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Reverberations

Revised with a chapter from my autobiography. By W. M. W. Call

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iii

“The world is like a valley, and our actions are like shouts,
And the echo of the shout reverberates even to ourselves.”
—Persian Proverb.

“We chant our own times and social circumstances.”
—Emerson.

“What is rightly understood and rightly expressed in the present suits also for past and future.”—Rahel Varnhagen.


39

I. PART I.—SOCIAL.


41

Prelude.

OUR AGE.

Friends! ye overpraise the times of old,
And ye languish o'er a dead ideal;
If we cannot boast an age of gold,
Men and women yet, thank God, are real!
Knighthood, noble action, simple faith,
Regal Church and soldier King delight you;
But a royal life and knightly death,
Even in this age of prose, invite you.
Think not that old pieties are fled,—
Think not faith and love can ever perish;
Do not mourn that the old forms are dead,
But the enduring spirit seek and cherish.
Trust the soul that dwells in every soul,
Into one brave friendship let men enter;
All the stars and planets, as they roll,
Find in one great sun their common centre.

42

Gather up the coloured rays ere night,
Save them ere they fade from earth unheeded;
Mould them into pure creative light:
Never, never was that light more needed.
Wander through the many winding ways
Of sweet thought, dissolved to feeling sweeter;
Flash the truth from swift and fiery lays,
Smooth rude passion into flowing metre.
Wise and noble action is for man,
Healthy work for all, that none may sorrow;
He alone reveres the world's large plan,
Who with cheerful brow salutes the morrow.
We are children of the ages past,
Trust me, friends, a right good time is ours:
Here is work that brings glad rest at last;
Here are hopes that bear immortal flowers.
Crown and crosier, sword and lyre, are gone,
But a summer dawns when spring is failing;
And majestic days are marching on,
To reproach us for our weak bewailing.
Truer Church shall be than in old times,
Lordlier governance shall bless the nations,
Sweeter lips shall murmur sweeter rhymes,
Life shall give us holier revelations.

43

Courage! ye that praise the days of old;
Ye that languish o'er a dead ideal;
If we cannot boast an age of gold,
Men and women yet, thank God, are real!

44

BALDER.

Balder, the white Sungod, has departed!
Beautiful as summer dawn was he,
Loved of gods and men, the royal-hearted!
Balder, the white Sungod, has departed,
Has gone home where all the brave ones be.

For the sagas which suggested the poems of Balder (noticed and imitated in Fraser's Magazine), see Mr Carlyle's “Cromwell” and “Hero-Worship.” The political and social allusions in these poems are still intelligible. The flight of Louis Philippe, the panic of petty Continental sovereigns—“The Frost Kings” of “Thor”—the hopes and the fears of 1848-49, are glanced at in these Scandinavian poems.


For the tears of the imperial Mother,
For a universe that weeps and prays,
Rides Hermoder forth to seek his brother,
Rides for love of that distressful mother,
Through lead-coloured glens and cross-blue ways.
With the howling wind and raving torrent,
Nine days rode he, deep and deeper down,
Won the waste death-kingdom, wild and horrent,
Won the lonely bridge that spans the torrent
Of the Moaning-river by Hell-town.

45

There an ancient Portress watches ever,
Sleepless torturer of the brain of men,
Merciless and skilled in arts that sever
Soul from soul and mind from mind for ever,
That they never, never meet again.
Cried Hermoder: “Came my Balder hither?
Balder whom both gods and men hold dear?”
But the Portress, who delights to wither
Hope's white blossoms, answered, “Hither, hither,
Balder came, but Balder is not here.
“Balder is not here; in blind abysses
Downward, northward, in the realm of Death,
Balder dwells, where whitening roars and hisses,
Leaping down the invisible abysses,
Hell's mad stream with pants of furious breath.
“Ride thou on, a journey wild and dreary,
If in quest of Balder thou wilt ride;
Through the heavy gloom, where, worn and weary,
Faints the traveller in his journey dreary,
Where all ghostly sounds and sights abide.”
Onward rode the youth in silent wonder,—
Mane of Gold! what steed is like to thee?
On through fire-trenched vales, hills scarred with thunder,
Onward rode the youth in silent wonder,
Brave and good must young Hermoder be.

46

Look! o'erleaping Hela's cloudy portal,
In the dim dead world he stands below;
There he sees the beautiful Immortal,
Sees his Balder, under Hela's portal,
Sees him and forgets his pain and woe.
“O my Balder! have I, have I found thee—
Balder, beautiful as summer-morn?
O my Sungod! hearts of heroes crowned thee
For their King: they lost, but now have found thee;
Gods and men shall not be left forlorn.
“Balder! brother! the Divine has vanished,
The eternal splendours all have fled,
Truth and Love and Nobleness are banished,
The Heroic and Divine have vanished,
Nature has no God, and Earth lies dead.
“Come thou back, my Balder, king and brother!
Teach the hearts of men to love the Gods.
Come thou back, and comfort our great mother,
Come with truth and bravery, Balder, brother,
Bring the Godlike back to men's abodes.”
But the Nornas let him pray unheeded;
Balder never was to come again.
Vainly, vainly, young Hermoder pleaded;
Balder never was to come. Unheeded,
Young Hermoder wept and prayed in vain.

47

Oh, the wondrous truth of this old story!
Even now it is as it was then:
Earth hath lost a portion of her glory,
And, like Balder in the ancient story,
Never comes the Beautiful again.
Still the young Hermoder journeys bravely,
Through lead-coloured glens and cross-blue ways;
Still he calls his brother, pleading gravely,
Still to the death-kingdom ventures bravely,
Calmly to the eternal Terror prays.
But the Fates relent not; strong Endeavour,
Courage, noble Feeling, are in vain,
For the Beautiful has gone for ever.
Vain are Courage, Genius, strong Endeavour;
Never comes the Beautiful again.
Do you think I counsel weak despairing?
No! like young Hermoder I would ride,
With an humble, yet a gallant daring,
I would leap unquailing, undespairing,
Over the huge precipice's side.
Dead and gone is the old world's Ideal,
The old arts and old religions fled;
But I gladly live amid the Real,
And I seek a worthier Ideal.
Courage, brothers, Heaven is overhead!

48

THOR.

Royal Olaf sails along the shore,
Bravely sails the soldier of the Cross;
Canvas flutters, twinkles oar on oar,
Havens rise, then sink beneath the shore,
White and purple waves round Olaf toss.
Sharp and clear the coast of Norland lies.
Dear to royal Olaf is the land;
Its tall cliffs bear up the solid skies,
Far and near the great pine forest lies,
Fast and firm the hills on Norland stand.
Here of late the Giants of the Snow,
Of the killing Frost, and wandering Fire,
Filled the hearts of all good men with woe,
Whirling wreaths of flame and drifts of snow,
But Thor came and drove them out in ire.
Noble Thor, the brave and earnest God,
Drove the wicked giants all away.
Softly in his summer heat he trod,
Clothed with thunder, brave and earnest God!
Awe with Grace and Goodness dwells for aye.

49

All true hearts were glad when Thor appeared,
Glad when all the wicked Frost-kings fled;
In the winter were they born and reared,
In the night these shapeless things appeared,
With no heart, and only half a head.
How they fled when noble Thor drew nigh,
Followed by his band of peasants true!
How they fell down underneath the sky!
How when Thor with thunder-mace drew nigh,
Fled the Frost-king with his phantom crew!
False were they, and falsehood cannot live,
In the searching sunlight it must die;
Noble names no nobleness can give,
If within no nobleness there live;
Can the Godlike blossom from a lie?
All the ice-thrones melted—all the kings
Vanished that strong summer heat before,
And again the life-tree freshlier springs,
And again stand forth the true old kings,
Round the God of light and thunder, Thor.
With a hammer-bolt for sceptre, he
Rules and guides the loyal hearts of men,
Works, nor recks how rude his work may be,
Peasant's king yet peasant's friend is he;
Clear and peaceful are each hill and glen.

50

This in old time did the noble Thor,
But the holy to the holier yields;
Royal Olaf sails along the shore,
But the soul of Christ, and not of Thor,
Rests on Norland's groves and Norland's fields.
Olaf knew that last year's leaves were dead,
Olaf thought of living leaves alone,
Loved the new God in the old God's stead,
For the faith of Thor was nearly dead,
And he gave away his crown and throne.
Royal Olaf, doing kingly deeds,
Sails along the shore with Christian knights;
Swift from port to port the vessel speeds,
Bears King Olaf doing kingly deeds,
Wrongs redressing, and adjusting rights.
Who is he that stands upon the deck,
With the still deep eyes and aspect grave,
With strong arms, proud head, and stately neck,
Stands with ruddy beard upon the deck,
Calm as summer splendour, and as brave?
Royal Olaf's courtiers round him stand,
And sharp questions try the stranger's wit:
What the stream that flows round every land?
What all feel but none can understand?
What the first, last word that Odin writ?

51

To their questions thus he answer made:
“Ever present is the stream of Time—
Felt, not understood, half light, half shade,
Half unveiled, half veiled, the World is made—
Valour still is Odin's word sublime.”
Then surprise was wakened in their heart,
And they led the stranger to the king.
Long they spake of power that dwells apart,
Of the Gods and of the human heart,
And the good that dwells in everything.
Of the inward peace and outward strife,
Of the eternal music nature plays,
Of the wonder brooding over life,
Of the grace that flowers from peace and strife,
Of deep purple nights and broad blue days.
Spake of bravery which the Gods hold dear,
Spake of love and freedom, truth and law,
Spake of song that charms both soul and ear,
Spake of toil, to noble spirits dear,
Spake of holy beauty, heavenly awe.
Royal Olaf sails along the shore,
Praises much the granite rocks that rise,
Crowned with leaves and blossoms, steep and hoar,
Strong and beautiful along the shore,
Looking up into the true old skies.

52

“Yes! King Olaf,” so the stranger said,
“It is beautiful to heart and eye,
With the royal sunlight on it shed,
With the great blue summer overhead,
Looking up into the true old sky.
“Fruitful, green, a right fair home for you;
But full many a day of travail sore,
Many a battle with the giant crew,
Making it a right fair home for you,
Green and fruitful, had the loving Thor.
“You seem minded to put Thor away!
Is it fair, King Olaf, is it fair?
All the heat and burthen of the day
Fell on him whom now you put away!
Have a care, King Olaf, have a care.”
Here the stranger, drawing down his brows,
Looked at him: all turned their heads aside,
Blushed like men that feel their broken vows,
Trembled underneath those dreadful brows,
Quite forgetting all their knightly pride.
When they looked again, they saw him not.
Here they searched and there they searched in vain,
Called aloud, and sought in every spot;
Searched throughout the ship, but saw him not,—
He was never, never seen again.

53

Thus the Godlike evermore decays,
Thus the ancient Gods must leave the earth;
None now treads the old and sacred ways,
Old leaves fall and the old fruit decays,
Fades for ever the primeval worth.
Grieve we not for this, but rather find
A new splendour in the actual time.
Ever present is the Eternal Mind,
Ever shall the faithful seeker find,
Ever listen to the starry chime!
'Tis not Man, 'tis but the Gods are dead;
'Tis not Art, 'tis but the Arts that die;
Ankle-deep in flowers the poets tread,
Neither faith nor loyalty is dead,
Still the ancient sun is in the sky.
Even the good Thor is with us still,
With his summer heat and hammer-bolt,
With fresh flowerage clothing vale and hill;
Quiet, loving Thor is with us still,
In the forest, and on heath and holt.
Valour still is Odin's symbol-word,
And among the awakening nations Thor
Speaks of love and freedom long deferred;
Breathes of song, breathes Odin's symbol-word,
While King Olaf sails along the shore.

54

Travelling in the giants' country, still
He subdues the Frost-kings, one by one,
Oversets their thrones with right good will,
Bids the phantom lords of earth lie still,
Melts the winter's snow with summer's sun.
Thor, the peasant God, with strenuous hand,
And with noble heart, is in the world.
How have men obeyed his high command!
How has Thor, with his imperial hand,
The old standard of the Gods unfurled!
Thought shall yet make labour glad and fair,
Labour yet make thought august and strong;
Love's sweet light shall smooth our troubled air,
And the deeds of men be wise and fair,
And great feelings blossom into song.
Out of death shall faith be born again,
From the dead a living world shall rise;
Winter fades before the vernal rain,
Clothed in roses Summer comes again:
Over all are the eternal skies.

55

ALCESTIS.

On this day Alcestis is to die,
Bid a long farewell to earth and sun:—
Nobler deed beneath a Grecian sky,
Ev'n for love's dear sake, was never done!
For the story tells how once King Death
Came from the dim shadowy land below,
When the dreaming World half held her breath,
Ere the Sungod raised his glittering bow.
Ay! when light and darkness were at strife,
Death before the lord Admetus stood.
“I am come,” he cried, “to have thy life;
Die, or give another life as good.”
Vain was prayer to friend or kinsman dear;
Father, mother, wept but turned away!
Then Alcestis rose with noble cheer,
Whispering, “I will gladly die to-day.”

56

So the pact was struck. Admetus wandered,
A forlorn and miserable man,
Through his lordly realms, where brooks meandered,
And where rivulets to rivers ran.
Hideous were the groves and spacious streams,
Hideous the pale moonshine on the wall,
Worthless all his hopes and all his dreams;
And that life of his—most vile of all.
Furies, all the long and lonely night,
Smote him under heaven's upbraiding dome,
And with the first throbs of morning light,
In his guilt and weakness he went home.
Soon Alcestis, clad in white attire,
Like a waning moon in silver cloud,
With a queenlier presence, stature higher,
Stept forth, in her pride not overproud.
And a bowshot from the palace door,
Set her throne towards the rising sun,
Knowing she should never see him more,
Knowing life must set ere day were done.
Then she crowned her with a wreath of flowers,
Ere she crowned her with that noble deed,—
That to perish with succeeding hours,
This to live, while hours to hours succeed.

57

Said Alcestis, “Golden king of day,
Gladdener, thou, of Gods and men divine!
For the last time do I see thy ray,
For the last time do I feel thee shine.
“Many a blessing have I won from thee—
Sight of vernal buds and summer bloom,
Sight of Delphi's rock, Dodona's tree,
Sense of ample splendour, gorgeous gloom;
“Sight of temples wherein men adore,
Dream till they grow Godlike as they dream,
Till they do great deeds, unknown before,
And behold the Gods and feel like them.
“Sight of my dear children, flushing face,
White round limb, red lip, and full large eye,
Of their pretty play and simple grace,
And the sight of him for whom I die.”
Here the noble lady made an end.
Then Admetus, gazing on the ground,
Stood by her, and said, “O peerless friend!
Thee alone have I still faithful found.
“Thou alone hast saved me, thou alone
Didst not fear, didst not avert thine eye”—
“Fear!” she interrupted, with quick tone;
“Should a Grecian woman fear to die?

58

“Nay! I do not ask thy thanks or praise;
Freely, willingly, I yield my breath;
For we need not live ambrosial days,
But we ought to die a noble death.
“Thus alone we emulate the Gods,
Thus alone grow beautiful and strong,
Meet to enter the serene abodes,
Worthy to be loved and named in song.
“Do not weep to lay me in the grave,
But be thankful for thy ransomed life.
Be thou wise and earnest, good and brave,
Soldier-hearted, though there be no strife.
“Love our children, nourish their young soul
With the sunbeams and the sweet, warm breeze;
Let them hear the mighty waters roll,
Hear the hollow plunging of the seas.
“O beloved children! this must be;
With your open looks, and fresh, white arms,
Æthra, Laon, do ye plead with me,
But in vain are all your prayers and charms.
“Do not weep when I am dead and gone,
You will need no mother's tender care;
Father, mother, both shall live in one,
And our love shall grow more deep and rare.

59

“But the stream of life is ebbing fast,
And the outward world is waxing dim,
And a shadow o'er my eyes is cast,
O'er the earth, and round the sky's blue rim.
“Welcome, Death! but O maternal Earth!
O soft meadows, where the violets grow!
O dear country, where I had my birth!
Must I leave you? Must I, must I go?
“Yes, I leave thee, mother Earth! I leave
All thy scented fields and singing brooks,
All the glancing lights of summer eve,
All the summer morning's calmer looks.
“Mother Earth, farewell! and sacred sky,
Dropping over all thy purple folds;
And farewell, O Sun! whose central eye
All the ages and the acts beholds.
“Blessed be the Gods that gave me life,
Blessed be the Gods that ask it back,
Crowning their young athlete in the strife,
Scattering flowers upon their herald's track.
“But the world is fading, clasp my hand,
Kiss me, husband, children, for I go
To the still and lovely shadow-land,
Where the Elysian spirits love and know.

