 | Poems |  |
3
YOUTH AND AGE.
A DIALOGUE.
το γαρ νεαζον εν τοιοισδε βοσκεται
χωροισιν αυτου, και νιν ου θαλπος θεου,
ουδ' ομβρος, ουδε πνευματων ουδεν κλονει,
αλλ' ηδοναις αμοχθον εξαιρει βιον.
Sophocles, Trachiniæ, 144.
χωροισιν αυτου, και νιν ου θαλπος θεου,
ουδ' ομβρος, ουδε πνευματων ουδεν κλονει,
αλλ' ηδοναις αμοχθον εξαιρει βιον.
Sophocles, Trachiniæ, 144.
I. PART I.
AGE.
I tell you earth, and air, and sea
Are but one weary space for woe,
And it is only bliss to be
Above, or not to be below.
Are but one weary space for woe,
And it is only bliss to be
Above, or not to be below.
Without us, and within our breast,
Is human weakness, human sin:
And all in brightest semblance drest
Is dark, and foul, and false within.
Is human weakness, human sin:
And all in brightest semblance drest
Is dark, and foul, and false within.
4
My childhood's years are passing by;
Your words I do not know nor own:
Life has not taught me how to sigh,
But like a dream of light has flown.
Your words I do not know nor own:
Life has not taught me how to sigh,
But like a dream of light has flown.
The seasons, as they came and sped,
Brought but variety of joy:
Each year that went to join the dead
Left me a careless, happy boy.
Brought but variety of joy:
Each year that went to join the dead
Left me a careless, happy boy.
AGE.
Yet Spring upon her pinions bore
Sorrow to some, and toil to all;
And Debt was at the cottage door,
And Death was in the manor hall.
Sorrow to some, and toil to all;
And Debt was at the cottage door,
And Death was in the manor hall.
YOUTH.
To me, she came from Fairyland,
With gifts of youth to scatter here;
And bore a garment green and grand
To clothe the tattered, shivering year.
With gifts of youth to scatter here;
And bore a garment green and grand
To clothe the tattered, shivering year.
5
Queen Summer bade the sun to shine,
And I could make a nest of hay;
He did not seek the hills till nine,
But gave another hour to play.
And I could make a nest of hay;
He did not seek the hills till nine,
But gave another hour to play.
When Autumn came with sickle keen,
I've gathered nuts and gleaned the corn;
And homewards in the twilight been,
With shouting, on the waggon borne.
I've gathered nuts and gleaned the corn;
And homewards in the twilight been,
With shouting, on the waggon borne.
When Winter brought an icy rule,
And bade the northern winds to blow,
I slid across the frozen pool,
Or waged a mimic war of snow.
And bade the northern winds to blow,
I slid across the frozen pool,
Or waged a mimic war of snow.
And when the last late-lingering rays
Were gone, and darkness hid the day,
I played around the wintry blaze,
Or reading whiled the time away.
Were gone, and darkness hid the day,
I played around the wintry blaze,
Or reading whiled the time away.
6
A tale of love, a tale of war,
Would stay me in my wildest mirth;
And carried high in Fancy's car,
I left the sluggard air of earth.
Would stay me in my wildest mirth;
And carried high in Fancy's car,
I left the sluggard air of earth.
And reading of some knight of fame,
In tales of ages long gone by,
My spirit has been all on flame
To dare some deed of chivalry.
In tales of ages long gone by,
My spirit has been all on flame
To dare some deed of chivalry.
AGE.
Yet shortening days and leaflets brown
Brought Sorrow to the cottage nigh;
Fever had struck the reaper down,
And Famine bade the children die.
Brought Sorrow to the cottage nigh;
Fever had struck the reaper down,
And Famine bade the children die.
And Winter sent a ruthless blast
Where, scantly clothed and poorly fed,
The children o'er the common passed
To earn an aged mother bread.
Where, scantly clothed and poorly fed,
The children o'er the common passed
To earn an aged mother bread.
7
Yours are the hopes of boys and schools,
Unentered in the general strife:
Know Bliss is but the dream of fools,
And Sin and Care the truths of life.
Unentered in the general strife:
Know Bliss is but the dream of fools,
And Sin and Care the truths of life.
YOUTH.
I care not, stern and gloomy man:
Mine be my hopes, thy wisdom thine.
Man's made upon a happier plan,
As yonder sun was born to shine.
Mine be my hopes, thy wisdom thine.
Man's made upon a happier plan,
As yonder sun was born to shine.
For still I am a careless boy,
And little have I to regret;
And in my boyish cup of joy
The bitter is not mingled yet.
And little have I to regret;
And in my boyish cup of joy
The bitter is not mingled yet.
Nought know I of distress and tears,
Golden the prospect seems and fair:
Oh! shall I find in after years
The pleasure I have pictured there?
Golden the prospect seems and fair:
Oh! shall I find in after years
The pleasure I have pictured there?
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II. PART II.
AGE.
Since last we met in many a clime
I've scanned the war of knaves and fools;
And thou hast spent the selfsame time,
In thankless wisdom of the schools.
I've scanned the war of knaves and fools;
And thou hast spent the selfsame time,
In thankless wisdom of the schools.
Thy dreams were high and hopeful then,
And thou wouldst only see the sun,
And owl-like in the ways of men
Wert blind to all he shines upon.
And thou wouldst only see the sun,
And owl-like in the ways of men
Wert blind to all he shines upon.
Say, didst thou see thou wast beguiled,
And curse the vision that had been?
Or art thou still the simple child,
That loved the earth because 'twas green?
And curse the vision that had been?
Or art thou still the simple child,
That loved the earth because 'twas green?
9
One left the wide and gloomy place,
Where the chill sun looks seldom forth,
Where dwelt the fellows of his race,
The children of the barren north:
Where the chill sun looks seldom forth,
Where dwelt the fellows of his race,
The children of the barren north:
And travelled to the lands of light,
That break the heaven of southern seas;
And wandered satisfied with sight
Of lustrous birds and towering trees.
That break the heaven of southern seas;
And wandered satisfied with sight
Of lustrous birds and towering trees.
Yet there was death about the lake,
And death where winged enchantment leads;
Fierce creatures waited in the brake,
And Fever lurked among the reeds.
And death where winged enchantment leads;
Fierce creatures waited in the brake,
And Fever lurked among the reeds.
So, from the dark pre-natal tomb,
I woke to freedom and to change;
And wondering viewed my splendid home:
The chambers of the house were strange.
I woke to freedom and to change;
And wondering viewed my splendid home:
The chambers of the house were strange.
10
So, in a paradise of sense,
I wandered aimless, without course;
And watched the robin to the fence,
And scared the plover from the gorse.
I wandered aimless, without course;
And watched the robin to the fence,
And scared the plover from the gorse.
When, 'twixt my fairy earth and me,
You, grim mysterious shadow, rose
And spoke of ills I could not see,
And envied childhood its repose.
You, grim mysterious shadow, rose
And spoke of ills I could not see,
And envied childhood its repose.
AGE.
Being is not as Childhood dreams,
Nor yet as burning Youth believes;
Morn after morn immortal gleams,
And, faithless ever, still deceives.
Nor yet as burning Youth believes;
Morn after morn immortal gleams,
And, faithless ever, still deceives.
The fishers, credulous of doom,
Their cockles man and tempt the wave;
But wild the winds and fell the gloom
That thicken o'er their race's grave.
Their cockles man and tempt the wave;
But wild the winds and fell the gloom
That thicken o'er their race's grave.
11
One learns before his passions spring,
The things for which no Lethe flows,
The snares which God, well-named a king,
Lays for His subjects and His foes.
The things for which no Lethe flows,
The snares which God, well-named a king,
Lays for His subjects and His foes.
One drags his body from the mire,
And turns his mind to subtler ways,
The fool's remorse, the maniac's fire,
The wretch's hope of other days.
And turns his mind to subtler ways,
The fool's remorse, the maniac's fire,
The wretch's hope of other days.
And others strive to cure the spite
That's withered all our being thus;
And one in darkness, one in light
Confides and fights and fails for us.
That's withered all our being thus;
And one in darkness, one in light
Confides and fights and fails for us.
The tyrant sits and smiles the same,
The doomèd generations pass,
But never reach the lying flame
That beckons o'er the dark morass.
The doomèd generations pass,
But never reach the lying flame
That beckons o'er the dark morass.
12
The toy of chance, the slave of fools,
Vicissitudes of fate may know:
For us—malign Omniscience rules,
Creates and manages our woe.
Vicissitudes of fate may know:
For us—malign Omniscience rules,
Creates and manages our woe.
13
THE STREAM.
Deep-cradled in the chambers of the earth,
A dark and narrow home, the stream lives on;
Till, stronger grown, it scrambles, as in mirth,
Forth from its rocky doors to see the sun.
A dark and narrow home, the stream lives on;
Till, stronger grown, it scrambles, as in mirth,
Forth from its rocky doors to see the sun.
Awhile his mountain nurse his course can stay,
A moment holds the tiny fingers, then
The little struggling rebel breaks away,
And gambols wildly laughing down the glen.
A moment holds the tiny fingers, then
The little struggling rebel breaks away,
And gambols wildly laughing down the glen.
At last the clatter of his feet is still,
And he has reached the bottom of the steep,
And wanders, as in wonder, from the hill
To where the long-leaved grasses stoop to sleep.
And he has reached the bottom of the steep,
And wanders, as in wonder, from the hill
To where the long-leaved grasses stoop to sleep.
14
Awhile he lingers 'neath the mountain ash,
Heaped round the base with many a mossy stone;
Then, gathering of its berries, with a dash
Leaps o'er the feeble barrier and is gone.
Heaped round the base with many a mossy stone;
Then, gathering of its berries, with a dash
Leaps o'er the feeble barrier and is gone.
Unwearied with his running and his play,
Through the wild ferny wood he longs to roam,
Where the thick hazel boughs shut out the day,
And Autumn's whirling leaves have found a home.
Through the wild ferny wood he longs to roam,
Where the thick hazel boughs shut out the day,
And Autumn's whirling leaves have found a home.
Where the hot cattle in the sultry noon
Come with the heavy trampling of their feet,
Till sunset calls them homeward, and the moon
Shines from the deep low lands of mist and heat.
Come with the heavy trampling of their feet,
Till sunset calls them homeward, and the moon
Shines from the deep low lands of mist and heat.
Freed from the wood, he lingers as he goes,
And saunters through the deep and grassy field,
And seems to feel the sweets of the repose
That the tall elms and sheltering hedges yield.
And saunters through the deep and grassy field,
And seems to feel the sweets of the repose
That the tall elms and sheltering hedges yield.
15
For these shut off the busy whirl without,
Where the world plies its business or its play;
Here is no breath of industry about,
Nor senseless merriment, nor dull holiday.
Where the world plies its business or its play;
Here is no breath of industry about,
Nor senseless merriment, nor dull holiday.
It were a fane for meditation meet,
The floor the green earth, and the roof the sky;
Here one might come after the mid-day heat,
And wildly dream on happiness gone by:
The floor the green earth, and the roof the sky;
Here one might come after the mid-day heat,
And wildly dream on happiness gone by:
When the full soul first feels the stroke of woe,
And careless eyes a further lease of breath,
For Love, that made life Paradise below,
Lies rudely torn by Distance or by Death.
And careless eyes a further lease of breath,
For Love, that made life Paradise below,
Lies rudely torn by Distance or by Death.
So might one muse, till with the dusty glare
Earth wearied sinks till busy morn shall rouse,
Unbinds her jewelled braids of raven hair,
And flings them dank and gleaming o'er her brows.
Earth wearied sinks till busy morn shall rouse,
Unbinds her jewelled braids of raven hair,
And flings them dank and gleaming o'er her brows.
16
But he must leave this land of melancholy,
Although his lingering footsteps seem to say,
This is the place of Solitude and holy,
Fain would we tarry from our outward way.
Although his lingering footsteps seem to say,
This is the place of Solitude and holy,
Fain would we tarry from our outward way.
