ; But he rose upon their decks, and he cried : ^ I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true ; I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do : THE REVENGE. 51 With a joyful spii-it I Sir Richard Grenville die ! ' And he fell upon their decks, and he died. XIV. And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap That he dared her with one little ship and his English few; Was he devil or man 1 He was devil for aught they knew, But they sank his body with honour down into the deep, And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew, And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own ; B 2 52 THE EEYENGE. When a wind from the lands they had rviin'd awoke from sleep, And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew. And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earth- quake grew, Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot- shatter 'd navy of Spain, And the little Kevenge herself went down by the island crags To be lost evermore in the main. 53 THE SISTERS. They have left the doors ajar ; and by their clash, And prelude on the keys, I know the song, Their favourite — which I call ' The Tables Turned/ Evelyn begins it * diviner Air.' EVELYIf. O diviner Air, Thro* the heat, the drowth, the dust, the glare. Far from out the west in shadowing showers, Over all the meadow baked and bare. Making fresh and fair All the bowers and the flowers. Fainting flowers, faded bowers. 54 THE SISTERS. Over all this weary world of ours, Breathe, diviner Air ! A sweet voice that — you scarce could better that. Now follows Edith echoing Evelyn. EDITH. O diviner light, Thro' the cloud that roofs our noon with night, Thro' the blotting mist, the blinding showers. Far from out a sky for ever bright. Over all the woodland's flooded bowers. Over all the meadow's drowning flowers, Over all this ruiii'd world of ours. Break diviner light ! Marvellously like, their voices— and themselves ! Tho' one is somewhat deeper than the other, THE SISTERS. 55 As one is somewhat graver than the other — Edith than Evelyn. Your good Uncle, whom You count the father of your fortune, longs For this alliance : let me ask you then, Which voice most takes you 1 for I do not doubt Being a watchful parent, you are taken With one or other : tho' sometimes I fear You may be flickering, fluttering in a doubt Between the two — which must not be — which might Be death to one : they both are beautiful : Evelyn is gayer, wittier, prettier, says The common voice, if one may trust it : she 1 No ! but the paler and the graver, Edith. Woo her and gain her then : no wavering, boy ! The graver is perhaps the one for you Who jest and laugh so easily and so well. For love w^ill go by contrast, as by likes. ' 56 THE SISTERS. No sisters ever prized eacli otlier more. Not so : their mother and her sister loved More passionately still. Bnt that my best And oldest friend, your Uncle, wishes it, And that I know you worthy everyway To be my son, 1 might, perchance, be loath To part them, or part from them : and yet one Should marry, or all the broad lands in your view From this bay window — which our house has held Three hundred years — will pass collaterally. My father with a child on either knee, A hand upon the head of either child, Smoothing their locks, as golden as his own Were silver, ^ get them wedded ' would he say. And once my prattling Edith ask'd him ' why 1 ' Ay, why 1 said he, ' for why should I go lame 1 ' THE SISTERS. 57 Then told them of his wars, and of his wound. For see — tliis wine — the grape from whence it flow'd Was blackening on the slopes of Portugal, When that brave soldier, down the terrible ridge Plunged in the last fierce charge at Waterloo, And caught the laming bullet. He left me this. Which yet retains a memory of its youth, As I of miaie, and my first passion. Come ! Here's to your happy union with my child ! Yet must you change your name : no fault of mine ! You say that. you can do it as willingly As birds make ready for their bridal-time By change of feather : for all that, my boy, Some birds are sick and sullen when they moult. An old and worthy name ! but mine that stirr'd Among our civil wars and earlier too Among the Roses, the more venerable. 58 THE SISTERS. / care not for a name — no fault of mine. Once more — a happier marriage than my own ! You see yon Lombard poplar on the plain. The highway running by it leaves a breadth Of sward to left and right, where, long ago, One bright May morning in a world of song, I lay at leisure, watching overhead The aerial poplar wave, an amber spire. I dczed ; I woke. An open landaulet Whirl'd by, which, after it had past me, show'd Turring my way, the loveliest face on earth. The face of one there sitting opposite. On whom I brought a strange unhappiness, That time I did not see. Love at first sight May seem — with goodly rhyme and reason for it — THE SISTERS. 59 Possible — at first glimpse, and for a face Gone in a moment — strange. Yet once, when first I came on lake Llanberris in the dark, A moonless night with storm — one liglitning-fork Flashed out the lake ; and tho' I loitered there The full day after, yet in retrospect That less than momentary thunder- sketch Of lake and mountain conquers all the day. The Sun himself has limn'd the face for me. Not quite so quickly, no, nor half as well. For look you here-=— the shadows are too deep, And like the critic's blurrino; comment make The veriest beauties of the work appear The darkest faults : the sweet eves frown : the lips Seem bat a gash. My sole memorial Of Edith — no the other, — both indeed. 60 THE SISTERS. So that bright face was ilash'd thro' sense and soul And by the poplar vanish'd — to be found Long after, as it seem'd, beneath the tall Tree-bowers, and those long-sweeping beechen boughs Of our New Forest. I was there alone : The phantom of the whirling landaulet For ever past me by : when one quick peal Of laughter drew me thro* the glimmering glades Down to the snowlike sparkle of a cloth On fern and foxglove. Lo, the face again, My ExDsalind in this Arden — Edith — all One bloom of youth, health, beauty, happiness. And moved to merriment at a passing jest. There one of those about her knowins: me Call'd me to join them ; so with these I spent What seem'd my crowning hour, my day of days. THE SISTERS. 61 I woo'd her then, nor unsuccessfully, The worse for her, for me ! was I content 1 Ay — no, not quite ; for now and then I thought Laziness, vague love-longings, the bright May, Had made a heated haze to magnify The charm of Edith — that a man^s ideal Is high in Heaven, and lodged with Plato's God,' Not findable here — content, and not content. In some such fashion as a man may be That having had the portrait of his friend Drawn by an artist, looks at it, and says, * Good ! very like ! not altogether he.' As yet I had not bound myself by words. Only, believing I loved Edith, made Edith love me. Then came the day when I, Flattering myself that all my doubts were fools Born of the fool this Age that doubts of all — • Q2 THE SISTERS. Not I tLat day of Edith's love or mine — Had braced my purpose to declare myself : I stood upon the stairs of Paradise. The golden gates would open at a word. I spoke it — told her of my passion, seen And lost and found again, had got so far, Had caught her hand, her eyelids fell — I heard Wheels, and a noise of welcome at the doors — On a sudden after two Italian years Had set the blossom of her health again, The younger sister, Evelyn, enter'd — there. There was the face, and altogether she. The mother fell about the daughter's neck, The sisters closed in one another's arms. Their people throng'd about them from the hall. And in the thick of question and reply I fled the house, driven by one angel face. And all the Furies. THE SISTERS. 63 9 I was bound to her ; I could not free myself in honour — bound Not by the sounded letter of the word, But counterpressures of the yielded hand That timorovisly and faintly echoed mine, Quick blushes, the sweet dwelling of her eyes Upon me when she thought I did not see — Were these not bonds 1 nay, nay, but could I wed her Loving the other 1 do her that great wrong 1 Had I not dream'd I loved her yestermorn 1 Had I not known where Love, at first a fear. Grew after marriage to full height and form ? Yet after marriage, that mock-sister there — ■ Brother-in-law — the fiery nearness of it — Unlawful and disloyal brotherhood — What end but darkness could ensue from this For all the three ? So Love and Honour jarr'd Tho' Love and Honour joined to raise the full 64 THE SISTERS. High-tide of doubt that sway'd me up and down Advancing nor retreating. Edith wrote : * My mother bids me ask ' (I did not tell you — • A widow with less guile than many a child. God help the wrinkled children that are Christ's As well as the plump cheek — she wrought us harm, Poor soul, not knowing) 'are you ill] (so ran The letter) * you have not been here of late. You will not find me here. At last I go On that long-promised visit to the North. I told your wayside story to my mother And Evelyn. She remembers you. Farewell. Pray come and see my mother. Almost blind With ever-growing cataract, yet she thinks She sees you when she hears. Again farewell.* CoLl words from one I had hoped to warm so far THE SISTERS. ^5 That I could stamp my image on her heart ! * Pray come and see my mother, and farewell.