LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE Ex Libris ISAAC FOOT A TIME AND TIMES BALLADS AND LYRICS OF EAST AND WEST By aIVeRNER Author of " The King of the Silver City ' Ich aber will auf mich raffen, Main Saitenspiel in der Hand, — Die VVeiten der Erde durchschweifen, Und singen von Land zu Land.' iCHAMISSO Eontion T. FISHER UN WIN 26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1886 W /JTTv^ JTo mp frien"bi5 at %t. antirftos. Zwpi^ nvv oX/'vw ■ -navTU Ze Tifiara to. Trap ^^ , ^^^ 4, NEW YEAR, 1886. ^-^^ ^V- ^4- ^ ftL ^' y>-<:.^ ^V( ^ n.va<^^ '; PREFACE. Most of these poems have already appeared as fugitive pieces in various British and American periodicals. Three only are copy- right—the * Song of a Singer,' and the ' Mermaid of Zennor,' being reprinted from Every Girls' Magazine^ by kind permission of Messrs. George Routledge & Sons, and ' Bannerman of the Dandenong' from the People^ s Friend^ by that of Messrs. John Leng and Co., Dundee. St. Andrews, December 26///, 1885. CONTENTS. PAGE 1885 Vll DAWN I THE HYMN OF HUMANITY .... • 3 AMERICA 5 QUEEN LOVE 7 POET AND REPUBLICAN .... ID NAPOLEON 12 IN THE LATTER DAYS . . . . , 14 A demagogue's wish .... 16 A FAREWELL— TO HENRY GEORGE 18 IN THOUGHTS FROM THE VISIONS OF THE NIGHT 20 MY SWORD . 21 AFTER A WEEK IN TOWN .... 23 NINETEENTH CENTURY IDEALS 25 SONNET 27 IN A CONCERT ROOM 28 CALABRIA ULTRA, 1 863 .... 30 UNDER SENTENCE 33 INNOMINATA . 35 CZAR ALEXANDER 37 GEORGE TINWORTH 40 A life's LABOUR 4^ THE BATTLE-FIELD BY SILARUS . 42 WHEN THE TOWERS FALL .... 45 THE WHITE WITCH OF PERRAN FORTH 47 THE wrecker's DAUGHTER . . . , 55 BEATRIX 59 HERAKLEITOS 61 THE ENCHANTED GARDEN .... 63 THE MERMAID OF ZENNOR .... 6? THE LAST OF THE REAPERS 67 A REVERIE 69 WINDOW-PANE RECORDS .... 71 NYMPHOLEPTOS 73 BY THE ROADSIDE 76 MURIEL 78 VI CONTENTS. PAGE MY SHIP 79 IN A THEATRE . 8i TOWAN CROSS, CORNWALL 83 SUNDAY MORNING 84 SONG 85 SONNET 86 ELIPHAZ THE TEMANITE 87 VICTORIA CITY . 88 QUEEN CIRCE 91 ARGKMONE 93 MISERERE . ■ 94 NOT THERE 96 RALSTON . 97 EAST WINDS IN MARCH 99 THE GREAT REVEALER . 100 DF.NVER, COLORADO . 103 IN THE GULF OF MEXICO 105 LEAINA 107 THE UPAS TREE . 112 " PRESIDING EXAMINER " 114 THE SONG OF A SINGER 116 HAUNTING MUSIC 117 THE BALLAD OF THE SHIP " ELIZABETH " 119 EDKN WATER . 127 KEEPING TRYST . . . 128 A MOURNFUL BALLADE OF THE LONDON UNIVERSITY EXAMINATIONS . 130 *' ICH ABER " . . 132 IN THE SACK OK ATHENS, B.C. 86 • 134 SCOONIE HILL, ST. ANDREWS 136 IN THE GRAVEYARD . . 137 A woman's FAITH 139 WENDELGARD . 140 THE UNKNOWN SEA . 142 BANNKRMAN OF THE DANDENONG 144 AFTER THE BATTLE . • . 147 BALLADE OF A GARDEN . . • • . 150 THE ADVENTURE OF ADHERBAL, THE CARTHAGINIAN , . • 152 EPILOGUE . . ■ 157 Vll IS85. Is the time evil ? Who shall tell ? Is it a good time ? Dare we say ? We hear afar the surges swell — Before the coming tempest sway The tree-tops — yet the thunders stay. A day of storm — an age of strife Comes up, when all things shall be tried — And old things purged to better life, And base things known and cast aside, Among the nations far and wide. Why tremble at the light of day, Or winds of God that sweep the earth ? 'Tis but the False they bear away, — The True stands storm and fire : all worth Shines glorified at dawn's new birth. DAWN. IT comes — it looms up in the darkness- Something : — I hardly know Of a word, or a name to name it ; — But I feel it must be so ; That a time of choice is coming For weal or for woe. The pulses of a nation Beating in fever and pain : The fever of woe and want — The fever of greed and gain, — And the stars are reeling in heaven — And the great sea moans for her slain. In the stillness of my life, I hear the tramp afar Of the armies marching, Under the morning star, To the Armageddon battle, Where the eagles are. The days lie dark before me : — I know not what shall be. But at midnight or at day-dawn, When the call comes unto me, I am ready to rise and follow — To the death-agony. B BA TFiV. O my people, my brothers ! God grant me to be true — Ever true to His highest truth ! — No great thing can I do : — But, firm as a faithful heart may love, Ever I stand by you. Yours : — and I see God's angel Coming along the sky, With the garments rolled in blood, And the steadfast eye — And some say her name is Love, And some, Liberty. She comes — who will know her coming ? Or be ready her step to greet. When she comes with the blood on her brow And the dust about her feet ? Who will bravely drink of the bitter Without a hope of the sweet .'' Let us be true — heart-loyal — Ready what time she calls ! Justice and Truth are met To cast down the age-built walls. Happy shall be the victors that day, And blessed he who falls ! THE HYMN OF HUMANITY. HUMANITY ! Humanity ! "Mother, O Mother ! " thy children cry. Stretching out weary, wasted hands Over the tawny desert sands, — " Weak and helpless, and very lone, — Come unto us thine own, thine own ! We stumble and stray in the burning heat, Blinded our eyes, and scorched our feet ! We have lost our way, and our strength is gone,- We cannot take one step farther on ; — Mother — O Mother, hear our cry ! — We hunger and thirst, and we shall die ! " Humanity ! Humanity ! She heard in the desert her children's cry — Wildly she moaned and wrung her hands, And sat her down on the weary sands, " Alas ! my children, that cry on me ! There is no help in Humanity 1 " Humanity! Humanity! — The wail of her pain went up on high : She cast the sand on her stricken head, And wept and would not be comforted. " I cannot help you, my own, my own ! Myself am weary, and weak, and lone,— Sick and wounded, and like to die ! "' — Humanity ! Humanity ! THE HYMN OF HUMANITY. Humanity ! Humanity ! She cried in her bitter agony — " No helper--none ! — and I called to ye, My children — and none can answer me ! The chains are sore on my hands and feet, And I looked for help— and hope was sweet, — But I waited long, and none came to me ! " — Humanity ! Humanity ! " Humanity ! Humanity I She sat in the desert, and One came by, Into whose footsteps the blood-drops ran, — And his face was like to a Son of Man. " Come, thou weary, I heard thy cry, — 1 have suffered thine agony ! Stand up, stand up in thy liberty. And look to the Christ that healeth thee I "— Who even Himself is a child of thee — Humanity ! Humanity ! Humanity ! Humanity ! Shall not her children hear her cry ? The chains have dropt from her feet and hands, As she walketh over the desert sands, And on the track where He went before The rose and myrtle spring evermore. " Follow, follow the Son of God ! There is hope and help in the path He trod ! Call unto Him, and not to me ! " Humanity! Humanity!— o AMERICA. MIGHTY land of pulses young ! O great heart beating warm and strong I Now the old feuds are laid to rest ' Twixt English of the East and West ; And we, of older race on earth, Watch proud your glories in their birth, And cry across the seas to you, " Faint not, fail not, be pure and true !" The trust we scantly did fulfil. With clearer eye and stronger will, Take up ; and, where we fell, stand fast, Made wiser by our losses past. The brightness of the old-world years, The gain of all past strifes and tears, The strength hard-won in conflicts sore — These shall be yours for evermore. Yours be the Spartan constancy, The Roman might of victory. And majesty of rule and law, — The Sa.xon simple heart of awe. And, gathering up from every age The great and good for heritage. Write ye aloft your country's name, Purged from all youthful sin and blame. AMERICA. That, as she sits betwixt the seas, We yet may gather round her knees, Learning, in simpleness and truth ; And find again our own lost youth. O Glorious ! — across the sea What can our spirit cry to thee? Hand on the lamp to ages new — Be true — to thine own self be true ! — • QUEEN LOVE. " And when she bids die, he shall surely die Yea he shall leave all things under the sky, And go forth naked under sun and rain. And work, and wait, and watch out all his years." A. C.Swinburne. (The Pilgrims.) HE is young, and the sunshine on his hair, He looks round, dreaming: — " The world is fair." He feels her hand on his shoulder laid, Her deep eyes ask him, ** Art thou afraid ? " They smite him, sword-wise. " Who art thou ? — tell ! " " Ask thine own heart — thou knowest me well. " Didst thou not call me in dreams of youth ? Wilt thou not follow in very trutli ? " " Yes, I know thee, and fair art thou, But let me linger a little now. " Youth comes but once, and life is sweet, Thorny and steep are the ways of thy feet." '' Yea, in sooth ! " made answer she, " Else had I never calltid thee." " Not yet — not yet ! " he cried with a groan. " To face the world and stand forth alone ! " ■** Those whom I love must ever be Hated of men for the love of me." QUEEN LOVE. '' But there are near and dear ones," he cried, — '' Father and mother, and tender bride : " Leave me a little, till they can know, And so the parting be less of woe." Tender and stern grew the eyes whose dole Pierced into his very soul. " Nay," she answered, " it may not be. They must yield all, who follow me. '' If I leave thee, thou canst not be Light of heart — for thou lovest me. " And the love thou canst not forget will be Lifelong torment of hell for thee." He said, as one drowning gasps for breath, " I follow thee to the bitter death." He heard them calling, " Stay, oh ! stay ! " He turned his face to the desert way. With bare feet set on the burning sands, Sadly he loosened the clasping hands. A nameless joy, and a nameless woe Strove at his heart : — ''Ye must let me go." Betwixt her two hands she took his face. And kissed his lips for a crowning grace. Now I know thou art truly mine ! Go forth on thy way, through storm and shine. QUEEN LOVE. " Perchance thou shalt see me never again, It may be not even in dying pain, — " But know thou, in sorrow and blackness of night, Thou art doing my work, and hast chosen the right. " Doubt not, faint not ; thy guerdon shall be, This, that thou diest at last for me." 10 POET AND REPUBLICAN. I. HE lay upon the thymy down The summer sky was soft above, — 'Mid hare-bells blue and grass-plumes brown, He mused high thoughts of faith and love. And fainter hummed the bees about His ear, and fainter grew the sky ; He seemed to hear the battle-shout, And see the hosts go sweeping by. And down, and dale, and summer day Became a glorious dream to him Of great deeds dared and done, — while lay Helpless his form, with sealed eyes dim. At even, he awoke, and there Found himself lying in the thyme, And saw afar, — so pure and fair. The skyward hills that he must climb. Alas ! Alas ! the dream that was ! The listless frame and life sublime I — POET AND REPUBLICAN. ii II. A couch within a fair, large room — Through tinted window-panes, the light Fell softly in a purple gloom. And all things round were fair and bright. Rich forms and hues where'er he turned. — The peacock's feather drooped above, — And Clytie's face down on him burned Out of its yearning depths of love. And, in the streets, the throbbing cries Of human life that never rest — They brought no flash into his eyes Nor any trouble to his breast. He lay there, stringing rhyme on rhyme Of liberty, and love, and pain, And all the sorrows of the time, — And turned himself to dream again . Alas ! Alas ! the dream that was ! Alust high dreams always be in vain ? 12 NAPOLEON. Two Sonnets. '^ Jc le croyais fait pour quclquc chose de mieux." — P. L. Courier. I. 0.\ Bo.\RD THE BeLLEROPHON. FALLEN ! O thou from whom we hoped such things ! Thou ! set to be the People's guiding star .... O beautiful face that lighted us from far, Crowned with a better glory than of kings ! — About thy straying feet our spirit clings In spite of all — Oh ! why didst thou so mar The life that might have been, and set a bar Betwixt thy soul and her celestial springs ? This is a lesser fall we now behold, But not for that less bitter ;— nay, for now Surely, that agony of lip and brow Is most the memory of that uncontrolled Passion, that took the first false step aside Oh ! that thou hadst been true, — and we had died ! — II. In the Invai.ides. The haunting love that will not let thee rest Clings yet about thy great heart in his grave ; Methinks that, where men's souls their just meed have, This love of all thy pangs is cruellest. NAPOLEON. 13 Oh ! thou wast made for greatest and for best, Made to be loved, and love, and serve, and save Thy France, and Europe — not to be a slave To that false fame by this world's kings possest. Thy great deeds planned thou seest brought to nought,— Thy clear-eyed wisdom, folly, — and thy strength Weak in His hands who made all things to be, — The People cheated of their hope, — each thought Bitter in turn — but bitterest this at length — ■" This love, this love it is that tortures me ! " — 14 IN THE LATTER DAYS. OMY people, my people ! the curtains of night are drawn, — But, looking up, I can see through the rifts the breaking of the dawn. O my people, my people ! ye have been patient long, But the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong ; And the shoulders bowed with the burden, and the eyes that ache for tears. Shall have their turn for rest and joy, in the coming years. my people, my people ! I would help you, but I am weak : 1 am not a prophet, nor worker, nor one to whom men might seek, To save them in their need, or lead them on to the fight : But God hath said to me I am^ and there shall be Light. O my people, my people ! when days are dark in the sky. And the great world spins on aimless, and we wish for naught but to die, It is then that I would tell you — T, who have known the pain Of the horrible, desolate darkness, and shuddered and struggled in vain, IN THE LA TIER DA YS. 1 5 Who have looked to one man and another, would* have given the heart from my breast. . . . And felt the earth stagger beneath me when he failed and fell like the rest, — How we have a Leader, a hero, the man for whom men's souls long, — Man whom men's hearts may trust in, pure, and tender, and strong. Man of men, our Brother, He stands in the holiest place, But its glory has not driven the shadow of earth from His face. He is sad for the cry of his brothers, when they think that wrong prevails. And the right hand that guides the stars^is scarred with the print of the nails. Say that man cannot rise .-' Do we not know he can, When the Everlasting Righteousness has worn the face of a man ? And while that Man stands in heaven, we know, be it slow or fast, That every soul of man shall rise to be what He is at last. O my people, my brothers ! if he be with us indeed, What matter how sore the struggle "i We follow where he shall lead. And the joy of earth is coming, — I hear her feet on Life's shore. And all shall be well, as the Highest hath willed it, for evermore. i6 A DEMAGOGUE'S WISH. HAT do I wish for myself? " he said, And a strange wild light broke over his face,- What do I wish when the work's all sped : — w " The cheer on cheer of the market-place, And thousands of faces burning bright With the light of a people's love and praise ? *' Or the calm, sweet days, when faith is sight, And the battle over, and Life drawn on Peacefully towards Death's restful night ? *' Or just to be borne forth when all is done. With tired hands laid still on my breast, And eyes too weary to see the sun, " 'Mid a people's mourning unto my rest ? — — No — not quite, — though once I deemed so, — This have not even the bravest and best. " Not this I wish : — I have lived, and I know. But. when I have wrung out my heart's best blood In work for the world, — and have known the woe '' Of the world's worst pain, — and have done what good I can, — and they hate me too in their turn — Would I cheat them of their love, if 1 could 7 — A DEMAGOGUE'S WISH. 17 "Why, then, let the hard words begin to burn, And stones to fly, and muskets to flash : — To die that way I suppose one can learn ; — "And while the roar of the blind, mad crash Spends itself — one or two true ones, I know. Would lay the bruised limbs where cool waves plash, " To sleep in God's earth. . . And then they would grow To freedom and truth, and righteousness on. Forgetting the heart that loved them so . . . That's what I wish," he said, " when all's done." — i8 A FAREWELL. April ^th, 1884. " Prepare yourselves for a settlement of this question. It must come up for settlement sooner than j'ou are prepared for it, and the sooner you commence that preparation the better for you." John Brown of Osawatomie. T HE world was sad, and the age was late : — A man went out from the Western Gate. He passed through the streets, where young and old Thrust and tore in the strife for gold ; And sad, starved faces, fevered and thin, Were as a circle to wall him in. And he cried aloud in his sorrow of heart, " Is there never a better part ? " Must it be so to the end of time For the many who sink and the few who climb ? " Were not all things made good ? Should gain Come to you from your brother's ])ain ? " So, with his faith in God above. And his hope for man, and his passing love, Eastward he passed, and his deep words came Thrilling men's hearts with a touch of flame. He came to our land across the sea : — " O heart of man ! there is joy for thee ! *' Why droop thy heavy eyes to the sod } Look up — have hope in thyself and God. A FAREWELL. 19 " Moan no longer for what might be : Take thy birthright, and stand up free." We heard him speak, and a wind went forth Over the land to south and north. A voice as of sea-waves that leap and hiss : And England, hearing, asks, " What is this ? " ■ Lo ! this is a thing thou hast not seen In all thine ages, O Island-Queen ! Hearken, O ear, and look, O eye — Lest the day of thy glory pass thee by. Over the length and breadth of the land There arc some who listen and understand. Call to her, true hearts ! bid her awake, Stand, and strive truly for Love's dear sake. And for thee, who hast left us ... . The seed is sOAvn : We will think of thee when the trees are grown. Our thanks — what are they ? — but over the sea One last greeting we send to thee. Thanks, and greeting from all that have blest God who sent thee out of the West. 20 "77/ thoughts front the visions of the Nights THOU who art cunning of hand to paint, Paint me my dream that came in the night- Vision that was so blessed and bright, Only words, mere worcjs are too faint, If I would try to tell it aright. A deep blue sky, and a southern sea, With its passionate sapphire and crystal spray, In the brooding light of a golden day, — This is what seemed unto me, — And wild rocks, jagged, and black and grey. And in the midst of the bay was set A grand, great image of marble white. Of stature more than man's to the sight ; — Round his feet the wavelets rippled and met, Flowing and flashing in dazzling light. And a beautiful face, with straining eyes. All upturned to the glowing sky, — And parted lips for a yearning cry Of the soul that longeth to be made wise, — And hands, palm upwards, lifted on high. Away from the tides that ebb and flow, — Away from the lights which darken and fade, — From Earth in her changing beauty arrayed,— From the lives of men that come and go, — To That which was before all was made. 31 MY SWORD. MY sword ! thou art bright — thou art keen ! The flash of thee sendeth a thrill Through mind, and spirit, and will — Thou long'st for the battle I ween ? Long, long, hast thou been lying by — When shall we arise, thou and I, And strike in the cause of the Lord, My sword ? My sword I — my good sword and true ! — Yea, I know thou art surely mine In right of a gift divine For ever to dare and to do, — Mine to draw from my side, And hew down the strong in his pride, — Sin and wrong, and their barbarous horde — My sword ! — My sword ! — as I open the chest. And throw back the mantles that cover Thy glorious brightness over, And draw thee forth from thy rest — I long for the time to come To hear the roll of the drum, The trump, and the Captain's word, My sword ! . JfV SWO/^D. My sword ! — yet, oft, as I gaze. My eyes grow dim with tears, And a rush of surging fears Wraps all in a blinding haze. Art thou true, my blade untried ? Is it only my foolish pride That sees thy flashing light ? How wilt thou stand the fight Mid the hail of blows forth poured, My sword ? O sword ! — and though thou bs strong And faithful — yet in the field How shall this poor arm wield Thee worthily 'mid the throng ? When the battle's press is sore, And a long, long day before. And even the heart within Beset with sorrow and sin, — 'Tis not for me thou art stored — O sword ! Nay, nay — my sword — thou art mine ! The Father that gave thee to me. Will grant thee faithful to be, And grant me His strength divine — So forth we go to the fight. Armed in the power of His might — Together, thou and I, Till the evening draweth nigh, And we kneel at the feet of the Lord- My sword ! — 23 AFTER A WEEK IN TOWN. January 2oth, 1884. BACK again ! — from the mist and the whirl, The joy and the pain of London Street, To the dark, still river with oily swirl, — In the ev^ening air that is fresh and sweet. A grand calm planet shines out in the sky, 'Mid the chasing clouds that haste from the West, — The gulf of a life-time seems to lie Between : yet scarce more than a week at best Since I trod the pavement last. How still, Sleepy almost, the old town seems : — And the stir, and tumult, and voices shrill Behind me are but a whirl of dreams. Which are the dreams, and which is the waking.' May be 'tis London's sorrow and strife, — Not the peace here, that goes to the making Up of one's real, work-a-day-life. Back — yes, I'm glad to be back again ; — Kensington lay like a load