The Poetical Works of George Barlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Spring, risen and light-crowned, touched the slumbering flowers
In deep green bowers:
They bloomed and loved and sang, and praised their King.
“Rise from your rest, O sisters sweet, for soon
It will be June,
The world will need our fragrant comforting!”

So spake the rose;
And from repose
The countless hosts of sister-roses woke.
They filled the air
With fragrance rare,
As morning after summer morning broke.

Then came the violets in their myriads too,
Arrayed in blue,

194

Save some, the tenderest, who were robed in white.
All sang to heaven their song of perfect praise,
And filled the ways
With scent divine by day, though most by night.

Yes, most by night,
For then the light
Of the enchantress moon is over each:
And then you hear,
Low, silver-clear,
The tender murmur of the flowers' soft speech.

Then rose to rose, lily to lily speaks.
Then by the creeks,
Whereover pours a flood of moonlight pale,
Gentle forget-me-not and iris bold,
Blue, streaked with gold,
Converse, and love lifts from their hearts its veil.

“Lo! God is good”—
In the green wood
Thus spake a wild rose to its sister nigh:
“See'st thou up there
Those star-flowers fair?
Those are what roses come to, when they die!

195

“Yes, sister, roses die,—and then they light
The whole wide night;
They change to what men call the ‘stars’ above:
And then for endless ages they shine through
The endless blue,
And thrill the souls of men to dreams of love.

“No blossoms die:
The whole wide sky
Receives, and turns to stars their silvery bloom.
The fields of air
That gleam up there
Receive us, sister, in their azure tomb.

“Just for one little moment here we dream,
And then we gleam
For ever set upon the brow of space:
Aye, then with exultation we shall find
—God is so kind!—
Another and a deathless dwelling-place.

“Here we delight
For one sweet night
One pair of lovers with our breath most sweet:

196

But when we die
We shall supply
Light to a thousand fond hearts when they meet.”

So spake to a sister-flower the pale pink rose,
Like one who knows
The secrets of the stars and of the night.
And then two lovers came, and plucked the rose—
And now it glows
Doubtless amid the stars, and gives man light.

What once was breath
Most sweet, in death
Has been transfigured into higher bloom:
The rose once flowered,
But now is dowered
With light, to gleam across the purple gloom.

Praise, love and praise. This ever was the word
The flower-souls heard:
They caught no distant note of Satan's psalm.
The fragrant wondrous flower-world's vast content
With joy was blent,
And infinite repose, and ceaseless calm.

197

“O sun gold-red,”
The daisy said,
“Thou art so grand, and yet thou copiest me!
My heart of gold
I now behold
In the blue waves, reflected back from thee!”

The violet whispered, as it gazed on high,
“O deep-blue sky,
Thou steal'st my hues. I love thee for the theft!”
The sky laughed out to hear the violet's speech;
Pure love filled each:
“Love,” sang the green ferns in the granite-cleft.

“Love,” sang the sun;
And from his throne
To fill the daisy's heart he sent down rays,
Till it became
One golden flame,
A golden sunflower flashing back his gaze.

And then a lily in the garden-bed,
Lifting her head,
Said to her sister, “Happiness is ours,

198

Indeed. We live but for a little while,
And yet our smile
Is deathless. Yes: the good God loves his flowers.

“In pale sick-rooms
Some lily blooms:
The sufferer's sad eye kindles as it sees
The dainty stem,
White diadem,
And fragrant heart that maddened once the bees.

“Nothing is lost.—We bloom but for a day,
And yet we stay
For ever in the soul that found us fair.
We lift and comfort; we redeem and save:
Yes, even the grave
Grows beautiful, when lilies enter there.

“The ghost-moths white
That flit by night
Around our stalks, and through the grass-blades dry,
Were lilies. Now
From bough to bough
Their white wings carry them. We shall not die!

199

“Nothing can die. All things but shift and grow,
With progress slow:
The lovers we have seen beside us stand
Will grow to angels—as the lilies change
To ghost-moths strange—
And win their gold wings in another land.

“Praise God, who makes
The hills and lakes;
Whose hand can guard whate'er his heart hath given:
The golden air,
The sun up there,
The stars that whisper, ‘We are flowers of heaven.’”

200

II. SONG OF THE RIVERS

I.

With ripples tuned to silver song
Our current foams and leaps along.
On either hand the green reeds close:
We see the brown bee rob the rose.

Upon the hedge its petals gleam:
The red rose closed its eyes to dream.
Into its heart the quick bee goes,
And sucks its sweetness from the rose.

Within our safe strong-timbered locks
The painted shallop sways and rocks:
Beneath our waves the pike darts by,
And all the timorous grey roach fly.

201

The white-sailed ghostly cutters glide
Along our curves and reaches wide:
And now the river-steamer too
Cuts with keen keel the waters blue.

Fleet racing-boats with eager force
Along our current steer their course.
Past piers and London wharfs we flow:
We lap stone walls with ripples slow.

