Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

No sign, in earth or sky,
Proclaim'd that Spring was night,—
Nor genial warmth, nor mild, refreshing showers;
But winter's hoar-frost lay,
At break and close of day,
On fields which should have blazed with vernal flowers;
And stars of frosty splendour, clear and bright,
Kept watch in April skies as through December's night.

II

Through bare and leafless trees
The keen, cold Eastern breeze
Shrill'd as it swept;—no aromatic gale,
Wafting to Western sense
Luxurious bliss intense
Of perfume which Arabian blooms exhale;
But chill and wintry as the gust which raves
O'er Scythia's ice-bound rocks, through bleak Siberian caves.

III

Beneath that withering blast
As o'er our land it pass'd,
Nature lay bound, as by an hideous spell;
Her deep maternal womb
Inclosed, as in a tomb,
The life which vainly strove to burst its shell;

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The sun his procreative power forgot, [not.
And kiss'd the earth with rays which cheer'd but quicken'd

IV

Then seem'd some strange divorce
Launch'd with dissevering force,
To break the nuptial bond of Earth and Heaven;
And, like some wife abhorr'd
Of her offended lord,
Who leads her life alone and unforgiven,
Earth, with an evil and unnatural eye,
Scowl'd on her born, and curs'd her unborn progeny.

V

Verdure had left the grass,—
The skies above were brass,
The soil in dust arose beneath the tread;
Below his reedy bank
The streamless river shrank,
As when late summer droughts lay bare his bed.
Nor human life, nor bestial might endure,
Unharm'd the laggard year's so long distemperature.

VI

But from the juiceless mead
The lean and hungry steed
Cropp'd his scant meal;—the melancholy kine,
In dull and languid mood,
For their expected food
Withheld, in silent suffering seem'd to pine;
The mated birds cower'd close within the nest,
No insect of the Spring display'd his broider'd vest.

VII

And still, as weeks wore past,
The Farmer stood aghast

236

To mark his wasting stock;—around a fire
As of the Christmas hearth—
Not now in Christmas mirth—
Crowded at evening, mother, child, and sire;
Thence watched the sunset of the vernal skies,
And saw the long day close, the clear, cold stars arise.

VIII

Stricken was human life,
And strange diseases rife;—
O! when, long-look'd-for Spring, wilt thou appear?
When shall thy fresh rains fall—
Thy sunshine disenthrall
From frost and fog this tainted atmosphere?
When from this trance, wherein spell-bound it lies,
Shall Nature's dormant life, by thee regenerate, rise?

IX

Thus, from its depths profound,
With inarticulate sound
Of murmur'd prayer, or mute, impatient sigh,
Man's spirit made its moan,—
All creatures seem'd to groan
And travail for release which none felt nigh;
But each in dumb, expectant anguish lay,
Till heaven's mild face restored should smile its pangs away.

X

At length—a welcome guest—
From out the sweet South-west,
Breathing faint perfume, and from dewy wing
Dispensing balmy showers
On grass and trees and flowers,
A breeze came forth,—the Spirit of the Spring;
Whereby all Nature, to her centre stirr'd,
The well-known influence felt, the well-known music heard.

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XI

A deep, heart-lightening throb—
A stifled sigh—a sob
Of pleasure, too profound to be repress'd,
Thrill'd through the soul of earth,—
The heavens, in tearful mirth
Of trickling rains, their sympathy confess'd;
A spell was broken, whose incumbent weight
Had press'd all living things and things inanimate.

XII

And though not yet the skies
Discharge their full supplies,
Nor empty quite their half-inverted urn,—
And oft, at morn and night,
Chill frosts untimely bite,
And bleak, inclement winds by day return,—
Nature no longer droops, but lifts to Heaven
A calm, expectant eye, like one who feels forgiven.

XIII

Now hearts expand with joy,—
Maid, matron, man and boy
With smiles and songs pursue their work or play;
Insect, and bird, and brute,
Plant, flower, and blossom'd fruit
Inhale at last the genuine breath of May;
And every hour do water, air and earth
To countless shoals and swarms of blissful life give birth.

XIV

Here let the spirit pause;—
Hence to the Great First Cause
Of all created good—all life—all bliss—
Uplift adoring thought,—
By things external taught
The mysteries of a mightier world than this;—

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That unseen world within us, yet beyond,
Whereto doth Nature's course obscurely correspond.

