V ¥^^ 
 
 AARBERT 
 
A A R B E R T 
 
 a 2)rama 
 
 Without stage or scenery, wrought out through 
 song in many metres, mostly lyric 
 
 5/ 
 
 WILLIAM MARSHALL 
 
 
 NEW : AMSTERDAM : BOOK : COMPANY 
 10 : FIFTH : AVENUE : NEW : YORK : CITY 
 
f<M 
 
 3897 
 
 Copyright, 1898, 
 
 WILLIAM MARSHALL 
 
 THE MERSHON COMPANY I'KESS, 
 KAHWAY, N. J. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 /// 
 
 PREFACE ....... I 
 
 A DEFENCE OF THE POEM'S LANGUAGE , . .6 
 
 OVERTURE TO THE POEM . . . . -59 
 
 ROOK I. 
 WORLDLY LIFE IN WEAL . . . . -83 
 
 BOOK TI. 
 WORLDLY LIFE IN WOE ..... 126 
 
 ROOK III. 
 WORLDLY LIFE CROSSED BY CHRISTIAN LIFE . . . 164 
 
 ROOK IV. 
 WORLDLY LIFE AND CHRISTIAN LIFE CROSSING EACH OTHER 204 
 
 ROOK Y. 
 CHRISTIAN LIF.E SOUGH'I' ..... 24O 
 
vl CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 WORLDLY LIFE FORSAKEN ..... 276 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 CHRISTL\N LIFE CHOSEN ..... 3IO 
 
 BOOK VIIT. 
 CHRISTL4N LIFE AT START ..... 34^ 
 
AARBERT 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 THE ARGUMENT OF THE POEM. 
 
 The poem of ' Aarbert,' like Bunyan's prose alle- 
 gory, describes a Christian pilgrim's progress from 
 earthliness to heavenliness. But whilst in the alle- 
 gory the pilgrim's feelings are expressed by the author 
 in prose narrative and dialogue, they are in the poem 
 expressed by the pilgrim himself in odes and hymns, 
 and in the dialogues and soliloquies of verse. Again, 
 whilst in the allegory the ' progress ' is from the pil- 
 grim's quitting the ' city of destruction,' or worldly 
 life, up to his reaching the river of death opposite to 
 the gate of heaven, the progress in the poem is from 
 his contented stay in that city up to his reaching the 
 highway, on Christian ground, leading to that yet dis- 
 tant gate. 
 
 The poem is, in fact, a lyric drama, devoid of 
 scenery — a drama through which the pilgrim, its hero, 
 lays bare the state of his heart and mind during his 
 long passage against every form of hindrance, on the 
 part of his earthly affections, from worldliness to god- 
 liness; that is, during the process in him of what is 
 commonly called heart-change and conversion. 
 
 The state of mind, the trials, and hindrances during 
 
2 AARBERT 
 
 this heart-change are different in different men; and 
 the most that can be done by an author in making a 
 description of them general is to describe them as they 
 exist in one of the largest classes of men. The class 
 of which Aarbert is the representative is that of moral, 
 proud, self-righteous men; whilst he, as one of that 
 very large class, is a man singularly possessed of 
 everything which the world can give him to justify, as 
 it seems to him, his pride and self-righteousness. He 
 has a large estate, a good wife, loving children, robust 
 health, a powerful mind, a fine taste, and a quick con- 
 science. Moreover, he is a man honourable, gentle, 
 loving, and by everyone who thoroughly knows him 
 beloved. His trials begin by his losing his estate, 
 then his reputation. His young brother, named Go- 
 dard, who had been dependent on him, acts through- 
 out the poem, so long as he lives, as his religious 
 guide. Godard is a clergyman. Evangelical, Protes- 
 tant, and Puritan. Having an estate bequeathed to 
 him of half the worth of that which Aarbert has lost, 
 he gives him a very large share of it. Aarbert is 
 oppressed by the gift, and for the first time in his life 
 discovers pride as a sin in himself. He cannot rid 
 himself of the sin either by priestly help, or by out- 
 ward ritualistic observances, or by good resolutions. 
 Godard sets before him the Gospel. Aarbert starts 
 very many of the objections commonly made to it by 
 unbelievers, and Godard answers the objections one 
 after another. Having weighed the answers, Aarbert 
 accepts the Gospel, but only with his mind. His 
 worldly heart still rejects it; and after a short flash of 
 joy, arising from false Christian peace and hope, he 
 sinks into wretched irresolution. Godard is sent 
 abroad for recovery of health, and Aarbert relapses 
 utterlv into world-love. He now meets with worldlv. 
 
■THE ARGUMENT OF THE POEM 3 
 
 and even infidel, advisers, whose reasonings, however, 
 he combats, and against whom, by help of Godard's 
 letters, he holds his ground as at least an assenter to 
 the Gospel's teaching. Godard returns to England 
 and dies, leaving all hiswealth to Aarbert; who soon 
 afterw^ards himself becomes very ill, feels his sinful- 
 ness, is alarmed at his soul's danger, passes through 
 an agony of self-conflict, and at last with his heart re- 
 ceives that teaching of the Gospel which hitherto his 
 mind alone has taken in; gives himself wholly up to 
 God through Christ, and gains peace. His wife, 
 Milda, one of his own class, but more staid and lowly- 
 minded, who has shared most of his experiences, fol- 
 lows him in self-surrender to God. 
 
 The crisis of change being past, the poem represents 
 the utterance by the two pilgrims, and by their friend 
 and adviser, Arnulph, of much Christian doctrine and 
 sentiment; and it ends in leaving both of them enter- 
 ing upon a Christian life. It has in its course ex- 
 plained incidentally that the agony, gloom, irresolu- 
 tion, long self-conflict, and long delay, through which 
 Aarbert passes are attributable exclusively to that 
 worldliness, selfishness, or other faultiness which stub- 
 bornly rejects Christianity, and not to Christianity 
 itself; and, moreover, that if a Christian is sad and 
 slow during 'conversion,' it is because he is not hearty, 
 thorough, and single-minded in seeking it. 
 
 THE MACHINERY OF THE POEM 
 
 is, as I have already said, somewhat dramatic. Its 
 eight books have each many numbered divisions, all 
 answering to scenes in a drama, but without represen- 
 tation of scenery, and all consisting of utterances by 
 one or two or more persons. These utterances take 
 
4 AARBERT 
 
 the form of English blank verse, of classic hexameters, 
 of elegiacs, of odes in Sapphic, Alcaic, Pindaric, and 
 other metres, and very often of verse of a composite 
 kind, unrecognised as standard. The chief speakers, 
 besides Aarbert, are Milda, his wife; Godard, his 
 brother; and an old friend to them both, named 
 Arnulph. 
 
 THE READING OF CLASSIC METRES. 
 
 The metres of the poem being so often classic, with 
 which most readers are unfamiliar, it may be as well 
 that I should make some remarks on the reading of 
 poetry generally. In music there is an accent at the 
 beginning of every bar. If this accent, in reading the 
 music, is not observed, the rhythm is unintelligible, 
 and the notes are a mass of confusion. In all poetry 
 the bar consists of the line, which, in the reading, 
 should always be kept distinct. In some almost im- 
 perceptible way, whether by emphasizing an early ac- 
 cented syllable in the line, or whether by raising the 
 voice very slightly more at the beginning than towards 
 the end of the line, or whether by making a half- 
 comma's pause at the end of the line, even if there is 
 no stop there, or whether by all these three processes 
 together, in some way or other, the line in all poetry 
 should be by the reader kept so distinct that the swing 
 of its melody may be in itself, in connection with that 
 of the neighbouring lines; and all this management of 
 the voice should go on utterly independently of the 
 proper modulation of the voice required by the sense 
 or by the accent within the line. The stops required 
 by the sense should go on together with the almost im- 
 perceptible end line-stop, but not so as to mar the 
 swing. That is to say, the stops required by the sense 
 
THE READING OF CLASSIC METRES 5 
 
 should be made in the course of the Hue; but the 
 height of the voice during the stop should be kept sus- 
 pended. The voice should not at a stop in the course 
 of the line be lowered, and, after the stop is over, 
 raised again with a fresh breathing. 
 
 In all this I have merely stated general rules for the 
 right reading, of any poetry whatever. With, how- 
 ever, such general rules, much allowance must be left 
 to the taste and skill of the reader for a discovery of 
 the proper exceptions. Should my reader not under- 
 stand my metres, I ask him to observe, without exag- 
 gerating, the general rules to which I have drawn his 
 attention, and by them to read my lines, and especially 
 those of my Sapphic and Pindaric odes, as if they 
 zvere prose, without any attempt to bring them into 
 something like the hop and jump, or hop and two 
 jumps, or the reverse, which form what some people 
 regard as the only rhythm proper to poetry. For, 
 after all, the metres of poetry are more for the com- 
 poser's help than for the reader's. They are merely 
 means of making ordinary speech, or what is called 
 prose, melodious. If, then, my reader, being a good 
 prose-reader, ignore the metres altogether, and yet 
 find the lines unmelodious, the fault will have been 
 mine. I hope that he will not be able to prove it so. 
 I implore him, if unskilled in the Greek metres, to 
 read my adoption of them boldly as prose. By taking 
 this advice, he will soon, I think, get into their swing 
 as verse. 
 
 THE TONE OF THE POEM 
 
 is Protestant and Puritan. Its protest on behalf of the 
 teaching of the Bible includes a loud and unflinching 
 protest against every teaching. Ritualistic, Romish, 
 
6 AARBERT 
 
 Antinomian, and infidel, which is in conflict with it. 
 The Puritanism of ' Aarbert ' is, however, not more 
 outspoken than is that of the Homilies and Articles of 
 the Church of England. And if Roman Catholics 
 may publish books, justifying all their many slaugh- 
 ters of Protestants during the Middle Ages, boasting 
 their canonization of felons who, by the laws of this 
 country, were justly hanged for high treason and con- 
 spiracy to murder, and recording the Council of 
 Trent's bitter curses of Protestants and of all others 
 who reject some Romish dogmas, my poem may 
 surely be allowed to escape a charge of illiberality in 
 its expressing its utmost disapproval of Popery or of 
 any approach to it in language free from fear and 
 withal free from uttering curses and threats of human 
 violence. 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT.' 
 
 In my use of unfamiliar words in this poem, I have 
 borne in mind that he who debases his country's lan- 
 guage is guilty of a great crime; and I have taken care 
 rather to restore than to debase my mother tongue. 
 The strange words which I have used are thoroughly 
 English; moreover, they are neither provincialisms 
 nor Chaucerisms. I mean that they are not words 
 used merely in one or other province of the country, 
 nor are they words used throughout the country 
 chiefly in the times of Chaucer and Wyclif¥e. They 
 are words more than a thousand years old, used by all 
 authors speaking the purest English at a time when 
 the English tongue was at its best, when it was a 
 tongue fuller, richer, stronger, and more capable of 
 expansion — in short, in every way better, not only 
 than the modern alloys of Latin, but than Latin itself. 
 I will justify every word which I have tried to re- 
 
THE LANGUAGE OE 'AAEBERT' 7 
 
 store, and I assert that the more my reader shall 
 through my poem have learnt the words which I have 
 used, by so much the more will he have increased his 
 knowledge of English. Scott, Burns, and others have 
 been allowed to make their beautiful Scotch dialect 
 familiar to us in writings ten times more difficult to 
 read than mine are, and whose difficulties consist very 
 much of mere unfamiliar spellings of words. Literary 
 quacks of all sorts have been allowed to load our 
 dictionary with such utterly un-English words as 
 ' Zoohygiantics,' ' Phthisozoics,' ' Geoponics,' ' Hel- 
 minthology ' (see Roget's ' Thesaurus,' p. 374), and as 
 ' aberuncate,' ' ablaqueation,' ' aculate,' ' adacted,' 
 ' adunation,' ' adunque,' * agnize,' ' amaritude,' ' amo- 
 rist,' ' anfractuousness,' ' araneous,' and so on by the 
 twenty thousand (see an}'- dictionary) ; and I appeal to 
 my reader's candour to say whether the hundred 
 strange English words which appear in ' Aarbert ' are 
 not more homely and intelligible than any of these 
 twenty thousand far more strange and obsolete words. 
 He need not fear that what T have done in recovering 
 our classic words is a dangerous precedent. The 
 power to bring any word into general acceptance is 
 limited by at least the measure of the value of the word, 
 the absence of a better, and the authority and publicity 
 of the book in which the word appears. It is not in 
 everybody's power to bring a word into use; nor is it 
 in anybody's power to bring into lasting use an unfit 
 word. 
 
 My attempt at the restoration of pure English must 
 not be considered as a repetition of Spenser's, which 
 utterly and deservedly broke down, as being silly, use- 
 less, and even mischievous. Mine is in everything the 
 reverse of his. He used Anglo-Latinisms freely, but 
 dressed all his urcouth words in obsolete forms. I 
 
8 AARBERT 
 
 have avoided Anglo-Latinisms in my poem — scarcely 
 any will be found there — and I have dressed almost all 
 my words, even those which are obsolete, in modern 
 forms. 
 
 As to the question whether my writing in pure Eng- 
 lish this Evangelistic poem, full as it is of theological 
 references, was wise, I can only say that I could not 
 possibly have Avritten it in Anglo-Latin. None of my 
 words will long remain obsolete; and if, for a little 
 while, they check my poem's religious usefulness, I 
 am more than comforted in the feeling that, since the 
 English language is so largely the means of spreading 
 Christian lore, I, in so far as I help to make it worthy 
 and capable of doing this, am furthering Christ's work 
 on earth, to further which is the design of the poem. 
 
 I will now give a list of the obsolete words which I 
 have used, justifying my use of each as I go, and 
 merely premising that, whilst a few of them occur very 
 frequently, most of them will be met with only twice 
 or thrice in the whole poem. 
 
 ' Aarworth,' ' Aar,' ' Aarbert.' 
 
 Our fathers have in their books left to us four differ- 
 ent words written as ' ar ' — one of them unaccented, 
 and the three others accented. The unaccented ' ar ' 
 has come down to us as ' ore.' Then, as if dropping 
 an ' o,' they wrote ^ ar ' for what we have as ' oar.' As 
 if dropping an ' e,' they wrote ' ar ' for ' aer,' which we 
 have in the word ' early ' ; and, as if dropping an ' a,' 
 they wrote ' ar ' for ' aar,' a word which we have quite 
 lost, yet which exists in almost all the other Teutonic 
 languages, and also in the Hebrew ' aur ' and Latin 
 ' aurum.' It means honour, glory. The Germans 
 have it as ' ehre,' the Danes as ' aere,' the Dutch as 
 ' eer,' the Swedes as ' ara,' the Icelanders as ' aera,' and 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 9 
 
 the Frisians as * ere.' ' Aar ' is in Switzerland the 
 name of a well-known river. ' Aarwordh ' is honour- 
 able; and I have used * Aarworth ' as a noun meaning 
 * moral honour.' We have no other word to express 
 this. * Aarbert ' is clearly Honour-bright. The acute 
 accent's force in Old English words is a matter of de- 
 bate. It sometimes merely guided the voice, as in 
 distinguishing ' aras,' messengers, from * aras,' arose. 
 
 ' Andget ' 
 means mental faculty or sense, such as that of sight. 
 It is compounded of * and,' the English form of avti^ 
 which we have in ' answer,' and of ' get,' which may 
 come from the verb * get ' or from the noun ' gate,' 
 and which gives much expression in either case. For 
 instance, the ' andget ' of hearing is that mental oppo- 
 siteness to sound by which the mind gets the sound, or 
 else is that gate which admits sound into the mind. 
 The Anglo-Latin word ' sense ' means many different 
 things, and not one of them distinctly. 
 
 ' tEriht,' 
 
 which I modernize as * aeright,' is a grand word mean- 
 ing justice. ' 7EJ which is a connection of the Greek 
 asty is also a form of our ' ea,' a stream or river, from 
 whose ever-flowing it gains a beautiful image of eter- 
 nity; and this it embodies in its meaning of eternal 
 law, such as the law of truth or mercy or righteous- 
 ness, as opposed to ' lagu,' a ' laid ' down or statute 
 law having local or temporary force. 
 
 We have ' ae ' in our ' aye of aye ' ; and, when coupled 
 with ' right.' it speaks clearly for itself as justice. 
 
 ' ASTONDNES,' 
 
 a word which I prefer to keep in its original form, but 
 which is ' outstandness,' is the English of the Anglo- 
 
lo AARBERT 
 
 Latin word ' person,' as applied in the Athanasian doc- 
 trine of the Holy Trinity. The names of God in the 
 Bible are two, Jehovah and Elohim. The former is 
 in the singular number, and the latter in the plural. 
 Now, the Bible says nothing more distinctly than that 
 there is but one Jehovah. Therefore, whatever are 
 the constituents of the Elohim, they are not three Je- 
 hovahs. What they are the Bible does not distinctly 
 say. It speaks of the Word, and of the Wisdom, and 
 of the Spirit, and of the Seven Spirits of Jehovah. It 
 speaks also of the Son of God and of the Paraclete; but 
 of the former distinctly only in His being the revealed 
 or prerevealed Son of man also, as in the phrase, ' This 
 day have I begotten Thee ' ; and of the latter distinctly 
 only in His being the spiritual Advocate sent to man. 
 In showing, therefore, as it distinctly does, Jesus both 
 God and man, it distinctly shows Him, in so far as, 
 apart from His manhood. He is God, to be one of the 
 Elohim ; but what and how such it does not distinctly 
 show Him. Consequently, neither are all the con- 
 stituents of the Elohim, nor are the precise conditions 
 of any of them, nor are their precise relations to Je- 
 hovah, distinctly revealed to man. Nevertheless, it 
 has been the delight of proud man distinctly to define 
 these all-holy constituents, and their relations to each 
 other, in figurative speech. Man begins by defining 
 them as exactly three in number, although in four 
 places in the Apocalypse we read of the Seven Spirits 
 of God. Then the Greek, adopting the figure of a 
 tripod of three legs united by one seat, calls them 
 three * hypostases/ or subsistences. The Roman, 
 under figure of a dramatic mask, * persona ' (from 
 ' per-sonare,' to sound through) — literally, mouth- 
 piece — calls them three ' Personas,' or dramatic char- 
 acters. The Englishman of the present day, ad-opt- 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF ' AARBERT' ii 
 
 ing the Roman figure, but misunderstanding the word 
 ' persona/ calls them three Persons (Individuals) ; 
 whilst the Englishman of King Alfred's times, adopt- 
 ing the figure of a tree, calls them three ' Astond- 
 neses ' (Outstandingnesses), or Branches. Now, since 
 we know little of our own being, and absolutely noth- 
 ing of that of God, the last-named figure and name 
 might be called the best, if any of them could be at all 
 called good. The Latin ' persona,' a face or mouth- 
 piece, is a word akin to the Greek ' prosopon,' which 
 appears in 2 Cor. i., ii., and which Conybeare and 
 HoAvson there translate as * tongue,' but which is, 
 firstly, a face. ' Persona ' appears in that most pre- 
 sumptuous compilation of a darkling age, the Atha- 
 nasian Creed, so strangely beloved by Protestants ; 
 which, in so far as it adheres to the figure of a dra- 
 matic mask, is as purely monotheistic as any Deist 
 could desire. It represents God as speaking through 
 three masks, or faces, or mouthpieces, and as acting 
 in three characters; and it takes much needless trouble 
 in asserting that He, under each of these three faces, 
 and in each of these three characters, is equal to Him- 
 self in each, and under each, of the other two. But 
 the Word of God and the Holy Spirit, or Spirits of 
 God, are more than faces, mouthpieces, and characters 
 of God in the Bible. From ' persona's ' having in the 
 Anglo-Latin word * person ' slipped into meaning an 
 individual being, the English acceptor of the Atha- 
 nasian Creed escapes falling into Deism; but he falls 
 into what is worse, PolytheivSm. He is led into sup- 
 posing that God consists of three Individuals, all alike, 
 all equal even to the Father's not having, in the 
 Trinity, precedence or superiority over His Son in 
 time, or power, or knowledge, or rank ; each of which 
 three Individuals is God; and vet that there are not 
 
12 AARBERT 
 
 three Gods, but one God. And he calls this matter of 
 his faith a mystery, mistaking even the word ' mys- 
 tery,' which means, not an impenetrable secret, but a 
 secret revealed only to the initiated. Then as an im- 
 penetrable secret he believes it, just as he might be- 
 lieve that two and two were five, and yet were only 
 four. Neither is the Bible answerable for such a 
 stumbling-block to faith in it, as is this self-contra- 
 diction ; nor is our own word, * Astondnes,' nor, to say 
 soth, is the Athanasian Creed, guilty as it is of adding 
 its own revelations to those of the Bible on a subject 
 the most sacred which can be conceived, and on which 
 that holy book has been studiously reserved. The 
 Anglo-Latin word ' person ' alone is answerable for 
 the stumbling-block to a reception of the doctrine of 
 the Atonement made by the Lord Jesus, God and man, 
 and to the doctrine of the work and office of the Holy 
 Ghost, the Paraclete, in man. 
 
 ' Aban ' 
 
 means to command or proclaim. It is a shorter and I 
 think stronger word than ' command.' It is from 
 ' ban,' a prince, and as ' proclamation ' we have it in 
 our ' banns of marriage.' 
 
 ' Alwielder,' 
 
 for thus I modernize ' alwalda,' means all-ruler, all- 
 governor, which neither ' almighty ' nor ' omnipo- 
 tent ' quite mean. It is a fine word, as in the phrase, 
 
 * The Lord God alwielder reigneth.' 
 
