 | The Comrades |  |
144
Vignettes
The Wanderer
I
I met a waif i' the hills at close of day.
He begged an alms; I thought to say him nay.
What was he? “Sir, a little dust,” said he,
“Which life blows up and down, and death will lay.”
He begged an alms; I thought to say him nay.
What was he? “Sir, a little dust,” said he,
“Which life blows up and down, and death will lay.”
I gave—for love of beast and hill and tree,
And all the dust that has been and shall be.
And all the dust that has been and shall be.
145
II
He knows no home; he only knows
Hunger and cold and pain;
The four winds are his bedfellows;
His sleep is dashed with rain.
Hunger and cold and pain;
The four winds are his bedfellows;
His sleep is dashed with rain.
'Tis nought to him who fails, who thrives;
He neither hopes nor fears;
Some dim primeval impulse drives
His footsteps down the years.
He neither hopes nor fears;
Some dim primeval impulse drives
His footsteps down the years.
He could not, if he would, forsake
Lone road and field and tree.
Yet, think! it takes a God to make
E'en such a waif as he.
Lone road and field and tree.
Yet, think! it takes a God to make
E'en such a waif as he.
146
The Stone Age
'Twas not a vision! Yet the oak
O'erarched the paleolithic Age;
And homesteads of a pigmy folk
Were clustered 'neath its foliage.
O'erarched the paleolithic Age;
And homesteads of a pigmy folk
Were clustered 'neath its foliage.
Secreted in that sylvan space,
To archæologist unknown,
Stood, reared by some untutored race,
Strange rings and avenues of stone.
To archæologist unknown,
Stood, reared by some untutored race,
Strange rings and avenues of stone.
The little thorp deserted seemed;
What prey had lured the tribe afar?
One figure, lingering, sat and dreamed,
As lonely as the evening star.
What prey had lured the tribe afar?
One figure, lingering, sat and dreamed,
As lonely as the evening star.
147
Bright-haired, blue-eyed, with naked feet,
And young face lit with rosy blood,
She rocked her babe, and dreamed the sweet
Primeval dream of motherhood.
And young face lit with rosy blood,
She rocked her babe, and dreamed the sweet
Primeval dream of motherhood.
A wondrous babe, that once had grown
A branch among the branches green—
For nurslings of the Age of Stone
Are mainly bairns of wood, I ween.
A branch among the branches green—
For nurslings of the Age of Stone
Are mainly bairns of wood, I ween.
A mother strangely young, and sage
Beyond the summers she had told,
For mothers of that ancient Age
Are usually five years old.
Beyond the summers she had told,
For mothers of that ancient Age
Are usually five years old.
God bless thy heart maternal, bless
Thy bower of stone, thy sheltering tree,
Thou small prospective ancestress
Of generations yet to be!
Thy bower of stone, thy sheltering tree,
Thou small prospective ancestress
Of generations yet to be!
148
The Haunted Bridge
With high-pitched arch, low parapet,
And narrow thoroughfare, it stands
As strong as when the mortar set
Beneath the Roman mason's hands.
And narrow thoroughfare, it stands
As strong as when the mortar set
Beneath the Roman mason's hands.
An ancient ivy grips its walls,
Tall grasses tuft its coping-stones;
Beneath, through citron shadow, falls
The stream in drowsy undertones.
Tall grasses tuft its coping-stones;
Beneath, through citron shadow, falls
The stream in drowsy undertones.
No road leads hence. The stonechat flits
Along green fallow grey with stone;
But here a dark-eyed urchin sits,
To whom the Painted Men were known.
Along green fallow grey with stone;
But here a dark-eyed urchin sits,
To whom the Painted Men were known.
149
Hush! do not move, but only look.
When sunny days are long and fine
This Roman truant baits a hook,
Drops o'er the keystone here a line,
When sunny days are long and fine
This Roman truant baits a hook,
Drops o'er the keystone here a line,
And, dangling sandalled feet, looks down
To see the swift trout dart and gleam—
Or scarcely see them, hanging brown
With heads against the clear brown stream.
To see the swift trout dart and gleam—
Or scarcely see them, hanging brown
With heads against the clear brown stream.
150
The Scarecrow
Hail Goodman-gossip of the corn!
When boughs are green and furrows sprout
And blossom muffles every thorn,
Poor soul! the farmer boards him out.
When boughs are green and furrows sprout
And blossom muffles every thorn,
Poor soul! the farmer boards him out.
