Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN LOVE IN IDLENESS "Epces yap apybv Kan] TCUS 0,97075 ec^i;. Eur. Danac, frag. 8. " By heauen, I doe loue ; and it hath taught mee to Rime, and to be mallicholie ; and here is part of my Rime, and heere my mallicholie." Loues Labour' $ lost, Act iv. Sc. 3. LOVE IN IDLENESS A VOLUME OF POEMS LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., i, PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1883 8raDle 2 CONTENTS LOVE IN IDLENESS PAGE To ERATO ... ... ... ... ... 3 IN SCHERIA ... ... ... ... ... 5 AMORET ... ... ... ... ... ... 19 THE RECOMPENSE ... ... ... ... 21 SONG, "Is THIS THE SPRING?" ... ... ... 23 MAY-DAY ... ... ... ... ... 24 IN LIMINE ... ... ... ... ... 27 A SONG OF THE THREE KINGS ... ... 30 A ROSELEAF ... ... ... ... ... 32 SONG, "LOVE WALKED UPON THE SEA" ... 33 AFTERNOON ... ... ... ... ... 34 BALLADE ... ... ... ... ... 39 To COMATAS ... ... ... ... ... 41 RONDEAU ... ... ... ... ... 43 " ROSE AND LILY " ... ... ... ... 44 NOCTURNE CHOPIN, OP. 40, 2 ... ... 45 37, i -. .- 46 LOCA SENTA SITV ... ... ... ... 49 A PASTORAL ... ... ... ... ... 51 LVNA FATIFERA ... ... ... ... 53 OPISTHEN ... ... ... ... ... 55 VIGILATE ITAQVE ... ... ... ... 57 Vlil CONTENTS PAGE SONG OF HYLAS ... ... ... ... 59 SECVNDVM ALTITVDINEM CAELI A TERRA ... ... 62 THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON... 65 ON A DRAWING OF LIONARDO IN THE ACADEMY AT VENICE ... ... ... .. ... 75 LINES BY A PERSON OF QUALITY ... 77 CONCERNING ACME AND SEPTIMIUS (from Catullus) ... 78 FOR A DRAWING ... ... ... ... 80 FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIOVANNI DELL' ISOLA ... 82 MAGDALEN WALKS IN WINTER ... ... 84 SEPARATION ... ... ... ... 85 LITANY ... ... ... ... ... 86 TYRUS ... ... ... ... ... 89 ARTIFEX AD ARTEM ... ... ... ... 92 SANTA CRUZ ... ... ... ... 94 DOGGEREL IN DELFT LIFE AND DEATH ... ... ... 103 CHIMES ... ... .. ... ... 104 HALF-WAY IN LOVE ... ... ... ... 106 TRICOLOR ... ... ... ... ... 109 To M. A. C. G no MONOLOGUE D'OUTRE TOMBE ... ... ... 112 To THE NIGHTINGALE IN SEPTEMBER .. ... 116 THE LAST TENNIS-PARTY ... ... ... 118 BALLADE OF DEAD THINKERS ... ... ... 122 SOME FLOWERS ... ... ... ... 124 RONDEL ... ... ... .. ... ... 126 TRIOLET ... ... ... ... ... 127 CONTENTS ix SONNETS PAGE THE LOST SELF ... ... ... ... ... 131 PVLVIS ET VMBRA ... ... ... 132 UNDER THE CANOPY ... ... ... ... 133 ITALIAM NON SPONTE SEQVOR ... ... 134 LOVE UNRETURNED ... ... ... ... 135 THINGS NEW AND OLD (two sonnets) ... ... 136 JEALOUSY ... ... ... ... 138 MADONNA INCOGNITA ... ... ... 139 THE EMPTY PLACE ... ... ... ... 140 BEFORE PARTING ... ... ... ... 141 AFTER PARTING ... ... ... ... ... 142 MAGDALEN GARDENS AND MAGDALEN BRIDGE (two sonnets) ... ... ... ... ... 143 SUMMER AND WINTER ... ... ... ... 145 IRELAND, 1881 ... ... ... ... 146 ,, 1882 ... ... ... ... ... 147 ON THE BIRTH OF VENUS BY BOTTICELLI ... 148 ON A DRAWING BY BURNE JONES ... ... ... 149 VENVS MATVTINA ... ... ... ... 150 THE HANDMAID OF THE LORD ... ... ... 151 ON A MADONNA AND CHILD BY BELLINI ... 152 THE NATURE OF THINGS ... ... ... ... 153 X CONTENTS TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK PAGE From Meleager I. x e 'M aTOJ iivffj.ofvros ... ... 157 II. irAe|w \evKoiov ... ... 159 III. tfSri \v K 6iot> ed\\ft ... ... 160 IV. ov yd(ju>i> a\\' 'Ai5ai> ... 161 V. yovs &yye\e, X a *P 6 *^2 VI. 7X' K \e ^r;5' eyfvovro ... 170 From Menander, Hypobolimreus frag. 2 I / 1 From Leonidas, 6 irATrf &>!)$ irepi^fiSeo ... 173 II. Adapts 6 AevKo'xpws 1 74 A Vintage Song (from Agathias), ^/xelj /ucy -irartovrfs 175 The Swallow Song, ^AO' ^\0e x^'Swv ... ... 177 From Sophocles, I. Frag. 713, Dind. ... 179 II. 162 180 From the Iliad, Bk. iv. 11. 422-456 ... ... 181 LOVE IN IDLENESS 3 ) TO ERATO LOVE is a rose, say some ; in May It buds, by genial winds caressed ; Tender to touch, but wellaway Its thorns run deep if idly prest ; It may be ; yet it may be guessed Flowers grow as sweet, and weaponless, All the long year from East to West : Our love is love-in-idleness. Love is a toil, say some ; and they Labour to love by love oppressed, And weary night brings weary day If so be they may get them blest ; Yea, of all toil the weariest Is that wherewith they strive to bless Their aching heart and longing breast Our love is love in idleness. TO ERATO Love is a god, say some ; ahvay A jealous god most manifest, More swift to hear than we to pray, Mid mortals an unbidden guest ; Yet hath he given a day of rest, Whereon we worship none the less For that we toil not, neither jest : Our Love is Love in idleness. ENVOY. Princess, this love is even our best ; Take it, Love's sovereign votaress. To whom our vows are now addressed Our love is love in idleness. 5 ) IN SCHERIA PART L ' ' When the star was brightest aloft that goes ever heralding the dawning of the daylight, then the sea-travelling ship drew nigh to the island." Odyssey, b. xiii. 11. 93-5. BY this they have the island well in sight, Its faint fields gleaming through the mist ; all night Have they swept on, the dark waves off the stem Gurgling ; and now the morning star is bright. Only four days ago with cart and mules We drove to where the running water cools The round white pebbles, slipping over them, In the bright meadow-bordered river pools. There came he on us from the forest dim, Ssa worn, but like a god in face and limb ; Even a king's daughter, wonderful and fair, Might lose her heart unblamed to one like him. IN SCHER1A O splendour of the sunset as we went Past the ploughed fields to where the poplars bent About Athene's spring that, rising there, Down the King's Meadow its white water sent ! And there I left him, and drove down apace Between the shipyards, through the market-place, While all the air seem'd sweet and musical, For next day I should see him face to face, And the day after, and for ever thus : For he would stay here and be one of us, Dwelling at ease within our palace halt Clad in soft raiment, great and glorious. Ah me, the ways untrod, the words unsaid ! The tender memories unremembered ! The dreadful presence of what might have been, And life eternal of things done and dead ! One word of parting was to serve for all, One last short word, when to the festival He came at evening, his face flushed and keen With thoughts of home ; and high along the hall IN SCHERIA 7 The great gold statues held their torches red. I spoke, with loud seas swirling in my head, Farewell ' : remember that to me this day Thou owest thy life's ransom. Then he said Some words in answer : his voice sounded dim, Far off : the silver pillars seemed to swim Before me ; and he spoke and passed away, And that was the last word I had of him. All the next day they sat along the hall And feasted till the sun began to fall, And the last healths were drunk ; then silently The oarsmen, and he far above them all, Went shorewards, where the swift ship rocking lay And the sun sank, and all the paths were grey ; Then bent they to the oars, and murmuringly The purple water cleft and gave them way. The twisting-horned slow-swinging oxen low Across the fields : light waves in even flow Plash on the beach : but when he went from us The morning and the sunlight seemed to go. IN SCHERIA The gods are angry : we shall never be Now as of old, when far from all men we Dwelt in a lonely land and languorous, Circled and sundered by the sleeping sea. Yea, the Olympians then were wont to go Among us, visible godheads, to and fro ; So far we lived from any sight or touch Of evil, in the sea's engirdling flow. What now if Lord Poseidon, as men say, Be wroth against us, and will choke the bay With a great mountain ? yet I care not much All things are grown the same since yesterday. Why should I live where everything goes wrong, Where hope is dead and only grief lasts long ? I will have rest among the asphodel ; For death is stronger, though my love be strong. There will I see the women he did see, Leda and Tyro and Antiope And Ariadne, queens that loved too well Of old, and ask them if they loved like me. IN SCHERIA The last white stars grow fainter one by one ; The folding mists rise up to meet the sun ; Birds twitter on our dewy orchard trees ; Day comes : alas, my day is nearly done. (He is on land in Ithaca by this.) Come now, I pray thee, and with one soft kiss Draw the life out of me and give me ease, Queen golden-shafted, maiden Artemis. PART II. "The sailing of Cinyras, which he told to Lucianus and his fellows, being released out of prison in the Five Islands, and ioining them thereafter in the City of Lamps." Vera Historia, b. iii. ch. 7. Thence we sailed forward for a night and day, Across blue breadths of water, touched with spray Beneath a south-west wind, that steadily Sped us along our undiscovered way. But when, gold clouds about him for attire, The low broad sun, a lamp of crimson fire, Sank in the west, we looked across the sea, And saw far off the land of our desire. 