 | Poems |  |
1
THE UNLOVED OF EARTH.
Where shall the unloved of earth abide,
'Midst all its pomp, and power, and pride?
Where find one hope to soothe or bless
A heart divorced from happiness?
Where pity or protection seek,
O'erborne by life's storms, wild and bleak—
To all its changeful skies exposed,
Its blessings all against them closed?
'Midst all its pomp, and power, and pride?
Where find one hope to soothe or bless
A heart divorced from happiness?
Where pity or protection seek,
O'erborne by life's storms, wild and bleak—
To all its changeful skies exposed,
Its blessings all against them closed?
What emblem sad enough may be,
For shadowing forth their destiny?
Hath Nature, through her regions old,
Aught that may their dark fates unfold?
A flower with its heart-leaf unveiled,
By every frost and blight assailed—
A bird forsaken in the nest,
When all its tribes are gay and blest—
For shadowing forth their destiny?
Hath Nature, through her regions old,
Aught that may their dark fates unfold?
2
By every frost and blight assailed—
A bird forsaken in the nest,
When all its tribes are gay and blest—
A broken shell from ocean torn,
Its music hush'd, its splendours shorn—
A lone star from its orbit driven—
An exile from its native heaven!
O! ye unloved ones of the earth!
A bitter boon hath been your birth;
That bitter boon ye must receive,
Without redress—without reprieve.
Its music hush'd, its splendours shorn—
A lone star from its orbit driven—
An exile from its native heaven!
O! ye unloved ones of the earth!
A bitter boon hath been your birth;
That bitter boon ye must receive,
Without redress—without reprieve.
A thousand wormwood-springs are straying,
Where your lone course ye are delaying;
A thousand nightshade-bowers entwining,
Where ye, th' o'erwearied, are reclining.
And spells of deadliest power are cast,
O'er all your future, present, past;
And many a strange bewildering haze
Misleads ye in life's lengthening maze.
Where your lone course ye are delaying;
A thousand nightshade-bowers entwining,
Where ye, th' o'erwearied, are reclining.
And spells of deadliest power are cast,
O'er all your future, present, past;
And many a strange bewildering haze
Misleads ye in life's lengthening maze.
3
For you—for you, the blue pale air
Hath haunting whispers of despair;
A sorrowing murmur thrills the breeze,
A shadow broods 'mongst flowering trees;
In music's heavenliest tone, a sigh
Troubles the deep mid-harmony;
Ye hear the breathings of farewell,
Soon as the summer lights the dell!
Hath haunting whispers of despair;
A sorrowing murmur thrills the breeze,
A shadow broods 'mongst flowering trees;
In music's heavenliest tone, a sigh
Troubles the deep mid-harmony;
Ye hear the breathings of farewell,
Soon as the summer lights the dell!
For you even Spring hath weeping glooms,
Or smiles as cold as lamps in tombs;
And Morning, with her plumaged throngs,
Hath under-tones in her blithe songs:
Vain is her bright and blushing bloom
Your jaundiced fancy to illume
With one warm rosy ray of gladness—
No!—unpartaken—all is sadness!
Or smiles as cold as lamps in tombs;
And Morning, with her plumaged throngs,
Hath under-tones in her blithe songs:
Vain is her bright and blushing bloom
Your jaundiced fancy to illume
With one warm rosy ray of gladness—
No!—unpartaken—all is sadness!
Ay! your upspringings in the hour
Which glorifies the lowliest flower,
But make you feel, beneath the sun,
Ye're cherished and beloved by none!
No precious household-words shall greet
The approach of your familiar feet—
No smiles (the keys of heaven for you)
Shall speak of love—the fond and true.
Which glorifies the lowliest flower,
But make you feel, beneath the sun,
Ye're cherished and beloved by none!
4
The approach of your familiar feet—
No smiles (the keys of heaven for you)
Shall speak of love—the fond and true.
Those desolate strangers of the earth!
Harsh to their ears sounds joy and mirth;
A veil for them shrouds land and sky
In doubt, in fear, in mystery.
