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141
POEMS.
143
LYRICS OF PERICLES.
I.—INVOCATION TO CERES.
Goddess of the golden horn,
Plenty's Queen when man was born,
Hear us where we bend the knee
To thine high divinity:
Hear the infant's hungering cry,
Mothers' prayer no more deny:
Shed thy store o'er field and town,
Ceres, send thy blessing down.
Plenty's Queen when man was born,
Hear us where we bend the knee
To thine high divinity:
Hear the infant's hungering cry,
Mothers' prayer no more deny:
Shed thy store o'er field and town,
Ceres, send thy blessing down.
Want and Woe stalk hand in hand
Through the parched and blighted land;
Poppies o'er the leaguered plain
Kiss to death the poisoned grain,
And the wavy sheaves of gold
Wither in their spectral fold:
Wear again thine harvest-crown,
Ceres, send thy blessing down.
Through the parched and blighted land;
Poppies o'er the leaguered plain
Kiss to death the poisoned grain,
And the wavy sheaves of gold
Wither in their spectral fold:
Wear again thine harvest-crown,
Ceres, send thy blessing down.
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II.—MARCH AND BACCHANAL.
Evoë, Bacchus, the King!
Evoë, Bacchus, we sing!
Cymbal and thyrsus we bring, Evoë!
Evoë, Bacchus, we sing!
Cymbal and thyrsus we bring, Evoë!
Leaving Cithæron in shade,
Come with the Graces arrayed,
Come with the Asian maid, Evoë!
Come with the Graces arrayed,
Come with the Asian maid, Evoë!
When Ariadne deplored
Theseus her lover and lord,
Thou wast the healer adored, Evoë!
Theseus her lover and lord,
Thou wast the healer adored, Evoë!
Semele's offspring divine,
Giver of glorious wine,
Gladness and madness are thine, Evoë!
Giver of glorious wine,
Gladness and madness are thine, Evoë!
Come, then, our King in thy pride,
Come on thy panther astride,
Choose thee our fairest for bride, Evoë!
Come on thy panther astride,
Choose thee our fairest for bride, Evoë!
She whom thou wilt shall enfold
Thee with her tresses of gold,
Sounding thy pæan of old, Evoë!
Thee with her tresses of gold,
Sounding thy pæan of old, Evoë!
Kiss her and lead her along
While we thy votaries throng
Round with the mystical song, Evoë!
While we thy votaries throng
Round with the mystical song, Evoë!
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III.—THAISA'S DIRGE.
Thaisa fair, under the cold sea lying,
Sleeps the long sleep denied to her by Earth;
We, adding sighs unto the wild winds' sighing,
With all our mourning under-mourn her worth:
The white waves toss their crested plumes above her,
Round sorrowing faces with the salt spray wet,
All are her lovers that once learned to love her,
And never may remember to forget:
Shells for her pillow Amphitrite bringeth,
And sad nymphs of the dank weed weave her shroud;
Old Triton's horn her dirge to Ocean singeth,
Whose misty caverns swell the echo loud:
And, while the tides rock to and fro her bier,
What was Thaisa lies entombëd here.
Sleeps the long sleep denied to her by Earth;
We, adding sighs unto the wild winds' sighing,
With all our mourning under-mourn her worth:
The white waves toss their crested plumes above her,
Round sorrowing faces with the salt spray wet,
All are her lovers that once learned to love her,
And never may remember to forget:
Shells for her pillow Amphitrite bringeth,
And sad nymphs of the dank weed weave her shroud;
Old Triton's horn her dirge to Ocean singeth,
Whose misty caverns swell the echo loud:
And, while the tides rock to and fro her bier,
What was Thaisa lies entombëd here.
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IV.—HYMN TO NEPTUNE.
God of the steed and the spear and the Ocean,
Speed thou our barks o'er the wandering foam;
Steer us by reef, and by headland and island,
Outward and onward, and inward and home;
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
Speed thou our barks o'er the wandering foam;
Steer us by reef, and by headland and island,
Outward and onward, and inward and home;
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
Shaker of Earth and upheaver of Water,
Father of Triton and brother of Jove,
Thou at whose bidding Troy rose as a palm-tree,
Under whose branches her warriors strove,
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
Father of Triton and brother of Jove,
Thou at whose bidding Troy rose as a palm-tree,
Under whose branches her warriors strove,
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
Saturn begat thee, and Saturn devoured thee,
But to restore thee to mystical birth;
Neptune some style thee, some call thee Poseidon,
Many thy names as the races of Earth:
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
But to restore thee to mystical birth;
Neptune some style thee, some call thee Poseidon,
Many thy names as the races of Earth:
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
Deep in the sea lies thy palace at Ægæ,
Whence thou arisest to ride on the wave,
Yoking thy golden-maned, brazen-hoofed coursers,
Mighty to ruin, but powerful to save;
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
Whence thou arisest to ride on the wave,
Yoking thy golden-maned, brazen-hoofed coursers,
Mighty to ruin, but powerful to save;
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
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Clouds as thou biddest them gather and scatter,
Come at thy whisper and fly at thy nod;
Look then on us that bow down at thine altars,
King of the Ocean, the Mariners' God!
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
Come at thy whisper and fly at thy nod;
Look then on us that bow down at thine altars,
King of the Ocean, the Mariners' God!
Hail to thee, Neptune! great Neptune, all hail!
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V.—THANKSGIVING ODE.
Enthroned upon a silver beam
Of perfect light,
Our lady reigns as doth beseem
The Queen of Night!
Whate'er thy pastime is,
Dian or Artemis,—
Whether as huntress fair and free,
With strong limbs bared in symmetry,
On sylvan heights the chase thou followest,—
Or veiled, and cold, and pure,
Distillest moonlight for the thirsting flowers,
Receive this hymn of ours,
Offered to thee, our sorrow's royal cure,
In that thou pitiest!
Of perfect light,
Our lady reigns as doth beseem
The Queen of Night!
Whate'er thy pastime is,
Dian or Artemis,—
Whether as huntress fair and free,
With strong limbs bared in symmetry,
On sylvan heights the chase thou followest,—
Or veiled, and cold, and pure,
Distillest moonlight for the thirsting flowers,
Receive this hymn of ours,
Offered to thee, our sorrow's royal cure,
In that thou pitiest!
To thee the grace, white friend of men,
For life restored,
And wife and daughter given again
To sire and lord;
To thee the glory is,
Dian and Artemis!—
Reigning a goddess chrysolite,
Encentred in thy palace-light,
Through thy fair moon the tides thou governest;
And from thy radiant throne,
All woman, bending to our passionate prayer,
Hast sent some spirit rare,
To give us back our jewels for our own,
Plucked from the spoiler's breast.
For life restored,
And wife and daughter given again
To sire and lord;
To thee the glory is,
Dian and Artemis!—
Reigning a goddess chrysolite,
Encentred in thy palace-light,
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And from thy radiant throne,
All woman, bending to our passionate prayer,
Hast sent some spirit rare,
To give us back our jewels for our own,
Plucked from the spoiler's breast.
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“ACROSS THE ESTUARY.”
Vague sounds are stirring in the outer world,
Which wake an echo in the world within me;
The frowning mists across the valley hurled
To saddened musings by the casement win me:
And on my rushing thoughts are borne along
The waves of sudden and unpurposed song.
Which wake an echo in the world within me;
The frowning mists across the valley hurled
To saddened musings by the casement win me:
And on my rushing thoughts are borne along
The waves of sudden and unpurposed song.
But now, the Sun painted in artist-splendour
The varied outlines of the sea and shore;
The sloping woods were bathed in hues so tender,
That master's canvas ne'er such glories wore;
Yet where enrobed in purple gold shone they,
Now spreads a monotone of lifeless gray.
The varied outlines of the sea and shore;
The sloping woods were bathed in hues so tender,
That master's canvas ne'er such glories wore;
Yet where enrobed in purple gold shone they,
Now spreads a monotone of lifeless gray.
The great Enchanter's momentary wand
Darkens the landscape and the mind as one;
The headlands face me o'er the bay beyond
Robbed both of us together of our sun;
And out of unguessed caverns creeps the rain,
To touch the spirit with a nameless pain.
Darkens the landscape and the mind as one;
The headlands face me o'er the bay beyond
Robbed both of us together of our sun;
And out of unguessed caverns creeps the rain,
To touch the spirit with a nameless pain.
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Yon white and flickering sail, which flashed but now
Across the bright waves blue as Brenda's eyes,
Droops wet and wearied o'er the vessel's prow
On hueless wastes caught by a swift surprise,
Which clouds engendered of the vaporous sea
Bring o'er the startled scene to master me.
Across the bright waves blue as Brenda's eyes,
Droops wet and wearied o'er the vessel's prow
On hueless wastes caught by a swift surprise,
Which clouds engendered of the vaporous sea
Bring o'er the startled scene to master me.
Like beacons on the world's uncertain course,
Fair homes set gem-like in the further trees
Seemed whispering of untired Love's quiet force,
A silver girdle linking ours to these;
And for Home's message to that shore from this,
The lapping waters bore a greeting kiss.
Fair homes set gem-like in the further trees
Seemed whispering of untired Love's quiet force,
A silver girdle linking ours to these;
And for Home's message to that shore from this,
The lapping waters bore a greeting kiss.
But now—and so but now—Life seemed to wear
High purpose for a marriage-robe of power,
And all her pulses and her will to share
The sun-enkindled promise of the hour;
Till, as the mist wraps the far shore from view,
It falls as heavy on my spirit too.
High purpose for a marriage-robe of power,
And all her pulses and her will to share
The sun-enkindled promise of the hour;
Till, as the mist wraps the far shore from view,
It falls as heavy on my spirit too.
Is this, then, Life? its pledges sharply broken,
Even at their fairest and most golden link;
Do they the fate of rosy dreams betoken,
Those emerald ripples turned to sullen ink?
And were it wiser anchorless to roam,
Than nail high hopes to the frail walls of Home?
Even at their fairest and most golden link;
Do they the fate of rosy dreams betoken,
Those emerald ripples turned to sullen ink?
And were it wiser anchorless to roam,
Than nail high hopes to the frail walls of Home?
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Off with such burrs of thought! the very spell
Which bids me throw these fancies on the page
Awakes new chords and brighter songs to swell
The happy burden of on-coming age,
And Cloudland's fretful shapes to soar above
To the fixed firmament of God and Love.
Which bids me throw these fancies on the page
Awakes new chords and brighter songs to swell
The happy burden of on-coming age,
And Cloudland's fretful shapes to soar above
To the fixed firmament of God and Love.
Out and beyond the steady light is shining,
Which from the steady heart no mist can veil,
Bright beyond man's divinest of divining,
Where all his mists of thought must melt and fail,
And, as e'en now the clouds roll off the shore,
Obscure the homes of promise nevermore.
Which from the steady heart no mist can veil,
Bright beyond man's divinest of divining,
Where all his mists of thought must melt and fail,
And, as e'en now the clouds roll off the shore,
Obscure the homes of promise nevermore.
Portlemouth, S. Devon, 18th August, 1883.
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THE SUNSET WINTER.
Wearing Aurora's robe, night after night,Some radiant spirit rules the western sky,
Drowning the sun-tints with such rich supply
Of colours weaved of unremembered light,
That it would seem the Master-painter's might
Had wrought anew His palette there on high,
To tell the tired world rainbows shall not die,
Which first His pledge of promise did indite.
Forged newly like a steel-blue scimitar,
The crescent Moon shines keener than of old,
And, as the drawn sword of one armed for war,
Marshals those hosts of crimson, green, and gold,
Till underneath the quiet Evening Star
The great review pales out into the cold.
Eastbourne, November-December, 1883.
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THE LAY OF THE LIFEBOAT.
Stern on the Sussex Downs she watched, the England of our sires,
When west the Armada's challenge woke the answer of her fires;
And Beachy flashed the beacon on, high o'er the encircling main,
Which lit to ruin and to wreck the imperial hosts of Spain.
When west the Armada's challenge woke the answer of her fires;
And Beachy flashed the beacon on, high o'er the encircling main,
Which lit to ruin and to wreck the imperial hosts of Spain.
So watched she still, when once again the ages' pauseless beat
Saw Europe, bleeding and disarmed, prone at Napoleon's feet;
In iron grip of iron sons, unconquered as of old,
Among her cliffs lay England then—strong, resolute, and bold.
Saw Europe, bleeding and disarmed, prone at Napoleon's feet;
In iron grip of iron sons, unconquered as of old,
Among her cliffs lay England then—strong, resolute, and bold.
Cold on the great cold sea she looks, her rocks defying yet
The foremost of the world to rob her priceless coronet;
While yet thro' all her island hearts the glorious message runs,
Which fires with courage all their own, the manhood of her sons.
The foremost of the world to rob her priceless coronet;
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Which fires with courage all their own, the manhood of her sons.
Far from the old Norwegian coast, full on the rockline driven,
His hope the storm-racked sailor finds in Englishmen and Heaven:
And on the wild and awful waste his wail of anguish swells,
Ere on the seaside town has died the peal of Sabbath bells.
His hope the storm-racked sailor finds in Englishmen and Heaven:
And on the wild and awful waste his wail of anguish swells,
Ere on the seaside town has died the peal of Sabbath bells.
The sinking lives ring out all day their unavailing cry,
While furious waves show fiercer coast, and veil but hope and sky.
Ne'er in the face of storm like this lived craft of mortal manned;
So to the cliff, in strength not ours, the Lifeboat drag by land.
While furious waves show fiercer coast, and veil but hope and sky.
Ne'er in the face of storm like this lived craft of mortal manned;
So to the cliff, in strength not ours, the Lifeboat drag by land.
Drag the long miles up rock and hill, and struggle, man and horse,
Till the brave boat the outlook gain thro' that determined force;
Then lower by the gap to sea, right through the blinding spray,
To find the savage storm had rent all foothold sheer away!
Till the brave boat the outlook gain thro' that determined force;
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To find the savage storm had rent all foothold sheer away!
The sinking lives are living yet; but voiceless, hopeless, vain;
The gulf is all too deep to pass, and fiercer beats the rain;
But yet shall courage force the road, if there be help in men,
So do the thing impossible, and build the way again.
The gulf is all too deep to pass, and fiercer beats the rain;
But yet shall courage force the road, if there be help in men,
So do the thing impossible, and build the way again.
They gather timber to the work, they bridge it right or wrong,
And for the small devoted crew they make the passage strong;
“Pray for us, lads,” the master cries, “that we return once more!”
And full into the boiling surf the boat bounds from the shore.
And for the small devoted crew they make the passage strong;
“Pray for us, lads,” the master cries, “that we return once more!”
And full into the boiling surf the boat bounds from the shore.
She breasts and breaks the giant crests—she battles for an hour,—
And nerves the living power of men, blind force to overpower;
In very teeth of hope and chance, the desperate fray survives,
And one by one, and missing none, brings back her tale of lives.
And nerves the living power of men, blind force to overpower;
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And one by one, and missing none, brings back her tale of lives.
No! never since the name was sired, in Time's eternal race,
Has Englishman with grander front met terror face to face;
Or careless all of self and life, for men and lives unknown,
Through nobler conflict ever laid such offerings at the throne.
Has Englishman with grander front met terror face to face;
Or careless all of self and life, for men and lives unknown,
Through nobler conflict ever laid such offerings at the throne.
Have we no fear; when England sleeps, she sleeps but in the sun,
For English hands can do again what English hands have done:
While honour bows to heroes' work, be His the glory still,
Who wakes such souls with clarion call, to answer with a will.
For English hands can do again what English hands have done:
While honour bows to heroes' work, be His the glory still,
Who wakes such souls with clarion call, to answer with a will.
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A LOST MORNING.
Oh, foolish world! The writer's necromancy
At times is powerless on the restive pen;
And the blank page reflects the lagging fancy,
Which has no message then.
At times is powerless on the restive pen;
And the blank page reflects the lagging fancy,
Which has no message then.
The honest schoolboy, of his cricket dreaming,
Could trace no ruder figures o'er the slate
Than those which yield my brain, with Nothing teeming,
Outlet articulate.
Could trace no ruder figures o'er the slate
Than those which yield my brain, with Nothing teeming,
Outlet articulate.
My tale of work, in well-considered order,
Lies fair before me on the laden desk;
But nothing in me speaks, save dreams that border
The grave with the grotesque.
Lies fair before me on the laden desk;
But nothing in me speaks, save dreams that border
The grave with the grotesque.
Plans jotted down for many-sided labour,
Invite in turn from various pigeon-holes,
Where the next story has some play for neighbour,
Stocked with imagined souls.
Invite in turn from various pigeon-holes,
Where the next story has some play for neighbour,
Stocked with imagined souls.
Yet spite of Will (o'er which men make such pother),
I cannot call one spirit from the deep,
Where all the thoughts, which crowded each on other,
Like very Merlin sleep.
I cannot call one spirit from the deep,
Where all the thoughts, which crowded each on other,
Like very Merlin sleep.
