POEMS, 
 
POEMS 
 
 ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED 
 
 EL. I. D. EYDEB 
 
 OF THE ORATORY. 
 
 DUBLIN 
 M. H. GILL AND SON 
 
 50 UPPER SACKVILLE STREET 
 1882 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 PRINTl-r B\ M. :i. GILL AX1» SON, TjO UPPKR SACKVIM EST., IXTKLIN, 
 

 AUBREY DE VERE 
 
 AS A SLIGHT EXPRESSION OF REVERENCE 
 
 FOR ONE 
 
 WHOSE LIFE HAS BEEN 
 
 A HAPPY BLENDING OF FIDELITIES 
 
 TO HIS CHURCH, HIS COUNTRY, AND HIS MUSE 
 
 IN AN AGE 
 
 WHICH PRESENTS BUT FEW EXAMPLES 
 
 OF ANY SUCH CONJUNCTION, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 IS DEDICATED. 
 
 S06 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This volume is a selection from compositions 
 whose dates range over a quarter of a century. 
 The Author feels that the earliest date thus in- 
 dicated could never have afforded a solid plea 
 for indulgence ; and still less now, when he 
 deliberately accepts the responsibility of pub- 
 lication : this much, however, it may be as well 
 for him to say. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 ^. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Poet's Purgatory 
 
 I 
 
 The Workhouse : a Fragment 
 
 7 
 
 IV. Kings, iv. 15-17 
 
 12 
 
 The World 
 
 ... 16 
 
 Veterrima Laurus 
 
 ... 18 
 
 A Birthday 
 
 ... 19 
 
 Laughter ... ... ... . ... 
 
 22 
 
 Discontent 
 
 ... 23 
 
 A Legend from Rodriguez 
 
 ... 26 
 
 Marie Antoinette 
 
 ... 32 
 
 Epithalamium 
 
 ... 37 
 
 Thy Stewardship 
 
 ... 38 
 
 Angelo Custodi 
 
 ... 4f 
 
 Sorrow 
 
 ... 43 
 
 Ille Homo qui dicitur Jesus ... 
 
 ... 45 
 
 The Great Drought ... 
 
 ... 47 
 
 Pegasus 
 
 ... 50 
 
 Life 
 
 ... 52 
 
 Einsiedeln 
 
 ... 54 
 
 Inscription for a Photograph Book 
 
 ... 63 
 
 Mundi Servitus 
 
 ... 64 
 
 The Unbidden Guest 
 
 ... 67 
 
 Death-Loss 
 
 ... 69 
 
 Animae Fidelium 
 
 ... 71 
 
 .Good-Bye ... 
 
 ... 73 
 
 The Last Train 
 
 ... 74 
 
 Jesu Magister 
 
 ... 76 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 He maketh his sun to shine ... 
 
 ... 77 
 
 Ecce Nova Facio Omnia 
 
 ... 78 
 
 Old Age 
 
 ... 80 
 
 Sonnet- Writing 
 
 .. 85 
 
 Victrix causa 
 
 ... 87 
 
 God's Side ... 
 
 ... 88 
 
 Sleep ... 
 
 ... 89 
 
 By one about to be deservedly hanged 
 
 ... 90 
 
 Utinam regnetis 
 
 ... 91 
 
 Spring, 1878 
 
 ... 92 
 
 Benedictus qui venit . . 
 
 ... 93 
 
 The Two Mementos ... 
 
 ... 94 
 
 My Death ... 
 
 ... 95 
 
 Hoc Erit in Votis 
 
 ... 96 
 
 Bream-Loss 
 
 ... 97 
 
 ANovenatoSt. PhUipNeri ... 
 
 ... 98 
 
 St. Philip's Sonnets ... 
 
 ... 105 
 
 The Catholic Martyrs under Elizabeth . . . 
 
 ... 107 
 
 John of Hoveden's * * Nightingale " 
 
 ... 112 
 
 The Children's Guest 
 
 ... 136 
 
 << Lam-eata Novo Thoma " 
 
 ... 142 
 
 * * Exultet Laudibus " 
 
 ... 146 
 
 St. Joseph ... ... 
 
 ... 149 
 
 The Seven Words ... ... 
 
 ... 152 
 
 Sonnets from Dante ... 
 
 •■• 154 
 
 Sonnets from Petrarch 
 
 ... 159 
 
 Sonnets: Bice 
 
 ... 163 
 
 Sonnet from Vittoria Colonna 
 
 ... 166 
 
 To Cardinal Newman 
 
 ... 167 
 
 Translations from the German 
 
 ... 170 
 
 Appendix ... 
 
 ... 181 
 
^ m s . 
 
POEMS. 
 
 THE POETS' PURGATORY. 
 
 A DREARY plain before mine eyes was 
 
 spread, 
 On every side high-girt with frowning hill ; 
 A sun above was hanging dull and red, 
 No pleasant sound was there of babbling rill 
 Or any living thing, but voiceless all and stilL 
 
 Those rugged heights no shadow ever threw 
 Athwart the grass drought-sick and deadly sere, 
 For that red sun was motionless, nor knew 
 Or merry dawn or evening's peaceful cheer. 
 Or season's grateful march to lead the moving 
 year. 
 
 Liker a funeral lamp it seemed to be, 
 Dependent in some sad death-haunted cave ; 
 The gracious sounds of insects' summer glee, 
 The voice of breeze, the plash of restless wave. 
 The silence-wearied ear might ever vainly 
 crave. 2 
 
2 POEMS. 
 
 Anon methought across the sallow plain 
 A pallid band of ghosts their way addressed, 
 On every face the dreadful stamp of pain, 
 From ceaseless searching after banished rest, 
 And every weary brow with withered bays was 
 dressed. 
 
 Their feeble hands still grasped the wonted lyre 
 That whilome echoed the melodious lay ; 
 But the fair show of high poetic fire 
 From those sad eyes had wholly passed away, 
 As from the blighted sun had passed its genial 
 ray. 
 
 But ever and anon their lyres they strook 
 As they would win some music to their mind ; 
 The silver strings beneath their fingers shook 
 With feeble murmuring querulous and blind ; 
 Some harshly broke in twain no craft of theirs 
 could bind. 
 
 As near they wandered I might plainly mark 
 Full many a bard upon whose lips had hung 
 Applauding thousands, spite the envious bark 
 Of would-be critics, others that had sung 
 In low mysterious strains to those who round 
 them clung : 
 
THE POETS PURGATORY. 3 
 
 Votaries of nature who had found their joy 
 In echoing the praise of field and flood, 
 Winning a rapture from each floweret coy 
 On river bank or in the fragrant wood, 
 From all but Him who made the source of all 
 their good. 
 
 Their souls had drunk of beauty as a wine ; 
 Nature had spoken secrets in their ears ; 
 Theirs was the rare intelligence Divine 
 That caught the music of the starry spheres ; 
 Yet had they dreamed of time and not the 
 eternal years. 
 
 Others were there— the worshippers of man, 
 Proud of the garments of his fallen state, 
 Who in despite of the mysterious ban 
 Crushing his virtues 'neath its deadly weight, 
 Had hugged the cruel chains that reason bade 
 them hate. 
 
 Their theme was virtue, and their song was fair ; 
 Of generous friends who for their friends had 
 
 died. 
 Of patriots who had met with bosom bare 
 The shock of battle or the rack defied, 
 . Of many a noble soul whose life and death was 
 
 pride. 
 
4 POEMS. 
 
 That beauty gone to which their souls had 
 
 cleaved, 
 In piteous guise they trod the weary plain, 
 The flowerless waste their feeble spirits grieved, 
 Untouched by sun, unvisited by rain ; 
 They mourned the vanished joys that might 
 
 not come again. 
 
 And if they scanned the faces of their friends 
 To catch the light of some inspiring thought, 
 Such as in woe the noble spirit sends 
 The gloom of sorrow's deathly trance athwart, 
 They learned that mortal man without his God 
 is naught ; 
 
 That the fair gifts that God has made his dower 
 Must unto Him their grateful fruitage yield, 
 Not crown the idol of the passing hour ; 
 That the blind thirst for beauty is not healed 
 At any wandering stream, but at the fount un- 
 sealed. 
 
 Yet some there were who of their poet's crown 
 A verdant leaf, a fragrant flower had hung 
 Before God*s altar, 'spite the bad world's frown. 
 And in their better moments who had sung 
 ** Glory to God on high" with no untuneful 
 tongue : 
 
THE poets' purgatory. 5 
 
 Who 'mid their wanderings still had owned the 
 
 charm 
 Of the fair star that calms the stormy sea, 
 The gracious Queen who ever shields from harm 
 The souls of those who to her mercy flee, 
 Nor ever leaves her friends to perish utterly. 
 
 And so methought it was that in their woe 
 They were not wholly comfortless, but found 
 The tender melody of music flow 
 About their souls, as distant bells may sound, 
 More felt than heard, along the tingling ground. 
 
 For them the plain had nooks of stealthy 
 
 flowers, 
 Which other eyes less favoured might not see ; 
 Their fevered brows oft felt refreshing showers 
 Although the heavens without a cloud might be, 
 So paid the Queen of Heaven their feeble 
 
 ministry. 
 
 And as I looked, behold a silver moon 
 Dawned in the forehead of the sullen sky, 
 And the sad plain half waked from out its swoon 
 Beneath a gale of heaven that winnowed by, 
 Breathing a tale of hope and angel-sympathy. 
 
O ' POEMS. 
 
 And then I knew that there would be a time 
 When, purged from taint of their idolatry, 
 
 Some lyres with angels' harps should fairly 
 
 chime 
 In God's dear praise beyond the starry sky. 
 Where tears are wiped away, where rapture 
 
 cannot die. 
 
THE WORKHOUSE. 
 
 >(^ 
 
 THE WORKHOUSE^A FRAGMENT. 
 
 TTHIS age of progress let its poets sing, 
 
 I sing the workhouse — a more real thing, 
 By far more palpable, at least to those — 
 The pauper crowd its courts and wards en- 
 close — 
 Those many souls who manywise have lost 
 Their hearths and homes and live at parish 
 
 cost ; 
 The young, the old, the vicious, and the good. 
 Who fled their ranks, or fighting bravely stood 
 In spite of sickness, age, and want of bread, 
 Hoping 'gainst hope till every hope was dead. 
 To meet the inevitable doom at last. 
 Foreseen more clearly as each year has past. 
 Yes, from the cradle even to the tomb 
 The poor of England see the workhouse loom. 
 Before their birth it clouds their mother's 
 
 face, 
 To crown their age, the climax of disgrace 
 
8 POEMS. 
 
 In various styles the giant structure stands, 
 Vast as the palaces of other lands ; 
 Before the mania for the picturesque, 
 And all the follies of the style grotesque, 
 When English mansions wShewed a stolid face 
 Of heavy brick for architectural grace. 
 Such was the workhouse, such its heavy stare. 
 We see it yet, though every year more rare ; 
 For since the Goths have ruled the public 
 
 mind. 
 Our parish guardians will not be behind. 
 Behold ! the poor-house in monastic guise 
 With spires and pinnacles invades the skies. 
 And flimsy Gothic courts the wandering 
 
 draught, 
 A pasteboard model of the catch-cold craft ; 
 While grinning gurgoyles of the dragon kind 
 Refine the taste, and raise the pauper mind. 
 God help thee, poor unwilling cenobite. 
 Stripped as thou art of every private right, 
 And oft, alas ! of private virtue too ; 
 One of a wretched sordid wrangling crew, 
 A pauper brotherhood, the only one 
 That haughty England will not, cannot shun ; 
 No brotherhood of common hopes and aims, 
 But of discomfort and of cruel shames. 
 
THE WORKHOUSE. g 
 
 Each against each in opposition stands, 
 The stronger clutching from the weaker hands, 
 Whik cruel scandals and calumnious lies 
 Swarm in the place as thick as summer flies 
 That buzz and sting, and sting and buzz again, 
 You know not which, most venomous or vain. 
 The holiest ties that God has made for man 
 Are sternly snapped to suit a wooden plan : 
 In separate ranks beneath a strict command 
 Husband and wife and hapless children stand. 
 Once in the week the mother meets her child, 
 Lest love repressed should drive her wholly 
 
 wild. 
 Tyrannic laws, despite of common sense, 
 Her seven days* love to one short hour con- 
 dense, 
 That hour too often time enough to find 
 A blighted body, a corrupted mind, 
 To mark the blotches on the forehead fair. 
 And wonder how her darling learned to swear. 
 An easy shift upon the workhouse stage 
 From blighted childhood to dishonoured age. 
 'Tis pitiful to mark the grey-haired crew. 
 Marshalled like boys or soldiers on review, 
 Querulous, weak, and restless evermore. 
 Like ghosts that glide upon the Stygian shore, 
 
10 POEMS. 
 
 Sadly subservient to the pert command 
 Of some trim Hermes with official wand. 
 Their life- long habits all uprooted lie, 
 In the uncongenial atmosphere to die, 
 And with the burden of an old man's care, 
 The irksomeness of schoolboy life they bear. 
 Some friendless quite, some by their friends 
 
 forgot, 
 The pains of age they know, for them its joys 
 
 are not : 
 Not theirs to bask beside their cottage door, 
 As poets sing that grandsires did of yore ; 
 No child takes thought their failing taste to 
 
 please, 
 No children's children throng about their 
 
 knees ; 
 Their strange dull food they have no heart to 
 
 eat. 
 They cannot rest them on their rigid seat ; 
 No friendly arm their tottering feet to stay, 
 Sadly they creep along their cheerless way, 
 Till, wholly broken by neglect and pain. 
 They seek the bed they may not leave 
 
 again. 
 The meanest actor in the part of death 
 Commands a sympathy of bated breath. 
 
THE WORKHOUSE. II 
 
 A just concern for that most solemn change 
 
 From all we know to what is wholly strange ; 
 
 However slight his part upon life's stage, 
 
 The dying man is aye a personage, 
 
 And, dying, has a voice that should be heard, 
 
 Not drowned in what is trivial or absurd. 
 
 Death in the workhouse, where so many die, 
 
 Dons for the nonce the parish livery. 
 
 See in yon room close crowded, bed by bed, 
 
 Where naught divides the living from the 
 
 dead, 
 Two bedrid paupers quarrel o'er their tea, 
 With one betwixt them in his agony. 
 As though the king of terrors only were 
 The Board of Guardians' licensed scavenger. 
 Another man who cannot last the day, 
 Too weak by far to expostulate or pray. 
 With eager eyes that strain their weary sockets, 
 Watches the nurses turning out his pockets ; 
 His little hoard some sordid want supplies ; 
 For aught they care he curses God and dies. 
 So daily die our poor, and we, meanwhile, 
 Regard the workhouse with complacent smile, 
 Rejoice that we are prosperous and free. 
 And all the land clean purged of beggary. 
 
12 POEMS. 
 
 IV. KINGS, IV. 15-17. 
 
 ** A HOSTILE leaguer girds us round, 
 
 A host against but two, 
 No hope at all for us is found, 
 Alas ! what shall we do ?" 
 
 The morning light was resting 
 Upon the Syrian foe 
 Samaria^s plain investing 
 With tents of gleaming snow. 
 
 The ruddy beams were glancing 
 From many a steel-clad band. 
 On fiery steeds advancing, 
 The pride of Syria's land. 
 
 The trumpet's call was sounding, 
 The eager war-horse neighed ; 
 Among the hills resounding, 
 A martial echo played. 
 
 ** My Lord !" the servant said, 
 ** Lift up thine eyes and see, 
 The city is surrounded, 
 We may no longer flee.*' 
 
IV. KINGS, IV. 15-17. 13 
 
 The prophet wakened slowly 
 From out his trance of prayer ; 
 His look was calm and holy, 
 No fear at all was there. 
 
 He marked how round the city 
 The hostile lines were drawn, 
 And smiled a smile of pity, 
 With just a touch of scorn. 
 
 He saw his prostrate servant, 
 And said, ** My son, arise !" 
 And then, in accents fervent, 
 *' Open, O Lord, his eyes ! 
 
 ** Shew him that Thou forsakest 
 None who put faith in Thee, 
 And that a way Thou makest 
 In their extremity. 
 
 " Behold, my son, how few they be 
 Who count themselves our foes, 
 Compared with those bright ranks you see 
 About our ramparts close." 
 
 And when the servant looked again, 
 He saw a wondrous sight : 
 The Syrians still were on the plain. 
 In muster of their might. 
 
14 POEMS. 
 
 But all the mountain round about 
 Was thronged with armed forms, 
 Without or martial clang or shout, 
 Silent as brooding storms. 
 
 From those unnumbered ranks was flung 
 A radiance bright and keen. 
 As on the mountain side they hung, 
 The town and foe between. 
 
 And chariots and steeds of fire 
 Along the mountain passed, 
 The ministers of heaven's ire, 
 Swift as the tempest's blast. 
 
 What mortal arm may dare the fray 
 Against Jehovah's name. 
 When strong archangels bar the way 
 With swords of restless flame. 
 
 About the prophet of the Lord 
 Was drawn that bright array, 
 In his defence to lift the sword. 
 And sweep his foes away. 
 
 Bethink thee. Christian soldier. 
 When the world's voice is loud. 
 And ever waxeth bolder 
 The scoffing of the crowd ; 
 
IV. KINGS, IV. 15-17- '5 
 
 When most thou feelest lonely, 
 As one against a host, 
 That their great odds is only 
 A false and feeble boast. 
 
 That there are by thee ever 
 Whom yet thou canst not see, 
 Angelic bands who sever 
 Thy angry foes from thee. 
 
l6 • POEMS. 
 
 TEE WORLD. 
 
 '^ T7 AT, drink, and play, to-morrow we must 
 
 ■^ die:" 
 The same wild words that when the world was 
 
 young 
 Found utterance in those dark and evil days, 
 Before the waters of the deep were flung 
 Above the mountain summits, and man's ways 
 Were blotted out beneath an angry sky, 
 The self-same words still echo in mine ear : 
 The weary world has learned no other cry. 
 No stronger spell against obtrusive fear : 
 *^Eat, drink, and play, to-morrow we must die.'* 
 As though the memory of a bygone feast 
 Could fill the void of that most dark to-morrow, 
 For the poor hearts that thirst to be released 
 From the stern pressure of a present sorrow. 
 '* Revel and feast and crown the goblet high, 
 And lead the riot through the livelong night; 
 
THE WORLD. I J 
 
 Turn a deaf ear unto the warning cry 
 Which saith the East is kindling into light. 
 Assuredly the craven watchers lie, 
 Or else they have imagined in their fright 
 That the dread Lord was nigh.'* 
 So sings the world, and bids her votaries quaff 
 The cup of pleasure till it all be spent ; 
 So whilome sang, and with her hollow laugh, 
 Watched the avenging waters* calm descent, 
 Till in one mighty flood the scattered streams 
 were blent. 
 
1 8 POEMS. 
 
 . . . **juxtaqii€ veterrima launis 
 ■Incumbens arse, atque umbra complexa Penates.'' 
 
 yEneid, ii. 513. 
 
 TTHAT ancient bay in Priam's sheltered 
 
 court 
 On Priam's earliest joys its leaves had shed, 
 Of him and his it was the last resort ; 
 Beneath its shade his grieved spirit fled, 
 Where once the child had played the aged man 
 lay dead. 
 
 There is a pathos in the happy past 
 
 To soothe the agony of present woe ; 
 
 The thought it brings that neither this can 
 
 lasty 
 That gentle burden of time's ceaseless flow; 
 Music that care-wrung hearts alone can fully 
 
 know. 
 
A BIRTHDAY. 1$ 
 
 A BIRTHDAY. 
 
 '^ A/T-^NY happy returns" — yes, that 
 
 was the phrase 
 I used to hear in my early days, 
 A pheasant greeting of " auld lang syne," 
 Which has long since ceased for birth- 
 days of mine ; 
 I look at my letters and think ** perhaps 
 Some kindly soul may forget the lapse 
 Of time, since we were young, and I 
 Deemed birthday rites would never die.'' 
 I hope, yet scarcely hope, to find 
 Assurance I am borne in mind 
 By some one, whom it matters not— 
 I would not wholly be forgot. 
 Alas ! there 's nothing here but bills. 
 And this small box a box of pills ! 
 If friends forget you, tradesmen won't : 
 Perhaps it is as well they don't, 
 
20 POEMS'. 
 
 But why should they their favours shed 
 
 To-day on my devoted head ? 
 
 Surely to-day of all is one 
 
 That might be sacred from the dun. 
 
 I seat me in my well-worn chair ; 
 
 I sigh, and hum " begone dull care ;'* 
 
 Amusement half and half regret, 
 
 Combined philosophy and fret ; 
 
 The firelight flickering in mine eyes. 
 
 In sober sort I moralise 
 
 On human life's antithesis, 
 
 Upon that picture and on this. 
 
 Youth eats the cake, maturer age 
 
 Must soothe with drugs the stomach's rage 
 
 The young enjoy, but, older grown, 
 
 Must pay the score they scarce will own. 
 
 In infancy we all are kings 
 
 As every year our birthday brings ; 
 
 We are the burden of a song. 
 
 The centre of a merry throng ; 
 
 We claim allegiance few deny, 
 
 They least, who know how quickly fly 
 
 Those childish joys, how utterly 
 
 The brook is in the river lost, 
 
 That darkening, deepening, tempest-tost, 
 
A BIRTHDAY. II 
 
 Is hurrying to the sea. 
 
