 | The White Pilgrim and Other Poems |  |
81
OCCASIONAL POEMS.
83
HORACE'S GHOST.
(A DEDICATION.)
Gentle reader—patron mine—Born of old and patient line,
Some with eager zest embrace
Glories of the field and chase;
Covet these the athlete's prize,
Guerdon meet in lady's eyes;
Those, Ambition's clarion calls
To the Commons' storied halls,
Heart and Will by Fancy set
On the star and coronet;
Battle some for golden gain,
Garners stored with Indian grain;
Him, the wealth Golconda yields
Tempts not from his father's fields,
On a sea-bound bark to roam
From the safety of his home;
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Dull repose from wind and main,
Praising Ease—to test anew
Fragile freight and careless crew:
Some the wine-cup's vigils keep;
Some in busy daylight sleep
By the crystal fountain's sheen,
Or beneath the covert green;
Blithe the soldier springs to arms,
Vainly Beauty woos and charms,
When the boar and tiger near
Tempt the hunter's gun and spear.
Godlike all our pleasures be,
For the Lords of Earth are we.
Ivied Muse of frolic song,
Set me 'mid thy joyous throng;
Do not all thy smiles deny
To thy constant votary!
Let me win the lowest place
In thy dear and winsome grace;—
Happy then, and passion-free,
Earth has naught to offer me.
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OLD AND NEW ROME.
What came we forth to see? a fair or race?
Some hero fêted by an eager crowd?
Or would we do some favoured princeling grace,
That thus we herd so close, and talk so loud?
Some hero fêted by an eager crowd?
Or would we do some favoured princeling grace,
That thus we herd so close, and talk so loud?
Pushing and struggling, fighting, crushing, shouting,
What are these motley gazers here to seek,
Like merry-makers on a summer outing?
'Tis but the services of Holy Week.
What are these motley gazers here to seek,
Like merry-makers on a summer outing?
'Tis but the services of Holy Week.
The Eternal City swarms with eager strangers
From every quarter of the busy earth;
Who fill the temples like the money-changers,
And say some prayers—for what they may be worth.
From every quarter of the busy earth;
Who fill the temples like the money-changers,
And say some prayers—for what they may be worth.
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In never-ending tide of restless motion,
They come to burn, in fashion rather odd,
The incense of their polyglot devotion,
Before the altars of the Latin God.
They come to burn, in fashion rather odd,
The incense of their polyglot devotion,
Before the altars of the Latin God.
As flock the Londoners to Epsom Races,
Or form a “queue” to see the newest play,
So do the pilgrim-tourists fight for places
Before the chapels in their zeal to pray.
Or form a “queue” to see the newest play,
So do the pilgrim-tourists fight for places
Before the chapels in their zeal to pray.
From holy place to holy place they flit,
To “do” as many churches as they can;
And humbly kneeling, for the fun of it,
They climb the ladder of the Lateran.
To “do” as many churches as they can;
And humbly kneeling, for the fun of it,
They climb the ladder of the Lateran.
Here some fair maid, her Heavenward journey steering,
Where by Swiss bayonets the way is barred,
Nor Law, nor Pope, nor Antonelli fearing—
Breaks through the lines of the astonished guard.
Where by Swiss bayonets the way is barred,
Nor Law, nor Pope, nor Antonelli fearing—
Breaks through the lines of the astonished guard.
In customary suit of solemn black,
With string of beads and veil à l'Espagnole,
She means to “see it all;” to keep her back
Would be to peril her immortal soul.
With string of beads and veil à l'Espagnole,
She means to “see it all;” to keep her back
Would be to peril her immortal soul.
There a slim youth, while all but he are kneeling,
Through levelled opera-glass looks down on them,
When round the Sistine's pictured roof is pealing
Our buried Lord's majestic Requiem.
Through levelled opera-glass looks down on them,
When round the Sistine's pictured roof is pealing
Our buried Lord's majestic Requiem.
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For him each storied wonder of the globe is
“The sort of thing a fellow ought to see;”
And so he patronised Ora pro nobis,
And wanted to encore the Tenebræ.
“The sort of thing a fellow ought to see;”
And so he patronised Ora pro nobis,
And wanted to encore the Tenebræ.
Stranger! what though these sounds and sights be grandest
Of all that on Earth's surface can be found?
Remember that the place whereon thou standest,
Be thy creed what it may, is holy ground.
Of all that on Earth's surface can be found?
Remember that the place whereon thou standest,
Be thy creed what it may, is holy ground.
Yet I have gaped and worshipped with the rest—
I, too, beneath St. Peter's lofty dome
Have seen, in all their richest colours dressed,
The golden glories of historic Rome;
I, too, beneath St. Peter's lofty dome
Have seen, in all their richest colours dressed,
The golden glories of historic Rome;
Have heard the Pontiff's ringing voice bestow,
'Mid cheering multitudes and flags unfurled,
Borne by the cannon of St. Angelo,
His blessing on the “City and the World;”
'Mid cheering multitudes and flags unfurled,
Borne by the cannon of St. Angelo,
His blessing on the “City and the World;”
Have seen—and thrilled with wonder as I gazed—
Ablaze with living lines of golden light,
Like some fire-throne to the Eternal raised,
The great Basilica burn through the night;
Ablaze with living lines of golden light,
Like some fire-throne to the Eternal raised,
The great Basilica burn through the night;
Have heard the trumpet-notes of Easter Day,
Their silver echoes circling all around,
In strange unearthly music float away,
Stones on the lake translated into sound;—
Their silver echoes circling all around,
In strange unearthly music float away,
Stones on the lake translated into sound;—
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Yet would I wander from the crowd apart,
While heads were bowed and tuneful voices sang,
And through the deep recesses of my heart
A still small voice in solemn warning rang.
While heads were bowed and tuneful voices sang,
And through the deep recesses of my heart
A still small voice in solemn warning rang.
“Oh vanity of vanities! ye seem,
Ye pomps and panoplies of mortal state,
To make this text the matter of your theme,
That God is little, and that Man is great.
Ye pomps and panoplies of mortal state,
To make this text the matter of your theme,
That God is little, and that Man is great.
“Is this parade of the world's wealth and splendour
The lesson of the simple Gospel-word?
Is this the sacrifice of self-surrender
Taught by the lowly followers of the Lord?
The lesson of the simple Gospel-word?
Is this the sacrifice of self-surrender
Taught by the lowly followers of the Lord?
“Do we, who broider thus the garment's hem,
Think of the swaddling-clothes the child had on?
Grace we the casket, to neglect the gem?
Forget we quite the manger for the throne?”
Think of the swaddling-clothes the child had on?
Grace we the casket, to neglect the gem?
Forget we quite the manger for the throne?”
While thus in moralising mood I pondered,
I turned me from the hum of men alone;
And, as my vagrant fancy led me, wandered
Amid the maze of monumented stone.
I turned me from the hum of men alone;
And, as my vagrant fancy led me, wandered
Amid the maze of monumented stone.
The crowd their favourite lions now forswore,
Left galleries and ruins in the lurch;
The cicerone's glory was no more,
For all the world was gathered in the church
Left galleries and ruins in the lurch;
The cicerone's glory was no more,
For all the world was gathered in the church
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So at my will I strayed from place to place,
From classic shrines to modern studios—
Now musing spellbound, where Our Lady's face
In nameless godhead from the canvas glows.
From classic shrines to modern studios—
Now musing spellbound, where Our Lady's face
In nameless godhead from the canvas glows.