on my breast, And the lights, and noise, and the whirl and strain, — I cannot bear it — I long for rest. Kensington ! with the stately streets, — The grey, gaunt houses, ghastly and grim, Empty and echoing,— and the sheets Of the fog drawn over them, grey and dim. \ AFTER A WEEK IN TOWN. A great, dead city it seemed to me— Like one in a dream I walked therein, And the sky, and the earth, and the smoke-slain tree- Seemed crying, crying of want and sin. And phantom-shadows the fair ones all That passed so sweet and so smiling there ; — Behind them a spectre rose — bitter as gall, Gaunt as famine, white as despair. Back again — where the air is purer, — Where men's faces can gather light From the stainless sky — where earth seems surer, And less hides God from our spirits' sight. And yet — and yet — Is it strange ? — is it wrong, That from all that's soothing to heart and brain,. From the sweet, pure country, I yet should long Back to the sad, great city again } Sad mother-city, weariful London, Restless with pain as the sobbing sea, What shall be done to us if we leave undone Aught of the duty we owe to thee ? Life may be bright in the far lands golden : London ! London ! I strive in vain To 'scape the voice of thy sorrows olden, It will not out of my ears again ! NINETEENTH CENTURY IDEALS. " T HAVE an ideal" — you say J. "But I know not what I will ? " — Ah me ! I long for the Kingdom of God That shall do away all ill. But what to wish for I know not, Nor know I how it shall be : All around me I see the world Heave like the surging sea. My faith is in holy freedom — But till men are true and strong, No need to tell me it only means Freedom to do the wrong .... The work must be done some day, — And it will be done, no doubt. But what is best to wish for meanwhile Is past my finding out. Would a Republic help us If men were the same as now } Or would the nation's ills be cured If all had lands to plough. One only thing I see clearly In this waste of sorrow and sin — And that is the fight which each man has To fight for the Kingdom within. NINETEENTH CENTUR Y IDEA L S. Perhaps, when we've won that battle Which takes a life-time to win, It may become somewhat clearer How the Kingdom on earth's to begin. Meanwhile we have flowers and sunshine, And a poor soul here and there Whom a word or look may bring nearer To all things great and fair. There are waves and woods and meadows, And winds and skies above, And the wondrous world of living things Whom the great God doth love. There are little children to love — There is work, to do one's best : — Is not that enough for a lifetime ? And let God take the rest ! 27 SONNET. METHOUGHT I saw a dark, defiant face, With fierce lips set in everlasting scorn, And backward-blown wild locks by storm-blasts torn, Sad eyes, deep-caverned — not without the grace Of tenderness, that found no resting-place In that despairing world, whereinto born, He knew not how to make it less forlorn, — And so defied, and died : men call him base. I saw this man : before his feet there knelt A hunted, haggard slave with fettered limb, And branded cheek. " Nay — what is mine is thine ! "• Smiled he, and raising, flung an arm round him. " W/w art thou f' And before I heard, I felt His answer — ^^ Lucitis Sc7-guis Catiline'^ 28 IN A CONCERT ROOM. HOW my whole heart yearns out to you^ O dark-eyed Singer, with the face To light a nation on to dare All at one blow, — though poor and few ! — I thank you, thank you for this grace, That are so far above me there. I do not envy you the gift That was not given to me, who know No secrets of the tuned chord, Nor half can tell, when you uplift The souls of men and women so. The meaning in your music stored. You soar aloft on wings of song, So high above our dull, poor life Of struggles vain, ideals lost. And slothfal yielding to the wrong, — Of high aims lowered, — petty strife, — And hands, of love that count the cost. The words, that fall so dead and cold From lips like ours, you breathe like flame — They glow and fall in flakes of fire On men enwrapt in lust of gold. And counting goodness but a name, — Crusted in this world's foulest mire. IN A CONCERT ROOM. 29 No spirit you — a woman true, With warm hcart-pulsc that beats and burns. — And yet no woman man may love ; No angel calm, for, through and through, The human soul within you yearns With the same thoughts in us that move. And yet a scarcely human thing — A star — a glowing sunlight-streak Upon a sea — sent down to bless : For none of those that hear you sing Shall clasp your neck, or kiss your cheek, — Yet all love you , — nor can you less Than love them all. Your heart is wide, And holds of love as 'twere a sea That cannot be poured out on one, But must seek all in fullest tide .... Unless one formed for you, maybe, Wait in the worlds beyond the sun. Let me look up into your eyes ! I may not ask to touch your hand — Only to bless you for this night ! I pray, in dark hours there may rise, As dreams to comfort you, the band Of souls to whom you brought the light. 30 CALABRIA ULTRA, 1863. I'M only a peasant of Bova, — a poor wild lad of the- hills— I know how to shoot the wild deer, and train the stock of the vine, And climb the paths of the mountains, and track the course of the rills, — And yonder cabin, and this, my rifle, are all that is mine. I've nought in the world to be proud of — I thought so once, long ago, — But now all the years of my life show wretched and selfish and mean ; — I can't just tell you, Signore, — you who are learned must know .... But since /le came here, — things seemed different to what they had ever been. . . . Did I know him? Know him! I followed him hence when he came — Marched to Napoli with him — fought within sight of his eye, — Lay in a hospital, wounded, and weak, and weary, and lame, — Felt hi.-> smile rest on me, and was all too happy to die. Brave was I ? — No Signore — I only followed where he Led us — as indeed such as I might follow afar ; — Only as they are brave, who, lost in the mountains, can see High in the heavens, and follow their glorious guiding- star. CALABRIA ULTRA, 1863. 31 Love him ? Ah Signore — do you in your cold fog-land Know what love means ? And yei methinks some of you know it well ; There were Englishmen there, 'mid the bravest of the band, Fought beside us like brothers, and looked to him when they fell. If they are all like those in that far-away England of- yours. Ah ! — what a land it must be, so noble and true and brave — Great, warm hearts in plenty, to gladden the cold, bleak shores ! — Blessed land ! — But why do you turn your head, and look grave ? Where is Caprcra, Signore ? I heard them say in the town He was gone to stay there, till he came to lead us once more ; — Can you tell in what province ? — and is it a long way down Here from the mountains ? Out yonder lies Reggio down by the shore, (Only you cannot see it from here), — is it over that way ? Or is it far beyond Napoli there by the sea ? — If I might herd his goats, or seek his lambs when the}- stray, I were content — do you think he would be much troubled with me ? — 32 CALABRIA ULTRA, 1863. Till we march on Rome, where the Pope and his Cardinals live — Why do you shake your head — and say it will never be?— He lives still, our Hero — why, he has only to give The word, — our thousands stand ready to follow, by land or sea. 'Scorn him — you say some do — and call him dreamer and fool ? Don't tell me so, Signore — I know that it cannot be — Hate him they may — the priests and monks all do, as a rule — Padre Francesco up there, for instance — but don't tell me ! — Scorn him ? I'd like to see the man who thought to do so ! Ah ! they will find out yet he knows far better than they !— You and I, Signore, — you're one of the right sort, I know, By the light in your eyes when you named him — God grant we may see the day ! — Talk of him so, do they? I wish they were here just now ! And yet — poor souls, they don't know him, or know what is true and right .... He said we were to love each other, as CHRIST showed us how .... This is the road, Signore, and there's Mileto in sight. 33 UNDER SENTENCE. Milan, i8;— . ■) THIS night's my last ! All life's struggle over and past, — Yet I scarce can call it a battle won — What have I done ? Twenty-three years Lived out in doubts and hopes and fears ;— ^ Poor, faint, broken, half-hearted Past — So crowned at last ? I know what shall be When they have loaded the carbines for me : I know a place in the city square — I shall stand there. A flash and a crash — And a sound in my ears of dark waves that dash,- And all will be over — and I in the light Where all is made right. And that this should be I, Who was not worthy for her to die ! — I to be one of thy martyr-band — O our glorious land? — 34 UNDER SENTENCE. The summer morn From the night's clear depths again is born ; Golden the eastern sky glows there — The day will be fair . . . The hour is come, With the clash of steel and the roll of drum : — Tlie carbines are loaded, and waiting for me— I shall soon be free. For the joy of this hour : — For the guiding arm of Thy love and power : — For the future that glows — for the strength that sufficed — I bless thee— O Christ !— 35 I N N O M I N A T A. L AY her down in the foreign land, — Bring the flowers to lay on her breast,— Lilies for maidenhood, — roses for love; Only here, in the little right hand, Clasp her the blossoms she loved the best — Violets, blue as her skies above. ') Only a young maid of nineteen years — Yet true a martyr as ever bled For freedom and truth in the long ago ; By her smile, when those bright eyes ached for tears, By sorrow dumb, she has earned that red Dark rose on her death-robe white as snow. She stood up straight in her young life's light, With white, soft feet unshrinkingly set On the sharp-stoned way that the great ones trod. *' Italy ! Italy ! " Full on her sight Glowed the vision, unseen as yet Unto all but the Called of God. She took up the burden with gladsome heart Of loyal duty, and held it up In those two slim hands that ached witli the strain ; Steadily bearing, through joy or smart, As a crystal holy-water-cup, That must be borne without spilling or stain. 