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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 HE UNIVERSITY 
 DP CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ^■'^- 
 
 ^^?r<^. 
 
 EVIL HAY- DAY. 
 
 1 
 
 ■4 
 
 1
 
 To follow, 
 
 
 
 BY THE SAME 
 
 
 In like form : 
 
 
 
 Aslihy Manor : 
 
 A 
 
 Play. 
 
 Branihleheri 
 
 'id 

 
 EVIL MAY-DAY 
 
 &c 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM ALLINGHAM 
 
 ?toiitro« : 
 :longmans & Co., paternoster row. 
 
 [All righU remved.]
 
 ^0 o4- 
 
 To 
 MY CHILDREN, 
 
 81 67^8
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Evil May-Day ----- 1 
 
 In a Cottage Garden - - - . - 31 
 
 " Everything passes and vanishes " - - 32 
 
 Sonnet : DafiEodil - - - . - 33 
 
 Ne quid nimis ----- 33 
 
 The Honest Farmer - - - . - 34 
 
 " See what lives of mortals are " - - - 35 
 
 ' ' Man's found by his event " - - - - 35 
 
 Soimet : " Love after long " - - - 36 
 
 " Why, yes,— we've pass'd a pleasant day " - - 36 
 
 A Sad Song ------ 37 
 
 Sleepy 38 
 
 "ArtthouLordof the World?" - - - 39 
 
 Sonnet : A Flower (in time of war) - - - 40 
 
 "Deny not Love and Friendship " - - 40 
 
 News from Pannonia - - - - - 41 
 
 Sonnet : A Nursery Khyme for the Elders - 58 
 
 The Funeral - • - - - - 59 
 
 No funeral gloom ..... 60 
 
 " This patchwork world " - - - .60 
 
 A Week-day Hymn ----- 61 
 
 A Modern Pleasaimce - - - - - 63 
 
 An Invitation ..... 64 
 
 The First English Poet 65 
 
 Sonnet : In a Book of Maxims - - - 69
 
 VIU 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Stolen Tath 
 
 Per Contra - - - - 
 
 Three Sisters . . . . 
 
 The Adventure of the Lamp 
 
 "Mine— mine— " 
 
 "I and my Love together " 
 
 " Who could say that Love is blind r " 
 
 Poesia Humana 
 
 Great Ancestry - - - - 
 
 ' ' Autumn and Sunset now " 
 
 " Four ducks on a pond " 
 
 " Alas, friend " 
 
 Ques^ais-je? . . . . 
 
 Equality at Home - 
 
 A lleminiscence of the Isle of Man 
 
 Dreams . . - - 
 
 Vivant ! - 
 
 Birds' Names 
 
 " I'm but a lowly gooseberry " 
 
 Amy Margaret 
 
 " I saw a little Birdie fly " 
 
 A Mountain Round - 
 
 JohnClodd - - - • 
 
 Familiar Epistle to a Little Boy - 
 
 The Winter Pear 
 
 " New Heavens and New Earth " ■ 
 
 " When I was young " 
 
 Liber Loc[uitur 
 
 PAGE 
 
 70 
 72 
 73 
 73 
 74 
 75 
 75 
 76 
 78 
 79 
 79 
 80 
 80 
 81 
 81 
 83 
 84 
 85 
 86 
 87 
 87 
 88 
 90 
 92 
 98 
 98 
 99 
 100
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 O UDDENLY, softly, I awoke from sleep ; 
 ^ My lattice open to the morning sim, 
 Call of a distant cuckoo, lyric notes 
 Of many a voice, leaf -whispers. 
 
 May, once more. 
 Her dewy fragrant kiss, and all the love 
 It wakes us to, — a joyous, beauteous world ! 
 Long shadows lying on the luminous grass ; 
 The lilac's purple honeycombs enswathed 
 In freshest foHage ; snowy pear-tree bloom ; 
 Birds on our daisied lawn, or flitting svnit 
 Through floating under-boughs to elmtops fledged 
 Against the tenderly translucent sky ; 
 And through the leafage glimpses of a realm 
 Of woodland slopes and vales, and distant hiUs 
 Of bright horizon. the sweet old rapture ! 
 May in my inmost soul awaking too. 
 This might be Earth's first morning, or the rise 
 Of that New Heav'u and Earth — 
 
 Ah pain ! ah grief ! 
 The happy wingfed thing afloat on air 
 
 B
 
 2 EVIL MAY-PAY. 
 
 Smit \vith a cniol pang, dnwn- 11 uttering, drops, 
 Ev'n as my heart — 
 
 They say "There is no God !" 
 
 Evil May-day, by my account. Long since, 
 Whi.spers of bale were rife ; dark prophecies 
 And dim forebodings brought a passing qualm, 
 A momentary shiver ; that was all ; 
 As peradventiu-e may a man have heard 
 Rumour of pestilence in Eastern lands, 
 Of little import : "creeping westward" next : 
 "Within our comitr/s border" (this is grave) : 
 And then a pause, time slides, the man has turn'd 
 To his aftairs and pleasures ; when one day 
 What's this the mirror shows him ? — Heaven and 
 
 HeU! 
 The plagiio-spot on his tongue ! His lot is drawn. 
 
 Yes, look upon thy hands and touch thy head ; 
 'Tis thou — that wakedst oft in other Mays, 
 Didst kneeling say thy pray'r, and look aloft 
 As into thy dear Father's face, and see 
 His handiwork all round thee, all done right : 
 The lilies of the field and the seven stars, 
 Beast, bird, and insect, and immortal Man ; 
 " These are Thy glorious works. Parent of good ! " — 
 " In wisdom hast Thou made them all." 
 
 Poor fool ! 
 
 Gaze round now on the sunshine and the grass, 
 Enjoy their brightness, hear the senseless birds
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 3 
 
 Chatter and chirp, and be thou merry too. 
 
 All's but a dream ; and why torment thyself ? 
 
 — Because the plague is come. The bird is hit. 
 
 A dream is Jled; and now I wake aghast. 
 
 I see this world a body without soul ; 
 
 I see the floVrs and greenery of May 
 
 A garland on a corjise. " There is no God." 
 
 Nay, courage ! let the fearful mood pass by. 
 Here is no plague. Behind these branching elms 
 Our shady lane winds to the village green, 
 Its ancient cottages, its ivied tower, 
 With graves of twenty generations. Hark ! 
 The dial : stm-dy Laboiu- forth has trudged 
 With tools in hand ; Age on his doorstep greets 
 The friendly sunshine ; Childhood swarms to school 
 And hums Hke bees in clover, till the song 
 Heartily rises : and our week moves round, 
 As weeks and years and centuries have moved, 
 Over this Enghsh village in its vale. 
 Secluded from the world, — not separate. 
 There goes the flutter of a distant train 
 Speeding to the great city full of men 
 And men's accumulated thought and work, 
 With ships from every sea along her wharves. 
 Art thou dehrious ? or wilt thou coimt 
 All this, insanity — the varied life 
 In fields and cities, work and worship and love, 
 Whate'er binds men together, hnldng past. 
 Present, and futm'e —
 
 4 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 O let be ! let be ! 
 No form of sixjech can do me any good, 
 My own or other men's devisal, fresh 
 As primrose, venerable as churchyard yew. 
 Having heard sentence pass'd, no other words 
 Can carry meaning ; one brief dismal phrase 
 Knolls on the air—" No God ! " and still—" No God ! " 
 
 Pretence of continuity ! talk, preach. 
 Write books ; build cities, churches, monuments ; 
 Patch up and varnish histories, pedigrees ; 
 Take childish titles, worship t<iysh()p crowns ; 
 Sustain (save when alone or with a friend) 
 The masquerade of dignity ; pass on 
 Old phrases, teach them to the children ; make 
 Your little mark, or big, as one who scribes 
 Two letters, or full name, or date therewith. 
 Upon a tree, and dies, and in a while 
 The tree perishes also. Vain conceit ! 
 Swim with me, fellow-bubbles, catch fine hues 
 And picture-like reflections, and then burst ! 
 The swift stream flows, the shoreless sea of forms 
 Melting, reshaping, seeming (since our life 
 Is like a fljish of lightning) permanent ; 
 But rolling ever from darkness into darkness. 
 God was behind that darkness once ; — that sea 
 His efiiuent power. But now, there is no God. 
 
 After the first sharji pain I wrote this down 
 To ease awhile my heart-ache. Coimt not these
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. O 
 
 But idle words ; for since I wotted first 
 
 Of my own being, never grief like that. 
 
 "Able to soothe all sadness but despair" 
 
 The poet sang : no finest solaces 
 
 Had any comfort. Thi'ough the dismal time 
 
 I dragged from sleep to sleep, groaning the while, 
 
 As one sore-woimded drags from pause to pause ; • 
 
 And sleep was like a swoon, or else perturb'd 
 
 With shapeless terror. 
 
 But sleep grew more calm 
 (I know not when or how began the change) — 
 And all things with it ; wind and wave went down 
 And Ufe took on its ordinary look 
 By slow gradations. All was as before ? 
 Not so. I was not in pei-petual pain ; 
 Only half-paralysed. Month after month, 
 And after that sad year, another year, 
 And after this, another yesxr. I went 
 And came and talk'd and laugh'd, like those around 
 
 me ; 
 Only I recollected now and then. 
 And shiver'd, whispering to myself " No God." 
 
 No God, no Soul : they are the self-same thought. 
 And I, that think it, turning into mire 
 To-moiTow or next year, I care not much 
 What may befall a race of things hke me, 
 A httle better luck, a httle worse, 
 As each flits by and vanishes for ever.
 
 6 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 To-morrow will be nothing ; and To-day 
 That leads to it, is next to nothing. Go ! 
 Laugh, weep, do what you will, eat, drink, and die- 
 The sad old phrase found true. 
 
 Is't selfishness 
 Thus craves for God, that God may give us life 
 After this life ? New life l^e as it may. 
 That irks me nothing. It is this my life 
 I would not lose, the life within this life. 
 And I have lost it, if there be no God.
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 EVIL MAY -DAY. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 OF all pathetic things the most is this — 
 A happy bright-eyed Child, some fom- years old, 
 Making acquaintance with man's common world. 
 Joy, wonder, eager questionings ; anon 
 An anxious look, a swift and wide-eyed stare 
 At his dear Oracle ; and merry laughs 
 And low contented songs made by himself 
 Are his ; and youthful strange imaginings ! 
 And sometimes you may see those innocent eyes 
 Fix'd in a meditative trance, the while 
 He strives to see some vaguest vapoiu-y form 
 Of thought within him. 
 
 this world of ours ! 
 
 I am your Prophet, Priest, and Oracle, 
 My little Son ; whatever I respond 
 Is fate. One only answer vexes you — 
 " I do not know." You try and try again 
 For something better, and are iU-content. 
 But often must you hear those baffling words ; 
 And often must you say them to yourself 
 When manhood, which you deem omniscient, 
 Is yours in tiu-n, — is hke what we have found.
 
 8 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 A Prophet's highest care — not to mislead 
 
 His neophyte. The dream, the phantasy 
 
 I put into his mind, is truth for him, 
 
 Until he finds it untrue. This young soul 
 
 Tremidous with wonder, curiosity, 
 
 Imagination, (look but in his face) 
 
 Drinks in the world through every joyfid sense ; 
 
 Sensation turns to thought, and thought revives 
 
 Sensation in the memory ; thus is built 
 
 The body uf the mind by slow degrees, 
 
 With order'd imagery, with habitudes 
 
 Of movement ; and the little world it lives in 
 
 Is its own making chiefly. All the while. 
 
 The gi-eat world lives around it, and includes 
 
 It with the rest of things. A word of mine. 
 
 Be it the emptiest breath, can take firm shape 
 
 In my son's world ; the herald's animals, 
 
 Insert them in his natui'al-history book, 
 
 Were just as credible as any there ; 
 
 Angel is no whit harder to conceive 
 
 Than eagle, and a Heaven above the clouds 
 
 (Reach'd by balloon perhai)s) much easier 
 
 Than smis and planets and space without a bomid. 
 
 You shall not build a false world, little Son, 
 If skill of mine can sift the follies out 
 Men have mix'd up with everything. My care 
 Is less to teach than save you from being taught 
 Half-trutLs and falsehoods in your tender time. 
 
 Beware, my Son, of words I The Human Race
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 9 
 
 Hath stored its wisdom there, its errors there, 
 
 Mistakes and follies and dupHcities. 
 
 Of words false gods are ihade, each doom'd at last 
 
 A worn-out idol to the lumber-loft 
 
 Or trim museum, — concourse wonderful, 
 
 Superb, grotesque, pathetic, and obscene ! 
 
 Childhood will ask, " Who made all these things?" 
 "God." 
 " Where does God hve?" — suppose I point and say, 
 " On that high moimtain top ;" my child regards 
 The peak with joyful awe ; but one day chmbs 
 And finds a barren frosty crag, — nor heeds 
 The wide-spread glory of things encircling it. 
 He hears of Heaven above the clouds ; his book 
 At school confutes it : starry heaven goes blank. 
 Words said to children can be only true. 
 Or not, in their direct and simple sense. 
 " At such and such a place, God walked with men ; 
 They saw and heard Him ; what he said and did 
 Is warrant for yoiu* duties and yoiu" hopes." 
 The warm young spirit trustfully accepts, 
 Lies down, uprises, in a full beUef, 
 From day to day, for many days and years ; 
 Till one day comes the question " Is this true ?" 
 Nay, teach the plans, ways, character of God, 
 With Man's relations to Him thence deduced. 
 In any form of words you will : how fence 
 The fatal question out — " But is this true ?" 
 The answer "No !" smites all truth to the ground,
 
 10 EVIL MAY-DAY. i) 
 
 i 
 
 The vine and prop together ; Truth itself, • 
 
 Immortal Truth, lies murder'd ! 
 
 Foolishness, 
 Dishonesty and cowardice of men, | 
 
 What bitter pain, what cruel uTongs ye breed ! I 
 
 As if our case were not perplcx'd enough, 
 And troublesome enough, and sad enough, 
 But we must writhe in self-inflicted pangs ! i 
 
 But in the reign of Science you are born. 
 Theology, with pomp and riches yet, 
 Sits mumbling, droning, in his padded chair. 
 Gouty, asthmatic, ailing every way. 
 A young audacious voice rings through the land — 
 " Ask questions, men, where ye may hope reply 
 By gauge of human faculties, may test 
 
 Reply when found. First cause and final cause i 
 
 In every case Ijcing out of reach, henceforth 
 Fix eye and thought upon the scrutalile ; 
 Travel, examine, and subdue throughout 
 The great domain of Science ; step by step, 
 Link after link, trace, test, confirm and fix 
 The sequences of natural law ; reduce j 
 
 The complex to the simple ; thus control, 
 So far as man may do so, human life, ; 
 
 The race itself ; attain, whate'er it be, J 
 
 No twilight Land of Dreams, Fool's Paradise, I 
 
 Hid in a theologic labyrinth tj 
 
 Or mctaphysic jungle. How subhme I 
 
 In its simplicity, one single fact £
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 11 
 
 In piire mechanic formula express'd 
 (Shall it be call'd VihroAion /—possibly) 
 And all phenomena its aspects merely ! 
 This we shall find at last." 
 