* Cold, but as welcome as free airs of heaven After a dungeon's closeness. Selfish, strange ! What dwarfs are men ! my strangled vanity Utter'd a stifled cry — to have vext myself And all in vain for her — cold heart or none — No bride for me. Yet so my path was clear To win the sister. "Whom I woo'd and won. For Evelyn knew not of my former suit, Because the simple mother work'd upon By Edith pray'd me not to whisper of it. And Edith would be bridesmaid on the day. But on that day, not being all at ease, I from the altar glancing back upon her. Before the first * I will * was utter'd, saw The bridesmaid pale, statuelike, passionless — 66 THE SISTERS. * No harm, no harm ' I tiirn'd again, and placed My ring upon the finger of my biide. So, when we parted, Edith spoke no word, She wept no tear, but round my Evelyn clung In utter silence for so long, I thought * What will she never set her sister fi*ee ? ' We left hei', happy each in each, and then. As tho' the happiness of each in each Were not enough, must fain have torrents, lakes, Hills, the great things of Nature and the fair. To lift us as it were from commonplace. And help us to our joy. Better have sent Our Edith thro' the glories of the earth, To change with her horizon, if true Love Were not his own imperial all-in-all. THE SISTERS. G7 Far off we went. My God, I would not live Save that I think this gross hard-seeming world Is our misshaping vision of the Powers Behind the world, that make our griefs our gains. For on the dark night of our marriage-day The great Tragedian, that had quench'd herself In that assumption of the bridesmaid — she That loved me — our true Edith — her brain broke With over-acting, till she rose and lied Beneath a pitiless rush of Autumn rain To the deaf church — to be let in — to pray Befoie tJiat altar — so I think ; and there They found her beating the hard Protestant doors. She died and she was buried ere we knew. I learnt it first. I had to speak. At once The bright quick smile of Evelyn, that had sunn'd F 2 68 THE SISTERS. The morning of our man-iage, past away : And on our home-return the daily want Of Edith in the house, the garden, still Haunted us like her ghost ; and by and by, Either from that necessity for talk Which lives with blindness, or plain innocence Of nature, or desire that her lost child Should earn from both the praise of heroism, The mother broke her promise to the dead, And told the living daughter with what love Edith liJid welcomed my brief wooing of her, And all her sweet self-sacrifice and death. Henceforth that mystic bond betwixt the twins- Did I not tell you they were twins 1 — prevail'd So far that no caress could win my wife Back to that passionate answer of full heart I had from her at fiist. Not that her love, THE SISTERS. 69 Tho' scarce as great as Edith^s power of love, Had lessen'cl, but the mother's garrulous wail For ever woke the unhappy Past again, ' Till that dead bridesmaid, meant to be my bride, Put forth cold hands between us, and I fear'd The very fountains of her life were chill'd ; So took her thence, and brought her here, and here She bore a child, whom reverently we call'd Edith ; and in the second year was bom A second — this I named from her own self, Evelyn ; then two weeks — no more — she joined^ In and beyond the grave, that one she loved. Now in this quiet of declining life. Thro* dreams by night and trances of the day, The sisters glide about me hand in hand, Both beautiful ahke, nor can I tell One fi'om the other, no, nor care to tell One from the other, only know they come, 70 THE SISTERS. They smile upon me, till, remembering all The love they both have borne me, and the love I bore them both — divided as I am From either by the stillness of the grave — I know not which of these I love the best. But you love Edith ; and her own true eyes Are traitors to her ; our quick Evelyn — The mei'rier, prettier, wittier, as they talk, And not without good reason, my good son — Is yet untouch'd : and I that hold them both Dearest of all things — well, I am not sure — But if there lie a preference eitherway, And in the rich vocabulary of Love ^ Most dearest ' be a true superlative — I think / likewise love your Edith most. 71 THE VILLAGE WIFE ; OR, THE ENTAIL} I* 'OusE-KEEPER seiit tha my lass, fur New Squire coom'd last night. Buttei* an' heggs — ^yis — yis. I'll goii wi' tha back : all right ; Butter I warrants be prime, an' I warrants the heggs be as w^ell, Hafe a pint o' milk runs out when ya breaks the shell. II. Sit thysen down fur a bit : hev a glass o' cowslip wine ! I liked the owd Squire an' 'is gells as thaw they was gel Is o' mine, * 8ee note to * Northern Cobbler.' 72 THE VILLAGE WIFE ; OR, THE ENTAIL. Fur then we w^as all es one, the Squire an' 'is darters an' me, Hall but Miss Annie, the heldest, I niver not took to she : But Nelly, the last of the cletch,^ I liked 'er the fust on 'em all, Fur hoffens we talkt o' my dai-ter es died o' the fever at fall : An' I thowt 'twur the will o' the Lord, but Miss Annie she said it wur draains, Fur she hedn't naw coomfut in 'er, an' arn'd naw thanks fur 'er paains. Eh ! thebbe all wi' the Lord my childer, I han't gotten none ! Sa new Squire's coom'd wi' 'is taail in 'is 'and, an' owd Squire's gone. ' A brood of chickens. THE VILLAGE WIFE ; OR, THE ENTAIL. / O III. Fur 'staate be i' taail, my lass : tha dosn* knaw what that be ? But I knaws the law, I does, for the lawyer ha towd it me. ' When theer's naw 'ead to a 'Ouse by the fault o' that ere maale — The gells they counts fur.nowt, and the next un he taiikes the taail,* IV. What be the next un like ? can tha tell ony harm on 'im lass 1 — Xaay sit down — naw 'urry — sa cowd ! — hev another glass ! Straange an' cowd fur the time ! we may happen a fall o' snaw — Not es I cares fur to hear ony harm, but I likes to knaw. 74 THE VILLAGE WIFE ; OR, THE ENTAIL. An' I 'caps es 'e beant boooklarn'd : but 'e closn not coom fro' the shere ; We'd anew o' that wi' the Squire, an' we haates boook- larnin' ere. V. Fur Squiie wur a Varsity scholard, an' niver lookt arter the land — Whoiits or turmuts or taates — 'e 'ed hallus a boook i' 'is 'and, Halhis aloan wi' 'is boooks, thaw nigh upo' seventy year. An' boooks, what's boooks 1 thou knaws thebbe ney- ther 'ere nor theer. VI. An' the gells, they hedn't naw taails, an' the lawyei^ he towd it me That 'is taail were so'a tied up es he couldn't cut down a tree ! THE VILLAGE WIFE; OR, THE ENTAIL. 75 * Drat the trees/ says I, to be sewer I haates 'em, mv lass, Fur we puts the muck o' the land, an' they sucks the muck fro' the giass. VII. An' Squire wur hallus a-smilin', an' gied to the tramps goin' by — An' all o' the wust i' the parish — wi' hoffens a drop in 'is eye. An' ivry darter o' Squire's hed her awn ridin-eree to 'ersen, An' they i^mpaged about wi' their grooms, an' was 'untin' arter the men. An' hallus a-dallackt ^ an' dizen'd out, an' a-buyin' new cloathes, While 'e sit like a graat glimmer-gowk ^ wi' 'is glasses athurt 'is noase. * Overdrest in gay colours. * Owl. 76 THE VILLAGE WIFE j OR, THE ENTAIL. An' 'is noase sa grufted wi' snuff es it couldn't be scroob'd awaay, Fur atween 'is readin' an' writin' 'e snifft up a box in a daay, An' 'e niver runn'd arter the fox, nor alter the birds wi' 'is jsjun, An' 'e niver not shot one 'are, but 'e leaved it to Charlie 'is son, An' 'e niver not fish'd 'is awn ponds, but Charlie 'e cotch'd the pike, Fur 'e warn't not burn to the land, an' 'e didn't take kind to it like ; But I ears es 'e'd gie fur a howry ^ owd book thutty pound an' moor, An' 'e'd wrote an owd book, his awn sen, sa I knaw'd es 'e'd coom to be poor ; > Filthy. ' THE VILLAGE WIFE ; OR, THE ENTAIL. / / An* 'e gied — I be fear'cl fur to tell tha 'ow much — fur an owd scrattecl stoan, An' *e digg'cl up a loomp i' the land an' 'e got a brown pot an' a bcan, An' 'e bowt owd money, es wouldn't goa, wi' good gowd o' the Queen, An' 'e bowt little statutes all-naakt an' which was a shaame to be seen ; But 'e niver loookt ower a bill, nor 'e niver not seed to owt, An* 'e niver knawd nowt but boobks, an' boooks, as thou knaws, beant nowt. VIII. But owd Squire's laady es long es she lived she kep 'em all clear, t Thaw es long es she lived I niver hed none of 'ei darters 'ere; 78 THE VILLAGE WIFE; OR, THE ENTAIL. But arter she died we was all es one, the childer an' me. An* sarvints runn'd in an' out, an' offens we hed 'em to tea. Lawk ! 'ow I laugh'd when the lasses 'ud talk o' their Missis's waays, An' the Missisis talk'd o' the lasses. — I'll tell tha some o' these daays. Hoanly Miss Ainiie were saw stuck oop, like 'er mothei* afoor — 'Er an' 'er blessed daiter — they niver derken'd my door. IX. An' Squire 'e smiled an' e' smiled till 'e 'd gotten a friglit at last, An' 'e cxUs fur 'is son, fur the 'turney's letters they foller'd sa fast ; THE VILLAGE WIFE ; OR, THE ENTAIL. 79 But Squire wur afear'd o* 'is son, an' ^e says to 'im, meek as a mouse, ' Lad, thou mun cut off thy taail, or the gells 'ull goa to the 'Ouse, Fur I finds es I be that i' debt, es I 'oaps es thou'll 'elp me a bit, An' if thou'll 'gree to cut off thy taail I may saave my sen yit.' X. But CharHe 'e sets back 'is ears, an' 'e swears, an' 'e says to 'im ' Noa.' ' I've gotten the 'staate by the taail an' be dang'd if I iver let goa ! Coom ! coom ! feyther/ 'e says, ' why shouldn't thy boobks be sowd ? I hears es soom o' thy boooks mebbe worth their weight i' gowd.' 80 THE VILLAGE WIFE; OR, THE ENTAIL. XI. Heaps an* heaps o' boobks, I ha' see'd 'em, belong'd to the Squire, But the lasses 'ed teard out leaves i' the middle to kindle the fire ; Sa moast on 'is owd big boooks fetch'd nigh to nowt at the saale, And Squire were at Charlie agean to git 'im to cut off 'is taail. XII. Ya wouldn't find Charlie's likes — 'e were that out- dacious at 'oam, Not thaw ya went fur to raake out Hell wi' a small- tooth coamb — Droonk wi' the Quoloty's wine, an' droonk wi' the farmer's aale, Mad wi' the lasses an' all — an' 'e wouldn't cut off the taail. THE VILLAGE WIFE; OR, THE ENTAIL. 81 XIII. Thou's coom'd oop by the beck ; and a thurn be a-grawin' theer, I niver ha seed it sa white wi' the Maay es I see'd it to-year — Theerabouts Charlie joompt — and it gied me. a scare tother night, Fur I thowt it wur Charlie's ghoast i' the derk, fur it loookt sa white. * Billy/ says 'e, ' hev a joomp ! ' — thaw the banks o the beck be sa high, Fur he ca'd 'is 'erse Billy-rough -un, thaw niver a hair wur awry ; But Billy fell bakkuds o' Charlie, an' Charlie 'e brok 'is neck, So theer wur a hend o' the taail, fur 'e lost 'is taail i' the beck. o 82 THE VILLAGE WIFE : OH, THE ENTAIL. xiy. Sa 'is taiiil wur lost an' 'is boooks wur gone an' 'is boy wur dead, An' Squire 'e smiled an' 'e smfled, but 'e niver not lift oop 'is ead : Halliis a soft nn Squire ! an' 'e smiled, fur 'e hedn't naw friend, Sa feyther an' son was buried togither, an' this wur the hend. XV. An' Parson as hesn't the call, nor the mooney, but hes the pride, 'E reads of a sewer an' sartan 'oap o' the totlier side; But I beant that sewer es the Lord, howsiver they praay'd an' praay'd, Lets them inter 'eaven easy es leaves their debts to be paaid. THE VILLAGE WIFE ; OR, THE ENTAIL. 