 |
 | The sentence of Kaires and other poems |  |
X. MOONLIGHT ON LOCH KATRINE.
Ah me! 'tis sweet on such a night as thisTo watch the soft beams faintly lingering yet
On distant hill tops, when the sun hath set;
'Tis sweet to watch the scarce-felt breezes kiss
The waveless surface of the unsleeping lake,
Whose soft unrest strange varying forms doth take.
But O 'tis sweeter at such witching hour
To mark the fitful moon-beams' mirrored glow
Shimmering like starlights on the depth below,
Or poured from heaven in one broad silvery shower,
Now one, now many, as the shifting rays
Weave o'er the tide their undulating maze.
There is a glory words may not express
In that bright sparkling track of mutable loveliness.
Aug. 1851.
56
XIX. FAREWELL TO GRASMERE.
Full many a sad and bitter word
There is to hear and tell,
But the saddest and the bitterest
Is still to say, Farewell!
There is to hear and tell,
But the saddest and the bitterest
Is still to say, Farewell!
Full many a soft and dimpled lake
Laughs in the sun's bright eye,
By Alpine height, by Cambrian wild,
'Neath Caledonia's sky.
Laughs in the sun's bright eye,
By Alpine height, by Cambrian wild,
'Neath Caledonia's sky.
But O, had I a home to choose,
Far rather would I dwell
By the streamlets and the peat-stained rocks
Of Loughrigg's breezy fell.
Far rather would I dwell
By the streamlets and the peat-stained rocks
Of Loughrigg's breezy fell.
The mountains gleam entablatured
On waveless Grasmere sleeping,
And the rain-washed bushes round the marge,
Like dark-robed nuns are weeping.
On waveless Grasmere sleeping,
And the rain-washed bushes round the marge,
Like dark-robed nuns are weeping.
57
The shadows, O how silently
O'er Dumail Race they glide,
And Helm Crag rears his mist-wreathed head
Like a lion in his pride.
O'er Dumail Race they glide,
And Helm Crag rears his mist-wreathed head
Like a lion in his pride.
The Rothay steals, how noiselessly,
Beneath that bridgeway shade,
Where the relics of the mountain bard
In holy ground are laid .
Beneath that bridgeway shade,
Where the relics of the mountain bard
In holy ground are laid .
Oh, might the too presumptuous thought
A moment be forgiven,
Sure, such a dream of loveliness
Our fancy pictures heaven.
A moment be forgiven,
Sure, such a dream of loveliness
Our fancy pictures heaven.
Farewell, farewell, O I could weep
To leave thy fern-clad hills,
And to miss the sweet vibration of
The music of thy rills.
To leave thy fern-clad hills,
And to miss the sweet vibration of
The music of thy rills.
Farewell, farewell, the saddest word,
But yet it must be spoken,
Though daily at that farewell word
The hearts of men are broken.
But yet it must be spoken,
Though daily at that farewell word
The hearts of men are broken.
85
XXXI. JESUS OUR LIFE.
Hail, Jesus, hail, my dearest Lord,
Thy wounds how bright they shine!
The Father's consubstantial Word,
Thy flesh is one with mine.
Thy wounds how bright they shine!
The Father's consubstantial Word,
Thy flesh is one with mine.
True God with the blest three Thou art,
Saint Mary's true-born Son,
A person by Thyself apart,
With theirs Thine Essence one.
Saint Mary's true-born Son,
A person by Thyself apart,
With theirs Thine Essence one.
Hail to Thy sacred nature shared
With Sire and Spirit blest!
Hail to the tender love declared
In Thy dear human breast!
With Sire and Spirit blest!
Hail to the tender love declared
In Thy dear human breast!
Hail, the uncreated Majesty
Of Spirit, Sire, and Son,
Hail to the undivided Three,
Hail to the Trinal One!
Of Spirit, Sire, and Son,
Hail to the undivided Three,
Hail to the Trinal One!
101
XXXIX. FAREWELL TO NORTH WALES.
Farewell, 'tis a stranger his blessing bequeaths,
Refuse not the offering he tremblingly brings,
For the harp of the North no fond patriot wreathes,
And chill is the hand that swept o'er its wild strings.
Refuse not the offering he tremblingly brings,
For the harp of the North no fond patriot wreathes,
And chill is the hand that swept o'er its wild strings.
