 | Poems |  |
II. VOL. II.
1
ORPHEUS AND THE SIRENS.
‘Orpheus laudes Deorum cantans et reboans, Sirenum voces confudit et summovit: meditationes enim rerum divinarum voluptates sensûs non tantum potestate, sed etiam suavitate superant.’—Lord Bacon, Sapientia Veterum.
High on the poop, with many a godlike peer,
With heroes and with kings, the flower of Greece,
That gathered at his word from far and near,
To snatch the guarded fleece,
With heroes and with kings, the flower of Greece,
That gathered at his word from far and near,
To snatch the guarded fleece,
Great Jason stood; nor ever from the soil
The anchor's brazen tooth unfastenëd,
Till, auspicating so his glorious toil,
From golden cup he shed
The anchor's brazen tooth unfastenëd,
Till, auspicating so his glorious toil,
From golden cup he shed
Libations to the Gods, to highest Jove,
To Waves and prospering Winds, to Night and Day,
To all by whom befriended they might prove
A favourable way.
To Waves and prospering Winds, to Night and Day,
To all by whom befriended they might prove
A favourable way.
With him the twins, one mortal, one divine,
Of Leda, and the Strength of Hercules;
And Tiphys, steersman through the perilous brine,
And many more with these:
Of Leda, and the Strength of Hercules;
And Tiphys, steersman through the perilous brine,
And many more with these:
Great father, Peleus, of a greater son,
And Atalanta, martial queen, was here;
And that supreme Athenian, nobler none,
And Idmon, holy seer:
And Atalanta, martial queen, was here;
And that supreme Athenian, nobler none,
And Idmon, holy seer:
2
Nor Orpheus pass unnamed, though from the rest
Apart, he leaned upon that lyre divine,
Which once in heaven his glory should attest,
Set there, a sacred sign:
Apart, he leaned upon that lyre divine,
Which once in heaven his glory should attest,
Set there, a sacred sign:
But when auspicious thunders pealed on high,
Unto its chords and to his chant sublime
The joyful heroes, toiling manfully,
With measured strokes kept time.
Unto its chords and to his chant sublime
The joyful heroes, toiling manfully,
With measured strokes kept time.
Then when that keel divided first the waves,
Them Chiron cheered from Pelion's piny crown,
And wondering sea-nymphs rose from ocean caves,
And all the Gods looked down.
Them Chiron cheered from Pelion's piny crown,
And wondering sea-nymphs rose from ocean caves,
And all the Gods looked down.
The bark divine, itself instinct with life,
Went forth, and baffled ocean's wildest shocks,
Eluding, though with pain and arduous strife,
Those huge encountering rocks;
Went forth, and baffled ocean's wildest shocks,
Eluding, though with pain and arduous strife,
Those huge encountering rocks;
And force and fraud o'ercome, and peril past,
The hard-won trophy raised in open view,
Through prosperous floods was bringing home at last
Its high heroic crew;
The hard-won trophy raised in open view,
Through prosperous floods was bringing home at last
Its high heroic crew;
Till now they cried (Ææa left behind,
And the dead waters of the Cronian main),
‘No peril more upon our path we find,
Safe haven soon we gain:’
And the dead waters of the Cronian main),
‘No peril more upon our path we find,
Safe haven soon we gain:’
When, as they spake, sweet sounds upon the breeze
Came to them, melodies till then unknown,
And, blended into one delight with these,
Sweet odours sweetly blown—
Came to them, melodies till then unknown,
And, blended into one delight with these,
Sweet odours sweetly blown—
3
Sweet odours wafted from the flowery isle,
Sweet music breathëd by the Sirens three,
Who there lie wait, all passers to beguile,
Fair monsters of the sea!
Sweet music breathëd by the Sirens three,
Who there lie wait, all passers to beguile,
Fair monsters of the sea!
Fair monsters foul, that with their magic song
And beauty to the shipman wandering
Worse peril than disastrous whirlpools strong,
Or fierce sea-robbers bring.
And beauty to the shipman wandering
Worse peril than disastrous whirlpools strong,
Or fierce sea-robbers bring.
Sometimes upon the diamond rocks they leant,
Sometimes they sate upon the flowery lea
That sloped towàrd the wave, and ever sent
Shrill music o'er the sea.
Sometimes they sate upon the flowery lea
That sloped towàrd the wave, and ever sent
Shrill music o'er the sea.
One piped, one sang, one swept the golden lyre;
And thus to forge and fling a threefold chain
Of linkëd harmony the three conspire,
O'er land and hoary main.
And thus to forge and fling a threefold chain
Of linkëd harmony the three conspire,
O'er land and hoary main.
The winds, suspended by the charmëd song,
Shed treacherous calm about that fatal isle;
The waves, as though the halcyon o'er its young
Were always brooding, smile;
Shed treacherous calm about that fatal isle;
The waves, as though the halcyon o'er its young
Were always brooding, smile;
And every one that listens, presently
Forgetteth home, and wife, and children dear,
All noble enterprise and purpose high,
And turns his pinnace here,—
Forgetteth home, and wife, and children dear,
All noble enterprise and purpose high,
And turns his pinnace here,—
He turns his pinnace, warning taking none
From the plain doom of all that went before,
Whose bones lie bleaching in the wind and sun,
And whiten all the shore.
From the plain doom of all that went before,
Whose bones lie bleaching in the wind and sun,
And whiten all the shore.
4
He cannot heed,—so sweet unto him seems
To reap the harvest of the promised joy;
The wave-worn man of such secure rest dreams,
So guiltless of annoy.
To reap the harvest of the promised joy;
The wave-worn man of such secure rest dreams,
So guiltless of annoy.
—The heroes and the kings, the wise, the strong,
That won the fleece with cunning and with might,
They too are taken in the net of song,
Snared in that false delight;
That won the fleece with cunning and with might,
They too are taken in the net of song,
Snared in that false delight;
Till ever loathlier seemed all toil to be,
And that small space they yet must travel o'er,
Stretched, an immeasurable breadth of sea,
Their fainting hearts before.
And that small space they yet must travel o'er,
Stretched, an immeasurable breadth of sea,
Their fainting hearts before.
‘Let us turn hitherward our bark,’ they cried,
‘And, bathed in blisses of this happy isle,
Past toil forgetting and to come, abide
In joyfulness awhile;
Mr. Holden has done me the honour to include more than one translation from this poem in his Folia Silvulæ, pp. 342, 343. This is from his own pen.
Huc feriantes ibimus, ibimus,
Ridens amœnum quo vocat insula,
Paulisper obliti laboris
Præteriti simul ac futuri;
Et mox refecti corpora obibimus
Rursus laborem, si superest labor,
Rursusque pectemus marinam
Præpete canitiem carinâ?
Quo dia proles tenditis, immemor
Famæ prioris, sanguinis immemor?
Quid voltis? at quondam pigebit
Degeneres maculasse nomen.
Blandis sed illi vocibus illicum
Iam iamque prensant litora creduli;
Fractis nec advertere fœdam
Undique navigiis harenam,
Aut visa nullos incutiunt metus:
Neque usta ventis, usta caloribus,
Quis omnis albescebat ora
Ossa monent revocare gressum.
Ridens amœnum quo vocat insula,
Paulisper obliti laboris
Præteriti simul ac futuri;
Et mox refecti corpora obibimus
Rursus laborem, si superest labor,
Rursusque pectemus marinam
Præpete canitiem carinâ?
Quo dia proles tenditis, immemor
Famæ prioris, sanguinis immemor?
Quid voltis? at quondam pigebit
Degeneres maculasse nomen.
Blandis sed illi vocibus illicum
Iam iamque prensant litora creduli;
Fractis nec advertere fœdam
Undique navigiis harenam,
Aut visa nullos incutiunt metus:
Neque usta ventis, usta caloribus,
Quis omnis albescebat ora
Ossa monent revocare gressum.
‘And, bathed in blisses of this happy isle,
Past toil forgetting and to come, abide
In joyfulness awhile;
‘And then, refreshed, our tasks resume again,
If other tasks we yet are bound unto;
Combing the hoary tresses of the main
With sharp swift keel anew.’
If other tasks we yet are bound unto;
Combing the hoary tresses of the main
With sharp swift keel anew.’
O heroes, that had once a nobler aim,
O heroes sprung from many a godlike line,
What will ye do, unmindful of your fame,
And of your race divine?
O heroes sprung from many a godlike line,
What will ye do, unmindful of your fame,
And of your race divine?
But they, by these prevailing voices now
Lured, evermore drew nearer to the land,
Nor saw the wrecks of many a goodly prow,
Which strewed that fatal strand;
Lured, evermore drew nearer to the land,
Nor saw the wrecks of many a goodly prow,
Which strewed that fatal strand;
5
Or seeing, feared not; warning taking none
From the plain doom of all that went before,
Whose bones lay bleaching in the wind and sun,
And whitened all the shore.
From the plain doom of all that went before,
Whose bones lay bleaching in the wind and sun,
And whitened all the shore.
And some impel through foaming billows now
The hissing keel, and some tumultuous stand
Upon the deck, or crowd about the prow,
Waiting to leap to land.
The hissing keel, and some tumultuous stand
Upon the deck, or crowd about the prow,
Waiting to leap to land.
And them this fatal lodestar of delight
Had drawn to ruin wholly, but for one
Of their own selves, who swept his lyre with might,
Calliope's great son.
Had drawn to ruin wholly, but for one
Of their own selves, who swept his lyre with might,
Calliope's great son.
He singing, (for mere words were now in vain,
That melody so led all souls at will),
Singing he played, and matched that earth-born strain
With music sweeter still.
That melody so led all souls at will),
Singing he played, and matched that earth-born strain
With music sweeter still.
Of holier joy he sang, more true delight,
In other happier isles for them reserved,
Who, faithful here, from constancy and right
And truth have never swerved;
In other happier isles for them reserved,
Who, faithful here, from constancy and right
And truth have never swerved;
How evermore the tempered ocean gales
Breathe round those hidden islands of the blest,
Steeped in the glory spread, when daylight fails
Far in the sacred West;
Breathe round those hidden islands of the blest,
Steeped in the glory spread, when daylight fails
Far in the sacred West;
How unto them, beyond our mortal night,
Shines evermore in strength the golden day;
And meadows with purpureal roses bright
Bloom round their feet alway;
Shines evermore in strength the golden day;
And meadows with purpureal roses bright
Bloom round their feet alway;
6
And plants of gold—some burn beneath the sea,
And some, for garlands apt, the land doth bear,
And lacks not many an incense-breathing tree,
Enriching all that air.
And some, for garlands apt, the land doth bear,
And lacks not many an incense-breathing tree,
Enriching all that air.
Nor need is more, with sullen strength of hand
To vex the stubborn earth, or cleave the main;
They dwell apart, a calm heroic band,
Not tasting toil or pain.
To vex the stubborn earth, or cleave the main;
They dwell apart, a calm heroic band,
Not tasting toil or pain.
Nor sang he only of unfading bowers,
Where they a tearless painless age fulfil,
In fields Elysian spending blissful hours,
Remote from every ill;
Where they a tearless painless age fulfil,
In fields Elysian spending blissful hours,
Remote from every ill;
But of pure gladness found in temperance high,
In duty owned, and reverenced with awe,
Of man's true freedom, which may only lie
In servitude to law;
In duty owned, and reverenced with awe,
Of man's true freedom, which may only lie
In servitude to law;
And how 'twas given through virtue to aspire
To golden seats in ever calm abodes;
Of mortal men, admitted to the quire
Of high immortal Gods.
To golden seats in ever calm abodes;
Of mortal men, admitted to the quire
Of high immortal Gods.
He sang—a mighty melody divine,
Waking deep echoes in the heart of each—
Reminded whence they drew their royal line,
And to what heights might reach.
Waking deep echoes in the heart of each—
Reminded whence they drew their royal line,
And to what heights might reach.
And all the while they listened, them the speed
Bore onward still of favouring wind and tide,
That when their ears were vacant to give heed
To any sound beside,
Bore onward still of favouring wind and tide,
That when their ears were vacant to give heed
To any sound beside,
7
The feeble echoes of that other lay,
Which held awhile their senses thralled and bound,
Were in the distance fading quite away,
A dull unheeded sound.
Which held awhile their senses thralled and bound,
Were in the distance fading quite away,
A dull unheeded sound.
8
ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE.
Aristæus, all whose bees have perished by disease and hunger, inquires of Proteus the cause of this disaster and the remedy. Proteus replies:
Great as thy plague was thy crime: his lost wife angrily mourning
Orpheus, meriting ill that grievous doom that befell him,
Stirs (if no fates avert), for thee these righteous revenges.
She, while she fled from thee in headlong haste and unwary,
Nigh to her death, that snake of folds enormous beheld not,
Coiled in the brake at her feet, and guarding the banks of the river.
But then the choir of her equals, the Dryads, with shrill lamentation
Filled the high mountain tops; nor wanted voices of weeping
All o'er that rugged land, by Mars beloved; and the rivers
Mourned, and with high Pangæum Athenian Orithyia.
He with his hollow shell his sick soul loving to solace,
Thee on the lonely sea shore, his sweetest partner, sang ever,
9
Yea, and the jaws of hell, the high portals of Pluto's dominion,
And that forest that glooms with a night of darkness and terror
Ent'ring, he came to the ghosts, he came to the Monarch, the dreadful,
Came to the hearts that know not to melt at man's supplication.
But, disturbed by his song, from the lowest recesses of Hades
Flitted the shadows thin, weak forms of the dwellers in darkness;
These than the birds not fewer, the thousands that hide in the branches,
Evening them from the mountains or storms of winter compelling;
Matrons, and men of old, and bodies of glorious heroes,
Left by the breath of life, and boys, and maidens unmarried,
And on the funeral pile youths stretched in the sight of their parents;
Whom the black slime all round, and the reed deform of Cocytus,
Whom with its sullen tide that marsh unlovely confined there
Keeps, and the river of hate with a ninefold girdle coerces.
Yea, and astonied then Death's halls and secret pavilions
Stood, and the Furies three, their locks with pale vipers enwoven;
10
And, by the storm undriven, stayed moveless the wheel of Ixion.
And now, retracing his path, he had every danger surmounted,
And his beloved and restored to the upper air was approaching,
Pacing behind—for such was the law Proserpina gave them—
When, too heedless a lover, him madness seized of a sudden,
Such as might well find grace, if grace dwelt ever in Hades.
His Eurydice he on the verge and confines of daylight,
Too, too fond and forgetful! must pause and look back on; with that look
Wasted was all his toil, and the laws of the tyrant remorseless
Broken; the Stygian pools three times with a shrieking resounded.
Orpheus,' she cried, ‘who thee and me has ruined, the wretched?
Whence this madness immense? lo! the cruel destinies call me
Back, and my swimming eyes with a weight of slumber are sealing.
And now adieu; I am borne by a night of darkness surrounded,
Stretching to thee,—ah, thine no longer,—the hands that are helpless.’
Thus exclaimed she, and straight, like smoke that mingles in thin air,
Out of his sight she vanished, another way fleeing; nor ever
11
Saw she again at all; nor him hell's ferryman henceforth
Suffered to pass that lake which each from the other divided.
What should he do, or whither, of wife twice widowed, betake him?
Move with what voice, what weeping, the powers of hell or of heaven?
Cold in the Stygian bark she already was crossing the river:
Him they report for seven whole months in order unbroken,
Under a lofty rock, by Strymon's desolate waters,
This among icy caves to have wept and weeping recounted;
Soothing the tigers with song, and with song compelling the forest;
As when, mourning beneath some poplar shade, Philomela
Wails for her ravished young, whom the cruel ploughman observing
Has from the nest withdrawn, an unfledged brood; but the mother
Grieves on a bough all night, her pitiful descant repeating,
Descant forlorn, that fills wide spaces with sad lamentation.
12
NATURAL MYTHOLOGY.
THE PHŒNIX.When Adam ate of that forbidden food,
Sole bird that shared not in his sin was I:
And so my life is evermore renewed,
And I among the dying never die.
THE PELICAN.
I am the bird that from my bleeding breast
Draw the dear stream which nourishes my brood;
And feebly unto men his love attest,
True pelican, that feeds them with his blood.
THE HALCYON.
For twice seven days, in winter's middle rage,
The winds are hushed, the billows are at rest;
Heaven all for me their fury doth assuage,
While I am brooding o'er my fluctuant nest.
THE COCK.
What time an ass with horrid bray you hear,
Believe he sees a wicked sprite at hand;
But when I make my carol loud and clear,
Know that an angel doth before me stand.
13
I, clapping on my sides my wings with might,
First to myself the busy morn proclaim:
Who others will to tasks and toil incite,
Should first himself have summoned to the same.
THE PEACOCK.
I, glorying in my tail's extended pride,
See my foul legs, and then I shriek outright;
So shrieks a human soul, which has descried
Its baseness 'mid vainglorious self-delight.
THE EAGLE.
I no degenerate progeny will raise,
But try my callow offspring, which will look
In the sun's eye with peremptory gaze;
Nor feebler nurslings in my nest will brook.
THE ERMINE.
To miry places me the hunters drive,
Where I my robe of purest white must stain;
Then yield I, nor for life will longer strive;
For spotless death, not spotted life, is gain.
THE MANDRAKE.
I from the earth with bleeding roots am wrung,
With shriekings heard far off and keen lament:
So thou and all who to the world have clung
Shall from the world with piercing cries be rent.
14
We light on fruits and flowers and purest things;
For if on carcasses or aught unclean,
When homeward we returned, with mortal stings
Would slay us the keen watchers round our queen.
THE DIAMOND.
I only polished am in mine own dust;
Nought else against my hardness will prevail:
And thou, O man, in thine own sufferings must
Be polished: every meaner art will fail.
THE NIGHTINGALE.
Leaning my bosom on a pointed thorn,
I bleed, and bleeding sing my sweetest strain;
For sweetest songs of saddest hearts are born,
And who may here dissever love and pain?
THE SNAKE.
Myself I force some narrowest passage through,
Leaving my old and wrinkled skin behind,
And issuing forth in splendour of my new:
Hard entrance into life all creatures find.
THE TIGER.
Hearing sweet music, as in fell despite,
Enraged, myself I do in pieces tear:
The melody of other men's delight
There are of you who can as little bear.
15
Angels are we, who once from heaven exiled,
Would scale its crystal battlements again;
But have their keen-eyed watchers not beguiled,
Thrust by their glittering lances back amain.
THE YOUNG CHILDREN.
Fair sight are we, white doves, which refuge sure
Are finding in a tall rock's rifted side;
Types of a fairer thing, of children pure,
Which early did their lives with Jesu hide.
MORNING.
Day conquers: night, that was day's foe, is dead,
And right across the morning's threshold lies:
Day's golden sword its crimson blood hath shed,
Which overfloweth all the eastern skies.
THE FOUR EVANGELISTS.
As those four streams that had in Eden birth,
And did the whole world water, four ways going,
With spiritual freshness fill our thirsty earth
Four fountains from one sacred mountain flowing.
ST. STEPHEN (Στεφανος).
Of all which thou shouldst be thy glorious name
Was prophecy and omen long before,
Who, being Stephen, from the first didst claim
The crown at length thy conquering temples wore
16
[Oh thou of dark forebodings drear]
Oh thou of dark forebodings drear,
Oh thou of such a faithless heart,
Hast thou forgotten what thou art
That thou hast ventured so to fear?
Oh thou of such a faithless heart,
Hast thou forgotten what thou art
That thou hast ventured so to fear?
No weed on ocean's bosom cast,
Borne by its never-resting foam
This way and that, without a home,
Till flung on some bleak shore at last:
Borne by its never-resting foam
This way and that, without a home,
Till flung on some bleak shore at last:
But thou the lotus, which above
Swayed here and there by wind and tide,
Yet still below doth fixed abide,
Fast rooted in the eternal Love.
Swayed here and there by wind and tide,
Yet still below doth fixed abide,
Fast rooted in the eternal Love.
17
THE OIL OF MERCY.
The traditions of a relation between the Tree of Life which was set in Paradise, and the Cross on which hung the Saviour of the world, are almost infinite; or, rather, the one deep idea of their identity has clothed itself in innumerable forms. They constitute one of the richest portions of what may perhaps, without offence, be termed the mythology of the Christian Church. That which I have followed here is given in the Evangelium Nicodemi, c. 19 (Thilo, Codex Apocryphus, vol. i. p. 684). They have been twice wrought up into sublime dramatic poems by Calderon; once in his Auto, El Arbol del mejor Fruto; and again in that which is indeed only the same poem in a later and more perfect form, La Sibila del Oriente. We have the same tradition of Seth going to the gates of Paradise in the fine old Cornish Mystery, The Creation of the World, and references to it are frequent in the popular literature of the Middle Ages; see, for instance, Goethe's recension of the Reineke Fuchs, the tenth book; and Mandeville's Travels. Rückert (see p. 24) gives the tradition in somewhat a different shape. This poem, which owes much to Calderon, is written in Spanish assonants, in which words are considered to rhyme which have the same vowel-sounds, though the consonants are different; thus angel and raiment, having the same vowel-sounds, a—e, are perfect assonant rhymes. As in the Persian Ghazel, one rhyme runs through the whole poem, in which all the alternate lines, beginning with the second, terminate: and of course the rhythmical effect must be judged, not by any half-dozen lines apart, but by the total impression which the poem continuously read leaves on the ear.
Many beauteous spots the earth
Still may keep; but brighter, fairer,
Did that long-lost Eden show
Than the loveliest that remaineth:
So what marvel, when our Sire
Was from thence expelled, he waited
Lingering with a fond regret
Round those holy happy places
Once his own, while innocence
Was his bright sufficient raiment?
Long he lingered there, and saw
Up from dark abysmal spaces
Four strong rivers rushing ever:
Saw the mighty wall exalted
High as heaven, and on its heights
Glimpses of the fiery Angel.
Long he lingered near, with hope
Which had never quite abated,
That one day the righteous sentence,
Dooming him to stern disgraces,
Should be disannulled, and he
In his first bliss reinstated.
Still may keep; but brighter, fairer,
Did that long-lost Eden show
Than the loveliest that remaineth:
So what marvel, when our Sire
Was from thence expelled, he waited
Lingering with a fond regret
Round those holy happy places
Once his own, while innocence
Was his bright sufficient raiment?
Long he lingered there, and saw
Up from dark abysmal spaces
Four strong rivers rushing ever:
Saw the mighty wall exalted
High as heaven, and on its heights
Glimpses of the fiery Angel.
Long he lingered near, with hope
Which had never quite abated,
That one day the righteous sentence,
Dooming him to stern disgraces,
Should be disannulled, and he
In his first bliss reinstated.
But when mortal pangs surprised him,
By an unseen foe assailëd,
Seth he called, his dearest son,
Called him to his side, and faintly
Him addressed—‘My son, thou knowest
Of what sufferings partaker,
Of what weariness and toil,
Of what sickness, pain and danger
I have been, since that stern hour
Which from Eden's precincts drave me.
But thou dost not know that God,
When to exile forth I farëd,
Homeless wanderer through the world,
Thus with gracious speech bespake me:
—“Though thou mayst not here continue,
In these blessëd happy places,
As before from pain exempt,
Suffering, toil, and mortal ailment,
Think not thou shalt therefore be
Of my loving care forsaken:
Rather shall that Tree of Life,
In the middle garden planted,
Once a precious balm distil,
Which to thee applied, thine ailments
Shall be all removed, and thou
Made of endless life partaker.”—
With these words He cheered me then,
Words that have remained engraven
On my bosom's tablets since.
Go then, dear my son, oh hasten
Unto Eden's guarded gate,
Tell thine errand to the Angel;
And that fiery sentinel
To the Tree will guide thee safely,
Where it stands, aloft, alone,
In the garden's middle spaces:
Thence bring back that oil of mercy,
Ere my lamp of life be wasted.’
By an unseen foe assailëd,
18
Called him to his side, and faintly
Him addressed—‘My son, thou knowest
Of what sufferings partaker,
Of what weariness and toil,
Of what sickness, pain and danger
I have been, since that stern hour
Which from Eden's precincts drave me.
But thou dost not know that God,
When to exile forth I farëd,
Homeless wanderer through the world,
Thus with gracious speech bespake me:
—“Though thou mayst not here continue,
In these blessëd happy places,
As before from pain exempt,
Suffering, toil, and mortal ailment,
Think not thou shalt therefore be
Of my loving care forsaken:
Rather shall that Tree of Life,
In the middle garden planted,
Once a precious balm distil,
Which to thee applied, thine ailments
Shall be all removed, and thou
Made of endless life partaker.”—
With these words He cheered me then,
Words that have remained engraven
On my bosom's tablets since.
Go then, dear my son, oh hasten
Unto Eden's guarded gate,
Tell thine errand to the Angel;
And that fiery sentinel
To the Tree will guide thee safely,
Where it stands, aloft, alone,
In the garden's middle spaces:
19
Ere my lamp of life be wasted.’
When his father's feeble words
Seth had heard, at once he hastened,
Hoping to bring back that oil,
Ere the light had wholly faded
From his father's eyes, the lamp
Of his life had wholly wasted.
O'er the plain besprent with flowers,
With ten thousand colours painted
In that spring time of the year,
By Thelassar on he hastened,
Made no pause, till Eden's wall
Rose an ever-verdant barrier,
High as heaven's great roof, that shines
As with bright carbuncles paven.
There the son of Adam paused,
For above him hung the Angel
In the middle air suspense,
With his swift sword glancing naked.
Down upon his face he fell,
By that sun-bright vision dazëd.
‘Child of man’—these words he heard,
‘Rise, and say what thing thou cravest.’
All his father's need he told,
And how now his father waited,
In his mighty agony
For that medicine yearning greatly.
‘But thou seekest’—(this reply
Then he heard) ‘thou seekest vainly
For that oil of mercy yet,
Nor will tears nor prayers avail thee.
Go then quickly back, and bring
These my words to him, thy parent,
Parent of the race of men.
He and they in faith and patience
Must abide, long years must roll
Ere the precious fruit be gathered,
Ere the Oil of Mercy flow
From the blessëd Tree and sacred,
In the Paradise of God:
Nor till then will be obtainëd
The strong medicine of life,
Healing every mortal ailment;
Nor thy sire till then be made
Of immortal life a sharer.
Fear not that his heart will sink
When these tidings back thou bearest,
Rather thou shalt straightway see
All his fears and pangs abated,
And by faith allayed to meekness
Every wish and thought impatient;
Hasten back then—thy return,
Strongly yearning, he awaiteth:
Hasten back then.’
Seth had heard, at once he hastened,
Hoping to bring back that oil,
Ere the light had wholly faded
From his father's eyes, the lamp
Of his life had wholly wasted.
O'er the plain besprent with flowers,
With ten thousand colours painted
In that spring time of the year,
By Thelassar on he hastened,
Made no pause, till Eden's wall
Rose an ever-verdant barrier,
High as heaven's great roof, that shines
As with bright carbuncles paven.
There the son of Adam paused,
For above him hung the Angel
In the middle air suspense,
With his swift sword glancing naked.
Down upon his face he fell,
By that sun-bright vision dazëd.
‘Child of man’—these words he heard,
‘Rise, and say what thing thou cravest.’
All his father's need he told,
And how now his father waited,
In his mighty agony
For that medicine yearning greatly.
‘But thou seekest’—(this reply
Then he heard) ‘thou seekest vainly
For that oil of mercy yet,
Nor will tears nor prayers avail thee.
Go then quickly back, and bring
20
Parent of the race of men.
He and they in faith and patience
Must abide, long years must roll
Ere the precious fruit be gathered,
Ere the Oil of Mercy flow
From the blessëd Tree and sacred,
In the Paradise of God:
Nor till then will be obtainëd
The strong medicine of life,
Healing every mortal ailment;
Nor thy sire till then be made
Of immortal life a sharer.
Fear not that his heart will sink
When these tidings back thou bearest,
Rather thou shalt straightway see
All his fears and pangs abated,
And by faith allayed to meekness
Every wish and thought impatient;
Hasten back then—thy return,
Strongly yearning, he awaiteth:
Hasten back then.’
On the word
To his father back he hastened,
Found him waiting his return
In his agony, his latest:
Told him of what grace to come,
Of what sure hope he was bearer:
And beheld him on that word,
Every fear and pang assuagëd,
And by faith allayed to meekness
Every wish and thought impatient,
Like a child resign himself
Unto sweet sleep, calm and painless.
To his father back he hastened,
Found him waiting his return
In his agony, his latest:
Told him of what grace to come,
Of what sure hope he was bearer:
And beheld him on that word,
Every fear and pang assuagëd,
And by faith allayed to meekness
Every wish and thought impatient,
Like a child resign himself
Unto sweet sleep, calm and painless.
21
THE TREE OF LIFE.
There is a spot, of men believed to be
Earth's centre, and the place of Adam's grave,
And here a slip that from a barren tree
Was cut, fruit sweet and salutary gave—
Yet not unto the tillers of the land;
That blessëd fruit was culled by other hand.
Earth's centre, and the place of Adam's grave,
And here a slip that from a barren tree
Was cut, fruit sweet and salutary gave—
Yet not unto the tillers of the land;
That blessëd fruit was culled by other hand.
The shape and fashion of the tree attend;
From undivided stem at first it sprung;
Thence in two arms its branches did outsend,
Like sail-yards whence the flowing sheet is hung,
Or as a yoke that in the furrow stands,
When the tired steers are loosened from their bands.
From undivided stem at first it sprung;
Thence in two arms its branches did outsend,
Like sail-yards whence the flowing sheet is hung,
Or as a yoke that in the furrow stands,
When the tired steers are loosened from their bands.
Three days the slip from which this tree should spring
Appeared as dead—then suddenly it bore,
(While earth and heaven stood awed and wondering)
Harvest of vital fruit;—the fortieth more
Beheld it touch heaven's summit with its height,
And shroud its sacred head in clouds of light.
Appeared as dead—then suddenly it bore,
(While earth and heaven stood awed and wondering)
Harvest of vital fruit;—the fortieth more
Beheld it touch heaven's summit with its height,
And shroud its sacred head in clouds of light.
Yet the same while it did put forth below
Branches twice six, these too with fruit endued,
Which stretching to all quarters might bestow
Upon all nations medicine and food,
Which mortal men might eat, and eating be
Sharers henceforth of immortality.
Branches twice six, these too with fruit endued,
Which stretching to all quarters might bestow
Upon all nations medicine and food,
Which mortal men might eat, and eating be
Sharers henceforth of immortality.
22
So fared it; but when fifty days were gone,
A breath divine, a mighty storm of heaven
On all the branches swiftly lighted down,
To which a rich nectareous taste was given,
And all the heavy leaves that on them grew
Distilled henceforth a sweet and heavenly dew.
A breath divine, a mighty storm of heaven
On all the branches swiftly lighted down,
To which a rich nectareous taste was given,
And all the heavy leaves that on them grew
Distilled henceforth a sweet and heavenly dew.
Beneath that tree's great shadow on the plain
A fountain bubbled up, whose lymph serene
Nothing of earthly mixture might distain:
Fountain so pure not anywhere was seen
In all the world, nor on whose marge the earth
Put flowers of such unfading beauty forth.
A fountain bubbled up, whose lymph serene
Nothing of earthly mixture might distain:
Fountain so pure not anywhere was seen
In all the world, nor on whose marge the earth
Put flowers of such unfading beauty forth.
And thither did all people, young and old,
Matrons and virgins, rich and poor, a crowd
Stream ever, who, whenas they did behold
Those branches with their golden burden bowed,
Stretched forth their hands, and eager glances threw
Towàrd the fruit distilling that sweet dew.
Matrons and virgins, rich and poor, a crowd
Stream ever, who, whenas they did behold
Those branches with their golden burden bowed,
Stretched forth their hands, and eager glances threw
Towàrd the fruit distilling that sweet dew.
Yet touch they might not these, much less allay
Their hunger, howsoe'er they might desire,
Till the foul tokens of their former way
They had washed off, the dust and sordid mire,
And cleansed their bodies in that holy wave,
Able from every spot and stain to save.
Their hunger, howsoe'er they might desire,
Till the foul tokens of their former way
They had washed off, the dust and sordid mire,
And cleansed their bodies in that holy wave,
Able from every spot and stain to save.
But when within their mouths they had received
Of that immortal fruit the gust divine,
Straight of all sickness were their souls relieved,
The weak grew strong;—and tasks they did decline
As overgreat for them, they shunned no more,
And things they deemed they could not bear, they bore.
Of that immortal fruit the gust divine,
Straight of all sickness were their souls relieved,
The weak grew strong;—and tasks they did decline
As overgreat for them, they shunned no more,
And things they deemed they could not bear, they bore.
23
But woe, alas! some daring to draw near
That sacred stream, did presently retire,
Drew wholly back again, and did not fear
To stain themselves in all their former mire,
That fruit rejecting from their mouths again,
Not any more their medicine, but their bane.
That sacred stream, did presently retire,
Drew wholly back again, and did not fear
To stain themselves in all their former mire,
That fruit rejecting from their mouths again,
Not any more their medicine, but their bane.
Oh happy they, who not withdrawing so,
First in that fountain make them pure and fair,
And who from thence unto the branches go,
With power upon the fruitage hanging there:
Thence by the branches of the lofty tree
Ascend to heaven—The Tree of Life oh, see!
First in that fountain make them pure and fair,
And who from thence unto the branches go,
With power upon the fruitage hanging there:
Thence by the branches of the lofty tree
Ascend to heaven—The Tree of Life oh, see!
24
THE TREE OF LIFE.
When Adam's latest breath was nearly gone,
To Paradise the Patriarch sent his son;
To Paradise the Patriarch sent his son;
A branch to fetch him from the Tree of Life,
Hoping to taste of it ere life was done.
Hoping to taste of it ere life was done.
Seth brought the branch, but ere he had arrived,
His father's spirit was already flown.
His father's spirit was already flown.
Then planted they the twig on Adam's grave,
And it was tended still from son to son.
And it was tended still from son to son.
It grew while Joseph in the dungeon lay,
It grew while Israel did in Egypt groan.
It grew while Israel did in Egypt groan.
Sweet odours gave the blossoms of the tree,
When David harping sat upon his throne.
When David harping sat upon his throne.
Dry was the tree, when from the ways of God
Went erring in his wisdom Solomon:
Went erring in his wisdom Solomon:
Yet the world hoped it would revive anew,
When David's stock should give another Son.
When David's stock should give another Son.
Faith saw in spirit this, the while she sat
Mourning beside the floods of Babylon.
Mourning beside the floods of Babylon.
25
And when the eternal lightning flashed from heaven.
The tree asunder burst with jubilant tone.
The tree asunder burst with jubilant tone.
To the dry trunk this grace from God was given,
The wood of Passion should from thence be won.
The wood of Passion should from thence be won.
The blind world fashioned out of it the Cross,
And its Salvation nailed with scorn thereon.
And its Salvation nailed with scorn thereon.
Then bore the Tree of Life ensanguined fruit,
Which whoso tasteth, life shall be his loan.
Which whoso tasteth, life shall be his loan.
Oh look, oh look, how grows the Tree of Life;
By storms established more, not overthrown.
By storms established more, not overthrown.
May the whole world beneath its shadow rest!
Half has its shelter there already won.
Half has its shelter there already won.
26
PARADISE.
Oh! Paradise must show more fair
Than any earthly ground;
And therefore longs my spirit there
Right quickly to be found.
Than any earthly ground;
And therefore longs my spirit there
Right quickly to be found.
In Paradise a stream must flow
Of everlasting love:
Each tear of longing shed below
Therein a pearl will prove.
Of everlasting love:
Each tear of longing shed below
Therein a pearl will prove.
In Paradise a breath of balm
All anguish must allay,
Till every anguish growing calm,
Even mine shall flee away.
All anguish must allay,
Till every anguish growing calm,
Even mine shall flee away.
And there the tree of stillest peace
In verdant spaces grows:
Beneath it can one never cease
To dream of blest repose.
In verdant spaces grows:
Beneath it can one never cease
To dream of blest repose.
A cherub at the gate must be,
Far off the world to fray,
That its rude noises reach not me,
To fright my dream away.
Far off the world to fray,
That its rude noises reach not me,
To fright my dream away.
27
My heart, that weary ship, at last
Safe haven there will gain,
And on the breast will slumber fast
The wakeful infant, Pain.
Safe haven there will gain,
And on the breast will slumber fast
The wakeful infant, Pain.
For every thorn that pierced me here
The rose will there be found;
With joy, earth's roses brought not near,
My head will there be crowned.
The rose will there be found;
With joy, earth's roses brought not near,
My head will there be crowned.
There all delights will blossom forth,
That here in bud expire,
And from all mourning weeds of earth
Be wove a bright attire.
That here in bud expire,
And from all mourning weeds of earth
Be wove a bright attire.
All here I sought with vain pursuit,
Will freely meet me there,
As from green branches golden fruit,
Fair flowers from gardens fair.
Will freely meet me there,
As from green branches golden fruit,
Fair flowers from gardens fair.
My youth, that by me swept amain,
On swift wing borne away,
And Love, that suffered me to drain
His nectar for a day,—
On swift wing borne away,
And Love, that suffered me to drain
His nectar for a day,—
These, never wishing to depart,
Will me for ever bless,
Their darling fold unto the heart,
And comfort and caress.
Will me for ever bless,
Their darling fold unto the heart,
And comfort and caress.
And there the Loveliness, whose glance
From far did on me gleam,
But whose unveilëd countenance
Was only seen in dream,
From far did on me gleam,
But whose unveilëd countenance
Was only seen in dream,
28
Will, meeting all my soul's desires,
Unveil itself to me,
When to the choir of starry lyres
Shall mine united be.
Unveil itself to me,
When to the choir of starry lyres
Shall mine united be.
29
THE HOLY EUCHARIST.
Honey in the lion's mouth,Emblem mystical, divine,
How the sweet and strong combine;
Cloven rock for Israel's drouth;
Treasure-house of golden grain,
By our Joseph laid in store,
In his brethren's famine sore
Freely to dispense again;
Dew on Gideon's snowy fleece;
Well from bitter changed to sweet;
Shew-bread laid in order meet,
Bread whose cost doth not increase
Though no rain in April fall;
Horeb's manna, freely given,
Showered in white dew from heaven,
Marvellous, angelical;
Weightiest bunch of Canaan's vine;
Cake to strengthen and sustain
Through long days of desert pain;
Salem's monarch's bread and wine;—
Thou the antidote shalt be
Of my sickness and my sin,
Consolation, medicine,
Life and Sacrament to me.
