<62h IAND-IN-HANDli ■2V\v — ■■■■■ ■»■ ■ r 1 1 FACILI1 , -< '£ wL^yji 1 m m^Oto: tf K v.wr THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HAND IN HAND Copyright in America All Rights Resei-ocd 1 TO MY DAUGHTER CONTENTS PAGE Overtaken i Rivals 2 In the Sunshine 3 " When My Ship Comes Home from Sea " 6 Song . 8 Wind Music 9 Wind Music and the Child io A Whisper 1 1 Hearts and Faces 12 To Chastelard at a Fancy Ball 13 Joy Cometh in the Morning 14 Doomed ......... IS Life 16 When I was Young 17 Spring 18 Early Snowdrops 19 Playing with Fire 20 Love's Hypocrisy 21 The Fate of Beauty 22 vii. Q-o Love the Potter VVTHAT will Love make of me, *^ I, who am clay ? How will Love bake of me On firing day ? How will Love take me, Shape me and mould ? And will Love break me, When I grow old ? Take thy clay, Potter Love, (Round runs the wheel !) Ah, 'tis ordained above, Man's clay must feel ! One for high honour made, One for dishonour, One in the churchyard laid, Roses upon her. Break thy clay, Potter, then, (Round runs the wheel !) Woe for poor clay o' men, Always to feel ! 51 E — 2 Peden's Grave " A man of God, Pcden the Prophet was his name. Ye : ll have heard tell of Prophet Peden. There was never the wale of him sinsyne, and it's a question wi' mony if there was ever his like afore. He was wild 's a peat-hag, fearsome to look at, fearsome to hear, his face like the day of judgment. The voice of him was like a solan's and dinneled in folk's lugs, and the words of him like coals of fire."— R. L. S. "WTHEN Peden the Prophet, the outlaw, was W dying, He said to the friends that were weeping at hand : " Ye'll talc' me to Ayremoss ; I fain would be lying Where Ritchie is resting, at peace in the land. But when and wherever my grave may be maken, My weary auld body will find but small rest, Bv the force of the wicked my bones will be taken To swing on a gibbet, the enemy's jest." 52 The Boswellsof Auchinleck, blessing befall them, Did give him entombment within their own vault : By night and in secret, with much to appal them, Of outrage and insult, and mocking assault. For forty days later, a rabble unruly, Of poor hired fellows, the soldiers of Sorn, Broke open the coffin, a sacrilege truly, And from the dead body the shroud sheet was torn ! They buried him then at the foot of the gallows, The grave of the felon, high up on the steep, Mid thistles and nettles, and docken and mallows, They laid down great Peden the Prophet to sleep. But mark you, his people, his own loving people, The people of Cumnock, they followed him still : They left the kirkyard in the shade of the steeple, And the graveyard is now on the dark Gallows Hill! The hill once dishonoured is now their " God's Acre," The people have followed their minister there, And roses and white thorn breathe praise to their Maker Where once stood the gallows, all grimly and bare. 53 And sweet is the spot where the Prophet is biding In the " lap o' the mantle " his Master has cast, For the ban, the barred pulpit, the prison, and hiding Have all been forgotten in peace at the last. 54 The Flower of Pain WHERE Mary set her bonny foot Throughout the North Countree, No English roses e'er took root, No foreign fleur-de-lys. Round palace tower and prison wall ('Tis vain to cut them down), The Scottish thistles cluster tall : The thorns of Mary's crown. Where'er she lived Scotch thistle grows, Her Flower of Pain is seen : More loyal than the Southern rose, Its purple mourns the Queen. 55 Jeanie's Fetch IT was na' day, it was na' night, But the hour atween them baith, The first time Jeanie saw the sight — The silent flitting wraith ! It came fra oot the milking place, It wore her gown o' blue, The face o' it was Jeanie's face, The een were Jeanie's too ! The next time Jeanie saw the sight, It passed her close and clear. Her very self in broad daylight, And Jeanie shook wi' fear. But for the once, and for the twice, She would na' trust her een, And she maun test wi' some device The what this thing may mean. A crimson kerchief round her head, A staff" for walking lame, If it be summons to the dead, The fetch maun hae the same. The wraith that called her to the dead, At her next step it came ! A crimson kerchief round its head, A staff" for walking lame! 56 Circumstances Alter Places I KNOW a garden, dainty sweet, A trysting place for birds to meet ; Over the mossy fern-plumed wall The roses nod, they grow so tall. Strong sunflowers, with their flaming rays, Stand sentinel in narrow ways, And Mary lilies gleam a-row, Pure golden hearts enshrined in snow. Sweet shadowed by the flowering pea, The mignonette enthralls the bee, And pansies, with their kitten graces, Raise purple, blue and golden faces. So green, so still, it well might seem, The perfect garden of a dream ! Yet, if I think what Hell may be, That garden's pifture comes to me ! I know a cave, a rocky shelf, The sea has hollowed for itself; Bitten it out in time bygone, It still appears a wound in stone. 57 And at its mouth is heaped and tossed A tangle of old rubbish lost, Poor refuse of a sordid sort, The fickle waves' rejected sport. A thin green ooze exudes and drips Over the sea-shells gaping lips, And through all speech the grey gull's cry Comes, like a strident misery. Who enter there stand side by side, There is no room for hate or pride. And I were glad my Heaven should be- That little cave beside the sea ! 