1 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE I'AGE. THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS WITH A YEAR OF SONG. liY WILLIAM SAWYER, AUTHOR OF 'TEN MILES FROM TOWN,' ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN TROCTOR. LONDON: LONGMANS, GREEN, READER, AND DVER, iS;z. 10 HENRY VVILLETT Es «•, OF FINDON MANOR, SUSSEX, IT IS THE author's PRIVILtCE 10 INSCRIBE THIS LOOK. 87():i8;i CONTENTS. THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS EUDORIA . PACE I A YEAR OF SONG NEW YEAR NUMBERS • 43 A MEETING .... 48 THE POET ..... 53 THE TRIUMPH OF THE FLEU R-::) E-LIS . 55 ANGELICA .... . 60 A PARTING .... 6z RAIN SONG ..... . 6+ ANACREONTIC .... 67 CELADON ..... 69 THE SINGERS .... 7+ THE HOUR-GLASS 76 THE MISSAL .... 8i VI CONTENTS. A YEAR OF SONG {continued) : SANDS OF THE SEA TO EVA, WITH A SONG . THE GRANGE WINDOW . ROSE SONG HOME AGAIN THE PAGE . . , BARREN FAITH . HARALD'S WOOING THE LETTER LOVE SONG THE FAMOUS STORY A DREAM OF THE SEA THE LORELEI THE ASSASSIN THERESE . MY LADY'S SECRET A SUMMER DREAM THE FIGHT FOR LIFE VALLEY MEMORIES CANONBURY PARK, MAY 30TH THE TROOPER'S DEFENCE . ALLEGORY PAGE 84 89 90 94 96 100 104 105 1 10 113 119 121 124 125 129 134 136 143 145 146 150 CONTENTS. Vll PAfiE A YEAR OF SONG {continued) THE 'PRENTICE HOLIDAY A LOST LOVE A. T. M . THE SPECTRE THE WINDING OF THE SKEIN IN A friend's POETICAL WORK THE LOST THE DEAD OF THE YEAR DURING THE TERROR BLUE EYES FOR TRUTH SOMG OF AGE BESIDE THE BROOK THE BALLAD OF THREE HOLLY TIME THE holly's TEACHING • IS* • 157 . 160 . 161 . .65 • 17 • '7* • 175 . 181 . 184 . 187 . 189 . 193 • '95 . .98 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. O, SOVRAN wonder of the Almond Tree, That with the dawning hid itself in bloom As, bare in rosy covert, hides a nymph ! Nor leaf had it, nor bud ; but shuddered white, Branching the moon. Now, see it, like a cloud Red in the West ; red to its blossom-heart Of odorous beauty. Bright between the blooms The sky of Spring is blue as loving eyes. The wan gleams flicker — sunshine. On the air Come wafted breaths of sweetness as from lips. From parted lips of woman, and, with sweet, Warm glows, the dainty shadows beauty casts Lovingly fall. So flush with love and all 4 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. The charms of womanhood, the tree renews The memory of the legend blent with it Known to the wandering breeze, and in the song The thrushes sing rehearsed from year to year. That wondrous tale, in long forgotten days A poet learned, and ever with sad brow And heart that aching echoed of dead love. Sung it from lips melodious of desire, — A song of Phyllis and Demaphoon, Of love defeating death. The siege was done, IVoy fallen, and among the Greeks came thence, Long sailing, Theseus' son, Demaphoon, His ship the rest outshining : white with sails Of foam-drift, purple bordered, and its prow The Minotaur, of his great father slain, That golden-throated met the waves that round Leapt flaming. Now, while yet the hindering seas Held them from Athens, lo, the weary winds THE LKGEND OF PHYLLIS. 5 Dropt, and three days they rocked in a great calm. And on the fourth they saw where on the verge Of the faint sea-line hovered — as a bird Hovers in air — a fleck of snowy cloud, Whereat great fear fell on the mariners. And even as they reefed a flapping sail, Touched by an instant puff of freshening wind, The cloud grew, darkening as it grew, and borne By the tempestuous forces whence it sprang, Drew on toward them, gathering might, until It filled the heavens — now a cloud, and now What seemed to them the walls of Ilium Risen anew, their battlemented heights Flanked with great whorls of water — towers that grazed i The empyrean — bastioning ocean-walls Impregnable, wide-curtained, masoned up And ramparted with steeps of cloud and sea. Onsweeping with the speed of winds it came. And so the labouring ships overtook and charged b THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. With shock of meeting seas, and thunderous crash. Then straightway in its course it oversped The fleet, in onward sweep, and rearing yet Its airy towers, in lessening distance died. Now, of the ships, some founder'd : some with gaps Of yawning timbers righted : midst of all The Minotaur, cumbered with riven sail And trailing cordage — tackle of the ship — Burned on the waves. The wind abating not Harried what yet lived of the scattered fleet, Till driven from their course, all reckoning lost. They parted ship from ship and drifted wide They knew not whither, through what unknown seas. Or on what shores impending. But the Gods Tenderly heedful of the Minotaur Had of its souls compassion ; not in vain Entreated of Demaphoon, himself THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. 7 Celestial of descent, for Theseus' birth, Brought Neptune joy, and, in their sorest need, Rendered them up in safety to the land. A lono; tono-ue of the barren Thracian coast Sterile with tamarisk growth and arid grass. Received them from the insatiable seas. There all in vain temple they sought or tomb, In-running cave or green leaf-sheltering tree : Nor looked they upon human face, nor found Aught meet for food, as bird, or nested egg. Or ripening berry, nor could any hear The ripple of sweet waters in the grass. A weary night they hungered there : but morn Beheld them clamorous ; of Demaphoon Beseeching help and succour, since, remote A swan's flight only from the shore — or so They reckoned it — there dwelt the Queen o' the land, Lycurgus' daughter, Phyllis ; suit to her 8 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. From Theseus' son must save them, then what course But to her walls to hasten presentlv ? To this he hearkened doubting, yet constrained Of faces wan with fasting and fierce eyes, He gathered from his people whom he might, Scant retinue, and inward from the shore Wended he knew not whither. But ere night They drew toward a city, and in midst Beheld a palace reared, pavilioned domes. Begirt with twinkling minarets that flashed Smit with the sunset. Now, ere they drew near. The bruit of all that had befallen them Had reached the ears of Phyllis, and she thought, " A Queen's son craving succour of a Queen Were sight unmeet and base in sovereignty. Befits we greet him coming, as the Gods Were gracious in their favour and had sought To honour us in this most honoured euest. And proffer him of all things ere he ask." THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS, So, knowing of her maidens when he came, She in her queenly splendour girt about Went forth to meet him. And Demaphoon Uplifting eyes beheld her as she moved, Regal, with scintillant glint and interglow Of blending gems. Wound gold about her brow, The gold of gathered tresses woven fair. Glittered for diadem. Around her feet Wide as a wave, a robe of shimmering sweep. Purple and gold inwoven, thread for thread. Sparkled its shining way. Enmeshed in light. Her bosom, netted in a diamond net Shone pearl-wise, and for girdle, glittering With gems through all its undulant length, a snake Of triple coil circled her waist and lolled A heavy head with onyx aspic eyes. So moved she lustrous, gleaming in the sun. In the snatched moment of the absolute prime Of beauty, blossom-brief, and in the touch Of its own ripe perfection perishing : 10 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. So glorious drew she near Demaphoon Who, unregardful of aught else, beheld Her face, and looking in her face, saw youth, And beauty shining in the light of youth, And seeing loved. She, too, beholding him A Prince that sprung from the Immortals, bore Their aspect, — youth in manhood glorified, — Crimsoned, a lily damaslcM to the core : And hungered for the music of his voice. Somewhat he murmured faintly, and his words. In cadenced ripples, rippled to her heart : Her eyes forewent their queenly gaze and drooped. As curious of the mosses at his feet. Yet sidelong marked a brow, that wide and white, Locks over - clustered ; marked the light that brimmed Deep-caverned eyes ; the passion-parted lips ; The heroic frame compactly squared. THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. IT Deep-chested, supple, tapering from the girth. To rosy knee and foot of curve supreme That arched the untrod anemone. Few words Of gracious welcome, grateful homage, served Where heart for heart interpreted. Their hands Met burning. Somewhat murmured she, or meant, Of honour by the Gods accorded her, In Theseus' son, welcome for Theseus' self, As equal hero, with like honied words Befitting courtly wont. Then, of her grace And of her boundless bounty she, straightway, Bestowed her palace of the hundred gates, Of jasper, purple-shadowed, on the Prince, And on his people for their sojourning, And so departed, as from out her fane A Goddess flashes. Wondrous was the place And fair, for therein all the arts of Thrace 12 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. Contended, and its walls the spoils of war Made glorious. And therein Demaphoon And all his folk abode in festival, Lackino; no tendino;, and the meanest ate The meat of kings. And every morrow came The Oueen, and in her coming brought delight And, to the Princely heart that loved her, brought Rapture tumultuous as the gleamy clash Of smitten cymbals. Joyful were these twain With joy of all things fed, — the breeze of morn. The freshness of the freshening Spring, the blue Of April skies, the hues of bud and bloom, The breath of flowers : all things that breathe and bring Joy to the world, to them love's raptures brought. So day was heaped on day as flower on flower, And night with night mingled in starry round, And in the rapturous holding of a dream Tarried Demaphoon, for life to him THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS, I3 Was Phyllis ; duty Phyllis ; Theseus, Companions of the war, and friends who dwelt Remote in Athens, nothing,— Phyllis all. But now grew on the season of dipt days And fiery sunsets, of fierce winds that chase The clouds, and rend the forest, and ride hard The mad sea-coursers by their frothy manes. And, for they feared the wintry seas, or felt The quickening of home-memories in their hearts, His folk began to urge Demaphoon With promptings of return. A little while He silenced them ; but evermore they broke Into complainings, murmurous, until He dared not hold them longer. Then he sought Where Phyllis, steeped in noonday languors rose, And spake, and from his clasping hands she slid, And lay in a long swoon upon the earth. And thereby held him for a space ; but soon The murmuring rose again and yet again. 14 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. And he, what could he but rehearse anew The hateful truth ; she heard but spake no word, Only went shuddering ghost-like from his gaze, And hid herself within her palace walls As in a tomb. Yet there Demaphoon Sought her, and showed her all his agony. His heart-throes and the anguish of the strife 'Twixt love that clung and duty that forbade A longer stay; so prayed her pity him, Distraught at parting yet constrained to part. Too lonff his love had held him, all too \onz For glory and for manhood ; it behoved He sailed thenceforth for Athens ; but he sware The sickle moon above them should not round To litrht him shoreward ere he came ao;ain. That oath upon the altar of her breast He sware, and sealed it on her lips. Thereat All woman, she for answer wept ; but when Against his will her silent tears prevailed As little as the foamy spray the rock THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. I5 O'ermasters, all the Queen in her revived. It was Lycurgus' daughter, regal yet Even in her sorrow^s, and constrained to wield The sceptre o'er herself as o'er her realms, Strained rosy palms to heaven and prayed the Gods So succour Theseus' son or so avenge His perfidy as he should keep or break T^he promise of his lips. This done she waved A hasty hand and charged him brokenly Depart her shores. Sad was Demaphoon, Heart-sick and sad ; the rest with fierce delight Beheld again the Minotaur, enriched With store of all things to make glad the voyage, — Fbr so the Queen had willed, — and resting not. As men with the new wine of hope grown glad, All eagerly made ready to be gone. The moon was rising redder than the sun Through the flushed eve, and by its lurid gleam The hapless Phyllis stood beside the ship, l6 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. Strained to the leaping heart of him she loved, — A wraith, arm-circled to a human breast, — And as it rose and whitened o'er the sea. And glimmer'd on their meeting faces white, The severing word was said, and with its sound As from a shelFs lips softly murmurous, y ^ They lingered out one long embrace — the last ! Then the waves sundered them. The argent round Of the great ocean broadened to the gaze Of the lone Queen, until its smooth expanse GHttered immeasurable. Swift of flight The ship sped, curving to the breeze ; and while The snowy sails blackened against the moon, Drove to the sea-line, and through tears that blurred Distorting all on which they looked, and filled With anguish sea and sky, died from her sight. Thence day was flung on day as weed on weed, And night on night heaping made dark the world THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. 