 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
240
NARRATIVE POEMS.
THE FALL OF ALIPIUS.
When gentle Gratian ruled the Roman west,
And with unvigorous virtues thought to hold
That troubled balance in perpetual rest,
And crush with good intent the bad and bold,
The youth Alipius for the first time saw
The Mother of civility and law.
And with unvigorous virtues thought to hold
That troubled balance in perpetual rest,
And crush with good intent the bad and bold,
The youth Alipius for the first time saw
The Mother of civility and law.
Mother in truth, but yet as one who now
By her disloyal children tended ill
Should sit apart, with hand upon her brow,
Moaning her sick desires and feeble will;
So Rome was pictured to the subtler eye,
That could through words the soul of things descry.
By her disloyal children tended ill
Should sit apart, with hand upon her brow,
Moaning her sick desires and feeble will;
So Rome was pictured to the subtler eye,
That could through words the soul of things descry.
But no such vision of the truth had He
Who with full heart passed under the old wall
A Roman moulded by that sun and sea
Which lit and laved the infant Hannibal,
One who with Afric blood could still combine
The civic memories of a Roman line.
Who with full heart passed under the old wall
A Roman moulded by that sun and sea
Which lit and laved the infant Hannibal,
One who with Afric blood could still combine
The civic memories of a Roman line.
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To him was Rome whatever she had been,
Republican, Cesarean, unforgot,
As much the single undisputed Queen,
As if the Empire of the East was not,—
Fine gold and rugged iron fused and cast
Into one image of the glorious Past:
Republican, Cesarean, unforgot,
As much the single undisputed Queen,
As if the Empire of the East was not,—
Fine gold and rugged iron fused and cast
Into one image of the glorious Past:
And on a present throne to heaven up-piled,
Of arches, temples, basilics and halls,
He placed his Idol, while before her filed
Nations to gild and glut her festivals;
And of her might the utterance was so loud,
That every other living voice was cowed.
Of arches, temples, basilics and halls,
He placed his Idol, while before her filed
Nations to gild and glut her festivals;
And of her might the utterance was so loud,
That every other living voice was cowed.
Possessed by this idea, little heed
At first he gave the thickening multitude,
That met and passed him in their noisy speed,
Like hounds intent upon the scent of blood,
For all the City was that day astir,
Tow'ard the huge Flavian Amphitheatre.
At first he gave the thickening multitude,
That met and passed him in their noisy speed,
Like hounds intent upon the scent of blood,
For all the City was that day astir,
Tow'ard the huge Flavian Amphitheatre.
Yet soon his sole attention grew to scan
That edifice whose walls might rather seem
The masonry of Nature than of man,
In size and figure a Titanic dream,
That could whole worlds of lesser men absorb
Within the embrace of one enormous orb.
That edifice whose walls might rather seem
The masonry of Nature than of man,
In size and figure a Titanic dream,
That could whole worlds of lesser men absorb
Within the embrace of one enormous orb.
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The mighty tragedies of skill and strife,
That there in earnest death must ever close,
Exciting palates which no tastes of life
Could to a sense of such delight dispose,
Swept by his fancy with an hundred names,
The pomps and pageantries of Roman games.
That there in earnest death must ever close,
Exciting palates which no tastes of life
Could to a sense of such delight dispose,
Swept by his fancy with an hundred names,
The pomps and pageantries of Roman games.
Why should he not pass onward with that tide
Of passionate enchantment? why not share
The seeds of pleasure Nature spread so wide,
And gave the heart of men like common air?
Why should that be to him a shame and sin,
Which thousands of his fellows joy'd to win?
Of passionate enchantment? why not share
The seeds of pleasure Nature spread so wide,
And gave the heart of men like common air?
Why should that be to him a shame and sin,
Which thousands of his fellows joy'd to win?
But ere this thought could take perspicuous form,
His Will arose and fell'd it at a blow;
For he had felt that instinct's fever-storm
Lash his young blood to fury long ago,—
And in the Circus had consumed away
Of his best years how many' a wanton day!
His Will arose and fell'd it at a blow;
For he had felt that instinct's fever-storm
Lash his young blood to fury long ago,—
And in the Circus had consumed away
Of his best years how many' a wanton day!
Till the celestial guardian of his soul
Led him the great Augustin's voice to hear,
And soon that better influence o'er him stole,
A reverend master and companion dear,
From whom he learnt in his provincial home
Wisdom scarce utter'd in the schools of Rome:
Led him the great Augustin's voice to hear,
And soon that better influence o'er him stole,
A reverend master and companion dear,
From whom he learnt in his provincial home
Wisdom scarce utter'd in the schools of Rome:
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“How wide Humanity's potential range,—
From Earth's abysses to serenest Heaven,—
From the poor child of circumstance and change,
By every wind of passion tossed and driven,
To the established philosophic mind,
The type and model of the thing designed:
From Earth's abysses to serenest Heaven,—
From the poor child of circumstance and change,
By every wind of passion tossed and driven,
To the established philosophic mind,
The type and model of the thing designed:
“And how this work of works in each is wrought,
By no enthusiast leap to good from ill,
But by the vigorous government of thought,
The unrelaxing continence of will,—
Where little habits their invisible sway
Extend, like body's growth, from day to day.”
By no enthusiast leap to good from ill,
But by the vigorous government of thought,
The unrelaxing continence of will,—
Where little habits their invisible sway
Extend, like body's growth, from day to day.”
By meditations such as these sustained
He stoutly breasted that on-coming crowd,
Then, as in stupor, at one spot remained,
For thrice he heard his name repeated loud,
And close before him there beheld in truth
Three dearest comrades of his Afric youth.
He stoutly breasted that on-coming crowd,
Then, as in stupor, at one spot remained,
For thrice he heard his name repeated loud,
And close before him there beheld in truth
Three dearest comrades of his Afric youth.
O joy! to welcome in a stranger land
Our homeliest native look and native speech,
To feel that in one pressure of the hand
There is a world of sympathy for each;
And if old friendliness be there beside,
The meeting is of bridegroom and of bride.
Our homeliest native look and native speech,
To feel that in one pressure of the hand
There is a world of sympathy for each;
And if old friendliness be there beside,
The meeting is of bridegroom and of bride.
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What questions asked that waited not reply!
What mirthful comment on apparent change!
Till the three raised one gratulating cry,—
“Arrived just then! how fortunate,—how strange!
Arrived to see what they ne'er saw before,
The fight between the Daunian and the Moor.
What mirthful comment on apparent change!
Till the three raised one gratulating cry,—
“Arrived just then! how fortunate,—how strange!
Arrived to see what they ne'er saw before,
The fight between the Daunian and the Moor.
“One graceful-limbed and lofty as a palm,
The other moulded like his mountain-pine;
Each with his customed arms content and calm,
In his own nation each of princely line,—
Two natures separate as the sun and snow
Battling to death to make a Roman show!”—
The other moulded like his mountain-pine;
Each with his customed arms content and calm,
In his own nation each of princely line,—
Two natures separate as the sun and snow
Battling to death to make a Roman show!”—
—Alipius, with few words and earnest mien,
Answered, “That he long since had stood apart
From those ferocious pleasures, and would wean
Those whom he loved from them with all his heart,
Yet, as his counsel could have little power,
Where should they meet the morrow,—at what hour?”
Answered, “That he long since had stood apart
From those ferocious pleasures, and would wean
Those whom he loved from them with all his heart,
Yet, as his counsel could have little power,
Where should they meet the morrow,—at what hour?”
Their shafts of mockery from his virtuous head
Fell to the ground,—so, using ruder might,
Amid applauding bystanders, they said,
“They would divert him in his own despite,”
And bore him forward, while in fearless tone
He cried, “my mind and sight are still mine own.”
Fell to the ground,—so, using ruder might,
Amid applauding bystanders, they said,
“They would divert him in his own despite,”
And bore him forward, while in fearless tone
He cried, “my mind and sight are still mine own.”
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His body a mere dead-weight in their hands,
His angry eyes in proud endurance closed,
They placed him where spectators from all lands
In eager expectation sat disposed,
While in the distance still, before, behind,
The people gathering were as rushing wind:
His angry eyes in proud endurance closed,
They placed him where spectators from all lands
In eager expectation sat disposed,
While in the distance still, before, behind,
The people gathering were as rushing wind:
Which ever rising grew into a storm
Of acclamations, when, at either end,
The combatant displayed his perfect form,
Brandished his arms, rejoicing to expend
His life in fight at least,—at least reclaim
A warrior's privilege from a captive's shame.
Of acclamations, when, at either end,
The combatant displayed his perfect form,
Brandished his arms, rejoicing to expend
His life in fight at least,—at least reclaim
A warrior's privilege from a captive's shame.
As rose before Amphion's notes serene
The fated City of heroic guilt,
Alipius thus his soul and sense between
Imagination's strong defence up-built,
With soft memorial music, dreamy strains
Of youthful happinesses, loves, and pains.
The fated City of heroic guilt,
Alipius thus his soul and sense between
Imagination's strong defence up-built,
With soft memorial music, dreamy strains
Of youthful happinesses, loves, and pains.
His stony seat seems on the Libyan coast,—
Augustin on one side, and on the other
Monica, for herself beloved, yet most
By him regarded as Augustin's mother;
And from far off resounds the populous roar
As but the billows booming on the shore.
Augustin on one side, and on the other
Monica, for herself beloved, yet most
By him regarded as Augustin's mother;
And from far off resounds the populous roar
As but the billows booming on the shore.
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Never can he desert the truth he drew
From those all-honoured lips,—never can yield
To savage appetite, and fresh imbrue
That soul in filth to which had been revealed
The eternal purities that round it lie,
The Godhead of its birth and destiny.
From those all-honoured lips,—never can yield
To savage appetite, and fresh imbrue
That soul in filth to which had been revealed
The eternal purities that round it lie,
The Godhead of its birth and destiny.
—Now trumpets clanging forth the last command
Gave place to one tremendous pause of sound,
Silence like that of some rich-flowering land
With lava-torrents raging underground,
Scarce for one moment safe from such outbreak
As shall all nature to its centre shake.
Gave place to one tremendous pause of sound,
Silence like that of some rich-flowering land
With lava-torrents raging underground,
Scarce for one moment safe from such outbreak
As shall all nature to its centre shake.
And soon in truth it came;—the first sharp blows
Fell at long intervals as aimed with skill,
Then grew expressive of the passion-throes
That followed calm resolve and prudent will,—
Till wild ejaculations took their part
In the death-strife of hand and eye and heart.
Fell at long intervals as aimed with skill,
Then grew expressive of the passion-throes
That followed calm resolve and prudent will,—
Till wild ejaculations took their part
In the death-strife of hand and eye and heart.
“Habet,—Hoc habet,—Habet!”
What a cry!
As if the Circus were one mighty mouth
Invading the deep vale of quiet sky
With avalanche melted in the summer-drouth,—
Articulate tumult from old earth upborne,
Delight and ire and ecstasy and scorn!
As if the Circus were one mighty mouth
Invading the deep vale of quiet sky
With avalanche melted in the summer-drouth,—
Articulate tumult from old earth upborne,
Delight and ire and ecstasy and scorn!
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Sat then Alipius silent there alone,
With fast shut eyes and spirit far away?
Remained he there as stone upon the stone,
While the flushed conqueror asked the sign to slay
The stricken victim, who despairing dumb
Waited the sentence of the downward thumb?
With fast shut eyes and spirit far away?
Remained he there as stone upon the stone,
While the flushed conqueror asked the sign to slay
The stricken victim, who despairing dumb
Waited the sentence of the downward thumb?
The shock was too much for him—too, too strong
For that poor Reason and self-resting Pride;
And every evil fury that had long
Lain crouching in his breast leaped up and cried
“Yield, yield at once, and do as others do,
We are the Lords of all of them and you.”
For that poor Reason and self-resting Pride;
And every evil fury that had long
Lain crouching in his breast leaped up and cried
“Yield, yield at once, and do as others do,
We are the Lords of all of them and you.”
The Love of contest and the Lust of blood
Dwell in the depths of man's original heart,
And at mere shows and names of wise and good
Will not from their barbaric homes depart,
But half-sleep await their time, and then
Bound forth, like tigers from their jungle-den.
Dwell in the depths of man's original heart,
And at mere shows and names of wise and good
Will not from their barbaric homes depart,
But half-sleep await their time, and then
Bound forth, like tigers from their jungle-den.
And all the curious wicker-work of thought,
Of logical result and learnèd skill,
Of precepts with examples inter-wrought,
Of high ideals, and determinate will,—
The careful fabric of ten thousand hours,
Is crushed beneath the moment's brutal powers.
Of logical result and learnèd skill,
Of precepts with examples inter-wrought,
Of high ideals, and determinate will,—
The careful fabric of ten thousand hours,
Is crushed beneath the moment's brutal powers.
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Thus fell Alipius! He, so grave and mild,
Added the bloody sanction of his hand
To the swift slaughter of that brother-child
Of his own distant Mauritanian land,
Seeming content his very life to merge
In the confusion of that foaming surge.
Added the bloody sanction of his hand
To the swift slaughter of that brother-child
Of his own distant Mauritanian land,
Seeming content his very life to merge
In the confusion of that foaming surge.
The rage subsided; the deep sandy floor
Sucked the hot blood; the hook, like some vile prey,
Dragged off the noble body of the Moor;
The Victor, doomed to die some other day,
Enjoyed the plaudits purposelessly earned,—
And back Alipius to himself returned.
Sucked the hot blood; the hook, like some vile prey,
Dragged off the noble body of the Moor;
The Victor, doomed to die some other day,
Enjoyed the plaudits purposelessly earned,—
And back Alipius to himself returned.
There is a fearful waking unto woes,
When sleep arrests her charitable course,
Yet far more terrible the line that flows
From ebrious passion to supine remorse;
Then welcome death,—but that the sufferers feel
Wounds such as theirs no death is sure to heal!
