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197
ELEGIAC POEMS
‘Love that hath its deep foundation set
Under the grave of things’—
Wordsworth.
Under the grave of things’—
Wordsworth.
199
TO ---
I thought at first these records should belongTo few save thee; nor meant that many eyes
Should see unfolded thus without disguise
These mysteries of grief in mournful song;
Yet might it unto love appear a wrong,
Aught to keep back, that would perchance impart
Some portion to another wounded heart
Of what these lent to thine of comfort strong?
Then let it be,—enduring for their sake,
Hearts which are bleeding now, or once have bled,
And that from hence some solace slight may take,
That others, of such grief untouched, should say
That here what better had been coverëd,
Is bared unto the garish eye of day.
200
[What, many times I musing asked, is man]
What, many times I musing asked, is man,
If grief and care
Keep far from him? he knows not what he can,
What cannot bear.
If grief and care
Keep far from him? he knows not what he can,
What cannot bear.
He, till the fire hath proved him, doth remain
The main part dross:
To lack the loving discipline of pain
Were endless loss.
The main part dross:
To lack the loving discipline of pain
Were endless loss.
Yet when my Lord did ask me on what side
I were content
The grief, whereby I must be purified,
To me were sent,
I were content
The grief, whereby I must be purified,
To me were sent,
As each imagined anguish did appear,
Each withering bliss,
Before my soul, I cried, ‘Oh! spare me here,
Oh no, not this!—’
Each withering bliss,
Before my soul, I cried, ‘Oh! spare me here,
Oh no, not this!—’
Like one that having need of, deep within,
The surgeon's knife,
Would hardly bear that it should graze the skin,
Though for his life.
The surgeon's knife,
Would hardly bear that it should graze the skin,
Though for his life.
Till He at last, who best doth understand
Both what we need,
And what can bear, did take my case in hand,
Nor crying heed.
Both what we need,
And what can bear, did take my case in hand,
Nor crying heed.
201
TO M ---
Dear girl, that clingest to my side
So closely in thy tears,
As overawed and terrified
By some mysterious fears;
So closely in thy tears,
As overawed and terrified
By some mysterious fears;
Thine own great loss, thy parents' woe,
Thou dimly dost divine,
And weepest; yet thou dost not know
What cause to weep is thine.
Thou dimly dost divine,
And weepest; yet thou dost not know
What cause to weep is thine.
Sad art thou and disconsolate,
That he is gone away,
The youthful friend, the joyful mate
Of childhood's happy day;
That he is gone away,
The youthful friend, the joyful mate
Of childhood's happy day;
That he who sported on life's shore,
And culled bright shells with thee
And beauteous plants, will sport no more
By that fair-seeming sea.
And culled bright shells with thee
And beauteous plants, will sport no more
By that fair-seeming sea.
But I am shedding other tears
For thee, my gentle child—
Far looking o'er the surge of years
So gloomy, dark, and wild:
For thee, my gentle child—
Far looking o'er the surge of years
So gloomy, dark, and wild:
Gone is he, who amid that strife
Would with an arm more strong
For thee have cleft the waves of life,
And shielded from its wrong.
Would with an arm more strong
For thee have cleft the waves of life,
And shielded from its wrong.
202
That holy thing—a brother's love—
Thine is it still to claim;
Oh! ever be it thine to prove
What means that holy name.
Thine is it still to claim;
Oh! ever be it thine to prove
What means that holy name.
But over him vain watch we keep,
Our first—thine elder—born;
And all of us have cause more deep
Than yet we know, to mourn.
Our first—thine elder—born;
And all of us have cause more deep
Than yet we know, to mourn.
203
[No mother's eye beside thee wakes to-night]
JANUARY 16TH, 1841.
No mother's eye beside thee wakes to-night,
No taper burns beside thy lonely bed;
Darkling thou liest, hidden out of sight,
And none are near thee but the silent dead.
No taper burns beside thy lonely bed;
Darkling thou liest, hidden out of sight,
And none are near thee but the silent dead.
How cheerly glows this hearth, yet glows in vain,
For we uncheered beside it sit alone,
And listen to the wild and beating rain
In angry gusts against our casement blown:
For we uncheered beside it sit alone,
And listen to the wild and beating rain
In angry gusts against our casement blown:
And though we nothing speak, yet well I know
That both our hearts are there, where thou dost keep
Within thy narrow chamber far below,
For the first time unwatched, thy lonely sleep:
That both our hearts are there, where thou dost keep
Within thy narrow chamber far below,
For the first time unwatched, thy lonely sleep:
Oh no, not thou!—and we our faith deny,
This thought allowing:—thou, removed from harms,
In Abraham's bosom dost securely lie,
Oh! not in Abraham's, in a Saviour's arms—
This thought allowing:—thou, removed from harms,
In Abraham's bosom dost securely lie,
Oh! not in Abraham's, in a Saviour's arms—
In that dear Lord's, who in thy worst distress,
Thy bitterest anguish, gave thee, dearest child,
Still to abide in perfect gentleness,
And like an angel to be meek and mild.
Thy bitterest anguish, gave thee, dearest child,
Still to abide in perfect gentleness,
And like an angel to be meek and mild.
Sweet corn of wheat, committed to the ground
To die, and live, and bear more precious ear,
Since in the heart of earth thy Saviour found
His place of rest, for thee we will not fear.
To die, and live, and bear more precious ear,
Since in the heart of earth thy Saviour found
His place of rest, for thee we will not fear.
204
Sleep softly, till that blessëd rain and dew,
Down lighting upon earth, such change shall bring,
That all its fields of death shall laugh anew,
Yea, with a living harvest laugh and sing.
Down lighting upon earth, such change shall bring,
That all its fields of death shall laugh anew,
Yea, with a living harvest laugh and sing.
205
MORAVIAN HYMN.
Where is this infant? it is gone—
To whom? to Christ, its Saviour true.
What does He for it? He goes on
As He has ever done, to do—
He blesses, He embraces without end,
And to all children proves the tenderest friend.
To whom? to Christ, its Saviour true.
What does He for it? He goes on
As He has ever done, to do—
He blesses, He embraces without end,
And to all children proves the tenderest friend.
He loves to have the little ones
Upon his lap quite close and near;
And thus their glass so swiftly runs,
And they so little while are here;
He gave—He takes them when He thinks it best
For them to come to Him and find their rest.
Upon his lap quite close and near;
And thus their glass so swiftly runs,
And they so little while are here;
He gave—He takes them when He thinks it best
For them to come to Him and find their rest.
However 'tis a great delight
Awhile to see such little princes,
All drest in linen fine and white,
A beauty which escapes the senses:
The pure Lamb dwells in them—his majesty
Makes their sweet eyes to sparkle gloriously.
Awhile to see such little princes,
All drest in linen fine and white,
A beauty which escapes the senses:
The pure Lamb dwells in them—his majesty
Makes their sweet eyes to sparkle gloriously.
Be therefore thanked, Thou dearest Lamb,
That we this precious child have seen,
And that thy blood and Jesu's name,
To it a glittering robe have been:
We thank Thee too that Thou hast brought it home,
That it so soon all dangers hath o'ercome.
That we this precious child have seen,
And that thy blood and Jesu's name,
To it a glittering robe have been:
We thank Thee too that Thou hast brought it home,
That it so soon all dangers hath o'ercome.
206
Dear child, so live thou happily
In Christ, who was thy faith's beginner,
Rejoice in Him eternally
With each redeemed and happy sinner;
We bury thee in hope—the Lamb once slain
Will raise, and we shall see thee yet again.
In Christ, who was thy faith's beginner,
Rejoice in Him eternally
With each redeemed and happy sinner;
We bury thee in hope—the Lamb once slain
Will raise, and we shall see thee yet again.