1 7 To Phyllis, and as from her eyes had fled The ships, so fled belief in Theseus' son Out of her hungering heart. Watching she saw The roundino; and the wreckinir of the moon That was to light him back to her, and saw Strantre moons that waxed and waned and were as lights, Burning above the corse of her dead hope. Long weary days and ever weary nights She paced the barren shores, the barren sands, Low lying in the ooze : face wan, eves red, A bine of passion-flowers round a brow Warm from spilt roses ; paced with wringing hands Hard clasping and with ever restless feet. And ever doubt wrestled with doubt and oft Had conquered, in sick brain and weary heart. But that her lips repeating what her love A4ade music, comforted, and kept her sane. Aloud to the still night and to the winds, That swirled the loosened shock of sun-bright hair l8 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. About her as she wandered, thus she sang : '' Thou art not false, not false, Demaphoon, To me or to thy heart, not false, not false ! The ships are foundered in the weltering seas, Great winds have rent them ; thy white limbs are sleeked Of wondering Naiads in sea-sunken caves, Or thou art held of monsters, or art slain. In thine own land of thine own people slain j My eyes will not behold thee any more, But false thou art not, false to love and me ! " I gave thee to the winds and seas and urged Thy going hence, thy swift return ; thy vows Rang on my true heart true : they live for me Warm as the living touch of hand in hand. Men whisper me of Theseus' treachery To Ariadne ; bid me note that blood Is strong in kind, false father, fidser son. THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. '9 I hear but heed not, knowing thou art dead, Or if life hold in thee thou wilt return, Thou art not false to love, not false to me ! "Thou livcst not, O loved Demaphoon, In vain I pace the shore and rend the day And rend the night with anguish ; all in vain I watch the sails that thicken as the winds Blow shoreward, but there comes not sail of thine. The stately prows drive hither, hither drives No more the golden Minotaur that smit The spraying waves to flame ; I watch in vain, I shall not look upon thee any more. But as in life beloved so in death, I know thee true to love and true to me." Time went, and winter whitened all the land. Blank to the heart of her who waited still hot him who came not ; held him dead and yet Looked ever for his cominir. To the winds 20 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. And to tfie waves she murmured evermore, Still paced the shore and pacing saw the ship — Or deemed she saw it — in the offing, shrieked, Waved arms exultant, burst into the surf To reach it, then beheld the tacking sails Veerino- for other havens and so swooned. Or, phrenzied, in the sunset splendours saw. Mid amaranth-dropping clouds, Demaphoon, — His face a glory, and his out-blown locks, With the sea-sparkle on them, — onward borne, With limbs effulgent, robe of rainbow gleams Wide to the wind, and sandals diamonded, — Imperial of presence as a God! Thus, lured toward a passing ship, or moved By such a frenzy, on a day when none Gave heed, she waded from the shore, and fell Face downward in the frothing of the sea. And in the scooping shingle sank, and caught In the strong net of a receding wave, Strove helpless in the shrieking drag of it, THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. 2 1 And overmastered in contention — died! On the lono; ton2;ue of black low-lyin"- land Deep in the ooze, they buried her, that so The winds miirht blow about her with a sound Of flapping sails, and the waves comfort her With music as of swift in-runnins: keels. Two days her people mourned her, on the third, Coming while yet a mist on sea and shore Hung dense and dyed with saffron of the morn. They sought her grave, but where they lookei for it Found antler'd branches spectral in the mist. And with stretched hands grasped not the air^ but held Fair branches lithe and wet with rime, and knew That in the night from out the grave a tree Had risen with the girth and growth of years ! Now, while they questioned, doubting of this thing, A corner of the mist blew wide, a gleam 22 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. Of morning smit the tree, and in the hght The rimy branches tremulous with gems Swayed ghttering, and with every querulous breeze Their diamond sparkles rained upon the grave. Great joy was in their hearts who looked on this, And knew it of the Gods. And now the morn Freshened, and slowly from the barren sea And barren land the mist rose fold on fold, And the wan sun looked out on a wan world ; Then as the eyes of their dead queen had sought. Each weary morn, the glimmering hyaline Of the wide ocean freshening in the light, So, they who mourned for love of her, strained eyes Over the ocean, shining silver-smooth. Save where the wind-caught waters rippled white, For any hope. And, lo, across the waste, Far in the east, there drove the glimmering fleet. THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. 23 Led by the ship that bore Demaphoon, Its white sails purple bordered, and the waves About the Minotaur as licking flames. Swiftly the ships blew landward, swiftest his Who bent above the monster of the prow, And so drew in toward the yeasty surf. And, waiting a great wave, upon its rise Rode lightly in. Demaphoon was first To leap into the surf and wade, and there. While yet they looked on him as on a wraith. Stood questioning in their midst. What thing was this? What marvel and what portent ? And their Oueen Not in their midst, and wherefore ? " She is dead," They answered, and he echoed, *' Dead !" and still " Dead !" with his white, incredulous face all changed And like a mask. " Phyllis is dead !" Here then They told what had befallen : of the love That, a dividing sword, drove to the heart 24 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. Of her they mourned, and of the grief that slew her ; Nor stinted of the wonder of the night, That in its strangeness had usurped their grief; But showed him all. Their words Demaphoon Heard, but as one that swooning hears a voice Far off; from whom the world slips while the day Darkens, and hearing, fell upon the earth. And grovelled weeping ; lay his length and wept And moaned as men die moaning. Through long hours Outstretch'd he lay and silent : heeding nought In the dumb heart-break of his agony. Then, as of its excess defeated, ebbed The brimming passion of his grief, he drew Toward the tree ; threw arms about its girth, And clasped and kissed the silver rind, and prest A smooth girl-cheek against it, murmuring, THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. - 2 J And, as dead cars had hearing, cried aloud, Cried to his lost love, lost within the grave : — " O, Phyllis, O my love, if thou perchance Canst hear me — pitied of the pitying Gods That give but cannot spare, — lo w^here I kneel ! I keep my great oath sworn upon thy heart To love thee, to return to thee ; I come Through hungering seas and perils manifold, To claim thee of thyself, so vowed to me As never in all time was woman vowed. From thy lone grave wherein thou liest, slain Of thy great love, behold me ! Thine in life, Thine only, and in death, as life, thine own. " O Phyllis, if indeed dead ears may list The wail of dying lips, give heed, give heed ! Thy soul had faith in all things and in all. The day went from thee, and thou didst not fear The day's return : the night died with its stars, 26 THE LEGEND CF PHYLLIS. Slain of the dawn, and thou didst not despair j The seas ebbed from thy feet, thou all content ; The summer went, ' It will come back,' thou saidst. Yet trustino- all things, me thou couldst not trust : I true to thee as day, night, stars, and seas, As flower time and as fruit time ; as the course Of the recurrent seasons, found no faith. Orbed in thy love, yet true to thee in vain. " O Phyllis ! O my lost, my lost ! The blooms Of passion lightly rooted swiftly die, Lacking the nurture of the steadfast heart ; But thou, sole centred in thy true love's troth, Couldst, loving, doubt, and yet not doubting live, But gav'st thy doubt up to resolving death. Brave heart ! true heart ! I have no scorn for thee. My grief shall cast no shadow on thy grave Made sacred of the Gods. I do but mourn THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. 2/ Thy virgin life snapt in its lily-prime, Thy beauty's light stamped out, and earth hence- forth Dark to my stumbling feet. I can but weep And weary Love that glorified our lives With Iris' splendours — blossoms of sow^n tears — Till Her dread function he shall seize, and give My spirit wing to flutter back to thee." So mourning wasted love and broken life. All sorrowful, he clung about the tree. And kneeling claspt and fondled it, and wept A boy's hot passion of burning, blinding tears. And as he knelt thus, lo ! a miracle ! The human heart that stirred within the sap Quickened with love as at the touch of Spring, Auroral flushes panted through the tree ; A warming glow suff'used it ; with a pulse Of ardent heat, flame-hearted blossoms sleeked Its branches, rosy-smooth and with a haze 28 THE LEGEND OF PHYLLIS. Of summer noons upon them. Warm with life The blossoms claspt his brow and clustering lay Upon his cheek, and to his lips were lips That throbbed to kissina; and his amorous breath Met with ambrosial odours. This was love's Response to love. The pitying Eros this Accorded, and in memory thereof Throughout the winters of all after years The almond blossoms come before the leaves. EUDORIA. LUDORIA. 1 AM the woman of the witch's eyes, That looked men into sin. My beauty was a snare ; My red lips slew. My rounded breast, Heaving, moon-white, rent hearts As the great orb rends with unrest the waves That stiffen up In a fierce clutch for her, And swoon and drop Foaming upon the sands. 32 EUDORIA. I had no mercy ; no ! I made a net for men — A wide, great net — Of my hair, ankle-long, And bluer, blacker than the grapes I tore From the bronze vines To twist up with its lengths. No mercy ; none ! My voice Had the shell's murmur, Treacherously sweet ; With soft insidious pulsings, interknit With memories and promptings and desires ; Its dulcet whispers toying with the chords That quicken passion. Music absolute ; Music, yet happier he Who hears, and hearing shudders at the shriek Of the torn mandrake. EUDORIA. 33 So beautiful, so merciless — And now ! Look on me. See ! My face Is a dead face. The red of autumn sunsets in my cheek And on my h'ps — My fierce, hot lips — Has all burnt out. I am as white as ashes on the hearth, Wan as a wraith ; Out of great caverns now My witch-eyes glare, And men are scared at them, and women swoon. Look ! see ! My golden armlets hang Loose on this bone, my arm. My arm ! Is this the rounded snow that I have kissed And fondled with a hand as rosy- soft 3 34 EUDORIA. As almond-blossom ? God ! my poor, thin hand ! What ails me ? What is thac of which we ail — We women — When, like a robe, Our beauty slips from us, and all our youth Goes in a night ? Not love : That is delight — Rose-hearted, languorous love Is keen delight, Not steel-sharp pain, Dull agony, A lifting of red lids from aching eyes That look on a dead world. Not love. Ah, no Our hearts hold love EUDORIA, 33 As a cup wine ; It A cup Cellini has wrought And crusted over with gems. What if hot riot fire The blood of the purple draught, Does the cup throb ? Do the jewels quiver and shoot, Or Cellini's bacchanals leap At the feel of the flame within ? It was not love. I had not looked on men, Seen them rise from my feet, Stagger, and reel, and go Ghost-white, To fall, a wren in a net. To crouch, a hound at his feet. Watching his bloodshot eyes Or the lift of his chiding hand. I loathed him in the moment that we met. 36 EUDORIA. Swart and brute, The Dacian surf of the frieze, What should he out of the phalanx ? Slave, most fit To tug at a wheel in a triumph of Roman fools. His words Struck on my ears like blows ; Struck on my ears and still Through my numb brain They surge and sing. As he looked out Under his low, wide brow. His iron brow Ploughed with its ruts. His eyes quenched mine. They were molten, I think, or flame ; But a mist obscured my own, I could only weakly gaze At the dusky Dacian face, At the square jaw. EUDORIA. 37 And the cruel curve of a mouth To lie with, to curse with, never To shape to a tender thought. My breast was flint. God, that a slave like this Should have struck out its fire — That look of his should lift My creeping hair. Or word from those hard lips Drive ice into my veins ! I hated him; Hated myself the more. Yet when he went. Frenzy was in my blood. My throat dust-dry, My eye-balls fire ; Unutterable throes Drao;o;ed me I knew not where. Into the night. 38 EUDORIA. Through the wet trees I stole, to watch the way that he had gone, To hsten to his step, Loud, loud to me, Though he had waded the long meadow-grass ; Loud to my ear that heard The dead leaf drop, The bird stir in the nest. And the spider, as he swung. Plumb with prismatic line The darkness under the boueh. I loathed him as I stood Bareheaded to the dews, The moonlight spilt Upon my head, Here where my hair is white, Age-white, Not shimmering with the gloss As where the lamplight falls On the blue-black coils below. EUDORIA. 39 Hatred was in my heart, Hatred, or what Stronger than hate. Fiercer than passion Subtler than desire, Curdles the creeping blood, and renders up To frenzy all the avenues of life ? Long hours I stood Grinding hot temples into icy palms That claspt but cooled not. Lone as the night, Lone as the leper moon, Outcast of God, Abandoned of His stars That shrink from her And shudder at the horror of her face ! My doom had come Swift as the lightning flash. That fierce and keen. 40 EUDORIA. Stabs to its purpling heart the Autumn night. The knell of joy Had sounded through my years, My stricken years, as sounds The bell that ends the Carnival. The whirl. The eddying coil Tumultuous riot, dissolute mirth. And then. As the dull boom from the great Minster stops. Cessation — silence — Death ! A YEAR OF SONG. 43 NEW YEAR NUMBERS. Trust Him that is thy God, and have no fear: His eyelids ache not with the drowse of sleep, He cannot tire, and how should He forget ? Self-centred in His own eternity, He that is All is cause and law of all ; Alike in orb and atom infinite. The worlds He soweth broadcast with His hand, As o'er the glebe the sower soweth seed, Till with His glory all the heavens are sown. 44- A YEAR OF SONG. Yet perfect from His shaping fingers sent The rain-drop glitters populous with life ; And in a jewelled surcoat wheels the gnat. Behold the yearly miracle of Spring ! The pinky nipples of the budding leaves Break in a night, and lo, the wood is green ! Art thou more bare than is the winter wood, Or less esteemed of Him who gives thee joy In the first rustle of the April leaves ? And if thy prime be gone and thou lament, " The leaves are falling and the fruit is done !" Yet shrink not from the winter of thy days. See where the cruel winds have swept the trees And all are branching bare against the night. There, in the barren spaces, hang the stars. NEW "i EAR NUMBERS. 45 So when the leafage of thy days is past, And life is desolate, repine thou not, — God can give thee the stars of heaven for fruit ! Nor fear thou death. God's law is gain in loss : Growth and decay obey a common law, The starry blossom and the seed are one. Think ! Thou wert born and fashioned for a world Assorted to thy needs and thy delights. And wherein thou hast dwelt and had content. Not of thy strength nor cunning didst thou come, Into the fief and heritage of life ; And shall all fail thee in thy going hence ? Thou art not of thyself a thing alone, But of the earth which shaped and nourisheth And is thy vital warmth and fount of life. 46 A YEAR OF SONG. Its mountains are thy brothers, and its woods, Its seas have lent thee, and its affluent winds Spare thee thy being for a little space. All things have part in thee as thou in all Hast thine own part ; thy soul its part in God, And all enduring, shalt not thou endure ? The salt foam of the sea upon thy lips, The blown sand of the desert in thv face. Shall these outlast the aires and not thou ? O The star shines and the cloud slips from its face Each to its function, moving to one law ; And both imperishable, cloud and star. Content thyself and comfort thee in this ; In God's design is neither best nor worst. To Him the greater is not nor the less. NEW YEAR NUMBERS. 47 The All of all embraces gain and loss, His steadfast and His fleeting are as one, And of His ordered change is ordered good. In Him love bounds the infinite of might, And He who sriveth both to live and die Is equal Lord of Life and Lord of Death. 48 A MEETING. No leaves as yet, but on the trees A tender flush of green. And, black in many a fork and branch, The last year's nests were seen : Bare half the boughs ; the stems were bare Save where around them grown. The shining ivy-tangle wrought A verdure not their own. The early violets were out, Their wafted fragrance blent With acrid taint of trodden leaves, As through the wood I went ; A MEETING. 49 The hidden nooks the primrose lit, The snowdrop pure and cold, And in the clefts the crocus shot In points of living gold. Deep down into the wood I went, The birds sang overhead — The thrush sang there a month ago, Else all the wood was dead ; Now every bird was back, and each Had in my joy a part ; The happy birds sang on, and I Went singing in my heart. The dewy freshness of the dawn Sparkled on all around ; My step was lighter than a boy's. My footfall made no sound ; 4 50 A YEAR OF SONG. With eager, flaming eyes I went Seeking a face that, fair And fresh, was hidden from my gaze But to my heart was there. " The eyes deceive, the heart is true," This thought was in my breast, " Love would discern her were she hid Close in a leafy nest ; If this were June and all the wood Stood dense with swathing green, She would be present to my love. Detected though unseen." Throbbing delight in every vein. Pulses that burn and thrill, For ecstacy I could have swooned ; My listening heart stood still ; A MEETING. 5 I Then onward with a joyous cry And quickened step I sped, — Between the trees, before my eyes A ribbon fluttered red ! 52 A YEAR OF SONG. THE POET. The poet and the prophet yet are one As when their brows with equal bays Were girt, in dim remembered days ; Other prophetic utterance Fate has none. No inspiration is there save of earth ; Who seeth much he seeth far, Within his ken God's counsels are, For in the present has the future birth. But wherefore should the laurel clasp his brow Whose brain to rhythmic frenzy wrought Confuses ecstacy with thought, — Mocked by the rustle of Dodona's boughs ? THE POET. 53 Or his who holds, — defeated of desire, — The subtle sweets of sense divine, — Love's roses in the drench of wine. Their burning petals loosening, fire in fire. How should his mouth with sacred fervour glow Whose songs the heat of Venus fan, — The Venus pitiless to man, Pandemos, nourisher of sin and woe ? Or his, who lightly girding him for song, Tyrtaeus of each little cause. From jarring factions seeks applause. And clamours for the right or for the wrong ? Weaker than weakest wave upon the shore These snatch in vain the ringing lyre ; Vainly in ecstacy expire : — Libations to Cassandra let them pour. 54 A YEAR OF SONG. True sons are they of her whose frothy lip, Yet with prophetic fervour white, The equal Lord of song and light Touched with his sacred tongue's extremest tip ; Touched^ and she knew not, and none hearing knew Whether in foamy mutterings broke Counsels oracular, or spoke A babbling tongue, confounding false and true. THE TRIUMPH OF THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. 55 THE TRIUMPH OF THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. The moon was red, and wide of girth Orbed a span above the earth ; Lapp'd in light the meadow lay, Yet the grasses were not green ; For the light was not as the light of day, They glowed in ruddy sheen ; Mystic was that April night, And it saw a wondrous sight. Beautiful as sight may be — The Triumph of the Fleur-de-lis. By the level brook that glowed Greenly golden as it flowed, 56 A YEAR OF SONG. Moved the Pageant, strangely shown To a music of Its own. Out of sleep the meadow broke. And the meadow daisies woke, Opened wide their owl-round eyes, Gazed, ray-lidded with surprise ; Violets started from the deeps Of their happy, odorous sleeps ; Maiden lilies whitely rose Troubled from their pure repose ; Shining grasses, flags in sheaves, Mosses greening as they grow ; All that shares to overflow In the joy of budding leaves, In the gladness of the Spring, Stirred to sudden wondering ! First, in doublets hued of flame. Of gold and crimson blending bright. On the trumpeter Tulips came. THE TRIUMPH OF THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. 57 Blowing shrill, as blow they might. Martial music through the ni^ht. Then the Ferns by many a score The fronds, their pennons, bore, Every frond a swelling sail Straining broad against the gale. Flamen Wall-flowers, as they pass'd, Burning censers softly swung. And the subtle incense flung; To the air its sweetness cast. Then, in pomp of festival. Came the pride and crown of all. Girt about with sedgy glaives. The Fleur-de-lis, in long array. Moved imperial midst their slaves. Moved on their triumphal way ; 5^ A YEAR OF SONG. Guarding well, yet to the night Half revealing — light in light — Ne'er beheld of mortal eyes, The mystic signs that symbolise The three-fold sacredness which sheds Its halo round anointed heads ; While above their state unfurled. The purple banners flapped and curled. Still the pageant onward wore ; Fitly ordered, winding far, Stately Jonquils meetly bore Each its glimmering star ; Hyacinths with locks unwrought From the netted braid, and caught By the intertangling breeze ; And, as shining Nymphs, with these Daffodils, and o'er the rest The cressets of the Marigold, Redly flamed, as each might hold The wonder of the phoenix' nest. THE TRIUMPH OF THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. 59 Nor were lacking, whitely dim, The tender flowers named of him Who, stricken of his beauty, died. Nor a hundred phantoms more, Virgin-vested, crimsoned, pied, Which, in passing glorified, Blossom-pennons bore. Thus the bright procession sped Till the ruddy moon, that dipt Earthward, on a sudden slipt Out of heaven, and in the dead Of darkness all the marvel fled. 6o A YEAR OF SONG. ANGELICA. Fair is my love, so fair, I shudder with the sense Of what a light the world would lose Could she go hence. Sweet is my love, so sweet, The leaves that, fold on fold, Swathe up the odours of the rose, Less sweetness hold. True is my love, so true ; Her heart is mine alone. The music of its rhythmic beat Throbs through my own. ANGELICA. 61 Dear is my love, so dear, If I but hear her name. My eyes with tears of rapture swim. My cheek is flame. Spare her, Immortals, spare. Till all our days are done — Your heaven is full of angel forms. Mine holds but one. 62 A YEAR OF SONG. A PARTING. Come, let us take hands together As when, summers ago, we stood In the haze of the sultry weather In the heart of the little wood. No ! we never again shall linger, Never moments like those beguile. Yielding slowly, finger to finger, — Yet tightening our grasp the while ! 'Twas the heart's first rapture of passion, A transport that has no name. Predestined to swift cessation, When the ashes should choke the flame. A PARTING. 63 Life grew bright, as the wood will brighten In rosily deepening eves ; Grew cold, as when dewily whiten The smooth of its moon-litten leaves. There are times for loving and leaving, There are seasons of the heart, And parting is better than cleaving, When 'tis harder to meet than part. And in love there is no renewing ; Life never can know again The bliss that gives rapture to wooing. Though farther from pleasure than pain. Still let us take hands together As we did in the hours we stood. In the haze of the heat of the weather. In the heart of the little wood. 64 A YEAR OF SONG. RAIN SONG. Is the rain sad ? Ah, no ! Not the dear April rain, The sweet, white rain : These are glad tears that flow^ Not tears of pain. Through the blue heavens take The clouds their bird-swift way. Their white, pure way : The clouds that part and break, In diamond spray. RAIN SONG. 65 The clouds that die in showers, Hues of the rainbow give, Its beauty give, That in its dyes the flowers May brightly live. Faint odours of the Spring, The subtle breath of fields. Of grass in fields, Scents that to mosses cling, The sweet rain yields. The song of its delight. To the warm noon it sings. Tenderly sings ; And to the quiet night Its music brings. 66 A YEAR OF SONG. All happy things rejoice In the bright April rain. The freshening rain ; Exulting that its voice Is heard again. ANACREONTIC. 6/ ANACREONTIC. To love and in excess of lovino- lose. This is the lot of all things and of all, For ever love's extreme is love's defeat. The sky that held the one white cloud of noon And vi^armed it in its bosom, Jost it so In rainbows flushes and in diamond rain. The air that loved the flame and fondled it And fed it into beauty with itself Quenched out its life with over cherishing. 68 A YEAR OF SONG. The flame that saw the water beautiful And sought to clasp it to its fervid heart Held, as Ixion held his love, a cloud ! So love is ever slain of love, — and thou, Wilt thou too pass away and be to me. To me who love, a memory and tears ? CELADON. 6g CELADON. Our Celadon ? He of the apple cheek And soft, girl eyes ? The story is soon told. He loved the Marquise with the radiant hair Bright with that moonlight tint of virgin gold, Pined for the cheek that glowed, as to its lips With warming bloom the honeysuckle glows, And languished for her blue eyes' violet depths. And mouth rose-sweet and redder than the rose. It was before the greening of the wood Slowly from leafy bud to leafy bloom, Had darkened all its glowing heart of light And made therein a purple heart of gloom ; yo A YEAR OF SONG. While yet the sunshine wholly makes the morn, While yet the trailing clouds no shadows fling, The violet time, when days are bright and brief And mated finches in their nesting sing. The ragino; west had flamed itself to dust And throbbed in dying embers, as he lay Beyond the satin smoothings of her robe ; His face a ghost's, and yet his laugh was gay. She did not mark the trouble in his eyes, Or how he stifled agony in jest ; But she was quick to note when, as he rose. There fell a crumpled letter from his breast r She saw it, and she saw the furtive snatch That followed. " Do you bring me a surprise- A poem — lucent verse ?'^ He closed his hand : And made to hide the letter from her eyes ! CELADON. 71 " Nothino: — 'tis nothino;. " " Show it me," she cried ; " I do not doubt, but — ■" Forth a hand she thrust. " I cannot." " No ? And wherefore ?" " Let us say, Because in love trust merits equal trust." Her bitten lip shot out. " Trust merits trust, But I may not be trusted ? Is it so ?" " To-morrow, if I live or die," he said : But she rose up in scorn and bade him go ! " And if to-morrow serve, why not to-night ? You dare not show it me !" He did not speak, But gazed at her dismayed, and groaned, and went, — Nor saw her, reeling, swoon with stifled shriek. All wearily dragged out the April night, Till the low clouds let in a sullen dawn : All wearily the Marquise watched till cries Mingled with heavy footsteps on the lawn ; 72 A YEAR OF SONG. Then darting to her window saw where men Trampled her flowers and Celadon they bore, Rigid, with starting eyes, but, in the clutch Of his dead hand, the letter red with gore. That showed her all. Showed that a sneering lip Had made a salon merry with her name, Till Celadon had scored the slanderer's face With a red welt, — and so a challenge came. That letter held it ! He had known his fate. Known there had come an end of love and youth. Yet had lain there and jested at her feet, And made her merry and withheld the truth ! " For if I live,^' he thought, " she will not grieve ; And if I die, too soon her tears will flow ; And it were shame a man's last hours were spent In torturino; a lovinq- heart with woe." CELADON. 73 So, calmly, he went forth to meet his fate ; Bearing the pang of her mistrust he went. It had been his — brave heart ! — to clear her name And spare her tears, — and he was all content. 74 A YEAR OF SONG. THE SINGERS. Cherry-blossom nested Sweet the thrushes sing ; Thrushes freckle-breasted Liftino; heart and wing ; For joy of cherry-blossoms evermore they sin^. Comes the time of berries They will sing no more ; Hiding among cherries, Happy in their store ; In the time of cherries thrushes sing no more. THE SINGERS. 75 Thus, O Poet, singing In thine own deh'ght ; Ecstacy upspringing Tunes thy lips aright, Evermore to music shaping thy delight. Even while thou starvest All thy heart is song ; After comes the harvest, Comes thy fame ere long ; But the hours of fulness are not hours of song. 76 A YEAR OF SONG. THE HOUR-GLASS. The sea-o;reen moonlio;ht fills the cell Wherein, at midnight, prays alone A kneeling brother, lank and lean, And still as carven out of stone. High, where the three-feet wall is pierced, Against a lancet-window, leaps. Swinging in gusts, a vine, — and near A squinting gargoyle grimly peeps. Before the image of our Lord A pictured missal open lies, Its wrought initials, burnish'd gold, Its columned words in blending dyes. THE HOUR-GLASS. 77 Beside the book, an hour-glass set, Half in its oaken frame conceals Two shining bubbles, lightly blown, Through which the sand-thread redly steals. Not on the image of the Lord, Not on the missal's dazzling blaze ; But on the red sand's wasting thread The kneeling brother bends his gaze. To turn that glass from hour to hour. Throughout the day, throughout the night. He makes the duty of a life Which Heaven, he deems, has shaped aright. And ever as the glass he tends, His hungry eyes of God beseech That light of Grace He will bestow, Or grains of saving wisdom teach. yS A YEAR OF SONG. " Dear Christ," he cries, "perchance Thy feet Thou on this desert sand hast set ; Each grain Thy tear-drops have bedew'd — Thy agony of blood has wet. " It knew Thee not — it knows not now The part that hour by hour it plays, Marking the bounds of work and rest, Of steadfast prayer, and eager praise. " And I ! — what know I of the ends That we in Thy creation serve ? What boots the right when we are true, Or what the evil when we swerve ? " Of Thy good purpose in our lives (Or ignominious or sublime) We dream as little as the sand Dreams that it marks the flight of time." THE HOUR-GLASS. No more. • On either globe, a star, The sea-green moonlight shimmers white ; He sees it not, or sees as one Who gazes through some inner light. But when the hour is done, and while There flickers down the last red grain. He starts out of his dream, and turns The glass — and hark, his voice again ! " Dear Lord," he cries, "this desert sand Surely interprets Thee to-night ! For, while the missal glimmers dim, Its every sparkle glows with light. " The secret mysteries of life My eyes are quickened to discern ; Nor less, as thus I gaze and muse, The golden laws of duty learn. 79 8o A YEAR OF SONG. " I mark that on its destined way The stream in ordered cadence goes ; Unhasting, but unceasing, still Without a sound it flows and flows. " Whether thy solemn Word it mete, Or measure out a mortal stain ; It heeds not, questions not, but falls In rhythmic beauty, grain on grain. " Let a saint's fingers grasp the glass. Or Judas hold it in his hand. Nor one nor other may retard, Or quicken the insensate hand. u c So go thou thine appointed way,' It seems to murmur to my soul ; ' Achieve the purpose of a life Whereof thou seest not the whole. THE HOUR-GLASS. 8 I " ' Whatever gird thee round about Of seeming good or seeming ill, Do thou thy duty ; what befalls It is for God, not thee, to will.' " The blue lips cease ; but musing on He wrestles with the growing thought, Until the shaven temples throb, There where a net the veins have wrought. The night wears out, the moon goes down. The vine to fresher gusts is swung, And lo ! the squinting gargoyle thrusts From its stone mouth a stony tongue. 82 A YEAR OF SONG. THE MISSAL. Twine, O happy maiden, With thy tresses twine, Tendrils flowing, roses glowing Red with red of wine. Let thy radiant braidings Meet thy lover's eyes. Like a golden page of olden Missal ; flower-wise. In a shining heaven Prankt with asphodel. Angel of his love's evangel Ever shining dwell. THE MISSAL. 83 He will kneel, God praising For thy wonder-hair, — "Lo, He painteth, lo. He scenteth, And He maketh fair!" He will bend above thee Worshipping, I wis, Almond-blossom brow and bosom — And thy mouth will kiss. 84 A YEAR OF SONG. SANDS OF THE SEA. Lapping as a dog will lap, Crept the waves that mine and sap Without violence, without shock, Granite coast and isles of rock ; Crept into the placid bay, Stealing up the sands that lay Winnowed by the breeze, and white With the bleaching of the light. To the bay had wandered down Idlers from the little town. Summer-idlers, labour free, Happy by the shining sea. SANDS OF THE SEA. 85 Slowly to and fro they went, Or, in dreamy musing, bent. And the fancy and the thought On the rippled sand they wrought. There a boy with locks of light Drew himself a famous kite. That against the wind would sail. Streaming prodigal of tail. There a maiden, violet-eyed. Drew her thought, and, drawing, sighed, — At her feet a lover's face Outlined in exceeding grace. And a poet, lean and sad, Hollow-eyed as he were mad. Traced the rhymes that wrought his pain, Throbbing pulses in his brain ! 86 A YEAR OF SONG. Nor the old man's shaking hand Spared the whitely tempered sand, Thousands, hundreds, tens, he drew,- All his fortune at a view ! But as each thus traced apart That which quicken'd brain or heart, Up the wave insidious crept And from sight the record swept, — Cared not for the famous tov. Cared not for the maiden's joy, Swept away the poet's rhyme And the fortune in its prime ! Whitely crisping on its way Thing of weakness, thing of play It was pitiless withal, — Wave more cruel did not crawl. SANDS OF THE SEA. 87 This the poet musing saw, And he thought, — " Whom nature's law- Would discern, has far to seek For her gauge of Strong and Weak. " Giant forces that fulfil Fruitful issues of her will. Lurk in least suspected guise. Hard to fathom or surprise. " She is gentlest in her might ; Softest airs and waves unite And a subtle purpose gain, Where the storm has raged in vain. " And however seeming frail. Seeming slight, she does not fail, But with strength in weakness moves In her own elected grooves ; 88 A YEAR OF SONG. '■' Shaping all things to her plan, Ever pitiless to man As to all beneath her sway, — His her mandates to obey. " Power fruitlessly he craves ; Deaf to kingliest voice her waves. And as vainly each withstands Death's advances on life's sands." Musing thus within his breast Long he lingered with the rest, — Till the rosy evening came And the day went out in flame : Till a breeze, as darkness grew. Fresh from round the headland blew. And the ocean's heart of light Throbbed beneath the purple night. TO EVA, WITH A SONG. 89 TO EVA, WITH A SONG. I BRING to you my song, my little song. So wan, so weak, its breath is but a sigh, O, feed it with the music of your voice. And it will throb with life : it will not die. Take it, and haply for its sake — or mine — Your heart may warm toward it by-and-bye, May come to deem it sweet, to hold it dear. And loved and cherished so, it cannot die. 90 A YEAR OF SONG, THE GRANGE WINDOW. The bar of red in the amber west Burns to ashes, and all is grey, Though a sickle-moon is glittering out Through the haze of the dying day. There is no light from the sickle moon, And fast the pearly greys grow dead, The trees grow black and the flowers dim, Till the beauty of all has fled. And the passion-flowers that, moonlight-hued. Tangle and twine with starry grace About a window they garland up — Even these will the night efface. THE GRANGE WINDOW. QI Already the wine-red curtains folds Hide the room with their ruddy glow, And gone is the face that whitely gazed At the sunset an hour asio. Gone ! ah, no ; there is streaming again A shaft of light athwart the gloom, The dew-wet laurels within it gleam And the flowers returning bloom. That face once more ! and a rosy hand The silken damask holds apart. And full in the light a woman stands With a trouble of eye and heart. Full in the softenins; lio-ht that makes A glory round her like a saint. There stands the form that is Art's despair And a face that no words can paint. 92 A YEAR OF SONG. She watches and waits for one who stays, For one beloved she looks in vain, And the big black eyes are full of tears And the child mouth quivers with pain. Passionful longing and not reproach Steals the blood from her rounded cheek. And sadness born of the hungering heart That can suffer but cannot speak. " The hours drag on, O love of my heart ! Wearily on, and you are not here ; A hundred terrors oppress my brain I am sick to swooning with fear. " It is not doubt, O life of my life ! O truest, and fondest, and best ; But I am a woman, and womanly fears Rend and distract my breast." THE GRANGE WINDOW. 93 So the white lips murmuring move, Yet the while with her wistful eyes She gazes into the garden's gloom And up at the brightening skies. The sickle moon has the gleam of gold In the deepening blue above, She thinks " It shines not for me alone, It is shining on him I love." But hark ! what echo the silence breaks. And what sound when all sound seemed dead ? Her cheek is fading from red to white And is flushing from white to red ; And the big eyes glisten. Yet these alone Are the sounds which her cars await, — A hasty footstep spurning the road And a hand on the garden gate. 94 A YEAR OF SONG. ROSE SONG. Sunny breadths of roses, Roses white and red, Rosy bud and rose leaf From the blossom shed ! Goes my darling flying All the garden through. Laughing she eludes me, Laughing I pursue. Now to pluck the rose-bud, Now to pluck the rose, (Hand a sweeter blossom) Stopping as she goes : ROSE SONG. 95 What but this contents her, Lauoihino; in her flight ? Pelting with the red rose, Peltinor with the white. Roses round me flying, Roses in my hair, I to snatch them trying, — Darling, have a care ! Lips are so like flowers, I might snatch at those Redder than the rose leaves. Sweeter than the rose. 96 A YEAR OF SONG. HOME AGAIN. Home again ! spared the perils of years, Spared of rough seas and rougher lands, And I look in your eyes once, once again, Hear your voices and grasp your hands ! Not changed the least, least bit in the world ! Not aged a day as it seems to me ! The same dear faces, the same dear home, — All the same as it used to be ! Ah ! here is the garden ! Here the limes Still in their sunset green and gold, And the level lawn with the pattern in't Where the grass has been newly roll'd. HOME AGAIN. 97 And here come the rabbits lumping along,— No ! that's never the same white doe With the pinky lops and the munching mouth ; Yet 'tis like her as snow to snow. And here's Nep in his old heraldic style, Erect, chain-tightening all he can, With Topsy wagging that inch of tail, — What, you know me again, old man .'' The pond where the lilies float and bloom ! The gold fish in it just the same, Too fat to stir in the cool, — yes, one Shoots, and gleams, and goes out like flame And still in the meadow, daisy-white, Its whistling flight the arrow wings, And the fallen target's central " gold" Glitters — a planet with its rings ! 98 A YEAR OF SONG. And vender's the tree with the giant's face, Sharp nose and chin against the blue, And the wide elm-branches meeting, bear Our famous swing between the two. No change ! nay, it only seems last night I blurted back your fond good-byes. As I heard the rain drip from the eaves And felt its moisture in my eyes. Only last night that you throng'd the porch. Each choking words we could not say, And poor little Jim's white face peep'd out. Dimly seen while I stole away. Poor little Jim ! in this happy hour His wee, white face our hearts recall. And I miss a I and and a voice, and see The little crutch beside the wall. HOME AGAIN. 99 So all life's sunshine is fleck'd with shade, So all delight is touch'd with pain, So tears of sorrow and tears of joy Welcome the wanderer home again ! 100 A YEAR OF SONG. THE PAGE. Like a missal, all ablaze With the gold and colours blended, Shine the bright chivalric days In their hazy distance splendid. Knights in long processions go. Tossing plumes and armour flashing, Pennons interblending glow. Glaives are shining, falchions clashing. Maidens lone in 'leagured towns Dreaming over minstrel praises, — Yard-long hair and silken gowns (Sunny meadows prankt with daisies). THE PAGE. I 01 Lips that meeting lips bespeak, Side long glances, smiles ecstatic ; Flowers freshening in the cheek. Sighs distinctly aromatic. Nobly born as passing fair. For though sweet are thicket roses, Perfect blooms of the parterre, Only the parterre discloses. Then at every maiden's side. Sworn companion of her leisure, Moves Sir Page, — my lady's pride Pleasing torment, tiresome pleasure. Clad in suit of iris hues. Hawk on wrist, with bells and jesses. Eyes of liquid browns or blues, Maiden cheeks and maiden tresses. 102 A YEAR OF SONG. Fond of joust and fond of brawl — Dagger out ere word is spoken — Life of bower, and life of hall, Youth's free spirit all unbroken. Singing to the twangling lute Minstrel ballad last in fashion, Till the lips that should be mute Learn the parrot-lisp of passion. Underneath the pleasaunce walls, (Ripe with nectarines and peachesj, Glad my Lady's damozels List the lesson that he teaches. Eyes upon a blushing face, — Curls against a milky shoulder, — Arm about a resting place Might dismay a lover bolder. THE PAGE. 103 Of his heart and its despair, Vowing oft and oft protesting, Till so much of love is there. Only half of it is jesting. Happy Page, who thus can move In a round of bright enjoyment — Happy to whom song and love Represent life's sole employment ! 104 A YEAR OF SONG. BARREN FAITH. O, FRIEND, we nurse in vain a scholar-faith, Though one that with its husky logic feeds And satisfies our intellectual needs ; How should this move to good or guard from scaith ? Begot of schoolmen's subtleties alone It carries with it no awakening force, Life is not quickened by it in its course ; The head is ever cool j the heart a stone. Such dead-seed faith is with no savins; rife. It does not, cannot blossom into aught Of active goodness, is mere barren thought That never can become a law of life. Something the soul demands on which to thrive ; If it is saved, it must be saved "alive.'' harald's wooing. 105 HARALD'S WOOING. Gloomy is Rothcr, gloomier none, King of the Isles of the Setting Sun. Word came to him " Thy daughter grieves, Her cheeks are thinner than winter leaves." Word came to him " Thy Thora is lorn, For Harald the Jute her heart is torn." With anger kindled his falchion-eye, " Accursed live I, accursed die, If ever by word or ever by sign I welcome the Harald for son of mine V I06 A YEAR OF SONG. They bore the maiden the words he spake, Never a tear from her eyelids brake ; From noon to night, and from night to noon, She sat her as one that maketh to swoon. For many a day her maidens said, " She fareth her less alive than dead." And every morn they hearkened her breath, — Or lay she in sleep or lay she in death ? In the month of the leafing of trees There came a ship from over the seas : Its sides of gold were brighter than flame, But none might tell of it whence it came. Never a knight on its deck it bore, But he who trod it was bent and hoar, harald's wooing. 107 His wide robe wrought in many a fold With dragons in jewels and cords of gold. O, few were his words and passing strange, " P^or ever from land to land I range The sick to heal and the dead to raise : And banish sorrow and end of days !" To Rother the King the Sage they brought ; ••' These, King, are the wonders he hath wrought !" And he said, " My child is like to die : Hath philtre or charm can love defy ?" " Yea, King," he answered, " bring thou to me Thy daughter fair and this thing shall be." "The maiden straight to thy vessel bring — Must it be so?" " As thou sayest. King : Io8 A YEAR OF SONG. Nay, since to doubting thy heart is prone, She comes not, coining not there alone V The ship's gold sides on the waves burn red. Her foam-white sails to the winds are spread. From the shore it speedeth, a bird of flight ; The King's fair daughter, in wild affright. Cries to the seas and cries to the shore. " Peace ! if thou lovest me, Lady Thore !" He has slipt]]the robe that fold on fold Is wrought with dragons in gems and gold ; And quick to the reddened waters go The drift-white locks and the beard of snow ; Ring-golden tresses and ruddy cheek The grace and glory of youth bespeak — harald's wooing. 109 And who upriseth from Thora's feet But Harald the Jute, her lover meet : Harald, who danger and hate defied, With love-craft winning his winsome bride ? no A YEAR OF SONG. THE LETTER. How daintily it lies on the crisp moss There, in the hollow bole of the great elm, Pure in its morning freshness ! The white leaves. With delicate enfold ment interwrought. Close, flower-like, fold on fold ; and, look, for seal A dew-drop glistens ! Blossom of the night ! Who comes to pluck it in the amber dawn ? Whose sleep was light for heart-throb, and who heard. Deep in a dream, the bickering sparrows stir And twitter in the ivy on her walls ? The terrace marble gives not back her step. So lithe of spring : the garden only hears THE LETTER. Ill A silken creeping as she glimmers through And out into the Chace, that stirs not yet, But holds the mists in it, as eyes hold sleep. Straight to the antler'd elm she glides, and waits, Thinking, " It cannot be !" and yet again " It cannot — cannot be !" then stoops, and thrusts Her white arm, to the elbow, through the rift Where the elm parts, and cries out joyously. O happy, childlike cry ! O glad, bright eyes. And tingling cheeks, and ear-lobes hotly stung ! Her heart in the wild tumult of its bliss Speaks thus : it is so bless'd. The prize is found ! She grasps the flower of Love's own spring-time born ! It is her own, to fondle, to bedew With happy tears, or press to those red lips That will not part from it, but cling and cling. And now let all be still. Let no dead leaf Or hasty footstep scare. Alone — alone — 112 A YEAR OF SONG. Secure from peering eye or curious ear, She will feed love on love's ambrosia. See how her flaming eyes devour the page ! Words had no worth, thoughts never glow'd till now, Language was never music till this hour. How sweet it is, how precious ! Radiant bloom, — She will suck out thy honey drop by drop. Insatiate still : still loth to part with thee To her soft bosom's keeping, though the Chace Swim round her as she reads, and she is fain To clutch at the wet leaves on the low boughs, Fearing to swoon for utter ecstacy. SONG. 113 LOVE SONG. I TOUCH the keys and wait, Watching the dreamful eyes That hide their thoughts, as stars Hidden in bluest skies ; What choice will shape the swain Will soothe my heart ere long, When song gives back to life The hours when life was song ? O, dreamful eyes that hide Their secret thought so well, A burning cheek reveals, A silent lip can tell : 8 114 A YEAR OF SONG. When youth will sing to youth What from its heart must throng ? Love it has ever sung, Love is its only song. THE FAMOUS STORY. II5 THE FAMOUS STORY. The shadows of the little wood Closed round us in the burning noon, The lucent shadows of the leaves, Yet tender with the green of June. And there, while in a happy dream, We wandered inward from the sun, Winding and turning at our will, The famous story was begun. A story prodigal of love, Of youth, and beauty born of youth ; Of sorrow tempered by romance, And trial glorified by truth. Il6 A YEAR OF SONG. Long, long ago it all had chanced, — Or was it haply passing then ? It might be true of any time Since women were beloved of men. I listened, yet I did not heed ; A rippling voice was all I heard, That, softly cadenced, had for me The music of a sin2;in2; bird. The tale went on, the voice I heard. Yet all that I recall is this, — That earnest face, those dreamy eyes, The little mouth so sweet to kiss. The tale went on, with many a pause, With frequent outbursts of delight. As breaks and openings of the wood Its hidden beauties gave to sight. THE FAMOUS STORY. II7 A pheasant gleamed across our path, A squirrel shot a sudden turn, And now the cuckoo sang, and now We waded coolest breadths of fern. The little wood was long to cross ; Its winding paths were hard to find ; And hours had fled ere we emerged, And left its pleasant gloom behind. And then beside the rustic fence, Whence spread the meadows many a mile, We linger'd idly hand in hand, — And still the tale went on the while. The evening shadows lengthened out ; The heavy rooks winged home to nest ; The little wood was fringed with light Against the fiercely flaming west. \ Il8 A YEAR OF SONG. The sun set in a fleecy haze. Sank flaming in a sea of gold, The sky grew dark, the stars came out, And yet the story was not told ! A DREAM OF THE SEA. I I9 A DREAM OF THE SEA. The great cliffs crimson overhead. Hid in their purple glooms we go, The waves break frothing at our feet In-running break with frothy snow ; Here roam we, darling, where the rock Steeps down into the seething sea, And dream that save the waste of night There is no world for thee and me. Against the greening sunset gold Die out the crimson-purple bars, The day is gone, the night is near, A day of flowers, a night of stars. I20 A YEAR OF SONG. The meadow odours of the sea Rise as we stray with folded palms, Glad in our world of winds and waves, Of rending storms and rosy calms j To us the far is as the past, The gleamy headland's dying line Is equal bound of time and space, — This heart-beat, is it thine or mine ? The last faint gleam of gold is gone, Black grow the crimson-purple bars ; Love glorified the day of flowers. Love sanctifies the night of stars. THE LORELEI. 121 THE LORELEI. " Flows the Rhine as flowing wine, Bright in its unrest, Sweet with odours of the vine ; Heaven in its breast." So the boatman Hugo sung. Long, aye, long ago, While the Rock its shadow flung In the sunset glow. At that fortalice, upraised From its purple base. Suddenly the boatman gazed With a stricken face. 122 A YEAR OF SONG. On its summit, wondrous fair, Shining angel-wise. Sat a maid, with golden hair And beseeching eyes. From a shoulder's rosy sphere All the robe that slid. Ripple-bright and water-clear, Rather show'd than hid. As her tresses sleeking through. Fingers pearly white. Slowly went, the diamond dew Fell and broke in light. But a cithern from her feet Lifted she ere long, And its music, pulsing sweet, Fed a wondrous song. THE LORELEI. I23 And the boatman, drifting fast, Listen'd to his cost ; On the rocks before him cast ! In the whirlpool lost ! Then the Lorelei's luring form Faded from the eye, As a cloud fades, rosy warm, In a purple sky. 124 -^ YEAR OF SONG. THE ASSASSIN. Behold one in a turret chamber, hung With picture-arras, where in conflict grim Titanic shapes, red-eyed and sprawl of limb Counterfeit life, to gusts of midnight swung. So tarry all amid the strange and rare Illusions that beguile us evermore, And lo ! behind the arras is the door. The treacherous portal of a secret stair ! And in the hour each deems him most alone, Seated secure from danger, he beholds A quick hand tear aside the arras folds. And he is face to face with the Unknown ; With ready knife, or fingers stifling breath. There falls upon him the assassin — Death! THERESE. 12,5 THERESE. Long weeks of weariness of brain, Long lapses of disordered dream, And life is come to me again, Delicious to the verge of pain. In utter ecstacy supreme. Misdoubting all that I behold, I wander through the autumn days. Strange splendour brightens hill and wold. The woods are luminous with gold. The skies with amethyst ablaze. 126 A YEAR OF SONG. And, like the spirit of the scene, So fair, I tremble as I gaze, One wanders by my side, serene. In perfect gracefulness of mien The darling of my heart — Therese. And as the golden, glimmering eves Deepen about us, oft we gain A trellised bower round which there weaves A tangle of the wine-red leaves Wine-red as reddest wine may stain. Then at my knee, with winning grace. She sits, her hair before me bright, And, marble white, her earnest face Gleams, till as darkness comes apace It glimmers to a spot of light. THERESE. 127 And ever as we sit, she strives My languid fancy to beguile With talk of great, of noble lives, With tale or legend, that revives And cheers my drooping heart the w^hile. The bright creations of romance. The memories of vanished time. Quicken resplendent in her glance ; But most my soul she will entrance With old-world witcheries of rhyme. High aims and honorable deeds Shaped on her lips my heart will move For sin and suffering she pleads ; But ever shuns the way that leads Toward the precipice of love ! 128 A YEAR OF SONG. That way the rosy pathways tend, Meandering ever as they go, Where'er our devious course we wend Love with each tender thonght will blend- Yet love's delights her lips forego. For very pity she is lorn, The tear-drops glisten on her cheek ; She pities and she does not scorn, Yet out of pity love is born, And still of love she does not speak. I Strange ! yet, in sooth, far more I prize The love, a word of love dismays, Straight to my hungering heart she flies. For her alone it throbs or dies My darling, my delight — Therese ! MY lady's secret. 1 29 MY LADY^S SECRET. That night a drift-log from the sea there burn'd In the great chamber, and my Lady sat With her white face and no-lips like a corse, — By the flames green and purple liicest that ! Save near the hearth the chamber was all black, But the light play'd on her in diamond gleams About her hair and bosom ; and her robe Shone, stiff" with gold, and rich with jewell'd seams. Her wasted fingers from the miniver Of her long sleeves met in an interlace About a silver crucifix : she prayed, Or prayed not, — none might read it in her face. 9 130 A YEAR OF SONG. The carven chair of Lady Isobel, Her child, stood empty, but she heeded not ; Belike her thoughts were, with her heart, above, And all on this side heaven was forgot. And yet she lifted eyes of sudden fear When the drawn arras show'd us as we crouch'd. We servitors, and I gasp'd out the tale Of what had chanced, and what our looks avouch'd : How, going with my fellows on our rounds To bolt and bar, as was our wont, that night. We had beheld close to the postern door Our fair young mistress lying stark and white ! And whether she lay swooning, or lay dead, We knew not till we bore her up the stair. All loth to touch with our coarse hands a form So pure, and, as it lay, so dainty fair. MY lady's secret. 131 Meekly my Lady listen'd, pressing hard Her hands, all gems, and mutter'd, " It is well ;" Then called her women, and rose up, and went Seeking where lay the Lady Isobel. Who all as one that was too fair for death, Out of the swoon that held her captive, broke, And mutter'd, " Leoline !" and yet again Cried, "Leoline !" and in that cry awoke. Now other Leoline none knew save one, A fair tall stripling, full of clerkly guile, And skilful on the lute, who oft had come And with his music sped the weary while. But from that hour none saw him any more, None look'd upon his face nor heard his song ; And whispers gather'd, as the gathering wind, None knowing whence, of crime and secret wrong. 1 32 A YEAR OF SONG. But naught of this my Lady heard, nor aught Came to the ears of hapless Isobel, As in the castle's ever-deepening gloom They dwelt alone, contented thus to dwell. Nor ever wander'd forth, though Autumn went Triumphal in a pageant through the land ; But sat in the great chamber wide apart, Dumb, but with faces each might understand. Till on a night, they sitting in this wise. The maiden rising, cried with stifled breath, " You slew him — you !" and totter'd and fell down, All her white length, and there lay still in death ! This they who waited heard, and heard no more. But entering, saw my Lady's palsied guilt, As she still sat, her cross upon the floor, Her broken rosary round about her spilt. MY lady's secret. 1 33 Thus to her hapless grave went Isobel ; And if my Lady wept her, who may know ? Or if guilt rankled 'neath the gold brocade, And diamonds palsy-tremulous in glow ? She took her secret with her, and the tomb Became — when solitary years had fled — A casket for her dust, her gems, and that Shut close until the waking of the dead. 134 A YEAR OF SONG. A SUMMER DREAM. Only a summer dream, Sport of an idle day, A meadow range, a word beside the stream, A parting and — away ! Only a dream of Love, Of heart inclined to heart — As clouds that in the blue of heaven meet. As white clouds cling and part. We dream'd and we awoke ; No more ! But ah, for dreams Engender'd of the subtle light of Love, Bright with its iris gleams ! A SUMMER DREAM. 1 35 Shadows of leaf and bird Fall on the meadow grass ; But over it the shadow that I love Never again shall pass. The summer voices blend In music as of yore, But from the melody has dropt a note : There will be song no more. The glory and the wealth Of Nature all things share, But in my heart is no responsive throb That tells me it is fair. Back on the sunny dream I turn an aching gaze. But the clear splendour of its glory throws A shadow on my days. 136 A YEAR OF SONG. THE FLIGHT FOR LIFE. O, HIDEOUS leagues of straining woods, Straining back from the sea ; O, woods of pine, and nothing but pine,- Will they never have end for me ? The ceaseless line of the red, red pine My very brain it sears ; And the roar of trees, like surging seas. Is it ever to haunt my ears ? Let me remember it all. 'Twas late — The burning end of day ; The trees were all in a o-olden dow. As with flame they would burn away. THE FLIGHT FOR LIFE. 1 37 The joyful news to our clearing came, Came as the sun went down : A ship from England at anchor lay In the bay of the nearest town. In that good ship my Alice had come — Alice, my dainty queen ! Sweet Alice, my own, my own so near — There was only the wood between ! Now, three days' journey we counted that, The days and nights were three ; But for thirty days and thirty nights I had journeyed my love to see. Before an hour to the night had gone, Into the wood I went ; The pine-tops yet were bright in the light. Though below it was all but spent. I^S A YEAR OF SONG. ' The moon at ten and the dawn at four !' For this I offered praise ; Though I knew the wood on the hither side, Knew each of its tortuous ways. The moon rose redder than any sun, Through the straight pines it rose ; But glittered on keener eyes than mine. On the eyes of deadhest foes ! To sudden peril my heart awoke — And yet it did not quail ; I had skirted Indians in their camp, And the fiends were upon my trail ! Three stealthy Snakes were upon my track. Supple and dusk and dread ; A thought of Alice, a prayer to God, And like wind on my course I sped. THE FLIGHT FOR LIFE. . 1 39 Only in flight, in weariest flight, Could I my safety find ; But fast or slow, howe'er I might go, They followed me close behind. The nieht wore out and the moon went down, The sun rose in the sky ; But on and on came the stealthy foes, Who had made it my doom to die. With two to follow and one to sleep. They tracked me through the night ; But one could follow and two could sleep. In the day's increasing light. So all day under the burning sky. All night beneath the stars ; And on, when the moon through ranging pines Gleamed white as through prison-bars. 140 A YEAR OF SONG. With some to follow and some to halt, Their course they well might keep ; But I — O God, for a little rest, For a moment of blessed sleep ! Lost in the heart of the hideous wood, My desperate way I kept ; For why ? They would take me if I stayed, And murder me if I slept. But brain will yield and body will drop ; And next when sunset came, I shrieked delirious at the light, For I fancied the wood on flame ! I shrieked, I reeled ; then venomous eyes And dusky shapes were there ; And I felt the touch of gleaming steel. And a hand in my twisted hair. THE FLIGHT FOR LIFE. I4I A cry, a struggle, and down I sank ; But sank not down alone, — A shot had entered the Indian's heart, And his body bore down my own ! Yet an Indian gun that shot had fired — Most timely. Heaven knows ! For I had chanced on a friendly tribe. Who were watching my stealthy foes. And they who fired had kindliest hearts : They gave me nursing care ; And when that my brain knew aught again, Lo, my Alice, my own, was there ! Amid their dusky forms she stood Fair to my feeble sight. As a shining angel God had sent In a halo of blinding light. 142 A YEAR OF SONG. Dear Alice ! But O, the straining woods, Straining back from the sea ; The woods of pine, and nothing but pine. They have never an end for me. The ceaseless line of the red, red pine My brain to madness sears ; And the roar of trees, like surging seas, Is the horror that fills my ears. VALLEY MEMORIES. I43 VALLEY MEMORIES. Waking I dream, and dreaming see A valley in the sunset glow, With ranging Alps that through the haze Thrust peaks of snow. A blinding glare is in my eyes ; Yet, far below, I see again, Where, golden under burning skies, Outsweeps the plain. All freshly fair and bright the scene ; But looming vast before me still The Alps gigantic grow, and all The picture fill. 144 A YEAR OF SONG. Their spell once more is on my heart, Their grandeurs satisfy the soul ; Naught else in life or space has part — They make the whole. They wrap the heavens round their forms, Arrest the clouds upon their march, And into gleaming ruins break The rainbow's arch. From the deep valley's purpling gloom Ever their summits rise sublime, Bright with the sunsets of the world Since Time was Time. CANONBURY PARK. I45 CANONBURY PARK, May 30TH. That day the shining aspens swayed With music as of hidden seas, The netted shadows of the trees Fleck'd all the lawn with restless shade ; The branching pear pavilioned us. Its gold the light laburnum shed, Danas was wooed afresh, we said. And summer dreamt of Pactolus. The affluent sweetness of the day Quickened the pulses of delight. Wit challenged laughter in its flight. As we were happy we were gay. And time to sweeter music moved With those we prized and those we loved. 10 146 A YEAR OF SONG. THE TROOPER'S DEFENCE. Do I plead guilty to it ? Yea, I do ; For I have never lied, and shall not now ; But give me a dog's leave to say a word Touching what happened, and the why and how. The night-guard went their rounds that night at one ; My post was in the lower dungeon range, Down level with the moat, all slime and ooze And damp j but there, 'tis fit we change and change. THE trooper's DEFENCE. I47 We sentinels. Besides, 'twas in a sort The place of honour, or of trust, we'll say ; For in the cell there with the mortised door The young boy-lord, guilty of treason, lay. Well, with my partisan I'd tramped an hour Down in the dark there — ^just a lantern hung By the wet wall — when close at hand I heard My own name spoken by a woman's tongue. My hair was like to lift my morion up. For the keep's haunted ; but I turned, to see A woman like a ghost — face white, all white. Ready to drop, and not a yard from me. How she had come there God in heaven knows. However, long before my tongue I'd found. She tore out of her hair the white pearls, big As pigeon's eggs, then dropt upon the ground. 148 A YEAR OF SONG. " One word !" she said, " only one word with him ; He dies to-morrow ! See, my pearls I give, My bracelets too " — she slipt them from her arms — " One word, and I will bless you while I live ! " Your face is stern. O, but one word, one word !" With my big hand I set her on her feet ; But she clung to me, would not be thrust off, Still pleading in a bird's voice, soft and sweet. " Only one word with him !" that was her plea ; One word ; he would be dead at break of day ! She wept till all her pretty face was wet. And my heart melted : yea, she had her way. They spake together. Did I hear ? Not I ; Best ask me if I took her bribes. Well, there. You know the rest — know how yon Judas-spy, Yon starveling cur, crawled down the winding stair ; THE TROOPER^S DEFENCE. I49 And how he caught the bird fast in the cage, And made report of me with eager breath For breach of duty. Right ; it was a breach, And that means, in our soldier-fashion, death ! Well, I can face it : only give me leave To slit the weasand of yon craven hound. Yon Judas-spy there, and I'd fall content, Aye, as I'd fall to sleep upon the ground. 150 A YEAR OF SONG. ALLEGORY. * As through his life's dark night the Prophet went, Ever the stars shone brightly overhead, And, gazing on the fretted firmament, " These are God's flaming altar-fires " he said ; "But earth is dark and cold, and renders not From her hard bosom homage to His name. God of his stars is glorified : forgot Alone of man w^ho should His praise proclaim !" Then of his best he took and straightway heaped Beside the way an altar and gave fire, And high the joyous flames fantastic leaped — "Lo! they put out the stars!" he cried, and higher ALLEGORY. I5I Heaped up the precious fuel ; yet would bound And sink the flames wherewith the clouds grew red : Ever they dropped, and darkness closing round Sucked out their life. Yet gazing undismayed, " It shall not die for lack of aught " he cried, " Though of my life a sacrifice be made." But though the altar with himself he fed, The fire went out, and still the stars shone over- head. 152 A YEAR OF SONG. THE 'PRENTICE HOLIDAY. London, January 30, r66i. Into a sky as blue as May We threw our 'prentice caps that day, And all was bright as if the Spring Had come to see that wondrous thing, The white rose bloom again ! Upon a loyal deed intent Down to the minster first we went. Out of his grave old Noll Ave drew. And Ireton seized, and Bradshaw too. The white rose blooms again ! THE 'prentice HOLIDAY. 153 To Tyburn straight we haled the three. And strung them high on Tyburn tree, Our voices rising clear and strong : A thousand throats, a single song, " The white rose blooms again !" One in a cloth of green was wrapped, A murray serge one overlapped. And one was in his winding sheet — It hung a yard below his feet. The white rose blooms again ! They hung with faces white and spare. And eyes that seemed to blink the glare ; Yet so like life, it troubled some To think " If Noll to life could come !" The white rose blooms again ! 154 A YEAR OF SONG. A vintner pointed to the tree And cried, " A famous trinity ; None greater and none less in evil, But equal — satan, fiend, and devil !'* The white rose blooms again ! " And here, again," another cried, " Christ with two thieves was crucified ; Now tell us, crop ears, by your leaves. Which is the Christ, which are the thieves ?" The white rose blooms again ! One held a flagon in the light. And cried, " Old Noll, thy nose is white, Here is the drink thou lovest most, Drink ! an thou choke not with the toast.'' " The white rose blooms again !" THE 'prentice HOLIDAY. 155 Long in the burning sun they hung, Long in the breeze they swayed and swung ; It was the headsman lowered the dead. From every corse he smote its head. The white rose blooms again ! Aloft on pikes the heads they bore, Then up there went a parlous roar, And one cried, " Noll, thou'dst kings defy. But never yet held head so high : The white rose blooms again !" By this the sun drew near the west; We wended homeward with the rest, But when the day to darkness turned At Temple Bar a bonfire burned : The white rose blooms again ! 156 A YEAR OF SONG. And so the martyr's day we kept, Long may his cruel end be wept, And England cry " Long live the King !" And long live we to shout and sing — " The white rose blooms again \" A LOST LOVE. 1 57 A LOST LOVE. I SEE her as I met her in the hour When love's first impulse quickened in her breast, Warm as the roseate flushes of the dawn, A fresh delight that knevi^ not of unrest. In the resplendent blossom of her youth She comes before me, prodigal of grace. And in the calm of summer hours again My heart grows amorous of her peerless face. 158 A YEAR OF SONG, Once more her winning eyes look into mine, Her rosy hands again are mine to hold, And round her, bright as from a fountain, flow Her rippling tresses luminous with gold. In memory we wander side by side. Our hearts responsive and our shadows one : And still upon my lips the word unsaid. That shaping oft as oft they quivering shun. Ever my heart is full ; my lips are mute Till on a day when all the world is fair. The birds sing and the blossoms breathe of love, And I my love have murmured unaware. And through her crimson blushes she replies In whispers — softest music every tone — Owning her love, and trembling as she owns Her passion has interpreted my own. A LOST LOVE. 1 59 That moment I recall as one recalls All day the sweetness of a waking dream : But Time can mar the bliss that Time can make, And darkest shadows snare the sunniest gleam. As there had come an hour that saw us meet, So in the end an hour of parting came : Our sudden love had no endurins: heat. And perished, haply, as too fierce of flame. We are of those who pace opposing shores, And, pondering what is, what might have been, — Stretch out their craving hands that may not meet, For Time, a ruthless ocean, flows between ! l6o A YEAR OF SONG. A. T. M. All the abounding beauty of her form, The mellowing sweetness of her quickening mind, The o;lorious issue of a heart of love, — All, all transformed at thy grim presence, — Death ! No watched decay and no denoted change ; No fading cheek, no lustre-lacking eye ; Nor any laughter wanting to our mirth ! And thy chill cry rings on our sleeping ears — O Death ! A. T. M. l6l Coiled at our feet in sweet obedient love Caught to our hearts, her failings all forgot, A tyrant in her beauty ! now so still : Lying so mute, so patient in thy thrall, — Terrible Death ! E'en now, the drowsy hush of summer leaves A slumbrous calm about her fitly keeps : We who so loved her leave her — for awhile ; Leave her to thy long cherishing, O Death ; O gentle Death ! II 1 62 A YEAR OF SONG. THE SPECTRE. They saw a Spectre in the setting sun, Those eyes of a great nation, westward turned. Beheld it vast and splendrous, as with light, As with white light, it burned. " Lo ! here," they cried, " is Glory, born of God, Inspiring noble aims and shining deeds ; What should we do but listen to its voice, And follow as it leads ? " Ignoble are the arts and toils of Peace, Her hoarded fruits and harvests ripely stored : The sickle for the masters of the world Is the man-reaping sword !" THE SPECTRE. 1 63 P'orth in their might they poured, to meet a foe Worthy their prowess, worthy their defeat ; With clouds of hovering hosts the land was black — They met as oceans meet. Two seas that crashing in tumultuous might, With hurling waves, and each to each a shore, Whereon live men were broken in the shock. And whelmed in spraying gore. And only with the dusk the tide went out. And left the dead and those who could not die, To the shrill winds that mocked them, and the rains Of a low, wailing sky. And the great winds were charged with blasphemies. The taint of blood was in the falling rain That could not quench the burning wounds of men Cirown envious ot the slain. 164 A YEAR OF SONG. And, lo ! the Spectre in the glimmering dawn Stood robed in blood, as on the overnight. In ever-flowing blood that, in the blaze Of light, had glistened light. THE WINDING OF THE SKEIN, 1 65 THE WINDING OF THE SKEIN. The orchard trees are white with snow As they were white with bloom, Foam-white, and like a sea, beneath The window of the room ; And fitfully the April sun Strove with the April rain. But brightest glinted out to see The winding of the skein. We were two sisters, Maud and I, And were content to dwell In the old house amonsj the trees Our mother loved so well ; l66 A YEAR OF SONG. Our friends were few, and other friends We never sought to gain ; The chief was he whose name recals The winding of the skein. Our artist neighbour, Clement, loved The orchard like a boy, Its blossom roof^ its mossy houghs Made half his summer joy. And like a brother in our hearts He grew in time to reign, And it was Maud and he who wrousht The winding of the skein. I marked them often, saw and read The wonder on his face. And how his artist eye approved Her beauty, and the grace THE WINDING OF THE SKEIN, 167 That kindled an admirins: love He struggled to restrain, Until the day she bade him help The winding of the skein. Ring after ring the golden floss About his fingers roU'd ; He thought, " Her hair is brighter yet. It has the truer gold." I read this in the eyes that strove To turn from her in vain, And loathed my raven tresses through The windintj; of the skein. Round after round they wound before The task was wholly done, And if their fingers touched, the blood Straight to his cheek would run ; o i68 A YEAR OF SONG. And if the knotted silk she chid. Her voice through every vein Went with a thrill of joy throuo-hout The vv^indino- of the skein. Round after round until the end. And when the end was there, He knew it not, but sat with hands Stretch'd in the empty air ; The ringing of her merry laugh Startled his dreamintr brain. And then he knew his heart ensnared In winding of the skein. Beneath the apple-blooms that day And many a day they strayed, I saw them through a mist of tears, While hard for death I prayed, THE WINDING OF THE SKEIN. 1 69 And like those blossoms still, these snows Benumb my heart with pain ; But Maud knows not why I recall The winding of the skein. ) "JO A YEAR OF SONG. IN A FRIEND'S POETICAL WORKS. To this enchanted wood I came, and saw Where its star-centre glimmer'd, ever bright, Through branches infinite. And as I stray'd. Plucking a blossom, colour-pure as light. Or leaf, a flow'r in brightness — lo ! there peep'd Through screening leaves the blue eyes of a Fay, Which straight, " in small frock, as a snowdrop white," Came forth, and I beheld her — Baby May ! She to the wood's heart pointed, and I, glad To utter gladness, follow'd, losing soon All sense but of the wonder that I had. And a great joy of freshness. This, a tune IN A FRIENDS POETICAL WORKS. IJI Of sweetest music, helped : a pleasant strain That, flowing as we onward moved, seem'd born Of the green leaves, or the soft winds, or came Of waters, or the surge of ripen'd corn -, And yet not so, though all in it had part, 'Twas but the Poet singing, glad of heart. 172 A YEAR OF SONG. THE LOST. On the hills the wind was fierce, All night long they heard it blow ; But the little town lay calm, Whitening with the falling snow. From her sleep the pastor's wife Started up in sore affright : " Listen, husband : some one cries !" " Wife, the winds are loud to-night." " 'Twas our child, our Glinka's voice ; Twice again I heard her cry !" " Rest ihee, wife ; the night is wild, And the winds are raging high." THE LOST. 173 With the dawn the wind went down, Cahn above as cahn below, And the little town lay still With the stillness of the snow. But while yet the morn was gray, Cries the deadly silence broke : Clam'rous knocking fill'd the house ; Sick of heart the mother woke. To the casement huddled straight : Saw where, through the little street. Men her child, her Glinka, bore, Bendino; low at head and feet. " Mistress, see ; we bring thy child. Frozen by the cruel night I" But she heeded not nor spoke ; She had neither voice nor sight. 