30
THE PRODIGAL.
Why feedest thou on husks so coarse and rude?
I could not be content with angels' food.
I could not be content with angels' food.
How camest thou companion to the swine?
I loathed the courts of heaven, the choir divine.
I loathed the courts of heaven, the choir divine.
Who bade thee crouch in hovel dark and drear?
I left a palace wide to hide me here.
I left a palace wide to hide me here.
Harsh tyrant's slave who made thee, once so free?
A father's rule too heavy seemed to me.
A father's rule too heavy seemed to me.
What sordid rags float round thee on the breeze?
I laid immortal robes aside for these.
I laid immortal robes aside for these.
An exile through the world who bade thee roam?
None, but I wearied of a happy home.
None, but I wearied of a happy home.
Why must thou dweller in a desert be?
A garden seemed not fair enough to me.
A garden seemed not fair enough to me.
Why sue a beggar at the mean world's door?
To live on God's large bounty seemed so poor.
To live on God's large bounty seemed so poor.
What has thy forehead so to earthward brought?
To lift it higher than the stars I thought.
To lift it higher than the stars I thought.
31
LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIRST TIDINGS OF THE CABUL MASSACRES.
January 1842.
We sat our peaceful hearths beside,
Within our temples hushed and wide
We worshipped without fear:
With solemn rite, with festal blaze,
We welcomed in the earliest days
Of this new-coming year.
Within our temples hushed and wide
We worshipped without fear:
With solemn rite, with festal blaze,
We welcomed in the earliest days
Of this new-coming year.
O ye that died, brave hearts and true,
How in those days it fared with you
We did not then surmise;
That bloody rout which still must seem
The fancy of a horrid dream,
Was hidden from our eyes:
How in those days it fared with you
We did not then surmise;
That bloody rout which still must seem
The fancy of a horrid dream,
Was hidden from our eyes:
But haunts us now by day and night
The vision of that ghastly flight,
Its shapes of haggard fear:
While still from many a mourning home
The wails of lamentation come,
And fill our saddened ear.
The vision of that ghastly flight,
Its shapes of haggard fear:
While still from many a mourning home
The wails of lamentation come,
And fill our saddened ear.
32
O England, bleeding at thy heart
For thy lost sons, a solemn part
Doth Heaven to thee assign.
High wisdom hast thou need to ask,
For vengeance is a fearful task,
And yet that task is thine.
For thy lost sons, a solemn part
Doth Heaven to thee assign.
High wisdom hast thou need to ask,
For vengeance is a fearful task,
And yet that task is thine.
Oh then fulfil it, not in pride,
Nor aught to passionate hate allied;
But know thyself to be
The justicer of righteous Heaven;
That unto thee a work is given,
A burden laid on thee.
Nor aught to passionate hate allied;
But know thyself to be
The justicer of righteous Heaven;
That unto thee a work is given,
A burden laid on thee.
So thine own heart from guilty stains
First cleanse, and then, for what remains,
That do with all thy might;
That with no faltering hand fulfil,
With no misgiving heart or will,
As dubious of the right:
First cleanse, and then, for what remains,
That do with all thy might;
That with no faltering hand fulfil,
With no misgiving heart or will,
As dubious of the right:
That do, not answering wrong for wrong,
But witnessing that truth is strong,
And, outraged, bringeth woe.
'Tis this by lessons sad and stern,
To men who no way else would learn,
Which thou art set to show.
But witnessing that truth is strong,
And, outraged, bringeth woe.
'Tis this by lessons sad and stern,
To men who no way else would learn,
Which thou art set to show.
33
MOOLTAN.
‘A company of Moolraj's Muzubees, or outcasts turned Sikhs, led on the mob. It was an appalling sight; and Sirdar Khan Sing begged of Mr. Agnew to be allowed to wave a sheet, and sue for mercy. Weak in body from loss of blood, Agnew's heart failed him not. He replied, “The time for mercy is gone; let none be asked for. They can kill us two if they like, but we are not the last of the English; thousands of Englishmen will come down here when we are gone, and annihilate Moolraj, and his soldiers, and his fort!” The crowd now rushed in with horrible shouts; made Khan Sing prisoner, and pushing aside the servants with the butts of their muskets, surrounded the two wounded officers. Lieutenant Anderson, from the first, had been too much wounded even to move; and now Mr. Agnew was sitting by his bedside, holding his hand, and talking in English. Doubtless, they were bidding each other farewell for all time. . . . . . Anderson was hacked to death with swords, and afterwards the two bodies were dragged outside, and slashed and insulted by the crowd, then left all night under the sky.’—Edwardes, Year on the Punjaub Frontier, vol. ii. p. 58. ‘The besieging army did not march away to other fields without performing its last melancholy duty to the memory of Agnew and Anderson. The bodies of those officers were carefully—I may say affectionately—removed from the careless grave where they lay side by side; and, wrapped in Cashmere shawls, (with a vain but natural desire to obliterate all traces of neglect,) were borne by the soldiers of the 1st Bombay Fusiliers (Anderson's own regiment) to an honoured resting-place on the summit of Moolraj's citadel. By what way borne? Through the gate where they had been first assaulted? Oh, no! through the broad and sloping breach, which had been made by the British guns in the walls of the rebellious fortress of Mooltan.’—The Same, p. 588.
Bear them gently, bear them duly, up the broad and sloping breach
Of this torn and shattered city, till their resting-place they reach.
Of this torn and shattered city, till their resting-place they reach.
In the costly cashmeres folded, on the stronghold's top-most crown,
In the place of foremost honour, lay these noble relics down.
In the place of foremost honour, lay these noble relics down.
Here repose, for this is meetest, ye who here breathed out your life,
Ah! in no triumphant battle, but beneath the assassin's knife.
Ah! in no triumphant battle, but beneath the assassin's knife.
Hither bearing England's message, bringing England's just command,
Under England's ægis came ye to the chieftain of the land:
Under England's ægis came ye to the chieftain of the land:
In these streets beset and wounded, hardly borne with life away,
Faint, and bleeding, and forsaken, in your helplessness ye lay.
Faint, and bleeding, and forsaken, in your helplessness ye lay.
34
But the wolves that once have tasted blood, will ravin still for more;
From the infuriate city rises high the wild and savage roar.
From the infuriate city rises high the wild and savage roar.
Near and nearer grows the tumult of the gathering murderous crew;
Tremble round those helpless couches an unarmed but faithful few:
Tremble round those helpless couches an unarmed but faithful few:
‘Profitless is all resistance: let us then this white flag wave;
Ere it be too late, disdain not mercy at their hands to crave.’
Ere it be too late, disdain not mercy at their hands to crave.’
But to no unworthy pleading would descend that noble twain:
‘Nay, for mercy sue not; ask not what to ask from these were vain.
‘Nay, for mercy sue not; ask not what to ask from these were vain.
‘We are two, betrayed and lonely; human help or hope is none;
Yet, O friends, be sure that England owns beside us many a son.
Yet, O friends, be sure that England owns beside us many a son.
‘They may slay us; in our places multitudes will here be found,
Strong to hurl this guilty city with its murderers to the ground;
Strong to hurl this guilty city with its murderers to the ground;
‘Yea, who stone by stone would tear it from its deep foundations strong,
Rather than to leave unpunished them that wrought this bloody wrong.’
Rather than to leave unpunished them that wrought this bloody wrong.’
35
Other words they changed between them, which none else could understand,
Accents of our native English, brothers grasping hand in hand.
Accents of our native English, brothers grasping hand in hand.
So they died, the gallant-hearted! so from earth their spirits past,
Uttering words of lofty comfort each to each unto the last;
Uttering words of lofty comfort each to each unto the last;
And we heed, but little heeded their true spirits far away,
All of wrong and coward outrage, heaped on the unfeeling clay.
All of wrong and coward outrage, heaped on the unfeeling clay.
—Lo! a few short moons have vanished, and the promised ones appear,
England's pledged and promised thousands, England's multitudes are here.
England's pledged and promised thousands, England's multitudes are here.
Flame around the blood-stained ramparts loud-voiced messengers of death,
Girdling with a fiery girdle, blasting with a fiery breath;
Girdling with a fiery girdle, blasting with a fiery breath;
Ceasing not, till choked with corpses low is laid the murderers' hold,
And in his last lair the tiger toils of righteous wrath enfold.
And in his last lair the tiger toils of righteous wrath enfold.
Well, oh well—ye have not failed them who on England's truth relied,
Who on England's name and honour did in that dread hour confide:
Who on England's name and honour did in that dread hour confide:
36
Now one last dear duty render to the faithful and the brave,
What of earth they left behind them rescuing for a worthier grave.
What of earth they left behind them rescuing for a worthier grave.
Oh then, bear them, hosts of England, up the broad and sloping breach
Of this torn and shattered city, till their resting-place they reach.
Of this torn and shattered city, till their resting-place they reach.
In the costly cashmeres folded, on the rampart's topmost crown,
In the place of foremost honour, lay these noble relics down.
In the place of foremost honour, lay these noble relics down.
37
THE LOREY-LEY.
What makes me so heavy-hearted,
I ask of my heart in vain:
But a tale of the times departed
Haunts ever my heart and brain.
I ask of my heart in vain:
But a tale of the times departed
Haunts ever my heart and brain.
In the cool air it waxes dimmer,
And quietly flows the Rhine:
And the mountain summits glimmer
In the sunny evening shine.
And quietly flows the Rhine:
And the mountain summits glimmer
In the sunny evening shine.
There sits on the rocks a maiden,
In marvellous beauty there;
With gold her apparel is laden,
And she combs her golden hair:
In marvellous beauty there;
With gold her apparel is laden,
And she combs her golden hair:
And the comb is of gold and glistens,
And thereto she sings a song,
Which for every soul that listens
Has a potent spell and strong.
And thereto she sings a song,
Which for every soul that listens
Has a potent spell and strong.
The boatman in light boat speeding,
When he hears it utters a cry,
No longer the rapids heeding,
But only gazing on high.
When he hears it utters a cry,
No longer the rapids heeding,
But only gazing on high.
38
The stream is its wild waves flinging
O'er boat and boatman anon,
And 'tis this with her fairy singing
That the Lorey-ley has done.
O'er boat and boatman anon,
And 'tis this with her fairy singing
That the Lorey-ley has done.
39
HYMN TO OCEAN.
O cradle, whence the suns ascend, old Ocean divine;
O grave, whereto the suns descend, old Ocean divine:
O grave, whereto the suns descend, old Ocean divine:
O spreading in the calm of night thy mirror, wherein
The moon her countenance doth bend, old Ocean divine.
The moon her countenance doth bend, old Ocean divine.
O thou that dost in midnights still thy chorus of waves
With dances of the planets blend, old Ocean divine:
With dances of the planets blend, old Ocean divine:
The morning and the evening blooms are roses of thine,
Two roses that for thine are kenned, old Ocean divine.
Two roses that for thine are kenned, old Ocean divine.
O Amphitrite's panting breast, whose breathing doth make
The waves to fall and to ascend, old Ocean divine:
The waves to fall and to ascend, old Ocean divine:
O womb of Aphrodite, bear thy beautiful child,
Abroad thy glory to commend, old Ocean divine.
Abroad thy glory to commend, old Ocean divine.
Oh sprinkle thou with pearly dew earth's garland of spring,
For only thou hast pearls to spend, old Ocean divine.
For only thou hast pearls to spend, old Ocean divine.
All Naiads that from thee had sprung, commanded by thee,
Back to thy Nereid-dances tend, old Ocean divine.
Back to thy Nereid-dances tend, old Ocean divine.
40
What ships of thought sail forth on thee! Atlantis doth sleep
In silence at thine utmost end, old Ocean divine.
In silence at thine utmost end, old Ocean divine.
The goblets of the gods, from high Olympus that fall,
Thou dost on coral boughs suspend, old Ocean divine.
Thou dost on coral boughs suspend, old Ocean divine.
A diver in the sea of love my song is, that fain
Thy glory would to all commend, old Ocean divine.
Thy glory would to all commend, old Ocean divine.
I like the moon beneath thy waves with yearning would plunge;
Thence might I like the sun ascend, old Ocean divine.
Thence might I like the sun ascend, old Ocean divine.
41
SUNSET.
Faust is watching the setting sun, and after some mournful reflections exclaims:
Let us not mar with mournful thoughts like these:
See yonder where the sun of evening glows,
How gleam the green-girt cottages.
He stoops, he sinks—and overlived is day:
But he hastes on, to kindle life anew.
Ah! that no wing lifts me from earth away
Him to pursue, and evermore pursue:
Then should I in eternal evening-light
The hushed world at my feet behold,
See every vale in calm, and flaming every height,
And silver brooks see lost in floods of gold.
Then would not the wild mountain hinder more
My course divine with all its rugged heads:
Its heated bays even now the ocean spreads
My wondering eyes before.
Yet the god seems at last away to sink;
But the new impulse stirs with might:
I hasten his eternal beams to drink,
The day before me, and behind the night,
The heaven above me spread, and under me the sea:
Fair dream! which while I dwell on, he is gone.
Ah! that an actual wing may not so soon
Unto our spirit's wing united be,
42
That still his spirit forward, upward springs,
When hidden in blue spaces overhead
The lark his shattering carol sings;
When over pine-clad mountains soars
The eagle, spread upon the air,
When over seas and over moors
The crane doth to its home repair.
43
CONFIDENCES.
Sternly tolls the castle bell,
A departing sinner's knell.
A departing sinner's knell.
‘Husband, truth must now be spoken
I to thee my faith have broken.’
I to thee my faith have broken.’
‘Truth with truth repaid must be—
Wife, and I have poisoned thee.’
Wife, and I have poisoned thee.’
44
SONNET.
ON A BROTHER AND SISTER WHO DIED AT THE SAME TIME, ABERGELE, AUGUST 20, 1868.
Men said, who saw the tender love they bareEach to the other, and their hearts so bound
And knit in one, that neither sought or found
A nearer tie than that affection rare—
How with the sad survivor will it fare,
When death shall for a season have undone
The links of that close love; and taking one,
The other leaves to draw unwelcome air?
And some perchance who loved them, would revolve
Sadly the sadness which on one must fall,
The lonely left by that dividing day.
Vain fears! for He who loved them best of all,
Mightier than we life's mysteries to solve,
In one fire-chariot bore them both away.
45
SONNET.
ON THE REVIEW OF THE VOLUNTEERS IN HYDE-PARK BY THE QUEEN, 1860.
No pause, no stay—a glorious hour or more,And that loud-clashing music is not dumb,
For still the close battalions come and come,
As though all England the long pent-up store
Of her deliberate valour would outpour,
Not flaunting in war's liveries rich and gay,
But all in sober green and working gray,
O Lady of the land, thy feet before.
High beats thine heart, the Lady of a land
That breeds such men; and theirs beat proud and high,
Who only with step statelier and more grand
Would move beneath thy recompensing eye,
Girt, if that day should call them, to reply
On some dread field to duty's last demand.
46
IN MEMORIAM, G. P. C.
FEB. 27, 1881.
Gentle and brave, well skilled in that dread lore
Which mightiest nations dare not to unlearn;
Fair lot for thee had leapt from Fortune's urn,
Just guerdon of long toil; and more and more
We deemed was for her favourite in store;
Nor failed prophetic fancy to descry
Wreaths of high praise, and crowns of victory,
Which in our thought thy brows already wore.
Which mightiest nations dare not to unlearn;
Fair lot for thee had leapt from Fortune's urn,
Just guerdon of long toil; and more and more
We deemed was for her favourite in store;
Nor failed prophetic fancy to descry
Wreaths of high praise, and crowns of victory,
Which in our thought thy brows already wore.
But He who portions out our good and ill,
Willed an austerer glory should be thine,
And nearer to the Cross than to the Crown.
Then lay, ye mourners, there your burden down,
And hear calm voices from the inner shrine,
That whisper, Peace, and say, Be still, be still.
Willed an austerer glory should be thine,
And nearer to the Cross than to the Crown.
Then lay, ye mourners, there your burden down,
And hear calm voices from the inner shrine,
That whisper, Peace, and say, Be still, be still.
47
SONNET.
[He bade, as he was passing to his rest]
‘THE LATE DEAN OF WESTMINSTER, DEAN STANLEY, DESIRED THAT
HIS FUNERAL SERMON MIGHT BE PREACHED BY HIS DROTHER-IN-LAW
BECAUSE HE HAD KNOWN HIM THE LONGEST.’
He bade, as he was passing to his rest,
And mused on some who might hereafter yearn
More of the fashion of his life to learn,
He bade that this by one might be expressed
Who knew him longest, and who knew him best;
And so, committing to skilled hands and true
The holding that life up in open view
From night to light, from death to life he prest.
And mused on some who might hereafter yearn
More of the fashion of his life to learn,
He bade that this by one might be expressed
Who knew him longest, and who knew him best;
And so, committing to skilled hands and true
The holding that life up in open view
From night to light, from death to life he prest.
O happy who in face of friend and foe
Dare, humbly bold, to challenge the dead years
All which they keep most hidden to reveal;
Who with the Christ depositing their fears,
Bid those who them did most entirely know
To set upon their lives Truth's final seal.
Dare, humbly bold, to challenge the dead years
All which they keep most hidden to reveal;
Who with the Christ depositing their fears,
Bid those who them did most entirely know
To set upon their lives Truth's final seal.
48
SONNET.
THE OPENING OF THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, MAY 1, 1862.
Sweet, and yet sad, those thousand voices rung,Winding and travelling through the long defiles
Of courts and galleries and far-reaching aisles;
And bright the banners from proud arches sprung;
But not the less their drooping folds among
Lurked a dim hoard of grief; while over all,
Chastening, not marring, our high festival,
The shadow of an absent Greatness hung;
Absent, and yet in absence present more,
For all we owe to him, and might have owed,
For the rich gifts which, missing, we deplore,
Than if he were rejoicing at this hour,
We with him, that the seed his wisdom sowed
Had blossomed in this bright consummate flower.
49
[Man, the pomp and pride of earth]
Man, the pomp and pride of earth
Were not merely spread for thee;
Nature bade some part have birth
For her own delight and glee.
Were not merely spread for thee;
Nature bade some part have birth
For her own delight and glee.
Therefore sings the nightingale,
While thou sleepest, in the night;
Flowers, the fairest ones, unveil
Half their beauty ere daylight.
While thou sleepest, in the night;
Flowers, the fairest ones, unveil
Half their beauty ere daylight.
Soars the loveliest butterfly
All untracked by eye of thine;
Pearls in ocean's bosom lie,
Jewels in the unwrought mine.
All untracked by eye of thine;
Pearls in ocean's bosom lie,
Jewels in the unwrought mine.
Richly, child, are sky and plain
Furnished for thee; be content
That thy mother too retain
For herself some ornament.
Furnished for thee; be content
That thy mother too retain
For herself some ornament.
50
THE CURSE OF CORN-HOARDERS.
Oh, time it was of famine sore,
That ever sorer grew;
And many hungered, who before
Rich plenty only knew.
That ever sorer grew;
And many hungered, who before
Rich plenty only knew.
For year by year the labouring hind
Bewailed his fruitless toil,
And ever seemed some spell to bind
The hard, unthankful soil.
Bewailed his fruitless toil,
And ever seemed some spell to bind
The hard, unthankful soil.
His seed-corn rotted in the ground,
And did not more appear;
Or if in blade and stalk was found,
It withered in the ear.
And did not more appear;
Or if in blade and stalk was found,
It withered in the ear.
And now unseasonable rains,
And now untimely drought,
Or blight and mildew, all his pains
And hopes to nothing brought.
And now untimely drought,
Or blight and mildew, all his pains
And hopes to nothing brought.
And ever did that keen distress
In wider circles spread;
Who once with alms did others bless,
Now lacked their daily bread.
In wider circles spread;
Who once with alms did others bless,
Now lacked their daily bread.
One only, who was never known
To bless another's board—
In all that Suabian land alone
This cruel, impious lord,
To bless another's board—
In all that Suabian land alone
This cruel, impious lord,
51
Did all the while exempt appear
From this wide-reaching ill;
With largest bounties of the year
His broad fields laughing still.
From this wide-reaching ill;
With largest bounties of the year
His broad fields laughing still.
The autumn duly had outpoured
For him its plenteous horn,
And safe in ample granaries stored
He saw his golden corn;
For him its plenteous horn,
And safe in ample granaries stored
He saw his golden corn;
And high he reared new granaries vast,
Of hewn stone builded strong,
And made with bars of iron fast,
And fenced from every wrong.
Of hewn stone builded strong,
And made with bars of iron fast,
And fenced from every wrong.
Till safe, as seemed, from every foe,
He now, as if the sight
Of others' want and others' woe
Enhanced his own delight,
He now, as if the sight
Of others' want and others' woe
Enhanced his own delight,
Sate high, and with his minions still
Did keep continual feast;
Long nights with waste and wassail fill,
Which not with morning ceased;
Did keep continual feast;
Long nights with waste and wassail fill,
Which not with morning ceased;
Till oft-times they who wandered near
Those halls at early day,
Culling wild herbs and roots in fear,
Their hunger to allay,
Those halls at early day,
Culling wild herbs and roots in fear,
Their hunger to allay,
Heard sounds of fierce and reckless mirth
Borne from those halls of pride,
While famine's feeble wail went forth
From all the land beside;
Borne from those halls of pride,
While famine's feeble wail went forth
From all the land beside;
52
And strange thoughts rose in many a breast,
Why God's true servants pined,
And largest means this man unblest
Did still for riot find;
Why God's true servants pined,
And largest means this man unblest
Did still for riot find;
Which stranger grew, as more and more
He did his coffers fill
With gold and every precious store,
Wrung from men's cruel ill;
He did his coffers fill
With gold and every precious store,
Wrung from men's cruel ill;
As he each poor man's field was fain
To add unto his own—
To the wide space of his domain,
Now daily wider grown.
To add unto his own—
To the wide space of his domain,
Now daily wider grown.
For some, their lives awhile to save,
Had sold him house and lands;
And some to bonds their children gave,
As grew his stern demands:
Had sold him house and lands;
And some to bonds their children gave,
As grew his stern demands:
Yet not a whit for poor man's curse
This evil churl did care;
He said,—it passed, nor left him worse—
That words were only air.
This evil churl did care;
He said,—it passed, nor left him worse—
That words were only air.
He, if they cried ‘For Jesu's sake,
That so may light on thee
God's blessing,’ answer proud would make,
‘What will that profit me?
That so may light on thee
God's blessing,’ answer proud would make,
‘What will that profit me?
‘I ask no blessing, yet my fields
Have store of precious grain:
The earth to me its fatness yields
The sky its sun and rain,
Have store of precious grain:
The earth to me its fatness yields
The sky its sun and rain,
53
‘And high my granaries stand, and strong,
Huge-vaulted, ribbed with stone:
What need I fear? from any wrong
I can defend mine own.’—
Huge-vaulted, ribbed with stone:
What need I fear? from any wrong
I can defend mine own.’—
Thus ever fierce and fiercer rose
His words of scorn and pride;
And more he mocked at mortal woes,
And earth and heaven defied.
His words of scorn and pride;
And more he mocked at mortal woes,
And earth and heaven defied.
And thus it chanced upon a day,
As oft had been before,
That from his gates he spurned away
A widow, old and poor;
As oft had been before,
That from his gates he spurned away
A widow, old and poor;
When to his presence entered in
A servant, pale with fear,
And did with trembling words begin:—
‘O dread my lord, give ear!
A servant, pale with fear,
And did with trembling words begin:—
‘O dread my lord, give ear!
‘As me perchance my business drew
Thy storehouse vast beside,
I heard unwonted sounds, and through
The iron grating spied.
Thy storehouse vast beside,
I heard unwonted sounds, and through
The iron grating spied.
‘The thing I saw, if like it seemed
To any thing on earth,
I might some huge black bull have deemed
That hellish monstrous birth.
To any thing on earth,
I might some huge black bull have deemed
That hellish monstrous birth.
‘Yet how should beast have entrance found
Into that guarded place,
Which strangely now it wandered round,
With wild unresting pace?
Into that guarded place,
Which strangely now it wandered round,
With wild unresting pace?
54
Oh, here must be some warning meant,
Which do not now deride:
Oh, yet have pity, and relent,
Nor speak such words of pride.’
Which do not now deride:
Oh, yet have pity, and relent,
Nor speak such words of pride.’
Slight heed his tale of fear might find,
Slight heed his counsel true;
That utterance of his faithful mind
He now had learned to rue,
Slight heed his counsel true;
That utterance of his faithful mind
He now had learned to rue,
But that, even then, another came,
Worse terror in his mien:
—‘Three monstrous creatures, breathing flame,
These eyes but now have seen;
Worse terror in his mien:
—‘Three monstrous creatures, breathing flame,
These eyes but now have seen;
‘They toss about thy hoarded store,
And greedily they eat,
Consuming thus a part, but more
They stamp beneath their feet.
And greedily they eat,
Consuming thus a part, but more
They stamp beneath their feet.
‘Oh, Sir, full often God doth take
What we refuse to give;
But yet to Him large offering make,
And all our souls may live.’
What we refuse to give;
But yet to Him large offering make,
And all our souls may live.’
—‘Fool !—let another hasten now,
But if he shall not see
The self-same vision, fellow, thou
Shalt hang on yonder tree.’
But if he shall not see
The self-same vision, fellow, thou
Shalt hang on yonder tree.’
He said—when, lo! in rushed a third
Within the briefest space:—
—‘Of horses wild and bulls a herd
Is filling all the place.
Within the briefest space:—
—‘Of horses wild and bulls a herd
Is filling all the place.
55
‘The numbers of that furious rout
Wax ever high and higher;
And from their mouths smoke issues out,
And from their nostrils fire.
Wax ever high and higher;
And from their mouths smoke issues out,
And from their nostrils fire.
‘From side to side they leap and bound,
The hoarded corn they eat,
They toss and scatter on the ground,
And stamp beneath their feet.
The hoarded corn they eat,
They toss and scatter on the ground,
And stamp beneath their feet.
‘My lord, these portents do not scorn;
Thy granary doors throw wide,
And poor men's prayers even yet may turn
The threatened wrath aside.’
Thy granary doors throw wide,
And poor men's prayers even yet may turn
The threatened wrath aside.’
—‘What, all conspiring in one tale!
Or fooled by one deceit!
Yet think not ye shall so prevail,
Or me so lightly cheat.
Or fooled by one deceit!
Yet think not ye shall so prevail,
Or me so lightly cheat.
‘Come with me;—fling the portals back;
I too this sight would see:
What! one and all this courage lack?
Give me the ponderous key.’
I too this sight would see:
What! one and all this courage lack?
Give me the ponderous key.’
In fear the vassal multitude
Fell back on either side:
Before the doors he singly stood,
He singly—in his pride.
Fell back on either side:
Before the doors he singly stood,
He singly—in his pride.
But them, or ere he touched, asunder
Some hand unbidden threw;
With lightning flash, with sound like thunder
The gates wide open flew.
Some hand unbidden threw;
With lightning flash, with sound like thunder
The gates wide open flew.
56
How shook then underneath the tread
Of thousand hoofs the earth!
Day darkened into night with dread,
So weird a troop rushed forth!
Of thousand hoofs the earth!
Day darkened into night with dread,
So weird a troop rushed forth!
And all who saw like dead men stood,
As swept that wild troop by,
Till lost within a neighbouring wood
For aye from mortal eye.
As swept that wild troop by,
Till lost within a neighbouring wood
For aye from mortal eye.
But when that hurricane was past
Of hideous sight and sound,
And when they breathed anew, they cast
Their fearful glances round:
Of hideous sight and sound,
And when they breathed anew, they cast
Their fearful glances round:
They lifted up a blackened corse,
Where scorched and crushed it lay,
And scarred with hoofs of fiery force,—
Then bore in awe away;
Where scorched and crushed it lay,
And scarred with hoofs of fiery force,—
Then bore in awe away;
They bore away, but not to hide
In any holy ground;
Who in his height of sin had died
No hallowed burial found.
In any holy ground;
Who in his height of sin had died
No hallowed burial found.
57
THE CORREGAN.
A BALLAD OF BRITTANY.
They were affianced, a youthful pair;
In youth, alas! they divided were.
In youth, alas! they divided were.
Lovely twins she has brought to light,
A boy and a girl, both snowy white.
A boy and a girl, both snowy white.
—‘What shall now for thee be done,
Who hast brought me this longed-for son?
Who hast brought me this longed-for son?
Shall I fetch thee fowl from the sedgy mere?
Or strike in the greenwood the flying deer?’
Or strike in the greenwood the flying deer?’
—‘Wild deer's flesh would please me best,
Yet wherefore go to the far forèst?’
Yet wherefore go to the far forèst?’
He snatched his spear, he mounted his steed;
He to the greenwood is gone with speed.
He to the greenwood is gone with speed.
When there he came, a milk-white hind
Started before him as swift as wind.
Started before him as swift as wind.
He pursued it with foot so fleet,
On his forehead stood the heat,
On his forehead stood the heat,
And down his courser's flanks it ran;
—Evening now to close began;
—Evening now to close began;
58
When he espied a stream that flowed
Near the Corregan's abode.
Near the Corregan's abode.
Smoothest turf encircled its brink;
Down from his steed he alit to drink.
Down from his steed he alit to drink.
By its margin was seated there
The Corregan, combing her golden hair,
The Corregan, combing her golden hair,
Combing it with a comb of gold;
Richly clad, and bright to behold.
Richly clad, and bright to behold.
—“Thou art bolder than thou dost know,
Daring to trouble my waters so.
Daring to trouble my waters so.
“Me shalt thou on the instant wed,
Or in three days shalt be dead.”
Or in three days shalt be dead.”
—‘I will not wed on the instant thee,
Nor yet in three days dead will be.
Nor yet in three days dead will be.
‘When God pleases I shall die,
And already wedded am I;
And already wedded am I;
‘And besides I had rather died
Than to make a fairy my bride.’
Than to make a fairy my bride.’
—‘Sick am I, mother, at heart; oh, spread,
If thou lovest me, my death-bed.
If thou lovest me, my death-bed.
‘Me the fairy has looked to death:
In three days shall I yield my breath.
In three days shall I yield my breath.
‘Yet though my body in earth they lay,
To her I love, oh, nothing say.’
To her I love, oh, nothing say.’
59
—Three days after, ‘O mother, tell,’
She exclaimed, ‘why tolls the bell?
She exclaimed, ‘why tolls the bell?
‘Why do the priests so mournfully go,
Clad in white, and chanting low?’
Clad in white, and chanting low?’
—“A beggar we lodged died yesternight;
They bury him with the morning light.”
They bury him with the morning light.”
—‘O mother, where is my husband gone?’
—“He from the town will return anon.”
—“He from the town will return anon.”
—‘O mother, I would to church repair;
Tell me what were meetest to wear:
Tell me what were meetest to wear:
‘Shall it be my robe of blue,
Or my vest of scarlet hue?’
Or my vest of scarlet hue?’
—“It is now the manner to wear
Garments of black, my daughter, there.”
Garments of black, my daughter, there.”
When she came to the churchyard ground,
Her husband's grave was the first she found.
Her husband's grave was the first she found.
—‘Death of kin I have not heard,
Yet this earth has been newly stirred.’
Yet this earth has been newly stirred.’
—“My daughter, the truth I needs must show;
’Tis thy husband that lies below.”
’Tis thy husband that lies below.”
Down she fell upon that floor;
Thence she rose not any more.
Thence she rose not any more.
But the night next after the day,
When by his body her body lay,
When by his body her body lay,
60
Two tall oaks, both stately and fair,
Marvel to see! arose in air;
Marvel to see! arose in air;
And upon their uppermost spray
Two white doves, delightsome and gay:
Two white doves, delightsome and gay:
At dawn of morn they sweetly sung;
And lightly toward heaven at noon they sprung.
And lightly toward heaven at noon they sprung.
61
THE ETRURIAN KING.
One only eye beheld him in his pride,
The old Etrurian monarch,—as he died,
The old Etrurian monarch,—as he died,
And as they laid him on his bier of stone,
Shield, spear, and arrows laying at his side;
Shield, spear, and arrows laying at his side;
In golden armour, with his crown of gold,
One only eye the kingly warrior spied:
One only eye the kingly warrior spied:
Nor that eye long—for in the common air
The wondrous pageant might not long abide,
The wondrous pageant might not long abide,
Which had in sealëd sepulchre the wrongs
Of time for thirty centuries defied.
Of time for thirty centuries defied.
That eye beheld it melt and disappear,
As down an hour-glass the last sand-drops glide.
As down an hour-glass the last sand-drops glide.
A few short moments,—and a shrunken heap
Of common dust survived, of all that pride:
Of common dust survived, of all that pride:
And so that gorgeous vision will remain
For evermore to other eye denied:
For evermore to other eye denied:
And he who saw must oftentimes believe
That him his waking senses had belied;
That him his waking senses had belied;
62
Since what if all the pageants of this earth
Melt soon away, and may not long abide,
Melt soon away, and may not long abide,
Yet when did ever doom so swift before
Even to the glories of the world betide?
Even to the glories of the world betide?
63
THE PRIZE OF SONG.
Challenged by the haughty daughters
Of the old Emathian king,
Strove the Muses at the waters
Of that Heliconian spring—
Proved beside those hallowed fountains
Unto whom the prize of song,
Unto whom those streams and mountains
Should of truest right belong.
Of the old Emathian king,
Strove the Muses at the waters
Of that Heliconian spring—
Proved beside those hallowed fountains
Unto whom the prize of song,
Unto whom those streams and mountains
Should of truest right belong.
First those others in vexed numbers
Mourned the rebel giant brood,
Whom the earth's huge mass encumbers,
Or who writhe, the vulture's food;
Mourned for earth-born power, which faileth
Heaven to win by might and main;
Then, thrust back, for ever waileth,
Gnawing its own heart in pain.
Mourned the rebel giant brood,
Whom the earth's huge mass encumbers,
Or who writhe, the vulture's food;
Mourned for earth-born power, which faileth
Heaven to win by might and main;
Then, thrust back, for ever waileth,
Gnawing its own heart in pain.
Nature shuddered while she hearkened,
Through her veins swift horror ran:
Sun and stars, perturbed and darkened,
To forsake their orbs began.
Back the rivers fled; the ocean
Howled upon a thousand shores,
As it would with wild commotion
Burst its everlasting doors.
Through her veins swift horror ran:
Sun and stars, perturbed and darkened,
To forsake their orbs began.
Back the rivers fled; the ocean
Howled upon a thousand shores,
As it would with wild commotion
Burst its everlasting doors.
64
Hushed was not that stormy riot,
Till were heard the sacred Nine,
Singing of the blissful quiet
In the happy seats divine;
Singing of those thrones immortal,
Whither struggling men attain,
Passing humbly through the portal
Of obedience, toil and pain.
Till were heard the sacred Nine,
Singing of the blissful quiet
In the happy seats divine;
Singing of those thrones immortal,
Whither struggling men attain,
Passing humbly through the portal
Of obedience, toil and pain.
At that melody symphonious
Joy to Nature's heart was sent,
And the spheres, again harmonious,
Made sweet thunder as they went:
Lightly moved, with pleasure dancing,
Little hills and mountains high,
Helicon his head advancing,
Till it almost touched the sky.
Joy to Nature's heart was sent,
And the spheres, again harmonious,
Made sweet thunder as they went:
Lightly moved, with pleasure dancing,
Little hills and mountains high,
Helicon his head advancing,
Till it almost touched the sky.
—Thou whom once those Sisters holy
On thy lonely path have met,
And, thy front thou stooping lowly,
There their sacred laurel set,
Oh be thine, their mandate owning,
Aye with them to win the prize,
Reconciling and atoning
With thy magic harmonies:
On thy lonely path have met,
And, thy front thou stooping lowly,
There their sacred laurel set,
Oh be thine, their mandate owning,
Aye with them to win the prize,
Reconciling and atoning
With thy magic harmonies:
An Arion thou, whose singing
Rouses not a furious sea,
Rather the sea-monsters bringing
Servants to its melody;
An Amphion, not with passion
To set wild the builders' mind,
But the mystic walls to fashion,
And the stones in one to bind.
Rouses not a furious sea,
Rather the sea-monsters bringing
Servants to its melody;
An Amphion, not with passion
To set wild the builders' mind,
But the mystic walls to fashion,
And the stones in one to bind.
65
TIMOLEON.
The night before he sailed for Sicily,
Timoleon, leader of a noble band,
Did to the partners of his glorious toil
These words address, or words much like to these—
Timoleon, leader of a noble band,
Did to the partners of his glorious toil
These words address, or words much like to these—
‘Friends, fellows with me in one grand emprise,
Who wait but for the early light, prepared
Soon as the pale east glimmers into gold,
Boldly to launch into the open sea;
Friends, who shall not the temper of your souls
One jot abate, till Sicily once more
Is nurse of beauteous arts, of kindly men,
And haunt once more of Presences divine;
Some pages in the story of my life
To you are known; 'twere well you should know all.
The Sun-god with his crown of light and robes
Of rosy red is yet far off, and gives
No signals of his coming: hearken then;
The story may do more than cheat the time.
Who wait but for the early light, prepared
Soon as the pale east glimmers into gold,
Boldly to launch into the open sea;
Friends, who shall not the temper of your souls
One jot abate, till Sicily once more
Is nurse of beauteous arts, of kindly men,
And haunt once more of Presences divine;
Some pages in the story of my life
To you are known; 'twere well you should know all.
The Sun-god with his crown of light and robes
Of rosy red is yet far off, and gives
No signals of his coming: hearken then;
The story may do more than cheat the time.
‘My brother,—he was known to some of you;
By some, I think, was loved. I loved him well;
And bear upon my body to this hour
The print of Argive spears, which, meant for him,
Prone lying, headlong from his saddle thrown,
I took for mine on one disastrous day.
Well pleased I saw him step by step ascend
From high to higher, till our common weal
Owned none that owned a greater name than his.
But ah! the pang, when great among the great
Seemed not to him enough: he must be all;
And so, misusing power too lightly lent,
He changed our laws at will, and citizens
Sent uncondemned, untried, to bloody dooms.
In vain I warned him there was wrath abroad,
That this proud city of the double sea
Had never unto tyrants bowed the neck,
And would not now; and more than this I did.
Two taking with me of our chief of men,
A suppliant at his feet I knelt, I fell;
Only to find, too often found before,
Derision and a fierce resolve that bad
Should grow to worse. In the end I stood aside,
And in my mantle, weeping, hid my face,
While the dread deed that should make Corinth free
Was acted. When the rumour of it spread,
Some said it was well done, and some said ill;
Some called me fratricide, and some were fain
To honour, as men honour saviour gods.