53 On Sonnet Structure A SONNET may prove difficult to write, "**■ Always supposing that you keep the rules : These be a decalogue, and many fools The world terms "sonneteers " disdain them quite, Scorn to chime oclave or scan sestet right. Poor unskilled workmen, gibing at their tools ! Their rhyme sounds ring, like those bedizened mules Whose bells send jangling cadence down the height. A sonnet should have one idea, complete And perfect, penned in fourteen noble lines: Pacing with music on ten stately feet : And when the octave worthily enshrines Jewels of phrase, and sestet brightly shines With golden words, the sonnet stands concrete. 59 The Exactions of Time A SKILFUL weaver in the days of old Designed a fabric for a king to wear ; And gathered to him costliest and rare Tyrian-empurpled silks, and burnished gold, That warp and woof might glitter manifold With colours like the rainbow-tinted air. And then misfortune gripped him unaware, And all the treasure-store for bread was sold. I sell the glorious fancies of my dreams, My hope, my faith, the love I won and gave, And dull bare life, wherein no glory gleams, Is all that I have now the power to save: A weary toiler at ignoble themes. Dead Weaver, can you pity from your grave ? 60 The Power of Time TIME'S power is infinite : there was a day When I, in wild abasement, wept and prayed, Petitioning that it might pass away This grief, which now I bear most undismayed. The very stones where once I bleeding strayed Now fit themselves to my accustomed feet. Look you, I laugh, who was so sore afraid, The first time I and my great grief did meet. The bitterest potion grows by custom, sweet, Or loathing may be hidden with a smile : I have subdued the anguish that did beat About my heart, a weary weary while. And yet, methinks it proves but little gain, That pain itself should dull my sense of pain ! 61 To Tezcatlepoca " Soul of the World" """TO God Tezcatlepoca, the " world's soul," A They offered sacrifices long ago. One year of all the pleasures man may know The victim had. Then came the folded scroll, The world's farewell: the long-expecled goal That block of jasper where they stretched him low, The flint-edged knife, the measured ripping blow, The hand that wrenched his heart out through the hole. My feasting-time is over, and I see The world receding. Friendship, love, and art, The singing-women, flowers, revelry, Have vanished ; I lie naked, set apart : This is the death-stone. What remains for me ? The grasping fingers that shall tear my heart. 62 To a Would-be Confidante AM not fond of pity : if I weep A I do it secretly, as others pray. My lips have jest and laughter for the day ; My eyes have tears while others' eyes have sleep. Faint sympathy, that harvest many reap, Gives me no comfort. Let me go my way. I guess the kindly words your heart would say, And thank you ; but my secret's mine to keep. One can wear smiles like jewels, clasp them fast, Find pride and pleasure in their glittering. Why should the shadow of my sorrowing Darken your present with my hopeless past ? No, friend, the sun shines, therefore laugh and sing, Neither glad day, nor night of tears will last. 63 ■™^ It Heartlessness " AM not used to sorrow. Until now I have lain softly, lulled in happy years. My eyes are puzzled by the smart of tears ; Pain finds no throne made ready on my brow. I have not learnt yet how the head should bow When the sad heart is weighted with its fears ; Grey Grief walks near me, but she still appears As one apart from me : I know not how. All flowers do not die in Winter's frost, Some few live bravely till the Spring shall come: Pale Christmas rose and faint chrysanthemum Survive, sometimes, the highest snowdrift tost. Let me still smile: since Death cannot benumb Remembered Love, and Love was never lost. 64 At Port Said T_I O W the sun beat upon that barren land, ■*• *■ And lit the glass and gilt and tawdryness Of "The Saloon": a haunt of wickedness, From whose wide windows blared a jangling band. There was a heap of refuse on the sand, And in community of wretchedness, A woman and a pig, in hunger's stress Rooted among the filth with snout and hand. " Seeking their meat from God." Pitiless Lord, This woman's life Thy gift ? Mad, hopeless, wild, Herding with swine: abandoned and defiled: A terror in the sun, a sight abhorred. Our silver coins unheeded near her lay, And the pig nosed them as we turned away. 65 ™^i Love's Derelict WHO was once full freighted for the sea, A Strong timbered, with my ivory canvas gleaming, Now drift a battered hulk, all aimlessly, Sun-shrivelled waveworn, useless tackle streaming. The water washes, like dull sobs in dreaming, Across soaked planks that were the deck of me ; I keep no course, who steered so faithfully, And bear no cargo, who had riches teeming. Love's Derelict am I, Love's Derelidt, Wrecked by his hand, by him flung to disaster ; Drifting alone, through merciless edidt, Alone, cast out, forgotten of my master. Strong prows of purpose pity as ye pass Love's Derelidt, Love's Derelidt, alas ! 66 Love's Murderer CINCE Love is dead, stretched here between ^ us, dead, Let us be sorry for the quiet clay : Hope and offence alike have passed away. The glory long had left his vanquished head, Poor shadowed glory of a distant day ! But can you give no pity in its stead ? I see your hard eyes have no tears to shed, But has your heart no kindly word to say? Were you his murderer, or was it I ? I do not care to ask, there is no need. Since gone is gone, and dead is dead indeed, What use to wrangle of the how and why ? I take all blame, I take it. Draw not nigh ! Ah, do not touch him, lest Love's corpse should bleed ! 