 | My Lyrical Life |  |
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A DAUGHTER OF THE SEA-KINGS.
Many a time, from out the North,
The fire-eyed Raven flew,
And England watched its sailing forth,
With eyes of wistful blue;
Many a time her True-hearts stood
All ranked and ready for
Grim welcome, should the Bird of Blood
Swoop down on wings of war!
The fire-eyed Raven flew,
And England watched its sailing forth,
With eyes of wistful blue;
Many a time her True-hearts stood
All ranked and ready for
Grim welcome, should the Bird of Blood
Swoop down on wings of war!
To-day, another Norland Bird
Comes floating o'er the foam;
And England's heart of hearts is stirred
To have the dear bird Home.
She comes soft-eyed, with brooding breast,
On swiftening wings of love;
And Britain, to her bridal nest,
Welcomes the Daneland Dove.
Comes floating o'er the foam;
And England's heart of hearts is stirred
To have the dear bird Home.
She comes soft-eyed, with brooding breast,
On swiftening wings of love;
And Britain, to her bridal nest,
Welcomes the Daneland Dove.
She comes; across the waters spread the sails;
She comes, to play her brave, uncommon part;
The Princess who will wear the name of Wales;
The Woman who shall win our England's heart.
The Nation's life up-leaps to meet her;
And England with one voice goes forth to greet Her!
She comes, to play her brave, uncommon part;
The Princess who will wear the name of Wales;
The Woman who shall win our England's heart.
The Nation's life up-leaps to meet her;
And England with one voice goes forth to greet Her!
Our Lady cometh from the North,
The tender and the true,
Whose fire of darkest glow hath rarest worth;
For love more inly nestles in the North,
To give, like fire in frost, its fervours forth:
Whose flowers can keep their dew;
And a look in its Women's eyes is good
As the first fresh breath of the salt Sea-flood,
Or the bonniest blink of its blue:
And from its dark Fiords, with sails unfurled,
Came the fair-haired Norsemen,
The men that moved the world.
They were the pride and the darlings of Ocean,
The tender and the true,
Whose fire of darkest glow hath rarest worth;
For love more inly nestles in the North,
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Whose flowers can keep their dew;
And a look in its Women's eyes is good
As the first fresh breath of the salt Sea-flood,
Or the bonniest blink of its blue:
And from its dark Fiords, with sails unfurled,
Came the fair-haired Norsemen,
The men that moved the world.
Rocked on her breast by a hundred storms;
Tossed up with joyfullest Motherly motion;
Caught to her heart again—clasped in her arms.
No Slaves of the Earth but Sea-kings, the rough Rovers
Took wings of the wind and flew over the foam.
Yet, the old True-hearts, like faithfullest lovers,
Came back with the fruitfuller feeling of Home.
Kings were they of the royallest blood
That was blue with the hue of the salt Sea-flood.
Come! stir the Norse fire in us mightily!
Come, conquering hearts as they the heaving sea.
Come, wed the people with their Prince, and bless
Them from your neighbouring heaven of nobleness.
There's nothing like a Beauty of the Blood
To set the fashion of a loftier good!
There's nothing like a true and womanly Wife
To help a man, and make melodious life.
For, she can hold his heartstrings in her hand,
And play the tune her pleasure may command,
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Trying to reach the heights of her diviner nature.
Come in your beauty of promise;
Come in your Maiden glee;
Let your sunshine scatter from us
The shadow of Misery.
Hearts in the dark have been aching,
But now the clouds are breaking.
Come as come the swallows
Over the brightening sea,
And we know that Summer follows
With the sunny days to be.
Come and give us your glad good-morrow,
The Joy-bells shall ring,
And the merry birds sing;
Dumbly drooping, the Bird of Sorrow
Shall hide his old head under his wing.
And now a shining Vision blooms;
I see the rich Procession glide
Serenely 'twixt the swaling plumes,
All nodding in their pride:
I see the rich Procession glide
Serenely 'twixt the swaling plumes,
All nodding in their pride:
Walking with sweet precision, she
Moves slowly onward, softly nigher
The Altar; meek in purity,
Yet filled with stately fire.
Moves slowly onward, softly nigher
The Altar; meek in purity,
Yet filled with stately fire.
The dawn upon her sweet young face
The dewy spring-light in her eyes,
And round about her form of grace
The airs of paradise.
The dewy spring-light in her eyes,
And round about her form of grace
The airs of paradise.
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But lo! a Shadow dims the scene!
We lift our eyes and sadly see
How lonely stands the wistful Queen;
No leaning-place hath she,
We lift our eyes and sadly see
How lonely stands the wistful Queen;
No leaning-place hath she,
Who, in her darkness seeks to hide,
While the wed pair move whitely on
As swans go gliding side by side,
And all their splendours sun.
While the wed pair move whitely on
As swans go gliding side by side,
And all their splendours sun.
O Widow's gloom! O wedding joys!
O white fringe to the Mourning-pall!
With the dead Father's hovering voice
In music over all!
This world is but a newer paradise,
O white fringe to the Mourning-pall!
With the dead Father's hovering voice
In music over all!
To that glad spirit looking through the eyes
Of Love, that sees all bright things dancing toward
It, gaily coming of their own accord.
For 'tis as though the lightsome heart should climb
Up in the head, to look from heights sublime
And sing, and swing as it would never drop—
The merry reveller in the tall tree-top!
Where Life is with such lofty gladness crowned,
And all the Pleasures dance in starry circle round.
But may this love be true as Hers who sees
Ye, like a smiling future at her knees:
The Wife who held God's gifts the richest wealth;
Our Queen of Home who sweetened England's health;
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That great black cloud of our calamity
On the side nearest heaven, and marked her rise
In stature, calm to meet her sacrifice:
As one with faith to feel Death's darkness brings
Almighty Love on overshadowing wings.
True love is no mere incense that will swim
Up from the heart a lover's eyes to dim,
But, such a light as gives the jewel-spark
To meanest things it looks on in their dark,—
A spring of heaven welling warm to bless
And sanctify each grain of earthiness.
True love will make true life, and glorify
Ye very proudly in the nation's eye.
Ah, Prince, a-many hopes up-fold the wing
Within the Marriage-nest to which ye bring
Your Bride, the life ye live there will be rolled
Through endless echoes, mirrored manifold.
We charge you, when you look on your young Wife,
And watch the ascending brightness of new life
In the sweet eyes that double the sweet soul,
That ye forget not others' dearth and dole.
Just now, the North wind wails
As though the Cold were crying
Over the hills and over the dales,
And sinking hearts know well what ails
The sound of the wintry sighing:
It bears the moan of the dying;
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Without food, and without fires.
The bitter nights are cruel cold,
One cannot help but wake, and think
Of the poor milch-lambs of the human fold
That have no milk to drink.
A Royal Worker to his grave went down
A little year ago, without his crown.
He dreamed the time would come when Rich and Poor
Might shake hands, strove to open wide the door.
He tried to till our waste-land,—sought to see
It glad in good, the stern world Poverty.
His was a heart that nobly beat to bless,
And heaved with doubled-breasted bounteousness
Like very woman's.
A little year ago, without his crown.
He dreamed the time would come when Rich and Poor
Might shake hands, strove to open wide the door.
He tried to till our waste-land,—sought to see
It glad in good, the stern world Poverty.
His was a heart that nobly beat to bless,
And heaved with doubled-breasted bounteousness
Like very woman's.
But, 'tis ever so;
He's gone where all our golden sunsets go;
Gone from us! Yet his memory makes a light,
Enriching life with tints of pictured bloom,
Like firelight warm upon the walls of night,
An inner glow against the outer gloom.
Do thou but live, and work as Albert willed,
And he shall smile in heaven to see his dream fulfilled.
He's gone where all our golden sunsets go;
Gone from us! Yet his memory makes a light,
Enriching life with tints of pictured bloom,
Like firelight warm upon the walls of night,
An inner glow against the outer gloom.
Do thou but live, and work as Albert willed,
And he shall smile in heaven to see his dream fulfilled.
Heroic deeds of toil are to be done,
And lofty palms of peace are to be won.
Life may be followed by a fame that rings
With nobler music than the Battle sings,
When Death, astride the black Guns, laughs to see
That flashing out of souls, and grins triumphantly.
Bear high the banner of our England's fame,
And let the evil-doers fear her name.
We joy to serve her, least of all the race;
Yours is the chance to fill a foremost place.
Like some proud River, stretching forth before ye
And lofty palms of peace are to be won.
Life may be followed by a fame that rings
With nobler music than the Battle sings,
When Death, astride the black Guns, laughs to see
That flashing out of souls, and grins triumphantly.
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And let the evil-doers fear her name.
We joy to serve her, least of all the race;
Yours is the chance to fill a foremost place.
Through all the land, your widening way doth lie,
Brimming and blessing as it rolls in glory,
Broadening and brightening till it reach the sky.
A splendid Vision! the green corn looks gay;
The Bird of Happiness sings overhead:
And may the Autumn uplands far away
Rise with the Harvest ripe in Evening's red;
Your crescent Honey-Moon laugh out above
The gathered Sheaves it gilds, at full with love.
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