 | Records and Other Poems |  |
137
MUSINGS.
THE GARLAND.
No cultivated garden did he own,
But found his bent by wayside and in forest:
He gather'd flowers where seed was never sown,
Unless by Nature's Florist.
But found his bent by wayside and in forest:
He gather'd flowers where seed was never sown,
Unless by Nature's Florist.
He lack'd the cultured mind, so richly prized,
But in the wastes of soul found endless choosings,
And cull'd a garland, not to be despised,
Of transient thoughts and musings.
But in the wastes of soul found endless choosings,
And cull'd a garland, not to be despised,
Of transient thoughts and musings.
138
RESIGNATION.
One writes a book, and wins the admiring age—
One gives to it a deeper toned belief—
One makes the world his own applauded stage—
One holds its wealth in fief.
One gives to it a deeper toned belief—
One makes the world his own applauded stage—
One holds its wealth in fief.
Each to his lot: unliterary mine;
Unholy, unheroic and unrich;
I can but hope there are some notes divine
Within its highest pitch.
Unholy, unheroic and unrich;
I can but hope there are some notes divine
Within its highest pitch.
I strike my fetters, and, above their clank,
Methinks I hear some better music ring;
And be it mine the scatter'd notes to rank,
Their harmony to sing.
Methinks I hear some better music ring;
And be it mine the scatter'd notes to rank,
Their harmony to sing.
I've long'd for nobler work; but now I seek
No higher plane than this to me assign'd;
And trust to snatch a cadence more unique
Than elsewhere I could find.
No higher plane than this to me assign'd;
And trust to snatch a cadence more unique
Than elsewhere I could find.
139
THOUGHTS.
His thoughts—the truest features of the man—
Above all else deserve to be recorded:
Nothing in history more living than
A thought when deftly worded.
Above all else deserve to be recorded:
Nothing in history more living than
A thought when deftly worded.
The words are to the thought its earthly frame:
They die in time, and then we deem it ended:
But, like the immortal spirit whence it came,
The lost has but ascended.
They die in time, and then we deem it ended:
But, like the immortal spirit whence it came,
The lost has but ascended.
Thoughts do not die. Some pass to realms of glory
At once, as from the flower the odour flows;
While some live seal'd in words from ages hoary—
The ottar of the rose.
At once, as from the flower the odour flows;
While some live seal'd in words from ages hoary—
The ottar of the rose.
And so, according to the strong completeness
Of that expression, their earth-life prolongs:
And some have grown, thro' its surpassing sweetness,
Almost time-during songs.
Of that expression, their earth-life prolongs:
And some have grown, thro' its surpassing sweetness,
Almost time-during songs.
140
FIRST BE, THEN TEACH.
If, Poet, thou wouldst live beyond the age,
First be the thing thy teachings would create:
Make thine own life oracular, thy page
Will then be lord of Fate.
First be the thing thy teachings would create:
Make thine own life oracular, thy page
Will then be lord of Fate.
A few unlettered sentences Christ gave
Out of His purity. The years may bear
Their unregretted learning to the grave—
His words we cannot spare.
Out of His purity. The years may bear
Their unregretted learning to the grave—
His words we cannot spare.
141
LOWLY WORK.
Buying and selling, casting up accounts—
Each day the same, the same—so runs my story.
And all that I may live! To this amounts
The sum of all my glory.
Each day the same, the same—so runs my story.
And all that I may live! To this amounts
The sum of all my glory.
I scorn my petty hopes, my vulgar fears,
And cry for something worthier to grapple.
Yet Newton traced the law that rules the spheres—
Not scorn'd the falling apple.
And cry for something worthier to grapple.
Yet Newton traced the law that rules the spheres—
Not scorn'd the falling apple.
So, in our little dealings, humble trades,
Our small besetting cares, our simplest duty,
We trace the all of Right, the golden threads
Of everlasting Beauty.
Our small besetting cares, our simplest duty,
We trace the all of Right, the golden threads
Of everlasting Beauty.
The rude work finish'd, reckon'd nothing worth,
And closed the bargain of the lowliest vendor—
Lowly and rude put off their garbs of earth,
And on their robes of splendour.
And closed the bargain of the lowliest vendor—
Lowly and rude put off their garbs of earth,
And on their robes of splendour.
142
I CANNOT.
I cannot well be one of you: the leisure
You nobly use in lifting up the lowly,
Is all denied to me, and Time, my treasure,
Impress'd to ends unholy.
You nobly use in lifting up the lowly,
Is all denied to me, and Time, my treasure,
Impress'd to ends unholy.
But though I daily mingle in life's struggle,
I am not wholly torn from rest or leaning,
And you shall hear the windings of a bugle,
Not wholly without meaning.
I am not wholly torn from rest or leaning,
And you shall hear the windings of a bugle,
Not wholly without meaning.
And from the spoils of trade, the shams of office,
Power's rank corruptions, fashion's vain abuses,
It may be I will pluck for you some trophies
To put to higher uses.
Power's rank corruptions, fashion's vain abuses,
It may be I will pluck for you some trophies
To put to higher uses.
Not gems or gold—though well the world might spare them—
Nor plumes, nor aught that marks the lofty bearing;
But trophies I will bring, and you will wear them
When those are out of wearing.
Nor plumes, nor aught that marks the lofty bearing;
But trophies I will bring, and you will wear them
When those are out of wearing.
143
DUTY.
I reach a duty, yet I do it not,
And therefore see no higher: but if done,
My view is brighten'd, and another spot
Seen on my moral sun.
And therefore see no higher: but if done,
My view is brighten'd, and another spot
Seen on my moral sun.
For, be the duty high as angel's flight,
Fulfil it, and a higher will arise,
E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite—
Receding as the skies.
Fulfil it, and a higher will arise,
E'en from its ashes. Duty is infinite—
Receding as the skies.
And thus it is, the purest most deplore
Their want of purity. As fold by fold,
In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more
Of Duty they behold.
Their want of purity. As fold by fold,
In duties done, falls from their eyes, the more
Of Duty they behold.
Were it not wisdom, then, to close our eyes
On duties crowding only to appal?
No: Duty is our ladder to the skies,
And, climbing not, we fall.
On duties crowding only to appal?
No: Duty is our ladder to the skies,
And, climbing not, we fall.
144
THE BOOK.
I cannot hold the book as one inspired
Peculiarly, or more divinely sent
Than other books, which seem as deeply fired
With brands from Heaven lent.
Peculiarly, or more divinely sent
Than other books, which seem as deeply fired
With brands from Heaven lent.
Yet, when I think how many shrouded ages
Of burden'd souls have read, with brightening eye,
The promises and marvels of its pages,
And laid their burdens by;
Of burden'd souls have read, with brightening eye,
The promises and marvels of its pages,
And laid their burdens by;
Or call up scenes through which that book was guide—
The Pilgrims that fore-lived the Stripes and Stars;
The Scottish Covenant, and bleak hill-side;
Or Cromwell and his wars;—
The Pilgrims that fore-lived the Stripes and Stars;
The Scottish Covenant, and bleak hill-side;
Or Cromwell and his wars;—
Yes, when I think of these, though reason fails
To see the inspiration you assign,
The deeper logic of the heart prevails,
And owns the book divine.
To see the inspiration you assign,
The deeper logic of the heart prevails,
And owns the book divine.
145
IN A ROMAN-CATHOLIC CHAPEL.
The robèd priest, the necromantic table,
The kneeling crowd, rapt bosoms, eyes ecstatic;
The rattled beads, the prayers—a mutter'd Babel—
And pageantry dramatic!
The kneeling crowd, rapt bosoms, eyes ecstatic;
The rattled beads, the prayers—a mutter'd Babel—
And pageantry dramatic!
What keen religious eyes do they inherit,
That thro' these blinding forms can see the Father,
Whilst I must vainly strain my troubled spirit
One trace of Him to gather!
That thro' these blinding forms can see the Father,
Whilst I must vainly strain my troubled spirit
One trace of Him to gather!
But, as I sat in trouble, gazed in wonder,
The heavy air by sudden strains was riven—
The organ roll'd a peal of sweetest thunder—
And God spoke out of Heaven.
The heavy air by sudden strains was riven—
The organ roll'd a peal of sweetest thunder—
And God spoke out of Heaven.
For, smother as we may with forms erroneous,
And textual complications of a trinity,
The unconscious instrument, with lips harmonious,
Interprets the Divinity.
And textual complications of a trinity,
The unconscious instrument, with lips harmonious,
Interprets the Divinity.
146
THE ONLY STRENGTH.
These arms of strength that work, propel, and draw—
These limbs that bear us on in stalwart pride,
Were each as feeble as a bruisèd straw,
But for the soul inside.
These limbs that bear us on in stalwart pride,
Were each as feeble as a bruisèd straw,
But for the soul inside.
The tempest-wrestling trees were doubled up,
And stone and iron, dust upon the wind—
All strength were weakness—even the winds would drop,
But for an inward mind.
And stone and iron, dust upon the wind—
All strength were weakness—even the winds would drop,
But for an inward mind.
Earth could give no resistance to our tread—
Would yield like smoke beneath us,—star with star,
That walk in peaceful beauty overhead,
Fall blindly into war.
Would yield like smoke beneath us,—star with star,
That walk in peaceful beauty overhead,
Fall blindly into war.
Mind is the only strength—the mind we've deem'd
Product of matter—matter's origin;
And earth and men are not what they have seem'd—
God earth, and spirits men.
Product of matter—matter's origin;
And earth and men are not what they have seem'd—
God earth, and spirits men.
147
GOD EVER NEAR.
What sunshine falls around the darkest lot—
How soon its haunting spectres disappear—
When through its trouble breaks the living thought
That God is ever near!
How soon its haunting spectres disappear—
When through its trouble breaks the living thought
That God is ever near!
Near, in the lowly grass, the lordly trees,
The summer flowers, and their delicious breath;
Near, in our hallowed temples, and the breeze
That sweeps the lonely heath.
The summer flowers, and their delicious breath;
Near, in our hallowed temples, and the breeze
That sweeps the lonely heath.
Near, in the closet, in the peopled streets,
Out on the marvellous deep, in glittering show'rs;
Near, in the human heart, that beats and beats
Without decree of ours.
Out on the marvellous deep, in glittering show'rs;
Near, in the human heart, that beats and beats
Without decree of ours.
For we are wandering through enchanted land:
The tiniest eye-bud peeping from the sod,
Touch'd with the living thought—the spirit-wand—
It opens into God.
The tiniest eye-bud peeping from the sod,
Touch'd with the living thought—the spirit-wand—
It opens into God.
And wherefore should this meeting free the slave,
Enrich misfortune, lift the mourner's pall?
God is the secret good of all we crave;
And having God, gives all.
Enrich misfortune, lift the mourner's pall?
God is the secret good of all we crave;
And having God, gives all.
148
YORK MINSTER.
York Minster! what a monument is this,
Out of one meek and simple life uprist!
Within these walls, what sceptic but needs kiss
Thy garment's hem, O Christ!
Out of one meek and simple life uprist!
Within these walls, what sceptic but needs kiss
Thy garment's hem, O Christ!
For not on fable, but immortal fact,
Could anything so real be up-rear'd—
Thy every thought enshrined, thy every act
Re-acted and endear'd.
Could anything so real be up-rear'd—
Thy every thought enshrined, thy every act
Re-acted and endear'd.
It were enough to glorify thy name,
This one great monument, this single one:
But only think how many such proclaim
God's best-belovèd Son!
This one great monument, this single one:
But only think how many such proclaim
God's best-belovèd Son!
The domèd cities, and the steepled towns,
The village spires that gleam at morn and even,
The belfry on the bleak unpeopled downs,
Lone hearts, to worship given.
The village spires that gleam at morn and even,
The belfry on the bleak unpeopled downs,
Lone hearts, to worship given.
Lord Christ! methinks they challenge and reprove
The warrior's pillar and the sage's shrine,
And bid thy weaker brothers look above
To something more divine.
The warrior's pillar and the sage's shrine,
And bid thy weaker brothers look above
To something more divine.
149
FACES AND PLACES.
My journeyings lead me on through many places,
But none of them the home I could desire;
And in the streets I meet a thousand faces
Without one to admire.
But none of them the home I could desire;
And in the streets I meet a thousand faces
Without one to admire.
But make our home in any place—each day
Does everything within its bounds or near it,
Assume a homely beauty, as if they
Put out their inner spirit.
Does everything within its bounds or near it,
Assume a homely beauty, as if they
Put out their inner spirit.
Approach the most forbidding face so near
That we can see the truer face behind,
And in some brightening feature will appear
The beauty of a friend.
That we can see the truer face behind,
And in some brightening feature will appear
The beauty of a friend.
The secret of all love for friends and homes
Is beauty. It lies deeper than the skin;
And if not ours outside to-day, it comes
To-morrow from within.
Is beauty. It lies deeper than the skin;
And if not ours outside to-day, it comes
To-morrow from within.
150
BOOKS.
I cannot think the glorious world of mind,
Embalm'd in books, which I can only see
In patches, though I read my moments blind,
Is to be lost to me.
Embalm'd in books, which I can only see
In patches, though I read my moments blind,
Is to be lost to me.
I have a thought that, as we live elsewhere,
So will those dear creations of the brain;
That what I lose unread, I'll find, and there
Take up my joy again.
So will those dear creations of the brain;
That what I lose unread, I'll find, and there
Take up my joy again.
O then the bliss of blisses, to be freed
From all the wants by which the world is driven;
With liberty and endless time to read
The libraries of Heaven!
From all the wants by which the world is driven;
With liberty and endless time to read
The libraries of Heaven!
151
HOME-CONTENT.
Content, a thousand-fold, to bide at home,
And hold the kingdom of a rounded mind,
Which breaks into a chaos when I roam,
And wastes on every wind.
And hold the kingdom of a rounded mind,
Which breaks into a chaos when I roam,
And wastes on every wind.
The ready wit, the polish gain'd by travel,
The widen'd views and large experience got,
Are little compensation for the ravel
And waste loose ends of thought.
The widen'd views and large experience got,
Are little compensation for the ravel
And waste loose ends of thought.
The affluence of thought flows inwardly;
Travel goes outward—fights against the stream:
O rest in quiet thought, and life will be
As rich as any dream.
Travel goes outward—fights against the stream:
O rest in quiet thought, and life will be
As rich as any dream.
152
HOME-BEAUTY.
The upland farm, the cot upon the heath,
The fisher's hut, where sandy salt winds come—
The bleakest home is warm with beauty's breath
To him that calls it home.
The fisher's hut, where sandy salt winds come—
The bleakest home is warm with beauty's breath
To him that calls it home.
To him, no beauty like those lowing sheds,
Or gusty ash that creaks before the door,
Or glittering shells that gem the sandy beds,
Or foam that tufts the shore.
Or gusty ash that creaks before the door,
Or glittering shells that gem the sandy beds,
Or foam that tufts the shore.
In man and Nature kindred spirits move,
And beauty is the union of the two:
The things we deem most lovely, and most love,
Are those she meets us through.
And beauty is the union of the two:
The things we deem most lovely, and most love,
Are those she meets us through.
Long living in our homely places brings
Repeated union through them: they are loved:
And thus it often is that simplest things
Have most our passion moved.
Repeated union through them: they are loved:
And thus it often is that simplest things
Have most our passion moved.
153
A HARD BOOK.
The creeds and histories of all the ages
Are handled in this book, and turn'd, and toss'd.
I grope my way throughout its labour'd pages,
Blindfolded and half lost.
Are handled in this book, and turn'd, and toss'd.
I grope my way throughout its labour'd pages,
Blindfolded and half lost.
O, is it lack of brain, or want of learning,
That keeps me boring—mole-like in my night—
Through erudition not one ray discerning
Of the redeeming light?
That keeps me boring—mole-like in my night—
Through erudition not one ray discerning
Of the redeeming light?
I close the book with which I've vainly striven,
And humbly on my ignorance I fall,
When, looking up, the starry gaze of heaven
Explains, explodes it all!
And humbly on my ignorance I fall,
When, looking up, the starry gaze of heaven
Explains, explodes it all!
154
SUMMER-RESURRECTION.
When Nature crouches from the biting air,
And even thought is paralyzed by winter,
I feel my spirit is not anywhere,
And Heaven too far to enter.
And even thought is paralyzed by winter,
I feel my spirit is not anywhere,
And Heaven too far to enter.
But summer comes with flocks of woolly clouds,
And rainbows, sunny showers, and wingèd shadows,
And mazy hedgerows, and green-mantled woods,
And honey-scented meadows;
And rainbows, sunny showers, and wingèd shadows,
And mazy hedgerows, and green-mantled woods,
And honey-scented meadows;
The mingled breath of flowers, the choral strain
That thrills the air and shames our petty sadness:
The sweet abundance, the receptive brain,
The almost Heavenly gladness:
That thrills the air and shames our petty sadness:
The sweet abundance, the receptive brain,
The almost Heavenly gladness:
A resurrection in the earth and sky,
And winter's ills forgotten and forgiven,—
Ah, then, I feel we only need to die
To be at once in Heaven!
And winter's ills forgotten and forgiven,—
Ah, then, I feel we only need to die
To be at once in Heaven!
155
THE YEAR'S FIRST SWALLOW.
The year's first swallow! See, his sparkling wings
Shake off the tears of April's latest day;
And from the wing-cleft air he madly flings
Fore-gleams of dewy May.
Shake off the tears of April's latest day;
And from the wing-cleft air he madly flings
Fore-gleams of dewy May.
May, with her daisied meads and wimpling brooks,
Her warm green lanes and choirs of piping throats,
Her woodlands with their sylvan sunny nooks,
And bees with honey'd notes.
Her warm green lanes and choirs of piping throats,
Her woodlands with their sylvan sunny nooks,
And bees with honey'd notes.
May on the rivers, silvering the vales,
And on the mountains in their gauzy vests;
May on the ocean with its sleepy sails,
And May within our breasts.
And on the mountains in their gauzy vests;
May on the ocean with its sleepy sails,
And May within our breasts.
Season by season through all being lives—
And we are kindred with the circling whole:
'Tis God in all, and not a breeze but gives
Its soul unto our soul.
And we are kindred with the circling whole:
'Tis God in all, and not a breeze but gives
Its soul unto our soul.
156
THE BREATH OF WHIN.
I smelt the whins in passing up the lane,
And years of childhood, crowded into minutes,
Swept through my bosom in a sweet sad train
Of butterflies and linnets.
And years of childhood, crowded into minutes,
Swept through my bosom in a sweet sad train
Of butterflies and linnets.
I saw the fairies in the haunted dell,
The woodlands with their shadows bright and mazy;
I heard, on sunny banks, the sweet blue bell
Tinkling unto the daisy.
The woodlands with their shadows bright and mazy;
I heard, on sunny banks, the sweet blue bell
Tinkling unto the daisy.
A thousand images arose within—
Forgotten images, in childhood noted;
And all awaken'd by a breath of whin
That in the loaning floated.
Forgotten images, in childhood noted;
And all awaken'd by a breath of whin
That in the loaning floated.
Forgetting is no losing; and if death
Be higher life, the life that lay before it,
May easily be restored, if thus a breath
Can faithfully restore it.
Be higher life, the life that lay before it,
May easily be restored, if thus a breath
Can faithfully restore it.
157
SYMBOLS.
The breathing flowers, the forest-buds unfurl'd,
Are not the expanded seedlings that we ween,
But sweet transfigurations from the world
That lies within the seen.
Are not the expanded seedlings that we ween,
But sweet transfigurations from the world
That lies within the seen.
For this the type in which God prints His thought—
This glorious theatre of shifting things:
And whosoever has its meaning caught,
For him all Nature sings.
This glorious theatre of shifting things:
And whosoever has its meaning caught,
For him all Nature sings.
Wouldst thou hear Nature's voice? Be one with her,
In simple purity, perennial youth;
Her child in wonder, and her worshipper
In spirit and in truth.
In simple purity, perennial youth;
Her child in wonder, and her worshipper
In spirit and in truth.
Then will the daisy, from its modest eye,
Let out its secrets, and the starry scroll,
River and ocean—all of earth or sky—
Interpret to thy soul.
Let out its secrets, and the starry scroll,
River and ocean—all of earth or sky—
Interpret to thy soul.
158
UNPAID WORK.
He hit the world's taste, and for what he gave
It more than paid him—fame and fortune squander'd.
He overdid its taste—became its slave;
It bought him, and he pander'd.
It more than paid him—fame and fortune squander'd.
He overdid its taste—became its slave;
It bought him, and he pander'd.
'Tis well to be repaid for what you give:
To work unpaid, for love of work, is better—
Bestowing all for nothing while you live—
And leave the world your debtor.
To work unpaid, for love of work, is better—
Bestowing all for nothing while you live—
And leave the world your debtor.
159
WEALTH OF THOUGHT.
Your thoughts so affluent that you vainly sigh
For corresponding words to give expression!
Be thankful, friend. I would to Heaven that I
Could make the same confession.
For corresponding words to give expression!
Be thankful, friend. I would to Heaven that I
Could make the same confession.
My sad complaint is poverty of thought.
Ah, do not deem my silence hidden talent.
Inspire me with your wealth, and I will not
Be any longer silent.
Ah, do not deem my silence hidden talent.
Inspire me with your wealth, and I will not
Be any longer silent.
No: it will out itself in spite of me:
Thought and expression are the nearest neighbours;
And if not sung in chosen words, 'twill be
Told by my life and labours.
Thought and expression are the nearest neighbours;
And if not sung in chosen words, 'twill be
Told by my life and labours.
Give me the thought, and I will trust the lyre;
For, be it glibly sung or harshly stammer'd,
A living thought leaps out in words of fire,
Like red-hot iron hammer'd.
For, be it glibly sung or harshly stammer'd,
A living thought leaps out in words of fire,
Like red-hot iron hammer'd.
160
CONCEIT.
I pray thee do not cease to wring my heart,
But still unfold my every imperfection.
God knows, each bosom has its weaker part,
Its half insane affliction.
But still unfold my every imperfection.
God knows, each bosom has its weaker part,
Its half insane affliction.
Yea, all save thine! Thou, by a grand conceit,
Art on a faultless pinnacle of bleakness.
But rather would I in the lowly street
Be still akin to weakness.
Art on a faultless pinnacle of bleakness.
But rather would I in the lowly street
Be still akin to weakness.
Endeavour, recognizing its defeats,
Girds it afresh, and presses up and onward:
Endeavour with supposed perfection meets,
And soon its course is downward.
Girds it afresh, and presses up and onward:
Endeavour with supposed perfection meets,
And soon its course is downward.
So, never cease to tell how much I err,
How much fall short of thy extoll'd achievement:
Admonishment be my encourager,
And failure no bereavement.
How much fall short of thy extoll'd achievement:
Admonishment be my encourager,
And failure no bereavement.
161
MEN'S POSITIONS.
'Tis said that by his strongest faculty
The man is in his true position fitted:
Some domination chooses more than he—
Some native strength transmitted.
The man is in his true position fitted:
Some domination chooses more than he—
Some native strength transmitted.
Alas! I do not quarrel with my sphere:
I would fulfil it with becoming meekness:
But 'twas not native strength that brought me here,
So much as native weakness.
I would fulfil it with becoming meekness:
But 'twas not native strength that brought me here,
So much as native weakness.
162
MODERN PROGRESS.
Discovery, and Science, and Invention—
The gods of modern progress—wonders three!
Who dare say, “This surpasses your pretension?”
Or, “Here your end shall be?”
The gods of modern progress—wonders three!
Who dare say, “This surpasses your pretension?”
Or, “Here your end shall be?”
Each day puts on some newer mode or fashion,
And old things suffer change, or take their leave—
Yea, everything but sentiment and passion:
They are as old as Eve.
And old things suffer change, or take their leave—
Yea, everything but sentiment and passion:
They are as old as Eve.
From zone to zone the lightning bears our message—
But Right and Wrong no better understood:
O'er sea and land we speed with eagle passage—
No readier to do good.
But Right and Wrong no better understood:
O'er sea and land we speed with eagle passage—
No readier to do good.
Ah, what avails the progress? what reliance
On constant change? It is no onward move,
If we advance not in His deeper science
That binds the world in love!
On constant change? It is no onward move,
If we advance not in His deeper science
That binds the world in love!
163
THE PRESAGE.
O, flashing wire, fierce rail, and ploughing steamer!
Of all this haste, where is the use, the need?
The sage as wise, the poet as fine a dreamer
Would be, without your speed.
Of all this haste, where is the use, the need?
The sage as wise, the poet as fine a dreamer
Would be, without your speed.
Earth's princely merchants, and her humbler traders,
Wanting your aid had surely been more blest;
For what have they become but bold invaders—
Each other's spoil and pest!
Wanting your aid had surely been more blest;
For what have they become but bold invaders—
Each other's spoil and pest!
The mental appetite, for which you cater
So busily, has turn'd from solid victuals,
To live on almost hourly news. We fritter
Our time away in littles.
So busily, has turn'd from solid victuals,
To live on almost hourly news. We fritter
Our time away in littles.
But what comes out of it? The flashing message
O'er land and sea; this rapid flight of steam—
They are the growing upward, and the presage
Of our immortal dream.
O'er land and sea; this rapid flight of steam—
They are the growing upward, and the presage
Of our immortal dream.
This passion, deeply rooted in the spirit,
For sudden knowledge, instantaneous speed,
Foreshadows what we fully shall inherit
When from the body freed.
For sudden knowledge, instantaneous speed,
Foreshadows what we fully shall inherit
When from the body freed.
164
PRESENCES.
To what dark chambers of the heart or brain
Do all our welling thoughts at times retreat?
One presence seals my fountains, and in vain
The rock of thought I beat.
Do all our welling thoughts at times retreat?
One presence seals my fountains, and in vain
The rock of thought I beat.
Some other comes, and then, though he be dumb,
My seals are broken and my fountains leap;
And mind, that felt so shallow, has become
A yet unfathom'd deep.
My seals are broken and my fountains leap;
And mind, that felt so shallow, has become
A yet unfathom'd deep.
I may not read the old astrologies,
Nor tell how moon-touch'd seas should ebb and flow,
Or mind should be more tidal than the seas,—
But that it is, I know.
Nor tell how moon-touch'd seas should ebb and flow,
Or mind should be more tidal than the seas,—
But that it is, I know.
165
SEED-THOUGHTS.
A seed-thought falls into the mind, and we
Would make the thing available in song.
Not yet: 'twill not be forced: but let it be—
Its time will come ere long.
Would make the thing available in song.
Not yet: 'twill not be forced: but let it be—
Its time will come ere long.
And never fear but that the nursing soil,
Without our conscious aid will keep it warm,
Until creative art, with little toil,
May breathe it into form.
Without our conscious aid will keep it warm,
Until creative art, with little toil,
May breathe it into form.
For in the mind are many unknown powers,
Which re-create the seed that seems to rot,
And many rays of soul, and spirit-showers,
From heaven, that feed our thought.
Which re-create the seed that seems to rot,
And many rays of soul, and spirit-showers,
From heaven, that feed our thought.
166
THE THOUGHT-SPHERE.
I know that nothing beautiful or true
Is of ourselves created, and believe
That from the earth, or yon mysterious blue,
We get all that we give.
Is of ourselves created, and believe
That from the earth, or yon mysterious blue,
We get all that we give.
Nor does the printed page on which I look
Contain the very thought. It pass'd at birth
Into some spirit-character, the book
Only its sign on earth.
Contain the very thought. It pass'd at birth
Into some spirit-character, the book
Only its sign on earth.
Yet, if it do not give what doth appear,
There is this marvel in the printed word:
It puts us in communion with the sphere
Wherein all thought is stored.
There is this marvel in the printed word:
It puts us in communion with the sphere
Wherein all thought is stored.
167
SLEEP AND DEATH.
Brain-toss'd for sleep, the more that I entreat,
The balmy miracle forsakes my bed.
If sleep, so like to death, be thus so sweet,
How blessed to be dead!
The balmy miracle forsakes my bed.
If sleep, so like to death, be thus so sweet,
How blessed to be dead!
This wakefulness is madness; and to sleep
Were passing into sanity. What though
I never woke again? From rest so deep
I should not seek to go.
Were passing into sanity. What though
I never woke again? From rest so deep
I should not seek to go.
For death is but a deeper sleep. We seem
From all this conscious being to be riven,
Yet have escaped into the glorious dream
Of everlasting Heaven.
From all this conscious being to be riven,
Yet have escaped into the glorious dream
Of everlasting Heaven.
And think not that a dream is absent fact,
Its life less true than waking. Is there one
Who has not risen from a dreamèd act
Sorry or glad 'twas done?
Its life less true than waking. Is there one
Who has not risen from a dreamèd act
Sorry or glad 'twas done?
Be it of grief or joy, it is as much
A verity as this our waking strife;
And, howsoever named, my thought is, such
Will be eternal life.
A verity as this our waking strife;
And, howsoever named, my thought is, such
Will be eternal life.
What! With the incongruities of dreams?
Even so. This life which we so real deem—
To him who is not fully in it, seems
As mad as any dream!
Even so. This life which we so real deem—
To him who is not fully in it, seems
As mad as any dream!
168
BEAUTY.
There is not anything the soul more craves
Than Beauty. It exalts the merest line
That through our every-day experience waves—
Seeks blindly the Divine.
Than Beauty. It exalts the merest line
That through our every-day experience waves—
Seeks blindly the Divine.
For what, in very truth, is this we crave,
Which neither loads the board nor fills the purse?
Yet, wanting which, the earth were but a grave,
And life itself a curse?
Which neither loads the board nor fills the purse?
Yet, wanting which, the earth were but a grave,
And life itself a curse?
The visual presence of the living God,
That permeates creation, comes and goes
In substance and in shadow, greens the sod,
And paints and scents the rose:
That permeates creation, comes and goes
In substance and in shadow, greens the sod,
And paints and scents the rose:
And flows through man into his works of art—
The picture's glow, the statue's breathing gleam;—
For not a touch of Beauty stirs the heart
But comes of the Supreme!
The picture's glow, the statue's breathing gleam;—
For not a touch of Beauty stirs the heart
But comes of the Supreme!
169
ART.
Art is medicinal. If I am long
Without the exercise of poesie,
My spirit ails, my body's somewhat wrong,
My heart beats “Woe is me!”
Without the exercise of poesie,
My spirit ails, my body's somewhat wrong,
My heart beats “Woe is me!”
And if the rhythmic measure is my choice,
'Tis also my necessity. I weave
The threaded thought: it makes no laurell'd noise;
But all my ailments leave.
'Tis also my necessity. I weave
The threaded thought: it makes no laurell'd noise;
But all my ailments leave.
And so, I doubt not, his creation makes
A healthier current in the Painter's veins:
Or that his marble inspiration takes
Away the Sculptor's pains.
A healthier current in the Painter's veins:
Or that his marble inspiration takes
Away the Sculptor's pains.
And music, that usurps a sweet control
In any heart through which its marvel floats,
Is physic to the body and the soul
Of him that builds the notes.
In any heart through which its marvel floats,
Is physic to the body and the soul
Of him that builds the notes.
The spirit craves to do its noblest thing.
It is a poison in the blood, supprest.
And thus the Arts are medicines that bring
Healing, and joy, and rest.
It is a poison in the blood, supprest.
And thus the Arts are medicines that bring
Healing, and joy, and rest.
170
EVER YOUNG.
The earth is young for ever: day by day
It drinks new life from God's perpetual youth:
And why need we grow old, if thus we may
Drink daily God's new truth?
It drinks new life from God's perpetual youth:
And why need we grow old, if thus we may
Drink daily God's new truth?
To sink in age and yet immortal be,
Are thoughts of contradiction. If we lay
Our destinies beyond the grave, then we
Grow younger every day.
Are thoughts of contradiction. If we lay
Our destinies beyond the grave, then we
Grow younger every day.
For man is not this frame that wastes to earth,
But soul that lives on Beauty, Truth, and Right—
Each pulse of which gives new access of birth,
Unknown to death or blight.
But soul that lives on Beauty, Truth, and Right—
Each pulse of which gives new access of birth,
Unknown to death or blight.
To catch the new revealings in their flow,
Of countless nature, from the hidden spheres,
Now and for evermore,—this is to grow
Young in despite of years.
