\mm^m^':^mm\ VK Cornell University Library PR 5452.S75S6 Songs of the maid, and other ballads and 3 1924 013 551 605 Cornell University Library The original of tlnis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3551 605 SONGS OF THE MAID SONGS OF THE MAID And Other Ballads and Lyrics BY JOHN HUNTLEY S^KRINE AUTHOR OF ' JOAN THE MAID ' ' COLUMBA,' ETC. WESTMINSTER ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. 1896 TO MY WIFE If carols to the Sun be due Who makes the throstle sing ; If breath of flowers, whereon she blew. Be incense-breath to Spring ; If faithful lyre forgets not who Taught passion to the string ; — Dear Other heart in One, to you Love's singer-sheaf I bring. CONTENTS PAGE SONGS OP THE MAID— Dedication .... 2 Louis' Love .... 3 The Basque . . . 9 Thomas de Courcelles . 13 Isabeau d'Arc . . .19 Pasquerel ..... 24 BALLADS— Bonnie Griselle . . . .31 On a Battlefield . . . .38 Death's Doob — A Ballad of the Birkenhead . . 42 The Last at Caprera . . .45 England's Eye . . . .50 On the Bridge with the Admiral . 65 An Undelivered Letter . . .59 CONTENTS BY WOOD AND WAVE— Nostrse Incunabula Gentis . 63 A Highland River - 68 New Year in the South 70 New Year in the North 73 A Home Revisited . . 77 THE OCEAN THRONE'— (OHORIO SONGS PBOM A MASQUe) Countrymen 83 Miners and Craftsmen 85 The Gentle . 87 Soldiers 90 Sailors . 94 The Mother and the Sons . 99 ' THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY '— A Death in the Mist . . .107 A Star in the East . . . 112 Love the Timeless .... 116 CONTENTS 'THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY'— continued Reward To a Leader The Angel Stair PAGE 121 123 125 INSCRIPTIONS— For a Statue in a School Chapel On a Cenotaph To a Young Boy A Brave Physician To Susanna ' Dulces Moriens Reminiscitur Argos ' Charles George Gordon A Choice of Solomon . At Lethe's Brink A Lullaby to a Lyre 131 132 132 133 133 134 135 137 140 143 SONGS OF THE MAID ANDREW LANG 'Not Shakespeare's self the play could frame If the white Maid were heroine. ' Ah ! say you ? We will mend our aim ; And since she walks the mortal scene Too wonderful, nor art can fuse Her starlight and our passion-hues, We 'II sing but how the star came nigher, And how men saw it or how were blind. Bow burned with fire of love or fire Of anger, after each his kind. The star's pure self who know not, know Yet how the star-beam strikes below. LOUIS' LOVE LOUIS DE COUTES, PAGE OF JOAN What is this at Louis' heart Knocks amain ? Sweetness is it all or smart Pricks the vein, Ever since from saddle-tree Grave her glance commanded me Loose her stirrup and let free Charger's rein ? 'Twas as -when our chief of dames. High Yolande, 'Mid her damsels' broidery frames Tall and bland. SONGS OF THE MAID Asked my name, and hearing sought. Dreamer-like, some vanished thought. Waking as to Hps I caught White her hand. Ah ! but that was Queen, and this Born how low ! Royal hand were hers to kiss Even so. Where 's the queen so swift obeyed ; Or shall ere, when all is said. Lordlier mistress than the Maid Louis know ? Is she beautiful ? I muse. Not as they Whom the knights love. Let them choose Whom they may : LOUIS' LOVE Though my years are now twice seveiij Saw I never under heaven Such an awesome beauty leaven Limbs of clay, 'Tis not here and 'tis not there : None can tell Why who names the Maiden fair Names her well. Now it is her lightsome going. Now the glory 's overflowing Out of deep eyes beyond knowing Strikes the spell. There 's a knight who turns and laughs Passing by ; Names me with her as he quaffs. Winking sly. s SONGS OF THE MAID Had this arm of mine the weight, I would break the wanton's pate. Daring breathe against her state Thoughts awry. Sooth, I love, if heart-leaps are Signs thereof: Yea, but as men love the star Throned above ; For, with virgin harness white, She goes armoured-up in light. Hardly more from reach of spite Than of love. O she holds all men that be Wide apart. 'Tis as child she tenders me : There's the smart. LOUIS' LOVE Child ! Yet I for her could hold Banner till its lilies gold Falling, wrapped in crimsoned fold Louis' heart. Fie ! in dreams again. And she Gave behest I should wait her where the lea Ends to west. Hist ! I hear her coming, coming ; Hoof of blithe Rolande a-drumming Loud on turf, my pulse bedumbing Loud in breast. In five lengths of him or near She '11 to stand Rein him : I shall take her spear Warm from hand : SONGS OF THE MAID She will dropj how soft, how keen ! See, the smile : and I, my queen, Print the loyal kiss, unseen. On — Rolande. THE BASQUE THE BASQUE STANDARD-BEARER TO JOAN AT ORLEANS Ohj who is it giving the word to-day^ Merry my mates, so shrewd ? ' Be done with the oath, and be done with the play. And done with the roundel lewd. And the joy-girls all of the camp shall pack ' : Now who is it rules so bold ? 'Tis a maiden o' back of a destrier black. With a banner of lilies of gold. Chorus And it 's O good-bye to my love so light, To the kiss and the arms entwining. SONGS OF THE MAID To the rouse and the roar and the riot o' night. The roisterer's wooing, the wanton's flight : For it 's Up and after the Maid all white And the maiden banner shining. Who is the Maid and what is her might To lord it o'er most and least. Bidding lusty knight and soldier wight Be meek as the shaven priest ? Oh, she can teach us abide nor fly At the whang of a Gpdon's bow. And a Frenchman look in an English eye And bandy buffet for blow. Chorus For it's Ho ! and up to the rampart's jaws. In the sleet of the long-bow snowing : lO THE BASQUE It 's Up and cut we the Lion his claws. For their bills are reeds and their bolts are straws, And their cannon a bluster of gusty flaws Of a wind her banner up-blowing. But hark ye well, 'tis the chaplain's bell, And the banner is dight for prayer : The shrine is dressed, and the wine is blessed. And the body of God is there. And the prayer she prayed is heard, I wist. For look on her, comrades mine. How the Maid uprist with a beam of Christ In the grey, great eyes a-shine ! Chorus Then it 's Ho ! to the priest to be sained and shriven. When the dawn of a fight is creeping. II SONGS OF THE MAID For who will follow the Maid forgiven, 'Tis a helmet pricked or a corslet riven, His bones to France and his soul to heaven. And the Maid o'er a soldier weeping. 13 THOMAS DE COURCELLES THOMAS DE COURCELLES A JUDGE IN THE TRIAL OP JOAN Jan. nth, 1466j the night before his examination by the Court of Rehabilitation They call me greatest Doctor of our France. It may be so : for who were else to name ? In learning ripest and in utterance. They say it, not I ; it is the world's acclaim. They tell the mighty Past its Gerson well Might own his after-self in our Courcelles. It may be as they say it ; not for nought Have stars grown pale, watching my lamp and me In the spring dawns of Paris ; and I wrought (God be my witness) not for place nor fee. 13 SONGS OF THE MAID And scarce for praise. Men laughed, ' Our scholar's eyes Still on his feet, howe'er that head may rise ! ' Rise ! I am simple Canon ; shall be Dean One morn by act of time. My classmates own Their mitres each. I grudge not, who have seen. Ranging the length of his worn Council down. Eyes royal kindle, watchful how the wit Of Thomas de Courcelles should fashion it. I vowed my scholar soul from out herself Should flower, unmoulded of the windy world. As on a stormless lap of mountain shelf No stately tree, but shapely, has unfurled Her plenitude of bower and mellowing fruit. Ha ! — save a worm have bitten her at the root. 14 THOMAS DE COURCELLES What will they question at their Board to-inorroWj Brehal and the Archbishop ? What 's to know From my lip more than other of the sorrow In luckless Rouen half a life ago ? Their trial could forgo me well, not miss ; Why waste a student's daylight over this ? All's known. Our Court made error. I was one. YeSj but the rawest. How should thirty year Fetched from dim cloister into dazing sun Be wise 'gainst fifty in discerning her .'' It was clerk hand they summoned, scholar head In me. For judgment let them ask the dead. God ! if they only could ! That he might stand Pale at their bar, tormented ; he that lies In Lisieux chantry,i safe, and overspanned With marbles of enshrining canopies. 1 Bishop Cauchon, the presiding judge, was buried at Lisieux. 15 SONGS OF THE MAID My chief, my curse, my devil ; yea, that slew This spirit's virgin honour, ere it knew. He bade me write our sessions : cozeningly Pleaded my law-craft's service, eyed agloat My first-wet sheets, ' for where in France as 1 So lucid scribe, so deft ? ' I heard and wrote. I wrote the death-writ of my peace. That ink The nightly poison-potion that I drink ! What is 't they work withal, these evil wills .'' I loved not, — loathed him; yet the insisftnt coil Flattering enwound, a snake's caress that kills Like steel infrangible, more smooth than oil. Now know I wherefore Satan was an asp — Ah ! men but learned the fang ! I learn the clasp. l6 THOMAS DE COURCELLES That once I fell, that once. Shall all the story. Fair else, a flawless whole, by this be maimed ? Those shining days of Basle, the pleader's glory. Voice for our France prevailing, all defamed ? My house of life then on a tomb is built, Her pleasant chambers spectre-plagued with guilt. To-morrow ! 'Tis the Court again. And I Not justicer, but culprit. How they'll look As if they looked not, under eyebrow, shy. Feigning not think what think they must. I n brook Scorn of eyes mortal, if but these be there : But O, what eyes behind yon judge's chair ! Is this the hell of my misdoing ? SHE, She will be there, her eyes. O God, my gaze i; SONGS OF THE MAID Might yet affront them, would they threaten me. But all in wonder, and a piteous daze How hate should murder the meek love, they turn Questioning on mine ; and in their flame I burn. ISABEAU D'ARC ISABEAU D'ARC MOTHER OF JOAN After the Eehabilitation Is she coming, sonSj our maiden : is she coming ? Long, SO long Grows it since they purged her wholly and the King made right the wrong. Would she tarry coming homeward ? That were not the girl we knew, She so light of foot, no tarrier ever where was help to do. 19 SONGS OF THE MAID Changed? Oh yes, belike, among the soldiers and the princes there. Yet our Margot at the Crowning found her the sweet child as e'er. Ay, the prison, sooth, would change her, . . . and that wonder of the flame. When it burnt not, and across it white and whole the Maiden came. . . . Nay, what said I .'' Something wildered am I, and forget : for she 'Scapes at last ; the Holy Father and the good King set her free. Hark ! the latch was lifted, was 't not .'' and a step — so old I grow One has fancies, hears or hears not, unlike others. Yet to know 20 ISABEAU D'ARC Step of Joan at doorj how could I fail it ? — no, for all the years — Strong and light (ah ! you remember) and a pleasure in the ears. She will come. But how to greet her, grown so wonderful and high. Her that talks at ease with princes, walks with angels whispering nigh ! Nay, but she was wondrous always, and I saw it not, so blind ; Loved her, chid her (yes, but seldom), like the rest of maiden-kind. Like all maidens of all mothers, who should know her ? Only sweet More than others, only kinder : quicker fingers, gladder feet. 21 SONGS OF THE MAID Who could find the angel in her, till the fire that let unfold Dove wings on her as of silver and the feathers like to gold ? Who ? For She, was't writ she knew Him, hers, for other than the rest. Faint as all are from the womb nor dearer at the nursing breast ? Was there aught She marked in broadening limb and stature waxing tall. Going, coming in, uprising, and downsitting like them all ? Then could I know mine, my wonder ? Haply, shall I know her now. If she comes with the white armour shining and the starry brow ? 22 ISABEAU D'ARC Nay, the russet kirtle, liker, as she wore it 'mong the sheep. ' Dreaming ' : am I, sons ? No matter. I am heavy : let me sleep. She will lift the latch, nor wake me : not at first. But stooping there I shall feel her through my dream by something tender in the air. Then a touch on this grey forehead : 'tis her lip. A brightness grown Over lids, until they open, — and the brightness is my Joan. 23 SONGS OF THE MAID PASQUEREL CHAPLAIN OF THE MAID In the silence where an old man lingers Faint of cheer and winter-white. Shadows haunt me, — prince and chiefs and singers, Echoings of pomp and fight ; And the great Past's unforsaking fingers Stay me faltering at the doors of night. One there is, one shadow, never passes. Haunts downsitting and uprise, Blends a toneless murmur with the masses And the chant's solemnities. Or, in censer-fume upsoaring, glasses Silver armour there and urgent eyes. 24 PASQUEREL I am Pasquerelj of Joan the Maiden Priest and counsellor of soul. Ere she mounted of the flesh unladen Homeward on the flame's uproU. Days I lived in and the days I fade in. Worth have only from her glory's dole. Lo ! this wrinkled hand, it touched the wonder : Lo ! this hand, her worshipper's. Touched in blessing ; and the dark brows under Thrilled it back with mystic stirs. Seeing earth not holds and scarcely yonder Hides wide heaven a pureness matching hers. Yea, these ears have heard the breathings lowly, Where at edge of battle she Laid from off the breast of her, the holy. Burden of her sins on me. 25 SONGS OF THE MAID Shamed I heard and marvelhng sove if wholly Stainless might a soul and mortal be. Mortal was she ? verily, as in fashion ? Ah ! but if she were in sooth Beam of Godhead born in clay to flash on Night of ours a dawn of truth, Charioted aloft in fiery passion Back from man's betrayal and his ruth ! Lo ! they doomed the just one, and gainsayer None for the all-brave was bold. Now they look on whom he burned, the slayer. And the friend on whom he sold : Yea, for Holy Church, Heaven's own assayer. Cast for dross the sanctuary's gold. Shamed they look on her. But where her place is Christ's fair pleasances among. 26 PASQUEREL Where with eyes of sister saints and faces Tender of archangels strong Girt she goes, and tlie kind air untraces Off her brows of maid the engraven wrong, There, O even there, if, chance, up-blowing Out of earth remembrance ran O'er her, soft she '11 ponder in her going. Fallen a little moment wan. Then the bright dews rain her overflowing Heart of pity on despites of man. 27 BALLADS BONNIE GRISELLE A TALE OF 1715 ' Peace, loud heart ; wilt hinder me thou ? Let me hear him, but hear : Sure, Dickon's doublet is roomy enow ; Oh, peace ! for he 's near. It is Death riding post in the moon and the shadow^ And only a girl at the edge of a meadow Crying "stand" to him here. Only a girl, but a girl can do ; Girl — and a sire to be saved thereto.