 And then ? what then ? 
 Ai-e we at home henceforward in the world ? 
 All comfortably settled in oiu- minds, 
 Knowing the immortal truth — Vibration 1 
 Shall we spoonfeed our babes on science-pap, 
 Till teeth find tougher work 1 train them to scan 
 The mechanism of all phenomena, 
 To measure and set it down in proper form, — 
 The ne plus ultra this, which cannot baulk ? 
 
 Again I say, Beware of words, my son. 
 Exact and systematic knowledge — good ! 
 But now, of what ? Of the true natiu-e of things ? 
 This is abjm-ed. No step found possible 
 In that direction. Of phenomena ? 
 " Siu-ely." But I deny it : very close 
 We peer, and make om* atoms very small. 
 Yet after all 'tis but the coarser part 
 Of any one phenomenon of natiu-e 
 Which we can measure and make record of. 
 Science is measiu-ement, no more, no less, 
 WTiatever sauce we add. Minds wholly fill'd 
 With Physical Science (and a fond conceit 
 That they alone know Natiu-e) miss and lose 
 The natm'al appearances of things 
 Beyond all common ignorance. Day and night, 
 Earth, ocean, sky, the seasons, peopled full
 
 12 EVIL MAY- DAY. 
 
 With coiuitless forms of life ; a world imbued 
 With beauty aiid with wonder and with awe, 
 Powers inexpressible and infinite, 
 Whereto man's spirit exquisitely thrills. 
 Raised, rapt, and soaring on celestial wings, — 
 Which extasy begetteth Art in some, 
 In every sane soul Worship in some wise, 
 Voiceless or silent, — shall we see instead 
 The t;xll ghost of a pair of compasses 
 Stalking about a w^orld of diagrams. 
 And algebraic regiments that march 
 And countermarch, and wheel ? 
 
 learn all this — 
 If so thou fail not to come back at last, 
 My son, to nature's own rich symbohsm ! 
 Value appearances, and study these 
 To see them well, — your first relationship, 
 Yom* last and truest too, with circumstance ; 
 More excellent by far to apprehend 
 Than all disclosures of analysis. 
 Upon the siuface earthly Beauty blooms, 
 Yielding itself to every loving eye, 
 KnowTi heavenly in its correspondences 
 "Wlien Seer or Poet comes ; immortal floVr, 
 Beloved of Man's soul, no trivial thing. 
 No fleeting thing, as flimsy proverbs wail ! 
 Inferi(,)r truths are good in their degree, 
 But the first-met is first, nor ever can 
 Be weigh'd or measured. That the world is fair 
 Concerns us more than that the world is round.
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 13 
 
 (Though this, Hke every truth, be well to kuow) ; 
 
 The rose, the prunrose, and the hawthorn-floVr, 
 
 The colours of the dawn or evening air. 
 
 The woodlands, and the mountains, and the meads. 
 
 Lakes, rivers, rivulets and rocky springs, 
 
 The varying ocean and the starry night. 
 
 Have in their beauty more significance 
 
 Than tabulated light- waves which impinge 
 
 On optic nerves and yield the brain a sense 
 
 Of red, blue, yellow— Science knows not how. 
 
 Science can but afford a pitying smile 
 
 If you forget that just where warmth begins 
 
 Of human interest in a question, there 
 
 Science stops short. And let her have the praise 
 
 Of keeping in her limit, if she keep, 
 
 And lack not limitation's humbleness. 
 
 Beware, I say, of words, warm, wide, and loose ; 
 Beware of cold and rigid formulte 
 No less : both fuU of power — they are not things, 
 Nor even thoughts, but shadowings-forth of thoughts. 
 Wearing a phantom dignity themselves. 
 True, that we think by these : most men by words, 
 The grave mathematician by his signs, 
 Expressing a mechanic imiverse, 
 Yet giving irrepressible Fancy room 
 To sport in magical cm^^es and deem herself 
 Almost creative in mechanic wise, 
 Lea\'ing out life and beauty merely. Words 
 Have melody and colour, and therewith
 
 14 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 The Poet's art can build a lovelier world, 
 Nay, truer than the connnon, fur the gold 
 Is smelted from the dross that made it dull. 
 Bo ever thankful of poetic truth, 
 And hold it fast. Value Appearances, 
 And let Imagination teach their worth, 
 Counting this practical. A sane clear mind 
 To see, and to imagine, is a mind 
 Of noblest rank : learning will noiu-ish it, 
 But not to any show of learning : such 
 Are Seers and Poets. Through appearances 
 Beheld with keen and sympathetic eyes 
 Imaginative insight pierces deep 
 To something secret, — not mechanical 
 But spiritual, and wholly beyond reach 
 Of Science, which too often is so vain 
 As therefore to deny it scornfully ; 
 Spiritual, and not contain'd or circumscribed 
 In any science ever formulated, 
 Or any creed that is or will be made. 
 Or aught that eye can see, or ear can hear ; 
 For subtler, dearer, more delicious beauty 
 Lives in the soul than in the outer world, 
 And therefore fact is poor to hopes and dreams, 
 Child-fancies beggar all the famous things. 
 Ah, might we trust the Poets all in all I 
 Too often they divert themselves and us 
 With gambols in the air. Amorous of words, 
 Temptable by a rhyme or phrase, they make 
 Language their end not means; or sometimes stoop
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 15 
 
 To stroke the public ear and give those jaws 
 The food they gape for. 
 
 Men, in short, my son, 
 Speak truth by most imperfect signs at best, 
 And with it many follies, many lies, 
 Deceiving or deceived, being only men. 
 Weak, wavering, hmited. Yet Men alone 
 See, note, explore, make record of, would fain. 
 But cannot ever, comprehend the world, 
 Life being a mystery, not a mechanism ; 
 Orderly miracle, where some men see 
 The order, some the wonder, most, and shape 
 Their diagrams, their phantasies ; the Wise, 
 Wedding experience and imagination — 
 Both ; and hft up their eyes and hands to God. 
 
 As to the Future, that is God's aflfair. 
 I am not Ruler of the Universe, 
 Nor in His secrets ; but I hold Him good, 
 His riches boundless, and His will to give. 
 Also that Man has share, whatever share, 
 In working out the Universal Plans, 
 And our own fate is partly in our power, 
 For each, for all ; how far we cannot know. 
 This I do know, immortal thoughts alone. 
 Eternal things, have interest for my soul — 
 That which is truly me, my inmost self. 
 
 Man can help men, and also hinder them. 
 Men's evil and folly are to guard against,
 
 16 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 Assuming many shapes; not dangerous least 
 In Books, pretended utterances of thought. 
 I say it who have loved books all my life. 
 The tongnc may lie, or, self-deceiving, show- 
 Folly as wisdom, may omit or add. 
 Transpose, misrepresent ; more ea-sily 
 The pen ; and lo, by typographic art 
 What inky robes of grave authority 
 Do words ]iut on, and in the library 
 The volume Uikes its seat among its peers, 
 Or quasi-peers. Nowhere such solemn shams 
 As pen and printer's ink can make ! Man's tongue 
 Is flexible, but eye, face, voice, and gesture, 
 Body and whole demeanom* help you well 
 To check or to corroborate his speech 
 (Put faith in physiognomy !) ; a Book 
 Wears deep disguise; may be a puppet-thing, 
 And not a man at all. The World of Books 
 Is full of glamour; evil, good, false, true, 
 Living and dead ; enchanted wilderness 
 Where many wander, few can find a path, 
 Or gather what is good for them. My Boy, 
 I vow, shall not begin to read too soon ! 
 Learning can nourish Wisdom, when good food 
 Is quietly digested ; but, too oft. 
 Unfit, ill-cook'd, or overloaded meals 
 Lie crude and swell the belly with wind, or breed 
 Dull fat, mistook for portliness and strength. 
 And surely never since the world began 
 So many Learned Fools as now-a-days.
 
 EVIL MAT-DAT. 17 
 
 Or Learned Folly witli so loud a voice. * 
 
 Even the Wiser slip from sanity 
 
 At times, and swell the roaring storm of words. 
 
 I am your Oracle and Prophet now, 
 Young Mortal, weak and ignorant as I am 
 And fain to question rather than reply. 
 Yet have I journey 'd on the road of life 
 Full many a mile, and bought experiences, 
 Have seen, done, jo/d and suffer'd, with a soul 
 Not timid, neither hard, sincere in grain. 
 Open to every influence, not engross'd 
 Of any, wishing well to all I met. 
 On foot, but not a beggar, have I fared, 
 Rested in huts and inns and palace halls, 
 Conversed on equal terms with many men. 
 Crept through dark valleys, climbed the mountain- 
 tops. 
 And known all kinds of weather. Here I sit 
 By fireside, with a baby on my knee. 
 A Boy with golden curls and grave blue eyes. 
 Asking me questions. Shall I tell him truth ? 
 Yes, Dearest, now and ever ! But to know 
 The needful questions is to be mature. 
 A child but asks as prompted — and alas 
 Mostly by Ignorance in Wisdom's mask ; 
 She uses words unmeaningly, and crowds 
 Life's pathways with memorials of man's folly. 
 Prompt him I must, and honestly give answer. 
 " Who made the world ? — (Sweep widely both your arms) 
 c
 
 18 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 Great God, my son : this name we call Ilim by. 
 (Lift lip yom- eyes and little hands to him.) 
 How do we know Him ? In the heart and soul. 
 (Put this hand on your brow, that on your breast.) 
 What is He ? (Place both hands across your eyes, 
 And bend your head.) No man hath power to 
 
 know." 
 This is enough to tell him at the time. 
 
 Man hath no thoughts to think what God is like, 
 And much less words to say ; but he can feel 
 At times the Presence great and wonderful 
 Beyond all words and thoughts and dreams, and yet 
 Wherein we live and move and have our being. 
 All great truths are incomprehensible ; 
 Much more the Living Centre of them all. 
 The clearest monients of the noblest men 
 Give insight thitherward, and what they sec 
 Belongs to man, though some regard it not. 
 Soon the clouds roll together, the groinid-fogs 
 Grow thick, and all the vision disappears ; 
 But what the best eyes at their best behold 
 Is Truth Divine ; the test whereof is this — 
 A lofty sanity of thought and life 
 In whoso doth receive it, harmony 
 Felt in his inmost being, nor wholly hid 
 From other men. But impossible 
 To put the vision into words, nor weave 
 Therewith a snare ! folly, to suppo.se 
 That speech, however wonderful it be,
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 19 
 
 Is more than makeshift ! Coiild I stop thine ears, 
 Till thou art somewhat ripened in thy mind, 
 i\Iy son, from all more free discourse of God, 
 Dogmatic, controversial, personal, 
 I would ; and I will do it, all I can. 
 
 It may be thou art bom to a troublous time, 
 Retributive on nations for their sins. 
 Of darkness, earthquake, storm, an evil time. 
 At least, thou shalt escape one evil thing — 
 My Evil May-day, doleful to endure. 
 Sad to remember. Yet it pass'd ; I live ; 
 And God lives.
 
 20 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 EVIL MAY -DAY. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 A ND God lives. Yes, begin and end with that. 
 -^ For, whichsoever way you timi your face 
 And journey through th' illimitable vast, 
 You come to Nothing or you come to God. 
 
 " We come to Matter," you reply, " more Matter, 
 Matter in many forms, ourselves being of them. 
 Man too is made of world-stuft'." 
 
 T\Tiich contains 
 No mind, affection, moral principle, 
 Or ruling will ; yet breeds them in its dance 
 Of purposeless gyration, turns (0 strange !) 
 At last to speculation on itself. 
 And finds at choice, dust or divinity. 
 — I say, we come to Nothing, or to God. 
 
 * Confront us then with Him. Who sees his face. 
 Or hears his voice ? They told us in oiu* youth 
 He paced a garden, spoke from a certain hill, 
 And wore a man's true body for a time. 
 They painted Him, an Old Man propt on clouds, 
 A Young Man, flowing-hair'd, with aureole, 
 Walking on water, flying through the air ; 
 ISIuch wondrous, much familiar circumstance. 
 But all this fading into fairy-tales. 
 What have we ?'
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 21 
 
 Truth. And know this well, once more, 
 Every high truth is inexpressible, 
 And Grod, the highest, absolutely. Men 
 Strive after some conception, symbol-wise. 
 But make too oft the symbol into idol ; 
 And all these idols forged by human brain. 
 Better or worse, and aiding more or less. 
 Misleading less or more, long-Uved or short, 
 Are perishable things. The idol falls ; 
 And then it seems the pillars of the world 
 That break, the roof of heaVn that crashes in. 
 A little cloud of dust was in our eyes ; 
 Look up : God sits enthroned, thy lord and king ; 
 Look romid, His earth is wide and beautiful. 
 If once thou hast that vision, treasure it, 
 Speak httle of it, let it nourish thy hfe 
 In fair thoughts, just deeds, and seLf-harmony, 
 "While the imceasing noise of human talk 
 Goes by, vmheeded, and the multitude 
 Concerns itself with whatsoe'er it will. 
 Jove's thunderbolt, Apollo's fiery car, 
 Being phrases put aside, seems solar force 
 Less wonderful, or th' all-pervasive thrill 
 Of electricity ? The himian mind 
 And moral laws, do these depend on names ? 
 The world is wider, deeper than om- thought ; 
 We walk as if in twihght : but, at times, 
 How, whence, we know not, aU is hghted up, 
 Transfigm-ed. What is shown to us ? A glimpse 
 Of inmost truth.
 
 ■22 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 So and not otherwise 
 Poetic and religious thoughts ;u'e born, 
 Nor else interpretivble. This great Light, 
 ^lore glorious than the sun's, this Divine Stream, 
 This emanation from the Life of Life, 
 Named or not named, and htliest received 
 \V'ith silent joy, these cloudless blissful hours 
 Or moments, who shall ho^xi to represent ? 
 The finest mesh of words being all too coarse, 
 The loftiest tones of poem or of creed 
 But distant echoes of the vibrant Soul 
 Throbbing and pulsing in its bath of Light, 
 Fill'd with the presence of the Living God, 
 One Power evolving multiformity. 
 Pervading and transcending every form. 
 