 ' Atfore ' 
 is a word lost, and much wanted back. It means, as 
 
 * coram ' does, in front-and-in-presence-of ; whilst * be- 
 fore,' ' bye-fore,' which also should mean this, means 
 usuallv merelv ' in front of/ 
 
THE LANGUAGE OE 'AARBERT' 13 
 
 ' Antwhether ' 
 
 is from ' and,' the English form of avri^ which we 
 have in ' answer,' and from ' whether.' It means not- 
 withstanding or in spite of. ' Antwhether rain ' means 
 against-whether-or-not-rain. 
 
 ' Bod,' ' Bebod,' 
 
 are the nouns of ' bid ' ' bebid.' ' Bod ' is a command- 
 ment, and ' bebod,' ' bye-bod,' is a gentle command or 
 exhortation. Besides being short, they have the 
 recommendation of being of the few that rhyme with 
 ' God.' 
 
 The Prefixes ' Be ' and ' Ge,' as in * Behest,' 
 * Geleave.' 
 
 ' Be ' is the prefix to nearly 600 English words. 
 But its precise force in them has yet to be learnt. The 
 prefix seems, as a form of the word ' bye,' to give an 
 encircling and reflexive force of ' from-self-around-to- 
 self.' Thus ' best ' is command and behest (com- 
 mand-brought-around-from-self-to-self) is promise. 
 The force of ' ge ' is more evident. It is the motive 
 force of ' go ' and ' goad,' and also the collective force 
 of ' gather,' that of the Latin ' con ' (together with). 
 Dr. Bosworth says of ' ge ' that besides its collective 
 action it makes neuter verbs active. Thus ' to laugh,' 
 as * to gelaugh,' becomes ' to laugh-at.' It also 
 changes their literal meaning to one figurative; thus 
 ' to hold,' as ' to gehold,' becomes ' to preserve ' ; and it 
 withal changes substantives into verbs. But he adds 
 that ' ge ' seems often void of signification. It cannot 
 have been so, and when English is more understood 
 this sad confession will not be called for. Two thou- 
 sand five hundred of our words are compounded with 
 * ge.' We still have ' ge ' as ' y; and sometimes as 
 
14 AARBERT 
 
 ' a,' as in ' yclad ' and in ' aright/ and once at least 
 most disastrously as ' be.' We have utterly lost the 
 large and rich meaning of ' geleaf ' by spelling and 
 pronouncing it as ' belief.' ' Geleave ' means what 
 it says — altogether-leave. They who ' geleave ' 
 in Christ altogether-leave-themselves-and-theirs in 
 Christ. They who ' geleave ' Christ's words give- 
 leave to Christ's words to be to them all that He 
 means them to be, and to do all that He wills that 
 they do, even to the ruling and guiding them. Thus, 
 ' geleaf ' is a word amounting to obedience. Good 
 works are included in it, and by the word St. Paul's 
 and St. James's descriptions of faith are harmonized. 
 ' Geleaf ' is an instance, of which there are not a 
 few, of an English word's describing a subject or 
 a process of thought so well by standing forth as its 
 name that, without its name, it is dif^cult to under- 
 stand fully itself. ' Faith,' which is no connection of 
 the Latin ' fides,' but rather of our own ' feud,' meant 
 originally fidelity. Still, being English and short, it 
 may well pass as a word dumbly signifying ' geleaf.' 
 
 ' BiLWHIT.' 
 
 Here is a charming little word lost to us, meaning 
 simple, innocent, and taken from the fact that the bills 
 or beaks of young birds are white. ' God dwells in 
 the castle of His onefoldness and bilwhitness.' 
 
 ' To Brook,' a ' Brick.' 
 
 Our ignorance of our language tells hardly against 
 Old English. ' To brook ' is in the dictionaries de- 
 rived from ' brucan,' and is said to mean to bear, to 
 endure and also to use. What connection has the for- 
 mer sense of the word with the latter? None. The 
 fact is that ' to brook ' (to bear, to endure) does not 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 15 
 
 come at all from * brucan/ but is the verb of ' brycg,' 
 which in' Dutch is ' brug,' a bridge, whilst ' brucan ' 
 simply means to use, eat, enjoy, and profit. We have 
 a word, little suspected as representing ' brucan,' in 
 ' brick.' A man whom we like we call ' a brick ' — 
 that is, a useful man, an agreeable companion. But 
 this ' brick ' has a different derivation from the ' brick ' 
 of a house, which is derived from ' brecan,' to break, 
 or, rather, from ' brice,' a fragment. Like the two 
 ' brooks/ the two ' bricks ' are supposed to be the 
 same word. But Old English is not so poor as to re- 
 quire its words to do double duty. 
 
 * BiSN,' ' Bysen,' 
 is example, model, a thing by wdiich another thing is 
 seen. An Englishman is enlightened by discovering 
 that an ' example ' is a thing ' exemptum.' 
 
 ' BOOKHOARD ' 
 
 is library. But since we have ' library,' why should 
 we re-adopt ' bookhoard '? Simply because the word 
 ' lubbery 'would be to nineteen and a half millions out 
 of twenty millions of our people as good a name for a 
 collection of books as ' library ' is. A language is 
 rich, not when it is full of many worthless words, but 
 when its every word is a sentence explaining itself. 
 How many Englishmen know that 'liber' is book? 
 Not many more than they who know that it is Bac- 
 chus. ' Bookhoard ' is as good a word as ' bookshelf,' 
 and why should we not have other words built like it, 
 such as ' clotheshoard,' ' applehoard,' ' earthenware- 
 hoard,' and ' seedhoard '? 
 
 ' To CosTEN,' ' To Fand,' ' To Prove,' 
 
 equally mean to try, but to ' costen,' from ' cos,' a kiss, 
 means to try alluringly, seducingly, whilst ' to fand,' 
 
1 6 AARBERT 
 
 from ' fan,' means to try siftingly, winnowingly. Our 
 gain of the foreign word ' tempt ' has cost us the loss 
 of both ' costen ' and ' fand,' by standing for both of 
 which it stands indistinctly — nay, falsely. For in- 
 stance, God is said to have tempted Abraham, but 
 God, says an Apostle, never tempts. The fact is that 
 He never seduces to evil, but He ' fands.' His fan is 
 in his hand. We retain ' costen ' in our ' cozen,' 
 which has the third or fourth meaning of it, namely, 
 to trick, and we have it also in our ' coster,' a noun not 
 to be despised. A costermonger is an alluring mer- 
 chant — that is, a merchant who allures buyers by a 
 display of his goods, especially by ticketing them. 
 Such a merchant is a costermonger, wdiether his goods 
 are on a wheelbarrow or in a palatial shop in Regent 
 Street, London. ' Profian,' to prove, is to try tast- 
 ingly, experimentally, essayingly. It is a thorough 
 Teutonic word, merely a sister of ' probo.' It does 
 not mean, as probo in its participle sometimes means, 
 to demonstrate. 
 
 ' Dree,' ' Thole,' * Gethyld.' 
 
 Here are three precious jewels cast away. ' To 
 thole ' is to suffer. It is taken from the thowl or pin 
 on which an oar works in rowing. A word more ex- 
 pressive of patient, and even groaning, sufifering could 
 not be formed. It gives ' tholemod,' patient; ' thol- 
 ing,' patience; and ' tholemodness,' patient-minded- 
 ness. ' Dree,' from * dreogan,' is compounded of ' do ' 
 and ' rough,' and means to do roughly, toilsomely, 
 sufiferingly. It has the great value of the joint mean- 
 ings of ' do ' and ' thole.' For instance, whilst I either 
 ' do ' or ' thole ' an injury, I ' dree ' a sorrow or a 
 labour. Chaucer renders ' dreogan ' as ' drugge,' ' to 
 drugge and to draw.' We still have this form of the 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 17 
 
 word in 'drudge,' patient action in labour; and 
 'trudge,' patient walking; whilst by a confusion of 
 ' dreogan ' and ' dragan ' we talk of ' dragging out a 
 weary life,' when we mean that we ' dree ' it, work it 
 out toilsomely. ' Gethyld,' suffering together with, is 
 a noun compounded of ' ge ' and a derivative of 
 ' thole,' and means what ' compassion ' ought to mean, 
 and, till its meaning slipped, did mean, to Latin 
 scholars. 
 
 'To Dwin' 
 
 is to vanish ; we have it in ' dwindle,' to go to the van- 
 ishing-point. 
 
 'To Dow' 
 
 is to profit, avail, prosper, valere. It has a noun 
 which might be modernized as ' dowth,' and which 
 means prosperity, advantage, virtue, excellence. We 
 have ' dow ' as an adjective in ' doughty,' and as a 
 noun in 'daughter,' profiter; and itself is said by us 
 every day, misspelt, and in ignorance of its meaning. 
 A gentleman, when he says, 'How do you do?' means, 
 ' How do you " dow," or prosper? ' But he thinks 
 that he says, ' How do you act?' yet his conscience 
 gives a pass to the venerable nonsense uttered by him. 
 He looks down, however, on a workman w^ho, in offer- 
 ing one out of a choice of tools to a fellow-workman, 
 says, ' Will this do you? ' meaning, ' Will this " dow " 
 you, or be of use to you? ' The truth is, that none of 
 us are taught our own language. 
 
 ' Edrise,' ' Edrist,' 
 
 for so I render ' aerise,' ' aerist,' mean rise again, resur- 
 rection, ' ed,' a contraction of ' eft,' after, answering in 
 English composition to the Latin ' re.' 
 
I 8 AARBERT 
 
 ' EdLIKEN,' ' RiGHTLIKEN,' 
 
 are my renderings of ' edlsecan,' ' rihtlaecan.' ' Lse- 
 can,' says Dr. Bosworth, is to sacrifice, to ofifer; but 
 ' laecan ' in composition, as it is in these two words, is, 
 says he, to do, to perform, to make real. Why? I ask. 
 I deny this utter change of meaning, and give my 
 reasons. ' Lie,' a corpse, is a word which we have in 
 ' Hchgate,' ' Lichfield,' and ' like,' and which gets the 
 meaning of ' like ' from the fact that in the earliest 
 ages men embalmed and kept the dead bodies of their 
 ancestors as their likenesses. Having this meaning, 
 ' lie ' easily passed into being the root of ' laecan,' to 
 ofifer in sacrifice; for in sacrifices the ' lie,' or dead 
 body, was the representative or likeness of the sacri- 
 ficer, which he offered to his god, whilst he took on 
 himself the likeness of his god, even to oneness with 
 him; and this refiex action of giving and taking runs 
 through the derivatives of ' laecan.' For ' laecan,' to 
 ofifer, which is to give up self to Deity in the likeness 
 of a slain animal, is met by ' laeccan,' to seize, which 
 verb stands ready to express the taking of Deity in 
 the likeness of life, health, and favour, whilst ' lician,' 
 to like, which is to give a feeling of love, is met by 
 ' liccian,' to lick, which is to take a feeling of love (in 
 the instance of a cow). ' Laecan ' thus being to ofifer in 
 idea the likeness of a thing, and to take in idea the 
 likeness to it of another thing, is, in fact, to liken; and 
 since ' laecan ' uncompounded means all this, why 
 should * laecan ' in composition not retain this mean- 
 ing? I say that it does so. To liken is not* to make 
 real anything. It is not to make two things alike, but 
 to offer the ' lie,' look or appearance, of one thing to 
 another thing which can and will take it, so as to give 
 the same appearance to the two, and this can be done 
 in mere thought. Thus, to ' edliken ' an act, is to give 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 19 
 
 an ' eft ' (after) representation of it — that is, to repeat 
 it. To evenliken a chair is to imitate it, not neces- 
 sarily by making another chair equal to, or even with, 
 it, but by giving a just likeness of it, which may be 
 done with paper and pencil. To ' nearliken ' is to ap- 
 proach by giving or taking likeness of nearness. To 
 reckon one who is in want of our aid as a neighbour 
 is to ' nearliken ' him, although he may be in Africa 
 and we in Europe. And so to ' rightliken ' is not 
 necessarily to make a man right or righteous at the 
 time. It is not to do, perform, or make real, any 
 righteousness in him. It is to justify him, to make 
 him like 'being righteous. We are justified by our 
 faith, which gives a Hkeness of ourselves, as dead on 
 the cross of Jesus, whilst taking Him as our repre- 
 sentative or likeness there; so that God, accepting our 
 likeness of death in the flesh, gives us the likeness of 
 His heavenly life; but we are made righteous only if 
 Christ's righteousness is done, performed, and made 
 real in us, and if we indeed live in and by Christ. 
 
 ' Ednewed ' 
 
 is what we have as ' renewed.' ' Niwe ' is an English 
 word found also in every Teutonic language, whilst 
 ' ed ' is an English prefix formed from 'eft,' after. 
 Yet we have discarded our ' ed,' and, in sheer igno- 
 rance of its existence, have gone to Latin to beg ' re,' 
 in order to make up the mongrel word ' renew.' 
 ' New ' is not at all from ' novus.' 
 
 * Egwhere,' 
 
 or ' eachwhere,' is the old and shorter form of ' every- 
 where.' We have also ' egwhence ' and ' egwhither.' 
 Why not recover them all? Am not I justified in 
 using such short and much-wanted words? Is the 
 
20 AARBERT 
 
 Radical dangerous when he does the true Conserva- 
 tive's part, when he uproots a weed and replants a 
 valuable root? 
 
 * Emb ' 
 
 is what we express by ' about.' But ' about ' is prop- 
 erly ' emb-out ' — that is to say, it is outside-what-is- 
 emb. ' Emb ' is the prefix to a host of words, but is 
 in itself valuable, as being shorter than ' about,' which 
 is put into its place, thus leaving its own important 
 place unfilled. 
 
 ' Albion,' ' Erin,' ' Britain,' ' Bretric,' 
 ' Engelkin.' 
 
 ' Albion ' is the oldest name by which the Isle of 
 England, Scotland, and Wales was known to Aristotle 
 in 350 B. c, and to Polybius in 260 b. c; Ireland hav- 
 ing been known to them as ' lerne ' or ' Erin,' and the 
 two islands together as ' Britain.' So says Pliny, ac- 
 cording to Haydn in his ' Dictionary of Dates,' under 
 ' Britain.' Whilst Bosworth, in his ' Dictionary,' 
 under ' Bryten,' says, on the authority of Bede and 
 Orosius, that Britain (so called in their times) is an 
 island that was formerly called ' Albion.' A writer in 
 the ' Penny Cyclopaedia,' quoting Armstrong's Gaelic 
 dictionary and Grant's ' Thoughts on the Origin of 
 the Gael,' corroborates all this, and adds that the word 
 ' Albinn ' is still the only name by which the Gaels of 
 Scotland designate that country, as meaning the 
 ' White ' or ' Fair ' Island, ' Alb ' being the same root 
 as that which we find in ' albus,' and ' inn ' signifying 
 island. 
 
 Now, may I respectfully suggest that we should re- 
 turn to our old names — that this island should be 
 called Albion; her sister, Erin; the two, Britain; a 
 native of Britain, a Briton; the divisions of Britain as 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 21 
 
 now — England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales; the 
 British Empire, Bretoric; a man of British lineage, a 
 Bretman; our colonies, Bretland; a native of one of 
 them, a Bretlander; our Sovereign, the Bretwalda; his 
 Queen, the Bretwalden; their eldest son, the Bretwald- 
 in'g (with the accent on the ing); his wife, the Bret- 
 waldin'de (with the accent on the inde) ; the race of all 
 English-speaking people, whether in the Empire or in 
 the United States, or elsewhere, Engelkin; their 
 homes collectively, Engelkina; and all this without 
 discarding our truly English names of King (' cyn + 
 Ing,' son of the people) and Queen (woman of the 
 people) ? — a long question ! but will my readers accept 
 it, as that of a Scop,^ for consideration and improve- 
 ment, if possible? And, in any case, may I hope that, 
 should it meet the eye of her gracious Majesty the 
 Queen, she would be pleased to consider the sugges- 
 tions which I have presumed most dutifully to make? 
 
 ' Errander ' 
 
 is messenger. ' Errand,' happily for us, has nothing 
 to do with ' errare,' but comes from ' aer,' before, which 
 we now use as ' ere.' Besides its being a talking 
 word, it avoids the double hiss in ' messenger.' 
 
 ' Farspy ' 
 
 is a word built by myself, and ofifered for * telescope,' 
 to which in its parts and in its whole it precisely an- 
 swers. We might from * far ' get ' farwrite ' and 
 * farwrit,' for telegraph and telegram. 
 
 ' Folk,' or ' Volk.' 
 
 This much-wanted word has dropped out of general 
 use within the present century. It is largely com- 
 
 ' Poet (shaper, 7ro^;/Tr/f). 
 
22 AARBERT 
 
 pounded, and might be so very much more largely. 
 Pronounced with full expression of the ' 1 ' in it, it is 
 a sweetly-sounding word. ' Folk ' without the article 
 means people in general, the public; but ' a folk,' ' the 
 folk,' and ' folks ' mean a nation, the nation or people, 
 and nations. We have dropped the word unworthily. 
 I use it in its low-German form as ' volk.' 
 
 ' Frefriend ' 
 
 is the noble English rendering of napanky^roi^ para- 
 clete or advocate. It is made up of ' Frea ' the Lord, 
 and ' friend,' so that it means the ' Lord-friend ' ; but 
 ' frea ' is a connection of the prefix ' frse,' answering to 
 the Latin ' prae,' and meaning very, exceedingly; and 
 ' friend ' is a connection of ' fera,' which we still have 
 as ' fere,' a companion in the journey (fare) of life. 
 So that in these connections ' Frefriend ' means the 
 Lord, the exceedingly great Friend and Companion 
 in the journey of hfe; whilst ' frofer,' from ' freo,' a 
 lady in authority, loving and freeing, and from ' fera,' 
 companion in journey, expressly means comforter, 
 consolation. ' Frofer-Ghost,' accordingly, is the term 
 given in John xiv. 26 to the Holy Ghost. ' Com- 
 forter,' a term much endeared to us, means simply 
 consoler, strength ener, encourager. Let us keep it, 
 but not keep out ' Frefriend ' and ' frofer.' 
 
 ' FOROD ' 
 
 is decrepit, but also experienced, prudent. It is from 
 ' to fare,' or to go, which w^e have in ' welfare,' ' fare- 
 well,' and 'thoroughfare'; and it expresses the being 
 in the condition of one who shows marks of having 
 gone through the journey of life by one or other 
 quality, as the ei¥ect of its length. 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 23 
 
 ' FORTHY ' 
 
 answers exactly to the question ' why? ' Surely it is 
 a better form of answering to it than the mongrel 
 word ' because ' is. 
 
 ' Foster ' 
 
 is food, and a ' foster-brother ' is a food-brother. The 
 difference between ' foster ' as food and ' foster ' as a 
 mere dissyllable is that between an o.^^ and an egg- 
 shell. I say that our language is impoverished by our 
 not having in our knowledge the contents of its words. 
 
 ' FULDO,' ' FULDONENESS,' 
 
 are ' satisfy,' ' satisfaction.' What is ' satis '? what is 
 *fy'? Few of us know; and what we know of 'fac- 
 tion ' enters not into ' satisfaction.' The meaning of 
 ' satisfy ' might as well have been labelled on ' disap- 
 point ' as on itself. 
 
 ' To FULFRAME ' 
 
 is to perfect. A child can understand this at sight. 
 He must go to the dictionary to know fully what ' to 
 perfect ' is. 
 
 ' Garsea ' 
 
 is English for ' ocean,' which we pronounce as 
 ' oshun ' ; and which is made up of tw^o Greek words 
 signifying sw^iftly flowing, and thus telling us that it is 
 a vast river flowing swiftly round the earth. ' Garsea ' 
 is a word which talks in English, and tells the truth. 
 It is made of ' gar,' a thrusting weapon, which we have 
 in the verb ' to gar ' (to cause), in ' Edgar ' and such 
 names, and in ' German.' So that ' garsea ' is a pro- 
 montory sea, whose bed lies off angular points of land 
 abutting on it, such points of land as Land's End, 
 Cape Finisterre, Cape Race, Cape St. Roquc, and 
 
24 AARBERT 
 
 Cape Verde. These mark out the Atlantic. Could 
 mind invent a more self-asserting name for that sea 
 which we call an ocean? 
 
 * Geburning ' 
 
 means burning up altogether, or consuming. The 
 ' ge ' here has not only the collective and completing 
 force of ' con ' in * consuming ' ; but it also has its own 
 energetic force of goading, so that ' geburning ' is a 
 far stronger word than ' consuming,' besides being a 
 speaking and not hissing word. 
 
 ' To Gedeem.' 
 
 'To deem' is to judge; 'to gedeem' is to gather 
 together and drive doom or judgment to its conclu- 
 sion — that is, to condemn. ' Deem ' and ' doom ' do 
 not come from ' damno,' and have no connection with 
 it. Their root is, I believe, ' dem,' which means hurt, 
 damage, ' doom ' having been in early times mostly 
 punishment of wrong. Even the once common curse 
 ' damn ' comes not from ' damno,' but from ' to dam,' 
 or stop; and therefore is it that that word is severer 
 than the word ' to condemn,' although the Latin 
 ' damno ' is not so severe as ' condemno.' 
 
 ' To Gehear,' ' Gehearsome.' 
 
 * To hear ' includes somewhat of to obey, in Eng- 
 lish no less than in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, as is 
 shown in our versions of the Bible, and also in the 
 close connection of our ' to hear ' and ' to hire.' But 
 ' to gehear,' or hear-together-with, is our more defi- 
 nite term for such complete hearing as includes obedi- 
 ence or concession, or at least reception of idea. ' To 
 gehear,' therefore, is distinctly to obey, and ' gehear- 
 some ' as distinctlv is obedient. 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 25 
 
 ' Kind,' ' Gektnd,' and * Mankin.' 
 
 ' Kind,' spelt as ' cind ' originally (for ' c ' is no more 
 ' s ' than ' s ' is * c ' in true English ; and as for ' k ' it 
 is unknown there), is from ' cennan,' to beget, and 
 means a kind or a nature ; whilst ' gekind ' means 
 nature altogether or nature itself. We have its adjec- 
 tive in the phrase of our liturgy, ' the kindly (natural) 
 fruits of the earth.' In this its own meaning we have 
 lost it by putting the Anglo-Latin ' nature,' which we 
 pronounce as ' neitchur,' in its place. We still, how- 
 ever, keep it in its second, third, and fourth meanings, 
 of sort, species, and manner. Then, having displaced 
 it from its first meaning of ' natura,' or nature itself, 
 we use it as an adjective, meaning benevolent, loving; 
 and thence we make up another noun than itself, 
 ' kindness,' which in reality is natureness; and then we 
 transform the adjective ' kindly ' into an adverb mean- 
 ing lovingly; and lastly, to complete the ruin of the 
 word, we put it into the place of ' kin,' and say ' man- 
 kind ' instead of ' mankin.' Now, ' kin ' is a precious 
 word meaning race. It is also a valuable noun-end- 
 ing, as in * fishkin,' ' birdkin,' ' angelkin,' ' mankin,' 
 ' catkin,' but we hardly ever use it so. Our ' neitchur ' 
 has displaced ' kind,' and ' kind ' has displaced * kin.' 
 Can we, could we, ever bring right and order out of 
 this muddle? Yes, by means of the double sound of 
 our * i.' Leaving ' kind,' pronounced falsely and diph- 
 thongally as ' kaind,' to mean benevolent, we can 
 bring back the use of ' kind,' rightly pronounced 
 ' keend,' or else ' kinnd,' as nature. It will then re- 
 main merely for the printer to correct ' mankind ' into 
 ' mankin.' The accent properly is on ' man,' and not 
 on ' kin,' and we should have placed it there had we 
 known in how many other words than ' mankin ' kin 
 is an affix. 
 
26 AARBERT 
 
 Even Tom Moore, writing ' mankind,' throws the 
 accent on the ' man.' 
 
 ' Gelathe ' 
 
 is the English proper rendering of ' ecclesia,' although 
 I admit that ' circ ' was the usual one. If ' church ' 
 comes from ' circ,' a circular building, or even if it 
 comes from Kvpiauov^ the Lord's house, then we have 
 no other than ' gelathe ' for ' ecclesia.' ' Basilica ' can 
 no more stand for itself and ' ecclesia ' than ' harness ' 
 can stand for itself and ' horse.' A house can no more 
 stand for itself and its household than a suit of clothes 
 can stand for itself and the man who usually wears it. 
 Our use of ' church ' as a stone building, and also as 
 the assembly which worships God in it, has led to 
 much misunderstanding of Holy Writ, and to much 
 misteaching of its doctrine. * Lathe ' is familiar to us 
 as the name of the apparatus used by the turner. It 
 is the noun of ' lathian,' to invite, which is a derivative 
 of ' to lead '; and it aptly describes the machinery by 
 which the work of the treadle is invited and lecl to the 
 work of the turner's knife. We are familiar with the 
 word ' lathe,' but have utterly lost ' gelathe.' David 
 in Psalm xxii. 22 says, ' I will declare Thy name unto 
 my brethren. In the midst of the gelathung will I 
 praise Thee.' In this verse in the old English Bible 
 ' gelathe ' stands for congregation, or ecclesia, the 
 gathering of Israelites who were led out from the 
 nations to be God's people. As a representative of 
 * ecclesia,' the word ' gelathe ' will well stand a com- 
 parison with it. For whilst an ecclesia means an 
 assembly invited by calling, ' gelathe ' means an 
 assembly invited by leading, and so describes the work 
 of God in the invitation better than the Greek word 
 does. ' Gelathe ' might, at the speaker's convenience, 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 27 
 
 be shortened to ' glathe '; and then, surely, as a phrase, 
 the ' Glathe of England ' would be quite as euphonious 
 as the ' Tshurtsh of England.' 
 
 ' Ghost,' ' Soul,' ' Spirit,' ' Shinlac,' ' Glydering.' 
 
 Apparitions in Old English are called ' shinlacs ' 
 (shining corpses), ' shinhiws ' (shining forms), and 
 ' glyderings.' We get our notion of ghost or spirit, 
 and of soul, from our Bible's rendering of two Greek 
 words. ' Ghost ' is the English, and ' spirit ' is the 
 Anglo-Latin, rendering of the Bible's nvevixa^ and 
 ' soul ' is the English, and ' anima ' is the Latin, ren- 
 dering of fi^x^?- Both of these Greek nouns signify 
 breath. The former comes from 7tv€0Jy3.nd the latter 
 iromtpvxoo; and both these verbs mean ' I breathe' — 
 the former as an angel does, and the latter as does an 
 animal. St. Paul says: 'The w^ord of God is quick, 
 piercing, even to the dividing asunder of soul(i/'t^j7/) 
 and spirit (Ttvev^a).' Again he says: ' It ' — the body — 
 ' is sown a sonlish {i/;vxi>i6v)hody; it is raised a spirit- 
 ual,' or ghostly {TtvsvjuariKor), ' body. There is a 
 soulish body, and there is a spiritual, ghostly body. 
 The first Adam became a living soul; the last Adam 
 became a quickening ghost. HoAvbeit, that is not first 
 which is ghostly, but that w^hich is soulish.' These 
 texts are enough to prove that the word ' soul ' is not 
 convertible with the words ' ghost ' and ' spirit.' But 
 the Bible elsew^here shows that soul is more allied to 
 flesh than to them. In Jas. iii. 15 the wisdom which 
 is from beneath is said to be earthly, soulish, devilish. 
 Here ' soulish ' (i/wxiJ<^/) is included between ' earthly ' 
 and ' devilish.' Again, St. Paul tells the Corinthians 
 that the soulish (?/'t>jzKo?) man receiveth not the things 
 of the Spirit of God, and he cannot know them, for 
 thev are spiritually discerned. Such being man's 
 
28 AARBERT 
 
 soul, how is it distinguished from man's Hfe? Thus: 
 The soul is the immaterial part of the man, as an 
 earthly being or animal ; the life, on the other hand, is 
 his quality of being. A tree has life, but not a soul; a 
 horse has life and has a soul, but not a ghost. A man 
 has all the three; whilst a Christian is a man who has, 
 in addition to these three, a portion of God's Holy 
 Ghost, which he gains by new birth from God, and to 
 which his own ghost is married; so that he becomes 
 thenceforth a ghostly man, having a soul subject to 
 him, instead of being what, till newly born, he had 
 been, a soulish man, having a ghost abiding in sub- 
 jection to him. The mind appears to me to be a third 
 constituent, apart from man's soul and his ghost, but 
 ministering to both, especially to that one which at 
 the time is the ruler. Worldly death may be said to 
 be the yielding up of the soul, or of the ghost, or of the 
 abstract life. Apparitions are not ghosts, and those 
 who call them so are simply betraying idiotic silliness 
 and ignorance. Apparitions are seen in a tall hat, a 
 dress or frock coat, trousers, and boots, or in a bonnet, 
 a silk gown, a shawl, and high-heeled shoes. These 
 are parts of the apparitions, and they are not ghostly 
 things. 
 
 It being, then, clear that the word ' soul ' is no more 
 than the word ' flesh ' convertible with the words 
 ' ghost ' and ' spirit,' it only remains for me to show 
 that, besides being the English rendering, ' ghost ' is a 
 better rendering than ' spirit ' is of the Greek nvevj.ia. 
 Against the use of the word ' spirit ' it may be justly 
 argued that the connection in sound between ' spirit- 
 ual ' and ' spirituous ' is unpleasantly close. As, for 
 instance, in the text : ' Be not drunk with wine, but be 
 filled with the Spirit.' The misuse of the Anglo-Latin 
 word ' spirit,' as derived from ' spiritus,' to express 
 
THE LANGUAGE OE 'AARBERT' 29 
 
 alcohol-, brandy, and whisky, is degrading it more than 
 the misuse of the word ' ghost ' to express apparition 
 has degraded ' ghost.' But what is far more impor- 
 tant is that that same misuse of the word in its Eng- 
 lish form makes it the source of false teaching. From 
 our connecting the word ' spirit ' with things like gin 
 and rum, we have drifted into having an underlying 
 notion that it means a distilled volatile fluid or essence, 
 and that God is the Father of such essences. But 
 ' spiritus ' comes from ' spiro,' * ghost ' from ' geisten,' 
 and nvEvjxa from nvEoo. All these three verbs mean 
 ' I breathe,' ' I blow ' ; and all their three nouns mean 
 breath and wind. Dr. Bosworth says that ' ghost ' 
 means, first, breath, blowing; second, a ghostly being, 
 such as an angel ; and third, a guest. Thus, ' ghost ' 
 includes ' gust ' and ' guest ' — the heavenly Gust, 
 ' which bloweth where it listeth,' and the heavenly 
 Guest, * who is sent to abide with us for ever '; whilst 
 ' Ghost ' itself is that which God is, who is the ' Father 
 of ghosts.' Oh, what a richness, what a fulness of all 
 the meaning which was wanted for ghost! What does 
 the Anglo-Latin ' spirit ' mean? Essence, exhalation, 
 distilled wine, and courage! The terror of stirring, as 
 I am trying to do, a question of much of the English, 
 so called, of the day, which is really a more dead and 
 inanimate language to an ordinary Englishman than 
 Latin is to a Latin scholar who possesses its roots and 
 knows the contents of its words, and the utter and un- 
 worthy despair of ever recovering English, as a living 
 language, are strikingly shown in the persistence with 
 which even our latest translators of the Bible have 
 rendered y.'i;jz;£0^, soulish, as if it were q)vaiK6?, nat- 
 ural, thereby darkening the meaning of that important 
 word ' soul,' and some of the most important parts of 
 Holy Writ. 
 
30 AARBERT 
 
 ' H^LEND,' ' HaEL/ ' HaELTH.' 
 
 * Hselend,' which expresses both healer, haler, 
 hauler, and holder, is in English the title of Him 
 whom we call Saviour, by an Anglo-Latin corrup- 
 tion of a French corruption of ' salvator,' which is a 
 corrupt Latin word coined by the Christian Fathers 
 as a translation of (jGorrfp^ which Greek word ex- 
 presses only half of what ' Hselend ' does, and noth- 
 ing at all of healing. ' Saviour ' is a word now so 
 endeared to us by countless associations, in the writ- 
 ings of our fathers, with sweet thoughts as to forbid 
 any attempt to supplant it. I make no such attempt. 
 I merely hope by recovery, for the use of those who 
 desire it, of a word larger, truer, and fuller, to supple- 
 ment its expression of what Jesus was, and what even 
 the Greek word aoorrjp so imperfectly expresses that 
 He was. The superiority of ' Hselend ' to ' Saviour ' 
 is shown by the important fact that, whilst ' Saviour,' 
 ' save,' ' safety,' and ' safe,' are connected with not one 
 single other word in our language, ' Hselend ' is con- 
 nected with the verbs ' to heal; ' to help,' ' to hallow,' 
 ' to hale,' ' to haul,' ' to hold,' and ' to held,' or pre- 
 serve; with the nouns, ' ael,' oil, which is its root; 
 * haletta,' a hero; and ' hyld,' fidelity; and with the ad- 
 jectives ' halig,' holy, and ' hael,' whole. So that the 
 Lord Jesus, as the ' Haelend,' is the Healer, the 
 Helper, the Hallower, the Haler, or Rescuer, the 
 Holder, the Helder, or Preserver, the Anointed One, 
 the Haletta, or Hero, full of ' hyld,' or fidelity, the 
 ' Halig,' or Holy One, the ' Hael,' or whole of all 
 things, and the ' Ealle ' or all in all. The bearings of 
 ' halig ' and ' hsel ' alone on the word ' Haelend ' are a 
 sermon of twenty pages, and the bearings on it of all 
 the words named by me would be a large volume. 
 ' Haelend ' means, as I have said, both heal and save; 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 31 
 
 but in my use of the word I leave its present forms of 
 
 * heal,' ' healer/ and ' health,' to their present signifi- 
 cations; whilst for its significations of save, saviour, 
 and salvation I go back to its old forms of ' hael,' 
 
 * haelend,' and ' haelth,' merely resolving the ' ae ' in 
 the instances of the noun haelth and the verb hsel, into 
 ' ae,' to be pronounced, as is the ' very ' of ' every,' 
 either as a monosyllable or as a diphthong at con- 
 venience. The Anglo-Latin ' save,' in being discon- 
 nected with ' heal,' ' hallow,' ' hold,' ' whole,' misleads 
 in most important doctrine, for Jesus does not deliver 
 from death except by ' haling ' from unhealth, by ' hal- 
 lowing,' and by ' holding ' as whole. 
 
 ' Haftltng ' 
 
 is prisoner. It is compounded of ' have ' and ' ling.' 
 ' Ling ' comes from ' linian,' to lie down, and denotes 
 the permanent state of a man, as in ' darling,' ' hire- 
 ling,' ' fatling.' ' Ling ' may be compounded to any 
 extent. 
 
 ' Headswim ' 
 
 speaks for itself. It is, of course, vertigo. How 
 strange that I should explain it by this utter bar- 
 barism ! 
 
 ' HiSELF.' 
 
 ' Self ' is the pronoun ' ipse.' We use ' self ' chiefly 
 as a noun. But let us at least use it grammatically. 
 ' Himself ' is right if in the accusative case, because 
 
 * self ' is then a pronoun. ' Myself ' is always right, 
 because ' self ' is then a noun. ' Herself ' and ' itself ' 
 also are always right, because in either of them ' self ' 
 may be either a noun or a pronoun. But ' he himself ' 
 and * they themselves ' are sheer nonsense. ' Self,' in 
 each of them being in the nominative, should be 
 
32 AARBERT 
 
 treated as a noun, and should be compounded as 
 ' hiself ' and ' theirselves.' ' Self ' should also at need 
 be allowed, like ' ipse,' to stand alone; thus, ' I self' 
 and ' Henry self,' rather than ' I myself,' ' Henry 
 hiself.' 
 
 ' HOPELEAST.' 
 
 Our fathers condensed ' lesnes,' or what we call ' less- 
 ness,' as ' least ' ; and so ' hopelessness ' was ' hope- 
 least.' The ' less ' here is from ' leas,' void, which we 
 have in ' leasing,' falsehood, and not from ' Ises,' the 
 comparative of ' little.' 
 
 ' Hlinn.' 
 
 We much want a word for a musical note. Here it 
 is, one of our own old words. We could not have a 
 better. The ' h ' gives it force, and the double ' n ' 
 gives it ring. It is a connection of ' hlist,' which we 
 mutilate into ' list,' to listen, thus clashing it against 
 ' list,' to desire, and ' list,' a stripe. 
 
 ' HUNDICE.' 
 
 Why not? We have ' twice,' ' thrice,' why not ' for- 
 rice,' ' fivice,' ' sixice,' ' sevenice,' ' eightice,' ' ninice,' 
 'tenice,' 'device,' 'twelvice,' 'thirteese.' etc., 'twenice,' 
 ' twenonce,' ' twentwice,' ' twenthrice,' ' twenforrice,' 
 etc., a ' hundice,' etc.? These words would be clear 
 enough if we were accustomed to them, and they 
 would spare to us much wasted breath and ink. I 
 write them as an instance of how much may be done 
 in but one small thing to improve our language. 
 
 ' Larned.' 
 
 When a poor old woman talks of/ learning ' another 
 to do a thing, we listen with a curled lip or a smile. 
 We had much better reserve our scorn for its fitter 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 12, 
 
 objects — ourselves. We know no more than she does 
 how a man can be learned without somebody's having 
 learnt him, which person will then have the learning 
 entirely on his side. The fact is that in English there 
 are two distinct words: ' laeran,' to teach, whence our 
 ' lore ' ; and ' leornian,' to learn. The old woman was 
 right, except that she should have pronounced 
 ' learned ' as ' larened.' I have written it ' larned,' and 
 am content that she should ' larn ' her children what 
 they can rightly learn from her. It is dangerous to 
 despise the English of the poor, who are the truest 
 professors of it. 
 
 ' Lawleap ' 
 
 is modelled by me on ' aehlip.' ' N. ' has been already 
 described as a fixed eternal law. ' Law ' is from 
 ' lagu,' a laid-down or statute law ; but since the use of 
 ' 36 ' has been dropped by us, and its sound is uncer- 
 tain, I have written ' lawleap ' instead of ' aeleap.' T 
 have very reluctantly dropped the ' h ' in ' blip.' For 
 our fathers' leap was a ' hleap,' which makes its utterer 
 wish at once to jump over a chair. ' Lawleap ' means 
 overleaping the law, but ' trespass ' expresses merely 
 overpassing, whilst it is a longer word with two hisses 
 in it. 
 
 ' Lech,' ' Lecdom,' ' Leccraft,' ' Lecdrink,' ' To 
 Lehhen.' 
 
 What disgusting or mean sounds we have adopted 
 in order to force our speech from its proper guttural 
 character, which would have been its clearness, its 
 strength, and charm! We have an instance of these 
 in * leech,' which we pronounce as ' leetsh,' and which 
 thus debased we rightly give to be the name of a slimy 
 worm. * Lece,' rendered bv the Germans as ' lech.' 
 
34 AARBERT 
 
 and by the Frisians as ' leek/ is one of the oldest 
 words spoken by man. We have it in Danish, Rus- 
 sian, Irish, and even in our Indian ' lac' What have 
 we instead of it? Physician, doctor, practitioner, and 
 surgeon. Now, a ' medical man,' who is not ashamed 
 to be called a naturalist, a teacher, a habitual doer, 
 and a handycraftsman, need not be ashamed to be 
 called a ' lech ' or a * leek,' but let him sturdily refuse 
 to be called a ' leetsh.' ' Leccraft ' is the healing art. 
 ' Lecdom,' a medical doom, is a prescription. ' Lec- 
 drink ' is a potion. ' Lecsalve ' is an outward appli- 
 cation; and 'lehhen' pronounced gutturally (why not?) 
 might stand for to practise medicine. ' Lech ' is capa- 
 ble of endless composition. 
 
 * LiGRAFT,' OR ' LiGWRIT,' OR ' LiGHTSWRIT.' 
 
 I ofifer one of these for photography. They give to 
 ' ligrave,' to * ligwrite,' and, as an abstract term, 
 ' ligwrith.' 
 
 ' LiHHOME,' 
 
 for so I render ' lichome,' in order to prevent its abuse 
 in pronunciation into ' litsh-home,' is the whole fleshly 
 man, consisting of his head, his limbs, and his body, if 
 the man is alive, for then these parts of him are the 
 home of his soul; but if the man is dead, the three 
 parts are those of his tenantless ' lie,' or flesh. Now, 
 no word could more aptly than ' lihhome ' describe 
 what ' lihhome ' is. and no word could more aptly than 
 ' body ' describe that part of the man which answers 
 to the German ' bottich,' a cask, to our own ' bottle ' 
 and ' butt,' and which, like these, is derived from ' bot,' 
 a round swelling. But we have trodden ' lichome ' 
 into the mire of Anglo-Latinism, so that its existence 
 is unknown, and then have perverted ' body ' into 
 meaning the whole fleshly man, head, limbs, and body; 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 35 
 
 whilst we have borrowed ' trunk ' from Latin to ex- 
 press the body itself. Finally, we crow over this bor- 
 rowing as an enriching of our poor native tongue. 
 Poor it is, for we have thrown its wealth away. 
 
 * Liss ' 
 is a very old word akin to ' loose,' and it means for- 
 giveness in its widest sense of absolution. It also 
 means favour, grace, gratia. 
 
 ' Lyden ' 
 
 is language. It is a connection of ' hlyd,' sound, and 
 we have a form of it in * loud. ' Language ' is our 
 Anglo-Latin form of the Latin ' lingua,' or tongue. 
 In ignorance of the many English renderings of 
 ' lingua,' we have made our word ' tongue ' do, as 
 ' lingua ' does, double duty, namely, as that wdiich is 
 uttered, and also as the instrument of the utterance. 
 We might as well call a ball a bat, and then talk of 
 striking a bat with a bat. ' Lyden ' is at least as fair 
 a word as language. 
 
 ' List ' 
 
 is the English for science. ' Listas Iseran,' to teach 
 sciences, says Csedmon. ' List ' is akin to ' listen.' 
 It is a rich and modest word, full of talk to the pur- 
 pose. What of that doubly hissing Anglo-Latin word 
 'science,' with its diphthongal 'i'? Knowledge! 
 There is mockery in the term, as applied to that which 
 is really inquiry in the dark, and in which knowledge 
 is most uncertain, and ever shifting — that which is 
 thirsting for new facts, although they destroy all past 
 knowledge. 
 
 ' LiDH.' 
 
