 | Poems by Speranza (Lady Wilde) [i.e. Jane Francesca Elgee] |  |
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Wanderings through European Literature.
LE RÉVEILLE.
It was the lark—not the nightingale—
Poured forth her notes of warning;
Upwards she flew from the sun-lit vale,
Awoke by the light of the morning.
The day, the day is bright!
The night
Hath fled that in darkness bound ye;
Fling ye the myrtle of love aside,
And grasp the sword whate'er may betide—
For the Foemen are gathering round ye!
Poured forth her notes of warning;
Upwards she flew from the sun-lit vale,
Awoke by the light of the morning.
The day, the day is bright!
The night
Hath fled that in darkness bound ye;
Fling ye the myrtle of love aside,
And grasp the sword whate'er may betide—
For the Foemen are gathering round ye!
It was the lark—not the nightingale—
Arouse ye from apathy's slumber!
Few and dull do your watchfires pale,
But they soon shall the stars outnumber.
Awake, awake to life!
The strife
For God and your right advances;
Leave the white arms of weeping beauty,
The van of the battle's your post of duty,
Where glitter the Foeman's lances!
Arouse ye from apathy's slumber!
Few and dull do your watchfires pale,
But they soon shall the stars outnumber.
Awake, awake to life!
The strife
For God and your right advances;
Leave the white arms of weeping beauty,
The van of the battle's your post of duty,
Where glitter the Foeman's lances!
It was the lark—not the nightingale—
The gate of the morning uncloses;
She sings of the thundering cannon's hail—
She sings of the battle's roses;
On the warrior's breast
They rest—
The crimson roses that free the world!
Up, then, in Liberty's cause ye are sent—
Let the wide heavens be but one warrior's tent
When the banner of Freedom's unfurled.
The gate of the morning uncloses;
She sings of the thundering cannon's hail—
She sings of the battle's roses;
On the warrior's breast
They rest—
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Up, then, in Liberty's cause ye are sent—
Let the wide heavens be but one warrior's tent
When the banner of Freedom's unfurled.
It was the lark—not the nightingale—
Leave, then, O youth, thy dreaming!
As dashes the torrent adown the vale,
O'er all barriers wildly streaming,
So of thy young heart's blood,
The flood
Pour down on the thirsty land;
And Liberty's cause, that would else have died,
Will bloom afresh from that crimson tide;
So pledge ye your heart and hand.
Leave, then, O youth, thy dreaming!
As dashes the torrent adown the vale,
O'er all barriers wildly streaming,
So of thy young heart's blood,
The flood
Pour down on the thirsty land;
And Liberty's cause, that would else have died,
Will bloom afresh from that crimson tide;
So pledge ye your heart and hand.
It was the lark—not the nightingale—
Who chanted a Nation's rise;
Borne on the wings of the morning gale,
It peals through the azure skies.
Liberty's torch is bright!
The light
May mock our tyrant's scorning,
For millions of hearts will be kindled ere noon;
And the freedom we dream'd of in darkness, full soon
We'll achieve in the light of the morning!
Who chanted a Nation's rise;
Borne on the wings of the morning gale,
It peals through the azure skies.
Liberty's torch is bright!
The light
May mock our tyrant's scorning,
For millions of hearts will be kindled ere noon;
And the freedom we dream'd of in darkness, full soon
We'll achieve in the light of the morning!
OUR FATHERLAND.
I
Why pour the ruby wine,For glad carousal, brothers mine,
In the sparkling glass that flashes
In your hand,
When, mourning, sits in dust and ashes
Our Fatherland?
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II
What means the joyous songOf the festive bridal throng?
Oh! let music no more waken
The echoes of our strand,
For the bridegroom hath forsaken
Our Fatherland!
III
No more your masses falter,Trembling priests, before the altar.
Can prayer avail the dead or dying?
Oh! vain demand!
Prostrate, trodden on the ground, is lying
Our Fatherland!
IV
Ye princes, fling ye downYour blood-bought jewelled crown—
Bear the circlet on your brow no more,
Nor signet on your hand;
For, shivering, stands before your door
Our Fatherland!
V
Woe to ye rich; in gloomHath toll'd your hour of doom—
There, reck'ning up your gold, ye sit in state
In palace grand,
While Lazarus is dying at your gate,
Our Fatherland!
VI
And woe to you, ye poor—Want and scorn ye must endure;
Yet before ye many noble jewels shine
In the sand.
Ah! they are patriots' tears—even mine—
For Fatherland!
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VII
But the Poet's missionIs but prophetic vision;
To him the daring heart is granted—
Not the hand.
He may cease—the death-song has been chanted
For Fatherland!
THE KNIGHT'S PLEDGE.
The tedious night at length hath pass'd;
To horse! to horse! we'll ride as fast
As ever bird did fly.
Ha! but the morning air is chill;
Frau Wirthin, one last goblet fill,
We'll drain it ere we die!
To horse! to horse! we'll ride as fast
As ever bird did fly.
Ha! but the morning air is chill;
Frau Wirthin, one last goblet fill,
We'll drain it ere we die!
Thou youthful grass, why look'st so green?
Soon dyed in blood of mine I ween,
With damask rose thou'lt vie.
The goblet here! with sword in hand
I pledge thee first, my Fatherland,
Oh! blessed for thee to die!
Soon dyed in blood of mine I ween,
With damask rose thou'lt vie.
The goblet here! with sword in hand
I pledge thee first, my Fatherland,
Oh! blessed for thee to die!
Again our mailed hands raise the cup:
Freedom, to thee we drink it up.
Low may that coward lie
Who fails to pledge, with heart and hand,
The freedom of our glorious Land—
Her Freedom, ere we die!
Freedom, to thee we drink it up.
Low may that coward lie
Who fails to pledge, with heart and hand,
The freedom of our glorious Land—
Her Freedom, ere we die!
Our wives—but, ah! the glass is clear,
The cannon thunders—grasp the spear,
We'll pledge them in a sigh.
Now, on the Foe like thunder crash!
We'll scathe them as a lightning flash,
And conquer, though we die!
The cannon thunders—grasp the spear,
We'll pledge them in a sigh.
Now, on the Foe like thunder crash!
We'll scathe them as a lightning flash,
And conquer, though we die!
102
KING ERICK'S FAITH.
I
In Upsal's stately Minster, before the altar, standsThe Swedish King, brave Erick, with high uplifted hands—
His royal robes are round him, the crown upon his head,
And thus, before his people, right sovranly he said:—
II
“God! whoso trusteth in Thee will never rue his trust;If God the Lord be with us, our foes shall flee like dust.”
He spake—from priests and people rose up the answering cry—
“If God the Lord be with us, all danger we defy!”
II
Scarce through the aisles is dying their mingled voices' din,A pallid slave, disordered, comes rushing wildly in.
“Now God us aid!—Skalater, the Dane, has come agen,
Fast pouring down the mountains with seven hundred men!”
IV
King Erick heard him calmly, then strong in faith replied—“What man can fight against us, with God upon our side?”
A second slave comes rushing all breathless as the first—
“The gate is down—Skalater each bar and bolt hath burst!”
V
King Erick's brow grew paler, but still he looked on high—“If God the Lord be with us, no danger need we fly!”
In comes another, trembling, but ere he uttered sound
The Danish axes glisten—they cleave him to the ground.
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VI
Then rose a fearful tumult—then rose a wildered cry—Skalater comes in fury—defenceless we must die—
Skalater comes in fury, with all his pagan hordes,
And Priest, and King, and Altar must fall beneath their swords.
VII
King Erick's glance grew prouder; he grasp'd the golden rood—He held it high to Heaven, as on Skalater strode:
Lo! from each wound, the seven, pours forth a thousand rays,
And down to earth Skalater sinks dazzled by the blaze.
VIII
They're prostrate on their foreheads, the seven hundred Danes,Praying the God to spare them who guards the Christian fanes;
But Erick and his people lift up the joyful cry—
Our God, the Lord, has conquered; all praise to Him on high!
108
SALVATION.
When the gloom is deepest round thee;
When the bands of grief have bound thee,
And in loneliness and sorrow,
By the poisoned springs of life
Thou sittest, yearning for a morrow,
That will free thee from the strife;
Look not upwards, for above thee
Never sun or star is gleaming;
Look not round for one to love thee;
Put not faith in mortal seeming;
Lightly would they scorn, then leave thee.
Trust not man—he will deceive thee.
When the bands of grief have bound thee,
And in loneliness and sorrow,
By the poisoned springs of life
Thou sittest, yearning for a morrow,
That will free thee from the strife;
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Never sun or star is gleaming;
Look not round for one to love thee;
Put not faith in mortal seeming;
Lightly would they scorn, then leave thee.
Trust not man—he will deceive thee.
But in the depths of thy own soul
Descend; mysterious powers unroll—
Energies that long had slumbered
In its mystic depths unnumbered.
Speak the word!—the power divinest
Will awake, if thou inclinest.
Descend; mysterious powers unroll—
Energies that long had slumbered
In its mystic depths unnumbered.
Speak the word!—the power divinest
Will awake, if thou inclinest.
Thou art lord in thine own kingdom;
Rule thyself—thou rulest all!
Smile, when from its proud dominion
Earthly joy will rudely fall.
Be true unto thyself and hear not
Evil thoughts, that would enslave thee.