 Such vision you may keep, or you may lose. 
 And what destroys it, or prevents it ? This — 
 The setting-up False Vision in its place. 
 By obsolete pretended evidence. 
 Untrue in ftict, impossible in kind. 
 Still palm'd on innocent souls when full of trust 
 And love and wonder. Once these holy names 
 And emblems meant what now they cannot 
 
 mean. 
 As well thou knowest ; yet thou teachest them 
 For absolute truth to tender longing souls. 
 Fastening their faith, their highest facidty, 
 To forms decay'd, wijrm-eaten through and through. 
 Vile coward ! nmrderer of thy children's peace, 
 Preparing for them sick and crooked lives,
 
 EVIL MAY-DAT. 23 
 
 The end perhaps despair. But God's light shines, 
 Though men shut out, discolour, distort the ray. 
 
 Man, in a sense, makes God. In the same sense 
 ]\Ian makes the World : his world is what he makes it. 
 Each man his World, his God. But tell me now : 
 The natural, true, and most miraculous World, 
 Which no man ever saw, can ever see, 
 The Living Absolute Eternal God, 
 Whom no man ever saw, can ever see, — 
 Do these depend on how a man shall think 
 Or pictm-e them, or any set of men ? 
 The God a man hath made he may pull down ; 
 The World a man makes alters with himself ; 
 The true, the everlasting Life remains. 
 Surest of all things, — personal, universal, 
 Ineffable, incomprehensible. 
 
 Perceived, received, as with the flower of the soul. 
 God rules us whether we take heed or no. 
 'Tis duty less than privilege and joy 
 To recognise Him ; nor such boon to all 
 In equal measiu-e. Judge its potency 
 In the few most receptive, not the crowd. 
 
 Were all born blind, then who would guess the 
 light ? 
 All deaf, then who imagine any sound ? 
 And many see the light who nothing know 
 Of the Sun's greatness, only dimly see 
 The beauty it gives birth to ; many have ears 
 And yet by music's magic no more touch'd 
 Than carven figures by the organ-storm
 
 24 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 Shaking their substance atoms. Must thou gain 
 These other men's impossible consent 
 Before thou trenil)lest to the mystic joy 
 That frees thy spirit with a gift of wings 
 In MiLsic's atmosphere ? or give account 
 To them of how and why thou thus art moved 
 By Beiiuty, natural or inteii)reted ? 
 Doubt, or distrust, or disbelieve, since some 
 With ears that hear not, eyes that cannot see, 
 Bring scales to measure and weigh your conscious- 
 ness ? 
 Nay, know^st thou Love? — a Love sublime and i)ure, 
 The world's transfigm-ation, through thy soul's. 
 If thou hast ever been assiu-ed of this, 
 Shall icy hearts or sneering tongues convict 
 High Love, and not themselves, of foohshness ? 
 Consider then : if that most glorious Power 
 Far beyond audible and visual sense. 
 Felt at the inmost of thy soul of souls 
 In moments clear and rare, at other times 
 Be thickly veil'd from thee or quite o])scin-ed. 
 Wilt thou accept the bright hoiu* or the dark 
 To teach thee truth ? If certain other men 
 Deny the vision wholly, wilt thou choose 
 Negation for thy having ? and because 
 Of the great glory and wonder of the light 
 That shone upon thee, say it was a dream. 
 No truth at all ? Forget Him if thou wilt. 
 Deny Him. Thou art free. Nor will He strike 
 With angry flash ; not so the world is made.
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 25 
 
 No penalties are set for unbelief, 
 
 Except the natural and inevitable 
 
 Contain'd in not believing. Count these nothing, — 
 
 Who shall refute, gainsay thee ? go thy ways ; 
 
 The loss is in thyself ; and if unfelt. 
 
 The greater. Even as the man devoid 
 
 Of music misses nothing, loveless man 
 
 Pines not for lack of love, so he to whom 
 
 This world is empty of Divinity 
 
 From earth's dark centre to the Milky Way, 
 
 Sees his world full as other men's, and seems 
 
 To live in the same world. O marvellovis ! 
 
 Here walk two human creatiures side by side : 
 
 But seest thou in what kind of world each moves 'i 
 
 Not with the bodily eye. Each makes his own, 
 
 And counts his own the only. To but few 
 
 Is given the Poet's, Prophet's ecstasy ; 
 
 Yet theirs the witness we accept at last. 
 
 Many are dull and scarcely heed at all. 
 But some tiuii all to question : — ' What is Life, 
 This marvel of all marvels ? Show to us 
 Without delay. Whence, How, and What it is, 
 Or must we not affirm it meaningless ? 
 At most, a puzzle fit to stretch om* wits. 
 The whilst we eat, drink, fight, laugh, propagate, 
 And play at reason, virtue, and so forth ? 
 Guess it a dustheap, somehow growTi alive, 
 Or else a sort of mental phantasy ? 
 Surely, if we can't sift things, we have right
 
 26 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 Tn rate them as we choose.' There wisdom spoke. 
 What peevish fools, what froward babes are we ! 
 But tliis at le;xst is true beyond a doubt, — 
 Man's Life has meaning, else the world has none. 
 This Universe is but a puff of smoke 
 Floating in whirls about the gulf of space. 
 We atoms in the midst, and all our thoughts 
 Are less than nothing. 
 
 What Life is, I know not, 
 Nor claim the right to know ; but gladly accept 
 The highest hints and intimations given, 
 As likest truth. I know not what God is. 
 Nor count it reasonable to suppcjse 
 A man could know ; but that God lives and rules. 
 My soul in times of piu-e and tranquil vision 
 Sees without effort ; which gi'cat central tnith 
 Sways into order all the world of thought. 
 That else were chaos. And, since I am I, 
 To me, a person, He, a person, lives ; 
 A Living God, of power immeasurable. 
 Nature incomprehensible, and plans 
 Inscrutable ; of whom I know by faith ; 
 A reasonable and necessary faith 
 Correlative to ignorance, and yet 
 No way self-contradictory, a clue 
 In a prodigious labyrinth, a lamp 
 In a great darkness. 
 
 Why no more is known ? 
 Enough it is the nature of things ; and how
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 2/ 
 
 In sooth could I conceive it otherwise, 
 
 Create a different world ? What use this faith ?— 
 
 What use wide-sweei^ing universal thoughts ? 
 
 Nay what use is the universe itself ? 
 
 At least we'll take for granted it exists, 
 
 Though questions may lack answers ! ' Matter,' 
 
 ' Spirit,' 
 What may these be ? one thing, or separate ? — 
 I care not which ; for how should that concern ? 
 All is, of need, connected, up and down. 
 And grossest hnk'd with subtlest. We must live 
 In a material world, must therein work. 
 Thereby be wrought upon. I am conjoin'd — 
 This personal I, (invisible as God) — 
 To my own bodily organs first of all ; 
 Related strictly to the beast, the bird. 
 The blade of grass, the clod of earth, the cloud. 
 The faintest haze of suns within the sky. 
 That nearest fiery orb makes flow my blood ; 
 Electric ether vivifies my brain ; 
 And I, made up of these, who am not these. 
 Exist in personal being, think, enquire. 
 Reason, imagine, feel, and nothing know ; 
 But in my clearest moments I think — God. 
 Ask you, What use is Faith ? Faith is like Health ; 
 Which, if you have in full serene possession, 
 You feel it every moment of the day, 
 In every fibre of yovu* frame, each mood 
 And movement of your mind, yet for most part 
 IXnconsciously. Inherit health and lose it,
 
 28 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 Then shall you know its worth. But some poor men 
 
 Have never had it, and their seeming life 
 
 Is three parts deiith ; some fling away their share 
 
 To buy diseases, or, when sense is dull'd, 
 
 Count dulness armour, tiiJco defect for strength ; 
 
 Few have full measure : to bo like them ! 
 
 For health is Hfe, th(j' sickness in a sort 
 
 Lives on, and nearly all the world is sick ; 
 
 And Faith is higher wider sul>tlor health, 
 
 What ether is to air, a harmony, 
 
 A pure truth inexpressible in words, 
 
 All the great truths being measureless, and God 
 
 Greatest. 
 
 O spend not life in questions : live ! 
 Go on thy way and find there what thou may'st. 
 The past is past and had its own beliefs. 
 To-day lies round, jx)urs in, miraculous. 
 And in man's soul the springs of prophecy 
 Well up from their imfathomable source 
 Unceasingly, while he has fixith in God. 
 Belief in God — here is the fomitain-head 
 Of all religion, and, could that run dry 
 To all the human race, then human life 
 Were but a sandy desert full of asps. 
 No God — No Man. Blind matter all without ; 
 Within, delusive shadows. Hold God fast. 
 
 May-Day was evil when I miss'd my God : 
 Earth, sea and sky faU'n empty of a sudden.
 
 EVIL MAY-DAY. 29 
 
 All the wide universe a dismal waste 
 
 Peopled with phantoms of my flitting self, 
 
 And mocking gleams chance-kindled and chance 
 
 quench'd, 
 All meaning nothing. Natural May-Day 
 Revived to me when I found God again ; 
 World full of beauty and significance 
 Wisely and justly govern'd, and I too 
 Part and partaker of the wondrous whole ; 
 Made capable to feel, enjoy, adore, 
 To think and reason, not to comprehend. 
 
 Manhood is Freedom, — to use it well. 
 Acting upon the element where I move 
 According to its nature and my own, 
 (Obscurely folded in the germ at first, 
 Form'd by successive subtle acts of will) 
 Acting to greater purpose than appears, 
 Nor too much sorrowing over seeming loss 
 Nor anxious for security of gain. 
 Mild, equal -minded, fearless ! To such level 
 Rise I in happy hour, spring-tide of soul, 
 Aware, without words, and beyond all words, 
 That God was, is, and evermore remains ; 
 The Living Centre of this Universe, 
 Itself imagined only and not seen ; 
 Always the Centre, reach'd by various roads 
 From many points by many different minds. 
 Who move tow'rds Him, converge. Who move from 
 Him
 
 30 EVIL MAY-DAY. 
 
 Diverge, and wander out to lonely Space, 
 Where they see nothing and hear nothing, save 
 A hollow echo of their own voice return'd 
 As from the Cavern of Eternal Death. 
 But from the Centre, Everla.stini' Life 
 Expands and pulses in perpetual waves. 
 
 Man's jiroperty is Will ; and he thereby 
 Can turn liis face to G<xl, change his own world ; 
 For some things must be fix'd, and some left free. 
 Is there not Good and Bad ? and Best and Worst ? 
 And art thou sure there is no Heaven and Hell ? 
 Metliiiiks wc may have foretaste of them both.
 
 IN A COTTAGE GARDEN. 31 
 
 IN A COTTAGE GARDEN. 
 
 BETWIXT our apple-boughs, how clear 
 The violet western hills appear, 
 As calmly ends another day 
 Of Earth's long history, — from the ray 
 She with slow majestic motion 
 Wlieeling continent and ocean 
 Into her own dim shade, wherethrough 
 The Outer Heavens come into view, 
 Deep beyond deep. 
 
 In thought conceive 
 This rolling Globe whereon we live, 
 (For in the mind, and there alone, 
 A pictiu-e of the world is shown) 
 How huge it is, how full of things, 
 As round the royal Sun it swings, 
 In one of many subject rings, — 
 Carrying our Cottage with the rest, 
 Its rose-lawn and its martin's nest. 
 But, number every grain of sand, 
 Wherever salt wave touches land ; 
 Number in single drops the sea ; 
 Number the leaves on every tree ; 
 Number Earth's living creatiu-es, all 
 That run, that fly, that swim, that crawl ; 
 Of sands, drops, leaves, and lives, the count 
 Add up into one vast amount ;
 
 32 EVERYTHING PASSES AND VANISHES. 
 
 And then, for every separate one 
 
 Of all those, let a riauiing Sun 
 
 Whirl in the boundless skies, with each 
 
 Its massy planets, to outreach 
 
 All sight, all tliought : for all we see, 
 
 Encircled with Infinity, 
 
 Is but an island. 
 
 Look aloft, 
 The stars are gathering. Cool and soft 
 The twilight in our garden-croft 
 Purples the crimson-folded rose, 
 (0 tell me how so sweet it grows !) 
 Makes gleam like stars the cluster'd white ; 
 And Beauty too is infinite. 
 
 "PVERYTHING passes and vanishes ; 
 -^ Everything leaves its trace ; 
 And often you see in a footstep 
 What you could not sec in a face.
 
 NE QUID NIMIS. 33 
 
 SONNET : DAFFODIL. 
 
 ^^ OLD tassel upon March's bugle-horn, 
 
 ^ "WTiose bhthe reveille blows from hill to hill 
 
 And every valley rings, — O Daffodil ! 
 What promise for the season newly born ? 
 Shall wave on wave of floVrs, full tide of corn, 
 
 O'erflow the world, then fruited Autumn fill 
 
 Hedgerow and garth ? Shall tempest, blight, or 
 chill. 
 Turn all felicity to scathe and scorn ? 
 Tantarrara ! the joyous Book of Spring 
 
 Lies open, WTit in blossoms ; not a bird 
 
 Of evil augiu-y is seen or heard : 
 Come now, hke Pan's old crew we'll dance and sing, 
 Or Oberon's ; for hill and valley ring 
 
 To March's bugle-horn, — Earth's blood is stirr'd. 
 
 NE QUID NIMIS. 
 
 ~V7" E that love astoimding phrases, 
 -'- As the fashion of these days is, 
 Fiery colour, fierce contortion. 
 Dazzle, glare, and disproportion. 
 Elsewhere turn you. JVe quid nimis: 
 Such the motto of my rhjTne is. 
 
 D
 
 34 THE HONEST FARMER. 
 
 THE HONEST FARMER. 
 
 HAPPY I count the Fanner's life, 
 Its various round of wholesome toil ; 
 An honest man with loving wife, 
 And oflspring native to the soil. 
 
 Thrice happy, surely ! — in his breast 
 Plain wisdom and the trust in God ; 
 
 His path more straight from east to west 
 Than politician ever trod. 
 
 His gain's no loss to other men ; 
 
 His stalwart blows inflict no woimd ; 
 Not busy with his tongue or pen, 
 
 He questions truthful sky and ground. 
 
