 | Aspromonte and Other Poems |  |
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MISCELLANEOUS.
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A WEEK IN JULY.
SUNDAY.
The lilies stood out in the sun
Against the glossy laurel-green,
And many a summer-folded screen
Of foliage, woodbine-overrun.
Against the glossy laurel-green,
And many a summer-folded screen
Of foliage, woodbine-overrun.
The house behind a shadow threw
Cool on the new-mown churchyard sward,
On trailing ivy, darkly starr'd,
And the low hedge of shining yew.
Cool on the new-mown churchyard sward,
On trailing ivy, darkly starr'd,
And the low hedge of shining yew.
They full in front, a dazzling mark,
O'erflowed the garden with their light;
When the church clock struck twelve last night
I saw them shining through the dark.
O'erflowed the garden with their light;
When the church clock struck twelve last night
I saw them shining through the dark.
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I think that Christ's own hand did mould
The lily, when the rest had been
Fashioned by angels, as serene
The sixth day's dawn began to unfold
The lily, when the rest had been
Fashioned by angels, as serene
The sixth day's dawn began to unfold
O'er solitary Eden lawns,
Waiting their crown amidst the hush;
While darted through the green the flush
Of the first rose without the thorns.
Waiting their crown amidst the hush;
While darted through the green the flush
Of the first rose without the thorns.
MONDAY.
Under a bush of barberries
That seemed to ripen as I lay,
Turning to crimson, as the day
Mounted to noon through glowing skies.—
That seemed to ripen as I lay,
Turning to crimson, as the day
Mounted to noon through glowing skies.—
Up in the blue my eyes were lost,
High overhead, in vivid light,
Ceaseless the swallows' breasts of white
Forwards and backwards flash'd and crost.
High overhead, in vivid light,
Ceaseless the swallows' breasts of white
Forwards and backwards flash'd and crost.
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The garden flowers rose dazzlingly
Beside the lawn, the walks among;
The myriad-blossomed roses hung
An arch in air against the sky.
Beside the lawn, the walks among;
The myriad-blossomed roses hung
An arch in air against the sky.
Beneath me the green valley fell;
And past the brook, the lone hillside
Of moor and copse, and pasture wide,
In the broad sunshine stretched as well.
And past the brook, the lone hillside
Of moor and copse, and pasture wide,
In the broad sunshine stretched as well.
The sloping turf whereon I lay,
Starr'd with dry golden flowers, was warm
Unto my hand; no voice or form
Broke the still glory of the day.
Starr'd with dry golden flowers, was warm
Unto my hand; no voice or form
Broke the still glory of the day.
TUESDAY.
Three years he lies on his low bed,
In his dark chamber night and day,
From all life-converse laid away,
The naked thatch above his head.
In his dark chamber night and day,
From all life-converse laid away,
The naked thatch above his head.
The little window far behind
With one straight ray across the gloom
Makes groping twilight in the room;
For him he might as well be blind.
With one straight ray across the gloom
Makes groping twilight in the room;
For him he might as well be blind.
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Yet sweetly the small window frame
The heathy hill-side picture sets,
Sparkling with tiny rivulets,
In May a sheet of spiky flame.
The heathy hill-side picture sets,
Sparkling with tiny rivulets,
In May a sheet of spiky flame.
And a hoar apple orchard placed
Close by, through all the year in suit
Swings boughs of bloom and leaf and fruit
In the green garden off the waste.
Close by, through all the year in suit
Swings boughs of bloom and leaf and fruit
In the green garden off the waste.
But he, that old man, cannot turn
Nor move, and lies, his face away
From what few glimpses of the day
Another prisoner might discern.
Nor move, and lies, his face away
From what few glimpses of the day
Another prisoner might discern.
To narrowest deprivation tied,
He murmurs never, still content
To take the hours as God hath sent,
In patience meek and dignified.
He murmurs never, still content
To take the hours as God hath sent,
In patience meek and dignified.
Thus, through a long-drawn living death
He keeps his manhood true and whole,
The peace of heaven within his soul,
In utmost simpleness of faith.
He keeps his manhood true and whole,
The peace of heaven within his soul,
In utmost simpleness of faith.
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So, mindful how forlorn he lay,
I brought a mirror in my hand,
That he might once more understand
By sense, the long-lost light of day.
I brought a mirror in my hand,
That he might once more understand
By sense, the long-lost light of day.
By careful measure of the light
I held and moved it till there came
The corner of the window frame
Reflected straight before his sight.
I held and moved it till there came
The corner of the window frame
Reflected straight before his sight.
Till, broken first and fluttering,
Caught in the mirror came and went
'Mid the unshapely dark long-pent,
A blue ethereal glimmering;
Caught in the mirror came and went
'Mid the unshapely dark long-pent,
A blue ethereal glimmering;
Then held there, settled bright and calm,—
The sky! the sky! the heavens above!
The blue great depths of light and love:
The three years had not done them harm.
The sky! the sky! the heavens above!
The blue great depths of light and love:
The three years had not done them harm.
The same young skies of other years!
And bending half across, one bough
Of apple leaves, drawn clearly, now
Against the glowing space appears.
And bending half across, one bough
Of apple leaves, drawn clearly, now
Against the glowing space appears.
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Far up the sky shone on between:
A low and rustling wind we heard,
And in the mirror the leaves stirred,
Each sweet and wondrous leaf of green.
A low and rustling wind we heard,
And in the mirror the leaves stirred,
Each sweet and wondrous leaf of green.
His dim eyes lightened to the blue,
He gazed, and gazed, and speechless still
He scarcely breathed, to gaze his fill
On the old world brought back to view.
He gazed, and gazed, and speechless still
He scarcely breathed, to gaze his fill
On the old world brought back to view.
‘I see the sky and leaves again!’
At last he said, and happy lay:
A few square inches of the day
Such deep contentment may contain!
At last he said, and happy lay:
A few square inches of the day
Such deep contentment may contain!
WEDNESDAY.
I went out when the day grew cool,
An hour from sunset, far and free
To gather wild flowers, and with me
Two orphan children from the school.
An hour from sunset, far and free
To gather wild flowers, and with me
Two orphan children from the school.
We went down through the elm tree lane,
Till by the mill we crost the brook,
And past the shady hollow took
The other side our way again,
Till by the mill we crost the brook,
And past the shady hollow took
The other side our way again,
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Up the steep lane, where the tall hedge
With honeysuckle down was weighed
O'er ferns and foxgloves half in shade,
Until we came out on the edge
With honeysuckle down was weighed
O'er ferns and foxgloves half in shade,
Until we came out on the edge
Of the great moorland, stretching brown,
O'er which to me there ever dwells
The mystery as of magic spells,
And hoar enchanted glow at noon.
O'er which to me there ever dwells
The mystery as of magic spells,
And hoar enchanted glow at noon.
But now at sunset a wild light
Flared on the crimson tracts of heath;
And the long grasses wav'd beneath
A melancholy breeze's flight.
Flared on the crimson tracts of heath;
And the long grasses wav'd beneath
A melancholy breeze's flight.
We went on heaping ferns and flowers,
Blush-tinted bells and waxen white
Of heath, and sundews exquisite,
Sparkled all o'er with fairy showers.
Blush-tinted bells and waxen white
Of heath, and sundews exquisite,
Sparkled all o'er with fairy showers.
The golden rods of asphodel
Shook, as with firm light steps we trod
O'er the deep moss and spongy sod
Strewed with the small bog-pimpernel.
Shook, as with firm light steps we trod
O'er the deep moss and spongy sod
Strewed with the small bog-pimpernel.
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We talked of country lore, of ferns
With mystic letters stamped inside,
Of hard-found nests where lapwings hide
Their eggs amid the heath, in turns.
With mystic letters stamped inside,
Of hard-found nests where lapwings hide
Their eggs amid the heath, in turns.
We past the dripping woodland cleft,
Where hanging ferns clos'd overhead
On grey rocks, and the streamlet's bed
Rough passage to the thicket left.
Where hanging ferns clos'd overhead
On grey rocks, and the streamlet's bed
Rough passage to the thicket left.
We passed the level of brown moss,
Above the borders of the wood,
Lying in breezy solitude,
With sunset shadows stretched across;
Above the borders of the wood,
Lying in breezy solitude,
With sunset shadows stretched across;
Where on June evenings I have found
That fair mysterious flower upright
And single-stalked, in green and white
Springing enchanted from the ground;
That fair mysterious flower upright
And single-stalked, in green and white
Springing enchanted from the ground;
A haunted, shadowy gleaming flower,
Scentless by day, but through the gloom
Floated in rapturous perfume
Of orange-blossom, one dream-hour.
Scentless by day, but through the gloom
Floated in rapturous perfume
Of orange-blossom, one dream-hour.
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Past the wild hollow, craterlike,
I wander'd half a summer's day
To find, where th'rare bog-bean in May
Throws up a rosy fringèd spike
I wander'd half a summer's day
To find, where th'rare bog-bean in May
Throws up a rosy fringèd spike
From leafage smooth and broad, and makes
A fairy floating island, plac'd
In the grey centre of the waste:
And past the shallow pools and lakes
A fairy floating island, plac'd
In the grey centre of the waste:
And past the shallow pools and lakes
Where the tall crested birds by day
Stalk to and fro and dip their heads;
And where the cotton grass outspreads
White silken streamers in array.
Stalk to and fro and dip their heads;
And where the cotton grass outspreads
White silken streamers in array.
Then downward turning, we came past
The lone grey cottage on the moor,
In its green orchard nook secure,
Homelike and shelter'd from the blast;
The lone grey cottage on the moor,
In its green orchard nook secure,
Homelike and shelter'd from the blast;
With the young ash trees grouping near;
Where smoothest greensward from the door,
Sprinkled with daisies, spreads before,
And a tiny brooklet, silver clear,
Where smoothest greensward from the door,
Sprinkled with daisies, spreads before,
And a tiny brooklet, silver clear,
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All wreath'd with thick forget-me-not,
And golden spearwort with its leaves
Pointed in flowing, threads and cleaves
Its light way through the open spot.
And golden spearwort with its leaves
Pointed in flowing, threads and cleaves
Its light way through the open spot.
The Irish boy, with his fair brow
And wide blue eyes, a child whose look
Itself all hearts in pleasure took
To see his smile, was standing now
And wide blue eyes, a child whose look
Itself all hearts in pleasure took
To see his smile, was standing now
Triumphant, with his hands o'erfull
Of white silk plumes, amid the moss;
His radiant face and hair across
Flushed the wild sunset, beautiful.
Of white silk plumes, amid the moss;
His radiant face and hair across
Flushed the wild sunset, beautiful.
The other with his eyes of love
Walk'd close by me, and on my face
He gaz'd as on a charmèd place,
And hardly from my side would move.
Walk'd close by me, and on my face
He gaz'd as on a charmèd place,
And hardly from my side would move.
And now the twilight had begun
To darken over hill and dale;
Across the valley glimmer'd pale
Lights from low windows, one by one.
To darken over hill and dale;
Across the valley glimmer'd pale
Lights from low windows, one by one.
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Ah, there stood homes, tho' bare and poor!
The lapwings rose disturb'd, and screamed
Above our heads, the night-moths gleamed,
And we were out upon the moor.
The lapwings rose disturb'd, and screamed
Above our heads, the night-moths gleamed,
And we were out upon the moor.
THURSDAY.
Upon a winding height, our way,
With low wood rolling to its base;
And far below, for miles to trace,
Clear at our feet the valley lay
With low wood rolling to its base;
And far below, for miles to trace,
Clear at our feet the valley lay
In cool delicious depths of green,
And evening stillness of repose—
In one clear light of golden-rose
The distant West glow'd on serene:
And evening stillness of repose—
In one clear light of golden-rose
The distant West glow'd on serene:
But over lowlands near at hand
The very air was dewy-green;
The waters wander'd through a scene
The very heart of summer-land.
The very air was dewy-green;
The waters wander'd through a scene
The very heart of summer-land.
The fresh and feathery elm-trees stood
The silent meadow-grass above;
The quiet shadows did not move
Through all the lovely solitude.
The silent meadow-grass above;
The quiet shadows did not move
Through all the lovely solitude.
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A green sweet Eden, wild and low
Winding far off amid the hills;
For ever cool'd by hidden rills,
Under the leafage trickling slow.
Winding far off amid the hills;
For ever cool'd by hidden rills,
Under the leafage trickling slow.
The great white owls, with floating wings,
Over the twilight meadows hung
In the soft, silent air, and swung
Across with sudden glimmerings.
Over the twilight meadows hung
In the soft, silent air, and swung
Across with sudden glimmerings.
Then, downward winding, we drew near
The rocky orchard, rising steep,
Standing in thick grass ankle-deep,
With bursting springs descending clear,
The rocky orchard, rising steep,
Standing in thick grass ankle-deep,
With bursting springs descending clear,
Meeting in one white network all,
Foaming and cool, round beds of stone
With golden saxifrage o'ergrown,
And pour'd in one wild waterfall.
Foaming and cool, round beds of stone
With golden saxifrage o'ergrown,
And pour'd in one wild waterfall.
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FRIDAY.
Light summer clouds sail'd on aloft;
The shadows of the afternoon
Were slanting over mound and stone,
In the green churchyard, warm and soft.
The shadows of the afternoon
Were slanting over mound and stone,
In the green churchyard, warm and soft.
I sat beneath a cedar tree,
Around me golden disks of flowers,
Long-stalked, through all the noon-day hours
Had floated on a deep green sea;
Around me golden disks of flowers,
Long-stalked, through all the noon-day hours
Had floated on a deep green sea;
But now were closing, folded green,
Lost in the long grass, lately mown,
Which, now once more luxuriant grown,
An emerald setting lay between
Lost in the long grass, lately mown,
Which, now once more luxuriant grown,
An emerald setting lay between
The velvet-dark of cypresses
And young, fair-shooting deodars;
On the low steps the ivy-stars
Clung in a tangled wilderness.
And young, fair-shooting deodars;
On the low steps the ivy-stars
Clung in a tangled wilderness.
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The ancient church-tower, golden-hoar,
Stood up into the summer air
Against the vivid blue, in bare
And stedfast service evermore,
Stood up into the summer air
Against the vivid blue, in bare
And stedfast service evermore,
Fronting the sun, while round and round
The jackdaws wheel'd with sudden cries,
And swallows shot into the skies
And back again without a sound.
The jackdaws wheel'd with sudden cries,
And swallows shot into the skies
And back again without a sound.
The white and yellow butterflies
Flutter'd low down and skimm'd the grass;
I saw their waving dances pass
In airy light before my eyes;
Flutter'd low down and skimm'd the grass;
I saw their waving dances pass
In airy light before my eyes;
Sitting beneath the canopy
Of cedar branches spreading low;
While, rapture-beautiful and slow,
The golden hours mov'd thro' the sky.
Of cedar branches spreading low;
While, rapture-beautiful and slow,
The golden hours mov'd thro' the sky.
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SATURDAY.
The sun shone on the village street:
The low doors, standing open, made
In the grey walls retreats of shade,
Amid the glowing summer heat.
The low doors, standing open, made
In the grey walls retreats of shade,
Amid the glowing summer heat.
Aloft against the azure light
The slender grasses ripe and tall
Stood tufted on the rough stone wall
Mellowed with lichens warm and bright.
The slender grasses ripe and tall
Stood tufted on the rough stone wall
Mellowed with lichens warm and bright.
Low, thatched old gables, overgrown
With ivy, caught the morning lights;
By shining, silvery pigeon flights
Sometimes in soft, swift shadow thrown.
With ivy, caught the morning lights;
By shining, silvery pigeon flights
Sometimes in soft, swift shadow thrown.
The Gothic buildings of the school
Stood open wide, with many a one
Coming and going in the sun,
Over against the churchyard cool.
Stood open wide, with many a one
Coming and going in the sun,
Over against the churchyard cool.
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In the arched doorways, with the sky
Behind them through another door,
Stood simple forms of girls, before
They mov'd to greet us going by.
Behind them through another door,
Stood simple forms of girls, before
They mov'd to greet us going by.
Shelter'd all round, but hoar with age
Still on the hill-side lay the church;
And with the cross above the porch,
The ivy-mantled parsonage.
Still on the hill-side lay the church;
And with the cross above the porch,
The ivy-mantled parsonage.
All round, bright life to service given,
Voices of youth, and looks of bloom,
Blessing of love, and peace of home,
And over all the smile of heaven.
Voices of youth, and looks of bloom,
Blessing of love, and peace of home,
And over all the smile of heaven.
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THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.
The pearly purple clearness
Of heaven's gates at morn
Through closèd eyelids interwove
With dreamings of the dawn;
And down the gleaming shadowy ways,
In long low light withdrawn,
I saw the young hours brightening back
Far off where I was born;
All peach and apple blossom,
With promise and delight,
A heaven of cloudless sun by day,
And golden stars by night.
Bright lay the way before me,
And brighter to its close,
The farther future ever lit
With deeper tints of rose;
Till where, amid the western heaven,
The glory overflows.
Now, standing at that western gate,
Looking back whence I came,
Those long grey desert pathways
Could never be the same—
Behind me all in shadow,
Before me all aflame.
Of heaven's gates at morn
Through closèd eyelids interwove
With dreamings of the dawn;
And down the gleaming shadowy ways,
In long low light withdrawn,
I saw the young hours brightening back
Far off where I was born;
All peach and apple blossom,
With promise and delight,
A heaven of cloudless sun by day,
And golden stars by night.
Bright lay the way before me,
And brighter to its close,
The farther future ever lit
With deeper tints of rose;
Till where, amid the western heaven,
The glory overflows.
Now, standing at that western gate,
Looking back whence I came,
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Could never be the same—
Behind me all in shadow,
Before me all aflame.
Rose the ideas of youth again,
With grand and glorious eyes,
The visions of immortal things
And works that should arise.
Large talents feeling for the air,
Life bursting into song;
The keen and dauntless spirit,
In hope and purpose strong,
For labour in the vineyard,
Or battle against wrong;
Deep, deep into the morning
Dreaming, for life was long.
Ah, full and fair the shoots of spring
Waved over all the plain;
Now come the harvest angels—
Where is the golden grain?
O Life, of all thy working day,
Does only this remain?
Of torn and tangled fragments,
Not one without a stain.
With grand and glorious eyes,
The visions of immortal things
And works that should arise.
Large talents feeling for the air,
Life bursting into song;
The keen and dauntless spirit,
In hope and purpose strong,
For labour in the vineyard,
Or battle against wrong;
Deep, deep into the morning
Dreaming, for life was long.
Ah, full and fair the shoots of spring
Waved over all the plain;
Now come the harvest angels—
Where is the golden grain?
O Life, of all thy working day,
Does only this remain?
Of torn and tangled fragments,
Not one without a stain.
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The dead stood up before me
Once more, as they had been,
My own to love and comfort,
In daily dearness seen;
Sweet faces that all silently
With my wild moods had pleaded,
Whose unreproachful sadness
Fell on me then unheeded;
Who looked to me for sunshine,
And found not what they needed.
‘Come back to me one little hour,
And I will tend you so;
Oh, if you were but mine again,
I would not let you go;
If I had known you would have died!
Too late, too late I know.’
Once more, as they had been,
My own to love and comfort,
In daily dearness seen;
Sweet faces that all silently
With my wild moods had pleaded,
Whose unreproachful sadness
Fell on me then unheeded;
Who looked to me for sunshine,
And found not what they needed.
‘Come back to me one little hour,
And I will tend you so;
Oh, if you were but mine again,
I would not let you go;
If I had known you would have died!
Too late, too late I know.’
The cold hand shook not in my tears,
No eyelid flushed or fell;
They spoke in clear calm voices,
‘We rest, and we are well;
All is forgiven long ago;—
With thee we may not dwell.’
They passed away and out of sight
Ere I could say farewell.
No eyelid flushed or fell;
They spoke in clear calm voices,
‘We rest, and we are well;
All is forgiven long ago;—
With thee we may not dwell.’
They passed away and out of sight
Ere I could say farewell.
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And every beggar in the street
I ever had passed by,
‘O stay, that I may help you now!’
But they made no reply;
Then I knew what it was to beg,
And no man heed my cry;
I wept aloud for anguish,
None stopped to ask me why;
I ever had passed by,
‘O stay, that I may help you now!’
But they made no reply;
Then I knew what it was to beg,
And no man heed my cry;
I wept aloud for anguish,
None stopped to ask me why;
And then I saw One standing
In the December night,
With bare feet on the frozen ground,
And in His hand a light.
The wondrous face was turned this way,
Full in the lantern shine;
Under the thorns the deep eyes looked
Their message into mine,
As then He knocked and waited
Before a close-shut door,
With withered red-leaved creepers
And tall dry weeds grown o'er;
No stir, no answer from within,
Yet knocking evermore.
Ah! I remember now how long
I turned away and slept,
While under the cold stars all night
His patient watch He kept,
Though all the yearning angels
Were wearied out and wept.
‘Here am I; nor will I depart
Until Thou let me in;
The heavens are far behind me,
One human soul to win;
That thou mayest know My mercy
Is greater than thy sin.’
In the December night,
With bare feet on the frozen ground,
And in His hand a light.
The wondrous face was turned this way,
Full in the lantern shine;
Under the thorns the deep eyes looked
Their message into mine,
As then He knocked and waited
Before a close-shut door,
With withered red-leaved creepers
And tall dry weeds grown o'er;
No stir, no answer from within,
Yet knocking evermore.
Ah! I remember now how long
I turned away and slept,
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His patient watch He kept,
Though all the yearning angels
Were wearied out and wept.
‘Here am I; nor will I depart
Until Thou let me in;
The heavens are far behind me,
One human soul to win;
That thou mayest know My mercy
Is greater than thy sin.’
‘Light of the World! I know thee now,
That might have been my own;
And I have chosen darkness:
Now darkness cometh on,
And it is I must call in vain;
The Lord of Light is gone.’
Then, in despair, unto the winds
The door I opened wide;
And lo! the same as ever,
That bright One stood beside,
With the same smile upon Thy face,
O Crownèd, Crucified,
As when Thy hand stretched o'er the sea
To Peter, who denied.
That might have been my own;
And I have chosen darkness:
Now darkness cometh on,
And it is I must call in vain;
The Lord of Light is gone.’
Then, in despair, unto the winds
The door I opened wide;
And lo! the same as ever,
That bright One stood beside,
With the same smile upon Thy face,
O Crownèd, Crucified,
As when Thy hand stretched o'er the sea
To Peter, who denied.
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I sank in bitter weeping
Beside the open door—
‘O good Lord, give me back one hour
Of all that went before!’
I heard a deep voice tolling,
‘Nevermore, nevermore!’
On it went echoing under,
Down to the gates of hell;
Helpless and broken-hearted,
Into Christ's arms I fell;
I heard the angels saying,
‘He doeth all things well.’
Beside the open door—
‘O good Lord, give me back one hour
Of all that went before!’
I heard a deep voice tolling,
‘Nevermore, nevermore!’
On it went echoing under,
Down to the gates of hell;
Helpless and broken-hearted,
Into Christ's arms I fell;
I heard the angels saying,
‘He doeth all things well.’
THE INDIAN SUMMER.
The pale-blue heaven unclouded stays
From day to day, and now indeed
The fairest of October days,
By the broad reaches of the Tweed,
With softest sunshine fills the band
Of silver-purple liquid light,
In the noon silence, Sabbath bright,
Unrolling through the Autumn land.
From day to day, and now indeed
The fairest of October days,
By the broad reaches of the Tweed,
With softest sunshine fills the band
Of silver-purple liquid light,
In the noon silence, Sabbath bright,
Unrolling through the Autumn land.
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Half-stripped, the wooded banks lift high
A carven lacework of grey boughs,
Soft brown and gold against the sky;
And here and there full-gloried glows
Some crown the spoiler has passed by,
In crimsoned, passionate repose,
Waiting until the north wind blows,—
A pale flower ripened to a rose,
‘One last rich hour before I die!’
A carven lacework of grey boughs,
Soft brown and gold against the sky;
And here and there full-gloried glows
Some crown the spoiler has passed by,
In crimsoned, passionate repose,
Waiting until the north wind blows,—
A pale flower ripened to a rose,
‘One last rich hour before I die!’
Not long ago, all overgrown,
The heavy-foliaged bank shelved down,
At noonday laid in twilight brown;
When, as the sunbeams slanted through,
A million dancing emeralds threw
A glowworm sparkle back again.
Now bright in sunshine everywhere
The shining grey-ash stems are bare,
And thinly overspread
By delicately figured shade,
In mottled motion on them laid
From the pale witch-elms overhead,
Still hanging forth their wreath;—
Light crossed with shade, for shade with light;—
And withered leaves to-day are bright;
Half of them on the ground are spread,
Mosaic pavement gold and red,
And some still flutter overhead,
And some are borne along the stream,
And all the air is full of them,
Dancing away to death.
The heavy-foliaged bank shelved down,
At noonday laid in twilight brown;
When, as the sunbeams slanted through,
A million dancing emeralds threw
A glowworm sparkle back again.
Now bright in sunshine everywhere
The shining grey-ash stems are bare,
And thinly overspread
By delicately figured shade,
In mottled motion on them laid
From the pale witch-elms overhead,
Still hanging forth their wreath;—
Light crossed with shade, for shade with light;—
And withered leaves to-day are bright;
132
Mosaic pavement gold and red,
And some still flutter overhead,
And some are borne along the stream,
And all the air is full of them,
Dancing away to death.
Now after hoping long and vain,
The summer is come back again,
With angel eyes and brow serene,
To show us what she might have been;
All the regrets she cannot speak,
In the flushed silence of her cheek,
And the child-tender eyelids meek
In their translucent fall.
We watched her coming from the south
With joyous welcome to her youth;
The suffering, worn by sickness, blest
The angel that should give them rest;
She came and mocked us all.
For she was gloomy, cold, and wild,
A fitful, weeping, passionate child,
Uncertain even when she smiled;
But that is over now;
The waywardness and grief are past,
She has a tender heart at last.
The summer is come back again,
With angel eyes and brow serene,
To show us what she might have been;
All the regrets she cannot speak,
In the flushed silence of her cheek,
And the child-tender eyelids meek
In their translucent fall.
We watched her coming from the south
With joyous welcome to her youth;
The suffering, worn by sickness, blest
The angel that should give them rest;
She came and mocked us all.
For she was gloomy, cold, and wild,
A fitful, weeping, passionate child,
Uncertain even when she smiled;
But that is over now;
The waywardness and grief are past,
She has a tender heart at last.
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She comes to take farewell to-day,
So beautiful, we can but say
‘With us a little longer stay!’
But doom is on her brow.
So beautiful, we can but say
‘With us a little longer stay!’
But doom is on her brow.
All lovingly and lingeringly
Flooded in golden ecstasy
Flows the great river's heart, as he
Through the clear silence, mellow-warm,
Knows the approaching of her form;
Her robes around her dim;
Faint floating veils the light shines through
Tinged airily with mountain blue
As she comes down to him;—
Down soft and slow through sunlit space,—
She hovers o'er him face to face,
Her warm arms spreading to embrace;
Her spirit eyes are close to him,
Her sweet eyes that will soon be dim;
He feels her lips a moment prest,
Her golden hair upon his breast,
And an unutterable rest
Circling through all his spirit thrills,
And into motion quietest
The gliding current stills.
Flooded in golden ecstasy
Flows the great river's heart, as he
Through the clear silence, mellow-warm,
Knows the approaching of her form;
Her robes around her dim;
Faint floating veils the light shines through
Tinged airily with mountain blue
As she comes down to him;—
Down soft and slow through sunlit space,—
She hovers o'er him face to face,
Her warm arms spreading to embrace;
Her spirit eyes are close to him,
Her sweet eyes that will soon be dim;
He feels her lips a moment prest,
Her golden hair upon his breast,
And an unutterable rest
Circling through all his spirit thrills,
And into motion quietest
The gliding current stills.
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A golden haze on Cheviot lies,
And it is midday now—he knows
That when this day in sunset dies
She will go from him; and the snows
Will bury her upon the hills,
And winter winds howl over her.
So this last day for him she fills
For ever lovelier.
And it is midday now—he knows
That when this day in sunset dies
She will go from him; and the snows
Will bury her upon the hills,
And winter winds howl over her.
So this last day for him she fills
For ever lovelier.
The soft wind and the yellow leaves
Are having their last dance together,
Up and down, an oriole feather.
‘O life, and love, and summer weather!
Is this our parting?’ Even so:
A little gust of wind, and lo,
A flight of golden butterflies
In slow and airy quiver
Winged downwards, and each dead leaf lies
Floated along the river.
And over them the lost wind sighs,
They lying calm for ever.
Are having their last dance together,
Up and down, an oriole feather.
‘O life, and love, and summer weather!
Is this our parting?’ Even so:
A little gust of wind, and lo,
A flight of golden butterflies
In slow and airy quiver
Winged downwards, and each dead leaf lies
Floated along the river.
And over them the lost wind sighs,
They lying calm for ever.
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MIDNIGHT ON CALVARY.
The night was come after the day
Of the great Agony,
When Peter from Jerusalem
Went up to Calvary.
Of the great Agony,
When Peter from Jerusalem
Went up to Calvary.
Alone and silently he passed
Out of the eastern gate,
Above all others on the earth
Stricken and desolate.
Out of the eastern gate,
Above all others on the earth
Stricken and desolate.
The nightingales sang not that night,
For Christ lay dead on earth;
The olive-leaves stayed whispering
As Peter wandered forth.
For Christ lay dead on earth;
The olive-leaves stayed whispering
As Peter wandered forth.
The moon came slowly up the east,
A glittering, large full moon;
And the dumb land grew clearer:
Midnight was coming soon.—
A glittering, large full moon;
And the dumb land grew clearer:
Midnight was coming soon.—
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The Master was not watching
Up on the hills in prayer.—
He stood still in the shiver
And darkness of despair.
Up on the hills in prayer.—
He stood still in the shiver
And darkness of despair.
He lifted up his eyes, as one
That wakens from a swoon,
And he saw the three gaunt crosses
Stand black against the moon.
That wakens from a swoon,
And he saw the three gaunt crosses
Stand black against the moon.
Apace he hurried up the hill
Where, a few hours ago,
Under the burning sunshine,
Christ had gone up so slow.
Where, a few hours ago,
Under the burning sunshine,
Christ had gone up so slow.
On the one side lay Golgotha,
Trodden and heaped around;
On the other side all quiet,
The rocky Garden ground.
Trodden and heaped around;
On the other side all quiet,
The rocky Garden ground.
The moonlight glanced across the flowers,
And struck the broad white stone,
The door of that new sepulchre
Where Christ was laid alone.
And struck the broad white stone,
The door of that new sepulchre
Where Christ was laid alone.
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Down stricken to his knees he fell,
And sobbing out aloud,
Where John had stood all stedfast,
His face to earth he bowed.
And sobbing out aloud,
Where John had stood all stedfast,
His face to earth he bowed.
‘O Master, blessed Master!
Is this the end of all?
And was that our last parting
This morning, in the hall?
Is this the end of all?
And was that our last parting
This morning, in the hall?
‘One look straight through the darkness
Ever against me cries;
O silent Lord, I cannot bear
The sorrow of Thine eyes!
Ever against me cries;
O silent Lord, I cannot bear
The sorrow of Thine eyes!
‘Betrayed, forsaken, slandered,
In bitterest need and woe;
I was not with Thee here, Lord;—
Ah! that it should be so!
In bitterest need and woe;
I was not with Thee here, Lord;—
Ah! that it should be so!
‘We know not whither Thou art gone,
We do not know the way;
All light, and hope, and comfort,
Are gone from earth to-day.
We do not know the way;
All light, and hope, and comfort,
Are gone from earth to-day.
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‘Left all alone, and in the dark,
If I had been more wise,
I might have been this very hour
With Thee in Paradise.
If I had been more wise,
I might have been this very hour
With Thee in Paradise.
‘O Lord, have pity on me now,
That my heart may not break
Before I have done or suffered
Aught worthy for Thy sake.’
That my heart may not break
Before I have done or suffered
Aught worthy for Thy sake.’
First seen of Mary Magdalene,
Of Peter after next;—
The words that then were spoken
Are written in no text.
Of Peter after next;—
The words that then were spoken
Are written in no text.
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THE LADY'S STEPS.
Ready for her flight she stands,
With her jewels in her hands;
She is hostage for her lord;
Trusting to his monarch's word,
He has sheathed his rebel sword,
Waiting for the law's award
In his Buchan tower.
She has overheard it said,
How his promise is betrayed,
How a price is on his head;
If he be not warned to-night,
Murder comes with morning light;—
She will fly this hour.
With her jewels in her hands;
She is hostage for her lord;
Trusting to his monarch's word,
He has sheathed his rebel sword,
Waiting for the law's award
In his Buchan tower.
She has overheard it said,
How his promise is betrayed,
How a price is on his head;
If he be not warned to-night,
Murder comes with morning light;—
She will fly this hour.
From the foemen's bounds secure,
Past with stealthy step and sure,
Mute and holding breath;—
A wild day's journey lies before
She can see her own home more;
Over moss and moor, the track
Leads through desolate sheep-walks back,
Buchan wastes and forests black,
A race for life or death.
Past with stealthy step and sure,
Mute and holding breath;—
A wild day's journey lies before
She can see her own home more;
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Leads through desolate sheep-walks back,
Buchan wastes and forests black,
A race for life or death.
Evening fell all wild and red,
Storm clouds gathered overhead;
Faster through the gloom she sped,
Heard the plover cry,
Heard, where moorland waters meet,
On the hills the last lamb bleat;
Crushed the thorns against her feet,
Past her blew the slanting sleet,
On her shoulders low boughs beat;—
Through the shadows firm and fleet
That white form went by.
Storm clouds gathered overhead;
Faster through the gloom she sped,
Heard the plover cry,
Heard, where moorland waters meet,
On the hills the last lamb bleat;
Crushed the thorns against her feet,
Past her blew the slanting sleet,
On her shoulders low boughs beat;—
Through the shadows firm and fleet
That white form went by.
Through the low air comes a stir,
Near and nearer after her;
Armèd horsemen, pricking spur,
Flash into the landscape dim,
Death to her and death to him;
She is straining every limb
O'er the open ground.
The low wall before her lay,
With a leap she cleared the way
O'er the stones, and there they stay:
‘The lady's steps’ unto this day
By the garden bound.
Near and nearer after her;
Armèd horsemen, pricking spur,
Flash into the landscape dim,
Death to her and death to him;
She is straining every limb
O'er the open ground.
The low wall before her lay,
With a leap she cleared the way
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‘The lady's steps’ unto this day
By the garden bound.
Ah! for help when need is most!
Help is none, and all is lost.
In a ring of flashing swords,
No time is now for many words.
Standing stately by the brook,
Back from her brows the hair she shook;
In one rapid moment took
Round on every face a look,
Dauntless spoke aloud—
‘That great day is coming, when
God shall judge the sons of men;
I shall know you all again
When we meet before Him then.’
Eyed the steel without a frown,
Proudly spoke, and then knelt down
Meekly unto God.
Help is none, and all is lost.
In a ring of flashing swords,
No time is now for many words.
Standing stately by the brook,
Back from her brows the hair she shook;
In one rapid moment took
Round on every face a look,
Dauntless spoke aloud—
‘That great day is coming, when
God shall judge the sons of men;
I shall know you all again
When we meet before Him then.’
Eyed the steel without a frown,
Proudly spoke, and then knelt down
Meekly unto God.
To the lake the burn ran red;
Moaning voices, it is said,
Haunt the place at fall of day;
Through the reeds the low winds sigh,
And the wildfowl's wailing cry
Rings a curfew in reply;
While, with one long note, on high
The straight black thread of rooks sails by,
Stretching to the farthest sky
On their homeward way.
Moaning voices, it is said,
Haunt the place at fall of day;
Through the reeds the low winds sigh,
And the wildfowl's wailing cry
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While, with one long note, on high
The straight black thread of rooks sails by,
Stretching to the farthest sky
On their homeward way.
FRITZ AND WILHELMINA.
Two fair children, sister and brother,
King's son and daughter, clinging to each other,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
King's son and daughter, clinging to each other,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
He high of heart, and strong and stout of will,
She bright and brave, and a spirit all athrill,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
She bright and brave, and a spirit all athrill,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Prince and princess truly, but no princely life, God knows,
Hard fare and harder words, bonds and mocks and blows,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Hard fare and harder words, bonds and mocks and blows,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
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Rough times are coming—we will cling together,
Fast heart to heart through all the stormy weather,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Fast heart to heart through all the stormy weather,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Through the blinding darkness, through the pelting storm,
Hold fast together, keep your young hearts warm,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Hold fast together, keep your young hearts warm,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Heavier crashing thunderclouds, blackening almost unto death,
The king's son is in prison, the king's daughter languisheth,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
The king's son is in prison, the king's daughter languisheth,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Parted, sister and brother, dark times are come indeed,
Now must we pray for each other in our need,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Now must we pray for each other in our need,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Face to face once more, ere the world sunders you twain,
Out of your youth's prison, changed, ye meet again,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Out of your youth's prison, changed, ye meet again,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
He henceforth a man and silent, a ruler among men,
Great to be called, but never the free in heart again,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Great to be called, but never the free in heart again,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
144
She to be a royal mother, a sweet star in the land,
One whom all could love and few could understand,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
One whom all could love and few could understand,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Children, were they so bitter, the troubles of your youth,
When ye were all each other's in tenderness and truth,
Fritz and Wilhelmina?
When ye were all each other's in tenderness and truth,
Fritz and Wilhelmina?
Worse things the age will bring you, when ye shall be apart,
Cold faith, and broken reeds, and hardening of the heart,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Cold faith, and broken reeds, and hardening of the heart,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
Now perhaps, the long day over of earthly toil and pain,
In the Palace Gardens ye are young again,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
In the Palace Gardens ye are young again,
Fritz and Wilhelmina.
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NORTH WINDS.
The March winds rave between the hills,
Cold run the steel-blue shining rills,
Through the wide void a wailing shrills.
Cold run the steel-blue shining rills,
Through the wide void a wailing shrills.
The sun is high at equinox,
The cold blast the pale sunshine mocks,
Helpless the giddy rookery rocks.
The cold blast the pale sunshine mocks,
Helpless the giddy rookery rocks.
Ice gathers on the scarce-loos'd flood,
The sap stands still within the bud,
Chill slackens soon the heart's young blood.
The sap stands still within the bud,
Chill slackens soon the heart's young blood.
The far heights start out one by one,
Down the hill-sides cloud-shadows run
Across the cold glare of the sun.
Down the hill-sides cloud-shadows run
Across the cold glare of the sun.
The long marsh in the windy vale
With sedges lightens and turns pale,
Pointed one way before the gale.
With sedges lightens and turns pale,
Pointed one way before the gale.
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There were some flowers short time ago,—
When the wind falls will come the snow;
O foolish flowers, why did ye blow?
When the wind falls will come the snow;
O foolish flowers, why did ye blow?
All wan and dazzling overhead
The Arctic flood is tost and spread:—
Methinks the Spring itself is dead.
The Arctic flood is tost and spread:—
Methinks the Spring itself is dead.
DWELLERS IN PARADISE.
They come to me in yearning dreams,
Afar I see them stand:
One day I, too, shall see them,
Living in their own land.
Afar I see them stand:
One day I, too, shall see them,
Living in their own land.
The bright eyes of the poets
Shine from that glorious sphere;
And artists, dream-enraptured, say
The Beautiful is here.
Shine from that glorious sphere;
And artists, dream-enraptured, say
The Beautiful is here.
There art thou, Virgin-Mother,
And thou next glorified,
O young inspired heroine,
That mid the red flames died!
And thou next glorified,
O young inspired heroine,
That mid the red flames died!
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And martyr-maidens pallid-browed,
Christ's lilies stedfast-hearted,
With the very smile upon their lips
They wore as they departed.
Christ's lilies stedfast-hearted,
With the very smile upon their lips
They wore as they departed.
They who commune with each other
Downward from age to age,
With the same great book before them
Unfolding page by page.
Downward from age to age,
With the same great book before them
Unfolding page by page.
Interpreters of that great song
God has written in the skies,
Beholding in the peopled dust
Divinest mysteries:—
God has written in the skies,
Beholding in the peopled dust
Divinest mysteries:—
The Beautiful, the Glorious:—
How fast the vision fills!
O fold of God, take me too in,
Lost out upon the hills!
How fast the vision fills!
O fold of God, take me too in,
Lost out upon the hills!
148
AN ORPHAN.
Lying on thy little bed,
Still and pale, as thou wert dead;
On thy arm thy drooping head
Has sunk down wearily:
In a deep exhausted sleeping,
After tempest-floods of weeping,
Fall'n into the angels' keeping;
For no friend else is nigh.
Ever in the narrow room
Colder and colder falls the gloom;
The evening darkens, and the rain
Beats on the narrow lattice-pane;
And the one grey poplar, shaking
By the window, ever making
Mournful music to thy waking,
Rocks its shadow by.
All things round are bare and rough,
But thou art soft and young enough
For tenderer comforting and cheer
Than any that thou findest here,
Under the cold, strange sky.
Still and pale, as thou wert dead;
On thy arm thy drooping head
Has sunk down wearily:
In a deep exhausted sleeping,
After tempest-floods of weeping,
Fall'n into the angels' keeping;
For no friend else is nigh.
Ever in the narrow room
Colder and colder falls the gloom;
The evening darkens, and the rain
Beats on the narrow lattice-pane;
And the one grey poplar, shaking
By the window, ever making
Mournful music to thy waking,
Rocks its shadow by.
All things round are bare and rough,
But thou art soft and young enough
149
Than any that thou findest here,
Under the cold, strange sky.
Life has come on thee unawares,
In a cold flood of griefs and cares;
Troubled thou art and desolate
In mind and body, and estate,
And spent with misery.
In thy helpless softness thrown
Out upon the world alone;
Only faces all unknown,
To meet thee carelessly;
Stranger speech within thy ears,
Bread of exile and of tears;
And no memory of sweet years
To console thy pain;
And in thy heart-broken sorrow,
No good visions of to-morrow
Thy patience to sustain.
Prayers are darkly drowned in doubt,
And the heavens are blotted out
By the blinding rain:
In thy anguish left so lonely,
Is but one hope for thee only,
Never to wake again.
Thou sleepest softly now, and yet
Thy eyelashes are freshly wet,
And on thy cheeks two tears are set,
As if thy dreams could not forget:—
But who will care for these?
As they are so they must be,
No one will kiss them away for thee,
Lying there until they freeze.
All around thee golden-rare,
The heavy loosen'd rain of hair,
With a mantle royal-fair,
Enfoldeth thee to rest.
Soft young hands and fair of mould,
Small as a child's ten years old,
As white as snowflakes and as cold,
Are folded on thy breast;
Together passionately entwin'd,
As they had sought about to find
Some caress of tender kind,
And meeting none of sister or mother,
Are tightly clasp'd in one another
With yearning mournfullest:
Fingers not chisell'd out of stone,
But like white roses at sunrise blown,
Into that shape and sculpture grown,
By angel fingers prest.
Thy brows are calm at last in sleep,
But, haunted still with pain, they keep
A shadowy look, so dark and deep,
Whoso beholdeth can but weep,
But thou still slumberest.
In a cold flood of griefs and cares;
Troubled thou art and desolate
In mind and body, and estate,
And spent with misery.
In thy helpless softness thrown
Out upon the world alone;
Only faces all unknown,
To meet thee carelessly;
Stranger speech within thy ears,
Bread of exile and of tears;
And no memory of sweet years
To console thy pain;
And in thy heart-broken sorrow,
No good visions of to-morrow
Thy patience to sustain.
Prayers are darkly drowned in doubt,
And the heavens are blotted out
By the blinding rain:
In thy anguish left so lonely,
Is but one hope for thee only,
Never to wake again.
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Thy eyelashes are freshly wet,
And on thy cheeks two tears are set,
As if thy dreams could not forget:—
But who will care for these?
As they are so they must be,
No one will kiss them away for thee,
Lying there until they freeze.
All around thee golden-rare,
The heavy loosen'd rain of hair,
With a mantle royal-fair,
Enfoldeth thee to rest.
Soft young hands and fair of mould,
Small as a child's ten years old,
As white as snowflakes and as cold,
Are folded on thy breast;
Together passionately entwin'd,
As they had sought about to find
Some caress of tender kind,
And meeting none of sister or mother,
Are tightly clasp'd in one another
With yearning mournfullest:
Fingers not chisell'd out of stone,
But like white roses at sunrise blown,
Into that shape and sculpture grown,
By angel fingers prest.
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But, haunted still with pain, they keep
A shadowy look, so dark and deep,
Whoso beholdeth can but weep,
But thou still slumberest.
The silent sadness of thy face
Thrills like a sighing through the place;
Yet thanks at least be for the grace
Of this hour's quiet breathing-space
Amid the waters wild.
Though thy young heart in its breaking
Sees it not, yet unforsaking
Christ o'er thee a hush is making
To give thee slumber mild:
He giveth His beloved sleep:
He loveth thee, poor child!
Thrills like a sighing through the place;
Yet thanks at least be for the grace
Of this hour's quiet breathing-space
Amid the waters wild.
Though thy young heart in its breaking
Sees it not, yet unforsaking
Christ o'er thee a hush is making
To give thee slumber mild:
He giveth His beloved sleep:
He loveth thee, poor child!
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ADELAIDE.
I. Part I.
A year, it is not a year ago
Since he came, who loved me so,
Where I lay in the primroses low
Moaning my complaint:
For the fate fixed for me ere I was born,
Away in the cloister, lonely and lorn,
I that was full of the fire and the morn,
And for yearning of Life grew faint.
Since he came, who loved me so,
Where I lay in the primroses low
Moaning my complaint:
For the fate fixed for me ere I was born,
Away in the cloister, lonely and lorn,
I that was full of the fire and the morn,
And for yearning of Life grew faint.
I with my long hair's golden grace,
And the flickering Northern Lights in my face,
Over the snow, and my pride of race,
Of Suabian ancestry,
Queenlike stature, and moulded limb;
Yet not worthy withal of him;—
The dark-eyed artist whom God sent forth
Over the mountains into the North,
That he there might light on me.
He met me there in the April wood,
It was not long ere we understood
How our hearts had fated been.
O sweet young spring days, so fresh and cool,
Each hour more green and more beautiful,
When the flowers were waking up from sleep,
And the birds sang all together to keep
Our whispers safe within.
And the flickering Northern Lights in my face,
Over the snow, and my pride of race,
Of Suabian ancestry,
Queenlike stature, and moulded limb;
Yet not worthy withal of him;—
The dark-eyed artist whom God sent forth
Over the mountains into the North,
That he there might light on me.
153
It was not long ere we understood
How our hearts had fated been.
O sweet young spring days, so fresh and cool,
Each hour more green and more beautiful,
When the flowers were waking up from sleep,
And the birds sang all together to keep
Our whispers safe within.
What were all those words he said?
What were those sweet words murmurèd
Under the boughs enlaced?
I cannot tell—some sounds remain,
Some echoes, only not so plain,
Come sighing o'er the waste.
‘Alas! O motherless fair child,
Yearning against the world so wild,’
A voice was wont to say—
‘I know the darkness of thy fate
Is bound upon thee as a weight,
That grows more crushing day by day.
There is no pride, there is no scorn
In all thy stateliness, my queen,
The light beneath those eyelids born,
When Love himself at last shall dawn,
Shall meet him trustful and serene.’
And more and more—that voice flowed on
Like silver streams beneath the sun.
Ah! already my heart was won,
Perhaps too lightly, perhaps too soon,
But it was his for ever.
And if we each did love so well,
Could any sorrow that befell
Our hearts hereafter sever?
What were those sweet words murmurèd
Under the boughs enlaced?
I cannot tell—some sounds remain,
Some echoes, only not so plain,
Come sighing o'er the waste.
‘Alas! O motherless fair child,
Yearning against the world so wild,’
A voice was wont to say—
‘I know the darkness of thy fate
Is bound upon thee as a weight,
That grows more crushing day by day.
There is no pride, there is no scorn
In all thy stateliness, my queen,
The light beneath those eyelids born,
When Love himself at last shall dawn,
Shall meet him trustful and serene.’
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Like silver streams beneath the sun.
Ah! already my heart was won,
Perhaps too lightly, perhaps too soon,
But it was his for ever.
And if we each did love so well,
Could any sorrow that befell
Our hearts hereafter sever?
And so it came, that one night late,
I went forth from my father's gate,
All trembling and alone;
With all my dowry, my gold hair,—
And stole past moonlit pathways fair,
In shadow, breathless and aware,
Through tangled woods, where May's first air
Breathed in the midnight tone.
And on that midnight still and lone,
In a grey chapel, overgrown
With ivy, by the stream,
With ruined arches overhead,
And glimmering lights, the words were said
That made us one, and we were wed.—
Ah, still it haunts my dream!—
As down the river, amid the balm
Of the May birthnight our boat went calm,
And I lay half in swoon.
The full moon with the face of a saint,
Looked on us as in benison;
Sweet voices from the convent choir
Chanted the midnight orison;
It floated over the waters dim,
As we went gliding on.
I went forth from my father's gate,
All trembling and alone;
With all my dowry, my gold hair,—
And stole past moonlit pathways fair,
In shadow, breathless and aware,
Through tangled woods, where May's first air
Breathed in the midnight tone.
And on that midnight still and lone,
In a grey chapel, overgrown
With ivy, by the stream,
With ruined arches overhead,
And glimmering lights, the words were said
That made us one, and we were wed.—
Ah, still it haunts my dream!—
As down the river, amid the balm
Of the May birthnight our boat went calm,
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The full moon with the face of a saint,
Looked on us as in benison;
Sweet voices from the convent choir
Chanted the midnight orison;
It floated over the waters dim,
As we went gliding on.
We travelled in fear, we travelled fast,
Till danger of pursuit was past;
Then freedom and love had come at last.
They say that it was deadly sin,
But nothing told me so within.
Onward we went, hand in hand,
Through the warm and sunny land;
Never was seen, by sea or shore,
A spring so beautiful before:
The hawthorn boughs dropt show'rings sweet,
Of snowy petals at our feet;
It was a still suspended rain
Of beauty betwixt earth and tree;
The blossom-clusters hung in vain,
A veil across the mystery
Of the green wood-worlds we past thro',
And sunny orchards, where the dew
Still on the lush grass lay.
Purple veins of violets
Ran like dark-blue rivulets
Winding thro' the moss away;
Wild white stars from the dark woods gleam'd;
Blue eyes from the hedgebanks laugh'd at me;
And the sunward opening valleys seem'd
All robed in a blossom-lace to be.
Till danger of pursuit was past;
Then freedom and love had come at last.
They say that it was deadly sin,
But nothing told me so within.
Onward we went, hand in hand,
Through the warm and sunny land;
Never was seen, by sea or shore,
A spring so beautiful before:
The hawthorn boughs dropt show'rings sweet,
Of snowy petals at our feet;
It was a still suspended rain
Of beauty betwixt earth and tree;
The blossom-clusters hung in vain,
A veil across the mystery
Of the green wood-worlds we past thro',
And sunny orchards, where the dew
Still on the lush grass lay.
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Ran like dark-blue rivulets
Winding thro' the moss away;
Wild white stars from the dark woods gleam'd;
Blue eyes from the hedgebanks laugh'd at me;
And the sunward opening valleys seem'd
All robed in a blossom-lace to be.
Wondrous liquid strains of song
Through the leaves trill'd loud and long
From the nightingale's wild heart;
Madly darting high and low,
Running all the compass through,
In silver notes apart:
With sudden passion bursting free,
Into a flood of melody,
Rising, soaring, shrill and clear,
Falling soft as the fall of a tear,
While we held our breath to hear
Under the leaves.
Through the leaves trill'd loud and long
From the nightingale's wild heart;
Madly darting high and low,
Running all the compass through,
In silver notes apart:
With sudden passion bursting free,
Into a flood of melody,
Rising, soaring, shrill and clear,
Falling soft as the fall of a tear,
While we held our breath to hear
Under the leaves.
And little children gazed at me
With eyes that were full of wonder and glee;
Then ran to their cottage-door and cried,
‘O mother! mother! come and see!
The princess with the golden hair,
Is come from the enchanted hall,
And the knight who broke the spell is there,
They are passing this way side by side;
It is all true! How beautiful!’
With eyes that were full of wonder and glee;
Then ran to their cottage-door and cried,
‘O mother! mother! come and see!
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Is come from the enchanted hall,
And the knight who broke the spell is there,
They are passing this way side by side;
It is all true! How beautiful!’
Deeper into the summer
We wander'd every day;
There lay a thicker shadow
Over the grassy way.
Untir'd wayfarers, when the Moon
Of Flowers was passing into June,
From dawn till evening came too soon;
Till in the east the stars were rising,
And the west lay still a golden sea,
And suddenly thrill'd by the chiming
Of the Vesper-Bell's far melody.
Oh, prayer and praise were easy then!
Our prayers were all of charity
For the wide world of fellow-men,
That were not richly blest as we.
And the world lay around us there,
With its great mountains in the air,
Slowly drawn near for us to climb,
In all its beauty and its prime:—
O love, that was our Eden time!
Across the mountains journey'd we,
And entered into Italy;
And through enchanted pathways past
To Florence, and were home at last.
I had had dreams of heaven before,
But now my heart was running o'er,
And satisfied for evermore,
So rapt in love were we.
We wander'd every day;
There lay a thicker shadow
Over the grassy way.
Untir'd wayfarers, when the Moon
Of Flowers was passing into June,
From dawn till evening came too soon;
Till in the east the stars were rising,
And the west lay still a golden sea,
And suddenly thrill'd by the chiming
Of the Vesper-Bell's far melody.
Oh, prayer and praise were easy then!
Our prayers were all of charity
For the wide world of fellow-men,
That were not richly blest as we.
And the world lay around us there,
With its great mountains in the air,
Slowly drawn near for us to climb,
In all its beauty and its prime:—
O love, that was our Eden time!
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And entered into Italy;
And through enchanted pathways past
To Florence, and were home at last.
I had had dreams of heaven before,
But now my heart was running o'er,
And satisfied for evermore,
So rapt in love were we.
II. Part II.
When the November darkness fell,
That year on Florence came as well
A deadly fever,—and he died:
I could not save him at his side;
So suddenly he sank away,
Nor had the strength farewell to say,
And from the heavens died out the day.
That year on Florence came as well
A deadly fever,—and he died:
I could not save him at his side;
So suddenly he sank away,
Nor had the strength farewell to say,
And from the heavens died out the day.
I watched beside him a night and a day,
With strangely beating and burning brow,
I sat and gazed on the lifeless clay,
It was all that earth held for me now.
It was a wild and stormy night
For a soul to go forth all alone;
There was no moon or stars to light
The staircase up to the great throne;
But the fierce winds were blowing all abroad,
And the blinding rain in torrents pour'd
Through the blackness of the sky;
And moaning voices went thro' the air,
With sounds as of spirits wailing there,
And sometimes a piercing shriek swept by,
And howls of demons' strife;
All the lights of heaven and the saints on high
Were blotted out of life;
I, only I, a living curse,
In all the dead dark universe.
The wet panes glimmer'd all shining and black,
And fearful faces were looking in,
But never his face to mine looked back,
Through all the horror and whirl and din.
When broke the chilly morning light
My hair hung round me, grisly-white.
With strangely beating and burning brow,
I sat and gazed on the lifeless clay,
It was all that earth held for me now.
It was a wild and stormy night
For a soul to go forth all alone;
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The staircase up to the great throne;
But the fierce winds were blowing all abroad,
And the blinding rain in torrents pour'd
Through the blackness of the sky;
And moaning voices went thro' the air,
With sounds as of spirits wailing there,
And sometimes a piercing shriek swept by,
And howls of demons' strife;
All the lights of heaven and the saints on high
Were blotted out of life;
I, only I, a living curse,
In all the dead dark universe.
The wet panes glimmer'd all shining and black,
And fearful faces were looking in,
But never his face to mine looked back,
Through all the horror and whirl and din.
When broke the chilly morning light
My hair hung round me, grisly-white.
And so the day came round again;
A day of dearirness and rain;—
The withered leaves against the pane
Rattled in their death-agony
Ere the blast whirled them from the tree.
The dead within, and the storm without;
One all raving, and one at rest:—
Never a ray of sun in the south,
Never a ray of hope in my breast.
A day of dearirness and rain;—
The withered leaves against the pane
Rattled in their death-agony
Ere the blast whirled them from the tree.
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One all raving, and one at rest:—
Never a ray of sun in the south,
Never a ray of hope in my breast.
When a night and a day had come and gone,
And the face of the dead was beginning to change,
Suddenly I heard below
Sounds of strange voices,—no, not strange!
If my heart could have sunk more low,
It had sunk then, to find them near,
My kindred who had track'd me here,
As bloodhounds track a wounded deer.
And I, who had been motherless,
Whose childhood had known no caress,
Nor comforting in sicknesses,
Gazed on them in despair.
Of their reproaches and their scorn
I little heeded—I had borne
Too much,—yet one so all-forlorn
They might have known to spare.
They took me—I, who had no friend
To help, whose life was at an end,
Back to my cloister'd doom to spend
The long death-anguish there.
So back by the same roads we past
We travelled in the summer last.
We came by winter and by night;
The mountains were so ghastly white,
Like shrouded giants stiff and cold,
The grimness of their stony sleep
In freezing distance to behold
Made all my veins with horror creep.
And the face of the dead was beginning to change,
Suddenly I heard below
Sounds of strange voices,—no, not strange!
If my heart could have sunk more low,
It had sunk then, to find them near,
My kindred who had track'd me here,
As bloodhounds track a wounded deer.
And I, who had been motherless,
Whose childhood had known no caress,
Nor comforting in sicknesses,
Gazed on them in despair.
Of their reproaches and their scorn
I little heeded—I had borne
Too much,—yet one so all-forlorn
They might have known to spare.
They took me—I, who had no friend
To help, whose life was at an end,
Back to my cloister'd doom to spend
The long death-anguish there.
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We travelled in the summer last.
We came by winter and by night;
The mountains were so ghastly white,
Like shrouded giants stiff and cold,
The grimness of their stony sleep
In freezing distance to behold
Made all my veins with horror creep.
And now I am here, and I do not know
Whether I am mad or no;
They have cut off all my long bright hair,
They have taken the ring he gave me to wear,
And a fever runs thro' me, nerve and brain,
Consuming me ever with fire and pain;
I sicken and sicken day by day,
Pining to death in prison away;
Through the hateful round of the daily rule,
With nought that is free or beautiful,
Through the lonely nights in my narrow cell,
Through the hopeless years stretching forwards still,
One voice rings ever and everywhere,
O lost for ever! despair! despair!
Whether I am mad or no;
They have cut off all my long bright hair,
They have taken the ring he gave me to wear,
And a fever runs thro' me, nerve and brain,
Consuming me ever with fire and pain;
I sicken and sicken day by day,
Pining to death in prison away;
Through the hateful round of the daily rule,
With nought that is free or beautiful,
Through the lonely nights in my narrow cell,
Through the hopeless years stretching forwards still,
One voice rings ever and everywhere,
O lost for ever! despair! despair!
Oh let me die, and feel no more!
What does this sickness come before?
Could I too die and pass?
This burning pain is all too strong;
How long, O cruel heavens! how long
Will you so close, alas?
What matters it unto despair,
Whether death cometh foul or fair
To lead us to the tomb?
Only come soon, that I may know
The best or worst of joy or woe
That waits me as my doom!
A year ago I was a child,
I remember the young face that smiled
From the mirror back to me:
Now I can feel the hollows deep,
And dark lines worn by lack of sleep
Under the eyes that fain would weep
To loose their misery.
What does this sickness come before?
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This burning pain is all too strong;
How long, O cruel heavens! how long
Will you so close, alas?
What matters it unto despair,
Whether death cometh foul or fair
To lead us to the tomb?
Only come soon, that I may know
The best or worst of joy or woe
That waits me as my doom!
A year ago I was a child,
I remember the young face that smiled
From the mirror back to me:
Now I can feel the hollows deep,
And dark lines worn by lack of sleep
Under the eyes that fain would weep
To loose their misery.
My strength is failing from me fast,
I think that I shall die at last.
So lonely!—oh! I stood by thee
Belovèd, in thine agony!
I did not shrink for fear or woe,
Thy heart and mine the secret know.
And wilt thou not then near me be
When the solemn hour comes to me?
It will not be terrible to thee,
For thou art where they feel no pain,
And thy heart can never ache again.
I know I would descend from heaven,
To dwell in hell, if thou wert there;
Look down then from thy bright place given,
And comfort me in my despair!
Hold me one moment to thy breast,
And say farewell—then I could rest.
I think that I shall die at last.
So lonely!—oh! I stood by thee
Belovèd, in thine agony!
I did not shrink for fear or woe,
Thy heart and mine the secret know.
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When the solemn hour comes to me?
It will not be terrible to thee,
For thou art where they feel no pain,
And thy heart can never ache again.
I know I would descend from heaven,
To dwell in hell, if thou wert there;
Look down then from thy bright place given,
And comfort me in my despair!
Hold me one moment to thy breast,
And say farewell—then I could rest.
O my beloèd, my noble one!
Such a little time we had in the sun!
O glorious eyes, so tender and true,
Look but once the dark midnight through!
O voice of mine, so tender and sweet,
That ever my coming step would greet,
And sent through my heart such keen delight;—
It flashes back through the lonely night!
Alas! where am I? It is gone;
O stay with me,—I am alone!
Nay, think not thus to cheat thy pain,
He will never, never, come back again!
Such a little time we had in the sun!
O glorious eyes, so tender and true,
Look but once the dark midnight through!
O voice of mine, so tender and sweet,
That ever my coming step would greet,
And sent through my heart such keen delight;—
It flashes back through the lonely night!
Alas! where am I? It is gone;
O stay with me,—I am alone!
Nay, think not thus to cheat thy pain,
He will never, never, come back again!
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III. Part III.
The frost is broken off the plain,
The young year is come round again,
And the sun shines afar.
Like shadows over the long grass,
Sweet thoughts come over me and pass,
Ere I know what or whence they are.
My brain is weak, I scarce can see,
But strange sweet voices speak to me;
And without visible sign or token
Save the sweet voices of the earth
In summer's melody and mirth,
God's spirit to my soul hath spoken,
And to my spirit brought the calm,
And to my heart, that erst was broken,
The precious slumber-balm.
The young year is come round again,
And the sun shines afar.
Like shadows over the long grass,
Sweet thoughts come over me and pass,
Ere I know what or whence they are.
My brain is weak, I scarce can see,
But strange sweet voices speak to me;
And without visible sign or token
Save the sweet voices of the earth
In summer's melody and mirth,
God's spirit to my soul hath spoken,
And to my spirit brought the calm,
And to my heart, that erst was broken,
The precious slumber-balm.
Ah me, my race is nearly run!
How little have I served or done
Here in the world beneath the sun:
God's mercy be my stay!
I was but given little grace
Whereby we take heroic place;
Nothing of that strength of heart
Which makes a triumph of each part;
And at the close of day,
As after weary ways a child
Comes to its father reconciled
By love and trust alone,
So I go forth my Lord to meet,
Laying my heart before His feet,
Its suffering all its crown.
How little have I served or done
Here in the world beneath the sun:
God's mercy be my stay!
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Whereby we take heroic place;
Nothing of that strength of heart
Which makes a triumph of each part;
And at the close of day,
As after weary ways a child
Comes to its father reconciled
By love and trust alone,
So I go forth my Lord to meet,
Laying my heart before His feet,
Its suffering all its crown.
Love, we two shall meet otherwhere!
O love, it will not be so long!
Love is immortal, love is strong,
Stronger than death, and than despair:
For despair hath been, and is now forgot,
And death is here, but I heed him not,
For I am coming, coming to thee!
I wait till the veil falls off, to see
Thine eyes of eager welcoming—
And love is shining so clear and bright,
That my soul needeth no other light;
Then love, thou hast the triumphing!
The air is balmy-warm in May,
The days are lengthening to the day
When all the shadows cease.
They are more kind and gentle now;
For the great Angel on my brow
Has set the mark of peace.
He cometh on with sleep and rest;
Take me, belovèd, to thy breast;
The stilly night is falling;
With closèd eyes and silent soul,
I hear as some great organ's roll
Over the waters calling.
The sweet heavens open evermore,
Christ stands beside the open door
To let me enter in;
I can but fold my hands, and part
With a deep trust within my heart
That love at last shall win.
O love, it will not be so long!
Love is immortal, love is strong,
Stronger than death, and than despair:
For despair hath been, and is now forgot,
And death is here, but I heed him not,
For I am coming, coming to thee!
I wait till the veil falls off, to see
Thine eyes of eager welcoming—
And love is shining so clear and bright,
That my soul needeth no other light;
Then love, thou hast the triumphing!
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The days are lengthening to the day
When all the shadows cease.
They are more kind and gentle now;
For the great Angel on my brow
Has set the mark of peace.
He cometh on with sleep and rest;
Take me, belovèd, to thy breast;
The stilly night is falling;
With closèd eyes and silent soul,
I hear as some great organ's roll
Over the waters calling.
The sweet heavens open evermore,
Christ stands beside the open door
To let me enter in;
I can but fold my hands, and part
With a deep trust within my heart
That love at last shall win.
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