University of Virginia Library

SONNETS TO A FRIEND.

(After a Tour through Belgium and Germany.)

I.

[We part: great London with its mighty rush]

We part: great London with its mighty rush
Of life will daily send its shocks through thine,
As tides go up a river, but on mine
The quiet hamlet with its quiet hush
Will fall like murmurs in the night. But still,
When the low ebbs are with us, shall we not
Dream the fair dreams of many a pleasant spot,
By which we wander'd with a happy will!
I know that all between the roaring trains,
When their wild thunder sinks, that I shall hear
The murmur of the Rhine within my ear—
All soft and tremulously sweet, like strains
Sung by some fair witch-maiden, ere the moon
Touches a mountain that will hide her soon.

II.

[And with the murmur of the Rhine will come]

And with the murmur of the Rhine will come
Those legends which have flung, as from a sky
We cannot see but with the inner eye,
A light that rests as in its chosen home,
On hill, and peak, and old gray towers that stand
Like sentinels to guard the rear of Time;
For he, too, lingers in that fairy clime,
And turns the glass with an unwilling hand.
Sweet Rolandseck and sweeter Drachenfels
Shall be with me, and glimpses of the vine
Big with the purple promise of the wine;
Bingen, whereon the sloping sunshine dwells;
The Lorelei rock, whose echoes still prolong
The moonlight witchery of Heine's song.

III.

[Through these the town of Rubens shall arise]

Through these the town of Rubens shall arise,
Its stone arms clasping the cathedral, where
His dead Christ sends a worship through the air,
And takes the daily light from out the eyes
Of those that look in awe; for there they see
Divinity as death, and woman's hands
Clasping his feet as tender as can be;
While all behind the gazer as he stands,
Devotion bends the knee in that rich light
Which flings a noonday twilight all around,
That trembles as the organ lifts again
To fretted roof that narrows to the sight,
Its unseen wailing hands of holy sound
In moaning benedictions over men.

IV.

[The sunshine over Brussels will be mine]

The sunshine over Brussels will be mine,
But for a moment ere it pales its hue,
And slowly deepens into one grim sign
Of thunder on the field of Waterloo.
The lower thunderbolts of men have spent
The death-doom of their anger there, the plough
Follows the mission of the sword that lent
A red strength to the soil it cleaves. And now
There will be golden harvest. Nature craves
No boon from men. She only needs one spring
To work her miracles, which, ere it pass,
Has woven in the joy of fashioning,
Over a battle-field and dead men's graves,
The green forgetfulness of growing grass.

V.

[And quiet Weimar, hush'd of look and staid]

And quiet Weimar, hush'd of look and staid,
As if she knew the passing stranger came,
Drawn to her by the splendour and the fame
Of her two mighty sons, whose dust is laid
Within her bosom side by side. And she
Covers their ashes still with flowers that bind
Mortals to all the high Immortals. He,
Goethe—a sea without one waft of wind;
Schiller—the river yearning for that sea,
High, pure and restless, with an upward mind.
So let her keep their sacred dust. For through
The march of ages as they sweep along,
Will rise the potent voices of these two—
The ocean and the river of her song.

VI.

[And thou, in such calm moments, wilt again]

And thou, in such calm moments, wilt again
Stand in that holy silent light which swims
With unsung liturgies and incensed hymns
That ever teach us life is light and vain!
Nay, in thy spirit thou wilt walk in awe
Adown the column'd vista of the nave,
Till transept, altar, and high architrave
Deepen and take the universal law
Of worship. Or wilt thou become as one
Who hath no motion, and with eyes that seem
To gaze beyond their light, drink in the mild
Celestial splendour of our Raphael's dream,
And steep'd in all the art thou gazest on—
Half worship the Madonna and her Child!

VII.

[Half worship? Nay, full worship must be thine]

Half worship? Nay, full worship must be thine,
For all the best of Raphael's soul is there,
Glowing as in that hour when the divine
Vision was with him, and the very air
Was wavy with that glory which we now
See crowning, with a splendour fair and mild,
The Virgin Mother as she clasps the Child
And smiling, for the sweetness on her brow
Is of that other light the painter saw
In those high moments when his glorious art
Lay round him like a heaven. We turn away
Breathing the spell of some unconscious awe,
And, turning, keep that sweetness in our heart
That mingles not with that of common day.

VIII.

[Or Guido, where beneath the crown of thorns]

Or Guido, where beneath the crown of thorns
Love haloes the divinest of all eyes,
And struggles with despair with unheard sighs,
Conquers, and in conquering ever mourns
Behold the man! But thou canst never reach,
Even with thy spirit's purest touch,
That sorrow, or enfold in thy frail speech
The earnest sad divinity of such.
Thou seest only as through tears, the dread
Shadow of that agony of pain,
And those grand eyes that ever look above
With that far yearning, till, from overhead,
God stoops and slowly arches in the twain,
The unfading glory of unconquer'd love.

IX.

[I know thou wilt. And so to me the past]

I know thou wilt. And so to me the past
Is richer from my pleasant days with thee,
And wears a happy memory to me,
That, though the years may dim and die, will last.
We were not as we said with jest and smile,
“Two idle dreamers of an empty day;”
The future takes its colour and display
From what is best within us. So the while
There might be rising to the inner ken
The larger nature which must come with thought
Grown wider from a wider view of earth,
And earnest purposes to shape our lot
To all the grander things that take their birth
Wherever God reveals Himself to men.