 Partner with seasons and the sun, 
 Nature's co-worker ; all his skill 
 
 Obedience, ev'n as waters run. 
 Winds blow, beast, herb their laws fulHl. 
 
 An active youthhood, clean and bold ; 
 
 A vigorous manhood ; cheerful age ; 
 His comely children proudly hold 
 
 Their parentage best heritage. 
 
 Unhealthy work, false mirth, chicane. 
 Guilt, needless woe, and useless strife, — 
 
 O cities, vain, inane, insane ! — 
 How happy is the Farmer's life !
 
 man's found by his event. 
 
 QEE what lives of mortals are 
 ^ Ou our foolish little star ! 
 Toils unceasing, pleasiu-es flying, 
 Aspirations fall'n to sighing, 
 Old deceits in garbs newfangled. 
 Angel-wings with cobwebs tangled, 
 Selfish comfort, drugg'd with sense, 
 Ambition's poverty immense, 
 Tender memory, sad in vain, 
 Flickering hope and haunting pain. 
 Cries of suffering, sweat of strife, — 
 But where the strong victorious life 'i 
 
 Perchance its deeds make little noise ; 
 No record of its pains and joys. 
 Save in mystic forms enscroU'd, 
 Spiritual eyes behold. 
 Seeing what lives of mortals are 
 On our foolish Uttle star. 
 
 1\ /T AN'S found by his event. Not whirlwind Chance 
 -^'-*- Blows round the mystic multitudinous dance, 
 But Music, heard by ear the finest touch. 
 Sways all in order : Wisdom's ear is such.
 
 Hi WHY, YES, — WE VE PASS D A PLEASANT DAY. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 T OVE, after long exilement from my breast, 
 -'-' Came as of yore last night, and gave to view 
 
 ('Twas only in a dream) the face I knew 
 And loved so well. Ah me, that time was best 1 
 O pure and perfect joy, when I possest 
 
 Thy soul in mine, when life was love of you. 
 
 And all the fairness of the world most true. 
 Love being God's truth and chief among the rest ! 
 
 "Was I through ignorance or folly glad 
 In those lost days, not having found as yet 
 
 The secret of the world, which drives men mad, 
 
 With one cold poison-drop for remedy ? 
 
 Or have the Powers of Darkness gripe on me 
 Because I flung away mine amulet ? 
 
 " V\r^^^'' y^^' — ^'6*^*^ pass'd a pleasant day ; 
 
 ' ^ While life's true joys are on their way." 
 — Ah me ! I now look back afar, 
 And see that one day like a star.
 
 A SAD SONG. 37 
 
 A SAD SONG. 
 
 T OVE once kiss'd me, 
 
 -'-' Unfolded his wings, and fled. 
 
 Hath friendship miss'd me ? 
 Is faith in all friendship dead ? 
 
 If a spell could summit 
 These phantoms that come and go, 
 
 Of men and women, 
 Their very selves to show, 
 
 I might fmd (alas me !) 
 My seeking both lught and day. 
 
 But I pass them, they pass me. 
 And each on a lonely way. 
 
 Soul, art thou friendless, 
 A loser, sorrowful, weak ? 
 
 Life is not endless, 
 Death is not far to seek. 
 
 Thou sailest ever. 
 Each moment, if sad or kind, 
 
 Down the great river ; 
 It opens, it closes behind ; 
 
 Far back thou seest 
 The mountain-tops' faint azure ; 
 
 Below, as thou fleest, 
 The ripple, the shadow's erasure.
 
 38 SLEEPY. 
 
 Why dost thou, weeping, 
 Stretch forth thine arms iu vain ? 
 
 It breaks thy sleeping ; 
 drop into trance again. 
 
 In drcain thou may'st go where 
 Child's Island is flowery gra.ss'd, 
 
 Deeji-.skied, — it is nowhere 
 Save in the Land of the Past. 
 
 Time is dying. 
 The ^Vor^d t(3o ; forget their moan ; 
 
 The sad wind sighing 
 Let murmur, this alone. 
 
 SLEEPY. 
 
 r\ LEAVE mc quiet for a thousand years I 
 
 " No duties, troubles, pleasures, hopes or fears. 
 
 No sun or moon with sad retiu-ning beam. 
 
 Only a faintly glimmering world, half dream, 
 
 To faintly touch my senses : rest I would. 
 
 Forget the tangled life, the bad and good. 
 
 And everything that has been, — drinking deep 
 
 The freshness of regenerating sleep, 
 
 Ages and teons of celestial rest ; 
 
 To wake — I know not when,— sleep now were best.
 
 ART THOU LORD OF THE WORLD ? 39 
 
 A 
 
 / 
 
 RT thou Lord of the World ? Was it all made for 
 thee, 
 
 Child of Time, Child of Clay ? 
 Thinkest thou, skies will ever bend o'er thee. 
 
 Bland and friendly as those of to-day ? 
 Every joy its savom* keep, 
 Night o'erflow with happy sleep, 
 Pain and sorrow shun thy roof, 
 Sad Old Age keep well aloof, 
 Life go smoothly on its way, 
 Brain conti'ol, and hand obey, 
 To-morrow be like yesterday 1 
 
 Things only wait, they only wait. 
 They He in ambush for thy fate. 
 Days go, and nights go. 
 Years rmi away, and lo ! 
 Now the end is coming fast 
 The proud foolish dream past ; 
 See the brand, so brightly kindled. 
 To a fading ember dwindled ; 
 All thy pleasures, all thy riches, 
 Vanish like a dance of witches ! 
 
 Is this indeed the revolt thou wert fearing. 
 
 Child of the Infinite, Child of Hope ? 
 Or is it the lower world disappearing 
 Whilst thou art lifted to higher scope ? 
 Thou art gently drawn away. 
 Think, — truly, — would'st thou stay ? 
 Nothing has been given thee yet 
 So good, but better thou may'st get.
 
 40 DENY NOT LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 SONNET : A FLOWER (IN TIME OF WAR). 
 
 THAIR Maid of February, — drop of snow 
 -*- I'^nchaiited to a flow'r, and therewithin 
 
 A dream of April green, — who witliout sin 
 Conceived wnst, l)ut how no man may knuw ; 
 
 I would thou mightest, being of heavenly kin. 
 Pray for us all (thy lips are piu-e, althc^' 
 
 The soil be soak'd with tejirs and blood), to win 
 Some ruth for hiunan folly, guilt, and woe. 
 
 A flitting phantasy and fond conceit ! 
 Yet mark this little white-green bell, three-cleft, 
 And muse upon it. Earth is not bereft 
 
 Of miracles ; lo, here is one complete : 
 And after this the whole new spring-time left. 
 
 And all the roses that make summer sweet. 
 
 "TVENY not Love and Friendship, tho' long and 
 
 -^ vainly sought ; 
 
 Thy sad perjietual craving with deepest proof is 
 fraught. 
 
 Thozi canst he friend and lover ; else why thy long- 
 ing now ? 
 
 Canst thou be true and tender? — of mortals, only 
 thou ?
 
 NEWS FROM TANNONIA. 41 
 
 NEWS FEOM PAKNONIA. 
 
 A.D. 180. 
 
 DRUSILLUS. PROBUS, 
 
 Dru. TTAIL, Probus ! 
 
 Pro. -*--»- Hail, Drusillus !— thou in Rome I 
 
 I ale too, by Hercules ! Art sick, or wounded ? 
 
 Dru. Neither, my Probus. From Pannonia, I ; 
 A twelve days' journey. Now the Senate cons 
 My message, and I hurry to the bath. 
 Farewell, my friend ; I'll visit you to-morrow. 
 
 Pro. Nay, at this hour the jjublic bath is throug'd. 
 And lo, my house at hand, and yours away 
 Beside the Vipsan Columns. Come, Drusillus, 
 Welcome awaits you, bath and robe and supper. 
 Not laid for guests, but large enough for two ; 
 And then, for March wind scours the dusty streets. 
 Home in my litter. Bravely said, old friend I 
 I will not ask your camp news, well content 
 To hear with Rome : we'll talk philosophy. 
 As many a night before — dispute, agree. 
 And taste again the likeness in milikeness 
 Friendship is mix'd of 
 
 Brn. Thou may'st ask my news. 
 
 AU Rome, indeed, will shortly ring with it. 
 
 Pro. Another A'ictory and triumph ? Nay, 
 Not a defeat ? Why look you at me thus ?
 
 42 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 
 
 Dru. CiBsar 
 
 Pro. Is dead ? 
 
 Dm. He is. 
 
 Pro. Aurelius dejid ! 
 
 friend, a weighty mesHUge in two words ! 
 So heavy hath not fall'n into mine ear 
 Since when, a youth, I heard men whispering 
 "Good Antoninus is no more ! " — How long 
 Is that ago ? — He was tliy father's friend 
 
 1 think, Drusillus, a.s Aurelius thine. 
 
 Dni. He was. — Exactly nineteen years this 
 month. 
 My father was that captain of the guard 
 Who came to Antoninus, lying sick, 
 For the night's watchword, and the Emperor, 
 Fixing his mild majestic eyes on him, 
 Said " Equanimitij." At dawn of day 
 My father saw th' imperial face again 
 Pale, silent, and with eyes for ever closed. 
 And now his great adopted Son hath join'd 
 The shadowy multitude. No Quadic spear 
 Dethroned him ; it was fever's poison'd arrow 
 Flying invisible through the camp. He shared 
 The legionaries' food and long fatigues. 
 And every chance of war. 
 
 Pro. Thou too, Drusillus, 
 
 Or I mistake thee. Therefore do not scorn 
 This amber liquor from my own hiU-slope ; 
 Thou hast sat beneath the vines there. As thou 
 wilt.
 
 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 43 
 
 Himself was not more temperate. Was his age 
 Twelve lustra ? 
 
 Dru. Save a year. 
 
 Pro. . Too short a life ! 
 
 Dru. Aurelius thought not so. He ask'd my age 
 One day,' and when I told him, " At two-score " — 
 He said — " a wise man knows what Ufe is Uke, 
 And, though he lived a thousand years, would see 
 Old things in new masks merely. ^Tiy not die ? 
 I soon shall notch a third score on the stick, 
 Nor wish the game spun wearisomely out. 
 The Eoman death," he said, " a man's free choice, 
 Is rational, bold ; great men have chosen it ; 
 But I for my part rather will await 
 Th' appointed hour of natural release. 
 Patient of life, not fearing death at all ; 
 A sentry at his post." 
 
 Pro. Go on, Drusillus ! 
 
 Dru. " Why," said the Emperor, " should death 
 be dreadful ? 
 Since it is nothing but a natural change, 
 One other needful movement in a world 
 Where all tilings always move, and nothing stays, 
 Yet nothing is destro/d. Why shrink from change ? 
 That Power which governs all things, changes all. 
 And makes from out their substance, other things. 
 From these things others yet, continually ; 
 And by the flow of this perpetual change 
 Keeps universal natiu-e always young." 
 
 Pro. Thy memory's good.
 
 44 NEWS FROM PANXONIA. 
 
 Dru. I noted down lii.s words. 
 
 " The world, could'st thou but see it, would be seen 
 Shiftiug incessantly, but nothing lost, 
 And the groat Whole continuing : the Gods 
 Also continuiiij,', as I well believe." 
 
 Pro. A\\)uld that we might have clearer news of 
 them ! 
 In Rome, as well thou knowest, many men 
 Scoft' at the Gods and count them fables merely. 
 "Wliat would they say to this ? ' Assuredly 
 Cajsar must keep the temples up ! ' — or else, 
 ' Old-fashioned ! Out of date ! ' 
 
 Dru. But here indeed 
 
 No Pontift' spoke : for one thing stay'd with him 
 Since Verus was his name, and Hadrian 
 Who loved the boy call'd him Verissimus ; 
 From youth to age, truth was his very nature. 
 Nor custom nor tradition master'd him, 
 All was digested in his mind, which took 
 Its proper nutriment ; nor he the fool 
 To think, like many, truths wear out with time — 
 Being more substantial than the sea and land. 
 
 Pro. I trust his moderate and measm-ed phrase 
 Beyond all flourishes. 
 
 Dru. He hated those. 
 
 " The Gods," he said, " we name them as we will : 
 They stand above my knowledge : but I feel 
 A Power Divine within me and without 
 Whereby all things are govern'd, changed, preserved." 
 And on aiaother day these words were his :
 
 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 45 
 
 "All from the Gods is full of Providence, 
 
 Nor Fortune separate from Nature ; all 
 
 Being interwoven in one mighty web. 
 
 Why therefore should I fear to quit the earth, 
 
 If this be so ? And if it be not so, 
 
 Why should I care to live in such a world, 
 
 Empty of Gods and void of Providence ? " 
 
 Pro. Wise words ! — and here no trivial theorist, 
 But Roman Caesar, mightiest of men. 
 What will his son be like ? 
 
 Dru. As the Gods please. 
 
 High man or low man, wise man is the man. 
 Marcus himself would many a time declare, 
 " Great Alexander, Julius, and Pompeius, 
 Count I but small, if match'd with Socrates, 
 Or Heraclitus, or Diogenes, 
 Or that Greek Slave." 
 
 Pro. Ay, noble Epictetus. 
 
 Aurelius would have made that slave his friend. 
 But let us talk of Commodus awhile. 
 Where is he 1 
 
 Dru. In the camp. Aurelius turn'd 
 
 By nature to philosophy. He said 
 " The Senate gave me empire, not desired. 
 Much better loving shady silent paths 
 Of peaceful meditation, than to roll 
 On dusty highway in triumphal car. 
 But all things moved together to that end, 
 Adoption, training, much experience gain'd 
 In public functions, most of all the wish
 
 46 NEWS FROM PANNOXIA. 
 
 Of him my more than father; and with these — 
 The driving-wheel of all — sense of man's place 
 And work, as social and for general use." 
 
 Pro. A noble natui-e ! i 
 
 Dm. "Well brought-up withal. 
 
 He loved to praise his tutors — " Thanks to theni 
 For what I am." But he was ever humble. 
 " I know," he said, "being prince, and train'd thereto, 
 I've miss'd much man-lore simple men have gain'd 
 Simply, as husbandmen grow weathernuse 
 And fishers wary." 
 
 Pro. There is truth in that. 
 
 Alp sees not close but wide. Nor can the great 
 Well know the teasing troubles of poor men. 
 Was he a bookish man ? 
 
 Drti. His books were few. 
 