God is in thee! Mortal, fear not;
Trust in Him, and He will save thee!
Rule thyself—thou rulest all!
Smile, when from its proud dominion
Earthly joy will rudely fall.
Be true unto thyself and hear not
Evil thoughts, that would enslave thee.
God is in thee! Mortal, fear not;
Trust in Him, and He will save thee!
MISERY IS MYSTERY.
I
Misery his heart hath broken—Misery is mystery!
Let the sad one lonely be;
As the Ancients shunned the token
Of a lightning-blasted tree.
II
Breathe no word, his doom is spoken—Misery is mistery!
By its scathing lightning fated,
Human hearts are consecrated,
For a higher destiny.
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FAREWELL!
Let mine eyes the parting take,
Which my faint lips never can;
Moments such as these might break
Even the sternest heart of man.
Which my faint lips never can;
Moments such as these might break
Even the sternest heart of man.
Mournfully doth Joy's eclipse,
Shroud in grief Love's sweetest sign;
Cold the pressure of thy lips,
Cold the hand that rests in mine.
Shroud in grief Love's sweetest sign;
Cold the pressure of thy lips,
Cold the hand that rests in mine.
Once the slightest stolen kiss—
O, what rapture did it bring!
Like a violet's loveliness,
Found and plucked in early spring.
O, what rapture did it bring!
Like a violet's loveliness,
Found and plucked in early spring.
Now, no more my hand shall twine,
Rose wreaths, sweetest love, for thee;
Without, is summer's glorious prime,
Within, weird autumn's misery.
Rose wreaths, sweetest love, for thee;
Without, is summer's glorious prime,
Within, weird autumn's misery.
111
THE POET AT COURT.
I
He stands alone in the lordly hall—He, with the high, pale brow;
But never a one at the festival
Was half so great, I trow.
They kiss the hand, and they bend the knee,
Slaves to an earthly king!
But the heir of a loftier dynasty
May scorn that courtly ring.
II
They press, with false and flattering words,Around the blood-bought throne;
But the homage never yet won by swords
Is his—the Anointed One!
His sway over every nation
Extendeth from zone to zone:
He reigns as a god o'er creation—
The universe is his own.
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III
No star on his breast is beaming,But the light of his flashing eye
Reveals, in its haughtier gleaming,
The conscious majesty.
For the Poet's crown is the godlike brow—
Away with that golden thing!
Your fealty was never yet due till now—
Kneel to the God-made King!
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'TIS NOT UPON EARTH.
Why comest thou here, so pale and clear,
Thou lone and shadowy child?
“I come from a clime of eternal sun,
Tho' my mother's home is a dreary one;
But Love hath stolen my heart away,
And to seek it through the world I stray.”
Thou lone and shadowy child?
“I come from a clime of eternal sun,
Tho' my mother's home is a dreary one;
But Love hath stolen my heart away,
And to seek it through the world I stray.”
114
Oh, turn thee back to thy native land—
Turn, ere thy heart is blighted;
For, alas! upon this desert strand
True love has never alighted.
Turn, ere thy heart is blighted;
For, alas! upon this desert strand
True love has never alighted.
“My native land is beyond the skies,
Where the perfumed bowers of Eden rise.
But my mother's home is the spectral tomb;
Yet I'll back and rest in its shadowy gloom,
For the grave is still and Heaven is fair,
And the myrtle of love fadeth never there!”
Where the perfumed bowers of Eden rise.
But my mother's home is the spectral tomb;
Yet I'll back and rest in its shadowy gloom,
For the grave is still and Heaven is fair,
And the myrtle of love fadeth never there!”
136
THE PAST.
From the far off time of my youthful prime
A light comes evermore;
Oh! it seems so bright in its far-off light,
The glory I had of yore.
A light comes evermore;
Oh! it seems so bright in its far-off light,
The glory I had of yore.
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What the swallow sang with its silvery clang,
When autumn and spring were near;
What the church bells rung and the choristers sung,
The chant and the song I hear.
When autumn and spring were near;
What the church bells rung and the choristers sung,
The chant and the song I hear.
Oh! that parting day when I went away,
How my heart to joy awoke!
And again I came, but ah! not the same,
For the trusting heart was broke.
How my heart to joy awoke!
And again I came, but ah! not the same,
For the trusting heart was broke.
Since that parting day—that parting day—
Through the fair bright world I've ranged,
And the world is there still as bright and fair—
But I—'tis I have changed.
Through the fair bright world I've ranged,
And the world is there still as bright and fair—
But I—'tis I have changed.
Oh! childhood's truth, with its words of sooth
And its lips as pure as gold,
Like a bird it sung, and its untaught tongue
Was wise as the prophets of old.
And its lips as pure as gold,
Like a bird it sung, and its untaught tongue
Was wise as the prophets of old.
Bright home and hearth, in this joyless dearth,
Could thy holy vision gleam
But once, once more from the far-off shore
Of the past, as a heavenly dream!
Could thy holy vision gleam
But once, once more from the far-off shore
Of the past, as a heavenly dream!
Oh! the swallow may come from her southern home,
The spendthrift regain his gold,
The church bells ring, and the choristers sing
Again as they did of old;
The spendthrift regain his gold,
The church bells ring, and the choristers sing
Again as they did of old;
But the hopes of youth and its trusting truth,
And bright sunny laughter gleams,
Once passed and o'er, can return no more,
Except in the land of dreams.
And bright sunny laughter gleams,
Once passed and o'er, can return no more,
Except in the land of dreams.
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THE FISHERMAN.
I
The water rushes—the water foams—A fisherman sat on the bank,
And calmly gazed on his flowing line,
As it down in the deep wave sank,
The water rushes—the water foams—
The bright waves part asunder,
And with wondering eyes he sees arise
A nymph from the caverns under.
II
She sprang to him—she sang to him—Ah! wherefore dost thou tempt
With thy deadly food, my bright-scaled brood
From out their crystal element?
Could'st thou but know our joy below,
Thou would'st leave the harsh, cold land,
And dwell in our caves 'neath the glittering waves,
As lord of our sparkling band.
III
See you not now the bright sun bowTo gaze on his form here;
And the pale moon's face wears a softer grace
In the depths of our silver sphere.
See the fleecy shroud of the azure cloud
In the heaven beneath the sea;
And look at thine eyes, what a glory lies
In their lustre. Come, look with me.
IV
The water rushes—the water foams—The cool wave kiss'd his feet.
The maiden's eyes were like azure skies,
And her voice was low and sweet.
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O'er the glittering stream they lean;
Half drew she him, half sunk he in,
And never more was seen.
142
THE EXILE.
I
Spring's sweet odours from the meadowFling their fragrance far and wide,
And the tall trees cast the shadow
Of the winter's gloom aside;
But for me no spring is bearing
Gladness to my heart despairing;
Comes no more with soothing power
Kindly voice, or friendly hand,
Song of home, or breath of flower,
From my own dear native land.
II
High in Heaven, circling nightly,Moon and stars shine overhead;
Mighty rivers rush on brightly
To the ocean's distant bed;
But for me, in sorrow pining,
Star and stream in vain are shining,
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By a foreign shore I stand,
Thinking of the friends that love me,
In my own dear far-off land
DEATH WISHES.
Oh! might I pass as the evening ray
Melts in the deep'ning twilight away;
Calmly and gently thus would I die,
Untainted by ills of mortality.
Melts in the deep'ning twilight away;
Calmly and gently thus would I die,
Untainted by ills of mortality.
Oh! might I pass as the silver star
That glitters in radiant light afar.
Thus silent and sorrowless fade from sight,
Lost in the deep blue ether of night.
That glitters in radiant light afar.
Thus silent and sorrowless fade from sight,
Lost in the deep blue ether of night.
Oh! might I pass as the fragrant breath
Springing from violets crushed to death,
And rise from the dull, cold earthly sod,
As an incense-cloud to the throne of God.
Springing from violets crushed to death,
And rise from the dull, cold earthly sod,
As an incense-cloud to the throne of God.
Oh! might I pass as the morning showers
Drank by the sun from the cups of flowers:
Would that the fire of eternal love
Thus exhaled my life-weary soul above!
Drank by the sun from the cups of flowers:
Would that the fire of eternal love
Thus exhaled my life-weary soul above!
Oh! might I pass as Æolian notes,
When over the chords the soft wind floats:
But ere the silver strings are at rest,
Find an echo within the Creator's breast.
When over the chords the soft wind floats:
But ere the silver strings are at rest,
Find an echo within the Creator's breast.
“Thou wilt not pass in music or light,
Nor silently sink in the ether of night,
Nor die the gentle death of the flower,
Nor be drank by the sun like a morning shower.
Nor silently sink in the ether of night,
Nor die the gentle death of the flower,
Nor be drank by the sun like a morning shower.
“Thou wilt pass, but not till thy beauty is withered,
Not till thy powers and hopes lie shivered:
Silence and beauty are Nature's death-token;
But the poor human heart, ere it die—must be broken!”
Not till thy powers and hopes lie shivered:
Silence and beauty are Nature's death-token;
But the poor human heart, ere it die—must be broken!”
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TRISTAN AND ISOLDE.
THE LOVE SIN.
None, unless the saints above,
Knew the secret of their love;
For with calm and stately grace
Isolde held her queenly place,
Tho' the courtiers' hundred eyes
Sought the lovers to surprise,
Or to read the mysteries
Of a love—so rumour said—
By a magic philtre fed,
Which for ever in their veins
Burn'd with love's consuming pains.
Knew the secret of their love;
For with calm and stately grace
Isolde held her queenly place,
Tho' the courtiers' hundred eyes
Sought the lovers to surprise,
Or to read the mysteries
Of a love—so rumour said—
By a magic philtre fed,
Which for ever in their veins
Burn'd with love's consuming pains.
Yet their hands would twine unseen,
In a clasp 'twere hard to sever;
And whoso watched their glances meet,
Gazing as they'd gaze for ever,
Might have marked the sudden heat
Crims'ning on each flushing cheek,
As the tell-tale blood would speak
Of love that never should have been—
The love of Tristan and his Queen.
In a clasp 'twere hard to sever;
And whoso watched their glances meet,
Gazing as they'd gaze for ever,
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Crims'ning on each flushing cheek,
As the tell-tale blood would speak
Of love that never should have been—
The love of Tristan and his Queen.
But, what hinders that the two,
In the spring of their young life,
Love each other as they do?
Thus the tempting thoughts begin—
Little recked they of the sin;
Nature joined them hand in hand,
Is not that a truer band
Than the formal name of wife?
In the spring of their young life,
Love each other as they do?
Thus the tempting thoughts begin—
Little recked they of the sin;
Nature joined them hand in hand,
Is not that a truer band
Than the formal name of wife?
Ah! what happy hours were theirs!
One might note them at the feast
Laughing low to loving airs,
Loving airs that pleased them best;
Or interchanging the swift glance
In the mazes of the dance.
So the sunny moments rolled,
And they wove bright threads of gold
Through the common web of life;
Never dreaming of annoy,
Or the wild world's wicked strife;
Painting earth and heaven above
In the light of their own joy,
In the purple light of love.
One might note them at the feast
Laughing low to loving airs,
Loving airs that pleased them best;
Or interchanging the swift glance
In the mazes of the dance.
So the sunny moments rolled,
And they wove bright threads of gold
Through the common web of life;
Never dreaming of annoy,
Or the wild world's wicked strife;
Painting earth and heaven above
In the light of their own joy,
In the purple light of love.
Happy moments, which again
Brought sweet torments in their train:
All love's petulance and fears,
Wayward doubts and tender tears;
Little jealousies and pride,
That can loving hearts divide:
Murmured vow and clinging kiss,
Working often bane as bliss;
All the wild, capricious changes
Through which lovers' passion ranges.
Brought sweet torments in their train:
All love's petulance and fears,
Wayward doubts and tender tears;
Little jealousies and pride,
That can loving hearts divide:
Murmured vow and clinging kiss,
Working often bane as bliss;
All the wild, capricious changes
Through which lovers' passion ranges.
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WHY WEEPEST THOU?
Why weepest thou?
A few more hours dreary,
And thy spirit, the world weary
Beneath the icy hand of death must bow;
But the fetters then will fall,
And the soul redeemed from thrall,
Will upwards mount in joy, tho' chainéd now—
Why weepest thou?
A few more hours dreary,
And thy spirit, the world weary
Beneath the icy hand of death must bow;
But the fetters then will fall,
And the soul redeemed from thrall,
Will upwards mount in joy, tho' chainéd now—
Why weepest thou?
The great Eternal One,
Round whom the planets roll,
Beholds each suffering soul
Prostrate in mortal grief before His Throne;
He numbers every tear,
He stills the throb of fear,
He guides us to our heavenly native zone—
The great Eternal One.
Round whom the planets roll,
Beholds each suffering soul
Prostrate in mortal grief before His Throne;
He numbers every tear,
He stills the throb of fear,
He guides us to our heavenly native zone—
The great Eternal One.
169
Then still thy fears!
Behold thy glorious home,
Yon star-roofed azure dome—
How infinite thy Father's house appears!
There, ah! there we'll rest,
Poor weak ones, on His breast;
Then, mourner, let thy frail heart break in tears,
But still thy fears!
Behold thy glorious home,
Yon star-roofed azure dome—
How infinite thy Father's house appears!
There, ah! there we'll rest,
Poor weak ones, on His breast;
Then, mourner, let thy frail heart break in tears,
But still thy fears!
171
THE FATE OF THE LYRIST.
The soul is ever clinging unto form;
Action, not abstract thought, alone can warm
The great heart of humanity—in life's fierce storm
Pass they the Lyrist by.
Action, not abstract thought, alone can warm
The great heart of humanity—in life's fierce storm
Pass they the Lyrist by.
The Dramatist may wear triumphant bays;
And see the wondering people's tranc'd amaze,
The while unrolls great Homer to their gaze,
His gorgeous, many-coloured tapestry.
And see the wondering people's tranc'd amaze,
The while unrolls great Homer to their gaze,
His gorgeous, many-coloured tapestry.
But lofty Pindar's heaven-directed flight,
Petrarca's song, mystic and sad as night,
Fall dull upon the common ear—their might
Is to the world a mystery.
Petrarca's song, mystic and sad as night,
Fall dull upon the common ear—their might
Is to the world a mystery.
Such spirits dwell but with the spiritual—
Their godlike souls disdaining to enthrall;
Within the limits of the actual,
Men pass, unheeding the divinity.
Their godlike souls disdaining to enthrall;
Within the limits of the actual,
Men pass, unheeding the divinity.
Their name, indeed, is echoed by the crowd;
But from amidst the masses earthward bowed,
Few lift the head, with kindred soul endowed,
To list their Orphic melody.
But from amidst the masses earthward bowed,
Few lift the head, with kindred soul endowed,
To list their Orphic melody.
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THE POET'S DESTINY.
The Priest of Beauty, the Anointed One,Through the wide world passes the Poet on.
All that is noble by his word is crown'd,
But on his brow th' Acanthus wreath is bound.
Eternal temples rise beneath his hand,
While his own griefs are written in the sand;
He plants the blooming gardens, trails the vine—
But others wear the flowers, drink the wine;
He plunges in the depths of life to seek
Rich joys for other hearts—his own may break.
Like the poor diver beneath Indian skies,
He flings the pearl upon the shore—and dies;
DÉSILLUSION.
Too soon, alas! too soon I plunged into the world with tone and clang,And they scarcely comprehended what the Poet wildly sang.
Not the spirit-glance deep gazing into nature's inmost soul,
Not the mystic aspirations that the Poet's words unroll.
Cold and spiritless and silent—yea, with scorn received they me,
Whilst on meaner brows around me wreath'd the laurel crown I see.
And I, who in my bosom felt the godlike nature glow,
I wore the mask of folly while I sang of deepest woe.
But, courage! years may pass—this mortal frame be laid in earth,
But my spirit reign triumphant in the country of my birth!
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THE PRISONERS.
CHRISTMAS, 1869.
I
Has not vengeance been sated at last?Will the holy and beautiful chimes
Ring out the old wrongs of the past,
Ring in the new glories and times?
Will the eyes of the pale prisoners rest
Once again on their loved mountain scenes,
When the crimson of East or of West
Falls o'er them as mantles on Queens?
Will they muse once again by the sea,
List the thunder of waves on the strand,
As exultant, as fearless and free
As the foam-flakes that dash on the land?
Will they lift their wan faces to God
In the radiant, bright, infinite air,
Press their lips to the old native sod
In a rapture of praise and of prayer?
II
Ah, the years of their young lives pass over,Still wept out in dungeons alone,
Where the lips of a wife, child, or mother
Were never yet pressed to their own;
Years of torture and sorrow and trials,
In the gloom of the desolate cell,
Where the wrath of the sevenfold vials
Seem poured to turn Earth to a Hell;
Where strong brains are seared into madness,
And burning hearts frozen to stone,
And despair surges over life's gladness,
And young life goes out with a moan,
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When the last fatal sentence was said,
All ties that are tender and human
Were rent as from those that are dead.
III
They were young then, in youth's glorious fashionWith a pulse-throb of fire in each vein,
And the glow and the splendours of passion
Flashing up from the heart to the brain.
Sharp as falchions their keen words reproving—
Great words moved by no coward breath—
And no crime on their souls save of loving
Their Country with love strong as death.
Oh, their hearts, how they leaped to the surface,
As a sword from the scabbard unsheathed,
Their pale faces stern with a purpose,
Their brows with Fate's cypress enwreathed,
Grave, earnest, the judgment unheeding,
Or the wreck of their lives lying prone,
From these doomed lips the strong spirits' pleading
Soared up from man's bar to God's Throne.
IV
“We but taught men,” they said, “from the pages,Graven deep in our history and soil,
From the Litanies poured through the ages
Of sorrow, and torture, and toil;
By the insults, the mockings, the scornings,
The bondage on body and soul;
By the ruin, the slaughters, the burnings,
When death was the patriot's goal;
By the falsehood enthroned in high places,
By the feeble hearts cowering within,
By the slave-brand read plain on their faces,
Though the ermine might cover the sin.
We were broken and sundered and shattered,
Made thrall by the tyrant's strong arm,
To the wild waves and fierce winds were scattered
As dead leaves swept on by the storm.
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To build up the wrongs that we see,
But each age, too, gives heroes aspirant
Of the Fame or the death of the Free!”
