 | Poems Chiefly Lyric and Elegiac |  |
iii
There was a morning when I follow'd Fame:
There was a noontide when I caught her eye:
There is an evening when I hold my name
Stainless as hers, although she pass me by.
There was a noontide when I caught her eye:
There is an evening when I hold my name
Stainless as hers, although she pass me by.
v
TO MY FRIEND OF FORTY YEARS
AUSTIN DOBSON
1
VICTORIA DAY.
24th of May 1901.
Now that the Queen is dead, have we aught that is worthy to live for—
We who were proud of her reign, wholly in love with her life?—
Have we not bow'd our heads in intense and personal sorrow,
Such as a son might feel, losing a mother beloved,
When we beheld her death, and the wonderful march of her mourners
Over the sea and the land, watch'd by a nation in tears?
Aye, and the Century too, by her made brighter than others,
Not by her triumphs alone, but by the light of her love,
That too is gone to the grave; and we are not the men to appraise it,
Being a part of itself—motes in its brilliant career.
Much have we boasted and long, of its marvellous growth, of its glory—
Freedom of thought and of act, more than our fathers had known;
We who were proud of her reign, wholly in love with her life?—
Have we not bow'd our heads in intense and personal sorrow,
Such as a son might feel, losing a mother beloved,
When we beheld her death, and the wonderful march of her mourners
Over the sea and the land, watch'd by a nation in tears?
Aye, and the Century too, by her made brighter than others,
Not by her triumphs alone, but by the light of her love,
That too is gone to the grave; and we are not the men to appraise it,
Being a part of itself—motes in its brilliant career.
Much have we boasted and long, of its marvellous growth, of its glory—
Freedom of thought and of act, more than our fathers had known;
2
But, as we stand bereaved on the dark deep verge of another,
Knowing no more than a child what is its course or its end,
Were it not well to pause, to think if the imminent Future
Should be against us now, plucking us down in our pride,
Turning to other lands the fruits of our many inventions,
Giving, for Order and Law, Licence, the curse of the free?
So had the Romans thought, in the golden days of Augustus,
Had they but guess'd their fate, link'd to the life of a man,
Link'd with the dismal defeat, the fatal folly of Varus,
Link'd with the sins and the shame rampant and ruddy at Rome.
Knowing no more than a child what is its course or its end,
Were it not well to pause, to think if the imminent Future
Should be against us now, plucking us down in our pride,
Turning to other lands the fruits of our many inventions,
Giving, for Order and Law, Licence, the curse of the free?
So had the Romans thought, in the golden days of Augustus,
Had they but guess'd their fate, link'd to the life of a man,
Link'd with the dismal defeat, the fatal folly of Varus,
Link'd with the sins and the shame rampant and ruddy at Rome.
Well, let it be—for at least we are still in the path of our duty,
Doing the dull day's work bravely and calmly and well;
Not with a cruel contempt, nor with aught of masterful passion,
Striving to build fair peace out of the ruins of war.
Ah, and the thing that we do, 'tis She would have wish'd us to do it—
Giving to friends and foes all we have won for ourselves:
Liberty, justice, wealth; the arts and the trade of the white man;
Mercy and truth to the black; quiet abundance for all.
That is our lesson of life, and that is the bond of our Empire:
She who is gone knew well how to enforce it alone;
Shedding her goodness around, till the grace and charm of the woman
Touch'd with a tenderer note all that is felt for a Queen.
Doing the dull day's work bravely and calmly and well;
Not with a cruel contempt, nor with aught of masterful passion,
Striving to build fair peace out of the ruins of war.
Ah, and the thing that we do, 'tis She would have wish'd us to do it—
Giving to friends and foes all we have won for ourselves:
Liberty, justice, wealth; the arts and the trade of the white man;
Mercy and truth to the black; quiet abundance for all.
That is our lesson of life, and that is the bond of our Empire:
She who is gone knew well how to enforce it alone;
Shedding her goodness around, till the grace and charm of the woman
Touch'd with a tenderer note all that is felt for a Queen.
3
Thus then, graver indeed and sad, yet alway rejoicing,
We of the older time tranquilly enter the new:
Steadfast, hopefully arm'd with the might of a noble example;
Nerved by a strenuous Past not to be less than our fame.
For there is fame to be won, and kept as a standard of action,
Now that the whole world sees what is the worth of our kin:
How from the north and the south, from the snows of distant Acadia,
And from the Southern Cross, and from the isles of the sea,
Nations born of our loins, alert and athletic as we are,
Spring to our side at a word, welcome and willing allies,
Eager to claim their share in the toils and the peril of England,
True to their ancient home, fraught with the spirit of sons.
We of the older time tranquilly enter the new:
Steadfast, hopefully arm'd with the might of a noble example;
Nerved by a strenuous Past not to be less than our fame.
For there is fame to be won, and kept as a standard of action,
Now that the whole world sees what is the worth of our kin:
How from the north and the south, from the snows of distant Acadia,
And from the Southern Cross, and from the isles of the sea,
Nations born of our loins, alert and athletic as we are,
Spring to our side at a word, welcome and willing allies,
Eager to claim their share in the toils and the peril of England,
True to their ancient home, fraught with the spirit of sons.
Sure 'tis a vision of Peace, not vain, not wildly prophetic,
But to the sober sense present and stable and clear,
Which in those children of ours, in them and their many descendants,
Circling the parent land, centre and pivot of all,
Sees a Republic of States, a vast irresistible unit,
Spreading our Britain abroad, moulding the face of the world,
Till from the Channel at hand, to the shores of uttermost ocean,
Thrills the great English tongue, wider than Latin of old.
That is a Future indeed, an heritage worthy to live for:
More than the wisest know; more than the infant of days,
Fondling his mother's breast, may hope to behold as an elder,
When in those far-off years, fuller of good than our own,
Still shall be honour'd and sung, with the glow of a grateful emotion,
All that Victoria did, all that we owe to the Queen.
But to the sober sense present and stable and clear,
Which in those children of ours, in them and their many descendants,
Circling the parent land, centre and pivot of all,
Sees a Republic of States, a vast irresistible unit,
Spreading our Britain abroad, moulding the face of the world,
Till from the Channel at hand, to the shores of uttermost ocean,
Thrills the great English tongue, wider than Latin of old.
That is a Future indeed, an heritage worthy to live for:
More than the wisest know; more than the infant of days,
4
When in those far-off years, fuller of good than our own,
Still shall be honour'd and sung, with the glow of a grateful emotion,
All that Victoria did, all that we owe to the Queen.
5
THEN AND NOW.—THE NORTH DOWNS
1899.
Have you not heard of the road that we long ago travell'd with Chaucer,
Here on the Pilgrim's Way, spanning the length of the Downs?
Have you not seen these yews, still green in their sæcular glory,
Marking the course of the route—older than Edward the Third?
Well, we are with them now, on the height that faces St Martha's,
Thus on a summer eve watching the sunset awhile;
Watching the golden moon, as she rises afar to the eastward,
Over the Silent Pool, over the hollows of Shere.
Look toward the crest of the hills, to the south, where breezes of ocean
Blow from the Sussex Weald, savouring still of the sea;
Look to the north, far down, where sheep-bells heard in the valley
Tell of an order'd peace, safe in some sheltering farm:
Yes, 'tis a noble view! But more than the beauty of Nature,
More than the things we see, lives in this quiet around;
6
Rise through our searching souls into their places again.
Ah, what a long, long line of lofty and storied emotion
Glows through those gaunt old trees, out of a far-away world!
Surely we once heard Mass, even we, in that grand grey chapel?
Surely we rode past here, sauntering on to the shrine?
Surely we went in array from the ‘Tabard’ with bluff Harry Bailey,
Laughing and loitering on, right to the banks of the Stour?
Yes, we have done all that; content with an outward devotion,
Kissing the sacred bones, offering jewels and gold;
Then, with a sigh of relief, with a boyish and airy enjoyment,
Cantering gaily away, happy and shriven, and whole.
But—what is this? We are here, with another century closing,
Here on the height once more: this is a Pilgrimage too!
For we are moving along, not leisurely now, nor together,
But with our hot fierce hearts hurried and hostile and hard:
Pilgrims—and where is the shrine, the ultimate goal of our journey?
Where is our place of rest? Where is the saint we adore?
Not on the banks of Stour, for the tomb of à Becket is wasted;
Gone are the sacred bones, gone are the jewels and gold:
Gone? Aye, and well may they go! We are not now boys, to revere them;
We are mature sad men, born to an elderly age;
Struggling and stumbling along, with fervid frantic endeavour,
Each in his own wild way seeking a shrine of his own.
7
Fools! When the pearl of price gleams at our own fireside;
Fools, when the God of our health is as ready as ever to guide us,
Still in the same old words telling us what to adore!
For He is with us now: in the simpler creed of St Martha's,
Or in the open air, vibrating yet to His word;
With us, around and above; in the snows and the tempests of winter,
And when the greening turf brightens and blooms into spring;
And in the summer days, in the lovelier leafage of autumn;
And in His own still voice, everywhere calling us Home.
8
ON THE RIVER.
Why have you brought me here, you eager, adventurous darling?
Why did you lure me away out of the garden at home?
Was it to show me your skiff, that lies in the shade of the willows
Under this cool green slope, hid from the rush of the weir?
Truly, a snug little boat! and ready, I see, for a voyage:
There are the trim, tried oars, there are the cushions for you!
Come, I will row you out from the creek to the full mid-channel;
This, in an evening hour, surely you cannot refuse?
Why did you lure me away out of the garden at home?
Was it to show me your skiff, that lies in the shade of the willows
Under this cool green slope, hid from the rush of the weir?
Truly, a snug little boat! and ready, I see, for a voyage:
There are the trim, tried oars, there are the cushions for you!
Come, I will row you out from the creek to the full mid-channel;
This, in an evening hour, surely you cannot refuse?
Now we are here on the main; and see how the broad, bright water
Warms to a rosy red, caught from the westering clouds!
See how the grasses bend, and the ripples run up to the shore-line,
Dancing and dimpling along, making their curtsy to you!
Look, too, at that great barge, just rounding a curve of the river—
Silent, majestic, slow, sure of its steady advance:
Look, on the bank above, at the tall dark forms of the horses,
Straining their sinewy limbs, battling and baffling the tide!
Look at the woman who steers, picturesque in her pink hood-bonnet,
Wielding her strong brown arms, matronly massive and bare;
One arm clasping her babe, and the other held firm to the tiller:
She is a working wife, she is a mother indeed;
And from the cabin astern, the clear blue smoke of its incense
Breathes of a welcome within, warm as the heart of the dame.
Ah, if they only knew, that woman, and he with the horses,
How in a life like theirs all that we seek for appears!
Leisure, and quiet, and peace; a free fair union of labour,
Far from the fume and stress, far from the follies, of town:
Moving at ease each day through a land as lovely as this is—
Husband and wife and child, everywhere, always, at home!
Warms to a rosy red, caught from the westering clouds!
See how the grasses bend, and the ripples run up to the shore-line,
Dancing and dimpling along, making their curtsy to you!
Look, too, at that great barge, just rounding a curve of the river—
Silent, majestic, slow, sure of its steady advance:
9
Straining their sinewy limbs, battling and baffling the tide!
Look at the woman who steers, picturesque in her pink hood-bonnet,
Wielding her strong brown arms, matronly massive and bare;
One arm clasping her babe, and the other held firm to the tiller:
She is a working wife, she is a mother indeed;
And from the cabin astern, the clear blue smoke of its incense
Breathes of a welcome within, warm as the heart of the dame.
Ah, if they only knew, that woman, and he with the horses,
How in a life like theirs all that we seek for appears!
Leisure, and quiet, and peace; a free fair union of labour,
Far from the fume and stress, far from the follies, of town:
Moving at ease each day through a land as lovely as this is—
Husband and wife and child, everywhere, always, at home!
But we are idling here, and you have not told me your pleasure:
Shall we go up, or down? Where would you like me to land?
Shall I row on to the wood, where Launcelot weary and wounded
Lay on his wolfskin bed, nursed by the hapless Elaine?
Shall we go up to the hill, where the Druids have left us a menhir?
No—that is far too old: what are the Druids to us?
We will away with the stream, and float by the head of the mill-race
Down to the Abbey meads; there let us linger and land.
For 'tis a place of rest, which the good knight, Raoul de Calva,
Built in his far-off days, under the sheltering hills;
Built to be sacred and still, and helpful and hallow'd for ever,
Here in a valley of streams, safe from the ravage of war.
