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 I MOVE THE SWE] I FORGET-ME-NOTS 
 
 I H \ r <;k< i\\ FOR II \ PPY I ' >V1 RS.
 
 ■^ *J 
 
 IDEAL POEMS 
 
 FROM THE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS l;V 
 
 AMERICAN ARTISTS 
 
 B< >ST( >N 
 I). LOTHR( >P AND C< >MPANY 
 
 FRANKLIN STRF.F/1
 
 Copyright, 18S3. 
 D. Lothrop & Company. 
 
 Pkksswokk u\ Rockwell & Chukchill.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The ISrook 
 
 The Three Fishers 
 
 Alfred Tennyson 
 
 Charles Kingsi ey 
 
 The Long White Seam . Jean Ingelow 
 
 O May I Join the Choir Invisible George Eliot 
 
 How They Brought hie Good 
 News From Ghent to Aix 
 
 Mi >THER ami Poet 
 
 Bingen ox i he Rhine . 
 
 A M vn's a Max for a' i hat . 
 
 Nature's Lady 
 
 Ring on. Wild Bells . 
 
 Ti i \ Sk\ lark 
 
 The Lost ( Ihord 
 
 Robert Browning 
 
 ii 
 
 14 
 18 
 
 22 
 
 27 
 
 Mrs. I'.. I!. Browning . 33 
 
 Caroline E. S. Norton 41 
 Robi r r Burns . . 4S 
 William W< irdswor i ii 
 
 Ai 1 1:1 ii Tennyson 
 
 Pero 1 1. Sim ii i a 
 
 Am . VIDE A. PRO< l 1 R 
 
 56 
 60
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
 That grow for happy lovers, 
 
 For men must work, and women 
 must weep. 
 
 By the candle's flickering gleam. 
 
 " May 1 reach that purest heaven ' 
 
 At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden 
 the sun. 
 
 Dead ! one of them shot by the sea 
 
 in the East, 
 And one of them shot in the West 
 
 bv the sea. 
 
 YY. L. Taylor Frontis. 
 
 T. 1 1 ov i:\iikn 
 
 i: 
 
 Miss I.. B. 1 [umphrey 19 
 Mme. Alix En vult 23 
 
 Hv. Sandham 
 
 "Tell my sister not to weep forme." Walter Shiri \w 
 
 A man for a' that. 
 
 She shall be sportive as the lawn. 
 
 Ring out the false, ring in the 1 rue. 
 
 1 hear thy shrill delight 
 
 I ,1 1 no! know v hat I was playing 
 Or what I was dreaming then. 
 
 T. HoVENDEN 
 
 I ■' Parker Hum \ 
 
 St. ]< >ii\ 1 1 \ f ■ 1 1 :r 
 
 E ! 1 Gari 
 
 W. L. Taylor 
 
 29 
 
 A I FRED FR] DERICKS 37 
 
 43 
 49 
 53 
 
 5 7
 
 IDEAL POEMS.
 
 THE BROOK. 
 
 TCOME from haunts of coot and hern, 
 L make a sudden sally 
 And sparkle out among the fern. 
 To bicker down a valley. 
 
 By thirty hills I hurry down. 
 
 Or slip between the ridges, 
 By twenty thorps, a little town. 
 
 And half a hundred bridges. 
 
 Till last by Philip's farm 1 flow 
 
 To join the brimming river, 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 
 But I go on forever. 
 
 1 chatter over stony ways. 
 
 In little sharps and trebles, 
 I bubble into eddying bays, 
 
 I babble on the pebbles. 
 
 1 1
 
 12 THE BROOK. 
 
 With many a curve my banks I fret 
 By many a field and fallow, 
 
 And many a fairy foreland set 
 With willow-weed and mallow. 
 
 I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
 To join the brimming river, 
 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 But I go on forever. 
 
 I wind about, and in and out. 
 
 With here a blossom sailing, 
 And here and there a lusty trout. 
 
 And here and there a grayling. 
 
 And here and there a foamy flake 
 
 Upon me as I travel 
 With many a silvery waterbreak 
 
 Above the golden gravel. 
 
