KING HENRY THE SECOND AT THE TOMB OF KING ARTHUR,
AND OTHER POEMS.
To the Memory
OF
SIR WILLIAM ROWAN HAMILTON,
LATE ASTRONOMER-ROYAL OF DUBLIN,
THESE POEMS,
ORIGINALLY DEDICATED TO HIM,
ARE AGAIN INSCRIBED.
Nov. 24, 1883.
KING HENRY THE SECOND AT THE TOMB OF KING ARTHUR.
PART I.
1
Why put the great in Time their trust?
Whate'er on earth we prize
Of dust was made, and is but dust,
For all its brave disguise.
No boor but one day with the just
May triumph in the skies!
2
Ambition doth but chase a gleam;
An idle toy the sword!
The crown a mockery; power a dream;
For Christ alone is Lord.
This lore King Henry learned:—Of him
I will a tale record.
3
The tourney past, in festival
Baron and knight were met:
Last pomp it was that graced the hall
Of great Plantagenet;
A Prince for valour praised by all,
More famed for wisdom yet.
4
The board rang loud with kingly cheer:
Light jest, and laugh, and song
Rang swiftly round from peer to peer:
Alone on that gay throng
The harper looked with eye severe,
The while in unknown tongue
5
A mournful dirge abroad he poured;
Sad strains, forlorn, and slow:
Poor wreck of music prized and stored
Long centuries ago
On British hills ere Saxon sword
Had stained as yet their snow.
6
‘Strike other chords,’ the monarch cried;
‘Whate'er thy words may be,
They sound the dirge of festal pride:
Warriors, not monks are we!
The melodies to grief allied
No music make for me.’
7
The harper's eye with warlike fire
One moment shone; no more:
His lips, but now compressed in ire,
A smile disdainful wore,
While forth from each resounding wire
Its fiercer soul he tore.
8
Louder and louder pealed the strain,
More wild, and soul-entrancing:
Picturing now helmets cloven in twain;
Now swords like meteors glancing;
Now trampling hosts o'er hill and plain
Retreating and advancing.
9
Each measure, mightier than the last,
Rushed forth, stern triumphs wooing;
Like some great angel on the blast
From Heaven to Heaven pursuing
With outspread pinion, far and fast,
A host abhorred to ruin.
10
The bard meanwhile with cold, stern air,
Looked proudly on the proud,
Fixing unmoved a victor's stare
On that astonished crowd—
'Till all the princes gathered there
Leaped up, and cried aloud:
11
‘What man, what chief, what crownèd head,
Eternal heir of fame,
Of all that live, or all the dead,
This praise shall dare to claim?’—
Then rose that British bard, and said,
‘King Arthur is his name.’
12
‘What sceptre grasped King Arthur's hand?’
‘The sceptre of this Isle.’
‘What nations bled beneath his brand?’
‘The Saxon foe erewhile.’
‘His tomb?’ was Henry's next demand—
‘He sleeps in yonder pile.’
13
Forth went the King with all his train,
At the mid hour of night;
They paced in pairs the silent plain
Under the red torch-light.
The moon was sinking in her wane,
The tower yet glimmered bright.
PART II.
1
Through Glastonbury's cloister dim
The midnight winds were sighing;
Chanting a low funereal hymn
For those in silence lying,
Death's gentle flock 'mid shadows grim
Fast bound, and unreplying.
2
Hard by, the monks their Hours were saying;
The organ evermore
Its wave in alternation swaying
On that smooth swell upbore
The voice of their melodious praying
Towards heaven's eternal shore.
3
Ere long a princely multitude
Moved on through arches grey
Which yet, though shattered, stand where stood
(God grant they stand for aye!)
Saint Joseph's church of woven wood
On England's baptism day.
4
The grave they found; their swift strokes fell
Piercing dull earth and stone.
They reached ere long an oaken cell,
And cross of oak, whereon
Was graved, ‘Here sleeps King Arthur well,
In the Isle of Avalon.’
5
The mail on every knightly breast,
The steel at each man's side,
Sent forth a sudden gleam: each crest
Bowed low its plumèd pride:
Down o'er the coffin stooped a priest—
But first the monarch cried,
6
‘Great King! in youth I made a vow
Earth's mightiest son to greet;
His hand to worship; on his brow
To gaze; his grace entreat.