 I've heard him say, " Much reading is but vain. 
 In contemplation and experience 
 The wise man Avill discover what he needs, 
 Unmesh'd in subtleties and speculations 
 Thin-spun by curious busy-idle wits. 
 The sense of things is plain to healthy minds, 
 The natm-e of them deep beyond all ken ; 
 Of qualities we learn ; of essence nothing ; 
 Nor do I deem, in myriad years to come, 
 Though many little truths they pick or delve 
 And put in storehouse, men are like to know 
 One atom more of Life, Death, or the Gods 
 Than we do now ; nor shall they profit much 
 In happiness, perchance, by all they learn.
 
 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 47 
 
 To view the daily earth and nightly heavens, 
 
 Feeling their beauty and magnificence ; 
 
 To know there's good and evil, choose the good ; 
 
 Let reason govern thee, not appetite ; 
 
 Learn to be true, just, diligent, and brave ; 
 
 Count all men brothers, work for general use ; 
 
 Obey God, help men, and be not perturb'd, 
 
 Taking thy lot with equanimity ; 
 
 These are the main things, and must always be ; 
 
 What more we add, not much, though we should set 
 
 The sun and moon in scales, see the grass gi'ow. 
 
 And fly with better than Icarian wings 
 
 From Kome to Thule." 
 
 Fro. Had he any guess 
 
 Of how the world was made ? 
 
 Bru. " Too deep for thought," 
 
 He said, " much more for language." Yet he mused 
 And question'd thus, " The nature of the Whole 
 Moved, and began the order'd Universe ; 
 And everything must be continuous 
 From that prime impulse. Shall we deem this force, 
 Ev'n in the highest things whereto it tendeth, 
 Void of a rational principle ? — or all 
 From one divine inscrutable First Cause, 
 Whence too our rational being must derive 
 Its powers ? The order that subsists in thee 
 Is under rule of reason. Can this rule 
 Be absent in the Universe ? Not so. 
 One Living Mind rules all." 
 
 Pro. Eemember'd well !
 
 48 NEWS FROM PANXOXIA. 
 
 I soe this as I never saw before. 
 
 His words are precious gems. Doth Coniniodus 
 
 Set forth at once to Rome ? What think'st thou of 
 
 him ? 
 The slaves are out of hearing. 
 
 Dm. Grant me this, 
 
 Dear friend, no word of politics to-night ! 
 
 Pro. So be it. Tell me more then of our Prince 
 Who now is with the Gods. 
 
 Dru. Oft in his tent 
 
 Or by a watchfire on the battle-field, 
 I saw him take a little parchment-scroll 
 Out of his bosom ; and on a certain night 
 He let me look therein, close-writ in Greek ; 
 Saying, " I put these tln^ughts upon my tablets 
 As they came to mc, wrote them fairly out, 
 And turn to them again from time to time ; 
 Since what is written, even by oneself, 
 Becomes a force, takes place in the world of things. 
 And may be found again and scann'd again ; 
 Thus wise mood and clear insight come in aid 
 Of weak dark moments, and hold judgment firm. 
 The most," he said, "were A\Titten long ago ; 
 I read in them my l)righter hcaltliier self ; 
 Now, things grow wearisome, and seldom seem 
 Worth the style's labour — yet are they no worse. 
 No better than of old." With leave, I conn'd 
 The sentences, and copied many down 
 In owv own tongue, from memory. Words are 
 seeds.
 
 NEWS FROM PANXONIA. 49 
 
 Here is my scroll, if thou art not yet tired. 
 But much he spoke was to the same effect. 
 
 Pro. Xay, read, Drusillus. 
 
 Dru. Thus Aiirelius : 
 
 " Whate'er it be, this Universe, — myself 
 Am part thereof, related intimately 
 To other parts like me, my fellow-men. 
 Let me be thankful and content, and seek 
 The common good ; for happy he alone 
 T^Tio, wise in contemplation, just in action, 
 Resigns himself to miiversal nature, 
 Expecting, fearing, and disliking nothing, 
 And puts his ruling facility to use. 
 Ask this — how doth the nding faculty 
 Employ itself-? All else is but as smoke." — 
 " What is this hubbub that goes on aroimd ? 
 Vain pomp and stage-play, weapon-brandishings ; 
 Sheep following sheep (poor men !), herds driv'n 
 
 along, 
 Dogs rushing to a bone, fish to a crumb, 
 Laboiu-s of ants, hurry of frighten'd mice, 
 The posturing of puppets pull'd by strings ! 
 View it all qiuetly, good-naturedly, 
 And not with scorn ; but clearly understand 
 A man is worth so much as that is worth 
 He busies himself in. Yet, all are brethren : 
 Turn not away from any man or thing." — 
 " Wrong-doers must be, therefore marvel not 
 To meet one ; he's in error ; on thy part 
 Seek to amend him kindly : if thou'rt anger'd
 
 50 NEWS FROM PANXONIA. 
 
 Give thyself lilanie, not him. Be not perturl>'(l. 
 If a man hate thee, that is his aft'air, 
 Thine, that he have no cause. Upon thyself 
 Depends thy happiness ; tliy will is free ; 
 Obey the voice of (lod." — Mark this, my friend : 
 " If God hath planned it all — enough : art thou 
 Wiser than God ? But certain men surmise 
 Chance ruleth all, or Fate : be thou at least 
 Not rulfed so, and having cared for this. 
 Be tranquil." Note that, Probns — " Thou at least 
 Be not so ruled." Often would he say, 
 " ^Yhat is the dearest, most essential thing 
 Whereof no man rob us ? Our Free-Will ! " 
 
 Pro. A gi'and word ! But, how choose therewith ? 
 
 Dru. He held. 
 
 That, as our lungs inhale the atmosphere, 
 A subtler spiritual force pervades the world, 
 Which he who wills may draw into his mind. 
 
 Pro. Strange ! — yet my soul breathes freer at his 
 words. 
 Read on. 
 
 Dru. In this the perfect Stoic speaks : 
 " Rule thy opinion, and thou rulest all 
 Comes from without ; esteem that as it is, 
 Nothing — the Ruling Faculty untouch'd." 
 
 Pro. I am too weak for that ! 
 
 Dm. Again he writes : 
 
 " Value not life at any costly rate. 
 Reflect : the Past a dream, the Future nothing. 
 The Present is the only thing thou hast,
 
 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 51 
 
 Therefore the only thing which thou can'st lose, 
 And what is that ? — a point." 
 
 Pro. The sophist here 
 
 Methinks, Drusillus — subtlety for wisdom ! 
 The Past is m the Present, and the point 
 Is moving, therefore measureless. 
 
 Drv,. Well said ! 
 
 No man is always right. 
 
 Pro. And then, " Opinion ? " 
 
 Suppose at some bad inn I drink sour wine, 
 How shall opinion make me taste and feel 
 Falernian ? Or should angry Neptune toss 
 My wretched body, hath opinion power 
 To comfort me ? 
 
 Dru. Some men are tougher made 
 
 No doubt, than others ; for the perfect Stoic 
 Too nice a palate is unapt, too weak 
 A stomach ; yet the main point lies not here. 
 Make by our Ruling Faculty the least 
 And not the most of adverse accident, 
 The best and not the worst of all our gifts. 
 We're followers, though with feeble step it be. 
 Of Zeno, Epictetus, and Aurelius. 
 Live but to gratify our lower selves 
 And study these, we're on the hatefid road 
 With Nero and his parasites. 
 
 Pro. A gloss 
 
 On Stoicism ! — a good one I allow. 
 I fear I'm of the sons of Epicurus — 
 The later sons, degenerate from his doctrine !
 
 52 NEWS FROM PANXONIA. 
 
 Diu. Nay, thou malign'st thyself— in vain to me. 
 No two meu are alike, uor no two Stoics. 
 But here are ma.xims fit for every man : 
 " Act as thy nature leads, observing justice. 
 Rate everything according to its value. 
 Bear what the common nature brings to thee." 
 "Study not what thy neighbovu* says, does, thinks, 
 But live thine own life rightly. Talk no more 
 Of how a man should live, but so live tliou."— 
 " The Soul's a sphere, and keeps her proper shape 
 If not strctch'd forth to outward things too far, 
 Contracted inward, smiken, or disperst." — 
 " Seek imperturbably to live a life 
 Of wisdom, justice, temperance, fortitude ; 
 Be ever friendly, mild, benevolent ; 
 And follow thy euda3mon— God within thee." 
 
 Pro. Gold words ! The sweetest of the Stoics, he. 
 Unless it were his Father. 
 
 Dm. Nay, for him 
 
 Good life sufficed, without philosophy. 
 
 Pro. Little have I of either ! But note this ; 
 Marcus's nature, that was rational, 
 Mild, kind and sociable ; the voice within 
 CounseU'd him good not evil things. We all 
 Are not so made. Some men are idly given, 
 Care but for feasts and flowers and fluteplayers ; 
 Why should they baulk their fancies ? Others 
 
 thirst 
 For glory, praise, and power; and why not seek 
 them.
 
 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 53 
 
 Such being their nature ? How fit every man 
 To Marcus ? 
 
 Dru. Ay, or any other pattern ? 
 
 I said, no two ahke, each his own Ufa ; 
 And yet must none Uve solely for himself. 
 The idle and the grasping miss true life. 
 Through error ; help them ; for, as Plato wrote, 
 Willingly is no soul deprived of truth ; 
 Count all amendable. 
 
 Pro. Nay, some I know 
 
 In whom a cacodaemon sm'ely whispers ! 
 How deal with these ? 
 
 Dru. Shun, guard against, repress, 
 
 At utmost need, expunge them solemnly. 
 As curs'd by fate or their perverted wills. 
 Am-ehus could be stern — but ever sadly. 
 Yet, tho' in Ms self-judgment strict, and all 
 That touch'd the State, to other men at times 
 (Perhaps because he did not rate them high) 
 And women, he was far too mild, too easy ; 
 His only fault. Witness his former colleague. 
 
 Witness his '■ But enough. His life was pm-e, 
 
 His death was tranquil. May our souls tread firm 
 To follow his ! 
 
 • Pro. Alas, I would the Gods, 
 
 My Drusus, plainlier spoke to us poor men 
 On life and death ! How should our souls be firm 
 When oracles are doubtful ? Will new Caesar 
 Follow the fierce Bellona's flashing helm ? 
 
 Dru. Not if he hold his father's counsel dear.
 
 54 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 
 
 "Jove grant my son," Am-elius usetl to say, 
 " Have little need and no desire of war. 
 War I detest. Yet I have lived in war, 
 To keep Augustus Cajsar's legacy, 
 Our empire's bounds, unbroken— on the west 
 The Atlantic Ocean, on the north the Rhine 
 And Danube, with Euphrates to the e:ist, 
 Africa's burning deserts to the south ; 
 The savage isle of Britain joiu'd to these 
 By later outpulse of imperial force, 
 And Hadrian's Dacia afterwards. War— war— " 
 Would he exclaim, " I hate war— could not shun it 
 happy Antoninus, fitly named 
 The Pious, three-and-twenty peaceful years 
 The lifting of thy sceptre sway'd the world, 
 No further journeying than Lanuvium ! " 
 Two months ago, as many times before, 
 He spake in this wise ; and on that same evening 
 Came I for orders to the Emperor. 
 And found him pacing lonely on the bank 
 Of the broad Danube in a wintry dusk. 
 My business done, he lifted up his eyes. 
 And seeing great stars rising in the east, 
 " Think of the courses of the heavens," he said, 
 " The boundless gulf of past and future time. 
 And what oiu- little lives are. This whole Earth, 
 We move upon, is but a point." He stept 
 Silent some way, then stopping short exclaim'd — 
 " ^Vho can believe that good and noble souls. 
 The highest things we wot of, when they leave us
 
 NEWS FROM PANNOXIA. 55 
 
 Perish aud are extinguished, or that God 
 
 Will not preserve them, if the general scheme 
 
 Allow thereof ? This body is not me ; 
 
 'Tis but the vessel and the instrument 
 
 Of an imperishable essence ; yea, 
 
 Myself and God are under one same law." 
 
 He ceased ; then added in a lower voice — 
 
 " Shall man dispute with God ? reverence 
 
 Him, 
 Confide in Him who governs everything ! 
 The perfect living Being, good and just 
 And beautifid, who generates, who holds 
 Together all things, who contains them all, 
 Continually dissolved and reproduced, 
 Himself not changed ; from whom the soid of 
 
 man 
 Is drawii, an efflux of the Deity." 
 When next I saw Marcus Aiu-eUus, 
 He lay in fever. 
 
 Ffo. Did it long endure ? 
 
 Dru. I'll tell thee, Probus. On the fifteenth day 
 I watch'd him, kneeling by the couch. His mind 
 Had wander'd, but he now lay motionless, 
 As in a trance, from noon till the fifth hom*. 
 All unexpectedly, he look'd upon me. 
 Forth came his hand. I kiss'd it. My heart leapt 
 With a pang of fleeting joy. He merely said — 
 " Farewell, Drusillus. Bear the news to Rome." 
 Then his eyes closed again ; and no more words. 
 
 Pro. Yoimg Commodus, I think
 
 56 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 
 
 I>ru. I thiuk, my friend, 
 
 He had a virtuous and most noble Father. 
 
 Pro. Truly. And I for my part recollect 
 Caligula's father was GcrmaniciLS, 
 Domitiau's Titus. But— Hail, Commodus ! 
 Caesar and Emperor, seventeenth in count 
 From shrewd Augustus — some amongst them great 
 And many vile. Fortune hath strangely throned 
 Pernicious human monsters, gorging blood 
 Until it choked them. 
 
 Dru. Yea, but Rome endiu-es ; 
 
 Jove's oak, whereon some can-ion vultures perch'd ; 
 Empire that was, and is, and will be great ; 
 Never before so powerful and so happy 
 As under Trajan, Hadrian, Antonine, 
 And our beloved Aurelius. 
 
 Pro. And yet. 
 
 All things, Drusillus, have their term. Jove's oak 
 Rock-rooted, wide-arm'd, after many years 
 Grows hollow, one day crumbles. Shall men see 
 Great Rome a ruin ? 
 
 -0''«- Choose more lucky words. 
 
 Dear Probus !— or indeed wilt thou forebode 
 This Christian superstition, the crush'd worm, 
 Lord of our seven hills, with suporbcr shrine 
 Than Jove's own temple now ? or dost thou fear 
 The Britons may outrival us in arms, 
 Wealth, power, and policy, and one day build 
 A greater city than on Tiber's banks 
 By some cold fenny river of the north ?
 
 NEWS FROM PANNONIA. 57 
 
 Pro. Nay, I love Rome. Live Rome ! 
 