 With other toys that had their day, 
 
 The birthday crown is laid away ; 
 
 The kind familiar circle breaks, 
 
 The child into the man awakes , 
 
 From all his past removed as far 
 
 As transatlantic exiles are ; 
 
 And strange as one whose vessel lay 
 
 At night within his native bay, 
 
 And ere his sleep-bound eye could mark, 
 
 Had slipped its moorings in the dark ; 
 
 Who waking wastes a searching glance 
 
 Upon a featureless expanse. 
 
 Another hath my crown, and I 
 
 Would pay him homage cheerfully ; 
 
 As surely as it once was mine, 
 
 'Tis his to-day by right divine. 
 
 Once to have been or seemed a king 
 
 Is not a mean or trifling thing ; 
 
 'Twere worth the labour of the wise 
 
 So fair a dream to realise ; 
 
 No childish wreath that fades away, 
 
 A crown, a throne that lasts for aye. 
 
 Unflagging mirth without alloy, 
 
 God and the good to wish thee joy; 
 
 In that society a king 
 
 Unenvied and unenvying. 
 
22 POEMS. 
 
 X 
 
 LAUGHTER. 
 
 'TpHE world's laugh, the world's laugh, 
 
 Is hardly to be borne ; 
 It is the wind that parts the chaff 
 From the solid golden corn. 
 
 Hither and thither the chaff flies, 
 And out through the open door 
 Heavy and rich the grain lies 
 Upon the granary floor. 
 
 But one day the world's laugh, 
 Which now doth lord it so, 
 Shall fail and sink with the light chaff 
 Into the fire below. 
 
 And the solemn thunder of God's laugh. 
 The breath of Almighty scorn. 
 Shall drown for ever the world's laugh 
 And may of none be borne. 
 
DISCONTENT. 23 
 
 DISCONTENT. 
 
 TTHE world's poor bedesman half my 
 
 days, 
 A weary, weary life I lead, 
 And still my hungry soul I feed 
 On scraps of love and scraps of praise. 
 
 The proffered cup is brimming high, 
 And sparkles crown the fragrant wine ; 
 But ere I make it fairly mine, 
 The half is spilt, I know not why. 
 
 The friends to whom I trust my heart 
 Are good enough, are true and kind ; 
 But so I am not wholly blind, 
 In them I have but little part. 
 
 For kindness there is kindness due, 
 And gentle words their like beget, 
 But there is aye a barrier set 
 Between the hearts that most are true. 
 
24 POEMS. 
 
 Who hath not God he dwells alone, 
 For all his goodly company ; 
 In vain his skill, he lacks the key 
 To make the world of God his own. 
 
 A single-hearted, careless man, 
 Along the way that he may go, 
 Wins more of love from friend and foe 
 Than any sordid gleaner can. 
 
 A dreary life, a dull expanse, 
 
 Is round me, look I where I will, 
 
 With no extreme of good or ill 
 
 To break the unfeatured circumstance. 
 
 With proud war trumpets in mine ear, 
 Methinks that I could play the man, 
 Charge like a hero in the van, 
 And meet the worst without a fear. 
 
 Alas ! the world is not a plain. 
 Where two contending armies stand, 
 God^s and the fiend's on either hand ; 
 But interspersed we lose or gain. 
 Scarce we distinguish friend from foe, 
 So faint the cognisance they bear : 
 Of good or ill the dubious share 
 We guess at best, but may not know. 
 
DISCONTENT. 2$ 
 
 With foes without and foes within, 
 A fight that still begins again ; 
 Worsted we lose a life in vain, 
 Winning we know not that we win. 
 
26 POEMS. 
 
 A LEGEND FROM RODRIGUEZ. 
 
 'npWAS in the month of opening flowers, 
 
 -■■ The jocund month of May, 
 And fresh and green were the forest bowers, 
 And merry the wild bird's lay, 
 As a youth in the brightest of youth's bright 
 
 hours, 
 Was wending his joyous way. 
 
 White was the palfrey on which he rode. 
 And the wealth of his golden hair 
 Over his silken vesture flowed, 
 That was woven of tissue rare ; 
 A gayer steed was never bestrode 
 By a youth more gallant and fair. 
 
 The beams of the summer sun were straying 
 Through the clefts of the beechen shade 
 And the shadows of flickering leaves were 
 
 playing 
 On the paths of the forest glade. 
 Where hyacinth bells with their gentle 
 
 swaying 
 A whispering music made. 
 
A LEGEND FROM RODRIGUEZ. 27 
 
 The voice of the lark from the sky was 
 falling 
 
 In ripples of golden song, 
 
 From his high tree tower the dove was 
 calling, 
 
 " Why lingers my love so long ?" 
 
 The voice of the spring all hearts en- 
 thralling 
 
 Moved the bright woods among. 
 
 The youth's blue eye it answered brightly 
 
 The smile of the cloudless sky, 
 
 The heart in his bosom bounded lightly, 
 
 As that of the lark on high ; 
 
 Each wild-wood song with its cadence 
 
 sprightly 
 Found in that heart reply. 
 
 And he said, "I trow 'twere a pleasant 
 
 thing 
 Thus ever to wander on. 
 And away for ever all thought to fling 
 Of the years that are past and gone ; 
 Of another heaven let poets sing, 
 For me there is only one/' 
 
28 POEMS. 
 
 But hark! on the wings of the wind is 
 
 springing 
 A high mysterious song, 
 And the inmost depths of the wood are 
 
 ringing 
 With the breath of its music strong, 
 That now on high in the air is winging — 
 It cannot to earth belong. 
 
 The sylvan voices are silent all 
 
 In the thrill of that joyance keen, 
 
 And a pulseless hush on the wood doth fall, 
 
 And all its cloisters green ; 
 
 It does the heart of the youth appal, 
 
 As he listens with changed mien. 
 
 And now in haste to the earth he springs, 
 
 Drawn by a mighty spell ; 
 
 From his onward course the boughs he 
 
 flings 
 With a longing he may not quell, 
 To learn what voice it is that sings 
 From the depth of the forest dell. 
 
 When lo, outstretched on his grassy bed, 
 A lazarman hejees, 
 
A LEGEND FROM RODRIGUEZ. 29 
 
 The hand of death is upon his head, 
 And 'neath the fell disease 
 The flesh from his palsied limbs had fled, 
 Like the fall from autumnal trees. 
 
 But on the face with anguish torn 
 
 A wondrous glory lies, 
 
 The brightness of another dawn 
 
 Is waking in his eyes ; 
 
 While from his lips so pale and worn 
 
 High notes of rapture rise. 
 
 ** The shackles of my spirit break, 
 Dear Lord, beneath thy hands, 
 And soon with Thee my way I take 
 To happier, brighter lands, 
 To join on high for thy dear sake 
 The glad angelic bands. 
 
 " Haste, then, O Lord, thy work complete ; 
 
 The world is sad and cold. 
 
 And I would rest at thy dear feet 
 
 In the celestial fold, 
 
 To hymn for aye with praises meet 
 
 Thy mercies new and old. 
 
30 POEMS. 
 
 ** He comes ! this prison-house of clay, 
 
 That hath my torment been, 
 
 Melts fast beneath his touch away, 
 
 I see his glory's sheen ; 
 
 He wills I should no longer stay, 
 
 Upon his breast I lean." 
 
 The weeping youth upon the ground 
 Bends low his humbled head, 
 Till in the air the last sweet sound 
 Has into silence fled ; 
 He knows that angels stand around 
 That dying leper's bed. 
 
 And when at length he lifts his eyes, 
 
 That happy soul had flown 
 
 On those calm lips the assurance lies 
 
 That God has called his own, 
 
 To dwell in light beyond the skies : 
 
 The youth is left alone. 
 
 Slowly he leaves the hallowed place. 
 And goeth on his way. 
 The image of that placid face 
 Before his eyes alway : 
 
A LEGEND FROM RODRIGUEZ. 3 1 
 
 Again he hears the voice of birds, 
 And knows the earth is fair, 
 But in their brightest songs the words 
 Ring in his ears, '^ Beware ! 
 
 The gladness of the world you see 
 
 Is only for a while, 
 , Its freshest joys fade utterly 
 1 Beside that leper's smile.** 
 
32 POEMS, 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 {An incident,) 
 
 pALE but composed the stately queen passed 
 
 on 
 Amid the clamour of her eager foes, 
 Within her eyes the light of empire shone, 
 Though white her hair with sorrow's sudden 
 snows. 
 
 In decent matron guise those locks were bound, 
 Her prison-garments neatly trimmed and fair. 
 As though to hide the deep and deadly wound 
 The angry crowd would fain have seen her bear. 
 
 And now she stands within the hall of doom, 
 Now at her judge's bidding takes her seat; 
 Triumphant vengeance in that crowded room 
 The forms of justice ill might counterfeit. 
 
 Her calm eye wanders o'er the motley throng, 
 Banded together by their common hate ; 
 With brow unchanged she marks the menaced 
 
 wrong 
 Of those who scarce her certain doom will wait. 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE. 33 
 
 The scum of Paris is collected there, 
 With evil passions surging at the flood ; 
 The very judges on their faces bear, 
 Hardly disguised, the hideous lust of blood. 
 
 Women are there in little save the name, 
 Whose highest boast is loss of womanhood ; 
 With savage eyes that gloat upon the shame 
 Of her who once in pride of place had stood. 
 
 A dreadful list of charges, new and old, 
 
 The accuser thunders 'gainst the fallen queen. 
 
 And all the story of her life is told 
 
 Since she upon the throne of France had been. 
 
 The queen had plotted 'gainst the people's 
 
 weal, 
 So runs the charge, and used her treacherous 
 
 art 
 From the wronged* land its monarch's love to 
 
 steal, 
 And break the ties that bound a nation's heart. 
 
 Nay, more than this, she was a faithless wife. 
 Feigning the love that was her husband's bane ; 
 And the dark tenor of her private life 
 Too well accorded with her noxious reign. 
 
 4 
 
34 POEMS. 
 
 Calm sits the queen, her stately head unbowed, 
 Her soul in converse with the eventful past, 
 Recking but little of the menace loud 
 Her angry foemen at their victim cast. 
 
 Upon her chair her fingers gently play, 
 As one that doth some soothing strain evoke, 
 Some relic of a brighter, happier day. 
 Haply unscathed by sorrow's cruel stroke. 
 
 The accuser pauses, and the people's eyes 
 Turn fiercely on the still unruffled face ; 
 Their angry threatenings yield to blank sur- 
 prise 
 And wondering silence holds them for a space. 
 
 The charge proceeds ; by this most traitorous 
 
 queen 
 False to her country, falser to its king. 
 Has nature's holiest tie abused been ; 
 The royal child has felt his mother's sting : 
 
 His infant years she has not feared to stain 
 With foul debauch and lewdness not his own ; 
 Maternal arts his innocence have slain, 
 The seeds of vice his mother's hands have 
 sown. 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE. 35 
 
 At the foul charge a voiceless horror fills 
 The mingled throng, and heads are bowed in 
 
 shame ; 
 While many a heart with keen emotion thrills, 
 The mother's voice defends her outraged name. 
 
 Proudly she rises, with the sudden glow 
 
 Of indignation on that marble face. 
 
 That tear-blanched face where tears had ceased 
 
 to flow, 
 Flushed with resentment of the foul disgrace. 
 
 '* Women of France ! adjudge my cause,*' she 
 
 cries ; 
 ** Tell the false man that he has never known 
 The mother's love which his foul tongue belies ; 
 For the fair fame of France this monstrous 
 
 charge disown." 
 Clear and unfaltering, as in days of old, 
 Along the hall her silver accents thrill. 
 And hearts are kindled that had long grown cold, 
 And feel remorse which hatred could not kill. 
 In the fierce crowd an angry murmuring wakes. 
 Like surges thundering on a distant shore. 
 Then gathering strength their eager cry out- 
 breaks 
 Against the accuser they had cheered before. 
 
36 POEMS. 
 
 Thus for a moment, like a breaking wave, 
 That seems to stagger ere it strikes its prey, 
 The people paused : but there was none to 
 
 save, 
 And frenzied hate resumed its deadly sway. 
 
EPITHALAMIUM. 37 
 
 EPITHALAMIUM 
 
 r^HRIST and his Mother be the guests 
 
 to-day, 
 Never to go away ; 
 
 Good wine in store ; 
 A full lifers drinking, and, when life is past, 
 The good wine kept till last, 
 
 To fail no more. 
 
38 POEMS. 
 
 K 
 
 THY STEWARDSHIP. 
 
 "TXTHAT hast thou done for God, what hast 
 
 thou sent 
 To heavens's bank of all that God has lent, 
 What put to noble use, what idly spent ? 
 Thou must be steward no longer : look around 
 If any friend of all thy friends be found 
 To take thee by the hand, to lead thee home. 
 Thou canst not labour ; art too old to roam ; 
 For other service art unable quite. 
 Thou that hast never served thy Lord aright. 
 There is not one : the friends thy life hath 
 
 known 
 Are gone their way, and thou art left alone. 
 Alone to meet thy Master's angry face. 
 Before whose justice scarce the just find 
 
 place. 
 All plead against thee at the throne of 
 
 God, 
 The gracious earth thy guilty feet have trod, 
 
THY STEWARDSHIP. 39 
 
 The gentle skies that year by year have 
 
 smiled 
 Upon the earth thy wantonness defiled ; 
 Unheeded warnings, powers misapplied, 
 The highest interest lightly laid aside, 
 The soul thou didst neglect for which thy 
 
 Saviour died. 
 Thou must be steward no longer, God de- 
 mands 
 A strict account : O idle, useless hands, 
 Empty of good and deeply stained with ill. 
 What will ye do ? What task may ye fulfil ? 
 It is nigh time the vineyard gates to close. 
 Sin-wearied head, and darest thou seek repose ! 
 
 Mine injured Master ! other friend than Thee 
 'Twere vain to seek in mine extremity ; 
 No heart save thine hath room to take me in. 
 Clogged with the burden of a life-long sin : 
 None knowing me as Thou could bear to love, 
 On earth below or in the heavens above. 
 In one short hour, as with the thief of yore, 
 A wasted life Thou, Saviour, canst restore. 
 How many years since first the words were 
 
 said 
 Of absolution o'er my bended head ! 
 
40 POEMS. 
 
 Have patience, Lord, and I will pay Thee all, 
 Was still my cry, and still from fall to fall 
 My life has passed ; and will He take me home, 
 The Master I forsook while I had strength to 
 roam ? 
 
ANGELO CUSTODI. 4 1 
 
 ANGELO CUSTODI. 
 
 "XXTISH me joy, companion true ! 
 Lo, another stage has passed, 
 Other friends forget, but you 
 Keep my birthday to the last. 
 
 When your charge I first was in. 
 It was well with you and me, 
 Ere the weary days of sin, 
 Happy-hearted friends were we. 
 
 But too soon your burden grew 
 Less a pleasure than a pain, 
 As my soul each birthday knew 
 Deeper shade of sinful stain. 
 
 Then I flung away your hand, 
 Proud was I to walk alone. 
 And I would not understand 
 Whispered words of warning tone. 
 
 When I drove you from my side. 
 Faithful friend you followed still. 
 And with love unswerving tried 
 To redeem my captive will. 
 
4* POEMS. 
 
 God and you alone can tell 
 Of the foul and rugged ways, 
 Where you raised me as I fell, 
 Following me for many days. 
 
 Thou, methinks, on high art known. 
 When the sons of heaven meet, 
 For a glory of thine own, 
 Angel of the bleeding feet. 
 
 Friendship is a broken reed 
 That is based on things below ; 
 Birthday gift I sorely need, 
 Bless me ere I let thee go ! 
 
 I in turn would wish thee joy 
 For the passing of a year 
 Of thy wearisome employ ; 
 Lo, the end is growing near. 
 
SORROW. 43 
 
 SORROW. 
 
 pOETS soothe life's throbbing 
 
 Melodising grief, 
 And their rhythmic sobbing 
 Antedates relief. 
 
 Sorrow crowned with flowers 
 Wins a world to tears, 
 Grimy grief like ours 
 Hardly 'scapeth jeers. 
 
 Hearts that are not broken 
 Breathe melodious sighs ; , 'Ixa.^^ 
 With true sorrow's token 
 Few can sympathise. 
 
 Happy men may cherish \ 
 A luxurious woe : i 
 
 Sorrow's victims perish 
 Shattered by the blow. 
 
44 POEMS. 
 
 None but He that made us 
 Holds our sorrow dear ; 
 Never other bade us 
 Bring our burdens near. 
 
 Ye whose path is dreary, 
 Hear the summons blest, 
 *' Come to me ye weary, 
 I will give you rest.'' 
 
POEMS. 45 
 
 * * Ille homo qui dicitur Jesus lutum fecit ex sputo et 
 tinxit oculos meos et dixit mihi, * vade ad natatoria Siloe 
 ct lava/ et abii, lavi, et video." 
 
 LJE bade me wash and I am clean ; 
 I see who naught at all had seen, 
 Blind from my mother's womb : 
 He salved mine eyes with sacred clay, 
 He set my feet upon the way, 
 That glimmered in the gloom. 
 
 I could not wholly see, but knew 
 The light about my feet was true. 
 The winding of a silver clew 
 That led me to my cure : 
 My throbbing eyeballs were athirst 
 To see his face whose fingers first 
 Kindled my sight, whose accents nursed 
 My hope till I was sure. 
 
 I washed in Siloe's tranquil well : 
 As from my lids its waters fell, 
 I lifted up mine eyes with awe, 
 And the fair city where I dwelt, 
 The counterpart of all I'd felt 
 But had not seen, I saw. 
 
46 POEMS. 
 
 And rvow I wonder much at this, 
 That ye know not what man it is 
 That hath enlarged mine eyes, 
 Nor whence he comes, nor whence he 
 
 brings 
 The power to do such wondrous things ; 
 And ye reputed wise ! 
 
 Thus much at least myself I know, 
 That I mine eyesight truly owe 
 To Him and Him alone ; 
 And therefore I that once was blind 
 Will look for Him until I find, 
 And for my Master own. 
 
THE GREAT DROUGHT. 47 
 
 THE GREAT DROUGHT. 
 
 "r\EA.DLY fair, deadly bright the sky, 
 The fields grew brown, then wan, 
 And the cattle that fed thereon 
 Were fevered and starved and dry. 
 
 'Neath the sky's unchanging blue 
 The dwellers in cities were faint, 
 The air had a death-like taint. 
 For corruption corrupted anew. 
 
 Oh, how we longed for rain ! 
 Then prayed at the altar the priest, 
 Prayed too the long suffering beast. 
 Mutely pleading his pain. 
 
 Flung we upwards in haste 
 Cries and importunate prayers, 
 They were lost upon heaven's stairs, 
 For the waste land grew more waste. 
 
48 POEMS. 
 
 Then gathered the clouds as for rain, 
 And surely the rain had come, 
 The expectant earth was dumb, 
 But the rich clouds scattered again. 
 
 They were swept from the path of the sun, 
 They were huddled into the sea ; 
 White were the fields as with leprosy, 
 And the brooks had ceased to run. 
 
 From out of the soil accursed 
 Came a tropical plague of flies, 
 And dumb were the weather-wise, 
 For the signs were all reversed. 
 
 A month we dreed our pain. 
 With naught to feed hope upon. 
 And when all hope was gone 
 At length came down the rain. 
 
 And when it came down it came 
 With a rush into earth's pale lap, 
 To quicken the feeble sap 
 With its tears of pity and shame. 
 
 But the earth raised not her head, 
 And the soft south wind was wild, 
 And like a penitent child 
 Fell weeping upon the dead. 
 
THE GREAT DROUGHT. 49 
 
 White in her winding-sheet, 
 Will she not open her eyes, 
 To quiet the infant cries 
 Of the runnels about her feet ? 
 
 With foolish seeming care 
 They moisten her withered lips. 
 And with gentle finger tips 
 Tenderly smoothe her hair. 
 
 Lo, whether asleep or dead, 
 God taketh her by the hand 
 And, brightly flushing, the land 
 Uplifteth her languid head. 
 
 The brooks are wild with glee, 
 And every withered sod, 
 Full filled with the wine of God, 
 Is merry exceedingly. 
 
so POEMS. 
 
 PEGASUS. 
 
 T DO not ask the winged steed 
 
 They say befits a poet's stable, 
 A soberer nag may serve my need 
 For long exalted flights unable : 
 
 A gentle easy-going beast 
 
 That o'er the neighbouring down will 
 
 canter, 
 Or in the lane frequented least. 
 When evening shadows fall will saunter. 
 
 I do not ask the joy to float 
 Above the sunlit clouds of even, 
 To leave the world a shadowy mote 
 Beneath me in the depths of heaven. 
 
 Above this atmosphere of tears. 
 Where grief her endless tale is telling. 
 Above the shock of human fears, 
 I ask no calm untroubled dwelling. 
 
PEGASUS. 5 1 
 
 But let my modest joy be found, 
 Secure from pride's unholy fire, 
 Plucking the violet from the ground, 
 The rosebud from the shaggy briar. 
 