When sleep arrests her charitable course,
Yet far more terrible the line that flows
From ebrious passion to supine remorse;
Then welcome death,—but that the sufferers feel
Wounds such as theirs no death is sure to heal!
But the demoniac power that well can use
Self-trust and Pride as instruments of ill,
Can such prostration to its ends abuse,
And poison from Humility distil:
“Why struggle more? Why strive, when strife is vain,
—An infant's muscles with a giant's chain?”
Self-trust and Pride as instruments of ill,
Can such prostration to its ends abuse,
And poison from Humility distil:
“Why struggle more? Why strive, when strife is vain,
—An infant's muscles with a giant's chain?”
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So in his own esteem debased, and glad
To take distraction whencesoe'er it came,
Though in his heart of hearts entirely sad,
Alipius lived to pleasure and to fame
Sometimes remindful of his youth's high vow,
Of hopes and aspirations, fables now.
To take distraction whencesoe'er it came,
Though in his heart of hearts entirely sad,
Alipius lived to pleasure and to fame
Sometimes remindful of his youth's high vow,
Of hopes and aspirations, fables now.
When came to Rome his sire of moral lore,
That Master, whom his love could ne'er forget,
He too a proud Philosopher no more,
He too his past reviewing with regret,
But preaching One, who can on man bestow
Truth to be wise and strength to keep him so.
That Master, whom his love could ne'er forget,
He too a proud Philosopher no more,
He too his past reviewing with regret,
But preaching One, who can on man bestow
Truth to be wise and strength to keep him so.
The secret of that strength the Christian sage
To his regained disciple there unsealed,
Giving his stagnant soul a war to wage
With weapons that at once were sword and shield;
And thenceforth ever down Tradition glide
Augustin and Alipius side by side
To his regained disciple there unsealed,
Giving his stagnant soul a war to wage
With weapons that at once were sword and shield;
And thenceforth ever down Tradition glide
Augustin and Alipius side by side
And in this strength years afterward arose
That aged priest Telemachus, who cast
His life among those brutalising shows,
And died a willing victim and the last,
Leaving that temple of colossal crime
In silent battle with almighty Time.
That aged priest Telemachus, who cast
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And died a willing victim and the last,
Leaving that temple of colossal crime
In silent battle with almighty Time.
They went together to Milan, where they were both baptised by St. Ambrose on Easter Eve, A.D. 387. Thence they returned to Africa, and lived in monastic community in their native town of Tagaste. Alipius afterwards removed to Hippo, and visited St. Jerome in Palestine: he was consecrated Bishop of Tagaste, A.D. 393: his festival is kept in the Roman Catholic Church on the 15th of August.
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THE DEPARTURE OF ST. PATRICK FROM SCOTLAND.
FROM HIS OWN “CONFESSIONS.”
Twice to your son already has the hand of God been shown,
Restoring him from alien bonds to be once more your own,
And now it is the self-same hand, dear kinsmen, that to-day
Shall take me for the third time from all I love away.
Restoring him from alien bonds to be once more your own,
And now it is the self-same hand, dear kinsmen, that to-day
Shall take me for the third time from all I love away.
While I look into your eyes, while I hold your hands in mine,
What force could tear me from you, if it were not all divine?
Has my love ever faltered? Have I ever doubted yours?
And think you I could yield me now to any earthly lures?
What force could tear me from you, if it were not all divine?
Has my love ever faltered? Have I ever doubted yours?
And think you I could yield me now to any earthly lures?
I go not to some balmier land in pleasant ease to rest,—
I go not to content the pride that swells a mortal breast,—
I go about a work my God has chosen me to do;
Surely the soul which is his child must be his servant too.
I go not to content the pride that swells a mortal breast,—
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Surely the soul which is his child must be his servant too.
I seek not the great City where our sacred father dwells,—
I seek not the blest Eremites within their sandy cells,—
I seek not the Redeemer's grave in distant Palestine,—
Another, shorter pilgrimage, a lonelier path is mine.
I seek not the blest Eremites within their sandy cells,—
I seek not the Redeemer's grave in distant Palestine,—
Another, shorter pilgrimage, a lonelier path is mine.
When sunset clears and opens out the breadth of western sky,
To those who in yon mountain isles protect their flocks on high
Loom the dark outlines of a land, whose nature and whose name
Some have by harsh experience learned, and all by evil fame.
To those who in yon mountain isles protect their flocks on high
Loom the dark outlines of a land, whose nature and whose name
Some have by harsh experience learned, and all by evil fame.
Oh, they are wild and wanton men, such as the best will be,
Who know no other gifts of God but to be bold and free,
Who never saw how states are bound in golden bonds of law,
Who never knew how strongest hearts are bent by holy awe.
Who know no other gifts of God but to be bold and free,
Who never saw how states are bound in golden bonds of law,
Who never knew how strongest hearts are bent by holy awe.
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When first into their pirate hands I fell, a very boy,
Skirting the shore from rock to rock in unsuspecting joy,
I had been taught to pray, and thus those slavish days were few,
A wondrous hazard brought me back to liberty and you.
Skirting the shore from rock to rock in unsuspecting joy,
I had been taught to pray, and thus those slavish days were few,
A wondrous hazard brought me back to liberty and you.
But when again they met me on the open ocean field,
And might of numbers pressed me round and forced my arm to yield,
I had become a man like them, a selfish man of pride,
I could have cursed the will of God for shame I had not died.
And might of numbers pressed me round and forced my arm to yield,
I had become a man like them, a selfish man of pride,
I could have cursed the will of God for shame I had not died.
And still this torment haunted me three weary years, until
That summer night,—among the sheep,—upon the seaward hill,
When God of his miraculous grace, of his own saving thought,
Came down upon my lonely heart and rested unbesought!
That summer night,—among the sheep,—upon the seaward hill,
When God of his miraculous grace, of his own saving thought,
Came down upon my lonely heart and rested unbesought!
That night of light! I cared not that the day-star glimmered soon,
For in my new-begotten soul it was already noon;
I knew before what Christ had done, but never felt till then
A shadow of the love for him that he had felt for men!
For in my new-begotten soul it was already noon;
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A shadow of the love for him that he had felt for men!
Strong faith was in me,—on the shore there lay a stranded boat,
I hasted down, I thrust it out, I felt it rock afloat;
With nervous arm and sturdy oar I sped my watery way,
The wind and tide were trusty guides,—one God had I and they.
I hasted down, I thrust it out, I felt it rock afloat;
With nervous arm and sturdy oar I sped my watery way,
The wind and tide were trusty guides,—one God had I and they.
As one from out the dead I stood among you free and whole,
My body Christ could well redeem, when he had saved my soul;
And perfect peace embraced the life that had been only pain,
For Love was shed upon my head from everthing, like rain.
My body Christ could well redeem, when he had saved my soul;
And perfect peace embraced the life that had been only pain,
For Love was shed upon my head from everthing, like rain.