V
Oh, Chimes ringing out in our city,Oh, Angels that walk to and fro,
Oh, Christ-words of pardon and pity,
Can ye speak to those souls lying low
In a sorrow no festal chime scatters,
In a night where no Angel appears,
The wasted limbs heavy with fetters,
The weary heart heavy with tears;
With the ghost of dead youth crushing on them,
And the gloom of the years yet to be,
With a blackness of darkness upon them
As of night when it falls on the sea?
VI
When the Christmas bells ring out at evenThe song of the Angels' bright spheres,
Their sad eyes will strain up to Heaven,
Their bread will be bitter with tears.
Through our laughter will come that sad vision,
Through the ivy-wreathed wine-cup's red glow,
Through our wassail the wail from their prison,
Lamentation and mourning and woe.
With sorrow wrapped round like a garment,
With ashes for joy as their crown,
With bonds tight'ning close as a cerement
They wait till God's morning comes down;
Yet no echo from their lips will falter
Of the solemn, sweet carol or song,
But a cry, as of souls 'neath the Altar,
“How long! oh, our Lord God, how long?”
176
THE DAWN.
What of the night, O Watcher on the Tower?
Is the Day dawning through the golden bars?
Comes it through the midnight, over clouds that lower,
Trailing robes of crimson mid the fading stars?
Is the Day dawning through the golden bars?
Comes it through the midnight, over clouds that lower,
Trailing robes of crimson mid the fading stars?
“Through the rent clouds I see a splendour gleaming,
Rolling down the darkness to the far Heaven's rim,
While through the mist the glorious Dawn upstreaming
Rises like the music of a grand choral hymn.”
Rolling down the darkness to the far Heaven's rim,
While through the mist the glorious Dawn upstreaming
Rises like the music of a grand choral hymn.”
From the deep valleys where the whirlwind passes,
Hear you the tramp of the coming hosts of men,
Strong in their manhood, mighty in their masses,
Swift as rushing torrents down a mountain glen?
Hear you the tramp of the coming hosts of men,
Strong in their manhood, mighty in their masses,
Swift as rushing torrents down a mountain glen?
“Far as eye can reach, where purple mists are lifted,
Thousands upon thousands are gathering in might,
Powerful as tempests when giant sails are rifted,
Beautiful as ocean in the sun's silver light.”
Thousands upon thousands are gathering in might,
Powerful as tempests when giant sails are rifted,
Beautiful as ocean in the sun's silver light.”
See you their Banner in the free air proudly
Waving, as an oriflamme a king might bear,
Has it no legend—dare we utter loudly
All that a people may have written there?
Waving, as an oriflamme a king might bear,
Has it no legend—dare we utter loudly
All that a people may have written there?
“I see their Banner in the red dawn flashing—
Haughty is the legend, plain to all men's sight,
Traced in their heart's blood, which the breeze upcatching,
Flings out in flame-words—Liberty and Right!
Haughty is the legend, plain to all men's sight,
Traced in their heart's blood, which the breeze upcatching,
Flings out in flame-words—Liberty and Right!
“Onward they come, still gathering in power,
Serried ranks of men o'er the crimson-clouded lawn;
Banners glisten brightly in the golden shower
Pouring through the portals of the golden Dawn.
Serried ranks of men o'er the crimson-clouded lawn;
Banners glisten brightly in the golden shower
Pouring through the portals of the golden Dawn.
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“Each bears a symbol, glorious in its meaning,
Holy as the music of the crown'd Bard's Psalm:
Faith gazing upward, on her Anchor leaning,
Peace with the Olive, and Mercy with the Palm.”
Holy as the music of the crown'd Bard's Psalm:
Faith gazing upward, on her Anchor leaning,
Peace with the Olive, and Mercy with the Palm.”
Long have we waited, O Watcher, for the vision,
Splendid in promise we now can see it rise,
Scattering the darkness, while with hero-mission
Brave hands uplift Hope's banner to the skies.
Splendid in promise we now can see it rise,
Scattering the darkness, while with hero-mission
Brave hands uplift Hope's banner to the skies.
Not with vain clamour, but the soul's strength revealing
In the golden silence of all great true deeds,
Banded in strength for human rights appealing,
Banded in love for our poor human needs.
In the golden silence of all great true deeds,
Banded in strength for human rights appealing,
Banded in love for our poor human needs.
Bitter was the Past; let it rest, a new Æon
Preaches a new Gospel to man not in vain,
Earth through all her kingdoms echoes back the Pæan
Chanted once by Angels on the star-lit plain.
Preaches a new Gospel to man not in vain,
Earth through all her kingdoms echoes back the Pæan
Chanted once by Angels on the star-lit plain.
