 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
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A WELCOME TO STANLEY.
How shall we bring the weary traveller home?
Not with the roll of drum and trumpet's blare
Nor pomp of indefatigable bells,
For he has said so many sad farewells.
He comes not flushed from war, but worn with care;
He went not forth to conquer but to save;
And though from half a world he hath removed
The cloud of death and darkness, those he loved
Lie far in some unvisitable grave:
Wherefore let England now go forth to meet him
With hands outstretched, and silent—eye to eye,
Because the heart is full and tears are by.
So let our England greet him,
And bring the long lost weary wanderer home.
Not with the roll of drum and trumpet's blare
Nor pomp of indefatigable bells,
For he has said so many sad farewells.
He comes not flushed from war, but worn with care;
He went not forth to conquer but to save;
And though from half a world he hath removed
The cloud of death and darkness, those he loved
Lie far in some unvisitable grave:
Wherefore let England now go forth to meet him
With hands outstretched, and silent—eye to eye,
Because the heart is full and tears are by.
So let our England greet him,
And bring the long lost weary wanderer home.
But let the harp in tender accent ring!
For he was nursed among the woods and vales
That never have forgot the bardic days,
Since Kentigern, the exile, to God's praise
Poured out the psalm upon the hills of Wales.
And haply he, the little shepherd, strolled
By Elgy's stream that nourished Asa's care—
His hall of learning and his home of prayer.
Who knows how much of those stout hearts of old
Breathed from the ground, and made the child the man
Fearless, unflinching, feeling Heaven could bend
Its purpose to th' inalienable end
Of resolution's plan.
Wherefore the harp in tender tone shall ring.
For he was nursed among the woods and vales
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Since Kentigern, the exile, to God's praise
Poured out the psalm upon the hills of Wales.
And haply he, the little shepherd, strolled
By Elgy's stream that nourished Asa's care—
His hall of learning and his home of prayer.
Who knows how much of those stout hearts of old
Breathed from the ground, and made the child the man
Fearless, unflinching, feeling Heaven could bend
Its purpose to th' inalienable end
Of resolution's plan.
Wherefore the harp in tender tone shall ring.
Bid East and West go meet him at the shore!
Morn, noon, or night! for he hath mighty friends!
The sun his mate in tropic lands was made,
And for the woe of that weird forest's shade
On him the daystar lovingly attends.
Or, if he come at midnight's silver noon,
His hair as white as Dian's, she will throw
Upon his head the glory of her snow,
The magic of the mountains of the moon.
But should he homeward steer when for his rest
The dark falls down above the sunset bars,
Behold, for him wide Heaven shall light her stars,
A welcome from the West.
So let the nations meet him at the shore.
Morn, noon, or night! for he hath mighty friends!
The sun his mate in tropic lands was made,
And for the woe of that weird forest's shade
On him the daystar lovingly attends.
Or, if he come at midnight's silver noon,
His hair as white as Dian's, she will throw
Upon his head the glory of her snow,
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But should he homeward steer when for his rest
The dark falls down above the sunset bars,
Behold, for him wide Heaven shall light her stars,
A welcome from the West.
So let the nations meet him at the shore.
Lo, spirit guests the wanderer homeward bring
Unnumbered, known and visible to God,
Friends dark of skin with large pathetic eyes
And faith to follow still to paradise,
Who died but never disobeyed his nod.
He too, the daring soldier left alone
To eat his heart out in enforced delay
Till the Manyuema's hand was stretched to slay,
And his adventurous spirit journeyed on:
Nor least the gentle Exile pale with pain,
For whom Abdullah's son the Mahdi yearned,
Led by a daughter's hand and safe returned:
These come across the Main,
The hero home with gratitude to bring.
Unnumbered, known and visible to God,
Friends dark of skin with large pathetic eyes
And faith to follow still to paradise,
Who died but never disobeyed his nod.
He too, the daring soldier left alone
To eat his heart out in enforced delay
Till the Manyuema's hand was stretched to slay,
And his adventurous spirit journeyed on:
Nor least the gentle Exile pale with pain,
For whom Abdullah's son the Mahdi yearned,
Led by a daughter's hand and safe returned:
These come across the Main,
The hero home with gratitude to bring.