36 INNOMINATA. But the way was long and the burden sore, And spirit was strong, but flesh was weak, And her heart just broke without ever a cry ; And tightly her fingers closed once more Round the cup, and the rose-red fell from her cheek And she only thought — " It is sweet to die ! '' Roses, red roses of martyrdom, Lilies spotless of maidenhood, — Lay them tenderly here on her breast, With the violets meet for a maid of Rome, Who, bearing the hard day's burden, stood And died at her post ; — so leave her to rest. 37 CZAR ALEXANDER. June, 1883. POOR man, whom we hate in our blindness. Because we are too much like thee, — When shall we have learnt the true kindness That maketh men free ? Ages hence they shall tell it in story How the pomp of thy crowning was made "Sad heart, 'mid the blaze of thy glory, Art thou not afraid ? When thousands around thee were kneeling, And the sound of the chanting was still, And earth's mightiest empire was feeling The might of thy will, — When they brought forth the diadem mystic, No hand sets on thee but thine own, — And the priest poured the Wine Eucharistic For one man alone, — Did the light never dazzle and blind thee — « The loneliness sicken and scare ? All alone on thy height shall God find thee — No creature else there ? Cut off from all fellowship human, Unhelped by divine — who can be -Near God, far from man and from woman ? — Shall none pity thee ? 38 CZAR ALEXANDER. And thea . . . Does that low, circling thunder Wake aught in thy soul but a fear And thought of self-saving ? I wonder, As nearer and near The lightnings are playing and flashing. And the cloud-piles drift onward and meet. And the tide-wave of Nations is dashing Unawed round thy feet. Didst thou think of the millions about thee, The worshipping, ignorant souls, Whose lives were as nothing without thee, Whose prayer jfor thee rolls In a stream never-ceasing to heaven ? Or those sad, steadfast thousands, whose breath Were this moment ungrudgingly given To purchase thy death ? There is nothing can hinder or stay them, Nor pity nor fear do they know : They care not for thee, though thou slay them In bitterest woe. Thou hast sinned in the name of the Highest, — They tread down the kingdoms and creeds. Denying the God thou deniest By voice of thy deeds. Oh ! the heaped up transgressions of ages That weigh down the crown on thy head I The sins of thy fathers — the wages Of sinners long dead ! CZA7? ALEXANDER. 39 And the hour and the doom that delay not Are coming — no help is for thee From thy'bayonet-milHons, that stay not The Eternal Decree. O Man, first of all men in sorrow, Because thou art highest in pride ! Men's hearts faint for fear of the morrow, The red harvest-tide . . . Oh ! is there no prophet that waketh. To cry from the hill-tops above And tell us how day-dawning breaketh In Justice and Love ? — 40 GEORGE TINWORTH. \ A CRAFTSMAN-ARTIST of the olden time, Dowered with the cunning hand and reverent eye. That scorns no meanest thing he passes by, (For all may be as stairs whereby we climb Unto the clearest heights of God's sublime,) Nor proudly draws, feeling himself too high. Apart from brother men that toil and cry, Heart -weary still, 'mid Pharaoh's bricks and slime. O Man and Brother 1 they that work and love Have ever their reward, and thou hast thine ! Who works like thee, in simple faithfulness. Shall look clear-eyed upon the Light Divine, And, blessing others, win a joy above Their joy, whom this world rises up to bless. May, 1883. 41 A LIFE'S LABOUR. O life I knew ! O heart so true ! O FRESH young hope ! O golden prime ! — This Man — he started to run his race, With the glow of the sunlight on his face. To run a-tilt against the time. All things were wrong, but all should be right Ere he went to his rest in the cool of night. This Man — he was but a man, ah mc I — With the heart of gold and the hands of clay, And the high thoughts that die on the lip away : — No iron will for the strife had he, — And yet he could not sink back and rest With the quiet souls whom the world loves best. He saw the Good flit ever before. Like the rainbow afar on the mountains seen, While the clinging mire of the marsh-flats green Held fast his feet, tho' he struggled sore. Till the night came, and, broken and lone. Weary, to rest he laid him down. Ah me ! — and yet I had rather be That Man, as I saw him lying With his blue eyes dim in dying, And the heart that once beat so high and free Broken with trusting too much, — than they Who call him fool, and pass on their way ! O life I knew O high heart true ! 42 THE BATTLE-FIELD BY SILARUS. B.C. j^ ja. "T^IS a wild and stormy night X After the battle-day, — The clouds are after the moon, And the wolf is after the prey ; — The wind is wet from the sea, And the tossing pines make moan, 'Tis a fearsome niglit for who should be On Apennine alone. Yonder a flame leaps up And casts a riiddy gleam On the grey rock-walls of the hills, On the turbid, hurrying stream ; — 'Mid the whirls of pitch-pine smoke You can mark it now and then, How it flashes back from the helmets A;id spears of mailed men, Mark them there by the watch-fire Those faces browned with war, Stern, and hard, and reckless. And seamed with many a scar ; — And look out into the darkness — And what do we seem to see ? — Aught — save grim ghosts of larch and pine, Arid clouds that sweep to the lee ? THE BATTLE-FIELD BY SILARUS. 4J= Oh ! the kindly, shrouding darkness — Much it hideth here — Dead limbs laid in the mountain fern Hopeless of tomb or tear. Slaves and out-cast and desolate. Banned by the arm of Rome — Syrian, Libyan, Greek and Gaul, Each one has found his home. Oh I the pitiful -Night is come, The gentle voiceless Mother, , That kisses because she cannot speak : There is not such another ! She hath lapt them in soft arms, And folded them close to her breast : She has taught them the thing they knew not For now they know what is Rest. The maimed limbs bare and bleeding — The pangs and shame untold, She hath covered up with her mantle, Shrouded close from the cold Fierce eyes, and the mockjng laughter . . . We pass them, one by one. Seeking still in the darkness Him whose work is done. Where the slain lie thickest' We see his face at last, By the light of a passing moon-glimpie Amid the shadows cast ; — 44 THE BA TTLE-FIELD B Y SI LA R US. With his tawny curls blood-clotted, And the wide eyes staring dumb Upward still, as they fixed in death — Did they look for hope to come ? Those whose hope was none in life Around him here they lie, — Dying, and dead, — they could not save, But stood by him to die : — To-morrow morn, by Silarus, The row of crosses grim, — And the living, agonized faces that look On the still, dead face of him I — Spartacus ! Spartacus ! The dumb crushed mass, on whom The conquering Roman set his foot, — The million slaves of Rome — Cried to thee in their sorrow — And they called not in vain When they called in their pain, — And backward through the centuries They cry to thee again, The great'heart that yearned out to them, And ached for all their pain : — Spartacus ! Spartacus / Come back to us again I 45 ^'WHEN THE TOWERS FALL." THEY were built by the Lords of Wrong,- The grey old kings of the world, Long ago. Frowning they stood, and strong, And the sea-wa\'es foamed and curled Down below. The sea-waves moaned and wept, And plucked with wild, vain hands At the shore ; The sea-winds wailed and swept Over bitter, desolate lands Evermore. " They shall stand for endless years ! " Moaned a weary multitude In their pain, " The mortar tempered with tears, And the clay that was kneaded with blood Of men slain! " '•They shall stand for aye, and shine ! " Cried the foolish ones and strong, In their pride ; •'Landmarks of right divine — Since they have stood so long Undefied." 46 " WHEN THE TO WERS FA LL." Lo ! the years haste on, and the days, And the fruit still springs from the seed, Good or ill : And the stars go on in their ways, And the holy laws decreed Work their will. They shall bring the morning round When the light strikes dim and cold, And the True Shall burn up the False ; and the ground Shudder with longing to hold All things new. And lo ! the children of men Shall know of the Hand of God Ruling all : The sun shall be sackcloth then, And the moon be dark with blood, When they fall 1 47 THE WHITE WITCH OF PERRAN FORTH. A Ballad of Cornwall. TAMSON, Tamson Trevenna ! Open the door to me, For the storm is moaning up from the west, And the fog is thick on the sea. " Tamson — Tamson Trevenna, Witch or none you may be, — But help me — help, for the love of God ! Bring my son home to me ! '' Up rose Tamson Trevenna, — Came and opened the door : — Her right hand held the gown to her breast. And her black hair fell to the floor. "^' Help me, Tamson Trevenna, — For he comes not back from the sea ! — And God forgive the cruel words That I've ever said to thee ! " In the door-way stood Tamson, And held the lamp in her hand ; " Christ God^ save now By sea and by land / " 48 THE WHITE WITCH OF PERRAX FORTH. She set the lamp in the window, She knelt down on her knee : — " Boly God, thai rnlest By land, mid by sea : — " t'roin the breakers on the rcef^ From the surf tip07i the sand,— From storm and lightnings and star-blastings Save by sea and land / " Three times she looked towards the land, Three times towards the sea. And cried, " In the Holy Name of Christ, Come thou forth with me ! " And down and over Perran sands, And straight along the shore, They went their way, and with the lamp Tamson went before ; — Nearer and nearer, low and long Crept the tide waves' roar. And round and round the sea-fogs curled, In folding wings of white. And Enstice Carne shook like a leaf, In the lone, wild night : — But firm and fearless the maiden went — Turned not to left or right. 1 THE WHITE WITCH OF PEEF AN FORTH. 4f> And on a sudden she stood still, (The sea was moaning high, But the fog was thick, and they could not see,) And held the lamp on high, And there was a smile upon her lip, And a flash in her dark eye. ''Hark !" she said, "he is here! " .... Hannibal Carne, who lone Wandered that night on Perran sands, Weary and all foredone, Saw the gleam of the lamp. And his mother standing there, — And a white, white maid, like the clouded moon. In the night of her dark hair. His mother clasped him in her arms, And kissed him full fain, But he had looked into Tamson's eyes Ere he kissed her back a THE GREAT REVE ALE R. Of the plunge in the unknown sea Of what is yet to be ! O Death ! — Oh ! surely the glory Is more than I can bear ! — And what are a few little years. Even though dark, and wet with tears, If thou art all this to me ? \ 10 3 ''DENVER, COLORADO." " Cichtm, non aniinum mutant, qui trans 7nare curninl." LIFE somehow seems to creep slowly here — Too sad for a smile, not worth a tear ; The brightness of all things has died away, The freshness of hope in the early day, — Yet still in one's ear there rings along The burden of some outlandish song Of " Denver. Colorado." What should it mean ? and why is this ? — No fabled haven of Eden-bliss, No Eldorado of childish dreams, " Or gorgeous visions by Eastern streams Of palms and temples with gold aflame — Yet there's some vague charm in the very name Of '• Denver, Colorado." In the fair dream-pictures of long ago, When young hearts yearned to the sunset glow. And the wondrous West where the world is young. It caught one's ear, and it slips to one's tongue. When the longings come up from time to time For a freer life, and a fresher clime. And " Denver, Colorado." I04 "DENVER COLORADO." When life seems a failure, blank and bare, And sweet ideals have vanished in air, And work is undone that I had to do, And the power to do it seems going too — It's Oh : and it's Oh ! but I were fain To start afresh, and begin again, In " Denver, Colorado." One's sick of self and all its ill, And the thousand small falsehoods that creep and kill ? One feels as if, once set face to face With the facts of life, and given the grace To suffer and do, from conventions free, One could build up a new life worthily. In "Denver, Colorado." But alas I and alas ! the fancy's vain — I'm longing to look on the West again. While here is the battle to fight and win : I blame the world — but the fault's within. I should only meet with myself once more, And maybe a hatefuller self than before. In ''Denver, Colorado." I 10 = IN THE GULF OF MEXICO. GREY cloud-curtains half withdrawn :- Moaning seas, at break of dawn, Heave and swell On the desolate sand, wreck-strawn — • Y sab el ! Where the mountain, silver bright, — Looks afar upon the white Citadel : Where the plague and tempest fight, — Ysabel ! Far beyond the dreary town. Where the level sands slope down.