e^j h]M ENGLAND IN TIME OP WAE. BY SYDNEY DOBELL, AUTHOR OF "BALDER," AXD "THE ROMAN. LONDON: SMITH, ELDEPw & CO., G 5, CORNHILL. 1856. [ISAAC FOOT LIBRARY (TAe Author reserves the right of Translation.) / /) SAiSTA liAltUAKA CONTENTS, Page desol.vte 1 The Market-wife's Song 3 The Little Girl's Song 6 "He 13 Safe" 10 The Sodger's Lassie 12 -^Lady Coxst.xj^ce 15 How 's JiY Boy 19 Farewell 21 The Milkjiaid's Song 26 The Ger>lvn Legion 31 A Health to the Queen 35 Woe is Me 89 The Young Man's Song 40 Dead-jl\id's-pool 4o The Sailor's Return 53 The Widow's Lullaby oo The Gabeklunzie's Walk 69 Liberty to M. le Diplomate 63 -^- An Evening Dream 64 In War-toie. A Psalm of the Heart 71 A Shower in Wau-time 77 L\ War-ti3ie. a Prayer of tlie Understanding .... 87 A Hero's Grave 91 In War time. An Aspiration of the Spirit .... 98 Home, Wounded 104 A Nuptial Eve llo IV CONTENTS. Page ^ The Mothek's Lesson 118 Alone 128 ^ Farewell 129 Sleeping and Waking 133 " He Loves and he Rides Away " 134 The Captain's Wife 141 Geass from the Battle field 14G Afloat and Ashore 160 The Ghost's Return 163 Daft Jean 166 The Recruits' Ball 169 - Y For Charity's Sake 172 Wind 175 "When the Rain is on the Roof" 177 The Botanist's Vision 186 The Orphan's Song 187 A" Tommy's Dead 193 "She Touches a Sad String of Soft Recall" . . . 198 ENGLAND TIME OF ¥ A E . DESOLATE. From the sad eaves the drip-drop of the rain ! The water washing at the latchel door; A slow step plashing by upon the moor ; A single bleat far from the famished fold ; The choking of an embered hearth and cold ; The rainy Robin tic-tac at the pane. " So as it is Avith thee Is it with me, So as it is and it used not to be, "With thee used not to be, Nor me." ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAK. So singeth Robin on the willow tree, The rainy Eobin tic-tac at the pane. Here in this breast all day The fire is dim and low, Within I care not to stay, Without I care not to go. A sadness ever sings Of unforgotten things. And the bird of love is patting at the pane; But the wintry water deepens at the door. And a step is plashing by upon the moor Into the dark upon the darkening moor. And alas, alas, the drip-drop of the rain! THE JL\.RK;ET-^^FE'S SONG. THE MARKET-WIFE'S SONG.* The butter an' the cheese weel stowit they be, I sit on the hen-coop the eggs on my knee, The lang kail jigs as we jog owre the rigs, The gray mare's tail it wags wi' the kail. The warm simmer sky is blue aboon a', An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. I sit on the coop, I look straight before, But my heart it is awa' the braid ocean owre, I see the bluidy fiel' where my ain bonny chiel'. My wee bairn o' a', gaed to fight or to fa', An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. I see the gran' toun o' the big forrin' loun, I hear the cannon soun', I see the reek aboon ; It may be lang John lettin' afF his gun. It may be the mist — your mither disna wist — It may be the kii'k, it may be the ha'. An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. * In several of the Scottish songs of this volume, the author wishes, notwithstanding whatever couleur locale they may possess, to be understood as speaking rather for a class than a locality. As most of the English provincial dialects are poetically objectionable, and are modifications of tongues which exist more purely in the " Lallans " of Scotland, it seemed to him that when expressing the general peasant life of the empire he might employ the central truth of that noble Doric which is at once rustic and dignified, heroic and vernacular. 4 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. An' I ken the Black Sea, ayont the rock o' dool, Like a muckle blot o' ink in a buik fra' the schule, An' Jock ! it gars me min' o' your buikies lang syne, An' mindin' o' it a' the tears begin to fa'. An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels t\va. Then a bull roars fra' the scaur, ilka rock 's a bull agen. An' I hear the trump o' war, an' the carse is fu' o' men, Up an' doun the morn I ken the bugle horn, Ilka birdie sma' is a fleein' cannon ba'. An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. Guid Heavens ! the Russian host ! We maun e 'en gie up for lost! Gin ye gain the battle hae ye countit a' the cost ? Ye may win a gran' name, but wad wee Jock come hame ? Dinna fecht, dinna fecht! there's room for us a'. An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. In vain, in vain, in vain! They are marchin' near and far! Wi' swords an' wi' slings an' wi' instruments o' war I Oh, day sae dark an' sair ! ilka man seven feet an' mair ! I bow my head an' say, " Gin the Lord wad smite them a' !" An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. Then forth fra' their ban' there steps an armed man, His tairge at his breast an' his claymore in his han'. His gowd pow glitters fine an' his shadow fa's behin', I think o' great Goliath as he Stan's before them a'. An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. THE MABKET-WIFE's SONG. To meet the Philistine leaps a laddie fra' our line, Oh, my heart ! oh, my heart ! 'tis that wee lad o' mine ! I start to my legs — an' doun fa' the eggs — The cocks an' hens a' they cackle an' they ca', An' whiddie, whuddie, -whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. Oh, Jock, my Hielan' lad — oh, Jock, my Hielan' lad. Never till I saw thee that moment was I glad ! Aye sooner sud thou dee before thy mither's ee' Than a man o' the clan sud hae stept out but thee ! An' sae I cry to God — while the hens cackle a', An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld wheels twa. ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. THE LITTLE GIRL'S SONG. Do not mind my crying, Papa, I am not crying for pain. Do not mind my shaking, Papa, I am not shaking with fear ; Tho' the wild wild wind is hideous to hear, And I see the snow and the rain. AYhen will you come back again, Papa, Papa ? Somebody else that you love, Papa, Somebody else that you dearly love Is weary, like me, because you 're away. Sometimes I see her lips tremble and move. And I seem to know what they 're going to say ; And every day, and all the long day, I long to ciy, " Oh Mama, Mama, ^Mien will Papa come back again ? " But before I can say it I see the pain Creeping up on her white white cheek, As the sweet sad sunshine creeps up the white wall, And then I am sorry, and fear to speak ; And slowly the pain goes out of her cheek, As the sad sweet sunshine goes from the wall. Oh, I wish I were grown tip wise and tall. That I might throw my arms round her neck And say, " Dear Mama, oh, Avhat is it all That I see and see and do not see THE LITTLU GIRL S SONG. In your white white face all the livelong day ? " But she hides her grief from a child like me. When will you come back again, Papa, Papa ? Wliere were you going, Papa, Papa ? All this long while have you been on the sea V When she looks as if she saw far away. Is she thinking of you, and what does she see ? Are the white sails blowing. And the blue men rowing. And are you standing on the high deck Wlaere we saw you stand till the ship grew gray. And we watched and watched till the ship was a speck, And the dark came first to you, far away ? I wish I could see what she can see, But she hides her grief from a child like me. Wlien will you come back again, Papa, Papa ? Don't you remember, Papa, Papa, How we used to sit by the fire, all three. And she told me tales while I sat on her knee, And heard the winter winds roar down the street, And knock like men at the window pane ; And the louder they roared, oh, it seemed more sweet To be warm and warm as we used to be, Sitting at night by the fire, all three. "Wlien -^vill you come back again, Papa, Papa ? ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Papa, I like to sit by the fire ; Why does she sit far away in the cold ? If I had but somebody wise and old, That every day I might cry and say, " Is she changed, do you think, or do I forget ? Was she always as white as she is to-day ? Did she never carry her head up higher ? " Papa, Papa, if I coxold but know ! Do you think her voice was always so low ? Did I always see what I seem to see When I wake up at night and her pillow is wet ? You used to say her hair it was gold — It looks like silver to me. But still she tells the same tale that she told. She sings the same songs when I sit on her knee, And the house goes on as it Avent long ago, "When we lived together, all three. Sometimes my heart seems to sink. Papa, And I feel as if I could be happy no more. Is she changed do you think, Papa, Or did I dream she was brighter before ? She makes me remember my snowdrop. Papa, That I forgot in thinking of you, The sweetest snowdrop that ever I knew ! But I put it out of the sun and the rain : It was green and white wlien I put it away, It had one sweet bell and green leaves four ; It was green and white when I found it that day, THE LITTLE GIRLS SONG. It had one pale bell and green leaves four, But I was not glad of it any more. Was it changed, do you think, Papa, Or did I dream it was brighter before ? Do not mind my crying, Papa, I am not crying for pain. Do not mind my shaking, Papa, I am not shaking for fear ; Tho' the wild wild wind is hideous to hear, And I see the snow and the rain. "When will you come back again, Papa, Papa ? 10 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. "HE IS SAEE." " And it shall come to pass at eventide There shall be light." Lord, it hath come to pass. As one day to the world so now to me Thine advent. My dark eve is white as noon ; My year so sour and green is gold and red ; Mine eyes have seen Thy Goodness. All is done. All things bespeak an end. I am come near The crown o' this steep earth. My feet still stand Cold in the western shadow, but my brow Lives in the living light. The toil is o'er. Surely " He giveth His beloved Rest." I feel two worlds : one ends and one begins. Methinks I dwell in both ; being much here, But more hereafter: even as when the nurse Doth give the babe into the mother's arms, And she who hath not quite resigned, and she Who hath not all received, support in twain The single burden; ne'ertheless the babe Already tastes its mother. Lord, I come. Thy signs are in me. " He shall wipe away All tears :" Thou see'st my tears are wiped away. " There shall be no more pain:" Lord, it is done. Here there is no more pain. *' The sun no more "he is safe." 11 Shall be their light by day :" even so, Lord, I need no light of sun or moon ! My heart Is as a lamp of jasper, crystal-clear, Dark when Thy light is out, but lit with Thee The sun may be a suckling at this breast, And milk a nobler glory. Lord, I know Mine hour. This painful Avorld, that was of thorns, Is roses. Like a fragrance thro' my soid I breathe a balm of slumber. Let me sleep. Bring me my easy pillows, Margery. I am asleep ; this oak is soft : all things Are rest: I sink as into bliss. O Lord, Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace. 12 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. THE SODGER'S LASSIE. A' THE toun is to the doiin Puin' o' the blaeberrie. Ab's gane, Rab's gane, Aggie's gane, Maggie's gane, A' the toun is to the doiin, An's left the house to wae and me. Heigho the blaeberrie ! Wha '11 hae a blaeberrie ? All, to min' o' auld lang syne, Puin' o' the blaeberrie 1 Sodger Tarn, he cam an cam, Puin' o' the blaeberrie ; Still I went, an' still I bent, Puin' o' the blaeberrie. Berries high, an' berries low, Heigho the blaeberrie ! Tam maun come where berries grow, Puin' o' the blaeberrie. THE SODGER's lassie. 13 Heigho the blaeberrie ! Wha '11 hae a blaeberrie ? Ah, to min' o' auld lang syne, Puin' o' the blaeberrie ! Never ance I looked at Tain, Heigho the blaeberrie ! Weel I kent him Avhen he cam, Piiin' o' the blaeberrie. Baith our faces to the groun', Puin' o' the blaeberrie, Tarn cam near without a soun', Heigho the blaeberrie ! Wow ! but w^e were near, I ween, Puin' o' the blaeberrie ! A' the air was warm between, Heigho the blaeberrie ! Could a lassie think o' ill, Puin' o' the blaeberrie ? Berries e'en grow where they will, Heigho the blaeberrie ! Berries here, an' berries there, Heigho the blaeberrie ! I was kissed or I was ware, Puin' o' the blaeberrie. 14 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Wha wad fasli wi' ane anither Puia' o' the blaeberrie ? Berries Avliiles will grow thegither, Heigho the blaeberrie ! I was kissed or I could speer, Heigho the blaeberrie ! Hech ! that folk sud come sae near, A' to pu' a blaeberrie ! While I grat an chid forbye, Heigho the blaeberrie ! Doun we sat — I ken na why — A' amang the blaeberrie. Heigho the blaeberrie ! Wlia '11 hae a blaeberrie ? Oh, to min' o' auld lang syne, A' amang the blaeberrie ! Sidelong Tarn he cam an' cam A' amang the blaeberrie. Wha' could tell he meant na fair '? Weel I ken I chid him sair, But that day we gaed na mair Puin' o' the blaeberrie ! Heigho the blaeberrie ! Wlia '11 hae a blaeberrie ? Oh, to min' o' auld lang syne, Doun amanc: the blaeberrie ! LADY CONSTANCE. 15 -h LADY CONSTANCE. My Love, my Lord, I think the toil of glorious day is done. I see thee leaning on thy jewelled sword, And a light-hearted child of France Is dancing to thee in the sun, And thus he carols in his dance. " Oh, a gallant sans peur Is the merry chasseur. With his fanfaron horn and his rifle ping-pang ! And his grand havresack Of gold on his back, His pistol cric-crac ! And his sword cling-clang ! " Oh, to see him blythe and gay From some hot and bloody day. Come to dance the night away till the bugle blows 'au rang', With a wheel and a whirl And a wheeling waltzing girl, And his bow, * place aux dames !' and his oath ' feu et sang I' 16 ENGLAND IN TOIE OF WAR. And his hop and his fling Till his gold and silver ring To the clatter and the clash of his sword cling-clang ! " But hark, Thro' the dark, Up goes the well-known shout ! The drums beat the turn out ! Cut short your courting, Monsieur F Amant ! Saddle ! mount ! march ! trot ! Down comes the storm of shot, The foe is at the charge ! En avant ! *' His jolly havresack Of gold is on his back, Hear his pistol cric-crac ! hear his rifle ping-pang " Vive r Empereur ! And where 's the Chasseur ? " He 's in Among the din Steel to steel cling-clang ! " And thou within the doorway of thy tent Leanest at ease with careless brow unbent, Watching the dancer in as pleased a dream. As if he were a gnat i' the evening gleam, And thou and I were sitting side by side Within the happy bower LADY CONSTANCE. ] Wliere oft at this same hour We watched them the sweet year I was a bride. My Love, my Lord, Leaning so grandly on thy jewelled sword, Is there no thought of liome to whisper thee. None can relieve the weary guard I keep, None wave the flag of breathing truce for me, Nor sound the hours to slumber or to weep? Once in a moon the bugle breaks thy rest, I count my days by trumpets and alarms : Thou liest down in thy warcloak and art blest, While I, who cannot sleep but in thine arms, Wage night and day fresh fields unknown to fame, Arm, marshal, march, charge, fight, fall, faint and die. Know all a soldier can endure but shame, And every chance of warfare but to fly. I do not murmur at my destiny : It can but go with love, with whom it came, And love is like the sun — his light is sweet. And sweet his shadow — welcome both to me ! Better for ever to endure that hurt Which thou canst taste but once than once to lie At ease when thou hast anguish. Better I Be often sad when thou art gay than gay One moment of thy sorrow. Tho' I pray Too oft I shall win nothing of the sky But my unfilled desire and thy desert Can take it and still lack. Oh, might I stay At the shut gates of heaven ! that so I meet C 18 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Each issuing fate, and cling about his feet And melt the dreadful purpose of his eye, And not one power pass unimpleaded by Whose bolt might be for thee ! Aye, love is sweet In shine or shade ! But love hath jealousy, That knowing but so little thinks so much ! And I am jealous of thee even with such A fatal knowledge. For I wot too well In the set season that I cannot tell Death will be near thee. This thought doth detloiu- All innocence from time. I dare not say " Not now," but for the instant cull the hour, And for the hour reap all the doubtful day. And for the day the year: and so, forlorn. From morn till night, from startled night till morn, Like a blind slave I bear thine heavy iU Till thy time comes to take it : come when 't will The broken slave will bend beneath it still. how's my boy. 10 HOW'S MY BOY? " Ho, Sailor of the sea ! How 's my boy — my boy ? " " What 's your boy's name, good wife, And in what good ship sailed he ? " " My boy John — He that went to sea — What care I for the ship, sailor ? My boy 's my boy to me. " You come back from sea, And not know my John ? I might as well have asked some landsman Yonder dovrn in the town. There 's not an ass in all the parish But he knows my John. " How 's my boy — my boy ? And unless you let me know I '11 swear you are no sailor. Blue jacket or no, Brass buttons or no, sailor. Anchor and crown or no ! Sure his ship was the * Jolly Briton ' " — " Speak low, woman, speak low ! " 20 EifGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. " And Avhy should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John ? If I was loud as I am proud I 'd sing him over the town ! Why should I speak low, sailor ? " " That good ship went down." " How 's my boy — my boy ? Wliat care I for the ship, sailor, I was never aboard her. Be she afloat or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I '11 be bound. Her owners can afford her ! I say, how 's my John ? " " Every man on board went down. Every man aboard her. " " How 's my boy — my boy ? What care I for the men, sailor V I 'm not their mother — How 's my boy — my boy ? Tell me of him and no other ! How 's my boy — my boy ? " FAREWELL. 21 FAREWELL. Can I see thee stand On the looming land ? Dost thou wave with thy white hand Farewell, farewell ? I could think that thou ait near, Thy sweet voice is in mine ear. Farewell, farewell ! While I listen, all things seem Singing in a singing dream, Farewell, farewell ! Echoing in an echoing dream, Farewell, farewell ! Yon boat upon the sea, It floats 'twixt thee and me, I see the boatman listless lie ; He cannot hear the cry That in mine ears doth ring Farewell, farewell ! Doth it pass him o'er and o'er, Heard upon the shore behind. Farewell, farewell ! Heard upon the ship before, Farewell, farewell ! 22 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Like an arrow that can dart Viewless thro' the viewless wind, Plain on the quivering string, And plain in the victim's heart ? Are there voices in the sky, Farewell, farewell ? Am I mocked by the briglit air, Farewell, farewell ? The empty air that everywhere Silvers back the sung reply, Farewell, farewell ! While to and fro the tremulous accents fly, Farewell, farewell ! Now shown, now shy, FareAvell, farewell ! Now song, now sigh, Farewell, farewell ! Toy with the grasping heart that deems them nigl Come like blown bells in sudden wind and high, Or far on furthest verge in lingei'ing echoes die, Farewell, farewell ! Farewell, farewell, farewell ! Oh, Love 1 what strange dumb Fate Hath broken into voice to sec us hope ? Surely we part to meet again ? Like one struck blind, I grope In vain, in vain ; FAHEWELL. 23 I cannot hold a single sense to tell The meanmg of this melancholy bell, Farewell, farewell ! I touch them with my thought, and small and great They join the swaying swell, Farewell, farewell ! Farewell, farcAvell, larewull ! Aye, when I felt thee falling On this heaving breast — Aye, when I felt thee prest Nearer, nearer, nearer, Dearer, dearer, dearer — Aye, while I saw thy face. In that long last embrace, The first, the last, the best — Aye, while I held thee heart to heart, My soul had pushed off from the shore, And we were far apart ; I heard lier calHng, calling, From the sea of nevermore Farewell, farewell! Fainter, fainter, like a bell Rung from some receding ship, Farewell, farewell ! The far and further knell Did hardly reach my lip. Farewell, farcAvell ! Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 24 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. Away, you omens vain ! Away, away ! What ! will you not be driven ? My heart is trembling to your augury. Hence ! Like a flight of seabirds at a gun, A thousand Avays they scatter back to Heaven, Wheel lessening out of sight, and swoop again as one ! Farewell, farewell ! Farewell, farewell, farewell ! Oh, Love ! what fatal spell Is winding winding round me to this singing ? What hands unseen are flinging The tightening mesh that I can feel too well ? What viewless wings are winging The syren music of this passing bell ? Farewell, farewell ! Farewell, farewell, farewell ! Arouse my heart ! arouse ! This is the sea : I strike these wooden walls The sailors come and go at my command ; I lift this cable with my hand : I loose it and it falls : Arouse ! she is not lost, Thou art not plighted to a moonlight ghost, But to a living spouse. Arouse ! we only part to meet again ! FARE^VELL. 25 Oh thou moody main, Are tliy mermaid cells a-ringing ? Are thy mermaid sisters singing ? The saddest shell of every cell Ringing still, and ringing FarcAvell, farewell! To the sinking sighing singing, To the floating flying singing, To the deepening dying singing, In the swell. Farewell, farewell ! And the failing wailing ringing. The reaming dreaming ringing Of fainter shell in deeper cell. To the smiken sunken singing, Farewell, farewell ! Farewell, farewell ! Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 2G ENGLAND IN TIJIE OF WAR. THE MILKMAID'S SONG. Turn, turn, for my clieeks they burn, Turn by the dale, my Harry ! Fill pail, fill pail, He has turned by the dale, And there by the style waits Harry. FiU, fill, Fill pail, fiU, For there by the style waits Harry ! The world may go round, the world may stand still, But I can milk and marry, Fillpail, I can milk and marry. Wheugh, wheugh 1 Oh, if we two Stood down there now by the water, I know who 'd carry me over the ford As brave as a soldier, as proud as a lord, Tho' I don 't live over the water. Wheugh, wheugh ! he 's Avhistling thro'. He's whistling " the farmer's daughter." Give down, give down, My crumpled brown ! THE milkmaid's SUNT.. 27 He shall not take the road to tlie town, Foi- I '11 meet him beyond the Avater. Give down, give down, My crumpled brown ! And send me to my Harry. The folk o' towns May have silken gowns, But I can milk and marry, Fillpai], I can milk and marry. "WTieugh, wheugh ! he has whistled thro', He has whistled thro' the water. Fill, fill, with a will, a will, For he 's whistled thro' the water. And he 's whistling down The way to the town, And it 's not " the farmer's daughter ! " Churr, churr I goes the cockchafer, The sun sets over the water, Churr, churr ! goes the cockchafer, I 'm too late for my Harry ! And, oh, if he goes a-soldiering. The cows they may low, the bells they may ring, But I '11 neither milk nor marry, Fillpail, Neither milk nor marrj^. My brow beats on thy flank, Fillpail, Give do^\^l, good wench, give down ! 28 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. I know the primrose bank, Fillpail, Between him and the town. Give down, good wench, give down, Fillpail And he shall not reach the town ! Strain, strain ! he 's whistling again, He 's nearer by half a mile. More, more ! Oh, never before Were you such a weary while ! Fill, fill ! he 's crossed the hill, I can see him down by the style. He 's passed the hay, he 's coming this way, He 's coming to me, my Harry ! Give silken gowns to the folk o' towns, He 's coming to me, my Harry ! There 's not so grand a dame in the land. That she Avalks to-night with Harry ! Come late, come soon, come sun, come moon. Oh, I can milk and marry, Fillpail, I can milk and marry. Wheugh, wheugh ! he has whistled thro'. My Harry ! my lad ! my lover ! Set the sun and fall the dew, Heigho, merry world, what 's to do That you 're smiling over and over ? Up on the hill and down in the dale. And along the tree-tops over the vale Shining over and over. Low in the grass and high on the bough. THE milkmaid's SONG. 29 Shining over and over, Oh, world, have you ever a lover? You were so dull and cold just now, Oh, world, have you ever a lover ? I could not see a leaf on the tree. And now I could count them, one, two, three. Count them over and over, Leaf from leaf like lips apart, Like lips apart for a lover. And the hill-side beats with my beating heart. And the apple-tree blushes all over, And the May bough touched me and made me start, And the wind breathes warm like a lover. Pull, pull ! and the pail is full, And milking's done and over. Who would not sit here under the tree ? What a fair fair thing 's a green field to see ! Brim, brim, to the rim, ah me ! I have set my pail on the daisies ! It seems so light — can the sun be set ? The dews must be heavy, my cheeks are wet, I could cry to have hurt the daisies ! Harry is near, Harry is near, My heart's as sick as if he were here, My lips are burning, my cheeks are wet, He hasn 't uttered a word as yet. But the air 's astir with his praises My Harry ! The air 's astir with your praises. 30 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. He has scaled the rock by the pixy's stone, He 's among the kingcups — he picks me one, I love the grass that I tread upon When I go to my Harry ! He has jumped the brook, he has climbed the knowe, There 's never a faster foot I know, But still he seems to tarry. Oh, Harry ! oh, Harry ! my love, my pride, My heart is leaping, my arms are wide ! Roll up, roll up, you dull hill-side, Roll up, and bring my Harry ! They may talk of glory over the sea, But Harry's alive, and Harry's for me, My love, my lad, my Harry ! Come spring, come winter, come sun, come snow, Wliat cares Dolly, Avhether or no, While I can milk and marry ? Right or wrong, and wrong or right, , Quarrel who quarrel, and fight who fight, But I '11 bring my pail home every night To love, and home, and Harry ! We '11 drink our can, we '11 eat our cake. There 's beer in the bai'rel, there 's bread in the bake, The world may sleep, the world may wake, But I shall milk and marry, And marry, I shall milk and marry. THE GEUMAN LEGION. 31 THE GERMAN LEGION. In the cot beside the water, In the white cot by the water, Tlie white cot by the white water, There they laid tlie German maid. There they wound her, singing round her. Deftly wound her, singing round her. Softly wound her, singing round her, In a shroud like a cloud. And they decked her as they wound her, With a wreath of leaves they bound her, Lomest leaves they scattered round her, Singing grief with every leaf. Singing grief with every leaf. Sadder grief with sadder leaf. Sweeter leaf with sweeter grief, So 't was sung in a dark tongue. Like a latter lily lying, O'er whom falling leaves are sighing, And Autumn vapours crying. Pale and cold on misty mould. 32 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. So I saw her sweet and lowly, Shining shining pale and holy, Thro' the dim woe slowly slowly, Said and sung in that dark tongue. Such an awe her beauty lent her, Wliile they sang I dared not enter That charmed ring where she was centre. But I stood Avith stirring blood Till the song fell like a billow, And I saw them leave her pillow, And go forth to the far willow. For the wreath of virgin death. And I stood beside her pillow, Wliile they phicked the distant willow, And my heart rose like a billow As I said to the ^^ale dead — " Oh, thou most fair and sweet virginity, Of whom this heart that beats for thee doth know Nor name nor story, that these limbs can be For no man evermore, that thou must go Cold to the cold, and that no eye shall see That which thine unsolved womanhood doth uwe Of the incommunicable mystery Shakes me with tears. I could kneel down by thee And o'er thy chill uninai'riageable rest Cry, ' Thou who shalt no more at all be prest THE GERMAN LEGIO.V. 33 To any heart, one moment come to this ! And feel me weeping with thy want of bliss. And all the unpraised beauties of thy breast — Thy breast which never shall a lover kiss ! ' '' Then I slowly left her pillow, For they came back with the willow, And my heart sinks as a billow Doth implore towards the shore, As I see the crown they weave her, And I know that I must leave her, And I feel that I could grieve her Sad and sore for evermore. And again they sang around her, In a richer robe they woimd her, With the willow wreath they bound her, And the loud song like a cloud Of golden obscuration, With the strange tongue of her nation, Filled the house of lamentation. Till she lay in melody, Like a latter lily Ipng, O'er whom falling leaves are sighing. And the autumn vapours crying. In a dream of evening gleam. 34: ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. And I saw her sweet and lowly, Shining shining pale and holy, Thro' the dim woe slowly slowly Said and sung in a dark tongue. In the cot beside the water, The white cot by the white water, English cot by English water That shall see the German sea. A HEALTH TO THK QUEEN". A HEALTH TO THE QUEEN. While the thistle bears Spears, And the shamrock is green, And the English rose Blows, A health to the Queen ! A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen ! Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys, A health to the Queen ! The thistle bears spears round its blossom, Round its blossom the shamrock is green, The rose grows and glows round the rose in its bosom, We stand sword in hand round the Queen ! Our glory is green round the Queen ! We close round the rose, roimd the Queen ! The Queen, boys, the Queen ! a health to the Queen 1 Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys, A health to the Queen ! Last post I 'd a note from that old aimt of mine, 'T was meant for a hook, but she called it a line ; She says, I don't know why we 're going to fight, She 's sure I don't know — and T 'm sure she 's quite right ; 36 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAP,. She swears 1 have u't looked at one sole protocol ; Tantara ! tantara ! I have n't, 'pon my soul ! Soho, blow trumpeter, Trumpeter, trumpeter ! Soho, blow trumpeter, onward 's the cry ! Fall, tyi-ants, fall — the devil care why ! A health to the Queen ; a health to the Queen ! Fill high boys, drain dry, boys, A health to the Queen ! My granny came down — " pour vous voir, mon barbare," She brought in her pocket a map — du Tartare — Drawn up, so she vowed, " par un homme ah ! si bon ! " With a plan for campaigning old Hal, en haut ton. "With here you may trick him, and here you may prick him. And here — if you do it en roi — you may lick him. But there he is sacred, and yonder — Oh, la ! He 's as dear a sweet soul as your late grandpapa ! Soho, blow trumpeter. Trumpeter, trumpeter ! Blow the charge, trmnpeter, blare, boy, blare ! Fall, tyrants, fall — the devil care where ! A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen ! Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys, A health to the Queen ! My cousin, the Yankee, last night did his best To prove " the Czar — bless you 's — no worse than the rest." We wheeled the decanters out on to the lawn, And he argued — and spat — in a circle till dawn. A HEALTH TO THE QUEEN. 37 Quoth I, " If tlie game 's half as tliick as you say, The more need for hounds, lad I Hunt 's up ! Ilarkaway !" Soho, blow trumpeter ! Trumpeter, trumpeter ! Tally ho, trumpeter, over the ditch — Over the ditch, boys, the broad ditch at Dover ! Hands slack, boys, heels back, boys, Yohoicks ! we 're Avell over ! Soho, blow trumpeter ! blow us to cover ! Blow, boy, blow, Berlin, or Moscow, Schoenbrun, or Rome, So Reynard 's at home. The devil care which ! Hark, Evans ! hark, Campbell ! hark, Cathcart ! — Halloo ! Heyday, harkaway ! good men and triie ! Harkaway to the brook. You won't land in clover ! Leap and look ! High and dry ! Tantivy, full cry ! Full cry up the hill ! Hurrah, and it 's over ! A burst and a kill. Wliile the thistle bears Spears, And the shamrock is green, And the English rose Blows, A health to the Queen ! 38 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAE. A health to the Queen, a heakh to the Queen ! Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys, A health to the Queen ! The Queen, boys, the Queen ! the Queen, boys, the Queen ! Pull cry, high and dry, boys, A health to the Queen ! WOE IS JIE. 39 WOE IS ME. Far in the cradling sky, Dawn opes liis baby eye, Then I awake and cry, Woe is me I Morn, the young hunter gay, Chases the shadows gray, Then I go forth and say, Woe is me ! Noon ! drunk with oil and wine, Tho' not a grief is thine, Yet shalt thou shake with mine ! Woe is me ! Eve kneeleth sad and cahn, Bearing the martyr's palm ; I shriek above her psalm, Woe is me ! Night, hid in her black hair From eyes she cannot dare. Lies loud with fierce despair ; Then I sit silent whore She cries from her dai'k lair Woe is me ! 40 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. THE YOUNG MAN'S SONG. At last the curse has run its date ! The heavens grow clear above, And on the purple plains of Hate, We '11 build the throne of Love ! One great heroic reign divine. Shall mock the elysian isles, And Love in arms shall only shine Less fair than Love in smiles ! Old Clio burn thine ancient scroll. The scroll of Rome and Greece ! Our war shall be a parable On all the texts of peace. And saints look down, with eyes of praise, Where on our modern field The new Samaritan forelays The wrongs that other healed ! What virtue is beyond our prize ? Wliat deed beneath yon sun IMore Godlike than the prodigies We mortal men have done ? THE YOUNG 5UN's SONG, 41 We wearied of the lagging steed, The dove had not a qiiill To fledge the imaginable speed Of our wild shaft of will ; " Ah, could each word be winged with Avind, And speech be swift as sight ! " We cursed the long arms of that blind Dmnb herald on the height, Dark struggling with a mystery- He daily hid in shades, As a ghost steams up on the eye, Begins a Fate and fades. " If, like a luan, dull space could hear ! If, like a man, obey ! " We seized this earthly hemisphere, This senseless skiill of clay. * We drew from Heaven a breath of flame. And thro' the lifeless whole Did breathe it till the orb became One brain of burning soul. As he o'er whom a tyrant reigns, It waits our sovran word, And thinks along the living veins The lightnings of its lord ! 42 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Wliat Force can meet our matchless might ? What Power is not our slave ? We bound the angel of the light, We scourged him in a cave. And Avhen we saAv the prisoner pine For his immortal land, We wrung a ransom, half divine, From that celestial hand Wliose skill the heavy chain subdued, And all a captive's woe . Did tame to such a tempered good As mortal eyes can know. "V^lio comes, who comes, o'er mountains laid, Vales lifted, straightened ways ? 'Tis he ! the mightier horse we made To serve our nobler days ! But noAv, unheard, I saw afar j His cloud of windy mane, / Now, level as a blazing star, He thunders thro' the plain ! The life he needs, the food he loves. This cold earth bears no mox-e ; He fodders on the eternal groves That heard the dragons roar, L TILE YOlTsTr man's SONG. 43 Strong -with the feast he roars and runs, And, iu his maw unfurled, Evolves the folded fires of suns That lit a grander world ! Yon bird, the SAviftest in the sky, Before him sprang, but he Has passed her as a wind goes by A struggler in the sea. With forward beak and forward blows, She slides back from his side ; While ever as the monster goes, With needless power and pride, Disdainful from his fiery jaws He snorts his vital heat, And, easy as his shadoAv, draws. Long-drawn, the living street. He 's gone ! Methinks that over him, Like Curtius in the abyss, I see great gulphs close rim to rim, And Past and Futiu-e kiss ! Oh, Man ! as from the flood sublime Some alp rose calm and slow, So from the exhaling floods of time I see thy stature grow. 44 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAK. Long since thy royal brow, uncrowned, Allegiant nature saw, Long since thine eye of empire frowned The heavenly thrones to awe; And now the monarch's breast apart Divides the sinking spray, Fit dome for such gigantic heart As warms so vast a sway. Far o'er the watery wilds I see Thy great right-arm upsurge, Thy right-hand, armed with victory, Is sunburst on the verge ! Arise, arise ! oh, sword ! and sweep One universal mom ! Another throe, thou laboiu'ing Deep, And all the god is born ! So sang a youth of glorious blood. Below, the wind-hawk shook her wings. And lower, in its kingdom, stood A tower of ancient kings. Above, the autumn sky was blue, Far round the golden world was fair, And, gun by gun, the ramparts blew A battle on tlie air. deap-maid's-pool. 45 DEAD-MAID'S-POOL. Oh water, water — water deep and still, In this hollow of the hill, Thou helenge well o'er which the long reeds lean, Here a stream and there a stream, And thou so still, between, Thro' thy coloured dream. Thro' the drowned face Of this lone leafy place, Down, down, so deep and chill, I see the pebbles gleam ! Ash-tree, ash-tree. Bending o'er the well, Why there thou bendest. Kind hearts can tell. 'Tis that the pool is deep, 'Tis that — a single leap. And the pool closes : And in the soUtude Of this wild mountain wood, None, none, would hear her cry, From this bank where she stood To that peak in the sky "\Miere the cloud dozes. 46 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Ash-tree, ash-tree, That art so sweet and good, If any creeping thing Among the summer games in the wild roses Fall from its airy swing, CWliile all its pigmy kind "Watch from some imminent rose-leaf half uncurled) — I know thou hast it full in mind (While yet the drowning minim lives, And blots the shining water where it strives), To touch it with a finger soft and kind, As when the gentle sun, ere day is hot, Feels for a little shadow in a grot, And gives it to the shades behind the world. And oh ! if some poor fool Should seek the fatal pool, Thine arms — ah, yes ! I know For this thou watchest days, and months, and years, For this dost bend beside The lone and lorn well-side. The guardian angel of the doom below. Content if, once an age, thy helping hand May Uft repentant madness to the land: J Content to hear the cry \ Of living love from lips that would have died : To seem awhile endowed With all thy limbs did save, And in that voice they drew out of the grave, To feel thy dumb desire for once released aloud. dead-maid's-pool. 47 And all tliy muffled century Repaid in one wild hour of sobs, and smiles, and tears. Aye, aye, I envy thee, Pitiful ash-tree! Water, water — water deep and still. In the hollow of the hill, Water, water, well I wot, Thro' the weary hours, Well I wot thee lying there, As fair as false, as false as fair. The crows they fly o'er. The small birds flit about, The stream it ripples in, the stream it ripples out, But what eye ever knew A rinkle wimple thee ? And what eye shall see A rinkle wimple thee Evermore ? Thro' thy gauds and mocks, All thy thin enchantment thro' — The green delusion of thy bowers. The cold flush of thy feigned flowers, AU the treacherous state Of fair things small and great, That are and are not, Well I wot thee shining there, As fair as false, as false as fair. Thro' the liquid rocks, 48 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Thro' the watery trees, Thro' the grass that never grew, Thro' a face God never made, Thro' the frequent gain and loss Of the cold cold shine and shade, Thro' the subtle fern and moss, Thro' the humless, hiveless bees. Round the ghosts of buds asleep, Thro' the disembodied rose, Waving, waving in the deep, Wliere never wind blows, I look down, and see far down, In clear depths that do nothing hide, Green in green, and brown in brown. The long fish turn and ghde ! Ash-tree, ash-tree, Bending o 'er the water — Ash-tree, ash-tree, Hadst thou a daughter ? Ash-tree, ash-tree, let me di'aw near. Ash-tree, ash-tree, a word in thine ear ! Thou art wizen and white, ash-tree ; Other trees have gone on. Have gathered and grown. Have bourgeoned and borne : Thou hast wasted and worn. DEAD-5IAID's-P00L. 49 Thy knots are all eyes ; Every knot a dumb eye, That has seen a sight And heard a cry. Thy leaves are dry: The summer has not gone by, But they 're withered and dead, Like locks round a head That is bald with a secret sin. That is scorched by a hell ^vithin. Thy skin Is withered and wan, Like a guilty man : It was thin, Aye, silken and thin, It is houghed And ploughed, Like a murderer's skin. Thou hast no shoots nor wands, All thy arms turn to the deep. All thy twigs are crooked. Twined and twisted, Fingered and fisted, Like one who had looked On wringing hands 'Till his hands were wrung in his sleep. E 50 ENGLAND IN TBIE OF WAE. Pardon my doubt of thee, What is this In the very groove Of thy right arm ? There is not a snake So yellow and red, There is not a toad So sappy and dread ! It doth not move, It doth not hiss — Ash-tree — for God's sake — Hast thou known What hath not been said, And the summer sun Cannot keep it warm, And the living wood Cannot shut it down ! And it grows out of thee, And will be told. Bloody as blood. And yellow as gold ! Ash-tree, ash-tree. That once wert so green ! Ash-tree, ash-tree ! Wliat hast thou seen ? Was I a mother — nay or aye ? Am I childless — aye nor nay ? Ash-tree, ash-tree, Bendint;: o'er the water ! DEAD-MAID's-rOOL. 51 Ash-tree, ash-tree, Give me my daughter ! Curse the water, Curse thee. Ash-tree, Bending o'er the water! Leaf on the tree, Flower on the stem, Curse thee, And curse them ! Trunk and shoot, Herb and weed. Bud and fruit, Blossom and seed. Above and below. About and about, Inside and out, Grown and to grow. Curse you all. Great and small. That cannot give back my daughter ! But if there were any, Among so many, Any small thing that did lie sweet for her, Any newt or marish-worm that, shrinking Under the pillow of the water weed, Left her a cleaner bed, Any least leaves that fell with little plashes, And sinking, sinking. 52 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. Sank soft and slow, and settled on her lashes, And did what was so meet for her, Them I do not curse. See, see up the glen, The evening sun agen ! It falls upon the water, It falls upon the grass. Thro' the birches, thro' the firs. Thro' the alders, catching gold, Thro' the bracken and the briar, Goes the evening fire To the bush-linnet's nest. There between us and the west, Dost thou see the angels pass ? Thro' the air, with streaming hair, The golden angels pass ? Hold, hold ! for mercy, hold ! I know thee ! ah, I know thee ! I know thou wilt not pass me so — The gray old woman is ready to go. Call me to thee, call me to thee. My daughter ! oh, my daughter ! THE sailor's retuun. 53 THE SAILOR'S RETURN. Tms morn I lay a-dreaming, This morn, this merry morn, When the cock crew shrill from over the hill, I heard a bugle horn. And thro' the dream I was dreaming, There sighed the sigh of the sea, And thro' the dream I was dreaming. This voice came singing to me. " High over the breakers, Low under the lee, Sing ho The billow. And the lash of the rolling sea ! " Boat, boat, to the billow. Boat, boat, to the lee ! Love on thy pillow, Art thou dreaming of me ? 54 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAP.. " Billow, billow, breaking, Land us low on the lee ! For sleeping or waking. Sweet love, I am coming to tliee ! " High, high, o'er the breakers, Low, low, on the lee, Sing ho ! The billow That brings me back to thee !" THE widow's lullaby. 55 THE WIDOW'S LULLABY. She droops like a dew-dropping lily, " Wliisht thee, boy, Avhislit thee, boy Willie ! WTiisht whisht o' thy waiHng, whisht thee boy, Willie ! " The sun comes up from the lea. As he who wiU never come more Came up tliat first day to her door, Wlien tlie ship furled her sails by the shore, And the spring leaves were green on the tree. But she droops like a dew-dropping HI}'-, " "Wliisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie ! " The sun goes down in the sea. As he who will never go more Went doAvu that last day from, her door, Wlien the ship set her sails from the shore. And the dead leaves were sere on the tree. 56 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, " Wliisht thee, boy,whisht thee, boy Willie ! Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie ' " The year comes glad o'er the lea, As he who will never come more, Never, ah never ! Came up that first day to her door. When the ship furled her sails by the shore, And the spring leaves were green on the tree. Never, ah never ! He who will come again, never ! But she droops like a dew-dropping hly, " Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willlie ! " The year goes sad to the sea. As he who will never go more For ever went down from her door. Ever, for ever ! Wlien the ship set her sails by the shore. And the dead leaves were sere on the tree. Ever, for ever ! For ever went down from her door. But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, " Whisht thee, boy, whislit thee, boy Willie! Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie !" THE widow's lullabt. 57 A gun, and a flash, and a gun, The ship lies again where she lay ! High and low, low and high, in the sun, There 's a boat, a boat on the bay ! High and low, low and high, in the sun, All as she saw it that day, Wlien he came who shall never come more. And the ship furled her sails by the shore. But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, " Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! Wlaisht whisht o' thy Availing, whisht thee, boy Willie ! " All as she saw it that day. With a gun, and a flash, and a gun, The ship lies again where she lay. And they run, and they ride, and they run, Merry, merry, merry, down the merry highway, To the boat, high and low in the sun. Nearer and nearer she hears the rolling drum, Clearer and clearer she hears the cry, " They come," i'ar and near runs the cheer to her ear once so dear, Merry, merry, merry, up the merry highway, As it ran when he came that day And said, " Wilt thou be my dearie ? Oh, wilt thou be my dearie ? My boat is dry in the bay. And I '11 love till thou be weary ! " 58 ENGLAND IN TUIE OF WAR. And she could not say him nay, For his bonny eyes o' blue, And never was true-love so true. To never so kind a dearie, As he who •will never love more, '\^^leu the ship furls her sails by the shore. Then she shakes like a wind-stricken lily, " Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy AVillie ! " THE GABERLl'NZir'S WALK. 59 THE GABERLUNZIE'S WALK. The Laird is dead, the laird is dead, An' dead is cousin John, His henchmen ten, an' his sax merrie men, Forbye the steward's son. An' his ain guid gray that he strode sae gay 'When hunt was up an' on, An' the win' blew fair, an' the grews pu'd sair, An' dawn was on Maol-don, An' the skeigh steeds neigh'd, an' the slot-hounds bay'd, An' up gaed the mornin' sun, An' awa' gaed the deer wi' the merrie men's cheer, Awa' owre the auld Maol-don, An' awa' vn' a shout ran the rabble an' the rout, An' awa' rode cousin John, Wi' his horn, his horn, thro' the merry merry morn, His hunter's horn sae shrill ! An' 't was " Ho, heigho, hereawa', Hereawa', hereawa' ! Ho, heigho, hereawa' ! " A' roun' the hill ! Walie ! walie ! they 're a' ganc dead, A' owre the seas an' awa' The laird an' his men, the sax an' the ten, They gaed to fight an' to fa'. 60 ENGLAND IN TOfE OF WAR. An' walie, an' wae, an' hecli ! the weary day ! The laird is dead an' a' ! A' in ae grave by the margent o' the wave Thegither they lay doun, Sax feet deep, where dead men sleep, A' i' the faeman's grun'. Foremost i' the van, wi' his bagpipes i' his han'. The steward's ae braw son. An' next the young laird — gin the guid Lord had spared !- A' as he led them on, Wi' his bonnie brow bare an' his lang fair hair, An' his bluidy braid-sword drawn ; An' hard by his chief, that in life was sae lief, In death cam cousin John, Wi' his horn, his horn, thro' the merry merry morn, His hunter's horn sae shrill Wlaen 't was " Ho, heigho, hereawa', Hereawa', hereawa' ! Ho, heigho, hereawa' ! " A' roun' the hill ! Gin ony uphauld the young Laird lies cauld, An' cauld lies cousin John, Sax feet deep, as dead men sleep, A' i' the faeman's grun', A' in ae grave by the margent o' the wave. Where doun they lay that day, Wi' the henchmen ten, an' the sax merrie men. Ask the gabcrlunzic gray. THE GABERLUNZIE'S WALK. 61 Step an' step, step an' step, gaed the gaberlunzie gray, Faint an' lame, \vi' empty wame, he hirples on his way. Step an' step, step an' step, an' owre the hill maun he. His head is bent, his pipe is brent, he has na a bawbee. Step an' step, step an' step, he totters thro' the mirk. He hears the fox amang the cocks, the houlet by the kirk. Step an' step, step an' step, an' as he climbs the hill The aiild auld moon is gaun doun ; the nicht grows cauld an' still, The breathin' kye aroun' him lie, the ingle-light is gane, He wakes the yowes amang the knowes, an' still he gangs his lane. His slow steps rouse the blethrin' grouse, the peewit fa's an' squeals. The nicht-goat bleats amang the peats, an' still he speils an' speils. Step an' step, step an' step, an' up the craigie stark. An' mony a stane ane after ane gangs snirtUn' doun the dark. Step an' step, step an' step, that gaberlimzie gray, A' win's seem tint far far ahint as he gangs on his way. He hears the bum amang the fern, he hears the stoatie cheep, He hears the rustle, an' flit an' fussle, as the kae shifts her roost in her sleep. Step an' step, step an' step, he gangs wd' troubled breath, He feels the silence a' aboon, he feels the warl' beneath ; Wheet an' wheet about his feet the startit mousie ran, An' as he gaes his riskin' claes aye gar him start an' stan'; An' as he Stan's wi' knotted han's, an' leans his chitterin' head, He hears the sod his steps have trod a-tirlin' to his tread ; An' crisp foot-fa', an' sibblin' sma' o' stealthy cony crappin', 62 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. An' click o' bat aboon his hat, like fairy fingers snappin', An' ilka yird that ticked an' stirred, Avhere swairdie there is nae, As elfin shools the tittlin' mools gar'd rinkle doun the brae; An' safter soun' alang the groun' the grass-taps thro' an' thro', Grin owre the fiel's the wee bit chiel's were dealin' out the dew. Step an' step, step an' step, an' hech ! his freezin' bluid ! He gaes into the silence as aue gaes into a wood. The mair the height, mair still the nicht, an' faster did he gang, Step an' step, an' then a step, an' he listens hard an' lang ! He Ustens twice, he listens thrice, but why he disna ken ; His cauld skin skeared, an' clipped his beard; he stops an' lists agen. There's somethin' creepin' thro' his banes, there's somethin' stirs his hair : 'Tis mair than use, he canna choose, he listens ten times mair ! He pits his pack fra his auld back, he sits him on a stane, His eyelids fa', he gapes his jaw, an' harks wi' might an' main. The mair he list the mair uprist his gray-locks wi' affright. Till ilka hair that he might wear was stiff an' stark upright. Hi^ sick heart stops, the low moon drops, the nicht is eerie chill ! Wi' sudden shout the dead cry out, like hunters at a kill. Full cry, full cry, the win's sweep by, a horn a horn is shrill ! An' 't is " Ho, heigho, hereawa', Hereawa', hereawa' ! Ho, heigho, hereawa' !" A' roun' the hill ! LIBERTY TO M. LE DIPLOMATE. 63 LIBERTY TO M. LE DIPLOMATE. Thou fool Avho treatest with the sword, and not With the strong ai'm that wields it ! Thou insane Who seest the dew-drops on the lion's mane, But dost forget the lion ! Oh tliou sot. Hugging thy drunken dream ! Thou idiot Who makest a covenant against the rain With autumn leaves ! Thou atheist who dost chain This miserable body that can rot. And thinkest it Me ! Fool ! for the swordless arm Shall strike thee dead. Madman, the lion wakes, And with one sliake is dry. Sot, the day breaks Shall sober even thee. Idiot, one storm And thou art bare. Atheist, the corse is thine, But lo, the unfettered soul immortal and divine J 64 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. AN EVENING DREAM. I 'm leaning where you loved to lean in eventides of old, The sun has sunk an hour ago behind the treeless wold, In this old oriel that we loved how oft I sit forlorn, Gazing, gazing, up the vale of green and waving corn. The summer corn is in the ear, thou knowest what I see Up the long wide valley, and from seldom tree to tree. The serried corn, the serried corn, the green and serried corn. From the golden morn tUl night, from the moony night till morn. I love it, morning, noon, and night, in sunshine and in rain, For being here it seems to say, " The lost come back again." And being here as green and fair as those old fields we knew. It says, " The lost when they come back, come back unchanged and true." But more than at the shout of morn, or in the sleep of noon. Smiling with a smiling star, or wan beneath a wasted moon, I love it, soldier brother ! at this weird dim hour, for then The serried ears are swords and spears, and the fields are fields of men. Rank on rank in faultless phalanx stern and still I can discern, Phalanx after faultless phalanx in dumb armies still and stern ; Army on army, host on host, till the bannered nations stand. As the dead may stand for judgment silent on the o"er-peopled land. Not a bayonet stirs: do-wn sinks the awful twilight, dern and dun. On an age that waits its leader, on a world that waits the sun. AN EVENING DREAM. C5 Then your dog — I know his voice — cries from out the court- yard nigh, And my love too well interprets all that long and mournful cry ! In my passion that thou art not, lo ! I see thee as thou art. And the pitying fancy brings thee to assuage the anguished heart. " Oh my brother ! " and my bosom's throb of welcome at the word, Claps a hundred thousand hands, and all my legions hail thee lord. And the vast unmotioned myriads, front to front, as at a breath, Live and move to martial music, down the devious dance of death. Ah, thou smilest, scornful brother, at a maiden's dream of war! And thou shakest back thy locks as if — a glow-worm for thy star — I dubbed thee Avith a blade of grass, by earthlight, in a fairy ring, Ivnight o' the garter o' Queen Mab, or lord in waiting to her king. Brother, in thy plumed pride of tented field and tm-retted tower, Smiling brother, scornful brother, darest thou watch with me one hour ? Even now some fate is near, for I shake and know not why, And a wider sight is orbing, orbing, on my moistened eye. And I feel a thousand flutterings round my soul's still vacant field, Like the ravens and the vultures o'er a carnage yet unkilled. Hist ! I see the stir of glamovu' far upon the twilight wold. Hist ! I see the vision rising ! List ! and as I speak behold ! V 6G ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. These dull mists are mists of morning, and behind yon eastern hill, The hot stm abides my bidding : he shall melt them when I will. All the night that now is past, the foe hath laboured for the day, Creeping thro' the stealthy dark, like a tiger to his prey. Throw this window wider ! Strain thine eyes along the dusky vale ! Art thou cold with horror ? Has thy bearded cheek grown pale? 'T is the total Eussian host, flooding up the solemn plain. Secret as a silent sea, mighty as a moving main ! Oh, my coimtry ! is there none to rouse thee to the rolling sight ? Oh thou gallant sentinel who hast watched so oft so well, must thou sleep this only night ? So hath the shepherd lain on a rock above a plain. Nor beheld the flood that swelled from some emboAvelled mount of woe, Waveless, foamless, sure and slow. Silent o'er the vale below, Till nigher still and nigher comes the seeth of fields on fire. And the thrash of falling trees, and the steam of rivers dry. And before the burning flood the wild things of the wood Skulk and scream, and fight, and fall, and flee, and fly. A gun ! and then a gun ! I' the far and early sun Dost thou see by yonder tree a fleeting redness rise, As if, one after one, ten poppies red had blown, And shed in a blinking of the eyes ? They have started from their rest with a bayonet at each breast. Those watchers of the west who shall never watch again ! AN EVENING DREAM. 07 'Tis nought to die, but ob, God's pity on the woe Of dying hearts that know they die in vain ! Beyond yon backward height that meets their dying sight, A thousand tents are white, and a slumbering army lies. " BroAvn Bess," the sergeant cries, as he loads her while he dies, " Let this devil's deluge reach them, and the good old cause is lost." He dies upon the word, but his signal gun is heard, Yon ambush green is stirred, yon laboring leaves are tost. And a sudden sabre waves, and like dead from opened graves, A hundred men stand up to meet a host. Dumb as death, with bated breath. Calm upstand that fearless band, And the dear old native land, like a dream of sudden sleep. Passes by each manly eye that is fixed so stern and dry On the tide of battle rolling up the steep. They hold their silent ground, I can hear each fatal sound Upon that summer mound which the morning sunshine •warms, The word so brief and shrill that rules them like a will, The sough of moving limbs, and the clank and ring of arms. " Fire ! "' and round that green knoll the sudden war-clouds roll, And from the tyrant's ranks so fierce an answ'ring blast Of whirling death came back that the green trees turned to black, And dropped their leaves in Avinter as it passed. A moment on each side the siirging smoke is wide. Between the fields are green, and around the hills are loud. But a shout breaks out, and lo ! they have rushed upon the foe, As the living lightning leaps from cloud to cloud. 68 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Fire and flash, smoke and crash, The fogs of battle close o'er friends and foes, and they are gone! Alas, thou bright-eyed boy ! alas, thou mother's joy ! With thy long hair so fair, that didst so bravely lead them on ! I iiiint -with pain and fear. Ah, heaven! what do I hear V A trumpet-note so near ? What are these that race like hunters at a chase ? Who are these that run a thousand men as one ? What are these that crash the trees far in the waving rear ? Fight on, thou young hero ! there 's help upon the way ! The light horse are coming, the great guns are coming, The Highlandei's are coming; — good God give us the day! Hurrah for the brave and the leal ! Hm-rah for the strong and the true ! Hurrah for the helmets of steel ! Hurrah for the bonnets o' blue ! A run and a cheer, the Highlanders are here ! a gallop and a cheer, the light horse are here ! A rattle and a cheer, the great guns are here ! With a cheer they wheel round and face the foe ! As the troopers wheel about, their long swords are out, With a trumpet and a shout, in they go ! Like a yawning ocean green, the huge host gulphs them in, But high o'er the rolling of the flood, Tlicir sabres you may see like lights upon the sea When the red sun is going down in blood. Again, again, again ! And the lights are on the wane ! Ah, Christ ! I see them sink, light by light, As the gleams go one by one Avhen the great sun is down. And the sea rocks in foam beneath tlic night. AN EVENING DREAM. G9. Aye, the great sun is low, and the waves of battle flow O'er his honoured head ; but, oh, we mourn not he is down. For to-morrow he shall rise to fill his country's eyes, As he sails up the skies of renown ! Ye may yell, but ye shall groan I Ye shall buy them bone for bone ! Now, tyrant, hold thine own ! blare the trumpet, peal the drum! From yonder hill-side dark, the storm is on you ! Hark ! Swift as lightning, loud as thunder, down they come ! As on some Scottish shore, with mountains frowning o'er. The sudden tempests roar from the glen, And roll the tumbling sea in billows to the lee. Came the charge of the gallant Highlandmen ! And as one beholds the sea tho' the wind he cannot see. But by the waves that flee knows its might, So I tracked the Highland blast by the sudden tide that past O'er the wild and rolling vast of the fight. Yes, glory be to God ! they have stemmed the foremost flood ! I lay me on the sod and breathe again ! In the precious moments won, the bugle call has gone To the tents where it never rang in -vain. And lo, the landscape wide is red from side to side, And all the might of England loads the plain ! Like a hot and bloody dawn, across the horizon drawn, "Wliile the host of darkness holds the misty vale. As glowing and as grand our bannered legions stand. And England's flag unfolds upon the gale ! At that great sign imfurled, as morn moves o'er the world ^\^len God lifts His standard of light, With a tumult and a voice, and a rusliing mighty noise, Our long line moves forward to the fiffht. 70 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. Clarion and clarion defying, Sounding, resounding, replying. Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing, Near and far The to and fro storm of the never-done hurrahing, Thro' the bright weather banner and feather rising and falling, bugle and fife Calling, recalling — for death or for life — Our host moved on to the war, Wliile England, England, England, England, England ! Was blown from line to line near and far. And like the morning sea, our bayonets you might see, (Jome beaming, gleaming, streaming, Streaming, gleaming, beaming, Beaming, gleaming, streaming, to the war. Clarion and clarion defying. Sounding, resounding, replying. Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing. Near and far The to and fro storm of the never-done hurrahing. Thro' the bright weather, banner and feather rising and falling. bugle and fife Calling, recalling — for death or for life — Our lonp; line moved forward to the war. < A PS.VLM CF TUE HEART. IN WAR-TIME. - A PSALM OF THE HEART. Scourge us as Thou Avilt, oli Lord God of Hosts ; Deal with us, Lord, according to our transgressions ; But give us Victory ! Victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, Victory ! Lift Thy wrath up from the day of battle. And set it on the weight of other days ! Draw Thy strength from us for many days, So Thou be with us on the day of battle, And give us victory. Victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! Let the strong arm be as the flag o' the river, The withered flag that flappeth o'er the river, "^Vhen aU the flood is dried out of the river ; Let the brave heart be as a drunkard's bosom, When the thick fume is frozen in the bosom. And the bare sin lies sliivering in the bosom ; 72 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Let the bold eye be sick and crazed with midnight, Strained and cracked with aching days of midnight, Swarmed and foul with creeping shapes of midnight ; So Thou return upon the day of battle, So we be strong upon the day of battle, Be drunk with Thee upon the day of battle, So Thou shine o'er us in the day of battle, Shine in the faces of our enemies. Hot in the faces of our enemies, Hot o'er the battle and the victory. Victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! Shame us not, oh Lord, before the wicked ! In our hidden places let Thy wrath Afflict us ; in the secret of our sin Convince us ; be the bones within our flesh Marrowed with fire, and all the strings of life Strung to the twang of torture ; let the stench Of our own strength torment us ; the desire Of our own glorious image in the sea Consume us ; shake the darkness like a tree. And fill the night with mischiefs, — blights and dwales, Weevils, and rots, and cankers ! But, oh Lord, Humble us not upon the day of battle, Hide not Thy face upon the day of battle, Let it shine o'er us on the day of battle, Shine in the faces of our enemies, Hot in the faces of our enemies, 1 -I A PSALM OF THE HEART. 73 Hot o'er the battle and the victory ! Victory, victory ! oli, Lord, victory ! Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! Tho' Thou shoiildst glorify us above measure, Yet will we not forget that Thou art God 1 Honour oxir land, oh Lord ! honour our land ! Be Thou her armour in the day of battle, ^V]lereon the sword of man shall strike in vain ! For Thou canst find the place and leave no scar. Sting of bee, nor fairy-spot nor mole. Yet kill the germ within the core of life. Oh lead her in the glory of her beauty. So that the nations wonder at her beauty ! For Thou canst take her beauty by the heart And throw the spout of sorrow from the fountain, The flood of sorrow thro' the veins of joy. Let her soul look out of her eyes of glory, Lighten, oh Lord, irom awful eyes of glory ! For Thou canst touch the soul upon its throne, The fortressed soul vipon its guarded throne, Nor scorch the sweet air of the populous splendour That comes and goes about a leprous king. Therefore fear not to bless us, oh Lord God ! And give us victory ! Victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! 74 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. Sight of home, if Thou wilt ; kiss of love, If Thou wilt ; children at the knees of peace. If Thou wilt ; parents weeping in the door Of welcome, if Thou wilt ; but victory, Victory, victory 1 oh. Lord, victory ! Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! Pangs if Thou wilt, oh Lord ! Death if Thou wilt! Labour and famine, frost and fire and storm. Silent plague, and hurricane of battle. The field-grave, and the wolf-grave, and the sea ! But victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! Oh, Lord, victory 1 Lord, Lord, victory ! Consider, Lord, the oppressions of the oppressor. And give us victory ! The tyrant sitteth on his golden throne In palaces of silver, to his gates The meeting winds blow good from all the world. Who hath undone the mountain where he locks His treasure ? In the armoury of hell Which engine is not his ? His name infects The air of every zone, and to each tongue From Hecla to the Ganges adds a word That kills all terms of pride. His servants sit In empires round his em[)ire ; and outspread As land beneath the water, oh, my God, His kingdoms bear the half of all Thy stars ! Who hath out-told his princes ? Who hath summed His captains ? From the number of his hosts A PSALM OF THE HEAKT. 