And with them stand the mighty travellers dead,
Whether with hope undaunted they set forth
O'er pathless seas or roamed a trackless shore,
Faced the Equator, heard the icebergs roar
And plunge in the inhospitable North:
With high congratulation lo they move
And meet him; they who reached a brother's hand
To those who wandered lost by sea or land,
And brought them solace of their nation's love.
There too, with Afric writ upon his heart,
The breaker of the yoke from off the slave
Comes from long rest in yonder Abbey nave
To bear a welcoming part,
And stands, great ghost, among the mighty dead.
Whether with hope undaunted they set forth
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Faced the Equator, heard the icebergs roar
And plunge in the inhospitable North:
With high congratulation lo they move
And meet him; they who reached a brother's hand
To those who wandered lost by sea or land,
And brought them solace of their nation's love.
There too, with Afric writ upon his heart,
The breaker of the yoke from off the slave
Comes from long rest in yonder Abbey nave
To bear a welcoming part,
And stands, great ghost, among the mighty dead.
Shall they not greet those comrades tried and true,
Whose hearts were swift as arrows in their will
And bold as lions for the desperate fray?
Witness the rout of that momentous day
When Mazamboni's drums from hill to hill
Sounded for war:— one, wan and maimed of foot,
Who watched the sick and famished pine and die
In Ugarrowa's toils and treachery;
And one who sought in vain the manioc root
To save the ten he strove for; one whose eye
So nearly saw the Mahdi's spears of flame
Close round; one skilled and brave fierce death to tame;
One wounded like to die;
These England greets, his comrades—tried and true.
Whose hearts were swift as arrows in their will
And bold as lions for the desperate fray?
Witness the rout of that momentous day
When Mazamboni's drums from hill to hill
Sounded for war:— one, wan and maimed of foot,
Who watched the sick and famished pine and die
In Ugarrowa's toils and treachery;
And one who sought in vain the manioc root
To save the ten he strove for; one whose eye
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Close round; one skilled and brave fierce death to tame;
One wounded like to die;
These England greets, his comrades—tried and true.
Then, while the soft harp sounds, let voices praise
The wonder of a heart whose cords are steel,
Within whose adamantine casket stored
'Bides the sure oath that keeps the solemn word;
A heart of flint that still like man can feel,
But holds such secret fires within enshrined
That danger doth but make its darkness light
With dazzling courage, woe and want's despite
Seem but the natural fuel of its mind;
A heart whose judgment, like a strong man armed,
Leaps to the gate when others quail and fear,
Whose eyes, through all perplexity, see clear—
Whose life is trebly charmed.
So the heart's wonder let the soft harp praise.
The wonder of a heart whose cords are steel,
Within whose adamantine casket stored
'Bides the sure oath that keeps the solemn word;
A heart of flint that still like man can feel,
But holds such secret fires within enshrined
That danger doth but make its darkness light
With dazzling courage, woe and want's despite
Seem but the natural fuel of its mind;
A heart whose judgment, like a strong man armed,
Leaps to the gate when others quail and fear,
Whose eyes, through all perplexity, see clear—
Whose life is trebly charmed.
So the heart's wonder let the soft harp praise.
Next may the harper tell in changing tone
Of all those seven long wanderings in the land,
Dread night avowed where light shall one day be;
The fierce equator known from sea to sea;
Peoples and tongues, unnumbered as the sand,
That war and waste for ever, slay and burn;
Huge rivers rolling east and rolling west;
Vast inland oceans; that white mountain's breast
Whence Nilus gathers strength into his urn;
And that mysterious wood whose teeming womb
Breeds dark perpetual mist of rain, and pours
Atlantic clouds by Aruwimi's shores
Above a weltering tomb.
These let the harp tell forth in changing tone.
Of all those seven long wanderings in the land,
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The fierce equator known from sea to sea;
Peoples and tongues, unnumbered as the sand,
That war and waste for ever, slay and burn;
Huge rivers rolling east and rolling west;
Vast inland oceans; that white mountain's breast
Whence Nilus gathers strength into his urn;
And that mysterious wood whose teeming womb
Breeds dark perpetual mist of rain, and pours
Atlantic clouds by Aruwimi's shores
Above a weltering tomb.
These let the harp tell forth in changing tone.