But on the verge of the enchanted ground,
He hears the voice of action and of life;
And scattering all his dreaming, with a bound
Goes careless down to mingle in the strife.
He hears the voice of action and of life;
And scattering all his dreaming, with a bound
Goes careless down to mingle in the strife.
So to the beauty and romance farewell,
That dwelt among the forests and the hills,
That in the city and our streets shall dwell,
When Time the dream of deathless youth fulfils.
That dwelt among the forests and the hills,
That in the city and our streets shall dwell,
When Time the dream of deathless youth fulfils.
Through the foul habitations of the world,
Through many a temple stabled in by swine,
On he must toil when the long mists are curled
Around the dawn, and at the day's decline.
Through many a temple stabled in by swine,
On he must toil when the long mists are curled
Around the dawn, and at the day's decline.
17
There will not be the old light on his brow,
The lustrous eyelid shall grow dim, and then
Mirror the soul no more, as he moves through
The horrid things that haunt the haunts of men.
The lustrous eyelid shall grow dim, and then
Mirror the soul no more, as he moves through
The horrid things that haunt the haunts of men.
But not farewell the energy divine,
Which Freedom bare far from the dungeon bars
Of easeful wealth, in that her ancient shrine
Where the lone eagle sits among the stars:
Which Freedom bare far from the dungeon bars
Of easeful wealth, in that her ancient shrine
Where the lone eagle sits among the stars:
Until a day shall come when that is o'er:
And the gray traveller, in the darkening west,
Leaving long labour and th' opposing shore,
Meets the wide arms of Ocean, and of rest.
And the gray traveller, in the darkening west,
Leaving long labour and th' opposing shore,
Meets the wide arms of Ocean, and of rest.
18
TRUTH.
“Be true, whatever you are, be true.”
Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter.
Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter.
I sat while the world was sleeping, with my dog upon my knee,
And I looked at the golden stars through the boughs of the pear-tree,
And as with the soul of a poet I drank the rapture in,
They seemed to flash down on me the memory of my sin:
And I looked at the golden stars through the boughs of the pear-tree,
And as with the soul of a poet I drank the rapture in,
They seemed to flash down on me the memory of my sin:
Of evil in secret places, though I brake not any law;
Yet I've done what you, my darling, would almost hate me for:
What—I may never tell you, you are too pure to know,
Yet I cannot bear that the guileless should look on the guilty so.
Yet I've done what you, my darling, would almost hate me for:
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Yet I cannot bear that the guileless should look on the guilty so.
Thy soul is still in its Eden, the apples hang on the tree,
The serpent has spoken to others, he never was heard by thee;
I have seen the face of the angel, I have felt the breath of the sword,
But in thee as a dream I remember the garden of the Lord.
The serpent has spoken to others, he never was heard by thee;
I have seen the face of the angel, I have felt the breath of the sword,
But in thee as a dream I remember the garden of the Lord.
There shall come a day, my darling, how I can scarce divine,
When the viewless veil shall be lifted that parts my soul and thine;
Then thou shalt know my meanness, my sorrow that this should be,
And I shall be glad that no longer I can hide the truth from thee.
When the viewless veil shall be lifted that parts my soul and thine;
Then thou shalt know my meanness, my sorrow that this should be,
And I shall be glad that no longer I can hide the truth from thee.
20
It will not be yet, my darling, not on this dreary shore,
Where the twilight sits for ever, and the shadows still move o'er;
But in that palpable future where the form is taken away,
And the spirit is free to wander in the bright light of the day.
Where the twilight sits for ever, and the shadows still move o'er;
But in that palpable future where the form is taken away,
And the spirit is free to wander in the bright light of the day.
Ye, whom my soul calls brothers, who sware to fight with me,
In the front of the world's battle 'gainst the foul stagnant sea
Of comfort at happiness mocking, of faith that is really sleep,
And the many bewildering fancies that make the angels weep:
In the front of the world's battle 'gainst the foul stagnant sea
Of comfort at happiness mocking, of faith that is really sleep,
And the many bewildering fancies that make the angels weep:
Ye who would make that goodness and truth should be one, not two,
So that the wise to think should be also the swift to do;
Ye who would tear the trappings from the poor shrine of pelf,
And the glory of loving another because of the love of self.
So that the wise to think should be also the swift to do;
21
And the glory of loving another because of the love of self.
One of the band of gleaners with you in the boundless plain,
Where mighty reapers have laboured and sheaved up golden grain,
Who wandered with you in the moonlight, as we poured in each other's ear
The deeds of the noble in story and the burning words of the seer.
Where mighty reapers have laboured and sheaved up golden grain,
Who wandered with you in the moonlight, as we poured in each other's ear
The deeds of the noble in story and the burning words of the seer.
All the while he was guilty; this is all I can tell,
Making sorrow for others, making himself a hell:
All the while he had listened unto the voice of the brute,
But the voice of the soul within him, except to the world, was mute.
Making sorrow for others, making himself a hell:
All the while he had listened unto the voice of the brute,
But the voice of the soul within him, except to the world, was mute.
22
I will not tell how I wakened to curse myself and see
That that which was foul in others must needs be foul in me:
All I say—I was guilty; and now my heart is light,
And I may drink in the rapture that flows from the heavens to-night.
That that which was foul in others must needs be foul in me:
All I say—I was guilty; and now my heart is light,
And I may drink in the rapture that flows from the heavens to-night.
23
TO ------
There is a hollow in the wood,
Where latticed boughs let in the blue;
There, in a peopled solitude,
I lay and dreamed of heaven and you.
Where latticed boughs let in the blue;
There, in a peopled solitude,
I lay and dreamed of heaven and you.
Deep in the blue-bells and the fern
Lying I watched the moving spring,
Beside the still pool mused the heron,
And swallows paused on eager wing.
Lying I watched the moving spring,
Beside the still pool mused the heron,
And swallows paused on eager wing.
Above the thorn the pigeon made
Sweet music for his mate and me;
And here a shining eye betrayed
The soft thrush and her family.
Sweet music for his mate and me;
And here a shining eye betrayed
The soft thrush and her family.
24
The squirrel, comically wise,
Pondered and leapt among the elms;
And underneath my very eyes
The rat surveyed his watery realms.
Pondered and leapt among the elms;
And underneath my very eyes
The rat surveyed his watery realms.
I longed to handle and explore,
I feared to move or hand or limb;
I could but lie and gaze the more,
And dream till I was one with them.
I feared to move or hand or limb;
I could but lie and gaze the more,
And dream till I was one with them.
So, thou in thy world, I in mine,
Together and yet far away,
Dwelt in the golden glad sunshine,
And thou wert shy and free as they.
Together and yet far away,
Dwelt in the golden glad sunshine,
And thou wert shy and free as they.
We talked on long forgotten days,
We roamed the realms of act and song
Together through the starlit ways
That wind our forest glades among.
We roamed the realms of act and song
Together through the starlit ways
That wind our forest glades among.
25
We strained into the misty hills
That viewless limited our view;
Nor dreamed you of the maze of ills,
That I had known who ventured through.
That viewless limited our view;
Nor dreamed you of the maze of ills,
That I had known who ventured through.
So waiting on thine every mood,
Till all thy thoughts were linked with me,
I let no curious words intrude,
But won thy love by loving thee.
Till all thy thoughts were linked with me,
I let no curious words intrude,
But won thy love by loving thee.
We walk by faith and not by sight,
Save when a perfect love is given,
To half unfold the doors of light,
And flash to earth a ray of heaven.
Save when a perfect love is given,
To half unfold the doors of light,
And flash to earth a ray of heaven.
The wisdom others learn in books,
With summer suns and midnight oil,
I read in all thy laughing looks,
I read, nor deemed the lesson toil.
With summer suns and midnight oil,
I read in all thy laughing looks,
I read, nor deemed the lesson toil.
26
Thy eyes whose blue the gazer drowned,
Thy locks of mingled dark and fair,
Thy step that lightened all the ground,—
It was not these that chained me there.
Thy locks of mingled dark and fair,
Thy step that lightened all the ground,—
It was not these that chained me there.
The frolic grace, the nature free,
That in each varying humour shone,
Showed me a creature rare to see,
To evil and remorse unknown.
That in each varying humour shone,
Showed me a creature rare to see,
To evil and remorse unknown.
A death has blackened all the earth,
First of our lights it took away,
Sweet smiling heaven-descended mirth,
And darkened half life's little day.
First of our lights it took away,
Sweet smiling heaven-descended mirth,
And darkened half life's little day.
God gave us careless hearts and free,
But we how knowledge tastes would learn;
Touch not, O youth, the tempting tree,
Its fruit will make thy forehead stern.
But we how knowledge tastes would learn;
Touch not, O youth, the tempting tree,
Its fruit will make thy forehead stern.
27
THE TIRED LIFE.
Thank you, lady, for coming, thank you for coming to-day,
For to-morrow to dying people is a voice from far away;
Faintly it sounds this evening, and ere it swells on my ears,
The veil will have fallen for ever on the spirit of her who hears.
For to-morrow to dying people is a voice from far away;
Faintly it sounds this evening, and ere it swells on my ears,
The veil will have fallen for ever on the spirit of her who hears.
I mind me when first we started on the journey that's nearly done,
There was never a cloud in the morning, nor ever a speak on the sun;
How lightly we bent the heather, how gaily we carolled along,
There was never a halt in our dancing, nor ever a pause in our song.
There was never a cloud in the morning, nor ever a speak on the sun;
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There was never a halt in our dancing, nor ever a pause in our song.
One spoke of the shadowy forest, and one of the marvellous town,
The dawn would be slow for our pleasure, the sun should never go down:
We hoped to travel for ever, and is it not strange that I,
Who have travelled so very little, should be so ready to die?
The dawn would be slow for our pleasure, the sun should never go down:
We hoped to travel for ever, and is it not strange that I,
Who have travelled so very little, should be so ready to die?
But some went after the waters that gleamed with a treacherous light,
Or the birds and the butterflies followed, that hovered for ever in sight,
Till torn, and sullied, and bleeding they danced and carolled no more,
Though they ever followed the phantom that ever floated before.
Or the birds and the butterflies followed, that hovered for ever in sight,
Till torn, and sullied, and bleeding they danced and carolled no more,
Though they ever followed the phantom that ever floated before.
29
And our green and beautiful pathway became so stony and straight,
The sun hung burning above us, and vexed us early and late,
For early and late we travelled, and oft at the coming of night,
We were so tired and hungry, we hardly wished for the light.
The sun hung burning above us, and vexed us early and late,
For early and late we travelled, and oft at the coming of night,
We were so tired and hungry, we hardly wished for the light.
Yet we clasped our hands in each other's, and fellow-ship lightened the way,
And night was the friend of the friendless, and night is long as the day;
You say there's a Being that loves us, and one with that Being at war,
Well, our enemy dies with the daylight and our friend is born with the star.
And night was the friend of the friendless, and night is long as the day;
You say there's a Being that loves us, and one with that Being at war,
Well, our enemy dies with the daylight and our friend is born with the star.
But one dropped off and another, and fewer and fewer made moan,
Till all had rest from their labour, and I was left here alone,
Alone in this dreary city, it is not so strange that I,
Who am going too from my labour, should be so ready to die.
Till all had rest from their labour, and I was left here alone,
30
Who am going too from my labour, should be so ready to die.
I've heard that we once were happy, till a cruel fiend crept in,
And breathed a blight on the garden where nothing but beauty had been;
But an antidote lay in the poison, and hope in the blight of his breath,
And death was the name of the poison, the name of the antidote death.
And breathed a blight on the garden where nothing but beauty had been;
But an antidote lay in the poison, and hope in the blight of his breath,
And death was the name of the poison, the name of the antidote death.
31
AMONG THE HILLS.
HUELGOAT, BRITTANY.
The bloom is fading from the heather,
The gorse has scattered half his gold,
And, presaging a ruder weather,
September's winds blow keen and cold.