Then on so sweetly flowed the time, I almost thought to sail
Even to the shores of Paradise in that unwavering gale,
When something rose and nightly stood between me and my rest,
Most like some one, beside myself, reflecting in my breast.
Even to the shores of Paradise in that unwavering gale,
When something rose and nightly stood between me and my rest,
Most like some one, beside myself, reflecting in my breast.
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I cannot put it into words, I only know it came,
A sense of self-abasing weight, intolerable shame,
“That I should be so vile that not one tittle could be paid
Of that enormous debt which Christ upon my sould had laid!”
A sense of self-abasing weight, intolerable shame,
“That I should be so vile that not one tittle could be paid
Of that enormous debt which Christ upon my sould had laid!”
This yielded to another mood, strange objects gathered near,
Phantoms that entered not by eye, and voices not by ear,
The land of my injurious thrall a gracious aspect wore,
I yearned the most toward the forms I hated most before.
Phantoms that entered not by eye, and voices not by ear,
The land of my injurious thrall a gracious aspect wore,
I yearned the most toward the forms I hated most before.
I seemed again upon that hill, as on that blissful night,
Encompassed with celestial air and deep retiring light,
But sight and thought were fettered down, where glimmering lay below
A plain of gasping, struggling, men in every shape of woe.
Encompassed with celestial air and deep retiring light,
But sight and thought were fettered down, where glimmering lay below
A plain of gasping, struggling, men in every shape of woe.
Faint solemn whispers gathered round, “Christ suffered to redeem,
Not you alone, but such as these, from this their savage dream,—
Lo, here are souls enough for you to bring to him, and say,
These are the earnest of the debt I am too poor to pay.”
Not you alone, but such as these, from this their savage dream,—
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These are the earnest of the debt I am too poor to pay.”
A cloud of children freshly born, innumerable bands,
Passed by me with imploring eyes and little lifted hands,
And all the Nature, I believed so blank and waste and dumb,
Became instinct with life and love, and echoed clearly “Come!”
Passed by me with imploring eyes and little lifted hands,
And all the Nature, I believed so blank and waste and dumb,
Became instinct with life and love, and echoed clearly “Come!”
“Amen!” said I; with eager steps a rude descent I tried,
And all the glory followed me like an on-coming tide,
With trails of light about my feet I crossed the darkling wild,
And, as I touched each sufferer's hand, he rose and gently smiled.
And all the glory followed me like an on-coming tide,
With trails of light about my feet I crossed the darkling wild,
And, as I touched each sufferer's hand, he rose and gently smiled.
Thus night on night the vision came, and left me not alone,
Until I swore that in that land should Christ be preached and known,
And then at once strange coolness passed on my long fever'd brow,
As from the flutter of light wings: I feel, I feel it now!
Until I swore that in that land should Christ be preached and known,
And then at once strange coolness passed on my long fever'd brow,
As from the flutter of light wings: I feel, I feel it now!
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And from that moment unto this, this last and proving one,
I have been calm and light at heart as if the deed were done;
I never thought how hard it was our earthly loves to lay
Upon the altar of the Lord, and watch them melt away!
I have been calm and light at heart as if the deed were done;
I never thought how hard it was our earthly loves to lay
Upon the altar of the Lord, and watch them melt away!
Speak, friends! speak what you will,—but change those asking looks forlorn,
—Sustain me with reproachful words,—uphold me with your scorn:
—I know God's heart is in me, but my human bosom fears
Those drops that pierce it as they fall, those full and silent tears.
—Sustain me with reproachful words,—uphold me with your scorn:
—I know God's heart is in me, but my human bosom fears
Those drops that pierce it as they fall, those full and silent tears.
These comrades of my earliest youth have pledged their pious care
To bear me to the fronting coast, and gently leave me there:
It may be I shall fall at once, with little toil or need,—
Heaven often takes the simple will for the most perfect deed:
To bear me to the fronting coast, and gently leave me there:
It may be I shall fall at once, with little toil or need,—
Heaven often takes the simple will for the most perfect deed:
Or, it may be that from that hour beneath my hand may spring
A line of glories unachieved by hero, sage, or king;—
That Christ may glorify himself in this ignoble name.
And shadow forth my endless life in my enduring fame.
A line of glories unachieved by hero, sage, or king;—
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And shadow forth my endless life in my enduring fame.
—All as He wills! Now bless me, mother,—your cheek is almost dry:—
Farewell, kind brothers!—only pray ye may be blest as I:
Smile on me, sisters!—when death comes near each of you, still smile,
And we shall meet again somewhere, within a little while!
Farewell, kind brothers!—only pray ye may be blest as I:
Smile on me, sisters!—when death comes near each of you, still smile,
And we shall meet again somewhere, within a little while!
259
BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN.
A BRETON BALLAD.
I.
'Twas on the field of Navarrète,
When Trestamare had sought
From English arms a safe retreat,
Du Guesclin stood and fought:
And to the brave Black Prince alone
He yielded up his sword;—
So we must sing in mournful tone,
Until it be restored;—
When Trestamare had sought
From English arms a safe retreat,
Du Guesclin stood and fought:
And to the brave Black Prince alone
He yielded up his sword;—
So we must sing in mournful tone,
Until it be restored;—
CHORUS.
Spin, spin, maidens of Brittany,And let not your Litany
Come to an end,
Before you have prayed
The Virgin to aid
Bertrand du Guesclin, our Hero and Friend.
II.
The Black Prince is a gentle knight;
And bade Du Guesclin name
What ransom would be fit and right
For his renown and fame;
“A question hard,”—says he, “yet since
Hard Fortune on me frowns,
I could not tell you less, good Prince,
Than twenty thousand crowns.”
And bade Du Guesclin name
260
For his renown and fame;
“A question hard,”—says he, “yet since
Hard Fortune on me frowns,
I could not tell you less, good Prince,
Than twenty thousand crowns.”
CHORUS.
Spin, spin, &c.III.
“Where find you all that gold, Sir Knight?
I would not have you end
Your days in sloth and undelight
Away from home and friend:”
“O Prince of generous heart and just!
Let all your fears be stayed;
For my twenty thousand crowns I trust
To every Breton maid.”
I would not have you end
Your days in sloth and undelight
Away from home and friend:”
“O Prince of generous heart and just!
Let all your fears be stayed;
For my twenty thousand crowns I trust
To every Breton maid.”
CHORUS.
Spin, spin, &c.IV.
And he is not deceived, for we
Will never let him pine
In stranger towers beyond the sea,
Like a jewel in the mine!
No work but this shall be begun,—
We will not rest or dream,
Till twenty thousand crowns are spun
Du Guesclin to redeem.
Will never let him pine
In stranger towers beyond the sea,
Like a jewel in the mine!
261
We will not rest or dream,
Till twenty thousand crowns are spun
Du Guesclin to redeem.
CHORUS.
Spin, spin, &c.V.
