Ol 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ^be Canterbury poete. 
 
 Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 POEMS BY DORA GREENWELL.
 
 POEMS BY DORA GREEN- 
 W E L L (SELECTED), 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL 
 INTRODUCTION BY WILLIAM 
 DORLIXG. 
 
 LONDON 
 WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE 
 
 NEW YORK : THOMAS WHITTAKER 
 
 TORONTO : W. J. GAGE AND CO. 
 
 1889
 
 ^ 'I 
 
 
 .5SL-' 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 L'Envoi 
 
 
 Madana 30 
 
 ^rtlentttt^st atxtf 
 
 Home 
 
 Poets 
 
 1 
 
 §^O«0$. 
 
 
 3 
 
 Luisa 35 
 
 The Summer Friend ... 36 
 
 When the Xight and 
 
 Morning meet 
 
 12 
 
 "Qui sait aimer, sait 
 
 Haunted Ground 
 
 14 
 18 
 
 mourir" 37 
 
 The Broken Chain 38 
 
 A Comparison 
 
 A Vision of Green Leaves 
 To a Long-parted Friend 
 
 19 
 22 
 
 A Valentine 39 
 
 Ibid 40 
 
 To a Young Girl 
 
 23 
 
 The Babes in the Wood 41 
 
 Without and Within ... 
 
 24 
 
 Imitated from the Trou- 
 
 So it Happens 
 
 28 
 
 badour Sordel 43 
 
 The Picture and the 
 
 
 ToL. A. C 44 
 
 ScroU 
 
 29 
 
 To Maria Ivan ovna 45 
 
 492054 
 
 useers
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "If it te pleasant to 
 
 
 Rest 
 
 62 
 
 remember Thee " 
 
 46 
 
 Old Letters 
 
 63 
 
 I Span beside our Cabin 
 
 
 Silence 
 
 71 
 
 Door 
 
 47 
 
 To a Long-parted Friend 
 
 72 
 
 A Song 
 
 48 
 
 Seorsum 
 
 76 
 
 Amid Change, Unchang- 
 
 
 To my Friends at ... 
 
 81 
 
 ing 
 
 49 
 
 The Lesson 
 
 81 
 
 One Flower 
 
 50 
 51 
 
 A Farewell to Youth .. 
 The White Crusade 
 
 82 
 85 
 
 A Scherzo 
 
 Rapture 
 
 53 
 
 The Cleft 
 
 88 
 
 
 A Dialogue.. 
 
 91 
 
 bonnet*. 
 
 
 A Song to call to Re- 
 
 
 
 
 membrance 
 
 95 
 
 Ascending 
 
 Life Tapestry 
 
 54 
 55 
 
 A National Song 
 
 The Christmas Carol ... 
 
 98 
 101 
 
 To Elizabeth Barrett 
 
 
 
 
 Browning, 1851 
 
 To Elizabeth Barrett 
 Browning, 1861 
 
 56 
 57 
 
 
 A Midsummer Night's 
 
 
 The Song of Islam 
 
 102 
 
 Dream 
 
 58 
 
 The Wren 
 
 106 
 
 Reserve 
 
 59 
 
 Demeter and Cora 
 
 108 
 
 Hope 
 
 60 
 
 The Secret 
 
 111 
 
 To a Friend 
 
 61 
 
 The Homeward Lane ... 
 
 113
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VI 1 
 
 PAGE I 
 
 Bring me word how tall 
 
 she is 116 
 
 Lilies 118 
 
 Daria 120 
 
 Basilides 122 
 
 The Battle Flag of Sigurd 125 
 
 The Golden Thread 126 
 
 A Legend of Toulouse .. . 130 
 
 The Redbreast 182 
 
 The Garden of Proser- 
 pine 136 
 
 The Aloe 137 
 
 A Morning in Spring ... 13S 
 
 The Plaj-feUows 140 
 
 One Friend 141 
 
 A Rememhrance 142 
 
 A Life Requiem 143 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Thought at Midnight 146 
 
 November 146 
 
 Desdichado 149 
 
 A Pastoral 150 
 
 The Sun-Flower 155 
 
 Sita 156 
 
 Childhood 160 
 
 Winter 167 
 
 The Deformed Child 170 
 
 The Daughter of the 
 
 Hall 175 
 
 The Lover's Quarrel 179 
 
 The Old Family 184 
 
 Ballad 189 
 
 Irish Emigrant's Song . . . 190 
 
 Parting 192 
 
 Death 193 
 
 The Edelweiss 196 
 
 A Parting Song 197 
 
 Good-night, Good-bye 197
 
 vin 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Fidelity Rewarded 198 
 
 Grand Cceur Pour Grande 
 
 Heiire 200 
 
 The Stage Coach 201 
 
 Haymaking 202 
 
 The Rivals 203 
 
 Athanasius Contra Mun- 
 
 dum 204 
 
 All Through the Day ... 205 
 
 Thekla 206 
 
 The Flaming Oar 208 
 
 The Singer 209 
 
 The Little Girl's Lament 213 
 The Railway Station 216 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lady Alice's Shrift 219 
 
 Love in Death 229 
 
 A Child's Garden 233 
 
 Guessing 234 
 
 Going to Bed 235 
 
 Noah's Ark 236 
 
 The Little Builders 237 
 
 God's Garden 238 
 
 Child among the Rocks 242 
 
 A Story by the Fire 243 
 
 Grandmother Nodding 244 
 
 Good-night 245 
 
 The Mourning of the 
 Gael 246
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 HE name " Dora Greenwell" was 
 for many years supposed to be 
 the psetcdonym of a writer of rare 
 spiritual insight and fine poetic 
 genius. It was veiy generally 
 surmised that she was a member of the Society of 
 Friends ; and there was much ground for this 
 supposition. As time wore on, and book followed 
 book, some of the facts of her personal history 
 became known, and were occasionally referred 
 to in the public press. But for a very long period 
 little was really known of her actual life, and many 
 mistakes gained currency. It eventually trans- 
 pired that Dora Greenwell was a native of the 
 County of Durham, the daughter of a highly
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 respected and popular magistrate and Deputy 
 Lieutenant, and that two of her brothers were 
 clergymen of the Church of England, one of 
 them being a Minor Canon of Durham Cathedral. 
 She herself also belonged to the same com- 
 munion. 
 
 " Dorothy " was the baptismal name of Miss 
 Greenwell ; but she was always called " Dora" in 
 her family circle, and by all her friends. Her 
 father, Mr. William Thomas Greenwell, lived upon 
 his estate at Lanchester, nine miles distant from 
 any town, but connected with the cathedral city 
 by many precious and interesting associations. 
 Greenwell Ford, where she was born on Decem- 
 ber 6th, 1821, was a large and handsome house, 
 in a delightfully pleasant and secluded situation 
 on the banks of a picturesque little stream, which 
 the poet has invested with all the charm of her 
 intense love of nature and her rich and pleasant 
 fancy. She revelled in the beautiful grounds and 
 the wonderful old garden, with its old-time shrubs 
 and flowers, which provided her with such a 
 wealth of memory and joy. 
 
 She appears to have been a very sweet and 
 gentle child ; and as she was the only daughter
 
 INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 of the house, her pure and beautiful nature, com- 
 bined with rare gifts of intellect and imagination, 
 made her a fascinating personality in the home. 
 In very early years there was promise, apparently, 
 of physical health, but much of her life after- 
 wards was more or less marked by feebleness and 
 weakness. She had a brave spirit, and was the 
 owner of irrepressible genius ; yet many earnest 
 enterprises were doomed to disappointment be- 
 cause her strength was unequal to the tasks they 
 imposed. 
 
 Sad reverses befell the household of Greenwell 
 Ford in the year 1S48, when, owing no doubt to 
 mismanagement, the property had to be sold. A 
 record of the departure from the dear old home, 
 on February 25th of the year, is still preserved m 
 her handwriting. She notes in this record that 
 the Greenwell family had lived at the " Ford " 
 since Henry the Eighth's time. The " pleasant 
 places " of her life had been spoilt for her ; still 
 there were many compensations in store. She 
 loved human beings more than trees and flowers 
 and streams ; and a wider world opened to her ; 
 and much agreeable and stimulating society 
 helped to create new joy in a life which had so
 
 xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 soon felt the bitter winds of adversity. And so it 
 won — 
 
 "From shower and shining, from the moulds and suns, 
 Deep colours, odours, richer than of old." 
 
 For a time, Miss Greenwell, with her father and 
 mother, resided at Ovingham Rectory, in Northum- 
 berland, where her eldest brother, William, was 
 holding the living for a friend. Ovingham is on the 
 north bank of the Tyne, close to the river, and was 
 at that time a very picturesque village. There was 
 much in this pleasant spot, and in its singularly 
 interesting surroundings, which gave her great 
 delight. She exerted at this time a great fascina- 
 tion over those who were happy enough to make 
 her acquaintance. She had become deeply 
 religious, and her intellect developed with freedom 
 and elevation ; while a keen sense of humour and 
 light-hearted mirth gave brightness and charm to 
 her society. Stories are told of the good works 
 in which she engaged with passionate enthusiasm 
 on behalf of the poor, the weak, and the afflicted. 
 Young people delighted to yield to the spell of 
 her delicate enchantment, as she kindled into
 
 INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 glowing fervour their own intelleclual and moral 
 life. 
 
 It was while she lived in this village that she 
 issued her earliest volume of poems, which was 
 published by Mr. William Pickering, and extended 
 to a httle over two hundred pages. Those who 
 had known Miss Greenwell's delicate apprecia- 
 tion of tastefully-printed works can understand 
 that she would derive much satisfaction from 
 seeing her own first book coming from a house 
 which had achieved so unique a fame for their 
 publications. The volume not only contained 
 some fine indications of her poetic genius, but 
 gave promise of still greater successes. The 
 reception which it met with led to the issue of a 
 second volume — in 1850. 
 
 After leaving Ovingham, she had no settled 
 home for some time, but lived principally, until 
 1854, with her brother, the Rev. Alan Greenwell, 
 at Golbourne Rectory, in Lancashire. She entered 
 with much zeal into many interesting forms of 
 parish work, with a view to help and enlighten 
 the people. The sick, the sorrowful, and the 
 young were the objects of her special care. Her 
 health often suffered from the strain to which
 
 xiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 she was subjected by her many and arduous 
 labours for the good of others She maintained 
 at this time an earnest correspondence with 
 her friends, which often verged upon literary 
 subjects. 
 
 When Miss Greenwell left the Lancashire 
 Rectory for her native county she was in her thirty- 
 third year She settled quietly down with her 
 mother in the fine old city of Durham, amongst 
 many friends and relatives — her father having died 
 in 1854. Here she was stimulated and assisted by 
 the pleasant society and interesting neighbourhood 
 By the natural charms of the city, and its historic 
 associations, she was always deeply affected. For 
 eighteen long years she found her home there, 
 and 
 
 *' 'from the casement, fair, as in a dream,' 
 She ' watched, with loving eye, that ancient pile 
 Whereon the sunlight lingered awhile, 
 From the red west with rich decaying gleam 
 Of splendour fading in a solemn stream.'" 
 
 Now began the period of her greatest intellectual 
 efforts. Her correspondence during these years is 
 fraught with so much interest, that one easily
 
 IN TROD UC TION. xv 
 
 discovers in it the germs of many of her pro- 
 foundest writings. She was destined to become an 
 accomplished essayist, and to produce some prose 
 works which claim a very high place among books 
 of a deeply thoughtful and spiritual kind. Those 
 readers who have made the acquaintance of 
 Two Frie?2ds and CoUoquia Crucis, will readily 
 endorse this opinion. Some were charmed, and 
 others were somewhat repelled by what may be 
 termed her mysticism. I used to call her "the 
 last of the Mystics." And, indeed, none can really 
 appreciate much of what is delightful in both her 
 poetry and prose who has not a liking for this 
 quality of her genius. Most of the prose works 
 were connected with the Durham period. Two 
 small volumes were first in order of time — The 
 Patience of Hope and ^ Prese?2t Heaven. The 
 spiritual life is treated of m the former of these 
 in a very delicate and suggestive manner. No 
 Christian person can read it without tender 
 satisfaction. It is interesting to note that in the 
 year 1862, Messrs. Ticknor & Fields, of Boston, 
 U.S., published an edition of this work with an 
 introduction from the pen of Mr. Whittier. The 
 poet remarked, "It is a lofty plea for patience,
 
 xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 trust, hope, and holy confidence, under the shadow, 
 as well as in the light of Christian experience, 
 whether the cloud seems to rest on the tabernacle, 
 or moves guidingly forward." He praises its 
 "singular beauty of style, and the strong, steady 
 march of its argument." 
 
 Two Friends was published in 1862, and was 
 dedicated to the author's "attached friend, Mr 
 Thomas Constable, of Edinburgh." Not a few of 
 those who have the best acquaintance with her 
 writings have ranked this volume higher even than 
 the Colloquia. It is rich in studies of the spiritual 
 life blended with poetical sentiment of the highest 
 order. 
 
 The character and work of Lacordaire became 
 intensely interesting to Miss Greenwell, as I have 
 found from perusal of a voluminous correspondence 
 which she had with Professor Knight. Lacordaire 
 fascinated he*r on many sides of his personality : 
 he was intense, spiritual, courageous, and enthu- 
 siastic. She deals very powerfully with the lights 
 and shadows of his commanding character in the 
 volume published by Messrs. Edmonston and 
 Douglas in 1867. 
 There are many persons who regard her Essays
 
 INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 (issued in 1862) as her best prose work. For 
 brilliancy, smartness, and frequent humour this 
 volume certainly takes high rank. We may 
 mention two essays particularly in point — 
 "Our Single Women" and "Popular Religious 
 Literature." 
 
 CoUoqina Crucis^ a sequel to Two Friends^ 
 was published in 1871. This book is a great 
 inspiration, and deals with themes which roused 
 the best powers of the writer, and kindled the 
 purest ardours of her genius. Liber Ht(ma7iitai2s 
 did not appear till 1875 ; comprising a series of 
 essays on "Various Aspects of Spiritual and 
 Social Life," and treating them with great 
 ability and far-reaching thoughtfulness. It only 
 remains to mention her brief account of John 
 Woohnan, the Quaker j and y^ Basket of Sum?ner 
 Fruit. 
 
 In 1861, Alexander Strahan & Co., of Edin- 
 burgh, issued a volume of her poetry, which 
 included some of the earlier poems ; and in 1867, 
 the same publishers brought out a new volume 
 with the earlier poems left out, and some later 
 ones taking their place. It bears on its title-page 
 the well-known device which so significantly
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 symbolises Miss Greenwell's faith — a hand grasp- 
 ing a cross, with the words — Et Teneo et Teneor. 
 This volume is "Dedicated to the Memory of 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning;" with two lines 
 added from Schiller's "Don Carlos." Miss 
 Greenwell's feeling with regard to Ptlrs. Browning's 
 genius and character may be in part learned 
 from two sonnets included in the present 
 volume. 
 
 During some seven or eight years Miss Green- 
 well wrote some poems which were finally pub- 
 lished by Bell & Daldy, with the title, Carjnina 
 Cruets. In a letter written from Durham to Miss 
 Christina Rossetti, she referred to them as " of an 
 inwardly historical character, connected, though 
 the thread may not be always apparent." In this 
 very wonderful little volume, she shows, as it was 
 once said, " how human spirits struggle with the 
 sorrows and doubts incidental to our nature, and 
 find rest in the deeds, the teaching, and the 
 promises of a Redeemer." The mystical and 
 allegorical nature of these poems, combined with 
 their deeply spiritual character, precludes their 
 appreciation by what is known as the "general 
 reader ; " but those whose eyes are open to the
 
 INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 secret of their charm, set a higher value upon 
 them, probably, than upon any other portion of 
 her poetical work. 
 
 The Souls Legend and Cainera Obscura, two 
 small volumes, were published respectively in 1873 
 and 1876. Both of them contain choice examples 
 and illustrations of the mingled sweetness and 
 power of her genius. 
 
 Many short poems were inserted in magazines 
 and newspapers, notably in Good Words and in 
 the Sunday Magazme. 
 
 Miss Greenwell made her home in Durham for 
 eighteen years. This home was broken up at her 
 mother^s death in 187 1. Torquay, Clifton, and 
 London became, for briefer or longer periods, the 
 places of her residence. It was a great delight to 
 her to live in London. She saw many of her old 
 friends more frequently and easily there than else- 
 where. While she remained in College Street, 
 Westminster, hardly a day passed without bringing 
 some pleasant caller to the quaint but interesting 
 home which she made for herself beneath the 
 shadow of the Abbey. Her physical powers were 
 often wearied by depression and weakness, but 
 she was the joyous soul of every little gathering
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 drawn together by her kindly welcome. Some- 
 times she sat up in her easy chair, but more 
 frequently lay upon the sofa covered with wraps ; 
 and nearly always — except in the hottest weather 
 — enjoyed a cheerful fire. No chance visitor — 
 introduced by one of her intimate friends — could 
 fail to be struck with the frank, unceremonious, 
 and cordial manner with which she greeted all 
 who came. A social iceberg immediately began 
 to thaw in the warmth of her presence. She gave 
 an unusually hearty welcome to anyone who could 
 add to her stock of knowledge. If such persons 
 were present, she plied them with questions, 
 and listened patiently to their answers, never 
 failing to multiply her enquiries if the information 
 failed to satisfy her thirst for knowledge. 
 
 She was a somewhat ardent politician, and 
 greatly relished any opportunity for improving her 
 acquaintance with the schemes and movements of 
 political parties. But her greatest zeal was always 
 shown in respect to social and benevolent objects. 
 The poor and suffering — and in a very special 
 sense the whole brute creation — always excited 
 and indeed absorbed her sympathy. 
 
 Miss Greenwell was keenly sensitive to delicate
 
 /iV TROD UCTION. xxi 
 
 and kindly atlentions ; she spoke of many trifling 
 gifts from her friends — such for instance as flowers, 
 quill pens, good black ink, or even a pretty 
 pincushion — as "testimonials" of their regard. 
 There ran through all her conversation, even 
 when it was concerned with very serious topics, 
 what one of her admiring friends called " a touch 
 of humour like a thread of light." But perhaps 
 she was at her greatest when moved with indig- 
 nation against some huge moral wrong. She 
 became fiercely eloquent ; her words glowed with 
 the inner fires of life ; sentiments were roused in 
 the breasts of those who were present which were 
 akin to those that would have shown themselves 
 upon the eve of a great moral enterprise. The 
 friend whose words have just been quoted testifies 
 — and the present writer confirms the observation 
 — *' I have heard her speak of moral reform, and 
 armed warfare with evil, as if she wore the 
 Crusader's Cross ; and again, have felt in her 
 presence that one must walk along a lofty narrow 
 path in keen air, and upon snow heights." 
 
 In the autumn of 1881 Miss Green well went to 
 her brother at Clifton, much weakened in health, 
 and suffering from the results of an accident She
 
 xxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 failed rapidly in the following spring, and the 
 shadows fell thickly around. Death released the 
 buoyant spirit from its mortal coil on the evening 
 of Wednesday, March 29, 1882. She was buried 
 in Arno's Vale Cemetery, Bristol. 
 
 And thus, " She vanished to a shore 
 
 Where none are parted, none are troubled more.'* 
 
 WILLIAM DORLING. 
 
 BuCKIiURST IliLL.
 
 L' ENVOI. 
 
 I HOLD within my hand a lute, 
 
 A kite that hath not many strings ; 
 
 A little bird above it sings, 
 
 And singing, soars and claps his wings ; 
 
 Sing, little bird : when thou art mute, 
 
 The music dies within my lute. 
 
 Sing on, thou little bird, until 
 
 I hear a voice expected long, 
 
 That bids an after-silence fill 
 
 The space that once was filled with song. 
 
 Then fold thy wings upon my breast, 
 
 Upon my heart, and give it rest. 
 
 {Foetus on Legendary Subjects. )
 
 HOME. 
 
 Two birds within one nest ; 
 
 Two hearts within one breast ; 
 
 Two spirits in one fair, 
 
 Firm league of love and prayer, 
 
 Together bound for aye, together blest. 
 
 An ear that waits to catch 
 
 A hand upon the latch ; 
 
 A step that hastens its sweet rest to win : 
 
 A world of care without, 
 
 A world of strife shut out, 
 A world of love shut in.
 
 Ipoema b^ 2)ora (Breenwell 
 
 POETS. 
 
 One spake to a poet, " And whence hast thou won 
 The key to the melodies vagrant that run 
 And throb along Nature's strong pulse, like a strain 
 That haunts us by snatches, yet doth not attain, 
 
 Save in thee, to completeness ; 
 The wind-song, the bird-song, the song of the leaves, 
 The heart- song, which breathes through them all, and 
 receives 
 
 E'en in giving them sweetness ? " 
 
 Then he answered, " From God, who to each at His 
 
 will 
 From His fulness gives somewhat the yearning to still 
 Of the soul, that as yet He designed not to fill ; 
 For He would not that any should tax Him and say, 
 * Thou gavest me nought as I went by the way 
 To joy in and bless Thee.' " 
 
 And His gifts are all blessed ; He giveth to some 
 Rich boons ; they are happy, and so they are dumb- 
 There was silence in Heaven : 
 
 542
 
 2 POETS. 
 
 And the strength and the loving, to gaze on each thing 
 That they have not, with joy in its beauty, and sing, 
 To some He hath given. 
 
 These sit in their gladness, all robed and all crowned, 
 As guests at Life's banquet, while swift circles around 
 
 Life's rosy joy-bringer ; 
 But a banquet needs music, so these in the cold 
 Stand singing without ; though his harp be of gold, 
 
 Wilt thou envy the singer ? 
 
 For one (was it one, then ?) went forth from the crowd, 
 A warrior, chosen, and faithful, and vowed ; 
 
 Sore-wounded they found him 
 With a bright-blazoned banner wrapt round him, and 
 
 prest 
 To his bosom, to stanch its deep death -hurt ; none 
 
 guessed 
 That his life-blood welled over it darkly, so proud 
 Was the purple that bound him. 
 
 Ye sit by the hearth in the cold, bright spring weather. 
 At evening, and hear the birds chiming together ; 
 And ye say, " Happy singers ! " forgetting the trees 
 Are leafless, and keen winds hold back beyond the seas 
 
 The swallow, blithe comer ; 
 Yet Summer is coming for us as for these, 
 
 A long Summer.
 
 GOD'S SINGER. 
 
 GOD'S SINGER. 
 
 He bore a harp within his hand, 
 
 And on his breast outspread 
 The flower, that from the dawn to dusk. 
 
 For love of one o'erhead, 
 Slill follows on a look, till all 
 
 Its golden leaves are shed ; 
 Ye had not called him grave or gay, 
 
 For old nor yet for young 
 Ye had not known him ; so he seemed 
 
 To be them all in one ; 
 And only in his smile ye knew 
 
 The singer ere he sung. 
 
 •' A name, a name is in my heart, 
 
 It bideth, hidden long, 
 Because my hand hath not a chord 
 
 That would not do it WTong ; 
 So pure is it, so sweet, unmeet 
 
 For rounding of a song, 
 Yet in the cleft, its honey left 
 
 Hath made my spirit strong. 
 
 " A thought, a thought is in my heart 
 Though seldom on the string ; 
 
 I keep it, round all other thoughts 
 Its sweetnesses to fling ;
 
 4 GOD'S SINGER. 
 
 Yea ! were it not within my soul, 
 
 Methinks I could not sing, 
 Nor ever raise my voice in praise 
 
 Of any other thing." 
 
 So sang he sweet, so sang he clear, and lift his look 
 
 above, 
 They said that listened, " Now he thinks of her, his lad ye 
 
 love ; " 
 But through the wood, where in the calm of summer's 
 
 noon hung still 
 And motionless each little leaf, there ran a sudden thrill. 
 
 He stood within a castle's keep, 
 
 A castle that could wear, 
 Stern looming o'er its rocky steep, 
 
 As dark a frown as Care. 
 Yet now it smiled, as one beguiled 
 
 Of ruggedness through sleep, 
 So sweet a sunshine on from tower 
 
 To tower did flash and leap. 
 And all the summer's noon did swoon 
 
 About it, breathing deep. 
 
 On coigne and gurgoyle little heads 
 
 In carven stone did seem 
 To wink and peep, as they did creep 
 
 From out some evil dream ; 
 And over each, on leaf and scroll, 
 
 Strange words were writ, that seemed to flit
 
 GODS SINGER. 5 
 
 AVithin each mask, and be to it 
 
 Interpreter of soul : 
 "Sans Roi, sans Lo?\ sans Foi :'^ and there, 
 
 Above the gate a time-gnawed wreath 
 And legend mouldered half away, 
 
 Spoke fair to passer underneath : 
 " Entres dans le chateau des delices, el jais ce 
 que z'otcdray.'''' 
 
 A fountain warbled, more it seemed 
 
 In weariness than play ; 
 The birds sang loud, but not as in 
 
 The forest depths sing they ; 
 Yet ringing clear above them all, 
 
 Up rose the minstrel's lay, 
 As freshly shook as when the brook 
 
 Sang with him on his way. 
 
 The soft air lifted it on high, 
 
 Through pleasant bower and hall, 
 And ladies o'er the balcony 
 
 Leant, holden in its thrall ; 
 It floated in above the din 
 
 That rose within the court. 
 The grey-beards paused above the cup, 
 
 The gallants 'mid their sport ; 
 " Ha ! " spake the Baron, " bring him in, 
 
 The merry Jongleur ! to the strings 
 The wine will move, and dance within 
 
 Our beakers while he sings."
 
 GOD'S SINGER. 
 
 As came the minstrel in the hall^ 
 
 He bore him high and free, 
 Yet lowly bowed, as one long vowed 
 
 To gentle courtesy. 
 Then o'er his harp, with thought to claim 
 
 A silence ere he sung, 
 lie passed his hand, as if to tame 
 
 Each bounding chord that sprung 
 Beneath it ; as a loving heart, 
 
 Now fretted, and now wrung. 
 Must rise and fall unto the thrall 
 
 That over it is flung ; 
 Then soft and low, as is the flow 
 
 Of waters, to whose drip 
 A child hath danced, his finger fine 
 
 From string to string did slip. 
 Till, gathered in a sudden shower, 
 
 The spray-drops glanced and flew 
 As light as when, 'mid thick-wove bough- 
 
 The sunbeams trickle through. 
 
 And then, with firmer, bolder touch, he struck a deeper 
 
 strain, 
 And high amid the cloven hills, by thunder rift in 
 
 twain. 
 The swollen torrents leapt and sprang, and down the 
 
 flashing rain 
 Poured in through ghastly rents, while swift, from giant 
 
 hand to hand,
 
 GOD'S SINGER. 7 
 
 Like arrows torn from fiery sheaf, the lightning's jagged 
 
 brand, [land ; 
 
 Flung careless on from peak to peak, lit up the startled 
 
 And then a swell, a rush as of broad rivers in their flow, 
 Ran through it, and the forest shook with rustlings light, 
 
 and low 
 Smooth-sweeping winds, till underneath, you heard the 
 
 grasses grow. 
 
 And as the stormy waves withdrew, 
 
 Disparting here and there. 
 The flood rolled backward, and to view 
 
 The mountain summits bare 
 Pierced upwards, till a world swept out 
 
 Green, jubilant, and fair ; 
 Then clear the singer's voice arose 
 
 Upon the freshened air. 
 
 lie sang an old and simple tale, 
 
 A sad and earnest song, 
 Of things most frail that did prevail, 
 
 Of weakest things made strong ; 
 Of tender Truth, that did not fail 
 
 For time or change, and long. 
 Long suff"ered, rather than to give, 
 
 Content to suffer wrong ; 
 A song that hath been ofttimes sung, 
 
 A tale that hath been told 
 Since first this world of ours was young, 
 
 Nor with it groweth old ;
 
 GOD'S SINGER. 
 
 While human eyes keep tears to weep, 
 And hearts have love to hold 
 
 For friend or lover under sun, 
 Or underneath the mould. 
 
 The matron on her Dais high, 
 
 That held her place of pride, 
 Turned, with a trouble in her eye. 
 
 Her stately head aside ; 
 For through the music little feet 
 
 Went moving, and the child 
 That One who loveth souls took back, 
 
 Unaltered, unbeguiled. 
 With sweet voice small did seem to call 
 
 Upon her name, and smiled. 
 The Gallant drew his plumed cap 
 
 Across his brow, and sighed ; 
 A hand was clasped within his own, 
 
 A step was by his side ; 
 A soft low voice he seemed to meet, 
 
 Each whispered tone he knew ; 
 None since had ever been so sweet, 
 
 Nor any since so true, 
 For like a child, unto the hill 
 
 Whence springs the rainbow, driven, 
 His mind on many a glittering quest 
 
 Since then had toiled and striven, 
 Yet never had he touched again 
 
 The point where Earth meets Heaven.
 
 GOD'S SINGER, 
 
 The grey-haired Seneschal, that leant 
 
 Upon his staff apart, 
 Felt somewhat trembling on his lip, 
 
 And tightening round his heart, 
 A ruined shrine, that had not seen 
 
 Its angels all depart ; 
 For now he felt his mother's kiss 
 
 Upon his cheek, and heard. 
 Oh ! sound approved from lips beloved, 
 
 Her fond and praiseful word. 
 And as each aged fibre shook, 
 
 And trembled to the strain, 
 He heard the cawing of the rook, 
 
 He was a boy again ! 
 l\^ith glad feet plashing in the brook 
 
 That wimpled onwards, fain 
 Its shining boundary to trace, 
 
 And clip his little world within 
 Too small a space to leave a place 
 
 For sorrow and for sin. 
 
 And through each heart a pang shot strong, 
 
 And on it darkly bore 
 A sense of something that had long 
 
 Been lost, unmissed before ; 
 But now, to reach a guiding Hand, 
 
 The Spirit groped and felt 
 Across the void, and for the land 
 
 It yearned where once it d welt ;
 
 lo GOD'S SINGKR. 
 
 It longed to knit some broken troth, 
 
 And then, as if it knew 
 All good below is but the show 
 
 And shadow of the true, 
 Each thirsted sore to claim once more 
 
 His birthright, and renew 
 A higher 'legiance, whence the soul 
 
 Had lapsed and fallen through. 
 
 And there was Silence, such as falls 
 
 On one that, musing lone, 
 At midnight on a city's walls, 
 
 Sees moonlight round him thrown. 
 So heavenly fair, ere he is 'ware 
 
 His inner sense hath grown 
 More pure, and may not well endure 
 
 To think on Pain and Sin, 
 On all that shines so fair without 
 
 That lurks so foul within 
 Our mortal state, and ill can wait 
 
 Those clearer heights to win, 
 Where never goodly thing goes out, 
 
 Nor evil cometh in ! 
 
 At length the Baron broke the spell : 
 " Sir Minstrel? sorry cheer, 
 
 For all thou playest deft and well, 
 Methinks thou bringest here : 
 
 So now that ye have made us grave, 
 Your penance I will choose,
 
 GOD'S SINGER. 
 
 To troll us out a joyous stave, 
 
 As merry Trouveurs use, 
 A song of jest and gaillardise 
 
 To wreathe about the cup, 
 That, while we drain it, ladies' eyes 
 
 May glisten from it up." 
 
 •• Fain is my harp," the minstrel spake, 
 
 " To bring you joy and ease. 
 Yet would it break if I should take 
 
 A strain on it like these : 
 Its only skill is such to wake 
 
 As may my Master please." 
 " Thy Master ! " then the Baron smiled 
 
 A scornful smile and proud, 
 ' ' I did not deem ye brethren free 
 
 To other service vowed 
 Than flowing of the ^Malvoisie 
 
 And largesse clinking loud." 
 " Yea," said the Minstrel, " I am free, 
 
 And yet a Lord is mine, 
 A service that is liberty, 
 
 A Master who is thine ! " 
 
 Then sprang the Baron from his seat : 
 *' A priest without the frock ! 
 
 Now bind him, varlets, hands and feet, 
 And fling him down the rock ;
 
 12 NIGHT AND MORNING MEET. 
 
 For I have sworn, no hireling shorn 
 Among their tribe should cross 
 
 My threshold, but have cause to mourn 
 His boldness to his loss." 
 
 " They bar against Thy priest the gate, 
 
 Thy Singer passeth free ; 
 So hold me ever consecrate 
 
 Thy Witness still to be." 
 Thus, looking up, the minstrel spake, 
 
 And, turning, went his way 
 From out them all, and none did seek 
 
 To hinder him or stay ; 
 And as he passed beneath the gate, 
 
 A bird was singing free, 
 And from the chapel in the wood 
 
 Rose vespers solemnly ; 
 And as upon the air serene 
 
 His song ascended calm, 
 Methought it filled the space between 
 
 The Carol and the Psalm ! 
 
 WHEN THE NIGHT AND MORNING MEET. 
 
 In the dark and narrow street, 
 
 Into a world of woe, 
 Where the tread of many feet 
 
 Went trampling to and fro,
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING MEET. i^ 
 
 A child was bora — speak low ! 
 When the night and morning meet. 
 
 Full seventy summers back 
 
 Was this, so long ago. 
 The feet that wore the track 
 
 Are Ijang straight and low, — 
 Yet hath there been no lack 
 
 Of passers to and fro. 
 
 Within the narrow street 
 
 This childhood ever played ; 
 Beyond the narrow street 
 
 This manhood never strayed ; 
 
 This age sat still and prayed 
 Anear the trampling feet. 
 
 The tread of ceaseless feet 
 
 Flowed through his life, unstirred 
 
 By waters' fall, or fleet 
 Wind music, or the bird 
 
 Of morn ; these sounds are sweet, 
 But they were still unheard. 
 
 Within the narrow street 
 
 I stood beside a bed, — 
 
 I held a dying head 
 When the night and morning meet ; 
 And every word was sweet, 
 
 Though few the words we said.
 
 HAUNTED GROUND.. 
 
 And as we talked, dawn drew 
 To-day, — the world was fair 
 
 In fields afar, I knew ; 
 
 Yet spoke not to him there 
 
 Of how the grasses grew. 
 
 Besprent with dewdrops rare. 
 
 We spoke not of the sun, 
 Nor of this green earth fair ; 
 
 This soul, whose day was done 
 Had never claimed its share 
 In these, and yet its rare 
 
 Rich heritage had won. 
 
 From the dark and narrow street, 
 
 Into a world of love 
 A child was born, — speak low, 
 Speak reverent, for we know 
 
 Not how they speak above 
 When the night and morning meet. 
 
 HAUNTED GROUND. 
 " It is the soul that sees." 
 
 The rest have wandered on — 
 
 Stay thou with me, dear friend, awhile, awhile 
 The air is full of voices leading on. 
 
 As o'er enchanted isle.
 
 HAUNTED GROUND, 15 
 
 This ground is writ all o'er 
 
 \Yith the soul's history ; I may not choose, — 
 Spell-bound — but pause above this living lore 
 
 To linger and to muse. 
 
 We give of what we take 
 
 From life of outward things ; our spirits leave, 
 Where they have been, a glory in their wake 
 
 More bright than they receive. 
 
 And this was once my Home: 
 
 The leaves, light rustling o'er me, whisper clear — 
 " The sun but shines on thee where thou dost roam, 
 
 It smiled upon thee here." * 
 
 And these are of the things 
 
 That God hath taken from me, safe to keep : 
 Sometimes, to let me look on them. He brings 
 
 Them to me in my sleep ; 
 
 And I have been in sleep 
 
 So oft among them, nozv their aspect seems 
 The vague soft glow evanishing, to keep. 
 
 Of half-remembered dreams. 
 
 Thou shouldst have been with me 
 
 Of old, dear friend, as now ! and borne a part 
 In all that was — then Life were filled with thee 
 
 As wholly as the Heart ! 
 
 * The idea that the sun shines on us in absence, but smiles 
 on ns at home, is borrowed from a German song.
 
 i6 HAUNTED GROUND, 
 
 Then hadst thou won mine eyes 
 
 My soul to look through ; half it angers me 
 
 To think a sweetness on the years can rise 
 That is not mixed with thee ! 
 
 Yet stoop with me to trace 
 
 These olden records, overrun with bloom : 
 The Dead are underneath, and yet the place 
 
 Looks hardly like a tomb 
 
 This is the wood-walk ; oft 
 
 I feel a clasp detaining, — not the fold 
 
 Of clinging bindweed, — far more close and soft ; 
 For here in days of old, 
 
 My earliest friend with me 
 
 Walked hand in hand ; we sat long hours upon 
 This bank ; and I am on the earth, but she 
 
 Had wings, and she is gone. 
 
 See ! see ! the ancient hall 
 
 With sunset on it ! how the windows flame 
 In evening light — they flash and glitter all — 
 
 And one looks still the same. 
 
 As when my mother kept 
 
 Upon me, while I played, an eye of love ; 
 Since then, it oft has watched me while I wept, 
 
 Still watching, from above I
 
 HAUNTED GROUND, 17 
 
 As then she used to smile, 
 
 And softly stroke my head ; so now my heart 
 These gentle memories stroke and soothe — awhile, 
 
 Awhile we will not part. 
 
 Kind shadows ! from the door, 
 
 At noon-day with a joyous shout flung wide, 
 I see the merry children rush, before 
 
 Its welcome stroke had died. 
 
 The old domestic, grey 
 
 And bowed with weight of many years, whose 
 look 
 And grave, kind smile still followed on the way 
 
 Our flying footsteps took ; 
 
 Such wealth was his in store 
 
 Of loving words, when fain he would be stern, 
 And chide our rovings, all his speech the more 
 
 To tenderness would turn ! 
 
 As twilight brings a face 
 
 Drawn faint, yet perfect, on the darkening wall ; 
 So on me rise the spirits of each place. 
 
 Yet bring not gloom withal. 
 
 Heaven's wasted wealth, the gold 
 
 It gave for treasure slighted and ungraced ; 
 
 Earth's kindly seeds of love on soil too cold. 
 Let darkly run to waste, 
 
 543
 
 A COMPARISON. 
 
 That needed but our care 
 
 To bloom for ever round the heart serene ; 
 These, these the forms of evil things that were, 
 
 Of good that might have been. 
 
 Time gathers silently, 
 
 Yet from their ashes troubling phantoms sends 
 More stern than these of happy hours gone by, 
 
 Than these of buried friends ; 
 
 More sad than these that smile 
 
 And whisper, " Now thou comest as a guest 
 WTiere once thou dwelt, yet mourn not thou the 
 while, 
 
 Because thou hast been blest 1 " 
 
 A COMPARISON. 
 
 There is no Winter in the soul of man | 
 
 Its clime is Tropical, a giant tree 
 
 In stately Southern forests blowing free 
 
 And broad, it stands where equal Summer sways 
 
 All seasons, and as one swift joy decays, 
 
 Another pushes forth a fan-like frond 
 
 Or succulent leaf dark-shining far beyond 
 
 Before it falls ; and wing-like thoughts have sown 
 
 Their seeds all round about its roots, and thrown
 
 A VISION OF GREEN LEA VES. 19 
 
 A veil of living blooms from bough to bough, 
 Leaf, flower, and tendril twining, so that now 
 Most vain it were to track each home, or guess 
 Whence springs this weight and wealth of loveliness ; 
 While e'en its cloven bark, a sheath and shroud 
 Of splendour, blossoms o'er — so fancies crowd 
 Within the soul, so mounting swift and high 
 Up to that tree's tall summit, suddenly 
 Spring in one night efflorescent, bright hopes. 
 That drop again to earth like flowery ropes 
 Let down from Heaven by angels' hands ; yet there 
 Stand forth, 'mid all that fulness, gaunt and bare. 
 Like matted cordage, withered coils that fruit, 
 Or flower, or leaf, bear never, for the root 
 From whence they drew earth's kindly juice is gone ; 
 And these are hopes that die, yet still cling on ! 
 
 A VISION OF GREEN LEAVES. 
 
 The time was Winter, Winter or the Spring 
 That comes with tardy footstep, lingering 
 Like some reluctant Giver, yielding cold 
 The boons that it no longer may withhold : 
 And ere I slept, I listened to the rain 
 Dashed by the fitful wind against the pane, 
 The wind, that even through my sleep did seem 
 To break upon the music of my dream,
 
 A VISIOX OF GREEN LEA VES. 
 
 With pause of change and dreariness, and still 
 Swelled, sighed, and moaned each varying scene to 
 
 fill 
 With trouble and unrest ; at length outworn 
 I slept within my sleep,, and to the morn 
 (Still in my dream) awoke, with vacant eye 
 Forth from the casement gazing listlessly, 
 When sudden I exclaimed, " A miracle ! 
 A Summer come at once without a Spring 
 To herald it ! a bright awakening 
 To life and loveliness ; " for all around 
 Were leaves, green bursting leaves, and on the ground 
 Was short grass springing thick, and through the 
 
 wave 
 The dark flag cut its swift way like a glaive ; 
 And broad as Orient growths, upon the pool. 
 Large, juicy leaves lay mantling, smooth and cool : 
 I saw no flowers, no fruit, but everywhere 
 Leaves, only leaves, that filled the Summer air 
 With murmurs, soft as whispers that the heart 
 Hath longed and listened for : while light and low, 
 As chidings fall from lips that turn their flow 
 To gentleness, quick rustlings waved apart 
 The boughs, and fragrance soothed the sense like 
 
 thought 
 Too sweet for utterance ; e'en then I caught 
 The Dream's full import : " 'Tis the Spring's warm 
 
 sigh," 
 Methouglit, " that calls forth all this luxury 
 Of leaf and greenness ; thus, upon the heart
 
 A VIS JON OF GREEN LEA VES. : 
 
 A word, a look will bid a Summer start, 
 
 A Summer come at once, without a Spring 
 
 To herald it, a sudden wakening ; " 
 
 Then from the bands of sleep my spirit broke, 
 
 And with the sweetness on my soul I woke, 
 
 And it was Winter still ! but in my heart 
 
 Was Summer ! — Summer that would not depart. 
 
 But breathed across its silence, low and light. 
 
 Like those sweet forest-rustlings of the night ; 
 
 It was a dream of Hope ! and sent by her, 
 
 My Lady bright, because I minister 
 
 Unto her honour, while I strive to sing 
 
 And praise her with my Lyre's most silver string; 
 
 It was a dream of Hope ; I know the hue 
 
 Of her fresh mantle, and her symbol true, 
 
 The leaf ! she cannot give the flower or fruit, 
 
 But sends their promise by a herald mute ; 
 
 The leaf, that comes like one in haste to bring 
 
 The first of all some gladsome welcoming. 
 
 And cannot speak for joy, but with the hand 
 
 Still points and beckons to the coming band ; 
 
 I know the symbol, and I bind the sign 
 
 Up:)n my heart to make it doubly thine. 
 
 Thou Bringer of sweet dreams by day and night. 
 
 Still will I sing and praise thee, Lady bright ! 
 
 And I will gather of these leaves, to twine 
 
 A chaplet for those sunny brows of thine ; 
 
 And by thy smiling thou wilt keep its sheen, 
 
 In Winter as in Summer, fresh and green
 
 22 TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND. 
 
 TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND. 
 
 Thou comest back unto me like a ghost ; 
 
 And all the years that have been buried long 
 
 In silence, at thy aspect, crowd and throng 
 
 Each portal of my mind — a Phantom host. 
 
 Now will we commune with that cloud-like train 
 
 Awhile, then send them to their rest again ; 
 
 For all their forms are pale and colourless ; 
 
 Not from their full joy-vintage could we press 
 
 The wealth of this day's gleanings ! nay, the woes 
 
 That we have known since then have nobler shows, 
 
 And all their "more " sounds feebler than our "less." 
 
 We parted in the blossom and the bud, 
 
 Now in the bloom-time of Life's perfect Rose 
 
 We meet ; and though it may not yet unclose 
 
 Each petal, for that earth lies ever cold 
 
 About its roots, and in their conflict rude. 
 
 Rough, biting winds have bowed its head, and strewed 
 
 Some leaves upon the ground ; yet hath it won 
 
 From shower and shining, from the moulds and sun. 
 
 Deep colours, odours richer than of old ! 
 
 The rocks that lock the Vale's monotony 
 In quiet, once our mutual vision spanned ; 
 Since then by distant pathways, painfully 
 We have been climbing both, now hand-in-hand 
 And see the spot where then we parted lie 
 Beneath us like a speck ; now through the haze
 
 TO A YOUNG GIRL. 23 
 
 Together on the steep ascent we stand, 
 Disparting for a moment, we will gaze 
 Down on the Alpine hamlet, till we hear 
 Jts songs and sheepfold tinklings rising clear. 
 Then lift an upward heaven aspiring eye 
 Together, ere our tracks break suddenly. 
 And we go onwards through the cloud and mist 
 Alone, yet cheerful ! on the Hill, dear Friend, 
 Ere evening-light its cold white brow hath kissed. 
 Tinging its snows with rose and amethyst. 
 Once more those far-diverging lines may blend ! 
 
 TO A YOUNG GIRL. 
 
 Twelve years before thee through life I must run. 
 Dearest ! oh, would I might counsel the hours, 
 
 Saying, " Keep back your best sunshine for one 
 That is coming behind me, and spare her the 
 
 showers ! " 
 
 Fain would I stop to remove from thy way 
 
 Stones that have bruised me, and thorns that have 
 grieved ; 
 
 Set up my errors for waymarks, to say, 
 
 Here I was wounded, ensnared, or deceived ! 
 
 Vain is my wishing ! in lines of our own 
 
 We must traverse the pathway marked out from 
 above ;
 
 24 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 Life is a sorrowful teacher, alone 
 
 We must learn its deep lessons, unaided by love. 
 
 Yet where I journey waste places among, 
 I will scatter a seed by the wayside, and say, 
 
 Soft to myself as I hasten along, 
 
 *' It may be a flower when she cometh this way." 
 
 Yet will I leave thee some token, that there, 
 Just where the path looks most rugged and dim, 
 
 It haply may cheer thee, in meeting with Care, 
 
 To know that thy friend walked before thee with 
 him ! 
 
 So for thy loving and trusting and truth, 
 
 Gentle acquittance in part it may be ; 
 Thou who hast shrined me an image of Youth, 
 
 Brighter than ever my youth was to me ! 
 
 Febyuaty \yh. 
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 Once spake a grey -haired poet : A noble thing and good, 
 
 To strike a heat adown the chain of our great brother- 
 hood ; 
 
 To send the blazing torch of truth from eager hand to 
 hand, 
 
 To bid thought's swift electric wire vibrate from laud to 
 land.
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 25 
 
 To nurse a generous seed that in the mind hath taken 
 
 root, 
 Then waft it forth on kindlier soil to come to nobler 
 
 fruit, 
 By fire-lit hearth, in love-lit heart, a heritage to claim ; 
 This have men called an idle breath, the vanity of Fame I 
 
 But as to champing steed the noise of battle from afar. 
 
 That bids him paw the ground, and neigh to trumpet- 
 sound, Ha, ha I 
 
 Is Fame to poet-soul, and mine hath shared among the 
 rest ; 
 
 Yet was the praise of earliest days the sweetest and the 
 best! 
 
 And it is with me now as when with keen, ambitious 
 
 breast, 
 At school I struggled with my mates, and ever foremost 
 
 pressed ; 
 Yet knew not what I won — the worth or sweetness of my 
 
 prize — 
 Till I took it home, and read them both within my 
 
 mother's eyes ! 
 
 My mother ! she to whom I read my earliest rude essays, 
 Y.'ho pinned my verses in her gown, and on her house- 
 hold ways. 
 As she kept moving, to herself she said them over soft ; 
 I had a True-love afterwards thai read them not so oft !
 
 26 WITHOUT AND WITHIN, 
 
 And he, the kind old bachelor, whose heart had been 
 
 for one 
 Too much, and so he shared it out with all beneath the 
 
 sun ; 
 I see his broad and honest brow, the sparkle in his eye 
 (A steadfast fire undimmed by age), I hear his slow reply. 
 
 The patientest of anglers he, and I the quietest 
 
 Of dreamy boys, true comrades we — he chose me from 
 
 the rest ; 
 Content to saunter by his side in silence through the day. 
 Through coppice and by stream, the while my thoughts 
 
 were far away, 
 
 Perhaps with Crusoe in his isle ; our noonday meal we 
 
 took 
 Beneath an old grey lichened rock that beetled o'er the 
 
 brook ; 
 Then with our tongues set free at last ! not learning 
 
 much nor wit 
 Went with our simple fare, but talk as well that seasoned 
 
 it. 
 
 I never hear a chafing brook, nor see the smooth stones 
 
 lie 
 Beneath it golden-brown, or mark the mailed dragon-fly 
 Shoot past, but something o'er my soul a summer feeling 
 
 sends. 
 That brings my good old kinsman back, and all my 
 
 boyhood's friends.
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 27 
 
 One still is left, the friend that fought my battles out at 
 
 school ; 
 Now would he fight them with the world ; if ever it 
 
 should cool 
 To verse of mine — yes, inch by inch contending : not a 
 
 line 
 He reads, but takes them all on trust, content that they 
 
 are mine. 
 
 Now have I made me store of friends, the kindred of my 
 
 mind ; 
 They give unto me of their wealth, I pay them back in 
 
 kind : 
 The world needs music at its feasts, it bids me welcome 
 
 free ; 
 It loves me for the songs I sing, but these loved my songs 
 
 for me ! 
 
 And so to such as these my heart flies back, a thing set 
 
 free ; 
 It craveth more than doth the mind, less cold equality ; 
 Love is the one true leveller below, he bringeth down, 
 He raiseth up, he sets on all his chosen brows a crown : 
 
 For he hath gold enough, enough of sweetness in his tone 
 To lend an echo unto Fame far deeper than its own ; 
 Its hollow cymbal-sound is gone, and hushed its selfish 
 
 din 
 When praising from Without is met by loving from 
 
 Within.
 
 28 "SO IT happens:' 
 
 "SO IT HAPPENS." 
 {From the Ger)iian of Emanuel Geibel.) 
 
 " He loves thee not," so spake they to her cold ; 
 
 *' He trifles with thee ; " then she bowed her hea(. 
 And down her cheeks, like dew from roses, ro'lcd 
 
 The tears fast welling at each word they saitl ; 
 Oh ! why did she believe ? for when he came 
 
 Her doubtings angered him ; a semblance light 
 He held through all, he spoke and smiled the same, 
 
 And waited — waited to weep through the night ! 
 
 Still knocked a better angel at her heart, 
 
 " Yet is he true, give, give thy hand again ; " 
 Still felt he, through that bitterness and smart, 
 
 " She loves thee yet, she loves thee now as then ; 
 Speak but one word, hear but one greeting kind. 
 
 So is the spell that lies betwixt you broken." 
 Once more they met ; oh ! Pride is harsh and blind. 
 
 That word, that only word remaine 1 unspoken. 
 
 So parted they, and as within the choir 
 
 Of some great minster, wanes the altar-light 
 To duller red, then flashes fitful fire 
 
 All quivering restless, then sinks down in night ; 
 So love died in them, long and sore bewept, 
 
 Called back again with yearning vain at last 
 Forgotten, till within each heart it slept, 
 
 With old illusions faded and o'erpast.
 
 THE PICTURE AND THE SCROLL. 29 
 
 Vet otf-times started they, when moonlight streamed, 
 
 Up from their pillows that were wet with tears, 
 And wet with tears each face, for they had dreamed 
 
 I know not what ; then thought they of the years, 
 The old, the lovely time that once had been, 
 
 And of their idle doubts, their broken troth, 
 And all that now was set their souls between. 
 
 So wide, so wide — O God, Torsive them both ! 
 
 THE PICTURE AND THE SCROLL. 
 
 Oh, mes amis ! lisez-vous quelquefois rues vers ; mon arrie 
 y est empremte.'' 
 
 A Bride looked long upon her picture : " Thou 
 
 Art left among the things I held most dear, 
 A dearer love is calling me ; yet now 
 
 These to my heart have never been so near ; 
 And I shall not be by when they are gay ; 
 They will be sad, and I shall be away ; 
 Yet thou wilt look upon them night and day, 
 
 As once I looked, so now I leave upon 
 Thy silent lips a kiss to bide alway ; 
 
 Smile on them, smile on them when I am gone ! "' 
 
 A Singer looked in silence on a scroll. 
 
 Her eyes were dark with eloquent fire, her soul
 
 MADANA. 
 
 Smiled through them bride-like, yet the hand was 
 
 cold 
 That locked her slender palm within its hold, 
 And set the spousal wreath upon her brow ; 
 
 She said, " I go from all that has been dear, 
 For dearer love is calling me ; yet now 
 
 These to my heart have never been so near, 
 So will I leave my kiss this scroll upon, 
 
 That they may find it, while I whisper clear, 
 * Smile on them, smile on them when I am gone ! '" 
 
 MADANA. 
 
 [The invisible Madana (or Kama), the Hindu Cupid, is armed 
 with a bow of sugar-cane, strung with bees, and five arrows, 
 each tipped with a flower exercising a peculiar and distinct 
 influence on the heart ; among these, one alone of fatal and 
 unerring flight is headed, and the head covered with honeycomb.] 
 
 Summer ! Summer ! soft around, 
 With a hushed and dream-like sound, 
 From a beating heart that knows 
 Too much rapture for repose, 
 Breathless, tremulous, arise 
 Murmurs ; thick mysterious sighs ; 
 Whispers, faintly wandering by. 
 Breathe a warning out and die ; 
 Lightly o'er the bending grass. 
 Changeful gleams and shadows pass ;
 
 MADANA. 31 
 
 Through the leaves a conscious thrill 
 Lightly runs, and all is still ; 
 Like the tree* whose branch and stem 
 Flame with many a sudden gem, 
 Blushing in its haste to greet 
 Touch of Beauty's slender feet ; 
 Earth with inner joy opprest, 
 Shaken from her central rest, 
 Through her bursting bloom reveals 
 Hidden ecstasy she feels : 
 Now the rich, unfolding Rose 
 Through its crimson splendour glows ; 
 Jasmine blossoms manifold 
 Shed their stars of paly gold ; 
 On the lake's broad bosom borne, 
 Reddening to the reddening dawn, 
 Flashes many a floating cup 
 Raised to drink the sunbeams up ; 
 Drooping on the heavy air 
 Faint with sweetness that they bear, 
 Now the Mango buds grow pale 
 O'er their passion-breathing tale ; 
 And the Champak's leaves disclose 
 Where, amid their vestal snows, 
 Kindling at deep gleaming eyes 
 Fiery-hearted fragrance lies ; 
 Summer ! Summer ! now the air 
 
 * The red Asoka, supposed to blossom wlien its stem comes \r\ 
 roritact with the foot of a beautiful woman.
 
 32 MADANA. 
 
 Trembles — Maclana is there ! 
 Watch not for his flitting wing, 
 List not for the bounding string, 
 Floating 'mid the groves to choose 
 Gorgeous blossoms, mingled hues, 
 Viewless as the viewless wind, 
 Weaving spells for heart and mind, 
 Flower-armed, flower-crowned Deity, 
 Light his unseen arrows fly ! 
 Tremble not ! the archer's smile 
 Plays but carelessly the while 
 Summer lightning o'er the sky 
 Flashing, flickering restlessly ; 
 .Sporting with the passing hours. 
 He hath winged their flight with flowers 
 Gentle witchery and brief. 
 He hath breathed o'er bud and leaf. 
 That hath lent to glance and tone 
 Light and sweetness not their own j 
 And as these shall fade away, 
 Will the pleasant charm decay, 
 Droop, and leave no trace behind 
 Where its clasping tendrils twined, 
 Fading, fleeting, like the sigh 
 Of some wandering melody ; 
 Like a blissful dream that flings 
 Light upon the coming day, 
 Like a bird whose gorgeous wings 
 Glitter as it flits away ; 
 So they 'vanish ! yet the heart,
 
 MADANA. 33 
 
 Ere its gentle guests depart, 
 Links a thought for after hours, 
 Summer ! to thy songs and flowers ! 
 
 Yet beware the hidden power 
 Madana hath yet his hour : 
 These were but the chords that thrill 
 Lightly to a master's will, 
 Tones, his wandering fingers fling 
 Breeze-like from the trembling string. 
 Ere he call forth all the fire. 
 All the passion of the Lyre, 
 Ere he stir through one deep strain 
 All the founts of joy and pain, 
 One full chord is yet unshaken, 
 One wild note hath yet to waken.. 
 One keen arrow yet to fly, 
 Tremble ! Madana is nigh ! 
 O'er the fatal shaft is thrown 
 Sweetness all the archer's own ; 
 For his strength in sweetness lies — 
 Sweetness, that through gentle eyes 
 (E'en in gazing half withdrawn) 
 Sheds upon the soul a dawn ; 
 Sweetness lingering in a word, 
 Softly uttered, faintly heard, 
 Yet within the heart to dwell, 
 Treasured deep in many a cell. 
 Long with haunting echoes rife, 
 \Yhen the sounds have died to life ; 
 
 5^4
 
 34 MADANA. 
 
 From that subtle arrow's might, 
 Vain is wisdom, vain is flight ! 
 Vain the charmer's boasted spell 
 Mightier charms than his to quell ; 
 Groves of sandal and of balm 
 Yield no soothing, yield no calm, 
 Though their odorous branches shed 
 Fragrant tears upon thy head, 
 Vainly o'er thine aching brow 
 Droops the incense-breathing bough, 
 Not the cooling * Lotus leaf 
 Gives to hurt like thine relief; 
 To thy throbbing temples prest, 
 Bound upon thy burning breast ; 
 Vainly ! still through pulse and vein 
 Glows the dull unceasing pain ; 
 Vainly, vainly ! still the smart 
 Rankles in thy stricken heart. 
 Therefore from the earth a sound. 
 Hushed, and dreamlike, and profound, 
 Gathers — warning whispers rise, 
 Murmurs thick, mysterious sighs ! 
 Therefore all the haunted air 
 Trembles — Madana is there ! 
 
 * The flower and leaf of the lotus are used by Hindu writers 
 as the type of all grace and beauty, and they suppose the latter 
 to possess a peculiar efficacy in allaying mental disquietude.
 
 IDaleittlnes an^ Sonc}s« 
 
 LUISA. 
 
 " Just like Love is yonder Rose, 
 Heavenly sweetness round it thro\Ts, 
 And in the midst of briars it blows, 
 Just like Love ! " 
 
 — Camokn.* 
 
 I STOOD at eve upon the lurrowed shore 
 
 With one, that as the tide its legions filed 
 Unto our feet, stooped down, and o'er and o'er 
 
 Wrote on the sand that only name, and smiled. 
 The stern, self-mocking smile joy owns no more 
 To see the waves efface it. " Far more slow," 
 lie said, ** are Time's dull waters in their flow 
 To wear away that name where it is w^it 
 
 And graven deep, as with a pointed gem 
 Upon the rock ; yet vain to cancel it 
 
 All else, so must I leave it unto them ! 
 This name, that I in weakness of self-scorn, 
 With idle finger have dishonoured thus. 
 Fair-written once in letters luminous.
 
 36 THE SUMMER FRIEND. 
 
 Was shut and clasped within my heart's great Book 
 For ever, as I deemed ! rude hands have torn 
 
 Those pages from my life, but memory 
 Hath kept them, yet for sadness scarce can brook 
 Within that rifled volume now to look, 
 
 Or shut its golden clasps without a sigh ! 
 
 THE SUMMER FRIEND. 
 
 TO C. M. 
 
 " It ^yas not in the winter 
 Our loving lot was cast ; 
 It was the time of roses, — 
 We plucked them as we passed." 
 
 —Hood. 
 
 Yes ! ever with the Summer, 
 
 As flies across the sea 
 The Spring's first blithesome comer, 
 
 My thoughts fly swilt to thee ! 
 For they were wove of sunbeams. 
 
 The ties that hold us fast ; 
 It was Summer when I saw thee first, 
 
 And when I saw thee last ! 
 
 And short and bright as Summer 
 
 Our meetings still have been, 
 (Enough, enough of Wmter 
 
 Hath ever come between !}
 
 '' GUI SAIT AIMER, 
 
 Till with a doubling sweetness 
 
 Thy smile is now a part 
 Oi Summer, Summer on the earth, 
 
 And Summer in the heart ! 
 
 Still come, dear friend, in Summer, 
 
 That I may keep thee twined 
 With all its warm and golden gifts, 
 
 For ever to my mind ! 
 Yet come, dear friend, in Winter, 
 
 To prove what half my heart 
 Hath guessed, that it is Summer still, 
 
 My Summer, where Thou art ! 
 
 February 13, 185 1. 
 
 "QUI SAIT AIMER, SAIT MOURIR." 
 
 "I BURN my soul away ! " 
 
 So spake the Rose, and smiled ; " within my cup 
 All day the sunbeams fall in flame, all day 
 
 They drink my sweetness up ! " 
 
 •' I sigh my soul away ! " 
 
 The Lily said ; "all night the moonbeams pale 
 Steal round and round me, whispering in their play 
 
 An all too tender tale ! "
 
 38 THE BROKEN CHAIN, 
 
 " I give my soul away ! " 
 
 The Violet said ; " the West wind wanders on, 
 The North wind comes ; I know not what they say, 
 
 And yet my soul is gone ! " 
 
 Oh, Poet, burn away 
 
 Thy fervent soul ! fond Lover at the feet 
 Of her thou lovest, sigh ! dear Christian, pray, 
 
 And let the world be sweet ! 
 
 THE BROKEN CHAIN. 
 
 Captives, bound in iron bands, 
 
 Half have learned to love their chain, 
 Slaves have held up ransomed hands, 
 
 Praying to be slaves again : 
 So doth custom reconcile, 
 
 Soothing even pain to smile ; 
 So a sadness will remain 
 
 In the breaking of the chain. 
 
 But if chain were wove of flower, 
 
 Linked and looped to sister free, 
 With a Name and with an Hour, 
 
 Running down its Rosary, 
 Light as gossamers on green, 
 
 By their shining only seen ; 
 Would not something sad remain 
 
 In the breaking of the chain ?
 
 A VALENTINE. 39 
 
 But if chain were woven shining, 
 
 Firm as gold and fine as hair, 
 Twisting round the heart and twining, 
 
 Binding all that centres there 
 In a knot, that like the olden 
 
 May be cut, yet ne'er unfolden, 
 Would not something sharp remain 
 
 In the breaking of the chain ? 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 I SAID to one I loved, " Why art thou sad ? " 
 
 And he made answer, " There hath been a tune 
 Long floating round my brain ; morn, night, and 
 
 noon. 
 With inarticulate cadence making glad, 
 
 Yet vexing me, because I could not find 
 
 Words sweet enough to set to it, and bind 
 Its music round about my heart for aye. 
 Till, musing late above an ancient book. 
 
 The window being open, breezes fleet 
 Lifted the rare old page, and sudden shook 
 
 A loose leaf, writ with song, unto my feet : 
 In these quaint words methought lies hid the key 
 
 To all those cadences faint struggling round, 
 Now will I wed them to that melody, 
 
 And set my life to music by their sound ;
 
 40 A VALENTINE. 
 
 E'en so I practised them upon my lute 
 Early and late, yet found they would not suit 
 
 Together, though so sweet ! and all the strain 
 Broke into discords ! still the strain goes on, 
 But only angers me, its meaning gone ; 
 
 Nor will I seek to find it words again ! 
 
 Fehi'iiary i^th. 
 
 A VALENTINE 
 
 One said to me, " To-day 
 
 I go where I perchance may meet thy Friend, 
 What shall I take from thee ? " I answered, " Nay, 
 
 Nought have I left to send, 
 
 " For she hath all of mine 
 
 Already ! only giving of her store, 
 A little miser ! through her usury fine 
 
 To draw on mine the more ! 
 
 " INIore fit that she send back 
 
 What she hath won of me ; but it were vain 
 What once hath been with Her will seek the track. 
 
 The wonted track, again ! " 
 
 February I'^th.
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 41 
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 
 A lover's dream. 
 
 So dreaming sad and true, 
 
 He deemed he saw two outcast children rove ; 
 Oft had he nursed them fondly, so he knew 
 
 Their faces — Hope and Love ! 
 
 And ever farther north, 
 
 Such hea\7 doom lay on them through some sin 
 And sorrow not their own, they wandered forth. 
 
 And none did take them in. 
 
 The wild wind round them strewed 
 
 Brown whirling leaves, and sighed amid its play. 
 While ever deeper in the wintry wood 
 
 Their small feet went astray. 
 
 Vet smiling as they sung 
 
 Their little songs, they held each other's hand, 
 And cheered each other onwards in a tongue 
 
 None else might understand. 
 
 They fed each other kind, 
 
 For slender food these gentle babes require, 
 With here and there a berry, left behind 
 
 On rugged thorn or brier.
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 
 
 And closer, as the dew 
 
 Fell dank, unto each other's side they crept ; 
 And closer, closer to each other drew 
 
 For warmth, before they slept ; 
 
 For by some law, these two 
 
 Together born, together linked for age, 
 Could only die together ! so they knew 
 
 What time their hour drew nigh. 
 
 And oft amid the chill 
 
 They woke, and listened for each other's breath, 
 And felt a pulse beat feebly ; all was still, 
 
 And yet it was not Death ! 
 
 " Still, brother, thou art warm," 
 They whispered to each other ; till its fold 
 
 Relaxing languidly, each little arm 
 Grew stiff, and both were cold. 
 
 No pious Robins there 
 
 Brought leaves, but smitten with a late remorse 
 A pitying Spirit of the upper air 
 
 Wept kind above each corse ; 
 
 And from undying bowers 
 
 Shook on those Children, buried in the snow, 
 Sweet buds and blossoms of the very flowers 
 
 They played with long ago !
 
 THE TROUBADOUR SORDEL. 43 
 
 IMITATED FROM THE TROUBADOUR 
 SORDEL. 
 
 Her words, methinks, were cold and few ; 
 
 We parted coldly ; yet 
 Quick-turning after that adieu, 
 
 How kind a glance I met ! 
 A look that was not meant for me, 
 
 Yet sweeter for surprise, 
 As if her soul took leave to be 
 
 One moment in her eyes : 
 Now tell me, tell me, gentle friends, 
 
 Oh, which shall I believe, 
 Her eyes, her eyes that bid me hope, 
 
 Her words that bid me grieve ? 
 
 Her words, methinks, were few and cold : 
 
 What matter ! Now I trust. 
 Kind eyes, unto your tale half-told. 
 
 Ye speak because ye must ! 
 Too oft will heavy laws constrain 
 
 The lips, compelled to bear 
 A message false ; too often fain 
 
 To speak but what they dare ; 
 Full oft will words, will smiles betray. 
 
 But tears are always true ; 
 Looks ever mean the thing they say i 
 
 Kind eyes I trust to you !
 
 44 TO L. A. C. 
 
 Iler looks were kind — oh, gentle eyes, 
 
 Love trusts you ! Still he sends 
 Ly you his questions, his replies, 
 
 He knows you for his friends. 
 Oh, gentle, gentle eyes, by Love 
 
 So trusted, and so true 
 To Love, ye could not if ye would 
 
 Deceive, I trust to you ! 
 
 FOUR SONGS. 
 
 Set to Music by the Atithor. 
 
 TO L. A. C. 
 
 Oh, hast thou won my heart, my love ! 
 
 What gain to thee ? what gain ? 
 It plights thee with no golden ring, 
 
 It decks thee with no chain ; 
 A simple thing, yet it will bring 
 
 To thee, my love, no pain ; 
 To give thee rest, to make thee blest 
 It hath been ever fain, my love, 
 
 It hath been ever fain ! 
 
 Oh, have I won thy heart, my love ? 
 
 What gain to me ! what gain ! 
 V\^hat brooding calm, what soothing balm, 
 
 \s\i2X sweet release from pain !
 
 TO MARIA IVANOVNA. 45 
 
 Through sudden rest my spirit guessed 
 
 What hour to me it came, 
 And day by day I mark its stay 
 Through comfort of the same, my love, 
 
 Through comfort of the same ! 
 
 TO MARIA IVAXOVXA. 
 
 If dark be she I love, or fair, 
 
 I ask not now ; I do not seek 
 ^Yith her the lily to compare. 
 
 To find the rose upon her cheek. 
 Such flowers as these grow ever}-where ; 
 With all things soft, and dusk, and rare 
 
 I liken her ; the woodbine feels 
 And finds her way with touches light ; 
 She keeps her hold with tendrils slight. 
 
 How close, how kind the woodbine steals I 
 The summer air is warm with bliss 
 All stolen from the woodbine's kiss. 
 
 Sit thou by me when eve has stilled 
 
 And soothed the day's quick pulse to rest ; 
 
 Let none be near us while we build 
 Within each other's hearts a nest, 
 
 Of joys that fade, of youth that flies, 
 
 Of love that stays, of memories
 
 46 IF IT BE PLEASANT. 
 
 That pass not with the passing day : 
 Sit thou by me ; be sad, be gay, 
 So sweet thy smiles, so sweet thy sighs, 
 So soft thy clasp, so kind thine eyes. 
 Be what thou wilt, 'tis ever best ; 
 Be what thou art, and I am blest ! 
 
 IF IT BE PLEASANT TO REMEMBER THEE. 
 
 If it be pleasant to remember thee, 
 
 What is it, then, what is it to forget thee? 
 But for a space, one moment's space to be 
 
 As though I ne'er had loved, or known, or met thee, 
 My soaring soul on some high quest to send, 
 
 On some stern task to bind my strength's endeavour, 
 Then, like the bird, with rapid wing descend 
 
 Upon the nest that is my own for ever. 
 
 By some sweet song, by some dear dream to be 
 
 Upon my lonely way entranced, o'ertaken ; 
 Awhile, awhile to cease to think of thee. 
 
 Then in the sweetness of thy soul to waken ! 
 Sweet dream, with day pass not away, 
 
 As once in hours when all my joys were fleeter ; 
 Dear haunting lay, I bid thee stay, 
 
 And in my heart for evermore grow sweeter,
 
 / SPAN BESIDE OUR CABIN DOOR. 47 
 
 If still to bear thee in my mind be sweet, 
 
 What is it then, what is it then to lose thee ? 
 In play with life to let the moments cheat 
 
 My steadfast heart that flies again to choose thee ? 
 Afar, I see thee lift thy soul in prayer, 
 
 I see thee in thy quiet ways abiding ; 
 Oh, sweet to me hath grown the common air, 
 
 To me, for whom the Rose of life is hiding ! 
 
 I SPAN BESIDE OUR CABIN DOOR. 
 
 {Adapted from an ancieiti Irish Song. ) 
 
 I SPAN beside our cabin door, 
 I watched him slowly cross the moor, 
 I smiled as I will smile no more, 
 Eskadil, mavourneen slawn ! 
 
 How many an evening as I sat, 
 With father he would come to chat, 
 He came for this, he came for that 
 Eskadil, mavourneen slawn ! 
 