 This word, spelt now as ' lithe,' and pronounced 
 now with a diphthongal ' i.' means mild, gentle, ten- 
 
36 AARBERT 
 
 der. I use it, ?nd respectfully suggest its use, in its 
 original form, the ' i ' being that of ' lid,' for that sound 
 which is the opposite of ' loud.' Such a word is much 
 wanted in music. We have nothing for it but low, 
 soft, small, and still, which are adjectives applied to 
 height, touch, size, and motion, and which have not 
 that oppositeness in form and sound to ' loud ' which 
 ' lidh ' would have. 
 
 * LORDHYLD.' 
 
 ' Hyld ' is an old and beautiful word, a connection 
 of ' hold,' and meaning affection, favour, fidelity. 
 ' Lordhyld ' is affectionate fidelity to one's lord, as, for 
 instance, to the Lord Jesus, loyalty being merely 
 obedience to law. 
 
 ' Lung-ail.' 
 
 ' Ail ' is the modern form of ' adl,' or what we de- 
 scribe by the mongrel word ' disease,' which at best 
 means uneasiness. An addled is an ' ailing ' ^%'g, or 
 an ^%^ made to ' ail ' ; and ' lung-ail ' is what we call 
 pulmonary disease. But we have contracted 'ail ' 
 into ill, and ' ailness ' into illness. Then, without re- 
 gard or knowledge of this, we have contracted ' evil ' 
 into ill and illness, so that now a very sick person is 
 a very wicked one, and all illness is wickedness. ' 111,' 
 as an adverb opposed to the adverb ' well,' is fitly con- 
 tracted from ' evil ' (worse, worst), which is opposed to 
 * good ' (better, best). The fault is in the contraction 
 of ' ail ' into ill ; but all our words have been left to 
 drift whither ever they liked. The reader will observe 
 that in ' adl ' the semivowel ' 1 ' stands in no need in 
 English of a vowel's support; so in ' apl,' ' emn,' 
 ' edhm,' and many other words. 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 37 
 
 ' MOYSES.' 
 
 ' Mo-ushe ' is the Coptic form of the great Hebrew 
 legislator's name. It means ' drawn out of the water.' 
 The Hebrew gives the name as ' M6-sheh ' ; the Sep- 
 tuagint, as ' Mo-uses '; the Vulgate as ' Mo-yses '; and 
 the Anglo-Latin, as usual in the most paltry form, as 
 ' Moses.' I have in my poem adopted the form given 
 in the Vulgate. 
 
 ' Man,' ' Maan,' ' Wer.' 
 
 Neither Greek nor Latin has a word so worthy to 
 express ' Deity ' as English has, for ' God ' is the sum 
 of all that is good. This is well known; but it is not 
 so well known that our language faithfully and meekly 
 describes ' man ' as, in reference to God, equally the 
 sum of all that is ' maan ' or mean. The accents on 
 ' God ' and * man ' here denote the omission in the for- 
 mer of an 0, and in the latter of an a. Since God, in 
 reference to all, is always and only the good Being, 
 we rightly drop the accent on His name, but we as 
 rightly drop the accent on man when we speak of him 
 not in immediate reference to God. Unaccented 
 ' man ' answers precisely to av^pooTtoi (anthropos) 
 and to ' homo ' ; and, like them, means merely a human 
 being. It therefore, like them, is of the common 
 gender, and expresses woman as well as man. Then 
 as in Greek av^paoTto? is opposed to avr}p^ and 
 as in Latin ' homo ' is opposed to ' vir,' so in English 
 ' man ' is opposed to ' wer.' 'Arifp, ' vir,' and ' wer ' 
 equally mean a male human being — a husband, a sol- 
 dier, and a man of high qualities. Then, as ' vir ' 
 gives ' virile,' ' virility,' and ' virtue,' so ' wer ' gives 
 ' werlike,' ' werhood,' and ' worth.' From ' wer ' we 
 also get 'war,' * baron,' and ' w^orld ' (' wxr-old '). 
 
38 AARBERT 
 
 For ' world/ or ' woruld,' as the Scotch rightly pro- 
 nounce the word, means ' sevum,' an age; and ' world 
 without end ' means duration without end, not, as 
 some suppose, earth without end. ' Maan ' or ' mean ' 
 is man in a bad sense of the word ' man ' ; but even as 
 ' middling ' mean is no connection of ' medius,' it 
 merely signifies ' short of excellence.' 
 
 ' MaGEN ' AND ' MaGENTHRYM.' 
 
 Our nouns ' might ' and ' main ' equally come from 
 the verb ' may,' but whilst ' might ' signifies ability, 
 and political or other authority, potentia; 'main,' 
 which should be written ' mayn,' if not ' magen,' sig- 
 nifies the means of these, such as helps, weapons, mili- 
 tary or other external forces, and personal strength, 
 robur. ' Thrym,' allied to the Latin ' turma,' but not 
 derived from it, means, like it, a troop, a throng; but 
 it has a second meaning of military escort, majesty, 
 magnificence, and glory. The compounds of ' thrym,' 
 and also of ' magen,' are grand words applied to 
 monarchs and especially to God, such as ' thrymfast,' 
 secure in glory; ' thrymful,' full of glory; ' thym- 
 waldend,' ruling in glory; ' magenrof,' roofed with 
 means, or immensely powerful; and * magenthrym,' 
 majesty in full court surrounded by its armies. The 
 old English version of Matt. xxiv. 30, namely, ' Com- 
 ing in the clouds of heaven with power and great 
 glory,' is ' Coming in the clouds of heaven with much 
 magen and magenthrym '; that is to say, coming with 
 all means of might, and with majesty in full court sur- 
 rounded by its armies. 
 
 ' MiTHWIST ' 
 
 is the form in which I have reluctantly modernized 
 ' midwist,' which means conscience, and is com- 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 39 
 
 pounded of ' mid,' which used to stand for the Latin 
 ' cum/ and of ' wist,' knowledge, which is the noun of 
 ' to wiss,' whence ' I wist not ' and ' wise.' One of the 
 very very few Anglo-Latin words which I envy is 
 ' conscience/ Its exact English equivalent, ' mid- 
 wist,' is lost to us from our having lost the right use 
 of that precious preposition ' mid,' which the Germans 
 have as ' mit/ Through early carelessness the Gothic 
 ' mith ' meaning * cum,' became misspelt as 'with'; 
 and so ' with ' has sunk into meaning two exactly con- 
 trary things, namely ' cum ' and ' contra.' Therefore, 
 for composition, ' with ' as ' contra ' and ' mid ' as 
 ' cum ' are equally lost to us. We can build with 
 neither prefix; and the precious compounds of ' with ' 
 as ' contra ' and of ' mid ' as ' cum ' have fallen to the 
 ground. We have indeed ' withhold ' as hold against, 
 ' within ' or against the inside, ' without ' as against 
 the outside, * withsay ' as contradict, ' notwithstand- 
 ing ' as not standing against, ' speak with ' as speak in 
 answer, and ' fight with ' as fight against; but we won- 
 der how these words and phrases can mean what they 
 do. ' Midwife,' or accompanying woman (in labour), 
 is the only instance, I believe, of the many compounds 
 of ' mid ' which we retain. ' Mid ' as ' cum ' would 
 not be beyond recovery if we chose to pronounce our- 
 vowels properly. Then ' mid ' would be, what we 
 now call ' meed ' ; and ' meed ' would be ' meed ' ; and 
 what we now call * mid ' would be, what it used to be, 
 ' midd.' If we did not choose to do all this we might 
 take the Gothic ' mith ' instead of ' with,' where ' with ' 
 is now perverted into meaning ' cum.' Either of these 
 plans would affect only the speaker, the writer, and the 
 printer. It would not affect at all our literature; 'and 
 the gain of a clear and distinct English ' cum ' and 
 ' contra ' would be very great. 
 
40 AARBERT 
 
 ' NiM,' ' NlMTHE,' ' NiTH.' 
 
 ' To nim ' is to seize. We have it in Corporal Nym, 
 or Corpofal Thief; and nimble is the word's diminu- 
 tive. ' Nimthe ' is take-away-that, or except that. 
 ' Nith ' is my own contraction of ' nimthe,' in order to 
 replace ' save ' when it stands for ' except.' Both 
 ' except ' and ' save ' hiss, which neither ' nimthe ' nor 
 ' nith ' does. English is said to be a hissing language. 
 It is not so. Anglo-Latin is. Even our endings in 
 ' ness ' are in English ' nes,' with a soft ^. An Eng- 
 lish c never hisses; nor is an English g ever /; whilst 
 the plurals in English are formed by ' en.' 
 
 ' Neat.' 
 
 *Ne-weet,' not to know, is the English term for any 
 animals who 'nyton liwset hi send,' do not know what 
 they are; and accordingly the old translation of Gen. 
 iii. I was, ' The serpent was more cunning than all the 
 other neats ' — ' Thonne ealle the othre nytenu.' In 
 Greek what our fathers called ' neats ' are properly 
 called aloga zoa, reasonless animals. In Anglo-Latin 
 they are brute-beasts. But the meanings of these two 
 words have slipped, that of ' brute ' into being cruel 
 and that of ' beast ' into being filthy. So the poor 
 animals might have well complained of being de- 
 scribed by them. In our modern translation of Gene- 
 sis they are called cattle, from the Latin ' capitalis,' of 
 ' caput.' But the word ' cattle ' again has slipped. It 
 originally meant chattels or personal goods (our chief 
 or head goods). It now means domestic animals. 
 But amongst these are certainly not included birds, 
 snakes, and centipedes. Now, is it not worth while 
 that we should recover our own little speaking word 
 
THE LANGUAGE OE 'AARBERT' 41 
 
 ' neat/ which in one syllable tells what two Greek- 
 words tell in five syllables, and what Anglo-Latin 
 words cannot tell at all? I shall be triumphantly an- 
 swered that we have the word ' neat ' in daily use. 
 Yes, as black cattle, which, as I have said, is not a 
 definition of birds and fishes. 
 
 ' Prest.' 
 
 Heaven and hell alone will tell all the mischief 
 which has been done to men's souls by the double 
 meaning of our word ' priest.' In the Old English 
 Bible ' presbyter ' was rendered by ' preost,' and 
 ' sacerdos ' or ' hiereus ' by ' sacerd.' Now, neither 
 has ' preost ' the ' uteros ' of ' presbuteros,' nor has 
 the latter the ' o ' of ' preost.' ' Preost ' seems to have 
 been a form of ' prafost,' and to have been, as such, 
 accommodated to the expression of ' presbuteros ' ; for 
 this reason, that ' prafost ' or ' prafast ' signified 
 exactly what a ' presbyter ' was in the ancient Church, 
 namely, a president or rector. If ' priest ' represents 
 'preost,' it does so badly in form; for it has an ' i,' 
 which ' preost ' has not, and it has not an ' o,' which 
 ' preost ' has ; and it represents it utterly falsely in 
 meaning, for it means both elder and sacrificer, both 
 
 * presbuteros ' and ' hiereus ' or ' sacerdos,' whilst 
 ' preost,' as I have said before, did not do this. Ac- 
 cordingly, neither in form nor in meaning does 
 ' priest ' represent either ' preost ' or ' presbuteros ' ; I 
 therefore submit that we Protestants had better resign 
 it altogether as the term for ' sacrificer,' and take in its 
 stead, as the more proper term for ' presbuteros,' and 
 the only fair modern form of ' preost,' ' prest,' which is 
 the term used by Wyclif¥e for ' preost.' ' Prest ' gives 
 
 * prestly ' and ' presthood.' 
 
42 AARBERT 
 
 ' Rath ' 
 
 is the positive of ' rather,' and means readily, quickly, 
 heartily. It gives ' rath est,' a word well worth re- 
 covery. 
 
 ' RiGHTLIKEN ' 
 
 is the form in which I have ventured to modernize the 
 very important word ' rihtlaecan.' This old verb, as I 
 have shown under the heading of ' edliken,' means to 
 give the likeness of right or righteousness, and thus 
 to ' justify,' as distinguished from ' to make righteous.' 
 Mr. Conybeare, in one of his notes on the Epistle to 
 the Romans, writes as follows : ' The first wish of a 
 translator of St. Paul's epistles would be to retain the 
 same EngHsh root in all the words employed as trans- 
 lations of the various derivatives of i, diHaio?^ viz., 
 2, diuaioffvv?^ y 3, Sixaiovv y 4, diKaioo}A.a ^ 5, 61- 
 KaicDGi^ j 6, diuaiooi ^ and 7, dinaionpiGia j but 
 this is impossible, because no English root, of the 
 same meaning, has these derivatives.' I presume to 
 deny the impossibility. Taking ' right ' as the Eng- 
 lish root answering to the Greek root dinrfy I give 
 the derivatives of ' right ' as they answer to the deriva- 
 tives of Sinri, beginning with dixaioi itself. And 
 I number each set of English equivalents by the num- 
 ber which I have affixed to each Greek derivative in 
 Mr. Conybeare's list, thus: i, right, rightful, rightlike, 
 rightwise (righteous), right-willed, rightfast, right- 
 domful, rightdomfast, aeright, and upright; 2, right- 
 ness, rightfulness, rightlikeness, rightwisness, right- 
 willness, rightfastness, serightness, rightdomfulness, 
 downrightness, and uprightness; 3, to rightliken, to 
 gerightwise, to aright, to berighten; 4, a right, an 
 arightedh, a rightlekenth (see on page 55 my proposed 
 method of making nouns out of past participles); 5, 
 
THE LANGUAGE OE 'AARBERT' 43 
 
 an arighting, a righlHkcning, a gerihtwising, a right; 
 6, rightly, righthkcly, righteously, rightfastly, right- 
 willedly, rightfully, and uprightly; 7, rightdoom, and 
 aerightdom. Here is no poverty of language on the 
 English side. The poverty is rather on the side of 
 the Greek. English root-words lend themselves 
 readily to composition, and our stock of English 
 words might easily be made treble that which our 
 fathers have left to us. On Rom. v. 15 Mr. Cony- 
 beare writes ; ' So likewise the fruit of one acquittal (a 
 being \w^\\^^^{8iKaiG3}xaro<i) shall bring justification 
 (a justifying), fJzTfo'/ce^crzr, the source of life;' whereas, 
 adopting his form of the Greek passage, it might in 
 English have been rendered thus : ' The fruit of one 
 rightlikenedh or rightlikenth shall bring rightlikening 
 (the source) of life.' 
 
 ' To MUNE ' 
 
 is a connection of ' mind,' and means to meditate. 
 When a person is meditating abstractedly at an unfit 
 time and place, we say that he is mooning. We then 
 rightly pronounce the word ' muning,' but in our 
 ignorance of our language we use the word with an 
 idea of the moon. 
 
 * Smilt,' ' Smiltness.' 
 
 ' Mild ' and ' smilt ' are adjectives formed from the 
 verb to melt, but whilst ' mild ' expresses tenderness 
 and gentleness of mind, ' smilt ' describes the calmness 
 and uncloudiness of weather. We, in our ignorance 
 of ' smilt,' make ' mild ' stand as itself and it, thus los- 
 ing the distinctness of both the adjectives. We have 
 ' smilt,' though wrongly spelt and not understood, in 
 the glee, 'Hail, smiling morn!' which, without any 
 imagery, is 'Hail, calm uncloudy morn!' A Ian- 
 
44 AARBERT 
 
 guage is poor, not only when its words have lost the 
 power of speech, but when their speech is confused 
 and unintelligible. 
 
 ' SoTH ' AND ' Truth.' 
 
 What shall we say to the confusion of ' soth ' and 
 ' truth ' ? ' Soth ' or ' sodh ' (when shall we resume 
 use of our letters for ' dh ' and ' th ' ?) is verity. 
 ' Truth ' on the other hand is fidelity, and is verity 
 only in the sense of being fidelity to it. ' Treow ' is 
 tree, and / treowth ' is truth; thus, tree is the root of 
 truth, which is the expression of its qualities, of 
 stability, uprightness, firmness, constancy, trust- 
 worthiness, fruitfulness, majesty, support, shelter, and 
 shade. It is a noble word. Has any language a 
 nobler name for all these qualities combined? Yet 
 we have ruined it by making it do a double duty, in 
 which its expression of these qualities is silenced. 
 * Soth,' for which ' truth ' does duty, is quite as noble 
 a word as itself, but is utterly distinct from it in mean- 
 ing. ' Soth ' is derived from a participle of the verb 
 ' wesan,' to be, which we recognise in our ' was,' and 
 whose participle ' wesende,' being, is akin to the Latin 
 ' sens ' in ' praesens.' In accordance with this etymol- 
 ogy is the following from Wedgwood in his dic- 
 tionary under the head of ' sooth ' : ' Sanscrit Sat 
 (nom. san, ace. santam), being, is equivalent to 
 '* sens," '' sentis," in " praesens," whence *' asat," noth- 
 ing, and " satya," verus.' Like ' sat,' then, in Sans- 
 crit, ' sens ' in Latin, ' sind ' in German, and ' sende ' 
 in English, the word ' soth ' means that-which-has- 
 being, that which is. Could a more plainly speaking, 
 could a nobler word be conceived for the expression 
 of verity? No; and how do we treat it? We pro- 
 nounce it as ' sooth,' and then throw it away in con- 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 45 
 
 tempt. Then, takiiiij ' truth ' out of its place, we 
 thrust it into the place of ' soth/ thus ruining both 
 these magnificent words. If we took ' soth ' back as 
 verity, we might have ' sodh ' as ' verus.' I cannot 
 conclude without reverently remarking that ' Soth,' 
 which is the name in one word of ' it-is,' is included in 
 tne name of the All-existent ' I Am,' in whom and by 
 whom and for whom everything is. 
 
 ' Spelier.' 
 
 'To spele ' is to take the place of another; and 
 
 * spelier,' from the verb ' spelian,' to spele, is substi- 
 tute. The noun ' spele,' pronounced as ' spell,' is in 
 common use amongst railors, who speak of taking a 
 spell at the pumps; that is, of taking the place of an- 
 other at them. 
 
 ' Smitten.' 
 
 I bring this word into my poem in the compound 
 ' sin-smitten.' It means defiled, and comes from ' to 
 smitt,' not from ' to smite,' which ought to give 
 ' smiten.' * Smut ' is the noun of ' to smitt.' 
 
 ' SWELT,' 
 
 a short and strong word for perish. We have it in 
 
 * swelter.' 
 
 ' Step.' 
 
 Without poverty we have been beggars. We have 
 borrowed trousers when we had a large wardrobe, and 
 we have used the trousers as jackets. The Romans 
 had ' litera ' in the singular as an alphabetical letter, 
 and in the plural as an epistolary letter. We have 
 begged the Vv^ord ' letter,' and have used it in the sin- 
 gular both for alphabetical letter and for epistle, which 
 are as like each, other as the clay at the bottom of a 
 pond is like a brick house. ' Stsef ' is in English the 
 
46 AARBERT 
 
 word for an alphabetical letter; and it is so because 
 such letters, as used once by our forefathers, were 
 Runic, consisting of stiff, long, stafif-like lines. 
 ' Stave,' the plural of ' staff,' is still used in musical 
 notation to describe the staff-like lines on which the 
 notes are written, i' Stef,' the form in which I have 
 used the word ' staef ' in order to distinguish it from 
 ' staff,' enters largely into composition; thus, ' stefrow,' 
 alphabet; ' stefcraft,' grammar; ' stefly,' literary. Let 
 us leave ' letter ' to mean solely epistle, and let us take 
 back ' stef.' Should we be going backwards? But 
 going backwards, when one has wandered from his 
 path, is going forwards. 
 
 ' Stidh ' 
 
 is a strong word for the strong mental quality of being 
 sternly and severely stiff in mind, or resolute. 
 
 ' SWETHM.' 
 
 We have no word for sweet-scent, and none even for 
 ' scent ' but ' stinc,' which, perhaps from our abhor- 
 rence of perfumery, we have perverted into meaning 
 foul-scent. The word ' smell ' does duty for the sense 
 of smelling, and also stands badly for the scent which 
 is smelled. It is, moreover, not English. ' Edhm ' is 
 vapour, breath, scent; and, as scop, I have built, and 
 humbly offer ' swethm,' compounded of ' sweet ' and 
 * edhm,' as sweet-scent. 
 
 ' SWINSONG ' 
 
 is swine-song, or what we name harmony; which word 
 might, without loss of expression, be scammony. Let 
 anyone, who has never listened to a herd of swine, 
 clear his mind of ideas of ham and bacon, into which 
 man converts a dead pig, and of hog's-wash and a sty, 
 
THE LANGUAGE OE 'AARBERT' 47 
 
 which man inflicts on a Uving pig, and let him be put 
 into a room whence he can hear, but cannot see, a 
 herd of two hundred swine of all ages at feeding-time, 
 when they have only two or three troughs amongst 
 them all, and he will acknowledge that nowhere in all 
 nature is the whole gamut represented in such clear 
 and rich notes as in such a choir. The pig has his 
 faults, but is made more dirty than he naturally is; and 
 no animal represents a full orchestra so well as he and 
 his fellows do. It is to the credit of our honest tongue 
 that it appreciates this fact. Our fathers, who fed 
 their swine in the fields on acorns, found them clean 
 animals, and respected them. 
 
 ' SWITHER,' * WyNSTER.' 
 