10 IN SCHERIA One mountain peak where sky and water ceased, Rising against the flush that girt the east, Snow-crowned, steep-falling, while our ship ran on, Above the purple waste of waves increased. And the sun sank, and all the sea was grey Before us ; and behind us, where the day Lingered north-westward, still the water shone Opaline, where the keel had cloven its way. So we sailed forward through the falling night In the night wind, while ever on our right Orion wheeled his slowly blazing belt, And two large planets rose and sank from sight Low in the south : and now the stars outspread Drew westward, and the summer dew was shed Wet on the deck and cordage, and we felt Rather than saw the island, straight ahead, A vast low shadow in the glimmering sea ; Whereon the breaking rollers ceaselessly Moaned through the darkness as they struck the sand On that untrodden shore where we would be. IN SCHERIA I At last we saw their white foam faintly shine Around our feet, and on the extreme sea line We beached the ship, and leapt ourselves on land, And sleeping waited for the morn divine. But when the rosy fingered morn on high, The lady of the light, had climbed the sky, We rose and sought about us, where the way Up to the city of our search might lie. A mile of river meadow, where the grass Knee-deep and dewy swayed to let us pass, We crossed, while through the morning misty-grey Shot gleams of colour as from shining brass. The air was still around us ; only nigh Upon our left the river murmured by ; And far behind the lapping waves at play Washed on the shingle undistinguishably. Then the path turned and left the meadow land, Winding through cornfields high on either hand, Till on the ridge we climbed, where nigh the way About a fountain many poplars stand. 12 IN SCHERIA And now we faced the morning ; and the brown Heads of the ripe wheat were bowed softly down And the mist broken in the morning breeze : And looking forward we could see the town. A road and double row of shipyards ran Between two bays to where the walls began, With a white temple and palace girt with trees Beyond, but nowhere any sign of man. Then we descended towards it, and on all A silence came ; we did not speak or call ; And our dark-eyed sweet-voiced passenger Led on, until we came below the wall. But as we entered how can mortal tell In mortal words the marvel that befel ? Whether you will believe I hardly care ; I know I should have disbelieved as well Suddenly out of nothing seemed to spring All round us, clasping us as in a ring, Whence risen or how passed through is marvellous, A mountain, vast and overshadowing. IN SCHERIA Sheer-sided it engirt us, towering high All round, but open far above, whereby Some little light fell down and came to us ; So that we saw the stars within the sky, The seven stars sickle-wise above our head. And we walked dumbly on, astonished, Unwitting what we did or whence we came, Following where the twilit pathway led. At last a gleam of firelight led us on To where afar the palace doorway shone, Lit as for banquet ; but the flickering flame Fell on bare places whence the guests were gone. Faintly the scent of burning cedar rolled About the tapestries that fold on fold Drooped on the walls : in double line thereby Stood torches held by torch-bearers of gold. There, on a couch with spices overstrewn, And coverings coruscant with precious stone, Clad in a robe of strange Sidonian dye Sea-coloured, lay a sleeping girl alone. I 4 IN SCHERIA Breathless we stood, and did not dare to stir, Fearing some wizardry still deadlier ; But he who led us half restrained a cry, And went straight forward and stooped down to her. Lo, when a soft rain from the warm wet south Lights on the grass that pants at noon for drouth, Even so, so softly and so tenderly, He bent above her and kissed her on the mouth. And in that moment's space from shore and bay The mountain without hands was rolled away, And all around us freer and splendider Than ever elsewhere poured the golden day. But through the girl a quiver limb by limb Ran, and her dark eyes opened and grew dim, As without any word he grew to her, Trembling all over ; and she grew to him. And when I turned my eyes away from this, Giddy with sight of their new lover's bliss, My eyes upon the shining land came down That seemed no longer strange : I could not miss 2N SCHERIA 1 That mountain outline and that curve of shore, That harbour with the swingingships that bore No rudder on their crooked sterns : the town And people seemed as things long known before. As thus I wondered, like a sound long spent In dreams re-echoed, through my lips there went The old surging rhythm of " these Phaeacian men Who dwelt of old time nigh the violent Tribe of the Cyclops, in the lawns outspread Of Hypereia, and were sore bestead For lack of might before their raids : so then Divine Nausithoiis raised them up and led And set in Scheria, far from men that win Wealth by their trade, and walled the city in, And builded houses and made temples fair, And gave them share and share of tilth therein ; But he ere now was gone, struck down of fate, To darkness, "and Alcinoiis held his state, Skilled in wise counsel of the gods ; and there Grey-eyed Athene lighted at his gate." 1 6 IN SCHERIA This was the land that many men desire, In other lands where other pleasures tire. Yet one alone might there find resting-place, Having attained through many a flood and fire ; Even he who sailed with us across the wan Reaches of tossing water. Not a man But named him now by name, and in his face Gazed long, and knew him for the Ithacan, For us, our resting was not won as yet, For other shores our windy sails were set ; Ah, and we might not sojourn in the place Where they who sojourn all their pain forget. So but short time we lingered : for the wind Fair streaming eastward blew and brought to mind The old companions of our wandering race, Whose swifter sails had left our crew behind. And autumn grew, and swallows on the wing Gathered for flight, and songs that reapers sing Were over, and along the field paths went Girls with piled baskets red for vintaging. IN SCHEKIA 17 And the time neared cf wrecks on sea and sand, And streaming storms on many a wave-lashed strand Without, tho' here no wind were violent, Nor storm could trouble that enchanted land. For the last time we feasted there arow In the king's palace, when the sun grew low, Deep into night with all our company ; And in the morning we embarked to go. The bay lay quiet in the slant sunshine, The white rocks quivering in it ; but, divine, Fresh and wind-stirred, far out the open sea Rolled in a rough green violet-hollowed line. We entered in and at the thwarts sate down ; And at our going all the Scherian town Stood thronged to speed us ; softly in the heat The water rippled through the oar-blades brown. And through the palace garden he and she, Hand clasped in hand, came down beside the sea, And hailed us one by one with voices sweet, And bade farewell and all prosperity. 1 8 IN SCHERIA Then our oars dipped together, and the sptay Flashed in a million sparkles round our way, As we with rowing swift and strenuous Shot out across the sleepy sunlit bay. There on the white sea verge, till all the strand Grew dim behind us, still I saw them stand In the low sunlight : if they looked at us I know not.; but they stood there hand in hand. AM O RET i. LOVE found you still a child, Who looked on him and smiled Scornful with laughter mild And knew him not : Love turned and looked on you, Love looked and he smiled too, And all at once you knew You knew not what. n. Love laughed again, and said Smiling, "Be not afraid: Though lord of all things made, I do no wrong : Like you I love all flowers, All dusky twilight hours, Spring sunshine and spring showers, Like you am young." AMORET III. Love looked into your eyes, Your clear cold idle eyes, Said, " These shall be my prize, Their light my light ; These tender lips that move With laughter soft as love Shall tremble still and prove Love's very might." Love took you by the hand At eve, and bade you stand At edge of the woodland, Where I should pass ; Love sent me thither, sweet, And brought me to your feet ; He willed that we should meet, And so it was. ( 21 ) THE RECOMPENSE I CALLED on Love and I said : I have eaten ashes for bread, I have mingled my drink with tears All these years. I have watched while others slept, I have ofttimes fasted and wept, I have taken no delight Day or night What hast thou done for me Who have given my life to thee, And have paid ceaseless vows In thy house ? I have humbled myself at thy feet, And have taken bitter for sweet, And have striven to fulfil All thy will. THE RECOMPENSE Hast thou brought me any nigher To the end of my desire ? Or what guerdon hast thou given, Love in heaven ? I am weak and thou art strong, And thou hast proved me long ; What hast thou given, O Lord, For reward ? I cried upon Love and he heard And he answered me but a word ; From the height of heaven above Love said, Love. SONG Is this the spring that wanders With sad and wistful eyes, And idly inly ponders The grey and vacant skies ? Is this true spring or seeming That sits with sunken head ? O yes, for she is dreaming Of winter that is dead. Is this the spring that quickens The violets in the vale, And all the woodland thickens With primrose-blossoms pale ? Is this true spring or seeming That smiles along the way ? O yes, for she is dreaming Of laughter of the May. MA Y-DA Y MAY-DAY is gone, we go on different ways, This is the last of all our old May-days ; But separate or together scarce our feet Will find another pathway quite so sweet. Then, since it is the last time, let me sing As to the music of your listening ; O gold and ivory flower of perfect face Born in some distant sun-replenished place ! O myrrh and cinnamon whose vapour rolled Around the seven sacred lamps of gold ! Will you remember, as the days go on, The trees that budded and the fields that shone, While overhead the burning afternoon Glowed as if May had caught the heart of June, And filled the curving river-spaces lone With scent of rose and hawthorn yet unblown ? Under strange softness as of southern skies Spring paused and lingered with reverted eyes, MA Y-DA Y 25 And in mid pulse and passion of the year Stayed for a moment's flight, that earth might hear In all her windy heights and hollow vales The sweet sad echo of last year's nightingales ; Might hear the undistinguishable sea, Might feel hot scent of thyme abundantly On downs where utmost August burned the wheat And blood-red poppies faint with heavy heat. So swiftly with the swift-descending day The river's coils unwound and gave us way ; Where westward lay the level meads unrolled Yellow for miles with bright marsh-marigold. And evermore the boat's swift shade outran The ripple of the wavering water wan ; The banks drew backward and the ripple spread ; The light spray from the oar-blades diamonded The sleeping water where the lilies grew Tall golden green among the gold-shot blue. Thus we sped onward as the sun drew down And passed the willows and drew near the town. Deep in the east a single planet pale Glimmered against the misty purple veil, When many bells at once began to ring. 26 MA Y-DA Y And so we parted about lamplighting, And the sweet day was dead : and from afar Calm and disconsolate the evening star Trembled south-westward in a grey-green sky Where yet the last dim orange lingeringly Glowed faint and fainter : then the darkness fell Fold upon fold, till hardly visible The spires stood out against the starlit night. The heaven of heavens stood open to the sight Bared for a space : and softly over all Low sound went echoing like the plash and fall Of breaking waves upon a moonlit strand In some forgotten and forgetful land. IN LIMINE BEFORE the House of Love there stand, With heavy heart and empty hand, Many and many, saying thus : O Love our Lord, be piteous ! Lo, these are they of whom we are, Whose feet have come from very far : Whom long ago, amid the hum Of restless hours that go and come, With light once come and never gone Love's eyes have turned and looked upon And once for their delight and dread, As here they wandered chance-footed, Within his courts, beneath his gate Love's lyre has grown articulate. 28 IN LLM1NE Too happy they, if once of all The many days that fade and fall, One day to a strange softness grown His voice has answered to their own ; If once in some green-shadowed place Their eyes have risen and seen his face, Too happy ! well content with this, To be for ever where he is. But we who on his threshold stone Long days and nights have knelt alone, Whose lips are tired, whose eyes are dim With tears and prayers unheard of him, To whom the Lord of man's delight Gives fire by day and cloud by night ; What light is left for all our need From him who is our light indeed ? We strive not, neither cry ; we know Since he hath said it, it is so. For what are we, that for our sake The iron links of fate should break, That for our sake untied should be The knot of love's fatality ? IN LIM1NE 29 One silent moment, deep in awe, His awful face unveiled we saw, And for that last lost moment's sight Our path is henceforth in the night. Cold gleaming from the depth divine Some star may yet arise and shine With pallid beams to mark our way ; But not the sunlight, not the day. A SONG OF THE THREE KINGS "And finding by the sudden waning of the brightest star that the Blessed Virgin was sick, they made haste to take all manner of healing herbs and depart to Nazareth. But when they found her already dead, they returned sorrowfully to their own country." History of the Three Kings. SHE is dead, ah, she is dead, Silent is that gentle breath, Still and low that golden head, That sweet mouth is stopped in death. Wherefore now we bring to her Gold and frankincense and myrrh. She is dead, yes, she is dead, Never may we see again Purest holiest maidenhead, Mother without spot or stain. Mid the sleeping lilies fold Myrrh and frankincense and gold. A SONG OF THE THREE KINGS 31 Lo, we come from very far With all simples that we have, Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar, Ah, we came too late to save. Scatter we ere we go hence Gold and myrrh and frankincense. A ROSELEAF O SWEETEST face of all the faces About the way ; A light for night and lonely places, A day in day ; If you will touch and take and pardon What I can give, Take this, a flower into your garden, And bid it live. It is not worth your love or praises For aught its own ; But Proserpine would smile on daisies Sicilian-grown. And so beneath your smile a minute May this rest too ; Although the only virtue in it Be love of you. My flower may droop in rainy weather, In drought may pine, If for its day it link together Your name with mine. ( 33 ) SONG LOVE walked upon the sea this tranced night, I kno\v, For the waves beneath his feet ran pale with silver light, But he brought me no message as on a summer night, A golden summer night, long ago. Love walked among the fields of yellow waving corn, For the poppy blossomed red where his weary feet had pressed, And my door stood ready open for a long-expected guest, But he never never came, night or morn. Perhaps if I wait till the summer swallows flee, He will wander down the valley and meet me as before, Or perhaps he will find me alone upon the shore When he comes with the swallows over sea. D ( 34 ) AFTERNOON HERE, where the elm-tree shadows flicker thin, Tall hawthorn hedges shut the meadow in ; And on this little slope beside the hedge The grass leans softly to the water's edge. Here let us sit and watch the sunlight fall, And hear the stockdove to the stockdove call. THYRSIS. Down this hedge-path how many a time has gone, Hand fast in hand, Phillis with Corydon. In the deep stillness of this midland clime Time passes leaving scarce a trace of time. The silent-slipping seasons pass away ; Morning by evening day treads close on day; AFTERNOON 35 The old harvests ripen, the new harvests grow Now as they did a hundred years ago. DAPHNIS. Now as a hundred years ago the light Lies golden on the gentle wooded height, Where through the oaks and chestnuts glimmers red The House of life beside its close of dead. And there the meadow path runs half a mile Below yon shadowing elms from stile to stile, The stiles we lingered at, the path we know ; Ah me, that was not many years ago. THYRSIS. All that was over when the woods were wet : Now the deep cornfields slumber and forget : The heavy seeded rye-grass hangs asway, The faint dog-roses tremble on the spray ; Poppies and great white daisies in the dew Morning by morning are uncurled anew. Now is the year's perfection ; why should we Put gladness by to li ve with memory ? 36 AFTERNOON Thyrsis, the year's perfection is to me Other than this ; a hillside by the sea Far south, and sheep-walks winding on the turf Fragrant with close-cropt thyme ; deep down the surf Broke white unheard ; beyond, right under us, All the Atlantic lay monotonous, One solid mass of blue in the August sun That blazed above us. But these days are done. Night came, and morning comes after the night ; After the battle rest if not delight. Rose ever morning fairer than that day When slain and trampled in the mountain-way The hope of the world lay breathless, and the air Throbbed faint with heavy pulses of despair, While riotously the flaring of the feast Far on the plain "outshone the whitening east? Deep in the dawn a single star was pale, Deep in the wood a single nightingale Severed the darkness with sweet piercing pain ; AFTERNOON 37 And from the dewy dim Thessalian plain A light wind rose, and like a hope, upborne Tremulous and splendid from the gates of morn Passed softly southward, gathering as it went, Till all the golden wheatfields swayed and bent Beneath its breath ; and with the widening dawn Through dim ravines and gorges long-withdrawn, Climbed to Parnassus' height, and carried down Morning to the white temple and shining town, And carrying morning with it, fluttered freej And lightly ruffled up the sleeping sea ; Leaving behind it, faint and far-outspread The mountain-pass with those three hundred dead Stretched silent, and the morning mists unrolled, And day returning with his shafts of gold. Day follows night, and night treads close on day, And song and singer rise and fall away. Might song and sunlight even on pain like mine Descend for amulet and anodyne ! As if our madness thus might find relief, Or Love could learn to melt at mortal grief ! 