 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
226
SONGS.
A CHILD'S SONG.
“I see the Moon, and the Moon sees me,
God bless the Moon, and God bless me.”—Old Rhyme.
God bless the Moon, and God bless me.”—Old Rhyme.
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
Over the sea.
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All that love me.
Over the sea.
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All that love me.
Are you not tired with rolling, and never
Resting to sleep?
Why look so pale, and so sad, as forever
Wishing to weep.
Resting to sleep?
Why look so pale, and so sad, as forever
Wishing to weep.
Ask me not this, little child, if you love me;
You are too bold;
I must obey my dear Father above me,
And do as I'm told.
You are too bold;
I must obey my dear Father above me,
And do as I'm told.
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
Over the sea.
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All that love me.
Over the sea.
Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All that love me.
227
“THE INFANT'S THREE SABBATHS.”
Slumber, infant, slumber,
On thy mother's breast;
Kisses without number
Rain upon thy rest—
Well they come from many lips,
But from her's the best,
Slumber, infant, slumber,
On thy mother's breast.
On thy mother's breast;
Kisses without number
Rain upon thy rest—
Well they come from many lips,
But from her's the best,
Slumber, infant, slumber,
On thy mother's breast.
Slumber, infant, slumber,
On the earth's cold breast,
Blossoms without number
Bloom about thy rest.
Nature, clad in all her smiles
Greets so fair a guest,
Slumber, infant, slumber,
On the earth's cold breast.
On the earth's cold breast,
Blossoms without number
Bloom about thy rest.
Nature, clad in all her smiles
Greets so fair a guest,
Slumber, infant, slumber,
On the earth's cold breast.
Slumber, infant, slumber
On an angel's breast,
Glories without number,
Consecrate thy rest.
Deeper joys than we can know
Wait upon the blest,
Slumber, infant, slumber,
On an angel's breast.
On an angel's breast,
Glories without number,
Consecrate thy rest.
228
Wait upon the blest,
Slumber, infant, slumber,
On an angel's breast.
229
THE OLD MANORIAL HALL.
When she was born I had been long the gardener of the Hall,
The shrubs I planted with my hand were rising thick and tall;
My heart was in that work and place, and little thought or care
Had I of other living things than grew and flourished there,
Beneath the happy shelter of
The old Manorial Hall.
The shrubs I planted with my hand were rising thick and tall;
My heart was in that work and place, and little thought or care
Had I of other living things than grew and flourished there,
Beneath the happy shelter of
The old Manorial Hall.
At first she came a rosy child, a queen among my flowers,
And played beside me while I worked, and prattled on for hours;
And many a morning, in the plot of ground she called her own,
She found an unexpected show of blossoms freshly blown,
And sent her merry echoes through
The old Manorial Hall.
And played beside me while I worked, and prattled on for hours;
And many a morning, in the plot of ground she called her own,
She found an unexpected show of blossoms freshly blown,
And sent her merry echoes through
The old Manorial Hall.
230
Thus fifteen summers, every day, I tended her and them
I watched the opening of the bud, the shooting of the stem;
And when her childly laughter turned to silent maiden smiles,
I felt in Heaven whene'er she passed, and scarce on earth the whiles.
How could I ever think to leave
The old Manorial Hall!
I watched the opening of the bud, the shooting of the stem;
And when her childly laughter turned to silent maiden smiles,
I felt in Heaven whene'er she passed, and scarce on earth the whiles.
How could I ever think to leave
The old Manorial Hall!
One day when Autumn's last delights were nipped by early cold,
It fell like Death upon mine ear that she was bought and sold;—
That some rich lord she hardly knew, had come to bear away
The pride of all the country round—the poor man's hope and stay—
The Glory and the Darling of
The old Manorial Hall.
It fell like Death upon mine ear that she was bought and sold;—
That some rich lord she hardly knew, had come to bear away
The pride of all the country round—the poor man's hope and stay—
The Glory and the Darling of
The old Manorial Hall.
I heard her plight to him the troth she could not understand,
I saw her weeping turn her head and wave her parting hand;
And from that hour no thing has gone with me but wrong,
And soon I left the Garden and the Home I loved so long:
It was a haunted house to me,
That old Manorial Hall.
I saw her weeping turn her head and wave her parting hand;
231
And soon I left the Garden and the Home I loved so long:
It was a haunted house to me,
That old Manorial Hall.
And now I wander up and down, I labour as I can,
Without a wish for rest or friends, a sorry-hearted man;
Yet at the bottom of my thoughts the saddest lies, that she,
With all her wealth and noble state, may none the happier be
Than I, the poor old Gardener of
The old Manorial Hall.
Without a wish for rest or friends, a sorry-hearted man;
Yet at the bottom of my thoughts the saddest lies, that she,
With all her wealth and noble state, may none the happier be
Than I, the poor old Gardener of
The old Manorial Hall.
232
THE BROOK-SIDE.
I wandered by the brook-side,
I wandered by the mill,—
I could not hear the brook flow,
The noisy wheel was still;
There was no burr of grasshopper,
No chirp of any bird,
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
I wandered by the mill,—
I could not hear the brook flow,
The noisy wheel was still;
There was no burr of grasshopper,
No chirp of any bird,
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
I sat beneath the elm-tree,
I watched the long, long, shade,
And as it grew still longer,
I did not feel afraid;
For I listened for a footfall,
I listened for a word,—
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
I watched the long, long, shade,
And as it grew still longer,
I did not feel afraid;
For I listened for a footfall,
I listened for a word,—
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
He came not,—no, he came not,—
The night came on alone,—
The little stars sat one by one,
Each on his golden throne;
The evening air passed by my cheek,
The leaves above were stirr'd,—
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
The night came on alone,—
The little stars sat one by one,
Each on his golden throne;
233
The leaves above were stirr'd,—
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
Fast silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind,—
A hand was on my shoulder,
I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer—nearer,—
We did not speak one word,
For the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.
When something stood behind,—
A hand was on my shoulder,
I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer—nearer,—
We did not speak one word,
For the beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.
1830.
234
ONCE.
She never loved but once,
And then her love did seem
Like the opening of the tomb
Or the weaving of a dream;—
A premature betrothing
To immortal things,—
A momentary clothing
With an angel's wings.
And then her love did seem
Like the opening of the tomb
Or the weaving of a dream;—
A premature betrothing
To immortal things,—
A momentary clothing
With an angel's wings.
She never loved but once,
And then she learnt to feel
The wounds that Love inflicts,
That love alone can heal:
For as that light of life
Slowly faded by,
She calmed her spirit's strife,
In her wish to die;
And then she learnt to feel
The wounds that Love inflicts,
That love alone can heal:
For as that light of life
Slowly faded by,
She calmed her spirit's strife,
In her wish to die;
Yet lived, and Memory drew
Some joy from all the pain—
Her heart was kind to all
But never loved again.
She bid it cease to beat,
Till in yon skies above,
Love with Love should meet,
First and only Love!
Some joy from all the pain—
Her heart was kind to all
But never loved again.
She bid it cease to beat,
Till in yon skies above,
Love with Love should meet,
First and only Love!
235
SONG OF THOUGHTS.
Let the lays from poet-lips
Shadow forth the speech of heaven,—
Let melodious airs eclipse
All delight to senses given;
Yet to these my notes and words
Listen with your heart alone,
While the Thought that best accords
Makes a music of its own.
Shadow forth the speech of heaven,—
Let melodious airs eclipse
All delight to senses given;
Yet to these my notes and words
Listen with your heart alone,
While the Thought that best accords
Makes a music of its own.
Ye that in the fields of Love
Feel the breath and bloom of spring,
While I sing, securely rove,—
Rest in safety, while I sing.
Ye that gaze with vain regret
Back towards that holy ground,
All the world between forget,
Spirit-rocked from sound to sound.
Feel the breath and bloom of spring,
While I sing, securely rove,—
Rest in safety, while I sing.
Ye that gaze with vain regret
Back towards that holy ground,
All the world between forget,
Spirit-rocked from sound to sound.
All indifference, all distrust,
From old friendships pass away!