 Of those that rank as common things 
 To penetrate the secret meaning, 
 To find the precious hidden springs, 
 Where earth on highest heaven is leaning : 
 
 Among the lowly souls of earth 
 To mark the inward light out gleaming, 
 A token of their heavenly birth. 
 Beneath the cloak of roughest seeming : 
 
 To hear, amid the rudest din, 
 
 Some feeble scattered notes outringing 
 
 Of earth's high song, ere ever sin 
 
 Had marred the concord of her singing : 
 
 Such privilege I well might deem 
 The fairest of a poet's treasure, 
 Above the most ecstatic dream. 
 The purest earthly draught of pleasure. 
 
St POEMS. 
 
 LIFK 
 
 "Y^THAT is life ? A silent river, 
 
 On whose glassy side 
 Swarms of changeful shadows quiver, 
 None may long abide. 
 
 Light and shade are blending ever 
 'Neath our vessel's prow, 
 Life is one, nor can we sever 
 What is past from now. 
 
 Every soul is onward gliding 
 On its own swift stream, 
 Of the fate our friends betiding 
 We can only dream. 
 
 In the dark and silent mountain 
 Every stream had birth, 
 And the secret of its fountain 
 Is not known on earth. 
 
LIFE. S3 
 
 But the stream that sad and single 
 Weaves its mystery, 
 With its kindred streams shall mingle 
 In the pathless sea. 
 
 There its brother's secret wandering 
 Through this earthly vale, 
 Each will hear with wonder, pondering 
 On the gracious tale. 
 
54 POEMS. 
 
 EINSIEDELN. 
 
 T^OT far remote from where Lucerne's blue 
 ^^ lake 
 
 Sleeps in the shadows of its mountain nest, 
 Within a cleft high up among the hills, 
 Barren and rude, where never hand of man 
 Before his time had raised the rugged soil, 
 An ancient monk of Benedictine rule 
 Had built himself a poor and humble cell, 
 That he in peaceful prayer his days might pass, 
 While life was his, then meet his God unstained, 
 E'en by the world within a cloister found. 
 An image of the gracious Virgin queen 
 His aged hands with pious toil had wrought 
 Of pine wood, that the angry storm had strewn 
 Upon the mountains : rough the work and poor, 
 And yet the image had a quiet grace 
 That spoke God's peace within the author's 
 breast. 
 
EINSIEDELN. 55 
 
 This and his time-worn crucifix alone 
 Were all his treasures ; and at even-fall 
 And when the purple of the morning broke 
 Athwart the mountain, he would chant aloud 
 The gracious ** Salve," and in spirit join 
 His dear-loved brethren in their distant choir. 
 A little garden with its stock of herbs 
 Raised by himself, his slender wants sufficed, 
 With what from time to time a shepherd 
 
 brought 
 To mend his cheer on some high festival ; 
 Nor, save when shepherd or chance hunter 
 
 came, 
 Or one that sought his counsel in distress, 
 Saw he the face of man ; thus calmly passed 
 His days of prayer and peaceful solitude. 
 Yet had he comrades in the wilderness, 
 Silent and grave and suited to the place : 
 Two sable ravens left their domicile 
 Within a crevice of the rifted rock, 
 And, though amongst the shyest of their tribe, 
 Had in such sort their rugged souls subdued 
 Beneath the influence of his saintliness, 
 That they would follow him, and ever tend 
 Upon his steps as to and fro he moved 
 In the pursuance of his daily toil. 
 
56 POEMS. 
 
 And when he knelt upon the ground in prayer, 
 Beside him stood those sable acolytes 
 Intently watching, with keen look askance. 
 And eyes that beamed with wondrous tender- 
 ness; 
 As though they recognised the truth that prayer 
 From sainted lips, like mist from meadow land, 
 Returneth in a soft and fruitful rain 
 Of common blessing to both man and beast. 
 The gracious tie that linked together once 
 All the fair creatures that in Eden dwelt. 
 By man's rebellious trespass snapped in twain, 
 Seemed wondrously re-knit and 'stablish*d sure 
 Between the saint and these his servitors. 
 Such ministers Judaea's prophet once, 
 By Kishon's brook a weary exile, found 
 To do him service for their master's sake. 
 And now, in peaceful converse with his God, 
 And with that nature which for such as he 
 Is wholly purged from taint of earthliness, 
 Six years had passed, when one fair summer 
 
 eve 
 It chanced the saint was seated out of doors 
 Watching the glory of the sunset pass 
 Upon the mountains ; the far glaciers shone 
 Like molten gold upon the azure heaven, 
 
EINSIEDELN. 57 
 
 While on their skirts the purple mist was hung, 
 And filled the sleeping valleys at their feet. 
 Longwhile he gazed in silent ecstasy, 
 Then softly murmured, ** Oh, if God has made 
 So wondrous fair this place of banishment. 
 If He thus lends to what must pass away 
 So rich a bloom, that the poor soul of man 
 Is lost in its exceeding loveliness, 
 How fair must be the heaven where He abides, 
 Where his elect will find their endless home ?'* 
 With the dear thought of home his spirit rose. 
 And now he seemed beyond the sphere of 
 
 earth, 
 *' A little while," he said, '* a little while,'' 
 When, lo ! "the attendant birds who at his knee 
 Had all this time in solemn silence stood. 
 Moved restlessly, and uttered their deep croak, 
 So like a warning that he turned his head, 
 And saw approaching him and close at hand. 
 Two men in hunter's garb, ragged and stained; 
 Within their hollow eyes he seemed to read 
 Dark disappointment, and the cruel spell 
 Of that insidious madness which misleads 
 Its victims forth to find them lonely graves 
 Amid the mountains far from all their kin. 
 In chase of game that haply found is nought 
 
58 POEMS. 
 
 Beside the perils of the venturous search. 
 So seemed it to the saint, the men meanwhile 
 Humbly with suppliant gesture made request 
 Of shelter for the night, and needful food, 
 For that they long had wandered in pursuit 
 Of mountain game that mocked their eager 
 
 toil. 
 He, courteously replying, led them in, 
 And, mindful of his Lord, washed their worn 
 
 feet, 
 Bestowing all he had ; with joy of heart 
 His bed of rushes yielding to their need. 
 And, after all his orisons performed 
 With even more than wonted diligence, 
 He laid himself beside them on the floor 
 To sleep his sleep in presence of his God. 
 An hour passed, and then the men arose. 
 Their hellish purpose gleaming in their eyes : 
 Some lying fiend had whispered the wild 
 
 thought 
 That the old man, their host, despite his vow, 
 Held in concealment goodly store of gold. 
 With trembling hand they struck, the aged man 
 Waked with a smile, and waking passed away, 
 With words of blessing faltering on his lips. 
 The murderers stood alone, then with wild haste 
 
EINSIEDELN. 59 
 
 They raised the floor and felt along the walls 
 With growing horror, for they nothing found, 
 Save that their hands were full of blood that 
 
 cried 
 To heaven for vengeance, when, unseen till 
 
 then 
 The image of the Virgin Queen they saw, 
 Whose eyes of conscious witness pierced their 
 
 souls 
 With such exceeding dread, that forth they 
 
 rushed 
 Down the wild mountain by fair Zurich's lake 
 That shuddered as they passed : though not a 
 
 breath 
 Broke the still night, the silver moon o'erhead 
 Flung wide its radiance on the sleeping plain* 
 Oh, who can paint the horrors of that flight 1 
 To their strained ears all nature spake aloud 
 Its utter loathing of their guilty deed : 
 The trees through which they passed seemed 
 
 to shrink up. 
 Lifting their boughs in horror from their touch. 
 Nor were there wanting spectral forms to scare 
 Their tottering reason : the white mists took 
 
 shape 
 And aspect strange of terrible import ; 
 
60 POEMS. 
 
 But chief a sound as of pursuing wings 
 Moved them with fear, until at length they 
 
 reached 
 The town of Zurich : there they strove to rest 
 And drown their souls in wine ; but while the 
 
 cup 
 Was raised to their pale lips the windows 
 
 crashed : 
 ** The wings !" they cried, ** the wings !" and 
 
 straight there flew 
 Through the torn casement of the startled inn 
 The attendant ravens: on the board they 
 
 perched, 
 With eyes of flame fronting the trembling men, 
 Who vainly tried to drive them forth, to shun 
 The glowing eyes that scorched their guilty 
 
 souls. 
 Shuddering, they cried, ** These be the wit- 
 nesses ! 
 Our deed is known, come lead us to the death !'* 
 And when the officers of justice came. 
 The twain bowed low their heads, confessing all 
 With earnest penitence, and through the prayer 
 Of him, that holy man, who dying blessed 
 The hands that slew him, they made peaceful 
 
 end, 
 
EINSIEDELN. 6 1 
 
 Thanking their God that He had punished 
 
 them. 
 The faithful ravens faithful to the last, 
 Beheld the work of justice fully done, 
 Then spread their wings and sought the wilder- 
 ness. 
 The saint was buried where his life was passed, 
 But soon above his grave a shrine was reared, 
 Where the dark image stands, attesting still 
 Meinrad's devotion to the Queen of heaven. 
 There eager crowds of pilgrims still resort, 
 Despite the coldness of these evil days, 
 And blind, and lame, and sick, receive their 
 
 cure 
 And go their way rejoicing : a strange sight. 
 In that bleak hollow on the mountain's side. 
 To see the gorgeous church from morn till 
 
 eve 
 Thronged with its bands of pilgrim worshippers 
 Kneeling in silent prayer before the shrine 
 That keeps the record of St. Meinrad's love. 
 And, when the shades of evening gather round. 
 These strangers from all lands with one accord. 
 Lift up their voices in a solemn chant 
 Of salutation to the Virgin Queen. 
 Age after age this mountain shrine has stood 
 
62 POEMS. 
 
 The central hearth of Christian Germany, 
 And the good monks who keep the holy place 
 Show in their list full many a glorious name 
 Of saint and hero who has worshipped there. 
 
INSCRIPTION FOR A PHOTOGRAPH-BOOK. 6^ 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR A PHOTOGRAPE^ 
 BOOK. 
 
 A BOOK of friends who still are friends, 
 
 With friendship waxing stronger, 
 A book of friends that once were friends, 
 But now are friends no longer. 
 
 I wonder as I turn the leaves 
 What further changes yet may be, 
 Or e'er the master bind the sheaves, 
 And friends are friends eternally. 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 MUNDl SER VITUS. 
 
 "LTOW shall I sing, now hope indeed is dead ? 
 
 Who cares to hear ? 
 Room for the bard above whose happy head 
 Flits hope and fear. 
 
 If you have lost for ever, hold your peace, 
 Your sadness is your own ; 
 To sullen grief and groans that will not cease 
 The world is stone. 
 
 You have no part with it, nor it with you, 
 As once in sprightlier years, 
 When hope was fain to fling its cheerful hue 
 On sorrow's tears. 
 
 Your youth has gone, the promise and the 
 
 spring. 
 And others now are young ; 
 In the world's ear still youthful voices ring. 
 As yours once rung. 
 
 You fell from out the circle all unmissed ; 
 It dances on : 
 
 You sadly left, and no man ever wist 
 That you were gone. 
 
MUNDI SERVITUS. 65 
 
 There is a chimney-corner for you yet ; 
 The world is kind ; 
 Wherein to moralise your fond regret, 
 Feeble and blind. 
 
 Your solemn droning haply lends a zest 
 To youthful joy : 
 
 Sing that the sun is fading in the west, 
 Lest sunshine cloy. 
 
 Short-lived the rose at best, its richest scent 
 Passing away ; 
 
 Youth not given, but always only lent 
 Just for the day. 
 
 Rose-crowned skeleton at life's high feast, 
 Groan not too loud ; 
 Groan rhythmically at the very least ; 
 Rip not the shroud. 
 
 If you have any care to please your host 
 Yet for a while, 
 
 Be sure and do not check the gallant toast. 
 Blight not the smile. 
 
 So shall the descant of your pensive harp 
 Fill laughter's pause, 
 
 And fond regret that is nor stern nor sharp 
 Plead the world's cause, 
 
 6 
 
66 POEMS. 
 
 Was not the solemn bargain fairly made ? 
 Were you not party ? 
 
 Dare you say that you were not fully paid, 
 ** Pretium appretiati?" 
 
 That you got what you could not hope to keep, 
 
 Selling your Lord, 
 
 Gives you no right at all to weep 
 
 At the world's board. 
 
 Proud self that bore thee once a very king, 
 To thy great loss, 
 
 Art now a cur in the world's galling string 
 For what it may toss. 
 
 One stood without full patiently and knocked ? 
 Stands he there still ? 
 
 Youth stoutly held the door and gaily mocked ; 
 Age hears but ill. 
 
THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 67 
 
 V THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 
 
 r\AINTY feeder amid the lilies, 
 
 What wouldst Thou in this house of 
 mine: 
 Little it profits to serve on both knees 
 Crumbled bread and the lees of wine. 
 See the lights in the darkening valley 
 Of those that love Thee, aye, and mark 
 The camp-fires where the soldiers rally 
 On yon hill-side, whilst I am dark. 
 
 Friends and lovers Thou hast in plenty, 
 Who will meet Thee upon thy way ; 
 King will nothing less content thee, 
 But Thou must enter my house to-day. 
 See to it well they were here erewhile : 
 Thy foemen have made of my house an inn, 
 Nor needed to enter or force or guile, 
 For I bade them welcome and led them in. 
 
 The livelong day we have rioted, 
 I scarcely knew that the guests were gone ; 
 And now Sir King Thou art hardly sped. 
 With nothing but scraps to feed upon. 
 
68 POEMS. 
 
 And for a bed where Thou mayst lie, 
 Alas ! my King, it may hardly be ; 
 My bed is tumbled and all awry, 
 And far too mean for a King like Thee. 
 
 My bed has been making ere the morn, 
 I that have made it must lie therein, 
 A bed so restless, so strewn with thorn, 
 That an hour of sleep it is hard to wiur 
 
 Thou usest to couch Thee yet more ill, 
 Thou sayest, and for cure of thy restlessness, 
 With three stout nails to hold Thee still, 
 And thorns for a chaplet of drowsiness. 
 
 And Thou wilt sit at my trampled hearth. 
 And share of the scraps that strew my board ; 
 I knew not one could be found on earth 
 So easy to please as Thou its Lord. 
 
 King, thy daintiness is but small 
 
 To find a sinner^s company sweet, 
 
 But if Thou wilt take this, take all. 
 
 And the blood of my heart to wash thy feet. 
 
DEATH-LOSS. 69 
 
 DEATH'LOSS. 
 
 "Y^HAT wealth of bursting greenery 
 
 The spring-tide has, 
 Rain-scented meadow grass, 
 The streamlet's glee ; 
 
 Fair knots of stealthy flowers 
 In woodland glade ; 
 The flickering of light and shade, 
 The golden hours ; 
 
 These are, indeed, gone by 
 Beyond recall. 
 As turning to the wall. 
 Behold I die. 
 
 All sights, and scents, and sounds, 
 Whereon I fed, 
 Touch me not, being dead 
 Within death's bounds. 
 
 Leaps yet as wont, the day-spring, 
 Softly night falls, 
 Dove to dove kindly calls, 
 Glad thrushes sing. 
 
70 POEMS. 
 
 Music and fragrance and light 
 Yet fill the earth, 
 As when I shared its mirth, 
 And this is right. 
 
 Set fair my grave with green, 
 Where sunbeams play, 
 You cannot let in day, 
 Nor the flowers' sheen. 
 
 Scarlet and blue and white, 
 A goodly bed ; 
 But for another's head. 
 Another's sight. 
 
 There let small children play 
 With life to live ; 
 All that I can I give, 
 Flowers for a day. 
 
 Could aught now break my sleep. 
 It were their voices, 
 Rejoicing as naught else rejoices. 
 Weeping as few weep. 
 
ANIM^ FIDELIUM. 7 1 
 
 ANIMJE FIDELIUM. 
 
 '\\0 brightness of the sky 
 
 To tell us where they lie ; 
 The winds that winnow by 
 Make no report ; 
 
 Their cradle and their bier 
 The earth, says, '* they were here, 
 But now no more appear 
 In their resort.*' 
 
 Their foot-prints all around 
 Yet make it holy ground ; 
 The way they went, the sound 
 Has died away. 
 
 The words which they have writ 
 Of pathos or of wit 
 The paper may not quit, 
 But where are they } 
 
 Ah, vainly still we ask : 
 It is not nature's task 
 To tear away the mask 
 Where God is hid. 
 
72 POEMS. 
 
 Go bow your troubled face 
 Closer in God's embrace, 
 And let His love displace 
 All fears forbid. 
 
 Your loved ones are not gone, 
 Live but for God alone, 
 And you shall find your own 
 Upon His breast. 
 
 Safe in the inner shrine 
 Within the arms divine ; 
 They are not grown less thine. 
 Because more blest. 
 
GOOD-BYE. 73 
 
 GOOD-BYE. 
 
 A TRIVIAL phrase that flies from lip to lip, 
 
 It serves to punctuate the page of life 
 From the scarce breathed comma to the break 
 Of death's full stop, when friends must part 
 
 indeed, 
 And know for what it is the last good-bye ; 
 When time's insatiate stammering is hushed 
 And an eternal silence speaks for all. 
 When I am bid " good-bye," I ever hear 
 Or loud or faint the closing of a door, 
 Which leaves my soul outside, some joy within ; 
 Some sympathetic circle made complete, 
 Where I once was but am not any more ; 
 A shadowed portent of eternal loss. 
 Of outer darkness sundered from the light. 
 Yet, as a lance was thought itself to salve 
 The wound it had inflicted, so this phrase, 
 Read but as ** God be with you," is a charm 
 Against the pain of parting, for with God 
 Is all that man can love, and no " good-bye." 
 
74 POEMS. 
 
 THE LAST TRAIN. 
 
 TyAITING for the train ; 
 
 Neither work nor play. 
 Neither loss nor gain, 
 Am I sad or gay, 
 Waiting for the train ? 
 
 Others meet to-day 
 The sunshine or the rain, 
 But these have passed away, 
 Waiting for the train. 
 
 Would I win the past 
 To be mine again, 
 Joy with grief o'ercast. 
 Waiting for the train ? 
 
 Nay, the past is bright, 
 And its darkest lane 
 Touched with flakes of light, 
 Waiting for the train. 
 
THE LAST TRAIN. 75 
 
 'Neath the westering sun, 
 Dare I count it gain, 
 That my life is done, 
 Waiting for the train ? 
 
 Of friends that left ere noon 
 Can I now complain, 
 That they left too soon. 
 Waiting for the train ? 
 
 Seemeth those who stay 
 To the last, but gain 
 Night-travelling for day. 
 Waiting for the train. 
 
 Sitting very still. 
 Weary heart and brain. 
 But with steadfast will, 
 Waiting for the train. 
 
76 POEMS 
 
 JESU M AGISTER, 
 
 JESU, my Master ! I am late for school ; 
 My morning comrades long have passed 
 me by; 
 On yon hill side I stopped to play the fool, 
 In yon green wood I mused complacently : 
 A grey-haired scholar, I would fain unlearn 
 What I have learned, and learn my task anew — 
 Shamefaced, alas ! — where little children earn 
 The loving smile to loving progress due. 
 Better to sit with children at thy feet, 
 Where only children sit, or such as they, 
 And learn though late thy lesson to repeat 
 Humbly and sadly, if I haply may, 
 Than seek in worldly school to win the prize, 
 Playing God's truant till the daylight dies. 
 
POEMS. 77 
 
 X 
 
 ** He maketh his sun to shine upon the just and the 
 unjust." 
 
 npHE cheerful sunshine, the rain's gentle 
 -■' falling, 
 
 The trustful light that lives in children's eyes ; 
 These still are mine, though vanished past 
 
 recalling 
 The chosen pleasure, the peculiar prize. 
 
 So choice to me now seems each common 
 
 blessing, 
 It tells me more of God than man can hide, 
 Of love that never tires of caressing, 
 Of mercy's hands outstretched on every side. 
 
78 POEMS. 
 
 ECCE NOVA FACIO OMNIA. 
 
 T^HERE was a summer in the past, 
 
 With leaves that rustled overhead, 
 Which made as though it meant to last, 
 But now is gone and dead. 
 
 And in that summer children, too, 
 As careless and as kind to see 
 As any here, as you or you, 
 Or any like to be. 
 
 And still these children move about, 
 Though covered with a quaint disguise. 
 And strive to light their lamps gone out 
 At newer children's eyes. 
 
 Now and again in summer hours 
 They dream they have their summer back. 
 And catch amid the trees and flowers 
 The ancient sunny track. 
 
ECCE NOVA FACIO OMNIA. 79 
 
 *' Surely," they cry, '* this way is best, 
 A little further on must be 
 The home, the voices, and the rest 
 Of our lost infancy.'' 
 
 " A little further on," to mark 
 The footprint of a child that springs, 
 Spurning the earth like mounting lark 
 Upborne on eager wings, 
 
 In token that *mid scenes of earth 
 Such quest as ours is all in vain. 
 Though where God's newly born have birth 
 Old times may live again. 
 
 Yea, haply where God's angels stand, 
 By gift of his exceeding grace, 
 A little soft familiar hand 
 May lead us to our place. 
 
 To learn 'mid glories manifold 
 No heart of man ere dreamed it knew, 
 A joy that shall be new and old, 
 From the old things made new. 
 