 * Swither ' is the comparative of * swith,' strong. 
 As applied to the hand or arm, it means the stronger 
 arm or hand : and as applied to anything else, it means 
 the side of it corresponding to a man's right-arm side; 
 whilst ' wynster,' a sister word, apparently, of the 
 Latin ' sinister,' means the side of a thing which is 
 opposite to the swither. Whether or not our words 
 * right ' and ' left ' come from ' rectus ' and ' Isevus,' 
 and whatever they may mean as so coming, they are 
 already in hourly use by us as 'correct' and 'forsaken.' 
 We know nothing of them as ' rectus ' and ' Isevus.' 
 When we say the ' right ' side or the ' left ' side of a 
 house, we literally say the ' correct ' side or the ' for- 
 saken ' side of it. Why should we unnecessarily make 
 two words, in such constant use by us as ' right ' and 
 ' left ' are, each stand for two utterly different ideas, 
 each of which ideas is also constantly occurring to us? 
 ' Thenk.' 
 
 ' To think ' is to appear, and its perfect is ' thught.' 
 ' To thenk ' is what we call ' to think,' and its perfect 
 
48 AARBERT 
 
 is ' thought.' ' To thenk ' is to make think or make 
 appear; and that which is thus made to think is a 
 thing ; therefore ' thenk ' is in reference to ' think,' as 
 ' drench ' is in reference to ' drink.' The connection 
 between ' thenk ' and ' thing ' is somewhat that be- 
 tween ' reor ' and ' res '; but, hke ' res,' ' thing ' is that 
 which is made to appear in law ; and so ' thing ' comes 
 to be a cause, or plea in law, and ' to thingen ' comes 
 to be to plead. By spelling ' thenk ' as ' think ' we 
 have lost the beautiful connection of ' think ' with 
 ' thing,' we have lost the use of ' thing ' as a legal 
 cause, and we have utterly lost ' thingen,' to plead, in 
 which sense ' thing ' is so much used by our Scandi- 
 navian brethren; whilst we use, without understand- 
 ing it, the compound word ' methinks ' (it seems to 
 me). 
 
 ' Therright.' 
 
 The compounds of ' there ' are very useful. We 
 have ' therefrom,' ' therefore ' (properly ' therefor '), 
 ' therewith,' ' therein,' ' thereof,' ' thereout,' and 
 ' thereafter.' Why not ' theretogens ' for ' on-the- 
 contrary-to-it ' ; and 'therright' for 'immediately'? 
 We retain something like ' therright ' in the phrase, 
 'All-right!' 
 
 ' Throwers ' 
 
 are martyrs. ' To throw ' is to suffer, and one of its 
 nouns is ' throe.' What we call ' to throw ' is properly 
 to thraw; just as what we call ' to strow ' is properly 
 to straw. We have lost the connection of ' to throw ' 
 with ' throe,' and of ' to straw ' with * straw,' scattered 
 grass, by our careless misspelling and by our igno- 
 rance of our language. The printer could set us 
 right as to ' thraw ' and * straw.' 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 49 
 
 ' Thurbright ' 
 
 is one of the many dropped compounds of ' thurh ' 
 (through). It means transparent, and is transparent 
 in meaning, which ' transparent ' is not. For want of 
 ' thurbright/ we have actually coined ' transparent.' 
 There is no such word as ' transparens ' in Latin. 
 
 ' TWONNE ' 
 
 is what I have modernized from ' tweon,' which means 
 doubt, and is formed from ' twa,' as ' doubt ' is from 
 ' duo.' The Scotch have faithfully retained ' twa,' but 
 we have lost ' tweon ' by putting ' tweo ' (two) into the 
 place of ' twa ' ; and then, in ignorance of the existence 
 of 'tweon,' have borrowed 'doubt'; but few of us 
 know that ' doubt ' comes from ' duo,' whereas a child 
 would at once see that ' twonne ' came from ' two.' I 
 have added the second ' n ' in the word ' twonne ' in 
 order to give it an expression of reeling or unsteadi- 
 ness. 
 
 ' To Unne ' 
 
 is to acknowledge. Our old verb ' agan ' has been 
 modernized by us as ' to own,' but ' unnan,' our 
 equally old and worthy word, having no one to care 
 for it, has dropped into the same form, ' to own '; and 
 so, in contented ignorance of all this and of the exist- 
 ence of either ' agan ' or ' unnan,' we wonder, as well 
 we may, by what force ' to possess ' has made such a 
 stride as to stand for ' to give ' or ' concede.' I have 
 modernized ' unnan ' as ' to unne ' ; but ' unne ' already 
 exists as an old noun meaning favour. It might 
 stand as both a noun and a verb, as ' love ' does. 
 
 ' Untellend,' ' Untelly,' 
 
 are my renderings of ' innumerable.' Is the ' lie ' in 
 ' luflic ' (which is the My ' in lovely) like? It is com- 
 
50 AARBERT 
 
 monly thought so, but can it be said that a woman or 
 a flower is lovely because she or it is like love? Is not 
 
 * lufigendlic,' lovely, compounded of (i) ' lufu; love; 
 
 (2) ' igend ' (from ' agan,' to own), possession, and 
 
 (3) ' lie,' the adjective form of ' Isecan ' ? And does 
 not the whole word mean love-possession-offering (if 
 active), or taking (if passive)? and is not ' amabilis ' 
 compounded of (i) 'am' (from 'amor'), love; (2) 
 ' abe ' (from ' habeo '), have; and (3) Mis' (from the 
 root of Micet '), allowing? If these things are so, the 
 component parts of ' lufigendlic ' correspond with 
 those of ' amabilis,' and the two words express exactly 
 the same thing. But, again, if so, we may easily re- 
 place all our foreign words ending in ' able ' and 
 ' ible ' with words of our own compounded with * lie' 
 
 Still, we should much want an English form answer- 
 ing to the energetic Latin participle in ' dus,' and I 
 suggest our supplying this want from our discarded 
 noun and participle endings in * end,' ' ende.' We 
 should thus get ' untellend.' We have a gerund, but 
 we never use it, for this reason, that by doing so we 
 should put the clock of speech back 1000 years to 
 correctness; rather than do which ridiculous thing, 
 we, when we have to say, ' I am to blamenne,' or ' a 
 house to lettenne,' utter the majestic nonsense of, ' I 
 am to blame,' or ' a house to let.' We might have a 
 future participle answering to the Latin in ' rus,' but 
 I shall be thought to have lost my wits if, taking a 
 hint from German, I recommend ' loveward ' for 
 
 * amaturus,' about to love. 
 
 ' Wanhope.' 
 
 * Wan ' is a prefix formed from ' want.' ' Wan- 
 hope,' want of hope, is therefore despair. ' Wan- 
 speed ' is adversity. ' Wanhealth ' is invalidness. 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 51 
 
 ' Wanhafness ' is poverty. And countless such words 
 could be built with ' wan.' 
 
 ' Weeds ' and ' Waeds.' 
 
 We speak of garden weeds and of widow's weeds, 
 and wonder what connection the two weeds have with 
 each other. * Bah! it matters not. It is merely a 
 question concerning the English language. If we ask 
 the question there is no one who has time to answer 
 it.' The two weeds have no connection with each 
 other. Garden weeds ought to be spelt ' weods,' and 
 are a connection of ' woods ' ; widow's weeds ought to 
 be spelt ' waeds ' or ' waeds.' ' Waed,' which we have 
 in ' wadding,' seems to have been the name of coarse 
 clothing, all in holes, used by the poorest people; and, 
 as being such, ' waed ' is the root of ' wsedl,' poverty, 
 and of ' waedlian,' to beg, which we have in ' wheedle ' ; 
 that is, to coax by pleading want. Widow's ' waeds ' 
 are coarse rough clothing (crape) made to imitate 
 cloth in holes, and thus expressive of desolation. 
 
 ' WiLLES ' 
 
 is voluntarily. It is the old genitive of the noun 
 'will,' and is Hterally of one's will; just as ' needes,' 
 necessarily, which we write as ' needs,' is the genitive 
 of ' need,' and means of one's need. 
 
 ' WiLLSOME ' 
 
 is desirable, or that which carries somewhat of the 
 will. We have handsome, lonesome, toothsome, and 
 might build words without end with aid of the suflix 
 ' some,' which implies part of a thing either in itself 
 or in our knowledge of it, and very usefully qualifies 
 numbers, as in ' twentysome,' or about twenty. 
 
52 AARBERT 
 
 ' WlTHERWARDNESS ' 
 
 is opposition, adversity. ' Wither/ as meaning 
 contra, adversus (against, opposite), is a most valuable 
 prefix. We have lost it, as such, by that contempt for 
 our language which has allowed so many careless mis- 
 copies of it. There are two quite distinct words, 
 ' hwider ' (quo) and ' wither ' (contra). We have 
 taken the first half of ' hwider ' and the last half of 
 ' wither,' and making ' whither ' out of the two, have 
 quite lost ' wither,' contra, except in so far as we apply 
 it to the shoulders of a horse. But few jockeys know 
 that the ' withers ' of a horse are so named from their 
 being that part of him which is against or opposite to 
 the collar of the harness. ' Wither,' as a verb, is in 
 daily use by us, but without our understanding that it 
 is merely in its meaning ' to oppose life,' that it 
 means to speed death and to further decay. 
 
 ' Wight,' or ' Wiht.' 
 
 We say * that person ' when we mean ' that male or 
 female.' Why not for the occasion use our old and in 
 every way better word ' wight,' properly * wiht,' which 
 means man, woman, or thing? Why? Because we 
 are ashamed of old English which is true English; 
 and ' person,' a longer word, is now English in prefer- 
 ence to ' wiht.' Ought this so to be? But is it won- 
 derful that it is so, when so great is our neglect of our 
 own mother-tongue that we are all hourly using many 
 of its words and phrases in utter ignorance of what 
 they mean ; as, for instance, when we say * odds and 
 ends,' ' farewell,' ' world without end,' ' gooseberry ' 
 ' bridegroom,' ' that will do,' and ' methinks,' not 
 knowing that these words mean ords and ends, or be- 
 ginnings and ends, go well, age without end, gorse- 
 berry, bridegume or bride-man, that will avail or be 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 53 
 
 enough, and, it seems to me? Again, I say, ought 
 this so to be? Would it be so, if our scholars com- 
 posed a dictionary of words modernized from what is 
 called Anglo-Saxon, and if at our schools our children 
 wrote exercises in good English by the help of that 
 dictionary? No; but nursery governesses are the 
 professors to whom their education in this mere baby 
 language is entrusted; and at our schools the grave 
 masters exercise the boys in the more honoured and, 
 as they suppose, more important languages of for- 
 eigners and of the dead; so that the boys return home 
 with mongrel words above, or, rather, beneath, the 
 understanding of their first teachers, and, to say soth, 
 of themselves also. Aught and naught are ' any- 
 wiht ' and ' no-wiht.' We use these words, and is it 
 not shameful that we are ashamed of saying ' that 
 wiht '? It is nonsense and unsoth to say that the word 
 wiht ' and ' no-wiht.' We use these words, and is it 
 be lost by us are mere Anglo-Saxon words. They are 
 English, and are, or might be, made modern English, 
 and only unworthy faint-heartedness could prevent 
 them from being easily and profitably recovered. 
 
 ' To Whirft,' 
 
 for so I modernize ' hwearfian,' to change, is a word in 
 sense and sound far superior to ' change.' It is the 
 verb of ' wharf,' which is a landing-place for the ex- 
 change of disembarked goods. 
 
 ' Wyndream,' or * Wyndrym,' 
 
 is rapture, or the being dragged or driven away by 
 ' wyn ' (joy, delight), a word familiar to us in ' win- 
 some.' Whether or not ' dream ' comes from 
 * dragan,' to drag, or ' drefan,' to drive, it means that 
 
54 AARBERT 
 
 in which the mind and feelings are dragged or driven 
 along in unusual emotion. In old English ' dream ' 
 meant (i) joy, mirth, and (2) music, melody, song. It 
 is only by a late use that ' dream ' has come to mean 
 that in which the mind and feelings are drawn away in 
 sleep. Our fathers spoke of ' dream-craft ' as the art 
 of music, and ' dreamer ' as musician. But they pro- 
 nounced dream as dream; and by pronouncing it so 
 we might still have the word in the sense in which it 
 was used by them, leaving dream pronounced as we 
 should pronounce ' dreem ' to signify, as it now does, 
 sleep-thought. 
 
 ' Ze,' ' Zy,' ' ZiNE.' 
 
 I respectfully offer ' ze ' for ' he ' or ' she,' ' zin ' for 
 ' him ' or ' her,' and ' zy ' for ' his,' ' her,' or ' hers.' 
 Before a vowel ' zy ' would be ' zine.' In Latin a 
 nominative to ' se ' is not wanted; but in English the 
 representative of such a nominative is as much wanted 
 as that of ' se ' is; and it is needless to say how much 
 w^e need both representatives. The poor have already 
 supplied for themselves a form for ' se,' ' suus.' In- 
 stead of saying: ' If anyone will call on me, I will give 
 to him, or to her, this book, which he, or she, can 
 take to his, or her, home, where he, or she, can read 
 it at his, or her, own leisure, with benefit to his own 
 self, or to her own self,' they would say: ' If anyone 
 will call on me, I will give un this book, which ah can 
 take to uns home, where ah can read it at uns leisure 
 with great benefit to un.' The ' ah ' here is evidently 
 a form of ' any,' and the ' un,' ' un's,' of one, one's. 
 These forms are better than none for the purpose to 
 which they are applied, but I am not answerable for 
 them. 
 
THE LANGUAGE OE 'AARBERT' 55 
 
 ' Lost NTH,' ' Loseth,' ' Takenth,' ' Taughth,' 
 
 ' LOSEDS.' 
 
 What is there to prevent our using our past par- 
 ticiples equally with our present participles as nouns? 
 and why should we not be able to make abstract nouns 
 of l)otli of these? For instance, why should it not be 
 possible to say: ' I regret my loseds and my losings ' ? 
 that is, ' 1 regret the things which I have lost and my 
 carelessness in losing them; for, in the loseth, I have 
 lost much of my income; and, in the losinth, I have 
 displayed great faultiness.' I see nothing except our 
 despair of English that could prevent our doing this. 
 We might with the greatest ease form abstract nouns 
 out of any participles. Endings in ' ing ' would pass 
 into ' inth ' ; ' ed ' would pass into ' eth ' ; ' en ' into 
 
 * enth,' as in ' takenth '; ' t ' into ' th,' as in ' taughth,' 
 for doctrine; whilst ' taughdh ' stood for dogma. By 
 these English noun-endings all our endings in * sion ' 
 and ' tion ' might be built on English stems; thus 
 
 * conversion ' would be ' geturnedh ' (the being alto- 
 gether turned), and ' vocation ' would be ' calledh.' 
 
 * A WiLNED ' 
 
 means a thing desired; it is the noun of ' to wiln.' Let 
 anyone, who finds fault with it, find its sul)stitute. 
 We say ' a desideratum ' because we lack such a sub- 
 stitute in English; but, in fact, we have lost that 
 precious verb, ' to wiln ' (to covet or desire). Some 
 Anglo-Franco-Latino-Greeko linguist will tell me that 
 ' to wiln ' is Anglo-Saxon and that ' desideratum ' is 
 English. ' Wilned ' gives, as an abstract noun, 
 ' wilneth,' covetousness. 
 
 I have somewhat to say on English pronunciation, 
 which is an utter ruin; but not as hopelessly so as 
 
56 AARBERT 
 
 some imagine, if only there is a will to restore it at 
 any cost of trouble. There is, however, neither call 
 nor room for my remarks on the subject here. If God 
 still spares my life, now protracted to the age of eighty- 
 five, I may possibly make the remarks elsewhere 
 and elsewhen. And now, having justified my use of 
 the words needing a glossary, which I have employed 
 in my poem, and of which not more appear generally 
 in five pages than often appear in five lines of Burns' 
 poetry, I can only hope that my use of them may lead 
 to the recovery of some of them. English will be the 
 chief language of the world, and I would help to make 
 it, what it would be if restored, the best language in 
 it — a language worthy, and fully able, to carry the 
 Gospel of the Hebrew and Greek Book of books into 
 every land. As to the plan which I would suggest 
 for making it all this, I ought to say something. 
 
 If then, you, my reader, hear anyone, unlike your- 
 self, disposed to suffer panic at the mere idea of such 
 an enterprise as the restoration of true English, I beg 
 you to say to him this from me: ' Let not my enter- 
 prise startle you. I would implore you, be not angry; 
 be not alarmed ; faint not. I do not propose that you 
 or your friends should in your whole lives use unwill- 
 ingly any Old English words, such as those which I 
 have dragged out of the dust of time, or any new 
 words or forms of words such as I have myself sug- 
 gested. Nor do I propose that your children should 
 write exercises in what is called Anglo-Saxon. All 
 that I propose is as follows : Firstly, I propose that our 
 own language should be studied by many scholars, so 
 as to be understood better than it now is. For, won- 
 derful as the fact is, no one on earth understands Eng- 
 lish except as Anglo-Saxon. I myself, who am not 
 professedly an Anglo-Saxon scholar, first found out 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF 'AARBERT' 57 
 
 from Dr. Bosworth's Dictionary its old beauties far 
 too late in life to have been able to get more than such 
 a smattering of them as 1 needed for writing this 
 poem. Secondly, I propose that, after the language 
 is better understood, an academy, formed of qualified 
 deputies chosen by the universities, and authorized by 
 the Legislatures of all English-speaking peoples, 
 should be formed, whose chief work should be to 
 study, reform, fix, and watch over the language; and 
 one of whose first duties should be to modernize 
 Anglo-Saxon, so called, words — a task requiring even 
 more taste and judgment than scholarship; and whose 
 next work should be to write a dictionary which would 
 supply English forms of words replacing as many 
 Anglo-Latinisms as possible. Where these forms did 
 not already exist they might be got from German, 
 Dutch, Danish, or other Teutonic languages. For 
 instance, from German we might get ' self-standy ' for 
 ' independent,' which word is a hollow shell. Fur- 
 thermore, I propose that the youths at our schools 
 should write exercises in true English by help of this 
 dictionary. It does not follow necessarily that these 
 children should in their talk adopt the old words 
 which they shall have used in their exercises. It only 
 follows that they might, if they chose, adopt them. 
 The words might be confidently left to force their own 
 way by their own worth. They would assuredly do 
 this in time. By the establishment of such an 
 academy as I suggest, we should help to bind together 
 all the members of the English-speaking family in a 
 closer union than even now exists ; and should we by 
 it, and by its work, have hurt our past literature? 
 Scarcely any of it which is worth preserving; whilst 
 we should recover much of our old writers which we 
 have lost. 
 
58 AARBERT 
 
 I have said enoug-h here. The languages of the 
 earth are, as we quit it, passing away from us for ever. 
 We shall all be soon speaking that of either heaven or 
 hell. Reader, which shall I, which shall you, speak? 
 That we may both of us be speaking that of heaven is 
 the earnest prayer of him who has written this poem, 
 to the lessons of which, apart from its language, he 
 would afifectionately draw your heed. Farewell ! 
 
OVERTURE. 
 
 All earthness, darkness! Every ray 
 Of earth-light, earthness! Every day 
 Of earth-Hfe, night! but an earth-Hfe's night, 
 A day, wherever is ghostly light! 
 
 From the sun and the moon mere mock-light beams, 
 That are light to alone the earth's day-dreams; 
 And sky itself, earth's heavenly roof, 
 A token mere of heaven aloof! 
 
 Earth's knowledge, the things that had reached man's 
 
 mind 
 By light of the earth; and when there enshrined 
 Were, each of them, shaped by the shape of the cell 
 To which as its own it was taken to dwell ; 
 Till there it, being by mind well wrought. 
 Became to the man his own made thought. 
 But each thing there, a likeness mere 
 In earth's mock-liHit of thing: elsewhere. 
 
 'fe 
 
 The soul ^ of man, the man indeed! 
 While bides he from the fiends unfreed; 
 While abides he bound with his fleshly dreams. 
 And with shadows flitting in earth-light's gleams. 
 
 Man's ghost, the man! when the Hselend's^ light 
 Has reached him, and when the Gospel's might 
 Has awaked and freed him from dreams of things 
 Which the Earth's mock-light to his earth-mind 
 brings ; 
 ' For the right meaning of ' soul ' see Preface, p. 27. "^ Saviour's. 
 
 59 
 
6o AARBERT 
 
 When the man is dead to Earthy mood, 
 And he hves as born anew of God. 
 
 Man's Hhhome ^ of body, Hmbs, and head, 
 Mere dust! whereof sin and death are bred! — 
 Blest, who to the dust of death hves dead! 
 
 But countless as dust are men; and they 
 
 Are all of them born as death's doomed prey : 
 
 And so with them each is it, as with all ; 
 
 Each one is a soul, and is thus a thrall ; 
 
 And fiends are their Lords, and God above 
 
 Would win to Himself their hearts' whole love 
 
 By His filling with light the murky gleams 
 
 Of their shadow-made earth-sun's mock-light beams — 
 
 With light, that light of the Holy Ghost 
 
 Which man, by sinning in Eden, lost — 
 
 With light, that light of the Gospel's plan, 
 
 By which God lives in the breast of man. 
 
 The noonday's blaze is that light's shroud ; 
 
 As lightning's covert is the cloud. 
 
 As the surf-wave roars when its flash has come 
 
 To the beach where tarries its long flight's home, 
 
 So the roaming swell of the Gospel's sound 
 
 With a shout unlooses its light around. 
 
 When on some true man it has touched the ground. 
 
 Coming out of the east, from the west coming forth, 
 
 Coming forth from the south, coming out of the north, 
 
 A sound, a flashful sound from high! 
 
 A sound from far, a sound from nigh! 
 
 A thunder from heaven's every part, 
 
 That speaks in a whisper within man's heart ! 
 
