: , V Mm s3ytS S%£ SEffiS ll$P$M2 ISBBiii Bba7m£ TsBRm THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 'SNit Ophelion, a Scholar Night O'er the crocus-sprinkled meadows When the sun was sinking low, And eve, like a gray mist rising Led forth a star in heaven, Mother and child stood gazing On the glitter far below ; OPHELION 31 Far beyond the long dark shadows Sloping eastward from the brow Of the purple hills to westward ; Far beyond the rich low champaign, Gazing on the crystal glitter Where the blue waves ebb and flow. And the mother sang a song That was made in years of old, When men were fair as gods, And the gods were seen of men, When the singer's heart was glad and bold, The days that come never again. 32 OPIIELION " Phoebus, Lord of the light of heaven, Lord of the light of the rising morn, Strong in the lightning speed of thine arrow, Bright with the splendour of days unborn, Hail, strong conqueror ! Hail, all-victorious ! Low at thy feet lies the serpetit of night. Phcebus, thy brow, than the noontide more glorious, Betid on thy suppliants, Light of light ! " Lady of heaven most pure and holy, Artemis, fleet as the flying deer, Glide through the dusk like a silver shadow, Mirror thy brow in the lonely mere. We with the break of day will follow The light-hooved roe through woodland and hollow, But with garlands and songs of the maidens bright, May we first win thy favour, Lady of light." OPHELION 33 Now the wind breathed laden with chill of dew, Creeping over the furrowy grass, The trembling grass of the upland meadow, While far in the lingering light of even, The hills lay circled with gleaming blue, Bathed in the molten gold of heaven, Folded at rest in purple shadow. And in dusky gloom of ferny dell The low wind's murmurs rose and fell, And the bee had fled from the dewy clover, And forth on the night came the beetle, the rover, Winging his way through the dusky gloom, And striking his wings, with sudden boom, 'Gainst the hollow oak by the deep-delved well. And mother and child wended their way Up the low steps of the winding road, D 34 OrilELION Through the olive grove in the mild Spring weather, And the child pressed close by his mother's side For fear of dread shapes in their dim abode, In the twisted olives gnarled and gray (Where the pallid wind-flower, scarce descried In the shifting shade, droops weary-eyed And the moth a violet's breath divines), Till at last they stood 'neath the tall dark pines, And passed through the sweet white heather, Where the risen moon in the pale blue sky Silvered the pines. The Eastern sea, With a crystal ripple of liquid waters, Smiled on her advent, and far and nigh The frore light rested on river and lea. " Mother, thy song was of Phoebus and Artemis. Phoebus and Artemis, where are they ? Where is great Pan that rules o'er the woodlands ? OPIIELION 35 When is the dance of the nymphs and satyrs ? Are all these fled from our land away?" But the mother plucked at the sweet white heather. " Peace, thou prattler ! the gods are here. But Phoebus sits in the sunny heaven, And when the moon shines over hill and hollow, Then Artemis chaseth the flying deer. And great Pan's altar thou knowest well, By the brook where the minnows glide and dart ; Thou knowest the wreaths, thou knowest the smell Of the incense breathing blue coils of vapour, What time the woodland echoes follow The murmurous prayer — where thy grandsire stood, When the mildew blighted the vine on the lea, And slew a kid for the hapless hart The huntsmen smote in the sacred pale. But the nymphs and satyrs dance in the wood 36 OPIIELION When thou art at play. It is not for thee To question the gods, or to lift the veil That hides the immortals from wiser than thou, From thy grandsire, and from me." Now mother and child stand by the hut, While the moon grows bright in the deepening sky, The low turf hut by the bubbling spring, Where the flocks in their wattled pens are shut ; And the fierce gaunt watch-dog fawns at their feet, And the hoary grandsire comes forth to meet Mother and child (yet lingering Where the dewless path spreads, broad and dry) As they bring from the town, where strange merchants throng By the bright sea, tools for their household meet, A painted jar and a crowbar strong, And a pot of incense sweet. OPHELION 37 Ophelion Ah, strange and powerful ! Ah, sweet and wonderful ! As if a spell were broken, as if the years were new. Came that music from my heart ? Do I hear the young years singing ? Will they loose me from the toils the ages round me threw? Fade not, sweet voice, into the weary night ! Restore that hope which I had dreamt immortal, That hope which shivered at the blast of death ! Shine on me through the shadows, radiant angel of light ! Loose the fetters of my soul by the power of thy breath, As the earth's deep bonds are loosened, As the buds are freed in Spring. 38 OrilELION Yet wait ! The whole comes back to me again, Image on image. Lo, my mother there, Ankle-deep in the moss — after the rain It grows so soft — and all that weight of hair Scarce lifted by the wind ! She stands there calling The goats down from the rock, for the sheep are in the fold, And Argos lamed with a thorn, and the dew is falling, And some one saw a wolf prowling last night on the wold. Then a journey — what was that ? They were talking of a journey. We came down from the heather, through the olives to the plain, When the path was wet with dew, and the birds were singing early, OPHELION 39 And the pale sun shot long gleams athwart the whiten- ing grain. All the long day we walked, till the sun rode high in heaven, The clay by the pools was cracked, the dust lay white in the road ; At eve we stood on a hill and saw at our feet a city Where the beams of the setting sun on wall and garden glowed. Ah, Night, thy tale is mine — yet scarce so fair As I had dreamed but now. In that white town Dwelt the old master, wise in words and rules — The commentator's restless brain — the soul That, seeking, misses still the ways of light, Groping between the parchments. But his wife Plucked me sweet purple grapes, and said : " Dear child, Come live with us among the vines. Methinks 40 OPHELION They thrive but poorly on your windy hill." Then was I glad, and answered : "Aye, with mother, And we will bring great Argos from the hill, Chloe and old Timasus and the rest, For you have grapes enough for all of us." But silent came my mother from the house, And they two wept — while I ran to the court And watched the slave fitting a scarlet bridle On a white mule. "Thy mother goes," he spake, And hung the jingling bridle on the wall. Eleven years I dwelt among the vines ; Eleven years the master's word was law ; Eleven years I laboured in the gloom. Then the change came. The long slow task was done, The scholar grown beyond the master's strength — Sad master, toiling down the trodden path — Who sorrowfully bade me soar and sink, Blessed me and sent me forth alone to Athens. OPHELION 41 Sadly at first I pondered on the past, And sadly rose to meet the coming years, But, when I saw the black ship cut the foam, I felt a wondrous joy to see strange lands, And, sailing onward, questioned them that knew Of each low headland, islet, creek, or strait, Till, the third night, one told me : " With the dawn Thou shalt see Athens." While the stars crept out Upon the deck I sat, in the cool gloom, And listened to the plashing of the waves About the poop and the low creaking yards, And watched the soft mild outlines, blue on blue, Of the steep hills and headlands — star on star Glanced in the heaving waters, changing still, Until the first white streak dimmed in the east The golden starlight — then came one and said : "Look, Sunium, yonder, and the silver mines!" But what I looked upon with straining eyes 42 OPHELION Filled all my soul. I could but gaze and gaze, Aegina rising as the sky grew redder, Salamis, Athens in a maze of light ! Here, then, I dwelt, for this was truly Athens, But not the Athens I had framed in dreams On summer noons, beneath the glistening vines. This seems so far — as if a time of change O Had broken through my life — as if I lost A world, yet found a world — so lost and found, And lost and sought again, until each world Became a matter of less moment to me, And my own life and ways grew all in all. And sometimes, when I sat to watch the stars Over Mount Parnes in the sad dark heaven, There grew a murmur in me : Fair ? Why fair ? Why fair, those little sparks of wandering light ? Why fair the weight of waters or yon breadth OPHELION 43 Of rolling land ? Oh, but each breaking day, With all the light and gladness of its East, And all the trembling pallor of its West, With all its surging sea of fire and gold, And pale blue reaches of untroubled sky, What is it but the sad recurring call To life and labour and to pain and death ? Children and fools, we call it sweet to live, And sweet to gaze upon the eternal heaven. What profit we by its eternal strength, Save as a rod to mete our weakness by, And count its rolling courses for the limit Of our own lives ? O wear}', weary world ! O gift of life ! slowly to count the stars, Then say : So many millions move for ever, And I must die that told their myriad spheres ! Nay, there were other thoughts. My heart beat high With some wild hope that Hellas might arise — 44 OPHELION Another Hellas in the light of Rome — Calling its glory from the past, and shedding New light upon new life — as if the dead That sleep in nameless tombs could rise once more, And gaze, with that old glory round their brows, Upon the world of men I lived amongst, And not cry : " Let us seek our graves again !" Ah ! but one Autumn evening, chill and drear, I sat alone beside the nickering wick And pored on some dull blinding chart till, weary, I raised my head and looked without. A gust Blew clear between the swaying cypress tips, And showed the full red breadth of evening sky, And thin moon waning to her shivering rest. Then the wind ceased, and all the cypress spires Sprang close and dark, and hid the louring sky, Leaving the empty death-like silence round me Where I stood dazzled by the flickering wick OPHELION 45 Till it flared up and died and the last gleam Grew ashen pale, then vanished in the gloom That deepened cold and lonely. I went forth Under the plane-trees by the windy wall, And watched the Eastern starlight cold and clear, And while I gazed I thought of Rome and Hellas — Of all that was and all that might have been And now could never be — for night is long, And death is swift, and every tomb fast sealed. Night Sealed ! Aye, fast sealed, For ever, in the night Of the doom that never was repealed. Then turn thy thoughts away, Where the level morning light 46 OPIIELION Shall gleam athwart the sea That knovveth no decay ; For it ebbeth aye, and floweth, And waneth where it groweth, Like corn the reaper soweth, Or reapeth on the lea ; Where the land of Southern day Seemed once so fair to thee ; Where from wreathed myrtle bowers, Through the tangled maze of flowers, Low sweet voices laugh and call, By gleaming marble towers, Columned court and carven hall (Aye new roses bud 'neath showers Of the red rose-leaves that fall) ; Where the golden Southern sunlight Lieth soft on land and sea, 'Neath the gleam of dancing blossoms, OPHELION 47 Dreaming on things to be, Dream on, and on for ever, Till all the world to thee Seem as, between the palm-leaves, A glimpse of rippling sea. Ophelion So sweet — so wondrous sweet — and not for ever. To dream and dream ! Aye, but each dream ? What then? Oh, I have tried it. Is there nothing more ? Nothing yet left to make it sweet to breathe Beneath the harmless heaven ? No force, no power To mould the world about our dream and prove The subtle shadow's feature in the light Of noonday sun ? Oh, this might once have been — But I am weary — weary with the weight 48 OPIIELION Of life, and sense of being — all too weary To hope or strive as once I strove and hoped. Death Listen to me, that call thee from the shadow Of day insufferably bright ! Listen ! thy lot was never cast with morning, Thy life hath no more part in light. Let the dawn sing and let the first light quiver ! Thy life keeps flowing, flowing, like a river, That through a dusky cave doth bend and shiver Down to the cold still pool of night. Ophelion Aye, Death, I listen. Sing me, thou, my doom, For thou art master now ! Why not ere now ? Why should warm life have twined so sweet and close About my soul before its growth was cut ? OPIIELION 49 Once there were blossoms, nests of summer birds. It brought no fruit, ye say ? Take it for thine, That once seemed mine. I could not strive again Now all things seem so sweet. I could but seek The old worn pathway up the sandy hill, And sing the old sweet song as night grows blue. Death All that was once to be, All that is lost to thee, All that shall never be, Weigh it, and pause, and cry : " This shall return no more. Summer shall paint the floor Of earth with flowers o'er ; This shall not come to me." Hold it and grasp, and try (While year by year slips by) E 50 OPHELION To bind the wings that fly, Or hold within thy door The fluttering heart of Time ; For Earth is past her prime, And thou art bound to climb, And seek for evermore. See the light surging low ! See how the first streaks glow ! So did thy gladness grow, So shall it fade and fall ; Fade with the morning's prime, Fade with the Autumn's rime. Loose thy weak hold on time ! Death is enough for thee. Weary thy grasp, and weak ! So much is left to seek ! So much is left to speak ! And night enfoldeth all. OPHELION 51 Lay thee down soft to rest With the world hushed in thy breast, And thy grave the wild bird's nest, For all that is to be ! Ophelion Ay, gentle Death, thy words methinks sound sweetest, And calm thy promise, as if all fulfilled. I could die now. Clear dayspring ! Now — for ever ? And lose thy light of dawn beyond the night ? O blameless majesty of earth and sky ! Methinks that on thy brow is writ the morning, And round thy feet the stars sing to the dawn. And while I pass away they sing for ever, Singing and singing to the dawn to come When I am dust and ashes. Let one word Break from thy silent lips of rolling gold, 52 OPHELION Burst in upon the night, and death and darkness, Roll the dim shadows back and flood with light, With sweet last light, the ashes of this spirit Half in the gloom — hear me that cry to thee ! O light, if death must come — let death be light ! Dawn Arise, greet thou the glory That brimmeth o'er the heavens ! Thy life and death are shadows, When I pass thou shalt not see. Yet arise, cry to the morning ! Raise thine eyes to heaven's new splendour The light hath laid the darkness, And the noontide is to be ! For this day a soul shall perish, Yet the morrow's dawn shall cherish OPHELIOX 53 Another soul in gladness To gaze on sky and sea. I am no voice of twilight ; I am the voice of dawning ; Thou that longest for the daybreak, Lift thine eyes and cry to me ! Then ring out, ye sons of morning, Your song of joy and warning, For the rending of the shadow, For the light on land and sea ! For hope lies in the morrow, That brings new joy and sorrow To the souls that wait and wonder, And the souls that are to be. 54 A FRIAR'S STORY A FRIAR'S STORY {See the " Fioretti di San Francesco ") Frate Masseo, Angelo and I Were witness to the tale recorded here. It was scarce evening yet, and in the sky The thin white crescent moon did but appear, While through the Summer evening, from the mere That lies towards Ancona, by the sea, We heard the frogs' sharp trill, and sweet and clear Sang the cicala from the blasted tree, 'Neath which, folk say, a cursed idol used to be. A FRIAR'S STORY 55 There was one Eastern window, strait and high. Masseo stood beneath, and watched where lay On his low pallet, as the weeks rolled by, Frate Giovanni (so he bade us say, Else had we called him Padre). Day by day We gathered round him when the evening fell, After the vesper-hymn, and he would pray And talk with us a little. He would tell Of God's great mercy — this his life could teach as well. Only, that evening, when we turned to go, He raised his head and called us : " Will ye stay And watch one hour with me, my children ? Lo, I shall not tarry longer. I would say Some few short words before I pass away." Frate Masseo, Angelo and I Knelt on the ground beside him — I to pray, Masseo wept, but Angelo drew nigh And kissed his hand — to him it seemed less hard to die. 56 A FRIAR S STORY Then we bent near and listened, for the words Of him who stands by Death fall few and low, And ever and anon night-screeching birds Would drown his voice with clamour. Angelo Held fast his hand. He spoke : " My friends, you know My term is wellnigh reached — threescore and ten — ■ And no more way is left for me to go. This night I pass from out the world of men, And on Death's scroll my name is writ with brazen pen. " I lie and muse of many a vanished day, But most of one near Penna on the hill, Where from my father's house we looked away Over Spoleto to the sea. A rill, Fed with the snows each springtide, turned his mill, And you could hear the busy clacking wheel Through the long summer evenings — else as still As were mid-winter here — yet now they reel And fade before mine eyes, as when we used to kneel A FRIAR'S STORY 57 " In the dark chapel on the mountain brow, And then come forth and gaze upon the plain That stretched before us to the sea — as now You see Ancona and the mere. The grain Golden around Spoleto, the blue main And the red sails from Venice — all were blent Before our dazzled eyes, like the bright vane That whirls whene'er the Northern blast is sent, And we stood gazing still, for very wonderment. " But all this world seems little to me now That I have come so near my day of rest. Only God leave me breath to tell you how At first He called me to Himself, and blest For ever be His name, for on His breast The peace awaits me which can never fade. Ah, friend, His word is light ! When in the West This night's sweet moon hath sunk, I shall have laid My soul in His strong hands that hath so long delayed. 58 A FRIAR'S STORY " I was a child — a boy, like Angelo, And knew not yet God's will. I could but pray, But not in peace, my children, for to know His will alone gives peace. I sought a way To win that Paradise, that perfect day, That garden blooming round the throne of gold, Whence blessed Dorothy, as all men say, Sent fragrant flowers and fruit in days of old, Christ's holy martyr — this my mother often told. " And now came rumours through the country-side Of blessed Francis and his heavenly light, And how he was to God's own poor a guide And helper of all such as in the night Did stray and wander, bringing gift of sight Free to the blind, and how he walked in faith, Keeping his taper ever burning bright To light men's steps through the dim halls of death, And holding, as of small account, this mortal breath. A FRIAR'S STORY 59 " A night in April, soft and calm as now, I lay and wondered how to find that way That leads to God's fair garden. One white bough Of budding almond-blossoms bent its spray Athwart the casement. Glad at heart I lay And watched the threaded stars that seemed to lie Among the twigs, when lo, a sudden ray (Draw closer, children) lit the room and I Gazed breathless, for I straightway knew that God was nigh. " And then there came two angels- — for the light That floods the morning sea was on their brow, And all their wings with gold and azure dight. Each bare a flaming sword. I strove to bow My head before their splendour. Weak enow These words of mine, as weak as then my will, For I could only gaze on them, and now, After long years, I have not gazed my fill. Nigh threescore years have I, Lord, waited on Thy will. 60 A FRIAR'S STORY " One summoned me and said : ' Giovanni, go To-morrow to San Stefano and pray And hear God's servant, Fra Gentile. Know It is his will to guide thee to that day Which passeth the world's glory. Long the way Thou first must journey.' Then I turned and sought, And saw their face no more. The breaking day Had filled the chamber. Oh, the change it brought ! The way to work God's will ! I had no other thought. " And forth I wandered on my way. I took Nor staff nor scrip, for this was Christ's behest. But ere the goal the force wellnigh forsook My childish limbs. I lay me down to rest In the cold church, and murmuring : ' So is best, For so my journey surely is at end. Lord, show me Thy bright heaven, Thy name be blest ! : I waited. It was not His will to send His angel for me yet. I could but bide and bend. A FRIAR'S STORY 61 " I tarried till the doors thronged with the crowd God's people who, from all the land around, Flocked thither for His word. Now clear and loud Preached Fra Gentile. — Had I not, then, found That road to heaven, that path beyond life's bound ? Or must I start upon my way again ? I lay there motionless as in a swound. I could not stir beneath such load of pain, But listened sadly with a heart full little fain. " When all his words were ended, loth I turned To leave the church. Near the slow-swinging door A friar begged for alms, and something burned Within my heart. ' God's peace be with thee ! more I cannot give.' The night was chill and hoar. Through the dark portal shone the frosty moon. I waited, wondering. ' Is all hope, then, o'er ? I thought to find Thy garden, Lord, so soon, And here is night on earth. Oh, lead me to Thy noon !' 62 A FRIAR'S STORY "It was an aged friar, thin and pale, And shrinking in his cassock from the cold. The freezing moonlight, like a strange thin veil, Softened his brow. Without, the churchyard mould Cracked 'neath the last quick steps. Half in a fold Of his loose serge, half on the cold hard stone I lay me down. Somewhile the old man told 1 1 is patient beads. I gave a little moan — He paused and marvelled how the wind did sigh and groan. " But I took heart and cried : ' Good father, say Where he is gone that preached God's word but now, Frate Gentile. Do not say me nay, For I must speak with him.' The old man's brow, Wrinkled in thought. ' I'll show thee soon enow.' He led me where the friars dwell — beside The lazar-house. Right warm and fair, I trow, Seemed the small blaze, whereby he bade me bide Among the holy friars, by the broad chimney-side, A FRIAR'S STORY 63 " Till Fra Gentile came. Then I arose And told, all solemn, how I sought the way To God's own Paradise, where ever grows The tree of life, where cometh no decay Sullying the face of that eternal day ; And then I cried : ' Oh, if it be thy will, Good father, force me to no long delay ! Let me strip off the world for Christ !' — and still I bless God's name for this, on His own heaven's bright sill. " So I became a friar, poor in God, Rich in the loss of this world's little strife, Blessed in all I leave — the graveyard sod Mouldering with death — the fragments of a life. And when I think how this world's day is rife With pain and darkness, then I bless God's name, The one clear gleam in midmost night — a knife To cut this tangled knot of woes — the frame On which the stars are hung — the ceaseless burning flame. 64 A FRIARS STORY " And I have wandered— North to Aquitaine, And Southward far as Capua. And men say, 'A poor old friar.' Oh, for cold or pain, Or death, how should I care, who hoped alway In heaven's own dawn at end of each long day ? But now it is the blessed end of all — Each path I trod, each weary hill that lay Before my feet. Now leave me not to fall. Lo, yonder, Lord, Thy towers — Thy city's golden wall ! " He lay there dead. Now I am old and gray. Masseo sleeps beside him where both lie In Penna. Angelo has left God's way. That night we knelt beneath the silent sky, Frate Masseo, Angelo and I, And prayed for all poor souls in sorrow dwelling, And prayed to live in Christ, in Christ to die, Like that meek spirit for whom night was knelling The farewell song of earth, up the low hill-slope swelling. BEATRICE PORTINARI 65 BEATRICE PORTINARI As I was gazing on the purple ring, Where round the hills dark clouds hung far and nigh, Methought I saw one star-white opening, Where angels circled in the silent sky. I raised mine eyes again — dreaming that thou Shouldst mount with light step to that angel choir ; They passed away, and then I saw thy brow Changed and transfigured in the sunset fire. 66 VENETIAN SONG VENETIAN SONG Leaning between carved stone and stone, As glossy birds peer from a nest Scooped in the crumbling trunk where rest Their freckled eggs, I pause alone And linger in the light awhile, Waiting for joy to come to me — Only the dawn beyond yon isle, Only the sunlight on the sea. VENETIAN SONG 67 I gaze — then turn and ply my loom, Or broider blossoms close beside ; The morning world lies warm and wide, But here is dim, cool silent gloom, Gold crust and crimson velvet pile, And not one face to smile on me — Only the dawn beyond yon isle, Only the sunlight on the sea. Over the world the splendours break Of morning light and noontide glow, And when the broad red sun sinks low, And in the wave long shadows shake, Youths, maidens, glad with song and wile, Glide and are gone, and leave with me Only the dawn beyond yon isle, Only the sunlight on the sea. 68 MORTALITY MORTALITY O Western wold, that softly sleepest, And thou, wan East, that waking weepest Because thy day is done — What though his course be run ? Over yon hill-tops, faint and far, Shall glimmer evening and morning star, Till the watch of night that darkens deepest Lead back thy sun. MORTALITY 69 O wintry tree, the wild winds, wailing, Are every barren bough unveiling, because warm days are o'er. Why creak with branches hoar ? Each dun dry leaf of frost's undoing Leaves the firm bud for Spring's young wooing, For rise of sap and blossoms prevailing — No Winter more. But thou, sad World, so restless pining In blight ot Winter past divining, Because thy joy is flown, And thou art left alone ; Ever thy sunset fire must shimmer, And aye thy woodland gold must glimmer, Spring may not meet thee, nor morning, inclining Down from God's throne. 7o HYMN TO PERSEPHONE HYMN TO PERSEPHONE Oh, fill my cup, Persephone, With dim red wine of Spring, And drop therein a faded leaf Plucked from the Autumn's bearded sheaf, Whence, dread one, I may quaff to thee, While all the woodlands ring. HYMN TO PERSEPHOXK 71 Oh, fill my heart, Persephone, With thine immortal pain, That lingers round the willow bowers In memories of old happy hours, When thou didst wander fair and free O'er Enna's blooming plain. Oh, fill my soul, Persephone, With music all thine own ! Teach me some song thy childhood knew, Lisped in the meadow's morning dew, Or chant, on this high windy lea, Thy godhead's ceaseless moan. 72 HYMN TO APOLLO HYMN TO APOLLO Apollo, lord of lyre and song, Shall the world win me to forget The sweet still hours I've roamed among The meads thou lovest yet ? Those morning meadows, wet with dew, Whereon thy sun lay warm and wide, Where slender white-weed blossoms grew The waving grass beside ? HYMN TO APOLLO 73 Shall I forget long days in Spring When, led by thy sweet influence, I sought, where shallow waters sing, Thy song surpassing sense ? Shall I forget thy hand was laid Upon my brow with morning's sun ? Or how I wandered in thy shade, And watched the river run, Beneath the crimson-tufted larch, By fronds of fern that soft unroll, What time the windy gusts of March Made music in my soul ? Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh. 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