 | Flowers of the Night |  |
91
SONNETS.
93
A PRAYER TO ATHENA.
From the shores of the blue mid-sea, for the Jubilee of the King of Greece.
Athena! I, whom love did once embolden
To worship in that temple which hath been
The crown of the world,—thy suppliant, O Queen,
Hear me again from this far shore, in olden
Days of thy glory thine. Thou who hast holden
Achilles by the hair, Wisdom serene,
Stand now by King and Counsellors, unseen
As in the dear dim dawn, by song made golden.
To worship in that temple which hath been
The crown of the world,—thy suppliant, O Queen,
Hear me again from this far shore, in olden
Days of thy glory thine. Thou who hast holden
Achilles by the hair, Wisdom serene,
Stand now by King and Counsellors, unseen
As in the dear dim dawn, by song made golden.
Athena! Queen of the Air, maiden divine,—
Of all things on the subject earth, most free,—
Guard with thy sovereign strength the faint new breath
Of freedom drawn in this loved land of thine,
Where for long years in fierce despite of thee
It has been strangled in the arms of death.
Of all things on the subject earth, most free,—
Guard with thy sovereign strength the faint new breath
Of freedom drawn in this loved land of thine,
Where for long years in fierce despite of thee
It has been strangled in the arms of death.
94
OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.
[_]
On the picture of Christ supporting a little child, one of the subjects of His “kingdom.” Painted by W. Goodal, R.A.
Unfathomed depths of pure humanity
Speak in that face, and those enfolding hands
Laid lightly on the clinging child who stands
As child protected, as Thy subject, free.
In Thy still gaze the calm infinity
Of selfless sorrow, conquers, and commands
Our lesser griefs to loose their temporal bands,
Or bind in closer brotherhood to Thee.
Speak in that face, and those enfolding hands
Laid lightly on the clinging child who stands
As child protected, as Thy subject, free.
In Thy still gaze the calm infinity
Of selfless sorrow, conquers, and commands
Our lesser griefs to loose their temporal bands,
Or bind in closer brotherhood to Thee.
For “Man of Sorrows” to those eyes of Thine
The eyes we lift, with gathering tears are wet;
The pathos of that face but half divine
Subdues us, for such passion no man yet
Has known as that whereof the royal sign:
Sovereign compassion on Thy brow is set.
The eyes we lift, with gathering tears are wet;
The pathos of that face but half divine
Subdues us, for such passion no man yet
Has known as that whereof the royal sign:
Sovereign compassion on Thy brow is set.
95
DEATH AND CHANGE.
No. I.
Pale Death, of thy sole self how art thou fair!
Fair when thou lightest on some half-blown flower,
Fair when thou comest at life's final hour,
Calm even in the noontide heat and glare,
Yea, and more kingly-proud beyond compare
When thou hast overthrown, whole as a tower,
Some lusty toiler in his day of power,
And from his seething brow uncoiled the care.
Fair when thou lightest on some half-blown flower,
Fair when thou comest at life's final hour,
Calm even in the noontide heat and glare,
Yea, and more kingly-proud beyond compare
When thou hast overthrown, whole as a tower,
Some lusty toiler in his day of power,
And from his seething brow uncoiled the care.
Not death but change, the shadow of Death, that creeps
And closes on us, causes our dismay;
The spoiler of our hope who neither sleeps
Nor rests, continuing “never in one stay;”
The wanton thief who while he nothing keeps,
Filches the sunshine from the youngest day.
And closes on us, causes our dismay;
The spoiler of our hope who neither sleeps
Nor rests, continuing “never in one stay;”
The wanton thief who while he nothing keeps,
Filches the sunshine from the youngest day.
96
No. II.
So it is Life not Death that still decreeth
The weary doom that we must wax and wane
In ceaseless change, and know no ease from pain,
No rest from toil but such as death agreeth.
This life is then the shadow which so fleeth—
The shadow we would seek to stay in vain,—
And from this shadow, of all joy the bane,
It is not Life, but Death itself that freeth.
The weary doom that we must wax and wane
In ceaseless change, and know no ease from pain,
No rest from toil but such as death agreeth.
This life is then the shadow which so fleeth—
The shadow we would seek to stay in vain,—
And from this shadow, of all joy the bane,
It is not Life, but Death itself that freeth.
But though in such surcease we see the door
To further change, the Being that has past
Forth from this house of Life we know no more;
Life is to us a shadow first and last;
Only this truth stands firmer than before:
Substance exists; else were no shadow cast.
To further change, the Being that has past
Forth from this house of Life we know no more;
Life is to us a shadow first and last;
Only this truth stands firmer than before:
Substance exists; else were no shadow cast.
97
THE GOD OF THE LIVING.
“God is the God of the living, not of the dead.”
Stern nature is the all-unmindful mother
Who first affiliates our souls to Thee,
O God, then sends them prayerless from her knee
To learn which love to cherish, which to smother,
Show us or in her name, or in some other
Not bound like her by harsh necessity,
What of man's hope hath taught the lips most free,
His first, God's chosen Son, and man's best brother.
Who first affiliates our souls to Thee,
O God, then sends them prayerless from her knee
To learn which love to cherish, which to smother,
Show us or in her name, or in some other
Not bound like her by harsh necessity,
What of man's hope hath taught the lips most free,
His first, God's chosen Son, and man's best brother.
Thus He declares the Father's mind, He saith:
“God is the God of faithful spirits fled,
But near His heart as when they still drew breath;
God is He of the living, not the dead!”
Take comfort, lovers, mourning dear love lost,
How dream you God would love at such a cost?
“God is the God of faithful spirits fled,
But near His heart as when they still drew breath;
God is He of the living, not the dead!”
Take comfort, lovers, mourning dear love lost,
How dream you God would love at such a cost?
98
TO A DEAD QUEEN OF SONG.
High-hearted queen, and woman sweet and strong!
As queen above the tyranny of fear,
As woman changeless in a changing sphere,
Holding a title of the wavering throng
Calmly as if no breath could do thee wrong;—
Farewell! Maybe some notes to us unclear
Of this thy life, in entering at God's ear,
Ring there as true as on the earth thy song.
As queen above the tyranny of fear,
As woman changeless in a changing sphere,
Holding a title of the wavering throng
Calmly as if no breath could do thee wrong;—
Farewell! Maybe some notes to us unclear
Of this thy life, in entering at God's ear,
Ring there as true as on the earth thy song.
Titiens, in conscious royalty thy soul
Proclaimed itself that hour when it uprose
To hail a rival with a joy serene;
Stood back to give her place upon the roll
Of newer fame, and, pure of envious throes,
Greeted with kindred kiss a sister queen.
Proclaimed itself that hour when it uprose
To hail a rival with a joy serene;
Stood back to give her place upon the roll
Of newer fame, and, pure of envious throes,
Greeted with kindred kiss a sister queen.
It is told of Titiens that on the night of Adelina Patti's first appearance, she waited at the wings to hail her triumph with a sisterly embrace.
99
A NOTICE SERVED.
It is not thou, my soul, that, sick and pale,
Shrinkest inept from every loud-tongued wrong;
I think of thy sole self thou couldest be strong
If that thy habitation did not quail.
Some flesh is doomed of mere excess to fail,—
Owning too many chords too highly strung,
Too many paths to lose the way among;—
Too perfect service simply to avail.
Shrinkest inept from every loud-tongued wrong;
I think of thy sole self thou couldest be strong
If that thy habitation did not quail.
Some flesh is doomed of mere excess to fail,—
Owning too many chords too highly strung,
Too many paths to lose the way among;—
Too perfect service simply to avail.
But howsoe'er my soul is ill at ease
In this her house, and would be free of it;
She cannot work her will if not in peace,
Or live in any place whence love would flit;
So Love, of my sad life obtain release,
Get better terms for me, or leave to quit.
In this her house, and would be free of it;
She cannot work her will if not in peace,
Or live in any place whence love would flit;
So Love, of my sad life obtain release,
Get better terms for me, or leave to quit.
100
HEART-LONELINESS.
Alone, alone! Life's bitterest loss or gain
Is this: that journeying on ward through the years
We find in all the world no place for tears;
That heart to heart may lean and beat in vain,
And asking, guard the secret of its pain,
Bound in its silent prison by its fears
To waken eyes that see not, rouse deaf ears
That hope of comfort have aforetime slain.
Is this: that journeying on ward through the years
We find in all the world no place for tears;
That heart to heart may lean and beat in vain,
And asking, guard the secret of its pain,
Bound in its silent prison by its fears
To waken eyes that see not, rouse deaf ears
That hope of comfort have aforetime slain.
Who has not yearned in such lone agony
To summon back to life some spirit fled?
Deeming in that dear presence he were free
His soul's contemnëd anguish to outspread;
But vain, still vain; it would not, could not be;—
Our worst of woe we tell but to the dead.
To summon back to life some spirit fled?
Deeming in that dear presence he were free
His soul's contemnëd anguish to outspread;
But vain, still vain; it would not, could not be;—
Our worst of woe we tell but to the dead.
101
LOVE THE ARBITRATOR.
I am thy servant, Love, and bear thy sign,
Which is to suffer; would, O Love, that thou
To my forlorn estate wouldst deign to bow,
And looking on me with those eyes of thine,
And calling me by this poor name of mine,
Win me my secret sorrow to avow,
Saying: “My servant, who doth wrong thee now,
Whom I to work thy pleasure may incline?”
Which is to suffer; would, O Love, that thou
To my forlorn estate wouldst deign to bow,
And looking on me with those eyes of thine,
And calling me by this poor name of mine,
Win me my secret sorrow to avow,
Saying: “My servant, who doth wrong thee now,
Whom I to work thy pleasure may incline?”
And I, for thou art very Love, will make
Confession of my griefs; and thou, for I
Am what I cannot choose but be, will take
The part against me as our case you try,
Proving me guilty for my weak heart's sake;
Well knowing it must either love or die.
Confession of my griefs; and thou, for I
Am what I cannot choose but be, will take
The part against me as our case you try,
Proving me guilty for my weak heart's sake;
Well knowing it must either love or die.
102
TO THE MARCHIONESS OF DUFFERIN ON HER DEPARTURE FROM INDIA.
Thou who hast carried thy benignant smile
To distant regions owning England's sway,
Thy mother-land is proud of thee to-day—
Foremost of women, scorning with base wile
For private ends through passion to beguile,
Yet claiming priestly right pure hands to lay
Upon the ark of progress, and to stay
It haply from such fall as would defile.
To distant regions owning England's sway,
Thy mother-land is proud of thee to-day—
Foremost of women, scorning with base wile
For private ends through passion to beguile,
Yet claiming priestly right pure hands to lay
Upon the ark of progress, and to stay
It haply from such fall as would defile.
Meseems of many tears at parting wrung
From eyes so kind, their sorest would be wept
For those grown children to your skirts who clung,
Having through custom's fruitless jungle crept
Before that sob which burst as from one breast
Shook the Zenanas from their age-long rest.
From eyes so kind, their sorest would be wept
For those grown children to your skirts who clung,
Having through custom's fruitless jungle crept
Before that sob which burst as from one breast
Shook the Zenanas from their age-long rest.
See the farewell address of Indian ladies to the Marchioness of Dufferin, as published in the Times of last December.
103
CHRISTMAS 1888.
Dear day, of all the high-days of the year
Most blest, being that which mostly brings release
From all such thoughts as are the foes to peace,—
How have I schooled my heart to hold thee clear
Of sorrow for the dead, however dear,
How made vain longings and regrets to cease,
And leave their places to the sweet increase
Of love that lives to bless us now, and here.
Most blest, being that which mostly brings release
From all such thoughts as are the foes to peace,—
How have I schooled my heart to hold thee clear
Of sorrow for the dead, however dear,
How made vain longings and regrets to cease,
And leave their places to the sweet increase
Of love that lives to bless us now, and here.
Yet must I lose thee with all else, in vain
My strivings; like a child who stands before
A lighted window in the cold and rain
Eying the cates within, thought hungers o'er
Dear faces in bright homes which not again
May lend their light to mine for evermore.
My strivings; like a child who stands before
A lighted window in the cold and rain
Eying the cates within, thought hungers o'er
Dear faces in bright homes which not again
May lend their light to mine for evermore.
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