80 POEMS. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 TXrOULD to God that I might die 
 Ere the light has left the sky, 
 Ere kind hands have ceased to press, 
 And eyes have lost their tenderness : 
 Better far to leave behind 
 Much I care for than to find 
 All I care for passed away, 
 With the light of yesterday. 
 Let me go since go I must, 
 Ere time's fingers in the dust 
 Have writ all my joys as done, 
 And the moments as they run 
 Only their sad selves repeat, 
 With naught of music save the beat. 
 When I bid the world ** good-bye,'* 
 I would greet it with an eye 
 For its shifting colours keen, 
 Its interchange of shade and sheen, 
 The eager green of kindling spring, 
 And autumn's russet mellowing ; 
 
OLD AGE. 8 1 
 
 Not a fragrant flower or fruit 
 
 But should yield a soft salute 
 
 To a sense where memory still 
 
 Doth its subtlest charm distil, 
 
 Making life a golden maze 
 
 Of half unfallen garden days. 
 
 Let me go ere every nook 
 
 I have lived in hath a look 
 
 Of utter dearth which none can fill 
 
 Of the living, well or ill. 
 
 When I go, ah, let me leave 
 
 Here and there a heart to grieve 
 
 For a part of its old life, 
 
 That a comrade in its strife, 
 
 A sharer in its daily mirth. 
 
 Treads no longer on the earth. 
 
 Now and then my name should slip 
 
 Among friends from lip to lip, 
 
 Coupled with, ** it was his way 
 
 Thus to look or this to say ;'' 
 
 With perhaps a whispered prayer 
 
 That might reach me other where. 
 
 Whilst I live I fain would be 
 
 All there ever was of me, 
 
 No fragment of existence merely. 
 
 For what I had been cherished dearly, 
 
 7 
 
82 POEMS. 
 
 Whose formal death you scarce deplore, 
 
 The real was so long before. 
 
 Forgive me, Saviour, if I plead 
 
 That though thy pangs were hard indeed, 
 
 And all thy body racked and wrung, 
 
 Some pains Thou hadst not, dying young. 
 
 I know that 'neath the olive's shade, 
 
 A secular weight on Thee was laid ; 
 
 The bitterness of ages past 
 
 Into thy cup of life was cast, 
 
 And all time's miseries yet to come 
 
 Wrought in thy mystic martyrdom ; 
 
 Yet scarce was middle age begun, 
 
 When Thou hadst all thy labours done. 
 
 The Eternal Years in mortal span 
 
 Waxed from the child into the man : 
 
 It was not meet that God should wane 
 
 From man into the child again ; 
 
 And so the feet that Mary kissed 
 
 The withering touch of age have missed. 
 
 And not a golden hair was grey 
 
 Upon thy Crucifixion day. 
 
 High on the crest of manhood's hill 
 
 Thou didst thy ministry fulfil. 
 
 Winning thy victory in the light ; 
 
 Whilst I upon the slopes of night 
 
OLD AGE. 83 
 
 Creep shuddering down, no victory won, 
 Or none that I dare count upon; 
 Yet if it be thy will, 'tis best 
 I so should enter on my rest ; 
 Piecemeal, as some, thy martyrs, died, 
 But Thou wert standing by their side. 
 Oh, stand by me when round me press 
 The sorrows of my loneliness. 
 When my sick heart is gasping wide, 
 As when the ocean's refluent tide 
 Leaves some poor harbour bare and high, 
 Emptied of all the minstrelsy 
 Of dancing waves that leap and play 
 A mile out yonder in the bay. 
 A long farewell thou treacherous sea, 
 That never more may flow for me. 
 Whose guerdon is the refuse left 
 To rot in many a rocky cleft, 
 And the sad drip of sullen tears. 
 The requiem of buried years. 
 And the dark slime of fond regret 
 No husbandman found fruitful yet. 
 Or only one : if but thy hand 
 Vouchsafe to touch the barren strand, 
 Fair crops shall wave of golden corn, 
 And vineyards clothe the rocks forlorn. 
 
84 POEMS. 
 
 Or might have done a while ago— ^ 
 Methinks myself I pity so, 
 That so I might myself assure 
 That one must pity me yet more. 
 Although too late from wasted soil 
 To win return of wine or oil, 
 I know there is another sea, 
 Unwearied Love's infinity, 
 To fill, when other loves depart, 
 The thirsty hollows of the heart. 
 
SONNET- WRITING. 85 
 
 SONNET^ WRITING. 
 
 pOETS ever on the watch 
 
 Any dainty thought to catch, 
 That across their path may flit, 
 When they once have captured it. 
 In a cage of quaint device. 
 Woven with contexture nice, 
 Very much rejoice to shew it ; 
 But, alas ! when least they know it, 
 Oftentime the cage alone 
 Meets the eye ; the thought has flown : 
 And even when the thought is there, 
 Much that made it rich and fair 
 Is with handling lost or frayed, 
 While thought is into matter made. 
 Lo, the bird that in the air. 
 Gaily fluttering here and there, 
 Filled the cloister of the wood 
 With a rapture unwithstood, 
 Caged is dumb and like to die ; 
 And the golden butterfly, 
 
86 POEMS. 
 
 Once 'mid flowers a winged flower, 
 
 In a childish tyrant's power, 
 
 Thrills its dull and bloomless wings, 
 
 Palest of all pallid things. 
 
 Fairest thoughts were meant to give 
 
 Colour to the life we live, 
 
 By the quiet mental eye 
 
 To be enjoyed unconsciously ; 
 
 But when once by art expressed 
 
 Die poor captives half confessed. 
 
SONNETS, 87 
 
 »* Victrix causa Deis placuit sed victa Catoni." 
 
 nPHE conquering cause has ever reverence 
 
 And hope-fed sympathy of gods and men 
 To plead for it with trumpet, sword, and pen, 
 But for the conquered cause, go bear it hence 
 Into its deep diggM grave, nor make pretence 
 To mourn for that which had thy love but when 
 It stood, or falling, looked to rise again. 
 Faith to a conquered cause is lack of sense. 
 The very gods who rule this lower world 
 Are fortune's minions, but they are not God, 
 The One, the Holy, the Inviolable. 
 Lo,pIedgeofdoomreversed,theCrossunfurled 
 Summons fate's victims from the trampled sod 
 To meet his doom who doeth all things well. 
 
 * Sed explicat victor crucem 
 Michael salutis signifer. 
 
 Hymn, Fest. S. Mich, 
 
88 POEMS. 
 
 On the popular saying:—** God sides with the stronger 
 battalions." 
 
 pHILISTIA'S champion, in his boastful 
 
 might, 
 What time he held the Jewish hosts in awe 
 In David's choice of pebbles hardly saw 
 Artillery of heaven to quell outright 
 Himself, and pour the uncircumcised in flight ; 
 Yet a poor sling, manned by a stripling raw, 
 Then won the favour of the God whose law 
 The oldest veterans had misreckoned quite. 
 But now the world is godless ; not a cause 
 Worthy of God contends for victory, 
 That men should say : *^ Lo ! He is here, or 
 
 there." 
 The world is giddy with its own applause, 
 Nor asks God's meed, nor fears his enmity. 
 Earth's battles are no longer heaven's care. 
 
SLEEP. 89 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 T IFT me from life's sharp rocks and float 
 
 me, Sleep, 
 Far out upon thy waters all alone, 
 There let me sink beneath the soft sea moan 
 Of wind and wave into the stilly deep, 
 Nor any jot of my wrecked fortunes keep 
 To flout me with, no face that I have known 
 Of friend or foe, nor that worst face — my own ; 
 I would be dead and cease to laugh and weep. 
 In soft forgetfulness my spirit still, 
 Till busy morning sees me cast ashore, 
 To face the grind of custom's daily drill, 
 To find life's apple rotten at the core : 
 So but God's arm were round me 'twere not ill 
 If sleep were death, and life's dull fret were 
 o'er. 
 
90 POEMS. 
 
 BF ONE ABOUT TO BE DESER VEDLY 
 HANGED. 
 
 T^/' HOLE-HEARTED hate and dainty dis- 
 tant scorn 
 My portion is: the world has seen and heard. 
 Eut one kind face would at my whispered word 
 Yet flush conviction they were all foresworn, 
 I innocent; for this too was I born, 
 To see the faith no hostile breath had stirred, 
 Strong in the sickness of its hope deferred, 
 By one mute gesture ruthlessly uptorn. 
 
 I am a villain : this is utter truth, 
 
 A sorry truth preached at the gallows tree; 
 
 Yet kindlier than the lies that slew my youth ; 
 
 And truth it is alone can make me free. 
 
 Can give earth's outcast share in heavenly ruth. 
 
 I suffer justly ; Lord, remember me I 
 
SONNETS. 91 
 
 ** Utinara regnetis ut et nos vobiscum regnemus." 
 
 (iCor.iv.) 
 
 T IN a brother's joy do much rejoice, 
 
 And fain would strew the path with roses 
 sweet, 
 The best I have for his triumphant feet, 
 Catching a heart-flush from the merry noise 
 Of popular welcome, nor by one poor voice 
 Would thin the rapture of the echoing street; 
 And yet I know my joy is incomplete, 
 Because reflected joy is no man's choice. 
 
 I too would triumph, if I might, and reign 
 In some high way, the centre of a throng. 
 In joy's full sunshine, pure of envious stain, 
 In mine own right that should be no man's 
 
 wrong. 
 No neighbour's losses marring my clear gain, 
 Throned in^ heaven's heart the burden of a 
 
 song. 
 
92 POEMS. 
 
 SPRING, 1878. 
 
 T O spring again, rejoicing on her way, 
 
 Another yet the same, the selfsame knots, 
 As fresh, as tender-eyed, and every spray 
 Afire with vernal life ; our garden plots 
 Are flushed with promise, and the dead past 
 
 rots, 
 As ever 'neath the footfall of the May, 
 While careless what an iron fate allots, 
 We waste no tears on buried yesterday. 
 
 My loss- taught life methinks more largely true 
 Should in large periods mete its joy and pain, 
 Not subject to the season's tyranny. 
 Long winter ! but when God makes all things 
 
 new. 
 My flowery spring, unfading, still to gain 
 An added freshness in maturity. 
 
ON NETS. 93 
 
 ** Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini," 
 
 C AY, is thy door set wide for any guest 
 
 Who in thy Lord's name cometh, though 
 
 he bear 
 Mandate to slay thee, or thy love to tear 
 From thy strong loving arms ? Are all hands 
 
 blest 
 Which in the furtherance of thy Lord's behest 
 To spoil thee of thy treasure shall not spare, 
 Blighting the harvest of thy zealous care 
 Or scattering thorns where thou hast set thy 
 
 rest ? 
 
 So shalt thou live to quench his dying thirst 
 Who thus loved thee, for thy sake welcoming 
 The motley crowd that used Him as it would : 
 The friend that kissed, the foes that mocked 
 
 and cursed 
 As thy apparitors, were free to wring 
 Their cruel tribute to thy endless good. 
 
94 POEMS. 
 
 THE TWO MEMENTOS. 
 
 npHE centuries that have looked on Holy 
 
 Mass 
 Have scantly touched its awful Liturgy : 
 Traditional words and gestures, hand and eye, 
 Bespeak an ordinance that might not pass ; 
 And yet thereto time elements it has, 
 Recording those that live and those that die, 
 What time the priest, his ritual put by, 
 Bows gazing in his memory as a glass : 
 
 Within his heart he bears the tablets twain 
 Wherewith he interleaves his sacred book ; 
 The one doth freely from the ether gain, 
 As churchyard ground which fruit-trees over- 
 
 . look ; 
 Some friends are living yet, but ah, grey head, 
 How full is thy " memento of the dead." 
 
MY DEAT 95 
 
 MY DEATH, 
 
 r\ DEATH, my death ! that somewhere 
 
 waits for me 
 Amid the train of innocent seeming days, 
 Whose names I know, by ancient well-worn 
 
 ways 
 Awaiting that last time so sure to be, 
 Though caution or a blind security 
 Invest my life ; vainly I bend my gaze 
 Upon them, as they pass, their quiet traits 
 Speak them a household serving faithfully. 
 
 O Death, my death ! thy servants these, not 
 
 mine. 
 They marshal thee the way thou wouldest go ; 
 The lengthened pomp of their obsequious line 
 Ends in a point whence thou mayst deal thy 
 blow, 
 
 Thyself a servant, — Death, foredoomed to give 
 Access to Him by whom all spirits live. 
 
gS POEMS. 
 
 HOC FRIT IN VOTIS. 
 
 A BROOK, Menalcas, ere spring die in 
 
 summer, 
 Gurgling deep-throated from abundant rain, 
 With rapid waters fining of their stain : 
 There let me, in the land a blithe new comer, 
 With skimming swallow and plush-coated 
 
 hummer. 
 Essay with you our ancient craft again, 
 Throwing my fly it may be not in vain. 
 Some shy soft day with not a chill to numb 
 
 her. 
 
 Most surely not in vain while flows the stream, 
 While the south wind is dallying with the 
 
 flowers. 
 And wind and stream possess me through the 
 
 hours 
 Of a long day whereof I after dream ; 
 And if thereto boon fortune fills my basket, 
 'Tis surplusage of grace ; I dare not ask it. 
 
DREAM-LOSS. 97 
 
 DREAM-LOSS. 
 
 'XTIT'HO has not dreamed of lonely wandering 
 Through darkling paths of woods that 
 
 never end, 
 How there will meet you suddenly a friend 
 To whom if but your lifeless hands might 
 
 cling, 
 Your way would be no more companionless ; 
 But he regards you not, and passes on ; 
 And lo, another, while you turn, is gone 
 Past you not knowing, and the loneliness 
 Grows deeper, as anon a happy band 
 You once were one of, pass in converse sweet ; 
 The sounds caress you of their accents bland, 
 Then die away, mocking your spell-bound feet ; 
 Faint image of the loss awaiting one 
 Whose friends are friends of God, whilst he is 
 
 none. 
 
98 POEMS. 
 
 A N OVEN A OF SONNETS 
 IN HONOUR OF ST, FEILIP NEEL 
 
 I. ;^ ^ 
 
 ANGELIC PURITY. 
 
 CEE, high upon God's holy mountain stands, 
 
 Where children angel-haunted keep their 
 
 ground, 
 
 An aged man with childhood's lilies crowned, 
 
 Young-eyed and bright, with fragrant breast 
 
 and hands. 
 He sings the song whose utterance demands 
 A life snow-white and wholly taintless found. 
 Following the Lamb in his perennial round 
 Through avenues of saints and martyr bands. 
 
 O chastity of flesh and lips and mind, 
 Spouse of the noblest of the sons of God, 
 Mother of saints, loved in their own despite 
 By those that lack thee, aye and striking blind 
 Blaspheming fiends ; touch me with thy white 
 
 rod, 
 That I may feel and think and speak aright ! 
 
A NOVENA OF SONNETS. 99 
 
 II. 
 GOD ALONE. 
 
 No hermit he, yet Philip dwelt alone, 
 
 Alone with God, creatures like hill-tops 
 
 showing 
 For ever in a sunset glory glowing 
 With gold and purple that is not their own, 
 Which splendour fled they dull to lifeless stone. 
 From youth to age the human tide was flowing 
 About his feet, his heart no respite knowing 
 From doing good to many, loving One. 
 
 And so the youth keen set on earthly treasure, 
 Which lay and glistened in his eager ken, 
 He weaned for ever by his calm " and then," 
 Luring his heart above the aims of men, 
 Enfranchising his hope to larger measure. 
 To wealth that wastes not, and immortal 
 pleasure. 
 
 III. 
 
 INCESSANT PRAYER. 
 
 Who loves must pray, Philip was always 
 
 praying ; 
 In prayer he found refreshment and release 
 From worldly turmoil, and in conflict peace. 
 His heart a boat true to its anchor staying. 
 
100 POEMS. 
 
 Despite the eddies round about it swaying, 
 Despite the current's stormiest increase, 
 To speak with God his heart could never cease, 
 The thought of God all other thought out- 
 weighing. 
 
 Who having God to speak to will not speak, 
 He starving sits though bidden to a feast ; 
 He might be strong and is contented weak, 
 Might win the whole and does not share the 
 
 least ; 
 With all to find he has no heart to seek, 
 Prayerless he sinks unsouled from man to 
 
 beast. B 
 
 IV. 
 
 DAILY MASS. 
 
 Like the three children in their fiery shrine, 
 
 Unto his Lord a dying life devoting, 
 
 He says his Mass, naught of time's passage 
 
 noting, 
 Offering the Victim human and Divine 
 His face and hands with snowy splendours 
 
 shine. 
 Himself a flame before God's altar floating. 
 With love of his Beloved wisely doating, 
 '* Fov I am his and He is wholly mine." 
 
A NOVENA OF SONNETS. 101 
 
 God makes his ministers a flame of fire : 
 O love- wan face, so spent with thy desire ! 
 O fluttering heart, that knows not any rest! 
 May God through thee efl'ectually inspire 
 Love's eager flame forever mounting higher 
 In venturous hearts that lean upon thy breast. 
 
 LOVE OF SOULS. 
 
 No time had Philip he could call his own, 
 His room was open through the livelong day 
 To every comer, none were turned away 
 By one who loved to dwell with God alone ; 
 Go when you would, the young man's eager 
 
 tone 
 Accosted you, or children's noisy play ; 
 Yet if you came you could not choose but stay, 
 Though old yourself and mirthless as a stone. 
 
 Hunter of souls ! with what a quenchless thirst 
 Thou didst pursue them through thy eighty 
 
 years, 
 True to thy word of leaving Christ for Christ, 
 His sweetness for the souls his Blood had 
 
 priced ; 
 Weeping for those that had not any tears 
 To weep themselves, in sinful sloth immersed. 
 
102 POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 REVERENCE FOR THE EXERCISES OF 
 RELIGION. 
 
 Prayer and the Sacraments, and, day by day, 
 A homely use of truths Divinely strong, 
 Were Philip's weapons to encounter wrong, 
 His net to take the souls of men for prey; 
 With interludes of music grave or gay 
 To cheat their labour as they moved along. 
 Tuning life's journey to such cheerful song 
 As might befit travellers on heaven's highway. 
 
 He taught this lesson, Heaven is nearer home — 
 Home which God's finger traces out for 
 
 each — 
 Than to another spot however blest. 
 Heaven's choicest gifts are lost to those who 
 
 roam ; 
 The ripest fruit hangs most within our reach ; 
 Of all life's fare God's daily bread is best. 
 
 VII. 
 PATIENT TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 The cross to Philip could not come amiss; 
 Unmoved he bore the menace of the great, 
 Petty annoyance, and the unsparing hate 
 
A NOVENA OF SONNETS. I03 
 
 Of evil shamed, the multitudinous hiss 
 Of fierce derision, and the traitor's kiss ; 
 Himself esteeming at so low a rate, 
 He kept his trust in God inviolate. 
 Finding therein foretaste of heavenly bliss. 
 
 Since God was with him it was always well, 
 The rest with Philip could not weigh a jot. 
 This life, he said, is ever heaven or hell, 
 It might not yield to man a middle lot ; 
 With God to suiFer is in heaven to dwell, 
 And hell to suffer where his peace is not. 
 
 VIII. 
 OBEDIENCE. 
 
 To win and keep a place in Philip's school 
 The loftiest soul must learn obedience, 
 Discarding pride and solemn self-pretence, 
 In meek submission to external rule ; 
 Content to wear the semblance of a fool 
 In worldly eyes ; an object of offence 
 To those who dare to measure the immense, 
 And shape heaven's causeway with an earthly 
 tool. 
 
104 POEUS. 
 
 August obedience, by the world decried, 
 Is God's economy to make us free, 
 His barrier set against the ocean wild 
 That would invade our native liberty. 
 Who to his God in straitest bonds is tied 
 Becomes heaven's freedman and a little child. 
 
 '^ IX. i:, 
 
 BONA MORS. 
 * ' After all we have to die. " 
 Yes, we must die at last, and leave the earth 
 So long our home, and take us otherwhere : 
 Was Philip sad so musing, whose one care 
 Had been to look toward that diviner birth, 
 For whom the world held naught of any worth. 
 As, lingering awhile on heaven's stair. 
 Wistful some neighbour's burden still to bear, 
 A human pathos seemed to shade his mirth ? 
 
 Nay, joy was perfect : mark the hymn of praise 
 Which from his lips sprang jubilantly free 
 At that last Mass, his reckoning up the days 
 That kept him from his Master's company : 
 In one bright sheaf he binds the kindred rays 
 Of heavenly hope, of earthly memory. 
 
A NOVENA 01* SONNETS. lOj 
 
 TWO OF ST. PHILIPS SONNETS. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 'TpHE soul derives from God her being high, 
 "■• In one keen instant out of nothing 
 
 brought, 
 Not painfully, through second causes wrought. 
 How can she then submit to things that die, 
 To hope, desire, to joy, to enmity ? 
 To her confusion, by these guides mistaught, 
 Of One confronting her she knoweth naught, 
 A glimpse of whom would lift her to the sky. 
 
 How should the baser nature dare rebel 
 Against the higher, nor, as meet, consent 
 To do its bidding, but essay to quell ? 
 Why prison bars the aspiring soul prevent 
 From leaving earth above the stars to dwell, 
 To die to self, to live to God intent ? 
 
1 06 POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 I love and loving must love ceaselessly, 
 So whole a conquest love in me hath won ; 
 My love to Thee, thy love to me doth run, 
 In Thee I live and Thou dost live in me : 
 Surely the day is nigh when I may flee 
 From this dark gaol, for ever to have done 
 With vanity and blind oblivion. 
 Where exiled from myself I use to be. 
 
 Earth laughs and sky, green branches and soft 
 
 air; 
 The winds are quiet, and the water still ; 
 No sun before has shed so bright a day : 
 The gay birds sing, love's joy is everywhere ; 
 My heart alone has no responsive thrill. 
 My powers flag and shrink from joy away. 
 
CATHOLIC MARTYRS UNDER ELIZABETH. I07 
 
 THE CATHOLIC MARTYRS UNDER 
 ELIZABETH 
 
 I. 
 
 T^HE word went forth in England that the 
 "*■ Mass 
 
 Was treason, and that Faith henceforth must die 
 Down to the line of secular policy. 
 The memories of old times too soon, alas ! 
 Forsook the church which gazed in that crocked 
 
 glass 
 The state held to her, and so seen awry 
 Distortion won the praise of symmetry, 
 And the State-Church ideal came to pass. 
 
 Then from the secret place where they were 
 
 waiting 
 Rose many men and women, saints of God, 
 Warriors whose feet with gospel peace were 
 
 shod 
 
I08 POEMS. 
 
 To tread the path the ancient martyrs trod, 
 
 Gaily defiant, with love unabating, 
 
 Choosing for household joys a nation's hating. 
 
 II. 
 
 How gallant was the pomp of England then, 
 How hard to cope with as she moved along 
 With a great following of triumphal song, 
 Girt with her princes of the sword and pen, 
 Queen of the age new opening 'neath her ken: 
 The white-robed army knows no souls more 
 
 strong 
 Than those who strove to wake 'mid that bright . 
 
 throng 
 Strange Christian echoes in the souls of men. 
 
 The semblance of religion lingered still 
 About the land; but there had passed away 
 The Church's power restrictive, and her rod 
 Was broken : England bidden to fulfil 
 The eternal law did all her prophets slay. 
 Tearing their hearts out in the name of God. 
 
CATHOLIC MARTYRS UNDER ELIZABETH 109 
 III. 
 
 Hail, generous Hearts that were so fain to die, 
 Yet kept your lives so well : as who would 
 
 bring 
 Drink to the lips of comrades perishing 
 On battle-field, putting the danger by. 
 Nor for your service sake ashamed to fly ; 
 Regardless of the foe's calumnious sting, 
 Though name of dastard and of traitor cling 
 Till tardy death end livelong jeopardy. 
 
 Lo ! when in spite of scrupulous defence, 
 The legal hunters fairly hem you round, 
 All bitterness is lost, you draw your breath 
 In gentler rhythm, knowing grisly death 
 To be an angel to your service bound. 
 Crowning for aye your manly innocence. 
 
 IV. 
 
 These Romish priests, right English to the 
 
 core. 
 For love of Christ loved not their country less. 
 See as they die their hands are raised to bless 
 The land that slew them, till they move no 
 . more. 
 
no POEMS. 
 
 The unjust judge, the hangman splashed with 
 
 gore, 
 The base informer, shared their tenderness; 
 The acts of men were powerless to repress 
 The effluence of lov.e's exhaustless store. 
 
 The God-given strength that mocked a world 
 
 in arms, 
 Honour that for the nicest point would die. 
 With love that paid each outrage still with 
 
 love, 
 In them put on a childlike gaiety, 
 And cheery English phrase that ever charms, 
 Like ocean ripples solemn deeps above. 
 
 V. . 
 
 Priests of to-day, where'er on English ground 
 
 Your lot is cast, the land is consecrate. 
 
 No nook but in some martyr's memory found. 
 
 Who, dying, pleaded for the good estate 
 
 Of his poor country ; so, if very late 
 
 The hoped-for harvest, if, on looking round. 
 
 It seem a point of dubious debate 
 
 If faith so shattered can again be sound. 
 
CATHOLIC MARTYRS UNDER ELIZABETH. 
 
 Fear not, but know that He who over-pays 
 So much our cup of water does not use 
 To take such lavish blood, and then refuse 
 The asked reward ; trust ye the Heart of one 
 Who in love's contest never was outdone, 
 To pay the fuller for his long delays. 
 
1 1 2 POEMS. 
 
 JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S 
 ''NIGHTINGALE:' 
 
 In the first four stanzas of this poem, as Lewis of 
 Grenada remarks, the nightingale is the bearer of the 
 soul's aspirations to Christ, the "unicum dilectum." 
 With the fifth stanza the parallelism of the nightingale 
 with the devout soul begins to be developed for the in- 
 struction of the disciple, (See Appendix.) 
 
 •NTIGHTINGALE, that singest in the front of 
 spring, 
 
 Glad surcease foretelling from mire and tem- 
 pesting, 
 
 Soothing our heart's woe with thy sweet 
 jargoning, 
 
 Hail, discreetest bird, to me thy passage wing ! 
 
 Come and thou shalt get thee whither cannot I, 
 Mine absent friend and lover with sweetest 
 
 song to ply, 
 Solacing all his sadness with subtle minstrelsy, 
 To whom for other service I may not win anigh. 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S '* NIGHTINGALE. 1 1 3 
 
 Do what for me is ever my feeble strength 
 
 above, 
 Salute with tenderest greetings the only one 
 
 I love, 
 And tell Him there is nothing which under 
 
 heaven doth hove, 
 But He and only He my faithful heart may 
 
 move. 
 
 If any man should marvel that I have chosen 
 
 thee, 
 This reason good vouchsafe him, thou hast a 
 
 property 
 The which with Christian service gives promise 
 
 to agree. 
 And so may win us favour of heaven's Majesty. 
 
 I Therefore, beloved scholar, give ear unto my 
 word. 
 And cherish in thy bosom the singing of this 
 
 bird, 
 That so repeating duly what thou hast rightly 
 
 heard, 
 Thou too among heaven's singers henceforth 
 mayst be preferred. 
 
 9 
 
114. POEMS. 
 
 Of this bird we read, when she comprehendeth 
 That her death is nigh, that her lifetime endeth, 
 Early, very early, to a tree she wendeth, 
 And in diverse strains her full heart expendeth, 
 
 Tenderly preluding in the matin time ; 
 
 But when dawn breaks redly at the hour of 
 
 prime, 
 With a loftier sweetness her keen accents 
 
 chime, 
 A breathless flowing song without the frets of 
 
 rhyme. 
 
 At the hour of tierce, aye, but she knows no 
 
 measure, 
 So within her breast swells her proud heart's 
 
 pleasure. 
 Till her throat strings crack bursten with their 
 
 treasure, 
 Higher thrill her strains without stint or cesure. 
 
 But when in heaven's forehead the sun up- 
 
 flameth high. 
 Her cloven breast disparteth with an exceeding 
 
 cry, 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S *' NIGHTINGALE.'' II 5 
 
 Fraught with the wonted burden of* O quickly, 
 
 quickly," 
 In labour of her singing she swooneth utterly. 
 
 The nightingale is lying, a broken instrument. 
 With her beak still quivering as on song intent. 
 But when none has sounded all her life is spent, 
 The cunning frame is shattered and the heart- 
 strings rent. 
 
 And so, beloved scholar, in brief as you have 
 
 heard. 
 It fareth with the singing and the dying of 
 
 this bird, 
 But if you may remember, as I ere while averred. 
 To Christian life and service this lay must be 
 
 referred. ' 
 
 None other is this nightingale, as I do well 
 
 conceive, 
 Than one who deeds of virtue doth lovingly 
 
 achieve ; 
 Who, when this world for heaven it doth in 
 
 spirit leave, 
 A goodly song and pleasing may hardly fail to 
 
 weave. 
 
Il6 POEMS. 
 
 And that it yet more highly its hopes of heaven 
 
 may feed, 
 A mystic day is given it, whereof the hours lead, 
 Adown the chain of mercies by heavenly love 
 
 decreed, 
 Bestowed by God's compassion upon man's 
 
 erring seed. 
 
 The very early morning marks the primeval 
 
 worth, 
 Wherein man was created to share the angels' 
 
 mirth ; 
 The first hour indicates the time of God In- 
 
 carnate's birth ; 
 The third his going to and fro upon his sinful 
 
 earth ; 
 
 The sixth when Christ was willing by traitors 
 
 to be bound, 
 And spat upon, and buffeted, and trenched 
 
 with many a wound. 
 And straitly nailed upon a cross and lifted 
 
 from the ground, 
 With a great store of cruel thorns that sacred 
 
 head around. 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S ''NIGHTINGALE." II7 
 
 The ninth is when He dies, when all is 
 
 finished, 
 The dreadful battle over, the fiend overcome 
 
 and fled ; 
 But when the night-dews fall and vesper psalms 
 
 are said, 
 Christ in his garden tomb reclines his glorious 
 
 head. 
 
 The soul within her garden thus musing out 
 
 the day, 
 Unto her goal of mystic death doth fashion out 
 
 a way, 
 Climbing the cross whereon the strong one did 
 
 dismay 
 The enemy of God and man, and tore death's 
 
 gates away. 
 
 MATINS In the early morning she uplifteth straight 
 ^^^ Her full heart's strong music for the mercy 
 ^^^°s- great, 
 
 Praising God, and thanking that He did 
 
 create 
 And confirm her being in such good estate. 
 
Il8 POEMS. 
 
 '* Thou didst show thy mercy to the world," 
 
 quoth she, 
 '* Oh, my kind Creator, in creating me ; 
 To partake thy gladness me Thou didst decree 
 Freely, as all bounty of thy love is free. 
 
 Oh, with what a treasure was my nature blessed. 
 When Thou hadst thine image on my soul im- 
 pressed. 
 And I had won increase of the gift possessed. 
 If the Lord's commandment had not been 
 transgressed. 
 
 Fain that I might ever thine affection prove, 
 That from thy full favour I might never move; 
 As a cherished daughter, to thy home above 
 Thou wouldst have me lifted, God of endless 
 love. 
 
 I am free to enter heaven's company, 
 
 And Thou, God, wouldst render all thyself to 
 
 me ; 
 How to pay Thee back, what to render Thee, 
 Save a worthless heart; I in no wise see. 
 
I JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S "NIGHTINGALE." II 9 
 
 One and only sweetness, everlasting joy, 
 Salutary robber, loving heart's decoy, 
 Take whatever I am, all that I enjoy. 
 Store of merit won cleanse from base alloy." 
 
 r 
 
 Joying in her anguish, " Quick, oh, quick," she 
 
 sings, 
 ** Truly it is right and just that the creature 
 
 brings 
 All her heart's affection pure of earthly things 
 To the God who keeps her underneath his 
 
 wings." 
 
 PRIME. Such her matin hour, lost in holy thought 
 
 Till at Prime her heart, a higher rapture taught, 
 Hymns in higher strains the welcome hour that 
 
 brought 
 Him who, clothed in flesh, man's redemption 
 
 wrought. 
 
 I 
 
 Her heart in love's strong fire begins to liquefy. 
 Quivering as it sees the Lord of earth and sky 
 I Become a Babe that cries as other babies cry. 
 
 That He might heal our wounds and ancient 
 malady. 
 
120 POEMS. 
 
 Weeping, cries she then, ' Fount of piety, 
 Who has dared to put such poor rags on Thee, 
 Who has counsel given to give all for me, 
 But the Almighty zeal of burning charity ? 
 
 What so fit a name for such love is found, 
 Underneath whose might heaven's king lies 
 
 bound. 
 In the swathing bands clasping tightly round, 
 See the holy chains love's strong hands have 
 
 wound. 
 
 Sweetest little one. Babe beyond compare, 
 Happy who is suffered Thee to tend and bear, 
 Hands and feet to kiss, grief to soothe and 
 
 share, 
 Spending all his days in such loving care. 
 
 Ah me, that I may not have the duty dear 
 To console his anguish, paying tear for tear. 
 His tender infant frame to cherish and to cheer. 
 Whilst his cradle-bed I sit ever near. 
 
 I do think the Child would not turn away. 
 But would smile upon me, as is childhood's 
 way; 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S '* NIGHTINGALE." 121 
 
 His most dear compassion would my grief 
 
 allay, 
 Nor when asked forgiveness would He say me 
 
 nay. 
 
 Happy whom Christ's Mother so vouchsafes to 
 
 bless 
 With this ample wage for his faithfulness, 
 That he once a day may her Child caress, 
 Once may share the play of his mirthfulness. 
 
 For his bath each morning I should love to 
 
 bring, 
 In my toil rejoicing, water from the spring ; 
 And to serve his Mother still in everything, 
 His poor baby clothes I would wash and 
 
 wring." 
 
 Then the loving soul, to be poor athirst. 
 Craves the meanest diet, and of clothes the 
 
 worst, 
 Hardest toil accounteth of all joys the first, 
 "Worldly pomp forsaketh as of God accursed. 
 
122 POEMS. 
 
 TIERCE, Thus Christ's gracious childhood weaving in 
 her song, 
 Through the hour of Prime she is borne along, 
 Then to Tierce leaps forward, with emotion 
 
 strong, 
 Musing what Christ suffered when He taught 
 the throng. 
 
 Then Christ's labours all weeping counts she 
 
 o'er, 
 Heat, fatigue and cold, thirst and hunger sore, 
 Which for sinners' sake he unflinching bore. 
 Their corrupted hearts striving to restore. 
 
 With love's breath her voice like a flame 
 
 upstirred, 
 Singeth ^* quick, oh quick," this most dainty 
 
 bird; 
 Covetous of death as of life deferred. 
 Unto whom the world seems a loathly sherd ; 
 
 Crying, ** poor man's solace, exile's safe retreat, 
 Of the weeping sinner comforter most sweet, 
 Gentlest thou of preachers, as is surely meet, 
 Both the just and sinners hang about thy feet. 
 
 Thou the just man's rule, teaching him to live, 
 Sinner's mirror thou, image true to give, 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S "NIGHTINGALE." 1 23 
 
 For the weak and weary, strong restorative, 
 For the sick to death, death's inhibitive. 
 
 Thou once more among us didst love's school 
 
 renew, 
 Teaching us God's glory ever to pursue, 
 The world's false advances firmly to eschew, 
 That the robe sin lost us we might wear anew, 
 
 Though the world this school ventures to 
 
 despise, 
 Mocking at as naught what it most doth prize, 
 Still thy love is loth sinners to chastise. 
 And when asked for mercy, mercy ne'er denies. 
 
 ' Pitiful ' and ' kind '—titles that fit Thee near. 
 
 For all thy kingdom lies in love and not in 
 fear, 
 
 In kindly words not blows, nor is the reve- 
 rence dear, 
 
 Fearful scholars yield to a rule austere. 
 
 She, the woman taken in her sin unchaste. 
 Before boundless mercy knew that she was 
 
 placed ; 
 This felt the Magdalen manifoldly graced, 
 " As she went in peace, all her sins effacecjt 
 
124 POEMS. 
 
 Why should I say more, all his scholars 
 
 know 
 That to wash them clean saving waters flow, 
 That within their hearts seeds of virtue grow, 
 That their life is kept from their envious foe. 
 
 Under this dear master happy who may fill, 
 
 From the holy honey that his lips distil, 
 
 So his heart with sweetness more and more 
 
 until 
 All beside is bitter, all doth savour ill." 
 
 This and much beside as her heart perpends, 
 And in glad thanksgiving strives to make 
 
 amends, 
 She in God's high praises more and more 
 
 transcends. 
 So the hour of tierce in her singing ends. 
 
 ' Quickly, quickly,' cries she, wondrous pas- 
 sionate. 
 With excessive weeping for her pilgrim state. 
 Yielding praise and glory with emotion great 
 Unto Christ, who for her bore such painful 
 freight. 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S ** NIGHTINGALE.'' 1 25 
 
 At this hour the soul drunken seems with woe, 
 Yet about the midday, in the ardent glow 
 To Christ's sacred Passion she betakes her so, 
 That the darts of love deeper in may go. 
 
 SEXT. Then God's tender lamb she begins to mourn. 
 Lamb without a spot, crowned with cruel 
 
 thorn, 
 Pierced with nails and hung on a cross forlorn. 
 With deep gaping wounds all his body torn. 
 
 Then cries the loving soul with loud lamenta- 
 tion 
 
 Still her cry, *^ * quick, quickly,' my heart's ease 
 is gone, 
 
 In my keen compassion for that face so wan. 
 
 For those dying eyes that I am looking on. 
 
 Could it thee become, Son of God most high. 
 Dying to sustain so great indignity, 
 So the hellish foe thou wouldst force to fly, 
 So for us display love's emblazonry. 
 
 These are love's own colours, and he well doth 
 
 know 
 How to bind extremes, blending high with low ; 
 
126 POEMS. 
 
 We are too life-chary shews He dying so, 
 All himself outpouring in such lavish flow. 
 
 Thou, new Friend, new wine, as the wise man 
 
 says, 
 Rendering to thy worth no unfaithful praise ; 
 Thou well-tasted one, pouring out always, 
 Crushing thy sweet Body, that most precious 
 
 vase. 
 
 Taught by these love-tokens learns the peni- 
 tent 
 
 Christ this gracious bounty from his heart has 
 meant, 
 
 Holding this by Satan I shall not be shent. 
 
 Thus of sin's fell purpose all the force be spent. 
 
 * Quick, oh quick,' I cry, as on thee I look. 
 Mourning, Jesus dear, that I thee forsook. 
 Discipline I crave, that with her earnest crook, 
 She may bring me to, as did thee love's keen 
 hook. 
 
 What an ugly hook thy love threw thee when 
 She would win of Thee to suffer death for men, 
 Ah, too dear a bait clothed that hook, for then 
 All the gain of souls lay before thy ken. 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S *' NIGHTINGALE." l^^ 
 
 Though to thy keen eyes all the hook lay bare, 
 Thee no pricking could from thy purpose 
 
 scare ; 
 To press full upon it was thy only care, 
 So intense a love for the bait was there. 
 
 Thou for wretched me whom thou heldest dear, 
 Knowingly didst thrust thyself upon death's 
 
 spear, 
 When thou didst vouchsafe a victim to appear, 
 That thy blood my soul from its guilt might 
 
 clear. 
 
 Who shall dare to wonder if for thee I pine. 
 Wed to such a husband through no grace of 
 
 mine; 
 For my love thou feedest in a way divine, 
 Dying for my solace such a death as thine. 
 
 Nor suffices weeping, but I would not spare. 
 Even as Job sayeth, to pluck and tear my hair, 
 Within the caverned rock my little nest pre- 
 pare, 
 And breathe my latest breath in peace no other 
 where. 
 
 So I die not with thee I may find no peace. 
 Crying, ^ quick, oh quick,* I shall never cease 
 
128 POEMS. 
 
 This my hot desire never shall decrease, 
 
 Let the world account me cheaply as it please/' 
 
 Then as one distraught, ** butchers, fasten me 
 Straitly here with Christ on the fatal tree, 
 No where could I meet death so willingly. 
 For in death thou, Christ, in mine arms 
 wouldst be. 
 
 There is naught at all sorrow's rage may still 
 Which my soul transpierces every hour, until 
 Thou, the source of sweetness, dost the part 
 
 fulfil 
 Of the good physician medicining mine ill. 
 
 Kindest of physicians, not with lancet's smart, 
 But with gentle pressure from the labouring 
 
 heart, 
 Thou dost force the poison, thou dost strength 
 
 impart, 
 Binding us unto thee with love's matchless art. 
 
 Foully, very foully, is the world astray 
 Which though sorely wounded in the deadly 
 
 fray 
 From this kind physician needs must turn away, 
 Whose sweet open side is the sick man's stay. 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN^S '^ NIGHTINGALE.'' I29 
 
 Why, O man, not gather in thy memory 
 
 All the gifts Christ's Passion hath bestowed on 
 
 thee! 
 Fr6m the fowler's net it hath set thee free, 
 And hath made thee share Christ's felicity. 
 
 He gave thee sick to death his own Flesh for 
 
 food, 
 And hath washed thee freely in his precious 
 
 Blood, 
 Bared his heart before thee, hanging on the 
 
 wood, 
 That at length his loving might be understood. 
 
 Laver of refreshment Thou, food of whole- 
 someness. 
 
 Granting to the worthy unto heaven access, 
 
 Him whom Thou consolest toil shall not dis- 
 tress. 
 
 Though to sluggish souls Thou art weariness. 
 
 The dull, slothful heart in no wise perpends 
 What the Lord exposing his dear Heart intends 
 Nor, when on the Cross He his arms extends, 
 What a couch is given for its rest, attends 
 
130 POEMS. 
 
 When this couch is shewn to the heart that's 
 
 pure, 
 Straight it flies upon it, fixing itself sure, 
 As the fierce hawk flesheth in the ruddy lure 
 That they offer to him whom they would secure. 
 
 Then the soul outcrieth, like to one insane, 
 *' O dear couch of flesh, whence the blood doth 
 
 rain 
 From so many places, why may I not gain 
 To be wounded with Thee, so to death attain. 
 