 Dru. She'll outlast us, 
 
 Be who will Caesar. May the Gods protect her ! 
 Thanks and farewell, my friend ! 
 
 Pro. The slaves await yon. 
 
 Health and sound sleep, Drusillus ! Fare thee 
 well !
 
 68 NURSERY RHYME FOR THE ELDERS. 
 
 SONNET. A NURSERY RHYME FOR 
 THE ELDERS. 
 
 THE Masters of the AVorld when we are gone 
 Play round our knees, look up to us with awe, 
 From oiu- lips take their earliest deepest law : 
 In jest we nioukl the clay that turns to stone, 
 Give little care wliat sort of seed is sown, 
 ■ What weeds therewith, or venoms. If we saw 
 The Future, with our part distinctly shown, 
 Vulture Remorse might tear us, beak and claw. 
 
 Dolt ! Coward ! Rogue ! must Ages yet to be 
 Inherit, with Life's necessary griefs. 
 
 What thou thyself pcrceivest base in thee ?— 
 Factitious crimes and duties, sham behefs. 
 Pride like a miu-derer's, pleasure like a thief s, 
 
 Man's very best besteep'd in falsity !
 
 THE FUNERAL. 59 
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 Q AY not we " hury him ; " nor talk 
 ^-^ Of " sleeping in the grave." 
 With foolish words we bind and banlk 
 The soul, and make it slave. 
 
 The mystic form whereby we knew 
 Our parent once, or friend, 
 
 Let this, indeed, have reverence due 
 For life's sake, though at end. 
 
 But this no more is man at all, 
 
 Mere water now and clay. 
 Fit to be purged by fire, or fall 
 
 Apart in slow decay. 
 
 Life — Death — are hieroglyphics, writ 
 
 By one mysterious hand ; 
 Their meaning passes all om* wit. 
 
 We may not understand. 
 
 Forget men's timid vain pretence. 
 Forget their babbling speech ; 
 
 Trust to thy Spirit's highest sense 
 The truest faith to reach.
 
 60 NO FUNERAL GLOOM. 
 
 "VT O funeral gloom, my dears, when I am gone, 
 -'-* Corpse -gazings, tears, black raiment, grave- 
 yard grimness ; 
 Think of me as withdrawn into the dimness, 
 Yours still, you mine ; remember all the best 
 Of our past moments, and forget the rest ; 
 And so, to where I wait, come gently on. 
 
 rpHIS patchwork world of things confus'dly named, 
 -*- What voice a frank account thereof could give 
 And not be almost for a devil 's blamed ? 
 Dear trusting eager Spirits, how shall I 
 To your incessant questionings reply ? 
 Children ! they make me heartily ashamed 
 
 That we amid such rubbish-mountains live. 
 And true horizons hardly can espy.
 
 A WEEK-DAY HYMN. 61 
 
 A WEEK-DAY HYMN. 
 
 ALMIGHTY Plutus ! Lord of Earth, 
 And Giver of all Good, 
 Thou who hast bless'd me, from my birth, 
 With lodging, clothes, and food ; 
 
 AVhose glory brightens every thought. 
 
 Inspirits every deed ; 
 In whose great name are wonders wrought 
 
 Whose smile is virtue's meed ; 
 
 Turn not Thy face from him who bends 
 
 Untiring at Thy throne ! 
 Repute and station, wife and friends, 
 
 I owe to Thee alone. 
 
 Thou helping — man dilates in form, 
 
 And proudly looks aroimd ; 
 Without Thee, he 's a two-legg'd worm, 
 
 But fit for underground. 
 
 The braggart sword, the subtle pen. 
 
 To Thee are dedicate ; 
 Yea, all the works and wits of men 
 
 Upon Thy service wait.
 
 (52 A WEEK-DAY HYMN. 
 
 liarons and dukes are foel)le things, 
 At Thy goodwill they shine ; 
 
 Mere vassals are the greatest Kings, 
 Tlieir fleets and armies Thine. 
 
 Before Thy footstool Beauty bows, 
 
 And Rank is cheap as mud, 
 And thin as smoke the bands and vows 
 
 Of Honour, Love, or Blood. 
 
 His body in Thy service doom'd, 
 
 The Martyr's not afraid ; 
 Nay, gives his soul to be consumed 
 
 To cinders, undismay'd. 
 
 In every tongue and chme confest, 
 
 In many shapes adored. 
 From North to Scnith, from East to West, 
 
 The nations own Thee Lord, — 
 
 Thou other and thrice-golden Sun 
 
 That dost tlie world illume, 
 IJright'ning whate'er Thou look'st upon, 
 
 And gilding ev'n the tomb ! 
 
 O may Thy sceptre, Plutus ! be 
 Supreme o'er land and wave — 
 
 So bless Thou we, and smile on me, 
 Thy subject, and Thy slave !
 
 A MODERN PLEASAUNCE. G3 
 
 
 
 A MODERN PLEASAUNCE. 
 
 UR Garden is full of flowers and bowers ; 
 But the toll of a death-bell haunts the air. 
 
 We have tried to drown it with lute and voice, 
 Love-songs and banquet-songs for choice, 
 But still it is ever tolling there ; 
 And who can silence that dreadful bell ? 
 
 Take the grim key-note ; modulate well ; 
 Let us keep time and tune with the knell, — 
 Sing of mad pleasure and fierce despair, 
 Roses, and blood, and the fire of hell ! 
 With pants and with sobs, wnth shrieks and moans. 
 Loud laughter mingled with dying groans ; 
 The death-bell knoUing pitilessly 
 Through all, our key-note, — and what care we, 
 In our Garden full of bowers and flowei's ?
 
 64 AN INVITATION. 
 
 AN INVITATION. 
 
 rilO the Wits thus writeth Croesus : 
 -^ Gracious Heav'n hath freely giv'n 
 Wealth, and now of Wit we're fain ; 
 Clever Talker, — Thinker, — Poet, — 
 Come and amuse us, lull us, please u.s ; 
 Let's each other entertiiin. 
 Never thwart us, never tease us ; 
 If you do, we'd have you know it, 
 Men of scanty dish and cup, 
 Not the least bit or sup 
 Of our feast shall fall yoiu* way. 
 Come, friends, come, t;dk and dine, 
 Drink our wine, and let's be gay ! 
 
 Thought, song, and wit, 
 Are pretty things ; 
 With nimble wings 
 
 Around they flit. 
 Tame little l>irds, and gently sit 
 With pleasant twitter — wit-wit-twit ! 
 Our world, the solid and the true, 
 Likes its decorations too, 
 And we emliellish it with you. 
 When we've nothing else to do. 
 
 So honovu" us, dear friends, and come. 
 Eat, drink, make yourselves at home ; 
 Nothing ever do or say 
 Which might vex us, while you stay ; 
 Ere you bore us, go away ; 
 And come again, another day.
 
 65 
 
 THE FIRST ENGLISH POET. 
 
 T^WELT a certain poor man in his day, 
 -*-^ Xear at hand to Hilda's holy house, 
 Learning's Lighthouse, blessed beacon, built 
 High o'er sea and river, on the head, 
 Strcaneskalch in Anglo-Saxon speech, 
 Wkifby, after, by the Norsemen named. 
 Csedmon was he call'd ; he came and went. 
 Doing humble duties for the monks. 
 Helping ^vith the horses at behest ; 
 ]\Iodest, meek, unmemorable man, 
 Moving slowly into middle age, 
 Toiling on, — twelve hundred years ago. 
 
 Still and silent, Ceedmon sometimes sat 
 With the serfs at lower end of haU ; 
 There he marvell'd much to hear the monks 
 Singing sweetly hymns unto their harp, 
 Handing it from each to each in turn. 
 Till his heart-strings trembled. Otherwhile, 
 Allien the serfs were merry with themselves. 
 Sung their folk-songs upon festal nights. 
 Handing round the harp to each in tm'n, 
 Csedmon, though he loved not lighter songs, 
 Long'd to sing, — but he could never sing.
 
 66 THE FIRST ENGLISH POET. 
 
 Sad and silent would he creep away. 
 Wander forth alone, he wist not why, 
 Watch the sky and water, stars or clouds 
 CUmbing from the sea ; and in his soul 
 Shadows mounted up and mystic lights, 
 Echoes vague and vast return'd the voice 
 Of the rushing river, roaring waves. 
 Twilight's windy whisper from the fells, 
 Howl of brindled wolf, and cry of bird ; 
 Every sight and soiuid of solitude 
 Ever mingling in a master thought, 
 Glorious, terrible, of the Mighty One 
 Who made all things. As the Book declared 
 " In the Beginning He made Heaven and EarthT 
 
 Thus lived Coedmon, quiet year by year : 
 Listeu'd, learn'd a little, as he could ; 
 Work'd, and mused, and pra/d, and held his peace. 
 
 Toward the end of harvest time, the hinds 
 Held a feast, and svmg their festal songs, 
 Handing round the harp from each to each. 
 But before it came where Csedmon .sat. 
 Sadly, silently, he stole away, 
 Wander'd to the stable-yard and wept, 
 Weeping laid him low among the straw, 
 Fell asleep at last. And in his sleep \ 
 
 Came a Stranger, calling him by name : i 
 
 " Ctedmon, sing to me ! " "I cannot sing. ; 
 
 Wherefore— wo is me !— I left the house." i
 
 THE FIRST ENGLISH POET. 67 
 
 " Sing, I bid thee ! " " T\Tiat then shall I sing ? " 
 " Sing the Making of the World.'"' Whereon 
 Csedmon sung : and when he woke from sleep 
 Still the verses stay'd with him, and more 
 Sprang hke foimtain-water from a I'ock 
 Fed from never-faihng secret springs. 
 
 Praising Heaven most high, but nothing proud, 
 Csedmon sought the Steward and told his tale. 
 Who to holy Hilda led him in. 
 Pious Princess Hilda, pure of heart, 
 Euling Mother, royal Edwin's niece. 
 Caedmon at her bidding boldly sang 
 Of the Making of the World, in words 
 WondroiLs ; whereupon they wotted well 
 'Twas an Angel taught him, and his gift 
 Came direct from God : and glad were they. 
 
 Thenceforth Holy Hilda greeted him 
 Brother of the brotherhood. He grew 
 Famedest monk of all the monastery ; 
 Singing many high and holy songs 
 Folk were fain to hear, and loved him for : 
 Till his death-day came, that comes to all. 
 
 Caedmon bode that evening in his bed. 
 He at peace with men and men with him ; 
 Wrapt in comfort of the Eixcharist; 
 Weak and silent. " Soon our Brethren sing 
 Evensong?" he whisj)er'd. "Brother, yea."
 
 68 THE FIRST ENGLISH POET. 
 
 i 
 
 " Let us wait ftir that," he said ; and soon fi 
 
 Sweetly sounded up the solemn chant. j 
 
 Cajdmon smiled and listen'd ; when it lull'd, , 
 
 Sidelong turn'd to sleep his old white head, ', 
 
 Shut his eyes, and gave his soul to God, j 
 
 Maker of the World. ' 
 
 i 
 
 Twelve hmidred years \ 
 
 Since are past and gone, nor he forgot. 
 Earliest Poet of the English Race. 
 Rude and simple were his days and thoughts. 
 Wisely spcaketh no man, howso learn'd, , 
 
 Of the making of this wondrous World, 
 Save a Poet, with a reverent soul.
 
 69 
 
 SONNET : IN A BOOK OF MAXIMS. 
 
 " IITAXIMS " of wisdom, — minims fitlier named. 
 
 -^'-'- If wise in any sense ; the nobler part 
 Of human nature sneeringly disclaim'd, 
 
 The low put forward with malicious art ! 
 
 Chicane at com-t and cheating in the mart 
 All see ; but now examine imashamed 
 The vanities and failings of the famed, 
 
 The selfishness of good folk : does yoiu" heart 
 Not feel its cockles tickled ? ' We pretend 
 
 To nothing, you and I, we know too well 
 How mean we are ; but just observe, my friend, 
 
 More closely these pretentions to excel, 
 
 And with a smile admit that, truth to tell, 
 You find us aU poor creatures in the end !'
 
 THE STOLEN PATH. 
 
 TT IGHWAYS, byways, such are my ways ; 
 ^^ Parks like this 1 detest, 
 Grumble to travel on miles of gravel 
 
 Through landscajies robb'd of their zest ; 
 Even through the gatclodge sentry 
 Yields us privilege of entry, 
 Lets us view, in passing through. 
 Lawns and groves whose loneliness 
 Doth imprisonment express 
 Not freedom, rhododendron flowers 
 Lording it over woodland bowers. 
 Wandering rill damm'd up to make 
 A lazy languid pleasiu-e-lake, 
 (Who therein doth pleasm-e take ?) 
 Clipt yews ; geometric beds ; 
 All 'twixt gate and gate that spreads. 
 
 But where is that old Pathway's line, 
 "Wliich, could we find it, is yours and mine. 
 Free from before King Alfred's day ; 
 A winding walk, a pleasant way, 
 By mead and heath, by grove and glen, 
 Belonging to the feet of men 
 Past, present, and to come ; that shoVd 
 The prospect, saved the dusty road ? 
 
 Those who already have too much 
 Would fain get all into their clutch ;
 
 THE STOLEN PATH. 71 
 
 The demon greed of robber kings 
 
 Is busy bere in lesser things ; 
 
 The Path is gone ; not shut by law, 
 
 But filch'd with shameless cunning paw 
 
 And swallow'd : none at hand to dare 
 
 Beard the culprit in his lair, 
 
 The Great Man, to whose mind are known 
 
 No rights at all except his own, 
 
 Who fain would shut from every eye 
 
 Th' old landscape and more ancient sky, 
 
 Save upon suflferance. Honoured Sir, 
 
 Keflect ! Ai"t thou indeed a cur, 
 
 A caitiff ? What, beneath the sun, 
 
 Hast thou, have those before thee, done. 
 
 To earn so huge an overshare 
 
 Of the world's good things ? Have a care, 
 
 Lest, when your Worship sits on high, 
 
 A pilferer of twigs to try, 
 
 Or casual poacher, some one cry 
 
 In accents of contempt and wTath, 
 
 " Who stole our ancient Pubhc Path ? " 
 
 — A crime incomparably worse 
 
 Than his who merely takes a purse, 
 
 Poor devil ! Avith the treadmill near ; 
 
 No Magistrate, M.P., or Peer.
 