Thy minstrels no more sing of saintly Gwydellyn,
And how brave Arthur routed the infidel Dane,
Yet fancy shall dwell on the feats of Llewellyn,
And dirge-like re-echo their once potent strain.
And how brave Arthur routed the infidel Dane,
Yet fancy shall dwell on the feats of Llewellyn,
And dirge-like re-echo their once potent strain.
Farewell to the tints of thy shadow-stained mountains,
Farewell to the mist-wreaths that hang on their brow,
Farewell to the voice of thy clear sparkling fountains,
That merrily gush to the valleys below.
Farewell to the mist-wreaths that hang on their brow,
Farewell to the voice of thy clear sparkling fountains,
That merrily gush to the valleys below.
Oh, often in day-dreams of youthful emotion
The heart shall revisit thy wood-skirted lakes,
Though bright be the smile of the summer-lit ocean,
A brighter on them the soft mountain-breeze wakes.
The heart shall revisit thy wood-skirted lakes,
Though bright be the smile of the summer-lit ocean,
A brighter on them the soft mountain-breeze wakes.
102
O fair are the sunbeams aerially blending
On Snowdon in veins of green varying light,
And, if from the scraggy steeps clouds are descending,
Are not earth's brightest joys evershrouded in night?
On Snowdon in veins of green varying light,
And, if from the scraggy steeps clouds are descending,
Are not earth's brightest joys evershrouded in night?
Farewell, O farewell, still thy requiem prolonging,
Half-lingering I pause o'er the beautiful theme,
While phantom-like memories round me are thronging,
The troubled return of an exquisite dream.
Half-lingering I pause o'er the beautiful theme,
While phantom-like memories round me are thronging,
The troubled return of an exquisite dream.
103
XL. DUNGEON GHYLL FORCE.
A mountain cleft unformed by mortal hand,Whereout the pent-up stream in dizzy leap
Springs down a sunless cavern, dark and deep,
With drizzling cliffs precipitously grand
Hemmed in—a dungeon not unmeetly named,
Whose peat-stained walls dank shrubs are bending o'er,
And shut the blue sky out, as though they claimed
Some tribute from the spray's up-darting shower;
And, like a chancel-arch of rude carved stone,
Across the chasm a self-formed arch is thrown,
Of old, it may be, by some earthquake's shock,
Hewn from the living masses of the rock.
Beneath, amid the waterfall's deep knelling,
From out a quiet pool a brook is ever welling.
104
XLI. LOOKING FROM THE TOP OF HELVELLYN.
O'er Fairfield head the mist-wreaths swift did glide,And drifting clouds on Esthwaite valley closed,
The while, behind us, on Helvellyn's side
The sunlights, oh how gloriously, reposed.
Where no stray influence of those gleams could light,
In sable robes magnificently drest,
Scawfell upreared aloft her giant crest
Against the sky in outline definite;
The breeze that swept o'er Redtarn from the hill
Just curled the surface; all below was still—
Of tranquil souls a blessed type to me,
On God's sure mercies staid, which the wild war
Of earthly passion stirs, but cannot mar
Their inward life of deep serenity.
105
XLII. THE HEIGHTS ABOVE DUNGEON GHYLL FORCE.
I climbed unto a summit lone,
With waters round me flowing,
When the blaze of the unclouded noon
On Loughrigg tarn was glowing;
And Bowfell, like a maiden coy,
Shrouded in clouds her brow,
But unblamed the sunbeams showered joy
Upon the vale below.
With waters round me flowing,
When the blaze of the unclouded noon
On Loughrigg tarn was glowing;
And Bowfell, like a maiden coy,
Shrouded in clouds her brow,
But unblamed the sunbeams showered joy
Upon the vale below.
In sooth it was a beauteous sight,
Of all unearthly glory,
Such as in childhood we delight
To paint in faëry story;
Though words all impotent I deem
That beauty to declare,
Imaginations wildest dream
No vision half so fair.
Of all unearthly glory,
Such as in childhood we delight
To paint in faëry story;
Though words all impotent I deem
That beauty to declare,
Imaginations wildest dream
No vision half so fair.
106
But would'st thou go to Loughrigg, go
At evening's witching hour,
When sunset-lights their radiance throw
On copsewood, heath, and bower;
Where imbedded in their calm retreat
The cottage windows gleam,
And thy gentle waters, Rothay, greet
Thy brother's wider stream.
