r£l^#'^':"''' m^^-: Jm, s^lfi^l^,':^'Ki#' '■■■■■■■ ;.*;;::■■ I;|®ili| THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 1^1 FREE FIELD FREE FIELD l^yrics CHIEFLY DESCRIPTIVE BY R. St. JOHN TYRWHITT CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD HouDon MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK 1888 All rights reserz'ed FR 5-700 b PREFACE Many of these verses have already appeared, in the Cornhill or other Magazines ; and I am answer- able for their reproduction in this volume, with some additions. It is, I know, unwise to publish verses at a late period of one's life, unless after special experiences. But I may repeat a plea made under slightly analogous circumstances : that the produc- tion is only a very little one indeed. R. St. J. T. ^rA^ 705527 CONTENTS The Syrian Flute The Fords of Jordan . Arab Graves in Rephidim The Wells of Moses . The Pass of the Winds (Xukb Howy) The Jews' Wailing-Place, Jerusalem Gennesaret, 1862 Down Dale Bendemere Stream Whitsun Eve, 1885 Lent Litany of Rain and Waters, 1879 Heautontimoroumenos FoRMOSissiMus Annus . Tiny Glory of Motion PACE I 6 12 19 25 31 37 43 47 50 52 56 59 63 65 68 vm CONTENTS Penelope Ann . To May— Autumn Letter to May — Winter Old Loves Unknown yet Well-known The Sheykh's Story Outward Bound A Return Mv Tutor's Funeral . A Lament High Craven, 1S87 Bewerley Moor Ivy — Early Kennst du das Land— Late The Daughter of Mycerinus From the Hungarian of Count Petrofv PAGE 72 75 7S 81 84 86 89 92 94 97 99 102 104 106 109 112 THE SYRIAN FLUTE (near tell el KHADY, source of JORDAN, 1862) It was a Syrian afternoon In April, sweet as English June ; And fast and free our company Rode o'er the steaming Huleh plain, And underneath the ancient tree On the first Eastern slope, drew rein. Swarth English faces two or three Among black brows of Araby ; "\^'ith some remains of white and red On Yorkshire maidens, burnt nut-brown. So where our scanty meal was spread B THE SYRIAN FLUTE By the broad oak we lighted down : And girths were slack'd, and bits withdrawn, And, haher'd on the narrow lawn, The willing horses grazed awhile. Our feet were deep in flowers alway, The young bees revelled in the may With one long song of summer-day Upon the blooms of the old Isle. Ah me I the noontide hour of ease, The halt beloved of beasts and men : How daintily the southern breeze Caressed us ever and again, While here and there a bird did seem To sleep, and twitter all in dream ; And still the hallowed new-born stream Spoke softly now and then. # # # # * Who may forget the earliest sight Of Jordan breaking into light ? THE SYRIAN FLUTE How he wells forth, strong and tender With his joyous inner sound, No foam-threaded streamlet slender. But all limpid and profound. How his fig-trees, gnarled and olden Cast abroad their fanglike wood, Thrusting off the sere-leaf golden With the emerald-bursting bud. How his ancient willows hoary Wave and whiten night and morn : How his oleanders' glory. Like rose-fringes of the morn. Glows all delicate carnation Round each wayward-wandering bay, Drinking deep in emulation Of the myrtle and the may And the lilies and the deer : And the spiry Reed, that bare On Earth's most awful day, THE SYRIAN FLUTE As the dread Dark began to fall, The sponge of vinegar and gall Man's mocking pity, last and worst Up to the lips that said, I thirst — So runs the careless stream away. # * # * * A quaint and tender little sound Came softly on my pilgrim's dream : 'Twas sigh and murmur all around, And that strange note did seem Just louder than the stream and breeze : It had a buzzing tuneful tone. As if the Grandsire of all Bees Did there disport and take his ease Making a small contented moan. I looked, and there ujion a stone, Like David or like Corydon, Or most of all like sylvan Tan, There sat a gaunt and shaggy man. THE SYRIAN FLUTE « AMio play'd the Syrian reed — The flute two-handed, which his peers Had bade discourse through all the years Since Israel piped with pipes, to bring His exiled shepherd mourning home : Since Western herdmen rose to sing Unto the reed of Greece or Rome, Since Arcady, since Sicily, Since ilex, beech, and chestnut-tree Saw shepherd's life, heard pastoral lay : That which hath been, the same shall be. Old Jordan runs on ceaselessly And man accomplisheth his day. THE FORDS OF JORDAN (FEBRUARY ibOa) Light down, and ease our hacks awhile On the bald mountain's herbless brow, And watch our stubborn mules' long file Come tinkling on, so far below. 'I'hat dreamy sound of little bells, It makes us think of evening flocks On Alpine meads and Ciinbrian fells — Amid these burnt Judxan rocks That clink and crumble 'nuath our tread Where shade is none from blinding beams Nor sigh of wind nor voice of streams THE FORDS OF JORDAN But fierce embrace of sunshine seems To blight its loved Earth dead. 'Tis scarce a hundred steps and one Across this ridge of frost and fire, Before the Eastern view be won ; Stray on, and dally with desire, Then lift eyes, and behold, Hewn out without hands, they rise All the crests of Abarim, Whence the Prophet look'd of old Back, o'er misery manifold, Forward, on the Land, unrolled Beneath his wayworn eyes. Quivering all in noontide blaze Abarim, long Abarim Glows, with very brightness dim Even as when the Seer looked back O'er the mazed grave-marked track : 'illi: FORDS OF JORDAN Over Edom, furnace-red O'er a generation dead When he knew his march was stayed. I'iends and angels watched and waited As the undimmed eyes closed slowly As the vast limbs witlicrcd wholly From their ancient strength unbated : As into the Vale of Shade Seeing, not seen, he passed away : And none knowcth to this day Where the awful corpse is laid. # * * # # The Dead Sea salt in crystals hoar Hangs on our hair like acrid rime, And we are gray, like many more, W'nh bitterness and not with time. Two hours of thirst before wo reach Yon jungle dense, and scanty sward. For many a mile, the only breach THE FORDS OF JORDAN Where Jordan's cliffs allow a ford. Now, spurs of Sheffield, do our will, And, little Syrian barbs, be gay ; All morn we spared you on the hill ; Now, o'er the level waste, away With your light stag-like bound. So cross the plain, nor slacken speed ; And brush through Sodom-bush and reed And tearing thorn, and tamarisk harsh, ^^^ild growth of wilderness and marsh. Cumbering the holy ground — Reach Jordan's beetling brink, and mark The winding trench deep-cloven and dark : The narrow belt of living green, The secret wave that whirls between : Death's river ; sudden, swift, unseen. He is changed from his gay going : Could we know the arrowy stream. Once, whose tender talk in flowing lo Tin: FORDS OF JORDAN Cast us softly into dream, Darkling now with fitful gleam In his precipices' shade, Like a half-drawn Persian blade Of black steel, darkly bright ? At his birth he went not so, Swelling pure with Hermon's snow, But joyous leapt in light. Must he fare to the Sad Sea, Through waste places, even as we ? Yet he makes a little mirth Racing downwards evermore : And the green things of sweet Earth Cling a little to his shore. Even so it is, so let it be. But strip, and try your strength wiih him, He is the type of that black wave Wherein the mighty fail to swim, The likeness of the Grave. THE FORDS OF JORDAN n Also his waters wash us free From salt scurf of the Bitter Sea : Stem his dark flood with shorten'd breath And take the lesson as you may, That the Baptismal stream of Death Doth cleanse Earth's bitterness away. ARAB GRAVES IN REPHIDIM (WADY FEIRAX, DESERT OF SINAI, 1862) Back