 | Ballads of the North and Other Poems |  |
1
BALLADS OF THE NORTH
3
THE BALLAD OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN.
1883.
PART I.
The still white coast at Midsummer,
Beside the still white sea,
Lay low and smooth and shining
In this year eighty-three;
The sun was in the very North,
Strange to see.
Beside the still white sea,
Lay low and smooth and shining
In this year eighty-three;
The sun was in the very North,
Strange to see.
The walrus ivory lay in heaps
Half-buried in the shore,
The slow stream slid o'er unknown beds
Of golden ore,
Washings of amber to the beach
Light waves bore.
Half-buried in the shore,
The slow stream slid o'er unknown beds
Of golden ore,
Washings of amber to the beach
Light waves bore.
4
Sprays of white, like foam-flowers,
Betwixt the skies and seas,
Swayed and poised the sea-gulls
In twos and threes,
Clustered like the stars men call
Pleiades.
Betwixt the skies and seas,
Swayed and poised the sea-gulls
In twos and threes,
Clustered like the stars men call
Pleiades.
The white marsh-flowers, the white marsh-grass
Shimmered amid the grey
Of the marsh-water—mirrored
Over and under, they
Stood stiff and tall and slender,
All one way.
Shimmered amid the grey
Of the marsh-water—mirrored
Over and under, they
Stood stiff and tall and slender,
All one way.
The upper spake to the lower,
‘Are ye, or do ye seem?’
Out of the dim marsh-water
Glided as in a dream
The still swans down a distance
Of moonbeam.
‘Are ye, or do ye seem?’
Out of the dim marsh-water
Glided as in a dream
The still swans down a distance
Of moonbeam.
5
The willow-warbler dropped from the spray
Sweet notes like a soft spring shower,
There was a twitter of building birds
In the blackthorn bower,
All broken from bare to gossamer
In an hour.
Sweet notes like a soft spring shower,
There was a twitter of building birds
In the blackthorn bower,
All broken from bare to gossamer
In an hour.
A garden white lay all the land
In wreaths of summer snow,
The heart of the year upspringing
Swift and aglow,
In pale flame and slender stalk,
Smooth and low.
In wreaths of summer snow,
The heart of the year upspringing
Swift and aglow,
In pale flame and slender stalk,
Smooth and low.
The white heath and white harebell
Let their chimes rise and fall,
The delicate sheets of wood-sorrel
Unfolded all,
For a bed of bridal—
Or a pall?
Let their chimes rise and fall,
The delicate sheets of wood-sorrel
Unfolded all,
For a bed of bridal—
Or a pall?
6
Powdered with pearl, auriculas,
And beds of snowdrop sheen,
Frostwork of saxifrage, and fair balls
Of winter green:
There was no room for foot to pass
In between.
And beds of snowdrop sheen,
Frostwork of saxifrage, and fair balls
Of winter green:
There was no room for foot to pass
In between.
One only pink, the fragrant bloom
Of all blooms boreal,
Every face of every flower
With looks funereal
Bent to earth, and faintly
Flowering all.
Of all blooms boreal,
Every face of every flower
With looks funereal
Bent to earth, and faintly
Flowering all.
Down in the closely crowded camp
Of the fresh snowdrops lay,
Fever and famine-stricken,
None his name to say,
Sick to death, a traveller
Cast away.
Of the fresh snowdrops lay,
Fever and famine-stricken,
None his name to say,
Sick to death, a traveller
Cast away.
7
Brother might be of Balder
The beautiful, the bold,
By Northern stature and by limbs'
Heroic mould,
And the uncurled faint hair
Of pale gold.
The beautiful, the bold,
By Northern stature and by limbs'
Heroic mould,
And the uncurled faint hair
Of pale gold.
Faintly the words were uttered,
Low, betwixt moan and moan:
‘Here in the wilderness,
Lost and alone,
I die, and far away,
Hast thou known?
Low, betwixt moan and moan:
‘Here in the wilderness,
Lost and alone,
I die, and far away,
Hast thou known?
Fame, and story of wonder,
Wind of rumour had blown
My name to thine, my feet
Up to thy throne:
What has the world been since?—
Thee alone.
Wind of rumour had blown
My name to thine, my feet
Up to thy throne:
What has the world been since?—
Thee alone.
8
I passed and bowed before thy face,
And once thine eyes met mine;
Once I have kissed thy hand;—
Hast thou no sign?
Here with my last sad breath
I am thine.’
And once thine eyes met mine;
Once I have kissed thy hand;—
Hast thou no sign?
Here with my last sad breath
I am thine.’
The white hares nibbled fearlessly
Among the tender green;
The silver foxes stayed and watched,
Quick-eyed and watched,
The little ermine soft of foot
Stole between.
Among the tender green;
The silver foxes stayed and watched,
Quick-eyed and watched,
The little ermine soft of foot
Stole between.
But the white world changed and quickened
To a red world, the same;
For with splendour as of sunset
And sunrise flame,
From the highest heaven to the lowest,
Midnight came.
To a red world, the same;
For with splendour as of sunset
And sunrise flame,
From the highest heaven to the lowest,
Midnight came.
9
The pulsing colours of the sky
Deepened and purified;
All glorious chords of gold and red
Struck out and died;
Stilled in one heavenly harmony
Spread out wide,
Deepened and purified;
All glorious chords of gold and red
Struck out and died;
Stilled in one heavenly harmony
Spread out wide,
In one ethereal crimson glow;
As if the Rose of Heaven
Had blossomed for one perfect hour,
Midsummer Even,
As ever in the mystic sphere
Of stars seven.
As if the Rose of Heaven
Had blossomed for one perfect hour,
Midsummer Even,
As ever in the mystic sphere
Of stars seven.
An opening blush of purest pink,
That swiftly streams and grows
As shoreward all the liquid waste
Enkindled flows,
Every ripple of all the sea
Rose on Rose.
That swiftly streams and grows
As shoreward all the liquid waste
Enkindled flows,
Every ripple of all the sea
Rose on Rose.
10
—Through the heavens of midnight
Came a bitter cry,
Flesh and spirit breaking,
Mortal agony;
Died away unanswered
Through the sky.—
Came a bitter cry,
Flesh and spirit breaking,
Mortal agony;
Died away unanswered
Through the sky.—
But all the dim blue South was filled
With the auroral flame,
Far out into the southward land
Without a name
That dreamed away into the dark,—
When One came,
With the auroral flame,
Far out into the southward land
Without a name
That dreamed away into the dark,—
When One came,
Suddenly came stepping,
Where the roseate rift
Of the boreal blossoms
Crossed the snowy drift
In a trailing pathway,
Straight and swift.
Where the roseate rift
Of the boreal blossoms
Crossed the snowy drift
In a trailing pathway,
Straight and swift.
11
Her robes were full and silken,
Her feet were silken-shod,
In sweeping stately silence,
Serene she trod
The starry carpets strewing
The soft sod.
Her feet were silken-shod,
In sweeping stately silence,
Serene she trod
The starry carpets strewing
The soft sod.
The eyes of the veronica
Looked out and far away,
A golden wreath around her head
Of light curls lay,
And rippled back a shining shower,
In bright array.
Looked out and far away,
A golden wreath around her head
Of light curls lay,
And rippled back a shining shower,
In bright array.
About her neck the diamonds flashed
In rivers of blue fire;
But whiter her soft shoulders than
Her white attire,
And tenderer her tender arms
Than heart's desire.
In rivers of blue fire;
But whiter her soft shoulders than
Her white attire,
And tenderer her tender arms
Than heart's desire.
12
She fronted full the crimson flood
Of all the Northern space,
And all the hue of all the sky
Was in her face;
The Rose of all the World has come
To this place.
Of all the Northern space,
And all the hue of all the sky
Was in her face;
The Rose of all the World has come
To this place.
A vision of white that glowed to red
With the fire at heaven, at heart,—
Nor paused nor turned,—but straight to him
Who lay apart,
On she came, and knelt by him,—
Here thou art!
With the fire at heaven, at heart,—
Nor paused nor turned,—but straight to him
Who lay apart,
On she came, and knelt by him,—
Here thou art!
At the first hour after midnight,
As in the eider's nest,
The weary head sank soft into
A heavenly rest;
Is it a bed of roses,—
Or her breast?
As in the eider's nest,
The weary head sank soft into
A heavenly rest;
Is it a bed of roses,—
Or her breast?
13
At the second hour the cold limbs
Felt comfort unaware;
Flickering, a golden glow
Warmed all the air:
Is it the hearth-flame lighted,—
Or her hair?
Felt comfort unaware;
Flickering, a golden glow
Warmed all the air:
Is it the hearth-flame lighted,—
Or her hair?
At the third hour, round the faint heart
Failing in chill alarms,
Is it some silken coverlet
Still wraps and warms
In close and closer clasping?—
Or her arms?
Failing in chill alarms,
Is it some silken coverlet
Still wraps and warms
In close and closer clasping?—
Or her arms?
At the fourth hour, to the wan lips
There came a draught divine:
Some last reviving cup poured out
Of hallowed wine,—
Or is it breath of hers
Mixed with thine?