I could have borne the praise, or borne the blame,
And lived my own life, little heeding either;
But presently thick darkness fell on me,
When she that bare, and once had loved us both,
Stern mother, took the part of her dead son
Against the living; me saw never more,
Refused to look upon my face again,
And, granting no forgiveness, lived and died.
By some, I think, was loved. I loved him well;
And bear upon my body to this hour
The print of Argive spears, which, meant for him,
Prone lying, headlong from his saddle thrown,
I took for mine on one disastrous day.
66
From high to higher, till our common weal
Owned none that owned a greater name than his.
But ah! the pang, when great among the great
Seemed not to him enough: he must be all;
And so, misusing power too lightly lent,
He changed our laws at will, and citizens
Sent uncondemned, untried, to bloody dooms.
In vain I warned him there was wrath abroad,
That this proud city of the double sea
Had never unto tyrants bowed the neck,
And would not now; and more than this I did.
Two taking with me of our chief of men,
A suppliant at his feet I knelt, I fell;
Only to find, too often found before,
Derision and a fierce resolve that bad
Should grow to worse. In the end I stood aside,
And in my mantle, weeping, hid my face,
While the dread deed that should make Corinth free
Was acted. When the rumour of it spread,
Some said it was well done, and some said ill;
Some called me fratricide, and some were fain
To honour, as men honour saviour gods.
I could have borne the praise, or borne the blame,
And lived my own life, little heeding either;
But presently thick darkness fell on me,
When she that bare, and once had loved us both,
Stern mother, took the part of her dead son
Against the living; me saw never more,
Refused to look upon my face again,
And, granting no forgiveness, lived and died.
‘I meanwhile, laden with a mother's curse,
By those avenging goddesses pursued,
That fright the doers of strange deeds of blood,
In solitary places far astray,
On the wild hills, beside the lone sea-shore,
Wandered, a man forbidden and forlorn:
The glory and the gladness of my youth,
Its unreturning opportunities,
All gone;—how then I hated streets and schools,
And all the faces that one met in them;
And hated most of all myself, until
It little lacked but that with hands profane
I had laid waste the temple of my life,
And ended all.
By those avenging goddesses pursued,
67
In solitary places far astray,
On the wild hills, beside the lone sea-shore,
Wandered, a man forbidden and forlorn:
The glory and the gladness of my youth,
Its unreturning opportunities,
All gone;—how then I hated streets and schools,
And all the faces that one met in them;
And hated most of all myself, until
It little lacked but that with hands profane
I had laid waste the temple of my life,
And ended all.
‘While thus it fared with me,
The slow years dragging on their sullen length,
A cry of anguish travelled o'er the deep
From that fair island of the western wave,
Dear to the goddess of the foodful earth,
Dear to the pale Queen of the underworld;
Which now, as daughter unto mother fleeing,
Bemoaned her sad self, wrecked and shorn and torn
Scorched and consumed in Moloch's furnace fires,
A solitude of hate,—where nothing lived,
But what deserved to die,—till now the grass
Grew rank in her untrodden streets, and worse
Than wild beasts harboured in her marble halls.
The slow years dragging on their sullen length,
A cry of anguish travelled o'er the deep
From that fair island of the western wave,
Dear to the goddess of the foodful earth,
Dear to the pale Queen of the underworld;
Which now, as daughter unto mother fleeing,
Bemoaned her sad self, wrecked and shorn and torn
Scorched and consumed in Moloch's furnace fires,
A solitude of hate,—where nothing lived,
But what deserved to die,—till now the grass
Grew rank in her untrodden streets, and worse
Than wild beasts harboured in her marble halls.
‘You know the rest,—what pity filled all hearts
When the sad story of her wrongs was heard,
Which now is Cynosure of all our eyes;
And yet withal how hard it proved to choose
A captain of the liberating host;
And some cried one, and some another name,
While this man doubted of himself, and that
Was doubted of by others; till at last
One from the concourse cried ‘Timoleon,’
Name strange to lips of men for twice ten years.
Some say it was a voice from heaven, and some
The word of a plain simple countryman.
I know not. It perchance was both in one.
But this or that, all hailed it as the thought
And inspiration of the holy gods:
And one whose word went far, bespake me thus:
“Do well, and we shall count thee tyrant-slayer:
Do ill, and name we name not shall be thine.”
So be it; by this law I will be judged.
When the sad story of her wrongs was heard,
Which now is Cynosure of all our eyes;
And yet withal how hard it proved to choose
A captain of the liberating host;
And some cried one, and some another name,
While this man doubted of himself, and that
68
One from the concourse cried ‘Timoleon,’
Name strange to lips of men for twice ten years.
Some say it was a voice from heaven, and some
The word of a plain simple countryman.
I know not. It perchance was both in one.
But this or that, all hailed it as the thought
And inspiration of the holy gods:
And one whose word went far, bespake me thus:
“Do well, and we shall count thee tyrant-slayer:
Do ill, and name we name not shall be thine.”
So be it; by this law I will be judged.
‘The end proves all; and that is still to come;
And yet sometimes I nigh persuade myself
I have drunk out the bitter of my life;
And if I only keep the truth, and keep
My hands and heart from things accursed, you few,
My few, shall scatter Afric's alien hordes,
Chase worse than wild beasts from their treacherous lairs;
The stars shall in their courses fight for us;
And all the elements shall work for us;
And the sweet gods of Hellas, by the shrieks
Of immolated children scared away,
These, girt already for their glad return,
Shall show how easy all things prove for them
That have immortal Helpers on their side.
And there shall wait on me, on me who seemed
Exiled for ever from the tenderness
Of human hearts, from all things good and fair,
The golden tribute of a people's love.
And when my work is ended, multitudes
Apparelled all in white, and crowned with flowers,
As for a great day of high festival,
Shall with large tears of sorrow and of joy
Bear me, a victor, to my funeral pyre:
So limns itself the future to my sight.
And yet sometimes I nigh persuade myself
I have drunk out the bitter of my life;
And if I only keep the truth, and keep
My hands and heart from things accursed, you few,
My few, shall scatter Afric's alien hordes,
Chase worse than wild beasts from their treacherous lairs;
The stars shall in their courses fight for us;
And all the elements shall work for us;
And the sweet gods of Hellas, by the shrieks
Of immolated children scared away,
These, girt already for their glad return,
Shall show how easy all things prove for them
That have immortal Helpers on their side.
And there shall wait on me, on me who seemed
Exiled for ever from the tenderness
Of human hearts, from all things good and fair,
The golden tribute of a people's love.
And when my work is ended, multitudes
Apparelled all in white, and crowned with flowers,
As for a great day of high festival,
69
Bear me, a victor, to my funeral pyre:
So limns itself the future to my sight.
‘But lo! enough. The day is breaking fast,
And we are called. Hyperion's eager steeds,
The tempest-footed coursers of the dawn,
Are straining up the slope of eastern heaven,
And from their fiery nostrils blow the morn.’
And we are called. Hyperion's eager steeds,
The tempest-footed coursers of the dawn,
Are straining up the slope of eastern heaven,
And from their fiery nostrils blow the morn.’
70
ON THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES
MARCH 10, 1863.
O merchantman who, seeking some fair pearl,
Whose orient splendours should enrich thy life,
And having found one fairest, hast been wise
To win, and make for ever thine and ours,
Henceforth a cynosure of all our eyes,
Set in thine own and England's coronet;
Oh fortunate!—yet not that round thee throng
A people happy in thy happiness,
Nor that boon nature empties in thy lap
Her golden tributes of a golden time,
Nor that the rod of empire may be thine,
The sceptre of the islands of the sea;
Oh happy, not in aught that would divide,
But most in that which links thee with thy kind—
Most happy, that, Heaven favouring, thou hast found
Of thy life's orb the absent hemisphere,
The fulness, and mysterious complement;
Which they who miss, earth's wealthiest, wisest, greatest
Wander disconsolate, and reap no joy
From life defeated and half unfulfilled,
While they who find, though poorest, are most rich.
Oh well is thee, that in two commonest names,
Yet holiest, names first heard in Paradise,
That in the names of husband and of wife
The sum of thy pure happiness, and hers
Who has fulfilled thy life, is all contained.
71
POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES
These poems bear somewhat a vague title, because such only would accurately suit compositions derived in very different degrees from the sources thus indicated. Some are mere translations; others have been modelled anew, and only such portions used of the originals as were adapted to my purpose; of others it is only the imagery and thought which are Eastern, and these have been put together in new combinations; while of others it is the hint, and nothing more, which has been borrowed,—it may be from some prose source.
73
ALEXANDER AT THE GATES OF PARADISE.
A LEGEND FROM THE TALMUD.
See Eisenmenger, Entdecktes Fudenthum, vol. ii. p. 321, with whose judgment I cannot agree, for he has scarcely patience to finish this ‘narrische talmudische Fabel,’ as he styles it. It reappears, slightly modified, in the Persian tradition that Alexander, having conquered the world, determined to seek out the fountain of life and immortality. So in the Christian poems of the Middle Ages, he recognises at last the emptiness of all the glory which he has won, and is hardly turned from his purpose of going forth in search of the lost Paradise (Rosenkranz, Gesch. d. deutschen Poesie im Mittelalter, p. 367). Chamisso has treated the same legend, from whom I have derived several hints.
Fierce was the glare of Cashmere's middle day,
When Alexander for Hydaspes bent,
Through trackless wilds urged his impetuous way;
When Alexander for Hydaspes bent,
Through trackless wilds urged his impetuous way;
Yet in that wide and wasteful continent
A little vale he found, so calm, so sweet,
He there awhile to tarry was content.
A little vale he found, so calm, so sweet,
He there awhile to tarry was content.
A crystal stream was sparkling at his feet,
Whereof the Monarch, when his meal was done,
Drank a long draught, to slake his fever heat.
Whereof the Monarch, when his meal was done,
Drank a long draught, to slake his fever heat.
Again he drank, and yet again, as one
Who would have drained that fountain crystalline
Of all its waves, and left it dry anon:
Who would have drained that fountain crystalline
Of all its waves, and left it dry anon:
For in his veins, ofttimes a-fire with wine,
And in his bosom, throne of sleepless pride,
The while he drank, went circling peace divine.
And in his bosom, throne of sleepless pride,
The while he drank, went circling peace divine.
It seemed as though all evil passions died
Within him, slaked was every fire accurst;
So that in rapturous joy aloud he cried:
Within him, slaked was every fire accurst;
So that in rapturous joy aloud he cried:
74
‘Oh! might I find where these pure waters first
Shoot sparkling from their living fountain-head,
Oh, there to quench my spirit's inmost thirst!
Shoot sparkling from their living fountain-head,
Oh, there to quench my spirit's inmost thirst!
‘Sure, if we followed where these waters led,
We should at length some fairer region gain
Than yet has quaked beneath our iron tread,—
We should at length some fairer region gain
Than yet has quaked beneath our iron tread,—
‘Some land that should in very truth contain
All that we dream of beautiful and bright,
And idly dreaming of, pursue in vain;
All that we dream of beautiful and bright,
And idly dreaming of, pursue in vain;
‘That land must stoop beneath our conquering might.
Companions dear, this toil remains alone,
To win that region of unmatched delight.
Companions dear, this toil remains alone,
To win that region of unmatched delight.
‘O faithful in a thousand labours known,
One toil remains, the noblest and the last;
Let us arise, and make that land our own.’
One toil remains, the noblest and the last;
Let us arise, and make that land our own.’
—Through realms of darkness, wildernesses vast,
All populous with sights and sounds of fear,
In heat and cold, by day and night, he past,
All populous with sights and sounds of fear,
In heat and cold, by day and night, he past,
With trumpet clang, with banner and with spear;
Yearning to drink that river, where it sent
Its first pure waters forth, serene and clear;
Yearning to drink that river, where it sent
Its first pure waters forth, serene and clear;
Till boldest captains sank, their courage spent,
And dying cried—‘This stream all search defies’—
But never would he tarry nor relent,
And dying cried—‘This stream all search defies’—
But never would he tarry nor relent,
Nor pitched his banners, till before his eyes
Rose high as heaven, in its secluded state,
The mighty verdant wall of Paradise.
Rose high as heaven, in its secluded state,
The mighty verdant wall of Paradise.
75
And lo! that stream, which early still and late
He had tracked upward, issued bright and clear
From underneath the angel-guarded gate.
He had tracked upward, issued bright and clear
From underneath the angel-guarded gate.
—‘And who art thou that hast adventured here,
Daring to startle this serene abode
With flash of mortal weapons, sword and spear?’
Daring to startle this serene abode
With flash of mortal weapons, sword and spear?’
So the angelic sentinel of God,
Fire-flashing, to the bold invader cried,
Whose feet profane those holy precincts trod.
Fire-flashing, to the bold invader cried,
Whose feet profane those holy precincts trod.
The son of Philip without dread replied,—
‘Is Alexander's fame unknown to thee,
Which the world knows—mine, who have victory tied
‘Is Alexander's fame unknown to thee,
Which the world knows—mine, who have victory tied
‘To my sword's hilt; and who, while stoop to me
All other lands, would win what rich or fair
This land contains, and hold it mine in fee?’
All other lands, would win what rich or fair
This land contains, and hold it mine in fee?’
—‘Thou dost thyself proclaim that part or share
Thou hast not here. O man of blood and sin,
Go back—with those blood-stainëd hands despair
Thou hast not here. O man of blood and sin,
Go back—with those blood-stainëd hands despair
This place of love and holy peace to win:
This is the gate of righteousness, and they,
The righteous, only here may enter in.’
This is the gate of righteousness, and they,
The righteous, only here may enter in.’
Around, before him, lightnings dart and play:
He undismayed—‘Of travail long and hard
At least some token let me bear away.’
He undismayed—‘Of travail long and hard
At least some token let me bear away.’
—‘Lo! then this skull—which if thou wilt regard
And to my question seek the fit reply,
All thy long travail shall have full reward.
And to my question seek the fit reply,
All thy long travail shall have full reward.
76
‘Once in yon hollow circle lodged an eye,
That was, like thine, for ever coveting,
Which worlds on worlds had failed to satisfy.
That was, like thine, for ever coveting,
Which worlds on worlds had failed to satisfy.
‘Now, while thou gazest on that ghastly ring,
From whence of old a greedy eye outspied,
Say what thing was it,—for there was a thing,—
From whence of old a greedy eye outspied,
Say what thing was it,—for there was a thing,—
‘Which filled at last and throughly satisfied
The eye that in that hollow cavern dwelt,
So that, “Enough, I have enough,” it cried.’
The eye that in that hollow cavern dwelt,
So that, “Enough, I have enough,” it cried.’
—Blank disappointment at the gift he felt,
And hardly taking, turned in scorn away;
Nor he the riddle of the angel spelt,
And hardly taking, turned in scorn away;
Nor he the riddle of the angel spelt,
But cried unto his captains,—‘We delay,
And at these portals lose our time in vain,
By more than mortal terrors kept at bay:
And at these portals lose our time in vain,
By more than mortal terrors kept at bay:
‘Come—other lands as goodly spoils contain,
Come—all too long untouched the Indian gold,
The pearls and spice of Araby remain.
Come—all too long untouched the Indian gold,
The pearls and spice of Araby remain.
‘Come, and who will this riddle may unfold.’
Then stood before him, careless of his ire,
An Indian sage, who rendered answer bold—
Then stood before him, careless of his ire,
An Indian sage, who rendered answer bold—
‘Lord of the world, commanded to inquire
What was it that could satisfy an eye,
That organ of man's measureless desire—
What was it that could satisfy an eye,
That organ of man's measureless desire—
‘By deed and word thou plainly dost reply,
That its desire can nothing tame or quell,
That it can never know sufficiency.
That its desire can nothing tame or quell,
That it can never know sufficiency.
77
‘While thou enlargest thy desire as hell,
Filling thine hand, but filling not thy lust,
Thou dost proclaim man's eye insatiable:
Filling thine hand, but filling not thy lust,
Thou dost proclaim man's eye insatiable:
‘Such answer from thy lips were only just.
Yet ’twas not so. One came at last, who threw
Into yon face a handful of vile dust,
Yet ’twas not so. One came at last, who threw
Into yon face a handful of vile dust,
‘Whereof a few small grains did fall into
And filled the vault and hollow of that eye,
When that which suffisance not ever knew
Before, was fain, “I have enough,” to cry.’
And filled the vault and hollow of that eye,
When that which suffisance not ever knew
Before, was fain, “I have enough,” to cry.’
78
FROM THE PERSIAN.
Death ends well Life's undelight,
Yet Life shudders at Death's sight.
Yet Life shudders at Death's sight.
Life the dark hand sees, but not
What it brings, the clear cup bright.
What it brings, the clear cup bright.
So at sight of Love a heart
Fears that it must perish quite.
Fears that it must perish quite.
Only Self, the tyrant dark,
He must perish in Love's might—
He must perish in Love's might—
That the heart may truly live,
Breathing free in Love's pure light.
Breathing free in Love's pure light.
79
CHIDHER'S WELL.
Of Chidher's Well, the Eastern λουτρον παλιγγενεσιας, Von Hammer, in the very interesting introduction to his History of Persian Poetry, gives this account: ‘Contemporary with Moses lived the Prophet Chiser, of whom some hold that he is the same with Elias, while others altogether distinguish them. He is one of the chief personages of Eastern mythology, the ever-ready helper of the oppressed, the Genius of spring, the deliverer in peril, the admonisher of princes, the avenger of unrighteousness, the guide through the wilderness of the world, and, finally, the ever-youthful guardian of the fountain of life. As such he revives the youth of men and beasts and plants, gives back lost beauty, and in spring arrays the dead earth with its fresh garments of green. His fountain bestows on whomsoever drinks it eternal beauty, youth, and wisdom. What wonder then that all mortals with burning desire seek it, though as yet not one, not even Alexander, the conqueror of the world, who, in quest of it, undertook an expedition into the land of darkness, has found it!’ Probably this, his journey through the land of darkness, is but a mythic form of his expedition through the Libyan desert to the temple of Jupiter Ammon.
Thee have thousands sought in vain
Over land and barren main,
Over land and barren main,
Chidher's Well,—of which men say,
That thou makest young again;
That thou makest young again;
Fountain of eternal youth,
Washing free from every stain.
Washing free from every stain.
To thy waves the agëd moons
Aye betake them, when they wane;
Aye betake them, when they wane;
And the suns their golden light,
While they bathe in thee, retain.
While they bathe in thee, retain.
From this fountain drops are flung
Mingling with the vernal rain,
Mingling with the vernal rain,
And the old earth decks itself
With its young attire again.
With its young attire again.
Thitherward the freckled trout
Up the water-courses strain;
Up the water-courses strain;
80
And the timid wild gazelles
Seek it through the desert plain.
Seek it through the desert plain.
Great Iskander,
mighty lord,
Sought that fountain, but in vain;
Sought that fountain, but in vain;
Through the land of darkness went
In its quest with fruitless pain,
In its quest with fruitless pain,
When by wealth of conquered worlds
Did his thirst unslaked remain.
Did his thirst unslaked remain.
Many more with parchëd lip
Must lie down and dizzy brain,
Must lie down and dizzy brain,
And of this, a fountain sealed
Unto them, in death complain.
Unto them, in death complain.
If its springs to thee are known,
Weary wanderer, tell me plain.
Weary wanderer, tell me plain.
From beneath the throne of God
It must well, a lucid vein.
It must well, a lucid vein.
To its sources lead me, Lord,
That I do not thirst again;
That I do not thirst again;
And my lips not any more
Shall the earth's dark waters stain.
Shall the earth's dark waters stain.
81
LIFE AND DEATH.
A PARABLE.
There went a man through Syrian land,
Leading a Camel by the hand;
The beast, made wild by some alarm,
Began to threaten sudden harm,
So fiercely snorting, that the man
With all his speed escaping ran—
He ran, and saw a well that lay,
As chance would have it, by the way:
He heard the Camel snort so near,
As almost maddened him with fear,
And crawled into the well, and there
Fell not, but dangled in mid air;
For from a fissure in the stone
Which lined its sides, a bush had grown;
To this he clung with all his might,
From thence lamenting his sad plight:
He saw, what time he looked on high,
The beast's head perilously nigh,
Ready to drag him back again;
He looked into the bottom then,
And there a Dragon he espied,
Whose horrid jaws were yawning wide,
Agape to swallow him alive,
So soon as he should there arrive.
Leading a Camel by the hand;
The beast, made wild by some alarm,
Began to threaten sudden harm,
So fiercely snorting, that the man
With all his speed escaping ran—
He ran, and saw a well that lay,
As chance would have it, by the way:
He heard the Camel snort so near,
As almost maddened him with fear,
And crawled into the well, and there
Fell not, but dangled in mid air;
For from a fissure in the stone
Which lined its sides, a bush had grown;
To this he clung with all his might,
From thence lamenting his sad plight:
He saw, what time he looked on high,
The beast's head perilously nigh,
Ready to drag him back again;
He looked into the bottom then,
And there a Dragon he espied,
Whose horrid jaws were yawning wide,
Agape to swallow him alive,
So soon as he should there arrive.
82
But as he hung two fears between,
A third by that poor wretch was seen.
For where the bush by which he clung
Had from the broken wall outsprung,
He saw two Mice precisely there,
One black, one white, a stealthy pair—
He saw the black one and the white,
How at the root by turns they bite,
They gnaw, they pull, they dig, and still
The earth that held its fibres spill,
Which as it rustling downward ran,
The Dragon to look up began,
Watching how soon the shrub and all
Its burden would together fall.
A third by that poor wretch was seen.
For where the bush by which he clung
Had from the broken wall outsprung,
He saw two Mice precisely there,
One black, one white, a stealthy pair—
He saw the black one and the white,
How at the root by turns they bite,
They gnaw, they pull, they dig, and still
The earth that held its fibres spill,
Which as it rustling downward ran,
The Dragon to look up began,
Watching how soon the shrub and all
Its burden would together fall.
The man in anguish, fear, despair,
Beleaguered, threatened everywhere,
In state of miserable doubt,
In vain for safety gazed about.
But as he looked around him so,
A twig he spied, and on it grow
Ripe berries from their laden stalk;
Then his desire he could not balk;
When these did once his eye engage,
He saw no more the Camel's rage,
Nor Dragon in the underground,
Nor game the busy Mice had found.
The beast above might snort and blow,
The Dragon watch his prey below,
The Mice gnaw near him as they pleased—
The berries eagerly he seized;
They seemed to him right good to eat;
A dainty mouthful, welcome treat,
They brought him such a keen delight,
His danger was forgotten quite.
Beleaguered, threatened everywhere,
In state of miserable doubt,
In vain for safety gazed about.
But as he looked around him so,
A twig he spied, and on it grow
Ripe berries from their laden stalk;
Then his desire he could not balk;
When these did once his eye engage,
He saw no more the Camel's rage,
Nor Dragon in the underground,
Nor game the busy Mice had found.
The beast above might snort and blow,
The Dragon watch his prey below,
The Mice gnaw near him as they pleased—
The berries eagerly he seized;
They seemed to him right good to eat;
A dainty mouthful, welcome treat,
83
His danger was forgotten quite.
But who, you ask, is this vain man,
Who thus forget his terror can?
Then learn, O friend, that man art thou!
Listen, and I will tell thee how.
The Dragon in the well beneath,
That is the yawning gulf of death;
The Camel threatening overhead,
Is life's perplexity and dread.
'Tis thou who, life and death between,
Hangest on this world's sapling green;
And they who gnaw the root, the twain
Who thee with thy support would fain
Deliver unto death a prey,—
These names the Mice have, Night and Day.
From morn to evening gnaws the white,
And would the root unfasten quite:
From evening till the morn comes back
In deepest stillness gnaws the black;
And yet, in midst of these alarms,
The berry, Pleasure, has such charms,
That thou the Camel of life's woe,
That thou the Dragon death below,
That thou the two Mice, night and day,
And all forgettest, save the way
To get most berries in thy power,
And on the grave's steep side devour.
Who thus forget his terror can?
Then learn, O friend, that man art thou!
Listen, and I will tell thee how.
The Dragon in the well beneath,
That is the yawning gulf of death;
The Camel threatening overhead,
Is life's perplexity and dread.
'Tis thou who, life and death between,
Hangest on this world's sapling green;
And they who gnaw the root, the twain
Who thee with thy support would fain
Deliver unto death a prey,—
These names the Mice have, Night and Day.
From morn to evening gnaws the white,
And would the root unfasten quite:
From evening till the morn comes back
In deepest stillness gnaws the black;
And yet, in midst of these alarms,
The berry, Pleasure, has such charms,
That thou the Camel of life's woe,
That thou the Dragon death below,
That thou the two Mice, night and day,
And all forgettest, save the way
To get most berries in thy power,
And on the grave's steep side devour.
84
LOVE.
Love is it, Love divine, that hath an impulse lent
To man, and beast, and worm, and every element.
To man, and beast, and worm, and every element.
All riddles Love can solve, all mysteries unfold;
Ask what thou wilt, and Love the answer will present.
Ask what thou wilt, and Love the answer will present.
I asked the circling heavens why they so swiftly moved:
Round Love's eternal throne they ever wheeling went.
Round Love's eternal throne they ever wheeling went.
I asked the waves what made their murmurs never cease:
Shall we in Love's great hymn with silence be content?
Shall we in Love's great hymn with silence be content?
I asked the bickering fire when it would climb no more:
When with the fire above in Love's communion blent.
When with the fire above in Love's communion blent.
Night asked I why she hung the world with darkness round:
To consecrate the world for Love a bridal tent.
To consecrate the world for Love a bridal tent.
I asked the westwind why it breathed so soft and warm:
All roses to unfold for Love the westwind meant.
All roses to unfold for Love the westwind meant.
I sought some issue from the labyrinth of Love;
And found my bliss was there to be for ever pent.
And found my bliss was there to be for ever pent.
85
O soul, that until now has sullenly refused
Thy portion in Love's joy, O sullen heart, relent;
Thy portion in Love's joy, O sullen heart, relent;
Oh! see Love's mighty dance, oh! hear Love's choral hymn;
Stand up—in dance and hymn to take thy part consent.
Stand up—in dance and hymn to take thy part consent.
86
THE FALCON.
High didst thou once in honour stand,
The falcon on a Monarch's hand:
The falcon on a Monarch's hand:
Thine eye, unhooded and unseeled,
All depths of being pierced and scanned:
All depths of being pierced and scanned:
All worlds of space from end to end
Thy never-wearied pinion spanned.
Thy never-wearied pinion spanned.
O falcon of the higher heaven,
Entangled in an earthly band,
Entangled in an earthly band,
While all too eagerly thy prey
Pursuing in a lower land,
Pursuing in a lower land,
In hope abide;—thy Monarch yet
For thy release shall give command,
For thy release shall give command,
And bid thee to resume again
Thy place upon thy Monarch's hand.
Thy place upon thy Monarch's hand.
87
THE BREAKER OF IDOLS.
Mahmoud, the great Mahomedan conqueror of India, reached, in his career of victory, Somnát, of which the gates have since become familiar to us—a temple of peculiar sanctity in the southern extremity of Guzerát. Having overcome all resistance, he entered the temple. ‘Facing the entrance was Somnát—an idol five yards high, of which two were buried in the ground. Mahmoud instantly ordered the image to be destroyed; when the Bramins of the temple threw themselves before him, and offered an enormous ransom if he would spare their deity. . . . . Mahmoud, after a moment's pause, declared that he would rather be remembered as the breaker than the seller of idols, and struck the image with his mace. His example was instantaneously followed, and the image, which was hollow, burst with the blows, and poured forth a quantity of diamonds and other jewels which amply repaid Mahmoud for the sacrifice of the ransom.’—Elphinstone, History of India, vol. i. p, 554. There is a later poem on the same subject by Lowell, Under the Willows, p. 135.
Lo! a hundred proud pagodas have the Moslem torches burned,
Lo! a thousand monstrous idols Mahmoud's zeal has overturned.
Lo! a thousand monstrous idols Mahmoud's zeal has overturned.
He from northern Ghuznee issuing, through the world this word doth bear,—
‘God is one; ye shall no other with the peerless One compare:’
‘God is one; ye shall no other with the peerless One compare:’
Till in India's furthest corner he has reached the costliest shrine
Of the Brahmins, idol-tending—which they held the most divine.
Of the Brahmins, idol-tending—which they held the most divine.
Profits not the wild resistance; stands the victor at the gate,
With this hugest idol's ruin all his work to consummate.
With this hugest idol's ruin all his work to consummate.
Forth in long procession streaming came the suppliant priests to meet—
Came with ransom and with homage the resistless one to greet.
Came with ransom and with homage the resistless one to greet.
88
Ransom vast of gold they offer, pearls of price and jewels rare,
Purchase of their idol's safety, this their dearest will he spare.
Purchase of their idol's safety, this their dearest will he spare.
And there wanted not who counselled, that he should his hand withhold,
Should that single image suffer, and accept the proffered gold.
Should that single image suffer, and accept the proffered gold.
But he rather,—‘God has raised me, not to make a shameful gain,
Trafficking in hideous idols, with a service false and vain;
Trafficking in hideous idols, with a service false and vain;
But to count my work unfinished, till I sweep them from the world:
Stand, and see the thing ye sued for, by this hand to ruin hurled.’
Stand, and see the thing ye sued for, by this hand to ruin hurled.’
High he reared his battle-axe, and heavily came down the blow:
Reeled the abominable image, broken, bursten, to and fro;
Reeled the abominable image, broken, bursten, to and fro;
From its shattered side revealing pearls and diamonds, showers of gold;
More than all that proffered ransom, more than all a hundred fold.
More than all that proffered ransom, more than all a hundred fold.
—Thou too, Heaven's commissioned warrior to cast down each idol throne
In thy heart's profanëd temple, make this faithful deed thine own.
In thy heart's profanëd temple, make this faithful deed thine own.
89
Still they plead and still they promise, wilt thou suffer them to stand,
They have pleasures, gifts and treasures, to enrich thee at command.
They have pleasures, gifts and treasures, to enrich thee at command.
Heed not thou, but boldly strike them; let descend the faithful blow;
From their wreck and from their ruin first will thy true riches flow.
From their wreck and from their ruin first will thy true riches flow.
Thou shalt lose thy life, and find it; thou shalt boldly cast it forth;
And then back again receiving, know it in its endless worth.
And then back again receiving, know it in its endless worth.
90
FROM THE PERSIAN.
Happy name I you, my brethren, who not ever doomed to roam,
In the eternal Father's mansion from the first have dwelt at home.
In the eternal Father's mansion from the first have dwelt at home.
Round the Father's throne for ever standing, in his countenance
Sunning you, you see the seven circling heavens around you dance.
Sunning you, you see the seven circling heavens around you dance.
Me He has cast out to exile, in a distant land to learn
How I should love Him, the Father, how for that true country yearn.
How I should love Him, the Father, how for that true country yearn.
I lie here, a star of Heaven, fall'n upon this gloomy place,
Scarce remembering what bright courses I was once allowed to trace.
Scarce remembering what bright courses I was once allowed to trace.
Still in dreams it comes upon me, that I once on wings did soar;
But or ere my flight commences, this my dream must all be o'er.
But or ere my flight commences, this my dream must all be o'er.
When the lark is climbing upward on the sunbeam, then I feel
Even as though my spirit also hidden pinions could reveal.
Even as though my spirit also hidden pinions could reveal.
91
I a rose-bush to this lower soil of earth am fastly bound,
And with heavenly dew besprinkled, still am rooted to the ground.
And with heavenly dew besprinkled, still am rooted to the ground.
Yet the life is struggling upward; striving still with all their might
Yearning buds their cups to open to the warmth and heavenly light.
Yearning buds their cups to open to the warmth and heavenly light.
From its stalk released, my flower soars not yet—a butterfly;
But meanwhile my fragrant incense evermore I breathe on high.
But meanwhile my fragrant incense evermore I breathe on high.
From this gloomy land of vapours, where the hurricanes surprise,
Lightning scorches, and hail lashes, and the thunder terrifies,
Lightning scorches, and hail lashes, and the thunder terrifies,
By my Gardener to his garden I shall once transplanted be,
There where I have been already written from eternity.
There where I have been already written from eternity.
O my brothers blooming yonder, unto Him, the Ancient, pray,
That the hour of my transplanting He will not for long delay.
That the hour of my transplanting He will not for long delay.
92
THE BANISHED KINGS.
See Rückert, Brahmanische Erzählungen, p. 5; on the model of whose poem, my own, without pretending to be an accurate translation, is closely formed. The apologue owns, I believe, a higher antiquity even than the beautiful Greek romance of the seventh or eighth century, Barlaam and Josaphat, often ascribed, though on no sufficient grounds, to John of Damascus; but, at any rate, it is one of the many exquisite apologues with which that work is adorned.
On a fair ship, borne swiftly o'er the deep,
A man was lying, wrapt in dreamless sleep;
When unawares upon a sunken rock
That vessel struck, and shattered with the shock.
But strange! the plank where lay the sleeper bore
Him, wrapt in deep sleep ever, to the shore:
It bore him safely through the foam and spray,
High up on land, where couched 'mid flowers he lay.
Sweet tones first woke him from his sleep, when round
His couch observant multitudes he found:
All hailed him then, and did before him bow,
And with one voice exclaimed,—‘Our King art thou.’
With jubilant applause they bore him on,
And set him wondering on a royal throne:
And some his limbs with royal robes arrayed,
And some before him duteous homage paid,
And some brought gifts, all rare and costly things,
Nature's and Art's profusest offerings:
Around him counsellors and servants prest,
All eager to accomplish his behest.
Wish unaccomplished of his soul was none;
The thing that he commanded, it was done.
A man was lying, wrapt in dreamless sleep;
When unawares upon a sunken rock
That vessel struck, and shattered with the shock.
But strange! the plank where lay the sleeper bore
Him, wrapt in deep sleep ever, to the shore:
It bore him safely through the foam and spray,
High up on land, where couched 'mid flowers he lay.
Sweet tones first woke him from his sleep, when round
His couch observant multitudes he found:
All hailed him then, and did before him bow,
And with one voice exclaimed,—‘Our King art thou.’
With jubilant applause they bore him on,
And set him wondering on a royal throne:
And some his limbs with royal robes arrayed,
And some before him duteous homage paid,
And some brought gifts, all rare and costly things,
Nature's and Art's profusest offerings:
Around him counsellors and servants prest,
All eager to accomplish his behest.
Wish unaccomplished of his soul was none;
The thing that he commanded, it was done.
Much he rejoiced, and he had well-nigh now
Forgotten whence he hither came, and how;
Until at eve, of homage weary grown,
He craved a season to be left alone.
Alone in hall magnificent he sate,
And mused upon the wonder of his fate;
When lo! an aged counsellor, a seer,
Before unnoticed, to the King drew near;
—‘And thee would I too gratulate, my son,
Who hast thy reign in happy hour begun:
Seen hast thou the beginning,—yet attend,
While I shall also show to thee the end.
That this new fortune do not blind thee quite,
Both sides regard, the darker with the bright:
Heed what so many who have reigned before,
Failing to heed, now rue for evermore.
Though sure thy state and strong thy throne appear,
King only art thou for a season here;
A time is fixed, albeit unknown to thee,
Which when it comes, thou banished hence shalt be
Round this fair spot, though hidden from the eye
By mist and vapour, many islands lie:
Bare are their coasts, and dreary and forlorn,
And unto them the banished kings are borne;
On each of these an exiled king doth mourn.
For when a new king comes, they bear away
The old, whom now no vassals more obey;
Stripped of his royalties and glories lent,
Unhonoured, unattended he is sent
Unto his dreary island-banishment;
While all who girt his throne with service true,
Now fall away from him, to serve the new.
What I have told thee, lay betimes to heart,
And ere thy rule is ended, take thy part,
That thou hereafter on thine isle forlorn
Do not thy vanished kingdom vainly mourn,
When nothing of its pomp to thee remains
On that bare shore, save only memory's pains.
Forgotten whence he hither came, and how;
Until at eve, of homage weary grown,
He craved a season to be left alone.
93
And mused upon the wonder of his fate;
When lo! an aged counsellor, a seer,
Before unnoticed, to the King drew near;
—‘And thee would I too gratulate, my son,
Who hast thy reign in happy hour begun:
Seen hast thou the beginning,—yet attend,
While I shall also show to thee the end.
That this new fortune do not blind thee quite,
Both sides regard, the darker with the bright:
Heed what so many who have reigned before,
Failing to heed, now rue for evermore.
Though sure thy state and strong thy throne appear,
King only art thou for a season here;
A time is fixed, albeit unknown to thee,
Which when it comes, thou banished hence shalt be
Round this fair spot, though hidden from the eye
By mist and vapour, many islands lie:
Bare are their coasts, and dreary and forlorn,
And unto them the banished kings are borne;
On each of these an exiled king doth mourn.
For when a new king comes, they bear away
The old, whom now no vassals more obey;
Stripped of his royalties and glories lent,
Unhonoured, unattended he is sent
Unto his dreary island-banishment;
While all who girt his throne with service true,
Now fall away from him, to serve the new.
What I have told thee, lay betimes to heart,
And ere thy rule is ended, take thy part,
That thou hereafter on thine isle forlorn
Do not thy vanished kingdom vainly mourn,
When nothing of its pomp to thee remains
On that bare shore, save only memory's pains.
94
‘Much, O my Prince! my words have thee distrest,
Thy head has sunk in sorrow on thy breast;
Yet idle sorrow helps not—I will show
A wiser way, which shall true help bestow.
This counsel take—to others given in vain,
While no belief from them my words might gain.
Know then, whilst thou art Monarch here, there stand
Helps for the future many at command;
Then, while thou canst, employ them to adorn
That island whither thou must once be borne.
Unbuilt and waste and barren now that strand,
There gush no fountains from the thirsty sand,
No groves of palm-trees have been planted there,
Nor plants of odorous scent perfume that air;
While all alike have shunned to contemplate
That they should ever change their flattering state.
But make thou there provision of delight,
Till that which now so threatens, may invite;
Bid there thy servants build up royal towers,
And change its barren sands to leafy bowers;
Bid fountains there be hewn, and cause to bloom
Immortal amaranths, shedding rich perfume.
So when the world, which speaks thee now so fair
And flatters so, again shall strip thee bare,
And drive thee naked forth in harshest wise,
Thou joyfully wilt seek thy paradise.
There will not vex thee memories of the past,
While hope will heighten here the joys thou hast.
This do, while yet the power is in thine hand,
While thou hast helps so many at command.’
Thy head has sunk in sorrow on thy breast;
Yet idle sorrow helps not—I will show
A wiser way, which shall true help bestow.
This counsel take—to others given in vain,
While no belief from them my words might gain.
Know then, whilst thou art Monarch here, there stand
Helps for the future many at command;
Then, while thou canst, employ them to adorn
That island whither thou must once be borne.
Unbuilt and waste and barren now that strand,
There gush no fountains from the thirsty sand,
No groves of palm-trees have been planted there,
Nor plants of odorous scent perfume that air;
While all alike have shunned to contemplate
That they should ever change their flattering state.
But make thou there provision of delight,
Till that which now so threatens, may invite;
Bid there thy servants build up royal towers,
And change its barren sands to leafy bowers;
Bid fountains there be hewn, and cause to bloom
Immortal amaranths, shedding rich perfume.
So when the world, which speaks thee now so fair
And flatters so, again shall strip thee bare,
And drive thee naked forth in harshest wise,
Thou joyfully wilt seek thy paradise.
There will not vex thee memories of the past,
While hope will heighten here the joys thou hast.
This do, while yet the power is in thine hand,
While thou hast helps so many at command.’
Then raised the Prince his head with courage new
And what the Sage advised, prepared to do.
He ruled his realm with meekness, and meanwhile
He marvellously decked the chosen isle;
Bade there his servants build up royal towers,
And change its barren sands to leafy bowers;
Bade fountains there be hewn, and caused to bloom
Immortal amaranths, shedding rich perfume.
And when he long enough had kept his throne,
To him sweet odours from that isle were blown;
Then knew he that its gardens blooming were,
And all the yearnings of his soul were there.
Grief was it not to him, but joy, when they
His crown and sceptre bade him quit one day;
When him his servants rudely did dismiss,
'Twas not the sentence of his ended bliss,
But pomp and power he cheerfully forsook,
And to his isle a willing journey took,
And found diviner pleasure on that shore,
Than all, his proudest state had known before.
And what the Sage advised, prepared to do.
95
He marvellously decked the chosen isle;
Bade there his servants build up royal towers,
And change its barren sands to leafy bowers;
Bade fountains there be hewn, and caused to bloom
Immortal amaranths, shedding rich perfume.
And when he long enough had kept his throne,
To him sweet odours from that isle were blown;
Then knew he that its gardens blooming were,
And all the yearnings of his soul were there.
Grief was it not to him, but joy, when they
His crown and sceptre bade him quit one day;
When him his servants rudely did dismiss,
'Twas not the sentence of his ended bliss,
But pomp and power he cheerfully forsook,
And to his isle a willing journey took,
And found diviner pleasure on that shore,
Than all, his proudest state had known before.
96
SOLOMON.
What child of dust with glory was arrayedLike Solomon?—his bidding, while he stood
In his obedience and first state of good,
The upper and the under worlds obeyed—
All spirits, good and evil; yea, he made
Hell's concourse and involuntary brood
Do drudging work for him—hew stones, bring wood,
And in the rearing of God's temple aid.
But when he fell from God, that self-same hour
They fell from him—against him dared to turn,
Defied his might, his ring, his seal of power;
Made him the subject of their mock and scorn;
While before them he now must crouch and cower,
Of strength and wisdom, as of goodness, shorn.
97
THE BALLADS OF HAROUN AL RASCHID.
I
THE SPILT PEARLS.
His courtiers of the Caliph crave—
‘Oh, say how this may be,
That of thy salves this Ethiop slave
Is best beloved by thee?
‘Oh, say how this may be,
That of thy salves this Ethiop slave
Is best beloved by thee?
‘For he is hideous as the night:
But when has ever chose
A nightingale for his delight
A hueless scentless rose?’
But when has ever chose
A nightingale for his delight
A hueless scentless rose?’
The Caliph then—‘No features fair,
Nor comely mien are his:
Love is the beauty he doth wear,
And Love his glory is.
Nor comely mien are his:
Love is the beauty he doth wear,
And Love his glory is.
‘Once when a camel of my train
There fell in narrow street,
From broken casket rolled amain
Rich pearls before my feet.
There fell in narrow street,
From broken casket rolled amain
Rich pearls before my feet.
‘I beckoning to my slaves, that I
Would freely give them these,
At once upon the spoil they fly,
The costly boon to seize.
Would freely give them these,
At once upon the spoil they fly,
The costly boon to seize.
98
One only at my side remained—
Beside this Ethiop none:
He, moveless as the steed he reined,
Behind me sat alone.
Beside this Ethiop none:
He, moveless as the steed he reined,
Behind me sat alone.
‘“What will thy gain, good fellow, be,
Thus lingering at my side?”
—“My King, that I shall faithfully
Have guarded thee,” he cried.
Thus lingering at my side?”
—“My King, that I shall faithfully
Have guarded thee,” he cried.
‘“True servant's title he may wear,
He only, who has not
For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,
His lord himself forgot!”’
He only, who has not
For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,
His lord himself forgot!”’
—So thou alone dost walk before
Thy God with perfect aim,
From Him desiring nothing more
Beside Himself to claim.
Thy God with perfect aim,
From Him desiring nothing more
Beside Himself to claim.
For if thou not to Him aspire,
But to his gifts alone,
Not Love, but covetous desire,
Has brought thee to his throne.
But to his gifts alone,
Not Love, but covetous desire,
Has brought thee to his throne.
While such thy prayer, it climbs above
In vain; the golden key
Of God's rich treasure-house of love
Thine own will never be.
In vain; the golden key
Of God's rich treasure-house of love
Thine own will never be.
99
II.
THE BARMECIDES.
See Sylvestre de Sacy, Chrestomathie Arabe, vol. ii.; and D'Herbelot, Bibliothèque Orientale, s.v. Barmekian.
Haroun the Just!—yet once that name
Of Just the ruler ill became,
By whose too hasty sentence died
The royal-hearted Barmecide.
O Barmecide, of hand and heart
So prompt, so forward to impart,
Of bounty so unchecked and free,
That once a poet sung, how he
Would fear thy very hand to touch,
Lest he should learn to give too much,
Lest, catching the contagion thence
Of thy unmatched munificence,
A beggar he should soon remain,
Helpless his bounty to restrain—
O Barmecide of royal heart,
My childhood's tears again will start
Into mine eyes, the tears I shed,
As I remember, when I read
Of harsh injustice done to thee,
And all thy princely family.
—What marvel that the Caliph, stung
With secret consciousness of wrong,
Or now desiring every trace
Of that large bounty to efface,
With penalty of death forbade
That mourning should for them be made;
That any should with grateful song
Their memory in men's hearts prolong?
Of Just the ruler ill became,
By whose too hasty sentence died
The royal-hearted Barmecide.
O Barmecide, of hand and heart
So prompt, so forward to impart,
Of bounty so unchecked and free,
That once a poet sung, how he
Would fear thy very hand to touch,
Lest he should learn to give too much,
Lest, catching the contagion thence
Of thy unmatched munificence,
A beggar he should soon remain,
Helpless his bounty to restrain—
O Barmecide of royal heart,
My childhood's tears again will start
Into mine eyes, the tears I shed,
As I remember, when I read
Of harsh injustice done to thee,
And all thy princely family.
—What marvel that the Caliph, stung
With secret consciousness of wrong,
Or now desiring every trace
Of that large bounty to efface,
With penalty of death forbade
That mourning should for them be made;
100
Their memory in men's hearts prolong?
—‘And who art thou, that day by day
Hast dared my mandate disobey?
Who art thou whom my guards have found,
Now standing on some grass-grown mound,
Now wandering 'mid the ruined towers,
Fall'n palaces, and wasted bowers
Of those at length for traitors known,
And by my justice overthrown—
Singing a plaintive dirge for them
Whom my just vengeance did condemn;
Till ever, as I learn, around
Thy steps a listening crowd is found,
Who still unto thy sad lament
Do with their sobs and tears consent;
While in the bosom of that throng
Rise thoughts that do their Monarch wrong?
What doom I did for this assign
Thou knewest, and that doom is thine.’
Hast dared my mandate disobey?
Who art thou whom my guards have found,
Now standing on some grass-grown mound,
Now wandering 'mid the ruined towers,
Fall'n palaces, and wasted bowers
Of those at length for traitors known,
And by my justice overthrown—
Singing a plaintive dirge for them
Whom my just vengeance did condemn;
Till ever, as I learn, around
Thy steps a listening crowd is found,
Who still unto thy sad lament
Do with their sobs and tears consent;
While in the bosom of that throng
Rise thoughts that do their Monarch wrong?
What doom I did for this assign
Thou knewest, and that doom is thine.’
But then the offender:—‘Give me room,
And I will gladly take my doom,
O King, to spend my latest breath,
Ere I am borne unto my death,
In telling for what highest grace
I was beholden to that race,
Whose memory my heart hath kept,
Whose perished glories I have wept.
For then, at least, it will appear
That not in disobedience mere
Thy mandate high I overpast.
—O King, I was the least and last
Of all the servitors of him,
Whose glory in thy frown grew dim,—
The least and last—yet he one day
To me, his meanest slave, did say
That he was fain my guest to be,
And the next day would sup with me.
More time I willingly had craved,
But my excuses all he waved,
And by no train accompanied,
His two sons only at his side,
At my poor lodging lighted down,
Which at the limits of the town
Stood in a close and narrow street.
Him I and mine did humbly greet,
Standing before him while he shared
What we meanwhile had best prepared
Of entertainment, though the best
Was poor and mean for such a guest.
But supper done, with cheerful mien,
‘Thy house,’ he cried, ‘I have not seen,
Thy gardens;—let me pace awhile
Along some cool and shadowy aisle.’
I thought he mocked me, but replied,
‘Possessions have I not so wide:
For house, another room with this
Our only habitation is;
And garden have I none to show,
Unless that narrow court below,
Shut in with lofty walls, that name
In right of four dwarf shrubs may claim.’
—‘Nay, nay,’ he answered, ‘there is more,
If only we could find the door.’
Again I told him, but in vain,
That he had seen my whole domain.
—‘Nay, go then quick, a mason call.’
Him bade he straightway pierce the wall.
—‘But shall we in this wise invade
A neighbour's house?’—No heed he paid,
And I stood dumb, and wondering
Whereto he would the issue bring.
Anon he through the opening past,
He and his sons, and I the last;
When suddenly myself I found
In ample space of garden ground,
Or rather in a Paradise
Of rare and wonderful device,
With stately walks and alleys wide,
Far stretching upon every side;
And streams upon whose either bank
Stood lofty platanes, rank by rank,
And marble fountains, scattering high
Illumined dew-drops in the sky;
And making a low tinkling sound,
As sliding down from mound to mound,
They did at last their courses take
Down to a calm and lucid lake,
By which, on gently sloping height,
There stood a palace of delight;
And many slaves, but all of rare
And perfect beauty, marshalled there,
Did each to me incline the knee,
Exclaiming all—“Thy servants we.”
And I will gladly take my doom,
O King, to spend my latest breath,
Ere I am borne unto my death,
In telling for what highest grace
I was beholden to that race,
Whose memory my heart hath kept,
Whose perished glories I have wept.
For then, at least, it will appear
That not in disobedience mere
Thy mandate high I overpast.
—O King, I was the least and last
101
Whose glory in thy frown grew dim,—
The least and last—yet he one day
To me, his meanest slave, did say
That he was fain my guest to be,
And the next day would sup with me.
More time I willingly had craved,
But my excuses all he waved,
And by no train accompanied,
His two sons only at his side,
At my poor lodging lighted down,
Which at the limits of the town
Stood in a close and narrow street.
Him I and mine did humbly greet,
Standing before him while he shared
What we meanwhile had best prepared
Of entertainment, though the best
Was poor and mean for such a guest.
But supper done, with cheerful mien,
‘Thy house,’ he cried, ‘I have not seen,
Thy gardens;—let me pace awhile
Along some cool and shadowy aisle.’
I thought he mocked me, but replied,
‘Possessions have I not so wide:
For house, another room with this
Our only habitation is;
And garden have I none to show,
Unless that narrow court below,
Shut in with lofty walls, that name
In right of four dwarf shrubs may claim.’
—‘Nay, nay,’ he answered, ‘there is more,
If only we could find the door.’
Again I told him, but in vain,
That he had seen my whole domain.
102
Him bade he straightway pierce the wall.
—‘But shall we in this wise invade
A neighbour's house?’—No heed he paid,
And I stood dumb, and wondering
Whereto he would the issue bring.
Anon he through the opening past,
He and his sons, and I the last;
When suddenly myself I found
In ample space of garden ground,
Or rather in a Paradise
Of rare and wonderful device,
With stately walks and alleys wide,
Far stretching upon every side;
And streams upon whose either bank
Stood lofty platanes, rank by rank,
And marble fountains, scattering high
Illumined dew-drops in the sky;
And making a low tinkling sound,
As sliding down from mound to mound,
They did at last their courses take
Down to a calm and lucid lake,
By which, on gently sloping height,
There stood a palace of delight;
And many slaves, but all of rare
And perfect beauty, marshalled there,
Did each to me incline the knee,
Exclaiming all—“Thy servants we.”
‘And then my lord cried laughing—“Nay,
When this is thine, how could'st thou say
That thou had'st shown me all before?
Thine is it all.”—He said no more,
But at my benefactor's feet
I falling, thanks would render meet.
He, scarcely listening, turned his head,
And to his eldest son he said:
“This house, these gardens, 'twere in vain,
Unless enabled to maintain,
That he should call them his;—my son,
Let us not leave this grace half done.”
Who then replied—“My farms beyond
The Tigris I by sealëd bond
This night before we part, will see
Made over unto him in fee.”
—“'Tis well; but there will months ensue,
Ere his incomings will be due.
What shall there, the meanwhile, be done?”
He turned unto his younger son,
Who answered—“I will bid that gold,
Ten thousand pieces, shall be told
Unto his steward presently;
These shall his urgent needs supply.”
'Twas done upon that very eve;
And done, anon they took their leave,
And left me free to contemplate
The wonders of my novel state.
When this is thine, how could'st thou say
That thou had'st shown me all before?
Thine is it all.”—He said no more,
103
I falling, thanks would render meet.
He, scarcely listening, turned his head,
And to his eldest son he said:
“This house, these gardens, 'twere in vain,
Unless enabled to maintain,
That he should call them his;—my son,
Let us not leave this grace half done.”
Who then replied—“My farms beyond
The Tigris I by sealëd bond
This night before we part, will see
Made over unto him in fee.”
—“'Tis well; but there will months ensue,
Ere his incomings will be due.
What shall there, the meanwhile, be done?”
He turned unto his younger son,
Who answered—“I will bid that gold,
Ten thousand pieces, shall be told
Unto his steward presently;
These shall his urgent needs supply.”
'Twas done upon that very eve;
And done, anon they took their leave,
And left me free to contemplate
The wonders of my novel state.
‘Prince of the Faithful, mighty King,
My fortunes from this source had spring,
Which, if they since that time have grown,
Him their first author still they own.
Nor when that name, which was the praise
Of all the world, on evil days
Had fall'n, was I content to let
Be quite forgotten the large debt
I owed to him;—content to die,
If such shall be thy pleasure high,
And my offence shall seem to thee
Deserving of such penalty.’
My fortunes from this source had spring,
Which, if they since that time have grown,
Him their first author still they own.
Nor when that name, which was the praise
Of all the world, on evil days
Had fall'n, was I content to let
Be quite forgotten the large debt
104
If such shall be thy pleasure high,
And my offence shall seem to thee
Deserving of such penalty.’
What marvel that the King who heard
Was in his inmost bosom stirred?
What marvel that he owned the force
Of late regret and vain remorse?
That spreading palm, whose boughs had made,
Far stretching, such an ample shade
For many a wanderer through life's waste,
He had hewn down in guilty haste;
That fountain free, that springing well
Of goodness inexhaustible,
His hand had stopped it, ne'er again
To slake the thirst of weary men;
That genial sun, which evermore
Did on a cold chill world outpour
Its rays of love and life and light,
'Twas he who quenched in darkest night.
What marvel that he owned the force
Of late regret and vain remorse,
And (all he could) now freely gave
The life the other did not crave?
Nay more, the offender did dismiss
With gifts and praise; nor only this,
But did the unrighteous law reverse,
Which had forbidden to rehearse,
And in the minds of men prolong,
By grateful speech or plaintive song,
The bounteous acts and graces wide,
The goodness of the Barmecide.
Was in his inmost bosom stirred?
What marvel that he owned the force
Of late regret and vain remorse?
That spreading palm, whose boughs had made,
Far stretching, such an ample shade
For many a wanderer through life's waste,
He had hewn down in guilty haste;
That fountain free, that springing well
Of goodness inexhaustible,
His hand had stopped it, ne'er again
To slake the thirst of weary men;
That genial sun, which evermore
Did on a cold chill world outpour
Its rays of love and life and light,
'Twas he who quenched in darkest night.
What marvel that he owned the force
Of late regret and vain remorse,
And (all he could) now freely gave
The life the other did not crave?
Nay more, the offender did dismiss
With gifts and praise; nor only this,
But did the unrighteous law reverse,
Which had forbidden to rehearse,
And in the minds of men prolong,
By grateful speech or plaintive song,
The bounteous acts and graces wide,
The goodness of the Barmecide.
105
III. THE FESTIVAL.
Five hundred princely guests before
Haroun Al Raschid state:
Five hundred princely guests or more
Admired his royal state:
Haroun Al Raschid state:
Five hundred princely guests or more
Admired his royal state:
For never had that glory been
So royally displayed,
Nor ever such a gorgeous scene
Had eye of man surveyed.
So royally displayed,
Nor ever such a gorgeous scene
Had eye of man surveyed.
He, most times meek of heart, yet now
Of spirit too elate,
Exclaimed—‘Before me Cæsars bow,
On me two empires wait.
Of spirit too elate,
Exclaimed—‘Before me Cæsars bow,
On me two empires wait.
‘Yet all our glories something lack,
We do our triumphs wrong,
Until to us reflected back
In mirrors clear of song.
We do our triumphs wrong,
Until to us reflected back
In mirrors clear of song.
‘Call him then, unto whom this power
Is given, this skill sublime—
Now win from us some splendid dower
With song that fits the time.’
Is given, this skill sublime—
Now win from us some splendid dower
With song that fits the time.’
106
—‘My King, as I behold thee now,
May I behold thee still,
While prostrate worlds before thee bow,
And wait upon thy will!
May I behold thee still,
While prostrate worlds before thee bow,
And wait upon thy will!
‘May evermore this clear pure heaven,
Whence every speck and stain
Of trouble far away is driven,
Above thy head remain!’
Whence every speck and stain
Of trouble far away is driven,
Above thy head remain!’
The Caliph cried—‘Thou wishest well;
There waits thee golden store
For this—but, oh! resume the spell,
I fain would listen more.’
There waits thee golden store
For this—but, oh! resume the spell,
I fain would listen more.’
—‘Drink thou life's sweetest goblet up,
O King, and may its wine,
For others' lips a mingled cup,
Be all unmixed for thine.
O King, and may its wine,
For others' lips a mingled cup,
Be all unmixed for thine.
‘Live long—the shadow of no grief
Come ever near to thee:
As thou in height of place art chief,
So chief in gladness be.’
Come ever near to thee:
As thou in height of place art chief,
So chief in gladness be.’
Haroun Al Raschid cried again—
‘I thank thee—but proceed,
And now take up a higher strain,
And win a higher meed.’
‘I thank thee—but proceed,
And now take up a higher strain,
And win a higher meed.’
Around that high magnific hall
One glance the poet threw
On courtiers, king, and festival,
And did the strain renew:
One glance the poet threw
On courtiers, king, and festival,
And did the strain renew:
107
—‘And yet, and yet—shalt thou at last
Lie stretched on bed of death:
Then, when thou drawest thick and fast
With sobs thy painful breath,
Lie stretched on bed of death:
Then, when thou drawest thick and fast
With sobs thy painful breath,
‘When Azrael glides through guarded gate,
Through hosts that camp around
Their lord in vain—and will not wait,
When thou art sadly bound
Through hosts that camp around
Their lord in vain—and will not wait,
When thou art sadly bound
‘Unto thine house of dust alone,
O King, when thou must die,—
This pomp a shadow thou shalt own,
This glory all a lie.’
O King, when thou must die,—
This pomp a shadow thou shalt own,
This glory all a lie.’
Then darkness on all faces hung,
And through the banquet went
Low sounds the murmuring guests among
Of angry discontent;
And through the banquet went
Low sounds the murmuring guests among
Of angry discontent;
And him anon they fiercely urge—
‘What guerdon shall be thine?
What does it, this untimely dirge,
'Mid feasts, and flowers, and wine?
‘What guerdon shall be thine?
What does it, this untimely dirge,
'Mid feasts, and flowers, and wine?
‘Our lord demanded in his mirth
A strain to heighten glee;
But, lo! at thine his tears come forth
In current swift and free.’
A strain to heighten glee;
But, lo! at thine his tears come forth
In current swift and free.’
—‘Peace—not to him rebukes belong,
But rather highest grace;
He gave me what I asked, a song
To fit the time and place.’
But rather highest grace;
He gave me what I asked, a song
To fit the time and place.’
108
All voices at that voice were stilled;
Again the Caliph cried,—
‘He saw our mouths with laughter filled,
He saw us drunk with pride;
Again the Caliph cried,—
‘He saw our mouths with laughter filled,
He saw us drunk with pride;
‘And bade us know that every road,
By monarch trod or slave,
Thick set with thorns, with roses strewed,
Must issue in the grave.’
By monarch trod or slave,
Thick set with thorns, with roses strewed,
Must issue in the grave.’
109
THE TALENTS.
Thou that in life's crowded city art arrived, thou know'st not how,
By what path or on what errand—list and learn thine errand now.
By what path or on what errand—list and learn thine errand now.
From the palace to the city on the business of thy King
Thou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening.
Thou wert sent at early morning, to return at evening.
Dreamer waken, loiterer hasten; what thy task is, understand;
Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thy hand.
Thou art here to purchase substance, and the price is in thy hand.
Has the tumult of the market all thy sense confused and drowned?
Do its glistering wares entice thee? or its shouts and cries confound?
Do its glistering wares entice thee? or its shouts and cries confound?
Oh! beware lest thy Lord's business be forgotten, while thy gaze
Is on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays.
Is on every show and pageant which the giddy square displays.
Barter not his gold for pebbles; do not trade in vanities
—Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise.
—Pearls there are of price and jewels for the purchase of the wise.
110
And know this, at thy returning thou wilt surely find the King
With an open book before him, waiting to make reckoning.
With an open book before him, waiting to make reckoning.
Then large honours will the faithful earnest service of one day
Reap of him, but one day's folly largest penalties will pay.
Reap of him, but one day's folly largest penalties will pay.
111
THE EASTERN NARCISSUS.
In the attempt of the Neo-Platonists to put a new life into the old Grecian mythology, Narcissus falling in love with his own image in the water-brook was made the symbol of man casting himself forth into the world of shows and appearances, and expecting to find the good that would answer to his nature there, but indeed finding nothing but disappointment and death.—The fable is Feridoddin Attar's, who, born in 1216, perished in the invasion of Dschengischan. He was originally a rich merchant of spices. A pious dervisch entered his warehouse one day and craved an alms. Ferid bade him to be gone. The dervisch answered, ‘That can I do easily, for I possess nothing save my hood; but thou, with so many heavy sacks, how wilt thou contrive to be gone, when the hour of thy departure has arrived?’ These words made so deep an impression on Ferid, that, from that moment, he gave up his worldly strivings, and dedicated himself to the spiritual life.
Thou art the fox, O man, that, maugre all
His cunning, did into the water fall.
This fox was travelling once o'er hill and dell,
And reached at length the margin of a well;
His head he stooped into the well, when, lo!
Another fox did in the water show.
He winks, he nods—the other fox replies:
‘What, ho! we must be better friends,’ he cries;
And more acquaintance covetous to win,
Without a thought jumped Reynard headlong in.
He reached the bottom at a single bound,
But there no fox beside himself he found.
Upward again he now would gladly spring,
But to ascend was no such easy thing:
He splashes, struggles, and in sad voice cries,
‘Fool that I was! I deemed myself more wise.
Ah wretch! will no one come unto my aid?’—
But prayer and effort both were vainly made:
Soon did the water drag him down to death;
With a last cry he sank the waves beneath.
His cunning, did into the water fall.
This fox was travelling once o'er hill and dell,
And reached at length the margin of a well;
His head he stooped into the well, when, lo!
Another fox did in the water show.
He winks, he nods—the other fox replies:
‘What, ho! we must be better friends,’ he cries;
And more acquaintance covetous to win,
Without a thought jumped Reynard headlong in.
He reached the bottom at a single bound,
But there no fox beside himself he found.
Upward again he now would gladly spring,
But to ascend was no such easy thing:
He splashes, struggles, and in sad voice cries,
‘Fool that I was! I deemed myself more wise.
Ah wretch! will no one come unto my aid?’—
But prayer and effort both were vainly made:
Soon did the water drag him down to death;
With a last cry he sank the waves beneath.
Thou art the fox of whom the fable tells;
This world of sense the devil's well of wells:
Thou saw'st reflected thine own image there,
And didst plunge headlong in without a care:
Oh happy! if thou struggle back to day,
Ere the strong whirlpool drags thee down for aye
This world of sense the devil's well of wells:
Thou saw'st reflected thine own image there,
And didst plunge headlong in without a care:
Oh happy! if thou struggle back to day,
Ere the strong whirlpool drags thee down for aye
112
THE SEASONS.
I.WINTER.
Pure ermine now the mountains wear,
And clothe with this their shoulders bare.
And clothe with this their shoulders bare.
The dark pine wears the snow, as head
Of Ethiop doth white turban wear.
Of Ethiop doth white turban wear.
The floods are armed with silver shields,
Through which the Sun's sword cannot fare;
Through which the Sun's sword cannot fare;
For he who once in mid heaven rode,
In golden arms, on golden chair,
In golden arms, on golden chair,
Now through small corner of the sky
Creeps low, nor warms the foggy air.
Creeps low, nor warms the foggy air.
To mutter 'twixt their teeth the streams,
In icy fetters, scarcely dare.
In icy fetters, scarcely dare.
Hushed is the busy hum of life;
'Tis silence in the earth and air.
'Tis silence in the earth and air.
From mountains issues the gaunt wolf,
And from its forest depths the bear.
And from its forest depths the bear.
Where is the garden's beauty now?
The thorn is here; the rose, oh where?
The thorn is here; the rose, oh where?
113
The trees like giant skeletons,
Wave high their fleshless arms and bare;
Wave high their fleshless arms and bare;
Or stand like wrestlers stripped and bold,
And strongest winds to battle dare.
And strongest winds to battle dare.
It seems a thing impossible
That earth her glories should repair;
That earth her glories should repair;
That ever this bleak world again
Should bright and beauteous mantle wear,
Should bright and beauteous mantle wear,
Or sounds of life again be heard
In this dead earth and vacant air.
In this dead earth and vacant air.
II.SPRING.
Who was it that so lately said,
All pulses in thine heart were dead,
All pulses in thine heart were dead,
Old Earth, that now in festal robes
Appearest, as a bride new wed?
Appearest, as a bride new wed?
O wrapt so late in winding-sheet,
Thy winding-sheet, oh! where is fled?
Thy winding-sheet, oh! where is fled?
Lo! 'tis an emerald carpet now,
Where the young monarch, Spring, may tread.
Where the young monarch, Spring, may tread.
He comes,—and, a defeated king,
Old Winter to the hills is fled.
Old Winter to the hills is fled.
The warm wind broke his frosty spear,
And loosed the helmet from his head;
And loosed the helmet from his head;
114
And he weak showers of arrowy sleet
From his strongholds has vainly sped.
From his strongholds has vainly sped.
All that was sleeping is awake,
And all is living that was dead.
And all is living that was dead.
Who listens now, can hear the streams
Leap tinkling down their pebbly bed;
Leap tinkling down their pebbly bed;
Or see them, from their fetters free,
Like silver snakes the meadows thread.
Like silver snakes the meadows thread.
The joy, the life, the hope of earth,
They slept awhile, they were not dead:
They slept awhile, they were not dead:
Oh thou who say'st thy sere heart ne'er
With verdure can again be spread;
With verdure can again be spread;
Oh thou who mournest them that sleep,
Low lying in an earthy bed;
Low lying in an earthy bed;
Look out on this reviving world,
And be new hopes within thee bred.
And be new hopes within thee bred.
III.SUMMER.
Now seems all nature to conspire,
As to dissolve the world in fire,
As to dissolve the world in fire,
Which dies among its odorous sweets,
A Phœnix on its funeral pyre.
A Phœnix on its funeral pyre.
Simoom breathes hotly from the waste,
The green earth quits her green attire;
The green earth quits her green attire;
115
Floats o'er the plain the liquid heat,
Cheating the traveller's fond desire—
Cheating the traveller's fond desire—
Illusion fair of lake and stream,
Receding as he draweth nigher.
Receding as he draweth nigher.
Ice is more precious now than gold,
Snow more than silver men desire.
Snow more than silver men desire.
'Tis far to seek unfailing wells
For tender maid or aged sire;
For tender maid or aged sire;
Men know the worth of water now,
And learn to prize God's blessing higher;
And learn to prize God's blessing higher;
The shallow pools have disappeared,
Caked into iron is the mire.
Caked into iron is the mire.
Through clouds of dust the crimson sun
Glares on the earth in lurid ire;
Glares on the earth in lurid ire;
The parchëd earth with thirsty lips
Is gasping, ready to expire.
Is gasping, ready to expire.
Oh happy, who by liquid streams
In shady gardens can retire,
In shady gardens can retire,
Where murmuring falls and whispering trees
Sweet slumber to invite conspire;
Sweet slumber to invite conspire;
Or where he may deceive the time
With volume sage, or pensive lyre.
With volume sage, or pensive lyre.
116
IV.AUTUMN.
Thine, Autumn, is unwelcome lore—
To tell the world its pomp is o'er:
To tell the world its pomp is o'er:
To whisper in the rose's ear,
That all her beauty is no more;
That all her beauty is no more;
And bid her own the faith how vain,
That Spring to her so lately swore.
That Spring to her so lately swore.
A queen deposed, she quits her state;
The nightingales her fall deplore:
The nightingales her fall deplore:
The hundred-voicëd bird may woo
The thousand-leavëd flower no more.
The thousand-leavëd flower no more.
The jasmine sinks its head in shame,
The sharp east wind its tresses shore;
The sharp east wind its tresses shore;
And robbed in passing cruelly
The tulip of the crown it wore.
The tulip of the crown it wore.
The lily's sword is broken now,
That was so bright and keen before;
That was so bright and keen before;
And not a blast can blow, but strews
With leaf of gold the earth's dank floor.
With leaf of gold the earth's dank floor.
The piping winds sing Nature's dirge,
As through the forest bleak they roar,
As through the forest bleak they roar,
Whose leafy screen, like locks of eld,
Each day shows scantier than before.
Each day shows scantier than before.
117
Thou fadest as a flower, O man!
Of food for musing here is store.
Of food for musing here is store.
O man! thou fallest as a leaf:
Pace thoughtfully earth's leaf-strewn floor;
Pace thoughtfully earth's leaf-strewn floor;
Welcome the sadness of the time,
And lay to heart this natural lore.
And lay to heart this natural lore.
118
[By Grecian annals it remained untold]
By Grecian annals it remained untold,But may be read in Eastern legend old,
How when great Alexander died, he bade
That his two hands uncovered should be laid
Outside the bier—for men therewith to see
(Men who had seen him in his majesty,)
That he had gone the common way of all,
And nothing now his own in death might call;
Nor of the treasures of two empires aught
Within those empty hands unto the grave had brought.
119
MOSES AND JETHRO.
When Moses once on Horeb's rocky steep,
A banished man, was keeping Jethro's sheep,
What time his flocks along the hills and dells
Made music with their bleatings and their bells,
He by the thoughts that stirred within him, drawn
Deep in the mountain, heard at early dawn
One who in prayer did all his soul outpour,
With strong heart-earnestness, but nothing more:
For strange his words were, savage and uncouth,
And little did he know in very sooth
Of that great Lord to whom his vows were made.
The other for a moment listening stayed,
Until—his patience altogether spent—
‘Good friend, for whom are these same noises meant?
For Him who dwells on high? this babbling vain,
Which vexes even a man's ear with pain?
Oh peace! this is not God to praise, but blame;
Unmannerly applause brings only shame:
Oh, stop thy mouth; thou dost but heap up sin,
Such prayer as this can no acceptance win,
But were enough to make God's blessings cease.’
Rebuked, the simple herdsman held his peace,
And only crying—‘Thou hast rent my heart,’
He fled into the desert far apart:
While with himself, and with his zeal content,
His steps the son of Amram homeward bent,
And ever to himself applauses lent—
Much wondering that he did not find the same
From his adopted sire, but rather blame,
Who having heard, replied—
A banished man, was keeping Jethro's sheep,
What time his flocks along the hills and dells
Made music with their bleatings and their bells,
He by the thoughts that stirred within him, drawn
Deep in the mountain, heard at early dawn
One who in prayer did all his soul outpour,
With strong heart-earnestness, but nothing more:
For strange his words were, savage and uncouth,
And little did he know in very sooth
Of that great Lord to whom his vows were made.
The other for a moment listening stayed,
Until—his patience altogether spent—
‘Good friend, for whom are these same noises meant?
For Him who dwells on high? this babbling vain,
Which vexes even a man's ear with pain?
Oh peace! this is not God to praise, but blame;
Unmannerly applause brings only shame:
Oh, stop thy mouth; thou dost but heap up sin,
Such prayer as this can no acceptance win,
But were enough to make God's blessings cease.’
Rebuked, the simple herdsman held his peace,
And only crying—‘Thou hast rent my heart,’
He fled into the desert far apart:
While with himself, and with his zeal content,
His steps the son of Amram homeward bent,
And ever to himself applauses lent—
120
From his adopted sire, but rather blame,
Who having heard, replied—
‘Was this well done?
What wouldst thou have to answer, O my son,
If God should say in anger unto thee—
‘Why hast thou driven my worshipper from Me?
Why hast thou robbed Me of my dues of prayer?
Well pleasing offering in my sight they were,
And music in mine ears, if not in thine.’
He doth its bounds to every soul assign,
Its voice, its language—using which to tell
His praise, He counts that it doth praise Him well;
And when there is a knocking at Heav'n's gate,
And at Heav'n's threshold many suppliants wait,
Then simple Love will often enter in,
Where haughty Science may no entrance win.
That poor man's words were rougher husks than thine,
Which yet might hold a kernel more divine,
Rude vessel guarding a more precious wine.
All prayer is childlike; falls as short of Him
The wisdom of the wisest Seraphim,
As the child's small conceit of heavenly things;
A line to sound his depths no creature brings.
Before the Infinite, the One, the All,
Must every difference disappear and fall,
There is no wise nor simple, great nor small.
For Him the little clod of common earth
Has to the diamond no inferior worth;
Nor doth the Ocean, world-encompassing,
Unto his thought more sense of vastness bring
Than tiny dewdrop; atoms in his eye
A sun, and a sun-mote, dance equally:
Not that the great (here understand aright)
Is worthless as the little in his sight,
Rather the little precious as the great,
And, pondered in his scales, of equal weight:
So that herein lies comfort—not despair,
As though we were too little for his care.
God is so great, there can be nothing small
To Him—so loving He embraces all,—
So wise, the wisdom and simplicity
Of man for Him must on a level be:
But being this, more prompt to feel the wrong,
And to resent it with displeasure strong,
When from Him there is rudely, proudly turned
The meanest soul that loved Him, and that yearned
After his grace. Oh haste then and begone,
Rebuild the altar thou hast overthrown;
Replace the offering which on that did stand,
Till rudely scattered by thy hasty hand—
Removing, if thou canst, what made it rise
A faulty and imperfect sacrifice:
And henceforth, in this gloomy world and dark,
Prize every taper yielding faintest spark,
And if perchance it burn not clear and bright,
Trim, if thou canst, but do not quench it quite.’
What wouldst thou have to answer, O my son,
If God should say in anger unto thee—
‘Why hast thou driven my worshipper from Me?
Why hast thou robbed Me of my dues of prayer?
Well pleasing offering in my sight they were,
And music in mine ears, if not in thine.’
He doth its bounds to every soul assign,
Its voice, its language—using which to tell
His praise, He counts that it doth praise Him well;
And when there is a knocking at Heav'n's gate,
And at Heav'n's threshold many suppliants wait,
Then simple Love will often enter in,
Where haughty Science may no entrance win.
That poor man's words were rougher husks than thine,
Which yet might hold a kernel more divine,
Rude vessel guarding a more precious wine.
All prayer is childlike; falls as short of Him
The wisdom of the wisest Seraphim,
As the child's small conceit of heavenly things;
A line to sound his depths no creature brings.
Before the Infinite, the One, the All,
Must every difference disappear and fall,
There is no wise nor simple, great nor small.
For Him the little clod of common earth
Has to the diamond no inferior worth;
Nor doth the Ocean, world-encompassing,
Unto his thought more sense of vastness bring
Than tiny dewdrop; atoms in his eye
A sun, and a sun-mote, dance equally:
121
Is worthless as the little in his sight,
Rather the little precious as the great,
And, pondered in his scales, of equal weight:
So that herein lies comfort—not despair,
As though we were too little for his care.
God is so great, there can be nothing small
To Him—so loving He embraces all,—
So wise, the wisdom and simplicity
Of man for Him must on a level be:
But being this, more prompt to feel the wrong,
And to resent it with displeasure strong,
When from Him there is rudely, proudly turned
The meanest soul that loved Him, and that yearned
After his grace. Oh haste then and begone,
Rebuild the altar thou hast overthrown;
Replace the offering which on that did stand,
Till rudely scattered by thy hasty hand—
Removing, if thou canst, what made it rise
A faulty and imperfect sacrifice:
And henceforth, in this gloomy world and dark,
Prize every taper yielding faintest spark,
And if perchance it burn not clear and bright,
Trim, if thou canst, but do not quench it quite.’
122
GHAZEL.
What is the good man and the wise?
Ofttimes a pearl which none doth prize;
Ofttimes a pearl which none doth prize;
Or jewel rare, which men account
A common pebble, and despise.
A common pebble, and despise.
Set forth upon the world's bazaar,
It mildly gleams, but no one buys;
It mildly gleams, but no one buys;
Till it in anger Heaven withdraws
From the world's undiscerning eyes:
From the world's undiscerning eyes:
And in its shell the pearl again,
And in its mine the jewel lies.
And in its mine the jewel lies.
123
PROVERBS.
TURKISH AND PERSIAN.
I
Sects seventy-two, men say, the world infest,And each and all lie hidden in thy breast.
II
One staff of Moses, slight as it appears,Will break in shivers Pharaoh's thousand spears.
III
Forget not death, O man! for thou may'st beOf one thing certain,—he forgets not thee.
IV
The world's a tavern, where to-night men swill;To-morrow brings the head-ache and the bill.
V
Speaks one of good which falls not to thy lot,He also speaks of ill which thou hast not.
VI
Boast not thy service rendered to the King;'Tis grace enough he lets thee service bring.
124
VII
Lies once thy cart in quagmire overthrown,Thy path to thee by thousands will be shown.
VIII
Oh square thyself for use: a stone that mayFit in the wall, is left not in the way.
IX
Never the game has happy issue won,Which with the cotton has the fire begun.
X
The sandal tree, most sacred tree of all,Perfumes the very axe which bids it fall.
XI
Dost thou the raven for a guide invite,Count it not strange on carrion to alight.
XII
Each man has more of four things than he knows;What four are these?—sins, debts, and years, and foes.
XIII
The king but with one apple has made free,And straight his servants have cut down the tree.
XIV
Two friends will in a needle's eye repose,But the whole world is narrow for two foes.
125
XV
Rejoice not when thine enemy doth die,Thou hast not won immortal life thereby.
XVI
Be bold to bring forth fruit, though stick and stoneAt the fruit-bearing trees are flung alone.
XVII
This world is like a carcass in the way:Who eagerly throng round it, dogs are they.
XVIII
While in thy lips thy words thou dost confine,Thou art their lord: once uttered, they are thine.
XIX
Oh seize the instant time; none ever willWith waters that have past impel the mill.
XX
Boldly thy bread upon the waters throw;And if the fishes do not, God will know.
XXI
What will not time and toil?—by these a wormWill into silk a mulberry leaf transform.
XXII
There is no ointment for the wolf's sore eyes,Like clouds of dust which from the sheep arise.
126
XXIII
When what thou willest has befall'n not, stillThis help remains, what has befall'n to will.
XXIV
Inquire not if thy soul be foul or fair,But if tow'rd God its efforts striving are.
XXV
The lily with ten tongues can hold its peace;Wilt thou with one from babbling never cease?
XXVI
How shall the praise of silence best be told?To speak is silver, to hold peace is gold.
XXVII
Thy word unspoken thou canst any daySpeak, but thy spoken ne'er again unsay.
XXVIII
The world's great wheel in silence circles round,A housewife's spindle with unceasing sound.
XXIX
O babbler, couldst thou but the cause divine,Why one tongue only, but two ears are thine!
XXX
What mystic roses in thy breast will blow,If on the wind their leaves thou straightway strow?
127
HARMOSAN.
Now the third and fatal conflict for the Persian throne was done,
And the Moslem's fiery valour had the crowning victory won.
And the Moslem's fiery valour had the crowning victory won.
Harmosan, the last and boldest the invader to defy,
Captive overborne by numbers, they were bringing forth to die.
Captive overborne by numbers, they were bringing forth to die.
Then exclaimed that noble captive—‘Lo! I perish in my thirst,
Give me but one drink of water, and let then arrive the worst.’
Give me but one drink of water, and let then arrive the worst.’
In his hand he took the goblet, but awhile the draught forbore,
Seeming doubtfully the purpose of the foemen to explore.
Seeming doubtfully the purpose of the foemen to explore.
Well might then have paused the bravest, for around him angry foes
With a hedge of naked weapons did that lonely man enclose.
With a hedge of naked weapons did that lonely man enclose.
‘But what fear'st thou?’ cried the Caliph;—‘is it, friend, a secret blow?
Fear it not; our gallant Moslem no such treacherous dealing know.
Fear it not; our gallant Moslem no such treacherous dealing know.
128
‘Thou may'st quench thy thirst securely, for thou shalt not die before
Thou hast drunk that cup of water; this reprieve is thine—no more.’
Thou hast drunk that cup of water; this reprieve is thine—no more.’
Quick the Satrap dashed the goblet down to earth with ready hand,
And the liquid sank for ever, lost amid the burning sand.
And the liquid sank for ever, lost amid the burning sand.
‘Thou hast said that mine my life is, till the water of that cup
I have drained—then bid thy servants that spilt water gather up.’
I have drained—then bid thy servants that spilt water gather up.’
For a moment stood the Caliph as by doubtful passions stirred;
Then exclaimed,—‘For ever sacred must remain a monarch's word.
Then exclaimed,—‘For ever sacred must remain a monarch's word.
‘Bring another cup, and straightway to the noble Persian give:
Drink, I said before, and perish; now I bid thee drink and live.’
Drink, I said before, and perish; now I bid thee drink and live.’
129
GERTRUDE OF SAXONY.
I
A cloudy pillar before Israel went,An Angel kept Tobias in the way,
A star led up the Magians to the tent,
Wherein new-born the Child of Glory lay:
Therefore the wayfarers will always say,
Praise be to him who guides his servants' feet,
Who keeps them that no evil may assay
To do them harm—when storm or hot rays beat,
A refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat.
II
On Saxon soil her journey had begun,A gentle pilgrim on an holy quest,
Nor will she that long journey's end have won
Until Alsatian soil her feet have prest;
This maiden there would be a convent's guest,
Whereof the glory far and wide is told,
And there she would take up her lasting rest,
For there, while love of many has grown cold,
The earnest discipline of ancient times they hold.
III
And others in her company there were,An aged kinsman—and, intent on gain,
Some merchants with them the same way did fare;
Till once when night o'ertook them in the plain,
130
Re-seek their lodging lately left behind:
The holy pilgrims might not so restrain
Their eager steps, but trusted well to find,
Ere night was fully come, some shelter to their mind.
IV
But sooner than they looked for, thickest nightFell—and they gazed around them, if perchance
The lowliest cottage might appear in sight,
For now return they could not, nor advance:
When of a sudden, on that plain's expanse,
A palace of surpassing beauty rare
Seemed to stand up before them at a glance.
Then gladly did they thitherward repair,
Hoping to find due rest and needful succour there.
V
And being there arrived, they marvelled much,For doors and windows open wide they found,
And all without doors and within was such,
With such perfection of fresh beauty crowned,
As though in that day's space from out the ground
New-risen.—Entering in, they wondering saw
How all things for life's use did there abound,
But inmate none appearing, they for awe
And secret fear wellnigh were tempted to withdraw.
VI
But when they for a season waited had,Behold! a Matron of majestic air,
Of regal port, in regal garments clad,
Entered alone—who, when they would declare,
131
At such untimely hour, smiling replied,
That she already was of all aware;
And added, she was pleased and satisfied
That they to be her guests that night had turned aside.
VII
And ere the meal she spread for them was done,Upon a sudden One there entered there,
Whose countenance with marvellous beauty shone,
More than the sons of men divinely fair,
And all whose presence did the likeness wear
Of Angel more than man:—he too, with bland
Mild words saluted them and gracious air;
Sweet comfort, solemn awe, went hand in hand,
While in his presence did those wondering pilgrims stand.
VIII
Then turning to that Matron, as a sonMight to a mother speak familiarly,
He spake to her—they only heard the tone,
Not listening, out of reverent courtesy:
And then with smile of large benignity
Saluting them again he left the place,
And was not more seen by them—only she,
That Matron, stayed and talked with them a space,
Whose words were full of sweetness and of heavenly grace.
IX
And then she showed them chambers for their rest,And did not that tired maiden then forget
To take, and lead apart, her weary guest;
And pointing where a ready couch was set,
132
Above her, bidding her till morning rose
That she should render unto sleep his debt,
And suffer him her heavy lids to close;
Then, with a blessing given, she left them to repose.
X
The morning come, she bade them rise anon,For now their fellow-travellers were in sight,
Journeying that way, and would be quickly gone—
The merchants whom they quitted yesternight;
Refreshed they rose to meet the early light,
And to rejoin their company prepared:
But first due thanks they tendered, as was right,
To her who had for them so amply cared:
And with those thankful hearts forth on their way they fared.
XI
So they set forward from that stately hall,And now had journeyed for a little space,
When musing much and wondering much at all
Which had befall'n them there, they turned their face
Its fair proportions once again to trace—
When lo! with newer awe their hearts were filled,
For it had wholly vanished from its place,
Like some cloud-palace that the strong winds build,
Which to unmake again they presently have willed.
XII
While this new admiration them did seize,They saw some nobles of the land that way
Come riding; straightway they inquired of these,
If they had never seen, nor yet heard say
133
But these to them made answer constantly,
How they had ridden past by night and day,
But that such stately hall might nowhere be,
Only the level plain, such as they now might see.
XIII
Thereat from them did thankful utterance break,And with one voice they praised his tender care
Who had upreared a palace for their sake,
And of that pomp and cost did nothing spare,
Though but to guard them from one night's cold air—
And had no ministries of love disdained;
And 'twas their thought, if some have unaware
Angels for guests received with love unfeigned,
That they had been by more than Angels entertained.
134
LIFE THROUGH DEATH.
I
A pagan king tormented fiercely all,Who would not on his senseless idols call,
Nor worship them:—and him were brought before
A mother and her child, with many more.
The child, fast bound, was flung into the flame,
Her faith the mother did in fear disclaim:
But when she cried—‘O sweetest, live as I,’
He answered—‘Mother dear, I do not die;
Come, mother, bliss of heaven is here my gain,
Although I seem to you in fiery pain.
This fire serves only for your eyes to cheat,
Like Jesus' breath of balm 'tis cool and sweet.
Come, learn what riches with our God are stored,
And how He feeds me at the angelic board.
Come, prove this fire; like water-floods it cools,
While your world's water burns like sulphur pools.
Come, Abraham's secret, when he found alone
Sweet roses in the furnace, here is known.
Into a world of death thou barest me;
O mother, death, not life, I owed to thee.
Fair world I deemed it once of glorious pride,
Till in this furnace I was deified;
But now I know it for a dungeon-tomb,
Since God has brought me into larger room.
Oh! now at length I live: from my pure heaven
Each cloud, that stained it once, away is driven:
135
Cry, “Here is spread the banquet of the King;”
Come, all ye faithful, come, and dare to prove
The bitter-sweet, the pain and bliss of love.’
So cried the child unto that crowd of men;
All hearts with fiery longings kindled then;
Towàrd the pile they headlong rushing came,
And soon their souls fed sweetly on the flame.
II
A dewdrop falling on the wild sea-wave,Exclaimed in fear—‘I perish in this grave;’
But in a shell received, that drop of dew
Unto a pearl of marvellous beauty grew;
And, happy now, the grace did magnify
Which thrust it forth, as it had feared, to die;—
Until again, ‘I perish quite,’ it said,
Torn by rude diver from its ocean bed:
Oh unbelieving!—so it came to gleam,
Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem.
III
The seed must die, before the corn appearsOut of the ground, in blade and fruitful ears.
Low have those ears before the sickle lain,
Ere thou canst treasure up the golden grain.
The grain is crushed, before the bread is made;
And the bread broke, ere life to man conveyed.
Oh! be content to die, to be laid low,
And to be crushed, and to be broken so,
If thou upon God's table may'st be bread,
Life-giving food for souls an-hungerëd.
136
THE WORLD.
‘O beauteous world, what features fair
Thine needs would show beyond compare,
If it were possible to find
Thy glories all in one combined!
Show me, O Lord, the world—the bright
Fair world reveal unto my sight.’
Thine needs would show beyond compare,
If it were possible to find
Thy glories all in one combined!
Show me, O Lord, the world—the bright
Fair world reveal unto my sight.’
Such prayer the young man made, whose way
Soon after through the desert lay,
Where he far off a woman spied,
Wandering, by none accompanied.
‘Who art thou?’ he exclaimed.—“In me
See her whom thou hast longed to see.”
—‘What meanest thou?’ More plain reply
This time she made—“The World am I.”
—‘Then let me see thy countenance fair,
Whose beauty doth all hearts ensnare.’
She from her face the veil withdrew,
And straight the hidden was in view;
A visage painted all and bleared,
Where signs of all things foul appeared:
One bloody hand she raised on high,
Crooked was the other and awry.
‘How? what is this?’ he shuddering
Exclaimed—‘What mean'st thou, loathsome thing?’
“I with this bloody hand,” she said,
“Strike evermore my lovers dead:
That crookëd hand its shape has won
With beckoning new lovers on;
Those ever hurl I forth with might,
And these with sorceries I invite.
Myself must wonder, being so,
I never dearth of lovers know.”
—‘But tell me yet, how this may be,
That when such thousands wait on thee
Already, thou dost ever seek
More lovers still?’ She then did speak:
“Though these be many, never yet
A man among them have I met;
Who rightly bear of man the name,
My company avoid like shame;
And thus remain I desolate,
Even while on me such thousands wait.”
Soon after through the desert lay,
Where he far off a woman spied,
Wandering, by none accompanied.
‘Who art thou?’ he exclaimed.—“In me
See her whom thou hast longed to see.”
—‘What meanest thou?’ More plain reply
This time she made—“The World am I.”
—‘Then let me see thy countenance fair,
Whose beauty doth all hearts ensnare.’
She from her face the veil withdrew,
And straight the hidden was in view;
A visage painted all and bleared,
Where signs of all things foul appeared:
One bloody hand she raised on high,
Crooked was the other and awry.
‘How? what is this?’ he shuddering
Exclaimed—‘What mean'st thou, loathsome thing?’
137
“Strike evermore my lovers dead:
That crookëd hand its shape has won
With beckoning new lovers on;
Those ever hurl I forth with might,
And these with sorceries I invite.
Myself must wonder, being so,
I never dearth of lovers know.”
—‘But tell me yet, how this may be,
That when such thousands wait on thee
Already, thou dost ever seek
More lovers still?’ She then did speak:
“Though these be many, never yet
A man among them have I met;
Who rightly bear of man the name,
My company avoid like shame;
And thus remain I desolate,
Even while on me such thousands wait.”
My brother, let her answer be
Deep graven on thy memory:
A man, my brother, wouldst thou prove,
Far keep thee from this beldame's love.
Deep graven on thy memory:
A man, my brother, wouldst thou prove,
Far keep thee from this beldame's love.
138
THE SUPPLIANT.
All night the lonely suppliant prayed,
All night his earnest crying made;
Till standing by his side at morn,
The Tempter said in bitter scorn:
‘Oh! peace: what profit do you gain
From empty words and babbling vain?’
“Come, Lord—oh, come!” you cry alway;
You pour your heart out night and day;
Yet still no murmur of reply,—
No voice that answers, “Here am I.”’
All night his earnest crying made;
Till standing by his side at morn,
The Tempter said in bitter scorn:
‘Oh! peace: what profit do you gain
From empty words and babbling vain?’
“Come, Lord—oh, come!” you cry alway;
You pour your heart out night and day;
Yet still no murmur of reply,—
No voice that answers, “Here am I.”’
Then sank that stricken heart in dust,
That word had withered all its trust:
No strength retained it now to pray,
For faith and hope had fled away:
And ill that mourner now had fared,
Thus by the Tempter's art ensnared,
But that at length beside his bed
His sorrowing Angel stood, and said,—
‘Doth it repent thee of thy love,
That never now is heard above
Thy prayer, that now not any more
It knocks at heay'n's gate as before?’
That word had withered all its trust:
No strength retained it now to pray,
For faith and hope had fled away:
And ill that mourner now had fared,
Thus by the Tempter's art ensnared,
But that at length beside his bed
His sorrowing Angel stood, and said,—
‘Doth it repent thee of thy love,
That never now is heard above
Thy prayer, that now not any more
It knocks at heay'n's gate as before?’
—“I am cast out—I find no place,
No hearing at the throne of grace:
‘Come, Lord—oh, come!’ I cry alway,
I pour my heart out night and day,
Yet never until now have won
The answer,—‘Here am I, my son.’”
No hearing at the throne of grace:
139
I pour my heart out night and day,
Yet never until now have won
The answer,—‘Here am I, my son.’”
—‘Oh, dull of heart! enclosed doth lie
In each “Come, Lord,” a “Here am I.”
Thy love, thy longing, are not thine,
Reflections of a love divine:
Thy very prayer to thee was given,
Itself a messenger from heaven.
Whom God rejects, they are not so;
Strong bands are round them in their woe;
Their hearts are bound with bands of brass,
That sigh or crying cannot pass.
All treasures did the Lord impart
To Pharaoh, save a contrite heart:
All other gifts unto his foes
He freely gives, nor grudging knows;
But love's sweet smart and costly pain
A treasure for his friends remain.’
In each “Come, Lord,” a “Here am I.”
Thy love, thy longing, are not thine,
Reflections of a love divine:
Thy very prayer to thee was given,
Itself a messenger from heaven.
Whom God rejects, they are not so;
Strong bands are round them in their woe;
Their hearts are bound with bands of brass,
That sigh or crying cannot pass.
All treasures did the Lord impart
To Pharaoh, save a contrite heart:
All other gifts unto his foes
He freely gives, nor grudging knows;
But love's sweet smart and costly pain
A treasure for his friends remain.’
140
THE MONK AND SINNER.
See the same, p. 251. All must be struck with the deep moral resemblance which this story of Sandi's bears to the incident recorded by St. Luke, vii. 36-40. We have here reproduced to us the Pharisee and the woman that was a sinner, and all the deeper relations of law and grace which belong to that history.
In days of old, when holy prophets trod
This earth, the living oracles of God,
What time one such his mission did fulfil,
There lived a youth, a prodigy of ill:
So foul the tablets of his heart and black,
That Satan's self from them had started back;
Him as the plague sought every soul to shun,
At him in horror pointed every one.
And in the city where this sinful youth
All bosoms filled with horror or with ruth,
In the same city dwelt a Monk as well,
Round whom all crowded when he left his cell;
And those who only touched his garment's hem,
Counted that heaven was nearer unto them—
Such name for prayer and penance he had gained:
And he one day that Prophet entertained:
When in their sight this sinner did appear,
Who yet for awe presumed not to draw near,
But falling back, like moth from dazzling light,
Lay on the ground, as blinded by their sight.
And as in spring relents the frozen ground,
Even so it seemed as though his heart unbound;
Streamed from his eyes like loosened floods the tears:
‘Woe's me,’ he cried; ‘for thirty guilty years
My life's best treasure have I spent in vain,
And death and hell are now my only gain.
I totter on a dark chasm's dreadful brink,
Hell's jaws are yawning for me, and I sink:
Yet since none ever Thou didst from Thee cast.
I stretch my hands to Thee; Lord, hold them fast.’
This earth, the living oracles of God,
What time one such his mission did fulfil,
There lived a youth, a prodigy of ill:
So foul the tablets of his heart and black,
That Satan's self from them had started back;
Him as the plague sought every soul to shun,
At him in horror pointed every one.
And in the city where this sinful youth
All bosoms filled with horror or with ruth,
In the same city dwelt a Monk as well,
Round whom all crowded when he left his cell;
And those who only touched his garment's hem,
Counted that heaven was nearer unto them—
Such name for prayer and penance he had gained:
And he one day that Prophet entertained:
When in their sight this sinner did appear,
Who yet for awe presumed not to draw near,
But falling back, like moth from dazzling light,
Lay on the ground, as blinded by their sight.
And as in spring relents the frozen ground,
Even so it seemed as though his heart unbound;
Streamed from his eyes like loosened floods the tears:
‘Woe's me,’ he cried; ‘for thirty guilty years
My life's best treasure have I spent in vain,
And death and hell are now my only gain.
141
Hell's jaws are yawning for me, and I sink:
Yet since none ever Thou didst from Thee cast.
I stretch my hands to Thee; Lord, hold them fast.’
But here the Monk with lifted eyebrows—‘Peace,
Blasphemer,—from thy useless clamours cease:
And darest thou, thus steeped in sin, make free
With him, God's holy Prophet, and with me?
My God, this one thing grant me, that I may
Stand far from this man on the judgment day.’—
More he had said, but on the Prophet broke
Swift inspiration, and he straightway spoke:
‘Two here have prayed—diverse has been their prayer,
Yet granted both their supplications are.
He who in mire of sin now thirty years
Has rolled, forgiveness asks with many tears:
Ne'er yet has head of contrite sinner lain
Upon the threshold of God's throne in vain.
All he has sinned to him shall be forgiven;
Him God has chosen a denizen of heaven.
That Monk has prayed upon the other hand
That he may never near this sinner stand;
That this may be so, hell his place must be,
Where never more this sinner he shall see.
Whose robe is white, but heart is black with pride,
He for himself hell's gates has opened wide,
For, weighed in God the all-sufficient's scale,
Not claims nor righteousness of man avail;
But these are costly in his sight indeed,—
Repentance, contrite shame, and sense of need.’
Blasphemer,—from thy useless clamours cease:
And darest thou, thus steeped in sin, make free
With him, God's holy Prophet, and with me?
My God, this one thing grant me, that I may
Stand far from this man on the judgment day.’—
More he had said, but on the Prophet broke
Swift inspiration, and he straightway spoke:
‘Two here have prayed—diverse has been their prayer,
Yet granted both their supplications are.
He who in mire of sin now thirty years
Has rolled, forgiveness asks with many tears:
Ne'er yet has head of contrite sinner lain
Upon the threshold of God's throne in vain.
All he has sinned to him shall be forgiven;
Him God has chosen a denizen of heaven.
That Monk has prayed upon the other hand
That he may never near this sinner stand;
That this may be so, hell his place must be,
Where never more this sinner he shall see.
Whose robe is white, but heart is black with pride,
He for himself hell's gates has opened wide,
For, weighed in God the all-sufficient's scale,
Not claims nor righteousness of man avail;
But these are costly in his sight indeed,—
Repentance, contrite shame, and sense of need.’
142
THE GLOW-WORM.
What, thou askest, is the heaven, and the round earth and the sea,
And their dwellers, men and angels,—if with God compared they be?
And their dwellers, men and angels,—if with God compared they be?
Heaven and earth, and men and angels, all that anywhere is named,
Matched with Him, lose name and being, and to nothing shrink ashamed.
Matched with Him, lose name and being, and to nothing shrink ashamed.
So 'tis seen when this world's Sultan in his glory forth doth ride,
Highest, lowest, beggars, Emirs, all alike their faces hide.
Highest, lowest, beggars, Emirs, all alike their faces hide.
Its unnumbered billows rolling, great to thee the Ocean seems;
Great the Sun, from golden fountains pouring out a flood of beams:
Great the Sun, from golden fountains pouring out a flood of beams:
Yet the faithful, God-enlightened, know another wonder-land,
Where the Ocean is a dew-drop, and the Sun a grain of sand.
Where the Ocean is a dew-drop, and the Sun a grain of sand.
In the forest's dark recesses hast thou marked the glow-worm's light,
In a green dell unbeholden, twinkling through the storm and night?
In a green dell unbeholden, twinkling through the storm and night?
143
Once a pilgrim said—‘O gentle star, that shinest nightly, say
Wherefore thou appearest never in the bright and glorious day?’
Wherefore thou appearest never in the bright and glorious day?’
Hear what then the gentle glow-worm answered from its mouth of fire,—
In the gloomy forest shine I, but before the sun expire.
In the gloomy forest shine I, but before the sun expire.
144
THE CERTAINTIES OF FAITH.
Some children, of their lessons grown quite tired,
As well might be, a holiday desired.
‘Were but the master sometimes ill,’ they say,
‘We might perchance obtain such holiday;
But he is sturdier than a rock, and so
Our lessons never interruption know.
Oh, if we only could devise some trick,
By which we might persuade him he was sick!’
A roguish urchin then stood up and said,
‘Hear a device which comes into my head.
When school-time comes to-morrow, I will say,—
“What is it, master? are you well to-day?”
Then you, my brother, entering presently,
“Oh, master, what has happened to you?” cry.
Then all exclaim, “The master what can ail?
He looks so flushed, then presently so pale.”
You'll see a man will credit any stuff,
If only it is told him oft enough.’
The next day so they did; the first went in,
And did with serious face the game begin.
‘Dear master, you are very ill to-day.’
“Peace, fool,” he answered, “I am well, I say.”
Yet though the lie had not its end attained,
Some slight misgiving in his soul remained;
And when the next the same tale did repeat,
‘Oh, Sir, you look as in a fever heat,’
And third and fourth chimed in with them, at last
The error in his soul was rooted fast.
Snatching his cloak, he hurried home in fear;
“To-day at home your lessons I will hear.”
Entering his house he chid his wife, and said
She cared not if he were alive or dead.
Wrapt in a blanket on the bed he sate,
And crying oh! and ah! bemoaned his fate:
While the sad urchins, listening to his sighs,
With all his pains appeared to sympathize.
Yet since from toil they had not yet escaped,
Upon the nonce a new device they shaped:
No sooner one to say his task drew nigh,
And oped his mouth, than all the rest did cry,
‘Oh, not so loud; your shrieking, prithee, cease,
See how you make his fever to increase.’
“In truth, the fever rises higher still,”
The master answered—“I am very ill.
Go, children, go, and leave me here alone.”
They make their bows, and in a trice are gone:
Like birds, when one their cage doth open leave,
They darted forth, each laughing in his sleeve.
As well might be, a holiday desired.
‘Were but the master sometimes ill,’ they say,
‘We might perchance obtain such holiday;
But he is sturdier than a rock, and so
Our lessons never interruption know.
Oh, if we only could devise some trick,
By which we might persuade him he was sick!’
A roguish urchin then stood up and said,
‘Hear a device which comes into my head.
When school-time comes to-morrow, I will say,—
“What is it, master? are you well to-day?”
Then you, my brother, entering presently,
“Oh, master, what has happened to you?” cry.
Then all exclaim, “The master what can ail?
He looks so flushed, then presently so pale.”
You'll see a man will credit any stuff,
If only it is told him oft enough.’
The next day so they did; the first went in,
And did with serious face the game begin.
‘Dear master, you are very ill to-day.’
“Peace, fool,” he answered, “I am well, I say.”
Yet though the lie had not its end attained,
Some slight misgiving in his soul remained;
And when the next the same tale did repeat,
‘Oh, Sir, you look as in a fever heat,’
145
The error in his soul was rooted fast.
Snatching his cloak, he hurried home in fear;
“To-day at home your lessons I will hear.”
Entering his house he chid his wife, and said
She cared not if he were alive or dead.
Wrapt in a blanket on the bed he sate,
And crying oh! and ah! bemoaned his fate:
While the sad urchins, listening to his sighs,
With all his pains appeared to sympathize.
Yet since from toil they had not yet escaped,
Upon the nonce a new device they shaped:
No sooner one to say his task drew nigh,
And oped his mouth, than all the rest did cry,
‘Oh, not so loud; your shrieking, prithee, cease,
See how you make his fever to increase.’
“In truth, the fever rises higher still,”
The master answered—“I am very ill.
Go, children, go, and leave me here alone.”
They make their bows, and in a trice are gone:
Like birds, when one their cage doth open leave,
They darted forth, each laughing in his sleeve.
What thou of God and of thyself dost know,
So know that none can force thee to forego;
For ah! his knowledge is a worthless art,
Which forming of himself no vital part,
The foremost man he meets with readier skill
In sleight of words, can rob him of at will.
Faith feels not of her lore more sure nor less,
If all the world deny it or confess:
Did the whole world exclaim, ‘Like Solomon,
Thou sittest high on Wisdom's noblest throne,’
She would not, than before, be surer then,
Nor draw more courage from the assent of men.
Or did the whole world cry, ‘O fond and vain!
What idle dream is this which haunts thy brain?’
To the whole world Faith boldly would reply,
‘The whole world can, but I can never, lie.’
So know that none can force thee to forego;
For ah! his knowledge is a worthless art,
Which forming of himself no vital part,
The foremost man he meets with readier skill
In sleight of words, can rob him of at will.
Faith feels not of her lore more sure nor less,
If all the world deny it or confess:
Did the whole world exclaim, ‘Like Solomon,
Thou sittest high on Wisdom's noblest throne,’
146
Nor draw more courage from the assent of men.
Or did the whole world cry, ‘O fond and vain!
What idle dream is this which haunts thy brain?’
To the whole world Faith boldly would reply,
‘The whole world can, but I can never, lie.’
147
THE PANTHEIST;
THE ORIGIN OF EVIL.
See the same, p. 255, and his Ssufismus, pp. 133-145. The doctrine of evil, as not indeed evil, but only an inferior kind of good, to which the pantheist is of necessity driven, is wrought out with great skill and frequency by the Eastern Mystics—often comes out in their writings in its most offensive shapes. It is instructive to notice how completely they have anticipated this view, which continually reappears in the philosophical systems of our own day, and is in them brought forward as some mighty discovery, and a key to all the perplexities of the world.
One who in subtle questions took delight,
Came running to my lodging late one night,
And straight began:—‘Wilt thou affirm that sin
Had in man's will its root and origin,
When that will did itself from God proceed?
Whate'er then followed, He must have decreed.
If evil, then, be not against God's will,
'Tis wrongly named, it is not truly ill:
Rather the world a chess-board we should name,
And God both sides is playing of the game:
Moses and Pharaoh seem opposed, for they
Do thus God's greatness on two sides display;
They seem opposed, but at the root are one,
And each his part allotted has well done;
And that which men so blindly evil call,
And hate and fear, this evil, after all,
Is but as those discordant notes whereby
Well-skilled musicians heighten melody;—
But as the dark ground cunning painters lay,
To bring the bright hues into clearer day:
'Tis good as yet imperfect, incomplete;
Fruit that is sour, while passing on to sweet.’
Came running to my lodging late one night,
And straight began:—‘Wilt thou affirm that sin
Had in man's will its root and origin,
When that will did itself from God proceed?
Whate'er then followed, He must have decreed.
If evil, then, be not against God's will,
'Tis wrongly named, it is not truly ill:
Rather the world a chess-board we should name,
And God both sides is playing of the game:
Moses and Pharaoh seem opposed, for they
Do thus God's greatness on two sides display;
They seem opposed, but at the root are one,
And each his part allotted has well done;
And that which men so blindly evil call,
And hate and fear, this evil, after all,
Is but as those discordant notes whereby
Well-skilled musicians heighten melody;—
But as the dark ground cunning painters lay,
To bring the bright hues into clearer day:
'Tis good as yet imperfect, incomplete;
Fruit that is sour, while passing on to sweet.’
Then I, who knew the world had travelled o'er
This line of thought a thousand times before,
Would all debate have willingly put by,
Yet with this tale at last must make reply:
‘The head of Seid his comrade struck one day;
Seid meant the blow in earnest to repay;
But then the striker—“Pardon, friend, the blow—
I am inquiring, and two things would know:
See, when my hand did on your head alight,
Straight various bruises there appeared in sight.
Now, prithee, give me a reply to this,
If head or hand their ultimate cause is?
And if you really do with them agree
Who but in pain a lesser pleasure see?”
Seid then—“O fool! my agony is great,
And think'st thou I can idly speculate?”
The same I say;—let him display his skill
On the world's woe, who does not feel its ill;
Let speculate the man who feels no pain,
To whom the world is all a pageant vain,
An empty show stretched out that he may sit,
And crying “Fie” or “Bravo!” show his wit.
Me the deep feeling of its mighty woe
Robs of all wish herein my skill to show;
I only know that evil is no dream,
A thing that is, and does not merely seem:
Nor ask I now who open left the well,
Whereinto, walking carelessly, I fell;
Not how I stumbled in the pit, but how
Best to emerge, is all my question now.
This line of thought a thousand times before,
148
Yet with this tale at last must make reply:
‘The head of Seid his comrade struck one day;
Seid meant the blow in earnest to repay;
But then the striker—“Pardon, friend, the blow—
I am inquiring, and two things would know:
See, when my hand did on your head alight,
Straight various bruises there appeared in sight.
Now, prithee, give me a reply to this,
If head or hand their ultimate cause is?
And if you really do with them agree
Who but in pain a lesser pleasure see?”
Seid then—“O fool! my agony is great,
And think'st thou I can idly speculate?”
The same I say;—let him display his skill
On the world's woe, who does not feel its ill;
Let speculate the man who feels no pain,
To whom the world is all a pageant vain,
An empty show stretched out that he may sit,
And crying “Fie” or “Bravo!” show his wit.
Me the deep feeling of its mighty woe
Robs of all wish herein my skill to show;
I only know that evil is no dream,
A thing that is, and does not merely seem:
Nor ask I now who open left the well,
Whereinto, walking carelessly, I fell;
Not how I stumbled in the pit, but how
Best to emerge, is all my question now.
149
THE RIGHTEOUS OF THE WORLD.
The Rabbis, who devise strange dooms of wrath and ill,For such as knew not here God's perfect law and will,
Yet these have told how they, as many as with true
And faithful heart fulfilled and loved the good they knew,
The Righteous of the world, shall once delivered be
From darkness, and brought in God's countenance to see:
Which thing they thus recount:—It shall befall one day
In those eternal courts where it is day alway,
Before Him will the Just sit ranged in order meet,
The holy Angels all will stand upon their feet;
And while they hymn the praise, the glory and the worth
Of Him who by a word created heaven and earth,
Will ever high and higher be borne and swept along
Heaven's azure-vaulted roofs the full concent of song:
Then will that mighty voice of jubilee be heard,
Until from end to end the spacious world is stirred,
Until even those that lie excluded from his face,
The Righteous of the world, who knew not of his grace
And law, while living—now will triumph in his name,
And with their loud Amen will join the glad acclaim.
Then He who knoweth all, yet purposing to show
His goodness, will demand from whence these voices grow.
150
The while they veil for awe their faces—‘These are they,
Who did not know thy law while living, and for this
They lie in hell remote from glory and from bliss;
They cry Amen from thence.’—But He will of his grace
Compassion take on them and on their mournful case,
Will give the golden key from heaven's crystal floors,
Which opens with a touch hell's forty thousand doors,
And Michael, mighty prince, will fly with it amain,
On mercy's errand swift, and all the angelic train.
Hell's forty thousand gates will open at his word,
Its narrow chambers deep with expectation stirred.
And as a man draws up his neighbour from a pit,
When he shall have therein through evil hap alit,
The prisoners he will draw from dungeons where they lay,
And extricating lift from the deep and miry clay,—
Will wash and cleanse their wounds where they have plaguëd been,
And clothe in garments white, and beautiful and clean;
And taking by the hand, will lead them to the gate
Of Paradise, where they must for a moment wait;
Till there with leave brought in, they fall upon their face,
And worship God, and praise and magnify his grace:
While all that had before their places round the throne,
Will give new thanks for this new mercy He has shown,
And by new voices swelled, and higher and more strong,
Ring through the vaults of heaven the full concent of song.
151
PRAYER.
When prayer delights thee least, then learn to say,
Soul, now is greatest need that thou should'st pray.
Soul, now is greatest need that thou should'st pray.
Crookëd and warped I am, and I would fain
Straighten myself by thy right line again.
Straighten myself by thy right line again.
Oh come, warm sun, and ripen my late fruits;
Pierce, genial showers, down to my parchëd roots.
Pierce, genial showers, down to my parchëd roots.
My well is bitter; cast therein the tree,
That sweet henceforth its brackish waves may be.
That sweet henceforth its brackish waves may be.
Say what is prayer, when it is prayer indeed?
The mighty utterance of a mighty need.
The mighty utterance of a mighty need.
The man is praying, who doth press with might
Out of his darkness into God's own light.
Out of his darkness into God's own light.
White heat the iron in the furnace won;
Withdrawn from thence, 'tis cold and hard anon.
Withdrawn from thence, 'tis cold and hard anon.
Flowers from their stalks divided, presently
Droop, fail, and wither in the gazer's eye.
Droop, fail, and wither in the gazer's eye.
The greenest leaf divided from its stem
To speedy withering doth itself condemn.
To speedy withering doth itself condemn.
152
The largest river from its fountain head
Cut off, leaves soon a parched and dusty bed.
Cut off, leaves soon a parched and dusty bed.
All things that live from God their sustenance wait,
And sun and moon are beggars at his gate.
And sun and moon are beggars at his gate.
All skirts extended of thy mantle hold,
When angel-hands from heaven are scattering gold.
When angel-hands from heaven are scattering gold.
153
THE FALCON'S REWARD.
Beneath the fiery cope of middle day
The youthful Prince, his train left all behind,
With eager eye gazed round him every way,
If springing well he anywhere might find.
The youthful Prince, his train left all behind,
With eager eye gazed round him every way,
If springing well he anywhere might find.
His favourite falcon, from long aëry flight
Returning, and from quarry struck at last,
Told of the chase, which with its keen delight
Had thus allured him on so far and fast,—
Returning, and from quarry struck at last,
Told of the chase, which with its keen delight
Had thus allured him on so far and fast,—
Till gladly he had welcomed in his drought
The dullest pool that gathered in the rain:
But such, or fount of clearer lymph, he sought
Long through that blasted barren waste in vain.
The dullest pool that gathered in the rain:
But such, or fount of clearer lymph, he sought
Long through that blasted barren waste in vain.
What pleasure when, slow stealing o'er a rock,
He spied the glittering of a little rill,
Which yet, as if his burning thirst to mock,
Did its scant treasures drop by drop distil.
He spied the glittering of a little rill,
Which yet, as if his burning thirst to mock,
Did its scant treasures drop by drop distil.
A golden goblet from his saddle-bow
He loosed, and from his steed alighted down,
To wait until that fountain, trickling slow,
Should in the end his golden goblet crown.
He loosed, and from his steed alighted down,
To wait until that fountain, trickling slow,
Should in the end his golden goblet crown.
154
When set beside the promise of that draught
How poor had seemed to him the costliest wine,
That with its beaded bubbles winked and laughed,—
When set beside that nectar more divine.
How poor had seemed to him the costliest wine,
That with its beaded bubbles winked and laughed,—
When set beside that nectar more divine.
The brimming vessel to his lips at last
He raised,—when, lo! the falcon on his hand,
With beak and pinion's sudden impulse, cast
That cup's rare treasure all upon the sand.
He raised,—when, lo! the falcon on his hand,
With beak and pinion's sudden impulse, cast
That cup's rare treasure all upon the sand.
Long was it ere the fountain, pulsing slow,
Caused once again that chalice to run o'er;
When thinking no like hindrance now to know,
He raised it to his parchëd lips once more:
Caused once again that chalice to run o'er;
When thinking no like hindrance now to know,
He raised it to his parchëd lips once more:
Once more, as if to cross his purpose bent,
The watchful bird,—as if on this one thing,
That drink he should not of that stream, intent,—
Struck from his hand the cup with forceful wing.
The watchful bird,—as if on this one thing,
That drink he should not of that stream, intent,—
Struck from his hand the cup with forceful wing.
But when this new defeat his purpose found,
Swift penalty this time the bird must pay;
Hurled down with angry strength upon the ground,
Before her master's feet in death she lay:
Swift penalty this time the bird must pay;
Hurled down with angry strength upon the ground,
Before her master's feet in death she lay:
And he, twice baffled, did meanwhile again
From that scant rill to slake his thirst prepare;
When, down the crags descending, of his train
One cried, ‘O monarch, for thy life forbear!
From that scant rill to slake his thirst prepare;
When, down the crags descending, of his train
One cried, ‘O monarch, for thy life forbear!
‘Coiled in these waters at their fountain head,
And causing them so feebly to distil,
A poisonous snake of hugest growth lies dead,
And doth with venom all the streamlet fill.’
And causing them so feebly to distil,
A poisonous snake of hugest growth lies dead,
And doth with venom all the streamlet fill.’
155
Dropped from his hand the cup;—one look he cast
Upon the faithful creature at his feet;
Whose dying struggles now were almost past,
For whom a better guerdon had been meet;
Upon the faithful creature at his feet;
Whose dying struggles now were almost past,
For whom a better guerdon had been meet;
Then homeward rode in silence many a mile:—
But if such thoughts did in his bosom grow,
As did in mine the painfulness beguile
Of that his falcon's end, what man can know?
But if such thoughts did in his bosom grow,
As did in mine the painfulness beguile
Of that his falcon's end, what man can know?
I said—‘Such chalices the world fills up
For us, and bright and without bale they seem—
A sparkling potion in a jewelled cup,
Nor know we drawn from what infected stream.
For us, and bright and without bale they seem—
A sparkling potion in a jewelled cup,
Nor know we drawn from what infected stream.
‘Our spirit's thirst they promise to assuage,
And we those cups unto our death had quaffed,
If Heaven did not in dearest love engage
To dash the chalice down, and mar the draught.
And we those cups unto our death had quaffed,
If Heaven did not in dearest love engage
To dash the chalice down, and mar the draught.
‘Alas for us, if we that love are fain
With wrath and blind impatience to repay,
Which nothing but our weakness doth restrain,—
As he repaid his faithful bird that day;
With wrath and blind impatience to repay,
Which nothing but our weakness doth restrain,—
As he repaid his faithful bird that day;
‘If an indignant glance we lift above,
To lose some sparkling goblet discontent,
Which, but for that keen watchfulness of love,
Swift circling poison through our veins had sent.’
To lose some sparkling goblet discontent,
Which, but for that keen watchfulness of love,
Swift circling poison through our veins had sent.’
156
THE CONVERSION OF ABRAHAM.
Fond heart, when learnest thou to say,I love not pomps that fade away,
Nor glories that decay and wane,
Nor lights that rise to set again?
When wilt thou turn where Abraham turned,
And learn the lesson Abraham learned?
Beyond the river while he dwelt,
He with his kin to idols knelt,
And nightly gazing on the sky,
Worshipped the starry host on high.
But when he saw their splendours fail,
And that bright multitude grow pale,
He left them, and adored the moon;
But she too wanly wanëd soon.
Baffled, he knelt unto the sun;
But when his race of light was done,
He cried, ‘To such no vows I bring,
I worship not the perishing!’
And turned him to the God whose hand
Made sun, and moon, and starry band—
An everlasting Light, in whom
Decrease and shadow find no room.
157
THE TRUE PILGRIM.
The deeper religious minds of Mahomedanism spiritualize the pilgrimage to Mecca, and do not fail to urge that the performance of its outward details of duty will profit nothing, unless regarded as signs and symbols of higher truths. See in proof the Abu Seid of Hariri (Rückert's translation, vol. ii. pp. 36-46), a book equal in wit, and i many higher qualities immeasurably superior, to Gil Blas, the European work with which it naturally suggests a comparison.
‘My son,’—'twas thus upon his dying bed
To his sole heir the agëd monarch said,—
‘He who on every Moslem did impose,
That once at least before his life should close,
To Mecca he should wend his faithful way,
And in the mother city kneel and pray,
By shadows such as these did understand
The earnest seeking of a better land,
And a more real pilgrimage intend—
Even that which draws for me unto its end.
When thou then on this errand just art bent,
Let not thy labour all be vainly spent,
As vain the toil of many will be found,
Though duly they have paced the holy ground,
Circling the sacred shrine in many a ring,
And duly drank of Zemsem's holy spring,
And kissed that stone, which, white in heaven as snow,
Doth now coal-black through breath of sinners show;
And all the weary desert way have made,
Pacing a-foot, in meanest garb arrayed,
Leaving no tittle unfulfilled of all
Which to a perfect pilgrim should befall.
Oh, many will have known the toil, the pain,
Who yet will miss that journey's truest gain;
For 'tis not merely that thou turn thy face
Towärd the Caaba and the holy place,
Unless as well thou dost in spirit fare
Towärd New Zion, and art journeying there.
Vainly whole heaps of pebbles wilt thou bring,
And at a fancied aëry devil fling,
Casting thy stone upon the very field,
Where Abraham's faith the tempter once repelled,
If all the while thou shunnest to molest
A truer devil, lurking in thy breast.
And what will profit to have laid aside
Thy gorgeous robes and outward signs of pride,
Taking in mean attire thy pilgrim way,
If pride be still thine inmost soul's array?
Oh! let humility thy garment be,
Which never suffer to be drawn from thee,
Although a Chosroes' mantle in its stead
By Fortune's hand to thee were offerëd.
Thou ridest; yet remember not the less
That many pace a-foot the wilderness:
Fare gently for their sakes; or if perchance,
Vigorous and strong, on foot thou dost advance,
Bethink thee still that with the caravan
Is many a child, and many an aged man.
To his sole heir the agëd monarch said,—
‘He who on every Moslem did impose,
That once at least before his life should close,
To Mecca he should wend his faithful way,
And in the mother city kneel and pray,
By shadows such as these did understand
The earnest seeking of a better land,
And a more real pilgrimage intend—
Even that which draws for me unto its end.
When thou then on this errand just art bent,
Let not thy labour all be vainly spent,
As vain the toil of many will be found,
Though duly they have paced the holy ground,
Circling the sacred shrine in many a ring,
The Caaba, the aim and object to which the pilgrimage is properly directed, is a plain and unpretending edifice. The Loretto of Mahomedanism having Seth for its builder, it was at the deluge carried by angels into heaven; and when that was past, brought back to earth. The reverence attached to it dates back to a period far anterior to the rise of Islam. The new religion adopted it with so much else into itself.
And duly drank of Zemsem's holy spring,
And kissed that stone, which, white in heaven as snow,
Doth now coal-black through breath of sinners show;
And all the weary desert way have made,
Pacing a-foot, in meanest garb arrayed,
Leaving no tittle unfulfilled of all
Which to a perfect pilgrim should befall.
Oh, many will have known the toil, the pain,
Who yet will miss that journey's truest gain;
For 'tis not merely that thou turn thy face
Towärd the Caaba and the holy place,
158
Towärd New Zion, and art journeying there.
Vainly whole heaps of pebbles wilt thou bring,
And at a fancied aëry devil fling,
Casting thy stone upon the very field,
Where Abraham's faith the tempter once repelled,
If all the while thou shunnest to molest
A truer devil, lurking in thy breast.
And what will profit to have laid aside
Thy gorgeous robes and outward signs of pride,
Taking in mean attire thy pilgrim way,
If pride be still thine inmost soul's array?
Oh! let humility thy garment be,
Which never suffer to be drawn from thee,
Although a Chosroes' mantle in its stead
By Fortune's hand to thee were offerëd.
Thou ridest; yet remember not the less
That many pace a-foot the wilderness:
Fare gently for their sakes; or if perchance,
Vigorous and strong, on foot thou dost advance,
Bethink thee still that with the caravan
Is many a child, and many an aged man.
‘O pilgrim, to the holy city bound,
Learn other dangers on thy pathway found.
To right or left if sounds thine ear invade,
Like tramplings of a mighty cavalcade,
Or voice by night which names thee by thy name,
As though from some familiar friend it came,
Bidding thee turn a little from thy way,
Or tarry, do not for thy life obey;
But close thine ears, and ever onward haste,
Eluding so the demons of the waste.
Or if in fiery noon, when throat is dry,
And limbs are faint, far off thou dost espy
What seems to thee some broad transparent lake,
Delighting in its lucid breast to take
White clouds, far mountains, and inverted trees,
Do not forsake thy company for these:
'Tis but the floating heat of middle noon,
From sand-flats drawn, and which will vanish soon:
Oh woe! if thee it shall have lured away,
To flatter first, and afterwards betray.
My son, whom I can watch for now no more,
Grave deeply in thine heart this pilgrim lore;
About thy neck a father's precepts bind;
On, on, and leave these perils far behind.’
Learn other dangers on thy pathway found.
To right or left if sounds thine ear invade,
Like tramplings of a mighty cavalcade,
Or voice by night which names thee by thy name,
As though from some familiar friend it came,
Bidding thee turn a little from thy way,
Or tarry, do not for thy life obey;
But close thine ears, and ever onward haste,
Eluding so the demons of the waste.
159
And limbs are faint, far off thou dost espy
What seems to thee some broad transparent lake,
Delighting in its lucid breast to take
White clouds, far mountains, and inverted trees,
Do not forsake thy company for these:
'Tis but the floating heat of middle noon,
From sand-flats drawn, and which will vanish soon:
Oh woe! if thee it shall have lured away,
To flatter first, and afterwards betray.
My son, whom I can watch for now no more,
Grave deeply in thine heart this pilgrim lore;
About thy neck a father's precepts bind;
On, on, and leave these perils far behind.’
160
AN EASTERN VERSION OF THE PARABLE OF THE TALENTS.
There went a man from home: and to his neighbours twainHe gave, to keep for him, two sacks of golden grain.
Deep in his cellar one the precious charge concealed;
And forth the other went and strewed it in his field.
The man returns at last—asks of the first his sack:
‘Here, take it; ’tis the same; thou hast it safely back.’
Unharmed it shows without, but when he would explore
His sack's recesses, corn there finds he now no more;
One half of all therein proves rotten and decayed,
Upon the other half have worm and mildew preyed.
The putrid heap to him in ire he doth return;
And of the other asks, ‘Where is my sack of corn?’
Who answered, ‘Come with me, behold how it has sped,’
And took and showed him fields with waving harvests spread.
Then cheerfully the man laughed out and cried, ‘This one
Had insight, to make up for the other that had none:
The letter he observed, but thou the precept's sense,
And thus to thee and me shall profit grow from hence.
In harvest thou shalt fill two sacks of corn for me,
The residue of right remains in full for thee.’
161
THE VASE OF HONEY.
Fair vessel hast thou seen with honey filled,
Which is no sooner opened, than descend
Upon the clammy sweets by bees distilled
A troop of flies, quick swarming without end?
Which is no sooner opened, than descend
Upon the clammy sweets by bees distilled
A troop of flies, quick swarming without end?
Yet these when one doth fan away and beat,
Such as had lighted with a fearful care
On the jar's edge, nor cumbered wings and feet,
Lightly they mount into the upper air.
Such as had lighted with a fearful care
On the jar's edge, nor cumbered wings and feet,
Lightly they mount into the upper air.
But all that headlong plunged those sweets among,
They cannot fly, in cloying sweetness bound;
The heavy toils have all around them clung,
In woful surfeitings their lives are drowned.
They cannot fly, in cloying sweetness bound;
The heavy toils have all around them clung,
In woful surfeitings their lives are drowned.
Such vessel is this world—fanned evermore
By death's dark Angel with his mighty wing;
Then all that had in pleasure's honied store
Their spirits sunk, they upward cannot spring.
By death's dark Angel with his mighty wing;
Then all that had in pleasure's honied store
Their spirits sunk, they upward cannot spring.
Only they mount, who on this vessel's side
With heed alighting, had with extreme lip
Just ventured, there while suffered to abide,
Its sweets in measure and with fear to sip.
With heed alighting, had with extreme lip
Just ventured, there while suffered to abide,
Its sweets in measure and with fear to sip.
162
EASTERN MORALITIES.
‘Who truly strives?’ they asked. Then one replied:
‘The man that owns no other goal beside
The throne of God, and till he there arrives,
Allows himself no rest, he truly strives.’
‘The man that owns no other goal beside
The throne of God, and till he there arrives,
Allows himself no rest, he truly strives.’
Honour each thing for that it once may be,
In bud the rose, in egg the eagle see;
Bright butterfly behold in ugly worm,
Nor doubt that man enfolds an angel form.
In bud the rose, in egg the eagle see;
Bright butterfly behold in ugly worm,
Nor doubt that man enfolds an angel form.
My friends exclaimed, who saw me bowed with woe:
‘Be of good cheer; the world is ebb and flow
‘To the dead fish what helps it,’ I replied,
‘That back returns the free and flowing tide?’
‘Be of good cheer; the world is ebb and flow
‘To the dead fish what helps it,’ I replied,
‘That back returns the free and flowing tide?’
A pebble, thrown into the mighty sea,
Sinks, and disturbs not its tranquillity:
No ocean, but a shallow pool, the man
Whom every little wrong disquiet can.
Sinks, and disturbs not its tranquillity:
No ocean, but a shallow pool, the man
Whom every little wrong disquiet can.
A monk that once did at a king's board feed,
Ate less than was his wont and was his need:
And the meal done, when he a grace should say,
Prayed more and longer than he used to pray.
O friend, if great things may in small be found,
Quite other road than heavenward thou art bound.
Ate less than was his wont and was his need:
And the meal done, when he a grace should say,
Prayed more and longer than he used to pray.
O friend, if great things may in small be found,
Quite other road than heavenward thou art bound.
163
He is a friend, who treated as a foe,
Now even more friendly than before doth show;
Who to his brother still remains a shield,
Although a sword for him his brother wield;
Who of the very stones against him cast
Builds friendship's altar higher and more fast.
Now even more friendly than before doth show;
Who to his brother still remains a shield,
Although a sword for him his brother wield;
Who of the very stones against him cast
Builds friendship's altar higher and more fast.
With needle's point more easily you will
Uproot and quite unfasten a huge hill,
Than from the bosom you will dig up pride;
And the ant's footfall sooner is descried,
On black earth moving, in the blackest night,
Than are pride's subtle movements brought to light.
Uproot and quite unfasten a huge hill,
Than from the bosom you will dig up pride;
And the ant's footfall sooner is descried,
On black earth moving, in the blackest night,
Than are pride's subtle movements brought to light.
When men exalt thee with their flatteries,
Occasion take thine own self to despise;
And as a help to this, the meanest thing
Which thou hast ever done to memory bring.
Think, too, that now thou dost in peril fall
Of doing a yet meaner thing than all,
If, being what thou art in thine own sight,
Thou dost this praise appropriate as thy right.
Occasion take thine own self to despise;
And as a help to this, the meanest thing
Which thou hast ever done to memory bring.
Think, too, that now thou dost in peril fall
Of doing a yet meaner thing than all,
If, being what thou art in thine own sight,
Thou dost this praise appropriate as thy right.
The business of the world is child's play mere;
Too many, ah! the children playing here:
Their pleasure and their woe, their loss and gain,
Alike mean nothing, and alike are vain—
As children's, who, to pass the time away,
Build up their booths, and buy and sell in play;
But homeward hungering must at eve repair,
And standing leave their booths with all their ware:
So the world's children, when their night is come,
With empty satchels turn them sadly home.
Too many, ah! the children playing here:
Their pleasure and their woe, their loss and gain,
Alike mean nothing, and alike are vain—
As children's, who, to pass the time away,
Build up their booths, and buy and sell in play;
But homeward hungering must at eve repair,
And standing leave their booths with all their ware:
So the world's children, when their night is come,
With empty satchels turn them sadly home.
164
Renounce the world, that thou its lord may'st be;
Become a servant, to be truly free.
O arrow, yield thee to thy Monarch's bow,
That whither He would send thee thou may'st go.
O camel, kneel, and freely take thy load;
And freely bear it, needing not the goad.
For thy Belovëd be a light-toned flute,
That to his slightest breath is never mute.
In the mind hide not, when God seeks for thee,
Rude ore, that stamped, his money thou may'st be.
Become a servant, to be truly free.
O arrow, yield thee to thy Monarch's bow,
That whither He would send thee thou may'st go.
O camel, kneel, and freely take thy load;
And freely bear it, needing not the goad.
For thy Belovëd be a light-toned flute,
That to his slightest breath is never mute.
In the mind hide not, when God seeks for thee,
Rude ore, that stamped, his money thou may'st be.
Sage, who would'st maker of thine own god be,
When made, alas! what will he profit thee?
Most like art thou to children, that astride
On reeds or wooden horses proudly ride;
And as they trail them on the ground, they cry,
‘This is the lightning, and its Lord am I!’
Yet, while they deem their horses them upbear,
Themselves the bearers of their horses are;
And when they grow aweary of their course,
They find no strength in these, no help, no force.
How otherwise they fare, how fresh, how strong,
Not of themselves, but borne of God along!
How jubilant to Him they lift their head,
Till the ninth heaven shakes underneath their tread!
When made, alas! what will he profit thee?
Most like art thou to children, that astride
On reeds or wooden horses proudly ride;
And as they trail them on the ground, they cry,
‘This is the lightning, and its Lord am I!’
Yet, while they deem their horses them upbear,
Themselves the bearers of their horses are;
And when they grow aweary of their course,
They find no strength in these, no help, no force.
How otherwise they fare, how fresh, how strong,
Not of themselves, but borne of God along!
How jubilant to Him they lift their head,
Till the ninth heaven shakes underneath their tread!
True knowledge is the waking up of powers
To conscious life, which were already ours.
What now is mine in leaf and flower and fruit,
That I possessed before in bud and root.
The faded writing of the mind again
By chymic art comes forth distinct and plain.
Springs that were stopt, when that is cleared away
That choked them, bubble in the open day.
To conscious life, which were already ours.
What now is mine in leaf and flower and fruit,
That I possessed before in bud and root.
The faded writing of the mind again
By chymic art comes forth distinct and plain.
Springs that were stopt, when that is cleared away
That choked them, bubble in the open day.
165
The stars appear at eve; which yet have been
All day in heaven, although till now unseen.
The dawn lights up the landscape; the great sun
Shows, but not makes, the world he looks upon.
I found a rich pearl flung upon my coast,
Which yet no other but myself had lost.
I entered a large hall; no foreign dome,
But even my own long-left forgotten home;
And in what seemed at first a stranger face
A former friend I daily learn to trace.
All day in heaven, although till now unseen.
The dawn lights up the landscape; the great sun
Shows, but not makes, the world he looks upon.
I found a rich pearl flung upon my coast,
Which yet no other but myself had lost.
I entered a large hall; no foreign dome,
But even my own long-left forgotten home;
And in what seemed at first a stranger face
A former friend I daily learn to trace.
Who that might watch the moon in heaven, would look
At her weak image in the water-brook?
Who were content, that might in presence stand
Of one beloved, with letters from his hand?
When thou hast learned the name, hast thou the thing?
What life to thee will definitions bring?
Will the four letters, R, O, S, and E,
The rose's hues and fragrance bring to thee?
Feed not on husks, but these strip off, and feed
On the rich kernel, which is food indeed.
Say, who of choice would wash in arid sand,
While limpid streams were bubbling close at hand?
Bare Science is dry sand;—thy spirit's wings
Bathe thou in Love's delicious water-springs.
Be thou the bee, which ever to its cell
Not wax alone, but honey brings as well:
Good is the wax for light, but better still
What will thine hive with storëd sweetness fill.
At her weak image in the water-brook?
Who were content, that might in presence stand
Of one beloved, with letters from his hand?
When thou hast learned the name, hast thou the thing?
What life to thee will definitions bring?
Will the four letters, R, O, S, and E,
The rose's hues and fragrance bring to thee?
Feed not on husks, but these strip off, and feed
On the rich kernel, which is food indeed.
Say, who of choice would wash in arid sand,
While limpid streams were bubbling close at hand?
Bare Science is dry sand;—thy spirit's wings
Bathe thou in Love's delicious water-springs.
Be thou the bee, which ever to its cell
Not wax alone, but honey brings as well:
Good is the wax for light, but better still
What will thine hive with storëd sweetness fill.
His splendid pilgrimage to Mecca done,
Within the temple great Almansur's son
Showered with a bounty prodigal and proud
Enormous gifts among the struggling crowd;
And every day those gifts he multiplied,
Vexed every day and humbled in his pride,
That one who seemed the poorest pilgrim there,
Remained aloof with calm abstracted air
Indifferent, and contended not nor prest,
To share his lavish largess with the rest.
Until at last, when he had shed in vain
Gold, jewels, pearls, he could no more refrain,
But cried to him, ‘And dost thou nought desire,
And wilt thou nothing at my hands require?
Who answered, standing where before he stood
‘Great shame it were for me, if any good,
While thus a suppliant in God's house I stand
I asked or looked for, saving at his hand.’
Within the temple great Almansur's son
Showered with a bounty prodigal and proud
Enormous gifts among the struggling crowd;
166
Vexed every day and humbled in his pride,
That one who seemed the poorest pilgrim there,
Remained aloof with calm abstracted air
Indifferent, and contended not nor prest,
To share his lavish largess with the rest.
Until at last, when he had shed in vain
Gold, jewels, pearls, he could no more refrain,
But cried to him, ‘And dost thou nought desire,
And wilt thou nothing at my hands require?
Who answered, standing where before he stood
‘Great shame it were for me, if any good,
While thus a suppliant in God's house I stand
I asked or looked for, saving at his hand.’
Man, the caged bird that owned a higher nest,
Is here awhile detained, reluctant guest;
Plumage and beak he shatters in his rage,
And with his prison doth vain war engage;
For him the falcon watches, and his snare
The bloody fowler doth for him prepare.
Exíled from home, he here must sadly sing,
In spring lack autumn, and in autumn spring.
Far from his nest, he shivers on a wall,
Where blows on him of rude misfortune fall—
His head with weight of misery sore bowed down,
His pinion clogged with dust, his courage gone.
Then from his nest in heaven is heard a cry,
And straight he spreads his wings divine on high:
Lift him, O Lord, unto the lotus-tree,
No meaner pitch may with his birth agree;
Grant him a pinion of such lofty flight,
That he may on the lotus-tree alight:
In thy bright palaces his nest prepare;
O happy, happy bird that nesteth there!
Is here awhile detained, reluctant guest;
Plumage and beak he shatters in his rage,
And with his prison doth vain war engage;
For him the falcon watches, and his snare
The bloody fowler doth for him prepare.
Exíled from home, he here must sadly sing,
In spring lack autumn, and in autumn spring.
Far from his nest, he shivers on a wall,
Where blows on him of rude misfortune fall—
His head with weight of misery sore bowed down,
His pinion clogged with dust, his courage gone.
Then from his nest in heaven is heard a cry,
And straight he spreads his wings divine on high:
Lift him, O Lord, unto the lotus-tree,
No meaner pitch may with his birth agree;
Grant him a pinion of such lofty flight,
That he may on the lotus-tree alight:
167
O happy, happy bird that nesteth there!
Sate in his presence-chamber Solomon;
When thither of his princes entered one,
Haste in his step, and terror in his eye,
And cried, ‘O King, defend me, or I die;
Even now I saw with visage dark and fell
Gaze on me the Death-angel Azraël.’
To him the King: ‘What help may I afford?’
‘Oh bid the storm-wind, gracious mighty lord,
That it to farthest India waft me straight;
And there my life shall reach a longer date.’
To farthest Ind at Solomon's command
The storm-wind swept him over sea and land.
But when the Spirits met another day,
To the Death-angel spake the Monarch: ‘Say,
Why did thy terrors that poor man affright,
Till he for anguish well nigh died outright,
That poor man, whom I sheltered with my might?’
Then he: ‘I meant not dreadful to appear,
But only wondered to behold him here;
For God had bid me on that very day
From farthest Ind to fetch his soul away.
I thought, Were thousand pinions given to thee,
To-day in India thou shouldst never be;
Nor guessed how this should be fulfilled, till there
Thy word did waft him, answering to his prayer.’
When thither of his princes entered one,
Haste in his step, and terror in his eye,
And cried, ‘O King, defend me, or I die;
Even now I saw with visage dark and fell
Gaze on me the Death-angel Azraël.’
To him the King: ‘What help may I afford?’
‘Oh bid the storm-wind, gracious mighty lord,
That it to farthest India waft me straight;
And there my life shall reach a longer date.’
To farthest Ind at Solomon's command
The storm-wind swept him over sea and land.
But when the Spirits met another day,
To the Death-angel spake the Monarch: ‘Say,
Why did thy terrors that poor man affright,
Till he for anguish well nigh died outright,
That poor man, whom I sheltered with my might?’
Then he: ‘I meant not dreadful to appear,
But only wondered to behold him here;
For God had bid me on that very day
From farthest Ind to fetch his soul away.
I thought, Were thousand pinions given to thee,
To-day in India thou shouldst never be;
Nor guessed how this should be fulfilled, till there
Thy word did waft him, answering to his prayer.’
A hen, though such tame creatures mostly are,
Yet once received a water-bird in care;
Its mother-instinct drew the fledgling still
To the wide ocean-floods, to roam at will;
Its timid nurse, upon the other hand,
Sought evermore to lead it back to land.
O man! thy mother, Heaven, thy nurse is Earth,
And thou of both wert nurtured from thy birth;
From thy true mother comes thine impulse free
To launch forth boldly upon being's sea;
While aye thy nurse fears for thee, and would fain
Thee to a narrow strip of dry restrain.
Up, and remember Adam's kingly worth,
How angels danced before him at his birth,
How unto him they rendered homage all,
And served him at the glorious festival,
The bridal of two worlds, that kissed and met
The morn when he in Paradise was set.
Up, man, for what if thou with beasts hast part,
Since in the body framed of dust thou art,
Yet know thyself upon the other side
Greater than angels, and to God allied.
But ah! I sound this high alarum in vain,
Sunk on thy bosom doth thy head remain:
In lists of love while noblest bosoms bleed,
That flies not vex thee, this is all thine heed.
Up, be a man at last; with Abraham go
From house and kindred forth, thy God to know
Fair shine the sun and moon and host of heaven,
To eye of sense no fairer sight is given:
Yet cry with him: ‘These rise to set again;
I worship Him, a light that will not wane.’
Into the wilderness with Moses hie,
And hear that mighty word, ‘The Lord am I.’
Then hast thou won the place that is thine own,
A sitter on the threshold of God's throne.
Yet once received a water-bird in care;
Its mother-instinct drew the fledgling still
To the wide ocean-floods, to roam at will;
168
Sought evermore to lead it back to land.
O man! thy mother, Heaven, thy nurse is Earth,
And thou of both wert nurtured from thy birth;
From thy true mother comes thine impulse free
To launch forth boldly upon being's sea;
While aye thy nurse fears for thee, and would fain
Thee to a narrow strip of dry restrain.
Up, and remember Adam's kingly worth,
How angels danced before him at his birth,
How unto him they rendered homage all,
And served him at the glorious festival,
The bridal of two worlds, that kissed and met
The morn when he in Paradise was set.
Up, man, for what if thou with beasts hast part,
Since in the body framed of dust thou art,
Yet know thyself upon the other side
Greater than angels, and to God allied.
But ah! I sound this high alarum in vain,
Sunk on thy bosom doth thy head remain:
In lists of love while noblest bosoms bleed,
That flies not vex thee, this is all thine heed.
Up, be a man at last; with Abraham go
From house and kindred forth, thy God to know
Fair shine the sun and moon and host of heaven,
To eye of sense no fairer sight is given:
Yet cry with him: ‘These rise to set again;
I worship Him, a light that will not wane.’
Into the wilderness with Moses hie,
And hear that mighty word, ‘The Lord am I.’
Then hast thou won the place that is thine own,
A sitter on the threshold of God's throne.
169
POEMS WRITTEN DURING THE RUSSIAN WAR 1854, 1855
171
‘WHAT THOUGH YET THE SPIRIT SLUMBERS.’
What though yet the spirit slumbers
That should clothe great acts in song,
Stirring but in feeble numbers,
Loosening but a stammering tongue;
That should clothe great acts in song,
Stirring but in feeble numbers,
Loosening but a stammering tongue;
Still, as well my soul presages,
Mightier voices soon will sound,
Which shall ring through all the ages,
While the nations listen round.
Mightier voices soon will sound,
Which shall ring through all the ages,
While the nations listen round.
For even now the thoughts are waking,
And the deeds are being done,
Deeds and thoughts, the poet's making,
Whence his solemn heart is won.
And the deeds are being done,
Deeds and thoughts, the poet's making,
Whence his solemn heart is won.
If Thermopylæ's three hundred,
They who kept the pass so well,—
If at them all time has wondered,
As they fought, and as they fell,
They who kept the pass so well,—
If at them all time has wondered,
As they fought, and as they fell,
With their deed of duty cast they
Our six hundred in the shade,
When at that same bidding passed they
To their closing death-parade?
Our six hundred in the shade,
When at that same bidding passed they
To their closing death-parade?
172
Let them their due praise inherit,
Those of weaker woman-kind,
Who in times past owned a spirit,
Which has left man's strength behind;
Those of weaker woman-kind,
Who in times past owned a spirit,
Which has left man's strength behind;
Yet our hearts and hearts' devotion
Wait upon that noble train,
Who have crossed the distant ocean
For a fellowship with pain;
Wait upon that noble train,
Who have crossed the distant ocean
For a fellowship with pain;
Seeking, as men seek for riches,
Painful vigils by the bed
Where the maimed and dying stretches
Aching limbs beside the dead:
Painful vigils by the bed
Where the maimed and dying stretches
Aching limbs beside the dead:
And for this great suffering nation
Sealed those fountains shall not prove,
Those old springs of inspiration,
Mighty death, and mightier love.
Sealed those fountains shall not prove,
Those old springs of inspiration,
Mighty death, and mightier love.
But meanwhile, the pauses filling,
Till that deeper soul be stirred,
Mother-land, thou wilt be willing
That some fainter notes be heard.
Till that deeper soul be stirred,
Mother-land, thou wilt be willing
That some fainter notes be heard.
What if thou in bitter mourning
Dost beside the graves recline
Of thy last and unreturning,
Yet no Rachel's grief is thine.
Dost beside the graves recline
Of thy last and unreturning,
Yet no Rachel's grief is thine.
Stately grief, not wild and tameless,
Thine, the privileged to see
Gentle, simple, named and nameless,
Willing all to die for thee;
Thine, the privileged to see
Gentle, simple, named and nameless,
Willing all to die for thee;
173
Foremost names in thine old story,
Foremost in these death-rolls shown,
Heirs no more of others' glory,
But the makers of their own.
Foremost in these death-rolls shown,
Heirs no more of others' glory,
But the makers of their own.
Thy great mother-heart is bleeding,
Torn and piercëd through and through,
Post on heavy post succeeding,
Bearing each some anguish new.
Torn and piercëd through and through,
Post on heavy post succeeding,
Bearing each some anguish new.
Yet the right thy bosom strengthens,
Nought in thee of courage dies,
Though the long sad death-roll lengthens,
Ever lengthens in thine eyes.
Nought in thee of courage dies,
Though the long sad death-roll lengthens,
Ever lengthens in thine eyes.
These are gone; thou nursest others
Of the same heroic breed,
Good as they, their spirits' brothers,
To their hazards to succeed.
Of the same heroic breed,
Good as they, their spirits' brothers,
To their hazards to succeed.
Then, while this thy grief's proud fashion,
From all weakness far removed,
This thy steadfast solemn passion
By the graves of thy beloved,
From all weakness far removed,
This thy steadfast solemn passion
By the graves of thy beloved,
Thou wilt let him pass unchidden,
Wilt perchance vouchsafe an ear,
Who too weakly and unbidden
Dares to sound their praises here;
Wilt perchance vouchsafe an ear,
Who too weakly and unbidden
Dares to sound their praises here;
This slight tribute of his bringing
Thou wilt not in scorn put by;
And wilt pardon one for singing,
While so many do and die.
Thou wilt not in scorn put by;
And wilt pardon one for singing,
While so many do and die.
174
ALMA.
Though till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be,
Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea.
Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea.
Yesterday unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering Tartar known,
Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four corners blown.
Now thou art a voice for ever, to the world's four corners blown.
In two nations' annals graven, thou art now a deathless name,
And a star for ever shining in their firmament of fame.
And a star for ever shining in their firmament of fame.
Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower, and shrine,
Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like thine;
Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like thine;
Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head,
Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of the dead.
Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of the dead.
Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning, say—
When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away—
When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away—
175
‘He has past from us, the loved one; but he sleeps with them that died
By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hillside.’
By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hillside.’
Yes, and in the days far onward, when we all are calm as those,
Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds repose,
Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds repose,
Thou on England's banners blazoned with the famous fields of old,
Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold:
Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold:
And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be done,
By that twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won.
By that twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won.
O thou river! dear for ever to the gallant, to the free,
Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea.
Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea.
176
SONNET.
[Together lay them in one common grave]
Together lay them in one common grave,These noble sons of England and of France,
Who side by side did yesterday advance,
And to their foes a dear example gave
Of what a freeman's worth beyond a slave.
Theirs was a noble fellowship in life,
They breathed their lives out in one glorious strife;
Then let them lie, the brave beside the brave.
And sleep with them, for evermore to cease,
Sleep with the sleep which no awaking knows,
The long contention of eight hundred years:
While from their ashes the fair tree of peace
Springs, under which two nations may repose
In love which ancient discord more endears.
177
AFTER THE BATTLE.
We crowned the hard-won heights at length,
Baptized in flame and fire;
We saw the foeman's sullen strength,
That grimly made retire;
Baptized in flame and fire;
We saw the foeman's sullen strength,
That grimly made retire;
Saw close at hand, and then more far,
Beneath the battle smoke
The ridges of his shattered war,
That broke and ever broke.
Beneath the battle smoke
The ridges of his shattered war,
That broke and ever broke.
But one, an English household's pride,
Dear many ways to me,
Who climbed that death-path by my side,
I sought, but could not see—
Dear many ways to me,
Who climbed that death-path by my side,
I sought, but could not see—
Last seen, what time our foremost rank
That iron tempest tore;
He touched, he scaled the rampart bank,
Seen then, and seen no more.
That iron tempest tore;
He touched, he scaled the rampart bank,
Seen then, and seen no more.
One friend to aid, I measured back
With him that pathway dread;
No fear to wander from our track
Its waymarks English dead.
With him that pathway dread;
No fear to wander from our track
Its waymarks English dead.
178
Light thickened; but our search was crowned,
As we too well divined;
And after briefest quest we found
What we most feared to find.
As we too well divined;
And after briefest quest we found
What we most feared to find.
His bosom with one death-shot riven,
The warrior boy lay low;
His face was turned unto the heaven,
His feet unto the foe.
The warrior boy lay low;
His face was turned unto the heaven,
His feet unto the foe.
As he had fall'n upon the plain,
Inviolate he lay;
No ruffian spoiler's hand profane
Had touched that noble clay.
Inviolate he lay;
No ruffian spoiler's hand profane
Had touched that noble clay.
And precious things he still retained,
Which by one distant hearth,
Loved tokens of the loved, had gained
A worth beyond all worth.
Which by one distant hearth,
Loved tokens of the loved, had gained
A worth beyond all worth.
I treasured these for them who yet
Knew not their mighty woe;
I softly sealed his eyes, and set
One kiss upon his brow.
Knew not their mighty woe;
I softly sealed his eyes, and set
One kiss upon his brow.
A decent grave we scooped him, where
Less thickly lay the dead,
And decently composed him there
Within that narrow bed.
Less thickly lay the dead,
And decently composed him there
Within that narrow bed.
Oh theme for manhood's bitter tears,
The beauty and the bloom
Of less than twenty summer years
Shut in that darksome tomb!
The beauty and the bloom
Of less than twenty summer years
Shut in that darksome tomb!
179
Of soldier sire the soldier son—
Life's honoured eventide
One lives to close in England, one
In maiden battle died;
Life's honoured eventide
One lives to close in England, one
In maiden battle died;
And they that should have been the mourned,
The mourners' parts obtain:
Such thoughts were ours, as we returned
To earth its earth again.
The mourners' parts obtain:
Such thoughts were ours, as we returned
To earth its earth again.
Brief words we read of faith and prayer
Beside that hasty grave;
Then turned away, and left him there,
The gentle and the brave;
Beside that hasty grave;
Then turned away, and left him there,
The gentle and the brave;
I calling back with thankful heart,
With thoughts to peace allied,
Hours when we two had knelt apart
Upon the lone hill-side:
With thoughts to peace allied,
Hours when we two had knelt apart
Upon the lone hill-side:
And, comforted, I praised the grace,
Which him had led to be
An early seeker of that Face,
Which he should early see.
Which him had led to be
An early seeker of that Face,
Which he should early see.
180
SONNET.
[From what of passion and of earthly pride]
From what of passion and of earthly pride,Presumptuous confidence and glory vain,
Will cleave to justest cause which men sustain,
Till Thou their cause and them hast purified,
From what too much of these Thou hast espied
In us, oh! cleanse us from this dangerous leaven,
At any cost, oh! purge us, righteous Heaven,
Though we herein be sorely searched and tried.
So, purified from these, may we fulfil,
Upon thy strength relying, not our own,
The dreadful sentence of thy righteous will;
And this by us unto the nations shown,
May burn no incense to our drag, but still
All honour give to Thee, and Thee alone.
181
BALAKLAVA.
Many a deed of faithful daring may obtain no record here,
Wrought where none could see or note it, save the one Almighty Seer.
Wrought where none could see or note it, save the one Almighty Seer.
Many a deed, awhile remembered, out of memory needs must fall,
Covered, as the years roll onward, by oblivion's creeping pall:
Covered, as the years roll onward, by oblivion's creeping pall:
But there are which never, never, to oblivion can give room,
Till in flame earth's records perish, till the thunderpeal of doom:
Till in flame earth's records perish, till the thunderpeal of doom:
And of these through all the ages married to immortal fame,
One is linked, and linked for ever, Balaklava, with thy name;
One is linked, and linked for ever, Balaklava, with thy name;
With thine armies three that wond'ring stood at gaze and held their breath,
With thy fatal lists of honour, and thy tournament of death.
With thy fatal lists of honour, and thy tournament of death.
182
O our brothers that are sleeping, weary with your great day's strife,
On that bleak Crimean headland, noble prodigals of life,
On that bleak Crimean headland, noble prodigals of life,
Eyes which ne'er beheld you living, these shall dearly mourn you dead,
All your squandered wealth of valour, all the lavish blood ye shed.
All your squandered wealth of valour, all the lavish blood ye shed.
And in our eyes tears are springing; but we bid them back again;
None shall say, to see us weeping, that we hold your offering vain;
None shall say, to see us weeping, that we hold your offering vain;
That for nothing, in our sentence, did that holocaust arise,
With a battle-field for altar, and with you for sacrifice.
With a battle-field for altar, and with you for sacrifice.
Not for nought; to more than warriors armed as you for mortal fray,
Unto each that in life's battle waits his Captain's word ye say—
Unto each that in life's battle waits his Captain's word ye say—
‘What by duty's voice is bidden, there where duty's star may guide,
Thither follow, that accomplish, whatsoever else betide.’
Thither follow, that accomplish, whatsoever else betide.’
This ye taught; and this your lesson solemnly in blood ye sealed:
Heroes, martyrs, are the harvest Balaklava's heights shall yield.
Heroes, martyrs, are the harvest Balaklava's heights shall yield.
183
SONNET.
[Yes, let us own it in confession free]
Yes, let us own it in confession free,That when we girt ourselves to quell the wrong,
We deemed it not so giant-like and strong,
But it with our slight effort thought to see
Pushed from its base; yea, almost deemed that we,
Champions of right, might be excused the price
Of pain, and loss, and large self-sacrifice,
Set ever on high things by Heav'n's decree.
What if this work's great hardness was concealed
From us, until so far upon our way
That no escape remained us, no retreat,—
Lest, being at an earlier hour revealed,
We might have shrunk too weakly from the heat,
And shunned the burden of this fiery day?
184
Η ΤΑΝ, Η ΕΠΙ ΤΑΝ.
[‘This, or on this;—Bring home with thee this shield]
‘This, or on this;—Bring home with thee this shield,
Or be thou, dead, upon this shield brought home’—
So spake the Spartan mother to her son
Whom her own hands had armed. Oh strong of heart!
And famed through all the ages for that word!
Yet know I of a fairer strength than hers—
Strength linked with weakness, steeped in tears and fears,
And tenderness of trembling womanhood;
But true as hers to duty's perfect law.
Or be thou, dead, upon this shield brought home’—
So spake the Spartan mother to her son
Whom her own hands had armed. Oh strong of heart!
And famed through all the ages for that word!
Yet know I of a fairer strength than hers—
Strength linked with weakness, steeped in tears and fears,
And tenderness of trembling womanhood;
But true as hers to duty's perfect law.
And such is theirs, who in our England now,
Wives, sisters, mothers, watch by day, by night,
In many a cottage, many a stately hall,
For those dread posts, too slow, too swift, that haste
O'er land and sea, the messengers of doom;
Theirs, who ten thousand times would rather hear
Of loved forms stretched upon the bloody sod,
All cold and stark, but with the debt they owed
To that dear land that bore them duly paid,
Than look to enfold them in strict arms again,
By aught in honour's or in peril's path
Unduly shunned, for that embrace reserved.
Wives, sisters, mothers, watch by day, by night,
In many a cottage, many a stately hall,
For those dread posts, too slow, too swift, that haste
O'er land and sea, the messengers of doom;
Theirs, who ten thousand times would rather hear
Of loved forms stretched upon the bloody sod,
All cold and stark, but with the debt they owed
To that dear land that bore them duly paid,
Than look to enfold them in strict arms again,
By aught in honour's or in peril's path
Unduly shunned, for that embrace reserved.
185
INKERMAN.
SUNDAY, NOV. 5, 1854.
Cheerly with us that dread November morn
Rose, as I trace its features in my mind;
A day that in the lap of winter born,
Yet told of autumn scarcely left behind.
Rose, as I trace its features in my mind;
A day that in the lap of winter born,
Yet told of autumn scarcely left behind.
And we by many a hearth in all the land,
Whom quiet sleep had lapped the calm night through,
Changed greetings, lip with lip, and hand to hand,
Old greetings, but which love makes ever new.
Whom quiet sleep had lapped the calm night through,
Changed greetings, lip with lip, and hand to hand,
Old greetings, but which love makes ever new.
Then, as the day brought with it sweet release
From this world's care, with timely feet we trod
The customary paths of blessed peace;
We worshipped in the temples of our God;
From this world's care, with timely feet we trod
The customary paths of blessed peace;
We worshipped in the temples of our God;
And when the sun had travelled his brief arc,
Drew round our hearths again in thankful ease:
With pleasant light we chased away the dark,
We sat at eve with children round our knees.
Drew round our hearths again in thankful ease:
With pleasant light we chased away the dark,
We sat at eve with children round our knees.
So fared this day with us:—but how with you?
What, gallant hosts of England, was your cheer,
Who numbered hearts as gentle and as true
As any kneeling at our altars here?
What, gallant hosts of England, was your cheer,
Who numbered hearts as gentle and as true
As any kneeling at our altars here?
186
From cheerless watches on the cold dank ground
Startled, ye felt a foe on every side;
With mist and gloom and deaths encompassed round
With even to perish in the light denied.
Startled, ye felt a foe on every side;
With mist and gloom and deaths encompassed round
With even to perish in the light denied.
And that same season of our genial ease,
It was your very agony of strife;
While each of those our golden moments sees
With you the ebbing of some noble life.
It was your very agony of strife;
While each of those our golden moments sees
With you the ebbing of some noble life.
'Mid dark ravines, by precipices vast,
Did there and here your dreadful conflict sway:
No Sabbath day's light work to quell at last
The fearful odds of that unequal fray.
Did there and here your dreadful conflict sway:
No Sabbath day's light work to quell at last
The fearful odds of that unequal fray.
Oh ‘hope’ of England, only not ‘forlorn,’
Because ye never your own hope resigned,
But in worst case, beleaguered, overborne,
Did help in God and in your own selves find;
Because ye never your own hope resigned,
But in worst case, beleaguered, overborne,
Did help in God and in your own selves find;
We greet you o'er the waves, as from this time
Men, to the meanest and the least of whom,
In reverence of fortitude sublime,
We would rise up, and yield respectful room:
Men, to the meanest and the least of whom,
In reverence of fortitude sublime,
We would rise up, and yield respectful room:
We greet you o'er the waves, nor doubt to say,
Our Sabbath setting side by side with yours,
Yours was the better and the nobler day,
And days like it have made that ours endures.
Our Sabbath setting side by side with yours,
Yours was the better and the nobler day,
And days like it have made that ours endures.
187
THE UNFORGOTTEN.
Whom for thy race of heroes wilt thou own,
And, England, who shall be thy joy, thy pride?
As thou art just, oh then not those alone
Who nobly conquering lived, or conquering died.
And, England, who shall be thy joy, thy pride?
As thou art just, oh then not those alone
Who nobly conquering lived, or conquering died.
Them also in thy roll of heroes write,
For well they earned what best thou canst bestow,
Who being girt and armëd for the fight,
Yielded their arms, but to no mortal foe.
For well they earned what best thou canst bestow,
Who being girt and armëd for the fight,
Yielded their arms, but to no mortal foe.
Far off they pined on fever-stricken coast,
Or sank in sudden arms of painful death;
And faces which their eyes desired the most,
They saw not, as they drew their parting breath.
Or sank in sudden arms of painful death;
And faces which their eyes desired the most,
They saw not, as they drew their parting breath.
Sad doom, to know a mighty work in hand,
Which shall from all the ages honour win;
Upon the threshold of this work to stand,
Arrested there, while others enter in.
Which shall from all the ages honour win;
Upon the threshold of this work to stand,
Arrested there, while others enter in.
And this was theirs; they saw their fellows bound
To fields of fame which they might never share;
And all the while within their own hearts found
A strength that was not less, to do and dare:
To fields of fame which they might never share;
And all the while within their own hearts found
A strength that was not less, to do and dare:
188
But knew that never, never with their peers,
They should salute some grand day's glorious close,
The shout of triumph ringing in their ears
The light of battle shining on their brows.
They should salute some grand day's glorious close,
The shout of triumph ringing in their ears
The light of battle shining on their brows.
Sad doom;—yet say not Heaven to them assigned
A lot from all of glory quite estranged:
Albeit the laurel which they hoped to bind
About their brows for cypress wreath was changed.
A lot from all of glory quite estranged:
Albeit the laurel which they hoped to bind
About their brows for cypress wreath was changed.
Heaven gave to them a glory stern, austere,
A glory of all earthly glory shorn;
With firm heart to accept fate's gift severe,
Bravely to bear the thing that must be borne;
A glory of all earthly glory shorn;
With firm heart to accept fate's gift severe,
Bravely to bear the thing that must be borne;
To see such visions fade and turn to nought,
And in this saddest issue to consent;
If only the great work were duly wrought,
That others should accomplish it, content.
And in this saddest issue to consent;
If only the great work were duly wrought,
That others should accomplish it, content.
Then as thou wouldst thyself continue great,
Keep a true eye for what is great indeed;
Nor know it only in its lofty state
And victor's robes, but in its lowliest weed.
Keep a true eye for what is great indeed;
Nor know it only in its lofty state
And victor's robes, but in its lowliest weed.
And now, and when this dreadful work is done,
England, be these too thy delight and pride;
Wear them as near thy heart as any one
Of all who conquering lived, or conquering died.
England, be these too thy delight and pride;
Wear them as near thy heart as any one
Of all who conquering lived, or conquering died.
189
ON THE BREAKING OFF OF THE CONFERENCES AT VIENNA, JUNE, 1855.
Heart of England, faltering never in the good time or the ill,
But thy great day's task of duty strong and patient to fulfil;
But thy great day's task of duty strong and patient to fulfil;
Men of England, constant ever, to your own plain instincts true,
Praise the Giver of all good things for the gift He gave to you;
Praise the Giver of all good things for the gift He gave to you;
Praise the Giver of all good things, praise the Giver of the best,
Of a firm heart firmly beating in a strong resolvëd breast.
Of a firm heart firmly beating in a strong resolvëd breast.
Praise Him that, when others faltered, ye continued at one stay,
Praise Him that the hour of weakness has for ever passed away.
Praise Him that the hour of weakness has for ever passed away.
To her cancelled scroll of greatness none shall now set England's name;
What she sowed in tears and anguish she shall never reap in shame.
What she sowed in tears and anguish she shall never reap in shame.
190
Lift your heads up, O ye weepers; from the dust yourselves arouse;
Chase away the double sadness that was gathering on your brows.
Chase away the double sadness that was gathering on your brows.
Lift your heads up, O ye weepers; those that were your joy and pride,
Those whom you must weep for ever, not for nothing shall have died.
Those whom you must weep for ever, not for nothing shall have died.
If the crown of all your gladness has been stricken from your head,
If, discrowned, ye mourn in ashes for your unreturning dead,
If, discrowned, ye mourn in ashes for your unreturning dead,
Not to purchase shameful baffling at a higher dearer rate
Than our fathers purchased honour, were your homes made desolate.
Than our fathers purchased honour, were your homes made desolate.
For oh! hearken ye, and hearken, all who still retain delight
In the old land's fiery valour, in the victories of right;
In the old land's fiery valour, in the victories of right;
List, oh! list, what tales of triumph flash the magic wires along,
Long delayed, now each on other in a swift succession throng.
Long delayed, now each on other in a swift succession throng.
First-fruits of a mightier harvest, preludes of a loftier strain,
Pledges of a part well chosen, stir our hearts again, again;
Pledges of a part well chosen, stir our hearts again, again;
191
Till in his good time He give us, who has proved and purified,
Who has shamed our shallow boasting, who has tamed our guilty pride,
Who has shamed our shallow boasting, who has tamed our guilty pride,
Till He give us, when the giving shall not lift us up nor spoil,
All we sought, the ample guerdon of a nation's tears and toil.
All we sought, the ample guerdon of a nation's tears and toil.
192
TO ---
In huts and palaces are mourners found,As on the far-off fields of death in turn
Leap the dread lots from fortune's fatal urn:
And those not yet in cords of sorrow bound,
But listening everywhere the doleful sound
Of others' griefs, still ask, Who next shall mourn,
Of brother, son, or dearer yet forlorn?
To whom shall next the cup of pain go round?
We know not; if anon to thee and me,
Let not our hearts then chide us that we heard
Of pangs, which other souls did search and try,
To this their anguish yielding, it might be,
The trivial offering of a passing sigh,
While all our deeper heart remained unstirred.
193
THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS.
JULY, 1856.
Two years—an age of glory and of pain!—
Since we with blessings and with shouts and tears,
And with high hopes pursued your parting train,
With everything but fears.
Since we with blessings and with shouts and tears,
And with high hopes pursued your parting train,
With everything but fears.
Forth from beside our hearths we saw you pass,
And guessed that battle must be stern and strong;
War's shapes we saw,—but dimly, in a glass,—
Its shapes of wrath and wrong.
And guessed that battle must be stern and strong;
War's shapes we saw,—but dimly, in a glass,—
Its shapes of wrath and wrong.
We saw not, Heaven in mercy did not show,
The fiery squadron rushing to its doom,
An army in its winding-sheet of snow,
Nor Varna's charnel tomb.
The fiery squadron rushing to its doom,
An army in its winding-sheet of snow,
Nor Varna's charnel tomb.
We saw not Scutari's heaped up agonies,
Nor those blest hands and hearts that brought relief;
Splendours and glooms were hidden from our eyes,—
What glory and what grief!
Nor those blest hands and hearts that brought relief;
Splendours and glooms were hidden from our eyes,—
What glory and what grief!
One thing we saw, one only thing we knew,
Come what come might, ye would not bring to shame
The loved land which had trusted thus to you
Its wealth of ancient fame.
Come what come might, ye would not bring to shame
The loved land which had trusted thus to you
Its wealth of ancient fame.
194
Therefore the old land greets you, whose renown
In face of friend and foe ye well upbore,
Handing the treasure of its glory down
Not poorer than before.
In face of friend and foe ye well upbore,
Handing the treasure of its glory down
Not poorer than before.
And greets you first, as owing you the most,
The Lady, whose transcendant diadem,
Unless she ruled brave men, would cease to boast
Its best and fairest gem.
The Lady, whose transcendant diadem,
Unless she ruled brave men, would cease to boast
Its best and fairest gem.
But ah! if through her bosom there is sent,
Nor hers alone, a throb of piercing pain,
With tearful memories of the brave who went,
And come not now again,
Nor hers alone, a throb of piercing pain,
With tearful memories of the brave who went,
And come not now again,
Of all who made a holy land for aye,
(Such consecration is in glorious graves),
Of that bleak barren headland far away,
Foamed round by Euxine waves;
(Such consecration is in glorious graves),
Of that bleak barren headland far away,
Foamed round by Euxine waves;
Yet shall this sadness presently depart,
Leaving undimmed the splendour of this hour;
We rather thanking Heaven with grateful heart
For their high gift and dower,
Leaving undimmed the splendour of this hour;
We rather thanking Heaven with grateful heart
For their high gift and dower,
Who, ending well, have passed beyond the range
Of our mutations; whom no spot or stain
Can now touch ever; for whom chance and change
Not any more remain.
Of our mutations; whom no spot or stain
Can now touch ever; for whom chance and change
Not any more remain.
Shout then, ye people; let glad thoughts have way;
Shout, and in these their absent fellows greet,—
Yea, all who shared with them, of that fierce day
The burden and the heat.
Shout, and in these their absent fellows greet,—
Yea, all who shared with them, of that fierce day
The burden and the heat.
195
Nor yet forget that when in coming time
By many an English hearth shall men recall
This two-years' chronicle of deeds sublime,
Then first, perchance, of all,
By many an English hearth shall men recall
This two-years' chronicle of deeds sublime,
Then first, perchance, of all,
They, talking of dread Inkerman, shall tell,
When that wild storm of fight had passed away,
How thick by those low mounds they kept so well
The noble Bearskins lay.
When that wild storm of fight had passed away,
How thick by those low mounds they kept so well
The noble Bearskins lay.
197
ELEGIAC POEMS
‘Love that hath its deep foundation set
Under the grave of things’—
Wordsworth.
Under the grave of things’—
Wordsworth.
199
TO ---
I thought at first these records should belongTo few save thee; nor meant that many eyes
Should see unfolded thus without disguise
These mysteries of grief in mournful song;
Yet might it unto love appear a wrong,
Aught to keep back, that would perchance impart
Some portion to another wounded heart
Of what these lent to thine of comfort strong?
Then let it be,—enduring for their sake,
Hearts which are bleeding now, or once have bled,
And that from hence some solace slight may take,
That others, of such grief untouched, should say
That here what better had been coverëd,
Is bared unto the garish eye of day.
200
[What, many times I musing asked, is man]
What, many times I musing asked, is man,
If grief and care
Keep far from him? he knows not what he can,
What cannot bear.
If grief and care
Keep far from him? he knows not what he can,
What cannot bear.
He, till the fire hath proved him, doth remain
The main part dross:
To lack the loving discipline of pain
Were endless loss.
The main part dross:
To lack the loving discipline of pain
Were endless loss.
Yet when my Lord did ask me on what side
I were content
The grief, whereby I must be purified,
To me were sent,
I were content
The grief, whereby I must be purified,
To me were sent,
As each imagined anguish did appear,
Each withering bliss,
Before my soul, I cried, ‘Oh! spare me here,
Oh no, not this!—’
Each withering bliss,
Before my soul, I cried, ‘Oh! spare me here,
Oh no, not this!—’
Like one that having need of, deep within,
The surgeon's knife,
Would hardly bear that it should graze the skin,
Though for his life.
The surgeon's knife,
Would hardly bear that it should graze the skin,
Though for his life.
Till He at last, who best doth understand
Both what we need,
And what can bear, did take my case in hand,
Nor crying heed.
Both what we need,
And what can bear, did take my case in hand,
Nor crying heed.
201
TO M ---
Dear girl, that clingest to my side
So closely in thy tears,
As overawed and terrified
By some mysterious fears;
So closely in thy tears,
As overawed and terrified
By some mysterious fears;
Thine own great loss, thy parents' woe,
Thou dimly dost divine,
And weepest; yet thou dost not know
What cause to weep is thine.
Thou dimly dost divine,
And weepest; yet thou dost not know
What cause to weep is thine.
Sad art thou and disconsolate,
That he is gone away,
The youthful friend, the joyful mate
Of childhood's happy day;
That he is gone away,
The youthful friend, the joyful mate
Of childhood's happy day;
That he who sported on life's shore,
And culled bright shells with thee
And beauteous plants, will sport no more
By that fair-seeming sea.
And culled bright shells with thee
And beauteous plants, will sport no more
By that fair-seeming sea.
But I am shedding other tears
For thee, my gentle child—
Far looking o'er the surge of years
So gloomy, dark, and wild:
For thee, my gentle child—
Far looking o'er the surge of years
So gloomy, dark, and wild:
Gone is he, who amid that strife
Would with an arm more strong
For thee have cleft the waves of life,
And shielded from its wrong.
Would with an arm more strong
For thee have cleft the waves of life,
And shielded from its wrong.
202
That holy thing—a brother's love—
Thine is it still to claim;
Oh! ever be it thine to prove
What means that holy name.
Thine is it still to claim;
Oh! ever be it thine to prove
What means that holy name.
But over him vain watch we keep,
Our first—thine elder—born;
And all of us have cause more deep
Than yet we know, to mourn.
Our first—thine elder—born;
And all of us have cause more deep
Than yet we know, to mourn.
203
[No mother's eye beside thee wakes to-night]
JANUARY 16TH, 1841.
No mother's eye beside thee wakes to-night,
No taper burns beside thy lonely bed;
Darkling thou liest, hidden out of sight,
And none are near thee but the silent dead.
No taper burns beside thy lonely bed;
Darkling thou liest, hidden out of sight,
And none are near thee but the silent dead.
How cheerly glows this hearth, yet glows in vain,
For we uncheered beside it sit alone,
And listen to the wild and beating rain
In angry gusts against our casement blown:
For we uncheered beside it sit alone,
And listen to the wild and beating rain
In angry gusts against our casement blown:
And though we nothing speak, yet well I know
That both our hearts are there, where thou dost keep
Within thy narrow chamber far below,
For the first time unwatched, thy lonely sleep:
That both our hearts are there, where thou dost keep
Within thy narrow chamber far below,
For the first time unwatched, thy lonely sleep:
Oh no, not thou!—and we our faith deny,
This thought allowing:—thou, removed from harms,
In Abraham's bosom dost securely lie,
Oh! not in Abraham's, in a Saviour's arms—
This thought allowing:—thou, removed from harms,
In Abraham's bosom dost securely lie,
Oh! not in Abraham's, in a Saviour's arms—
In that dear Lord's, who in thy worst distress,
Thy bitterest anguish, gave thee, dearest child,
Still to abide in perfect gentleness,
And like an angel to be meek and mild.
Thy bitterest anguish, gave thee, dearest child,
Still to abide in perfect gentleness,
And like an angel to be meek and mild.
Sweet corn of wheat, committed to the ground
To die, and live, and bear more precious ear,
Since in the heart of earth thy Saviour found
His place of rest, for thee we will not fear.
To die, and live, and bear more precious ear,
Since in the heart of earth thy Saviour found
His place of rest, for thee we will not fear.
204
Sleep softly, till that blessëd rain and dew,
Down lighting upon earth, such change shall bring,
That all its fields of death shall laugh anew,
Yea, with a living harvest laugh and sing.
Down lighting upon earth, such change shall bring,
That all its fields of death shall laugh anew,
Yea, with a living harvest laugh and sing.
205
MORAVIAN HYMN.
Where is this infant? it is gone—
To whom? to Christ, its Saviour true.
What does He for it? He goes on
As He has ever done, to do—
He blesses, He embraces without end,
And to all children proves the tenderest friend.
To whom? to Christ, its Saviour true.
What does He for it? He goes on
As He has ever done, to do—
He blesses, He embraces without end,
And to all children proves the tenderest friend.
He loves to have the little ones
Upon his lap quite close and near;
And thus their glass so swiftly runs,
And they so little while are here;
He gave—He takes them when He thinks it best
For them to come to Him and find their rest.
Upon his lap quite close and near;
And thus their glass so swiftly runs,
And they so little while are here;
He gave—He takes them when He thinks it best
For them to come to Him and find their rest.
However 'tis a great delight
Awhile to see such little princes,
All drest in linen fine and white,
A beauty which escapes the senses:
The pure Lamb dwells in them—his majesty
Makes their sweet eyes to sparkle gloriously.
Awhile to see such little princes,
All drest in linen fine and white,
A beauty which escapes the senses:
The pure Lamb dwells in them—his majesty
Makes their sweet eyes to sparkle gloriously.
Be therefore thanked, Thou dearest Lamb,
That we this precious child have seen,
And that thy blood and Jesu's name,
To it a glittering robe have been:
We thank Thee too that Thou hast brought it home,
That it so soon all dangers hath o'ercome.
That we this precious child have seen,
And that thy blood and Jesu's name,
To it a glittering robe have been:
We thank Thee too that Thou hast brought it home,
That it so soon all dangers hath o'ercome.
206
Dear child, so live thou happily
In Christ, who was thy faith's beginner,
Rejoice in Him eternally
With each redeemed and happy sinner;
We bury thee in hope—the Lamb once slain
Will raise, and we shall see thee yet again.
In Christ, who was thy faith's beginner,
Rejoice in Him eternally
With each redeemed and happy sinner;
We bury thee in hope—the Lamb once slain
Will raise, and we shall see thee yet again.
207
[What was thy life? a pearl cast up awhile]
What was thy life? a pearl cast up awhile
Upon the bank and shoal of time;—again,
Even as it did the gazer's eyes beguile,
Drawn backward by the ever-hungering main.
Upon the bank and shoal of time;—again,
Even as it did the gazer's eyes beguile,
Drawn backward by the ever-hungering main.
What was thy life? a fountain of sweet wave,
Which to the salt sea's margin all too near
Rose sparkling, and a few steps scarcely gave,
Ere that distained its waters fresh and clear.
Which to the salt sea's margin all too near
Rose sparkling, and a few steps scarcely gave,
Ere that distained its waters fresh and clear.
What was thy life? a flowering almond-tree,
Which all too soon its blossoms did unfold;
And so must see their lustre presently
Dimmed, and their beauty nipped by envious cold.
Which all too soon its blossoms did unfold;
And so must see their lustre presently
Dimmed, and their beauty nipped by envious cold.
What was thy life? a bright and beauteous flame,
Wherein, a season, light and joy we found;
But a swift sound of rushing tempest came,
It passed—and sparkless ashes strewed the ground.
Wherein, a season, light and joy we found;
But a swift sound of rushing tempest came,
It passed—and sparkless ashes strewed the ground.
What was thy life? a bird in infant's hand
Held with too slight a grasp, and which, before
He knows or fears, its pinions doth expand,
And with a sudden impulse heavenward soar.
Held with too slight a grasp, and which, before
He knows or fears, its pinions doth expand,
And with a sudden impulse heavenward soar.
208
I cannot tell what coming years
May have, reserved, of grief for me;
I cannot tell what they may be,
How wrung with anguish, dimmed with tears:
May have, reserved, of grief for me;
I cannot tell what they may be,
How wrung with anguish, dimmed with tears:
But scarcely can a sadder morn
Than this upon mine eyelids break,
When from a flattering dream I wake
On a reality forlorn,
Than this upon mine eyelids break,
When from a flattering dream I wake
On a reality forlorn,
For never from thine ivory gate,
O Sleep, a falser dream was sent
Than unto me brief gladness lent,
To leave me sorrow's trustier mate.
O Sleep, a falser dream was sent
Than unto me brief gladness lent,
To leave me sorrow's trustier mate.
We wandered freely as of yore,
And in my hand I felt the grasp
Of that small hand, whose tender clasp
I shall not feel, oh! any more:
And in my hand I felt the grasp
Of that small hand, whose tender clasp
I shall not feel, oh! any more:
We wandered through the peopled towns,
And where we came I heard men praise
His gracious looks, his winning ways,—
We wandered o'er the lonely downs;
And where we came I heard men praise
His gracious looks, his winning ways,—
We wandered o'er the lonely downs;
And ever held familiar talk
As we passed onward, I and he
Who was companion true to me
At home, and in long woodland walk;
As we passed onward, I and he
Who was companion true to me
At home, and in long woodland walk;
209
Gone was the agony, the fear,
And all the dreadful gulf between
What we are now and what have been,
The vault, the coffin, and the bier.
And all the dreadful gulf between
What we are now and what have been,
The vault, the coffin, and the bier.
I start—and lo! my dream is not:
But though 'tis round me thickest gloom,
Yet in the corner of the room
I know there stands a vacant cot.
But though 'tis round me thickest gloom,
Yet in the corner of the room
I know there stands a vacant cot.
I close mine eyes; I strive again
To feed upon that poor delight;
The broken links to re-unite
Once more of slumber's golden chain.
To feed upon that poor delight;
The broken links to re-unite
Once more of slumber's golden chain.
Lost effort!—Sleep, oh! twice untrue,
What need to bring that fond deceit?
And then, when I allow the cheat,
To flee, while vainly I pursue?
What need to bring that fond deceit?
And then, when I allow the cheat,
To flee, while vainly I pursue?
210
[This chest, a homely cabinet, although]
This chest, a homely cabinet, although
It keeps no jewels won from toilsome mine,
Nor rarest shells from ocean depths below
Drawn with unfaded colours bright and fine,
Nor doth not graven gems, nor vases show,
Nor old medallions of some kingly line—
Albeit no such treasures here there be,
Yet guards it what is dearer far to me.
It keeps no jewels won from toilsome mine,
Nor rarest shells from ocean depths below
Drawn with unfaded colours bright and fine,
Nor doth not graven gems, nor vases show,
Nor old medallions of some kingly line—
Albeit no such treasures here there be,
Yet guards it what is dearer far to me.
But wouldst thou know what treasures thus are dear,
And over costliest things in worth prevail,—
Some pebbles quaint, some broken toys appear,
Some feathers from the peacock's starry tail,
Some books, of those that children love, are here,
An earthen lamp whose light has long grown pale,
With gifts a kinsman from the Indian shore
Brought o'er the sea,—these make up all the store.
And over costliest things in worth prevail,—
Some pebbles quaint, some broken toys appear,
Some feathers from the peacock's starry tail,
Some books, of those that children love, are here,
An earthen lamp whose light has long grown pale,
With gifts a kinsman from the Indian shore
Brought o'er the sea,—these make up all the store.
But when that loved one left us on lofe's way,
Whose that they were did make these trifles aught,
Things sacred they became, which still, as they
Met our sad quest, or came to us unsought,
Or as the other children in their play
Found, and with awed and solemn aspect brought,
We gathered one by one, and laid aside,—
Dearer to us than golden treasures wide!
Whose that they were did make these trifles aught,
Things sacred they became, which still, as they
Met our sad quest, or came to us unsought,
Or as the other children in their play
Found, and with awed and solemn aspect brought,
We gathered one by one, and laid aside,—
Dearer to us than golden treasures wide!
211
TO ---
We did not quite believe this world would give
To us what ne'er it had to any given,
That round our bark eternal calms should live,
That ours should ever be a stormless heaven:
To us what ne'er it had to any given,
That round our bark eternal calms should live,
That ours should ever be a stormless heaven:
Yet we, long season, were like men that dwell
In safe abodes beside some perilous shore,
Who when they hear the northern whirlwinds swell,
Who when they hear the furious breakers roar,
In safe abodes beside some perilous shore,
Who when they hear the northern whirlwinds swell,
Who when they hear the furious breakers roar,
Think, it may be, but with too slight a thought,
On them that in the great deep labouring are,
Where winds are fierce, and waves are madly wrought,—
And lend them, it may be, a passing prayer.
On them that in the great deep labouring are,
Where winds are fierce, and waves are madly wrought,—
And lend them, it may be, a passing prayer.
Thus we, belovëd, in our safe recess
Did evermore abroad the voices hear,
In the wide world, of sorrow and distress,
With pity heard, yet us they came not near:
Did evermore abroad the voices hear,
In the wide world, of sorrow and distress,
With pity heard, yet us they came not near:
Or if at times they might approach us nigh,
And if at times we mourned, yet still remained
Our inner world untouched—the sanctuary
Of our blest home by sorrow unprofaned;
And if at times we mourned, yet still remained
Our inner world untouched—the sanctuary
Of our blest home by sorrow unprofaned;
212
When lo! that cup which we had seen go round
To one and to another, cup of pain,
We of a sudden at our own lips found,
And it was given us deep of that to drain;
To one and to another, cup of pain,
We of a sudden at our own lips found,
And it was given us deep of that to drain;
And what had seemed at first a little cloud
On our clear sky, no broader than the hand,
Did all its lights and constellations shroud,
And gloomy wings from end to end expand.
On our clear sky, no broader than the hand,
Did all its lights and constellations shroud,
And gloomy wings from end to end expand.
O unforgotten day! the earliest morn
Of the new year, when friends are wont to meet,
And while upon all faces joy is worn,
Each doth the other with kind wishes greet,
Of the new year, when friends are wont to meet,
And while upon all faces joy is worn,
Each doth the other with kind wishes greet,
O day, whose anguish never shall wax old,
When we no longer might our fears deny,
When our hearts' secret thoughts we dared unfold
One to the other, that our child would die.
When we no longer might our fears deny,
When our hearts' secret thoughts we dared unfold
One to the other, that our child would die.
Oh! freshly may in us the memory live
Of the mere lie which then the world did seem,
And all the world could promise or could give,—
A breaking bubble! a departing dream!
Of the mere lie which then the world did seem,
And all the world could promise or could give,—
A breaking bubble! a departing dream!
So while this lore doth in our hearts remain,
We on the world shall lean not, that false reed,
Not strong enough our burden to sustain,
Yet sharp enough to pierce us till we bleed.
We on the world shall lean not, that false reed,
Not strong enough our burden to sustain,
Yet sharp enough to pierce us till we bleed.
But now a pearl is from our chaplet dropt,
But now a flower is from our garland riven,
One singing fountain of our joy is stopt,
One brightest star extinguished in our heaven;
But now a flower is from our garland riven,
One singing fountain of our joy is stopt,
One brightest star extinguished in our heaven;
213
One only—yet oh! who may guess the change
That by that one has been among us wrought?
How all familiar things are waxen strange
Or sad,—what silence to our house is brought?
That by that one has been among us wrought?
How all familiar things are waxen strange
Or sad,—what silence to our house is brought?
Or if the merry voices still arise,
Now that the captain of the games is gone,
We check them not, but still into our eyes
The tears have started at that alien tone:
Now that the captain of the games is gone,
We check them not, but still into our eyes
The tears have started at that alien tone:
And we, perchance too confident of old,
As though our blessings all were ours in fee,
Those that remain now tremulously hold,
From anxious perturbations never free;
As though our blessings all were ours in fee,
Those that remain now tremulously hold,
From anxious perturbations never free;
As though the spell were broken, and the charm
Reversed, which shielded had our house so long,
And we without defence to every harm
Lay open, and exposed to every wrong.
Reversed, which shielded had our house so long,
And we without defence to every harm
Lay open, and exposed to every wrong.
Oh! thought which should not be, oh! faith too weak,
To tremble at the slightest ache or pain,
At the least languor of the changeful cheek,
With terrors hardly to be stilled again.
To tremble at the slightest ache or pain,
At the least languor of the changeful cheek,
With terrors hardly to be stilled again.
Yet thus we walk within our house, in grief
For what has been, in fear for what may be,
And still the advancing days bring no relief,
But make us all our loss more plainly see;
For what has been, in fear for what may be,
And still the advancing days bring no relief,
But make us all our loss more plainly see;
And when this pallid winding-sheet of snow,
Which all this dreary time the earth has wound,
Dissolves and disappears, as warm winds blow,
And the hard soil relenting is unbound;
Which all this dreary time the earth has wound,
Dissolves and disappears, as warm winds blow,
And the hard soil relenting is unbound;
214
And when that happy season shall arrive,
To mourning hearts the saddest in its mirth,
When all things in this living world revive
Save the dear clod low-lying in the earth;
To mourning hearts the saddest in its mirth,
When all things in this living world revive
Save the dear clod low-lying in the earth;
We shall bethink us then with what delight
He used to hail, himself discovering first,
The purple or the yellow crocus bright,
Or where the snowdrop from its sheath had burst.
He used to hail, himself discovering first,
The purple or the yellow crocus bright,
Or where the snowdrop from its sheath had burst.
Oh! then shall I remember many a walk
In shadowy woods, close hidden from the flames
Of the fierce sun, and interspersed with talk
Of ancient England's high heroic names;
In shadowy woods, close hidden from the flames
Of the fierce sun, and interspersed with talk
Of ancient England's high heroic names;
Or holier still, of them who lived and died,
That Christ's dear lore to us they might hand down
Untarnished, or his faith to spread more wide,
Winning a martyr's palm and martyr's crown;
That Christ's dear lore to us they might hand down
Untarnished, or his faith to spread more wide,
Winning a martyr's palm and martyr's crown;
Or how those tales he earnestly would crave
Of old romance, our childhood's golden dower,
Which in large measure willingly we gave,
Feeding the pure imaginative power.
Of old romance, our childhood's golden dower,
Which in large measure willingly we gave,
Feeding the pure imaginative power.
Oh days that never, never shall return!
The future may be rich in genial good,
We are not poor in hope, we do not mourn
The wreck of all our bliss around us strewed;
The future may be rich in genial good,
We are not poor in hope, we do not mourn
The wreck of all our bliss around us strewed;
Oh no—fair flowrets blossom in our bowers,
Rich pearls upon our chaplet still are given,
And singing fountains of delight are ours,
And stars of brightness in our earthly heaven.
Rich pearls upon our chaplet still are given,
And singing fountains of delight are ours,
And stars of brightness in our earthly heaven.
215
Yet never can that golden time come back,
When we could look around us with an eye
Entirely satisfied, which did not lack
One of the happy number standing by;
When we could look around us with an eye
Entirely satisfied, which did not lack
One of the happy number standing by;
When yet no edge as of encroaching dark
Gave token that our moon began to wane,
When the most curious eye had failed to mark
Upon its clear bright surface speck or stain.
Gave token that our moon began to wane,
When the most curious eye had failed to mark
Upon its clear bright surface speck or stain.
—Lo! as that bird which all the wakeful night
Leaning its bosom on a poignant thorn,
So bleeds, and bleeding sings, and makes delight
For some that listen, though its heart be torn;
Leaning its bosom on a poignant thorn,
So bleeds, and bleeding sings, and makes delight
For some that listen, though its heart be torn;
Thus in this night of grief I love to lean
With wounded bosom, and so make my song,
Upon the thorn of memories sharp and keen,
Well pleasëd while I do myself this wrong.
With wounded bosom, and so make my song,
Upon the thorn of memories sharp and keen,
Well pleasëd while I do myself this wrong.
And yet, belovëd, why should we lament
That vanished time with passionate regret—
Not rather marvelling at the rare consent
Of blessings which so long above us met?
That vanished time with passionate regret—
Not rather marvelling at the rare consent
Of blessings which so long above us met?
Oh! lot which could not aye endure, oh! lot
Which could not be for sinful men designed;
For we, not suffering, should have quite forgot
To feel or suffer with our suffering kind:
Which could not be for sinful men designed;
For we, not suffering, should have quite forgot
To feel or suffer with our suffering kind:
Oh! lot it was to waken liveliest fears,
A lot which never have God's servants known;—
Yea, who amid a world of grief and tears
In freedom from all pain would stand alone?
A lot which never have God's servants known;—
Yea, who amid a world of grief and tears
In freedom from all pain would stand alone?
216
And what though now we from this grief express
But little save its bitter, yet be sure
In this its mere unmingled bitterness
It shall not, cannot evermore endure.
But little save its bitter, yet be sure
In this its mere unmingled bitterness
It shall not, cannot evermore endure.
But comforts shall arise, like fountains sweet
Fresh springing in a salt and dreary main,
Fountains of sweetest wave, which shipmen meet
In the waste ocean, an unlooked-for gain.
Fresh springing in a salt and dreary main,
Fountains of sweetest wave, which shipmen meet
In the waste ocean, an unlooked-for gain.
And as when some fair temple is o'erthrown
By earthquake, or by hostile hand laid waste,
At first it lies, stone rudely rent from stone,
A confused ruinous heap, and all defaced;
By earthquake, or by hostile hand laid waste,
At first it lies, stone rudely rent from stone,
A confused ruinous heap, and all defaced;
Yet visit that fall'n ruin by and bye,
And what a hand of healing has been there;
How sweetly do the placid sunbeams lie
On the green sward which all the place doth wear,
And what a hand of healing has been there;
How sweetly do the placid sunbeams lie
On the green sward which all the place doth wear,
And what rich odours from the flowers are borne,
From flowers and flowering weeds, which even within
The rents and fissures of those walls forlorn
Have made their home, yea, hence their sustenancewin!
From flowers and flowering weeds, which even within
The rents and fissures of those walls forlorn
Have made their home, yea, hence their sustenancewin!
So time no less has gentle skill to heal,
When our fair hopes have fall'n, our earth-built towers;
How busy wreck and ruin to conceal
With a new overgrowth of leaves and flowers.
When our fair hopes have fall'n, our earth-built towers;
How busy wreck and ruin to conceal
With a new overgrowth of leaves and flowers.
Nor time alone—a better hand is here,
Where it has wounded, watching to upbind;
Which when it takes away in love severe,
Still some austerer blessing leaves behind.
Where it has wounded, watching to upbind;
Which when it takes away in love severe,
Still some austerer blessing leaves behind.
217
Oh! higher gifts has brought this mournful time,
Than all those years which did so smoothly run:
For what if they, life's flower and golden prime,
Had something served to knit our hearts in one;
Than all those years which did so smoothly run:
For what if they, life's flower and golden prime,
Had something served to knit our hearts in one;
Yet doth that all seem little now, compared
With our brief fellowship in tears and pain;
To share the things which we have newly shared,
This makes a firmer bond, a holier chain:
With our brief fellowship in tears and pain;
To share the things which we have newly shared,
This makes a firmer bond, a holier chain:
To have together held that aching head,
To have together heard that piteous moan,
To have together knelt beside that bed,
When life was flitting, and when life had flown—
To have together heard that piteous moan,
To have together knelt beside that bed,
When life was flitting, and when life had flown—
And to have one of ours, whose ashes sleep
Where the great church its solemn shadow flings;
Oh! love has now its roots that stretch more deep,
That strike and stretch beneath the grave of things.
Where the great church its solemn shadow flings;
Oh! love has now its roots that stretch more deep,
That strike and stretch beneath the grave of things.
Oh! more than this, yet holier bonds there are,
For we his spirit shall to ours feel nigh,
And know he lives, whenever we in prayer
Hold with heaven's saintly throng communion high.
For we his spirit shall to ours feel nigh,
And know he lives, whenever we in prayer
Hold with heaven's saintly throng communion high.
Then wherefore more?—or wherefore this to thee—
A faithful suppliant at that inner shrine,
At which who kneel, to them 'tis given to see
How pain and grief and anguish are divine.
A faithful suppliant at that inner shrine,
At which who kneel, to them 'tis given to see
How pain and grief and anguish are divine.
218
[Hers was a mother's heart]
Hers was a mother's heart,
That poor Egyptian's, when she drew apart,
Because she would not see
Her child beloved in his last agony:
That poor Egyptian's, when she drew apart,
Because she would not see
Her child beloved in his last agony:
When her sad load she laid
In her despair beneath the scanty shade
In the wild waste, and stept
Aside, and long and passionately wept.
In her despair beneath the scanty shade
In the wild waste, and stept
Aside, and long and passionately wept.
Yet higher, more sublime,
How many a mother, since that ancient time,
Has shown the mighty power
Of love divine in such another hour!
How many a mother, since that ancient time,
Has shown the mighty power
Of love divine in such another hour!
Oh! higher love to wait
Fast by the sufferer in his worst estate,
Nor from the eyes to hide
One pang, but aye in courage to abide.
Fast by the sufferer in his worst estate,
Nor from the eyes to hide
One pang, but aye in courage to abide.
And though no Angel bring
In that dark hour unto a living spring
Of gladness,—as was sent,
Stilling her voice of turbulent lament,—
In that dark hour unto a living spring
Of gladness,—as was sent,
Stilling her voice of turbulent lament,—
Oh! higher faith to show,
Out of what depths of anguish and of woe
The heart is strong to raise
To an all-loving Father hymns of praise.
Out of what depths of anguish and of woe
The heart is strong to raise
To an all-loving Father hymns of praise.
219
TO ---
O friend, high thanks I owe thee, not alone
That when I did a stricken mourner stand
Beside a grave, thou cheer'dst me with true tone,
And the firm pressure of a faithful hand;
That when I did a stricken mourner stand
Beside a grave, thou cheer'dst me with true tone,
And the firm pressure of a faithful hand;
It is not for this loving sympathy,
But for a higher blessing thanks I owe,
Thanks owe thee for a lesson plain yet high,
Taught in thy darker hour of heavier woe.
But for a higher blessing thanks I owe,
Thanks owe thee for a lesson plain yet high,
Taught in thy darker hour of heavier woe.
Fain had I been to shrink with coward mind
Not merely from an idle world's turmoil,
But even from friendly greetings of my kind,
Yea, quite to shun my life's appointed toil.
Not merely from an idle world's turmoil,
But even from friendly greetings of my kind,
Yea, quite to shun my life's appointed toil.
But when hereafter shall to me betide
Sorrow or pain, oh, then not any more
May I so seek to thrust my tasks aside;
Oh, then may I retain a nobler lore—
Sorrow or pain, oh, then not any more
May I so seek to thrust my tasks aside;
Oh, then may I retain a nobler lore—
From common burdens no exemption ask,
But in sustaining them best comfort find;
As knowing life has evermore a task
Which must be done—with glad or sorrowing mind:
But in sustaining them best comfort find;
As knowing life has evermore a task
Which must be done—with glad or sorrowing mind:
That pleasure as it came, even so departs,
But duty, life's true star, doth fixed remain;
This lesson graven on my heart of hearts,
This from thy converse is my latest gain.
But duty, life's true star, doth fixed remain;
This lesson graven on my heart of hearts,
This from thy converse is my latest gain.
220
[Yonder on that wall displayed]
Yonder on that wall displayed,
Children three behold pourtrayed,
The resemblances of life,
With the truth of nature rife:
See one gentle girl is there,
And of boys a laughing pair;
And, by God's good grace, the three
Round about our hearths we see,
Filling still our home with glee.
Children three behold pourtrayed,
The resemblances of life,
With the truth of nature rife:
See one gentle girl is there,
And of boys a laughing pair;
And, by God's good grace, the three
Round about our hearths we see,
Filling still our home with glee.
But that loved one, who has left
Us of so much joy bereft,
Whom our yearning hearts require,
Whom our aching eyes desire,
We, alas! have not of him
Even this poor memorial dim.
Oh unhappy chance! the three
Whom around us still we see,
Whom at any hour we may—
Every hour of every day—
To our bosoms fold and press,
Visions of delight that bless
Daily our glad eyes, and still
With their living voices fill
Full of joyfulness our bowers,
Triad sweet that still are ours;
We may on their portraits feed,
In this richer than we need.
Us of so much joy bereft,
Whom our yearning hearts require,
Whom our aching eyes desire,
We, alas! have not of him
Even this poor memorial dim.
Oh unhappy chance! the three
Whom around us still we see,
Whom at any hour we may—
Every hour of every day—
To our bosoms fold and press,
Visions of delight that bless
Daily our glad eyes, and still
With their living voices fill
Full of joyfulness our bowers,
Triad sweet that still are ours;
We may on their portraits feed,
In this richer than we need.
221
But that loved one, loved and lost,
Who has left our life's bleak coast,
After whom our eyes we strain,
Whom we listen for in vain,
For he comes, he comes not back,
Well-a-day! of him we lack
Rudest effort that should trace
The dear features of his face;
Which if it had truly caught,
Though by artless limner wrought,
It had still been in our eyes
Dearer relic, costlier prize,
Than great work of master's hand,
By far-famëd artist planned,
Looking clamly from the wall
Of some old ancestral hall.
Who has left our life's bleak coast,
After whom our eyes we strain,
Whom we listen for in vain,
For he comes, he comes not back,
Well-a-day! of him we lack
Rudest effort that should trace
The dear features of his face;
Which if it had truly caught,
Though by artless limner wrought,
It had still been in our eyes
Dearer relic, costlier prize,
Than great work of master's hand,
By far-famëd artist planned,
Looking clamly from the wall
Of some old ancestral hall.
And already, when I strive
That lost image to revive,
And his very self to paint
On my mind's eye, dim and faint
Come those features, indistinct,
Or with that last suffering linked;
Or if they distinct and clear
For a moment may appear,
Soon they fade anew, and seem
Like the picture of a dream,
Or cloud-vision, which the breath
Of the light wind scattereth.
That lost image to revive,
And his very self to paint
On my mind's eye, dim and faint
Come those features, indistinct,
Or with that last suffering linked;
Or if they distinct and clear
For a moment may appear,
Soon they fade anew, and seem
Like the picture of a dream,
Or cloud-vision, which the breath
Of the light wind scattereth.
Years will roll, and dim and dimmer,
Through their mists, will faintly glimmer
That loved image, which e'en now
Comes not freely to my vow,
Which already memory's wand
Is not potent to command
At its bidding.—Let it be,
Let me lose all trace of thee,—
Of the earthly casket, which
Once a heavenly gem made rich,—
Of that shape which in my sight
Glanced an apparition bright;
So that fresh in me I find
The dear features of thy mind,
So that these continue still,
And the haunts of memory fill—
Thy unerring keen delight
In all lovely things and bright,
And the largeness of thy heart,
Ever planning to impart
To thy brothers, to the poor,
Far beyond thy little store,
And thy tears which any woe,
Heard or seen, would cause to flow—
So that I do not forget
What in thee so freely met,
To thy Mother manly love—
And thy years so far above,
And beyond a childish mind,
All the pleasure thou could'st find
In whate'er I might design,
In whatever tasks were mine—
If I may remember still
How our inborn stain of ill
Did in thee break seldom forth,
Seldom came unto the birth;
(So the holy waters laved,
With their grace so truly saved;)
While with a delighted ear
Of thy Lord and Saviour dear
Thou didst ever love to hear;
If these memories with me stay,
If these do not fade away,
I with unrepining heart
Will those other see depart.
Through their mists, will faintly glimmer
That loved image, which e'en now
Comes not freely to my vow,
222
Is not potent to command
At its bidding.—Let it be,
Let me lose all trace of thee,—
Of the earthly casket, which
Once a heavenly gem made rich,—
Of that shape which in my sight
Glanced an apparition bright;
So that fresh in me I find
The dear features of thy mind,
So that these continue still,
And the haunts of memory fill—
Thy unerring keen delight
In all lovely things and bright,
And the largeness of thy heart,
Ever planning to impart
To thy brothers, to the poor,
Far beyond thy little store,
And thy tears which any woe,
Heard or seen, would cause to flow—
So that I do not forget
What in thee so freely met,
To thy Mother manly love—
And thy years so far above,
And beyond a childish mind,
All the pleasure thou could'st find
In whate'er I might design,
In whatever tasks were mine—
If I may remember still
How our inborn stain of ill
Did in thee break seldom forth,
Seldom came unto the birth;
(So the holy waters laved,
With their grace so truly saved;)
223
Of thy Lord and Saviour dear
Thou didst ever love to hear;
If these memories with me stay,
If these do not fade away,
I with unrepining heart
Will those other see depart.
224
NO MORE.
Heart's brother, hast thou ever known
What meaneth that No more?
And all the bitterness outdrawn,
Close hidden at its core?
What meaneth that No more?
And all the bitterness outdrawn,
Close hidden at its core?
Ah no—draw from it worlds of pain,
And thou wilt surely find
That in that word there doth remain
A bitterer drop behind.
And thou wilt surely find
That in that word there doth remain
A bitterer drop behind.
225
[Men will be light of heart and glad]
Men will be light of heart and glad,
When we are sad;
Or if perchance our hearts are light,
With them 'tis night.
When we are sad;
Or if perchance our hearts are light,
With them 'tis night.
Kind Nature, but 'tis never thus
With thee and us:
But thee in all our moods we find
Unto our mind.
With thee and us:
But thee in all our moods we find
Unto our mind.
We laugh, and dance in all thy bowers
The jocund flowers—
We mourn, and every flower appears
Bedropt with tears.
The jocund flowers—
We mourn, and every flower appears
Bedropt with tears.
O Mother true, from ways of men
To this far glen,
Dear Mother, to thy breast I creep,
And weep, and weep.
To this far glen,
Dear Mother, to thy breast I creep,
And weep, and weep.
226
[O happy days, O months, O years]
O happy days, O months, O years,
Which, even in this dim world of woe,
'Tis now impossible can show
The print of grief, the stain of tears:
Which, even in this dim world of woe,
'Tis now impossible can show
The print of grief, the stain of tears:
O blessëd times, which now no more
Exposed to chance or change remain;
Which having been, no after stain
Can dim the brightness that ye wore;
Exposed to chance or change remain;
Which having been, no after stain
Can dim the brightness that ye wore;
Dark shadows of approaching ill
Fall thick upon life's forward track;
But on its past they stream not back,
What once was bright abides so still.
Fall thick upon life's forward track;
But on its past they stream not back,
What once was bright abides so still.
227
[That name! how often every day]
That name! how often every day
We spake it and we heard;
It was to us, 'mid tasks or play,
A common household word.
We spake it and we heard;
It was to us, 'mid tasks or play,
A common household word.
'Tis breathëd yet, that name—but oh!
How solemn now the sound!
One of the sanctities which throw
Such awe our homes around.
How solemn now the sound!
One of the sanctities which throw
Such awe our homes around.
228
TO ---
Child of my spiritual love !—others I claim,
Nor are they not unto my spirit near,
While they, too, bear for me this holy name,
And by its right are dear:
And yet they do not stir for me, as thou
Stirrest the fountains of my bosom now.
Nor are they not unto my spirit near,
While they, too, bear for me this holy name,
And by its right are dear:
And yet they do not stir for me, as thou
Stirrest the fountains of my bosom now.
For memory guardeth yet,
And will in holiest places guard the hour,
When first beside that hallowed font we met,
And on thy brow the sacred seal was set,
And given the robe of power.
And will in holiest places guard the hour,
When first beside that hallowed font we met,
And on thy brow the sacred seal was set,
And given the robe of power.
Beneath my feet he lay,—
His little mouldering clay,
So lately to the heartless earth consigned,
Even his, for ever dear, the first who came
To bid me know what meant a father's name,
With a child's love about my heart to wind.
His little mouldering clay,
So lately to the heartless earth consigned,
Even his, for ever dear, the first who came
To bid me know what meant a father's name,
With a child's love about my heart to wind.
And all around me did a frequent band
Of newer mourners stand:
For thou, unconscious child, hast yet to learn
That it was at thy birth
As if a star had quitted earth,
Thee clothing in its radiance mild,
And in a splendour undefiled,
But never more in our dim air to burn.
Of newer mourners stand:
For thou, unconscious child, hast yet to learn
That it was at thy birth
As if a star had quitted earth,
Thee clothing in its radiance mild,
And in a splendour undefiled,
But never more in our dim air to burn.
229
Oh then, dear child, be thou for ever strong,
As one who for these costliest issues came
Into this world, as one to whom belong
The glory and the burden of a name,
Thy sire's and grandsire's;—ample be thy dower!
And all thy life the unfolding, hour by hour,
Of what was at that font made thine of grace and power.
As one who for these costliest issues came
Into this world, as one to whom belong
The glory and the burden of a name,
Thy sire's and grandsire's;—ample be thy dower!
And all thy life the unfolding, hour by hour,
Of what was at that font made thine of grace and power.
230
[Many times the morning laughs in light]
Many times the morning laughs in light
Underneath a cloudless ether bright;
Underneath a cloudless ether bright;
And 'tis little thought what weeping dews
And thick rains fell heavy all the night.
And thick rains fell heavy all the night.
Many times a cheerful mien is worn,
And men say, All tears are staunchëd quite,
And men say, All tears are staunchëd quite,
Little guessing what has been erewhile
In the lonely chambers out of sight.
In the lonely chambers out of sight.
231
[Half unbelieving doth my heart remain]
Half unbelieving doth my heart remain
Of its great woe;
I waken, and a dull dead sense of pain
Is all I know.
Of its great woe;
I waken, and a dull dead sense of pain
Is all I know.
Then dimly in the darkness of my mind
I feel about,
To know what 'tis that troubles me, and find
My sorrow out,
I feel about,
To know what 'tis that troubles me, and find
My sorrow out,
And hardly with long pains my heart I bring
Its loss to own:
Still seems it so impossible a thing
That thou art gone—
Its loss to own:
Still seems it so impossible a thing
That thou art gone—
That not in all my life I ever more
With pleasëd ear
Thy quick light feet advancing to my door
Again shall hear—
With pleasëd ear
Thy quick light feet advancing to my door
Again shall hear—
That thou not ever with inquiring looks
Or subtle talk
Shalt bring to me sweet hindrance 'mid my books
Or studious walk—
Or subtle talk
Shalt bring to me sweet hindrance 'mid my books
Or studious walk—
That, whatsoever else of good for me
In store remain,
This lieth out of hope, my child, to see
Thy face again.
In store remain,
This lieth out of hope, my child, to see
Thy face again.
232
SONNET.
[When I consider what our life hath been]
When I consider what our life hath been,How full of devious error, far astray
From paths of truth and that one only way,
And by what mercies, strange and unforeseen,
We have been brought unto the port serene
Of faith, which many missing never may
Reach the one haven of their rest,—I say,
Dulling the edge of sorrow, else too keen,—
How shall we make untimely moan for them,
How shall we mourn beside their early grave,
Who being washed in baptism's holy wave
From that first taint which doth us all condemn,
Passed from this evil world, and never aught
Of our life's darker stains from hence have caught?
233
[Where thou hast touched, O wondrous Death!]
Where thou hast touched, O wondrous Death!
Where thou hast come between,
Lo! there for ever perisheth
The common and the mean.
Where thou hast come between,
Lo! there for ever perisheth
The common and the mean.
No little flaw or trivial speck
Doth any more appear,
And cannot from this time, to fleck
Love's perfect image clear.
Doth any more appear,
And cannot from this time, to fleck
Love's perfect image clear.
Clear stands Love's perfect image now,
And shall do evermore;
And we in awe and wonder bow
The glorified before.
And shall do evermore;
And we in awe and wonder bow
The glorified before.
234
[When its higher faith this heart denies]
When its higher faith this heart denies,
Bare and open to the world's glare lies,
Bare and open to the world's glare lies,
Presently, ye blessëd ones, ye seem
Turning hither sad reproachful eyes;
Turning hither sad reproachful eyes;
Gaze ye then on this unholy heart
With a solemn and a sad surprise.
With a solemn and a sad surprise.
‘When we left you,’ so the voices come,
‘When the last light faded from our eyes,
‘When the last light faded from our eyes,
When the last farewells found hardly way,
Hardly spoken amid sobs and sighs,
Hardly spoken amid sobs and sighs,
Was not this our trust in death, that ye
Would to God be faithful anywise,
Would to God be faithful anywise,
That one love to Him would link us yet,
You on earth, and us in Paradise?’
You on earth, and us in Paradise?’
—O ye blessëd voices of rebuke,
When ye reach me, straightway I arise;
When ye reach me, straightway I arise;
And exclaim I, bidding to depart
The world's flatteries, and lures, and lies,
The world's flatteries, and lures, and lies,
‘Grant us ever to keep faith with Thee,
Lord, and with our saints in Paradise.’
Lord, and with our saints in Paradise.’
235
[Who that a watcher doth remain]
‘What pang is permanent with man? From the highest,
As from the meanest thing of every day,
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours
Conquer him.’—
Schiller.
As from the meanest thing of every day,
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours
Conquer him.’—
Schiller.
Who that a watcher doth remain
Beside a couch of mortal pain,
Deems he can ever smile again?
Beside a couch of mortal pain,
Deems he can ever smile again?
Or who that weeps beside a bier
Counts he has any more to fear
From the world's flatteries, false and leer?
Counts he has any more to fear
From the world's flatteries, false and leer?
And yet anon and he must start
At the light toys in which his heart
Can now already claim its part.
At the light toys in which his heart
Can now already claim its part.
O hearts of ours! so weak and poor,
That nothing there can long endure;
And so their hurts find shameful cure,
That nothing there can long endure;
And so their hurts find shameful cure,
While every sadder, wiser thought,
Each holier aim which sorrow brought,
Fades quite away and comes to nought.
Each holier aim which sorrow brought,
Fades quite away and comes to nought.
O Thou, who dost our weakness know,
Watch for us, that the strong hours so
Not wean us from our wholesome woe.
Watch for us, that the strong hours so
Not wean us from our wholesome woe.
Grant Thou, that we may long retain
The wholesome memories of pain,
Nor wish to lose them soon again.
The wholesome memories of pain,
Nor wish to lose them soon again.
236
[If our high debt of holy glee]
Christmas, 1841.
If our high debt of holy glee
This day we have not fully paid,
If other thoughts have dared invade
The time, yet pardoned this shall be:
This day we have not fully paid,
If other thoughts have dared invade
The time, yet pardoned this shall be:
For these, how should they not have flung
Some shadow on this day perforce,
When alway through its solemn course
One presence has about us hung?
Some shadow on this day perforce,
When alway through its solemn course
One presence has about us hung?
Even his, who with us still abode,
When last our yule-fires burned, although
Even then already girt to go,
Young pilgrim for so rough a road?
When last our yule-fires burned, although
Even then already girt to go,
Young pilgrim for so rough a road?
The image of his pale meek face,
As he, though full of silent pain,
Among the household band was fain
This festal eve to keep his place:
As he, though full of silent pain,
Among the household band was fain
This festal eve to keep his place:
In weakness and in pain he lay,
In heavier pain than then we knew,
While yet the coming anguish threw
No shadow on our forward way.
In heavier pain than then we knew,
While yet the coming anguish threw
No shadow on our forward way.
237
Near was it, yet we little deemed
One step would bring us into gloom,
Another set us by a tomb,
But all secure and constant seemed.
One step would bring us into gloom,
Another set us by a tomb,
But all secure and constant seemed.
Now, living o'er that time anew,
Sad are we—yet, I would believe,
Not thus unfitted to receive
Our share in this day's blessings true:
Sad are we—yet, I would believe,
Not thus unfitted to receive
Our share in this day's blessings true:
For He who once, a Heavenly Child,
Came to a world not clad in bright
Spring-blossoms, nor in gay leaves dight,
But to its winter bleak and wild,
Came to a world not clad in bright
Spring-blossoms, nor in gay leaves dight,
But to its winter bleak and wild,
To faithful hearts comes evermore,
When Grief has touched with finger sere
The splendours of life's earlier year,
As never He had come before.
When Grief has touched with finger sere
The splendours of life's earlier year,
As never He had come before.
238
THE LENT JEWELS.
A JEWISH APOLOGUE.
In schools of wisdom all the day was spent:
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent,
With homeward thoughts, which dwelt upon the wife
And two fair children who consoled his life.
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in,
And with these words preventing, did begin:
‘I, greeting ever your desired return,
Yet greet it most to-day; for since this morn
I have been much perplexed and sorely tried
Upon one point, which you must now decide.
Some years ago, a friend into my care
Some jewels gave, rich precious gems they were;
But having given them in my charge, this friend
Did afterwards nor come for them, nor send,
But in my keeping suffered them for long,
Till now it almost seems to me a wrong
That he should suddenly arrive to-day,
To take those jewels, which he left, away.
What think you? Shall I freely yield them back,
And with no murmuring?—so henceforth to lack
Those gems myself, which I had learned to see
Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee.’
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent,
With homeward thoughts, which dwelt upon the wife
And two fair children who consoled his life.
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in,
And with these words preventing, did begin:
‘I, greeting ever your desired return,
Yet greet it most to-day; for since this morn
I have been much perplexed and sorely tried
Upon one point, which you must now decide.
Some years ago, a friend into my care
Some jewels gave, rich precious gems they were;
But having given them in my charge, this friend
Did afterwards nor come for them, nor send,
But in my keeping suffered them for long,
Till now it almost seems to me a wrong
That he should suddenly arrive to-day,
To take those jewels, which he left, away.
What think you? Shall I freely yield them back,
And with no murmuring?—so henceforth to lack
Those gems myself, which I had learned to see
Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee.’
‘What question can be here? your own true heart
Must needs advise you of the only part;
That may be claimed again which was but lent,
And should be yielded with no discontent;
Nor surely can we find in this a wrong,
That it was left us to enjoy it long.’
Must needs advise you of the only part;
239
And should be yielded with no discontent;
Nor surely can we find in this a wrong,
That it was left us to enjoy it long.’
‘Good is the word,’ she answered; ‘may we now
And evermore that it is good allow!’
And, rising, to an inner chamber led,
And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed,
Two children pale, and he the jewels knew,
Which God had lent him, and resumed anew.
And evermore that it is good allow!’
And, rising, to an inner chamber led,
And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed,
Two children pale, and he the jewels knew,
Which God had lent him, and resumed anew.
240
[O life, O death, O world, O time]
O life, O death, O world, O time,
O grave, where all things flow,
'Tis yours to make our lot sublime
With your great weight of woe.
O grave, where all things flow,
'Tis yours to make our lot sublime
With your great weight of woe.
Though sharpest anguish hearts may wring,
Though bosoms torn may be,
Yet suffering is a holy thing;
Without it what were we?
Though bosoms torn may be,
Yet suffering is a holy thing;
Without it what were we?
241
FROM THE ARABIC.
Despair not in the vale of woe,
Where many joys from suffering flow.
Where many joys from suffering flow.
Oft breathes simoom, and close behind
A breath of God doth softly blow.
A breath of God doth softly blow.
Clouds threaten, but a ray of light,
And not of lightning, falls below.
And not of lightning, falls below.
How many winters o'er thy head
Have passed; yet bald it does not show.
Have passed; yet bald it does not show.
Thy branches are not bare, and yet
What storms have shook them to and fro.
What storms have shook them to and fro.
To thee has Time brought many joys,
If many it has bid to go;
If many it has bid to go;
And seasoned has with bitterness
Thy cup, that flat it should not grow.
Thy cup, that flat it should not grow.
Trust in that veilëd hand, which leads
None by the path that he would go;
None by the path that he would go;
And always be for change prepared,
For the world's law is ebb and flow.
For the world's law is ebb and flow.
242
Stand fast in suffering, until He
Who called it, shall dismiss also;
Who called it, shall dismiss also;
And from that Lord all good expect,
Who many mercies strews below;
Who many mercies strews below;
Who in life's narrow garden-strip
Has bid delights unnumbered blow.
Has bid delights unnumbered blow.
243
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
'Mid sterner losses let us own one gain—An infant this will evermore remain:
Those other, should they reach life's longer date,
In them the coming will obliterate
The past; and we shall what they were forget,
Our eyes upon their later semblance set;
But this remaineth an eternal child.
Might sorrow for a little be beguiled
Even with this thought a soothing fancy brings!
Her image has escaped the flux of things,
And that same infant beauty which she wore
Is fixed upon her now for evermore—
The everlasting garment fresh and new
Which in our eyes will ever her endue;
Which she will not put off, as the others must,
For garments soilëd more with this world's dust:
As though a bud should be a bud for ever,
A crystal rill ne'er swell to turbid river;
As though on aught most fleeting and most fair,
On roseate tints which clouds of evening wear,
We might lay hands, and fix them ever there.
244
A JEWISH APOLOGUE.
Up and down his gardens paced a King,
In the glorious season of the spring.
In the glorious season of the spring.
Lovely flowrets there by him were seen
In their earliest bud and blossoming.
In their earliest bud and blossoming.
How should he those lovely flowrets pull,
Half whose glory lay a hidden thing?
Half whose glory lay a hidden thing?
When a few short days were gone, again
Visited his garden-plots the King:
Visited his garden-plots the King:
And those flowers, so dewy, fresh, and fair,
Brighter than the brightest insect's wing,
Brighter than the brightest insect's wing,
Each was hanging now a drooping head,
Each lay now a wan discoloured thing;
Each lay now a wan discoloured thing;
And he thought, Their scent and sweetness I
Had rejoiced in, earlier gathering.
Had rejoiced in, earlier gathering.
So when in his gardens of delight
Did that Monarch pace another spring,
Did that Monarch pace another spring,
And the folded buds again admired,
That did round them fragrant odour fling,
That did round them fragrant odour fling,
245
He with timely hand prevented now
The sad season of their withering,
The sad season of their withering,
Culled them in the glory of their prime,
Ere their fresh delight had taken wing,
Ere their fresh delight had taken wing,
Culled the young and beautiful, and laid
In his bosom gently, home to bring.
In his bosom gently, home to bring.
246
ON REVISITING THE SEINE.
Ye are the same, ye meadows and green banks,
And pastures level to the river's edge;
Ye shores with poplar fringed in graceful ranks,
And towns that nestle under rocky ledge;
And pastures level to the river's edge;
Ye shores with poplar fringed in graceful ranks,
And towns that nestle under rocky ledge;
Ye island-spots of greenery, fast embraced
By the dividing arms of this fair stream,
Which, parting for a moment, meet in haste,
And then in breadths of lake-like beauty gleam.
By the dividing arms of this fair stream,
Which, parting for a moment, meet in haste,
And then in breadths of lake-like beauty gleam.
The quiet cattle, feeding quietly,
They seem the very same I saw of yore;
And the same picture lives upon mine eye,
Methinks, that lived upon mine eye before.
They seem the very same I saw of yore;
And the same picture lives upon mine eye,
Methinks, that lived upon mine eye before.
Fair were ye, seen of old; ye now are fair,
As ye were then: and not a change appears,
Unless that all doth stranger beauty wear,
This time beholden through a mist of tears.
As ye were then: and not a change appears,
Unless that all doth stranger beauty wear,
This time beholden through a mist of tears.
For oh! ye streams, ye meadows, and ye hills,
To which there cometh no mutation nigh,
Dim trouble at your sight my bosom fills,
You looking at me with this changeless eye.
To which there cometh no mutation nigh,
Dim trouble at your sight my bosom fills,
You looking at me with this changeless eye.
247
It troubles me that ye, unfeeling things,
Should be exempted from our tears and fears,
While we—the lords of nature and its kings—
Servile remain to all the changeful years.
Should be exempted from our tears and fears,
While we—the lords of nature and its kings—
Servile remain to all the changeful years.
On this swift-sliding stream I sail once more,
Whose beauty brings unutterable pain;
For ye who saw with me this sight before,
Three were ye—but, oh! where are now the twain?
Whose beauty brings unutterable pain;
For ye who saw with me this sight before,
Three were ye—but, oh! where are now the twain?
Ye are not here—the floods, the hills are here,
They look on me with their unaltered eye;
Dowered with a strength eternal they appear,
And we like weak wan phantoms flitting by.
They look on me with their unaltered eye;
Dowered with a strength eternal they appear,
And we like weak wan phantoms flitting by.
248
[This winter eve how soft! how mild!]
This winter eve how soft! how mild!
How calm the earth! how calm the sea!
The earth is like a weary child,
And ocean chants its lullaby.
How calm the earth! how calm the sea!
The earth is like a weary child,
And ocean chants its lullaby.
A little murmur in mine ear!
A little ripple at my feet!
They only make the silence here,
Which they disturb not, more complete
A little ripple at my feet!
They only make the silence here,
Which they disturb not, more complete
I wander on the sands apart;
I watch the sun, world-wearied, sink
Into his grave:—with tranquil heart
Upon the loved and lost I think.
I watch the sun, world-wearied, sink
Into his grave:—with tranquil heart
Upon the loved and lost I think.
249
TO ---
Dear sister, thou hast wandered forth with me,
From patient vigils needed now no more,
A watcher most unwillingly set free
From love's long service, which at last is o'er,—
From patient vigils needed now no more,
A watcher most unwillingly set free
From love's long service, which at last is o'er,—
From chambers, where the candles of the night
Far into day, unquenched, unheeded, burn,
While unregarded comes the dreary light,
The unnoted breaking of the dreary morn—
Far into day, unquenched, unheeded, burn,
While unregarded comes the dreary light,
The unnoted breaking of the dreary morn—
Who hast come forth to let the breeze of May
Blow on thy cheek amid another scene,
Fair sights have we beholden day by day,
While on this Norman soil our feet have been.
Blow on thy cheek amid another scene,
Fair sights have we beholden day by day,
While on this Norman soil our feet have been.
'Mid clustering shafts and pinnacles and towers
Of many a tall cathedral have we stood,
Have sailed up lovely streams for pleasant hours,
And there and there have found our spirits' food.
Of many a tall cathedral have we stood,
Have sailed up lovely streams for pleasant hours,
And there and there have found our spirits' food.
Yet still this thought would in our hearts arise,
When aught of rarer beauty met our sight,
This thought of sadness,—they are shut, those eyes
To which this vision had brought keen delight;
When aught of rarer beauty met our sight,
This thought of sadness,—they are shut, those eyes
To which this vision had brought keen delight;
250
To which all lovely things were welcome still,
As footprints of a Beauty whither turned
Her spirit alway; and of which her fill
To drink for ever, fervently she yearned.
As footprints of a Beauty whither turned
Her spirit alway; and of which her fill
To drink for ever, fervently she yearned.
This was our grief; be it our joy as well,—
That they are closed and she no longer sees
Our glimpses faint which of that Beauty tell,
To open on the eternal fount of these.
That they are closed and she no longer sees
Our glimpses faint which of that Beauty tell,
To open on the eternal fount of these.
251
[O friend, it seems when first our lives begin]
O friend, it seems when first our lives begin,
When we, fresh mariners, first hoist the sail,
On favouring seas by favouring breezes borne,
As though the bark of our felicity
Could never be ornately trimmed enough,
Nor be enough full-freighted with delights;
As though each thing we wanted were a wrong
Done to us ;—so we loosen from the land.
But what another lesson will anon
Be learnëd, and of them who claimed so much,
Deeming it all too little for their needs,
Some will be thankful if one broken plank
Of all their tempest-shattered bark remain,
Bearing them up above the salt-sea foam
Of this world's infelicity to shore.
But that dream vanishing, other dreams succeed;
And when upon the shoals or rocks of life
Some shipwreck we have suffered, we would bide,
Singing sad dirges o'er our sunken wealth
For ever. Oh, but life is strong! and still
Bears with its currents onward us who fain
Would linger where our treasures have gone down,
Though but to mark the ripple on the wave,
The small disturbing eddies that betray
The place of shipwreck: life is strong, and still
Bears onward to new tasks and sorrows new,
Whether we will or no. Life bears us on;
And yet not so, but that there may survive
Something to us; sweet odours reach us yet,
Brought sweetly from the fields long left behind
Of holy joy, or sorrow holier still:
As I remember when, long years ago,
With the companions of my youth, I rode
'Mid Sicily's holm oaks and pastoral dells
All in the flowery spring, through fields of thyme,
Fields of all flowers,—no lovelier Enna knew,—
There came to us long after, blown from these,
Rich odours that pursued us many a mile,
Embalming all the air:—so rode we on,
Though we had changed our verdant meadow-paths
For steep rough tracks up dusty river-beds,
Yet haunted by that odorous fragrance still.
When we, fresh mariners, first hoist the sail,
On favouring seas by favouring breezes borne,
As though the bark of our felicity
Could never be ornately trimmed enough,
Nor be enough full-freighted with delights;
As though each thing we wanted were a wrong
Done to us ;—so we loosen from the land.
But what another lesson will anon
Be learnëd, and of them who claimed so much,
Deeming it all too little for their needs,
Some will be thankful if one broken plank
Of all their tempest-shattered bark remain,
Bearing them up above the salt-sea foam
Of this world's infelicity to shore.
But that dream vanishing, other dreams succeed;
And when upon the shoals or rocks of life
Some shipwreck we have suffered, we would bide,
Singing sad dirges o'er our sunken wealth
For ever. Oh, but life is strong! and still
Bears with its currents onward us who fain
Would linger where our treasures have gone down,
Though but to mark the ripple on the wave,
The small disturbing eddies that betray
The place of shipwreck: life is strong, and still
Bears onward to new tasks and sorrows new,
252
And yet not so, but that there may survive
Something to us; sweet odours reach us yet,
Brought sweetly from the fields long left behind
Of holy joy, or sorrow holier still:
As I remember when, long years ago,
With the companions of my youth, I rode
'Mid Sicily's holm oaks and pastoral dells
All in the flowery spring, through fields of thyme,
Fields of all flowers,—no lovelier Enna knew,—
There came to us long after, blown from these,
Rich odours that pursued us many a mile,
Embalming all the air:—so rode we on,
Though we had changed our verdant meadow-paths
For steep rough tracks up dusty river-beds,
Yet haunted by that odorous fragrance still.
Then let us be content in spirit, though
We cannot walk, as we are fain to do,
Within the solemn shadow of our griefs
For ever; but must needs come down again
From the bright skirts of those protecting clouds,
To tread the common paths of earth anew.
Then let us be content to leave behind us
So much; which yet we leave not quite behind;
For the bright memories of the holy dead,
The blessëd ones departed, shine on us
Like the pure splendours of some clear large star,
Which pilgrims, travelling onward, at their backs
Leave, and at every moment see not now;
Yet, whensoe'er they list, may pause and turn,
And with its glories gild their faces still:
Or as beneath a northern sky is seen
The sunken sunset glowing in the west,
A tender radiance there surviving long,
Which has not faded all away, before
The flaming banners of the morn advance
Over the summits of the orient hills.
We cannot walk, as we are fain to do,
Within the solemn shadow of our griefs
For ever; but must needs come down again
From the bright skirts of those protecting clouds,
To tread the common paths of earth anew.
Then let us be content to leave behind us
So much; which yet we leave not quite behind;
For the bright memories of the holy dead,
The blessëd ones departed, shine on us
Like the pure splendours of some clear large star,
Which pilgrims, travelling onward, at their backs
Leave, and at every moment see not now;
Yet, whensoe'er they list, may pause and turn,
And with its glories gild their faces still:
Or as beneath a northern sky is seen
The sunken sunset glowing in the west,
253
Which has not faded all away, before
The flaming banners of the morn advance
Over the summits of the orient hills.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME
| Poems | |