Now, from the still Campagna's desolate rise,
I saw the hills with jealous clasp enfold
The lingering sunlight, while the seaward skies
Paled slowly round the melting disc of gold;
I saw the hills with jealous clasp enfold
The lingering sunlight, while the seaward skies
Paled slowly round the melting disc of gold;
Now gazed, ere yet on dome and tower had died
The glory of the Roman afterglow,
Over the map-like city lying wide,
Half-dreaming, from the Monte Mario.
The glory of the Roman afterglow,
Over the map-like city lying wide,
Half-dreaming, from the Monte Mario.
Traveller, do thou the like; and wouldst thou learn
How Rome her faithful votaries enthralls
With all the memories that breathe and burn
Within the magic circle of her walls,
How Rome her faithful votaries enthralls
With all the memories that breathe and burn
Within the magic circle of her walls,
Leave pomp of man and track of guide-led tourist,
And drink of history at the fountain-head;
For living minds and living things are poorest
In that vast mausoleum of the dead.
And drink of history at the fountain-head;
For living minds and living things are poorest
In that vast mausoleum of the dead.
There, where the stately Barberini pile
Like some new Nimrod's fabric heav'nward climbs,
Enduring monument of Christian guile,
By outrage wrested from the Pagan times;
Like some new Nimrod's fabric heav'nward climbs,
Enduring monument of Christian guile,
By outrage wrested from the Pagan times;
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Where lulled and drowsy with the distant hum,
The sentinel keeps watch upon the town,
And from the heights of old Janiculum
On Father Tiber's yellow face looks down;
The sentinel keeps watch upon the town,
And from the heights of old Janiculum
On Father Tiber's yellow face looks down;
Where in their southern grace the moonbeams play
On Caracalla's tesselated floors,
And rescue from the garish light of day
The Colosseum's ghostly corridors;
On Caracalla's tesselated floors,
And rescue from the garish light of day
The Colosseum's ghostly corridors;
Where Raphael and all his great compeers
Art's form divine in giant-mould have cast,
The very air is heavy with the years,
The very stones are vocal of the past.
Art's form divine in giant-mould have cast,
The very air is heavy with the years,
The very stones are vocal of the past.
Still, as we saunter down the crowded street,
On our own thoughts intent, and plans, and pleasures,
For miles and miles, beneath our idle feet,
Rome buries from the day yet unknown treasures.
On our own thoughts intent, and plans, and pleasures,
For miles and miles, beneath our idle feet,
Rome buries from the day yet unknown treasures.
The whole world's alphabet, in every line
Some stirring page of history she recalls;
Her Alpha is the Prison Mamertine,
Her Omega, St. Paul's without the Walls.
Some stirring page of history she recalls;
Her Alpha is the Prison Mamertine,
Her Omega, St. Paul's without the Walls.
Above, beneath, around, she weaves her spells,
And ruder hands unweave them all in vain:
Who once within her fascination dwells,
Leaves her with but one thought—to come again.
And ruder hands unweave them all in vain:
Who once within her fascination dwells,
Leaves her with but one thought—to come again.
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So cast thine obol into Trevi's fountain—
Drink of its waters—and, returning home,
Pray that by land or sea, by lake or mountain,
“All roads alike may lead at last to Rome.”
Drink of its waters—and, returning home,
Pray that by land or sea, by lake or mountain,
“All roads alike may lead at last to Rome.”
Easter, 1869.
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THE WISHES OF A DUMB-WAITER.
To circle round the “social board,”
'Mid wit and wine, I am not able;
Nor, with rich fruits and dainties stored,
To wait upon your dinner-table.
'Mid wit and wine, I am not able;
Nor, with rich fruits and dainties stored,
To wait upon your dinner-table.
Domestic in my tastes and ways,
On humbler errand am I come;
The breakfast-hour my gifts displays,
The servant of a quiet home.
On humbler errand am I come;
The breakfast-hour my gifts displays,
The servant of a quiet home.
Of my new masters I've no fears;
For he, who recommends the place,
Has known the worth of one for years,
And reads the other's—in her face.
For he, who recommends the place,
Has known the worth of one for years,
And reads the other's—in her face.
And so, a willing drudge, I'll turn
Upon my rounds without ado,
And wonder at the hissing urn
For waiting noisily on you.
Upon my rounds without ado,
And wonder at the hissing urn
For waiting noisily on you.
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Centre of gravity sedate,
I watch o'er household griefs and blisses,
But hold my tongue, and never prate
Either of quarrels or of kisses.
I watch o'er household griefs and blisses,
But hold my tongue, and never prate
Either of quarrels or of kisses.
Like some good commonplace M.P.,
I to my betters “pass the butter;”
And, in my way as wise as he,
Turn round and round, but never utter.
I to my betters “pass the butter;”
And, in my way as wise as he,
Turn round and round, but never utter.
My trusty counsel I can keep
Whene'er my lady has the vapours;
Or, fidgety from want of sleep,
My master d**s the morning papers.
Whene'er my lady has the vapours;
Or, fidgety from want of sleep,
My master d**s the morning papers.
But happier, that I never tire
Of listening to the cozy chat
And simmer by the new-lit fire—
The pleasant talk of this and that—
Of listening to the cozy chat
And simmer by the new-lit fire—
The pleasant talk of this and that—
The morning's plan for work or play—
The homely cares—the homely joys—
And, on the welcome holiday,
The laughter of the girls and boys.
The homely cares—the homely joys—
And, on the welcome holiday,
The laughter of the girls and boys.
The choicest blessings of the hearth
For you, through me, the sender prays,
With all the good things upon earth,
As health, and wealth, and length of days.
For you, through me, the sender prays,
With all the good things upon earth,
As health, and wealth, and length of days.
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Long may the “whirligig of time”
For you lay its “revenges” by,
And point the moral of my rhyme,
By turning smoothly, as will I.
For you lay its “revenges” by,
And point the moral of my rhyme,
By turning smoothly, as will I.
God speed you then: locutus sum,
And, having once the silence broken,
I shall for evermore be dumb:
Excuse me, please, for having spoken.
And, having once the silence broken,
I shall for evermore be dumb:
Excuse me, please, for having spoken.
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LADY FAIR.
Underneath the beech-tree sitting,
With that everlasting knitting,
And the soft sun-shadows flitting
Through your wavy hair;
All my thoughts and plans confusing,
All my resolution loosing,
Say, what matter's in your musing,
Lady fair?
With that everlasting knitting,
And the soft sun-shadows flitting
Through your wavy hair;
All my thoughts and plans confusing,
All my resolution loosing,
Say, what matter's in your musing,
Lady fair?
Oh, the charm that in your face is!
All the loves and all the graces!
To be clasped in your embraces
Were a monarch's share:
Not a man, I ween, who sees you,
But would give his life to please you,
Yet you say—that lovers tease you!
Lady fair!
All the loves and all the graces!
To be clasped in your embraces
Were a monarch's share:
Not a man, I ween, who sees you,
But would give his life to please you,
Yet you say—that lovers tease you!
Lady fair!
One by one, to their undoing,
Fools in plenty come a-wooing,
Baffled still, but still pursuing,
Tangled in the snare:
In your ever-changing smile hid,
Or beneath your sleepy eyelid,
Many a heart it hath beguilèd,
Lady fair!
Fools in plenty come a-wooing,
Baffled still, but still pursuing,
Tangled in the snare:
In your ever-changing smile hid,
Or beneath your sleepy eyelid,
Many a heart it hath beguilèd,
Lady fair!