207
[What was thy life? a pearl cast up awhile]
What was thy life? a pearl cast up awhile
Upon the bank and shoal of time;—again,
Even as it did the gazer's eyes beguile,
Drawn backward by the ever-hungering main.
Upon the bank and shoal of time;—again,
Even as it did the gazer's eyes beguile,
Drawn backward by the ever-hungering main.
What was thy life? a fountain of sweet wave,
Which to the salt sea's margin all too near
Rose sparkling, and a few steps scarcely gave,
Ere that distained its waters fresh and clear.
Which to the salt sea's margin all too near
Rose sparkling, and a few steps scarcely gave,
Ere that distained its waters fresh and clear.
What was thy life? a flowering almond-tree,
Which all too soon its blossoms did unfold;
And so must see their lustre presently
Dimmed, and their beauty nipped by envious cold.
Which all too soon its blossoms did unfold;
And so must see their lustre presently
Dimmed, and their beauty nipped by envious cold.
What was thy life? a bright and beauteous flame,
Wherein, a season, light and joy we found;
But a swift sound of rushing tempest came,
It passed—and sparkless ashes strewed the ground.
Wherein, a season, light and joy we found;
But a swift sound of rushing tempest came,
It passed—and sparkless ashes strewed the ground.
What was thy life? a bird in infant's hand
Held with too slight a grasp, and which, before
He knows or fears, its pinions doth expand,
And with a sudden impulse heavenward soar.
Held with too slight a grasp, and which, before
He knows or fears, its pinions doth expand,
And with a sudden impulse heavenward soar.
208
I cannot tell what coming years
May have, reserved, of grief for me;
I cannot tell what they may be,
How wrung with anguish, dimmed with tears:
May have, reserved, of grief for me;
I cannot tell what they may be,
How wrung with anguish, dimmed with tears:
But scarcely can a sadder morn
Than this upon mine eyelids break,
When from a flattering dream I wake
On a reality forlorn,
Than this upon mine eyelids break,
When from a flattering dream I wake
On a reality forlorn,
For never from thine ivory gate,
O Sleep, a falser dream was sent
Than unto me brief gladness lent,
To leave me sorrow's trustier mate.
O Sleep, a falser dream was sent
Than unto me brief gladness lent,
To leave me sorrow's trustier mate.
We wandered freely as of yore,
And in my hand I felt the grasp
Of that small hand, whose tender clasp
I shall not feel, oh! any more:
And in my hand I felt the grasp
Of that small hand, whose tender clasp
I shall not feel, oh! any more:
We wandered through the peopled towns,
And where we came I heard men praise
His gracious looks, his winning ways,—
We wandered o'er the lonely downs;
And where we came I heard men praise
His gracious looks, his winning ways,—
We wandered o'er the lonely downs;
And ever held familiar talk
As we passed onward, I and he
Who was companion true to me
At home, and in long woodland walk;
As we passed onward, I and he
Who was companion true to me
At home, and in long woodland walk;
209
Gone was the agony, the fear,
And all the dreadful gulf between
What we are now and what have been,
The vault, the coffin, and the bier.
And all the dreadful gulf between
What we are now and what have been,
The vault, the coffin, and the bier.
I start—and lo! my dream is not:
But though 'tis round me thickest gloom,
Yet in the corner of the room
I know there stands a vacant cot.
But though 'tis round me thickest gloom,
Yet in the corner of the room
I know there stands a vacant cot.
I close mine eyes; I strive again
To feed upon that poor delight;
The broken links to re-unite
Once more of slumber's golden chain.
To feed upon that poor delight;
The broken links to re-unite
Once more of slumber's golden chain.
Lost effort!—Sleep, oh! twice untrue,
What need to bring that fond deceit?
And then, when I allow the cheat,
To flee, while vainly I pursue?
What need to bring that fond deceit?
And then, when I allow the cheat,
To flee, while vainly I pursue?
210
[This chest, a homely cabinet, although]
This chest, a homely cabinet, although
It keeps no jewels won from toilsome mine,
Nor rarest shells from ocean depths below
Drawn with unfaded colours bright and fine,
Nor doth not graven gems, nor vases show,
Nor old medallions of some kingly line—
Albeit no such treasures here there be,
Yet guards it what is dearer far to me.
It keeps no jewels won from toilsome mine,
Nor rarest shells from ocean depths below
Drawn with unfaded colours bright and fine,
Nor doth not graven gems, nor vases show,
Nor old medallions of some kingly line—
Albeit no such treasures here there be,
Yet guards it what is dearer far to me.
But wouldst thou know what treasures thus are dear,
And over costliest things in worth prevail,—
Some pebbles quaint, some broken toys appear,
Some feathers from the peacock's starry tail,
Some books, of those that children love, are here,
An earthen lamp whose light has long grown pale,
With gifts a kinsman from the Indian shore
Brought o'er the sea,—these make up all the store.
And over costliest things in worth prevail,—
Some pebbles quaint, some broken toys appear,
Some feathers from the peacock's starry tail,
Some books, of those that children love, are here,
An earthen lamp whose light has long grown pale,
With gifts a kinsman from the Indian shore
Brought o'er the sea,—these make up all the store.
But when that loved one left us on lofe's way,
Whose that they were did make these trifles aught,
Things sacred they became, which still, as they
Met our sad quest, or came to us unsought,
Or as the other children in their play
Found, and with awed and solemn aspect brought,
We gathered one by one, and laid aside,—
Dearer to us than golden treasures wide!
Whose that they were did make these trifles aught,
Things sacred they became, which still, as they
Met our sad quest, or came to us unsought,
Or as the other children in their play
Found, and with awed and solemn aspect brought,
We gathered one by one, and laid aside,—
Dearer to us than golden treasures wide!
211
TO ---
We did not quite believe this world would give
To us what ne'er it had to any given,
That round our bark eternal calms should live,
That ours should ever be a stormless heaven:
To us what ne'er it had to any given,
That round our bark eternal calms should live,
That ours should ever be a stormless heaven:
Yet we, long season, were like men that dwell
In safe abodes beside some perilous shore,
Who when they hear the northern whirlwinds swell,
Who when they hear the furious breakers roar,
In safe abodes beside some perilous shore,
Who when they hear the northern whirlwinds swell,
Who when they hear the furious breakers roar,
Think, it may be, but with too slight a thought,
On them that in the great deep labouring are,
Where winds are fierce, and waves are madly wrought,—
And lend them, it may be, a passing prayer.
On them that in the great deep labouring are,
Where winds are fierce, and waves are madly wrought,—
And lend them, it may be, a passing prayer.
Thus we, belovëd, in our safe recess
Did evermore abroad the voices hear,
In the wide world, of sorrow and distress,
With pity heard, yet us they came not near:
Did evermore abroad the voices hear,
In the wide world, of sorrow and distress,
With pity heard, yet us they came not near:
Or if at times they might approach us nigh,
And if at times we mourned, yet still remained
Our inner world untouched—the sanctuary
Of our blest home by sorrow unprofaned;
And if at times we mourned, yet still remained
Our inner world untouched—the sanctuary
Of our blest home by sorrow unprofaned;
212
When lo! that cup which we had seen go round
To one and to another, cup of pain,
We of a sudden at our own lips found,
And it was given us deep of that to drain;
To one and to another, cup of pain,
We of a sudden at our own lips found,
And it was given us deep of that to drain;
And what had seemed at first a little cloud
On our clear sky, no broader than the hand,
Did all its lights and constellations shroud,
And gloomy wings from end to end expand.
On our clear sky, no broader than the hand,
Did all its lights and constellations shroud,
And gloomy wings from end to end expand.