 Since, alas, I may not in such death engage, 
 I will choose another for my true love's wage ; 
 Naught shall my lamenting, naught my tears 
 
 assuage. 
 Till I quit forever life's long pilgrimage." 
 
 After this the sweet soul, in the light of faith 
 More and more increasing, failing sight and 
 
 breath, 
 Loving more than ever though she nothing 
 
 saith. 
 On her bed reclining, languishes to death. 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S "NIGHTINGALE." 1 3 1 
 
 All her throat's sweet organ made one gaping 
 
 wound, 
 With her tongue still quivering without any 
 
 sound, 
 Fullest compensation words in tears have found, 
 As she mourns her master all in sorrow drowned. 
 
 She may find no solace for her sorrow's smart, 
 Save in sighs that from her labouring bosom 
 
 start ; 
 From Christ's wounds her eyes never may 
 
 depart, 
 Naught from these dissever her afflicted heart; 
 
 So the soul remaineth as she ravished were. 
 As though her beloved still his anguish bare, 
 Nor her earnest gaze from the cross can tear. 
 For the eye hath station where the heart hath 
 care. 
 
 Groans and lamentations, tears and sighs avail 
 For her daily comfort, a meat that doth not 
 
 fail ; 
 In the mystic sorrows that her heart assail 
 A new kind of martyr we devoutly hail. 
 
132 POEMS. i 
 
 NONE. In this state she scorneth all that earth can 
 breed, 
 Worldly consolation counts a poisonous weed ; 
 But when none she reaches, then she dies 
 
 indeed, 
 Every bond is broken by love's headlong speed. 
 
 For, at none recalling that her Crucified, 
 Crying, *' it is finished," at the ninth hour died, 
 She as dying with him, and in death, his bride. 
 Cries, '^ that voice transpierces and makes issue 
 wide.^' 
 
 And so no longer bearing her love's impetuous 
 
 heat, 
 
 She dies as hath been written, a death sur- 
 passing sweet, 
 
 The gates of God fly open and heavenly voices 
 greet 
 
 The advent of a spirit pure for angel converse 
 meet. 
 
 No dirge or slow sad Requiem for such a soul \ 
 
 is fit. 
 But the High Mass '* Gaudeamus," with its 
 
 merry Introit, 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN's *^ NIGHTINGALE." 1 33 
 
 To offer prayers for martyrs would argue scanty 
 
 wit, 
 And no such derogation the canon will 
 permit. 
 
 Arise and come, beloved, rose beyond com- 
 pare, 
 Lily of the valley, jewel rich and rare. 
 Who in earth's contagion hast not any share. 
 Lovely in thy going forth, in thy death how 
 fair! 
 
 Happy thou possessing long desired rest. 
 
 In his arms who loves thee, sleeping on his 
 
 breast. 
 Evermore overshadowed by his spirit blest, 
 Whilst his honied kisses on thy brow are 
 
 pressed; 
 
 Tear-worn eyes are resting, tears have ceased 
 
 to flow, 
 Hope's long-garnered treasures now full clearly 
 
 shew; 
 For the Lord who drew thee from this world of 
 
 woe, 
 He, and not another, stands thy comfort now. 
 
134 POEMS. 
 
 Tell me, O beloved, couldst thou weep again, 
 Or how heaven possessing suffer any pain. 
 For He only is whom thou dost attain. 
 And didst thou seek another, thou wouldst seek 
 in vain. 
 
 I must stint my song, lest my hearers tire, 
 Lest, describing all to my heart's desire 
 Of the bright estate of the heavenly choir, 
 I by evil tongues should be called a liar. 
 
 Therefore, brother mine, spite what others say, 
 Of this martyrdom tread the perfect way ; 
 Whilst thou forward farest never cease to pray 
 Christ the Lord may teach thee the true 
 martyr's lay. 
 
 Sing it, sing it freely, pious sister mine, 
 
 Or on life's drear journey you will sink and 
 
 pine. 
 After life-long joying in that song divine, 
 Jesus and his Mother shall be mine and thine. 
 
 Still baptised in tears, sorrow's martyrdom. 
 Sister, let thy heart here God's lute become ; 
 
JOHN OF HOVEDEN'S *^ NIGHTINGALE. ' 13S 
 
 All tny powers combined, an organ never dumb ; 
 As here with Christ, so there with Christ at 
 home. ^ 
 
 Then shall cease lamenting and the voice of 
 
 woe, 
 When with choirs of angels leaving earth below, 
 You shall pass to heaven's rest still singing as 
 
 you go. 
 The bride of God while on and on the eternal 
 
 ages flow. 
 
136 POEMS 
 
 FROMK GAZETS '' PIA HILARIAr 
 
 TWO CHILDREN BREAKFAST WITH THE 
 CHILD JESUS. 
 
 T N Santarene, a town of Portugal, 
 
 There dwelt one Bernard, a Dominican, 
 The holiest of a holy brotherhood. 
 Two little boys it was his wont to teach, 
 A gentle pair, docile and innocent. 
 He taught them morsels from the Holy Writ, 
 Small grammar tasks and good behaviour. 
 And eke to serve at the thrice-holy Mass. 
 They, as their master bade, would stand or 
 
 kneel 
 With eyes unwandering and with ears intent. 
 Nor ever slipped they answering the priest. 
 They were as modest as they well might be; 
 Not like my boys, whose slack attention flags, 
 Catching at every straw and every fly 
 That buzzes to and fro about the church. 
 When Mass was over, at their master's word, 
 
FROM F. GAZET's *' PIA HILARIA/' 1 37 
 
 Into a neighbouring chapel they withdrew 
 To eat the breakfast they had brought from 
 
 home. 
 Each had a basket by his mother crammed 
 With apples, grapes, or cheese, or mellow figs, 
 And toothsome bread ; nor was there wanting 
 
 wine, 
 Such as it was — more water, though, than wine — 
 Stored in their bottles of the bellying gourd. 
 There on a wooden bench they sat them down, 
 And having said, as well they knew, their grace, 
 Would share with one another each his store, 
 And, turn and turn about, would quench his 
 
 thirst. 
 At his companion's bottle or his own. 
 Full often had they feasted in that place, 
 Where stood an ancient altar, and above 
 A comely statue of the Virgin queen. 
 Upon a lofty throne Our Lady sat, 
 Her child upon her lap, from whence He cast 
 An eager look, which seemed to ask for food. 
 To where the children feasted. One might 
 
 swear 
 He really hungered — did He not ? for, lo, 
 From out his Mother's opening arms He slips, 
 First on the altar, then upon the ground, 
 
138 POEMS. 
 
 And coming close bids them a kind ^' Good 
 
 morrow.*' 
 *' Good-morrow " they, then eagerly they press 
 The new-come stranger to sit down with them, 
 And fill his lap, not waiting to be asked. 
 With apples, nuts, and grapes, and ruddy 
 
 cherries. 
 And Jesus takes their gifts of fellowship. 
 And child with children eats and eats again, 
 And tries each flask to see what it contains. 
 The basket empty and their hunger gone. 
 Bidding good-bye, they part, each to his 
 
 home — 
 The Holy Child climbs to his Mother's arms. 
 And down He comes again to them next day 
 And every day finds Jesus still their guest : 
 Long while they silence keep, nor speak one 
 
 word, 
 As haply is the wont of innocence. 
 At length they tell their master how a Child, 
 Most fair to see, leaving his Mother's knee 
 Was wont to share their meal — that He had 
 
 brought 
 Nothing as yet Himself. Their master stands 
 In wondering joy; then bids them thus address 
 The Child, should He return to be their guest — 
 
FROM F. GAZET'S ** PIA HILARIA.' 1 39 
 
 ^* My Lord, some months are gone since you 
 
 began 
 (Forgive our saying so) to be our guest, 
 And not one morsel have you brought yourself. 
 Now bring, we pray you, something of your 
 
 own, 
 Or, better still, (what we should like much 
 
 better). 
 Ask us, our master and ourselves to come 
 And dine with you : he craves it, and we too." 
 Their master's words they fasten in their 
 
 minds, 
 And' once again to breakfast Jesus comes, 
 As though he loved to live upon his friends, 
 And having finished, and now turned to go, 
 The children catch Him by the sleeve and 
 
 speak 
 With guileless hearts the words they had been 
 
 told. 
 Upon the simple boys the Boy-God smiled : 
 " Well-sped, dear innocence,'' He cries, *' by 
 
 me 
 Of all most loved and honoured ; you shall 
 
 come. 
 Your master and yourselves, I pledge my word, 
 To be my quests this next Ascension Day; 
 
140 POEMS. 
 
 'Tis close at hand, and you shall surely come ; 
 Go tell your master, and till then farewell.** 
 This when they heard joy filled their hearts 
 
 indeed, 
 And running home they to their master cry — 
 '* O master, master, that dear golden Boy, 
 Who was our guest and daily ate with us, 
 Most willingly to our request agreed. 
 And now invites both you and us to dine 
 At his own table next Ascension Day." 
 Bernard prepares for death, and tells the boys 
 That he and they should very soon repair 
 To the bright Palace with the roof of gold. 
 And golden walls and pavement diamond- 
 strewn, 
 Wherein a glorious banquet should be spread, 
 And all their fellow-guests be priests and kings. 
 Oh, how the children's hearts leaped up for 
 
 joy, 
 At very thought of such a goodly feast ! 
 Their restless tongues would, and yet would 
 
 not tell, 
 For fear their mothers should not let them go. 
 At length, at length, the promised day appears ; 
 The children come with hands and faces washed, 
 And tunics white, while Bernard says the Mass 
 
FROM F. GAZET's "PIA HILARIA." I4I 
 
 At the old altar of the Virgin's shrine ; 
 Serving, they often turn their prayerful eyes, 
 And fix them on their sometime little guest, 
 Lest in his Mother's arms He might forget. 
 They thought the Child Divine with friendly 
 
 nod. 
 Bid them prepare, whilst Bernard's soul is rapt 
 In breathless joy above the starry heaven. 
 The ** Ite missa est " is hardly said, 
 Lo, gentle sleep upon the three comes down, 
 And by a painless death, their souls released. 
 Fly to the nuptials where the Lamb Divine 
 Forever is the Table, Feast, and Host. 
 I envy you, dear master and dear boys, 
 Your goodly feast (forgive my jealousy). 
 But, more than all, your innocence I crave, 
 The fitting herald of so fair a doom. 
 
14a POEMS. 
 
 HYMN, ''LAUREATA NOVO THOMAr 
 
 T ET thy voice in triumph sound, 
 
 ^ Canterbury laurel crowned, 
 
 For thy martyr's victory ; 
 
 As St. Peter doth in Rome, 
 
 Let our Thomas in his home 
 
 Keep his jubilee ; 
 
 And the world-wide Church throughout 
 
 Christians, pay your vows devout 
 
 To St. Thomas joyfully. 
 
 Thomas, because he kept God's law, 
 The jealous wrath enkindled saw 
 Of England's haughty king ; 
 And so he crossed the sea and went 
 In self-inflicted banishment 
 To the French court and king. 
 
 That monarch did him quickly meet, 
 And, as a son his father, greet 
 
HYMN, **LAUREATA NOVO THOMA.'' 143 
 
 With words of reverent love; 
 Our Thomas while he sojourned there 
 As though he still a novice were, 
 In holy warfare strove. 
 
 At length when peace begins to smile, 
 
 False peace, intended to beguile, 
 
 Unto his own he hies; 
 
 And there he doth the right uphold, 
 
 Despite the weapons manifold 
 
 His raging foeman plies. 
 
 Who now with fox's craft would win. 
 
 And now a tiger breaketh in, 
 
 Where he may reach his prey; 
 
 Who now would threaten, now would court, 
 
 The saint admits no base resort 
 
 Nor changeth any way. 
 
 But when the king may plainly see 
 
 This champion bold of verity 
 
 In his resolve is set. 
 
 He doth all justice overleap, 
 
 Against the shepherd arms the sheep, 
 
 That he may vengeance get. 
 
 And therefore wicked murderers go 
 Who neither faith nor mercy know. 
 
144 POEMS. 
 
 And, bent to hurl from out his seat 
 This friend of freedom 'neath their feet 
 The peaceful church invade 
 
 The holy Bishop meets them straight, 
 He will not shun their deadly hate, 
 He does not heed their outcries vile, 
 But prayeth in his heart the while, 
 And is no whit afraid. 
 
 Upon his mother's sacred breast. 
 The martyred Pontiff sinks to rest, 
 His head receives the blow ; 
 He meets the death so long desired ; 
 But scarce the martyr has expired, 
 When healing virtues flow. 
 
 Why need we speak when testify 
 The miracles which instantly 
 That victim blood obtains ? 
 Stern death obeys, the demon flies. 
 The hopeless from their sickness rise, 
 Vanish the leper's stains. 
 
 Thou most rough-angled Angles' king, 
 Forget'st thou that the Angels' King 
 Will every act to judgment bring 
 
HYMN, ** LAUREATA NOVO THOMA." 1 45 
 
 That thine for vengeance calls ! 
 What men have sown the same they reap, 
 Nor may that head forgotten sleep. 
 When God a strict account doth keep 
 Of every hair that falls. 
 
 Bright honour of the priestly name ! 
 Thomas, our fleshly natures tame 
 By thy most potent aid, 
 That we in Christ the one true Vine 
 Firm rooted, of the Life Divine 
 Be glad partakers made. 
 
 Amen 
 
 Ji 
 
146 POEMS. 
 
 ''EXULTET LAUDIBUSr BREV, 
 ROTHOMAG. 
 
 T ET the heavens above joy to overflowing, 
 While her earnest love happy earth is 
 shewing, 
 Hymning her applause. 
 
 The fount of bliss unsealed heaven's citizens is 
 
 thrilling, 
 God to their hearts revealed with light each 
 
 heart is filling, 
 
 Of every joy the cause. 
 
 The Lamb Divine is seen, no cloud his God- 
 head knowing ; 
 To wash the sinner clean the saving blood still 
 flowing, 
 
 A sacrifice for aye. 
 
 The mother that Him bare unto her Son is 
 
 nighest, 
 Her form the fairest there, her throne it is the 
 
 highest. 
 
 Filled full of grace alway. 
 
'EXULTET LAUDIBUS." 1 47 
 
 There too the prophet band, robes of triumph 
 
 wearing, 
 In the promised land with the angels sharing, 
 Swell the nuptial song. 
 
 On twelve thrones of light there the chosen , 
 
 college, 
 Who with words of might spread their sacred 
 
 knowledge 
 
 Every tribe among, 
 
 Here on either side, in bright ranks appearing, 
 Those for God who died, in their hands up- 
 rearing 
 
 Their victorious palms. 
 
 Priests who gave to eat to the flock untiring 
 Here are set at meat every joy inspiring. 
 Sheltered from all harms. 
 
 Doctors of the light, errors none molesting, 
 Drink at fountains bright, in the Godhead 
 resting, 
 
 Truth without alloy. 
 
 They that sowed their seed in their lifetime 
 
 weeping. 
 Here in very deed from their toil are reaping 
 Fruits of endless joy. 
 
IjfS POEMS. 
 
 Maids and matrons chaste, clad in garments 
 shining, 
 
 To the nuptials haste, rank with rank com- 
 bining, 
 
 Of the Virgin's Son. 
 
 All in floods of light plunged as in a river, 
 Hymn the loving might of the eternal Giver, 
 The thrice Holy One. 
 
 Us dear Patrons guide, in your care confiding, 
 O'er the ocean wide, till, life's storm subsiding. 
 We are all at peace. 
 
 God, his saints' reward, our sad wants sup- 
 plying, 
 For your sakes afford that his love undying 
 In our hearts increase. 
 
 Amen. 
 
HYMN TO ST. JOSEPH. I49 
 
 KYMN TO ST, JOSEPH, 
 
 [Translation.] 
 
 PATHER of our Saviour, hail, 
 
 Joseph thrice beloved, 
 Our Redeemer's guardian hail, 
 Joseph thrice approved ! 
 
 Of God's mother thou wert spouse, 
 Man as Angel pure ; 
 Thou the Lord of all did'st house. 
 Seraph to endure. 
 
 Sweet, how sweet, the cradle bed 
 Where you nursed your boy ; 
 Days and months how swift ye fled 
 In that sweet employ ! 
 
 In your sight your Jesus lay, 
 And, oh, bliss of blisses. 
 Giving back as children pay 
 Kisses for your kisses ! 
 
150 POEMS. 
 
 Now as God your child you name, 
 And entreat a blessing, 
 Now your God as child you claim 
 With your close caressing. 
 
 Him to hold, ah, this alone 
 What ecstatic pleasure ! 
 To have Jesus all one's own, 
 Riches beyond measure ! 
 
 Dearest Joseph, all must praise 
 Thy matchless dignity ; 
 Him whom God Himself obeys 
 All must magnify. 
 
 No such lot as this of thine, 
 Flower of castimony, 
 Has the Lord of grace Divine 
 Granted ever any. 
 
 Happy he and safe and blest 
 Who from tempest's rage 
 Finds his shelter and his rest 
 'Neath thy patronage. 
 
 By thy Virgin mother's prayer, 
 By the womb that bore thee, 
 ^y thy Joseph's fostering care, 
 Jesu, we implore thee, 
 
HYMN TO ST. JOSEPH. 15I 
 
 Grant that we may find a place 
 Whence no sin may sever, 
 Gazing ever on thy face, 
 Holding Thee for ever. 
 
152 POEMS. 
 
 THE SEVEN WORDS. 
 [Translation.] 
 
 TJ AIL, Jesu, hail ! who, while they slay^ 
 Dost freely for thy murderers pray 
 Pardon for that they owe ; 
 Oh, make us easy to forgive, 
 Not seeking vengeance while we live 
 In thought or word or blow. 
 
 Hail, Jesu, hail ! who to the thief! 
 That did repent, of goods the chief 
 Made promise to restore ; 
 Oh, with contrition such as his 
 Both now and when our death hour is 
 Endow us we implore ! 
 
 Hail, Jesu, hail ! who 'neath the Rood 
 The while thy mother weeping stood 
 Commendedst her to John ; 
 With a like care for us provide, 
 That we may steadfastly abide 
 When dangers hurry on. 
 
THE SEVEN WORDS. 1 53 
 
 Hail, Jesu, hail ! by that sad way 
 Thou didst unto thy Father say 
 ** Thou hast forsaken me ;'' 
 Forsake me not, but bid me stand, 
 Secured by thy supporting hand, 
 In mine extremity. 
 
 Hail, Jesu, hail ! who cried, I thirst. 
 And with a sponge in gall immersed 
 Wast drenched, yet feedest all ; 
 Oh, make me thirst for joys above, 
 Nor waste below a foolish love 
 On joys that fade and fall. 
 
 Hail, Jesu, hail! who didst fulfil 
 Wholly, for us, thy Father's will. 
 For us thy merits stand ; 
 ** 'Tis finishM :" may what we intend 
 Beginning well still better end. 
 The fruit of thy command. 
 
 Hail, Jesu, hail ! ere death could close 
 Thy loving speech and dying throes, 
 Delivering up thy soul 
 Unto thy Father ; grant that we 
 Live cleansed and justified in Thee, 
 And dying win the goal. 
 
154 POEMS. 
 
 DANTE V. JV. SONETTO 15. 
 
 O O frankly sweet, a purity so rare 
 
 My Lady shews while she would others 
 
 greet, 
 That every tongue dies faltering at her feet, 
 Nor any eye to gaze on her may dare. 
 She moves along, hearing that she is fair, 
 In modest dignity, a garment meet. 
 And seems indeed a miracle complete 
 Bestowed on earth by heaven's benignant care. 
 So sweet to look upon ! so pleasantly 
 Her sweetness sinks through eyes into the 
 
 heart. 
 As none may understand who have not known ; 
 And ever from her lips there seemeth blown 
 A gentle breath replete with love's own art, 
 Which whispers to the soul and bids it sigh. 
 
SONNETS. 1 55 
 
 V. ^. SONETTO 24. 
 
 A H pilgrims musing haply as ye move 
 
 On other matters than are present here, 
 That never town or hamlet situate near 
 To ours hath sent ye forth methinks ye prove, 
 Who thus your way unsympathising shove 
 Our weeping city through, without a tear, 
 As persons knowing not how very dear 
 Was she, our loss, and how much worthy love. 
 Stay for a space, and should ye hear me well, 
 My sad heart sighing has assured me this, 
 Ye shall shed tears or ever ye shall go. 
 For now our Florence loses Beatrice ; 
 And what of her her people have to tell 
 Would cause the tears of all the world to flow. 
 
15$ POEMS. 
 
 F. N, SONETTO 25. 
 
 "DEYOND the widest circling sphere had 
 
 gone 
 The sigh that issued from my labouring breast, 
 Methinks new wisdom by the art impressed 
 Of tearful love, was that which bore it on ; 
 And when the point of its desire was won, 
 A lady it beheld whom 'mid the rest 
 The stranger spirit honoured, who but guessed 
 By the great light of her that in it shone ; 
 But afterwards when this it did aver, 
 I might not understand its subtleties. 
 When the sad heart would question it with 
 
 tears : 
 Then came to me the thought of Beatrice, 
 And so I knew indeed it spake of her. 
 And this, dear ladies, all the marvel clears. 
 