83 Siver the moulds rattled down vipo' pooi' owd Squire i* the wood, An' I cried along wi' the gells, fur they weant nirer coom to naw good. XVI. Eur Molly the youngest she walkt awaay wi' a hoffi- cer lad, An' nawbody 'eard on 'er sin, sa o' coorse she be gone to the bad ! An' Lucy wnr laame o' one leg, sweet- 'arts she niver 'ed none — Straange an' unheppen ^ Miss Lucy ! we naamed her * Dot an' gaw one ! ' An' Hetty wur weak i' the hattics, wi'out ony harm i' the legs, An' the fever 'ed baaked Jinny's Vad as bald as one o' them heggs, I ^ Ungainly, a\vk\rard. G 2 84 THE VILLAGE AVIFE ; OR, THE ENTAIL. An' Nelly wur up fro* the craadle as big i' the mouth as a cow, An' saw she mun hammergrate,^ lass, or' she weant git a maate onyhow ! An' es fur Miss Annie es call'd me afoor my awn foalks to my faace * A hignorant village wife as 'ud hev to be larn'd her awn plaace,' Hes fur Miss Hannie the heldest hes now be a-grawin' sa hotvd, I knaws that mooch o' shea, es it beiint not fit to be towd ! XVII. Sa I didn't not ta'ake it kindly ov owd Miss Annie to saay Es I should be talkin agean 'em, es soon es they went awaay, * Emigrate. THE VILLAGE WIFE; OR, THE ENTAIL. 85 Fur, lawks ! 'ow I cried when they went, an' our !N'elly she gied me 'er 'and. Fur I'd ha done owt fur the Squire an' 'is gells es belong'd to the land ; Boobks, es I said afoor, thebbe neyther 'ere nor theer ! But I sarved 'em wi' butter an' heggs fur huppuds o' twenty year. XVIII. An' they hallus paaid what I hax'd, sa I hallus deal'd wi' the Hall, An' they knaw'd what butter wur, an' they knaw'd what a hegg wur an' all ; Hugger-mugger they lived, but they wasn't that easy to please, Till I gied 'em Hinjian curn, an' they laiiid big heggs es tha seeas ; 8b THE VILLAGE WIFE; OK, THE ENTAIL. An' I niver puts saame ^ i' my butter, they does it at Willis's faim, Tailste another drop o' the wine — tweant do tha naw harm. XIX. Sa new Squire's cooin'd wi' 'is taail in 'is 'and, an' owd Squire's gone ; I heard 'im a i-oomlin' by, but arter my nightcap war on ; Sa I han't clapt eyes on 'im yit, fur he coom'd last night sa laiite — ♦ Pluksh ! ! ! 2 the hens i' the peas ! why didn't tha hesp the gaate % » Lard. 2 A cry accompanied by a clapping of hands to scare trespassing fowl. 87 IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL, Emmie. I. Our doctor had calFd in another, I never had seen him before, * But he sent a chill to my heart when 1 saw him come in at the door. Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other lands — Harsh red hair, big voice, big chest, big merciles^^ hands ! Wonderful cures he had done, yes, but they said too of him 88 IN THE children's HOSPITAL. He was happier using the knife than in trying to save the limb, And that I can well believe, for he looked so coarse and so red, I could think he was one of those who would break their jests on the dead, And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawn'd at his knee — DrenchVl with the hellish oorali — that ever such things should be ! II. Here was a boy — ^I am sure that some of our children would die But for the voice of Love, and the smile, and the comforting eye — Here was a boy in the ward, every bone seem'd out of its place — IN THE children's HOSPITAL. 89 Caught in a mill and crusli'd — it was all but a hope- less case : And he handled him gently enough; but his voice and his face were not kind, And it was but a hopeless case, he had seen it and made up his mind, And he said to me roughly ' The lad will need little more of your care/ ' All the more need,' I told him, * to seek the Lord Jesus in prayer ; They are all his children here, and I pray for them all as my own : ' But he turned to me, * Ay, good woman, can prayer set a broken bone 1 ' Then he mutter'd half to himself, but I know that I heard him say ^ All very well — but the good Lord Jesus has had his day/ 90 IN THE children's HOSPITAL. III. Had ? has it come 1 It has only dawn'd. It will come by and by. how could I serve in the wards if the hope of the world were a lie ? How could I bear with the sights and the loathsome smells of disease But that He said Ye do it to me, when ye do it to these ' ? IV. So he went. And we past to this ward where the younger children are laid : Here is the cot of our orphan, our darling, our meek little maid ; Empty you see just now ! We have lost her who loved her so much — Patient of pain tho* as quick as a sensitive plant to the touch ; IN THE children's HOSPITAL. 91 Hers was the prettiest prattle, it often moved me to tears, Hers was the gratefullest heart I have found in a child of her years — Nay you remember our Emmie ; you used to send her the flowers ; How she would smile at 'em, play with 'em, talk to 'em hours after hours ! They that can wander at will where the works of the Lord are reveal'd Little guess what joy can be got from a cowslip out of the field ; Flowers to these ' spirits in prison ' are all they can know of the spring, They freshen and sweeten the wards like the waft of an Angel's wing ; And she lay with a flower in one hand and her thin hands crost on her breast — 92 IN THE children's HOSPITAL. Wan, but as pretty as heart can desire, and we thought her at rest, Quietly sleeping — so quiet, our doctor said ^ Poor little dear, Nurse, I must do it to-morrow ; she'll never live thro' it, I fear.' V. J walk'd with our kindly old Doctor as far as the head of the stair. Then I return'd to the ward ; the child didn't see I was there. VI. Never since I was nurse, had I been so grieved and so vext ! Emmie had heard him. Softly she call'd from her cot to the next. IX THE children's HOSPITAL. 93 • He says I shall never Kve thro' it, Annie, what shaU I do r Annie consider'd. ^If I,' said the wise little Annie, ' was you, I should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to help me, for, Emmie, you see. It's all in the picture there : " Little children should come to me.'^ ' (Meaning the print that you gave us, I find that it always can please Our children, the dear Lord Jesus with children about his knees.) ' Yes, and I will,' said Emmie, * but then if I call to the Lord, How should he know that it's me 1 such a lot of beds in the ward ! ' That was a puzzle for Annie. Again she consider'd and said : 94 i^ THE children's hospital. ' Emmie, you put out your arms, and you leave 'em outsi'de on the bed — The Lord has so much to see to ! but,. Emmie, you tell it him plain, It's the little girl with her arms lying out on the counterpane/ VII. I had sat three nights by the child — I could not watch her for four — My brain had begun to reel — I felt I could do it no more. That was my sleeping-night, but I thought that it never would pass. There was a thunderclap once, and a clatter of hail on the glass, IN THE children's HOSPITAL. 95 And there was a phantom cry that I heard as I tost about, The motherless bleat of a lamb in the storm and the darkness without ; My sleep was broken besides with dreams of the dread- ful knife And fears for our delicate Emmie who scarce would escape with her life ; Then in the gray of the morning it seem'd she stood by me and smiled, And the doctor came at his hour, and we went to see to the child. VIII. He had brought his ghastly tools : we believed her asleep again — Her dear, long, lean, little arms lying out on the counterpme ; 96 IN THE children's HOSPITAL. Say that His day is done ! Ah why should we caie what they say ? The Lord of the children had heard her, and Emmie had past away. 97 DEDICATORY POEM TO THE PRINCESS ALICE. Dead Princess, living Power, if that, which lived True life, live on — and if the fatal kiss. Born of true life and love, divorce thee not From earthly love and hfe — ^if what we call The spirit flash not all at once from out This shadow into Substance — then perhaps The mellow'd murmur of the people's praise From thine own State, and all our breadth of realm, Where Love and Longing dress thy deeds in light. Ascends to thee ; and this March morn that sees Thy Soldier-brother's bridal orange-bloom Break thro' the yews and cypress of thy grave, H 98 DEDICATORY POEM TO THE PRINCESS ALICE. And thine Imperial mother smile again, May send one ray to thee ! and who can tell — Thou — England's England-loving daughter — thou Dying so English thou wouldst have her flag Borne on thy coffin — where is he can swear But that some broken gleam from our poor earth May touch thee, while remembering thee, I lay At thy pale feet this ballad of the deeds «Of England, and her banner in the East ! 99 THE DEFENCE OF LUC KNOW. I. Banner of England, not for a season, banner of Britain, hast thou Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle- cry ! Never with mightier glory than when we had reared thee on high Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow — Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew, And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of I England blew. H 2 100 THE DEFENC:^ OF LUCKNOW. II Frail were the works tliat defended the hold that we held with our lives — Women and children among us, God help them, our children and wives ! Hold it we might — and for fifteen days or for twenty at most. ' Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post ! ' Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave : Cold were his brows when we kiss'd him — we laid him that night in his grave. * Every man die at his post ! ' and there hail'd on our houses and halls Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls, THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 101 Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade, Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoopt to the spade, Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell Striking the hospital wall, crashing thro' it, their shot and their shell, Death — for their spies were among us, their marks- men were told of our best. So that the brute bullet broke thro' the brain that could think for the rest ; Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our feet — Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us round — Death at the glimpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street. 102 THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace, and death in the ground ! Mine ? yes, a mine ! Countermine ! down, down ! and creep thro' the hole ! Keep the revolver in hand ! you can hear him — the murderous mole ! Quiet, ah ! quiet — wait till the point of the pickaxe l3e thro' ! Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before — Kow let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no more ; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of Eng- land blew ! THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 103 III. Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day Soon as the blast of that underground thunderclap echoed away, Dark thro* the smoke and the sulphur Hke so many^ fiends in their hell — Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell* upon yell — Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemy felL What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the Redan ! Storm at the Water-gate ! storm at the Bailey- gate ! storm, and it ran Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drowned by the tide — 104 THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who shall escape 1 Kill or be kill'd, live or die, they shall know we are soldiers and men ! Keady ! take aim at their leaders — their masses are gapp'd with our grape — Backward they reel like the w\ave, like the wave flinging forward again, Flpng and foiFd at the last by the handful they could not subdue ; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of Eng- land blew. IV. Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb, Strong with the strength of the race to command, to obey, to endure, THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 105 Each of ^us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but on him ; Still — could we watch at all points ? we were every day fewer and fewer. There was a whisper among us, but only a whisper that past : ' Children and wives — if the tigers leap into the fold unawares— Every man die at his post — ^and the foe may outlive us at last — Better to fall by the hands that they love, than to fall into theirs ! ' Roar upon roar in a moment two mines by the enemy sprung Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor palisades. Rifleman, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand be as true ! 106 THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. Sharp is the fire of assault, better aimed are your flank fusillades — Twice do we hurl them to earth from the ladders to which they had clung, Twice from the ditch where they shelter we drive them with hand-grenades ; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of Eng- land blew. T. Then on another wild morning another wild earth- quake out-tore Clean from our lines of defence ten or twelve good paces or more. Kifleman, high on the roof, hidden there from the » light of the sun — One has leapt up on the breach, crying out : ' Follow me, follow me ! ' — THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 107 Mark him — ^he falls ! then another, and him too, and down goes he. Had they been bold enough then, who can tell bnt the traitors had won ? Boardings and rafters and doors — an embrasure ! make way for the gun ! Now double-charge it with grape ! It is charged and we fire, and they run. Praise to our Indian brothers, and let the dark face have his due ! Thanks to the kindly dai-k faces who fought with us, faithful and few. Fought with the bravest among us, and drove them, and smote them, and slew, That ever upon the topmost roof our banner in India blew. 108 THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. VI. Men will forget what we suffer and not what we do. We can fight But to be soldier all day and be sentinel all thro' the night — Ever the mine and -assault, our sallies, their lying alarms. Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and soundings to arms, Ever the labour of fifty that had to be done by &ve, Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive. Ever the day with its traitorous death from the loop- holes around, Ever the night with its coffinless corpse to be laid in the ground. Heat like the mouth of a hell, or a deluge of cataract skies. THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 109 Stench of old offal decaying, and infinite torment of flies, Thoughts of the breezes of May blowing over an- English field Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the wound that would not be heard, Lopping away of the limb by the pitiful-pitiless knife, — ■ Torture and trouble in vain, — ^for it never could save us a life. Valour of delicate women who tended the hospital bed. Horror of women in travail among the dying and dead. Grief for our perishing children, and never a moment for grief. Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of relief, Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butchered for all that we knew — 110 THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. Then day and night, day and night, coming down on the still-shatter'd waUa Millions of musket-Lullets, and thousands of cannon- balls — • But ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew VII. Hai'k cannonade, fusillade ! is it true what was told by the scout, Out ram and Havelock breaking their way throvigh the fell mutineers 1 Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears ! All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout, Havelock's glorious Highlanders answer with con- quering cheers, Sick from the hospital echo them, women and children come out, THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOYT. Ill Blessing the wholesome white faces of Havelock's good fusileers, Kissing the war-harden*d hand of the Highlander wet with their tears ! Dance to the pihroch ! — saved ! we are saved ! — is it you 1 is it you ] Saved by the valour of Havelock, saved by the bless- ing of Heaven ! * Hold it for fifteen days ! ' we have held it for eighty- seven I And ever aloft on the palace roof the old banner of England blew. 112 Sm JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. (In Wales.) My friend should meet me somewliere hereabout To take me to that hiding in the hills. I have broke their cage, no gilded one, I trow — I read no more the prisoner's mute wail Scribbled or carved upon the pitiless stone ; I find hard rocks, hard life, hard cheer, or none, For I am emptier than a friar's brains ; But God is with me in this wilderness, These wet black passes and foam-churning chasms, — And God's free air, and hope of better things. SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. 113 I would I knew their speech ; not now to glean, Not now — I hope to do it — some scattered ears, Some ears for Christ in this wild field of Wales — But, bread, merely for bread. This tongue that wagg'd They said with such heretical arrogance Against the proud archbishop Arundel — So much God's cause was fluent in it — is here But as a Latin Bible to the crowd ; ' Bara ! ' — what use 1 The Shepherd, when I speak. Vailing a sullen eyelid with his hard ' Dim Saesneg ' passes, wroth at things of old — No fault of mine. Had he God's word in Welsh He might be kindlier : happily come the day ! Not least art thou, thou little Bethlehem In Judah, for in thee the Lord was born ; Nor thou in Britain, little Lutterworth, Least, for in thee the word was born again. I 114 SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. Heaven-sweet Evangel, ever-living word, Who whilom e spakest to the South in Greek About the soft Mediterranean shores, And then in Latin to the Latin crowd, As good need was — thou hast come to talk our isle. Hereafter thou, fulfilling Pentecost, Must learn to use the tongues of all the world. Yet art thou thine own witness that thou bringest Kot peace, a sword, a fire. What did he say, My frighted Wiclif-preacher whom I crost In flying hither 1 that one night a crowd Throng'd the waste field about the city gates : The king was on them suddenly with a host. Why there ? they came to hear their preacher. Then Some cried on Cobham, on the good Lord Cobham ; Ay, for they love me ! but the king — nor voice Nor finger raised against liim — took and hanged, SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. 115 Took, hanged and burnt — how many — thirty-nine — Call'd it rebeUion — hang'd, poor friends, as rebels And burned alive as heretics ! for your Priest Labels — to take the king along with him — All heresy, treason : but to call men traitors May make men traitors. llose of Lancaster, E/ed in thy birth, redder with household war, Kow reddest with the blood of holy men. Redder to be, red rose of Lancaster — If somewhere in the North, as Rumour sang Fluttering the hawks of this crown-lusting line — By firth and loch thy silver sister grow,^ That wei*e my rose, there my allegiance duei. Self-starved, they say — nay, murder'd doubtless dead'. So to this king I cleaved : my friend was be. Once my fast friend : I would have given my life » Richard II. I2 116 SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. To help his own from scathe, a thousand lives To save his soul. He might have come to learn Our Wiclif s learning : but the worldly Priests Who fear the king's hard common-sense should find What rotten piles uphold their masonwork, Urge him to foreign war. had he will'd I might have stricken a lusty stroke for him, But he would not ; far liever led my friend Back to the pure and universal church, But he would not ; whether that heirless flaw In his throne's title make him feel so frail. He leans on Antichrist ; or that his mind. So quick, so capable in soldiership, In matters of the faith, alas the while ! More worth than all the kingdoms of this world, Huns in the rut, a coward to the Priest. SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. 117 Burnt — good Sir Roger Acton, my dear friend ! Burnt too, my faithful preacher, Beverley ! Lord give thou power to thy two witnesses ! Lest the false faith make merry over them ! Two — nay but thirty-nine have risen and stand, Dark with Jhe smoke of human sacrifice, Before thy light, and cry continually — Cry — against whom ? Him, who should bear the sword Of Justice — what ! the kingly, kindly boy ; Who took the world so easily heretofore, My boon companion, tavern-fellow — liim Who gibed and japed — in many a merry tale That shook our sides — at Pardoners, Summoners, Friars, absolution-sellers, monkeries And nunneries, when the wild hour and the wine Had set the wits aflame. 118 SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. Harry of Monmoutli, Or Amurath of the East 1 Better to sink Thy fleurs-de-lys in slime again, and fling Thy royalty back into the riotous fits Of wine and harlotry — thy shame, and mine, Thy comrade — than to persecute the Lord, .And play the Saul that never will be Paul. ^urnt, burnt ! and while this mitred Arundel T)ooms our unlicensed preacher to the flame, ' The mitre-sanction'd harlot draws his clerks Into the suburb — their hard celibacy, •Sworn to be veriest ice of pureness, molten Into adulterous living, or such crimes As holy Paul — ^a shame to speak of them — Among the heathen — Sanctuary granted SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. 