 I watched him o'er the moor so wide, 
 He took the path that turned aside ; 
 I went within the house and cried, 
 Eskadil, inavourneen slawr !
 
 48 A SONG. 
 
 I saw him pass our cabin door ; 
 The world is wide, he came no more 
 I wept as I will weep no more, 
 Eskadil, mavourneen slawn! 
 
 I drew my wheel beside the fire, 
 I span as if I span for hire ; 
 My father talked, and did not tire, 
 Eskadil, mavourneen slawn ! 
 
 My heart is weary and my head, 
 And all is done, and all is said, 
 And yet it is not time for bed, 
 Eskadil, mavourneen slawn ! 
 
 A SONG. 
 {Sei to Alusic by Mrs. Tom Taylor. ) 
 
 Kiss me before I sleep, 
 Oh gentle child, oh loving child ! that so 
 My spirit, ere it sinks within the wide 
 Dim world of shrouded dreams, unsatisfied. 
 And seeking ever, unto Thine may grow, 
 Nor stir, nor move, nor wander to and fro ; 
 
 Kiss me before I sleep !
 
 AMID CHANGE, UNCHANGING. 49 
 
 Kiss me before I wake, 
 Oh loving child, oh child beloved, that so 
 The sweetness of thy soul, thy smile, thine eyes, 
 May meet my spirit on its way to take 
 The chill from off this life of ours, and make 
 A world more kind and warm wherein to rise ; 
 
 Kiss me before I wake ! 
 
 AMID CHANGE, UNCHANGING. 
 
 The Poet singeth like the bird that sitteth by the rose, 
 
 While dews are chill, and on the hill the first faint 
 sunbeam glows ; 
 
 ^^^lile through the buds' thick-folded green the first red- 
 rose streak shows. 
 
 Sing Poet, sing of Hope and Spring, 
 Still sing beside thy rose ! 
 
 The Poet singeth like the bird that sitteth by the rose, 
 While on the golden summer noon her golden heart 
 
 o'erflows ; 
 And now she waxeth red, now pale, yet ever is the rose, 
 Sing, Poet, sooth of love and youth, 
 Still sing beside thy rose ! 
 
 545
 
 so ONE FLOWER. 
 
 The Poet singeth like the bird that sittelh by the rose, 
 When from the drooping stalk her brief sweet glory 
 
 earthward goes, 
 And the red is kindling on the leaf that fadeth from the 
 
 rose, 
 Sing, Poet, sing, remembering, 
 
 Still sing beside thy rose ! 
 
 ONE FLOWER. 
 
 " Farewell, my flowers," I said. 
 The sweet Rose as I passed 
 Blushed to its core, its last 
 Warm tear the Lily shed. 
 The Violet hid its head 
 Among its leaves, and sighed, 
 ** Oh thou, my flower, my pride, 
 Sweet Summer's sweetest bride, 
 The rest are fair, but dear 
 Art thou, hast thou no tear ? 
 , What givest thou ? " " The whole," 
 The glowing Pink replied, 
 
 " Blush, tear, and smile, and sigh I gave 
 
 In giving thee my soul." 
 
 " The summer, wandering by, 
 Hath breathed in thee her sigh,
 
 A SCHERZO. 51 
 
 Hath wooed thee from the South, 
 With kisses of her mouth ; 
 Hath wooed thee from the West, 
 Hath blest thee with the best 
 
 Warm blessings of the sun ; 
 And yet a hea\-y dower 
 Is thine, my joy, my flower, 
 Thy soul hath burst its sheath, 
 Oh, is it love or death. 
 
 Sweet flower, that thou hast won ? 
 Oh, is it love or death 
 That breathes from this thy breath, 
 That kindles in thine eye ? " 
 Then won I for reply, 
 
 " I have made szveet mine hour ; 
 As dies the flower, I die, 
 
 I lived as lives the flower."' 
 
 A SCHERZO. 
 
 {A Shy Per soil s Wishes.) 
 
 With the wasp at the innermost heart of a peach, 
 On a sunny wall out of tip-toe reach. 
 With the trout in the darkest summer pool, 
 With the fern-seed clinging behind its cool 
 Smooth frond, in the chink of an aged tree,
 
 52 RAPTURE. 
 
 In the woodbine's horn with the drunken bee, 
 
 With the mouse in its nest in a furrow old, 
 
 With the chrysalis wrapt in its gauzy fold ; 
 
 With things that are hidden, and safe, and bold. 
 
 With things that are timid, and shy, and free, 
 
 Wishing to be ; 
 
 With the nut in its shell, with the seed in its pod, 
 
 With the corn as it sprouts in the kindly clod, 
 
 Far down where the secret of beauty shows 
 
 In the bulb of the tulip, before it blows ; 
 
 With things that are rooted, and firm, and deep, 
 
 Quiet to lie, and dreamless to sleep ; 
 
 With things that are chainless, and tameless, and 
 
 proud, 
 With the fire in the jagged thunder-cloud, 
 With the wind in its sleep, with the wind in its 
 
 waking, 
 With the drops that go to the rainbow's making, 
 Wishing to be with the light leaves shaking, 
 Or stones on some desolate highway breaking ; 
 Far up on the hills, where no foot surprises 
 The dew as it falls, or the dust as it rises ; 
 To be couched with the beast in its torrid lair, 
 Or drifting on ice with the polar bear, 
 With the weaver at work at his quiet loom : 
 Anywhere, anywhere, out of this room !
 
 RAPTURE. 53 
 
 RAPTURE. 
 
 Light at its full of the harvest moon, 
 
 Heart of the rose in the heart of June, 
 
 Song of the bird when its song takes wing, 
 
 Breath of the blossomed furze in spring, 
 
 Kiss of the angel that comes when dreams 
 
 Are more sweet than all sweetness that is or 
 
 seems, 
 Fire in the cloud of the opal burning, 
 Fall of a footstep at eve returning, 
 Clasp of a hand that thrills to the soul, 
 Bliss of a spirit that wins its goal !
 
 54 ASCENDING. 
 
 Sonnets* 
 
 ASCENDING. 
 
 They who from mountain peaks have gazed upon 
 
 The wide illimitable heavens, have said, 
 
 That still receding as they climbed, outspread, 
 The blue vault deepens over them, and one 
 By one drawn farther back, each starry sun 
 
 Shoots down a feebler splendour overhead. 
 
 So, Saviour ! as our mounting spirits, led 
 Along faith's living way to Thee, have won 
 A nearer access, up the difficult track 
 
 Still pressing, on that rarer atmosphere, 
 When low beneath us flits the cloudy rack, 
 
 We see Thee drawn within a widening sphere 
 Of glory, from us farther, farther back, — 
 
 Yet is it then because we are more luar.
 
 LIFE TAPESTRY. 55 
 
 LIFE TAPESTRY. 
 
 Too long have I, methought, with tearful eye, 
 Pored o'er this tangled work of mine, and mused 
 Above each stitch awry, and thread confused ; 
 Now \\ ill I think on what in years gone by 
 I heard of them that weave rare tapestry 
 At Royal looms, and how they constant use 
 To work on the rough side, and still peruse 
 The pictured pattern set above them high : 
 So will I set My Copy high above. 
 
 And gaze, and gaze till on my spirit grows 
 Its gracious impress ; till some line of love 
 Transferred upon my canvas, faintly glows ; 
 Nor look too much on warp or woof, provide 
 He whom I work for sees their fairer side !
 
 56 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWx\ING. 
 
 TO ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, 
 IN 1851. 
 
 I LOSE myself within thy mind — from room 
 To goodly room thou leadest me, and still 
 Dost show me of thy glory more, until 
 
 My soul, like Sheba's Queen, faints, overcome, 
 
 And all my spirit dies within me, numb, 
 Sucked in by thine, a larger star, at will ; 
 And hasting like thy bee, my hive to fill, 
 
 I " swoon for very joy " amid thy bloom ; 
 
 Till — not like that poor bird (as poets feign) 
 That tried against the Lutanist's her skill, 
 Crowding her thick precipitate notes, until 
 
 Her weak heart break above the contest vain— 
 Did not thy strength a nobler thought instil, 
 
 I feel as if I ne'er could sing again 1
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 57 
 
 TO ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
 IN 1861. 
 
 I PRAISED thee not while living ; what to thee 
 
 Was praise of mine ? I mourned thee not when 
 
 dead ; 
 I only loved thee, — love thee ! oh thou fled 
 
 Fair spirit, free at last where all are free, 
 
 I only love thee, bless thee, that to me 
 
 For ever thou hast made the rose more red, 
 More sweet each word by olden singers said 
 
 In sadness, or by children in their glee ; 
 Once, only once in life I heard thee speak, 
 Once, only once I kissed thee on the cheek, 
 
 And met thy kiss and blessing ; scarce I knew 
 
 Thy smile, I only loved thee, only grew. 
 
 Through wealth, through strength of thine, less poor, 
 
 less weak ; 
 Oh, what hath death with souls like thine to do ?
 
 58 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREA:,!. 
 
 TO D. E. L. 
 
 Too full our hearts of sorrowful delight, 
 
 Of parting converse, that one night, I ween, 
 For dream of Midsummer or Fairies' Queen ; 
 
 As thou sat'st near me, half in shade, half light. 
 
 The moonbeams touched thy forehead cold and white, 
 And Thou didst speak in mootilight 1 so serene 
 And soothing were thy words, and all thy mien, 
 
 Transparent as thy soul ! when swift and bright 
 (So did our talk the short-lived night beguile) 
 
 The sun broke in to bid us make an end 
 
 With his beginning ! Since that hour, dear friend, 
 I never think on Thee, so calm the while 
 
 Yet cheerful, but the sweetness seems to blend 
 Of moonlight and of sunlight in thy smile !
 
 RESERVE. 
 
 RESERVE. 
 
 Now would I learn thee like some noble task 
 That payeth well for labour ; I would find 
 Thy soul's true Dominant, and thus unwind 
 
 Its deeper, rarer harmonies, that ask 
 
 Interpreting ; for like a gracious mask 
 Is thy calm, quiet bearing ; far behind 
 Thy spirit sits and smiles in sunshine kind, 
 
 And fain within that fulness mine would bask. 
 Set if thou wilt this bar betwixt thy tide 
 
 Of feeling and the world that might misknow 
 Its strength ; use ever with the crowd this pride, 
 * ' Thus far, and yet no farther shall ye go ; " 
 But not with me, dear friend, whose heart stands 
 wide 
 
 To drink in all thy Being's overflow.
 
 6o HOPE. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 When I do think on thee, sweet Hope, and how 
 Thou followest on our steps, a coaxing child. 
 Oft chidden hence, yet quickly reconciled, 
 Still turning on us a glad, beaming brow, 
 And red, ripe lips for kisses : even now 
 Thou mindest me of Him, the Ruler mild. 
 Who led God's chosen people through the wild, 
 And bore with wayward murmurers, meek as thou 
 That bringest waters from the Rock, with bread 
 Of angels strewing Earth for us ! like Him 
 Thy force abates not, nor thine eye grows dim ; 
 But still with milk and honey-droppings fed, 
 Thou leadest to the Promised Country fair, 
 Though thou, like Moses, mayst not enter there !
 
 TO A FRIEND. 6i 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Oh, call me but thy Friend ! 
 
 Seek thou no other word when thou wouldst pour 
 Thy soul in mine ; for this unto the core 
 
 Of Love doth pierce, and in it comprehend 
 All secrets of its lore ! 
 
 Yet thou dost move vrithin 
 A Tropic sphere of soul, and all too weak 
 
 For thy full-hearted utterance ; worn too thin 
 By daily usage seem the words we speak. 
 
 Too oft misprizing them ; so thou dost hold 
 This current coin of ours for base, and choose 
 From thine own wealth new moulds, wherein to fuse 
 
 Thy virgin, unsunned gold ! 
 
 So let thy choice be free ! 
 Our spirits thus by divers laws are bound. 
 
 One may not judge the other ; but from me 
 Seek thou no other token ! for its sound 
 
 Hath been to me for music ; bringing round 
 
 Kind eyes that looked on me, kind hands I found, 
 Outstretched to help me over pathways drear ; 
 And some of these are far, and some are near, 
 And some are in the Heavens, but all are dear 
 
 In God, who gave them to me ; so this " Friend "'
 
 62 REST. 
 
 Is like a full-stringed chord, that still doth seem 
 
 Within its sound to gather up and blend 
 All, all that life in other lives that takes 
 Away Life's curse of barrenness, and makes 
 Our Being's sweet and often-troubled dream 1 
 
 I never used it lightly ; unto me 
 A sacredness hung round it ; for a sign 
 
 I held it of our common words that be 
 Initial letters of a speech divine : 
 
 Oh, take this coin, too oft to worthless ends 
 Profaned, and see upon its circlet shine 
 One Image fair, one Legend never dim ; 
 And whose but Caesar's ? for this word by Him 
 
 Was used at parting, " I have called you Friends. 
 
 REST. 
 
 This life hath hours that hold 
 
 The soul above itself, as at a show 
 
 A child, upon a loving arm and bold 
 Uplifted safe, upon the crowd below 
 Smiles down serene, — I speak to them that know 
 
 This thing whereof I speak, that none can guess 
 
 And none can paint, — what marks hath Blessedness? 
 
 What characters whereby it may be told ? 
 
 Such hours with things that never otn grow old
 
 OLD LETIERS. 63 
 
 Are shrined. One eve, 'mid autumns far auay, 
 I walked alone beside a river ; grey 
 And pale was earth, the heavens were grey and pale, 
 As if the dying year and dying day 
 Sobbed out their lives together, wreaths of mist 
 Stole down the hills to shroud them while they kissed 
 Each other sadly ; yet behind this veil 
 Of drearness and decay my soul did build, 
 "To music of its own, a temple filled 
 With worshippers beloved that hither drew 
 In silence ; then I thirsted not to hear 
 The voice of any friend, nor wished for dear 
 Companion's hand firm clasped i-n mine ; I knew, 
 Had such been with me, they had been less near. 
 
 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 Within an ancient hall, 
 WTiere oft I love to wander, once I found 
 An antique casket, that without a sound 
 Flew open quick, and as a Rose will fall 
 To pieces at a touch when overblown, 
 So was the floor around me thickly strown 
 
 With yellow leaves, the letters of the Dead : 
 Oh, hands that wrote these words ! oh, loving eyes 
 That brightened over them ! oh, hearts whose prize 
 And treasure once were these, by Time made Heir 
 To this your sometime wealth, with pious care
 
 64 OLD LETTERS, 
 
 I gather in my hoards ; for this is dust 
 
 Of human hearts that now I hold in trust, 
 
 And while I muse above it, spirits flown 
 
 Come back and commune with me, till the fled 
 
 Pale ink reveals two names that now have grown 
 
 Familiar to my soul, as I had known 
 
 And pitied them in youth ; in parley soft 
 
 I win their secrets forth from them, and oft 
 
 Make question of their Past ! Did Love find rest 
 
 And fold its wing where it had made its nest 
 
 So warm and deep, or were these of the strong 
 
 And patient souls, condemned, though wedded lon^ 
 
 To serve for the other duteously, and wait 
 
 Upon a harsher Laban, — Life, that proves 
 
 With grievous, stern delays each heart that lovci ? 
 
 O gentle spirits, all your lives on high 
 
 Are written fair, but mortal history 
 
 Is traced upon the sand that may not keep 
 
 The dint of wave, so quick the dash and leap 
 
 That follows on — a picture on the wall — 
 A name upon the stone — a leaf whose green 
 Less quickly fades, because it once hath been 
 
 Within the Dove's soft beak, and this is all. 
 
 I. 
 
 {Written in Cypher,^ 
 
 I write to thee in cypher, even so 
 Doth not the heart write ever ? being proud,
 
 OLD LETTERS. 65 
 
 It careth not to boast its wealth, nor show 
 
 Where lie its precious things by speaking loud. 
 
 And here, upon my page an uncouth sign 
 
 Would say, " I love thee;" farther down this mark 
 Shows plain, " for ever," yet the sense is dark 
 
 To every eye that looks on it but thine. 
 
 So is it ever with my heart, thine ear 
 
 Can catch each broken whisper it hath used ; 
 
 So even with my life, thou makest clear 
 Its meaning, ofttimes to myself confused ; 
 
 The souls that use one mother-tongue are free 
 
 To mould their rapid speech, but when from thee 
 I turn to others, straight I have to choose 
 
 My words, as one who in a foreign dress 
 
 Must clothe his thought, speak slow in fear to eir, 
 
 Interpreting himself ; 
 
 We do but guess 
 At one another darkly, 'mid the stir 
 That thickens round us ; in this life of ours 
 We are like players, knowing not the powers 
 Nor compass of the instruments we vex, 
 And by our rash, unskilful touch perplex 
 To straining discord, needing still the key 
 To seek, and all our being heedfully 
 To tune to one another's : 
 
 Ours were set 
 Together at the first ; each hand could move 
 
 546
 
 66 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 Like a skilled master's, knowing well each frei 
 
 And chord of the sweet viol he doth love, 
 All up and down each other's soul, and yet 
 
 Call forth new concords, — now with softer kiss 
 I move o'er other souls in fear to miss 
 
 Their latent charm ; these too, if better known 
 Were worthier prizing ; Love's great charity 
 
 Hath taught this lesson, as beside her knee 
 I stand, and child-like con it o'er and o'er, 
 
 " Through loving one so much love all the more. 
 
 How much, dear friend, how much 
 
 Wouldst thou from me ? Oh, nothing but the whole 
 I give or take : what good is in the touch 
 
 Of hands that for awhile the other fold, 
 Of eyes that read in each Life's unexpressed 
 Deep hint of ecstasy to each confessed, 
 Of hearts that for awhile are warm and blest 
 
 Within the other, yet into the cold 
 Must pass again, while fading from the West. 
 Pale gleams withdraw, and grieving winds molest ? 
 
 Content, content ! within a quiet room 
 
 All warm and lit we meet, the outward gloom 
 Is like a folding arm about us pressed ; 
 
 A space to love in, and a space to pray 
 
 We find ; content, content ! until the Day 
 Go down we quit not our beloved rest.
 
 OLD LETTERS. 67 
 
 III. 
 
 Oft have I bent my gaze 
 Adown our Life's steep edge with eyeballs dim 
 
 And thirsting soul, aweary of the day's 
 Hot parching dust and glare ; this well is deep. 
 
 Too seldom rise the waters to its brim, 
 And I had nought to draw with ! oft in sleep 
 I felt them touch my very lips, and flow 
 All o'er my forehead and my hands, but, lo 
 I waked and thirsted ; looking down, I knew 
 Each pebble lying at the base, that drew 
 
 A glimmer from the sunbeam ; round the rim 
 I knew each flower, each forked fern that through 
 The stone did thrust its tongue, each moss that grew 
 Far down its cool and slippery sides — I knew 
 All but the water's freshness. 
 
 Now I yearn 
 No more in vain, no longer need I stoop 
 
 So wistful o'er the well, for like an urn 
 Is thy pure soul to me, wherein I scoop 
 
 The waters as I list, and still return. 
 
 rv. 
 
 "VVe broke no piece of gold, 
 V/e took no pledge of lock nor picture slid 
 
 Within the breast ; our faith was not so cold 
 Th^t it should ask for any sign ! We date
 
 6S OLD LETTERS. 
 
 Our marriage from our meeting day, and hold 
 These spousals of the soul inviolate 
 As they are secret ; for no friends were bid 
 
 To grace our banquet, yet a guest Divine 
 Was there, who from that hour did consecrate 
 Life's water, turning it for us to wine. 
 
 Stern voices say, " Too much 
 Thou givest unto one thy soul in trust ; 
 To frame such covenants with things of dust 
 
 Is but idolatry, that to decay 
 Doth qinckly tend." I answer not to such, 
 T^ut turning from them proudly, I appeal 
 Unto my equals, none but those that feel 
 
 Shall be my judges in this question ; nay ! 
 1 will not unto these my cause unseal, 
 But bear it to a Court where I shall find 
 A yet more patient hearing ; far more kind 
 The Father than the Brethren ! He who made 
 
 The heart doth know its need, but what are we, 
 And whence have we our wisdom, unafraid 
 
 With hands unskilled to vex a mystery 
 We cannot disentangle ? 
 
 Yet I speak 
 Too harshly in this matter, silence best 
 Becometh happy spirits ; hearts at rest ; — 
 O Love, thy gentleness hath made me meek !
 
 OLD LETTERS. 69 
 
 VI. 
 
 Upon thy lips this name 
 Of mine so softly taken, first became 
 That which it is in very deed, the name 
 Most Christian and most kind, by which I claim 
 A wide inheritance ; — and I have borne 
 This name so long, and only yester morn 
 Have learned its sweetness ! so doth life, our field 
 Redeemed for us, but slowly, slowly yield 
 The treasure hid within it ! all our less 
 
 Would grow to more, and this our Earth to Heaven, 
 Might we but pierce unto the blessedness 
 That lies so near us, might we but possess 
 
 The things that are our own, as they were given ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 I turn from things behind ; 
 They lose their savour ! now that on the core 
 
 Of Life content I feed, I fling the rind. 
 That once looked fair, aside for evermore. 
 For I have pierced beneath it. Since my eyes 
 Have looked upon thy face, to all things wise, 
 
 And pure, and noble they have clearer grown ; 
 But careless are they to the vanities 
 
 That once could hold them chained. I stood alone 
 To watch the long procession that yestreen 
 
 Moved through our city stately to the flow 
 Of martial music ; then I saw thee lean 
 
 From out a balcony, and all the show
 
 70 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 Went by unmarked of me, as we had been 
 
 Alone beside the river winding slow ; — 
 So doth this world's fair Pageant pass me by, 
 
 I see but thee ! yet do not therefore grow 
 Unmindful of its goodly company : 
 I tracked those glittering .ranks until they stayed 
 
 Within the square, and passing through the door 
 Of the great Minster, took within its shade 
 The sunshine after them ; like One that prayed 
 
 In silence, seemed that multitude, before 
 So bright and jubilant, now only made 
 The stiller for its vastness, as the sea 
 Doth soothe the sense with wide monotony 
 Of quiet waves unstirred. I saw thee kneel 
 
 Afar ; the organ, as it were the Soul 
 Of many human souls, that did reveal 
 
 Their secrets, sighed, as on its stormy roll 
 It gathered them ; my silent spirit drew 
 More close to those who prayed with me ; I knew 
 That each of these still faces, where I see 
 No charm to bid me look again, doth make 
 The sunshine of some eye, and for its sake 
 The heavens and earth look fairer : each that here 
 Doth kneel, is loved of some, or hath been dear, 
 
 The treasure of some heart beneath the sod. 
 Oh, we are held unto the other near 
 
 When each is dear to one — and all to God !
 
 SILEACE. 71 
 
 SILENXE. 
 
 1 TURN unto the Past 
 
 When I have need of comfort ; I am vowed 
 To dear remembrances : most like some proud, 
 
 Poor noble, who, on evil fortunes cast, 
 Has saved his pictures from the wreck, I muse 
 Mid these that I have gathered, till I lose 
 The drearness of the Present ! 
 
 On the hill 
 That noon in summer found us ; far below 
 We heard the river in a slumbrous flow 
 Chide o'er its pebbles, slow and yet more slow ; 
 Beneath our feet the very grasses slept 
 Signed by the sliding sunbeam as it crept 
 From blade to blade, slow stealing with a still 
 Admonitory gesture ; now a thrill 
 Ran lightly through the wood, but ere to sound 
 The shiver grew upon the hush profound. 
 It died encalmed ; methought a Spirit's sigh 
 Had then been audible, but none came by 
 To trouble us, and we were silent, fed 
 With golden musings by our friend that read 
 From out thy chosen Poet ; in a hall 
 Of mute expectancy we stood, where all 
 That listened with us held their breath unstirred 
 When suddenly the reader's voice let fall
 
 ^2 TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND, 
 
 Its flow of music ; sweet as was the song 
 
 He paused in, conquered by a spell more strong 
 
 We asked him not its cadence to recall. 
 It seemed as if a Thought of God did fill 
 
 His World, that drawn unto the Father's breast, 
 
 Lay hushed with all its children. This was Rest, 
 And this the soul's true Sabbath, deep and still. 
 
 Then marvelled I no longer that a space 
 Is found in Heaven for Silence ; so to me 
 That hour made known its true sufficiency 
 
 Revealed not oft below, because its place 
 Is with the Blessed ! Speech is but a part 
 Of Life's deep poverty, whereof the heart 
 Is conscious, striving in its vague unrest 
 To fill its void ; but when the measure pressed 
 
 And running over, to its clasp is given, 
 It seeketh nothing more, and Earth is blest 
 
 With Silence— even such as in Heaven ! 
 
 TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND. 
 
 " That I never made use of your stay here to unite the 
 present with departed days is one of the things— there are not a 
 few of them — for which I can never be consoled ; it was as 
 though a spell lay upon me ; I felt it would be enough to speak 
 one word, but that word I could not unclose my lips to speak. 
 The Past could not rise again from its grave, and I felt as ■ 
 though it would have shaken the foundations of that Present,
 
 TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND. 7^ 
 
 which it is now my duty to preserve and develop. My mind is 
 like a nation that has passed through a revolution, and must 
 proceed in a new order, the old order being irrevocably 
 destroyed. . . . Yet how was it with me after you had gone ? " 
 —Niebuhr to Count Adam Multke. 
 
 I. 
 
 As by a camp-fire in the wilderness 
 
 Two hunters meet, that o'er the Prairie long 
 Have roamed on distant tracts companionless ; 
 So to this city, drifted by the stress 
 
 That draws the nations hither — in the throng 
 We stood together in this mortal press 
 A moment face to face ; thou didst not guess 
 
 At mine, and I — forgive me then this wrong — 
 By favour of the light that fitful fell 
 
 Did let thee pass unchallenged; so that look 
 Thine olden look, so long unseen, so well 
 
 Remembered, troubled me ; thine aspect shook 
 The strong foundations of my soul, I knew 
 It was the Past within its grave that drew 
 A long, deep, sighing breath, and like a pent 
 Volcanic force, this smouldering element 
 Would kindle at thy glance ; I felt a stir 
 Among the ashes of a sepulchre 
 Long sealed, long smooth with grass, with flower 
 
 o'ergrown, 
 A word from thee, and bursting through the stone 
 The Dead had risen up ! before one shrine 
 We knelt together ; though the fires are cold 
 We lighted there, I deem that still we hold
 
 74 TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND. 
 
 A mournful faith unto this worship old 
 
 And lovely, counting it for half Divine. 
 
 Now is that altar broken, and a sign 
 
 From Heaven hath warned us hence — we may not 
 
 bring 
 The living Past again, we can but wring 
 Its secrets from its grasp, disquieting, 
 Like one of old, with awful charm its sleep ; 
 Oh, leave its rest unbroken, I assign 
 A day far hence to meet thee — now thine eye 
 Would vex me with its kindness, silently 
 Would turn where mine is turning ; even yet, 
 
 I am as one that wistful o'er a wave 
 Stoops down, intent, and sees beneath it lie 
 The fragments of a wreck, that glistering wet 
 
 Tempt down the eager outstretched hand; I crave 
 A little longer pause, for soon or late 
 Come all things to a calm ; — I do but wait. 
 
 I turned, and thou wert gone ; 
 O then my heart rose sudden up and passed 
 A hasty judgment ; saying, I had cast 
 A Life within that moment from me, more 
 Than life would give again, and chiding sore 
 Like one defrauded of its right, it took 
 Its arrows tipped with olden love, a look, 
 A word remembered barbs them — oh, my friend, 
 
 I turn to thee for solace ; — draw this glaive 
 Deep plunged unto the hilt from out my breast ! 
 
 Thy hand it was unwittingly that drave
 
 TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND. 75 
 
 It home, and none beside can give it rest ; 
 Speak comfort to my soul, oh reconcile 
 
 My spirit with itself ! upon thy track 
 My heart runs after thee ; yes, mile by mile. 
 
 It follows thee, it does not call thee back I 
 
 II. 
 
 I said, I do assign 
 A day far hence to speak with thee ; if late 
 Or soon it fall, I know not, for its date 
 Rests not with me, but One above, who draws 
 
 Our ruins to an order through the fine 
 And ceaseless working of His kindly laws ; 
 
 For we are hasty builders incomplete ; 
 Our Master follows after, far more slow 
 
 And far more sure than we, for frost and heat, 
 And winds that breathe, and waters in their flow 
 
 Work with Him silently ; we stand too near 
 The part as yet to look upon the whole ; 
 
 That thing which shall be doth not yet appear ; 
 It is not with the eye but with the soul 
 That we must view God's work ; 
 
 Of when and where 
 We ask not wisely ; if our meeting were 
 Delayed indeed, until no more to part 
 
 We meet at last within a Mansion fair, 
 Where there are many such, would this impart 
 A sadness to thy spirit ? heart with heart
 
 76 SEORSUM. 
 
 May commune safely when the Master's art 
 Hath tuned His perfect instrument ! below 
 
 We learn not half its sweetness ; not for men 
 Its broken strings are joined ; it keeps its flow 
 
 Of music for the Land where none again 
 
 May wring its chords ; 
 
 Yet even here, I know, 
 
 Are seasons calm and glad that antedate 
 The coming in of happier cycles, where 
 
 The human soul, too long left desolate, 
 Shall reckon up its Sabbaths, and repair 
 
 Its pleasant things laid waste ; upon that Rest 
 Together we shall enter ! we shall share 
 
 Its joy above, below, — as God deems bc^l : 
 
 SEORSUM. 
 
 "The Heart is a Clock that gives waruing before its Uoui- 
 strikes." 
 
 Before they met they loved ; 
 
 Their souls fore-felt each other : passing through 
 This life's dim treasure-caverns, on them grew 
 
 A whisper, clearer as they onwards moved ; 
 
 " There is a Sesame that opens to
 
 SEORSUM, 77 
 
 Vet richer chambers," so Hke Him who drew 
 
 The perfect circle of our globe, and proved, 
 That waiting for him on its margin [where 
 He knew not yet), a World in summer air 
 
 And muffling leaves and greenest quiet slept 
 Until he came to wake it, they were 'ware 
 Of this bright realm, this Virgin of the Sun, 
 This bride unsought, unwooed, that should be won. 
 But of the luxury, the wealth it kept 
 In store, its gorgeous wilds, its solitude 
 Instinct with life, its tropic shade and glow 
 Alternating, they knew not, nor could know. 
 Yet, as they neared that shore, the deep was strov%-n 
 With drifts of fragrant things, and seawards blown, 
 
 Strange birds with sunshine warm upon them clung 
 About their masts, while evermore, like tales 
 So vague and sweet that spoken language fails 
 To catch their music meaning, gentlest gales 
 
 Curled up the waves before their prow, and sung 
 And whistled clear within their fluttering sails 
 
 To lure them to the country whence they sprung 
 
 So when they met they loved ; 
 They took not counsel of the Eye or Ear ; 
 These are but erring vassals, and the clear 
 Soul-region in its rarer atmosphere 
 Needs not their failing witness. This was June, 
 The noon of Life, the heart was at its noon ; 
 A noon by Summer lulled to sleep, and hid
 
 78 SEORSUM. 
 
 Beneath its leaves, half stirring to a tune 
 
 Self-sung in happy dreams ; while sunshine slid 
 Adown the hill's steep side, and overtook 
 And meshed within its golden net, each nook 
 O'ershadowed with dark growths, and filled each cleft 
 And thunder-splintered chasm storms had left ; 
 When these two mounted on a blissful tide, 
 
 Sailed each within the other's soul — no oar 
 Flashed light along their way, no canvas wide 
 
 Impelled them ; but a steadfast current bore 
 Them o'er the level champaign, till they neared 
 
 A Palace, where, through open gate and door, 
 They gazed together on the land that lay 
 Before them, glittering peak and gleaming bay, 
 
 As on a country known to them before. 
 Though unbeheld : and even as a King 
 Upon his crowning day new robes will fling 
 On all around him, so each common thing 
 Stood forth in light apparelled, and took 
 Its hue and semblance even from the look 
 They cast upon it ; yet, thus venturing, 
 I speak not wisely, — nay, these only took 
 Their pristine hues — their colour that forsook 
 And fled, when ]Man with Death upon his track 
 Went woeful forth from Eden's gate, came back 
 
 When Eden's tongue was spoken ! and the smile 
 That Nature 'neath her Mother's brow of care 
 Hides in her loving eyes, dawned bland and fair 
 
 To see her children's gladness ! So the while 
 They sat beneath one crown, upon one throne,
 
 SEORSUM. 79 
 
 And wrapped within the purple, o'er their ov, n 
 
 Stretched forth the sceptre ; never dial flung 
 
 Its warning shadow, never iron tongue 
 
 Knelled forth the busy hours ; they took no heed 
 
 Of Time or of his flight, nor had they need : 
 
 For they together with the world were young, 
 
 And ever would be ! Life in very deed 
 
 Held back for them no Future, and the Past 
 
 Lay calm before them in a mirror glassed 
 
 To feed sweet fancies, showing how it led 
 
 To this bright noiu ; so all things ministered 
 
 And wrought their bidding ; here they deemed it well 
 
 Like her who said, " I sit a Queen," to dwell 
 
 In joy for evermore ; but change befell. 
 
 They parted but they loved ; 
 How could these part ? what sword could be in life 
 To sever hearts like these ? Methinks its stri'^e 
 Should but have proved the furnace in whose glov.- 
 The fiery bars of metal fuse, and grow 
 More close together welded ; even so. 
 But in this world of ours the heart, though strong 
 And armed and watchful, never holdeth long 
 
 Its own in peace ; for sure as to the moon 
 The ocean rises, here a steadfast law 
 Doth hold or rend asunder hearts that draw 
 
 Together, restless till they meet, then soon 
 Divided, and for ever ; it would seem 
 That God hath made these loving hearts and bold, 
 For Him and for His world that lies a-cold
 
 So SEORSUM. 
 
 For lack of generous fuel, not to fold 
 
 Their warmth within each other, but to stream 
 
 Afar and wide, with broader, purer gleam. 
 
 How this may be I know not, but I know 
 
 That never more within one hearth -light's glow 
 
 These sat together ; never gazing through 
 
 One lattice, watched the sky ; but when they knew 
 
 Their paths were severed, rising, on their way 
 
 Went forth before the breaking of the day, 
 
 And parted on Life's cross-road, — not before 
 
 Each lifted up a voice of weeping sore, 
 
 And blessed the other's journey ! So they moved 
 
 (In tents abiding) through new lands that bore 
 
 No likeness to the country where of yore 
 
 They dwelt together : other scenes and looks 
 
 Grew round them ; other hearts became the books 
 
 They read and mused in ; other trials proved, 
 
 And other blessings gladdened, yet they loved. 
 
 They parted, yet they love ; 
 And shall these spirits in an air serene, 
 WTiere nought can shadow, nought can come between 
 Meet once again, and to the other grow 
 More close and sure than could have been below ? 
 Or will that State, that blissful Commonweal, 
 Leave, each of all possessing, room to feel 
 For other bliss than merges in the flow 
 Of Love's great ocean, whence these drops did steal 
 To Earth of old, and wandered to and fro? 
 —I know not of this now, but I shall know.
 