There came a draught divine:
Some last reviving cup poured out
Of hallowed wine,—
Or is it breath of hers
Mixed with thine?
14
At the fifth hour all was dimness
Alike to him and her;
One low and passionate murmur
Still moved the air;
Is it the voice of angels,—
Or her prayer?
Alike to him and her;
One low and passionate murmur
Still moved the air;
Is it the voice of angels,—
Or her prayer?
At the sixth hour there stirred only
The soft wave on the beach;
Two were lying stilly,
Past sound or speech,
Fair and carven faces,
Each by each.
The soft wave on the beach;
Two were lying stilly,
Past sound or speech,
Fair and carven faces,
Each by each.
PART II.
The Summer Palace stood by night
Lit up in dazzling sheen,
The doors unfolded, and the pomp
Stirred in between;
—To a burst of royal music
Came the Queen.
Lit up in dazzling sheen,
The doors unfolded, and the pomp
Stirred in between;
—To a burst of royal music
Came the Queen.
15
Her eyes like stars of speedwell
Shone down the great saloon;
She came, and all before her
Knew it was June;
The passing of her presence
Was too soon.
Shone down the great saloon;
She came, and all before her
Knew it was June;
The passing of her presence
Was too soon.
The little curls around her head
Were all her crown of gold,
Her delicate arms drooped downward
In slender mould,
As white-veined leaves of lilies
Curve and fold.
Were all her crown of gold,
Her delicate arms drooped downward
In slender mould,
As white-veined leaves of lilies
Curve and fold.
All in white,—not ivory
For young bloom past away,—
Blossom-white, rose-white,
White of the May;
'Twixt white dress and white neck,
Who could say?
For young bloom past away,—
Blossom-white, rose-white,
White of the May;
'Twixt white dress and white neck,
Who could say?
16
She moved to measure of music,
As a swan sails the stream;
Where her looks fell was summer,
When she smiled was a dream;
All faces bowing towards her
Sunflowers seem.
As a swan sails the stream;
Where her looks fell was summer,
When she smiled was a dream;
All faces bowing towards her
Sunflowers seem.
O the rose upon her silent mouth,
The perfect rose that lies!
O the roses red, the roses deep,
Within her cheeks that rise!
O the rose of rapture of her face
To our eyes!
The perfect rose that lies!
O the roses red, the roses deep,
Within her cheeks that rise!
O the rose of rapture of her face
To our eyes!
The tall fair Princes smile and sigh
For grace of one sweet glance,
The glittering dancers fill the floor,
The Queen leads the dance;
The dial-hands to midnight
Still advance.
For grace of one sweet glance,
The glittering dancers fill the floor,
The Queen leads the dance;
The dial-hands to midnight
Still advance.
17
Dance down to the melting music!
Hark to the viols' strain!
Their notes are piercing, piercing,
Again, again;
The pulse of the air is beating
Throbs of pain.
Hark to the viols' strain!
Their notes are piercing, piercing,
Again, again;
The pulse of the air is beating
Throbs of pain.
Does the dancing languish slower?
Oh, the soft flutes wail and sigh;
In silver falling and calling,
They seek reply;
And the heart is sinking, sinking,
Why, ah why?
Oh, the soft flutes wail and sigh;
In silver falling and calling,
They seek reply;
And the heart is sinking, sinking,
Why, ah why?
Oh, the high harp-strings resounding!
So long, so clear they are:
A cry is ringing in heaven
From star to star,
Rising sharper and fainter
From afar.
So long, so clear they are:
A cry is ringing in heaven
From star to star,
Rising sharper and fainter
From afar.
18
The Queen has danced from end to end;
Oh, the candles burn so bright!
But her blue eyes look far away
Into the night;
And the roses on her cheeks and lips
Have grown white.
Oh, the candles burn so bright!
But her blue eyes look far away
Into the night;
And the roses on her cheeks and lips
Have grown white.
Oh, why is the Queen so pale to-night?
And why does silence fall,
As one by one they turn to her,
Upon them all?
Whence comes that cold wind shivering
Down the hall?
And why does silence fall,
As one by one they turn to her,
Upon them all?
Whence comes that cold wind shivering
Down the hall?
The hour draws close to midnight,
The banquet board is spread;
The lamps are lit, the guests are set,
The Queen at the head:
For the feasting at kings' tables
Grace be said!
The banquet board is spread;
The lamps are lit, the guests are set,
The Queen at the head:
For the feasting at kings' tables
Grace be said!
19
The shaded light of rubies
Streams from every part
Down the golden supper;—
Who is sick at heart?
Oh, hush! for the Queen is listening,
Lips apart.
Streams from every part
Down the golden supper;—
Who is sick at heart?
Oh, hush! for the Queen is listening,
Lips apart.
She sits with wide and open eyes,
The wine-cup in her hand;
And all the guests are ill at ease,
Nor understand;
Is it not some enchanted
Strange far land?
The wine-cup in her hand;
And all the guests are ill at ease,
Nor understand;
Is it not some enchanted
Strange far land?
The twelve long strokes of midnight
With clash and clang affright;
The rose-glow seems to darken
Before their sight;
But the Queen has swooned back heavily,
Cold and white.
With clash and clang affright;
The rose-glow seems to darken
Before their sight;
But the Queen has swooned back heavily,
Cold and white.
20
They lifted her, a burden
Like broken lily-flowers;
They laid her on her own bed,
Within her bowers;
They mourned, and they tended her,
For six hours.
Like broken lily-flowers;
They laid her on her own bed,
Within her bowers;
They mourned, and they tended her,
For six hours.
At the first hour after midnight,
The Queen nor spoke nor stirred;
At the second, by her bedside,
No breath they heard;
They said, ‘Is she living?’
At the third.
The Queen nor spoke nor stirred;
At the second, by her bedside,
No breath they heard;
They said, ‘Is she living?’
At the third.
At the fourth hour they watched sadly
At her feet and her head;
At the fifth, standing idle,
No word they said;
At the sixth, ‘Bring candles
For one dead.’
At her feet and her head;
At the fifth, standing idle,
No word they said;
At the sixth, ‘Bring candles
For one dead.’
21
Swept low down across the East,
Through the morning grey,
A flock of white clouds swiftly,
Dim, far away;
Like a flight of white wings:—
What were they?
Through the morning grey,
A flock of white clouds swiftly,
Dim, far away;
Like a flight of white wings:—
What were they?
Through the palace suddenly,
Through every floor,
Wailed a wind and whistled,
Shook every door,
Rattled through the windows,
Then passed o'er.
Through every floor,
Wailed a wind and whistled,
Shook every door,
Rattled through the windows,
Then passed o'er.
And as they stood with tapers tall
Around the Queen, there came
A soft and far-off fluttering
Over her frame,
And from between her sleeping lips,
One faint flame.
Around the Queen, there came
A soft and far-off fluttering
Over her frame,
And from between her sleeping lips,
One faint flame.
22
They take her hand, they call on her,
She answers them likewise;
She sits upright, she looks around,
With her blue eyes,
And a smile as of thy secrets,
Paradise!
She answers them likewise;
She sits upright, she looks around,
With her blue eyes,
And a smile as of thy secrets,
Paradise!
Winter is here, and has not brought
The Traveller of renown;
Why has he not come back again
To court and town?
Rumours and questionings pass
Up and down.
The Traveller of renown;
Why has he not come back again
To court and town?
Rumours and questionings pass
Up and down.
Is it only the wolves of the Northland
Know where his bones lie white?
Only the swans could tell us,
In southward flight?
Is it only the wind could whisper
To the night?
Know where his bones lie white?
Only the swans could tell us,
In southward flight?
Is it only the wind could whisper
To the night?
23
The Queen sits still and smiling,
She hears the talk prevail,
She speaks no word, she gives no glance,
She tells no tale;
In the golden shadow always
She is pale.
She hears the talk prevail,
She speaks no word, she gives no glance,
She tells no tale;
In the golden shadow always
She is pale.
24
THE HAUNTED CZAR.
Roman Romanovitch, forgive
The vilest of all men and worst!
Amid this death-in-life I live;
Hear me but once whom thou hast curst!
My doom, my anguish I confess;—
Mercy on me the merciless!
The vilest of all men and worst!
Amid this death-in-life I live;
Hear me but once whom thou hast curst!
My doom, my anguish I confess;—
Mercy on me the merciless!
Roman Romanovitch, there peals
Imperial music of the march
Along my pathway, as it wheels
On from triumphal arch to arch:
They say my face is wan and white;—
Thy cries ring round me day and night.
Imperial music of the march
Along my pathway, as it wheels
On from triumphal arch to arch:
They say my face is wan and white;—
Thy cries ring round me day and night.
25
Roman Romanovitch, my bed
Is deep with down, and flaxen-white;
The fresh and ghastly stains of red
Are wet against my cheeks all night;
Where'er I turn, where'er I toss,
Some stiffening limb creeps cold across.
Is deep with down, and flaxen-white;
The fresh and ghastly stains of red
Are wet against my cheeks all night;
Where'er I turn, where'er I toss,
Some stiffening limb creeps cold across.
In purple and in gold I stand,
Amid the worship of the crowd;
Their hearts, their lives are in my hand;
The people say that I am proud:
I in the dust beneath thy feet,
Roman Romanovitch, entreat!
Amid the worship of the crowd;
Their hearts, their lives are in my hand;
The people say that I am proud:
I in the dust beneath thy feet,
Roman Romanovitch, entreat!
A dying voice of torture wails
Through all the church's chants divine;
It rises—and the banquet pales;
I drench the darkness down with wine;
But when my lips are at the brink,
'Tis blood I taste, and blood I drink.
Through all the church's chants divine;
It rises—and the banquet pales;
I drench the darkness down with wine;
But when my lips are at the brink,
'Tis blood I taste, and blood I drink.
26
In the same hour, upon me broke
In sweat of agony and fear
The act I never could revoke,
For ever haunting eye and ear.
Yes, years are past—and long ago
I see a sunrise on the snow;
In sweat of agony and fear
The act I never could revoke,
For ever haunting eye and ear.
Yes, years are past—and long ago
I see a sunrise on the snow;
And thou and I in that low light,
And a few more, of armed men;
—Helpless and bound—but I upright;
None but my slaves about us then;
My word their law, my will their guide:
—But there was no man on thy side.
And a few more, of armed men;
—Helpless and bound—but I upright;
None but my slaves about us then;
My word their law, my will their guide:
—But there was no man on thy side.
Thou, martyr just and innocent,
Against me sworn, and it was well;
Thou the avenging angel sent,
I the black instrument of hell.
But here I have thee:—spare thy breath!—
Long shalt thou call in vain on death.
Against me sworn, and it was well;
Thou the avenging angel sent,
I the black instrument of hell.
But here I have thee:—spare thy breath!—
Long shalt thou call in vain on death.
27
Shriek after shriek rings through the North;
My laughter answers every cry;
Prayer after prayer sobbed feebly forth;
Pray on, pray on, for it is I!
At last—O God!—the curses fall;
My God, I hear—Thou hearest all.
My laughter answers every cry;
Prayer after prayer sobbed feebly forth;
Pray on, pray on, for it is I!
At last—O God!—the curses fall;
My God, I hear—Thou hearest all.
Did it not end? Do I not know?
Was it not I who did this thing?
Was there not silence in the snow
Between us, and a mightier King?
I think at last those lips were dumb;—
Why will their cries not cease to come?
Was it not I who did this thing?
Was there not silence in the snow
Between us, and a mightier King?
I think at last those lips were dumb;—
Why will their cries not cease to come?
I see thee,—no, it is not thou!
I saw thee once, and thou wast fair;
A step like mine, an angel's brow;—
But what is this, that ghastly there
Droops to my feet, all dark and wet?
Lift up thy face! Let me forget!
I saw thee once, and thou wast fair;
A step like mine, an angel's brow;—
But what is this, that ghastly there
Droops to my feet, all dark and wet?
Lift up thy face! Let me forget!
28
It is not thou, I know full well,
This spectre my own sins have made;
This will go with me down to Hell,
Whilst thou in Paradise art laid;
Oh, come thyself, and cast behind
This, horrible and deaf and blind!
This spectre my own sins have made;
This will go with me down to Hell,
Whilst thou in Paradise art laid;
Oh, come thyself, and cast behind
This, horrible and deaf and blind!
Oh, if thou couldst but look on me,
Roman Romanovitch, thy heart
Would melt for very charity,
Among the angels where thou art;
Thou couldst not turn thine eyes and see,—
Ah God, did I not look on thee?
Roman Romanovitch, thy heart
Would melt for very charity,
Among the angels where thou art;
Thou couldst not turn thine eyes and see,—
Ah God, did I not look on thee?
Did not God make us, I and thou?
Have pity even for His sake!
My hair is bleached upon my brow,
At every rose's fall I shake;
My eyes, they say, are wild and wide;—
O Ghost, at last be satisfied!
Have pity even for His sake!
My hair is bleached upon my brow,
At every rose's fall I shake;
My eyes, they say, are wild and wide;—
O Ghost, at last be satisfied!
29
Roman Romanovitch, we two,
Are we not men of flesh and blood?
Ah mangled flesh and blood, too true,
They cry against me up to God.
Thou hast me in a grip so sure;—
Oh, how can heart of man endure!
Are we not men of flesh and blood?
Ah mangled flesh and blood, too true,
They cry against me up to God.
Thou hast me in a grip so sure;—
Oh, how can heart of man endure!
Had we not mothers, both of us?
Were we not born by ways the same?
Nay, I unworthy to be thus
The son of woman, whence I came
Must be the way I know too well,
The way I go, the gate of hell.
Were we not born by ways the same?
Nay, I unworthy to be thus
The son of woman, whence I came
Must be the way I know too well,
The way I go, the gate of hell.
Did not Christ die for thee and me?
Ah, not for me! 'Twas I who slew!
I pierced, I nailed Him to the tree;
He was with thee, He held thee through:
He left me then;—but thou, my Saint,
Against me pourest thy complaint
Ah, not for me! 'Twas I who slew!
I pierced, I nailed Him to the tree;
He was with thee, He held thee through:
He left me then;—but thou, my Saint,
Against me pourest thy complaint
30
Within His arms, upon His breast;
His tears have washed and made thee white
Of all thy cruel wounds, and drest
Thy swoonèd eyes again to light;
For very pity all this while
He wept until He saw thee smile.
His tears have washed and made thee white
Of all thy cruel wounds, and drest
Thy swoonèd eyes again to light;
For very pity all this while
He wept until He saw thee smile.
Oh, visit me, and let me pay
With blood, and all thy justice take!
I supplicating writhe and pray
For this absolving judgment's sake.
Not once, but for a thousand years,
Scourge me in blood and shame and tears.
With blood, and all thy justice take!
I supplicating writhe and pray
For this absolving judgment's sake.
Not once, but for a thousand years,
Scourge me in blood and shame and tears.
Oh, strike, but only do not spare!
Before thy hands I kneel, I fall;
My flesh in stripes of crimson tear.
Still, still to kiss thy feet I crawl;
Past sense, past moans, but this to win,
Leave me not, pardon not my sin!
Before thy hands I kneel, I fall;
My flesh in stripes of crimson tear.
Still, still to kiss thy feet I crawl;
Past sense, past moans, but this to win,
Leave me not, pardon not my sin!
31
Wilt thou not hear? Wilt thou not heed?
In vain, in vain !—no hand but thine
Can heal or hurt;—this ermine weed
Still wraps me soft; this crown of mine
Burns on my brows, and no one stirs
Round me but delicate flatterers.
In vain, in vain !—no hand but thine
Can heal or hurt;—this ermine weed
Still wraps me soft; this crown of mine
Burns on my brows, and no one stirs
Round me but delicate flatterers.
Ah no, the fires of hell begin
For me, unpurged, unshriven below;
Thy deeper justice thou must win,
The soul and not the body's woe;
And what am I, that I should dare
The suffering of the saints to share?
For me, unpurged, unshriven below;
Thy deeper justice thou must win,
The soul and not the body's woe;
And what am I, that I should dare
The suffering of the saints to share?
Thy bitter moans, that could not wring
One moment's respite from my hate;—
They called Him, and He came, thy King,
But round me hell lies desolate:
If He were here,—too late, alas!
His feet no more this way will pass.
One moment's respite from my hate;—
They called Him, and He came, thy King,
But round me hell lies desolate:
If He were here,—too late, alas!
His feet no more this way will pass.
32
For could He come, His ears would pierce
A bitterer, more heartrending moan;
Where coiling serpents mingled fierce,
Gnaw with fresh fangs through breast and bone;
Undying anguish wept and wailed,
Unheard, unanswered, unavailed.
A bitterer, more heartrending moan;
Where coiling serpents mingled fierce,
Gnaw with fresh fangs through breast and bone;
Undying anguish wept and wailed,
Unheard, unanswered, unavailed.
Beneath the Altar yet they cry,
Avenge us, Lord !—ah, do they know
They are avenged? that in reply
The swords through soul and spirit go?
How many ages past and gone,
And still those souls keep crying on!
Avenge us, Lord !—ah, do they know
They are avenged? that in reply
The swords through soul and spirit go?
How many ages past and gone,
And still those souls keep crying on!
It is not for the torments run,
Nor for the torments yet to be;
But that I know what I have done,
But that whom I have slain I see;
It is for very love of thee
That my heart breaks in agony.
Nor for the torments yet to be;
But that I know what I have done,
But that whom I have slain I see;
It is for very love of thee
That my heart breaks in agony.
33
Alas, my brother, all the years
Our souls together may not save;
I may not water with my tears
The grass that grows above thy grave;
Thy very bones would stir and cry
With horror at me, drawing nigh.
Our souls together may not save;
I may not water with my tears
The grass that grows above thy grave;
Thy very bones would stir and cry
With horror at me, drawing nigh.
O sweet, O sacred limbs, yes mine!
For my heart holds them passionately;
It is thy home, it is thy shrine,
Though never may I reach to thee;
To kiss thy feet I could not dare,
Thou even sleeping unaware.
For my heart holds them passionately;
It is thy home, it is thy shrine,
Though never may I reach to thee;
To kiss thy feet I could not dare,
Thou even sleeping unaware.
Might I but watch, one hour of all,—
Upon thy brows the least caress,
The lightest touch of love should fall
Too roughly for my tenderness;
Nor should disturb them, wandering by,
The blue wings of the butterfly.
Upon thy brows the least caress,
The lightest touch of love should fall
Too roughly for my tenderness;
Nor should disturb them, wandering by,
The blue wings of the butterfly.
34
To wait upon thee from afar,
To serve thee to thy lowest need,
Thy slave more fond than mothers are,
Although thy scorn were all my meed;
—O dream too deep for my despair,
But once to touch thy golden hair!
To serve thee to thy lowest need,
Thy slave more fond than mothers are,
Although thy scorn were all my meed;
—O dream too deep for my despair,
But once to touch thy golden hair!
I have no Christ—I cannot kneel
To any, my beloved, but thee,
My mocked, my murdered one; to feel
Thy pardon first! It may not be.
No more. Did I not hear thee pray
So long, so long, to me that day?
To any, my beloved, but thee,
My mocked, my murdered one; to feel
Thy pardon first! It may not be.
No more. Did I not hear thee pray
So long, so long, to me that day?
Roman Romanovitch, I bow
Beneath thy curse; no more I strive;
I do not ask thy pity now,
Thou willest it, with soul alive.
What else is left me to atone?
Have all thy will! I am thine own.
Beneath thy curse; no more I strive;
I do not ask thy pity now,
Thou willest it, with soul alive.
What else is left me to atone?
Have all thy will! I am thine own.
35
Yet, even at the last, there streams
Something like hope into my heart;
I hold it fast within my dreams,
That hour when I shall have my part;
Down in the depth of all, I know,
Stronger than death, it must be so.
Something like hope into my heart;
I hold it fast within my dreams,
That hour when I shall have my part;
Down in the depth of all, I know,
Stronger than death, it must be so.
Once we must meet, however long
The bead-roll of the centuries
Is counted by the Planet's Song;
The dead in Christ shall first arise;
And I no more may hide my head,
That day when Hell gives up her dead.
The bead-roll of the centuries
Is counted by the Planet's Song;
The dead in Christ shall first arise;
And I no more may hide my head,
That day when Hell gives up her dead.
The earth and heaven in thunders flee
Before His face: each awful page
Unrolls of human history,
Written in blood from age to age;
Then Christ, the Slain and Risen anew,
Shall speak and judge between us two.
Before His face: each awful page
Unrolls of human history,
Written in blood from age to age;
Then Christ, the Slain and Risen anew,
Shall speak and judge between us two.
36
And first to me, outcast, who stand,
Nor dare to look on Him or thee,
Nor meet thy holy eyes and grand,
Amidst thy shining company,
The awful Judge will turn and say:
‘Most miserable man, to-day
Nor dare to look on Him or thee,
Nor meet thy holy eyes and grand,
Amidst thy shining company,
The awful Judge will turn and say:
‘Most miserable man, to-day
‘The sum of all thy scarlet sin
Is written up, and found no more;
And thou snow-white may'st enter in
My Temple—am not I the Door?—
And by that way, that door, thy strife
Of penitence hath led to life.
Is written up, and found no more;
And thou snow-white may'st enter in
My Temple—am not I the Door?—
And by that way, that door, thy strife
Of penitence hath led to life.
‘Do I not rule above the stars,
To bind or loose from any curse?
Against me Hell hath got no bars,
No spaces hath the universe;
Thy weeping still was in my ears
Through all the music of the spheres.
To bind or loose from any curse?
Against me Hell hath got no bars,
No spaces hath the universe;
Thy weeping still was in my ears
Through all the music of the spheres.
37
‘But thou didst mourn and I did mourn,
Together mourning thy disgrace,
In thy dark prison-house forlorn,
Though never couldst thou see My face;
Nor hast thou known a Victim bleeds,
A Priest for ever intercedes.
Together mourning thy disgrace,
In thy dark prison-house forlorn,
Though never couldst thou see My face;
Nor hast thou known a Victim bleeds,
A Priest for ever intercedes.
‘Baptism of water and of fire
Each soul of My redeemed must prove;—
Oh, drowned amidst Love's anguish dire,
And burnt amidst the flames of Love,
Come unto Me at last, and rest
Long-lost, long-loved, upon My breast!
Each soul of My redeemed must prove;—
Oh, drowned amidst Love's anguish dire,
And burnt amidst the flames of Love,
Come unto Me at last, and rest
Long-lost, long-loved, upon My breast!
‘And thou, O Martyr merciless,
Thou who so long from age to age
Hast shared serene in blessedness
Among the Saints their heritage,
The crimson crown, the deathless palm,—
No looking back disturbed thy calm.
Thou who so long from age to age
Hast shared serene in blessedness
Among the Saints their heritage,
The crimson crown, the deathless palm,—
No looking back disturbed thy calm.
38
‘The hands of angels carried thee
To Paradise, and dried thy tears;
The leaves of that immortal Tree
Have healed thy wounds these many years
Beside the living water's stream
Lying in one unbroken dream.
To Paradise, and dried thy tears;
The leaves of that immortal Tree
Have healed thy wounds these many years
Beside the living water's stream
Lying in one unbroken dream.
‘Short was thy pain, and long thy rest,
Earth was thy loss, and heaven thy gain;
Oh, safe and sheltered with the blest,
No after-thought didst thou retain,
Wrapt in My love, and didst forget
The soul thou mightest succour yet.
Earth was thy loss, and heaven thy gain;
Oh, safe and sheltered with the blest,
No after-thought didst thou retain,
Wrapt in My love, and didst forget
The soul thou mightest succour yet.
‘Thy peace was won, thy triumph crowned:
Hath Love no thought for them that slew?
Love in the Highest, in the Profound,
Crucified every day anew.—
Where Love is, there must Suffering be;
O Unforgiven, depart from Me.’
Hath Love no thought for them that slew?
Love in the Highest, in the Profound,
Crucified every day anew.—
Where Love is, there must Suffering be;
O Unforgiven, depart from Me.’
39
Then will I spring forth, then will seize
My one last moment of all time;
‘Not me, but him, Lord, take with these!
Mine was his crowning and his crime;
A martyr made by pangs so sore,
As froze his heart for evermore.
My one last moment of all time;
‘Not me, but him, Lord, take with these!
Mine was his crowning and his crime;
A martyr made by pangs so sore,
As froze his heart for evermore.
‘He is Thine own; he has but slept;
Now he will wake and love again;
So long to him in vain I wept,
He, too, at last must weep,—a rain
That reconciles him to Thy heart.
Take back Thine own,—as I depart.’
Now he will wake and love again;
So long to him in vain I wept,
He, too, at last must weep,—a rain
That reconciles him to Thy heart.
Take back Thine own,—as I depart.’
Then surely, over the abyss,
Roman Romanovitch, I see
Thee, glorious, bending with one kiss
For me, accursèd, even me.
Thine eyes forgive me from the brink
At last, as out of sight I sink.
Roman Romanovitch, I see
Thee, glorious, bending with one kiss
For me, accursèd, even me.
Thine eyes forgive me from the brink
At last, as out of sight I sink.
40
THE IRISH FAMINE.
Bantry, 1847.
I will not speak of the famine, the terrible year that fell;
We lived through it; what one has lived through, one does not always tell:—
The hard months, the long months, the months that were sinking and sore,
Till the fever closed over us all, for the living could bear no more.
We lived through it; what one has lived through, one does not always tell:—
The hard months, the long months, the months that were sinking and sore,
Till the fever closed over us all, for the living could bear no more.
The Winter was over; but Spring—that never would come again,
For a handful of food was not left, nor a spoonful for those in pain,
Who lay, the dying and sick, in the fever, bare on the floor,
While the starving children, like wolves, prowled round and cried at the door.
For a handful of food was not left, nor a spoonful for those in pain,
41
While the starving children, like wolves, prowled round and cried at the door.
Half were dead—rest their souls!—but their bodies might not rest well,
For hands were not left to bury them,—heaped they fell
In the open pits together, hundreds, naked and cold;
The rest were waiting to follow, our time was nearly told.
For hands were not left to bury them,—heaped they fell
In the open pits together, hundreds, naked and cold;
The rest were waiting to follow, our time was nearly told.
In the beginning of April, the day I sickened, came down
The rumour of some strange doctor arrived in the town;
He came,—but what matter to us, who already were half in the grave?
It was food, not medicine we wanted,—it was too late to save.
The rumour of some strange doctor arrived in the town;
He came,—but what matter to us, who already were half in the grave?
It was food, not medicine we wanted,—it was too late to save.
42
I cannot tell how he came,—as the morning breaks from the sea;
'Twas a mortal man they told me,—it might or it might not be,—
He came,—but my eyes were dazzled,—a glint of gold there gleamed,
And though I lay in the fever, of the Saints in Heaven I dreamed.
'Twas a mortal man they told me,—it might or it might not be,—
He came,—but my eyes were dazzled,—a glint of gold there gleamed,
And though I lay in the fever, of the Saints in Heaven I dreamed.
I have heard of the Angel of Death—but this was the Angel of Life,
Young, and smiling, and slender, and stripped as it were to the strife,
To the wrestle by day and by night with the Terror that held us before,
For Death and Despair fled away as he came in at the door.
Young, and smiling, and slender, and stripped as it were to the strife,
To the wrestle by day and by night with the Terror that held us before,
For Death and Despair fled away as he came in at the door.
He had neither silver nor gold, he had neither name nor fame,
He had nothing at all in the world but the bag in his hand as he came,
And a barrel of meal for a gift that was sent to him by a friend,
But that was a good while after, when things had begun to mend.
He had nothing at all in the world but the bag in his hand as he came,
43
But that was a good while after, when things had begun to mend.
But there was a hand by day, and there was a step by night,
In the huts where they lay on the earth without fire or candle-light,
And a voice that spoke through the dark, and a breast upon which to lean,
Close, close in the shivering sickness, and the sorrowful sighs between.
In the huts where they lay on the earth without fire or candle-light,
And a voice that spoke through the dark, and a breast upon which to lean,
Close, close in the shivering sickness, and the sorrowful sighs between.
He held to their lips the cold water, they drank it and they revived;
He bent down over the dying, they looked in his eyes and lived;
And still, as the unseen arrows flew ever more fast and thick,
There was one that battled alone for the lives of all the sick.
He bent down over the dying, they looked in his eyes and lived;
And still, as the unseen arrows flew ever more fast and thick,
There was one that battled alone for the lives of all the sick.
44
He did battle alone, and he won;—scarce one died after he came;
They fell, they sickened by hundreds; he saved them all the same.
‘To God be the glory,’—he said so,— as for three months, night and day,
He lived and he moved among us till the fever passed away.
They fell, they sickened by hundreds; he saved them all the same.
‘To God be the glory,’—he said so,— as for three months, night and day,
He lived and he moved among us till the fever passed away.
The Famine was over too, and like the dove to the ark,
Hope came back to the earth, and of life to our breasts a spark;
We were weak, we were wan in the sun, but there we all stood that day
Safe and well-ah the sorrowful moment! when he was to go away.
Hope came back to the earth, and of life to our breasts a spark;
We were weak, we were wan in the sun, but there we all stood that day
Safe and well-ah the sorrowful moment! when he was to go away.
It was not a fine sight, truly, we were but poor folks at best,
He was all there was to look at, nothing to say for the rest;
There was not much to speak of in clothes, and what little there was was torn;
But his Reverence was there in black, very decent, if somewhat worn.
He was all there was to look at, nothing to say for the rest;
45
But his Reverence was there in black, very decent, if somewhat worn.
And he stepped up and spoke for us all, ‘Sir, if I may make so bold,
In the name of these poor people whom you see here, young and old,
(And they wouldn't be here now, saving the excellent deeds you have done),
We wish to present our respects and our thanks to you, everyone.
In the name of these poor people whom you see here, young and old,
(And they wouldn't be here now, saving the excellent deeds you have done),
We wish to present our respects and our thanks to you, everyone.
‘We have come through a time of trouble—but many did not come through,—
And we who are saved alive are all of us saved by you;
To God and the Saints be the glory, and praises for evermore,
And those who are dead were sorry that you didn't arrive before.
And we who are saved alive are all of us saved by you;
To God and the Saints be the glory, and praises for evermore,
And those who are dead were sorry that you didn't arrive before.
46
‘And we'll always be wishing you well, Sir, by the holy Peter and Paul,
(Though it's always Paul you speak by, and never poor Peter at all),
And myself will pray to St. Peter, that when you come to the gate,
He'll be pleased and proud to see you, and you needn't have long to wait.
(Though it's always Paul you speak by, and never poor Peter at all),
And myself will pray to St. Peter, that when you come to the gate,
He'll be pleased and proud to see you, and you needn't have long to wait.
‘And nothing have we to give you, and you are poor as we,
But that will not last long, I'm thinking, for you have the luck as we see;
But the blessing, the best of blessings,—the true heart's love and the prayer
Of those who were ready to perish—will follow you everywhere.
But that will not last long, I'm thinking, for you have the luck as we see;
But the blessing, the best of blessings,—the true heart's love and the prayer
Of those who were ready to perish—will follow you everywhere.
‘And as you have dealt with us, Sir, in our time of trouble and woe,
May the Lord Himself deal with you wherever your road may go;
And this is a sad day for us, that we must lose you indeed,
But never can we forget you; and we bid you now good-speed.’
May the Lord Himself deal with you wherever your road may go;
47
But never can we forget you; and we bid you now good-speed.’
Then old Aileen took up speaking—ah! she was the woman, the wise,
She could tell (though she never told them) the names of the stars in the skies,
And the midsummer midnight moonwort she could find and use for a charm,
Ninety years old and upwards, whom the fever could not harm.
She could tell (though she never told them) the names of the stars in the skies,
And the midsummer midnight moonwort she could find and use for a charm,
Ninety years old and upwards, whom the fever could not harm.
‘The seventh son of a seventh son;—but this was a wondrous birth,
The seventeenth babe of his mother, and she no more on the earth;
And now he is parting from us, nor his face may we more behold;
So listen to me for the last time, to the words of me who am old.
The seventeenth babe of his mother, and she no more on the earth;
And now he is parting from us, nor his face may we more behold;
So listen to me for the last time, to the words of me who am old.
48
‘Our life is writ in the stars, and the stars their courses must run;
But God will be shining in heaven when all their courses are done;
And what is written is written, and fate our footsteps debars,
For we are the dust of the earth, as the earth is the dust of the stars.
But God will be shining in heaven when all their courses are done;
And what is written is written, and fate our footsteps debars,
For we are the dust of the earth, as the earth is the dust of the stars.
‘We have done some work together; I have taken your hand in mine,
My old eyes have looked it over, and have read it line by line;
And oh! I see the great things, the wonderful things, the true,
That wait thee, O young man, yonder, and the work that thou hast to do.
My old eyes have looked it over, and have read it line by line;
And oh! I see the great things, the wonderful things, the true,
That wait thee, O young man, yonder, and the work that thou hast to do.
‘We are poor, we are naught in the world, we are little wanted here,
Perhaps it were best for all that we should but disappear;
You did not think so, you came to us the lowest and least,
You saved us, you smiled upon us, you turned our famine to feast.
Perhaps it were best for all that we should but disappear;
49
You saved us, you smiled upon us, you turned our famine to feast.
‘But oh! in the times to come, it will not be such as we!
Too great are the multitudes waiting, too long are the lines I see;
They have looks that are not ours, they have thoughts we have not known,
Great and proud ones are among them, but with sorrows of their own.
Too great are the multitudes waiting, too long are the lines I see;
They have looks that are not ours, they have thoughts we have not known,
Great and proud ones are among them, but with sorrows of their own.
‘Oh, the hands that reach for comfort, oh, the feeble feet that press,
Oh, the hearts whose moans are breaking through the hour of their distress,
Oh, the eyes that turn in anguish seeking thine amidst their tears,
Hast thou all this burden on thee, and for all this length of years?
Oh, the hearts whose moans are breaking through the hour of their distress,
Oh, the eyes that turn in anguish seeking thine amidst their tears,
Hast thou all this burden on thee, and for all this length of years?
50
‘Hast thou all this glory on thee?—that thy touch can loose and bind,
That despair awaits thy coming and deliverance stays behind,
That as thy daily passing leaves a daily track of light
Through the city, hearts, praying God for thee, must follow out of sight.
That despair awaits thy coming and deliverance stays behind,
That as thy daily passing leaves a daily track of light
Through the city, hearts, praying God for thee, must follow out of sight.
‘Thank God for thee! it echoes like a singing of souls in peace;
Up and up a pathway shining brighter still as days increase,
Farther than I can follow, where the golden stairs ascend;
We sang it first to God for you—angels sing it at the end.
Up and up a pathway shining brighter still as days increase,
Farther than I can follow, where the golden stairs ascend;
We sang it first to God for you—angels sing it at the end.
‘And thy strength shall be made perfect, the giver as the gift,
The head that is ever the highest, the step that is sure as swift;
And the sun that knoweth no setting out of thine eyes shall shine,
And the Spirit of the Comforter shall ever dwell with thine.
The head that is ever the highest, the step that is sure as swift;
51
And the Spirit of the Comforter shall ever dwell with thine.
And you that have here no mother,—but, O my son, my son!
Methinks that the Blessed Mary looked on just such another one;—
Methinks there were days in a lifetime when she forgot her fear,
As she saw the face that I see, and heard the voice that I hear!
Methinks that the Blessed Mary looked on just such another one;—
Methinks there were days in a lifetime when she forgot her fear,
As she saw the face that I see, and heard the voice that I hear!
