 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
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THE RIVER.
I. THE RIVER'S COURSE.
There is a river stern and strong,
That flows through vale and lea;
That bears our faded hopes along
Into a silent sea.
That flows through vale and lea;
That bears our faded hopes along
Into a silent sea.
'Tis fed with precious tears of man,
And fraught with woman's woe;
It tosses wrecks of plot and plan,
With loves of long ago.
And fraught with woman's woe;
It tosses wrecks of plot and plan,
With loves of long ago.
'Tis born of sad and sacred springs,
And under Orient skies;
And though the death of prouder things,
Itself it never dies.
And under Orient skies;
And though the death of prouder things,
Itself it never dies.
Far in the mists of ancient time
That solemn River rose;
It hath a strange and mournful chime,
And weepeth as it flows.
That solemn River rose;
It hath a strange and mournful chime,
And weepeth as it flows.
Our youths and virgins fill its urns
With sorrow's tender dreams;
But not a ray of hope returns
From those unjoyous streams.
With sorrow's tender dreams;
But not a ray of hope returns
From those unjoyous streams.
By lawn and level on it winds,
Through pastures bright or bare;
Yet food from every field it finds,
And murmurs everywhere.
Through pastures bright or bare;
Yet food from every field it finds,
And murmurs everywhere.
Its breast is full of many a bud,
And garlands fresh and green;
Its breath is felt before the flood,
And oftener heard than seen.
And garlands fresh and green;
Its breath is felt before the flood,
And oftener heard than seen.
When life is in its loveliest pride,
Soft as a summer's day,
The River rolls its troubled tide
And sweeps that life away.
Soft as a summer's day,
The River rolls its troubled tide
And sweeps that life away.
In vain our labouring hands we load,
And fashion bars or dykes;
It gives no knowledge of its road,
No warning till it strikes.
And fashion bars or dykes;
It gives no knowledge of its road,
No warning till it strikes.
The children playing where it steals,
Hid under flowery wreath,
Ere seing what that wreath conceals,
Are wash'd and whirl'd beneath.
Hid under flowery wreath,
Ere seing what that wreath conceals,
Are wash'd and whirl'd beneath.
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Though gallant be the bridegroom's mien,
And dear the bride and true,
The cruel current slips between,
And cuts their bond in two.
And dear the bride and true,
The cruel current slips between,
And cuts their bond in two.
The mother has her first-born love
Strained to her bosom's heat,
But with the happy heavens above,
The River licks her feet.
Strained to her bosom's heat,
But with the happy heavens above,
The River licks her feet.
The young and old they hear its call,
And fondly try to flee;
It takes and carries one and all
Down to the silent sea.
And fondly try to flee;
It takes and carries one and all
Down to the silent sea.
We feed it with our costly tears,
From many a hallow'd rill;
And though we lavish hopes and fears,
It is insatiate still.
From many a hallow'd rill;
And though we lavish hopes and fears,
It is insatiate still.
It turns the cradle to a grave,
And freezes laugh and kiss,
And with the shadow of its wave
It darkens every bliss.
And freezes laugh and kiss,
And with the shadow of its wave
It darkens every bliss.
Of ruin'd lives it takes no count,
Nor how its volumes grow;
And none can seize its fatal fount,
Or check its endless flow.
Nor how its volumes grow;
And none can seize its fatal fount,
Or check its endless flow.
By town and hamlet forth it roams,
In sunshine as in shades;
It hales the fatlings of our homes,
The sweetest of our maids.
In sunshine as in shades;
It hales the fatlings of our homes,
The sweetest of our maids.
The depths of deserts feel its touch,
And know its presence wan;
It robs the cripple of his crutch,
And hurries, hurries on.
And know its presence wan;
It robs the cripple of his crutch,
And hurries, hurries on.
We all give tribute to its store,
And swell its weary sound;
It beats for ever on the shore,
And pushes back its bound.
And swell its weary sound;
It beats for ever on the shore,
And pushes back its bound.
And gnawing still at bed and bank,
It eats into our lives;
It makes a bitter blot or blank
Where'er its passion strives,
It eats into our lives;
It makes a bitter blot or blank
Where'er its passion strives,
And deeper yet the channels sink,
And wider heaves the wave;
We tremble on the dreadful brink,
Some batter'd plank to save.
And wider heaves the wave;
We tremble on the dreadful brink,
Some batter'd plank to save.
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O, if a moment it would hold
Its calm and ceaseless course,
Nor glide so pitiless and cold
From its unfathom'd source!
Its calm and ceaseless course,
Nor glide so pitiless and cold
From its unfathom'd source!
Lo, we have lost our comely wives,
To still its hungry fret,—
Have lost our children, lands, and lives;
It is not sated yet.
To still its hungry fret,—
Have lost our children, lands, and lives;
It is not sated yet.
Ah, no, it never rests a while,
But flows through vale and lea,
Without the glimmer of a smile,
Into its silent sea.
But flows through vale and lea,
Without the glimmer of a smile,
Into its silent sea.
It has a dreary strain of grief,
That wafts its freight along;
And as it rifles blade and sheaf,
This is the River's song:
That wafts its freight along;
And as it rifles blade and sheaf,
This is the River's song:
II. THE RIVER'S SONG.
When Night was born
I fill'd my horn
With waters from the deep;
With dregs of death
I glut my breath,
And steal the charms of sleep.
I fill'd my horn
With waters from the deep;
With dregs of death
I glut my breath,
And steal the charms of sleep.
I feast on joy,
And pleasures cloy,
With murmur'd sounds of woe;
And when the light
Is broad and bright
My fountains ope below.
And pleasures cloy,
With murmur'd sounds of woe;
And when the light
Is broad and bright
My fountains ope below.
I know not fear,
And hope I sear
With bitter blasts and chill;
Seas ebb and flow,
Men come and go,
My stream is never still.
And hope I sear
With bitter blasts and chill;
Seas ebb and flow,
Men come and go,
My stream is never still.
No stop nor stay,
I slew and slay,
Destroying from the first;
Though deep I drain
From pang and pain,
Yet naught can slake my thirst.
I slew and slay,
Destroying from the first;
Though deep I drain
From pang and pain,
Yet naught can slake my thirst.
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If to the birth
I came with earth,
I never now can die;
From early biers
And blighted years
My waves grow grim and high.
I came with earth,
I never now can die;
From early biers
And blighted years
My waves grow grim and high.
When Time has fled,
I shall be dead,
Till then I creep and kill;
With bone and blood
I feed my flood,
And raven at my will.
I shall be dead,
Till then I creep and kill;
With bone and blood
I feed my flood,
And raven at my will.
Ye chafe and cry
That summers fly,
And winter reigns instead;
With sombre mien
I roll between
The dying and the dead.
That summers fly,
And winter reigns instead;
With sombre mien
I roll between
The dying and the dead.
Alas, alas,
Your pageants pass,
And generations range;
Things rise and fall,
And perish all,
I only never change.
Your pageants pass,
And generations range;
Things rise and fall,
And perish all,
I only never change.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |