Flower o' the thorn A book of wayside verse: By John Payne |
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| SUN AND SHADOW. |
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 | Flower o' the thorn |  |
81
SUN AND SHADOW.
82
[Out of the shadow into the sun]
Out of the shadow into the sun
A bird flew forth with the day begun.
The world-all glittered with morning-gold,
Its sorrows silenced, its cares consoled:
There was nothing under the bell of blue
But flowers and fragrance and Dawn and dew.
A bird flew forth with the day begun.
The world-all glittered with morning-gold,
Its sorrows silenced, its cares consoled:
There was nothing under the bell of blue
But flowers and fragrance and Dawn and dew.
Into the shadow out of the sun,
The bird flew back, with the daylight done.
Gone was the blossom, the song, the light;
The world was wrapped in the robes of Night.
Of all that under the sunlight shone,
There was nothing left but a name on stone.
The bird flew back, with the daylight done.
Gone was the blossom, the song, the light;
The world was wrapped in the robes of Night.
Of all that under the sunlight shone,
There was nothing left but a name on stone.
Sun and shadow, o bird, my soul,
That fleddest, singing, from pole to pole,
Of all thou'st tasted: 'tis time to rest:
Go, get thee back to thy last year's nest:
And fair were Fortune, of all thy rhyme
If one bell trinket the brows of Time
That fleddest, singing, from pole to pole,
Of all thou'st tasted: 'tis time to rest:
Go, get thee back to thy last year's nest:
And fair were Fortune, of all thy rhyme
If one bell trinket the brows of Time
83
THE OLD AND THE NEW.
I STAND upon the summit, where the turning point of age is,
Youth many a mile behind me left, a faint and fading dream:
The sky serene above me smiles; the wind no longer rages;
Life level lies beneath my feet, unblurred by shade or gleam.
Youth many a mile behind me left, a faint and fading dream:
The sky serene above me smiles; the wind no longer rages;
Life level lies beneath my feet, unblurred by shade or gleam.
To-morrow I must gird me yet again for the ensuing
The path that darkles downward and the unreturning way:
But now I pause a moment from my stress for the reviewing
The people of my youth and those who fill their place to-day.
The path that darkles downward and the unreturning way:
But now I pause a moment from my stress for the reviewing
The people of my youth and those who fill their place to-day.
In what I see scant comfort is. The Past-time with the Present
When I compare, I'm woeful for the world that is to be.
What was, although its memories all may not be sweet and pleasant,
Both good and gracious shows by that which is to-day to me.
When I compare, I'm woeful for the world that is to be.
What was, although its memories all may not be sweet and pleasant,
Both good and gracious shows by that which is to-day to me.
Back to my youth, my manhood, I look. My generation,
For all its faults, a manly was, a proud and generous race;
The time was true and trusty: but this our newborn nation
Is void of pride and purpose, hath neither strength nor grace.
For all its faults, a manly was, a proud and generous race;
The time was true and trusty: but this our newborn nation
Is void of pride and purpose, hath neither strength nor grace.
We, at the least, still ready were to bear our birthright's burden,
To face the blasts of battle and the surges of the seas.
We might be heedless dreamers; but, whatever was our guerdon,
We sought for higher things from life than cheaply-gotten ease.
To face the blasts of battle and the surges of the seas.
84
We sought for higher things from life than cheaply-gotten ease.
But you, my sons, that boast you you are worthy of our places,
You that the load must soon take up that's lapsing from our hand,
I'faith, my heart misgives me, when I scan your vacant faces,
Wherein but apathetic greed I see and cunning bland.
You that the load must soon take up that's lapsing from our hand,
I'faith, my heart misgives me, when I scan your vacant faces,
Wherein but apathetic greed I see and cunning bland.
We, at the least, if rash and rough, had hands the sword for gripping:
That which our fathers won we kept and added thereunto:
But you, the reins of empire from your nerveless grasp are slipping:
Our England's glory, waxed with us, is like to wane with you.
That which our fathers won we kept and added thereunto:
But you, the reins of empire from your nerveless grasp are slipping:
Our England's glory, waxed with us, is like to wane with you.
How shall you fight the Future, that can but game and gabble
And sneer at all of worth that leaves your dull complacence cold?
I would not march through Cuckooland with such a thewless rabble.
Where is the man among you all? You are but babes grown old.
And sneer at all of worth that leaves your dull complacence cold?
I would not march through Cuckooland with such a thewless rabble.
Where is the man among you all? You are but babes grown old.
The jargon of the race, the ring, the gaming-house your speech is:
Bards, sages, seers, a language speak that hath no sense for you.
You're fed and fat with poison as the fungus on the beech is:
Good, for it's old, you've left and ill have taken, for it's new.
Bards, sages, seers, a language speak that hath no sense for you.
You're fed and fat with poison as the fungus on the beech is:
Good, for it's old, you've left and ill have taken, for it's new.
85
Your virtues are but cowardice: in fear your ease of losing,
You lounge through life with maxims of mean prudence on your lips.
We had more faith in Fate than you, were bolder in the choosing:
You drift like soulless shadows driven before the Furies' whips.
You lounge through life with maxims of mean prudence on your lips.
We had more faith in Fate than you, were bolder in the choosing:
You drift like soulless shadows driven before the Furies' whips.
We, at the least, were fighters, though at windmills whiles we tilted;
Our backs we set against the wall and scorned from Fate to run:
But you, scant stomach for the fight you have; by Fortune jilted,
You haste to sell yourselves for slaves, before the battle's done.
Our backs we set against the wall and scorned from Fate to run:
But you, scant stomach for the fight you have; by Fortune jilted,
You haste to sell yourselves for slaves, before the battle's done.
We, lovers in our day we were (and love's a thing you know not),
Were quick to risk the cast and count the world for love well lost:
But you, you love your ease o'ermuch; the dice with Fate you throw not:
None ever loved who paused, as you, you pause, to count the cost.
Were quick to risk the cast and count the world for love well lost:
But you, you love your ease o'ermuch; the dice with Fate you throw not:
None ever loved who paused, as you, you pause, to count the cost.
We counted honest work no curse, but faced hard fortune cheerly:
You have no heart for toil, except it be at idle play:
We loved the chase and prized the gain the more 'twas gotten dearly;
But you, roast larks into your mouths must, dropping, “Eat me!” say.
You have no heart for toil, except it be at idle play:
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But you, roast larks into your mouths must, dropping, “Eat me!” say.
We, many a foolish thing, no doubt, we did, at wise ones aiming:
You, if you err not, 'tis because you venture not at all.
Who nothing doth, occasion scant there is his acts for blaming:
The churl who grovels on the ground, forsooth, need fear no fall.
You, if you err not, 'tis because you venture not at all.
Who nothing doth, occasion scant there is his acts for blaming:
The churl who grovels on the ground, forsooth, need fear no fall.
We, at the least, high thoughts we thought and went high quests ensuing.
You, that no thoughts have of your own, you steal those of our time;
Nor even fairly copy them, but parody, undoing,
As snails and slugs fair fruits and flowers disfeature with their slime.
You, that no thoughts have of your own, you steal those of our time;
Nor even fairly copy them, but parody, undoing,
As snails and slugs fair fruits and flowers disfeature with their slime.
You grovel in your gutters of corruption nor misdoubt you
Of aught that's worth but feeding on Life's fat and on its sweet.
You care not though the darkness grow and gather all about you,
Provided but your beds be soft and bellies full of meat.
Of aught that's worth but feeding on Life's fat and on its sweet.
You care not though the darkness grow and gather all about you,
Provided but your beds be soft and bellies full of meat.
You're blind and deaf to Nature: all the carol of Creation,
All Life's rapture of rejoicing for the Springtime leaves you cold.
You can pass a field of cowslips by without intoxication:
'Tis we that are the young, my sons: 'tis you that are the old.
All Life's rapture of rejoicing for the Springtime leaves you cold.
You can pass a field of cowslips by without intoxication:
'Tis we that are the young, my sons: 'tis you that are the old.
87
You have never learned from sorrow or from Pain, the soul's physician;
You walk the world like cripples from the cradle to the tomb.
You will perish, without living, of waste heart and inanition,
As dotards do, unwotting of Life's glory and its gloom.
You walk the world like cripples from the cradle to the tomb.
You will perish, without living, of waste heart and inanition,
As dotards do, unwotting of Life's glory and its gloom.
Too often after shadows, hope-deluded, we, we followed;
The arrows of our purpose swerved too often from the mark;
Our venturous feet not seldom in the bogs of error wallowed;
But at least 'twas light we aimed at, in our questing, and not dark.
The arrows of our purpose swerved too often from the mark;
Our venturous feet not seldom in the bogs of error wallowed;
But at least 'twas light we aimed at, in our questing, and not dark.
But you, the hero-deeds of old, the tales of bygone glories,
No ardour in your hearts excite; you are too worldly-wise:
The dreams of seers and bards for you are only children's stories:
You would scorn to risk your comfort for the conquest of the skies.
No ardour in your hearts excite; you are too worldly-wise:
The dreams of seers and bards for you are only children's stories:
You would scorn to risk your comfort for the conquest of the skies.
Where are the golden hopes that made our boyhood bright as morning?
Where are the rainbow-coloured dreams we followed, nothing loath?