‘That face,—the dying faces are upturned to catch its light,
And fainting spirits hang round it to be quickened with new delight;
But my heart outruns, as hers did, all the praising and the power,
And sees further, and cries in anguish—God help thee through that hour!
And fainting spirits hang round it to be quickened with new delight;
But my heart outruns, as hers did, all the praising and the power,
And sees further, and cries in anguish—God help thee through that hour!
52
‘Shall I pray to the Saints in Heaven for thee, who thyself art a Saint on earth?
Shall I pray to the Blessed Mother? nay, she smiled down at thy birth;
To the Father of Spirits, the Highest, the cry of our hearts must be,
Give Thy best to this one belovèd, and let him not fall from Thee.
Shall I pray to the Blessed Mother? nay, she smiled down at thy birth;
To the Father of Spirits, the Highest, the cry of our hearts must be,
Give Thy best to this one belovèd, and let him not fall from Thee.
‘Ah, how long is the road and how toilsome, or ever we come to rest!
But the last of straits was the sorest, and the last of sights was the best:
And now the hard times are over, and my work in the world is done;
But I thank the Lord He has spared me to behold thy face, my son.’
But the last of straits was the sorest, and the last of sights was the best:
And now the hard times are over, and my work in the world is done;
But I thank the Lord He has spared me to behold thy face, my son.’
The young man spoke not a word, as he stood before old Aileen;
But he stooped bareheaded, and kissed her hand, like the hand of a queen;
And there was not an eye that was dry of old or of young in the crowd,
As he passed out of sight and was gone, and the weeping was long and loud.
But he stooped bareheaded, and kissed her hand, like the hand of a queen;
53
As he passed out of sight and was gone, and the weeping was long and loud.
54
ALL SOULS' DAY.
We drave across the Ocean to the West,
On one November night of storm and rain;
When morning dawned the winds were laid to rest,
And quiet was the main.
On one November night of storm and rain;
When morning dawned the winds were laid to rest,
And quiet was the main.
And in the lull of the day-dawning dim
A stranger stood on the deck and looked around,
And lordly spake to the Captain asking him,
‘Whither is this ship bound?’
A stranger stood on the deck and looked around,
And lordly spake to the Captain asking him,
‘Whither is this ship bound?’
And the Captain answered, ‘Sir, we sail on yonder,
Straight onward to the Islands of the Blest,
To the Haven of the Saints who went before us,
Far in the farthest West.’
Straight onward to the Islands of the Blest,
To the Haven of the Saints who went before us,
Far in the farthest West.’
‘And whom do you carry on your good ship forward?’
‘Valiant hearts, and full of faith are every one,
That will not fail till they reach the land of glory,
Past the setting of the sun.’
‘Valiant hearts, and full of faith are every one,
That will not fail till they reach the land of glory,
Past the setting of the sun.’
‘The way is long,’ said the stranger musing inly,
‘Yea,’ said the Captain, ‘and a perilous way;
With the storm, the deep, the dark, the air's dominion,
We must battle night and day.’
‘Yea,’ said the Captain, ‘and a perilous way;
With the storm, the deep, the dark, the air's dominion,
We must battle night and day.’
‘I am here,’ said the other, ‘to conduct, if any
Will forsake the blessed quest, and tarry here;
On this night alone I pass my post, and challenge
Whomsoever may draw near.
Will forsake the blessed quest, and tarry here;
On this night alone I pass my post, and challenge
Whomsoever may draw near.
‘Here lies the country invisible and haunted
Of All Souls, the innumerable, the sad,
And the night is here, and the morning when is granted
That some message may be had.
Of All Souls, the innumerable, the sad,
And the night is here, and the morning when is granted
That some message may be had.
56
‘All night their shadowy shores were round you lying,
Albeit with holden eyes you marked them not,
Around you streamed the anguish and the sighing
Of those whom ye forgot.
Albeit with holden eyes you marked them not,
Around you streamed the anguish and the sighing
Of those whom ye forgot.
‘And if any here will stay and break their voyage,
I have come to be their convoy thitherward,
Though the place be desolate and full of weeping,
I will be their guide and guard.’
I have come to be their convoy thitherward,
Though the place be desolate and full of weeping,
I will be their guide and guard.’
But the Captain spake, ‘Not one of these assembled
Will turn back disheartened from the Glorious Way;
There lies our path across the utmost ocean;’
With one voice they answered, ‘Yea!’
Will turn back disheartened from the Glorious Way;
There lies our path across the utmost ocean;’
With one voice they answered, ‘Yea!’
And the other said, ‘Are there none whom ye remember,
Who the feast of All the Saints may never share?
Are there none who think on you, and ask forgiveness,
Yet to hope it do not dare?’
Who the feast of All the Saints may never share?
Are there none who think on you, and ask forgiveness,
Yet to hope it do not dare?’
57
Then I spake, because the face of power and pity
Arrested and subdued me to his mind,
‘Let these pass on unto the Golden City,
But I will stay behind.’
Arrested and subdued me to his mind,
‘Let these pass on unto the Golden City,
But I will stay behind.’
He took my hand, and in a moment after
We two upon the waves were all alone,
In a small boat that swiftly stemmed the waters,
And the tall ship was gone.
We two upon the waves were all alone,
In a small boat that swiftly stemmed the waters,
And the tall ship was gone.
And the grave ferryman asked, as I sat wondering,
‘Grieve you not for the lost track of the Blessed Dead,
For the vision of All Saints, and all their splendour?’
‘Nay, mine were no Saints,’ I said.
‘Grieve you not for the lost track of the Blessed Dead,
For the vision of All Saints, and all their splendour?’
‘Nay, mine were no Saints,’ I said.
And I asked him, ‘In your lost land and forsaken,
Is there no hope, is it evermore the same?
Hath there not any come to bring good tidings?’
‘Yea,’ he said, ‘once One came.’
Is there no hope, is it evermore the same?
Hath there not any come to bring good tidings?’
‘Yea,’ he said, ‘once One came.’
58
‘And from this country is there no departing?
Is there no day of deliverance for All Souls?’
‘Nay, I know not of the times,’ he answered sighing,
‘Seals are upon those scrolls.’
Is there no day of deliverance for All Souls?’
‘Nay, I know not of the times,’ he answered sighing,
‘Seals are upon those scrolls.’
Now the day was breaking, and the light grew clearer,
Yet no glow of sunrise swept across the sky,
But a deep, sad blue coloured all the air and water,
And the land, as we drew nigh.
Yet no glow of sunrise swept across the sky,
But a deep, sad blue coloured all the air and water,
And the land, as we drew nigh.
In the blue of the hyacinth rose a hundred miles,
Dark, and a darkling shadow across the bay;
In the blue of the larkspur lay a thousand isles,
Open and low to the dawning of the day.
Dark, and a darkling shadow across the bay;
In the blue of the larkspur lay a thousand isles,
Open and low to the dawning of the day.
And the distant sky was cloudy blue and tender,
Not as the light of the sun makes blue the day;
And his garments were dark-blue who sat before me,
And light-blue was the spray
Not as the light of the sun makes blue the day;
And his garments were dark-blue who sat before me,
And light-blue was the spray
59
Of his oars, and all the morn melted in mystery
Of some new life begun, of some unknown sense
And the face before me grew more beatific,
And the low light more intense;
Of some new life begun, of some unknown sense
And the face before me grew more beatific,
And the low light more intense;
And the world grew magical and hushed in wonder,
And the gliding dream grew sweeter and more sweet;
And I cried, ‘Oh, what shore is this where we are landing?
Whom are you taking me to meet?’
And the gliding dream grew sweeter and more sweet;
And I cried, ‘Oh, what shore is this where we are landing?
Whom are you taking me to meet?’
60
FATHER MACKONOCHIE.
Rose-red o'er Ballachulish
The sunset dies away,
And glorious to the last expands
The short December day;
The purple islands of the West
Stretch down the ocean way;
The great and lonely mountain-land
Looms inland ghostly-grey.
The sunset dies away,
And glorious to the last expands
The short December day;
The purple islands of the West
Stretch down the ocean way;
The great and lonely mountain-land
Looms inland ghostly-grey.
Suddenly with the evening
The snow begins to fall,
And wailing voices of the North
In the wild winds to call;
And night wears on, and still they wait,
Nor hear within the hall
Thy homeward steps, O father
And friend, beloved of all!
The snow begins to fall,
And wailing voices of the North
In the wild winds to call;
61
Nor hear within the hall
Thy homeward steps, O father
And friend, beloved of all!
Oh, dark upon Loch Leven
Comes down the winter night;
The desert spirits that love not man
The lonely hills affright;
The blinding whirlwinds and the snow
Beat out all sound and sight,
No moon is there, nor stars to give
The wanderer any light.
Comes down the winter night;
The desert spirits that love not man
The lonely hills affright;
The blinding whirlwinds and the snow
Beat out all sound and sight,
No moon is there, nor stars to give
The wanderer any light.
Oh, many on wild winter nights
Have been out here too late,
And left among the haunted glens
A hearthstone desolate;
Poor men and women, none have marked
Their name or their estate;
And now the father of the flock
Has come to share their fate.
Have been out here too late,
And left among the haunted glens
A hearthstone desolate;
Poor men and women, none have marked
Their name or their estate;
And now the father of the flock
Has come to share their fate.
62
Oh, awful is the wilderness,
And pitiless the snow;
But down in dim St. Alban's
The seven lamps burn aglow,
And softly in the Sanctuary
The priest moves to and fro,
And with one heart the people pray;
And this is home below.
And pitiless the snow;
But down in dim St. Alban's
The seven lamps burn aglow,
And softly in the Sanctuary
The priest moves to and fro,
And with one heart the people pray;
And this is home below.
And higher, in the House of God,
Seven lamps before the Throne,
The golden vials of odours sweet,
The voice of praise alone;
With the belovèd, the redeemed,
Whose toil and tears are done,—
And this is in the Father's Home
That waits for everyone.
Seven lamps before the Throne,
The golden vials of odours sweet,
The voice of praise alone;
With the belovèd, the redeemed,
Whose toil and tears are done,—
And this is in the Father's Home
That waits for everyone.
O Priest, whom men unkindly judged
Too fixed on rule and rite,
In this thine hour no ritual comes
To help thee through this night;
None but the Everlasting Arms
Support thee with their might,
None but the unseen Comforter
Upholds thy soul in flight.
Too fixed on rule and rite,
In this thine hour no ritual comes
To help thee through this night;
63
Support thee with their might,
None but the unseen Comforter
Upholds thy soul in flight.
For thee no priest, nor passing bell,
No holy oil or wine,
No prayer to speed the parting soul,
No sacred word or sign;
Long as thou hast by dying beds
Ministered things divine,
Nor voice nor hand of earthly friend
May minister to thine.
No holy oil or wine,
No prayer to speed the parting soul,
No sacred word or sign;
Long as thou hast by dying beds
Ministered things divine,
Nor voice nor hand of earthly friend
May minister to thine.
There is none other left but Thou,
O Jesus, now give ear!
Far off is every help and hope,
O Jesus, now draw near!
The heart is sinking and the flesh,
O Jesus, save and hear!
Darkness and death—Oh, show Thy Face,
O Jesus, Lord, most dear!
O Jesus, now give ear!
Far off is every help and hope,
O Jesus, now draw near!
The heart is sinking and the flesh,
O Jesus, save and hear!
Darkness and death—Oh, show Thy Face,
O Jesus, Lord, most dear!
64
One kneeleth in his chamber,
Near midnight, at his prayer,
He feels a cold breath suddenly,
A presence in the air:
The white wraith flits before his eyes,
Awe-stricken and aware;—
Yet till the morrow all unknown
Whose visiting was there.
Near midnight, at his prayer,
He feels a cold breath suddenly,
A presence in the air:
The white wraith flits before his eyes,
Awe-stricken and aware;—
Yet till the morrow all unknown
Whose visiting was there.
No funeral tapers round thee burn,
No hand thy bed to dress,
No watchers kneeling round in prayer
And tears of tenderness.
The vigil and the fast are kept
Beside thee none the less,
By the dumb creatures in their love
And living faithfulness.
No hand thy bed to dress,
No watchers kneeling round in prayer
And tears of tenderness.
The vigil and the fast are kept
Beside thee none the less,
By the dumb creatures in their love
And living faithfulness.
The deerhound and the terrier
Lie watching foot and head,
They only left of all on earth
To guard thy dying bed.
Two nights and days the searchers toil,
The trackless wastes they tread,
In howling darkness, storm, and snow,
Until they find the dead.
Lie watching foot and head,
They only left of all on earth
To guard thy dying bed.
65
The trackless wastes they tread,
In howling darkness, storm, and snow,
Until they find the dead.
Thy feet are bruised upon the rocks,
In struggle stiff and sore,
Thy corpse is frozen in the snow,
With snow-wreaths mantled o'er;
Thy face is calm,—the smile of one
Remembering pain no more;—
Their hearts were lightened of a load,
Seeing the look it wore.
In struggle stiff and sore,
Thy corpse is frozen in the snow,
With snow-wreaths mantled o'er;
Thy face is calm,—the smile of one
Remembering pain no more;—
Their hearts were lightened of a load,
Seeing the look it wore.
Ill-omened Pass! laid under ban
By curse from sire to son,—
The elemental powers have raved
O'er torrent and o'er stone;
Untamed and hostile hitherto,
At last their worst is done,
A holier death has hallowed thee,—
The Cross its place has won.
By curse from sire to son,—
The elemental powers have raved
O'er torrent and o'er stone;
Untamed and hostile hitherto,
At last their worst is done,
A holier death has hallowed thee,—
The Cross its place has won.
66
The funeral barge is on its way
Across the pearly seas;
One great white sea-bird flies before,
With waving wings of peace;
All shrouded white, the mountain-heights
Still silently increase;
Thy violet pall with flakes that fall
Has grown snow-white as these.
Across the pearly seas;
One great white sea-bird flies before,
With waving wings of peace;
All shrouded white, the mountain-heights
Still silently increase;
Thy violet pall with flakes that fall
Has grown snow-white as these.
They wait within the city,
Stricken with grief, to lay
Their dead within St. Alban's,
For one sad night and day.
Around thy bier the music wails,
Thy people weep and pray;
Thy mourners fill the streets on foot,
Along the funeral way.
Stricken with grief, to lay
Their dead within St. Alban's,
For one sad night and day.
Around thy bier the music wails,
Thy people weep and pray;
Thy mourners fill the streets on foot,
Along the funeral way.
O soul, that hast already passed
Beyond this earthly bourn,
In London, in the narrow streets
They miss thee, and they mourn;
Thy face still haunts the holy house
Where thou wilt not return;
The hearts are aching day by day,
With whom thou didst sojourn.
Beyond this earthly bourn,
In London, in the narrow streets
They miss thee, and they mourn;
67
Where thou wilt not return;
The hearts are aching day by day,
With whom thou didst sojourn.
Is not thy sleep the smoother
Because of hearts that ache?
Is not thy rest the deeper,
That thy own heart did break?
Because to-day the sick and sad
Are weeping for thy sake,
Surely their sighs have gone before,
Thy bed in heaven to make.
Because of hearts that ache?
Is not thy rest the deeper,
That thy own heart did break?
Because to-day the sick and sad
Are weeping for thy sake,
Surely their sighs have gone before,
Thy bed in heaven to make.
To fast among the hungering,
To serve among the poor,
To toil among the weary,
Among the sick endure;
To intercede for sinners,
The tempted to secure:—
Thy lifelong path of pilgrimage,
Most strait, most steep, most sure.
To serve among the poor,
To toil among the weary,
Among the sick endure;
To intercede for sinners,
The tempted to secure:—
Thy lifelong path of pilgrimage,
Most strait, most steep, most sure.
68
Sleep on in Christ. ‘O Lamb of God!’
Resounds the Passion hymn;
And heaven is opened, and we join
The song of Seraphim:
One Presence fills, unites, transforms,
Beneath these arches dim,
And they who wake, and they who sleep,
Together live in Him.
Resounds the Passion hymn;
And heaven is opened, and we join
The song of Seraphim:
One Presence fills, unites, transforms,
Beneath these arches dim,
And they who wake, and they who sleep,
Together live in Him.
69
THE GLASTONBURY THORN.
My son, thou sayest that thy life
Is past its blossom time,
And thou hast neither fruit nor flower
To show for all its prime;
Is past its blossom time,
And thou hast neither fruit nor flower
To show for all its prime;
That thou hast watched and waited long,
Nor spared to toil and pray,
And nought for all thy strife remains,
But to be cast away.
Nor spared to toil and pray,
And nought for all thy strife remains,
But to be cast away.
Now listen what to me befell
When all the year was past,
And in the winter what a grace
Was brought to me at last.
When all the year was past,
And in the winter what a grace
Was brought to me at last.
70
For I was old, and all my house
Were sleeping in the tomb,
When came the Word of God to me
To leave my fathers' home.
Were sleeping in the tomb,
When came the Word of God to me
To leave my fathers' home.
I took my staff, and all alone
I wandered to the west;
A long and weary pilgrimage,
Till God should bid me rest.
I wandered to the west;
A long and weary pilgrimage,
Till God should bid me rest.
I passed by sea, I passed by land,
I found strange folk and wild,
Until one day before my feet
This Vale at sunset smiled.
I found strange folk and wild,
Until one day before my feet
This Vale at sunset smiled.
The voice within spake suddenly,
‘Here is thy place to dwell:’
I struck my staff into the ground,
And here I built my cell.
‘Here is thy place to dwell:’
I struck my staff into the ground,
And here I built my cell.
71
I cleared a little space of earth
Beside it either hand,
And planted in my garden plot
The flowers of Holy Land.
Beside it either hand,
And planted in my garden plot
The flowers of Holy Land.
Oh, sweet and soft with mist and rain
Is all this island air;
The little birds among the boughs
Make music everywhere.
Is all this island air;
The little birds among the boughs
Make music everywhere.
And when the streams in Spring unbind,
Trickling the moors across,
The violets blue, the violets white,
Are hidden in the moss.
Trickling the moors across,
The violets blue, the violets white,
Are hidden in the moss.
The people came about my door,
A simple woodland race,
And many a meal I shared with them
In many a dwelling-place.
A simple woodland race,
And many a meal I shared with them
In many a dwelling-place.
72
I spake to them of Christ the Lord,
And of the things I knew;
They listened, and they made no sign,
No faith among them grew.
And of the things I knew;
They listened, and they made no sign,
No faith among them grew.
But soon my garden flowers took root
With little care or toil,
And flourished through the summer months
Upon the stranger soil.
With little care or toil,
And flourished through the summer months
Upon the stranger soil.
Anemones in April days
Of silver shower and shine
Were messengers from scarlet fields
Of spring in Palestine.
Of silver shower and shine
Were messengers from scarlet fields
Of spring in Palestine.
And starry-pointed, white and gold,
The pale narcissus head,
Along the shady bank in May,
A foreign fragrance shed.
The pale narcissus head,
Along the shady bank in May,
A foreign fragrance shed.
73
The rosemary put forth in June
Her shoots both sweet and strong;
I thought of burning rocky paths
The desert sides along.
Her shoots both sweet and strong;
I thought of burning rocky paths
The desert sides along.
Oh, glorious white as heaven's own light,
The Lily rose, a Queen:
A sun by day, a star by night,
Glimmering my prayers between.
The Lily rose, a Queen:
A sun by day, a star by night,
Glimmering my prayers between.
And when the hot and cloudless sky
Lay over field and fold,
In August, in the harvest time,
Flamed forth the marigold.
Lay over field and fold,
In August, in the harvest time,
Flamed forth the marigold.
O Mary! Mary! at thy name
My head in dreams is bowed;
I muse upon thy face with thoughts
I cannot speak aloud,
My head in dreams is bowed;
I muse upon thy face with thoughts
I cannot speak aloud,
74
The far-off years roll back, my soul
Across the bitter sea
Returns, and there is only one
Day of all days for me.
Across the bitter sea
Returns, and there is only one
Day of all days for me.
O Mary! Mary! for my loss
I mourn until I die;
The very thieves and murderers had
A better place than I.
I mourn until I die;
The very thieves and murderers had
A better place than I.
Yet I too had my turn at last,
I who awoke too late;
The lowest of thy servants still
Outside the door may wait,
I who awoke too late;
The lowest of thy servants still
Outside the door may wait,
And find forgiveness in his task;
Yea, even unto me
Was granted gift my heart must keep
In mute humility.
Yea, even unto me
Was granted gift my heart must keep
In mute humility.
75
O Mary! Mary! I have seen!
It cannot pass away;
Thy face is living in my heart
For ever, night and day.
It cannot pass away;
Thy face is living in my heart
For ever, night and day.
Oh, on one night of wondrous light,
Thy Babe upon thy knee,
When first He smiled, O mother mild,
One Joseph stood by thee.
Thy Babe upon thy knee,
When first He smiled, O mother mild,
One Joseph stood by thee.
But I, another Joseph, stood
Beside thee at the end;
And when thine arms took back their own,
Did I thy will attend.
Beside thee at the end;
And when thine arms took back their own,
Did I thy will attend.
Another night—oh, such a night
Again earth will not see!—
For that night's sake forget me not,
Until I come to thee!
Again earth will not see!—
For that night's sake forget me not,
Until I come to thee!
76
I wander far, I lose myself;—
What was the flower, the last,
That told me that the summer days
In this green land were past?
What was the flower, the last,
That told me that the summer days
In this green land were past?
I think it was the myrtle soft,
I sheltered by the wall,
That flower of fate that blooms so late,
For maiden's coronal.
I sheltered by the wall,
That flower of fate that blooms so late,
For maiden's coronal.
But when the time of flowers was past,
And Autumn leaves were sere,
Darkness drew on, and all the wold
With wailing winds was drear.
And Autumn leaves were sere,
Darkness drew on, and all the wold
With wailing winds was drear.
Early the Winter settled down,
The snow fell thick and deep,
The birds were hushed, the frozen rills
Were bound in glassy sleep.
The snow fell thick and deep,
The birds were hushed, the frozen rills
Were bound in glassy sleep.
77
And when at last drew nigh at hand
The holy Christmas Eve,
A pathless wilderness of white
Was all I could perceive.
The holy Christmas Eve,
A pathless wilderness of white
Was all I could perceive.
I was alone, and not a step
For many weeks had crossed
The buried moors, and I of men
Forgotten seemed, and lost.
For many weeks had crossed
The buried moors, and I of men
Forgotten seemed, and lost.
My food was spent; for many days
I had not broken fast;
A little bird whose breast was red
Had shared my crumbs—the last.
I had not broken fast;
A little bird whose breast was red
Had shared my crumbs—the last.
And now it seemed my time was come
My labour to forsake;
And sadly and in tears I knelt,
And to my Master spake,—
My labour to forsake;
And sadly and in tears I knelt,
And to my Master spake,—
78
‘Lord, Thou hast set me here to sow
The seed of faith for Thee;
I sow in vain, I may not reap,
Nor blade, nor corn I see.
The seed of faith for Thee;
I sow in vain, I may not reap,
Nor blade, nor corn I see.
‘Thou callest me, and I must come
Out of Thy garden ground,
With empty hands, and incomplete,
Once more defaulting found.
Out of Thy garden ground,
With empty hands, and incomplete,
Once more defaulting found.
‘I know I shall forget my fault,
When once I see Thy face;
But, Lord, this is one bitter hour
For the lost time of grace.’
When once I see Thy face;
But, Lord, this is one bitter hour
For the lost time of grace.’
Then at midnight, all silently,
A spirit drew me forth;
The three bright stars high overhead
Were pointing to the North.
A spirit drew me forth;
The three bright stars high overhead
Were pointing to the North.
79
But a strange glow was in the air,
Vibrating sparks and strings,
And all the midnight was alive
With throbbing souls of things.
Vibrating sparks and strings,
And all the midnight was alive
With throbbing souls of things.
A quivering pulse of blood-red flame
Leapt up the heavenly height,
And soft and swift the rosy fire
Played in and out the night.
Leapt up the heavenly height,
And soft and swift the rosy fire
Played in and out the night.
And all the world was lighted up,
I could not see from whence;
I heard strange music in my ears,
I could not catch its sense.
I could not see from whence;
I heard strange music in my ears,
I could not catch its sense.
The snow blushed crimson fitfully,
Like water turned to wine;
I stepped into the open air,
And saw a wondrous sign.
Like water turned to wine;
I stepped into the open air,
And saw a wondrous sign.
80
For there my staff of pilgrimage,
That in the ground stood fast,
Had shot into a living stem,
Whose boughs were outward cast;
That in the ground stood fast,
Had shot into a living stem,
Whose boughs were outward cast;
And every branch was quick with leaf,
And bud and flower and thorn;
Beneath my gaze in still amaze
The opening blooms were born.
And bud and flower and thorn;
Beneath my gaze in still amaze
The opening blooms were born.
O tree so bright 'mid snowy white,
How didst thou smile on me:
The Master at the Feast to-night
Hath not forgotten thee!
How didst thou smile on me:
The Master at the Feast to-night
Hath not forgotten thee!
And when the Northern Lights had died,
And night lay still and deep,
My eyes for very blissfulness
Did close themselves in sleep.
And night lay still and deep,
My eyes for very blissfulness
Did close themselves in sleep.
81
I cannot tell what voices near
In sleep conversed with mine;
I do not know if angels came
To bring me bread and wine.
In sleep conversed with mine;
I do not know if angels came
To bring me bread and wine.
But I lived on, I wanted not,
I was not left alone;
Our Master needs no other help
When He would feed His own.
I was not left alone;
Our Master needs no other help
When He would feed His own.
And the next spring, at Easter-tide,
When the soft ferns unrolled,
And all the moorland sea of gorse
Tossed its fresh waves of gold,
When the soft ferns unrolled,
And all the moorland sea of gorse
Tossed its fresh waves of gold,
A thousand souls with one accord
Came to the water's side,
And bowed themselves beneath the Sign
Of Christ the Crucified.
Came to the water's side,
And bowed themselves beneath the Sign
Of Christ the Crucified.
82
And since that day a thousandfold
The word has borne increase;
This fair and fruitful country lies
All in one bond of peace.
The word has borne increase;
This fair and fruitful country lies
All in one bond of peace.
They have not seen what I have seen,
They have not touched the Hand;
Blessèd are they, because by faith
They love and understand.
They have not touched the Hand;
Blessèd are they, because by faith
They love and understand.
O Lord, Thy purpose does not fail,
The work is Thine alone;
All times are harvest times with Thee:
Enough, to be Thine own.
The work is Thine alone;
All times are harvest times with Thee:
Enough, to be Thine own.
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