60

“O Admetus! if I have been true,
Think of me in the glad after-time,
Tell my little daughter what to do
If fate call her to a death sublime.
“Yet, beloved, do not think of me,
If thou grieve to think how it befell,—
Hush, I hear His voice, He summons me:
Husband! children! take my last farewell!”
Thus the gentle wife, Alcestis, died,
And Admetus and his children wept;
She, while they were grieving at her side,
With her garland and her glory slept.

61

ADMETUS.

When the world was young, a sacred awe
Touched with grace the dreaming heart of man;
Star, flower, ocean, all he heard and saw,
Told of life that ere our life began.

In the initial stanzas of this poem I have attempted to describe the Fetichistic or fictitious stage of the intellectual progression—“the spontaneous tendency of the intellect to account to itself for all cases of Causation by assimilating them to the intentional acts of voluntary agents like itself.” Rude nations, says the Abbé Raynal, quoted by Mr Mill in his “System of Logic,” do really believe sun, moon, and stars, earth, sea, and air, fountains and lakes, to have understanding and active power. The Fetichistic stage is the first of the three stages through which, according to Auguste Comte's fundamental law, all human speculation passes. “In the first of these,” says Mr Mill, “it tends to explain the phenomena by supernatural agencies, in the second by metaphysical abstractions, and in the third or final state confines itself to ascertaining their laws of succession and similitude. This generalisation appears to me to have that high degree of scientific evidence which is derived from the concurrence of the indications of history with the probabilities derived from the constitution of the human mind.”—System of Logic.


Man, Narcissus-like, beheld his form
Mirrored now in ocean, now in sky;
Lent his own strong will to fire and storm;
Called, and heard a fairer Self reply.
Shadows sleeping, wandering on the hill,
Clouds before the chasing breeze that ran,
Rill, and wind that warbled to the rill,
Sun and star to man reflected man.
Then immortals among mortals strayed,
God and goddess made their home on earth,
White-armed Here and the blue-eyed Maid,
Bacchus and the Queen of smiles and mirth.

62

Phœbus too lived here, but lived in pain,
'Mid the shadow of a mystic woe;
Not a splendour might the God retain,
Neither golden sword nor silver bow.
All his limbs were disarrayed of might,
Like a common man he moved along;
But his harp still charmed him day and night—
Godlike souls are ever charmed with song.
Then to King Admetus came the God,
Begged the pieties of house and hearth;
Craved a shelter though in mean abode,
And implored him by his noble birth.
King Admetus listened to his prayer,
And he made him lord of all his sheep;
In soft glades and meadows was his care,
On the knolls and in the valleys deep.
Now strange music yearns amid the rocks,
Song divine athwart the uplands swells;
Thus Apollo charms the wandering flocks,
Thus in lowly form the Godhead dwells.
Sweetly sang the poet of the skies,
Sweetly harped the harper of the sun,
But the god was veiled from human eyes,
Light and voice alike were felt by none.

63

Yet the leopard and the fair lucern,
Fawn and lynx would listen to his lays!
And their large, bright eyes would softlier burn;
So wild nature its true king obeys.
Now the radiant God, enthroned in heaven,
Smiles once more in calm, Olympian bliss,
And that deed of guilt is all forgiven;
Ah! that the great Gods should do amiss.
Hark! while round their lord the Muses sing,
Breaks a low, sad wail upon his ears;
Still his thoughts are with the sorrowing King,—
Gods are touched at sight of human tears.
Long Apollo mused, at length he prayed
Death to give him back that queenly wife;
But the King of Shadows answer made,
“I have won, and I will keep her life.”
Then a hero lived and toiled for men,
With the graceful sanctified the strong,
Called the fruitful field from dragon's den,
And with sword prepared the world for song
Through Thessalian dells as once he sped,
Him, the prophet-god, at fall of day,
Onward, to the lawny uplands led,
Where the kingly mourner's palace lay.

64

“Will you take a helpless stranger in,
Travel-worn, and faint for lack of food,
Staying for awhile that mournful din,
Silencing that wailing multitude?”
Said the hero. And the slave replied,
“Be thou welcome both to house and board,
Though a lady dear to him hath died,
Dear are gentle uses to my lord.”
Now within the banquet-room he sate,
Vexed in heart and worn in every limb,
But the viands cheered him as he ate,
And the grape's red blood was shed for him.
When his wonted spirit had returned,
Said the feaster to the patient slave,
“Tell me who it is that ye have mourned,
Who it is ye carry to the grave.”
“Courteous is my lord,” the slave replied;
“And with no sad tale would weary thee.”
“Name the dead,” the heroic stranger cried;
“Name the dead, and leave the rest to me.”
“Nay, if I must tell thee, be it so;
We have lost a lady, he a wife,
And to colour and inflame his woe,
She for him laid down her noble life.

65

“For King Death to King Admetus came,
And had borne him dead among the dead,
But the prayer of love half changed the claim—
The wife perished in the husband's stead.”
“Whither then went Death?” he cried aloud.
“Westward, lord,” replied the marvelling slave.
“How attired was he?”—“In thick black shroud.”
“How far gone?”—“No farther than the grave.”
“Take my thanks to that good lord of thine,
Tell him to forget his grief and cares;
He who gives the wandering stranger wine,
Entertains the Gods though unawares.”
Thus the hero spake, and star-like went
Forth into the darkness and the night;
For he had conceived a great intent,
Death to challenge and o'erthrow in fight.
Westward, westward, on and on he strode,
Downward, downward to the House of Death,
Where the darkness lies, a weary load,
And the traveller pants with short, thick breath.
Here he seized King Death with iron grip,
Graspt him till his clenchèd hands grew white,
Here they stood and wrestled hip to hip,
Breast met breast like waves across the night.

66

So they struggled—hour succeeded hour,
Stars had climbed the heaven, and stars withdrawn,
Light was shed on temple and on tower,
And the halls of Pheræ felt the dawn.
Now the birds were singing in the day,
Now the East was crossed with bars of gold,
Voice and step rang clear along the way,
And the early wind blew fresh and cold.
When the sun, in robes of golden fire,
Had arrayed each old Thessalian hill,
King Admetus, yearning with desire,
Would go forth his beating heart to still.
Swift along the palace court he trod,
When a voice fell pulsing on his ear.
Soon Admetus turned, and knew the God,
In his quiet beauty standing near.
Calm his presence as the summer dawn,
Tranquil power was in each look and limb;
Half the Godhead was from sight withdrawn,
And the manhood half smiled out on him.
Said the God, “Thy steps, O King! retrace,
Friends await thee in thy echoing halls.
Thou art gazing on no mortal face;
When a God appears, fair Hap befalls.

67

“In my houseless days thou gav'st me rest,
Kindness, courtesy, I had from thee;
Once I was thy servant and thy guest,
Now behold a God, a friend in me.”
Thus he spake who ever speaks the truth,
Thus the pilot-star the wanderer leads;
Still is valour heralded by youth,
Still Apollo Hercules precedes.
For the God had vanished, and the King,
Wandering past the unfolded palace-gates,
As a man that knows some fair dread thing,
Fair though dread, his coming step awaits.
On he passed as though a ghost were by,
Hoping, fearing, till the hall he won;
Lo! a lord and lady standing nigh,
Silent in the presence of the sun.
Central in the hall the strangers stood,
He was strong, but travel-worn and pale,
She, retired in her sweet womanhood,
Hid her face behind a snow-white veil.
“Welcome, welcome from Admetus take,
Gentle service ye shall have from me;
Ye are friends for great Apollo's sake:
Hail, O lord! and lady, hail to thee!”

68

“I, a grateful guest,” the man replied,
“Through rude ways, through many a mountain rift,
Safely lead to thee a lovely bride;
Worthy of the giver is the gift.”
“Stranger, bring me any gift but this;
I have lately lost a gentle wife;
Surely, surely, I should act amiss,
If I ever joyed again in life.”
“Gentle act a fit return demands;
Kindness ever kindness will beget.
Late Admetus gave with liberal hands,
Hercules as amply pays the debt.
“I have looked on Death in wondrous fray,
Followed on no common foeman's track,
And along a wild, untravelled way,
Have I led a captive lady back.
“Noble is she as the Gods above,
Thou hast never had a truer friend;
Stronger than the grave will be her love,
Not Alcestis can her worth transcend.”
“Name her not,” the impatient King exclaimed,
“Sacred as the Gods her fame shall be;
Still by reverent lips shall she be named,
And, though dead, shall be beloved by me.”

69

“By the gleam of Phœbus' lifted bow,
By the silver shafts that round us play,
Raise the veil, O King! and thou wilt know
What a loss it were to disobey.
“Best and dearest things are often hid,
Oft a veil will cover noble worth;
If we raise it, as the Immortals bid,
Oft return the old love and truth to earth.”
Half Admetus doubts, and half agrees,
Then with trembling hand the veil uplifts;
Ah! it is no stranger that he sees,
But the Heavens restore their ancient gift.
Ask not what sweet pieties will spring
From the grave to consecrate their life;
To his joy and passion leave the King,
To her love the tender, loyal wife.

70

THE LADY ALVA'S WEB.

(An Allegory.)

The Lady Alva woke with light,
And with the sun arose;
Then clad her in an amice white
As are the northern snows.
The Lady Alva knelt and prayed
In a still voice and small;
I did not hear the words she said,
And yet I know them all.

This was originally a semi-pantheistic poem. I wish it now to be regarded as an attempt to delineate the incompre-hensible and multifarious activity of existence, by ascribing to the great mystery of Power a human-like agency,—the natura naturans conducting the marvellous transformations in the external world being represented by the spirit which in the human world exercises a corresponding magical ministration.


The Lady Alva lived alone
In isolated spot;
Her dwelling was a web of stone,
A complicated grot.
Here porphyry tendril, granite thread,
Were laced and interlaced;
Here pebble white and pebble red
Were intricately placed.

71

Here rock on rock and crag on crag
Were twined and intertwined,
In form of fairy, shape of hag,
Before her and behind;
And in the centre of the coil,
A web more curious far
The lady wrought with patient toil,
From rise to set of star.
All day she wove, all day she wrought,
All day the shuttle threw,
And evermore she sang her thought,
And swift her fingers flew.
She sang and wove, nor any strife
'Twixt song and web could find;
She held that song interprets life,
As life interprets mind.
“The gentle Power that dwells on high,
The Soul that dwells in all,
That brightens in the starry sky
Or breathes when young winds call;
That mild and lonely Spirit weaves
His web of suns and spheres,
Of winds and waves, and flowers and leaves,
Of days and months and years.
“In peace, in war, in hate and love,
In pleasure and in pain,

72

“The gentle Power, below, above,
Asserts his endless reign.
He weaves his web, and I weave mine,
And ever as I weave,
Through weal and woe, through shade and shine,
I sing and never grieve.
“My web dilates, my shuttle flies,
My threads are thickly crossed;
The work is strong, and rich its dyes,
No lovely hue is lost.
So action spreads; so noble deeds
With noble deeds conspire;
So life from life to life proceeds,
In circles ever higher.
“On warp and woof the colours glow,
Like hues of sunset skies,
And intermix and interflow
Dyes matched with kindred dyes.
So graceful act, melodious speech,
To noble purpose tend;
Wise aims unite, and each with each
The hues of kindness blend.
“So weave I still, so sing I still,
So weaves and sings in me
The lord of good, the lord of ill,
The lord of all that be:

73

The lord of lights and colours rare,
That gleam in Nature's loom,
In rainbow cloud, in rosy air,
In blade and bud and bloom.
“He weaves and sings; whate'er may be,
That Spirit is not sad:
His name is Beautiful, and he
Is neither good nor bad.
Above all ill, above all good,
He harmonises all;
He smiles on the vast brotherhood,
He loves both great and small.
“He weaves his web, and still will weave,
He works from age to age,
In silence sweet of morn and eve,
Or tempest's kingly rage.
He weaves his web. But mine is wrought,
Here ends my mystic lay;
One colour more completes my thought,
One sunbeam more the day.”
So sang she there, so wove she there,
And through the tissue led,
With shuttle swift and finger fair,
The consummating thread;
Nor maiden-white, nor loyal blue,
Nor red, nor green there lack,
And glides through all the solemn hue,
The dread and fatal black.

74

She sings no more, she weaves no more,
Her task and song are done;
The shadows fall, the day is o'er,
Down goes the glorious sun.
The Lady Alva rose with light,
And must with light retire;
There can no work be done at night,
No workman take his hire.
O fear! O wonder! can it be
No mystic web is there?
I look, but I no longer see
The magic lady fair.
Yet doubt I not the tale is true,
But silent and alone
I look within, and weave anew
The Lady's web of stone.

75

THE NOBLE LESSON.

In this poem, as in the ode at the end of the volume, is an admiring and reverential estimate of the character of the Founder of Christianity, which harmonises with that of Strauss, Shelley, and other repudiators of Christian dogmatics. Mr J. S. Mill's appreciation is too unqualified, but he has, in my judgment, touched truly on some of the beautiful human attributes of the great Prophet of Nazareth. Jesus is to me, as to Mr Mill, “probably the greatest moral reformer and martyr to that mission who ever existed upon earth.” In the section on “Religion,” by the “one mind, the sovereign will,” I mean the collective spirit of the human race, conceived as one continuous whole, including the Past, the Present, and the Future. “On all sides,” says Mr Lewes, “it appears that Nature embodies the transfigured desires of man, and the idealising spirit of man. It is the work, the emotion, and the thought of Humanity.”

In rights are all men equal” (p. 80).—The Justinian Code declares the natural equality of men. Social equality is an ideal to be realised by peaceful approximations, by reforms in manners, opinions, and sentiments; by education, community of work, and constant personal intercourse. Absolute equality is a chimera. The equality which I consider possible is based on the general recognition of human worth. Such an equality is not incompatible with veneration for superior gifts, with the subordination essential to the prosecution of common enterprise, with an appreciation of the sanctities of antiquity, or even the claims of gentle birth, if the merit of the living descendant serve to recall the debt of gratitude which we owe to the nobler ancestor.

I. INDUCTION.

O people! listen while I preach,
For right and duty I uphold,
Great truths and mighty mysteries teach,
Taught by the wise of old.
Oh, scorn not the poetic priest!
Freely he sends his thoughts abroad,
Hoping that good may be increased,
And evil overawed.
The shows and images of things
Are evermore in his control,
The future sleeps, with folded wings,
In his prophetic soul.

76

Brothers, let freedom be your lot,
Freedom in city and in glen;
Buy freedom, buy and sell it not;
Be free, and free—be men.
Revere the wise, the good, the brave,
The souls that feel, the heads that plan,
And guard as holy ground the grave
Of every noble man.
Live with the angels Hope and Faith;
The poet's faith unlocks the skies:
Hope through the shadowy gates of death,
Showed Dante Paradise.
Man's heart is learned by love alone,
Love lights the worm beneath the sod,
Love crowns the king upon the throne,
Love, only love is God.
Learn the great lesson to forbear;
Do what ye can, not what ye would;
And often be content to spare
Some evil for much good.
Take what the gracious hours have given,
For moon and rainbow never fret;
This world, believe me, is not heaven,
Nor are we angels yet.

77

But if we patient are and wise,
We may exalt it day by day,
May make it worthier of the skies,
And give it lordlier sway.
Science and poetry and thought,
Truth and religion may be ours,
And joy and love shall spring unsought,
Like birds from wayside bowers.
Then forward, brother, win the prize;
But take this awful truth with thee—
Thou must be brave, and good and wise,
Before thou can'st be free.

II. EDUCATION.

The rose that feeds on air and dew
Is nourished both by sun and shower,
Yet self-unfolds its leaves anew,
And self-creates each flower.
So shalt thou be. This common earth
Shall pass into thy human mind,
And thoughts and feelings of high birth
Thou in deep heavens shalt find.