You know them not: all visions fair, all high emprises scorning,
You dream of nought but wealth unearned and fatly-dowered sloth.
Where are the rainbow-coloured dreams we followed, nothing loath?
You know them not: all visions fair, all high emprises scorning,
You dream of nought but wealth unearned and fatly-dowered sloth.
Where are the mighty painters all, the seers our lives that lighted?
Where are the makers of winged words, the bards for us that sang?
Where are the sayers, doers now, the world-all's wrongs that righted?
You do but fumble at the strings so sweet for us that rang.
Where are the makers of winged words, the bards for us that sang?
88
You do but fumble at the strings so sweet for us that rang.
We may have youthful errors made, in riper years repented.
Where is the lad whose ardent feet have strayed not now and then?
Who ever yet rejoiced but he in latter age lamented?
But you, you never have been young and never will be men.
Where is the lad whose ardent feet have strayed not now and then?
Who ever yet rejoiced but he in latter age lamented?
But you, you never have been young and never will be men.
We that have sinned and suffered, in the logbooks of our living
Are things that call for pardon, things omitted and misdone.
But you, who have not lived at all, what need you of forgiving?
Who cares to call a reckoning with the slow-worm in the sun?
Are things that call for pardon, things omitted and misdone.
But you, who have not lived at all, what need you of forgiving?
Who cares to call a reckoning with the slow-worm in the sun?
We, if of somewhat of our dreams we failed, yet unforgotten
Will be, whilst England dureth, what we ventured for her sake:
But you, who never venture, who, before you're ripe, are rotten,
You will leave no more remembrance than the raindrops on the lake.
Will be, whilst England dureth, what we ventured for her sake:
But you, who never venture, who, before you're ripe, are rotten,
You will leave no more remembrance than the raindrops on the lake.
The fire of youth within our veins, although our heads nigh white are,
Yet runs; but you, your mother's milk scarce dry upon the tongue,
As cold of heart and dark of wit as any Winter's night are:
'Tis you that are the old, my sons; 'tis we that are the young.
Yet runs; but you, your mother's milk scarce dry upon the tongue,
As cold of heart and dark of wit as any Winter's night are:
'Tis you that are the old, my sons; 'tis we that are the young.
89
Well, fare ye well! I bear you no ill-will, though little pleasant
You make life with your mumming. Are you worthy hate or scorn?
For me you are but puppets in the peepshow of the Present,
But sorry dreams foredoomed to fade and melt before the morn.
You make life with your mumming. Are you worthy hate or scorn?
For me you are but puppets in the peepshow of the Present,
But sorry dreams foredoomed to fade and melt before the morn.
“They (the mean-minded) are arrogant in prosperity: but no sooner does the least reverse befall them than they hasten to sell themselves for slaves.” The Kural of Tiruvallouver (Tamil.)
THE SEVEN SPELLS.
SEVEN spells have puissance o'er us who here
Below go halting 'twixt earth and Heaven:
Love first and Laughter, then Faith and Fear,
Greed, Dreaming, six are; and Sleep is seven.
Below go halting 'twixt earth and Heaven:
Love first and Laughter, then Faith and Fear,
Greed, Dreaming, six are; and Sleep is seven.
For Love and Laughter and Fear and Faith,
With one or other each man is bitten;
On each man's forehead, the Prophet saith,
The rune that ruleth his life is written.
With one or other each man is bitten;
On each man's forehead, the Prophet saith,
The rune that ruleth his life is written.
Love's spell compelling who follow must
Himself still soweth and nothing reapeth;
For Love is only the mask of Lust,
The world-illusion agate that keepeth.
Himself still soweth and nothing reapeth;
For Love is only the mask of Lust,
The world-illusion agate that keepeth.
If God to laughter a mortal give,
He must hold aloof from his laughless brothers;
For none at follies may laugh and live
That mould the minds of a million others.
He must hold aloof from his laughless brothers;
For none at follies may laugh and live
That mould the minds of a million others.
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Whoever's thrall to the thrill of Fear,
In all Life's corners for God or Demon
Who looks, is buffeted far and near
Of the waves of Will, like a helmless seaman.
In all Life's corners for God or Demon
Who looks, is buffeted far and near
Of the waves of Will, like a helmless seaman.
If one fall under the spell of Faith,
From Right and Reason he needs must sever
And ill, at a priest's word, work and scaith,
For the sake of a good that cometh never.
From Right and Reason he needs must sever
And ill, at a priest's word, work and scaith,
For the sake of a good that cometh never.
Another glamour there is, of Greed,
With gold and silver for souls that angles,
That makes men battle for more than need
And brawl like apes in the banyan-tangles.
With gold and silver for souls that angles,
That makes men battle for more than need
And brawl like apes in the banyan-tangles.
For him who's curst with the lust of gain,
Life's one vast sand-waste, o'er which the glitter
Of vanishing gold leads on in vain
And death, for leaving, makes yet more bitter.
Life's one vast sand-waste, o'er which the glitter
Of vanishing gold leads on in vain
And death, for leaving, makes yet more bitter.
But worst of all is the spirit-bond,
Past Greed, Love, Laughter, past Faith and Fearing,
That binds men's thought to the things beyond,
That are not for human sight or hearing.
Past Greed, Love, Laughter, past Faith and Fearing,
That binds men's thought to the things beyond,
That are not for human sight or hearing.
Some under this spell, the spell of Dreams,
Are born, that forces them fare, unresting,
And miscontented with that which seems,
Forever for that which is go questing.
Are born, that forces them fare, unresting,
And miscontented with that which seems,
Forever for that which is go questing.
Whoever of this, the deadliest one
Of all spells fated to man, is taken,
No place possesses beneath the sun;
He lives deserted and dies forsaken.
Of all spells fated to man, is taken,
No place possesses beneath the sun;
He lives deserted and dies forsaken.
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His wings, though weakling, his feet withhold
From any grip on our common mother;
He cannot breathe in our world-air cold
And cannot climb up to any other.
From any grip on our common mother;
He cannot breathe in our world-air cold
And cannot climb up to any other.
Though off Earth's fetters he cannot strike,
He still would soar to the Planets Seven;
And so he hovers for ever, like
Mohammed's coffin, 'twixt Earth and Heaven.
He still would soar to the Planets Seven;
And so he hovers for ever, like
Mohammed's coffin, 'twixt Earth and Heaven.
His flesh forbids him to scale the skies;
And as for the earth, he must forgo it.
He fares unfriended through life and dies
The death of a dog or a praiseless poet.
And as for the earth, he must forgo it.
He fares unfriended through life and dies
The death of a dog or a praiseless poet.
He only's happy who owns the spell
Of Sleep, who's born 'neath the sign of slumber,
Who delves not under the earth for hell
Nor soars for Heaven past Place and Number;
Of Sleep, who's born 'neath the sign of slumber,
Who delves not under the earth for hell
Nor soars for Heaven past Place and Number;
Who lets life lapse with the hourglass-sand,
Uncareful its How or Why to ponder,
Upon the Present who takes his stand
Nor frets his flesh for the unknown Yonder;
Uncareful its How or Why to ponder,
Upon the Present who takes his stand
Nor frets his flesh for the unknown Yonder;
Who strains not his sorry passing breath
For what was never of Time begotten,
Of Life but easance and so of Death
For sleep asks only and strife forgotten.
For what was never of Time begotten,
Of Life but easance and so of Death
For sleep asks only and strife forgotten.
Through life, unseeing, through life, unhearing
Save that which the senses tell, he goeth
And sated, lies down to die, unfearing
The Future of which he nothing knoweth.
Save that which the senses tell, he goeth
And sated, lies down to die, unfearing
The Future of which he nothing knoweth.
92
He only's happy, for nought, in fine,
But that which the cattle seek, who yearneth,
Like them who liveth and when Life's wine
Is drained, to nothing, like them, returneth.
But that which the cattle seek, who yearneth,
Like them who liveth and when Life's wine
Is drained, to nothing, like them, returneth.
THE AIM OF LIFE.
THE eager earth hath drunk our heart's blood; on our sweat,
Our tears, our loves, our strifes, it fattened hath; and yet
No funeral stone it rears, to show the passers-by
That a man's murdered hopes beneath it buried lie.
Our tears, our loves, our strifes, it fattened hath; and yet
No funeral stone it rears, to show the passers-by
That a man's murdered hopes beneath it buried lie.
The sea of Time hath whelmed the city of our hope;
Turret and tower beneath its grey unwrinkled scope
Lie drowned; and yet no sight of bower or sound of bell
There comes, of all that it hath swallowed up to tell.
Turret and tower beneath its grey unwrinkled scope
Lie drowned; and yet no sight of bower or sound of bell
There comes, of all that it hath swallowed up to tell.
The skies, that lured us on to sufferance with their smiles,
That beckoned us to wreck and ruin with their wiles,
Bend o'er our graves to-day their griefless brows of blue
Nor to our memories shed a single tear of dew.
That beckoned us to wreck and ruin with their wiles,
Bend o'er our graves to-day their griefless brows of blue
Nor to our memories shed a single tear of dew.
Where are the weeping weeds, the burning blood-red flowers,
Earth should for harvest bear of all our blighted hours?
There, in the April sun, the August moon, it sleeps,
As if no myriad hearts lay rotting in its deeps.
Earth should for harvest bear of all our blighted hours?
There, in the April sun, the August moon, it sleeps,
As if no myriad hearts lay rotting in its deeps.
Where are the piteous plaints, the thrilling threnodies,
That chanted o'er our heads should be of waves and breeze?
Where are the high sad songs of love and sympathy,
To our rememorance intoned of winds and sea?
That chanted o'er our heads should be of waves and breeze?
Where are the high sad songs of love and sympathy,
To our rememorance intoned of winds and sea?
93
Where are the temples high, the marble monuments,
The spires that to the skies should lift a world's laments,
The signs to show that one, who suffered, sought and sighed
For what is not for man, here dared and dreamed and died?
The spires that to the skies should lift a world's laments,
The signs to show that one, who suffered, sought and sighed
For what is not for man, here dared and dreamed and died?
Where are the praising priests, the mourning maiden-throngs,
Hymning our passion past with high symphonious songs?
Where are the choirs to cast commemorative flowers?
If triumph not, at least, compassion should be ours.
Hymning our passion past with high symphonious songs?
Where are the choirs to cast commemorative flowers?
If triumph not, at least, compassion should be ours.
Where have the heavens hid the Islands of the Blest,
That, for our heart's deceit, they showed us in the West?
Where are the giant thoughts, that, shining from afar,
They told us, should in air create another star?
That, for our heart's deceit, they showed us in the West?
Where are the giant thoughts, that, shining from afar,
They told us, should in air create another star?
Where are the mountain-paths, the sky-ascending stairs,
Whereby we hoped to reach the Heaven of our prayers?
The soaring stairs abide; the paths are there to tread:
But where's the God, the Heaven, to which they should have led?
Whereby we hoped to reach the Heaven of our prayers?
The soaring stairs abide; the paths are there to tread:
But where's the God, the Heaven, to which they should have led?
Alas! We lived and hoped and suffered have in vain,
Since none and nothing have remembrance of our pain.
None laughs us e'en to scorn, so wholly we're forgot.
Who scoffs, indeed, at those whom he remembers not?
Since none and nothing have remembrance of our pain.
None laughs us e'en to scorn, so wholly we're forgot.
Who scoffs, indeed, at those whom he remembers not?
What profits us to do? What worth is there in strife,
Since our remembrance all must perish with our life,
Since no memorial we on Time's unstable tide
May leave to tell the tale of how we lived and died?
Since our remembrance all must perish with our life,
Since no memorial we on Time's unstable tide
May leave to tell the tale of how we lived and died?
Love leads us on to live and other lives beget,
Engaging the To-Be to pay the Present's debt,
And blinds us to the law etern, by which we live,
That we for each new life a part of ours must give.
Engaging the To-Be to pay the Present's debt,
And blinds us to the law etern, by which we live,
That we for each new life a part of ours must give.
94
The flower, that barren bides, may flourish out its time;
But that which runs to seed must perish in its prime:
And we, we love and give our lives, that others may
The same round run of grief, when we are passed away.
But that which runs to seed must perish in its prime:
And we, we love and give our lives, that others may
The same round run of grief, when we are passed away.
About us in the air is many a sightless star,
That this our pin-point earth out-flourished once by far,
And many a burnt-out sun, by which what now we name
Our sun in Heaven above were but a taper's flame.
That this our pin-point earth out-flourished once by far,
And many a burnt-out sun, by which what now we name
Our sun in Heaven above were but a taper's flame.
All, with their myriad lives, their glories and their griefs,
Have run their round in Space and wrecked upon Time's reefs,
Have given up the ghost and yield to others must,
That in His furnace-fires are moulded of their dust.
Have run their round in Space and wrecked upon Time's reefs,
Have given up the ghost and yield to others must,
That in His furnace-fires are moulded of their dust.
The eternal question runs on all the tongues of men,
What is the aim of Life? How many, now as then,
With blood and tears have sought and perished, asking, “Why,
Why are we born, if we and all the world must die?
What is the aim of Life? How many, now as then,
With blood and tears have sought and perished, asking, “Why,
Why are we born, if we and all the world must die?
Why do we love, if Love the maw of Death must feed?
Why flower, since Death twin-born with Life is in each seed?
Why do we live, since all that ever lived have died,
Since even the sun above must perish in his pride?”
Why flower, since Death twin-born with Life is in each seed?
Why do we live, since all that ever lived have died,
Since even the sun above must perish in his pride?”
In all the sounds of earth the eternal question's rife,
“What is the aim of Love? What is the end of Life?”
The impassive answer comes, the tale of Time, that saith,
“The aim of Love is Life; the end of Life is Death.”
“What is the aim of Love? What is the end of Life?”
The impassive answer comes, the tale of Time, that saith,
“The aim of Love is Life; the end of Life is Death.”
95
BRITANNIA CORAM BARBARIS.
[I.]
ENGLAND, when the sceptre passes from thy high unpaltering hold,
When thy puissance pales and ceases from the new worlds and the old,
May I not be there to see it, may I not be there to hear!
Drowned in darkness be my vision, shut in silence be mine ear!
When thy puissance pales and ceases from the new worlds and the old,
May I not be there to see it, may I not be there to hear!
Drowned in darkness be my vision, shut in silence be mine ear!
I have loved thee, mighty Mother, since I grew to understand
What a glory is thy story, what a healer is thy hand,
What a shadeless splendour hovers o'er thy proud imperial head,
What a halo flames and flowers round the memories of thy dead;
What a glory is thy story, what a healer is thy hand,
What a shadeless splendour hovers o'er thy proud imperial head,
What a halo flames and flowers round the memories of thy dead;
Since I learned from song and story, from the book of days gone by,
How thy greatness grew and gathered, like the sunlight in the sky,
How thy bright far-flaming banner, to the winds of Heaven outblown,
Flew from ocean unto ocean, opening up the worlds unknown;
How thy greatness grew and gathered, like the sunlight in the sky,
How thy bright far-flaming banner, to the winds of Heaven outblown,
Flew from ocean unto ocean, opening up the worlds unknown;
How, the fourfold climes o'erranging, sounding o'er the sevenfold seas,
East, South, North, thy war-cry carried Truth and Justice on the breeze,
How the subject-peoples prospered in thy bosom's fostering heat,
How the Peace Britannic followed on thy firm unfaltering feet.
East, South, North, thy war-cry carried Truth and Justice on the breeze,
How the subject-peoples prospered in thy bosom's fostering heat,
How the Peace Britannic followed on thy firm unfaltering feet.
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Many an age the world in justice hast thou governed and in truth;
O'er the peoples, well contented with thy rule of right and ruth,
Many an age hast thou the sceptre swayed of empire: one in three
Of the grandchildren of Adam owns allegiance to thee.
O'er the peoples, well contented with thy rule of right and ruth,
Many an age hast thou the sceptre swayed of empire: one in three
Of the grandchildren of Adam owns allegiance to thee.
Now thy majesty is menaced by a fierce and faithless foe,
Who by force and fraud unflinching many a nation hath laid low;
Many a people hath he strangled, Frank and Saxon, Gaul and Dane:
Now his blood-shot eyes are fastened on thine empery of the main.
Who by force and fraud unflinching many a nation hath laid low;
Many a people hath he strangled, Frank and Saxon, Gaul and Dane:
Now his blood-shot eyes are fastened on thine empery of the main.
Sad the day will be for Europe, sadder for the subject world,
When thy lions cease to ramp it, when thy rainbow flag is furled,
When the empery of the nations passes from the nations' friend,
From the frank free-hearted Briton to the sour sardonic Wend.
When thy lions cease to ramp it, when thy rainbow flag is furled,
When the empery of the nations passes from the nations' friend,
From the frank free-hearted Briton to the sour sardonic Wend.
Yet, despite his strength and cunning, little cause there were to dread
This thy new rapacious foeman, if, as sovereign Shakspeare said,
To ourselves and thee, our mother, we thy children rest but true,
If the heart of England olden beat again in England new.
This thy new rapacious foeman, if, as sovereign Shakspeare said,
To ourselves and thee, our mother, we thy children rest but true,
If the heart of England olden beat again in England new.
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Race on race its battle-billows hath against thee hurled and foiled,
From the bulwarks of thy bravery inexpugnable recoiled:
None thy blow might bide, unbaffled, in the fierce earthshaking fight;
None in arms might stand, unstaggered, 'gainst thy calm unconquered might.
From the bulwarks of thy bravery inexpugnable recoiled:
None thy blow might bide, unbaffled, in the fierce earthshaking fight;
None in arms might stand, unstaggered, 'gainst thy calm unconquered might.
But, alas! within thy bosom bred a traitor-crew hath been,
That but spite and hatred cherish for their dam, the Ocean's Queen,
That, their paltry ends to compass and their greed and spleen to sate,
Would upon the rocks of ruin cast the carrack of the State.
That but spite and hatred cherish for their dam, the Ocean's Queen,
That, their paltry ends to compass and their greed and spleen to sate,
Would upon the rocks of ruin cast the carrack of the State.
These it is upon whose malice counts the fierce insidious foe,
Thine unvanquished arm to palsy in the coming battle-throe,
So, against thyself divided, thou to hate mayst fall a prey
And eternal darkness follow on thy fair imperial day.
Thine unvanquished arm to palsy in the coming battle-throe,
So, against thyself divided, thou to hate mayst fall a prey
And eternal darkness follow on thy fair imperial day.
On thy guard, then, mighty Mother! Let the traitor feel thine arm!
Cast the coward from thy councils! Make them helpless all for harm!
Else in vain thy true sons' valour and their fortitude will be
And thy name will sink for ever in the surges of Time's sea.
Cast the coward from thy councils! Make them helpless all for harm!
Else in vain thy true sons' valour and their fortitude will be
And thy name will sink for ever in the surges of Time's sea.
II.
But, (forefend it, God in Heaven!) calm unconquered Mother mine,
If the thing be true they tell us, that thy star is in decline,
That thou soon must pass and perish from thy place beneath the sun,
Leave thy heritage of honour to the Vandal and the Hun;
If the thing be true they tell us, that thy star is in decline,
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Leave thy heritage of honour to the Vandal and the Hun;
If it other than a phantom of the fell impuissant will,
Other than a fond intention be of those that wish thee ill,
If indeed it be foreordered that thy course is near its close
And that thou thy head unvanquished needs must vail unto thy foes,
Other than a fond intention be of those that wish thee ill,
If indeed it be foreordered that thy course is near its close
And that thou thy head unvanquished needs must vail unto thy foes,
Mayst thou not, as one by inches pineth, wait and waste away,
Till the hand of Time the moment mark for ending of thy day!
Face to foe, in open battle, as thou livedst, mayst thou die,
With the corpses of thy haters for thy catafalque heaped high!
Till the hand of Time the moment mark for ending of thy day!
Face to foe, in open battle, as thou livedst, mayst thou die,
With the corpses of thy haters for thy catafalque heaped high!
THE LEAVES' LESSON.
NO two leaves are alike upon the tree,
(The wind went whispering these words to me.)
No rose upon the bush is like another;
No meadow-sheep is like his woolly brother.
(The wind went whispering these words to me.)
No rose upon the bush is like another;
No meadow-sheep is like his woolly brother.
Thou sighest for a soul akin to thine,
A heart to halve with thee thy joy and pine;
Thou wouldst a lover have, a friend, to share
The things that are, that will be and that were.
A heart to halve with thee thy joy and pine;
Thou wouldst a lover have, a friend, to share
The things that are, that will be and that were.
Thou sigh'st in vain. Since first the world began,
Man never knew the heart of other man;
None ever might in other one discover
The soul-perfecting half, the friend, the lover.
Man never knew the heart of other man;
None ever might in other one discover
The soul-perfecting half, the friend, the lover.
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Since first the sun and moon in Heaven were shown,
Each living thing must walk the world alone:
None is there made to share with other one,
Beneath the mute all-suffering moon and sun.
Each living thing must walk the world alone:
None is there made to share with other one,
Beneath the mute all-suffering moon and sun.
Love was but made to keep the world agate:
Its aim fulfilled, too oft it turns to hate:
No bond there is, in Time's unstable weather,
Save wont and need, to link two lives together.
Its aim fulfilled, too oft it turns to hate:
No bond there is, in Time's unstable weather,
Save wont and need, to link two lives together.
Each must his own road run for ill or weal:
Heal thine own heart: none other can it heal.
'Tis better not to dream, since one must wake,
And broken dreams the heart o'er-often break.
Heal thine own heart: none other can it heal.
'Tis better not to dream, since one must wake,
And broken dreams the heart o'er-often break.
No torment is there like to hope deceived:
The loneliest life excels a life bereaved:
No dearth there is can vie for desolation
With that which comes of empty expectation.
The loneliest life excels a life bereaved:
No dearth there is can vie for desolation
With that which comes of empty expectation.
Life's lesson learn and to thyself suffice:
No sun of love can thaw the eternal ice.
Trust thine own self and thou without despair
Shalt, if not happy, (Who is happy?) fare.
No sun of love can thaw the eternal ice.
Trust thine own self and thou without despair
Shalt, if not happy, (Who is happy?) fare.
The case made plain is, when we come to die.
Then “you” nor “they” abide, but only “I.”
The naked soul alone, without a hand
To hold, must fare into the Unknown Land.
Then “you” nor “they” abide, but only “I.”
The naked soul alone, without a hand
To hold, must fare into the Unknown Land.
Ask not for joy; with calm thyself content.
Peace, pleasance, sympathy, accomplishment
Of hope, are words for which in vain we con
Life's vague unwritten enchiridion.
Peace, pleasance, sympathy, accomplishment
Of hope, are words for which in vain we con
Life's vague unwritten enchiridion.
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Death only can content thee, Death the just,
That thy dust mingles with the general dust;
Then only shall thy soul with others share
Life, when thou one art with the earth and air.
That thy dust mingles with the general dust;
Then only shall thy soul with others share
Life, when thou one art with the earth and air.
Then, when of rain and sun thou'rt art and part,
Soul shall thou be and heart of the world's heart.
Till then be wise and weigh this word from me;
No two leaves are alike upon the tree.
Soul shall thou be and heart of the world's heart.
Till then be wise and weigh this word from me;
No two leaves are alike upon the tree.
TIME AND HIS TENDERLINGS.
RHYTHM and rhyme
Are the roadmates of Time,
His wayfellows frolic and blithe are;
His tenderlings they,
With his forelock who play
And sport with his sandglass and scythe are.
Are the roadmates of Time,
His wayfellows frolic and blithe are;
His tenderlings they,
With his forelock who play
And sport with his sandglass and scythe are.
The tramp of his feet
Into music they beat
And vary the theme at their pleasure;
His dogged old trot,
An he will it or not,
They set to melodious measure.
Into music they beat
And vary the theme at their pleasure;
His dogged old trot,
An he will it or not,
They set to melodious measure.
His fingers and toes,
As he hobbles and goes,
With bangles and hawk-bells they trinket;
He well nigh forgets
His gout and his debts,
So blithely their castanets clink it.
As he hobbles and goes,
With bangles and hawk-bells they trinket;
He well nigh forgets
His gout and his debts,
So blithely their castanets clink it.
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He'd dance, if he might,
To their tune of delight;
Nay, see but how nimbly he capers!
For all he is old,
With their tinkle of gold,
They've cured him of dumps and of vapours.
To their tune of delight;
Nay, see but how nimbly he capers!
For all he is old,
With their tinkle of gold,
They've cured him of dumps and of vapours.
Like kittens, now here,
As the maggot may spur,
Now there, round his footsteps they rollick.
No tittle there is
Of his wrinkled old phiz
But wreathed is with smiles for their frolic.
As the maggot may spur,
Now there, round his footsteps they rollick.
No tittle there is
Of his wrinkled old phiz
But wreathed is with smiles for their frolic.
His hourglass they hide
With their flowers, so his stride
He no more can measure to curse us;
There's never a whit
Of his scythe-blade, but it
With tendrils is wreathed, like a thyrsus.
With their flowers, so his stride
He no more can measure to curse us;
There's never a whit
Of his scythe-blade, but it
With tendrils is wreathed, like a thyrsus.
He trips, till you'd think
He had taken to drink,
So merry he is with the metre.
What lost is to-day
He must make up by way
Of robbing of Paul to pay Peter.
He had taken to drink,
So merry he is with the metre.
What lost is to-day
He must make up by way
Of robbing of Paul to pay Peter.
He never can find
In his heart or his mind
To part with his mettlesome pages;
And that is why Time
Ever tenders true rhyme
And carries it on through the ages.
In his heart or his mind
To part with his mettlesome pages;
And that is why Time
Ever tenders true rhyme
And carries it on through the ages.
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THE COMMON HOPE.
THE waste years call, from their sepulchral caves,
Upon me for rebirth
In brighter worlds, beyond the winds and waves,
Beyond the strife and stress, the griefs and graves
Of this our narrow earth.
Upon me for rebirth
In brighter worlds, beyond the winds and waves,
Beyond the strife and stress, the griefs and graves
Of this our narrow earth.
Can it, then, be, as you imply, sad years,
Out-yearning to me thus,
That, in some sphere beyond our hopes and fears,
Beyond our doubts and dreams, our smiles and tears,
There wait new worlds for us?
Out-yearning to me thus,
That, in some sphere beyond our hopes and fears,
Beyond our doubts and dreams, our smiles and tears,
There wait new worlds for us?
A thousand ages pass and make no sign;
We die and cease to be;
Our dust is gathered into Nature's shrine,
Nor is there any trace of yours or mine
In Heaven or earth or sea.
We die and cease to be;
Our dust is gathered into Nature's shrine,
Nor is there any trace of yours or mine
In Heaven or earth or sea.
For me, indeed, if Death's sepulchral snows
Hide worlds of brighter sheen,
I cannot credit that their joys and woes,
Their strifes and aims, will other be than those
Which here on earth have been.
Hide worlds of brighter sheen,
I cannot credit that their joys and woes,
Their strifes and aims, will other be than those
Which here on earth have been.
Flowers live again, because their seeding-plot
Conceals the germs of Spring;
Nor can we,—I, at least, conceive it not,—
Look, in another life, for otherwhat
Than that with us we bring.
Conceals the germs of Spring;
Nor can we,—I, at least, conceive it not,—
Look, in another life, for otherwhat
Than that with us we bring.
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Be't as it may, behind Life's doubtful dream
Whatever Edens lie,
Whatever eyes behold their morning beam,
I do not crave it, neither do I deem
That I shall see it, I.
Whatever Edens lie,
Whatever eyes behold their morning beam,
I do not crave it, neither do I deem
That I shall see it, I.
Sufferance with Nature is the nameless sin
That she may not forgive:
Her creatures all, that end as they begin,
Suffer and die: but we, who are their kin,
We suffer and we live.
That she may not forgive:
Her creatures all, that end as they begin,
Suffer and die: but we, who are their kin,
We suffer and we live.
Scant joy I've known: for joy I was not born,
Meseems, as other men:
The wede of sufferance all my life I've worn
And in new worlds, beyond our night and morn,
I feel, should wear again.
Meseems, as other men:
The wede of sufferance all my life I've worn
And in new worlds, beyond our night and morn,
I feel, should wear again.
Wherefore my heart unto the common hope
Of men may not upleap;
Nor do my thoughts, when they, the Future's scope
Exploring, in the eternal darkness grope,
For better seek than sleep.
Of men may not upleap;
Nor do my thoughts, when they, the Future's scope
Exploring, in the eternal darkness grope,
For better seek than sleep.
UNSEASONABLE SUMMER.
SUDDEN Summer, soaring, pouring with heaped hands
Sun and splendour, warmth and worship, on the unaccustomed lands,
With thy blue and golden banners in the wonder-smitten skies
Heaven unsealing for the healing of our Winter-wearied eyes,
Sun and splendour, warmth and worship, on the unaccustomed lands,
With thy blue and golden banners in the wonder-smitten skies
Heaven unsealing for the healing of our Winter-wearied eyes,
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Where hast thou abidden, hidden, since the Prime,
Leaving Life to pine and perish in the cold Cimmerian clime,
And now comest, late relenting, when October's on the scene,
As it were our yearning spurning for the bliss that might have been?
Leaving Life to pine and perish in the cold Cimmerian clime,
And now comest, late relenting, when October's on the scene,
As it were our yearning spurning for the bliss that might have been?
Now that fading leas are, trees are, day by day,
When the leaves are like to shrivel on the sap-forsaken spray,
And of all the choir that music in the woodlands wont to make,
Now the robin only, lonely, flutes and flutters in the brake,
When the leaves are like to shrivel on the sap-forsaken spray,
And of all the choir that music in the woodlands wont to make,
Now the robin only, lonely, flutes and flutters in the brake,
With thy sunshine mocking, shocking sense and sight,
As of morning rathe and rosy, in the mirk misborn of night,
Now the threadbare year thou takest unawares and putt'st to scorn,
As it's ready making, shaking off, for sleep, its wede outworn.
As of morning rathe and rosy, in the mirk misborn of night,
Now the threadbare year thou takest unawares and putt'st to scorn,
As it's ready making, shaking off, for sleep, its wede outworn.
At the time and season reason-set for thee,
When thy gold and purple pageants in the blue should blazoned be
And the rose should burn with blossom for the bridal world's rebirth,
Wrapped in rain-clouds frowning, drowning lay the sorrow-smitten earth.
When thy gold and purple pageants in the blue should blazoned be
And the rose should burn with blossom for the bridal world's rebirth,
Wrapped in rain-clouds frowning, drowning lay the sorrow-smitten earth.
How should roses bloom in gloom, in rain and cold?
How should landscapes without sunshine laugh and glow with harvest-gold?
Nay, the roses died, half-blossomed, and half-ripened, dropped the grain;
Life, in darkness groping, hoping for thy waking went in vain.
How should landscapes without sunshine laugh and glow with harvest-gold?
Nay, the roses died, half-blossomed, and half-ripened, dropped the grain;
Life, in darkness groping, hoping for thy waking went in vain.
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Now thy warmth thou wastest, hastest but decay;
Now the dry leaves shrink and shrivel from thy timeless touch away
And the few late flowers that linger in the lonely garden-beds,
By thy sun unwanted daunted, hang their dull diminished heads.
Now the dry leaves shrink and shrivel from thy timeless touch away
And the few late flowers that linger in the lonely garden-beds,
By thy sun unwanted daunted, hang their dull diminished heads.
What mad God misruleth, fooleth Life like this,
On such strange sardonic fashion from the ultimate abyss
Rime and rain in June decreeing, summer in the year's decline,
Hail in harvest sending, blending poison still with living's wine?
On such strange sardonic fashion from the ultimate abyss
Rime and rain in June decreeing, summer in the year's decline,
Hail in harvest sending, blending poison still with living's wine?
Nay, meseems, evanished, banished are the Gods:
Jahveh, Allah, Zeus, have taken flight before Alecto's rods:
With Tisiphone have Angels, Muses, Graces ceased the strife:
Given to fiends and furies sure is all the governance of Life.
Jahveh, Allah, Zeus, have taken flight before Alecto's rods:
With Tisiphone have Angels, Muses, Graces ceased the strife:
Given to fiends and furies sure is all the governance of Life.
CORPOSANTS.
O WHAT are these that beckon from the blackness all around me,
From the harbours of the setting and the hollows of the sea?
O what are these that me so long have lost and now have found me,
When the Past and Present mingle and are merged in the To-Be?
From the harbours of the setting and the hollows of the sea?
O what are these that me so long have lost and now have found me,
When the Past and Present mingle and are merged in the To-Be?
There stand they, pale and laying on pale lips yet paler fingers,
The loves of youth, that dead to me are now or worse than dead.
The light within their looks is quenched for ever; yet there lingers
A sad sepulchral halo for remembrance round each head.
The loves of youth, that dead to me are now or worse than dead.
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A sad sepulchral halo for remembrance round each head.
And yonder, resolution, thought, desire, caprice, endeavour,
The ghosts of my dead hopes and dreams are marshalled on the plain:
Dead, drowned and dead in seas of blood and tears they are, nor ever,
Whilst Time his tale is telling, will they walk the world again.
The ghosts of my dead hopes and dreams are marshalled on the plain:
Dead, drowned and dead in seas of blood and tears they are, nor ever,
Whilst Time his tale is telling, will they walk the world again.
You passed me by, procession-wise, and vanished, never stopping,
For all that I could plead with you, whilst Life was yet in bloom;
And now you throng about me, when, in darkness round me dropping,
Time's troubled torrent smoothens for the plunge into the gloom.
For all that I could plead with you, whilst Life was yet in bloom;
And now you throng about me, when, in darkness round me dropping,
Time's troubled torrent smoothens for the plunge into the gloom.
Nay, get you gone! Betake you to your limboes back! I need not
Your corposants to guide me to the goal of all below:
I'm none of those, you wot it, who will linger, if you lead not:
The path which you would point me is the way which I would go.
Your corposants to guide me to the goal of all below:
I'm none of those, you wot it, who will linger, if you lead not:
The path which you would point me is the way which I would go.
Come back, when all is over, to the place where my repose is,
And if you will it, follow with your faint funereal tread:
There on my stony pillow strew your pale sepulchral roses
And wave your ghostly standards o'er my stark and heedless head.
And if you will it, follow with your faint funereal tread:
There on my stony pillow strew your pale sepulchral roses
And wave your ghostly standards o'er my stark and heedless head.
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A VOICE FROM DREAMLAND.
THE blackbird warbles on the thorn;
His wonted tale of Night and Morn
In other worlds he tells, unbond
To Time and Space, in climes beyond
The courses of the sun and moon.
I halt and hearken to his tune:
Though all the world to hear is free,
Meseems he sings for none but me.
His wonted tale of Night and Morn
In other worlds he tells, unbond
To Time and Space, in climes beyond
The courses of the sun and moon.
I halt and hearken to his tune:
Though all the world to hear is free,
Meseems he sings for none but me.
Here, where he flutes, enchanted ground
It is; he makes the world resound
With magic music. O'er and o'er
He beats the burden of his lore;
The void of this our world of nought,
The nothingness of all but thought,
He tells to all beneath the sky:
Yet who hath heed of him but I?
It is; he makes the world resound
With magic music. O'er and o'er
He beats the burden of his lore;
The void of this our world of nought,
The nothingness of all but thought,
He tells to all beneath the sky:
Yet who hath heed of him but I?
Ah, blackbird, brother of my soul,
Thou know'st my need, thou know'st my goal;
The path my faring feet have trod,
The secret 'twixt my soul and God,
Thou know'st; from that enchanted clime
Thou com'st, whereof I dream and rhyme,
The never-travelled land that lies
Beneath the undiscovered skies.
Thou know'st my need, thou know'st my goal;
The path my faring feet have trod,
The secret 'twixt my soul and God,
Thou know'st; from that enchanted clime
Thou com'st, whereof I dream and rhyme,
The never-travelled land that lies
Beneath the undiscovered skies.
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SEA-DRIFT.
SEA-DAYS!
To fare on, floating, through a golden haze,
Toward a goal that fleeth in the West,
Some fair and far and never-compassed quest,
Some rainbow never robbed by nearness of its rays!
To fare on, floating, through a golden haze,
Toward a goal that fleeth in the West,
Some fair and far and never-compassed quest,
Some rainbow never robbed by nearness of its rays!