75 He should forget a nation and not lack I Therefore, oh Lord God, give us victory The serf is in his hut ; the unsacred sire Wlio can beget no honoiu-. Lo his mate Dim thro' the reeking garlic — she whose womb Doth shape his ignorant shame, and whose young slave In some far field thickens a knouted hide For baser generations. Their dull eyes Are choked with feudal welfare ; their rank limbs Steam in the stye of plenty ; their rude tongues. That fill the belly from the common trough, Discharge in gobbets of as gross a speech That other maw the heart. Nor doth the boor Refuse his owner's chattel tho' she breed The rich man's increase, nor doth she disdain The joyless usage of such limbs as toil Yoked with the nobler ox, and take as mute A beast's infliction ; at her stolid side The girl that shall be such a thing as she. Suckles the babe she would not, with the milk A bondmaid owes her master. Lord, Thou seest ! Therefore, oh Lord God, give us victory ! The captive straineth at the dungeon-grate. Behold, oh Lord, the secret of the rock, The dungeon, and the captive, and the chain ! Tho' it be hidden under forest leaves, Tho' it be on the mountains among clouds, Tho' they point to it as a crag o' the hill, 7C> ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. And say concerning it that the A\dnd Availeth, Thou knowest the inner secret and the sin ! I see his white face at the dungeon bars, As snow between the bars of winter trees. He sinketh doAvn upon the dungeon stones, His white face making light within the dungeon, The clasped whiteness of his praying hands Flickering a little light within the dungeon. And thro' the darkness, thro' the cavern darkness, Like to a runnel in a savage wood. Sweet thro' the horror of the hollow dark He sings the song of home in the strange land. How long, oh Lord of thunder ? Victory ! Lord God of vengeance, give us victory ! Victory, victory ! oh. Lord, victory ! Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! A SHOWER IN* WAR-TIME. 77 A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. Rain, rain, sweet warm rain, On the wood and on the plain ! Eain, rain, warm and sweet, Summer Avood kish leafy and loud, With note of a throat that ripples and rings, Sad sole sweet from her central seat, Bubbling and trilling, FiUing, filling, filling The shady space of the green dim place With an odoiu' of melody, Till all the noon is thrilling, And the great wood hangs in the balmy day Like a cloud with an angel in the cloud, And singing because she sings ! In the sheltering wood, At that hour I stood ; I saw that in that hour Great round drops, clear round drops, Grew on every leaf and flower, And its hue so fairly took And faintly, that each tinted elf Trembled with a rarer self, Even as if its beauty shook With passion to a tenderer look. 78 ENGLAKD IN TDIE OF WAR. Eain, rain, sweet warm rain, On tlie wood and on the plain ! Eain, rain, warm and sweet. Summer wood lush leafy and loud, "With note of a throat that ripples and rings, Sad sole sw^eet from her central seat, BubbHng and trilling, Filling, filling, filling The shady space of the green dim place "With an odour of melody, Till all the noon is thrilling. And the great wood hangs in the balmy day. Like a cloud with an angel in the cloud. And singing because she sings ! Then out of the sweet warm weather There came a little wind sighing, sighing : Came to the wood sighing, and sighing went in. Sighed thro' the green grass, and o'er the leaves brown, Sighed to the dingle, and, sighing, lay down, "Wliile all the flowers whispered together. Then came swift winds after her who was flying, Swift bright winds with a jocund din, Sought her in vain, her boscage was so good, And spread like baffled revellers thro' the wood. Then, from bough, and leaf, and bell, The great round drops, the clear round drops. In fitful cadence drooped and fell — Drooped and fell as if some wanton air "Were more apparent here and there. A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. • 79 Sphered on a favourite flower in dewy kiss, Grew heavy with delight and dropped with bHss. Rain, rain, sweet warm rain, On the wood and on the plain ; Eain, rain, still and sweet, For the winds have hushed again, And the nightingale is still, Sleeping in her central seat. Rain, rain, summer rain. Silent as the summer heat. Doth it fall, or doth it rise ? Is it incense from the hill, Or bounty from the skies ? Or is the face of earth that lies Languid, looking up on high. To the face of Heaven so nigh That their balmy breathings meet ? Rain, rain, summer rain. On the wood and on the plain : Rain, rain, rain, until The tall wet trees no more athirst. As each chalice green doth fill. See the pigmy nations nurst Round their distant feet, and throw The nectar to the herbs below. The droughty herbs, Avithout a sound, Drink it ere it reach the eronnd. 80 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF V.'AE. Rain, rain, SAveet Avarm rain, On the wood and on the plain, And lonnd me like a dropping Avell, The great round drops they fell and fell. I say not War is good or ill ; Perchance they may slay, if they will. Who killing love, and loving kill. I do not join yon captive's din ; Some man among us without sin Perhaps may rightly lock him in. I do not grant the Tyrant's plea ; The slaves potential to be free Already are the Powers that be. Whether our bloodsheds flow or cease, I know that as the years increase, The flower of all is human peace. " The Flower." Vertumnus hath repute O'er Flora ; yet methinks the fruit But alter ego of the root ; And that which serves our fleshly need, Subserves the blossom that doth feed The soul which is the life indeed. Nor well he deems who deems tlie rose Is for the roseberry, nor knows The roseberry is for the rose. A SHOWER IX WAR-TI.ME. 81 And Autumn's garnered treasury, But prudent Natui-e's guarantee That Summer evermore shall be, And yearly, once a year, complete That top and culmen ox(iuisite Whereto the slanting seasons meet. AMaether our bloodsheds flow or cease, I know that, as the years increase, The flower of all is human peace. " The flower." Yet whether shall we sow A blossom or a seed ? I knoAv The flower will rot, the seod will grow. By this the rain had ceased, and I went forth From that Dodona green of oak and beech. But ere my steps could reach The hamlet, I beheld along the verge A flight of fleeing cloudlets that did urge Unequal speed, as when a herd is driven By the recurring pulse of shoutings loud. . I saw ; but held the omen of no worth. For by the footway not a darnel stirred, And still the noon slept on, nor even a bird Moved the dull air ; but, at each silent hand, Upon the steaming land The hare lay basking, and the budded wheat Himg slumberous heads of sleep. G 82 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAE. Then I was 'ware that a great northern cloud Moved slowly to the centre of the heaven. His white head was so high That the great blue fell round him like the wide And ermined robe of kings. He sat in pride Lonely and cold ; but methought when he spied From that severe inhospitable height The distant dear delight, The melting world with summer at her side, His pale brow mellowed with a mournful light, And like a marble god he wept his stony tears. The loyal clouds that sit about his feet, All in their courtier kinds, Do weep to see him weep. After the priceless drops the sycophant winds Leap headlong down, and chase, and swirl, and sweep Beneath the royal grief that scarce may reach the ground. To see their whirling zeal. Unlikely things that in the kennel lie Begin to wheel and wheel ; The wild tarantula will spreads far and nigh, And spinning straws go spiral to the sky. And leaves long dead leap up and dance their ghastly round. And so it happened in the street 'Neath a broad cave I stood and mused again, And all the arrows of the driving rain Were tipped with slanting sleet. I mused beneath the straw pent of the bricked And sodded cot, with damp moss mouldered o'er, The bristled thatch gleamed with a carcanet. A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. 83 And from tlie inner eaves the reeking wet Dripped ; dropping more And more, as more the sappy roof was sapped, And wept a mirkier wash that splashed and clapped The plain-stones, dribbling to the flooded door. A plopping pool of droppings stood before, Worn by a weeping age in rock of easy grain. O'erhead, hard by, a pointed beam o'erlapped, And from its jewelled tip The slipping slipping drip Did whip the fillipped pool whose hopping plashes ticked. Let one or thousands loose or bind, That land 's enslaved whose sovran mind Collides the conscience of mankind. And free — whoever holds the rood — Where Might in Right, and Power in Good, Flow each in each, like life in blood. The age has broken from his kings ! Stop him ! Behold his feet have Avings. Upon his back the hero springs. Tho' Jack's horse run away with Jack, "Who knows, while Jack keeps on his back, If Jack rule him or he rule Jack ? Cuckoo takes the mud away ! True the sun doth shine all day ; Cuckoo takes the mud away. 84 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Who sneers at heirloom rank ? God knows Each man that lives, each flower that blows. There may be lords — and a blue rose. Even to the sod whereon you prate This land is ours. Do you debate How we shall manage our estate ? Norman, War granted you your lease : The very countersign of Peace Shows the first Lessor can release. Therefore altho' you cannot guide, Be vnse ; and spare the almighty pride Of that mild monster that you ride. If England's head and heart Avere one, "^^Tiere is that good beneath the sun Her noble hands should leave undone ! Small unit, hast thou hardiness To bid mankind to battle ? Yes. The worm will rout them, and is less. The world assaults ? Nor fight nor fly. Stand in some steadfast truth, and eye The stubborn siege grow old and die. My army is mankind. My foe The very meanest truth I know. Shall 1 come back a conqueror ? No. A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. 85 Woiildst light ? See Phosphor shines confcst, Turn thy broad back upon the west ; Stand firm. The world will do the rest. Stand firm. Unless thy strength can climb Yon alp, and from that height sublime See, ere we see, the advancing time. Act for to-day ? Friend, this " to-day" Washed Adam's feet and streams away Far into yon eternity. Build as men steer, by chart and pole ; Care for each stone as each were sole, Yet lay it conscious of the whole. Sow with the signs. The wise man heeds The seasons. Capricornus feeds Upon the sluggard's winter seeds. Each enterprise, or smaU or great, Hath its own touchhole ; watch and wait. Find that and fire the loaded fate. Do in few acts whate'er thou dost ; Let thy foe play to his own cost, "Who moves the oftenest errs the most. Choose arms from Nature's armouries, Plagues, conflagrations, storms and seas. For God is surety for all these. 86 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Our town is threatened by a bear, We 've manned the threshholds far and near, Fools ! send five men to kill the bear. Do good to him that hates thee. Good, Still good. By physic or by food ? By letting or by stanching blood ? Do as thou wouldst be done by. See "VVliat it were well he did to thee, He pure as thou, thou foul as he. Lovest thou not Peace ? Aye, moralist. Both Peace and thee. Yet well I wist They who shut Janus did slay Christ. A PRAYEK OK THE UNDERSTANDING. -SJ IN WAR TIME. A PRAYER OF THE UNDERSTANDING. Lo, this is night. Hast thou, oh sun, refused Thy countenance, or is thy golden arm Shortened, or from thy shining place in heaven Art thou put down and lost ? Neither hast thou Refused thy constant face, nor is thine arm Shortened, nor from thy principality Art thou deposed, oh sun. Ours, ours, the sin, The sorrow. From thy steadfast noon we turnetl Into the eastern shade — and this is night. Yet so revolves the axle of the world. And by that brief aversion wheels us round To morn, and rolls us on the larger paths Of annual duty. Thou observant moon, That dancest round the seasonable earth As David round the ark, but half thy ring Is process, yet, complete, the circular whole Promotes thee, and expedes thy right advance, And all thy great desii'e of summer signs. And thou, oh sun, our centre, who thyself Art satellite, and, conscious of the far 88 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Arclielion, in obedience of free "will And native duty, as the good man walks Among the children's faces, with thine honse About thee, least and greatest, first and last, Makest of the blue eternal holiday Thy glad perambulation ; and thou, far Archelion, feudatory still, of one Not sovran nor in fee of paramount power ; Moons round your worlds, worlds round your suns, suns round Such satraps as in orderly degree Confess a lordlier regent and pervade A vaster cycle — ye, so moved, comnioved. Revolving and convolving, turn the heavens Upon the pivot of that summary star. Centre of all we know : and thou, oh star. Centre of all we know, chief crown of crowns, AVho art the one in all, the all in one,- And seest the ordered whole — nought uninvolved But all involved to one direct result Of multiform volution — in one pomp One power, one tune, one time, upon one path Move with thee moving. Thou, amid thy host Marchest — ah whither? Oh God, before Wliom AVe marshal thus Thy legioned works to take The secret of Thy counsel, and array Congress and progress, and, with multitude As conquerors and to con([uer, in consent Of universal law, approach Thy bound, A PRATER OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 89 Thine immemorial bound, and at Thy face Heaven and earth flee aAvay ; oh Thou Lord God, Wliether, oh absolute existence, Thou The Maker, makest, and this fair we see Be but the mote and dust of that unseen Unsought imsearchable ; or whether Thou ^V^lose goings forth are from of old, around Thy going in mere effluence without care Breathest creation out into the cold Beyond Thee, and, within Thine ambient breath, So walkest everlasting as we Avalk The unportioned snows ; or whether, meditating Eternity, self-centred, self-fulfilled, Self-continent, Thou thinkest and we live, A little while forgettest and we fade, Rememberest and we are, and this bright vision Wlierein we move, nay all our total sum And story, be to Thee as to a man "Wlien in the drop and rising of a lid Lo the swift rack and fashion of a dream, No more ; oh Thou inscrutable, whose ways Are not as ours, whose form we know not, voice Hear not, true work behold not, mystery Conceive not, who — as thunder shakes the world And rings a silver bell — hast sometime moved The tongue of man, but in Thy proper speech Wearest a hiunan language on a word As limpets on a rock, who, as Eternal, Omnipotential, Infinite, AUwise, In measure of Thine operation hast 90 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. No prime or term, in subject as in scheme No final end, in eidol as in act Nought but the perfect God ; oh Thou Supreme, Inaudible, Invisible, Unknown, Thj will be done. A hero's grave. 91 A HERO'S GRAVE. O'ek our evening fire the smoke is like a pall, And funeral banners hang about the arches of the hall, In the gable end I see a catafalque aloof, And night is drawn up like a curtain to the girders of the roof. Thou knowest why we silent sit, and why our eyes are dim. Sing us such proud sorrow as we may hear for him. Reach me the old harp that hangs between the flags he \9on, I will sing what once I heard beside the grave of such a son. My son, my son, A father's eyes are looking on thy grave, Dry eyes that look on this green mound and see The low weed blossom and the long grass wave. Without a single tear to them or thee. My son, my son. "Why should I weep ? The grass is grass, the weeds Are weeds. The emmet hath done thus ere now. I tear a leaf ; the green blood that it bleeds Is cold. Wliat have I here ? Where, where, art thou, My son, my son ? 92 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. On wliicli tall trembler shall the old man lean ? Which chill leaf shall lap o'er him when he lies On that bed where in visions I have seen Thy filial love ? or, when thy fother dies, Tissue a fingered thorn to close his childless eyes ? Aye, where art thou ? Men, tell me of a iame Walking the wondering nations ; and they say, AVhen thro' the shouting people thy great name Goes like a chief upon a battle-day. They shake the heavens with glory. Well-away ! As some poor hound that thro' thronged street and square Pursues his loved lost lord, and fond and fast Seeks what he feels to be but feels not where. Tracks the dear feet to some closed door at last. And lies him down and lornest looks doth cast, So I, thro' all the long tumultuous days. Tracing thy footstep on the human sands. O'er the signed deserts and the vocal ways Pursue thee, faithful, thro' the echoing lands, Wearin": a wanderinnj staff with tremblino; hands : Thro' echoing lands that ring with victory, And answer for the living with the dead. And give me marble when I ask for bread, And give me glory when I ask lor thee — It was not glory I nursed on my knee. A hero's grave. 93 And now, one stride behind thee, and too late, Yet true to all that reason cannot kill, I stand befoi'e the inexorable gate And see thy latest footstep on the sill, And know thou canst not come but watch and wait thee still. " Old man ! " — Ah, darest thou ? yet thy look is kind, Didst thou, too, love him ? " Thou grey-headed sire, Seest thou this path which from that grave doth wind Far thro' those western uplands higher and higher. Till, like a thrcad, it burns in the great fire " Of sunset ? The wild sea and desert meet Eastward by yon unnavigable strand, Then wherefore hath the flow of human feet Left this dry runnel of memorial sand Meandering thro' the summer of the land ? " See where the long immeasurable snake, Between dim hall and hamlet, tower and shed. Mountain and mountain, precipice and lake. Lies forth unfinished to this final head, This green dead mound of the unfading dead ! " Do they then come to weep thee ? Do they kiss Thy relics ? Art thou then as wholly gone As some old buried saint ? My son, my son. Ah, could I mourn thee so ! Such tears were bliss ! / " Old man, they do not mourn who weep at graves like this." 94 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. They do not moiirn ? What ! hath the insolent foe Found out my child's last bed ? Wlio, who, are they That come and go about him ? I cry, " Who ?" I am his father— I ;— I cry « Who ?" " Aye Gray trembler, I will tell thee who are they. " The slave who, having grown up strong and stark To the set season, feels at length he wears Bonds that will break, and thro' the slavish dark Shines with the light of liberated years. And still in chains doth weep a freeman's tears. " The patriot, while the unebbed force that hurled His tyrant throbs within his bursting veins. And, on the ruins of a hundred reigns, That ancient heaven of brass, so long unfurled. Falls with a crash of fame that fills the Avorld, And thro' the clangor lo the unwonted strains Of peace, and, in the new sweet heavens upcurled. The sudden incense of a thousand plains. " Youth whom some mighty flash from heaven hath turned In his dark highway, and who runs forth, shod With flame, into the wilderness untrod, And as he runs his heart of flint is burned. And in that glass he sees the face of God, And falls upon his knees — and morn is all abroad. A hero's grave. 95 " Age who hath heard amid his cloistered ground The cheer of youth, and steps from echoing aisles, And at a sight the great blood with a bound Melts his brow's winter, which the free sun smiles To jewels, and he stands a young man crowned With gUttering years among a young world shouting round. " Girls that do blush and tremble with delight On the St. John's eve of their maidenhood ; Wlien the unsummered woman in her blood Glows through the Parian maid, and at the sight The flushing virgin weeps and feels herself too briglit. " He who first feels the world-old destiny. The shaft of gold that strikes the poet still, And slowly in its victim melts away, Who knows his wounds wiU heal but when they kill, And drop by vital drop doth bleed his golden ill. " All whom the everpassing mysteries Have rapt above the region of our race, And, blinded by the glory and the grace Break from the ecstatic sphere — as he who dies In darkness, and in heaven's o'wn light doth rise. Dazed with the untried glory of the place Looks up and sees some well-remembered face, And thro' the invulnerable angels flies To that dear human breast and hides his dazzled eyes. 96 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. " All -vvho, like the sun-ripened seed that springs And bourgeons in the sun, do hold profound An antenatal stature, which the round Of the dull continent flesh hath cribbed and wound Into this kernelled man ; but having found Such soil as grew them, burst in blossomings Not native here, or, from the hallowed ground, Tower their slow height, and spread, like sheltering wings, Those boughs wherein the bird of omen sings High as the palms of heaven, while to the sound Lo kingdoms jocund in the sacred bound Till the world's summer fills her moon, and brings The final fruit which is the feast and fate of kings. " And darest thou mourn? Thy bones are left behind. But where art thou, Anchises ? Dost thou see Him who once bare the slow paternity. Foot-burnt o'er stony Troy ? So, thou, reclined Goest thro' the falling years. Here, here w*here we Two stand, lies deep the flesh thou hast so pined To clasp, and shalt clasp never. Verily, Love and the worm are often of one mind ! God save them from election ! Pity thee ? True he lifts not thy load, but he hath signed And at his bock a nation rose up free ; Thy wounds his living love may never bind. But at the dead man's touch posterity Is healed. To thee, thou poor, and halt, and blind, He is a staff no more : but times to be Lean on his monumental memory A hero's grave. 97 As the moon on a mountain. Thou shalt find A silent home, a cheerless hearth : but he Shall be a fire which the enkindling Avind, Blowing for ever from eternity, Fans till its universal blaze hath shined The jiile of thankful ages. Pity thee ? A son is lost to thine infirmity ; Poor fool, what then ? A son thou hast resigned To give a father to the virtues of mankind." 98 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. IN WAR-TIME. AN ASPIRATION OF THE SPIRIT. Lord Jesus, as a little child, Upon some high ascension day AVhen a great people goes to pay- Allegiance, and the tumnlt wild Eoars by its thousand streets, and fills The billowy nation on the plain. As roar into the heaving main A thousand torrents from the hills. Caught in the current of the throng Is drawn beneath the closing crowd, And, drowning in the human flood. Is whirled in its dark depths along ; And low under the ruthless feet, Or high as to the awful knees Of giants that he partly sees, Blinded with fear and faint with heat, AN ASPIRATION OF THE SPIIUT. 99 Mindless of all but Avliat doth seem, And shut out from the upper light, IMaddens Avithin a monstrous night Of limbs that crush him like a dream ; And when his strength no more can stand, And while he sinks in his last swound. Is lifted from the deadly ground, And led by a resistless hand. And thro' the opening agony Goes on and knows not where, beside The mastery of his guardian guide. Goes on, and knows not where nor why. Till, when the sky no more is hid. Between the rocking heads he sees A mount that rises by degrees Above them like a pyramid, And on the summit of the mount A vacant throne, and round the throne Bright-vestured princes, zone by zone, In circles that he cannot covmt, And feels, at length, a slanting way, And laboiu's by his guardian good Till forth, as from a lessening wood, They step into the dazzling day. 100 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. Aiid from the raoiint he sees below The marvel of the marshalled plain, And what was tumult is a reign, And, as he climbs, the princes know His guide, and fall about his feet. Before his face the courtiers fall. And lo ! it is the Lord of all, And on his throne he takes his seat ; And, while strong fears transfix the boy, The mighty people far and near Throw up upon the eye and ear The flash and thunder of their joy. And, round the royal flag unfurled. In sequent love and circHng awe The legions lead their living law, And what was Chaos is a World : So, Lord, Thou seest this mortal me, Deep in Titanic days that press Incessant from unknown access To issues that I cannot see. Caught in the current stern and strong I sink beneath the closing crowd, And drowning in the awful flood Am whirled in its dark doj)ths along, AN ASPIHATION OF THE SPIKIT. Kll Struggling with shows so thronged and thnist On these wide eyes which bruise and burn, And flash with half-seen sights, or turn To that worse darkness thick with dust, That mindful of but what doth seem. And hopeless of the upper light, I madden in a monstrous night Of shapes that crush me like a dream. Then when my strength no more can stand, And while I sink in my last swound, Lo ! I am lifted from the ground. And led by a resistless hand ; And thro' the opening agony Go on and know not where, beside The mastery of my guardian guide, Go on, and know not where or why ; Nor, tho' I cannot see Thy brow. Distrust the hand I feel so dear, Nor question how Thou wert so near. Nor ask Thee whither goest Thou, Nor whence Thy footsteps first began. Wlience, Lord, Thou knowest : whither, Lord, Thou knowest : how Thou knowest. Oh Woid That can be touched, oh Spoken Man, 102 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Enough, enough, if Thou wilt lead, To know Thou, knowest : enough to know That darkling at Thy side I go. And this strong hand is Thine indeed. Yet by that side, unspent, untrod, Oh let me, clinging still to Thee, Between the swaying Avonders see The throne upon the mount of God. And — tho' they close before mine eye. And all my course is choked and shut — Feel Time grow steeper under foot, And know the final height is nigh. And as one sees, thro' cambered straits Of forests, on his forward way, Horizons green of coloured day, Oh let me thro' the crowding Fates Behold the light of skies unseen, Till on that sudden Capitol I step forth to the sight of all That is, and shall be, and hath been, And Thou, oh King, shalt take Thine own Triumphant ; and, Thy place fulfilled, The flaw of Nature shall be healed, And joyous round Thy central throne AN ASPIRATION OF THE SPIRIT, 103 I see the vocal ages roll, And all the human universe Like some great symphony rehearse The order of its perfect whole ; And seek in vain where once I fell, Nor know the anarchy I knew In those congenial motions due Of this great work where all is well, r And smile, with dazzled wisdom dumb, — Remembering all I said and sung — That man asks more of mortal tongue Than skill to say, " Thy kingdom come." 104 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. HOME, WOUNDED. Wheel me into tlie sunshine, Wheel me into the shadow, There must be leaves on the woodbine. Is the king-cup crowned in the meadow ? Wheel me down to the meadow, Down to the little river, In sun or in shadow I shall not dazzle or shiver, I shall be happy anywhere, Every breath of the morning air Makes me throb and quiver. Stay wherever you will, By the mount or under the hill, Or down by the little river: Stay as long as you please, Give me only a bud from the trees, Or a blade of grass in morning dew. Or a cloudy violet clearing to blue, I could look on it for ever. H05IE, WOUNDED. 105 Wheel, wheel thro' the sunshine, "Wlieel, wheel thro' the shadow ; There must be odours round the pine. There must be balm of breathing kine. Somewhere down in the meadow. Must I choose ? Then anchor me there Beyond the beckoning poplars, where The larch is snooding her flowery hair With wreaths of morning shadoAV. Among the thicket hazels of the brake Perchance some nightingale doth shake His feathers, and the air is full of song ; In those old days when I was young and strong. He used to sing on yonder garden tree. Beside the nursery. Ah, 1 remember how I loved to wake, And find him singing on the self-same bough (I know it even now) Where, since the flit of bat. In ceaseless voice he sat, Trying the spring night over, like a ti;ne, Beneath the vernal moon ; And while I listed long, Day rose, and still he sang. And all his stanchless song. As something falling unaware. Fell out of the tall trees he sang among. Fell ringing dovm the ringing morn, and rang — Kang like a golden jewel down a golden stair. 106 ElfGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Is it too early ? I hope not. But wheel me to the ancient oak, On this side of the meadow ; Let me hear the raven's croak Loosened to an amorous note In the hollow shadow. Let me see the winter snake Thawing aU his frozen rings On the bank where the wren sings. Let me hear the little bell, Where the red-wing, top-mast high, Looks toward the northern sky. And jangles his fareAvell. Let us rest by the ancient oak, And see his net of shadow, His net of barren shadow, Like those wrestlers' nets of old. Hold the winter dead and cold, Hoary winter, white and cold, Wliile all is green in the meadow. And when you 've rested, brother mine. Take me over the meadow ; Take me along the level crown Of the bare and silent down. And stop by the ruined tower. On its green scarp, by and by, I shall smell the flowering tliyme. On its wall the wall-flower. HOME, WOUNDED. 107 In the tower there used to be A solitary tree. Take me there, for the dear sake Of those old days wherein I loved to lie And pull the melilote, And look across the valley to the sky, And hear the joy that filled the warm wide hour Bubble from the thrush's throat, As into a shining mere Rills some rillet trebling clear, And speaks the silent silver of the lake. There mid cloistering tree-roots, year by year. The hen-thrush sat, and he, her lief and dear, Among the boughs did make A ceaseless music of her married time. And all the ancient stones grew sw^eet to hear. And answered him in the unspoken rhyme Of gracious forms most musical That tremble on the wall And trim its age with airy fantasies That flicker in the sun, and hardly seem As if to be beheld were all, And only to our eyes They rise and fall. And fall and rise. Sink down like silence, or a-sudden stream As wind-blowm on the wind as streams a -wedding-chime. But you are wheeling me while I dream. And we 've almost reached the meadow ! 108 ENGLAND IN TBIE OF WAR. You may wheel me fast tliro' the sunshine, You may wheel me fast thro' the shadow, But wheel me slowly, brother mine, Thro' the green of the sappy meadow ; For the sun, these days have been so fine. Must have touched it over with celandine, And the southern hawthorn, I divine, Sheds a muffled shadow. There blows The first primrose. Under the bare bank roses ; There is but one, And the bank is brown, But soon the children will come down, The ringing children come singing down, To pick their Easter posies, And they '11 spy it out, my beautiful, Among the bare brier-roses; And when I sit here again alone, The bare brown bank will be blind and dull, Alas for Easter posies ! But Avhen the din is over and gone. Like an eye that opens after pain, I shall see my pale flower shining again ; Like a fair star after a gust of rain I shall sec my pale flower shining again ; Like a glow-worm after the rolling wain Ilath shaken darkness down the lane I shall see my pale flower shining again ; HOME, WOUNDED. 109 And it will blow here for two months more, And it will blow here again next year, And the year past tliat, and the year beyond ; And thro' all the years till my years are o'er I shall ahvays find it here. Shining across from the bank above, Shining up from the pond below, Ere a water-fly wimple the silent pond, Or the first green weed appear. And I shaU sit here under the tree, And as each slow bud uncloses, I shall see it brighten and brighten to me. From among the leafing brier-roses. The leaning leafing roses. As at eve the leafing shadows grow, And the star of light and love Draweth near o'er her airy glades, Draweth near thro' her heavenly shades. As a maid thro' a myrtle grove. And the flowers will midtiply. As the stars come blossoming over the sky, The bank will blossom, the waters blow. Till the singing children hitherward hie To gather May-day posies ; And the bank wiU be bare wherever they go, As da^vn, the primrose-girl, goes by, ^ And alas for heaven's primroses I Blare the trumpet, and boom the gun. But, oh, to sit here thus in the sun. 110 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. To sit here, feeling my work is done, Wlaile the sands of life so golden run. And I watch the children's posies. And my idle heart is whispering " Bring whatever the years may bring, The flowers will blossom, the birds will sing. And there '11 always be primroses. " Looking before me here in the sun, I see the Aprils one after one, Primrosed Aprils one by one, Primrosed Aprils on and on, Till the floating prospect closes In golden glimmers that rise and rise. And perhaps are gleams of Paradise, And perhaps — too far for mortal eyes — New years of fresh primroses. Years of earth's primroses. Springs to be, and springs for me Of distant dim primroses. 'I My soul lies out like a basking hound, I A hound that dreams and dozes ; I Along my life my length I lay, I fill to-morrow and yesterday, I am warm^^with the suns that have long since set, I am warm with the summers that are not yet. And like one who dreams and dozes Softly afloat on a sunny sea. Two worlds are whispering over me, HOME, WOUNDED. Ill And there blows a wind of roses From the backward shore to the shore before, From the shore before to the backward shore, And Uke two clouds that meet and pour Each thro' each, till core in core A single self reposes. The nevermore with the evermore Above me mingles and closes ; As my soul lies out like the basking hound, And wherever it lies seems happy ground, And when, awakened by some sweet sound, A dreamy eye uncloses, I see a blooming world around, And I lie amid primroses — Years of sweet primroses. Springs of fresh primroses. Springs to be, and springs for me Of distant dim primroses. Oh to lie a-dream, a-dream, To feel I may dream and to know you deem My work is done for ever, And the palpitating fever That gains and loses, loses and gains, And beats the hurrying blood on the brunt of a thousand pains Cooled at once by that blood -let Upon the parapet ; And all the tedious tasked toil of the difficult long endeavour Solved and quit by no more fine Than these limbs of mine, 112 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. Spanned and measui'ed once for all By tliat right hand I lost, Bought up at so light a cost As one bloody fall On the soldier's bed, And three days on the ruined wall Among the thirstless dead. Oh to think my name is crost From duty's muster-roll ; That I may slumber tho' the clarion call, And live the joy of an embodied soul Free as a liberated ghost. Oh to feel a life of deed Was emptied out to feed That fire of pain that burned so brief a while — That fire from which I come, as the dead come Forth from the irreparable tomb. Or as a martyr on his funeral pile Heaps up the burdens other men do bear Thro' years of segregated care, And takes the total load Upon his shoulders broad. And steps from earth to God. Oh to think, thro' good or ill, Whatever I am you '11 love me still ; Oh to think, tho' dull I be, You that are so grand and free. You that are so bright and gay. Will pause to hear me when I will, HOME, WOUNDED. I 13 As tho' my head were gray ; And tho' there 's little I can say, Each will look kind with honour while he hears. And to your loving ears My thoughts will halt with honourable scars, And when ray dark voice stumbles with the weight Of what it doth relate (Like that blind comrade — blinded in the Avars — Who bore the one-eyed brother that was lame), You '11 remember 'tis the same That cried " Follow me," Upon a summer's day; And I shall understand with unshed tears This great reverence that I see, And bless the day — and Thee, Lord God of victory ! And she, Perhaps oh even she May look as she looked when I knew her In those old days of childish sooth, Ere my boyhood dared to woo her. I will not seek nor sue her, For I 'm neither fonder nor timer Than when she slighted my love-lorn youth, My giftless, graceless, guinealess truth, And I only lived to rue her. But I '11 never love another. And, in spite of her lovers and lands. She shall love me yet, my brother ! I 114 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. As a child that holds by his mother, Wliile his mother speaks his praises, Holds with eager hands, And ruddy and silent stands In the ruddy and silent daisies. And hears her bless her boy, And Lifts a wondering joy, So I '11 not seek nor sue her, But I '11 leave my glory to woo her, And I '11 stand like a child beside, And from behind the purple pride I '11 lift my eyes unto her. And I shall not be denied. And you will love her, brother dear. And perhaps next year you '11 bring me here All thro' the balmy April-tide, And she will trip like spring by my side, And be all the birds to my ear. And here all three Ave '11 sit in the sun, And see the Aprils one by one, Primrosed Aprils on and on, Till the floating prospect closes In golden glimmers that rise and rise. And perhaps, are gleams of Paradise, And perhaps, too far for mortal eyes, | New springs of fresh primroses, I Springs of earth's primroses, m Springs to be and springs for me, ^ Of distant dim primroses. A NUPTIAL EVE. 115 A NUPTIAL EVE. Oh, liappy, happy maid, In the year of war and death She wears no sorrow ! By her face so young and fair, By the happy wreath That rules her happy hair, She might be a bride to-morrow ! She sits and sings within her moonUt ])ower, Her moonlit bower in rosy June, Yet ah, her bridal breath, Like fragrance from some sweet night-blowing flower, Moves from her moving lips in many a mournful tune She sings no song of love's despair, She sings no lover lowly laid, No fond peculiar grief Has ever touched or bud or leaf Of her imblighted spring. She sings because she needs must sing ; She sings the sorrow of the air Whereof her voice is made. That night in Britain howsoe'er On any chords the fingers strayed They gave the notes of care. A dim sad lesrend old 116 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Long since in some pale shade Of some far twilight told, She knows not when or where, She sings, with trembling hand on trembling lute-strings laid:— The murmur of the mourning ghost That keeps the shadowy kine, " Oh, Keith of Eavelston, The sorrows of thy line ! " Ravelston, Ravelston, The merry path that leads Down the golden morning hill, And thro' the silver meads ; Ravelston, Ravelston, The stile beneath the tree, The maid that kept her mother's kine. The song that sang she ! She sang her song, she kept her kine, She sat beneath the thorn When Andrew Keith of Ravelston Rode thro' the Monday morn, His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, His belted jewels shine ! Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The Borrows of thy line ! A NUPTUL EVE. 117 Year after year, where Andrew came, Comes evening down the glade, And still there sits a moonshine ghost Where sat the sunshine maid. Her misty hair is faint and fair, She keeps the shadoAvy kine ; Oh, Keith of Eavelston, The sorrows of thy line ! I lay my hand upon the stile, The stile is lone and cold, The bnrnie that goes babbling by Says nought that can be told. Yet, stranger ! here, from year to year, She keeps her shadowy kine; Oh, Keith of Eavelston, The sorrows of thy line ! Step out three steps, where Andrew stood — Why blanch thy cheeks for fear ? The ancient stile is not alone, Tis not the burn I hear ! She makes her immemorial moan. She keeps her shadowy kine ; Oh, Keith of Eavelston, The sorrows of thy line ! 118 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAE. THE MOTHER'S LESSON. Come hither an' sit on my knee, Willie, Come hither an' sit on my knee, An' list while I tell how your brave brither fell, Fechtin' for you an' for me : Fechtin' for you an' for me, "Willie, Wi' his guid sword in his han'. Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! Ye min' o' your ain brither dear, Willie, Ye mill' o' your ain brither dear. How he pettled ye aye wi' his pliskies an' play, An' was aye sae cantie o' cheer: Aye sae cantie o' cheer, Willie, As he steppit sae tall an' sae gran' Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, D' ye min' Avhen the bull had ye doun, Willie, D' ye mill' when the bull had yc doun ? D'ye min' wlia grippit ye fra the big bull, D' ye min' o' his muckle red woun' ? THE mother's lesson. 110 D' ye min' o' his muckle red woun', Willie, D' ye mill' how the bluid doun ran ? Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. D' ye min' when we a' wanted bread, Willie, The year when we a' wanted bread ? How he smiled when he saw the het parritch an' a', An' gaed cauld an' toom to his bed: Gaed awa' toom to his bed, Willie, For the love o' wee Willie an' Nan ? Hech, but ye 'II be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! Next simmer was bright but an' ben, Willie, Next simmer was bright but an' ben, When there cam a gran' cry like a Aviu' Strang an' high By loch, an' mountain, an' glen : By loch, an' moimtain, an' glen, Willie, The cry o' a far forrin Ian', An' up loupit ilka brave man, Willie, Up loupit ilka brave man. For the voice cam saying, " Wha '11 gang ? " Willie, The voice cam saying, *' Wha '11 gang To fecht owre the sea that the slave may be free. An" the weak be safe fra' the Strang ? " The weak be safe fra' the Strang, Willie ; Rab looked on Willie an' Nan, An' hech, but he was a brave man, Willie, Hech, but he was a brave man ! 12() ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. I kent by his een he was gaun, Willie, I kent by his een he was gaun, An' he rose like a chief: twice we spak in our grief- " Dinna gang !" " My mither, I maun !" When he said, " My mither, I maun," Willie, I gied him his sword to his han'. Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! An' sae it happened afar, Willie, Sae it happened afar, In the dead midnight there rose a great fecht, An' Eab was first i' the war : First i' the haur o' the war, Willie, Wi' his guid sword in his han'! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! An' there cam' a dark wicked lord, Willie, There cam' a dark wicked lord, An' oh my guid God ! on my bauld bairn he rode, An' smote him wi' his sword: Smote him wi' his sword, Willie, But Rab had his guid sword in han' ! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! He rushed on the fae in his might, Willie, In his might to the fecht thro' the night. An' he grippit him grim, an' the fae grippit him, An' they rolled owre i' the fecht : THE mother's lesson. 121 Tliey rolled owre i' the fecht, Willie, Rab wi' his guid sword in han' ! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! When the gran' stowre cleared awa', Willie, AVhen the gran' stowre cleared awa'. An' the mornin' drew near in chitter an' in fear, Still, still, in death they lay twa : Still, still, in death they lay twa, Willie, Rab wi' his guid sword in han' ! Hech, but ye 'U be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. Then up fra the death-sod they bore him, Willie, The young men an' maidens they bore him. An' they mak the rocks ring 'gin my bairn Avere a king. An' a' the sweet lassies greet owre him : A' the sweet lassies greet owre him, Willie, An' their proud lips kiss his cauld han', Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. An' they big him a green grass grave, Willie, They big him a green grass grave, My ain lad ! my ain ! an' they write on the stane, " Wha wad na sleep wi' the brave ? " An' wha wad na sleep wi' the brave Willie ? Wha wad na dee for his Ian' ? Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! 122 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Noo come to yon press wi' me, Willie, Come to yon press wi' me, And I '11 show ye sometliin' o' auld lang syne, Wlien he was a bairnie Hke tliee : When he was a bairnie hke thee, Willie, And stood at my knee where ye stan', Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, WiUie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. D'ye see this wee bit bannet, Wilhe, — I min' weel the day it was new — See how I haud it here to my heart, His wee bit bannet o' blue: His wee bit bannet o' blue, Willie, Wi' its wee bit cockie an' ban' ! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. D' ye see his ba' and his stickle, Willie, When he played at the ba' ; Na, na, ye 're no to tak it in han', Ye 're no sae brave an' sae braw ! But gin ye grow braw an' brave, Willie, Aiblins I'se gie't to your han', Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. An' this was liis Guid Bulk, Wilhe, The Guid Buik that he lo'ed, Where he read the Word o' tlie great guid Lord Wha bought us wi' His bluid. THE mother's lesson. 123 An' will we spare oiir bluid, WiUie, To buy the dear aiild Ian' ? Hecli, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye 'U be a brave man. They say he 's dead an' gane, Willie, They say he 's dead an' gane. Wad God my bairnies a' were sons, That ten might gang for ane: Ten might gang for ane, Willie, To save the dear auld Ian' ! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. I 'd no be lorn an' lane, Willie, I 'd no be lorn an' lane. For gin I had him here by the han' He could na be mair my ain : He 'd no be mair my ain, Willie, Gin I grippit him by the han' ! Hech, but ye 'U be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. An' oh ! gin ye gang fra me, Willie, Gin ye gang as he gaed fra me, Ye '11 aye be still as near to my heart As the noo when ye sit on my knee: As the noo when ye sit on my knee, WiUie, An' I haud ye by the han'. Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 124 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. " An' wad ye no greet at a', mitlier ? Wad ye no greet at a' ? " Aye, wad I greet my bonnie bonnie bairn ! " An' will ye no greet when I fa' ? " Will I no greet when ye fa', Willie ? God bless your bonnie wee han' ! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, I kent weel ye 'd be a brave man ! /I Aye, will I greet day an' night, Willie, Aye, will I greet day an' night ! But gin ye can see fra your heaven doun to me, Ye 'se no be was at the sight : Ye 'se no be wae at the sight, Willie, E'en in your bright blessed Ian' ! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, I kent weel ye 'd be a brave man. Ye ken how I greet sae sair, Willie, Ye ken how I greet sae sair, Wlien ye 're no my ain guid bairnie the day, An' my een are cloudy wi' care : My een are cloudy wi' care, Willie, An' I lean doun my head on my han', An' think " Will ye be a guid man, Willie, Ah, will ye grow a guid man ?" Ye ken when I did na greet sae, Willie, Ye ken when I did na greet sae 1 Gran' gran' are a proud mither's tears, An' the gate that she gangs in her wae : THE mother's lesson 125 The gate that she gangs in her wae, Willie, Wi' her foot on her aiu proud Ian' ! Hech, but ye 'II be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye 'II be a brave man. Ye min' how ye saw me greet, Willie, Ye min' how ye saw me greet, When the great news cam' to the toun at e'en. An' we heard the shout in the street: We heard the shout in the street, Willie, An' the death -word it rode an' it ran. Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. Ye min' how I lift up mine ee', WiUie, Ye min' how I lift up mine ee', An' smiled as I smile when I stan' i' the door, An see ye come toddHn' to me : See ye come toddhn' to me, Willie, An' smile afar off where I stan'. Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. Thank God for ilk tear I let fa', Willie, Thank God for ilk tear I let fa', For oh, where they wipe awa' tears fra' a' een. Sic tears they wad no wipe awa' : Sic tears they wad no wipe awa', Willie, Tho' there 's nane may be sad i' that Ian' ! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 126 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Noo to your play ye maun gang, Willie, Noo to your play ye maun gang. An' belyve, my ain wee, ye '11 come back to my knee, And I 'se sing ye an auld Scots sang : I 'se sing ye an auld Scots sang, Willie, A sang o' the dear auld Ian' ! Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. An' aye d' ye min' what I say, Willie, Wliat ye heard your auld mither say, Better to dee a brave man an' free, Than to live a fause coward for aye : Than to live a fause coward for aye, Willie, An' Stan' by the shame o' your lan'l Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. It's brave to be first at the schule, It's brave to be cock o' the class, It's brave to thwack a Strang fule, It's brave to win a wee lass. It's brave to be first wi' the pleugh, An' first i' the reel an' strathspey, An' first at the tod i' the cleugh. An' first at the stag at bay. It's brave to be laird o' the glen. It's brave to be chief o' the clan. But he that can dree for his neebor to dee, Oh, he's the true brave man: THE MOTHEU'S LESSON. 127 He's the true brave man, Willie, An' the fame o' his name sail be gran' ! Hech, but ye 'It be a brave man, Willie, Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 128 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAK, ALONE. There came to me softly a small wind from the sea, And it lifted a curl as it passed by me. But I sang sorrow and ho tlie heavy day ! And I sang heigho and well-away ! Again there came softly a small wind from the sea, And it lifted a curl as it passed by me. And still I sang sorrow and ho the heavy day ! And I sang heigho and well-away 1 Once more there came softly that small wind from the sea, And it lifted a curl as it passed by me. I hushed my song of sorrow and ho the heavy day, And I hushed my heigho and well-away. * ' Then, when I was silent, that small wind from the sea. It came the fourth time tenderly to me ; To me, to me. Sitting by the sea. Sitting sad and solitary thinking of thee. Like warm lips it touched me — that soft wind from the sea, And I trembled and wept as it passed by me. FAREWELL. 129 FAREWELL. Hear me, hear me, now ! By this heaven less pure than thou, Fare thee well ! By this living light Less bright, Fare thee well ! By the boundless sea Of mine agony, Fare thee well ! That unfathomed sea Which must roll from me to thee, Must roll from thee to me. Fare thee Avell ! By the tears that I have bled for thee, Farewell ! By the life's-blood I will slied for thee, Farewell ! By that field of death and fear Where I '11 fight with sword and speiir The fight I 'm fighting here, Fare thee well ! K 130 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. By a form amid the storm, Fare thee well ! By a sigh above the cry, Fare thee well ! By the war-cloud and the shout That shall wrap me round about, But can never shut thee out. Fare thee well ! By the wild and bloody close, When I loose this hell of woes, And these fires shall eat our foes. Fare thee well ! By all thou 'It not forget, Fare thee well ! By the joy when first we met. Fare thee well ! By the mighty love and pain Of the frantic arms that strain What they ne'er shall clasp again Fare thee well ! By the bliss of our first kiss. Fare thee well ! By the locked love of our last. Till a passion like a blast Tore the future from the past. Fare thee well ! FAREWELL. 1^1 By the nights that I shall weep for thee, Farewell ! By the vigils I shall keep for thee, Farewell ! By the memories that will beam of thee, Farewell ! By the dreams that I shall dream of thee, Farewell ! By the passion when I wake Of this heart that will not break. That can bleed but cannot break, Fare thee well ! By that holier woe of thine. Fare thee well ! By thy love more pure than mine, Fare thee well ! By the days thou shalt hold dear for me, The lone life thou shalt bear for me, The gray hairs thou shalt wear for me. Farewell ! By thy good deeds offered up for me. Farewell ! When thou fillest the Avanderer's cup for me. Farewell ! When thou givest the hungry bread ibr me. Farewell ! When thou watchest by the dead for me. Farewell ! 132 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. By the faith of thy pure eyes, By the hopes that shall arise Day and night to the deaf skies, Fare thee weU ! By that faith I cannot share. Fare thee well ! By this hopeless heart's despair. Fare thee well ! By the days I have been glad for thee. The years I shall be sad for thee, The hours I shall be mad for thee, Farewell ! SLEEPING AND WAKING. 133 SLEEPING AND WAKING. I HAD a dream — I lay upon thy breast, In that sweet place where we lay long ago : I thought the morning woodbine to and fro With playful shadows whipped away my rest, And in my sleep I cried to thee, too blest, " Rise, oh jny love, the morning sun is bright. Let us arise, oh love, let us arise ; The flowers awake, the lark is in the skies, I will array myself in my delight. And we ^vill — " and I woke to death and nisrht ! 134 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAH. "HE LOVES AND HE RIDES AWAY." 'T WAS in that island summer where They spin the morning gossamer, And weave the evening mist, That, underneath the hawthorn-tree, I loved my love, and my love loved me, And there we lay and kissed, And saw the happy ships upon the yielding sea. Soft my heart, and warm his wooing, "\^Tiat we did seemed, while 'twas doing. Beautiful and wise; Wiser, fairer, more in tune, Than all else in that sweet June, And sinless as the skies That warmed the willing earth thro' all the languid noon. Ah that fatal spell ! Ere the evening fell I fled away to hide my frightened face, And cried that I was born. And sobbed with love and scorn. And in the darkness souglit a darker place, And blushed, and w^ept, and blushed, and dared not think of " HE LOVES AND HE RIDES AWAY." 135 Day and night, day and night, And I saw no light. Night and day, night and day, And in my woe I lay And dreamed the dreams they dream who cannot sleep : My speech was withered, and I could not pray ; I\Iy tears were frozen, and I could not weep. I saw the hawthorn rise Between me and the skies, I felt the shadow Avas from pole to pole, I felt the leaves were shed, I felt the birds were dead, And on the earth I snowed the winter of my soul. Like to the hare wide eyed. That with her throbbing side Pressed to the rock awaits the coming cry, In my despair I sate And waited for my fate ; And as the hunted hare retiirns to die, And with her latest breath Regains her native heath, So, when I heard the feet of destiny Near and more near, and caught the yelp of death. Toward the sounding sea. Toward my hawthorn-tree, 136 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Under tlie ignorant stars I darkly crept : " There," I said, " they '11 find me dead, Lying within my maidenhead." And at my own unwonted voice, I wejjt; And for my great heart-ache. Within a little brake I lay me weary down and weary slept. Nor ever oped mine eyes till morn had left the lake. Her morning bath was o'er, And on the golden shore She stood like Flora with her floral train. And all her track was seen Among the watery sheen, That blushed, and wished, and blushing wished again. And parted still, and closed, with pleasure that had been. Oh the happy isle. The universal smile That met, as love meets love, the smile of day, And touched and lit delight Within the common light, Till all the joy of life was ecstacy. And morn's wild maids ran each her flowery way, And shook her dripping locks o'er hill, and dale, and lea! " At least," I said, " my tree is sear and blight, My tree, my hawthorn-tree ! ' With downcast eyes of fear I drew me near and near, " HE LOVES AND HE RmES AWAY." 1 37 Dazed with the dewy glory of the hour, Till under-foot I see A flower too dear to me : I pause, and raise my full eyes from the flower, And lo ! my hawthorn-tree ! As a white-limbed may, In some illumined bay, Flings round her shining charms in starry rain, And with her body bright Dazzles the waters white. That fall from her fair form, and flee in vain, Dyed with the dear unutterable sight, And circle out her beauty thro' the circling main. So my hawthorn-tree Stood and seemed to me The very face that smiled the summer smile : All lesser light-bearers Did light their lamps at hers — She lit her own at heaven's, and looked the while A purer sweeter sun, Whence beauty was begun, And blossomed from her blossoms thro' the blossoming isle. Then I took heart, and as I looked upon Her unstained white, I said, *' I am not wholly vile." Thus my hawthorn-tree Was my witness unto me. 138 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. And so I answered my impleading sin Till blossom-time was o'er, And with the autumn roar Mine unrebuked accuser entered in, And I fell down convinced, and strove with shame no more. Some time after came to me, An image of the hawthorn-tree, And bore the old sweet witness ; and I heard. And from among the dead I lifted up my head. As one lifts up to hear a little bird. And finds the night is past and all the east is red. Small and fair, choice and rare. Snowy pale with moonlight hair. My little one blossoms and springs 1 Like joy with woe singing to it, Like love with sorrow to woo it. So my witty one so my pretty one sings ! And I see the white hawthorn-tree and the bright summer bird singing thro' it. And my heart is prouder than kings ! Wliile I look on her I seem Once arain in the sweet dream " HE LOVES AND HE RIDES AWAY." 139 Of that enchanted day, Wlien, underneath the hawthorn tree, I loved my love, and my love loved me : And lost in love we lay, And saw the happy ships upon the yielding sea. ^V^lile I look on her 1 seem Once again in that bright dream, Beautiful and wise : Wiser, fairer, more in tune. Than all else in that sweet June, And sinless as the skies That warmed the willino: earth thro' all the languid noon. Like my hawthorn- tree, She stands and seems to me The very face that smiles the summer smile ; All lesser light-bearers Do light their lamps at hers — She lights her own at heaven's, and looks the whiJe A sweeter purer sun, Wlience beauty is begun, To blossom from that blossom thro' the blossoming isle. Thou shalt not leave me, child I Come weather fierce or mild, 140 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. My babe, my blossom ! thou shalt never leave me ! Life shall never wean us, Nor death shall e'er have room to come between us. And time may grieve me but shall ne'er bereave me, Nor see us more apart than he hath seen us. For I will fall with thee, As a bird from the tree Falls with a butterfly petal whitely shed, And falling — ^thou and I — I shall not dread to die. But like a child I'll take my flower to bed. And when the long cold death-night hath gone by, In the great darkness of the sepulchre I '11 feel and find thee near, My babe, my white white blossom ! And when the trumpet cries, I shall not fear to rise. But wear thee o'er the spot upon my bosom. And come out of my grave and bear the awful eyes. THE captain's wife. 141 THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. I DO not say the day is long and weary, For while thou art content to be away, Living in thee, oh Love, I live thy day, And reck not if mine own be sad and dreary. I do not count its sorrows or its charms : It lies as cold, as empty, and as dead, As lay my wedding-dress beside my bed Wlien I was clothed in thy dear arms. Yet there is something here within this breast Which, like a flower that never blossoms, lieth ; And tho' in words and tears my sorrow crieth, I know that it hath never been exprest. Something that blindly yearneth to be known, And doth not burn, nor rage, nor leap, nor dart But struggles in the sickness of my heart. As a root struggles in a vault of stone. Now, by my wedding-ring, I charge thee do not move That heavy stone that on the vault doth lie ; I charge thee be of merry cheer, my love, 142 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Nor ever let me know that thou dost sigh, For, ah ! how hght a thing Would shake me with the sorrow I deny ! I am as one who hid a giant's child In her deep prison, and, from year to year, He grew to his own stature, fierce and wild, And what she took for love she kept for fear. Oh, thou enchanter, who dost hold the spells Of all my sealed cells, Oh Love, that hast been silent all too long, A little longer. Love, oh, silent be ; My secret hath waxed strong, My giant hath grown up to angry age; Do thou but say the word that sets him free. And, lo ! he tears me in his rage ! I do not say the day is sad and dreary. For while thou art content to be away. Living in thee, oh Love, I live thy day. And reck not if mine own be wan and weary. I look down on it from my far love-dream, As some drowned saint may see with musing eyes Her lifeless body float adown the stream. While she is smiling in her skies. But do thou silence keep ! For I am one who walketh on the ledge Of some great rock's sheer edge : THE captain's \\1¥E. 143 I walk in beauty and in light, Self-balanced on the height : A breath ! — and 1 am breathless in the deep. Oh, my own Love, I warn Thy grief to be as still as they who tread The snow of alpine peak, And see the pendulous avalanche o'erhead Hang like a dew-drop on a thorn ! I charge thee silence keep ! My life stands breathless by her agony, Oh, do not bid her leap ! I am as calm as air Before a summer storm ; The ocean of my thoughts hath ceased to roll; This living heart that doth not beat is warm ; 1 think the stillness of my face is fair; The cloud that fills my soul Is not a cloud of pain. Beware, beware ! one rash Sweet glance may be the flash That brings it raving down in thunder and in ruin ! No, do not speak : Nor, oh ! let any tell of thy pale cheek. Nor paint the silent sorrow of thine eye, Nor tell me thou art fond, or gay, or glad ; For, ah ! so tuned and lightly strung am I, That howsoe'er thou stir, I rino: tlnrebv. 144 ENGLAND IN TLME OF WAR. Thy manly voice is deep, But if tliou touch from sleep The woman's treble of my shriU reply, All, who shall say thine echoes may not weep ? A jester's ghost is sad, The shades of merriest flowers do mow and creep, And oh, the vocal shadows that should fly About the simplest word that thou canst say, What after spell shall ever lay? Hast thou forgot when I sat down to sing To my forsaken harp, long, long ago, How thou, for sport, wouldst strike a single string, And hark the hovering chorus come and go, Low and high, high and low, Till round the throbbing wire Rose such a quivering quire. As all king David's wives were echoing The tenor of their king. Like those dear strings, my silent soul is full Of cries, as a ripe fruit is full of wine. The fruit is hanging fair and beautiful, And d^-eyed as a rose in the sunshine. But try it with a single touch of thine, Ajid, lo ! the drops that start, And all the golden vintage of its heart ! So, thinking of thy debt to Love and me. In some dull hour beyond the sea. THE captain's WIFE. 145 Do thou but only say — As carelessly as men do pay their debts — " Oh, weary day ! " And that one sigh o'ersets The hive of my regrets, " Ah, weary, weary day. Oh, weary, weary day, Oh, day so weary, oh, day so dreary. Oh, weary, weary, weary, weary, weary, Oh, weary, weary !" 146 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. GRASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. Small sheaf Of withered grass, that hast not yet revealed Thy story, lo ! I see thee once more green And grooving on the battle-field, On that last day that ever thou didst grow ! I look down thro' thy blades and see between A little lifted clover leaf Stand like a cresset: and I know If this were morn there should be seen In its chalice such a gem As decks no mortal diadem Poised with a lapidary skill Which merely living doth fulfil And pass the exquisite strain of subtlest human will. But in the sun it lifteth up A dry unjewelled cup, Therefore I see that day doth not begin ; And yet I know its beaming lord Hath not yet passed the hill of noon, Or thy lush blades Would be more dry and thin, And every blade a thirsty sword Edged with the sharp desire that soon Should draw the silver blood of all the shades. GRASS FROM THE DATTLE-FIELD. 14^ I feel 't is Slimmer. This whereon I stand Is not a hill, nor, as I think, a vale ; The soil is soft upon the generous land, Yet not as where the meeting streams take hand Under the mossy mantle of the dale. Such grass is for the meadow. If I try To lift my heavy eyelids, as in dreams A power is on them, and I know not why. Thou art but part ; the whole is uncoufest: Beholding thee I long to know the rest. As one expands the bosom with a sigh, I stretch my sight's horizon; but it seems, Ere it can A\-iden round the mystery. To close in swift contraction, like the breast. The air is held, as by a charm, In an enforced silence, as like sound As the dead man the living. 'T is so still, I listen for it loud. And when I force my eyes from thy sole place And see a wider space. Above, around. In ragged glory like a torn And golden-natured cloud, O'er the dim field a living smoke is Avarm ; As in a city on a sabbath morn The hot and summer sunshine goes abroad Swathed in the murky air, As if a god Enrobed himself in common flesh and blood. Our heavy flesh and blood, And here and there 148 ENGLAND IN TIME OF "WAR. As unaware Thro' the dull lagging limbs of mortal make, That keep unequal time, the swifter essence brake. But hark a bugle horn ! And, ere it ceases, such a shock As if the plain were iron, and thereon An iron hammer, heavy as a hill, Swung by a monstrous force, in stroke came down And deafened Heaven. I feel a swotind Of every sense bestiinned. The rent ground seems to rock, And all the definite vision, in such wise As a dead giant borne on a swift river, Seems sliding off for ever, When my reviving eyes, As one that holds a spirit by his eye With set inexorable stare, Fix thee: and so I catch, as by the hair, The form of that great dream that else had drifted by, I know not what that form may be; The lock I hold is all I see. And thou, small sheaf ! art all the battle-field to me. The wounded silence hath not time to heal When see ! upon thy sod The round stroke of a charger's heel With echoing thunder shod ! As the night-lightning shows A mole upon a momentary face, So, as that gnarled hoof strikes tlie indented j)lace, I see it, and it goes ! GKASS FKOM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 149 And I hear the squadrons trot thro' the heavy shell and shot, And wheugh ! but the grass is gory ! Forward ho ! blow to blow, at the foe in they go, And tis hieover heiglio for glory ! Tlxe rushing storm is past, But hark ! upon its track the far drums beat, And all the earth that at thy roots thou hast Stirs, shakes, shocks, sounds, with quick strong tramp of feet In time unlike the last. Footing to tap of drum The charging columns come ; And as they come their mighty martial sound Blows on before them as a flaming fii-e Blows in the wind ; for, as old Mars in ire Strode o'er the world encompassed in a cloud, So the swift legion, o'er the quaking ground. Strode in a noise of battle. Nigh and nigher I heard it, like the long swell gathering loud What-time a land-wind blowing from the main Blows to the burst of fury and is o'er. As if an ocean on one fatal shore Fell in a moment whole, and threw its roar Whole to the further sea: and as the strain Of my strong sense cracked in the deafened ear. And all the rushing tumult of the plain Topped its great arch above me, a swift foot Was struck between thy blades to the struck root. And lifted : as into a sheath A sudden sword is thrust and drawn again Ere one can gasp a breath. 150 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. I was SO near, I saw the Avrinkles of the leather grain, The very cobbler's stitches, and the wear By which I knew the wearer trod not straight ; An honest shoe it seemed that had been good To mete the miles of any country lane, Nor did one sign explain 'T was made to wade thro' blood. My shoe, soft footstooled on this hearth, so far From strife, hath such a patch, and as he past His broken shoelace whipt his eager haste. An honest shoe, good faith! that might have stood Upon the threshold of a village inn And welcomed all the world : or by the byre And barn gone peaceful till the day closed in, And, scraped at eve upon some homely gate, Ah, Heaven! might sit beside a cottage fire And touch the lazy log to softer flames than war. Long, long, thou wert alone, I thought thy days were done, Flat as ignoble grass that lies out mown By peaceful hands in June, I saw thee lie. A worm crawled o'er thee, and the gossamer That telegraphs Queen Mab to Oberon, Lengtliening his living message, passed thee by. But rain fell : and thy strawcd blades one by one Began to stir and stir. And as some moorland bird Whom the still hunter's stalking steps have stirred, When he stands mute, and nothing more is heard, GRASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 151 With slow succession and reluctant art Grows upward from lier bed, Each move a muffled start, And thro' the silent autumn covert red Uplifts a throbbing head That times the ambushed hunter's thudding heart; Or as a snow-drop bending low Beneath a flake of other snow Thaws to its height when spring -vvinds melt the skies. And drip by drip doth mete a measured rise ; Or as the eyelids of a child's fair eyes Lift from her lower lashes slow and pale To arch the wonder of a fairy tale ; So thro' the western light I saw thee slowly rearing to thy height. Then when thou hadst regained thy state, And while a meadow-spider with three lines Enschemed thy three tall pillars green, And made the enchanted air between Mortal with shining signs, (For the loud carrion-flies were many and late), Betwixt thy blades and stems There fell a hand. Soft, small and white, and ringed with gold and gems ; And on those stones of price I saw a proud device. And words I could not understand. 152 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Idly, oue by one, The knots of anguisli came undone, The fingers stretched as from a cramp of woe, And sweet and slow Moved to gracious shapes of rest. Like a curl of soft pale hair Drying in the sun. And then they spread, And sought a wonted greeting in the air. And strayed Between thy blades, and with each blade As with meeting fingers played And tresses long and fair. Then again at placid length it lay. Stretched as to kisses of accustomed lips ; And again in sudden strain Sprang, falling clenched with pain. Till the knuckles white, Thro' the evening gray, AVhitened and whitened as the snowy tips Of far hills glimmer thro' the night. But who shall tell that agony That beat thee, beat thee into bloody clay Red as the sards and rubies of the rings ; As when a bird, fast by the fowler's net, A moment doth forget His fetters, and with desperate wings A-sudden springs and falls, And (while from happy clouds the skylark calls) Still feebler springs And fainter falls. GRASS FKOM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 153 And still untamed upon the gory ground With failing strength renews his deadly Avound V At length the struggle ceased ; and my fixed eye Perceived that every finger wan Did quiver like the quivering fan Of a dying butterfly, Nor long I watched until Even the humming in the air was still. Then I gazed and gazed, Nor once my aching eyeballs raised Till a poor bird that had a meadow nest Came down, and like a shadow ran Among the shadowy grass. I followed Avith mine eyes ; and with a strain Pursued her, till six cubits' length beyond Thy central sheaf, I found A sight I could not pass. The hacked and haggard head Of a huge Avar-horse dead. The evening haze hung o'er him like a breath, And still in death He stretched drawn lips of rage that grinned in vain ; A sparrow chii'ped upon His wound, and in his dying slaver fed, Or picked those teeth of stone That bit -with lifeless jaws the purple tongue of pain. But I remembered that dead hand I left to trace the childless lark, And back o'er those six cubits of grass-land, 154 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. t Blade by blade, and stalk by stalk, As one doth walk Wlio, mindful, counts by dark Along the garden palings to the gate, I felt along the vision to where late There lay that dead hand white; But now methought that there was something more Than when I looked before. And what was more was sweeter than the rest ; As when upon the moony half of night Aurora lays a living hght, Softer than moonshine, yet more bright. And as I looked I was aware Another hand was on the hand, A smaller hand, more fair But not more white, as is the Avarm delight That curves and curls and coyly glows About the blushing heart of the white rose More fair but not more white Than those broad beauties that expand And fall, and falling blanch the morning air. Both hands lay motionless. The living on the dead. Ikit by and by The living hand began to move and press The cold dead flesh, and took its silent way So often o'er the unrespective clay, In such long-drawn caress Of pleading passion, such an ecstacy Of supplicating touch, that as they lay GRASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 155 So like, so unlike, twined witli the foud art And all the dear delay And dreadful patience of a desperate heart, Methought that to the tenement From which it lately went. The naked life had come back, and did try By every gate to enter. Wliile I thought, With sudden clutch of new intent The living grasp had caught The dead compliance. Slowly thro' The dusky air she raised it, and aloft, While all her fingers soft And every starting vein Tightened as in a rack of pain, Held it one straining moment fixed and mute. And let it go. And with a thud upon the sod, It fell like falling fruit. Then there came a cry. Tearless, bloodless, dry Of every sap of sorrow but its own — It had no likeness among living cries ; And to my heart my streaming blood was blown As if before my eyes A dead man sprang up dead, and dead fell down. The carrion-hunting -winds that prowl the wold, Frenzied for prey, SAveep in and bear it on, Far, far and further thro' the shrieking cold. And still the yelling pack devour it as they run. 156 EKGLAND IN TIME OF AVAR. And silence, like a want of air, Was round me, and my sense burned low, And darkness darkened; and the glow Of the living hand being gone, The dead hand showed like a pale stone Full fathom five Under a quiet bay. But still my sight did dive To reach it where it lay, And still the night grew dark, and by degrees The dead thing glimmered with a drowned light, As faces seem and sink in depths of darkening seas. Then, while yet My set eyes saw it, as the sage doth set His glass to some dim glimpse afar That palpitates from mote to star, It was touched and hid ; Touched and hid, as when a deep sea-weed Hides some white sea-sorrow. All My sight uprose, and all my soul (As one who presses at the jjane Wlien a city show goes by). Crowded into the fixed eye. And filled the starting ball. Nor filled in vain. I began to feel The air had something to reveal. Beyond the blank indifference Was underlined another sense. Was rained a gracious infiuence ; GRASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELU. 157 And tho' the darkness was so deep, I knew it was not wholly dead, Nor empty, as wc feel in sleep That some one standeth by the bed. I beheld, as who should look In trance upon a sealed book. I perceived that in a place The night was lighter, as the face Of an Indian Queen when love Draws back the dark blood from her sick Pale cheek Behind the sable curtain that doth not move. No outer light was shed. But as the mystery Before my stronger will did slowly yield, I saw, as in that dark hour before morn Wlien the shocks of hai'vest corn Exhale about the midnight field The wealth of yellow suns, and breathe a gentle day. I saw the shape of a fair bended head, And hair pale streaming long and low Veiling the face I might not know, And dabbling all the gi'ound with sweet uncertain woe. Much I questioned in my mind Of her form and kind, But my stern compelling eye Brought no other ansAver from the air. Nor did my rude hand dare Profane that agonv. 158 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. I watclied apart With siicli a sweet awe in my heart As looks up dumb into the sky When that goddess, lorn and lone, Who slew grim winter like a polar bear, And threw his immemorial white Upon her granite throne, Sits all unseen as Death, Save for the loss of many a hidden star And for the wintry mystery of her breath. And at a far-sight that she sees, Bowed by her great despair, Bendeth her awful head upon her knees, And all her Avondrous hair Dishevels srolden down the northern nisrht. At length my weary gaze Eelents : and, haze in haze Pervolving as in glad release, I saw each separate shade SHde from his place and fade. And all the flowering dark did winter back Into its undistinguished black. So the sculptor doth in fancy make His formed image in the formless stone. And while his spells compel. Can see it there full well, The ivory kernel in the ivory shell. But shakes himself and all the god is gone. GRASS FROM TILE BATTLE-FIELD. 159 Alas! And liave I seen thee but an hour ? And shalt thou never tell Thy story, oh thou broken flower, Thou midnight asphodel Among the battle grass ? Too soon ! Too soon ! But while I bid thee stay, Night, like a cloud, dissolves into the day. And from the city clock I hear the stroke of noon. 160 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. AFLOAT AND ASHORE. Tumble and rumble, and grumble and snort, Like a whale to starboard, a whale to port; Tumble and rumble, and grumble and snort. And the steamer steams thro' the sea, love ! I see the ship on the sea, love, I stand alone On this rock, The sea does not shock The stone; The waters around it are swirled, But under my feet I feel it go down To where the hemispheres meet At the adamant heart of the world. Oh, that the rock would move ! Oh, that the rock would roll To meet thee over the sea, love ! Surely my mighty love Should fill it like a soul. And it should l.)ear me to thee, love; Like a ship on the sea, love, Bear me, bear mo, to thee, love ! AFLOAT AND ASHORE. IGl Guns are thundering, seas are sundering, crowds are wondering, Low on our lee, love. Over and over the cannon-clouds cover brother and lover, but over and over The whirl-wheels trmidle the sea, love. And on thro' the loud peaUng pomp of her cloud The great ship is going to thee, love; Blind to her mark, like a world thro' the dark, Thundering, sundering, to the crowds wondering, Thundering ever to thee, love. I have come down to thee coming to me, love. I stand, I stand On the soUd sand, I see thee coming to me, love ; The sea runs up to me on the sand, I start — 't is as if thou hadst stretched thine hand And touched me thro' the sea, love. 1 feel as if I must die For there's something longs to fly. Fly and fly, to thee, love. As the blood of the flower ere she blows Is beating up to the sun, And her roots do hold her down. And it blushes and breaks undone In a rose, So my blood is beating in me, love [ il 162 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. I see thee nigh and nigher, And my soul leaps up like sudden fire, My life's in the air To meet thee there, To meet thee coming to me, love ! Over the sea, Coming to me, Coming, and coming to me, love ! The boats are lowered : I leap in first, Pvill, boys, pull ! or my heart will burst ! More ! more ! — lend me an oar ! — I'm thro' the breakers ! I'm on the shore ! I see thee waiting for me, love ! A sudden storm Of sighs and tears, A clenching arm, A look of years. In my bosom a thousand cries, A flash like light before my eyes, And I am lost in thee, love ! THE ghost's return, 163 THE GHOST'S RETURN. Skirun' an' birlin', tunin' an' croonin', Reelin' an' skreelin', they piped doun tlie glen, Lang Hugh an' black Sandie, Ian Dhu an' wee Dandie, Wha wad na gang wi' the braw Hielan'men ? Skirlin' an' birlin', tunin' an' croonin', Eeehn' and skreeUn', they joiped doun the glen, Wi' a rout an' a shout, an' a' the lasses out, Wha wad na gang ^vi' the braw Hielan'men ? Skirlin' an' birlin', tunin' an' croonin', Reelin' an' skreeUn', they piped doun the glen ! Wi' the hot light o' noon an' the blue sky aboon. Ilka man sword in han' gaed the braw Hielan'men ! Ken ye why we weep ? Think ye that they sleep, Ilka man on his ain bluidy brae. Ilk ane whar he died wi' a faeman by his side. An' the pibroch can wauk him na mae ? 164 ENGL.VND IN TIME OF WAB. Or the news cam' fra the fiel' we ken'd it a' too weel, Our bonnie bonnie braw Hielan'inen ! Not a foot ony stirred to meet the bkiidy word, As the death-roll cam' slow up the glen. Had ye seen any sight of terror and affright ? Did their ghosts walk in white up the glen ? "We saw na ony sight o' terror an' affright, An' white 's no for braw tartaned men ! Fra the hour they gaed that day, oh the glen was fu' o wae. Our bonnie bonnie braw Hielan'men ! Sair, sair, an' mair an' mair, our hearts were fu' o' care. And our een speerit aye doun the glen ; Till ae morn it did befa' that we waukit up a', An' the light it was sweet, but an' ben, An' a' that lang day we had na ony wae. An' no ee cared to speer doun the glen. Not a lassie but apart hid her wonder in her heart, An' lay close till the day began to dee. Lest her canty een confest the secret o' her breast, For she said, " They will a' weep but me." THE ghost's return. 165 But when we met at een by the thorn upon the green, An' the tale we a' tellt was the same, Not a word mair we said, but ilkane hid her head, An' kenned that her man was at hame. 166 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. DAFT JEAN. Daft Jean, The waesome wean, She cam' by the cottage, she cam' by the ha , The laird's ha' o' Wutherstanelaw, The cottar's cot by the birken shaw ; An' aye she gret. To ilk ane she met. For the trumpet had blawn an' her lad was awa', " Black, black," sang she, " Black, black my weeds shaU be, My love has widowed me ! Black, black ! " sang she. Daft Jean, The waesome wean, She cam' by the cottage, she cam' by the ha', The laird's ha' o' Wutherstanelaw, The cottar's cot by the birken shaw ; Nae mair she creepit, Nae mair she weepit. DAJT JEAN. 167 She stept 'mang the lasses the queen o' them a', The queen o' them a', The queen o' them a', She stept 'mang the lasses the queen o' them a'. For the fight it was fought i' the fiel' far awa', An' claymore in han' for his love an' liis Ian', The lad she lo'ed best he was foremost to fa'. " White, white," sang she, " Wliite, white, my weeds shall be, I am no widow," sang she, "White, white, my wedding shall be, White, white ! " sang she. Daft Jean, The waesome wean, She gaed na' to cottage, she gaed na' to ha'. But forth she creepit, While a' the house weepit. Into the snaw i' the eerie night-fa'. At morn we foimd her. The lammies stood round her, The snaw was her pillow, her sheet was the snaw ; Pale she was lying. Singing and dying, A' for the laddie wha fell far awa'. 168 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. "White, white," sang she, " My love has married me, "White, white, my weeds shall be, White, white, my wedding shall be, White, white," sang she ! THE recruits' BALL. 169 THE RECRUITS' BALL. Fiddler loquitur. Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddle for a king ! Heigh, pretty Kitty I heigh, jolly Polly ! Up with the heels, girls ! fling, lasses, fling ! Heigh there ! stay there ! that's not the way, there ! Oh Johnny, Johnny, Oh Johnny, Johnny, Ho, ho, everybody all round the ring ! Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddle for a king ! Heigh, pretty Kitty ! heigh, jolly Polly ! Up Avith the heels, girls ! swing, girls, SAving ! Foot, boys ! foot, boys ! to 't, boys ! do 't, boys ! Ho, BiU ! ho, Jill ! ho. Will ! ho, Phil ! Ho, Johnny, Johnny, Ho, Johnny, Johnny, Ho, ho, everybody, all round the ring ! 170 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Deuce take the fiddle, Deuce take the fiddle, Deuce take the jolly fiddle, deuce take the fiddler ! Here goes the fiddle. Here goes the fiddle. Here goes the jolly fiddle, here goes the fiddler ! Ned, boy ! your head, boy ! She '11 strike you dead, boy ! There she goes at your nose ! Deuce strike you dead, boy ! Call, boys ! baAvl, boys ! Deuce take us all, boys ! Here we go, yes or no, Deuce take us all, boys ! Deuce take the wall, boys, Deuce take the floor, boys, Deuce take the jolly floor, Deuce take us all, boys ! There goes the wall, boys ! There goes the door, boys ! Round they swing in a ring I There goes the floor, boys ! THE recruits' BALL. 171 Lad, wench, roof, floor, Wench, lad, wall, door ! Curse the ground, spin it round ! Deuce take us all, boys ! 172 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. FOR CHARITY'S SAKE. " Oh dark -eyed maid," The soldier said, " I 've been wounded in many a fray, But such a dart As you shoot to my heart, I never felt till to-day. Then give to me Kisses, one, two, three, All for dear Charity's sake. And pity my pain, And meet me again, Or else my heart must break." Peggy was kind. She would save the blind FOK CILVIUTY S SAKE. Black fly that shimmered the ale, And her quick hand stopped If a grass-moth dropped In the drifted snows of the pail. One, two, three, Kisses gave she. All for dear Charity's sake ; And she pitied his pain. And she met him again, For fear his heart should break. The bugle blew, The merry flag flew. The squadron clattered the town ; The twigs were bright on the minster elm, He wore a primrose in his helm As they clattered thro' the town. Heyday, holiday, on we go ! Heyday, holiday, blow boys, blow ! Clattering thro' the town. And when the minster leaves were sear, On a far red field by a dark sea drear. In dust and thunder, and cheer, boys, cheer, The bold draoroon went down. 173 174 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Shiver, poor Peggy, the wind blows high ; Beg a penny as I go by, All for sweet Charity's sake : Hold the thin hand from the shawl, Turn the wan face to the wall, Turn the face, let the hot tears fall, For fear your heart should break. 175 WIND. Oh the wold, the wold, Oh the wold, the wold! Oh the winter stark. Oh the level dark, On the wold, the wold, the wold ! Oh the wold, the wold. Oh the wold, the wold ! Oh the mystery Of the blasted tree On the wold, the wold, the wold ! Oh the wold, the wold. Oh the wold, the wold I Oh the owlet's croon To the haggard moon, To the waning moon. On the wold, the wold, the wold ! Oh the wold, tlie Avoid, Oh the wold, the wold ! Oh the flcshless stare, Oh the windy hair. On the wold, the wold, the wold ! 176 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Oil the wold, the wold, Oh the wold, the wold ! Oh the cold sigh. Oh the hollow cry, The lean and hollow cry, On the wold, the Avoid, the wold ! Oh the wold, the wold. Oh the wold, the wold ! Oh the white sight. Oh the shuddering night. The shivering shuddering night. On the wold, the wold, the wold ! WHEN THE RAIN IS ON THE ROOF." 177 "WHEN THE RAIN IS ON THE ROOF. Lord, I am poor, and know not how to speak, But since Thou art so great, Thou needest not that I should speak to Thee well. All angels speak unto Thee well. Lord, Thou hast all things : what Thou wilt is Thine. More gold and silver than the sun and moon ; All flocks and herds, all fish in every sea ; Mountains and valleys, cities and all farms ; Cots and all men, harvests and years of fruit. Is any king arrayed like Thee, who wearest A new robe every morning ? Who is crowned As Thou, who settest heaven x^pon Thy head ? But as for me — For me, if he be dead, I have but Thee ! Therefore, because Thou art my sole possession, I will not fear to speak to Thee Avho art mine. For who doth dread his own ? Lord, I am very sorrowful. I know That Thou delightest to do well ; to wipe Tears from all eyes ; to bind the broken-hearted ; N 178 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAE. To comfort them that mourn ; to give to them Beauty for ashes, and to garb with joy The naked soul of grief. And what so good But Thou that wilt canst do it ? Which of all Thy works is less in wonder and in praise Than this poor heart's desire ? Give me, oh Lord, My heart's desire ! Wilt Thou refuse my prayer Wlio givest when no man asketh ? How great things, How unbesought, how difficult, how strange, Thou dost in daily pleasure ! Who is like Thee, Oh Lord of Life and Death ? The year is dead ; It smouldered in its smoke to the white ash Of winter : but Thou breathest and the fire Is kindled, and Thy summer bounty burns. This is a marvel to me. Day is bm-ied ; And where they laid him in the west I see The mounded mountains. Yet shall he come back ; Not like a ghost that rises from his grave. But in the east the palace gates will ope. And he comes forth out of the feast, and I Behold him and the glory after him, Like to a messaged angel wdth wide arms Of rapture, all the honour in his eyes, And blushing with the King. In the dark hours Thou hast been busy with him : for he went Down westward, and he cometli from the cast, Not as toil-stained from travel, tho' his course And journey in the secrets of the night Be far as earth and heaven. This is a sum Too hard for me, oh Lord ; I cannot do it. "when the rain is on the roof." 179 But Thou hast set it, and I know with Thee There is an answer, Man also, oh Lord, Is clear and whole before Thee. Well I know That the strong skein and tangle of our life Thou holdest by the end. The mother dieth — The mother dieth ere her time, and like A jewel in the cinders of a fire, The child endures. Also, the son is slain. And she who bore him shrieks not while the steel Doth hack her some-time vitals, and transfix The heart she throbbed with. How shall these things be? Likewise, oh Lord, man that is born of woman, Who built him of her tenderness, and gave Her sighs to breathe him, and for all his bones — Poor trembler ! — hath no wherewithal more stern Than bowels of her pity, cometh forth Like a young lion from his den. Ere yet His teeth be fangled he hath greed of blood, And gambols for the slaughter : and being grown, Sudden, with terrible mane and mouthing thiinder, Like a thing native to the wilderness He stretches toward the desert ; while his dam, As a poor dog that nursed the king of beasts. Strains at her sordid chain, and, with set ear, Hath yet a little longer, in the roar And backward echo of his Avindy flight, Him seen no more. This also is too hard — Too hard for me, oh Lord ! I cannot judge it. Also the armies of him are as dust. A little while the storm and the great rain 180 ENGLAND IN TME OF WAR. Beat him, and he abideth in his place, But the suns scorch on him, and all his sap And strength, whereby he held against the ground, Is spent ; as in the unwatched pot on the fire, "When that which should have been the children's blood Scarce paints the hollow iron. Then Thou callest Thy wind. He passeth like the stowre and dust Of roads in summer. A brief while it casts A shadow, and beneath the passing cloud Things not to pass do follow to the hedge, Swift heaviness runs under with a show. And draws a train, and what was white is dark ; But at the hedge it falleth on the fields — It falleth on the greenness of the grass ; The grass between its verdure takes it in, And no man heedeth. Surely, oh Lord God, If he has gone down from me, if my child Nowhere in any lands that see the sun Maketh the sunshine pleasant, if the earth Hath smoothed o'er him as waters o'er a stone, Yet is he further from Thee than the day After its setting? Shalt Thou not, oh Lord, Be busy with him in the under dark, And give him journey thro' the secret night, As far as earth and heaven ? Aye, tho' Thou slay mc Yet will I trust in Thee, and in his flesh Shall he see God ! But, Lord, the' I am sure That Thou canst raise the dead, oh what has he To do with death ? Our days of pilgrimage Are throe-score years and ten ; why should he die ? " WHEK THE R.UN IS ON THE ROOF." 181 Lord, this is grievous, that the heathen rage, And because they imagined a vain thing, That Thou shouldst send the just man that feared Thee, To smite it from their hands. Lord, who are they, That this my suckling lamb is their burnt-offering ? That with my staff, oh Lord, their fire is kindled, My ploughshare Thou dost beat into Thy sword, The blood Thou givest them to drink is mine ? Let it be far from Thee to do to mine Wliat if I did it to mine own. Thy curse Avengeth. Do I take the children's bread And give it to the dogs ? Do I rebuke So widely that the aimless lash comes down On innocent and guilty ? Do I lift The hand of goodness by the elbowed arm And break it on the evil ? Not so. Not so. Lord what advantagsth it to be God If Thou do less than I ? Have mercy on me ! Deal not with me according to mine anger ! Thou knowest if I lift my voice against Thee, 'T is but as he who in his fierce despair Dasheth his head against the dungeon-stone. Sure that but one can suffer. Yet, oh Lord, If Thou hast heard — if my loud passion reached Thine awful ear — and yet, I think, oh Father, I did not rage, but my most little anger Borne in the strong arms of my mighty love Seemed of the other's stature — oh, good Lord, Bear witness now against me. Let me see 182 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. And taste that Thou art good. Thou who art slow To wrath, oh pause upon my quick offence, And show me mortal ! Thou Avhose strength is made Pei'fect in weakness, ah, be strong in me, For I am weak indeed ! How Aveak, oh Lord, Thou knowest who hast seen the unlifted sin Lie on the guilty tongue that strove in vain To speak it. Call my madness from the tombs ! Let the dumb fiend confess Thee ! If I sinned In silence, if I looked the fool i' the face And answered to his heart, " There is no God," Now in mine hour stretch forth Thy hand, oh Lord, And let me be ashamed. As when in sleep I dream, and in the horror of my dream Fall to the empty place below the Avorld "VVliere no man is : no light, no life, no help, No hope ! And all the marrow in my bones Leaps in me, and 1 rend the night with fear ! And he who lieth near me thro' the dark Stretcheth an unseen hand, and all is well. Tho' Thou shouldst give me all my heart's desire. What is it in Thine eyes ? Give me, oh God, My heart's desire ! my heart's desire, oh God ! As a young bird doth bend before its mother, Bendeth and crieth to its feeding mother. So bend I for that good thing before Thee. It trembleth on the rock with many cries. It bendeth with its breast upon the rock. And worships in the hunger of its heart. I tremble on the rock with many cries, " WIIEN THE RAIN IS OX THE ROOF." 183 I bend my beating breast against the rock, And worship in the hunger of my heart. Give me that good thing ere I die, my God ! Give me that very good thing ! Thou standest, Lord, By all things, as one standeth after harvest By the threshed corn, and, Avhcn the crowding fowl Beseech him, being a man and seeing as men, Hath pity on their cry, respecting not The great and little barley, but at will Dipping one hand into the golden store Straweth alike ; nevertheless to them Wliose eyes are near their meat and do esteem By conscience of their bellies, grain and grain Is stint or riches. Let it, oh my God, Be far from Thee to measure out Thy gifts Smaller and larger, or to say to me Who am so poor and lean with the long fast Of such a dreary dearth — to me Avhose joy Is not as Thine — whose human heart is nearer To its own good than Thou Avho art in heaven — " Not this but this : " to me who if I took All that these arms could compass, all pressed down And running over that this heart could hold. All that in dreams I covet when the soul Sees not the further bound of what it craves, Might filch my mortal infinite from Thine And leave Thee nothing less. Give me, oh Lord, My heart's desire ! It profiteth Thee nought Being withheld; being given, where is that aught It doth not profit me ? Wilt Thou deny 184 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. That which to Thee is nothing, but to me All things ? Not so. Not so. If I were God And Thou Have mercy on me ! oh Lord ! Lord ! ******* Lord, I am weeping. As Thou wilt, oh Lord, Do with him as Thou wilt ; but oh, my God, Let him come back to die ! Let not the fowls O' the air defile the body of my child, My own fair child that when he was a babe I lift up in my arms and gave to Thee ! Let not his garment. Lord, be vilely parted, Nor the fine linen which these hands have spun Fall to the stranger's lot ! Shall the wild bird — That would have pilfered of the ox — this year Disdain the pens and stalls ? Shall her blind young, That on the fleck and moult of brutish beasts Had been too happy, sleep in cloth of gold Wliereof each thread is to this beating heart As a peculiar darling ? Lo, the flies Hum o'er him ! Lo, a feather from the crow Falls in his parted lips ! Lo, his dead eyes See not the raven ! Lo, the worm, the worm Creeps from his festering horse ! My God ! my God ! ******* Oh Lord, Thou doest well. I am content. If Thou have need of him he shall not stay. But as one calleth to a servant, saying " At such a time be with me," so, oh Lord, Call him to Thee 1 Oh bid him not in haste Straight whence he standeth. Let him lay aside " WHEN THE RAIN IS ON THE ROOF." 185 The soiled tools of labour. Let him Avash His hands of blood. Let him array himself Meet for his Lord, pure from the sweat and fume Of corporal travail ! Lord, if he must die, Let him die here. Oh take him where Thou gavest! And even as once I held him in my womb Till all things were fulfilled, and he came forth, So, oh Lord, let me hold him in my grave Till the time come, and Thou, who settest Avhen The hinds shall calve, ordain a better birth ; And as I looked and saw my son, and wept For joy, I look again and see my son, And weep again for joy of him and Thee ! 18C ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. THE BOTANIST'S VISION. The sun that in Breadalbane's lake doth fall Was melting to the sea down golden Tay, Wlien a cry came along the peopled way, " Sebastopol is ours !" From that wild call I turned, and leaning on a time-worn wall Quaint with the touch of many an ancient day. The mapped mould and mildewed marquetry Knew with my focussed soul; which bent down all Its sense, power, passion, to the sole regard Of each green minim, as it were but born To that one use. I strode home stern and hard ; In my hot hands I laid my throbbing head. And all the living Avorld and all the dead Betyan a march which did not end at morn. THE onnrAN's song. 187 THE ORPHAN'S SONG. I HAD a little bird, I took it from the nest; I prest it, and blest it, And nurst it in my breast. I set it on the ground, I danced round and round. And sang about it so cheerly, With " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird, And oh but I love thee dearly 1 " I make a little feast Of food soft and sweet, I hold it in my breast, And coax it to eat ; I pit, and I pat, I call it this and that, And sing about it so cheerly. With " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird, And ho but I love thee dearly ! " ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. I may kiss, I may sing, But I can't make it feed, It taketh no heed Of any pleasant thing. I scolded, and 1 socked, But it minded not a whit, Its little mouth was locked, And I could not open it. Tho' with pit, and with pat, And with this, and with that, I sang about it so cheerly, And " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird, And ho but I love thee dearly." But when the day was done. And the room was at rest. And I sat all alone With my birdie in my breast. And the light had fled. And not a sound was heard, Then my little bird Lifted vip its head, And the little mouth Loosed its sullen pride, And it opened, it opened, With a yearning strong and wide. THE orphan's song. 189 Swifter than I speak 1 brought it food once more, But the poor little beak "Was locked as before. I sat down again, And not a creature stirred, I laid the little bird Again where it had lain; And again when nothing stirred, And not a word I said, Then my little bird Lifted up its head, And the little beak Loosed its stubborn pride. And it opened, it opened, With a yearning strong and wide. It lay in my breast, It uttered no cry, 'Twas famished, 't was famished, And I could n't tell why. I could n't tell why, But I saw that it would die. For all that I kept dancing round and round, And singing above it so cheerly, With " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird. And ho but I love thee dearly ! " 190 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. I never look sad, I hear what people say, I laugh when they are gay And they think I am glad. My tears never start, I never say a word. But I think that my heart Is like that little bird. Every day I read, And I sing, and I play, But thro' the long day It taketh no heed. It taketh no heed Of any pleasant thing, I know it doth not read, I know it doth not sing. "With my mouth I read. With my hands I play, My shut heart is shut. Coax it how you may. You may coax it how you may While the day is broad and bright. But in the dead night Wlien the guests are gone away. THE orphan's song. I'JJ And no more the music sweet Up the house doth pass, Nor the dancing feet Shake the nursery glass ; And I 've heard my aunt Along the corridor, And my uncle gaunt Lock his chamber door ; And upon the stair All is hushed and still. And the last wheel Is silent in the square ; And the nurses snore. And the dim sheets rise and lall, And the lamplight 's on the wall. And the mouse is on the floor; And the curtains of my bed Are like a heavy cloud, And the clock ticks loud, And sounds are in my head ; And little Lizzie sleeps Softly at my side, It opens, it opens, With a yearning strong and wide ! ^ 192 ENGLAND IN TDIE OF WAR. It yearns in my breast, It utters no cry, ' Tis famished, 'tis famished, And I feel that I shall die, I feel that I shall die, And none will know why. Tho' the pleasant life is dancing round and round And singing about me so cheerly. With " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird. And ho but I love thee dearly ! '' TOiLMY's DEAD. 193 TOMMY'S DEAD. You may give over plough, boys, You may take the gear to the stead, All the sweat o' your brow, boys, "Will never get beer and bread. The seed 's -waste, I know, boys. There 's not a blade vnU. grow, boys, 'T is cropped out, I trow, boys. And Tommy 's dead. Send the colt to fair, boys, He 's going blind, as I said, My old eyes can't bear, boys, To see him in the shed ; The cow "s dry and spare, boys. She 's neither here nor there, boys, I doubt she 's badly bred ; Stop the mill to-morn, boys, There '11 be no more corn, boys, Neither white nor red ; There 's no sign of grass, boys, You may sell the goat and the ass, boys. The land 's not what it was, boys, And the beasts must be fed : 194 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. You may turn Peg away, boys, You may pay oiF old Ned, We 've had a dull day, boys, And Tommy 's dead. Move my chair on the floor, boys, Let me turn my head : She 's standing there in the door, boys, Your sister Winifred ! Take her away from me, boys. Your sister Winifred ! Move me round in my place, boys, Let me turn my head. Take her away from me, boys, As she lay on her death-bed. The bones of her thin face, boys, As she lay on her death-bed ! I don't know how it be, boys, When all 's done and said. But I see her looking at me, boys, Wlierever I tiu-n my head ; Out of the big oak-tree, boys. Out of the garden-bed. And the lily as pale as she, boys. And the rose that used to be red. There 's something not right, boys, But I think it 's not in my head, I 've kept my precious sight, boys — The Lord be hallowed ! tommy's dead. rj5 Outside and in The ground is cold to my tread, The hills are wizen and thin, The sky is shrivelled and shred, The hedges down by the loan I can count them bone by bone, The leaves are open and spread But I see the teeth of the land, And hands like a dead man's hand, And the eyes of a dead man's head. There's nothing but cinders and sand, The rat and the mouse have fed, And the summer's empty and cold ; Over valley and wold Wherever I turn my head There 's a mildew and a mould, The sun 's going out over head. And I 'm very old, And Tommy's dead. Wliat am I staying for, boys, You 're all born and bred, 'T is fifty years and more, boys. Since wife and I were wed. And she 's gone before, boys. And Tommy 's dead. She Avas always sweet, boys. Upon his curly head, 196 ENGLAND EN TDIE Of WAE. She knew slie 'd never see 't, boys, And she stole off to bed ; I 've been sitting up alone, boys, For he 'd come home, he said, But it 's time I was gone, boys, For Tommy 's dead. Put the shutters iip, boys, Bring out the beer and bread. Make haste and sup, boys. For my eyes are heavy as lead ; There 's something wrong i' the cup, boys. There 's something ill wi' the bread, I don't care to sup, boys. And Tommy 's dead. I 'm not right, I doubt, boys, I 've such a sleepy head, I shall never more be stout, boys, You may carry me to bed. What are you about, boys, The prayers are all said, The fire 's raked out, boys. And Tommy 's dead. The stairs are too steep, boys, You may carry me to the head, The night 's dark and deep, boys. Your mother 's long in bed, Tis time to go to sleep, boys. And Tommy 's dead. TOJDIY 'S DEAD. \d', I 'm not used to kiss, boys, You may shake my hand instead. All things go amiss, boys. You may lay me where she is, boys. And I '11 rest my old head : 'T is a poor world, this, boys, And Tommy 's dead. 198 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. "SHE TOUCHES A SAD STRING OF SOFT RECALL." Eeturn, return ! all night my lamp is burning, All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn ; Like it, I fade and pale, when day returning Bears witness that the absent can return, Return, return. Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness, Like it, I burn to waste and waste to burn, Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness To feed the sorrowy signal for return, Eeturn, return. Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings, I bend and shake ; like it, I quake and yearn, When Hope's late butterflies, Avith whispering wings. Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn — Burn in the watchfire of return, Keturn, return. "she touches a sad string of soft recall." 199 Like it, the very flame whereby I pine Consumes me to its nature. While I mourn My soul becomes a better soul than mine, And from its brightening beacon I discern My starry love go forth from me, and shine Across the seas a path for thy return, Eeturn, return. Return, return 1 all night I see it burn, All night it prays like me, and lifts a twin Of palmed praying hands that meet and yearn — Yearn to the impleaded skies for thy return. Day, like a golden fetter, locks them in, And wans the light that withers, tho' it burn As warmly still for thy return ; Still thro' the splendid load uplifts the thin Pale, paler, palest patience that can learn Nought but that votive sign for thy return — That single suppliant sign for ihj return. Return, retui-n. Return, return I lest haply, love, or e'er Thou touch the lamp the light have ceased to burn, And thou, who thro' the window didst discern The wonted flame, shalt reach the topmost stair To find no mde eyes watching there. No withered welcome waiting thy return ! A passing ghost, a smoke-wi-eath in the air, The flameless ashes, and the soulless urn. Warm with the famished fire that lived to burn — 200 ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR. Burn out its lingering life for thy return, Its last of lingering life for thy return, Its last of lingering life to light thy late return, Return, return. London: Printed by Smith, Eldeii & Co., 15, Old Bailey. Recently published by SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 6 5, CORNHILL. By the same Author. BALDER. BY SYDNEY DOBELL, AUTHOR OF " ENGLAND IN TIME OF WAR," AND " THE ROMAN," SECOND EDITION, WITH PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR. One Vol., Crown 8i'o, price 7s. 6d. cloth. FRASER S MAGAZINE. " Genius is so unmistakably present in every page of the strange book before us, that to give examples from one, without injustice to the others, we find to be beyond possibility in the limits of a magazine review. We cannot, however, resist a passing allusion to the absence of all melodrama in those scenes which nevertheless reach the very bounds of the dramatic, and to the instinctive avoid- CRITICAL NOTICES OF " BALDER." ance of the horrible and attainment of the terrible, under circum- stances of the highest tragedy. These general facts infer a quality of intuition in the author, which only the true critic can properly estimate; and in such passages as the portrait of Amy in scene twenty-eight, and the T)9og of scene thirty-seven, or scene twenty- four, he wUl recognise the same wonderful truth of instinct at work, in the calmest nooks and most pastoral quietudes of the many- coloured landscape of life." BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW. "'Balder' is a tragic representation of genius without faith. The story is of genius vanquished by misery where it sinned — in the little world of home. We listen to the aspirations of Balder not after vulgar fame, but for an almost god-like power. "With the burning utterance of this colossal but distempered nature alternates the i)laint of the nightingale singing 'with her breast against a thorn' — the lament of Amy, mourning the lost love that has waned before ambition. Some of her songs to her child breathe an ex- quisite jjatlios." ECLECTIC REVIEW. " In this poem we read a magnificent protest against the tendency of our age to materialism and positive philosophy and the apotheosis of mechanism and intellect. An age which everywhere manifests a blind atheistical deification of force and power. The age to which of all others that trumpct-tongued text ' What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul ? ' needs to CKITICAL NOTICES OF " BALDEK." be preached and sung. There are two hundred and eighty-three pages m this book, and not one but contains fine thoughts, magni- ficent imagery, striking similes, or searching reflections. 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