 THE LESSON. 8i 
 
 TO MY FRIENDS AT 
 
 This love of ours hath been 
 
 Awhile mislaid, it never could be lost ; 
 I did not fear for it, yet somewhat crossed 
 My spirit mournfully, as o'er the grass 
 The little cloudlets darken as they pass. 
 It was a shadow from without that swept 
 The sunshine off our spirits, yet I wept, 
 
 So much I missed that sunshine ! Sad and stranj^e 
 It seemed to me that any chill should creep 
 Across our Love ; yet patient o'er its sleep 
 
 I watched and warmed it safe through every change, 
 Until it wakened smiling ! All things came 
 As they had been of old, yet not the same, 
 For nought returns again ! but far more sure, 
 More deep our trust, more fitted to endure 
 Life's changeful skies ; we mourn not for that fled 
 
 First April bloom ; we count not up the cost 
 Of that sweet blossom on the breezes sped, — 
 
 The ripened fruit need fear no after-frost ! 
 
 THE LESSON. 
 
 1 SAID, This task is keen — 
 
 But even while I spake. Thou, Love Divine, 
 Didst stand behind, and gently over-lean 
 My drooping form, and, oh ! what task had been 
 
 547
 
 82 A FAREWELL TO YOUTH. 
 
 Too stern for feebleness with help of Thine? 
 Spell Thou this lesson with me line by line, 
 
 The sense is rigid, but the voice is dear ; 
 Guide Thou my hand within that hand of Thine- 
 Thy wounded hand ! until its tremblings take 
 Strength from Thy touch, and even for Thy sake 
 
 Trace out each character in outline clear. 
 
 A FAREWELL TO YOUTH. 
 A Midszimmer Day's Dream. 
 
 Thou fair and hurrying guest ! 
 
 Youth, in tears half-drowned, 
 And half with roses crowned ! 
 
 Thou sweetness unpossessed ! _ 
 
 1 pine not for the sound 
 Of thy swift wings, thy sighs, 
 Thy whispers, nor thine eyes 
 
 Soft, silent language seek, that sent around 
 So many a glance, caressing and caressed ; 
 
 Nor grieve I for thy song, 
 
 Glad, sad, and sweet, so long 
 Remembered, though its cadence broke so soon : 
 
 A fond farewell, O Youth, 
 
 I take of thee ! thy truth 
 Was sweet, and e'en thy falsehood scarce beguiled; 
 For thou, thyself a child,
 
 A FAREWELL TO YOUTH. 83 
 
 Believing, hoping, loving, didst receive 
 And give with equal hand, and sweetly keep 
 And sweetly break thy troth, and wake and sleep 
 In peace through every change, unchilled, ungrieved. 
 
 Thy Waking and thy Dream 
 
 So sweet, so close did seem, 
 That thou wert blest, deceiving or deceived. 
 
 And thou wouldst not remain 
 
 To hear reproachings vain ; 
 A print upon the grass, a line between 
 The rustling boughs of sudden-parted green, 
 And thou wert gone for ever ! Truly fled ? 
 
 I know not yet ! methinks within my heart 
 Thou hidest still thy bright unsheltered head, 
 
 And dost remain, for evermore a part 
 Of all things fair, and from the violet's eye 
 Thy smile looks up, thy breath goes wandering by 
 In many a wild, warm, briery-scented sigh, 
 Linked with all lovely things that change and 
 cannot die ! 
 
 So come and go, dear youth, 
 I will not chide with thee ! for now the mist 
 Hath rolled all up the glittering hills sun-kissed, 
 
 And broad around me stretch the woods, the 
 plains ; 
 And still the landscape widens, still the sky 
 Eends over all with broad, unwinking eye,
 
 84 A FAREWELL TO YOUTH. 
 
 Above an equal blue, an equal green 
 Below, and nought is hidden ! all is seen 
 
 And all is known ! But now methinks the lanes 
 Grow white and dusty, and no flower remains 
 With brimming cup, no descant wild and shrill 
 Of all that morn and eve were wont to thrill 
 My listening ear ; the reapers work in bands, 
 But all is silent : where are now the hands 
 That sought for mine, the dances light and free ? 
 The tales that seemed beginning still to be, 
 And pausing woke again, and still were sweet to me ? 
 
 But now upon the clear 
 
 Calm summer air, I hear, 
 Far on the silence borne, a distant strain ; 
 
 A tune that gives and takes, 
 
 That hushes while it wakes. 
 That loosens while it binds a gentle chain: 
 
 So sweetly on the sense 
 
 It falls, I ask not whence 
 It comes, nor know I whither goes that tune 
 
 More soft than summer dews — 
 
 Most like a hand that wooes 
 An arrow forth — and while I listen, seems 
 Far off and faint, like music heard in dreams, 
 To change and fade each dim, half-shrouded pain ; 
 
 Each fond regret, each care 
 
 Is fled ; — oh, tell me where. 
 Dear Shepherd, Thou dost feed Thy flocks at noon ?
 
 THE V/HITE CRUSADE. 85 
 
 Oh, tell me in what still 
 
 Fair meadows at Thy will 
 Thou leadest them ? by what glad streamlet's flow ? 
 
 Perchance upon the rocks 
 
 Thou sittest now, Thy flocks 
 With reedy murmurs soothing, while the low 
 Soft summer winds reply ; or by the well 
 Thou sittest now, perchance, as once befell 
 \\Tien Thou wert wearied with the noontide glare 
 Oh, long-beloved, let me find Thee there. 
 
 And there with Thee abide ; the shadows soon 
 Will fall and darken o'er these pathways wide ; 
 Oh, let me be no more as one aside 
 That turns unwilling ! by Thy tents I dwell, 
 Thy dear companions know me ! Shepherd, tell 
 
 Where dost Thou make Thy flocks to rest at 
 nooD ? 
 
 THE WHITE CRUSADE— ITALY 1S60. 
 
 Long, long the foot of pride 
 
 Trode down the human heart from hour to hour 
 With iron heel, and ever on the side 
 
 Of tyrants there was power ; 
 
 Till, seventy summers back, 
 
 A cry went up by night to God for food ; 
 A raven's cry, a lion's, on the track 
 
 O*" rnnirie ^nd of blood :
 
 86 THE WHITE CRUSADE. 
 
 And Freedom at the sound 
 
 Stirred where she lay within her grave for dead, 
 And rose up from the earth, and gazed around 
 
 Like one disquieted. 
 
 As one that hath been dead 
 
 Four days, she rose up from her grave ; she woke 
 Fast bound with grave-clothes, hands, and feet, and 
 head ; 
 
 Yet when she rose she spoke : 
 
 Like Lazarus from the tomb 
 
 She rose, and stood upright ; like him a while 
 She walked with men, — yet on her cheek no bloom 
 
 And on her lip no smile. 
 
 As one that sleeping shakes 
 
 Beneath a ghastly slumber-coil, will ssem 
 To wake at dead of night, yet only wakes 
 
 Into a fearful dream ; 
 
 She woke into a world 
 
 Of wreck and ruin ; winds and waves that roared, 
 Men's hearts that failed, and goodliest treasures hurled 
 
 To monsters overboard. 
 
 They called her, but she shrank ; 
 
 She stretched her hands to bless, and lo ! a stain 
 Of blood upon each palm ! She groaned, and sank 
 
 Into her grave again.
 
 THE IVHITE CRUSADE. Zy 
 
 Yet 'mid the tumult fierce 
 
 That gathered as she fell, was faintly heard 
 From fainting lips — a blessing or a curse — 
 
 And yet a treasured word ; — 
 
 And still from land to land 
 
 The whisper grew, and still the murmur sped 
 By look, by sign, by pressure of the hand, 
 
 " The maiden is not dead." 
 
 Till every heart that knew 
 
 A stronger beat, that shook a looser chain, 
 Caught up the word, until its meaning grew 
 
 From hour to hour more plain. 
 
 And some would watch for hours 
 
 Beside her tomb, until they seemed to hear, 
 
 Beneath the winter's ice, the summer's flowers, 
 A breathing low and clear. 
 
 The nations spake : "But who 
 
 Shall roll away this heavy stone, by day 
 
 And night close sealed and watched ? " They 
 came, and lo ! 
 The stone was rolled away ! 
 
 And clothed in raiment white 
 
 From head to feet, was seated on the stone 
 A Shining Form, that earth had given to light 
 
 Without a travail-groan.
 
 88 THE CLEFT, 
 
 No blood on brow or palm, 
 
 Or on her robe, but in her steadfast eye, 
 And on her lips, a summons clear and caliu : 
 
 " Who loves ^ knows how to die." 
 
 The swords of friends and foes 
 
 Are crossed before her breast ; her breast is bare. 
 And bare her feet, and on the way she goes 
 
 Lies the red burning share. 
 
 She wakes, perchance to show 
 
 Of wounds received in houses of her friends, — to 
 weep, 
 Like Rachel, o'er her sons brought forth in woe, 
 
 Yet never more to sleep ! 
 
 THE CLEFT. 
 i86i. 
 
 " Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twata,"' 
 
 " Oh, throw away the worser part of it. 
 And live the purer with the other half." 
 
 The skies have voices soft 
 And loud, they mutter oft, 
 Dissolve and break in tears of joy and wonder
 
 THE CLEFT. 89 
 
 More fierce the shock, the din 
 More harsh, when from within 
 Earth shakes, self torn, and riven with secret thunder ; 
 
 And now a ghastly cleft 
 
 Yawns wide from right to left, 
 And sucks and draws the Western World within it ; 
 
 What voice, what arm uplift 
 
 This dire encroaching rift 
 May close with sovereign spell ? and how begin it ? 
 
 In such a gulf of old 
 
 The Roman flung, not gold, 
 But Youth's heroic hope and Strength's endeavour ; 
 
 Yet this one of the best 
 
 Hath ta'en, and for the rest 
 Still craves, unclosed, insatiate, widening ever. 
 
 Say, will ye smoothe it over, 
 
 And bid the maid and lover 
 Dance here away their light-linked hours of leisure. 
 
 Yea, smoothe it over, sow it 
 
 With grass and flowers ; below it 
 Are sounds that mingle strangely with the measure. 
 
 Or leaning o'er its edges, 
 
 Now will ye barter pledges 
 With clasping hands, and talk ot hearts combinmg, 
 
 Or plant the rootless tree 
 
 Within it — Liberty, 
 Hung round with garlands and with ribbons shining?
 
 90 THE CLEFT, 
 
 The jagged cleft from side 
 
 To side yawns yet more wide ; 
 And Echo from within, your words recalling, 
 
 Hath sent from out the ground 
 
 The yet more hollow sound 
 Of loosened earth upon a coffin falling. 
 
 Then let it yawn to sever 
 The Bond and Free for ever : 
 
 Then Falsehood's hectic flush of vain relying, 
 On Freedom's cheek more fair 
 The glow of health, though there 
 
 Across it broad and deep a scar be lying ! 
 
 Yea, let the sword pierce through 
 
 This tangle and undo 
 The knot that doth but harder twist for friction : 
 
 Oh, seek not now to bind 
 
 What God hath loosed ! no kind 
 Espousals these, but fettered, galled constriction. 
 
 When life meets life with kiss 
 
 Of rapture strong, oh ! this 
 Is union, this is strength ; then leave the dying 
 
 With Death their troth to plight, 
 
 In charnel vaults by night, 
 'Mid dead men's bones and all uncleanness lying. 
 
 There leave them ! let the wide. 
 Deep chasm still divide
 
 A DIALOGUE. 91 
 
 'Twixt Night and Day, 'twixt Light and Darkness, — 
 know 
 
 That greater than the whole 
 
 Is now the part ; the soul 
 Is nobler than the body, — let them go 1 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 IN 1863. 
 
 ■'' Vv'ell, what news have you got to-day, neighbour?" 
 
 " WTiy, the Prince is going to be wed 
 To the Princess Royal of Denmark." "Ay, so I hear it 
 
 is said, 
 And she'll be a grand young lady, there's no doubt at 
 
 all ; but you see 
 I never set eyes on the Prince in my life, and he knows 
 
 nought about me." 
 
 "And what other news have you got, neighbour?" 
 
 ** Oh terrible news : abroad 
 The great Garibaldi's taken and wounded." " Was he 
 
 some Lord 
 Or King ? But I know so little of these people beyond 
 
 the sea. 
 They seem to be always fighting, it's a pity they cannot 
 
 acrree."
 
 92 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 " Why then, if you come to fighting, the Yankees are at 
 
 it still, 
 As hard as ever they were at the first." " Well, they 
 
 must then, if they will. 
 I suppose they're a sort of cousins of ours ; but then 
 
 they're so very far 
 Removed, that it doesn't much matter to us how long 
 
 they go on with the war." 
 
 * ' Now there you are out for once, neighbour, for it's 
 
 neither more nor less 
 Than their keeping up of this war so long that's causing 
 
 our great distress. 
 They've given up growing their cotton, and sending us 
 
 any to spin. 
 And that's the way things keep going wrong, yoa see, 
 
 when once they begin. 
 
 *' You're not a reader like me, neighbour, or you wouldn't 
 
 soon forget 
 The things that they tell in the papers ; my word, but 
 
 they're sharply set 
 In Lancashire now ; and it's my belief, that if things 
 
 don't soon work through 
 They'll be taking to dying off pretty fast, if they've 
 
 nothing else left them to do.
 
 A DIALOGUE. 93 
 
 " "Why now, how would you like it, neighbour? I think 
 
 you would look rather blank 
 If you hadn't a shilling left in the house, nor a guinea left 
 
 in the bank, 
 If first you'd to part with your silver watch, and then 
 
 with your handsome clock, 
 And then with your quilt, and blankets, and bed, till at 
 
 last you came to the stock ! 
 
 *' Until when you looked about your room there was 
 
 nothing to see at all, 
 But just a table, perhaps, and a chair, and the roof, and 
 
 the floor, and the wall. 
 And how would you like to sell your best black coat that 
 
 you've worn so long? 
 Or your wife to have to go out and pawn her good Sunday 
 
 cloak for a song ? " 
 
 '* I shouldn't like it at all, neighbour ; and as to my wife, 
 
 why she 
 Would take on, perhaps, if all were known, a great deal 
 
 worse than me." 
 " And then when there's nothing to do, you see, there's 
 
 always so little to eat ; 
 And only think of the children, neighbour, how they 
 
 must be missing their meat !
 
 94 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 " Now there's that curly Jem of yours, that likes nothmg 
 
 he gets so well 
 As what he gets with his granny and you, as I've heard 
 
 you so often tell, 
 That just when you're sitting down to your meat, he's 
 
 sure to come peeping in. 
 You wouldn't like it so well, neighbour, to see him 
 
 growing thin." 
 
 " I shouldn't like it at all, neighbour, I tell you, but 
 
 Where's the good 
 Of talking when folks are starving ? sure I'd help them if 
 
 I could," 
 "Well, there's nothing so easy as that, neighbour, you 
 
 haven't got far to send — 
 It's only like taking a bit of your dinner across to an 
 
 ailing friend." 
 
 " AVhy, not quite so easy as that, neighbour, for if things 
 
 are as bad as you say. 
 It's little to better them that we can do by giving them 
 
 once in a way." 
 " Well, giving them once in a way perhaps would come 
 
 rather short ; but then 
 There is nothing to stop us, that I can see, from giving 
 
 them once and again. "
 
 A SONG. 95 
 
 '• Why that's very pretty talk, neighbour, but then to be 
 
 always giving 
 Doesn't come quite so easy to folks like us that have to 
 
 work hard for our living." 
 " Well, as to the matter of that, neighbour, if we haven't 
 
 got much to spare 
 There'll just be the less to send, but still we may always 
 
 have something to share. 
 
 " We might all of us give far more than we do, without 
 
 being a bit the worse ; 
 It was never yet loving that emptied the heart, or giving 
 
 that emptied the purse. 
 We must be like the woman our Saviour praised, and do 
 
 but the best we can." 
 " Ay, that'll be just the plan, neighbour, that'll be just 
 
 the plan." 
 
 A SONG TO CALL TO REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 A Plea for the Coventry Ribbon- Weavers. 
 
 I HEARD a little maiden sing, " ^^^lat can the matter 
 
 be?" 
 A simple song, a merry song, yet sad it seemed to me,
 
 96 A SONG. 
 
 "Oh, my love is coming from the town, he is coming 
 
 from the fair, 
 And he will bring me ribbons blue to tie my bonny hair ! " 
 
 O lasses fair, that love to wear — O lads that love to see 
 The ribbons bright, the ribbons rare — what can the 
 
 matter be ? 
 At Christmas-tide, when all beside are merry and are 
 
 glad, 
 How many English hearts are sore, how many homes are 
 
 sad! 
 
 The looms are stopped, the hands are still that wrought 
 
 the ribbons gay ; 
 When anxious fathers have no work, the children dare 
 
 not play ; 
 No cheerful noise around the board ; oh ! little to 
 
 prepare ! 
 The mother's work is quickly o'er, but not the mother's 
 
 care ! 
 
 And all is dull and all is chill within the humble room ; 
 Beside his black and fireless hearth, beside his idle loom, 
 The poor man sits from day to day in garments worn and 
 
 thin, 
 And sees the homely comforts go he toiled so hard to win. 
 
 The icicle hangs on the eaves, and silent as a stone 
 All Nature lies in sleep or death, chilled through unto 
 the bone :
 
 A SONG. 97 
 
 The earth below is white and cold, the skies are cold and 
 
 grey, 
 The grave seems very near, and Heaven seems very far 
 
 away. 
 
 Oh sad and short the wintry day. oh sad and long the 
 
 night, 
 WTien in the heart there is no hope, and in the house no 
 
 light, 
 No fire, no food ! yet goodly gifts, yet words of Christian 
 
 cheer, 
 Can make the grave seem farther off, can make the 
 
 heavens more near. 
 
 Ye merry hearts, that meet to laugh and dance the hours 
 
 away, 
 Ye gentle hearts, that better love in sheltered homes to 
 
 pray, 
 Think on the homes whose Christmas guests are only 
 
 Want and Care, 
 Think on the hearts too sad for mirth, too sad perchance 
 
 for prayer ; 
 
 For Want and Care are dreary mates, and where they 
 
 enter in 
 There Love should follow after quick, for Discontent and 
 
 Sin 
 
 548
 
 98 A NATIONAL SONG. 
 
 
 Without the door are 
 
 knocking loud — oh ! keep them 
 
 waiting there, 
 
 
 
 And hold at bay the 
 
 prowling wolf of 
 
 savage, gaunt 
 
 despair I 
 
 
 
 A little while and skies 
 
 will clear that now are overcast ; 
 
 Our ship that rides 'mid heavy seas will 
 
 right itself at 
 
 last; 
 
 
 
 Come, loving hearts, 
 
 come, open hands, 
 
 with bounty 
 
 warm and wide, 
 
 
 
 Come, lend our struggl 
 
 ing friends a lift, till the turning of 
 
 the tide. 
 
 
 
 A NATIONAL SONG. 
 
 V.of Wr>^m I'n 
 
 meadows free, 
 I had my choice of all that blow, and I chose me only 
 
 three ; 
 But I must have them all or none ! the first one that I 
 
 chose 
 Was Queen of all the flowers that be, the red, the royal 
 
 Rose ! 
 
 The Rose that blooms upon the rock, and lets the salt 
 
 sea-spray 
 Drift over her, nor asks if this be anger or be play ;
 
 A NATIONAL SONG. 99 
 
 She bows not clown her stately head for any breeze that 
 
 blows, 
 She smiles in kindness on her friends, in pride upon her 
 
 foes. 
 
 A lion watches by her root, and all her gallant stem 
 
 Is set with thorns — ah, woe betide the hand that touches 
 
 them ! 
 But deep within the rose's heart, in many a silken fold 
 Wrapt round, a costly treasure lies of fragrance and of 
 
 gold. 
 
 Then lone and free, on hill and lea, unguarded, yet 
 
 unharmed, 
 All green I saw the Thistle grow that groweth ready 
 
 armed. 
 She flings her arrowy seeds afar to thrive where'er they 
 
 fall, 
 Oh, grasp the hardy thistle close, or grasp her not at all ! 
 
 Oh love the thistle well, for she will love thee to the 
 
 end, 
 For scorching sun she will not droop, for storm she will 
 
 not bend ; 
 How fair upon the thistle's head her purple-tasselled 
 
 crown, 
 And oh ! within the thistle's heart, how soft and warm 
 
 the down !
 
 TOO A JVA TIONAL SONG. 
 
 Yet must I farther on to seek a flower that loves the 
 
 West; 
 I only found a little leaf, with mystic signs imprest ; 
 "Hast thou no flower?' I sadly said, "and hast thou 
 
 nought to show 
 But this thy high and heavenward hope, but this thy 
 
 patient woe ? 
 
 "Yet saints have loved thee, fairies danced across thee at 
 
 thy birth, 
 And thine are gifts that suit with joy, and gifts that suit 
 
 with mirth ; 
 Shine on, green leaf, to kindly Trust, to Wit, to Valour 
 
 dear, 
 And still let Erin's smile be ours, though smiling through 
 
 a tear." 
 
 Of flowers that bloom m gardens fair, that blow in 
 
 meadows free, 
 Now have I had my choice of all, and I have chosen 
 
 three ; 
 I would not live, I would not die, I would not sing for 
 
 one, 
 I love them all so well that I must have them all or 
 
 none !
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. loi 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 1863. 
 
 If ye would hear the Angels sing 
 *' Peace on earth and mercy mild," 
 Think of Him who was once a child, 
 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 If ye would hear the Angels sing, 
 Christians ! see ye let each door 
 Stand wider than ever it stood before, 
 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 Rise, and open wide the door ; 
 
 Christians, rise I the world is wide, 
 And many there be that stand outside. 
 
 Yet Christmas comes iji the morning. 
 
 If ye would hear the Angels sing, 
 Rise and spread your Christmas fare ; 
 'Tis merrier still the more that share. 
 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 Rise, and bake your Christmas bread ; 
 Christians^ rise I the world is bare, 
 And bleak, and dark vnth want atid care. 
 
 Yet Christmas comes in the morning.
 
 I02 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 If ye would hear the Angels sing, 
 Rise and light your Christmas fire ; 
 And see that ye pile the logs still higher. 
 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 Rise, and light your Christ7nas fire ; 
 Christians.) rise ! the zuorld is old^ 
 And Time is weaiy, and worn, and coidy 
 Yet Christfjias comes in the morning. 
 
 If ye would hear the Angels sing, 
 Rise and spice your wassail bowl 
 With warmth for body, and heart, and soul, 
 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 Spice it warm, and spice it strong, 
 ChHstians, rise I the world is grey. 
 And lotigh is the road., and short is the day. 
 Yet Christmas cojnes in the morning. 
 
 If ye would hear the Angels sing, 
 
 Christians ! think on Him who died ', 
 Think of your Lord, the Crucified, 
 
 On Christmas Day in the morning.
 
 if rem ''Camera ©bscuraJ 
 
 THE SONG OF ISLAM.* 
 
 The Poet Ferdusi had this name given him by his coimtrymen 
 on account of the sweetness of his verses. The meaning of 
 Ferdusi is " the Poet who came from Paradise." When but a 
 poor boy he sat down at the foot of the mountain Elbarg/and 
 begun to write. " Boy," said one who passed, "what are you 
 writing?" He replied, *! am writing Shah Xameh," — the 
 story of a King. This was his answer to all comers. 
 
 He sang not of love's delight 
 
 Of the day and the night and the world, 
 
 On the passing exquisite 
 
 Of a moment heaped and hurled, 
 
 Of the mingling of soul and breath, 
 Of the soft detaining kiss, 
 Of the step that hastens to bliss, 
 
 * The word Islam (salvation) is founded upon the verb salm 
 salavia, which signifies to be tranquil, at rest, to be paid up, 
 to ie at perfect peace, and finally to hand over one's self to him, 
 with whom peace is made. The noun so derived means " peace 
 greeting, safety, saltation." — Syed Ameer At.i Moulvi.
 
 I04 THE SONG OF ISLAM, 
 
 Of the clasp that lingereth ; 
 He sang not the moment brief 
 
 That crowneth the cup of life 
 With flower and with fruit and with leaf. 
 He sang not the song of grief 
 
 With Antar, for Abla white 
 Of mourners and singers chief. 
 He sang not the song of strife 
 With Amr El Kais vowed 
 To the cymbal clash, and the loud 
 Fierce clangour of battle proud ; 
 Of the javelin's steely flight, 
 
 Of the flashing of spear and sword, 
 Of the wine that moveth aright 
 
 In the wine-cup freely poured. 
 He sang not of what men praise, 
 
 Of how men suffer, or grieve, 
 Of the little dust that we raise. 
 
 Of the little dust we leave ; 
 Of the moving caravan, 
 
 Or the camel's patient march. 
 
 Or the skies' unmoving arch — 
 He sang not the song of man ! 
 
 He sang of the light that breaks 
 When the thunder- cloud is riven. 
 
 He sang of the life that wakes 
 To a call that cometh from Heaven j 
 
 Of a voice in the desert heard, 
 Of a cry at the midnight hour,
 
 THE SONG OF ISLAM. 105 
 
 Of a strength that waiteth a word 
 Of the hiding* of ancient power. 
 
 He sang of the life that takes 
 Its sleep in the arms of death. 
 
 Of the dawn through the dusk that breaks 
 That the darkness conquereth. 
 
 He sang of the light that sleeps 
 And burns in the hidden gem, 
 
 He sang of the light that leaps 
 And flames in the diadem. 
 
 He sang of the flowering rod, 
 Of the almonds blossoming, 
 
 He sang of the seed in the clod, 
 A dark unlovely + thing. 
 
 He sang of the blade through the sod 
 That cleaves at the breath of spring. 
 
 He sang to the ear of God, 
 He sang the song of a King. 
 
 * " His brightness was as the light, and there was the hiding 
 of His power."— fl^a6aiA;«A: iii., i. 
 
 t "Thou darksome, uudeUghting thing."— Mrs. TiGHE, On the 
 Root of the Lily.
 
 io6 THE HREN. 
 
 THE WREN. 
 
 " The wren, the wren, is king of the birds." 
 
 I AM small among birds, yet am King 
 
 Of the birds, that with flame and with gold 
 
 Have lit up my tiny crest ; 
 
 I mount on the eagle's wing, 
 
 On the tallest trees * I am bold 
 
 To build up my little nest. 
 
 I am drunken, but not with wine ; 
 
 I have lit up my flaming crest 
 
 In the sea incarnadine. 
 
 With the summer's sunken suns. 
 
 When the light from the East to the West 
 
 Moves swiftly as strength that runs. 
 
 Or love that would seek its rest. 
 
 When the fires of your earth burnt low 
 
 I mounted, at your behest, 
 
 To the hearth of Heaven aglow ! 
 
 * " This most pleasing fairy bird delights in the largest trees, 
 such as oaks, elms, tail pines, and firs, particularly the first, in 
 which it finds both food and shelter ; in these it builds its nest. 
 It stays with us the whole year, and braves our severest 
 winters, which it helps to enliven by its sprightly note. During 
 that season it approaches near the dwellings of man, and takes 
 shelter in the roofs of houses, barns, and in haystacks ; it sings 
 till late in the evening, and not unfrequently during a fall of 
 snow. In the spring it betakes itself to the woods, where it 
 builds in a low bush, or sometimes on the turf itself, near a 
 tree's bole."— Bewicke's British Birds.
 
 THE WREN, 107 
 
 Since then on my tiny crest. 
 Since then on my little breast, 
 Is the touch of fire imprest. 
 
 I sing when the leaf from the oak 
 
 Hath dropt, when the light from the rose 
 
 With the scent that her heart o'erflows 
 
 Hath fled ! when the songs spring woke 
 
 Are hushed ! at the evening's close 
 
 You may hear me sing through the snows. 
 
 When the hedge is still, and the brook 
 
 By leaf or by song unshook, 
 
 My song ye may ofttimes hear ; 
 
 It is bold, it is loud, it is clear, 
 
 Though but slender change it knows. 
 
 I sing when the thrush is mute, 
 When the swallows fly I stay ; 
 I flit o'er the hidden rout, 
 I flit 'neath the blacken'd spray. 
 When the year is dead, and the day 
 Is dying fast, I sit 
 On your roofs awhile, then I flit 
 Like a shade among shadows grey 
 From a cloud none seeth pass, 
 Though it darkens the sunny grass 
 Ere yet it hath moved away. 
 Thou little lark on thy breast 
 That bearest the scent of the sod
 
 io8 DEMETER AND CORA. 
 
 Unto heaven and the morning's dew ; 
 To thyself thou art true, and to God. 
 With God I am bold ; I am true 
 Unto man ! at his desire 
 I mounted, I brought down fire ; 
 Yet my breast is scorched, and behold 
 My breast is bare ! I am cold, 
 I shiver, yet I bring fire ! 
 
 DEMETER AND CORA. 
 
 '* Speak, daughter, speak ; art speaking now ? 
 
 " Seek, mother, seek ; art seeking thou 
 
 Thy dear-loved Cora ? " " Daughter sweet, 
 
 I bend unto the earlh my ear 
 
 To catch the sound of coming feet ; 
 
 I listen long, but only hear 
 
 The deep, dark waters running clear." 
 
 ** Oh ! my great mother, now the heat 
 
 Of thy strong heart in thickened beat 
 
 Hath reached thy Cora in her gloom, 
 
 Is't well with thee, my mother — tell ? " 
 
 " Is't well with thee, my daughter ? " " Well 
 
 Or ill I know not ; I through fate 
 
 Queen of a wide unmeasured tomb
 
 DE METER AND CORA. 109 
 
 Know not if it be love or hate 
 
 That holds me fast, but I am bound 
 
 For ever I What if I am found 
 
 Of thee, my mother, still the bars 
 
 Are round me, and the girdling night 
 
 Hath passed within my soul ! the stars 
 
 Have risen* on me, but the light 
 
 Hath gone for ever." " Daughter, tell. 
 
 Doth thy dark lord, the King of Hell, 
 
 Still love thee ? " *' Oh, too well, too well 
 
 He loves ! he binds with unwrought chain. 
 
 I was not born to be thy mate, 
 
 Aides ! nor the Queen of pain : 
 
 I was thy daughter Cora, vowed 
 
 To gladness in thy world above, 
 
 I loved the daffodil, I love 
 
 All lovely, free, and gentle things 
 
 Beloved of thee ! a sound of wings 
 
 Is with me in captivity 
 
 Of birds, and bees, with her that sings 
 
 The shrill Cicula, ever gay 
 
 In noon's white heat." " But, daughter, say, 
 
 Dost love Aides ? " " Now, too bold 
 
 Thy question, mother ; this be told, 
 
 I leave him not for love, for gold, 
 
 One lot we share, one life we know. 
 
 The Lord is he of wealth and rest, 
 
 * " When night has once passed into a human soul it never 
 leaves it, though the stars may rise." — Victor Hugo.
 
 no DEMETER AND CORA. 
 
 As well as king of death and pain j 
 
 He folds me to a kingly breast, 
 
 He yields to me a rich domain. 
 
 I leave him not for aught above, 
 
 For any god's unsteadfast love 
 
 Or fairest mortal-form below ; 
 
 Thou hast left heaven for earth ; and thou 
 
 For thy poor Cora's sake, self-driven, 
 
 Hast fled its sunny heights in scorn 
 
 And hate, of Zeus unforgiven ! 
 
 Do mortals love thee ? " " Daughter, j^ea. 
 
 They call me their great mother. Corn 
 
 And wine I give them when they pray ; 
 
 Their love for me their little day 
 
 Of life lasts out ; perchance they knew 
 
 It was not love for them that drew 
 
 Me down to wander where the wine 
 
 Is sweet to me, and breath of kine. 
 
 Art listening now, my Cora dear ? 
 
 Art listening now, my child, — art near? 
 
 Oh, that thy kiss upon my cheek 
 
 Were warm ! thy little hand in mine 
 
 Once more ! Yet, let me hear thee speak, 
 
 And tell me of that garden rare, 
 
 And of thy flowers, dark, fiery, sweet. 
 
 That never breathe the upper air." 
 
 " Oh, mother, they are fair, are fair ; 
 
 Large-leaved are they, large-blossomed, frail, 
 
 And beautiful. No vexing gale 
 
 Comes ever nigh them ; fed with fire
 
 THE SECRET. \\\ 
 
 They kindle in a torch-light flame 
 Half ecstasy, half tender shame 
 Of bloom that must so soon expire. 
 But, mother, tell me of the wet, 
 Cool primrose ! of the lilac-bough 
 And its warm gust of rapture, met 
 In summer days ! — art listening yet ? " 
 *' Art near me, O my Cora, now? ' 
 
 THE SECRET. 
 
 " II fnnt qn' dtant anprfes de vous, je suis un secret entre 
 vous et moi, et un enigine pour tous le3 autres."— Balzac 
 (Seventeenth Century). 
 
 *' Bird," I said, '* that in Autumn grey 
 
 Singest so sweet when the sunlight sped 
 
 Lies low on the hill, and the darkening way 
 
 Is drifted o'er with the light leaves shed, 
 
 Wert thou wounded, for now I see 
 
 That little breast of thine is red ? 
 
 Hath any loved thee ? and wert thou fed 
 
 On the wine of the berry wild and free ! 
 
 Hast thou been mated, and wooed, and wed ?** 
 
 Then sang the bird : " I sing to thee ; 
 
 I sing when the Spring's light leaves are shed, 
 
 I sing when the Summer day for dead
 
 112 THE SECRET. 
 
 Lies lapped ! of its passing sweet and brief 
 1 sing to thee 1 of the flower and the leaf 
 I sing," sang the Bird. " I sing to thee, 
 But I tell to none my historic." 
 
 " Flower or herb, that with eager quest 
 
 For thy perfume rare of leaf and stem 
 
 I have sought for east, I have sought for west ; 
 
 Now that I find thee among the rest, 
 
 With flowers that grow near the beaten way, 
 
 Thou bloomest, and even, like one of them, 
 
 Thou art not sweet, methinks, nor gay." 
 
 Then the Flower said : " Other-where 
 
 Seek thou for flowers that are sweet and fair. 
 
 1 lived through the bitter frost that slew 
 
 The sheltered bloom of the orchard's pride ; 
 
 I lived on the burning wind, I grew 
 
 Through the summer drought when the roses 
 
 died ; 
 I lived," said the Flower. " I was sweet not gay, 
 And my life in its giving passed away ; 
 Dost thou find me shrunken, and sere, and dry? 
 If I please thee not, thou canst pass me by. 
 But as thou wert mounting the hill-side steep, 
 And as thou wert climbing the rock-hewn stair, 
 Didst thou meet with an odour strange and deep ? 
 I have lived," said the Flower, "and my soul was 
 
 there, 
 It is not mine both to give and keep.'*
 
 THE HOMEWARD LANE. 113 
 
 "Voice," I said, " that upon my way, 
 
 At the close of the twilight dank and chill, 
 
 Dost meet me, and then flit away ; 
 
 Art thou a shade among shadows grey, 
 
 Or the voice of one who is living still? 
 
 Doth power go with thee, and strength, and will ; 
 
 What art thou ? " Then the Voice said, " A voice 
 
 That crieth of things that are yet to be. 
 
 If thou hearest me, then abide ; for thee 
 
 I have a message from God : Rejoice, 
 
 I say, or else lament with me : 
 
 If thou hearest not, pass on, forbear, 
 
 And leave me, as I leave thee, free. 
 
 To meet thy question is not my care : 
 
 I have an errand, but not with thee. '"' 
 
 THE HOMEWARD LANE. 
 
 " Sehst du selir ge1)lasslich ans? 
 Seyst getrost 1 du bist zu Haus.'"— Heine. 
 
 My soul within me yearned 
 For home ; not yet appeared 
 The father's house in sight : 
 I saw no kindled light 
 In gleaming window-pane, 
 No forms arrayed in white 
 
 549
 
 1 1 4 THE HOME WARD LANE, 
 
 Came forth, yet was I cheered 
 At heart : I knew I neared 
 ]My home, and kept aright 
 The way. 
 
 My footsteps turned 
 Adown a well-known lane, 
 Lone, quiet ; on each side 
 A grassy margin wide, 
 
 And hedgerows freshened to the deepened stain 
 Left by warm summer rain. 
 O'er all a sparkle wet ; 
 And odour dark and cool 
 From Balsam poplars set 
 Within the hedge, and yet 
 A sunset flash from many a tiny pool. 
 
 Then saw I on a gate 
 
 Two men in garments plain 
 
 That leant, as in the summer evenings late 
 
 Men lean ; of common things 
 
 And themes, to dwellers in the country dear, 
 
 If husbandmen or kings. 
 
 They spake, nor ceased their talk as I drew 
 
 near ; 
 But with a quiet smile 
 One open held the gate ; 
 
 The other spake, " For thee, I said, long while 
 Here would I stand and wait."
 
 THE HOMEWARD LANE. 115 
 
 But when I would have turned within, I saw 
 
 A sandy heath forlorn 
 
 That stretched, whereon an aged woman, bent 
 
 With care and toil outworn. 
 
 Stooped down to pluck a small white rose,* that 
 
 grew 
 As if it lived but with its leaves to strew 
 The thin light soil, nor seemed, sun-fed, the dew 
 To need, beset with many a grieving thorn ; 
 But when she, turning, lifted up her head 
 I looked upon the face 
 Of one long loved by me and with the dead 
 Long numbered, there no trace 
 Of age or pain I read. 
 But in her deep-set eye 
 Dwelt untold ecstacy, 
 And in her smile was bliss, 
 And rapture in her kiss, 
 And heaven in her embrace. 
 
 * Rosa spinossima, the small white Burnet rose.
 
 Ii6 ''BRING ME WORD:' 
 
 " BRING ME WORD HOW TALL SHE IS." 
 
 Woman in 1872. 
 
 " now tall is your Rosalind ?" 
 " Just as high as my heart." 
 
 — As You hike It. 
 
 Within a garden shade, 
 A garden sweet and dim, 
 Two happy children played 
 Together ; he was made 
 For God, and she for him. 
 
 Beyond the garden's shade, 
 In deserts drear and dim 
 Two outcast children strayed 
 Together, he betrayed 
 By her, and she by him. 
 
 Together, girl and boy, 
 They wandered, ne'er apart ; 
 Each wrought to each annoy, 
 Yet each knew never joy 
 Save in the other's heart. 
 
 By her so oft deceived ; 
 By him so sore opprcst ;
 
 ''BRING ME word: 117 
 
 They each the other grieved. 
 Yet each of each was best 
 Beloved, and still caressed. 
 
 And she wa-; in his sight 
 Found fairest, still his prize, 
 His constant chief delight ; 
 She raised to him her eyes 
 That led het not aright. 
 
 And ever by his side 
 A patient huntress ran 
 Through forests dark and wiJ;: 
 And still the woman's pride 
 And glory was the Man. 
 
 When her he would despise, 
 She kept him captive bound ; 
 Forbidding her to rise, 
 By many cords and ties 
 She held him to the ground. 
 
 At length, in stature grown, 
 He stands erect and free ; 
 Yet stands he not alone, 
 For his beloved would be 
 Like him she loveth wise, like him she 
 loveih iree.
 
 ii8 LILIES, 
 
 So wins she her desire, 
 
 Yet stand they not apart ; 
 
 For as she doth aspire 
 
 He grows, nor stands she higher 
 
 Than her Beloved's heart. 
 
 LILIES. 
 
 "The evening and the morning make our day."— E. B. 
 
 BROWiNING. 
 
 By woody walks, near pathways dank 
 
 With the drip of the thick-wove boughs they grew, 
 
 By the side of the garlic, wild and rank, 
 The Valley-lilies, pure as dew. 
 
 Shrouded and swathed in a tender gleam, 
 Gold in the sun, and dim in the shade, 
 Lilies globe-like, and orbed, and rayed, 
 
 Flashed, afloat on the glittering stream ; 
 Each on its cool, thick leaf apart. 
 Flung eager-wide to day's golden dart, 
 
 As a door will ope with a secret thrill, 
 
 To a touch beloved, each warm, trembling heart 
 
 For the light of the morning to flood and fill. 
 At mid-day the lilies stood up tall, 
 Stood up straight, 'neath the garden wall. 
 
 White and regal hke queens that bear 
 Beneath their crowns disconsolate 
 
 A weight of woe and a world of care,
 
 LILIES, 119 
 
 Who are glad when the night* bears all away 
 Yet are ever queens through their long white day, 
 
 Robed and fair and desolate. 
 Golden were some, and some had curled 
 Their leaves back in pride, or in scorn of the world, 
 And some were tawny, and streaked, and pied. 
 
 And freck'd, as if in them something ill 
 
 Had passed, but had left them lilies still. 
 And after them came a sworded strife 
 Of lilies that warred with death or with life, 
 
 Flushed or pallid with love or hate 
 I know not which, for to living flame 
 
 They changed from their rose-bloom delicate, 
 And strove, so that neither overcame ; 
 
 For as I marvelled thereat, day grew 
 More dim, and the flowers t sweet miracle 
 
 Went by, and a sudden twilight fell, 
 And with it brought to my soul the scent 
 
 Of mossy wood-walks drenched in dew, 
 And of Valley -liHes crushed and bent. 
 
 * The lines— 
 
 "Be the day never so long 
 It ringeth at last unto even-song," 
 
 are written in Queen Elizabeth's "Book of Houres." 
 
 t " I die," said a Dutch botanist who had encountered some 
 deadly exhalations in a Javanese forest, "6ui / have seen the 
 miracle of flowers."
 
 120 DARIjL 
 
 DARIA. 
 
 In Calderon's draiiia, Los Dos Ainantes del Citlo, Daria, il 
 beautiful Roman {;irl, eventually a Christian convert aiMl 
 martyr, declares, while yet Pasj;an, that she will never love until 
 she tinds someone.who has died to prove his love for her. 
 
 Oh, proud and fair was she ! 
 
 Yet only proud perchance in being fair, 
 And in her speech, and in her smiling free, 
 
 As Rose to summer air : 
 
 And near her in the dell 
 
 Another damsel sat who sweetly sung ; 
 And one who* Love's fond ancient chronicle 
 
 Read ; and these three were young, 
 
 And fair, and richly dight, 
 
 But she I speak of, read not, neither sung, 
 But deemed she ministered enough delight 
 
 In being fair and young. 
 
 *' Love ! " said she in disdain, 
 
 " Now am I weary of the vows and sighs 
 Of lovers that to die for me are fain, 
 
 Yet find I none who dies." 
 
 " "Ovid."
 
 DARIA. 121 
 
 She spoke again in jest 
 
 Or sadness — which, I knew not then, nor she : 
 Deep words are spoken, deepest thoughts 
 confessed, 
 
 Uy hearts in careless glee. 
 
 " Yet might I in that train 
 
 Find one who for my love indeed had died, 
 Then let him come to ask for love again, 
 
 And I will be his bride ! " 
 
 Oh, meek was she and fair, 
 
 But then most fair, methought, in being meek ; 
 And yet the same was she whom otherwhere 
 
 I heard so proudly speak. 
 
 Her voice rose clear and soft 
 
 As is the dove's, and dove-like still caressed 
 One tender note, as if returning oft 
 
 To what it loveth best. 
 
 She sang, " My soul is bound 
 
 By that sweet olden promise. One who died 
 For me and for my love now have I found, 
 
 I quit no more His side."
 
 122 BASILIDES. 
 
 BASILIDES. 
 
 "Many things are related of this virgin (Potaminca) in 
 sufifering for faith in Christ. . . . She was at last, with her 
 mother Marcella, committed to the flames. Immediately 
 thereupon receiving the sentence of condemnation, she was 
 led away to die by Basilides, one of the officers in the army. 
 But when the multitude attempted to assault and insult her 
 with abusive language, he by keeping off restrained their 
 insolence, exhibiting the greatest compassion and kindness 
 to her. Perceiving the man's sympathy, she exhorts him to be 
 of good cheer, for after she was gone she would intercede for 
 him with her Lord. . . . Not long after Basilides plainly 
 professed himself to be a Christian." — Eusebius. 
 
 " In vain unto this oath 
 
 Ye urge me, O my fellow-soldiers ; lo ! 
 
 I swear' not by the gods nor Caesar ! So 
 
 These lips of mine are sealed unto a troth 
 
 More tirm and sure, they may not now unsay 
 
 Their steadfast pledge, ' Thou art a Christian ? ' Yea. 
 
 A Christian, yea ! and evermore, Amen ! 
 
 No more Basilides ! Such name I bore 
 
 But yesterday — a man with other men 
 
 Who bowed the knee to all that men adore ; 
 
 Who lied, who sued, sung, flattered, jested, swore 
 
 By Caesar and the Gods ; a soldier proud 
 
 To track the crimson tunic through the fray. 
 
 And raise the loud a-la-la ! in the crowd 
 
 Of slaves the foremost slave ! These things away 
 
 Are past for ever. Yea ! a Christian ? Yea !
 
 BASILWES, 123 
 
 *' Three times to me at dead 
 Of night she came, with solemn stillness round. 
 White robed I saw her stand, with roses crowned, 
 And in her hand were roses white and red. 
 
 " She called me by my name — 
 
 ' Look up, Basilides ! Dost mind thee now 
 
 Of her, by thee and by thy soldiers led 
 
 From prison unto death ? Dost mind thee how 
 
 Thou spakest to her then ? Of words she said 
 
 Dost mind thee ? I am come to quit that vow. 
 
 For what did then await me, were it sword 
 
 Or shame, I knew not. If the burning mesh, 
 
 Death by the lion's hated paw, abhorred 
 
 Embrace — then shrank my spirit, shrank my flesh ; 
 
 I heard of many wheels the grind and roll. 
 
 Of many beasts I felt the sudden spring, 
 
 From countless eyes athirst to drink my soul 
 
 I, turning, met the unrelenting glare 
 
 Of the blue sword-gleam round me, met the stare 
 
 Of the blue distant heaven unpitying ; 
 
 Then in thine eye one moment seeking mine 
 
 I pity read, and gentlest tenderness ; 
 
 What words thou spakest then in my distress 
 
 I heard not, but my hands I felt in thine 
 
 One moment caught and held amid the press — 
 
 '* Look up," she said, " Basilides, behold 
 
 These hands of mine ! their grasp is laid on thee 
 
 For evermore ! I quit thee not, be bold," 
 
 She spake again, " for soon shalt thou be free.
 
 124 BASILIDES. 
 
 " ' A Pagan art thou, drunk 
 With many spells ? a slave art thou within 
 The dark Ergastulum each night shut in ? 
 By day the thrall of legion-masters, sunk 
 In sense, fast bound unto the earth by sin? 
 Care not for these thy fetters, nor thy stains 
 Regard ; a Mighty One for thee hath striven : 
 Strong is He, pitiful, to Him thy chains 
 Are reeds ; the past is past, effaced, forgiven. 
 Thine is the God by fire that answereth. 
 His feet within the furnace glow and move, 
 His eyes are flame that kindle flame, his breath 
 Lights up the stream of fire unquenchable 
 That unconsumed, consumeth, who can dwell 
 With everlasting burnings ? They -who love.* 
 
 '* Her words like seeds of flame 
 
 Lie in my heart. Basilides no more 
 
 Am I, and yet Basilides the same 
 
 But yesterday who flattered, jested, swore 
 
 By Caesar and the Gods. Gods ! now I name 
 
 One God whom I adore, and Him obey, 
 
 One God in Heaven who lives, on earth who died, 
 
 And lo ! He liveth ! Him the crucified 
 
 Who lives for evermore ! A Christian, yea ! "
 
 THE BATTLE-FLAG OF SIGURD. 12K 
 
 THE BATTLE-FLAG OF SIGURD. 
 
 The flag of Sigurd, the northern warrior, carried victory with 
 it, but brought death to its bearer. 
 
 I HAVE no folded flock to show, 
 
 Though from my youth I have loved the sheep, 
 
 And the Iambs, as they strayed in the valleys low. 
 
 Or clomb the upland pastures steep, 
 
 But none were given to me to keep ! 
 I stood on the hill when the dawn brake red, 
 
 Through the darkling glen the foe drew nigh, 
 They came on swift, with a stealthy tread ; 
 
 I gave the earliest warning cry ! 
 Then flashed the falchion, the arrow flew ; 
 
 I did not fight, nor yield, nor fly, 
 I held up the flag the whole day through^ 
 
 Wrap it rotnid me wheii I die I 
 
 I have no garnered sheaf to show, 
 
 Though oft with my shining sickle bared 
 
 I have wrought with the reapers, row by row, 
 
 And joined the shout as they homeward fared : 
 I was not by when the land was shared ! 
 
 I stood at noon when the maidens dread 
 
 Came forth ere the battle, to choose the slain, 
 
 And at nightfall the raven's foot was red. 
 
 And the wolves were met on the darkening 
 plain.
 
 126 THE GOLDEN THREAD. 
 
 Then hewed the hanger, the sword smote sore, 
 I held up the flag till the day went by ; 
 
 It was glued to my straining clasp with gore — 
 Wrap it round me when I die ! 
 
 I have no silken spoil to show 
 
 No torque of the beaten gold, no red 
 Rich broidered mantle, wrung from the foe, 
 
 Or flung down by chief as the banquet sped ; 
 
 I have only watched, and toiled, and bled ! 
 I stand at eve on the vessel's prow, 
 
 My heart is wounded, and I have striven 
 So long that my arm is weary now, 
 
 And the flag I bear is stained and riven ; 
 The dark waves mutter, the night dews fall ; 
 
 'Twixt a sullen sea and a stormy sky 
 I hold up the flag in the sight of all — 
 
 Wrap it round me when I die ! 
 
 THE GOLDEN THREAD. 
 
 An incident so narrated in a very early French 
 Fabliau. — {See Sir Walter Scotfs ** Essay on 
 Romantic Literature.^') 
 
 "Sans espoir, sans -pexyt."— Ancient Motto of the House of 
 Burgundy. 
 
 In pleasant lands far away 
 (Listen, gentles, for delight)
 
 THE GOLDEN THREAD. 127 
 
 Dwelt a fair lady bright, 
 
 That unto knight, page, and thrall, 
 
 Aged nurse and seneschal, 
 
 Gave upon a certain day 
 
 Gifts kind, and unto each 
 
 Somewhat spake of gentle speech 
 
 That suiteth gift kind and free. 
 
 But when she came to one who long 
 
 As page, upon his bended knee 
 
 Had served her well, and now as squire 
 
 Served her both with sword anrl song, 
 
 And as knight did yet aspire 
 
 To serve and guard her, not for hire, 
 
 But all for love and loyalty ; 
 
 Were it all her gifts were spent, 
 
 Or were it but in merry sport, 
 
 Or love, that love to hide thought, 
 
 I know not, guess not what she meant, 
 
 That do but tell the tale I heard ; 
 
 She paused, and spake never word 
 
 Nor gave look, but slowly drew 
 
 From out her scarf a golden thread, 
 
 And lightly to the squire threw. 
 
 And he for answer quickly took 
 
 His dagger forth, and lightly strook 
 
 Across his breast a wound red, 
 
 And in it laid the golden thread, 
 
 Nor spake word nor gave look, 
 
 But in the days when the green leaf 
 
 Springeth, and singeth, each that can
 
 128 THE GOLDEN THREAD, 
 
 Sing, be it bird or man, 
 
 For gladness either, or for grief; 
 
 Full softly for his heart's relief, 
 
 He sang, between the sun and shade, 
 
 A little song that he had made. 
 
 THE SQUIRE'S SOXG. 
 
 " Store hath she of gifts meet 
 
 That gave to me the golden thread ; 
 
 Store hath she of wordes sweet 
 
 That with it never word said. 
 
 How may be, then, this riddle read ? 
 
 She did not speak her meaning plain, 
 
 But if she meant her gift for pain 
 
 It suiteth well," he said, "with me. 
 
 What man that liveth but pain knoweth ? 
 
 And if for love, I ween it groweth 
 
 In gentle hearts full speedily.* 
 
 " I would that she had spoken soft, 
 I would that she had smiled," he said, 
 " As oft she speaketh, smileth oft, 
 That gave to me the golden thread. 
 And yet her gift with my degree 
 Suits, that am a lowly squire ; 
 The cloth of gold it may not be. 
 The cloth of frieze is not for me. 
 
 Amor, che in cor gentU ratto s' apprende."— Dante,
 
 THE GOLDEN THREAD, 129 
 
 In that so highly I aspire. 
 
 I prize the gift I did not choose ! 
 
 Contented well with my estate 
 
 I stand, I serve, I run, I wait. 
 
 Content am I to win, to lose, 
 
 To bear through all a heart elate, 
 
 To bear through all a wounded breast ; 
 
 And foeman's hand that seeks," he said, 
 
 " My heart to strike or sweet friend's head 
 
 That fain thereon would lean to rest. 
 
 Must strike it through the golden thread, 
 
 Must lean upon a wound red ! 
 
 " Dayes of peace and dayes of strife 
 
 Pass," he said, " and heat and cold, 
 
 And ever with my hearte's life 
 
 Is wrought the little thread of gold. 
 
 It is not with me as of old ; 
 
 My careless dayes of youth and glee 
 
 Are gone for ever, such a bold 
 
 Sweet surmise to felicitie 
 
 Hath neighboured me, and unto pain 
 
 Knit up my life with longing vain, 
 
 And neared it to a purpose high ; 
 
 And still runneth, till life flit by, 
 
 Through all my dayes a wound red, 
 
 Runneth still a golden thread I " 
 
 550
 
 I30 A LEGEND OF TOULOUSE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF TOULOUSE. 
 
 A Legend that in earliest youth 
 
 I read, remembered well — 
 A legend that in deepest ruth 
 And awe I read, and held for truth, 
 
 Is this that now I tell ; 
 A legend was it of a youth, 
 
 Who, as it then befell, 
 From out his evil soul the trace 
 Had blotted out of guiding grace, 
 
 Abjured both heaven and hell ; 
 That once unto a meadow fair, 
 
 (Heaven shield the desperate !) 
 Impelled by some dark secret snare. 
 
 Repaired, and to the burning sky 
 
 Of sumiuer noon flung up on high, 
 A dagger meant for God's own heart, 
 And spake unto himself apart 
 
 Words that make desolate. 
 
 There came from out the cloudless sky 
 
 A hand, the dagger's hilt 
 That caught, and then fell presently 
 
 Five drops, for mortal guilt 
 From Christ's dear wounds once freely spilt 
 
 And then a little leaf there fell 
 
 To that youth's foot through miracle—
 
 A LEGEND OF TOULOUSE. 131 
 
 A leaf whereon was plain 
 
 These words, these only words enwrit, 
 Enwritten not in vain, 
 
 Oh I miserere niei ; then 
 A mourner, among mourning men, 
 
 A sinner, sinner slain 
 Through love and grace abounding, he 
 Sank down on lowly bended knee, 
 Looked up to heaven and cried, 
 '* Have mercy, mercy, Lord, on me 
 For His dear sake, who on the tree 
 
 Shed forth those drops and died ! "
 
 ffvom "TOe Sours XecenD;' 
 
 THE REDBREAST. 
 
 " Far, far away, is a land of woe and darkness, spirits of evil 
 and fire. Day after day a little bird flies there, bearing in his 
 bill a drop of water to quench the flame. So near to the burn- 
 ing stream does he fiy that his feathers are scorched by it, 
 and hence he is named ' Bron-rhuddyn ' (breast burned)." — A 
 Carmarthenshire Legend of the Robin. 
 
 The souls in bliss to souls in woe 
 Would fain a message send : ' 
 
 It is not love, above, below, 
 That loves not to the end ; 
 
 This know I, though I little yet 
 Love's secret apprehend. 
 
 But how shall love wiih love prevail 
 
 Its message sweet to take. 
 What wing that will not droop and fail, 
 
 What spirit but will quake, 
 To bear it through the gloomy vale, 
 
 Across the fiery lake ?
 
 THE REDBREAST. 133 
 
 In heaven was silence ! sweet to hear 
 
 The songs that angels sing, 
 Yet sweeter then had been the clear 
 
 Quick rustle of a wing. 
 On earih was silence ! to the sun 
 
 The eagle soared ; apart 
 The dove, in grief or love for one 
 
 Sate, brooding o'er her heart ; 
 Wings, wings ! a heaven and earth of wings, 
 
 Outspread, unstirred, and free ; 
 I only heard one little bird 
 
 Make answer then, " Send me.*' 
 
 A little bird,* unseen, unheard, 
 
 When summer woods are gay, 
 That flits across a darkening path 
 
 And haunts a leafless spray ; 
 Its song is broken, sweet, and wild, 
 
 Its eye is bright and clear ; 
 It singeth best when to the west 
 
 The sinking sun draws near : 
 A bird beloved by man and child, 
 
 And to its Maker dear. 
 
 It trills not with the nightingale. 
 It moans not with the dove, 
 
 * In spring the redbreast retires to woods and thickets. 
 During summer it is rarely to be seen. — Bewick's British 
 Birds.
 
 134 THE REDBREAST, 
 
 It hath no fond heart-piercing wail 
 
 Of passion nor of love ; 
 It mounts not with the lark on wings 
 
 Of rapture and desire, 
 It hath a heart that does not quail, 
 
 A wing that does not tire. 
 
 ^^I do not fear the valley drear ^ 
 
 Nor yet beyond the gate 
 What lies, though it indeed be vast, 
 
 And dim, and desolate. 
 My breast is scorched with fire, so near 
 The burfting wind Ifiy; to fear 
 
 Would now for me be late. 
 
 ' ' For me the little children spread 
 
 Their crumbs upon the stiow, 
 I stay with them and I am fed - 
 
 When the s%vallows flit and go. 
 I have eaten of mans daily bread 
 
 Too long to shtin his woe ; 
 I have met earth^s sleety blast, 
 
 I have felt its driving rain : 
 The time of fear is overpast 
 
 For one, the mate of pain ; 
 
 ** Yea, more ! upon the bitter cross 
 I saw One hang, who bore 
 
 Of all Creation s wrong and loss. 
 The weight and burden sote ;
 
 THE REDBREAST. 133 
 
 Afui then from out a brow divine. 
 
 With anguish pierced and torn, 
 I strove, with this small beak oj mine 
 
 To wrest a single thorn. 
 
 "■ Too slender ivas 7tiy little bill ; 
 
 I strove and strove in vaiji ; 
 But then, in gtterdon of my ivill, 
 
 My bosom met a stain. 
 Broad, ruddy, deep, that shields from ill 
 
 And marks it unto pain." 
 
 Oh, little bird ! these words of thine 
 
 Methinks are true and wise ! 
 For he who looks on man who lives, 
 
 Who looks on God that dies. 
 Baptised within the cloud, the sea, 
 Baptised within the fire, like thee, 
 May pass along the valley drear. 
 And through the gateway dim, nor fear 
 
 For aught beyond that lies. 
 
 November 15.'/^, 1S70.
 
 Ifrom ^'CTarmina Cruets/* 
 
 THE GARDEN OF PROSERPINE. 
 
 Amaranth and asphodel, 
 
 Methinks I know ye well, 
 And thou, frail wind-swept flower that in the dim 
 
 Green woods, unseen by him 
 Thou lovest best, must pass, beloved in vain ! 
 
 Here blooms each flower whose leaf 
 
 Or petal hints at grief 
 And bears a mystic sign, a crimson stain ; 
 
 The golden rod with fire 
 
 Stands tipp'd, the tuberose, 
 
 In its swift fading glows 
 And lights within its heart a funeral pyre. 
 
 No roses, white nor red, 
 
 Glow here, the poppy's head 
 
 Droops drown'd in spells that keep 
 
 The keys of death and sleep, 
 
 Of anguish, ecstasy, and wild desire ;
 
 THE ALOE. 137 
 
 Here ever on the turf green twilight lies ; 
 Here ever warm and fragiant is the air, 
 And all this place is desolate and fair, 
 Made by a King, and meet for Love's delight ; 
 Yet here joy comes not, but the exquisite 
 Brief thrill of rapture in a pang that dies. 
 Here walks a Queen with steadfast eyes unwet, 
 With white narcissus garlanded, that still 
 Dreams of fair Enna's sunlit mead, and yet 
 Mourns for the fresh, ungather'd daffodiL 
 
 THE ALOE. 
 
 "The aloe, after a long life of rest, sends up a large flower- 
 spike, which shoots up in a few weeks on a stem from twenty to 
 thirty feet high, utterly destroying the parent plant by its 
 rapid, exhausting gi-owth." 
 
 Love's daily, fond, continual miracle 
 
 I cannot work for thee, nor crown thy day 
 
 Each passing hour with bloom of bud and bell ; 
 
 Not mine with subtle fancies light and gay 
 
 To clasp thy soul about with delicate rings 
 
 Like hers, the summer's wooer, born with wings, 
 
 Sweet flower that fain would climb, yet only clings ! 
 
 Let flowers like hers be fair. 
 
 For they were born to bless
 
 138 A MORNING IN SPRING. 
 
 The warm, still brooding air, 
 
 And win the wind's caress ; 
 
 Such flowers were born to woo, 
 
 To flatter, yet be true, 
 And spend their souls away in fond excess; 
 
 So let the cystus' snows 
 Fall light upon the sunny grass at noon ; 
 
 So let the gorgeous rose 
 Fold to her proud warm heart the heart of June, 
 And let each pass in passing of the leaf, 
 In passing of the flower, when earthward goes 
 All that earth knows of glory, sweet and brief; 
 
 A flower that is not fair, 
 But wondrous, blooms my secret soul within ; 
 Sudden the life it springs to ! strange and rare 
 The aspect that it weareth, long shut in 
 From sunshine and sweet air as in a tomb ; 
 It cleaves the heart that beareth it to win 
 A moment's triumph ending in swift doom ; 
 — Then marvel not that it was slow to bloom. 
 
 A MORNING IN SPRING. 
 
 How sweetly, sweetly spoke 
 
 Flowers, fields, and sunny skies that morn in May 1 
 
 As if the earth awoke 
 Some plain, old, long-accustomed word to say,
 
 A MORNING IN SPRING. 139 
 
 But seeing Heaven come forth upon the way 
 To meet her, in an unsought poem broke ! 
 
 Methought her very breast, 
 
 As with a sigh repress'd, 
 A long, deep sigh of bliss, did swell and heave j 
 
 The skies above were clear. 
 
 The kiss without the tear 
 They gave that morn ; they loved and did not grieve. 
 
 Each tender presage curl'd 
 
 Within the bud unfurl'd : 
 All plumed and wing'd each leaf while light and 
 
 shade 
 Did mix, and chase, and lovingly invade 
 The others' realm ; each cottage seem'd a nest 
 Among its trees ; the meads were golden fair, 
 Odour, and light, and bloom upon the air 
 Strove which might tell its happy story best. 
 
 Oh, earth, I feel thee press 
 
 My soul in thy caress ; 
 What would' st thou speak to me, thou sayest, 
 
 "Guess!" 
 
 Is now some ancient bond 
 Of discord harsh repeal'd? 
 
 Is now some world beyond 
 To sight and sense reveal'd ?
 
 140 THE PL A YFELL WS, 
 
 Or is this but a veil 
 
 Thou drawest o'er thy pale 
 
 Worn face? is this thy pride 
 
 Of spirit that would hide 
 Thy wound beneath thy vesture's broider'd fold ? 
 
 Enough ! thou wilt not tell 
 
 Thy secret till a spell 
 More strong shall wrest and wring it from thy hold. 
 
 vSmile on, o'er good and ill 
 
 Brooding unconscious still, 
 Sphynx-likc, impassive, terrible and cold ! 
 
 THE PLAYFELLOWS. 
 
 Far away and long ago. 
 
 Long ago and far away, 
 
 Seems it now since in the low 
 
 Deep valley, shut from rougher weather, 
 
 Love, Hope, Joy, and I together 
 
 Play'd, ah ! many and many a day ; 
 
 Hid beneath the branching fern. 
 
 Hid beneath the blooming heather, 
 
 Hiding, seeking, each in turn. 
 
 Oh ! what games we play'd together ! 
 
 Till one day, within the dell, 
 
 Hope and Joy, together hiding, 
 
 Hid so long and hid so well.
 
 ONE FRIEND. 141 
 
 We found them not, though keenly chicling, 
 
 When we call'd came no replying. 
 
 Came a sound of hidden laughter 
 
 From the wood's deep heart, and after 
 
 Came a sound of secret sighing ; 
 
 Then a shadow from the hill 
 
 Crept, and all grew sudden still ; 
 
 Gay and green and golden there 
 
 Daffodils 'twixt light and shade 
 
 Laugh'd, blue periwinkles made 
 
 Nets our childish feet to snare ; 
 
 On us lightly from the bough 
 
 Cherry blossoms dropp'd ; but now 
 
 Through the glen we slowly pass'd, 
 
 We knew that we had seen the last 
 
 Of Hope and Joy, no more together 
 
 Play we there in summer weather. 
 
 ONE FRIEND. 
 
 Said a sick and lonely child, 
 " Often have I tired of thee, 
 Tired of all thy answers mild, 
 Heard so oft, so wearily ; 
 Wilt thou never tire of me, 
 Gentle Patience ? now look forth 
 From our window looking north,
 
 142 A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 And tell us where the others play, 
 All this long, warm summer day." 
 
 " Love is standing in the sun, 
 
 Joy and beauty at his side, 
 
 Now in one their shadows run, 
 
 Hope has sent an arrow wide ; 
 
 Shading from his brow the light, 
 
 Now I see him watch its flight." 
 
 ** Oh ! that they would look this way, 
 
 Oh ! that to this quiet room 
 
 They would come awhile to play ! 
 
 See my rose-tree all in bloom. 
 
 See the flowers I dried last Spring ; 
 
 Hear my little linnet sing 
 
 In his cage ! they need not stay 
 
 Longer than they please ! " the child 
 
 Patience soothed with answer mild. 
 
 A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 " Herb ist des Lebcns 
 Innerster Kem." 
 
 She sang at evening in an ancient room, 
 
 In the Spring twilight ; soft the sunset gloom, 
 
 And at the casement soft the pear-tree's bloom
 
 A LIFE-REQUIEM. 143 
 
 Look'd in, and from the coppice warblings soft 
 And slender, met low bleatings from the croft, 
 Peace was on all within, without ; yet pain 
 Made sweet the singer's voice, made sweet the 
 
 strain 
 She sang, and in the listener's heart was pain ; 
 What art thou, Life ? methinks thou leavest room 
 For the sweet bird to sing, the flower to bloom, 
 And canst not give the heart its little hour ; 
 To spread in sweeter song, in fairer flower ; 
 Oh ! thou art bitter. Life ! within thy strong 
 Rude grasp the birthright crushing, let this wrong 
 Suffice thee ! now relenting, let thy cold 
 Reluctant hand one little boon unfold ; 
 Take not the blessing also ; give the breast 
 One little sunset hour of peace and rest ; 
 Canst thou not give one hour ? The day is past, 
 The summer's golden noon was overcast ; 
 The day is past, the night draws on : oh ! night ! 
 Be thou more warm, more kind, than was the light. 
 
 A LIFE- REQUIEM. 
 
 ■ A life that had no friends but God and death," 
 
 None knoweth of thy grave ; 
 \\Tiat wert thou? kind and young,
 
 144 A LIFE-REQUIEM. 
 
 Tender, and true, and brave ; 
 Yea, all that hath been sung 
 In poet's song, or told 
 In story, sweet and old, 
 Was thine ; an aspect fair, 
 A heart to love and dare, 
 An arm to guard and save, 
 A soul for high emprise ; 
 And still thine ardent eyes 
 Woo'd life unto thy breast, 
 And found it fair, caress'd 
 For all it promised, blest 
 By thee for all it gave. 
 Yet on thy life, from day 
 To day, as on the child 
 Outstretch'd the Prophet lay ; 
 Pain lay outstretch'd, and prest 
 Upon thy brain, heart, breast, 
 Until thine anguish wild 
 And weary, changed and sank 
 To silent spaces blank ; 
 And love, hope, joy, repress'd, 
 Seem'd as by harsh decree 
 The aspect weird to take 
 Of flowers their thirst that slake 
 At desert springs, and break 
 In hues of mockery. 
 
 Life was to thee a shroud ; 
 Each day that o'er thee sped
 
 A LIFE-REQUIEM. 145 
 
 Heap'd ashes on thy head, 
 And through the tumult loud, 
 'Twixt sense and spirit, Pain 
 Wove its thick spells, and round 
 Thy silent life-springs bound 
 And wrapt its fine-wrought chain ; 
 So did'st thou sit and hear 
 Afar, the bird sing clear, 
 And see the flower unfold 
 In the warm noon-tide gold ; 
 Love sued and pleasure sang, 
 And like a clarion, pride, 
 With full, clear summons rang 
 Upon the air — all died. 
 
 None knoweth of thy grave ; 
 Thy life and heart in twain 
 Were broken ; even so, 
 How should the passer know 
 Their record sad and vain ? 
 Fling in the dust, and there 
 Let fall with it Life's fair. 
 Fond presage unfulfill'd ; 
 Fling eager hope unstill'd 
 And love, that burning low. 
 Burn'd unconsuming here ; 
 What need of flower or tecr 
 To mark this heaving sod ? 
 The spot is mark'd by God '
 
 146 NOVEMBER, 
 
 A THOUGHT AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Oh ! that some soul o'er-weigh'd 
 With love and pity, as a flower with dew, 
 For me at this still moment wept and pray'd, 
 And pray'd for me alone ! that leaning through 
 My casement, now to mine a spirit drew 
 
 So close it scarce could hear 
 
 My secret, nor my tear 
 
 Could feel, nor mark my breast 
 
 That flutter'd in unrest, 
 Till, like two drops that roll 
 Within each other on the shaken leaf, 
 Absorbed and sunk within the tender soul 
 Of pity, pass'd the shrinking soul of grief ! 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 ** Poor heart of mine, dost mourn 
 To see the rose-leaves shed 
 Fall on their earthy bed ? 
 To see the day outworn 
 Fade out into the dead 
 Chill eve so soon ? dost mourn 
 Above the wither'd leaf, the blighted corn ?
 
 NOVEMBER. 147 
 
 *' I mourn not for the sped 
 
 Swift daylight in its close, 
 
 I mourn not for the fled 
 
 Fair spirit of the rose, 
 
 That pass'd not till it fed 
 
 With fragrance all the air 
 
 Of June ; a sweeter care 
 
 Was mine than buds in thickest green enclose, 
 
 A dearer hope than lives in aught that dies and 
 
 blows." 
 
 • ' I mourn not for a tru^.t 
 
 Misplaced, a broken troth ; 
 
 Life healeth life that even from the dust 
 
 Will stir and bloom ; I mourn 
 
 A sweeter hope withdrawn, 
 
 I miss the sealing of a firmer oath." 
 
 *' Who can endure this frost? 
 
 WJw can endure this cold? 
 
 The harvest's blighted gold ? 
 
 The buried seed-corn lost ? 
 
 A tiine of sweeping rains, of bitter grief , 
 
 The dews are thick on earth and light the fillen 
 
 leaf' 
 
 " And didst thou think through prayer 
 
 To pierce this heavy air ? 
 
 Through patience to unwind 
 
 The cere-cloths of the mind ?
 