38 AFTERNOON Yet in this tranquil air and grassy place Golden and gracious, why should pain have place ? Summer is not yet over ; Love our lord May yet descend upon our pastoral sward, Light in his eyes as in this sunlit stream, And all our sorrow vanish like a dream. So be it ; but our afternoon is done ; The rooks stream homewards, and the sinking sun Slants through the elm-branches that half the day Have rustled faint above us. Come away. ( 39 ) BALLADE O LOVE, whom I have never seen, Yet ever hope to see ; The memory that might have been ; The hope that yet may be ; The passion that persistently Makes all my pulses beat With unassuaged desire that we Some day may come to meet : This August night outspread serene, The scent of flower and tree, The fall of water that unseen Moans on incessantly, That line of fire, where breaks the sea In ripples at my feet ; What mean they all, if not that we Some day may come to meet? BALLADE About your window, bowered in green, The night wind wanders free, While out into the night you lean, And dream, but not of me, As now I dream of you, who flee Before my dream complete The shadow of the day when we Some day may come to meet. ENVOY. Princess, while yet on lawn and lea The harvest moon is sweet, Ere August die, who knows but we Some day may come to meet ? TO CO MAT AS Tt/ 8' farb Spvfflv 4} inrb irtvicais aSu /u.f\iffS6fj.evos /cara/ce/cAiffo, 6e"ie Ko/uara. HERE on this garden's close-cut grass, Where here and there a leaf astray Lies yellow, till the wind shall pass And take it some new earthy way, Here, O Comatas, let us lie While yet the autumn sun is high. The stir of men is quiet now, But birds are singing each to each ; The robin on the apple bough Sings to the robin in the beech, And swallows twitter as they go Wheeling and sweeping high and low. TO COMATAS No sound but these sweet madrigals To our enclosed garden comes, Save when a ripened apple falls, Or gnats intone, or a wasp hums. Here shall thy voice bid time speed by, O boy Comatas, as we lie. Sing some old rhyme of long ago, Of lady-love or wandering knight, Of faithful friend and valorous foe And right not yet estranged from might. The songs our singers sing us now, O boy Comatas, sing not thou. Sing, for thy voice has gentle power To cancel years of fret and woe, And I remembering this one hour, Shall pass sad days the happier so. And thou before the sun has set, O boy Comatas, wilt forget ( 43 ) RON DBA U MOST sweet of all the flowers memorial That autumn tends beneath his wasted trees, Where wearily the unremembering breeze Whirls the brown leaves against the blackening wall ; More sweet than those that summer fed so tall And glad with soft wind blowing overseas ; Through all incalculable distances Of many shades that swerve and sands that crawl, Most sweet of all ! When comes the fulness of the time to me As yours is full to-day, O flower of mine ? Touched by her hand who evermore shall be While the slow planets circle for a sign, Till periods flag and constellations fall, Most sweet of all. ffeere's a few Flawres, but 'bottt midnight more: The hearbes that haue on them cold deiv a' tK night. ROSE and lily, white and red, From my garden garlanded, These I brought and thought to grace The perfection of thy face. Other roses, pink and pale, Lilies of another vale, Thou hast bound around thy head, In the garden of the dead. 45 ) NOCTURNE CHOPIN, OP. 40, 2. Is it so long, the sorrowful sad night ? But day will break, and bring the happy light, And then I shall arise and see the sun. Nay, for the night has dawned eternally, The shadow of death is heavy over me, There is no rising up for such an one. No gay glad day, no quiet twilight hour, No mist of morning or sweet noonday shower, No twitter of birds or murmur of labouring men Only the wizard mockery of the moon, The wind repeating the same weary tune, The dreams that light a little and fly again. 46 NOCTURNE CHOPIN, OP. 37, i. WHAT are ye looking for, ye poor eyes That turn so wearily to the night ? O thou that leanest there from the sill Of the room where the lamplight dims and dies, The stars are few and the moon is bright, And the trees in the street are asleep and still, O wakeful dreamer, what dost thou see ? Only the wonder of earth and sky, and things too great for me. What art thou looking for, thou poor heart . That beat'st thy wings like a prisoned bird ? What bygone promise murmurs again Of something secret and set apart That eye hath not seen nor ear hath heard To give thee solace of wrong and pain ? NOCTURNE 47 O heart, what vision hath come to thee? Only the wonder of fond desire, and a hope too high for me. (From the lighted church outside comes the sound of voices singing .) Life is short and time is flying, All our days are full of sighing ; All our hopes are vain and lying Power and riches, love and fame. One thing only faileth never, And for all our void endeavour, Still the cross must meet us ever, Still the sorrow and the shame. Is there any that complaineth, And a life of ills disdaineth ? Naught but trouble still he gaineth, Seeking gifts of earthly store ; In the heavenly kingdom rather All thy treasure strive to gather, Where Christ reigneth with the Father And the Spirit evermore. 48 NOCTURNE What art thou looking for, thou poor soul ? Canst thou recover that which is lost ? O bruised and smitten, but not with rods, Is there any hand that can make thee whole ? O thou afflicted and tempest-tost, Thou suppliant, outcast of all the gods, O soul, what remedy can there be ? Nay, there is naught but sorrow and fear, and a doubt too deep for me. ( 49 ) LOG A SENT A SITV THE rushes stand where the rushes stood, Stiff and tall, but the lake is dry ; They will stand so still in the lonely wood, Till the world shall die. No wind makes rustle the weary reeds ; The gentle gale and the rushing blast, As they follow where spring or the storm-king leads, Pause aghast. The red sun flames with a steady light, No smallest cloud in the brazen skies ; The moon looks down with a pale affright In her quiet eyes. 50 LOCA SENTA SITV No song of bird can now come near, No buzz of insect ever again, No ripple of pleasant water, or tear Of the dripping rain. The reeds stand now where the reeds then stood, Above them hangs the silent sky; Around them shivers the lonely wood, And the lake is dry. A PASTORAL " Tanquam nihil habentes, et omnia possidcntes. " li Perch pensa ? p^nsando iinvecchia." MY love and I among the mountains strayed, When heaven and earth in summer heat were still, Aware anon that at our feet were laid, Within a sunny hollow of the hill, A long-haired shepherd lover and a maid. They saw nor heard us, who a space above, With hands clasped close as hers were clasped in his, Marked how the gentle golden sunlight strove To play about their leaf-crowned curls, and kiss Their burnished slender limbs, half -bared to his love. But grave or pensive seemed the boy to grow, For while upon the grass unfingered lay The slim twin-pipes, he ever watched with slow Dream-laden looks the ridge that far away Surmounts the sleeping midsummer with snow. 52 A PASTORAL These things we saw ; moreover we could hear The girl's soft voice of laughter, grown more bold With the utter noonday silence, sweet and clear : " Why dost thou think ? By thinking one grows old. Wouldst thou for all the world be old, my dear ? " Here my love turned to me, but her eyes told Her thought with smiles before she spoke a word ; And being quick their meaning to behold I could not chuse but echo what we heard : " Sweet heart, wouldst thou for all the world be old? ' 53 LVNA FAT I PER A THE wind that had been blowing all the day Seemed to have sobbed itself to sleep at last, Like a tired child, and like a disc of gold The sun slid down behind the furthest hill. And then came voices in the silent air, And voices in the tree-tops hushed and sad, And then these died away ; and as when men Waiting to see a pageant hold their breath And hear their heart beat, so the whole wide heaven Seemed quiet with great longing for a space. And then the wind began a low slow song, And all the trees broke silence, and the birds Roused from their slumber ; and I looked and saw The pallid circle of the risen moon Betwixt the branches, but no stranger sight. And still the wind sang louder as the moon Wheeled higher and the trees threw deeper shade. When the last red had vanished from the west I wandered idly thro' the empty roads Which seemed full of the stillness, past the fields 54 LVNA FATIFERA Where all daylong the bending husbandmen Had sheaved the corn, down the long village street, And thro' the wicket where the hill descends