67 F — 2 In the Duomo [T was a Festa and a busy throng * Filled the Duomo, whose white arches rise Like a great lily under Tuscan skies, Where Giotto's Tower stands erccl: and strong, The Duomo's slender throat and silver tongue, Built, when men's faith shone out without dis- disguise: More sure of right, more confident of wrong Than in our twentieth century subtleties. The incense rose like heavy music hymned, I watched an old man praying on his knee, "Fiat lux, Domine" his only plea; I wondered, till I saw blind eyes, red-rimmed. Blind ! Yet the light of Faith shone radiantly And he, in darkness, left my vision dimmed. 68 Mine Enemy " The coppersmith did me much evil" T^ONK ! Tonic ! Tonic ! Tonic ! From his -*- retreat, Unwearying through the noonday heat, The Coppersmith maintains his song, A constant cadence like a gong, A changeless hard metallic beat. Tonic ! Tonic ! Tonic ! Tonic ! I would that he and I might meet, I think he would not then repeat That one remark the whole day long — Tonk ! Tonk ! Tonk ! Tonk ! To-day, I dreamt of you, my Sweet : I sped to you on eager feet, Forgotten pain, forgiven wrong, Since Love was lord, enthroned and strong ! What woke me from that dear deceit? Tonk ! Tonk ! Tonk ! Tonk ! Shabjehanpore, NJf'.T. 69 In Camp TNDER green mango boughs ^ They pitch my little house ; Earth is the floor at mv feet, My walls are a canvas fold To screen me from the heat And to keep me from the cold. Pree from taxes and rents, I am a dweller in tents. Under the open sky My simple stables lie — Leaves and the sky are the roof Whereunder my ponies chew, Fidget, and paw the hoof All the warm day through. They have thick wadded coats for night, Looking like armadilloes ! How they sleep till the morning light With straw for their beds and pillows. -o At the edge of my kingdom scurry Creatures in feathers and furs — Crows in a furtive hurry- Hungry and cringing curs— I have birds as petitioners, Squirrels for pensioners, Monkeys are bold marauders Making raids on my borders ! Nature is so much nearer Than ever she seemed before. Nature is so much dearer Than when one looks through a door. Sunshine and air are given Straight and dired from heaven. And the davs come fresh and new, With no' walls to filter through. Brother to gipsy and tramp, I am a dweller in camp. Camp, Kheri, Oudh. 7* The Strength of the Hills '6 T^HE pines are the shafts of the temple, * The wild rose burns incense on high, The wind's voice is chanting an anthem, The roof is the infinite sky. Now life has grown glad for the living, We see them, we gain them at length, Our help, and our shelter, health-giving, The hills in their strength ! A respite have we from the furnace, A rest from the toil and the heat : Before we return to our harness The calm and the coolness are sweet. Drinking deep of the pure air, redressed by Its peace for our manifold ills : We are gladdened, and heartened, and blessed by The strength of the hills ! Mussoorie, N.W.T. 7 2 When He Left Simla His Thoughts DID not know when first we met, * That parting would be half so bitter, That Time brings love, and then regret I did not know, — when first we met. I wonder will she soon forget. Was it a tear that I saw glitter ? I did not know when first we met That parting would be half so bitter. Her Thoughts I shall miss him, at first, I know: But still, he had grown rather silly. Poor boy ! How grieved he was to go ! I shall miss him at first I know. No one could say \Jlirted though ; I always was quite stiff" and chilly ! I shall miss him at first I know, But still he had grown rather silly. 73 Where Hugli Flows YW'HERE Hugli flows, her city's banks beside vv White domes and towers rise on a glittering plain : The strong, bright sailing-ships at anchor ride, Waiting to float their cargoes to the main, Where Hugli flows. Brown waters, treacherous currents whirling by The painted fishing-boats haste to and fro, Brown sails, brown sailors, crimsoned curiously, Under the all-transfiguring sunset glow, Where Hugli flows. Where Hugli flows, our English eyes are weary Our hearts are sometimes very far away. Needs must, that exile should be long and dreary How slow the hours, how lagging long the day, Where Hugli flows. Yet, years hence, when the steamer's screw shal beat The homeward track, for us without return, Our bitter bread, by custom almost sweet, We shall look back, perhaps through tears tha burn, Where Hugli flows. Calcutta. 74 Rose Aylmer's Grave Rose Aylmer died in Calcutta on March 2nd, 1800, and is buried in the old South Park Street Cemetery. AN English grave 'neath Indian skies, Marked by a sullen stone: And this is where Rose Aylmer lies, Far, flowerless, and alone. Rose Aylmer was a poet's love, Sweet, beautiful, and young. Her elegy, in melody, The poet-lover sung. About her grave no flowers grow, No pleasant boughs are stirred : No gentle sun, no quiet snow, No English bee or bird. The suns of springtime scorch the stone, In summer, storm and rave The winds that herald the cyclone, The rains that lash the grave. 