Of countless nature, from the hidden spheres,
Now and for evermore,—this is to grow
Young in despite of years.
171
ALL SEASONS BLESSED.
The village lies in mist; the rounding hills
Are nowhere seen; the rime lies white along
The fields; and on the gable robin trills
His lone late autumn song.
Are nowhere seen; the rime lies white along
The fields; and on the gable robin trills
His lone late autumn song.
The trees droop in the fog, their dank leaves fall
Sheer down, like dreaming stones that make no sound;
The unseen mill and far-off trains seem all
Beat, beating under ground.
Sheer down, like dreaming stones that make no sound;
The unseen mill and far-off trains seem all
Beat, beating under ground.
The life of summer has gone out; but, lo!
Each season takes the heart: to-day we miss
The balmy sunshine, lightly let it go,
And turn to fireside bliss.
Each season takes the heart: to-day we miss
The balmy sunshine, lightly let it go,
And turn to fireside bliss.
172
THE BEGGAR.
She shiver'd in the snow, and, limping, drew
About her a scant robe of one thin fold:
Her head and feet were bare; the sharp wind blew;
She sobb'd for very cold.
About her a scant robe of one thin fold:
Her head and feet were bare; the sharp wind blew;
She sobb'd for very cold.
No house, no hap, no hope to bid her live;
Her very soul shrank from the biting air,—
Yet I, well clad, could pass her, and not give
The cloak I well could spare.
Her very soul shrank from the biting air,—
Yet I, well clad, could pass her, and not give
The cloak I well could spare.
O, poor in heart! which beggar the more cold—
I, doubly clad, or she in rags so thin?
Her poverty a garment's scanty fold—
My poverty within!
I, doubly clad, or she in rags so thin?
Her poverty a garment's scanty fold—
My poverty within!
173
PHILANTHROPY.
Alas! this poor philanthropy that springs
From Intellect that talks, not Heart that gives,
Avails me little—to its object brings
Pity, but not relieves.
From Intellect that talks, not Heart that gives,
Avails me little—to its object brings
Pity, but not relieves.
It pinches thought; it cramps the poet's line;
Gives upward flight a weakness in the wing;
And that which almost reaches the divine,
Falls back, a mortal thing.
Gives upward flight a weakness in the wing;
And that which almost reaches the divine,
Falls back, a mortal thing.
But he, if such there be in modern days,
With whom to see a duty is to do,
Grows by his acts, and all he does or says
Takes an immortal hue.
With whom to see a duty is to do,
Grows by his acts, and all he does or says
Takes an immortal hue.
174
THE BLUE-EYED CALF.
A blue-eyed calf—as feeble as a shadow—
Comes through our streets at noon. To living breath
It came this morn, but knows nor milk nor meadow—
Driven from birth to death!
Comes through our streets at noon. To living breath
It came this morn, but knows nor milk nor meadow—
Driven from birth to death!
What money-value in a thing so tender?
Yet men of slaughter quarrel for the prize.
How innocent of purchaser or vendor,
Those unpolluted eyes!
Yet men of slaughter quarrel for the prize.
How innocent of purchaser or vendor,
Those unpolluted eyes!
It looks untroubled through the troubled city;
It looks as if its life might never end;
It looks into my soul more thoughtful pity
Than soul may comprehend.
It looks as if its life might never end;
It looks into my soul more thoughtful pity
Than soul may comprehend.
I have no striking moral for my picture,
But only fix the outlines ere they melt,
Content to leave it open to thy stricture
If thou feel what I felt.
But only fix the outlines ere they melt,
Content to leave it open to thy stricture
If thou feel what I felt.
175
THE RIVER IN STORM.
When winds rise in the night and moan and shriek,
And windows rattle, walls and chimneys shiver,—
Ah, then it is my heart's wild joy to seek
Next morn the bellowing river!
And windows rattle, walls and chimneys shiver,—
Ah, then it is my heart's wild joy to seek
Next morn the bellowing river!
And grand the roaring scene, the murk eclipse—
Winds, waves, and clouds, in one wild mingled swelter—
The sea-dash'd piers, the tempest-beaten ships
That seek our haven for shelter;
Winds, waves, and clouds, in one wild mingled swelter—
The sea-dash'd piers, the tempest-beaten ships
That seek our haven for shelter;
The seamen's shouts, half stifled in the blast,
The anchors plunging and the cables rattling,
The flapping sails around the broken mast,
Men with the tempest battling:
The anchors plunging and the cables rattling,
The flapping sails around the broken mast,
Men with the tempest battling:
A fine upheaving of all energy—
A quickening soul through man and Nature driven!
O River, with thy beaten piers, from thee
I come refresh'd and shriven!
A quickening soul through man and Nature driven!
O River, with thy beaten piers, from thee
I come refresh'd and shriven!
176
THE RIVER IN CALM.
A charm is thine, O River! rage or rest;
And if thy storms enrapture us, thy calms
Do none the less into the mortal breast
Pour their immortal balms.
And if thy storms enrapture us, thy calms
Do none the less into the mortal breast
Pour their immortal balms.
Thou dreamy River, with thy freighted barks,
Resting upon their shadows, and, far through
Thy sunny deeps, the clouds, like sacred arks,
Floating in gulfs of blue!
Resting upon their shadows, and, far through
Thy sunny deeps, the clouds, like sacred arks,
Floating in gulfs of blue!
The boatmen's voices, and their measured stroke,
Heard, but themselves unseen, far up the stream;
The ferry-steamers and their trailing smoke,
Moving in placid dream!
Heard, but themselves unseen, far up the stream;
The ferry-steamers and their trailing smoke,
Moving in placid dream!
O River, calm and beautiful! O Peace,
That lies in folds about the flinty piers!
Great calm, that gives our fretted brains release—
Thought, melted into tears!
That lies in folds about the flinty piers!
Great calm, that gives our fretted brains release—
Thought, melted into tears!
177
SEEMING EVILS.
The only earthly ills we need to fear
Are those that we ourselves could have prevented.
All others only seem to afflict us here,
And need not be lamented.
Are those that we ourselves could have prevented.
All others only seem to afflict us here,
And need not be lamented.
'Twas somewhat thus the ancient Stoic meant:
That were those seeming evils evils truly,
The gods had given us power to prevent,
Or meet their coming duly.
That were those seeming evils evils truly,
The gods had given us power to prevent,
Or meet their coming duly.
For they are from above, come by a law
That shapes our lives, despite our fancied merit:
The gods are good, and ever seek to draw
Us nearer them in spirit.
That shapes our lives, despite our fancied merit:
The gods are good, and ever seek to draw
Us nearer them in spirit.
They love and chasten. To the eyes of Time
Their good seems bad, their law a contradiction.
They build hard steps to heaven and bid us climb:
They win us by affliction.
Their good seems bad, their law a contradiction.
They build hard steps to heaven and bid us climb:
They win us by affliction.
178
CONSCIOUS-WRONG.
Yes, others do it: wherefore may not I?
They prosper, they enjoy, and never rue it.—
Well, if they do not feel the acted lie,
'Tis little sin to do it.
They prosper, they enjoy, and never rue it.—
Well, if they do not feel the acted lie,
'Tis little sin to do it.
But I both see and feel it deeply wrong,
And thus the crime of doing it were deeper;
Nor I go scathless as the prosperous throng
That own no inward keeper.
And thus the crime of doing it were deeper;
Nor I go scathless as the prosperous throng
That own no inward keeper.
'Tis not that in return the smitten smite,
Nor that outflowing injury is tidal;
But evermore for him who sees the right,
The wrong is suicidal.
Nor that outflowing injury is tidal;
But evermore for him who sees the right,
The wrong is suicidal.
179
THE RAIN FALLS EQUALLY.
The rain falls on the unjust and the just,
And worldly fortune comes alike to both.
What heart is here for Justice? Let it trust
All to the inward growth.
And worldly fortune comes alike to both.
What heart is here for Justice? Let it trust
All to the inward growth.
Justice rewards itself; and if its deeds
Seem only to bring poverty and grief,
These also are the rain of Heaven, that feeds
The plant to higher leaf.
Seem only to bring poverty and grief,
These also are the rain of Heaven, that feeds
The plant to higher leaf.
If plants, themselves corrupt, get plenteous rain,
'Tis not to bless them, but to make them worse:
And who has seen Injustice truly gain?
Its seeming gain a curse.
'Tis not to bless them, but to make them worse:
And who has seen Injustice truly gain?
Its seeming gain a curse.
'Tis not in nature that the prize of wrong
Can bless the gainer. They that foully win,
Destroy the good of winning, yet prolong
The multiplying sin.
Can bless the gainer. They that foully win,
Destroy the good of winning, yet prolong
The multiplying sin.
For spirit has its chemistry. The gain
That comes of wrong transmutes itself to loss;
And, dreaming it has struck a golden vein,
Wakens to find it dross.
That comes of wrong transmutes itself to loss;
And, dreaming it has struck a golden vein,
Wakens to find it dross.
So, if the rain does fall alike on all,
It does not work in all a like result.
We cannot judge the blessing from the fall,
Its action so occult.
It does not work in all a like result.
We cannot judge the blessing from the fall,
Its action so occult.
180
THE GORSY GLEN.
Between Loch-Foyle and Greenan's ancient fort,
From Derry's famous walls a little way,
There dreams a gorsy glen, in whose lone heart
I mused a Sabbath day.
From Derry's famous walls a little way,
There dreams a gorsy glen, in whose lone heart
I mused a Sabbath day.
A nameless glen, one mass of yellow gorse,
That hides the sparkle of a trotting burn,
Save where in dimpling pools it stays its force,
Or takes a rocky turn.
That hides the sparkle of a trotting burn,
Save where in dimpling pools it stays its force,
Or takes a rocky turn.
The sandy linnet sang, the tiny wren
Pour'd in the burn its tiny melodies.
The air was honey-laden, and the glen
All murmurous with bees.
Pour'd in the burn its tiny melodies.
The air was honey-laden, and the glen
All murmurous with bees.
A straggling crow, upon its woodward way,
Might start an echo with its rusty croak;
But all around the quiet Sabbath lay,
Hush'd from the week-day yoke.
Might start an echo with its rusty croak;
But all around the quiet Sabbath lay,
Hush'd from the week-day yoke.
Near, yet all hidden from, the ways of men,
No foot into my sanctuary stole;
I wander'd with my shadow in the glen—
The only living soul.
No foot into my sanctuary stole;
I wander'd with my shadow in the glen—
The only living soul.
181
Yet, many more were in the glen, 'twould seem:
I heard, or thought I heard, their whisper'd words,
And knew 'twas not the bees, the babbling stream,
Or carol of the birds.
I heard, or thought I heard, their whisper'd words,
And knew 'twas not the bees, the babbling stream,
Or carol of the birds.
And sometimes through the sunniest gleams of day
There pass'd a light intenser than the gleam—
A living soul without its grosser clay?