78

Yet humbly question thine own soul,
Till it give oracles to thee;
And be not fractional, but whole,
Brave, frank, and simple be.
Be self-unfolded from within,
Unveil thy leaves, unfurl thy flowers,
Draw glory from the sunrise, win
Strength from the sunset bowers.
Swim, leap, dance, wrestle, laugh, and shout,
A merry, graceful child of health;
Scatter thy quips and quirks about,
And they shall be thy wealth.
With lady Nature live apart,
And she shall give thee tears and kisses,
The frolic love of her wild heart,
Praise, blame, and grief, and blisses.
Colour, locality, and weight,
Language and music she shall teach,
All simple motion, regal state,
All song, all rhythm speech.
Science and history, art and song,
Shall in thy templed spirit dwell;
Music shall make thee swift and strong,
And so shalt thou excel.

79

A kingly spirit shall be thine,
A beautiful well-doing robe
Thy pure white soul, as light divine
Apparels the round globe.
The Christ shall be thy fair Ideal,
His fulness thy heroic stature;
The life of Jesus shall grow real,
And be allied to Nature.
His thought and speech and graceful deed,
His love and his self-immolation,
His calm, brave soul, in pain and need,
Were meant for imitation.
Be self-reliant, humble, firm,
Tread earth as great king Adam trod;
And if a brother call thee worm,
Tell him thou art a god.

III. CITIZENSHIP.

What Nature gives thee as a man,
Thou as a citizen shalt keep;
Uphold thy mother's royal plan,
With counsel true and deep.

80

What she shall teach receive from her,
When she is mute no answer seek;
To equal use and wont defer,
Until she learn to speak.
Thou art a sovran—one that ought
Wisely to rule the realm of Being,
In speech, in action, and in thought,
Far-reaching and far-seeing.
In Law self-made thy manhood lies,
Thine own true words shalt thou obey;
They shall have worship in thine eyes
That cannot pass away.
In rights are all men equal, all

“Give me matter,” says Kant, “and I will build the world;” and deducing from simple data a doctrine similar to the well-known “Nebular Hypothesis” of Laplace, he accounts for the relations of the masses and the densities of the planets to their distances from the sun, for the eccentricities of their orbits, for their rotations, for their satellites, for the general agreement in the direction of rotation among the celestial bodies, for Saturn's ring and for the zodiacal light. The nebular hypothesis shows that prior to the earth being in a fluid state it existed, dissolved in a vast nebula, the parent of the solar system; that this nebula gradually contracted and condensed, throwing off the planets one by one; that the central portion of the nebula, condensed perhaps to the fluid state, exists at present as the sun. See Huxley's “Lay Sermons,” p. 241, and Lockyer's “Lessons in Astronomy,” p. 88.

That far planet.”—Neptune. Mr Adams of the University of Cambridge, a native of Cornwall, and M. Leverrier of Paris, independently and almost simultaneously discovered the theoretical place of this planet, which was found very near the position thus assigned it by Dr Galle, September 23, 1846.

The existence of an unknown planet was inferred by Kant from scientific data. In 1771 Uranus was discovered by Sir William Herschell, justifying the inference of the philosopher.

The “kingly orb” of the poem is Jupiter; the “world of wild romance,” Saturn; the “daughter of the sun,” Venus; the “eldest born of light,” Mercury; the “mysterious radiance” from the sun, the zodiacal light, an appendage of the sun which extends beyond the earth. The stanzas describing the biological evolution have been recently inserted, as the poem when composed, in 1849, dealt only with the idea of planetary evolution. I have endeavoured to give a poetical expression to recent speculations, in particular, to Mr Herbert Spencer's doctrine of transmitted experiences, in the new verses. As regards what is said of the eye, Mr Spencer writes:—

“As soon as there exists a rudimentary eye capable of receiving an impression from a moving object about to strike the organism, and so rendering it possible for the organism to make some adapted movement, there is shown the dawn of actions which we distinguish as intelligent. As soon as the organism, fully sensitive to a jar or vibration propagated through its medium, contracts itself so as to be in less danger from the adjacent source of disturbance, we perceive a nascent form of the life classed as psychical. That is to say, whenever the correspondence exhibits some extension in space or time, some increase of speciality or complexity, we find we have crossed the boundary between physical life and psychical life.” —Principles of Psychology, p. 392.


In reason and in conscience peers,—
All kings, whom Nature's purple pall
Clothes as the air the spheres.
Yet reverence to hoar Wisdom pay;
Think more of duties than of dues;
Govern the better to obey;
Be loth the sword to use.
Link the pale present with the past,
Live in the light of coming hours;
Nor tremble at the passionate blast
That rocks the world's grey towers.

81

Across the ruins of the time,
Behold a happier future rise,
And gaze as with the joy sublime
Of one that sees and dies.
A prophet be with words of fate,
A Phœbus with resplendent locks,
Man's friendship for entailed estate,
True heart for ballot-box.
The lowly child of earth and sky,
Love all the brothers of thy blood,
For others live, for others die,
Not great, but nobly good.
The common earth, the general seas,
Open to all the human race,
Unchain the sunlight, loose the breeze,
Make free all time and space.
So shall the human city stand,
Self-balanced, central as the sun;
Each nation hath its Fatherland,
Yet are all nations one.

82

IV. SOCIAL BEING.

It is not good to live alone,
A cloistered virtue wins small praise;
Glad shalt thou dwell among thine own,
And lead ambrosial days.
Be thou a lover, tender, true,
With a deep worship in thy heart,
Impassioned yet ascetic too,
Thy love a church, not mart.
Choose thou a wife with sculptured form,
With pictured face and speechful eyes,
With thoughts like calm ere break of storm,
Feelings like sunset skies.
A daily beauty in her life
Shall sanctify thy dwelling lowly,
All needs and cares by thy sweet wife
Shall be transfigured wholly.
Hold thou thy fathership divine,
Treat thou thy children like young gods,
Incarnate of the eternal prime,
To dwell in man's abodes.

83

Grand recollections, insights blest,
Fine apprehensions, shadowy feelings,
Above them like the heavens shall rest,
With eloquent revealings.
Choose thou a friend, heroic, brave,
In action and in thought like thee,
In temper gay if thou art grave,
If gay, he grave should be.
Converse with him as Christ with God,
Go up into thy mountain high;
Look not for the familiar nod,
Nor always ask reply.
Dwell with thy kin, if they will hear
Truth's sweet low singing night and day;
But if they seek no starry sphere,
Still hold thy heavenward way.
Honour thy father more than other,
In soul and body bid him thrive;
With gentle Coleridge, deem a mother
The holiest thing alive.
Give helping hand to needy neighbour,
And glorify the humblest lot
With songs in praise of sacred labour,
And see thou idle not.

84

So shall the Social Fabric rise,
So shalt thou bear, where'er thou be,
The blessings of the evening skies
And morning stars with thee.

V. RELIGION.

Who would build up his manhood well
Must lay the great foundation-stone
In piety, for he shall dwell
Secure in that alone.
On Justice let thy palace-hall
As on a diamond rock be built,
And so thy house shall never fall
Like homes of ancient guilt.
Love thou the dear maternal Earth,
The magic moon, the orb divine
From which the kindred orbs had birth
That round their father shine.
Love the fair Powers that work for good,
The world's glad life, the heart's great law,
The Mystery never understood,
The great primeval Awe.

85

Love the One Mind, the secret Will,

Humanity, In this poem, as in the ode at the end of the volume, is an admiring and reverential estimate of the character of the Founder of Christianity, which harmonises with that of Strauss, Shelley, and other repudiators of Christian dogmatics. Mr J. S. Mill's appreciation is too unqualified, but he has, in my judgment, touched truly on some of the beautiful human attributes of the great Prophet of Nazareth. Jesus is to me, as to Mr Mill, “probably the greatest moral reformer and martyr to that mission who ever existed upon earth.” In the section on “Religion,” by the “one mind, the sovereign will,” I mean the collective spirit of the human race, conceived as one continuous whole, including the Past, the Present, and the Future. “On all sides,” says Mr Lewes, “it appears that Nature embodies the transfigured desires of man, and the idealising spirit of man. It is the work, the emotion, and the thought of Humanity.”

In rights are all men equal” (p. 80).—The Justinian Code declares the natural equality of men. Social equality is an ideal to be realised by peaceful approximations, by reforms in manners, opinions, and sentiments; by education, community of work, and constant personal intercourse. Absolute equality is a chimera. The equality which I consider possible is based on the general recognition of human worth. Such an equality is not incompatible with veneration for superior gifts, with the subordination essential to the prosecution of common enterprise, with an appreciation of the sanctities of antiquity, or even the claims of gentle birth, if the merit of the living descendant serve to recall the debt of gratitude which we owe to the nobler ancestor.


The Soul to which all souls aspire,
The Presence felt by stream and hill,
In cloud and sunset fire:
That breathes in old melodious song,
That wakes high thought to noble deed,
That still discrowns the ancient Wrong,
Crowns Right where patriots bleed:
That through the storied centuries moves,
That dwells, a mind in every mind,
That lives, learns, praises, disapproves,
The Soul of humankind.
The Spirit of the Eternal Man,

In this poem, as in the ode at the end of the volume, is an admiring and reverential estimate of the character of the Founder of Christianity, which harmonises with that of Strauss, Shelley, and other repudiators of Christian dogmatics. Mr J. S. Mill's appreciation is too unqualified, but he has, in my judgment, touched truly on some of the beautiful human attributes of the great Prophet of Nazareth. Jesus is to me, as to Mr Mill, “probably the greatest moral reformer and martyr to that mission who ever existed upon earth.” In the section on “Religion,” by the “one mind, the sovereign will,” I mean the collective spirit of the human race, conceived as one continuous whole, including the Past, the Present, and the Future. “On all sides,” says Mr Lewes, “it appears that Nature embodies the transfigured desires of man, and the idealising spirit of man. It is the work, the emotion, and the thought of Humanity.”

In rights are all men equal” (p. 80).—The Justinian Code declares the natural equality of men. Social equality is an ideal to be realised by peaceful approximations, by reforms in manners, opinions, and sentiments; by education, community of work, and constant personal intercourse. Absolute equality is a chimera. The equality which I consider possible is based on the general recognition of human worth. Such an equality is not incompatible with veneration for superior gifts, with the subordination essential to the prosecution of common enterprise, with an appreciation of the sanctities of antiquity, or even the claims of gentle birth, if the merit of the living descendant serve to recall the debt of gratitude which we owe to the nobler ancestor.


That links the present to the past,
That with the world's first child began,
To end but with its last:
The seen, unseen Humanity,
The mother-life of thought and act,
Thy sacred Fair-ideal be,
And omnipresent fact.
Columnar hill and cloistral shade,
Cloud, rainbow, sunset-heavens, shall be
Cathedral, temple, colonnade,
And house of God to thee.

86

Yet reverence thou the ancient fane,
There once man's highest lore was taught;
That blossomed stone, that pictured pane,
Was once a poet's thought.
So bind thyself with silver ties
To men; to man with golden bands:
This is religion—thus shall rise
The House not made with hands.
 

Plato.


87

GENESIS.

“Give me matter,” says Kant, “and I will build the world;” and deducing from simple data a doctrine similar to the well-known “Nebular Hypothesis” of Laplace, he accounts for the relations of the masses and the densities of the planets to their distances from the sun, for the eccentricities of their orbits, for their rotations, for their satellites, for the general agreement in the direction of rotation among the celestial bodies, for Saturn's ring and for the zodiacal light. The nebular hypothesis shows that prior to the earth being in a fluid state it existed, dissolved in a vast nebula, the parent of the solar system; that this nebula gradually contracted and condensed, throwing off the planets one by one; that the central portion of the nebula, condensed perhaps to the fluid state, exists at present as the sun. See Huxley's “Lay Sermons,” p. 241, and Lockyer's “Lessons in Astronomy,” p. 88.

That far planet.”—Neptune. Mr Adams of the University of Cambridge, a native of Cornwall, and M. Leverrier of Paris, independently and almost simultaneously discovered the theoretical place of this planet, which was found very near the position thus assigned it by Dr Galle, September 23, 1846.

The existence of an unknown planet was inferred by Kant from scientific data. In 1771 Uranus was discovered by Sir William Herschell, justifying the inference of the philosopher.

The “kingly orb” of the poem is Jupiter; the “world of wild romance,” Saturn; the “daughter of the sun,” Venus; the “eldest born of light,” Mercury; the “mysterious radiance” from the sun, the zodiacal light, an appendage of the sun which extends beyond the earth. The stanzas describing the biological evolution have been recently inserted, as the poem when composed, in 1849, dealt only with the idea of planetary evolution. I have endeavoured to give a poetical expression to recent speculations, in particular, to Mr Herbert Spencer's doctrine of transmitted experiences, in the new verses. As regards what is said of the eye, Mr Spencer writes:—

“As soon as there exists a rudimentary eye capable of receiving an impression from a moving object about to strike the organism, and so rendering it possible for the organism to make some adapted movement, there is shown the dawn of actions which we distinguish as intelligent. As soon as the organism, fully sensitive to a jar or vibration propagated through its medium, contracts itself so as to be in less danger from the adjacent source of disturbance, we perceive a nascent form of the life classed as psychical. That is to say, whenever the correspondence exhibits some extension in space or time, some increase of speciality or complexity, we find we have crossed the boundary between physical life and psychical life.” —Principles of Psychology, p. 392.

There was never yet beginning
To the web that we behold;
Ever weaving, ever spinning,
Nature wrought it fold on fold;
Her mysterious shuttle throwing
Thro' the wild and restless loom
Of a chaos, dark or glowing
With old lights or ancient gloom.
Ever fairy form was mated
With the grey old Proteus power,
As, self-sculptured, self-created,
Sleeps in snow the veiled snow-flower.
Then, when Time was young and vernal,
Worlds would bloom and worlds would fade;
Aweful flowers of growth eternal,
Still they grew and still decayed.
We may dream not of the glory
Of that earlier golden age;

88

It has left no mythic story,
Has inspired no prophet's page.
How through thousand, thousand changes,
Self-compelled, great Nature flees,
How the One through many ranges,
This is all your poet sees.
Onward, then, with magic leading,
Such as a clear insight gives,
To a quiet spirit feeding
On the truths that it receives;
Onward, to a later season,
When that golden age has past,
And, revealed by Sense to Reason,
Nature dawns on us at last.
Leave the Universe, the lonely;
Humbler service shall be done,
If we sing, yet sing we only
Of the children of the Sun.
Turning northward, southward turning,
To the East and to the West,
You will see an endless burning,
And a moving without rest.
You shall sit upon the Centre,
You shall have an angel's eyes,
Till your piercing glances enter
That great Burning in the skies.
Room is none for doubt or cavil,
For your vision wanders o'er

89

What the eagle could not travel
In a thousand years or more.
But in vain you would aspire,
Looking left and looking right,
O'er that mist of silver fire
To direct your aching sight.
Silent is it, burning, breathing,
Like a sea of sun-bright cloud,
Waves in waves are wreathed and wreathing,
A self-convoluted crowd.
See it whirling, calm and steady!
See it surging to and fro!
As the waters gleam and eddy
In some whirlpool chafed to snow.
Cooler, cooler is it glowing,
Denser here and denser there;
Slowly, slowly orbs are growing,
Out of this gross fiery air.
One, that with a sudden motion
Left the old parental fire,
Rolls around this radiant ocean,
Nearer drawn with strange desire.
Others now, with others, sever—
The great Mist itself is one!
You may see them rolling ever,
The bright children of the Sun.
That far planet which, but lately,
One in Cornwall's rocky clime,

90

One in Paris, fair and stately,
Linked in rivalry sublime,
And the orb that, nearer shining,
The old German sage foresaw,
In the beautiful divining
Of a universal law.
Then a world of wild romances,
With his moons and double ring,
And a lordship that enhances
All the wonders that I sing.
Darkling spins that zonelike splendour,
As it travels from the light,
Veiling half its beauty tender,
Through its fifteen years of Night.
Ever, yet, one half is glowing,
Sunward, on its silent way,
And a holy light is flowing
From its fifteen years of Day.
But still nearer and still brighter,
Rolls the kingly orb that bears
The old name that once made lighter
God and goddess of their cares.
Ah! the fairy heaven of Fable
Fades and fades for evermore,
Harp and voice alike unable
Jove's Olympus to restore.
Withered lie the Morning's roses,
And the Muses' song is still,