We hear love whispered on the breeze,
And underneath our neighbouring trees.
White hands lean from the boat's bright edge,
And draw up lilies draped with sedge.

The spotted trout flash through the deep,
And up the weir great salmon leap.
The angler's fly says, “If you dare,
Snap at me!” to the dace down there.

Along the stream gold fields of corn
Shine underneath the sun at morn:
And in the afternoon they seem,
Mist-clad, like cornfields in a dream.

202

We, rivers light of heart and gay,
Chant through the whole long summer day;
And, when the harvest moon is up,
We make love to the cowslip cup.

The ragged-robin on our edge
Whispers “Good evening” to the sedge.
The red kine come to cool their feet
In our clear waves in August heat.

The country girls wash clothes, and laugh,
And hollowing hands, our waves they quaff.
A thousand slight things fill the day—
Then, when the sunset fades away,

The yellow moon above our banks
Rises, discerned through tall green ranks
Of rushes on the water-line:
Then one by one the bright stars shine.

All is so lovely in our life:
So free from labour, sorrow, strife.
We thank the God who gave his streams
Their day of toil, their night of dreams.

203

Dreams very tender,—seldom sad.
We watch the eyes of lovers glad:
We hear the maiden's whispered “I
Shall love you, darling, till I die.”

We hear the strong man answer: “Love,
Our love will last till heights above
Receive us. True love cannot die:
It shares the stars' eternity.”

We hear, and we are glad. We float
More buoyantly the lovers' boat.
With tender thoughts we watch it gleam
Adown the darkness of the stream.

II.

The memories of our mountains still
Are with us.—Each was once a rill,
Swift, foaming down some mountain's edge,
And tumbling on from ledge to ledge.

Then large the greatening river grew,
And deeper yet, and yet more blue.
Great towns it passed,—and then began
To carry out the schemes of man.

204

The white-sailed ships pursued their course
Along the river,—used its force.
It floated lilies in past hours,
But now it floated ships for flowers!

Yet, deepening ever in our flow,
As we bear commerce to and fro,
We feel, if youth's first dreams are lost,
The gain is worthy of the cost.

In countries many, mighty and great,
We aid man's tasks, we share man's state;
Where were the glory of the Thames
Without its steamers' iron stems?

What were the grandeur of the Seine,
Unshadowed by the historic fane?
Highly the Seine 'mid rivers ranks,
For Notre Dame is on its banks.

And Westminster's grey stately towers
Are worth the loss of early flowers
That Nuneham flung, or Oxford threw,
From golden fields on waters blue.

205

III.

Thus, deepening onward, carrying ships,
Kissing the air with statelier lips,
Stream after stream must ever tend
On towards its God-appointed end.

The end is grand, the end is sure:
In front, a heaven of waters pure
And vast and stainless waits the stream—
A waste wherein its soul may dream

Dreams kinglier far than dreams that sped
About it in the days long dead;
Old dreams of mountains robed in mist,
Far meadows by the sunlight kissed.

This waits us when our work is done:
A night wherethrough can pierce no sun;
A depth no starlight from the air
Can traverse,—nor can moon gleam there.

This waits us. Deep our souls shall rest
Within the mighty ocean's breast.
Rill, river, stream—We all shall be
Lost in the greatness of the sea.

206

III. SONG OF THE SEA

I.

Bright sunsets come and go
Above my waters' flow:
The gold stars rise and set:
But I am young as yet.

I saw the first star gleam
Above my grey-blue stream:
Before the race of man
I, the great sea, began.

When man's race dies away,
My green waves still will play
Round granite echoing shores
That echo not to oars.

207

God dwells upon his throne,
And I on mine, alone.
Though all things else should die,
We could not,—he and I.

The sun has amorous hours
With golden plains of flowers.
He flashes through the trees:
He gilds the emerald leas.

His are the inland nooks,
The birch-trees, and the brooks:
The orchids, white or pied,
The daisies, golden-eyed.

His are the birds that sing
His praises in the spring:
The larch is his,—the fir,
The rainbow-gossamer.

His is the hazel-copse;
His are the mountain-tops,
And valleys green and sweet
Where flocks in thousands bleat.

208

His heart can find repose
In kissing the red rose.
He fills with love-desire
The newly blossomed briar.

The gemlike humming-bird
Is gladdened at his word.
What birds and flowers love me,
The ever-ravening sea?

Only the sea-weed red
Upon my wild floors spread:
The sea-bird fierce and strong
That loves the billows' song.

Strange, through the murky night,
Glitter my storm-birds white:
My gulls and petrels flit
Above my waste, moonlit.

Moonlit, or lightning-rayed:—
When strong men pale, afraid,
Then all my heart delights,
In the mad winter nights.

209

Sweeter than grass to me
Is tangle of the sea:
The rough brown weed that floats
Among the spars of boats.