119 To bandit, thief, assassin — yea to liini Who hacks his mother's throat — denied to him, Who finds the Saviour in his mother tongue. The Gospel, the Priest's pearl, flung down to swine — The swine, lay-men, lay- women, who will come, God willhig, to outlearn the filthy friar. Ah rather. Lord, than that thy Gospel, meant To coui'se and range thro' all the world, should be Tether'd to these dead pillars of the Church — Kather than so, if thou wilt have it so, Burst vein, snap sinew, and crack heart, and life Pass in the fire of Babylon ! but how long, O Lord, how long ! My friend should meet me here. Here is the copse, the fountain and — a Cross ! To thee, dead wood, I bow not head nor knees. Kather to thee, green boscage, work of God, Black holly, and white-flower'd wayfaiing-tree 1 120 SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. Kather to thee, thou living water, drawn By this good Wiclif mountain down from heaven, And speaking clearly in thy native tongue — No Latin — He that thirsteth, come and drink ! Eh ! how I angered Arundel asking me To worship Holy Cross ! I spread mine arms, God's work, I said, a cross of flesh and blood And holier. That was heresy. (My good fiiend By this time should be with me.) * Images ] ' * Bury them as God's truer images f Are daily buried.' * Heresy. — Penance ? ' ' Fast, Hairshirt and scourge — nay, let a man repent. Do penance in his heart, God hears him.' * Heresy — - Not shriven, not saved 1 * * What profits an ill Priest Between me and my God 1 I would not spurn Good counsel of good friends, but shrive myself No, not to an Apostle.' ^ Heresy.' SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. 121 (My friend is long in coming.) * Pilgrimages 1 ' * Drink, bagpipes, revelling, devil's-dances, vice. The poor man's money gone to fat the friar. Who reads of begging saints in Scripture 1 * — * Heresy ' — (Hath he been here — not found me — ^gone again ] Have I mislearnt our place of meeting 1) ' Bread — Bread left after the blessing ? ' how they stared, That was their main test-question — glared at me ! * He veil'd Himself in flesh, and now He veils His flesh in bread, body and bread together.* Then rose the howl of all the cassock*d wolves, * No bread, no bread. God's body 1 ' Archbishop, Bishop, Priors, Canons,. Friars, belMngers, Parish-clerks — * No bread, no bread ! ' — * Authority of the Church, Power of the keys ! ' — Then I, God help me, I So mock'd, so spurn'd, so baited two whole days — I lost myself and fell from evenness, 122 SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. And raiFd at all the Popes, that ever since Sylvester shed the venom of world-wealth Into the church, had only proven themselves Poisoners, murderers. Well — God pardon all — Me, them, and all the world — ^yea, that proud Priest, That mock-meek mouth of utter Antichrist, That traitor to King Eichard and the truth, Who rose and doom'd me to the fire. Amen ! Nay, I can bum, so that the Lord of life Be by me in my death. Those three ! the fom-th Was like the son of God. Not burnt were they. On them the smell of burning had not past. That was a miracle to convert the king. These Pharisees, this Caiaphas- Arundel What miracle could turn ] He here again, He thwarting their traditions of Himself, SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. 123 ZTe would be found a heretic to Himself, And doom'd to bum alive. So, caught, I bum. Burn 1 heathen men have borne as much as this, For freedom, or the sake of those they loved. Or some less cause, some cause far less than mine ; For every other cause is less than mine. The moth will singe her wings, and singed return, Her love of light quenching her fear of pain — How now, my soul, we do not heed the fire 1 Faint-hearted 1 tut ! — ^faint-stomach'd ! faint as I am, God willing, I will burn for Him. Who comes 1 A thousand marks are set upon my head. Friend 1 — ^foe perhaps — a tussle for it then ! ISTay, but my friend. Thou art so well disguised, I knew thee not. Hast thou brought bread with thee 1 I have not broken bread for fifty hours. 124 SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM. None 1 I am damn*d already by the Priest For holding there was bread where bread was none — No bread. My friends await me yonder 1 Yes. Lead on then. Up the mountain 1 Is it far 1 Not far. Climb first and reach me down thy hand. I am not like to die for lack of bread, For I must live to testify by fire.* * He was burnt on Christmas Day/HIT. 125 COLUMBUS. Chains, my good lord : in your raised brows I read Some wonder at our chamber ornaments. We brought this iron from our isles of gold. Does the king know you deign to visit him Whom once he rose from off his throne to greet Before his people, Kke his brother king 1 I saw your face that morning in the crowd. At Barcelona — tho' you were not then So bearded. Yes. The city deck'd herself To meet me, roar'd my name j the king, the queen 126 COLUMBUS. Bad me be seated, speak, and tell them all The story of my voyage, and while I spoke The crowd^s roar fell as at the ' Peace, be still ! ' And when I ceased to speak, the king, the queen, Sank from their thrones, and melted into tears. And knelt, and lifted hand and heart and voice In praise to God who led me thro' the wasta And then the great ' Landamus ' rose to heaven. Chains for the Admiral of the Ocean ! chains For him who gave a new heaven, a new earth, As holy John had prophesied of me, Gave glory and more empire to the kings Of Spain than all their battles ! chains for him Who pushed liis prows into the setting sun, And made West East, and sail'd the Dragon's mouth, And came upon the Mountain of the World, And saw the rivers roll from Paradise ! COLUMBUS. 127 Chains ! we are Admirals of the Ocean, we, "We and our sons for ever. Ferdinand Hath sign'd it and our Holy Catholic queen — Of the Ocean — of the Indies — Admirals we — Our title, which we never mean to yield, Our guerdon not alone for what we did, But our amends for all we might have done — The vast occasion of our stronger life — Eighteen long years of waste, seven in your Spain, Lost, showing courts and kings a truth the babe "Will suck in with his milk hereafter — earth A sphere. "Were you at Salamanca 1 !N"o. We fronted there the learning of all Spain, All their cosmogonies, their astronomies : Guess-work they guess'd it, but the golden guess Is mLorning-star to the full round of truth. 128 COLUMBUS. No guess-work ! I was certain of my goal ; Some thought it heresy, but that would not hold. King David call'd the heavens a hide, a tent Spread over earth, and so this earth was flat : Some cited old Lactantius : could it be That trees grew downward, rain fell upward, men Walk'd like the fly on ceilings ] and besides, The great Augustine wrote that none could breathe Within the zone of heat ; so might there be Two Adams, two mankinds, and that was clean Against God^s word : thus was I beaten back, And chiefly to my sorrow by the Church, And thought to turn my face from Spain, appeal Once more to France or England ; but our Queen Recaird me, for at last their Highnesses Were half-assured this earth might be a sphere. COLUMBUS. 129 All glory to the all-blessed Trinity, All glory to the mother of our Lord, And Holy Chnrch, from whom I never swerved Not even by one hair's-breadth of heresy, I have accomplished what I came to do. Not yet — ^not all — last night a dream — I sail'd On my first voyage, harass'd by the frights Of my first crew, their curses and their groans. The great flame-banner borne by Tenerifie, The compass, like an old friend false at last In our most need, appall'd them, and the wind Still westward, and the weedy seas — ^at length The landbird, and the branch with berries on it, The carven staff* — and last the light, the light On Guanahani ! but I changed the name ; San Salvador I call'd it ; and the light Crew ag I gazed, and brought out a broad sky 130 COLUMBUS. Of dawning over — not those alien palms, The marvel of that fair new nature — not That Indian isle, but our most ancient East Moriah with Jerusalem ; and I saw The glory of the Lord flash up, and heat Thro* all the homely town from jasper, sapphire, Chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, sardius, Chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, Jacynth, and amethyst — and those twelve gates. Pearl — and I woke, and thought — death — I shall die- I am written in the Lamb's own Book of Life To walk within the gloiy of the Lord Sunless and moonless, utter light — but no ! The Lord had sent this bright, strange dream to me To mind me of the secret vow I made "When Spain was waging war against the Moor— I strove myself with Spain against the Moor. There came two voices from the Sepulchre, Two friars crying that if Spain should oust COLUMBUS. 131 The Moslem from her limit, he, the fierce Soldan of Egypt, would break down and raze The blessed tomb of Christ ; whereon I vow*d That, if our Princes harken'd to my prayer, AVhatever wealth I brought from that new world Should, in this old, be consecrate to lead A new crusade against the Saracen, And free the Holy Sepulchre from thrall. Gold ] I had brought your Princes gold enough If left alone I Being but a Genovese, I am handled worse than had I been a Moor, And breach'd the belting wall of Cambalu, And given the Great Khan's palaces to the Moor, Or clutch'd the sacred crown of Prester John, And cast it to the Moor : but Jiad I brought From Solomon's now-recover'd Opliir all The gold that Solomon's navies carried home, K2 132 COLUMBUS. Would that have gilded me 1 Blue blood of Spain, The* quartering your own royal arms of Spain, I have not : blue blood and black blood of Spain, The noble and the convict of Castile, Howl'd me from Hispaniola ; for you know The flies at home, that ever swarm about And cloud the highest heads, and murmur down Truth in the distance — these outbuzz'd me so That even our prudent king, our righteous queen — I pray'd them being so calumniated They would commission one of weight and worth To judge between my slander'd self and me — Fonseca my main enemy at their court, They send me out his tool, Bovadilla, one As ignorant and impolitic as a beast — - Blockish irreverence, brainless greed— who sacked My dwelling, seized upon my papers, loosed My captives, feed the rebels of the crown. COLUMBUS. 