SONNETS. 157 
 
 A. M. SONETTO 44. 
 
 T THOUGHT that I had left, to court no 
 
 more, 
 Good Messer Cino, this your favourite muse, 
 Seeing I now another course must choose. 
 And steer my bark much further from the 
 
 shore ; 
 But since I oft have heard our friends deplore 
 That you are wont no love-bait to refuse, 
 I am advised this once again to use 
 The art my fingers wearied in of yore. 
 Who, as you do, the lover's part can play, 
 Binding and casting loose at pleasure's cry, 
 Shews plainly that his love-wound is but 
 
 slight ; 
 But if your heart so many fancies tie, 
 Amend yourself, for God's dear sake, I pray, 
 And wed to gentle language deeds of light. 
 
158 POEMS. 
 
 A. M. SONETTO 45. 
 
 /^UIDO, I would that Lappo, I, and you, 
 
 Beneath the influence of some mighty 
 spell, 
 Were set within a vessel that as well 
 Should sail all weathers, to our fancy true, 
 That neither storms nor all that fate can do 
 From out its course that vessel might compel ; 
 So would the act of being together tell 
 On the desire forever springing new. 
 The Lady Vanna, Lady Bice, yea 
 Some thirty more to bear her company, 
 Should with us, by the same good wizard sent ; 
 And with love ever for our argument 
 We one and all should fare contentedly ; 
 I well conceive it would be as I say. 
 
SONNETS. 159 
 
 L 
 
 PETRARCA. SONETTO 210. 
 
 ET who would learn the best that nature 
 may 
 
 And heaven produce among us, come and see 
 Her who not only is a sun to me, 
 But to the world purblind to virtue's ray. 
 Let him come quickly, for death takes away 
 The better first, letting the guilty be. 
 She, looked for long in heaven's high empery, 
 Fair flower of earth, fleets fast and will not 
 
 stay. 
 He shall behold, if but "in time he come, 
 All queenliness and every virtue bright, 
 In one fair mould a perfect union keeping. 
 And he shall say my sweetest verse is dumb, 
 My vision marred by the excess of light : 
 A long delay inherits life-long weeping. 
 
l6o POEMS. 
 
 S0NETT0 2SU 
 
 TPHOSE eyes I sang so hotly, purest mould 
 
 Of hands and arms and feet, and the 
 dear face 
 
 Which lost me to myself, and, in the race 
 Of life, above my fellows did uphold ; 
 The crisped tresses of translucent gold, 
 The lightening of that smile's angelic grace, 
 Which changed to heaven mine earthly dwell- 
 ing place, 
 Are now but dust that feels not, dull and cold. 
 And I yet live ; for this I chafe and groan, 
 Lorn of that light that ever loved have I, 
 Or highly placed or cast away alone. 
 Ended is all mine amorous minstrelsy, 
 My vein is dry, its vigour spent and gone. 
 Or changed to tears that flow perpetually. 
 
SONNETS. l6l 
 
 SONETTO 302. 
 
 nPHE angels and the saints who dwell in 
 
 bliss, 
 What day my Lady passed from earthly bound, 
 The citizens of heaven, were clustering round : 
 '* What new-born light of loveliness is this ?*' 
 With a new wonder in their joy's abyss. 
 Crying to one another, " Since we found 
 One in such raiment pass from darkling ground 
 Of wandering earth a century it is." 
 
 With the most perfect she has found her place, 
 And moves rejoicing in her changed estate ; 
 But now and then I see her turn her face 
 To look if I am coming, fain to wait ; 
 And so I urge toward heaven my heart apace, 
 For I can hear her pray I be not late. 
 
 12 
 
1 62 POEMS. 
 
 SONETTO 317. 
 
 TTHOU little bird that singest wandering, 
 
 Plaining of happy days that would not 
 last, 
 
 As night and winter gather on thee fast, 
 As fall behind thee daylight and the spring ; 
 If, as thou know'st thy sad heart's reckoning, 
 Thou didst know mine with a like grief over- 
 cast, 
 Into my hapless bosom thou hadst past 
 To share with me thy freight of suffering. 
 I know not if thy lot with mine agree, 
 If she, thy grief, is haply living yet, 
 Whilst death and heaven have mine begrudged 
 
 to me; 
 But this dark hour and season of regret, 
 The stress of sad and joyful memory, 
 To speak with thee a longing doth beget. 
 
SONNETS. 163 
 
 BICE, INDIA, AUG. 2, 1877. 
 
 "IXrE knew the orbit of our darling star 
 
 Would hide it from us for a weary 
 while, 
 And fed our yearning on a pictured smile, 
 A reflex gleam that floated from afar ; 
 But now an interdict Divine doth bar 
 Its ever dawning in our wistful ken, 
 Till we, too, vanish from the eyes of men 
 To dwell immortal where the angels are. 
 
 Old paths grow dim j where once in light we 
 
 trod. 
 Our weary eyes a quenchless sorrow blinds ; 
 In the deep shadow of earth^s " never more" 
 Fond memory sits fingering her trifles o'er ; 
 Our star the while its perfect orbit finds, 
 Circling for ever round the throne of God. 
 
1 64 POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Youngest of seven, with all thy life before, 
 So lately wife and mother, and now dead, 
 The golden future ripening o'er thy head, 
 A barren promise : we would fain adore 
 The Almighty will, but find our hearts too 
 
 sore 
 To hold the thought that God in this was good, 
 And such affliction love misunderstood. 
 Nor mortal lips beseem such mystic lore. 
 
 Oh, once our youngest, now our eldest grown, 
 In that far country where our Father reigns. 
 Teach us how cheaply purchased by thy pains 
 The endless joys that God has made thine 
 
 own ; 
 To our sad hearts the gracious scheme repeat 
 Thou learn'st but now at the great Master's 
 
 feet. 
 
 III. 
 
 What shall we do for Bice's sake, 
 That dwelling here with her at one, 
 When what remains of life is done, 
 Our darling we may overtake 
 
SONNETS. 16 S 
 
 Where tears are dried and life's dull ache 
 Dies in the hush of heaven begun, 
 Where streams that here must severed run 
 Mingle and rest in one still lake ? 
 Ah this, at least : from sleep awake, 
 And forfeit not for dreams that pass 
 The promise of the sea of glass, 
 God's mirror that no storm may break, 
 Nor life's one joy 'mid fading bowers, 
 The presence of her God and ours. 
 
l66 EMS. 
 
 SONETTO. VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 pROM earthly sound I fain would find 
 
 release, 
 The more in thought to listen calm and free 
 To tones of high angelic minstrelsy, 
 Where truest love is wed to truest peace. 
 God's living spirit breathes and does not cease 
 From string to string of each live psaltery, 
 And every movement doth in one agree. 
 The eternal concord knoweth no decrease, 
 Love winds the voices high, love sinks them 
 
 low, 
 Orders and sways the ample harmonies 
 That none strike vainly counter to the air : 
 And ever sweeter doth the music grow 
 In subtle changes of its diverse keys. 
 For He who framed it hath it in his care. 
 
SONNETS. 167 
 
 TO FR. NEWMAN ON HIS ELEVATION 
 TO THE CABDINALATE. 
 
 IN HONOREM. 
 
 A LL honours are deserved and give content 
 
 Within that city's golden quadrature 
 Where true awards all-righteous hands secure, 
 And none may doubt or question the intent ; 
 Nor human wills as here are warped and bent 
 From the strict line of right by selfish lure, 
 Or clashing interest ; but doth aye endure 
 In each one's joy the unanimous consent. 
 
 Methinks the purple that hath crowned thy years 
 Is thus accepted by the general voice 
 As each man's good, because so just a thing. 
 High and aloof from selfish hopes and fears 
 Strangers and friends with one accord rejoice, 
 As they would antedate heaven's reckoning. 
 
1 68 POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Yes, all rejoice ; and all express their joy ; 
 But this methought is but an idle boast, 
 Standing beside his grave whose joy should 
 
 most 
 Abound upon this day ; whose life's employ 
 Had been to shield thy life from the annoy 
 Of daily burdens, never counting cost : 
 In his enjoyment half thy joy is lost, 
 And what thou hast, clogged with a dull alloy. 
 
 He does rejoice, but it is far away ; 
 He can no signal make that this is so ; 
 No flowret breaks upon his grave to-day, 
 This sad late spring tide ; for the churchyards 
 
 know 
 No law but nature's, till the Almighty stay 
 The seasons in their solemn ebb and flow. 
 
 III. 
 
 IN VOTUM. 
 
 The verse wherein I would congratulate 
 More genial ending merits than a sigh ; 
 So once again my feeble fingers try 
 
SONNETS TO CARDINAL NEWMAN. 1 69 
 
 To twine some flowers whose cheerful hues 
 
 might mate 
 The goodly vestments of thy new estate, 
 With well-phrased wishes that should testify 
 To all I feel ; yet there the flowers lie : 
 My wishes so each other emulate, 
 God only could to peaceful issue bring 
 The conflict of their contrasts manifold; 
 For I would wish new blessings with the old. 
 And all the old renewed, the flowers of spring 
 In autumn's peaceful lap, and not one face 
 Missed in thy circle from its wonted place. 
 
1 70 * POEMS. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FBOM TEE GUBMAN 
 
 THE HEART.— HERMANN NEUMAN. 
 
 'T'HE Heart hath chambers twain 
 
 Where harbour 
 Near neighbours, joy and pain. 
 
 When joy her watch is keeping, 
 
 Then sorrow 
 Lies in her chamber sleeping. 
 
 Ah, joy ! for joy's sweet sake 
 
 Speak softly, 
 That sorrow may not wake. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF SPRING— WILHELM MULLER. 
 
 Fling wide your windows, wide your [hearts, 
 
 Quickly, quickly ! 
 The old man, winter, forth will go, 
 He shuffles strangely to and fro, 
 Starting as though from pain or fear 
 As he huddles about him all his gear 
 Quickly, quickly. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. I7I 
 
 Fling wide your windows, wide your hearts, 
 
 Quickly, quickly! 
 He spies the young spring at the door, 
 Who by the ear will lug him sore, 
 And pluck his beard, so long and white ; 
 Such freaks wild fellows much delight, 
 
 Quickly, quickly. 
 
 Fling wide your windows, wide your hearts, 
 
 Quickly, quickly ! 
 The youngster knocks and rattles so, 
 And hark ! the darling voice I know ; 
 He cries aloud and knocks amain. 
 With flower buds on the window pane, 
 
 Quickly, quickly. 
 
 Fling wide your windows, wide your hearts, 
 
 Quickly, quickly ! 
 But should you think to say him nay, 
 Full many servants in his pay 
 He'll call to help him at the door. 
 And knock and rattle all the more. 
 
 Quickly, quickly. 
 
 Fling wide your windows, wide your hearts, 
 Quickly, quickly! 
 
lyi POEMS. 
 
 For straightway comes the dawn-wind wild, 
 With full round cheeks, a rosy child, 
 And blows till all things rock and ring, 
 To make his lord an opening, 
 Quickly, quickly. 
 
 Fling wide your windows, wide your hearts. 
 
 Quickly, quickly! 
 Comes sunshine, too, a gallant knight. 
 And breaks his lance all golden bright, 
 And the soft flatterer flower-scent 
 Glides in through every rift and rent 
 
 Quickly, quickly. 
 
 Fling wide your windows, wide your hearts, 
 
 Quickly, quickly I 
 Her onset rings the nightingale, 
 And hark ! within there does not fail 
 A merry echo answering, 
 Come in, come in, sweet joy of spring, 
 
 Quickly, quickly ! 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 1 73 
 THE EVENING SEA. — ALFRED MEISSGER. 
 
 K O SEA with sunset glow 
 
 On thy unruffled floor, 
 I feel my trouble go, 
 I am at peace once more ! 
 
 My fevered heart forgets 
 Its weariness and wrong, 
 Its very cries and frets 
 Are softening into song. 
 
 With just one tender thrill 
 Of sorrow, like the flight 
 Athwart thy waters still, 
 Of yon sail glimmering white. 
 
 X 
 
 A child's DEATH.— -UHL and. 
 
 Ah ! come and gone ! how faintly show 
 Thy footprints left upon our strand : 
 Whence come ? where gone ? but this we 
 
 know, 
 From God's own hand to God's own hand. 
 
■y 
 
 174 POEMS. 
 
 A QUESTION. — HALM. 
 
 My heart, I will put thee a question, 
 Say, what is love, I entreat ? 
 Two souls with one thought between them, 
 Two hearts with a single beat. 
 
 And say whence love comes hither ? 
 Here he is, we know, that is all : 
 When he goes, tell me, how and whither ? 
 If he goes 'twas not lov« at all. 
 
 And what love loves most purely ? 
 The love that has no self-quest : 
 And where is the deepest loving ? 
 Where love is silentest. 
 
 And when is love at its richest ? 
 When most it has given away : 
 And what the tongue love useth ? 
 The love that it cannot say. 
 
 THE MIGRATORY BIRD. — FREDERICK HEBBEL. 
 
 My little bird, my darling, say 
 What end is set to thy long way ? 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 1 75 
 
 I know not, I, 
 But while I fly, 
 By instinct led I cannot stray. 
 
 My dearest bird, recount to me 
 
 The treasures hope has promised thee ? 
 
 Such gentle air, 
 
 Such odours rare, 
 And a new spring she promised me. 
 
 Thou hast not seen that gracious strand, 
 How knowest thou there is any land ? 
 
 Question all day 
 
 Is merely play. 
 But hard to answer at command. 
 
 So in her generous faith-sense strong, 
 ^ The bird o'er ocean floats along, | 
 And gentle air. 
 And odours rare. 
 Are hers ; to her of right belong. 
 
 " O lieb so lang du lieben kannst." 
 
 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 Love thou as long as love thou canst. 
 Losing no love which thou mayest keep ; 
 
176 POEMS. 
 
 The hour comes, the hour comes, 
 To stand amid thy graves and weep. 
 
 Take heed thy heart responsive glow, 
 Love both to cherish and return ; 
 Whenever any other heart 
 Ventures for thee to beat and burn. 
 
 To one who with thee shares his heart 
 Oh, render all thou canst again ; 
 Labour to please him every hour, 
 Nor for a moment cause him pain. 
 
 And for thy tongue, oh, guard it well, 
 Hard words are spoken easily ; 
 Indeed they were not meant, but still 
 Thy friend sore grieving turned from thee. 
 Love thou as long as love thou canst, &c. 
 
 Thou kneelest down beside his grave 
 Hiding thy tearful eyes, alas ! 
 Thou ne'er shall see thy comrade more 
 Amid the dewy churchyard grass. 
 
 Thy cry is, oh, but look again 
 On one that weeps upon thy grave, 
 Forgive me that I gave thee pain ; 
 O God ! indeed I did but rave. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN, 1 77 
 
 But he nor sees thee nor may meet, 
 Nor any joy of welcome have ; 
 The mouth that kissed thee may not greet 
 Thine ear and say, I long forgave. 
 
 Tis true thou art forgiven long, 
 But many a bitter tear-drop fell 
 Because of thy harsh words, and now 
 His course is finished : it is well. 
 
 Love thou as long as love thou canst, &c. 
 
 THE GRAVE. — SALIS. 
 
 Still is the grave, and over 
 Its brink we shuddering stand, 
 For its dark shadows cover 
 An undiscovered land. 
 
 No nightingale's sweet singing 
 Into its breast may pass. 
 The rose of friendship's bringing 
 Lies only on its grass. 
 
 About it brides forsaken 
 In vain their hands may wring, 
 No orphan's cries awaken 
 Its earth-bound slumbering. 
 
 13 
 
178 POEMS. 
 
 Yet here alone from heaven 
 Hath peace so longed for come, 
 Through this dark gate is given 
 The only pathway home. 
 
 The sad heart that sustaineth 
 The stress of tempests sore, 
 Its true repose obtaineth 
 Here, where it beats no more. 
 
 THE LAST POET. — ^ANASTATIUS GRUN. 
 
 When will the race of poets 
 Their singing put away. 
 When wearily expire 
 The old eternal lay ? 
 
 Are they not nigh to draining 
 The once o'erflowing horn. 
 What flower is yet ungathered, 
 What new birth to be born ? 
 
 As long as the sun's chariot 
 Glides through the azure sky, 
 And but one face be lifted 
 Unto it wistfully ; 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN. 1 79 
 
 As long as heaven keepeth 
 Its storms and thunder-roll, 
 And 'neath the solemn terror 
 Trembles one human soul ; 
 
 As long as o'er the cloud rack 
 The rainbow flings its stain, 
 And but one heart finds comfort, 
 And is itself again ; 
 
 As long as heaven at midnight 
 Is strewn with starry seed, 
 And but one man is able 
 The golden text to read ; 
 
 As long as in the moonlight 
 One heart can fear and love, 
 And wild-wood branches murmur 
 One weary head above; 
 
 As long as spring shows greenly, 
 As long as roses blow, 
 As eyes are bright with laughter. 
 And blushes come and go ; 
 
 'Mid graves with their sad cypress, 
 While sorrow still can wake, 
 
l8o POEMS. 
 
 And there are eyes for weeping, 
 And but one heart to break ; 
 
 So long shall dwell among us 
 The goddess Poesy, 
 And with her wander freely 
 Her votive minstrelsy. 
 
 Through earth's old homestead singing, 
 See in one man combined 
 The last of all the poets, 
 The last of human kind ! 
 
 Upon its stem still resteth 
 Creation's flower untorn, 
 God's hand the bloom caresses 
 He smiled on newly born. 
 
 When once the giant blossom 
 Is wholly overblown, 
 And earth and sun and heaven 
 Like flower dust has flown ; 
 
 Then ask, unless for asking 
 The wish has passed away, 
 Is yet sung out and over 
 The old eternal lay ? 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 JOANNIS HOVEDENI PHILOMENA. 
 
 HILOMENA praevia temporis amceni, 
 JP Quae recessum nuntias imbris atque coeni 
 Dum mulcescis animos tuo cantu leni, 
 Ave, prudentissima, ad me quaeso veni. 
 
 Veni, veni, mittam te, quo non possum ire, 
 Ut amicum valeas cantu delinire, 
 Tollens ejus tristia voce dulcis lyrae, 
 Quem, heu, modo nescio verbis convenire. 
 
 Ergo pia suppleas meum imperfectum, 
 Salutando dulciter unicum dilectum, 
 Eique denunties, qualiter affectum 
 . Sit cor meum jugiter ejus ad aspectum. 
 
1 82 APPENDIX. 
 
 Quod si quserat aliquis, quare te elegi 
 Meum esse nuntium, sciat quia legi 
 De te quaedam propria, quae divinae legi 
 Et optato munere placent summo regi. 
 
 Igitur, charissime, audi nunc attente, 
 Nam si cantus volucris hujus serves mente, 
 Ejus imitatio, spiritu docente, 
 Te coelestim musicum faciet repenle. 
 
 De hac ave legitur, quod, cum deprehendit 
 Mortem sibi properam, arborem ascendit, 
 Summoque diluculo, rostrum sursum tendit, 
 Diversisque cantibus totam se impendit. 
 
 Cantilenis dulcibus praeviat auroram, 
 Sed cum dies rutilat, circa primam horam, 
 . Elevat praedulcius vocem insonoram, 
 In cantando nesciens pausam sive moram. 
 
 Circa vero tertiam, quasi modum nescit, 
 Quia semper gaudium cordis ejus crescit, 
 Vere guttur rumpitur, sic vox invalescit, 
 Et quo cantat altius, plus et inardescit. 
 
 Sed quum in meridie sol est in fervore, 
 Tunc disrumpit viscera nimio calore, 
 
APPENDIX. 183 
 
 '•'Oci, oci" clamitat illo suo more 
 Sicque sensu deficit cantus prae labore. 
 
 Sic quassato organo hujus Philomenae, 
 Rostro tamen palpitans fit exsanguis pene, 
 Sed ad nonam veniens moritur jam plene, 
 Quum totius corporis disrumpuntur venae. 
 
 Ecce dilectissime, breviter audisti 
 Factum hujus volucris, sed, si meministi, 
 Diximus jam primitus, quia cantus isti 
 Mystice conveniunt legi Jesu Christi. 
 
 Restat, ut intelligo, esse Philomenam 
 Animam virtutibus et amore plenam, 
 Quae, dum mente peragrat patriam amoenam, 
 Satis delectabilem texit cantilenam. 
 
 Ad augmentum etenim suae sanctae spei, 
 Quaedam dies mystica demonstratur ei ; 
 Porro beneficia, quae de manu Dei 
 Homo consecutus est, sunt horae diei. 
 
 Mane vel diluculum hominis est status, 
 In quo mirabiliter homo est creatus, 
 Hora prima, quando est Deus incarnatus, 
 Tertiam die spatium sui incolatus. 
 
l84 ' APPENDIX. 
 
 Sextum, quum a perfidis voluit ligari, 
 Trahi, caedi, conspui, dire cruciari, 
 Crucifigi denique, clavis terebrari, 
 Caputque sanctissimum spinis coronari. 
 
 Nonam die, quum moritur, quando consum- 
 
 matus 
 Cursus est certaminis, quando superatus 
 Est omnino Zabulus et hinc conturbatus ; 
 Vespera, quum Christus est sepultures datus. 
 