O unforgotten day! the earliest morn
Of the new year, when friends are wont to meet,
And while upon all faces joy is worn,
Each doth the other with kind wishes greet,
Of the new year, when friends are wont to meet,
And while upon all faces joy is worn,
Each doth the other with kind wishes greet,
O day, whose anguish never shall wax old,
When we no longer might our fears deny,
When our hearts' secret thoughts we dared unfold
One to the other, that our child would die.
When we no longer might our fears deny,
When our hearts' secret thoughts we dared unfold
One to the other, that our child would die.
Oh! freshly may in us the memory live
Of the mere lie which then the world did seem,
And all the world could promise or could give,—
A breaking bubble! a departing dream!
Of the mere lie which then the world did seem,
And all the world could promise or could give,—
A breaking bubble! a departing dream!
So while this lore doth in our hearts remain,
We on the world shall lean not, that false reed,
Not strong enough our burden to sustain,
Yet sharp enough to pierce us till we bleed.
We on the world shall lean not, that false reed,
Not strong enough our burden to sustain,
Yet sharp enough to pierce us till we bleed.
But now a pearl is from our chaplet dropt,
But now a flower is from our garland riven,
One singing fountain of our joy is stopt,
One brightest star extinguished in our heaven;
But now a flower is from our garland riven,
One singing fountain of our joy is stopt,
One brightest star extinguished in our heaven;
213
One only—yet oh! who may guess the change
That by that one has been among us wrought?
How all familiar things are waxen strange
Or sad,—what silence to our house is brought?
That by that one has been among us wrought?
How all familiar things are waxen strange
Or sad,—what silence to our house is brought?
Or if the merry voices still arise,
Now that the captain of the games is gone,
We check them not, but still into our eyes
The tears have started at that alien tone:
Now that the captain of the games is gone,
We check them not, but still into our eyes
The tears have started at that alien tone:
And we, perchance too confident of old,
As though our blessings all were ours in fee,
Those that remain now tremulously hold,
From anxious perturbations never free;
As though our blessings all were ours in fee,
Those that remain now tremulously hold,
From anxious perturbations never free;
As though the spell were broken, and the charm
Reversed, which shielded had our house so long,
And we without defence to every harm
Lay open, and exposed to every wrong.
Reversed, which shielded had our house so long,
And we without defence to every harm
Lay open, and exposed to every wrong.
Oh! thought which should not be, oh! faith too weak,
To tremble at the slightest ache or pain,
At the least languor of the changeful cheek,
With terrors hardly to be stilled again.
To tremble at the slightest ache or pain,
At the least languor of the changeful cheek,
With terrors hardly to be stilled again.
Yet thus we walk within our house, in grief
For what has been, in fear for what may be,
And still the advancing days bring no relief,
But make us all our loss more plainly see;
For what has been, in fear for what may be,
And still the advancing days bring no relief,
But make us all our loss more plainly see;
And when this pallid winding-sheet of snow,
Which all this dreary time the earth has wound,
Dissolves and disappears, as warm winds blow,
And the hard soil relenting is unbound;
Which all this dreary time the earth has wound,
Dissolves and disappears, as warm winds blow,
And the hard soil relenting is unbound;
214
And when that happy season shall arrive,
To mourning hearts the saddest in its mirth,
When all things in this living world revive
Save the dear clod low-lying in the earth;
To mourning hearts the saddest in its mirth,
When all things in this living world revive
Save the dear clod low-lying in the earth;
We shall bethink us then with what delight
He used to hail, himself discovering first,
The purple or the yellow crocus bright,
Or where the snowdrop from its sheath had burst.
He used to hail, himself discovering first,
The purple or the yellow crocus bright,
Or where the snowdrop from its sheath had burst.
Oh! then shall I remember many a walk
In shadowy woods, close hidden from the flames
Of the fierce sun, and interspersed with talk
Of ancient England's high heroic names;
In shadowy woods, close hidden from the flames
Of the fierce sun, and interspersed with talk
Of ancient England's high heroic names;
Or holier still, of them who lived and died,
That Christ's dear lore to us they might hand down
Untarnished, or his faith to spread more wide,
Winning a martyr's palm and martyr's crown;
That Christ's dear lore to us they might hand down
Untarnished, or his faith to spread more wide,
Winning a martyr's palm and martyr's crown;
Or how those tales he earnestly would crave
Of old romance, our childhood's golden dower,
Which in large measure willingly we gave,
Feeding the pure imaginative power.
Of old romance, our childhood's golden dower,
Which in large measure willingly we gave,
Feeding the pure imaginative power.
Oh days that never, never shall return!
The future may be rich in genial good,
We are not poor in hope, we do not mourn
The wreck of all our bliss around us strewed;
The future may be rich in genial good,
We are not poor in hope, we do not mourn
The wreck of all our bliss around us strewed;
Oh no—fair flowrets blossom in our bowers,
Rich pearls upon our chaplet still are given,
And singing fountains of delight are ours,
And stars of brightness in our earthly heaven.
Rich pearls upon our chaplet still are given,
And singing fountains of delight are ours,
And stars of brightness in our earthly heaven.
215
Yet never can that golden time come back,
When we could look around us with an eye
Entirely satisfied, which did not lack
One of the happy number standing by;
When we could look around us with an eye
Entirely satisfied, which did not lack
One of the happy number standing by;
When yet no edge as of encroaching dark
Gave token that our moon began to wane,
When the most curious eye had failed to mark
Upon its clear bright surface speck or stain.
Gave token that our moon began to wane,
When the most curious eye had failed to mark
Upon its clear bright surface speck or stain.
—Lo! as that bird which all the wakeful night
Leaning its bosom on a poignant thorn,
So bleeds, and bleeding sings, and makes delight
For some that listen, though its heart be torn;
Leaning its bosom on a poignant thorn,
So bleeds, and bleeding sings, and makes delight
For some that listen, though its heart be torn;
Thus in this night of grief I love to lean
With wounded bosom, and so make my song,
Upon the thorn of memories sharp and keen,
Well pleasëd while I do myself this wrong.
With wounded bosom, and so make my song,
Upon the thorn of memories sharp and keen,
Well pleasëd while I do myself this wrong.
And yet, belovëd, why should we lament
That vanished time with passionate regret—
Not rather marvelling at the rare consent
Of blessings which so long above us met?
That vanished time with passionate regret—
Not rather marvelling at the rare consent
Of blessings which so long above us met?
Oh! lot which could not aye endure, oh! lot
Which could not be for sinful men designed;
For we, not suffering, should have quite forgot
To feel or suffer with our suffering kind:
Which could not be for sinful men designed;
For we, not suffering, should have quite forgot
To feel or suffer with our suffering kind:
Oh! lot it was to waken liveliest fears,
A lot which never have God's servants known;—
Yea, who amid a world of grief and tears
In freedom from all pain would stand alone?
A lot which never have God's servants known;—
Yea, who amid a world of grief and tears
In freedom from all pain would stand alone?
216
And what though now we from this grief express
But little save its bitter, yet be sure
In this its mere unmingled bitterness
It shall not, cannot evermore endure.
But little save its bitter, yet be sure
In this its mere unmingled bitterness
It shall not, cannot evermore endure.
But comforts shall arise, like fountains sweet
Fresh springing in a salt and dreary main,
Fountains of sweetest wave, which shipmen meet
In the waste ocean, an unlooked-for gain.
Fresh springing in a salt and dreary main,
Fountains of sweetest wave, which shipmen meet
In the waste ocean, an unlooked-for gain.
And as when some fair temple is o'erthrown
By earthquake, or by hostile hand laid waste,
At first it lies, stone rudely rent from stone,
A confused ruinous heap, and all defaced;
By earthquake, or by hostile hand laid waste,
At first it lies, stone rudely rent from stone,
A confused ruinous heap, and all defaced;
Yet visit that fall'n ruin by and bye,
And what a hand of healing has been there;
How sweetly do the placid sunbeams lie
On the green sward which all the place doth wear,
And what a hand of healing has been there;
How sweetly do the placid sunbeams lie
On the green sward which all the place doth wear,
And what rich odours from the flowers are borne,
From flowers and flowering weeds, which even within
The rents and fissures of those walls forlorn
Have made their home, yea, hence their sustenancewin!