Sea-nights!
To wander, wave-borne, 'midst the flitting lights,
The sharp prow thrusting through the thick star-crew,
Like fireflies dancing o'er the darkling blue,
And in the moon's wake steer toward the unseen Mights!
To wander, wave-borne, 'midst the flitting lights,
The sharp prow thrusting through the thick star-crew,
Like fireflies dancing o'er the darkling blue,
And in the moon's wake steer toward the unseen Mights!
Sea-dreams!
To track through laughing lymph the glancing gleams,
Athwart the boundless blue go gazing down
And in that infinite hyaline feel drown
Thought, wish and wit of that which is and that which seems!
To track through laughing lymph the glancing gleams,
Athwart the boundless blue go gazing down
And in that infinite hyaline feel drown
Thought, wish and wit of that which is and that which seems!
Sea-sleep!
Still rocked and cradled on the chanting deep,
To lapse and lose in that narcotic song
The sense of joy and sorrow, right and wrong,
The memory of a world, where men must work and weep!
Still rocked and cradled on the chanting deep,
To lapse and lose in that narcotic song
The sense of joy and sorrow, right and wrong,
The memory of a world, where men must work and weep!
HOMING DREAMS.
LIKE homing doves you hail me, with the West Wind in your voices
And the shimmer of the setting in your world-bewildered eyes:
My dreams, I sent you forth to try and tell me what Life's choice is,
And back with wind in hand you come and voices full of sighs.
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My dreams, I sent you forth to try and tell me what Life's choice is,
And back with wind in hand you come and voices full of sighs.
I sent you forth at morning-time, when all the East was glowing
And the sun of youth was radiant on the ripples of your way:
You were young and glad and golden, when you girt you for the going,
And now in your returning you are old and grave and grey.
And the sun of youth was radiant on the ripples of your way:
You were young and glad and golden, when you girt you for the going,
And now in your returning you are old and grave and grey.
And yet, though by the wayside you have shed your youthful graces,
I would not have you wander in the loveless world alone.
Frail children of my youth, there's room within my heart's high places,
There's room for you to rest with me by Eld's sepulchral stone.
I would not have you wander in the loveless world alone.
Frail children of my youth, there's room within my heart's high places,
There's room for you to rest with me by Eld's sepulchral stone.
So welcome, empty-handed though you come back from your questing,
Though bowed you are and broken as the waning of the wave,
Like wayworn birds that turn them to their ancient place of nesting,
Come back, my dreams, and die with me upon my last hope's grave!
Though bowed you are and broken as the waning of the wave,
Like wayworn birds that turn them to their ancient place of nesting,
Come back, my dreams, and die with me upon my last hope's grave!
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MAY-MAGIC.
BUILDING birds
And the air brim-full of a bliss that is overgreat for words!
But yesternight I was old and now I again am young;
The Spring with its coals of fire hath loosened my lips and my tongue.
And the air brim-full of a bliss that is overgreat for words!
But yesternight I was old and now I again am young;
The Spring with its coals of fire hath loosened my lips and my tongue.
I sing as I go;
For the world is washed and white of the soil of the Winter's woe;
My soul, that was sad and stained with sorrow but yesterday,
Is pure as the primrose-eyes and glad as the glittering May.
For the world is washed and white of the soil of the Winter's woe;
My soul, that was sad and stained with sorrow but yesterday,
Is pure as the primrose-eyes and glad as the glittering May.
Life strives with Death:
The sun that eases the world of the East Wind's Borgia-breath,
And the quiver of Earth reborn that quickens the hope in my heart
And stirs it to strife anew, when peace were the better part!
The sun that eases the world of the East Wind's Borgia-breath,
And the quiver of Earth reborn that quickens the hope in my heart
And stirs it to strife anew, when peace were the better part!
VARIATIONS ON AN ALPINE THEME.
I. THE HOPE OF THE HILLS.
HILLS on the skymarge, with the sun behind them,
That hide the Summer from the longing lands,
Suffering the Autumn and the Winter bind them
With chains of cold and gloom in icy bands,
Fast on the far horizon still we find them,
Back with their barriers from the sunset-strands,
Sentries unflinching from the task assigned them,
Shouldering relentlessly our straining hands.
That hide the Summer from the longing lands,
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With chains of cold and gloom in icy bands,
Fast on the far horizon still we find them,
Back with their barriers from the sunset-strands,
Sentries unflinching from the task assigned them,
Shouldering relentlessly our straining hands.
All that is here below to us forbidden,
All our lost Edens, wood and wold and stream,
All the Chimaeras of our thought bestridden,
All the far glories of the sunset-gleam,
These all behind their giant holdfasts hidden,
Within their frowning fastnesses, we deem,
Nor doubt, each man, the rampart once o'erridden,
To lay his hand upon his darling dream.
All our lost Edens, wood and wold and stream,
All the Chimaeras of our thought bestridden,
All the far glories of the sunset-gleam,
These all behind their giant holdfasts hidden,
Within their frowning fastnesses, we deem,
Nor doubt, each man, the rampart once o'erridden,
To lay his hand upon his darling dream.
Yet of those few who have their spurs surmounted
And stood at gaze upon their topmost spires,
Who have (not all, alas!) returned, recounted
'Tis that no dreamland of their long desires
On high they found, no Eden fairy-founted,
No Paradise of palms and seraph-choirs,
Nay, but a waste of Alp on Alp uncounted,
Forth-stretching far beyond the sunset-fires.
And stood at gaze upon their topmost spires,
Who have (not all, alas!) returned, recounted
'Tis that no dreamland of their long desires
On high they found, no Eden fairy-founted,
No Paradise of palms and seraph-choirs,
Nay, but a waste of Alp on Alp uncounted,
Forth-stretching far beyond the sunset-fires.
But we, unmindful of their warning pages,
Life's Near-at-hand neglect and to the vain
Dream of the summits, where the storm still rages,
Yearn with the yearning of a soul in pain.
Still, maimed recoiling from the mountain-stages,
Back to th'ascent we brace ourselves again,
Forgetful still that, if, (as say the sages)
Hope of the hills is, peace is of the plain.
Life's Near-at-hand neglect and to the vain
Dream of the summits, where the storm still rages,
Yearn with the yearning of a soul in pain.
Still, maimed recoiling from the mountain-stages,
Back to th'ascent we brace ourselves again,
Forgetful still that, if, (as say the sages)
Hope of the hills is, peace is of the plain.
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II. THE HUSH OF THE HILLS.
ABOUT the slumbering plains, in moonshine steeping,
Gaunt, stern and white,
The mountains stand, like giant warders keeping
The watch of night.
Gaunt, stern and white,
The mountains stand, like giant warders keeping
The watch of night.
The moon upon them pours, the still world winding
In stark repose,
Unto Earth's transient green with silver binding
Th'eternal snows.
In stark repose,
Unto Earth's transient green with silver binding
Th'eternal snows.
The summer landscape by the weird light shrouded
In Winter's hue,
The lonely mountains and the valleys crowded
Are like to view.
In Winter's hue,
The lonely mountains and the valleys crowded
Are like to view.
Life in the sun-flood and the daylight's fountains
Thrones on the plain;
But in the moon-pale night the placid mountains
All Life o'erreign.
Thrones on the plain;
But in the moon-pale night the placid mountains
All Life o'erreign.
There, smiling down on Earth's unending changes
Their changeless smile,
To Heaven their rude, unalterable ranges,
Pile over pile,
Their changeless smile,
To Heaven their rude, unalterable ranges,
Pile over pile,
They lift, their sempiternal witness bearing
To the world's Prime,
Its ageless ermine on their shoulders wearing
Of snow and rime.
To the world's Prime,
Its ageless ermine on their shoulders wearing
Of snow and rime.
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To fore-eternal epochs testifying,
When, frozen deep,
The dead world slumbered, stark and silent lying
In the ice-sleep,
When, frozen deep,
The dead world slumbered, stark and silent lying
In the ice-sleep,
There, in the calm of certitude unbating,
They stand at gaze,
The aeon's foreassigned return awaiting,
Th'appointed days,
They stand at gaze,
The aeon's foreassigned return awaiting,
Th'appointed days,
When, the last fire-cell frozen at Earth's centre,
Shall sea and shore
Their antenatal graves of gloom reenter
For evermore,
Shall sea and shore
Their antenatal graves of gloom reenter
For evermore,
When Life fore'er from out Time's faded pages
Shall blotted be
And they alone look down, like snow-clad sages,
On shore and sea.
Shall blotted be
And they alone look down, like snow-clad sages,
On shore and sea.
To them our fleeting day of feeble violence
A hyphen seems
Between two grim eternities of silence
And glacial dreams.
A hyphen seems
Between two grim eternities of silence
And glacial dreams.
III. THE HALLUCINATION OF THE HILLS.
CLIFF over cliff,
The mountain tow'rs into the topmost blue,
As if
The shining sojourns of the Gods to seek.
Hard by those heights, aglow
With sempiternal snow,
To those, who from below
Their soaring silver in the valley view,
Heaven shows. On yon pellucid peak,
Themseems,
The home is of their hopes, the dwelling of their dreams.
The mountain tow'rs into the topmost blue,
As if
The shining sojourns of the Gods to seek.
Hard by those heights, aglow
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To those, who from below
Their soaring silver in the valley view,
Heaven shows. On yon pellucid peak,
Themseems,
The home is of their hopes, the dwelling of their dreams.
But, once the crest,
After long toil, with aching muscles won
And breast
Well nigh to bursting strained as in a vice,
Look round you, where you stand,
And you on every hand
No bright enchanted land
Of ivory turrets shining in the sun,
But a wild waste of snow and ice
Will find,
Shorn by the storm and rent by the relentless wind.
After long toil, with aching muscles won
And breast
Well nigh to bursting strained as in a vice,
Look round you, where you stand,
And you on every hand
No bright enchanted land
Of ivory turrets shining in the sun,
But a wild waste of snow and ice
Will find,
Shorn by the storm and rent by the relentless wind.
The snow not white,
But grey you'll find, the ice not crystal-clear
And bright,
As to the looker showed it from afar,
But muddy and opaque,
The sky a cold cloud-lake
Of lead, without a break.
A world of horror dumb and silence drear
It is, the cold corpse of a star,
To death
Frozen in the frantic last convulsive fight for breath.
But grey you'll find, the ice not crystal-clear
And bright,
As to the looker showed it from afar,
But muddy and opaque,
The sky a cold cloud-lake
Of lead, without a break.
A world of horror dumb and silence drear
It is, the cold corpse of a star,
To death
Frozen in the frantic last convulsive fight for breath.
So with whate'er
We picture bright, because it lies far hence,
And fair,
Because it is beyond our reach and call.
Its glow and goodlihead
Are of our fancy bred.
Jesus “The Kingdom” said
“Of Heaven within you is;” and one and all
Man's Heavens, be they of thought or sense,
Of plain
Or mountain, owe their birth and being to his brain.
We picture bright, because it lies far hence,
And fair,
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Its glow and goodlihead
Are of our fancy bred.
Jesus “The Kingdom” said
“Of Heaven within you is;” and one and all
Man's Heavens, be they of thought or sense,
Of plain
Or mountain, owe their birth and being to his brain.
IV. THE HONOUR OF THE HILLS.
THE Spring hath over the grey old mountains drawn
Its glamorous webs of wit-bewildering gladness;
Each hillside slope, each upland lea and lawn
Is drunken with a Dionysiac madness.
Its glamorous webs of wit-bewildering gladness;
Each hillside slope, each upland lea and lawn
Is drunken with a Dionysiac madness.
A surge of blossom overbrims each crest;
Each Alp flings back the flower-foam to its neighbour:
The hills seem Maenads for the mysteries drest;
One hearkens after cymbal-clash and tabor.
Each Alp flings back the flower-foam to its neighbour:
The hills seem Maenads for the mysteries drest;
One hearkens after cymbal-clash and tabor.
What heart so hard but, when the mountains cast
Their winter-slough, like them, must doff its sorrow
And garb, forgetful of the piteous Past,
Itself in gladness for the summer morrow?
Their winter-slough, like them, must doff its sorrow
And garb, forgetful of the piteous Past,
Itself in gladness for the summer morrow?
Although, like mine, his head, erst brown, be grey,
Who can, once seen, that sight without a fellow
Forget, the mountains in the flush of May
Belted with gentian blue and jonquil yellow?
Who can, once seen, that sight without a fellow
Forget, the mountains in the flush of May
Belted with gentian blue and jonquil yellow?
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Yet, not alone when Bacchus from the East
Leads back the Nymphs, the Satyrs and Silenus,
My heart with them is in their flowering feast.
Whether in the month of Mars or that of Venus,
Leads back the Nymphs, the Satyrs and Silenus,
My heart with them is in their flowering feast.
Whether in the month of Mars or that of Venus,
Whether in middle Spring or Summer late,
They garb themselves in vests of various glory
And with their rapturous riot celebrate
Life's transient triumph over Winter hoary;
They garb themselves in vests of various glory
And with their rapturous riot celebrate
Life's transient triumph over Winter hoary;
Whether in each upland wood, for June newborn,
The lily of the valley's spathe uncloses
Or in the month of golden-glittering corn
Each pass is purple with the Alpine roses;
The lily of the valley's spathe uncloses
Or in the month of golden-glittering corn
Each pass is purple with the Alpine roses;
Whether narcissus silvers weald and wold
Or gentians carpet all the crests with heaven
Or amaryllis floods with fairy gold
The month whose number in the tale is seven;
Or gentians carpet all the crests with heaven
Or amaryllis floods with fairy gold
The month whose number in the tale is seven;
Whether mild Autumn all the meadows fills
With saffron, careless of the coming severance,
Still to the flowering honour of the hills
My heart goes forth in flames of love and reverence.
With saffron, careless of the coming severance,
Still to the flowering honour of the hills
My heart goes forth in flames of love and reverence.
Yea, of the mountains still for me, from first
To last, the old saw over all hath meetness;
Like that which cometh of the strong, as erst
Honey of the lion's mouth, there is no sweetness.
To last, the old saw over all hath meetness;
Like that which cometh of the strong, as erst
Honey of the lion's mouth, there is no sweetness.
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V. THE HUNGER OF THE HILLS.
WITH you, hills, with you,
In the virginal air,
In the diamond shimmer of Dawn,
As you tower in the silence transcendent, like pillars of prayer,
Aspiration incorporate, Life from Death gendered anew,
From the darkness bygone
White and rose as a dove to the firmament soaring,
In ecstasy rises my spirit, itself like a fountain outpouring.
In the virginal air,
In the diamond shimmer of Dawn,
As you tower in the silence transcendent, like pillars of prayer,
Aspiration incorporate, Life from Death gendered anew,
From the darkness bygone
White and rose as a dove to the firmament soaring,
In ecstasy rises my spirit, itself like a fountain outpouring.
With you, at the hour
Of the summer noon-sleep,
When heavy with heat is the plain
And you, like to shepherds amidward their slumbering sheep,
You wake, when all else 'neath the scourge of the sun-tyrant cower
From his rutilant rain
And you only stand fast, his oppression rebating,
My soul with you shares in your vigil of solitude, watching and waiting.
Of the summer noon-sleep,
When heavy with heat is the plain
And you, like to shepherds amidward their slumbering sheep,
You wake, when all else 'neath the scourge of the sun-tyrant cower
From his rutilant rain
And you only stand fast, his oppression rebating,
My soul with you shares in your vigil of solitude, watching and waiting.
How sore to you, hills,
As you glow on heaven's verge
In the gloaming, as sentinels stern,
As you thrust through the storm-clouds of evening and tower o'er the surge
And the surf of the sunsetting ocean, unstirred, like the sills
Of cathedrals etern,
On whose altars the fire of the phantasy burneth,
My heart through the haze of the heat and the dream of the distance out-yearneth!
As you glow on heaven's verge
In the gloaming, as sentinels stern,
As you thrust through the storm-clouds of evening and tower o'er the surge
And the surf of the sunsetting ocean, unstirred, like the sills
Of cathedrals etern,
On whose altars the fire of the phantasy burneth,
My heart through the haze of the heat and the dream of the distance out-yearneth!
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With you, in the dead
And the stillness of Night,
When the moon in the welkin shines wide,
When, under the sorrowful spell of her life-numbing light,
Earth lies without stir, white and cold, on her couch silverspread,
As a death-stricken bride,
And you alone live in the death-sheen are shining,
My thought over Life and Death soars to the regions of Peace unrepining.
And the stillness of Night,
When the moon in the welkin shines wide,
When, under the sorrowful spell of her life-numbing light,
Earth lies without stir, white and cold, on her couch silverspread,
As a death-stricken bride,
And you alone live in the death-sheen are shining,
My thought over Life and Death soars to the regions of Peace unrepining.
VI. THE HORROR OF THE HILLS.
ABOVE the climbing pines,
Framed in the mountain's cleft, the far-off glacier shines.
Dropped like a dream from Heaven,
It glances in the glittering Alpine air,
A cloud of silver clear, seven times and seven times seven
Purged and made pure, refined in superstellar fire,
As 'twere.
The hills from out their rugged roots of duty,
It seems,
Have scions upward thrust of thrice-sublimed desires
And long-imprisoned dreams,
That blossom out in Heaven with blooms unearthly rare
Of radiance and beauty.
Framed in the mountain's cleft, the far-off glacier shines.
Dropped like a dream from Heaven,
It glances in the glittering Alpine air,
A cloud of silver clear, seven times and seven times seven
Purged and made pure, refined in superstellar fire,
As 'twere.
The hills from out their rugged roots of duty,
It seems,
Have scions upward thrust of thrice-sublimed desires
And long-imprisoned dreams,
That blossom out in Heaven with blooms unearthly rare
Of radiance and beauty.
Throned on those argent piles,
Down on the smiling world below boon Nature smiles,
As placidly and cheerly
As if no storm her brows had ever blurred,
As if she ne'er had frowned nor ever looked austerely.
With blandness by the thought of wind or winter wild
Unstirred,
Her benison she pours on man's existence:
But yet
There that is in her look, her eye serene and mild,
Which bids him ne'er forget,
If he her favour fain with tree and beast and bird
Would share, to keep his distance.
Down on the smiling world below boon Nature smiles,
As placidly and cheerly
As if no storm her brows had ever blurred,
As if she ne'er had frowned nor ever looked austerely.