 Diem istum anima meditans in hortis, 
 Suae facit terminum spiritalis mortis, 
 Scandens crucis arborem, in qua leo fortis 
 Vicit adversarium, fractis portis mortis. 
 
 Statim cordis organa sursum elevando 
 Suum a diluculo cantum inchoando, 
 Laudat et glorificat Deum, replicando 
 Sibi quam mirificus fuit banc creando. 
 
 Pie, inquit, Conditor, quando me creasti, 
 Quam sit tua pietas larga declarasti, 
 Nam consortem gloriae tuse cogitasti 
 Facere gratuite, gratis quam amasti. 
 
 O quam mira dignitas mihi est concessa, 
 Quum imago Domini mihi est impressa. 
 
APPENDIX. 185 
 
 Sed crevisset ampHus dignitas possessa, 
 Nisi jussum Domini fuisset transgressa. 
 
 Nam tu, summa charitas, tibi cohaerere 
 Me volebas jugiter, sursumque habere 
 Dulce domicilium, tecumque manere, 
 Et me velut filiam alere, docere. 
 
 Ex tunc disposueras in id adunare 
 Ccelicis agminibus teque mihi dare, 
 Sed pro tanta gratia quid recompensare 
 Possum, prorsus nescio, nisi te amare. 
 
 Unica suavitas, unica dulcedo, 
 Cordium amantium salutaris prsedo, 
 Totum quidquid habeo vel sum tibi dedo, 
 Denique depositum meum tibi credo. 
 
 " Oci" cantat tale cor, gaudens in pressura, 
 Dicens, quia dignum est, ut a creatura 
 Diligatur opifex talis mente pura, 
 Ei quum exstiterit de se tanta cura. 
 
 Sic mens hoc diluculum transit meditando, 
 Sed ad primam transferens vocem exaltando, 
 Tempus acceptabile pie ruminando, 
 . In quo venit Dominus carne se velando. 
 
l86 APPENDIX. 
 
 Tunc liquescit anima tota per amorem, 
 Pavida considerans omnium auctorem 
 Vagientem puerum juxta nostrum morem, 
 Et curare veterem velle se languorem. 
 
 Plorans ergo clamitat : '* O fons pietatis 
 Quis te pannis induit dirse paupertatis ? 
 Tibi quis consuluit sic te dare gratis, 
 Nisi zelus vehemens, ardor charitatis ? 
 
 Digne zelus vehemens est hie ardor dictus, 
 Cujus est dominie rex caelorum victus, 
 Cujus Sanctis vinculis captus et constrictus 
 Pauperis infantuli pannis est amictus. 
 
 O prsedulcis parvule, puer sine pari 
 Felix cui datum est te nunc amplexari, 
 Pedes, manus lambere, flentem consolari, 
 Tuis in obsequiis jugiter morari. 
 
 Heu mi, cur non licuit mihi demulcere 
 Vagientem puerum et cum flente flare, 
 Illos artus teneros sinu confovere 
 Ejusque cunabulis semper assidere ? 
 
 Puto pius parvulus haec non abhorreret 
 Immo more parvuli forsan arrideret. 
 
APPENDIX. 187 
 
 Et flente pauperculo fletu condoleret, 
 Et peccanti facile venia faveret. 
 
 Felix qui tunc temporis matri singulari 
 Potuisset precibus ita famulari, 
 Ut in die sineret semel osculari 
 Suum dulcem parvulum eique jocari. 
 
 O quam libens balneum ei prseparassem, 
 O quam libens humeris aquam apportassem, 
 In hoc libens virgini semper ministrassem, 
 Pauperisque parvuli pannulos lavassem. 
 
 Sic affecta pia mens sitit paupertatem, 
 Cibi parsimoniam, vestis vilitatem, 
 Labor ei vertitur in jucunditatem, 
 Vilem esse saeculi dicit venustatem. 
 
 Ergo sic infantiam Christi retexendo, 
 Horae primae canticum strenue canendo, 
 Transitum ad tertiam facit recolendo 
 Quantum Christus passus est, homines 
 docendo. 
 
 Tunc cum fletu recitat illius labores, 
 Sitim, famem, frigora, sestus et sudores, 
 Quae dignanter pertulit propter peccatores, 
 . Dum illorum voluit innovare mores. 
 
1 88 APPENDIX. 
 
 Vox amoris flatibus tota concremata, 
 *' Oci, oci*' clamitat avis hsec beata, 
 Mundo mori cupiens cujus via lata, 
 Cui fcetet saeculum, sic est delicata. 
 
 Clamans ergo : " Domine, dulcis prsedicator, 
 Exulum refugium, pauperum amator, 
 Qui es poenitentium pius consolator, 
 Post te debent currere Justus et peccator. 
 
 Justi quippe regula, vitae es doctrina, 
 Peccatorum speculum, mira disciplina, 
 Fessis et debilibus efficax resina, 
 JEgris et languentibus potens medicina. 
 
 Primus in hoc saeculo charitatis scholam 
 Instaurasti, quaerere docens Dei solam 
 Gloriam, deponere gravem mundi molam, 
 Et sic posse perditam rehabere stolam. 
 
 Sed banc scholam temere mundus irridebat, 
 Spernens et annihilans quidquid promittebat, 
 Tua vero bonitas vices non reddebat, 
 Immo poenitentibus totum ignoscebat. 
 
 Quippe cui proprium erat misereri, 
 Diligi desiderans magis quam timeri, 
 
APPENDIX. 189 
 
 Sed verba non verbera proferens, austeri 
 Praeceptoris noluit more revereri. 
 
 Hsec in adulterio novit deprehensa, 
 Quam sit tua pietas, scilicet immensa, 
 Magdalena sensit hoc, quum ei offensa 
 Est dimissa, multiplex gratia impensa. 
 
 Et quid multa dicerem ! quot sunt consecuti 
 Ejus magisterium a suis abluti 
 Vitiis sunt moribus optimis imbuti, 
 Et ab hostis invidi fraude facti tuti. 
 
 Felix cui licuit sub hoc prseceptore 
 Conversari jugiter, et ab ejus ore 
 Mel cseleste sugere, cujus prse dulcore 
 Amarescunt csetera, plena sunt foetore. 
 
 Haec et multa talia dum mens meditatur, 
 Ad reddendas gratias toto prseparatur, 
 Ad laudandum Dominum magis infiammatur, 
 Sicque horae tertise cantus terminatur. 
 
 *' Oci, oci," anima clamat in hoc statu, 
 Crebro fundens lacrymas sub hoc incolatu, 
 Laudans et glorificans magno cum conatu 
 Christum, qui tot pertulit suo pro reatu. 
 
190 APPENDIX. 
 
 In hoc hora anima ebria videtur, 
 Sed circa meridiem calor quum augetur 
 Ut amoris stimulis magis perforetur, 
 Mox ab ilia passioChristi recensetur. 
 
 Plorans ergo respicit Agnum delicatum 
 Agnum sive macula, spinis coronatum, 
 Lividum verberibus, clavis perforatum, 
 Per tot loca lateris fossa cruentatum. 
 
 Tunc exclamat pia mens " oci " cum lamentis, 
 " Oci, oci, miseram, quia meae mentis 
 Turbat statum pallidus vultus morientis, 
 Et languentes oculi in cruce pendentis. 
 
 Siccine decuerat (inquit) te benignum 
 Agnum mortis exitum pati tam indignum ? 
 Sed sic disposueras vincere malignum, 
 Et hoc totum factum est ob amoris signum. 
 
 Haec amoris signa sunt, et postrema primis 
 Copulans associat, summa figens imis ; 
 Monstras et sic moriens nos animales nimis, 
 Dum te totum funderes tot apertis rimis. 
 
 Tu amicus novus es, tu es novum mustum, 
 Sic te vocat sapiens, et est satis justum ; 
 
APPENDIX. 191 
 
 Totus enim filius reddens dulcem guslum, 
 Fundens carnis dolium, licet vas venustum. 
 
 Tantis signis poenitens monitus jam credat, 
 Quod praecordialiter Christus ei se dat ; 
 Ista signa recolam, ne me Satan laedat, 
 Nam peccati rabiem nihil ita sedat. 
 
 Ista signa recolens " oci, oci" clamo, 
 Dulcis Jesu, querulor, quod te minus amo, 
 Stringi tamen cupio disciplinae chamo, 
 Sicut pro me captus es charitatis hamo. 
 
 Quantum hamum charitas tibi prsesentavit, 
 Mori quum pro homine te sollicitavit, 
 Sed et esca placida hamum occupavit, 
 Quum lucrari animas te per hoc monstravit. 
 
 Te quidem aculeus hami non latebat, 
 Sed illius punctio te non deterrebat, 
 Immo hunc impetere tibi complacebat, 
 Quia desiderium escse attrahebat. 
 
 Ergo pro me misera quam tu dilexisti, 
 Mortis in aculeum sciens impegisti, 
 Quum te patri victimam sanctam obtulisti, 
 Et in tuo sanguine sordidam lavisti* 
 
192 APPENDIX. 
 
 Quis miretur igitur pro te si suspiro, 
 Juncta sine mentis tarn zelanti viro, 
 Nam affectum alit is meum modo miro, 
 Pro me vitam finiens exitu tam diro. 
 
 Vere jam non debeo tantum suspirare, 
 Immo, juxta verbum Job, crines lacerare, 
 In caverna lateris nidulum parare, 
 Et extremum spiritum illic exhalare. 
 
 Plane nisi moriar tecum, non quiescam, 
 "Oci, oci'* clamitans nunquam conticescam, 
 Ab hoc desiderio vere non tepescam, 
 Quantumcunque saeculo propter hoc vilescam/' 
 
 Tunc ut demens clamitat : " veniant lanistae, 
 Qui affigant miseram cruci tuae, Christe, 
 Erit enim exitus mihi dulcis iste, 
 Sic amplector moriens propriis ulnis te. 
 
 Vere sic, non aliter, rabies doloris. 
 Qua cor meum singulis terebratur horis, 
 Deliniri poterit, nisi tu, dulcoris 
 Fons abundans, medicus mei sis doloris. 
 
 Plane dulcis medicus es, qui nunquam pungis, 
 Sed a corde vitium leniter emungis, 
 
APPENDIX, 193 
 
 Nam quos tibi firmiter per amorem jungis, 
 Tuis charismatibus semper eos ungis. 
 
 Heu, quam damnabiliter mundus est coecatus, 
 Qui cum sit ab hostibus dire vulneratus, 
 Hunc declinat medicum, quum assit paratus, 
 Languido aperiens suum dulce latus, 
 
 Heu, cur beneficia Christi passionis 
 Penes te memoriter homo non reponis ? 
 Per banc enim rupti sunt laquei praedonis, 
 Per banc Christus maximis te ditavit bonis. 
 
 Suo quippe corpore languidum te pavit, 
 Quem in suo sanguine gratis balneavit, 
 Demum suum dulce cor tibi denudavit, 
 Ut sic innotesceret, quantum te amavit. 
 
 O quam dulce balneum, esca quam suavis. 
 Quae sumenti digne fit paradisi clavis, 
 Et ei quem reficis nullus labor gravis. 
 Licet sis fastidio cordibus ignavis. 
 
 Cor ignave siquidem minime perpend it, 
 Ad quid Christus optimum suum cor ostendit 
 Super alas positum crucis, nee attendit 
 Quod reclinatorii vices hoc prsetendit. 
 
 H 
 
194 APPENDIX. 
 
 Hoc reclinatorium quoties monstratur 
 
 Piae menti, toties ei glutinatur, 
 
 Sicut et accipiter totus inescatur 
 
 Super carnem rubeam per quam revocatur. 
 
 Post hoc clamat anima quasi dementata : 
 *' O reclinatorium, caro cruentata 
 Per tot loca propter me, cur non vulnerata 
 Tecum sum ? dum moreris non sum colligata ? 
 
 Licet tamen miserae sit istud negatum, 
 Mihi quidem eligam novum cruciatum, 
 Gemitum videlicet jugemque ploratum, 
 Donee mundi deseram gravem incolatum.'* 
 
 Post haec dulcis anima plus et plus fervescens, 
 Sensu toto deficit, corpore tabescens, 
 Jam vix loqui sufficit, sed affectu crescens, 
 Sue lecto decubat, utpote languescens. 
 
 Ergo dulcis gutturis organo quassato, 
 Lingua tamen palpitans sonitu sublato, 
 Sed pro verbis pia mens, fletu compensate, 
 Lamentatur Dominum corde sauciato. 
 
 Sic languenti siquidem nil nisi plorare 
 Libet, et satagere corde suspirare, 
 
APPENDIX. 195 
 
 Suos enim oculos nescit revocare 
 
 A Christi vulneribus, aut cor separare. 
 
 Sic est autem animus illius illectus, 
 Quasi ei praesens sit moriens dilectus, 
 Et a cruce minime retrahit aspectus, 
 Quia ibi oculus ubi est afFectus. 
 
 Gemitus, suspiria, lacrymae, lamenta 
 Sibi sunt delicia, cibus, alimenta; 
 Quibus nova martyr est interim inventa, 
 Sic suo martjrio praebent incrementa. 
 
 In hoc statu respuit quidquid est terrenum, 
 Mundique solatium reputat venenum, 
 Sed ad nonam veniens, moritur ad plenum, 
 Quum amoris impetus carnis rumpit frenum. 
 
 Nam quum ** consummatum est" recolit clam- 
 
 asse 
 Hora nona Dominum et sic expirasse, 
 Quasi simul moriens clamat penetrasse 
 Vocem istam suum cor atque lacerasse. 
 
 Ferre tandem impotens jaculum tam forte, 
 .Moritur, ut dictum est, sed felici morte ; 
 
igb APPENDIX. 
 
 Nam panduntur protinus ei cceli portae, 
 Dignam ut intelligat se sanctorum sorte. 
 
 Requiem pro anima tali non cantamus, 
 Immo est introitus missa3 ** Gaudeamus," 
 Quia si pro martyre Deum exoramus, 
 Ut decretum loquitur, sancto derogamus. 
 
 Eja dulcis anima, eja dulcis rosa, 
 Lilium convallium, gemma speciosa, 
 Cui carnis foeditas extitit exosa, 
 Felix tuus exitus morsque pretiosa. 
 
 Felix, quae jam frueris requie cupita 
 Inter sponsi brachia dulciter sopita, 
 Ejusque spiritui firmiter unita, 
 Ab eodem percipis oscula mellita. 
 
 Jam quiescunt oculi, cessant aquaeductus, 
 Nam aperte percipis spei tuae fructus, 
 Quia per quem saeculi evasisti fluctus 
 Tuos inter oscula consolatur luctus. 
 
 Die, die, dulcis anima, ad quid ultra fleres ? 
 Habens coeli gaudium tecum, cur lugeres ? 
 Nam solus est omnium, cui tu adhaeres, 
 Et si velles amplius certe non haberes. 
 
APPENDIX. 197 
 
 Sed jam metrum finio ne sim taediosus. 
 Nam si vellem scribere, quam deliciosus 
 Sit hie status animse quamque gloriosus, 
 A malignis dicerer fallax et mendosus, 
 
 Quidquid tamen alii dicunt, frater chare^ 
 Istam novam martyrem libens imitare, 
 Quumque talis fueris, Christum deprecare, 
 Ut te cantus martyrum doceat cantare. 
 
 Frequentemus canticum istud, soror pia, 
 Ne nos frangat taBdio vitse hujus via, 
 Nam laetantem animam in hac melodia, 
 Post hanc vitam suscipit Jesus et Maria. 
 
 Ergo, soror, tuum cor ita citharizet, 
 Se baptizet lacrymis, planctu martyrizet, 
 Christo totis viribus sic nunc organizet, 
 Ut cum Christo postea semper solemnizet. 
 
 Tunc cessabit gemitus et planctus dolorum, 
 Quum adjuncta fueris choris angelorum, 
 Nam cantando transies ad ccelestem chorum, 
 Nupta felicissima Regi saeculorum. 
 
198 APPENDIX. 
 
 I have ventured to ascribe this poem to John of Hove- 
 den instead of to St. Bonaventure, under whose name it 
 has commonly appeared. I have done so mainly on the 
 authority of the Benedictine Boston, monk of St. Ed- 
 mundsbury in 14 10, who, in his ** Catalogum Scriptorum 
 Ecclesiae," the result of a minute investigation into the mo- 
 nastic and collegiate libraries of England, mentions the 
 " Philomela," of which he quotes the first line, as the pro- 
 duction of John of Hovcden. This writer, we are informed 
 by Pits' *'DeIllustr. Angl.Scriptor., ".having been chaplain 
 to Eleanor, Edward I,'s queen, retired from court to Hove- 
 den, in Yorkshire, where he devoted himself to pastoral 
 work. " From either Testament he gathered such texts 
 as he judged would most avail for the instruction of the 
 common people ; and, being a musician, and no mean 
 poet, he employed himself in spiritual verses, setting his 
 sweet measures to the lyre and other instruments ; . . . 
 and, as Boston of Bury writes, he composed many 
 books to God's glory and the laud of the saints for the 
 most part in the French style ("Gallice," elsewhere 
 ** metris Gallicis,") gathering, as he did, the flowers 
 from either Testament from which he wrought." Then fol- 
 lows Boston's list of his works. '* He is said to have died 
 and been buried in the year of grace 1275, and after his 
 . death he became illustrious for his miracles." 
 
 Leland, too, *'De Scriptor. Britan.," at the end of his 
 account of Roger of Hoveden, the chronicler, mentions 
 
APPENDIX. 199 
 
 John, " whose rhymed song called the 'Philomela ' is 
 extant." 
 
 In the Prolegomena to the edition of St. Bonaventure, 
 (Venice, 1751), the " Philomena " is rejected as supposi- 
 titious. The editor impregnated, though a Franciscan, 
 with the formal taste of the eighteenth century, could see 
 nothing desirable in these verses **insulsa, hiulca, fri- 
 gida, incompta," as he calls them ; and he is only too 
 glad that Fabricius (Bibl. Med. et Infim. Latin.) should, 
 on Bale's authority,* pass them on *' Joanni nescio cui 
 Hovedano dicto." 
 
 The poem has been translated into Italian and Spanish 
 in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and twice 
 within the last quarter of a century into German. Its 
 translation was the last literary effort of Cardinal Diepen- 
 broch, and one of the consolations of his death-bed ; with 
 a running commentary, as he prettily tells us, in the 
 voices of two nightingales from the garden beneath his 
 window. Its first appearance amongst St. Bonaventure's 
 works, it would appear from Wadding (Scriptor. Min.), 
 is in a list given by Marianus Florentinus, in his ** Chroni- 
 con," written towards the close of the fifteenth century, 
 i.e. nigh upon a century after its attribution to Hoveden 
 by Boston, on documentary evidence. 
 
 As to internal evidence, sufficient materials for any 
 adequate judgment are not yet forthcoming. I know of 
 no poem of St. Bonaventure's of undisputed authenticity ; 
 
 • Bale has no word of the Philomela in his account of John of 
 Hoveden, ed. 1548. 
 
200 APPENDIX. 
 
 and of John of Hoveden's other poems I have no other 
 information than that afforded by the Catalogue in Pits 
 Still I venture to think that the attribution to Hoveden 
 will explain one difficulty in stanza 2, ** voce dulcis lyrae." 
 Hoveden was a lutanist, writing with a view to a lute 
 accompaniment, and had already written a work entitled 
 ** Lyra Dulcissona." 
 
 **Philomena" was used for "Philomela" very com- 
 monly during the middle ages (see Glossar. Lat. et Gall, 
 an 1348, Glossar. Nov. Sup. ad Ducange). We find it 
 in England as late as 1576, Gascoigne, **The Stele 
 Glas.*' "O Phylomene, then help me for to chaunt/' 
 
 One of the earliest and fullest accounts of Phylomene's 
 name and music is probably the following from Albertus 
 Magnus (De Animal. Lib. 23, with which we may com- 
 pare Ford's " Music's First Martyr," and Crashaw's 
 *' Music's Duel:" — '* Philomena avis est parva, nota, 
 dicta a philos et menos, quod dulce sonat, quia amat 
 cantus dulces. Vel dicitur a philos et mene: quia quum cum 
 alia contendit cantu, potius vitam quam cantum victa de- 
 ponit : parva est corpore, sed magna spiritus vivacitate : 
 hoc est quia mirabilem modulatum et multiplicem edit 
 sonum : qui nunc continuo spiritu trahitur in longum, 
 nunc variatur quasi spiritu vocis inflexse, nunc distingui- 
 tur sono conciso, et tunc copulatur quasi spiritu retorto : 
 et est plenus, gravis, acutus, creber, extensus, exaltatus, 
 et depressus ; omnia fere representans musicorum instru- 
 menta. De hoc ave expertus sum, quod advolat ad can- 
 tantes si bene cantant : et dum cantant auscultat tacens : 
 et postea quasi vincere nitens, recantat et respondet : et 
 
APPENDIX. 201 
 
 hoc modo etiam seipsos invicem provocant ad cantan- 
 dum. De hoc ave Plinius falsum dicit, quod videlicet 
 postquam coierit, deponat vocem et mutet colorem : quia 
 nos saepe vidimus earn canentem dum adhuc sederit in 
 ovis." 
 
 Printed by M. H. GiU & Son, 50 Upper Saukville-st., Dublin. 
 
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