Brotherhood of Nations, disdaining ancient quarrel,
Brotherhood of Peoples, flushed with a nobler rage,
Palm branch and Olive let us mingle with the Laurel
In the radiant future of the coming Age!
Brotherhood of Peoples, flushed with a nobler rage,
Palm branch and Olive let us mingle with the Laurel
In the radiant future of the coming Age!
178
AN APPEAL TO IRELAND.
I
The sin of our race is upon us,The pitiless, cruel disdain
Of brother for brother, tho' coiling
Round both is the one fatal chain;
And aimless and reckless and useless
Our lives pass along to the grave
In tumults of words that bewilder,
And the conflicts of slave with slave.
II
Yet shadows are heavy around us,The darkness of sin and of shame,
While the souls of the Nation to slumber
Are lulled by vain visions of fame;
True hearts, passion-wasted, and breaking
With sense of our infinite wrong,
Oh! wake them, nor dread the awaking,
We need all the strength of the strong.
III
For we rage with senseless endeavoursIn a fever of wild unrest,
While glory lies trampled, dishonoured,
Death-pale, with a wound in her breast;
Had we loosened one chain from the spirit,
Had we strove from the ruin of things
To build up a Temple of Concord,
More fair than the palace of Kings;
IV
Our name might be heard where the NationsPress on to the van of the fight,
Where Progress makes war upon Evil,
And Darkness is scattered by Light
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To lay at the feet of their King,
But we—what have we but the wine-cup
Of wrath and of sorrow to bring?
V
Let us ask of our souls, lying underThe doom of this bondage and ban,
Why we, made by God high as Angels,
Should fall so much lower than man;
Some indeed have been with us would scale
Heav'n's heights for life-fire if they dare—
But the vultures now gnaw at their hearts
Evermore on the rocks of Despair.
VI
Let us think, when we stand before God,On the Day of the Judgment roll,
And He asks of the work we have done
In the strength of each God-like soul;
Can we answer—“Our prayers have gone up
As light from the stars and the sun,
And Thy blessing came down on our deeds
As a crown when the victory's won.
VII
“We fought with wild beasts, wilder passions,As of old did the saints of God,
Tho' our life-blood ran red in the dust
Of the fierce arena we trod;
We led up Thy people triumphant
From Egypt's dark bondage of sin,
And made the fair land which Thou gavest
All glorious without and within.
VIII
“We changed to a measure of musicThe discord and wail of her days,
For sorrow gave garments of gladness,
For scorn of her enemies praise;
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Of noble and beautiful lives,
While her chariot of Freedom rolled on
Through the crash of her fallen gyves.”
IX
I ask of you, Princes, and Rulers,I ask of you, Brothers around,
Can ye thus make reply for our people
When the Nations are judged or crowned?
If not, give the reins of the chariot
To men who can curb the wild steeds—
They are nearing the gulf, in this hour
We appeal by our wrongs and our needs.
X
Stand back and give place to new leaders;We need them—some strong gifted souls,
From whose lips, never touched by a falsehood,
The heart's richest eloquence rolls.
True Patriots by grandeur of purpose,
True men by the power of the brain:
The chosen of God to lift upward
His Ark with hands clear of all stain.
XI
We need them to tend the Lord's vineyard,As shepherds to watch round His fold,
With brave words from pure hearts outpouring,
As wine from a chalice of gold;
That the souls of the Nation uplifted,
May shine in new radiance of light,
As of old stood the Prophets transfigured
In glory with Christ on the height.
XII
Far out, where the grand western sunsetsFlush crimson the mountain and sea,
And the echoes of Liberty mingle
With the roar of the waves on the lea;
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The clouds fling a rainbow-hued arch,
And through giant-rent portals a people
Go forth on their sad, solemn march:
XIII
I had dreams of a future of gloryFor this fair motherland of mine,
When knowledge would bring with its splendours
The Human more near the Divine.
And as flash follows flash on the mountains,
When lightnings and thunders are hurled,
So would throb in electrical union
Her soul with the soul of the world.
XIV
For we stand too apart in our darkness,As planets long rent from the sun,
And the mystical breath of the spirit
Scarce touches our hearts sweeping on.
I appeal from this drear isolation
To earth, to the mountains, and sky—
Must we die as of thirst in a desert,
While full tides of life pass us by?
XV
Yet still, through the darkness and sorrow,I dream of a time yet to be,
When from mountain and ocean to Heaven
Will rise up the Hymn of the Free.
When our Country, made perfect through trial,
White-robed, myrtle-crowned, as a Bride,
Will stand forth, “a Lady of Kingdoms,”
Through Light and through Love glorified.
| Poems by Speranza (Lady Wilde) [i.e. Jane Francesca Elgee] | |