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While the summer breezes fan her
Gently with their leafy banner,
Venus' form and Dian's manner
Doth my goddess wear;
Lives the man who can discover
Any secret spell to move her
To the wish of mortal lover,
Cold as fair?
Gently with their leafy banner,
Venus' form and Dian's manner
Doth my goddess wear;
Lives the man who can discover
Any secret spell to move her
To the wish of mortal lover,
Cold as fair?
But to see those dark eyes brighten,
And for me with kindness lighten,
While the cheek's rich colours heighten,
What would I not dare?
To inform their scornful splendour
With the love-light soft and tender,
Bow the proud heart to surrender,
Lady fair!
And for me with kindness lighten,
While the cheek's rich colours heighten,
What would I not dare?
To inform their scornful splendour
With the love-light soft and tender,
Bow the proud heart to surrender,
Lady fair!
By the lives that thou hast broken,
By the words that I have spoken,
By the passion they betoken,
I have loved, I swear,
Only thee since I have seen thee;
And, if woman's heart be in thee,
I will die, but I will win thee,
Lady fair!
By the words that I have spoken,
By the passion they betoken,
I have loved, I swear,
Only thee since I have seen thee;
And, if woman's heart be in thee,
I will die, but I will win thee,
Lady fair!
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LA VIOLETTA.
Thou art my loadstar and my queen; to thee
The current of my heart sets ebblessly,
Tho' all unheeded the poor offering be.
The current of my heart sets ebblessly,
Tho' all unheeded the poor offering be.
The soft twin-lamps that from thy fair face shine,
Lit with a tenderness that's only thine,
Burn ever at my fancy's inmost shrine.
Lit with a tenderness that's only thine,
Burn ever at my fancy's inmost shrine.
If I might choose my fate, I would entreat
To be a carpet for thy dainty feet,
When I return to that I came from, sweet;
To be a carpet for thy dainty feet,
When I return to that I came from, sweet;
Or to be native to the southern sky,
Which for thy head makes fitting canopy—
A waif upon thy path to live and die.
Which for thy head makes fitting canopy—
A waif upon thy path to live and die.
Now I but ask, for all memorial,
That from thine eyes upon my grave may fall
One crystal drop, to grace my funeral.
That from thine eyes upon my grave may fall
One crystal drop, to grace my funeral.
And on the tomb, ere yet that dew be dried,
Thus let my life's brief tale be signified—
“He only prayed for her, and stood aside.”
Thus let my life's brief tale be signified—
“He only prayed for her, and stood aside.”
Venice, 1870.
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LONDON LOVES.
The day of parting has come, dear,
The day we've delay'd so long;
But the strings of my lute are dumb, dear
And have lost their trick of song.
The day we've delay'd so long;
But the strings of my lute are dumb, dear
And have lost their trick of song.
I have known them the hour together
Run on to the lightest theme—
The fashions, the parks, or the weather,
A fancy, a flower, a dream.
Run on to the lightest theme—
The fashions, the parks, or the weather,
A fancy, a flower, a dream.
When the mirth of life was maddest,
To my hand they would leap and bound;
And when darkest my mood and saddest,
Would whisper their softest sound.
To my hand they would leap and bound;
And when darkest my mood and saddest,
Would whisper their softest sound.
Whenever the day was breezy,
Whenever the mad moon shone,
Rhyme-spinning was just as easy
As loving,—and passing on.
Whenever the mad moon shone,
Rhyme-spinning was just as easy
As loving,—and passing on.
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Of the garden of sweet girl-dancers
If one pleased me more than the rest,
And our hands, as they met in the Lancers,
For a moment clung and press'd,
If one pleased me more than the rest,
And our hands, as they met in the Lancers,
For a moment clung and press'd,
Ere the world was another day older,
I would sing her a song of love
Inscribed to her round white shoulder,
Or the little pink ear above.
I would sing her a song of love
Inscribed to her round white shoulder,
Or the little pink ear above.
I catalogued in my ditty
All her charms, with a verse for each,
And vowed that her eyes were witty,
If her tongue lack'd the gift of speech.
All her charms, with a verse for each,
And vowed that her eyes were witty,
If her tongue lack'd the gift of speech.
O ye loves, ye loves of London,
Ye hearts of its women and men,
That are all in a moment undone,
And sooner mended again!
Ye hearts of its women and men,
That are all in a moment undone,
And sooner mended again!
Ye loves of the loveless sinner,
Ye loves of the box and the Row,
Loves born with the oysters at dinner,
And drain'd with the curacoa!
Ye loves of the box and the Row,
Loves born with the oysters at dinner,
And drain'd with the curacoa!
Loves without ruth or scorning,
I have worn you fresh and bright
With my boutonnière in the morning,
To die with its leaves at night.
I have worn you fresh and bright
With my boutonnière in the morning,
To die with its leaves at night.
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There's many a pretty person
With thought-unwrinkled brow
I've hung my garland of verse on,
Whose name I've forgotten now.
With thought-unwrinkled brow
I've hung my garland of verse on,
Whose name I've forgotten now.
But not to such love-notes only
Was I wont to tune my lute:
As I willed, in my seasons lonely,
'Twas vocal for me, or mute.
Was I wont to tune my lute:
As I willed, in my seasons lonely,
'Twas vocal for me, or mute.
I loved it well, for it made me
A kingdom all my own,
Where never a foe could invade me,
Save a halting verse alone.
A kingdom all my own,
Where never a foe could invade me,
Save a halting verse alone.
But to-day, when I fain would wake it
To a high and tender strain,
Does the spirit of song forsake it?
Must I sweep its chords in vain?
To a high and tender strain,
Does the spirit of song forsake it?
Must I sweep its chords in vain?
Sweetheart, as our voyage is ended,
A chaplet I'd weave for thee
Of choice thoughts cunningly blended,
To wear for the love of me.
A chaplet I'd weave for thee
Of choice thoughts cunningly blended,
To wear for the love of me.
But my plodding fancy lingers,
Uncaught by the spark of fire,
And falter my listless fingers
On the nerves of the broken lyre.
Uncaught by the spark of fire,
And falter my listless fingers
On the nerves of the broken lyre.
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THESPIAN THEMES.
Of all the themes of mortal dreams
That make your sleep uneasy,
Sure never man had sweeter than
The form of Clara Vesey!
That make your sleep uneasy,
Sure never man had sweeter than
The form of Clara Vesey!
That shapely limb, with ankle slim,
A foot no boot can better, a
Neat calf, and knee in symmetry,
And fairy waist, etcetera,
A foot no boot can better, a
Neat calf, and knee in symmetry,
And fairy waist, etcetera,
Across your glance will seem to dance,
And at your studies tease ye,
And make you swear that never were
Charms like them, Clara Vesey!
And at your studies tease ye,
And make you swear that never were
Charms like them, Clara Vesey!
The wealthiest fair in Belgrave Square
(Or else I little know them),
Would gladly owe a plum or so,
To have them, and to show them.
(Or else I little know them),
Would gladly owe a plum or so,
To have them, and to show them.
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The sagest dame of school-board fame,
Of mind and mien commanding,
Would give her lore and something more,
For Clara's understanding;
Of mind and mien commanding,
Would give her lore and something more,
For Clara's understanding;
And could it ape that perfect shape
(Although the thought be shocking),
Would offer to the public view
The whole of her blue stocking.
(Although the thought be shocking),
Would offer to the public view
The whole of her blue stocking.
The most sedate heads in the State,
As Cardwell, Selborne, Earl Grey,
Would dazzled be those gems to see,
So featly cased in pearl-grey.