— Mark it well, White upon the bare sands brown — Ysabel ! Swooping birds with cruel cries, — Bitter wrath of seas and skies Her death-knell, — Look where a drowned woman lies — Ysabel ! White limbs bruised and battered sore, As the surf upon the shore Rose and fell, — Eyes that lighten nevermore — ■ Ysabel I I 1 06 IN THE GULF OF MEXICO. Eyes of might for bale or bliss Darkened in a trance like this — Lost their spell ; — Lips that never man may kiss, — Ysabcl ! Washing wild the loose, dark hair — Hands outstretched— in one last prayer ? Who can tell ? Was there none to save thee there, — Ysabel ! Sweep her back, O cruel sea ! In thy great arms tenderly Fold her well : — Fairest, sweetest slain by thee, — Ysabcl ! 107 LEAIXA. WHAT name had she ; — what soft Greek syllables Melted upon his lips, who murmured them Into her ear 'twixt kiss and kiss ? . . . No name Is hers to us but that : The Lioness, The which they graved in stone Pentelicau, And set on high in Athens for all time. She was a dark-tressed girl, with laughing lips, — Of sweet Miletus, not Athenian born — Or she had never had such supple grace Of rounded limb, or tender curve of cheek, Ripened in Asian sunlight, — or such slow Dark languorous eyes, where lightnings lay asleep. . . And she could sing like summer nightingales When mid-May moons are white ; — and when she spake, Her voice was soft-caressing as a dove's. With a little rippling plash of laughter in't, Like to the summer wave upon the sand. And you would think this woman solely made To love and be loved, as Greeks counted love Mostly in sunny Hellas ; without too much Of love's sweet patience or love's constancy, — To love, without love's pain, a summer long ; — And then Where are the butterflies, in times Of autumn-winds and snow ? . . . . Well, so one thought . . And yet this woman loved a« ar count love . . . loS LEAINA. Maybe she was a laughing, soulless thing, While her love's summer lasted, — thinking most Of the white roses twined amid her braids Of shining purple-black, and how those red Twin armlets of the tawny Persian gold, With rubies in their serpent-heads for eyes, Burned on the smooth, pale,' olive skin, and broke The sweeping curve of shapely arm . . . Or, no : Not quite — for, as those sweet weeks passed, it fell She thought of one who gave the armlets too ; And under all her smiles, and ringing laugh. And merry mischief, and gay dalliance with One and another — each as good as all. Lay one thought sleeping, growing in his sleep . — The unperceived grave Love, with solemn brow, And set lips, and sword girt upon his thigh. And she knew not — nor any — till that Love woke. The waking was upon this wise. There fell A tumult in the city, — men had sworn To slay the tyrant ; — and one tried, and failed, And he was slain ; — and thereupon they sought All who had helped or known of it — and lo ! The man this alien woman loved was one. She knew it — she had heard them talk of it That summer evening at the feast ; when he, Resting his sunny curls against her knees, Sang softly of the sword and myrtle-boughs ; — And his grey eyes grew wide, and glowed with light, Looking upon Aristogeiton's face, LEAINA. lotj- Who stood up calm beside his own heart's friend, And swore — his right hand lifted up, the left' On that friend's shoulder laid, — to do or die ... . She knew it all, — and how, when morning came. He laughed it off as 'twere an idle dream. And diced, and drank, and sang, and kissed again ; — And so the days sped softly . . . till he saw Upon the Agora the lifted spears. And young Harmodios in his beauty laid Dead at his feet who would have died for him, — And shuddered, for he knew his turn might come. And then the sleeping Love awoke in her. All stern and grand as he of Ephesus, — And lifted up his sword, and smote her soul. And, sick at heart, she tried to smile and sing. As heretofore, and not to shiver when A step came near, or any stranger spake With her beloved, — laughing when he said, *' Acdoiiiov, my little nightingale. Why lookest thoii so pale? " — And then by night She slept not, sobbing out her pain alone. Three days — and then before the tyrant's seat They haled her — asked her many things, — but she,. Heart all a-flutter like a netted bird. Would answer nought for fear of saying all. She knew not what would come, — she only knew His life was in her hand, — and she must die Before she spoke. No more. She had no high Heroic resolution, said no fierce 110 LEAINA. Wild words defying tyrants ; . . . but, when she saw The racks and scorpion-whip, went white as death, — Gave one look round with great bewildered eyes, And slim, soft fingers locked ; — ^and when one tore The shawl from those white shoulders, seized, and thrust Her towards that thing, she gave a piteous scream, And hid her face.-— How could she bear it ? how ? She who had never felt the touch of pain Worse than a rose-thorn's prick . . . Oh ! what to do ? And those fierce faces pitiless all around . . . And none could help in all the world save he Who could not — must not . . . Surely . . . would she not Shriek out his name in spite of all, when once That iron claspt her wrist? Oh ! — but to die She had thought death was such a dreadful thing — Quickly, and have it o'er 1 — — So when they laid Her on the rack, and quick, fierce flying gasps Of anguish shook the little, panting breast, Such fear had she of speaking in the trance Of pain, that name, that — one last effort more. And she had bitten through the tongue that spake Such tender words, but yesterday . . . and then. When she had put all speech beyond her power, The closc-prest lips and set teeth parting wide. One terrible, inarticulate cry brake forth, Not to be held in ; then the agony Of wrenching joints and muscles strained, wrung out LEA IN A. Ill Wail upon wail — yet still no sign — low moans Fainter and fainter growing, till her eyes, Wide, blind, and staring, opened on the sky, And the fierce sun-blaze could not hurt them more. And so that alien woman loved and died, — And none in after years can know her name : That died with her — the stained and scorned name Men knew her by in Athens :— she shall be Remembered as Leaina evermore, Who truly loved and bravely died for love. 112 THE UPAS-TREE. THERE fell a seed of the Upas'tree, I know not whence it came to me, I know not how or when it fell, But I marked the spot arid I loved it well, 'I'hc 3oung, green shoot of the Upas-tree. It grew and spread — the Upas-tree, Its leaves were comely and fair to see, And the lithe brown boughs like snakes to beheld,. And the fruit was apples of burning gold ; And my heart was glad of the Upas-tree. My heart was mad for the Upas-tree, I loved and cherished it jealously ; Nought had I loved so through all the years, With burning heart's blood and bitter tears, I watered tlie roots of my Upas-tree. .My heart was mad for the Upas-tree, — It knew nought else upon earth or sea: Against its trunk I laid my breast. And my arms clung round it as to their rest. — O my beautiful Upas-tree ! O my beautiful Upas-tree ! It flung and it curled its boughs round me, They curled and they clung, and my limbs and breast Felt the throbs of their poison like fire, — and blest Was my heart for the pain of the Upas-tree ! I 7 HE UPAS-TREE. 113 O the fierce delight of the Upas-tree I It burned out the heart and soul from me ; And the wild pain deadened to dull and slow, But it held me and would not let me go ; — Held in the clasp of the Upas-tree ! O the deadly clasp of the Upas-tree ! My soul was gone — and the limbs of me Grew into one with those twiningr boughs, And I loathed the ghastl}' prison house : — But nought can save from the Upas-tree ! Now am I one with ihe Upas-tree, And scatter poison o'er hill and lea ! — Heart, soul, nor brain is left to me — Nothing of all I used to be — And I am only the Upas-tree. 114 "PRESIDING EXAMINER." University of London. GREY eyes that dream 'neath level brows Where high Thouprht broods with folded wings- And sweet, firm lips, whose smile endows The dreariest day with sunlight's springs. A wreathed knot of tresses- gold In sunlight — in the shadow, brown ; And, sweeping down in shapely fold, The silken rustle of her gown. Within the quiet, domed hall. Where London fog makes thick the gloom, And anxious hearts feel very small — — We call 't " Examination-room : " — While quill pens fly across the page. And maids of high and low degree In that first conflict sharp engage — Sits silent, sweet and stately, she. The hood across her shoulders thrown Bars with deep gold the murky shade ; The shapely fingers rest upon The open book before her laid ; Grave is her face, and yet, erewhile, What time I watched her, there would slip The ripple of a thoughtful smile In glory over cheek and lip. '•PRESIDING EXAMINER!' ns The swing doors part with motion slow, And muffled steps are on the stairs : And, softly gliding, come and go 1 he grey-headed Examiners, To ask her questions one or two : — I think those aged men were fain — If so be she were there — to do Matriculations once again. And I — whose thoughts are very far From travelling Euclid's thorny road — Am dreaming of the Evening Star, And old King Atlas' weary load, And girls thit heard Pythagoras talk. And many things ; — as slowly she Takes up and down her stately walk, — The sweetest London B. Sc. Ii6 THE SONG OF A SINGER. WHENCE comest thou to the Heaven-gate ? "' " Weary and late, weary and late, I come from wandering up and down, All unworthy to take the crown." " Who art thou, so deathly of hue ? " " One who was bidden dare and do — Who was sent forth as a singer of