In Cornwall and Across the Sea :: :: University of Virginia Library

Penzance, I gazed upon you many a time
Across the bay: now tropically blue,
Now white with wrath and threatening to strew
Ship and sea-wall in common wreck sublime.
I gazed upon you when the morning prime
Gilt tower and dome, and when the summer threw
A veil of mist and splendour over you
As seven of the even rang its chime.
In pensive mood I gazed upon your lights
Guiding the pilchard-fisher through the gloom,
When I threw up the window of my room
For the cool breeze on fine September nights,
And hope for many a pleasant ramble still
Through your quaint streets or up Lescudjack's hill.

MOUNT'S BAY.

SEPTEMBER 6th, 1884.

The storm had passed, the breakers died away,
The setting sun, a crown of glory, pressed
On ocean's sinking head, while from the west
A fresh wind blew, no longer fierce but gay.
One ray illumed St Michael's Mount, one ray
The Land's last range, and one the meadowy nest
Beneath the leas of Ludgvan, and the rest
The foaming locks of ocean tossed and grey.
I called the legend to my mind, which told
That round the Mount for miles a forest grew,
Where sands have blown, meads bloomed, and waters rolled,
For centuries; and could not deem it true,
Had not the workmen, digging in the ground
Two fathoms deep, the ancient forest found.

MARAZION.

SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1884.

The day was warm, as many an Austral day,
And all day the September sun had rained
On sand and old seawall rough-weather-stained
And on the tide-filled waters of the bay
So pitilessly that the idler lay
In each chance shadow, or if he had gained
The friendly shelter of a house, remained
Until the storm of heat had passed away.
Yet, ere the sun waned, when the tide ran down
And I the causeway to the Mount had crossed
In search of cool, the East wind blew so cold
That I remembered winter days I'd known
In New South Wales with scorch at noon but frost
At eve, like strong men suddenly grown old.

ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT.

SEPTEMBER 25TH, 1884.

St Michael's Mount! four weeks did I abide
Beneath its shadow; yet I entered not
Its castle though I haunted the wild spot
Moated with ocean every flush of tide.
Oft was I tempted sore to pass inside;
It seemed so heedless, when it was one's lot
To be so near, to miss it, and I wot
That I enjoy the oft-derided pride
Of seeing all the wonders of the earth,
As wonders, though 'twere but a fleeting glance.
Yet what was vain inquisitiveness worth
When put into the scales with the romance,
Which I could weave about each ancient wall,
Which distance held me in enchantment's thrall?

II.

While I was shielded from the common round
And commonplace of modern social life,
Piano, Paris-dress and paperknife,
Afternoon tea and tennis, I was crowned
An ancient king, could tread enchanted ground
With fairy queens, and couch a lance in strife
With mailed knights-errant. Might not Tristram's wife—
Did he not dwell in Lyonnesse's bound?—
Be in you tower, or else the Cornish Queen
For whom he died. And if I heard a fount
Of music from the church, it must have been
The Norman Fathers from the elder mount.
Was the hall lit? The valiant cavalier
Offered the ruined Stuart-Queen high cheer.

III.

With dreams and visions of Arturian knight
And monk from Mont St Michel d'Outremer
Migrated to the Guarded Mount, the air
Which floated round the castle rock was bright.
Once more the Norman scorning terms and flight
Opened his resolute veins, and stout De Vere
Extorted his free pardon. Then a pair
Of strangely mated lovers met my sight,
Scotland's white rose, child of an honoured name,
And he, who born of Flemish chapman, yet
So like to England's royal Edward came
That Edward's sister had the will to set
The ancient crown of England on his head,
And Scotland gave her choicest flower to wed.

IV.

We know but little of this fair mock-queen
Left in the castle, while her mock-king went
To lead the angered Cornish into Kent
And rouse the riversiders, who had been
Foremost, whenever force did intervene
'Twixt wrong and weakness. When, with marching spent,
His troops were routed, thou wast ta'en and sent
To the crowned King. What was it in thy mien
That melted that stern heart? how didst thou weep
And blush thy shame, that he who spared so few
Should pardon thee and bid his White Rose keep
This Scottish Rose beside her? Thou hast shared
The fate of many a flow'r of olden time,
Whose tale has passed from history to rhyme.

ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT, CORNWALL, AT SUNSET.

I.

After a burning day, when even came,
I climbed a cliff which looked across the bay,
And glanced to where St Michael's Mountain lay
Dissevered by a mirrored shaft of flame,—
As ruddy as a maiden's blush of shame,—
And a flood-tide with evening shadows grey
From Marazion. There I mused away
On Tristram's early praise and later blame,
And how upon this very rock once stood
The gleaming castle called through Lyonesse
In Tristram's day, “The White Tower in the wood,”
While forest, meadow, towns and palaces
Were bowered from here to Scilly's utmost bound,
Where long the ocean hath usurped the ground.

II.

I gazed upon the castle of to-day,
At first behind a halo amber-dyed,
Which half-concealed it and half fairified
Until no mortal pencil could convey
The glory of the picture—fit for fay
Or Knight of old romance. I turned aside,
Forgetful that a vision might not bide,
And, when I looked again, the pageant gay
Had vanished and a sorcerer's fastness rose
Black from the precipice,—no aperture
For door or window,—such as Doré shows
With his grim brush, till the sun grew obscure.
And every point of tower and crag did leave
In bold relief with the clear light of eve.

III.

The bay around was placid as a lake,
And locked with land on every side save one;
The pilchard boats had, with the setting sun,
Launched out their nightly task to undertake;
Some few small feathered songsters were awake,
Their evensong of thanksgiving scarce done;
And to their pastures with their udders run
The cows slow way were wending through the brake.
Bathed in warm sunset, sate we there until
The first bleak breeze of even warned us home,
Fain on the fairy scene to linger still
But fearful to be caught, while we might roam,
By the cold outstretched fingers of the night
Stripping its iris-vesture from the sight.

ST MICHAEL'S MOUNT BY MOONLIGHT.

At Marazion, I remember well
How that I stood half a September night,
To feast my eyes on the enchanted sight
Exceeding all the poet's art to tell,
St Michael's Mountain with its citadel
Against the moonlit sky outstanding bright,
And long dark headlands stretching left and right
Around the placid bay, that rose and fell,
With soft melodious, incessant sough,
And gently heaving far off lights, which marked
Fishers. I mused how here the Tyrian
Ages ago adventured and embarked
Tin from this haven, when the Aryan man
Had not emerged from Aryan highlands rough.

TO A YOUNG AUSTRALIAN LADY E. M. S.

Lady, I met thee on the Austral shore,
Fresh from the very threshold of the grave,
And pale as if thou never wouldest have
Health's purple hue and springing footstep more.
A few months passed, and on a ball-room floor
Thou glidedst fair and graceful, though too brave.
I saw thee then on that side of the wave
No further. Now upon a Cornish moor
Thou standest sunburnt, lithe, and strong of limb
As a young Dian, making the wild heath
And fallen cromlechs echo with health's hymn
Of laughter. Futures who foreshadoweth?
How could I dream four years ago of thee
Robust, and on these far off hills with me?