leaned he in his saddle high That swarthy wild man of the East, With reckless grace and kindly pride, Across the sinewy wayward beast Who knew his hand and watched his eye, And cared for him and none Ijcside. His face was like the beaked kings A\'ho look from lofty-carven cars, Hewn shallow, where Euphrates' waves Reflect the broad Chaldean stars. So on his loftier camel he ARAB GRAVES IN REPIIIDI.M Rode master of a few and free, As they were lords of many slaves. A little while he bade us staj-, And pointed with a lean brown hand Towards a level space of sand A hundred yards beside the way. There lay the gravestones of his race, Their feet to East, their heads to West, Houses of pilgrims' perfect rest, They studded all the silent place ; — So blinding-bright and all alone It seemed, that desert-isle of sleep Only that shadows sable-deep Lurked imp-like by each sparkling stone. It might have been the resting-place Of those who felt the bitter sword Of Joshua, and the foredoomed race Of the dread people of the Lord. ,4 ARAB GRAVES IN REl'HII'l.M They who strove in wrath and need, Hagar's sons and Israel's seed ; Desert-worn and famine-grim In the gates of Rephidim : Where the Hsted battle swayed, (iranite walls ocr reddening sands, Rising tiers on tiers, While the Prophet's arm upstayed All day long by priestly hands Bade prevail his toil-worn bands. While Egyptian axes hewed Through the tough mimosa-wood Of the Desert spears. Ran the dancing rivulet red. Sighing to its sighing palms, Yonder, in the Serbal shade In soft rushes, and clear calms? Laid they down tlicir Hebrew dead ARAB GRAVES IN REPHIDIM 15 In sweet Feiran's small green mead There to hold the land they won ? Or beyond the rocky portal Rest they in great honour here, Reckless of the noonday sun, Of the dint of bow and spear, March, and thirst, and famine mortal. Sleeping without fear ? They had seen the fire and cloud Down as shuddering Sinai bowed ; Ever in each awful ear, All through Amalek's yells of onset. Rang the Voice exceeding loud. Therefore no man slacked his hand, And they strove from dawn to sunset ; Till their dead or living band In deep graves, or fruitful portion Rightfully possessed the land. * ;,- * * i6 ARAB GRAVES IN REPIIIDIM The hot day wears, the shadows grow I'lill lean and long upon our way ; Lo, my rough camel waxes gay. The voice of streams, the scent of grass Before him in the palmy pass, I Ic knows, he lecls ihem miles awa\'. One cut and cry is all the need, The sullen strength wakes into speed. Out shoots the long lean neck; forth launches Each foreleg, like a shoulder-hlow. And the propelling greyhound-haunches Urge on his mighty trot below, And the beast goes as he can go. His stride is silent as a dream, 'I'he dancing mirage reels around ; The yellow rocks and glittering ground Fly past me, racing like a stream. The plain is past ;. scarce ten yards wide Yawns that strange gash in Serbal's side : ARAB GRAVES IN REPHIDIM 17 The Feiran Gates flash by ; Gray weeds and brown beghi to spring, Rough tamarisk and mimosa fling Wild shade invitingly. Nor does the camel's footfall drown The soft voice of that little rill Through moss and marish trickling down Below the golden hill : Nor yet the palm-leaves rustling, sweet As the light fall of Summer rain — O tones that promise we shall meet By our own shepherd streams again ! There is a certain English tomb Where, if God will, I will be laid. There are sweet waters and deep shade, And a small weather-beaten church With lichen'd wall and ivied porch, And all around faint roses bloom. c iS ARAB GRAVES IN REPIIIDIM There winter storm and summer rain Fall various, like the tears of man. Some, \vild-l)lo\vn drops of utter pain, Some, dews of waiting hope and faith ; Seed sown in grief shall flower again, And the dead beauty of that grave Shall not be held of death. There's many a realm and many a wave Between us now and our old Land. But were I lapped in Desert sand Before the Mount, 'twere all the same. Unto the earth the earth-worn frame, The spirit unto God who gave. THE WELLS OF MOSES (near Suez) He rushes down, his course is done, The Dynast of the Eastern day : The giant hath rejoiced to run Yet sinks with willing speed away ; And the wrath he could not tame Mightier Beauty doth relieve ; And the whiteness of his flame Is toned to rose of Eve. Like a king who rules apart With an even hand severe. Who hath needed, sad at heart, 20 THE WELLS OF MOSES Quell all souls with force and fear — So, all day, his face austere. Bade us look not on our Lord — And he dimmed our veiled eyes With the waving of his sword Across the blinding skies. Now, through the fringe of yon fair cloud He spreads out radiant hands to bless. And with a farewell, soft and proud. Looks down upon our weariness : And from this last sand-ridge behold Where, ghostlike on the Red Sea shore, Our pallid tent shakes at its fold ; It may be where the Tribes of old Lay foint and travel-sore, While Egypt strewed the golden sand Rider and horse, all o'er. Above, slim changing shadows glide From wavy stems of pillar'd palm THE WELLS OF MOSES 21 That toss their plumage side by side, And join in rhythmic measure calm ; As Hebrew maidens on the strand Moved in the dance that Miriam led, And bade their timbrels echo wide Their antiphones above the dead Israel should see no more. Wide shallow pools along the beach Fill with the smooth encroaching sea Like magic mirrors quickly spread : And up a vision springs in each Of eastern mountains rosy-red Floating and quivering blushingly. Emerald and blue, the western brine, Brings to our feet the glorious line Of the long ISIountain of the Free, Then hath the Master's hand portrayed All hues of light, all tones of shade ; And to the waves and mountains given 22 THE WELLS OF MOSES A space of calm without a breath : A tranced rest of glorious death ; A brilliance like the gates of Heaven. ***** The ruins sparkle white and fair At Suez, in the Western beam — AVhere hasty wreaths of railway steam Pant upwards in the delicate air, Half gray, half sunset-rosed — Where barren foam meets barren sand And Commerce leaves her wrecks exposed 'Twixt weary sea and weary land. Thick-strewn, the camel's bones lie there, Outworn, with all its patient strength, The Desert-ship goes down at length : And just below the high-sea mark Lie ghastly ribs of many a bark That rests from warring with the main. There East meets West, and old meets new THE WELLS OF MOSES 23 And iron England rushes through, Her camels waiting for her train ; The restless messenger, who glides Up to the verge of Indian tides Which rise to woo the inland waves Through their long channel, slowly won With toil and death of suffering slaves From Necho to Napoleon. Ah, Progress treads a narrow way As strait as Faith's, and marked with graves. With fiery speed and sick delay : With sloth compelled, and feverish haste Uncomforted, across the Waste Which man may pass, but never tame. He turns not from his deadly game : He toils from sea to boundless sea : He prays to rest where he would be : He leaves the sand-trace called a Name. 24 THE WELLS OF MOSES But the long shadows stretch no more : A lightless flame of gold and rose Up to the crystal zenith glows ; The After-glow, when sunset's o'er. And hark, our tent-ropes, strained and strong Moan wrestling with the evening wind, Which now takes up its Southern song, And filling English sails unfurled Up from their Indian underworld Doth haste our Homeward-bound. O gallant wind, O loving sound ! Spread carjiet by the haunted well Named of the Guide of Israel ; Sleep dreamless sleep of wayworn men. To-morrow, sun and speed again ; And many a march on holy ground. THE PASS OF THE WINDS (NUKB HOWY) (first view of sinai) There is a swarthy fig-tree springs, All in a weird convulsive form, Half up the purple Pass of Storm, With painful branches deathly old, Her talon-roots take stubborn hold, Like Spider in the house of Kings. Yet her sad presence comforteth. Her growth is stronger than the death Of the pale granite which she cleaves ; Even to yon secret brooklet's brink. Whence her far-seeking fibres drink The life of her broad leaves. 