 And draw them all along and flow 
 To join the brimming river, 
 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 But I -jo on forever.
 
 THE BROOK. 13 
 
 I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 
 I slide by hazel covers ; 
 
 I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
 That grow for happy lovers. 
 
 I slip, I slide, I gloom. I glance. 
 Among my skimming swallows ; 
 
 I make the netted sunbeam dance 
 Against my sandy shallows. 
 
 I murmur under moon and stars 
 In brambly wildernesses ; 
 
 I linger by my shingly bars ; 
 I loiter round my cresses : 
 
 And out again I curve and flow 
 To join the brimming river. 
 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 But I go on forever.
 
 THE THREE FISHERS. 
 
 THREE fishers went sailing away to the West — 
 Away to the West as the sun went down ; 
 Each thought on the woman who loved him best, 
 And the children stood watching them out of the 
 town ; 
 For men must work and women must weep ; 
 And there's little to earn and many to keep, 
 Though the harbor-bar be moaning;. 
 
 Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower 
 
 And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; 
 They looked at the squall, and they looked at the 
 shower, 
 And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and 
 brown. 
 But men must work and women must weep, 
 Though storms he sudden and waters deep, 
 And the harbor-bar be moaning. 
 
 ■4
 
 FOR MEN MUST WORK, AND WOMEN MUST WEEP.
 
 77/A' THREE FISHERS. 17 
 
 Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 
 
 In the morning gleam as the tide went down. 
 And the women are weeping; and wringing their 
 hands 
 For those who will never come back to the town ; 
 For men must work and women must weep — 
 And the sooner it's over the sooner to sice]) — 
 And good-by to the bar and its moaning.
 
 THE LONG WHITE SEAM. 
 
 AS I came round the harbor buoy 
 The lights began to gleam ; 
 No wave the land-locked water stirred, 
 
 The crags were white as cream. 
 And I marked my love by candle light 
 Sewing her long white seam. 
 It's ay sewing ashore, my dear, 
 
 Watch and steer at sea — 
 It's reef and furl, and haul the line, 
 Set sail and think of thee. 
 
 I climbed to reach her cottage door ; 
 
 Oh, sweetly my love sings ! 
 
 Like a shaft of light her voice breaks forth; 
 
 My soul to meet it springs 
 
 As the shining water leaped of old 
 
 When stirred by angel wings. 
 
 Ay, longing to list anew, 
 
 Awake and in my dream. 
 
 But never a song she sang like this, 
 
 Sewing her long white seam. 
 1 8
 
 BY THE CANDLE'S i LICKERING GLEAM.
 
 THE LONG WHITE SHAM. 21 
 
 Fair fall the lights, the harbor lights, 
 
 That brought me in to thee. 
 And peace drop down on that low roof 
 
 Fur the sight that I did sec 
 And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear 
 All for the love of me. 
 
 For oh, for oh. with brows bent low, 
 
 By the candle's flickering gleam. 
 Her wedding-gown it was she vvrought, 
 Sewing the long white seam.
 
 MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE ! 
 
 OMAY I join the choir invisible 
 Of those immortal dead who live again 
 In minds made better by their presence ; live 
 In pulses stirred to generosity, 
 In deeds .of daring rectitude, in scorn 
 Of miserable aims that end with self. 
 In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, 
 And with their mild persistence urge men's minds 
 To vaster issues. 
 
 So to live is heaven : 
 To make undying music in the world. 
 Breathing; a beauteous order that controls 
 With growing sway the growing life of man. 
 So we inherit that sweet purity 
 For which we struggled, failed and agonized 
 Willi widening retrospect that bred despair. 
 Rebellious ilesh that would not be subdued, 
 A vicious parent shaming still its child, 
 Poor, anxious penitence is quick dissolved;
 
 MAY I REACH THAT TlklM HEAVEN! 
 
 ! "
 
 O MA Y I JO IX THE CHOIR INVISIBLE ! 25 
 
 Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies. 
 Die in the large and charitable air ; 
 And all our rarer, better, truer self, 
 That sobbed religiously in yearning song, 
 That watched to ease the burden of the world, 
 Laboriously tracing what must be, 
 And what may yet be better — saw rather 
 A worthier image for the sanctuary 
 
 QD v 
 
 And shaped it forth before the multitude, 
 
 Divinely human, raising worship so 
 
 To higher reverence more mixed with love — 
 
 CJ 
 
 That better self shall live till human Time 
 Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky 
 Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb 
 Unread forever. 
 
 This is life to come, 
 Which martyred men have made more glorious 
 For us who strive to follow. 
 
 May T reach 
 That purest heaven — be to other souls 
 The cup of strength in some greal agony, 
 Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
 
 26 O MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE! 
 
 Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, 
 Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, 
 And in diffusion ever more intense ! 
 So shall I join the choir invisible 
 Whose music is the gladness of the world.
 
 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 
 FROM GHENT TO AIX. 
 
 1 SPRANG to the stirrup, and Juris and lie: 
 I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; 
 "Good speed!' cried the watch as the gate-bolts 
 
 undrew, 
 "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through. 
 Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest. 
 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 
 
 Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace — 
 Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our 
 
 place ; 
 I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
 Then shortened cadi stirrup and se1 the pique right, 
 Etebuckled the check-strap, chained -lacker the bit, 
 Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 
 
 'Twas moonsel at starting; but while we drew near 
 Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; 
 At Boom a -real yellow star came oul to see:
 
 28 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS. 
 
 At Diiifeld 'twas morning as plain as could be ; 
 Ami from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half- 
 chime — 
 So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time ! " 
 
 At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
 
 And against him the cattle stood black every one, 
 
 To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; 
 
 And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last 
 
 With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
 
 The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray ; 
 
 And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear 
 
 bent back 
 For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track, 
 And one eye's black intelligence — ever that glance 
 O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ; 
 And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and 
 
 anon 
 His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 
 
 By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, " Stay 
 
 spur ! 
 Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her ; 
 We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick 
 
 wheeze
 
 \ I M RS( HOT Ul' I I Ml D OJ V SI I'M \ I ill SUN.
 
 HO W THE ) ' BROl 'GUT THE GOOD NE WS. 3 1 
 
 Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering 
 
 knees, 
 And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. 
 As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 
 
 So we were left galloping, Juris and I, 
 
 Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; 
 
 The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 
 
 o 1 o * 
 
 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like 
 
 chaff; 
 Till over by Delhem a dome spire sprung white 
 
 And "Gallop," gasped Jons, "for Aix is in sight! 
 
 "How they'll greet 11s!" — and all in a momenl 
 
 his roan 
 Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; 
 And there was my Roland to hear the whole weight 
 Of the news which alone could save Aix from her 
 
 fate, 
 With his nostrils like pits full of Mood to the brim, 
 And with circle- of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 
 
 Then I casl loose mv buff-coat, each holster let fall. 
 Shook <A'( both my jack-boots, lei go bell and all. 
 Stood up In the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear. 
 (',-dled mv Roland his pel name, my horse without 
 
 peel'
 
 32 HOW THE Y BR UGHT THE GOOD XE 1 1 'S. 
 
 Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any noise, 
 
 bad or good, 
 Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. 
 
 And all I remember is friends flocking around, 
 
 As I sate with his head twixt my knees on the 
 
 ground ; 
 And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine 
 As I poured down his throat our last measure of 
 
 wine. 
 Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
 Was no more than his due who brought good news 
 
 from Ghent.
 
 MOTHER AND POET. 
 
 DEAD ! one of them shot by the sea in the east, 
 And one of them shut in the west bv the sea. 
 
 VI 
 
 Dead! both my boys! When yon sit at the feast 
 And are wanting a great song for Italy free, 
 Let none look at me ! 
 
 Yet I was a poetess only last year, 
 
 And o;ood at my art for a woman, men said, 
 
 But this woman, this, who is agonized here, 
 
 The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head 
 Forever instead. 
 
 What art can woman be good at ? Oh, vain ! 
 
 What art is she good at, but hurting her breast 
 With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the 
 pain ? 
 Ah, boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as 
 you pressed, 
 
 And / proud by that test. 
 