Sweeter than fields of corn
The sea-gull's cry forlorn,
As on the wave he rests
Or rises on its crests.

A giant ship is tossed
Upon my waves and lost.
To-night its course is done:
I greet to-morrow's sun.

Or, with a laughing smile,
I greet some coral-isle.
Weary of dripping ghosts,
I kiss its golden coasts.

In depths that were a grave
My crimson sea-fronds wave
Most gently. In a rill
The star-wort is less still!

210

Then, when night sinks again
Upon my boundless plain,
I chase the glimmering ships,
Foam flashing from my lips.

Where all was peace before,
My white-maned lions roar:
The ships' planks part and crack,
And spot their manes with black.

II.

When first God made me, he
Set peace upon the sea.
My waters all were calm,
Like windless isles of palm.

But soon my strength arose;
I sprang up from repose:
And now two giants fight—
God, and the ocean's might.

Daily I gain more strength:
It may be I at length
Shall overwhelm and merge
The whole earth in my surge.

211

God's angels shall despair
When the tornadoes bear
My angels, through the night
Glittering,—my sea-birds white:

Above the dying ship
Fast in the black rock's grip
They hover, and they shine,
These angel-hosts of mine.

Lo! at my mad waves' shriek
Blenches the sailor's cheek.—
To-night is dark. The shore
Will never see him more.

His wife may wake and pray,
And watch the waste of spray:
I thunder to her prayer
One answering word—“Despair.”

212

IV. SONG OF THE STARS

Across the solemn purple plains of night
The starry light
Falls in a million gold and silver rays.
Within the arch of heaven the star-flowers sing:
Yes, these too bring
Their ceaseless tribute of deep love and praise.

God sowed the fields with daisies—so they say:
With many a ray
Of golden light he sowed the heavens on high.
We are the blossoms of the purple air:
We blossom there,
The buttercups and cowslips of the sky.

213

One law pervades our being. We arise
Upon the skies
In sudden fiery light and fervent heat:—
Then grass and herbs upon our surface grow,
And after lo!
The varied countless life we find so sweet.

Some stars are tulips of the deep-blue sky,
And others vie
With snowdrops in their whiteness as they gleam.
There are fierce warrior-hosts of ardent stars,
Decked out like Mars;
But other orbs are gentle as a dream.

All are swayed justly by the high God's hand.—
Our sea and land
Are duly parted, and our living things
All render homage unto God who made
The sun and shade,
And gave the fish its scales, the bird its wings.

All, all is good.—The viper in the fen,
The worst of men,
Can bring to pass the high God's perfect will.

214

No single ray of light from any star
Can wander far;
Each has some fruitful purpose to fulfil.

Storm, thunder, terror, blood-red war, white peace,—
Hopes that increase,—
Fears that wax strong, or passionate joys that wane,—
These all achieve their end: Fierce pain and woe,
Sunshine or snow,
Thin fields of corn, or leagues of golden grain.

On each star at its great appointed hour
God sends the power
Of some redeeming saviour-soul indeed.
All stars shall know in turn a saviour's face,
And woman's grace
In each to woman's serfdom shall succeed.

On one small star that swings in dark-blue air
A saviour fair
Was born in a far Eastern land, they tell.
Great marvellous deeds he did with loving hand
In that far land,
And lifted souls from sin, and saved from hell.

215

But ah! small star, in regions past thy dream
Star-legions gleam;
Thy resurrection-tale is also ours.
In every star Christ died: in each Christ rose.
Each planet knows
Its Saviour crowned with thorns,—then crowned with flowers.

All stars move slowly towards their destined fate,
Small stars and great:
Each star was born, and each shall find its tomb.
Yes: the Eternal power whom we obey
Shall sweep one day
All stars and strong suns into lampless gloom

Then He, the Eternal power, shall build again
The dark night's fane,
And fit the dome of heaven with lamps quite new
Just as earth's blossoms wither in a night,
So all our light
Shall pass, and fresh lamps burn against the blue

A million, million years are but a day
To God, one ray
Of wandering sunlight thrown against the dark.

216

And yet the Eternal power shall never lose
One white star-rose,
One pale moon-petal, or one red sun-spark.

The tiniest flower the living God's hand made
In the first glade
In the first star he flung upon the sky
Is living yet in some unknown fair mode
In some abode:
God hears the hidden violet's faintest sigh.

Beyond all highest poets' highest dreams
The sweet truth gleams,
Gleams out resplendent. Nought can pass away.
What God has once inspired with living breath,
This knows not death:
Sunset predicts another golden day.

The sunset of the stars when all things end,
This doth portend
Another sunrise on the seas of space;
Another vision of more stars than ours,
And fadeless flowers,
And deathless beings of a lordlier race.

217

So, ever, living God, we worship thee.
Each galaxy
Of moons and suns and stars that veer and change
Worships with endless worship at thy shrine:
For they are thine,
And thou art theirs, in union sweet and strange.