 | The Last Crusade and Other Poems |  |
129
LYRICAL POEMS.
131
[Evening has lost her throne; the rosy smile]
Evening has lost her throne; the rosy smileFades from her disenchanted realms;
Now darker shadows lengthen from the file
Of lofty-dreaming elms;
The fields lie silent, waiting for the love
Of yonder moon, who lingers pale,
Like a young bride behind her scarce-seen veil,
Faint with sweet eagerness, yet shy
To leave the bosom of her mother-grove
And bare her brightness to the lonely sky.
132
[Awake, awake!—The breezes shout]
Awake, awake!—The breezes shout
Good morrow to the bustling rills;
The birds are up, the sun is out,
Wafting light kisses to the hills;
The sunbeams, radiant with delight,
Chase the quick swallows as they fly;
The white clouds, giddy with their height,
Are reeling from the open sky.
Good morrow to the bustling rills;
The birds are up, the sun is out,
Wafting light kisses to the hills;
The sunbeams, radiant with delight,
Chase the quick swallows as they fly;
The white clouds, giddy with their height,
Are reeling from the open sky.
O pure, pure Loveliness, that smiled
So brightly on the world's first Spring,
Older than sorrow, yet a child,
That taught each careless bird to sing,
That tinted the wild rose and tied
His rainbow-necklace round the dove,
My playmate, mistress and my bride,
The Earth holds naught to match thy love!
So brightly on the world's first Spring,
Older than sorrow, yet a child,
That taught each careless bird to sing,
That tinted the wild rose and tied
His rainbow-necklace round the dove,
My playmate, mistress and my bride,
The Earth holds naught to match thy love!
133
A WELSH HOMESTEAD.
Nestled in loveliness, where four deep glens
Blend their low voices in one harmony,
One ever-restful, ever-restless song,
Lulling the soul with vague monotony,
Stirring it with a thousand undernotes
That swell and sink and nevermore return.
Blend their low voices in one harmony,
One ever-restful, ever-restless song,
Lulling the soul with vague monotony,
Stirring it with a thousand undernotes
That swell and sink and nevermore return.
Muffled in woods, whose Winter nakedness
Is fair as their Spring raiment, where the foot
Falls soft as silence, and the meanest crag
Is rich with clinging beauty, while the life
Of butterfly and floweret lies asleep.
Is fair as their Spring raiment, where the foot
Falls soft as silence, and the meanest crag
Is rich with clinging beauty, while the life
Of butterfly and floweret lies asleep.
A warm home, bosomed in the inmost folds
Of Nature's robe; an islet in the main
Of cold gray rock, loud torrent, sodden moor,
And lonely lakes, deep as the sullen steeps
That wall them round, dark as the eyes of Fate.
Of Nature's robe; an islet in the main
Of cold gray rock, loud torrent, sodden moor,
And lonely lakes, deep as the sullen steeps
That wall them round, dark as the eyes of Fate.
A treasure-house, where forms most delicate
Find shelter 'neath the shadow of the strong,
Where the film-fern's unceasing thirst is laved
With spray-dew of resistless waterfalls,
And at the buried foot of ice-worn rocks
The violet hides her meek face in the moss.
Find shelter 'neath the shadow of the strong,
Where the film-fern's unceasing thirst is laved
With spray-dew of resistless waterfalls,
And at the buried foot of ice-worn rocks
The violet hides her meek face in the moss.
134
[Moan, wretched wind; drive the sad clouds]
Moan, wretched wind; drive the sad clouds
Along the blindfold plain;
Ye leaves, whirl on your lonely crowds;
Weep on, remorseless rain!
Along the blindfold plain;
Ye leaves, whirl on your lonely crowds;
Weep on, remorseless rain!
O for one smile of buried Spring,
O for one note of May;
O for one sunny hour to fling
My aching heart away!
O for one note of May;
O for one sunny hour to fling
My aching heart away!
135
TO THE REDBREAST.
Minstrel of Autumn! when a sadder sunSwoons night by night along the weeping West,
When thrush and merle, their wealth of love-song spent,
Crouch shivering, each beside his ruined nest,
When, fluttering down, the dead leaves, one by one,
Whisper o'er dying flowers a slow lament,
Then thou, bright bird, the latest and the best,
Perched on the arm of some dismantled tree,
Dost utter from thy full and glowing breast
Such rapturous strains of happy minstrelsy,
That neither mouldering leaves nor sobbing skies
Can damp the faith in life that never dies.