26 THE PASS OF THE WINDS O Camels of uneven mind,^ We will not add another wrong To swell that growling undersong Of many miseries undefined, Which it delights you to prolong, And ye shall scale this broken stair With lightened loads and saddles bare. Although ye murmur and rebel Like weary ones of Israel ; As if those sullen souls who fell Had made you heirs of their distress. And bade you, all your dismal day, Go murmuring through the Wilderness And die, like them, beside the way. O utter silence of the Waste. O death — bare giant bones of Earth — For ever scarred, yet not defaced ^ " Iniqute mentis asellus." — Hok. THE PASS OF THE WINDS 27 By centuries of frost and fire — Your ruin-throes give Beauty birth In purple cleft and rosy spire. Ye flush not with the changing green Of Northern mountains that we know : Glorious and grim, the lifeless scene Reels wavering in its mirage-glow, All sultry sheen and tender hue. Up-rushing cliffs crystalline-red Close in the path, and frown o'erhead jNIost like a flayed Glencoe. They smile not here, March-flowerets new. They sigh not here, the Baptist's bees, Nor know the taste of honey dew ; Their Desert-table is not spread With willow, myrrh, and tamarisk-trees, As where dark Jordan hurries through His sweet wave to the Bitter Sea's. 28 THE PASS OF THE WINDS Their wounds become the warrior hills Enduring all without a sigh. Their gashes yawn, their thirst is sore : Theirs is no joy of tinkling rills All hurrying down delightedly To join tlieir central torrent's roar ; That strains and thunders to the sea, Most like a people fierce and free, ^^1■lo brook the curb and rein no more For wrath that masters ruth and dread. Here, but one tender-trickling thread Goes by like good men's lives unseen, A\''ith stunted palm and fig-tree green, And blessing without word. But hours and leagues have slowly pass'd The Eastern ridge is near, at last — Climb onward, awed and spurred. The desert-heats lie far below. And see, a trace of lingering snow. THE PASS OF THE WINDS 29 Lo, we have toiled, and we attain. Look down awhile with open heart, Bid wrangle of denial vain A little hour to stand apart. Think, here, at least it well may be That Israel's leader stood to see His trembling tribes roll countless by, To crowd yon miles of terraced plain And cluster round with awful eye Before the Rostrum of the scene. Which mountains circle as a throne ; Whence leagues of sloping space between Rise softly to our camels' feet ; Where all the Race might stand like one, Beneath the mountain and the cloud And hear the voice exceeding loud Deal each a summons of his own Whither Israel, wave on wave, Entered in, expectant, solemn, 30 THE PASS OF THE WIXDS Every desert-wearied column : Onward, with an even flow, Up the sandy Debbet wide In a dark and living tide. Awed ; forgetful for awhile Of the living green of Nile, Of the bondage left in haste With its luxury and its rod. Changed — for free winds of the waste And the leading of their God. Till their black tents, side by side Made the granite and the green Swarming-dark alike below : Till the fiery Cloud stooped down Deepening Sinai's cloven frown ; Red, with dreadful light illumed : Till the Voice and Vision came Downward-rushing all on flame, On the people loved and doomed. THE JEWS' WAILING- PLACE, JERUSALEM Sharp clash the hoofs on marbles worn In Sion's ruin-paven street : Spare our tired horses' floundering feet, Light down, I tread the ways forlorn, Where all seems canker'd with disease : If there be houses tainted still With scurf and scale of human ill. They needs must crumble down like these. And leprous men beside the way On whom the ancient Curse is laid. Crouch featureless in cruel day And dumb and darkling sign for aid. Cast down your alms, and hasten on 32 THE JEWS' WAILIXG-l'LACE Foot-deep in Sion's festering dust, By close barr'd hovels, which incrust The walls, once marble rose — and white Which Herod built — or Solomon. Go down with yonder abject few In caftan green, or dim white veil, Who hurry past to raise anew Their feeble voice of ancient wail Before Moriah's stones of might. Scant beards are torn : old eyelids stream With many a sad unhelpful tear. Man's weeping and earth's ruin seem To find their common centre here. And scarcely more hath Time's decay Fretted the corner-stones on high Than kissing lips have worn away The strong foundation's masonry. The Wise King stood on Sion ridge THE JEWS' WAILING-PLACE 33 With purpled priests and chiefs in mail, Where Temple-wards his soaring bridge Aerial, massive, spanned the vale. Day and night his awful eyes Gazed into all mysteries, Night and day his voice was heard Touching man and beast and bird And all growing things that be Towering-great or subtly-small ; From the red-armed cedar-tree To the hyssop on the wall. Did it vex his heart to know How that sad mean herb would grow Over every polished square His high word had order'd there ? It springs — austere and pale and faint ; No dancing showers, like fairies' feet, Bring feathered fern, and wallflower sweet, And i\7-nets and mosses quaint D 34 TIIK JEWS' WAILING -PLACE That deck decay in Northern lands, Here spiny weeds grow harsh and gray : Even as they grew, that Paschal day, ^\'hcn they were plucked by mocking hands To crown the Victim led away. — There mourn the sons, whose sires bade slay. ***** Well, we are modern ruins too With back-turn'd looks to woeful when ; Yet can be keen as hounds at view For work, or sport, or strife of men. Grief crushes not when strength is left. O City of all sorrows, we Forget our transient pains in thee ; Seeing much abides, tho' more be reft. The fountains of our eyes are dry With care and labour all the years : But this we care not to deny, That, be they shed by girls or boys THE JEWS' WAILING-PLACE 35 For love or pain, or broken toys, Even idle tears — are always tears. ^Vhy should our wayward souls refuse To sever scorn from sympathy ? One cannot weep with wailing Jews. They howl, as toothless wolves may cry : They chatter like the autumn crane — Each stands, himself a prophecy And moans his psalm, its hope unknown, While the salt drops flow on in vain. Ah me ! poor slaves whom none will buy. Sad thralls whom none will own ! Tears we have none — with awe and sighs We own, that these mad mourners' woe Strikes hard on one deep-sounding chord. That the bright Temple lieth low, Where, in the ancient centuries Men saw the great Light of the Lord : Where eyes of flesh in latter days 36 THE JEWS' WAILING-rLACE Beheld the Saviour come and go ; A wide world's Light of softer rays. ***** What hope ? the helpless thought intrudes : Pass the near postern : mount and ride Where Hinnom's vultures wheel and feast. Look North and South and ^^'cst and East On silent Ophel's populous side. There rest for furlongs far and wide, In shallow soil or rock-hewn cell, The multitudes, the multitudes. And there is peace for Israel. GENNESARET, 1862 Behold, the Waster's peace is here Dead silence after battle-bray. Unlike the western spring-time dear, ^Vhen English fields are hushed in May, With populous calm of tender sound Of leaf and insect, fold and herd. And wild birds revelling all around : Here sickly Nature hath no word : The stubborn World's Debate is still In desolate rest, even since that day When up yon western horned hill ^ The long day's strife did roll and roar, Till broke the Christian arm and sword, ^ Kurun Hattin (Saladin's victory). 