133 Sold the crown-farms for all but notlimg, gave All but free leave for all to work the mines, Drove me and my good brothers home in chains, And gathering ruthless gold — a single piece Weighed nigh four thousand Castillanos— so They tell me — weigh'd him down into the abysm — The hurricane of the latitude on him fell, The seas of our discovering over-roll Him and his gold ; the fi*ailer caravel. With what was mine, came happily to the shore. There was a glimmering of God's hand. And God Hath more than glimmered on me. my lord, I swear to you I heard his voice between The thunders in the black Yeragua nights, * soul of little faith, slow to believe ! Have I not been about thee from thy birth 1 134 COLUMBUS. Given thee the keys of the great Ocean-sea ? Set thee in light till time shall be no more ? Is it I who have deceived thee or the world ? Endure ! thou hast done so well for men, that men Cry out against thee : was it otherwise "With mine own Son ? ' And more than once in days Of doubt and cloud and storm, when drowning hope Sank all but out of sight, I heard his voice, * Be not cast down. I lead thee by the hand, Fear not.* And I shall hear his voice again — I know that he has led me all my life, I am not yet too old to work his will — His voice again. Still for all tliat, my lord, I l}^ng here bedridden and alone, COLUMBUS. 135 Cast off, put by, scouted by court and king — The first discoverer starves — his followers, all Flower into fortune — our world's way — and I, Without a roof that I can call mine own, With scarce a coin to buy a meal withal. And seeing what a door for scoundrel scum I open'd to the West, thro* which the lust, Villany, violence, avarice, of your Spain Poured in on all those happy naked isles — Their kindly native princes slain or slaved. Their wives and children Spanish concubines. Their innocent hospitalities quench'd in blood. Some dead of hunger, some beneath the scourge, Some over-labour'd, some by their own hands, — • Yea, the dear mothers, crazing Nature, kill Their babies at the breast for hate of Spain — Ah God, the harmless people whom we found In Hispaniola's island-Paradise 1 136 COLUMBUS. Who took us for tlie very Gods from Heaven, And we have sent them very fiends from Hell ; And I myself, myself not blameless, I Could sometimes wish I had never led the way. Only the ghost of our great Catholic Queen Smiles on me, saying, * Be thou comforted ! This creedless people will be brought to Christ And own the holy governance of Rome.' But who could dream that we, who bore the Cross Thither, Avere excommunicated there. For curbing ciimes that scandalised the Cross, By him, the Catalonian JNIinorite, Home's Yicar in our Indies ? who believe These hard memorials of cur truth to Spain Clung closer to us for a longer term COLUMBUS. 137 Than any fiiend of ours at Court 1 and yet Pardon — too harsh, unjust. I am racked with pains* You see that I have hung them by my bed, And I will have them buried in my grave. Sir, in that flight of ages which are God's Own voice to justify the dead — perchance Spain once the most chivalric race on earth, Spain then the mightiest, wealthiest realm on earth. So made by me, may seek to unbury me. To lay me in some shrine of this old Spain, Or in that vaster Spain I leave to Spain. Then some one standing by my grave will say, * Behold the bones of Christopher Colon * — * Ay, but the chains, what do the^j mean — the chains 1 ' — I sorrow for that kindly child of Spain 138 COLUMBUS. . AYho then will have to answer, ^ These same chains Bound these same bones back thro' the Atlantic sea, Which he unchained for all the world to come/ Queen of Heaven who seest the souls in Hell And purgatory, I suffer all as much As they do — for the moment. Stay, my son Is here anon : my son will speak for me Ablier than I can in these spasms that grind Bone against bone. You will not. One last word. You move about the Court, I pray you tell King Ferdinand who plays with me, that one, Whose life has been no play with him and his Hidalgos — shipwrecks, famines, fevers, fights. Mutinies, treacheries — winked at, and condoned — That I am loyal to him till the death. And ready — tho' our Holy Catholic Queen, COLUMBUS. 139 Who fain had pledged her jewels on my first voyage, Whose hope ^yas mine to spread the Catholic faith, Who wept with me when I returned in chains, Who sits beside the blessed Yirgin now. To whom I send my prayer by night and day — She is gone — but you will tell the King, that I, Hacked as I am with gout, and wrenched with pains Gain'd in the service of His Highness, yet Am ready to sail forth on one last voyage. And readier, if the King would hear, to lead One last crusade against the Saracen, And save the Holy Sepulchre from thrall. Going 1 I am old and slighted : you have dared Somewhat perhaps in coming 1 my poor thanks ! I am but an alien and a Genovese. HO THE VOYAGE OF MAELDJJNE. (Founded on an Irish Legend, a.d. 700.) I. I WAS the chief of the race — he had stricken my father dead — But I gathered my fellows together, I swore I would strike off his head. Each of them look'd like a king, and was noble in birth as in w^orth, And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race upon earth. Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song, And each of them liefer had died than have done one another a wrong. # THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUXE. 14:1 lie lived on an isle in the ocean — we -saird on a Friday morn — He that had slain my father the day before I was born. II. And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the shore was he. But a sudden blast blew us out and away thro* a boundless sea. III. And we came to the Silent Isle that we never had touch'd at before, Where a silent ocean always broke on a silent shore, And the brooks glittered on in the light without sound, and the long waterfalls Poui'^d in a thunderless plunge to the base of the mountain walls, 142 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. And the poplar and cypress unshaken by storm flourished up beyond sight, And the pine shot aloft from the crag to an un- believable height, And high in the heaven above it there flickered a songless lark. And the cock couldn't crow, and the bull couldn't low, and the dog couldn't bark. And round it we went, and thro' it, but never a murmur, a breath — It was all of it fair as life, it was all of it quiet as deatL, And we hated the beautiful Isle, for whenever we strove to speak Our voices were thinner and fainter than any flitter- mouse-shriek ; And the men that were mighty of tongue and could raise such a battle-cry That a hundred who heard it would rush on a thousand lances and die — THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUXE. 143 O they to be durnb'd by the charm ! — so fluster'd with anger were they They almost fell on each other ; but after we saiFd away. IV. And we came to the Isle of Shouting, we landed, a score of wild bu-ds Cried from the topmost summit with human voices and words ; Once in an hour they cried, and whenever their voices peaFd The steer fell down at the plow and the harvest died from the field, And the men dropt dead in the valleys and half of the cattle went lame, And the roof sank in on the hearth, and the dwelling broke into flame ; lii THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUXE. And the shouting of these wild birds ran into the hearts of my crew, Till they shouted along with the shouting and seized one another and slew ; But I drew them the one from the other ; I saw that we could not stay, And we left the dead to the birds and we sail'd with our wounded away. V. And we came to the Isle of Flowers : their breath met us out on the seas. For the Spring and the middle Summer sat each on the lap of the breeze ; And the red passion-flower to the cliffs, and the dark blue clematis, clung, And starred with a myriad blossom the long con- volvulus hung ; THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUXE. 145 And the topmost spire of the moiintaiii was lilies in lieu of snow, And the lilies like glaciers winded down, running out below Thro' the fire of the tulip and poppy, the blaze of gorse, and the blush Of millions of roses that sprang without leaf or a thorn from the bush ; And the whole isle-side flashing down from the peak without ever a tree Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea ; And we roll'd upon capes of crocus and vaunted our kith and our kin. And we wallowed in beds of lilies, and chanted the^ triumph of Finn, Till each like a golden image was pollen'd from head to feet 146 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. And each was as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the middle-day heat. Blossom and blossom, and promise of blossom, but never a fruit 1 And we hated the Flowering Isle, as we liated the isle that was mute, And we tore up the flowers by the million and flung them in bight and bay, And we left but a naked rock, and in anger we saird away. VI. And we came to the Isle of Fruits : all round from the cliJBfs and the capes, Purple or amber, dangled a hundred fathom of grapes, THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 1^7 And the warm melon lay like a little sun on the tawny sand, And the ^g ran up from the beach and rioted over the land, And the mountain arose like a jewell'd throne thro' the fragrant air, Glowing with all-colour'd plums and with golden masses of pear, And the crimson and scarlet of berries that flamed upon bine and vine. But in every berry and fruit was the poisonous pleasure of wine ; And the peak of the mountain was apples, the hugest that ever were seen. And they prest, as they grew, on each other, with hardly a leaflet between. And all of them redder than rosiest health or than utterest shame, l2 148 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUXE. And setting, when Even descended, the very sunset aflame ; And we stay'd three days, and we gorged and we madden'd, till every one drew His sword on his fellow to slay him, and ever they struck and they slew ; And myself, I had eaten but sj^arely, and fought till I sundered the fiTiy, Then I bad them remember my father's death, and we sail'd away. VII. And we came to the Isle of Fire : we were lured hy the light from afar, For the peak sent up one league of fire to the ITorthem Star; THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 149 Lured by the glai'e and the blare, but scarcely could stand upiight, For the whole isle shudder'd and shook like a man in a mortal affright ; We were giddy besides with the fruits we had gorged, and so crazed that at last There were some leiip'd into the fire ; and away we sail'd, and we past Over that undersea isle, where the water is clearer than air : Down we look'd : what a garden ! bliss, what a Paradise there ! Towers of a happier time, low down in a rainbow deep Silent palaces, quiet fields of eternal sleep ! And tliree of the gentlest and best of my people, whatever I iould say, Hunged head down in the sea, and the Paradise trembled away. 150 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. VIII. And we came to the Bounteous Isle, where the heavens lean low on the land, And ever at dawn from the cloud glitter'd o'er us a sunbright hand, Then it open'd and dropt at the side of each man, as he rose from his rest. Bread enough for his need till the labourless day dipt under the West ; And we wander'd about it and thro* it. O never was time so good ! And we sang of the triumphs of Finn, and the boast of our ancient blood, And we gazed at the wandering wave as we sat by the gurgle of springs. And we chanted the songs of the Bards and the glories of fairy kings ; THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 151 But at length we began to be weary, to sigh, and to * stretch and yawn, Till we hated the Bounteous Isle and the sunbright hand of the dawn, For there was not an enemy near, but the whole green Isle was our own. And we took to playing at ball, and we took to throwing the stone. And we took to playing at battle, but that was a perilous play. For the passion of battle was in us, we slew and wo saiFd away. IX. And we came to the Isle of Witohes and heard their musical cr}^ — ' Come to us, O come, come ' in the stormy red of a sky 152 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. Dashing the fires and the shadows of dawn on the beautiful shapes, , For a ^vild witch naked as heaven stood on each of the loftiest capes, And a hundred ransred on the rock like white sea- o birds in a row, • And a hundred gamboll'd and pranced on the wrecks in the sand below, And a hundred splash'd from the ledges, and bosom'd the burst of the spray, But I knew we should ftxll on each other, and hastily saird away. X. . And we came in an evil time to the Isle of the Double Towers - One was of smooth-cut stone, one carved all over with flowers THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 153 But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under the dells. And they shocked on each other and butted each other with clashing of bells, And the daws flew out of the Towers and jangled and wrangled in vain, And the clash and boom of the bells rang into the heart and the brain, - Till the passion of battle was on us, and all took sides with the Towers, There were some for the clean-cut stone, there were more for the carven flowers, And the wrathful thunder of God peal'd over us all the day, For the one half slew the other, and after we sail'd away. 154 THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. XI. And we came to the Isle of a Saint who had sail'd with St. Brendan of yore, He had lived ever since on the Isle and his winters were fifteen score, And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes were sweet. And his white hair sank to his heels and his white beard fell to his feet, And he spake to me, ' Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine ! Kemember the words of the Lord when he told us " Vengeance is mine ! " His fathers have slain thy fathers in war or in single strife. Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a hfe for a life, THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE. 155 Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder last 1 Go back to the Isle of Finn and suffer the Past to be Past.' And we kissed the fringe of his beard and we pi^y'd as we heard him pray, And the Holy man he assoil'd us, and sadly we sail'd away. XII. And we came to the Isle we were blown from, and there on the shore was he, The man that had slain my father. I saw him and let him be. weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife and the sin. When I landed again, with a tithe of my men, on the Isle of Finn. 156 DE PEOFUXDIS. THE TWO GTwEETINGS. I. Out of tli8 deep, my cliil J, out of the deep, "Where all that was to be, in all that was, Whirl'd for a million seons thro* the vast Waste dawn of multitudinous-eddying light — Out of the deej), my child, out of the deep, Thro' all this changing world of changeless law. And every phase of ever-heightening life, And nine long months of antenatal gloom, . With this last moon, this crescent — her dark orb Touch'd with earth's light — thou comest, darling bov; DE PROFUNDIS. Our own ; a babe in lineament and limb Perfect, and prophet of tbe perfect man ; Whose face and form are hers and mine in one, Indissolubly married like our love ; Live, and be happy in thyself, and serve This mortal race thy kin so well, that men May bless thee as we bless thee, O young life Breaking with laughter from the dark ; and may The fated channel where thy motion lives Be prosperously shaped, and sway thy course Along the years of haste and random youth Unshatter'd ; then full-current thro* full man ; And last in kindly curves, with gentlest fall, By quiet fields, a slowly-dying power, To that last deep where we and thou are still. 157 158 DE PROFUNDIS. II. I. Out of tlie deep, my child, out of the deep, From that great deep, before our world begins, Whereon the Spirit of God moves as he will — Out of the deep, my child, out of the deep, From that true world within the world we see, Whereof our world is but the bounding shore — Out of the deep, Spirit, out of the deep. With this ninth moon, that sends the hidden sun Down yon dark sea, thou comest, darling boy. DE PROFUNDIS. 159 II. For in the world, which is not ours, They said * Let us make man * and that which should be man, From that one light no man can look upon, Drew to this shore lit by the suns and moons And all the shadows. dear Spirit half-lost In thine own shadow and this fleshly sign That thou art thou — who wailest being born And banished into mystery, and the pain Of this divisible-indivisible world, Among the numerable-innumerable Sun, sun, and sun, thro* finite-infinite space In finite-infinite Time — our mortal veil And shatter'd phantom of that infinite One, Who made thee unconceivably Thyself Out of His whole World-self and all in aU — Liv^e thou ! and of the grain and husk, the grape 160 DE PKOFUNDIS. And ivyberiy, choose ; and still depart From death to death thro' life and life, and find Nearer and ever nearer Him, who wrought Not Matter^ nor the finite-infinite, But this main-miracle, that thou art thon, With power on thine own act and on the world. DE PROFUNDIS. IGl THE HUMAN CRY. I. Hallowed be Thy name — Halleluiah !- Infinite Ideality ! Immeasurable Keality ! Infinite Personality ! Hallowed be Thy name — Halleluiah ! II. We feel we are nothing — ^for all is Thou and in Thee ; We feel we are something — that also has come from Thee ; We know we are nothing — ^but Thou wilt help us to be. Hallowed be Thy name — Halleluiah ! M 162 PEEFATORY SONNET To THE 'Nineteenth Century.' Those that of late had fleeted far and fast To touch all shores, now leaving to the skill Of others their old craft seaworthy still, Have charter'd this ; where, mindful of the post; Our true co-mates regather round the mast ; Of diverse tongue, but with a common will Here, in this roaring moon of daffodil And crocus, to put forth and brave the bla^t ; For some, descending from the sacred peak Of hoar high-templed Faith, have leagued again Their lot with ours to rove the world about ; And some are wilder comrades, sworn to seek If any golden harbour be for men In seas of Death and sunless gulfs of Doubt. 163 TO THE REV. W, II, BROOKFIELD. Brooks, for they call'd you so that knew you best, Old Brooks, who loved so well to mouth my rhymes, How oft we two have heard St. Mary's chimes ! How oft the Cantab supper, host and guest, "Would echo helpless laughter to your jest ! How oft with him we paced that walk of lim^s, Him, the lost light of those dawn-golden times, Who loved you well ! Now both are gone to rest. Yon man of humourous melancholy mark. Dead of some inward agony — is it so ? Our kindlier, trustier Jaques, past away ! I cannot laud this life, it looks so dark : S/ctas ovap — dream of a shadow, go — God bless you. I shall join you in a day. M 2 164 MONTENEGRO. They rose to where their sovran eagle sails, They kept their faith, their freedom, on the height. Chaste, frugal, savage, arm'd by day and night Against the Turk; whose inroad nowhere scales Their headlong passes, but his footstep fails, And red with blood the Crescent reels from fight Before their dauntless hundreds, in prone fight Ey thousands down the crags and thro* the vales, smallest among peoples ! rough rock-throne Of Freedom ! warriors beating back the swarm Of Turkish Islam for five hundred years, Great Tsernogora ! never since thine own Black ridges drew the cloud and brake the storm Has breathed a race of mightier mountaineers. 165 TO VICTOR HUGO. Victor in Drama, Victor in E/Omance, Cloud- weaver of phantasmal hopes and fears, French of the French, and Lord of human tears ; Child-lover j Bard whose fame-lit laurels glance Darkening the wreaths of all that would advance^ Beyond our strait, their claim to be thy peers ; Weird Titan by thy winter weight of years As yet unbroken, Stormy voice of France ! Who dost not love our England — so they say ; I know not — England, France, all man to be Will make one people ere man's race be run : And I, desiring that diviner day, Yield thee full thanks for thy full courtesy To younger England in the boy my son. TEANSLATIONS, ETC. BATTLE OF BRUFANBURH. Constantinus, Xing' of the Scots, after having sworn alle- giance to Athelstan, allied himself with the Danes of Ireland under Anlaf, and invading England, was defeated by Athel- stan and his brother Edmund with great slaughter at Brunanburh in the year 937. I. ^ Athelstan King, Lord among Earls, Bracelet-bestower and Baron of Barons, He with his brother, Edmund Atheling, ' I have more or less availed myself of my son's prose translation of this poem in the Contemporary Review (No- vember 1876). 1<'0 BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH. Gaining a lifelong Glory in battle, Slew with the sword-eclge There by Brunanburh, Brake the shield- wall, Hew'd the lindenwood,^ Hack'd the battleshield, Sons of Edward with hammered brands. II. Theirs was a greatness Got from their Grandsires — Theirs that so often in Strife with their enemies Struck for their hoards and their hearths and their homes. Shields of lindenwood. CATTLE OF BRU^^'AXBURH. 171 III. Bow'd tlie spoiler, Bent the ScotsmaD, Fell the shipcrews Doomed to the death. All the field with blood of the fighters Flowed, from when first the great Sun-star of morningtide, Lamp of the Lord God Lord everlasting, Glode over earth till the glorious creature Sunk to his setting. IV. There lay many a man Marr'd by the javehn, 172 BATTLE OF ERUNANBURH. "Men of tlie Nortliland Shot over shield. There was the Scotsman Weary of war. V. We the West-Saxons, Long as the daylight Lasted, in companies Troubled the track of the host that we hated, Grimly with swords that were sharp from the grind- stone, Fiercely we hack'd at the flyers before us. VI. Mighty the Mercian, Hard was his hand-play, BATTLE OP BRUNANBURH. 173 Sparing not any of Those that with Anlaf, Warriors over the Weltering waters Borne in the bark*s-bosom, Drew to this island, Doomed to the death. VII. rive young kings put asleep by the sword-stroke, Seven strong Earls of the army of Anlaf Fell on the war-field, numberless numbers, Shipmen and Scotsmen. VIII. Then the Norse leader, Dire was his need of it, 174 BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH. Few were his following, Med to Hs warship : Fleeted his vessel to sea with the king in it, Saving his life on the fallow flood. IX. Also the crafty one, Constantinus, Crept to his North again, Hoar-headed hero ! X. Slender reason had He to be proud of The welcome of war-knives — He that was reft of his Folk and his friends that had BATTLE OF BRUXANBURH. 175 Fallen in conflict, Leaving his son too Lost in the carnage, Mangled to morsels, A youngster in war ! XI. Slender reason had He to be glad of The clash of the war-glaive- Traitor and trickster And spurner of treaties — He nor had Anlaf With armies so broken A reason for bragging That they had the better In perils of battle On places of slaughter — 176 BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH. The struggle of standards, The rush of the javelins, The crash of the charges,^ The wielding of weapons — The play that they play'd with The children of Edward. XII. Then with their nail'd prows Parted the Norsemen, a Blood-redden'd relic of Javelins over The jarring breaker, the deepsea billow, Shaping their way toward Dyflen ^ again. Shamed in their souls. Lit. *the gathering of men.' * Dublin. BATTLE OF BRUXAXBURH. 177 XIII. Also the brethren, King and Atheling, Each in his glory, Went to his own in his own West-Saxonland, Glad of the war. XIV. Many a carcase they left to be carrion, Many a livid one, many a sallow-skin — Left for the white-tail'd eagle to tear it, and Left for the horny-nibb*d raven to rend it, and Gave to the garbaging war-hawk to gorge it, and That gray beast, the wolf of the wealdr N 178 BATTLE OF EKUXAKBUKH. XV. Kever had linger Slaughter of heroes Slain by the sword-edge — Such as old wiiters Have writ of in histories — . Hapt in this isle, since Up from the East hither Saxon and Angle from Over the broad billow Broke into Britain with Haughty war- workers who Harried the "Welshman, when Earls that were lured by the Hunger of glory gat Hold of the land. 179 ACHILLES OYER THE TEENCIL Iliad, xviii. 202. So saying, light-foot Iris pass'd away. Then rose Achilles dear to Zeus ; and round The warrior's puissant shoulders Pallas ilung Her fringed aegis, and around his head The glorious goddess wreath'd a golden cloud, And from it lighted an all-shining flame. As when a smoke from a city goes to heaven Far off from out an island girt by foes, All day the men contend in grievous war From their own city, but with set of sun Their fires flame thickly, and aloft the glare k2 180 ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH. Flies streaming, if perchance the neighbours round May see, and sail to help them in the war ; So from his head the splendour went to heaven. From wall to dyke he stept, he stood, nor join'd The AchaBans — honouring his wise mother's word — There standing, shouted, and Pallas far away Caird ; and a boundless panic shook the foe. For like the clear voice when a trumpet shrills, Blown by the fierce beleaguerers of a town, So rang the clear voice of ^akides ; And when the brazen cry of ^akides Was heard among the Trojans, all their hearts Were troubled, and the full-maned horses whirl'd The chariots backward, knowing griefs at hand ; And sheer-astounded were the charioteers To see the dread, unweariable fire That always o'er the great Peleion's head Burn'd, for the bright-eyed goddess made it burn. ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH. 181 Thrice from the dyke he sent his mighty shout, Thrice backward reel'd the Trojans and allies; And there and then twelve of their noblest died Among their spears and chariots. 182 TO THE miNCUSS FREDERIC A ON TIER MARRIAGE. YOU that were eyes and light to the King till he past away From the darkness of life — Ho saw not his daughter — he blest her : the blind King sees you to-day, ^ He blesses the wife. 18: JSIE JOIIX FRAXKLIN. On the Cexotaph in Westminster Abbey. Not here ! the white North has thy bones ; and thou, Heroic sailor-soul, Art passing on thine happier voyage now Toward no earthly pole. 184 TO DANTE. (WpwItten at request of the Florentines.) King, that hast reigii'd six hundred years, and grown In power, and ever growest, since thine own Fair Florence honouring thy nativity. Thy Florence now the crown of Italy, Hath sought the tribute of a verse from me, I, wearing but the garland of a day. Cast at thy feet one flower that fades away. JSpottisKOodt and Co.t rrinttrs, New-itreti Squat e^ London, A LIST OF THE VARIOUS FORMS IN WHICH IE. TEMYSOI'S WOEKS ARE PUBLISHED. —o^ THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY EDITION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS, In seven handsome demy octavo Volumes, printed in large clear old-faced type on toned paper, with a Steel Engraved Portrait of the Author, from a Photograph. Price £3. 13*. M. cloth ; or £4. Is. 6d. Roxburgh. Each volume sold separately, price 10s. Gd. ; Roxburgh, half-morocco, 12^. Gd. each. THE AUTHOR'S EDITION. This Edition is in crown octavo, printed on superfine paper, with handsome margins, in clear old face type — each volume containing a Frontispiece. 2'his Edition can also be had bound in Roxburgh, half-morocco, price Is. 6d. per vol. exlra. THE MINIATURE EDITION, In thirteen Volumes. Pocket size, bound in white or blue cloth extra, gilt leaves, in case, price 425. This Edition can also be had in plain binding and case, price ZGs. THE GUINEA EDITION, In Twelve volumes, neatly bound in cloth, and enclosed in box, price 2\s. ; French morocco, price 31*. Gd. THE ROYAL EDITION, With Portrait and 25 Illustrations. In One Volume, cloth extra, bevelled boards, gilt leaves, price 21s. THE CROWN EDITION, In One Volume, cloth, price 6s. ; cloth extra, gilt leaves, price Is, Gd. ; Roxburgh, half -morocco, price 8s. Gd. THE SHILLING EDITION, In Twelve Volumes (pocket size) sewed, price One Shilling each. CONTENTS. I. — Poems. II. — Poems, III. — Poems. IV.— The Coming of Arthur ; Geraint and Enid; Mer- lin and Vivian, v.— Lancelot and Elaine ; The Holy Grail ; PcUeas and Ettarre. VI.— Guinevere ; Passing of Arthur ; Gareth and Lynette ; The Last Tournament. VII. — In Memoriam. VIII.— The Princess. IX.— Maud, and other Poems. X. — Enoch Arden. XI. — Queen Mary. XII.— Harold. London : C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 Paternoster Square. THE CABINET EDITION. This convenient and compact Edition is now complete. It consists of Twelve Volumes fcp. 8vo. printed in clear type, and bouud in limp scarlet cloth. The first volume is illustrated with a beautiful Photographic Portrait of the Author, and each succeeding volume has a handsome Engraved Frontispiece. Price 2s. 6d. each volume. CONTENTS OF THE VOLUMES. Vol. I.— Early Poems. Illustrated with a Photographic Portrait of Mr. Alfred Tennyson. II. — English Idylls, and other Poems. Containin-g an Engraving of Mr. Alfred Tennyson's Residence at Aldworth. III. — Locksley Hall, and other Poems. With an Engraved Picture of Farringford. IV. — Lucretius, and other Poems. Containing an Engraving of a Scene in the Garden at Swainston. v.— Idylls of the King. With an Autotj^pe of the Bust of Mr. Alfred Tennyson by T. Woolner, R.A. VI.— Idylls of the King. Illustrated with an Engraved Portrait of ' Elaine,' from a Photographic Study of Julia M. Cameron. VII.— Idylls of the King. Containing an Engraving of * Arthur,' from a Photographic Study of Julia M. Cameron. VIII.— The Princess. With an Engraved Frontispiece of 'The Princess.' IX.— Maud, and Enoch Arden. With a Portrait of 'Maud,' taken from a Photographic Study of Julia M. Cameron. X. — In Memoriam. With a Steel Engraving of Arthur H. Hallam, engiaved from a Picture in possession of the Author by J. C. Armytage. XI.— Queen Mary : a Drama. With Engraved Frontispiece after Drawing by Walter Crane. XII.— Harold : a Drama. With Engraved Frontispiece after Drawing by Walter Crane. THE CABINET EDITION IN CASE. This Edition is also issued in a handsome green case ; forming an elegant ornament for the Drawing Boom or Library Table. PRICE, COMPLETE, THIRTY-TWO SHILLINGS. London: C. KEGrAN PAUL & CO., 1 Paternoster Square. THE ORIGINAL EDITIONS. In small 8vo. green cloth, lettered. Poems. Small 8vo. .... Maud, and other Poems. Small 8vo. The Princess. Small Svo. Idylls of the King. Small Svo. The Holy Grail, and other Poems. Small Svo. Gareth and Lynette. Small Svo. Idylls of the King. Collected. Small Svo. Enoch Arden, &c. Small Svo. In Memoriam. Small Svo. Queen Mary : a Drama. Crown Svo. Harold : a Drama. Crown Svo. s. d. . 6 . 3 6 . 3 6 . 5 . 4 6 . 3 . 6 . 3 6 . 4 . 6 . 6 TENNYSON'S SONGS SET TO MUSIC. By Various Composers. Edited by W. G. Cusins. Dedicated by express permission to Her Majesty the Queen. Cloth extra, gilt leaves, price 21s, ; half -morocco, price 25s, SELECTIONS FROM THE WORKS OF MR. TENNYSON. Square Svo. cloth. With a Portrait of the Author, engraved by Vincent Brooks from a Photograph by the London Stereoscopic Company. Price Zs. 6d. In cloth, gilt extra, price 4*. SONGS FROM THE WRITINGS OF MR. TENNYSON. New and Cheaper Edition. 16mo. cloth, price 2^. 6d. TENNYSON FOR THE YOUNG AND FOR RECITATION. Specially arranged. Fcp. Svo. price Is. Qd. THE TENNYSON BIRTHDAY BOOK. Edited by Emily Shakkspear. 32mo. cloth limp, 2*. ; cloth extra, Ss. *^,t* .4^50, a Superior Edition, printed in red and black, on antique paper specially prepared^ small crown %vo. cloth extra, gilt leaves, price 5s. STUDIES IN TENNYSON'S IDYLLS. By Henry Elsdale. Crown Svo. cloth, price 5^. London: C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 Paternoster Square. 16ENDER J. it t