 | Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature |  |
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SKETCHES FROM NATURE.
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HEART-SORE IN BABYLON.
No. I.—SELF-ASSERTION.
Why should I tell the world my sorrow?
Why should I open my heart to them—
To fools and knaves, to tyrants and slaves,
Who'd prate, and giggle, and condemn?
Why should I open my heart to them—
To fools and knaves, to tyrants and slaves,
Who'd prate, and giggle, and condemn?
My sorrow 's mine, and I will treasure it,
Silent and secret, and all alone;
None but myself shall dare to measure it,
Or ask me wherefore I weep or moan.
Silent and secret, and all alone;
None but myself shall dare to measure it,
Or ask me wherefore I weep or moan.
And yet my sorrow shall find expression,
For eyes it hath, deep, deep, and clear,
That can see far hidden the things forbidden,
Things that are, though they never appear.
For eyes it hath, deep, deep, and clear,
That can see far hidden the things forbidden,
Things that are, though they never appear.
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A voice it hath, once soft and woman-like,
Now fitful, turbulent, and strong,
Yet musical, God knows, and human-like,
And falling, failing, dying in song.
Now fitful, turbulent, and strong,
Yet musical, God knows, and human-like,
And falling, failing, dying in song.
And we shall speak—I and my sorrow—
All that we think, all that we know,
All that we see in this Babel burrow,
Where the little emmets come and go.
All that we think, all that we know,
All that we see in this Babel burrow,
Where the little emmets come and go.
We shall be in them, yet not among them—
We shall be merry, or we shall sigh;
And the crowd shall laugh at some gibe we've flung them,
Nor dream of our hidden agony.
We shall be merry, or we shall sigh;
And the crowd shall laugh at some gibe we've flung them,
Nor dream of our hidden agony.
The soldier, fighting his country's battles,
With bosom bare to a hundred guns,
Tells not to all that he 's a coward
When he thinks of his home and his little ones.
With bosom bare to a hundred guns,
Tells not to all that he 's a coward
When he thinks of his home and his little ones.
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The clown in the ring, who grins and tumbles
Till the joyous crowd all shout and start,
May be sick and fainting beneath his painting,
And wring his jests from a tortured heart.
Till the joyous crowd all shout and start,
May be sick and fainting beneath his painting,
And wring his jests from a tortured heart.
And if I choose to don the motley—
Motley shall be the garb I'll wear;
And if to-morrow I go in sackcloth,
It may be velvet to my despair.
Motley shall be the garb I'll wear;
And if to-morrow I go in sackcloth,
It may be velvet to my despair.
If I consent to dwell with beggars,
Or sit with forlornest courtesan,
With pedlars talk, with vagabonds walk,
I have a method, and know my plan.
Or sit with forlornest courtesan,
With pedlars talk, with vagabonds walk,
I have a method, and know my plan.
If I drink with thieves, I can dine with nobles;
At twelve o' th' clock to my lady's ball;
And at three, if so it please my fancy,
To the cold highway and the nook i' the wall.
At twelve o' th' clock to my lady's ball;
And at three, if so it please my fancy,
To the cold highway and the nook i' the wall.
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On Sunday to church, or high cathedral,
Or the chilly chapel—for all are mine;
Or a tramp far out to the field and forest,
Where the winds make music more divine.
Or the chilly chapel—for all are mine;
Or a tramp far out to the field and forest,
Where the winds make music more divine.
And all shall minister to my sorrow,
Perhaps to my scorn and my disdain;
Perhaps to the soothing of my spirit,
And the ease of a hot and bitter pain.
Perhaps to my scorn and my disdain;
Perhaps to the soothing of my spirit,
And the ease of a hot and bitter pain.
No more of self! though perhaps “my lady”
May ask if Love were all to blame;
And “my lord,”;good man! may think 'tis money,
Or nipped ambition—or blighted fame.
May ask if Love were all to blame;
And “my lord,”;good man! may think 'tis money,
Or nipped ambition—or blighted fame.
And am I youthful, or stony old?
Older than yesterday! Young as to-day!
With brown locks streaming over a forehead
That has throbbed enough to turn them gray;
And a dream in my spirit for ever and ever—
A dream of a glory passed away.
Older than yesterday! Young as to-day!
With brown locks streaming over a forehead
That has throbbed enough to turn them gray;
And a dream in my spirit for ever and ever—
A dream of a glory passed away.
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No. II.—THE RIGHT TO DISDAIN.
How shall I gain
The right to disdain?
The right to look down
With a saint-like frown
Upon sorrow and sin?
How shall I win
The right to scorn
My brother forlorn,
Or pass him by
With reproving eye,
As much as to say,
“Get out of the way,
And taint me not
With the poison spot
That comes from thy heart, thy face, thy brow,
To me, much holier than thou?”
The right to disdain?
The right to look down
With a saint-like frown
Upon sorrow and sin?
How shall I win
The right to scorn
My brother forlorn,
Or pass him by
With reproving eye,
As much as to say,
“Get out of the way,
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With the poison spot
That comes from thy heart, thy face, thy brow,
To me, much holier than thou?”
Were I far more bright
Than the heavenly light,
More pure than the snow
Where the glaciers grow,
And as undefiled as a little child
Dead and forgiven
And gone to heaven,
I should not gain
The right to disdain,
Or to stand apart
From my brother's heart,
Or turn my face
From a sinner's place,
Or breathe one word of hate or scorn
To the meanest wretch that ever was born.
Than the heavenly light,
More pure than the snow
Where the glaciers grow,
And as undefiled as a little child
Dead and forgiven
And gone to heaven,
I should not gain
The right to disdain,
Or to stand apart
From my brother's heart,
Or turn my face
From a sinner's place,
Or breathe one word of hate or scorn
To the meanest wretch that ever was born.
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No. III.—A PRAYER FOR REST.
Oh, I long to be at restFrom the struggle and the quest,
From the knavery and lies,
That beset me in disguise;
From the fever and the moil,
And the still recurring toil;
From the sorrow and regret,
From the agony and fret,
From the thirst and hunger pain,
That I feel, though I disdain;
From the mean and petty cares
Ever springing unawares,
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When my spirit is most brave.
Oh, I long to lay me down
In the green earth's bosom brown;
And to let the daisies grow
Fresh above me and my woe;
For I sicken at the guilt
Of the blood that 's daily spilt.
I am hopeless of my kind,
So degraded and so blind;
I am hopeless of the good
That's so little understood;
And I'm hopeless of the best,
And its nugatory quest;
Oh, I'm weary, very weary,
And I long to be at rest!
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No. IV.—LOSSES.
I lost a friend, but was consoled;
The world had other friends for me;
His friendship had a base of gold;
And when that vanished, so did he.
The world had other friends for me;
His friendship had a base of gold;
And when that vanished, so did he.
I lost a love; and though I sighed
To know myself most desolate,
I asked a question of my pride,
And with the answer conquered Fate.
To know myself most desolate,
I asked a question of my pride,
And with the answer conquered Fate.
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No. V.—NEVER ALONE.
Alone? alone? I'm never alone!
Ten thousand spirits walk with me,
Over the street and its flinty stone,
Over the sands of the rolling sea,
Through the quiet woodland, blithe with birds,
And the purple moor where the plover cries;
Through meadows speck'd with flocks and herds,
By lakes that mirror the evening skies.
High on the mountain's icy crest,
And down, down 'mid the dust below,
Companions come at my soul's behest,
And hover about me where'er I go.
Ten thousand spirits walk with me,
Over the street and its flinty stone,
Over the sands of the rolling sea,
Through the quiet woodland, blithe with birds,
And the purple moor where the plover cries;
Through meadows speck'd with flocks and herds,
By lakes that mirror the evening skies.
High on the mountain's icy crest,
And down, down 'mid the dust below,
Companions come at my soul's behest,
And hover about me where'er I go.
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'Tis only in the midst of men,
Their hatreds, meannesses, and spites,
Their sneering scorn, their jests forlorn,
Their base, unmannerly delights,
That I feel the weight of Solitude,
And pine for the moorlands bleak and wild,
For the freshening balms of the pathless wood,
Or the prattle of a little child;—
I long to fly to the ends of the Earth,
Into communion of mine own,
Anywhere out of their dreary mirth,—
Alone—alone—but never alone!
Their hatreds, meannesses, and spites,
Their sneering scorn, their jests forlorn,
Their base, unmannerly delights,
That I feel the weight of Solitude,
And pine for the moorlands bleak and wild,
For the freshening balms of the pathless wood,
Or the prattle of a little child;—
I long to fly to the ends of the Earth,
Into communion of mine own,
Anywhere out of their dreary mirth,—
Alone—alone—but never alone!
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No. VI.—A NAME ON A TREE.
I carved my name on a beech-tree bole—
Fool was I!
Lithe of limb and merry of soul,
That saw no cloud on my life's bright sky,
Five-and-twenty years ago,
When my heart was pure as the drifted snow,
And I gave it away,
In the light of day,
To a fair young maid, ah! woe is me!
Under the leaves of this beechen tree.
Fool was I!
Lithe of limb and merry of soul,
That saw no cloud on my life's bright sky,
Five-and-twenty years ago,
When my heart was pure as the drifted snow,
And I gave it away,
In the light of day,
To a fair young maid, ah! woe is me!
Under the leaves of this beechen tree.
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And the five-and-twenty years have passed—
Sad am I!
Love was fated not to last,
And the dark clouds gathered upon the sky.
And I am old;—my locks are thin,
My life hath nothing more to win;
But the foolish name
Stands here, the same!
While all is changed,—Life, Hope, and Truth!
Oh, mocking Tree! oh, wasted Youth!
Sad am I!
Love was fated not to last,
And the dark clouds gathered upon the sky.
And I am old;—my locks are thin,
My life hath nothing more to win;
But the foolish name
Stands here, the same!
While all is changed,—Life, Hope, and Truth!
Oh, mocking Tree! oh, wasted Youth!
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No. VII.—CONSOLATION.
Thou'rt down, low down, poor heart—
At bottom of the hill;
The prudent friends who knew thee
When Fortune seemed to woo thee,
Are true to Fortune still.
So deeply art thou fallen,
Who once didst soar so high,
That beggars of thy bounty
Look proud, and pass thee by;
And former boon companions
Whisper thy name and frown—
“The ways of Heaven are righteous,
So—kick him—he is down!”
At bottom of the hill;
The prudent friends who knew thee
When Fortune seemed to woo thee,
Are true to Fortune still.
So deeply art thou fallen,
Who once didst soar so high,
That beggars of thy bounty
Look proud, and pass thee by;
And former boon companions
Whisper thy name and frown—
“The ways of Heaven are righteous,
So—kick him—he is down!”
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And yet though down, poor heart,
This consolation's thine—
Thy Conscience still befriends thee,
And kindly message sends thee,
To bear, and not repine.
The sun that lights the ocean,
Shines also on the mire;
The mole-hill and the mountain
Alike receive its fire.
The humblest dewy daisy
That blossoms on the sod,
May point like the pine-tree skyward,
And drink the light of God.
This consolation's thine—
Thy Conscience still befriends thee,
And kindly message sends thee,
To bear, and not repine.
The sun that lights the ocean,
Shines also on the mire;
The mole-hill and the mountain
Alike receive its fire.
The humblest dewy daisy
That blossoms on the sod,
May point like the pine-tree skyward,
And drink the light of God.
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No. VIII.—THE LOST JEWEL.
Long ago, ah, long ago!I lost a jewel of greater worth
Than the loveliest lady of the Earth
Could hang on her bosom as white as snow,—
Or any Emperor flushed with wine
Could place on a maiden's finger fine,
And say, “Beloved, be thou mine!”
Long ago, ah, long ago!
I lost it wandering to and fro,—
Fairer and purer, brighter far
Than the Morn or Evening Star.
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To clasp it—hold it—and retain,
I'd be greater than the king,
Richer than the bloomy spring.
And where I lost it well I know;—
Skill cannot trace it,
Or wealth replace it,
Or anything else this world can show,—
This jewel so bright,
My heart's delight,
Lost in another's heart long ago,—
My richer than Ind,
My peace of mind,
Lost for ever! ah, long ago!