38 GENNESARET And their faint few might strike no more The controversy of the Lord His mindful mountains hear, until Their ancient strength shall melt away. Thine is the quiet of the Dead ; Yet hast thou known another scene, What time the words of Peace were said Between thy peaks, Kurun Hattin ; When He in whom we live Blessed those who love, spare, toil, forgive — All Earth's unknowing race in turn. It may not fail, it hath not passed, It holds for aye, from first to last, That amplest blessing spoken then On all the sighing sons of men, " Blessed arc they who mourn." He shall not reign. His people cried. They have their will, He holds His hand. GENNESARET 39 And still the Turkish scourge is plied, The wasting curse of man and beast ; And Desert tribes, like Desert sand, All the fierce children of the East, Go up like locusts on the land. ***** But yester-eve we lingered late (Being somewhat worn with sun and speed) To watch, beneath Tiberias' gate The wild Hawara play jereed. Like swallow wheel'd each wiry steed, Until the thief who him bestrode Deck'd with all colours of the ]\Iede, Looked winged and birdlike in his selle So lithe and light he rode. Beside the crumbling battlement (Shaken, the day when Safed fell In one wide carnage, earthquake rent). The women gazed, and sang by turns. 40 GENNESARET They held their Bairam feast that day With mimic war and sport of love And whispering waved the pahiis, above Volcanic fire that heaves and burns. * * * * # The lovely lake fills up the caves That once were as the mouth of Hell. The flowers laugh careless over graves : And tho' we mourn tliat Beauty dies, She hath her day — and it is well. A little time she flies, All marred and weeping, like Love's Queen From Diomedes' spearhead keen and gray ; But ever again, where she hath been Constant, not changeless, day by day. She triumphs o'er the scene. As with the breathing of God's breath So dies she ever and is born, Hers are the gates of night and morn GENNESARET 41 Whence she doth marshal clouds and light In hues of glory manifold From crimson wild to burning gold, To flame o'er fair things and forlorn Though smoke of commerce dim the sun And din of trade offend the skies, And all the pleasant streams that run Be clogged with mills and foul with dyes — Yet falls the night, and morn doth rise In glory over all things mean, And in the brightness of thine eyes Decay grows dear and darkness bright, O Mistress, O our Queen ! The broad white stars obey thy hand That wheel across the Arctic night And o'er the savage northern sea The night-long sunset glows for thee In nameless hues of unthought sheen. 42 GENNESARET Feel bit and rein, draw girths, and mount : Yet gaze along the silent shore Ere this delight shall join th' account Of all that \vc sliall see no more. The still lake mirrors slope and cliff Each standing o'er its shade, as if The " Peace, be still " were lately said. The rosy oleanders glow For miles of marge — a light of snow Rests on the northern waves, below Old Hermon's triple head : Only in dreams, beloved Sea, Our souls shall henceforth walk by thee. DOWN DALE (WHARFEDALE, YORKSHIRE) From the shallow above the linn That swallows wild Wharfe in, An old cock-heron, with a sable tuft in his breast of gray- With a fierce affrighted scream, Like one, half-slain in dream, Who wakes to Danger nigh With armed hand on high — So he cast him on the air, wild-flapping and all astray. But a spiral sweep he made : His beak, like a rapier-blade At the guard he bore 44 DOWN DALE His breast before, And he took the wind in his wings, down dale he whirled away. Heaped clouds on the moors to Nor'ad A\' here their wrath had been outpoured, And had streamed and flashed and roared half a summer's day : By the luU'd wind gently driven By the slant rays softly riven, Touched with the coming of even, Rosy like houses of heaven. Solemnly pure and sweet, like Clouds of the Attic play — ^^'ith a maiden movement slow, Gliding and bending low, Sidelong by hollow and brae,^ A chorus in measure and rhythm, down dale they swept away. ' Ala Tuv Kol\ui> Kai tQiv 8a avrai nXaylai. — Aristoph. Ntihes DOWN DALE 45 But louder hour by hour Waxed the river's voice of power : Swoln from the sodden moor, and thundering pale or red ; Red in the depths of his might, Pale in his wrath of fight With the twisted dens and caves That cramped his writhing waves. (And you heard their boulders pounding helpless down his whinstone bed :) There were sills and doors of a home, A dead sheep glanced through the foam : — And whirling all without stay Down dale he reeled, and he roared, and he raced away. Yet through the dripping brake, Where the torrent lashed Hke a snake, Came one, by the fly-fisher's path, and the sounding shore — Lonely, if not forlorn, Grizzled, and tanned, and worn. 46 DOWN DALE And old he seemed ; but he sped AViih a light-foot hunter's tread On the rocks of the swirling stream that should know his step no more. He looked to river and liill ; " Ye may gloom and brighten still, When I am gone to the rest Who are called and chosen and blest : And I take up my word, and say From the rise to tlie set of my day He hath done well : " and his grave lips moved as he strode away. BENDEMERE STREAM CHERWELL ( 1 883-4) Bendemere Stream flows far away, Though it ripples close in an eldern ear ; There it is always westering day, There the summer is deep and clear. Feverish Youth, he comes not near. " Elderly gentlemen " love to dream " Sitting by side of this murmuring stream " Which sings as it flows By willow and rose Over all things lost, and dead, and dear. 48 BENDEMERE STREAM Whispering reed and wandering rose Iris and pale myosotis flowers Sigh their scent — and the aspen throws Shadow and sound of tender showers ; But there it never rains nor pours : Still it is summer, laden and late, Spellbound air hath slumbrous weight ; And indolent bees Drone much at ease ; And fail to improve the shining hours. The rose is faint, the rose-leaves fall ; They drift like tinted scented snow : Still as the light airs come and go The full blown flowers droop, one and all ; The Summer hath stilled tlie sweet birds' call Creeping on with sun and moon The Shadow of Death, ii chills the noon : Sit by the stream, like Horace's clown : BENDEMERE STREAM 49 At the set time it shall bear thee down. Thou must depart ; Lift up thine heart ; Hope thy hope, and pray thy prayer. WHITSUN EVE, 1SS5 (first spring rain, oxford) On bitter Spring's unlovely hours, On frosted fruits and blighted flowers, On parching hill and cracking plain It conies at last, the southern rain. The slow unwilling patterings seem To gather to a tuneful stream ; The young leaves fall into the strain And drip theii- drops of southern rain. O living stream and blessing breath, As life were with us, and not death : WHITSUN EVE 51 All swelling buds are bursting fain Wide open'd to the southern rain. I am a broken branch and old, My thought is dull, my heart is cold ; A breath of Thine on heart and brain, O Lord, shall bless like southern rain. Come Thou ; it is the Whitsun Eve. All earth shall joy, all flesh believe. Possess all weary souls again. Like piercing fire — like melting rain. LENT ' For lo, the Lord is come out of His place." Up, my Soul, for this is He, Lo, He is come to see The wide world's iniquity. And all souls therein. Every crime and every woe He knowcth and will know. Bend, lofty head or low CJi. Because of thy sin. Turn thee from pain and toil. Leave thought of strife and spoil, LENT 53 Draw thee out of dull turmoil And sick world's din ; Doff cloak and veil thou must, Cast off Pride and Fear and Lust, Cleave no longer to the dust Ch. Because of thy sin. Many brethren round thee press, Little ones He deigns to bless, Kneeling in great lowliness They shall seek and win. Each is one, and thou art one, Each answers deeds his own, Each arraigned alike alone Ch. Because of his sin. O sad soul, hast thou fear? Verily He dwelleth near ; Is it in great \\Tath severe 54 LENT That He doth begin : Pointing to the spear-wound red In the Side fhou hast pierced, Lifting up the Hand that bled^ Ch. Because of thy sin ? Wherefore hath He bowed His head Down from high heaven Where Time is vanished, Where Space is riven ? From the crystal without shore, Where thought can think no more Wondrously He hath past o'er : Ch. Because of thy sin. Wherefore hath He borne the weight Of all toil and pain. Humbled under death and fate ' See Ruskin, Val d'Arno, p. 194, on Orcagna. LENT Chained with our chain ? From the hour thy sin began Ripened on his awful Plan, Even unto death, O man Ch. He hath borne thy sin. Look, believe, rejoice to see He hath tender eyes for thee And His red blood cleanseth free Outward and within : He hath bled and wept and sighed Are thine eyes so deadly dried ? Ch. full. O Loved one, hath not God died Because of thy sin ? 55 LITANY OF RAIN AND WATERS, 1879 Lord, Thy Face is hid away In the cloud-dark of Thy Throne And Thy mourning people pray All as one, and each alone. Each with sins and cares to tell Many souls with one accord — Lord, Thou doest all things well, Spare Thy people, O our Lord. All the reapers mourn afraid Over wasted plain and hill, Since Thine anger is not stayed And Thy hand is stretched out still LITANY OF RAIN AND WATERS 57 Shall Thy curse of famine fell On Thy sheep be all outpoured ? Lord, Thou doest all things well, Spare Thy people, O our Lord. Mirth is gone from out the land, Prayer and toil are all in vain For the tempest of Thine hand And the plague of Thy great rain. Give our weary souls to tell Of the sure hope of Thy word ; — Since Thou doest all things well, Spare Thy people, O our Lord. And if long days we must pine Under stroke of this Thy rod ; It is Thou, and we are Thine, Be this all our thought, O God. Strengthen against Death and Hell 58 IITANV OF RAIX AND WATERS All weak souls beneath Thy sword, Since Thou doest all things well, Spare Thy people, O our God. Let us know Thy coming Form While we strive with this rough sea Through the gloomy rack of storm : We are Thine, and we have Thee. Dying or living, let us swell The one voice of Thy restored. Lord, Thou doest all things well, Spare Thy people, O our Lord. HEAUTONTI^IOROUMENOS Lo, at length thou art alone In a quiet room by night. For an hour thy soul's thine own, Thou hast warmth and rest and light. Rest thee, heart they will not read, Lay it by, thy mail of need ; Let all stabs and scratches bleed Till their aching pass away. Hast thou cast down righteous seed Sorrowing, on the doubtful way 6o HEAUTONTIMOROUMENOS On to where all shadows lead Darkening to the full death-gray ? Thou hast sinned, and sinned again. Therefore take home all the pain, Every curious pang that flies From foul lips and haggard eyes Cursing thy weak help in need. Let all bleed, let all bleed Till the smart be past away. Did they prove thy coat of mail ? Yes, they stung home heartily, Yet thy heart did not quite fail And they drew no curse nor cry ; And they meant thee no great ill : Not knowing thine, or their own will Could'st thou tell them all thy mind They would sorrow and be kind, Say no word and take no heed, HEAUTONTIMOROUMENOS 6i Let all bleed, let all bleed, All will bleed away. Grows it slack, thy cord of fate ? Does thy well-wheel creaking roll ? Hath the grasshopper his weight On the faintness of thy soul ? Are thy heaving sides well torn With the rowel and the thorn, Like the flanks of a spent steed That hath worn out the long day ? Stand thou still awhile, and bleed. Let all bleed away. Thou hast fallen, and yet must fall Many a time beside to-day. For thou art not wise at all ; Verily, 'tis as they say. And they err not, scorning thee, 62 HEAUTONTIMOROUMEXOS Since even now they cannot see All thou know'st, of sin and need ; Sit thee down, breathe thoughtful breath ; Thou must smart, but not to death. Thou must work and bleed Yet awhile — for many a day. FORMOSISSIMUS ANNUS (OCTOBER 1884) (WYTHAM woods) They have done with the beans, they have carried the corn The white Autumn furrows are ghttering and shorn : The seven-o'clock sunshine is cloudless and clear And sweet is the wane of the Beautiful Year. The Port-Meadow turf echoes low as we ride; And gay is the gallop by Isis her side : Where float on still waters, more scarlet than sere. The first-fallen leaves of the Beautiful Year. Black rooks and gray starlings are mustering on high ; The blue herons wing over, with desolate cry. 64 FORMOSISSIMUS ANNUS The lapwings they whistle and wail far and near, Are they sad for the wane of the Beautiful Year ? . Not they — nor we either : — in Wytham once more The O. B. are out, with a stout cub before ; Push up the long hill into cover, and hear Their earliest chime in the Beautiful Year. Sweet birds and hght leaves — ye may glitter and fly, We send a sigh after, but only a sigh. Thy death has a beauty that casteth out fear With hope in thine ending, O Beautiful Year. TINY He met me in the street Half starved, with mangy fur. With eyes and tail he did entreat ; — He was a little cur. I took him home, in short, Where in about an hour Unto my wife he made his court And rose to social power. He rather cut me then And ladies did pursue. Finding them pleasanter than men I always thought so too. 66 TINY In other dogs' discourse He likewise took delight, To barking he had large recourse But never tried to bite. From fat he fell to lean, Being old and sick : and then He was the little dog he'd been. And took to me again. I carried him to bed Sometimes — he was so weak ; He leaned a tiny worn-out head So soft against my cheek. His death provoked no weeps, Nor any kind of stir : But yet he seemed to reach one's deeps- That little dying cur. TINV 67 Nor care I one bad word For parties far or near Who may consider it absurd That he was very dear. GLORY OF MOTION (S. OXFORDSHIRE, 1878) Three twangs of the horn, and they're all out of cover ! Must have yon old bullfinch, that's right in the way : A rush, and a bound, and a crash, and I'm over ; They're silent, and racing ; and for'ad away ! Fly, Charley, my darling ; away and we follow, There's no earth or cover for many a good mile ; We're winged with the flight of the stork and the swallow; The heart of the eagle is lent us awhile. The pasture-land knows not of rough plough or harrow. The hoofs echo hollow and soft on the sward : GLORY OF MOTION 69 The soul of the horses goes into our marrow, My saddle's the kingdom whereof I am lord. All rolling and flowing beneath us like ocean Gray waves of the high ridge-and-furrow glide on : And small flying fences in musical motion Before us, beneath us, behind us are gone. ig. O puissant