Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

“In this book regard rather the affections than the expressions; Love is the speaker throughout, and if any one wish to understand it, it must be by Love.” St. Bernard on the Canticles.

149

TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

Thou Mother stern and proud,
That carest not to hear about thy knee
The singing of thy children; absently
Thou smilest on them, listening for the loud,
Quick crashing of thy chariot. What to thee
Is pastoral stop or reed? thy thoughts are vowed
To tasks of might, and thou thyself wilt be
Thy Poet, finding in thy stormy tunes
Rough music, leaving on the rock thy runes
So dinted deep, no Bard hath need to tell
The triumphs of a march where chronicle
And deed are one. What carest thou for praise
Of gentle-hearted singers! Thou wilt raise
The crown to thine own brows, and calmly claim
The Empire thou hast won; as yet no Name
Is thine to conjure with, as in the days
When Giants walked on earth,—a spell more clear
Is thine in thought, that makes an atmosphere
Where all things are gigantic! portents vast
Loom round thy path, where good and evil cast

150

Increasing shadows that the Evening near
Foreshow; as yet no Prophet doth appear
In all thy sons, and he among the rest
Most wise and honoured found, is but the Seer
That reads thy signs, interpreting the best!

151

TO AN EARLY FRIEND.

Beneath the tree we played
Together, Thou and I! the sunshine fell
Betwixt the boughs, and on our faces laid
A loving finger, marking, where it strayed,
A Dial for the hours, whose very shade
Was but a softened brightness, for the place
Wherein we dwelt was Eden! Through the wild
The man must journey, yet methinks the child
Should stay within the garden! with the Race
Should run the mortal's history, and trace
From those blest bowers its chequered chronicle!

We played beneath the Tree;
We did not pluck the apple; little taste
Was ours for fruit of knowledge! little haste
To lift unbidden hands when ours were full
Of flowers and purpled berries, beautiful,
That grew around us; but the apple fell
Beside our feet, and through its sight and smell
Instructed, now we good and evil knew,—
So must we bid that pleasant place Farewell.

152

Yet well for us that there
We dwelt awhile! oh, well for us to make
Acquaintance soon with all things glad and fair;
To have them for our earliest friends! to take
These playmates to our bosoms ere more stern
Companions meet us, for they oft return
And hold us by the hand, and for the sake
Of Eden love us! Now its Angel knows
Our faces through all change, and oft from far
Hath smiled upon us kind; he will not close
The gate so surely, but that Love ajar
Hath held it for a space, and Dreams aside
Have turned the Flaming Sword, and been our Guide
O'er half-forgotten tracks; and on the wind,
Like kisses blown upon it, greetings kind
Send whispers after us, to half recall
Half-presage glories, that no Primal Fall
Hath robbed us of; for Heaven had been less near
Had we not gazed up to it through the clear
Calm eastern skies, that, waking or asleep,
Bent o'er us in our childhood like a deep
Unvexed, unfathomed sea, when it was Prayer
To know, that day and night upon us there
Our Father's eyes looked down;

“Our Father!” First
And Last in Love's blest language! we were nurst
Within Thy breast, Thy sapphire floor for roof
Was over us; and now less far aloof
We view Thy awful Throne, that then we played
Beneath Thy footstool, and were not afraid!

153

And well for me that there
We played together! in my heart, thy Book
Beloved from olden days, thou wouldst not look
So oft or fondly, maybe, flung aside
With childish things, but for its margin wide
With pictures stored! Yet now we will not take
This love of ours to pieces; who would strew
A blossom, leaf by leaf, to learn it grew
As grow the flowers? Now love me for the sake
Of blessed Eden; if thou wilt, believe
Me fairer than I am! it will not grieve
My soul to borrow of thy wealth, and be
Attired in splendour that belongs to Thee:
Thou givest freely, for the heart is wise
And bountiful and rich; with naked eyes
It seeth never; like a child that takes
Some thing of little price that nearest lies
To be its treasure, well content it makes
From out its very joy its Paradise!

154

OLD LETTERS.

Within an ancient Hall
Where oft I love to wander, once I found
An antique casket, that without a sound
Flew open quick, and as a Rose will fall
To pieces at a touch when overblown,
So was the floor around me thickly strown
With yellow leaves, the letters of the Dead:
Oh, hands that wrote these words, oh, loving eyes
That brightened over them, oh, hearts whose prize
And treasure once were these, by Time made Heir
To this your sometime wealth, with pious care
I gather in my hoards; for this is dust
Of human hearts that now I hold in trust,
And while I muse above it, spirits flown
Come back and commune with me, till the fled
Pale ink reveals two names that now have grown
Familiar to my soul, as I had known
And pitied them in Youth; in parley soft
I win their secrets forth from them, and oft
Make question of their Past! Did Love find rest
And fold its wing where it had made its nest

155

So warm and deep, or were these of the strong
And patient souls, condemned, though wedded long,
To serve for the other duteously, and wait
Upon a harsher Laban,—Life, that proves
With grievous, stern delays each heart that loves?
O gentle spirits, all your lives on high
Are written fair, but mortal history
Is traced upon the sand that may not keep
The dint of wave, so quick the dash and leap
That follows on—a picture on the wall—
A name upon the stone—a leaf whose green
Less quickly fades, because it once hath been
Within the Dove's soft beak, and this is all.

156

I.

I write to thee in cypher, even so
Doth not the heart write ever? being proud,
It careth not to boast its wealth, nor show
Where lie its precious things by speaking loud.
And here, upon my page an uncouth sign
Would say, “I love thee;” further down this mark
Shows plain, “for ever,” yet the sense is dark
To every eye that looks on it but thine.
So is it even with my heart, thine ear
Can catch each broken whisper it hath used;
So even with my life; thou makest clear
Its meaning, oft-times to myself confused;
The souls that use one mother-tongue are free
To mould their rapid speech, but when from thee
I turn to others, straight I have to choose
My words, as one who in a foreign dress
Must clothe his thought, speaks slow in fear to err,
Interpreting himself;

We do but guess
At one another darkly 'mid the stir
That thickens round us; in this life of ours
We are like players, knowing not the powers
Nor compass of the instruments we vex,
And by one rash, unskilful touch, perplex

157

To straining discord, needing still the key
To seek, and all our being heedfully
To tune to one another's:

Ours were set
Together at the first; each hand could move
Like a skilled Master's, knowing well each fret
And chord of the sweet viol he doth love,
All up and down each other's soul, and yet,
Call forth new concords,—now with softer kiss
I move o'er other souls in fear to miss
Their latent charm; these too, if better known,
Were worthier prizing;

“Though I love my friends dearly, and though they are good, I have, however, much to pardon, except in the single Klopstock alone. He is good, really good—good in all the foldings of his heart. I know him, and sometimes I think if we knew others in the same manner, the better we should find them. For it may be that an action displeases us which would please us if we knew its true aim and whole extent.”—From the Letters of Meta Klopstock.

Love's great charity
Hath taught this lesson, as beside her knee
I stand, and child-like con it o'er and o'er,
“Through loving one so much love all the more.”

158

II.

Oft have I bent my gaze
Adown our Life's steep edge with eye-balls dim
And thirsting soul, a-weary of the day's
Hot parching dust and glare; this Well is deep,
Too seldom rise the waters to its brim,
And I had nought to draw with! oft in sleep
I felt them touch my very lips, and flow
All o'er my forehead and my hands, but, lo!
I waked and thirsted; looking down, I knew
Each pebble lying at the base, that drew
A glimmer from the sunbeam; round the rim
I knew each flower, each forkéd fern that through
The stone did thrust its tongue, each moss that grew
Far down its cool and slippery sides—I knew
All but the water's freshness.

Now I yearn
No more in vain, no longer need I stoop
So wistful o'er the well, for like an urn
Is thy pure soul to me, wherein I scoop
The waters as I list, and still return.

159

III.

We broke no piece of gold,
We took no pledge of lock nor picture slid
Within the breast, our faith was not so cold
That it should ask for any sign! we date
Our marriage from our meeting day, and hold
These spousals of the soul inviolate
As they are secret; for no friends were bid
To grace our banquet, yet a guest Divine
Was there Who from that hour did consecrate
Life's water, turning it for us to wine.

160

IV.

Stern voices say, “Too much
Thou givest unto one thy soul in trust;
To frame such covenants with things of dust
Is but idolatry, that to decay
Doth quickly tend.” I answer not to such,
But turning from them proudly, I appeal
Unto my equals,

“Perhaps love and grief may make me speak more than many will think fit. But though some passion blind the judgment, some doth but excite it to duty, and God made it to that end. And I will not be judged by any that never felt the like.” —Richard Baxter on his Wife's Death.

none but those that feel
Shall be my judges in this question; nay!
I will not unto these my cause unseal,
But bear it to a Court where I shall find
A yet more patient hearing; far more kind
The Father than the Brethren! He who made
The heart doth know its need, but what are we,
And whence have we our wisdom, unafraid
With hands unskilled to vex a mystery
We cannot disentangle?

Yet I speak
Too harshly in this matter, silence best
Becometh happy spirits; hearts at rest;—
O Love, thy gentleness hath made me meek!

161

V.

Upon thy lips this name
Of mine so softly taken, first became
That which it is in very deed, the name
Most Christian and most kind, by which I claim
A wide inheritance;—and I have borne
This name so long, and only yester morn
Have learned its sweetness! so doth life—our field
Redeemed for us—but slowly, slowly yield
The treasure hid within it! all our less
Would grow to more, and this our Earth to Heaven,
Might we but pierce unto the blessedness
That lies so near us, might we but possess
The things that are our own—as they were given!

162

VI.

I turn from things behind;
They lose their savour! now that on the core
Of Life content I feed, I fling the rind,
That once looked fair, aside for evermore,
For I have pierced beneath it. Since my eyes
Have looked upon thy face, to all things wise,
And pure, and noble, they have clearer grown;
But careless are they to the vanities
That once could hold them chained. I stood alone
To watch the long procession that yestreen
Moved through our city stately to the flow
Of martial music; then I saw thee lean
From out a balcony, and all the show
Went by unmarked of me, as we had been
Alone beside the river winding slow;—
So doth this world's fair Pageant pass me by,
I see but thee! yet do not therefore grow
Unmindful of its goodly company:
I tracked those glittering ranks until they stayed
Within the square, and passing through the door
Of the great Minster, took within its shade
The sunshine after them; like One that prayed
In silence, seemed that multitude, before
So bright and jubilant, now only made

163

The stiller for its vastness, as the sea
Doth soothe the sense with wide monotony
Of quiet waves unstirred. I saw thee kneel
Afar; the organ, as it were the Soul
Of many human souls, that did reveal
Their secrets, sighed, as on its stormy roll
It gathered them; my silent spirit drew
More close to those who prayed with me; I knew
That each of these still faces, where I see
No charm to bid me look again, doth make
The sunshine of some eye, and for its sake
The heavens and earth look fairer: each that here
Doth kneel, is loved of some, or hath been dear—
The treasure of some heart beneath the sod.
Oh, we are held unto the other near
When each is dear to one—and all to God!

164

AFTER PARTING.

O Love, O Death! how sweet,
How strange are ye! oh Parting! that dost stand
Between these twain, from touch of either hand—
One warm, one cold, thou winnest strength to meet
Thy hour and overcome it! Tenderness
And woe are twins! and may not deeply bless
Except together, when the tear one weeps
Falls in the golden cup the other keeps
Hid for this moment in his breast, unshown
Till needed most;

When Love must leave its Own
Belovèd, loved unto the end, it broke
Its vase of costliest odours; though it spoke
Before as none have spoken, then its tone
Was fullest, clearest; breaking hearts have flown
To fasten on those words, “Be not afraid!”
And aching spirits, desolate, have grown
Like limpets to this Rock, “now have I prayed
The Father for you, and ye are not lone,—
I leave you not uncomforted.” E'en so
Full oft since then hath Parting made us know

165

A Heavenly Presence; while we broke our bread
With bitter herbs, the words were not our own
That then we spoke, and we were comforted.

For there is concentration in strong pain
That draws the soul together; it can hold
Its breath beneath the waves, and like a bold
Strong diver, desperate will snatch and gain
What calmer moments fail of. One of old
Spake, looking on his judges, “Soon I die;
So gather up my words that are not vain,—
The lip of Death turns speech to prophecy.”
So hath the parting hour its agony
Of inspiration:

All our path with dew
Was drenched that autumn morning; like a day
Begun too soon, our Life before us lay
In early chillness,—hard to live it through
Without each other! slow our footsteps drew,
And slower, to our bourne, because they knew
They measured off the moments we must spend
Together; we were silent—friend to friend
Was near as yet; at last thou spakest low
My name, and whispered, “Bless me ere I go!”
Oh, then I sadly thought, but did not speak:
How may I bless thee, I, oft proved so weak,
So poor in blessing that I can but love,
Nor even bless through loving? I will seek
For that I cannot give. “May One above,

166

Belovèd, love thee, keep thee, bless thee still!”
I spake these words in sadness, but a flame
Did sweep them from my lips; the next that came
Was even as a Message,—“and He will!”

167

IN ABSENCE.

And quick as when a blush
Drinks up within its hasty glow a tear
From off the cheek, within that sudden gush
Of warmth our sadness grew to better cheer.
Not now so wide, methinks, not now so drear
The blank that parts our lives, for Love between
Keeps ever moving; even now I ween
Thy task becomes less hard! for sacrifice
And patience are thy path, which ever lies
O'er odorous herbs; but other destinies
And other toils are mine, and, like a goad,
The thought of thee doth urge me on the road
Where thou dost wait me: but lest this should fail,—
For Hope, the lover's friend, grows sometimes pale
In musing o'er his fortunes,—oft to me
A surer aim is present: I would be
Of thee more worthy and of Him that blest
My life with thine, and thus I cannot rest;
Spurred on by noble discontent, my care
Is still to make this proud, unquiet breast
The fitter for the flower it may not wear!

168

THE FIRST LETTER.

Not since the breeze that took
Thy soul by kind surprise, and turning o'er
Its pages on a sudden, let me look
Upon my name ere yet thou wast aware
(Keep thou that leaf turned ever down, that there
The book may open soonest!) have I known
A moment like to this;

I keep thy seal
Unbroken, as it were thy hand in mine;
I hold it clasped in silence, till I feel
A warmth hath reached my spirit; then I ope
These pages, confident as one with Hope
In certain league; I need but touch this spring
That now I play with to and fro, to bring
Thy Presence on the stillness; these enclose
Thy spirit shut within them. Even now
Thy soul's breath is upon them—as a Rose
Fresh plucked and dewy with the morning, thou
Hast sent me of thine inner life that glows
In sweetness; fain am I, yet know not how,
To send thee thus each fancy as it blows;

169

But while I gather these my thoughts, they fade,
And pressed upon the page their colours fly,
And all their sap runs from them, wan and dry,
Like withered flowers within a herbal laid;
And this may be, perchance, because my heart
Hath been alike their cradle and their tomb,
Close folded there too long, their hues depart,—
Yet press them unto thine, and they will bloom!

170

SILENCE.

I turn unto the Past
When I have need of comfort; I am vowed
To dear remembrances: most like some proud,
Poor Noble, who, on evil fortunes cast,
Has saved his pictures from the wreck, I muse
Mid these that I have gathered, till I lose
The drearness of the Present!

On the hill
That noon in summer found us; far below
We heard the river in a slumbrous flow
Chide o'er its pebbles, slow and yet more slow;
Beneath our feet the very grasses slept,
Signed by the sliding sunbeam as it crept
From blade to blade, slow-stealing with a still
Admonitory gesture; now a thrill
Ran lightly through the wood, but ere to sound
The shiver grew upon the hush profound,
It died encalmed; methought a Spirit's sigh
Had then been audible, but none came by
To trouble us, and we were silent, fed
With golden musings by our friend that read

171

From out thy chosen Poet; in a hall
Of mute expectancy we stood, where all
That listened with us held their breath unstirred;
When suddenly the reader's voice let fall
Its flow of music; sweet as was the song
He paused in, conquered by a spell more strong,
We asked him not its cadence to recall.
It seemed as if a Thought of God did fill
His World, that drawn unto the Father's breast,
Lay hush'd with all its children. This was Rest,
And this the soul's true Sabbath, deep and still.
Then marvelled I no longer that a space
Is found in Heaven for Silence; so to me
That hour made known its true sufficiency,
Revealed not oft below, because its place
Is with the Blessed! Speech is but a part
Of Life's deep poverty, whereof the heart
Is conscious, striving in its vague unrest
To fill its void; but when the measure pressed
And running over to its clasp is given,
It seeketh nothing more, and Earth is blest
With Silence—even such as is in Heaven!

172

IN ILLNESS.

I sunk beneath the wave
Of sleep, not drawn as oft by visions light
And soothing as the hand of Mermaid white,
But by intolerable pangs that drave
Me downwards, plunging like a diver keen
For some unrestful pause, some blank between
The fiery chinks of anguish, dimly seen
And deeply longed for; yet I might not stir.
All day, beneath a cruel armourer,
The Hours—like weary slaves—slow, silent, pale,
Wrought link by link their iron mesh of mail
About my senses; now a brief escape
I won, but after me a wingèd shape,
Most like a wild and weird musician, threw
His hand 'mid shattered chords, and did renew
The day's slow-dying torture. It was Pain
That held me—only lengthening out its chain,
And through its glare unmitigable drew
Strange forms from out the darkness;—oh, the steep,
Rock-girdled citadel of rest to gain,
And so escape them! but I strove in vain;
For sleep hath its two Worlds! a lower deep

173

Within its deep still opens! Night is kind
As is the Day, so one doth fold behind
Its light, and one in darkness shroud a worn
And spectral Realm; but now the veil was torn,
The gulf yawned wide, and down amid the waste
And leavings of existence, charred, defaced—
It sucked my soul; 'mid living agonies
I walked, on old disquietudes forlorn
I stumbled as I trode; I saw them rise
And point at me, a lifetime's mockeries,
The dreary phantasms of giants shorn
And crippled of their strength; on swords that gleamed
'Mid oozy weeds, deep bedded to their hilt,—
I gazed, and seemed no more like one that dreamed.
Once were these girt for valiant enterprise;
I know not now if it were sloth or guilt
That rusted them, for all things did perplex
My spirit, dragging it among the wrecks
Of heart and brain; hard stony eyes were set
On mine, with endless questionings that met
No answer;

Then I know not how the strife
Gave way; and passing through that outer court
Of giddy cries confused, I gained the shrine
Where sleep is kindest, holiest: too divine
Those eyes of hers for sadness, and for sport
Her brow too tender! Then she laid on mine
Her hand, she pressed it with a hallowed sign,—
And all its throbbings vanished;

174

It was Night
I stood with thee within a garden; Night,
Yet never hath the Noonday been so fair,
For all the air was luminous, and white
Was every flower that grew around us there;
We did not marvel at their fragrance rare;
Their bloom was but the breathing in of light
That paled into a subtle odour; these
Were gentle ghosts of flowers that other where
Bloomed many-coloured 'neath familiar trees;
Now calm as spirits passed away in prayer,
Large-leaved and beautiful the Jessamine
Hung forth her stars; the Rose did half resign
Her empire with her blush, and over all
The Lily reared her blossomed sceptre tall;
While at our feet the Violet's purple fled
Would whisper mutely of a wound that bled
No longer, then I know not what delight
Fell on our asking spirits that addressed
Each other on the silence, “All is drest
For Death or for the Bridal, each is white
And each is solemn, each hath won for guest
An Angel, and we know not which is best.”

175

VII.

“The Heart is a Clock that gives warning before its Hour strikes.”

Before they met they loved;
Their souls fore-felt each other: passing through
This life's dim treasure-caverns, on them grew
A whisper, clearer as they onwards moved;
“There is a Sesame that opens to
Yet richer chambers,” so like Him who drew
The perfect circle of our globe, and proved,
That waiting for him on its margin (where
He knew not yet), A World in summer air
And muffling leaves and greenest quiet slept
Until he came to wake it, they were 'ware
Of this bright realm, this Virgin of the Sun,
This bride unsought, unwooed that should be won.
But of the luxury, the wealth it kept
In store, its gorgeous wilds, its solitude
Instinct with life, its tropic shade and glow
Alternating, they knew not, nor could know.
Yet, as they neared that shore, the deep was strown
With drifts of fragrant things,—and seawards-blown,
Strange birds with sunshine warm upon them, clung
About their masts, while evermore, like tales
So vague and sweet that spoken language fails

176

To catch their music-meaning, gentlest gales
Curled up the waves before their prow, and sung
And whistled clear within their fluttering sails,
To lure them to the country whence they sprung.

So when they met they loved;
They took not counsel of the Eye or Ear;
These are but erring vassals, and the clear
Soul-region in its rarer atmosphere
Needs not their failing witness. This was June,
The noon of Life,—the heart was at its noon;
A noon by Summer lulled to sleep, and hid
Beneath its leaves, half-stirring to a tune
Self sung in happy dreams; while sunshine slid
Adown the hill's steep side, and overtook
And meshed within its golden net, each nook
O'ershadowed with dark growths, and filled each cleft,
And thunder-splintered chasm storms had left;
When these two mounted on a blissful tide,
Sailed each within the other's soul—no oar
Flashed light along their way, no canvas wide
Impelled them; but a steadfast current bore
Them o'er the level champaign, till they neared
A Palace, where, through open gate and door,
They gazed together on the land that lay
Before them, glittering peak and gleaming bay,
As on a country known to them before,
Though unbeheld; and even as a King
Upon his crowning day new robes will fling
On all around him, so each common thing

177

Stood forth in light apparellèd, and took
Its hue and semblance even from the look
They cast upon it; yet, thus venturing,
I speak not wisely,—nay, these only took
Their pristine hues—their colour that forsook
And fled, when Man with Death upon his track
Went woful forth from Eden's gate, came back
When Eden's tongue was spoken! and the smile
That Nature 'neath her Mother's brow of care
Hides in her loving eyes, dawned bland and fair
To see her children's gladness; so the while
They sat beneath one crown, upon one throne,
And wrapped within the purple, o'er their own
Stretched forth the sceptre; never dial flung
Its warning shadow, never iron tongue
Knelled forth the busy hours; they took no heed
Of Time or of his flight,

For still doth time in days of blessedness Appear to stay upon his constant course, Then flows no sand, then strikes no warning bell; Oh! he is fallen from his Heaven already Whose thoughts are heedful of the changing hours— The happy hear no clock.”—Wallenstein.

nor had they need:
For they together with the world were young,
And ever would be! Life in very deed
Held back for them no Future, and the Past
Lay calm before them in a mirror glassed
To feed sweet fancies, showing how it led
To this bright now; so all things ministered
And wrought their bidding; here they deemed it well,
Like her who said, “I sit a Queen,” to dwell
In joy for evermore; but change befell.

They parted but they loved;
How could these part? what sword could be in life
To sever hearts like these? Methinks its strife

178

Should but have proved the furnace in whose glow
The fiery bars of metal fuse, and grow
More close together welded; even so.
But in this world of ours the heart, though strong
And armed and watchful, never holdeth long
Its own in peace; for sure as to the moon
The Ocean rises, here a steadfast law
Doth hold or rend asunder hearts that draw
Together, restless till they meet, then soon
Divided, and for ever; it would seem
That God hath made these loving hearts and bold,
For Him and for His world that lies a-cold
For lack of generous fuel, not to fold
Their warmth within each other, but to stream
Afar and wide, with broader, purer gleam.
How this may be I know not, but I know
That never more within our hearth-light's glow
These sat together; never, gazing through
One lattice, watched the sky; but when they knew
Their paths were severed, rising, on their way
Went forth before the breaking of the day,
And parted on Life's cross-road,—not before
Each lifted up a voice of weeping sore,
And blessed the other's journey! So they moved
(In tents abiding) through new lands that bore
No likeness to the country where of yore
They dwelt together: other scenes and looks
Grew round them; other hearts became the books
They read and mused in; other trials proved,
And other blessings gladdened, yet they loved.

179

They parted, yet they love;
And shall these spirits in an air serene,
Where nought can shadow, nought can come between,
Meet once again, and to the other grow
More close and sure than could have been below?
Or will that State, that blissful Commonweal,
Leave, each of all possessing, room to feel
For other bliss than merges in the flow
Of Love's great ocean, whence these drops did steal
To Earth of old, and wandered to and fro?
—I know not of this now, but I shall know.

Note C.

180

VIII.

Thou camest in a dream,—
So sudden taken from my life that now
'Mid all Earth's strangeness, it would strangest seem
To feel thy hand meet mine in greeting,—Thou
That clasped it once so close! but seas have swept
Between us, silken Spring-times have unrolled
Their bursting green, wild Autumns shaken gold
Upon our paths, since last I looked on thee;
And on our Life's great organ suddenly
Have keys gone silent, whence the music rolled
In blissful waves; but still through manifold
Swift change and dreary pause our hearts have kept
(Like quiet watchers left in peace to hold
A tryst with Thought, while others deemed they slept)
The steadfast secret of our Love untold.

Together and alone
We stood: they have not loved who have not known
What meaning lies in those two words—alone,
Together and alone!

And ever went a dash
Of tinkling, chiming waters through my dream,

181

As of a brook that sends a quiet flash
Through tangled boughs, and ever golden brown
From wet bright stone to stone goes lapsing down;
There oft we stood with hands together locked,
And lips whose gay and wandering converse mocked
The deeper oracles that ran below
Light words, light leaves, clear waters in their flow—
Till through those wood-aisles dim
A breath of soul, a consecration-hymn
Rose gradual on the summer's sunset glow.

Then came an hour that tore
Our lives asunder, but within my dream
Far, far away did change and parting seem
As waves that chide upon some distant shore;
Our hands were locked, our lips—we did not speak,
Our very souls were locked,—we did not seek
For word, or look, or outward token more;
It was not Heaven, because we were not glad,
It was not Earth, no future made us sad,
But in a calm, unshadowed land between,
Our spirits loosened from their bonds terrene
Did meet, and commune in a language clear,
Of things that they had known and suffered here—
And I awoke and knew thou hadst been near!

182

TO A LONG-PARTED FRIEND.

“That I never made use of your stay here to unite the present with departed days is one of the things—there are not a few of them—for which I can never be consoled; it was as though a spell lay upon me; I felt it would be enough to speak one word, but that word I could not unclose my lips to speak. The Past could not rise again from its grave, and I felt as though it would have shaken the foundations of that Present, which it is now my duty to preserve and develop. My mind is like a nation that has passed through a revolution, and must proceed in a new order, the old order being irrevocably destroyed. . . . Yet how was it with me after you had gone?” —Niebuhr to Count Adam Moltke.

I.

As by a camp-fire in the wilderness
Two hunters meet, that o'er the Prairie long
Have roamed on distant tracts companionless;
So to this city, drifted by the stress
That draws the nations hither—in the throng
We stood together in this mortal press
A moment face to face; Thou didst not guess
At mine, and I—forgive me then this wrong—
By favour of the light that fitful fell
Did let thee pass unchallenged; so that look,
Thine olden look, so long unseen, so well
Remembered, troubled me; thine aspect shook
The strong foundations of my soul, I knew
It was the Past within its grave that drew

183

A long, deep, sighing breath, and like a pent
Volcanic force, this smouldering element
Would kindle at thy glance; I felt a stir
Among the ashes of a sepulchre
Long sealed, long smooth with grass, with flowers o'ergrown,
A word from Thee, and bursting through the stone
The Dead had risen up! before one shrine
We knelt together; though the fires are cold
We lighted there, I deem that still we hold
A mournful faith unto this worship old
And lovely, counting it for half Divine.
Now is that altar broken, and a sign
From Heaven hath warned us hence—we may not bring
The living Past again, we can but wring
Its secrets from its grasp, disquieting
Like one of old, with awful charm its sleep:
Oh, leave its rest unbroken, I assign
A day far hence to meet Thee—now thine eye
Would vex me with its kindness, silently
Would turn where mine is turning;—even yet,
I am as one that wistful o'er a wave
Stoops down, intent, and sees beneath it lie
The fragments of a wreck, that glistering wet
Tempt down the eager outstretched hand; I crave
A little longer pause, for soon or late
Come all things to a calm;—I do but wait.

184

I turned, and thou wert gone—
O then my heart rose sudden up and passed
A hasty judgment; saying, I had cast
A Life within that moment from me, more
Than life would give again, and chiding sore
Like one defrauded of its right, it took
Its arrows tipped with olden love, a look,
A word remembered barbs them—oh, my friend,
I turn to thee for solace;—draw this glaive
Deep plunged unto the hilt from out my breast!
Thy hand it was unwittingly that drave
It home, and none beside can give it rest;
Speak comfort to my soul, oh reconcile
My spirit with itself! upon thy track
My heart runs after Thee; yes, mile by mile,
It follows Thee, it does not call thee back!

185

II.

I said, I do assign
A day far hence to speak with Thee; if late
Or soon it fall, I know not, for its date
Rests not with me, but One above, who draws
Our ruins to an order through the fine
And ceaseless working of His kindly laws;
For we are hasty builders incomplete;
Our Master follows after, far more slow
And far more sure than we, for frost and heat,
And winds that breathe, and waters in their flow
Work with Him silently; we stand too near
The part as yet to look upon the whole;
That thing which shall be doth not yet appear;
It is not with the eye but with the soul
That we must view God's work;

Of when and where
We ask not wisely; if our meeting were
Delayed indeed, until no more to part
We meet at last within a Mansion fair
Where there are many such, would this impart
A sadness to thy spirit? heart with heart
May commune safely when the Master's art
Hath tuned His perfect instrument! below
We learn not half its sweetness; not for men
Its broken strings are joined; it keeps its flow

186

Of music for the Land where none again
May wring its chords;

Yet even here, I know,
Are seasons calm and glad that antedate
The coming in of happier cycles, where
The human soul, too long left desolate
Shall reckon up its Sabbaths, and repair
Its pleasant things laid waste; upon that Rest
Together we shall enter! we shall share
Its joy above, below,—as God deems best!

187

TO --- ---.

“Then, towards the right, I saw a cloud of the colour of opal, and towards the left, a dusky cloud, and under both, the appearance as of a falling shower; under the latter, as of rain at the end of autumn, and under the former, as of dew at the beginning of spring, and immediately I returned from the spirit into the body, and from the spiritual into the natural world.”—Swedenborg.

I.

I say not to Thee, “Dost
Thou mind Thee how that eve above the dell
We sat together?” for I know thou must
Remember it, as I remember, well.

I held thy hand in mine;
We spoke of many things, with frequent calm
Of tender pause between; the air was balm
That stirred the pages of the Book we held
Betwixt our hearts, till by their warmth compelled,
We brought its faded characters to shine
Upon us, tracing them with finger fine
Still further back, and when, upon a word
We paused, that time had worn, or grief had slurred,
Our spirits drew the closer, till at last
I read, as if by hearth-light flame, each line
Within the glow thy soul around thee cast,
Whilst thou didst read them by the light of mine.

188

And loath its clasps to close
We hung above that Book; we kissed its leaves,
And marvelled at their fragrance, till a rose
Dropt from them, gathered once when summer-eves
Were kindest, it had withered there—the bloom
Had fallen from it, yet, within its tomb
It strewed with odours all its winding sheet—
Fragrant in life, among the dead how sweet!

I held thee by the hand;
The evening deepened round us, still we read,
Evoking those old spells, till from the Dead
We summoned up our Youth and saw it stand
Before us beautiful! upon its brow
Sat pain and sweetness mingling, even now
I know not which was victor; then we took
Our counsel with the pages of the Book
To reckon with it harshly, but this dust
Turned on us sudden with the look of yore—
And of the wealth it took away, the trust
It broke with us, all question we forbore.

But even as a child,
Lured by a bird's clear singing, makes a track
Within the wood's deep heart, did fancies wild
And lovely draw us further, further back;
Until, 'mid windings green and lone we felt
Our feet were deep in flowers we loved before
Those grassy paths brake sudden, and we dwelt
In Arcady no more!

189

We murmured, “Yea, no more
We know our Eden's place, yet is it well;
Although the gate be barred for us, the Door
Is ever open.”

Suddenly there fell
A glory from the Heavens, and all the dell
Was filled with quivering light, as in a cup
Its woody hollow caught and kindled up
The sun's last sinking flashes; on the sky
There was no cloud, no flaming bar, no line
Of fire along the West, but solemnly
Heaven glowed unto its depths, as if the curse
Were lifted upwards from our universe
One moment's Sabbath space, and only Love
Stooped down above its World!—so from above
A smile dropt visibly on Earth, that prest
To meet that sign of reconcilement—blest
On brow and bosom blest.

We spoke no more;
Our souls were silenced; then we thought to fold
The pages of the volume worn and old
That still lay open, but the sunlight fell
And tracked each letter luminous and bold,
Until it shone a golden Chronicle,—
O sweet, sad Book, traced o'er
With marvels! light must fall
Upon thy page from Heaven, before
We see that Love writ all!

190

II.

Then while we mused, a word
Fell on us, spoken once on desert plain,
“Go, gather up these fragments that remain,
And store them carefully, that none be lost;”
And at that Voice methought the ashes stirred
Within the Vale of Vision; sere and dry
Each severed hope, each shred of memory
Did shake and come together. Suddenly
Our life from days when infancy was sweet
Stood up before us, all from head to feet
Transfigured fair.

“How holy is this place!”
I said, and wist not what I spake; methought
I felt like one upon his journey brought
By ways he knows not of; these pathways dim
Had ever seemed their promised end to cheat,
Yet had they led to Him
In whom Life's tangled, broken threads complete
Are gathered up, its wasted things made meet
For holier use, its roughness smoothed, its bitter turned to sweet!

191

Then saw we how this hour
That we had chidden with, this mortal life,
That broke its faith with us, had not the power
To keep it better; weariness and strife
So marred its gentler purpose; yet comprest
Among its thick-set thorns, because the air
Did breathe about it all too chill and rare,
Our Past had held our Future, like a Rose
That may not yet its perfect soul disclose,
Lest angry winds should scatter and molest;
So shut within this narrow bud, its woes
Were but the crumpled leaves too closely prest;
And all its loveliness did but enclose
The germ of after beauty, now a Guest,
But soon to be a Dweller!

So we stood,
While gradual to our feet the shadows fell;
We looked abroad, and all was very good;
On all within was written, “It is well;”
For things that were and would be met and kissed
Each other in the heart, that like a child
For loss of each bright joy that it had missed,
Was by a loving promise reconciled!

Ezek. xxxvii.

192

TO A DISTANT FRIEND.

INSCRIBED TO D. E. L.

“There are wonders in true affection.”
Religio Medici.

I knew not ye were sad,
Dear distant friends of mine! Across the sea
Ye sent me only tidings making glad,
And all was gladness round; for Life to me
Had grown a summer's day, whose very air
Was luxury to breathe, and on Love's fair
Smooth forehead lurked no folded plait of care;
Yet, borne I knew not whence, a sadness stole,
Disquieting the music of my soul
With dreary change; as one that, feasting high
At some great banquet, feels a tremor chill
Pass o'er him, and, grown sudden pale and still,
Sets down his brimming goblet with a sigh,
So all the wine of my felicity
Was mixed with tears! oh, strange that now the cup
Should shrink within itself, and narrow up
For fulness poured within it! dark distrust
Was this of God, and servile fear, unjust
To Love's ungrudging sunshine: I would pray,
And so this heaviness should pass away;

193

But when your names arose that ever there
Are nearest to my spirit, all my prayer
Was stayed upon their sound, as when a strain
Recurring oft unbidden, will enchain
The sense to track its cadence, I must pause
Upon these words that ever on my way
O'erlook me urgent, “Pray yet longer, pray
For them thou lovest,—is there not a cause?”

And even then ye wept;
And even then o'er Desert and o'er Sea
Were deathful tidings speeding on to me,
That knew them through a steadfast pulse that kept
Its pace with yours; I needed but to tear
My festal robes to show the sackcloth bare
They hid; and even with the iron tongue
That knelled your loss, a warning presage flung
Across my path the shadow of your care!

And quickly hath this keen
Vibration brought us to the other near,
Because the air betwixt us was serene;
And calm as when on mountain summits clear,
We count distinct the fall of distant bells,
So is there stillness round the soul that dwells
In Love! The spirit loosened from the jar
Of earthly turbulence, can hear afar
Belovèd footsteps stir, and thus we prove
Through very pain the comforting of Love.
For we have parted at a wrench from all

194

The things we held in common, so that now
One wears the rose of joy, while on some brow
Or in some bosom best-beloved, the thorn
Is rankling deep; for now we may not press
Each other's hand or lip, we do but guess
At one another's faces far withdrawn.
And one is crowned and robed, while one forlorn
Doth sit upon the ground; our lots are cast
So wide, upon the waste your whisper dies,
And while we tell you of our smile it flies.
For even while we speak with you—so fast
Life's golden sands are fleeting—unto Past
Our Present darkens! Yet the heart hath set
Its calm Eternal Dial to a Sun
That changes not.

Oh, friends, we had not met
E'en when together; heart when drawn to heart
Most near, had shrunk and shivered, held apart
By chillness from within—more blank, more keen
Than seas that roll, than winds that sweep between,
Except for Him who holdeth even yet
Our souls in one. Oh, Love, that doth o'ersweep
The gulfs of Time and Space, and o'er our sleep
And o'er our waking brood, if dear and near
Are one in thy blest language even here,
How may it fare with them that on a shore
Where none are parted, none are troubled more,
A little farther from us dwell, set free
From bonds that fetter here.—And may there be
In heavenly harps a chord that vibrates still

195

In swift yet painless unison with ill
That mars not perfect music? Yet I cast
My plummet down a mystery too vast
For mortal line to fathom. Deep to deep
Doth call, yet wake no answer. Love will keep
This sweetest of its secrets till the last!

196

TO MY FRIENDS AT ------.

This love of ours hath been
Awhile mislaid, it never could be lost;
I did not fear for it, yet somewhat crossed
My spirit mournfully, as o'er the grass
The little cloudlets darken as they pass.
It was a shadow from without that swept
The sunshine off our spirits, yet I wept,
So much I missed that sunshine! Sad and strange
It seemed to me that any chill should creep
Across our Love; yet patient o'er its sleep
I watched and warmed it safe through every change,
Until it wakened smiling! All things came
As they had been of old, yet not the same,
For nought returns again! but far more sure,
More deep our trust, more fitted to endure
Life's changeful skies; we mourn not for that fled
First April bloom; we count not up the cost
Of that sweet blossom on the breezes sped,—
The ripened fruit need fear no after-frost!

197

MEETING.

Oh, how elate my look,—
Far down the thronged and lighted table sent
Upon a careless quest indifferent,—
Met thine in mirthful flashing! Then we took
Our leave together, and, like boys released
By the glad stroke of Noonday, from the feast
Went home beneath the star-light. Oh, that night,
How shall I e'er forget it! At a bound
My spirit rose, a river that had found
Its level on a sudden; forth in chase
Quick vagrant fancies rushed as in a race,
Unemulous and glad; while at the light
Of those wild torch-fires solemn thoughts and deep
Enkindled clear, as on a northern sky,
Through Borealis gleams that flash and leap,
The stars look down. What was that hour to me!
What is it now! My soul hath been more free,
More noble, since that meeting; to the laws
Of this strange country for awhile in pause

198

Content to hold my breath; with step more bold
Because my wings have grown, I walk these old
Accustomed pathways.

Earnest Friend, thy youth
Of soul makes all things fresher; in thy truth
Grows all more true, more real; come and hold
Thy mirror to my soul, that I may be
The more myself for having been with thee!

199

PARTING.

TO E. L. R.

We parted not like lovers in their youth,
Fond pledge and promise eager to renew,
But e'en like steadfast-hearted friends whose truth,
Tried by world-wear, world-change, soul-conflict, knew
Its strength and rested; so our words were few.
We parted with the clamour of the street
Around us thick, yet secret, lone, and sweet
Was our communing. Then I did not say
As oft of yore, “Dear friend, when far away,
Remember me,” nor thou, “Forget me not.”
What is this life that Thou shouldst be forgot
For all that it hath yet to give me? Nay!
In this world or the next I count to be
Rememb'ring and remembered; we have shared
The cloud and sunshine here, Eternity
Will never blight the flower that Time hath spared!

200

TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT.

“And there in Abraham's bosom, whatever it be which that bosom signifies, lives my sweet friend. For what other place is there for such a soul?” St. Augustine's Confessions.

Oft was I wont to pray
For thee in olden days; our spirits knew
A common travail, and upon the way
We never stayed to commune, but we drew
A comfort from the other, inly cheered;
So knowing of the things beloved and feared
Of thee, O gentle Spirit! as before
I walked, an elder pilgrim, o'er and o'er
I scanned the ground for thee, and it was sweet
To think that after me thy tender feet
Might find a smoother path; when suddenly
Thou didst o'ertake me with a footstep fleet,
And wingèd, turning on me such a bright,
Sweet, joyous face, I knew that thou hadst neared
Thy journey's end, and even then appeared

201

The long-sought home, the Father's house in sight;
While from its flaming windows all alight
Came festal sounds.

Then, Friend beloved, for thee
I could not pray as once, though still arose
Thy name because of use, would somewhat say,
“Pray not for her, but for thyself and those
Who linger far behind; the little way
That she hath yet to travel, like the rose
Doth blossom, paved with love; her kindred wait
E'en now to welcome her within the gate;
But ere their dancing and their songs resound,
Her spirit rushing on before, hath met
The Father coming forth; her cheek is wet
With reconciling tears. Oh, wake no sound,
She seeketh nothing further! she hath found
Him whom her soul desired by night and day,—
What wouldst thou ask for her?”

Yet must I pray
For thee, so spake I soft, “The stream is wide
That lies between; oh, gentle be its flow
When she doth cross,”—that boon was not denied.
Now that thy feet upon the hither side
Stand firm, I charge thee, Friend, by all below
That knit our souls in one, that thou dost take
This music from my lips, for thou canst frame
Its flow more fitly; only change thy name

202

Belov'd, for mine. I lay on thee this task,
Entreat for me.

“Brother Bradford, as long as I shall understand thou art on thy journey by God's grace, I shall call upon our Heavenly Father for Christ's sake to let thee safely home, and then, good brother, speak you, and pray for the remnant which are to suffer for Christ's sake, according to that thou shalt then know more clearly.”—Bishop Ridley writing to Bradford the Martyr.

for thou hast drawn more near
God's gracious heart, and closer to His ear,—
Nay! thou dost pray for me, I need not ask!