Sing sweetly, so the wanderer may forget
The weary heartache of the thousand miles,
The thrice re-travelled length of bitter road,
Famine, and loss, and disappointment's load,
The dwarf's dread arrow-flights, the wild men's wiles,
That river of six nations and seven names
Roaring in twilight underneath its wood,
The cone shaped huts, the fierce confederate brood
Of savage harpies that no glutting tames,
The foodless interspace of dearth and death,
The maddening fever, ulcerous limbs and feet,
The stupor of despair no hope could cheat,
And then the last long breath.
These must the singer make him quite forget.
The weary heartache of the thousand miles,
The thrice re-travelled length of bitter road,
Famine, and loss, and disappointment's load,
The dwarf's dread arrow-flights, the wild men's wiles,
That river of six nations and seven names
Roaring in twilight underneath its wood,
The cone shaped huts, the fierce confederate brood
Of savage harpies that no glutting tames,
The foodless interspace of dearth and death,
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The stupor of despair no hope could cheat,
And then the last long breath.
These must the singer make him quite forget.
But most the forest memories all must fade.
The fearsome, fretful, forest, dank and deep,
Whence venomous vapours rise, where rains down plash,
And scarce the elephant's head avails to crash
Its way through coils of tangle, where foes creep
Or stand like ruddy tree-stems, poise the spear
In silence, flash and vanish; where the ground
Reeks fever, and sharp pitfall barbs abound,
If ever for the nonce the track show clear.
Ah! who shall tell that forest's pitiless spite,
The mournful booming of the foeman's drum,
The death-like drowse of morn, the noontide's hum,
The whispers of the night—
Yea, let the singer bid such memories fade.
The fearsome, fretful, forest, dank and deep,
Whence venomous vapours rise, where rains down plash,
And scarce the elephant's head avails to crash
Its way through coils of tangle, where foes creep
Or stand like ruddy tree-stems, poise the spear
In silence, flash and vanish; where the ground
Reeks fever, and sharp pitfall barbs abound,
If ever for the nonce the track show clear.
Ah! who shall tell that forest's pitiless spite,
The mournful booming of the foeman's drum,
The death-like drowse of morn, the noontide's hum,
The whispers of the night—
Yea, let the singer bid such memories fade.
But ring the harp, and let it bring to mind
How war-drums down the river ceased to boom,
And sudden sunshine with transfiguring light
Put swift the leaden-wingèd morn to flight
And burst the wood's impenetrable gloom
With splendours unimagined. Then the trees,
White-stemmed as ivory pillars, rose from earth,
Ten thousand voices mingled in their mirth,
And waving like a banner in the breeze
Rich scarves flew o'er the river, wheeled and burned
In rainbow lines; in multi-coloured droves
Rare butterflies toyed up and told their loves,
And Paradise returned.
Let the harp ring and bring these things to mind.
How war-drums down the river ceased to boom,
And sudden sunshine with transfiguring light
Put swift the leaden-wingèd morn to flight
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With splendours unimagined. Then the trees,
White-stemmed as ivory pillars, rose from earth,
Ten thousand voices mingled in their mirth,
And waving like a banner in the breeze
Rich scarves flew o'er the river, wheeled and burned
In rainbow lines; in multi-coloured droves
Rare butterflies toyed up and told their loves,
And Paradise returned.
Let the harp ring and bring these things to mind.
Nor shall the harper cease till he have told
How when six moons had faded—scarcely seen
For that malignant woody vale that made
Day night, and night a deeper, deadlier shade—
There rose a shout, and sunlight's marvellous sheen
Lay on the mounded hills, and on the plain
Where grass was large and Mazamboni king:
And how the famished on the flocks did fling,
And slew and ate, so strength was born again,
Yea, and with strength, unconquerable zeal
To follow on through sunlight and through storm
Of spear and arrow, him of god-like form,
Who thus could sorrow heal.—
Let not the harper cease till this be told.
How when six moons had faded—scarcely seen
For that malignant woody vale that made
Day night, and night a deeper, deadlier shade—
There rose a shout, and sunlight's marvellous sheen
Lay on the mounded hills, and on the plain
Where grass was large and Mazamboni king:
And how the famished on the flocks did fling,
And slew and ate, so strength was born again,
Yea, and with strength, unconquerable zeal
To follow on through sunlight and through storm
Of spear and arrow, him of god-like form,
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Let not the harper cease till this be told.
Then, while the song grows, gladdening all who hear,
Bid one December morn the joy recal,
When they who clomb, victorious, slope to slope,
Saw from their Pisgah hope beyond all hope—
Nyanza laid along Unyoro's wall,
And—like a serpent coiling—down below,
Semliki, with the sunlight on its breast,
While southward far with glory to the crest
Rose Ruwenzori's ridges swathed in snow.
Most let the harper with triumphant song
Sing of that hour supreme the saviour stood,
Above Nyanza's shallowy silver flood,
With him he sought for long.
So may the harp sound, gladdening all who hear.
Bid one December morn the joy recal,
When they who clomb, victorious, slope to slope,
Saw from their Pisgah hope beyond all hope—
Nyanza laid along Unyoro's wall,
And—like a serpent coiling—down below,
Semliki, with the sunlight on its breast,
While southward far with glory to the crest
Rose Ruwenzori's ridges swathed in snow.
Most let the harper with triumphant song
Sing of that hour supreme the saviour stood,
Above Nyanza's shallowy silver flood,
With him he sought for long.
So may the harp sound, gladdening all who hear.
Strike loud the harp! and louder sing the lay!
Sing of the travellers' joy that swallowed pain,
Scatter the glow as wide as Nilus pours
Through those twin sister Lakes the fruitful stores
Of Afric's heart to mingle with the main,
For never soul did gladlier see the dawn,
Nor eyes with greater joyance scale the heights
Than his, who saw the rosy morning lights
Flash up the terraced slopes and forest-lawn,
And fill the Heavens as with a magic boon
Of some enchanted world's inconstant grace
That came, like clouds from azure depths of space,
Dissolved to cloud as soon.
Strike the loud harp! and loudly ring the lay.
Sing of the travellers' joy that swallowed pain,
Scatter the glow as wide as Nilus pours
Through those twin sister Lakes the fruitful stores
Of Afric's heart to mingle with the main,
For never soul did gladlier see the dawn,
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Than his, who saw the rosy morning lights
Flash up the terraced slopes and forest-lawn,
And fill the Heavens as with a magic boon
Of some enchanted world's inconstant grace
That came, like clouds from azure depths of space,
Dissolved to cloud as soon.
Strike the loud harp! and loudly ring the lay.
Here shall the singer change awhile his song
To tell of sorrow, and the Leader led.
Half way adown the hill whence none return:
The anxious watching for the fires to burn,
To coldness in the brain, and bring the dead
Back to the living, all an April moon;
The faithful love that o'er the sick man bent,
The faithless lust whose murderous intent
Brought judgment at the breaking of the swoon;
Thence homeward thro' Ukanju's constant spring,
And Usangora's tawny land of drouth,
Beyond the waters gleaming in the south,
The Salt Lake's crystal ring.
These let the singer tell in changing song.
To tell of sorrow, and the Leader led.
Half way adown the hill whence none return:
The anxious watching for the fires to burn,
To coldness in the brain, and bring the dead
Back to the living, all an April moon;
The faithful love that o'er the sick man bent,
The faithless lust whose murderous intent
Brought judgment at the breaking of the swoon;
Thence homeward thro' Ukanju's constant spring,
And Usangora's tawny land of drouth,
Beyond the waters gleaming in the south,
The Salt Lake's crystal ring.
These let the singer tell in changing song.
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Louder and yet more loud the song may swell,
For every dawn is nearer now to joy.
The joyful sound of that familiar voice
Sound of the sea-blue surges that rejoice
Along the palm-girt beach of Bagamoy,
And joy for that unutterable spell,
Born of the wilderness, the call to prayer,
When old sweet memories throb, and all our care
Fades at the sovran bidding of a bell,
When all the clouds of sorrow ever come
Between the wanderer and his promised land
Melt at the grasp of some warm-hearted hand
That gives a welcome home.
Loud sweep the harp let such song loudest swell.
For every dawn is nearer now to joy.
The joyful sound of that familiar voice
Sound of the sea-blue surges that rejoice
Along the palm-girt beach of Bagamoy,
And joy for that unutterable spell,
Born of the wilderness, the call to prayer,
When old sweet memories throb, and all our care
Fades at the sovran bidding of a bell,
When all the clouds of sorrow ever come
Between the wanderer and his promised land
Melt at the grasp of some warm-hearted hand
That gives a welcome home.
