THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 AND OTHER POEMS
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 A WOMAN OF EMOTIONS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, 5s. net 
 
 GEORGE ALLEN & SONS 
 
 " We may congratulate Rowland Thirlmere 
 on a volume of such considerable accomplish- 
 ment." Manchester Guardian, 
 
 "Poets do not often rise above the horizon. 
 For this reason, and because it contains much 
 that has the ring of true inspiration, as well as 
 literary skill of no common order, this volume 
 of verse merits something more than a brief and 
 passing notice." Liverpool Daily Post.
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & SONS 
 
 156, CHARING CROSS ROAD 
 
 1908 
 
 [All rights reserved]
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON <5*> Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
 
 TO 
 
 W. G. COLLINGWOOD 
 
 AND 
 
 CHARLES MARRIOTT 
 
 / DEDICATE THIS BOOK 
 
 918034
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A LAMENTATION ...... 1 
 
 FROM THE TRANSVAAL ..... 4 
 
 MADELINE ....... 8 
 
 MY DEAD DOGS ...... 10 
 
 SOUVENIR DE DINARD ..... 12 
 
 IN BEAULIEu's PURPLE FOREST l6 
 
 THE PYRENEAN LAND . . . . .18 
 
 NEW BAPTISM ...... 20 
 
 HUSBAND TO WIFE ..... 22 
 
 THE MYSTIC GATE . . . . .24 
 
 BERCEUSE ... . . . . .26 
 
 A SCINTILLA ...... 29 
 
 THE TOWERS OF DINAN .... 30 
 
 A DEAD ROSE ...... 33 
 
 SONG TO MARGUERITE ..... 34 
 
 THE CITY THRUSH ..... 36 
 
 A SONG OF 'CHANGE ..... 39 
 
 PASTORAL ....... 41 
 
 A BOTTLE OF 1884 PERINET ... 43 
 
 SUMMER IN WINTER 44 
 
 HEAVEN'S CHARTER . . . .45 
 
 CLIMBER'S SONG . . . . .46 
 
 vii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 TO A LADY 48 
 
 THEATER8TUCK ...... 49 
 
 FAM/E FRUCTU8 . . . . . .51 
 
 YOUTH IN AGE ...... 52 
 
 THE SWEET WIND FROM THE SOUTH . . 53 
 
 AN ANCIENT BOOK ..... 55 
 
 SONBRIDOE ALE ...... 56 
 
 INGRATITUDE . . . . . 6l 
 
 BRAVE THOUGHTS OF LIFE AND DEATH . . 63 
 
 AN ELOPEMENT ...... 65 
 
 THE SOUTHSEA SEARCHLIGHT ... 68 
 
 CHARITY ....... 6'9 
 
 THE REAL VOICE . . . . . .71 
 
 THE SHIP AND THE BALL .... 72 
 
 HONIED HEATHER ..... 74 
 
 SONG OF SPRING ...... 76 
 
 THE ARMBOTH SPRUCE .... 77 
 
 MOONFLOWERS OF MANILLA . . . .81 
 
 THE MAID OF 8HOULTHWAITE ... 84 
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE BLUE ACONITE . . 86 
 
 THE HOUSING OF THE HAY .... 90 
 
 THE SCULPTURE GALLERY .... 95 
 
 BELOW THE WATER-LINE .... 98 
 
 MAID APRIL . . . . . .100 
 
 TAMARISK . . . . . . .103 
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL . . . .114 
 
 Vlll
 
 A LAMENTATION 
 
 SORROW shall come no more ; 
 Hath she not spent her store ? 
 
 Prodigal Sorrow ! 
 Her wrath is over and done, 
 The fight she has fought and won,- 
 To-day we may kiss our son, 
 
 But not to-morrow. 
 
 ii 
 
 Passion is laid asleep, 
 Love is entranced deep ; 
 
 Fierce was his passion 
 Full many a heart he broke, 
 So sweet were the words he spoke ; 
 But he loved his father's folk 
 
 In honest fashion. 
 
 1 A
 
 A LAMENTATION 
 
 in 
 
 Bitter the blow he felt, 
 Scorned as he humbly knelt, 
 
 When we were bitter ; 
 Savage the words we said, 
 Now, now remembered : 
 O ye who soothe the dead, 
 
 My death were fitter ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Smiling, serene he lies : 
 Were not his eloquent eyes 
 
 Constantly smiling? 
 How couldst thou, Death, destroy 
 My hope, my pride, my boy, 
 Thus end his hour of joy 
 
 With thy beguiling ? 
 
 v 
 
 Frozen the lips I kissed 
 So oft, ere love was missed 
 
 Death-cold and frozen ! 
 His breath, once sweet as myrrh, 
 Makes not a feather stir ; 
 Earth's pride must go to her, 
 
 Even he, her chosen.
 
 A LAMENTATION 
 
 VI 
 
 Pleasure goes not with him 
 Into that chamber dim 
 
 Which holds no pleasure : 
 But earth will give him rest, 
 And I shall find my breast 
 For ever dispossessed 
 
 Of all its treasure. 
 
 VJI 
 
 Riven in twain the heart 
 That now feels love depart 
 
 Too sadly riven ; 
 I am but an ear of wheat 
 Laid for the Thresher : sweet, 
 O flail, shall be thy beat, 
 
 If strongly driven !
 
 FROM THE TRANSVAAL 
 
 LASSIE, I am wet with blood, 
 
 Shattered comrades moan in pain ! 
 Can our human brotherhood 
 
 Make us whole again ? 
 Through the menace of the night 
 
 And the bullets' fitful song 
 I hear a voice, my heart's delight, 
 
 That makes my spirit strong : 
 Where the rippling Rothay flows 
 
 Underneath the Lakeland rose, 
 Lassie, we will walk once more 
 
 When the moon shines clearly : 
 Where the murmuring Brathay makes 
 
 Music near her briery brakes 
 I'll say what oft I've said before 
 
 Dear heart, I love thee dearly.
 
 FROM THE TRANSVAAL 
 
 ii 
 
 Lassie, those three words of thine 
 
 Flashed across the sea and made 
 Warmth within my heart like wine, 
 
 Or music sweetly played ; 
 Home they painted in my heart, 
 
 Mother's kind and trembling mouth,- 
 My sweetheart standing there apart 
 
 Looking towards the cruel South. 
 When the Rothay's ripples cease 
 
 Thou from me shalt find release ! 
 Lassie, I will not forget 
 
 When the moon shines clearly : 
 When the Brathay leaves her bed 
 
 Then my love may chance be dead ! 
 Lassie, thou shalt see me yet, 
 
 The lad who loves thee dearly ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Lassie, I am made of earth ; 
 
 If to earth I go to-day, 
 I shall have another birth 
 
 And a calmer day : 
 5
 
 FROM THE TRANSVAAL 
 
 Mother England owns my breath, 
 
 But a deep, immortal thrill 
 Tells me that we live in death 
 
 Our spirits naught may kill ! 
 Whilst the Rothay tempts the trout 
 
 To pack when owlets sw oop and shout, 
 Lassie, thou shalt be with me 
 
 When the moon shines clearly : 
 Whilst the Brathay calls the char 
 
 To herd beneath the evening star, 
 Dead or living, I to thee 
 
 Shall say, I love thee dearly. 
 
 IV 
 
 Lassie, wounds of dying men 
 
 Heal when hidden in the sand ; 
 Rest and peace shall fall again 
 
 On this burning land ! 
 If I die, remember, sweet, 
 
 I will speed upon the wind, 
 And as rivers gently meet 
 
 In thee I shall be shrined. 
 When on Rothay ""s banks the gold 
 
 Looks mysterious and cold, 
 6
 
 FROM THE TRANSVAAL 
 
 Lassie, I will be thy mate 
 
 When the moon shines clearly : 
 
 When the Brathay woods are still 
 And silver silence wraps each hill, 
 
 Dear heart, we'll meet and wander late, 
 And, O, I'll love thee dearly.
 
 MADELINE 
 
 i 
 
 MADELINE, O Madeline, 
 Your dusky eyes have ancient flame 
 Asleep therein, and I have seen 
 Some hint of Egypt's loveliest queen 
 About the face of her whose name 
 
 Is music, Madeline. 
 
 ii 
 
 To love you came, a lovely prize 
 And those to whom your soul is given 
 See in your unsuspecting eyes 
 The innocence of Paradise : 
 The fairest look outside of Heaven 
 
 Is childhood's faint surmise. 
 
 in 
 
 Ere you can understand this lay 
 God only knows what fate may do 
 
 To me your sweetheart for a day : 
 8
 
 MADELINE 
 
 With whom you had an evening's play 
 At "Wolf" and "Bear"; who frightened you 
 And kissed your fears away. 
 
 IV 
 
 Madeline, O Madeline, 
 Beholding you, can I forget 
 The songs my mother sang to me, 
 The prayers I lisped upon her knee ? 
 Prayers haply not forgotten yet 
 
 My sweetheart Madeline.
 
 MY DEAD DOGS 
 
 (VTLLANELLE) 
 
 DEAR, faithful beasts who went before 
 Who swam Death's river undismayed- 
 ril find them on the further shore ! 
 
 When Charon grimly rows me o'er 
 
 Vixen will bark and Jack who stray ed- 
 Dear, faithful beasts who went before ! 
 
 Rover will gambol more and more, 
 
 And Roy, the shy, be unafraid, 
 Til find them on the further shore ! 
 
 Sweet Clyde again shall guard my door, 
 And Wasp be near my footstool laid,- 
 
 Dear, faithful beasts who went before ! 
 10
 
 MY DEAD DOGS 
 
 Death shall their precious love restore, 
 
 Their emerald eyes will light the Shade ; 
 111 find them on the further shore ! 
 
 For ever, then, shall they outpour 
 Affection which can never fade ; 
 Dear, faithful beasts that went before, 
 Til find them on the further shore ! 
 
 n
 
 SOUVENIR DE DINARD 
 
 i 
 
 WHAT have I done that these 
 
 New torments, belle Marquise, 
 Should stir my soul to new and sudden song? 
 
 O, Lady of the Seas, 
 
 Melpomene appease 
 
 Who planned and wrought on me such splen- 
 did wrong. 
 
 II 
 
 Your noon-blue Breton eyes 
 
 Created Paradise 
 A little while within me : then, behold ! 
 
 Its flowers were all laid low ; 
 
 For even as sunsets go, 
 You vanished with my azure and my gold. 
 
 ill 
 
 My heart is turned to lead ; 
 This bitterness, instead 
 
 12
 
 SOUVENIR DE DINARD 
 
 Of love, is load more great than I can bear ; 
 
 For you are more to me 
 
 Than ^Eolus to the sea, 
 Or sunlight to the heaven-enclosing air ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Where summer glories shrink 
 
 The gorse is flowering pink, 
 With Devil's Saffron twisted through and 
 through : 
 
 The creeper that has wound 
 
 My soul in coils is found 
 Wherever simple dreamers meet with you. 
 
 v 
 
 Its flowers are but a pair ; 
 
 They match your harvest-hair ; 
 No bluer is the succory than those 
 
 Twin blooms of morning light 
 
 Above the creamy white 
 Wherein there lies the phantom of a rose. 
 
 VI 
 
 When next the summer comes 
 
 And your geraniums 
 13
 
 SOUVENIR DE DINARD 
 
 Laugh vividly against your shining seas, 
 If you but give one thought 
 To him whose woe you brought, 
 
 My heart will feel your sweetness, belle 
 Marquise ! 
 
 VII 
 
 When Night and Morning meet 
 
 My thoughts are bitter-sweet ; 
 The House of Life has lost its corner-stone ! 
 
 O why that sweet rebuff? 
 
 One kiss was not enough 
 That hour when God and we were quite alone ! 
 
 VIII 
 
 O, was it song of bird 
 
 Or child's voice that you heard ? 
 I saw you pause the moment you had said 
 
 That all your heart was mine : 
 
 What was the secret sign 
 That filled and shook us both with bitter dread ? 
 
 IX 
 
 One kiss enough for us ! 
 
 It was predestined thus 
 14
 
 SOUVENIR DE DINARD 
 
 That you should come to me and I to you ! 
 
 I came : I had to come ! 
 
 Then why should love be dumb ? 
 A thousand, thousand kisses were too few. 
 
 Ah ! where your emerald coast 
 
 Shews Beauty's finger-post, 
 My soul, more lonely now than e'er before, 
 
 Still feels by golden sand 
 
 And flashing wave, a hand 
 Once mine and only once for evermore. 
 
 XI 
 
 O Lady of the Seas, 
 
 That vista through the trees, 
 Your bay\s bright blue beyond the scarlet flame : 
 
 The flowers that fed your bees, 
 
 And you, ma belle Marquise, 
 Are painted on my heart above your name. 
 
 15
 
 IN BEAULIEU'S PURPLE 
 FOREST 
 
 i 
 IN Beaulieu's purple forest where purple 
 
 pigeons cry 
 We think of clustered primroses beneath an 
 
 April sky, 
 We speak of hazel-catkins and bugloss brightly 
 
 blue, 
 
 But, O sweetheart, we dare not we cannot 
 speak of you. 
 
 n 
 In Beaulieu's purple forest the yaffle taps and 
 
 calls, 
 Yet our dear thrush is voiceless as are your 
 
 father's halls ; 
 But if to birds and maidens another life be 
 
 given 
 Perchance he found you listening and sings 
 
 to you in Heaven. 
 16
 
 IN BEAULIEU'S PURPLE FOREST 
 
 in 
 The wastes of ling and heather are fair indeed 
 
 to view, 
 But, O, your eyes of speedwell that happy 
 
 time we knew ! 
 