might To speak to the earth of love and light." " Whence are thy raiment and feet so torn ? " " From paths set thick with briar and thorn : The ways of the world are smooth and fair — But Christ's own singers ma}' not walk^there." *' Singer — how has thy work been done ? " "Ah me ! ah me ! for the setting sun, And the truth and beauty that were to be, And the Face that shall now look sad on me ! ''I was still, when He bade me cry aloud, — My coward head with the throng I bowed, — Or in wrath and scorn I spake, heart-sore — And the night is here — no strength for more ! " " O thou singer, enter thou in ! Faithful, thou art of those who win — Not in vain was the heart's blood poured — Enter thou into joy of thy Lord ! " — 117 HAUNTING MUSIC. IT was on a Saturday evening, — I walked through the old High street ; The May had chilled with the twilight, But the air was fresh and sweet. The folks were out at their shopping, And many were thronging the stores ; And loud were the voices and laughter As you passed the public-house doors. Just near the bridge, on the pavement, As my homeward walk began, There stood two strolling musicians, — A boy, and an old, old man. And that wild, chill Mav evening, With a clear sky and no moon, They stood and played in the twilight A wild and wondrous tune. The instruments they played on, And the tune, I do not know, — But it haunts me still, like voices Out of the Long Ago. Voices wild and weird, Glad with a strange, mad glee, And sadder than ever was wind of death Over a desolate sea. 3,8 HAUNTING MUSIC. Half of a stern defiance. Half of a crushed-down pain, As of men that march to battle, Knowing they come not again. And that strange, haunting music, Whether of joy or woe, It keeps on thrilling within me, And will not let me go. For the voice of all the Ages Under the sun and moon Came back to me in the High Street, With that weird oullandi^h tune. 119 THE BALLAD OF THE SHIP '' ELIZABETH/' IT was in the tropic midnight, The meeting of Life and Death — She sailed across the Spanish main, The ship Elizabeth. Since she ran out of Trinidad The days they were but seven, — Her crew were three-score mariners, Gallant lads of Devon. The night was still, the moon was high. The stars were white and calm, And the low ripple of the wave Was like a chanted psalm. '■' Lo ! what is that ? " said the captain, " Far out upon the Ice — Shapeless, long, and low, and black Like a reef upon the sea ? " Adrian Ward beside him stood, True friend in life and death, — Adrian Ward was master's mate Of the ship Elizabeth. 120 THE SHIP " ELIZABETH:' Dark-eyed and gaunt was Adrian Ward, And his cheek was scored with pain, — Men said he had suffered for the faith On the rack in Spain. Out of the darkness loomed the shape — The ship, she neared it fast — 'Twas but a tangle of weed, said'one, And one, a drifting mast. And then they heard a voice that sang Athwart the midnight clear — Sweet ! oh ! sweet ! — the mariners Held their breath to hear. Said the Captain : " Could I hear that voice For each day of the seven, I'd sail on here for evermore, And never home to Devon 1 " Sad of face grew Adrian Ward — Stept up and took his hand : — '' Never such was good to hear By sea or by land ! " Laughing then he turned from him As if in merry strife : — "Adrian, lad, thou knowest not The good there is in life ! " And lo ! they saw on the floating wrack A maiden wondrous fair, In a robe as bright as the moonbeams whitev And like wrought gold was her hair. THE SHIP "ELIZABETH:' 12 « Dark, dark were her witching eyes, And silver-clear her brow, And sweet her lips as rosebuds red — " Say, what maid art thou ? " " Oh ! whence and whither drift you 50, That are so young and fair ? " And never a word she answered — but Shook back her golden hair. She stood among them on the deck — Their hearts within them died — The fairest thing that ever moved On land or ocean tide. Her eyes were soft — her step was light As summer dews that fall : — " I like it not,"' said Adrian Ward, — "But God be with us all ! "— II. Many and many an evil day. With never a cloud or breeze, They had drifted wearily Through the tropic seas. The sun was burning up above, The water-casks were dry ; The seamen lay, and cursed their pain, And waited but to die. 122 THE SHIP "ELIZABETH:' And some they fought like tigers then For the last drops of the wine — And some were maddened in their thirst, And drank the bitter brine. And she laughed, that spirit-woman fair, Whose face was like the sun — Who had witched the hearts of all on board — Of every man but one. For Adrian Ward, the master's mate, — His heart was sad within ; He looked with weary, hollow eyes On all that woe and sin. And madness fell on Gilbert Hay : He never heard their cries — He cared for nought in earth or heaven But to look into her eyes. They sat together on the deck With a sail for awning spread, — And she sang sofily ; . . . and forward lay The dying and the dead. III. Now on one burning afternoon When yet three more had died — Then it was Adrian Ward rose up. And stood by the captain's side. THE SHIP ''ELIZABETH." 12.? ■" True friend to me wast thou, Gilbert Hay, Ever in word and deed, — And I luve thee far too well this day To fail thee in thy need. ■" For never before didst thou, God wot, Stand ill such peril sore — Thou art casting away both life and soul, And the lives of many more." And the captain — when he heard him speak, Died in his heart all grace — He hfted up his strong right hand And smote him in the face. Never word said Adrian Ward — Both hands dropped by his side, — One moment Gilbert looked in his eyes And wished that he had died. And then her arm v/as round his neck — Her lips to his cheek were prest : — He drew his good sword from his side And stabbed him in the breast. Down on the deck fell Adrian Ward, — Stricken to death moaned he, *' O Christ in heaven I have mercy now On this ship's company ! " — Low on his knees the captain lay Prone in his agony — ^'Adrian! Adrian !— Christ ! O God, Have mercy upon me ! " — 124 THE SHIP '' ELIZABETH r And at tliat bitter cry, a sound Of hollow laughter died — It was as though a beam of light Fled over the ship's side. IV. •*0 Adrian ! Adrian ! " so he moaned- The curse sn.ipt in his breast; — The dead man's face was beautiful, As he lay there at rest. Down to the westward flaming;, Sank the pitiless day — He rose and he staggered forward Where the dead and the dying lay. Oh ! and one looked up at him With haggard eyes and brow — Robin Heard of Exeter : — "Captain ! is it thou ?" He bowed his face upon his hands With a bitter, bitter cry — '■ All these lives upon my head ! — A sinful man am 1 I " — He drew his knife across his wrist- He felt the red drops flow : — '■ Drink ! — there is no other way God help us in our woe ! " THE SHIP "ELIZABETH:' ,25 And he, scarce knowing what he did, With burning lip? drank on — Then looked into the captain's face, And knew what he had done. And he : ''I have sinned, God knoweth \— No pardon is for me ; — But it may be my life can buy for these Help in their misery ! " — Beside another dying man He knelt upon his knee, — " 'Tis not enough for all," he said — " But some may saved be ! " Then lo ! a rushing in the sky — A roaring on the main — A darkness o'er the moon — and swift Came down the blessed rain. And the South-west filled the drooping sails And lashed the main to foam, And swift the ship Elizaheth Sped on her way for home. They drank, and felt their life come back, And hope for mortal dread — But Gilbert Hay with folded hands Lay still beside the dead. The flying moon-glints touched his cheek And lit his yellow hair, — The passion and pain had left hisAce, And utter peace was there. ^ i;6 THE SHIP "ELIZABETH:' They gathered round him — " He is dead ! " The muffled whispers fell, — And some of them said, — *• He died for us ! " And some, " He sleepeth well ! " And Robin Heard of Exeter, As he held him on his knee, — "Captain, oh ! captain ! would to God That I had died for thee ! "— 127 EDEN WATER. IN the level light of the golden gloaming Down the sands she came ; Far, far out were the tide-waves foaming, Westward all aflame ; Where the green river rushes for ever Down to the northern sea, She crossed the shallows of Eden Water : Bonnie Marion Lee ! The tide is out and the river's flowing Covers not bare, white feet ; Oh ! but the winds are soft in their goincr. Sunlight ever is sweet ! Lilting a tune to herself as she stept, Merrily aye went she ; Brown, brown eyes that had never wept : Bonnie Marion Lee ! A wild-rose spray, and a handful of gowans, And one rose in her hair ! The gate stands open beneath the rowans She never entered there ! Who can tell when the wild waves caught her? None to save or see — The eddies are swift in Eden Water, Woe for Marion Lee ! 128 KEEPING TRYST. THE clouds from the south-west drifting Are rushing mountains of snow, — The moon rides high in the heaven, And I know that I must go. Oh ! where is it you are going ? Who calls through the mirk and the mist ? The winds and the waters are calling, — And I may not do as I list ! When the hollow skies are sounding With the South-West's rush and roar, — When the night is a mass of shifting gleams, How can I stay from the shore ? Oh ! stay not to bind the shoe to the foot, Stay not to glove the hand ! There's a tryst that must not be missed to-night Betwixt the sea and the land. Bare the head to the airs of heaven. And let the locks stream free, And down, down, through the silent street To the Links and the shadowy sea. Oh ! whither away ? — oh ! whither. While the dew lies damp on the sod ? I'm away lo keep my tryst to-night With the waves, and the winds of God ! KEEPING TRYST. 129 There's a white reef glimmers ghostly O'er the ledges black and low, And the winding pools betwixt them, Where the wrack and tangle grow. Smooth and quiet the water Under the cliff-side lies, With a faint, uncertain glimmer Like the gleam in a mermaid's eyes. Turn away from the lights of the city — Look out over the sea ! Look at the driving clouds, as white As the robes of the ransomed be. The south wind scatters and rends them Into clefts of deepest blue, And over the waters in glory The white full moon looks through. ^£3' Oh ! dead men drowned in the waters From the ships of long ago — Oh ! wild witch-women whose souls went out In the reek and the fiery glow : — Is it you that are about me Whispering to left and right ? Are ye keeping tryst with the wild winds Of the Equinox to-night ? i.