The gorse has scattered half his gold,
And, presaging a ruder weather,
September's winds blow keen and cold.
They've touched Bellaises' wood of story,
They've scorched the fern above the rill;
The ashes of the summer's glory
Smoulder and die on yonder hill.
They've scorched the fern above the rill;
The ashes of the summer's glory
Smoulder and die on yonder hill.
32
The year's decaying fires to-morrow
Warm them to transient life once more,
But cannot stay the night of sorrow,
That casts its shadows o'er the moor.
Warm them to transient life once more,
But cannot stay the night of sorrow,
That casts its shadows o'er the moor.
The vast gray stones that bridge the river,
And choke the valleys all around,
Are vaster and more gray than ever,
In concord with the saddened ground.
And choke the valleys all around,
Are vaster and more gray than ever,
In concord with the saddened ground.
In kindlier climes the summer flying
Leaves half her smiles upon the plains;
The red fruit hides the leaf that's dying,
And yellow waggons crown the lanes.
Leaves half her smiles upon the plains;
The red fruit hides the leaf that's dying,
And yellow waggons crown the lanes.
But they are gone—our laughing hours,
We have nor sheaves nor orchards here;
And brief the sun and few the flowers,
That cheer our mountains' sullen year.
We have nor sheaves nor orchards here;
And brief the sun and few the flowers,
That cheer our mountains' sullen year.
33
THE SPIRIT OF RELIGION.
I am a spirit and I dwell in Heaven,
Yet have men built me many homes on earth,
Plain white-washed walls and high-arched palaces:
And blood has flowed to win me to the caves,
Where o'er her votaries lowers congenial gloom,
And brutish things their brutish forms adore.
I have been wooed by organ-notes and psalm,
By blended colours and by curious shapes,
In fretted aisles and heaven-ascending domes.
My proper temple is the mind of man,
Of blind, laborious man who knows it not;
Who spends his strength and flying suns on me,
And throws his fleeting strength and suns away.
I have had many servants upon earth;
These have they banished, tortured, bound, and slain,
With curious racks and cruel beasts and fires.
There have been marchings in the frost and sun,
Lyings in wait, fierce rapine, violence,
And midnight murders in unholy towers,
And bloody battles in the face of noon,
To build my houses where I will not come,
To save my servitors that are not mine.
Yet do men follow me through many lands,
O'er jagged rocks, by unfamiliar paths,
That totter over headlong precipices,
Or gleam with lying lights o'er lying ground,
Or shift in burning and uncertain sands,
Or sink through mountainous and starless seas.
So do men seek me and they find me not.
While I sit weeping on my throne in Heaven,
And hang out lamps to lighten all the world,
And loudly call, but all my calls are vain:
Though my dull servants echo back my voice.
As do th' unmeaning rocks and lifeless hills
Repeat the sound they do not understand,
Back to the utterer where he stands alone,
And no one hears save he who sent it forth:
So my slow servants do resound my voice,
And no one hears save I who send it forth,
I who sit weeping on my throne in Heaven.
Yet have men built me many homes on earth,
Plain white-washed walls and high-arched palaces:
And blood has flowed to win me to the caves,
Where o'er her votaries lowers congenial gloom,
And brutish things their brutish forms adore.
I have been wooed by organ-notes and psalm,
By blended colours and by curious shapes,
In fretted aisles and heaven-ascending domes.
My proper temple is the mind of man,
Of blind, laborious man who knows it not;
Who spends his strength and flying suns on me,
And throws his fleeting strength and suns away.
34
These have they banished, tortured, bound, and slain,
With curious racks and cruel beasts and fires.
There have been marchings in the frost and sun,
Lyings in wait, fierce rapine, violence,
And midnight murders in unholy towers,
And bloody battles in the face of noon,
To build my houses where I will not come,
To save my servitors that are not mine.
Yet do men follow me through many lands,
O'er jagged rocks, by unfamiliar paths,
That totter over headlong precipices,
Or gleam with lying lights o'er lying ground,
Or shift in burning and uncertain sands,
Or sink through mountainous and starless seas.
So do men seek me and they find me not.
While I sit weeping on my throne in Heaven,
And hang out lamps to lighten all the world,
And loudly call, but all my calls are vain:
Though my dull servants echo back my voice.
As do th' unmeaning rocks and lifeless hills
Repeat the sound they do not understand,
Back to the utterer where he stands alone,
35
So my slow servants do resound my voice,
And no one hears save I who send it forth,
I who sit weeping on my throne in Heaven.
All times, all places are alike to me,
To me who know not either place or days—
Who have no ear for your material sounds—
No eyes to see your sculpture and your towers.
The plain, dull house that overhangs the glen,
Built by uncultured tillers of the ground;
The arrowy spires that climb into the heaven,
Vain ransom for my slaughtered children wrung
From pallid lords and dying, frightened kings;
The jangling sing-song of untutored throats,
And the well-ordered chant and solemn hymn,
Are all alike unseen, unheard by me.
But my blind, groping servants know it not.
They prate that equal brothers of one race,
Men share the love of their just Father, God,
Prate—and despise the vulgar and the poor.
They preach that raiment fair and rings of gold,
High place, high honour, and the praise of men
Are nothing; and that God and Heaven are all.
They preach—and in the eyes of those who hear,
Buy honour, place, and raiment with their words:
And groan if other servants of my name
Are they from whose brows Honour sits afar,
For whose feet Place will let no ladder down,
Who do not wear the name of gentlemen—
So do these earth-bound unbelievers prate;
And still I weep on my high throne in Heaven.
To me who know not either place or days—
Who have no ear for your material sounds—
No eyes to see your sculpture and your towers.
The plain, dull house that overhangs the glen,
Built by uncultured tillers of the ground;
The arrowy spires that climb into the heaven,
Vain ransom for my slaughtered children wrung
From pallid lords and dying, frightened kings;
The jangling sing-song of untutored throats,
And the well-ordered chant and solemn hymn,
Are all alike unseen, unheard by me.
But my blind, groping servants know it not.
They prate that equal brothers of one race,
Men share the love of their just Father, God,
Prate—and despise the vulgar and the poor.
They preach that raiment fair and rings of gold,
36
Are nothing; and that God and Heaven are all.
They preach—and in the eyes of those who hear,
Buy honour, place, and raiment with their words:
And groan if other servants of my name
Are they from whose brows Honour sits afar,
For whose feet Place will let no ladder down,
Who do not wear the name of gentlemen—
So do these earth-bound unbelievers prate;
And still I weep on my high throne in Heaven.
God dwelleth not in temples made with hands,
And God's own Son was in a manger born,
And sat at common feasts with common men.
Not scorning silken beds and gilded halls,
Nor in a vulgar, vain humility,
As His proud servants ignorantly do talk:
But because hall and stable, lord and hind,
Were all as little and as great to Him
Who had no pride and no humility,
Whom those men slew, unknowing what they did,
Whom ye call Lord, unknowing what ye do.
And God's own Son was in a manger born,
And sat at common feasts with common men.
Not scorning silken beds and gilded halls,
Nor in a vulgar, vain humility,
As His proud servants ignorantly do talk:
But because hall and stable, lord and hind,
Were all as little and as great to Him
Who had no pride and no humility,
Whom those men slew, unknowing what they did,
Whom ye call Lord, unknowing what ye do.
37
PERICLES.
“For,” said he, “no Athenian through my means ever wore mourning.”
Plutarch, 38.
Plutarch, 38.
His friends stood by the dying statesman's bed,
And soothed him while the glass was running low.
“O wise and great! Athens, when thou art dead,
Shall make her latest sons thy glory know:
Tell how Persuasion dwelt upon thy lips,
How Victory, folding her swift wings for thee,
Sat ever on our standards and our ships,
While the Fates suffered Pericles to be.”
Proudly he answered, as the lamp grew dim,
“Say, No Athenian put on woe for him.”
38
[“Whom the gods love die young.” The happiest time]
“Nam quem tuetur atque diligit deus,
Juvenis supremum mortis intrat limitem.”
Juvenis supremum mortis intrat limitem.”
“Whom the gods love die young.” The happiest time
Comes first; 'twere better not to live the rest,
Or live it in the visions of our prime,
Nor wait for Age to claim Hope's interest.
So might we spendthrifts lay our path with flowers,
And take the riches of a score of Springs,
While yet the lagging and delightful Hours
Flew softly, dropping pleasure from their wings;
Breathing no other charge against To-day,—
Like children hurrying through their first romance—
Save that it stands in bright To-morrow's way,
Nor lets us see the happy end at once.
Yet these gay hopes would make it hard to go:
'Twere better not to be than to die so.
39
CONTRAST.
FROM LUCRETIUS.
'Tis sweet to stand on the firm shore and seeA swimmer striving with the billows' breath;
'Tis sweet afar to sit, when battles be,
And view men threading the grim dance of death.
Not that to gaze on others' toil and pain
Brings any peace or pleasure to the breast;
But that the thunders of the foe and main
Wake up new beauties on the face of Rest.
Sweeter to stand on Wisdom's height serene,
And, through the mists that hold the nether air,
To see the path to Life untried and green,
All else with Error's myriad footsteps bare:
Not scorning the poor victims of the night,
But knowing more the difference of light.
40
SONNET.
O come not to my grave when I am dead:The soul you loved was never buried there;
It did not linger till the prayers were said,
It tarried not in the material air;
It went not upward to the painted sky,
Nor to the realms of earthquake and of flame:
Sparks come and go, meteors are born and die;
How do they come? they vanish as they came.
Yet, would you hold the friend you deemed so good,
Live in his life, together and alone,
The sweet society in solitude,
When two harmonious spirits moved as one,
O let your mind my cemetery be!
So shall I live in Heaven, living in thee.
41
SONNET.
Youth, of the open brow and careless heart,That comest here to ask thy destiny,
Wouldst thou be happy? tarry as thou art;
But that the Fates and restless Hours deny.
Wouldst thou be wise? love Wisdom all the day,
Of all thy dreams let Wisdom mistress be:
Reck not what they who flaunt her smiles may say,
She leaves a thousand such to dwell with thee.
Wouldst thou be good? see thou love Goodness well,
Count never what she brings thee; dower and maid
May not be won together; you must sell,
And lose your jewel ere its price be paid.
So let the life that fires thy hopes be passed;
Then know how little it is worth at last.
42
TO ELLEN.
Ellen, if old St. ValentineShould ever from the grave arise,
He ne'er could brook one glance of thine;
But, conquered by those matchless eyes,
The saint himself would be thy prize.
What wonder then if such as I,
Not half so holy or so wise,
Should at thy feet despairing lie?
But never mind the how or why:
I can love no one else but thee;
Oh, could I raise my hopes so high,
That thou shouldst say the same of me!
43
VERSES.
I dreamed of Beauty whilst I slept,
The scales had fallen from my sight.
Waking in rapture soon I wept
To find the vision vanished quite.
The scales had fallen from my sight.
Waking in rapture soon I wept
To find the vision vanished quite.
There hovered still a golden cloud,
And faith was strong that I should see;
But sense composed me in a shroud,
And visions came no more to me.
And faith was strong that I should see;
But sense composed me in a shroud,
And visions came no more to me.
FROM XENOPHANES.
If Dash could carve like Phidias, without failThe ruler of the world would have a tail.
44
LIBERTÉ
There is a goddess, and her throne is setFor ever in the mountains and the sea;
The waves are red and all the soil is wet
With the eternal battles of the free.
For many fiends and evil giants come
To take the goddess and her name away.
Yet hears she not the rock-reëchoed drum,
Nor sees the tumult and the bloody spray.
No hand has ever won so nigh to stir
The wreath that lies upon her waveless brow;
Still high she sits for all to worship her,
Though storm sweeps round her yesterday and now.
Think of our children when her face you see,
And fight, that they may look on Deity.
45
MORITURI TE SALUTANT.
Far shine the plains with many a flag and tent,Lo! the wide seas are white with many a sail,
Tumultuous footsteps up the crags are bent,
And nations thunder “Onward!” to the gale.
From bondage in the city and the plain,
Through the long darkness and swift-flying suns,
Come we o'er mountains and the headlong main,
We and our women and our little ones:
On, brothers, on! though doubt and danger meet
The path, while darkness wrestles with the dawn;
Fall, if 'tis so, before we reach her feet,
And bridge the gulf for pilgrims yet unborn.
All hail, great thronèd goddess of the free!
We go to die, but go saluting thee.
46
EXPERIENCE.
“Fatis aperit Cassandra futuris
Ora, Dei jussa non unquam credita Teucris.”
Virgil.—Æn. ii. 246-7.
Ora, Dei jussa non unquam credita Teucris.”
Virgil.—Æn. ii. 246-7.
I am the mad Cassandra: I have bought
The truth by mighty suffering and great sin;
I roam a wretched woman and a seer,
Crazy, forlorn, and waiting for my doom.
Once in my father's palace I abode,
Once, in the golden careless days of youth,
Not the wan spectre that ye see me now,
But a bright bloom of beauty; so I dwelt,
From wisdom and from wisdom's woes afar,
In hateful blindness and unvalued bliss.
For ever pined I in my happiness,
And cast into the darkness longing eyes,
And ever plucked I at the envious veil
That still would hide delightful days from me.
At last I ventured; mortal I aspired
To be as are the gods, and had my wish,
And thought to trifle with the God that gave,
To have the gift and not to pay the price.
Now know from madness and from woe too late!
The gods cannot be cheated, nor forget.
The truth by mighty suffering and great sin;
I roam a wretched woman and a seer,
Crazy, forlorn, and waiting for my doom.
Once in my father's palace I abode,
Once, in the golden careless days of youth,
Not the wan spectre that ye see me now,
But a bright bloom of beauty; so I dwelt,
From wisdom and from wisdom's woes afar,
In hateful blindness and unvalued bliss.
For ever pined I in my happiness,
And cast into the darkness longing eyes,
47
That still would hide delightful days from me.
At last I ventured; mortal I aspired
To be as are the gods, and had my wish,
And thought to trifle with the God that gave,
To have the gift and not to pay the price.
Now know from madness and from woe too late!
The gods cannot be cheated, nor forget.
Always I wander in a lifeless life,
Through formless void, where ever on the sense
Presses a night, a load unspeakable
Of a dull darkness, horrible to be felt.
Where I but live, nor see, nor hear, nor know,
Save that I feel for ever that I live,
And that to live and feel is misery.
Sometimes the veil is lifted, and I wake,
And stare, and find myself again in Troy,
As in the golden careless days of old.
I see the faces of my countrymen,
And know my treasure and its cost, and wish
To give my treasure, not its cost, to them.
I stand and call within the market-place,
And all men gather round me, and there rings
A horrid voice and tingles in my ears,
And fearful laughter crackles in its thorns.
“There is the mad Cassandra, see! she tells
Of fancied fates and visionary wars:
How some Achilles thunders from the strand,
How Hector's knees are loosèd at the sound,
And Xanthus runs all bloody to the sea:
How Priam, widowed of his fifty sons,
Sinks in the ruin of his flaming halls:
And how some Helen brings this woe on us,
A soft, weak thing of coloured eyes and hair.
Out on her frenzy! neighbours, let us go:
We have no leisure to stand idle here,
And listen to the clack of crazy tongues.
Do you not know Prince Paris goes to-day?
See! the breeze quickens and Poseidon calls,
The rowers hasten and the sails are set;
Come, let us bear our darling to the sea,
And wish him fortune in his loves in Greece,
And meeting with fair women and brave men.
Leave her to screech her crazy chants alone,
Her with her Helens and her fantasies.”
Through formless void, where ever on the sense
Presses a night, a load unspeakable
Of a dull darkness, horrible to be felt.
Where I but live, nor see, nor hear, nor know,
Save that I feel for ever that I live,
And that to live and feel is misery.
Sometimes the veil is lifted, and I wake,
And stare, and find myself again in Troy,
As in the golden careless days of old.
I see the faces of my countrymen,
And know my treasure and its cost, and wish
To give my treasure, not its cost, to them.
48
And all men gather round me, and there rings
A horrid voice and tingles in my ears,
And fearful laughter crackles in its thorns.
“There is the mad Cassandra, see! she tells
Of fancied fates and visionary wars:
How some Achilles thunders from the strand,
How Hector's knees are loosèd at the sound,
And Xanthus runs all bloody to the sea:
How Priam, widowed of his fifty sons,
Sinks in the ruin of his flaming halls:
And how some Helen brings this woe on us,
A soft, weak thing of coloured eyes and hair.
Out on her frenzy! neighbours, let us go:
We have no leisure to stand idle here,
And listen to the clack of crazy tongues.
Do you not know Prince Paris goes to-day?
See! the breeze quickens and Poseidon calls,
The rowers hasten and the sails are set;
Come, let us bear our darling to the sea,
And wish him fortune in his loves in Greece,
And meeting with fair women and brave men.
49
Her with her Helens and her fantasies.”
So speak they, and the air grows thick with blood,
And the known faces straight are thin and pale,
And flit like spectres in the market-place.
And the known temples reel like drunken things
Struck by th' Earthshaker's trident, as the God,
He whom they cheated, brings their doom on them:
And Heré towers before the Scadan gate,
And laughs, and calls her Argives from the sea;
And other Argives hold the citadel,
And there are Argives everywhere; and one,
Some Aias flashes flaming eyes on me.
I reel, and so I pass to night again,
Again to wake, to speak and pass, and add
Their hollow laugh and awful doom to mine.
And the known faces straight are thin and pale,
And flit like spectres in the market-place.
And the known temples reel like drunken things
Struck by th' Earthshaker's trident, as the God,
He whom they cheated, brings their doom on them:
And Heré towers before the Scadan gate,
And laughs, and calls her Argives from the sea;
And other Argives hold the citadel,
And there are Argives everywhere; and one,
Some Aias flashes flaming eyes on me.
I reel, and so I pass to night again,
Again to wake, to speak and pass, and add
Their hollow laugh and awful doom to mine.
50
LIFE.
What is life, and what are we?We are sailors, life's a sea:
We, at all the ports we touch,
Cure too little with too much;
Fire and tempest, reefs and tides,
Crack our masts and strain our sides;
And if all the happy gales
Leave their caves to swell our sails,
Then we with each other meet,
Bark to bark, and fleet to fleet,
Till each others' prows we rend:
It is warfare without end.
51
Wander in their age about,
Wooden legs and empty sleeves,
Wrecks that graceless winter leaves.
Yet our wanderings and our wars,
All our watchings, all our scars,
'Neath the sun and 'neath the stars,
Could we sail the voyage yet,
We would easily forget.
52
TOBACCO.
Horace, you were born too soon!Half the things beneath the moon,
That make living light to men,
Known are now and known were then.
Dewy eyes and waving hair,
All the sweets of dark and fair,
Garden shades, Falernian wine,
Talk and friendship, nights divine,
These and many more were thine.
But our Raleigh was not born,
Who bade sorrow cease to mourn,
53
Mellowed youth and brightened age:
Taught us talk was made for two,
Not to turn, as boys will do
And at times the elders too,
Flowing, cheerful dialogue
Into fearful monologue.
Moan, ye wits! ye smokers, moan!
Had Tobacco but been known,
When the centuries were young,
When our Horace lived and sung;
Straight his stile he would have took,
Added to his odes a book;
How Prometheus but began
Half the kindly task for man;
Raleigh gave us life indeed,
Heavenly fuel in the weed,
For the fire that filled the reed.
How Augustus thronèd high
Round the tables in the sky,
When the goddesses are gone,
And the couches closely drawn,
54
But between his purple lips
Hangs his hookah, pleased and proud
Jove-like to compel a cloud.
55
[“Life is brief and art is long,”]
εν τω φρονειν γαρ μηδευ ηδιστος βιος.
“Life is brief and art is long,”
Like the first shall be my song.
Why should we torment our eyes
With the vulgar fantasies
Of the city and the court,
When our being is so short?
If King Solomon could groan,
Ere a single press was known,
O'er the multitude of books,
And how study wears the looks;
What may we at Athens say,
Sons of Wisdom and To-day,
We who see the Hoangho
Down our placid Isis flow,
Till the classes and the schools
Kill the genial race of fools.
Like the first shall be my song.
Why should we torment our eyes
With the vulgar fantasies
Of the city and the court,
When our being is so short?
If King Solomon could groan,
Ere a single press was known,
O'er the multitude of books,
And how study wears the looks;
56
Sons of Wisdom and To-day,
We who see the Hoangho
Down our placid Isis flow,
Till the classes and the schools
Kill the genial race of fools.
Let me rather far from strife
Like Odysseus choose my life:
Let me rather meet the morn,
Drive the team and bind the corn,
And at eve my eyelids steep
In a real bubulcian sleep.
Freed from fashion's hideous freaks
Changing with the changing weeks;
What in nature no one sees,
Save in some antipodes,
Frightful places that are full
Of the wicked and the dull.
Rise, my brothers, let us flee;
Let the learned progeny
Of the hero of Ardennes
Gore each other in the fens.
We'll away, and to the plains,
Where our goddess Nature reigns;
Hear the brooks and blackbirds sing;
For, believe me, 'tis a thing
Better than to be a king.
Like Odysseus choose my life:
Let me rather meet the morn,
Drive the team and bind the corn,
And at eve my eyelids steep
In a real bubulcian sleep.
Freed from fashion's hideous freaks
Changing with the changing weeks;
What in nature no one sees,
Save in some antipodes,
Frightful places that are full
Of the wicked and the dull.
Rise, my brothers, let us flee;
Let the learned progeny
57
Gore each other in the fens.
We'll away, and to the plains,
Where our goddess Nature reigns;
Hear the brooks and blackbirds sing;
For, believe me, 'tis a thing
Better than to be a king.
58
SONG.
HE.
Farewell, white cliffs of Dover!
Dear heart, don't weep for me:
The seas must bear thy lover
From country and from thee.
The soldier must not tarry,
When honour points the way;
When danger calls, my deary,
You would not have me stay.
Dear heart, don't weep for me:
The seas must bear thy lover
From country and from thee.
The soldier must not tarry,
When honour points the way;
When danger calls, my deary,
You would not have me stay.
Why should thy heart be laden
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
59
Last night I kissed my father,
Beneath our cottage door;
He is an aged father,
I ne'er shall see him more:
Said he, “The breeze is blowing
To bear you,—let it blow:
The God to whom I'm going,
Guard you where'er you go.”
Beneath our cottage door;
He is an aged father,
I ne'er shall see him more:
Said he, “The breeze is blowing
To bear you,—let it blow:
The God to whom I'm going,
Guard you where'er you go.”
Why should thy heart be laden
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
Last night I kissed my mother,
Beneath our cottage door;
She is an aged mother,
I ne'er shall see her more:
She looked up to the heaven
And blessed her only son,
And said, “If I had seven,
I'd say, ‘God's will be done!’”
Beneath our cottage door;
She is an aged mother,
I ne'er shall see her more:
She looked up to the heaven
And blessed her only son,
60
I'd say, ‘God's will be done!’”
Why should thy heart be laden
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
With woe for sorrows mine?
Thou art mine own dear maiden,
But I'm no kin of thine.
SHE.
Thy mother and thy father
Are old and cannot weep;
What wonder tears should gather
To her whose woe is deep?
And she, whose love is stronger
Than kindred's e'er can be,
When kindred weep no longer,
She still will weep for thee.
Are old and cannot weep;
What wonder tears should gather
To her whose woe is deep?
And she, whose love is stronger
Than kindred's e'er can be,
When kindred weep no longer,
She still will weep for thee.
'Tis thus my heart is laden
With woe for sorrows thine:
If I'm thine own dear maiden,
Thou'rt kith and kin of mine.
With woe for sorrows thine:
If I'm thine own dear maiden,
Thou'rt kith and kin of mine.
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