XV

Hath not the heart of man,
Within its separate span,
Seed-time and harvest—cold or genial spring,—
Summer and autumn heat,
And winter frost and sleet,—
All good and ill which varying seasons bring?
Yearneth it not for heavenly warmth and light,
When streams of grace run dry, and mists of error blight?

XVI

And when, from realms above,
Warm rays of truth and love
The frost of Nature's wintry season melt,
And Heaven's resistless breath
Hath burst that trance of death
In which the spell-bound soul nor moved nor felt,—
And fertilizing rains of grace descend,
And light and genial heat commingled influence blend,—

XVII

Then doth the new-born soul,
Set free from sin's controul,
Blossom and bourgeon in celestial spring;
Then from the teeming heart
Divine affections start, [wing:
And heavenward thoughts, like new-fledged birds, take
Light to the spirit's inmost depths hath shone,—
Its summer is at hand, its winter past and gone.

XVIII

Such fruit of wish'd-for May
The Church doth now display,

239

Who late, a mourner lone, afflictive Lent
Kept with despondent cheer,
And frequent sigh and tear,
Wailing her absent Lord in low lament;
And when the bars of his sepulchral prison
He brake, could scarce believe that He indeed was risen.

XIX

And still, while He on earth
Consoled her spirit's dearth,
Or e'er the promised Comforter was given,—
Uncheer'd her bitter cup
She drain'd, till He went up
To claim his throne at God's right hand in Heaven:
Nor yet had dawn'd her Pentecostal morn,
But still she wail'd and wept in widow'd state forlorn.

XX

But hark! her ear at last
Hath caught the rising blast
As of a rushing mighty whirlwind's sound;—
Around her brows a tiar,
Begemm'd with tongues of fire,
Circles and shines:—The King his Bride hath crown'd.
Conduct her, virgins, to her throne of state;
The Queen her realm hath won,—the widow'd found her Mate.

XXI

Now spread the nuptial board,
And be rich offerings pour'd,
In liberal joy, at Bride and Bridegroom's feet
All loyal hearts dispense
Ambrosial frankincense
Of prayer and praise, while, in profusion meet,
Silver and gold are to the Temple given,
To grace the marriage feast of Earth redeem'd and Heaven.

240

XXII

Father! to thee we pray,
Inspire our hearts to-day
With faith unfeign'd and heavenly love sincere;
And seal this fane thine own,
Whose first foundation-stone
We lay with solemn pomp of ritual here:
First step of one tall ladder which shall rise,
For men's and angels' tread, between the earth and skies.

XXIII

O! if this sacred spot
Thy presence hallow not,—
If on this work thy Spirit be not shed,—
Around it and beside
Will circle far, and wide,
A populous waste,—a city of the dead,—
A realm of souls shut out from heavenly light,
Born but at Mammon's beck to toil from morn till night.

XXIV

Lo! from the vale beneath
Floats up a sulphurous wreath
Of vapour from the furnace and the flood,
Whose gnomes their strength combine
With genii of the mine,
To compass feats too vast for flesh and blood:—
Swart giants, whose joint ministry alone
Can work the will of wealth which hath all bounds outgrown.

XXV

And from that point expand,
As by Enchanter's wand
From the deep bowels of the earth call'd forth,
Vast piles, in many a range,
Of form uncouth and strange,
Far stretching East and West, and South and North;

241

Within whose spacious courts the Titan, Steam,
O'er hordes of human vassals holds his state supreme.

XXVI

There their colossal might
Conflicting powers unite;
Water and flame;—there iron, wing'd with gold,
In swift, impetuous race,
Contends with time and space;
There human nerve and bone are bought and sold;
And human souls their high ethereal birth
Forget in drudgery vile, all earthy and of earth.

XXVII

Not vain the lesson taught
To calm discerning thought
By that grim region, in its might display'd;
A type of science throned,
And nobler lore disown'd,—
Of thought laid prostrate at the feet of trade;—
Of low and sensual aims pursued with zeal,
Which none, in this late age, for mind's true glories feel.

XXVIII

There sits the Ocean Queen,
As in a mirror seen,
In pride full blown of her commercial state;
Potent to wield at will,
Alike for good and ill,
All powers that on the beck of Mammon wait;
With luxuries rich and costly compass'd round,
Deck'd with all gorgeous gems in earth's wide circle found.

XXIX

Beneath the cope of Heaven,
To Her all power is given

242

O'er brute mechanic forces;—wind and wave,
Tamed by her strong controul,
Transport from pole to pole
Her priceless freights:—the lightning is her slave,
And bears her queenly mandates to and fro,
And at her high behest doth meekly come and go.

XXX

To swell her peerless might
Shrewdness and force unite;
Counsel to plan, and energy to will;
Calm forethought, prudence cool,
Strength train'd in freedom's school,
And valour, by experience lesson'd still:
All worlds might she subdue in easy strife,
Were meat and raiment more than body and than life.

XXXI

But Truth Supreme says—No!
Earth was not moulded so,—
Not so of old were Heaven's foundations laid,
That skill and strength of men,
As from a Cyclop's den,
Should bind in fetters, which their toil hath made,
The everlasting course of things create,
And reign, with iron will, o'er all the realm of Fate.

XXXII

The powers that chain the wind,
The lightning's pinions bind,
Yoke fire and flood to their triumphal car,—
Are but the servile thrall
Of Mind enthroned o'er all,
And Mind, in turn, a weak and wavering star,
Itself opaque, dispensing but a beam
Reflected from the sun of heavenly truth supreme.

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XXXIII

And where that beam is veil'd,
Or its pure light hath fail'd,
In vain the forge-fires glow—the anvils ring;
In vain the Cyclop's crew
With stroke and shout renew
The task exacted by their grisly king:
Nought will their strength produce, by all its toil,
But anarchy and wrong and mischief's mad turmoil.

XXXIV

Meanwhile unheard, above,
Wisdom and Truth and Love
Discourse celestial music, clear and sweet;
Apollo strikes the lyre,
The Muses' answering choir
Their high accordant harmonies repeat;
Which hush'd Olympus holds its breath to hear,
While dull is Britain's heart, and deaf is Britain's ear.

XXXV

Yet till that heavenly strain
Can touch the heart and brain
Swoln with Earth's pride, and drunk with carnal power,
No might can disenthral
Slaves, doom'd to crouch and crawl,
From sensual bonds which the soul's life devour:
O'er their crush'd strength incumbent Ætna lies,—
Blindly they heave and turn, and strive in vain to rise.

XXXVI

Awake! ye faithful few,
Whose souls, devout and true,
Still hold serene communion with the skies;
Who still, with aim sublime,
Above this grovelling time,
Above these numbing bonds of custom rise;

244

Whom neither lust enslaves, nor avarice blinds,
Nor Duty's trumpet-call unnerved for action finds.

XXXVII

To you, in still retreat,
Or high Devotion's seat,—
To you, amidst your toils of Christian love,—
Far from the din and strife
Of this world's restless life,
Came the strong cry of kindred hearts which strove
In one high cause with you;—that cry ye heard,
And to your spirit's depths were by its summons stirr'd.

XXXVIII

And lo! with one accord,
To Heaven's eternal Lord
Our joint fraternal gift we bring to-day;
And hopefully combine,
Of His intended shrine
The strong and sure foundation-stone to lay;
Whereto shall streams of Christian pilgrims flow,
While Mammon's shapeless pile attracts its crowds below.

XXXIX

That shapeless pile to rear,
Pours in from far and near,
Exhaustless gold;—well loves the world its own,
And grudges not to gild
The fane its children build
To their blind god, or deck his gaudy throne.
Meanwhile, with slow laborious toil, we wring,
From few but Christian hearts, what here to Heaven we bring.

XL

Yet with no niggard thrift
Dishonour we the gift,

245

But, strong in faith, our costly work begin;
Though circling years should flee,
And still our children see
The maim'd, imperfect pile rebuke their sin;
And still, below, the trains should thunder by,
Nor spire, discern'd from far, delight the traveller's eye.

XLI

Deep buried in the tomb
Of the veil'd Future's womb
Leave we such thoughts;—the present time is ours;
And, ere its sand be run,
Must we the work have done
Allotted to its few and fleeting hours.
Let zeal complete what faith and hope have plann'd,
For lo! the night when no man worketh is at hand.

XLII

Stake out the appointed ground,
And closely fence it round;
Dig the foundation deep; securely lay,
Within the green earth's breast,
The stones whereon must rest
The ponderous pile which we commence to-day;—
That work may prophets and apostles own,
And Jesus Christ Himself be the chief Corner Stone!

XLIII

Here shall, in after days,
The chaunt of prayer and praise
To Heaven's high throne in choral anthems mount;
Here on the good and true
Descend celestial dew
From the pure depths of Love's exhaustless fount;
Here shall the bread of life the hungry feed,—
Here in the faithful heart be sown the heavenly seed.

246

XLIV

Here, where of late the flowers,
Refresh'd by vernal showers,
Spread their gay petals to the fostering sun,
Ere long more heavenly rain
Shall wash ancestral stain
From that unconscious life scarce yet begun;
While Christian parents their full hearts uplift
To Him who, then and there, confirms his promis'd gift.

XLV

And where the hawthorn hedge
Now skirts the Eastern edge
Of the allotted ground, the altar rail
That mystic space shall fence
Whence holy hands dispense
The heavenly manna which shall never fail.
There shall pure hearts their present Lord adore,
And with His flesh and blood their fainting strength restore.

XLVI

And there their plighted troth
Shall bride and bridegroom both
With God's own sanction ratify and seal;
There learn that earthly love
Hath its deep springs above,
As, side by side, before their Lord they kneel;
A holier love, profounder and more true
Than e'er ascetic monk or cloister'd abbess knew.

XLVII

Nor pass we lightly by,
With heedless heart and eye,
The spot whereon hereafter shall be read
The pure and living word,
By saint or sinner heard,
With joy or grief, with hope or anxious dread;

247

Nor that, wherefrom the preacher's voice shall fall
On light or serious hearts, with stern or gentle call.

XLVIII

No vague, uncertain sound
Within these walls confound
The wandering mind, nor cheat the listening ear!
No thoughts, which wildly range
Thro' ways perplex'd and strange,
Bewilder him who speaks and those who hear!
No brain infect with pestilential lies,
Here weave its flimsy web of tangled sophistries!

XLIX

No fancies quaint and vain,
Engender'd in the brain
Of weak, fantastic, ceremonial priest
The simple rites disguise,
By hearts devout and wise
Bequeath'd of men, whose martyr faith releas'd
The captive Church from Rome's corroding chain,
And gave to human thought its liberty again!

L

Nor ever trace be found,
On this devoted ground,
Of priestcraft upon mental thraldom built;
Nor impious pride invade
His office who hath made
Atonement, once for all, for human guilt;
Nor dare dissever, with usurp'd controul,
From His immediate grace the bruised and bleeding soul.

LI

Better such arts become
Yon genuine brood of Rome,
Who prowl and prey with secret, stealthy tread;
In life's last hour molest

248

The heart in Christ at rest,
And swoop, like vultures, on the dying bed;
Perplex the parting soul with bigot lies,
And mock the failing sense with antic juggleries.

LII

Far other task be theirs,
Whom, with consenting prayers,
Hereafter on this spot the Church shall hear
Unfold the Scripture sense,
And faithfully dispense
The bread of life to hungry heart and ear;—
No priestly caste, a priestly rule who bear,
But stewards of Christ's grace, dispensing all they share.

LIII

No grim ascetic here,
With monkish rule austere,
Its social nature from man's heart expel!
No votaress, sad and pale,
Assume the shroud-like veil,
Nor pine unpitied in her prison cell!
No false, exclusive sanctity the grace
Blaspheme, by Christ bestow'd on all our human race!

LIV

But household virtues sweet,
And chaste affections meet
Within this House, and build their homes around!
Here pairs their love refresh,
Whom God hath made one flesh!
Here child and parent, side by side, be found!
Till each domestic hearth a type display
Of that last glorious Church to crown Earth's latter day.

LV

But ere that dawn appear,
Dark times of grief and fear

249

And dire convulsion in the world must be;
Plagues, famines, earthquakes, wars,
In sun and moon and stars
Signs of Heaven's wrath, and earth in anarchy;
While Christian hearts, expectant, to the sky
Look up, and know that their redemption draweth nigh.

LVI

Perchance even now a sound,
As from Hell's depths profound,
The ear may catch, like thunder heard from far;
Even now a lurid cloud
The horizon doth enshroud,
Big with pent storm and elemental war;
And earth hath signs of fear and blind distress,—
But we in patience still, forewarn'd, our souls possess.

LVII

Whatever Time may breed,
In faith we sow our seed,—
In faith upon the waters cast our bread;
In faith this fortress raise,
To guard, in after days,
Our children's souls when we are with the dead,
And o'er this turf, to-day so fresh and green,
Shall many a scatter'd tomb which hides our dust be seen.

LVIII

Ours be the toil and cost!
Nor shall their aim be lost;
The end and issue, doubt not, He will bless,
Who through the course of time
Evolves, in growth sublime,
New Heavens and Earth,—the Realm of Righteousness.
Brothers, our task is done—our offering made;—
Wend home with thankful hearts,—the corner stone is laid.

On Laying the First Stone of the Church of the Holy Trinity, Rugby.