136
SWEET SEPTEMBER.
O sweet September, second Spring!
The wind is warbling fresh and free,
The merry brooklets dance and sing,
And music is in every tree;
The meadows gleam, the sun shines bright
On leaves that twinkle from the shower,
And fickle shade and fickle light
Are dappling through the long lane-bower.
The wind is warbling fresh and free,
The merry brooklets dance and sing,
And music is in every tree;
The meadows gleam, the sun shines bright
On leaves that twinkle from the shower,
And fickle shade and fickle light
Are dappling through the long lane-bower.
O sweet September, second Spring!
The eyes of May were ne'er so blue,
And never on so white a wing
The driven fleet of cloudlets flew;
Yon fir-tree never leant so fair
Against the softness of the sky,
For till this morn my heart was ne'er
So tuned to Nature's harmony.
The eyes of May were ne'er so blue,
And never on so white a wing
The driven fleet of cloudlets flew;
Yon fir-tree never leant so fair
Against the softness of the sky,
For till this morn my heart was ne'er
So tuned to Nature's harmony.
O sweet September, second Spring!
I love to see thy dim blue breath
Steal where thy frosty kisses sting
The freckled leaves to beauteous death;
To watch the azure dragon-fly,
With gauzy pinions levelled, rest
Over the brazen sun-flower's eye
Bending a bold gaze toward the West.
I love to see thy dim blue breath
Steal where thy frosty kisses sting
The freckled leaves to beauteous death;
To watch the azure dragon-fly,
With gauzy pinions levelled, rest
Over the brazen sun-flower's eye
Bending a bold gaze toward the West.
137
O sweet September, second Spring!
I love to hear, o'er far fields borne,
When evening mists begin to cling,
The murmur of the threshing corn;
I love to see the downy peach
Sunning its soft cheek by the wall,
And lightly o'er the gray-limbed beech
The wavering shadows rise and fall.
I love to hear, o'er far fields borne,
When evening mists begin to cling,
The murmur of the threshing corn;
I love to see the downy peach
Sunning its soft cheek by the wall,
And lightly o'er the gray-limbed beech
The wavering shadows rise and fall.
I love the afternoon sunshine
That dozes on the sleepy farm,
I love the dim horizon-line
Of stubble gleaming golden-warm,
The tiny glistening gnats that dance
Translucent in the haze above;
And sweet September's countenance
Is more than answer to my love.
That dozes on the sleepy farm,
I love the dim horizon-line
Of stubble gleaming golden-warm,
The tiny glistening gnats that dance
Translucent in the haze above;
And sweet September's countenance
Is more than answer to my love.
O sweet September, when I woke
This morning, all the wakened world
Was creeping from its slumber-cloak,
And all the steaming lawn was pearled
With Nature's jewellery; each flower
Decked with a diamond; emerald zones
Around me; and above, one bower
Of sapphire, girt with opal thrones.
This morning, all the wakened world
Was creeping from its slumber-cloak,
And all the steaming lawn was pearled
With Nature's jewellery; each flower
Decked with a diamond; emerald zones
Around me; and above, one bower
Of sapphire, girt with opal thrones.
138
The swallows circled light as air
Between the tawny-tasselled sheaves,
Or cast quick-glancing shadows where
The creeper blushed beneath the eaves;
I wondered, as I watched them dart
In gathering swarms about the pool,
I wondered how they had the heart
To leave a land so beautiful.
Between the tawny-tasselled sheaves,
Or cast quick-glancing shadows where
The creeper blushed beneath the eaves;
I wondered, as I watched them dart
In gathering swarms about the pool,
I wondered how they had the heart
To leave a land so beautiful.
The brooding sun warmed into birth
A myriad twinkling stars of dew;
Heaven's radiant ladders, wedding Earth,
Were scarcely seen against the blue;
The purple clematis was lit
Into a rich, transparent sheen;
It seemed a royal garment, fit
For sweet September, Autumn's queen.
A myriad twinkling stars of dew;
Heaven's radiant ladders, wedding Earth,
Were scarcely seen against the blue;
The purple clematis was lit
Into a rich, transparent sheen;
It seemed a royal garment, fit
For sweet September, Autumn's queen.
O sweet September! Thou art all
One loveliness. Where'er I turn,
'Tis beauty, beauty; the grey pall
Thou spreadest o'er the dying fern,
The blue smoke stealing through the trees,
The rainbow bounding boundless realms,
The homestead in its own green leas,
The cattle nestled 'neath the elms.
One loveliness. Where'er I turn,
'Tis beauty, beauty; the grey pall
Thou spreadest o'er the dying fern,
The blue smoke stealing through the trees,
The rainbow bounding boundless realms,
The homestead in its own green leas,
The cattle nestled 'neath the elms.
139
O sweet September! 'tis more sweet
To loiter in the rambling lanes,
Singing thy praises at thy feet,
Than all the world and all its gains.
Let laurels wreathe the conquerer's sword,
Ambition hug his hard-won prize;
To love thee is its own reward,
To win thy love is paradise.
To loiter in the rambling lanes,
Singing thy praises at thy feet,
Than all the world and all its gains.
Let laurels wreathe the conquerer's sword,
Ambition hug his hard-won prize;
To love thee is its own reward,
To win thy love is paradise.
O sweet September! When I sing
Of all the loveliness I see,
Of all the joy my love doth bring,
And all thy beauty is to me,
I seem to clasp thee in my arms,
I seem to hear thy whispering voice,
And feel the heart-pulse of thy charms
Bidding my favoured heart rejoice.
Of all the loveliness I see,
Of all the joy my love doth bring,
And all thy beauty is to me,
I seem to clasp thee in my arms,
I seem to hear thy whispering voice,
And feel the heart-pulse of thy charms
Bidding my favoured heart rejoice.
The wild wet azure of thy skies
Has blinded me with happy tears,
Thy dazzling cloud-light fills my eyes,
Thy laughing breezes flood my ears.
O, if the song were only lit
By that which makes the singer reel!
And yet, if I could utter it,
It would not be the joy I feel.
Has blinded me with happy tears,
Thy dazzling cloud-light fills my eyes,
Thy laughing breezes flood my ears.
O, if the song were only lit
By that which makes the singer reel!
And yet, if I could utter it,
It would not be the joy I feel.
140
[O what a lovely magic hath been here]
O what a lovely magic hath been here,Silently weaving through a winter night
Its most exquisite influences. The air
Is clear almost past breathing; woods and rocks
Are robed in dazzling rime—By Heaven! it seems
A world of crystal. 'Tis as if the moon,
Who gazed so lingeringly on all that lay
Last night beneath her tenderness, had breathed
All her full silver heart over the land
And left it frozen there—so wan her cheek,
Her wasted cheek fast fading from the sky.
141
[My spirit is too wide awake]
My spirit is too wide awake
To taste its joy; I scarcely feel
The molten silver dancing o'er the lake,
The quick pulse of the water-wheel.
To taste its joy; I scarcely feel
The molten silver dancing o'er the lake,
The quick pulse of the water-wheel.
For thoughts come thicker than the leaves
That burst upon a million sprays;
And love, like yonder sun,
Dazzles with all its eager rays
The world of loveliness it weaves,
Glancing o'er all things ere the heart be won.
That burst upon a million sprays;
And love, like yonder sun,
Dazzles with all its eager rays
The world of loveliness it weaves,
Glancing o'er all things ere the heart be won.
142
[Eternal seems this summer hour]
Eternal seems this summer hour,
The butterfly lolls from flower to flower,
Wind and wave in one cradle rest,
The cloudlet melteth on heaven's blue breast.
The butterfly lolls from flower to flower,
Wind and wave in one cradle rest,
The cloudlet melteth on heaven's blue breast.
Drowsy with sweetness and warmth and scent,
The honey-bee hangs from the blossom bent;
Not a breath in the drooping corn
Or the tree-shadows laced on the hayfield shorn.
The honey-bee hangs from the blossom bent;
Not a breath in the drooping corn
Or the tree-shadows laced on the hayfield shorn.
The mirrored sun in the lap of the lake
Palpitates when her ripples wake;
But now he lieth in slumber still,
Waiting to waken at her light will.
Palpitates when her ripples wake;
But now he lieth in slumber still,
Waiting to waken at her light will.
143
A myriad stars are small and pale
With modesty at her full-flooded light;
Dreamy and dark the shadows streak the vale;
The folded flowers are glistening tearfully—
Hush!—God alone can show thee such a night.
144
[I stand amid the tumbled grass]
I stand amid the tumbled grassHeavy with beads of dew; the morn
Lies folded half-awake; smooth as grey glass
The stream breathes 'neath the willows worn
Its mist of sleep away; and save that where
The sad boughs droop to kiss its chilly cheek
A noiseless, silver-gliding streak
Quivers for ever, one would scarcely know
Which way the spirit of its bosom fair
Doth in its dreaming flow.
145
[At last the overtired year]
At last the overtired year
Wearily lays her hectic cheek
To slumber; now the midnight tear
Swells from the flower, and orchards reek,
At noontide; now a drowsier morn
Breathes thick along the pearly leas,
And tatters of the garnered corn
Droop from the drooping trees.
Wearily lays her hectic cheek
To slumber; now the midnight tear
Swells from the flower, and orchards reek,
At noontide; now a drowsier morn
Breathes thick along the pearly leas,
And tatters of the garnered corn
Droop from the drooping trees.
Now in the narrow lane, that twines
Chill through the sandstone, the late sun
Scarce flickers; but his blessing shines
On all that patient work hath won
From the low, faithful fields, on all
That laboured while the labourer slept,
Till it grew golden, full and tall,
And Spring's rich promise richly kept.
Chill through the sandstone, the late sun
Scarce flickers; but his blessing shines
On all that patient work hath won
From the low, faithful fields, on all
That laboured while the labourer slept,
Till it grew golden, full and tall,
And Spring's rich promise richly kept.
Mother of all things, who hast nurst
The poor child, Man, on thy dear breast
For ages, and when pain is worst
Dost take him gently home to rest,
O blessed Mother, there have been
Far loftier singers o'er and o'er,
Who more have lisped and learnt and seen,
But never one that loved thee more.
The poor child, Man, on thy dear breast
For ages, and when pain is worst
Dost take him gently home to rest,
O blessed Mother, there have been
Far loftier singers o'er and o'er,
Who more have lisped and learnt and seen,
But never one that loved thee more.
146
[Sleep breathes upon the village]
Sleep breathes upon the village,
The sea lies gray and still,
The sun is slowly sinking
Behind the sheltering hill;
The sea lies gray and still,
The sun is slowly sinking
Behind the sheltering hill;
His latest glance is nestling
Beneath the ivy-spray,
That crests the ruined castle
Glassed in the silent bay.
Beneath the ivy-spray,
That crests the ruined castle
Glassed in the silent bay.
The white-winged boats are gliding
Into their waveless fold,
The sky is softly weeping,
The flower is scarcely cold.
Into their waveless fold,
The sky is softly weeping,
The flower is scarcely cold.
The hum of day still lingers
Around the darkening quay,
And a delicious longing
Is stealing over me.
Around the darkening quay,
And a delicious longing
Is stealing over me.
147
[The nightingale is silent, and the wind]
The nightingale is silent, and the windSleeps on the forest's bosom; silvery mist
Enfolds the vale and woodland glades behind
The distant mere; the leaves have fainted—hist!
'Twas but a dewdrop that a moonbeam kist;
One spirit holds its peace between the trees,
The mountains and the stars; and in my soul
Swells, like the mingling of a thousand seas,
Hushed into calm by their own melodies,
The vast, harmonious silence of the whole.
148
TO MABEL DARE.
Lady, forgive, if there be need
For pardon.—But if I should meet
A floweret on a wayside bank,
And call it fair and sweet;
For pardon.—But if I should meet
A floweret on a wayside bank,
And call it fair and sweet;
And thank it for its careless smile,
The lovelier because all unsought;
Then onward, with a heart more light
For having told its thought;
The lovelier because all unsought;
Then onward, with a heart more light
For having told its thought;
Say, would you blame?—Or if that flower
Were lighted with a soul, and knew
The magic of pink petal lips
And eyes of twilight blue;
Were lighted with a soul, and knew
The magic of pink petal lips
And eyes of twilight blue;
Should I keep silence?—Then I'll sin,
And bind about my heart, sweet Dare,
The blue-bell wreath that could not bind
The harvest of thy hair.
And bind about my heart, sweet Dare,
The blue-bell wreath that could not bind
The harvest of thy hair.
149
So passing from this gentle land
Of lordly trees and golden crops,
That rustle where a mighty hand
Hath smoothed the mountain-tops,
Of lordly trees and golden crops,
That rustle where a mighty hand
Hath smoothed the mountain-tops,
Spite of thy pretty palmistry,
That would have narrowed down my heart,
I still will keep a nook for thee,
If thou wilt own a part.
That would have narrowed down my heart,
I still will keep a nook for thee,
If thou wilt own a part.
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