To. find its grave in the encroaching sea. The sky was blue and cloudless, star by star The innumerable company came forth And seemed to watch and listen, and the moon Shone white and splendid on the rippling sea. I wandered down the hillside watching her And heard the indistinguishable roar Of ocean ever nearer, till at last I stood upon the shingle ; and the sea Was maddened with the sadness of her eyes, And cast itself in foam upon the beach. And ever did it seem a messenger Must come across the silver-paven sea Out of the darkness round her to the shore. But there came nothing save the wind that moaned And the hoarse roll of breakers on the beach. And then it seemed that I must go to her Across the strait and climb the darkened stair. But the great sea disdained a human tread, And I could only wait and gaze and gaze Till Sleep came unawares and sealed mine eyes. ( 55 ) OP 1ST HEN THY path is set through dust and mire, In waste lands dreary and forlorn, In lands where weeds outgrow the corn, And nothing is that men desire. The Hours, unseen, are at thy side With wings reluctant and with hands Outstretch'd to lead thee to the lands Where all the year is summer-tide. But backward thou dost turn to mark What lovelier form thine eyes may see In all the measureless to be Emerging from the distant dark. And while thou heedest not, their wings Are lightly spread, and they speed by; Nor will thy prayers and ceaseless cry Recall them, nor thy sorrowings. 56 OPISTHEN And others come as fair as they And others go, despised, unwoo'd ; And thou in thy relentless mood Art ever waiting by the way Till she, thy love, at last appears ; And in her eyes is no desire, Nor glow from out Love's altar-fire But bitter vials of cold tears. ( 57 ) VIGIL ATE ITAQVE THE restless years that come and go, The cruel years so swift and slow Once in our lives perchance will shew What they can give that we may know ; Too soon perchance, or else too late ; We may look back or we may wait ; The years are incompassionate, And who shall touch the robe of fate ? Once only ; haply if we keep Watch with our lamps and do not sleep, Our eyes shall, when the night is deep, Behold the bridegroom's face, and weep. Alas ! for better far it were That Love were heedless of our prayer Than that his glory he should bare And shew himself to our despair. VIGIL ATE ITAQVE Better to wander till we die And never come the door anigh, Than weeping sore without to lie And get no answer to our cry. O child, the night is cold and blind, The way is rough with rain and wind, Narrow and steep and hard to find ; But I have found thee love, be kind. ( 59 ) SONG OF HYLAS Which the Mysian youths sing in chorus, after their fashion, by the river Ascanius, where the boy Hylas was stolen away of the Nymphs, as the poets feign. STROPHE. THEBAN Hylas, child divine, Whither stray thy wandering feet, By the pools where Naiads meet, Where the Graces kiss the Hours, Where the Loves for fetters twine Pale and purple flowers ? Hast thou, all unwitting, found, Like Narcissus, in a stream, Sweeter face than maiden's dream, Lovelier eyes than god Apollo's, When he makes the harpstring sound, And sad Echo follows ? 60 SONG OF HYLAS Has some god in jealous mood Smitten thee, as the west wind Drove the discus swift and blind Right against the blameless brow Hyacinthine, from whose blood Sprang the flower of woe ? Dost thou with Amaracus And with Amaranthus rest, In a garden by the west, Where the beds of spices shed Cinnamon and calamus, For thy feet to tread ? ANTISTROPHE. No, thou sleepest in cool grot Deep beneath the water floods, In a grove of scentless buds, Where the silver fishes leap, Where thy lover is forgot In a dreamless sleep. SONG OF HYLAS 61 Naiads kiss thy mouth most sweet, And thy cheeks, like vermeil rose, In a summer garden close, Near the silver-shining lily, Not" so white as thy white feet Hanging languidly. O'er thy face and gleaming limbs, Smooth as polish'd ivory, Vein'd with blue of the deep sky, O'er thy lovely neck and hands Calmly the dark water swims On to many lands. Round thee, as alone thou liest, Gaze the sea nymphs in surprise, Softly touch thy closed eyes, Wonder at thy yellow hair, Call thee, but thou ne'er repliest, Hylas, ever fair. ( 62 ) SECVNDVM ALTITVDINEM CAELI A TERRA. . . . O LOVE, O love, I cannot dare to love you, I will try not to love ; As soon might heaven's flowers, the stars above you, Fall from above, And be transformed to buds of mortal blossom, Stars which can fade and die, For you to pluck and fill your hands and bosom As you passed by, As soon I hope could night be turned to morning, And morning changed to night, As your sweet soul be touched with aught but scorning At my soul's sight. SECVND VM AL TITVDINEM CAR LI A TERRA 63 O pray to God (I think that God will hear you, If any God there be,) That I bring never my dishonour near you For you to see. O pray to God (if God is good he loves you), Pray to him earnestly, If ever to aught of love my presence moves you, That I may die. Child, I were more than glad to die to-morrow, Truly to die were gain, If I could spare you thus one pulse of sorrow, One sigh of pain. Love, if my soul cut off in grief and sinning, Could get your Paradise, Think you salvation would be worth the winning, Or heaven a prize ? Lo, if in lifting up mine eyes distressed, This bliss I yet might win, To see far off the gardens of the blessed, You crowned therein ; 64 SECVNDVM ALTITVDINEM CAELI A TERRA Lo ! if mine ears all other comfort wanting, Deafened and drowned in hell, Could catch one faintest echo of your chanting, Were it not well ? See you now : dreams and words ! as weak and aim- less As leaves whirled on a stream ; But my poor love that seeks but to be blameless, That is no dream. THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON A PAGEANT PLAYED AT OXFORD ON CORPUS CHRIST: DAY. \ Hie incipit de baptismatum doctrind et impositions manuwn. SIMON MAGUS. I AM Simon the Sorcerer, For negremauncy without peer, In any kingdom far or near, Babel, Archage, or Rome. I summon by my potency The spirits of men unborn that be, Who all their learning shew to me ; They cannot choose but come. PHILIPPUS. Omnis scientia a Deo est. All wisdom that is godly blest Is ghostly given, and the rest Is devil's work, I wis. 66 THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON But be baptized, and even so Thy curious cunning straight forego, Thy spirit shall be white as snow Which now as crimson is. SIMON MAGUS. I will assay it, sith that I Would fain win immortality, And live in heavenly bliss for aye, When dies my body here : For doctors of a later day Shew me in many a subtil way The soul shall live, though some say nay ; I charge them now appear. Tf Hie apparent doctores quidam cap& et caputio indnti. Z)um introeunt curia fidelium auditur cantans ' Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Dominus Deus Omnipotent, qui erat et qui est et qui -'tnturus est.' DOCTOR PHYSICUS. Can life then live when life is dead ? Poor fools, who ignorantly sing. You are but you, flesh, bones and blood, A beating heart, a thinking head. THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON 67 If heart stop beating, little good That day will be your shawm-playing. DOCTOR Musicus. Nay, but that day most good of all. This world is but a shifting shade Where nothing is, and all things seem ; But music is noiimenal, The allegory of a dream Of that in heaven by angels played. DOCTOR NOMINALIS. Tush ! our vile bodies may go rot. Who cares ? Not I. My works shall live. My words shall sound for aye, although My name, my memory be forgot. My words, my works are I, I know These only life eternal give. DOCTOR MATHEMATICUS. We have but three dimensions ; Our shadows have but two, and they Have other shadows with but one. Thus suns are shades of other suns, 68 THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON And thus on earth is heaven begun, And Time is but Eternity. PHILIPPUS. I cannot this high sophistry Right well devise ; nathless I see These clergy from a far country Have wisdom wonderous : Now dip thee here, the whiles that I Mark thee with cross In nomine Trino Patris et Filii Et Sancti Spiritus. Ame. PETRUS. Here to Samaria am I led, To these folk newly christened, That Holy Spirit may be shed By blessing of my hands. SIMON MAGUS. Give me this power, that on whomso I lay my hands like grace may grow : THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON 69 Lo, here is money, yea, and mo Shall be at thy commands. PETRUS. For-fare thy gold and thee : God wot, Herein thou hast no part nor lot, Sith that for money thou hast thought To chaffer Holy Ghost. Thou art in gall of bitterness And veriest bond of \vretchlessness. Penance be thine and shrift endless, Or thou art merely lost. SIMON MAGUS. Mahound hath me, withouten end, Whom I had thought this tide to shend ; Now am I his to rack and rend For that I God did jape ; Lo ! I am damned, that is certain, I may not be baptized again ; Yet pray for me, good Christian, That I this woe may scape. 70 THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON ANGELUS DOMINI. Arise, and go toward the south, Unto the land of sand and drouth ; The Lord God bids thee by my mouth. EXPLICIT PARS PRIMA. INCIPIT PARS SECUNDA. fl" Via sit contra meridianu, qua descendit ab Hierusalem in Gazam; heec est deserta. Tune intrabit vir ^thiops, sedens mper currum legensque Esaiam profetam. " He died in judgement and humiliation, And now his life is taken from his nation, And what man shall declare his generation ? " IT Hie audiatur vox Spirit&s Dei, qui pronunciet, Go near, and join thee to his chariot. PHILIPPUS. O prince, thou say'st hard sayings, yet God wot, True sayings withal, if thou may'st understand. THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON 7! Nay, how? for I have prophet none at hand Who may expound and tell me of whose death The holy man of God prophesieth. PHILIPPUS. Hearkeneth now a mystery, Which prophets old desired to see, Yet did not see but fell on sleep. And now the weakest eyes that weep Have seen the vision, and the dumb Proclaim the message " Christ hath come ! ' O king, thou knowest how a Jew Not many Maundays gone they slew, Because he said, " I am the Son Of God, who will that every one Forsake his sin and follow Me." This, whom Esaias saith, is He. Also thou know'st, what need to tell How many a mighty miracle He wrought upon the poor and sick ; Yea, and their dead He raised up quick ; 72 THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON And taught them a more perfect way Of serving God. Howbeit they Believed not, but some clave to Him. Whom therefore in Jerusalem They crucified, and in the grave Laid Him, who came their souls to save. But He arose on the third day ; And we are witnesses, who say That He ascended into heaven ; And unto Him the world is given, Which He shall judge at the last day. And because men, being dust alway, Can never grow like God unless God clothe them with His righteousness, He wills that they be born again Like children without spot or stain. And for our hearts are hard, and we May not believe unless we see, Lo, he hath left us for a sign Of this new birth, water : and wine And bread to make us grow in grace, And fit to stand before his face. THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON 73 Lo here is water, see What then doth hinder me To be baptized by thee ? Hie exeant velut in aquas. ANGELUS GUSTOS. Bear thou the cross ; Earth's gain is loss, Earth's wealth is dross, The Spirit saith. Christ crucified, And none beside, Shall be thy guide While thou draw'st breath. But persevere, And bear it here ; Thou shall not fear The second death. 74 THE HISTORY OF PHILIP THE DEACON \ Hie voces Cherubim audientur cantantium. Lo, from the midst God's holy habitation Through all the earth a living stream was sent ; A rushing mighty wind to every nation Who take God's ordinance and are content ; Water of death, fire of regeneration, To Jews offence, to Greeks astonishment. The priest is vanished as a dream of night. What passionate ardour, what divine delight Fills me and thrills me through with fire and light ? I did but dip myself but once, and lo ! Through all my veins I feel a new life grow. I go my way rejoicing as I go. PHILIPPUS. I hear all round a noise of wind and fire And distant thunders ever drawing nigher, And distant voices of a heavenly quire. The sands are gone, the proselyte is gone Whither I know not ; in a land unknown Mid a strange people I remain alone. EXPLICIT. ( 75 ) ON A DRA WING OF LIONARDO IN THE ACADEMY AT VENICE O THOU that lookest forth with that strange smile Ever to thine and our great master dear, Which, whether born of simpleness or guile, Still brings some sense of vague mistrust and fear, A smile which seems to fade as we draw near, Tell us from what far country dost thou come, For truly this our earth is not thy home ? From what unknown far country not of earth What message dost thou bring us from the hand Of him who, while he lived here, gave thee birth, Who now dwells ever in the charmed land, Whence he could draw, like Prosper, with his wand, Thee and thy brethren, an enchanted quire, To grieve our hearts with unfulfill'd desire ? 76 ON A DRA WING O eyes divinely fresh in light of youth ! O lovely childish head of doubtful sex ! O guide perplexing on the road of truth ! Then, is thy mission only to perplex ? Surely thy maker made thee not to vex Our souls ? No, in those tresses crowned and curled He wove and set the riddle of the world. O virginal soft mouth of girl or boy, Mysterious lips which praise not nor reprove, Will you not say one word to bring us joy? Will you not speak, and tell us, "I am Love"? Thy sweet lips move not, though they seem to move. And so perchance 'tis best, for, had they breath, Who knows they might not answer, " I am Death " ? ( 77 ) LINES BY A PERSON OF QUALITY The loves that doubted, the loves that dissembled, That still mistrusted themselves and trembled, That held back their hands and would not touch ; Who strained sad eyes to look more nearly, And saw too curiously and clearly, What others blindly clutch ; To whom their passion seemed only seeming, Who dozed and dreamed they were only dreaming, And fell in a dusk of dreams on sleep ; When dreams and darkness are rent asunder, And morn makes mock of their doubts and wonder, What should they do but weep ? CONCERNING ACME AND SEPTIMIUS (FROM CATULLUS.) WHILE on his breast his Acme lay " My darling," did Septimius say, "If love can e'er more desperate be Or fonder than my love for thee, If lover e'er so loved before As I will love thee evermore, May I alone in Libyan land, Alone on the parched Indian strand, With none to help me, fall the prize Of some great lion with great green eyes.' Love heard, and now assured quite, Sneezed benediction on the right. But Acme lightly bent her head, And thus to her sweet boy she said, CONCERNING ACME AND SEPTIMIUS 79 Kissing with those red lips the eyes Where love lay drunk in ecstasies : " Ah, my dear life, so may we own This our lord Love, our lord alone, As melts my heart with fiercer glow Than any passion thou canst know." Love heard, and now assured quite, Sneezed benediction on the right. From this good omen now they start, Love and are loved in heart and heart. Lovesick Septimius loves one may Than Britain more or Syria. She faithful, all love's joy and boon Finds in Septimius alone. Say, when did Venus smile more fair? Say, when were mortals happier ? ( 8o ) FOR A DRA WING CLING closer, closer yet, love ; so thy cheek Press mine and rest, and wreathen on thy head The jasmine plucked in the same sunny place" Kiss and be once more mingled for a space With my faint myrtle, once ere both be dead ; O close thine eyes awhile, what do they seek ? O love, O love, content thee ; cease from sighs Of which in the old days our lips were fain. What need for sadness now? All that is past. Or dost thou grieve because the hours fly fast ? Beloved, shall not kisses stay the pain, And ease the eternal hunger in thine eyes ? FOR A DRAWING 81 Smile, love, or I shall weep ; say one word, sweet, And break the mournful spell ere the tears fall. What need for tears? What burden troubles thee From which an hour ago thy soul was free ? O ask not more than life can give, for all Thou canst desire is ready at thy feet. Are things on earth no longer fair, love ? Nay, Lift then thy drooping head to look around, Thy flower-crowned flower-like head, fairest of things Where all are fair ; see how the summer brings Fresh light of flowers from out the kindling ground, And buds blow now we knew not yesterday. ( 82 ) FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIOVANNI DELL' ISOLA Circ. A.D. 1485. " THERE shall be no more sea," the seer saith, Beyond the dark and silent strait of death, Purple like wine, or blue as summer skies, Or fleecy white beneath the Nereids' breath. Methinks the aged seer in some strange wise Was rapt into Love's inmost Paradise, And saw the Apocalypse of heaven afar, Gazing in Love's unfathomable eyes ; Eyes of fine fire that weeping cannot mar, More clear and crystalline than any star. O Love, in heaven what need of any sea ? Thine eyes are deeper than the deep seas are. FROM THE ITALIAN 83 Thy voice reverberates all the mystery And music of all waters that can be : Voices like flutes blown soft in unison, And thunders of tempestuous harmony. O Love, what need have we of any sun Or moon in thine own city, whereupon The light shed from thy bright hair's aureole Makes pale the lustrous candles round thy throne, O Love, with hair aflame and shining stole, Who rose with wing'd feet from the flash and roll Of waters where yet all things were as one, First of the Gods and Saviour of the soul ? 84 MAGDALEN WALKS IN WINTER A SHEET of water set about with trees, Bare branches black against the evening sky, And black reflected in the leaden mere ; The chill forbidding waters seem to freeze, Save when an outcast wind unwillingly Shudders across their surface as in fear. Out to the west the sky is dusky red, And cleft in sunder by that lovely tower Crowns its dim pinnacles with one dim star ; Lo, for a signal that the day is dead The chapel bells toll out and tell the hour, Answered by city echoes from afar. Winter is passing by us where we stand ; Can you not hear his footfall on the mould And catch his breathing through the twilight air ? All things are dumb and patient to his hand, Whose guerdon is the darkness and the cold, The cold like death and darkness like despair. SEPARA TION Quis dabit mihi pennas sicut columbae, et volabo, et requiescam. LET us not strive, the world at least is wide ; This way and that our different paths divide, Perhaps to meet upon the further side. We must not strive ; friends cannot change to foes O yes, we love ; albeit winter snows Cover the flowers, the flowers are there, God knows. And yet I would it had been any one Only not thou, O my companion, My guide, mine own familiar friend, mine own ! ( 86 ) LITANY O MOTHER earth, Is this a time to be gay ? Is this a time for song and lyre and velvet-green attire, When on thy fair domain The wide-destructive rain Pours without let and stint and famine hovers nigher, Never far away ? O mother earth, Hear us, we pray, In time of dearth. O sun in heaven, Where is thine ancient might, Where is the heat that bade us rest, where is the light that blest ? Surely thou art asleep, Or thou wouldst hear us weep ; LITANY 87 Or thou art on a journey beyond the leaden west; Without thy golden light, O sun in heaven, Day is as night And morn as even. O autumn wind, Blowing so fierce and free, Blowing the rain clouds up the sky, and the pools of water dry, The fans fall no more Upon the granary floor, For the scythe and sickle are red with rust, and the reapers sit and sigh, And the corn is sad to see. O autumn wind, We pray to thee, Blow warm and kind. O great God Pan, Who givest all good things, Who fillest the spiky ear with grain and loadest the groaning wain, 88 LITANY Did not thine altars smoke With the firstlings of the flock ? Is it for grievous sin that thou plaguest us with rain In these our harvestings ? O great God Pan, The whole earth rings With the cry of man. Aug., 1881. 89 TYRUS TYRUS, who art situate Within the entry of the seas, 1 God who made thee wax so great, Princess among the provinces, I God will lay thee desolate. Thou sealest up the sum ; in thee Have cunning builders perfected Thy beauty-; pilots of the sea From far talk of thy goodlihead ; Yea, ships of Tarshish sing of thee. Fine linen out of Egypt is Thy covering ; in thy walls are found Blue clothes and wrought embroideries In chests of rich apparel, bound With cords, among thy merchandise. 90 TYRUS With coral, agate, calamus, And all chief spices, night and day Thy dwelling was luxurious : All precious stones from Baamah, Beryl and topaz, sardius, Sapphire and diamond, glistering Lay in thy courts ; thy merchant folk Out of far Eastern lands did bring To thee, as each new morning broke, Strange riches from their seafaring. Thy shipboards were of mountain firs ; Tall cedars fell for masts for thee In Lebanon ; thy mariners Sat on broad thwarts of ivory, Wrought by Assyrian carpenters. The traffickers of Syria Occupied alway in thy fairs From Helbon, Minnith, Amana, With emeralds and broider'd wares ; Thy ships from far Ionia TYRUS gi Brought fair-hair'd slaves through mist and snow : Yea, Dan with Javan also went Within thy markets to and fro ; Thy merchants were the excellent Of all lands : I God set them so. Yea, thou art the anointed one, The covering cherub : stones of fire Were for thy treading ; yet shall none Find thee by searching, in the mire And stones men spread their nets upon. Shall not the isles shake at the dread And sound of slaughter midst of thee, When the pit holds thee and thy dead In low waste places of the sea, With cities not inhabited ? In that day thou whose rumour ran Through all the corners of the sea, Thou shalt be no God, but a man, In face of him who slayeth thee, For all thy craft Sidonian. ARTIFEX AD ARTEM WHEN Youth and Pleasure, Being strong, are fain To pass all measure, To break all rein ; When the maenad Passion In Bacchic mirth Would find or fashion A heaven on earth ; When the eyes are too weary Even to weep, The lips to wail ; When daylight is dreary Twixt death and sleep ; When love seems madness, And thought is sadness, And desire doth fail ; ARTIFEX AD ARTEM. 93 Then calm me, raise me, To bear my part, Who serve and praise thee, Spirit of Art. ( 94 ) SANTA CRUZ Monday, 2Oth April, 1657. PRAISED be the Lord who hath done most marvellous things for us, Our help by night and day ; Who hath made straight paths for our feet on land, and wings for us Across the ocean way. Who hath put to shame his enemies' wrath and curses, Avenged his people's moan ; Terrible in his judgments, infinite in his mercies, Most sure unto his own. All the long winter we were sailing, sailing, The Spanish coast in sight ; SANTA CRUZ 95 Our ships grown foul, food scarce and water failing, And never a chance to fight. Safe behind Cadiz forts the Spaniards lying Kept close and let us be, While day by day more of our men were dying For sickness of the sea. But when the blowing of March gales abated, A galiot came with news, The Plate fleet from Peru was come, and waited Harboured in Santa Cruz. So Admiral Blake called all his ships together, And set his sails to go ; And in fighting order through the April weather We went to find the foe. in. Thus we sailed southward, over showery spaces Of wandering water driven ; The sunlight and the moonlight in our faces, The stars by hosts in heaven. The helmsmen steered, and the wind and water bore us, Till on a Sunday night 96 SANTA CRUZ Pale thro' the rose-girt west shone far before us The island peak in sight. And the sun sank, and where the west was paling Day glimmered and was gone. All night and into the morning, softly sailing, The English fleet ran on. There lay the fleet we had waited for these bitter Long months of tossing brine ; Thro' the mist we saw their long brass cannon glitter, Their long blue pennants shine. Twenty-two great warships, and behind we counted, Where the low sea-wall runs, Fort after fort, and rows of earthworks, mounted With line on line of guns. But for all the guns of the fleet and forts that fenced them, The tideway perilous, Were not the stars in their courses sworn against them ? Was not the Lord with us ? With us who had swept the seas of every stranger, Made every foe take flight ; SANTA CRUZ 97 Who for God and the Commonwealth never had shunned a danger, And never lost a fight ? Should it be to fail at last we had outwintered The blown Atlantic foam, With timbers waterwarped and bullet-splintered, And sick crews far from home ? Behind us the wind rose and the mist was lifted ; Slowly beneath its breath, Thro' the tideway under the castle guns we drifted, Into the jaws of death. The sea-breeze freshened and the fleet ran shoreward, And over us in the sky The red cross of the Commonwealth streamed forward, The Lord of Hosts was nigh. v. The Lord who had been with us, and who still should be with us, To make our feet to stand ; Who had dealt for his mercies' sake most marvellously with us ; Who held us in his hand, H 98 SANTA CRUZ A slaughter-weapon furbished for the slaughter, A sword made keen to slay, To make the blood of his enemies run like water Along the waterway. VI. Then as the Speaker and the Swiftsure leading Ran in and went about, From below the castle flag a flash came speeding, A puff of smoke slid out. At once there leapt from all the encircling crescent Light redder than the sun's ; And the air throbbed and thundered with incessant Roar and recoil of guns. From all their cannon and culverins came raining Their shot across our track ; From all our decks and portholes, steadily straining Our gunners answered back. Hour upon hour the battle-smoke grew blinder, Heavier the battle-breath ; Before each ship hell shuddered, and behind her Opened the mouths of death. The red blood lay on the decks in heavy splashes, Where, choked in smoke and flame, SANTA CRUZ 99 We ran the guns out, firing at their flashes, That told us where to aim. And above the roar of cannon, and the screaming Of great shot thro' the air, The red cross of the Commonwealth kept streaming, The Lord of Hosts was there. So the great sea-fight raged, till the firing slackened, The smoke-drift cleared away ; And left to sight where, smouldering hulks and blackened, The silenced galleons lay. And every sail that from the Indies followed The Plate fleet as it came, Under the gurgling water lay sea-swallowed, Or floated wrapt in flame. We had made their impregnable harbour unavailing ; We had fought at last and won ; By the grace of the Lord our weary winter sailing That April day was done. Under the castle guns, that still, tho' slower. Kept firing on their foe, ioo SANTA CRUZ In the evening land-breeze, as the sun drew lower, We set our sails to go. Then the sun sank, and the starlight rose to cover us ; Day glimmered and was gone. And the red cross of the Commonwealth floated over us, The Lord of Hosts led on. VIII. Praised be the Lord who hath given both toil and playtime, Heart-grief and heart's-desire ; Leading us on, a pillar of cloud by daytime, By night a pillar of fire. Who hath brought with an outstretched arm his chosen nation From darkness into light ; Who hath openly shown his judgment and salvation, Within the heathen's sight. To the glory of him who hath made our name most glorious, Our heart and blood be given, While the Commonwealth in England reigns victorious, The Lord of Hosts in Heaven. DOGGEREL IN DELFT TO?S avOpunrots e imfotav effriv, KO.