119
Unstirred,
Her benison she pours on man's existence:
But yet
There that is in her look, her eye serene and mild,
Which bids him ne'er forget,
If he her favour fain with tree and beast and bird
Would share, to keep his distance.
Beware lest thou ensue
The Goddess to the nooks where she of old makes new,
Where furbishing and mending
She plies upon this worn old earth of ours,
The haunts where she the world's beginning hides and ending,
Where, when some joint or screw gives way beneath storms, snows
And showers,
She sets herself in silence to renew it.
Beware,
I say, lest thou invade the place where in the throes
Of birth and death fore'er
Successive she abides: shun these her secret bowers;
Or by the Gods thou'lt rue it.
The Goddess to the nooks where she of old makes new,
Where furbishing and mending
She plies upon this worn old earth of ours,
The haunts where she the world's beginning hides and ending,
Where, when some joint or screw gives way beneath storms, snows
And showers,
She sets herself in silence to renew it.
Beware,
I say, lest thou invade the place where in the throes
Of birth and death fore'er
Successive she abides: shun these her secret bowers;
Or by the Gods thou'lt rue it.
Yon glacier, which from far
Shines as the hills of Heaven beneath the midday star,
So white and smooth and candid
That from the valley showed, when viewed anear,
Is all with rocks and stones and gravel over-sanded:
Its smiling visage lowers, clay-coloured, harsh, misshaped,
Austere:
Each step you go, the way grows rougher, ruder,
And all
The slope with crannies huge and grim is over-gaped,
That from the frowning wall
Of overhanging ice, like monstrous mouths, appear
To yawn for the intruder.
Shines as the hills of Heaven beneath the midday star,
So white and smooth and candid
That from the valley showed, when viewed anear,
Is all with rocks and stones and gravel over-sanded:
Its smiling visage lowers, clay-coloured, harsh, misshaped,
Austere:
Each step you go, the way grows rougher, ruder,
And all
The slope with crannies huge and grim is over-gaped,
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Of overhanging ice, like monstrous mouths, appear
To yawn for the intruder.
Forth of its clefts a breath
There overcometh thee, that is as ambient Death,
The night that hath no morning
Recalling to the sick and shuddering sense.
The marrow in the bones it numbs; 'tis Nature's warning
Unto the intruder rash that she his presence here
Resents,
Where she rough-hews the mountains' rugged faces
Of stone,
That in her workshop, where the worlds for joy or fear
She shapes, she would alone
Be nor have man invade with his irreverence
Her secret sacred places.
There overcometh thee, that is as ambient Death,
The night that hath no morning
Recalling to the sick and shuddering sense.
The marrow in the bones it numbs; 'tis Nature's warning
Unto the intruder rash that she his presence here
Resents,
Where she rough-hews the mountains' rugged faces
Of stone,
That in her workshop, where the worlds for joy or fear
She shapes, she would alone
Be nor have man invade with his irreverence
Her secret sacred places.
Nay, woman-like, her spleen
It rouses still to be in workday raiment seen;
It likes her not, a Goddess,
To be, with broom and brush and clout and pail
Awork, caught unawares in petticoat and bodice:
And if her warnings, ice, snow, cold, wind, rain and mist
All fail
Th'intruder to rebut and to imbue him
With heed
And reverence for her whim and he withal persist
In spying on her need,
The ruffled beldam sure, for ending of the tale,
A mischief is to do him.
It rouses still to be in workday raiment seen;
It likes her not, a Goddess,
To be, with broom and brush and clout and pail
Awork, caught unawares in petticoat and bodice:
And if her warnings, ice, snow, cold, wind, rain and mist
All fail
Th'intruder to rebut and to imbue him
With heed
And reverence for her whim and he withal persist
In spying on her need,
The ruffled beldam sure, for ending of the tale,
A mischief is to do him.
Wherefore contented be
The mountains from the vale to view and bend the knee
Submiss to Nature's ruling:
For she of the old Gods is, not the new,
And little patience hath, like them, with mortal fooling.
She, like the high Latonian twins, like Bacchus, Isis, Cybele,
Her due
From man exacts and suffers no denying:
Her rites
When she would secret hold, in vain it is that he
With her would bandy mights;
And woe to you and me if she catch me or you
Upon her mysteries spying!
The mountains from the vale to view and bend the knee
121
For she of the old Gods is, not the new,
And little patience hath, like them, with mortal fooling.
She, like the high Latonian twins, like Bacchus, Isis, Cybele,
Her due
From man exacts and suffers no denying:
Her rites
When she would secret hold, in vain it is that he
With her would bandy mights;
And woe to you and me if she catch me or you
Upon her mysteries spying!
VII. THE HALLOWING OF THE HILLS.
DUSK deepens on highland and lowland; the harpies of darkness descending
Go gathering up and devouring the last of the lingering light:
The day as a down-ridden beast is, that lies, at the long chase's ending,
Its death at the hand of its hunter awaiting, its conqueror, Night.
Go gathering up and devouring the last of the lingering light:
The day as a down-ridden beast is, that lies, at the long chase's ending,
Its death at the hand of its hunter awaiting, its conqueror, Night.
Awhile, with their whiteness phantasmal, like ghosts, 'gainst the shadow persisting,
Though else out of sight all the landscape is blotted, the snow-peaks shine pale;
Then, one by one, into the darkness they fade, as if tired of resisting,
And Night fore-eternal abideth sole monarch of mountain and dale.
Though else out of sight all the landscape is blotted, the snow-peaks shine pale;
Then, one by one, into the darkness they fade, as if tired of resisting,
And Night fore-eternal abideth sole monarch of mountain and dale.
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It is finished; no longer a hand's breadth to see of the hills' shining scalps is;
The glory is gone from the landscape: I sigh, as I turn to go in.
The dream of the daylight is over; for who face to face with the Alps is,
To meditate aught but the mountains, whilst light on them lasts, is a sin.
The glory is gone from the landscape: I sigh, as I turn to go in.
The dream of the daylight is over; for who face to face with the Alps is,
To meditate aught but the mountains, whilst light on them lasts, is a sin.
But lo! what is this that is dawning? What light in the Westward awaketh,
That is as the beam of the dayspring reborn from the Occident's sills,
That surgeth and soareth, sea-fashion? What is it in ripples that breaketh
Of radiance, with rose overflooding and flushing the roots of the hills?
That is as the beam of the dayspring reborn from the Occident's sills,
That surgeth and soareth, sea-fashion? What is it in ripples that breaketh
Of radiance, with rose overflooding and flushing the roots of the hills?
O marvel! Behold how the mountains again from Night's graves have arisen;
But not, as they showed in the setting, as icicles pallid and cold:
Nay, now, like beatified spirits, new-radiant, released from Death's prison,
They thrust through the screen of the shadow, resplendent in rose and in gold.
But not, as they showed in the setting, as icicles pallid and cold:
Nay, now, like beatified spirits, new-radiant, released from Death's prison,
They thrust through the screen of the shadow, resplendent in rose and in gold.
Yet not rose and gold, as we know them, but rather such transfigurations
Of brightness and blossom for fancy as flower in the worlds unexplored,
The worlds beyond living and dying, undarkened of doubts and negations,
Where other ideals Faith follows and otherguess Gods they call Lord.
Of brightness and blossom for fancy as flower in the worlds unexplored,
The worlds beyond living and dying, undarkened of doubts and negations,
123
See, Heavenward upsoaring, soft-flaming, the summits, like flambeaux funereal,
Clear-kindled in honour of heroes and demigods, shimmer, like pyres
For Hercules, Horus, Serapis, high-builded, like altars imperial,
From each of whose cloud-climbing censers the soul of some hero aspires.
Clear-kindled in honour of heroes and demigods, shimmer, like pyres
For Hercules, Horus, Serapis, high-builded, like altars imperial,
From each of whose cloud-climbing censers the soul of some hero aspires.
There stand they, their pole-pointing pillars in mute aspiration upholding,
Like arms of adoring incessant upreared to some Godhead unknown;
And we, who no God know that's worthy our worship, their glory beholding,
Must bow to the power that up-pileth their spires for its luminous throne.
Like arms of adoring incessant upreared to some Godhead unknown;
And we, who no God know that's worthy our worship, their glory beholding,
Must bow to the power that up-pileth their spires for its luminous throne.
So poignant their pomp is, so voiceful, so solemn their silence, in wonder,
For pealing of paeans Elysian I listen, amazed that there comes
No waft to mine ears of the wailing of hautboys and horns and no thunder,
By clamorous silver of clarions through-lightened, of cymbals and drums.
For pealing of paeans Elysian I listen, amazed that there comes
No waft to mine ears of the wailing of hautboys and horns and no thunder,
By clamorous silver of clarions through-lightened, of cymbals and drums.
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But see, now already the pageant is passing away. As I hearken,
The glory fades out from the glaciers. A second yet, pallid and white,
Their pinnacles gleam; then, as sudden anon as they lightened, they darken
And all things the prison re-enter of Silence sepulchral and Night.
The glory fades out from the glaciers. A second yet, pallid and white,
Their pinnacles gleam; then, as sudden anon as they lightened, they darken
And all things the prison re-enter of Silence sepulchral and Night.
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