75 Rose Aylmer's sister-flowers should spring In whitest bloom above: The roses Landor could not bring, Far distant from his love. But now, a snake lies near her bed, The crows perch on the rail, A kite sweeps past, and overhead The unclean vultures sail. " Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! IV hat every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee." Ah, why regret the gloomy hearse, The land of banishment? This is her grave: but Landor's verse Rose Aylmer's monument. Rose Aylmer, on thy namestone lies Love's rose immortally, The rose of memories and of sighs Once consecrate to thee. 76 Pieces of Eight [A Ga?-den Series) SUNRISE r'M in your secret Day, to-day, A I watched your morning break : The cloud-buds bloomed to rose from grey I heard the birds awake. Now, through your noon-tide's molten gold, Your evening shadows pearly, I share with you the secret told This morning, O ! so early. IN AND OUT T N the house it's very late, Out of doors it's very early ; In the house the gloom is great, Out of doors the light is pearly. Curtained windows, silent floors, Shuttered house, with darkness in it ; Song and sweetness out of doors, Roses, sunrise, and a linnet. 77 WASTED TIME T GRUDGE the time that I must spend * On things that do not matter, Visiting and the notes I send, Shopping, and dress, and chatter. Could I lie on the grass all day, For one long perfect season, I might learn what the linnets say And how the roses reason. FLOWER APPLES THE swaying boughs of guelder rose Some unseen presence grapples, Perhaps a ghost has come, who knows ? To gather flower-apples. And will it not feel light and good That flesh-freed hour ? When all that we shall need for food Will be a flower! 7» A GLIMPSE OF THE MOON ON the lawn a white ghost lingers, Just beyond the pansy bed, And it beckons with long fingers, And it motions with its head. It's a pear tree in the noonlight, But the snowy blossomed tree Turns a spectre in the moonlight, And it beckons, beckons me ! M AFTER MIDNIGHT Y window gives on the quiet park, There is never a soul in sight : I lean and look through the scented dark, In the second half of the night. I'll pack my cares in a strap and buckle, Throw them aside and forget them all, While all that I smell is the honeysuckle, And all that I hear is the waterfall. 79 THE GREAT MINSTER ]W[ Y friend has a Chapel with incense spiced, **■* A shrine and an altar fit, But I kneel at the feet of the carven Christ, And I cannot pray a bit. At another altar I make my prayer, At the foot of a living tree, In God's Great Minster, the open air, With Heaven spread over me. FRIENDSHIP MY life is very free from private cares, But friends a-many Divide with me their sorrows and despairs, To the last penny ! Poor friends, confiding and unhappy ones, I crave your pardon. But need you always range your skeletons About my garden ? 80 A MAN'S THOUGHT SOUGHT one snare that might enmesh, A One spell to sway the perfect whole ; The rose and lily of her flesh, The dew and fire of her soul. Poor finite Love ! that still must crave, And vainly crave the full control : This rose has blossomed on her grave, That star is brighter for her soul. A WOMAN'S THOUGHT [ AM stained by all your sin, *■ I must drink your deadly wine. When you lose I cannot win, Since I suffer for your sin. In your human, my divine Must be lost for ever ; My pure pearl flung to your swine, Ever and for ever ! 81 A GIRL'S THOUGHT T THOUGHT we had a lifetime at the least * To spend together : And so I sat me laughing at my feast While my Love faced bad weather. There would be time to recompense all sorrow, He should be sad to-day, and glad tomorrow ; So he set forth, unkissed, upon his way, And he died, yesterday. A CHILD'S THOUGHT ""THE world is full of happy words, A And kind and pleasant people, The forests have their trees and birds, The churches have their steeple. The steeples have their silver bells, That chime for brides and parted, And cities have their crystal wells, Where drink the thirsty-hearted. 82 A PASSING THOUGHT TUST that man in the street, ^ With his commonplace face But, could one woman meet Just that man in the street, All her life would grow sweet, Full of glory and grace. Just that man in the street, With his commonplace face ! A FREQUENT THOUGHT WENT to gather roses, but could not find a *■ flower, I sought my orchard closes, but all the fruit was sour, A cold wind nips my posies, when comes the blossom-hour ? Ah, my grief ! The wind is blowing chilly, when will the fruit be riper? My feet dance willy-nilly, but who's to pay the piper ? I stooped to pluck a lily, my fingers met a viper ! What relief ? 83 G— 2 A DREAM THOUGHT THESE words in dream I knew, — "Flesh shrinks from Spirit, true, Yet may not Soul in you Speak to my Soul ? While your faint body dreams, Meet me by mystic streams, Learn all that is, but seems. Seeming is still the whole." A NIGHT THOUGHT SO many deeds undone, Of worth and good, A noble race unrun, Sin not withstood. So many gifts of grace, Dully denied : Choose then the outer place, Stand then aside. 