Men think, grim wight, his rags affright
The wingèd thieves from root and ear;
But on his hat pert sparrows light—
Crows have been friends too long to fear!
The wingèd thieves from root and ear;
But on his hat pert sparrows light—
Crows have been friends too long to fear!
The schoolboy's sling he heedeth not;
No rancour nerves those palsied hands;
In shocking hat and ancient coat,
A crazed and patient wretch he stands.
No rancour nerves those palsied hands;
In shocking hat and ancient coat,
A crazed and patient wretch he stands.
151
Without a murmur in the wheat,
Till fields are shorn and harvest's won,
He suffers cold, he suffers heat,
From chilly stars and scorching sun.
Till fields are shorn and harvest's won,
He suffers cold, he suffers heat,
From chilly stars and scorching sun.
Though men forget, he dreameth yet
How in the golden past he stood,
'Mid flowers and wine, a shape divine
Of marble or of carven wood;
How in the golden past he stood,
'Mid flowers and wine, a shape divine
Of marble or of carven wood;
How, in the loveliness and peace
Of that blithe age and radiant clime,
He was a garden-god of Greece.
Oh, vanished world! Oh, fleeting time!
Of that blithe age and radiant clime,
He was a garden-god of Greece.
Oh, vanished world! Oh, fleeting time!
Gaunt simulacrum—ghost forlorn—
Grey exile from a splendid past—
Last god (in rags) of a creed outworn—
If pity'll help thee, mine thou hast!
Grey exile from a splendid past—
Last god (in rags) of a creed outworn—
If pity'll help thee, mine thou hast!
152
January and June
When thatch and tile are jagged with spar,
And every brook to crystal turns,
The frost that cracks the water-jar
Fills window-panes with flowers and ferns.
And every brook to crystal turns,
The frost that cracks the water-jar
Fills window-panes with flowers and ferns.
When flocks upon the hills are lost,
And snow-wreaths block the carrier's wain,
With silvery flowers and ferns the frost
Fills every misted window-pane.
And snow-wreaths block the carrier's wain,
With silvery flowers and ferns the frost
Fills every misted window-pane.
When cold has stopped the cricket's tune,
And ice-bound clocks forget the hours,
The frost, as though it dreamed of June,
Fills all the panes with ferns and flowers.
And ice-bound clocks forget the hours,
The frost, as though it dreamed of June,
Fills all the panes with ferns and flowers.
153
When June returns with flowers and ferns
It also dreams,—for rocks are mossed
With furry rime, and, as it turns,
Each willow-leaf seems hoar with frost.
It also dreams,—for rocks are mossed
With furry rime, and, as it turns,
Each willow-leaf seems hoar with frost.
But agrimony in the hedge
Most wintrily recalls the time
When urchins climbed the window-ledge
To thaw the flowers and ferns of rime.
Most wintrily recalls the time
When urchins climbed the window-ledge
To thaw the flowers and ferns of rime.
154
Green Pastures
When springing meads are freshly dight,
And trees new-leafed throw scarce a shadow,
The green earth shows no fairer sight
Than soft-eyed kine and blowing meadow.
Too calm for care, too slow for mirth,
Amid the shower, amid the gleam,
The great mild mother-creatures seem
Half-waking forms o' the dreamy earth.
And trees new-leafed throw scarce a shadow,
The green earth shows no fairer sight
Than soft-eyed kine and blowing meadow.
Too calm for care, too slow for mirth,
Amid the shower, amid the gleam,
The great mild mother-creatures seem
Half-waking forms o' the dreamy earth.
And down the pathway through the grass
To school the merry children pass,
Singing a rhyme in the April morns,
How—There's red for the furrows, and white for the daisies,
Brown eyes for the brooks, for the trees crumpled horns!
To school the merry children pass,
Singing a rhyme in the April morns,
How—There's red for the furrows, and white for the daisies,
Brown eyes for the brooks, for the trees crumpled horns!
155
When quivering leaves, and oes of light
Between the leaves, the deep sward dapple,
When may-boughs cream in curdling white,
And maids envy the bloom o' the apple,
The great mild mother-creatures lie,
And grow, in absence of the sun,
One with the moon and stars, and one
With silvery cloud and darkest sky.
Between the leaves, the deep sward dapple,
When may-boughs cream in curdling white,
And maids envy the bloom o' the apple,
The great mild mother-creatures lie,
And grow, in absence of the sun,
One with the moon and stars, and one
With silvery cloud and darkest sky.