Or but my waking dream?
There pass'd a light intenser than the gleam—
A living soul without its grosser clay?
Or but my waking dream?
Who knows? who knows? The dream to-day is found
A verity to-morrow. Things have been
For ever with us in our daily round,
Though now but newly seen.
A verity to-morrow. Things have been
For ever with us in our daily round,
Though now but newly seen.
Ah! could we by a purer life refine
The veil that keeps the inward from our ken,
No lonely fellowship had then been mine
Within the gorsy glen.
The veil that keeps the inward from our ken,
No lonely fellowship had then been mine
Within the gorsy glen.
182
I KNOW THE FACE.
I know the face of him who with the sphere
Of unseen presences communion keeps.
His eyes retain its wonders in their clear
Unfathomable deeps.
Of unseen presences communion keeps.
His eyes retain its wonders in their clear
Unfathomable deeps.
His every feature, rugged or refined,
Shines from the inner light; and, large or small
His earthly state, he from the world behind
Brings wealth that beggars all.
Shines from the inner light; and, large or small
His earthly state, he from the world behind
Brings wealth that beggars all.
He brings the thought that gives to earthly things
Eternal meaning; brings the living faith
That, even now, puts on the immortal wings,
And clears the shadow, Death.
Eternal meaning; brings the living faith
That, even now, puts on the immortal wings,
And clears the shadow, Death.
This in his face I see; and, when we meet,
My earthliness is shamed by him; but yet
Takes hope to think that, in the unholy street,
Such men are to be met.
My earthliness is shamed by him; but yet
Takes hope to think that, in the unholy street,
Such men are to be met.
183
FLOWERS.
She brought rich flowers to our cottage home—
Rare blossoms, grown upon no common stem.
Our little ones into the parlour come
Stealing, to gaze at them.
Rare blossoms, grown upon no common stem.
Our little ones into the parlour come
Stealing, to gaze at them.
They last all through the sweeten'd week, and raise
The benediction of their breathing psalm.
From them, and from the living flowers that gaze,
We drink renewing balm.
The benediction of their breathing psalm.
From them, and from the living flowers that gaze,
We drink renewing balm.
Children and flowers lie very near to God,
And Heaven with them is but a short remove.
They yield us glimpses of the blest abode,
And win us with its love.
And Heaven with them is but a short remove.
They yield us glimpses of the blest abode,
And win us with its love.
If thou wouldst charm me with the wine of thought,
And give sweet inspiration to my hours,
And wake the melodies in Heaven taught—
O bring the chaliced flowers!
And give sweet inspiration to my hours,
And wake the melodies in Heaven taught—
O bring the chaliced flowers!
184
OUR CHAPEL.
Not in all England's temple-built domain
Can I behold such beauty as I may
Within the blue-ceil'd, marble-pillar'd fane,
That draws my Sabbath day.
Can I behold such beauty as I may
Within the blue-ceil'd, marble-pillar'd fane,
That draws my Sabbath day.
I almost get all that my soul can need
Of worship, merely there to sit and look;
For Beauty is my idol, half my creed—
God's universal book.
Of worship, merely there to sit and look;
For Beauty is my idol, half my creed—
God's universal book.
So, in its beauty has our chapel grown
From Thee, O God! a very poem inspired;
And, drinking in its every line and tone,
My heart is never tired.
From Thee, O God! a very poem inspired;
And, drinking in its every line and tone,
My heart is never tired.
Up in the azure heaven of its roof
I lose my thoughts, as in God's outer skies:
The checker'd panes shed down the golden woof,
Like beams from angel-eyes.
I lose my thoughts, as in God's outer skies:
The checker'd panes shed down the golden woof,
Like beams from angel-eyes.
The sun throws in the window's pictured scenes,
And Jesus moves in light from seat to seat;
The Marys come, and Christ's own Galileans
Pass by with silent feet.
And Jesus moves in light from seat to seat;
The Marys come, and Christ's own Galileans
Pass by with silent feet.
185
But when the organ stirs the enraptured air,
And touches chords our wisdom may not reach,
Ah, then we have the sermon and the pray'r,
Though none were there to preach!
And touches chords our wisdom may not reach,
Ah, then we have the sermon and the pray'r,
Though none were there to preach!
I love our chapel for its beauty's sake,
And for a promise on its altar laid—
A promise that I did not need to make,
And have not wish'd unmade.
And for a promise on its altar laid—
A promise that I did not need to make,
And have not wish'd unmade.
I love it for that mighty soul who shone—
And shines—the brightest of our gospel's lamps;
And that great heart who pass'd from us, half known,
To watch the embattled camps.
And shines—the brightest of our gospel's lamps;
And that great heart who pass'd from us, half known,
To watch the embattled camps.
I love it for the coming hope, though dim.
The old renown still hangs about these walls;
And, 'tis my faith, whoever comes, on him
Elijah's mantle falls.
The old renown still hangs about these walls;
And, 'tis my faith, whoever comes, on him
Elijah's mantle falls.
186
MUSIC.
By what fine miracle do linkèd notes
Become this power of exquisite control,
That into waters of elysium floats
The ready-yielding soul?
Become this power of exquisite control,
That into waters of elysium floats
The ready-yielding soul?
It will not tell its secret, bids us take
The fact that it is so, and be content.
Like poetry, 'tis not of mortal make;
For both are Heaven-sent.
The fact that it is so, and be content.
Like poetry, 'tis not of mortal make;
For both are Heaven-sent.
The notes we deem the music, only are
Themselves the finer instruments; they sheathe
Inexplicable auras from afar,
That through the spirit breathe.
Themselves the finer instruments; they sheathe
Inexplicable auras from afar,
That through the spirit breathe.
And, as in poesie, who would translate
Immortal harmonies, must give his love
As a religion to his art, and wait
The coming from above.
Immortal harmonies, must give his love
As a religion to his art, and wait
The coming from above.
187
TEARS.
Whence are these tears that come with sudden start,
In spite of nerve that struggles to restrain?
From overflowing cisterns of the heart?
Or wells within the brain?
In spite of nerve that struggles to restrain?
From overflowing cisterns of the heart?
Or wells within the brain?
That heart-beats have to do with them I know—
Quick beats of joy, slow beats of weary dole:
And, whether out of heart or brain they flow,
Close kin are they with soul.
Quick beats of joy, slow beats of weary dole:
And, whether out of heart or brain they flow,
Close kin are they with soul.
Fine mists of thought condensed to dewy speech—
Pearls of emotion from their shells set free—
Wavelets that come with treasure to the beach
Of life's mysterious sea:
Pearls of emotion from their shells set free—
Wavelets that come with treasure to the beach
Of life's mysterious sea:
Naked affections from their Eden driven,
To seek another through this world's unrest—
Embodied spirits from the little heaven
Each keeps in his own breast:
To seek another through this world's unrest—
Embodied spirits from the little heaven
Each keeps in his own breast:
Akin to all that we most sacred hold—
Twin-born with thought, affection, joy, and care—
Twin-born, but how, we never may unfold,
Nor Heaven itself declare.
Twin-born with thought, affection, joy, and care—
Twin-born, but how, we never may unfold,
Nor Heaven itself declare.
They are not what they seem. If we despise
The weak creations of our childish years,
A higher wisdom comes to recognise
The sacredness of tears.
The weak creations of our childish years,
A higher wisdom comes to recognise
The sacredness of tears.
188
JENNY LIND.
When first I heard that world-enrapturing voice,
I marvell'd what could be the secret art
That dwarf'd all others to a sweet, tame noise,
That fail'd to reach the heart.
I marvell'd what could be the secret art
That dwarf'd all others to a sweet, tame noise,
That fail'd to reach the heart.
But when I saw the moisture in her eye,
And the emotion trembling through her frame,
My question had not long to wait reply—
The inward secret came.
And the emotion trembling through her frame,
My question had not long to wait reply—
The inward secret came.
She sang with all her being—lived her song—
And not for us alone the strain was given:
It seem'd to pass beyond us and along
The corridors of heaven.
And not for us alone the strain was given:
It seem'd to pass beyond us and along
The corridors of heaven.
So is it with all excellence: it seeks
Its own complete ideal—great or small;
And, speaking only for itself, it speaks
The heaven-wing'd thought for all.
Its own complete ideal—great or small;
And, speaking only for itself, it speaks
The heaven-wing'd thought for all.
'Twas not the organic utterance of lips,
The artful government of throat and lung:
The immortal put the mortal in eclipse;
It was the soul that sung.
The artful government of throat and lung:
The immortal put the mortal in eclipse;
It was the soul that sung.
189
NATURE'S HARMONIES.
Behold, how perfect the majestic strains
Sung by the epic thunder! and how sweet,
Even to critic ears, those deft refrains
The lyric streams repeat!
Sung by the epic thunder! and how sweet,
Even to critic ears, those deft refrains
The lyric streams repeat!
So, too, with the dramatic seas and winds,
That flout and woo. Whatever be their part,
Chords of approving harmony it finds
Within the human heart.
That flout and woo. Whatever be their part,
Chords of approving harmony it finds
Within the human heart.
The rustling trees, the pattering rain, the quires
That pour their melodies from cloud and grove,—
All Nature's poetry—what heart desires
Its measures to improve?
That pour their melodies from cloud and grove,—
All Nature's poetry—what heart desires
Its measures to improve?
And even the mechanic arts add voice
To Nature's minstrelsy: the rushing train
And beating mill-wheel, drive not jarring noise,
But music, through the brain.
To Nature's minstrelsy: the rushing train
And beating mill-wheel, drive not jarring noise,
But music, through the brain.
Were Nature's simple resignation ours,
To let the higher will our wills appease,
Then ours were also those mysterious powers
That work such harmonies.
To let the higher will our wills appease,
Then ours were also those mysterious powers
That work such harmonies.
Then might I catch the method that would make
My lines as welcome as the songs of birds,
And, in the reader's faculty, awake
Thoughts that transcend my words.
My lines as welcome as the songs of birds,
And, in the reader's faculty, awake
Thoughts that transcend my words.
190
THE LIGHT WITHIN THE DARK.
We think of heavenly bliss, and cast our eyes
Amid yon white curl'd clouds and sun-bright air;
And, lost within the softness of the skies,
Cry, Surely Heaven is there!
Amid yon white curl'd clouds and sun-bright air;
And, lost within the softness of the skies,
Cry, Surely Heaven is there!
And yet you tell us that yon ambient light
Is but delusion, that, beyond our bound
Of atmosphere, all is perpetual night,
Silence and dark profound.
Is but delusion, that, beyond our bound
Of atmosphere, all is perpetual night,
Silence and dark profound.
Where shall immortal spirits find their home
Of light and beauty, if yon azure arc
Be an illusion, and beyond that dome,
Unfathomable dark?
Of light and beauty, if yon azure arc
Be an illusion, and beyond that dome,
Unfathomable dark?