 148 NOVEMBER, 
 
 Through love to breathe away 
 
 The grave-damps of decay, 
 
 Through love, through faith, through prayer, 
 
 Didst hope upon some fair, 
 
 Fond, future day to find 
 
 Earth purer, Heaven more kind ? 
 Behold ! the heavens are strong, the earth is old, 
 And all that comes between is dim and cold. 
 
 " A fall of wither'd leaves. 
 
 The voice of one that grieves, 
 
 That grieves nor yet prevails — 
 
 For prayer that makes with Hope 
 
 A covenant, yet fails 
 
 For ever of its scope ; 
 
 For Faith's lone lamp that pnles. 
 
 Still raised above the dark 
 
 Lone wat'ry waste ; for Love that finds no ark, 
 
 But still with patient breast 
 
 Broods on until its nest 
 
 Is filled with wint'ry flakes of cold despair ; 
 
 For Christ that still delayeth ; 
 
 For Life that still gainsayeth 
 
 The spirit's trust ; for dark despair that sayeth, 
 
 * Where is the promise of His coming ? where 
 
 The answer to thy prayer ? ' 
 Behold the heavens are strong, all things remain 
 As they have been at first, and hope is vain." 
 ^'' A time of sweepi no- rains, of hitter gi-ief 
 The dezvs lie thick on earthy mid red the blighted haf^
 
 DESDICHADO. 149 
 
 DESDICHADO. 
 
 Weep not for them who weep 
 For friend or lover taken hence, for child 
 That falls 'mid early flowers and grass asleep, 
 
 Untempted, undefiled. 
 
 Mourn not for them that mourn 
 For sin's keen arrow with its rankling smart, 
 God's hand will bind again what He hath torn, 
 
 He heals the broken heart. 
 
 Eut weep for him whose eye 
 Sees in the midnight skies a starry dome 
 Thick sown with worlds that whirl and hurry by, 
 
 And give the heart no home ; 
 
 Who hears amid the dense 
 Loud trampling crash and outcry of this wild 
 Thick jungle world of drear magnificence. 
 
 No voice which says, my child ; 
 
 Who marks through earth and space 
 A strange dumb pageant pass before a vacant 
 
 shrine, 
 And feels within his inmost soul a place 
 
 Unfill'd by the Divine ;
 
 I50 A PASTORAL. 
 
 Weep, weep, for him, above 
 Tliat looks for God, and sees unpitying Fate, 
 That finds within his heart, in place of love, 
 
 A dull, unsleeping hate. 
 
 A PASTORAL. 
 
 A SIMPLE shepherd I, 
 
 Unskill'd to guard or tend 
 My flocks that wander slow. 
 
 But little prized by friend, 
 But little feared by foe ; 
 Yet sweet and many are the songs I know. 
 
 In youth no gentle art 
 Was mine to learn or teach ; 
 As shepherds wont, my speech 
 Was rude, unapt to reach 
 
 The ear, or win the heart, 
 Till, where moist willows grew, a slender reed 
 I found, and fashion'd fitly to my need. 
 
 Then from the sedgy brook, 
 Where yet its kindred shook, 
 A sigh so deep, so sweet, so piercing broke,
 
 A PASTORAL, 151 
 
 That ere I knew, a sigh 
 Went back in fond reply, 
 And on my lips a sudden song awoke. 
 
 With each warm tender thing 
 
 That thrust its head in spring, 
 From earth's dark breast, my spirit communed 
 free ; 
 
 A soul that loves and grieves 
 
 Would speak from out the leaves, 
 The clouds stole down the hills to talk with me. 
 
 And oft with unconfess'd 
 
 Fond instinct, only guess'd. 
 Through some quick pressure, all the silent air, 
 
 The while I sing, would fill 
 
 With light, would throb and thrill 
 As if a mighty heart were beating theie. 
 
 And while I sang, the swains 
 That listen'd, straight forgot 
 
 How fierce upon the plains 
 The sun, the shepherd's lot 
 
 How hard — their slender gains, 
 Their ceaseless, thankless toils, remembering not. 
 
 And while I sang, the maid 
 On tiptoe unafraid 
 Would steal at shut of eve, and linger lon£^,
 
 t^i A PASTORAL 
 
 With parted lips, and sh}' 
 Sweet, unaverted eye, 
 Forgetting still the singer in the song. 
 
 I sang of war, of love, 
 
 Of gods that reign above 
 In bliss, of men that suffer — still I sung 
 
 Of deeper pangs, of tears 
 
 More sweet, that fell in years 
 Of broader flight, while yet our earth v/as young. 
 
 So sang I until song 
 Forsook me ; I would tell 
 How this my strain so well 
 
 Beloved, beloved so long, 
 Fell from my lips, as falls the star, 
 
 As falls the leaf, to dwell 
 (If yet it lives) apart, afar. 
 
 Like echo shut within a secret dell. 
 
 It was the summer prime 
 
 Of noon, the sleeping time 
 Of Pan, no leaflet stirr'd, yet from the ground 
 
 Whereon I lay, the clear 
 
 Low breathing met mine ear 
 Of woods, rocks, vales, and hills in slumber 
 bound. 
 
 And on the air a slow 
 Sweet shining now would grow, 
 And o'er the sunny spaces flit and fail,
 
 A PASTORAL. 153 
 
 As if beloved and fair, 
 Earth softly, unaware, 
 Smiled "neath the secret of her folded veii 
 
 Beneath the beechen shade 
 
 The golden sunbeams stray'd 
 In sleep, my flock slept round me, all was still ; 
 
 "WTien from afar I caught 
 
 A flute's clear note, methought 
 Some shepherd bids me to a contest of sweet skilL 
 
 It ceased, and at its close 
 
 A voice in song arose, 
 So sword-like sweet, it seem'd to cleave the thin 
 
 Warm air, and still, with soft 
 
 Delay, to question oft, 
 And still to woo, and evermore to win. 
 
 This was no ancient tale 
 Of flying nymph, or bold 
 Free hunter, this no old 
 
 Fond funereal wail 
 For youth slow fading by a fountain's side ; 
 
 And yet a high lament 
 
 Through all its changes went. 
 It told of One that loved, it told of One that died. 
 
 It told of rude disgrace, 
 And of an anguish'd face. 
 It told, methought ; and of a wounded Friend.
 
 154 A PASTORAL. 
 
 Of pain it told, and shame ; 
 Of love that overcame 
 Through simple skill of loving to the end. 
 
 A silence on the plain, 
 
 A silence on the hill, 
 To hear that song again, 
 
 I listen, listen still. 
 Oh, sweet to me my vain 
 
 Old sungs and stories free, 
 Thy story sad and plain 
 
 Is now more sweet to me. 
 
 Take, Shepherd, take thy prize, 
 
 For who like thee can sing ? 
 No fleece of mingled dyes, 
 
 No apples fair I bring ; 
 No smooth two-handled bowl, 
 
 Wrought with the clasping vine- 
 Take, take my heart and soul, 
 
 My songs, for they are thine ! 
 
 Oh, sing thy song again, 
 And these of mine may pass 
 
 As quick as summer rain 
 Dries on the thirsty grass.
 
 THE SUN-FLOWER. 155 
 
 Thou wouldst not do me wrong. 
 
 Thou wilt not silent be ; 
 Thy one, thy only song, 
 
 Dear Shepherd, teach to nie ! 
 
 THE SUNFLOWER. 
 
 Till the slow daylight pale, 
 
 A willing slave, fast bound to one above, 
 I wait ; he seems to speed, and change, and fail ; 
 
 1 know he will not move. 
 
 I lift my golden orb 
 
 To his, unsmitten when the roses die, 
 And in my broad and burning disk absorb 
 
 The splendours of his eye. 
 
 His eye is like a clear 
 
 Keen flame that searches through me; I must droop 
 Upon my stalk, I cannot reach his sphere ; 
 
 To mine he cannot stoop. 
 
 I win not my desire, 
 
 And yet I fail not of my guerdon ; lo ! 
 A thousand flickering darts and tongues of tue . 
 
 Around me spread and glow.
 
 156 SITA, 
 
 All ray'd and crown'd, I miss 
 
 No queenly state until the summer wane, 
 The hours flit by ; none knoweth of my bliss, 
 
 And none has guessed my pain. 
 
 I follow one above, 
 
 I track the shadow of his steps, I grow 
 Most like to him I love 
 
 Of all that shines below. 
 
 SITA. 
 
 Sita, the divine spouse of Rama, is toru from him by evil 
 genii, under whose power she long remains. When, after a 
 protracted separation, Sita is again restored to Rama, he turns 
 from her coldly, under the idea that during her cruel bondage 
 and long wanderings she may have met with contamination. 
 She appeals to the ordeal of fire and flings herself within it, 
 adjuring the flame, as searching aU things, to bear witness 
 to her purity. The fire restores her " faultless, pure, immac- 
 ulate, one who has never offended against her lord in speech, 
 in heart, in eyes." 
 
 Death-smitten with a look 
 
 From him she loved, of doubt and question cold, 
 
 She turn'd from him she loved without rebuke, 
 
 And stood amazed ; then spake out keen and bold- 
 
 As one whose grief already is too old 
 
 For fond reproach :
 
 SIT A. 157 
 
 " All pain except this pain, 
 To live and meet his cold averted eye ; 
 All shame, except his lofty, still disdain ; 
 All other outrage schemed 'twixt earth and sky 
 I have endured for ages, still upborne 
 By thought of Rama's love ; I meet his scorn ; 
 Come Fire, and end this undream'd agony." 
 
 And even while she spake 
 She fell a flame within the flame as light 
 As melts upon the stream a snowy flake. 
 The fire sent forth a thousand lambent bright 
 Swift flickering tongues, each one that did proclaim 
 Her pure and stainless, '^'' Sita, free from blame.'''' 
 The flame caress'd her scarlet vesture's pride, 
 No flower that garlanded her forehead shrank, 
 Her bosom glow'd ; as one that doth deride 
 Her fate she stood serene as though she drank 
 The flame's fierce breath. 
 
 Then sang she, " Oh, thou keen 
 Attesting flame ! Thou callest me by name, 
 Thou sayest to me, Welcome, free from blame 
 In thought, word, deed, unstain'd ! and yet the 
 
 same 
 Were I, still Sita, still a blameless Queen, 
 Hadst Thou too join'd with all to work me shame ' 
 
 Had all on Earth made cause 
 With all in Heaven to drag me unto ill,
 
 158 SITA. 
 
 I had been ever pure, and to the laws 
 
 That bound me ever true ! rememb'ring still, 
 
 Rama's deep eyes, and all the heaven we shared 
 
 'Mid the high hills, in many a balmy cleft, 
 
 And chasm the warm thunder scarce had left 
 
 Yea ! let my spirit to its depths be bared, 
 
 Still were I pure ! though ages past away, 
 
 And found me still the demon's scoff and prey 
 
 Through spells accurst, or left me drifted, driven 
 
 Through Hell's wide vaults ; still trampled on, 
 
 despised, 
 My soul was his, although our lives were riven, 
 Yea, scorn'd and outraged, agonised, abhorr'd, 
 Still I was Rama's love, and he was Sita's Lord ! 
 
 And Thou^ oh, champion, late 
 And sure ! Thou Fire that searching all things, 
 
 dost proclaim 
 Me pure and stainless ! Sita, free from blame ! 
 Hadst thou, too, leagued thyself with iron Fate, 
 Hadst joined the cruel earth and bitter sky 
 To leave forsaken Sita desolate ; 
 Then from itself unto itself my soul 
 Would witness to the whole ; 
 Still to itself my heart would testify 
 And prove me Sita ! Sita still the pride 
 Of Heaven, the cherish'd bride 
 Of Rama, fair and uncontaminate. "
 
 SIT A. 159 
 
 She ceased, nor to the sky 
 Nor sun appealing turned ; nor yet the eye 
 Of Rama sought ; but stood as one compelled 
 To speak the words she utter'd, not in pride. 
 Nor wrath nor scorn, but even as impell'd, 
 By ?teadfast truth. So stood she, self-upheld, 
 And before all the worlds, self-justified.
 
 iBavl^ poems* 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Once in a garden bounded 
 
 By many a lofty wall, 
 Where quaint old sentinels, in stone. 
 
 Kept watch and ward o'er all, 
 But Oldening southwards, shaded 
 
 By trees that swept the ground, 
 And kept the turf unfaded 
 
 And green, the summer round, 
 There was a little lake, and there 
 
 An island, and a boat 
 That lay 'mid shining water-flags 
 
 And lily-leaves afloat ; 
 Smooth as the swards around them dipt, 
 
 Swept only by the wing 
 Of gauzy dragon-fly, that dipt 
 
 In many a mazy ring, 
 Were those still waters ; all unstirred 
 
 The rose's leaf would lie, 
 Blown there by summer winds ; the bird 
 
 Skim, lightly glancing by.
 
 CHILDHOOD. i6i 
 
 This was the Haunt of childhood ; 
 
 Once there I seemed to grow 
 Among the flowers, and with the fruits 
 
 To change and ripen slow ; 
 I watched them through all changes, there 
 
 Upon the grass I lay 
 Snowed over by the blossoms light 
 
 That fell so thick in May ; 
 I saw the currant strips that hung 
 
 Transparent on the stems 
 They clothed as in the Eastern tale 
 
 With many coloured gems ; 
 I watched the peach's sunny cheek 
 
 Turn slowly on the wall, 
 And with no guess at Nature's laws 
 
 Saw many an apple fall ; 
 Gold-tinted, rosy-tinged, their hues, 
 
 Were mine, and I as they ; 
 The purple bloom was on my life, 
 
 The down unbrushed away ; 
 My world was then like His that first 
 
 A happy garden knew, 
 Unworn and fresh, and glistening bright 
 
 With shining spheres of dew ; 
 My soul was full of light that passed 
 
 As through a tinctured pane 
 In warm and vermeil hues, and cast 
 
 On all its gorgeous stain ; 
 The dial on its grassy mound 
 
 That silent marked the hours, 
 
 55^
 
 1 62 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Time's footfall then awoke no sound, 
 
 That only trod on flowers), 
 The sun-flowers and the moon-flowers 
 
 (These were lilies white and tall), 
 The ancient griffins that looked down 
 
 Upon me from the wall ! 
 These were for tokens unto me 
 
 And signs, they seemed to pass 
 Into my life as then I lay 
 
 At noon-day on the grass, 
 And twined a wondrous history 
 
 Slow twisting, branch and stem, 
 My garlands binding all the while 
 
 My Being up with them ; 
 And I knew that in the wild-wood 
 
 'Mid the meadows, on the hill 
 Were flowers, but unto childhood 
 
 The best were nearest still ; 
 And I sometimes thought, " out yonder 
 
 I will seek for blossoms too," 
 But turned again the fonder 
 
 To those that round me grew ; 
 Still have I flowers around me — 
 
 But some that grow so high 
 I cannot reach unto them, 
 
 And they drop not till they die ; 
 Still I have flowers around me— - 
 
 But some that lie so low 
 I cannot stoop to pluck them, 
 
 They must wither where they grow ;
 
 CHILDHOOD. 163 
 
 Still have I flowers to eye more fair, 
 
 i\Iore dear unto the heart 
 Than those, but scattered here and there 
 
 They bloom, and far apart ; 
 I scarce know where to find them, 
 
 I can never hope again 
 Within one knot to bind them, 
 
 As I did so often then. 
 Soon told were childhood's treasures — 
 
 The childish world was small, 
 But its wonders and its pleasures 
 
 Were its own — it held them All ! 
 
 Once, in a mansion, looking 
 
 Upon that garden fair. 
 Was a wide and pleasant parlour 
 
 A^nd an eastward bedroom ; there 
 As on my little bed I lay 
 
 Before my half-shut eyes 
 Danced dreams of pleasure, that the morn 
 
 Was sure to realise ; 
 When the sun knocked at my window, 
 
 And to give him entrance free 
 I sprung, because he never came 
 
 Without some gift for me ! 
 Still night brings visions round my bed 
 
 As sweet but not so true, 
 And still the morning comes with gifts, 
 
 But now they are not new ;
 
 i64 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 So I cry not now " To-morrow's come 
 
 My spirit, less elate, 
 For all that it may bring to me 
 
 Full patiently can wait. 
 My Evening and my Morning then 
 
 Made up one perfect Day 
 Of joy, and round the parlour fire 
 
 My winter garden lay ; 
 I played beside it till I saw 
 
 The deepening shadows fall, 
 And through the twilight come and go 
 
 The pictures on the wall, 
 This was the hour for stories 
 
 And wondrous tales, that drew 
 My spirit after them to lands 
 
 Where all was strange and new ; 
 And I listened, and I wondered. 
 
 Then hastened to resume 
 My journey (broken oft by falls 
 
 That harmed not) round the room ; 
 I have now of longer journeys 
 
 O'er rougher roads, to tell, 
 And sorer hurts, without the kiss 
 
 That used to make them well ! 
 This was the Home of childhood \ 
 
 As in a Fairy Ring 
 Within the circle of its hearth 
 
 Was drawn each cherished thing ; 
 I sent no restless thought beyond, 
 
 I looked not to the door,
 
 CHILDHOOD. 165 
 
 If the whole world had entered there 
 
 It could not give me more 
 Than those that sat around it— all 
 
 I knew of good and wise, 
 Spoke for me then upon their lips, 
 
 And lived within their eyes ; 
 I had no Future then, no Past, 
 
 My life was unto me 
 But one bright now — the happiness 
 
 That has no History ! 
 Still hath my heart a hearth, but now 
 
 Its circle is so wide 
 That those it burns for, never meet 
 
 Around it side by side ; 
 They are severed, they are scattered. 
 
 And now the twilight's fall 
 Too often only comes to me 
 
 With shadows on the wall ; 
 Soon filled with childhood's measure, 
 
 The childish heart was small, 
 Yet they that made its treasure 
 
 Were its own — it held them All ! 
 
 Now is that hearth deserted, 
 
 So warm and bright of yore, 
 And that pleasant garden— through its paths 
 
 I shall never wander more ; 
 It is closed to me as surely 
 
 As if to bar my way,
 
 i66 CHILDHOOD, 
 
 The Flaming Sword before its gate 
 
 Were turning night and day ; 
 Yet I would not therefore sever 
 
 My spirit from the light, 
 But strive to widen ever 
 
 Its circle of delight ; 
 For all things from it taken 
 
 And all it seeks in vain, 
 Together prest and shaken 
 
 Shall fill it yet again ; 
 For each dim and shadowy token, 
 
 Each hint to childhood given, 
 Each promise Earth hath broken 
 
 Shall yet be kept in Heaven, 
 When joy and peace long-parted 
 
 Meet in an endless kiss, 
 And perfect Love is joined at last 
 
 To pure and perfect bliss ! 
 For the great and gracious Giver 
 
 Till he spread both hands to bless 
 The cup that ever floweth o'er 
 
 And never holdeth less, 
 With the blessing without sorrow, 
 
 With the long and perfect Day 
 Of light, that hath no morrow 
 
 To take its joy away. 
 Lets not the heaped-up measure 
 
 Within the bosom fall ; 
 Keeps back its richest treasure 
 
 Until Pie gives it All 1
 
 WINTER, 167 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Cold, cold ! it is very cold 
 
 Without the house ; the year is old ! 
 
 His pulse is faint, and his blood runs slow, 
 
 He lies, like a corpse, in his shroud of snow ; 
 
 It was drawn round his limbs by a noiseless 
 
 sprite ; 
 He grew white with age in a single night. 
 Wrap him up close, and cover him deep ; 
 Nothing is left for him now but to sleep ! 
 Sleep away ! dream away ! take no care. 
 All day falls the snow through the darkened air ; 
 Fast, fast ! for it knows, firm packed together. 
 The clouds have laid stores in for wintry weather ; 
 Dark, dark ! like a lazy slave, the sun 
 Leaves his short half-day's work all undone ; 
 But the night is clear, and the stars shine forth. 
 And the fire-flags stream in the frosty north. 
 And the glistening earth in the moon's pale ray, 
 Looks fair with the smile of a softer day : 
 Red breaks the morn, and the evening glows 
 With the sea-shell's blush on the drifted snows, 
 Rose-tinted pearl ! while 'mid the glooms 
 The flake-feathered trees show like giant plumes. 
 No stir awakes in the death-like woods, 
 In those still enchanted solitudes, 
 Wreathed in all wild fantastic forms
 
 1 68 WINTER, 
 
 Are the tomb-like halls of the King of Storms, 
 The streams are all chained, and their prisoned wavt;s 
 Sleep a charmed sleep within crystal caves ; 
 No stir in the waters, no sound on the air, — 
 Their inmates find shelter, they only know where ; 
 But cold is the comfort they own at the best, 
 When the icicle hangs where the swallow found rest, 
 And a few of Earth's wise things when summer was gay 
 Laid by something safe for a winterly day ; 
 But the wisest among them have taken a sleep, 
 Snug coiled up, and warm, while the snow lies so deep, 
 Where the keen frost may bite, yet can do them no harm, 
 As they dream of the summer and all that is warm : 
 No breath in the valley, no breeze on the hill, 
 No stir in the farm, all is dull, all is chill ; 
 And the cattle lie huddled within the fold, — 
 Cold, cold ! it is very cold. 
 
 Warm, warm ! it is so warm. 
 Within the Heart, that all is warm ! 
 The Heart knows a secret to keep out the chill, 
 Let it come when it likes, and stay as it will, 
 For, the keener it blows, and the deeper it snows, 
 The higher the pure flame of charity glows ! 
 When earth grows unkind to her children, nor cares 
 How soon they may sink to that cold breast of hers ; 
 Though SHE know not pity, love will not withhold; 
 There are those who have hunger to bear with the cold ; 
 There are homes that are no homes ! no work and do 
 
 wage, 
 No sunshine for childhood, no comfort for age,
 
 WINTER, 169 
 
 No food and no fire ; but sickness, with care 
 
 AuJ' poverty, dreary companions ! are there. 
 
 Oh sweet to sit around the board 
 That Providence hath blessed, — 
 And sweet to draw the curtain round our warm and 
 
 sheltered rest ; 
 To see the faces at v/hose smile the household hearth 
 
 grows bright, 
 And to feel that, 'mid the darkness, in our dwellings 
 
 there is light ! 
 If we have done what love might do, and wished that it 
 
 were more, 
 To keep the grim wolf yet awhile without the poor man's 
 
 door; 
 And if our day hath not gone down, without its kind 
 
 relief. 
 To some of those its sad dawn woke to misery and 
 
 grief. 
 \Ve need not fear the frost and cold ; we have found out 
 
 a charm 
 To keep our House, and Home, and Heart, and all our 
 
 Being warm. 
 Kind Christmas comes with all its gifts, and absent 
 
 friends seem near. 
 And the Christian hails earth's darkest day for the 
 
 brightest in his year ; 
 And there is peace, and there is joy, and there are 
 
 anthems sung,
 
 I70 . THE DEFORMED CHILD, 
 
 As once by angels in the air, when Christmas-time was 
 
 young ;— 
 And our hearts learn the tones of that happy psalm. 
 Warm, warm ! it is very warm. 
 
 THE DEFORMED CHILD. 
 
 When Summer days are long and warm, they set my 
 
 little chair 
 Without the door, and in the sun they leave me sitting 
 
 there ; 
 Then many thoughts come to my mind, that others never 
 
 know, 
 About myself, and what I feel, and what was long ago. 
 
 There are no less than six of us, and all of them are tall 
 And stout as any you may see, but I was always small : 
 The neighbours look at me and say, I grow not with the 
 
 rest; 
 Then Father strokes my head and says. The least aiC 
 
 sometimes best. 
 
 But hearing I was not like them, within my head one 
 
 day 
 It came (strange thoughts that children have !) that I'd 
 
 been changed away !
 
 THE DEFORMED CHILD. 171 
 
 And then I cried — but soon the thought brought comfort 
 
 to my mind, 
 If I were not their own, I knew they could not be so 
 
 kind. 
 
 For we are hnppy in our home as ever people were, 
 
 Yet sometimes Father looks as if his heart was full of 
 
 care : 
 WTien things go wrong about the house, then Mother 
 
 vexed will be ; 
 But neither of them ever spoke a cross word unto me. 
 
 And once, when all was dark, they came to kiss me in 
 
 my bed, 
 And though they thought I slept quite sound, I heard 
 
 each word they said. 
 '■'Poor little thing! to make thee well, we'd freely give 
 
 our all ; 
 But God knows best ! " and on my cheek I felt a warm 
 
 tear fall. 
 
 And then I longed to sit upright, and tell them not to 
 
 fret, 
 For that my pains were not so bad, I should be stronger 
 
 yet; 
 But as the words came to my lips, they seemed to die 
 
 away, 
 And then they drew the curtain close, and left me as I 
 
 lay.
 
 172 THE DEFORMED CHILD. 
 
 And so I did not speak at all, and yet my heart was full, 
 And now, when I am sick and ill, for fear it makes them 
 
 dull 
 To see my face so pale and worn, I creep to Father's 
 
 side, 
 And press it close against his own, and try the pain to 
 
 hide. 
 
 Then upon pleasant Sundays, in the long warm evening 
 
 hours. 
 Will Father take me in his arms among the fields and 
 
 flowers ; 
 And he'll be just as pleased himself to see the joy I'm in, 
 And Mother smiles and says she thinks I look not quite 
 
 so thin. 
 
 But it is best within the house when nights are long and 
 
 dark, 
 And two of brothers run from school, and two come in 
 
 from work ; 
 And they are all so kind to me, the first word they will 
 
 say 
 To Mother, at the door, will be, "Has Bess been well 
 
 to-day ? ■' 
 
 And though I love them all so well, ons may be loved 
 
 the best, 
 And brother John, I scarce know why, seems dearer 
 
 than the rest ;
 
 THE DEFORMED CHILD. 173 
 
 But tired and cross as I may feel, when he comes in at 
 
 night 
 And takes me on his knee and chats — then everything is 
 
 right ! 
 
 When once, I know, about some work he went quite far 
 
 away, 
 Oh ! how I wished him back again, and counted ever}' 
 
 day; 
 And when, the first of all, / heard his foot upon the 
 
 stair, 
 Just for that once I longed to run and leave my little 
 
 chair ! 
 
 Then when I look at other girls they never seem to be 
 So pretty as our Hannah is, or half so neat as she ; 
 But she will soon be leaving us, to settle far away 
 With one she loves, and who has loved her well this 
 many a day. 
 
 I sometimes think because I have few pleasures, and no 
 
 cares, 
 Wlierewith to please or vex myself, they like to tell me 
 
 theirs ; 
 For sister talks to me for hours, and tells me much that she 
 Would never breathe unto a soul unless it were to me. 
 
 One night, when we were quite alone, she gave the fire 
 
 a stir, 
 And shut the door, and showed the ring that William 
 
 bought for her,
 
 174 THE DEFORMED CHILD. 
 
 And told me all about her house, and often she has said, 
 That I shall come to live with them, when she and 
 William wed. 
 
 But that I think will scarcely be, for when our Hannah 
 
 goes, 
 What we shall do for want of her, not one among us 
 
 knows ; 
 And though there is not much in me, the place she leaves 
 
 to fill ; 
 Yet something may be always done, where there is but 
 
 the will. 
 
 Then the kind doctor says, and he is very seldom wrong, 
 That I some day, when no one thinks, may grow both 
 
 stout and strong ; 
 And should I be, through all my life, a care unto my 
 
 friends, 
 Yet Father says, there are worse cares than God 
 
 Almighty sends ! 
 
 And I will think of this, and then I never can feel dull, 
 But pray to God to make me good, and kind, and dutiful; 
 And when I think on Him that died, it makes my heart 
 
 grow light, 
 To know that feeble things on earth are precious in His 
 
 si^ht !
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE HALL. 175 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE HALL. 
 
 A STORY OF EVERY DAY. 
 
 " Where I was wont to meet her, 
 My true love to my call, 
 
 Came glimmering through the laurels at quiet even-faU, 
 In the garden, hy the turrets of the old manorial halL" 
 
 It was at church, one summer morn, my good, my dear 
 
 old wife. 
 That first I saw the face that made the sunshine of my 
 
 life; 
 Your look still dwelt upon your book, I do not think you 
 
 knew 
 The stolen glances that were cast towards the squire's 
 
 pew. 
 
 Seven blooming Daughters then were there, and one a 
 
 fair young bride. 
 And at the head the mother sat and looked adown with 
 
 pride ; 
 And well she might ! when it was said and sung by great 
 
 and small. 
 How sweet a family were they, the ladies at the Hall ! 
 
 But from her lofty place of pride, could that high dame 
 
 have guessed 
 The thought that woke, ah, woe betide ! in one poor 
 
 scholar's breast ;
 
 176 THE DAUGHTER OF THE HALL, 
 
 That / should dare to look at you ! yes, it was boldly 
 
 done, 
 The Daughter of the wealthy squire ! the vicar's 
 
 youngest son. 
 
 The next time that I saw your face was at the county 
 
 ball, 
 There with our county member's son you led off lirst of 
 
 all; 
 Low in the country dance / stood, yet to my ears since 
 
 then, 
 There has been music in the sound of "cross hands, 
 
 back again ! " 
 
 Yes, you were fair ! your sunny hair, I think I see it 
 
 now, 
 Rolled back in many a shining curl high from your open 
 
 brow ; 
 No step so light, no smile so bright, as yours within the 
 
 hall. 
 Yet with an air that might declare, the lady of the Hall. 
 
 And I went home to dream that night of many a splendid 
 
 scene. 
 But through them all, one form, one face shone forth, my 
 
 fancy's Queen ; 
 Of high-born maids and lowly squires, -^and woke from 
 
 slumber's thrall. 
 To see the dawning gild with ligl'.t the turrets of the 
 
 Hall.
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE HALL. 177 
 
 Ah ! now I thought, perhaps she wakes, but not from 
 
 dreams of me. 
 My homage can be nought to her, unknown then let 
 
 it be; 
 Unknown ! uncared for ! but just then, Hope stole so 
 
 slily in, 
 And something whispered that faint heart might ne'er 
 
 fair lady win ; 
 
 And then I wrote ! how many times, in days that are 
 
 long past, 
 Have you and I laughed o'er those rhymes, my first but 
 
 not my last ; 
 For in your father's stately woods does many a tree 
 
 declare, 
 (If Time hath spared the letters yet) that Emma's smile 
 
 was fair ; 
 
 Then term-time came, and with it brought some academic 
 
 bays, 
 Ah ! dear to youthful scholar's heart, the hard-won meed 
 
 of praise ! 
 The county paper will not fail, I thought, to tell her all, 
 Yes, surely they will speak of me, this morning at the 
 
 Hall! 
 
 Then Fancy flew on burnished wing an aerial race with 
 
 -Time, 
 O'er many a strnnge and brilliant land, through many a 
 
 glowing clime ; 
 
 553
 
 178 THE DAUGHTER OF THE HALL. 
 
 Then like a bright and wandering bird, that answered to 
 
 my call 
 Would fold its soft and gleaming plumes upon the ancient 
 
 Hall. 
 
 Old Time wore on ; there dawned a day that brought 
 
 me to your feet, 
 Oft have we lived it o'er since then, and still the theme 
 
 is sweet ! 
 Your sisters sighed, " True love was all, with or without 
 
 a purse," 
 And once for all your brother said, that Emma might do 
 
 worse. 
 
 The good old Squire ; I see him yet ! the squire of days 
 
 bygone, 
 Who had a laugh for every jest, the loudest for his own, 
 '* My seven fair daughters ! shall I find a lord apiece for 
 
 all? 
 A worthy youth, our vicar's son, and welcome at the 
 
 Hall ! " 
 
 Your Lady-mother smoothed her brow, and smiled her 
 
 stately smile. 
 And made some show of courtesy to mine within the 
 
 aisle, 
 Yet wore throughout a dignified and somewhat frigid 
 
 mien, 
 And did not take me to her heart until I was a Dean.
 
 THE LOVERS' QUARREL. 179 
 
 Full fifty years since then have wrought their web of 
 
 good and ill, 
 But only seem in heart and thought to bind us closer 
 
 still ! 
 *'Time changes all," the saying goes, but we can surely 
 
 prove, 
 That his cold breath may pass in vain o'er evergreens 
 
 like Love. 
 
 I wonder, when in idler hours I read of sylvan shades, 
 And noble youths who sought for truth with simple vil- 
 lage maids, 
 If /had found a gentler wife, a truer 'mong them all, 
 Than she who somewhat stooped to me, the Daughter 
 of the Hall! 
 
 THE LOVERS' QUARREL. 
 
 Light is the Lover's quarrel, men say — I think not so, 
 It is the hand we love the best that deals the hardest blow. 
 And the wounds that come from it the heart is still too 
 proud to show, 
 
 So closes over them ; too proud ? Nay. Pride is not so 
 
 strong 
 As that which fain a hurt would hide although it rankle 
 
 long, 
 From soothing that would only chafe, and pity that 
 
 would wrung ;
 
 i8o THE LOVERS' QUARREL. 
 
 For Anger born of Love, although like sweetest things 
 
 that turn 
 The bitterest of all, it seem each soft'ning thought to 
 
 spurn, 
 Yet owns the country whence it came, and after it will 
 
 yearn, — 
 
 And something there is still that brooks no word or 
 
 thought unkind, 
 And seeks amid its very pain some fond excuse to find, 
 For what was dear, and may not all at once be cast 
 
 behind ; 
 
 I speak of what I know full well, for thus it chanced of 
 
 yore, 
 (I know not now where blame should rest, so lay it at the 
 
 door 
 Of Love, that having given so much, will still exact the 
 
 more). 
 
 With me and Her I love — one Eve our parting was in 
 scorn, 
 
 Oh ! dimly, sadly broke the next and many an after- 
 dawn, 
 
 With sense of something gone from me, and evermore 
 withdrawn ; 
 
 For Sunrise used within my heart to wake a matin chime 
 Of bells, that rung me to a strife untold as yet in rhyme, 
 Though fierce as Dragon-Fight of old— the Lover's 
 against Time !
 
 THE LOVERS' QUARREL. i8i 
 
 Like Errant Knight I pressed him sore and found him 
 
 hard to kill, 
 Yet strove with action and emprise to gain upon him 
 
 still, 
 And with some task of nobleness each lingering pause to 
 
 fill. 
 
 Between the hours we used to meet ; but now with even 
 
 flow 
 His sands might run, I would not try to shake them to 
 
 and fro, 
 And his great Chariot-wheels for me might move on swift i 
 
 or slow, 
 
 For all the days that used to shine in characters of light 1 
 Upon the Kalends of my life marked out in red and i 
 
 white, '• 
 
 Plad faded, when their Saint no more would bless her 
 
 Votary's sight ; 
 
 And so I thought I will away, nor linger here alone, 
 To vex my heart out, like a ghost that makes an idle 
 
 moan, 
 About the place where joy was once and is for ever 
 
 flown ; 
 
 Better to see her never more, than meet as now we meet, 
 Yet will I see her once again, I said ; and strove to cheat 
 To sternness and to pride my heart that told me it was 
 sweet
 
 i82 THE LOVERS' QUARREL. 
 
 To meet her even thus ; I thought, some crowded scene 
 
 were best, 
 Less room for feelings there to rise that have to be 
 
 repressed ; 
 There she may pass me if she will as one among the 
 
 rest, 
 
 And less be there to- bring again the thought of things 
 
 gone by, 
 And easier for me to bear her changed, averted eye, 
 And to cold words of courtesy make fitting, due reply. 
 
 Small heart had I for revels then, and little graced, I 
 
 trow, 
 The one I went to as I stood with dark, abstracted 
 
 brow 
 And folded arms, — I see it all distinct before me now. 
 
 The gay and lighted room, the crowd of smiling faces 
 
 there, 
 /smiled (for quickly learnt the stern moralities of Care ;) 
 " It only is that they than I the mask more closely 
 
 wear." 
 
 Was she among the maskers then ? — that came into the 
 
 room 
 With frank sweet smile, and cheek that blushed in 
 
 beauty's conscious bloom ; 
 I wrapt my spirit at the sight in deeper, thicker gloom,
 
 THE LOVERS' QUARREL. 1S3 
 
 And to my brain the endless strain more dull and vexinjj 
 
 grew, 
 The dance swept onwards — it were well to play the 
 
 pageant through ; 
 I thought, and with a listless step its maze I threaded too, 
 
 And knew not she was nigh until my ear her accents met, 
 ** You leave us then so soon ! Farewell ! " and sofier, 
 
 lower yet 
 In tones that none beside might hear, " Forgive, but 
 
 don't forget." 
 
 I looked up at her words, and met an eye whose gentle 
 
 ray 
 Sunk timid 'neath my anxious gaze, yet was not turned 
 
 away, 
 And the smile that used to be of old, as kind, but not so 
 
 gay; 
 
 The ice about my heart gave way, and with a generous 
 
 shame, 
 I answered quick, ' ' Forgive I nay ! now too much from 
 
 me you claim. 
 For hard I find it to forgive the only one to blame, 
 
 *' Unless your kindness intercede, and plead for him 
 
 awhile, 
 You that alone in all the world can sooth and reconcile 
 My wayward spirit with itself," — she answered by a 
 
 smile.
 
 i84 THE OLD FAMILY. 
 
 THE OLD FAMILY. 
 
 Not now is given, as of old, unto the free of hand, 
 
 And to the liberal of soul, the fulness of the land ; 
 
 Or They would have been with us still, our hearts and 
 
 homes among, 
 The good old family, that held by hill and stream so long. 
 
 The oldest tales among us told, the oldest song e'er sung, 
 Could bring no trace of times when that our goodly tree 
 
 was young : 
 They lived among us, sire and son, among us when they 
 
 died. 
 We laid them where their Fathers lie, each resting side 
 
 by side. 
 
 They were so much our own, that still their pleasure was 
 
 our pride, 
 Vv^hen a child was born unto the house, or the heir 
 
 brought home his bride ; 
 We owned a part in all they had — it seemed that we 
 
 went shares 
 In Life, when we partook their joys, and half forgot our 
 
 cares ; 
 
 Oh ! when shall we e'er see the like of them we loved, 
 
 a'gain ? 
 Where meet such kindly hearts to feel for all the poor 
 
 man's pain ?
 
 THE OLD FAMILY. 185 
 
 "When in his hour of gladness now shall those kind tones 
 
 be heard, 
 To make it double with the smile that sweetened every 
 
 word? 
 
 A word from them, a smile, a look, oh ! it was sweeter 
 
 far 
 Than all the gifts that others give, than all their favours 
 
 are ; 
 Yet they were bountiful and free as any that may live, 
 But with their gifts the blessing came, that money cannoi 
 
 give. 
 
 How oft it comes within my mind, the morning of the 
 
 day, 
 When we took our leave of them — the last, before they 
 
 went away : 
 The beating hearts, the trembling hands, the tongues 
 
 that strove to tell 
 Our gratitude and love to them, who knew it all so well. 
 
 There was no child but owned their care, no aged soul 
 
 and poor, 
 I.ut blessed their shadow, as it fell within the humble 
 
 door ; 
 No bed of sickness, where their words of comfort did not 
 
 wake ; 
 May He who saw their love to us thsir bed in sickness 
 
 make!
 
 i86 THE OLD FAMILY. 
 
 May He be with them in their ways, wherever they may 
 
 go, 
 And give to them the Heritage the faithful only know ; 
 And they have wealth, that will abide when earthly 
 
 goods depart, 
 In the poor man's love, the poor man's prayer, and the 
 
 blessing of his heart ! 
 
 How sad it seemed to miss their words of greeting on our 
 
 ways, 
 How heavily our work went on without their cheering 
 
 praise ; 
 We felt like those who lose on earth their refuge and 
 
 their stay, 
 When they, the family we loved, went from us far away. 
 
 They left with us their treasure, — yes, we hold what they 
 
 held dear. 
 The father, ow good father, laid for ever with us here ; 
 Not in his day the change came o'er the scenes he loved 
 
 the best. 
 He sleeps, nor dreams of what is now, safe gathered to 
 
 his rest. 
 
 The noble-hearted gentleman, who house and hand and 
 
 heart 
 So open held, that in his own he only claimed a part ;
 
 THE OLD FAMILY. 187 
 
 He bore his state unto the last, the snows of winter fell,* 
 But might not chill the true-born soul that loved us all so 
 well ! 
 
 How sad it seemed to us to see the velvet lawn unmown, 
 Weeds springing in the garden that our Lady called her 
 
 own ! 
 The pleasant lake choked up and dry, and swamped the 
 
 little boat 
 That bore the children in their glee so merrily afloat. 
 
 Our fine young gentlemen, no more when Autumn days 
 
 grow dark, 
 We hear their loud and cheerful tones come ringing 
 
 through the park ; 
 Their dogs find other masters now, it seemed to do us 
 
 wrong 
 That aught that they had liked so well to others should 
 
 belong. 
 
 And strangers now live at the Hall, oh ! sad to us and 
 
 strange 
 It seems, to see their places filled, when hearts have 
 
 known no change ; 
 Strange voices sounding in our ears, strange faces in the 
 
 pew, 
 \^^len Sunday found the fairest ones, the dearest that we 
 
 knew. 
 
 * " A mirthful man -was he ! the snows of age 
 Fell on him, but they chilled not." — Scoxr.
 
 1 88 THE OLD FAMILY. 
 
 Yet it were evil to complain, the new may be the kind, 
 But can they be to us like Them — to whom each heart 
 
 and mind 
 Was like a book before them spread, where they might 
 
 read at will 
 And 'mid our errors trace their names, the loved and 
 
 honoured still. 
 
 We feel it still, though from us gone, the smile that was 
 
 our praise, 
 The eye that mourned to see our steps withdraw from i 
 
 virtue's ways ; \ 
 
 The patient words, the gentle deeds, that strove to lead \ 
 
 us on [ 
 
 In paths of pleasantness and peace, they have not surely 
 
 gone ! I 
 
 We think of Them, that if they come once more to the f 
 
 old place, 1 
 
 Our looks may answer theirs, nor fear to meet them face 
 
 to face ; 
 For the land, the land is still their own, and they may 
 
 come once more, 
 To flourish where the ancient stock was wont to thrive of 
 
 yore. 
 
 We think of them when Spring sends forth the bud upon 
 
 the bough, 
 And wish that they could see how well the young woods 
 
 promise now ;
 
 BALLAD. 1P9 
 
 When Autumn brings the harvest round, we wish that 
 
 they could see 
 IIow well the reapers do their work upon the upland lea. 
 
 Oh ! things have changed with us, with all, since last 
 
 they went away, 
 And youthful brows are marked with care, and hair is 
 
 mixed with grey ; 
 And They will look on many a change, on children grown 
 
 to men, 
 But the heart, — the heart will be the same to welccme 
 
 them again I 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 " Do you think of the days that are gone, Jeanie? 
 
 As ye sit by your fire at night. 
 Do ye wish that the morn might bring back the time. 
 
 When your heart and your step were light ? " 
 
 '* I think of the days that are gone, Robin, 
 
 And all that I joyed in them, 
 But the fairest that ever arose on me 
 
 I have never wished back again." 
 
 " Do ye think of the hopes that are gone, jeanie? 
 
 As ye sit by your fire at night, 
 Do ye reckon them o'er, as they faded fast, 
 
 Like buds in an early blight ? "
 
 I90 THE IRISH EMIGRANT'S SONG, 
 
 *• I think of the hopes that are gone, Robin, 
 But I mourn not their stay was fleet, 
 
 For they fell as the leaves of the red Rose fall, 
 That even in fading are sweet." 
 
 ** Do ye think of the friends that are gone, Jeanie ? 
 
 As ye sit by your fire at night, 
 Do ye wish they were round you again once more, 
 
 By the hearth that they made so bright ? " 
 
 " I think of the friends that are gone, Robin, 
 
 They are dear to my heart as then. 
 But the best and the dearest among them all, 
 
 1 have never wished back again ! " 
 
 THE IRISH EMIGRANT'S SONG. 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Alone — amid the darkening woods I hear them lightly 
 
 pass, 
 And in the twilight little feet come stealing o'er the grass ; 
 Kind voices rise when all is still, and call me by my name, 
 And pleasant faces look on me from out the Pine -wood 
 
 flame: 
 Oh ! my Brothers and my Sisters, how I miss you here 
 
 alone ! 
 Oh ! Father and my Mother dear, do you think upon 
 
 your own ?
 
 THE IRISH EMIGRANT'S SONG. 191 
 
 Who prays for you each night and morn* — Och hone ! 
 
 Och hone ! 
 Thinking on the days that are long enough agone ! 
 
 I sit beside the mighty stream that rolls down like a sea, 
 And think upon the Burn-side where my true love sat by 
 
 me ! 
 Where we said our sad and parting words the evening of 
 
 the day, 
 The last I spent with them I loved before I came away ; 
 Where m.y little Kathleen sat by me, her hand within my 
 
 own, 
 And wept to think that I should go so far away alone ; 
 It seems to me I see her still — Och hone ! Och hone ! 
 Thinking of the days that are long enough agone ! 
 
 No more the thousand welcomes send their music to my 
 
 heart, 
 No more the kind " Heaven prosper ye ! " when kindred 
 
 meet and part ; 
 Amid the trackless forest-wilds a lonely man I stray, 
 Where never word of greeting comes to cheer me on my 
 
 way ; 
 Far from the looks I love the best, from each familiar tone. 
 Here must I live and labour on, alone — alone ! 
 Yet I work, I work and pray for them — Och hone ! Och 
 
 hone ! 
 Thinking on the days that are long enough agone ! 
 
 * The burden of this song is that of a very ancient Irisii tlitty. 
 See LocKHABT's Life of ScotU
 
 1 92 so AGS OF FA RE IVELL. 
 
 SONGS OF FAREWELL. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 " They that my trust must p^ow to, dwell not here, 
 They are with all my other comforts, 
 Far hence." 
 
 Oh ! speak of me, my friends ! when I am gone. 
 Bind with my name some old familiar strain, 
 That it may bear a greeting on its tone 
 From One, heart-woven with its linked chain. 
 
 For I will speak of you ! your names will ri?e 
 When the full heart would of its treasure tell, 
 And I will seek in stranger looks and eyes 
 To trace the aspects I have loved so well. 
 
 Oh ! think of me, my friends ! when I am gone 
 Let not my memory lightly pass away, 
 With pleasant songs forgotten — or as one 
 A stranger-guest, abiding but a day. 
 
 For I will think of you ! a purer ray 
 Will gild Life's journey, flung from times of old, 
 And Thought will reckon o'er, when far away, 
 Their gentle memories — its hoarded gold. 
 
 Oh ! dream of me, my friends ! when I am gon'^,. 
 Then be your happy slumbers lightly stirred 
 By tender shadows from the distance thrown, 
 By echoes sweet of some remembered word.
 
 SONGS OF FAREWELL. 193 
 
 For on my visions haunting forms will rise, 
 And I will seek in sleep a clasping hand, 
 And I shall look within those much-loved eyes, 
 Once more, within the pleasant dreaming land ! 
 
 Oh ! pray for me, my friends ! when I am gone 
 Still with your voices let my name arise, 
 WTiere once my accents mingled in the tone 
 Of your sweet hymns and twilight harmonies. 
 
 For I will pray for you ! my spirit lone 
 ^Yill seek the language that its kindred share ; 
 Yes ! there, beloved friends ! when I am gone 
 It will be mine, dear friends, to meet you there I 
 
 SONGS OF FAREWELL. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 " Leaves and clustered fruits, and flowers eterne, 
 Eternal to the world, but not to me."— HOOD. 
 
 The Spring will come again, dear friends, 
 
 The Swallow o'er the Sea ; 
 
 The bud will hang upon the bough, 
 
 The blossom on the tree ; 
 
 And many a pleasant sound will rise to greet her on her 
 
 way, 
 The voice of bird, and leaf, and stream, and warm winds 
 
 in their play ; 
 
 554
 
 194 SONGS OF FA RE WELL. 
 
 Oh ! sweet the airs that round her breathe ! and bounti- 
 ful is she, 
 She bringeth all the things that fresh, and sweet, and 
 
 hopeful be ; 
 She scatters promise on the Earth with open hand and 
 
 free. 
 But not for me, my friends, 
 But not for me ! 
 
 Summer will come again, dear friends, 
 Low murmurs of the Bee 
 Will rise through the long sunny day 
 Above the flowery lea ; 
 The deep and dreamy woods will own the slumbrous 
 
 spell she weaves, 
 And send a greeting, mixed with sighs, through all their 
 
 quivering leaves. 
 Oh, precious are her glowing gifts ! and plenteous is 
 
 she. 
 She bringeth all the lovely things that bright and fragrant 
 
 be; 
 She scatters fulness on the Earth with lavish hand and 
 
 free, 
 But not for me, my friends, 
 But not for me ! 
 
 Autumn will come again, dear friends, 
 His spirit-touch will be 
 With gold upon the harvest field, 
 With crimson on the tree ;
 
 SONGS OF FAREWELL. 195 
 
 He passeth o'er the silent woods, they wither at his 
 
 breath, 
 Slow fading in a still decay, a change that is not Death. 
 Oh ! rich, and liberal, and wise, and provident is he ! 
 He taketh to his Garner-house the things that ripene>! 
 
 be; 
 He gathereth his store from Earth, all silently — 
 And he will gather me, my friends, 
 He will gather me I
 
 Scatteve^ ipoema. 
 
 THE EDEL WEISS. 
 
 The following exquisite little poem was suggested upon 
 receiving the sweet Alpine flower from Mr. William Howitt. 
 
 " I WAS born in my little shroud, 
 All woolly, warm, and white ; 
 
 I live in the mist and the cloud, 
 I live for my own delight. 
 
 " I see far beneath me crowd 
 
 The Alpine roses red 
 And the gentian blue, sun-fed. 
 
 That makes the valleys bright. 
 
 •' I bloom for the eagle's eye, 
 
 I bloom for the daring hand, 
 I live but for God, and I die 
 
 Unto Him, and at His command ! "
 
 GOOD-NIGHT, GOOD-BYE. 197 
 
 A PARTING SONG. 
 
 "Deem not these tears that freely fall 
 Are all for love, for sorrow all. 
 'Tis love, 'tis youth, 'tis joy that weep 
 Together, ere they sink to sleep ! 
 
 " 'Tis love that kindles at thine eye ; 
 'Tis rapture trembling on thy sigh ; 
 "Tis all that from my life I miss, 
 I part from, in thy parting kiss. 
 
 " It is the heart thy voice hath stirrred, 
 That now would bid its voice be heard, 
 That clasps thee close, that feels thee near. 
 That seeks a word, and finds a tear ! " 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT, GOOD-BYE. 
 
 " Say not good-bye ! dear friend, from thee 
 A word too sad that word would be. 
 Say not good-bye ! Say but good-night, 
 And say it with thy tender, light. 
 Caressing voice, that links the bliss 
 Of yet another day with this. 
 Say but good-night !
 
 FIDELITY REWARDED. 
 
 " Say not good-bye ! say but good-night : 
 A word that blesses in its flight, 
 In leaving hope of many a kind, 
 Sweet day like this we leave behind. 
 Say but good-night ! Oh never say 
 A word that taketh thee away 1 
 Say but good-night 1 
 Good-night ! " 
 
 FIDELITY REWARDED. 
 
 "We experimented on dogs— old, and otherwise useless."- 
 Professor Rutherford. 
 
 I WAS not useful ? So 
 
 He says, nor young nor strong. 
 
 My master ought to know, 
 I've followed him so long. 
 
 For many and many a day 
 
 I followed well content. 
 Might I but go the way 
 
 That he, my master, went. 
 
 I listened for his foot, 
 
 I strove his thought to scan ; 
 
 For I was but a brute, 
 And he I loved was man.
 
 FIDELITY REWARDED. 
 
 199 
 
 O'er all that he held dear, 
 
 
 A patient watch to keep, 
 
 
 With light, attentive ear 
 
 
 I listened in my sleep. 
 
 
 The stealthy foot withdrew, 
 
 
 The daring hand was stayed ; 
 
 
 My growl the robber knew, 
 
 
 And fled the spot dismayed. 
 
 
 1 knew my master's voice. 
 
 
 My nature's bounded plan 
 
 
 Had left my love no choice, 
 
 
 And he I loved was man. 
 
 
 And often would I watch 
 
 
 His inmost thought to prove. 
 
 
 His hidden will to catch : 
 
 
 A brute can only love. 
 
 
 I waited for a crumb, 
 
 
 From off his daily meal 
 
 
 To fall for me : a dumb 
 
 
 Poor brute can only feel. 
 
 
 I thought he loved me well. 
 
 
 But when my eye grew dim— 
 
 
 I leave the tale I tell 
 
 
 As it is told by him — 

 
 ioo GRAND CCEUR. 
 
 Some secret hint to track 
 
 Of life's poor trembling flame, 
 
 He nailed me to a rack, 
 He pierced and tore my frame. 
 
 He saw me slowly die 
 
 In agonies acute : 
 For he was man, and I 
 
 Was nothing but a brute ! 
 
 GRAND CCEUR POUR GRANDE HEURE." 
 
 " And is it, then, by fate or chance 
 
 Decreed, that as the ages roll 
 
 The world shall be without its France, 
 
 The body be without its soul ? 
 
 Yea ! let them spurn thee with their heel, 
 
 And plunge within thy heart their steel ; 
 
 Be thine all anguish life can feel ; 
 
 Their best, their worst, let foeman try, 
 
 Beloved France ! thou canst not die ! 
 
 " No ! not though to dust should grind, 
 And beat thee into fragments small, 
 And scatter thee unto the wind ! 
 Instinct, each fiery particle
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 With life, as is the breath of God, 
 Would kindle into life the clod 
 Whereon it fell ; and thou be chief 
 In glory, as thou art in grief ! 
 
 ' ' Arise ! and grapple with thy foes. 
 Thy foes without, thy foes within ; 
 And fear not thou to meet and close 
 In pangs of death ! thy travail throes 
 Are these ; a purer life to win ; 
 Shake forth thy Lilies ! let thy Lark 
 Soar, singing still above thy dark, 
 Ensanguined fields ; the dawn is nigh 
 Beloved France ! thou canst not die ! ' 
 
 Septeinber 2qih, 1870. 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 " Come now, let us take a journey 
 That costs neither trouble nor care ; 
 
 What if where we are going we know not, 
 Nor if we shall ever get there. 
 
 What matter ! The road is so pleasant. 
 And we pay not a heavy fare. 
 
 " What matter, oh ! what matter 
 
 Should even the coach upset, 
 And all the passengers scatter ? 
 
 Such chances are often met.
 
 202 HA Y-MAKING, 
 
 Our driver might be more steady, 
 But we know that the best of all 
 
 Riders arc those that are ready 
 And willing to meet with a fall. 
 
 '* Come, quick now, and take your places, 
 
 The guard is blowing his horn ; 
 The liorses are in the traces, 
 
 They have had their feed of corn. 
 London — Paris — wherever it pleases, 
 
 You may ride in our Coach of State ; 
 We have no luggage to tease us, 
 
 And we carry but little weight." 
 
 HAY-MAKING. 
 
 " Many a long, hard-working day 
 
 Life brings us ! and many an hour of play ! 
 
 But they never come now together. 
 Playing at work, and working at play, 
 As they came to us children among the hay 
 
 In the breath of the warm June weather. 
 
 " Oft with our little rakes at play 
 Making believe at making hay, 
 With grave and steadfast endeavour j
 
 THE RIVALS. 203 
 
 Caught by an arm, and out of sight 
 Hurled and hidden, and buried light 
 In laughter and hay for ever. 
 
 " Now pass the hours of work and play 
 With a step more slow, and the summer's day 
 
 Grows short, and more cold the weather. 
 Calm is our work now, and quiet our play; 
 And we take them apart as best we may, 
 
 For they come no more together." 
 
 THE RIVALS. 
 
 " What rapture in the twilight dim ! 
 
 With others standing by to see : 
 Her words, her smiles, were all for him ; 
 
 But, oh ! she gave her hand to me. 
 
 *' What rapture at the twilight's close ! 
 
 He gave her on his bended knee 
 The wealth of all his garden ; rose 
 
 And jessamine ; when none could see, 
 A flower from all the rest she chose ; 
 
 And oh ! she gave that flower to me.
 
 :o4 ATHANASIUS CONTRA MUNDUM. 
 
 " What rapture in the twilight dim. 
 To dance the circling saraband, 
 
 With others standing by to see, 
 We stood together hand-in-hand, 
 
 And Inez gave her hand to him ; 
 But oh ! she kept her heart for me." 
 
 ATHANASIUS CONTRA MUNDUM. 
 
 {To the memory of David Livingstone.) 
 
 " He stood within the wilderness and cried ; 
 From hearts innumerable went up a groan. 
 But voice was none, nor any that replied ; 
 
 "Not Europe, vowed to lofty prudence tied 
 To dull convention, colder than a stone ; 
 Not Asia, fierce or fawning, sleek of hide ; 
 
 "Nor thou, brute Africa ! a patient, strong 
 Mute ass, between two burthens couchant long, 
 lie stood within the wilderness and cried ; 
 
 " Then all at once, as w^hen a mighty tide 
 Hurls a huge wave before it, heaved and rose 
 The world's high heart to battle with its foes : 
 He stayed within the wilderness and died."
 
 ALL THROUGH THE DAY. 20^ 
 
 ALL THROUGH THE DAY. 
 
 " Be the day never so long, 
 It ringeth at last unto even-song." 
 
 — Queen Elizabeth's Book of Hours. 
 
 All through the day, my love, watching thine eye, 
 Holding thy hand in mine, I will be nigh ; 
 I cannot cheer thee, love, yet will I stay ; 
 I will be near thee, love, all through the day. 
 
 All through the day, my love, seeking in vain 
 Wings for the hours that pass weighted with pain, 
 All things are drear to thee, nothing is gay ; 
 Yet I am dear to thee, so I will stay. 
 
 All through this day of ours, though it be long, 
 Open for us no flowers, wakens no song ; 
 Reddens the autumn leaf, withers the rose. 
 All through this way of ours, unto its close. 
 
 Worn is thy frame, my love, wan is thy cheek, 
 Low are thine accents, and broken, and weak ; 
 Yet sweet is our silence, the words that we say 
 Are sweet, as I sit by thee all through the day. 
 
 All through the day, my love, all through the day, 
 Steals the swift shadow on, life flits away ; 
 Soft will our sleep be then, happy and light, 
 All through the night, my love, all through the 
 night."
 
 2o6 THEKLA. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 " This night we must away." 
 
 "Away 1 — and whither?" 
 
 " Whither ? There is but one place in the world 
 
 Where he lies buried." — 
 
 " If I could see him, it were well with me." 
 
 —Coleridge's Wallenstein. 
 
 If I could see him, it were well with me, — 
 If I might look once more upon his brow, 
 
 If I might hear his voice ! It may not be : 
 Only the grave — Hi's grave — is left me now ! 
 
 Haste thou with me, true friend ! Upon the air 
 Dim phantoms rise, drear echoes lurk around : 
 
 Oh ! linger not — deep quiet waits me i/iere, 
 Such as before his time the loved hath found ! 
 
 Make thou no question : doubting, thou dost wrong 
 The first, the holy impulse of the breast ; 
 
 Grief hath deep oracles ; resistless, strong, 
 The voiceless summons drawing me to rest ! 
 
 If thou hadst loved like me, then hadst thou known 
 That the lorn heart would with its treasure be ; 
 
 Where he is now, — with Death ! there, there alone, 
 Beside his grave may life abide for me !
 
 THEKLA. 207 
 
 There shall my wound be eased, my tears will flow ; 
 
 There will my spirit gather from despair, 
 Strength for a patient communing with woe — 
 
 All that hath passed from life awaits me there I 
 
 All that with thee, beloved ! on my day 
 
 Arose and vanished with thee ! — light that shed 
 
 Its blissful colouring around my way, 
 Yet lingers there a halo round the dead ! 
 
 There let us meet ! no alien destiny 
 
 Pursues us now — our Houses' deadly strife 
 
 Is stilled for ever — now, the soul is free. 
 
 For death hath loosed the tangled coils of life. 
 
 Discord and hate were round us : all the air 
 Was dark with treachery — yet in the heart. 
 
 Mid those fierce elements, unfolding fair, 
 An inner world was ours — a life apart. 
 
 Thou art gone hence : far, far above desire 
 Or hope : the changeful planets now for thee 
 
 May bear no message on their scrolls of fire, 
 To thrill thy soul with boding augury. 
 
 With all thy glory round thee thou hast sped. 
 Star-like and swift unto a kindred sphere ; 
 
 And with thee it is well ! Yet hope hath fled, 
 And life grows cold for her that lingers here.
 
 2o8 THE FLAMING OAR. 
 
 There is no wish, no future : — evermore 
 The world is desolate — but not the heart : 
 
 O'er the bright treasure of its garnered store, 
 No change, no after-blight, hath power or part 
 
 For I have lived and loved ! It hath been mine, 
 The pure glad sunshine ot our earthly day — 
 
 Thy earnest, Father ! of the bliss divine 
 That changeth not, that passeth not away ! 
 
 For I have lived and loved ! Oh life and love 
 I feel ye pass together ! In your might 
 
 Ye bear me onwards, upwards — there, above. 
 No shadow falls o'er your unclouded light ! 
 
 THE FLAMING OAR. 
 
 A burning and flaming oar was the device of the Fieuch 
 Admiral, Andre de Lavel ; it is still to be seen in a suburb of 
 the town of Melun, as a sign of his fervent and zealous activity 
 for his king and country, more especially by sea, in the govern- 
 meut of naval affairs. Underneath it is the motto :— 
 
 "POUR UN AULTRE, NGN." 
 
 " I GIRD me not for every cause, 
 
 I answer not to every call, 
 
 I do not wear my heart for daws 
 
 To peck, nor weep when sparrows fall.
 
 THE SINGER. 209 
 
 But when I give, I give my all, 
 For her my love, for him my friend. 
 My steel, my gold, my life I spend ; 
 My sword shall flash, my blood shall flow 
 For these, Biit for Another, No! 
 
 " Show me but cause for quarrel strong, 
 That arms the right against the wrong, 
 That bids me battle with the brave. 
 To crush the tyrant, free the slave. 
 Then through the wave I winged will fly, 
 Will cleave with oars the yielding sky. 
 Will flame through ocean, float through air, 
 Will all things suffer, do and dare, 
 For friend I love, for cause I know, 
 I fight ! But for aught other^ No ! " 
 
 THE SINGER. 
 
 Before the loud acclaim that rose 
 
 To greet her as she came. 
 She bent with lowly grace that seemed 
 
 Such tribute to disclaim ; 
 With arms meek-folded on her breast 
 
 And drooping head, she stood ; 
 Then raised a glance that seemed to plead 
 
 For youth and womanhood ; 
 
 555
 
 2IO THE SINGER, 
 
 A soft, beseeching smile, a look, 
 
 As if all silently 
 The kindness to her heart she took, 
 
 And put the homage by. 
 
 She stood dejected then, methoiight, 
 
 A Captive, though a Queen, 
 Before the throng — when sudden passed 
 
 A change across her mien ; 
 Unto her full dilating eye. 
 
 Unto her slender hand, 
 There came a light of sovereignty, 
 
 A gesture of command : 
 And to her lip an eager flow 
 
 Of song, that seemed to bear 
 Her soul away on rushing wings 
 
 Unto its native air ; 
 Her eyes was fixed, her cheek flushed bright 
 
 With power ; she seemed to call 
 On spirits duteous to her voice 
 
 At every rise and fall ; 
 There was no triumph on her brow, 
 
 No tumult in her breast. 
 Her soaring soul had won its home, 
 
 And smiled there as at rest ; 
 She felt no more those countless eyes 
 
 Upon her ; she had gained 
 A region where they troul)led not 
 
 The joy she had attained j
 
 THE SINGER. 211 
 
 Now, now, she spoke her native speech, 
 
 An utterance fraught with spells, 
 The echoes of the heart to reach 
 
 Within their slumber-cells : 
 And many a quick unbidden sigh, 
 
 And starting tear, revealed 
 How surely at her touch the springs 
 
 Of feeling were unsealed ; 
 The Present seemed unto the Past 
 
 For one sweet moment bound, 
 With all its broken ties made fast, 
 
 And all its lost ones found ; 
 They who were always loved, seemed now 
 
 Yet more than ever dear ; 
 Yet closer to the heart they came : 
 
 That always were so near : 
 And trembling back unto the lips 
 
 As if they ne'er had changed, 
 Old names returned that had been thence 
 
 Long severed, long estranged ; 
 For in the strain, like those that fall 
 
 On wanderers as they roam. 
 The exiled spirit found once more 
 
 Its country and its home ! 
 
 She ceased, yet on her parted lips 
 
 A happy smile abode, 
 As if the sweetness of her song 
 
 Yet lingered whence it flowed ;
 
 212 THE SINGER. 
 
 But for a while — her bosom heaved, 
 
 She was the same no more, 
 The light and spirit fled ; she stood 
 
 As she had stood before ; 
 Unheard, unheeded to her ear 
 
 The shouts of rapture came, 
 A voice had once more power to thrill, 
 
 That only spoke her name ; 
 Unseen, unheeded, at her feet 
 
 Fell many a bright bouquet, 
 A single flower, in silence given, 
 
 Was once more sweet than they ; 
 For link by link, her own wild strain 
 
 Had drawn her spirit back, 
 By windings of a silver chain 
 
 Upon a long-lost track. 
 And with her song her heart returned, 
 
 To days for ever gone, 
 Ere Woman's gift of Fame was hers, 
 
 The Many for the One ! 
 
 E'en thus. Oh Earth ! before thee still 
 
 Thy Poet-Singers stand, 
 And bear the soul upon their songs 
 
 Unto its native land ; 
 And even thus, with loud acclaim 
 
 The praise of skill, of art. 
 Is dealt to those who only speak 
 
 The language of the heart !
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL'S LAMENT 21s 
 
 While they who love and listen best 
 
 Can little guess or know, 
 The wounds that from the Singer's breast 
 
 Have let such sweetness flow ; 
 They guess not whence it gushing, starts 
 
 The clear and piercing tone, 
 That wins its way to other hearts, 
 
 Through anguish of its own ! 
 They know not Mastery must spring 
 
 From conflict and from strife ; 
 These are not only Songs they sing, 
 
 They are the Singer's Life ! 
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL'S LAMENT. 
 
 Is Heaven a long way off, Mother ? 
 
 I watch through all the day 
 To see my Father coming back, 
 
 And meet him on the way. 
 
 And when the night comes on, I stand 
 Where once I used to wait. 
 
 To see him coming from the fields, 
 And meet him at the gate ; 
 
 Then I used to put my hand in his, 
 And cared not more to play ; 
 
 But I never meet him coming fiozUf 
 However long I stay.
 
 214 THE LITTLE GIRL'S LAMENT. 
 
 And you tell me he's in Heaven, and far, 
 
 Far happier than we ; 
 And loves us still the same — but hov/, 
 
 Dear Mother, can that be ? 
 
 For he never left us for a day 
 
 To market or to fair, 
 But the best of all that Father saw, 
 
 He brought for us to share. 
 
 He cared for nothing then but us — 
 
 I have heard Father say, 
 That coming back made worth his while 
 
 Sometimes to go away ; 
 
 He used to say he liked our house 
 
 Far better than the Hall ; 
 He would not change it for the best, 
 
 The grandest place of all : 
 
 And if where he is now, Mother, 
 
 All is so good and fair, 
 He would have come back long ago, 
 
 To take us with him there. 
 
 He never would be missed from Heaven : 
 
 I have heard Father say 
 How many angels God has there. 
 
 To praise Him night and day ;
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL'S LAMENT, 215 
 
 He never would be missed in Heaven, 
 
 From all that blessed throng ; 
 And we — oh ! we have missed him here, 
 
 So sadly and so long ! 
 
 But if he came to fetch us, then 
 
 I would hold his hand so fast, 
 I would not let it go again 
 
 Till all the way was past ; 
 
 He'd tell me all that he has seen, 
 
 But / would never say 
 How dull and lonely we have been 
 
 Since he went far away. 
 
 When you raised me to the bed, Mother, 
 
 And I kissed him on the cheek, 
 His cheek was pale and very cold, 
 
 And his voice v/as low and weak. 
 
 And yet I can remember well 
 
 Each word that he spoke then, 
 For he said I must be a dear, good girl, 
 
 And we should meet again ! 
 
 And oh ! but I have tried since then 
 To be good through all the day ; 
 
 I have done whatever you bid me, Mother, 
 Yet Father stays away !
 
 2i6 THE RAIL WA Y STA HON. 
 
 Is it because God loves him so ? — 
 
 I know that in his love 
 He takes the good away from earth, 
 
 To live with him above ! 
 
 Oh ! that God had not loved him so ! 
 
 For then he might have staid 
 And kissed me as he used at nights, 
 
 When by his knee I played ; 
 
 Oh ! that he had not been so good, 
 
 So patient, or so kind ! 
 Oh ! had but we been more like him. 
 
 And not been left behind ! 
 
 THE RAILWAY STATION. 
 
 Not well nor wisely some have said, " Among us 
 Once moved a spirit fair, that now hath fled," 
 
 And deemed, that at the hurrying sounds which throng 
 us, 
 Its shining wings for sudden flight were spread ; 
 
 Not all the turmoil of the Age of Iron 
 
 Can scare that Spirit hence ; like some sweet bird 
 That loud harsh voices in its cage environ, 
 
 It sings above them all, and will be heard !
 
 THE RAIL WA V STA TION, 217 
 
 Not for the noise of axes or of hammers, 
 
 Will that sweet bird forsake her chosen nest ; 
 
 Her warblings pierce through all those deafening 
 clamours, 
 But surer to their echoes in the breast. 
 
 And not the Past alone, with all its guerdon 
 
 Of twilight sounds and shadows, bids them rise ; 
 
 But soft, above the noontide heat and burden 
 Of the stern present, float those melodies ; 
 
 For not with Baron bold, with Minstrel tender, 
 Not with the ringing sound of shield and lance, 
 
 Not with the Field of Gold in all its splendour, 
 Died out the generous flame of old Romance : 
 
 Still, on a nobler strife than tilt or tourney, 
 Rides forth the errant-knight, with brow elate ; 
 
 Still patient pilgrims take, in hope, their journey ; 
 Still meek and cloistered spirits stand and wait : 
 
 Still hath the living, moving world around us, 
 Its legends, fair with honour, bright with truth ; 
 
 Still, as in tales that in our childhood bound us, 
 Love holds the fond traditions of its youth ! 
 
 We need not linger o'er the fading traces 
 
 Of lost Divinities ; or seek to hold 
 Their serious converse 'mid Earth's green, waste places, 
 
 Or by her lonely fountains, as of old :
 
 2i8 THE RAILWA V STA TION, 
 
 For, far remote from Nature's fair creations, 
 Within the busy mart, the crowded street, 
 
 With sudden, sweet, unlooked-for revelations 
 Of a bright Presence we may chance to meet ; 
 
 E'en 7tozVy beside a restless tide's commotion, 
 I stand and hear, in broken music swell. 
 