^o A MOURNFUL BALLADE OF THE LONDON UNIVERSITY EXAMINATIONS. Cy est escripte la Covif)lay7icte d^ung povrc Here ki fust espltichez & eschoiia miser ablement es Exaincns. A BLIGHT, a distraction, and terror Came over my life long ago : — And the cause of my failure and error I'll tell you as far as I know. Alack ! for I am but a stunned one — No hope for the great B.Sc. And O, and alas ! but the London Matric. was the ruin of me I I racked my poor brain with Mechanics, And daily at Euclid did grind ; — I was constantly subject to panics When Algebra came to my mind, But, shocking to say, I got none done ; — The Metamorphoses you see. Got muddled with surds, — and the London Matric. was the ruin of me ! Z ONDON UM VERSITY EX A MINA TIONS. 1 3 1 With grammar my brain was quite dizzy — I dreamed of equations all night, — For visitors I was too busy (And also too much of a sight) ; Ah ! never has Carmelite nun done A penance more cruel to dree ! Yet, after those six months, the London Matric. was the ruin of me ! — L'Envoi. Friends, Algebra leave it not undone — Nor careless of Chemistry be ! Scorn none of your subjects : the London Matric. was the ruin of me ! 132 "/C// ABER >> AWHILE my heart has been anchored, But she tugs at her anchor-chains, She is weary of the harbour With its quiet pleasures and pains. Sweet, sweet is the quiet life And the shelter of the home — But O ! for the dashing billows And the flying sheets of foam. Out of the East the horsemen Came with the lance and bow, Out of the sandy deserts, Out of the steppes of snow. Out of the East my fathers Came in the days of old^ Out of the sandy deserts. Spearmen and archers bold. And their spirit is within me, I feel when the winds are high — And O ! for a steed in the desert ! For I must wander, or die. And O! for the ship of the Norsemen, And the blinding, drifting foam — For the sons of men are my brothers. And the wide world is my home ! " ICII ABER . . . ." And O ! for the crashing cannon, And the clash of swords at strife, And the loyal love of comrades, And the fierce red wine of life ! For the North wind and the South wind — The iceberg and the floe. And the grim and lonely waters] Where the great whales come and go ! For the East wind and the West wind. And the mountain-peaks of snow, — The palms, and the starry passion-blooms In the land of Mexico ! — Oh ! why did the blood within me Throb strong from a wandering race, If I must grow forever In one still dwelling-place ? Oh ! why did God send me wandering, While my childish eyes were dim. O'er the wide waste Southern waters Where man is alone with Him ? And these broken visions, these echoes That linger in soul and brain . . . , Can you wonder I am restless And long to go forth again ? 134 IN THE SACK OF ATHENS b.c. 86. SO long ago ! — O golden head ! O level brows whereon the dread Of coming years was shadowed ! When with white robes and sandalled feet The maiden train passed down the street, She walked among them, fair and sweet, My sister Leocorion. All worthy of thy fairest name O Athens, fallen from ancient fame, Were those clear eyes untouched of blame ! Why, when thy doom came down on thee, The whitest soul of all, did she Drink deepest of thy misery, My sister Leocorion ? So long ago ! yet still 1 hear That one sharp scream of mortal fear Above the brazen din ring clear — When I, down-beaten to my knee Struck wildly, blindly, helplessly, What time the spoilers rushed on thee, My sister Leocorion ! IN THE SACK OF ATHENS. 135 One swift flash, just as I went down Of struggling wrists, and torn white gown, And grey eyes agonised to stone — Then all was night . . . the triremes bore The captives from the Attic shore. And I have never seen thee more. My sister Leocorion. And now, a rhetor bent and old A Roman bondslave bought and sold. I sell philosophy for gold : But where art thou ? — I dare not say — I can but hope thy sweet eyes may Be dark unto the light of day, — My sister Leocorion ! 136 SCOONIE HILL, ST. ANDREWS. May 27///, 1885. C"^ REEN the hillside — the grass is long, -X And the wings of the rushing wind are strong, And the lark flings down the rain of his song. Nothing I see, as here I lie, Save green grass-blades, and the depth of sky, Where the clouds go drifting, hurrying by. Glimpses of blue, — and streaming light, Seaward into the northern night. Drift-veils of grey and pearly white. The sea and the city they lie below, — And the brown-sailed boats that come and go, — And the great plough-horses toiling slow. . . . But never a thing I saw or heard, But the soughing winds, and the sky, and the bird,- And the grasses about my head that stirred. 137 IN THE GRAVEYARD. Theocritus- SPEAK to mc ! think you I'd be afraid If I saw your face before my face now, With an added depth in the dark eye's shade, And a colder whiteness on cheek and brow ? O my love ! my love that I cherished When skies were bright, and when earth was new, — My love that I love now the light has perished, Have I so changed that I could iea.r you f Fear you, beloved ? Why should I fear ! — Though the night be dark, and the wind be shrill, — And the grey clouds drift, and the sea moans near. And the minster towers loom dim and chill ? What should I fear, in the whole wide world. When nothing can 'scape the eye of God — When the wings of the Eternal Presence are furled Over me here, and you under the sod. Fear — and why ? — This world, it is His, And that other strange world that now holds you ;— Shall we doubt, since each of us loves and is, That any marvel of His is true .' Maybe I'd think there was no God at all. Could I once feel sure you had ceased to be : But I know that you are beyond the wall. Though it keep your eyes and hands from me. 13S IN THE GRAVEYARD. I know — I know — but, speak to me, love ! Will you not come ? I am not afraid ? What can harm me, or what should move, In a world that the holy God hath made ! Matter and spirit — spirit and flesh — Who can explain it ? or what do we know ?- See — the dawn lightens, the dews are fresh ! — Speak to me once before I go ! 139 A WOMAN'S FAITH. PASSIONATE — fauliy — weak — you say : I grant it is true. I am deceived ? nay, verily, I know him better than you ! You see the man as he is ? Maybe — and what do I see ? I see the strength and the glory — the man that should be, and shall be. A man at death-grips with the devil — a man God made for His own : And, though I should walk the flames barefoot, that man shall stand by the Throne. Blackened, and bruised, and bleeding, — and his strength is failing fast .... But, O my Love, my Love, thou shalt overcome at last. On the slippery brink thou art standing ; my arm is about thee laid — I have given my soul to God's keeping, — and why should I be afraid .'* Is thy spirit fainting within thee } Is thy heart with the struggle sore } I say that he shall not have thee, though he strive for evermore. I take in mine arms — I claim thee — thus, now, by this hand and sign, The fiend has no power upon thee — henceforth, thou art God's, and mine. I4J WENDELGARD. (Lake of Constance — A.D. 920.) IN her cell the Anchoress Night and morning prayed, On the lonely mountain side, Where the wild deer strayed. No man ever saw her face — In the midnight lone. Hunters, when the moon was white Heard her make her moan. When the mists were on the lake In the sunrise calm. Maidens hearkened, passing by To the chanted psalm. It was a pilgrim from the South, Grey and bent and worn, — He landed at the harbour-mouth, And rested 'neath a thorn. Up and down, by land and lake To Buchhorn church they came The pilgrims and the beggar folk, Blind, and halt, and lame. " Why wait ye thus at the Minster door ? " They heard the pilgrim say. •' It is the Lady Wendelgard Comes down to church this day." WENDELGARD. 141 ^' Long ago, in foreign lands Her lord was slain in fight, — In the mountains for his soul She prayeth day and night." " There's her boat ! "--He heard the keel Grate upon the sand, Saw a stately woman step Slowly to the land. Wearily she swept back her veil, Her face was wild and worn — And trembling rose the pilgrim up That sat beneath the thorn. She gave to one, she gave to each. With gentle words and wise, — And each one felt a hallowing From the calm of her sad eyes. And he has thrust his way to her, That pilgrim from the South, And he has clasped her round the neck, And kissed her on the mouth. The burning flush was on her cheek — On her lips the cry : — "Look mine own, — look up, and see If it be not I ! "— Her head is lying on his breast, His arms about her twine — ^'What? hadst forgotten me, True wife of mine 1 ' — 142 THE UNKNOWN SEA. du\aaaa aDitr furor. — HoMER. THE mist came down with chilling breath- She sailed the sea that severeth Betwixt the shores of Life and Death. Above her head a white bird flew — The mist was riven — purple-blue And- deep the sky ; — one star looked through. She heard thin voices whisper round, 'Mid the grey water's sobbing sound ; And faces pale of men long drowned Loomed up on her. " Go back, while yet The way is open, ere we let . . . The dead lie still : the dead forget." Her steadfast eyes drooped not for dread, ^' And thrjiigh the dead forget,'^ she said, " Shall I forget^ who am not dead f "^ Then bitter laughters hard and low Rang round her, but she said — '' J know My Love hath called me, and I go^^ *' Turn back — no help in love or faith : There shall no soul of living breath Enter into the land of Death. THE UNKNOWN SEA. 143- *' And deemest thou that he shall spare Thy blue eyes and thy yellou- hair — The red blood in thy cheeks so fair ? " Her boat rowed on into the night, — Her golden hair grew thin and white, — Her clear eyes lost their living light. The wide grey waters heave and roll In weary surges round the Pole, — The bitter chill strikes to the soul. Her numb hands loose the weary oar — The star shines overhead no more — No sound, no light, no hope of shore. With eyes that all unseeing were She lay : — the Bird stooped from the air, And nestled on her bosom there. The white, white Bird whose breast of hue Is crimson, deep as blood stains new — " O Love ! O Love ! but I was true ! ' — 144 BANNERMAN OF THE DANDENONG. [An Australian Ballad. I RODE through the Bush in the burning noon, Over the hills to my bride, — The track was rough and the way was long, And Bannerman of the Dandenong, He rode along by my side. A day's march off my Beautiful dwelt, By the Murray streams in the west ; — Lightly lilting a gay love-song Rode Bannerman of the Dandenong, With a blood-red rose on his breast. " Red, red rose of the Western streams " Was the song he sang that day — Truest comrade in hour of need, — Bay Mathinna his peerless steed — I had my own good grey. There fell a spark on the upland grass — The dry Bush leapt into flame ; — And I felt ray heart go cold as death, And Bannerman smiled and caught his breath, — But I heard him name Her name. BANNERMAN OF THE DANDENONG. 