 33
 
 34 MOTHER AXD POUT. 
 
 What's art for a woman ? To hold on her knees 
 Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round her 
 throat 
 Cling, strangle a little ! To sew by degrees, 
 
 And 'broider the long clothes and neat little coat ! 
 To dream and to dote. 
 
 To teach them ... It stings there. / made them 
 indeed 
 Speak plain the word ' country.' I taught them, 
 no doubt, 
 That a country's a thing men should die for at need. 
 / prated of liberty, rights, and about 
 The tyrant turned out. 
 
 And when their eyes flashed, oh, my beautiful eyes ! 
 
 I exulted ! nay, let them go forth at the wheels 
 Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise, 
 When one sits quite alone ! Then one weeps, then 
 one kneels ! 
 
 — God ! how the house feels. 
 
 At first happy news came, in gay letters moiled 
 With my kisses, of camp-life and glory, and how
 
 MOTHER AND POET. 35 
 
 They both loved me, and soon, coming home to be 
 spoiled, 
 In return would fan off every fly from my brow 
 With their ^reen laurel bouirh. 
 
 Then was triumph at Turin. < Ancona was free!' 
 And some one came out of the cheers in the street, 
 
 With ;i face pale as stone to say something to me. 
 My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet 
 While thev cheered in the street. 
 
 I bore it — friends soothed me: my grief looked 
 sublime 
 As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained 
 To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time 
 When the first grew immortal, while both of us 
 strained 
 
 To the height he had gained. 
 
 And letters still came — shorter, sadder, more strong. 
 
 Writ now but in one hand. 1 was not to faint. 
 One loved me for two . . . would be with me ere 
 long, 
 And 'Viva Italia' he died for, our saint. 
 Who forbids our complaint.
 
 36 MOTHER AND POET. 
 
 My Nanni would add, 'he was safe and aware 
 
 Of a presence that turned oil" the balls . . . was 
 imprest 
 It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear, 
 And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossessed, 
 To live on for the rest.' 
 
 On which, without pause, up the telegraph line, 
 
 Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta — Shot. 
 Till Ins mother. Ah, ah! 'his,' 'their' mother: not 
 1 mine.' 
 No voice says ' my mother ' again to me. What ! 
 You think Guido forgot ? 
 
 Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven, 
 They drop earth's affection, conceive not of woe ? 
 
 T think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven 
 Through that Love and Sorrow which reconciled so 
 The Above and Below. 
 
 Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst through 
 the dark 
 To the face of thy mother ! consider, I pray, 
 How we common mothers stand desolate, mark, 
 Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes 
 turned away, 
 
 And no last word to say!
 
 DEAD! ONE OF THEM shot BY THE SEA !\ I ill EAST, 
 AND ONE OF THEM SHOl i\ Mil: WEST in I'HK SKA.
 
 MOTHER AND POET. 39 
 
 Both boys dead ! but that's out of nature. We all 
 Have been patriots, yet each bouse must always 
 
 keep one. 
 
 'Twere imbecile hewing out roads to a wall, 
 
 And when Italy's made, for what end is it done 
 If we have not a son ? 
 
 Ah ! ah ! ah ! when Gaeta's taken, what then ? 
 
 When the fair, wicked queen sits no more at her 
 spori 
 Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out of men? 
 When your gnus of Cavalli, with final retort. 
 Have cut the game shorl — 
 
 When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee, 
 When your flag lakes all Heaven for its white, 
 green, and red, 
 When you have your country from mountain to sea, 
 When King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, 
 (And I have my dead) 
 
 What then? Do not mock me! Ah. rins: your 
 bells low ! 
 And burn your lights faintly. My country is there, 
 Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow. 
 My [taly's there — with my brave civic Pair. 
 To disfranchise despair.
 
 4 o MOTHER AND POET. 
 
 Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength, 
 And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn, 
 
 But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length 
 Into wail such as this ! and we sit on forlorn 
 When the man-child is born. 
 
 Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the west ! 
 
 And one of them shot in the east by the sea ! 
 Both ! both my boys ! If, in keeping the feast, 
 
 You want a great song for your Italy free, 
 Let none look at me !
 
 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 
 
 A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 
 There was lack of woman's nursing, there was 
 
 o? 
 
 dearth of woman's tears ; 
 
 But a comrade stood beside him while his life-blood 
 ebbed away, 
 
 And bent with pitying glances to hear what he 
 might say. 
 
 The dying soldier faltered, and he took that com- 
 rade's hand. 
 
 And he said. " I never more shall see my own. my 
 native land ; 
 
 Take a message, and a token to some distant friends 
 oi mine. 
 
 For I was born at Bingen, at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 "Tell my brothers and companions when they meet 
 and crowd around 
 
 To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vine- 
 yard ground, 
 
 41
 
 42 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 
 
 That we fought the battle bravely, and when the 
 day was dune, 
 
 Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the set- 
 ting sun ; 
 
 And, 'mid the dead and dying, were some grown old 
 in wars, 
 
 The death-wound on their callant breasts the last 
 of many scars : 
 
 And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's 
 morn decline. 
 
 And one had come from Bingen, fair Bineen on the 
 Rhine. 
 
 " Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort 
 
 her old as:e ; 
 For I was still a truant bird that thought his home 
 
 a cage. 
 For my father was a soldier, and even as a 
 
 child 
 My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles 
 
 fierce and wild ; 
 And when he died and left us to divide his scanty 
 
 hoard 
 I let them take whate'er they would, but I kept my 
 
 father's sword ;
 
 
 "ill. I. m\ SISTER Nor id WEEP FOR ME.
 
 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 45 
 
 And with boyish love I hung it where the bright 
 
 light used to shine 
 On the cottage wall at Bingen, calm Bingen on the 
 
 Rhine. 
 
 •• Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with 
 
 drooping head 
 AY hen the troops come marching home again with 
 
 glad and gallant tread. 
 But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and 
 
 steadfast eye, 
 For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die ; 
 And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her, in my 
 
 name, 
 To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, 
 And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's 
 
 sword and mine), 
 For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on the 
 
 Rhine. 
 
 "There's another, not a sister; in the happy days 
 gone by 
 
 You'd have know her by the merriment that spark- 
 led in her eye ; 
 
 Too innocent for coqnetrv, too fond for idle scorning,
 
 46 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 
 
 0, friend ! I fear the lightest heart makes some- 
 times heaviest mourning. 
 
 Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon 
 be risen 
 
 My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of 
 prison), 
 
 I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sun- 
 light shine 
 
 On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair Bingen on the 
 Rhine. 
 
 " I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, I heard, or 
 seemed to hear. 
 
 The German sonars we used to sins; in chorus sweet 
 and clear ; 
 
 And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, 
 
 The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening 
 calm and still ; 
 
 And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed, 
 with friendly talk, 
 
 Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remem- 
 bered walk. 
 
 And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly, in mine, 
 
 But we'll meet no more at Bingen, loved Bingen on 
 the Rhine."
 
 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 47 
 
 His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, his grasp 
 
 was childish weak. 
 His eyes put on a dying look, he sighed, and ceased 
 
 to speak ; 
 1 1 is comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life 
 
 had fled, 
 The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead ; 
 And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she 
 
 looked down 
 On the red sand of the battle-field with bloody corses 
 
 strown ; 
 Yet calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light 
 
 seemed to shine, 
 As it shone on distant Bingen, fair Bingen on the 
 
 Rhine.
 
 A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT. 
 
 IS there, for honest poverty, 
 That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
 The coward-slave, we pass him by, 
 We dare be poor for a' that ! 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 Our toils obscure, and a' that; 
 The rank is but the guinea-stamp ! 
 The man's the gowd for a' that. 
 
 What though on namely fare we dine. 
 
 Wear hodden gray, and a' that; 
 
 Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
 
 A man's a man for a' that. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
 
 The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 
 
 Is kin"; o' men for a' that. 
 
 o 
 
 Ye see yon birkie. ca'd a lord, 
 Wha struts, and stares, and a' that 
 
 4*
 
 \ MAN FOR A THAT.
 
 A MAN'S A MAX FOR A' THAT. 5* 
 
 Though hundreds worship at his word, 
 
 He's but a coof for a' that ; 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 His rib and star, and a' that, 
 
 The man of independent mind, 
 
 He looks and laughs at a' that. 
 