 Above the ebb and flow of Life's great ocean, 
 An under-song of greeting and farewell. 
 
 For here are Meetings : moments that inherit 
 
 The hopes and wishes, that through months and years 
 
 Have held such anxious converse with the spirit, 
 That now its joy can only speak in tears ; 
 
 And here are Partings : hands that soon must sever, 
 Yet clasp the firmer ; heart, that unto heart, 
 
 Was ne'er so closely bound before, nor ever 
 So near the other as when now they part ; 
 
 And here Time holds his steady pace unbroken, 
 For all that crowds within his narrow scope ; 
 
 For all the language, uttered and unspoken, 
 
 That will return when Memory comforts Hope ! 
 
 One short and hurried moment, and for ever 
 Flies, like a dream, its sweetness and its pain ; 
 
 And, for the hearts that love, the hands that sever. 
 Who knows what meetings are in store again ?
 
 LADY ALICE'S SHRIFT, 219 
 
 They who are left, unto their homes returning, 
 With musing step, trace o'er each by-gone scene ; 
 
 And they upon their journey — doth no yearning, 
 No backward glance revert to what hath been ? 
 
 Yes ! for a while, perchance, a tear-drop starting, 
 Dims the bright scenes that greet the eye and mind ; 
 
 But here — as ever in Life's cup of Parting — 
 Theirs is the bitterness who stay behind ! 
 
 So in Life's sternest, last Farewell, may waken 
 A yearning thought, a backward glance be thrown 
 
 By them who leave : but oh ! how blest the Taken — 
 To those who stay behind when They are gone ! 
 
 LADY ALICE'S SHRIFT. 
 
 " I am not prone to weeping, as our sex commonly are— 
 — But I have that grief lodged here which burms worse than 
 tears drown."— Shakespeare. 
 
 Come to me, little Sister, thine arms around me twine. 
 And press upon my fever'd cheek that smooth bright 
 
 cheek of thine ; 
 And fold my burning hands in thine that are so cool and 
 
 soft, 
 And kiss me, little sister, kiss me tenderly and oft :
 
 220 LADY ALICE'S SHRIFT. 
 
 The kisses are so close and kind, they seem to dull the pain. 
 They know not of— upon my heart they fall like summer 
 
 rain ; 
 They fall where all is parched and dry — oh ! soft and 
 
 kind are they, 
 But they cannot draw the arrow forth, or charm its hurt 
 
 away ! 
 
 I watched thee in thy sleep last night, when thou didst 
 
 rise and say, 
 " What of the Revel, Sister? did ye dance until the day ? " 
 And clasped thine arms about my neck half consciously, 
 
 and then, 
 E'en with the smile upon thy face, sank back in sleep 
 
 again ; 
 
 And stirred no more till thou didst wake all rosy with the 
 
 morn; 
 The Morn ! I watched it slowly glide and glimmer into 
 
 dawn, 
 With set and sleepless eyes ; yet, oh ! more happy not to 
 
 know 
 The sharp return of sense to ill — the wakening to woe ! 
 
 The day is past, I know not how, and it is night again ; 
 I did not think to speak, nor cast the shadow of my pain 
 On that young heart of thine, but love for me hath made 
 
 it wise, 
 And there is soothing in thy voice, and comfort in thine 
 
 eyes;
 
 LADY ALICE'S SHRLFT. 221 
 
 And the darkness and the silence for my spirit are too 
 
 strong ; 
 My heart, it is a Fear to me, a place where spectres throng, 
 And whisper it — and doleful things have made their 
 
 dwelling there, 
 I dare not sit alone with them, to commune with despair ; 
 
 And yet it is a little while, a little while — a day, 
 
 Since it fluttered light within my breast, and trifles made 
 
 it gay. 
 I see the mirror where I stood last night, and lingered 
 
 there, 
 Well pleased to hear thee jest and say, I never looked so 
 
 fair ; 
 
 Oh ! what a world of hopes and fears lay hid beneath the 
 
 smile 
 I heard thee with, and spoke not, thought was all so 
 
 sweet the while : 
 There is no vanity in Love, — yet fain it would be fair. 
 It would be all things for the loved, and I knew He 
 
 would be there ! 
 
 He had been absent, silent long, and absence is unkind, 
 And on the mist that silence draws about the heart and 
 
 mind 
 Cold shadows flit, and formless doubts loom dim, but 
 
 these I knew 
 Would scatter at his greeting smile as when the sun 
 
 breaks through ;
 
 222 LAD V ALICE 'S SHRIFT, 
 
 Thou know'st that picture in the Hall, the lady like a 
 
 Bride, 
 Sebright and queenly, with her lip of sweetness and of 
 
 pride ; 
 There is a legend writ beneath — a bleeding heart in 
 
 twain, — 
 Yet on her brow a look that tells the story far more plain, 
 
 Of how, within these halh she trod a measure out, nor 
 
 stayed 
 For deathful tidings crowding fast, of love and trust 
 
 betrayed, 
 And friends betraying, — still she moved with steady step 
 
 and eye. 
 And chid the music for its pause *' sound like my heart, 
 
 sound high." 
 
 She was a Daughter of our House, her eyes were on my 
 
 soul 
 Last night, they followed me, their light was as a fiery 
 
 scroll, 
 I read in them " Dance ! dance thy youth, thy bloom, 
 
 thy life away, 
 Thou never canst be happy more, it is well thou shouldst 
 
 be gay. 
 
 ''Dance, till the flowers fall from thy brow and wither 
 
 on thy breast ; 
 Dance, wherefore shouldst Thou stay or pause, that never 
 
 more mayst rest ?
 
 LAD Y ALICE '5 SHRIFT. 223 
 
 Our lot is one — Dance on, dance on, thou dost but end 
 
 the show, 
 And close the measure that I trod two hundred years ago." 
 
 Not so ; she died, — her spirit passed in that proud smile, 
 
 and I — 
 Oh ! Sister, there is that in me that cannot rest or die ; 
 The grave is full of quietness — forgetfulness is deep. 
 And Death is far away from me, as far away as .Sleep. 
 
 I must move on, as then I moved, when on my ear fell 
 
 words 
 Light spoken by a stranger tongue, yet were they very 
 
 swords. 
 I turned and saw him in the throng, and One was by his 
 
 side 
 (It needed not those words to tell), his fair affianced 
 
 Bride. 
 
 Yet I danced on as if I trod on air, my cheek was bright, 
 And ready smiles came to my lip, and fancies gay and 
 
 light ; 
 Oh ! Pride has martyrdoms whereon no pitying eye looks 
 
 down, 
 The thorn without the fadeless Rose, the Cross without 
 
 the Crown ! 
 
 We met ; her eyes were raised to mine, I heard her 
 
 whisper then 
 '* Who is that lovely lady ? " what answer came again
 
 224 LADY ALICE'S SHRIFT. 
 
 I know not : she is young like Thee and innocent and 
 
 gay, — 
 Yet / am young ; at least it seems I was so yesterday : 
 
 And I am fair ; at least I am the same ; there is no trace 
 Of change in aught that once he thought so lovely in my 
 
 face ; 
 There is no change in aught within that made me dear 
 
 before ; 
 The same ? Yes ! I am still the same, and therefore 
 
 prized no more. 
 
 Yet I was prized ; I was beloved ; I was not all deceived, 
 And something was in very deed of all that I believed ; 
 There was exchange that hath gone on since times that 
 
 were of old, 
 When the trader gives his glittering beads for the simple 
 
 Indian's gold ! 
 
 And mine was given ; it comes not back ; though trampled 
 
 in the dust. 
 It bears the image on it stamped in days of hope and 
 
 trust ; 
 The fond, false faith so quickly learnt, the heart 
 
 unlearneth slow, — 
 For the soul hath loved Idols, and after them will go, 
 
 Yea ! though they turn to its decay ! through all the 
 
 shower of pain 
 That falls like fire upon my heart, I seem to hear again
 
 LADY ALICE'S SHRIFT. 225 
 
 Words whispered softly, — only words, — vain echoes from 
 
 a day, 
 That never can return again, yet will not pass away. 
 
 All things have end, the night wore on, I wished not for 
 
 its close. 
 Oh ! for the wretched there is nought so dreadful as 
 
 repose ; 
 The dull slow torture of the mind, the fever-pangs that 
 
 fill 
 The heavy blank that is not rest : I would be dancing 
 
 still ! 
 
 I was like some poor houseless One, that through a 
 
 splendid tow^n 
 With sad and undelighted eye still wanders up and down. 
 With listless step that nothing seeks, nor cares where it 
 
 may roam. 
 Yet must move ever on, because he knows he has no 
 
 Kome ! 
 
 There was a crowd about the door ; I saw a child that 
 
 took 
 His mother by the gown, a child with wan and wasted 
 
 look : 
 '•'That is an angel (low he spoke) you may know her by 
 
 her hair. 
 Ask her when she goes back to Heaven to take us with 
 
 her there."
 
 226 LADY ALICE '5 SHRIFT. 
 
 The mother shook her head, and smiled a care-worn 
 
 smile, and then 
 Looked from me to her sickly child, and back to me 
 
 again 
 With eyes that wandered from my face to scan my robe's 
 
 rich fold. 
 And rested longest on the furs that wrapt me from the 
 
 cold. 
 
 With wistful gaze that measured then by silken robe and 
 
 gem 
 How far was I from want and woe, from all that weighed 
 
 on them : 
 Poor Child ! Poor Mother ! then I thought, if envy be 
 
 your sin, 
 Soon would your spirits be assoiled, could ye but look 
 
 within ! 
 
 PART II. 
 
 " Only the firmest and most constant hearts 
 God sets to act the stoutest, hardest parts." 
 
 —Old Play. 
 Softly she turned to her sister fair. 
 
 Fondly she kissed her on brow and cheek, 
 Silent as though on her spirit there 
 
 Struggled a thought that she could not speak ; 
 Only she looked on a Rose, and said 
 
 " Soon was the flower of its bloom bereft, 
 Yet cast it not, fading, away for dead, 
 
 Still in its leaves may be sweetness left ! "
 
 LADY ALICE'S SHRIFT. 227 
 
 Softly she spake with herself alone, 
 
 " Courage, my heart, and fail not yet, 
 Strive ! for not yet is the Day thine own, 
 
 Thou hast forgiven, thou must forget ! 
 Ere thou hadst found thee a star to guide, 
 
 Dark were the seas that were thine to cross. 
 Strongly against thee set in the tide : 
 
 Now thou art safe, yet hast suffered loss ! 
 
 Sore hath the battle against thee gone, 
 
 Keen were the arrows within thee set 
 Ere thou hadst girded thine armour on, 
 
 And oft will the archers vex thee yet ; 
 Ere thou hadst found thee a shelter, stern 
 
 Gathered the storm o'er thy pathway ; long 
 After the rain will the clouds return. 
 
 And thou must onwards, so yet be strong." 
 
 Softly she prayed with herself alone, 
 
 " Father ! forgive me, that with my lot 
 Wrestling in darkness, I strove with Thee, 
 
 Blindly and vainly, and knew it not ! 
 Yet have my words against Thee been strong ; 
 
 Now will I humble my soul to dust. 
 Lord ! unto Thee have I done this wrong, 
 
 Not that I grieved o'er a broken trust — 
 
 ** Had I not grieved, I had never loved ; 
 (Sore may we weep, and yet not repine)
 
 228 LAD Y ALICE 'S SHRIFT. 
 
 But that I looked upon woe unmoved, 
 
 Saying ' there never was grief like mine : ' 
 
 But that I turned with a mind estranged 
 From all that Thou gavest me yet to hold, 
 
 When once I had seen it grow dim and changed, 
 The Love that I stored in my heart for gold : 
 
 " Yet Thou wilt pardon ; with Thee above 
 
 Still is there mercy, that fails below ; 
 Thou that didst give to the heart its Love, 
 
 Thou that dost send to the heart its Woe, 
 Knowest alone what it hath to bear. 
 
 Wilful and weak, — and Thou waitest long 
 Till it return from its wild despair, 
 
 And thou art patient, for Thou art strong." 
 
 Not like the Dweller that day and night 
 
 Wounding himself among tombs, made moan 
 Over the grave of a lost delight, 
 
 Yet had her spirit a chamber lone ; 
 "Where, like the Ruler of old, that kept 
 
 Till he might reach it, a steadfast mien, 
 Oft she withdrew for a while and wept ; 
 
 Leaving it still with a brow serene.
 
 LO VE IN DBA TH, 229 
 
 LOVE IX DEATH. 
 
 In the year 1S21 a woman pei-ished in a snow-storm while 
 passing over tlie Green Mountains in "Vermont. She had an 
 infant with her, who was found alive and well in the morning, 
 carefully wrapt in the mother's clothing. 
 
 On the death-darkened air, 
 
 Through the wild storm, amid the drifting snows, 
 A voice of murmured soothing blent with prayer, 
 Solemn in trustful tenderness, arose. 
 
 A mother's spirit in its parting clung 
 Unto her child — a mother's soul was stirred 
 Through all its depths — a mother's fondness hung. 
 And trembled on each faint and faltering word 
 Of blessing and farewell ; and, as the bird 
 Plucks the soft plumage from its downy breast 
 To shield its young, and cowers with quivering wing 
 More closely o'er them, to her side she prest 
 Her babe, and strove, with warmth and sheltering, 
 To frame within her clasping arms a nest : 
 " Sleep ! oh, my baby, sleep ! the night draws on, 
 Sleep once again upon thy poor mother's breast ; 
 Ere yet the morning dawns I shall be gone. 
 And thou no more will know such place of rest ; 
 
 Colder and yet more cold. 
 Dark with the storm the wild winds round us sweep, 
 Yet still above thy slumber, as of old. 
 Thy mother watches. Sleep, thou dear one, sleep !
 
 230 LO VE IN DEA TH. 
 
 Closer and closer still 
 Nestle unto me, darling, safe from harm ; 
 Cold, cold, is all without, and deathly chill, 
 Only the heart— thy mother's heart— is warm. 
 
 " Yet there it will be cool, — 
 Yes, even there, my child ! and, oh, how soon. 
 The snow drifts thickly round us — fold by fold 
 Around the sinking form, the weary feet 
 That may no longer bear us o'er the wild 
 Silent and swift, a wreathed winding-sheet 
 Is closely drawn : but not for thee, my child ! 
 No, not for thee ! my parting soul hath striven 
 With Him, the merciful — unto this hour. 
 Unto its love, its anguish, hath been given 
 A spirit of prevailing and of power ; — 
 And I have borne it from thee ! To his breast 
 Death folds me close as I fold thee to mine ; 
 Cold kisses are upon my cheek — to rest. 
 To sleep they woo me, soft and deep as thine : 
 A heavy mist steals on — I feel my breath 
 Drawn slowly from me ; yet my love shall keep 
 Its watch above thee still, and thou shalt sleep, 
 Sleep safely, sweetly, in the arms of Death, 
 And wake to Life once more ! Kind eyes shall weep 
 And kindly hearts be troubled, when they see 
 The sweet unconscious smiling of thy face ; 
 For thou wilt smile, and bear no thought of me. 
 
 Too young art thou for grief, . 
 Too young for Love, my child, for memory !
 
 LO VE IN DBA TH. 231 
 
 Yet not less fond the last, the lingering kiss, 
 Yet not less fervent from the heart the prayer ; 
 Because I know thou wilt, darling, miss 
 Thy mother in her fondness, in her care ! 
 
 But he will think of me — 
 Thy Father. Thou wilt grow up by his side, 
 And even bring the thought of her that died 
 Lonely, but lonely, blessing him and thee. 
 
 The flower — the flower may fall 
 "When it hath shielded in its folded breast 
 
 The bud of promise, loveliest, 
 Most dear of all. 
 
 And he will not be lone 
 In sorrow or in joy. Thy voice shall fill 
 The silence of his soul with many a tone 
 That once was mine, and whisper to him still 
 Of things long past, and I shall look at him 
 Through thy sweet eyes— young loving eyes that shine 
 In light and tenderness when these are dim, 
 Shall answer his with smiles that once were mine. 
 
 Sleep, dearest ! in the night 
 Of death thy mother's arms around thee twine 
 More closely, that her spirit in its flight, 
 May send a message of its love on thine. 
 
 "The snows will melt away. 
 And green leaves rustle light o'er hill and plain ; 
 Through the sweet scent of hidden waters stirred, 
 And the clear shining after summer rain,
 
 232 LO VE IN DEA TH. 
 
 The blade will spring ; then on strong wing the bird 
 Will rise to the blue heaven, ascending slow ; 
 
 The fisher will go forth upon the lake, 
 
 The hunter to the forest with his bow ; 
 But far beyond the flight 
 Of Indian arrow, far beyond the ken 
 Of mountain eagle in his soaring might, 
 I shall have passed, returning not again : 
 
 These ancient Hills shall wake 
 Like giants from their slumber at the breath 
 Of Spring, and from their lofty summits shake 
 The icy chains of stillness and of death ; 
 
 But not till they shall hear 
 A sound, and move in trembling from their place, 
 Not till the mountains and the rocks in fear 
 Shall flee, and leave where they have been no trace, 
 May I arise. O Saviour ! earth and Heaven 
 Shall pass, but Thou endurest. Unto Thee 
 I yield my spirit ; Father, bless Thou me ! 
 Bless with Thy love the child that Thou hast given !" 
 
 And in that prayer her fervent spirit passed. 
 The deep night fell, the keen and hurrying blast 
 Sang her wild dirge ; the straining clasp grew cold, 
 Yet pressed the little one with rigid hold 
 Still to her heart ; when morning came the child 
 Woke peaceful in its Mother's arms and smiled.
 
 A CHILD'S GARDEN. 233 
 
 A CHILD'S GARDEN. 
 
 Seek in the hill, and seek in the vale 
 
 For foxglove, and broom, and heather ; 
 
 Seek in the woods for the primrose pale, 
 
 Seek for the hyacinths, dim and frail, 
 
 And plant them all close together. 
 
 Flowers that are bold, and flowers that are shy. 
 
 The drooping bell, and the starry eye 
 
 That looks bright in the cheerless weather. 
 
 And fling in all seeds that twine and that trail 
 
 To bind them safe together ; 
 
 Then plant the sunflower and the lily tall, 
 
 Tulip and Crown Imperial ; 
 
 With a blush-red rose for the heart of June 
 
 Set in the midst of all, and say 
 
 A charm to make them come up as soon 
 
 As the mustard and cress that were sown last May, 
 
 And be all in bloom together ! 
 
 Emblem of youth's warm heart, thick sown 
 
 With blossoms that need fear no weather. 
 
 With winged dreams, and hopes half blown, 
 
 With flowers that love to bloom alone. 
 
 And flowers that bloom together.
 
 234 GUESSING. 
 
 GUESSING. 
 
 Childhood is the time for guessing ! 
 
 Every morning brings unbidden 
 
 Some sweet gift, half shown, half hidden 
 
 Some kind promise seldom broken, 
 
 Some bright wondrous fairy token. 
 
 Oh ! what stores are thine of blessing ! 
 
 Oh ! what joy is thine in guessing 
 
 At the hiding, at the showing 
 
 Of life's daily Miracle ! 
 
 Secrets in the wild rose blowing ! 
 
 Shut within the cowslip's bell ! 
 
 Youth thou art the time for guessing ! 
 Life before thine eager eyes 
 Holds each day some gentle prize, 
 And for thee with fond caressing 
 Still prepares some bright surprise ; 
 Bids thee guess, and for thy pleasure 
 Hides 'mid flowers and leaves a treasure 
 Gleaming golden ; and with "Follow, 
 Follow," o'er the sun-lit hill, 
 Lures thee, and through darkling hollow, 
 With a heart untiring still. 
 
 Life, what bringest thou for guessing 
 In thy long, calm after-day ?
 
 GOING TO BED. 235 
 
 Ever on our journey pressing, 
 
 Known to us both end and way, 
 
 Thou no more with us will play 
 
 At "hiding, seeking." Gone thy pleasing 
 
 Wiles, with all thy cheating, teazing. 
 
 Bring us now some steadfast blessing, 
 
 Keep it firm within our hold. 
 
 For our hearts are done with guessing, 
 
 And thy secrets all are told. 
 
 GOING TO BED. 
 
 *' It is time to go to bed." 
 
 Oh ! how soon the words are spoken, 
 
 Oh ! how sweet a spell is broken 
 
 When these words of fate are said — 
 
 ** It is time to go to bed." 
 
 Is it time to go to bed ? 
 
 Surely bed awhile can wait 
 
 Till the pleasant tale is read 
 
 At our Father's knee ; how cheery 
 
 Burns the fire ! we are not weary ; 
 
 Why should it be time for bed 
 
 Just because the clock strikes eight ? 
 
 WTiile they talk, let us be hiding 
 
 Just behind the great arm-chairs ; 
 
 It may be they will forget us, 
 
 It may be that they will let us
 
 236 NOAH'S ARK. 
 
 Stay to supper, stay to prayers ; 
 Go at last with them upstairs, 
 Hand in hand, with Father, Mother : 
 Kisses given, and "good nights " said, 
 'Twill be time for Sister, Brother, 
 Time for me to go to bed 1 
 
 NOAH'S ARK. 
 
 Many a story told, 
 Earth ! thy tale survives ; 
 In a quiet fold 
 Leading happy lives, 
 Dwell this old world's old 
 Fathers with their wives. 
 
 From the tight packed box 
 O'er the carpet spread, 
 Oh ! what peaceful flocks 
 In the fire-light red 
 Wander, from rude shocks 
 Duly shepherded. 
 
 Loved with equal love, 
 
 Prized with equal care, 
 
 Raven then and Dove, 
 
 But the dearest there 
 
 Are still the spotted Ladybird 
 
 Ar\d the springing Grasshopper,
 
 THE LITTLE BUILDERS. 237 
 
 Now does childish play 
 That sweet tale rehearse 
 Told by Prophet grey, 
 Sung in Sybil's verse, 
 or a Coming Day, 
 Of a vanquish'd curse. 
 
 See the Cow and Bear 
 
 Together dwell and feed, 
 
 Ox and Lion there 
 
 In sweet peace agreed ; 
 
 AYolf and Lamb one pasture share, 
 
 With a little child to lead. 
 
 THE LITTLE BUILDERS. 
 
 A THOUGHT FROM ST. FRANCES DE SALES. 
 
 The Saint looked on the child and said 
 " All men must build ; upon the sand 
 Or rock, with eager heart and hand 
 All men must build ; but I with thee, 
 Dear child, in thy simplicity 
 Will build in patience undismayed. 
 I will not twine for love a bower, 
 I will not raise for pride a tower 
 To reach to heaven. ^Yhat ruins lie 
 On earth ! and in the heart a cry
 
 238 GOD'S GARDEN. 
 
 Will rise from many a palace old 
 Because of doleful things the fold ; 
 But I will learn from thee, dear child, 
 The secret of all loss and gain. 
 Thou smilest when a careless hand 
 Or hasty step destroys the pain 
 And cost of all that thou hast planned, 
 And then, unsaddened, unperplexed, 
 Content to see thy work in vain, 
 Art ready with a mind unvexed 
 From the first stone to build again." 
 
 GOD'S GARDEN. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF ARNDT, 
 
 These are thy wonders, Lord of Love ! 
 To make us see we are but flowers that glide, 
 Which when we once can find and prove, 
 Thou hast a garden for us where to bide." 
 
 Oh ! that I once past changing were 
 Fast in God's Paradise, where no flower can wither 1 ' 
 —George Herbert. 
 
 Earth is a garden fair, 
 
 Where sweetest flow'rets blend, 
 Our Lord himself with care 
 
 Its happy blooms will tend ;
 
 GOD'S GARDEN. 239 
 
 With patient love and true, 
 
 He watcheth o'er his flowers, 
 And freshens them with showers, 
 
 With sunshine and with dew. 
 
 The sweetest flow' ret there, 
 
 What may it be but Love ? 
 The soother of man's care, 
 
 The bliss of Saints above — 
 It is the red, red Rose, 
 
 That must with thorns abide, 
 
 And see its gentle pride 
 Droop — when the storm-wind blows. 
 
 The flower that God holds dear, 
 
 The nighest unto love, 
 Sheds many a blessing here 
 
 Known but to Him above ; 
 Its name is Meekness there. 
 
 On Earth the violet sweet 
 
 Breathes fragrant at our feet. 
 And knows not she is fair ! 
 
 Faith is the third sweet flower. 
 
 It gives its odorous bloom. 
 Unto a joyless hour. 
 
 When all beside is gloom j 
 Thus, on the gale of night 
 
 The Cereus sheds its soul, 
 
 When clear from Pole to Pole 
 The golden stars shine bright.
 
 240 GOD'S GARDEN. 
 
 Sweet Hope ! thou art no less 
 God's gentle child and dear, 
 
 ^Vhat floweret may express 
 
 Thy gracious presence here ? 
 
 Thy likeness we may trace, 
 
 When the pale Snowdrops bring 
 Words from the coming Spring, 
 
 In soft unspoken grace. 
 
 And thou, true-hearted flower,* 
 Whose bright and cheerrul eye 
 
 Gleams fair through sun and shower, 
 In fearless Constancy ; 
 
 The image thine to bring 
 
 Of steadfast love, whose power 
 Keeps for each changeful hour 
 
 Some bloom unwithering ! 
 
 And thou that lookest down. 
 
 As with an Angel's mien, 
 With white resplendent Crown, 
 
 The garden's peerless Queen — 
 Pure Lily ! on thy smile 
 
 Undimmed by earthly stain, 
 
 The likeness doth remain 
 Of spirits free from guile. 
 
 * The Pansy, called in German, je Janger je lieber, "the longer 
 the more dear." The name of this flower seems sacred in all 
 languages to the utterance of some " gentle and a,ffectionate 
 thought,"
 
 GOD'S GARDEN. 241 
 
 And many a bud and bell, 
 
 Unnumbered yet and fair, 
 Nurtured and tended well, 
 
 Hath the Good Gardener there ; 
 How hard were it to choose 
 
 Among their bright array, 
 
 The happy flower-souk gay. 
 In their sun-coloured hues. 
 
 And yet if choice were made, 
 
 Oh Lily ! thou wert mine, 
 Pure, as a spirit's shade, 
 
 Thy radiant petals shine, 
 Thy gaze so meekly fair, 
 
 Is ever fixed above. 
 
 As if in yearning love, 
 It sought for kindred there ! 
 
 Oh Thou ! the Garden's light, 
 
 Through whom its blooms endure ! 
 ^lake me unto Thy sight, 
 
 Make me so white and pure 
 Then may I joyful rise 
 
 Where reigneth purity, 
 
 And with the just and Thee 
 Bloom ever in the skies ! 
 
 557
 
 242 CHILD AMONG THE ROCKS, 
 
 CHILD AMONG THE ROCKS. 
 
 Underneath thy feet are rocks, and o'er thee 
 Hang the heavy clifis, and still before thee 
 Ocean stretches till it meets the sky ; 
 Seest thou the white sea-birds rising, falling 
 On the breakers ? Hearest thou the calling 
 Of the winds that wail and hurry by? 
 
 Dost thou watch the ships slow sailing, nearer 
 
 Lies the world, oh young Columbus ! Dearer 
 
 Than each far-sought prize. 
 
 Rich in joy — in wonder still unfailing, 
 
 Star, and shell, and glistening see-weed trailing 
 
 In the little pool that nearest lies. 
 
 Childhood's realm is rich, yet straitly bounded, 
 
 Like a vale by giant hill surrounded ; 
 
 Lies it now hidden, safe and sweet. 
 
 Warm 'mid sheltering rocks that guard and hide it, 
 
 Heaven around, within it, and above it, 
 
 Heaven beneath its feet 1
 
 A STORY BY THE FIRE. 243 
 
 A STORY BY THE FIRE. 
 
 Children love to hear of children, 
 
 I will tell of a little child 
 
 Who dwelt alone with his mother 
 
 By the edge of a forest wild. 
 
 One summer eve from the forest, 
 
 Late, late down the grassy track 
 
 The child came back with lingering step, 
 
 And looks oft turnin<z back. 
 
 *' Oh ! Mother ! " he said, ' ' in the forest 
 
 I have met with a little child. 
 
 All day he played with me — all day 
 
 He talked with me and smiled ; 
 
 At last he left me alone, but then 
 
 He gave me this rosebud red ; 
 
 And said he would come to me again 
 
 When all its leaves were spread. 
 
 *' I will put my rosebud in a glass, 
 
 I will watch it night and day, 
 
 Dear little friend, wilt thou come again, 
 
 W^ilt thou come by my side to play ? 
 
 I will seek for strawberries — the best 
 
 Of all shall be for thee ; 
 
 I will show thee the eggs in the linnet's nes 
 
 None knoweth of but me."
 
 244 GRANDMOTHER NODDING. 
 
 At morn, beside the window-sill, 
 
 Awakes a bird's clear song ; 
 
 But all within the house was still, 
 
 The child was sleeping long. 
 
 The mother went to the little rooiu — 
 
 With all its leaves outspread 
 
 She saw a rose in fullest bloom ; 
 
 And in the little bed, 
 
 A child that did not breathe or stir, 
 
 A little happy child 
 
 Who had met his little friend again, 
 
 And in the meeting smiled. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER NODDING. 
 
 Grandmother's nodding, and while she is taking 
 
 An afternoon slumber, the children are breaking 
 
 Open the bellows, 'tis only to find 
 
 Out where the wind lives ; oh, when you are waking 
 
 Will you be angry. Granny, and scold 
 
 Over the loss of your bellows old ? 
 
 Or be proud of your children's march of mind ? 
 
 Hark, do you hear the noise they are making ? 
 
 Grandmother's nodding, the earth has grown old j 
 
 We see she is grey, we feel her shaking ; 
 
 All her strange secrets that she has hidden 
 
 Away from her children, they snatch unbidden,
 
 GOOD-NIGHT. 245 
 
 While she is sleeping — what locks are breaking, 
 What coffers are rifled ! oh, when you are waking 
 Will you be angry, Granny, and scold ? 
 Or be pleased wilh the change of your children's 
 making ? 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT. 
 
 From the German of Theodok Korneh. 
 
 [^Set to Music in three pat is by Mr, Henry Leslie. ) 
 
 Good-night ! 
 Let all labours cease with light ! 
 Day hath glided to its close, 
 Let the busy hands repose 
 Till the morrow rises bright ! 
 
 Good-nig:ht ! 
 
 Go to rest ! 
 Ee weary lids in closing blest ! 
 Hush'd to stillness every sound 
 On the watcher's quiet round — 
 Night murmurs low to every breast 
 
 Go to rest !
 
 246 THE MOURNING OF THE GAEL. 
 
 Softly sleep ! 
 Blissful vision hover deep 1 
 By tlie couch whence peace is driven, 
 By fond love, in dreams from heaven, 
 May the dear One vigil keep ! 
 
 Softly sleep ! 
 
 Good-night ! 
 Slumber till the morrow's light ! 
 Slumber — till the morning breaking 
 Bring fresh care with its awakening ; 
 Fearless in the Father's sight, 
 
 Good-night I 
 
 THE MOURNING OF THE GAEL. 
 
 The Highlanders are wont to this day to min-le a dej;ree of 
 solemn mirth in their mourning, and something akin to 
 melancholy with their mirth. The usual aversion to think or 
 speak of those who have been beloved and lost is less known to 
 this grave and enthusiastic race than it is to others. You hear 
 not only the young mention (as is everywhere usual) the char- 
 acter and the merits of parents, who have in the course of 
 nature predeceased them, but the widowed partner speaks in 
 ordinary conversation of the lost spouse ; and what is still 
 stranger, the parents allude frequently to the valour or beauty 
 of the child whom they have inlerred. The Scottish High- 
 landers appear to regard the separation of friends by Death 
 as something less absolute and complete than it is generally
 
 THE MOURNING OF THE GAEL. 247 
 
 esteemed in other countries; and converse of the dear con- 
 nexions who have sought the grave before them, as if they 
 had gone upon a long journey, on which they themselves must 
 soon follow.— 2'Ae Fair Maid of Perth. Uth Chap. 
 
 ** Ye weep not o'er your loved ones, as we weep — 
 Sons of the rock-bound glen and mountain lone ! 
 Your calm and steadfast spirits may not own 
 The touch of weakness ; yet can Memory sleep 
 With folded wings where Love was once so deep? 
 We stand upon our silent hearths alone, 
 Peopling the gloom with faces that are gone, 
 While with our hearts we sad communion keep : 
 But ye around the board where friends are met 
 Give open greeting to your fellow-men ; 
 With steady voice and earnest eyes unwet, 
 Ye speak of Z7/^;//— the vanish'd ! as if then, 
 Their smile made sunshine round you; as if yet 
 The silent voice might answer yours again ! " 
 
 " We speak of them because we love them well. 
 They have not left us ! and we shed no tear 
 That they are with us still — more pure, more dear ! 
 Our hearts have not yet learned to say farewell ! 
 Their voices died not for us in the knell 
 That told us they were gone ! When none are near, 
 They speak to us through rustling branches sere, 
 As our old pines give back the wild winds swell— 
 And voices from the happy Past have spoken
 
 248 THE MOURNING OF THE GAEL. 
 
 In tales they loved, in songs they used to sing : 
 
 As* other friends depart, they bear a token, 
 
 An earnest of the Faith to which we cling, 
 
 That the bright chain of Love is strained, not 
 
 broken ; 
 And comfort comes with our remembering." 
 
 * An affecting custom prevails among the Ilis^lilanders of 
 sending messages through dying friends to those who have 
 gone before. 
 
 Prinied by Walter Rcott, FdUnp, NcwcaMh-on-Tyne.
 
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 Edited by Douglas B. W. Sladen, B.A., Oxon. 
 
 Jacobite Songs and Ballads. Selected and 
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 Irish Minstrelsy. Edited, with Notes and Intro- 
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 Early English and Scottish Poetry, Selected 
 and Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by H. Macaulay 
 Fitzgibbon. 
 
 Ballads of the North Countrie. Edited, with 
 
 Introduction, by Graham R. Tomson. 
 Songs and Poems of the Sea. An Anthology 
 
 of Poems Descriptive of the Sea. Edited by Mrs. W^illiam 
 
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 Songs and Poems of Fairyland. An Anthology 
 of English Fairy Poetry. Selected and arranged, with an 
 Introduction, by Arthur Edward Waite. 
 
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 COUNT TOLSTOI'S WORKS 
 
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 The Series will begin with 
 
 A RUSSIAN PROPRIETOR, 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES. 
 
 By Count LYOF. N. TOLSTOt 
 
 This volume, which is representative of Count Tolstoi's 
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 prelude and introduction to those which follow. Besides its 
 own interest, much of it has the interest of di3§:uised autobio- 
 graphy ; Prince Nekhliudof, the ' Russian Proprietor,' suggests 
 the youthful figure of Count Tolstoi' himself in one of his early 
 experiences ; the ' Recollections of a Scorer,' and ' Two Hussars,' 
 are rega:ded as reminiscent of Count Tolstoi's gambling days. 
 Both must have been suggested by some such terrible experience 
 as that told of the Count's gambling-debt in the Caucasus. 
 •Lucerne' and 'Albert,' two other stories of the volume, are 
 also evidently transcripts from the author's own experience. The 
 strange young protector of the wandering singer in the one, 
 the shadoAvy Prince Nekhliudof in the other, are both Count 
 Tolstoi himself in phases quite distinct from those in which he 
 is familiar at present. 'Albert,' in its peculiar realism and 
 pathos, is one of Count Tolsto'fs most exquisite sketches, and 
 a striking example of his Uterary method. 
 
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