At evening's witching hour,
When sunset-lights their radiance throw
On copsewood, heath, and bower;
Where imbedded in their calm retreat
The cottage windows gleam,
And thy gentle waters, Rothay, greet
Thy brother's wider stream.
Then all silent is the fern-clad moor,
No human sound is near,
Save when some solitary oar
Is heard on Windermere.
Oh then, dear Loughrigg, on the heart
May thy kind influence fall,
Nerving it still to bear its part
In life's stern ordeal.
No human sound is near,
Save when some solitary oar
Is heard on Windermere.
Oh then, dear Loughrigg, on the heart
May thy kind influence fall,
Nerving it still to bear its part
In life's stern ordeal.
107
XLIII. THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A MIST ON SKIDDAW.
O'er Derwentwater in the vale
The mid-day sun rode high,
And yellow waving corn-fields smiled
Beneath a cloudless sky.
The mid-day sun rode high,
And yellow waving corn-fields smiled
Beneath a cloudless sky.
But when we stood on Skiddaw's brow,
Dim mists obscured the view,
They hid the earth's unsullied green,
The heavens' o'erarching blue.
Dim mists obscured the view,
They hid the earth's unsullied green,
The heavens' o'erarching blue.
We knew that all before us spread
The sun-bright valley lay,
And lakes, like sheets of molten gold,
Dipped in that living ray.
The sun-bright valley lay,
And lakes, like sheets of molten gold,
Dipped in that living ray.
108
We knew it all, and longed to gaze,
If for one moment's space,
But cloud on cloud kept hurrying on
In long unbroken race.
If for one moment's space,
But cloud on cloud kept hurrying on
In long unbroken race.
Yet lower on the mountain's side,
Through the half-lifted screen,
Glad meadows, and the silvery sea,
In unveiled light were seen.
Through the half-lifted screen,
Glad meadows, and the silvery sea,
In unveiled light were seen.
Young Christian, scorn thou not the tale
It shadows forth to thee,
Encircling this our outward life,
A life of mystery.
It shadows forth to thee,
Encircling this our outward life,
A life of mystery.
From us a glorious world unseen
Sin's lurid vapours hide;
Blest angels, ah! how thanklessly,
Around our footsteps glide.
Sin's lurid vapours hide;
Blest angels, ah! how thanklessly,
Around our footsteps glide.
A heavenly vision lies outspread
Before our dreaming eyes,
But we are all too dull to see
Its bright realities.
Before our dreaming eyes,
But we are all too dull to see
Its bright realities.
109
Yet faint thou not, though dark and dim
The path of holiness,
Each step leads on to brighter day,
Those shadows still grow less.
The path of holiness,
Each step leads on to brighter day,
Those shadows still grow less.
And some there are of higher grace,
To whom it hath been given
Dread glimpses through the clouds to see,
Reflected lights of heaven.
To whom it hath been given
Dread glimpses through the clouds to see,
Reflected lights of heaven.
Yet, though thy view as theirs be clear,
Thou seest but in part;
A cloud is on the mountain-brow,
A veil is on thy heart.
Thou seest but in part;
A cloud is on the mountain-brow,
A veil is on thy heart.
Pray we of Christ the power to meet
With calm untroubled gaze
The lightning-like apocalypse
Of that cherubic blaze.
With calm untroubled gaze
The lightning-like apocalypse
Of that cherubic blaze.
What time heaven's dread consistory
Bursts on our waking sight,
And earth, in all her nothingness,
Sinks into endless night.
Bursts on our waking sight,
And earth, in all her nothingness,
Sinks into endless night.
110
XLIV. THE TWO RIVERS.
Full many a minstrel-harp can tell
The rugged glens of Wales,
I do not love them half so well
As England's laughing vales:
Through lonely moor and copsewood brake
Full many a stream is flowing,
Full many a tarn, and sunbright lake
In the far North is glowing;
Yet none of all, whose sparkling fountains
Ring merrily amid those mountains
To me is half so dear,
As those whose newly-mingled stream,
Like some bright unremembered dream,
Is lost in Windermere.