* 31 BALLADS Hist, histj bonnie Griselle ! Listen it well, Hoof of a galloper galloping nigher. Sharp on the flint and soft in the mire. Death at his saddlebow, bonnie Grise] ' " Win me but time," Lord Ronald sent wor " Ere headsman go to 't ; Time, but a week, for a cause reheard. For a pardon afoot." Staunch Lord Ronald and true Sir Harry Much they can, will the axe but tarry Till is pleaded the suit : But oh, 'tis a head at the morning's light If yonder letter win past to-night.' Hist, hist, bonnie Griselle ! Listen it well. 32 BONNIE GRISELLE Hoof of a galloper galloping nigher, Death riding up for a sire, a sire, And who to cry 'stand' but his bonnie Griselle ? ' Cocked and primed be the two, no fear. (Ah, Heaven ! if I fail. ) One to tumble him, one at his ear While I grope for the mail. But, O if the bullet I meant but to stay him. In the night and the fright go nearer and lay him Stone-deaf to my hail, Blood on his breast, and his eye's dead stare. How a girl in a doublet could murder there ! ' Hist, hist, bonnie Griselle ! Listen it well. 33 BALLADS Hoof of a galloper galloping nigher To the dip o' the road and the musk-rose brier. Hush ! and the muzzle of bonnie Griselle. What have I done, kind Heaven, that I This horror must do ? Innocent hand, shall a poor knave die By malice of you ? White, white hand, art a-shaking already At stain of the blood. Ah ! for pity be steady Else worse is to rue. Hand of his child, wilt fear to be red .'' Coward ! — a father will bleed in his stead. Hist, hist, bonnie Griselle ! Wait for him well. 34 BONNIE GRISELLE Hoof of the galloper nigher, oh, nigher. Stand to itj child : it is death if the flier Win by the watch of the bonnie Griselle. 'Shame! I '11 dare it. Dear heart, and he's near: Stand fast for the blow. Yes, yes, at the oak, as the bridle leaps clear, Pull trigger. . . . Ah ! no. Why is it I and not Dickon my brother, Kind God, that must do it .'' Some other, some other Way save him than so ! But ah ! the grey eyes, if I fear to shoot. And dear cheek I fondled — O father, I '11 do 't.' Fast, fast, bonnie Griselle ! Cover him well^ 35 BALLADS Hoof coining on, coming oh to the brier : Pale is your face, but your heart is a fire : Up in the moonlight ! ho ! bonnie Griselle. ' Missed ! God help us ! . . . Ah ! no, for he 's thrown. . . . Man, stir not a finger ; 'Tis a foot on your throat, and your brain out- blown Ere ye 'd reach to your whinger. . . . Mine 's your letter, and thine 's your life. There. . . . Go comfort your wife, your wife. Good yeoman, and bring her News of a rogue ye were stopped by — and tell There 's a brave knight the more for his daughter Griselle.' 36 BONNIE GRISELLE Stand ho ! Cochrane's Griselle, Look at us well, Lift us your face at the hoof coming nigher, White as the moon but its eyes on a fire, — And moonlight in love with the bonnie Griselle. 37 BALLADS ON A BATTLEFIELD SLATIN PASHA, AT FIRKET, JUNE 7, 1 896 The wheel of the world runs round amain : For who meet here by the moo':i, and how ? Is it I the rider, and you the slain That were the slave and his lords but now ? The wheel runs round in her circle true. The thrall aloft and the lords are under, On the horseback I, at the horsehoof you. Stare, dead eyes, at your fortune's wonder ! Warily ho ! good Kismet, tread : Thou and these of one wild are bred : Wouldst not trample a kinsman's head. 38 ON A BATTLEFIELD Wake, look up from the heap's edge there, Look at me, Turban Green, and know. 'Tis the barefoot slave at the Kaliph's chair. Who bore the flouting and feared the blow. At the Kaliph's chair I marked your smile, And a bow-string pricks at my throat to think it. Fate was filling her cup the while : 'Tis I that mingle and you that drink it. Statelier go, stout Kismet, by : Lofty are low and the fallen high : At the horsehoof these, on the horseback L The wheel ran up and the wheel runs round To a victor's wail, to a captive's laughter : It swings the scorner again to ground. The thrall to the throned moon. — And after ? 39 BALLADS — Sleep, wild hearts, as our angers sleep. Till the rolling wheel that has dipped you under Roll you up out of the dreamless deep, From the night's dismay to a daybreak's wonder. Softlier go, strong Kismet, past : The wheel of the world runs fast and fast : Who shall ride it on height at last ? 40 DEATH'S DOOR a ballad of the birkenhead the last at capreka England's eye ON THE bridge WITH THE ADMIRAL AN UNDELIVERED LETTER BALLADS A BALLAD OP THE BIRKENHEAD ALEXANDER CUMMINE RUSSELL. DIED FEBRUARY 26, 1852 She settles at the prow. (Hold off Our boat : the swirl would sink us, men. When down the great ship goes. Enough.) Dear Charlie, there he waves again. My voice it is must sound his knell In the grey English hall, and tell How wofully they died and well. Why am I safe, not there among My messmates ? Soldiers ask not why : We take our orders. It was young At seventeen, they thought, to die. 42 DEATH'S DOOR To die. God, if 'twere only so ! One does not fear to drown : but O Those devil-teeth agape below. What is she thinking, Donald's wife Beside me, kirtling up her eyes ? Ah me ! We save the helpless life And childish, but the strong man dies. Let be : the flag had else a stain. And all the glorious battle-rain Could never wash it clear again. I live to fight for it. O yes, And see my bonnie North once more. Home with the firs, the fells ; and press The blossomed heather. (Ease the oar. Men, watch it out : it soon will be.) Yes, home, and at the gateward tree Her face — O she '11 be glad of me. 43 BALLADS How steady on the sinking plank Our Seventy-fourth ! And I must miss The praise of those who kept the rankj In England when they speak of this. Steady as when it pipes to drill : Ah no, but mute and stern and still. As if the foe came up the hill. Down! She is gone. How shake the deeps ! (Stand by to take some swimmer in. No room ? The pity !) Lord, it creeps. The live sea creeps with nose and fin And fang upswarming. Ho ! 'tis good Scot Donald yonder fights the flood. God's name ! they must not have his blood. 44 DEATH'S DOOR (One more, we sink ?) And here by me She sits : and two months wedded. No ! Part man and wife, it cannot be : No room by her ? I '11 make it — So. (Give him a hand up there. Good-bye.) I watched the Seventy-fourth too nigh : I could not live and let him die. THE LAST AT CAPRERA 'com'e allegro !' (Garibaldi's last words.) Silent all an hour he lies. Being near to part, Lion-leader mine ; his eyes Bent the sill athwart, 45 BALLADS Watching, while his sands may run, Ocean's breast, the chainless one ; Watching beat against the sun Freedom's heart. Shadow of a bird on air, Sound of wings alit ! Something on his face of rare Shone, beholding it. Bird ? Ah, no ! That waning sight Parleys, sure, with faery wight. Herald of the mortal night Ere he flit. Hist ! No look — ere charm he break Doom's light harbinger. All as plain as if they spake Holding commune here. 46 DEATH'S DOOR 'Tis the boy that near his side On Volturno as he died Kissed the birthright earth in pride Slain for her. Sudden — O from silence rang Speech ! Was carol e'er. Were it bird or sprite who sang, Joy-becharmed as there ? Strained the live heart thro' the throat, Overwhelming note with note. Till the headlong jubilance smote Rapt the air. All as sudden it was done. Then with half his breath Speaks the Chief. ' Ah, joyous one ! Hear the joy,' he saith : 47 BALLADS ' He will have me forth with him. Ah, the joy ! ' And, instant dim. Eye and ear and voice and limb Slept the death. This in death I loathe that he Shames a man,- — to mark How He binds like knave the free, Girds with caitiff sark. Death the doomsman, him I hate. Dragging man's reluctant weight Like a felon from day's gate Down to dark. So for me, if I must die On the sick man's down, 48 DEATH'S DOOR When the war 's forgot and I Spent and past renown ; If I may not fall afire With the stormer's shoutj or nigher By the walls' heaped foot, or higher On their crown ; Then with Death would I cross hand. This my leader's way. Joyous, — as when waiting stand Comrades of old fray, Till its spoil the prison door Loth to friend and cause give o'er. And on Freedom's own once more Shines her day. D 49 BALLADS ENGLAND'S EYE LIEUTENANT RAWSONj R.N., GUIDE OF THE ARMY TO TEL-EL-KBBIRj SEPTEMBER 13, 1882 ' Sailor,' cried the Chief to me. Me of all his battle-band, ' You that steer a ship by sea. Will you steer a host by land ? ' Then I pondered seconds twain, ' There is sea-way wide and good. On the sand as on the flood. And the stars are all as plain.' SO DEATH'S DOOR So this sailor answered^ ' Ay,' Frank and steady. That is why He to-night is England's Eye, None but he. II None but he ! For, bared to smite^ England's sword comes onward blind. Till the seaman aim it right : Sword shall fall, if eye shall find. None but he ! The league of men At my lifted finger swerves This way, that : the steely curves Straighten to the mark again. Seaman, find ! And, lo ! my star. Where the rebel ramparts are, Globed above our goal of war Lamps the fight. SI BALLADS Find itj seamanj find : for now Of a nation marching here Pride will tower, or pride will bow. As thou prosper shalt or err. Fortune of an empire forward Ranging by this bridle steers : O'er my sorrel's nodding ears Stares the gaze of England warward. 'Twixt a midnight and a morn. Till yon stars are overworn, England, on this saddle borne, Ridest Thou. I am I no more, but grown England : and her sailor she. 52 DEATH'S DOOR High, beat higher, heart, and own Millionfold the pulse of me. Long, O golden hour, be long. Ah, from this to fall again To the level ranks of men. To the thousands of the throng ! Once, on saddle or on ship, Once can Fate to mortal lip Press so rare a wine to sip. Once alone. Ha ! what was it there upstole. Heaped against the glimmering lift ? Faithful star ! the goal, the goal. In our vanward's very drift. S3 BALLADS Mute the drowsy ramparts hang. See we grip them square and due. ' Chief, and did I steer you true ? ' Off the rampart shook and sang Battle's startled wing in air. Smote the breast, whom England there 'Twixt a dark and dawn to bear Gave her soul. S4 DEATH'S DOOR ON THE BRIDGE WITH THE ADMIRAL H.M.s. 'victoria.' June 22, 1893 Saved. She floats — if she '11 but stay. They '11 not lose their sailor, they. Admiral Lanyon, yet one day. Near enough to sinking, though : Would have sunk a rock, yon blow ' Stars ! what ailed him signal so } Something ailed him, sure, the best Seaman on salt water. Pest ! How they '11 look and talk, the rest. 55 BALLADS Can one lead and never blunder ? Yet to live this down ! I wonder. Would he grudge if he went under ? There he 's waiting with set lip, Mute, but saying to his ship ' Friend, together — if you dip.' And he gave me once his eye : Kind and plain as speech went by Such a glance. His man am I. Just a glance it was, and yet — Well, 'twas his ; and that's a debt Shames a sailor to forget. Ha ! she lists ! (is that the cry ?) Lists again to starboard. Why, Then 'tis leap in time or die. 56 DEATH'S DOOR Leap it is or drownj no third. What's he thinking ? Has he heard, That he hngers with the word ? No, 'tis coming now. 'The blame All is mine.' (The look that came Through him of ' good-bye, the name ' !) 'Save yourselves, men; each for each.' Shall I, shall I ? There 's no breach. When the promise had no speech. Each for each : and time to swim. Why, 'twere dying for a whim, If I stand and drown with him. And the folk at home, they call In my heart : if this befall, Where's their boy the Admiral? 57 BALLADS He 's my friend, though, he, till this Ended all : that glance of his Signalled it too plain to miss. Gone the rest. The bridge is clear. ' Boy, what keeps you waiting here ? ' Can one speak it to his ear ? He 's my friend ; his luck is flown. That 's the reason why his own Cannot leave him die alone. ' Boy, she 's going.' Sir, I knew ; But we stand by her, we two. . . . No, sir, no. I stay with you. Boy and seaman, troth ye keep. Not divided, all the deep Whispering of how well ye sleep. 58 DEATH'S DOOR AN UNDELIVERED LETTER ' On the cessation of the firing the Matabele approached closer, and found the Englishmen, most of whom were wounded, writing farewell messages to their relatives and friends. The Matabele then charged ... all was soon over.' — Times, February 1894. ' Sweetheart— for their fire is over. And a moment's grace they lend us Ere the savage spring and end us — Here 's the last word from a lover. Who will bear it } Left alive Of our forty — 'tis but five. How we fought the black king, how Chased, you heard. The river rose. Trapped us, river of the foes, (Nay, my girl, 'tis England's now !) 59 BALLADS Trapped, an arm's-length off our friends. Then they closed : and here it ends. Brother Dick's beside the mare. Long the dead friend fenced him true 'Gainst the balls. Now sleep the two Cheek by cheek : I laid him there. Let me spend six charges when Comes the rush : I '11 join him then. Here 's a blood-spot : dear, forgive. All my blood for England's sake Would I spill, nor grudge the stake : But, for yours, 'twere sweet to live. Ha ! they 're coming. There — my kiss. And God keep you after this. 60 BY WOOD AND WAVE NOSTRyE INCUNABULA GENTIS A HIGHLAND RIVEP, NEW YEAR IN THE SOUTH NEW YEAR IN THE NORTH A HOME REVISITED NOSTRiE INCUNABULA GENTIS I ' The cradle of our race.' O where. Lies nursing-lap of cradling hills. Brother, like ours ? So bland on air Yon tender upland rim fulfils With sweet outwandering and return The slumber-dedicated urn. A hollow land, she lies and hears The storm-fit roar itself away Beyond her ; and for robe she wears. If golden be the heaven or grey. Through moods of mellow variance yet One fashion of the violet. 63 BY WOOD AND WAVE Wood waves from answering height to wood. And dove can echo wood-dove's note With tidings of a sister's brood. On matin-dusk and vesper float The pilgrim herons, ferrying o'er The gulf of leafy shore and shore. And rolling a mute wave between, Deep-hearted, glassy-bosomed, wan. In cloister of his willow-screen Revolving older things than Man, The river-god goes darkling past, A muffled sage, and fancy-fast. 64 •strtE incunabula gentis see ! for where his slumbering brim reaks in slope eddies huddling down ir rockier bed, and watching him rey turrets the soft headland crown, re on his stair he turned and shone oment's greeting, and is gone. b dwelt our fathers, ruling well leir slender valley-kingdom's trust, brief a line nor memorable, it unreproached ; each tranquil, just orial dynast, sire to son, ding the unstoried sceptre on. 65 BY WOOD AND WAVE To them the Song-Muse wandered not. Or slumbered, if she came, — so soft Our meadows, — and her quest forgot. Nor flying Fame lit here : aloft She crossed their hilltops like the breeze. Nor spied them, lost among their trees. O fameless plenitude of days. Meek honour of a steadfast house. If mortal steadfastness be praise Ours were not all inglorious : She stood not idly, standing sure ; Some glory is it to endure. 66 NOSTRiE INCUNABULA GENTIS IX Ah, me ! this gentle namesake earth Breathed glory for her brood : she spoke Of nursing-dues her children's worth Upgrown should render : witching broke Across this upland bourne of home The landscape of a deed to come. There breathes from her a glory now For dreamer in home's haunted wood : There drops wild honey from the bough. Old raptures of the childish blood ; And all the leafy whisper sighs With gust of boyhood's chivalries. 