of bone and of sinew availim To speed through the glare of the long Desert hours : My white-breasted camel, the meek and unfailing. That sighed not, like me, for the shades and the showers And bright little Barbs, with veracious pretences To blood of the Prophet's, and Solomon's sires — You stride not the stride, and you fly not the fences. And all the wide Hejaz is nought to the Shires. O gay gondolier ! from thy night-flitting shallop I've heard the soft pulses of oar and guitar : But sweeter's the rhythmical rush of the gallop, 70 GLORY OF MOTION The " fire in the saddle," the flight of the star. Old mare, my beloved — no stouter or faster Hath ever strode under a man at his need — Be glad in the hand and embrace of thy master And pant to the passionate music of speed. T'ard Beauty — how quickly, as onward she races, And " comes through her horses " in spite of my hold, I catch the expression of jolly brown faces Of parties a-going it over the wold. They mostly look anxiously glad to be in it, All hitting and holding, and bucketing past ; O pleasure of pleasures, from minute to minute The pace and the horses — may both of them last. # :'f * * # Can there e'er be a thing to an elderly person So keen, so inspiring, so hard to forget, So fully adapted to break into verse on As this — that the steel isn't out of him yet ? GLORY OF MOTION 71 That flying speed tickles one's brain with a feather ; That one's horse can restore one the days that are gone That, spite of gray winter and weariful weather, The blood and the pace carry on, carry on ? PENELOPE ANN A LITTLE bay, low in the shoulder, And more for her work than a Show. Her stature don't strike the beholder — Get up then — see how she can go. You'll not want a longer or taller To carry your weight in the van, But only don't ask why we call her Penelope Ann. One glance at that backbone and quarter, Those legs ever slender and sound : And then only think that we bought her To the tune of a mild forty pound ! PENELOPE ANN 73 So mighty and free in her action, So kind to the handHng of man, She has got a certain attraction Penelope Ann. Hark forward ! they've crashed out of cover One torrent of canine delight : Just show her her place — and you're over ; And give her her head — and all right. No reason to hustle or wallop. Just sit down, as still as you can — She'll never drop that dogged gallop Penelope Ann. You may go the short road with that lady. The customer's way, very straight, While the devious, the prudent, the shady Edge off to be squeezed in a gate : Watch those little ears, cocked for daring, 74 PENELOPE ANN Hear the snort of that nostril of tan, You may let her have that without caring — Penelope Ann. Sire ? Dam ? Well, she's bound to have had 'em ; Or else she could hardly be there. I don't know her breeder from Adam : But he knew a good horse and mare. They must have been boldest, and kindest, And stoutest, that ever bore man. So GO IT ; you won't be " behindest," Penelope Ann. TO MAY— AUTUMN There's now and then a red leaf flying, Tho' the birches are hardly growing sere, In the pines there's a gentle Southern sighing And we revel in the strength of the year. There are late roses lingering not fading. But all through the long sweet day We weary for a long sweet maiden, And she — rejoices in the name of May. It is autumn brown, and the heather All bronzed and purple with the sun, Sends its strong birds of dark-red feather, To rattle up, and crow before the gun 76 TO MAY— AUTUMN "Pereunt," like the hours, "et imputantur," They get shot and counted all the day — But O, in spite of all the sport we want her ; We can't anyhow get on without our May. She walks by a Southern river, Her feet are deep in Southern flowers. She hears not the birches' scented shiver. Nor the honied whisper of the moors. She gets on sadly well without us, But swallow, swallow, fly to her and say, Tho' she may not condescend to think about us Were all of us a-drcaming over May. What's that springs between the stream and heaven ? AVould you tell me now, O salmon newly run. Have you pass'd along the sounding shores of Devon ? And did you jump, and see the Lovely one ? TO MAY— AUTUMN 77 You don't answer : fish are uncommunicative. Let me put twenty yards of line your way : Now show your pluck and enterprise, you caitiff, And rise at me, as I would rise at May. LETTER TO MAY— WINTER It was a gentleman of Crete Or Calydon, it nowise matters. He rode from many a woodland meet As madly as all classic hatters. His name was Cephalus ; and why No reason's given that I remember. But he cried Aura ! in July, And I call May ! in white December. December won't be wintry when Our frozen floods bear that new-comer. Come, Beauty — brings us back, per train, LETTER TO MAY— WKXTER 79 Thy rose and white of early summer. O Outside Edge ! O failing strength, O aged frame that often fallest ! Won't all our vows bring back at length Our fairest — and perhaps our tallest ? Why comes she not ? all Oxford swells Are full of cares and sad surmises, Why tarries still our Belle of belles, Nor skates upon the ice of Isis ? Why comes she not ? Vain Echo cries Insultingly, " because she doesn't," And Hope in wilful negation dies, And May is mayn't, and can't, and mustn't. * # # * * But now along the mournful High Snow-piled above the horses' " hockses," There crawls a solitary Fly Bearing no end of ladies' boxes. 8o LETTER TO MAY— WINTER Lo she is here ! and if not peace She carries hope for patient waiters. She lights, and lirings our souls release, And all is gas, and all is gaiters ! ^ ^ I presume tliat Nicholas Nicklcby has not yet become a classic, and lost its readers. The gentleman next door in gray stockings can hardly be forgotten. — Author. OLD LOVES Dear boys, you look hard as she passes : And briefly the truth may be told, That all men may see without glasses We're both of us awfully old. Like most of our friends, we are bearing The chilly revenges of Time ; But the Bard sings away without caring. And warms to the dance of his rhyme. The raven hair's grown like a starling That flows by her pale coral ear ; But O, the dark eyes of my darling Were never more deep or more dear. 82 OLD LOVES We both shall burn down to our ashes And sink with the flames of the Past. . But the wildfire will leap through her lashes : The black brows will arch to the last. The Record is writ in wan waters Of all the Beloved who are fled. And Beauty may mourn for her daughters Who bloomed, and were dear, and are dead. Life's dithyramb faints and goes slowly : Earth's, blessing is matched with her curse : And high is our hope, but too holy For treatment in cantering verse. Why write it then } Well — 'tis permitted To tell one's old love-story o'er. One can't always beg to be pitied With nrenias about Never More ; And nocturns, and roundels, and amor- ous atheism sung into space, OLD LOVES 83 Are not quite invariably grammar. Now, that is correct in this case. One glows over Beauty in splendour, One melts over Beauty in tears : But a witch, like her sister of Endor, Is Beauty that's grown into years. Old Memory and Honour are mighty To call us like bees to our Queen : So dear is our ex-Aphrodite, So evermore — what she has been. UNKNOWN YET WELL-KNOWN (hadajoz, 1S13) We left the plunder of the town while yet the East was gray: All in the dewy dreary dawn we sought them where they lay High-piled in that accursed breach, each as he passed away : By night 'twas like tlie mouth of Hell ; strewn like its floor by day ; And who was he, and what was he ? they asked it all in vain — The