And down the pathway through the grass
To school the merry children pass,
Singing a rhyme in the morns of June,
How—There's white for the cloudlets, and black for the darkness,
And two polished horns for the sweet sickle moon.
To school the merry children pass,
Singing a rhyme in the morns of June,
How—There's white for the cloudlets, and black for the darkness,
And two polished horns for the sweet sickle moon.
156
A Bird's Flight
From some bright cloudlet dropping;
From branch to blossom hopping;
Then drinking from a small brown stone
That stood alone
Amid the brook; then, singing,
Upspringing,
It soared: my bird had flown.
From branch to blossom hopping;
Then drinking from a small brown stone
That stood alone
Amid the brook; then, singing,
Upspringing,
It soared: my bird had flown.
A glimpse of beauty only
That left the glen more lonely?
Nay, truly; for its song and flight
Made earth more bright!
If men were less regretful
And fretful,
Would life yield less delight?
That left the glen more lonely?
Nay, truly; for its song and flight
Made earth more bright!
If men were less regretful
And fretful,
Would life yield less delight?
157
Fairy Heavens
Have you seen the forest-pool
In the summer? Clear and cool,
Glassing, 'mid the trees it lies,
Silvery clouds and sapphire skies.
In the summer? Clear and cool,
Glassing, 'mid the trees it lies,
Silvery clouds and sapphire skies.
When in windless August days
Not a ripple o'er it plays,
One can almost think he sees
Through to the Antipodes.
Not a ripple o'er it plays,
One can almost think he sees
Through to the Antipodes.
Mirrored reeds must scarcely know
Whether up or down they grow;
And the trees doubt whether they're
Crystal-washed or parched in air.
Whether up or down they grow;
And the trees doubt whether they're
Crystal-washed or parched in air.
158
Brindled Crummie on the brink
Pauses as she stoops to drink;
When she drinks, she drinks for two—
'Tis a wondrous thing to do!
Pauses as she stoops to drink;
When she drinks, she drinks for two—
'Tis a wondrous thing to do!
Swallows, flashing to and fro,
Strike the water as they go—
Hawking insects? Not a fly;
Only puzzled with that sky.
Strike the water as they go—
Hawking insects? Not a fly;
Only puzzled with that sky.
East and west, and north and south
Have they flown from dearth and drouth:
'Twould, indeed, be sweet and strange
Through those nether heavens to range!
Have they flown from dearth and drouth:
'Twould, indeed, be sweet and strange
Through those nether heavens to range!
Puff!—a sudden whiff of air
Stars the mirror everywhere.
Myriad ripples, gemmed and curled,
Have annulled a fairy world.
Stars the mirror everywhere.
Myriad ripples, gemmed and curled,
Have annulled a fairy world.
Any clown in summer may
View these marvels day by day;
Day by day we pass them by
With an undelighted eye.
View these marvels day by day;
Day by day we pass them by
With an undelighted eye.
159
Were they seen but once an age,
Princes would make pilgrimage
To the happy hallowed ground
Where these double heavens were found!
Princes would make pilgrimage
To the happy hallowed ground
Where these double heavens were found!
160
Day-Dreams
Broad August burns in milky skies,
The world is blanched with hazy heat;
The vast green pasture, even, lies
Too hot and bright for eyes and feet.
The world is blanched with hazy heat;
The vast green pasture, even, lies
Too hot and bright for eyes and feet.
The dark boughs of a hundred years,
The emerald foliage of one,
Amid the grassy level rears
The sycamore against the sun.
The emerald foliage of one,
Amid the grassy level rears
The sycamore against the sun.
Lulled in a dream of shade and sheen,
Within the clement twilight thrown
By that great cloud of floating green,
A horse is standing, still as stone.
Within the clement twilight thrown
By that great cloud of floating green,
A horse is standing, still as stone.
161
He stirs nor head nor hoof, although
The grass is fresh beneath the branch;
His tail alone swings to and fro
In graceful curves from haunch to haunch.
The grass is fresh beneath the branch;
His tail alone swings to and fro
In graceful curves from haunch to haunch.
He stands quite lost, indifferent
To rack or pasture, trace or rein;
He feels the vaguely sweet content
Of perfect sloth in limb and brain.
To rack or pasture, trace or rein;
He feels the vaguely sweet content
Of perfect sloth in limb and brain.
162
The Weir
Where mossy boulders make a weir,
The brook's brown water is so clear
One sees each small brown stone within
Distinctly, when the sun is in.
The brook's brown water is so clear
One sees each small brown stone within
Distinctly, when the sun is in.