145 Down the hill-side the fire-floods rushed, On the roarinsf eastern wind : — Neck and neck was the reckless race, — Ever the bay mare kept her pace, But the grey horse dropped behind. He turned in the saddle — '' Let's change, I say ! " And his bridle rein he drew. He sprang to the ground, — " Look sharp ! " he said -With a backward toss of his curly head — '" I ride lighter than you ! " Down and up — it was quickly done — No words to waste that day ! — Swift as a swallow she sped along, The good bay mare from the Dandenong And Bannerraan rode the grey. O) The hot air scorched like a furnace blast From the very mouth of hell : — The blue-gums caught and blazed on high Like flaming pillars into the sky ; — . . . The grey horse staggered and fell. "Ride, ride, lad, — ride for her sake ! " — he cried ; — Into the gulf of flame Were swept, in less than a breathing space, The laughing eyes, and the comely face. And the lips that named Her name. L 146 BANNERMAN OF THE DANDENONG. She bore me bravely, the good bay mare ; — Slunned, and dizzy, and blind, I heard the sound of a mingling roar, — 'Twas the Lachlan River that rushed before, And the flames that rolled behind. ^ Safe — safe, at Nammoora gate, I fell, and lay like a stone. O love ! thine arms were about me then — Thy warm tears'called me to life again, — But — O God I that I came alone ! — We dwell in peace, my beautiful one And I, by the streams in the West ; — But oft through the mist of my dreams along Rides Bannerman of the Dandenong, With the blood-red rose on his breast. — 147 AFTER THE BATTLE. PiSTORIA, B.C. 62. CATILINE ! Catiline !— and he is dead ! Look — the good sword is shivered in his grasp, And the helm cloven through — and here a thrust Right through the corslet. . . No ! — no heart-beat there ! No more, no more . . . And I, the last, have left Just life enough to drag myself beside. And lay the dear head on my knee, and look By this faint moonlight once more in his face Before I die. I call — he cannot hear — Not tho' one called him with hot, passionate tears. And fondest words of love — he hearkens not To any man's or woman's voice. . . How still His face is — and the scornful curve is gone From off his lips — the sword-blades have not gashed That comely face, — undaunted to the last . . . Rest — rest — shall sleep not come to those poor eyes That watched so long and wearily of late .' j See — I ha\-e closed them, kissed the cold li^s down — I, who alone am left — since he has none. Sister, or wife, or love, or friend, but me, The alien slave, who could not even die To save him. . . . Ah ! — he looks again, as I Remember him that night, when — O my heart ! — I fled from Rufus, and, with dizzy brain, Hastening, and failing breath, and staggering feet, 148 AFTER THE BATTLE. Through the Suburra, — heard the voices come Nearer, behind, — and round the corner swept The merry train of revellers, torch in hand, And Coan-vested singing-girls, their locks Wreathed with red roses . . . and the loudest rang His voice in laugh and song. . . . And I was lost And hunted, desperate, helpless, fell before His feet, and thought . . . when — O the look his eyes Flashed into mine ! . . . and then he flung his gown Over my shoulder, and his sword leapt out As the pursuers panted up the street . . . Yes ! — that was he — he that is lying there, With dust and blood of battle on the curls That once were shining soft with eastern nard, When Myrtalis' white fingers used to twine Amid their blackness. . . . 'Twas these eyes flamed out Upon the bloodhounds . . . now they are not fierce, — And these still lips, — 'twas they that laughing said — *' So long as I am safe — why so art thou ! " And slipt his arm through mine. . . . Where art thou now .'* I have not left thee. ... I will come to thee ! Thou canst not hear me speak — thou dost not feel Mine arms about thee — never, never more Will hunger hurt thee, thirst, or cold, or pain, Or cruel words of men. . . See — all around — AFTER THE BATTLE. i4(> These loved him well enough to die for him ! They might have lived — the Senate gave the choice. But no — they would not leave him ! . . . Is it still here ? Yes — here — the left arm, just above the wrist — That was a dagger-thrust he got, that night. Fighting for me. . . . And, but two nights ago, I kissed it — and he laughed his laugh of old, We had not heard for many months — "Why now — Hast not forgotten that ? " Could I forget ? heart — O hand that saved me ! — Never one, Not Alanlius, nor Lentulus, that died At Rome, they say — though Roman-born, and free Has loved thee more than I ! . . . O Catiline! 1 have no god to call upon, but thee — And thou art gone ! . . . The stars reel in the sky — There is a rushing in mine ears — I think The end is come. ... I am coming — Catiline ! 150 BALLADE OF A GARDEN. MexicOj 1865. TTTHITE calla-lilies stood up in the sun,! .Vnd great white roses in many a spray- Over and over the bower did run — Was it December or was it May ? All seemed the same in that garden gay, In Tacubaya long ago. '' W/icre^s TactihayaV do you say ? Jt is a village in Mexico . I do not know the name of the tree Whose striped bell-blossoms would swing and sway, Crimson and yellow,— the honey bee Hung in their sweet depths all the day. The humming-birds"twixt those blooms would play Like emerald fire-sparks to and fro — ■ " Whereas Tacubaya}^'' — do you say ? It is a village in Mexico. BALLADE OF A GARDEN. 151 Oh ! the sunny porch, with its screen of rare Blossoms blue as the tropic day, — And the well where the tortoise lived, and where Black-eyed Antonia filled the clay Pitchers : — and Madre Juana grey, Crooning over the embers low ; — " Where's Taciibaya^^ do you say ? Jt is a village in Mexico. Envoi. Friend, who have listened to me, I pray, Tf ever any should want to know Where Tacubaya is, you'll say — " It is a village in Mexico'.'' 152 THE ADVENTURE OF ADHERBAL the Carthaginian When he sailed in the ship Tanith through the PILLARS OF HERCULES and iftto the unknoivn regions about the coast o/'LlBVA. ADHERBAL, Master-Mariner, At Carthage on the quay, Sat and watched the quinqueremes Standing out to sea. His beard was long and white, And his hawk-eyes black and keen — •'Now tell us, Master-Mariner, Of the wonders thou hast seen ! " '• We sailed from Carthage out and out Before the eastern breeze, Past Calpe and past Abyla Into the unknown seas. Lads of Zidon and Arvad, A brave ship's company : — First away to the westward, Then ever south ran we. Of the barren lands to the south, Where the fire-fountains swell, -^ Of the incense-woods, and the burning drouth^ It were long to tell. THE A D VENTURE OF A DHERBA L. 1 5 > But we came into an island Where a great fire flamed on high, Far-shining for a terror Into the midnight sky. And we heard athwart the forest The voice of crying long drawn, And the noise of flutes and cymbals, And in fear we waited the dawn. At dawn we saw a mountain-peak Rise white, and calm, and grand, — No voice of man or beast was heard] In all that lonely land. Bostar and Bomilcar, Mago, Maharbal and I, We went ashore in the shallop — Now, ye may say I lie, — But the woods were all of spice-trees And the rocks of crystal fair, And the bright brooks flowed o'er pebble-stones That sparkling jewels were. The deer came down upon the strand. With quiet, wondering eye, — The wild doves brooded on their nests And never sought to fly. 154 THE ADVENTURE OF ADHERE AL. And where the slanting sunlight fell Across a level lawn, 'Mid the white lilies breast-high grown, There stood a snow-white fawn. The creature stood and looked at us, And nought of ill might know ; But, ere I saw it, Mago sent An arrow from his bow. The white fawn cried, and turned and fled With the arrow in her breast — T followed after through the wood With Mago and the rest. Through many a tangled woodland way, Over brook and stone. We came to where a woman sat On a rock alone. White the robe that rippling flowed To her golden sandals down, — White her arms and bosom were, As the snow on Lebanon. And night-black were the drifted locks That fell about her knees, — Clear and dark her eyes, as night Over summer seas. THE ADVENTURE OF ADHERDAL i55 Never maid so clear a brow, No shadow could eclipse ; — Never mother had such eyes Or such loving lips. And at her feet a lion couched, And on her shoulder bare] Sat a young eagle in his might, And nestled in her hair. Out flashed her eyes on us With a wrath divine : " Ye bear rule in your own lands — Touch not this of mine ! '' There are groans and wailing and sorrow, In the lands where men are known : — O ye sons of madness and folly, Leave me this isle of mine own ! '' — We stood together, stricken men — Our hearts might hardly beat ; — But young Maharbal broke from us, And flung him at her feet. *C5 He could not speak, his tears ran down She smiled with tender grace — She took his head between her hands And kissed him on the face. 1 5 f) THF ABl ^EKTURE OF A D HERB A L. We left the isle and northward sailed, And saw the pillars gleam ; — But young Maharbal evermore Walked as in a dream. He smiled to himself, and spake strange words- But at last he had his desire: They found him dead before the shrine Of Melkarth's temple in Tyre. J57 EPILOGUE HELD by the arm of God I leant Over the fathomless, great abyss, — The lights and the cloud-wracks whirled and blent- The voice of the waves that moan and hiss ; The long blue lightnings like serpents curled, The thunders sobbed out along the air — And I looked, and I watched them, world on world Passing, each in his order there. Dark and dizzy the great gulf lay. Black as the depth of a midnight sky, And the atom-shoals drifted by on their way, — And there, — a speck in the void, hung I ! — O fathomless depth ! O great gulf blind ! . How can man born of woman bear_ To feel thy vastness rush on his mind. And not be crushed into nothing there ? There, in face of the awful Deep. — " What am I— I should dare to be ? " And it drove me, into the gulf to leap — Then I turned my face, O my God, to Thee ! — Was it more than a man should dare ? Ah me ! If to make us Thou didst not scorn, Why were it so unworthy Thee To guide each soul of us, morn by morn ? EPILOGUE. Maybe the world had been no worse Had I leapt and sunk in the great gulf wide : — Some say 'tis the self-conceit that's our curse Makes us think that others care we have died. But O — from our Mentors we turn the head — Helpless and broken, we cry to Thee ! Thou, who didst call us out of the dead Void, wouldst care if we ceased to be ! This I know, that in fearless vision I clasped Thy knees, as a mortal may, — And the swing and sway of my thoughts' collision In peace the utterest passed away. Hearing of lies, to the Truth I turned — Blinded with darkness, I looked to the sky, — And knew of the rapture undiscerned Alone together — my God and I ! — Women'B Printing Society, Limited, 2lB, Great College Street, Wcstminatcr, S.W. DATE DUE CAYUORD PRINTED INU.S.A. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY II III |i|i|i III mil iiMi|| AA 000 551 261 NIVERSITY OF CA RIVERSIDE UBBARY 3 1210 01285 0945