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47
THE PRODIGAL
When life is young, and all the world seems waiting
To crown the bright prince Self, his bondage done,
The callow eager heart feels no debating,
But takes affection as flowers drink the sun.
To crown the bright prince Self, his bondage done,
The callow eager heart feels no debating,
But takes affection as flowers drink the sun.
A little while, he saith, and men must know me;
A few feet more, and I must reach the light;
The private love these homely bosoms show me
Perchance may lift me into public sight.
A few feet more, and I must reach the light;
The private love these homely bosoms show me
Perchance may lift me into public sight.
But ah! time slowly strips the vain illusion,
And decks the fairy prince in common clothes;
The breathless ages prove a boy's delusion,
And nought so faithless as the Muses' oaths.
And decks the fairy prince in common clothes;
The breathless ages prove a boy's delusion,
And nought so faithless as the Muses' oaths.
When battling hopes that made the fresh pulse martial,
Spring up no more behind the fife and drum,
Success may come, yet cropped and tame and partial,
And joys,—but life has faded ere they come;
Spring up no more behind the fife and drum,
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And joys,—but life has faded ere they come;
Then in that pause, when pride has lost its splendour,
When foiled ambition smiles itself to sleep,
Back rush old thoughts, familiar thoughts and tender,
That slumber'd in the conscience, dumb and deep.
When foiled ambition smiles itself to sleep,
Back rush old thoughts, familiar thoughts and tender,
That slumber'd in the conscience, dumb and deep.
Then all the withered loves that once fell fading,
Stir like long weeds below a tidal sea;
Then all the thankless past returns upbraiding,—
Then all my memory turns in shame to thee.
Stir like long weeds below a tidal sea;
Then all the thankless past returns upbraiding,—
Then all my memory turns in shame to thee.
The trustful bird close to thy window flutters,
The squirrel takes his breakfast from thy hand,
And every accent that thy whisper utters
Thrills the meek subjects of thy garden-land.
The squirrel takes his breakfast from thy hand,
And every accent that thy whisper utters
Thrills the meek subjects of thy garden-land.
Thou hast the crafty voice, the magic fingers
That round the woodland pulse have art to twine,
Yet oft I think, among thy serfs and singers,
The wildest capture was this heart of mine.
That round the woodland pulse have art to twine,
Yet oft I think, among thy serfs and singers,
The wildest capture was this heart of mine.
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Ah! take me home; my pride of pinion broken,
My song untuned, my morning-light decayed!
I bring thee back thine own old love for token
That I am he for whom it toiled and prayed.
My song untuned, my morning-light decayed!
I bring thee back thine own old love for token
That I am he for whom it toiled and prayed.
Undone the toil, and vain the intercession!
But ah! beneath thy fire for my success
There lurked a hungry sense of lost possession
And for my failure thou'lt not love me less.
But ah! beneath thy fire for my success
There lurked a hungry sense of lost possession
And for my failure thou'lt not love me less.
Dear! for my sake the streets will ne'er be lighted;
The Senate never ring with cheers for me!
Open thy garden-gate to one benighted,
And take me safely back to peace and thee.
The Senate never ring with cheers for me!
Open thy garden-gate to one benighted,
And take me safely back to peace and thee.
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