91

And no cestus now encloses
Soft white waists against their will.
Poets' song and prophets' dreaming
Pass, with all that man has done,
But abides the primal gleaming.
Of the children of the Sun.
With green waters ever plashing,
And with rocks of ruddy stone,
See the star of battles flashing
As he circles near our own.
Earth! my mother, have I won thee?
Clasped thee in my poet-flight?
Oh, a thousand blessings on thee,
Parent of all true delight!
With thy white and purple waters,
Granite rocks and forest trees,
Noble sons and graceful daughters,
And more lovely shapes than these.
Once self-growing, once self-moulding,
Each in all, and all in each,
Tender, lifeless buds, unfolding,
Yearned for life they scarce could reach:
Yearned, and in the blind endeavour,
As the million centuries ranged,
Caught the flame of life, and ever
Changing slowly, surely changed.
Till the germin inorganic,
Fed on sun-mote, cooled by dew,

92

Touched by virtue talismanic,
To a living substance grew:
Feeling, feeling, ever feeling,
Till the feeling grown intense,
From new form new force revealing,
Dawned into a separate sense.
So the film refined and brightened,
And, with sudden, wondering awe,
Out of ancient darkness lightened,
And became an eye and saw.
So each dainty nervelet quivered
Into music, and the roll
Of the song-waves as they shivered
Raised that music into soul.
And amid the woods and waters
That fair Thing which first was man,
Ere man yet had sons and daughters,
Swifter than the breezes ran;
Climbed the palm by lightnings rended,
Snatched the golden-feathered flame,
To his hollow cave descended,
Heir of a Promethean name.
Harmonies of sky and ocean,
Far-off sounds of mighty winds,
Impresses of rest and motion,
Warmth that soothes and light that blinds,

93

Fancies wild of cloud and thunder,
Dreams of twilight and the moon,
Thoughts of joy and thoughts of wonder,
Fed his brain by night and noon.
Till the mind became a mirror,
Where the world in picture dwells,
Traced in beauty, traced in terror,
In the brain's mysterious cells,
And a million dim impressions,
Secrets strange of time and place,
Are the magical possessions
Of our later happier race.
Oft, when gleam of lands Elysian,
Sense of brightness not of earth,
Haunts us, with a strange, sweet vision,
As of life before our birth;
'Tis some record, fair and fatal,
Of those old ancestral days,
Some experience, ante-natal,
Of our wild forefathers' ways.
But the silver world whose motion,
Mother Earth! is set to thine,
Without air and without ocean,
Draws me with her face divine.
Ah! a fairer day approaches!
Out of darkness, out of strife,

94

Where on Chaos Form encroaches,
Rises a young lovely life!
Soars to meet the golden morning,
Ranges where green meadows lie,
Clothes with glad and bright adorning
The new Eden of the sky.
In a clearer heaven than ours,
Wins the daughter of the sun,
For her rainbows and her flowers,
Richer hues than earth hath won.
Drenched in everlasting glory,
Floats the latest-born of light;
Strange and wild must be his story,
Strong must be his children's sight!
From the sun, for ever streaming,
A mysterious radiance flows;
Past the fourth red planet gleaming,
Like a pyramid it shows.
Such of old the generation
Of the sun and of the spheres;
Such the mystic revelation
Given to the fading years.
With a calm and aweful pleasure,
Look into the lonely sky,
Where the spheres with rhythmic measure
Now approach the sun, now fly.
Never voice is heard, and never
Is their circling journey done;

95

You may see them rolling ever,
Silent children of the sun.
Are there fathers, are there mothers,
Are there friends and lovers there?
Do sweet sisters let their brothers
Braid white roses in their hair?
Have they pains and have they pleasures,
Have they loves and hatreds too?
Have they old poetic measures,
Do they kiss and do they woo?
Have they sped through vale and mountain
Chariots winged with steam and fire?
Does some genius leave the fountain
When their creeds, like ours, expire?
Question not: the Pure, the Lonely
Dwells in secret evermore;
Beauty born of terror only
Lifts to heights unknown before.
Leave the planets to their courses,
The star-children to their fate;
Trust the old majestic forces,
The dread powers of love and hate.
Do you feel that there is terror
In the still, the endless skies?
Are you weary of the error
That within and round you lies?
Noble, doubtless, is the feeling,
But yet nobler to be strong,

96

And, all pain of heart concealing,
To endure and welcome wrong.
Through the spheres and through the ages,
Flows a compensating law;
In the fatal stony pages
Breathes a grace amid the awe.
There is wisdom worth the winning,
There is love that never grieves,
In the web without beginning
That the fair, dread Nature weaves.

97

PALINGENESIS.

Through the orb of endless Wonder,
Through the flying dance of Change,
In the silence, in the thunder,
Form must pass and function range.
Nothing that has lived shall perish,
Fading life draws nobler breath;
Powers of dread and mildness cherish
The young germs of life in death.
In the morning of creation,
Nurslings of the cloud and sky,
Rose the graceful generation
Of the Titan ferns on high.
Fairy reed and pine gigantic
Waved where earth's young breezes blew,
Sea-beasts played with gnome-like antic,
Where the lovely sea-flowers grew.
Wondrous forms, with wondrous features,
Through the ancient oceans ran,

98

Plated fishes, hornèd creatures,
Ere the earth was fit for man.
From an insect world departed,
Dust-like shapes returned to dust,
Eagle-eyed and lion-hearted,
Rises Paris the August.

“The quarry stones of which nearly the whole city of Paris is built consists of the shells of animals, of which two hundred millions are computed in a cubic foot.”—Büchner.


Lovely forms and noble races
From the mother earth have past:
Fabled fauns and fabled graces,
Own your prototypes at last!
Palm and fern that grew colossal,
Beast from field and bird from glen,
Now as dust, and now as fossil,
Meet the wondering eyes of men.
In the infinite creation
Lies no dead, unmeaning fact,
But eternal revelation,
Endless thought in endless act—
Life that works and pauses never,
Death that passes into life,
Rest that follows motion ever,
Peace that ever follows strife.
From the dark and troubled surges
Of the roaring sea of time,
Evermore a world emerges,
Solemn, beautiful, sublime.

99

So of old, from Grecian water,
'Mid the music and the balm,
Rose the dread Olympian's daughter,
Floating on the azure calm.
Evermore the worlds are fading,
Evermore the worlds will bloom,
To refute our weak upbraiding,
To throw brightness on the gloom.
Ever the imperfect passes,
But the perfect ever grows;
Forests sink to drear morasses,
Fairer landscapes to disclose.
All the beauty, all the splendour,
Of the ancient earth and sky,
Graceful form and person tender,
All have past in silence by.
Man the fairest, man the youngest,
Man the darling of the gods,
With the weakest, with the strongest,
Travels to the still abodes.
All his brothers, unlamenting,
To the eternal plan conform,
Fall unquailing, unrepenting,
In the calm and in the storm.
Man, too, with a quiet bearing,
With brave heart and steadfast eye,

100

Undisturbed and undespairing,
Yea, with noble joy, must die.
Has he shared what Nature proffered?
Gladly taken what she gave?
Now the one last gift is offered,
Let him take that gift—the grave.
With a grand renunciation,
Let him leave to earth and sun,
For another generation,
All the good that he hath done.
Knowing that the laws eternal
Never, never can deceive,
Raised above the sphere diurnal,
And too noble, far, to grieve.
Glad that he has been the agent
Of the universal heart,
That in life's majestic pageant
He has played no worthless part.
So a great and holy feeling
Shall sustain his human soul,
And a silent strength revealing,
He, a part, shall join the whole.
Through the orb of endless Wonder,
Through the flying dance of Change,
In the silence, in the thunder,
Form shall pass and function range.

101

GOLDEN COUNSEL.

Hear what of late a prophet said,
And prize it for its wisdom's sake:
When truth to melody is wed,
Dear friends! the golden counsel take.
Freedom is but the love of law,
The freeman he who still obeys,
With loyal heart and joyful awe,
The statutes of the ancient days.
All have not equal gifts or powers,
Though all with equal rights are born;
One common warp and woof are ours,
Yet various are the garments worn.
Only clear eye and loving heart,
Only the sovereign mind is king,
Only the soul that dwells apart
And seeks the root of everything.

102

A nobler order yet shall be
Than any that the world hath known,
When men obey and yet are free,
Are loved, and yet can stand alone.
The rivers to the ocean run,
The trees spring up on hill and height,
The planets press toward the sun,
Yet circle round the kinglier light.
When man shall know and love the law
To which his being vibrates still,
Shall dwell amid the grace and awe
Of the one lone Eternal Will:
More than all fair, harmonious things,
Fair and harmonious, man, though late,
Through far-off winters, unknown springs,
Glad, shall fulfil a nobler fate.
Then shall the world a temple be
Wherein true service shall be done;
Men shall be loyal, wise, and free,
And serve the Lone the Only One.
Oh, boldly speak thy secret thought,
And tell thy want, and by the wise
Be into noble action brought,
And breathe the air of purer skies.

103

Strive less to bring the lofty down,
Than raise the low to be thy peers;
Love is the only golden crown
That will not tarnish with the years.
Soon the wild days of war shall end,
And days of happier work begin,
When love and toil shall man befriend,
And help to free the world from sin.
From the strong spirit of the air
Shall the pale scholar draw new strength,
Till hands that shape and hearts that dare
Shall join for noble ends at length:
Till e'en the poet in the wood,
Shall hear his axe delighted ring,
Feel pleasure rippling through his blood,
While in his verse his work shall sing.
'Twas thus, of late, my prophet said;
Oh, hear him for his wisdom's sake!
When truth to melody is wed,
Dear friends! the golden counsel take.

104

NEMESIS.

The Eternal Law is self-avenged,
The gods will vindicate their own;
All that we know and are is changed,
And Death remains alone.
Yet is there progress. Souls that sin
By sin and suffering do grow strong;
Delight to dole is near of kin,
Right blossoms out of wrong.
We know not clearly what is good,
We dare not see Truth's dazzling face,
But yet our heart has understood,
Has felt her royal grace.
Who loves divines the Eternal Plan,
Who dwells with Beauty dwells with Truth;
Still the old thoughts return to man,
The soul is still a youth.

105

The sun still lights the fourfold year,
The moon still lifts the wave on high,
Man still is man: then wherefore fear?
Believe, live, love, and die.
Breathe gladly as a simple child,
Nor question why thou draw'st thy breath.
Believe and act; so, reconciled
To life—resigned to death.

106

THE GOOD LORD JAMES.

Halt and hold! In calm and strife,
Be the fiery heart controlled;
In the clear blue days of life,
In the dark days, halt and hold.
Not too eager for the fray,
Willing to abide thy time;
Let another win the day,
Wait,—forbearance is sublime.
I have read a tale of old,
Legend of the Good Lord James,
How he checked the overbold,
How he gave them worthier aims.
Once his rival in the field,
Randolph, on a snow-white horse,
Led a band too proud to yield
To a larger, mightier force.

107

Gallant was the stand he made,
But he found the foe too strong;
Then to bring his rival aid
Marched the Good Lord James along.
But he sees them charge again,
But he hears the deadly shock,
And they stand upon the plain
Calm and steady as a rock.
Scattered foes, like wave on wave,
In a broken tide fall back,
And a feeling great and grave
Turns the Douglas from his track.
“Halt and hold! too late our aid,”
Gently spoke the gentle heart;
“Nobly has the game been played,
Patiently must we depart.
“Leave them; they alone shall wear
All the glory they have won;
Lessen not by needless care
The great deed that they have done.”
Evermore, in calm and strife,
Be the fiery heart controlled;
In the clear blue days of life,
In the dark days, halt and hold.

108

UNA.

Why didst thou deceive me so?
Was it noble, was it well?
Thou hast caused me deeper woe
Than my words shall ever tell.
Did you wish to humble me?
Triumph o'er a maiden's pride?
Was it right or wise to see
Feelings that a maid should hide?
Well, thou knowest I have loved,
I will not deny the fact;
Grieve I must that thou hast proved
Worthless both in heart and act.
Trust me though, I shall not grieve
Longer than a maiden should,
Sad it is indeed to leave
One I loved and one that wooed.

109

But I tread my passion down,
Wear my robes of maiden snow,
Give thee neither smile nor frown,
Calmly, mildly, bid thee go.
Soon it shall be well with me,
Still a spotless heart is mine;
Go, sir, I can pardon thee—
May a wiser life be thine.

110

OLD FEELINGS.

Once in my childish days I heard
A woman's voice that slowly read,
How 'twixt two shadowy mountains sped
Four coloured steeds, four chariots whirred.

Written in 1840, this poem expressed my sympathy with the ill-fed, ill-clothed, ill-sheltered industrial population of our own country before the repeal of the Corn Laws. It appeared in some newspaper, and was noticed, I think, by the London Spectator. A Conservative friend, ignorant of the authorship, attributed it to an “inspired weaver.” When in 1843 I commenced my ministrations among the poor of an agricultural parish in the West of England, seven or eight shillings a week was the usual remuneration received by a labouring man.


I watched until she laid the book
On the white casement-ledge again;
My heart beat high with joyful pain
On that strange oracle to look.
Day after day I would ascend
The staircase in that large old house,
And still and timorous as a mouse,
I sat and made that book my friend.
I saw the birth of seas and skies,
The first sweet woman, first fair man;
I saw how morning light began,
How faded, over Paradise.

111

I stood with the first Arab boy;
I saw the mother and the child
Of Oriental vision wild,
Laugh by the well for utter joy.
I saw a youth go forth at morn,
A traveller to the Syrian land,
And in the lonely evening stand
An exile weary and forlorn.
I saw him by the roadside lay
His sunken head upon a stone,
And while he slumbered, still and lone,
A dream fell on him fair as day.
I saw a golden ladder reach
From earth to heaven among the stars,
And up and down its gleaming bars
Trod stately angels, without speech.
What wonders did I not behold!
Dark gorgeous women, turbaned men,
White tents, like ships, in plain and glen,
Slaves, palm-trees, camels, pearls, and gold.
Ah! many an hour I sat and read,
And God seemed with me all day long;
Joy murmured a sweet undersong,
I talked with angels, with them fed.

112

It was an old deserted room;
There was a skylight arched above,
And the blue heaven looked through like love,
Softening and colouring mortal gloom.
No playmate had I, knew no game,
Yet sometimes left my book to run
And blow bright bubbles in the sun;
In after-life we do the same!
That time is gone; you think me weak
That I regret that perished time,
That I recall my golden prime
With beating heart and blushing cheek.
That time is gone: I live for truth,
Glad to resign each rainbow sham;
But still, remembering what I am,
I praise my sweet and saintly youth.
So great a hope made truce with fear,
My joy and wonder were so strong,
So rare and delicate a song
Young Life was singing in mine ear!
I therefore still in fancy climb
Up to that old and faded room,
Where feelings like fresh roses bloom
Over the grave of that fair time.

113

AQUINAS.

All day Aquinas sat alone;

The story on which this poem is founded is well known. It is said that the great scholastic, touched with pity at the thought of the doom which awaited the chief of the fallen angels, broke forth into prayer on his behalf. This poem was quoted by Mr Holyoake many years ago in his controversy with Mr Brewin Grant. The Rev. Mr Molesworth, in a “History of our Own Times,” highly commended by Mr Bright, thus records his impression of Mr Holyoake's services:—

“The success of Secularism was due, in no small degree, to the qualities of Mr Holyoake, who had assiduously cultivated great natural gifts, who delivered his opinions with calm, quiet, and persuasive earnestness, and had won the favourable attention of the working classes by the enlightened interest he had on many occasions taken in their welfare, and the thorough mastery he had displayed of many social problems in the solution of which they were deeply interested.”


Compressed he sat and spake no word,
As still as any man of stone,
In streets where never voice is heard;
With massive front and air antique
He sat, did neither move nor speak,
For thought like his seemed words too weak.
The shadows brown about him lay;
From sunrise till the sun went out,
Had sat alone that man of grey,
That marble man, hard crampt by doubt;
Some kingly problem had he found,
Some new belief not wholly sound,
Some hope that overleapt all bound.
All day Aquinas sat alone,
No answer to his question came,
And now he rose with hollow groan,
And eyes that seemed half love, half flame.