The rugged glens of Wales,
I do not love them half so well
As England's laughing vales:
Through lonely moor and copsewood brake
Full many a stream is flowing,
Full many a tarn, and sunbright lake
In the far North is glowing;
Yet none of all, whose sparkling fountains
Ring merrily amid those mountains
To me is half so dear,
As those whose newly-mingled stream,
Like some bright unremembered dream,
Is lost in Windermere.
Dear Rothay, wilt thou not disdain
The homage of a simple strain
On all-discordant things?
O worthy thou of higher praise,
Forgive my feeble earthbound lays
And false imaginings.
A bolder hand, with touch of fire,
Hath tuned for thee a truer lyre,
A nobler heart hath loved thee;
O for a breath of music brought
From him, to aid my wavering thought,
Whose burning words approved thee!
I've watched thee where thy waters sped
Glancing through their narrow bed,
What time the varying shadows fell
From Loughrigg on the breezy dell,
And gleams besprent of gold and green,
Scarce piercing though the leafy screen,
Played o'er thy dark unsunny places,
Like smiles in sleep on infant faces,
Striving, 'twould seem, with gentle wile
That sullen darkness to beguile.
I've watched thee when the moon's pale beam
Shone coldly on thy silent stream,
Where its chill-flowing eddies sweep
Beneath the bridgeway dark and deep;
A voice they seemed to have for me,
And I longed to thread the mystery.
Sweet minstrel of the echoing glen,
Though ever dear, yet dearest then,
When night her sable mantle flings
O'er thy unaudienced murmurings.
For gentle thoughts may best arise
When the moon is in the sky,
To disentrance the sympathies
Of sainted memory.
'Twas then thy accents spake most clear,
'Twas then his spirit seemed most near
Whose vows are in thy keeping;
And mingled thoughts of joy and pain
Came o'er my soul like summer rain
And filled my eyes with weeping.
O be those accents with me ever,
An echo still unbroken,
Still dwell with me, thou far-off river,
Still speak as thou hast spoken.
The homage of a simple strain
On all-discordant things?
111
Forgive my feeble earthbound lays
And false imaginings.
A bolder hand, with touch of fire,
Hath tuned for thee a truer lyre,
A nobler heart hath loved thee;
O for a breath of music brought
From him, to aid my wavering thought,
Whose burning words approved thee!
I've watched thee where thy waters sped
Glancing through their narrow bed,
What time the varying shadows fell
From Loughrigg on the breezy dell,
And gleams besprent of gold and green,
Scarce piercing though the leafy screen,
Played o'er thy dark unsunny places,
Like smiles in sleep on infant faces,
Striving, 'twould seem, with gentle wile
That sullen darkness to beguile.
I've watched thee when the moon's pale beam
Shone coldly on thy silent stream,
Where its chill-flowing eddies sweep
Beneath the bridgeway dark and deep;
A voice they seemed to have for me,
And I longed to thread the mystery.
Sweet minstrel of the echoing glen,
Though ever dear, yet dearest then,
112
O'er thy unaudienced murmurings.
For gentle thoughts may best arise
When the moon is in the sky,
To disentrance the sympathies
Of sainted memory.
'Twas then thy accents spake most clear,
'Twas then his spirit seemed most near
Whose vows are in thy keeping;
And mingled thoughts of joy and pain
Came o'er my soul like summer rain
And filled my eyes with weeping.
O be those accents with me ever,
An echo still unbroken,
Still dwell with me, thou far-off river,
Still speak as thou hast spoken.
Nor be that elder stream unsung
Whose waters their wild descant rung,
With foam-bells glancing bright,
Where on the peat-stained rock I stood
And gazed upon the heaving flood
Poured down its dizzy height.
Yet deem not Brathay's foaming course
Can never lull its torrent force;
It hath mild graces too;
When fiercest passions rock the mind,
They leave a hidden store behind
Of musings good and true.
Smoothest its waters seem to glide
Where flickers mirrored on the tide
That little chapel cross;
Where gurgling by each polished stone
It utters forth a chaunt-like moan
For one who loved to sit thereon ,
Wreathing the dewy moss;
Yea, thou didst fling thine artless strain
O'er it, and ne'er shalt fling again,
Therefore its quiet pools beneath
Are types to me of good men's death.
On the shore of the far southern seas
An outcast thou art lying,
Where the whispers of the island breeze
Are ever, ever sighing;
They thought the altar-stone should be
Above where thou art laid,
That still the blessed Liturgy
Might over thee be said;
But all weak are human counsels
And human forethought vain,
If the Almighty Ruler wills
Its purpose to restrain.