84 ECHOES OF ROUMANIAN FOLK SONG At Star-Rise r l ^HE night comes fast, I bear the oxen chewing, •*■ The stars are very white and very little. My mother cries " Come, girl, spin off" thy distaff.'''' Before I fill my pitcher I stoop to ask the water, Whether my face be fair. I know my eyes are shining, I see my lips are crimson, I hear my silver necklace Make music round my throat. But it is nothing to him, he cares not : The maize is golden in the sunshine, My hair is golden in the sunshine, He looks at the maize ! I have a keepsake, but not one that he gave me. A little flower, a withered flower, I wear it in my breast : 85 But he did not give it to me, his hand has not touched it, Only his foot has touched it. He trod on it and broke it, The flower is like my heart. The flight comes fast, I hear the oxen chewing. The stars are very white and very little. My mother cries "Come, girl, spin off thy distaff." I watch to see him passing; The night has grown so dark I shall not see him coming, But I shall hear his footstep, That crushes down the flowers That crushes down my heart. He will not see me waiting, He will not hear me sobbing, I listen in the dark. The night comes fast, I hear the oxen chewing, The stars are very white and very little. My mother cries "Come, girl, spin off thy distaff." 86 Secrets r t"HE rain has beaten the tall maize down; •*■ Oh proud maize, with the golden crown, Broken thou liest at my feet. The woman had a secret, That cradled in her heart, u None else have such a secret," She said, "save I, accursed !" She journeyed through the world, The secret in her heart, And Oh, each one she met, The women spinning at their sunny doorsills, The reapers toiling where the corn was thickest, The maidens with full pitchers by the streamlet, Each had a secret, She was afraid. She saw their eyes, And through them, saw their hearts, Wherein the secrets lay. And some were white as moonlight, 8? And some were black as ni«;ht, And some were red as roses, And some were grey as doves. She was afraid. She bent to ask her heart, Wherein her secret nestled, " Tell me their names, and thine." And her secret answered, laughing, " The names of some are Sorrows, the names of some are Sins, And the colours tell thee whether they be Sorrows or be Sins." And the woman questioned, trembling, " What colour then art thou r " And her secret answered, laughing, " That thou shalt never know, Though thy heart must house me warmlv, And thv breast must rock me softlv, All thy life." She was afraid. The rain has beaten the tall maize down ; Oh proud maize, with the golden crown y Broken thou liest at my feet. 88 From the Valley T~\AY sees her smiling, smiling, -*-^ But when the sun has set, Night hears her weeping, weeping. The mountains are dear to me, I was young in the mountains, I had a golden chain and a silver necklace, My feet were light in the dance, and my heart was lighter yet, I love the mountains ! Every evening now my heart says to me, — "Where are thy light feet ? " The feet that bore me so swiftlv, when I throbbed in the dance !" I make no answer. Every evening now my heart says to me, — "Where is thy sweet voice ? "The voice that sang my songs, my sweetest songs of gladness ! " I make no answer. 89 My feet move slowly, no one dances in the valley, My voice is very low and quiet, for those who sob sing not ; I love the mountains, but I live in the valley ; Some day I will teach my heart to be content, I know that I must live in the valley, My lot has fallen to me in the valley, But I love the mountains, I was young in the mountains! Though I live to be old, I shall never see them again. I have a golden chain and a silver necklace, Every night they are wet with my tears. Day sees her smiling, smiling, But when the sun has set, Night hears her weeping, weeping. 90 Dreaming True *' l\/f T sister of the cross,* why look'st thou Wl pale?" " I had a dream, a dream that came at midnight, When dreams are true ; I saw the youth I love, and one was with him." "My sister of the cross, why look'st thou pale ? n " The hair of the one with him was bright yellow, Yellow like mine. Her girdle was wound six times round her waist, Even as mine is wound ; She wore a silver chain, and scarlet flowers Glowed in her girdle. The flowers in my girdle are all withered." "My sister of the cross, why look'st thou pale?" " They walked together in the wood like lovers, But I saw he did not love her, For all her yellow hair, Nor for all her slender girdle, Nor for all its scarlet flowers, Nor the music of her chain, * An elective relationship, hallowed by a special service in church. 91 * For, as they walked, lie hardly looked at her, And sometimes when she spoke, he did not answer. They crossed the brook, he did not sav, — " He heedful, Wet not thy little feet." He did not bend the branches of the hazel, Lest they should bar her way. I watched, and told myself, "This maiden truly Is one he does not love." "My sister of the cross, why look's t thou pale?" I could not see her face, I longed to see it, I crept through tangled ways, I bent the bushes, The sharp thorns tore my hands. I saw her face ! I saw the face that he whom I love, loves not, I saw myself ! "My sister of the cross, why look'st thou pale?" I saw myself ! It was my face I saw ! And I am she that he whom I love loves not. My yellow hair, my chain, my slender girdle ! I saw myself ! This was a dream, a dream that came at midnight, When dreams are true !" " My sister of the cross, why look 'st thou pale- f 92 A Shadow T_[ E was standing in the sunshine, *■ *■ But still he stood in shadow ; A shadow clung about him, and kept the sun aloof. And I thought, — "Has he been wicked? Is ic sin that casts the shadow?" But his eyes were free from sin. Then I wondered, — " Is it sorrow ? " But his laugh was full of mirth. And even as I wondered At the following, haunting shadow, (That was cast by nothing living, the shadow of a shade.) I saw it was a woman's, The shadow of a woman, Of the woman who is dead. And then I understood. 93 Memory T AM she who forgets not, * The other women forget, and so they can be happy, But I am always wretched, because I must re- member, And Memory is so sad. I had a dream of Memory, Her two hands held two sorrows : One sorrow was a sword, A sword to pierce my heartstrings, The memory of my daughter, the little one who died. One sorrow was a snake, A snake to sting my bosom, The memory of the woman, who husband's love. stole my I am she who forgets not, And Memory is so sad ! 94 The Woman's Child T ET not thy hands be idle, since that brings *—* Pain to the heart. Spin off thy distaff quickly, While I sit alone at my distaff, I hear the voices of children, The voices of the children who are passing ; I hear their laughter too, and the sound of their feet, The little feet that run into other cottages ; But there is no one to run into mine. My house is as silent as the grave, As silent as the grave in the churchyard, Where my little one is lying. O little son, who only lived an hour, If thou lived now, thou would'st be eight years old, The garden would be full of sunshine for thee, Thy father's cold heart full of gladness for thee, Thy mother's sad heart full of pleasure for thee, But thou art very far ! 95 Yet tell me why thou would'st but live an hour ? Did life not promise happy years to thee That thou did'st turn to death ? There had been many, many happy years, Yet thou but lived an hour. And I never saw thee living, A T And 1 never saw thine eyes ! When I see a brown-eyed lad, I wonder If thou art like him ; And if I see a blue-eyed lad, my heart says, " Thy child is such an one." Yet I know not the colour of thine eyes, And though I should travel as far as the moon does, There is no one who can tell me, even at the end of the world ! Let not thy hands he idle, since that brings Pain to the heart. Spin off thy distaff quickly. 96 The Woman's Share SURE it looks the same, but 'tis all different too, I spin, an' knit, an' sing, in the way I used to do : But the spindle pricks my finger, an' my voice dies down, For where's the use o' watchin' at the road from the town ? Sunrise, sunset, Slow goes the day, 'Tis here he was, an' I am here, An' he is gone away. Violets at the brookside, I smell them when I pass, But where's the boy that picked them as we laughed along the grass ? " No bluer than your two eyes." How soon do eyes grow dim ? Mine have learnt the tear-sting since last they looked on him. Sunrise, sunset, Long night and day ! 'Tis here he was, an' I am here, An' he is gone away. 97 h Winds in the autumn, to lash the waves to roar, He is on the sea, maybe, I am on the shore. Tossing mat o' sea-wrack, tangle-weed afloat, Have you been the lucky one, did ye touch his boat ? Sunrise, sunset, Ah, the weary day ! 'Tis here he was, an' I am here, An' he is gone away. Winter comes at long last, an' the snow is spread Cold an' white an' even, like a face that's dead, Women love a lifetime, that's not the way with men, 'Tis I'll be old an' ugly, an' will he love me then ? Sunrise, sunset, Slow goes the day. 'Tis here he was, an' I am here, An' he is gone away. 98 Dream Sorrow H\EAR heart, shed all your tears in dreams, *-^ In Shadow Land: One could not laugh by mystic streams On Slumber Strand. You'll waken with your lashes dry For all your weeping. How happy that you only cry When you are sleeping. Smile, happy lady, all the day, We need your laughter. Your tears shall have their chosen way When sleep comes after : There is a willow by the stream, A weeping-willow, And you shall weep in pensive dream, On a dry pillow. 99 h — 2 " Better Dream than Weep AY your head down on your bed, *~* Hark the dreams come singing : Move, by gentle music led, Like a far bell ringing. Dream, and dream, and sweetly sleep, Dreams are free from sorrow, Dream, Ah ! better dream than weep, Dream until to-morrow. Close your eyes on evening skies: See the dreams come flying, Circle where your body lies, Like a south wind sighing. Dream, and dream, and sweetly sleep, Dreams are free from sinning : Dream, Ah ! better dream than weep, Dream of better winning. IOO Unsent Letters 'VE a box of my own, for myself, and no one A has the key, It is filled with the trifles that matter, and thoughts without end ; With the loves I have lost, and the joys that were taken from me, And there, in a pile, are the letters I never shall send. There are letters to you, and there's many a letter to him, Full of fancies forgotten, and follies once dear to a friend. I look at them seldom, but always with eyes that are dim, And I dare not re-read them, the letters I never shall send. I wish I had sent them, for life might have given me much, Which now is denied, had I had but the courage to spend, IOI But the words rest unread, since I shrank from the definite touch Putting fate to the proof, in the letters I never shall send. And you ask for your share, in surprise, as you see my tears fall. But there isn't a sentence to spare, or a line I would lend : They shall go 'neath the daisy quilt with me, each letter and all, For Death must still leave me the letters I never shall send ! 