But when the sun's out, 'tis a glass
Filled full of leaves and boughs, with grass
At edge, and here and there a bit
Of cloud or sky deep down in it.
Deep down the blue sky seems to be;
The poor brown stones you cannot see.
Filled full of leaves and boughs, with grass
At edge, and here and there a bit
Of cloud or sky deep down in it.
Deep down the blue sky seems to be;
The poor brown stones you cannot see.
When little puffs of coolness make
The water warp, the foliage shake,
A thousand trees seem dancing up
From darkness in the crystal cup.
The water warp, the foliage shake,
163
From darkness in the crystal cup.
With soul for water, sense for weir,
Man sees his mortal image here.
He counts each poor brown stone within
Distinctly, when his sun is in.
With Heaven to help, he feels no less
Unfathomed depths of loveliness.
Man sees his mortal image here.
He counts each poor brown stone within
Distinctly, when his sun is in.
With Heaven to help, he feels no less
Unfathomed depths of loveliness.
164
On the Shore
Not lonely though alone, she played
Between the sea and land;
With shells and meadow-flowers she made
A garden in the sand.
Between the sea and land;
With shells and meadow-flowers she made
A garden in the sand.
In silvery visions from the sea
The summer clouds were blown;
Sweet voices came from field and tree,
Soft sounds from wave and stone.
The summer clouds were blown;
Sweet voices came from field and tree,
Soft sounds from wave and stone.
She heeded not; she lived apart;
Absorbed in joy she played.
Between two worlds her little heart
A little world had made.
Absorbed in joy she played.
Between two worlds her little heart
A little world had made.
165
Ah! we too on the shore, dear child,
Are dreamers all, like thee!
By figments of the heart beguiled,
We cannot hear or see.
Are dreamers all, like thee!
By figments of the heart beguiled,
We cannot hear or see.
Soft voices call from sea and land,
But neither world is ours;
Our lives are spent on barren sand
And plots of rootless flowers.
But neither world is ours;
Our lives are spent on barren sand
And plots of rootless flowers.
166
The Foreigner
Among the ballast hills he creeps,
Frail, aged, and alone.
Exile feels lighter on these heaps
Of foreign earth and stone.
Frail, aged, and alone.
Exile feels lighter on these heaps
Of foreign earth and stone.
The blue sea freshens; ships go by,
Each sail with glamour dressed;
He looks, and marks the flags they fly,
Then turns him to his quest.
Each sail with glamour dressed;
He looks, and marks the flags they fly,
Then turns him to his quest.
What seeks he here, from hour to hour,
Along this littered strand?
What but some common Spanish flower,
Scarce prized in his own land!
Along this littered strand?
What but some common Spanish flower,
Scarce prized in his own land!
167
He finds a many on the hills,
Poor soul, in sun and rain;
And so his window pots he fills
With tiny fields of Spain.
Poor soul, in sun and rain;
And so his window pots he fills
With tiny fields of Spain.
The ballast hills or banks are formed of the stones, shingle, &c., brought from outland ports by ships unfreighted. Many foreign weeds and wild flowers find in this way a settlement on our shores.
168
Woodland Windows
Where tall green elm-trees in a row
Their boughs in Gothic arches pleach,
Two foliage-fretted lancets show
A warm blue sea, a summer beach.
Their boughs in Gothic arches pleach,
Two foliage-fretted lancets show
A warm blue sea, a summer beach.
One lancet holds a sunset sky,
And, where the glassy ripple rolls,
An old man hanging nets to dry
In brown loops from the trestled poles.
And, where the glassy ripple rolls,
An old man hanging nets to dry
In brown loops from the trestled poles.
And one, a patch with wild flowers gay,
A shoal where green sea-ribbons float,
And two bright sunburnt tots at play
Beside an upturned fishing-boat.
A shoal where green sea-ribbons float,
And two bright sunburnt tots at play
Beside an upturned fishing-boat.
169
Within the woodland's pillared shade,
I seem from some dim aisle to see
That shore by whose blue waters played
The little lads of Zebedee.
I seem from some dim aisle to see
That shore by whose blue waters played
The little lads of Zebedee.
170
Sea Pictures
I
Blithe morning; sun and sea! Zone beyond zone,Blue frolic waves and gold clouds softly blown.
One half the globe a sapphire glass which swings
Doubling the sun.
No sail. No wink of wings.
No haze of land.
No haze of land.
Look! who comes wafted here—
What lone yet all unfearful mariner?