The Bride shall grudge the marriage morn,
And feel her joy a crime;
The mother shall wean her eldest-born
A month before its time;
No festal day shall idle by,
No hour uncounted stand,
The grandame in her bed shall die
With the spindle in her hand:
And feel her joy a crime;
The mother shall wean her eldest-born
A month before its time;
No festal day shall idle by,
No hour uncounted stand,
The grandame in her bed shall die
With the spindle in her hand:
CHORUS.
Spin, spin, women of Brittany,Nor let your Litany
Come to an end,
Before you have prayed
The Virgin to aid
Bertrand du Guesclin, our Hero and Friend.
262
BRETON FAITH.
A summer nightfall on a summer sea!
From sandy ridges wildering o'er the deep,
The wind's familiar under-song recalls
The fishermen to duty, though that eve
To unversed eyes their embarkation seem'd
Rather a work of festival than toil.
Women were there in gay precise attire,
Girls at their skirts, and boys before at play,
And many an infant sweet asleep on arm.
Emulous which the first shall set his boat
Free-floating from the clutches of deep sand,
Men lean and strive, till one and two and all,
Poised in descent, receive the leaping crews;
And following close where leads the ripply way
One craft of heavier freight and larger sail,
Serene and silent as the horizon moon,
That fair flotilla seeks the open main.
From sandy ridges wildering o'er the deep,
The wind's familiar under-song recalls
The fishermen to duty, though that eve
To unversed eyes their embarkation seem'd
Rather a work of festival than toil.
Women were there in gay precise attire,
Girls at their skirts, and boys before at play,
And many an infant sweet asleep on arm.
Emulous which the first shall set his boat
Free-floating from the clutches of deep sand,
Men lean and strive, till one and two and all,
Poised in descent, receive the leaping crews;
And following close where leads the ripply way
One craft of heavier freight and larger sail,
Serene and silent as the horizon moon,
That fair flotilla seeks the open main.
Some little room of waters sever'd now
Those seeming sons of peaceful industry
From their diseased and desperate fatherland,
That France, where reign'd and raged for many a year
Madness, (the fearful reservoir of strength
Which God will open, at his own high will,
In men and nations,) so that very babes
Would tear the mother-breast of ancient Faith
To suck the bloody milk of Liberty.
The Christian name was outcast there and then;
For Power and Passion were the people's gods,
And every one that worshipped not must die.
Those seeming sons of peaceful industry
From their diseased and desperate fatherland,
263
Madness, (the fearful reservoir of strength
Which God will open, at his own high will,
In men and nations,) so that very babes
Would tear the mother-breast of ancient Faith
To suck the bloody milk of Liberty.
The Christian name was outcast there and then;
For Power and Passion were the people's gods,
And every one that worshipped not must die.
The shore extended one thin glittering line,
When, at the watched-for tinkling of a bell,
Fast fall the sails, and round their captain-boat,
Which rested steady as the waters would,
Each other bent its own obedient prow,
Making imperfect rays about a sun:
Nor paused they long before great change of form
Came o'er that centre. From the uncouth deck
Rose a tall altar, 'broider'd curiously,
With clear-outcarven crucifix i' the midst
Of tapers, lambent in the gentle gale:
Before it stood the reverend-robed Priest,
Late a rude fisherman,—an awful head,
Veteran in griefs and dangers more than years,
Perchance not finely moulded, but as seen
There upright to the illuminating moon,
With silver halo rather than white hair,
Beauteous exceedingly!
So seem'd to feel
The tender eyes then fixed on him, while slow
And quiet, as when he perform'd the rites
Of his old village church on Sabbath morn,
He set all things in order and began
That Litany, which, gathering voice on voice,
Made vocal with the names of God and Christ,
And the communion of the blest in heaven,
Space that had lain long silent of all sound
Save the chance greetings of some parting ships,
And elemental utterances confused.
When, at the watched-for tinkling of a bell,
Fast fall the sails, and round their captain-boat,
Which rested steady as the waters would,
Each other bent its own obedient prow,
Making imperfect rays about a sun:
Nor paused they long before great change of form
Came o'er that centre. From the uncouth deck
Rose a tall altar, 'broider'd curiously,
With clear-outcarven crucifix i' the midst
Of tapers, lambent in the gentle gale:
Before it stood the reverend-robed Priest,
Late a rude fisherman,—an awful head,
Veteran in griefs and dangers more than years,
Perchance not finely moulded, but as seen
There upright to the illuminating moon,
With silver halo rather than white hair,
Beauteous exceedingly!
264
The tender eyes then fixed on him, while slow
And quiet, as when he perform'd the rites
Of his old village church on Sabbath morn,
He set all things in order and began
That Litany, which, gathering voice on voice,
Made vocal with the names of God and Christ,
And the communion of the blest in heaven,
Space that had lain long silent of all sound
Save the chance greetings of some parting ships,
And elemental utterances confused.
Oh! never in high Roman basilic,
Prime dome of Art, or elder Lateran,
Mother of churches! never at the shrine
That sprang the freshest from pure martyr-blood,
Or held within its clasp a nation's heart
By San Iago or Saint Denys blest,—
Never in that least earthly place of earth,
The Tomb where Death himself lay down and died,
The Temple of Man's new Jerusalem,—
Descended effluence more indeed divine,
More total energy of Faith and Hope,
And Charity for wrongs unspeakable,
Than on that humble scantling of the flock,
That midnight congregation of the Sea!
Prime dome of Art, or elder Lateran,
Mother of churches! never at the shrine
That sprang the freshest from pure martyr-blood,
Or held within its clasp a nation's heart
By San Iago or Saint Denys blest,—
Never in that least earthly place of earth,
The Tomb where Death himself lay down and died,
The Temple of Man's new Jerusalem,—
Descended effluence more indeed divine,
More total energy of Faith and Hope,
And Charity for wrongs unspeakable,
Than on that humble scantling of the flock,
That midnight congregation of the Sea!
Rise not, good Sun! hold back unwelcome Light,
That shall but veil the nations in new crime!
Or hide thy coming; yet some little while
Prolong the stupor of exhausted sin,
Nor with thy tainted rays disturb this peace,
These hard-won fragmentary hours of peace,
That soon must sink before the warring world!
265
Or hide thy coming; yet some little while
Prolong the stupor of exhausted sin,
Nor with thy tainted rays disturb this peace,
These hard-won fragmentary hours of peace,
That soon must sink before the warring world!
He hears them not; beneath his splendour fades
That darkness luminous of Love and Joy;
Quickly its aspect of base daily life
The little fleet recovering plied in haste
Its usual labour, lest suspicious foes
Might catch some secret in those empty nets;
But every one there toiling in his heart
Was liken'd to those other Fishermen,
Who on their inland waters saw the form
Of Jesus toward them walking, firm and free.
That darkness luminous of Love and Joy;
Quickly its aspect of base daily life
The little fleet recovering plied in haste
Its usual labour, lest suspicious foes
Might catch some secret in those empty nets;
But every one there toiling in his heart
Was liken'd to those other Fishermen,
Who on their inland waters saw the form
Of Jesus toward them walking, firm and free.