102 To One More Fortunate " I have a room whereinto no one enters Save I myself alone; There sits a blessed memory on a throne, There my life centres." Christina Rossetti. A H happy soul, since Life cannot estrange "**- One blessed memory, In your calm haven, safe from chance and change, I pray you pity me ! I, too, had once a memory in a shrine, My treasure, guarded fast: And while I deemed it deathless, wholly mine, The Present killed the Past. I had borne all without a tear or moan, My accolade of pain ; All bitterness, all sorrow I have known, Were not that memory slain. 103 I should not once have thought my life was sad, My pathway lonely, I should have toiled on singing, had I had That memory only. Now sometimes when the evening turns to night Before the stars arise, The memory flits a ghost, and charnel light Glows out of empty eyes. There is a place, a place I needs must haunt, While all the world's asleep: There lies a murdered memory, stark and gaunt, There my heart stays to weep. 10+ The Changed Tree r DREAMT last night of Eden- The Eden early made: Where saints await their guerdon Till all on earth shall fade. The lambkin and the lion Lay couched in happy sleep, And all the songs of Zion Were echoing true and deep. The centre of the Garden Was filled by the Tree : The Tree of Human Pardon That grew on Calvary. It bore no Burden of Divine, No type of Heaven's Loss, But branches of the Only Vine Were wreathed about the Cross. The leaves for healing nations Were clustered on the boughs : With laurel of salvations, That grows for martyr brows. 105 I saw the Sharon roses, And Mary lilies pale, Pure cup that never closes, The Vessel of the Grail. The happy saints were winging To their deserved joys: I heard the angels singing, And, 'mid the martyr boys I saw, ere vision left me, The dearly-loved dark head Of one so late bereft me ; I knew not he was dead ! 106 Christmas Eve /^\NE night there is in the whole year through, ^-^ When the cattle may speak as men can do. Horses and oxen and donkeys stood, A weary and suffering multitude. Said the ox, "To-day I fell in the road, My master helped me with whip and goad." And the horse, " With spurring my sides are red, My master laughed at the wounds that bled ! " Surely the hearts of men do harden Since Adam named us all in the garden." Each had a tale of hurt to tell, The blow, the curse, and the lash that fell, Save the little ass, with the patient face, Quietly munching there in his place. 107 No word had he of complaint to make, Though every bone in his hide did ache. A glorious light shone through the stall, And Christ the Lord stood among them all. There gleamed on His Hands, and Feet, and Side, The Holy Wounds of the Crucified. The beasts feared man, but they loved their God, And bent glad heads to the earth He trod. " Wailings swept over the glassy sea, The cry of God's beasts came up to Me. " Truly I know that your stripes be sore — Have ye forgotten the stripes I bore ? " Yet it is written, * 'Twixt birth and death The whole of Creation travaileth.' " These men do evil unwittingly. Shall we not pity them — I and ye ?' : And the dear Christ's eyes were filled with tears As He touched the donkey's velvet ears, And saw on the rope-galled, blow-scarred back, The Sign of Redemption traced in black. 1 08 (Given because, on that Blessed Day, When the Holy Babe in the manger lay, The ass had knelt at the Christ Child's feet While the ox and the horse did nought but eat). " Creature of God, thy silent plaint Is louder than psalm of sage or saint. " Long since did I and a little ass Into an earthly city pass. "Thy work is prayer; and thou art of them That shall enter the New Jerusalem ! " 109 New Year's Eve A Man and Woman speak. "WHAT did Old Year bring us, dear? ** Much of good, and some of bad, Hours merry, moments sad. Brought us love, and brought us laughter, With a touch of sorrow after, And an armful of hope, and a handful of fear. Good-bye, and bless you then, Old Year ! " A IVoman speakj. "What did Old Year bring to me ? Brought me months of bitter sorrow, Black the day, and dark the morrow, Brought a hope that soon was gone, Left a grave to weep upon, And a grief to endure through the time still to be. Old Year, I have no thanks for thee ! " no A Child speaks. u I'll be better in New Year. This year's toys were quickly broken, Bad cross words so soon were spoken. Now, I'll think before I say things, And I'll take care of my playthings, And I'll answer the minute that nurse calls " Come here." Oh, do make haste and go, Old Year !" The Old Tear speakj. " I must pass to-night beyond life and light, For the New Year comes apace. The bell strikes One. 'Tis the chime begun That tolls me to my place. The strokes come fast : in the time that's past, For a weary and thankless crew, I did my best and I go to my rest, Saddened yet joyful too. It strikes Eleven ! One instant even, My end comes and I die : The joy bells ring for the coming King ! Twelve ! Twelve ! I go. Good-bye." The New Tear spea\s. " I come as a child, a king, a hope, A promise of good to be j in Though no man may cast my horoscope, And fathom futurity. Plenty and ease, a garnered store, And the wealth of the fruitful earth, I may give perchance, — or famine sore And the pitiful pinch of dearth. I am the bringer to young and old, Of gifts that they shun and crave: Change, and sorrow, and love, and gold, And to some the gift of a grave. But to all the comfort of hope new-born. Of a sunrise dawning clear, That makes men smile on my First Day's morn, And speak of " A Happy New Year." 112 A Ballad of an Old Churchyard THEIR narrow houses lie a-row, A Crumbling and silent at my feet : The sound floats to me from below Of laughing voices in the street. They care no more to clothe or eat, They take no heed when tempests blow, Safe from all sorrow, all deceit, These are the Dead of Long Ago ! Of their past lives I cannot know, Or if their days were sad or sweet, And yet they once were glad, I trow, With laughing voices in the street. For them the years were full and fleet ; Seems this world now an empty show ? Or do they rest in calm complete, The Dead of Very Long Ago r Some lives were checked in fullest flow, And some bore all the stress and heat, And some were called in youth's first glow From laughing voices in the street. 