67 BY WOOD AND WAVE A HIGHLAND RIVER From the wild whereout I rarij Purple gates of Grampian, Down the boon land wander I, Amuinn, rejoicingly. Here the mild wood-shadows fall And the wood-notes musical. Here the white-throat ouzel skims, Where the rapid foams and dims. Dims and foams, from shoal to pool, Pool to shallow ; and the cool. Amber under-waves embrace Silken fin and silvern lace Of the sea-drove upward steering. Or at times the red cliffs nearing 68 A HIGHLAND RIVER owd my echoing flood between^ id in cleft or ivy screen :mpt the harbouring dove to build, • the daws' complaining guild. Hying then by meads I run oadening in the embracing sun ; 11 that winsome mountain elf, )ne, and talking to himself • the leaning alder copse, om the far moss cradle drops, air by pebbly stair, the burn. • in lonest reach the hern ■ the wanderer's foot aware luses him and climbs the air, ired on fanning wings away 11 he mingles, grey in grey. 69 BY WOOD AND WAVE NEW YEAR IN THE SOUTH I The South breathes up from yonder sea And on her wings the noon : Earth heaves her bosom winter-free As if the Yule were June. From quickening briar and flower unrolled Climbs hitherward the South, By bowers that hold the fruit of gold To hill-woods red with drouth. The olives on the mountain knees Have dreamt that summer came. And, kindled at the fanning breeze. Break silverly aflame. Yon cypress, blackening in the beam That lights the grave he mourns. Folds darklier yet his shrouds of jet. But, in their darkness, burns. 70 NEW YEAR IN THE SOUTH The heaven has joy, and joy the earth. O Soul, and what hast thou ? What part is thy part in the mirth From wave to mountain brow ? Is rather thine the mood of tears. Of mortal tears, that stir In whom the immortal Beauty nears And meets no mate for her : On whom her dawn of splendour rolls And lights him but for this — To measure and to mourn the soul's Incompetence of bliss : Who reaches where her skirts have been, And, reaching, comes no nigher, Such deep unseen doth sleep between Man's flesh and man's desire ? 71 BY WOOD AND WAVE Ah, Soul ! not so the deep divides But thine are kindred there : This Joy in holy pageant rides To lift thee to her chair. A wanderer out of worlds forgot Thou bear'st the birthright mind : Look where thine own forget thee not. Spirit, and know thy kind. Thou mournest but as exiles may Their yet unlifted ban ; Feelest the pavg of heaven's estray. The home-woe of the man : An isle-pent watcher sights afar Some ranger of the foam. And weeping hails o'er broadening sails The pennon of his home. 72 NEW YEAR IN THE NORTH NEW YEAR IN THE NORTH From Eastland comes the white Year up, A golden sun he bears, As priest that lifts a shining cup Along heaven's altar stairs. His bright robe-fringes trailing wide Let float their purple fret. To flush old Grampian's umbered side And brows of violet. His eyes have seen in mirror sheen The sparkle of his crown. Where Amuinn foams her pines between, And plainward wandering down. 73 BY WOOD AND WAVE Forgets the inurning height that stores The silence of her glen. To babble laughter at the doors, Or rouse the mills of men. Fair stream that goest from glen to lea So strongly and so glad — Life's river might it flow like thee. Strong, and with beauty clad ! Yon sunlight of the dawning year On thy pure bosom strown, Might beam of it be glassed as clear. Blithe Amuinn, on mine own ! As 'neath the glow descends thy flow From hills of virgin air To service and to song below, Ah ! let my life-flow fare, 74 NEW YEAR IN THE NORTH To charm asleep one hungerer's need. To lull one mourner's wrong. With doer's music of a deed. Or singer's deed of song. Doer or Singer — must man choose ? Must time's brief children swear Sole fealty, and the jealous muse Love only or forbear ? Kind First-foot on my pathway borne. Speak : to thy rede I bow : What counsel on the all-omened morn. Wise Amuinn, spellest thou ? Thou answerest, ' Where my currents fleet And where mine echoes throng. There voice and work are one, the sweet Is gendered of the strong. 75 BY WOOD AND WAVE Andj Singer, thou let service breed Music that serves again ; And song-breath speed the golden deed That coins man's heart for men.' ye A HOME REVISITED A HOME REVISITED I TREAD the shorn and windy heath That sees the latest daylight failj The wide blue vapour swims beneath And fills the warm lap of the vale, From far-off meadow-pastures dim To yon lone scar's enfolding rim. From distance to this airy place Mounts up the thunder of the fall, Where, taking voice a moment-space. And whitening o'er his barrier-wall. From deep above to deep below Moves the strong Avon's urgent flow. 77 BY WOOD AND WAVE And all between high crag and wave A wealth of happy woodland springs. With beechen cloisters mute and grave. Or brakes astir with sunny wings. Or, fast in ivy-curtained sleep, Some boulder tumbled from the steep. But oh ! the red-trunked pines that rear Broad limbs against the sunset flame. Whence nightly to my childish ear The wood-dove's cradle-music came. Till fell the lid on dreaming eye. And with her in the woods was I. Dear voice of home, I hearken, lo ! A child once more ; the hot years roll Their burden off : again I know The twilight of the dawning soul ; 78 A HOME REVISITED Kind sylvan, chant : nor start to hear A foster-brother's footfall near. For while I listen darkly swell Old yearnings dumb of home and kind ; But early on my soul they fell. And now, as then, no language find. Speak thou, dear voice of home, and be My speechless longing voiced in thee. 79 'THE OCEAN THRONE' CHORIC SONGS FROM A MASQUE WRITTEN FOR MUSIC AND PERFORMED AT THE CELE- BRATION OF THE FIFTIETH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN VICTORIA COUNTRYMEN Our herds roam widfe by covert-side. Through meadows which the oaks bestride To shade the red kine under. Where dumb and dark the river crawls. Or girds against his foaming walls And volleys down in thunder. Our white flocks star the pastures, hung The dimpled woods and knolls among ; The fleeces climb and glimmer. From musky dells of brier and bine To where the grey down-grasses shine Bare in the noonday shimmer. 83 THE OCEAN THRONE Our steady ploughs on wold and plain Go marching, with the swarthy train Of rooks that hover leeward ; Go tasting deep the oozy lea Whence out we drove the northern sea And scared the gannet seaward. And o'er us all, on'farm and hall. In peace the mellow summers fall. In peace their dole outmeasure ; Nor alien's war, nor brothers' jar Can shake our settled calm and mar The girdled island's treasure. 84 MINERS AND CRAFTSMEN MINERS AND CRAFTSMEN With tick and click of groping pick We furrow the womb of darkness thick, In the deep mine's reek and smother ; With drills that drive and blasts that rive. We burrow the cells of the grimy hive With labour and swink and pother : And the lantern's glare we shelter ware. Lest the fire-fiend rise from his roky lair On blue bat-pinion sailing. And the thunder clap of his wing's wide flap A township's best in ruin enwrap. And the wives above stand wailing. 85 THE OCEAN THRONE But save we toil in the vaulted hill The labouring wheels of the world were still. To dust and rust returning ; By us the wingless navies glide Vapour-winged on a windless tide ; The sounding mills go churning ; With whir and boom, through glint and gloom, The dancing shuttle athwart the loom The nimble thread up-snatches ; And flung from torturing furnace womb The live white ores in fury fume Through torrent-roaring hatches. 86 THE GENTLE THE GENTLE We come from tower and grange. Where the grey woodlands range. Folding chivalric halls in ancient ease ; From Erin's rain- wet rocks. Or where the ocean-shocks Thunder between the glimmering Hebrides ; And many-spired cities grave. With terraced riverain hoar lapped by the storied wave. Taught in proud England's school. Her honour's knightly rule. To do and dare and bear and not to lie, With priest's or scholar's lore, Or statesman's subtle store 87 THE OCEAN THRONE Of garnered ■wisdom, proved in councils high. We serve thy bidding here, or far Shepherd the imperial flock under an alien star. Leechcraft of heaven or earth We bear to scanted hearth And lightless doorway and dim beds of pain : With master-craft we steer Dusk labour's march, and cheer His blind innumerable-handed train ; Or in the cannon-shaken air Frankly the gentle die that simple men may dare. The Asian moonbeams fall O'er our boys' graves, and all The o'er-watching hills are names of their young glory : Sleep the blithe swordsman hands Beside red ^thiop sands. 88 THE GENTLE Or drear uprise of wintry promontory : The headstone of a hero slain Charms with his memory's spell each threshold of thy reign. O for the blood that fell So gladly given and well, O for all spirits that lived for England's honour. Ere folly ruin or fear Her whom these held so dear. Ere fate or treason shame the crown upon her, Rise, brothers of her knightly roll. Close fast our order's ranks and guard great England whole. 89 THE OCEAN THRONE SOLDIERS Lads that love fight. Hearts that beat right. Rally ho ! rally, and lock the rank tight : Scarlet or blue. Tartan and trew. Fit to go anywhere, anything do. Rings with our tramp. Glows with our camp Jungle or wady or prairie or swamp ; Shipboard or shore, Climates a score. Burning dust-desert or Himalay hoar. 90 SOLDIERS Bids U9 to war, Mahdi or Czar, War shall not tarry where Englishmen are. Home they go tame. Headlong who came. Fire-footed Arab and Ghazi aflame. Flout they our sway Long worlds away. Longer the arm is we reach to the prey : Forest and hill Crossed we at will. Hunting the thieves of the Suleiman chill : Where the south land Burns like a brand. Climbed the tall side of the ship of the sand ; Bridled the staid Nubian jade. Stalking to battle in gaunt cavalcade. 91 THE OCEAN THRONE Heard our ' heave-ho ! ' Watched the oars go Ghosts of grey Pharaohs and idols a-row ; Mile by long mile Beat we old Nile. Where are they safe from the men of the Isle ? Ha ! for how we Shook ourselves free. Leapt to fetch Gordon safe home over sea. What ! shall a debt England forget .'' We, we will pay it, clasp hands with him yet. Silent and stark, Sheer at their mark, Strode our scant thousand out into the dark : 92 SOLDIERS Tempted the dread Pathways that thread Realms of the vulture, mute camps of the dead : Shook the wild hive. Let the swarm drive, Myriad stings of that hurricane live ; Let the storm fall. Moved like a wall Into it, out of it, safe Ah ! not all. Hollow their grave. Heroes who gave Life for the hero it helped not to save ; Smooth the lone bier ; Peace ! dry the tear : Hand shall clasp hand, but not here, O not here. 93 THE OCEAN THRONE SAILORS I Sailors we^ the island breed, Merry sons of stout sea-rover ; Merry hearts and tough at need ; Who like us wide ocean over ? South or north Steering forth Where 's the sea but England sailed it ? East or west. Where 's the quest Asked a man, and England failed it ? Over tides that sleep or rave. Ocean old, the islesmen know you : Bellow wind and buffet wave. We 're the hearts will overcrow you. 94 SAILORS Chorus When the storm in sheet and shroud Blusters loudj When the rollers shake the decks. Rolling wrecks, O it's who will show the way Up the roaring mast to-day, O it 's who but merry seamen of the Isle ? II Hearts of oak, our sires, who knew Nelson's snowy towers upsoaring, Strangelier ride our Jackets Blue, Strange sea-horses weirdly oaring. Under us snort Fire-fed, swart, 95 THE OCEAN THRONE Foaming-finned Behemoths wallowing. Dragon scalcj Hump of mail. Sunken nozzle the sea-mound hollowing. Beam of oak or beam of steel. Hearts of oak are the men that ride them; England's war-dogs dour and leal Guard her folds lest harm betide them. Chorus When the slaver were-wolf creeps, Ere he leaps : When the pirate hawk a-stoop Thinks to swoop : O the vermin flit and fly. For it 's who, it 's who they spy, O it 's who but merry seamen of the Isle .'' 96 SAILORS Fighters we, the Viking seed. By the flagship staunchly steering. Trimly dight for murderous deed. Broadside slow to broadside nearing. Battle's breath, A sword in sheath, Waits the grim word long withholden : Through the hush O'er us rush Dreams of home and summers golden. Sword from shekth, the lightning springs. Flap the enormous wings of thunder : All the bruised heaven reels and rings. Quail the torn, white surges under. 97 THE OCEAN THRONE Chorus Then my messmate's eyes by mine Starkly shines In the gun-fire's moment fit Fiercely lit ; And it 's who will show the way Through the pelting fight to-day, O it 's who but merry seamen of the Isle ? 98 THE MOTHER AND THE SONS THE MOTHER AND THE SONS Sons in my gates of the West, Where the long tides foam in the dark of the pine. And the cornlands crowd to the dim sky-line. And wide as the air are the meadows of kine, What cheer from my gates of the West ? ' Peace in thy gates of the West, England our mother, and rest. In our sounding channels and headlands frore The hot Norse blood of the northland hoar Is lord of the wave as the lords of yore. Guarding thy gates of the West. 99 THE OCEAN THRONE But thou, O mother^ be strong In thy seas for a girdle of towers, Holding thine own from wrong, Thine own that is ours. Till the sons that are bone of thy bone. Till the brood of the lion upgrown In a day not long. Shall war for our England's own. For the pride of the ocean throne. Be strong, O mother, be strong.' Sons in my gates of the morn. That steward the measureless harvest gold And temples and towers of the Orient old From the seas of the palm to Himalya cold, What cheer in my gates of the morn ? lOO THE MOTHER AND THE SONS ' Fair as our India's morn Thy peace, as a sunrise, is born. Where thy banner is broad in the Orient light There is law from the seas to HimAlya's height. For the banner of might is the banner of right. Good cheer in thy gates of the morn.' From the isles of the South what word ? Gallant sons of the South ! for that trumpet rang high. When 'England's are ours' was the gathering- cry, ' And a thousand will bleed ere our Gordon shall die.' From njy sons of the South what word ? lOl THE OCEAN THRONE ' Mother, what need of a word For the love that outspoke with the sword ? In the day of thy storm, in the clash of the powers, When thy children close round thee grown great with the hours. They shall know who have wronged thee if " England's be ours." We bring thee a deed for a word. But thou, O mother, be strong In thy seas for a girdle of towers. Holding thine own from wrong. Thine own that is ours. Till the sons that are bone of thy bone, Till the brood of the lion upgrown 102 THE MOTHER AND THE SONS In a day not long. Shall war for our England's own, For the pride of the ocean throne. Be strong, O mother, be strong.' 103 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY' A DEATH IN THE MIST A STAB. IN THE EAST LOVE THE TIMELESS REWARD TO A LEADER THE ANGEL STAIR A DEATH IN THE MIST ' Cloud and for ever cloud Round me, with floor of an unending snow. Where all ways are alike to all, and go Only from shroud to shroud. As melt the formless arches and upgrow In vapour-crypts embowed. And some one in the vale Opens at morn his casement, if the morn Be risen below, and sweeps with glances worn The mountain knees, and pale Rain-soaken pastures hung with fringes torn Of my death-curtain's trail. 107 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY And wonders how his friend Brooks the sad tarriance in the mountain cot, So long by leaguer of the mists, that blot The skyward stairway, penned ; And moving faintlier in my moving grot I, while he wonders, end. Cloud ! In the cloud to die ! Alas ! as ever in the cloud I lived. Where trod these feet^ undoubting? where achieved One of all goals that lie Sun-clear to those who lightlier have believed, Not keenlier gazed than I ? Bright action's train I viewed Hungering, afar ; nor followed, for disdain io8 A DEATH IN THE MIST To sell the heart to serve and not the brain. Truth the divine I wooed Longj and a changeling bride to breast I strain. Divine Incertitude. Divine — or I misdeemed : So holier was my bosom-mate to me, This blind, this mortal, but no phantom she. Than ghostlier Fair that beamed Glamour on easier lovers, fain to be Blest but the while they dreamed. Not dream would I, to wake Fooled, if a waking be ; nor dream, to sleep On past reproof of folly, if the deep Shall whom it sent retake. Nor over that strict edge one memory creep. When the fond senses break. 109 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY Then since I could not know. And dream I would not, in my cloudy pall I wander, where all ways are like, and all Into one blankness go : I find no faith with warrant for her call, No battle worth my blow. Ah, me ! perchance the while. Heaven-plain above the darkness where I drown. The changeless towers of the white Alpine crown. Crystalline pile and pile. Out of eternal clearness shining down On the lost mortal smile.' Breath of the North and broad Noon heaven : a wanderer prone along the drift, no A DEATH IN THE MIST Cold ; and he knew not o'er the mountain clift How leapt a wind and trod His darkness out^ and showed on stainless lift The steadfast towers of God. Ill THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY A STAR IN THE EAST The boy whose dreaming eye discerns On life's far verge a glory seen, And knows his star arisen, and burns To tread the width of world between — How starts he at that passion's birth, In those lit eyes what visions swim ! Above, beneath, new heaven, new earth ; And all things round one heart with him. Ah ! drink, young dreamer, of thy joy. Drink deeply now, nor taste again : So soon the manhood mocks the boy, So scant the fruit, so large the pain ; 112 A STAR IN THE EAST So sure a doubt the vision hides. Faint and more faint, the more pursued ; So far the broadening world divides Thy passion and the star it wooed. Yetj though the rapt hour come not back. Though faith's clear flame, which lit thee then, Scarce gleam to show thy fading track Among the thousand ways of men : Though one wide moment gave and stole The opening heaven, and left the cloud : Though not again is born the soul. And once, but once, the life is vowed : Yet, oh ! brave heart that daredst to dream. Dare yet believe thy dreaming true. Dare trust the star's remembered gleam. The trembling of the iinfallen clue : H "3 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY The rapt hour passes as it camCj But passing sows the live desire : Once on thy brows alit the flamCj Now in thy bosom bides the fire. And still through storm and wildering gloom. O'er sun-blanched waste, o'er oceans wan. The deep unseen upholding doom Sweeps the soul's pinion strongly on ; Till winged along the enchanted line The straining spirit nears the mark. And, fainting, knows a hand divine Reach out and take it through the dark. So, haply, gazing from the brows Of forests o'er the pathless foam. Some bird of passage inly knows The pilot sense that steers her home : 114 A STAR IN THE EAST And rustling from her shade of oak With clap of wing awakes the hush. And joys in the strong sinew's stroke, And raptures at the breezes' rush : Then buoyed along the constant deep, Or stemming true the ruffling gales. With surely forward-faring sweep And soundless beat of pinion, sails : Till downward through the sunset bloom She stoops, with one slow oar-beat more, And lets descend a wear3ring plume At even on the island shore. "5 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY LOVE THE TIMELESS All on a dawning rosy-dim My soul woke, ere could wake a limb, And 'tired herself and stole abroad. There found she on a starward road Some that were once her company. Now who they were that met her I Guess lightly, but of what was heard From lip to lip I know no word. For home she softly came unmissed. Doffed her sky-faring robe, and kissed To living sense her slumbering clay. Told so much of her airy way. No more ; and smiling down my guess. Back kissed me to forgetfulness. Il6 LOVE THE TIMELESS But not the less in slumber wrought My questing mind. ' For how/ methought, ' Can commune be of clime and clime. The timeless and the bound in time ? As soon might echoes cross, unbuoyed On air's upholding waves, the void And stayless, star-enisling deep. As mortal thoughts, that measure keep With crawling of the dial's hand And lapses of the wasting sand. Be syllabled on ears for whom A moment spans an seon's room. Deem we the spirit, that last ungirt Earth's heavy raiment, in the skirt And doubtful dusk of Time abides. From portion in these human tides Not yet so disinherited. But parleyings of the quick and dead 117 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY May meet upon this pulse of air ? Ah, no ! Time's sons are equal there ; Nor yonward of Death's instant gate Is last or first, is soon or late. The wings of all the ghostly flight Together on God's threshold light As one ; nor earlier there are borne Our fathers of grey Nature's morn Than he whose spirit launched away Down the dawn-wind of yesterday.' Then seemed it from exceeding far. As though a voice from off a star Were blown me hither, came a word, ' O dull of heed, and hast not heard How for all Being only Love Was builder and is bond thereof .■' Il8 LOVE THE TIMELESS Her arms as in an urn en wall The ocean of the shoreless All, And ocean-isle of Space therein. The worlds that end not nor begin, The world that hears the hurrying breath Of Time outmeting Birth and Death, Both to one music's order move, — The beating of the heart of Love. Therefore whatso of Love is, may 'Twixt mortal and immortal day Unhindered voyage and unspent. Across Love's equal element. And therefore, if some widowed sigh Of mourner climb your vault of sky. Hopeless, in hunger for the dead, Or hearts in rest are visited. Even they, with longing for their own, — O then they hearken, leaning down 119 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY Over heaven's brim as o'er a cup. The human murmur trembling up. Their swift, unrhythmed, changeless Now Stands stiU : the wan earth blinks below : And Time is doled to spirits then By clock-beat of the towers of men. 1 20 REWARD REWARD What shall the brave in soul attain Who shape a thought in act and life. What guerdon to redeem the pain, What victor palm beyond the strife. When the worn spirits pass to wait In silence with the silent great ? Men say, ' It were reward for all — For hours of strife an age of fame ! ' Ah ! faint, methinks, the echoes fall Of mortals' praise or mortals' blame, When breaks upon the widening soul The deep archangel trumpet-roll. 121 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY Nay, brothers, 'neath the Eternal Eyes One human joy shall touch the just, — To know their spirit's heirs arise And lift their purpose from the dust ; The father's passion arms the son. And the great deed goes on, goes on. 122 TO A LEADER TO A LEADER Lead on, strong heart, lead on untiring still. Though the day darken, and a wearier war, Wave after bitter wave, come rolling far. From seas undrainable of wasteful ill. But thou lead on : thou shalt not vainly spill Thy heart's dear blood, but, fast as hate can mar, It quickens, fallen where God's harvests are, Round happier dwellings which thy children fill. Lead on ; watch out the last, the blindest, fight ; Watch out the trouble to watch in the weal, 123 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY This one last hour of battle : even now Perchance, above us, from his vantage height The angel watcher marks the foeman reel. And sets the trumpet to his lips to blow. 124 THE ANGEL STAIR THE ANGEL STAIR Meseemed upon a stair was I That bridged the air's immensity. Mounting I saw not whence nor where. So lost below, so lost on high : And a, strong angel clomb the stair. And on his breast a soul he bare. Hard at my side the angel set A resting foot. I knew, and yet Knew not the Still one, folded o'er. Strange in dusk weed of violet : The travel-robe of saints he wore Which wraps them changing shore for shore. 125 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY A shepherd crook of sapling grain He clasped, as who to sleep had lain Holding it, and the sleep was death. White was the smooth brow, marble-plain. i» ' Thy years,' methought, ' of mortal breath Were His who taught from Nazareth.' White was the dreaming brow, but white As beam is of the live moonlight. Wherein the far sun mirrored lies. ' It falleth on him from the height ' (The angel spake) ' whereto we rise. That shineth over Paradise.' My lips unlocked, ' And is there dearth In heaven, that this blossomed worth Ye pluck before to fruit it grew ? ' And mild he answered, ' On your earth 126 THE ANGEL STAIR The Christ He worketh hitherto : And His, that die, not cease to do.' ' Notjess,' I said, ' but more were strong That after-deed, if ours among Longer his living footstep trod.' And he, ' Your mortal brief and long How should I mete ? Our angel rod Holds measure from the spans of God.' ' O Seraph, in the doom of soul Is all as one Time's varying dole ? Life's wholeness as the tithe thereof?' ' O Man, this tithe of life was whole. He chose, — that choice is written above. He loved, — what can ye more than love .' ' 127 THE CLOUD OF MORTAL DESTINY His mantle's rustle and the breath Went past me like a sigh. . . . Beneath One sighed indeed^ half risen from prayer. For lo ! it was the bed of death. Young brother, the white brow was there : Thou — far upon the Angel Stair. 128 INSCRIPTIONS FOR A STATUE IN A SCHOOL CHAPEL Those eyes have lost their fires : the tool Not so could grave^ or marble shine : Thy Presence bears its olden rule Else, and yon scholar ranks are thine. O strong and tender, even to-day Not the cold stone can quench thee so. But folly shall his footstep stay. To look thee in the eyes, and know. 131 INSCRIPTIONS ON A CENOTAPH IN A SCHOOL CHAPEL i TO A. C. K. There the wave urns thee deep : thine urn Here, comrade, is thy Hving deed. Sleep in our midst, or waking learn That hero blood was hero seed. TO A YOUNG BOY Young brother, is it risen so soon — Thy star of eve, before thy noon ? The star of eve ! Ah, care not thou : God's morning shall be long enow. 1 See 'Ballad of the Birkenhead,' p. 42. 132 INSCRIPTIONS A BRAVE PHYSICIAN O WHO wouldst Honour for thine own And knightly Truth, come musing here, And breathe a vow beside the stone That names our Knight Hospitaller. TO SUSANNA Fair soul, who warest, pure of blame. Thy white life through, the Lily's name, Wear now the flower of holier sod. The Lily of the Peace of God. 133 INSCRIPTIONS ' BULGES MORIENS REMINISCITUR ARGOS ' ' Friends — for death called and I knew — Stoop ; let me speak ere I pass ; Friends, when you carry me forth And lay me low under the grass. Grant, as I loved her, but this ; — Lay what is left of me true To the home where my heart was and is. Lay me, my face to the North.' Brother, loved brother and lost. Tenderly lay we thee down. There, from thy grave looking forth. Work not, but watch, with thine own. Ours while the battle was sore. Keep, in the silence, thy post, Ours till the battle is o'er. Faithful, thy face to the North. 134 A CHOICE OF SOLOMON Among the shadows of a dell One mused upon his things to be, For summers now a score had he. There came a voice (he knew not well If from the boughs or heaven it fell) Saidj ' Ask what I shall give to thee.' Then he, — ' A great one yesterday Went up the long street girt about With rapture of the people's shout. But on his wreath a dew there lay^ And this was blood. Ah me ! the bay Veiled ill the sick heart peering out. 137 A CHOICE OF SOLOMON ' And yester-eve I marked a sage Look upward on a star and sigh. As lovers use when none are by : But he for lovelessness and age. And the lone search to disengage Cold secrets of the careless sky. ' Not mine, bleak laurel plucked from wrong ! Nor mine, harsh fruit yon searchers pull ! Let days of mine flow scant or full. But flow to music borne along. Be wise who will, who will be strong : Give me that life be beautiful. ' O son,' was answered in the bower, ' Because thou chosen hast for prize What nearest on Love's bosom lies, Therefore shall Beauty be thy dower, 138 A CHOICE OF SOLOMON And that thou hast not chosen^ Power, And Wisdom wiser than the wise. ' For mystery shall ungird her cloud, To shine on selfless eyes that bear Her parleyings on the veilless air. And bidden of thee shall bow the proud, Unloth, nor witting if he bowed. Betrayed to goodness unaware.' He woke. Behold, the shining noon Drank up the vision like the steam Of morn. And was the voice a stream That muttered near, a wind's commune With woodland ? Ah ! 'tis proven soon. Be dreamer true but as the dream. 139 AT LETHE'S BRINK AT LETHE'S BRINK WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE AND PRINCE EDWARD OF YORK, JUNE 1895 By Lethe wave that hems away Earth's murmur and the Elysian ease. Here on this hither brink of day. What spirits strangely met be these : One from that silence parted new. The other with his face thereto ? Grey statesman fondling on the knee A babbling prince and wordless yet, O with what lore of rule can he Be lessoned, ere thyself forget ; 140 AT LETHE'S BRINK Ere from the slumber-river's brink He sunders, and 'tis thine to drink ? Bland infant, reaching palm to span Yon puissant brow where wisdom lies, Lo ! thrice a storied age of man Looks down from those world-reading eyes, Yet never ray the more for this Can light thy dawning orbs from his. O Chief, that hast ungirt the care, O Child, that yet shalt wear thine own, O Past and Future fronted there All knowing and with all unknown. Ye stand at helpless gaze the while In empty commune of a smile. Yea, when did Past the Future teach > Life's fruits were viler, garnered so. 141 AT LETHE'S BRINK We learn but what we live : and, each Worn harvester, we turn and go Clasping in wistful bosom stored Our incommunicable hoard. 142 A LULLABY TO A LYRE Rest, rest, weary my lyre, Passion her flight has soared. Rest with her, rest ; let her wings of fire Droop by the drooping chord. Cometh at last a sleep to the strong, Cometh a sleep to song, Cometh to song. Dream, dream, airy my lyre. Cradled in fancy's glade : Dream but how to a wind drawn nigher Answer a mavis made. 143 A LULLABY TO A LYRE Music of bower and bird shall be MusiCj O lyre, of thee. Music of thee. Sleep, sleep, merry my lyre. Blithe from that easing spell r Nerve will tremble, and blithe respire Breast of the sounding shell. Passion will rouse at thy side once more. Waken her wings and soar. Waken and soar. Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press