bravest brave, the foremost fallen, the flower of English slain? UNKNOWN YET WELL-KNOWN 85 None knew his number or his name, there where he lay outspread, Thrust underneath their spikes of steel, foremost of all the dead. We buried him proudly where he fell ; we made the less of moan That no man knew the shattered face — his mother had not known. And if you care for fame of men, think somewhat on his fall. He hath no name to tell, he lies unknown beneath the wall. He gave his life most willingly, where willing men were all. It may be that before his Lord his need shall not be small. Man may not judge of his desert, and human praise were vain For him, the foremost, flower and chief of all the English slain. THE SHEYKH'S STORY (gibbon) Full late the sharp alarm was cried ! Our waning fires scarce gave a spark — The midnight grew so deadly dark Men prayed for light on either side. The Caliph had a score to ten And right among our tents they rode ; But evermore the strife abode Where Ali's broad blade rose and fell. As a brother greets a brother, As the dry ground takes the rain Willing, not to part again — So we rushed upon each other. THE SHEYKH'S STORY 87 Hard heads crack'd, and high blood ran, Down went many a mailed man, Deep and choice drank Earth our mother ! But still All's strong hand swung All those hours of swaying fight, Still the Loved One's voice low-thunder'd (With the words he never said. But he fell'd his foeman dead) All night long, and time, two hundred — God is great, and giveth might ! So he smote without a frown, So untouched he mowed them down. if. * ■» ■» * I am Salam Ibn Seir, High Sheykh of the stout Rowalla. All my chestnut beard and hair Have grown silvery since that day. And I've lived in chase and fray Threescore years and ten — Mash Allah ! 88 THE SHEYKH'S STORY And, good youths, this is iny rede : In your wealth and in your need All through life, and all through strife, Do your best as we did then. We loved All's hard-pressed men ; Ye shall hear your Lord's voice tolling Over waves of combat rolling, He shall cleave you out your way. OUTWARD BOUND (OCTOBER '83) Ay, we were full, both heart and hand All those sore days of the sere leaf : Untaught to pinch on English ground. They girded loins for the far land : We kissed and clasp'd hands one last time In that East-London gloom and grime. For God had mingled wine of grief And that black cup went circling round. Slow moved away the crowded train : Mighty it looked, soot-black and dread, Uncouth and huge, in sight and sound. 90 OUTWARD BOUND It seemed as if a realm of pain Were claiming many hapless dead ; Hapless, not hopeless, since they wept For love and grief, and weeping kept To prayer confused, not wholly vain, As that black cup went brimming round. So many souls that single smart Of parting pierced through and through ; So many felt the self-same wound. So many a fainting sickening heart Felt keener grief and weightier And gave more weakly to the strain Because that others wept in vain : And dulness had no wine and myrrh To slake that cup that circled round. One poor old dame in those sad ranks Seemed overdressed, and fat, and plain ; OUT\YARD BOUND 91 But Beauty's most becoming woe Had never touched one half so near : For on the grimy Station planks Her tears fell with the plash of rain Like blood-drops, audibly and slow : And she nor knew nor cared at all What man or woman saw them fall. And any journalistic swain Had pitied her, and spared to sneer. " Now for the Shore " — and a great bell Dismissed us with its bullying loud — To sooty train and squalid crowd ; To thread the life-competing hell Of all that's worst in sight or sound ; Through Poplar, to the Underground. No more to do, no more to say ; The cup was emptied for the day. Its bitterness had run the round. A RETURN Dear boy, at last you're home again, You're six feet one and twelve stone two. And you can lead and dare and do. They call you valiant among men, What else could come of you ? Yet it seems rather sad and queer To think you never again can be That little hoy so very dear Who really took my heart from me. Grown out of knowledge — yes, 'tis sad, You are not what your mother knew, The strong hard-bitten litde lad A RETURN 93 Who always had a loving look And eyes as soft as dew — Yet could fight somewhat, and ride well And was extremely hard to "sell," And read, but didn't love his book, And thought all pleasant tales were true. Come home, if any home can be Now she is gone and all is lost, Come back again in withering frost Who left us o'er the summer sea, With glad up-anchor and away. In whose long toil of work and play Its joy seemed plenty for the day. Well, hold that faith, nor count the cost, Be glad and th^^nkful while you may. MY TUTOR'S FUNERAL (easthampstead, may 1883) With its familiar clinking sound The Rectory gate behind me fell. Some honied dews and scented snows From faint rich may, and guelder-rose Down-rustling, broke the silent spell Of that remembered ground. Through masses of dark forest-green All brown and scarlet, brick and tile The house stood rich and warm between, A pleasant place, a little while. MY TUTOR'S FUNERAL 95 Sagaciously at ease they fed With dewlaps deep in summer grass Those well-bred, well-contented kine : They raised no head, but let one pass And never broke their social line ; The gray cob shook his head. And fretted gently in his stall. His friend the keen fox-terrier strayed To find the hand he best obeyed, And listened for a silent call. But all within was hushed and dark. And women wept, and men looked grim ; And in a dread and darkened room Mine old best friend lay stiff and stark — I kissed the lips of him. Had we known that, in strength and pride, When therefrom truth and learning came, 96 MY TUTOR'S FUNERAL And Humour bickcr'd forth like flame — Should we have laughed or sighed ? On the old study-table lay An empty album, which had held Quaint photographs of many a friend, Far-fled and scattered, need-dispelled — Priest, soldier, scholar — all away — Here, true love hath its end And wanes like life, with moon and sun : Till the new Earth and the new Heaven Hold all the choir of the forgiven. Till all be Love, and all be One. A LAMENT (after weber) Reckless birds are flying where my love is lying, There faint flowers are dying through the early fall. Earth and Heaven shall keep her ; nor may any weeper Touch that loving sleeper, wont to comfort all. There shall earth lie lightly, there tall trees be sightly, There the moon look nightly, while the moon endures. There let grow together fern and honied heather — For she always always loved the moors, Under free winds' blowing, where the grouse are crowing. Better blooms are growing than all garden flowers : H 98 A LAMENT Where the gray cloud hurries through the stony corries She and I did wander many summer hours. She must he and wither through tlic evil weather, And the Hope most holy comforts, hardly cures — Yet o'er the Beloved plant the purple heather, For she ahva)s always loved the moors. When the Lord erases tears from off all faces, Tears that left no traces, inner tears unshed, Lo, we shall be changed — yet with tender graces Of their bygone beauty rise the faithful dead. Love that never faileth is the same for ever, Man alone denicth ; and the Word assures — Meanwhile o'er the Dearest plant the purple heather For she always always loved the moors. HIGH CRAVEN, 18S7 We drove by rocky dale and down, By Ribble side we caught the train. We turned us to the hideous town— The autumn sky was gray with rain,. The mist hung low on Halton lea— And I was glad I could not see. I could not see the warlock crest Of Pendle,! or the stream most dear^ Where she, the truest, bravest, best, "Was happy with me, year by year, ^ The Hill of the Lancashire Witches. 103 UK ill CRAVEN Until all ended on n day. I was content to turn away. Entered a squirearch's son or two And talked of gunning, grouse, all that ; How many a name and place I knew Came up through all their honest chat. r.Lit the train batter'd at mine ear And I was glad I could not hear. ***** Vet all was good, tho' all be lost : And joy was joy, tho' for an hour : So walk no more, regretful Ghost, Round empty hall and broken bower. He giveth rest and dricth tears, Even drops unshed — kind are the years. The thought antl love, the fire and mirth, All pleasant things that made thee gay— HIGH CRAVEN loi These are " thine ornaments " on Earth Thou needs must put them quite away : Then, stand and wait, or rise and go, • "What to do with thee He will know."^ ^ Exodus xxxiii. 5. BEWRRLEY MOOR There's a slow moving mist on the breast of the liill, The breath of the morning is touched with a chill ; The heather is reddened a bit in its tone, And Autumn is glowing, but Summer is gone. Full fair is the high sheltered garden of ours : You may hear the grouse call, where you sit with your flowers ; All colours are changing, both evening and morn, ^^'ith a mellower beauty— but Summer is gone. It's "tender," and "subtle," and "shimmering"— O dear! We've come to the elderly stage of the )ear — BEWERLEY MOOR 103 And O for the fire and the life of the sun ! One's heart rather fails one, when Summer is gone. I'm greatly past forty ; and therefore should " know The worth of a lass," and I don't put it low ; I'm rather autumnal, and rather alone — But I think of you still — tho' the Summer is gone. IVY— EARLY Thv shining head shall wear the wreath Which once the wild Bacchante bore, Thy violet eyes shall shine beneath Brighter than all before. All things lovely have their day, Fair and dear must pass away, Even the Ivy must decay With all bright heads that wore. I know, and care not — care not thou : I swear what all mine elders swore, O Darling, I believe thee now Lovelier than all before ; IVY— EARLY 105 As thy looks send back the hght Like thine ivy dark and bright ; And thy deep eyes of pure night Rest, rest evermore. Thine Ivy once shone glad and brave O'er wine-wet hair and wine-flushed brow. Since — it hath deck'd full many a grave — They call it pensive now. Yet thy crown it well may be, Since in sadness or in glee None may smile or sigh like thee, So wear thine ivy-bough. KENNST DU DAS LAND— LATE Know'st thou the land of golden morn All glare of lieat and flame of light, Where over perilous wastes forlorn The great sun rides in tameless might ? Ah me, to think of two short hours In Fciran's palm and tamarisk bowers In that fresh islet of the sand Green with the green of our old Land ; A\'illi its one tender-trickling hill And whispering palms woven overhead, And granite peaks above, rose-red — O dear lost Love, if that might be There would I rest awhile by thee. KENNST DU DAS LAND— LATE 107 We knew the immemorial snow On silent ridge and savage Horn ; The silver summits far withdrawn The pale rage of their torrents' flow, Their rosy peace at eve and morn Their power of storm, their still noon-glow. The palm's no lovelier than the pine. Nor, if my hand lay warm in thine, Which roof'd us, should we care, or know. Lost love, although it may not be, My soul yet wanders there with thee. We knew the red hills of the deer The glory of their purple heath. The mirror of the breezeless mere The west wind's honey-laden breath, The sturdy hunter-craft all day, The crawl, the rush, the shot, the bay, The stout hart stretched upon the sward — loS KENNST DU DAS LAND— LATE And thine the brightest eyes of all To greet us home at evening fall, And thou my Queen, and I thy Lord- Long hours and glad by moor and glen Are gone with thee, nor turn again. And now thou know'st the quiet shore. The region very far away, The nightless rest for evermore. The Day that is not as one day — Where faith is right and doubt is o'er And pain a nothing of the past. Where God shall heal the heavy sore I must bear onward to the last ; And I shall look again on thee. I'A'en so, lost love, so let it be. THE DAUGHTER OF MYCERINUS (Hdt., ii.) Fasten back yon heavy-folded awning, Let me look upon the dying day : I shall never see another dawning And in light I fain would pass away. Let the red sun shine Where his glance divine Yet may cheer mine unforsaken clay. Raise me up, and turn my face to Northward Where old Nile runs turbidly and strong ; All day long I heard him sweeping forward And he seems to bear my soul along. no THE DAUGHTER OF MVCERIXUS Strangely bearing me To an unknown sea, All in measure to an inward song. Come thou near me, father, call me Dearest. Other name thou never had'st for me ; Let me hear thee once again, thou cheerest This faint spirit, faint but nearly free, Let thy love again Stronger than all pain Breathe upon my soul invincibly. Take my hands in thine, and press them to thee, Lay thy cheek to mine, nor sorrow now : For our gods' cold hatred doth pursue thee. Face their thankless anger — fear not thou. Not for any prayer Will our tyrants spare, Not for mystic dance or frantic vow. THE DAUGHTER OF MYCERINUS in Thou art gentle, and their need is slaughter : They are strong to smite, and thou to save : Thou art not as they are ; and thy daughter Goes before thee to her maiden grave. Yon pale shallop waits And the cold-eyed Fates Beckon queen-like over that dead wave. Father — while there yet remain that love me Yearly let them bring me from my rest, Let the well-loved sunshine brood above me Tho' it wake no warmth within my breast. So my soul shall be Very near to thee, Seeking all on earth it loved the best. FROM THE HUNGARIAN OF COUNT PETROFY (killed in action 1869) If that the Lord stood near and said, " My son, I give thee power To choose thy time of mortal dread, And name thine own dark liour " — So should it fall at Autumn tide, In Autumn blithe and brown ; Ere winds be wild, or sere leaves piled Before the winter's frown. With one late-lingering bird to sing In sunshine glinting down. FROM THE HUNGARIAN OF COUNT PETROFY 113 I'd sing my last, as blithe and free As birds among the may, xA.nd up to heaven my voice should flee And fair and brave should echo me Until I passed away. And when the charm hath left my lips And when the song is o'er, Come thou, my Heart, the flower of earth, Come though thy soul be sore. And shake thy tresses down like Night And kiss my lips once more. But if this be too good for man God send my death in Spring, When men be met on either hand When maddening trumpets sing, And stabs and blows bring out the Rose From stout hearts blossoming. 114 FROM THE HUNGARIAN OF COUNT I'ETKOFY Blow, trumpets — sing like nightingales, Make glad the swordsman's mood ; • And so from out my heart of hearts Spring up, dark Rose of blood. And as my right hand drops the sword My left forsakes the rein, Come thou, O Freedom, deep-adored. Come glancing down amain. And press thy fiery lips to mine That speak no word again. THE END Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinlmrsli. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. OUR SKETCHING CLUB. LETTERS AND STUDIES ON LANDSCAPE ART. With an authorised Reproduction of the Lessons AND Woodcuts in Mr. JOHN RUSKIN'S "ELEMENTS OF DRAWING." 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