University of Virginia Library

TO MY FRIENDS, John Dennis and John Simon, F.R.S., THESE SONNETS ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. J. W. I.

SONNETS.

DEDICATORY.

To that unconscious Beauty that has wrought
In me, through many years in many lands,
By stream and wood and plain and barren strands,
The joy that only comes of lovely thought,
Of Beauty born and Nature nourishèd,
And season-clothed in vestments fresh and pure,
With all about a heavenly garniture:—
Fresh coloured flowery thought by young dawn fed,
Or dim and glorious grown by moon and star.—
To Thee, whose breath of life is to diffuse
Rare joy and strength, I proffer each fair line,
That if but one sweet-souled true rhyme from far
Shall reach thine ear and touch thy heart, my Muse
May rest content in thus becoming thine.

ART.

Mysterious force, as beautiful as strange,
And pure with beauty and with mystery,
Queen of the world in wide extent of range,
Through every motion of the sky and sea,
And the sweet mother of all joy, our Earth
Whether in moment of her snowy rest,
Or autumn eve, or summer noon, or birth
Of spring time o'er an Alpine mountain's crest,
To touch thy robe is life, but to receive
Thy touch of fiery lip, then pierce with eye
Made clear and strong, and afterwards to weave
With all our heart, fair forms that cannot die:—
This bliss supreme being ours, thine own free gift,
Makes life one joy and dull time keen and swift.

ONE DEAD.

Is it deep sleep, or is it rather death?
Rest anyhow it is, and sweet is rest:—
No more the doubtful blessing of the breath,
Our God hath said that silence is the best,
And thou art silent as the pale, round moon,
And near thee is our birth's great mystery:—
Alas, we knew not thou wouldst go so soon!
We cannot tell where sky is lost in sea,
But only find life's bark to come and go,
By wondrous Nature's hidden force impelled,—
Then melts the wake in sea, and none shall know
For certain which the course the vessel held;—
The lessening ship by us no more is seen,
And sea and sky are just as they have been.

STRATFORD-ON-AVON.

Just as of old sweet Avon winds its way,
Embracing yellow corn and meadow land,
The harvest moon makes night a sweeter day,
Just as of old on Shakespeare's brow and hand,
The willows droop upon the river's breast,
The silvern swan is in its loveliest dream,
An image beautiful of twofold rest;—
O mellow sky, and moon, and stars, and stream!
All nature's spirit, free as song of bird!
Send now sweet love upon the fruitful earth,
And let the exulting song far off be heard
Of love's wide melody and purest mirth,
Until the gentle conquest be complete,
And Death, and Sorrow are in full retreat.

LIFE'S WORDS.

There is a book wherein we sometimes see
A dim reflection of the face of God;
Awful at times these writings seem to be,
And oft they blossom forth as Aaron's rod,
With flower of tender almond-breathing love,
Such love as mortal of immortal dreams,
And time itself is far too brief to prove,
For though the seasons change, this ever gleams
As an Eternal Will.—But most we find
In this wide book writ by the human soul,
In deeds that last, or music of the mind,
A voice august to man for self-control,
That he may reach the utmost strength of bliss
When hope and deed renew blessed harmonies.

A STRANGER.

Whence hither come, and by what fortune led?
To bring such sweet content, such happy rest,
Have we not clear and mutual knowledge fed
In some far time or place? Come, let us test:
You list when groves a summer music breathe,
You think pure thoughts when white clouds sail the sky:
The violet is fairest in the wreath
Wherewith you deck love's years as they go by,
You smile at fruitless joys, though passing fair
To minds unnurtured in your simple ways;
Your heart has virtue's fruitful seeds closed there,
To bud and blossom in the adverse days:
Since I have told so much, let more be known,
If you such loving knowledge also own.

EARLY SPRING.