 A prince can make a belted knight. 
 
 A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
 
 But an honest man's aboon his might, 
 
 Guid faith, he mauna fa' that ! 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Their dignities, and a' that. 
 
 The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
 
 Are higher ranks than a' that. 
 
 Then let us pray that come it may. 
 
 A- come it will for a' that. 
 
 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 
 
 May bear the gree. and a' that ; 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 It's coming yet for a' that ; 
 
 That man to man. the warld o'er, 
 
 Shall brothers be for a' that.
 
 NATURE'S LADY. 
 
 THREE years she grew in sun and shower, 
 Then Nature said, " A lovelier flower 
 On earth was never sown ; 
 This child I to myself will take. 
 She shall be mine, and 1 will make 
 A lady of my own. 
 
 •• Myself will to my darling be 
 
 Both law and impulse : and with me 
 
 The Girl, in rock and plain, 
 
 \\\ earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 
 
 Shall feci an overseeing power 
 
 To kindle or restrain. 
 
 " She shall be sportive as the fawn 
 That wild with glee across the lawn 
 Or up the mountain springs; 
 And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
 And hers the silence and the calm, 
 Of mute insensate things. 
 
 52
 
 in Ml \l.l, BE SP< IRTIVE AS THE I \W\.
 
 NATURE'S LADY. 55 
 
 " The floating clouds their state shall lend 
 
 To her ; for her the willows bend ; 
 
 Nor shall she fail to see 
 
 Even in the motions of the storm 
 
 Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 
 
 By silent sympathy. 
 
 "The stars of midnight shall be dear 
 
 To her ; and she shall lean her ear 
 
 In many a secret place 
 
 Where rivulets dance their wayward round. 
 
 And beauty born of murmuring sound 
 
 Shall pass into her face."
 
 RING OUT, WILD BELLS. 
 
 RING out, wild hells, to the wild sky, 
 The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
 
 The year is dying in the night ; 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 
 
 Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow 
 The }'ear is going, let him go ; 
 
 Rinsr out the false, ring; in the true. 
 
 Ring out the grief that saps the mind 
 For those that here we see no more ; 
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 
 
 Rinor in redress to all mankind. 
 
 Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
 
 And ancient forms of party strife ; 
 Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
 
 With sweeter manners, purer laws. 
 
 56
 
 KING OUT THE FALSE, KING IN THE TRUE.
 
 RING OUT, WILD BELLS. 59 
 
 Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
 The faithless coldness of the times; 
 King out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 
 
 But ring the fuller minstel in. 
 
 Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
 The civic slander and the spite : 
 Ring in the love of truth and right, 
 
 Rins in the common love of u;ood. 
 
 Ring out old shapes of foul disease; 
 
 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
 
 Rins out the thousand wars of old, 
 Ring in the thousand years of peace. 
 
 Ring in the valiant man and free. 
 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 
 
 Ring out the darkness of the land, 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be.
 
 H 
 
 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 AIL to thee, blithe spirit — 
 Bird thou never wert — 
 That from heaven or near it 
 Pour est thy full heart 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 
 
 Higher still and higher 
 
 From the earth thou springest, 
 
 Like a cloud of fire; 
 
 The blue deep thou wingest, 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever sing- 
 
 est. 
 
 In the golden lightning; 
 
 Of the sunken sun. 
 O'er which clouds art bright 'nhu>\ 
 
 Thou dost float and run. 
 
 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 
 
 60
 
 TO A SKYLARK. 61 
 
 The pale purple even 
 
 Melts around thy flight; 
 Like a star of heaven, 
 
 In the broad daylight 
 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight — 
 
 Keen as are the arrows 
 
 Of that silver sphere 
 Whose intense lamp narrows 
 In the white dawn clear 
 Until we hardly see, we feel, that it is there. 
 
 All the earth and air 
 
 "With thy voice is loud, 
 As, when night is bare, 
 
 From one lonely cloud 
 The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is 
 overflowed. 
 
 What thou art we know not ; 
 
 What is most like thee? 
 From rainbow-clouds there How not 
 
 Drops so bright to sec 
 As from thy presence showers ;i rain of melody : —
 
 62 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 Like a poet hidden 
 
 In the light of thought, 
 Singing hymns unbidden. 
 Till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not ; 
 
 Like a high-born maiden 
 
 In a palace tower. 
 Soothing her love-laden 
 Soul in secret hour 
 With music sweet as love which overflows her bower ; 
 
 Like a glow-worm golden 
 
 In a dell of dew, 
 Scattering unbeh olden 
 Its aerial hue 
 Among the flowers and grass which screen it from 
 the view ; 
 
 Like a rose embowered 
 
 In its own green leaves, 
 By warm winds deflowered, 
 
 Till the scent it gives 
 Makes faint with too much heat these heavy-winged 
 thieves ;
 
 THOU ART UNSEEN, BUT VET I HEAR TH\ SHRILL DELIGHT.
 
 TO A SKYLARK, 65 
 
 Sound of vernal showers 
 
 On the twinkling grass, 
 Rain-awakened flowers — 
 All that ever was 
 Joyous and clear and fresh — thy music cloth surpass. 
 
 Teach us, sprite or bird, 
 
 What sweet thoughts are thine : 
 I have never heard 
 
 Praise of love or wine 
 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 
 
 Chorus hymeneal, 
 
 Or triumphal chaunt, 
 Matched with thine, would be all 
 
 But an empty vaunt — 
 A thing wherein we feel there is sonic hidden want. 
 
 What objects are the fountains 
 
 Of the happy strain ? 
 What fields, or waves or mountains? 
 
 What shapes of sky or plain ? 
 What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of 
 pain ?
 
 66 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 With thy clear keen joyance 
 Languor cann 
 
 ■ : 
 \ near the 
 
 Thou lovest, mew love's sad sal ty. 
 
 Waking or asleep. 
 
 Th . :i must deem 
 
 Things more tru ind d 
 
 Than v. Is .:u. 
 
 Or h ■ )uld thy i. - :. v in such a cry-- .. 
 sti 
 
 : before and aft 
 An 1 pun : . is not; 
 
 Our si] si _ -r 
 
 With - s fraught; 
 
 Oui - best songs re those that tell of sad/, si 
 thought. 
 
 l \ if v - rn 
 
 II .-•■ and pride ai : ir, 
 If we v things born 
 
 Not to s " ir, 
 
 I . w " I w thy joy w< - me n>
 
 TO A SKYLARK. 6; 
 
 Bettcr than all measures 
 
 Of delightful sound, 
 Better than all treasures 
 
 That in books are found. 
 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the 
 ground ! 
 
 Teach me half the gladness 
 
 That thv brain must know. 
 Such harmonious madness 
 
 From my lips would flow 
 The world should listen then as 1 am listening 
 now.
 
 THE LOST CHORD. 
 
 *EATED one day at the organ, 
 I was weary and ill at ease. 
 
 s 
 
 And my lingers wandered idly 
 Over the noisy keys. 
 
 I do not know what I was playing. 
 
 Or what I was dreaming then ; 
 But I struck one chord of music 
 
 Like the sound of a great amen. 
 
 It Hooded the crimson twilight 
 
 Like the close of an angel's psalm, 
 
 And it lay on my fevered spirit 
 With a touch of infinite calm. 
 
 It quieted pain and sorrow. 
 
 Like love overcoming strife ; 
 It seemed the harmonious echo 
 
 From our discordant life. 
 
 68
 
 I DO N< IT KN< IW w II \ I I W VS PLAYING, 
 OR WHA I ! WAS DREAMING Till \ .
 
 THE LOST CHORD. 
 
 It linked all perplexed meanings 
 
 Into one perfect peace, 
 And trembled away into silence 
 
 As if it were loath to cease. 
 
 I have sought, but I seek it vainly, 
 That one lost chord divine, 
 
 That came from the soul of the organ 
 And entered into mine. 
 
 It may be that death's bright angel 
 Will speak in that chord again. 
 
 It may be that only in heaven 
 I shall hear that grand amen.
 
 2020 
 
 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 II I I II 
 
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