114

On the bare floor he flung him down,
Pale marble face, half smile, half frown,
Brown shadow else 'mid shadows brown.
“O God,” he said, “it cannot be,
Thy Morning-star, with endless moan,
Should lift his fading orbs to thee,
And thou be happy on thy throne.
It were not kind, nay, Father, nay,
It were not just, O God, I say:
Pray for thy Lost One, Jesus, pray!
“How can thy kingdom ever come,
While the fair angels howl below?
All holy voices would be dumb,
All loving eyes would fill with woe,
To think the lordliest Peer of Heaven,
The starry leader of the Seven,
Would never, never, be forgiven.
“Pray for thy Lost One, Jesus, pray!
O Word that made thine angel speak!
Lord! let thy pitying tears have way;
Dear God! not man alone is weak.
What is created still must fall,
And fairest still we frailest call;
Will not Christ's blood avail for all?
“Pray for thy Lost One, Jesus, pray!
O Father! think upon thy child;

115

Turn from thy own bright world away,
And look upon that dungeon wild.
O God! O Jesus! see how dark
That den of woe! O Saviour! mark
How angels weep, how groan! Hark, hark!
“He will not, will not do it more,
Restore him to his throne again.
Oh, open wide that dismal door
Which presses on the souls in pain;
So men and angels all will say,
‘Our God is good.’ Oh, day by day,
Pray for thy Lost One, Jesus, pray!”
All night Aquinas knelt alone,
Alone with black and dreadful Night,
Until before his pleading moan
The darkness ebbed away in light.
Then rose the saint, and “God,” said he,
“If darkness change to light with thee,
The Devil may yet an angel be.”

116

THE SHORELESS SEA.

Bravely, friends, ye strive to cross the sea,
But the gleaming shore approaches never;
Waves on waves still rise, and waves still flee,
But the sky's blue circle fades for ever.
Cease the eternal ocean to explore,
You can never, never cross its waters,
But that Man is man for evermore,
Murmurs from earth's thousand sons and daughters
Are we not to-day, as yesterday,
Nurslings of the heavens that hang above us?
When we pass with passing hours away,
Live we not in tender hearts that love us?
You will never measure life by thought,
All its fairest, all its best revealings,
Visit pure and gentle souls unsought;
Heaven is made of holy, happy feelings.

117

Ask not like a slave for daily bread,
But eat gladly if your bread come daily;
Patience be your prayer when hard-bested—
Sufferers pray who bear their sufferings gaily.
Worship lies in genuine word and deed;
Cast away all fear and craven sadness;
Love and courage, friends, are all ye need;
True religion is eternal gladness.

118

SUNRISE.

True it is that cloud and mist
Blot the clear blue weather;
True that lips that once have kist
Come no more together.
True that when we would do good,
Evil often follows;
True that green leaves quit the wood,
Summers lose their swallows.
True that man his queen awaits,
True that, sad and lonely,
Woman through her prison grates
Sees her tyrant only.
True the rich despise the poor,
And the poor desire
Food still from the rich man's door,
Fuel from his fire.

119

True that, in this age of ours,
There are none to guide us,
Gone the grand primæval powers!
Selfish aims divide us.
True the plaint, but, if more true,
I would not deplore it.
If an Eden fade from view,
Time may yet restore it.
Evil comes and evil goes,
But it moves me never;
For the Good, the Good, it grows,
Buds and blossoms ever.
Winter still succeeds to Spring,
But fresh Springs are coming,
Blither birds are on the wing,
Brighter bees are humming.
I have loved with right good will,
Mourned my hopes departed,
Dreamed my golden dream, and still
Am not broken-hearted.
What if cherished creeds must fade,
Faith will never leave us;
Light still falls where falls the shade,
Nor can Truth deceive us;

120

Let in light, the holy light;
Brothers! fear it never.
Darkness smiles, and wrong grows right—
Let in light for ever.
Let in light—when this shall be
Joy at once and duty,
Men in common things shall see
Goodness, truth, and beauty:
And, as noble Plato sings—
Hear it, lords and ladies—
We shall love and praise the things
That are down in Hades.
Glad am I, and glad will be,
For my heart rejoices,
When sweet looks and lips I see,
When I hear sweet voices.
I will hope, and work, and love,
Singing to the hours,
While the stars are bright above,
And below the flowers.
Apple-blossoms on the trees,
Goldcups in the meadows,
Branches waving in the breeze,
On the grass their shadows:

121

Blackbirds whistling in the wood,
Cuckoos shouting o'er us,
Clouds, in white or crimson hood,
Pacing slow before us:
Who, in such a world as this,
Could not heal his sorrow?
Welcome this sweet sunset-bliss!
Sunrise comes to-morrow.

122

MAY.

The May returns! Once more the kindling blood
Flows through the heart of the resplendent year;
The mighty sea of life is now at flood,
And Summer's thousand voices murmur near.
High up the lark, among the morning beams,
Mounts like a kindred fire that hails the day;
The wandering music haunts the woods and streams,
And gladdens the full heart of happy May.
Far off at eve the nightingale is heard,
Hid in dim leaves where whispering waters fall,
And sought, but still unseen, the schoolboy's bird,
From bowers, long-lost, renews her echoing call.
Now Hope, once more doth like a herald blow
Her stately trumpet through our desert life;
On the dark cloud Peace hangs her fading bow,
And, as it fades, Love comes to soften strife.

123

The May returns, and with her light and bloom
Returns the toil that heaps the year with gold—
The thought that with the gladness blends a gloom,
When once the fairy tale of youth is told!
Yet 'mid the sound and splendour of the May
I stand and dream, as winds and waters chime,
Of nobler summers, of an ampler day,
And praise the splendid promise of man's prime.
Taught that the leaves must fall ere buds can blow,
Taught that the flower must fade ere fruits can shine,
I hear glad harvests rustle ere they grow,
Bless my wild hope and call my dream divine.
 

See Wordsworth's “Cuckoo.”


125

II. PART II.—POLITICAL.


127

CALIFORNIA.

This poem was intended as a censure of the Mammon-worship of the age. In it the false ideal is contrasted with the true. The privations and sufferings of the gold-hunters in or about 1848, as reported in the newspapers, were appalling. I have endeavoured to portray the actual scenery of the country traversed, as well as the description of others enabled me to do so. The reader will remark, in particular, the poetic purpose which the Fata Morgana is made to subserve.

So now the Golden Age is come,
The Golden Country lies before us;
We leave the plough, we quit the loom,
And merrily we chant in chorus,
“The Golden Country lies before us.”
Away, away! across the sea,
Through forest lone and wild savannah,
With fearless heart and footstep free,
And fed with joy's celestial manna,
We cross the lone and wild savannah.
Away, away! our hope burns bright,
The Golden Country lies before us,
Nor rest by day nor sleep by night,
But forward still, and chant in chorus,
“The Golden Country lies before us.”

128

We travel through a lordly land,
A land of dream, a realm of fairy;
Here shine white lakes, and near them stand
Tall trees of graceful shape and airy,
All mirrored in those lakes of fairy.

Fata Morgana. This poem was intended as a censure of the Mammon-worship of the age. In it the false ideal is contrasted with the true. The privations and sufferings of the gold-hunters in or about 1848, as reported in the newspapers, were appalling. I have endeavoured to portray the actual scenery of the country traversed, as well as the description of others enabled me to do so. The reader will remark, in particular, the poetic purpose which the Fata Morgana is made to subserve.


A marble city rises here,
A Golden Country gleams before us,
Soft lawns, delicious shades appear—
Yet linger not, but chant in chorus,
“The Golden Country lies before us.”
Nay! in this world of rich romance,
One minute, but one minute, linger;
See snowy domes and columns glance
Beneath the morning's rosy finger;
They fade—but yet one moment linger.
Ah no! ah no! we may not stay,
A Golden Country lies before us;
This fairy dreamwork fades away,
Like youth and love—then chant in chorus,
“The Golden Country lies before us.”
Yes, we have left the enchanted ground
Of dream and delicate illusion;
But see what flowers are blooming round,
And wooing us with bright profusion.
One moment pause—'tis no illusion.

129

Oh, never care for idle flowers,
The Golden Country lies before us;
Leave poetry for boys, be ours
The truth of life—and chant in chorus,
“The Golden Country lies before us.”
We leave the sunflower with the sun,
The torch-flower burning by the river,
The trumpet-flower to wear alone
His blue and scarlet robe for ever.
We cross the plain, we ford the river:
Ah now! ah now! the mountains rise,
The Golden Country gleams before us!
The wealthy man alone is wise,
Is king of men—then chant in chorus,
“The Golden Country lies before us.”
Ah stay! Behold those seven small lakes,
Beneath enamoured woodlands shining;
'Mid rustling leaves the breeze awakes,
The bright moss, with an emerald lining,
Clothes pine and cedar, rustling, shining.
The hills—the lakes—the flowers are gone,
The Golden Country gleams before us;
Youth's visions faded one by one,
The man is wise—and thus, in chorus,
We chant the Golden Land before us.

130

Is this your promised land? Is this
The wealth, the wisdom that you proffer?
Is this your sober, waking bliss?
Is this the sceptre that you offer?
Take hence the throne—the crown ye proffer.
Amid red rock and desert sand,
The Golden Country lies before us,
Famine and Hunger hand-in-hand,
Behind us Death, the judgment o'er us,
The Golden Country gleams before us.
We left the still pure land of dreams,
The fairy world of Art and Beauty,
Of Love and Faith, where sunny gleams
Colour and warm the waste of Duty,
And half transfigure it with beauty.
Ah! this is not the land we sought,
No Golden Country gleams before us.
Oh, give us back the lofty thought,
The vision of our youth restore us;
Here gleams no Golden Land before us.
Nay, courage! and to truth be true;
All heaven lies hidden in the Real,
As stars within the o'erhanging blue.
Yea, life yet blossoms with the Ideal,
And our romance shall be the Real.

131

Ah yes! ah yes! we see it all,
A Golden Country gleams before us;
Man, man endures, though men may fall,
Flowers bloom below, stars radiate o'er us,
There gleams a Golden Land before us.
Above the mist, above the cloud,
Above the darkness and the thunder,
While storms are roaring wild and loud,
Calm shines a world of awe and wonder,
And there is silence o'er the thunder.
Lift, lift the eyes of trust and love,
A Golden Country lies before us;
With flowers below, with stars above,
With truth, with beauty doming o'er us,
A Golden Country gleams before us.

132

CHARTISM.

“The Chartists were for the most part working men, who suffered from the distress then generally prevailing, and who looked to further reforms in the system of parliamentary representation for the means of mending their condition. Their name came from their ‘People's Charter,’ the document in which they set forth their demands—universal suffrage; vote by ballot; annual parliaments; the division of the country into equal electoral districts; the abolition of the property qualification of members, and payment of their services. After some rioting in 1839, the Chartists remained tolerably quiet until 1848, when, excited by the revolutions which took place that year in France and other parts of the Continent, they determined to make show of their strength. Mustering on the 10th April on Kennington Common, they designed to march through London to the House of Commons, carrying a petition embodying their demands, which they boasted, though not with truth, to bear more than five million signatures. This was to be presented by Fergus O'Connor, one of the members for Nottingham. Both the Government and the great body of the people met this threatening movement with firmness. The Londoners, to the number of a quarter of a million, enrolled themselves as special constables; the Chartists were not allowed to cross the bridges in procession, and the whole affair passed off quietly, without the troops, which the Duke of Wellington had posted out of sight but at hand, having any need to show themselves. From this time the Chartists ceased to be of any importance as an organised body; but three of the reforms for which they contended have since been carried out by the Acts which abolished the property qualifications, and granted well-nigh universal suffrage and vote by ballot.”—History of England, by Miss Edith Thompson.

Hope, my brothers, will not leave us,
Still her bow is o'er us bent,
And the powers that ne'er deceive us,
Bid us work and be content.
Only Truth and Right shall flourish
In the end, beloved mates;
Only Love uphold, and nourish
Human hearts for human fates.
You have woes by forge and furnace,
You have darkness, you have dread;
But you work in radiant harness,
And your heaven is bright o'erhead.
Does not night bring forth the morning?
Does not darkness father light?
Even now we have forewarning,
Brothers! of the close of night.

133

Slowly creep the brightening shadows
On each mystic mountain-slope,
Beautiful on life's broad meadows
Dawns the sunrise of our hope.
Evil shall give place to Goodness,
Wrong be dispossessed by Right;
Out of old chaotic rudeness,
Slowly grows a world of light.
Do ye toil? Oh, freer, firmer,
Ye shall grow beneath your toil;
Only craven spirits murmur,
Faithless children of the soil.
Through the gloom and through the darkness,
Through the danger and the dole,
Through the mist and through the murkness,
Travels the great human soul.
Ye have read the poet-story,
Told of One who loved our race,
How the gloom outran the glory,
And the wrath outwent the grace;
How he trod the earth in sorrow,
Yet left bliss where'er he trod;
How he died, yet on the morrow
Sprang from death to light and God.
In his love and his endurance,
In his manliness sublime,

134

Labour shone with bright assurance
Of a holier happier time.
O my brothers! love and labour
As the good Lord Christ before;
Learn to bless a needy neighbour,
Even from a scanty store.
Fades the prophet's lovely vision;
While ye talk of force for force;
Rainbow hope and dream Elysian
Fly from Death on his White Horse.
Trust me, there is strength in weakness,
There's a greatness lies in love;
The persistency of meekness
Lifts you to the heavens above.
Have you never felt the pleasure
Of forgiving hate and wrong,
Rippling through your soul like measure
Sweet of sweetest poet's song?
Have you never felt that beauty
Lies in pain for others borne,
That the sacredness of duty
Bids you offer love for scorn?
But you tell me that I mock you
With a measured mincing verse—
O my brothers, I could lock you
To my heart, while I rehearse.

135

But you tell me that your anguish
And your death-toil drive you mad,
That you see your children languish,
Your beloved ones spirit-sad.
And you say: “In homestead quiet,
Where the roses climb and creep,
Where the vine is running riot,
And the bees sing you to sleep,
You can give us counsel gravest,
You can fancy and refine,
And you think your heart the bravest,
And you call your creed divine.
“Once a husband, once a father,
I could praise, and I could pray;
That is over now—I rather
Turn, like God, from God away.
No, I do not speak in malice;
You too from your creed would swerve,
Had you seen your little Alice
And her saintly mother starve.”
Nay, my brother, not so brightly
Have life's waters flowed for me;
Sorrow daily, sorrow nightly,
Comes alike to me and thee.
Broken health, and pain, and trial,
Loss of worldly gear are mine,

136

Yet on life's eternal dial
Hope's eternal sunbeams shine.
O my brother-men heroic!
Quail not at the storm of life,
Christian be you, be you stoic,
Tread not the red fields of strife.
Slowly wisdom grows, and slowly
Grows the fair new world I sing.
Listen! in the silence holy,
Breaks the blossom of its spring.

137

TENTH OF APRIL.

“The Chartists were for the most part working men, who suffered from the distress then generally prevailing, and who looked to further reforms in the system of parliamentary representation for the means of mending their condition. Their name came from their ‘People's Charter,’ the document in which they set forth their demands—universal suffrage; vote by ballot; annual parliaments; the division of the country into equal electoral districts; the abolition of the property qualification of members, and payment of their services. After some rioting in 1839, the Chartists remained tolerably quiet until 1848, when, excited by the revolutions which took place that year in France and other parts of the Continent, they determined to make show of their strength. Mustering on the 10th April on Kennington Common, they designed to march through London to the House of Commons, carrying a petition embodying their demands, which they boasted, though not with truth, to bear more than five million signatures. This was to be presented by Fergus O'Connor, one of the members for Nottingham. Both the Government and the great body of the people met this threatening movement with firmness. The Londoners, to the number of a quarter of a million, enrolled themselves as special constables; the Chartists were not allowed to cross the bridges in procession, and the whole affair passed off quietly, without the troops, which the Duke of Wellington had posted out of sight but at hand, having any need to show themselves. From this time the Chartists ceased to be of any importance as an organised body; but three of the reforms for which they contended have since been carried out by the Acts which abolished the property qualifications, and granted well-nigh universal suffrage and vote by ballot.”—History of England, by Miss Edith Thompson.

The morning breaks, the light streams far and wide,
And London rises, like a king defied,
In heart and purpose strong;
And as bold wrestlers crowned for famous feats,
His sons are gathering; brother brother greets;
A flood of life rolls surging through the streets,
And bursts and foams along.
But lo! they march—the foe is on his way;
Our England's rebel children meet to-day,
And force must force oppose.
To loyal hearts the ancient laws are dear;
Who love them not, nor hold in sacred fear
The primal order, shaping soul and sphere,
To loyal hearts are foes.
From many a lonely alley, dank and green,
From mouldy vault, dark cell, and garret mean,
The reckless inmates haste;

138

Men whom no thought of self-respect sustains,
Who scorn the meed which genuine manhood gains,
Are hurrying through a thousand streets and lanes,
To Kennington's broad waste.
Men with low brow, thick lip, and lustful glare,
Men with a reckless and defiant air,
Men that avoid the sun;
Men to whom earth and sky make vain appeal,
Who under starry heavens no wonder feel;
Men who to no celestial brightness kneel,
And are in want of none.
Thick was this scum upon the cauldron's top,
And scant amid the tares the white corn-crop,
Yet there some hearts were found
Who felt that they could nobly do or die—
Who felt, though earth was low, that heaven was high,
And loved their brother-men beneath the sky,
And loved their native ground.
Men who had worked and worked, till life would seem
A purposeless and incoherent dream,
All pulley, wheel, and screw—
Swaying and straining, shifting to and fro,
With hiss, and clang, and bang, and stress, and blow,
With infant's screams, and woman's notes of woe,
That sharper, shriller grew.

139

Men that had worked and worked till work was none,
Men that stood workless, wageless, under sun;
Men of an honest fame—
Men that had asked for guidance—men that loved
When some wise lordly presence near them moved,
Whom England's peerage had perchance approved,
Had it but shot its game.
Men that asked work alone that they might work,
Of stalwart frame, inured to dungeon murk,
To mine, to forge, and trench;
Men who would love their little ones and wives,
And lead, in quiet homes, calm, thoughtful lives;
Men in whose heart a latent grandeur strives—
A fire that none should quench.
Men who have prayed till tears stood in their eyes,
Have watched the morning and the evening skies,
And felt the glory there;
Who, with an endless brightness round them thrown,
Have journeyed through the wilderness alone,
Have sung and smiled, but now must frown and groan
In pain and wild despair.
Alas! our English chivalry hath slept,
Our English lords have idle revel kept,
Our Church forborne to preach.

140

Where the true guides are not, will false guides come;
Too long the English people has been dumb,
But now perchance it will enforce on some
The lesson it should teach.
Nay, England's people are a slow, shrewd race,
Wise and clear-sighted, and with natural grace
Loving the old and good;
Paying due reverence to the ancient laws,
Loving the majesty that overawes,
Slow to believe in any “Sacred Cause,”
It stands where it has stood.
Nay, fraud and violence shall not prevail,
Brute force is clad in no bright coat of mail,
True strength is with the just.
Who would be rich, must work; who would be free,
Must first by wisdom earn their liberty—
Must be self-governed, must self-balanced be,
Checking all sensual lust.
It is not England that has found a voice—
It is an English mob that would rejoice
To see true freedom dead!
And thus the English people answer—“No!
An endless debt to our dear land we owe;
And, but for love of her, we would not go
Where these vain men are led.

141

“We build our house on the eternal rock,
That fears nor rolling storm nor earthquake's shock;
We stand for Law and Truth.
We love all straight, detest all crooked ways:
He only governs well who well obeys;
Brave hearts endure through long lone silent days;
Best man was humblest youth.
“We will not rise with you, misguided men,
O Shapes of Darkness, bred in Horror's den,
We will not rise with you!
Nay, since you challenge England, England's might
Shall be arrayed against you, and in fight,
Still vindicating the eternal right,
Shall try what ye can do.”
Thus said the people when the mob arose,
And thus the people did the mob oppose.
They had their gathering next,
Sound hearts and noble, gentle souls and brave,
The beautiful and strong, the wise and grave,
Are mustering with a fixed resolve to save
Their country sore perplexed.
They are all bound by one great solemn oath,
To their loved Fatherland have plighted troth,
Are silent, steady, strong.

142

Touched with a sparkle of the true old fire,
Age with firm tread, and youth with quick desire,
As to the harmony of some great lyre,
Step, stately step along.
Yet was there scum upon this cauldron's top,
Yet were there tares amid the white corn-crop;
For many a man was there
Within whose heart no fire ethereal glowed,
Who travelled on no consecrated road,
Who dreamed not of the endless debt he owed
To all that breathe the air.
But why should I thus linger in my lay?
The dreaded danger now hath past away;
Our England lives once more.
Wave, wave your banners, let your bugles sound!
O countrymen! look cheerily around;
Thank God that you are safe on English ground,
And that the storm is o'er.
And yet, O priests, O nobles! do not say
The peril has for ever past away—
The storm may blow again.
A struggle yet may come, a lofty pact
May bind the nation; for an awful fact
Lies burning under this rebellious act,
And may break out amain.

143

This wild impatience and this clamorous prayer,
And this huge Charter, carted here and there,
Have they no meaning—none?
Believe me there are gentle, loving souls,
Hearts which a nobler fear than yours controls,
Hearts struggling through life's quicksands and its shoals,
Torn, bleeding, and undone.
Were it not worth your while to save such hearts?
The sun still shines, but soon the light departs!
Oh, work while yet it gleams;
And these wild rebels, they will love you well,
For in their heart great starry feelings dwell;
They too have heard the heavenly oracle,
And dreamed their golden dreams.
I know that duty is the end of life,
I know that peace is lovely, hateful strife,
That loyalty is fair;
I know that some must rule and some obey;
I do not ask you to renounce your sway,
But to make noble efforts while you may,
To dare and yet to dare.
Your Norman fathers, in the days of old,
In their good ships, with vassals true and bold,
Would seek and find a land

144

Where they might live and work, and in broad space
Sow, reap, build, hunt, and rule a valiant race,
Make righteous laws, and rule men face to face
With kindly heart and hand.
O nobles! could ye not across the seas
One voyage go, quitting your silken ease?
Ships have you, vassals strong—
Broad fields there are beneath the western heaven,
And eastward, isles and mainlands shall be given,
To all that well have planned and bravely striven,
Like heroes of old song.
Gold harvests in those distant lands shall gleam,
Glad cities rise more lovely than in dream,
Flowers wave, and waters glance.
O noble authors! that so well deplore
That the great age of chivalry is o'er,
It rests with you, you only, to restore
The world its old romance.
O priests who mourn that reverence is dead!
Man quits a fading faith, and asks instead
A worship great and true.
I know that there was once a Church where men
Caught glimpses of the gods believed in then;
I dream that there shall be such Church again.
O dream! come true, come true!

145

O priests! O nobles! still the time is ours—
You still are thrones, are princedoms, virtues, powers;
Look round and know your work.
No battlefield awaits you—sheathe your swords;
Look round upon these toiling, starving hordes;
Not in name only, but in deed be lords,—
Night comes, blank, chill, and murk.
Oh, guide and govern England! look to facts;
The native Noble in the Present acts,
His chivalry lies here.
Make labour honourable, safe and fair,
Make commerce free and liberal as the air,
And be the knights that your forefathers were,
Without reproach or fear.
So all intolerable wrong shall fade,
No brother shall a brother's rights invade,
But all shall champion all;
Then men shall bear, with an unconquered will
And iron heart, the inevitable ill,
O'er pain, wrong, passion, death victorious still,
And calm though suns should fall.
 

“The true church should be the social organisation of humanity for purposes of moral improvement.”—R. W. Mackay.


146

PROTECTION.

The darkness and the dread and the despair
Lie thick and heavy on the human heart,
Which nurses fears, and hopes like fears, apart,
Half stifled, like caged birds for want of air;
Or if a brother act a brother's part,
The converse still is of low-thoughted care.
Children that should in the green meadows live,
And prattle to their mothers, meek and fair,
Of cowslips, daisies, birds, and merry play,
Taking ten kisses for each kiss they give,
Talk over common wants of every day,
Or ask the old question, “Is there any bread?”
While, with the murmured curse or silence dread,
Young fathers stand around with hair grief-grey.

147

THE PEOPLE'S PETITION.

Written in 1840, this poem expressed my sympathy with the ill-fed, ill-clothed, ill-sheltered industrial population of our own country before the repeal of the Corn Laws. It appeared in some newspaper, and was noticed, I think, by the London Spectator. A Conservative friend, ignorant of the authorship, attributed it to an “inspired weaver.” When in 1843 I commenced my ministrations among the poor of an agricultural parish in the West of England, seven or eight shillings a week was the usual remuneration received by a labouring man.

O lords! O rulers of the nation!
O softly clothed! O richly fed!
O men of wealth and noble station!
Give us our daily bread.
For you we are content to toil,
For you our blood like rain is shed;
Then lords and rulers of the soil,
Give us our daily bread.
Your silken robes, with endless care,
Still weave we; still unclothed, unfed,
We make the raiment that ye wear.
Give us our daily bread.
In the red forge-light do we stand,
We early leave—late seek our bed,
Tempering the steel for your right hand.
Give us our daily bread.

148

We sow your fields, ye reap the fruit,
We live in misery and in dread.
Hear but our prayer, and we are mute,
Give us our daily bread.
Throughout old England's pleasant fields,
There is no spot where we may tread,
No house to us sweet shelter yields.
Give us our daily bread.
Fathers are we; we see our sons,
We see our fair young daughters, dead:
Then hear us, O ye mighty ones!
Give us our daily bread.
'Tis vain—with cold, unfeeling eye
Ye gaze on us, unclothed, unfed;
'Tis vain—ye will not hear our cry,
Nor give us daily bread.
We turn from you, our lords by birth,
To him who is our Lord above;
We all are made of the same earth,
Are children of one love.
Then Father of this world of wonders!
Judge of the living and the dead!
Lord of the lightnings and the thunders,
Give us our daily bread.

149

WHAT DO THE PEOPLE WANT?

What do the People want? you ask.
Are we, their rightful lords,
To work, while they refuse the task
That the great God awards?
Are we to give our rights to them?
Are they to rule us now?
Shall kings put off their diadem,
And nobles guide the plough?
Nay, nay, the People do not ask
To change their place with you;
They love their work, they know their task,
Have souls to dare and do.
What do the People want?—True guides,
Kind words, and equal laws.
A People's king that still abides
True to the People's cause.

150

Oh, teach us well! Oh, rule us well!
Ye beautiful and strong!
Ye that in wisdom do excel,
Save us from woe and wrong!
We hear that we have souls like you,
To give and to receive;
They say we are immortal, too,
And this we half believe.
Something we feel within us strive,
Something all wings and fire,
A life that is not yet alive,
A mother's large desire.
O nobles! teach us what we are,
And what we ought to be;
Teach what are sun and cloud and star,
And the great hungry sea.
Teach what is God—we feel him here,
Within our heaving breast;
Oh, that we were his children dear,
And you our brothers blest!
Oh, that we were your brothers all!
Oh, that we had your love!
That ye would hear us when we call,
Like the dear God above.

151

That ye would guide us to far lands,
To sow the golden maize,
Would lead us in strong, silent bands,
Towards the western rays.
That ye would tell us what ye know
About this world of ours,
And make our thoughts and feelings grow
Pleasant and mild as flowers.
We, with our children and sweet wives,
Gentle and wise and fair,
Would tune and harmonise our lives,
Tranquil as windless air.

152

MAIZE.

In 1847, at the time of the Irish famine, maize was recommended as a nutritious article of food. If I remember rightly, Mr Carlyle, in a brief letter published in some newspaper, employed his forcible rhetoric in advising its cultivation.

Evermore God speed the plough,
Ever wave the field with gold,
That, my friends, besteads us now,
Which bestead the men of old.
Greet our gallant sires, and greet
The brave children of these days;
Once the world was sowed with wheat,
Now it shall be sowed with maize,
With the yellow, mellow maize.
God be praised that love may still
Be our highest bliss in life;
Here's the way, if there's the will,
For the man to win the wife.
Stalwart shoulder, heart of steel,
Eyes that can, with eagles' gaze,
Cross the seas and find your weal,
When ye sow the world with maize,
With the yellow, mellow maize.

153

North and South, and East and West,
Isles and continents there lie,
Wooing man to be their guest,
Under broad blue roofs of sky.
Here the soft white wheat shall grow,
In the sun's more gentle rays,
But where fiercer summers glow,
Ye shall clothe the land with maize,
With the yellow, mellow maize.
Hope have we of Afric's land,
Hope for Afric's ebon race;
Clear the jungles, hand in hand,
Dare the dreadful tiger chase.
Fold on fold the serpent lies,
Hero's sword the monster slays,
And the tawny lion flies,
As ye sow his lair with maize,
With the yellow, mellow maize.

154

VOICES.

The repeal of the Corn Laws was attributed by Sir Robert Peel to Richard Cobden, the foremost of the Free Trade politicians.

I. (RICHARD COBDEN.)

Nothing know I of forms of chivalry,
And nothing heed the sarcenet rhetoric
Of lady-love, of tourney, bower and hall.
To me, a man hewn out of solid rock,
And very meet to brave the buffeting
Of the strong winds and waves of salt abuse,
Such honey-dainty thoughts are of no worth.
The worn-out poetry of antique times
I fling aside, as gladly as the rock
Throws off the flowering herb it cherished once,
In favour of a new and larger growth.
Landlords of gentle birth and noble race,
Stars, ribands, coronets, and pedigrees,
Have had their life-blood drained, and ought to die.
Who wisely treats the land shall be to me
True landlord, holding heavenly title-deeds,

155

Who makes his life a life of gentleness,
True gentleman I own: who compasses
The secret of the sun and flying cloud,
Or sends the amber-spirit with lightning feet,
Our modern Mercury, quivering round the world,
Is nobler than the noblest nobleman.
I speak as one who has been sent by Heaven
To forge on the rough anvil of the Time
A thought and turn it into golden fact,
So making thought a thing. For 'tis my faith
That he whose presence glorified the world,
Gave us the law of Progress as of Love.
I therefore take my stand on either law,
And, in the name of Progress and of Love,
Would claim the emancipation of all trade.
The winds, the waves, the sunbeams, and the soils,
Should all be free to minister to all.
Nations, like stars, harmoniously disposed,
Should balance one another, seeking still
Their centre through the eternal law of Love.
Only by commerce, free as the great space,
Can all the nations be bound up in one,
Each giving what the others need. I see
The fairest issues in enfranchised trade,
War dispossessed of the wise heart of man,
Virtue above all virtue practised now,
Law likest Nature's ancient ordinance,
Art over and beyond all art now known.
Labour shall then be privilege and joy,
Worship shall utter free and festive speech,

156

While, like a slave released, the earth shall yield
The grateful nations lavish interchange
Of all the fruits that love the sun and breeze,
In glorious Orient lands or Western climes
Of mellower radiance. In those happy days,
Men shall live starry lives, yet not forsake
Material fact, on which all life is built;
And from the ancient hills of the universe,
As from earth's lowlier heights, when day goes down
In the grey evening of the world, shall fall
Beautiful shadows on the souls of men,
To prophecy of the large light that shines
Freely where all free souls are free to Go

II. (SARTOR RESARTUS.)

I do not know that there was ever yet
Such year as this eventful one of ours;
In all time past I cannot find its like,
And with uplifted hand athwart mine eyes,
And brow contracted, gazing steadfastly
Through vistaed centuries, I can see no year
Co-featured or conformable therewith.
For first we have undeified all life,
Have banished God from his own universe,
Have, in old dialect, forgotten God.
And secondly, we have made gods for us

157

Of them that are no gods—a twofold ill,
Bringing a twofold curse—Idolatry
And Irreligion, with despair and death.
Look round, and ask the Heaven and ask the Earth
If ever they beheld the like before?
There is no earnestness in any man,
No simple bearing and no true discourse
In social life; no prayer, no prophet's speech,
No fellowship, no friendship, and no love;
No faith in Nature's strong regalities,
No graceful deeds and no fair sanctitudes.
For chivalry we have silk-soldiership,
For kingliness we have mock-royalty,
For Church we have a palsied Christendom,
For people a loud-braying populace.
My brothers! this is fearful verity.
We must awake from sleep and see the light,
Must quit this trembling supersoil of lies,
To stand upon the mother-earth of fact.
For this huge body we must get a soul,
A true informing soul, a heavenly soul;
Workers and craftsmen must we be of God,
Must out of this dull earth—this common dust—
Create a paradise, and mould a man
Who shall become a living soul. Good stint
Of labour is there for the brave to do:—
To build and consecrate a life to God,
Reared like a temple on the holy ground
And on the everlasting hills of truth,
Wherein there shall be offered sacrifice

158

Of Godlike deeds, and thoughts like thoughts of Christ,
Wherein there shall be justice had for love,
Be chieftaincy of coroneted hearts,
And sceptred souls, the royal blood of Heaven,
Writing their names and titles in their deeds,
Divine puissances, heroic shapes,
True representatives of the Most High,
With sunward front and bold articulate speech,
Under whose guidance shall the sons of men
Go forth to war with violence and fraud,
And conquer them by love and gentleness.
Meanwhile till they shall come whom we predict,
With patient heart, calm will, and active brain,
Will I in silence and in solitude
Kneel in the catholic church of earth and heaven,
And think of Time and of Eternity,
And Him whose home it is, and love mankind,
And love each gentle heart, and love the stars,
And the huge ocean shouting to the moon.

III. (WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.)

A lover of the hills and lakes am I,
And of the Spirit that made them and me;
And therefore do I love my brother-man,
Striving with oracles from Rydal Mount,
And prophecies from grave Winandermere,

159

To lead him so to link his days and years,
That life continuous and integral
Might flow, as John, in the Apocalypse,
Beheld the river flow from God's white throne.
Reverence, Humility, Religion, Love,
And Kingliness ecclesiastical,
With natural sanctities of time and place,
I preach and I uphold. Alone I stand,
Survivor soul of my companions dear,
On Life's high mountain-top, whence I behold
Suns yet unrisen, manifest in clouds
Of purple light and light incarnadine,
Light golden, and blood-radiant, sprinkling space.
As Moses on the hill of Pisgah saw
Broad lands, though disinherited of them;
So, underneath the morning red, I see
The splendours that shall come, and die content.

160

SIR ROBERT PEEL.

Lord John Russell, to whose courageous and honourable services England is indebted for extended liberties, when in 1849 remedial measures were demanded for Ireland, replied with a cry of regret for helplessness. Sir Robert Peel's statement of a strong and decisive policy, which was afterwards wholly or in part adopted, awakened feelings of admiration, to which I gave expression in this sonnet printed in the Spectator.

I.

Now is our England like a ship at sea,
That reels and plunges in careering waves,
While, clothed with darkness, the strong tempest raves,
And sharp and threatening rocks are on the lea.
What profit can a phantom-pilot be,
A soul that hath no compass, sees no star?
O thou with the true word oracular!
Stand forth and let us know a man in thee.
Yes! come with world-wide guidance, take the helm;
There lies the port that we would gladly hold,—
Fair-havened, ere the trampling waves o'erwhelm!
O speaker of one thought more rare than gold!
O traveller in Reality's stern realm!
Thou seest our star; steer onward, wise and bold.

161

II.

Yet true it is that even thou art one
That hitherto hast steered no forthright course,
Shown no prophetic soul, no central force,
Nor stood expectant of the rising sun,
Catching the light ere day had well begun.
And if clear sight be thine, with will to act,
Or wit to build on the strong rock of Fact,
All thou wouldst do were better, earlier done.
Yet now call forth thy manhood, now arise,
And steer our England through the insurgent sea;
Now watch the coming dawn with straining eyes,
And in the Present show us the To be.
So when the daylight overflows the skies,
We shall behold our chief of men in thee.

III.

The hope, the promise now defeated are;
The rainbow leaves the cloud, and in the skies,
Where once we fixed our wistful wondering eyes,
We see not, morn or eve, our leading star;
And he that o'er the surge and swamping bar
Should be our pilot, when the winds are loud,
And the black sea is sucked into the cloud,
Leaves us, and all that promise fades afar.
Yet mourn not, for he wears a statesman's crown,

162

Whose diamond radiance strikes to years unborn;
And spite of pale-green Envy and dark frown
Of Faction or the bigot's ignorant scorn,
In pastoral village, or in red-bricked town,
His name shall wake the echoes night and morn.

163

KOSSUTH AND THE HUNGARIANS.

“The Hungarians stood up for their ancient constitutions with certain reforms. Afterwards they set up a republic under the famous Kossuth. But unluckily feuds had arisen between the Magyars and other races in Hungary, and this greatly helped the reconquest of the country by Austria, which, however, was not done without the help of Russia.” —Freeman's General Sketch.

Kossuth and the brave men of Hungary!
Champions ye are of freedom and of truth;
Like children of the world in her fresh youth,
Stand forth, stand forth, for all the earth to see!
A very ancient and a noble cause
Invites you, calls you, clothes you with new might.
Oh, doubly weaponed are you with the right,
Supported by the old majestic laws.
Now for all noble growth of mind and heart
The nations look to you; be strong and free,
And, with a fame that never shall depart,
Stand forth, stand forth, for all the world to see,
O champions both of temple and of mart,
Kossuth and the brave men of Hungary!

164

CONSOLATION.

Well have ye fought, and nobly have ye done,
And what if ye are vanquished—what if Wrong
Have been victorious? Truth is not less strong,
And her great battle is but now begun.
The father fails, success awaits the son;
Strength dwells unseen in all the true and brave,
Great memories sanctify the hero's grave,
And where Right is, the victory must be won.
Henceforth the people's cause is not with kings;
Henceforth there is no trust in sceptred men,
But in the popular heart that dares all things,
In crownless Genius with his clear full ken.
Hope, like the lark in clouds, sweet music sings,
And Force and Fraud crouch, wolf-like, in their den.

165

MAZZINI.

“By his intense and burning faith in the destinies of his country, he contributed more perhaps than any other to the realisation of the dream of unity and independence; and though he was willing to sacrifice substantial results for an ideal perfection, his designs were honestly constructive, and he was ever firmly opposed to all projects of spoliation and social disorder.”—Saturday Review, February 13, 1875.

Mazzini! like to some majestic tower,
On which the everlasting stars do sit,
While the unconquered heaven bends over it,
And ocean shouts below with giant power,
Thou standest, while the people gather fast,
Thrilled by thy words, that strengthen and inspire,
And burning like a forest all on fire,
That flares and shakes beneath the thundering blast.
Silent and strong thou standest evermore,
Worthy of honour in all time to come,
Whether thou teach a wise and noble lore,
To wandering children in an exile's home,
Or clothe with fear and splendour, as of yore,
The City of the World, the people's Rome.

166

A REVERBERATION FROM THE RIVIERA.

The good tidings of the Agricultural Labour movement reached me while wintering on the Riviera in 1871-72. That movement appeared to me to be characterised by intelligence and moderation. Though cordially sympathising with all measures that have for their object the elevation of the labouring classes, I cannot but deplore that rash and fiery words have sometimes been uttered by their advocates, or forget that the conduct of the men living on the wages of labour, in town or country, is not always prudent or unselfish. Professor Fawcett calls attention to the slight increase which has occurred in the rate of wages in Great Britain contem-poraneously to the large additions recently made to our national wealth; and it is difficult to resist the conviction that, without confiscating the property of the rich, organic reforms might be devised which should have for their result an equitable distribution of the social advantages which the improvements of civilisation accumulate in the nation. Professor Cairnes, though at one with the Socialists on the point of raising the working man from the position of a mere labourer, finds himself wholly unable to accept the means which Socialism proposes for effecting the required elevation, and is of opinion that Co-operation constitutes the one and only solution of our present problem. Mr Fawcett entertains a similar opinion, as did also the late Mr Mill. The contribution towards a common fund to be employed as capital, which is the essence of this system, Professor Cairnes declares must be derived from the savings of the working men themselves, and that they have a margin of increase he considers proved by the Excise returns. As to the British Plutocracy, I agree with Mr Goldwin Smith that it is not deserving of any particular respect. With him, too, I believe that, among the better part of the race, property is being gradually modified by duty; and with him I venture to surmise that before Humanity reaches its distant goal, property and duty will be merged in affection.

A far-off voice from England comes,
O'er lands late red with strife,
While round me gathering glows and hums
This bright Italian life.
The voice of thousand sons of toil
From Western glade and glen,
Or where the climbing hop-wreaths coil,
Near homes of Eastern men.
Across the woodlands, o'er the fields,
Among the apple-bowers,
Or where the bean her perfume yields,
Or where the wheat-ear flowers.
From Shakespeare's regal country comes
The innumerous voice to me,
No hateful sound of battle-drums,
To shake my olive-tree:

167

The olive-tree, with grey-green bloom,
Where now I sit and write,
While freshening waters flash and boom
Beneath this vine-clad height.
No warlike sound of drum or fife
Disturbs my dreaming ear,
Or mars this sweet Italian life
With notes of hate and fear.
But as the sighs of orange-flower
On odorous winds are borne,
And as I hear at noon's bright hour
The approaching railway-horn:
And tread as when, in olden days,
In visions of my own,
I trod in more majestic ways
Than yet our star has known:
I hear that voice, which still to me
Recalls a dream of mine,
That whispers men shall brothers be,
And man grow half divine.
From that great Isle where Milton sang,
The notes that greet me rise,
Heard through the echoing battle-clang
Of French and German skies,

168

In this fair land, where one late dead
Still seems in death to speak,
To beckon from each mountain head,
To call from every peak:
The immortal exile, that once made
Our English land his home,
The patriot whose majestic shade
Haunts the Eternal Rome:
The new Prometheus, whose strange fire,
In swift electric strife,
Flashed through the land of his desire,
And called the dead to life:
And roused the Mother of Mankind
From her long-centuried sleep,
Gave glorious vision to the blind,
And smiles to men that weep.
Ay! to the dead Mazzini's land,
And by the wandering wave,
That, now by pitying breezes fanned,
Was once sweet Shelley's grave.
A voice from my own English clime,
A dream that some will praise,
Blends with these memories sublime
Of dear departed days.

169

For not the sound of fleeting breath
In that glad pastoral cheer
Which wakens field, and holt, and heath,
Is all the sound I hear.
I hear a low harmonious voice,
As of the choiring spheres,
And in the prophet-tones rejoice
Which tell of statelier years;
When starry Freedom round her waist
Shall clasp the golden chain
Of Order, that, but half embraced,
Will loosen it again;
When Christ-like Wealth shall follow Christ,
And Man to men shall be
Like that Great Presence which sufficed
By blue Tiberias-Sea.
Such voice I hear, or seem to hear,
Remote from fields of strife,
While round me murmurs, far and near,
This bright Italian life.

170

THE NEW APOCALYPSE.

This ode was commenced in 1840. In one of the stanzas I ventured to predict the influence which the genius of Carlyle, Mill, Grote, and Comte would exercise on this generation— a prediction which has been amply verified. In revising the ode, I have, however, omitted the names of these distinguished men. The political forecasts whcih I then made have also had a general justification in corresponding events. In one division of the ode I have described the frightful sufferings of the people in Poland before 1848. The hangings, banishments, and other penalties inflicted on the patriots of 1863 will be in the remembrance of many of us. In the strophe which originally celebrated the great names already mentioned, are two allusions which require explanation. By “the dædal dance of power,” I mean the natural process known as the correlation or convertibility of the forces; and by the “mystic child of change and conflict,” the more perfect human being of the future, suggested by the hypothesis of Mr Darwin, or the evolution theory of Mr Spencer. In the railway strophe, the “blind fair chasms,” &c., is a mental reproduction of the magnificent local characteristics of the Sömmering Pass; and the “violet seas,” of the beautiful bays on the Riviera. The welcome given, in another strophe of the ode, to Egyptian civilisation, under Mehemet Ali's rule, has been fairly justified, though a late residence in Cairo has made me conscious to how remote a period I must postpone the fulfilment of my political ideal. “The vision known of yore,” is the religious ideal, or its philosophic equivalent.

(A VISION OF THE WORLD.)

“Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.”
Tennyson.

In the dead silence of the solemn night,
When men are wandering in the paths of sleep,
A vision past before me, like the light
From that white throne where myriad seraphs keep
Eternal watch with wings athwart their face;
And robed with splendour, lo! a Spirit came,
Until his shadow lightened on the place
Where I was standing, and I felt the same,
And feeling it, I shivered with delight,
For then my soul grew pure, and clear my sight,
And piercing as the day.
I looked—I saw a Shape of light supreme,
Despotic as the thought of God in dream,
Yet calm and stable as the old heavens seem,
And beautiful as they.
The Spirit nearer came: a still, small voice,

171

That grew out of the silence, said, “Rejoice!
For unto thee is given
The face of the veiled future to behold,
To draw aside the curtain, fold by fold,
Rolled o'er her shrine as broidered clouds are rolled
Over pavilioned heaven:
But first thou must behold the evils done,
First learn the oppressions wrought beneath the sun.”
Then like a wind-borne flame I rose in air,
And thence o'erlooked the thousand realms of earth,
And since that hour unutterably fair
Are the pale dreams that in my soul have birth.
All that I saw on that oracular night,
I would unbosom now, in words that gleam like light.
High on a crystal pinnacle I stood:
“What seest thou, Child of Earth?” the Spirit cried.
I looked around me in prophetic mood,
And to the Spirit's question thus replied:
“I see a mist whose vaporous surge rolls past
The mural mountains of this catholic frame;
Before the breath of the gigantic blast,
And in fierce outline, underneath the same,
I see a world of restlessness and woe,
A multitude that hurry to and fro,
In utter disarray.
Kings, nobles, priests, and soldiers mingle there,
And trembling babes, and women pale and fair,
And Youth with mournful and indignant air,
And Age forlorn and grey.”

172

“What hearest thou, Child of Earth?” the angel said.
“I hear a murmur low, but dense and dread,
Presageful of a storm;
I see the nations gathering from afar,
I see their banner gleaming like a star,
I see the kings of earth go forth to war,
I see their squadrons form.
Amid the prostrate multitude they ride,
Trampling and rending with portentous pride.
The earth, the common mother of them all,
Is crimson with the blood her children shed.
Their corses lie unburied where they fall,
Nor tears nor honour are there for the dead.
But, lo! the conquerors thank a gracious Heaven
For what they call a peace, a victory Christ hath given.
“I see men with a Book in their right hand,
Misquoting words of wisdom and of truth,
Averring still that, at their God's command,
Old Age and Manhood, Infancy and Youth,
In serfship, woe, and want, must till the land,
With sweat like Christ's dear blood-drops on their brow,
While they, a privileged and peculiar band,
Alone shall reap the harvest others sow.
I see young maidens, free-born but not free,
Lashed by the soldiers through the crowded street,
Because they sang, ‘Our country yet shall be
Among the nations known;’ their soft, white feet
Are purpled with their blood, and yet they weep not,

173

Though tears are hid in every lidded eye;
But, pale as violets when the frost-winds sleep not,
Still murmuring low sweet songs, they lay them down and die.
“I see the pure in heart, the great in soul,
Shot in their fathers' sight. I see a train
Of kingly murderers, that defy control,
Shedding young patriots' blood as clouds shed rain.
I see grave matrons, at the hollow knoll
Of death-bells, blindfold led, because they asked
Food for their sons, to whom a scantier dole
Is now dealt forth, till by strong grief o'ertasked,
Quenching the light of their aspiring spirit,
With smiling patience and a half-closed eye,
They live no more, yet sweetest life inherit
In hearts wherein their hearts can never die.
But lo! the longed-for hour!—the awakening nations
Kings and their armies fearlessly confront,
And, with serene and earnest expectations,
Await the deadly charge, the battle's stormy brunt.
“The stillness deepens round me. Such of old
Felt He to whom the Vision dread was given,
When far away the waves of sound had rolled,
And only God and silence dwelt in heaven.
I shudder, but the Vision shall be told.
I see the serried squadrons rush afar,
The falchion gleams, banner and flag unfold,—
It is the harvest-home of death and war,

174

It is the vintage of the wrath of God,—
And reeling in the wine-press of his ire,
I see the oppressor and the anarch trod.
Beneath white exhalations seamed with fire,
That rise from earth to heaven and blind the day,
Roll hurried voices murmuring, ‘Slay, slay, slay!’
Ha! the keen scent of human blood laughs up,
The innocent earth is splashed with that red rain;
Man drains the dregs of misery's poisoned cup,
And wins the victory but through deadliest pain.
The brave are reaped like sheaves in summer season,
And yet they yield not. The unconquered heirs
Of fathers that once bled for truth and reason
Have cast the oppressors down, the victory is theirs.
“Now brings sweet Peace her glories from afar,
And Song and Thought are throned on Fact and Strife;
Mind crowds on mind, rising like star on star,
And fills with splendour the deep heaven of life.
Bright Science, in her magic bower,
Watches the dædal dance of Power,

This ode was commenced in 1840. In one of the stanzas I ventured to predict the influence which the genius of Carlyle, Mill, Grote, and Comte would exercise on this generation— a prediction which has been amply verified. In revising the ode, I have, however, omitted the names of these distinguished men. The political forecasts which I then made have also had a general justification in corresponding events. In one division of the ode I have described the frightful sufferings of the people in Poland before 1848. The hangings, banishments, and other penalties inflicted on the patriots of 1863 will be in the remembrance of many of us. In the strophe which originally celebrated the great names already mentioned, are two allusions which require explanation. By “the dædal dance of power,” I mean the natural process known as the correlation or convertibility of the forces; and by the “mystic child of change and conflict,” the more perfect human being of the future, suggested by the hypothesis of Mr Darwin, or the evolution theory of Mr Spencer. In the railway strophe, the “blind fair chasms,” &c., is a mental reproduction of the magnificent local characteristics of the Sömmering Pass; and the “violet seas,” of the beautiful bays on the Riviera. The welcome given, in another strophe of the ode, to Egyptian civilisation, under Mehemet Ali's rule, has been fairly justified, though a late residence in Cairo has made me conscious to how remote a period I must postpone the fulfilment of my political ideal. “The vision known of yore,” is the religious ideal, or its philosophic equivalent.


Or greets the far-off mystic Child
Of wizard change and conflict wild,
Or dreams how man in this fair orb shall dwell,
Till, soaring as on golden wings
Love soared from Death, a young world springs
From our old world's chaotic night,
A glorious athlete, clothed with might,

175

Fair child of a dark mother born,
A joyful, young, and festive morn,
Panoplied, adult, defiant,
Self-sufficing, self-reliant,
A champion that no might avails to quell,
A spirit that shall live for aye,
A god that cannot pass away;
It rolls, it rolls, a boundless river,
That rolling once shall roll for ever;
Its mighty waters heave, dilate, and swell,
And, charioteered as in an ocean car,
The Genius of the age, with low sweet spell,
Charms the smooth waves that waft him fast and far.
“Labour is free, is free! the lords of labour,
The princes and the peers of Godlike toil,
Mould into spade and share both shield and sabre,
And, from the bosom of the gracious soil,
Raise the mild olive and the bridal vine,
Raise foodful corn, and raise voluptuous fruit.
The slave no longer wails in dungeoned mine
O'er years of darkness; the gnome's spell is mute;
Commodity for fair commodity
With liberal hand is given; hearts half divine
The needs of hearts made kindred; land and sea
Are glorified with commerce grown divine;
Culture hath so transfigured every soil,
That flowers and fruits, long fables, now adorn
The rudest shores, made mild by patient toil,
Where, in full ripeness, rustle golden waves of corn.

176

The peasant-kings of a regenerate world
Have deified all labour; graceful drops
Of beaded heat are on each brow impearled,
Dried by the breeze, that, with melodious stops,
Falling from heaven upon the honeyed leaves,
With delicate fingering plays itself to rest,
Still giving more delight than it receives,
Strengthening with health and hope the diligent man,
Whom of her sons dear Nature loves the best,
And consecrates the winds to favour and to fan.
“Joy! time and space are now no more, no more!
True love and tender friendship hourly meet!
Lo! the steam-chariots of the land explore
Arcadian railway and mosaic street,
With no demoniac scream of dread,
But by exultant music led,
Driven by the mighty breath of fire,
As clouds are by the whirlwind's ire,
The magic chariots pant and fly,
While rock and tree rush hurrying by;
Or lingering glide through some embowered retreat
In ancient forest, where the hymn
Of cradled child, in twilight dim,
The silence charms; by fairy leas
That slumber near soft violet seas;

This ode was commenced in 1840. In one of the stanzas I ventured to predict the influence which the genius of Carlyle, Mill, Grote, and Comte would exercise on this generation— a prediction which has been amply verified. In revising the ode, I have, however, omitted the names of these distinguished men. The political forecasts whcih I then made have also had a general justification in corresponding events. In one division of the ode I have described the frightful sufferings of the people in Poland before 1848. The hangings, banishments, and other penalties inflicted on the patriots of 1863 will be in the remembrance of many of us. In the strophe which originally celebrated the great names already mentioned, are two allusions which require explanation. By “the dædal dance of power,” I mean the natural process known as the correlation or convertibility of the forces; and by the “mystic child of change and conflict,” the more perfect human being of the future, suggested by the hypothesis of Mr Darwin, or the evolution theory of Mr Spencer. In the railway strophe, the “blind fair chasms,” &c., is a mental reproduction of the magnificent local characteristics of the Sömmering Pass; and the “violet seas,” of the beautiful bays on the Riviera. The welcome given, in another strophe of the ode, to Egyptian civilisation, under Mehemet Ali's rule, has been fairly justified, though a late residence in Cairo has made me conscious to how remote a period I must postpone the fulfilment of my political ideal. “The vision known of yore,” is the religious ideal, or its philosophic equivalent.


Or wind round blind fair chasms, while ever fleet
Dim shadowy mountains past—a giant crowd;
Or in some marble city's flowery street
Stand breathless, flying shapes of fire and cloud!

177

Joy! are not time and space annihilated?
Have not America and England met?
Have not the ocean-chariots created
A path o'er seas which envious Fate once set
For boundary, so to make companionless
Our human world?—In vain! for like a dream
Embodied on the liquid wilderness,
Flies to her unseen home the Thing of steam.
The waves lift up their voice, they clap their hands,
And peaceful Ocean, with a glad caress,
Links to a thousand shores a thousand lands,
In thousand lands a thousand toils to bless.
For noblest embassies of noblest thought,
Of love and hope, worship and sacrifice,
Were these bold travellers of the ocean wrought,
Still consecrating earth to fair humanities.
All men are kings and priests by right divine,
All souls are by the great Soul reinspired,
And lovely deeds and noble actions shine
Beneath the robes with which they are attired,
As heaven with stars, as earth is clothed with flowers,
As man shall be with natural draperies.
Great worship sets to music all the hours,
Fair arts have recreated mortal life.
The man is now returned to Paradise,
And reverential love receives the queenly wife.
In English lanes young children play,
Pure as the light and glad as day,

178

With quiet mien, with graceful dress,
In exquisite unconsciousness.
A poetry not found in books
Plays, a bright shadow, on their looks;
A genuine gospel there is read,
For natural thoughts their souls have fed.
Above them are the opening skies,
Around them the true Eden lies.
Kind Nature, with a wise control,
Tempers the body and the soul;
With lordly mien and motion meek,
She bids the child glide, laugh, and speak;
With impulse fine and feeling rare,
With lovely action, simple prayer,
With tears, smiles, kisses, hopes, desires,
She trains, she teaches, she inspires.
From hedgerows green, from vernal bowers,
Gay children strip the laughing flowers;
Large-lapped, full-handed, eager-eyed,
They run and dance, they laugh and glide,
And to their graver playmates bear
These nurslings bright of earth and air.
“The vision changes, and I stand
Where proudly our dear Mother-land
Sees her fair cities gladlier rise
Than Thebes arose to melodies
Of rare Amphion and the sound
Of Dorian harp on holy ground.

179

From palace, temple, tower, and hall,
Young Morning lifts Night's thin grey pall:
Here pillared homes are glad with flowers,
There grass is green with singing showers;
And 'mid the chequered bloom and light
Of leaves and blossoms, making bright
The soul of sunshine, over all
Breaks, in fine spray, a silver fall
Of rainbow drops, or wayward flow
Of laughing waters plays below.
A voice that floats upon the breeze,
Or whispers to the whispering trees
That fringe our city, to my ear
Comes for delight, and not for fear,
And through a happy opening cloven
In trees where sun and shade are woven,
Trees through which longing eyes can gaze
Into great depths of purple haze,
I see a stately maiden lead
An old man forth; she bears a reed
With stops melodious, and the Book
Whereat men wonder as they look.
Then to her grandsire in the sun
She chants the starry lore of One,
That, human most, was most divine,
The Martyred Man of Palestine,—
The Shape that wandered, veiled in light,
In the dark shadow of the night,
The prophet that in music told
Of love and power by love controlled,

180

He that in dewy cornfields strayed,
Or with the rose and lily played,
Or from the mountain peak sublime
Spake golden oracles to time,
That echo down the ruined years,—
The great Lord Christ, the Seer of Seers.
“But not alone our nobler England wears
The royal robes of truth and godlike grace,
As heaven wears light for vesture, as the spheres
Apparel evening skies, like smiles on Christ's own face!
But Cambria her glad youth renews,
A maiden gathering the May dews
Of ancient thought and music wild,
Proud of her birth, Time's elder child.
Stern Caledonia is arrayed
In truth, the heavenly Highland plaid;
Prophetic speech and utterance large
She takes for broadsword and for targe.
And thou whose wrongs all lately were redrest,
The helot Lady of the Northern Seas,
Bowing a thousand years thy lightning crest,
Yet with thy flag in battle and in breeze
Still streaming through the stormy sky,
A golden sunburst hurled from high,
Not armed with right, yet suffering wrong,
And weak contending with the strong,
Through death's cold floods and red high ways,
With tears and smiles with blame and praise,

181

Cheering thy chiefs, baptized in blood,
A dreadful heroine hast thou stood!
Thou, too, Ierne, for the vest of steel,
Clothed in the quiet garb true heroes love,
Favourest an Union that shall have repeal,
When Time revokes the laws which bind the heavens above.
“Nor these alone, but many a commonwealth,
And many a kingdom, is with splendour clad;
Long fevered states awake in Godlike health,
In strength of nerve and sinew greatly glad.
O'er the Atlantic waves rejoiced I see
The people, born of earth's best blood,
Worship the lovely and the good,
And vaunt no more, but cheaply hold
Their gods of silver and of gold,
And organise a sacred chivalrie.
“And where in dreams the blue mid-ocean sleeps,
I see Osirian Egypt stand,
Sun ward I see her lift her hand.
The Nile his ancient honour knows,
The Eternal Sphinx in dread repose
O'er fairy cities wondering vigil keeps.
The rebel Ali well hath done,
The conquered yet the conquering one;
He that slain Peace to life restored,
And reared her, nursling of his sword.
But lo! maternal Asia breaks
Her trancèd sleep, and, as she wakes,

182

She calls the Children of the Sun
From their long slumber, one by one,
Till Persia in the holy light
Of science basks, and Syria's height
Catches the splendour, and once more
Shrines the great Vision known of yore.
Cradled in dreams of ancient power,
See mystic India on the hour
Of happy Western influence smile,
Majestic daughter of the Isle
Enchanted, whose light sceptre still
Sways the high fates of good and ill.
More wondrous yet the changeless clime,
Grey daughter of ancestral Time,
Cathay, hath learned a nobler lore;
She loves who never loved before;
Taught by War's crimson scourge that none
Can leave the just and right undone;
The ancient laws, that had their birth
Ere man was crowned the king of earth,
That suns and spheres and heavens uphold,
Whose years fail not, that wax not old,
The children of the Eternal Prime,
Severe in beauty, strong, sublime,
Beloved in peace and feared in strife,
Will have man's homage or his life.
“The Song prophetic travels back again,
And home returning from her heaven of old,

183

Like the great sun above the Western main,
She hovers ere she set, ere eye and lip grow cold.
Austria, the anarch old, is wise;
Russia hath fine humilities;
A tender wisdom hallows France;
Spain makes the common life romance;
Greece lifts her front with eyes serene;
Italia walks a mailèd queen;
And Germany, with crest unbowed
Steps sunward through the mist and cloud.
“But lo! her race of fire my Song hath run,
She sets, she sets in the deep sea of thought;
My seraph guide withdraws, fast fades my sun,
And fade the fairy hues my heaven had caught.
But as the splendour fades afar,
Slow rises under moon and star
A murmured chant, a song sublime,
The gathered music of all time;
And as that mighty music falls
O'er airy heights and shadowy walls,
A brighter heaven gives back the sound;
The Earth is all one holy ground,
And sweeter women, nobler men,
Begin the world's great course again.
And Man of many a man, one Man supreme,
Stands crowned the King of life, the Power of powers,
Lord of all thought, art, action, passion, dream,
Child of the eternal past, and heir of unborn hours.”
 

The particular external circumstances of the actions.

England—the Faery Land of Spenser.

“Man, oh, not men! a chain of linked thought.”—Shelley.


184

A PROPHECY.

“It is with reason that the modern mind sees its golden age in the distant future, as the ancient mind saw it in the forgotten past. But however bright and glorious may be the destination of mankind, its onward progress is marked by irksome toil and bitter sorrow.”—Fiske's Cosmic Theism.

Waken, nations praised in story;
Waken to a holier glory;
Rise from out your charmèd slumber,
Spurn grey Custom's lawless ban;
Gather like the stars in number,
Race with race, and man with man.
One through love; by law of love,
Stars that cross the sky's blue border
Balance, as they glide above,
Orb with orb, in endless order.
Brave be man, robust and whole,
One his aim, his vision single;
Heart with heart, and soul with soul,
Mingle as the waters mingle.
Darkness wanes! behold the light!
Waken, brothers, and unite!
Lords of Science! ye who read
Rightly the eternal creed,

185

Writ in sky and sea and land,
By the fair wise Nature's hand,
Chant from stone and starry pages
The old lore that moulds the ages.
Poets! who have bravely striven
To o'ershadow earth with heaven,
Faint not in your noble duty,
Feed the heart of earth with beauty,
And with old religious light
Bid her dreamy face grow bright.
Statesmen! who have called on power
To give man one happy hour,
Heaven is opened; look on high;
Peace, the rainbow, spans the sky.
All pure hearts! your task renew,
For the world hath need of you.
Simple minds that every day
Watch and wait, and think and pray!
Ye are children of one mother,
Save and succour one another;
Sow, and ye shall harvest good;
Stand, ye cannot be withstood.
Darkness wanes! behold the light!
Waken, brothers, and unite!
Waken, O my poets, waken!
Let your trumpet-notes be heard;
Let humanity be shaken
At each pale prophetic word,
As a city rocks and swings,

186

When the giant earthquake springs.
Waken ye whom love hath taught
Wisest lessons to impart,
Sovereigns of melodious thought,
Lords whose empire is the heart.
Waken ye who suffer wrong;
Ye who lighten woe be strong;
Charity and truth are grown
Mightier far than sword or throne.
Patience, brothers, and endurance,
These shall give your souls assurance;
There is courage in your meekness,
Strength itself is born of weakness;
And if hope should fade and leave you,
Even despair new hope would give you.
Throned in dim ideal halls,
Dwells the Soul of souls unseen,
And her radiant shadow falls
Aweful, lovely, and serene,
Over men, when, calm and clear,
Flows the Spirit's atmosphere,
And a courage true and tender,
Breathed out of that cloudy splendour,
Bids the children of the sky
Nobly live or bravely die. . .

187

Waken, souls of poets dead!
Fraud and hate are vanquishèd;
Wail not for the golden years,
Shed no longer crimson tears.
Waken, and behold the dawn!
See the Eternal Morning rise,
And beneath the opening skies,
Waving forest, gleaming lawn
Of returning Paradise.
 

Humanity, a concrete object, at once ideal and real. “It ascends into the unknown recesses of the past, embraces the manifold present, and descends into the indefinite and unforeseeable future.” —J. S. Mill.