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No. IX.—THE FAIR SERPENT.
I look o'er the midnight pavement,
“And the pricking of my thumbs”
Tells me, before I see it,
That something wicked comes.
It winds, it trails, it hisses,
It flashes in the light,
And gleams with its many colours
Through the darkness of the night.
A serpent, woman-headed,
With loose and floating hair.
Beware, O fool! how you touch it—
Beware for your soul! Beware!
“And the pricking of my thumbs”
Tells me, before I see it,
That something wicked comes.
It winds, it trails, it hisses,
It flashes in the light,
And gleams with its many colours
Through the darkness of the night.
A serpent, woman-headed,
With loose and floating hair.
Beware, O fool! how you touch it—
Beware for your soul! Beware!
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'Tis beautiful to look at
As it rustles through the street,
But its eyes, though bright as sunshine,
Have the glow of hell's own heat;
And worse than the deadly upas
Are the odours of its breath:
Its whispered words are poison,
Its lightest touch is death—
Death to the heart's affection,
Robbery—blight—despair.
Pass on, O fool! and scorn it,
And beware for your soul, beware!
As it rustles through the street,
But its eyes, though bright as sunshine,
Have the glow of hell's own heat;
And worse than the deadly upas
Are the odours of its breath:
Its whispered words are poison,
Its lightest touch is death—
Death to the heart's affection,
Robbery—blight—despair.
Pass on, O fool! and scorn it,
And beware for your soul, beware!
Many a noble bosom
Has that scaly serpent stung
With the darting of its eye-light,
And the witchery of its tongue;
And to feed it and amuse it,
And pamper its greedy maw,
Many a goodly heirship
Has gone like the ice in thaw—
Fortune and wide dominion
Have melted into air.
Pass on, O fool! nor touch it,
And beware for your soul, beware!
Has that scaly serpent stung
With the darting of its eye-light,
And the witchery of its tongue;
And to feed it and amuse it,
And pamper its greedy maw,
Many a goodly heirship
Has gone like the ice in thaw—
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Have melted into air.
Pass on, O fool! nor touch it,
And beware for your soul, beware!
'T will dance, and frisk, and gambol
As long as you pipe and pay,
But as soon as your heart grows weary
'T will turn on you and slay.
'T will murmur soft sweet music,
To draw you to its mesh,
And coil about you fondly,
To feed upon your flesh.
Beware of this flaunting Gorgon,
With the snakes in her wavy hair!
Beware, O fool! how you touch her—
Beware for your soul, beware!
As long as you pipe and pay,
But as soon as your heart grows weary
'T will turn on you and slay.
'T will murmur soft sweet music,
To draw you to its mesh,
And coil about you fondly,
To feed upon your flesh.
Beware of this flaunting Gorgon,
With the snakes in her wavy hair!
Beware, O fool! how you touch her—
Beware for your soul, beware!
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No. X.—THE DIRTY LITTLE SNOB.
“There's nothing right but what I think,
There's nothing good but meat and drink,
There's nothing to compare with ‘chink,’”
Said the dirty little snob.
“And work's the greatest ‘bore’I know,
And learning's dull, and virtue ‘slow,’
So, fast shall be the road I'll go!”
Said the dirty little snob:
Devoid of sense,
An ass intense,
And dirty little Snob.
There's nothing good but meat and drink,
There's nothing to compare with ‘chink,’”
Said the dirty little snob.
“And work's the greatest ‘bore’I know,
And learning's dull, and virtue ‘slow,’
So, fast shall be the road I'll go!”
Said the dirty little snob:
Devoid of sense,
An ass intense,
And dirty little Snob.
“I'd like to know the use of friends,
Unless they serve one's pleasant ends;
The best is he who gives or lends,”
Said the dirty little snob.
“Your learned men are heavy ‘swells,’
Your moral youths tremendous ‘sells,’
And slang's the only speech that ‘tells,’”
Said the dirty little snob:
The simpering slave,
The brainless knave,
And dirty little Snob.
Unless they serve one's pleasant ends;
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Said the dirty little snob.
“Your learned men are heavy ‘swells,’
Your moral youths tremendous ‘sells,’
And slang's the only speech that ‘tells,’”
Said the dirty little snob:
The simpering slave,
The brainless knave,
And dirty little Snob.
“However chaste and pure she be,
And bright and beautiful to see,
No woman can say ‘No’to me,”
Said the dirty little snob.
Is there no husband, son, or sire,
To drag this creature through the mire,
And kick it till his toe shall tire,—
The dirty little snob?—
The foul and crass
Conceited ass—
And odious little Snob?
And bright and beautiful to see,
No woman can say ‘No’to me,”
Said the dirty little snob.
Is there no husband, son, or sire,
To drag this creature through the mire,
And kick it till his toe shall tire,—
The dirty little snob?—
The foul and crass
Conceited ass—
And odious little Snob?
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No. XI.—THE WORN-OUT PEN.
Old stump, outworn
By toil severe,
Frail and forlorn,
Why linger here?
Thy fight is fought,
Thy victory's won,
Thy work is wrought,
Thy day is done;—
New days, old pen,
Have brought new men,
And thou must rot,
Abandoned, useless, and forgot.
By toil severe,
Frail and forlorn,
Why linger here?
Thy fight is fought,
Thy victory's won,
Thy work is wrought,
Thy day is done;—
New days, old pen,
Have brought new men,
And thou must rot,
Abandoned, useless, and forgot.
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In earlier time,
To mould an age,
Thy words sublime,
On freedom's page,
Made nations start
With patriot fire,
Or touched the heart
To pity's lyre.
That time is past,
And thou art cast
Unheeded down,
Trod by the footsteps of the town.
To mould an age,
Thy words sublime,
On freedom's page,
Made nations start
With patriot fire,
Or touched the heart
To pity's lyre.
That time is past,
And thou art cast
Unheeded down,
Trod by the footsteps of the town.
Men understand
A plough or wheel,
A draper's wand,
A sail or keel;
But pens are things
Which high and great
And popes and kings
Agree to hate;
And which the crowd,
Earth-born, earth-bowed,
Can scarcely know
For constant load of toil and woe.
A plough or wheel,
A draper's wand,
A sail or keel;
But pens are things
Which high and great
And popes and kings
Agree to hate;
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Earth-born, earth-bowed,
Can scarcely know
For constant load of toil and woe.
But yet, may be,
A century hence,
Men who can see
With keener sense,
May chance to dig
Thy relics cold;
And looking big,
May cry “Behold!
The pen of Might!
That loved the Right!”
This thy reward!—
Rot! poor old pen! Die! hapless bard!
A century hence,
Men who can see
With keener sense,
May chance to dig
Thy relics cold;
And looking big,
May cry “Behold!
The pen of Might!
That loved the Right!”
This thy reward!—
Rot! poor old pen! Die! hapless bard!
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No. XII.—THE SURE ESTATE.
What signify the care and pain
That I must yet endure,
The loss of Love—the Love in vain,
The crime of being poor?
That I must yet endure,
The loss of Love—the Love in vain,
The crime of being poor?
I've an estate of solid earth,
Nor broad nor very deep,
Where wild winds blow and daisies grow,
And moonlight shadows sleep.
Nor broad nor very deep,
Where wild winds blow and daisies grow,
And moonlight shadows sleep.
'Tis six feet long and two feet wide,
Shut out from sorrow's call.
It shall be mine some happy day—
Enough though it be small.
Shut out from sorrow's call.
It shall be mine some happy day—
Enough though it be small.
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Till trump of doom it shall be mine,
And make amends for all—
Lost health, lost heart, lost love, lost hope!
More than amends for all.
And make amends for all—
Lost health, lost heart, lost love, lost hope!
More than amends for all.
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LOUISE ON THE DOOR-STEP.
Half-past three in the morning!
And no one in the street
But me, on the sheltering door-step
Resting my weary feet;—
Watching the rain-drops patter
And dance where the puddles run,
As bright in the flaring gas-light
As dewdrops in the sun.
And no one in the street
But me, on the sheltering door-step
Resting my weary feet;—
Watching the rain-drops patter
And dance where the puddles run,
As bright in the flaring gas-light
As dewdrops in the sun.
There's a light upon the pavement—
It shines like a magic glass,
And there are faces in it,
That look at me, and pass.
Faces—ah! well remembered
In the happy Long-Ago
When my garb was white as lilies,
And my thoughts as pure as snow.
It shines like a magic glass,
And there are faces in it,
That look at me, and pass.
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In the happy Long-Ago
When my garb was white as lilies,
And my thoughts as pure as snow.
Faces! ah yes! I see them—
One, two, and three—and four—
That come on the gust of tempests,
And go on the winds that bore.
Changeful and evanescent
They shine 'mid storm and rain,
Till the terror of their beauty
Lies deep upon my brain.
One, two, and three—and four—
That come on the gust of tempests,
And go on the winds that bore.
Changeful and evanescent
They shine 'mid storm and rain,
Till the terror of their beauty
Lies deep upon my brain.
One of them frowns; I know him,—
With his thin long snow-white hair,
Cursing his wretched daughter
That drove him to despair.
And the other, with wakening pity
In her large tear-streaming eyes,
Seems as she yearned toward me,
And whispered “Paradise.”
With his thin long snow-white hair,
Cursing his wretched daughter
That drove him to despair.
And the other, with wakening pity
In her large tear-streaming eyes,
Seems as she yearned toward me,
And whispered “Paradise.”
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They pass,—they melt in the ripples,
And I shut mine eyes, that burn,
To escape another vision
That follows where'er I turn:—
The face of a false deceiver
That lives and lies; ah me!
Though I see it in the pavement,
Mocking my misery!
And I shut mine eyes, that burn,
To escape another vision
That follows where'er I turn:—
The face of a false deceiver
That lives and lies; ah me!
Though I see it in the pavement,
Mocking my misery!
They are gone!—all three!—quite vanished!
Let no one call them back!
For I've had enough of phantoms,
And my heart is on the rack!
God help me in my sorrow;
But there,—in the wet, cold stone,
Smiling in heavenly beauty,
I see my lost, mine own!
Let no one call them back!
For I've had enough of phantoms,
And my heart is on the rack!
God help me in my sorrow;
But there,—in the wet, cold stone,
Smiling in heavenly beauty,
I see my lost, mine own!
There on the glimmering pavement,
With eyes as blue as morn,
Floats by, the fair-haired darling
Too soon from my bosom torn;
She clasps her tiny fingers—
She calls me sweet and mild,
And says that my God forgives me,
For the sake of my little child.
With eyes as blue as morn,
Floats by, the fair-haired darling
Too soon from my bosom torn;
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She calls me sweet and mild,
And says that my God forgives me,
For the sake of my little child.
I will go to her grave to-morrow,
And pray that I may die;
And I hope that my God will take me
Ere the days of my youth go by.
For I am old in anguish,
And long to be at rest,
With my little babe beside me,
And the daisies on my breast.
And pray that I may die;
And I hope that my God will take me
Ere the days of my youth go by.
For I am old in anguish,
And long to be at rest,
With my little babe beside me,
And the daisies on my breast.
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GREAT-GRANDFATHER.
Children, I'm going home,
And the way is dark with Sorrow,
My hair is thin and gray,
And the night comes on my day,
But I shall be young to-morrow;
Younger than you, O children!
In the land without endeavour,
Where the blind recover sight,
And the Morning hath no Night,
And Love endures for ever.
And the way is dark with Sorrow,
My hair is thin and gray,
And the night comes on my day,
But I shall be young to-morrow;
Younger than you, O children!
In the land without endeavour,
Where the blind recover sight,
And the Morning hath no Night,
And Love endures for ever.
These eyes that see but dimly
Your long, soft, golden hair,
Shall pierce with keener vision
Than the falcon's in the air,
Through mysteries and wonders
That the tongue cannot declare.
Your long, soft, golden hair,
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Than the falcon's in the air,
Through mysteries and wonders
That the tongue cannot declare.
These senses long obstructed
By the weight and wear of Earth,
Shall feel a fresh unfolding,
And a new immortal birth.
My spirit, freed from trammels,
Shall know nor toil nor time,
But soar, for ever soaring,
Eternal and sublime.
By the weight and wear of Earth,
Shall feel a fresh unfolding,
And a new immortal birth.
My spirit, freed from trammels,
Shall know nor toil nor time,
But soar, for ever soaring,
Eternal and sublime.
These ears that scarce can hear you,
O joyous children mine!
Shall pulse to waves of music
That flow from harps divine.
Ev'n now angelic voices
Come whispering soft and low,
And I see the luminous fingers
That point me where to go.
O joyous children mine!
Shall pulse to waves of music
That flow from harps divine.
Ev'n now angelic voices
Come whispering soft and low,
And I see the luminous fingers
That point me where to go.
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Children, I'm going home,
By the way the Past hath trod,
To the place appointed for me—
To my Father and my God.
Children, the way is weary,
And the gate is dark and dreary,
But on the outer side
Are seraphs waiting for me,
To comfort me and guide.
By the way the Past hath trod,
To the place appointed for me—
To my Father and my God.
Children, the way is weary,
And the gate is dark and dreary,
But on the outer side
Are seraphs waiting for me,
To comfort me and guide.
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THE SIGH OF THE PINE-TREES.
I know what the forest saith,
The forest of dark-green pines,
That are moved by the wild wind's breath,
When the cold clear starlight shines,
And the tides of the deep air-ocean
Come rolling through their lines.
The forest of dark-green pines,
That are moved by the wild wind's breath,
When the cold clear starlight shines,
And the tides of the deep air-ocean
Come rolling through their lines.
I know, but I cannot tell,
For want of the mystic speech,
And the words ineffable,
That Wisdom cannot teach,
Even on her highest mountain
Where she sits beyond our reach.
For want of the mystic speech,
And the words ineffable,
That Wisdom cannot teach,
Even on her highest mountain
Where she sits beyond our reach.
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But I listen all night long
To the low eternal sigh—
To the melancholy song,
Burthened with mysteries high—
Earth-moanings set to music
On the harps of the upper sky.
To the low eternal sigh—
To the melancholy song,
Burthened with mysteries high—
Earth-moanings set to music
On the harps of the upper sky.
I listen all night through,
And ever and ever I hear
One word that seems as two,
And two that mingle clear
Into a third low whisper,
Far off, but drawing near.
And ever and ever I hear
One word that seems as two,
And two that mingle clear
Into a third low whisper,
Far off, but drawing near.
I feel what the forest sings
With its weird unearthly breath:—
Three thoughts—three words—three things:
Sorrow and Love and Death.
The mystery! the mystery!
Behold what the pine-tree saith!
With its weird unearthly breath:—
Three thoughts—three words—three things:
Sorrow and Love and Death.
The mystery! the mystery!
Behold what the pine-tree saith!
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THE FIGHT IN THE SANCTUARY.
Through the aisles and arches solemn
O'er each grey majestic column
Of that silent, dim cathedral,
Streamed the moonbeam all the night;
Floating through the storied window,
Flecked with many-coloured light;
Floating through the chancel hoary,
O'er the faces, flushed with glory,
Of departed saints and heroes
Carved in marble on the wall;
O'er the silent great high altar,
O'er the Bible, o'er the Psalter;
O'er the organ, closed and voiceless,
Mute to adoration's call,
Fell the melancholy moonlight,
Sleep-like, dream-like, over all.
O'er each grey majestic column
Of that silent, dim cathedral,
Streamed the moonbeam all the night;
Floating through the storied window,
Flecked with many-coloured light;
Floating through the chancel hoary,
O'er the faces, flushed with glory,
Of departed saints and heroes
Carved in marble on the wall;
O'er the silent great high altar,
O'er the Bible, o'er the Psalter;
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Mute to adoration's call,
Fell the melancholy moonlight,
Sleep-like, dream-like, over all.
Suddenly, in lurid splendour,
Red as Night, when storms attend her,
Stood an Angel at the altar!
Guest unbidden, sad to see;
Flashing from his fiery eyeballs
Scorn and Pride and Misery.
“Mine,”;he said, “these paths enchanted,
Mine—all mine—by evil haunted;
Mine the transept, shrines, and chapels,
Fretted roof, and marble floor;
Mine the white-robed incense-flingers;
Mine the choristers and singers;
Mine the music of the organ,
Loud as tempests on the shore;
Mine the Saints and the Apostles,
Mine, all mine, for evermore!”
Red as Night, when storms attend her,
Stood an Angel at the altar!
Guest unbidden, sad to see;
Flashing from his fiery eyeballs
Scorn and Pride and Misery.
“Mine,”;he said, “these paths enchanted,
Mine—all mine—by evil haunted;
Mine the transept, shrines, and chapels,
Fretted roof, and marble floor;
Mine the white-robed incense-flingers;
Mine the choristers and singers;
Mine the music of the organ,
Loud as tempests on the shore;
Mine the Saints and the Apostles,
Mine, all mine, for evermore!”
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And he raised his hand in anger,
And, with crash like iron clangour,
Smote the pallid saints and heroes
To the pavement—one and all—
Smote them down in tinkling fragments,
From their niches on the wall.
Overturned, with scorn infernal,
Altars built to the Eternal;
And with maniac start and frenzy,
Struck the slumbering organ keys,
Till they crashed like crag-born thunder,
Till they moaned in wailing wonder,
Jarring like the rush of whirlwinds
When they vex the tropic seas,
And with mighty war-ships toying,
Snap them, like the twigs of trees.
And, with crash like iron clangour,
Smote the pallid saints and heroes
To the pavement—one and all—
Smote them down in tinkling fragments,
From their niches on the wall.
Overturned, with scorn infernal,
Altars built to the Eternal;
And with maniac start and frenzy,
Struck the slumbering organ keys,
Till they crashed like crag-born thunder,
Till they moaned in wailing wonder,
Jarring like the rush of whirlwinds
When they vex the tropic seas,
And with mighty war-ships toying,
Snap them, like the twigs of trees.
Then again, with fitful fancy,
Or as moved by necromancy,
Strode this dark and sullen Angel
To the gloomiest shrine within;
Kneeling down, as if repentant
Of his misery and sin.
But his thoughts were thoughts of evil,
Prompted by the bitter Devil
That possessed his wounded conscience,
Racked by agony and pride;
And he said, “Come, hot temptation,
Come, the deepest degradation,
Come, all turbulent unreason,
Rule me, hold me, and divide!
Good is evil! Hell's my pathway!
Let Destruction be my guide!”
Or as moved by necromancy,
Strode this dark and sullen Angel
To the gloomiest shrine within;
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Of his misery and sin.
But his thoughts were thoughts of evil,
Prompted by the bitter Devil
That possessed his wounded conscience,
Racked by agony and pride;
And he said, “Come, hot temptation,
Come, the deepest degradation,
Come, all turbulent unreason,
Rule me, hold me, and divide!
Good is evil! Hell's my pathway!
Let Destruction be my guide!”
Thus blaspheming, thus lamenting,—
Proud, defiant, unrepenting,—
Roamed he through the shadowy vistas,
Darting darkness from his eyes;
And through all that fane of Beauty
Hurling groans and agonies.
But in Passion's midway torrent,
Self-sustained, though self-abhorrent,
He beheld—and started wildly
At such vision in the place—
Golden haired, a radiant Angel—
Calm, beneficent Evangel—
Pouring splendours from his forehead;
And his clear, unsullied face
Filling all that grey cathedral,
Sunlike, with supernal grace.
Proud, defiant, unrepenting,—
Roamed he through the shadowy vistas,
Darting darkness from his eyes;
And through all that fane of Beauty
Hurling groans and agonies.
But in Passion's midway torrent,
Self-sustained, though self-abhorrent,
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At such vision in the place—
Golden haired, a radiant Angel—
Calm, beneficent Evangel—
Pouring splendours from his forehead;
And his clear, unsullied face
Filling all that grey cathedral,
Sunlike, with supernal grace.
And that Angel, mild and saintly,
With sad visage, speaking faintly,
Said—“Disturber and Destroyer,
Troubler of a holy shrine!
Hie thee to thy native darkness,
And begone! this place is mine!”
“Nay!”;replied that Evil Spirit,
“By the power that I inherit,
Mine's the Bible, mine's the Music,
Mine's the roof, and mine's the floor!
And I'll slay thee at the altar,
Slay thee by the Book and Psalter—
Slay thee, as my highest duty
To the fiends that I adore!
Get thee gone from my dominion,
Mine's the place for evermore!”
With sad visage, speaking faintly,
Said—“Disturber and Destroyer,
Troubler of a holy shrine!
Hie thee to thy native darkness,
And begone! this place is mine!”
“Nay!”;replied that Evil Spirit,
“By the power that I inherit,
Mine's the Bible, mine's the Music,
Mine's the roof, and mine's the floor!
And I'll slay thee at the altar,
Slay thee by the Book and Psalter—
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To the fiends that I adore!
Get thee gone from my dominion,
Mine's the place for evermore!”
And he raised his hand unholy,
Smote that Angel sweet and lowly!
Smote him on his cheek and bosom,
Gashed his side with gaping wound;
Till the meek and patient Seraph
Lay as dead upon the ground!
Then the great high organ pealing,
All its sympathy revealing,
Sent through chancels, crypts, and cloisters,
Melodies of pain and wail;
And one ray of moonlight falling,
Through the outer gloom appalling,
Crept upon the Angel's forehead,
Glittering like a coat of mail;
On his cheeks and closed eyelids,
On his lips so lovely pale.
Smote that Angel sweet and lowly!
Smote him on his cheek and bosom,
Gashed his side with gaping wound;
Till the meek and patient Seraph
Lay as dead upon the ground!
Then the great high organ pealing,
All its sympathy revealing,
Sent through chancels, crypts, and cloisters,
Melodies of pain and wail;
And one ray of moonlight falling,
Through the outer gloom appalling,
Crept upon the Angel's forehead,
Glittering like a coat of mail;
On his cheeks and closed eyelids,
On his lips so lovely pale.
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Sudden, as from Death upspringing,
With a shout, like triumph ringing,
Rose the Angel from the pavement;
And before the inner shrine,
Grappled with the Fiend that smote him,
Filled and fired with strength divine.
Oh the combat, long and fearful!
Oh the strife, so blood and tearful!
Oh the agony and anguish,
Madly felt or mildly borne,
Which, through all the lonely places
Where they fought with flashing faces,
For the mastery and possession—
Hopeful one, and one forlorn—
Echoed till the strife was ended,
At the dawning of the morn.
With a shout, like triumph ringing,
Rose the Angel from the pavement;
And before the inner shrine,
Grappled with the Fiend that smote him,
Filled and fired with strength divine.
Oh the combat, long and fearful!
Oh the strife, so blood and tearful!
Oh the agony and anguish,
Madly felt or mildly borne,
Which, through all the lonely places
Where they fought with flashing faces,
For the mastery and possession—
Hopeful one, and one forlorn—
Echoed till the strife was ended,
At the dawning of the morn.
Beamed the sunlight, pure and golden,
Through the oriel windows olden,
Filling all that high cathedral
With magnificence of Day;
When that Angel, evil-minded,
Bruised and beaten, fled away:
Spread his wings, in combat riven,
And with groan that pierced to Heaven,
Vanished from the shrine, polluted
By his fury and despair.
And his victor, maimed and bleeding,
But triumphant, interceding
For the foe that he had vanquished,
Turned to God his forehead fair,
And, while music filled the cloister,
Eased his happy heart in prayer.
Through the oriel windows olden,
Filling all that high cathedral
With magnificence of Day;
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Bruised and beaten, fled away:
Spread his wings, in combat riven,
And with groan that pierced to Heaven,
Vanished from the shrine, polluted
By his fury and despair.
And his victor, maimed and bleeding,
But triumphant, interceding
For the foe that he had vanquished,
Turned to God his forehead fair,
And, while music filled the cloister,
Eased his happy heart in prayer.
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THE OLD MAN BY THE RIVER.
I'm an old, old man, sad river;
I'm old and like to thee,
That pourest thy weary waters
To the all-engulfing sea;
And I dream on thy mournful margin
Of the darkening days to be.
I'm old and like to thee,
That pourest thy weary waters
To the all-engulfing sea;
And I dream on thy mournful margin
Of the darkening days to be.
Thou art deep, and wide, and wealthy;
And the laden ships come by,
With the wine, and the corn, and the ingots,
Their white sails flapping high;—
But thou'st had thy fill of treasure,
And scorn it—as do I.
And the laden ships come by,
With the wine, and the corn, and the ingots,
Their white sails flapping high;—
But thou'st had thy fill of treasure,
And scorn it—as do I.
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There's an unknown world before us,
A cold and stormy gloom,
That shall gather us up, sad river,
In the darkness of our doom:
Thee in the deep, deep ocean,
Me in the yawning tomb.
A cold and stormy gloom,
That shall gather us up, sad river,
In the darkness of our doom:
Thee in the deep, deep ocean,
Me in the yawning tomb.
Let us dream of the past, O river!
And the joyous days of old,
When thou wert a brawling brooklet,
On the hill-side, and the wold;
And I was a laughing urchin,
With hair like the woven gold.
And the joyous days of old,
When thou wert a brawling brooklet,
On the hill-side, and the wold;
And I was a laughing urchin,
With hair like the woven gold.
When we were glad in the sunshine,
And stray'd by the birken bowers;
When we sang, and leap'd, and frolicked,
And played with the meadow flowers;
While the laughter of girls made music
In our morn and evening hours.
And stray'd by the birken bowers;
When we sang, and leap'd, and frolicked,
And played with the meadow flowers;
While the laughter of girls made music
In our morn and evening hours.
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Ere away—far away—we hurried
To the world of strife and care,
To the melancholy pine-woods,
And heard in the upper air
The wail and the rush of tempests
That shook the forests bare.
To the world of strife and care,
To the melancholy pine-woods,
And heard in the upper air
The wail and the rush of tempests
That shook the forests bare.
Away to the roaring rapids,
All white with crested foam,
Impatient of obstruction—
Where vessel never clomb;—
Vagrant, and wild, and reckless,
Intolerant of home.
All white with crested foam,
Impatient of obstruction—
Where vessel never clomb;—
Vagrant, and wild, and reckless,
Intolerant of home.
In recklessness of vigour—
Exuberant in glee,
'T was vain for solid Wisdom
To preach to such as we,
That heeded not Experience,
And knew not of the sea.
Exuberant in glee,
'T was vain for solid Wisdom
To preach to such as we,
That heeded not Experience,
And knew not of the sea.
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'T was vain to speak of quiet
To us who leaped and ran;
Who scorned to curb existence
By measurement and plan;
Who courted Toil and Peril,
And thought the world a span.
To us who leaped and ran;
Who scorned to curb existence
By measurement and plan;
Who courted Toil and Peril,
And thought the world a span.
On to the falls we hurried,
Exulting in our way,
And dashed o'er the chasms in thunder
Through the long, long night and day;
But ever in mid-day sunshine
With rainbows in our spray.
Exulting in our way,
And dashed o'er the chasms in thunder
Through the long, long night and day;
But ever in mid-day sunshine
With rainbows in our spray.
And thence we flowed, O river!
Through the rich and level ground,
Through the corn-fields and the meadows,
With a calm and rippling sound;
By the church upon the hill-top,
And the hamlets lying round.
Through the rich and level ground,
Through the corn-fields and the meadows,
With a calm and rippling sound;
By the church upon the hill-top,
And the hamlets lying round.
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Unresting and impatient,
We thought of the wealthy shires;
Of the wharves and docks far distant—
Of the cupolas and spires;
And all the splendid city
That shone through our desires.
We thought of the wealthy shires;
Of the wharves and docks far distant—
Of the cupolas and spires;
And all the splendid city
That shone through our desires.
And thither we came, O river!
Thither we came at last,
And flowed with gentle current
By stores and granaries vast,
And heard the roar of people
And the chariots rushing past.
Thither we came at last,
And flowed with gentle current
By stores and granaries vast,
And heard the roar of people
And the chariots rushing past.
We bore upon our bosoms
The corn—the wine—the oil—
The tribute of the ocean,
And all the green earth's spoil:
Whatever men delight in,
For recompense of toil.
The corn—the wine—the oil—
The tribute of the ocean,
And all the green earth's spoil:
Whatever men delight in,
For recompense of toil.
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But alas! for us, O river!
Flowing through paths unclean,
We lost the fairy freshness
Of the days that once had been—
The flowers of woodland meadows,
And the sky's blue depths serene.
Flowing through paths unclean,
We lost the fairy freshness
Of the days that once had been—
The flowers of woodland meadows,
And the sky's blue depths serene.
No more the blithe lark cheered us
A mile above his nest;
No more the milkmaid chanted
Of Love, and Love's unrest;
Or children gathered daisies
To float them on our breast.
A mile above his nest;
No more the milkmaid chanted
Of Love, and Love's unrest;
Or children gathered daisies
To float them on our breast.
And we strayed from the busy city
With all its weary gold,
In search of the health and pleasure
We lost in the days of old,
Ere the youthful heart was hardened,
And the fire of life was cold.
With all its weary gold,
In search of the health and pleasure
We lost in the days of old,
Ere the youthful heart was hardened,
And the fire of life was cold.
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Never! oh never! never!
Shall Time these gifts restore;
For the salt, salt waters meet us,
Upflowing ever more—
From the deeps of the bitter ocean,
And the ever-widening shore!
Shall Time these gifts restore;
For the salt, salt waters meet us,
Upflowing ever more—
From the deeps of the bitter ocean,
And the ever-widening shore!
I stand on the mournful margin,
And hear what the deep Sea saith.
There are storm and cloud above it,
And a low, long, wailing breath:—
'Tis for thee and for me, O river,
And it calleth us down to Death!
And hear what the deep Sea saith.
There are storm and cloud above it,
And a low, long, wailing breath:—
'Tis for thee and for me, O river,
And it calleth us down to Death!
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THE HEDGE IN THE GREEN LANE.
Under the hedge where I recline,Screened from the sultry summer-shine,
I have a garden fair to see,
As good as the duke's, if it pleases me.
And these my flowers: the slim harebell,
With slender cups where the fairies dwell;
And the dewy daisy, crimson tipped,
As pure as a child, and as rosy-lipped;
And golden-yellow, all glinting up,
The celandine, and the buttercup,
And the dandelion, with milky ring,
Coins of the mintage of the Spring;
And the pimpernel, that sleeps at noon,
Like an Eastern maiden flushed with June;
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Who dream of Love in the evening shades;
And the wild wood-strawberry, opening fair
Its petals five to the sunny air:
And the trailing ivy that braids and weaves,
And makes a carpet of its leaves,
Or climbs like a child to the gnarled knee
Of the great, high-spreading, old oak tree;
And the woodbine, scattering sweet perfume,
And the meadow-sweet, and the bonnie broom—
Dear to our hearts for a thousand songs,
Of Love's delight and lovers' wrongs;
And briony, cousin of the vine,
Up-clambering with its fingers fine,
And hanging from each sheltering tree,
Its garlands of embroidery,
With sea-green berries and twisted rings,
Fit for the diadems of kings—
But far more fitting and bright and rare,
As a wreath for childhood's forehead fair,
Twined 'mid the curls of its sunny hair.
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All in the hedge where the wild winds blow;
And a hundred others as fair as they,
That I could count in a summer-day,
Under the hedge where I sit alone,
Lulled by the bee with his trumpet tone,
And the blithe lark singing from the sky
My concert, and my lullaby.
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THE IVY AND THE BELL.
In days when Alfred ruled the land,
As ancient legends tell,
The Ivy was a gardener's lad,
And loved a lady well;
And the Bell that hangs in the turret high
Was the lady pure as snow,
The only daughter of an earl,
A thousand years ago.
As ancient legends tell,
The Ivy was a gardener's lad,
And loved a lady well;
And the Bell that hangs in the turret high
Was the lady pure as snow,
The only daughter of an earl,
A thousand years ago.
That lady fair, so bright and rare,
Had suitors many a one,
Both knights and earls, and knaves and churls,
But she loved the gardener's son.
They pledged their faith, in life or death,
In happiness or woe,
And sealed the promise with a ring,
A thousand years ago.
Had suitors many a one,
Both knights and earls, and knaves and churls,
But she loved the gardener's son.
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In happiness or woe,
And sealed the promise with a ring,
A thousand years ago.
The grim earl read his magic book,
And lo! before his sight,
The deeds they did, the love they hid,
Were clear as morning light.
He swore an oath to slay them both—
The maid for looking low,
The gardener's lad for looking high—
A thousand years ago.
And lo! before his sight,
The deeds they did, the love they hid,
Were clear as morning light.
He swore an oath to slay them both—
The maid for looking low,
The gardener's lad for looking high—
A thousand years ago.
By magic might he changed the lad
Into an Ivy flower,
And the lady bright to the booming Bell
That swings in the donjon-tower.
“Be this,”;quoth he, “the doom they dree,
Who guiled a father so!”
And the grim earl burned his magic books,
A thousand years ago.
Into an Ivy flower,
And the lady bright to the booming Bell
That swings in the donjon-tower.
“Be this,”;quoth he, “the doom they dree,
Who guiled a father so!”
And the grim earl burned his magic books,
A thousand years ago.
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But every time the Bell was rung
The Ivy spread and grew,
“Climb to me! climb!”;said every chime,
“O Ivy! ever true!”
And the Ivy clomb an inch a day,
As never did Ivy grow,
And reached the Bell and covered it o'er,
A thousand years ago.
The Ivy spread and grew,
“Climb to me! climb!”;said every chime,
“O Ivy! ever true!”
And the Ivy clomb an inch a day,
As never did Ivy grow,
And reached the Bell and covered it o'er,
A thousand years ago.
A mortal hand ne'er rang the Bell,
But up in its turret high
It pealed sweet tunes, like Norland runes,
To the breeze that wandered by;
And every year at Christmas Eve,
As winds begin to blow,
You may hear it ring—as oft it rang
A thousand years ago.
But up in its turret high
It pealed sweet tunes, like Norland runes,
To the breeze that wandered by;
And every year at Christmas Eve,
As winds begin to blow,
You may hear it ring—as oft it rang
A thousand years ago.
Sometimes merry, and sometimes sad,
But always sweet and clear,
And all who listen dream of Love,
And the hearts they hold most dear.
For Love's the same, and ever the same,
Though ages ebb and flow;—
O Love, be happier than thou wert
A thousand years ago!
But always sweet and clear,
And all who listen dream of Love,
And the hearts they hold most dear.
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Though ages ebb and flow;—
O Love, be happier than thou wert
A thousand years ago!
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THE GREAT OVERTHROW.
“There's not a Builder in the World
Can build as well as I—
So high and strong; so broad and long;
So shapely and so high;
With domes, and minarets, and towers,
Defiant of the sky!”
Can build as well as I—
So high and strong; so broad and long;
So shapely and so high;
With domes, and minarets, and towers,
Defiant of the sky!”
The giant spake; and Earth and men
Looked on with bated breath;—
A giant, manifold as Life,
And terrible as Death.
He grasped the mountains in his arms,
And strewed them on the plain;
He scooped new channels for the flood;
He dyked the raging main;
He dug into the pits of hell,
And cried, “I reign! I reign!”
Looked on with bated breath;—
A giant, manifold as Life,
And terrible as Death.
He grasped the mountains in his arms,
And strewed them on the plain;
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He dyked the raging main;
He dug into the pits of hell,
And cried, “I reign! I reign!”
Deep 'mid the ribs of Earth he laid
His firm foundations all;
And fire, and storm, and lightning-proof,
He raised each lofty wall.
Granite were tower and battlement,
And marble, shaft and spire;
With crystal domes above them all,
Red in the morning's fire;
Shining and shimmering, up to heaven,
Higher, and ever higher!
His firm foundations all;
And fire, and storm, and lightning-proof,
He raised each lofty wall.
Granite were tower and battlement,
And marble, shaft and spire;
With crystal domes above them all,
Red in the morning's fire;
Shining and shimmering, up to heaven,
Higher, and ever higher!
“Come hither! hither!”;the giant said,
“Ye priests and kings sublime;
Hither, ye peoples of the earth,
From every realm and clime!
And see how deftly I can weave
Iron and stone and lime.
Come hither! and as ye pass, confess,
Low bending, every one,
There never was Builder such as I,
Since Time his course begun;—
Never a Building like to this,
Under the pleasant sun.”
“Ye priests and kings sublime;
Hither, ye peoples of the earth,
From every realm and clime!
183
Iron and stone and lime.
Come hither! and as ye pass, confess,
Low bending, every one,
There never was Builder such as I,
Since Time his course begun;—
Never a Building like to this,
Under the pleasant sun.”
Thus spake the Giant, superb and strong.
The people surged and roared—
“He is the Master; he is the King,
Acknowledged and adored!
His buildings reach from Earth to Heaven—
He is the God and Lord!”
The people surged and roared—
“He is the Master; he is the King,
Acknowledged and adored!
His buildings reach from Earth to Heaven—
He is the God and Lord!”
Forth from the crowd a champion stepped—
A little child seemed he;
His outstretched hand could barely reach
The bend of the giant's knee;
But his look was like the light of Heaven,
When it streams on the stormy sea.
A little child seemed he;
His outstretched hand could barely reach
The bend of the giant's knee;
184
When it streams on the stormy sea.
And he said, “O boaster, and profane!
'Tis true thy hands are skilled,
And great the towers and palaces,
And temples thou canst build!
But I can cast them to the earth;
I can topple them down,
By wave of my hand, by word of my mouth,
By darkness of my frown,
Turret and tower, and battlement,
Down to the deep Earth—down!”
'Tis true thy hands are skilled,
And great the towers and palaces,
And temples thou canst build!
But I can cast them to the earth;
I can topple them down,
By wave of my hand, by word of my mouth,
By darkness of my frown,
Turret and tower, and battlement,
Down to the deep Earth—down!”
He raised a bugle to his lips,
And blew, nor loud nor shrill,
But softly as the breeze of noon,
That waves on the grassy hill;—
Softly and low as Pity's voice,
That sighs to Grief “Be still!”
Or a bride's when she kneels at the altar foot,
And says to the priest, “I will.”
And blew, nor loud nor shrill,
But softly as the breeze of noon,
That waves on the grassy hill;—
Softly and low as Pity's voice,
That sighs to Grief “Be still!”
185
And says to the priest, “I will.”
Gently and slowly;—soft and low;—
But all the people heard;—
'Twas a light in their souls—a thought in their hearts—
A light—a thought—a word;—
And they listened and listened, and listened on,
But never spake or stirred.
But all the people heard;—
'Twas a light in their souls—a thought in their hearts—
A light—a thought—a word;—
And they listened and listened, and listened on,
But never spake or stirred.
They listened and listened, and listened on,
Till the notes so soft and low,
Rose ever higher, and higher yet,
As a wave when the wild winds blow;
And rolled—and rolling—gathered strength,
Like an avalanche of snow.
Till the notes so soft and low,
Rose ever higher, and higher yet,
As a wave when the wild winds blow;
And rolled—and rolling—gathered strength,
Like an avalanche of snow.
They echoed in the people's heart;
They smote on the giant's ear;
The Earth was troubled where he stood;
And his lips grew pale with fear;
For he heard a rumbling underground,
And saw his topmost towers
Shake like the leaves of the clustering trees,
When the cold wind bodeth showers,
And the conscious forests feel the storm
That gathers in the bowers.
They smote on the giant's ear;
The Earth was troubled where he stood;
And his lips grew pale with fear;
186
And saw his topmost towers
Shake like the leaves of the clustering trees,
When the cold wind bodeth showers,
And the conscious forests feel the storm
That gathers in the bowers.
Was it of marble and porphyry,
With all its rare device?
Was it of iron and stone and gold?
Or was it glittering ice?
The turrets seemed to melt in the sun;
The pinnacles fell in hail;
And the solid walls rocked to and fro,
Like ships in a stormy gale.
With all its rare device?
Was it of iron and stone and gold?
Or was it glittering ice?
The turrets seemed to melt in the sun;
The pinnacles fell in hail;
And the solid walls rocked to and fro,
Like ships in a stormy gale.
And down, down, down on the Earth,
The stately structure lay;
And the Child upon the ruins stood,
An Angel, bright as day;
And cried with voice that shook the spheres—
“Thus fall, and pass away,
Builder and building—liar and lie;—
Time shall restore them never!
They were but shadows in the stream;
They were but fancies in a dream;—
But I endure for ever!”
The stately structure lay;
And the Child upon the ruins stood,
An Angel, bright as day;
187
“Thus fall, and pass away,
Builder and building—liar and lie;—
Time shall restore them never!
They were but shadows in the stream;
They were but fancies in a dream;—
But I endure for ever!”
188
ITHURIEL.
Through the wide world he goes,
Surrounded by his foes,
And sees each ancient Falsehood where it hives;
He strikes them with his spear,
And, lo! in daylight clear,
They spring full-armed, and struggle for their lives.
They call on kings and laws
To aid their sacred cause—
On Church with its anathemas to ban;—
For dungeon and for stake,
Or wheel, his limbs to break—
A mournful fate is his—Ithuriel;—yet a man!
Surrounded by his foes,
And sees each ancient Falsehood where it hives;
He strikes them with his spear,
And, lo! in daylight clear,
They spring full-armed, and struggle for their lives.
They call on kings and laws
To aid their sacred cause—
On Church with its anathemas to ban;—
For dungeon and for stake,
Or wheel, his limbs to break—
A mournful fate is his—Ithuriel;—yet a man!
189
No scaly monsters hid
In grove or pyramid,
Though robed as angels to deceive his eyes,
Can hide them from his glance,
Or puncture of the lance,
With which he strips them of their false disguise.
Sad hero! most maligned
And wronged of human kind,
Because he scorns the falsehoods we revere!
Why should he earn their hate?
The world's the Farm of Fate,
And Fate must reap the corn. Ithuriel! break thy spear!
In grove or pyramid,
Though robed as angels to deceive his eyes,
Can hide them from his glance,
Or puncture of the lance,
With which he strips them of their false disguise.
Sad hero! most maligned
And wronged of human kind,
Because he scorns the falsehoods we revere!
Why should he earn their hate?
The world's the Farm of Fate,
And Fate must reap the corn. Ithuriel! break thy spear!
190
IN THE GREENWOOD.
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,
The longest day of June,
And not a cloud in the bonnie blue sky
To cool the breeze of noon,
Or a sound to startle the turtle-dove,
Cooing her drowsy tune.
The longest day of June,
And not a cloud in the bonnie blue sky
To cool the breeze of noon,
Or a sound to startle the turtle-dove,
Cooing her drowsy tune.
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, through all the shire,
In the air so blithe and free—
'Tis merry in cottage, merry in hall,
Merry in croft and lea—
But merry, merry, merriest yet,
Under the greenwood tree.
In the air so blithe and free—
'Tis merry in cottage, merry in hall,
Merry in croft and lea—
But merry, merry, merriest yet,
Under the greenwood tree.
191
Merry!—and yet the pike in the stream
Lurks low in the pools to slay;
And the starling chases the golden moth,
And the finch makes the worm his prey,
And the hawk hath a beak that is red with blood,
As he soars in the light of day.
Lurks low in the pools to slay;
And the starling chases the golden moth,
And the finch makes the worm his prey,
And the hawk hath a beak that is red with blood,
As he soars in the light of day.
Merry!—and yet in the gay greenwood,
There lies a lady fair,
With a gash in her throat that her lover hath made,
And the blood-clots in her hair.
Follow him, fiends, that shall rack his heart!
Lie down in his bed, Despair!
There lies a lady fair,
With a gash in her throat that her lover hath made,
And the blood-clots in her hair.
Follow him, fiends, that shall rack his heart!
Lie down in his bed, Despair!
Follow him, Darkness! follow him, Light!
Pillow, betray his head!
Grass of the greenwood, stones of the street,
Disclose his guilty tread!
Point at him, Earth! And thou, O Heaven!
Bear witness for the dead!
Pillow, betray his head!
Grass of the greenwood, stones of the street,
Disclose his guilty tread!
Point at him, Earth! And thou, O Heaven!
Bear witness for the dead!
192
THE TOP SAWYER OF ROTTENTOWN,
AND HOW HE VOTED.
No, No! Master Dodge,
You're a clever lawyer,
But I'm not your man—
I'm my own Top Sawyer.
I've a loving wife;
I've a son and daughter;
I've a ten-pound note,
Beef, and Bread, and Water.
If I fancy Wine,
I've the cash to buy it;
And my right arm's strong—
Would you like to try it?
You're a clever lawyer,
But I'm not your man—
I'm my own Top Sawyer.
I've a loving wife;
I've a son and daughter;
I've a ten-pound note,
Beef, and Bread, and Water.
If I fancy Wine,
I've the cash to buy it;
And my right arm's strong—
Would you like to try it?
193
I've a vote, I know,
And I mean to use it
As I please myself,
Not as you may choose it;—
Not a vote to sell
For your dirty guineas—
Baits that only catch
Knaves and stupid ninnies.
Think you, Master Dodge,
I resemble either?
If I do, I'm dead;
If I live, I'm neither!
And I mean to use it
As I please myself,
Not as you may choose it;—
Not a vote to sell
For your dirty guineas—
Baits that only catch
Knaves and stupid ninnies.
Think you, Master Dodge,
I resemble either?
If I do, I'm dead;
If I live, I'm neither!
He who asks my vote
Must, if I support him,
Hold the patriot's course
When the factious court him.
He must know the right;
Love the people duly;
Teach them when they're wrong;
Serve them well and truly!
And when England fights,
With the world upon her,
He must aid her cause,
And maintain her honour.
Must, if I support him,
Hold the patriot's course
When the factious court him.
He must know the right;
Love the people duly;
Teach them when they're wrong;
Serve them well and truly!
194
With the world upon her,
He must aid her cause,
And maintain her honour.
He must hold the scales
Evenly for all men—
Justly for the great,
Fairly for the small men.
Friendly to the poor—
When hard taxes grieve them,
He must help the State
Wisely to relieve them;
And must own the truth,
That a Christian nation
Owes its meanest child
Healthful education!
Evenly for all men—
Justly for the great,
Fairly for the small men.
Friendly to the poor—
When hard taxes grieve them,
He must help the State
Wisely to relieve them;
And must own the truth,
That a Christian nation
Owes its meanest child
Healthful education!
Yet I'll give no vote
To an idle meddler,
Or a busy drone
Higgling like a peddler;
To a man who prates
In and out of season,
Thinking Wisdom's self
Meaner than his reason;
With no larger views
Than his parish offers;—
Him I'll not support,
Whatsoe'er he proffers.
To an idle meddler,
Or a busy drone
Higgling like a peddler;
195
In and out of season,
Thinking Wisdom's self
Meaner than his reason;
With no larger views
Than his parish offers;—
Him I'll not support,
Whatsoe'er he proffers.
No! I want a man
True, and good, and hearty,
Loving England more
Than he loves his party;
In great Freedom's troop,
Who will serve unheeding,
Soldier in the ranks,
Or a Captain leading!
If such man I find,
Be he Jones or Hodges,
He shall have my vote,
Spite of all the Dodges!
True, and good, and hearty,
Loving England more
Than he loves his party;
In great Freedom's troop,
Who will serve unheeding,
Soldier in the ranks,
Or a Captain leading!
If such man I find,
Be he Jones or Hodges,
He shall have my vote,
Spite of all the Dodges!
196
THE POOL OF ST. FILLANS.
[_]
[The Pool of St. Fillans, in the Highlands of Perthshire, was celebrated in early ages as a place of resort for the cure of idiocy or insanity. Immersion in its healing waters—accompanied by adequate offerings to the shrine of the saint —was believed to work a cure in the most desperate cases.]
For thirty long years on the side of the mountain I've guarded
Thy pool, O St. Fillans!—last hope of a desolate heart;
For thirty sad years I have sat at thy spring unrewarded:
False Saint! and false Fountain! I'll take up my cross and depart.
Hither come young and fair,
Hither comes hoary hair,
Hither comes Hope with a light in her fast-fading eyes;
Hither comes humbled Wealth,
Begging the crumbs of Health,
Which Fate, like proud Lazarus, sits 'mid the stars and denies.
Thy pool, O St. Fillans!—last hope of a desolate heart;
For thirty sad years I have sat at thy spring unrewarded:
False Saint! and false Fountain! I'll take up my cross and depart.
Hither come young and fair,
Hither comes hoary hair,
Hither comes Hope with a light in her fast-fading eyes;
197
Begging the crumbs of Health,
Which Fate, like proud Lazarus, sits 'mid the stars and denies.
O cheating St. Fillans! I brought thee my boy in his childhood,
And now he's a man, and his hair is besprinkled with gray.
What hast thou done for him? Roams he not yet in the wild-wood
Dark—in the Night of Unreason—unconscious of Day?
Have I not watched and wept,
While o'er his features crept,
Sparkles of light evanescent as gleams on the wave?
Or, as in waters cast
Shadow of bird that passed,
Or glow of the far-flashing steel in the grasp of the brave?
And now he's a man, and his hair is besprinkled with gray.
What hast thou done for him? Roams he not yet in the wild-wood
Dark—in the Night of Unreason—unconscious of Day?
Have I not watched and wept,
While o'er his features crept,
Sparkles of light evanescent as gleams on the wave?
Or, as in waters cast
Shadow of bird that passed,
Or glow of the far-flashing steel in the grasp of the brave?
198
Idle! all idle!—Sad Fountain, I've lost my reliance!
Thou canst not endow him with soul that he never enjoyed!
Selfish and proud I may be, setting God at defiance,
In craving the boon for my child which His wisdom destroyed.
Happy and thoughtless he,
All the grief lies with me!
Let me endure it, and cease to lament and deplore,
'Tis but a soul asleep
In the earth-prison deep,—
Heaven shall awake it, in Freedom and Light evermore.
Thou canst not endow him with soul that he never enjoyed!
Selfish and proud I may be, setting God at defiance,
In craving the boon for my child which His wisdom destroyed.
Happy and thoughtless he,
All the grief lies with me!
Let me endure it, and cease to lament and deplore,
'Tis but a soul asleep
In the earth-prison deep,—
Heaven shall awake it, in Freedom and Light evermore.
199
THE BEAUTIFUL UNBEAUTIFUL.
Wife or maiden, fresh and fair,What avails thy sunbright hair,
Rolling o'er thy shoulders free,
Like the full tide of the sea,
Kissing the white sands wantonly?
What avail thy glancing eyes,
Blue as nights in Paradise?
Or the fire that in them lies,
Though it might make pale the morn,
If thou'rt hard of heart and scorn,
Or hast set thyself on high
For thine own idolatry?
200
Every beauty now thine own
Would be better carved in stone.
Every winsome charm or grace
Of the eye, the voice, the face,
Comes from spirit throned within—
All the rest is husk of sin.
If we search the wide world through,
None can please us but the true.
Beauty is the growth of mind;
None are lovely but the kind.
201
THE KING'S VISITORS.
The King holds court
With his regal train,
And the wild wind blows
At his window pane,
And pattering falls
The wintry rain;
And if the King,
So merry and free,
Would give his crown
And his kingdom's fee,
And his fleets that ride
On the wide wild sea,
To stop the fall
Of the midnight rain;
The gushing, flushing,
Frolicsome rain,
And silence the wind
At his window pane—
He'd offer his riches
All in vain!
With his regal train,
And the wild wind blows
At his window pane,
And pattering falls
The wintry rain;
And if the King,
So merry and free,
Would give his crown
And his kingdom's fee,
And his fleets that ride
On the wide wild sea,
202
Of the midnight rain;
The gushing, flushing,
Frolicsome rain,
And silence the wind
At his window pane—
He'd offer his riches
All in vain!
And Care crawls up
To the great King's door,
And takes her seat
At his proud heart's core,
And tells him deeds
That were done of yore;
And if he'd give
His good right hand,
His Dukes and Earls
That round him stand,
And his Queen's bright eyes,
That glad the land,
To keep such guest
From his darkening door—
The nestling, wrestling
Fiend of yore—
And take her tooth
From his heart's red core—
The Fiend would answer him:
“Never more!”
To the great King's door,
And takes her seat
At his proud heart's core,
And tells him deeds
That were done of yore;
And if he'd give
His good right hand,
His Dukes and Earls
That round him stand,
And his Queen's bright eyes,
That glad the land,
203
From his darkening door—
The nestling, wrestling
Fiend of yore—
And take her tooth
From his heart's red core—
The Fiend would answer him:
“Never more!”
204
APPLES.
Dainty apples, lip inviting,
Ripe and rosy every one;
Bounteous summer's freshest comers,
Tinted by the morning sun!
Yours to pluck them, thirsty mortal,
Nought but pleasure can befall—
Foolish taster! Pleasure waster!
Dead Sea Apples, one and all!
Ripe and rosy every one;
Bounteous summer's freshest comers,
Tinted by the morning sun!
Yours to pluck them, thirsty mortal,
Nought but pleasure can befall—
Foolish taster! Pleasure waster!
Dead Sea Apples, one and all!
Apples? No! But Beauty's kisses,
Balm and cure for every woe;
Seeds of passion—fruit of rapture—
Dearest boon the Fates bestow.
Come and woo them, and pursue them,
Ye who pine in Sorrow's thrall;—
Foolish tasters! pleasure wasters!
Dead Sea Apples, one and all!
Balm and cure for every woe;
Seeds of passion—fruit of rapture—
Dearest boon the Fates bestow.
205
Ye who pine in Sorrow's thrall;—
Foolish tasters! pleasure wasters!
Dead Sea Apples, one and all!
Kisses? No! But golden ingots,
Gold, the cynosure of Earth;
King of Beauty—Lord of Duty—
Standard, pledge, and proof of worth.
Come and clutch the sparkling treasure,
Ye who'd stand where others fall:—
Foolish tasters! Pleasure wasters!
Dead Sea Apples, one and all!
Gold, the cynosure of Earth;
King of Beauty—Lord of Duty—
Standard, pledge, and proof of worth.
Come and clutch the sparkling treasure,
Ye who'd stand where others fall:—
Foolish tasters! Pleasure wasters!
Dead Sea Apples, one and all!
Ingots? No! But dear Companions,
Friends in Fortune's darkest day:
Dearer, truer, firmer, newer,
When Life's brightness fades away—
Friends that if you're down will lift you,
Ready at your slightest call!
Foolish tasters! Pleasure wasters!
Rotten Apples, one and all!
Friends in Fortune's darkest day:
Dearer, truer, firmer, newer,
When Life's brightness fades away—
Friends that if you're down will lift you,
Ready at your slightest call!
Foolish tasters! Pleasure wasters!
Rotten Apples, one and all!
206
THE “WAR-CHRISTIAN.”
What say the aisles and chancels
Of old cathedrals dim?
What saith the pealing organ
In chant or solemn hymn?—
Fervour of Adoration,
And Love in sweet accord;
Love for the meanest mortal,
And Glory to the Lord!
Of old cathedrals dim?
What saith the pealing organ
In chant or solemn hymn?—
Fervour of Adoration,
And Love in sweet accord;
Love for the meanest mortal,
And Glory to the Lord!
What saith the learned preacher
So high above the crowd,
With his hands so white and dainty,
And his heart so black and proud?
He draws a little circle
As narrow as his mind,
And shuts from all beyond it
God's mercy to mankind.
So high above the crowd,
With his hands so white and dainty,
And his heart so black and proud?
207
As narrow as his mind,
And shuts from all beyond it
God's mercy to mankind.
He rants, he raves, he blusters,
And from his sensual jaws
Pours ribald slang, mistaking
Men's laughter for applause;
And, when the land is deluged
With blood and widows' tears,
Incites redoubled slaughter,
And prates of guns and spears;
And from his sensual jaws
Pours ribald slang, mistaking
Men's laughter for applause;
And, when the land is deluged
With blood and widows' tears,
Incites redoubled slaughter,
And prates of guns and spears;
Forgetful or defiant
That He whose cause he shames,
Whose Gospel he dishonours,
Whose teaching he disclaims,
Was Lord of Loving-kindness,
And taught that war should cease;
That swords should turn to ploughshares,
And nations live in peace.
That He whose cause he shames,
Whose Gospel he dishonours,
Whose teaching he disclaims,
Was Lord of Loving-kindness,
And taught that war should cease;
That swords should turn to ploughshares,
And nations live in peace.
208
I'd rather for my teachers
Have wild winds on the shore,
Or breeze amid the branches,
Or birds that sing and soar,
Or Silence, high and holy—
Than Bigot such as he,
Who dares to measure mercy,
And knows not Charity.
Have wild winds on the shore,
Or breeze amid the branches,
Or birds that sing and soar,
Or Silence, high and holy—
Than Bigot such as he,
Who dares to measure mercy,
And knows not Charity.
New York, January, 1863.
209
FLOWERS AND CHILDREN.
Oh the flow'rets, the bonnie wee flow'rets,Glinting and smiling and peeping through the grass!
And oh the children, the bonnie little children,
I see them and love them and bless them as I pass!
I bless them—but I'm sad for them—
I wish I could be glad for them,
For who, alas! can tell me the Fate that shall befall?
The flow'rets of the morning,
The greenwood path adorning,
May be scattered ere the noontime by the wild wind's sudden call;
Or plucked because they're beautiful,
By rudest hands, undutiful;
Or trampled underfoot by the cattle of the stall;
210
That sport like happy moths in the sunny summer sheen,
May perish ere the day-time
Of their sweet expected May-time,
And sleep beneath the daisies and the long grass growing green;
Or a worse, worse fate may light on them,
And cast more fatal blight on them:
The bonnie little maiden may be wooed and cast away.
And the bonnie boy prove ruthless,
Or cowardly, or truthless,
Or a gold-adoring hypocrite before his head be gray.
But oh, ye fairy blossoms! whatever be the Future,
I would not, if I might, peer through its awful glass.
Bloom, flowerets of the wild wood!
Rejoice, O happy childhood!
I look at you and love you and bless you as I pass.
211
THE RED AND YELLOW LEAF IN OCTOBER.
Not when the jocund Spring arose,
And, smiling off the winter snows,
Released thee from the bursting bud,
With all thy sisters of the wood,
And bared thee, tender, fresh, and green,
To morning flush and evening sheen,
Wert thou, old leaf upon the bough,
So softly beautiful as now.
And, smiling off the winter snows,
Released thee from the bursting bud,
With all thy sisters of the wood,
And bared thee, tender, fresh, and green,
To morning flush and evening sheen,
Wert thou, old leaf upon the bough,
So softly beautiful as now.
Not when the radiant Summer trod,
Gift-bearing, o'er the expectant sod,
And shot from all his eyes of fire,
Fruition to the Earth's desire,
And spread thy surface to the storm
In ripe maturity of form,
Wert thou so fair as now thou art,
When all thy youthful charms depart.
Gift-bearing, o'er the expectant sod,
And shot from all his eyes of fire,
Fruition to the Earth's desire,
212
In ripe maturity of form,
Wert thou so fair as now thou art,
When all thy youthful charms depart.
October, with his warning breath,
Hath whispered of approaching death;
And sprinkled o'er thy smiling face
A new, but melancholy grace,
Of gorgeous hues, more deftly planned
Than all the Summer could command—
Of amber, purple, red, and gold,
To crown thee, now thou'rt growing old.
Hath whispered of approaching death;
And sprinkled o'er thy smiling face
A new, but melancholy grace,
Of gorgeous hues, more deftly planned
Than all the Summer could command—
Of amber, purple, red, and gold,
To crown thee, now thou'rt growing old.
So among us, green leaves of men,
That flourish threescore years and ten,
All is not loss that dims our day,
And robs us of the pride of May:
The vernal bloom, the Summer glow,
Leave kindly traces as they go;
And Man's old age, if true and brave,
Marches in glory to the grave.
That flourish threescore years and ten,
All is not loss that dims our day,
And robs us of the pride of May:
The vernal bloom, the Summer glow,
Leave kindly traces as they go;
And Man's old age, if true and brave,
Marches in glory to the grave.
213
THE RIM OF THE BOWL.
I sat 'mid the flickering lights, when all the guests had departed,
Alone at the head of the table, and dreamed of the days that were gone;
Neither asleep nor waking, nor sad, nor cheery-hearted—
But passive as a leaf by the wild November blown.
I thought—if thinking 't were, when thoughts were dimmer than shadows—
And toyed the while with the music I drew from the rim of the bowl,
Passing my fingers round, as if my will compelled it
To answer my shapeless dreams, as soul might answer soul.
Alone at the head of the table, and dreamed of the days that were gone;
Neither asleep nor waking, nor sad, nor cheery-hearted—
But passive as a leaf by the wild November blown.
I thought—if thinking 't were, when thoughts were dimmer than shadows—
And toyed the while with the music I drew from the rim of the bowl,
Passing my fingers round, as if my will compelled it
To answer my shapeless dreams, as soul might answer soul.
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Idle I was, and listless; but melody and fancy
Came out of that tremulous dulcimer, as my hand around it strayed;
The rim was a magic circle, and mine was the necromancy
That summoned its secrets forth, to take the forms I bade.
Secrets! ay! buried secrets, forgotten for twenty summers,
But living anew in the odours of the roses at the board;
Secrets of Truth and Passion, and the days of Life's unreason;
Perhaps not all atoned for, in the judgments of the Lord.
Came out of that tremulous dulcimer, as my hand around it strayed;
The rim was a magic circle, and mine was the necromancy
That summoned its secrets forth, to take the forms I bade.
Secrets! ay! buried secrets, forgotten for twenty summers,
But living anew in the odours of the roses at the board;
Secrets of Truth and Passion, and the days of Life's unreason;
Perhaps not all atoned for, in the judgments of the Lord.
Secrets that still shall slumber, for I will not bare my bosom
To the gaze of the heartless, prying, unconscion-able crowd,
That would like to know, I doubt not, now much I have sinned and suffered,
And drag me down to its level—because it would humble the proud.
Beautiful spirits they were, that danced on the rim at my bidding:
Spirits of Joy or Sadness, in their brief sweet Summer day;
Spirits that aye possess me, and keep me, if I wander,
In the line of the straight, and the flower of the fruitful way.
To the gaze of the heartless, prying, unconscion-able crowd,
215
And drag me down to its level—because it would humble the proud.
Beautiful spirits they were, that danced on the rim at my bidding:
Spirits of Joy or Sadness, in their brief sweet Summer day;
Spirits that aye possess me, and keep me, if I wander,
In the line of the straight, and the flower of the fruitful way.
Spirits of women and children—spirits of friends departed—
Spirits of dear companions that have gone to the levelling tomb,
Hallowed for ever and ever with the sanctity of sorrow,
And the aureole of death that crowns them in the gloom.
Spirits of Hope and Faith, and one supremely lovely,
That sang to me years agone, when I was a little child,
And sported at her footstool, or lay upon her bosom,
And gazed at the Love that dazzled me from her eyes so soft and mild.
Spirits of dear companions that have gone to the levelling tomb,
Hallowed for ever and ever with the sanctity of sorrow,
And the aureole of death that crowns them in the gloom.
216
That sang to me years agone, when I was a little child,
And sported at her footstool, or lay upon her bosom,
And gazed at the Love that dazzled me from her eyes so soft and mild.
And that song from the rim of the bowl came sounding and sounding ever—
As oft it hath done before in the toil and moil of life;
A song nor sad nor merry, but low and sweet and plaintive;
A clarion blast in sorrow; an anodyne in strife;
A song like a ray of moonlight that gleams athwart a tempest.
Sound ever, O Song! sound sweetly, whether I live or die,
My guardian, my adviser, my comforter, my comrade,
A voice from the sinless regions—a message from the sky!
As oft it hath done before in the toil and moil of life;
A song nor sad nor merry, but low and sweet and plaintive;
A clarion blast in sorrow; an anodyne in strife;
A song like a ray of moonlight that gleams athwart a tempest.
Sound ever, O Song! sound sweetly, whether I live or die,
My guardian, my adviser, my comforter, my comrade,
A voice from the sinless regions—a message from the sky!
217
THE NOBLE SPIRITS.
[_]
[To the memory of Patrick Park, sculptor, Alexander Mackay, journalist, and Angus Bethune Reach, poet and novelist.]
Alas! for the noble spirits that have fought and passed away
In the stern and grim life-battle, in the morning of their day,
Panting, struggling, perishing in the sulphur of the fray!
In the stern and grim life-battle, in the morning of their day,
Panting, struggling, perishing in the sulphur of the fray!
How many and how gallant, I have seen them at my side,
Their bright eyes flashing glory from the strength of a world defied,
In the blaze of their ambition, and the splendour of their pride!
Their bright eyes flashing glory from the strength of a world defied,
In the blaze of their ambition, and the splendour of their pride!
218
Alas! for the noble spirits! they knew not—no not one,
The pang and the fret and the fever of the course 't was theirs to run—
The pang and the fret and the fever under the partial sun.
The pang and the fret and the fever of the course 't was theirs to run—
The pang and the fret and the fever under the partial sun.
They thought the world was with them and under-stood their pain,
Their hunger of distinction, their hope of heights to gain
On the topmost crest of the mountain, the watch-tower of the plain.
Their hunger of distinction, their hope of heights to gain
On the topmost crest of the mountain, the watch-tower of the plain.
They thought if their youthful voices could reach the toiling crowd,
That the good and the brave would answer in echoes long and loud,
That would stir the hearts of the humble, and humble the hearts of the proud.
That the good and the brave would answer in echoes long and loud,
That would stir the hearts of the humble, and humble the hearts of the proud.
219
They thought if the world would listen to a new immortal rhyme,
Tender and strong and hopeful, or earnest and sublime,
That they might be the Shakspeares and Miltons of their time.
Tender and strong and hopeful, or earnest and sublime,
That they might be the Shakspeares and Miltons of their time.
They thought their teeming fancy could stock the world anew,
With nobler art-creations than poet ever drew—
With passionate romances and tales of the wild and true.
With nobler art-creations than poet ever drew—
With passionate romances and tales of the wild and true.
They thought that Earth and Ocean and the free rejoicing air,
The heights of human passion and the depths of its despair,
Should have no hidden secrets, that they might not declare.
The heights of human passion and the depths of its despair,
Should have no hidden secrets, that they might not declare.
220
They thought the bounds of Science were wide as earth and heaven
And that to them, high-daring, the privilege was given
To pierce the outer circle, and soar above the levin,
And that to them, high-daring, the privilege was given
To pierce the outer circle, and soar above the levin,
Up to the founts of Knowledge beyond the starry zone,
Where Nature works her wonders, inscrutable, alone,
And the blaze of noon seems darkness at the footstool of her throne.
Where Nature works her wonders, inscrutable, alone,
And the blaze of noon seems darkness at the footstool of her throne.
They thought their names should glitter in the history of man,
The seers and standard-bearers of a new and better plan
Than sages ever dreamed of since human grief began.
The seers and standard-bearers of a new and better plan
Than sages ever dreamed of since human grief began.
221
They thought—alas! what matters? Their thoughts were but as dreams
Or wasted seeds, borne seaward in the roaring of the streams,
To take no root in the furrows where Earth's full harvest gleams.
Or wasted seeds, borne seaward in the roaring of the streams,
To take no root in the furrows where Earth's full harvest gleams.
The world misunderstood them, or never cared to know,
And took no heed of the treasure they panted to bestow
In prodigal profusion of bounteous overflow;
And took no heed of the treasure they panted to bestow
In prodigal profusion of bounteous overflow;
And set them, the great-hearted, to drudgery obscure,
To toil for daily bread with the poorest of the poor,
'Mid pain and sorrow and anguish, and bonds that slaves endure.
To toil for daily bread with the poorest of the poor,
'Mid pain and sorrow and anguish, and bonds that slaves endure.
222
It set them—steeds of Heaven—with wings from their shoulders spread,
To plough the stubborn clay-lands, with aching heart and head,
Or to drag the city chariots, or the hearses of the dead;
To plough the stubborn clay-lands, with aching heart and head,
Or to drag the city chariots, or the hearses of the dead;
It broke their heart and spirit, till they pined and died away—
Some chafing and resentful, like the wild deer driven to bay;
Some patient and forgiving, and weary of the day.
Some chafing and resentful, like the wild deer driven to bay;
Some patient and forgiving, and weary of the day.
Some in the open market that all the world might see
The sin and shame and sorrow that thing like this should be;
Some in remote dim corners, under the wild wood tree.
The sin and shame and sorrow that thing like this should be;
Some in remote dim corners, under the wild wood tree.
223
Some with their fine brain shattered and jangled out of gear
By the rude hand of Affliction, and weight of Toil severe,
That crushed the Soul's dome palace, and dulled its lustre clear.
By the rude hand of Affliction, and weight of Toil severe,
That crushed the Soul's dome palace, and dulled its lustre clear.
Some with the bread untasted, that, had it come when earned,
Might have given the flickering life-light the oil for which it yearned,
And sent it spire-like upward, rejoicing as it burned.
Might have given the flickering life-light the oil for which it yearned,
And sent it spire-like upward, rejoicing as it burned.
Some with a bold defiance through all neglect and scorn,
And a Hope which grew Conviction, that judges yet unborn
Would pluck their names from the darkness where they had sunk forlorn
And a Hope which grew Conviction, that judges yet unborn
Would pluck their names from the darkness where they had sunk forlorn
224
And write them large and splendid on the musterroll of Fame,
Amid the old Immortals, that glow like living flame
On the broad front of the ages, eternally the same.
Amid the old Immortals, that glow like living flame
On the broad front of the ages, eternally the same.
Ay! that the cruel millions in swift approaching hours
Would throng to their graves remorseful and cover them with flowers,
And say, “They died too early—their heritage is ours:
Would throng to their graves remorseful and cover them with flowers,
And say, “They died too early—their heritage is ours:
“Ours are their teeming fancies—their songs of hope and cheer,
That stir our hearts like clarions when the battle draweth near—
The shock of Truth with Falsehood, when Right shall at last appear.”
That stir our hearts like clarions when the battle draweth near—
The shock of Truth with Falsehood, when Right shall at last appear.”
225
Alas for the noble spirits! alas for the crowd ingrate!
That is deaf to its benefactors, though early and long and late
They preach in the high and byways to men of all estate—
That is deaf to its benefactors, though early and long and late
They preach in the high and byways to men of all estate—
Too ignorant and sordid to care for truth sublime;
That love but the chink of money at morn or even time,
Or the senseless jest and laughter of mountebank and mime.
That love but the chink of money at morn or even time,
Or the senseless jest and laughter of mountebank and mime.
Alas for the noble spirits!—the young, the true, the brave!—
No tear-drop for their sorrow, no tombstone for their grave,
Shall atone for the wrong you've done them, O crowd that would not save!
No tear-drop for their sorrow, no tombstone for their grave,
Shall atone for the wrong you've done them, O crowd that would not save!
226
O crowd without a conscience! their fitful race is run;
They have fought and bled and suffered under the partial sun:
And you misunderstood them;—and slew them—every one.
They have fought and bled and suffered under the partial sun:
And you misunderstood them;—and slew them—every one.
227
THE BARD'S LAST SONG.
I
When I was young, unwise, and free,
And dreamed of things that could not be
This side of man's mortality,
And dreamed of things that could not be
This side of man's mortality,
I loved a maid of heavenly birth,
Friend of my sorrow and my mirth,
The queen and paragon of Earth.
Friend of my sorrow and my mirth,
The queen and paragon of Earth.
Sweet was the music of her tongue,
Upon her lips all wisdom hung,
And streamed abroad like sunlight flung.
Upon her lips all wisdom hung,
And streamed abroad like sunlight flung.
I gathered fragrance from her sighs,
And through the glory of her eyes
Had glimpses into Paradise.
And through the glory of her eyes
Had glimpses into Paradise.
228
My heart was quick to understand;
I took her child-like by the hand,
And wandered with her through the land.
I took her child-like by the hand,
And wandered with her through the land.
Through meadow-paths at break of morn,
When dews hung gem-like on the thorn,
And from the clouds above the corn,
When dews hung gem-like on the thorn,
And from the clouds above the corn,
The lark poured music in a shower;
Through forest-glade to wild-wood bower
Leaf-sheltered from the noontide hour;
Through forest-glade to wild-wood bower
Leaf-sheltered from the noontide hour;
O'er upland tracts of virgin snow,
Where timid rivers learn to flow,
And leap to reach the world below;
Where timid rivers learn to flow,
And leap to reach the world below;
Up to the mountain's topmost peak,
Breasting the wild winds blowing bleak,
With flashing eye and rose-red cheek;
Breasting the wild winds blowing bleak,
With flashing eye and rose-red cheek;
Up to its very crest and crown,
Men and their madness far adown,
Heaven and its glories all our own;
Men and their madness far adown,
Heaven and its glories all our own;
229
We wandered heedless of the roar
Of Commerce weltering on the shore,
Buzzing and whirling evermore;
Of Commerce weltering on the shore,
Buzzing and whirling evermore;
And there we'd sit from Noon to Night,
Her smile my joy, her eyes my light,
Enraptured in the Infinite;
Her smile my joy, her eyes my light,
Enraptured in the Infinite;
Or mused on things above the ken
Of the dumb-sorrowing herd of men,
Unuttered by their tongue or pen.
Of the dumb-sorrowing herd of men,
Unuttered by their tongue or pen.
II
But chiefly loved my Love and I,
When thunder clomb the Evening sky,
And shrill sea-gusts came piping by,
When thunder clomb the Evening sky,
And shrill sea-gusts came piping by,
To sit upon the sea-beach lone,
And list the wild waves' undertone—
The low soft melancholy moan,
And list the wild waves' undertone—
The low soft melancholy moan,
As if the Deep's deep heart did plain,
And throb with memories of pain:
Remorseful for Earth's children slain—
And throb with memories of pain:
Remorseful for Earth's children slain—
230
For their reliance most unwise,
On placid seas and favouring skies,
To float and waft their argosies:—
On placid seas and favouring skies,
To float and waft their argosies:—
The weird-like musie of the sea
Disclosed its mournful mystery,
And spake in words to her and me,
Disclosed its mournful mystery,
And spake in words to her and me,
Which took the rhythm of keens and runes,
That sank or swoll in plaintive tunes,
Such as corpse-watching beldam croons,
That sank or swoll in plaintive tunes,
Such as corpse-watching beldam croons,
Forlornest 'mid the troop forlorn
That weep some widow's eldest-born,
Untimely from her bosom torn.
That weep some widow's eldest-born,
Untimely from her bosom torn.
Lulled by that chant and hymn sublime,
We'd read some book of ancient time,
Of love and agony and crime;
We'd read some book of ancient time,
Of love and agony and crime;
And wonder if our dull To-Day
Had heart for passions great as they,
To lift—to torture—or to slay:
Had heart for passions great as they,
To lift—to torture—or to slay:
231
If Love were ready as of old
To yield dominion, glory, gold,
All power, all joy, all bliss untold,
To yield dominion, glory, gold,
All power, all joy, all bliss untold,
For sake of Love. If mortal Hate,
Immortal grown, and fixed as Fate,
Could guard its throne inviolate,
Immortal grown, and fixed as Fate,
Could guard its throne inviolate,
Though heavenly Merey should implore
To stay the vengeance which it bore,
And make it human as before.
To stay the vengeance which it bore,
And make it human as before.
Nor wondered long, nor long inquired,
But to the city, domed and spired,
Retraced our steps, and never tired
But to the city, domed and spired,
Retraced our steps, and never tired
To mingle with the human throng,
To learn the weakness of the strong,
Or gleam that led the righteous wrong:
To learn the weakness of the strong,
Or gleam that led the righteous wrong:
The meanness of the great and proud,
The greatness of the meanest bowed
In foulest corners of the crowd;
The greatness of the meanest bowed
In foulest corners of the crowd;
232
The sameness, evermore the same,
Of human glory, human shame,
And all that men most praise or blame,
Of human glory, human shame,
And all that men most praise or blame,
In every clime and every age,
And written on the living page,
As man's perpetual heritage.
And written on the living page,
As man's perpetual heritage.
Till worn and wearied and deprest
By study of that sharp unrest,
Each day the morrow's palimpsest,
By study of that sharp unrest,
Each day the morrow's palimpsest,
We'd dry our gathering tears, and say—
“This is no place for us to stay;
Let us be merry, and away!”
“This is no place for us to stay;
Let us be merry, and away!”
III
And then she'd wave a mystic wand,
And with one motion of her hand
Waft us afar to Fairyland,
And with one motion of her hand
Waft us afar to Fairyland,
Untrammelled, unconfined, to roam,
With Elf or Dryad, Sylph or Gnome,
Or sportive Nereid of the foam—
With Elf or Dryad, Sylph or Gnome,
Or sportive Nereid of the foam—
233
To talk with spirits of the glade,
And nymphs of river and caseade,
And fairy folk of greenwood shade;
And nymphs of river and caseade,
And fairy folk of greenwood shade;
To sail with Mab on fleeciest shred
Of morning cloudlet overhead,
Three minutes ere the sun upsped;
Of morning cloudlet overhead,
Three minutes ere the sun upsped;
To seale the rainbow's sevenfold height,
Its mingling stairs of roseate light,
And twist its colours into white.
Its mingling stairs of roseate light,
And twist its colours into white.
Or when the Night came darkening down,
And grey had deepened into brown
On the small ant-hill of the town,
And grey had deepened into brown
On the small ant-hill of the town,
To steer witch-fashion through the gloom,
Astride with Hecate on a broom,
With sea and sky for elbow-room,
Astride with Hecate on a broom,
With sea and sky for elbow-room,
And hear no sound of human kind,
Nought but the rushing of the wind,
Or roll of thunder far behind;
Nought but the rushing of the wind,
Or roll of thunder far behind;
234
Or higher up the deeps of Heaven,
By wilder freaks of fancy driven,
Above the anvils of the levin,
By wilder freaks of fancy driven,
Above the anvils of the levin,
To seize the streaming Northern lights,
And flaunt them from the Polar heights
To cheer the gloom of Arctic nights.
And flaunt them from the Polar heights
To cheer the gloom of Arctic nights.
IV
Idle I seemed, but was not so;
Filled with a fierce desire to know,
I would know all things known below:
Filled with a fierce desire to know,
I would know all things known below:
Study all Art, all Science probe,
Were it as solid as the Globe,
Or flimsy as a midge's robe;
Were it as solid as the Globe,
Or flimsy as a midge's robe;
Would, without weariness or pause,
Dive into principles and laws;
And, mounting from effect to cause,
Dive into principles and laws;
And, mounting from effect to cause,
For mine and for my love's behoof,
Would track to utmost verge of proof
The web of Nature, warp and woof.
Would track to utmost verge of proof
The web of Nature, warp and woof.
235
Each modern light or ancient lore
I would examine and explore
Through narrow chink or open door.
I would examine and explore
Through narrow chink or open door.
Whatever since the world began
Had been discussed or dreamed by man
I would investigate and scan;
Had been discussed or dreamed by man
I would investigate and scan;
And all for her, mine other soul,
My light of life, my being's goal,
Essence, quintessence, part and whole.
My light of life, my being's goal,
Essence, quintessence, part and whole.
And yet not so;—to me far more
Than all the teeming earth could pour,
Alike my blossom and my store—
Than all the teeming earth could pour,
Alike my blossom and my store—
She knelt with me at holier shrine,
And took my homage all divine
To offer to her God and mine;
And took my homage all divine
To offer to her God and mine;
With adoration's silent awe,
To God from whom our breath we draw,
The Light, the Life, the Love, the Law.
To God from whom our breath we draw,
The Light, the Life, the Love, the Law.
236
V
So passed my youth's delicious time,
My budding spring, my fruitful prime,
And all my thoughts took shape in rhyme.
My budding spring, my fruitful prime,
And all my thoughts took shape in rhyme.
And then my wizard harp I strung,
And o'er the chords my fingers flung,
And bade men listen as I sung.
And o'er the chords my fingers flung,
And bade men listen as I sung.
Few heard me when the mandate went,
Though to their throbbing hearts I sent
The lightnings of my firmament.
Though to their throbbing hearts I sent
The lightnings of my firmament.
The arrowy words with purpose strong
That told the tale of human wrong,
And Justice sure, though tarrying long.
That told the tale of human wrong,
And Justice sure, though tarrying long.
Th' ennobling song that cheered the poor,
And taught the wretched to endure
The griefs that Love alone could cure.
And taught the wretched to endure
The griefs that Love alone could cure.
But larger audience came at last—
Their hearts my sea; my words the blast
That lashed their billows as I passed,
Their hearts my sea; my words the blast
That lashed their billows as I passed,
237
And curled the waters into spray
In the clear sunshine of the day,
That gleamed and sparkled in the lay.
In the clear sunshine of the day,
That gleamed and sparkled in the lay.
And men awarded me the fame
That I would snatch to crown my name,
The lambent wreath of flickering flame,
That I would snatch to crown my name,
The lambent wreath of flickering flame,
That round my temples twined and bowed,
And marked me out above the crowd
As one with deeper grief endowed
And marked me out above the crowd
As one with deeper grief endowed
Than they could bear: as one who knew
Intenser joy; whose keener view
Could pierce the outer darkness through—
Intenser joy; whose keener view
Could pierce the outer darkness through—
Down the abyss of Time to see,
And strive in words that God made free
To unfold a mighty mystery.
And strive in words that God made free
To unfold a mighty mystery.
VI
All this I was, all this I did;
And Time that o'er my temples slid
Seemed but to pile the pyramid
And Time that o'er my temples slid
Seemed but to pile the pyramid
238
Of my renown; but never told
That I was growing poor and old,
And could not live for lack of gold.
That I was growing poor and old,
And could not live for lack of gold.
And when mine eyes, that opened late
To smallness of mine own estate,
Surveyed the powerful and the great,
To smallness of mine own estate,
Surveyed the powerful and the great,
I found that meaner men than I,
Mere feeders in the human sty,
Without my gifts or purpose high,
Mere feeders in the human sty,
Without my gifts or purpose high,
My love, my conscience, or my wit,
Were called on judgment-seats to sit,
Or found in senates audience fit:
Were called on judgment-seats to sit,
Or found in senates audience fit:
That some, my friends of early day,
The comrades of my work or play
In joyous boyhood's lusty May,
The comrades of my work or play
In joyous boyhood's lusty May,
Had riches teeming to their will;
I not enough to eat my fill,
Or pay my tailor's humble bill.
I not enough to eat my fill,
Or pay my tailor's humble bill.
239
That they were counted great and wise,
The cynosures of Beauty's eyes;
And I—a beggar in disguise,
The cynosures of Beauty's eyes;
And I—a beggar in disguise,
That had no right at Nature's board,
Or claim to tangible reward
Of corn or wine, around me stored.
Or claim to tangible reward
Of corn or wine, around me stored.
And that 't was still the people's faith
That fame, the flotsam of their breath,
Sufficed for Life as well as Death;
That fame, the flotsam of their breath,
Sufficed for Life as well as Death;
And that an epitaph alone
Was more than ample to atone
For all the wrongs the Bard had known;
Was more than ample to atone
For all the wrongs the Bard had known;
For every proud man's disrespect,
For all a life's adventure wrecked,
For scorn, for hunger and neglect.
For all a life's adventure wrecked,
For scorn, for hunger and neglect.
I struck my wild harp once again,
But not in anger, though in pain,
And sang one melancholy strain,
But not in anger, though in pain,
And sang one melancholy strain,
240
With beating pulse and throbbing brow,
The last mine energies allow,
The mournful song I'm singing now.
The last mine energies allow,
The mournful song I'm singing now.
So write the tomb's recording line—
Such fate was Milton's the divine,
Why should I grieve that it is mine?
Such fate was Milton's the divine,
Why should I grieve that it is mine?
| Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature | |