University of Virginia Library


34

EPILOGUE TO LADY GUENDOLEN RAMSDEN'S BIRTHDAY BOOK.

[_]

[There were superstitions afloat at the time, particularly on the Continent, of terrible impending disasters—that a series of calamities was to be ended by fiery stars falling on the earth and destroying it.]

I

Half-heard in darkness, through the year now dead,
Like some stream underground, a murmur ran
That hostile spheres were mingling overhead
To breathe out bale on man;

II

And prophet speech, from the dim times of old,
Echoed each threat which glared along the sky,
So that the two with dread consent foretold,
The end was drawing nigh.

III

We learnt, when Death had chilled the shuddering days
With every form of sorrow and of pain,
Our world would melt away in the wide blaze
Of stars poured down like rain;

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IV

In a grim crowd, like gathering birds of prey,
Portent and omen round sick hearts assembled,
Till, if the firm mind brushed each fear away,
Men's nerves believed and trembled.

V

But though, as months rolled by on gloomy wings,
Staining the sunlight Evil shapes flew past,
These wild and horrible imaginings
Sunk down to rest at last;

VI

To rest,—and yet we paused, nor could deny
That more things (things remote, of loftier birth)
‘Than are dreamt of in our philosophy,’
Make up the Heavens and Earth.

VII

Whilst the few breathing finer air than ours,
Who reach at life beyond this life of sense,
Felt through the soul a kindling of new powers,
Beneath strange influence.

VIII

Their eyes were filled with visionary light,
On their rapt ears a secret whisper fell,
And some force drove them, in their own despite
To see, and to foretell.

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IX

Thus urged, they fathom the heart's depth and learn
How Space and Time adjust for each the year,
By instinct not by knowledge they discern,
And read the star-signs clear.

X

If then to some their sentence bitter seems,
If words strike harsh; let such remember still,
That our fair prophetess, compelled by dreams.
Strikes without thought or will;

XI

She is the harp, unthrilled by any stir,
Till angel-fingers lightly wake the strings,
Then, answering touches only felt by her,
The Song of Truth she sings.
 

Old Mother Nixon predicted the destruction of the world in 1883.