Therefore, though dead, till noontide thou
Shalt fill my royal seat!’
7
Away the massive lid they rolled—
Alas! what found they there?
No kingly brow, no shapely mould;
But dust where such things were.
Ashes o'er ashes, fold on fold—
And one bright wreath of hair.
8
Genevra's hair! like gold it lay;
For Time, though stern, is just,
And humblest things feel last his sway,
And Death reveres his trust.—
They touched that wreath; it sank away
From sunshine into dust!
9
Then Henry lifted from his head
The Conqueror's iron crown:
That crown upon that dust he laid,
And knelt in reverence down,
And raised both hands to heaven, and said,
‘Thou God art King alone!
10
‘Lie there, my crown, since God decrees
This head a couch as low!
What am I better now than these
Six hundred years ago?
Henceforth all mortal pageantries
I count an idle show.’
11
Such words King Henry spake: and ere
The cloistral vaults had felt
Along their arches damp and bare
The last faint echo melt,
The nobles congregated there
On that cold pavement knelt:
12
And each his coronet down laid,
And Christ his King adored;
And murmured in that mournful shade,
‘Thou God alone art Lord:
Like yonder hair, at last shall fade
Each sceptre, crown, and sword.’
EPITAPH.
He roamed half round this world of woe,
Where toil and labour never cease;
Then dropped one little span below,
In search of Peace.
And now to him mild beams and showers,
All that he needs to grace his tomb,
From loneliest regions, at all hours.
Unsought-for come.
THE INFANT BRIDAL.
In the Middle Ages the marriage of children was no infrequent
mode of reconciling nations. The custom was natural
in a time when belief insisted on expressing itself in symbols,
and when the whole of earthly life was regarded as a rehearsal
of, and betrothal to, a Life Divine.
PART I.
1
Of old between two nations was great war:
Its cause no mortal knew; nor when begun;
Therefore they combated so much the more,
The sire his sword bequeathing to the son;
Till gentleness and joy had wholly fled,
And wellnigh every hand with blood was red.
2
In vain the mother wept; her sighs were blown
Away by the loud gust of popular rage;
In vain the young fair widow made her moan;
In vain the tender virgin would engage
Her love to gentler thoughts; he rushed to arms,
Proud of her beauty pale and loud alarms.
3
Glory, for Honour a blind substitute
In hearts aspiring and a servile will,
On to the battle chased them. Man and brute,
Horseman and horse, by the same trumpet-thrill
Were borne into the frenzy of red fields,
Ghastly ere night with dead, upstaring from their shields.
4
Glory at first, and after Glory, Shame;
Shame to propose the compact, first to bend;
And Fear, which masks full oft in Valour's name,
And doth false honour like a shade attend—
Fear to be thought to fear—these plagues did urge
The maniacs forward with a threefold scourge.
5
Both kingdoms raging thus in fever fit,
More direful every hour became their spleen:
The sleeping boy full oft his brow would knit
Against a foeman he had never seen;
Full oft the man of venerable hairs
Bowed to the dust his head depressed by griefs and cares.
6
Valley and town lay drowned in tears and sorrow;
Each noontide trembled with perturbed annoy,
And no one dared expect a kinder morrow:
To be a mother was no more a joy:
Hope no more hovered o'er the cradle. Love
Wept; and no friend had heart such anguish to reprove.
7
How often to a little sleeping child,
Smiling, and sleeping on the mother's knee,
That mother thus complained; ‘Ah, little child!
God only knows if it be good for thee,
My comforter, my solace, to have come
Down to this world so harsh and wearisome
8
‘Happy awhile with me thy spirit dwells;’
Awhile contented 'mid thy petty range
Of daily things, to thee all miracles;
For arms thou dost not sigh, nor pant for change;
Thy dreams are bloodless: thou dost smile when sleeping,
In Eden founts thy newborn fancies steeping.
9
‘Ah, must that brow, so clear, so smooth, so white,
By a hard ruthless helm be one day pressed?
Ah, must the red lance in its murderous might
One day pierce through and gore that tender breast?
Ah, little infant! must thou lie one day
Far, far from me, cold clay upon cold clay?
10
‘Wherefore so fast do these thy ringlets grow?
Stay, little child, be alway what thou art,
That I may ever, while the rough winds blow,
Clasp thee as now, and hide thee in my heart.
Who taught thee those new words? I fear each day,
To hear thee cry, “Mother, I must away.”
11
‘Is this to be a mother? I am none—
And yet I fear to lose a gift not prized.
Is this, ah God, to have a little son?
Are these my prayers? my dreams thus realized?
Defrauded of my own while visibly here,
How can I hope, O child, to deck far off thy bier?’
PART II.
1
The hosts, in silence marching all the night,
At sunrise met upon the battle plain.
The monarchs there engaged in single fight:
There by a rival's hand was either slain.
Long time men stood in gloom, stern, and sad-hearted;
Then, bound by solemn vows, homeward in peace departed.
2
A counsel went there forth. Each king had left
Behind a blooming infant; one a boy,
A girl the other; both alike bereft;
Both innocent; both meet for love and joy;
Both heirs of sorrow. ‘Holy Church these twain
Shall join in one,’ men cried; ‘and peace be ours again.’
3
Who first devised the expedient no one knows.
Perhaps old sages, after long debate,
And loud lament of immemorial woes,
Bending their deep brows in a hall of state,
Conceived the project; and from Fancy sought
A cure for ills by rage fantastic wrought.
4
Some chief perhaps, of all his sons bereft,
And now half blind in his forlorn old age,
Cried loud in anguish, while his tower he left
To hide him in a moss-grown hermitage,
‘Hear ye my words, and on your hearts engrain them,
Love gave me many children: Hate hath slain them.’
5
Haply some maiden, for the war deserted,
Exclaimed, ‘I would that little warlike pair
Had loved as long as war the loved hath parted.’
Perhaps kind angels called her wish a prayer.
Enough: I tell an ancient legend, told
By better men than I, long dead and cold.
6
While the young bride in triumph home was led,
They strewed beneath her litter branches green;
And kissed light flowers, then rained them on a head
Unconscious as the flowers what all might mean.
Men, as she past them, knelt; and women raised
Their children in their arms, who laughed and gazed.
7
That pomp approaching woodland villages,
Or shadowing convents piled near rivers dim,
The church-bells from gray towers begirt with trecs
Reiterated their loud, wordless hymn;
And golden cross, and snowy choir serene
Moved on, old trunks and older towers between.
8
An hour ere sunset from afar they spied
The city walls, dark myriads round them clinging:
Now o'er a carpeted expanse they glide,
Now the old bridge beneath their tread is ringing:
They reach the gate—they pass the towers below—
And now once more emerge, a glittering show!
9
O what a rapturous shout receives them, blending
Uncounted bells with chime of human voices!
That fortress old, as on thy wind ascending,
Like the mother of some victor chief rejoices.
From every window tapestries wave: among
The steep and glittering roofs group after group they throng.
10
The shrine is gained. Two mighty gates expanding
Let forth a breeze of music onward gushing,
In pathos lulled, yet awful and commanding;
Down sink the crowds, at once their murmur hushing.
Filled with one soul, the smooth procession slowly
Advances with joined palms, cross-led and slowly.
11
Lo! where they stand in yon high, fan-roofed chamber—
Martyrs and Saints in dyed and mystic glass
With sumptuous haloes, vermeil, green and amber,
Flood the far aisles, and all that by them pass:
Rich like their painter's visions—in those gleams
Blazoning the burden of his Patmian dreams!
12
A forest of tall lights in mystic cluster
Like fire-topped reeds, from their aerial station
Pour on the group a mild and silver lustre:
Beneath the blessing of that constellation
The rite proceeds—pure source whence rich increase
Of love henceforth, and piety and peace.
13
Small was the ring, and small in truth the finger!
What then? the faith was large that dropped it down:
A faith that scorned on this base earth to linger,
And won from Heaven a perdurable crown.
A germ of Love, at plighting of that troth
Into each bosom sank; and grew there with its growth.
14
The ladies held aloft the bridal pair:
They on each other smiled, and gazed around
With lofty mien benign and debonair,
Their infant brows with golden circlet bound:
The prelates blessed them, and the nobles swore
True faith and fealty by the swords they bore.
15
Home to the palace, still in order keeping,
That train returned; and in the stateliest room
Laid down their lovely burden, all but sleeping,
Together in one cradle's curtained gloom:
And lulled them with low melody and song,
And jest past lightly 'mid the courtly throng.
PART III.
1
Ah, lovely sight! behold them—creatures twain,
Hand in hand wandering through some verdant alley,
Or sunny lawn of their serene domain,
Their wind-caught laughter echoing musically;
Or skimming, in pursuit of bird-cast shadows,
With feet immaculate the enamelled meadows.
2
Tiptoe now stand they by some towering lily,
And fain would peer into its snowy cave:
Now, the boy bending o'er some current chilly,
The feebler backward draws him from the wave;
But he persists, and gains for her at last
Some bright flower from the dull weeds hurrying past.
3
Oft if some agèd priest the cloister crossed,
Both hands they caught; and bade him explicate,
That nought of good through idlesse might be lost,
At large all duties of the nuptial state;
And oft each other kissed with infant glee,
As though this were some great solemnity.
4
In some old missal sometimes would they look,
Touching with awe the illuminated page;
And scarce for tears the spectacle might brook
Of babes destroyed by Herod's murderous rage.
Here sank a Martyr in ensanguined vest:
With more familiar smile there beamed the Virgin blest.
5
Growing, their confidence as quickly grew;
Light pet and childish quarrel seldom came:
To make them lighter yet and yet more few,
Their nurse addressed them thus—an ancient dame—
‘Children, what perfect love should dwell, I ween,
'Twixt husband and young wife, 'twixt King and Queen.
6
‘The turtle, widowed of her mate, no more
Lifts her lone head, but pines, and pining dies:
In many a tomb 'mid yon Cathedral hoar
Monarch or Knight beside his lady lies;
Such tenderness and truth they showed, that fate
No power was given their dust to separate.
7
‘Rachel not less, and Ruth, whereof men read
In book ordained our life below to guide,
Loved her own husband each, in word and deed,
Loved him full well, nor any loved beside:
And Orpheus too, and Pyramus, men say,
Though Paynim born, lived true, and so shall live for aye.
8
‘What makes us, children, to good Angels dear?
Unblemished Truth and hearts in pure accord:
These also draw the people to revere
With stronger faith their King and Sovereign Lord.
Then perfect make your love and amity
Alway: but most of all if men are by.’
9
Such lore receiving ofttimes, hand in hand
Those babes walked gravely: at the garden gates
Meantime the multitude would flock and stand,
And hooded nuns looked downward from their grates.
These when the Princes marked, they moved awhile
With loftier step and more majestic smile;
10
Or sat enthroned upon some broidered bank
(The lowlier flowers in wrecks around them thrown)
Shadowed with roses rising rank on rank:
And there, now wreathed, now leaning into one,
They talked, and kissed, again and yet again,
To please good Angels thus, and win good men.
11
Swift rolled the years. The boy now twelve years old,
Vowed to the Cross and honourable war,
For Palestine deserts our northland cold.
Her husband—playmate—is he hers no more?
Up to his hand, now timid first she crept,—
‘Farewell,’ he said: she sighed; he kissed her and she wept.
12
A milk-white steed; a crest whose snowy pride
Like wings, or maiden tresses drooped apart;
A Cross between; and (every day new dyed),
Fair emblem on his shield, a bleeding heart,
Marked him far off from all. Not mine to tell
What fields his valour won, what foes before him fell.
13
No barbarous rage that host impelled; but zeal
For Christian faith and sacred rites profaned;
And Triumph smiled upon the avenging steel
That smote the haughty and set free the chained.
Foremost he fought. In Victory's final hour
Star-bright he shone from Salem's topmost tower!
14
Swift as that Fame, which like an Angel ran
Before him on a glory-smitten road,
Homeward the princely boy returned, a man.
A lovelier angel graced their old abode—
But where his youthful playmate? where? half dazed,
Each on the other's beauty wondering gazed.
15
Strange joy they found all day in wandering over
The spots in which their childish sports had been;
Husband and wife whilome, now loved and lover,
A broken light brightened yet more the scene.
Night came: a gay yet startled bride he led,
Old rites scarce trusting, to the bridal bed.
16
No more remains of all this ancient story.
They loved with love eternal: spent their days
In peace, in good to man, in genuine glory:
No spoils unjust they sought, nor unjust praise.
Their children loved them and their people blessed—
God grant us all such lives—in Heaven for aye such rest!
QUEEN BERTHA'S MATIN SONG.
The morning star was rising,
O'er ocean's tremulous crystal hung;
His bright feet touched the billow,
His glance o'er earth he flung;
On the young Queen he played;
Yet warm and disarrayed,
As, leaping lightly from her pillow,
The golden harp she swayed.
Hide not the clouds among,
Brightest star, and fairest!
Until her song those heavens along
Between thy wings thou bearest.
1
‘Thou that on my dreams
All night long wert beaming,
O'er shining leaves and silver streams
Brighter now art gleaming;
Every fountain hath
Light thy keen smiles give her;
In every bay-leaf's dewy bath
Thy soft swift glances quiver.’
Hide not the clouds among,
Brightest star and fairest!
Until her song those heavens along
Between thy wings thou bearest.
2
‘Heaven doth laugh above,
Earth below is gay,
And souls that walk 'twixt light and love
Shall walk in joy alway,
White as yon lily sweet,
That springs, while cold airs fan it,
A virgin spouse her mate to greet
In thee, glad matin Planet!’
Hide not the clouds among,
Brightest star and fairest!
Until her song those heavens along
Between thy wings thou bearest.
3
‘All the starry hosts,
And all the angelic band,
At once o'er all the ethereal coasts
Leaped forth at God's command;
But surely from afar
'Twas thee men saw on high,
When darkness fled before the star
Of Christ's Nativity.’
Hide not the clouds among
Brightest star and fairest!
Until her song those heavens along
Between thy wings thou bearest.
4
‘When the earth was made
Stars and angels sang;
When Christ was in the manger laid
More loud the anthem rang;
But louder yet those choirs
The last great morn shall blend
Their heavenly songs and heavenly fires,
While thou dost last ascend.’
Hide not the clouds among,
Brightest star and fairest!
Until her song those heavens along
Between thy wings thou bearest.
QUEEN BERTHA'S ALMS.
1
Glad as that thrill some princely birth
With hushed yet rapturous omen gracing
The stir, as from her palace forth
The young fair Queen came pacing.
But here no pompous guard was set;
No flattering concourse gathered round:
The poor about her gate were met:
The readiest place the poorest found.
2
Like youthful angels, all alert
The Queen dispensed her bounteous load;
On those whom keenest fates had hurt,
Her earlier gifts bestowed.
Her face the maniac's rage beguiled;
She turned her now among the ring,
And paused, above a poor blind child,
The sweetest of her songs to sing!
3
Kind gifts to some, kind words to more;
Kind looks to each and all she gave,
Which on with them through life they bore,
And down into their grave.
Around her feet the children crept,
And kissed the grass those feet had trod;
Sad eyes that many a year had wept,
With tears of gladness gemmed the sod.
4
The chiming of the convent bells
Called her at last away to prayer:
Farewell she smiled on their farewells—
And turned; when, unaware,
An old gray man with hands outspread
She marked low-bent on quivering knee:
Over his brow she stooped and said,
‘A kiss is all I have for thee.’
QUEEN BERTHA AT HER VESPERS.
1
Half kneeling yet, and half reclining,
She held her harp against her knees:
Aloft the ruddy roofs were shining,
And sunset touched the trees.
From the gold border gleamed like snow
Her foot: a crown enriched her brow:
Dark gems confined that crimson vest,
Close-moulded on her neck and breast.
2
In silence lay the cloistral court,
And shadows of the convent towers:
Well ordered now in stately sort
Those royal halls and bowers.
The coral chaunt had just swept by—
Bright arms lay quivering yet on high:
Thereon the warriors gazed, and then
Glanced lightly at the Queen again.
3
While from her lip the wild hymn floated,
Such grace in those uplifted eyes,
And sweet, half absent looks, they noted
That, surely, through the skies
They deemed a Spirit floated ever
Upon that song's perpetual river,
And, smiling from its joyous track,
Upon her heavenly face looked back.
QUEEN BERTHA'S VIGIL.
1
Beneath and round her queenly bower
So tall the garden pageants grew,
With every breeze each moon-lit flower
Was waved the casement through:
White in the radiance glanced the fawn;
Flitted the hare from lawn to lawn;
By close, broad firs, that flecked the sheen,
And barred with black the silver green.
2
Far off, like mighty cliffs, their shade
Over a waste of waves that cast,
The castle walls o'er wood and glade
Flung down their darkness vast.
Answering a monarch's joyous call,
Far realms were met in festival:
There flocked the noble and the fair—
The fairest, noblest was not there.
3
And yet for her no flowers were blowing:
No listening dell or vale profound
Enjoyed her breath: for her was flowing
Nor glassy stream, nor stream of sound:
In vain her song the night-bird squandered:
The winds that through her chamber wandered
And o'er her pillow brushed screne,
But found the place where she had been!
4
The Moon, whose glory swelled with light
Each lilied slope and laurelled mound,
With touch more sharp and exquisite,
Defined one rock cross-crowned.
Like argent flames or spires of frost
Uprose that shape of stone, embossed
With breeze-worn sculptures quaint and mild
Of Maid and Angel, King and Child.
5
There on her knees the Queen was praying:
On that cold marble leaned her breast;
Prayer after prayer devoutly saying,
With palms together pressed.
There for her lord she prayed aloud,
Prayed for her people, blind and proud—
That Heaven would chase away their night,
That God would bathe his heart in light!
THE SOUL'S WASTE.
1
Couldst thou but keep each noble thought
Thou fling'st in words away,
With quiet then thy night were fraught,
With glory crowned thy day.
But thou too idly and too long
From bower to bower hast ranged;
And Nature, trifled with, not loved,
Will be at last avenged.
2
With pleasure always, ne'er with awe,
Thou gazest on the skies:
And from thy lips all zephyrs draw
Their amplest harmonies.
Beware! the hour is coming fast,
When every warbled tone,
That brims our heart with joy, shall yield
No sweetness to thine own.
GOOD AND EVIL.
Angel! beneath whose steadfast wings
The Earth revolves her wanderings;
Behold, that ancient nurse of man
Is wearied, withered, palsied, wan.
A serpent o'er her bosom crept:
A serpent stung her while she slept:
A serpent's poison taints her blood.
Therefore their wisdom mocks the wise:
Corruption near perfection lies:
Ill ends the work that well began—
Wave once thy mighty wings, and fan
The Evil from the Good!
A TRAVELLER'S GRACE.
Take, pretty birds—to you these crumbs are given—
Your portion of our meal ere yet begun:
And waft our thanks in melody to Heaven
Should we forget them, when that meal is done.
SONG.
1
Her sable tresses swelled more bright:
New beams her dark eyes flung:
Upon her purple vest the light
Changed, shifting with her song.
Her breath like flame, now went, now came:
Strange joy her pulses shook:
While face and form gleamed wild and warm,
Like a bather's from a brook.
2
She sang the Martyrs of the Faith!
As loud as Angel choirs
She sang the songs which they in death
Hurled, fire-like, through their fires!
But now more slow her murmurs flow:
Her smiles serenely play,
Like light on leaves a breath upheaves,
Upheaves to meet the day.
THE SOLITARY.
1.
A sad Thought came there to my breast,
And said, ‘I walk the world unblest;
I pray thee, let me be thy guest.
‘Each heart is full of its own care;
To me no space it deigns to spare;
A generous grief not one will bear.
‘The orb of earth like night I roam:
But never found I yet a home;
Therefore at last to thee I come.’
2.
I let him in—for youth is kind;
Nor dare I call its prompture blind;
Though bitter fruits remain behind.
He stayed a day with me; and then
I could not let him go again;
I said, ‘Abide a week or twain.’
All day he sang; all night he kept
His vigil near me as I slept;
Thus on into my heart he crept.
3.
He said, ‘If thou my lore wilt know,
And bear my heavenly pain below,
Then thou shalt taste no baser woe.
‘And, careless of thy proper weal,
Thou for thy suffering race shalt feel
Deep pity and eternal zeal.
‘And, dwelling in thy place alone,
Thou shalt look down, thyself unknown,
Upon all knowledge round thee strown.’
4.
O Lady! turn those eyes away;
For when their beams upon me play,
The whole wide world grows blank and gray.
Disturb not thou a lonely fate;
A milder beauty is my mate,
And I to her am dedicate.
Pass onward, beautiful as morn!
Pass on, and shine on hearts forlorn;
Pass on from me—but not in scorn.
5.
In thee collecting all her gleams,
As from a centre Beauty beams;
I catch that light on leaves and streams.
In waving boughs and winding shells,
The grace of all thy movement dwells:
From all the birds thy music wells.
In thought familiar thus with thee,
Thine outward form I will not see;
It jars upon my reverie.
6.
Nay, oft from lifeless shapes around
My dazzled eyeballs seek the ground,
And my heart beats with awe profound.
I sit upon the dull gray shore,
And hear the infinite waters roar.
One mournful sound for evermore.
I lean upon a rock my breast;
I love its coldness, heart oppressed;
I love its hardness, and its rest.
SONG.
1
When I was young, I said to Sorrow,
‘Come, and I will play with thee:’—
He is near me now all day;
And at night returns to say,
‘I will come again to-morrow,
I will come and stay with thee.’
2
Through the woods we walk together;
His soft footsteps rustle nigh me;
To shield an unregarded head,
He hath built a winter shed;
And all night in rainy weather,
I hear his gentle breathings by me.
SONG.
1
She says, ‘Poor friend, you waste a treasure
Which you can ne'er regain,
Time, health, and glory, for the pleasure
Of toying with a chain.’
But then her voice so tender grows,
So kind and so caressing,
Each murmur from her lip that flows
Comes to me like a blessing.
2
Sometimes she says, ‘Sweet friend, I grieve you—
Alas, it gives me pain!
What can I? Ah, might I relieve you,
You ne'er had mourned in vain!’
And then her little hand she presses
Upon her heart, and sighs;
While tears, whose source not yet she guesses
Grow larger in her eyes.
3
Sigh, sigh no longer, gentle Maiden!
For me no longer droop:
To one so poor, so sorrow-laden
They ne'er can let thee stoop.
Love ne'er can place thy hand in mine,
Thou art so high above me:
Yet might I plead with eyes like thine
I think that thou wouldst love me!
LINES.
You drop a tear for those that die:
To me, yet living, grant a sigh.
Surely they rest: no rest have I.
The sighing wind dies on the tree.
I cannot sigh: sigh thou for me.
The broken heart is sadly free.
You bid me say what I would have:
Will one flower serve? or do I crave
A wreath—to decorate a grave?
Fling poppies on the grave of Youth:
Fling pansies on the tomb of Truth:
On mine to-morrow morn fling both.
All day I sat below your gate,
My spirit calmed by its own weight;
Then Sorrow grew importunate.
I rose, and on the steps I writ
These fragments of a wildered wit:
To be erased beneath your feet.
Erase them, haughty feet—I live!
I wished, not hoped, that you might grieve.
You can forget: ah then, forgive!
UNA.
A ‘lovely fear,’ a sweet solicitude
For others' grief is hers; skilled are her fingers
To cool with dewy flowers the front of care,
Flattering to pleasant tears the over-worn.
She lives in her sweet maidenhood, untouched
By doubt, distrust, or pain; and gives to Heaven
Her heart, to earth her pity, to her friends
The snow-fed fountains of her fresh affections;
Seldom she weeps, and never causes tears;
Her looks are gentle, and her voice as low
As morning winds that spare the trembling dewdrops;
Her hand is lighter than a young bird's wing.
You deem her undefended. She is strong!
A glorious Spirit zoned with power and beauty!
The pure are always strong; for they possess
Youth's heaven-taught lore, and Virtue's might eterne:
And, as the ocean in the flowers of ocean,
So God within them dwells, and moves around.
IN VIA.
1
Our vale of Life at either end
Is spanned by gates of gold;
And when the breeze against them strains
Such harmony is rolled
From every echoing valve and bar
Right on through all the vale afar,
That cliffs, and woods, the air, the ground,
With rapture tremble in the sound.
2
This Earth is not so far from Heaven:
Bright angels from the skies,
Seen or unseen, it matters not,
Descend; and prayers uprise.
Deep Sabbath of the trusting breast,
The solstice of a realm of rest,
Rich antepasts we have in thee
Of glory and eternity!
DE VIA.
From North unto South, from the East unto the West,
There is no rest;
Wind sigheth unto wind, sea moaneth unto sea,
‘Not in me,’
And the loud waves that roar
In the deep, and on the shore:—
Never, till thou resteth in the green earth's breast,
Shalt thou rest.