When round them lower the clouds of care,
Still blackening—blackening to despair,
None shall, with might of kindred feeling,
From life's long troubled waves draw healing.
Harsh to their ears sounds joy and mirth;
A veil for them shrouds land and sky
In doubt, in fear, in mystery.
When round them lower the clouds of care,
Still blackening—blackening to despair,
None shall, with might of kindred feeling,
From life's long troubled waves draw healing.
Sad where they rest—sad where they roam,
A desert is their world—their home.
Their hearth-stones see no smiling rites,
Their roof-tree echoes no delights;
Where'er they dwell, where'er they move,
They shed a gloom o'er life and love:
And O! to them who hopeless look,
Blank is the page of Nature's book.
A desert is their world—their home.
Their hearth-stones see no smiling rites,
Their roof-tree echoes no delights;
Where'er they dwell, where'er they move,
They shed a gloom o'er life and love:
And O! to them who hopeless look,
Blank is the page of Nature's book.
5
For them the past's deep starry lore
Hath shafts that smite their bosom's core;
By love still girt—with love still blent—
Of love's bright wealth munificent!
Earth's mysteries and diversities,
For them are linked by fearful ties;
One vein of wo through all is led,
Their heart-strings twined it while they bled.
Hath shafts that smite their bosom's core;
By love still girt—with love still blent—
Of love's bright wealth munificent!
Earth's mysteries and diversities,
For them are linked by fearful ties;
One vein of wo through all is led,
Their heart-strings twined it while they bled.
The pagod-idols they have made,
And in their spirits' light arrayed,
Crushed all to clay, lie mouldering soon,
In fragments round their footsteps strewn.
O'er their slow lingering march of years,
No hope its blazoned standard rears;
No pillars of love's heavenly fire
Their journeyings prompt, their strength inspire.
And in their spirits' light arrayed,
Crushed all to clay, lie mouldering soon,
In fragments round their footsteps strewn.
O'er their slow lingering march of years,
No hope its blazoned standard rears;
No pillars of love's heavenly fire
Their journeyings prompt, their strength inspire.
Still, with the lapwing's mystic art,
They find those fountains of the heart
That never unto them shall flow,
Or—dark as Dead-Sea waves of woe!
And like the leaf of hellebore,
Their lone affections darkling o'er,
Into themselves must turn again,
All poisoned with the dews of pain;
They find those fountains of the heart
That never unto them shall flow,
Or—dark as Dead-Sea waves of woe!
6
Their lone affections darkling o'er,
Into themselves must turn again,
All poisoned with the dews of pain;
Like some celestial heliotrope,
Condemn'd 'mongst spreading shades to droop!
Where suns of beauty never shine,
Or only in their pale decline!
Lost stricken deer! their quenchless thirst
By many a neighbouring fountain's burst
Is fired!—they lie midst thousand streams,
But none shall bathe their burning dreams.
Condemn'd 'mongst spreading shades to droop!
Where suns of beauty never shine,
Or only in their pale decline!
Lost stricken deer! their quenchless thirst
By many a neighbouring fountain's burst
Is fired!—they lie midst thousand streams,
But none shall bathe their burning dreams.
Not like that prince of old renowned,
By genii gifts enriched and crowned,
Lord of a sovereign amulet!
Are their hearts' wishes coldly set
To gain a vain and empty boast
Of senseless show and boundless cost!
No! 'tis not for the Roc they pine,
Midst all the spoils of wave and mine!
By genii gifts enriched and crowned,
Lord of a sovereign amulet!
Are their hearts' wishes coldly set
To gain a vain and empty boast
Of senseless show and boundless cost!
No! 'tis not for the Roc they pine,
Midst all the spoils of wave and mine!
7
Ah, no! the treasure they have sought,
The Mecca of each pilgrim-thought,
In the soul's fervid depths enshrined,
Gilds all with alchemy refined.
Ay! 'tis the pure immortal gem,
The diamond of the diadem—
The source, the spring, of every joy—
The elixir that can never cloy—
The Mecca of each pilgrim-thought,
In the soul's fervid depths enshrined,
Gilds all with alchemy refined.
Ay! 'tis the pure immortal gem,
The diamond of the diadem—
The source, the spring, of every joy—
The elixir that can never cloy—
The sovereign star of all the skies—
The cynosure of countless eyes—
The master-chord of every lyre—
The kindling spark of Heaven's own fire.
But ne'er may they its joys rehearse;
To them 'tis but a treacherous curse.
For all their tears, for all their prayers,
Its shadows and its sighs are theirs.
The cynosure of countless eyes—
The master-chord of every lyre—
The kindling spark of Heaven's own fire.
But ne'er may they its joys rehearse;
To them 'tis but a treacherous curse.
For all their tears, for all their prayers,
Its shadows and its sighs are theirs.
The worm that never more shall die,
The seal-mark of fierce agony,
The canker and the broken reed,—
Their portion in the hour of need!
The staff, the mantle, light, and crown,
From their faint grasp are stricken down;
Their soul's transpierced with quickening ray
But to behold them rapt away!
The seal-mark of fierce agony,
The canker and the broken reed,—
Their portion in the hour of need!
8
From their faint grasp are stricken down;
Their soul's transpierced with quickening ray
But to behold them rapt away!
They in their sorrowing silence tread
O'er a volcanic island's bed;
It yields them not one guiding ray,
Still smouldering 'neath their steps away!
The golden bowl for them lies broken,
Ere Death has sent one startling token,—
All mute and dark the silvery string
Ere one wave of his ghastly wing.
O'er a volcanic island's bed;
It yields them not one guiding ray,
Still smouldering 'neath their steps away!
The golden bowl for them lies broken,
Ere Death has sent one startling token,—
All mute and dark the silvery string
Ere one wave of his ghastly wing.
Their hearts are shrines whose oracles
Are flown, till, like faint echo-cells,
They thrill to every passing tone,
That should respond to one alone;
Or like rich vases that have graced
Some temple-fane now fallen, defaced—
Their sculpture-wreaths, their emblems shattered,
Their incense to the cold winds scattered.
Are flown, till, like faint echo-cells,
They thrill to every passing tone,
That should respond to one alone;
Or like rich vases that have graced
Some temple-fane now fallen, defaced—
Their sculpture-wreaths, their emblems shattered,
Their incense to the cold winds scattered.
9
If Nature's gifts vouchsafed have been
To those sad wanderers of life's scene—
Those gifts, like scorpions, flame-surrounded,
Are by themselves undone and wounded;
A seer's eye may to them be given,
But do they visions smile like heaven?
By Heaven at least they're girt and bound—
No rest for them on earth is found.
To those sad wanderers of life's scene—
Those gifts, like scorpions, flame-surrounded,
Are by themselves undone and wounded;
A seer's eye may to them be given,
But do they visions smile like heaven?
By Heaven at least they're girt and bound—
No rest for them on earth is found.
No rest for them in life may be,
Like Delos floating on the sea
Of old, still wandering on and on,
Till from each cloud in heaven is won
Its dark'ning shower—from every rock
A shadowy gloom—a quivering shock
From each wild wave—a withering blight
From each wind on its arrowy flight.
Like Delos floating on the sea
Of old, still wandering on and on,
Till from each cloud in heaven is won
Its dark'ning shower—from every rock
A shadowy gloom—a quivering shock
From each wild wave—a withering blight
From each wind on its arrowy flight.
No shield is theirs throughout the strife,
The long, long battle-storm of life:
No clue throughout its labyrinths twining,
No vane midst its wild changes shining.
The dew's wrung from the heavy dawn,
The torchlight from the race withdrawn!—
That mighty race whose ranks are strengthened
By all whose life-ordeal is lengthened!
The long, long battle-storm of life:
No clue throughout its labyrinths twining,
No vane midst its wild changes shining.
10
The torchlight from the race withdrawn!—
That mighty race whose ranks are strengthened
By all whose life-ordeal is lengthened!
But O! when 'tis on woman's head
Black Disappointment's storms are shed,
Its fiery rain of living coals
Showered through her passionate soul of souls,—
She, fused in Feeling's tenderest mould,
Girt round with Love's own cestus-fold,
Well may the shuddering fancy shrink,
Loth—loth on such wild woes to think.
Black Disappointment's storms are shed,
Its fiery rain of living coals
Showered through her passionate soul of souls,—
She, fused in Feeling's tenderest mould,
Girt round with Love's own cestus-fold,
Well may the shuddering fancy shrink,
Loth—loth on such wild woes to think.
Like the olden patriarch's ladder, seems
To them, in all their wo-worn dreams,
Love's bright ascents still heavenwards leading,
Whilst their hearts at the base lie bleeding!
Their ark of blessings all despoiled,
The serpents 'mongst its ruins coiled,
Their future—one vast tempest-cloud,
With threatening night and thunders bowed!
To them, in all their wo-worn dreams,
Love's bright ascents still heavenwards leading,
Whilst their hearts at the base lie bleeding!
Their ark of blessings all despoiled,
The serpents 'mongst its ruins coiled,
Their future—one vast tempest-cloud,
With threatening night and thunders bowed!
11
Vials of wrath for them are poured—
Quivers with deadliest fates are stored—
Crucibles hoard for them their fires,
However pure their heart's desires!
Theirs seems each attribute of grief,—
The cypress bough, the willow leaf,
The upas-shades are trembling o'er them—
The wild, the rock, the grave's before them!
Quivers with deadliest fates are stored—
Crucibles hoard for them their fires,
However pure their heart's desires!
Theirs seems each attribute of grief,—
The cypress bough, the willow leaf,
The upas-shades are trembling o'er them—
The wild, the rock, the grave's before them!
Their birthrights cancelled or denied—
Their nature forced in backward tide—
Their prospects foiled, their aims o'erthrown,
Their friendships wronged, their hopes cast down!
Their bark of life without one breeze
Midst its immeasurable seas—
No anchor, compass, chart, or star,
To fix, guide, cheer it from afar!
Their nature forced in backward tide—
Their prospects foiled, their aims o'erthrown,
Their friendships wronged, their hopes cast down!
Their bark of life without one breeze
Midst its immeasurable seas—
No anchor, compass, chart, or star,
To fix, guide, cheer it from afar!
Each moonlight beam of memory,
Breaking through long despondency,
But shews these ravages, these ruins,
The wrecks, the spoils, the wild undoings.
They pray, but with a faltering lip—
E'en prayer would claim companionship;
When vesper-strains are murmuring sweet,
'Tis sweeter answering strains to meet.
Breaking through long despondency,
But shews these ravages, these ruins,
The wrecks, the spoils, the wild undoings.
12
E'en prayer would claim companionship;
When vesper-strains are murmuring sweet,
'Tis sweeter answering strains to meet.
Their laughter's hollow, broken, low,
More sad than breakings-forth of wo;
Their tears fall, scorching up their souls,
Each drop like blistering lava rolls!
Sighs are their painful eloquence,
Or silence breathless and intense—
The sun of sorrow's desolate breast
Hath sunk in an eternal west!
More sad than breakings-forth of wo;
Their tears fall, scorching up their souls,
Each drop like blistering lava rolls!
Sighs are their painful eloquence,
Or silence breathless and intense—
The sun of sorrow's desolate breast
Hath sunk in an eternal west!
Each dawning hope that haunts their hearts
But dwells one moment and departs,
To leave pale marks, like fairy rings—
Or moultings of some lost dove's wings—
Or foam-wreaths, lingering on the shore
When th' ebbing waves shine there no more—
Or ship-wreck fragments on those waves,
Betraying but the site of graves!
But dwells one moment and departs,
To leave pale marks, like fairy rings—
Or moultings of some lost dove's wings—
Or foam-wreaths, lingering on the shore
When th' ebbing waves shine there no more—
Or ship-wreck fragments on those waves,
Betraying but the site of graves!
13
Their meek affections have been sent
On pilgrimage of banishment.
Not like proud Psaphon's missioned birds—
They speak no fame-awakening words!
But, scattered on their journeyings wide,
Have drooped, have languished, and have died;
Till in their lone ark they are left—
Who sent them forth — of all bereft!
On pilgrimage of banishment.
Not like proud Psaphon's missioned birds—
They speak no fame-awakening words!
But, scattered on their journeyings wide,
Have drooped, have languished, and have died;
Till in their lone ark they are left—
Who sent them forth — of all bereft!
One dream of love might breathe away
The cloudy mantle from their day,
Shed glories o'er earth's fragile dust
Wherein we place our trembling trust.
Our trust! O, ye Unloved! 'tis well
For ye who midst its deserts dwell,
Where the false lures of life shall ne'er
Bewilder ye with visions fair!
The cloudy mantle from their day,
Shed glories o'er earth's fragile dust
Wherein we place our trembling trust.
Our trust! O, ye Unloved! 'tis well
For ye who midst its deserts dwell,
Where the false lures of life shall ne'er
Bewilder ye with visions fair!
Earth's loftiest trusts are faint and frail,
Earth's mightiest expectations fail,
And death and love at last must meet,
And hope is false, and time is fleet;
And still, and ever, day by day,
Life's rich enchantments drop away,
Like jewels loosened from a chain,
Like sparkles from the fire-fly's train.
Earth's mightiest expectations fail,
And death and love at last must meet,
And hope is false, and time is fleet;
14
Life's rich enchantments drop away,
Like jewels loosened from a chain,
Like sparkles from the fire-fly's train.
O, ye Unloved! 'tis well for ye
Desolate in this life to be,
To weep when shines morn's flushing ray,
To sigh when thrills the sky-lark's lay,
To shrink from pleasure's specious wiles,
To tremble at joy's thoughtless smiles;
Still, still the noblest powers are there,
To feel, to combat, and to bear!
Desolate in this life to be,
To weep when shines morn's flushing ray,
To sigh when thrills the sky-lark's lay,
To shrink from pleasure's specious wiles,
To tremble at joy's thoughtless smiles;
Still, still the noblest powers are there,
To feel, to combat, and to bear!
The currents of the heart still flow,
The sun-lights of the soul still glow;
But ice on these all coldly weighs,
Round those have fallen a shadowing haze;
Yet both shall deathless burn, and stream
With victory in each wave and beam—
The imprisoned rays shall turn to gems
Meet for celestial diadems!
The sun-lights of the soul still glow;
But ice on these all coldly weighs,
Round those have fallen a shadowing haze;
Yet both shall deathless burn, and stream
With victory in each wave and beam—
The imprisoned rays shall turn to gems
Meet for celestial diadems!
15
Ay! even their cold imprisoned tears
Shall outshine the refulgent spheres!
And their heart's founts, all fettered now,
Shall gush when seas forget to flow!
Though checked awhile, yet all undried,
By noons unscorched, by storms untried,
Till with heaven's glassy waves of light
Mixed unimaginably bright!
Shall outshine the refulgent spheres!
And their heart's founts, all fettered now,
Shall gush when seas forget to flow!
Though checked awhile, yet all undried,
By noons unscorched, by storms untried,
Till with heaven's glassy waves of light
Mixed unimaginably bright!
Then courage! courage! shrink ye not,
Though steep your road and drear your lot;
Yours be the high and glorious part,
To make a temple of the heart;
Each wish to impale, each thought to affix
On Resignation's crucifix!
To consecrate to Heaven the soul—
To Heaven to yield the unbroken whole.
Though steep your road and drear your lot;
Yours be the high and glorious part,
To make a temple of the heart;
Each wish to impale, each thought to affix
On Resignation's crucifix!
To consecrate to Heaven the soul—
To Heaven to yield the unbroken whole.
O! may the Dove of Peace descending—
In stainless purities transcending—
Shed healings through each wounded spirit,
Destined the promised palms to inherit!
From the dark love of earth preserved,
For holier things designed—reserved,
Be theirs the immortal task to prove,
How just, how true, the Immortal Love!
In stainless purities transcending—
Shed healings through each wounded spirit,
Destined the promised palms to inherit!
16
For holier things designed—reserved,
Be theirs the immortal task to prove,
How just, how true, the Immortal Love!
Be their affections lone and high,
Lightning-conductors to the sky!
So some unsheltered towering spire
Draws on itself the electric fire,
While gleam the precious shrines beneath,
Unconscious of the bolts of death:
Even the low tombs whence fate is warded,
By cherubim's own swords seem guarded.
Lightning-conductors to the sky!
So some unsheltered towering spire
Draws on itself the electric fire,
While gleam the precious shrines beneath,
Unconscious of the bolts of death:
Even the low tombs whence fate is warded,
By cherubim's own swords seem guarded.
Thus, in their spirit's inmost centre,
Where death and ruin may not enter,
The heavenward adorations treasured,
Shall spring to strength and height unmeasured;
Now winning from the unsheathed lightnings
Only the splendours and the brightenings—
Then bathed in their own source and sun,
With nought to fear and nought to shun.
Where death and ruin may not enter,
The heavenward adorations treasured,
Shall spring to strength and height unmeasured;
Now winning from the unsheathed lightnings
Only the splendours and the brightenings—
Then bathed in their own source and sun,
With nought to fear and nought to shun.
17
And O! from some keen throes they're spared—
Those, that no kindred thoughts have shared!
They linger not—amazed—aghast,
When love with all its smiles hath past;
Nor to the heedless gale they cry,
Breathless with frenzying agony,
To give one chainless echo back,
From the Departed's mournful track.
Those, that no kindred thoughts have shared!
They linger not—amazed—aghast,
When love with all its smiles hath past;
Nor to the heedless gale they cry,
Breathless with frenzying agony,
To give one chainless echo back,
From the Departed's mournful track.
Nor feel they that worst loneliness,
Which absence doth inform, impress,
With dim forebodings and distrust,
With sounds of air and shapes of dust;
And death but strikes one single blow—
No smothered moans of speechless wo
Shall thrill the deep gloom mournfully,
Redoubling life's last agony!
Which absence doth inform, impress,
With dim forebodings and distrust,
With sounds of air and shapes of dust;
And death but strikes one single blow—
No smothered moans of speechless wo
Shall thrill the deep gloom mournfully,
Redoubling life's last agony!
Turn from earth's tearful hopes, then, turn!
And in eternity's deep urn
Hoard the soul's mighty waters all,
Far from the storm, the waste, the thrall.
Though in chill dungeons of the breast
Now all your feelings lie suppressed,
They shall yet have their guerdoning hour,
And reap immortal joy and power.
And in eternity's deep urn
Hoard the soul's mighty waters all,
Far from the storm, the waste, the thrall.
18
Now all your feelings lie suppressed,
They shall yet have their guerdoning hour,
And reap immortal joy and power.
So the pale diver of the main
Drags his sad life of wo and pain:
In darkness are his treasures heaped—
From darkness are his harvests reaped!
He moves through depths of boundless gloom,
Far from the day-spring's dewy bloom,
To find those gems not elsewhere found,
Wherewith earth's haughtiest kings are crowned.
Drags his sad life of wo and pain:
In darkness are his treasures heaped—
From darkness are his harvests reaped!
He moves through depths of boundless gloom,
Far from the day-spring's dewy bloom,
To find those gems not elsewhere found,
Wherewith earth's haughtiest kings are crowned.
Yet not so ye! though ye too tread
Through realms of darkness and the dead,
Gathering the treasures that are piled
Far 'neath the billowy surges wild—
The wealth in jewel-heaps amassed,
Priceless bequeathments of the past—
But ye snatch not that kingly crown
For others' brows—but for your own!
Through realms of darkness and the dead,
Gathering the treasures that are piled
Far 'neath the billowy surges wild—
The wealth in jewel-heaps amassed,
Priceless bequeathments of the past—
But ye snatch not that kingly crown
For others' brows—but for your own!
| Poems | |