Yet once again, O Spring, Spring sweet and fair!
In fresh March morning with the birds I sing,
The groves have had a bitter time to bear,
The sea has made the rocks around to ring,
The poor and old have wept the fire away,
Or shuddered, scarcely having strength to feel:
But Spring has come at last with keen bright day,
And clear-faced sun that many a woe can heal;
Ere leaf be on the tree, with violets few,
I sing for joy of all the joys to come,
Ere timid vagrant birds sail back, that flew
Instinctive, far from this their summer home;
O welcome thou my song, thrice welcome Spring,
And give thy loving heart its carolling.

LIFE'S GLASS.

Like unto echoed music in a dream,
A slowly sailing cloud in summer's sky,
Achieving some mysterious work on high,
A thought that shines with an ethereal gleam,
A passing river with a heavenly breast,
That also feels a thousand joys of earth,
The distant sound of some fair village mirth,
A snow-clad mountain in a moonlight rest,
A war-clash and a woe that fades away,
A desolation that shall bloom again,
A look of love though shaded with reserve,
Some hieroglyph unread, yet clear as day:
Like each in turn thy life shines forth to men,
Impelled by Love to wonder and to serve.

PERSECUTION.

The flames shall brighten and the heat increase,
The winds shall drive around the worn parched heart,
The voice, at times, of God shall almost cease,
The dews and manna of the soul depart;
And yet, whilst feeblest breath of faith remains,
The forces of the world are not our foes,
Fierce flames and cruel tortures bring no pains,
Past silent Death, bright Life with ardour glows,
And leads us on by paths that do not wind,
To rest with God. Then sing, ye children, sing,
Your circling arms with loving arms close twined,
And let the darts the faithless ever fling,
Be hurled within the Church and make her pure,
That faith embrace the world, and bliss be sure.

EXPERIENCE.

As clear as calm experience comes at last,
To weary wayfarer from some far land,
So dawns the thought whose setting long seemed past,
Like love that smiling takes us by the hand,
When we imagine love is lost or dead,—
We give no start and utter no surprise,
But where the soft winds blow, are gently led,—
For love is precious joy to weary eyes:—
Sometimes Experience comes as we grow cold,
When suddenly a lightning flash may start
Into terrific life, grim sin and old:—
Colossal then He ever sits apart,
A potent prince, whose fearful Gorgon strength
Were there no love, would slay the world at length.

LOVE.

I sing of love that has been sung before,
I tell the oldest tale of all the world;
But new or old, I sing yet more and more,
For passion's force within the heart once hurled,
Can but be stayed by passion's Potentate,
Nor can he his own innocents destroy.
And while I feel of love the sweetness great,
I nurse the pain as an impatient boy
The future, knowing not what grief must be:
Thus love exists by interchange of pain
With painful bliss, for both are given to me;
Love changing bliss to woe, and then again
Love's woe to bliss is changed, until at last
Love's passion conquereth, and pain is past.

LOVE'S BREATH.

I know great clouds are all around the sky;
I know great rocks are seen along the shore;
Waves terrible, I know, dash loud and high,
With deathful sound resounding more and more;
I know the path is rugged from the bay;
That sweetest flowers have still some hurtful thorn;
To-morrow's storms I know are sure as day,
For certain woe is ours when we are born;
That life within the soul uncertain burns;
I know its battle unto blood for good.
All this and more than this I know, yet turns
My heart to where with thee alone I stood,
Watching day's glory resting on the sea;
And terrors fade as I draw breath from thee.

LOVE'S FEARLESSNESS.

I love, and therefore silent I remain,
Because I love, no jealousy is near;
I love! and love's expression can restrain,
And nothing gives to me who love a fear.
I love! and all the loved one's joy is mine,
Though yielded it may be from others' love;
And Love, sweet Love, entirely, I am thine;
I place my faith in power of thine to move,
And I will trust thee to the very end.
My love will live through each impulsive thought
That wayward fancy may for love's sake send.
Love is by instinct known, and found, not sought,
Yet love to strong faith ever yields at last,
And I so surely love, all doubt is past.

LOVE'S LIGHT.

The sea is all unknown and dark to me,
Great blackness rests on rock and tree and field,
The sky above I only know to be,—
Both far and near, with heavy cloud for shield,
My heaven is vanquished by this dreary night,
And all along the coast and on the land,
This wretched time has spread its fearful blight,
That we should be o'erpowered on every hand,
Did not some kindly gleam in pity come;—
Perhaps some blazing lamp upon the coast,
To tell the mariner of nearing home
When with the ocean's direful fury toss'd:
Thy face all want supplies by night and day,
In sunshine sweet,—in storm hope's tender ray.

ILLUSIONS OF LOVE.

In midst of dark and dreary days and nights,
In sad and faded autumn of the year,
When we recall those past and pure delights,
And they far off unwilling, draw not near,
But in their stead the sad wind only sighs
And dull rain presses on the fallen leaf:—
Then we cast down behold, with bright surprise,
The clearing sky, whilst far away flies grief,
To overtake the west wind and the rain;—
And in the warmth we dwell with dear belief
This fairest time will never cease again;—
But short, though soothing sweet, is this relief,
For soon is gone the sun—cold mists draw near,
And love seems vanquished quite by trembling fear.

LOVE'S AUTUMN BUDS.

Although the yellow leaves are on the tree,
And summer's ruins thickly strew the ground,
And no bright flowers are in the sea-girt lea,
And birds have almost ceased their music's round:
Though all along the land, across the sea,
And o'er the sky, the stealthy grey mists creep,
Though many months have sever'd thee from me,
Yet still is memory too bright to weep,
For near the autumn leaves buds long to bloom,
And summer comes again with lengthening days,
And Hope on earth has never built a tomb,
But shines with brightness yet of gentle rays:
So Love itself can never pass away,
But has clear dawn or cloudy every day.

THE EASTERN LOVE SONG.

Rise up, my Love, my fair one come away,
For lo! the winter's past, the rain is gone,
The flowers of earth have come with birds and May,
The turtle cooeth sadly left alone:—
O rise, my Love, my sweet one come away,
The figs are green, the vines are fair and young,
O Love, my Love, my dove! where art thou, say?
Hast heard in rocky clefts the song I sung?
O answer me again, thy voice is sweet,
Rejoice my sight, my Love, with face of thine,
O cease thy shyness, come with love's quick feet,
For thou my Love art tender, thou art mine:
Beloved come, among the lilies feed,
By stream and lotus flower and whispering reed.

LOVE AND DEATH.

Within a wood I strayed at sunset hour,
The leaves were still, and red upon the ground,
The trees themselves stood steadfast as a tower
That has survived a thousand things around,
The iris here and there in Autumn seed,
Was brighter than in Spring; I saw no bird,
Nor noted breathing thing; all hushed indeed
Was this sad grove; whilst deep below I heard
The sea, with dull monotony of moan,
And saw the white foam die on marble strand;
Mountain and sky far up above looked lone,
Whilst by a brook, winged arrows in his hand,
Sat Love the imperishable one,—and near,
The last grey mortal of the latest year.

LOVE'S WISDOM.

Sweet Love forgive, if when I deemed me wise,
I doubted what I could not understand,
With time has come the opening of mine eyes,
And all thy ways prove good as years expand.—
Strange torture is but test of lover's truth,
Sad doubt Love crowns at last with certainty,
Our tears are reaped again in smiles, as Ruth
Reaped all, when love was ruled by Love to be:—
Ill memory is lost in sight of Love,
Love's looks make words tell all the wondrous tale,
And silent presence shall be prized above
All joys, that wanting her in all things fail.—
O Love beneficent, once more forgive,
Make me thine own, whilst I thy true life live.

LOVE'S REVENGE.

Thou fool! and dost thou think so easily
To vanquish me, when I have war declared,
And war persistent, skilfully prepared,
With love in thy soul hidden: busily
Indeed thy daily work pursue, and then
Forget me if thou can'st, thou triple fool!
Hast thou to learn no sympathy have men
For such as murder Love, or make it tool
Of their ambitious will?—Ah, now has come
The cold grey day when they who will may hide
Thy fame, and strike all praise and honour dumb.
So now triumphantly with fate I ride,
On this, Death's own inexorable day,
But no sad sweetness chants a burial lay.

THE UNKNOWN.

Who knows where wanders ship on lonely sea?
Who tells what guides us onward to our love?
Why early blossoms fade to me and thee,
And later ones bear fruit our hopes above?
How next may move the searching wind and storm,
With desolation fraught, or strength, who knows?
Was that the love for which the child was born,
Begun in bliss, continuous in its woes?
Why flowers so sweetly bloom on Alpine heights,
Untouched, and scarcely seen 'mid ice and snow?
Why weakest vessels bear such heavy freights?
And you, my Love, my love may never know,
And time stretch forth to me increasing pain,
And loveless, hopeless life alone remain.

LOVE'S LOOK.

Do those pure eyes shine verily the same,
On any other eyes they chance to meet?
O tell to me, by Love's untarnished name,
Is this as pure as it is surely sweet,
Or is the glimpse permitted of the soul
To be but loved in the rememberance,
That as the needle trembles to the pole,
So grace of life shall spring from this loved glance?
But Love, sweet Love, O tell me if you can,
If visions such as these were always seen,
To what a god-like height might reach the man
Impelled to be what few or none have been?
You will not say, O Love, you have no power
To unveil the hidden joy of that far hour.

LOVE'S ALTAR.

I saw the stars look down upon the earth,
The cold moon blended with the trembling sea,
I watch'd the sun from earliest time of birth,
Until the living world was flush'd with glee,
Some voices I have heard in thickest wood
That once seemed strange yet mingled in rich song;
Sweet pity, I have known supremely good,
In growing into love a whole life long;
Love I have known to conquer every foe,
Strange contraries by Love being made at one;
For so Love's strength can laugh at mortal woe,
And glow in beauty as the morning sun:
Great Love omnipotent, O list my prayer!
And I will serve thee always, everywhere.

LOVE'S JOY.

To know thy will, O Love, itself is joy,
To do it an ineffable delight,
Unweariedly life's sweetness to employ
In willing acts deem'd gracious in thy sight:—
To know we live in harmony with love
Is to attain the wisdom of the pure;
With peaceful steadfast steps through life to move,
And near us all the beautiful and sure,—
To bloom as green grass through both shower and sun,
Like flowers to grow and stars to shine by night,
To hear the season's music—never done,—
To pass from storm to the supremely bright:—
Then sweetest, let me only know thy will,
And Love shall give me wisdom to fulfil.

LOVE PASSING.

O wherefore ever onward Love, O why
Not rest with me awhile, and bid me take
Thine own sweet flowers that everywhere grow high
In meadows glorious made by that deep lake,
Reflecting clear the heaven of thy sweet grace:
Teach me, O Love, to pluck these flowers of thine,
Give me to see and know thy blessed face,
That everlasting wisdom may be mine:—
I feel the charm of sweetest misery,
I know the mountain-land of quick extremes,
Thick flowers and deepest snows I also see,
I feel great sorrow mix with brightest dreams;—
Sweet Love! O rush not thus so quickly by,
But live with me that joy may never die.

WITH LOVE DEAD.

Say what to me forsooth is praise, what blame
When thou, my only dearest love, art dead,
And what the sweet loud passing breath of fame,
When thou, my loveliest love, hast drooped thine head?
And what this living rush of hearts to me?
I gently move, yea, hand in hand with Death
Whose love to me must ever, ever be,
Though she be pale and all devoid of breath,
Yet giving me imaginings so sweet,
I am amazed, if more I loved my Love
When meeting hearts in unison could beat
And loving breath with form of words could move;
Then wonder melts to sadness once again,
At her strange look my doubt has turned to pain.

MY LOVE.

My love is fair as is the first blush rose,
My love is still as is the ocean deep,
Within her heart all worthy knowledge glows,
And sin with her is as unconscious sleep;
My love has eyes, how piercing calm and clear!
At home in heaven, love's beauteous face they see,
And then give joy to me without a fear
When sad and weary from the world I flee;
My love is great as mighty queens have been,
And is a queen by force of strongest love,
Her kingdom heaven's own blue and earth's sweet green,
Great seas, and force that all true men shall move;
If thou dost meet my love I pray thee know
Our God hath made one only loved one so.

LOVE'S SEASON.

The snow-drops sword-like pierce the lagging snows,
The Winter dies with blessings on the Spring,
The violet sweet, which Love himself well knows,
Is lost with Summer blue-bells welcoming;
And when dear hand extends to reach the brier,
(Clear type of love, with flower and scent and sting)
The white and blue are melted in that fire
To which the world is duly minist'ring,
By sacred home and altar day and night:—
Our smallest thoughts are writ in silent verse,
Upon the eyes of each, with heaven for light;
Nor can we weary whilst we these rehearse,
And though the flowers have passed to one red leaf,
Love's summer lingers long, its snows are brief.

SANS PEUR.

Like as a sweet child near the moving sea,
Bends downward on his frail new world of sand,
Happy if but within his walls may be,
Ever so little sky or ocean-strand,
Enough to move the heart to tuneful joy,—
So we the children of a larger build
May note with no unkindly smile, the boy
Who with imagination life can gild
So clear and fair since all unknown is death.
Yet startled we ourselves become with bliss
When Love is heard to breathe this sweetest breath,
“Brim full ye loved ones be of happy kiss
Ere Spring pass by,” but pitiless the wave,
My Love, that makes of children's joys a grave.

THE WRECK.

How long the storm may last, the west wind blow!
The wreck how long endure the angry waves!
How long, my Love, shalt thou me grieving know!
But as a captain every terror braves,
So steadfast I, in spite of wind and wave,
Cling near to love's last memory of Love:—
'Tis easy thus the elements to brave,
And so defy their potency to move,
When thou art felt beloved and near to me:
But Love, each wave is pitiless and throws
With greed sad food to all-devouring sea;
The masts and shrouds are gone, and now who knows
If vessel shattered so can brave the storm?—
Yet thou might'st take a saving angel's form.

LOVE'S YEAR.

There is no time without its flower of love!
Does violet go, and red rose pass away?
Do thrush and lark forget their early lay?
Is deep blue tempered in the sky above?—
The violet has its russet casket still,
The rose its fiery apple autumn crowned,
Sweet music may be caught from every sound;
The grey skies harmonize with grove and hill:—
In passing on to heaven the road of love,
A day may take from burning heat to snow,
Where sapphire stars transformed to flowrets bloom,
The sunset kiss on Alp a world might move:—
Thy breath can now make coldest blood to flow,
And snatch the dying captive from the tomb.

PASSING BRIGHTNESS.

The sun's full orb dipped in the quiet sea
With tints more deeply dyed than loom of Tyre,
Arrayed in clouds of glory gorgeously,
And ere he sank I felt his ray of fire,
Wherewith illumined seemed life's cloudy ways;
But looking east and north and south I saw
The clouds were touched with those same fiery rays
Which soon became cold-grey and pale, and raw,
When all illusions vanished from my way;
I knew ten years had passed since first we met,
Perhaps another ten ere meet we may,
Ten years of this world's littleness and fret,
But sweetened with the faith thou know'st so well,
Which passes not be sure, with passing bell.

THE SIGH.

Sometimes a Sigh wells upward from the deep,
And glides into my presence like a ghost:
Unwelcome guest, what grain is here to reap,
Is not thy place for ever with the lost?
A slave, and conquered by a stronger will,
Have we again to wrestle with the past?
Say whence, and wherefore here, for good or ill?
“I come from pleasant lands, where dreams are cast,
And where regrets bear fruit, where memory
Gives life as sunshine, warm with ripening power;
And from this land, a slave, have brought to thee
Rich fruit to serve the melancholy hour:”—
And then he vanished, Love, and thou camest nigh,
A joyous presence that can never die.

LOVE'S WEALTH.

The white sea-foam still plays on golden shore,
The sun through tears makes many a jewelled bow,
The trees around the home have leaves no more,
Though tenanted by ever cheery crow;
The fragrant hawthorn groves that bloom like snow,
And sometimes shed their blossoms with the wind
Upon the face of wondering flowers below,
Are deeply flushed with fruit, that birds may find
No lack for winter, now not far away:—
The moist and amber leaves keep warm the earth
That it may leap the sooner to the day,
When radiant Spring is born all fresh with mirth:
And I by this fair world enriched, for thee
Such wealth put forth to loving usury.

LOVE'S VISIONS.

At last are fled the leaves that lingered long,
The sun at last withholds his parting glow,
The clouds move onward like a funeral song,
Or hopeless hang o'er all the water's flow.
I know the flowers, that joined sad days to bliss,
Shall die by this night's keen and piercing frost;
For sweetness fades, though sadness ever is!
So rare are joys to find, so soon are lost!
I could contented be, almost to yield
My joy like latest flower to Winter's sting,
And sullen searching moan from wood and field,
That saddens life, and mars our harvesting,
But then I close mine eyes and thou art near,
Coming as violets come when Spring is here.

A QUESTION.

O wherefore write thy thoughts in careful measure?
It cannot be thine own voice gives thee joy,
In song is there an all-sufficient treasure,
Whose numbers leave no lingering alloy?
Take this my answer, Love, and then I cease;—
I sang that thou might'st read with loving mind,
That images of beauty might increase,
And treasure, still more treasure, haply find;—
But I have done—to thee the sea and sky,
The sweet spring time, the sweeter autumn night,
And breath of loving summer all come nigh,
And speak in words unbreathed again, yet bright
As burnished sunshine on a waveless sea.
What wonder then these lines are lost to thee.

FOR PITY'S SAKE.

Sweet! I have seen a river's barren bed,
With just one line of heaven-reflecting light,
That once from a pure bubbling fountain-head
Had bounded onward with a loving might.
Hast thou not felt from death a cruel shock,
When life to thee so rich in joy seemed dry
And desolate of verdure as a rock?
As river's bed and barren rock, so I,
Denied of thee to sing, am hard and cold
And out of tune with all the beauteous world.
O life so dead! O youth so passing old!
O barren present! memory far hurled
From happy thought embracing fleeting time,—
If Love may not, let Pity give me rhyme.

AT LAST.

The lone parched land still yearns for later rains,
The hopeless exile for a sight of home,
Those ever suffering ask a change of pains,—
The sea itself, when lashed to constant foam,
Seems pleading drearily for signs of peace:—
Ah constant grey that covers all the sky!
Ah cruel bitter winds that will not cease!
Ah tearful painful life, that cannot die!
Since flushed and fancy-nursed with hope and fear,
Until the weary dawn comes on at last,
And all desires are fled, and hope is drear;
Then dies a fair sad life unfairly past:—
O scatter round the grave earth's rarest flowers;
In Love's own garden still are joyous hours.

THE ABBEY.

We only know that all in peace have rest,
The Babe that died betwixt its sob and smile,
The Knight whose fame reached farthest east and west,
The sweetest Queen of Love in love's own Isle;
The Poet's name is whispered gently here,
The Statesman's turmoil is in quiet lost,
The Saint's spring flowery chaplet is not sere,
Our great ancestral soul seems carved and 'bossed
With stone made eloquent and fair to see,
Forgotten all that's base and all impure,
For peace around us dwells and poetry,
With beauty that for ages shall endure:
Mar not the place with thought that harbours wrong,
But let it holy be with love and song!

THE SWALLOWS.

As poised one time in quietness of thought,
The fiery clouds below, the clouds above,
With glory strange all round about me brought
By sun long past, yet leaving beams of love,
Whilst far below whispered the pale-lipped sea
To the still moon all rapturously fair,
Decked by the deep clear night most tenderly;
Thy peaceful spirit my companion there
Looked far as distant waters joined the sky,
My vision fixed and keen across the night
Beheld long living lines meandering nigh,
Till round us arrowed wings sustained their flight
In that most beauteous space—with thee and me:
And then these birds passed home beyond the sea.

THE AFTERGLOW.

I thought my simple tale was fully told,
My joys and sorrows settled into peace,
I thought my thraldom had received release,
Since with fair love I had been overbold—
But no! Love's passion lures me to the main
Immeasurable, fairer after storm
That thundered, and through cloud that darkened morn:
Pale Love and unrequited still has pain,
Which Hope transforms to some sure coming bliss,
And laughing watches every throb of heart,
Certain there is no fatal fear, if he
Direct the lover to that sealing kiss,
Which then becomes of life the noblest part,
Giving it sweetest strength and harmony.

TIME.

Ask Time, swift-footed, to return again,
Would flowers he gathered shine with morning dew,
And touch our hearts as once they used to do?
Would lover's kisses now move joy as then,
Or woods and fields give keenest rapture more,
Could mountains upward draw our wearied feet,
Where for companions clouds alone we meet?
Dare joy walk with us on the ocean shore?
If Time revived would any know his face?
Rejoice to see his overburdened back,
Or talk with perfect freedom as of old.—
The weight of memory helps not now the race,
Through deadened sight we miss the early track,
For Time's fierce fires at last like ours grow cold.

THE VIOLETS.

My Love! there is a mighty beechen tree,
That spreads large arms above a babbling brook,
Where happy children read in love's fresh book;
It stands in red leaves now up to the knee,
Though late the cold snow kissed it, and was free
To touch its aged head.—Why memory took
This journey wondrous seems, but as I look
With steadfast eyes, thou art revealed to me,
Pale primroses within thine hand, found there,
Thy thoughts scarce known unto thyself perchance,
But I remember when some violets fair
Were plucked by old tree roots, and by a glance
I saw they harmonized with golden hair;—
Thou know'st where they were placed all through the dance.

THE LONELY LIFE.

A sunless, blinded city in the day,
A joyless, starless city in the night,
A wild and barren moor and no clear way,
An ever-sounding sea concealed from sight,
A far off mountain leading yet on high,
Volcanic depths no mortal may explore,
The hopeless language born of every sigh,
Poor thought that leaves us darker than before,
With labouring pant it scaled some law of being!
A world most musical, our hearing dull,
A beauteous universe, to our dim seeing
Embracing nothing infinite and full—
Are all the types of lonely life we lead,
Ere flashes God's wise spirit for our need.

MEMORY.

As lonely bird upon the mountain side,
As west wind free, with every trouble fled,
In thought as still as clouds, emotion dead!
With passiveness my soul and body glide,
Drinking the peace that nature cannot hide.
When suddenly, as by magician's wand,
Another scene o'erspread this barren land,
From long forgotten past; strange pains divide
Sad empire with sweet peace and overcast
The long dark shadows, leaving lurid light
Of love in mine own soul, whose embers shone,
But now, since earthly peace may never last,
Behold, alas! how piteous is the sight,
Of barren love on mountain top alone.

CUSTOM.

Are there no slaves but those who wear a chain?
None with the deep curse branded on their breast,
But those whose deadened sense finds sullen rest
On those dark hulks of state. Is not life vain
That has its heart crushed out, without one grain,
Which afterwards may ripen for the oppressed,
So that they know how sorrow may be blest?—
Ah, life may be yet wholly in dull pain,
Built up of common thoughts day after day,
Of common acts, conventions of a deed,
The virtue past with ages long gone by!—
O break the hateful chain, come Time's fresh May!
Ere custom's fetters bound man's happy speed,
Teach thou our lips to vanquish every lie.

BEAUTY'S POWER.

O power of beauty on a woman's brow!
What strength is like to thine for good or ill?
Who dares attempt thine awful throne to fill
When Death's wind scatters all thy blossom'd bough
And strength and sweetness both have passed away?
O what a power has hell with such fair face
When foul ambition goads thee in the race
That drives from God's calm voice and guiding ray!
Do men now give thee hate, or still does love
Retain them, as when on thy quiet throne
The angels held thee scarce a breath apart?—
'Tis piteous hatred now men's passions move
That should to an imperial love have grown
Led captive by the strength of manly heart.

OF THE TRIBE OF JUDAH.

Thou fairest daughter of a thousand sires!
Mother of Queens, undying beauty's flower!
A mystery of God whence holy fires
Were kindled that have lit the world with power!
Whilst doomed thyself a wanderer sad to be,
Homeless and lone and crushed of cruel feet
As unknown precious herb that wondrously
Fills all the ambient air with odour sweet:
Thou, in whose eyes we see the world and Time
With all its strength to shock or to allure,
Life's marvel thou! ah when shall cease the crime
Of hating thee, and when wilt thou, being pure
In faith, thine high prerogative attain,
Embrace the Christ and ease thy nation's pain.

LOVE'S WINTER.

O come, white snow, and hide the Summer dead!
Let not a flower of all I loved be seen!
O blinding sky of grey, hide what has been,
That Memory may rest her weary head:—
Come ice and bind this once too beauteous earth!
For sunshine now and Spring to me are foes,
Since every flower but multiplies my woes,
Adding fresh pain with every new Spring birth;—
Come snow and ice and mist, bid me forget
How far I went with love, how far I saw,
How suddenly came night when love passed by:—
The soft white snow has joys unknown as yet,
Into sweet slumber here I may withdraw,
And pass perhaps to love without a sigh.

LOVE'S RETURN.

Like as the snow with sunshine is dissolved,
And keen and angry winds are hushed to peace,
And frost by new-born Spring is all resolved
In gentleness, and birds have sweet release,
And ring with throbbing breasts perpetual bliss:
So I, that after snow and wind and storm
Have felt the sunny season's sweetest kiss,
Sing through the day and night and happy morn;
And if, as mortals may, I weary grow
Of love's too gentle round; in noble deed
I may make loving conquest of my foe,
And then present the spoils with full-winged speed
To Love, and only find her sweetness grown
From bud to flower of rose I had not known.

THE RECLUSE.

Hast seen the many-coloured bow of life,
And tasted all the sweetness that lies hid
Within a human smile? When wert thou bid
To cease sweet laughter? who dare teach that strife
In noble cause is wrong—to rend the skies
With peals of joy a sin?—must we be still
Of full life shorn—accept or good or ill
As chance directs? Is it too much to rise
And disentangle life with thought and deed
And taste the fresh keen breezes from the sea,
And Time's slow breath make quick with many a kiss?
Open is Nature's book that all may read
And learn how life is made both pure and free
With shade and sunshine charged alike with bliss.

SIN.

O joyous morning of the primal world!
O tenderness of hue on sky and earth,
The utterness of peace!—O sea impearled
With first and holiest light, a lustrous birth!
O final flower of perfect nature thou
Our pure sweet Eve, bound round about with love
So that the universe seems finished now.
Lo there! she feels the odorous gales which move
In sweetest cadence flower and fruit and leaf,
Until there comes a whispering, and then
One careless, faithless thought, and unbelief
Has fixed the iron throne of death, and heaven
And earth are with most sad oppression dim;
Till Christ at last bears gloom away with Him.

THE FURNACE.

See how the fire rude silver purifies,
The sage refiner sitting watchful by,
And tempering heat intense, judiciously
With stream of cooler air, wherein there lies
Some rare completing power: at last he tries
If in the molten mass his face may lie
As clear as crystal that receives the sky.
Refined as silver pure, a bright surprise
Unto ourselves, shall we in that far stream
That bounds the throne of God, see clearest eyes
Through tribulation's furnace safely brought,
Beam bliss supernal. O to realize
Whilst here, what there in glorious life is wrought,
When chastened pure we breathe in paradise.

YOUTH.

In meadows bright with verdure of the Spring,
Through which a stream pursued its lingering way,
Changeful in hue as changed the passing day,
A child plucked flowers and thus I heard him sing
With voice as clear as sky-lark on the wing:
“The jewelled year is all contained in May,
When birds are happy and the world is gay,
Then take whate'er the early seasons bring,
And weave thy crown;” and as the child drew near,
Years seemed to kiss his brow, yet left him bright,—
And fresh flowers gathering, without a tear
The others from his fingers fell, his sight
Caught many more, nor was he scared with fear
Though dark the winding river grew with night.

NATURE:

STRATFORD-ON-AVON.

LOVE SONG.

NIGHT:

AN ODE.