 72 
 
 PER CONTRA. 
 
 rPHIS old hereditary ground 
 
 -*- Welcomes within its peaceful bf)und 
 
 All peaceful comers. Push the gate : 
 
 What miles of oak and fern await 
 
 Our footsteps ; unmolested space 
 
 As fair and free for you and me 
 
 As for His Grace who owns the place, 
 
 AVhose o^\^lership is not the same 
 
 As selfishness, with finer name, — 
 
 Long live such noble dukes as he I 
 
 In lieu of herald's meagre leaves, 
 
 The grateful Fancy richlier weaves, 
 
 And doth the whole wide woodland set 
 
 For garland round this coronet.
 
 73 
 
 THREE SISTERS. 
 
 rPHREE sisters, Charlotte, Emily, and Anne, 
 -L Afar in Yorkshire wolds they live together ; 
 Names that I keep like any sacristan, 
 The human registry of souls as pure 
 As sky in hermit waters on a moor, 
 Those liquid islands of dark seas of heather ; 
 Voices that reach my solitude from theirs ; 
 Hands that I kiss a thousand miles away, 
 And send a thousand greetings of my own- 
 But these, alas ! only the west wind bears. 
 — Nay, they are gone. The hills and vales are lone 
 Where Earth once knew them. What is now to say ? 
 Three strangers dead — 'tis little to endure: 
 A crowd of strangers vanish every day. 
 Yet will I see those gravestones if I can. 
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF THE LAMP. 
 
 HLOW-BURNING in the cavern's depth appears 
 '^ The Talismanic Lamp which rules the spheres 
 Of men and spirits. Safely he hath pass'd 
 Swords, flames, ghouls, dragons, demons ; but at last 
 A Phantom, hke his Mother, sadly stands 
 Full in the destined way, with warning hands. 
 He pauses, he forgets, he sinks, he sleeps, — 
 And in Elysium his true Mother weeps.
 
 74 
 
 M' 
 
 "INE — mine — 
 
 Heart, it is thine — 
 A look, a look of love ! 
 O wonder ! magical charm ! 
 Tliou summer-night, silent and warm ! 
 How is it a glance 
 Can make the heart dance 
 Which was weary and dull before ? 
 Hush ! whisper and question no more ; 
 Nor to wind, nor to wave, nor to starlight above 
 Tell thy joy ; let it rest 
 Like a bird in the nest, 
 Fall asleep without thinking, content to be blest, 
 And to know that this world is divine. 
 It is mine — mine — 
 Heart, it is thine — 
 A glance of love — of love !
 
 75 
 
 T AND my Love together, 
 ■*- Deep in sunny sheen ; 
 Raiment of white innocence 
 Clothed us on the green. 
 
 We rechned together, 
 Musing grave and sweet ; 
 
 Golden air embraced us, 
 Blue waves nigh our feet. 
 
 Love be my guardian. 
 Dreams my heritage ! 
 
 My Love and I together 
 In the golden age. 
 
 TXrHO could say that Love is blind ? 
 
 ' '^ Piercing-sighted, he will find 
 A thousand subtle charms that lie 
 Hid from every common eye. 
 
 You that love not, blind are ye, 
 Learn to love, and learn to see. 
 'Tis the insight of the lover 
 Beauty's essence can discover.
 
 POESIS HUMANA. 
 
 TT7IIAT is the Artist's duty / 
 
 ' His work, however wrought, 
 Shape, colour, word, or tone, 
 Is to make better known 
 (Himself divinely taught). 
 To praise and celebrate, 
 Because his lo\'e is great, 
 The lovely miracle 
 Of Universal Beauty. 
 This message would he tell. 
 
 Amid the day's crude strife. 
 This message is his trust ; 
 With all his heart and soul. 
 With all his skill and strength. 
 Seeking to add at length. 
 Because he may and must, 
 Some atom to the whole 
 Of man's inheritance ; 
 Some fineness to the glance. 
 Some richness to the life. 
 
 And if he deal perforce 
 With evil and with pain, 
 With hori'or and affright. 
 He does it to our gain ;
 
 POESIS HUMANA. 
 
 Makes felt the mighty coiu'se, 
 Our courage to sustain, 
 That sweepeth on amain, 
 Of law — whose atmosphere 
 Is beauty and dehght ; 
 For these are at its source. 
 
 His work, however small, 
 Itself hath rounded well, 
 Even like Earth's own ball 
 Wrapt in its airy shell. 
 His gentle magic brings 
 The mystery of things ; 
 It gives dead substance wings ; 
 It shows in little, much ; 
 And by an artful touch 
 Conveys the hint of all.
 
 
 GREAT ANCESTRY. ' 
 
 TTTE sat within a cottage by the waves, ■, 
 
 ' Hearkening to music, voice and instrument, i 
 
 That floated to the still autumnal night 
 
 Starr'd over downs and ocean ; and between I 
 
 Its pulses, boom'd the cadence of the sea I 
 
 Surge after siu-ge along our island shore. I 
 
 Fair the musicians, and the listeners fair. ' 
 
 But I, apart, not merely saw and heard j 
 
 Those living faces — songs — the sea — the stars ; j 
 
 For two majestic Shades were in the night : 
 Deep-sounding echoes out of England's past 
 Commingled vaguely with the murmuring flood ; 
 John Milton's daughters made us melody, 
 And Ci'omwell's daughters listen'd while thty sung. 
 
 [Freshwater Bay.]
 
 79 
 
 AUTUMN and sunset now have double-dyed 
 The foHage and the fern of this deep wood. 
 The sky above it melting placidly 
 All crimsonings to gray. No sound is heard. 
 The Spirit of the Place, like mine, seems luU'd 
 In pensive retrospection. One more Spring, 
 And one more Summer past, and one more Year. 
 
 Anon the distant bell begins to chime, 
 And calls me homeward, calls me to a home 
 As lonely as the forest, peopled but 
 With memories, and fantasies, and shadows. 
 These wait for me this evening. What beyond / 
 The silent simset of a lonely hfe ? 
 
 TjlOUR ducks on a pond, 
 •*- A grass-bank beyond, 
 A blue sky of spring. 
 White clouds on the wing ; 
 What a little thing 
 To remember for years — 
 To remember with tears !
 
 80 
 
 ALAS, friend, since your journey was begun. 
 How many have outstript you in the race!' 
 I have not raced at all, nor even run, 
 
 But gone along my track at easy pace, 
 Look'd at the landscapes, gathcr'd berries, shared 
 Wayfaring talk, and barter'd song and tale ; 
 Loiter'd to hear the lark or nightingale ; 
 'Twas for the journey, not the goal, I cared. 
 
 "QUE SCATS- JE?" 
 
 pvLD INIichael of the Mountain, strolling past, 
 
 ^ Careless and quiet, now and then would cast 
 
 To right or left a penetrating look ; 
 
 And gather'd waifs and strays up with a hook 
 
 Shaped like the sign of query ; scrap and rag 
 
 In easy reach he clapt into his bag. 
 
 Idly assiduous, mocking his own whim 
 
 With twinkling eye, and took all home with him, 
 
 Where lazily he sorted them at last. 
 
 What skill or magic in his fingers lay, 
 
 What subtly added he, 'twere hard to say ; 
 
 But somehow, this took substance as a Book 
 
 That shines where all around hath fallen dim.
 
 81 
 
 EQUALITY AT HOME. 
 
 " A NTOINE," cries Mirabeau, returning gay 
 
 -^ From the Assembly, " on and from to-day 
 Nobility's abolish'd, — men are men, — 
 No title henceforth used but Citizen ! 
 A new thrice-glorious era dawns for France ! 
 And now, my bath." " Yes, Citizen." A glance 
 Of flame the huge man at his servant shot ; 
 Then, wallowing sea-god-like, " Antoine ! more hot," 
 He growl' d. " Good, Citizen." A hand of wrath 
 Gript Antoine's head and soused it in the bath. 
 He spluttering, dripping, trembling, — " Kascal ! 
 
 know " 
 His master thunder'd as he let him go, 
 " For you I still remain Count Mirabeau ! " 
 
 A REMINISCENCE OF THE ISLE OF MAN. 
 
 /^NE April found me upon Mona's shore, 
 ^ With daily prospect of the Cumbrian Hills, 
 Cloud-wreathed or sunlit, o'er the Irish Sea. 
 " A Man dwells there ; and one day I shall walk 
 Through landscapes that confess him suzerain 
 G
 
 82 A REMINISCENCE OF THE ISLE OF MAN. 
 
 Under the Sovereign Lord of earth anel men, — 
 May see the Prince himself, may humbly meet 
 His venerable eye, may hear his voice." 
 And day by day new Si»ring upon the fields 
 And waves grew brighter. 
 
 One day brought this word — 
 ' The wise old Poet of the mountain-land 
 Is gone away for ever. You may seek 
 But never shall you find him any more 
 Among the shadows of the folded hiUs, 
 By lonely tarn or dashing rivulet, 
 Down the gi-een valley, up the windy fell. 
 In rock-built pass, or luider whispering leaves, 
 Or floating on the broad translucent mere 
 Between two heavens. You will but find his grave.' 
 
 I paced the strand, and clearer than till now 
 Saw the far coast across a glittering tide ; 
 But how forloiii those faint-blue rocky peaks ! 
 How emptied of its joy the enchanted ground ! 
 I paced the strand, and raised mine eyes anew, 
 And saw as 'twere a halo round the peaks. 
 Something of Him abides there, and will stay. 
 Those Mountains were in Wordsworth's soul ; 
 
 his soul 
 Is on those Mountains, now, and evermore.
 
 83 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 "I N morning mist and dream I lay, 
 
 -*- And saw, methouglit, two Babes at play 
 
 In a gi"een garden, girl and boy ; 
 
 With Lucy jaainting in her chair, 
 
 The smishine catching golden hair 
 
 At moments when she hfts her head 
 
 To look at these. — 
 
 A dream 1 — Ah woe ! 
 This used to be, long time ago. 
 The Mother and the Babes are dead. 
 And I am old and lonely : fled 
 Life's pleasure now, itself a dream. 
 
 How long a dream lasts, who can say, 
 Or how it drifts, and intershifts ? 
 I woke, I saw the sunny beam, 
 I heard the shrieking of the shafts, 
 Then flung my curtain back. Below, 
 Two merry faces all a-glow 
 Look up, " Good morning, dear Papa ! 
 Mama is coming home to-day." 
 
 Grant us to taste, ye Mystic Powers, 
 Our happy hours, — how they haste !
 
 84 
 
 VIVANT ! 
 
 "V' O need, I hope, to doubt my loyalty ; 
 -'-* From childhood I vv;is fond of Royalty ; 
 To Kings extravagantly dutiful, 
 To Queens yet more, if yoiuig and beautiful 
 
 How rich their rolios ! what crowns they all had too 
 And yet how I'riendly to a small lad too ! 
 At glorious banquets highly gracing him, 
 Beside the lovely Princess placing him. 
 
 Their kingdoms' names I did not care about ; 
 They lay in Fairyland or thereabout ; 
 Their date, though, to forget were crime indeed, — 
 Exactly, " Once upon a time " indeed. 
 
 And still they reign o'er folk contented, there : 
 
 I hope to have my son presented there : 
 
 At every virtuous court in Fairyland, 
 
 Its Cave-Land, Forest-Land, and Airy-Land. 
 
 So down with democratic mania ! 
 Long live great Oberon and Titania, 
 Imperial Riders of those regions ! — he 
 Be shot who wavers in allegiancy ! 
 
 And bless all ilonarchs in alliance with them, 
 "NVlio've no enchanters, dragons, giants with them, 
 To keep sweet ladies under lock and key. 
 And answer challenges in mocking key !
 
 85 
 
 BIRDS' NAMES. 
 
 /\F Creatures with Wings, come now let lis see 
 
 ^-^ ^Tiich have names like you and me. 
 
 Hook-nosed Poll, that thinks herself pretty, 
 
 Everyone knows, of all birds most witty. 
 
 Daw our good friend, in grayish black, 
 
 If you ask him his name, will answer " Jack I " 
 
 Bold Philip Sparrow hopping you meet, 
 
 " PhiUp ! Phihp ! " — in garden and street. 
 
 Robin Redbreast perches near. 
 
 And sweetly sings in the fall of the year. 
 
 Grave Madge Owlet hates the light 
 
 And shouts " hoo ! hoo I " in the woods at night. 
 
 Sweet Nightingale, that May loves well, 
 
 Old Poets have call'd her Philomel, 
 
 But PhilomeliLs, he sings best, 
 
 While she sits listening in her nest. 
 
 Martin ! Martin ! — tell me why 
 
 They call you so ; I know not, I ; 
 
 Martin the black, under cottage eaves, 
 
 Martin the small, in sandy caves. 
 
 Willy, Willy Wagtail, what nms he takes ! 
 
 Whenever he stops, his tail he shakes. 
 
 Head and tail httle Jenny Wren perks. 
 
 As in and out of the hedge she jerks. 
 
 Brisk Tom Tit, the lover of trees, 
 
 Picks-bflf every fly and grub he sees. 
 
 Kitty Wake on the sea-wave rides.
 
 86 birds' names. 
 
 Her nest on the lofty clift' abides. 
 Mag, the cunning chattering Pie, 
 Builds her home in a tree-top high, — 
 Mag, you're a terril)le thief, tie ! 
 
 Tom and Pliilip and Jenny and Polly, 
 Ikladge and Martin and Ilobin and Willy, 
 Philomelus and Kitty and Jack, — 
 Mag the rogue, half-white, half-black, 
 Stole an egg from every Bird ; 
 Such an uproar was never heard ; 
 All of them Hew upon Mag together. 
 And pluck'd her naked of every feather ! 
 
 I'M but a lowly gooseberry 
 Hanging on ray native tree 
 Here i' the sunshine of the garden 
 (For which I humbly beg yom- pardon) 
 Just within the children's reach ; 
 Don't be angiy witli me, pray. 
 Mister Critic, — did I say. 
 Ever say I was a peach 1
 
 87 
 
 AMY Margaret's five years old, 
 Amy Margaret's hair is gold, 
 Dearer twenty -thousand-fold 
 Than gold, is Amy Margaret. 
 
 "Amy" is friend, is "Margaret" 
 The pearl for crown or carkanet ? 
 Or peeping daisy, summei-'s pet ? 
 Which are you. Amy Margaret ? 
 
 A friend, a daisy, and a pearl, 
 A kindly, simple, precious girl, — 
 Such, howsoe'er the world may twirl, 
 Be ever, — Amy Margaret ! 
 
 I SAW a little Birdie fly, 
 Merrily piping came he ; 
 "Whom d'ye sing to. Bird ?" said I ; 
 " Sing ? — I sing to Amy." 
 