Yet though no stately choir enclose
The holy place where thy limbs repose,
Nor at thy tomb in minster tall
Is sung the potent ritual,
Thou canst not lack the Church's prayer,
Thou still art 'neath her sheltering care,
Who for her children solace hath
Even in the dreary grave;
Though, for the anthem's wafted breath,
Loud ocean-billows rave;
And One, whose word can ne'er deceive
Hath sworn His own He will not leave,
Omnipotent to save.
Whose waters their wild descant rung,
With foam-bells glancing bright,
Where on the peat-stained rock I stood
And gazed upon the heaving flood
Poured down its dizzy height.
Yet deem not Brathay's foaming course
Can never lull its torrent force;
It hath mild graces too;
113
They leave a hidden store behind
Of musings good and true.
Smoothest its waters seem to glide
Where flickers mirrored on the tide
That little chapel cross;
Where gurgling by each polished stone
It utters forth a chaunt-like moan
For one who loved to sit thereon ,
Wreathing the dewy moss;
Yea, thou didst fling thine artless strain
O'er it, and ne'er shalt fling again,
Therefore its quiet pools beneath
Are types to me of good men's death.
On the shore of the far southern seas
An outcast thou art lying,
Where the whispers of the island breeze
Are ever, ever sighing;
They thought the altar-stone should be
Above where thou art laid,
That still the blessed Liturgy
Might over thee be said;
But all weak are human counsels
And human forethought vain,
114
Its purpose to restrain.
Yet though no stately choir enclose
The holy place where thy limbs repose,
Nor at thy tomb in minster tall
Is sung the potent ritual,
Thou canst not lack the Church's prayer,
Thou still art 'neath her sheltering care,
Who for her children solace hath
Even in the dreary grave;
Though, for the anthem's wafted breath,
Loud ocean-billows rave;
And One, whose word can ne'er deceive
Hath sworn His own He will not leave,
Omnipotent to save.
O surely I should do you wrong,
Dear brother streams, in this my song,
If hymning each, I poured no greeting
To celebrate your tuneful meeting,—
Sweet emblem of two kindred hearts
That into one are moulded,
Like harmony's mysterious parts
All mutually enfolded.
Even with such loving, virgin grace
Your waters meet in soft embrace
With Loughrigg o'er them bending;
And, if their onward course be brief,
Who would recall his earthly grief,
When life's long march is ending?
Though tasteless prove each fleeting joy,
True love alone shall never cloy;
And if our friendships here be pure
What though by death their bands are riven?
'Tis but a moment;—they endure
Through all eternity in heaven.
Dear brother streams, in this my song,
If hymning each, I poured no greeting
To celebrate your tuneful meeting,—
Sweet emblem of two kindred hearts
That into one are moulded,
Like harmony's mysterious parts
All mutually enfolded.
Even with such loving, virgin grace
Your waters meet in soft embrace
115
And, if their onward course be brief,
Who would recall his earthly grief,
When life's long march is ending?
Though tasteless prove each fleeting joy,
True love alone shall never cloy;
And if our friendships here be pure
What though by death their bands are riven?
'Tis but a moment;—they endure
Through all eternity in heaven.
The altar of the College chapel (in New Zealand) was to have been over his tomb, but the site of the building was obliged to be changed.
116
XLV. YORK MINSTER AT NIGHT.
Hushed was the city, and with hollow beatSounded each footfall through the lonely street,
No earth-lit torch, no lamp with ruddy glare
Marred the soft shower of silvery moonbeams there;—
As glories circle pictured saints they shone,
A light o'er all that many-steepled town;
Yet purest ever, brightest seemed to fall,
Illuming the fair Minster's southern wall.
Through the rich window's full-orbed pane they pour
Their tinted radiance on the transept floor;
Gleams half unveiled before the astonished eye
Carved niche and foliated tracery,
Each fretted pinnacle, each mullion grey
Glows in the snow-white brilliance of that ray.
Pause we a moment at the western porch,
Beneath the shadow of that mighty Church.
117
A silent, interceding sacrifice!
One guardian tower reared o'er each solemn aisle,
A threefold band they crown the reverend pile,
Darkly revealed against the moonlit sky,
Meet emblem of the awful Trinity.
But hark! with thrilling cadence still and deep,
Flung o'er the city drowned in careless sleep,
Tolls forth the summons of the midnight hour,
Waking the echoes of yon southern tower.
In vain, alas! in vain those heavenly tones,—
Midnight hath here no midnight orisons!
No more in accents of seraphic fire
Rings the blest ritual through the tapered choir,
Whose far-off music in the stilly night,
Charming from thought unblest each wandering sprite,
Might haply blend, like Fancy's pensive gleams,
With some young sleeper's solitary dreams;—
'Tis so no more; unsung the midnight mass,
Or feast or fast alike unheeded pass
By those who sleep their vigil nights away,
Nor fear the breaking of the judgment-day.
Flung o'er the city drowned in careless sleep,
Tolls forth the summons of the midnight hour,
Waking the echoes of yon southern tower.
In vain, alas! in vain those heavenly tones,—
Midnight hath here no midnight orisons!
No more in accents of seraphic fire
Rings the blest ritual through the tapered choir,
Whose far-off music in the stilly night,
Charming from thought unblest each wandering sprite,
Might haply blend, like Fancy's pensive gleams,
With some young sleeper's solitary dreams;—
'Tis so no more; unsung the midnight mass,
Or feast or fast alike unheeded pass
By those who sleep their vigil nights away,
Nor fear the breaking of the judgment-day.
“Peace, murmurer,” (thus with sweetly stern controul
Some angel-voice might lull the troubled soul,)
“Peace, thankless dreamer; say, art thou so pure,
Canst thou alone not patiently endure
To lean undoubting on thy mother's breast,
Where holiest, saintliest sons have sunk to rest?
For her could martyred Charles a crown forego,
Laud on the scaffold bend his mitred brow,
And still it burns unquenched, the martyrs' zeal,—
The full seven thousand at her altars kneel;—
Yea, rather, when the flood of sacred song
Rolls in full tide yon echoing aisles along,
In meekness kneel, for thine own errors grieve,
Unmeet the smallest blessing to receive,
Learn that e'en here no niggard boon is given,
More than enough to guide thy steps to heaven.”
Some angel-voice might lull the troubled soul,)
118
Canst thou alone not patiently endure
To lean undoubting on thy mother's breast,
Where holiest, saintliest sons have sunk to rest?
For her could martyred Charles a crown forego,
Laud on the scaffold bend his mitred brow,
And still it burns unquenched, the martyrs' zeal,—
The full seven thousand at her altars kneel;—
Yea, rather, when the flood of sacred song
Rolls in full tide yon echoing aisles along,
In meekness kneel, for thine own errors grieve,
Unmeet the smallest blessing to receive,
Learn that e'en here no niggard boon is given,
More than enough to guide thy steps to heaven.”
Aug. 31, 1847.
119
XLVI. TO MY LITTLE BROTHER ON HIS FOURTH BIRTHDAY, Sept. 30, 1847.
O I love to gaze on thy face so fair,
And the sunny locks of thy flowing hair,
And to read the joyous spell that lies
In the flashing glance of those dark bright eyes.
And the sunny locks of thy flowing hair,
And to read the joyous spell that lies
In the flashing glance of those dark bright eyes.
'Tis true, that young and lovely face,
It smiles with all but angel's grace;
O may it smile for evermore
Where angels tread the eternal shore!
It smiles with all but angel's grace;
O may it smile for evermore
Where angels tread the eternal shore!
But thou art wayward, wild, and young;
Thy faith is weak, and the world is strong;
O ne'er may her fond wiles have power
To lure thee in temptation's hour!
Thy faith is weak, and the world is strong;
O ne'er may her fond wiles have power
To lure thee in temptation's hour!
120
O by that sign the devils know,
Traced on thy once guileless brow,
O by my love, my prayers, my tears,
Fond hopes and agonizing fears,
Traced on thy once guileless brow,
O by my love, my prayers, my tears,
Fond hopes and agonizing fears,
Let no earth-stain of sin defile
The freshness of thine infant smile;
Still on thy brow the cross be bright,
Unmarred thy chrisom's spotless white.
The freshness of thine infant smile;
Still on thy brow the cross be bright,
Unmarred thy chrisom's spotless white.
Bright be thy boyhood, blest thy youth,
Nursed in the ways of holiest truth,
Thine be the draught of innocent joy,
The purer, sure, the last to cloy.
Nursed in the ways of holiest truth,
Thine be the draught of innocent joy,
The purer, sure, the last to cloy.
Dearest! though threatening skies may lower,
Though tear-bedimmed each fairest flower,
Though blighted every joy of earth,
Though hushed each sound of ruder mirth,
Though tear-bedimmed each fairest flower,
Though blighted every joy of earth,
Though hushed each sound of ruder mirth,
Yet One, thou knowest, is ever near,
His thought thy saddest hour may cheer,
His smile the darkest clouds illume,
His love dispel grief's sullen gloom.
His thought thy saddest hour may cheer,
His smile the darkest clouds illume,
His love dispel grief's sullen gloom.
121
And oh, if aught avail above
The vows of pure fraternal love,
Ne'er will I cease on bended knee
To pour a deep heart-prayer for thee.
The vows of pure fraternal love,
Ne'er will I cease on bended knee
To pour a deep heart-prayer for thee.
131
XLIX. CONSECRATION OF COLOGNE CATHEDRAL.
It is a blessed festival,
A day of solemn gladness;
Then wherefore droop our faithless hearts
With unaccustomed sadness?
A day of solemn gladness;
Then wherefore droop our faithless hearts
With unaccustomed sadness?
High o'er angelic choirs this day
The Mother-Maid was throned;—
Where are the flowers to deck her shrine?
The voice her praise to sound?
The Mother-Maid was throned;—
Where are the flowers to deck her shrine?
The voice her praise to sound?
In vain for us the festal chimes
In old Cologne are ringing,
In vain the Church beyond the seas
Her festal mass is singing.
In old Cologne are ringing,
In vain the Church beyond the seas
Her festal mass is singing.
At all her countless altars
No place, no home have we;
And all the bells of Christendom
“They peal a fast for me!”
No place, no home have we;
And all the bells of Christendom
“They peal a fast for me!”
132
Yet there is consolation
Even in that thought of sorrow,
The past may give an augury
Of promise for the morrow.
Even in that thought of sorrow,
The past may give an augury
Of promise for the morrow.
Full plaintive was the melody
Of Zion's captive daughters,
What time their harps were hung beside
The Babylonian waters.
Of Zion's captive daughters,
What time their harps were hung beside
The Babylonian waters.
Long time the virgin-seer beloved,
On Chebar's dreary plains,
Wept o'er his country's widowed state,
Her desecrated fanes.
On Chebar's dreary plains,
Wept o'er his country's widowed state,
Her desecrated fanes.
Full many a sunbright holyday
Glared on his aching eyes,
Full oft at close of Sabbath eve
Would tears unbidden rise.
Glared on his aching eyes,
Full oft at close of Sabbath eve
Would tears unbidden rise.
Dim though the priestly cuirass gleam,
Prophetic now no more,
Though on the mercy-seat there stream
No radiance, as before;
Prophetic now no more,
Though on the mercy-seat there stream
No radiance, as before;
133
E'en yet towards Jerusalem
His keen regards are bent,
Oft as each hour of prayer recalls
The grief of banishment.
His keen regards are bent,
Oft as each hour of prayer recalls
The grief of banishment.
Nor unaccepted, sure, above
Those orisons arise,
Though with his vesper prayer may blend
No vesper sacrifice.
Those orisons arise,
Though with his vesper prayer may blend
No vesper sacrifice.
Is not the unoffered sacrifice
By heavenly grace supplied?
Nor to that saintly outcast, deem
Is Heaven's free peace derived.
By heavenly grace supplied?
Nor to that saintly outcast, deem
Is Heaven's free peace derived.
Still meekly, with unswerving faith,
The appointed time he waits,
Content in solitude to bide
Without the temple gates.
The appointed time he waits,
Content in solitude to bide
Without the temple gates.
What if for our unworthiness
Such cross on us be laid?
Bitter was his obedience,
But was it not o'erpaid?
Such cross on us be laid?
Bitter was his obedience,
But was it not o'erpaid?
134
O mark him well, ye murmurers,
Nor leave the appointed road;
What though the cross press heavily,
It is the will of God.
Nor leave the appointed road;
What though the cross press heavily,
It is the will of God.
| The sentence of Kaires and other poems | |