Reverberations :: :: University of Virginia Library

Reverberations

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

Call, Wathen Mark Wilks (1817-1890)

PART I.—SOCIAL.

II.

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I. PART I.—SOCIAL.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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?

“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.

“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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

“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.

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.

“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!”

“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.”

“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.

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.

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,

“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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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,

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.

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.

GENESIS.

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.

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;

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

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,

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,

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,

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,

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,

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;

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,

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.

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,

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.

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.”