 "Very sweet you sing," I said; 
 
 " Then," quoth he, "to pay me. 
 Give one little crumb of bread, 
 
 A little smile from Amy." 
 
 " Just," he sings, " one little smile ; 
 
 O, a frown would slay me ! 
 Thanks, and now I'm gone awhile, — 
 
 Fare-you-well, dear Amy!"
 
 88 
 
 A IMOUNTAIX ROUND. 
 
 ^AKE han<ls, merry neighbours, for dancing the 
 -^ round ! 
 
 Moonlight is f;iir, and dclirii)U.s the air. 
 From valley to valley our music shall sound, 
 
 And startle the wolf in hi.s lair. 
 From summits of snow to the forests below, 
 Let vulture and crow hear the echoes — ho ! 
 
 (0 ho !) 
 While shadows on meadows in dancing the roinid 
 
 Go whirligig, 2)air after pair !
 
 89 
 
 A MOUNTAIN EOUND. 
 
 Allegretto. 
 
 i 
 
 * 
 
 dim. 
 
 w 
 
 it 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 Take hands, mer ■ ry neighbours, for 
 . dim. 
 
 dancing the 
 
 1 
 
 X 1 
 
 N- 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 m' -1 1 
 
 1^ 
 
 
 1 
 
 rj- 
 
 1 * J 
 
 J' A m 
 
 ^ ■ J 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 • 
 
 * s • 
 
 ^ ■ 1 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 # 
 
 
 <^-m^- 
 
 round! Moonlight is fair and de - li-cious the air; From 
 cres. ' ' 
 
 =^-, 
 
 ^i 
 
 X 
 
 r^_ 
 
 val - ley to 
 A 
 
 yal - ley our mu-sic 
 
 shall sound, And star-tie 
 
 > 
 
 the 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 «• # — '" 
 
 1 ■ 
 
 
 r-^ 1 * 
 
 «• * ^* 
 
 ,• r 
 
 
 m ' 
 
 i^i' 
 
 l_j J i 
 
 
 1 L- 
 
 
 -,j * . 
 
 
 |y ' 
 
 1 y 
 
 
 rJ 
 
 
 ^^™ 
 
 
 
 
 wolf in his 
 dim. 
 
 lair. 
 
 From sum-mits of snow to the 
 
 S^^ 
 
 :c2t 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 for-eat be - low, Let vul-ture and crow hear the ech-oes, 
 /TN p- /Tn ^/ Segno. dim. _ , 
 
 
 1 — I- 
 
 ^ 
 
 Jtz?: 
 
 ho ! (0-ho !) While shadows on mea-dows in dancing the 
 dim. I /7\ J>ffli Segno Presto. 
 
 ^t^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 1^=*: 
 
 -G^ 
 
 i 
 
 round Go whir-li-gig pair af ter pair !
 
 90 
 
 JOHN CLODD. 
 
 TOHN CLODD was greatly troubled in his mind, 
 
 *' But reason for the same could noways find. 
 
 Says he " I'll go to !Mary ; I've no doubt, 
 
 If any mortal can, .she'll vind it out." 
 
 " Why, John, what is the matter '( where dost ail '? 
 
 In 'ead or stummick 1 eh, thou do.st look }mle. 
 
 Can't ait ? can't sleep ? yet nayther sick nor sore ? 
 
 Ne'er velt the like in all thy life afore ? 
 
 "Why, lad, I'll tell 'ee what, — thou bee.st in love." 
 
 John look'd at Mary, gave his hat a shove. 
 And rubb'd his chin awhile, and mutter'd " There ! 
 Only to think o' that !" — then from a stare 
 Broke by degrees into a smile, half-witted, 
 " Dang ! Mary, I don't know but what you've hit it ! 
 I thought on no sich thing, but now I see 
 'Tis plain as haystack. Yaas, in love I be ! 
 But who be I in love wi, Mary 1 Come !" 
 " Why, can't yo tell that, John ? Art blind, or dumb ? 
 Is't Emma "V\Tiite ? or Liz ? or Dora Peak ? 
 Or pirty little Sue ? or Widow Sleek 1 
 Or Tilda Ruddilip ? or Martha's Jane 1 
 Or Squire's new Dairymaid ? or old Miss Blaine, 
 Wi' lots o' money 1 Don't be angry, John, 
 I've guess'd all round, — you hates 'em every one ? 
 Still, you loves ziunbody . . . Mayhap 'tis me.?"
 
 JOHN CLODD. 91 
 
 " Why, Mary, what a clever lass you be ! 
 
 I never once took thought ou sich a thing ; 
 
 But you it is, and no one else, by Jing !" 
 
 " Well, John, that's settled ; so Goodnight at last." 
 
 " No, Mary, don'tee rim away so fast ! 
 
 What next are we to do ?" 
 
 " T\Tiat next ? O bother ! 
 Get married, I suppose, sometime or other." 
 " Right, lass, again ! I niver thought o' that. 
 How do'ee iver vind out things so pat ? 
 But stop a minute, Mary, — tell me how 
 Does folk — . . . She's off! I'm fairly puzzled now !"
 
 !)2 
 
 FAMILIAIl Kl'lSTLE TO A LITTLE BOY, 
 With a Book of "Songs, &c." 
 
 T MUST own, my dear Sonny, 'tis likely but few, 
 -*• Will care for this l)ook ; Init I count upon you 
 For one reader, and hope you'll find something to 
 
 please 
 And nothing to plague you in verses like these. 
 You've already .a much truer taste in poetics 
 Than many grown-up folk, and some famous critics ; 
 An " ear," which you have, is essential ; Ijut this 
 The people most wanting in can't even miss. 
 O give me the young ! And at least you'll be mine ; 
 You'll sometimes remember a song or a line 
 As the years travel round, as new mornings arise, 
 New sunsets draw softly away from the skies. 
 Like the old ones I saw ? When your life-wheel 
 
 shall bring 
 The freshness, the flutter, the ripple of Spring, 
 And Summer's broad glow, and grave Autumn be- 
 
 dight 
 In his tarnish'd gold russet ; then bareness and white. 
 And the clasp of sweet home in the long Winter's 
 
 night. 
 With their moods and their fancies ; — "As I feel, he 
 
 felt," 
 Perhaps you will say, " and was able to melt
 
 FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A LITTLE BOY. 93 
 
 Life's crudeness and strangeness, some part, into 
 
 song. 
 For his soothing and mine." Dearest Gerald, so 
 
 long 
 As a ghost may keep earth romid him (not meaning 
 
 clay) 
 This will soothe too, to fancy ' Perhaps he will say.' 
 Nor will that ghost be happy unless he may know 
 Your footsteps have wander'd where his used to go 
 In the young time and song-time — among those 
 
 green hills 
 And gi'ay mossy rocks, and swift-flowing i-ills. 
 On mountain, by river and wave-trampled shore. 
 Where the wild region nom-ish'd the poet it bore. 
 And colour'd his mind with its shadows and gleams. 
 That lonely west coast was the house of his dreams 
 And his visions, — Future and Past that combine 
 At a point ever shifting and flitting, to shine 
 In the spark of the Present ! Old stories re-sown 
 Sprang to life once again, became pai-t of my own. 
 Like 'mmiimy- wheat' sprouting in little home- 
 croft ; 
 The Ladder for Angels — it slanted aloft 
 From oiu- meadow ; the Star in the East hung on 
 
 high 
 Where Fermanagh spreads dark to the midwinter 
 
 sky; 
 And the Last Trumpet sounded o'er Mullinashee 
 With its graves old and new. And now tenderly, 
 
 see.
 
 !)4 FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A LITTLE BOY. 
 
 They glide fonvard, and gaily, the sweet shapes of 
 
 Greece, 
 All natives and neighbours, for wonders don't cease ; 
 Shy Dryads come pcciniig in woody Corlay, 
 And surge-lifted Nereids in Donegal Bay. 
 Olympus lay south, where the mists meet and melt 
 Upon Truskar. My Helicon, drought never felt ; 
 It was Tul)bernavoka, tliat deep cressy well. 
 A goddcss-nynipli kiss'd my boy-lips if I fell 
 Into shunber at Pan's hoiu- in fragrant June grass ; 
 Processions of helmeted heroes woiUd pass 
 In the twilight; I saw the white robes of the bard 
 With his lyre. But the harp whose clear music I heard 
 AVas Irish, and Erin could also unfold 
 Her songs and her dreams and her stories of old. 
 See Ireland, dear Sonny ! my uiui;ure was there ; 
 And my song-gift, for which you at least are to care, 
 Took colours and flavom-s unfitted for vogue, 
 (With a tinge of the shamrock, a touch of the brogue. 
 Unconsciously mingling and threading through all) 
 On that wild verge of Europe, in dark Donegal. 
 — " Dark," did I say ! — Is there sunshine elsewhere ? 
 Such brightness of grass, such glory of air. 
 Such a sea rolling in on such sands, a blue joy 
 Of more mystical mountains ? 
 
 O eyes of the Boy ! 
 O heart of the Boy ! newly wakeu'd from sleep. 
 Might I sleep again, Master, long slumber and deep. 
 To wake rested ! 
 
 But go there, my Gerald, this book
 
 FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A LITTLE BOY. 95 
 
 In your pocket, with fresh, heart and eyes take a look, 
 At the poor lonely region, — ah, where "will you see 
 The heavenly enchantment that wTapt it for me ? 
 
 In any case. Laddie, I trust you wUl be as 
 Good son as was formerly pious ^neas. 
 Will carry your Daddie the poet right through 
 This house-afire Present and hidlabaloo, 
 And, going on calmly when forward you've bent yom- 
 
 eye, 
 Set him down safe in the Twentieth Century. 
 Stransre feels that no-when ! I shiver at sight 
 Of a realm like the North Pole, of icefields and night ! 
 Can the world and old England be yet Living on 1 
 Our Critics and Big- Wigs, where are they gone ? 
 Nay, courage ! methinks one may feel more at home 
 By degrees there : a sweet chdly breath seems to 
 
 come, 
 Like new Spring's, from the Futiu-e. It won't be so 
 
 bad ; 
 In fact I believe it will suit me, my lad ! 
 We travel to new things in time as in space. 
 And escape out of habitude's bonds that embrace 
 And enjail us ; we win change of air for our thought, 
 And that same with restorative virtue is fraught. 
 Though knaves, fools, and humbugs no doubt there 
 
 will be. 
 They won't be the same we're accustom'd to see 
 And be plagued with. 'Tis thinking about them 
 
 offends ;
 
 9G FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A LITTLE BOY. 
 
 But the new can't tiike hokl. Nay, respectable 
 
 friends 
 Often bore lis — the crowd of relations, connections, 
 Conditions, traditions, and foolish sul)jcctions ; 
 (Small wonder if people run soniotinics away, 
 " Without any reason," as dull neighbours say, 
 Who themselves are the reason, with all the routine 
 One got sick of)— Hurrah ! change of air ! change 
 of scene ! 
 "Number Twenty will have its own Poets, be sure, 
 Its own Judges" — I hope so : do fashions endure '? 
 They flow, eddy, try back, as one often has found ; 
 And a thing out of favour — its turn may come 
 
 round ; 
 Dear Riblic may long for the simple and plain 
 For a change, too, — sound appetite come, or again 
 Perhaps from a hot queasy stomach's sensations 
 Demanding cool drink after fiery potations. 
 Why care I Just because there are people, a few, 
 Scatter'd up and down space (perhaps more, if wo 
 
 knew) 
 Whom a flying word reaches, a force yet more subtle 
 And swift than the ethci-'s electrical shuttle. 
 All-weaving ; a shaft thrilling muscle and marrow, 
 Or lighting as softly as thistle-seed arrow, 
 To comfort, to Idndlc, to help, to delight ; 
 And our brave English speech has a far-reaching 
 
 flight, 
 (Though what may become of it soon there's no tel- 
 ling
 
 FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A LITTLE BOY. 97 
 
 With novel and newspaper, slang and niisspel- 
 
 ling) — 
 A mere little Song — Yes, one's hardly content 
 To think one's fine impulses, efibrts, misspent, 
 All the hopes and sweet fancies but blossom and 
 
 cloud 
 Of an old merry ]\Ia}'time, long stretch'd in its shroud. 
 But enough to this tmie. So cushla-ma-chree, 
 (As my niu-se used to say) and dear Header to be, 
 Garait og, may God bless thee, my own little Son ! 
 — Look me up in the year Nineteen-hundred-and-one.
 
 98 
 
 THE WINTER PEAR. 
 
 TS always Age severe ? 
 -^ Is never Youth austere ? 
 Spriug-fniits are soiu* to eat ; 
 Autumn's the mellow time. 
 Nay, very late i'th' year, 
 Short ilay and frosty rime. 
 Thought, like a winter pear. 
 Stone-cold in summer's prime. 
 May turn from harsh to sweet. 
 
 ' "VTEW Heavens and New Earth,' — and must all 
 -'-~ be new-created 1 
 
 No. One touch to your microcosm may do what- 
 soever is fated.
 
 99 
 
 TTTHEN I was young and fresh and gay, 
 
 ' "^ Full moody oft I went ; 
 
 The troubles of the passing day 
 
 So wrought me discontent ; 
 
 Those flaws and fallings-short in life 
 
 Which every one must bear, 
 Oppressions, hints to rebel strife, 
 
 Enormous wi'ongs they wei'e. 
 
 Whatever man could have or be, 
 
 Nay, every fancied boon, 
 Belong-'d, I thought, as much to me 
 
 As share of sun and moon ! 
 
 Whom Eden could not satisfy 
 
 Is thankful for a flow'r ; 
 Who craved for earth and sea and sky 
 
 Loves most a quiet hour. 
 
 To run safe thi'ough this earthly lease, 
 
 Be kindly with one's kind. 
 Enjoy a little, part in peace. 
 
 Were rare good luck, I find.
 
 100 
 
 LIBER LOQUITUR. 
 
 TF perchance you like my look, 
 
 -'- Buy (don't boiTow) me, little Book ; 
 
 Money I was never made for. 
 
 But the printing must be paid for ; 
 
 If you purchase for a groat 
 
 Per thousand lines, find one good thought 
 
 Per thousand, am I dearly bought ? 
 
 A. IRELIND ANb 00., PKINTEBS, PAU. MILL, MANCBESTBB. 
 
 mn'En;!TTY OP -r ,1Ipokma 
 
 X.OS AiNGELES
 
 UC bUUmthN ncuiui^ni 
 
 AA 000 369 367 8 
 
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