University of Virginia Library

To-day a chief was buried—let him rest.
His country's bards are up like larks, and fill
With singing the wide heavens of his fame.
To-night I sit within my lonely room,
The atmosphere is full of misty rain,
Wretched the earth and heaven. Yesterday
The streets and squares were choked with yellow fogs,
To-morrow we may all be drenched in sleet!
Stretched like a homeless beggar on the ground,
The city sleeps amid the misty rain.
Though Rain hath pitched his tent above my head,
'Tis but a speck upon the happy world.
Since I've begun to trace these lines, Sunrise
Has struck a land and woke its bleating hills:
Afar upon some black and silent moor
The crystal stars are shaking in the wind;
An ocean gurgles, for the stooping moon
Hath kissed him into peace, and now she smooths
The well-pleased monster with her silver hand.
Come, naked, gleaming Spring! great crowds of larks
Fluttering above thy head, thy happy ears
Loud with their ringing songs, Bright Saviour, come!
And kill old Winter with thy glorious look,
And turn his corse to flowers!

I sit to-night
As dreary as the pale, deserted East,
That sees the Sun, the Sun that once was hers,
Forgetful of her, flattering his new love,
The happy-blushing West. In these long streets
Of traffic and of noise, the human hearts
Are hard and loveless as a wreck-strewn coast.
Eternity doth wear upon her face
The veil of Time. They only see the veil,
And thus they know not what they stand so near.
Oh, rich in gold! Beggars in heart and soul!
Poor as the empty void! Why, even I,
Sitting in this bare chamber with my thoughts,
Am richer than ye all, despite your bales,
Your streets of warehouses, your mighty mills,
Each booming like a world faint heard in space:
Your ships; unwilling fires, that day and night
Writhe in your service seven years, then die
Without one taste of peace. Do ye believe
A simple primrose on a grassy bank
Forth-peeping to the sun, a wild bird's nest,
The great orb dying in a ring of clouds,
Like hoary Jacob 'mong his waiting sons;
The rising moon, and the young stars of God,
Are things to love? With these my soul is brimmed;
With a diviner and serener joy
Than all thy heaven of money-bags can bring
Thy dry heart, Worldling!

The terror-stricken rain
Flings itself wildly on the window-panes,
Imploring shelter from the chasing wind.
Alas! to-night in this wide waste of streets
It beats on human limbs as well as walls!
God led Eve forth into the empty world
From Paradise. Could our great Mother come
And see her children now, what sight were worst;
A worker woke by cruel Day, the while
A kind dream feeds with sweetest phantom-bread,
Him, and his famished ones; or when the wind,
With shuddering fingers, draws the veil of smoke,
And scares her with a battle's bleeding face?

Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time
Is England. England! Oh, I know a tale
Of those far summers when she lay in the sun,
Listening to her own larks, with growing limbs,
And mighty hands, which since have tamed the world,
Dreaming about their tasks. This dreary night
I'll tell the story to my listening heart.
I sang 't to thee, O unforgotten Friend!
(Who dwellest now on breezy English downs,
While I am drowning in the hateful smoke)
Beside the river which I long have loved.
O happy Days! O happy, happy Past!
O Friend! I am a lone benighted ship;
Before me hangs the vast untravelled gloom,
Behind, a wake of splendour, fading fast
Into the hungry gloom from whence it came.

Two days the Lady gazed toward the west,
The way that he had gone; and when the third
From its high noon sloped to a rosy close,
Upon the western margin of the isle,
Feeding her petted swans by tossing bread
Among the clumps of water-lilies white,
She stood. The fond Day pressed against her face;
His am'rous, airy fingers, with her robe
Fluttered and played, and trembling, touched her throat,
And toying with her ringlets, could have died
Upon her sweet lips and her happy cheeks!
With a long rippling sigh she turned away,
And wished the sun was underneath the hills.
Anon she sang; and ignorant Solitude,
Astonished at the marvel of her voice,
Stood tranced and mute as savage at the door
Of rich cathedral when the organ rolls,
And all the answering choirs awake at once.
Then she sat down and thought upon her love;
Fed on the various wonders of his face
To make his absence rich. “'Tis but three days
Since he went from me in his light canoe,
And all the world went with him, and to-night
He will be back again. Oh, when he comes,
And when my head is laid upon his breast,
And in the pauses of the sweetest storm
Of kisses that e'er beat upon a face,
I'll tell him how I've pined, and sighed, and wept,
And thought of those sweet days and nights that flew
O'er us unheeded as a string of swans,
That wavers down the sky toward the sea,—
And he will chide me into blissful tears,
Then kiss the tears away.” Quick leapt she up,
“He comes! he comes!” She laughed, and clapt her hands,
A light canoe came dancing o'er the lake,
And he within it gave a cry of joy.
She sent an answer back that drew him on.
The swans are scared,—the lilies rippled—now
Her happy face is hidden in his breast,
And words are lost in joy. “My Bertha! let
Me see myself again in those dear orbs.
Have you been lonely, love?” She raised her head,
“You surely will not leave me so again!
I'll grow as pale's the moon, and my praised cheeks
Will be as wet as April's if you do.”
As when the moon hath sleeked the blissful sea,
A light wind wrinkles it and passes off,
So ran a transient trouble o'er his face.
“My Bertha! we must leave this isle to-night.
Thy shining face is blanked! We will return
Ere thrice the day, like a great bird of light
Flees 'cross the dark, and hides it with his wings.”
“Ah, wherefore?” “Listen, I will tell you why.

“I stood afar upon the grassy hills,
I saw the country with its golden slopes,
And woods, and streams, run down to meet the sea.
I saw the basking ocean skinned with light.
I saw the surf upon the distant sands
Silent and white as snow. Above my head
A lark was singing, 'neath a sunny cloud,
Around the playing winds. As I went down
There seemed a special wonder on the shore,
Low murmuring crowds around a temple stood:
There was a wildered music on the air,
Which came and went, yet ever nearer grew,
When, lo! a train came upward from the sea
With snowy garments, and with reverend steps,
Full in their front a silver cross they bore,
And this sweet hymn they strewed along the winds.

‘Blest be this sunny morning, sweet and fair!
Blest be the people of this pleasant land!
Ye unseen larks that sing a mile in air,
Ye waving forests, waving green and grand,
Ye waves, that dance upon the flashing strand,
Ye children golden-haired! we bring, we bring
A gospel hallowing.’
Then one stood forth and spoke against the gods;
He called them ‘cruel gods,’ and then he said,
‘We have a Father, One who dwells serene,
'Bove thunder and the stars, Whose eye is mild,
And ever open as the summer sky;
Who cares for everything on earth alike,
Who hears the plovers crying in the wind,
The happy linnets singing in the broom,
Whose smile is sunshine.’ When the old man ceased,
Forth from the murmuring crowd there stepped a youth,
As bright-haired as a star, and cried aloud,
‘Friends! I've grown up among the wilds, and found
Each outward form is but a window whence
Terror or Beauty looks. Beauty I've seen
In the sweet eyes of flowers, along the streams,
And in the cold and crystal wells that sleep
Far in the murmur of the summer woods;
Terror in fire and thunder, in the worn
And haggard faces of the winter clouds,
In shuddering winds, and oft on moonless nights
I've heard it in the white and wailing fringe
That runs along the coast from end to end.
The mountains brooded on some wondrous thought
Which they would ne'er reveal. I seemed to stand
Outside of all things; my desire to know
Grew wild and eager as a starving wolf.
To gain the secret of the awful world,
I knelt before the gods, and then held up
My heart to them in the pure arms of prayer—
They gave no answer, or had none to give.
Friends! I will test these sour and sullen gods:
If they are weak, 'tis well, we then may list
Unto the strangers; but if my affront
Draw angry fire, I shall be slain by gods,
And Death may have no secrets. A spear! a steed!’
A steed was brought by trembling hands, he sprang
And dashed towards the temple with a cry.
A shudder ran through all the pallid crowds.
I saw him enter, and my sight grew dim,
And on a long-suspended breath I stood,
Till one might count a hundred beats of heart:
Then he rode slowly forth, and, wondrous strange!
Although an awful gleam lay on his face,
His charger's limbs were drenched with terror-sweat.
Amid the anxious silence loud he cried,
‘Gods, marvellously meek! Why, any child
May pluck them by the beard, spit in their face,
Or smite them on the mouth; they can do nought,
But sit like poor old foolish men, and moan.
I flung my spear.’—Here, as a singing rill
Is in the mighty noise of ocean drowned,
His voice was swallowed in the shout that rose,
And touched the heavens, ran along the hills,
Thence came an after silence, strange and dim.

A voice rose 'mong the strangers like a lark,
And warbled out its joy, then died away.
And the old man that spoke before went on,
And, oh! the gentle music of his voice
Stirred through my heart-strings like a wind through reeds.
He said, ‘It was God's hand that shaped the world
And laid it in the sunbeams:’ and that ‘God,
With His great presence fills the universe.
That, could we dwell like night among the stars,
Or plunge with whales in the unsounded sea,
He still would be around us with His care.’
And also, ‘That, as flowers come back in Spring,
We would live after Death.’ I heard no more.
I thought of thee in this delightful isle,
Pure as a prayer, and wished that I had wings
To tell you swiftly, that the death we feared
Was but a grey eve 'tween two shining days,
That we would love for ever! Then I thought
Our home might be in that transparent star
Which we have often watched from off this verge,
Stand in the dying sunset, large and clear—
The humming world awoke me from my dream.
I saw the old gods tumbled on the grass
Like uncouth stones, they threw the temple wide,
And Summer, with her bright and happy face,
Looked in upon its gloom, and pensive grew.
The while among the tumult of the crowds,
Divinest hymns the white-robed stranger sang.
I wearied for thee, Bertha! and I came.
Wilt go and hear these strangers?” She turned on him
A look of love—a look that richly crowned
A moment heavenly rich, and murmured “Yes.”
He kissed her proudly, while a giddy tear,
Wild with its happiness, ran down her cheek
And perished in the dew. They took their seats.
And as the paddles struck, grey-pinioned Time
Flew through the gates of sunset into Night,
And held through stars to gain the coasts of Morn.

'Tis done! The phantoms of my soul have fled
Into the night, and I am left alone
With that sweet sadness which doth ever dwell
On the brink of tears; I stare i' th' crumbling fire
Which from my brooding eye takes strangest shapes.
The Past is with me, and I scarcely hear
Outside the weeping of the homeless rain.