The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Yes, my soul had been too eager; I had raised my hopes too high;
I had dreamed of perfect goodness there beyond the starry sky:
I had thought that over all things reigned a God supremely pure,
That he stooped from heaven to help us—but my faith was premature.

I had dreamed that by his Spirit every noble deed was wrought,
That he bent from heaven inspiring every sweet unselfish thought,
That he bade us seek his counsel and his grace to sanctify,
Breathing round us ghostly comfort, ever watching, ever nigh.

I had dreamed that all our sorrows could be used by him to teach
Holy lessons worth man's learning, mysteries passing thought and speech;
I had loved and I had worshipped—by the wintry Cornish foam
I had dreamed of stormless havens, of a Father and a home.

203

When before the grey-green breakers, plunging wildly through the waves,
Fled the fishing-boats in winter, while the hoarse wind through the caves
And the crags and coigns of granite swept with horror in its roar,
I had dreamed of heavenly sunshine shed along a waveless shore.

I had loved the bearded seamen—I had preached to them of peace
On their tossing boats in winter, when the storm-trumps never cease:
When the surges yearned to swallow man and boat within their graves
I had told them how the Saviour closed the wild mouths of the waves.

I had told them—and they listened, with stern faces very still—
That the raging deep was subject to a Father's loving will;
That the maddest wave was free not from its halter and its chain,
Though it seemed to us unfettered as it coursed along the main.

204

I had said, while all around us streamed the cataracts of the foam,
“God is lord of the wild waters, and of all ye love at home;
Here the waves' throats howl and raven, but on shore the storm is done,
And your children gather blossoms on the cliffs beneath the sun.

“There they pluck the golden trefoil, while our vessel sways and rocks,
With its brave bows never swerving at the rude waves' countless shocks:
There they gather the sea-poppies; God is guarding every one;
Here he rules in mist and darkness, there he smiles within the sun.

“Fathers, mothers, little children—he can shield you one and all;
Aye, without his loving mandate not a sparrow's plume shall fall,
No white feather of a sea-bird, till the course of time is run:
God can lighten the sea's darkness, he is mightier than the sun.”

205

I had comforted the widow, I had soothed the soul bereaved,
I had sought to bring God's comfort to the spirit as it grieved;
I had preached the eternal rapture of the life beyond the grave
While in hearing of my hearers death's voice sobbed within the wave.

In the little whitewashed chapel, with its hideous walls and pews,
I had preached to eager hearers Christ's, the gospel's, great good news;
I had preached of heavenly glories till the hearers' eyes grew dim,
Aye, and preached of hell's red terrors with insistence stern and grim.

I had said to the poor woman, when they brought her darling home
With his yellow hair still dripping with the clammy beads of foam,
“Christ has taken—yield him gently. Still your sweetheart with him waits
Smiling, watching, tarrying for you, just behind the golden gates.”

206

I had preached, and striven to comfort—now I knew it was a lie:
Of all hopeless hearts and weary the most hopeless heart was I,
The most hopeless and the weariest—I the preacher of the Lord,
I who trusted in his mercy, had been smitten by his sword.

I had preached of hell's red terrors—now my preaching all was done;
'Tis not hard to preach of darkness in the full light of the sun:
Easy it is to tell hell's captives to break through their prison bars
When oneself is steering heavenward in the full light of the stars!

I had preached, but now I knew it, the eternity of pain;
Heaven was lost, aye lost for ever, or there was no heaven to gain:
Now I knew what I had dreamed of, what the godless void may be—
Hell's fierce breakers stretching onward, and no Christ's foot on the sea.

207

Yes, my noblest dreams were scattered. I had dreamed that God had sent
Annie, my one love, my darling, my one priceless treasure lent
By the Lord to me, to lift me—so I fancied—yet more near
Ever unto him in spirit; a delusion—that was clear.

Oh my darling whom I worshipped, whom I would have died to win
In her pureness, her perfection, safe from weakness, stain, and sin;
Whom my whole soul would have honoured, in her tender girlish bloom;
Whom God gave me—for one moment—in a gaslit London room!

Was it noble, was it worthy of the Lord of heaven to make
Her my destined bride a harlot? was it godlike thus to take
From a weary heart its gladness, from a lonely soul its light,
When I lost her for a lifetime, having won her for a night?

208

Just one night—aye, one night only—and one night in such a place!
There to see her gazing at me with the same sweet girlish face
Little hardened, scarcely altered, that I used to watch at home,
While the moon outside the window lit the pure wild wastes of foam.

She the same—yet not the same one—nevermore the same to me
Who had held my hand in silence by the blue clear Cornish sea;
Who as pure as heaven above us had beheld the stars arise
Over sinless leagues of ocean, with love's starlight in her eyes.

She the very same for ever—with the wealth of raven hair,
Throat whose every curve was perfect, yes if anything more fair;
Yet with something lost for ever—with one jewel on the track
Dropped—and never through all ages shall we win that jewel back!

209

She the same in sinful London—she, with girlish eyes and heart,
Now a sinner, yes a sinner—just a portion, just a part
Of the wanton selfish city, she who might have been my own;
Now all London stood between us—we should never be alone!

I had preached of Christ's redemption. Could his rich blood wash out this?
Could he undo what had happened, and unfasten kiss from kiss?
Could he link by link remove it, sin's once-fashioned deadly chain?
Set before me my lost darling in her whiteness once again?

Could he take the feeling from me—though I found her very fair—
That another hand before me had caressed the raven hair?
That malignant haunting horror, of all poisonous pangs the worst,
That each touch had been discounted, that each kiss had been rehearsed!

210

Such a bridal—such a bride-bed—with the drama played before
And the author's step, it might be, even now close at the door:
Such a bride and such a marriage—just one hour love in the room,
Love's voice singing for one moment, then the silence of the tomb!

Singing—ah! and such a song too—not the song sung by the sea
When the envious throstle clamoured for the copyright from me:
When the gold sun paused to listen, though but half his toil was done;
When the sun forgot the cornfields, and the lark forgot the sun.

This was something like the cadence—still I carry it in my brain:
How the words light up those cornfields with the sun's old glory again!
How the words, though sweet and simple, sum the history up in brief,
For a covert threat lurks in them and a prophecy of grief!

211

The blue sea brings its greeting to the swallow,
Then drives it inland with the wild sea-storm.
The fields are crowned with bloom, but cold winds follow:
Hardly the flowers can keep each other warm.
The sun cries to the sky, “Soon must we part:
I love you—yes—but not with all my heart!”

“We love you, yes, but with a love most fleeting,”
So cry the stars to the eternal night:
“Farewell! farewell! the sun awaits our greeting;
We loved the darkness, now we love the light.
Farewell! farewell! the tenderest souls must part:
'Tis good to love—but not with all the heart.”

“I love you!” cries the vessel to the river:
I love your ripples and their harmless glee;
Yet one day with delicious shock and shiver
My bows will meet the white waves of the sea.
I love you, river, yet we needs must part:
I love you well—but not with all my heart.”

“I love you!” cries the sea's voice to the vessel,
“But I have loved a thousand loves before

212

Then flung them, after one wild amorous wrestle,
Pale and discarded on the loveless shore.
New loves await me, when the old loves depart:
My locks are grey, but youth is in my heart.”

Then her ringing clear voice deepened though the song more cruel grew;
Still I carry it in my memory, for the cadence thrilled me through:
Ah! how well the song expressed her—all her soul through the refrain
Chimed out silver-sweet and girlish, yet so careless of man's pain.

“I love you, friend—I love you, strong and tender,
And full of care for me and kindly thought:
I love the summer morning's golden splendour,
The frosty lacework on our windows wrought:
And yet I love not wholly, only in part;
All things I love—yet not with all my heart.

“There is a something still before me waiting;
I stand and tremble on the wave-washed shore:
I stand in doubt, uncertain, hesitating;
Love it may be has lovelier gifts in store.

213

Love only as yet has given himself in part:
Me Love has loved, but not with all his heart!

“If with your heart you love me, let the swallow
Point out the road to other shores than ours:
I am a bird of passage—I would follow
The blue-winged birds to lands of gayer flowers.
They tarry not—they love us, yet depart;
And I would follow them with all my heart.

“I love you well, but yet the hours are flying;
The summers pass us by—they gaze in scorn:
Yes, hour by hour the golden days are dying;
Life dies, while pleasure hardly yet is born.
Oh give your bright-winged bird leave to depart,
And I will love you then with all my heart.

Where she found the song, I know not—nor if here and there a word
She had altered, lightly singing, like the light heart of a bird:
In some book maybe she found it; he who wrote it knew not then
That on one heart 'twould be written with a dagger, not a pen.