University of Virginia Library


127

BY THE UNDERCLIFF.

Now white in the sun 'twixt down and deep
The gulls were idly sailing,
Now lost in the grey with a seaward sweep
I still could hear them wailing.
My soul was faint and my limbs were stiff,
And the world and I were weary,
As I climbed to the seat by the Undercliff
'Mid the rose-leaves falling dreary.
'Twas a seat in the wall, where, huge at the back
Lay a single Titan boulder,
And a line athwart it was polished and black
With many a pilgrim's shoulder.

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And I stood to read on the written stone,
Where the crown of his head was hoary,
How a thousand pencils and blades had strown
Their runes of a hinted story.
And I grasped my hammer and hewed a name
In a passion of sad endeavour:
I graved it deep in a furrowed frame,
To endure with the rock for ever.
And I said: “Grey stone, nor moulder nor move,
But make my secret eternal:
The Hope is the life of earthly love,
But the death of the love supernal!
“Bear record, to be is more than to do,
And suffering better than daring:
Through a manly sorrow comes strength that is true,
True joy through a wise despairing.

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“Lo, this is my sign,” I said, “Grey rock,
That I give thee thus in keeping:—
Be thy record safe from the earthquake's shock,
And the treacherous landslip's creeping.
“Yea, cherish my sign and keep it whole
In the teeth of wind and weather,
While woods shall rustle and waves shall roll,
And the round world hold together.
“And aye may the nightingale build her nest
In the shade of thy hawthorn hollow,
And the suns of March make warm thy crest
For the foot of the foremost swallow.
“And hither for aye may the butterfly come
With wings of the harebell's azure;
And the humble-bee swing from his thistle to hum
Round thy fringe of moss at leisure.

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“And day and night may the seasons flee
With a gracious fondness o'er thee!
And the brook and the wood, the hills and the sea,
Sing psalms of joy before thee!
“And a welcome refuge for weary feet
And a tryst for love's confessing,
May all who rest in thy wayside seat
Remember thee aye with blessing!”
And I said, as I climbed the Undercliff
In the mist of a chill November,
“I will visit my stone, though my limbs be stiff,
To tell him I still remember.
“'Tis a score of years and more agone
Since I carved that legend newly,
But I carved it deep in the solid stone,
And he will have kept it truly.”

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And the cliff was hoarse with the cawing daws
And the writhen boughs were clashing,
And the sea-birds screamed in the shuddering pause
Of the surge on the shingles gnashing.
And I said: “When I climbed the path erewhile
'Twas the last of the days of roses:
But ruddily still the holly can smile
For the coming Christmas posies!”
And I came to the stead where the stone had been,
But the seat that I knew had vanished:
And the wall was modern and straight and clean,
And the stone that I loved was banished.
And I sought and sought for my friend in vain:
He lurked not in bush nor bramble:
And hillside and hollow again and again
Made mock of my fruitless scramble.

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Till, shoreward gazing, beneath in the bay
I fancied I still could single
His clay-stained base from the rocks that lay
Worn white in the grinding shingle.
But I said: “Let him rest! I will search no more,
'Twere only a grief to find him!
Let him moulder in peace on the wasting shore,
With the sign wherewith I signed him!
“But a little longer, and I, as he,
Shall be lost to them that love me;
And lie with my secrets down by the sea,
With the shade of the hills above me.
“O happy, if haply one or two,
My secret of secrets sharing,
Shall have learnt that to be is more than to do,
And suffering better than daring.”