I close my lids in slumber, and thus make
My world a dungeon, shorn of the blessed beams:
But soon I cross the bar of sleep, and wake
Into the light of dreams.
My world a dungeon, shorn of the blessed beams:
But soon I cross the bar of sleep, and wake
Into the light of dreams.
And so there is within the night of space
An inward day, unseen by mortal eye.
That day to reach, its mysteries to trace,
We only need to die.
An inward day, unseen by mortal eye.
That day to reach, its mysteries to trace,
We only need to die.
191
GONE.
Gone in the bloom of youth, the flower of life,
Ere yet his morning hours had wholly shone:
Gone from a world of promises how rife!
With all our bright hopes, gone!
Ere yet his morning hours had wholly shone:
Gone from a world of promises how rife!
With all our bright hopes, gone!
His plans of life all form'd and firmly set,
A plenteous future wooing him to stay,
A sphere in which glad heart and duty met—
And yet, he must away!
A plenteous future wooing him to stay,
A sphere in which glad heart and duty met—
And yet, he must away!
Where were thy charms, O Clyde! to let him go?
Those charms he loved so much! thy classic shores;
Thy lochs that take the ocean's ebb and flow,
And knew his skilful oars:
Those charms he loved so much! thy classic shores;
Thy lochs that take the ocean's ebb and flow,
And knew his skilful oars:
Thy misty mountains and mysterious Kyles;
Thy grand sea firth, that in blue beauty floats
Around the weird traditionary isles;
Thy pleasure-freighted boats.
Thy grand sea firth, that in blue beauty floats
Around the weird traditionary isles;
Thy pleasure-freighted boats.
All could not stay him! nor the clinging hearts
That lived for him, or for his sake would die:
Nor sleepless watching, nor physician's arts
Restore life's breaking tie.
That lived for him, or for his sake would die:
Nor sleepless watching, nor physician's arts
Restore life's breaking tie.
192
Thou hast no reason in thy choice, blind Death!
Or reason larger than our thought may gauge—
Thus cutting short the young and useful breath,
Leaving decrepit age!
Or reason larger than our thought may gauge—
Thus cutting short the young and useful breath,
Leaving decrepit age!
No reason, Death! Who knows what prompts thy choice
To take the lives that here we least can spare?
What greater need, than in this world of noise,
May claim them otherwhere?
To take the lives that here we least can spare?
What greater need, than in this world of noise,
May claim them otherwhere?
Methinks thy very waywardness betrays
The life beyond. If earth, indeed, were all,
There were more equal measure in our days,
Less marvel in our fall.
The life beyond. If earth, indeed, were all,
There were more equal measure in our days,
Less marvel in our fall.
And when upon the fever'd couch he lay,
Surely the truth of truths broke on his mind;
Else, why so calmly take the lonesome way,
Nor cast a look behind?
Surely the truth of truths broke on his mind;
Else, why so calmly take the lonesome way,
Nor cast a look behind?
From all the world could give, he turn'd his face;
And pass'd from us—not lost, but only gone:
And this his legacy—The world's no place
To rest your hopes upon.
And pass'd from us—not lost, but only gone:
And this his legacy—The world's no place
To rest your hopes upon.
193
SABBATH.
Like sunrise through my heart the Sabbath breaks,
Welcome as if a week of night were done:
Even the day before feels like the streaks
That rise before the sun.
Welcome as if a week of night were done:
Even the day before feels like the streaks
That rise before the sun.
Not mine the Sabbatarian fears that quake
At week-day levity or week-day load;
Yet would I to my soul the Sabbath take,
And give it all to God.
At week-day levity or week-day load;
Yet would I to my soul the Sabbath take,
And give it all to God.
In ways perhaps some creeds would count as sin—
Breaking the day they think they keep so whole—
With little outside ritual, but, within,
The Sabbath of the soul.
Breaking the day they think they keep so whole—
With little outside ritual, but, within,
The Sabbath of the soul.
I would begin it while the morning star
Hangs in the green-blue dawn; when larks take wing,
And throstle-haunted gardens, near and far,
With warbling matins ring.
Hangs in the green-blue dawn; when larks take wing,
And throstle-haunted gardens, near and far,
With warbling matins ring.
Live half a day before the day begins,
And forth to watch earth out of darkness creep;
Returning, find the city with its sins
In folds of burnish'd sleep.
And forth to watch earth out of darkness creep;
Returning, find the city with its sins
In folds of burnish'd sleep.
194
Or give my fresh hours to some master-page;
The dramatist of every class and clime;
Or that new-ancient, Massachusett's sage,
Whose thoughts are for all time.
The dramatist of every class and clime;
Or that new-ancient, Massachusett's sage,
Whose thoughts are for all time.
All earth should be God's temple; but we build
Our little fanes, because they seem to draw
Heaven's beams the more into us, and thus yield
A closer sense of awe.
Our little fanes, because they seem to draw
Heaven's beams the more into us, and thus yield
A closer sense of awe.
And so, yon chapel, with its noon-tide rays,
Its music, full free speech, and solemn prayers,
Should have my ripe hours of this day of days,
All free from worldly cares.
Its music, full free speech, and solemn prayers,
Should have my ripe hours of this day of days,
All free from worldly cares.
And then the home-joys of the slanting day,
The fireside gossip, or the garden walk,
The lounge at sunny doors, and children's play,
Mingled with graver talk.
The fireside gossip, or the garden walk,
The lounge at sunny doors, and children's play,
Mingled with graver talk.
Or, if day lengthen'd with a lingering wane,
Perhaps 'twould draw me to the whispering wood,
The time-recording shore, the moss-green lane,
Or moorland solitude.
Perhaps 'twould draw me to the whispering wood,
The time-recording shore, the moss-green lane,
Or moorland solitude.
And, far off, I would let the night close in,
Then home through fire-lit hamlets, roads pitch dark,
Catching at times the city's muffled din,
At times the watch-dog's bark.
Then home through fire-lit hamlets, roads pitch dark,
Catching at times the city's muffled din,
At times the watch-dog's bark.
195
Passing the wayside cottage, I should hear
The solitary cricket by the fire,
Or night-enchanted ducks make merry cheer,
Low dabbling in the mire.
The solitary cricket by the fire,
Or night-enchanted ducks make merry cheer,
Low dabbling in the mire.
The drear mysterious voices of the night
Would come into my spirit, there to be
Abiding dreams, and by some after-light
Waked into poesie.
Would come into my spirit, there to be
Abiding dreams, and by some after-light
Waked into poesie.
For Nature, the musician, cannot err,
But, through some unpremeditated art,
Her vagrant notes are harmonies that stir
Unknown chords in the heart.
But, through some unpremeditated art,
Her vagrant notes are harmonies that stir
Unknown chords in the heart.
So, with a perfect touch, she blends the hues
Which we in pictures would discordant call:
An alchymy runs through her greens and blues,
And harmonizeth all.
Which we in pictures would discordant call:
An alchymy runs through her greens and blues,
And harmonizeth all.
Her sense of form rejects our petty rules,
Despises our proportions, yet retains
That majesty and beauty which our schools
To reach have rack'd their brains.
Despises our proportions, yet retains
That majesty and beauty which our schools
To reach have rack'd their brains.
If thus she greatly teaches eye and ear,
What fine philosophies may she not hint!
And intuitions from her inner sphere
Upon the soul imprint!
What fine philosophies may she not hint!
And intuitions from her inner sphere
Upon the soul imprint!
196
Therefore, while in this week-day world I live,
Whatever some theologies may say,
Unto the church of Nature I would give
Much of my Sabbath day.
Whatever some theologies may say,
Unto the church of Nature I would give
Much of my Sabbath day.
Nor, from the earliest glimmer in the east,
All up the hours, would I a moment lose,
But fill each full, and draw my Sabbath feast
Out to a thankful close.
All up the hours, would I a moment lose,
But fill each full, and draw my Sabbath feast
Out to a thankful close.
197
JUDGMENTS.
How incomplete our judgments of our friends!
None is himself when seen. The judge still gives
Some shadow of his own, and often lends
The impression he receives.
None is himself when seen. The judge still gives
Some shadow of his own, and often lends
The impression he receives.
Each has his own true element, wherein
He is himself, and finds his dearest gain;
Wherein no eye may see him, and, if seen,
Were surely judged insane.
He is himself, and finds his dearest gain;
Wherein no eye may see him, and, if seen,
Were surely judged insane.
For only tame restraint is deem'd good sense.
Your own idea—be it good or bad—
Rides you rough-shod without the rein, and thence
The verdict—you are mad.
Your own idea—be it good or bad—
Rides you rough-shod without the rein, and thence
The verdict—you are mad.
I nowhere feel so much myself, as when
Upon some breezy mountain-side—alone.
If you would judge me, you must know me then,
Or hold me yet unknown.
Upon some breezy mountain-side—alone.
If you would judge me, you must know me then,
Or hold me yet unknown.
And so with you, I will not say that this,
Or that, is your true character, nor call
Your truer moods to witness, lest I miss
The truest mood of all.
Or that, is your true character, nor call
Your truer moods to witness, lest I miss
The truest mood of all.
198
BEAUTY AND RECTITUDE.
'Twould seem there's some affinity between
Beauty and rectitude. We cannot sway
From truth and virtue but it draws a screen
Over the face of day:
Beauty and rectitude. We cannot sway
From truth and virtue but it draws a screen
Over the face of day:
The blue sky blurr'd, and earth's refreshing green,
With hill and dale and cattle-haunted fords,
All dead and hollow as the ochred scene
Round the dramatic boards.
With hill and dale and cattle-haunted fords,
All dead and hollow as the ochred scene
Round the dramatic boards.
The flowers shut up their wonder from our eyes,
Their beauty that enchanted us; and books
Refuse to give the deeper sense that lies
Reveal'd to virtuous looks.
Their beauty that enchanted us; and books
Refuse to give the deeper sense that lies
Reveal'd to virtuous looks.
A soul of artless purity discerns
Poetic wreathings in prosaic facts,
And finds that universal Nature turns
To beauty all her acts.
Poetic wreathings in prosaic facts,
And finds that universal Nature turns
To beauty all her acts.
To perfect purity—if such could be—
This earth were all transparent, the dull clod—
In which we neither life nor beauty see—
Breathing the living God.
This earth were all transparent, the dull clod—
In which we neither life nor beauty see—
Breathing the living God.
199
Beauty of nature through the varied year,
Beauty of truth, of right, of form, of soul—
All beauty is of God—one atmosphere
That permeates the whole.
Beauty of truth, of right, of form, of soul—
All beauty is of God—one atmosphere
That permeates the whole.
Let beauty cease to be our daily food,
We lose the finer sense of truth and right:
Forsake the holy paths of rectitude,
And beauty suffers blight.
We lose the finer sense of truth and right:
Forsake the holy paths of rectitude,
And beauty suffers blight.
200
TRUE MARRIAGE.
'Tis not true friendship ours, if there be yet
Secrets between us, but a friendly cheat:
Though, in our frequent greetings, hands be met,
In soul we do not meet.
Secrets between us, but a friendly cheat:
Though, in our frequent greetings, hands be met,
In soul we do not meet.
How much less is it marriage, if one wear
A shadow which the other may not lift!
True marriage gives in joy the mutual share,
In grief the mutual shrift.
A shadow which the other may not lift!
True marriage gives in joy the mutual share,
In grief the mutual shrift.
True marriage is two persons but one life;
Two brains one mind—the hour-glass and the sand,
No grain of reservation—husband, wife—
One interest, hand in hand.
Two brains one mind—the hour-glass and the sand,
No grain of reservation—husband, wife—
One interest, hand in hand.
201
THE SPIDERS.
Brush not away the spiders! Wherefore carp
Because they drape the corners of our rooms?
O spare the little weavers and their warp,
And their mysterious looms!
Because they drape the corners of our rooms?
O spare the little weavers and their warp,
And their mysterious looms!
We search the zones for curious shells and birds,
We bring aquarium fishes to our homes:
Our little weaver as fine thought affords—
And of itself it comes.
We bring aquarium fishes to our homes:
Our little weaver as fine thought affords—
And of itself it comes.
Who knows what hints in morals and in arts
Our boasted race have pilfer'd from its threads?
What strength it may have given to stronger hearts?
Wisdom to wiser heads?
Our boasted race have pilfer'd from its threads?
What strength it may have given to stronger hearts?
Wisdom to wiser heads?
It wove resolves amidst a monarch's cares:
He conquer'd for his land an honour'd truce;—
And in the book of fame the spider shares
The glory of the Bruce.
He conquer'd for his land an honour'd truce;—
And in the book of fame the spider shares
The glory of the Bruce.
The pretty lawn spread out before its door;
The little hall o'erlooking the domain;
Its very own, drawn from its silken store,
Plann'd by its cunning brain!
The little hall o'erlooking the domain;
Its very own, drawn from its silken store,
Plann'd by its cunning brain!
202
Not one instinctive and unvaried form,
But reason'd to the circumstance and place;
With here a stay against the mimic storm,
And there a strengthening brace.
But reason'd to the circumstance and place;
With here a stay against the mimic storm,
And there a strengthening brace.
What patience, ingenuity, and hope!
Patience to watch, and hope that, soon or late,
Some wingèd prey, bound with its fairy rope,
Will struggle to its gate.
Patience to watch, and hope that, soon or late,
Some wingèd prey, bound with its fairy rope,
Will struggle to its gate.
And can that morsel brain possess indeed
This forethought, and the reason that consults?
Or does the Parent of all wisdom lead
It blindly to results?
This forethought, and the reason that consults?
Or does the Parent of all wisdom lead
It blindly to results?
What plans within that little rounded door
The exploring eye might find, I'll take on trust;
For should I break the portals to explore,
'Twould fall to ragged dust.
The exploring eye might find, I'll take on trust;
For should I break the portals to explore,
'Twould fall to ragged dust.
I have no heart for that—would leave our rooms
A life-time to the spider's quaint design:
Ah then, how deftly would they ply their looms,
And what a sight were mine!
A life-time to the spider's quaint design:
Ah then, how deftly would they ply their looms,
And what a sight were mine!
203
THE BUNCH OF LARKS.
Portly he was, in carriage somewhat grand;
Of gentleman he wore the accepted marks:
He thrid the busy street, and in his hand
He bore a bunch of larks!
Of gentleman he wore the accepted marks:
He thrid the busy street, and in his hand
He bore a bunch of larks!
There be some things that may be carried—yes,
A gentleman may carry larks—if dead;
Or any slaughter'd game; not fish, still less
The homely beef or bread.
A gentleman may carry larks—if dead;
Or any slaughter'd game; not fish, still less
The homely beef or bread.
I met him in the street, and turn'd about,
And mused long after he had flaunted by.
A bunch of larks! and his intent, no doubt,
To have them in a pie.
And mused long after he had flaunted by.
A bunch of larks! and his intent, no doubt,
To have them in a pie.
Yes, four-and-twenty larks baked in a pie!
O, what a feast of melody is there!
The ringing chorus of a summer sky!
A dish of warbling air!
O, what a feast of melody is there!
The ringing chorus of a summer sky!
A dish of warbling air!
How many dusty wanderers of the earth
Have those still'd voices lifted from the dust!
And now to end their almost Heavenly mirth
Beneath a gourmand's crust!
Have those still'd voices lifted from the dust!
And now to end their almost Heavenly mirth
Beneath a gourmand's crust!
204
But as he picks their thin ambrosial throats,
Will no accusing memories arise,
Of grassy glebes, and heaven-descending notes,
And soul-engulfing skies?
Will no accusing memories arise,
Of grassy glebes, and heaven-descending notes,
And soul-engulfing skies?
“Give me,” cries he, “the substance of a thing—
Something that I can eat, or drink, or feel—
A poem for the money it will bring—
Larks for the dainty meal.”
Something that I can eat, or drink, or feel—
A poem for the money it will bring—
Larks for the dainty meal.”
Well, he may have his substance, and I mine.
Deep in my soul the throbbing lark-notes lie.
My substance lasts, and takes a life divine—
His passes with the pie.
Deep in my soul the throbbing lark-notes lie.
My substance lasts, and takes a life divine—
His passes with the pie.
205
NAMES OF FLOWERS.
As, musing, through the garden walks I go,
Amidst a blaze of flowers—those sweet earth-flames—
I often feel it is my loss to know
So little of their names.
Amidst a blaze of flowers—those sweet earth-flames—
I often feel it is my loss to know
So little of their names.
I know the lily and I know the rose,
Lad's-love and wallflower—very little more;
Nothing but what the humble cottage grows
In plots before the door.
Lad's-love and wallflower—very little more;
Nothing but what the humble cottage grows
In plots before the door.
The peppermint that scents the shady nook,
The honeysuckle tangling round the porch,—
Yes, and the ancient thyme our grandams took
On Sabbath to the church.
The honeysuckle tangling round the porch,—
Yes, and the ancient thyme our grandams took
On Sabbath to the church.
I know the gorse and heather of the moors,
The blue-bell and the daisy of the leas,
Its purple cousin of the cliffy shores,
That loves the salt sea-breeze.
The blue-bell and the daisy of the leas,
Its purple cousin of the cliffy shores,
That loves the salt sea-breeze.
But myriad beauties of the garden, and
Those breathers of the glass-encompass'd air,
I cannot name—can only, gazing, stand,
As in a thinking prayer.
Those breathers of the glass-encompass'd air,
I cannot name—can only, gazing, stand,
As in a thinking prayer.
206
And yet, 'tis well. If we can name a thing,
We name it, and pass on to what is next;
But, having not this substitute to bring,
Are by the wonder fixt.
We name it, and pass on to what is next;
But, having not this substitute to bring,
Are by the wonder fixt.
When Heaven grows dim, and faith seeks to renew
Its image of our everlasting dower,
I know no argument so sweet as through
The bosom of a flower.
Its image of our everlasting dower,
I know no argument so sweet as through
The bosom of a flower.
A wicket-gate to Heaven—whereof death
Is the great entrance, closed to mortal eyes—
And, from the little portals, that sweet breath,
The air of paradise!
Is the great entrance, closed to mortal eyes—
And, from the little portals, that sweet breath,
The air of paradise!
For surely it is spirit that entreats
Sweet recognition of the spirit, thus;
Something mysteriously divine, that meets
Divinity in us!
Sweet recognition of the spirit, thus;
Something mysteriously divine, that meets
Divinity in us!
Among the garden flowers, bee-like, I glide;
And, though their names to me seal'd letters prove,
They have a speech that never is denied
To hearts that simply—love.
And, though their names to me seal'd letters prove,
They have a speech that never is denied
To hearts that simply—love.
207
ETERNITY FOR ALL.
I read of battles with their thousands slain,
Of plagues that buried myriads side by side,
Of savage hordes that seem'd to live in vain,
And, unregretted, died.
Of plagues that buried myriads side by side,
Of savage hordes that seem'd to live in vain,
And, unregretted, died.
And through the histories—sacred and profane—
What hecatombs of unknown dead I see,—
And marvel if at death they rose again,
And if all these still be!
What hecatombs of unknown dead I see,—
And marvel if at death they rose again,
And if all these still be!
That Shakspeare lives, we easily believe,—
The wonder were that such could ever die.
But those unthinking swarms! who can conceive
How they should live, or why?
The wonder were that such could ever die.
But those unthinking swarms! who can conceive
How they should live, or why?
Why not? If here life's lowly ends they serve,
May there not be hereafter lowly ends?
The ruder mission for the ruder nerve:
One makes—one only mends.
May there not be hereafter lowly ends?
The ruder mission for the ruder nerve:
One makes—one only mends.
Their numbers shake us?—Though the stars had been,
Like earth, each one the cradle of a race,
And all immortal, there were room within
The eternal dwelling-place.
Like earth, each one the cradle of a race,
And all immortal, there were room within
The eternal dwelling-place.
For infinite as space, and in its needs
As various as creation, it demands
All modes of being, intellect, and creeds,
Outnumbering the sands.
As various as creation, it demands
All modes of being, intellect, and creeds,
Outnumbering the sands.
208
THE QUESTION.
Wherefore this speculation about death,
And whether there be still a life beyond?
If good for us that life outlast the breath,
Then life will be the bond.
And whether there be still a life beyond?
If good for us that life outlast the breath,
Then life will be the bond.
For what is good will surely be fulfill'd.
And if beyond this life blank death be best,
Then, also, be our speculation still'd,
And ours an equal rest.
And if beyond this life blank death be best,
Then, also, be our speculation still'd,
And ours an equal rest.
Alas! no rest for doubt-awaken'd mind.
Rest for the lives that batten in the fields:
But man leaves his complacencies behind,
And ever upward builds.
Rest for the lives that batten in the fields:
But man leaves his complacencies behind,
And ever upward builds.
And daily his old truths become untrue.
Life fails him if no further hope he see.
He seeks a higher truth, a larger view,
Intenselier to be.
Life fails him if no further hope he see.
He seeks a higher truth, a larger view,
Intenselier to be.
To live, to live, is life's great joy—to feel
The living God within—to look abroad,
And, in the beauty that all things reveal,
Still meet the living God.
The living God within—to look abroad,
And, in the beauty that all things reveal,
Still meet the living God.
209
To close this joy in death were surely loss;
And thus the question comes, Is death the close?
We cannot rest in dread, but reach across
The doubts that interpose.
And thus the question comes, Is death the close?
We cannot rest in dread, but reach across
The doubts that interpose.
And there we catch the glimpses of a faith,
That throws new light around our mortal strife,
And teaches that the avenue of death
Leads through to fuller life.
That throws new light around our mortal strife,
And teaches that the avenue of death
Leads through to fuller life.
This speculative struggle of the soul
May come as exercise to feeble limbs;
And doubt, that keeps in cloud the unreach'd goal,
Increase the power that climbs.
May come as exercise to feeble limbs;
And doubt, that keeps in cloud the unreach'd goal,
Increase the power that climbs.
210
MUCH LEARNING.
Much learning is but living in the past,
Deserted cobwebs in the wrinkled brow.
Wherefore lament the want of it who hast
The ever-living Now?
Deserted cobwebs in the wrinkled brow.
Wherefore lament the want of it who hast
The ever-living Now?
They close their doors on us, those learnèd brains;
No entrance ours, without the rusty keys.
Ours are the streets, the mountains, and the plains,
The cloud, the sky, the breeze.
No entrance ours, without the rusty keys.
Ours are the streets, the mountains, and the plains,
The cloud, the sky, the breeze.
Better yield up the past, and free soul give
Unto the inflow of the passing hour,
And, like the lilies in their glory, live
Our day of sun and shower.
Unto the inflow of the passing hour,
And, like the lilies in their glory, live
Our day of sun and shower.
O God, how feeble is our sense of Thee!
The lily trusts Thee, and the lowly beast.
Why beg a crust not ours, when life might be
An ever-ready feast?
The lily trusts Thee, and the lowly beast.
Why beg a crust not ours, when life might be
An ever-ready feast?
Give up the past! We cannot, and be men.
Beasts have the present—circumscribed and small:
But the immortals take within their ken
Past, present, future—all.
Beasts have the present—circumscribed and small:
But the immortals take within their ken
Past, present, future—all.
211
THE DRIED-UP FOUNTAIN.
Outside the village, by the public road,
I know a dried-up fountain, overgrown
With herbs, the haunt of legendary toad,
And grass, by Nature sown.
I know a dried-up fountain, overgrown
With herbs, the haunt of legendary toad,
And grass, by Nature sown.
I know not when its trickling life was still'd.
No living ears its babbling tongue has caught.
But often, as I pass, I see it fill'd
And running o'er with thought.
No living ears its babbling tongue has caught.
But often, as I pass, I see it fill'd
And running o'er with thought.
I see it as it was in days of old,
The blue-eyed maiden stooping o'er its brim,
And smoothing in its glass her locks of gold,
Lest she should meet with him.
The blue-eyed maiden stooping o'er its brim,
And smoothing in its glass her locks of gold,
Lest she should meet with him.
She knows that he is near, yet I can see
Her sweet confusion when she hears him come.
No tryst had they, though every evening he
Carries her pitchers home.
Her sweet confusion when she hears him come.
No tryst had they, though every evening he
Carries her pitchers home.
The ancient beggar limps along the road
At thirsty noon, and rests him by its brink;
The dusty pedlar lays aside his load,
And pauses there to drink.
At thirsty noon, and rests him by its brink;
The dusty pedlar lays aside his load,
And pauses there to drink.
212
And there the village children come to play,
When busy parents work in shop and field.
The swallows, too, find there the loamy clay
When 'neath the eaves they build.
When busy parents work in shop and field.
The swallows, too, find there the loamy clay
When 'neath the eaves they build.
When cows at eve come crooning home, the boy
Leaves them to drink, while his mechanic skill
Within the brook sets up, with inward joy,
His tiny water-mill.
Leaves them to drink, while his mechanic skill
Within the brook sets up, with inward joy,
His tiny water-mill.
And when the night is hush'd in summer sleep,
And rest has come to labourer and team,
I hear the runnel through the long grass creep,
As 'twere a whispering dream.
And rest has come to labourer and team,
I hear the runnel through the long grass creep,
As 'twere a whispering dream.
Alas! 'tis all a dream. Lover and lass,
Children and wanderers, are in their graves;
And where the fountain flow'd, a greener grass,
Its In-memoriam, waves.
Children and wanderers, are in their graves;
And where the fountain flow'd, a greener grass,
Its In-memoriam, waves.
213
GLEN-MESSEN.
As in the babbling crowd where gossips meet,
Some quiet heart maintains itself alone—
Or grass-grown alley off the trampled street—
Glen-Messen lies unknown.
Some quiet heart maintains itself alone—
Or grass-grown alley off the trampled street—
Glen-Messen lies unknown.
The visitors of summer come and go,
With many a far-famed scene within their ken;
But even their books of travel do not know,
This almost nameless glen.
With many a far-famed scene within their ken;
But even their books of travel do not know,
This almost nameless glen.
I got its being and its name from one
Who loves to brood on beauty near at home,
And, haply, garners more, when all is done,
Than those who farther roam.
Who loves to brood on beauty near at home,
And, haply, garners more, when all is done,
Than those who farther roam.
It was a golden summer day, and Clyde,
From shore to shore, was all one molten flame;
The Holy Loch, still'd with the swollen tide,
Was hallowed as its name.
From shore to shore, was all one molten flame;
The Holy Loch, still'd with the swollen tide,
Was hallowed as its name.
As up its southern marge I slowly stray'd,
I heard the measured dip of unseen oar,
And even the prattling children as they play'd
Upon the further shore.
I heard the measured dip of unseen oar,
And even the prattling children as they play'd
Upon the further shore.
214
Up by the placid loch, which, far beneath,
Bosom'd the summer beauty of the skies,—
I reach'd its upper shores, then took the heath,
For there Glen-messen lies.
Bosom'd the summer beauty of the skies,—
I reach'd its upper shores, then took the heath,
For there Glen-messen lies.
Now, where the burn comes swirling from the glen,
A little homestead nestles by a brake,—
And there the yellowhammer and the wren
A desert music make.
A little homestead nestles by a brake,—
And there the yellowhammer and the wren
A desert music make.
An open door invited me within.
The cat purr'd, half asleep, upon the hearth;
A crackling fire kept up a homely din,
The pot a quiet mirth.
The cat purr'd, half asleep, upon the hearth;
A crackling fire kept up a homely din,
The pot a quiet mirth.
The captured fly buzz'd in the spider's weft,
The clock tick'd solemnly against the wall;
The housewife had gone forth, and puss was left
Sole mistress over all.
The clock tick'd solemnly against the wall;
The housewife had gone forth, and puss was left
Sole mistress over all.
To this quaint concert I a while gave ear,
Look'd at the vacant stools and chairs; and then,
Exchanging with the cat a brief “good cheer,”
Pass'd slowly up the glen.
Look'd at the vacant stools and chairs; and then,
Exchanging with the cat a brief “good cheer,”
Pass'd slowly up the glen.
The hills shut out the world with all its noise,
Shut in the murmur of the hidden stream;
And only once a hawk, with sudden poise,
Utter'd a sudden scream.
Shut in the murmur of the hidden stream;
And only once a hawk, with sudden poise,
Utter'd a sudden scream.
215
The little glen was all in dreamy hush:
But soon a muffled rumble, soft and deep,
And then the cataract's imperious rush
Awoke it from its sleep.
But soon a muffled rumble, soft and deep,
And then the cataract's imperious rush
Awoke it from its sleep.
Adown the glen the burn shot in and out
Beneath the shelving rocks, and where it stay'd
In quiet crystal pools, the speckled trout
In dimpling eddies play'd.
Beneath the shelving rocks, and where it stay'd
In quiet crystal pools, the speckled trout
In dimpling eddies play'd.
Here, through a rocky sluice the waters bored—
There, round and round in boiling caldron wheel'd;
And up the cataract, like a flashing sword,
The silvery salmon speil'd.
There, round and round in boiling caldron wheel'd;
And up the cataract, like a flashing sword,
The silvery salmon speil'd.
Like a deep thinker, in himself entomb'd,
Stood on a stone the solitary hern;
While all around the purple heather bloom'd,
And waved the feathery fern.
Stood on a stone the solitary hern;
While all around the purple heather bloom'd,
And waved the feathery fern.
The long, long summer day, in sun and shade,
I linger'd there—but years have gone since then—
And many a pilgrimage in thought I've made,
To wander in the glen.
I linger'd there—but years have gone since then—
And many a pilgrimage in thought I've made,
To wander in the glen.
All Nature finds in man a counterpart:
She takes her spell-bound lover by the hand,
And makes him one with that mysterious heart
That beats through sea and land.
She takes her spell-bound lover by the hand,
And makes him one with that mysterious heart
That beats through sea and land.
216
TRUE POSSESSION.
If I can love without possessing, mine
Becomes the true possession; for love brings,
Into this self, all that is most divine
In the beloved things.
Becomes the true possession; for love brings,
Into this self, all that is most divine
In the beloved things.
That river with its wealth of ships; these streets
Of endless property and shifting scene;
And yon fair landscape, with its princely seats,
And fields of gold and green:—
Of endless property and shifting scene;
And yon fair landscape, with its princely seats,
And fields of gold and green:—
Of these, no spar, no stone, no clod I own;
But there's the glamour round them, without which
They nothing were but clod, and spar, and stone,—
And that I freely reach.
But there's the glamour round them, without which
They nothing were but clod, and spar, and stone,—
And that I freely reach.
The dearest having of a prosperous man
Might be his neighbour's, yet he not resign:
For this our equal birthright—Take who can;
All earth love—and 'tis thine.
Might be his neighbour's, yet he not resign:
For this our equal birthright—Take who can;
All earth love—and 'tis thine.
217
THE OLD YEAR.
Good-bye, old year, good-bye! now would I learn
The new one's name, but yours jumps to my pen,
As, like a parting friend, you turn and turn
To shake my hand again.
The new one's name, but yours jumps to my pen,
As, like a parting friend, you turn and turn
To shake my hand again.
What promise made! how little done, old year!
But 'tis God's way, and we are wisely mute.
The blossom'd Spring gives hope of endless cheer;
But Winter counts the fruit.
But 'tis God's way, and we are wisely mute.
The blossom'd Spring gives hope of endless cheer;
But Winter counts the fruit.
And so, our hopes are blown to outward loss:
Yet, inwardly, the gain, who knows how great!
For, like the blighted hope on Calvary's cross,
They grow, would we but wait.
Yet, inwardly, the gain, who knows how great!
For, like the blighted hope on Calvary's cross,
They grow, would we but wait.
Good-bye, old year! though now you largely stand,
With all your living memories in store,
Soon will you lie, an unknown grain of sand,
On Time's eternal shore.
With all your living memories in store,
Soon will you lie, an unknown grain of sand,
On Time's eternal shore.
And with my farewell I could give a tear,
If man's own end were only death and dross:
But, with eternity around us here,
Lost time can be no loss.
If man's own end were only death and dross:
But, with eternity around us here,
Lost time can be no loss.
218
Yet, mourn its waste—for that is waste of soul;
And make each blighted hope a chastening rod:
Then, though the years inexorably roll,
They bring us nearer God.
And make each blighted hope a chastening rod:
Then, though the years inexorably roll,
They bring us nearer God.
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