One moment yet, ere the religious Muse
Fold up these earnest memories in her breast,
Nor leave unutter'd that one Breton name
Which is itself a History—Quiberon!
Was it not heinous? was it not a shame
Which goes beyond its actors, that those men,
Simply adventuring to redeem their own—
Their ravished homes, and shrines, and fathers' graves,
Meeting that rampant and adulterous power
On its own level of brute force, that they,
Crushed by sheer numbers, should be made exempt
From each humane and generous privilege,
With which the civil use of later times
Has smooth'd the bristling fierceness of old war,
And perish armless,—one by one laid low
By the cold sanction'd executioner!
Fold up these earnest memories in her breast,
Nor leave unutter'd that one Breton name
Which is itself a History—Quiberon!
Was it not heinous? was it not a shame
Which goes beyond its actors, that those men,
Simply adventuring to redeem their own—
Their ravished homes, and shrines, and fathers' graves,
Meeting that rampant and adulterous power
266
Crushed by sheer numbers, should be made exempt
From each humane and generous privilege,
With which the civil use of later times
Has smooth'd the bristling fierceness of old war,
And perish armless,—one by one laid low
By the cold sanction'd executioner!
Nor this alone; for fervid love may say,
That death to them, beneath the foulest hood,
Would wear an aureole crown; and martyr-palms
Have grown as freely from dry felon dust,
As e'er from field enriched with fame and song,
But when they asked the only boon brave men
Could from inclement conquerors humbly pray—
To die as men, and not fall blankly down
Into steep death like butcher'd animals,
But to receive from consecrated hands
Those seals and sureties which the Christian soul
Demands as covenants of eternal bliss,—
They were encounter'd by contemptuous hate,
And mockery, bitter as the crown of thorns.
That death to them, beneath the foulest hood,
Would wear an aureole crown; and martyr-palms
Have grown as freely from dry felon dust,
As e'er from field enriched with fame and song,
But when they asked the only boon brave men
Could from inclement conquerors humbly pray—
To die as men, and not fall blankly down
Into steep death like butcher'd animals,
But to receive from consecrated hands
Those seals and sureties which the Christian soul
Demands as covenants of eternal bliss,—
They were encounter'd by contemptuous hate,
And mockery, bitter as the crown of thorns.
Thus passed that night, their farewell night to earth,
Grave, even sad,—that should have been so full
Of faith nigh realised, of young and old
Met hand in hand, indifferent of all time,
On the bright shores of immortality!
Till 'mid the throng about their prison-door,
In the grey dawn, a rustic voice conveyed
Some broken message to a captive's ear,
Low, and by cruel gaolers unperceived;
Which whisper, flitting fast from man to man
Was like a current of electric joy,
Awakening smiles, and radiant upward looks,
And interchange of symbols spiritual,
Leaving unearthly peace.
Grave, even sad,—that should have been so full
Of faith nigh realised, of young and old
Met hand in hand, indifferent of all time,
On the bright shores of immortality!
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In the grey dawn, a rustic voice conveyed
Some broken message to a captive's ear,
Low, and by cruel gaolers unperceived;
Which whisper, flitting fast from man to man
Was like a current of electric joy,
Awakening smiles, and radiant upward looks,
And interchange of symbols spiritual,
Leaving unearthly peace.
So when soon came
The hour of doom, and through the palsied crowd
Passed the long file without a word or sound,
The image, gait, and bearing of each man,
In those his bonds, in that his sorry dress,
Defiled with dust and blood, perchance his own,
A squalid shape of famine and unrest,
Were that of some full-sail'd, magnificent ship,
That takes the whole expanse of sea and air
For its own service, dignifying both
As accessories of its single pride.
The hour of doom, and through the palsied crowd
Passed the long file without a word or sound,
The image, gait, and bearing of each man,
In those his bonds, in that his sorry dress,
Defiled with dust and blood, perchance his own,
A squalid shape of famine and unrest,
Were that of some full-sail'd, magnificent ship,
That takes the whole expanse of sea and air
For its own service, dignifying both
As accessories of its single pride.
To read the sense and secret of this change,
Look where beside the winding path that leads
These noble warriors to ignoble death,
Rises a knoll of white, grass-tufted, sand,
Upon whose top, against the brightening sky,
Stands a mean peasant, tending with one hand
A heifer browsing on that scanty food.
To the slow-moving line below he turns
An indistinct, almost incurious, gaze,
While with a long right arm upraised in air
He makes strange gestures, source of ribald mirth
To some, but unregarded by the most.
—Yet could a mortal vision penetrate
Each motion of that scene, it might perceive
How every prisoner, filing by that spot,
Bows his bold head, and walks with lighter steps
Onward to rest but once and move no more:
For in that peasant stands the yearned-for Priest,
Perilling life by this last act of love,
And in those gestures are the absolving signs,
Which send the heroes to their morning graves
Happy as parents' kisses duly speed
Day-weary children to their careless beds.
Look where beside the winding path that leads
These noble warriors to ignoble death,
Rises a knoll of white, grass-tufted, sand,
Upon whose top, against the brightening sky,
Stands a mean peasant, tending with one hand
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To the slow-moving line below he turns
An indistinct, almost incurious, gaze,
While with a long right arm upraised in air
He makes strange gestures, source of ribald mirth
To some, but unregarded by the most.
—Yet could a mortal vision penetrate
Each motion of that scene, it might perceive
How every prisoner, filing by that spot,
Bows his bold head, and walks with lighter steps
Onward to rest but once and move no more:
For in that peasant stands the yearned-for Priest,
Perilling life by this last act of love,
And in those gestures are the absolving signs,
Which send the heroes to their morning graves
Happy as parents' kisses duly speed
Day-weary children to their careless beds.
Such are memorials, and a hundred more,
Which, by the pious traveller haply caught,
Falling from lowly lips and lofty hearts,
Regenerate outward nature, and adorn
With blossoms brighter than the Orient rose,
And verdure fresher than an English spring,
The dull sand-hillocks of the Morbihan.
Which, by the pious traveller haply caught,
Falling from lowly lips and lofty hearts,
Regenerate outward nature, and adorn
With blossoms brighter than the Orient rose,
And verdure fresher than an English spring,
The dull sand-hillocks of the Morbihan.
269
THE DEATH OF SARSFIELD.
When Ireland's cities, one by one, beneath the Orange brand,
Fell overawed or overpowered and lost their noble land,
Still Limerick, with her own strong arm and Sarsfield's leading will,
Wasted the conqueror's gathered force and foiled his ready skill.
Fell overawed or overpowered and lost their noble land,
Still Limerick, with her own strong arm and Sarsfield's leading will,
Wasted the conqueror's gathered force and foiled his ready skill.
Yet vain the strife when all was gone save honour and despair,
When in three realms King James's flag was floating only there:
Thus came the time when England's fleet three thousand warriors bore,
Willing, yet sorrowing, banished hearts, to yon more friendly shore.
When in three realms King James's flag was floating only there:
Thus came the time when England's fleet three thousand warriors bore,
Willing, yet sorrowing, banished hearts, to yon more friendly shore.
There Sarsfield, now Earl Lucan named, devoted faith and sword
To Him who for his exiled land had spread the royal board;
Without a country or a king he knew no better law,
Than serve the Grand Monarque, the foe of England and Nassau!
To Him who for his exiled land had spread the royal board;
270
Than serve the Grand Monarque, the foe of England and Nassau!
Thus on the Neckar's bristling banks and by the blood-bought Rhine,
Earl Lucan and his famed brigade would lead the gallant line;
Though often came the grievous thought to close a well-won day,
That others fought for fatherland,—for gold and glory they!
Earl Lucan and his famed brigade would lead the gallant line;
Though often came the grievous thought to close a well-won day,
That others fought for fatherland,—for gold and glory they!
Until before some sturdy fort that checked the Gallic pride,
His comrades from the raining bolts one moment bent aside;
And he, while rallying them to show “how glad they were to meet
Those little friends they knew so well,” —fell stricken at their feet!
His comrades from the raining bolts one moment bent aside;
And he, while rallying them to show “how glad they were to meet
Those little friends they knew so well,” —fell stricken at their feet!
The blood outspouting from his breast, they gently raised him up,
With hollow hand he caught the stream and filled the living cup,
Then slowly poured it on the ground, and, heavenward gazing, cried,
“Oh God, that this were only shed for Ireland!”—and so died.
With hollow hand he caught the stream and filled the living cup,
271
“Oh God, that this were only shed for Ireland!”—and so died.
Alas! we cannot even die for what we love the best;
On things we feel are little worth we lavish toil and rest,
While all, on which the hope of youth and faith of manhood beamed,
Is doomed to perish by our love and sorrow unredeemed.
On things we feel are little worth we lavish toil and rest,
While all, on which the hope of youth and faith of manhood beamed,
Is doomed to perish by our love and sorrow unredeemed.
272
PRINCE EMILIUS OF HESSEN-DARMSTADT.
From Hessen-Darmstadt every step to Moskwa's blazing banks
Was Prince Emilius found in fight before the foremost ranks;
And when upon the icy waste that host was backward cast,
On Beresina's bloody bridge his banner waved the last.
Was Prince Emilius found in fight before the foremost ranks;
And when upon the icy waste that host was backward cast,
On Beresina's bloody bridge his banner waved the last.
His valour shed victorious grace on all that dread retreat,
That path across the wildering snow, athwart the blinding sleet;
And every follower of his sword could all endure and dare,
Becoming warriors strong in hope or stronger in despair.
That path across the wildering snow, athwart the blinding sleet;
And every follower of his sword could all endure and dare,
Becoming warriors strong in hope or stronger in despair.
Now, day and dark, along the storm the demon Cossacks sweep,
The hungriest must not look for food, the weariest must not sleep;
No rest, but death, for horse or man, whichever first shall tire;—
They see the flames destroy but ne'er may feel the saving fire.
The hungriest must not look for food, the weariest must not sleep;
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They see the flames destroy but ne'er may feel the saving fire.
Thus never closed the bitter night nor rose the savage morn,
But from that gallant company some noble part was shorn,
And, sick at heart, the Prince resolved to keep his purposed way,
With stedfast forward looks, nor count the losses of the day.
But from that gallant company some noble part was shorn,
And, sick at heart, the Prince resolved to keep his purposed way,
With stedfast forward looks, nor count the losses of the day.
At length beside a black-burnt hut, an island of the snow,—
Each head in frigid stupor bent toward the saddlebow,—
They paused, and of that sturdy troop, that thousand banded men,
At one unmeditated glance he numbered only ten!
Each head in frigid stupor bent toward the saddlebow,—
They paused, and of that sturdy troop, that thousand banded men,
At one unmeditated glance he numbered only ten!
Of all that high triumphant life that left his German home,
Of all those hearts that beat beloved or looked for love to come,
This piteous remnant hardly saved his spirit overcame,
While memory raised each friendly face and called each ancient name.
Of all those hearts that beat beloved or looked for love to come,
274
While memory raised each friendly face and called each ancient name.
Then were his words serene and firm—“Dear brothers it is best
That here, with perfect trust in Heaven, we give our bodies rest;
If we have borne, like faithful men, our part of toil and pain,
Where'er we wake, for Christ's good sake, we shall not sleep in vain.”
That here, with perfect trust in Heaven, we give our bodies rest;
If we have borne, like faithful men, our part of toil and pain,
Where'er we wake, for Christ's good sake, we shall not sleep in vain.”
Some murmured, others looked, assent, they had no heart to speak;
Dumb hands were pressed, the pallid lip approached the callous cheek;
They laid them side by side; and death to him at least did seem
To come attired in mazy robe of variegated dream.
Dumb hands were pressed, the pallid lip approached the callous cheek;
They laid them side by side; and death to him at least did seem
To come attired in mazy robe of variegated dream.
Once more he floated on the breast of old familiar Rhine,
His mother's and one other smile above him seemed to shine;
A blessèd dew of healing fell on every aching limb,
Till the stream broadened and the air thickened, and all was dim.
His mother's and one other smile above him seemed to shine;
A blessèd dew of healing fell on every aching limb,
Till the stream broadened and the air thickened, and all was dim.
275
Nature has bent to other laws, if that tremendous night
Passed o'er his frame exposed and worn and left no deadly blight;
Then wonder not that when refreshed and warm he woke at last,
There lay a boundless gulf of thought between him and the past.
Passed o'er his frame exposed and worn and left no deadly blight;
Then wonder not that when refreshed and warm he woke at last,
There lay a boundless gulf of thought between him and the past.
Soon raising his astonished head he found himself alone,
Sheltered beneath a genial heap of vestments not his own;
The light increased, the solemn truth revealing more and more,—
His soldiers' corses self-despoiled closed up the narrow door.
Sheltered beneath a genial heap of vestments not his own;
The light increased, the solemn truth revealing more and more,—
His soldiers' corses self-despoiled closed up the narrow door.
That very hour, fulfilling good, miraculous succour came,
And Prince Emilius lived to give this worthy deed to fame.
O brave fidelity in death! O strength of loving will!
These are the holy balsam-drops that woful wars distil.
And Prince Emilius lived to give this worthy deed to fame.
O brave fidelity in death! O strength of loving will!
These are the holy balsam-drops that woful wars distil.
276
THE TRAGEDY OF THE LAC DE GAUBE IN THE PYRENEES.
The marriage blessing on their brows,
Across the Channel seas
And lands of gay Garonne, they reach
The pleasant Pyrenees:—
He into boyhood born again,
A son of joy and life,—
And she a happy English girl,
A happier English wife.
Across the Channel seas
And lands of gay Garonne, they reach
The pleasant Pyrenees:—
He into boyhood born again,
A son of joy and life,—
And she a happy English girl,
A happier English wife.
They loiter not where Argelés,
The chesnut-crested plain,
Unfolds its robe of green and gold
In pasture, grape, and grain;
But on and up, where Nature's heart
Beats strong amid the hills,
They pause, contented with the wealth
That either bosom fills.
The chesnut-crested plain,
Unfolds its robe of green and gold
In pasture, grape, and grain;
But on and up, where Nature's heart
Beats strong amid the hills,
They pause, contented with the wealth
That either bosom fills.
There is a Lake, a small round Lake,
High on the mountain's breast,
The child of rains and melted snows,
The torrent's summer rest,—
A mirror where the veteran rocks
May glass their peaks and scars,
A nether sky where breezes break
The sunlight into stars.
High on the mountain's breast,
The child of rains and melted snows,
The torrent's summer rest,—
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May glass their peaks and scars,
A nether sky where breezes break
The sunlight into stars.
Oh! gaily shone that little lake,
And Nature, sternly fair,
Put on a sparkling countenance
To greet that merry pair;
How light from stone to stone they leapt,
How trippingly they ran;
To scale the rock and gain the marge
Was all a moment's span!
And Nature, sternly fair,
Put on a sparkling countenance
To greet that merry pair;
How light from stone to stone they leapt,
How trippingly they ran;
To scale the rock and gain the marge
Was all a moment's span!
“See, dearest, this primæval boat,
So quaint, and rough, I deem
Just such an one did Charon ply
Across the Stygian stream:
Step in,—I will your Charon be,
And you a Spirit bold,—
I was a famous rower once
In college days of old.
So quaint, and rough, I deem
Just such an one did Charon ply
Across the Stygian stream:
Step in,—I will your Charon be,
And you a Spirit bold,—
I was a famous rower once
In college days of old.
“The clumsy oar! the laggard boat!
How slow we move along,—
The work is harder than I thought,—
A song, my love, a song!”
Then, standing up, she carolled out
So blithe and sweet a strain
That the long-silent cliffs were glad
To peal it back again.
How slow we move along,—
The work is harder than I thought,—
A song, my love, a song!”
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So blithe and sweet a strain
That the long-silent cliffs were glad
To peal it back again.
He, tranced in joy, the oar laid down,
And rose in careless pride,
And swayed in cadence to the song
The boat from side to side:
Then clasping hand in loving hand,
They danced a childish round,
And felt as safe in that mid-lake
As on the firmest ground.
And rose in careless pride,
And swayed in cadence to the song
The boat from side to side:
Then clasping hand in loving hand,
They danced a childish round,
And felt as safe in that mid-lake
As on the firmest ground.
One poise too much!—He headlong fell,—
She, stretching out to save
A feeble arm was borne adown
Within that glittering grave:—
One moment, and the gush went forth
Of music-mingled laughter,—
The struggling splash and deathly shriek
Were there the instant after.
She, stretching out to save
A feeble arm was borne adown
Within that glittering grave:—
One moment, and the gush went forth
Of music-mingled laughter,—
The struggling splash and deathly shriek
Were there the instant after.
Her weaker head above the flood,
That quick engulfed the strong,
Like some enchanted water-flower,
Waved pitifully long:—
Long seemed the low and lonely wail
Athwart the tide to fade;
Alas! that there were some to hear,
But never one to aid.
That quick engulfed the strong,
Like some enchanted water-flower,
Waved pitifully long:—
279
Athwart the tide to fade;
Alas! that there were some to hear,
But never one to aid.
Yet not alas! if Heaven revered
The freshly-spoken vow,
And willed that what was then made one
Should not be sundered now,—
If She was spared, by that sharp stroke,
Love's most unnatural doom,
The future lorn and unconsoled,
The unavoided tomb!
The freshly-spoken vow,
And willed that what was then made one
Should not be sundered now,—
If She was spared, by that sharp stroke,
Love's most unnatural doom,
The future lorn and unconsoled,
The unavoided tomb!
But weep, ye very Rocks! for those,
Who, on their native shore,
Await the letters of dear news,
That shall arrive no more;
One letter from a stranger hand,—
Few words are all the need;
And then the funeral of the heart,
The course of useless speed!
Who, on their native shore,
Await the letters of dear news,
That shall arrive no more;
One letter from a stranger hand,—
Few words are all the need;
And then the funeral of the heart,
The course of useless speed!
The presence of the cold dead wood,
The single mark and sign
Of her so loved and beautiful,
That handiwork divine!
The weary search for his fine form
That in the depth would linger,
And late success,—Oh! leave the ring
Upon that faithful finger.
The single mark and sign
Of her so loved and beautiful,
That handiwork divine!
280
That in the depth would linger,
And late success,—Oh! leave the ring
Upon that faithful finger.
And if in life there lie the seed
Of real enduring being;
If love and truth be not decreed
To perish unforeseeing;
This Youth, the seal of death has stamped,
Now time can wither never,
This Hope, that sorrow might have damped,
Is fresh and strong for ever.
Of real enduring being;
If love and truth be not decreed
To perish unforeseeing;
This Youth, the seal of death has stamped,
Now time can wither never,
This Hope, that sorrow might have damped,
Is fresh and strong for ever.
281
A SPANISH ANECDOTE.
It was a holy usage to record
Upon each refectory's side or end
The last mysterious Supper of our Lord,
That meanest appetites might upward tend.
Upon each refectory's side or end
The last mysterious Supper of our Lord,
That meanest appetites might upward tend.
Within the convent Palace of old Spain
Rich with the gifts and monuments of Kings,
Hung such a picture, said by some to reign
The sovereign glory of those wondrous things.
Rich with the gifts and monuments of Kings,
Hung such a picture, said by some to reign
The sovereign glory of those wondrous things.
A Painter of far fame,
in deep delight,
Dwelt on each beauty he so well discerned,
While, in low tones, a grey Geronomite
This answer to his ecstasy returned.
Dwelt on each beauty he so well discerned,
While, in low tones, a grey Geronomite
This answer to his ecstasy returned.
“Stranger! I have received my daily meal
In this good company, now threescore years,
And Thou, whoe'er Thou art, canst hardly feel
How Time these lifeless images endears.
In this good company, now threescore years,
And Thou, whoe'er Thou art, canst hardly feel
How Time these lifeless images endears.
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“Lifeless,—ah! no: both Faith and Art have given
That passing hour a life of endless rest,
And every soul who loves the food of Heaven
May to that table come a welcome guest:
That passing hour a life of endless rest,
And every soul who loves the food of Heaven
May to that table come a welcome guest:
“Lifeless,—ah! no: while in mine heart are stored
Sad memories of my brethren dead and gone,
Familiar places vacant round our board,
And still that silent Supper lasting on;
Sad memories of my brethren dead and gone,
Familiar places vacant round our board,
And still that silent Supper lasting on;
“While I review my youth,—what I was then,—
What I am now, and ye, beloved ones all!
It seems as if these were the living men,
And we the coloured shadows on the wall.”
What I am now, and ye, beloved ones all!
It seems as if these were the living men,
And we the coloured shadows on the wall.”
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |