 | The poems of Thomas Gordon Hake (1894) |  |
1
ALONE
Loved, wedded, and caressed,
Although her children died
She still seemed doubly blest,
Her helpmate at her side
More dear than all the rest!
Although her children died
She still seemed doubly blest,
Her helpmate at her side
More dear than all the rest!
But sorrow did not kill
The thought of those so dear,
Who all her feelings fill,
As though still with her here
To play about her still.
The thought of those so dear,
Who all her feelings fill,
As though still with her here
To play about her still.
Her little children's fate
She never could recall,
Yet lived she desolate,
For she had lost them all,—
And then she lost her mate.
She never could recall,
Yet lived she desolate,
For she had lost them all,—
And then she lost her mate.
2
When came that hour of woe
And all she loved was gone,
Not sorrow's keenest blow
Left her fond heart alone;
No parting could it know.
And all she loved was gone,
Not sorrow's keenest blow
Left her fond heart alone;
No parting could it know.
Nigh her he still appears,
The early times so cling;
Her simple heart still hears
Her children laugh and sing
As in the happy years.
The early times so cling;
Her simple heart still hears
Her children laugh and sing
As in the happy years.
The dead to her remain;
She heeds each gentle sound
Of theirs within her brain,
And answers smiling round:
‘Sweet love, say that again!’
She heeds each gentle sound
Of theirs within her brain,
And answers smiling round:
‘Sweet love, say that again!’
Is it that angels dwell
In that lone mother's breast?
She knows not what befell,
And so is doubly blest:
No more her heart can tell.
In that lone mother's breast?
She knows not what befell,
And so is doubly blest:
No more her heart can tell.
4
VENUS URANIA
Is this thy Paphos,—the devoted placeWhere rests, in its own eventide, thy shrine?
To thee not lone is solitude divine
Where love-dreams o'er thy waves each other chase
And melt into the passion of thy face!
The twilight waters, dolphin-stained, are thine;
The silvery depths and blue, moon-orbed, entwine,
And in bright films thy rosy form embrace,—
Girdling thy loins with heaven-spun drapery
Wove in the looms of thy resplendent sea.
The columns point their shadows to the plain
And ancient days are dialed o'er again;
The floods remember: falling at thy feet,
Upon the sands of time they ever beat.
6
THE INFANT MEDUSA
By Poseidon
I loved Medusa when she was a child,
Her rich brown tresses heaped in crispy curl
Where now those locks with reptile passion whirl,
By hate into dishevelled serpents coiled.
I loved Medusa when her eyes were mild,
Whose glances, narrowed now, perdition hurl,
As her self-tangled hairs their mass unfurl,
Bristling the way she turns with hissings wild.
Her rich brown tresses heaped in crispy curl
Where now those locks with reptile passion whirl,
By hate into dishevelled serpents coiled.
I loved Medusa when her eyes were mild,
Whose glances, narrowed now, perdition hurl,
As her self-tangled hairs their mass unfurl,
Bristling the way she turns with hissings wild.
Her mouth I kissed when curved with amorous spell,
Now shaped to the unuttered curse of hell,
Wide open for death's orbs to freeze upon;
Her eyes I loved ere glazed in icy stare,
Ere mortals, lured into their ruthless glare,
She shrivelled in her gaze to pulseless stone.
Now shaped to the unuttered curse of hell,
Wide open for death's orbs to freeze upon;
Her eyes I loved ere glazed in icy stare,
Ere mortals, lured into their ruthless glare,
She shrivelled in her gaze to pulseless stone.
72
WHEN I THINK OF THEE, BROTHER
I
When I think of thee, brother,Is my heart not all thine?
Yet the face of another
Seems bending o'er mine.
I call thee by name, yet a name not thy own
Has whispered already its dear undertone.
II
When I think thine eyes greet me,Their sweet flash of blue
Brings another's to meet me
Of somberer hue;
And ever before me they seem to remain,
Though my heart but repines to behold thee again.
73
III
When I list, and would hear theeOnce more in our home,
And thy voice appears near me,
Another's has come.
I dream of thee only, for thee only sigh,
Yet thy image forsakes me; another's is nigh.
IV
When thy fond smiles come o'er me,As in moments now flown,
There riseth before me
A look not thy own:
'Tis thee I recall to my mind, O my brother!
Yet ever with thine comes the gaze of another.
110
THE SHEPHERDESS
I
By one whose heart kept watch was heard the fameOf a bright world that, like a ship of war,
Was launched in heaven beside the last that came
O'er the sky's outer bar:
Her land Chaldea, she that blessed name
Gave to the coming star.
II
Child of a lord, they called on her to reignO'er that old story-land whose shepherds deem
The stars a flock that studs a holy plain;
And she had learned in dream
That her loved land, through her, that star should gain
And with its blessings teem.
111
III
But heartless deeds were of her father toldWho the fair daughters, in the mountains born,
Had captured and to days of slavery sold
Where bends the Golden Horn:
A shepherd chief, who robbed his neighbour's fold,
And took the lamb unshorn.
IV
She bears her crook o'er living plains, her wayThrough tents in which the thoughtful shepherds dwell
Who watch the heavens where the bright grazers stray
And think they hear the bell
Whose holy tinklings, as they softly play,
The fates of men foretell.
V
So doth she haste to meet her shepherd-seers,And see the promised star that shall eclipse
The one which filled her father's land with tears,
And learn from their own lips
The happy portents that to man it bears
From the new heaven it skips.
112
VI
While Tigris and Euphrates still o'erleapTheir shallow bounds her camel slowly goes,
When nigh her tent, on vengeful errand, creep
Her father's olden foes,
And seize her, helpless, in her noon-day sleep
While all her tribes repose.
VII
In a barred chamber, and in chains, a slave,She weeps with eyes upon the Golden Horn,
And thinks of far-off waters as they lave
Blest homes in Capricorn,
Where happy beings find the Heaven that gave
To her the star new-born.
VIII
Strangers have come and through her prison-gateThey count her price and would her love allure;
But her eyes restless watch and wide dilate;
Their look can none endure,
So wild in sorrow and so mild in hate,
In majesty so pure.
113
IX
One comes towards whom the look of prayer she bendsThat seems to utter ‘Thou, my star, arise!’
And while that heaven-adoring thought ascends
New sorrows fill her eyes,
That tell how Love is dead and beauty ends
When human pity dies!
X
All that he has, the mystic life he bears,What is their worth, her soul in slavery?
He pays the ransom, breaks the chain she wears,
As though some god were he:
Voiceless, she offers up to him the tears
Her anguish has set free.
XI
Handmaids and armed protectors are at hand,All that to queenly power and pomp pertains,
And, passing waters from the stranger-land,
Her star-roofed home she gains,
Where her sleek camels, crimson-girded, stand
To bear her o'er the plains.
114
XII
In her slow path the faithful seers arriveAnd with prophetic tidings bid her cheer:
That night, they tell, the older worlds shall strive,
As the new star comes near,
And into depths of unknown darkness dive
And find no other sphere.
XIII
But little heed gives she to their appeals:The coming star, alas! not yet is found;
Deep-sighing in her silence, she reveals
A heart in slavery bound:
Her bonds are there, and there it is she feels
The chain about her wound.
XIV
'Mid joyous shouts she sees her open gates,But enters not, up-gazing in the thought
That never sleeps or in her breast abates,
Where is the star she sought!
But now a greater seer her advent waits;
He hath the tidings brought.
115
XV
‘The hour is come, the star is now in sight;Portents of blessed change the heavens bestrew:
The shepherds upward gaze, the air is bright,
The sky is gold and blue,
The ancient stars are on their downward flight
And others come anew.
XVI
‘And in the shower of burning worlds, self-hurledFrom heaven to heaven, a lord is on his way
Around whose hosts the golden dust is whirled,
While, in divine array,
Green floats his shepherd-banner, wide-unfurled,
With flocks thereon at play.’
XVII
The hour has come in clouds that hurry o'erHer palace towers, and scatter while the rays
Of new-made light upon the valleys pour;
While flocks awake and graze,
And shepherds sing and the new star adore:
But she, beholding, prays.
116
XVIII
The seer of seers stands forth, he takes her hands;He cries, ‘Thy star is come! Be it to thee
A rich reward and to these teeming lands;
The lord, who made thee free,
Now in his earthly place before thee stands,
Thy guiding-star to be.’
XIX
She looks at heaven; afar the cloud-vane drifts;Her face is pale, he comes, the lord is found:
She kneels, once more his slave; the stranger lifts
The virgin from the ground,
And offers up for sacred wedding gifts
The chains her heart had bound.
117
FAREWELL TO NATURE
Vain love for Nature! How these heartaches rust
Into the soul as we return to dust!
Hope's shadow only masks our eventide,
Feigning to lead us to its brighter side,
While yet the mellowing skies that wondrous grow,
Seem left in waiting for the dead below.
But those tranced sunsets,—little they avail,
None travel hence in their alluring trail;
All is a dream, an ancient dream, the same
From the first mortal to the last that came.
Yet could we but for once our eyes unclose
When through the distant days the pageant goes!
Familiar vision, and so soon to be
Entombed within the dead eternity.
Into the soul as we return to dust!
Hope's shadow only masks our eventide,
Feigning to lead us to its brighter side,
While yet the mellowing skies that wondrous grow,
Seem left in waiting for the dead below.
But those tranced sunsets,—little they avail,
None travel hence in their alluring trail;
All is a dream, an ancient dream, the same
From the first mortal to the last that came.
Yet could we but for once our eyes unclose
When through the distant days the pageant goes!
Familiar vision, and so soon to be
Entombed within the dead eternity.
Doth Nature know our dream, or is the mind
A passing breath her beauty leaves behind?
Ah! not for this our grateful souls have wrought
Around her sphere a universe of thought.
'Tis she inspires our dreams, but no reply
Vouchsafes the loving hearts that for her die,
Who only pray, when life's surprise is o'er,
They may partake a glimpse of her once more.
Is it too late? She sees not to the end;
What she hath done she never can amend:
Yet once by us beloved, once only known,
She seems from all the past to be our own.
A passing breath her beauty leaves behind?
118
Around her sphere a universe of thought.
'Tis she inspires our dreams, but no reply
Vouchsafes the loving hearts that for her die,
Who only pray, when life's surprise is o'er,
They may partake a glimpse of her once more.
Is it too late? She sees not to the end;
What she hath done she never can amend:
Yet once by us beloved, once only known,
She seems from all the past to be our own.
Last wish of age! How sweet one glance would be
Even from the sod the olden haunts to see;
To watch the long-drawn wavelets as they reach
The silent plains of the deserted beach;
To look where light once was, if but to know
Of its faint struggle through the winnowed snow.
Ah! whence this dream that like the cuckoo-guest
Pleads in such winning accents for a nest,
And with its cloud-note ever on us calls,
And though it passes the fond heart enthralls?
Even from the sod the olden haunts to see;
To watch the long-drawn wavelets as they reach
The silent plains of the deserted beach;
To look where light once was, if but to know
Of its faint struggle through the winnowed snow.
Ah! whence this dream that like the cuckoo-guest
Pleads in such winning accents for a nest,
And with its cloud-note ever on us calls,
And though it passes the fond heart enthralls?
Little it seems, this wish, when oft our sight
Tires of the world, yet what a fresh delight
Were it sometimes in death those scenes to view,
The olden scenes that to our youth were new,
To linger o'er a sound whose murmurs swell
Upon the heart,—the tinkling village bell,—
To find that all was safe, all gliding on
In beauty's leisure ways though we were gone;
To see brave Nature in her perilous scheme
Advance without our help, without our dream.
At least 'twould hold ajar death's open door
To think our love was honoured evermore,—
In dying, on the forward thought to dwell
That it was not our very last farewell.
Tires of the world, yet what a fresh delight
119
The olden scenes that to our youth were new,
To linger o'er a sound whose murmurs swell
Upon the heart,—the tinkling village bell,—
To find that all was safe, all gliding on
In beauty's leisure ways though we were gone;
To see brave Nature in her perilous scheme
Advance without our help, without our dream.
At least 'twould hold ajar death's open door
To think our love was honoured evermore,—
In dying, on the forward thought to dwell
That it was not our very last farewell.
Could hope unveil and not its mystic fire
Be lost among the embers of desire!
Ill though desponding hearts their burden bear,
Is not the soul the master of despair?
Is this great life, hard won, achieved in vain,
Is good once found to never be again?
Ask of the worlds if they their path forget,
Ask hope that never ends, its time to set.
One deep desire throughout all being cries,
And this is hope, our future in disguise.
O living lamp, O Hope, the only Seer;
Of Nature's after-time the pioneer,
Keep in advance across our starless way,
Be the new morrow of our orphan day!
Be lost among the embers of desire!
Ill though desponding hearts their burden bear,
Is not the soul the master of despair?
Is this great life, hard won, achieved in vain,
Is good once found to never be again?
Ask of the worlds if they their path forget,
Ask hope that never ends, its time to set.
One deep desire throughout all being cries,
And this is hope, our future in disguise.
120
Of Nature's after-time the pioneer,
Keep in advance across our starless way,
Be the new morrow of our orphan day!
121
THE POET'S FEAST
The golden feast for jovial souls prepareWhose wants the wants of nature far exceed;
The nectar of the sun such palates need;
To them the fatted calf is vulgar fare.
Earth's dripping fruits may wandering Arabs share
Pleased with the pulp and juice whereon they feed;
And bread alone is still the poor man's meed,
Though milk abound and honey be to spare.
So dreams the Poet, with his crust content:
The crumbs that from the rich man's table fall
To him are sorry signs of merriment
To show the world has food enough for all.
At festive boards he has but little part—
To him 'twas given to feed on his own heart.
149
THE WEDDING RING
LADY‘Give me a ring, good jeweller,
By no one worn before,
And you shall boast you gave it her
Who wears it evermore.’
JEWELLER
‘Then it shall be a ruby ring,
With hoop of richest gold,
And it shall be my offering
For benefits of old.’
LADY
‘A ruby ring it must not be,
Which is a thing to shine;
An iron ring is best for me,
No other can be mine.’
150
‘But surely such a ring 'twere sad
To see a lady wear
Among her guests in jewels clad,
And she so young and fair.’
LADY
‘An iron ring is all I crave
Upon my wedding night,
For I must wear it in the grave,
Where it is out of sight.’
JEWELLER
‘Is it to be a ring to bind
Your heart in wedlock's bond,
Or but to link the day behind
And days that are beyond?’
LADY
‘It is to link me to his peace
Who is not far away;
And when her lonely term may cease,
The bride shall with him stay.’
151
‘Who is this bridegroom you would wed,
And yet for ever mourn,
As though you would espouse the dead,
Who never can return?’
LADY
‘It is the dead I would espouse,
With him lie side by side;
There is a chamber in his house
He furnished for his bride.’
152
LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD
Luke ix. 60
Where marshes venom-steeped the life-breeze taint
And fitful meteors lap the watery wild,
A moon sinks in the cloud-mire, dazed and faint,
Its pearly flush defiled,
Halo'd in sallow vapours like a saint
Through paths impure beguiled.
And fitful meteors lap the watery wild,
A moon sinks in the cloud-mire, dazed and faint,
Its pearly flush defiled,
Halo'd in sallow vapours like a saint
Through paths impure beguiled.
But worse the gloom within the castle walls
Where moans the lord whom pestilence devours:
The serfs awe-stricken flee his festering halls,
The plague-star o'er him lowers,
On his glazed eyes the fatal glimmer falls
While night weighs down his towers.
Where moans the lord whom pestilence devours:
The serfs awe-stricken flee his festering halls,
The plague-star o'er him lowers,
On his glazed eyes the fatal glimmer falls
While night weighs down his towers.
A crescent moon whose advent stays the pest
Embalms the dead with heavenly obsequies,
But there are none to bear him to his rest,
His body shroudless lies;
Anointed not, by pious rites unblest,
Unto the grave he cries.
Embalms the dead with heavenly obsequies,
But there are none to bear him to his rest,
His body shroudless lies;
Anointed not, by pious rites unblest,
Unto the grave he cries.
153
A great half-moon now dominates the dome,
With stern upbraidings yet not less benign:
But the blank gazers to his final home
The dead dare not consign,
Lured on by sullen spectres of the gloam
Who their own dead enshrine.
With stern upbraidings yet not less benign:
But the blank gazers to his final home
The dead dare not consign,
Lured on by sullen spectres of the gloam
Who their own dead enshrine.
Again the drowsy marshes pillow night
And darkness severs sky and earth in two,
But with a rush of cloud dispersing might
A full moon hurries through;
The corpse is shrouded as in living light,
The castle walls look new.
And darkness severs sky and earth in two,
But with a rush of cloud dispersing might
A full moon hurries through;
The corpse is shrouded as in living light,
The castle walls look new.
The heaven is one blue wave; it seems to break
While lucid spray with dreamlight floods the air:
The coffins in the quickened graveyards quake,
The bones know they are there,
And ghostly shades their buried depths forsake
To gather in the glare.
While lucid spray with dreamlight floods the air:
The coffins in the quickened graveyards quake,
The bones know they are there,
And ghostly shades their buried depths forsake
To gather in the glare.
As dusk descends, by its scared rays illumed,
A soul-procession dense and denser grows:
Hearse after hearse night-horsed and sable-plumed
A mirage heavenward throws:
The newly dead is by the dead entombed
And nature has repose.
A soul-procession dense and denser grows:
Hearse after hearse night-horsed and sable-plumed
A mirage heavenward throws:
The newly dead is by the dead entombed
And nature has repose.
154
THE GOLDEN WEDDING
The day but not the bride is come,
As in her blossom-time;
But golden lights sustain the home
She cherished in her prime.
As in her blossom-time;
But golden lights sustain the home
She cherished in her prime.
May we not call upon the band?
May we not ask the priest?
Our golden wedding is at hand,
And we shall hold a feast.
May we not ask the priest?
Our golden wedding is at hand,
And we shall hold a feast.
But where is he in snow-white stole
Who the old service read,
That made us one in heart and soul?
Long, long has he been dead.
Who the old service read,
That made us one in heart and soul?
Long, long has he been dead.
The bridesmaids clad in silken fold
Who waited on the bride,
Where are they now? Their tale is told:
Long, long ago they died.
Who waited on the bride,
Where are they now? Their tale is told:
Long, long ago they died.
155
Where is the groomsman, chosen friend,
The true, the well-beloved;
His term, alas! is at an end;
Too soon was he removed.
The true, the well-beloved;
His term, alas! is at an end;
Too soon was he removed.
Where is the bride, ah! such a bride
As every joy foretells?
I see her walking by my side,
I hear the wedding-bells.
As every joy foretells?
I see her walking by my side,
I hear the wedding-bells.
Where is she now? That we should say
She did not live to know
How passed her silver wedding-day,
So many years ago!
She did not live to know
How passed her silver wedding-day,
So many years ago!
But come, and for your mother's sake,
Though vain it were to weep,
Let us the silent feast partake,
Her golden wedding keep.
Though vain it were to weep,
Let us the silent feast partake,
Her golden wedding keep.
| The poems of Thomas Gordon Hake (1894) | |