Let the faces of the just
Shine as in God's perfect day!
Fix the faintest, fleetest, smile,
E'er athwart your path has gleam'd,—
Take the charm without the wile,—
Be the Beauty all it seem'd!
From old friendships pass away!
Let the faces of the just
Shine as in God's perfect day!
236
E'er athwart your path has gleam'd,—
Take the charm without the wile,—
Be the Beauty all it seem'd!
'Mid the flowers you love the best,
Summer pride or vernal boon—
By your favourite light caressed,
Blush of eve or glow of noon,—
Blend the strains of happiest days
With the voices held most dear;
Children cast on weary ways!
Rest in peace and pleasaunce here.
Summer pride or vernal boon—
By your favourite light caressed,
Blush of eve or glow of noon,—
Blend the strains of happiest days
With the voices held most dear;
Children cast on weary ways!
Rest in peace and pleasaunce here.
Be the Future's glorious page
In my tones to youth revealed;
Let the ruffled brow of age
With eternal calm be sealed;
High as Heaven's etherial cope,
Wide as Light's rejoicing ray,
Thoughts of memory! Thoughts of hope!
Wander, wander, while ye may.
In my tones to youth revealed;
Let the ruffled brow of age
With eternal calm be sealed;
High as Heaven's etherial cope,
Wide as Light's rejoicing ray,
Thoughts of memory! Thoughts of hope!
Wander, wander, while ye may.
237
THE OLD MAN'S SONG.
Age is not a thing to measure
By the course of moon or star;
Time's before us—at our pleasure
We may follow near or far:
Strength and Beauty he has given,
They are his to take away,
But the Heart that well has striven
Is no slave of night or day.
By the course of moon or star;
Time's before us—at our pleasure
We may follow near or far:
Strength and Beauty he has given,
They are his to take away,
But the Heart that well has striven
Is no slave of night or day.
See upon yon mountain-ridges
How the fir-woods, spread between,
Reconcile the snow-clad edges
With the valley's vernal green;
So the lines of grave reflection,
You decipher on my brow,
Keep my age in glad connexion
With the young that flourish now.
How the fir-woods, spread between,
Reconcile the snow-clad edges
With the valley's vernal green;
So the lines of grave reflection,
You decipher on my brow,
Keep my age in glad connexion
With the young that flourish now.
Not that now poetic fire
Can along my life-strings run,
As when my Memnonian lyre
Welcomed every rising sun;
Though my heart no more rejoices
In the flashes of my brain,
In the freshness of your voices
Let me hear my songs again.
Can along my life-strings run,
As when my Memnonian lyre
Welcomed every rising sun;
238
In the flashes of my brain,
In the freshness of your voices
Let me hear my songs again.
Did I love?—let Nature witness,
Conscious of my tears and truth;
Do I love?—O fatal fitness!
Still requiring youth for youth!
Yet, while thought the bliss remembers,
All delight is not gone by;
Warm your spirits o'er my embers,
Friends! and learn to love as I.
Conscious of my tears and truth;
Do I love?—O fatal fitness!
Still requiring youth for youth!
Yet, while thought the bliss remembers,
All delight is not gone by;
Warm your spirits o'er my embers,
Friends! and learn to love as I.
O my children! O my brothers!
If for self I lived too much,
Be my pleasures now for others,
Every passion now be such:
Be the chillness life-destroying,
That could make me slow to feel,
To enjoy with your enjoying,
To be zealous with your zeal.
If for self I lived too much,
Be my pleasures now for others,
Every passion now be such:
Be the chillness life-destroying,
That could make me slow to feel,
To enjoy with your enjoying,
To be zealous with your zeal.
Grant me not, ye reigning Hours
Virtues that beseem the young,
Vigour for my failing powers,
Music for my faltering tongue:
Let me, cheerful thoughts retaining,
Live awhile, nor fear to die,
Ever new affections gaining,
Such as Heaven might well supply.
Virtues that beseem the young,
Vigour for my failing powers,
Music for my faltering tongue:
239
Live awhile, nor fear to die,
Ever new affections gaining,
Such as Heaven might well supply.
June, 1843.
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |