 | Ballads and Sonnets |  |
52
BLIND MATTHEW.
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First appeared in the Quiver, and taken from that Magazine by kind permission of Messrs. Cassell, Petter, & Galpin.
Blind Matthew, coming down the village street
With slow, sure footsteps, pauses for a while,
And in the sunlight falling soft and sweet
His features brighten to a kindly smile.
With slow, sure footsteps, pauses for a while,
And in the sunlight falling soft and sweet
His features brighten to a kindly smile.
Upon his ear the sounds of toil and gain,
Clanking from wood-girt shop and smithy, steal,
And soft he whispers, “O my fellow-men,
I cannot see you, but I hear and feel.”
Clanking from wood-girt shop and smithy, steal,
And soft he whispers, “O my fellow-men,
I cannot see you, but I hear and feel.”
Then smiling still he slowly steps along,
And every kindly word and friendly tone,
Like the old fragment of an early song,
Wakes thoughts that make the past again his own.
And every kindly word and friendly tone,
Like the old fragment of an early song,
Wakes thoughts that make the past again his own.
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The children see him, and in merry band
Come shouting from their glad and healthy play,
“Here is blind Matthew, let us take his hand,
And see if he can guess our names to-day.”
Come shouting from their glad and healthy play,
“Here is blind Matthew, let us take his hand,
And see if he can guess our names to-day.”
Then all around him throng, and run, and press,
And lead him to his seat beneath the tree,
Each striving to be first, for his caress,
Or gain the favour'd seat upon his knee.
And lead him to his seat beneath the tree,
Each striving to be first, for his caress,
Or gain the favour'd seat upon his knee.
And Matthew, happy in their artless prate,
Cries, as he slips into their guileless plan,
“Now she who holds my right hand is sweet Kate,
And she who holds my left is little Anne.”
Cries, as he slips into their guileless plan,
“Now she who holds my right hand is sweet Kate,
And she who holds my left is little Anne.”
Then all the children leap with joyful cries,
Till one fair prattler nestling on his breast
Whispers, “Blind Matthew, tell us when your eyes
Shall have their light, and open like the rest?”
Till one fair prattler nestling on his breast
Whispers, “Blind Matthew, tell us when your eyes
Shall have their light, and open like the rest?”
Then closer still he draws the little one,
Laying his hand upon her golden head;
Then speaks with low, soft, sweet and solemn tone,
While all the rest range round with quiet tread.
Laying his hand upon her golden head;
Then speaks with low, soft, sweet and solemn tone,
While all the rest range round with quiet tread.
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He tells how Christ, in ages long ago,
Came down to earth in human shape and name,
Walking his pilgrimage, begirt with woe,
And laying healing hands on blind and lame.
Came down to earth in human shape and name,
Walking his pilgrimage, begirt with woe,
And laying healing hands on blind and lame.
Then of blind Bartimeus, the beggar, he
Who by the wayside sat, and cried in awe,
“Jesus, thou Son of David, look on me;”
And Jesus look'd and touch'd him, and he saw.
Who by the wayside sat, and cried in awe,
“Jesus, thou Son of David, look on me;”
And Jesus look'd and touch'd him, and he saw.
“But not on earth these eyes of mine shall fill
With light,” thus Matthew ends, “for in this night
I must grope on with Christ to guide me still,
And He will lead me through the grave to light.
With light,” thus Matthew ends, “for in this night
I must grope on with Christ to guide me still,
And He will lead me through the grave to light.
“So when you miss old Matthew from the street,
And in the quiet of the churchyard lies
A new-made grave, to draw your timid feet,
Then will you know that Christ has touch'd my eyes.”
And in the quiet of the churchyard lies
A new-made grave, to draw your timid feet,
Then will you know that Christ has touch'd my eyes.”
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ADA.
Lying full-length upon the summer grass,
And by the murmur of a summer stream,
I heard the village bell, and turning round
To him who sat beside me with his feet
Touching the ripple of the brook, I said,
“Who sinks into the churchyard rest to-day?”
Then he, half lifting up his earnest face,
Paused for a little while, and then replied—
“Ada, whose beauty was a fairy thing,
But brighter now by Death, whose pencil tints
His marks with such sweet colours.”
And by the murmur of a summer stream,
I heard the village bell, and turning round
To him who sat beside me with his feet
Touching the ripple of the brook, I said,
“Who sinks into the churchyard rest to-day?”
Then he, half lifting up his earnest face,
Paused for a little while, and then replied—
“Ada, whose beauty was a fairy thing,
But brighter now by Death, whose pencil tints
His marks with such sweet colours.”
Then he sunk
Into that dreamy reverie which shuts
All thought from out its vision, and so thinks,
And thinks, and thinks, and yet thinks naught at all;
But I, half-answer'd, could but ill abide
His silentness, and so I question'd still:
“But who is Ada? you have never said;
And there you dream, and think, and all the while
The tolling of the bell within my ear,
And yet I know not unto whom it offers
Such sweet and stirless rest.”
Into that dreamy reverie which shuts
All thought from out its vision, and so thinks,
And thinks, and thinks, and yet thinks naught at all;
But I, half-answer'd, could but ill abide
His silentness, and so I question'd still:
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And there you dream, and think, and all the while
The tolling of the bell within my ear,
And yet I know not unto whom it offers
Such sweet and stirless rest.”
Then starting up
From all his fit of mute philosophy
He said, “Why, surely you have not forgot
Ada, who flash'd upon you like a star
Three months ago, when you were in the woods.
At your old rambles, and she knew it not,
But pass'd you in her beauty by, and you
Fell half in love with her and writ a song?”
From all his fit of mute philosophy
He said, “Why, surely you have not forgot
Ada, who flash'd upon you like a star
Three months ago, when you were in the woods.
At your old rambles, and she knew it not,
But pass'd you in her beauty by, and you
Fell half in love with her and writ a song?”
Then all at once came, like remember'd dreams,
The solitude around the woodland walk,
And all the fringing of the idle rhyme
(Now something better by the help of Death),
Which I had made in haste, and sung to him
A half-hour after. “Now, what better time
Than this,” I cried, “to sing that song again,
When she is passing from all mortal view
Into the shady quietness.” And he,
Catching the broader finish of the plan,
Said, “Let the song be sung, but make a pause
Between each stanza, that the bell may chime
Its echoes at the finish of each verse,
And let your poet's fancy shape the words”
So, with the humming idyll of the brook
As an accompaniment I sang the song:
The solitude around the woodland walk,
And all the fringing of the idle rhyme
(Now something better by the help of Death),
Which I had made in haste, and sung to him
A half-hour after. “Now, what better time
Than this,” I cried, “to sing that song again,
When she is passing from all mortal view
Into the shady quietness.” And he,
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Said, “Let the song be sung, but make a pause
Between each stanza, that the bell may chime
Its echoes at the finish of each verse,
And let your poet's fancy shape the words”
So, with the humming idyll of the brook
As an accompaniment I sang the song:
Ada came down by the path in the wood,
In the flush and the warmth of the day,
And the spirits that live in the solitude
(For there be such they say)
Came out from their haunts by tree and brook,
And wherever sunbeams play,
To gaze, as she pass'd like a bud on the lake—
A sweet Diana of earthly make—
In the clasp of the amorous day.
In the flush and the warmth of the day,
And the spirits that live in the solitude
(For there be such they say)
Came out from their haunts by tree and brook,
And wherever sunbeams play,
To gaze, as she pass'd like a bud on the lake—
A sweet Diana of earthly make—
In the clasp of the amorous day.
I ceased, and the sad bell took up the pause,
And sang an answer to its solemn chime:
And sang an answer to its solemn chime:
Ada walks no earthly path,
Other things are hers this hour
She has all an angel hath—
Glory and celestial power;
Nought may look on her but eyes
Purged from aught of mortal sight,
As she walks in balmy light
In the halls of Paradise.
So the dust may shrink, but she
Through the years, in the spheres,
Is one great type of immortality.
Other things are hers this hour
She has all an angel hath—
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Nought may look on her but eyes
Purged from aught of mortal sight,
As she walks in balmy light
In the halls of Paradise.
So the dust may shrink, but she
Through the years, in the spheres,
Is one great type of immortality.
So sang the bell, and when its echo died
I took my part in turn, and sang again:
I took my part in turn, and sang again:
I was out in the wood when she pass'd me by,
Half-hid that she could not see,
So a woman's wish was in her eye,
And a smile that made me, I know not why,
Guess and dream that she
Was far away in the golden hope
Of the coming time, and the novel scope
Of wifehood, and the prattling bliss
Of little lips, and this, and this
Was the light and colour within her eye,
And the smile as she pass'd me by.
Half-hid that she could not see,
So a woman's wish was in her eye,
And a smile that made me, I know not why,
Guess and dream that she
Was far away in the golden hope
Of the coming time, and the novel scope
Of wifehood, and the prattling bliss
Of little lips, and this, and this
Was the light and colour within her eye,
And the smile as she pass'd me by.
115
THE ENGINE.
“On fire-horses and wind-horses we career.”
—Carlyle.
—Carlyle.
Hurrah! for the mighty engine,
As he bounds along his track:
Hurrah, for the life that is in him,
And his breath so thick and black.
And hurrah for our fellows, who in their need
Could fashion a thing like him—
With a heart of fire, and a soul of steel,
And a Samson in every limb.
As he bounds along his track:
Hurrah, for the life that is in him,
And his breath so thick and black.
And hurrah for our fellows, who in their need
Could fashion a thing like him—
With a heart of fire, and a soul of steel,
And a Samson in every limb.
Ho! stand from that narrow path of his,
Lest his gleaming muscles smite,
Like the flaming sword the archangel drew
When Eden lay wrapp'd in night;
For he cares, not he, for a paltry life
As he rushes along to the goal,
It but costs him a shake of his iron limb,
And a shriek from his mighty soul.
Lest his gleaming muscles smite,
Like the flaming sword the archangel drew
When Eden lay wrapp'd in night;
For he cares, not he, for a paltry life
As he rushes along to the goal,
It but costs him a shake of his iron limb,
And a shriek from his mighty soul.
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Yet I glory to think that I help to keep
His footsteps a little in place,
And he thunders his thanks as he rushes on
In the lightning speed of his race;
And I think that he knows when he looks at me,
That, though made of clay as I stand,
I could make him as weak as a three hours' child
With a paltry twitch of my hand.
His footsteps a little in place,
And he thunders his thanks as he rushes on
In the lightning speed of his race;
And I think that he knows when he looks at me,
That, though made of clay as I stand,
I could make him as weak as a three hours' child
With a paltry twitch of my hand.
But I trust in his strength, and he trusts in me,
Though made but of brittle clay,
While he is bound up in the toughest of steel,
That tires not night or day;
But for ever flashes, and stretches, and strives,
While he shrieks in his smoky glee—
Hurrah for the puppets that, lost in their thoughts,
Could rub the lamp for me!
Though made but of brittle clay,
While he is bound up in the toughest of steel,
That tires not night or day;
But for ever flashes, and stretches, and strives,
While he shrieks in his smoky glee—
Hurrah for the puppets that, lost in their thoughts,
Could rub the lamp for me!
O that some Roman—when Rome was great—
Some quick, light Greek or two—
Could come from their graves for one half-hour
To see what my fellows can do;
I would take them with me on this world's wild steed,
And give him a little rein;
Then rush with his clanking hoofs through space,
With a wreath of smoke for his mane.
Some quick, light Greek or two—
Could come from their graves for one half-hour
To see what my fellows can do;
I would take them with me on this world's wild steed,
And give him a little rein;
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With a wreath of smoke for his mane.
I would say to them as they shook in their fear,
“Now what is your paltry book,
Or the Phidian touch of the chisel's point,
That can make the marble look,
To this monster of ours, that for ages lay
In the depths of the dreaming earth,
Till we brought him out with a cheer and a shout,
And hammer'd him into birth?”
“Now what is your paltry book,
Or the Phidian touch of the chisel's point,
That can make the marble look,
To this monster of ours, that for ages lay
In the depths of the dreaming earth,
Till we brought him out with a cheer and a shout,
And hammer'd him into birth?”
Clank, clank went the hammer in dusty shops,
The forge-flare went to the sky,
While still, like the monster of Frankenstein's,
This great wild being was nigh;
Till at length he rose up in his sinew and strength,
And our fellows could see with pride
Their grimy brows and their bare, slight arms,
In the depths of his glancing side.
The forge-flare went to the sky,
While still, like the monster of Frankenstein's,
This great wild being was nigh;
Till at length he rose up in his sinew and strength,
And our fellows could see with pride
Their grimy brows and their bare, slight arms,
In the depths of his glancing side.
Then there rose to their lips a dread question of fear—
“Who has in him the nerve to start
In this mass a soul that will shake and roll
A river of life to his heart?”
Then a pigmy by jerks went up his side,
Flung a globe of fire in his breast,
And cities leapt nearer by hundreds of miles
At the first wild snort from his chest.
“Who has in him the nerve to start
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A river of life to his heart?”
Then a pigmy by jerks went up his side,
Flung a globe of fire in his breast,
And cities leapt nearer by hundreds of miles
At the first wild snort from his chest.
Then away he rush'd to his mission of toil,
Wherever lay guiding rods,
And the work he could do at each throb of his pulse
Flung a blush on the face of the gods.
And Atlas himself, when he felt his weight,
Bent lower his quaking limb,
Then shook himself free from this earth, and left
The grand old planet to him.
Wherever lay guiding rods,
And the work he could do at each throb of his pulse
Flung a blush on the face of the gods.
And Atlas himself, when he felt his weight,
Bent lower his quaking limb,
Then shook himself free from this earth, and left
The grand old planet to him.
But well can he bear it, this Titan of toil,
When his pathway yields to his tread;
And the vigour within him flares up to its height,
Till the smoke of his breath grows red;
Then he shrieks in delight, as an athlete might,
When he reaches his wild desire,
And from head to heel, through each muscle of steel,
Runs the cunning and clasp of the fire.
When his pathway yields to his tread;
And the vigour within him flares up to its height,
Till the smoke of his breath grows red;
Then he shrieks in delight, as an athlete might,
When he reaches his wild desire,
And from head to heel, through each muscle of steel,
Runs the cunning and clasp of the fire.
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Or, see how he tosses aside the night,
And roars in his thirsty wrath,
While his one great eye gleams white with rage
At the darkness that muffles his path;
And lo! as the pent-up flame of his heart
Flashes out from behind its bars,
It gleams like a bolt flung from heaven, and rears
A ladder of light to the stars.
And roars in his thirsty wrath,
While his one great eye gleams white with rage
At the darkness that muffles his path;
And lo! as the pent-up flame of his heart
Flashes out from behind its bars,
It gleams like a bolt flung from heaven, and rears
A ladder of light to the stars.
Talk of the sea flung back in its wrath
By a line of unyielding stone,
Or the slender clutch of a thread-like bridge,
That knits two valleys in one!
Talk of your miracle-working wires,
And their world-embracing force,
But himmel! give me the bits of steel
In the mouth of the thunder-horse!
By a line of unyielding stone,
Or the slender clutch of a thread-like bridge,
That knits two valleys in one!
Talk of your miracle-working wires,
And their world-embracing force,
But himmel! give me the bits of steel
In the mouth of the thunder-horse!
Ay, give me the beat of his fire-fed breast,
And the shake of his giant frame,
And the sinews that work like the shoulders of Jove
When he launches a bolt of flame;
And give me that Lilliput rider of his,
Stout and wiry and grim,
Who can vault on his back as he puffs his pipe,
And whisk the breath from him.
And the shake of his giant frame,
And the sinews that work like the shoulders of Jove
When he launches a bolt of flame;
And give me that Lilliput rider of his,
Stout and wiry and grim,
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And whisk the breath from him.
Then hurrah for our mighty engine, boys;
He may roar and fume along
For a hundred years ere a poet arise
To shrine him in worthy song;
Yet if one with the touch of the gods on his lips,
And his heart beating wildly and quick,
Should rush into song at this demon of ours,
Let him sing, too, the shovel and pick.
He may roar and fume along
For a hundred years ere a poet arise
To shrine him in worthy song;
Yet if one with the touch of the gods on his lips,
And his heart beating wildly and quick,
Should rush into song at this demon of ours,
Let him sing, too, the shovel and pick.
138
THE MOTHER AND THE ANGEL.
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First appeared in Good Words, and taken from that Magazine by kind permission of Messrs. Strahan & Co.
“I want my child,” the mother said, as through
The deep sweet air of purple-breathing morn
She rose mid clouds of most celestial hue,
By the soft strength of angels' wings upborne.
The deep sweet air of purple-breathing morn
She rose mid clouds of most celestial hue,
By the soft strength of angels' wings upborne.
Then he who bore her to her heavenly rest
Drew back the hand that hid her weeping eyes,
And said, “I cannot alter the request
Of him whose glory lights the earth and skies.
Drew back the hand that hid her weeping eyes,
And said, “I cannot alter the request
Of him whose glory lights the earth and skies.
For ere I came, and, as I paused again,
To hear His omnipresent words, He said,
‘Take thou the root, but let the bud remain,
To perfect into blossom in its stead.’
To hear His omnipresent words, He said,
‘Take thou the root, but let the bud remain,
To perfect into blossom in its stead.’
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And so I bear thee, that in our sweet land
You may be one of our immortal kind,
With not one task but to reach forth thy hand
And guide the footsteps of thy child behind.”
You may be one of our immortal kind,
With not one task but to reach forth thy hand
And guide the footsteps of thy child behind.”
He ceased, and winging, reach'd those realms on high,
Whose lustre we half see through stars below,
And all the light that fills our earthly sky
Is but a shadow to its mighty glow.
Whose lustre we half see through stars below,
And all the light that fills our earthly sky
Is but a shadow to its mighty glow.
Now whether that the mother in this light
Stood yearning for her treasure in our hands,
Or whether God saw fitting in His might
To reunite again the broken bands
Stood yearning for her treasure in our hands,
Or whether God saw fitting in His might
To reunite again the broken bands
We know not; but when night had come at last,
And wore to clasp the first embrace of day,
An angel enter'd, though the door was fast,
And all unseen took what we held away.
And wore to clasp the first embrace of day,
An angel enter'd, though the door was fast,
And all unseen took what we held away.
One took the mother from all earthly claim,
From out the bounds of life and all its harms;
But still I think 'twas God Himself that came,
And took the child and laid it in her arms.
From out the bounds of life and all its harms;
But still I think 'twas God Himself that came,
And took the child and laid it in her arms.
144
THE SPIRIT OF THE WATERS.
O how quick, and yet how soft
Comes the moonlight from aloft—
From the happy starry skies,
Like the smiles of angels' eyes,
Flinging all the silvery whiteness
Of its purity and brightness
On the stream
That dances up with laughter
As the wavelets follow after
Each other in the glee
Of a pleasant symphony.
Comes the moonlight from aloft—
From the happy starry skies,
Like the smiles of angels' eyes,
Flinging all the silvery whiteness
Of its purity and brightness
On the stream
That dances up with laughter
As the wavelets follow after
Each other in the glee
Of a pleasant symphony.
I stand upon the bridge,
Leaning on its narrow ledge,
Keeping watch with dreaming eye
On the river gliding by,
Till I fancy from the deeps,
Where the moonlight sits and sleeps,
I can hear a whisper say—
“Come away, come away,
Come, and never know decay,
Come, and rest beneath the stream,
And for ever smile and dream.
Through the night and sunny day,
Dream of things with joyance rife,
Dream of all that makes this life
Bright and gay.
While the waters ebb and creep
With their murmurs o'er thy sleep—
While the moonlight from above
Rains the pale wealth of her love
On the wave, on thy grave—
Come away.”
Leaning on its narrow ledge,
Keeping watch with dreaming eye
On the river gliding by,
Till I fancy from the deeps,
Where the moonlight sits and sleeps,
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“Come away, come away,
Come, and never know decay,
Come, and rest beneath the stream,
And for ever smile and dream.
Through the night and sunny day,
Dream of things with joyance rife,
Dream of all that makes this life
Bright and gay.
While the waters ebb and creep
With their murmurs o'er thy sleep—
While the moonlight from above
Rains the pale wealth of her love
On the wave, on thy grave—
Come away.”
And I feel a strong desire
Burning in me to inquire
What this gentle sprite may be,
Who sings such a song to me
From the stream.
For, as I hear his lay,
Like a voice from far away,
With its burden, “Come away,”
I can reason thus how sweet
To let all the waters meet
O'er the weary, dreamy head;
And to sink, as in a bed,
In the tide, and there to lie
All the night and watch the sky;
Or sleep, sleep, sleep,
While the breezes come and creep—
And what mortal would not sleep
To such soothing lullaby,
While the happy moon above
Would fling down her wealth of love
On the wave, on my grave,
On my dream.
Burning in me to inquire
What this gentle sprite may be,
Who sings such a song to me
From the stream.
For, as I hear his lay,
Like a voice from far away,
With its burden, “Come away,”
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To let all the waters meet
O'er the weary, dreamy head;
And to sink, as in a bed,
In the tide, and there to lie
All the night and watch the sky;
Or sleep, sleep, sleep,
While the breezes come and creep—
And what mortal would not sleep
To such soothing lullaby,
While the happy moon above
Would fling down her wealth of love
On the wave, on my grave,
On my dream.
147
NOTTMAN.
That was Nottman waving at me,
But the steam fell down, so you could not see;
He is out to-day with the fast express,
And running a mile in the minute, I guess.
But the steam fell down, so you could not see;
He is out to-day with the fast express,
And running a mile in the minute, I guess.
Danger? none in the least, for the way
Is good, though the curves are sharp as you say,
But bless you, when trains are a little behind,
They thunder around them—a match for the wind.
Is good, though the curves are sharp as you say,
But bless you, when trains are a little behind,
They thunder around them—a match for the wind.
Nottman himself is a devil to drive,
But cool and steady, and ever alive
To whatever danger is looming in front,
When a train has run hard to gain time for a shunt.
But cool and steady, and ever alive
To whatever danger is looming in front,
When a train has run hard to gain time for a shunt.
But he once got a fear, though, that shook him with pain,
Like sleepers beneath the weight of a train.
I remember the story well, for, you see,
His stoker, Jack Martin, told it to me.
Like sleepers beneath the weight of a train.
I remember the story well, for, you see,
His stoker, Jack Martin, told it to me.
Nottman had sent down the wife for a change
To the old folks living at Riverly Grange,
A quiet sleepy sort of a town,
Save when the engines went up and down.
To the old folks living at Riverly Grange,
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Save when the engines went up and down.
For close behind it the railway ran
In a mile of a straight if a single span;
Three bridges were over the straight, and between
Two the distant signal was seen.
In a mile of a straight if a single span;
Three bridges were over the straight, and between
Two the distant signal was seen.
She had with her her boy—a nice little chit
Full of romp and mischief, and childish wit,
And every time that we thunder'd by,
Both were out on the watch for Nottman and I.
Full of romp and mischief, and childish wit,
And every time that we thunder'd by,
Both were out on the watch for Nottman and I.
“Well, one day,” said Jack, “on our journey down,
Coming round on the straight at the back of the town,
I saw right ahead, in front of our track,
In the haze on the rail something dim-like and black.
Coming round on the straight at the back of the town,
I saw right ahead, in front of our track,
In the haze on the rail something dim-like and black.
“I look'd over at Nottman, but ere I could speak,
He shut off the steam, and with one wild shriek,
A whistle took to the air with a bound;
But the object ahead never stirr'd at the sound.
He shut off the steam, and with one wild shriek,
A whistle took to the air with a bound;
But the object ahead never stirr'd at the sound.
“In a moment he flung himself down on his knee,
Leant over the side of the engine to see,
Took one look, then sprung up, crying, breathless and pale,
‘Brake, Jack, it is some one asleep on the rail!’
Leant over the side of the engine to see,
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‘Brake, Jack, it is some one asleep on the rail!’
“The rear brakes were whistled on in a trice
While I screw'd on the tender brake firm as a vice,
But still we tore on with this terrible thought
Sending fear to our hearts—‘Can we stop her or not?’
While I screw'd on the tender brake firm as a vice,
But still we tore on with this terrible thought
Sending fear to our hearts—‘Can we stop her or not?’
“I took one look again, then sung out to my mate,
‘We can never draw up, we have seen it too late.’
When, sudden and swift, like the change in a dream,
Nottman drew back the lever, and flung on the steam.
‘We can never draw up, we have seen it too late.’
When, sudden and swift, like the change in a dream,
Nottman drew back the lever, and flung on the steam.
“The great wheels stagger'd and span with the strain,
While the spray from the steam fell around us like rain,
But we slacken'd our speed, till we saw with a wild
Throb at the heart, right before us,—a child!
While the spray from the steam fell around us like rain,
But we slacken'd our speed, till we saw with a wild
Throb at the heart, right before us,—a child!
“It was lying asleep on the rail, with no fear
Of the terrible death that was looming so near;
The sweat on us both broke as cold as the dew
Of death as we question'd—‘What can we do?
Of the terrible death that was looming so near;
The sweat on us both broke as cold as the dew
Of death as we question'd—‘What can we do?
“It was done—swift as acts that take place in a dream—
Nottman rush'd to the front and knelt down on the beam,
Put one foot in the couplings; the other he kept
Right in front of the wheel for the child that still slept.
Nottman rush'd to the front and knelt down on the beam,
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Right in front of the wheel for the child that still slept.
“‘Saved!’ I burst forth, my heart leaping with pride,
For one touch of the foot sent the child to the side,
But Nottman look'd up, his lips white as with foam,
‘My God, Jack,’ he cried, ‘It's my own little Tom!’
For one touch of the foot sent the child to the side,
But Nottman look'd up, his lips white as with foam,
‘My God, Jack,’ he cried, ‘It's my own little Tom!’
“He shrunk, would have slipp'd, but one grasp of my hand,
Held him firm till the engine was brought to a stand,
Then I heard from behind a shriek take to the air,
And I knew that the voice of a mother was there.
Held him firm till the engine was brought to a stand,
Then I heard from behind a shriek take to the air,
And I knew that the voice of a mother was there.
“The boy was all right, had got off with a scratch:
He had crept through the fence in his frolic to watch
For his father; but, wearied with mischief and play,
Had fallen asleep on the rail where he lay.
He had crept through the fence in his frolic to watch
For his father; but, wearied with mischief and play,
Had fallen asleep on the rail where he lay.
“For days after that on our journey down,
Ere we came to the straight at the back of the town,
As if the signal were up with its gleam
Of red, Nottman always shut off the steam.”
Ere we came to the straight at the back of the town,
As if the signal were up with its gleam
Of red, Nottman always shut off the steam.”
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SUMMER INVOCATION.
Come forth, and bring with thee a mind
That rises to the poet's mood;
And leave the village far behind,
And spend an hour within the wood;
That rises to the poet's mood;
And leave the village far behind,
And spend an hour within the wood;
For there the flowers begin to peer—
Sweet primroses that ever seem
The glowing eyes of the New Year
Lit up with Summer and her dream.
Sweet primroses that ever seem
The glowing eyes of the New Year
Lit up with Summer and her dream.
And violets that scarce are seen
Until you stoop, with patient eye,
And see them in their lowly mien,
Blue droplets shaken from the sky.
Until you stoop, with patient eye,
And see them in their lowly mien,
Blue droplets shaken from the sky.
Come forth, so that thy soul again
May talk a while with quiet things
That living far apart from men,
Have in them love's untamper'd springs.
May talk a while with quiet things
That living far apart from men,
Have in them love's untamper'd springs.
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I heard the voice—like one who dreams
I went forth, having in my breast
A stirring quiet, like the streams
When pausing for a little rest.
I went forth, having in my breast
A stirring quiet, like the streams
When pausing for a little rest.
I reach the wood, and all around
The yearly mystery of birth
Unfolds itself without a sound,
And broadens over all the earth.
The yearly mystery of birth
Unfolds itself without a sound,
And broadens over all the earth.
The buds in virgin greenness burst
And swell beneath the kindly skies
All pure as when they grew at first,
Upon the boughs in Paradise.
And swell beneath the kindly skies
All pure as when they grew at first,
Upon the boughs in Paradise.
The grass grows up, and in the wind
Waves tiny fingers to and fro,
As if distraught to probe and find
The secret of its life below.
Waves tiny fingers to and fro,
As if distraught to probe and find
The secret of its life below.
I lay myself within the shade,
I close my eyes, but in my ear
Voices and many sounds invade,
With whispers which I like to hear.
I close my eyes, but in my ear
Voices and many sounds invade,
With whispers which I like to hear.
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For strange it is that as I lie,
The wind, that leaves no footstep, seems
The spirit of that melody
Which gave my boyhood all its dreams.
The wind, that leaves no footstep, seems
The spirit of that melody
Which gave my boyhood all its dreams.
And as I listen, like a song
Dear lips have sung in other years,
There comes, with fragrance pure and strong,
From pent-up sources—sweetest tears.
Dear lips have sung in other years,
There comes, with fragrance pure and strong,
From pent-up sources—sweetest tears.
I weep, and yet I know not why,
For joy is hand in hand with pain;
Perchance it is to think how dry
Our hearts remain for all such rain.
For joy is hand in hand with pain;
Perchance it is to think how dry
Our hearts remain for all such rain.
Or maybe of that other time,
When youth uprising boldly said,
“I will sow seed in noble prime,”
Alas! and tears have grown instead.
When youth uprising boldly said,
“I will sow seed in noble prime,”
Alas! and tears have grown instead.
But still, as here I lie to-day,
Seeing the new life quicken all,
The old hard feeling slips away,
And I am under softer thrall,
Seeing the new life quicken all,
The old hard feeling slips away,
And I am under softer thrall,
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I look, and from the slightest thing
That God has fashion'd with His hand;
New thoughts and meanings upward spring
That are not hard to understand.
That God has fashion'd with His hand;
New thoughts and meanings upward spring
That are not hard to understand.
And as I think and slowly slip
Backward to all that early time,
I feel a prayer upon my lip,
And in my heart a holier rhyme,
Backward to all that early time,
I feel a prayer upon my lip,
And in my heart a holier rhyme,
Until all freshen'd, as with dews
That fall not from the sky above,
But from some angel's eyes, I lose
The old self in a nobler love.
That fall not from the sky above,
But from some angel's eyes, I lose
The old self in a nobler love.
And I can look, as now I view
The buds and grass, and singing birds,
On men, and know their purpose too,
And wed my thoughts to nobler words.
The buds and grass, and singing birds,
On men, and know their purpose too,
And wed my thoughts to nobler words.
I leave the wood all firm and bold,
And whisper as through fields I pass—
“Dear Heaven, that heart is never old
That takes an interest in the grass—
And whisper as through fields I pass—
“Dear Heaven, that heart is never old
That takes an interest in the grass—
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That hears in every lowly thing
That spring has waken'd with her call
A God-taught melody, that sings,
And gives a key-note unto all.”
That spring has waken'd with her call
A God-taught melody, that sings,
And gives a key-note unto all.”
158
SONNETS TO A PICTURE.
“Satan watching the Sleep of Christ.”—Sir Noel Paton.
I.
[He sleeps; the inner agony hath pass'd]
He sleeps; the inner agony hath pass'dWith the sure dawn that slowly climbs the east;
The night wherein man saw Him not hath ceas'd,
And sleep is on that glorious face at last.
But pain still lingers there, though faint and worn,
Upon the grandest of all brows, whereon
It makes its latest stand to be o'erthrown,
By the sunrise of Love's eternal morn.
It is no painter's touch! beneath those eyes
The mission and the Cross rise slowly up;
Death with them with the dregs that He must sup,
And sorrow with her choruses of sighs.
And over all a halo from above,
God's Signet on His Masterpiece of Love.
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II.
[The splendid demon with the lurid eyes]
The splendid demon with the lurid eyes,Wherein, as when a serpent bites its coil
Nearing its death—hate having felt its foil,
Turns back upon itself before it dies.
He sits; one massive evil, huge of limb,
With hand still clench'd as with the wish to slay;
While those dark brows for ever waste away
With their own anger as they glare at Him.
That beauty which repels nor draws us nigher
Clothes him as with a raiment. We draw near,
Drawn, yet held back as by instinctive fear—
As if a tongue from that dread crown of fire
Could leap to meet us, like a stroke from fate,
And blast us with the poison of its hate.
III.
[A Faust in colours with the good and ill]
A Faust in colours with the good and illFor ever at their conflict, dumb of speech,
Nor drawing gladiator-like to each,
But armour'd in the panoply of will.
The ages with their trailing shadows wait,
And Time, the white field-marshal with keen eyes,
Surveys the struggle, while the passive skies
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Thou thinkest God has hid himself, but, lo!
His awful shadow, or a part, at least,
Of that which is His shadow, dawns to view
In the young day, that, with its plumes aglow,
All silently behind the silent Two
Climbs the blue stair-way of the one-starr'd east.
161
SONNETS TO A PICTURE.
“Man with the Muck-rake.”—Sir Noel Paton.
I.
[He kneels, his knee drawn down to kindred dust]
He kneels, his knee drawn down to kindred dust,For all is earth within him, from those eyes
Wherein a noble nature fallen lies,
To the lean hands that clutch, as clutch they must,
The muck-rake of this world, for unto him
His heaven is on a level with his soul,
That, blind, can see no higher, purer goal
Than in the gold that glitters but to dim.
Jewels that tarnish, honours that take wing
A moment after, luring shapes that sink
To leave the grinning skull whose sockets blink
Derision sharper than the viper's sting,
And Vanity, by hollow whispers nursed,
Blowing her bubbles, which ere caught have burst.
162
II.
[Above him, yet he sees him not, there bends]
Above him, yet he sees him not, there bendsCompassion and Divinity in one,
The Christ of time, earth, heaven and the sun,
Of the soul's soul, and all that upward tends.
In His right hand he holds a crown of thorns,
Sorrow's own symbol, and the other lies
Almost upon him, while behind him mourns
His better angel with entreating eyes.
Thou toiler after things that will not live!
Look but once upward, that thy soul may see
The sadden'd splendour of that glorious face,
Then lift thyself against that hand, and give
Thy better angel one sweet tear to place
Within the very sight of God from thee.
III.
[Thou gazest and the picture fades away]
Thou gazest and the picture fades awayLike visions after sleep. But unto thee
One thing remaineth which thou still canst see,
Like midnight meteors when they flash astray.
It is the woven crown of thorns, and lo,
Behind it, on thy dim and awe-struck sight
There rises up a cross of pale sad light
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Reaches thy inmost soul that, kneeling down
Beneath a sorrow which all speech but mars,
Sees, as a glory rises in the night,
Through the rough circlet of the thorny crown
Another issue forth that to the sight
Becomes a blinding splendour thick with stars.
164
THE RED LEAF.
Have you so forgot the time, dear love,
When we sat by the stream in the wood
With our hearts as bright as the sky above,
Talking as lovers should?
And we whisper'd to each of that happy day—
Looking forward is so sweet—
But still as the moments sped away
The red leaf fell at our feet.
When we sat by the stream in the wood
With our hearts as bright as the sky above,
Talking as lovers should?
And we whisper'd to each of that happy day—
Looking forward is so sweet—
But still as the moments sped away
The red leaf fell at our feet.
The birds were out on the leafy boughs,
Strong in their voice and youth,
And between their songs we made our vows
With a kiss to seal their truth;
And I turn'd to you as I said, “This stream”—
The stream was then so sweet—
“Has music fit for our coming dream,”
And the red leaf fell at our feet.
Strong in their voice and youth,
And between their songs we made our vows
With a kiss to seal their truth;
And I turn'd to you as I said, “This stream”—
The stream was then so sweet—
“Has music fit for our coming dream,”
And the red leaf fell at our feet.
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The blushes lay warm on your gentle cheek,
As I took your hand in mine,
While your eyes they could not, would not speak
Aught but that love of thine;
And you smiled as I clasp'd and kiss'd you still—
Your smile was then so sweet—
But ever between the joy and thrill
The red leaf fell at our feet.
As I took your hand in mine,
While your eyes they could not, would not speak
Aught but that love of thine;
And you smiled as I clasp'd and kiss'd you still—
Your smile was then so sweet—
But ever between the joy and thrill
The red leaf fell at our feet.
I took the curls of your long, rich hair,
And nursed them in my hand,
As we laid in the future clear and fair,
The dreams we both had plann'd;
We had nothing to do with life's alloy—
O the heart will rise and beat—
But still as we spoke of our coming joy
The read leaf fell at our feet.
And nursed them in my hand,
As we laid in the future clear and fair,
The dreams we both had plann'd;
We had nothing to do with life's alloy—
O the heart will rise and beat—
But still as we spoke of our coming joy
The read leaf fell at our feet.
We stood by the gate as the virgin night
Set her footsteps on the hill,
Yet so sweet were your eyes with their dark rich light
That I fondly linger'd still;
But hours wait not whatever we do—
And lovers' hours are sweet—
So I kiss'd you again and said, “Be true,”
And the red leaf lay at our feet.
Set her footsteps on the hill,
Yet so sweet were your eyes with their dark rich light
That I fondly linger'd still;
But hours wait not whatever we do—
And lovers' hours are sweet—
166
And the red leaf lay at our feet.
Now I walk this life with a solemn brow,
For the sweetest of hopes is fled,
And the blossoms that once would burst and blow
Are now for ever dead.
Yet I smile as they question “Why is this?”—
O the pain of the inward heat!—
And seem to be gay as I laugh and say,
The red leaf fell at our feet.
For the sweetest of hopes is fled,
And the blossoms that once would burst and blow
Are now for ever dead.
Yet I smile as they question “Why is this?”—
O the pain of the inward heat!—
And seem to be gay as I laugh and say,
The red leaf fell at our feet.
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HE CAME FROM A LAND.
He came from a land whose shadows
Were brighter than our day;
And he sang of the streams and meadows,
And then he went away.
Were brighter than our day;
And he sang of the streams and meadows,
And then he went away.
Now I turn from the heart that ever
Will moan for the clay behind;
When the soul is such glorious liver
In the boundless realms of mind.
Will moan for the clay behind;
When the soul is such glorious liver
In the boundless realms of mind.
So at night when the shadows grow dreary,
And a sorrow is in my breast,
And the wings of life grow weary,
And flutter as if for rest:
And a sorrow is in my breast,
And the wings of life grow weary,
And flutter as if for rest:
Then I open my little book-case,
When the quiet is breathing low,
And I take from the shelf in silence
A volume of long ago.
When the quiet is breathing low,
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A volume of long ago.
And I read and read by the firelight,
Till quick and clear as chimes
The man himself is with me,
And is talking to me in rhymes:
Till quick and clear as chimes
The man himself is with me,
And is talking to me in rhymes:
Talking of waving meadows
And cunningly-hidden brooks,
With the quietest gush of eddies
That the flowers may see their looks:
And cunningly-hidden brooks,
With the quietest gush of eddies
That the flowers may see their looks:
Babbling of summer and sunshine,
And hills that reach the cloud;
And this—all this in whispers,
For he never speaks aloud.
And hills that reach the cloud;
And this—all this in whispers,
For he never speaks aloud.
Then betimes when I shut the volume
To walk in the quiet street,
When the stars, which are shadows of angels,
Have made the silence sweet:
To walk in the quiet street,
When the stars, which are shadows of angels,
Have made the silence sweet:
He follows me still like a presence
That none but spirits see;
And at every pause of my footstep
His music is speaking to me:
That none but spirits see;
169
His music is speaking to me:
Whispers and speaks till the night-time
So trembles with all its tone
That I cannot but let my being
Move into the clasp of his own.
So trembles with all its tone
That I cannot but let my being
Move into the clasp of his own.
So whenever I lift the volume,
Like summer-beams that glow,
That spirit comes out from the silence
And babbles of long ago.
Like summer-beams that glow,
That spirit comes out from the silence
And babbles of long ago.
170
A PARTING.
[_]
First appeared in Cassell's Magazine, and taken from that Magazine by kind permission of Messrs. Cassell, Petter, and Galpin.
The sunlight fell through the shadowy trees
In smiles all soft and sweet,
While the incense breath of an early-breeze
Stirr'd the primrose at our feet.
In smiles all soft and sweet,
While the incense breath of an early-breeze
Stirr'd the primrose at our feet.
And you stoop'd to pluck its round bright eye
That peep'd up to the day,
Then turn'd from its golden bloom with a sigh,
For your thoughts were far away.
That peep'd up to the day,
Then turn'd from its golden bloom with a sigh,
For your thoughts were far away.
Ay, far away with some dearer one,
And hearing within your ear,
Breath'd out in love's low undertone
The vows that you loved to hear.
And hearing within your ear,
Breath'd out in love's low undertone
The vows that you loved to hear.
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I knew I had no share in your heart,
And yet I could but speak,
While my life's sweet thoughts began to start
With the blush upon your cheek.
And yet I could but speak,
While my life's sweet thoughts began to start
With the blush upon your cheek.
But you whisper'd as light as a leaf when turn'd
By the breath of the wooing wind,
A low sweet whisper, as if it mourn'd
For the pain it left behind.
By the breath of the wooing wind,
A low sweet whisper, as if it mourn'd
For the pain it left behind.
And your eyes for a moment met my own
With the love that might have been,
Then slowly sank, and their light was gone,
And the sunlight fell between.
With the love that might have been,
Then slowly sank, and their light was gone,
And the sunlight fell between.
Ah me! through that sunlight I see thee now,
With the old-love-bloom on your cheek,
And within your eyes the same sweet glow
Of the thoughts you would not speak.
With the old-love-bloom on your cheek,
And within your eyes the same sweet glow
Of the thoughts you would not speak.
Then my heart, like a pilgrim, makes its choice,
And flings all thoughts away,
And listens again to thy low sweet voice,
As thine own did to his that day,
And flings all thoughts away,
And listens again to thy low sweet voice,
As thine own did to his that day,
172
WHERE I AM LYING NOW.
The first sweet wind of the summer
Is breathing upon my cheek,
And swaying the heads of the grasses
That throb with a wish to speak.
The spray is upon the hawthorn,
The leaf is out on the bough,
The light swift birds
Are singing sweet words
Where I am lying now.
Is breathing upon my cheek,
And swaying the heads of the grasses
That throb with a wish to speak.
The spray is upon the hawthorn,
The leaf is out on the bough,
The light swift birds
Are singing sweet words
Where I am lying now.
My head is upon a primrose
My hand on a violet,
My foot has bent down a daisy—
It is looking up at me yet.
Two butterflies—one like snow-drift,
The other like blood, I trow—
Dip their fairy hues
In the earth's sweet dews,
Where I am lying now.
My hand on a violet,
My foot has bent down a daisy—
It is looking up at me yet.
Two butterflies—one like snow-drift,
The other like blood, I trow—
Dip their fairy hues
In the earth's sweet dews,
Where I am lying now.
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I turn away from the sunlight
That is falling soft and rife,
And I hear the angel's spreading
The miraculous network of life.
And still, as their hands are plying,
They murmur a tender vow—
From heaven to earth
It is one great birth—
Where I am lying now.
That is falling soft and rife,
And I hear the angel's spreading
The miraculous network of life.
And still, as their hands are plying,
They murmur a tender vow—
From heaven to earth
It is one great birth—
Where I am lying now.
O, dweller within the city,
Come forth from its smoke and dust,
And, were it but one hour only,
Clean thy soul from its growing rust.
Here stretch thyself on this couch of grass,
With a hand upon thy brow,
And take a part,
With a poet's heart,
In the dreams I am dreaming now.
Come forth from its smoke and dust,
And, were it but one hour only,
Clean thy soul from its growing rust.
Here stretch thyself on this couch of grass,
With a hand upon thy brow,
And take a part,
With a poet's heart,
In the dreams I am dreaming now.
174
A MEMORY.
[_]
First appeared in Cassell's Magazine, and taken from that Magazine by kind permission of Messrs. Cassell, Petter, and Galpin.
As soft as an autumn leaf will light
When the winds are hush'd and still,
Fell your hand into mine that summer night,
When the moon rose above the hill.
When the winds are hush'd and still,
Fell your hand into mine that summer night,
When the moon rose above the hill.
And silent and pale through the holy skies
Rose she on her starry throne;
But I turn'd from her beams to your own sweet eyes,
That were looking up to my own—
Rose she on her starry throne;
But I turn'd from her beams to your own sweet eyes,
That were looking up to my own—
Looking up to my own, dear love,
With their sweetest and tenderest glow,
As the angels may look from their home above
On their kindred types below.
With their sweetest and tenderest glow,
As the angels may look from their home above
On their kindred types below.
175
And I saw in their depths, like some glorious balm,
All the wealth of their loving lore;
And the thoughts in my breast grew into calm,
That were restless an hour before;
All the wealth of their loving lore;
And the thoughts in my breast grew into calm,
That were restless an hour before;
And the earth had a brighter look for me,
For I saw with other eyes,
And a whisper rose up like some symphony
Spirit-sung in paradise.
For I saw with other eyes,
And a whisper rose up like some symphony
Spirit-sung in paradise.
And beneath that whisper we stood nor stirr'd,
The silence was so divine;
While our hearts, not our lips, spoke their own sweet word,
And your eyes look'd up to mine.
The silence was so divine;
While our hearts, not our lips, spoke their own sweet word,
And your eyes look'd up to mine.
O night! that now like a star is seen
In the past's ever golden sky,
Come back with the joy and the thrill that have been,
And that dear love-melody.
In the past's ever golden sky,
Come back with the joy and the thrill that have been,
And that dear love-melody.
And it comes again with its magic tone,
And the stars come out to teach,
And your hand falls as light as a leaf in my own,
And our eyes look into each.
And the stars come out to teach,
And your hand falls as light as a leaf in my own,
And our eyes look into each.
176
Then the thoughts that are restless in my breast
Grow as still as still may be;
And my heart feels the calm of thine own sweet rest,
And that dear love-melody.
Grow as still as still may be;
And my heart feels the calm of thine own sweet rest,
And that dear love-melody.
So whenever my life will droop and pine,
And my thoughts rush to and fro,
Then I dream that your hand slips into mine
As it did in the long ago.
And my thoughts rush to and fro,
Then I dream that your hand slips into mine
As it did in the long ago.
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AGNES.
[_]
First appeared in Chambers' Journal, and taken from that Journal by kind permission of W. & R. Chambers.
I open again the garden door,
When the flowers live their little time,
And I stand as you used to stand before
By the rose-bush in its prime.
When the flowers live their little time,
And I stand as you used to stand before
By the rose-bush in its prime.
And I pluck one bud from the laden stem—
This is for you I say;
Then I take a leaf from the glowing gem,
And fling the rest away.
This is for you I say;
Then I take a leaf from the glowing gem,
And fling the rest away.
Now why should I place this single leaf
Where my other treasures lie?
And why should I keep it like the grief
That is seen in a thoughtful eye?
Where my other treasures lie?
And why should I keep it like the grief
That is seen in a thoughtful eye?
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I keep it because it was thus you stood,
That golden afternoon,
Plucking a rose in your maiden mood,
And humming a low, sweet tune:
That golden afternoon,
Plucking a rose in your maiden mood,
And humming a low, sweet tune:
Humming a low, sweet tune alone,
And watching, with half a smile,
The fairy rose-leaves that were strewn
Around your feet the while.
And watching, with half a smile,
The fairy rose-leaves that were strewn
Around your feet the while.
And I stood in the shade of the garden door,
And heard you at your song,
And saw the rich leaves downward pour
As the low winds came along.
And heard you at your song,
And saw the rich leaves downward pour
As the low winds came along.
Now, when death has pluck'd your life's sweet bud,
And your footsteps are heard no more,
I think it a joy to stand where you stood,
By the rose at the garden door.
And your footsteps are heard no more,
I think it a joy to stand where you stood,
By the rose at the garden door.
So I creep in as beneath some fear
And pluck with trembling hand
A rose from the bush you held so dear
Ere you went to the spirit land.
And pluck with trembling hand
A rose from the bush you held so dear
Ere you went to the spirit land.
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And I take one leaf from the bud—no more—
Then fling the rest away,
And turn again to the garden door
In the golden summer day.
Then fling the rest away,
And turn again to the garden door
In the golden summer day.
And I whisper, “The bud that I resign
Is thy clay to its own earth given;
But the leaf that I keep is that spirit of thine,
With its incense—all of Heaven.”
Is thy clay to its own earth given;
But the leaf that I keep is that spirit of thine,
With its incense—all of Heaven.”
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[O! just to see you again, Annie]
O! just to see you again, Annie,
To walk with your hand in mine;
To stand by your side and look, Annie,
Into those eyes of thine—
Into the thoughts and the depths of those eyes,
As I did two years ago,
When we stood by the old gray tower, Annie,
With the woods and the fields below.
To walk with your hand in mine;
To stand by your side and look, Annie,
Into those eyes of thine—
Into the thoughts and the depths of those eyes,
As I did two years ago,
When we stood by the old gray tower, Annie,
With the woods and the fields below.
But the wish sinks away as it forms, Annie;
Only from over the sea,
When the twilight is coming down, Annie,
You are singing that song to me—
Singing that song, and the dear old words,
Like the incense of angels rise,
And their music is in my heart, Annie,
While the tears are in my eyes.
Only from over the sea,
When the twilight is coming down, Annie,
You are singing that song to me—
Singing that song, and the dear old words,
Like the incense of angels rise,
And their music is in my heart, Annie,
While the tears are in my eyes.
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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 rushOf 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.
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II.
[And with the murmur of the Rhine will come]
And with the murmur of the Rhine will comeThose 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;
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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.
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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 againStand 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
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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.
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VIII.
[Or Guido, where beneath the crown of thorns]
Or Guido, where beneath the crown of thornsLove 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 pastIs 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
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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.
THE END.
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