174- A YEAR OF SONG. In the chamber lay the dead ; Bitter words the pastor spake : " He the wretch who lured her forth, God forget and man forsake !" Heeding not and hearing naught, Rocked the mother to and fro : " Cruel ! cruel ! Thrice she cried ; And I heard and did not go !" THE DEAD OF THE YEAR. 1 75 THE DEAD OF THE YEAR. Through the dead winter days I go, Under cloud skies, that, hanging low. Deaden the colour and the light ; The noonday sun is cold and white, And frequent falls on hill and plain A mist as heavy as a rain. There is no warmth in Nature's breast, No beauty glorifies her rest ; No sunrise and no sunset glow, The flowers have perished long ago ; And all the scene is tempered down To gray of gray and brown of brown. 176 A YEAR OF SONG. From the gaunt trees else wholly bare A wet leaf shudders here and there, Or swirling drops, while all the ground Is with a sodden drift embrowned ; Not crisp nor rustling to the tread, The music of the leaves is dead. The year is dead, and ah, my heart Has in its torpor place and part ; Nor mourns the autumn's golden prime. Ever a bright and treacherous time ; That cheated it with light and bloom. And left it empty as the tomb. Still I recall the splendrous glow Of autumn — when the sun was low ; In kindled heavens quick with flame. Through the red woods a goddess came, A halo in her amber hair. And I looked on in mute despair. THE DEAD OF THE YEAR. I 77 As from a missal's burnished skies The angels look, she looked with eyes Whose gaze wrought on me like a spell ; O'er summer heavens her eyelids fell, And for her face— the flush and pride, Of ripening autumn it outvied. There was no line, no dainty curve. That did not to perfection serve In that rare form so subtly fair. It lent a splendour to the air ; And seemed, to eyes that looked and loved, To make the light through which it moved. My heart awoke from out its sleep, A fiery passion, pure and deep As a man's heart may know, I knew ; I saw her fair, I held her true. And prayed that love my life might bless And kindle into happiness. 12 178 A YEAR OF SONG. I held her true, I saw her fair, No warning bade my heart beware, The cruel lips that falsely smiled, The words that wantonly beguiled ; I heeded not ; the siren strain Had ravished ear, and heart, and brain. She loved or loved not, who might say ? When she bent o'er me as I lay Lapp'd on that spicery, her breast, She spoke in earnest, spoke in jest, I did not question which. In youth, Love's only other name is truth. As one into his eyes should press, Charm'd juice of love-in-idleness ; So eyes and heart a rapture swathed, In bliss my lightened being bathed, Till all too late I grew to know My seeming joy my bitterest woe. THE DEAD OF THE YEAR. 1 79 This simple truth was hard to learn, They are not harshest lips that spurn, They are not bitterest tears that fall, Above the dead ; worst, worst of all, Life's direst anguish 'tis to prove The loved unworthy of the love ! The truth came to me ere the dyes Of autumn faded, ere its skies Were gray with ashes of the pyres Of its dead days : the sunset fires Kindled the red woods as of yore. My heart they kindle nevermore ! I cannot doubt of this, as bent And crushed and broken, yet content, In a dull wondering sort I go, This is the uttermost of woe ; And see, life's struggle wholly past. Winter is welcome at the last. l80 A YEAR OF SONG. For now low skies and stricken trees Are all my comfort, all my ease, In the dull pauses of my grief The dead year comes to my relief; It is an echo to my fate, Since it and I are desolate. DURING THE TERROR. l8l DURING THE TERROR. Ah, horror of blinding snow, Red in the fiery glow ; But cold, so cold in the light ! We shudder'd that awful night — Shudder'd and bitterly cried, Though the fire we sat beside Was of homesteads flamins: high Under the pitiless sky. Placidly stood, that morn. The homes where we were born — We and our children, gay In the sun of the winter day j 1 82 A YEAR OF SONG. Deep in our household cares, The world and the world's affairs Troubled us not, though afar Roll'd the blood-foaming billows of war. Ah, pleasantly fell the snow. Bright in the sunlight glow; And the little ones, mad with fun. Were clapping their hands, when one Came spurring, fiery and fleet, Up the heart of the little street, With tidings of horror and fear, — "They are here ! — the enemy ! — here !' There ! And only the ridge Of barren down and the bridge To stay them ! Ere the sun Went down their worst was done ; DURING THE TERROR. 1 83 Our slain ones made the road O'er which they tramp'd, and the goad That drove us forth as they came, Givins: our homes to flame. What had we done, dear Lord, What that by fire and sword We should for sin atone ? All things to Thee are known ; And thou dost know Wherefore this scathe, and flood Of our sons' blood, And, out of heaven, the cruel, cruel snow. 184 A YEAR OF SONG. BLUE EYES FOR TRUTH. The ivy over-shines the wall, Her purple poison berries shed ; Ash-clusters blacken to their fall : The year is dead ! A fleck of amber, in the cloud That swathes the east, is dawn and light And day, that mist and gloom enshroud. Makes welcome night. As one who, seeing life depart. Ponders the wonder of our lives, So, at the dead year's feet, my heart Strano;e thoutrht revives. BLUE EYES FOR TRUTH. 1 85 I think of one, a blossom set Shining amid the snows of years ; Sweet in remembrance, in regret, Even in tears. I see the briaiht rose of her face Flushed with the tender flush of youth. And murmur, amorous of its grace, " Blue eyes for truth." Blue eyes— the summer sky less blue — They were my rapture, my despair ; I knew them bright, and felt them true. Blue eyes that were ! Asain I watch the cloud that lends The future all its rainbow dyes ; A2:ain its veil the Phantom rends And rapture flies. 1 86 A YEAR OF SONG. The anguish of each winter day Comes back into my heart anew ; The charms death could. not steal away Once more I view. And in the wailing of the winds, The moan of branches swaying bare, Again my soul re-echoed finds Its own despair. The ivy over-shines the wall. The berries of the ash are shed ; Under the holly's coronal The year lies dead ! SONG OF AGE. 187 SONG OF AGE. When our feet were as feet of the dancer And the tones of our voices as song. When the light was too fleeting for pleasure And the darkness for slumber too long. We were glad and rejoiced in our being ; Our hearts were exultant in praise For the rapture of loving and living And the infinite joy of our days. Now the fervour of life has departed, We have emptied the gourds of delight. We complain of the night " it is weary !" And we cry of the day " it is night !" 1 88 A YEAR OF SONG. ' We are guests who have risen for going, And our hearts only quicken with praise, For the languor that cometh of livino; And the torpor with ending of days. BESIDE THE BROOK. 189 BESIDE THE BROOK. Brook that winding flowest Ever night and day, Rippling as thou goest On thy shining way, In thy onward wending, Say, have all things ending, Do the stars abide not, nor the flowers stay ? To thy beauty clinging All things meet and fair. Of their sweetness bringing In thy being share. JQO A YEAR OF SONG. Morns their freshness render, Eves their rosy splendour, But dost thou remember that their glories were ? When at noon thou shinest, Sheathed in flamins; gold. Art thou gay, or pinest 'Neath the moonlight cold ? Do white willows sadden, Blooming sedges gladden, Or joyest when their plumage painted birds unfold ? Dream'st thou in thy gliding Of a form of light. That awhile abidino: Made thy waters bright. Then with sudden spurning Of love's eager yearning Fled, and in its fleeing gave the world to-night ? BESIDE THE BROOK. 19^ Nay, as on thou farest, As thy ripples sing, Of her scorn thou sharest, Nought remembering ; Speeding, only speeding. Cold and all unheeding, As she whose light a shadow o'er my life doth fling. 192 A YEAR OF SONG. THE BALLAD OF THREE. Three woke up in the quiet night Under the shinina; moon From dreams of that which was to be Too soon, God knows, too soon. One in a villao-e of the wold. Tenderly nested, woke. The very fulness of her joy The woof of slumber broke. The tangled tresses from her face Her hand impatient swept. Her cheek burned in the dark for joy : For joy she laughed and wept. THE BALLAD OF THREE. 193 In pulsing raptures of delight All broad awake she lay, The church vane kindled rosy gold, — It was her wedding day. Deep in his castle's heart of gloom, Dull in the dawning gleam, One started, shrieking from his sleep. As stricken in a dream. And, rising fierce, he saw the stars Die out into the dawn, As spots that fade into the gray Upon the dappled fawn. And " O thou Mary — mother dear !" And " O thou Christ !" he said, " Better this maid went to her grave Than to our marriage bed." 13 194 A YEAR OF SONG. Out of the porch beside the church, Where crouched in gloom he lay, One sprang with cries and cursed the stars And cursed the dawning day. He drew a broad knife from his belt. Its edge was keen and true. But on a stone that hid the dead He sharpened it anew. And thrice across his thumb-nail wet The biting edge he tried : " Once for my lord ! and once for me ! And once for her his bride !" So they three in the quiet night, They three beneath the moon, Thouirht of the thin^; that was to be Too soon, God knows, too soon ! HOLLY TIME. 195 HOLLY TLME. The wood is barren as the wold The leaves have rusted Ions; a'To, The flowers have perished of the cold, Not even the hot marigold Offers her bosom to the snow In holly time. The winds rend out the empty nest, The robin shivers in his song. There is no warmth in Nature's breast. Faint gleams of bri^ihtness at the best The glory of the year prolong In holly time. 196 A YEAR OF SONG. Yet sweet as days when skies are blue And cherries redden on the wall : When blossoms, fed with sun and dew, Their beauty silently renew, Yea, sweeter, more desired of all Is holly time. For now, as if the Incarnate Word Walked it again, the sterile earth Rememb'rinrr the glad tidings heard Of angels, to its heart is stirred With promptings of renewing birth This holly time. Joy in life's pulses throbs and burns, The hours, star-crested, sweep along, Shedding delight from brimming urns, Youth to the heart of age returns, And fans the ashen brands of song In holly time. HOLLY TIME. 197 The sacred hearths whence yule flames rise Are altars whereon, each apart, The households offer sacrifice Out of the tender sanctities And superstitions of the heart In holly time. Thus do celestial glimpses bless The stricken world, as though its woes, Its sins, its sorrows fathomless Had ending, and the wilderness Becran to blossom as the rose In holly time. 198 A YEAR OF SCiN'G. THE HOLLY'S TEACHING. Rusted are the golden leaves, Gone the blossoms trooping, Gone the sparrows from the eaves, Rooks from elm-tops swooping: Gleamy morns bring gloomy days, To lurid sunsets tending ; Snow^-drifts whiten woods and ways, — So the year is ending. But though winds despoil, and snows Hill and hollow deaden. Wide the beacon Holly glows, Bright its berries redden ; THE HOLLY S TEaCHIN'G, I99 Clear as with outspoken word Hopeful comfort lendinii; : " Though the years die, hath the Lord Of the dead years endin t ?" THE END. ERRATUM. In page 113, line G,for " swain," read " strain. PKINTEU Blf J. K. ADL\EU, BABTIIOLOMKW CI.OSB. TEN MILES FROM TOWN. By THE SAME Author. CRITICAL NOTICES. " A genial, picturesque, thoughtful book.'" — Atlienaum. " Pure poetry of a very tender and sweet order." — Illus- trated London Ntivs. " Full of tenderness and thoughtful grace." — Bookseller. " They have the real ring by which we tell that poetic coin is not spurious." — Standard. " Full of merit of a high order and promise of yet higher." — Fun. " For colour, artistic flow, and sprightly elegance, these poems are very remarkable A poet so thoughtful, so musical, and so picturesque, ought at once to gain the public ear." — Public Of'inion. " Sweet and gentle poetry." — CJiristian World. " There is reason as well as rhyme in them, and the true genius of the poet declares itself in the changing metres." — Nonconformist. " In all senses it is a choice, agreeable, and desirable possession." — Sunday Times. " C'est done avec le plus grand plaisir que nous saluons Tapparition du livre de M. Sawyer, im de ces ouvrages bien penses et bien ecrit, oii la poesie est simple et naturelle sans etre terre a terre." — V International. " Mr. Sawyer does imquestionably write real poetry. ' Nymph and Satyr ' might have been written by Heine." — Illustrated Times. " Contains infinitely more poetry than volumes heralded l)y all preluding trumpets and announcements." — Eclectic Rewenjc. " The author of this little book has strung together a necklace of poetic pearls among which it is difficult to choose the most valuable. The more the book is read the more it will be appreciated by all lovers of true poetry." — H .ikly limes. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below lOm-ll, '50(2555)470 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY Ml III! nil III nil i|i||i|!l IIHIIHI AA 000 383 458 7 PR 5299 S267 1