113 ! Yet the end came, as it was meet, The self-same end for friend and foe, Nor wrath, nor love makes dead hearts beat ; These are the Dead of Long Ago ! Envoy. Oh, ye who join with singing sweet The laughing voices in the street ! How ye forget them, here laid low, The Dead of very Long Ago ! 114 Spion Kop (January 24, 1900.) VOUNG Never-Grow-Old, with your heart A of gold, And the dear boy's face upon you ; It's hard to tell, though we know it well, That the grass is growing upon you. Flowers and grass, and the graveyard mould, Over the eyes of you, Never-Grow-Old, Over the heart of you, over each part of you, All your dear body, our Never-Grow-Old. Never-Grow-Old, the theft of Time, His daily stealthy robbing, Is not for you — slain in your prime : This one thought stays my sobbing. Never for you the flagging strength, The warm young heart grown cold, You earn your child pet-name at length, We called you " Never-Grow-Old"; Kissed curls, and called you "Young Never- Grow-Old." 11=; Never-Grow-Old, your curly head Will never streak with grey ; Young Always -Young, your springing tread Will never pass away. The morning glory of your eyes Will light you now and ever; You keep your boyhood in the skies, The other side the River; River that flows by the City of Gold, River of Healing, dear Never-Grow-Old. Never-Grow-Old, vour rosy dawn Outlives our weary even ; Young Always -Young, so lately drawn Up to the highest heaven ; The youngest 'mid the angel bands That shout among the stars, And wing to work their Lord's commands Beyond our prison bars. God's soldier still, through the streets of gold, In your shining harness, Never-Grow-Old. Young Never-Grow-Old, with your heart of gold, And the dear boy's face upon you, It's hard to tell, though we know it well, That the grass is growing upon you; But the trials of earth are a tale that's told, And your pain is over, Never-Grow-Old. 116 Peace and long rest for you — maybe its best for you, Only remember us, Never-Grow-Old, One whose love aches for you, one whose heart breaks for you Missing you daily, dear Never-Grow-Old. 117 H In the Solent, (February ist, 1901.) ALF the English Fleet lies ranged Still and dark against the sky, But their bunting is all changed, For the flags are half-mast high See, the Ship of Death goes by, Bearing one who was our Oueen. Listen ! Portsmouth bells are telling, Now the great Oueen leaves her dwelling. Toll ! Tolff The Oueen ! The Oueen ! Comes between. And her Navy gives salute, Muffled, mute, To the Queen ! Hark ! Amongst the cannon's thunder And the music's heavy notes, Come the bells, the bells come under, With a note that mounts and floats, In a knell For farewell To the Queen. 118 As a Viking of old fame, Passed in fire, With a barque of builded flame For his pyre, So our Sovereign Lady lies Under sunset English skies, With the snowy flowers above her, 'Mid the family that love her, King and Queen. Hark, the bells toll out between, Victoria ! Victoria ! Who has been ! 119 The Silent Crowd (February 2nd, 1901.) "COR a pageant do you wait ? *■ Quiet crowd, mourning crowd. For a solemn Hearse of State, With a velvet pall and plumes, Sable splendour of the tombs, For the Queen. Victoria ! Victoria ! See ! The carriage of a gun, And a Coffin set thereon, Comes the Queen ! Ave Regina Gloria ! Solemn silence for the Queen. 'Neath this Flag a sailor dies, On the wave ; 'Neath this Flag a soldier lies, For his grave. And the Queen of both was she, As she willed, so let it be ; 120 In her great simplicity, And her spotless purity, Comes the Queen, Empress-Queen ! The Sailor's Queen went through her Fleet, Her Last Review : The cannon rent the skv, The flags were half-mast high. There were no cheers, But only tears, As she went by. The Soldier's Queen goes to her grave, In simplest state. See ! The carriage of a gun, With a Coffin set thereon, Grave and great, And a pure white gleaming Pall. A white Pall for the Woman, And a gold Crown for the Queen, And a Coffin for the Human, To hide the fleshly screen. So simple ! This is all, Our great Queen's Funeral. 121 But the Kings of many lands, And the Emperors from afar, A [ourners arc. Solemn silence for the Oueen. Toll the bells, let music play To the pulse of murHed drums. See ! The white Crowned Coffin comes, And the cannon say their sav. Tears in silence for our Queen On her way. On her path without returning, Ln ing silence for our Oueen. Through our bitter tears and burning, Let us pray, Ave Regina Gloria ! Victoria ! Victoria ! Loved for aye ! 122 PRINTED BV R. FOI.KARD AND SON, DEVONSHIRE STREET, • EEN ! BURY, LONDONj W.C. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 10M-U-50 2555 470 REMINGTON RAND INC. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 378 241 4 PR Kipling - ~U8fc9" Hand in hand K62h PR U829 K62h