You cannot see him? No; he mocks the sight—
Mid such immensities so mere a mite.
Look close! That tiniest speck of brownish red,
Perched on his single subtle spider-thread!
Trust, little aeronaut, thy filmy sail.
What lone yet all unfearful mariner?
You cannot see him? No; he mocks the sight—
Mid such immensities so mere a mite.
171
Perched on his single subtle spider-thread!
Blow wind! the reef and palm-tree shall not fail.
II
Enormous sea; immeasurable night!
The shoreless waters, heaving spectral-white,
Vibrate with showers and chains of golden sparks.
The shoreless waters, heaving spectral-white,
Vibrate with showers and chains of golden sparks.
The black boat leaves a track of flame. Beneath
Run trails of blazing emerald, where the sharks
Cross and re-cross. In many a starry wreath
Innumerable medusæ shine and float.
Run trails of blazing emerald, where the sharks
Cross and re-cross. In many a starry wreath
Innumerable medusæ shine and float.
Great luminaries, through the blue-green air,
Gleam on the face of one who slowly dies.
All through the night two cavernous glazed eyes
Look blankly upward in a rigid stare.
Gleam on the face of one who slowly dies.
All through the night two cavernous glazed eyes
Look blankly upward in a rigid stare.
172
O Father in heaven, he cannot speak Thy name;
Take pity for the sake of Christ, Thy son!
There is no answer, none. No answer, none.
Take pity for the sake of Christ, Thy son!
There is no answer, none. No answer, none.
Crossing, re-crossing underneath the boat,
The lean sharks weave their web of emerald flame.
The lean sharks weave their web of emerald flame.
173
Love and Labour
At noon he seeks a grassy place
Beneath the hedgerow from the heat;
His wife sits by, with happy face,
And makes his homely dinner sweet.
Beneath the hedgerow from the heat;
His wife sits by, with happy face,
And makes his homely dinner sweet.
Upon her lap their baby lies,
Rosy and plump and stout of limb—
With two great blue unwinking eyes
Of stolid wonder watching him.
Rosy and plump and stout of limb—
With two great blue unwinking eyes
Of stolid wonder watching him.
The trees are swooning in the heat;
No bird has heart for song or flight;
The fiery poppy in the wheat
Droops, and the blue sky aches with light.
No bird has heart for song or flight;
The fiery poppy in the wheat
Droops, and the blue sky aches with light.
174
He empties dish, he empties can;
He coaxes baby till she crows;
Then rising up a strengthened man,
He blithely back to labour goes.
He coaxes baby till she crows;
Then rising up a strengthened man,
He blithely back to labour goes.
His hammer clinks through glare and heat—
With little thought and well content
He toils and splits for rustic feet
Fragments of some old continent.
With little thought and well content
He toils and splits for rustic feet
Fragments of some old continent.
Homeward he plods, his travail o'er,
Through sunset lanes, past fragrant farms,
Till—glimpse of heaven!—his cottage-door
Frames baby in her mother's arms.
Through sunset lanes, past fragrant farms,
Till—glimpse of heaven!—his cottage-door
Frames baby in her mother's arms.
175
A Russian Gun
Three lime-trees, full of drowsy sound
And dreamy shadow edged with sun;
Amid the trees a grassy mound;
Upon the mound a Russian gun.
And dreamy shadow edged with sun;
Amid the trees a grassy mound;
Upon the mound a Russian gun.
And on the black and massy ring
Which bound the cannon's murderous throat
A little bird had folded wing,
And shook out crystal note on note.
Which bound the cannon's murderous throat
A little bird had folded wing,
And shook out crystal note on note.
The ripe corn shimmered in the heat
About the red-roofed country town;
And in the silence, clear and sweet,
That one glad voice trilled up and down
About the red-roofed country town;
And in the silence, clear and sweet,
That one glad voice trilled up and down
176
In artless rapture. As I stood,
I thought of all the waste of life,
The squandered gold, the tears of blood,
The folly of that Crimean strife.
I thought of all the waste of life,
The squandered gold, the tears of blood,
The folly of that Crimean strife.
The blithe notes seemed to mock mankind!
Had nations made the planet ring,
That some small English bird might find
A perch whereon to sit and sing?
Had nations made the planet ring,
That some small English bird might find
A perch whereon to sit and sing?
177
The Brook
Of the Brook the Hazels said,
As they whispered on the brink:
“Was there ever, do you think,
Such a bright and nut-brown maid?”
As they whispered on the brink:
“Was there ever, do you think,
Such a bright and nut-brown maid?”
Said the Brook: “No shadow grows
On the moorlands whence I came;
All the sky's one sapphire flame,
So I'm sunburnt, I suppose!”
On the moorlands whence I came;
All the sky's one sapphire flame,
So I'm sunburnt, I suppose!”
178
Pine and Palm
A lonely tree, the rowan grew
Among the boulders; long and lone,
The wild moor heaved beneath the blue
In heathery swells of turf and stone.
Among the boulders; long and lone,
The wild moor heaved beneath the blue
In heathery swells of turf and stone.
They'd wandered east, they'd wandered west,
With dance and music, song and mirth,
That sunburned group who paused to rest
On that one spot of shadowy earth.
With dance and music, song and mirth,
That sunburned group who paused to rest
On that one spot of shadowy earth.
With heat and travel overcome,
The bandsman slumbered. On the grass
Lay leathern pipes and cymballed drum,
And bright peaked hat with bells of brass.
The bandsman slumbered. On the grass
Lay leathern pipes and cymballed drum,
And bright peaked hat with bells of brass.
179
With low soft laughs and whispered fun,
Blithe eyes and lips of loving red,
Two girls sat stringing in the sun
The rowan-berries on a thread.
Blithe eyes and lips of loving red,
Two girls sat stringing in the sun
The rowan-berries on a thread.
Against a boulder mossy-grown
I saw the singing-woman lean
Her dark proud head. Upon the stone
She had placed her gilded tambourine.
I saw the singing-woman lean
Her dark proud head. Upon the stone
She had placed her gilded tambourine.
Though not asleep, she did but seem
Half conscious, for the hot sun kissed
Her cheek, and wrapped her heart in dream,
Like some glad garden wrapped in mist.
Half conscious, for the hot sun kissed
Her cheek, and wrapped her heart in dream,
Like some glad garden wrapped in mist.
Into the tambourine I dropped
My modest tribute unto art;
The children, threading berries, stopped;
The woman wakened with a start.
My modest tribute unto art;
The children, threading berries, stopped;
The woman wakened with a start.
She rose and thanked me, bright and free,
Then added: “God is good to-day!
One hour I am in Napoli—
And this is Scotland—far away!”
Then added: “God is good to-day!
One hour I am in Napoli—
And this is Scotland—far away!”
180
And I remembered, as I turned,
How, lone in Norland snows, the pine
Dreamed of that lonely palm which yearned
On burning crags beneath the line.
How, lone in Norland snows, the pine
Dreamed of that lonely palm which yearned
On burning crags beneath the line.
181
Twilight Memories
I heard at twilight on the bridge
The plover's melancholy cry;
The moorland reared a sullen ridge
Against the amber evening sky.
The plover's melancholy cry;
The moorland reared a sullen ridge
Against the amber evening sky.
No farm-light cheered the deepening grey
Of those vast sweeps of heath and stone;
The sky seemed far—so far away;
My heart felt utterly alone.
Of those vast sweeps of heath and stone;
The sky seemed far—so far away;
My heart felt utterly alone.
And as when summer rain is done
A shower is shaken by a gust
From some sad tree, although the sun
Has long since dried the ground to dust,
A shower is shaken by a gust
From some sad tree, although the sun
Has long since dried the ground to dust,
182
Even so within my mournful mind
I felt my manhood's greener years
Shaken by fitful gusts of wind,
Which filled my eyes with ancient tears.
I felt my manhood's greener years
Shaken by fitful gusts of wind,
Which filled my eyes with ancient tears.
And whilst in pleasant pain I wooed
Old dreams, lost hopes, vain yearnings back,
Two figures on the sky-line stood,
Clear cut from head to foot in black.
Old dreams, lost hopes, vain yearnings back,
Two figures on the sky-line stood,
Clear cut from head to foot in black.
Cut clear against the amber glow,
They stood together hand in hand—
A man and woman—did they know
How near to heaven they seemed to stand?
They stood together hand in hand—
A man and woman—did they know
How near to heaven they seemed to stand?
That dark ridge seemed the world's end; they
The last of lovers. Side by side
They gazed;—what radiant prospect lay
Beyond them, unto me denied?
The last of lovers. Side by side
They gazed;—what radiant prospect lay
Beyond them, unto me denied?
He draws her close; her arms are twined
About his neck!—Oh, happy years,
Now shaken by this woful wind
Which fills my eyes with ancient tears!
About his neck!—Oh, happy years,
Now shaken by this woful wind
Which fills my eyes with ancient tears!
183
In the Shadow
Night is the shadow of the Earth, but we
Lose the fine sense through use, nor thank nor praise.
In the hot summer's blue and windless days
Sweet is the grass and dear the shadowing tree,
Whence, stretched at ease, we watch with languid look
Birds, insects, flowers, the cloud, the nut-brown brook.
Lose the fine sense through use, nor thank nor praise.
In the hot summer's blue and windless days
Sweet is the grass and dear the shadowing tree,
Whence, stretched at ease, we watch with languid look
Birds, insects, flowers, the cloud, the nut-brown brook.
But all the year and feverish day by day
Earth shadows us; the burden and the heat
Are lifted from us; sweet is night, and sweet
The stars and silvery clouds, and Milky Way.
Use teaches thankfulness a sinful thrift;
We prize the casual, slight the constant gift.
Earth shadows us; the burden and the heat
Are lifted from us; sweet is night, and sweet
The stars and silvery clouds, and Milky Way.
Use teaches thankfulness a sinful thrift;
We prize the casual, slight the constant gift.
184
Green Sky
Grey on the linden leaves;Green in the west;
Under our gloaming eaves
Swifts in the nest;
Over the mother a human roof;
Over the fledglings a breast!
185
In the Fall
Among the bleak, wet woods I tread
On leaves of yellow and of red;
The leaves are whirled in wind and rain,
The woods are filled with sounds of pain;
No bird is left to sing.
On leaves of yellow and of red;
The leaves are whirled in wind and rain,
The woods are filled with sounds of pain;
No bird is left to sing.
Man's destiny is blowing wind,
A little leaf is all mankind;
The wind blows high, the wind blows low,
The leaflet flutters to and fro,
And dreams it is a wing.
A little leaf is all mankind;
The wind blows high, the wind blows low,
The leaflet flutters to and fro,
And dreams it is a wing.
186
Amid the blowing of the wind,
Amid the drifting of mankind,
Among the melancholy rain,
And woodlands filled with sounds of pain,
No heart is left to sing.
Amid the drifting of mankind,
Among the melancholy rain,
And woodlands filled with sounds of pain,
No heart is left to sing.
187
The Little Dipper
Little Dipper, piping sweet
in the shrewd mid-winter weather;
Nesting in the linn, where spray
splashes nest and sprinkles feather;
in the shrewd mid-winter weather;
Nesting in the linn, where spray
splashes nest and sprinkles feather;
'Neath the fringes of the ice,
down the burn-side, blithely diving;
Piping, piping with full throat,—
bite the frost or be snow driving;
down the burn-side, blithely diving;
Piping, piping with full throat,—
bite the frost or be snow driving;
Life's white winter comes apace;
oh, but gaily shall I bide it
If my bosom, like thy nest,
house a singing-bird inside it!
oh, but gaily shall I bide it
If my bosom, like thy nest,
house a singing-bird inside it!
188
In the Hills
His hoar breath stings with rime the skater's face.Mirrored in jet, beneath his hissing feet,
The stars swarm past, and radiate, as they fleet,
The immemorial cold of cosmic space.
189
Nature's Magic
Give her the wreckage of strife—
Tumulus, tumbled tower,
The clod and the stone she'll make her own
With the grass and innocent flower.
Tumulus, tumbled tower,
The clod and the stone she'll make her own
With the grass and innocent flower.
Give her the Candlemas snow,
Smiling she'll take the gift,
And out of the flake a snowdrop make,
And a lambkin out of the drift.
Smiling she'll take the gift,
And out of the flake a snowdrop make,
And a lambkin out of the drift.
190
Flower Fancies
Ere blossom time had yet begun,
When grass scarce hid the brown earth's leanness,
And fagot hedgerows in the sun
Were slowly kindling into greenness,
When grass scarce hid the brown earth's leanness,
And fagot hedgerows in the sun
Were slowly kindling into greenness,
I met a maiden, small and fair,
Along the cheerless highway bringing
Such flowery boughs as mortal ne'er
Hath seen from earthly tree-trunk springing.
Along the cheerless highway bringing
Such flowery boughs as mortal ne'er
Hath seen from earthly tree-trunk springing.
Too eager to await the pledge
Of skies so fickle, trees so lazy,
She had broken thorn-sticks from the hedge,
And tipped each prickle with a daisy.
Of skies so fickle, trees so lazy,
She had broken thorn-sticks from the hedge,
And tipped each prickle with a daisy.
191
Oh, little maid, whose pretty skill
Turns March to May so well and quickly,
Teach me thy craft!—my wayward will
Hath made life's very daisies prickly.
Turns March to May so well and quickly,
Teach me thy craft!—my wayward will
Hath made life's very daisies prickly.
192
Beyond
A darkening sky is at my back;
Gaunt woods my westward path oppose,
But every bough is freaked in black
Against a heaven of gold and rose.
Gaunt woods my westward path oppose,
But every bough is freaked in black
Against a heaven of gold and rose.
'Tis leafless March, and bitter cold;
But those stark branches, furred with ice,
Blend in that glow of rose and gold
Like blossomy bowers of Paradise.
But those stark branches, furred with ice,
Blend in that glow of rose and gold
Like blossomy bowers of Paradise.
Oh, Life, when all thy bloom and shade
Are stripped, and age-chilled hearts despond,
How beautiful thou mayst be made
By one bright glimpse of heaven beyond!
Are stripped, and age-chilled hearts despond,
How beautiful thou mayst be made
By one bright glimpse of heaven beyond!
193
The Crow
With rakish eye and plenished crop,
Oblivious of the farmer's gun,
Upon the naked ash-tree top
The Crow sits basking in the sun.
Oblivious of the farmer's gun,
Upon the naked ash-tree top
The Crow sits basking in the sun.
An old ungodly rogue, I wot!
For, perched in black against the blue,
His feathers, torn with beak and shot,
Let woful glints of April through.
For, perched in black against the blue,
His feathers, torn with beak and shot,
Let woful glints of April through.
The year's new grass, and, golden-eyed,
The daisies sparkle underneath,
And chestnut trees on either side
Have opened every ruddy sheath.
The daisies sparkle underneath,
And chestnut trees on either side
Have opened every ruddy sheath.
194
But doubtful still of frost and snow,
The ash alone stands stark and bare,
And on its topmost twig the Crow
Takes the glad morning's sun and air.
The ash alone stands stark and bare,
And on its topmost twig the Crow
Takes the glad morning's sun and air.
195
By Moonlight
A foot at midnight. All the way
Is warm and sweet with scents of May.
Is warm and sweet with scents of May.
The cocks are crowing hours too soon,
The dogs are barking far and near,
The frogs are croaking round the mere;
And in a tree the naked Moon
Is crouching down, as though she would
Her silvery-bosomed maidenhood
Conceal among the leaves, too thin
And small to hide her beauty in.
The dogs are barking far and near,
The frogs are croaking round the mere;
And in a tree the naked Moon
Is crouching down, as though she would
Her silvery-bosomed maidenhood
Conceal among the leaves, too thin
And small to hide her beauty in.
Dear Moon, 'tis I, thy friend—who pray
Thy company upon my way.
Thy company upon my way.
196
Cockcrow
When nights are short in early June,
We, risen betimes, shall haply see
The silver sickle of the moon
Hang gleaming in an eastern tree.
We, risen betimes, shall haply see
The silver sickle of the moon
Hang gleaming in an eastern tree.
Poised in the dawn's pure silver-grey,
Blue clouds shall wait the gold and red,
While pallid star-flakes melt away
In cold, clear azure overhead.
Blue clouds shall wait the gold and red,
While pallid star-flakes melt away
In cold, clear azure overhead.
The dim brown fields shall seem to sleep
Self-shadowed; mist shall here and there
Lie white in pools, where dewlap-deep
Great kine shall loom i' the twilight air.
Self-shadowed; mist shall here and there
Lie white in pools, where dewlap-deep
Great kine shall loom i' the twilight air.
197
Where trees in hazy blue embower
Some distant farm, a sudden cock
Shall crow; and faint from city tower
Shall float the chimes of three o'clock.
Some distant farm, a sudden cock
Shall crow; and faint from city tower
Shall float the chimes of three o'clock.
Then from the meadow, sweet and loud,
The morning star of song shall spire,
And morn shall burst through sky and cloud
In one vast flowerage of fire.
The morning star of song shall spire,
And morn shall burst through sky and cloud
In one vast flowerage of fire.
Oh, revelling skylark, sing and soar,
Rose-winged, rose-bosomed, o'er the morn!
But chanticleer and we, once more
Must scratch the world for gems and corn.
Rose-winged, rose-bosomed, o'er the morn!
But chanticleer and we, once more
Must scratch the world for gems and corn.
| The Comrades | |