Loud sweep the harp let such song loudest swell.
Last let the harper sing in solemn tone,
Unseen but felt the guardian spirit's hand
That gently led, that firm impelled him on
Till all the ways of safety had been won,
From dawn to brightening dawn—the while his band
Drave the dark hordes in half a hundred fights
Along Semliki's vale of silver shine,
Out-faced with brave but daily-minished line,
Fierce heats, and withering cold upon the heights;
The hand that brooked no bitterness of delay,
That brought the exile from the snares and wile
Of King and caitiffs, from the fount of Nile,
And traitorous Wadelai.
So shall the harper sing in solemn tone.
Unseen but felt the guardian spirit's hand
That gently led, that firm impelled him on
Till all the ways of safety had been won,
From dawn to brightening dawn—the while his band
Drave the dark hordes in half a hundred fights
Along Semliki's vale of silver shine,
Out-faced with brave but daily-minished line,
Fierce heats, and withering cold upon the heights;
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That brought the exile from the snares and wile
Of King and caitiffs, from the fount of Nile,
And traitorous Wadelai.
So shall the harper sing in solemn tone.
And while the song has solemnized the soul,
Let all the people standing on the shore
Lift up their hands and voices in accord,
To thank the great Deliverer, even the Lord
Whose wings are stretched in mercy as of yore
To guide the weary wanderer on his way,
Whose wisdom still miraculously feeds,
Sustains and guides, to light through darkness leads,
And for the night of anguish gives the day;
But most for those far purposes divine
Of peace to all the warrior tribes that sit
In pain and iron until love's lamp be lit,
And God's true Mahdi shine.
That solemn sound shall sink into our soul.
Let all the people standing on the shore
Lift up their hands and voices in accord,
To thank the great Deliverer, even the Lord
Whose wings are stretched in mercy as of yore
To guide the weary wanderer on his way,
Whose wisdom still miraculously feeds,
Sustains and guides, to light through darkness leads,
And for the night of anguish gives the day;
But most for those far purposes divine
Of peace to all the warrior tribes that sit
In pain and iron until love's lamp be lit,
And God's true Mahdi shine.
That solemn sound shall sink into our soul.
But ah, how changed the hero steps ashore!
Is this the man beside yon Abbey grave,
The strong stern man a moment woman-weak,
Who dashed the tear of friendship from his cheek
When the great hymn went rolling down the nave?
Not this the man I met in that weird place,
Where Egypt keeps her gods beside the Nile,
Who smiled back Sheik Ed Beled's sturdy smile
And stared the royal Raamses in the face?
This is not he whom England used to know,
Or he has searched the very heart of care.
He went forth strong, with silver in his hair,
He comes as white as snow—
Changed but unchanged, the hero steps ashore.
Is this the man beside yon Abbey grave,
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Who dashed the tear of friendship from his cheek
When the great hymn went rolling down the nave?
Not this the man I met in that weird place,
Where Egypt keeps her gods beside the Nile,
Who smiled back Sheik Ed Beled's sturdy smile
And stared the royal Raamses in the face?
This is not he whom England used to know,
Or he has searched the very heart of care.
He went forth strong, with silver in his hair,
He comes as white as snow—
Changed but unchanged, the hero steps ashore.
Therefore we bring the weary traveller home
Not with the roll of drum and trumpet's blare,
Nor pomp of indefatigable bells,
For he has said so many sad farewells.
He comes not flushed from war but worn with care,
He went not forth to conquer but to save,
And though from half a world he hath removed
The cloud of death and darkness, those he loved
Lie far in some unvisitable grave.
Wherefore our England now goes forth to meet him
With hands outstretched, and silent—eye to eye,
Because her heart is full and tears are by,
So does our England greet him,
And brings the long lost weary wanderer home.
Not with the roll of drum and trumpet's blare,
Nor pomp of indefatigable bells,
For he has said so many sad farewells.
He comes not flushed from war but worn with care,
He went not forth to conquer but to save,
And though from half a world he hath removed
The cloud of death and darkness, those he loved
Lie far in some unvisitable grave.
33
With hands outstretched, and silent—eye to eye,
Because her heart is full and tears are by,
So does our England greet him,
And brings the long lost weary wanderer home.
| Poems, Ballads and Bucolics | |