 In all the land of summer no lad so sad as I 
 In Beaulieifs purple forest beneath the 
 purple sky ! 
 
 17
 
 THE PYRENEAN LAND 
 
 i 
 
 O, THOU hast filled my breast with happy peace, 
 
 Fair land of silver sweetness ! 
 In the rich glooms of spruce my heart grew 
 
 strong, 
 In thy clear lakes I found the gems of song, 
 
 And everywhere completeness ! 
 
 O, thou art more than memory unto me, 
 
 Dear homeland of the eagle ! 
 Thy radiant water staunched old wounds that 
 
 bled; 
 I walked thy valleys with uplifted head 
 
 A pauper proudly regal ! 
 
 Like Jason searching for the Golden Fleece, 
 
 I felt thy gracious spirit 
 Blow through me with the snow's breath keen 
 
 and clear; 
 And, looking towards thy greatness, half in fear, 
 
 I heard thee say, " Inherit." 
 18
 
 THE PYRENEAN LAND 
 
 n 
 
 Did aught of his descend on me 
 He who of old went there to sing ? 
 
 I found the azure fleur-de-lys 
 That hangs above the secret spring : 
 
 I heard a voice within a vale 
 Whose savage beauty woke my soul, 
 
 Surprised, I listened to a tale 
 That made the broken-hearted whole : 
 
 Strengthened and purified by pain, 
 My voice then caught a clearer tone ; 
 
 At last I saw my soul again 
 That seemed for ever dead and gone ! 
 
 For all the evil dreams were dreamed 
 And fire was lit within the clay ; 
 
 I triumphed in new strength ; it seemed 
 My life had known no yesterday. 
 
 19
 
 NEW BAPTISM 
 
 (THE MOUNTAINEER IN TOWN THINKS OF THE 
 
 PYRENEES) 
 / 
 
 Now the days are grey and cold, 
 Vapours from the vale and wold 
 Make the weary slaves of gold 
 
 Heartsick where they stand ; 
 But my soul looks back, and goes 
 Where the rhododendron's rose 
 Blushes by the silver snows 
 Of a southern land. 
 
 Fleets away and leaves a shell 
 Standing at the door of hell, 
 Bargaining to buy or sell 
 
 But a mere machine 
 Whilst my spirit bows before 
 Hills that reach from shore to shore, 
 Stands and listens at the door 
 
 Of the Great Unseen ; 
 20
 
 NEW BAPTISM 
 
 Poises on the velvet pine, 
 
 Drinks the breeze that thrills like wine, 
 
 Then in ecstasy divine 
 
 Gladly kneels to pray ; 
 Bathes in deep and foaming streams 
 Where the liquid sapphire gleams, 
 And the garb of sordid dreams 
 
 Can be cast away. 
 
 Whilst my spirit preens its wings 
 Happier than earth's happiest kings 
 Where the torrent sighs and sings 
 
 Chariots appear; 
 Then upon the drifting mist, 
 Snowy-white and amethyst, 
 Mounts unto The Exorcist 
 
 That which filled me here. 
 
 Free from Mammon's damned control 
 And immomentous things, my soul, 
 Now made radiant and whole, 
 
 There its glory meets : 
 All heaven's doors are opened wide, 
 And the wanderer sees with pride 
 Beauty, smiling like a bride, 
 
 The gods upon their seats ! 
 21
 
 HUSBAND TO WIFE 
 
 SADLY we wandered through the paths of life, 
 One without husband, one without a wife ; 
 
 Our cold horizons only clouds possessed 
 
 And morn and eve were bleak both east and 
 west. 
 
 Each heart had lost its azure hope of spring, 
 A host of cares was all our following ; 
 
 Each spirit was unhappy as a tree 
 
 That bears no blossom. Then I met with 
 thee! 
 
 When, in the heavens, two barren spheres 
 
 collide, 
 And one becomes the groom and one the 
 
 bride, 
 
 New life has instant being ; though desire 
 From each has fled, the shock begets new 
 
 fire. 
 
 22
 
 HUSBAND TO WIFE 
 
 Then two most hopeless things become as one 
 Bright cloud of hope, one day to be a sun : 
 
 So shine our souls in love, thus two despairs 
 Meeting, transformed to joy their griefs and 
 cares !
 
 THE MYSTIC GATE 
 
 IN MEMORIAM: HENRY MORELL ACTON 
 
 DEATH'S Kingdom is a rich estate 
 That takes as tithe our wisest. He 
 Has entered through the Mystic Gate 
 That leads unto Eternity. 
 
 Honourable the record of the years 
 He bore into the Secret Realm : 
 He met the concourse of his peers 
 With Truth's white favour at his helm. 
 
 His presence warmed our souls like June : 
 
 We miss him, now he sits at ease 
 
 In the eternal afternoon 
 
 That falls on Death's Hesperides. 
 
 Gentle as Galahad, he sought 
 
 The dusty corners of our hearts, 
 
 And quaintly there the sunshine brought 
 
 With dear, imaginative arts. 
 24
 
 THE MYSTIC GATE 
 
 Those who have heard his voice retain 
 Its echo, even as ocean shells 
 In which a memory of the main 
 Abides and ever sighs and swells.
 
 BERCEUSE 
 
 THE snow was falling at thy birth, 
 Yet golden sunshine came with thee ; 
 As comes the crocus flower to earth 
 
 So earnest thou to me ! 
 Hush, hush, my baby, safe on my breast, 
 Here, and here always, findest thou rest! 
 
 At eventide my field was bare, 
 But when the fateful morning came, 
 Behold, a purple flower was there, 
 With heart of golden flame. 
 
 Each with its hood of shining snow, 
 Serene, the happy Alps look down ; 
 They see my baby far below 
 
 The loveliest in the town. 
 26
 
 BERCEUSE 
 
 The mighty hills stoop not nor lose 
 Their beauty, white as morning cloud : 
 Thus would I have thee always choose 
 To stand in every crowd. 
 
 Stoop not to sin, but, standing crowned 
 With virtue, be an Alpine peak 
 To take men's eyes from evil ground 
 To Christ, whom thou wilt seek ! 
 
 And Heaven will always have its door 
 Wide-open for thee day and night ; 
 Thus pure remain for evermore 
 In Christ's most holy sight. 
 
 Let not one evil thought arise 
 In this new life that God has given ! 
 Like mist, such thoughts obscure the skies 
 And hide the doors of heaven ! 
 
 The greatest heritage is this 
 
 Free, blessed land where thou art born : 
 
 Be true to it and claim my kiss 
 
 Upon the Judgment Morn ! 
 27
 
 BERCEUSE 
 
 When I must die Til give thee back 
 To her who gave to me my flower : 
 Nature shall mother thee, no lack 
 Of love is in thy dower ! 
 
 When I am gone, my love, my pride, 
 Think not thou wilt forsaken be : 
 This vale, this lovely countryside, 
 Shall mother thee for me ! 
 
 Sleep, sleep ! Both mothers are the same 
 Let all unhappy thoughts be dumb : 
 Jesus, O, hallowed be Thy name, 
 Thy blessed Kingdom come ! 
 Hush, hush, my baby, safe on the breast 
 Of her who for ever gives quiet and rest /
 
 A SCINTILLA 
 
 O, WHAT serene, uncharted skies 
 Can match the azure of those eyes 
 
 That bring heaven down to me ? 
 The love-sick mirror longs to keep 
 Their beauty in its silver deep 
 
 In happy perpetuity ! 
 
 White rose with sunrise in thine heart, 
 'Tis ever morning where thou art ; 
 
 Thy smile is morning flame : 
 By just one lovely, lyric word 
 I know thee, butterfly and bird, 
 
 Thy perfect picture is that name ! 
 
 Now thou art mine, and mine alone ! 
 O maid, I am a miser grown, 
 My treasure being so great ! 
 Thy golden thoughts, undimmed, unchanged,- 
 In glittering heaps before me ranged, 
 
 Have roused a greed insatiate. 
 29
 
 THE TOWERS OF DINAN 
 
 From the towers qfDinan what is it that we see ? 
 Waves of rolling country that all belongs to 
 
 me; 
 The heritage of all men who have a heart and 
 
 brain 
 So large as to imprison green woods and golden 
 
 grain. 
 
 On the towers qfDinan what treasures do we find ? 
 Messages mysterious beating up the wind ; 
 Coming from the sunshine and coming from 
 
 the shade ; 
 Knocking at the soul's door till we are half 
 
 afraid. 
 
 On the towers ofDinan what does the glad heart 
 
 say 
 When there is thanksgiving for a harvest 
 
 day? 
 
 30
 
 THE TOWERS OF DINAN 
 
 " O, give us golden ploughshares that are made 
 
 of peace, 
 And happy, golden silences, and let them never 
 
 cease ! " 
 
 On the towers of Dinan, Owhat afflicts the soul? 
 The sense of life escaping; the uncompleted 
 
 whole ! 
 Whilst France's joyous poets unite to fill my 
 
 brain 
 With new and ancient music from forest and 
 
 from plain ! 
 
 On the towers of Dinan what memories will live ? 
 The sense of ruins living, of power not fugitive ; 
 Of walls wrought for the ages of living stone 
 
 and clay 
 By splendid olden craftsmen who shame our 
 
 crafts to-day. 
 
 On the towers of Dinan what does the fennel 
 
 preach 
 Whose root has found a lodgment within this 
 
 little breach ? 
 However parched our spirits, they still may 
 
 wax and flower 
 
 If we but keep our vision uplifted hour by hour. 
 31
 
 THE TOWERS OF DINAN 
 
 Chi the towers of Dinan what is the poem sung 
 By every noon-gale chanting in field or forest 
 
 tongue ? 
 " The world is very ancient and yet its glorious 
 
 youth 
 Is bud unblown; all ageless are love and trust 
 
 and truth ! " 
 
 From the towers of Dinan I bring this word 
 
 to-day 
 O men, destroy your weapons and put your 
 
 hate away 
 Even as raiment faded ! the cornlands cry for 
 
 men, 
 The pasture-lands are aching to feel the plough 
 
 again ! 
 
 La Tour d'Horloge de la Duchesse Anne. 
 August 27, 1907.
 
 A DEAD ROSE 
 
 SILENT the nursery, hushed is the hall : 
 The servants all miss her, the dogs do not play ; 
 Her very toys mourn : I have little to say, 
 My heart is too full with my darling away. 
 O roses ablow on the old, south wall, 
 Would that my daughter could come at my call! 
 
 These eyes have long dried of the tears that 
 were gall ; 
 
 One joy and one only my Maker bestowed ; 
 
 That child the sweet rose of a joyless abode, 
 
 Light, laughter and music that love to me owed. 
 O roses ablow on the old, south wall, 
 It smothered her laughter that terrible pall ! 
 
 There is more than one life : this cannot be all ! 
 
 Black Death never prisons the spirit he frees. 
 
 I heard her one morn by the sycamore trees, 
 
 She came to my soul in the rune of the bees. 
 O roses ablow on the old, south wall, 
 The dead are all free and ourselves are in 
 
 thrall! 
 
 33 c
 
 SONG TO MARGUERITE 
 
 WHEN the thrushes cry in chorus 
 " Sweet she is, O, more than sweet," 
 
 And laburnums, waving o'er us, 
 Seem to murmur " Marguerite? 
 
 Sweet to sit, as day is dying, 
 Hearkening to your low replies, 
 
 While the swallow thoughts are flying 
 Through the azure of your eyes. 
 
 Hints of many an ancient trouble 
 Dimly haunt you everywhere, 
 
 You are Aphrodite's double, 
 Yours the glory of her hair : 
 
 You, from olden fire created, 
 Fill me with delicious fire : 
 We have met and loved and mated, 
 
 We have measured our desire. 
 34
 
 SONG TO MARGUERITE 
 
 Listen ! Larks above the meadows 
 Hymn the love of you and me, 
 
 Theirs is but a day of shadows, 
 Ours is an eternity. 
 
 When the thrushes cry in chorus 
 " Sweet she is, O, more than sweet," 
 
 And laburnums, waving o'er us, 
 Seem to murmur " Marguerite" 
 
 Sweet to sit, as day is dying, 
 Hearkening to your low replies, 
 
 While the swallow thoughts are flying 
 Through the azure of your eyes ! 
 
 35
 
 THE CITY THRUSH 
 
 AGAIN our miserable grove 
 
 Is gladdened by the voice of Love, 
 
 Our thrush is back again : 
 Love led him to the city smoke, 
 Where hurrying streams of sad-eyed folk 
 
 Receive the sad, grey rain. 
 
 To Moloch's garden-plots he flew, 
 Leaving the fair, enchanted blue 
 
 And gold of happier spring : 
 Coming where sunny days are rare 
 To carol near this thoroughfare, 
 
 To cheer the suffering ! 
 
 He sings of silver-whitening trees 
 To children bent with miseries 
 
 In this oppressive gloom ; 
 Making his life a sacrifice 
 To tell them of a Paradise 
 
 On our side of the tomb. 
 36
 
 THE CITY THRUSH 
 
 My love and I have made our nest 
 Where we may see the saffron west 
 
 Hopeful at eventide ; 
 
 And, now our thrush has brought his mate, 
 The desolate seems less desolate, 
 
 And town the countryside. 
 
 That happy bird has cheered my wife 
 And shown her that a lyric life 
 
 May even in gloom be spent : 
 Our souls of all the world are free ; 
 When doors of thought are open, we 
 
 Shew less our discontent. 
 
 And often in grey, April days 
 
 We hear the mavis chant Love's praise 
 
 When our two souls are mute : 
 Bright memories of a crimson hope 
 That flowered on childhood's morning 
 slope 
 
 Awake the magic flute ! 
 
 And days there are that bring no joy, 
 When all the sweetness of the boy 
 
 37
 
 THE CITY THRUSH 
 
 Within the man is gall : 
 Then is it that the thrushes voice 
 Can make the very grime rejoice, 
 
 So sweet his lyrics fall ! 
 
 Sometimes my helpmate takes my hand, 
 As side by side at eve we stand, 
 
 And whispers " Is it bird ? 
 Some deeper influence abides 
 In the small heart whose holy tides 
 
 Of song seem like The Word ! "
 
 A SONG OF 'CHANGE 
 
 i 
 
 WITH cotton up a penny 
 
 There's ruin in the air ; 
 The haggard city faces 
 
 Rise ghostlike everywhere ! 
 The sun, a disc of copper, 
 
 Throbs in the yellow sky, 
 The red seal on a parchment 
 
 That dooms the weak to die ! 
 
 ii 
 With cotton up a penny 
 
 Men have no time to grieve ; 
 I talk of "spot" and "futures" 
 
 And play at makebelieve : 
 But when the midnight silence 
 
 Falls over heart and brain, 
 I wander through fair valleys, 
 
 A happy child again. 
 39
 
 A SONG OF 'CHANGE 
 
 in 
 With cotton up a penny 
 
 There's darkness in the street, 
 What time my silver mountains 
 
 Are sunned from crown to feet : 
 They change not, like our markets, 
 
 But dwell serene, apart, 
 Away in lovely Lakeland 
 
 And hidden in my heart ! 
 
 40
 
 PASTORAL 
 
 i 
 
 IN Spring she never looked my way 
 
 But queened it 'mid the flowers, 
 The shadows kissed her day by day 
 
 Between the April showers : 
 Her singing shook me to my soul, 
 
 Her laughter drove me mad : 
 She did not know the heart she stole- 
 
 I was a country lad ! 
 
 ii 
 When Summer brought the peony 
 
 To lord it on the lawn, 
 One day she deigned to look at me, 
 
 Her eyes were like the dawn : 
 With peony cheeks I ventured near 
 
 But, like a lovely thought, 
 She fled, and all my sweet desire 
 
 At once she set at naught. 
 41
 
 PASTORAL 
 
 in 
 In Autumn when her purple hill 
 
 Exhaled its heather balm, 
 The maiden was unheeding till 
 
 One hour of morning calm ; 
 When, timidly, I spoke a word 
 
 That set her cheeks aflame, 
 Then, laughing like a mocking-bird, 
 
 She trifled with my name. 
 
 IV 
 
 But earth grew more like heaven at last, 
 
 The winter more like spring : 
 Proud summer long was overpast 
 
 When Love went harvesting : 
 She sang a song one Winter night, 
 
 I heard the words, and lo ! 
 The longed-for Eden lay in sight 
 
 Love's roses bloomed in snow !
 
 A BOTTLE OF 1884 PERINET 
 (OPENED APRIL 5, 1905) 
 
 " ULLAGED," the butler said : the eighty-four 
 The glorious vintage full of summer fire, 
 That oft beguiled our hearts to touch the lyre ! 
 Come, let us see, a full libation pour ! 
 Ah ! yet alive, and potent to restore 
 To pale, sad souls the authentic, sweet desire ! 
 The cork stood sound below the rotten wire ; 
 Bright is the wine as e^er it was before ! 
 
 Even so poor, shrunken creatures long in dust 
 Darkly imprisoned, through the sunless years 
 Oft seem to lack the fulness of their peers, 
 Yet in the sunshine, how their youthful must 
 Still sparkles in maturity and cheers 
 Like old wine flowing from the grime and rust. 
 
 43
 
 SUMMER IN WINTER 
 
 BATTALIONED clouds are grim and grey 
 Above red leaves that, one by one, 
 Fall like fair blossoms of a May 
 That all too soon is gone. 
 
 How comes the dew in these mine eyes ? 
 Why seems the earth in splendour dressed ? 
 Her love has lit the doleful skies, 
 Making a summer in my breast. 
 
 New morning shines and thrills the place, 
 My heart's deep pool of ice is cleared : 
 Before the sunlight of her face 
 The white frost failed and disappeared.
 
 HEAVEN'S CHARTER 
 
 OUR charter to new life and lovelier days 
 May be some kindness to a beast or bird, 
 Some touch of love or pity we may show 
 To mute, defenceless innocents, whose praise 
 Of us may even in heaven be heard, 
 Where, in His Mercy, bird and beast may go !
 
 CLIMBER'S SONG 
 
 How could I forget thee 
 
 Who hast ne'er forgot 
 When the ground about me 
 
 Grew forget-me-not, 
 When the water shimmered 
 
 Azure as thine eyes, 
 And the arid mountains 
 
 Clove cerulean skies ? 
 
 How could I forget thee 
 
 Who hast ne'er forgot ? 
 O'er the fearful chasms, 
 
 In the frozen grot 
 Morn and eve thy presence 
 
 Breathed a constant prayer, 
 And the glacier's bosom 
 
 Felt thy shadow there. 
 46
 
 CLIMBER'S SONG 
 
 How could I forget thee 
 
 Who hast ne'er forgot ? 
 Night laid hands of silver 
 
 On the snowland cot ; 
 Then we clomb in visions 
 
 Paths till then untrod, 
 And we knelt together 
 
 At the throne of God. 
 
 47
 
 TO A LADY 
 
 YOUR eyes have made alliance with the sun ; 
 My soul is even as wax beneath their light, 
 And my adoring spirit is undone 
 Near you at noon and far from you at night. 
 
 Hearts are like earth when entered by such 
 
 fire: 
 Mine, proudly pleased, has grown this flower 
 
 for you ; 
 
 Accept it, then, a symbol of desire 
 Pure as your lovely eyes of burning blue. 
 
 Yes, you are in my heart ! The spirit locks 
 Its doors upon your memory : I am doomed 
 To troubled joy : my soul is like a box 
 That, touched by attar, ever is perfumed. 
 
 48
 
 THEATERSTUCK 
 
 i 
 
 IT was not what you said, dear girl, 
 That made my heart so gay, 
 
 You, who were voiceless as the rose 
 In June's most perfect day : 
 
 It was not what you said, my love, 
 But what you did not say ! 
 
 ii 
 There, side by side, for three short hours 
 
 We sat, and saw them play 
 " Hamlet," perhaps, or " Pericles " ; 
 
 Do you remember, pray ? 
 I only heard my own heart beat 
 
 And what you did not say ! 
 
 m 
 I knew you not, you knew not me, 
 
 But blue eyes flashed to gray 
 Shy messages that were commands : 
 
 In love's bewitching way 
 
 49 D
 
 THEATERSTUCK 
 
 You told me that your heart was mine 
 By what you did not say ! 
 
 IV 
 
 And I was bidden there to go 
 
 By Fate, whom all obey, 
 So that your eyes should light my soul 
 
 For ever and a day ; 
 O, blessed be the night when I 
 
 Heard what you did not say ! 
 
 50
 
 FA1VLE FRUCTUS 
 
 A FRUIT hung heavy on a golden bough 
 Such as to dreamers gives felicity : 
 We could not reach it, neither I nor he, 
 Albeit the sweat was dank upon each brow : 
 " Alas I fail ! " my comrade cried, " do thou 
 Think quick of means whereby to climb this 
 
 tree; 
 The slippery trunk has mocked and baffled 
 
 me 
 God cries 4 Ascend ' but fails to shew us how ! " 
 
 Then Fate spake low out of life's inner 
 
 shrine, 
 
 " Bend thou thy back and let him stand thereon : 
 Wfan he has plucked the fruit, its half is thine, 
 Then both may sail the seas and take the sun : " 
 I stooped ; his eyes were bright, though dim 
 
 were mine j 
 
 He seized the fruit and ate it, faithless one ! 
 51
 
 YOUTH IN AGE 
 
 HE flowers in the snow of his age ! 
 
 A gleam of the lad in the sage 
 
 Says " Joy is not over and done : 
 
 Let me laugh now the battle is won : 
 
 Youth racked me with sorrows and pains. 
 
 Whose faint but indelible stains 
 
 None sees, and my story is told ! " 
 
 He cannot be useless or old 
 
 Who never leaves boyhood behind : 
 
 So keep a Spring-flower in the mind 
 
 And a young twig green on the bole : 
 
 Then sorrow will act on the soul 
 
 As the first bitter frost on the sloe, 
 
 Make your blood all the sweeter to flow !
 
 THE SWEET WIND FROM 
 THE SOUTH 
 
 THE sweet wind from the South 
 Brings kisses from her mouth, 
 The scent of plums and peaches and her 
 breath ; 
 
 The fragrance of the roses 
 
 Her garden wall encloses 
 Pale roses of the South that laugh at death. 
 
 O sweet air from the South ! 
 
 The rose that is her mouth 
 
 Has breathed a word of love to give me cheer, 
 
 And all my roses flutter 
 
 With words they yearn to utter 
 To match the word that you have brought me 
 here ! 
 
 O, sweet breeze from the South, 
 
 The memory of her mouth 
 53
 
 SWEET WIND FROM THE SOUTH 
 
 Has fed my soul with rapture many a day : 
 
 And now your happy message 
 
 Brings the delightful presage 
 That April feels in sight of coming May.
 
 AN ANCIENT BOOK 
 
 BY whom, O virgin book, wert thou designed, 
 In strenuous days, when Dante felt his blood 
 Ripening with love, and human hardihood 
 Flowered in great deeds ? Each leaf is golden- 
 lined 
 
 But not a solitary phrase we find ! 
 Perchance some cleric owned thee, one who 
 
 stood 
 
 In purple gleams, beside the Holy Rood, 
 To all the violent world for ever blind : 
 
 More like for love, not prayers, the quires 
 
 were bound : 
 
 Maybe the lightnings of two penitent eyes 
 Made trouble in his heart and then he found 
 The need of words to ease his agonies : 
 Maybe he died forthwith some gallant 
 
 frowned 
 And sent him with his poems to Paradise ! 
 
 55
 
 SONBRIDGE ALE 
 
 " O, WHO are ye that ride in the night 
 When wild winds whistle and wail ? " 
 
 " Three thirsty squires and a nameless knight 
 Who would drink of Sonbridge Ale!" 
 
 " Good men have names, and the beer's grown 
 sour; 
 
 O, when did you leave the jail ? " 
 " We are right true men, though late the hour, 
 
 And thirsting for Sonbridge Ale!" 
 
 " Good men stray not so far from home, 
 
 Go, go other doors assail ! " 
 " The full soul loatheth an honeycomb, 
 
 But never your Sonbridge Ale!" 
 
 " The beer gat sour in a sudden heat, 
 
 Go get ye drink with the pail ! " 
 " To the thirsty the bitterest things are sweet 
 
 We'd liever have Sonbridge Ale!" 
 56
 
 SONBRIDGE ALE 
 
 " My beer is only for honest men, 
 Go ye to Old Jack's o 1 the Dale," 
 
 " There's none can brew like our Mistress Penn 
 The glorious Sonbridge Ale!" 
 
 "The ale is brewed for the King's brave 
 troops ; 
 
 Not his are the men I hail ! " 
 " This brave, big hat with a feather that droops 
 
 Is a warrant for Sonbridge Ale!" 
 
 " If ye are friends of the good King Charles 
 
 I will shelter ye from the gale ! " 
 " Each one is a dog of the King's that snarls. 
 
 But never at Sonbridge Ale!" 
 
 " The bolts are rusty my son is dead, 
 He was killed yestreen in the vale ! " 
 
 " Hats off" to the hostess who leaves her bed 
 To draw us the Sonbridge Ale ! " 
 
 " Ye are the men at war with the King 
 
 Ye serpents of shining scale ! " 
 " Come bring us a flagon, thou shivering thing, 
 
 We'll pledge him in Sonbridge Ale ! " 
 
 57
 
 SONBRIDGE ALE 
 
 " God make your falsehoods blind your eyes 
 And bring Death's hounds on your trail ! 
 
 " Because a ruler hearkened to lies 
 We lied for your Sonbridge Ale!' 1 '' 
 
 " Ye are the men who murdered my son, 
 Who lies with his red lips pale ! " 
 
 " Go breed another and better one, 
 And get us our Sonbridge Ale ! " 
 
 " O, well for ye that my son lies low 
 Beyond the world's broil and bale ! " 
 
 " Forgive us, good woman, we did not know 
 He brewed the good Sonbridge Ale!" 
 
 " O give your word if I fetch the spilth 
 Ye will go ere it waxeth stale ? " 
 
 " We would leave this valley and all its filth 
 For a taste of your Sonbridge Ale!''' 1 
 
 " Here is the liquor and with it my hate 
 
 I could curse you, but what avail ? " 
 " So cheerful a widow should have a mate 
 
 To serve the bright Sonbridge Ale!" 
 58
 
 SONBRIDGE ALE 
 
 " I have a mate, but ye see him not : 
 (Death's cloak hangs not on the nail ! ") 
 
 " What ho, good woman, the room is hot, 
 And strong is thy Sonbridge Ale !"" 
 
 " Your sins, good sirs, hell's fires do move ; 
 
 (Let God and the King prevail ! ") 
 " Rebuke is better than secret love, 
 
 Hurrah for the Sonbridge Ale!" 
 
 " Drink, drink, your time is almost past 
 You promised now give the vail ! " 
 
 " You are white, good woman; your clock is fast 
 More, more of the Sonbridge Ale!"" 
 
 " Ye are tired, good sirs, ye should sleep awhile ; 
 
 (Ye are Siseras I am Jael ! ") 
 " How strange a stricken woman should smile ! 
 
 What lurks in this Sonbridge AleV 
 
 " Yea, shout and shout, young Callister Dick, 
 This hand must fall like a flail ! " 
 
 " She has hit him thrice with an oaken stick, 
 A pest on her Sonbridge Ale ! ""
 
 SONBRIDGE ALE 
 
 " Death in the tankard ! Hell for the curs ! 
 
 Ah ! well may the cowards quail ; " 
 " God, was ever revenge like hers ! 
 
 Our curse on the Sonbridge Ale ! " 
 
 60
 
 INGRATITUDE 
 
 I HAD a child : flower-like he came 
 In spring he was embodied spring 
 
 Such speedwell eyes ! 
 The sun that shines in Paradise 
 Warms not so fair a thing. 
 
 I feasted well upon his mirth 
 Knew all that woman ever knew 
 
 Of deepest bliss ; 
 For heaven was in the baby kiss 
 That thrilled me through and through. 
 
 Why did they grow, those little limbs ? 
 His lily face has now become 
 
 Dark, proud and cold ! 
 I feel life's burden worn and old 
 
 I wait, and love is dumb : 
 61
 
 INGRATITUDE 
 
 baby eyes ! O baby voice ! 
 Remembrance moves me unto tears ; 
 
 Love shines again 
 When memory levels all the years 
 And children makes of men. 
 
 1 cling to life, that I may see 
 
 His face flower-bright with love once more 
 
 Ere fall the Veils : 
 Only to see the boy I bore 
 Again, ere Change prevails ! 
 
 In thought I still have heaven with me, 
 For in my heart he is a child, 
 
 With all the charms 
 He had, when in his mother's arms 
 He wept, and crowed, and smiled.
 
 BRAVE THOUGHTS OF LIFE 
 AND DEATH 
 
 i 
 
 WHY lock away the soul's most precious pearls 
 Where light and air may never work their 
 
 charms ? 
 
 Our jewels lose their colour, sicken, fail ! 
 O, wear them even as happy-hearted girls 
 Display on milk-white necks and marble arms 
 The frozen moonlight turned to lovely hail ! 
 
 ii 
 
 A thought that honours God is more than gem, 
 It lights the man possessing it, and he 
 Who speaks of death and what shall follow 
 
 death 
 Thinking deep thoughts and bravely uttering 
 
 them 
 
 Is noble in God's wisdom as a tree 
 Made glad in June with flowers of sweetest 
 
 breath.
 
 BRAVE THOUGHTS 
 
 m 
 
 Naught is too deep in Nature for our minds : 
 Death is not fearsome, being of life a part ; 
 Then let us speak of our great destiny : 
 Only a fool, or coward creature blinds 
 His sad, dull eyes, and preys on his own heart 
 Self-sacrificed to insincerity !
 
 AN ELOPEMENT 
 
 O, HAD I only said 
 One little word to-day, 
 They would not now have sped 
 Upon their sorrowing way ! 
 
 O, had I only said 
 What I had meant to say ! 
 
 ii 
 
 If I had let mine eyes 
 But soften, and had met 
 Fair speech with fair replies, 
 She might have loved me yet ! 
 
 If I had let mine eyes 
 
 Pay love my heavy debt ! 
 65
 
 AN ELOPEMENT 
 
 in 
 
 She looked so piteous pale 
 When pleading for the word 
 Of love, to turn the scale. 
 As in a dream I heard ! 
 
 She looked so piteous pale 
 Her fathers pity stirred ! 
 
 IV 
 
 I could not love her less 
 Despite this poniard tongue ! 
 Despite its bitterness, 
 I own my heart is wrung ! 
 
 I could not love her less 
 My words myself have stung ! 
 
 Perhaps their marriage-vow 
 Was written first above ? 
 Then what I disallow 
 Can matter naught to love : 
 
 Perhaps their marriage-vow 
 
 Was meant my heart to move ? 
 
 66
 
 AN ELOPEMENT 
 
 VI 
 
 O, waste no single day 
 By giving pride its head : 
 Kind words that you would say 
 Should at their birth be said ! 
 
 O, waste no single day, 
 Love's day too soon is dead ! 
 
 VII 
 
 O, daughter of my heart 
 Thou legacy of bliss ! 
 I will not keep apart 
 From love so great as this : 
 
 O, daughter of my heart, 
 Return and take my kiss ! 
 
 vm 
 
 O, had I only said 
 But " Yea, 11 instead of " Nay," 
 Two hearts that now are lead 
 Might have been light to-day . 
 
 O, had I only said 
 What I had meant to say ! 
 
 67
 
 THE 
 SOUTHSEA SEARCHLIGHT 
 
 SHE left me for a day and took delight 
 Over the water with her : sad and lone 
 I hugged the darkness, and there seemed a 
 
 stone 
 
 Hung on my heart, so that the jewelled night 
 Taxed not my wonder. To the Isle of Wight 
 Thoughts flew in streams, when lo ! a beam 
 
 was thrown 
 
 Into the summer mirk, and there were shown 
 Thousands of insects dancing golden-bright. 
 
 I cannot say how much it pleasured me 
 
 To find the dark alive with glittering wings : 
 
 The embodied searchlight of my memory 
 
 Played there upon a thousand happy things 
 
 Her faith was visible, her childish glee, 
 
 The pathos that can move me when she sings !
 
 CHARITY 
 
 THERE are songs to be sung, 
 There are things to be said : 
 Great thoughts did not perish with those who 
 are dead ! 
 
 There is work to be done, 
 There is beauty to know, 
 The plant of perfection is waiting to grow ! 
 
 There are seeds in the love 
 Of the wonderful earth, 
 Your rain and your radiance will bring them 
 to birth ! 
 
 Keep heaven in your eyes, 
 For the God-given bays 
 
 Go first to the singer who hallows his days 
 69
 
 CHARITY 
 
 With pity for those 
 Who stumble and fail, 
 And men never moved to the search for The 
 Grail. 
 
 A teardrop can take 
 The stars in its rays, 
 God and His universe, love, honour, praise ! 
 
 O, be not dismayed 
 By the coldness of men, 
 
 But give your heart's gold it shall come back 
 again. 
 
 Give, give of your love 
 The clearest, the best, 
 
 Give it all, and at last you will find you are 
 blest ! 
 
 70
 
 THE REAL VOICE 
 
 (viRELAl) 
 
 WHO are those within us mouthing rhymes, 
 In stately rhythm and in verse sonorous ? 
 Who are those too noble for these times 
 Who cast the strange, prophetic vision o'er us ? 
 
 We sit at dead of night and hear the chimes 
 Repeat sad warnings in a splendid chorus ; 
 Heedless we sit, the Muse's happy mimes, 
 Marking magnificence unroll before us, 
 
 Wonders of other days and other climes 
 
 And things unseen of those who loved and bore 
 
 us 
 Crowd in our thoughts, and Someone comes and 
 
 primes 
 Our hearts, His Voice the Real Voice canorous. 
 
 Who are those within us mouthing rhymes, 
 In stately rhythm and in verse sonorous ? 
 Who are those too noble for our times 
 
 Who cast the strange, prophetic vision o'er us ? 
 71
 
 THE SHIP AND THE BALL 
 
 i 
 
 I'M glad you spoke, for I was half-afraid 
 Wan flower that spent your summer in deep 
 
 shade ! 
 You spared a word, and blessed me with your 
 
 gaze: 
 That word and blessing light my later days. 
 
 ii 
 
 Mere trifles made your timeworn sorrow clear : 
 A little ship upset in mid-career, 
 An infant's grief his trouble with a ball 
 And yet I read your story in it all ! 
 
 in 
 
 I read your story, too, in softening eyes 
 That never flashed a mother's brave surmise, 
 And thought of babes pink-fisted and adream, 
 
 Whilst talking of the swift, unfriendly stream . 
 72
 
 THE SHIP AND THE BALL 
 
 IV 
 
 I'm glad you spoke ! Dear soul, if there be 
 
 life 
 
 Hereafter, she who never has been wife 
 Shall lack not love of children ; they shall play 
 Radiantly round her day by lovely day. 
 
 73
 
 HONIED HEATHER 
 
 FOR some short days to thee and me 
 
 The youthful prime returns 
 When, on the heights, the brindled bee 
 
 Sings louder than the burns, 
 When August builds in shimmering air 
 
 Brave palaces of cloud, 
 When Eden glimmers everywhere, 
 
 And life is full and proud : 
 A tense and joyous life, my friend, 
 
 We lead in August weather ', 
 When out upon the purple fell 
 
 We scent the honied heather ! 
 
 Long years ago we tramped the heath 
 
 And heard the moor-cock scream, 
 The Atlantic lying blue beneath 
 
 A dazzling sky of dream ; 
 
 74
 
 HONIED HEATHER 
 
 Light-hearted lads we were, but now 
 
 The grey hairs dim the brown, 
 And furrows on each moulting brow 
 
 Bespeak the cares of town : 
 But still our hearts have never aged 
 
 In all lifers bitter weather : 
 And we are young 1 as once we were 
 
 Among the honied heather ! 
 
 The purple surge that sweeps the heights 
 
 And, wave-like, wanders on, 
 Is fairest of the summer sights 
 
 Beneath the summer sun ; 
 And what a princely joy to find 
 
 The soul go wandering too, 
 Across the moor upon the wind 
 
 Far, far into the blue ! 
 Not merely for our happy sport 
 
 We love the August weather, 
 It is because our every thought 
 
 Is loftier on the heather ! 
 
 75
 
 SONG OF SPRING 
 
 LARKS praise you at their altars, proud 
 
 To hymn a maid so fair, 
 Who moves as lightly as a cloud 
 
 Melts in the fields of air ; 
 And when I lie in heavenly bowers 
 
 Beneath the dreamland blue, 
 I hear their song and see the flowers 
 
 That bloom to look at you. 
 
 Of all my springs O this is best ; 
 
 You, greatest of my joys ; 
 The man's heart broadens in my breast 
 
 For love o'erbrims the boy's : 
 Earth's beauty never felt so sweet, 
 
 It warms me through and through, 
 The splendours rising at your feet 
 
 Are touching me through you. 
 
 76
 
 THE ARMBOTH SPRUCE 
 
 THIS lofty spruce, that stands in lordship o'er 
 
 the valley 
 Above the tawny pastures awakening in the 
 
 Spring, 
 Spake to my heart a word that made old 
 
 memories rally, 
 
 Seized me and bade me pause to hear its 
 tenant sing. 
 
 Bending towards their lord, and offering gold, 
 
 the larches 
 
 Whisper their allegiance and all the throb- 
 bing air 
 Quickens now to feed him with light of olden 
 
 Marches 
 The sheen of sunny noons that fell on 
 
 golden hair. 
 
 77
 
 THE ARMBOTH SPRUCE 
 
 Below his rocky throne, and bowing to the 
 
 waters, 
 A chestnut tree is flaunting her jewelled 
 
 points of gold, 
 And in the old year's garth her daffodils 1 shy 
 
 daughters 
 
 Gleam golden, and the snow is as a story 
 told: 
 
 High in storm and sunshine this tree has 
 
 viewed the sorrows 
 The gradual fair mutations of twice three 
 
 hundred years, 
 And, green in whitest frost, has imaged hopeful 
 
 morrows 
 
 Of nested love, and promised spring in time 
 of tears. 
 
 There so oft beholding our dalesmen fathers 
 
 weeping 
 Upon the ancient highway behind the silent 
 
 feet 
 Of those whom Death had sought at his dread 
 
 time of reaping, 
 The spruce has been a shrine where singing 
 
 birds might meet. 
 
 78
 
 THE ARMBOTH SPRUCE 
 
 O thou with head in heaven, what murmur art 
 
 thou making ? 
 
 That exquisite susurrus is surely meant to be 
 Charged with hopeful meaning, to comfort 
 
 spirits aching 
 
 For what the Spring unfolds not, what they 
 cannot see. 
 
 A chaffinch seeks thy shadow, clear his sudden 
 
 singing 
 Thrills through my heart; its message 'is 
 
 this and only this : 
 Heaven is Past and Present; our yesterdays 
 
 are clinging 
 
 Unto the young Day's robe., here, here where 
 Eden is. 
 
 Death blows away the blossom, but at length 
 
 replaces 
 Its light : in gloomiest hours the unseen joys 
 
 are clear : 
 Behold the leafless boughs, but mark the wide 
 
 blue spaces, 
 The amethyst and amber of visions far and 
 
 near! 
 
 79
 
 THE ARMBOTH SPRUCE 
 
 O, mighty spruce, in thee I hear a voice 
 
 that thrills me 
 With wonder of new visions ; aloft the 
 
 buzzards mew ; 
 To them my spirit hastes in the wild joy that 
 
 fills me 
 
 To float in skies of Thought suffused with 
 primal blue. 
 
 ARMBOTH : Easter Sunday, 1907. 
 
 80
 
 MOONFLOWERS OF MANILLA 
 
 i 
 
 WHILST the evening tide is foaming, 
 Moths attend their perfumed feast, 
 When the brief and sudden gloaming . 
 Wakes the moonflowers of the East : 
 But when first the morn grew sunny, 
 Entered in each fragrant bloom 
 Little ants to eat the honey 
 Cares in Pleasure's radiant room ! 
 In my heart are ants of Sorrow, 
 In my soul a serpent's fang, 
 O the moonflowers of Manilla 
 And the ylang-ylang ! 
 
 ii 
 
 When a maiden leans to lisp her 
 Love to one her soul has kissed, 
 She may hear the moonflowers whisper 
 
 As the pleated blooms untwist : 
 
 81 F
 
 MOONFLOWERS OF MANILLA 
 
 Lola, you have seen expanding 
 Silver moonflowers, many a one, 
 In the moist, warm silence, standing 
 Silent after set of sun ! 
 O, that Eden by your villa, 
 O, those songs you sweetly sang 
 Of the moonflowers of Manilla 
 And the ylang-ylang ! 
 
 in 
 
 Love, you saw them, silver-petalled, 
 Kissed by moths that came to drink : 
 Of the Moth of Love, that settled 
 On my heart, you did not think : 
 But my soul, in desert fashion, 
 Woke to spring, and in that gloom 
 Withered stems of sleeping Passion 
 Burst into an orchid's bloom ! 
 Now my mind is full of madness 
 Memory gives me many a pang 
 O, the moonflowers of Manilla 
 And the ylang-ylang ! 
 
 IV 
 
 I am with you, still entreating, 
 
 Where the scarlet dap-dap shines, 
 82
 
 MOONFLOWERS OF MANILLA 
 
 You and I for ever meeting 
 By the purple-hearted pines : 
 You and I for ever standing 
 At the portals of Desire, 
 Love entreating, Fate commanding; 
 Overhead the flower-of-fire ! 
 Still the fields of sweet vanilla 
 Breathe in bowers where roses hang, 
 And the moonflowers of Manilla 
 Greet the ylang-ylang. 
 
 When the morning orchid passes 
 Messages at dawn to you, 
 Heavy with their Hippocrasses, 
 Moths of Love forsake the dew : 
 When your heart is touched with sweetness, 
 As the stars begin to pale, 
 All rich perfumes gain completeness, 
 Fade away and sweetly fail : 
 By the moonflowers of Manilla 
 How your accents rose and rang ! 
 " Root of all the sweetest perfumes^ 
 Love, the ylang-ylang ! " 
 
 83
 
 THE 
 MAID OF SHOULTHWAITE 
 
 IN her, all joys of morning meet 
 
 And all Love's calendar; 
 Perfect she is from crown to feet, 
 
 And, like an evening star, 
 She brings unto the tired and lone 
 
 The peace of sunset skies, 
 And soothes the unhappy sick who moan 
 
 With blessings from her eyes. 
 
 Her face ! No briar that decks the brake 
 May match its dawn-bright hue ; 
 
 Her throat ! Like lilies on the lake 
 When summer skies are blue : 
 
 Her breath is even as myrtle scent 
 That through the marshland blows, 
 
 Or fragrances divinely blent 
 
 Of woodbine and of rose. 
 84
 
 THE MAID OF SHOULTHWAITE 
 
 What would you give to kiss her lips, 
 
 O you, who sing her praise ? 
 The one who first their nectar sips 
 
 May triumph all his days : 
 I heard the music of her soul 
 
 And youth ran back again 
 To live within Love's dear control 
 
 Without Love's earlier pain. 
 
 The mountains have conspired to give 
 
 Their child a noble dower 
 Of grace, that is not fugitive, 
 
 And beauty that is power : 
 Her smile is like an April noon 
 
 With gold in all the grass : 
 She fills the admiring heart with June, 
 
 My modest moorland lass ! 
 
 85
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE 
 BLUE ACONITE 
 
 i 
 
 FATE, ripe in his bosom, his heart was com- 
 pelling 
 
 When his feet were turned here to the aconite 
 glade: 
 
 He chose not his Destiny, chose not his 
 dwelling 
 
 Here in the shade ! 
 
 The moment his eyes found the shadowy 
 sweetness 
 
 His hopes and his visions knew instant com- 
 pleteness, 
 
 The wayfarer rested and stayed. 
 
 II 
 
 Now, broken his bonds, the prisoner rejoices 
 In freedom at last ; and the beautiful boon 
 
 86
 
 VALLEY OF THE BLUE ACONITE 
 
 Of nature's low, soothing, compassionate 
 voices 
 
 Night, morn and noon 
 
 Is his : where the peak's lofty language en- 
 thralled him 
 
 Forge tfulness came of the sorrow that galled 
 him, 
 
 That blighted his purpose too soon. 
 
 in 
 Beneath that great pinnacle kissed by the 
 
 morning, 
 
 Low in the valley of spruce and of pine, 
 Death's blossom, blue aconite, breathing a 
 warning 
 
 And waving a sign, 
 
 He lies, and all horrors have left him for ever : 
 Pains of the spirit now trouble him never 
 Here, in his slumber divine ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Leave him to sleep and say naught to his 
 
 fellows, 
 
 Forget you have seen the delight on his face ; 
 Leave him to dream whilst the aconite yellows 
 
 And snows come apace : 
 
 87
 
 VALLEY OF THE BLUE ACONITE 
 
 Nature will warm him, and soothe and caress 
 
 him, 
 
 The forest for ever with slumber will bless him 
 And cherish and honour his place. 
 
 v 
 
 Pure is that brow as the snowfield above 
 
 him ! 
 His mother will miss him, and mourn as she 
 
 weeps ; 
 The stream may do service for kinsfolk who 
 
 love him 
 
 And chant while he sleeps : 
 And Summer shall perfume the place of his 
 
 slumber 
 
 With incense in thuribles no one may number, 
 Whilst masses are sung on the steeps. 
 
 VI 
 
 Wisely he died where the solitude blesses 
 The spirit when sick and in need of repose : 
 He is here in the woodland's most fragrant 
 recesses : 
 
 The white torrent glows ; 
 88
 
 VALLEY OF THE BLUE ACONITE 
 
 But a stranger flame gleams in these shadowy 
 
 places : 
 
 All lovely and wistful and passionate faces 
 Shine not like the lily and rose ! 
 
 VII 
 
 Poor stripling! His dreams and his hopes 
 were unbounded : 
 
 He fought in the highways of praise and of 
 blame : 
 
 At last with his visions we leave him sur- 
 rounded, 
 
 What matters his name ! 
 
 The eagle, on high, will give voice to his 
 longing, 
 
 His hopes with the vigour of deeds will go 
 thronging 
 
 Around the strait portals of Fame ! 
 
 89
 
 THE HOUSING OF THE HAY 
 
 ANNIE 
 
 " THE gloaming shadows gather 
 
 When rooks fly swiftly home, 
 The mountains wear their sunset crowns 
 
 Beneath the azure dome ; 
 So fair the evening stillness 
 
 My spirit fain would pray, 
 And yet my heart is merry 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 
 " The lad whose laugh is loudest 
 
 Is he whose eager eyes 
 Speak constantly those silent words 
 
 We maidens dearly prize ; 
 He has no gift of language, 
 
 His tongue finds naught to say, 
 But brown eyes speak to blue eyes 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 90
 
 " O, dark they are, and gentle, 
 
 The only lights I see ; 
 I tremble when their throbbing glow 
 
 Draws out my soul from me. 
 I shiver in my gladness, 
 
 And August seems but May 
 When Willie looks his longing 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 
 " O, have you seen the water 
 
 That shines in Tornah Ghyll, 
 When sunlight falls at morning prime 
 
 Through birches on the hill ? 
 Thus gleam his eyes, when watching 
 
 For Love's own answering ray 
 To fill his heart with passion 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 
 " In Maytime, or at harvest, 
 He whistles long and clear ; 
 
 He sings the songs that dalesmen love 
 Throughout the happy year ; 
 
 The tallest lad in Tornah 
 Is mine ; my heart is gay 
 
 To hear him whistling near me 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 91
 
 THE HOUSING OF THE HAY 
 
 " The Angel of the Evening 
 
 Has touched the flowers to sleep, 
 And filled me with such melody 
 
 My soul is fain to weep : 
 O, sky of gold and crimson, 
 
 Thou dost behold to-day 
 The happiest maid in Britain 
 
 At the housing of the hay." 
 
 WILLIE 
 
 " The sun forsakes the valley 
 
 And lingers on the hills, 
 But some one lights the meadow here, 
 
 And all my longing stills : 
 Sweet Annie rakes beside me, 
 
 I hear her merry lay 
 That seems to speak of Eden 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 
 " The oatcroft in September 
 
 Glows golden with the corn, 
 But brighter is the yellow hair 
 
 Above her eyes of morn : 
 92
 
 THE HOUSING OF THE HAY 
 
 No queen could match her beauty, 
 Half angel and half fay, 
 
 A simple maid, who thrills me 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 
 " The ripe red rowan berries, 
 
 That cluster on yon tree, 
 Are envious of her laughing lips, 
 
 Whose kiss were ecstasy ! 
 Her smile is food and raiment; 
 
 And when I go away 
 My heart shall house her singing 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 
 " O, good she is, and gentle ; 
 
 Her love flows forth to me 
 As purely as the mountain stream 
 
 That seeks the lover sea : 
 No troth-word has been spoken, 
 
 But when the night is gray 
 Perhaps the stars may hear one 
 
 At the housing of the hay.
 
 THE HOUSING OF THE HAY 
 
 " Her eyes are lovely waters, 
 
 Two tarns of summer hue, 
 The noonday sun of Paradise 
 
 Has lit their lustrous blue ; 
 And, looking in these mirrors 
 
 The soul forgets the clay, 
 And sees a spirit only 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 
 
 " White happiness of hawthorn, 
 
 Red joy of orchard flowers, 
 Combine to make her laughing face 
 
 The light of happy hours : 
 Soon shall I kiss her willing lips, 
 
 She will not cry me * Nay ' 
 When man and maid are plighted 
 
 At the housing of the hay. 11 
 
 94
 
 THE SCULPTURE GALLERY 
 
 i 
 
 MIDST tulips glowing like a Turk's bazaar 
 There, half in shadow, stand the lords of 
 
 Greece, 
 
 Whose lips are silent, even as Homer's are, 
 And yet, like his, they sing in happy peace : 
 
 The intimate light of lamps upon them falls 
 
 And Aphrodite to Athene calls. 
 
 ii 
 And this, my long, low shrine of flowers and 
 
 books, 
 Peopled with shapes that live in scorn of 
 
 time, 
 
 Is a sweet sanctuary : when Nike looks 
 Benignantly upon me, founts of rhyme 
 
 Stir in my heart, and Phidias comes and 
 
 stands 
 Viewless with lifted and benignant hands.
 
 Ill 
 
 Yes, there are mysteries around me here 
 Shy presences that seem to love this room 
 Which Beauty makes her dwelling. Dryads peer 
 From out the azaleas, and the pregnant gloom 
 Is full of songs unheard ! All true souls feel 
 Influences that light may not reveal. 
 
 IV 
 
 Apollo, thou dost thrill these flowers in vain ! 
 
 No high-priest bee intones no minister 
 
 Of marriage hums upon the frosty pane ; 
 
 Winter has draped the earth in miniver, 
 For Spring, asleep in myriad sappy roots, 
 Still dreams of warm, moist days of opening 
 shoots. 
 
 v 
 
 I will officiate, O tulips play 
 
 The priest to you young blooms the pollen 
 take 
 
 From yellow anther to the stigma gray, 
 
 And consummate the rite; I know you ache 
 To feel the bee's kiss on your petals fresh, 
 Whose nerves are keen as those of man's own 
 
 flesh. 
 
 96
 
 THE SCULPTURE GALLERY 
 
 VI 
 
 Ah ! tulips, though your splendours fail and 
 
 fade, 
 Your light, fire-woven of mist, and earth, 
 
 and rain, 
 
 Has pierced into my soul's most secret shade, 
 And an old thought comes back to me again 
 "Perchance the heavenly life that may be 
 
 ours, 
 Is but the perfect life of perfect flowers ! " 
 
 97
 
 BELOW THE WATER-LINE 
 
 BE steady, gunner, steady, 
 Some shadows are in view ; 
 Let's all be ripe and ready, 
 
 We've got much work to do : 
 Our hearts must keep their places, 
 And proud must be our faces 
 When " Glory's " thorough-bass is 
 
 A-blackening the blue. 
 
 So when they hit the target 
 
 Be nothing short of gay ; 
 
 Just think you're down at Margate 
 
 A-making holiday : 
 There's nothing in a sea-fight ; 
 It's just a sort of tea-fight, 
 Or merry little free-fight 
 
 When guns have things to say ! 
 98
 
 BELOW THE WATER-LINE 
 
 Now, when we send our ferrets 
 To nozzle in each barge, 
 The records of these turrets 
 
 Will shew up fine and large : 
 O sweet to love and leave, boys, 
 The maids who do deceive, boys, 
 But, dying, never grieve, boys, 
 
 For there's no further charge. 
 
 There^s something in the air, lads : 
 The Chief will give the sign : 
 Now, steady everywhere, lads : 
 
 There, that's our bark, you swine ! 
 Now Drake and Howard, greet us, 
 Lord Nelson come and meet us, 
 For they that came to beat us 
 
 Are hit below the line ! 
 
 99
 
 MAID APRIL 
 
 WE see her not by lake or stream, 
 In rain or hail, in mist or gleam 
 The maiden whom we fain would praise 
 For primroses in woodland ways, 
 For morning light on rimy hills 
 And the delightful daffodils. 
 
 Behold ! enwoven of the dew 
 A gauzy curtain, dimly blue, 
 Hung all around the sleepy vale, 
 As if it were the ghost of hail ; 
 Well, if you could that curtain raise 
 You might have sight of her these days 
 When blackbird pipes and throstle sings 
 That old delicious tune of Spring's. 
 
 Most welcome April. She is there 
 With wind-flowers in her amber hair, 
 But none may gaze upon her none 
 
 Only her olden love, the sun ; 
 100
 
 MAID APRIL 
 
 For she is busy with the trees 
 
 Preparing for festivities ; 
 
 With curling frond and opening flower, 
 
 And helped by fitful shine and shower : 
 
 Earth's breath in her sweet neighbourhood 
 
 Is like a prayer : if April would 
 
 Draw back her tender veil of haze 
 
 We might upon her magic gaze : 
 
 But no ! the maiden works alone 
 
 Painting a lichen on the stone 
 
 As if to sketch in tender green 
 
 A later day's more perfect scene : 
 
 Touching a gillyflower with wine, 
 
 Giving the homely celandine 
 
 A golden grace, and to the bee 
 
 A banquet in the willow tree. 
 
 Thus quietly unto our minds 
 
 God comes in Spring ; sends wholesome winds 
 
 Of hope therethrough, and then in mist 
 
 All pearly-grey and amethyst 
 
 Of visions, breathes on flowers of thought, 
 
 Dowers them with daylight : thus is brought 
 
 The pleasant April-thrill to cheer 
 
 Our souls for yet another year. 
 101
 
 MAID APRIL 
 
 Ah ! April, April, thou canst do 
 So much with morning gold and blue, 
 But canst thou with thy dear, divine, 
 Sweet necromancy, bring a sign 
 A primrose or anemone 
 Unto my soul's wild wood ; give me 
 The thrush's faith, the blackbird's hope- 
 Bring back from boyhood's morning slope 
 The lark's pure outpouring of joy, 
 The morning freshness of the boy ! 
 
 102
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 A SYMPHONY OF DECEMBER 
 (TO CHARLES MARRIOTT) 
 
 Adagio 
 HERE am I pacing my prison beneath the 
 
 funereal fog-wreaths, 
 Pent in this murky old city, where dreamers 
 
 grow old in their youth, 
 Sad, with my feet in the ashes of glorious hopes 
 
 and illusions, 
 My life but a background a scene for 
 
 omnipotent lords of the play. 
 
 The creeds and the precepts of Beauty, once 
 
 living, are hopelessly buried 
 Where Mammon's black vomit of cinders 
 
 acclaims the dark pall of the clouds ! 
 Quenched are the stars and the moon ; the sun 
 
 cometh now as a stranger ; 
 Our bodies are chilly and sapless, our spirits 
 
 are rusting away ! 
 
 103
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 This darkness that strangles December, that 
 
 takes the keen edge from the palate, 
 Robbing the prime of our manhood of all the 
 
 high glory of life, 
 Has buried our joy, our ambition, and 
 
 even the pathway of duty 
 Shews faintly through tenebrous vapour, that 
 
 stands for the breath of the Age : 
 
 In this for our duty we murder the deepest 
 
 and best that is in us, 
 Give freely to days that are torments and 
 
 terror to souls that aspire 
 Oblations of hope and of ardour; but what 
 
 shall it profit hereafter 
 The manhood that only awakens to find that 
 
 its blossom is dead ? 
 
 Here we have struggled to conquests, here we 
 
 have failed in the conflict, 
 Snatching the prize we enjoyed not, fighting 
 
 the battle in vain, 
 Lacking the medicine of sunshine, the joy of 
 
 the ocean's elixir 
 Through all the wild fights of the spirit, the 
 
 triumphs and routs of the soul ! 
 104
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 What grief to awaken when morn smiles faint 
 
 on this wilderness blatant 
 With shouts of black Mammon enthroned, 
 
 who puts even Moloch to shame, 
 To find but one refuge, one pleasure, the 
 
 beautiful chamber of visions, 
 Filled with such exquisite glamour as came 
 
 with thy message to-day ! 
 
 Andante 
 
 A tamarisk spray ! Ah, my comrade, so this 
 is thy wonderful message ? 
 
 I read I divine every phrase; though un- 
 written I know it by heart ; 
 
 Who writes a soul's delicate message ? The 
 sweetest of notes are unsounded ! 
 
 Thy tamarisk brings me invisible manna to 
 strengthen the mind. 
 
 Yes and your sprig of the West, grey-green 
 
 as the base of a breaker 
 That sheds in the wind a sharp vintage, owns 
 
 kinship with Odin and Thor ; 
 Ygdrasil, the holiest ash-tree, gave birth to its 
 
 earliest forbear, 
 Ygdrasil who branches in heaven, and laces 
 
 the world with her roots. 
 105
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 When in the silence of midnight the migrants 
 follow their leaders 
 
 Over our glittering townships, over the smoke- 
 bitten land, 
 
 Often the wayfarers shudder in sulphury breath 
 of the cities, 
 
 And hasten away from the lights reflected in 
 pestilent streams. 
 
 Then, in the morning, men wonder, they see 
 
 as they pass to their labour 
 A feather that sails on a midnight of waters 
 
 that ought to be morn 
 So silvery pure that it seems a plume from the 
 
 wing of an angel 
 So thus from the night and the stars thy 
 
 message descended on me. 
 
 It set my soul thinking of waves that spring 
 from deep fountains of sapphire 
 
 To honour the rocks of Lamorna with glorious 
 tribute of spray 
 
 Replenished my heart with vessels long passed 
 to the West and with vanished, 
 
 Bright, seaward passion of sunset and golden- 
 most fans of the dawn : 
 106
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 Ay, when thy tamarisk spake, I had word of 
 
 the roaring Atlantic 
 Turbulent, proud in its wrath beneath the sheer 
 
 cliffs of the West ; 
 Through curtains of fog I beheld it, illumed 
 
 with a glory of sunshine 
 Falling on cove and on foreland, and bright on 
 
 the faces of men. 
 
 The King, who lives in me, awakens, aware of 
 
 the message unwritten, 
 Athirst for the freedom that comes not, that 
 
 ever a mirage appears ; 
 He longs for the blessing of spindrift from 
 
 riotous billows of morning, 
 Yearning for sight of the azure that holds 
 
 unattainable joys. 
 
 The King who lives in me is roused, it is he 
 whom thy tamarisk heartens, 
 
 A slave were he now manumitted ! The 
 masterful missions of song, 
 
 The Quest that is bittersweet rapture, these 
 are his duties of kingship ; 
 
 He is ready eternally young to reign in the 
 
 world of the Mind. 
 107
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 By the Fates was it written of me ? " He shall 
 
 long for the Quest, but his yearning 
 In vain shall be spent, for in vain sJiall he crave 
 
 the credentials of Song, 
 The accolade shall be received and the scroll of 
 
 his rank shall be written, 
 But passports that open the heart of existence 
 
 shall never be his ! " 
 
 Was it thus ? Did the stars at my birth con- 
 verge to the orbit of Saturn ? 
 
 And is it ordained that the music in me shall 
 fade like a flower ? 
 
 The rose that lacks air and the sun, shall 
 moulder and certainly perish ; 
 
 A blight descends on the lily imprisoned, that 
 cankers its bloom. 
 
 Eurus brings cold from the East that is keener 
 than cold of the Norland, 
 
 Darker the sky in his leaden track than when 
 wild Boreas bites ; 
 
 The fangs of Eurus have pierced me, his foot- 
 steps ruin my seed-plots, 
 
 His drought on my harp-strings falling, strains 
 
 them until they are mute. 
 108
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 All labour should profit the spirit: where 
 
 Mammon, degrading and soulless, 
 The soul has impoverished, ever we cry for 
 
 the labour divine : 
 And mine, sick to death in the city, now calls 
 
 to the soul of the freeman 
 As a captured sea-swallow makes clamour when 
 
 Ocean is felt in the wind. 
 
 Allegro 
 In slumber what power may withhold us from 
 
 paths we were born to discover, 
 Even as nightingales follow the trail of wise 
 
 birds of the prime ? 
 The body being tethered by sleep the spirit 
 
 may seek its enchantment 
 Unmasked, unrestrained and determined itself 
 
 and no other to be. 
 
 Noon's light and the ocean have taught sweet 
 
 speech to thy tamarisk ! Hearken ! 
 It lulled me with magical breathings into 
 
 abysses of sleep ; 
 Transfigured in glamour of dreamland, my 
 
 sorrows took vesture of sunlight 
 And joys that are perished came back to the 
 
 present to pleasure my soul. 
 109
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 I flashed to the mountains I worship, and there 
 
 on a glacier stairway 
 I heard the wild moan of white torrents that 
 
 lave the last steps of a throne ; 
 Exultant I leapt to the crest where gods of the 
 
 morning foregather 
 And lo ! I had godhead, in vision beholding 
 
 the width of the world ! 
 
 Then glad as the sundawn is glad to fashion 
 
 magnificent opals, 
 Endowed with the strength of Apollo, I flew 
 
 to a valley of rest 
 To quiet mine eyes with the purple, still waters 
 
 of purple pavilions 
 Wherein was the savour of summer, the 
 
 whispering voices of pines. 
 
 Swifter than light-footed lynx I thridded the 
 
 shine and the shadow, 
 Inhaling the resinous incense of forests far older 
 
 than man ; 
 Possessing a key to the joy of the cosmical 
 
 perfume of water, 
 Possessed by the glory of woodlands that 
 
 hummed in the passionate heat : 
 110
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 Then fleet as a swallow at sunset, o'er meadows 
 embroidered with silver 
 
 I passed ; over tapestries regal of purple and 
 silver and gold ; 
 
 Over white fountains of hawthorn, and splen- 
 dours of iris and tulip, 
 
 Then paused for a moment to hearken to 
 laughter of larks in the blue. 
 
 These marvels of May I deserted ; the leonine 
 
 sands of Morocco 
 Had called, and my Barbary jennet was there 
 
 where I found her before ; 
 The Atlantic blistered my face in a league-long 
 
 furious gallop, 
 And the world was forgotten again in the 
 
 rhythmical music of hooves. 
 
 We turned to an easterly region and through 
 
 a sharp scrub of palmetto 
 We rode with a glory behind us, on, on to a 
 
 velvety plain, 
 Where Nature had fashioned a landscape unique 
 
 with the sweet polyanthus 
 Melting away to the sapphirine hills in acres 
 
 of crimson and gold. 
 
 Ill
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 Then it ended that exquisite vision I awoke 
 
 on a morning forsaken 
 By light, but my heart was fulfilled with the 
 
 sheen of the heavens of sleep ; 
 And, thrilled by the dream and its meaning, I 
 
 marched to my wearisome duty 
 Like a soldier who thrills with foreknowledge 
 
 of deeds he will do for his land. 
 
 The King who is in me discovered his crown 
 and the robes that are regal : 
 
 The sea to the tamarisk whispered, the tama- 
 risk whispered to him 
 
 Of the blessings of light, and of laughter of 
 wind, and the musical breakers 
 
 That loudly on westerly forelands uplift their 
 hosannas of Song. 
 
 Song ! Lofty the labour and holy ! I will 
 honour the urgent mandamus ; 
 
 I will sing to thee, friend, I have hearkened to 
 all that thy messenger breathed ; 
 
 Those leaflets from Erato's chaplet, grey-green 
 as the heart of a billow, 
 
 Have cheered and consoled and inspired me, 
 
 filled me with beautiful dreams. 
 112
 
 TAMARISK 
 
 Hope is resurgent within me ; Song's May is 
 
 upspringing in lyrics : 
 As the rose of your boyhood reblooming on 
 
 lips of your beautiful babes, 
 So flowers of the days that are perished come 
 
 back to my temple of visions, 
 And a fire has been lit on its altar that haply 
 
 for ever may burn ! 
 
 113
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 MORNING 
 
 EVEN as a radiant woman draws a veil 
 
 Of shimmering blue and silver round her 
 
 form, 
 
 So thou dost hold thine elemental gauze 
 About thee. Is it isle or gem we hail, 
 
 Set in the pathway of the furious storm, 
 In tides that do thee reverence without 
 pause ? 
 
 ii 
 
 The tamarisks are pink as morn's first fire 
 In hedges pranked with happy golden stars 
 Of harvest flowers, as I gain sight of thee 
 
 Standing inviolable above the ire 
 
 Of the wild ocean, in its ceaseless wars, 
 
 A stately palace robed in mystery. 
 114
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 in 
 
 Sweet to the moth that billowy clematis 
 
 Foaming like violent breakers of the 
 
 main; 
 Dear to that little, perfumed bloom of 
 
 gold, 
 
 The wallflower's modest kinsman, is the kiss 
 The sun bestows upon it, but my brain 
 Finds dearer, fairer, what these hours 
 unfold. 
 
 IV 
 
 Old tavern-keepers hang the May -green 
 
 boughs 
 Proudly above their portals: thou dost 
 
 place 
 Beauty's live sign above thine ancient 
 
 door : 
 
 The pink dianthus, blossoming on the brows 
 Of the hot rampart, greets the eager 
 
 face, 
 Announcing magic meat and drink in 
 
 store. 
 
 115
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 v 
 
 The welcome thou extendest warms and stirs 
 My happy soul, like some imperial wine : 
 The outstretched hands of Beauty reach 
 
 me here ! 
 
 I fain would make those colours prisoners, 
 Place them in Memory's magic, jewelled 
 
 shrine, 
 
 And light my spirit with them year by 
 year ! 
 
 AFTERNOON 
 
 VI 
 
 Where the bland river- water meets the brine 
 The soaring clouds are loveliest ; and there, 
 In the broad estuary, primeval shapes, 
 Wind-built unto the day^s unique design, 
 Bulk hugely, whitely, gloriously fair ; 
 
 Sharp norland peaks and noble silver capes 
 
 VII 
 
 Changing to sunlit visages that move 
 
 Ever away from those who give them 
 chase 
 
 The tireless hunters of the azure sky 
 116
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 Fit symbols of our sorrow and our love ; 
 Imaging hopes that light a passionate face 
 Before it passes to eternity. 
 
 vni 
 
 Bright as the silver ribands stretching o'er 
 The shuddering quicksands to the horizon's 
 
 fire 
 Shine the soul's pathways ! Soon a tide 
 
 shall flow 
 
 In sad, sweet joy, and suddenly outpour 
 Upon the ooze and sand of old desire 
 
 New life, and freshening winds of hope 
 shall blow. 
 
 IX 
 
 From Avranches to Cancale the sands have 
 
 spread 
 Their glittering thanks to heaven : a wan 
 
 stain creeps 
 
 Farther and farther towards fair Nor- 
 mandy, 
 The shadow of St. Michael, at the head 
 
 Of thy fair spire, harmonious rhythm keeps 
 With the red sun descending on the 
 
 sea. 
 
 117
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 x 
 
 That hopeful vine besought the crumbling wall 
 To break the rigour of the northern chills, 
 
 And now is glad with joys of sun and air : 
 My souFs vine, too, in this enchanted hall 
 Puts forth a shoot, and finds a light that 
 
 thrills 
 
 And Heaven's own breath and glory every- 
 where. 
 
 XI 
 
 Those scented webs of golden lace that mark 
 The fennel's joy in summer, touch the mass 
 Of mother granite with a human gleam : 
 Warriors have gone and many a hierarch 
 But still the fennel sees the bright years 
 
 pass, 
 
 And stands for perished greatness once 
 supreme. 
 
 XII 
 
 These trees last traces of the verdurous prime 
 When hunters chased the aurochs through 
 
 the glade 
 Now smothered by the wild, insatiate 
 
 wave, 
 
 118
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 These relics of fair woodlands and the time 
 When Roman cohorts set dark ambus- 
 cade 
 Are voiceful as a noble hero's grave. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Who knows but that the brotherhood of birds 
 May yet continue human fellowships ! 
 
 Do the dead monks still haunt that dark- 
 ling green, 
 
 Greeting each other with most gracious words, 
 Such as of old escaped their courteous lips 
 When thou of all their abbeys wast the 
 queen ? 
 
 xrv 
 
 In the wide chimney, spiders have betrayed 
 Their ebon caves with many a silver sheet 
 That shines like smoke arrested, and a 
 
 thread 
 
 Of sunlight, pierced therethrough, has made 
 A tiny dawn on stagnant mists that meet 
 
 Beneath the high-set turquoise overhead. 
 119
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 xv 
 Viols of sundawn, little lutes of noon, 
 
 Harps of the sunset, tambours of the 
 
 night, 
 
 These give thee music, elemental, vast : 
 Songs are sung to thee by the mournful moon 
 And lilting tides, ashiver with delight, 
 And of the sun-song fullest share thou 
 hast. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Apollo's face in morn and evening flames 
 Has melted frosty hearts of old, and taught 
 A heavenward-gazing reverence here on 
 
 high 
 
 To peerless builders, whose immortal names 
 Linger about the marvels that they wrought 
 Over the lowly places where they lie. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Near the grim coast where earth's most furious 
 
 tides, 
 
 At autumn's bidding, bite the yielding 
 shores 
 
 Making Courtils and Ardevon their prey 
 120
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 Besieged, thy saint once more in Heaven 
 
 confides 
 
 And stands secure, whilst the Couesnon pours 
 Its milk-white waters in the seething bay. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Then, when the wrath is passed, St. Michael 
 
 shines 
 More golden still before the vanquished 
 
 waves, 
 
 Even as Athene on the Acropolis 
 Took burnish from JEgeau storms divines 
 Where, in the sand, lie forest trees and 
 
 graves, 
 
 And ruined towers and meadows that were 
 his. 
 
 XIX 
 
 For the wild sea has swallowed many a league 
 Of loveliness : St. Anne, fair Colombel, 
 
 Tommen, and green St. Louis all are laid 
 In hungry ooze ; nor polder-wall, nor digue 
 May bring back to this Abbey Croix Morel 
 Or Scissy's woodland light and primal 
 
 shade. 
 
 121
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 xx 
 
 Poised near to Heaven, thy crowned saint looks 
 
 down, 
 In opal hours of calm, or when a blaze 
 
 Of sunlight smites his looking-glass of 
 
 Searching for spires of villages and brown 
 Roofs of the past ; as we in mountain-ways 
 Peer in the vales to see what they reveal. 
 
 XXI 
 
 Old temple, solitary and more than sad 
 With all thy sweet and bitter memories 
 
 Still echoing the voices of the dead ! 
 Glory and pain and triumph thou hast. had 
 But, far less faithful than the faithful 
 
 seas, 
 
 Thy fires of faith are quenched and hope 
 has fled. 
 
 XXII 
 
 But still thou hast one living glory left 
 
 That makes new altars, morn by glorious 
 morn, 
 
 For high, supernal masses ; and at eve 
 122
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 Of sacred splendour thou art not bereft ; 
 For in thy temple, drear and wan and worn, 
 The sun is priest, whose creed all men 
 believe. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Yet, here and now, an unseen ministrant 
 Holds up the monstrance, and there dawns 
 
 on me 
 
 Some apprehension of the Sacred Host : 
 My soul chants even as the wild seas chant, 
 Because the Muse's fair ostensory 
 
 Illumines me and all the glittering coast. 
 
 MIDNIGHT 
 
 
 
 XXIV 
 
 Up the strait pathway in the silvered night 
 To the historic Barbican : below, 
 
 Vigour of life and music ; here are men 
 Resolved to silence, placed beyond our sight 
 Who know the things that we one day may 
 
 know 
 When we become our higher selves again.
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 XXV 
 
 There, in the jewelled tide which swiftly rolls 
 Across the ancient fallows, fishermen 
 
 Have laid their seines. I would I had the 
 
 power 
 
 To fix some net in darkness, for the souls 
 That live in viewless waves of air, and then, 
 Primed with the truths of death, enjoy 
 mine hour! 
 
 XXVI 
 
 O Abbot, shod with silence, ope these doors ! 
 'Tis not Montgomery knocks, but only one 
 
 With heart as full of friendship as the seas 
 Are live with light. Although thy chilly floors 
 Are touched by feet that feel no touch of 
 
 sun, 
 I fear not Death nor all Death's mysteries. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Thy mastiffs dream ; no dead man's voice is 
 
 raised : 
 
 The North Wind's Crypt is dark as hope- 
 less age, 
 
 Its thirty lights are dead; their ministers 
 124
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 With Sourdeval, whose banner once was raised 
 Against thee live in some time-honoured 
 
 page, 
 And on the rampart scarce a shadow stirs. 
 
 xxvm 
 
 Yet, far aloft, high ceremonial 
 
 Fills the great church, and unseen prelates 
 
 chant 
 
 Canticles that reverberate in me : 
 In cloister, corridor and knightly hall 
 Dead voices cry to the arch-hierophant, 
 The great St. Michael, Sovereign of the 
 sea. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Around the steeple where thy guardian saint 
 Stands watchful, mighty constellations 
 
 move, 
 
 With all their unimaginable spheres : 
 Into these wells of midnight falls their 
 
 faint, 
 
 Sad light, but not a single flash to prove 
 Their high concern with human hopes 
 
 and fears. 
 
 125
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 XXX 
 
 Mars, that appeared to thee an infant moon 
 And haply held thee spellbound, may hold 
 
 more 
 Than summer sweetness and midwinter 
 
 pain; 
 
 But now thou knowest that it bears no boon 
 To tempt us from Earth's unexhausted store 
 Of beauty to its alien sun and rain. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 Behold the sky's bright characters, and mark 
 
 The riddle that is written clear thereon 
 
 From faint Alcor to far Aldebaran ! 
 
 In God's great book, that silver-fretted dark 
 
 Is but one little leaf, our glorious sun 
 
 A speck of gilt, that mocks the thought 
 of Man. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 We may not fathom space, nor measure time, 
 Nor make a map of Paradise. To-day 
 
 Eden is here ; to-morrow we may find 
 A smoke of hell obscuring the sublime 
 And every hopeful joy a runaway, 
 
 For heaven and hell are ever in the mind. 
 126
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 Black as some beetling precipice, these walls 
 Rise from a land of old Romance, which seems 
 Part of a stranger world, and thy domain, 
 O Abbot, to the enraptured spirit calls, 
 
 Even as the sea cries to the swelling streams, 
 When the parched earth is gladdened by 
 the rain. 
 
 xxxrv 
 
 Night, now supported on those ponderous piers, 
 Is voiceful and each mystic planet wrings 
 
 Homage from me, but the invisible dead 
 Play on my heart as on a lute : the spheres 
 Seem nearer, friendlier ; the ocean sings 
 Of highborn hopes and loves for ever fled. 
 
 xxxv 
 In dreadful silence, on that parapet 
 
 Kneel cynic watchers, leering at the Night, 
 Gargoyles of griffins and the devil's beasts ; 
 On distant Vega stony eyes are set, 
 
 Smiling, as once they smiled upon the flight 
 Of foemen and the noise of conquerors 1 
 
 feasts. 
 
 127
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 Lone and forgotten, there they take the wind ; 
 Inscrutably they watch the sun-dawn come, 
 
 Symbols of sin and sin's anomaly : 
 No springs may chill, no midsummers make 
 
 blind 
 
 Those eyes, whose watch is never wearisome 
 Not even when Night hangs thunderous 
 o'er the sea. 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 Around me is the very soul of space 
 
 In earth's deep breath : this night is like a 
 
 feast ! 
 
 O, for a hundred hearts that I might take 
 Due toll of this high hour, and with its grace 
 Stand armoured, yea, and with each mystic 
 
 priest 
 
 Of Death converse, and bread with angels 
 break ! 
 
 XXXV1IT 
 
 Now let the incense of one soul arise 
 
 To the dumb Powers, wherever they maybe, 
 Here, or behind those myriad points of 
 
 steel: 
 
 128
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 Behold the great enigma of the skies, 
 
 Whose fire-worlds flash upon the adoring 
 
 sea, 
 
 Thereto the soul's faint spark makes mute 
 appeal. 
 
 xxxix 
 
 We try our wings, poor midges, but how brief 
 The noonday flight! Behold the scythe- 
 winged bird 
 Swoops and devours us, creatures of an 
 
 hour; 
 
 But even as gnats fly upward, and the leaf 
 Grows ever sunward, human souls are stirred 
 To turn their faces towards the Silent 
 Power. 
 
 XL 
 
 Thou ghostly Abbot, whose chill presence makes 
 A frozen riot in my veins I crave 
 
 An answer ! Tell me, whither do we wend 
 Once we have finished with our joys and aches ? 
 Do voices flower in music, when the grave 
 Shuts out the sun and warmth of flower 
 
 and friend ? 
 