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Is it the sweet and heavy hum of Summer,
Full charged with the mesmeric scent of thyme,
That, through my window an unbidden comer,
Dissolves them into rhyme?
Full charged with the mesmeric scent of thyme,
That, through my window an unbidden comer,
Dissolves them into rhyme?
Is it the Sun, in his new kinghood sharing
The message of pure luxury with me,
Which to the footsteps of his throne is bearing
The murmur of the sea?—
The message of pure luxury with me,
Which to the footsteps of his throne is bearing
The murmur of the sea?—
And whispering, “Rest thee, over-anxious mortal,
Awhile oblivious of the world's commands,
Content to offer at my golden portal
A chaplet from thy hands.
Awhile oblivious of the world's commands,
Content to offer at my golden portal
A chaplet from thy hands.
“E'en weave it as thou wilt; thy garden musters
Mute hints of ditties to inspire the lute;
And to thy lips and sense stoop mingled clusters
Of glowing flower and fruit.
Mute hints of ditties to inspire the lute;
And to thy lips and sense stoop mingled clusters
Of glowing flower and fruit.
“Bring me no ode of an heroic measure;
Tell me no tale; seek no satiric theme;
But merely babble, out of very pleasure,
Thine unconnected dream.”
Tell me no tale; seek no satiric theme;
But merely babble, out of very pleasure,
Thine unconnected dream.”
What could I answer? All the heat was singing,
The insect chorus hummed in undertone;
Slow to my feet my mighty dog was bringing
A too-exacting bone.
The insect chorus hummed in undertone;
Slow to my feet my mighty dog was bringing
A too-exacting bone.
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So happy in mere happiness of living,
I let the hours slip unimprovëd by,
And, past the hope of cultured man's forgiving,
Thus “diem perdidi”.
I let the hours slip unimprovëd by,
And, past the hope of cultured man's forgiving,
Thus “diem perdidi”.
So have I writ lines that begin and end not,
An idle morning's thriftless castaway;
For whence they came, and whither tend or tend not,
Critic! 'tis thine to say.
An idle morning's thriftless castaway;
For whence they came, and whither tend or tend not,
Critic! 'tis thine to say.
Eastbourne, 2nd July, 1884.
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LYRICS FROM THE GERMAN.
I
A shelter,—spent and tempest-driven
Mid winter's strife,—
I sought, and found the boon of Heaven,
Eternal life.
Oh Word, how is thy truth confessed!
Who seeketh part, shall find the whole;
I asked but for the wanderer's rest,
And found the traveller's goal.
Mid winter's strife,—
I sought, and found the boon of Heaven,
Eternal life.
Oh Word, how is thy truth confessed!
Who seeketh part, shall find the whole;
I asked but for the wanderer's rest,
And found the traveller's goal.
I asked some kindly door to ope for
My weary head;
The heart of Love I dared not hope for
Stood wide instead.
Oh Word, how is thy truth confessed!
Who sues for little, all has won;
I, that would be thy winter-guest,
Was thy belovëd son.
My weary head;
The heart of Love I dared not hope for
Stood wide instead.
Oh Word, how is thy truth confessed!
Who sues for little, all has won;
I, that would be thy winter-guest,
Was thy belovëd son.
II.
I love thee for that love thee, dear, I must;
I love thee, for 'twas so my lot befell;
I love thee by some Heavenly arrow-thrust;
I love thee by the working of a spell.
Thee love I as the rose, sweet, loves the briar;
Thee love I as the Sun his light on high;
Thee love I, life-breath of my life's desire;
Thee love I, whom to love not is to die.
I love thee, for 'twas so my lot befell;
I love thee by some Heavenly arrow-thrust;
I love thee by the working of a spell.
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Thee love I as the Sun his light on high;
Thee love I, life-breath of my life's desire;
Thee love I, whom to love not is to die.
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TO MAUD.
Fair mystery of God, we cannot knowThe thrilling secret hid behind thine eyes,
Full of strange meaning we may not surprise
From the vexed passage of our life below;
Robbed of the dearest privilege we owe
Hearing, and all that in the hearing lies,
How poor the richest that man's hand supplies
To lend thee all the growth that here may grow!
Weak children that we are, weak we remain
To ease the burden of such griefs as this,
And from the shadow of a nameless pain
Grasp but the sunlight of a future bliss,
Knowing the life was never lived in vain,
That yields such answers to a mother's kiss.
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