As Cardwell, Selborne, Earl Grey,
Would dazzled be those gems to see,
So featly cased in pearl-grey.
They cannot shun comparison,
For sure as eggs men call eggs,
The only rage upon the stage
Is legs, and legs, and more legs!
For sure as eggs men call eggs,
The only rage upon the stage
Is legs, and legs, and more legs!
They come in hose of pink and rose,
In black and blue and yellow,
In green and red, and turn the head
Of many a simple fellow.
In black and blue and yellow,
In green and red, and turn the head
Of many a simple fellow.
There's long, there's short, there's every sort
Of make that's been since Adam;
Some girls are known to wear their own,
And some believed to pad 'em.
Of make that's been since Adam;
Some girls are known to wear their own,
And some believed to pad 'em.
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But well I wot, with pads or not,
There's ne'er a one of these is
(My style is gone) a “patch” upon
Enchanting Clara Vesey's.
There's ne'er a one of these is
(My style is gone) a “patch” upon
Enchanting Clara Vesey's.
My pretty page, could I engage
“Supporters” half so clever,
Oh, I'd behave like Geneviève,
And “run” on them for ever.
“Supporters” half so clever,
Oh, I'd behave like Geneviève,
And “run” on them for ever.
104
ÆTATE XIX.
Nineteen! of years a pleasant number;
And it were well
If on his post old Time would slumber
For Isabel:
And it were well
If on his post old Time would slumber
For Isabel:
If he would leave her, fair and girlish,
Untouched of him,
Forgetting once his fashions churlish,
Just for a whim!
Untouched of him,
Forgetting once his fashions churlish,
Just for a whim!
But no, not he; ashore, aboard ship,
Sleep we, or wake,
He lays aside his right of lordship
For no man's sake;
Sleep we, or wake,
He lays aside his right of lordship
For no man's sake;
But all untiring girds his loins up
For great and small;
And as a miser sums his coins up,
Still counts us all.
For great and small;
And as a miser sums his coins up,
Still counts us all.
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As jealous as a nine-days' lover,
He will not spare,
'Spite of the wealth his presses cover,
One silver hair;
He will not spare,
'Spite of the wealth his presses cover,
One silver hair;
But writes his wrinkles far and near in
Life's every page,
With ink invisible, made clear in
The fire of age.
Life's every page,
With ink invisible, made clear in
The fire of age.
Child! while the treacherous flame yet shines not
On thy smooth brow,
Where even Envy's eye divines not
That writing now,
On thy smooth brow,
Where even Envy's eye divines not
That writing now,
In this brief homily I read you
There should be found
Some wholesome moral, that might lead you
To look around,
There should be found
Some wholesome moral, that might lead you
To look around,
And think how swift, as sunlight passes
Into the shade,
The pretty picture in your glass is
Foredoomed to fade.
Into the shade,
The pretty picture in your glass is
Foredoomed to fade.
But, 'faith, the birthday genius quarrels
With moral rhyme,
And I was never good at morals
At any time;
With moral rhyme,
And I was never good at morals
At any time;
106
While with ill omens to alarm you
'Twere vain to try;
To show how little mine should harm you,
Your mother's by!
'Twere vain to try;
To show how little mine should harm you,
Your mother's by!
And what can Time hurt me, I pray, with,
If he insures
Such friends to laugh regrets away with
As you—and yours?
If he insures
Such friends to laugh regrets away with
As you—and yours?
107
EN PASSANT.
An April sun, a silver wave
That laughs and breaks upon the shore—
Such span to us Dame Fortune gave,
One week—no more!
That laughs and breaks upon the shore—
Such span to us Dame Fortune gave,
One week—no more!
Two barques upon the summer-foam,
That meet and greet and part at sea—
One outward bound, and one for home:
Like them were we.
That meet and greet and part at sea—
One outward bound, and one for home:
Like them were we.
A flower that blossoms in a day,
And dies even there where it was born—
Such was our story, you may say
To-morrow morn.
And dies even there where it was born—
Such was our story, you may say
To-morrow morn.
The how, and when, that first we spoke,
I do not, and I would not, know;
Dream-like the mutual fancy woke,
And perished so.
I do not, and I would not, know;
Dream-like the mutual fancy woke,
And perished so.
108
Yet sometimes, in this world of ours,
The wave will drop a waif behind,
The dream will leave a thought, the flowers
A scent in mind.
The wave will drop a waif behind,
The dream will leave a thought, the flowers
A scent in mind.
So may of mine abide with you,
As ever shall of yours with me,
A word, a smile, a look or two,
A memory.
As ever shall of yours with me,
A word, a smile, a look or two,
A memory.
109
WAKE, ENGLAND, WAKE!
And thought we that his reign could cease?
And thought we that his day was done?
For that the gentle hand of Peace
Had loosed the War-God's fiery zone?
Wake, England, wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
And thought we that his day was done?
For that the gentle hand of Peace
Had loosed the War-God's fiery zone?
Wake, England, wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
A touch—a flash!—he breaks his chain,
And starts to new and awful birth,
To loose Hell's husbandmen amain,
And sow in blood the fallow earth.
And starts to new and awful birth,
To loose Hell's husbandmen amain,
And sow in blood the fallow earth.
This is no time for pride of pelf;
This is no time to sleep or save:
Britain, arise and arm thyself!
Peace has no home this side the grave.
Wake, England, wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
This is no time to sleep or save:
Britain, arise and arm thyself!
Peace has no home this side the grave.
Wake, England, wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
110
Men tell us that our arm is weak;
Men tell us that our blood is cold;
And that our hearts no longer speak
With the rich trumpet-note of old.
Men tell us that our blood is cold;
And that our hearts no longer speak
With the rich trumpet-note of old.
With threat and taunt, with scoff and sneer,
They gather round the lion's den,
And deem him all too deaf to hear
The growing tread of armèd men.
Wake, England wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
They gather round the lion's den,
And deem him all too deaf to hear
The growing tread of armèd men.
Wake, England wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
Above, around, and east and west,
The storm-clouds muster swift and dark;
Think we the flood of fire to breast,
Safe in our isle as in the ark?
The storm-clouds muster swift and dark;
Think we the flood of fire to breast,
Safe in our isle as in the ark?
The Prussian is at Paris' gates—
The Prussian dons the iron crown,
And marshals all the vassal States
That at his mailèd foot bow down.
The Prussian dons the iron crown,
And marshals all the vassal States
That at his mailèd foot bow down.
The Russian crouches for his spring;
Columbia rails in England's tongue,
And waits to pierce, with mortal sting,
The mighty loins from which she sprung.
Wake, England, wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
Columbia rails in England's tongue,
And waits to pierce, with mortal sting,
The mighty loins from which she sprung.
Wake, England, wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
111
Faint not nor fail, ye sons of those
Who were the bravest born of men:
Our nearest friends may be our foes
Ere Christmastide come round again.
Who were the bravest born of men:
Our nearest friends may be our foes
Ere Christmastide come round again.
Though praying yet for peace on earth,
Keep dry your powder while you can,
Forearmed to meet for home and hearth
Man's message of good-will to man.
Keep dry your powder while you can,
Forearmed to meet for home and hearth
Man's message of good-will to man.
Pray we that soon on every land,
The reign of all the saints may come;
But till its dawning, sword in hand
Await we that millennium.
Wake, England, wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
The reign of all the saints may come;
But till its dawning, sword in hand
Await we that millennium.
Wake, England, wake! let heart and hand be steady!
Still for thy motto take: Ready—aye ready!
February, 1871.
112
THE TWENTY-FOURTH OF MAY.
In blood and fire and vapour of smoke
Hidden his face, the sun sinks down—
Sun, that the bright May morning woke
Over a glorious godless town.
Hidden his face, the sun sinks down—
Sun, that the bright May morning woke
Over a glorious godless town.
The work of the centuries, warp and woof,
Shrivels to dust in the breath of Hell;
As winged with ruin, from roof to roof,
Flashes the angel Azraël.
Shrivels to dust in the breath of Hell;
As winged with ruin, from roof to roof,
Flashes the angel Azraël.
Craven hands find the courage to slay,
And starvèd bodies the life to bleed:
Justice stands in her hall at bay,
Hall of the “footsteps lost” indeed.
And starvèd bodies the life to bleed:
Justice stands in her hall at bay,
Hall of the “footsteps lost” indeed.
Memories olden are thrown broadcast
Here and there on the burning breeze;
Line upon line of the storied past
Falls with the falling Tuileries.
Here and there on the burning breeze;
Line upon line of the storied past
Falls with the falling Tuileries.
113
Treasures of old-world art unpriced,
Circled and hemmed in a flaming ring;
Temples of kings and shrines of Christ:
What are they that have done this thing?
Circled and hemmed in a flaming ring;
Temples of kings and shrines of Christ:
What are they that have done this thing?
France! that but one brief year ago
Stood as Napoleon's column stood,
Towering over the world below,
Mighty in boastful hardihood,—
Stood as Napoleon's column stood,
Towering over the world below,
Mighty in boastful hardihood,—
France! that riven and rent in twain,
Prostrate under the pitiless skies,
Fallen as ne'er to rise again,
Lies as Napoleon's column lies,—
Prostrate under the pitiless skies,
Fallen as ne'er to rise again,
Lies as Napoleon's column lies,—
Live we? breathe we? hear we aright?
Is it a nightmare all men see?
Is there a sun? a world? a light?
God in Heaven! can these things be?
Is it a nightmare all men see?
Is there a sun? a world? a light?
God in Heaven! can these things be?
What are they who have brought to birth
Sights that their father-fiends appal,
Till even the uttermost ends of earth
Echo their ghastly carnival?
Sights that their father-fiends appal,
Till even the uttermost ends of earth
Echo their ghastly carnival?
Was it for this that ye called and cried
For vengeance meet on the foreign foe?
Was it for this that ye starved and died,
Women and children, high and low?
For vengeance meet on the foreign foe?
Was it for this that ye starved and died,
Women and children, high and low?
114
Was it for this, that men might tell,
How, in the face of the Uhlan lance,
Paris, unscathed by the stranger's shell,
Armed her own sons to murder France?
How, in the face of the Uhlan lance,
Paris, unscathed by the stranger's shell,
Armed her own sons to murder France?
Sleeps or dreams He, the Lord of Lords?
Or stands he aloof as the German stands,
Watching the clash of kindred swords,
With eyes unshrinking, and folded hands?
Or stands he aloof as the German stands,
Watching the clash of kindred swords,
With eyes unshrinking, and folded hands?
Goth and Visigoth, Vandal and Hun,
History's bywords, proverbs of shame,
Never yet did what these have done,
The People's sons, in the People's name!
History's bywords, proverbs of shame,
Never yet did what these have done,
The People's sons, in the People's name!
1871.
115
A HOME-SIDE STORY.
She was a fair and sunny child,
When first I knew her;
Her winning ways my heart beguiled,
And knit me to her.
World-worn, and tossing on the tide
And storm of life,
I loved to have her at my side,
My baby-wife.
When first I knew her;
Her winning ways my heart beguiled,
And knit me to her.
World-worn, and tossing on the tide
And storm of life,
I loved to have her at my side,
My baby-wife.
On fairy lore her mind I fed,
And sage romances,
That filled the pretty little head
With earnest fancies.
While as her gracious childhood grew,
Shone from her eyes
That wondrous light of wisdom true—
Than ours more wise—
And sage romances,
That filled the pretty little head
With earnest fancies.
While as her gracious childhood grew,
Shone from her eyes
That wondrous light of wisdom true—
Than ours more wise—
Which as a lesson grave and good,
And taught of Heaven,
Through the pure lips of infanthood,
To man is given.
Drawn daily closer each to each
In heart we were;
But more than I to her could teach,
I learned from her.
And taught of Heaven,
Through the pure lips of infanthood,
To man is given.
116
In heart we were;
But more than I to her could teach,
I learned from her.
We parted: I for other climes
And hard endeavour
To do my battle with the times,
Which fight us ever.
But, whether Fortune frowned or smiled,
Still in my mind
I kept the image of the child
I left behind.
And hard endeavour
To do my battle with the times,
Which fight us ever.
But, whether Fortune frowned or smiled,
Still in my mind
I kept the image of the child
I left behind.
She grew up on the quiet path
Of homely duty,
In all that mind or body hath
Of grace and beauty;
'Mid her allotted joys and cares
Pursued her way,
But still remembered, in her prayers,
For me to pray.
Of homely duty,
In all that mind or body hath
Of grace and beauty;
'Mid her allotted joys and cares
Pursued her way,
But still remembered, in her prayers,
For me to pray.
Formed and compact of sober stuff,
In simple fashion
My life went on with friends enough,
But strange to passion.
I thought myself the common lot
Of earth above;
Light fancies I had known, but not—
What men call Love.
In simple fashion
My life went on with friends enough,
But strange to passion.
I thought myself the common lot
Of earth above;
Light fancies I had known, but not—
What men call Love.
117
We met again: the budding flower,
So fondly tended,
Had borne at its appointed hour,
A blossom splendid.
Another tale on me had told
The years that fled,
Which, while they filled my hand with gold,
Silvered my head.
So fondly tended,
Had borne at its appointed hour,
A blossom splendid.
Another tale on me had told
The years that fled,
Which, while they filled my hand with gold,
Silvered my head.
No need of many words to tell
How then I met her;
Changed as she was, I knew her well—
Who could forget her?
About her was some subtle sense
Of sweet perfume,
That, waiting on her innocence,
Entered the room.
How then I met her;
Changed as she was, I knew her well—
Who could forget her?
About her was some subtle sense
Of sweet perfume,
That, waiting on her innocence,
Entered the room.
The world, with all its silken ties,
Closely had bound her;
The young, the noble, breathed their sighs,
And vows around her.
Then learned I, from the sudden smart
Of jealous pain,
That I had found, within my heart,
My youth again.
Closely had bound her;
The young, the noble, breathed their sighs,
And vows around her.
Then learned I, from the sudden smart
Of jealous pain,
That I had found, within my heart,
My youth again.
I watched, if haply in her eyes
I might discover,
From wandering glance, or swift surprise,
The favoured lover.
But she was calm and kind, the while
Methought was worn
A something, in her friendly smile,
Of quiet scorn.
I might discover,
From wandering glance, or swift surprise,
The favoured lover.
118
Methought was worn
A something, in her friendly smile,
Of quiet scorn.
I stepped from out the throng: her glance
Went through and through me,
And gave in wordless utterance,
Her welcome to me.
Her very start was a caress;
She did not speak;
But flushed, with sudden tenderness,
From brow to cheek.
Went through and through me,
And gave in wordless utterance,
Her welcome to me.
Her very start was a caress;
She did not speak;
But flushed, with sudden tenderness,
From brow to cheek.
No thought had she of name or fame,
Of rank or glory;
And soon in faltering accents came
The old old story.
Her heart's desire was this, to share
With me her life:
And so I won, and so I wear
My noble wife.
Of rank or glory;
And soon in faltering accents came
The old old story.
Her heart's desire was this, to share
With me her life:
And so I won, and so I wear
My noble wife.
119
MDLLE. CROIZETTE IN “THE SPHINX.”
In a town we know
(And I love it dearly),
Where the painters show
Pretty pictures yearly,
There was one on view—
If your thoughts you force back
Just a year or two—
Of a girl on horseback.
(And I love it dearly),
Where the painters show
Pretty pictures yearly,
There was one on view—
If your thoughts you force back
Just a year or two—
Of a girl on horseback.
Dainty little dame!
Neat her waistie's span was;
And the painter's name
Carolus Duran was.
Ne'er before had girls
Such inviting noses,
Teeth so like to pearls,
Peeping out of roses.
Neat her waistie's span was;
And the painter's name
Carolus Duran was.
Ne'er before had girls
Such inviting noses,
Teeth so like to pearls,
Peeping out of roses.
And there shone a light
In the saucy eye, which
Made you pass the night,
Dreaming of the sly witch,
Rivals scattering
In a general set-to,
All the spoils to bring
Mdlle. Croizette to—
In the saucy eye, which
Made you pass the night,
Dreaming of the sly witch,
120
In a general set-to,
All the spoils to bring
Mdlle. Croizette to—
Saying: “I adore
E'en the chair you sit on;
Have some pity for
A distracted Briton!
Lived I up a tree,
Slept I in a barn, it
Would be bliss with thee,
Comedy incarnate!”
E'en the chair you sit on;
Have some pity for
A distracted Briton!
Lived I up a tree,
Slept I in a barn, it
Would be bliss with thee,
Comedy incarnate!”
Thus I thought of you,
Prettiest of minxes!
Is't the same, then, who
Acting in “The Sphinx” is?
Changing us to stones,
Chilling all our blood in
All our marrowbones,
Dying on a sudden?—
Prettiest of minxes!
Is't the same, then, who
Acting in “The Sphinx” is?
Changing us to stones,
Chilling all our blood in
All our marrowbones,
Dying on a sudden?—
Turning hot to cold?
Thrilling all the pit—ex-
Pecting to be told
Next day by the critics,
In their ancient song,
That—it wouldn't do; that
This was much too strong;—
Nothing very new that.
Thrilling all the pit—ex-
Pecting to be told
Next day by the critics,
In their ancient song,
That—it wouldn't do; that
This was much too strong;—
Nothing very new that.
121
“Surely as my wife
Wears another's back-tress,”
Quoth I, “on my life,
You were born an actress!”
And your graceful form
While my greedy eyes ate,
Thus my fancy warm
Rhymed you, pretty Croizette!
Wears another's back-tress,”
Quoth I, “on my life,
You were born an actress!”
And your graceful form
While my greedy eyes ate,
Thus my fancy warm
Rhymed you, pretty Croizette!
Paris, 1874.
123
“NAY, I'LL STAY WITH THE LAD.”
[_]
(In Hutton seam, No. 3, they saw two bodies, father and son, clasped together. One of the explorers knew the man, and knew that after the explosion he had been asked by one of the men afterwards rescued to go along with him to another part of the workings, and the father replied: “Nay, I'll stay with the lad.” It was the belief of the explorers that these had both died, with one or two others near, from the after-damp. They were lying peaceably, having made pillows of their jackets and clothes.— Daily News, September 11th, 1880.)
“Nay, I'll stay with the lad:”
Down in the deep black seam,
Huddled together, dying and dead,
Far from the day-world overhead,
Face to face, by a sudden fate,
With a horror of Night precipitate;
Hidden away from the merciful Sun,
The death and the burial all in one,
By their fifties cut off in vain,
More than a battle counts its slain;
Huddled together, man and horse,
In the grip of the fire-damp's watchful force—
Unsung heroes of simple mould,
All unchanged from the race of old,
To the olden truths, with a martyr's cry,
Out of the depths they testify:
And never has rede been read, I deem,
Nobler than that in the deep black seam,
Of Love and Courage the message sad—
Only, “Nay, I'll stay with the lad.”
Down in the deep black seam,
Huddled together, dying and dead,
Far from the day-world overhead,
Face to face, by a sudden fate,
With a horror of Night precipitate;
Hidden away from the merciful Sun,
The death and the burial all in one,
By their fifties cut off in vain,
More than a battle counts its slain;
Huddled together, man and horse,
In the grip of the fire-damp's watchful force—
Unsung heroes of simple mould,
All unchanged from the race of old,
124
Out of the depths they testify:
And never has rede been read, I deem,
Nobler than that in the deep black seam,
Of Love and Courage the message sad—
Only, “Nay, I'll stay with the lad.”
“Nay, I'll stay with the lad:”
Down in the deep black seam
They found him living, and strong, and sound,
In spite of the terror underground;
And they bade him come and live again
In the light-bright haunts of living men,
And once more look the sun in the face,
And gladden in earth's beloved embrace.
But he looked at his young boy, dead or dying,
In the midst of the shattered frgments lying—
Dying or dead—but powerless to move,
At the help of man, or the voice of Love.
And self lay dead where the child must die,
And he let deliverance pass him by;
He saw his duty set straight before
In the love that liveth for evermore,
And he put the proffered freedom behind,
With never a thought of self in mind;
And, to life or to death run the trackless stream,
He stayed with him in the deep, black seam,
And to prayer and warning one answer had,
A brave one—“Nay, I'll stay with the lad.”
Down in the deep black seam
They found him living, and strong, and sound,
In spite of the terror underground;
And they bade him come and live again
In the light-bright haunts of living men,
And once more look the sun in the face,
And gladden in earth's beloved embrace.
But he looked at his young boy, dead or dying,
In the midst of the shattered frgments lying—
Dying or dead—but powerless to move,
At the help of man, or the voice of Love.
And self lay dead where the child must die,
And he let deliverance pass him by;
He saw his duty set straight before
In the love that liveth for evermore,
And he put the proffered freedom behind,
With never a thought of self in mind;
And, to life or to death run the trackless stream,
He stayed with him in the deep, black seam,
And to prayer and warning one answer had,
A brave one—“Nay, I'll stay with the lad.”
125
“Nay, I'll stay with the lad:”
Down in the deep black seam
Once again was the story told,
Old as Honour, as Poesy old;
And the rugged miner, whose cares might be
Something unknown to you or to me,
Rather than leave his boy below,
Alone in the grip of the lurking foe,
Chose to die with him there and then,
Rather than live with his fellow-men;
Smoothed the pillow the child beneath,
Turned with him to the void of Death,
And to all mankind, in its strong self-love,
Taught the unself proclaimed above;
And whate'er his sin, and whate'er his sorrow,
Chose the night without earthly morrow—
Went to his Maker straight and free,
And pleaded his plea courageously;
For his boy he lived, for his boy he died;
And the two together, side by side,
Before the divine eternal Throne
Had nothing to plead but their love alone;
And there, perchance, from the answer prove
That the greatest wisdom of all is Love.
While wealth may prosper, denial dream,
Life's moral is told in the deep black seam;
And angels rejoice in that answer glad,
And human—“Nay, I'll stay with the lad.”
Down in the deep black seam
Once again was the story told,
Old as Honour, as Poesy old;
And the rugged miner, whose cares might be
Something unknown to you or to me,
Rather than leave his boy below,
Alone in the grip of the lurking foe,
Chose to die with him there and then,
Rather than live with his fellow-men;
Smoothed the pillow the child beneath,
Turned with him to the void of Death,
And to all mankind, in its strong self-love,
Taught the unself proclaimed above;
And whate'er his sin, and whate'er his sorrow,
Chose the night without earthly morrow—
Went to his Maker straight and free,
And pleaded his plea courageously;
For his boy he lived, for his boy he died;
And the two together, side by side,
Before the divine eternal Throne
Had nothing to plead but their love alone;
And there, perchance, from the answer prove
That the greatest wisdom of all is Love.
While wealth may prosper, denial dream,
Life's moral is told in the deep black seam;
And angels rejoice in that answer glad,
And human—“Nay, I'll stay with the lad.”
126
A SPRIG OF HEATHER.
Dear Kate,—In Mr. Murray's Guide,
With neat red ribbon tied together,
Between two leaves I've put aside
Your tiny sprig of Scottish Heather.
With neat red ribbon tied together,
Between two leaves I've put aside
Your tiny sprig of Scottish Heather.
It came to me at Berne, you know;
I had it in a quiet corner
Of the old terrace, as the glow
Of sunset lit the Wetterhörner.
I had it in a quiet corner
Of the old terrace, as the glow
Of sunset lit the Wetterhörner.
While lower Earth outwearied slept,
From fiery Day yet parched and torrid,
O'er the snow-pillowed giants crept
A lazy flush from foot to forehead;
From fiery Day yet parched and torrid,
O'er the snow-pillowed giants crept
A lazy flush from foot to forehead;
Till the grim peaks, which, cold and lone,
Had faced the sun as if to flout it,
Now like a row of beacons shone,
Rose-red against the grays about it.
Had faced the sun as if to flout it,
Now like a row of beacons shone,
Rose-red against the grays about it.
127
They kindled up from horn to horn,
And a quaint notion Fancy lent me;
Methought they crimsoned as in scorn
Of the poor upstart you had sent me.
And a quaint notion Fancy lent me;
Methought they crimsoned as in scorn
Of the poor upstart you had sent me.
“The land our mighty presence fills
Dame Nature's grandest mood discloses;
What make you, from your baby hills,
'Mid Edelweiss and Alpine Roses?
Dame Nature's grandest mood discloses;
What make you, from your baby hills,
'Mid Edelweiss and Alpine Roses?
“When men have travelled, you forget,
The hills they've climbed, the lakes they've rowed on,
Leave little room for them to set
Much store by Lomond or by Snowdon!
The hills they've climbed, the lakes they've rowed on,
Leave little room for them to set
Much store by Lomond or by Snowdon!
“What next?”—it was the biggest spoke;
A mighty avalanche shook his quarters;
He cracked his glaciers at the joke,
And shouted in a roar of waters.
A mighty avalanche shook his quarters;
He cracked his glaciers at the joke,
And shouted in a roar of waters.
I hung my head, and, half in shame,
I looked upon your tiny token;
When out of it an answer came,
As clearly as the first had spoken.
I looked upon your tiny token;
When out of it an answer came,
As clearly as the first had spoken.
The little flow'ret seemed to wear
Upon its leaf a look defiant,
And to throw back with interest there
His scorn upon the scornful giant.
Upon its leaf a look defiant,
And to throw back with interest there
His scorn upon the scornful giant.
128
“You overgrown unsightly mass,
(Rude challenge breeds uncivil answer),
Learn, in your innermost crevass,
It isn't size that makes the man, sir!
(Rude challenge breeds uncivil answer),
Learn, in your innermost crevass,
It isn't size that makes the man, sir!
“I come from lands of fern and heath,
Which smell so sweet, and look so tender,
When the long kiss of Autumn's breath
Has fanned them to a blush of splendour,
Which smell so sweet, and look so tender,
When the long kiss of Autumn's breath
Has fanned them to a blush of splendour,
“That every puny half-starved flower
Which aches upon your iron bosom,
Would give that honour for an hour
Upon those laughing slopes to blossom,
Which aches upon your iron bosom,
Would give that honour for an hour
Upon those laughing slopes to blossom,
“Or nestle in their grasses rare,
Like jewels in a woman's tresses;
While you were born as bald, you were,
As any head that Truefitt dresses!
Like jewels in a woman's tresses;
While you were born as bald, you were,
As any head that Truefitt dresses!
“If salt is good, then how thrive you,
Aloft there in your frigid snow-zone,
Where the best wind that ever blew
Bears not a breath of Ocean's ozone?
Aloft there in your frigid snow-zone,
Where the best wind that ever blew
Bears not a breath of Ocean's ozone?
“I bring you from the farther North
A sauce your meal of ice to savour;
A single whiff of Clyde and Forth
Gives all your air a finer flavour!
A sauce your meal of ice to savour;
A single whiff of Clyde and Forth
Gives all your air a finer flavour!
129
“Be more polite another day:”—
The mountains held their tongues and whitened;
But for my life I couldn't say
If they were most amused or frightened.
The mountains held their tongues and whitened;
But for my life I couldn't say
If they were most amused or frightened.
On the bold messenger I smiled—
“True offspring of the British nation,
As for the sauce you bring, my child,
You've quite enough for all creation.
“True offspring of the British nation,
As for the sauce you bring, my child,
You've quite enough for all creation.
“'Tis rarely that the sage, I wis,
With any party on his oath sides,
But holds, as I do now, there is
A good deal to be said on both sides.
With any party on his oath sides,
But holds, as I do now, there is
A good deal to be said on both sides.
“Whiche'er the better cause has shown,
Old Scotland or the land of Tell-come,
You've one advantage all your own—
Kate sent you, and you're very welcome!”
Old Scotland or the land of Tell-come,
You've one advantage all your own—
Kate sent you, and you're very welcome!”
Berne, August, 1873.
130
IN TWO WORLDS.
Under the forest, of its snows unladen,
And kissing back the nervous kiss of Spring,
I sit and dream of courtly knight and maiden,
And old-world pomp encompassing a King.
And kissing back the nervous kiss of Spring,
I sit and dream of courtly knight and maiden,
And old-world pomp encompassing a King.
Out of her wintry sleep the Earth is waking,
And birds and flowers carol her réveillée;
O'er East and West the common promise breaking,
Breathes the first whisper of their holiday.
And birds and flowers carol her réveillée;
O'er East and West the common promise breaking,
Breathes the first whisper of their holiday.
Without, the mighty forms of things primæval
Stand all untenanted of Custom's robes;
Within, my mind shapes pictures mediæval,
With pencil fashioned forth in other globes.
Stand all untenanted of Custom's robes;
Within, my mind shapes pictures mediæval,
With pencil fashioned forth in other globes.
The rugged miners share my board and pillow,
And by the camp-fire sing their lawless song;
But at a bound my thought o'errides the billow,
And breasts the strong surf by a flight as strong.
And by the camp-fire sing their lawless song;
But at a bound my thought o'errides the billow,
And breasts the strong surf by a flight as strong.
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What do I here among the waving grasses,
Which never learned to trim their graces wild?
While by my side Nature's rude army passes,
Another world still claims me for her child.
Which never learned to trim their graces wild?
While by my side Nature's rude army passes,
Another world still claims me for her child.
In vain I ply the axe in pass or clearing;
In vain I fill me with the unfettered air;
Still to my eyes are other scenes appearing,
Still my heart hearkens the low voice of Care.
In vain I fill me with the unfettered air;
Still to my eyes are other scenes appearing,
Still my heart hearkens the low voice of Care.
Among our ranks no woman comes to harm us,
And sow us discord for our hands to reap;
No wiles and jars allure us or alarm us,
Or wanton with the mighty arm of Sleep.
And sow us discord for our hands to reap;
No wiles and jars allure us or alarm us,
Or wanton with the mighty arm of Sleep.
Yet here, for me, though heart and will are master,
As strong as Iron and as calm as Death,
The will will waver and the heart beat faster,
Touched by the memory of a woman's breath.
As strong as Iron and as calm as Death,
The will will waver and the heart beat faster,
Touched by the memory of a woman's breath.
Why are ye here, rude fellows of my labour,
Thus outlawed from the bounds of woman's reign?
Read I, beneath the swart hues of my neighbour,
Another story of another pain?
Thus outlawed from the bounds of woman's reign?
Read I, beneath the swart hues of my neighbour,
Another story of another pain?
She said she loved me; and one day she left me,
Without a warning and without a word;
Of past and present at a blow bereft me;
The cause unspoken, and the plea unheard.
Without a warning and without a word;
Of past and present at a blow bereft me;
The cause unspoken, and the plea unheard.
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Behind me honour, and high hopes before me—
A life of earnest and a name of worth;
Her glamour shed the bright delusion o'er me;
Her presence kept the promise of my birth.
A life of earnest and a name of worth;
Her glamour shed the bright delusion o'er me;
Her presence kept the promise of my birth.
Then fell the blow, and past and future shivered,
Just at a fairy finger's heartless touch;
And from the bondage of a lie delivered,
I laughed that I had trusted overmuch.
Just at a fairy finger's heartless touch;
And from the bondage of a lie delivered,
I laughed that I had trusted overmuch.
Laughed! and the echo of that hollow laughter
Rings in my heart with one eternal knell;
And the slow years which rolled their burden after,
With all the burden cannot crush the spell.
Rings in my heart with one eternal knell;
And the slow years which rolled their burden after,
With all the burden cannot crush the spell.
Pines of the Sierras, spread your mantles round me,
And hide me from the past, untrodden West!
Oh that the free lands and free souls which bound me,
Could break the fetters of my prisoned breast!
And hide me from the past, untrodden West!
Oh that the free lands and free souls which bound me,
Could break the fetters of my prisoned breast!
In vain, in vain! Not the dividing ocean,
With all its storms one memory can drown;
While the vexed phantom of a lost devotion,
Still in the tortured bosom dies not down.
With all its storms one memory can drown;
While the vexed phantom of a lost devotion,
Still in the tortured bosom dies not down.
Up, and to work! The western spring invites me,
And freedom calls me forth among the free:
But no! Nor work nor freedom here delights me,
The Eastern bondage falls again on me.
And freedom calls me forth among the free:
But no! Nor work nor freedom here delights me,
The Eastern bondage falls again on me.
136
PEACE—AND HONOUR.
(APRIL 19TH, 1881.)
Hushed are the sounds of party strife
In reverence round the quiet bed,
As all the busy stream of Life
Seems stayed beside one spirit fled:
And England sends the message on,
To West and East—A great man gone.
In reverence round the quiet bed,
As all the busy stream of Life
Seems stayed beside one spirit fled:
And England sends the message on,
To West and East—A great man gone.
Strange power of Death! Once laid on him
With gentlest touch her royal hand,
Unbidden tears the eyes bedim,
And manliest hearts are half unmanned.
Our little discords melt and cease;
He lies in Honour—and at Peace.
With gentlest touch her royal hand,
Unbidden tears the eyes bedim,
And manliest hearts are half unmanned.
Our little discords melt and cease;
He lies in Honour—and at Peace.
Yes—honoured in the hearts of those
Who would his living purpose cross,
By the world's law of friends and foes,
Suspended in a country's loss;
While for his peace may no man spare
His tribute to the country's prayer.
Who would his living purpose cross,
By the world's law of friends and foes,
Suspended in a country's loss;
137
His tribute to the country's prayer.
Strange power of Death! How small they seem,
Our quarrels, grudges—all put by,
The baseless fabric of a dream,
Beside the great reality.
We read, ere yet the clay be cold,
In deaths like this, Death's secret told.
Our quarrels, grudges—all put by,
The baseless fabric of a dream,
Beside the great reality.
We read, ere yet the clay be cold,
In deaths like this, Death's secret told.
As to her breast the generous sea
River and rivulet draws in,
Till all the parted streams that be
In that maternity are kin,
Even so the pale Magician charms
All minds, all wisdoms, to his arms.
River and rivulet draws in,
Till all the parted streams that be
In that maternity are kin,
Even so the pale Magician charms
All minds, all wisdoms, to his arms.
He, but a few short days ago
Held in a nation's half mistrust,
Here feared, there followed, lying low,
Where all may trample on his dust,
Lies safe with laurels round his brow—
His party's then, his England's now.
Held in a nation's half mistrust,
Here feared, there followed, lying low,
Where all may trample on his dust,
Lies safe with laurels round his brow—
His party's then, his England's now.
Strong loves he conquered on his way,
Strong as the enmities he woke,
And the loosed passions of the day
In praise and anger round him broke:
Anger and enmity o'erthrown,
Death has for sister—Love alone.
Strong as the enmities he woke,
And the loosed passions of the day
In praise and anger round him broke:
Anger and enmity o'erthrown,
Death has for sister—Love alone.
138
Men called him alien, deemed him set
On dreams of empire not of ours,
And prone true empire to forget
In the long clash of jarring powers:
But England's 'scutcheon blazons still
The motto of his life—I will.
On dreams of empire not of ours,
And prone true empire to forget
In the long clash of jarring powers:
But England's 'scutcheon blazons still
The motto of his life—I will.
In steady purpose, steady toil,
He followed, and he won the prize,
Which through the senate's fierce turmoil
Lighted, but dazzled not his eyes;
Nor rank nor fortune smoothed the course;
He dared, and conquered, and by force.
He followed, and he won the prize,
Which through the senate's fierce turmoil
Lighted, but dazzled not his eyes;
Nor rank nor fortune smoothed the course;
He dared, and conquered, and by force.
As patient as the great should be,
As watchful as the purposed are,
He marked power's ebbing, flowing sea,
Now sparkling near, now murmuring far,
Till with strong hand he grasped the helm,
Through storm and shine to steer a realm.
As watchful as the purposed are,
He marked power's ebbing, flowing sea,
Now sparkling near, now murmuring far,
Till with strong hand he grasped the helm,
Through storm and shine to steer a realm.
And when, life's threescore years and ten
In the long passage overpast,
He yielded up the helm again,
He stood as steady to the last:
Not Cæsar's robe, when Cæsar died,
Was folded with a calmer pride.
In the long passage overpast,
He yielded up the helm again,
He stood as steady to the last:
Not Cæsar's robe, when Cæsar died,
Was folded with a calmer pride.
139
Calmly he gave the reins of State,
As first he held them, self-possessed;
And undismayed, as unelate,
Turned to the love once loved the best,
And wooed, from strife of tongues apart,
The Muse of Story to his heart.
As first he held them, self-possessed;
And undismayed, as unelate,
Turned to the love once loved the best,
And wooed, from strife of tongues apart,
The Muse of Story to his heart.
So, England's Minister, good-night!
Nor praise nor blame can touch thee now;
Safe from the fierce and public light
Which beat upon thy vessel's prow:
Thy place is with the great alone,
Not one's, nor other's. England's own.
Nor praise nor blame can touch thee now;
Safe from the fierce and public light
Which beat upon thy vessel's prow:
Thy place is with the great alone,
Not one's, nor other's. England's own.
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