 129 i
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 DAWN 
 
 XLI 
 
 At eve when widening hands of purple cloud 
 Clutched the clear gold of sunset, and the 
 
 motes 
 
 Showed amber in thy grey old galleries, 
 One hope stood out, amidst a surging crowd 
 Of dreams, one splendid chord amid the 
 
 notes 
 
 Struck by Thought's restless hand on silent 
 keys. 
 
 XLII 
 
 Some day, perhaps, enslaving merchandise 
 Shall be our meanest care, and, sanctified 
 
 At last by Time, Man in all faded fanes 
 Shall hang bright banners, count Life's greatest 
 
 prize 
 
 The power to see earth's beauty, feeling pride 
 Most in the sun and least in paltry gains. 
 
 XLIII 
 Then, when our thoughts are less in mart and 
 
 mill, 
 
 A newer faith shall spring from newer powers 
 Vouchsafed to us, and we shall shape a 
 
 creed 
 
 130
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 Lovely and charitable and pure, to fill 
 
 Our lives with strength and beauty, as the 
 
 flowers 
 
 Flood with fair light a May-enchanted 
 mead. 
 
 XL1V 
 
 Our silver censers shall not cease to swing 
 In honour of the supreme Source of All 
 Balancer of planets, and the Lord of 
 
 space 
 
 We shall not cease to laud Him, nor to sing 
 Our littleness because the old faiths fall 
 Like ripened fruit, nor cease to seek His 
 Face. 
 
 XLV 
 
 If in that happier time, we build a throne 
 For Justice godlike guardian and take 
 Beauty for idol, shall our hearts be cold 
 At thought of Him who set in fire and 
 
 stone 
 
 Proofs of infinity ? Shall these not make 
 Him greater to us than He was of old ? 
 
 131
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 XI, VI 
 
 The snow-born gods, the old divinities 
 
 Of the most secret Pole, the mighty Thor, 
 The gentle Balder, these no more may 
 
 hear 
 
 The Viking's resonant voice upon the seas ; 
 The sun upon their altars nevermore 
 
 May shine ; yet they shall never disappear. 
 
 XLVII 
 
 Throned in its high pre-eminence, shall we 
 Still see this fane inviolable, and Time 
 Prouder than ever of each wind-worn 
 
 wall; 
 
 And the sweet, pregnant silence yet may be 
 Resolved to music in the later prime 
 
 When man his greatness hymns, and not 
 his fall. 
 
 XLVIII 
 
 Meanwhile, the sunrise that most glorious 
 
 prayer 
 
 In Beauty's silent voice, makes high appeal 
 Unto the Lord of Light. O, would that I
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 Might snatch from out the palpitating air 
 The essence of its charm, and then reveal 
 Its meaning, moulded for Eternity ! 
 
 XLIX 
 
 Outpost of Beauty, lordly sentinel 
 
 Of the fair spires of our delightful France ! 
 When seamen scan thy glories from afar 
 Does not the current of the spirit tell 
 
 Their hearts that thou, in thy serene 
 
 advance 
 
 Art nobler, greater than thy splendours 
 are? 
 
 Beauty is naught but faith made perfect. Lo ! 
 The spheres are beautiful, yet the reverent 
 
 find 
 
 A world of beauty in the lowliest flower : 
 Planet and pearl are equal ; we shall know 
 Through Beauty only, why the Master-Mind 
 Gave to mankind its inessential power. 
 
 133
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 LI 
 
 When the bright torches of Intelligence, 
 Held by the Church of Christ, have lit the 
 
 earth, 
 The dominant power shall be that light 
 
 terrene ; 
 For, if Religion be not mere pretence, 
 
 The Church must foster knowledge from its 
 
 birth, 
 Its guardian, its champion, and its queen ! 
 
 LII 
 
 God signs new charters when our new desires 
 Are shaped by charity and faith fulfilled ; 
 Yet, in the dimmest chambers of Man's 
 
 brain 
 
 Great lights were placed, kindled at holier fires 
 Than ever burnt on altars. Minds that build 
 Their faith on Nature do not work in 
 vain. 
 
 LIII 
 
 Alas! like Richard, strenuous Rome was doomed 
 Never to see her fair Jerusalem ; 
 
 Her vanities, ambitions, and her wars, 
 134
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 The guiltless martyrs whom her ghouls en- 
 tombed, 
 Availed her naught ! Those only should 
 
 condemn 
 The just who know the secrets of the stars. 
 
 LIV 
 
 But greater creeds are dead : our busy world 
 Forgets the soul, exalts the body where 
 
 The spirit reigned of old ; the Crucified 
 Makes his appeal with banner almost furled 
 And wandering seeds of Doubt now fill the air 
 Which root in gardens once Religion's 
 pride. 
 
 LV 
 Yea, from her wounds the Church of Jesus 
 
 draws 
 
 The warm, red blood, and even as Beaumanoir 
 
 Drank of the precious current of his veins, 
 
 So drinks the imperial Church, whose ancient 
 
 laws 
 
 Compelled two hemispheres to peace or war 
 Through many peaceful and empurpled 
 
 reigns. 
 
 135
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 LVI 
 
 But whilst there still breaks forth one single 
 
 bloom 
 From the far-spreading briar that wraps 
 
 the land, 
 
 Hope cannot perish ; there shall yet arise 
 From vile oppression and appalling gloom 
 A creed more sweet than Freedom, when 
 
 His Hand 
 Gives us full use of earth, our Paradise. 
 
 LVII 
 
 O brave old faith ! No longer we behold 
 A strenuous Odo with his battle-mace 
 
 In high delirium of the maddening fray : 
 Nor yet a Turpin in his helm of gold, 
 
 Slashing the jewelled shield and swarthy face 
 Of some majestic heathen of to-day. 
 
 LVIII 
 
 Yet more than ever now we need the strong, 
 Brave monks and priests and bishops mili- 
 tant: 
 
 In these degenerate days, the world abounds 
 136
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 With monsters to be slain : a deep, red Wrong 
 Scores Freedom^* features, Vice is arrogant 
 And many dead men lie not underground. 
 
 LIX 
 
 Therefore, O priests, a new, great empire lies 
 Open to conquest : you may sow no stars, 
 Nor may you sport with kingdoms, yet be 
 
 sure 
 
 You have still nobler saints to canonize, 
 Who shall be victors in your moral wars 
 And make their epoch strong and great 
 and pure. 
 
 LX 
 
 The pagan lives in every Christian land, 
 More heathen than his brother of Cathay ; 
 The weeds of vice grow higher year by 
 
 year; 
 
 Abysms of darkness yawn on every hand, 
 Ay, in Christ's fold : His missioners to-day 
 Need never seek the East : their work is 
 
 here ! 
 
 137
 
 MONT ST. MICHEL 
 
 LXI 
 
 Yea, deal with such as these, Archangel Saint, 
 And, in thy grace, compassionately ordain 
 That sapphire signets for wise cardinals, 
 And bishop's amethysts be carved : the plaint 
 Of men is heard We need the Church again ; 
 Heed then their cries and mute memorials. 
 
 LXII 
 
 Darkness must go where all oppressors go, 
 And some great priest, as wise as Innocent 
 Who swayed the world, or brave as Julius 
 Of Popes the Caesar may on Man bestow 
 The key to free us from imprisonment 
 Of soul, and light new fires of faith in us. 
 
 LXIII 
 
 The night is past, the new day comes apace ; 
 The heart of man lies open as those sands 
 
 Which captured many rainbows yestereve : 
 Ere long a dazzling dawn shall fill each face 
 And from Unseen yet All-protecting Hands 
 Each spirit shall the gift of Light receive.
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. 
 Edinburgh &> London
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 IDYLLS OF SPAIN 
 
 OR, VARNISHED PICTURES OF TRAVEL IN 
 
 THE PENINSULA 
 
 (ELKIN MATHEWS) 
 
 "These are brilliant pictures of men and things in 
 Spain." Spectator. 
 
 " The charm of this little book is quite indefinable, but 
 so potent that one may, perhaps, dispense with definition." 
 Outlook. 
 
 " His prose is charged with the natural feeling of the 
 places it recalls ; it suggests what it leaves unsaid ; and 
 one rises from a reading of the book with a sense that 
 one has been to Spain and liked the country and the 
 people." Scotsman. 
 
 LETTERS F ROM 
 CATALONIA 
 
 AND OTHER PARTS OF SPAIN 
 (2 Vols.) 
 
 (HUTCHINSON & CO.) 
 
 "There is scarcely a page of Mr. Thirlmere's book 
 that is not good enough to quote; it is a veritable em- 
 barrassment of riches that besets the reviewer." Pall 
 Mall Gazette. 
 
 "We must thank Mr. Thirlmere for many delightful 
 dialogues with typical Spaniards. But we are not sure 
 that most readers will not value more the vivid atmos- 
 phere, the colour, the light, the parching wind, and the 
 i
 
 dry heat of the Peninsula ; the sunsets, and, above all, 
 the very smell of a Catalan spring that breathes from 
 some pages." Spectator. 
 
 " Mr. Thirlmere has provided one of the most charm- 
 ing of recent books of travel. The book is a paean of the 
 fascination of Spain." The Daily News. 
 
 " Despite the fact that there are fifty-six letters, to- 
 gether with a foreword and an epilogue, filling upwards 
 of eight hundred pages, no one would wish curtailment 
 by a single sentence." The Manchester Courier. 
 
 " Mr. Thirlmere sees everything and describes all he 
 sees with a literary grace that defies adverse comment. 
 These two volumes, charming in themselves, contain the 
 most charming reading." Sheffield Telegraph. 
 
 "There is glamour in these pages. They impart to 
 untravelled readers exquisite glimpses of a romantic and 
 picturesque country. Instinct with a living and glowing 
 appreciation of Spain and all things Spanish, these 
 'Letters' are worthy of a place by the side of George 
 Borrow's 'Bible in Spain.'" Birmingham Post. 
 
 "A graceful and entertaining book of travel." Herald 
 (Boston, Mass.). 
 
 " Breathing the delightful air of Spain in spring-time, 
 brother Thirlmere writes in ever- flowing spirits, com- 
 municable and welcome to the jaded Londoner." Punch. 
 
 " The tone and temper of the book are excellent."- 
 Athenceum. 
 
 " For his word-pictures, in which he expresses with 
 vivid colour the poetry and music of Nature, he may be 
 sure of a sympathetic public." Academy. 
 
 " Mr. Thirlmere is a traveller who would have been 
 
 after Sterne's own heart." Yorkshire Post. 
 2
 
 THE CLASH OF EMPIRES 
 
 (WILLIAM HEINEMANN) 
 
 " ' The Clash of Empires ' is a book to read carefully, 
 and afterwards if patriotism does not dictate our duty 
 self-interest must. In this case the paths which they 
 point out are identical." Bristol Times. 
 
 " This book should do useful work in helping to open 
 the eyes of the British people to much that is unsatis- 
 factory in the nation's present condition." Diamond 
 Field Advertiser. 
 
 " He knows his subject. He has the facts and figures 
 at his command. If you don't yield to his persuasion he 
 can goad you with subtle shafts, or bludgeon you with a 
 table of statistics. Mr. Thirlmere is an adversary not to 
 be despised." The Manchester City News. 
 
 "Mr. Thirlmere's volume is frankly polemical in tone, 
 but the polemics are free from any trace of special plead- 
 ing. He is so much in earnest that he commands the 
 respect even of those who differ from him." Evening 
 News (London). 
 
 " His book is admirably written, and contains a great 
 deal of sound sense, though he goes sadly wrong at 
 times." Liverpool Post. 
 
 "We are not quite sure that Mr. Thirlmere need have 
 taken so much pains to demonstrate the reality of the 
 German menace towards this country. In the minds of 
 observant people no doubt of its reality exists, though it 
 is possible there remain those who live in a fool's para- 
 dise. To these his pages may be commended." New- 
 castle Chronicle. 
 
 " This is a most dismal book, but a brave, necessary 
 3
 
 book, which ought to be on the shelves of every public 
 library in the Empire. One could hardly do a more 
 patriotic thing than buy copies of it and present them to 
 every kind of institution which the middle and lower 
 classes frequent as clubs, or to get their reading and 
 education." The Queen. 
 
 " His book is written for a public still needing informa- 
 tion which has long been the possession of persons who 
 have taken pains to obtain it. He hopes to reach those 
 whose knowledge of national economics must be more 
 easily acquired." Globe. 
 
 " Mr. Thirlmere is a virile writer, whose arguments are 
 lucidly set forth, and the book is well worth reading even 
 by those who entirely disagree with his conclusions." 
 Manchester Evening News. 
 
 "The author of this book is always readable and 
 stimulating." Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " So much of what Mr. Thirlmere has to say is so sadly 
 true that he and his brethren must needs be listened to." 
 The Planet. 
 
 "It is a very valuable and arresting addition to the 
 notes of national warning which have recently been re- 
 sounding over the heads of the wilfully blind and deaf, 
 the insanely one-ideaed, among the money and pleasure 
 hunters, the self-absorbed, in this country. . . . Many of 
 the points of this powerful book are so strikingly made 
 as to be called sensational ; but let no hasty reader 
 assume because of this that the urgency of the author's 
 warning cries is to be discounted." Standard.
 
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