Little he dreamt of the time when the ruthless ruffianly Tudor
Working his evil will, wrought for the good of us all;
Ending what must have an end, for the soul of its beauty had vanish'd,
Passing to other forms cleanlier, simpler, and sane:
Passing indeed—but a saint would have pitied the good that was left there,
Would not have wrought like him, reckless of right and of wrong,
Who with the hook in his nose, and the unseen bridle to guide him,
Raged as a devil must rage, chain'd to the Chariot of God.
Shall we go up, or down? Where would you like me to land?
Shall I row on to the wood, where Launcelot weary and wounded
Lay on his wolfskin bed, nursed by the hapless Elaine?
Shall we go up to the hill, where the Druids have left us a menhir?
No—that is far too old: what are the Druids to us?
We will away with the stream, and float by the head of the mill-race
Down to the Abbey meads; there let us linger and land.
10
Built in his far-off days, under the sheltering hills;
Built to be sacred and still, and helpful and hallow'd for ever,
Here in a valley of streams, safe from the ravage of war.
Little he dreamt of the time when the ruthless ruffianly Tudor
Working his evil will, wrought for the good of us all;
Ending what must have an end, for the soul of its beauty had vanish'd,
Passing to other forms cleanlier, simpler, and sane:
Passing indeed—but a saint would have pitied the good that was left there,
Would not have wrought like him, reckless of right and of wrong,
Who with the hook in his nose, and the unseen bridle to guide him,
Raged as a devil must rage, chain'd to the Chariot of God.
Well, if the spirit have gone, at least we inherit the ruins;
Lovelier they than of old—touch'd by the pathos of Time;
Telling their tale, as the face of a fair and loveable woman
Tells of her own sweet life, brightest and best in decay.
So will your young face look—but I shall not live to behold it—
When in the distant years you may come hither again;
Girt with a circle of friends, and with children precious in your eyes,
Even as now, dear child, you are a treasure to mine.
Lovelier they than of old—touch'd by the pathos of Time;
Telling their tale, as the face of a fair and loveable woman
Tells of her own sweet life, brightest and best in decay.
So will your young face look—but I shall not live to behold it—
When in the distant years you may come hither again;
Girt with a circle of friends, and with children precious in your eyes,
Even as now, dear child, you are a treasure to mine.
11
HAYMAKING.
Lucy and I are afield in the glow of our Midsummer morning;Lucy and I are at ease under the hazels at noon;
Lucy and I go home long after the rose of the sunset
Darkens to purple and grey, dies in the light of the moon.
For it is haymaking time, and every one hastes to the meadows
Prompt with a helpful hand, eager at least to be there:
All our village are there, and the perfumed breath of the windrows
Blows from the rudest lips snatches of laughter and song.
See you this labouring team, that moves o'er the crest of the upland,
Down where yon snug white farm, low in the heart of the vale,
Looks toward the far-off hills and the great clouds marching above them?
These are her father's fields, these are the meadows I love.
Here, while the little ones watch, and the lads and the bonny brown lasses
Scatter the fragrant grass over each other at play,
12
Find in the work of our hands pleasures as pure as the day.
Lucy aloft on the wain, with the hay-floods rising about her,
Masters each mounting wave, spreads it and smoothes it around;
Till from her settled throne, from the level and perfected summit,
Pausing awhile to gaze timidly over the edge,
She in a trice slips down by the well-comb'd walls of the waggon
Into my arms, and I lead her at length to the farm.
Sweet is the full farmyard, for the creatures she loves are within it;
Sweet is the green little garth where she sits milking at eve;
Sweet shall the hayricks be, for Lucy will help me to make them,
Not with her strength alone, but with the charm of her eyes:
Sweeter than all is herself; a ceaseless wonderful sunlight
Dwells on her face all day, dwells on the deeps of her hair;
Shining, I think, unawares; for she is what Nature has made her,
Fresh with the freedom of youth, fearless and pure as a child.
Ah, if I win her at last, there will not be aught of deserving;
She has a treasure to give more than I dare to demand:
She will come down to my heart as a lark drops out of the heaven
Into its homely nest, low in the whispering corn.
13
FAILURE.
Thus ends the battle. We, who have survived
And have not conquer'd, nor are overcome,
But stand unbroken, only longer-lived
Than those who fighting fell—we all go home,
Sad at the losing of a noble cause,
But not dejected, for we did not yield.
In leisurely retreat, without a pause,
And prompt for action, so we leave the field,
Marching right onward for a little space
To meet ere long the kind maternal grave
That clips us once in one long last embrace—
Victors and vanquish'd: and those many brave
Who scarce are either; who have miss'd renown,
But not the serious sense of duty done,
Which is far better. Who would have a crown
Unmix'd with thorns, he shall not stand alone
Supreme above himself and other men.
And have not conquer'd, nor are overcome,
But stand unbroken, only longer-lived
Than those who fighting fell—we all go home,
Sad at the losing of a noble cause,
But not dejected, for we did not yield.
In leisurely retreat, without a pause,
And prompt for action, so we leave the field,
Marching right onward for a little space
To meet ere long the kind maternal grave
That clips us once in one long last embrace—
Victors and vanquish'd: and those many brave
Who scarce are either; who have miss'd renown,
But not the serious sense of duty done,
14
Unmix'd with thorns, he shall not stand alone
Supreme above himself and other men.
We have no music; but we have our arms,
Whose dinted steel rings sharply now and then
Severe encouragement, that sternly warms
Our souls with glimpses of some brighter day
When we shall hear the trumpet-call once more,
And meet, and form, on fields that are not grey
With gloom, nor red with slaughter, as of yore,
But lovely with immortal asphodel.
Whose dinted steel rings sharply now and then
Severe encouragement, that sternly warms
Our souls with glimpses of some brighter day
When we shall hear the trumpet-call once more,
And meet, and form, on fields that are not grey
With gloom, nor red with slaughter, as of yore,
But lovely with immortal asphodel.
Not here, not now, that trumpet-call shall sound;
Still, the smooth meads where we have leave to dwell
Are vocal too, with birds that haunt the ground
Spite of our presence; and are sweet with flowers
That bear no taint of blood upon their leaves—
And yet they fade, as we do.
Still, the smooth meads where we have leave to dwell
Are vocal too, with birds that haunt the ground
Spite of our presence; and are sweet with flowers
That bear no taint of blood upon their leaves—
And yet they fade, as we do.
Parting hours
Come not too soon, for him who fails, who grieves
At others' failure; and we part, just here.
On this fair sward, we halt and we disband;
Each man, serenely and without a tear,
Without a murmur, grasps his fellow's hand
And turns away, unshrinking and unblamed.
Why not, since failure is the meed of most,
And Death the doom of all? We are not shamed;
And better is it, that we cannot boast,
Than to have wrong to boast of. We depart
Each to his lonely dwelling; and remain
Content, though joy should never stir the heart,
Nor hope revive, nor this dull sense of pain
Forget to throb. For now, our labours cease;
And we are blessed, if we only gain
A life of quiet in a land of peace.
Come not too soon, for him who fails, who grieves
At others' failure; and we part, just here.
On this fair sward, we halt and we disband;
Each man, serenely and without a tear,
15
And turns away, unshrinking and unblamed.
Why not, since failure is the meed of most,
And Death the doom of all? We are not shamed;
And better is it, that we cannot boast,
Than to have wrong to boast of. We depart
Each to his lonely dwelling; and remain
Content, though joy should never stir the heart,
Nor hope revive, nor this dull sense of pain
Forget to throb. For now, our labours cease;
And we are blessed, if we only gain
A life of quiet in a land of peace.
16
ON THE BRIDGE.
‘Halt!’ cried the maiden, springing to her feet,
With looks as earnest, but with eyes as sweet
And gracious in their purity, as hers
Who on the field of Patay won her spurs,
And wore them nobly, as a woman may—
‘Halt! Ere you end the evils done to-day,
You must pass me; and that you shall not do
Till you unbind the man who goes with you;
That young man there, your prisoner.’
With looks as earnest, but with eyes as sweet
And gracious in their purity, as hers
Who on the field of Patay won her spurs,
And wore them nobly, as a woman may—
‘Halt! Ere you end the evils done to-day,
You must pass me; and that you shall not do
Till you unbind the man who goes with you;
That young man there, your prisoner.’
Then he,
Sir Ademar, the worthiest of those three
Who held their captive bound, stood forth, and gazed
Upon the damsel; silent, and amazed
At such an order, given with such pride,
By one who had no weapon at her side,
And was not born for fighting. His surprise
Ceased, as he quail'd before her keen pure eyes;
But yet he spoke, and spoke the more in wrath,
That she was no fierce lion in the path,
But a mere lamb, exalted and inspired
By some transcendent motive. ‘Art thou fired
With hope of death,’ he said, ‘from men like us,
That thou, a woman, darest to speak thus?
With this good sword, and in a moment's space,
I could transfix thee; but thy sex, thy face,
Atones for much, and saves thee. Let us pass,
And thou shalt be unharm'd.’
Sir Ademar, the worthiest of those three
Who held their captive bound, stood forth, and gazed
Upon the damsel; silent, and amazed
At such an order, given with such pride,
17
And was not born for fighting. His surprise
Ceased, as he quail'd before her keen pure eyes;
But yet he spoke, and spoke the more in wrath,
That she was no fierce lion in the path,
But a mere lamb, exalted and inspired
By some transcendent motive. ‘Art thou fired
With hope of death,’ he said, ‘from men like us,
That thou, a woman, darest to speak thus?
With this good sword, and in a moment's space,
I could transfix thee; but thy sex, thy face,
Atones for much, and saves thee. Let us pass,
And thou shalt be unharm'd.’
‘The living grass
Shall grow beneath my feet first!’ said the maid:
‘'Tis thou, not I, hast cause to be afraid
Of this supreme encounter. Dost thou think,
Because I am a woman, that I shrink
From aught that men may dare? I have no strife
With thee or thine; I claim but that man's life
Whom thou hast bound; for he belongs to me,
And I come here alone, to set him free.
Art thou not mine, Rinaldo?’
Shall grow beneath my feet first!’ said the maid:
‘'Tis thou, not I, hast cause to be afraid
Of this supreme encounter. Dost thou think,
Because I am a woman, that I shrink
From aught that men may dare? I have no strife
With thee or thine; I claim but that man's life
Whom thou hast bound; for he belongs to me,
And I come here alone, to set him free.
Art thou not mine, Rinaldo?’
‘Yes indeed!’
The captive cried; ‘and if I were but freed
From bands and bondage, I would make it clear
That thou and I together need not fear
Such men as these.’
18
From bands and bondage, I would make it clear
That thou and I together need not fear
Such men as these.’
‘Aha!’ she said, ‘you hear—
He knows his mate; and, by the Seraphim!
I too know mine. Wilt thou surrender him?’
He knows his mate; and, by the Seraphim!
I too know mine. Wilt thou surrender him?’
‘Surrender!’ said the knight, ‘it cannot be.
He is our prisoner; an enemy
Fairly unhorsed; he goes along with me
To suffer his deserts.’
He is our prisoner; an enemy
Fairly unhorsed; he goes along with me
To suffer his deserts.’
‘And what are they?’
The maiden answer'd; ‘I am bold to say
Before you all, that his deserts are mine:
His fate is mine; no art nor no design
Can alter that, for he and I are one:
I am his sweetheart. If his life were done,
Mine would be finish'd too. Ye men of war!
Perchance ye all are husbands: if you are,
You know that neither force nor fraud can move
The courage and the constancy of love.’
The maiden answer'd; ‘I am bold to say
Before you all, that his deserts are mine:
His fate is mine; no art nor no design
Can alter that, for he and I are one:
I am his sweetheart. If his life were done,
Mine would be finish'd too. Ye men of war!
Perchance ye all are husbands: if you are,
You know that neither force nor fraud can move
The courage and the constancy of love.’
She paused; and to Sir Ademar there came,
Spite of himself, a thrill of generous shame,
A flash of admiration, a strong sense
Of that serene superb indifference
To all but Love, that glow'd within her eyes,
And fill'd her being, seen without disguise
As in that hour of peril she stood there
So dauntless, so defiant, and so fair.
19
A flash of admiration, a strong sense
Of that serene superb indifference
To all but Love, that glow'd within her eyes,
And fill'd her being, seen without disguise
As in that hour of peril she stood there
So dauntless, so defiant, and so fair.
His courage was the courage of a foe,
Who gives and takes, and offers blow for blow,
And has the joy of battle for his fee:
But hers was touch'd with immortality.
Who gives and takes, and offers blow for blow,
And has the joy of battle for his fee:
But hers was touch'd with immortality.
Thus on the bridge they held themselves, and each
Look'd long upon the other; void of speech,
But full of strong emotion; till at length
The spirit of the man subdued his strength,
And he spoke first, but in a milder mood,
Respectful of her fearless attitude.
Look'd long upon the other; void of speech,
But full of strong emotion; till at length
The spirit of the man subdued his strength,
And he spoke first, but in a milder mood,
Respectful of her fearless attitude.
‘Truly, I have a wife,’ he said, ‘and she
To me is dear, as yonder man to thee:
But, could she do as thou art doing now?
Could she stand up, erect with open brow,
And face such men as we are? No; the deed
Would ill become her dainty delicate breed!
But thou art woman of another sort—
Not rear'd in cities, neither bred at court:
Thou art like her, beneath whose banner white
Myself have fought, and many another knight,
And seen Lord Talbot taken: ah, but she
Fought not for Love; she fought for Liberty;
And that, fair maid, is lesser of the twain.
She, whose bright honour never had a stain—
Who throughout life was just a peasant girl,
And kept herself, amid the stress and whirl
Of camps, as pure as any cloister'd nun—
She, of all women in the world, save one,
Has had my homage, and has sway'd my heart.
Yes, thou art like her: therefore, now depart;
Thy guerdon shall go with thee; even he
Who owes his love, his life, his all, to thee.’
To me is dear, as yonder man to thee:
But, could she do as thou art doing now?
Could she stand up, erect with open brow,
And face such men as we are? No; the deed
Would ill become her dainty delicate breed!
20
Not rear'd in cities, neither bred at court:
Thou art like her, beneath whose banner white
Myself have fought, and many another knight,
And seen Lord Talbot taken: ah, but she
Fought not for Love; she fought for Liberty;
And that, fair maid, is lesser of the twain.
She, whose bright honour never had a stain—
Who throughout life was just a peasant girl,
And kept herself, amid the stress and whirl
Of camps, as pure as any cloister'd nun—
She, of all women in the world, save one,
Has had my homage, and has sway'd my heart.
Yes, thou art like her: therefore, now depart;
Thy guerdon shall go with thee; even he
Who owes his love, his life, his all, to thee.’
So, melted by her prowess and her charms,
He left the lovers in each other's arms.
He left the lovers in each other's arms.
21
JUSTUM ET TENACEM.
The quiet clouds, the quiet air,
The calm that haunts us everywhere
In these broad fields, where sunlight sees
Our homely cattle at their ease;
The woods, whose leaves of golden brown
Glide noiseless, as they flutter down;
The full, smooth river, seldom stirr'd
Save from within, that flows unheard
In irresistible advance;
And, over all this fair expanse,
The steadfast hills, that silently
Stand up against a silent sky:
Are these the things for you and me
To look upon, or care to see,
Amid the tumult of a war?
Yes; for they teach us what we are,
Or what we should be: every charm
Of outward Nature, every warm
And tender passion that expands
At sight of these familiar lands,
Speaks of the duty that we owe
To what we feel and what we know.
Were it not well, to have at length
Silence, and steadfastness, and strength;
Like Nature, in her woods and hills,
To stand unscared by doubt and ills,
Or, like her rivers, move along
Ineffably serene and strong;
Tranquil in victory or defeat,
Until the day's work be complete?
The calm that haunts us everywhere
In these broad fields, where sunlight sees
Our homely cattle at their ease;
The woods, whose leaves of golden brown
Glide noiseless, as they flutter down;
The full, smooth river, seldom stirr'd
Save from within, that flows unheard
In irresistible advance;
And, over all this fair expanse,
The steadfast hills, that silently
Stand up against a silent sky:
Are these the things for you and me
To look upon, or care to see,
Amid the tumult of a war?
22
Or what we should be: every charm
Of outward Nature, every warm
And tender passion that expands
At sight of these familiar lands,
Speaks of the duty that we owe
To what we feel and what we know.
Were it not well, to have at length
Silence, and steadfastness, and strength;
Like Nature, in her woods and hills,
To stand unscared by doubt and ills,
Or, like her rivers, move along
Ineffably serene and strong;
Tranquil in victory or defeat,
Until the day's work be complete?
Fools may make merry o'er our loss,
And even the wise may reel across
That line, so often tinged with blood
Which parts the evil from the good
But we, a nation such as we,
United, and resolved to see
A Present worthy of our Past,
We through each startling thunder blast
May still in confidence abide,
Untouch'd by petulance or pride,
Till happier years shall make it plain
That we, too, have not wrought in vain.
And even the wise may reel across
That line, so often tinged with blood
Which parts the evil from the good
But we, a nation such as we,
United, and resolved to see
A Present worthy of our Past,
23
May still in confidence abide,
Untouch'd by petulance or pride,
Till happier years shall make it plain
That we, too, have not wrought in vain.
24
IN RETIREMENT.
And so you are settled for ever?
And so you are happy at home?
You will never abandon us—never—
Nor leave us, to ramble and roam?
And so you are happy at home?
You will never abandon us—never—
Nor leave us, to ramble and roam?
That is well; for we wish to be quiet,
We want to be sober and still;
We have done with our racket and riot,
We have wrought long enough at the mill:
We want to be sober and still;
We have done with our racket and riot,
We have wrought long enough at the mill:
The treadmill of profit and pleasure,
The merry-go-round of applause,
That leaves you no heart and no leisure
For anything better than straws:
The merry-go-round of applause,
That leaves you no heart and no leisure
For anything better than straws:
25
Straws, that dazzle our eyes as we watch them,
So brisk and so bright is their play;
But ere we have managed to catch them,
A wind comes and whisks them away.
So brisk and so bright is their play;
But ere we have managed to catch them,
A wind comes and whisks them away.
There's the straw of a keen politician,
Still tickling the popular ear;
There's the straw of a soldier's ambition—
A good one, but often too dear;
Still tickling the popular ear;
There's the straw of a soldier's ambition—
A good one, but often too dear;
There's the straw of the popular poet,
The popular teller of tales;
The popular cheat, who can go it
In England, and also in Wales;
The popular teller of tales;
The popular cheat, who can go it
In England, and also in Wales;
There's the straw of the saint or the sinner;
It matters not which—not a straw!
For we only ask who is the winner,
And what is the thing that will draw?
It matters not which—not a straw!
For we only ask who is the winner,
And what is the thing that will draw?
Ah, and we had our part in the struggle;
We know all about it, my dear!
We too have been tempted to juggle,
And barter our souls for a cheer;
We know all about it, my dear!
We too have been tempted to juggle,
And barter our souls for a cheer;
26
But we won't; we resist the temptation;
We only ask leisure to live:
We know of a better salvation
Than popular methods can give;
We only ask leisure to live:
We know of a better salvation
Than popular methods can give;
We know that the homeliest duty,
The simplest and lowliest peace,
Can be touch'd with a grace and a beauty
Which nothing on earth could increase;
The simplest and lowliest peace,
Can be touch'd with a grace and a beauty
Which nothing on earth could increase;
We know that the life we are seeking
Is nourish'd and fed from above,
And not from the ground that is reeking
And red with the heart's blood of Love.
Is nourish'd and fed from above,
And not from the ground that is reeking
And red with the heart's blood of Love.
27
FEBRUARY FILLDYKE.
Though the mist is all over our valley,
And floods cut us off from the town,
You and I, with our Mary and Sally,
Are not for a moment cast down:
And floods cut us off from the town,
You and I, with our Mary and Sally,
Are not for a moment cast down:
We know that the sun is above us,
We know that the sky is still blue;
We know that the women who love us
Are here—and have plenty to do!
We know that the sky is still blue;
We know that the women who love us
Are here—and have plenty to do!
For surely no better enjoyment
A husband or wife could desire,
Than to have just so much of employment
As home and its blessings require.
A husband or wife could desire,
Than to have just so much of employment
As home and its blessings require.
28
And as for the country about us,
So silent, so sleepy, so grey,
It is beautiful, with or without us
Who add to its beauty to-day.
So silent, so sleepy, so grey,
It is beautiful, with or without us
Who add to its beauty to-day.
Yes, we add very much to its beauty;
For all the dim landscape is warm
With the love and the hope and the duty
That live in this one little farm.
For all the dim landscape is warm
With the love and the hope and the duty
That live in this one little farm.
So what will it be in the summer,
Or even ere that, in the spring,
When Mary expects a newcomer
To play with her bright wedding ring?
Or even ere that, in the spring,
When Mary expects a newcomer
To play with her bright wedding ring?
Yet, while Nature is lonely and idle,
And sombre and dreary and wan,
There is nothing in her that can bridle
The masterful spirit of Man:
And sombre and dreary and wan,
There is nothing in her that can bridle
The masterful spirit of Man:
His place in her vast panorama,
His share in her queenly renown,
His part in her wonderful drama,
Is greater, just then, than her own;
His share in her queenly renown,
His part in her wonderful drama,
Is greater, just then, than her own;
29
He can rule her and guide her and keep her,
And set her her work for the year;
His insight is wider and deeper
Than hers, in her early career:
And set her her work for the year;
His insight is wider and deeper
Than hers, in her early career:
But when she comes forth in her glory,
The life and the leafage of June—
When the birds are all singing her story,
And every sweet sound is in tune;
The life and the leafage of June—
When the birds are all singing her story,
And every sweet sound is in tune;
Oh, then he must cease to be master,
And work with his hands like a slave,
Though he knows that his work will outlast her,
And she will go first to the grave.
And work with his hands like a slave,
Though he knows that his work will outlast her,
And she will go first to the grave.
Meanwhile, we are happy together,
Alone with each other once more;
And the mists and the floods and the weather
Are nothing at all to us four!
Alone with each other once more;
And the mists and the floods and the weather
Are nothing at all to us four!
30
TRIED AND TRUE.
Oh fairer than Fame is our fashion,
And better than birth is our breed;
We are proud as a prince of our passion,
And cling like a clerk to our creed!
And better than birth is our breed;
We are proud as a prince of our passion,
And cling like a clerk to our creed!
You and I, tried by trouble together,
Can face it and grace it and win:
Through the wildest of winterly weather
We still can have summer within;
Can face it and grace it and win:
Through the wildest of winterly weather
We still can have summer within;
Whatever affliction abides us,
It will not uncouple us two;
Even Death cannot wholly divide us—
We shall still have each other in view:
It will not uncouple us two;
Even Death cannot wholly divide us—
We shall still have each other in view:
31
We are one, in the flesh and the spirit:
One method, one motive, one aim
Is there, to support and to stir it,
And keep it for ever the same.
One method, one motive, one aim
Is there, to support and to stir it,
And keep it for ever the same.
Though tempests and torrents are swelling,
And darkness sinks down on the lea,
We always have light in our dwelling
As fair as the sunshine could be;
And darkness sinks down on the lea,
We always have light in our dwelling
As fair as the sunshine could be;
A light that shows everything clearly,
Around us, within us, above:
And well may we cherish it dearly,
For that light in our dwelling is Love.
Around us, within us, above:
And well may we cherish it dearly,
For that light in our dwelling is Love.
32
DUX FŒMINA FACTI.
Soft and supple, slight and slender,
Sliding leisurely through life;
Trim and toylike in her splendour—
She is one sort of a wife!
Sliding leisurely through life;
Trim and toylike in her splendour—
She is one sort of a wife!
Pretty, and precise, and piquante—
Faultless manner, faultless mien—
Most can worship her; but we can't:
We adore a statelier queen.
Faultless manner, faultless mien—
Most can worship her; but we can't:
We adore a statelier queen.
One whose brain, robust and healthy,
Holds within its graceful girth
Something richer than the wealthy,
Something more divine than birth:
Holds within its graceful girth
Something richer than the wealthy,
Something more divine than birth:
33
Holds a spirit alive with vigour,
Active and alert as flame;
Strong, heroic, like her figure,
Firmly moulded, like her frame;
Active and alert as flame;
Strong, heroic, like her figure,
Firmly moulded, like her frame;
One whose stout heart clings for ever
To the husband of her youth;
Helping him in all endeavour
After knowledge, after truth;
To the husband of her youth;
Helping him in all endeavour
After knowledge, after truth;
In distress, in toil, in sorrow,
Prompt and fearless, true and tried:
Yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,
She is always at his side.
Prompt and fearless, true and tried:
Yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,
She is always at his side.
Not to her are given by measure
Gifts and glory from above;
Not to him is any treasure
Half so precious as her love.
Gifts and glory from above;
Not to him is any treasure
Half so precious as her love.
34
HOC ERAT IN VOTIS.
Like as Eve was brought to Adam
So my love was brought to me:
She was neither Miss nor Madam;
She was only Dorothy.
So my love was brought to me:
She was neither Miss nor Madam;
She was only Dorothy.
And the great world thought not of her—
Such a silent serious maid,
Who had never had a lover,
And knew nothing of the trade!
Such a silent serious maid,
Who had never had a lover,
And knew nothing of the trade!
Yet, when once she saw before her
Just the man she wish'd to love—
Though he came not to adore her,
But to lead her and to prove—
Just the man she wish'd to love—
Though he came not to adore her,
But to lead her and to prove—
35
Then, she knew as well as he did,
While her heart began to stir,
That his love was all she needed,
And that he was born for her.
While her heart began to stir,
That his love was all she needed,
And that he was born for her.
36
SPEECH AND SILENCE.
In the fresh and fragrant morning,
In the gay and golden noon,
In the glory of the sunset,
When a mild and mellow moon
In the gay and golden noon,
In the glory of the sunset,
When a mild and mellow moon
Rises fair above the ocean,
Sends a soft and shimmering light
O'er the waves that slowly darken
Into twilight, into night;
Sends a soft and shimmering light
O'er the waves that slowly darken
Into twilight, into night;
In the music of the waters,
Of the breezes, of the birds,
There is surely something better
Than the sweetest, daintiest words!
Of the breezes, of the birds,
There is surely something better
Than the sweetest, daintiest words!
37
No! For these are merely Nature;
Soulless Nature, soulless Earth:
None indeed who see or hear them
Doubt their beauty and their worth;
Soulless Nature, soulless Earth:
None indeed who see or hear them
Doubt their beauty and their worth;
Still, they all are only symbols;
Every one is but a sign
Pointing through the nobler senses
Towards some vision more divine.
Every one is but a sign
Pointing through the nobler senses
Towards some vision more divine.
It is Speech, that shows us greater
Than the things we see around:
Speech, the utterance of a spirit
Melted into moulds of sound;
Than the things we see around:
Speech, the utterance of a spirit
Melted into moulds of sound;
Speech, whereby of all the creatures
We alone have leave to tell
Something of the soul within us
To the souls with whom we dwell.
We alone have leave to tell
Something of the soul within us
To the souls with whom we dwell.
Ah, but who will give us voices
Fit for all our souls could say?
Who can pour the human spirit
Fully into shapes of clay?
Fit for all our souls could say?
Who can pour the human spirit
Fully into shapes of clay?
38
Not the preacher, not the poet,
Not the fluent nor the wise;
Not the lips of lovers, aided
By the looks of lovers' eyes.
Not the fluent nor the wise;
Not the lips of lovers, aided
By the looks of lovers' eyes.
But within the starry heavens,
Always moving, always still,
And among our quiet pastures,
And upon each lonely hill,
Always moving, always still,
And among our quiet pastures,
And upon each lonely hill,
And on every lake and river
Gliding noiseless to the sea,
Something more than speech, and fuller,
Stands reveal'd to you and me.
Gliding noiseless to the sea,
Something more than speech, and fuller,
Stands reveal'd to you and me.
'Tis the sacred realm of Silence:
Silence is the womb of thought;
There our happiest words are fashion'd,
There our holiest deeds are wrought.
Silence is the womb of thought;
There our happiest words are fashion'd,
There our holiest deeds are wrought.
Silence is the soul's dominion,
Uncontrollable and vast;
Still prolific, overflowing
With the Future and the Past.
Uncontrollable and vast;
Still prolific, overflowing
With the Future and the Past.
39
Silent are the worlds above us;
Silent is the churchyard sod;
Silent ever are our footfalls
On the paths that lead to God.
Silent is the churchyard sod;
Silent ever are our footfalls
On the paths that lead to God.
40
FONS BANDUSIÆ.
Inscription for a Spring.
Pure Water, the emblem of Life,Has been chosen and blest from above:
Pure Woman, the maid and the wife,
Is the source and the fountain of Love:
Pure thought, in the depths of the mind,
Rises cool and refreshing and clear.
May you have all these blessings combined!
One, at least, is awaiting you here.
41
FROISSART.
Farewell, old friend and comrade, sweet Sir John!Far from our hideous homes and vulgar ways
Thy stories of the Past have led us on
To the warm heart of English Chaucer's days—
Days once as stormy and as wild as ours:
But never shall the Present that we see,
Though drawn far off, to any future hours
Seem fair as that which England owes to thee.
42
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE.
A strong, calm, steadfast, single-hearted soul,
Sincere as Truth, and tender like a maid,
He lived as one whom nothing could persuade
From reticence and manly self-control.
Insight, and humour, and the rhythmic roll
Of antique lore, his fertile fancies sway'd,
And with their various eloquence array'd
His sterling English, pure and clean and whole.
Sincere as Truth, and tender like a maid,
He lived as one whom nothing could persuade
From reticence and manly self-control.
Insight, and humour, and the rhythmic roll
Of antique lore, his fertile fancies sway'd,
And with their various eloquence array'd
His sterling English, pure and clean and whole.
Fair Nature mourns him now, as well she may
So apt a pupil and so close a friend;
But what of us, who through his lifelong day
Knew him at home, and loved him to the end?
One thing we know: that Love's transcendent name
Is link'd with his, and with his honour'd fame.
So apt a pupil and so close a friend;
But what of us, who through his lifelong day
Knew him at home, and loved him to the end?
One thing we know: that Love's transcendent name
Is link'd with his, and with his honour'd fame.
43
SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS.
She whose young heart is set on finery
And such fantastic fashionable toys
As keep a woman from her proper joys
And mar the bloom of serious modesty:
She shall have naught but ridicule from me
And strong contempt; for her fond life destroys
The seemliness of girlhood, and annoys
With taints of ill, its frank integrity.
And such fantastic fashionable toys
As keep a woman from her proper joys
And mar the bloom of serious modesty:
She shall have naught but ridicule from me
And strong contempt; for her fond life destroys
The seemliness of girlhood, and annoys
With taints of ill, its frank integrity.
Ah, the true maiden needs no better grace,
No sweeter charm, no higher dignity,
Than the meek beauty of an innocent face,
And gentleness, the crown of courtesy:
She who has these, will choose the simplest wear,
And be in that, most queenly and most fair.
No sweeter charm, no higher dignity,
Than the meek beauty of an innocent face,
And gentleness, the crown of courtesy:
She who has these, will choose the simplest wear,
And be in that, most queenly and most fair.
44
TO HER.
From me thou shalt not have one word of blame:
I own thy love, thy life, thy heart, thy soul;
I chose thee for thyself; I claim thee whole,
Since first the rosy light of Love's pure flame
Led me to woo and win thee for my dame,
Finding in thee the limit and the goal
Of all desire. Yet now the tempests roll
About me, of thy sorrow and thy shame.
I own thy love, thy life, thy heart, thy soul;
I chose thee for thyself; I claim thee whole,
Since first the rosy light of Love's pure flame
Led me to woo and win thee for my dame,
Finding in thee the limit and the goal
Of all desire. Yet now the tempests roll
About me, of thy sorrow and thy shame.
Mine be thy shame, my darling, mine thy woe!
Since thou hast suffer'd and hast bravely borne
Too much, too long: and, could I have it so,
Not all the sweetest airs of summer morn
Would bring fit recompense to thee and me
Of joys that should have been, and still might be.
Since thou hast suffer'd and hast bravely borne
Too much, too long: and, could I have it so,
Not all the sweetest airs of summer morn
Would bring fit recompense to thee and me
Of joys that should have been, and still might be.
45
COUNTERCHANGE.
She who is mine, and whom I hold not nowAs other than myself, so large a vow
Was on me, when the treasure of her charms
At length had yielded to my suppliant arms,
And that which seem'd a vision half divine—
She who is mine—
Had own'd itself a woman, and for me:
In that fair added soul, my soul can see
How Love, Truth, Purity, are only She—
She who is mine.
46
TWO HANDS.
I.
This is her hand, her cool and fragrant hand:
Long lissome fingers, soft as the south wind;
A roseleaf palm, which Love's own kiss would find
Sweet as the rose; and many a thin blue strand
Vein'd in the white, our homage to command.
All grace of form and colour has combined
To give us this fair index of a mind
Pure as her hands, and not less nobly plann'd.
Long lissome fingers, soft as the south wind;
A roseleaf palm, which Love's own kiss would find
Sweet as the rose; and many a thin blue strand
Vein'd in the white, our homage to command.
All grace of form and colour has combined
To give us this fair index of a mind
Pure as her hands, and not less nobly plann'd.
Ah, tender toys, so slight, so flexible!
Can they too share the strenuous work of life,
And help their owner to do long and well
The duties of a woman and a wife;
Or, may they brook no labour more severe
Than just to charm the eye and soothe the ear?
Can they too share the strenuous work of life,
And help their owner to do long and well
The duties of a woman and a wife;
47
Than just to charm the eye and soothe the ear?
II.
This is her hand, her large and rugged hand:
Strong nervous fingers, stiff with homely toil,
Yet capable; for labour cannot spoil
Their native vigour, nor their swift command
Of household tools, indoors or on the land.
What if rough work must harden and must soil
Her massive palms? They are but as a foil
To that sweet face which all can understand.
Strong nervous fingers, stiff with homely toil,
Yet capable; for labour cannot spoil
Their native vigour, nor their swift command
Of household tools, indoors or on the land.
What if rough work must harden and must soil
Her massive palms? They are but as a foil
To that sweet face which all can understand.
Yes, all enjoy the beauty of her face;
But few perceive the pathos and the power
Of those broad hands, or feel that inner grace
Of which they are the symbol and the flower:
The grace of lowly help; of duty done
Unselfishly, for all—for anyone.
But few perceive the pathos and the power
Of those broad hands, or feel that inner grace
Of which they are the symbol and the flower:
The grace of lowly help; of duty done
Unselfishly, for all—for anyone.
48
VARIUM ET MUTABILE.
She whom I loved, who loves me now no more,
Hath two conflicting natures in her soul:
And one of these she gave me; gave it whole,
And with an innocent emphasis did pour
That self of hers, full-brimm'd and running o'er,
Into the heart I offer'd her—a bowl
Homely perhaps, yet neither slight nor foul,
And apt to hold the treasure that it bore.
Hath two conflicting natures in her soul:
And one of these she gave me; gave it whole,
And with an innocent emphasis did pour
That self of hers, full-brimm'd and running o'er,
Into the heart I offer'd her—a bowl
Homely perhaps, yet neither slight nor foul,
And apt to hold the treasure that it bore.
But then, her other self arose and cried
Against my gift, against her plenitude
Of sweet acceptance; and in alter'd mood
Sudden she flung that lifted bowl aside:
So, all the love therein, both hers and mine,
Lies on the sand, blood-red like wasted wine.
Against my gift, against her plenitude
Of sweet acceptance; and in alter'd mood
Sudden she flung that lifted bowl aside:
So, all the love therein, both hers and mine,
Lies on the sand, blood-red like wasted wine.
49
ALITER VISUM.
Ah no, she said, you cannot kiss me now:
Once, had you will'd it, had you said the word,
You might have been my lover and my lord—
My husband; but that unregarded vow
Went to another. I can scarce tell how
I made it; how my nature could afford
To let me utter of my own accord
What neither love nor reason did allow.
Once, had you will'd it, had you said the word,
You might have been my lover and my lord—
My husband; but that unregarded vow
Went to another. I can scarce tell how
I made it; how my nature could afford
To let me utter of my own accord
What neither love nor reason did allow.
Here is the ring, upon my wedded hand:
You should have put it there! It is not Fate,
It is not aught beyond your own command,
That forces me to say, You are too late!
No, 'tis yourself: you threw away your life
In losing me, who was your destined wife.
You should have put it there! It is not Fate,
It is not aught beyond your own command,
That forces me to say, You are too late!
No, 'tis yourself: you threw away your life
In losing me, who was your destined wife.
50
SUSPENSE.
No, not to-day; to-morrow is the time:
To-morrow, when the hovering larks arise
And tell it out into their sunny skies
That Morn has come; Morn with her glittering rime,
Her open flowers, and that spontaneous chime
Of bees and birds and breezes, that supplies,
More than aught else, to heart and ear and eyes
The passion and the power of Love's sweet prime.
To-morrow, when the hovering larks arise
And tell it out into their sunny skies
That Morn has come; Morn with her glittering rime,
Her open flowers, and that spontaneous chime
Of bees and birds and breezes, that supplies,
More than aught else, to heart and ear and eyes
The passion and the power of Love's sweet prime.
Then, you may speak and I will answer you:
After a night of watching and of prayer
Perchance we shall be guided what to do,
By that ethereal presence. Oh, the air
Will then be full of utterance from on high,
And we shall know its meaning, you and I.
After a night of watching and of prayer
Perchance we shall be guided what to do,
By that ethereal presence. Oh, the air
Will then be full of utterance from on high,
And we shall know its meaning, you and I.
51
ON IN MEMORIAM.
Not less but more, as year succeeds to year
And change to change, and each departing day
Sees some fair love or friendship pass away,
We prize this mournful verse, and hold it dear:
For its elect and consecrated sphere
With such a music of its own can sway
The soul of Sorrow, that she must obey
The God of Love, and not the fiends of fear.
And change to change, and each departing day
Sees some fair love or friendship pass away,
We prize this mournful verse, and hold it dear:
For its elect and consecrated sphere
With such a music of its own can sway
The soul of Sorrow, that she must obey
The God of Love, and not the fiends of fear.
Himself has gone, whose timely poem true
Controll'd our youth; but we, who next depart,
Have long since learnt his tender lines by heart,
And found them ever helpful, ever new.
His grief is ours; for he alone could tell
What all may feel, but none express so well.
Controll'd our youth; but we, who next depart,
Have long since learnt his tender lines by heart,
And found them ever helpful, ever new.
His grief is ours; for he alone could tell
What all may feel, but none express so well.
52
MARRIAGE.
Thou art my own, my darling and my wife;And when we pass into another Life,
Still thou art mine. All this which now we see
Is but the childhood of Eternity;
And thou and I, through trials and through tears,
The joys and sorrows of our earthly years,
Are growing up into a single soul,
God's workmanship; a clear completed whole
Made out of twain. Our love is but begun:
For ever and for ever, we are one.
53
JANE STUART-WORTLEY.
A world of noble effort—noble aimsSeen clearly, wisely follow'd, well achieved,—
Such was her life; and over all its aims
And all its efforts, the sweet sovereign grace
Of lofty Womanhood presided still,
And kept her subjects loyal: for indeed
All were her subjects; and she ruled by love.
She ruled by love; though such an intellect—
Strong as a man's, yet feminine and fair—
Might well have claim'd allegiance; and it did:
It claim'd it, but it claim'd it through her heart.
That was her secret, that was her success;
And those poor women of the villagers
Whose wreath, the only wreath she cared to have,
54
Why they had loved her. What had they to do
With her high lineage, with the social power
Welcomed so widely, and revered so long?
Or what to them the thousand memories
Of a great past, which she alone could tell
And tell so vividly? Such glowing traits
Of her majestic presence are withdrawn,
Alas, for ever; yet, they were but traits,
And she herself shall never be withdrawn:
She lives, so long as England has a name
For Woman's virtues, or for Woman's fame.
55
SOLUS CUM SOLÂ.
You cannot tell how good she is,
How gracious, and how fair,
By merely looking on her face
And all the beauty there.
How gracious, and how fair,
By merely looking on her face
And all the beauty there.
You know not how her lips would speak
To others, or to you;
You only know that all she says
Is certain to be true.
To others, or to you;
You only know that all she says
Is certain to be true.
And if she grant you through her eyes
A peep into her soul,
'Tis but a slight and partial glimpse;
You never see the whole.
A peep into her soul,
'Tis but a slight and partial glimpse;
You never see the whole.
56
No! You must win her constant heart,
And keep it in your own,
Ere you can learn that what she is
She is for one alone.
And keep it in your own,
Ere you can learn that what she is
She is for one alone.
And that, my friend, you will not do:
A Providence divine
Has found and fashion'd her for me,
And she is wholly mine.
A Providence divine
Has found and fashion'd her for me,
And she is wholly mine.
57
OESCHENEN.
You should have stay'd, and stay'd alone,
Beneath those shadows of the pines,
Until the golden day was done:
Then, that lone lake looks up, and shines
With such a smile as might express
The best of human happiness.
Beneath those shadows of the pines,
Until the golden day was done:
Then, that lone lake looks up, and shines
With such a smile as might express
The best of human happiness.
No foot is near; a marmot's cry
Strikes the deep silence deeper still;
And those great mountain-walls on high
Are dark with various glooms, that fill
The dusky vale. Whence comes it, then,
The glow that burns on Oeschenen?
Strikes the deep silence deeper still;
And those great mountain-walls on high
Are dark with various glooms, that fill
The dusky vale. Whence comes it, then,
The glow that burns on Oeschenen?
58
Ah, look yet higher, toward the East!
Yon white Alp in the far blue sky
Bares to the sun her virgin breast
That he may kiss her ere he die;
Then, blushes through her trackless snows
One pure illimitable rose.
Yon white Alp in the far blue sky
Bares to the sun her virgin breast
That he may kiss her ere he die;
Then, blushes through her trackless snows
One pure illimitable rose.
59
WHEN AUTUMN RETURNS.
Summer, as rich in shadows as in suns,
Spreads her thick foliage thicker every day;
She is most bounteous; her free spirit shuns
To give and take away.
Spreads her thick foliage thicker every day;
She is most bounteous; her free spirit shuns
To give and take away.
But thou, grave Autumn, dealest otherwise:
Creating noble colour, and withal
Rifling the woods that bear it, till our eyes
Can penetrate them all.
Creating noble colour, and withal
Rifling the woods that bear it, till our eyes
Can penetrate them all.
And then, what hidden wonders do we see!
What half-forgotten glimpses of our past,
Veil'd since the Spring, through each dismantled tree
Peer out again at last!
What half-forgotten glimpses of our past,
Veil'd since the Spring, through each dismantled tree
Peer out again at last!
60
But, not the baring of the summer trees,
Nor dying down of tall obstructive flowers,
Nor poise of mists above the yellow leas,
Nor glow of sunset hours,—
Nor dying down of tall obstructive flowers,
Nor poise of mists above the yellow leas,
Nor glow of sunset hours,—
Not all that thou canst do or we can dream,
Wins for our purblind souls this one poor bliss—
To see beyond and through the things that seem,
To that which only Is.
Wins for our purblind souls this one poor bliss—
To see beyond and through the things that seem,
To that which only Is.
61
OUR MARY.
She laid her hard and rugged hand in mine,
Trembling, and most reluctant; for she thought
That the mere touch of such a hand as hers
Would shock me by its contrast to my own.
Trembling, and most reluctant; for she thought
That the mere touch of such a hand as hers
Would shock me by its contrast to my own.
She little knew how much I reverenced her
Even for her hands: rude implements of toil,
Rude symbols of a station and a life
So far removed from mine: and yet, to me
They were more noble, more significant,
Than the smooth fingers and fastidious palms
Of those who live at ease. She was not made
For the fine uses of society:
Born in the country, in the country bred,
Inured to labours of the house and farm,
She had grown up, rough clad and plainly fed
But with substantial fare, to such a height
And strength of service, as became her birth
And suited all her powers; and those rough hands
And large laborious arms, bare all day long,
Proclaim'd her worth, and proved her character.
Even for her hands: rude implements of toil,
Rude symbols of a station and a life
So far removed from mine: and yet, to me
They were more noble, more significant,
Than the smooth fingers and fastidious palms
Of those who live at ease. She was not made
For the fine uses of society:
Born in the country, in the country bred,
Inured to labours of the house and farm,
62
But with substantial fare, to such a height
And strength of service, as became her birth
And suited all her powers; and those rough hands
And large laborious arms, bare all day long,
Proclaim'd her worth, and proved her character.
She was not spoilt, degraded, nor defiled,
By such a lot—the only lot in life
That she had ever known: Behold her face—
The simple beauty of her clear bright eyes,
The bloom of ruddy cheeks, the innocent mouth
Not form'd for talk, yet when it does discourse,
The rustic speech comes mellow'd by a voice
Sweet as the soft red lips that utter it
And smile with pleasure when I speak to her.
By such a lot—the only lot in life
That she had ever known: Behold her face—
The simple beauty of her clear bright eyes,
The bloom of ruddy cheeks, the innocent mouth
Not form'd for talk, yet when it does discourse,
The rustic speech comes mellow'd by a voice
Sweet as the soft red lips that utter it
And smile with pleasure when I speak to her.
For now, she has a sweetheart like herself,
And he has woo'd and won her; and the hand
That never wore a glove, nor ever knew
The luxury of jewels, can display
His sacred pledge, a golden wedding ring;
Her first, her best, her only ornament.
And he has woo'd and won her; and the hand
That never wore a glove, nor ever knew
The luxury of jewels, can display
His sacred pledge, a golden wedding ring;
Her first, her best, her only ornament.
Ah, future matron, parent of brave sons
And comely daughters! Shall we not confess
That thou, with healthful frame and helpful heart,
Art worthy as the best of us—and more,
Far more, of value to a nation's life
Than the slight folk of cities?
And comely daughters! Shall we not confess
That thou, with healthful frame and helpful heart,
63
Far more, of value to a nation's life
Than the slight folk of cities?
Be assured
That what a woman wants, is womanhood:
Strength of the body, vigour of the soul,
To be a wife and mother; for indeed
It is the mother that must make the man.
That what a woman wants, is womanhood:
Strength of the body, vigour of the soul,
To be a wife and mother; for indeed
It is the mother that must make the man.
64
THE MILKWOMAN.
She was tall and strong, and she walk'd along
With a firm substantial tread,
Like one who knows that wherever she goes
She is earning her daily bread.
With a firm substantial tread,
Like one who knows that wherever she goes
She is earning her daily bread.
Her frock was print, and there was not a hint
In the whole of her simple dress
Of that milliner's touch which adds so much
To a lady's comeliness.
In the whole of her simple dress
Of that milliner's touch which adds so much
To a lady's comeliness.
Yet she is aware that her face is fair;
But she also understands
That the best of her charms are her stout red arms
And her strong hard-working hands.
But she also understands
That the best of her charms are her stout red arms
And her strong hard-working hands.
65
‘It's them,’ says she, ‘as has work'd for me
Wherever my work have been;
And as for my face, why it's no disgrace,
For I reckon it's always clean.
Wherever my work have been;
And as for my face, why it's no disgrace,
For I reckon it's always clean.
‘Well, there's Jack, I know, as bothers me so—
But what do I care for him?
I'll ha' nothing to say to a lad that's gay,
So long as I've life and limb.
But what do I care for him?
I'll ha' nothing to say to a lad that's gay,
So long as I've life and limb.
‘Such chaps may do for a wench like you,
As is fond of a easy life;
But if I get a man, I shall do what I can
For to make him a working wife.’
As is fond of a easy life;
But if I get a man, I shall do what I can
For to make him a working wife.’
She smiled as she spoke, and she settled her yoke
On the back of her shoulders broad;
And she stoop'd to her pails by the area rails
And harness'd herself to her load.
On the back of her shoulders broad;
And she stoop'd to her pails by the area rails
And harness'd herself to her load.
Then she went on her beat through the bustling street
With a step like a martial man's;
A step that suits her iron-shod boots
And the weight of her clanking cans.
With a step like a martial man's;
A step that suits her iron-shod boots
And the weight of her clanking cans.
66
For her cans and she have the bulk of three;
And deftly as she may steer,
'Tis the silent might of her strength and her height
That keeps the footway clear.
And deftly as she may steer,
'Tis the silent might of her strength and her height
That keeps the footway clear.
There were many who eyed her stately stride,
As she moved through the yielding crowd
With her hands on her hips, and a smile on her lips,
And a look both calm and proud:
As she moved through the yielding crowd
With her hands on her hips, and a smile on her lips,
And a look both calm and proud:
But none, or few, of those gazers knew
The worth of her humble trade;
And beauty alone may never atone
For the lot of a milkman's maid.
The worth of her humble trade;
And beauty alone may never atone
For the lot of a milkman's maid.
They could not see, what was clear to me,
That the loftiest lady there
Might envy the part in Dame Nature's heart
That is own'd by Kitty Clare.
That the loftiest lady there
Might envy the part in Dame Nature's heart
That is own'd by Kitty Clare.
67
LAVATRICE.
She is at the wash-tub,
Busy as a bee,
Washing of her household things
In a soapy sea;
Busy as a bee,
Washing of her household things
In a soapy sea;
Scrubbing them and pounding them,
Wringing them aloft—
Till her wet and homely hands
Now at least are soft;
Wringing them aloft—
Till her wet and homely hands
Now at least are soft;
Till the linen flutters
Out in open air,
Pleasant to her gazing eyes—
For she hung it there.
Out in open air,
Pleasant to her gazing eyes—
For she hung it there.
68
She, with arms so sinewy,
And with wrists so strong,
Always knows the thing to do—
Never does it wrong!
And with wrists so strong,
Always knows the thing to do—
Never does it wrong!
Hers are not a lady's hands,
Nor a lady's arms;
She has but a peasant's skill,
And a peasant's charms:
Nor a lady's arms;
She has but a peasant's skill,
And a peasant's charms:
But the stains of labour
And the taint of toil
Touch with pathos everywhere
What they seem to spoil;
And the taint of toil
Touch with pathos everywhere
What they seem to spoil;
And there is a beauty
More than rank confers,
More than symmetry can give,
In such arms as hers.
More than rank confers,
More than symmetry can give,
In such arms as hers.
How the snowy foamflakes
Kiss her ruddy skin!
How they weave their lacework
O'er the arm within!
Kiss her ruddy skin!
How they weave their lacework
O'er the arm within!
69
Is not such a contrast
More impressive far
Than the flash of jewels
Where no duties are,
More impressive far
Than the flash of jewels
Where no duties are,
Where among the ladies
In their halls of light,
'Tis the rubies that are red,
And the arms are white?
In their halls of light,
'Tis the rubies that are red,
And the arms are white?
She at least would think so,
If she ever knew
What the gentlefolks approve,
What the ladies do.
If she ever knew
What the gentlefolks approve,
What the ladies do.
Ah, and someone else, too,
By her cottage fire,
Wonders how those busy arms
Never seem to tire!
By her cottage fire,
Wonders how those busy arms
Never seem to tire!
Tis the man she works for,
'Tis the man she loves;
He whose ring is part of her
Like the turtle-dove's;
'Tis the man she loves;
He whose ring is part of her
Like the turtle-dove's;
70
He who sees her labour
And her lowly life
In the glow of loving hearts:
For she is his wife.
And her lowly life
In the glow of loving hearts:
For she is his wife.
71
LADY AND SERVANT.
Hannah, with her coarse clean apron,
With her rough bare arms and hands,
Coming up into the parlour
To receive your high commands;
In her homely frock of cotton,
In the cap that servants wear—
Spacious cap of simple muslin,
Hiding all her soft brown hair;
So she meekly stands before you,
Whilst you tell her what to do;
Curtsying low when you dismiss her:
Hannah is the maid for you!
With her rough bare arms and hands,
Coming up into the parlour
To receive your high commands;
In her homely frock of cotton,
In the cap that servants wear—
Spacious cap of simple muslin,
Hiding all her soft brown hair;
So she meekly stands before you,
Whilst you tell her what to do;
Curtsying low when you dismiss her:
Hannah is the maid for you!
72
She is tall, robust, and comely;
Full of vigour, full of power;
Strong to lift and heave and carry,
Strong to sweep and scrub and scour:
Nothing in her humble calling
Comes amiss to one like her—
Born to be a strenuous servant
And a silent labourer.
Full of vigour, full of power;
Strong to lift and heave and carry,
Strong to sweep and scrub and scour:
Nothing in her humble calling
Comes amiss to one like her—
Born to be a strenuous servant
And a silent labourer.
Yes; for each well-order'd kitchen
Is a sternly silent one:
Those who labour, stay their talking
Till the task they do is done.
Blacking boots or washing dishes,
Cleaning knives or grates or stairs—
She who does such work, must do it
Silent as the Fates do theirs.
Is a sternly silent one:
Those who labour, stay their talking
Till the task they do is done.
Blacking boots or washing dishes,
Cleaning knives or grates or stairs—
She who does such work, must do it
Silent as the Fates do theirs.
Thus, she has no conversation—
Not a single word to say,
Save an answer to your questions,
Or a promise to obey:
‘Yes, Sir,’ if you tell her something;
No, Sir,' if you wish for No:
Who can guess the thoughts and feelings
Of a maid that speaks but so?
Not a single word to say,
Save an answer to your questions,
Or a promise to obey:
73
No, Sir,' if you wish for No:
Who can guess the thoughts and feelings
Of a maid that speaks but so?
Ah, then, place her with her equals,
On a Sunday afternoon,
By the kitchen fire in winter,
Or among the lanes in June;
She will flirt with Tom the baker,
She will chat with Betsy Jane,
Just as full of life and laughter
As the vainest of the vain.
On a Sunday afternoon,
By the kitchen fire in winter,
Or among the lanes in June;
She will flirt with Tom the baker,
She will chat with Betsy Jane,
Just as full of life and laughter
As the vainest of the vain.
No! Though many a serving damsel
Only cares for joys like these,
Hannah is a graver creature—
She has higher sympathies.
Think upon her face—so handsome,
So expressive, so refined!
Such a face should be the symbol
Of a cultivated mind.
Only cares for joys like these,
Hannah is a graver creature—
She has higher sympathies.
Think upon her face—so handsome,
So expressive, so refined!
Such a face should be the symbol
Of a cultivated mind.
74
If she has no cultivation,
If her rustic speech and ways
Fit her for a lower level,
Keep her on it, all her days;
Yet a man who can regard her
With an educated eye,
Sees at once, that he could make her
Just as good as you or I.
If her rustic speech and ways
Fit her for a lower level,
Keep her on it, all her days;
Yet a man who can regard her
With an educated eye,
Sees at once, that he could make her
Just as good as you or I.
Better not, you say? For Nature
Wisely put her where she is:
She may help poor Tom the baker
To a nobler life than his;
She may teach her vulgar fellows
How to dignify their trade;
How to find a soul superior
Even in a kitchen-maid.
Wisely put her where she is:
She may help poor Tom the baker
To a nobler life than his;
She may teach her vulgar fellows
How to dignify their trade;
How to find a soul superior
Even in a kitchen-maid.
But, for us, for such as we are,
Maidens of a different sphere,
Train'd on purpose to allure us,
Most conveniently appear:
Far above the world of labour
Do they soar and sing and shine;
Faultless are their feet, their manners—
They can dance, and they can dine.
Maidens of a different sphere,
Train'd on purpose to allure us,
Most conveniently appear:
75
Do they soar and sing and shine;
Faultless are their feet, their manners—
They can dance, and they can dine.
They know all the newest fashions,
All the latest, loosest lore
Of the philosophic thinker,
Of the novel-reading bore;
They can talk on any subject;
They have culture, they have coin:
Surely, such congenial creatures
Love and we are bound to join!
All the latest, loosest lore
Of the philosophic thinker,
Of the novel-reading bore;
They can talk on any subject;
They have culture, they have coin:
Surely, such congenial creatures
Love and we are bound to join!
If they have not Hannah's beauty,
Hannah's lips and eyes and hair,
They have gifts she cannot rival,
Graces she may never share:
Grace of pose, and grace of movement;
Grace of utterance, to beguile
Every fancy, every feeling,
With an educated smile.
Hannah's lips and eyes and hair,
They have gifts she cannot rival,
Graces she may never share:
Grace of pose, and grace of movement;
Grace of utterance, to beguile
Every fancy, every feeling,
With an educated smile.
76
Smiles, indeed! A wench like Hannah
Shows her white teeth with a grin,
While she holds the hall door open
Just to let your worship in:
When she carries down your luggage,
'Tis to her a double bliss,
If your worship chance to give her
Both a shilling and a kiss.
Shows her white teeth with a grin,
While she holds the hall door open
Just to let your worship in:
When she carries down your luggage,
'Tis to her a double bliss,
If your worship chance to give her
Both a shilling and a kiss.
Or, if she be less compliant,
She is rustic still, and poor;
Glad to earn a servant's wages,
And content to do no more:
For her arms are big and ruddy,
And her hands are rough and hard—
Goodness gracious, what an object
For a gentleman's regard!
She is rustic still, and poor;
Glad to earn a servant's wages,
And content to do no more:
For her arms are big and ruddy,
And her hands are rough and hard—
Goodness gracious, what an object
For a gentleman's regard!
Nay—give me the tender touches
That can melt one's heart to love;
Velvet palms and supple fingers
Softer than their own soft glove;
Snowy arms, just bared for beauty
In the light of some gay room—
Not such arms as wield the shovel
And the bucket and the broom!
That can melt one's heart to love;
Velvet palms and supple fingers
Softer than their own soft glove;
77
In the light of some gay room—
Not such arms as wield the shovel
And the bucket and the broom!
So? I bow to your decision;
And I hear it with respect,
Though the maiden I would favour
Is the one whom you reject:
You are right; a well-born lady,
With her breeding and her brains,
Is a better wife for most men
Than the pink of Betsy Janes.
And I hear it with respect,
Though the maiden I would favour
Is the one whom you reject:
You are right; a well-born lady,
With her breeding and her brains,
Is a better wife for most men
Than the pink of Betsy Janes.
But there is a combination,
If it only could succeed,
Of the lady and the servant,
That were exquisite indeed:
Could we find a peasant maiden
Simply nurtured, simply drest,
Used to lowliness and labour—
Yet as noble as the best!
If it only could succeed,
Of the lady and the servant,
That were exquisite indeed:
Could we find a peasant maiden
Simply nurtured, simply drest,
Used to lowliness and labour—
Yet as noble as the best!
78
Surely, work—the common service
Of the household or the farm—
Work that makes the hand laborious
And gives muscle to the arm—
Surely, this is not ignoble;
Surely, this may well combine
With so much of education
As shall soften and refine?
Of the household or the farm—
Work that makes the hand laborious
And gives muscle to the arm—
Surely, this is not ignoble;
Surely, this may well combine
With so much of education
As shall soften and refine?
Men have tried it: many a workman
At the factory or the forge,
Though he does not leave his calling,
And is still but Jack or George,
Yet, by thinking and by reading
On the higher themes of life,
Rises to a mental platform
Far above his working wife.
At the factory or the forge,
Though he does not leave his calling,
And is still but Jack or George,
Yet, by thinking and by reading
On the higher themes of life,
Rises to a mental platform
Far above his working wife.
Why should she be left behind, then?
'Tis her own fault, if she is;
For her nature fits such training
Far more easily than his:
He may gain a deal of knowledge,
He may spout it everywhere,
Yet his manners are no softer,
And he still can drink and swear.
'Tis her own fault, if she is;
For her nature fits such training
Far more easily than his:
79
He may spout it everywhere,
Yet his manners are no softer,
And he still can drink and swear.
But a woman, if she rises,
Rises wholly, not in part;
With her brains, her tastes are better'd,
And her feelings, and her heart.
Yes; and that way lies the danger:
If she finds herself improved,
She forsakes the lowly labour
Which she never really loved.
Rises wholly, not in part;
With her brains, her tastes are better'd,
And her feelings, and her heart.
Yes; and that way lies the danger:
If she finds herself improved,
She forsakes the lowly labour
Which she never really loved.
Foolish shame! For coarse in body
Need not suffer coarse in mind:
I have known a score of maidens
Pure as any womankind,
Though their hands were hard and horny
And their faces black with coal:
Safe within its strong rude fortress
Sate each calm unsullied soul.
Need not suffer coarse in mind:
I have known a score of maidens
Pure as any womankind,
Though their hands were hard and horny
And their faces black with coal:
Safe within its strong rude fortress
Sate each calm unsullied soul.
80
Then, let her too love her labour:
'Tis her birthright; 'tis her own:
Should a working wife and mother
Think it grand to be a drone?
Need she wish to ape the ladies,
Or suppose it very hard,
That she still must go on scrubbing
In the kitchen and the yard?
'Tis her birthright; 'tis her own:
Should a working wife and mother
Think it grand to be a drone?
Need she wish to ape the ladies,
Or suppose it very hard,
That she still must go on scrubbing
In the kitchen and the yard?
If she loved her work and service
As her husband loves his trade,
She might give us, in her daughters,
Many a noble servant maid;
Strong and artless like your Hannah,
Yet refined enough to be
A companion—aye, a sweetheart—
For such men as you and me.
As her husband loves his trade,
She might give us, in her daughters,
Many a noble servant maid;
Strong and artless like your Hannah,
Yet refined enough to be
A companion—aye, a sweetheart—
For such men as you and me.
81
A REFUSAL.
Sir, my hands are hard, she said,
But they do very well for me:
They are spread wi' work, they are rough and red,
Like a servant's hands should be.
But they do very well for me:
They are spread wi' work, they are rough and red,
Like a servant's hands should be.
Oh, they suit uncommon well,
Both me and my Missis too!
But feel 'em once, an' you'll easy tell
As they'd never do for you.
Both me and my Missis too!
But feel 'em once, an' you'll easy tell
As they'd never do for you.
You want a lady's hand,
What is soft and white and small;
And fingers wi' rings, to look pretty an' grand
In the parlours up at the Hall.
What is soft and white and small;
And fingers wi' rings, to look pretty an' grand
In the parlours up at the Hall.
82
That's the sort o' hand you want—
An' I lay you'll come to it soon;
For there's some as can, if there's many as can't,
An' yourn is a 'ticing tune.
An' I lay you'll come to it soon;
For there's some as can, if there's many as can't,
An' yourn is a 'ticing tune.
You can 'tice the heart of a maid—
Aye, even a heart like mine,
As canna keep up wi' the things you've said,
By reason you talk so fine.
Aye, even a heart like mine,
As canna keep up wi' the things you've said,
By reason you talk so fine.
But I winna be brought to shame,
Nor I winna bring shame to none:
I ha' naught to give but a honest name,
An' a day's work thoroughly done:
Nor I winna bring shame to none:
I ha' naught to give but a honest name,
An' a day's work thoroughly done:
So you'd better by half turn back,
An' leave me an' let me be:
I shall lose my place, I shall get the sack,
If you keep on courting o' me!
An' leave me an' let me be:
I shall lose my place, I shall get the sack,
If you keep on courting o' me!
83
NO. 23.
Sir, said the stalwart maiden, as she strode
Beside him, bent beneath that lofty load
Of luggage that she carried from the pier,
You needna make no fuss about this here—
This trunk and boxes as is on my back:
I'm a deal stronger till my brother Jack,
And ever since I was a little maid,
I've carried burdens; it's my reg'lar trade,
So I think nothing of a load like this.
It's use, you see, Sir, wheer the difference is,
As makes one's work come easy. When I've done
This job o' yourn, I'll get another one,
And earn another shillin'. That's the fare;
Shillin' a mile, whatever weight you bear;
An' twopence each, for packages. You've four;
So that's just one and eightpence an' no more.
Beside him, bent beneath that lofty load
Of luggage that she carried from the pier,
You needna make no fuss about this here—
This trunk and boxes as is on my back:
I'm a deal stronger till my brother Jack,
And ever since I was a little maid,
I've carried burdens; it's my reg'lar trade,
So I think nothing of a load like this.
It's use, you see, Sir, wheer the difference is,
As makes one's work come easy. When I've done
This job o' yourn, I'll get another one,
And earn another shillin'. That's the fare;
Shillin' a mile, whatever weight you bear;
84
So that's just one and eightpence an' no more.
You see my badge? It's always to be seen,
On my left arm, Sir; it's as bright an' clean
As hands can make it; an' it's come to be
Same as my age: I'm Number Twenty-Three,
An' I shall soon be three an' twenty, Sir.
Well, this here badge is like a character
To them as wears it; for you understand
We've got to show our badge afore you land,
Or else they winna let us go aboard
To heave the baggage. Them as can't afford
To pay for badges, has to stop at home,
Or trust to such chance customers as come
Ashore without a porter. But it's dear;
This round o' brass costs half a crown a year!
That's maybe little, for a gentleman;
But poor folks has to do the best they can,
So every penny's wanted. This o' mine,
This badge, I've wore, an' kep it fresh an' fine,
More nor five year, an' never lost it yet;
But still, at Christmas, if I'm tired an' wet
After a load, an' wants my supper too,
An' some kind stranger, as it might be you,
Pays me my wage, an' puts a nice half-crown
Atop of it, for me to call my own
To keep or spend, I think it is a shame
As I mun take it back to whence I came,
An' pay it into th' office; just for leave
To wear this badge a twelvemonth on my sleeve!
Ah, Sir, there's trials in a porter's life;
An' I'm alone; I'm not a sailor's wife,
Like some is; an' my sweetheart is at sea:
How can I tell, if he'll come back to me,
Or get another somewheres else?
On my left arm, Sir; it's as bright an' clean
As hands can make it; an' it's come to be
Same as my age: I'm Number Twenty-Three,
An' I shall soon be three an' twenty, Sir.
Well, this here badge is like a character
To them as wears it; for you understand
We've got to show our badge afore you land,
Or else they winna let us go aboard
To heave the baggage. Them as can't afford
To pay for badges, has to stop at home,
Or trust to such chance customers as come
Ashore without a porter. But it's dear;
This round o' brass costs half a crown a year!
That's maybe little, for a gentleman;
But poor folks has to do the best they can,
So every penny's wanted. This o' mine,
This badge, I've wore, an' kep it fresh an' fine,
More nor five year, an' never lost it yet;
But still, at Christmas, if I'm tired an' wet
After a load, an' wants my supper too,
An' some kind stranger, as it might be you,
85
Atop of it, for me to call my own
To keep or spend, I think it is a shame
As I mun take it back to whence I came,
An' pay it into th' office; just for leave
To wear this badge a twelvemonth on my sleeve!
Ah, Sir, there's trials in a porter's life;
An' I'm alone; I'm not a sailor's wife,
Like some is; an' my sweetheart is at sea:
How can I tell, if he'll come back to me,
Or get another somewheres else?
I live
Wi' grandmother; an' if you'd please to give
A trifle over, when I've done your turn,
She would be thankful. All as I can earn
I takes to Granny; an' she hoards it up,
An' spends it careful, over bite an' sup
For her an' me.
Wi' grandmother; an' if you'd please to give
A trifle over, when I've done your turn,
She would be thankful. All as I can earn
I takes to Granny; an' she hoards it up,
An' spends it careful, over bite an' sup
For her an' me.
Well now, Sir, here's the place,
An' here you are! I've come a goodish pace,
An' if you'll let me, I should like to sit
Down o' your doorstep, just to rest a bit,
Until they take my load off.
An' here you are! I've come a goodish pace,
An' if you'll let me, I should like to sit
Down o' your doorstep, just to rest a bit,
Until they take my load off.
Thank you, Sir—
O thank you! This'll be a treat to her,
My Granny, as have seldom seen a day
O' sich good luck! An' when you go away
An' wants a porter, please to send for me;
Send for young Margaret, Number Twenty-Three;
An' I'll be proud to serve you.
86
My Granny, as have seldom seen a day
O' sich good luck! An' when you go away
An' wants a porter, please to send for me;
Send for young Margaret, Number Twenty-Three;
An' I'll be proud to serve you.
Well, and so
I mun be off; but, Sir, afore I go
Back to the town, to seek another job,
There's one more thing. For all you are a Nob,
An' me a workin' wench, you're not too grand,
At least I hope not, for to take my hand?
It's hard, but it's a woman's. Theer it is—
An' take a blessing with it, Sir, for this!
I mun be off; but, Sir, afore I go
Back to the town, to seek another job,
There's one more thing. For all you are a Nob,
An' me a workin' wench, you're not too grand,
At least I hope not, for to take my hand?
It's hard, but it's a woman's. Theer it is—
An' take a blessing with it, Sir, for this!
87
AT THE WINDOW.
She is standing in the parlour, leaning on her carpet broom;
She has done her daily sweeping, and has dusted all the room;
She is looking out of window: is she gazing at the view?
No, indeed—she only wonders if her fortune will come true.
She has done her daily sweeping, and has dusted all the room;
She is looking out of window: is she gazing at the view?
No, indeed—she only wonders if her fortune will come true.
For this morning in the kitchen she has turn'd her teacup thrice,
And the things she saw within it were so novel and so nice!
There were kisses, and a letter, and a sweetheart, and a friend,
All arranged within that teacup, in a most engaging blend.
And the things she saw within it were so novel and so nice!
There were kisses, and a letter, and a sweetheart, and a friend,
All arranged within that teacup, in a most engaging blend.
Sure, the sweetheart is her sweetheart; and the kisses must be his;
And the letter, he have wrote it for to tell her where he is;
And the friend—why, that's his sister, Captain Thompson's Mary Ann,
Which was married last September, to the undertaker's man!
And the letter, he have wrote it for to tell her where he is;
And the friend—why, that's his sister, Captain Thompson's Mary Ann,
Which was married last September, to the undertaker's man!
88
Ah, she sees it all, in vision: Jack is coming home from sea,
And he's wrote for her to go to him, at Mary Ann's, to tea;
And the kisses—she will have them, every one of 'em, no doubt,
On the very next o' Sundays, which it is her Sunday out!
And he's wrote for her to go to him, at Mary Ann's, to tea;
And the kisses—she will have them, every one of 'em, no doubt,
On the very next o' Sundays, which it is her Sunday out!
So she stands, our pensive Polly, with her dustpan, and her fears,
And her hopes—but, Goodness gracious! What's them footsteps as she hears?
Oh, for certain, it's the Missis—and she's bustling down to prayers,
And I arena clean'd and tidied—is there time to run upstairs?
And her hopes—but, Goodness gracious! What's them footsteps as she hears?
Oh, for certain, it's the Missis—and she's bustling down to prayers,
And I arena clean'd and tidied—is there time to run upstairs?
Yes, there's time; and she has done it! Enter Polly, if you look,
In a tidy cap and apron, walking after Mrs Cook:
With her eyes demurely downcast, as she sinks upon her knees,
And remembers there her sweetheart, just a-coming o'er the seas.
In a tidy cap and apron, walking after Mrs Cook:
With her eyes demurely downcast, as she sinks upon her knees,
And remembers there her sweetheart, just a-coming o'er the seas.
89
SIBI ET AMICO.
I. With ‘Ann Morgan's Love.’
I give you, friend, this litel tome,
Because I'm quite persuaded
That it will be the strangest pome
Through which you ever waded:
Because I'm quite persuaded
That it will be the strangest pome
Through which you ever waded:
And oh, how different from yours!
Your maids are always charming;
But my maid, e'en in tenderest hours,
Is really quite alarming;
Your maids are always charming;
But my maid, e'en in tenderest hours,
Is really quite alarming;
‘Sie ist so garstig, ist so roth!’
Well—that's exaggeration,
In her who said it; just a note
Of self-depreciation;
Well—that's exaggeration,
In her who said it; just a note
Of self-depreciation;
90
So say the painters and their set,
And so, no doubt, the critics,
When once they've got fair Margaret
Beneath their analytics:
And so, no doubt, the critics,
When once they've got fair Margaret
Beneath their analytics:
But, for my maid, the words are true,
And she would ne'er deny it:
She is both roth and garstig too,
And gets her living by it.
And she would ne'er deny it:
She is both roth and garstig too,
And gets her living by it.
Then, her appalling dialect!
Her rude and homely phrases!
She no more challenges respect
Than buttercups and daisies,
Her rude and homely phrases!
She no more challenges respect
Than buttercups and daisies,
And other common things of earth,
On which we gaily trample
With not a wish to know their worth
Or follow their example.
On which we gaily trample
With not a wish to know their worth
Or follow their example.
Yes—but her love is all her own;
'Twas pure, and it succeeded:
She knew what Margaret should have known,
And did not do as she did.
'Twas pure, and it succeeded:
She knew what Margaret should have known,
And did not do as she did.
91
That's why Ann Morgan interests me;
For, in my poor opinion,
Robust unselfish purity
Is worth a world's dominion:
For, in my poor opinion,
Robust unselfish purity
Is worth a world's dominion:
That's why I venture to rehearse
Her tale, and what it's grown to,
In such uncouth outlandish verse
As you would never own to.
Her tale, and what it's grown to,
In such uncouth outlandish verse
As you would never own to.
92
II.
Creator of La Belle Marquise—
Historian of the wits and beaux
Whose life, full fed with lordly ease,
Has still that cachet of repose—
Historian of the wits and beaux
Whose life, full fed with lordly ease,
Has still that cachet of repose—
How can you like these maids of mine?
Rough-handed women of the farm,
In whom one scarcely sees a sign
Of grace, of elegance, of charm!
Rough-handed women of the farm,
In whom one scarcely sees a sign
Of grace, of elegance, of charm!
Yet, Nature made them what they are:
The fresh untutor'd human heart
Has leave from her, to be at war
With all such niceties of art
The fresh untutor'd human heart
Has leave from her, to be at war
With all such niceties of art
93
As cannot make a woman pure:
Yea, each rude wench who scrubs and swills
Amidst her drudgery obscure
Is Nature's servant, if she wills,
Yea, each rude wench who scrubs and swills
Amidst her drudgery obscure
Is Nature's servant, if she wills,
And nobler than the trivial crowd
Who scorn her work and her. But you,
Though long since to the Graces vow'd,
Can feel, O friend, that this is true.
Who scorn her work and her. But you,
Though long since to the Graces vow'd,
Can feel, O friend, that this is true.
94
III. A reply.
Indeed? All this is very fine!
And memory still rehearses
The tones you gave to every line
Of these ingenious verses:
And memory still rehearses
The tones you gave to every line
Of these ingenious verses:
But I too am a dab at rhyme;
And I intend to spite you
By asking why the Georgian time
And all its wigs, delight you?
And I intend to spite you
By asking why the Georgian time
And all its wigs, delight you?
You are not coarse, like Dr Swift,
Nor risky, like poor Fielding;
Your Loves have always a clean shift,
And are not over-yielding;
Nor risky, like poor Fielding;
Your Loves have always a clean shift,
And are not over-yielding;
95
You don't use vinegar, like Pope,
Nor squirts, like Lady Mary;
Your books, wherever they may ope,
Are wholesome as a dairy—
Nor squirts, like Lady Mary;
Your books, wherever they may ope,
Are wholesome as a dairy—
A dairy? 'Tis the very thing!
If Mr Walpole pleases,
We'll all stand round you in a ring
Pretending to make cheeses—
If Mr Walpole pleases,
We'll all stand round you in a ring
Pretending to make cheeses—
We'll mince our chickens at Vauxhall,
As swains and shepherd-maidens,
And hear the foreign singers squall
Some pretty thing of Haydn's—
As swains and shepherd-maidens,
And hear the foreign singers squall
Some pretty thing of Haydn's—
Ah yes, you cunning rogue, A. D.!
That's why you feed our fancies
With many a courtly coterie,
Lord Fannys and Miss Nancys!
That's why you feed our fancies
With many a courtly coterie,
Lord Fannys and Miss Nancys!
That's why, from Steele and good Queen Anne
To Crisp and little Burney,
You lead us on, you artful man,
A too seductive journey!
To Crisp and little Burney,
You lead us on, you artful man,
A too seductive journey!
96
You want to make us all forget
The sterner days around us;
The problems, dark and darker yet,
That threaten to confound us:
The sterner days around us;
The problems, dark and darker yet,
That threaten to confound us:
You would revive the frolic mood,
The song, the jest, the laughter,
Of those who lived before the Flood,
For us, who live long after!
The song, the jest, the laughter,
Of those who lived before the Flood,
For us, who live long after!
Alas! such pleasant task is vain:
For all our simulation
We move along a different plane,
And have a new vocation.
For all our simulation
We move along a different plane,
And have a new vocation.
You too, who make believe to be
A Dresden china poet,
You are much more than that, A. D.,
And here's your work, to show it.
A Dresden china poet,
You are much more than that, A. D.,
And here's your work, to show it.
97
ON THE PILGRIM OF THE INFINITE.
And is it thus, the human race
From earth to heaven ascends?
Is this the way we gather grace,
We and our humble friends?
From earth to heaven ascends?
Is this the way we gather grace,
We and our humble friends?
Not so: if they would enter Life,
The learned and refined
Must seek a door that suits my wife,
And me, and all mankind.
The learned and refined
Must seek a door that suits my wife,
And me, and all mankind.
That homely door stands plump and plain
For any one to view;
And Tom and I and Mary Jane
Can enter it with you.
For any one to view;
And Tom and I and Mary Jane
Can enter it with you.
98
But do you really, then, suppose
That we, so rough and poor,
Shall have to wear superior clothes
When once inside the door?
That we, so rough and poor,
Shall have to wear superior clothes
When once inside the door?
Must we too learn your clever ways,
We and our little ones,
Ere we can meet the Master's gaze,
As daughters or as sons?
We and our little ones,
Ere we can meet the Master's gaze,
As daughters or as sons?
Oh no! He takes us as we are;
And gives us now and then
A better heritage by far
Than falls to wiser men.
And gives us now and then
A better heritage by far
Than falls to wiser men.
He cares not for your fine long words
That mean we know not what:
He bids us feel we are the Lord's,
And be content with that.
That mean we know not what:
He bids us feel we are the Lord's,
And be content with that.
His words were simple, like our own:
He spake them long ago:
But, though the world is changed and grown
Since He was here below,
He spake them long ago:
But, though the world is changed and grown
Since He was here below,
99
Yet, men and women are the same;
They change not, great nor small;
And what He told them when He came,
He told them once for all.
They change not, great nor small;
And what He told them when He came,
He told them once for all.
Aye; we may do the best we can
To climb away from hell;
But Man shall not be more than Man,
Wherever he may dwell.
To climb away from hell;
But Man shall not be more than Man,
Wherever he may dwell.
By the late Mr William Davies of Rome, author of The Pilgrimage of the Tiber, and The Shepherd's Garden. Mr Davies was an earnest and accomplished student of Dante.
100
REDINTEGRATIO AMORIS.
This is the day whereon her husband died.After a life of blameless honour, thus
The fifty years of bridegroom and of bride
Seem ended; and they part, incredulous
That this can be a parting or an end.
Nay, it is not an end. There is a place
Beyond the reach of thought, where they will blend
Once more, those two; not now in Time or Space,
But in some Æon where the wedlock, pure
And true and lasting, of such faithful hearts
Shall be renew'd and quicken'd, and endure
In absolute fruition. He departs,
And leaves her—inconsolable? Not so:
She mourns, indeed, yet has fit strength to hear
101
That Man and Wife, united thus and dear,
Are one for ever. God Himself is known
Threefold—and these are twofold: spirits twain
Each melting into each, till both have grown
One soul, one essence; meet to entertain
Glimpses of Godhead, and alert to move
In the full circle of completed Love.
102
A DEATHBED: JULY 1ST, 18—.
This is the very room in which she died:
I know it well; and when the moonlight falls,
As now it falls, upon her little bed,
How white the bed looks—like her own frail form
When she was dying!
I know it well; and when the moonlight falls,
As now it falls, upon her little bed,
How white the bed looks—like her own frail form
When she was dying!
Yet she did not die
By moonlight, like our leader, Tennyson:
He, after so much waiting, so much grief
And glory, and such happiest renown
Of blessing others as himself was blest,
And making sorrow fruitfuller than joy,
He, with the milder radiance round his head,
Pass'd to that gracious Country whence he came.
By moonlight, like our leader, Tennyson:
He, after so much waiting, so much grief
And glory, and such happiest renown
Of blessing others as himself was blest,
And making sorrow fruitfuller than joy,
He, with the milder radiance round his head,
Pass'd to that gracious Country whence he came.
103
But she went thither on a summer's morn;
Round her fair dwelling all the garden rang
With songs of birds, and fragrant odours breathed
From many a flower to soothe her, and the sun
Lighted her onward to that place of rest
Wherein her husband stood awaiting her.
Round her fair dwelling all the garden rang
With songs of birds, and fragrant odours breathed
From many a flower to soothe her, and the sun
Lighted her onward to that place of rest
Wherein her husband stood awaiting her.
She did not say a word, before she died;
But she look'd up, and with her soft blue eyes
She saw him, clad already in the glow
Of such a state of Being as to her
Was new and most transcendent, but to him
Familiar now; and thus he welcomed her,
His lifelong wife, to that still fairer home.
But she look'd up, and with her soft blue eyes
She saw him, clad already in the glow
Of such a state of Being as to her
Was new and most transcendent, but to him
Familiar now; and thus he welcomed her,
His lifelong wife, to that still fairer home.
We too, perchance, shall join her at the last;
If we are like her, or in any wise
Can compass such a journey, such an end.
Meanwhile, she still is with us; and abides,
A charming Presence, in the faithful hearts
Of many folk, and most of all in mine.
If we are like her, or in any wise
Can compass such a journey, such an end.
Meanwhile, she still is with us; and abides,
A charming Presence, in the faithful hearts
Of many folk, and most of all in mine.
104
POST TENEBRAS.
We go, we know not whither;
We came, we know not whence:
But He who brought us hither
Will surely guide us hence.
We came, we know not whence:
But He who brought us hither
Will surely guide us hence.
He will, for He has said it:
Himself has bid us come—
Has told us not to dread it,
The road that makes for Home;
Himself has bid us come—
Has told us not to dread it,
The road that makes for Home;
The road that leads through sorrow
And suffering and pain
To that unthought-of morrow
When we all shall meet again.
And suffering and pain
To that unthought-of morrow
When we all shall meet again.
105
He will, for He has sent us
A Man to show the way;
One whom He always meant us
To follow and obey;
A Man to show the way;
One whom He always meant us
To follow and obey;
One who walk'd alone before us
In the ways that we have trod;
And who still is watching o'er us—
For His other name is God.
In the ways that we have trod;
And who still is watching o'er us—
For His other name is God.
106
CHRISTUS CUNCTATOR.
So far beyond the things of Space—
So high above the things of Time—
And yet, how human is thy face,
How near, how neighbourly, thy clime!
So high above the things of Time—
And yet, how human is thy face,
How near, how neighbourly, thy clime!
Thou wast not born to fill our skies
With lustre from some alien zone:
Thy light, thy love, thy sympathies,
Thy very essence, are our own.
With lustre from some alien zone:
Thy light, thy love, thy sympathies,
Thy very essence, are our own.
Thy mission, thy supreme estate,
Thy life among the pious poor,
Thy lofty language to the great;
Thy touch, so tender and so sure;
Thy life among the pious poor,
Thy lofty language to the great;
Thy touch, so tender and so sure;
107
Thine eyes, whose looks are with us yet;
Thy voice, whose echoes do not die;
Thy words, which none who hear forget,
So piercing are they, and so nigh;
Thy voice, whose echoes do not die;
Thy words, which none who hear forget,
So piercing are they, and so nigh;
Thy balanced nature, always true
And always dauntless and serene,
Which did the deeds none else could do
And saw the sights none else had seen,
And always dauntless and serene,
Which did the deeds none else could do
And saw the sights none else had seen,
And ruled itself from first to last
Without an effort or a pause
By no traditions of the Past—
By nothing, save its own pure laws:
Without an effort or a pause
By no traditions of the Past—
By nothing, save its own pure laws:
All this, and thousand traits beside,
Unseen till these at least are known,
May serve to witness far and wide
That thou art He, and thou alone.
Unseen till these at least are known,
May serve to witness far and wide
That thou art He, and thou alone.
But oh, how high thy spirit soars
Above the men who tell thy tale!
They labour with their awkward oars
And try to show thee—and they fail.
Above the men who tell thy tale!
They labour with their awkward oars
And try to show thee—and they fail.
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They saw thee; yet they fail like us,
Who also strive to limn thee out,
And say that thou art thus or thus,
And carve our crumbling creeds with Doubt,
Who also strive to limn thee out,
And say that thou art thus or thus,
And carve our crumbling creeds with Doubt,
Or build them up with such a Faith
And such a narrow, niggard Love
As clings to what some other saith,
Or moves not, lest some other move.
And such a narrow, niggard Love
As clings to what some other saith,
Or moves not, lest some other move.
Ah, none shall see thee as thou art,
Or know thee for himself at all,
Until he has thee in his heart,
And heeds thy whisper or thy call,
Or know thee for himself at all,
Until he has thee in his heart,
And heeds thy whisper or thy call,
And feels that in thy sovran will
Eternal Manhood grows not old,
But keeps its prime, that all may fill
Thy large, illimitable fold.
Eternal Manhood grows not old,
But keeps its prime, that all may fill
Thy large, illimitable fold.
THE END.
| Poems Chiefly Lyric and Elegiac | |