From flowers and flowering weeds, which even within
The rents and fissures of those walls forlorn
Have made their home, yea, hence their sustenancewin!
So time no less has gentle skill to heal,
When our fair hopes have fall'n, our earth-built towers;
How busy wreck and ruin to conceal
With a new overgrowth of leaves and flowers.
When our fair hopes have fall'n, our earth-built towers;
How busy wreck and ruin to conceal
With a new overgrowth of leaves and flowers.
Nor time alone—a better hand is here,
Where it has wounded, watching to upbind;
Which when it takes away in love severe,
Still some austerer blessing leaves behind.
Where it has wounded, watching to upbind;
Which when it takes away in love severe,
Still some austerer blessing leaves behind.
217
Oh! higher gifts has brought this mournful time,
Than all those years which did so smoothly run:
For what if they, life's flower and golden prime,
Had something served to knit our hearts in one;
Than all those years which did so smoothly run:
For what if they, life's flower and golden prime,
Had something served to knit our hearts in one;
Yet doth that all seem little now, compared
With our brief fellowship in tears and pain;
To share the things which we have newly shared,
This makes a firmer bond, a holier chain:
With our brief fellowship in tears and pain;
To share the things which we have newly shared,
This makes a firmer bond, a holier chain:
To have together held that aching head,
To have together heard that piteous moan,
To have together knelt beside that bed,
When life was flitting, and when life had flown—
To have together heard that piteous moan,
To have together knelt beside that bed,
When life was flitting, and when life had flown—
And to have one of ours, whose ashes sleep
Where the great church its solemn shadow flings;
Oh! love has now its roots that stretch more deep,
That strike and stretch beneath the grave of things.
Where the great church its solemn shadow flings;
Oh! love has now its roots that stretch more deep,
That strike and stretch beneath the grave of things.
Oh! more than this, yet holier bonds there are,
For we his spirit shall to ours feel nigh,
And know he lives, whenever we in prayer
Hold with heaven's saintly throng communion high.
For we his spirit shall to ours feel nigh,
And know he lives, whenever we in prayer
Hold with heaven's saintly throng communion high.
Then wherefore more?—or wherefore this to thee—
A faithful suppliant at that inner shrine,
At which who kneel, to them 'tis given to see
How pain and grief and anguish are divine.
A faithful suppliant at that inner shrine,
At which who kneel, to them 'tis given to see
How pain and grief and anguish are divine.
218
[Hers was a mother's heart]
Hers was a mother's heart,
That poor Egyptian's, when she drew apart,
Because she would not see
Her child beloved in his last agony:
That poor Egyptian's, when she drew apart,
Because she would not see
Her child beloved in his last agony:
When her sad load she laid
In her despair beneath the scanty shade
In the wild waste, and stept
Aside, and long and passionately wept.
In her despair beneath the scanty shade
In the wild waste, and stept
Aside, and long and passionately wept.
Yet higher, more sublime,
How many a mother, since that ancient time,
Has shown the mighty power
Of love divine in such another hour!
How many a mother, since that ancient time,
Has shown the mighty power
Of love divine in such another hour!
Oh! higher love to wait
Fast by the sufferer in his worst estate,
Nor from the eyes to hide
One pang, but aye in courage to abide.
Fast by the sufferer in his worst estate,
Nor from the eyes to hide
One pang, but aye in courage to abide.
And though no Angel bring
In that dark hour unto a living spring
Of gladness,—as was sent,
Stilling her voice of turbulent lament,—
In that dark hour unto a living spring
Of gladness,—as was sent,
Stilling her voice of turbulent lament,—
Oh! higher faith to show,
Out of what depths of anguish and of woe
The heart is strong to raise
To an all-loving Father hymns of praise.
Out of what depths of anguish and of woe
The heart is strong to raise
To an all-loving Father hymns of praise.
219
TO ---
O friend, high thanks I owe thee, not alone
That when I did a stricken mourner stand
Beside a grave, thou cheer'dst me with true tone,
And the firm pressure of a faithful hand;
That when I did a stricken mourner stand
Beside a grave, thou cheer'dst me with true tone,
And the firm pressure of a faithful hand;
It is not for this loving sympathy,
But for a higher blessing thanks I owe,
Thanks owe thee for a lesson plain yet high,
Taught in thy darker hour of heavier woe.
But for a higher blessing thanks I owe,
Thanks owe thee for a lesson plain yet high,
Taught in thy darker hour of heavier woe.
Fain had I been to shrink with coward mind
Not merely from an idle world's turmoil,
But even from friendly greetings of my kind,
Yea, quite to shun my life's appointed toil.
Not merely from an idle world's turmoil,
But even from friendly greetings of my kind,
Yea, quite to shun my life's appointed toil.
But when hereafter shall to me betide
Sorrow or pain, oh, then not any more
May I so seek to thrust my tasks aside;
Oh, then may I retain a nobler lore—
Sorrow or pain, oh, then not any more
May I so seek to thrust my tasks aside;
Oh, then may I retain a nobler lore—
From common burdens no exemption ask,
But in sustaining them best comfort find;
As knowing life has evermore a task
Which must be done—with glad or sorrowing mind:
But in sustaining them best comfort find;
As knowing life has evermore a task
Which must be done—with glad or sorrowing mind:
That pleasure as it came, even so departs,
But duty, life's true star, doth fixed remain;
This lesson graven on my heart of hearts,
This from thy converse is my latest gain.
But duty, life's true star, doth fixed remain;
This lesson graven on my heart of hearts,
This from thy converse is my latest gain.
220
[Yonder on that wall displayed]
Yonder on that wall displayed,
Children three behold pourtrayed,
The resemblances of life,
With the truth of nature rife:
See one gentle girl is there,
And of boys a laughing pair;
And, by God's good grace, the three
Round about our hearths we see,
Filling still our home with glee.
Children three behold pourtrayed,
The resemblances of life,
With the truth of nature rife:
See one gentle girl is there,
And of boys a laughing pair;
And, by God's good grace, the three
Round about our hearths we see,
Filling still our home with glee.
But that loved one, who has left
Us of so much joy bereft,
Whom our yearning hearts require,
Whom our aching eyes desire,
We, alas! have not of him
Even this poor memorial dim.
Oh unhappy chance! the three
Whom around us still we see,
Whom at any hour we may—
Every hour of every day—
To our bosoms fold and press,
Visions of delight that bless
Daily our glad eyes, and still
With their living voices fill
Full of joyfulness our bowers,
Triad sweet that still are ours;
We may on their portraits feed,
In this richer than we need.
Us of so much joy bereft,
Whom our yearning hearts require,
Whom our aching eyes desire,
We, alas! have not of him
Even this poor memorial dim.
Oh unhappy chance! the three
Whom around us still we see,
Whom at any hour we may—
Every hour of every day—
To our bosoms fold and press,
Visions of delight that bless
Daily our glad eyes, and still
With their living voices fill
Full of joyfulness our bowers,
Triad sweet that still are ours;
We may on their portraits feed,
In this richer than we need.
221
But that loved one, loved and lost,
Who has left our life's bleak coast,
After whom our eyes we strain,
Whom we listen for in vain,
For he comes, he comes not back,
Well-a-day! of him we lack
Rudest effort that should trace
The dear features of his face;
Which if it had truly caught,
Though by artless limner wrought,
It had still been in our eyes
Dearer relic, costlier prize,
Than great work of master's hand,
By far-famëd artist planned,
Looking clamly from the wall
Of some old ancestral hall.
Who has left our life's bleak coast,
After whom our eyes we strain,
Whom we listen for in vain,
For he comes, he comes not back,
Well-a-day! of him we lack
Rudest effort that should trace
The dear features of his face;
Which if it had truly caught,
Though by artless limner wrought,
It had still been in our eyes
Dearer relic, costlier prize,
Than great work of master's hand,
By far-famëd artist planned,
Looking clamly from the wall
Of some old ancestral hall.
And already, when I strive
That lost image to revive,
And his very self to paint
On my mind's eye, dim and faint
Come those features, indistinct,
Or with that last suffering linked;
Or if they distinct and clear
For a moment may appear,
Soon they fade anew, and seem
Like the picture of a dream,
Or cloud-vision, which the breath
Of the light wind scattereth.
That lost image to revive,
And his very self to paint
On my mind's eye, dim and faint
Come those features, indistinct,
Or with that last suffering linked;
Or if they distinct and clear
For a moment may appear,
Soon they fade anew, and seem
Like the picture of a dream,
Or cloud-vision, which the breath
Of the light wind scattereth.
Years will roll, and dim and dimmer,
Through their mists, will faintly glimmer
That loved image, which e'en now
Comes not freely to my vow,
Which already memory's wand
Is not potent to command
At its bidding.—Let it be,
Let me lose all trace of thee,—
Of the earthly casket, which
Once a heavenly gem made rich,—
Of that shape which in my sight
Glanced an apparition bright;
So that fresh in me I find
The dear features of thy mind,
So that these continue still,
And the haunts of memory fill—
Thy unerring keen delight
In all lovely things and bright,
And the largeness of thy heart,
Ever planning to impart
To thy brothers, to the poor,
Far beyond thy little store,
And thy tears which any woe,
Heard or seen, would cause to flow—
So that I do not forget
What in thee so freely met,
To thy Mother manly love—
And thy years so far above,
And beyond a childish mind,
All the pleasure thou could'st find
In whate'er I might design,
In whatever tasks were mine—
If I may remember still
How our inborn stain of ill
Did in thee break seldom forth,
Seldom came unto the birth;
(So the holy waters laved,
With their grace so truly saved;)
While with a delighted ear
Of thy Lord and Saviour dear
Thou didst ever love to hear;
If these memories with me stay,
If these do not fade away,
I with unrepining heart
Will those other see depart.
Through their mists, will faintly glimmer
That loved image, which e'en now
Comes not freely to my vow,
222
Is not potent to command
At its bidding.—Let it be,
Let me lose all trace of thee,—
Of the earthly casket, which
Once a heavenly gem made rich,—
Of that shape which in my sight
Glanced an apparition bright;
So that fresh in me I find
The dear features of thy mind,
So that these continue still,
And the haunts of memory fill—
Thy unerring keen delight
In all lovely things and bright,
And the largeness of thy heart,
Ever planning to impart
To thy brothers, to the poor,
Far beyond thy little store,
And thy tears which any woe,
Heard or seen, would cause to flow—
So that I do not forget
What in thee so freely met,
To thy Mother manly love—
And thy years so far above,
And beyond a childish mind,
All the pleasure thou could'st find
In whate'er I might design,
In whatever tasks were mine—
If I may remember still
How our inborn stain of ill
Did in thee break seldom forth,
Seldom came unto the birth;
(So the holy waters laved,
With their grace so truly saved;)
223
Of thy Lord and Saviour dear
Thou didst ever love to hear;
If these memories with me stay,
If these do not fade away,
I with unrepining heart
Will those other see depart.
224
NO MORE.
Heart's brother, hast thou ever known
What meaneth that No more?
And all the bitterness outdrawn,
Close hidden at its core?
What meaneth that No more?
And all the bitterness outdrawn,
Close hidden at its core?
Ah no—draw from it worlds of pain,
And thou wilt surely find
That in that word there doth remain
A bitterer drop behind.
And thou wilt surely find
That in that word there doth remain
A bitterer drop behind.
225
[Men will be light of heart and glad]
Men will be light of heart and glad,
When we are sad;
Or if perchance our hearts are light,
With them 'tis night.
When we are sad;
Or if perchance our hearts are light,
With them 'tis night.
Kind Nature, but 'tis never thus
With thee and us:
But thee in all our moods we find
Unto our mind.
With thee and us:
But thee in all our moods we find
Unto our mind.
We laugh, and dance in all thy bowers
The jocund flowers—
We mourn, and every flower appears
Bedropt with tears.
The jocund flowers—
We mourn, and every flower appears
Bedropt with tears.
O Mother true, from ways of men
To this far glen,
Dear Mother, to thy breast I creep,
And weep, and weep.
To this far glen,
Dear Mother, to thy breast I creep,
And weep, and weep.
226
[O happy days, O months, O years]
O happy days, O months, O years,
Which, even in this dim world of woe,
'Tis now impossible can show
The print of grief, the stain of tears:
Which, even in this dim world of woe,
'Tis now impossible can show
The print of grief, the stain of tears:
O blessëd times, which now no more
Exposed to chance or change remain;
Which having been, no after stain
Can dim the brightness that ye wore;
Exposed to chance or change remain;
Which having been, no after stain
Can dim the brightness that ye wore;
Dark shadows of approaching ill
Fall thick upon life's forward track;
But on its past they stream not back,
What once was bright abides so still.
Fall thick upon life's forward track;
But on its past they stream not back,
What once was bright abides so still.
227
[That name! how often every day]
That name! how often every day
We spake it and we heard;
It was to us, 'mid tasks or play,
A common household word.
We spake it and we heard;
It was to us, 'mid tasks or play,
A common household word.
'Tis breathëd yet, that name—but oh!
How solemn now the sound!
One of the sanctities which throw
Such awe our homes around.
How solemn now the sound!
One of the sanctities which throw
Such awe our homes around.
228
TO ---
Child of my spiritual love !—others I claim,
Nor are they not unto my spirit near,
While they, too, bear for me this holy name,
And by its right are dear:
And yet they do not stir for me, as thou
Stirrest the fountains of my bosom now.
Nor are they not unto my spirit near,
While they, too, bear for me this holy name,
And by its right are dear:
And yet they do not stir for me, as thou
Stirrest the fountains of my bosom now.
For memory guardeth yet,
And will in holiest places guard the hour,
When first beside that hallowed font we met,
And on thy brow the sacred seal was set,
And given the robe of power.
And will in holiest places guard the hour,
When first beside that hallowed font we met,
And on thy brow the sacred seal was set,
And given the robe of power.
Beneath my feet he lay,—
His little mouldering clay,
So lately to the heartless earth consigned,
Even his, for ever dear, the first who came
To bid me know what meant a father's name,
With a child's love about my heart to wind.
His little mouldering clay,
So lately to the heartless earth consigned,
Even his, for ever dear, the first who came
To bid me know what meant a father's name,
With a child's love about my heart to wind.
And all around me did a frequent band
Of newer mourners stand:
For thou, unconscious child, hast yet to learn
That it was at thy birth
As if a star had quitted earth,
Thee clothing in its radiance mild,
And in a splendour undefiled,
But never more in our dim air to burn.
Of newer mourners stand:
For thou, unconscious child, hast yet to learn
That it was at thy birth
As if a star had quitted earth,
Thee clothing in its radiance mild,
And in a splendour undefiled,
But never more in our dim air to burn.
229
Oh then, dear child, be thou for ever strong,
As one who for these costliest issues came
Into this world, as one to whom belong
The glory and the burden of a name,
Thy sire's and grandsire's;—ample be thy dower!
And all thy life the unfolding, hour by hour,
Of what was at that font made thine of grace and power.
As one who for these costliest issues came
Into this world, as one to whom belong
The glory and the burden of a name,
Thy sire's and grandsire's;—ample be thy dower!
And all thy life the unfolding, hour by hour,
Of what was at that font made thine of grace and power.
230
[Many times the morning laughs in light]
Many times the morning laughs in light
Underneath a cloudless ether bright;
Underneath a cloudless ether bright;
And 'tis little thought what weeping dews
And thick rains fell heavy all the night.
And thick rains fell heavy all the night.
Many times a cheerful mien is worn,
And men say, All tears are staunchëd quite,
And men say, All tears are staunchëd quite,
Little guessing what has been erewhile
In the lonely chambers out of sight.
In the lonely chambers out of sight.
231
[Half unbelieving doth my heart remain]
Half unbelieving doth my heart remain
Of its great woe;
I waken, and a dull dead sense of pain
Is all I know.
Of its great woe;
I waken, and a dull dead sense of pain
Is all I know.
Then dimly in the darkness of my mind
I feel about,
To know what 'tis that troubles me, and find
My sorrow out,
I feel about,
To know what 'tis that troubles me, and find
My sorrow out,
And hardly with long pains my heart I bring
Its loss to own:
Still seems it so impossible a thing
That thou art gone—
Its loss to own:
Still seems it so impossible a thing
That thou art gone—
That not in all my life I ever more
With pleasëd ear
Thy quick light feet advancing to my door
Again shall hear—
With pleasëd ear
Thy quick light feet advancing to my door
Again shall hear—
That thou not ever with inquiring looks
Or subtle talk
Shalt bring to me sweet hindrance 'mid my books
Or studious walk—
Or subtle talk
Shalt bring to me sweet hindrance 'mid my books
Or studious walk—
That, whatsoever else of good for me
In store remain,
This lieth out of hope, my child, to see
Thy face again.
In store remain,
This lieth out of hope, my child, to see
Thy face again.
232
SONNET.
[When I consider what our life hath been]
When I consider what our life hath been,How full of devious error, far astray
From paths of truth and that one only way,
And by what mercies, strange and unforeseen,
We have been brought unto the port serene
Of faith, which many missing never may
Reach the one haven of their rest,—I say,
Dulling the edge of sorrow, else too keen,—
How shall we make untimely moan for them,
How shall we mourn beside their early grave,
Who being washed in baptism's holy wave
From that first taint which doth us all condemn,
Passed from this evil world, and never aught
Of our life's darker stains from hence have caught?
233
[Where thou hast touched, O wondrous Death!]
Where thou hast touched, O wondrous Death!
Where thou hast come between,
Lo! there for ever perisheth
The common and the mean.
Where thou hast come between,
Lo! there for ever perisheth
The common and the mean.
No little flaw or trivial speck
Doth any more appear,
And cannot from this time, to fleck
Love's perfect image clear.
Doth any more appear,
And cannot from this time, to fleck
Love's perfect image clear.
Clear stands Love's perfect image now,
And shall do evermore;
And we in awe and wonder bow
The glorified before.
And shall do evermore;
And we in awe and wonder bow
The glorified before.
234
[When its higher faith this heart denies]
When its higher faith this heart denies,
Bare and open to the world's glare lies,
Bare and open to the world's glare lies,
Presently, ye blessëd ones, ye seem
Turning hither sad reproachful eyes;
Turning hither sad reproachful eyes;
Gaze ye then on this unholy heart
With a solemn and a sad surprise.
With a solemn and a sad surprise.
‘When we left you,’ so the voices come,
‘When the last light faded from our eyes,
‘When the last light faded from our eyes,
When the last farewells found hardly way,
Hardly spoken amid sobs and sighs,
Hardly spoken amid sobs and sighs,
Was not this our trust in death, that ye
Would to God be faithful anywise,
Would to God be faithful anywise,
That one love to Him would link us yet,
You on earth, and us in Paradise?’
You on earth, and us in Paradise?’
—O ye blessëd voices of rebuke,
When ye reach me, straightway I arise;
When ye reach me, straightway I arise;
And exclaim I, bidding to depart
The world's flatteries, and lures, and lies,
The world's flatteries, and lures, and lies,
‘Grant us ever to keep faith with Thee,
Lord, and with our saints in Paradise.’
Lord, and with our saints in Paradise.’
235
[Who that a watcher doth remain]
‘What pang is permanent with man? From the highest,
As from the meanest thing of every day,
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours
Conquer him.’—
Schiller.
As from the meanest thing of every day,
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours
Conquer him.’—
Schiller.
Who that a watcher doth remain
Beside a couch of mortal pain,
Deems he can ever smile again?
Beside a couch of mortal pain,
Deems he can ever smile again?
Or who that weeps beside a bier
Counts he has any more to fear
From the world's flatteries, false and leer?
Counts he has any more to fear
From the world's flatteries, false and leer?
And yet anon and he must start
At the light toys in which his heart
Can now already claim its part.
At the light toys in which his heart
Can now already claim its part.
O hearts of ours! so weak and poor,
That nothing there can long endure;
And so their hurts find shameful cure,
That nothing there can long endure;
And so their hurts find shameful cure,
While every sadder, wiser thought,
Each holier aim which sorrow brought,
Fades quite away and comes to nought.
Each holier aim which sorrow brought,
Fades quite away and comes to nought.
O Thou, who dost our weakness know,
Watch for us, that the strong hours so
Not wean us from our wholesome woe.
Watch for us, that the strong hours so
Not wean us from our wholesome woe.
Grant Thou, that we may long retain
The wholesome memories of pain,
Nor wish to lose them soon again.
The wholesome memories of pain,
Nor wish to lose them soon again.
236
[If our high debt of holy glee]
Christmas, 1841.
If our high debt of holy glee
This day we have not fully paid,
If other thoughts have dared invade
The time, yet pardoned this shall be:
This day we have not fully paid,
If other thoughts have dared invade
The time, yet pardoned this shall be:
For these, how should they not have flung
Some shadow on this day perforce,
When alway through its solemn course
One presence has about us hung?
Some shadow on this day perforce,
When alway through its solemn course
One presence has about us hung?
Even his, who with us still abode,
When last our yule-fires burned, although
Even then already girt to go,
Young pilgrim for so rough a road?
When last our yule-fires burned, although
Even then already girt to go,
Young pilgrim for so rough a road?
The image of his pale meek face,
As he, though full of silent pain,
Among the household band was fain
This festal eve to keep his place:
As he, though full of silent pain,
Among the household band was fain
This festal eve to keep his place:
In weakness and in pain he lay,
In heavier pain than then we knew,
While yet the coming anguish threw
No shadow on our forward way.
In heavier pain than then we knew,
While yet the coming anguish threw
No shadow on our forward way.
237
Near was it, yet we little deemed
One step would bring us into gloom,
Another set us by a tomb,
But all secure and constant seemed.
One step would bring us into gloom,
Another set us by a tomb,
But all secure and constant seemed.
Now, living o'er that time anew,
Sad are we—yet, I would believe,
Not thus unfitted to receive
Our share in this day's blessings true:
Sad are we—yet, I would believe,
Not thus unfitted to receive
Our share in this day's blessings true:
For He who once, a Heavenly Child,
Came to a world not clad in bright
Spring-blossoms, nor in gay leaves dight,
But to its winter bleak and wild,
Came to a world not clad in bright
Spring-blossoms, nor in gay leaves dight,
But to its winter bleak and wild,
To faithful hearts comes evermore,
When Grief has touched with finger sere
The splendours of life's earlier year,
As never He had come before.
When Grief has touched with finger sere
The splendours of life's earlier year,
As never He had come before.
238
THE LENT JEWELS.
A JEWISH APOLOGUE.
In schools of wisdom all the day was spent:
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent,
With homeward thoughts, which dwelt upon the wife
And two fair children who consoled his life.
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in,
And with these words preventing, did begin:
‘I, greeting ever your desired return,
Yet greet it most to-day; for since this morn
I have been much perplexed and sorely tried
Upon one point, which you must now decide.
Some years ago, a friend into my care
Some jewels gave, rich precious gems they were;
But having given them in my charge, this friend
Did afterwards nor come for them, nor send,
But in my keeping suffered them for long,
Till now it almost seems to me a wrong
That he should suddenly arrive to-day,
To take those jewels, which he left, away.
What think you? Shall I freely yield them back,
And with no murmuring?—so henceforth to lack
Those gems myself, which I had learned to see
Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee.’
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent,
With homeward thoughts, which dwelt upon the wife
And two fair children who consoled his life.
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in,
And with these words preventing, did begin:
‘I, greeting ever your desired return,
Yet greet it most to-day; for since this morn
I have been much perplexed and sorely tried
Upon one point, which you must now decide.
Some years ago, a friend into my care
Some jewels gave, rich precious gems they were;
But having given them in my charge, this friend
Did afterwards nor come for them, nor send,
But in my keeping suffered them for long,
Till now it almost seems to me a wrong
That he should suddenly arrive to-day,
To take those jewels, which he left, away.
What think you? Shall I freely yield them back,
And with no murmuring?—so henceforth to lack
Those gems myself, which I had learned to see
Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee.’
‘What question can be here? your own true heart
Must needs advise you of the only part;
That may be claimed again which was but lent,
And should be yielded with no discontent;
Nor surely can we find in this a wrong,
That it was left us to enjoy it long.’
Must needs advise you of the only part;
239
And should be yielded with no discontent;
Nor surely can we find in this a wrong,
That it was left us to enjoy it long.’
‘Good is the word,’ she answered; ‘may we now
And evermore that it is good allow!’
And, rising, to an inner chamber led,
And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed,
Two children pale, and he the jewels knew,
Which God had lent him, and resumed anew.
And evermore that it is good allow!’
And, rising, to an inner chamber led,
And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed,
Two children pale, and he the jewels knew,
Which God had lent him, and resumed anew.
240
[O life, O death, O world, O time]
O life, O death, O world, O time,
O grave, where all things flow,
'Tis yours to make our lot sublime
With your great weight of woe.
O grave, where all things flow,
'Tis yours to make our lot sublime
With your great weight of woe.
Though sharpest anguish hearts may wring,
Though bosoms torn may be,
Yet suffering is a holy thing;
Without it what were we?
Though bosoms torn may be,
Yet suffering is a holy thing;
Without it what were we?
241
FROM THE ARABIC.
Despair not in the vale of woe,
Where many joys from suffering flow.
Where many joys from suffering flow.
Oft breathes simoom, and close behind
A breath of God doth softly blow.
A breath of God doth softly blow.
Clouds threaten, but a ray of light,
And not of lightning, falls below.
And not of lightning, falls below.
How many winters o'er thy head
Have passed; yet bald it does not show.
Have passed; yet bald it does not show.
Thy branches are not bare, and yet
What storms have shook them to and fro.
What storms have shook them to and fro.
To thee has Time brought many joys,
If many it has bid to go;
If many it has bid to go;
And seasoned has with bitterness
Thy cup, that flat it should not grow.
Thy cup, that flat it should not grow.
Trust in that veilëd hand, which leads
None by the path that he would go;
None by the path that he would go;
And always be for change prepared,
For the world's law is ebb and flow.
For the world's law is ebb and flow.
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Stand fast in suffering, until He
Who called it, shall dismiss also;
Who called it, shall dismiss also;
And from that Lord all good expect,
Who many mercies strews below;
Who many mercies strews below;
Who in life's narrow garden-strip
Has bid delights unnumbered blow.
Has bid delights unnumbered blow.
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ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
'Mid sterner losses let us own one gain—An infant this will evermore remain:
Those other, should they reach life's longer date,
In them the coming will obliterate
The past; and we shall what they were forget,
Our eyes upon their later semblance set;
But this remaineth an eternal child.
Might sorrow for a little be beguiled
Even with this thought a soothing fancy brings!
Her image has escaped the flux of things,
And that same infant beauty which she wore
Is fixed upon her now for evermore—
The everlasting garment fresh and new
Which in our eyes will ever her endue;
Which she will not put off, as the others must,
For garments soilëd more with this world's dust:
As though a bud should be a bud for ever,
A crystal rill ne'er swell to turbid river;
As though on aught most fleeting and most fair,
On roseate tints which clouds of evening wear,
We might lay hands, and fix them ever there.
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A JEWISH APOLOGUE.
Up and down his gardens paced a King,
In the glorious season of the spring.
In the glorious season of the spring.
Lovely flowrets there by him were seen
In their earliest bud and blossoming.
In their earliest bud and blossoming.
How should he those lovely flowrets pull,
Half whose glory lay a hidden thing?
Half whose glory lay a hidden thing?
When a few short days were gone, again
Visited his garden-plots the King:
Visited his garden-plots the King:
And those flowers, so dewy, fresh, and fair,
Brighter than the brightest insect's wing,
Brighter than the brightest insect's wing,
Each was hanging now a drooping head,
Each lay now a wan discoloured thing;
Each lay now a wan discoloured thing;
And he thought, Their scent and sweetness I
Had rejoiced in, earlier gathering.
Had rejoiced in, earlier gathering.
So when in his gardens of delight
Did that Monarch pace another spring,
Did that Monarch pace another spring,
And the folded buds again admired,
That did round them fragrant odour fling,
That did round them fragrant odour fling,
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He with timely hand prevented now
The sad season of their withering,
The sad season of their withering,
Culled them in the glory of their prime,
Ere their fresh delight had taken wing,
Ere their fresh delight had taken wing,
Culled the young and beautiful, and laid
In his bosom gently, home to bring.
In his bosom gently, home to bring.
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ON REVISITING THE SEINE.
Ye are the same, ye meadows and green banks,
And pastures level to the river's edge;
Ye shores with poplar fringed in graceful ranks,
And towns that nestle under rocky ledge;
And pastures level to the river's edge;
Ye shores with poplar fringed in graceful ranks,
And towns that nestle under rocky ledge;
Ye island-spots of greenery, fast embraced
By the dividing arms of this fair stream,
Which, parting for a moment, meet in haste,
And then in breadths of lake-like beauty gleam.
By the dividing arms of this fair stream,
Which, parting for a moment, meet in haste,
And then in breadths of lake-like beauty gleam.
The quiet cattle, feeding quietly,
They seem the very same I saw of yore;
And the same picture lives upon mine eye,
Methinks, that lived upon mine eye before.
They seem the very same I saw of yore;
And the same picture lives upon mine eye,
Methinks, that lived upon mine eye before.
Fair were ye, seen of old; ye now are fair,
As ye were then: and not a change appears,
Unless that all doth stranger beauty wear,
This time beholden through a mist of tears.
As ye were then: and not a change appears,
Unless that all doth stranger beauty wear,
This time beholden through a mist of tears.
For oh! ye streams, ye meadows, and ye hills,
To which there cometh no mutation nigh,
Dim trouble at your sight my bosom fills,
You looking at me with this changeless eye.
To which there cometh no mutation nigh,
Dim trouble at your sight my bosom fills,
You looking at me with this changeless eye.
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It troubles me that ye, unfeeling things,
Should be exempted from our tears and fears,
While we—the lords of nature and its kings—
Servile remain to all the changeful years.
Should be exempted from our tears and fears,
While we—the lords of nature and its kings—
Servile remain to all the changeful years.
On this swift-sliding stream I sail once more,
Whose beauty brings unutterable pain;
For ye who saw with me this sight before,
Three were ye—but, oh! where are now the twain?
Whose beauty brings unutterable pain;
For ye who saw with me this sight before,
Three were ye—but, oh! where are now the twain?
Ye are not here—the floods, the hills are here,
They look on me with their unaltered eye;
Dowered with a strength eternal they appear,
And we like weak wan phantoms flitting by.
They look on me with their unaltered eye;
Dowered with a strength eternal they appear,
And we like weak wan phantoms flitting by.
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[This winter eve how soft! how mild!]
This winter eve how soft! how mild!
How calm the earth! how calm the sea!
The earth is like a weary child,
And ocean chants its lullaby.
How calm the earth! how calm the sea!
The earth is like a weary child,
And ocean chants its lullaby.
A little murmur in mine ear!
A little ripple at my feet!
They only make the silence here,
Which they disturb not, more complete
A little ripple at my feet!
They only make the silence here,
Which they disturb not, more complete
I wander on the sands apart;
I watch the sun, world-wearied, sink
Into his grave:—with tranquil heart
Upon the loved and lost I think.
I watch the sun, world-wearied, sink
Into his grave:—with tranquil heart
Upon the loved and lost I think.
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TO ---
Dear sister, thou hast wandered forth with me,
From patient vigils needed now no more,
A watcher most unwillingly set free
From love's long service, which at last is o'er,—
From patient vigils needed now no more,
A watcher most unwillingly set free
From love's long service, which at last is o'er,—
From chambers, where the candles of the night
Far into day, unquenched, unheeded, burn,
While unregarded comes the dreary light,
The unnoted breaking of the dreary morn—
Far into day, unquenched, unheeded, burn,
While unregarded comes the dreary light,
The unnoted breaking of the dreary morn—
Who hast come forth to let the breeze of May
Blow on thy cheek amid another scene,
Fair sights have we beholden day by day,
While on this Norman soil our feet have been.
Blow on thy cheek amid another scene,
Fair sights have we beholden day by day,
While on this Norman soil our feet have been.
'Mid clustering shafts and pinnacles and towers
Of many a tall cathedral have we stood,
Have sailed up lovely streams for pleasant hours,
And there and there have found our spirits' food.
Of many a tall cathedral have we stood,
Have sailed up lovely streams for pleasant hours,
And there and there have found our spirits' food.
Yet still this thought would in our hearts arise,
When aught of rarer beauty met our sight,
This thought of sadness,—they are shut, those eyes
To which this vision had brought keen delight;
When aught of rarer beauty met our sight,
This thought of sadness,—they are shut, those eyes
To which this vision had brought keen delight;
250
To which all lovely things were welcome still,
As footprints of a Beauty whither turned
Her spirit alway; and of which her fill
To drink for ever, fervently she yearned.
As footprints of a Beauty whither turned
Her spirit alway; and of which her fill
To drink for ever, fervently she yearned.
This was our grief; be it our joy as well,—
That they are closed and she no longer sees
Our glimpses faint which of that Beauty tell,
To open on the eternal fount of these.
That they are closed and she no longer sees
Our glimpses faint which of that Beauty tell,
To open on the eternal fount of these.
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[O friend, it seems when first our lives begin]
O friend, it seems when first our lives begin,
When we, fresh mariners, first hoist the sail,
On favouring seas by favouring breezes borne,
As though the bark of our felicity
Could never be ornately trimmed enough,
Nor be enough full-freighted with delights;
As though each thing we wanted were a wrong
Done to us ;—so we loosen from the land.
But what another lesson will anon
Be learnëd, and of them who claimed so much,
Deeming it all too little for their needs,
Some will be thankful if one broken plank
Of all their tempest-shattered bark remain,
Bearing them up above the salt-sea foam
Of this world's infelicity to shore.
But that dream vanishing, other dreams succeed;
And when upon the shoals or rocks of life
Some shipwreck we have suffered, we would bide,
Singing sad dirges o'er our sunken wealth
For ever. Oh, but life is strong! and still
Bears with its currents onward us who fain
Would linger where our treasures have gone down,
Though but to mark the ripple on the wave,
The small disturbing eddies that betray
The place of shipwreck: life is strong, and still
Bears onward to new tasks and sorrows new,
Whether we will or no. Life bears us on;
And yet not so, but that there may survive
Something to us; sweet odours reach us yet,
Brought sweetly from the fields long left behind
Of holy joy, or sorrow holier still:
As I remember when, long years ago,
With the companions of my youth, I rode
'Mid Sicily's holm oaks and pastoral dells
All in the flowery spring, through fields of thyme,
Fields of all flowers,—no lovelier Enna knew,—
There came to us long after, blown from these,
Rich odours that pursued us many a mile,
Embalming all the air:—so rode we on,
Though we had changed our verdant meadow-paths
For steep rough tracks up dusty river-beds,
Yet haunted by that odorous fragrance still.
When we, fresh mariners, first hoist the sail,
On favouring seas by favouring breezes borne,
As though the bark of our felicity
Could never be ornately trimmed enough,
Nor be enough full-freighted with delights;
As though each thing we wanted were a wrong
Done to us ;—so we loosen from the land.
But what another lesson will anon
Be learnëd, and of them who claimed so much,
Deeming it all too little for their needs,
Some will be thankful if one broken plank
Of all their tempest-shattered bark remain,
Bearing them up above the salt-sea foam
Of this world's infelicity to shore.
But that dream vanishing, other dreams succeed;
And when upon the shoals or rocks of life
Some shipwreck we have suffered, we would bide,
Singing sad dirges o'er our sunken wealth
For ever. Oh, but life is strong! and still
Bears with its currents onward us who fain
Would linger where our treasures have gone down,
Though but to mark the ripple on the wave,
The small disturbing eddies that betray
The place of shipwreck: life is strong, and still
Bears onward to new tasks and sorrows new,
252
And yet not so, but that there may survive
Something to us; sweet odours reach us yet,
Brought sweetly from the fields long left behind
Of holy joy, or sorrow holier still:
As I remember when, long years ago,
With the companions of my youth, I rode
'Mid Sicily's holm oaks and pastoral dells
All in the flowery spring, through fields of thyme,
Fields of all flowers,—no lovelier Enna knew,—
There came to us long after, blown from these,
Rich odours that pursued us many a mile,
Embalming all the air:—so rode we on,
Though we had changed our verdant meadow-paths
For steep rough tracks up dusty river-beds,
Yet haunted by that odorous fragrance still.
Then let us be content in spirit, though
We cannot walk, as we are fain to do,
Within the solemn shadow of our griefs
For ever; but must needs come down again
From the bright skirts of those protecting clouds,
To tread the common paths of earth anew.
Then let us be content to leave behind us
So much; which yet we leave not quite behind;
For the bright memories of the holy dead,
The blessëd ones departed, shine on us
Like the pure splendours of some clear large star,
Which pilgrims, travelling onward, at their backs
Leave, and at every moment see not now;
Yet, whensoe'er they list, may pause and turn,
And with its glories gild their faces still:
Or as beneath a northern sky is seen
The sunken sunset glowing in the west,
A tender radiance there surviving long,
Which has not faded all away, before
The flaming banners of the morn advance
Over the summits of the orient hills.
We cannot walk, as we are fain to do,
Within the solemn shadow of our griefs
For ever; but must needs come down again
From the bright skirts of those protecting clouds,
To tread the common paths of earth anew.
Then let us be content to leave behind us
So much; which yet we leave not quite behind;
For the bright memories of the holy dead,
The blessëd ones departed, shine on us
Like the pure splendours of some clear large star,
Which pilgrims, travelling onward, at their backs
Leave, and at every moment see not now;
Yet, whensoe'er they list, may pause and turn,
And with its glories gild their faces still:
Or as beneath a northern sky is seen
The sunken sunset glowing in the west,
253
Which has not faded all away, before
The flaming banners of the morn advance
Over the summits of the orient hills.
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