\ j irdfras ARIST. P^/. 1448, b. 5. ( 103 ) Bcua yuev aXXa poSa. I. Life. WHITE rose and red In one garden-bed. Red rose and white For my love's delight. White and red rose, Which is fairer, who knows ? II. Death. WHITE rose and red, One and both dead. Red rose and white, In my love's despite. White and red rose, Which is deader, who knows ? 104 CHIMES GLITTER of gold and of ivory As Love's wings draw nigh. Golden blossoms in Love's hand From a flowerful land. Stained gold and shivered ivory Where Love's feet have gone by. Dead gold strewn over foot and hand In the hollow land. CHIMES 105 Flowers are fallen and songs are ceased, For the wind blows out of the east. East wind chilly and grey And a dead weight at my heart to-day. Shall not the lark and the rose hold feast When the wind goes out of the east ? East flush rose-red out of the grey And daylight dawn in my heart that day. ( io6 ) HALF-WAY IN LOVE You have come, then ; how very clever I thought you would scarcely try ; I was doubtful myself however You have come, and so have I. How cool it is here, and pretty ! You are vexed ; I'm afraid I'm late ; You've been waiting O what a pity ! And it's almost half-past eight. So it is ; I can hear it striking Out there in the grey church tower. Why, I wonder at your liking To wait for me half an hour ! HALF- WA Y IN LOVE 107 I am sorry ; what have you been doing All the while down here by the pool ? Do you hear that wild-dove cooing ? How nice it is here, and cool ! How that elder piles and masses Her great blooms snowy-sweet ; Do you see through the serried grasses The forget-me-nots at your feet ? And the fringe of flags that encloses The water ; and how the place Is alive with pink dog-roses Soft-coloured like your face ! You like them ? shall I pick one For a badge and coin of June ? They are lovely, but they prick one And they always fade so soon. Here's your rose. I think love like this is, That buds between two sighs, And flowers between two kisses, And when it's gathered dies. io8 HALF- WA Y IN LO VE It were surely a grievous thing, love, That love should fade in one's sight ; It were better surely to fling love Off while its bloom is bright. The frail life will not linger, Best throw the rose away, Though the thorns having scratched one's finger Will hurt for half a day. What ! you'd rather keep it, and see it Fade and its petals fall ? If you will, why Amen, so be it : You may be right after all. ( log ) TRICOLOR BLUE her kirtle was, I ween (doce amie) Red and white her face was seen : White as lily in a mere (flors de Us) Floating on the wan water : Red as apples in a croft (el tans d'este) Which her maiden plucketh oft : Blue her eyes as blue steel bright (les eus vairets) They have made my red heart white. ( no ) TO M. A. C. G. (LEAVING ENGLAND.) O FOR the great good gift or the loan of a little leisure just to be lazy ; Just to be lazy at least in some more sane and sensible way; O to be just set free for a short sweet space from the cracked and the crazy Cares and the tiresome trifles that weary and worry from day to day. O to be out of the reach and the realm for a while of this dismal and dun light, Darkness rather I call it, which serves us sadly here for the sun ; Misty and muddy and fog-and-rain-ruled land, who knowest naught of the sunlight, Would I could once be well quit of thee, cut the whole business and run. TO M. A. C. G. in O for a week at the Lakes, or at Milan, or Rome, or Siena, or Florence, O to go anywhere with you away ; to Jericho, Joppa, Japan ! I'm longing for light and warmth, and lo ! it's pouring in chilly torrents, And you're going over the seas to Spain and I to my medical man ! 112 ) MONOLOGUE UOUTRE TOMBE (PANTOUM.) MORN and noon and night, Here I lie in the ground ; No faintest glimmer of light, No lightest whisper of sound. Here I lie in the ground ; The worms glide out and in ; No lightest whisper of sound, After a lifelong din. The worms glide out and in ; They are fruitful and multiply ; After a lifelong din, I watch them quietly. MONOLOGUE 113 They are fruitful and multiply, My body dwindles the while ; I watch them quietly ; I can scarce forbear a smile. My body dwindles the while, I shall soon be a skeleton ; I can scarce forbear a smile They have had such glorious fun. I shall soon be a skeleton, The worms are wriggling away ; They have had such glorious fun, They will fertilize my clay. The worms are wriggling away, They are what I have been, They will fertilize my clay, The grass will grow more green. They are what I have been. I shall change, but what of that ? The grass will grow more green, The parson's sheep grow fat. I1 4 MONOLOGUE I shall change, but what of that ? All flesh is grass, one says, The parson's sheep grow fat, The parson grows in grace. All flesh is grass, one says, Grass becomes flesh, one knows. The parson grows in grace ; I am the grace he grows. Grass becomes flesh, one knows. He grows like a bull of Bashan. I am the grace he grows ; I startle his congregation. He grows like a bull of Bashan, One day he'll be Bishop or Dean. I startle his congregation; One day I shall preach to the Q n. One day he'll be Bishop or Dean, One of those science-haters. One day I shall preach to the Q n. To think of my going in gaiters ! MONOLOGUE 115 One of those science-haters, Blind as a mole or bat. To think of my going in gaiters And wearing a shovel-hat ! Blind as a mole or bat, No faintest glimmer of light, And wearing a shovel-hat Morn and noon and night. TO THE NIGHTINGALE IN SEPTEMBER (VILLANELLE.) CHILD of the muses and the moon, O nightingale, return and sing, Thy song is over all too soon. Let not night's quire yield place to noon, To this red breast thy tawny wing, Child of the muses and the moon. Sing us once more the same sad tune Pandion heard when he was king, Thy song is over all too soon. Night after night thro' leafy June The stars were hush'd and listening, Child of the muses and the moon. TO THE NIGHTINGALE IN SEPTEMBER 117 Now new moons grow to plenilune And wane, but no new music bring, Thy song is over all too soon. Ah, thou art weary ! well, sleep on, Sleep till the sun brings back the spring ; Thy song is over all too soon Child of the muses and the moon. THE LAST TENNIS-PARTY October, 1382. IT was a garden party drear, I came from there to come to here. Of women there I counted ten ; I and Lord Harold were the two men. The rest were away to the smallest child Where pheasants labour to grow more wild. Lord Harold was a jocund knight, Ever to jape was his delight ; He placed his thumb where my stout ribs be, " Dost love to play tenpins?" quoth he. THE LAST TENNIS-PARTY 119 I am a serious knight and grave, I murmured simply, " Mary save ! " We played at tennis with might and main, And then at tennis we played again. The fair dames came and the fair dames went, But we knights played on without let or stint. They brought to Lord Harold the claret cup, He heaved a sigh and he drunk it up. They brought me an ice, and a little spoon Silvery-white like a full moon. And we played till the robins went to bed, And Lord Harold and I were well-nigh dead. But ah, not yet was the ding of doom, We were ushered into the drawing-room. I saw Lord Harold grow ghastly pale, Like a wan moon in a green dale. THE LAST TENNIS-PARTY You have seen when a boy has hooked a flat When a salmon-trout he was angling at ; You have seen his face where the pike lie low Till he draws his snare, and then they go ; I looked not otherwise than so. Ten ladies sat on that polished floor; There was no escape thro' the closed door. I looked at Lord Harold, but not a note Could win a way from his parched throat. I spoke and my voice rang strange and hoarse, I spoke again and it sounded worse. I said, "Indeed;" then I said, "Of course." Then I bethought me of tales to tell, Which all allow I have told right well. I told them tales I have told to few, I told them tales that were old and true, I told them tales that were good as new. THE LAST TENNIS-PARTY But no voice broke the silence round, And I reeled full thrice and fell in a swound. How long I lay on the Persian mat I know not, but soon after that I rose, and looked round for my hat. ( 122 ) BALLADE OF DEAD THINKERS TO C. S. R. WHERE'S Heraclitus and his Flux Of Sense that never maketh stay ? Or Thales, with whom Water sucks Into itself both Clod and Clay ? Or He, who in an evil Day NO/AOS and