 | Poems of the day and year |  |
6
TO THE REDBREAST
Redbreast, that fliest from the starved wood,
Thy homeless misery scorning to complain,
That speaking eye is not to be withstood,
Thy patience pleads not to my heart in vain;
The wind is whirling and the snows descend;
Friend, come to me and I will be thy friend.
Thy homeless misery scorning to complain,
That speaking eye is not to be withstood,
Thy patience pleads not to my heart in vain;
The wind is whirling and the snows descend;
Friend, come to me and I will be thy friend.
Lone bird, altho' thou hast no songs of joy
To glad me when the nightingale's are dumb,
No golden plumage to enchant mine eye,
Thou comest to me when no others come:
'Tis Hope that makes thee at my casement stand,
'Tis Faith that bids thee fly into my hand.
To glad me when the nightingale's are dumb,
No golden plumage to enchant mine eye,
Thou comest to me when no others come:
'Tis Hope that makes thee at my casement stand,
'Tis Faith that bids thee fly into my hand.
7
Thou lookest in my face with eyes of cheer
That win me in affliction not to weep;
A voice in thy mute sympathy I hear—
‘Hope is not dead, tho' Joy is fallen asleep’:
Ah! would to Heaven that in my days of ill
My winged heart, like thine, were fearless still!
That win me in affliction not to weep;
A voice in thy mute sympathy I hear—
‘Hope is not dead, tho' Joy is fallen asleep’:
Ah! would to Heaven that in my days of ill
My winged heart, like thine, were fearless still!
It saith, ‘Tho' friends forsake thee, there is one,
Tho' penury cling unto thee, do not fear;
Tho' days be darkling, they must be outrun,
And thou and I shall see another year’:
Thou hast my heart, kind bird; oh! give me thine,
That I may neither sorrow nor repine!
Tho' penury cling unto thee, do not fear;
Tho' days be darkling, they must be outrun,
And thou and I shall see another year’:
Thou hast my heart, kind bird; oh! give me thine,
That I may neither sorrow nor repine!
It saith, ‘When glories from the world depart,
And youth is past, oh! linger not alone’:
It saith, ‘When shadows thicken round thy heart
Fly forth, and look on ills beyond thine own;
And Age shall not behold his thin, grey hairs,
And Sorrow shall forget his daily cares.’
And youth is past, oh! linger not alone’:
It saith, ‘When shadows thicken round thy heart
Fly forth, and look on ills beyond thine own;
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And Sorrow shall forget his daily cares.’
It saith, ‘When days are burning to their end,
And the mind flutters, and the limbs are chill,
There is an inner thought that cannot bend
Before the dread reality of ill’:
Nature's great soul is shadowed forth in thee,
Life under ashes of mortality!
And the mind flutters, and the limbs are chill,
There is an inner thought that cannot bend
Before the dread reality of ill’:
Nature's great soul is shadowed forth in thee,
Life under ashes of mortality!
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THE FOUNTAIN
Fair fount, that singest in the air,
And spinnest in the sun
Raiment for River Gods to wear,
From dawn till day be done;
Oh! could I learn thy magic art, and share
Thy sympathetic sense, that moulds thee forms
So sweet in calm, so glorious in storms;
Could beauty sway my speech, as thee the air!
And spinnest in the sun
Raiment for River Gods to wear,
From dawn till day be done;
Oh! could I learn thy magic art, and share
Thy sympathetic sense, that moulds thee forms
So sweet in calm, so glorious in storms;
Could beauty sway my speech, as thee the air!
Fair fount, thy music swift and strange,
Thy lightnings in mine eyes,
Weave me with every sunny change
Such pleasant phantasies,
That I, methinks, could dream away my years
Peacefully gazing, as thy silver dews
Make harmonies of lovely sounds and hues,
In answer to the soft wind as it veers.
Thy lightnings in mine eyes,
Weave me with every sunny change
Such pleasant phantasies,
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Peacefully gazing, as thy silver dews
Make harmonies of lovely sounds and hues,
In answer to the soft wind as it veers.
Image of joy and flowing song,
And fancy without measure,
Thy tongue is tuneful all day long,
Thy heart leaps up with pleasure:
Thine is the glorious youth where jocund mind
Weaves tears with laughter, and regrets with hopes,
Whose careless moments, like thy sunny drops,
Are fancy-wooed, as they are by the wind.
And fancy without measure,
Thy tongue is tuneful all day long,
Thy heart leaps up with pleasure:
Thine is the glorious youth where jocund mind
Weaves tears with laughter, and regrets with hopes,
Whose careless moments, like thy sunny drops,
Are fancy-wooed, as they are by the wind.
But when the months have chained thy heart,
And sealed thy tongue with frost,
An emblem of that day thou art
When all we loved is lost:
The heart of Age is but a frozen thing;
The eyes of Age see but a wintry mist,
By no sweet visions like thy sunbows kissed,
Whence smiles have fled, and tears have ceased to spring.
And sealed thy tongue with frost,
An emblem of that day thou art
When all we loved is lost:
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The eyes of Age see but a wintry mist,
By no sweet visions like thy sunbows kissed,
Whence smiles have fled, and tears have ceased to spring.
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FOLLOW NOW
I
One morning of the breezy spring,
With jocund hearts and free,
We met old Time a-wandering
By the shores of the Great Sea;
The waters dashed before the wind,
Onwards he still did fare:
He seemed a beggar old and blind,
With neither joy nor care.
With jocund hearts and free,
We met old Time a-wandering
By the shores of the Great Sea;
The waters dashed before the wind,
Onwards he still did fare:
He seemed a beggar old and blind,
With neither joy nor care.
We knew not our Arch-enemy,
For we were heedless boys;
So we called to join our revelry
The Lord of tears and sighs;
‘Father,’ our wanton voices sung,
‘With us thou shalt abide;
Upon the shoulders of the young
Full swiftly shalt thou ride.’
For we were heedless boys;
So we called to join our revelry
The Lord of tears and sighs;
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‘With us thou shalt abide;
Upon the shoulders of the young
Full swiftly shalt thou ride.’
He sped not for our merriment,
He sped not for our laughter;
With frolic steps we forward went
Old Time he laboured after;
At last a voice like broken thunder
Came rolling on the wind;
Still we stood 'twixt fear and wonder—
He spake—his words were kind.
He sped not for our laughter;
With frolic steps we forward went
Old Time he laboured after;
At last a voice like broken thunder
Came rolling on the wind;
Still we stood 'twixt fear and wonder—
He spake—his words were kind.
‘Children, my pace is old and slow,
My blood is thin and cold;
Have pity on me—haste not so—
Have mercy on the old;
My songs and tales ye cannot hear
If ye leave me here behind’—
But we laughed and fled when he came near,
And his voice went down the wind.
My blood is thin and cold;
Have pity on me—haste not so—
Have mercy on the old;
My songs and tales ye cannot hear
If ye leave me here behind’—
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And his voice went down the wind.
‘Know ye not I have magic charms
Hid in my wallet here?
Wizard spells to save from harms,
And spoils of every year?
Rare essences, green leaves of truth,
Elixirs, gems, and gold?
Odours and balmy drops for youth,
And balsams for the old?’
Hid in my wallet here?
Wizard spells to save from harms,
And spoils of every year?
Rare essences, green leaves of truth,
Elixirs, gems, and gold?
Odours and balmy drops for youth,
And balsams for the old?’
The image of the rising sun
Fled o'er the glittering sands,
And running seemed to bid us run,
And catch him in our hands;
It seemed the very fire of joy,
Wherewith our hearts ran o'er,
Made visible unto the eye,
And dancing on before.
Fled o'er the glittering sands,
And running seemed to bid us run,
And catch him in our hands;
It seemed the very fire of joy,
Wherewith our hearts ran o'er,
Made visible unto the eye,
And dancing on before.
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‘Come, father, come and make us game,’
We shouted, nought afraid;
And, thinking he was blind and lame,
Snares in his path we laid;
Onward he stept, and took no harm
From any ills we planned,
But he seized us with his mighty arm
And flung us on the sand.
We shouted, nought afraid;
And, thinking he was blind and lame,
Snares in his path we laid;
Onward he stept, and took no harm
From any ills we planned,
But he seized us with his mighty arm
And flung us on the sand.
A wild rose chain, in frolic freak,
With linked woodbines tied,
We wove, and cast it o'er his neck,
The blind old man to guide;
We pulled him on with all our might;
The flower links snapt in twain;
The roses scattered left and right,
But we joined the links again.
With linked woodbines tied,
We wove, and cast it o'er his neck,
The blind old man to guide;
We pulled him on with all our might;
The flower links snapt in twain;
The roses scattered left and right,
But we joined the links again.
All day the giant made us merry;
And at the set of day
Still joyous all were we, nor weary
For all our sunny play:
Lightly we coursed, and from the brow
Of a primrose-covered hill
We shouted, ‘Father, follow now!’
But his steps were slower still.
And at the set of day
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For all our sunny play:
Lightly we coursed, and from the brow
Of a primrose-covered hill
We shouted, ‘Father, follow now!’
But his steps were slower still.
II
Again we met, but it was noon—
And now the unruffled sea
Basked in the full midsummer sun,
And proud as noon were we;
The dewy ripples to the sand
In pleasant murmurs rolled;
One came, and took us by the hand,
A traveller blithe and bold.
And now the unruffled sea
Basked in the full midsummer sun,
And proud as noon were we;
The dewy ripples to the sand
In pleasant murmurs rolled;
One came, and took us by the hand,
A traveller blithe and bold.
He said, ‘When last ye walked with me,
In the springtime long ago,
As swift as antelopes were ye,
While I was faint and slow;
I have thrown by my crutched staff,
And ye have gat ye strength,
So I can run and leap and laugh,
And race with ye at length.
In the springtime long ago,
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While I was faint and slow;
I have thrown by my crutched staff,
And ye have gat ye strength,
So I can run and leap and laugh,
And race with ye at length.
We cried, ‘Art thou that blind old man
We met beside this sea,
Who couldst not follow when we ran,
Or make us walk with thee?
Oh! thou art changed!’ ‘Not I,’ he said,
‘Who am for ever strong;
Ye thought me old in infancy,
In youth ye think me young.’
We met beside this sea,
Who couldst not follow when we ran,
Or make us walk with thee?
Oh! thou art changed!’ ‘Not I,’ he said,
‘Who am for ever strong;
Ye thought me old in infancy,
In youth ye think me young.’
He seemed as one 'twixt youth and age;
Cheeks dark with toil, but bright;
His eyes, his brow, a mystic page,
His limbs of knotty might:
His locks were rich as autumn trees,
But touched with frosts of ill;
Lips smiling with accustomed ease,
Or locked with iron will.
Cheeks dark with toil, but bright;
His eyes, his brow, a mystic page,
His limbs of knotty might:
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But touched with frosts of ill;
Lips smiling with accustomed ease,
Or locked with iron will.
‘My life is not as yours,’ he said,
‘My growth is not the same—
Ye see my wrinkled hoary head,
Ye hear my hollow name;
Ye think that I am ever old,
An idle, useless hack;
But thus it is—when ye go on,
My children, I go back!’
‘My growth is not the same—
Ye see my wrinkled hoary head,
Ye hear my hollow name;
Ye think that I am ever old,
An idle, useless hack;
But thus it is—when ye go on,
My children, I go back!’
And then he bade us race with him,
As we had bade him once,
When our young limbs were light and slim
And his but weary bones:
But he kept pace with us, and ran
Along that well-known shore;
‘O friend,’ we cried, ‘O mighty man,
We cannot mock thee more!
As we had bade him once,
When our young limbs were light and slim
And his but weary bones:
But he kept pace with us, and ran
Along that well-known shore;
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We cannot mock thee more!
‘Forgive us; we outran thee then—
But tell us, whence hast thou
Gat thee this strength and speed, and when
Those dark locks on thy brow?’
‘When ye were babes ye thought me old:
Farewell again,’ he said;
‘I shall return; farewell!’ behold
He waved his hand and fled!
But tell us, whence hast thou
Gat thee this strength and speed, and when
Those dark locks on thy brow?’
‘When ye were babes ye thought me old:
Farewell again,’ he said;
‘I shall return; farewell!’ behold
He waved his hand and fled!
III
And now the summer afternoon
Flamed in the golden west;
The dying airs were soft and boon,
Like sighings for their rest;
Our feet were slow upon the shore
Where we so oft had run;
And now the day had little more
Before the setting sun.
Flamed in the golden west;
The dying airs were soft and boon,
Like sighings for their rest;
Our feet were slow upon the shore
Where we so oft had run;
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Before the setting sun.
And one came bounding from the hills,
A bugle in his hand;
Shouting he leapt the little rills,
And stood upon the strand.
He blew his horn, he called his hounds,
Less wearied he than they;
His dark curls hid his forehead round,
But ours were fleckt with grey.
A bugle in his hand;
Shouting he leapt the little rills,
And stood upon the strand.
He blew his horn, he called his hounds,
Less wearied he than they;
His dark curls hid his forehead round,
But ours were fleckt with grey.
‘Hail, friends, young friends of mine, I ween!
What have ye done this day?
Among the mountains I have been,
And marked the eaglets play;
And yet I bid you to a race
Again on these smooth shores
And ye shall weary of my pace
As once I did of yours!’
What have ye done this day?
Among the mountains I have been,
And marked the eaglets play;
And yet I bid you to a race
Again on these smooth shores
And ye shall weary of my pace
As once I did of yours!’
122
‘Boast not!’ we said, for we were tried
To anger by his taunt;
‘Thou hast not beaten yet,’ we cried;
‘Let who shall vanquish vaunt:’
And stretching on with struggling might
We gained a step or two;
But he came up as swift as light,
And shouted ‘Follow now!’
To anger by his taunt;
‘Thou hast not beaten yet,’ we cried;
‘Let who shall vanquish vaunt:’
And stretching on with struggling might
We gained a step or two;
But he came up as swift as light,
And shouted ‘Follow now!’
IV
The sun was sunk, the day was done:
Th'horizon far away
In mighty rivers seemed to run
Heart's blood of dying day:
A star or two shone over all—
The full moon, like a wraith,
Rose ghastly on the mountain wall;
I felt its icy breath.
Th'horizon far away
In mighty rivers seemed to run
Heart's blood of dying day:
A star or two shone over all—
The full moon, like a wraith,
Rose ghastly on the mountain wall;
I felt its icy breath.
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I saw my image shadowed there
Upon the moonlit sands,
My sunken brows, my snowy hair,
My lean and trembling hands:
And then I thought upon that morn,
Midday, and afternoon,
Ere those dear friends were from me borne
Whom I shall follow soon.
Upon the moonlit sands,
My sunken brows, my snowy hair,
My lean and trembling hands:
And then I thought upon that morn,
Midday, and afternoon,
Ere those dear friends were from me borne
Whom I shall follow soon.
I sighed, and near me stood a child,
Like me, on that fair day
When we with merriment beguiled
The pilgrim old and grey:
I looked—oh! was it magic art
That showed me that young elf?
The form alike in every part
To that was once myself?
Like me, on that fair day
When we with merriment beguiled
The pilgrim old and grey:
I looked—oh! was it magic art
That showed me that young elf?
The form alike in every part
To that was once myself?
The roses on the lip, the gold
Upon the flowing hair,
The supple limbs of gracious mould?
All, all were living there:
The silver tongue, the truthful face,
The artless, early words
Stirred me, like echoes in the bass
Of a harp's treble chords.
Upon the flowing hair,
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All, all were living there:
The silver tongue, the truthful face,
The artless, early words
Stirred me, like echoes in the bass
Of a harp's treble chords.
And with a quaint smile he began:
‘Old man, wilt run with me,
As once ye bade that ancient man
Ye met beside the sea?’
‘And who art thou?’ I asked in fear,
‘Who seest thro' my heart?
Thou wert not born when he was here;
Oh! tell me who thou art?’
‘Old man, wilt run with me,
As once ye bade that ancient man
Ye met beside the sea?’
‘And who art thou?’ I asked in fear,
‘Who seest thro' my heart?
Thou wert not born when he was here;
Oh! tell me who thou art?’
And still his words they were the same—
‘Old man, wilt run with me?
Come, father, come and make me game,
As once he did to thee!
‘My child,’ I said, ‘my pace is slow,
My blood is thin and cold;
Have pity on me, haste not so—
Have mercy on the old!’
‘Old man, wilt run with me?
Come, father, come and make me game,
As once he did to thee!
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My blood is thin and cold;
Have pity on me, haste not so—
Have mercy on the old!’
He laughed a moment; then he stood
As one prepared for flight;
His aspect took an awful mood,
His frame a giant's might:
He spread forth wings, I saw his eyes,
Like starlight throb and glow—
And, as he rose into the skies,
He thundered ‘Follow now!’
As one prepared for flight;
His aspect took an awful mood,
His frame a giant's might:
He spread forth wings, I saw his eyes,
Like starlight throb and glow—
And, as he rose into the skies,
He thundered ‘Follow now!’
130
THE COMING DAY
On Sinai's steep I saw the morning cloud,
Shattered with light, roll off on either hand,
And on the topmost peak an Angel stand,
That lifted up his arms, and cried aloud,
And shook the sea and land.
Shattered with light, roll off on either hand,
And on the topmost peak an Angel stand,
That lifted up his arms, and cried aloud,
And shook the sea and land.
The Night is ended, and the Morning nears:
Awake, look up! I hear the gathering sound
Of coming cycles, like an ocean round;
I see the glory of a thousand years
Lightening from bound to bound.
Awake, look up! I hear the gathering sound
Of coming cycles, like an ocean round;
I see the glory of a thousand years
Lightening from bound to bound.
Woe, woe! the earth is faint; its heart is old,
And none look upward. Where is one who saith,
‘Forgive my sins by reason of my faith?’
Where is one truthful bard, one prophet bold,
One heart that listeneth?
And none look upward. Where is one who saith,
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Where is one truthful bard, one prophet bold,
One heart that listeneth?
One holy soul that prayeth night and morn,
One kindly hermit, or one lowly sage,
One adamantine warrior, who can wage
A steadfast war, without the arms of scorn,
Against a scornful Age?
One kindly hermit, or one lowly sage,
One adamantine warrior, who can wage
A steadfast war, without the arms of scorn,
Against a scornful Age?
Where is the promise of the world's great youth,
The sunrise of the soul, when God's own eye
Scattered the darkness of futurity,
And kings bowed down, and caught the light of truth
Directly from on High?
The sunrise of the soul, when God's own eye
Scattered the darkness of futurity,
And kings bowed down, and caught the light of truth
Directly from on High?
The hour is come again; the world-wide voice
Of God shall cry unto the ears of time:
Scorners shall seek, and saints shall welcome Him,
And know the ancient Presence, and rejoice,
As in the days of prime.
Of God shall cry unto the ears of time:
Scorners shall seek, and saints shall welcome Him,
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As in the days of prime.
And they that dwell apart shall know each other;
And they that hymn their solemn songs alone
Shall hear far voices mingling with their own,
And understand the utterance of a brother
In every tongue and tone.
And they that hymn their solemn songs alone
Shall hear far voices mingling with their own,
And understand the utterance of a brother
In every tongue and tone.
And countless tongues upon a note of praise
Shall hang, until, like thunder in the hills
Redoubled and redoubled, it fulfils
The earth, and heaven, and everlasting days,
And drowns the noise of ills.
Shall hang, until, like thunder in the hills
Redoubled and redoubled, it fulfils
The earth, and heaven, and everlasting days,
And drowns the noise of ills.
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That note shall soar from every living heart;
That endless note shall never die away:
God, only God, to-day as yesterday!
Thou wert from everlasting, and thou art
For ever and for aye!
That endless note shall never die away:
God, only God, to-day as yesterday!
Thou wert from everlasting, and thou art
For ever and for aye!
140
THE ELEVENTH OF SEPTEMBER
Sister, the Daystar, that hath brought me hither,
Once more thy birthday, shines on me and thee,
And by its welcome light I seem to see
The many years that we have sped together,
Winter and summer, still the selfsame weather.
Once more thy birthday, shines on me and thee,
And by its welcome light I seem to see
The many years that we have sped together,
Winter and summer, still the selfsame weather.
Tho' mountains sunder, and the wild sea flings
Its desert 'twixt our hearts—and on the wind
Thy voice is still, so musical and kind;
Tho' world-wide tumults drown, and Time's grey wings
Shadow the past, thy spirit to me sings!
Its desert 'twixt our hearts—and on the wind
Thy voice is still, so musical and kind;
Tho' world-wide tumults drown, and Time's grey wings
Shadow the past, thy spirit to me sings!
Thou art mine own self with a softer frame,
A clearer brow, and eyes more full of thought;
Thou art myself into an angel wrought,
Thy heart an altar, whence the purest flame,
Of hope ascends, for ever and the same.
A clearer brow, and eyes more full of thought;
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Thy heart an altar, whence the purest flame,
Of hope ascends, for ever and the same.
Thou art my dearest and my first of kin:
The thoughts of man are riddles, but my heart
Tells me in all most truly what thou art:
Thou hast a secret loadstar deep within,
Whereto I thrill in spite of care and sin.
The thoughts of man are riddles, but my heart
Tells me in all most truly what thou art:
Thou hast a secret loadstar deep within,
Whereto I thrill in spite of care and sin.
When cruel passion tore me I could see
Thy pleading eyes, and hear thy tuneful tongue;
When crafty counsels flattered me to wrong,
Justice and Truth with voices clear and low
Spoke to me from the temple of thy brow.
Thy pleading eyes, and hear thy tuneful tongue;
When crafty counsels flattered me to wrong,
Justice and Truth with voices clear and low
Spoke to me from the temple of thy brow.
To thy pure, simple songs I loved to lend
My ear; at thy soft pity's healing word
My spirit sheathed at once its angry sword;
And to thy blessed meekness I could bend
A heart which many tyrants could not rend.
My ear; at thy soft pity's healing word
My spirit sheathed at once its angry sword;
And to thy blessed meekness I could bend
A heart which many tyrants could not rend.
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The wise world looked, and, seeing dark and bright,
Deemed that in spirit we remained apart:
But we were but as adverse stars, that dart
Their beams into each other, and unite
Aspects of different omen in one light.
Deemed that in spirit we remained apart:
But we were but as adverse stars, that dart
Their beams into each other, and unite
Aspects of different omen in one light.
Thy beauty is the shrine where Mercy dwells;
Thy tongue Love's tender oracle below,
Whence his immortal inspirations flow;
Thine eyes the lightnings, whose soft glory quells
Pride that disdains, and Anger that rebels.
Thy tongue Love's tender oracle below,
Whence his immortal inspirations flow;
Thine eyes the lightnings, whose soft glory quells
Pride that disdains, and Anger that rebels.
As the sun-colour and the crystalline
Mingle together in the summer green—
Nature that shall be and hath ever been,
My heart's quick motions, and the peace of thine
Make one pure love eternal and divine!
Mingle together in the summer green—
Nature that shall be and hath ever been,
My heart's quick motions, and the peace of thine
Make one pure love eternal and divine!
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