 ' The whole body of a living man (flesh-home of soul). 
 
OVERTURE 
 
 To man it all is a call of might 
 
 To make from bondage at once his flight: 
 
 A call to man as the moan of love 
 
 Which God outbreathes from the skies above, 
 
 When sheaves of auroral light are spread 
 
 As fingers of love o'er Lapland's head ; 
 
 And a call unto man as the thunder loud 
 
 Which He utters when of¥ from the louring cloud 
 
 Light over Bengal in June resounding 
 
 Flies echoing, bounding, bumped, rebounding. 
 
 It shakes both heaven and earth and hell ; 
 Shakes all men reached by its mighty swell; 
 Shakes Earth as the fall of a river on rock, 
 That half toward heaven's embrace from the shock 
 Springs back with a surf-wave's horror hoar, 
 Half sinks in the Earth with locked-up roar — 
 Shakes Earth as a rainbow, which from cloud 
 Comes tremblingly pledging love aloud 
 By every hue of its truth's white light 
 Turned out of its heart in its speech to sight. 
 
 It drops as dew ; as the dawn it cheers ; 
 
 As air it every-whither veers ; 
 
 It wanders as clouds do, ready to rain, 
 
 By valley and hill from plain toward plain. 
 
 As a river it cleaves the salt sea wide, 
 
 And it climbs up each seaboard as a tide. 
 
 It flies as flieth the levinbrand,^ 
 
 That flaps flame-wings over sea and land. 
 
 It saunters appealing as the song 
 
 Of bells in the breezes borne along. 
 
 Man's truth is assayed wherever it goes — 
 Truth whether to God or else to His foes; 
 
 ' Thunderbolt. 
 
62 AARBERT 
 
 For they who hate Him hate the shout 
 As call from all their self-love out; 
 And they who love Him welcome it 
 As help from what they hope to quit. 
 
 But as for the fiend, when he finds it nigh, 
 
 He looks at his haftlings ^ with heavy sigh : 
 
 Sith, albeit the most of them heartily fear 
 
 To be freed from the dreams which as fetters they 
 
 wear, 
 And albeit, though hearing the call, ' Oh! come, 
 For your bonds may be broken, ye thralls! Come 
 
 home,' 
 The most the more for that cry make 
 Those fetters faster lest they wake, 
 They some, when they hear it, slip from their bands 
 By lifting in Christ's name meekly their hands 
 To their Maker, their King, their Father above, 
 Who thus holds to them freedom, welcome, and love. 
 
 Then falls from God on these men light, 
 And through them 'gins to flow His might; 
 And into them, as their rightful Lord, 
 The Hgelend ^ to hold them by His word 
 And keep them from being lastly lost, 
 Comes, comes by His Ghost, the Holy Ghost. 
 Their gaolers, their bolts, their doors give way; 
 They rise, and they live from that bright day. 
 Each one of them free from Satan's sway. 
 
 Oh, Gospel! thou that as God's own call 
 Thus loosest many a sin-bound thrall, 
 That makest man with such might free 
 As that wherewith the one word ' Be! ' 
 
 ' Prisoners (have -[- ling). ^ Saviour. 
 
OVERTURE 63 
 
 Made all things erst from out of naught. 
 And left to them the shape it taught. 
 Why fliest thou fitful as lightning's gleam? 
 Why bidest thou not as the sun's staunch beam? 
 Wherefore moves thy light athwart this earth 
 As an angel's flashing arm, put forth 
 To draw the bolt of black night's den, 
 And ope its gate to some few men 
 But here and there, but now and then. 
 When like the sun thou might'st have in one 
 Broad sheet of light on all of them shone? 
 Why, Gospel! why? 
 
 Then — oh, Israel! why? 
 Why Herald ! whom it was bidden to cry 
 This Gospel and make this word of might 
 Bear over the world God's ghostly light. 
 Why shines it not as light of day? 
 Why comes not yet the daylight? say, 
 Why, Herald! why? 
 
 ' Who asks? — but nay: 
 The asker first shall answer me. 
 And I, the Earth, cry, who is he 
 Who asks that crushed by the Hebrew's might 
 Be fiends who muster the shades of night? 
 Who calls the Herald of Dawn whilst yet 
 Those shades so thickly on earth are met? 
 What man calls Israel forth from dreams 
 Which bind him lest he awake day's beams? ' 
 
 I call him. I, the bard, who hear 
 His shout afar, his shout anear. 
 
 ' Oh, Bard! forbear: thou hear'st no shout. 
 But echo mere that flies about; 
 
64 AARBERT 
 
 For God to the men of the whole world wills 
 To speak in the echo from Jewry's hills, 
 Who spoke in the shout ere Israel 
 Asleep as in caverns dream-bound fell.' 
 
 Then over the Earth, upon fancy's wing, 
 
 My song, up away, to the echo's spring! 
 
 My song, up the echo, track by track. 
 
 To waken this sleeper fly we back! 
 
 From land to land, from stage to stage, 
 
 From realm to realm, from age to age, 
 
 Up the lines tracked out by the echo, fly! 
 
 Over olden Spain, Rome, Egypt, hie 
 
 To the cities of Greece! From all these haste 
 
 To Jerusalem, thence to Sinai's waste. 
 
 To the mountains of Sinai, to Jacob's sons, 
 
 To the meeting of God with His chosen ones ! 
 
 Here? nought but mist here! Is it mist? 
 Nay, those are tents. Tents? yet so whist! 
 Stay: haze from ofif me glides away. 
 Yes, hark! a murmur — see! — and — yea; 
 These are the Hebrews whom I seek ; 
 That is their great Mount Sinai's peak; 
 Their wilderness, this around; and, lo. 
 The day is it, thousands of years ago, 
 When laws will be set them for weal or woe. 
 
 But a trumpet sounds! By stroke of its blast 
 Every thought is laid, Earth's heart is aghast. 
 
 The four winds rise, have arisen, fly; 
 They clasp Mount Sinai, they sweep the sky. 
 The lightning's glances track their trail, 
 And spy rocks rent and strown as hail. 
 
OVERTURE 65 
 
 The fleeting heavens, black throughout, 
 Seem deadly still, as stunned with rout. 
 With a shriek each gust of the whirlwind, trying 
 To outfly the gust that afore is flying, 
 Springs out of its utmost speed; and soars 
 Beyond it in long and mighty roars; 
 Which, ere the cloud that it bears can fence 
 The mountain, warn away all men thence. 
 Yet fast in that wind do angels stand, 
 Each floating above his foot of land. 
 
 Gekinda,^ lifting now her head 
 
 Up Sinai, sees her God with dread: 
 
 And dropping the rocks from the points of her crown. 
 
 But robed in a flame as her courtliest gown, 
 
 She stands on the mountain's highest peak 
 
 To listen to what He wills to speak; 
 
 Whilst smoke outbreathed by the panting ground 
 
 Through red lips opening all around. 
 
 And earthquake's roars from the depths beneatli 
 
 Which rise like groans from the vaults of death, 
 
 Tell how the Earth abroad is biding 
 
 The things which will be soon betiding. 
 
 No wonder! that when Gekinda^ felt 
 God coming, her crown did off her melt. 
 No wonder! that when He has come, she sees. 
 And faints in the wind as it from Him flees. 
 
 She quitted Sinai. All things there, 
 
 As though hers never once they were! 
 
 No longer hers, the fire and cloud 
 
 Are there her Maker's sheen to shroud! 
 
 Wills He, whose word is the Earth's whole stay, 
 
 To rest His foot on this mount to-day? 
 
 ' Nature altogether. 
 
66 AARBERT 
 
 For He wills from the mountain's height to tell 
 
 Of the bounds within which would men walk well ; 
 
 And the better to show men all these bounds, 
 
 He with laws will inhedge their wayfare's grounds; 
 
 He will lay down roads, and on both their sides 
 
 Set His laws as hedges and spear-armed guides, 
 
 That men not walking in ways aright. 
 
 Yet quite aright in their own self-sight, 
 
 May thus by their many law-leaps trow 
 
 How many a death they live to owx ; 
 
 And, as guilty, may come to be led on the track 
 
 Of a better than Eden's lost happiness back. 
 
 Lo, men, your God! With joyful thrills 
 Come, worship! love Him, as He wills! 
 
 What! failing of heart and a quaking of limb? 
 At whom? At your Life-giver? Quailing at Him? 
 Or but at His trump's rending Earth asunder. 
 At shriek of His wind, and His roaring thunder? 
 
 Oh, brethren! oh! for we shall die. 
 We hear our fathers' God Most High. 
 We hear His voice from out the cloud: 
 And yet we live, thus far allowed. 
 The voice is death; for who beside 
 Hath heard God speak, and not hath died? 
 Thou mightest live. Oh, Moyses, Guide! 
 
 Thou tell us, thou, what He shall say. 
 We flee; but thee will not He slay. 
 
 Their Maker allows their awe as right. 
 
 They flee from Him, winged with wild afifright. 
 
OVERTURE 67 
 
 Yet why had they feared as death to stay? 
 Why felt they unlove's, imfaith's dismay? 
 His speech was in Kden life's own breath ; 
 Why seemed it to these men that of death ? 
 Does His Gospel dash to shivers and grind 
 Into dust man's body and soul and mind? 
 Men heard; and at once, as the Earth's great ear. 
 Filled Earth to its heart with their own foul fear. 
 
 Alone stands Moyses: appalled, e'en he! 
 He fears to stay, and he fears to flee. 
 He stands, though scarce can stand at all : 
 Yet strengthened by his Maker's call, 
 He climbs the mountain's quaking side 
 With lightning as his earnest guide; 
 Whilst rising wreaths of smoke jet-black 
 Hide step by step his lonely track; 
 And passes into the whirlwind's ring 
 Of gestilledh waiting on Heaven's King. 
 
 There sheen is veiled from angels' sight 
 
 By dazzling rays of sheerest light; 
 
 There light itself around that sheen 
 
 May not by man's dull eye be seen. — 
 
 No more! I stand adumbed; and hold 
 
 Hand over mouth, lest over-bold 
 
 I dare at fancy's bidding speak 
 
 Of Him whose might His wrongs to wreak 
 
 Wild fancy cannot ween, nor well 
 
 Could tongue shape words wherewith to tell. 
 
 My song! sound lidhly.^ See, they gaze; 
 The smoke! the cloud! the lightning's blaze! 
 
 ' Opposite to loudly. 
 
68 AARBERT 
 
 My songf sound loudly. Hark, they moan; 
 The whirlwind's roar! the earthquake's groan! 
 My song! trill, droop. Lo, faints their hope; 
 The trackless waste! the warfare! Stop! 
 Rise, sound, loud, louder! More and more 
 Swell, boom! with loudest deep tone roar 
 Of the crash of the outburst of murmurings, 
 Which the wind in its howl's hubbub hoarsely brings. 
 
 A roll of smothered words! ' Gone! ' ' Fled,' 
 
 ' Forsaken,' ' Burnt,' ' Snatched,' ' Coming,' * Dead.' 
 
 To the murmurers, whirlwind! shrieking, cry 
 As a Death in their fright's ear: ' Hark or die! 
 What! wait ye not for days on Him 
 On Whom wait countless Cherubim, 
 Whilst Earth's whole life passes by, as flight 
 Which meteors make in the wink of night? ' 
 Cry that; then. Soul of the Whirlwind! bring 
 What words of theirs to thy folds shall cling. 
 
 I give you praise, my brethren dear! 
 For meekness much, for little fear. 
 Yet why the fear? Ye stand in need 
 Of all good things on earth indeed; 
 And all deaths here around you feed. 
 But far around lies other sand; 
 And somewhere, too, is Canaan's land. 
 To which has gone your former guide. 
 These things all cheer you, as ye bide 
 In tears to see each dying day 
 Glide hopeless to its grave away. 
 And to see each ilight behind it go 
 As its mourner stricken dumb with woe! 
 
OVERTURE 69 
 
 * 
 
 Stags, hunted hither, will ye die 
 
 Like these your days? Arise ye! Fie! 
 
 What! know ye not a chief beside 
 
 This Moyses? I will be your guide. 
 
 Have a priest of your own, and a likeness of God. 
 
 Let the priest bear his cross, and his crook-headed rod. 
 
 Let him wear at his back a fish-like cope; 
 
 With, as mitre, the fish's mouth wide ope. 
 
 And thus let us all go trimly back 
 
 To Egypt and home on our grief-worn track. 
 
 ' W^ell said! ' ' To the gods of old Egypt to whom 
 We bowed in our bondage mid melons at home! ' 
 ' Now, Aaron, a calf for us ! ' ' Aaron, we pray, 
 A calf, and Egyptian rituars play! ' 
 
 * Your earrings then! Wood and more wood pile! ' 
 
 Now kindle a fire! Now wait awhile. 
 
 Behold, the calf! and ye all may now 
 
 To God with help of an image bow, 
 
 In oneness with Egypt's rites, if still 
 
 Ye work as before my priestly w^ill.' 
 
 The mount! the cloud! look! earthquake, flame! 
 
 A shiver creeps through all earth's frame. 
 
 That wrath be unsung! 
 
 Sing rather the coming, the wonder, the grief. 
 
 The cry, and the pleading, the prayer of the chief. 
 
 ' Wherefore, Aaron, hast thou misled them? ' ' Nay, 
 
 They misled their priest; but for us pray.' 
 
 ' Oh God ! their priest and them forgive ! ' 
 
 The prayer is answered: 'They shall live! ' 
 
 The pleader has climbed the mount anew; 
 
 Ao^ain he is lost to his kinsmen's view. 
 
70 AARBERT 
 
 Wait, Hebrews, wait! They wait. All well! 
 
 They wait. All well! And whilst they tell 
 
 Of God's great goodness— oh ! what bliss 
 
 There is in merely feeling this — 
 
 Too happy they Time's tree to heed. 
 
 See thirty days so quickly speed. 
 
 That all of them pass as only one, 
 
 In which they are blent till all are gone. 
 
 Happy month! this month, this bearing bough 
 
 Of the green year's branch of Time's tree now 
 
 Puts forth and keeps with all its powers 
 
 The thirty days that are its flowers, 
 
 Until they fall as one whole day 
 
 Of bliss unbroken, fall away : 
 
 This month, this twelfth of the boughs of the year. 
 
 Which now in turn has the blossoms to bear, 
 
 ^Hath opened its thirty red buds of light 
 
 One after another ; and fair and bright 
 
 At once have they all from the bough made flight. 
 
 The first red bud of the Time's new bough. 
 Begins, already begins to glow, 
 When the chief is midst his kinsmen found; 
 But with flash of glory-beams so crowned 
 That he hurls their gazings to the ground. 
 
 He is veiled; and with shielded gaze they brook 
 At the bearer of God's law's sheen to look. 
 
 Oh ! who could have met with naked gaze 
 The flight of the spears of that sheen's^ blaze? 
 They alone whose look at its beams of light 
 Was with beams of love and of truth so bright, 
 That the force of its own faith's rays could pierce 
 Through the blaze with a flash of truth as fierce. " 
 
OVERTURE 71 
 
 But Godward love and Godward trust 
 May not flash forth h'oni men of dust. 
 They are theirs who, dead to soul of flesh, 
 Have as ghosts been born of God afresh. 
 
 Yet surely the law of God must move 
 The love of Him, since it bids the love? 
 Is therefore it not that mighty call 
 Which, carrying love and trust withal, 
 And echoing through the world amain. 
 Frees those that in bonds of sin have lain? 
 
 Oh, no! It bids from sin to flee, 
 
 It cannot make the sinner free. 
 
 Its call is ' Life to the sinless, Ho! 
 
 But death to the sinful, death in woe! ' 
 
 And the Christless man, who feels no might 
 
 In himself to burst sin's bonds aright, 
 
 Still trusts to softness in God, and bides 
 
 Sinbound, albeit the call so chides. — 
 
 His thoughts back over his past life flit, 
 
 And meet spot following spot on it; 
 
 As it crawls along through time's green vale. 
 
 With its snaky folds and looks of bale, 
 
 And its each one spot, sin's unknown tale: 
 
 As it crawls along to a hopeless doom. 
 
 To the floorless pit, to the fire-lake's gloom. 
 
 And yet he trusts that God will keep 
 
 His life at last from that pit deep; 
 
 He trusts to a softness in God, and bides 
 
 Unhearsome^ albeit the voice so chides. 
 
 Ha! where? for here is Sinai's waste; 
 The Hebrews whither? Oh, what haste! 
 
 ^ Disobedient (somewhat imhearing). 
 
72 AARBERT 
 
 My thought has hired astray my mind; 
 
 My song has strayed; and, hke the wind 
 
 Of the whole wide sky, from my fancy's glance 
 
 Has the landscape fled which it held in trance. 
 
 Time, time has been loosed. — My heart! — I stand, 
 
 Left all to my thought on Sinai's sand. 
 
 For to Hebron's hill and Babylon's towers, 
 
 Being loosed, Time rushed with Israel's Powers; 
 
 And Joshua at their head careers : 
 
 Now Judges amidst them rise, now seers : 
 
 Now further oiT rise mighty kings: 
 
 Isaiah tunes his hallowed strings. 
 
 The award of the doom, the doom from High ! 
 
 The Assyrian's shout, the Hebrew's sigh! 
 
 Up! follow them, Song! thy slackness rue! 
 
 Thy speed to their own great speed be true. 
 
 Over ages forth as a seabird swoop. 
 
 In their up-flight soar, in their down-flight droop. 
 
 As a carol arise, and then sink as wail. 
 
 For arises or lurches their own flight's trail, 
 
 Down the trough of a wave, up a wave's crest high, 
 
 Overcoming, they shout: overcome, they sigh. 
 
 Being faithful to God, they arise and win; 
 
 But are worsted at once, as they sink in sin; 
 
 Then whelmed, they flee before each one foe, 
 
 And God's law follows them, crying ' Woe! ' 
 
 And but their altar's murky breath 
 
 Stays day by day the scourge of death : 
 
 The shield alone of their altar's flash 
 
 Awhile wards off that law's dread lash. 
 
 For a dirge, this! — Often chased like roes. 
 They were cheered by Hope in all their woes; 
 But at last their Hope was slain by foes; 
 
OVERTURE 73 
 
 And their Hope she was tombed, and her winding- 
 sheet 
 Was behest ^ of renewal of life when meet. 
 Be the dreams of thy slumber of death, Hope! sweet. 
 And they thus bewail her at her grave, 
 ' To the death, oh! Hope, God's law^ thee drave; 
 But thy boast had been what life it gave.' 
 
 And they weep, they acknowledge that sin had 
 
 brought 
 Them to this, that their God had against them 
 
 fought, 
 That His life-willing law had their Hope's death 
 wrought ; 
 And they smite their breasts where sins so throve, 
 That His law could but their life-right prove. 
 And attest it lost through lack of love. 
 
 The dirge thus stopped! Their own behoof 
 Had asked that God should stand aloof, 
 Nor thwart their seeing wTOUght that proof. 
 
 Hush, heavenly carol! Hark! — nay, gone, 
 And wonder and wyndrym^ left alone! 
 
 Thus happens it after a nightingale's song, 
 Or after the sun's having ruffled a throng 
 Of clouds in his setting, that beauty along 
 Through every sound and each one shape 
 Is found to have dashed, and made escape. 
 Amidst a spray of mazed delight. 
 Not caught by hearing or by sight. 
 
 Hark! carol again on the listing air! 
 To, angels amidst us, bright and fair! 
 Oh! words of life that as deeds so move! 
 Oh! living deeds that, as songs of love 
 
 ' Promise. ^ Ecstasy. 
 
74 AARBERT 
 
 So blend in chords, wherein 
 
 Of righteousness, peace, soth, mercy, meet! 
 
 ' Good tidings to-day to men forlorn ! — 
 
 In Bethlehem Christ, their Hselend, born! 
 
 All glory to God in the highest ones, 
 
 And peace upon earth in the men its sons! ' 
 
 Yea, words! that as loving deeds are strong. 
 
 Yea, deeds! that as living words give song. 
 
 Oh, loving deeds! oh, living words! 
 
 Oh, mercy's song's ten thousand chords. 
 
 Arise, Hope! quickly thy grave forsake. 
 
 Thy Hselend comes. From the grave awake! — 
 
 'Away with Him!' What? 'Away! away! 
 
 Away with Him! ' Harrow! this thy day 
 
 Long looked for! Awake not! Oh, Hope — sleep! 
 
 * Away with Him! ' Clouds of heaven, wxep! 
 
 Stern watchman! Holy history! — 
 That dost from Zion's hill descry. 
 Say, what of the day? It erst went well. 
 Say, what of the night? Thy tidings tell. 
 
 The day? as dark as the brimstone pit. 
 
 The night? as black as the smoke of it. 
 
 ' To thee, O Pilate, over us 
 
 Governing for Tiberius, 
 
 A misleader of men and a would-be king, 
 
 And the temple's and Caesar's foe we bring.' 
 
 ' No fault in Him, I.' ' Christ! death to Him! ' ' Why? 
 
 What evil has ' ' Death to Him! Send Him to 
 
 die!' 
 ' Fear, Pilate! to wrong that man of worth.' 
 ' Art- Thou then a King? ' ' But not of earth.' 
 
 ' Musical notes. 
 
OVERTURE 75 
 
 'To the Cross!' 'Your King?' 'Fr.ee Barabbas 
 
 to us: 
 To the Cross, the raiser of Lazarus! ' 
 ' The blood of the guiltless? ' ' His be laid 
 On us and our children! ' ' Ye have said: 
 Then so be it.' ' Now from the Cross come down, 
 Thou Christ! and as King we Thee will crown; 
 ' In paradise with Me this night! ' 
 The sun withholds from the earth its sight. 
 ' My God! why hast Thou left Me? why? ' 
 ' Elias comes! ' He cannot die. 
 ' I thirst: It is ended! ' All is done. 
 Earth quakes, but the life of men is won. 
 The veil is rent. The tombed arise, 
 ' Not we, an Angel from the skies, 
 (His face, as lightning! we, as dead!) 
 Rolled back the stone. Our charge has fled! ' 
 ' Yet say men stole Him ! ' ' Mary ! ' ' Lord ! 
 My dearest Rabbi! my adored! ' 
 ' To My Brethren! fell them that I go 
 To My God, My Father, theirs also.' 
 ' Why gaze ye, men? He so will come.' — 
 Now once rise, Hope! Rise! Thy home 
 Henceforth in heaven ! and for aye 
 Thy foes away from thee! away! — 
 Jerusalem! where, where thy King? 
 Your King's return, ye heavens, sing! 
 
 Hold! Who with a strong world-weighted bound 
 Springs, hurling these idols to the ground? 
 Lo! Israel, led by Hope new-found! 
 
 He rises, herald high of Ciod; 
 And thus he cries God's bann abroad: 
 Hear! all men! meyourCiod: and heed. 
 For guilt on earth no more shall speed. 
 
76 AARBERT 
 
 Too long fongotten and unknown 
 Have I a slighted stillness shown. 
 Idolators shall now have doom. 
 I leave to sin nor screen nor room; 
 Yet send My Son, and will forgive 
 Men who will hear Him and would live.' 
 
 The herald has cried that bann from God; 
 
 That Gospel has he abanned ^ abroad ; 
 
 And thus to the world he further speaks. 
 
 ' God forces your fear; your love He seeks 
 
 By this the Gospel of Christ, His Son, 
 
 By these good tidings to every one. 
 
 Have hope in Jesus, oh, men undone! — 
 
 For He, as your Haelend, of woman born, 
 
 Has midst you been dwelling, unhomed, forlorn. 
 
 Through Him, as Word of God, God's doom 
 
 Of death to you for Sin had come. 
 
 On Him, as Son of Man, in your stead. 
 
 With all your own sin laid on His head, 
 
 Has fallen, as He willed should fall. 
 
 That death to which ye doomed were all. 
 
 Having lived as sinless man sin-tried. 
 
 And as man sin-laden sinless died, 
 
 He, God in man, as free from stain. 
 
 By right has won man-life again; 
 
 And borne that life as man's away 
 
 To heaven, there to bide for aye. 
 
 And He thence beseeches you to strive 
 
 In the life He gives to you to live. 
 
 Live therefore from earth and selfness weaned, 
 
 And freed from your fell archfoe the Fiend. 
 
 Your every foe has He overfought; 
 
 Your hearts and your lives have by Him been bought 
 
 ' Proclaimed. 
 
OVERTURE 77 
 
 Your wills may be made as His, and ye 
 
 Yourselves by His Holy Ghost as He, 
 
 Raised high by Christian love and awe 
 
 Above mere sin-forbidding law. 
 
 Live so, until at His call ye dwell 
 
 In glory greater than earth can tell, 
 
 In the realm of righteousness His home; 
 
 Whither sin and sorrow cannot come. 
 
 The bidding is to every one. 
 
 Take heed, it comes from heaven's throne. 
 
 Christ bids, l)eseeches, begs, and still 
 
 Awaits that ye shall do God's will. 
 
 From heaven to earth He comes once more, 
 
 Not, not as He ever came before; 
 
 Not, not as He once had come, to give 
 
 Laws showing how wrongly all men live; 
 
 Not, not to give, as He now^ gives, might 
 
 By which those law^s may be kept aright. 
 
 He comes to meet and welcome all 
 
 Who here on earth shall at His call 
 
 Have heavenward through His death-gate passed; 
 
 And — oh ! He comes to bid that fast 
 
 That gate be locked against all who lie 
 
 Unfreed from doom the great death to die. 
 
 He comes on clouds with angels bright; 
 
 He comes with all His Father's might. 
 
 With magen ^ and with magenthrym '^ 
 
 And every eye shall look on Him. 
 
 The man of sin, that lawless one. 
 
 Crowned, seated on an altar-throne. 
 
 And all Antichrists other and far less great. 
 
 Who against Christ rise with acknowledged hate; 
 
 ' External might (means military forces). 
 ' Majesty (the glory of military means). 
 
78 AARBERT 
 
 And every godless man who stands 
 
 Aloof from God with folded hands. 
 
 Shall call on the hills their guilt to hide; 
 
 But even the hills shall not abide. 
 
 He has come in robes with His bloodshed red, 
 
 And the guilty world at the sight hath fled, 
 
 And ' 
 
 Why Israel's halt? Has his speech then flitted 
 As life from a body which soul has quitted? 
 Is the echo of his buried breath 
 As a shinhiw^ ^ roaming clear of death ? 
 
 I stand in song on England's shore; 
 And hear, as I had heard before. 
 The shout, the shout of Israel. 
 It is the Gospel's mighty swell. 
 And shall that Gospel's cry of love 
 As but a death-song's echo rove? 
 Where, where is Israel, he whose dream 
 Holds daybreak back and its rising beam? 
 
 Ye Isles of Britain, Albion, 
 
 And Erin, will ye but look on? 
 
 Call, Britain! call the hour of night. 
 
 And blow thy shell with all thy might; 
 
 Arouse him. Over the dark waves cry 
 
 His name aloud to the hollow sky. 
 
 Shouldst thou, if he slumber, also sleep? 
 
 Nay, rise on thy rocks, and o'er the deep 
 
 Sing thence to the wind of the zeal, the awe, 
 
 And power, with which he will teach God's law 
 
 As one, the doing which is rife 
 
 With health and haelth,- love and life — 
 
 ' Apparition (shining-form). - Salvation. 
 
OVERTURE 79 
 
 A law which man can quite fulfil, 
 
 As being now the man's own will. 
 
 Wherever he be thy call may find 
 
 His haunt by the help of veering wind. 
 
 And since His crying Jesu's name 
 
 Will thrill with new life all earth's frame, 
 
 Cry loudly his own name forth to each breeze 
 
 That carries your barks bound over your seas, 
 
 Cry, ' Israel, where, where sleepest thou? 
 
 Night's watches await. Day loiters now.' 
 
 My song, thyself again cry ' Where?' 
 Hark! countless caverns answer ' Here! ' 
 
 Then he slumbers! but he restlessly sleeps. 
 
 Like a deer he lists, he shudders, he weeps. 
 
 He forgets God's Gospel, forgets God's Son, 
 
 He forgets that battle which Christ has won ; 
 
 But he hears God's laws still crying ' Sin! ' 
 
 In his dream he flees their scourge and din 
 
 To death's very gateway, through which, with throes, 
 
 He quaking to God as at Sinai goes. 
 
 Unknowing a Hgelend from Sheol's woes. 
 
 It ought to be day; yet darkness stays. 
 The darkness of earth-life's night of days; 
 And fast asleep the Hebrew lies; 
 But freedom's Gospel o'er him flies; 
 And billows of loud, but ghostly sound. 
 Still break with a flash of light around. 
 Where, where is Israel? — he, whose dreams 
 Hold back from the world its daybreak's beams? 
 
 Ha! those gray clouds! What? yes, they grow. 
 The dawn — that reddening streak below? 
 The dawn, indeed! The morn awakes. 
 The startled cloud its red wing shakes. 
 
8o AARBERT 
 
 Rise, welcome light of day, arise; 
 
 From east to west fill all the skies. 
 
 I see that, like this light of day, 
 
 Lo! Israel springs from night away. 
 
 I see him risen from shameful sleep; 
 
 I see him wonder; see him weep. 
 
 He groans, he cries a bitter cry; 
 
 He prays, he peers up to the sky; 
 
 Then breathes his trembling prayer and song 
 
 Amid the proud world's faithless throng; 
 
 Messiah! God! Jehovah! King! 
 
 My own, my all in everything! 
 
 Heart-stricken, overwhelmed with shame, 
 
 Lord Jesus! dare I speak Thy name? 
 
 The more Thou dost my sin forgive. 
 
 The more I marvel that I live. 
 
 I live, but live in only Thee. 
 
 I live henceforth from unfaith free. 
 
 I live to Thee, by second birth. 
 
 Within a kingdom not of earth; 
 
 I live as Thine with a life above. 
 
 Forbidding laws to the laws of love — 
 
 With a life in which God's will is wrought 
 
 By Thine own through mine in every thought. 
 
 And may Thine Israel — may I, Lord! 
 Yet hope fulfilled Thine oft-said word, 
 That I shall with Thee in Salem live? — 
 If Thou canst indeed so far forgive ! — 
 Shall live with Thee Thy praise to sing, 
 Whilst choirs of realms around me bring 
 Their hymns to Thee, my Salem's King? 
 
 Bliss — bliss too great almost for mind ! 
 Too great upon this world to find ! 
 
OVERTURE ^ 8i 
 
 Yet may I? Thou, my Haelend! come; 
 Be mine Thy chiefest earthly home; 
 There, whilst men all around me throng, 
 All voices follow mine along, 
 Be this the loud and blissful song: — 
 The Lord of lords, the King of kings. 
 By whom were made all men and things 
 That are and will be and have been, 
 The Bethlehem-born, the Nazarene, 
 The Lamb of God, His Holy One, 
 The Lion of Judah, on David's throne 
 Reigns, reigns; and for His Father so 
 Will reign till 'neath His feet sin, woe, 
 And Death lie — Death ! that last dread foe. 
 
82 AARBERT 
 
 THE INVOCATION. 
 
 Live, streaming torch! and though my shaking hand, 
 Full of storm, bears thee through the gale and rain, 
 Through foeship's bluster, and through friend- 
 ship's tears, 
 Yet live to speak amidst the roaring speech 
 Of that great fire, alighted in this land, 
 
 Which once my fathers with their bones fed fain, 
 When priests could preach with faggots to men's 
 fears. 
 Ye tongues of that fire's flame! oh, still beseech! 
 God of my fathers, hear! Thou gav'st them life 
 To die for that flame's light: help Thou its strife! 
 
BOOK I. 
 
 IfVRLDLV LIFE IN WEAL. 
 
 I. 
 
 SONG A. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Once more have I, oh, my Aarwick! abode of love 
 And pleasure, to thee come, never again to rove — 
 To thee for the joys I lost vs^hen I left thee. Hark! 
 
 Methinks I hear thy hounds. 
 
 How^ cheery those old sounds! 
 How fair is the landscape waving from ofif this park! 
 And all of the land mine own! oh, my heart it bounds. 
 
 I hear a whispered call of ' Come! 
 
 Come, welcomed to thy waiting home! ' 
 
 ANTSONG A. 
 
 The Home. 
 
 Come! welcome! my greeting, heartily. Squire, I give. 
 Hare, partridge, and pheasant wholly for thee here 
 
 live. 
 The fox in his hole here tarries for thee, and here 
 Lurk trout, and salmon coy, 
 Thy boat here swims in joy. 
 83 
 
84 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 Pass merrily life 'mid horses and hounds and deer, 
 Nor ever again quit sweets that can never cloy 
 
 In me, thine Aarwick, me, thy home. 
 
 Come, waited for and longed for! Come! 
 
 SONG B. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My home! There is all in thee that a heart would pray 
 The most to have come, the least to have go away. 
 To take, and without stint, take of the boundless wealth 
 
 Of pleasures stored in thee; 
 
 To lie 'neath shady tree. 
 Or over thy breadth to gallop and breathe its health; 
 To fish in thy lovely lake, or to wander free 
 
 By yon dear brook, I fondly come — 
 
 I come, I come, my own dear home! 
 
 ANTSONG B. 
 
 The Home. 
 
 Come, welcomed with joy! Thy tenantry, far and wide, 
 Will love thee; the poor will pray that thou long abide 
 The Lord of the Manor, Squire of the neighbourhood. 
 
 The wealth by thee here strown 
 
 Will ever bide thine own. 
 Thy welfare will float on high on a brimming flood 
 Of that of us all ; and I shall afar be known 
 
 The home of bliss — a happy home. 
 
 Long-looked-for Lord of Aarwick, come! 
 
Book I.] AARBERT . 85 
 
 AFTSONG. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My home! I shall meet whatever I would in thee. 
 What not shall I meet? whatever I fain would flee. 
 Whatever on earth is bright am I now to find; 
 
 For, oh, how much more bright 
 
 The world is where a light 
 Is flashing from out the heaven in Milda's mind! 
 As swiftly as flies to her and to thee my sight, 
 
 So slowly seems myself to come, 
 
 My childhood's heaven — home, my home! 
 
 II. 
 Wrtnk and Aarbert. 
 
 Wrink. 
 
 If, Aarbert, you would do that little thing 
 
 For which I asked you, you would help me much. 
 
 An honoured name, and through the land a name 
 
 More honoured, sir, than yours I do not know. 
 
 Is in a bank a hoard of heavy gold 
 
 So broad and high as to shed yellowness 
 
 On all its vouchers, and to make them far 
 
 More willsome^ than the weighty gold itself. 
 
 Now, only for your name, dear sir, I ask. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Your fancy that my littleness, good friend, 
 Can prop your greatness, shows you scantly wise. 
 You hold the fancy still? My name I lend; 
 And by the buttress may your wealth's pile rise! 
 
 ' Desirable. 
 
86 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 . But, Wrink, I do this for the dear dead's sake — 
 Yes, partner: for your father's sake I do 
 This thing. So mark me well ! No risk I take. 
 Be yours the bank's gains, yours its losses too. 
 No, no; I could not understand your book. 
 Ere danger ever reach you, warn me, nay, 
 Pledge but your word; I will nor read nor look. 
 Give back my name ere danger come. It may 
 And will come never, as right well you say. 
 
 III. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Speed England! They that are born of thee 
 Love more their aarworth ^ than their gold, 
 
 Their minds as well as their limbs are free : 
 Their worth too dear is to be sold. 
 
 They spring to meet with undaunted heart 
 At aarworth's ^ call both loss and pain ; 
 
 They feel joy thrill them in all the smart 
 Of their forgoing- shame-bought gain. 
 
 Enough for thee, were thy meed, dear land! 
 
 That such men are thy welfare's shield — 
 Men not afraid for the right to stand 
 
 On hustings or on battlefield. 
 
 For them enough were it, if their meed 
 Were but that they to win their wreath, 
 
 Climb needs by many a worthy deed. 
 Each leaving all past worth beneath. 
 
 ' Moral honour. " From -|- going. 
 
Book I.] AARBERT «7 
 
 l\\ 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 (^ letter) 
 
 I write to thank you, friend most dear! 
 For welcome warm and thanely ^ cheer, 
 And all that at your home you said 
 And did to me when there I stayed. 
 You tell me that you wish to know 
 What here I do and how I dow.- 
 I live amidst my tenantry ; 
 And they could say that so live I , 
 With them and luck, that not a thing 
 Lack I not lacked by eke a king. 
 
 I live as country honour's guest: 
 
 I live at peace with all my neighbours : 
 
 From fret of evil-will I rest; 
 
 And sweeten rest by goodwill's labours. 
 
 I give old friends old wine to qualT: 
 
 I give an ear to him that crieth : 
 
 I laugh with all the gay who laugh ; 
 
 I chase his sigh from him who sigheth. 
 
 In showing truth by saying soth '^ 
 I honour God and shame the Devil. 
 My busy pleasures brook no sloth. 
 I neither fear nor flatter evil. 
 I seize the rough by smoothest side: 
 I see the dark by bright side only: 
 My thoughts I never stoop to hide. 
 I love my thoughts when I am lonely. 
 
 ' Noble. -' Prosper. ■' Verity. 
 
88 AARBEKT [Book I. 
 
 My wisdom keeps my welfare's gate: 
 And her I thank that I have known her. 
 All mine the best of all I rate : 
 All not mine bless I to its owner. 
 Whate'er I give, forgotten mine, 
 Becomes my joy wherever given. 
 Thus I, with nought for which to pine, 
 Have all for which I could have striven. 
 
 V. 
 
 Aarbert and Arnulph. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 In this our world, good Arnulph ! 
 There live uneasy people 
 Who are for ever grieving. 
 I hear them all day croaking 
 That man is born to trouble. 
 I cannot understand them! 
 To me mere life is revel. 
 The shifty times shift only 
 My ways and means of pleasure. 
 Spring, summer, harvest, winter. 
 Noon, evening, night, and morning, 
 Are each, when come, the choicest 
 Of all the times and seasons. 
 Hard work I find a pastime: 
 I know not aught unhealthy, 
 And naught I know unwholesome. 
 
 These men find joy in grumbling: 
 They take their ease in grieving: 
 And wonder when I cheer them 
 By laughing and by saying: — 
 
Hook I.] AARBERT 89 
 
 * One half, sirs! of your troubles 
 Would leave you if you fought them ; 
 The other, if you mocked them; 
 You say that you are rooted 
 
 Upon a ground too stony: 
 
 Grow out of it, oak-hearted. 
 
 And let your leaves and branches 
 
 Amid the breezes riot! 
 
 Then, though your tree lack peaches, 
 
 You yet may boast its acorns.' 
 
 They waive away my comfort ; 
 
 I cannot weep to cheer them. 
 
 The more I make them happy, 
 The more are they made wretched. 
 They whine amidst the pleasure 
 That rollicks all around them, 
 They whine and cry — I hear them — 
 
 * A world — a world of trial ! ' 
 It is a world, methinks now. 
 Of not unjoyous trial. 
 There are a few bad people, . 
 Some murderers and such-like; 
 Were these all hanged, it would be 
 Without a speck of blemish. 
 
 Did not such dismal croakers 
 Keep ofif the sunshine from it, 
 And then cry, ' Lack-of-day's-eye! 
 A world of dismal shadows ! ' 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Be thankful, oh, my friend, be thankful 
 That you and woe meet not each other 
 
90 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Now, when and where should I and woe meet? 
 Men never meet woe, meet her nowhere, 
 But when and where they far have wandered 
 From path of worth or path of wisdom. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Nay, Aarbert, nay; but woe strays often 
 Along these paths, and there men meet her. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I know not that; nor should I know her 
 
 If there we met; but this well know I, 
 
 That as the worth of my forefathers 
 
 Won all their health and wealth and welfare, 
 
 So mine — my worth, I say, and wisdom 
 
 Shall keep their winnings, and shall leave them 
 
 As heirlooms to my own dear children. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Take this on trust from me, your elder. 
 That poor is he who holds his riches 
 As if his own, and thankless snatches 
 Each day the pleasure which they give him. 
 For at the call of Him who lent them 
 They put forth hidden wings, and quickly 
 Fly back to roost within His dovecot. 
 
 VL 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 As T look or here, or I else look there, 
 
 At the things that are, or the things that were, 
 
Hook I.J AARBERT 91 
 
 The rebukes of Arnulph were trash, or 1)oth 
 Were in him all truth, in themselves all soth. 
 For my mother's talk would, as well I ween, 
 Have been more like his than my own has been. 
 
 VIL 
 GoDARD and Aarhert. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Which? — Good or pleasure off from Time's gaunt 
 palm? 
 
 The gold of lasting good, or else the gleam 
 Of pleasure as it flits by, which? — The calm 
 
 Upwelling from a mind with endless stream 
 In choice of lasting good is more than balm 
 
 For wrench of soul from pleasure's sweets away. 
 Not only soothes it, Brother, all the qualm 
 
 Of being torn from sweets of passing play, 
 
 But flows as God-sent pleasure that will stay. 
 The pleasure which our Maker made our best. 
 
 Whilst good itself, which is as gold, I say. 
 Buys lasting pleasure soon to be possessed. 
 
 E'en if withheld awhile. Rate not the gleam 
 Of passing pleasure worth the being blest 
 
 With boundless bliss at end of all Earth's dream. 
 Death brings the wise man life, and to his breast 
 He brings unending peace — and he brings rest. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 T thank you, larned^ Brother. You have plucked 
 Bright flowers from the garden of your college 
 For this your speech's nosegay. If not sweet. 
 The flowers yet are gay. Nay, Godard dear. 
 Indeed I thank you; you have given me back 
 
 'Taught (not learnt, see p. 32). 
 
92 AARBERT L^^^k t 
 
 Some good old thoughts, which I had flung away, 
 But I begin to feel again their worth. 
 Old Arnulph has been talking in your strain 
 Quite lately to me. I must mend my ways. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 Aarbert and Wrink. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Where coiled a blue snake basks till the flash of its 
 Scales into flame bursts, so that its tracery's 
 Stripes seem in fire floating, throughout which 
 Blueness in every hue's wave flushes. 
 
 There halts as charmed, starts back, the Brazilian; 
 Quails, whilst the snake uncoils, and then down on it 
 With lifted stafT showers his beatings, 
 
 Till he has slain what he deems a Death's glide. 
 
 This done, he jerks that deadly but loveliest 
 Snake of¥ his path far into the underwood ; 
 Takes breath, and strides onwards, full often 
 Eyeing with shudder the wayside bushes. 
 
 Good Wrink, if Maan ^ come charmingly up to you. 
 Shut close your love's gate, whilst at the wicket you 
 Call, wary, up straightway your whole mind's 
 Powers together around your reason. 
 
 Do reason's will, then. Dash from you ruthlessly 
 That witch's charms. If once you allow that they 
 Pass through your love's gate they may whirft- your 
 Weal into woe, and your hope to wanhope.^ 
 
 ^ Vice. 2 Change. ^ Despair (want of hope). 
 
Book I. j AARBERT 93 
 
 Wkink. 
 Forgive me, if I laugli, sir, at your fear. 
 But breathe it not, I pray you, to the walls ; 
 Lest these should give its plague to men outside, 
 And work within the world's too ready mind 
 Unhealthiness of trust in this sound Bank. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Wrink! yet a few calm words from me: list to them. 
 Speech faithful, whilst oft giving its hearer pain. 
 Gives more of heart-aching to him who 
 Utters it frankly in loving friendship. 
 Sail, sail about luck's stream, at the sides of it; 
 Lest far from shore wind fail you ; and suddenly, 
 Although you ply oars, you adrift glide 
 Ofif to the falls of the mighty river. 
 
 Or, through the midstream sail; but unweariedly 
 Watch clouds; and steer well, trimming your sails 
 ever: 
 All winds are yours, someway to help you: 
 Anchor at once, if they fall ; take bearings. 
 
 Wrink. 
 That speech I praise, sir. I could not have made 
 One better. Go, with trust in this my word, 
 That you have laid down only those good rules 
 Of seamanship, which ever were my guides. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Aarbert {to his son). 
 
 Sibriht! whatever you do, do that 
 
 With all of your heed and all your skill : 
 
 Both write your lessons and wield your bat 
 With courage and hope and hearty will. 
 
94 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 Run life's whole race with a 1)Ound of joy: 
 
 What though to the goal you come not first. 
 Is sloth not dulness? Be sure, my boy, 
 
 That idlers of all folk fare the worst. 
 To lag and loiter with listlessness! 
 
 Why, that is to drag unworthy life. 
 Let life run; ride on it; forward press 
 
 With pleasure in racing, joy in strife. 
 Live out your powers, and they will grow 
 
 In bulk and in worth by toil and rest; 
 And those who look on your deeds will know 
 
 Your life is a struggle, not a jest. 
 
 X. 
 
 Aarbert and Wrink. 
 Wrink. 
 
 Sir, you indeed do weary me; I hear 
 
 The same old croak from you each time you call. 
 
 What can I do to stop it, or to give 
 
 The ease you lack? I know not, I lack time; 
 
 And in the Bank's behalf must put an end 
 
 To all this foolish talk. Farewell, dear sir. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Stop! hear me once more. Honours are waiting you; 
 Great wealth is now yours: only be worthy them. 
 Live not amidst gamesters in revels. 
 
 List to the warning of one who loves you. 
 
 Fond seem your feres ^: most charming they surely 
 
 are; 
 Gay, witty, too. You trust them. I know that they 
 Court but for your wealth's sake your friendship; 
 Should you be poor, they would leave you quickly. 
 ' Companions (froni ' faran,' to go). 
 
BooKl.] AARBERT 95 
 
 Ah! Wrink, your heart seems now to them, theirs to 
 
 you, 
 Drawn tightly ; but next year may come finding you 
 With Bank and heart broken and wealth lost, 
 Left to your sighs, and to lonely sorrow. 
 
 Wild life, its waste, mad riot, and recklessness. 
 Shake like a storm high houses, o'erwhelming them. 
 Their inmates, then outcast, find shelter 
 Only in hovels amidst the ruins. 
 
 Wrink. 
 I must cut short this prating. Fare you well ! 
 
 XL 
 
 Aarbert and Servant, 
 
 Servant. 
 
 Sir, I have heard tales very strange. The Bank 
 
 Li whisper is it told me 
 
 Aarbert. 
 What? What? 
 
 Servant. 
 
 I cannot say, sir, for my tongue is tied, 
 
 But thought it might be loose to you, at least 
 
 So far as it has slipped. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Here! take this letter to the Bank. 
 
 The letter. 
 Write, write at once some answer, or call on me. 
 What tales are these? How far am I bound for you? 
 I lent my name, trusting your honour. 
 
 Then were you rich; are you still so? are you? 
 
g6 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I now know what is heart-ache. 
 
 I now know what a pain means: 
 
 Have, oh! the lesson learnt, what 
 
 The grief is, which I mocked so. 
 
 God help me! I in sheer love 
 
 Did what I am undone by. 
 
 Oh, Heaven! take the threat off! 
 
 Good Heaven! take the threat off — 
 
 Take off the threat of life's wreck. 
 
 I might lose much. What might I ? 
 
 What, if I lost my lands ! No. 
 
 No. No. Oh! how the wild thought 
 
 Went through me like a gunshot! 
 
 No, no ! Yet much I might lose. 
 
 xni. 
 
 Wrink and Aarbert. 
 Wrink. 
 I hope, sir, that your mind is more at ease. 
 Great business at the Bank is calling me: 
 You will, I trust, not wish to keep me back 
 From duty there. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Farewell, good Wrink! I unn 
 That you have not a little eased my mind. 
 
 XIV. 
 Aarbert. 
 I thought so. Lies and slanders! 
 
 Mere soapy bubbles! hearsays 
 
Book I.J AARBERT 97 
 
 Afloat in airy gossip, 
 
 And filled with breath of slander ; 
 
 The young man, poor, poor fellow! 
 
 With what a long forbearance 
 
 He tholes ^ them! Why, he lets them— 
 
 He lets them drift. They pass him: 
 
 But then, the man is wealthy: 
 
 The man. though young, is forod^ 
 
 In all the ways of business — 
 
 Not faultless, but a banker: 
 
 Bold, daring, most far-seeing 
 
 And wary. Gay? I fear so: 
 
 Gay — somewhat gay; but clever! 
 
 Hard-working and keen-sighted; 
 
 Withal, a great financier ; 
 
 In short, a great and clever 
 
 Man : not without a weakness. 
 
 But, mark! — the soul of honour — 
 
 Trustworthy to the backbone! 
 
 Else, why do people trust him? 
 
 Whence, too, the careless bearing 
 
 With which he meets these slanders? 
 
 Yes ; but with what a goodwill 
 
 He took the pains to rid me 
 
 Of all my fears! for, said he, 
 
 ' This gossip, sir, is merely 
 
 The mould of Hes, by gainsay 
 
 Of which in every hollow 
 
 You get, in each one feature, 
 
 The shape of all my state now. 
 
 The gossip shows me losing; 
 
 Stamped, therefore, on your trust, which 
 
 Its guilt, as wicked slander, 
 
 Ought merely to have heated 
 
 1 Endures. - Experienced. 
 
98 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 With anger, and have softened 
 To love of me and pity — 
 It shows me as all-winning^! ' 
 Dear Wrink! it does — it does so. 
 Most wicked are the slanders. 
 I knew that thus these hearsays 
 Would end. But, oh ! how slilv 
 He told me of an heiress, 
 And — and of building houses — 
 I know not where — no matter ! 
 New branches of his Bank; why, 
 He reckoned to a penny 
 The cost of those new buildings; 
 And spoke of ' reaping harvest 
 In springtide with the outlay,' 
 And, ' being soon in clover — ' 
 The sly rogue ! business phrases ! 
 But all of that is nothing. 
 An honest man! — too gay, but 
 All right at heart. I showed him 
 Mistakes of his. He unned ^ them, 
 And praised my business powers; 
 But showed at once new winnings 
 He had forgotten. Never 
 Had I my ears so tickled. 
 How droll it is when slander 
 Hurts only him who hurls it; 
 How funny is a bugbear. 
 When he no longer frightens. 
 Ha! ha! yes, I was frightened. 
 A deep shrewd fellow! cheerful 
 Is sunshine after thunder. 
 A clever, clever fellow! 
 
 ^ Ownefl. 
 
Book I.] AARBERT 99 
 
 I have indeed been startled. 
 Bright rays again are bursting 
 Upon the world around me. 
 Heigho! I know not why, but 
 Whereas this young man lately 
 Both gambled and lived loosely, 
 The bright rays seem to glitter — 
 They do — they seem to glitter, 
 As from a stage-play's footlights 
 Upon a painted landscape. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 He shirks me! and the world gives these tales trust. 
 
 It even eyes myself with froward look, 
 
 Most strange to me. I find myself passed by, 
 
 As if I had no being, or were not 
 
 The Lord of Aarwick. What can all this mean? 
 
 My very servants whisper of me, whilst 
 
 They scan me as a bench of magistrates. 
 
 Oh! how^ forlorn, when by its sickness touched. 
 
 Is wealth. I seem of all men least to know 
 
 My own state. Wrink can little dream how racked 
 
 My mind is. What if in the tales be soth? 
 
 Bah, bubbles! Here, this statue of me, too, 
 
 Wears look of strangeness. It is ten o'clock; 
 
 Wrink told me thrice he should be here ere nine. 
 
 Marble! cold mocker, that wast by a sculptor 
 
 With craft's whole strength wrenched out of stone, 
 and hidden. 
 
 All in this statue's life, and shape, and stirring, 
 Why jcerest thou at me, for that he boldly 
 
loo AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 Bragged that thy being in them made me deathless? 
 
 I know that this my Hkeness, now thy prison, 
 Must become nothing but an offcast name's shape, 
 
 But thou withal thyself, too, Mocker! braggest. 
 Other things earthen, as they fade and crumble, 
 
 Sing deathsongs in the minor key of gleecraft. 
 Thou the while carolest that thou wilt surely 
 
 Till time's end bide in youth's unfretted plumpness. 
 Vaunter! when fires, which have been said beneath us 
 
 To slumber, shall be waked ; and far more hungry 
 Than the lean kine, whereof King Pharaoh dreamed 
 once, 
 
 Shall eat up more than all the earth's fruit, eat up 
 Earth and man's works, his lore, his speech, his story, 
 
 Thou, too, shalt swelt,^ and shalt as soon have 
 swelted 
 Quite as though crumbling at this hour, for time is, 
 
 Thou sayest, naught to thee : and, lo ! to even 
 Wisest men all its rolling hours are merely 
 
 Their works. To other men is time the nothing 
 Of a short life-play's show, and noise, and bustle — 
 
 The nothing of a dream, through broken slumbers 
 Hugged, till death waken up the dreamer roughly — 
 
 Or else the nothing of a death of searchings 
 After things which, when every search is over, 
 
 Will like itself for ever quit the searcher. 
 
 XVL 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 It must have been by whelming work last night 
 That Wrink was kept from coming hither; yet 
 He should have written, oh! he might have come; 
 For I am harrowed by my fears, and have 
 
 ' Perish. 
 
Book 1. I AARBERT loi 
 
 To hide them from my wife. He should have come. 
 How this young man has played with me! Come, 
 
 come, 
 You loiterer! he must l^e here ere long. 
 
 Say thou the soth/ or speak thou less. 
 Why tellest thou me, Cheerfulness! 
 Why tellest thou my trustful sight 
 That all is fair where all is bright? 
 At noon the cloudless sky of blue 
 Around the sun says, and is true, 
 And also ruddy clouds at eve 
 Say soth ^ which I may well geleave,- 
 That smiltness ^ bides and will abide 
 Till next has come an eventide ; 
 But when red clouds at dawning day 
 Foretell a smiltness ^ that will stay. 
 Do not they, like the bluest sky 
 Around the sun in April, lie? 
 Why tellest, therefore, thou my sight 
 That life is ever fair when bright? 
 Why cheatest thou me, Cheerfulness ! 
 Or say the soth, or speak thou less? 
 
 XVH. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Ye dark fears louring o'er me ! 
 Ye bodings of dark evil! 
 Ye clouds of thought o'erspreading 
 My soul's bright heaven's sunshine! 
 Ye black eyes, wild and swollen 
 Of fevered mind! Ye watchers 
 Within my mind, whose lookings, 
 Ivrom all of mine aroundness 
 
 ' Verity. '^ Believe. ' Fair weather. 
 
I02 AARBERT [Book I 
 
 Of heaven-light, are meeting 
 
 Upon my state mine only, 
 
 O'ercharged with speech of all things 
 
 To me most black and baleful ! 
 
 I know you. Oh! I know you. 
 
 Ye all are each the likeness 
 
 Of woe fast coming hither — 
 
 Of woe my widowed welfare, 
 
 In blackest weeds of mourning. 
 
 How fondly, oh, how fondly 
 
 I basked in hope's bright sunshine, 
 
 Till one by one ye rose up. 
 
 Ye flushed as gloomy shadows 
 
 My cheery sky's all blueness! 
 
 I know that woe is near me. 
 
 Although as yet I see her 
 
 In only you ; I hear her. 
 
 She must be, she is near me. 
 
 She is at hand; ye see her. 
 
 Her chariot is coming; 
 
 Her waggons wait my chattels ; 
 
 The wild winds are her horses; 
 
 I hear the far-off rumble ; 
 
 My heart itself cries, * Ready! 
 
 Be ready, Aarbert, ready. 
 
 The thunder's wheels are rolling, 
 
 Are coming swiftly nearer; 
 
 The hurricane is coming; 
 
 The storm is nigh thee, Aarwick! 
 
 Thy trees and lofty towers. 
 
 Thy trees and lofty towers, 
 
 Pray down the bolts of heaven. 
 
 Give challenge to the whirlwind. 
 
 Ah! whither from my homestead, 
 
 Have I to flee forlornlv, 
 
Book I.] AARBERT 103 
 
 Before the howling whirlwind, 
 Beside the roaring downflood, 
 Beneath the bolts of lightning, 
 Amidst the rising waters, 
 Affrighted, scorched, and blinded, 
 Unpitied, friendless, hopeless! ' 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 It is the thought of it, and not the thing. 
 
 The thing without the thought will never give 
 
 This dog one pang. He will be anywhere 
 
 With food and shelter and his master's love 
 
 As happy as he is at Aarwick here. 
 
 But need I be a dog to have few wants? 
 
 Or would I be a dog to have no thought? 
 
 Can thought give pain to man, and can it not 
 
 Take pain away from him? Yes; thought, I know. 
 
 Could either soothe my wound by meekness; or — 
 
 It could benumb its pain by help of scorn. 
 
 For me no meekness ! I have not as yet 
 
 Been tamed by scourges into lowliness; 
 
 As Godard has been: rather will I give 
 
 The meekness, and the wound wdthal, to scorn. 
 
 The wound is naught to me if naught I feel : 
 
 Naught, therefore, will I feel; but I will have 
 
 The wisdom of a stone, and on my wound 
 
 Will lay a death's calm — such as now is here. 
 
 How stilly is the world above my head! 
 
 How whist is all beneath ! My dearest ones 
 
 Are happy in unknowledge that a storm 
 
 Has blasted with a gun's loud boom my wealth : 
 
 Nor dream they that their past life's all of joy 
 
 Is being borne off like a dead wave's spray. 
 
I04 AARBERT [Book T. 
 
 There is no downfall, and so stilly here 
 
 Are things that — Has there been a storm at all? 
 
 I but last week was lord of manors broad 
 
 And of this castle, in whose halls a guest 
 
 Had once been lounging, haughty, young, and gay. 
 
 He swore, he glozed, he talked of all his wealth. 
 
 Stay! — softly! — Let me not awake a change. 
 
 He was my father's great friend's only son. 
 
 And yet — I wished not — but — I helped him, oh! 
 
 And then — oh, right! oh, law! my all, my all! 
 
 I must not — no — I would that I could sleep. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Aarbert and Edda. 
 Edda. 
 Papa, has something happened? for you look 
 So white, you frighten me. Shall not I call 
 Mamma? Do kiss me! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 What? — Go. That kerchief o'er me! Teaze me not. 
 Call no one. Oh, my child! my darling child! 
 Now quit the room; haste! Is she gone? Oh! oh! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Aarbert {at first alone, then Milda also). 
 Aarbert. 
 My thought will not take deadness ; it will kill me 
 If still I bury it alive within me. 
 My brain, unload thee: let it outcome — loose it. 
 Say what is all this? Homeless! what means 'home- 
 less'? 
 I know not. Who is homeless? I am, I am. 
 
Book I.] AARBERT T05 
 
 1! Who? I — I am homeless. Who is T? Yes — 
 The past is ended. Poor, poor me! My manhood! 
 Another I, now! What means ' I am homeless '? 
 Just this, a beggar! Now you know the meaning. 
 You beggar! Nonsense! Will my friends say ' Non- 
 sense '? 
 They must so. Aarbert — and the lord of Aarwick! — 
 ' The wealthy squire — the lord of that rich manor! ' 
 So — let me breathe. Not yet, then; dear, dear 
 
 Aarwick! " 
 
 Thou yet art mine. My fields at dawn to-morrow 
 Shall meet again to cheer my peeping windows : 
 The birds once more shall sing my waked joy — 
 
 blasted ! 
 Hahrr! They will sing their own bliss or my rival's. 
 Untruthful birds! will not one note be saddened? 
 Not one. But as for you, fair woods and meadows, 
 Park, lovely lake, and ye gray towers, 
 To all of whom I from my birth have given 
 My worship, care, and love, how nimbly will ye 
 Pass over from me quite away ! Ye sicken 
 My head, my heart, my fancy. Go, go, rubbish ! 
 I feel so sick. Ha, ha! my wounded feelings! 
 Ditch-drown my feelings! Oh, my wife, my children! 
 My children, they! their sun has set: their homestead 
 Is gone. The house, the lands, have passed to others. 
 My children's children! help me, help them. Heaven! 
 For only Heaven now a friend is left me. 
 Unless — ye lambs! there, there they are so happy 
 At play. Play on to-day, ye hallowed throwers !^ 
 Can ye forgive me, can ye ever, ever? 
 Can Milda? No. the shock will quench her reason. 
 If but my lands had been entailed! My lands will 
 Go rightly to the men at once who claim them. 
 
 ' Martyrs (throe, see p. 48). 
 
io6 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 I ought to die : and let these lambs be mangled 
 
 By wolves which howl throughout the world's wide 
 
 forest 
 Of men? — by wolves which have already harried 
 Their fold and broken down its fences? — tigers, 
 Which in this jungle — this is worse than madness. 
 Is there no God, or have I nought to trust in? 
 Good angels, have ye left me? Let not evil 
 Work into my poor will its way : Let not it 
 Bring down God's wrath upon itself within me. 
 Who comes? poor Milda? — I must tell her of it — 
 I dare not tell her. Lamb! — I dare not tell her: 
 Yet must she know it. Milda! — trust in Heaven, 
 For I am sinking. Do you understand me? — 
 You cannot: we — this house — but what of that too? 
 She heard not. Must I tell her? She must know it. 
 Wife, drink this wine. A beggar! evil, coming! 
 Say, have you heard me? for there seems an echo 
 Here, or my words grow shouts, I scarce can hear 
 
 them. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 My darling, what has happened? Oh, I feared it! 
 What, what is it? Do tell me, dearest Aarbert! 
 Oh! what is it? I saw that there was something 
 Not right; and I have wondered what it could be. 
 Do tell me, tell me, Aarbert! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 You understood me? Did you hear me? Milda! — 
 
 You feared some woe! — but the estates of Aarwick 
 Are not entailed! So, now then, now, you know it. — 
 That fellow Wrink has done it. Homeless! beggars! — 
 I say that we are beggars, beggars, beggars. No\v 
 then — 
 
Book l.J AARJ3ERT 107 
 
 Ask Heaven to strike me dead; for I deserve this: 
 And give my deed a name. Will no name span it? 
 Is it so bad as that, that you are speechless? 
 Oh, be not dumb! say something; sob, accurse me. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My own, my own, my dearest, dearest Aarbert! 
 May Heaven pour upon you all its blessings 
 And comfort with my own ; and with my fondest 
 And never-flinching love. You are my 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Stop! Bless me not. — Then I must cry and bellow. 
 My Milda, do not bless me: curse me: I have 
 Crushed all your life's hope. Harrow not my heart so. 
 Say not a word, then; nay, not now, then, Milda! 
 Could you forgive me ever, ever? kindest. 
 My kindest — oh, I did not mean this, darling! 
 I was betrayed by — Let none — I — This weakness — 
 My kindest, kindest Milda! how more faithful 
 Than I ! But I will tell you all about it. 
 
 XXL 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 The house is left : the ties that bound me to it 
 Are snapped : the worst is known : the worst is over. 
 I feel so giddy; can it all be? Aarwick 
 Left, left for ever? Would that I were dreaming; 
 That these woe's pledges were but fever's fancies! 
 I feel so giddy; how has all this happened? 
 It is the time for thought. How dreadful time is, 
 When left to thought like mine. But how and where- 
 fore 
 Came this, and whence? It is too late to ask it: 
 
io8 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 The mischief has been done, is past undoing. 
 There, there, what mean that dirty yard? this lodging? 
 Strange things! how came I hither? shipwreck'd, ship- 
 wrecked! 
 How came the wreck? that question must be an- 
 swered : 
 Where is my note-book? Let me write the answer: 
 Harbour, left! — owner, fool, a fool! — the captain, 
 A rascal! Is the word clear? Rascal! — scudding — 
 Storm, storm — away, vile book! Tell not it. Hide it. 
 And so — I feel light-headed, and I shall be 
 Stark mad, I must be calmer. Breakers leeward! 
 Never mind whence it was, or how! Where am I? 
 Look there, look here; amidst forlorn men — Lapland! 
 Cold, houseless, stripped of all but clothing, shel- 
 tered — 
 Heigho! yes, sheltered: I at least am sheltered 
 By gifts from some friends loving but — now severed 
 From me by seas of trouble. Gifts! — They reach me 
 Like snowflakes showered down by Heaven. I am 
 Thankful — They are my rich friends' parting gifts, 
 
 and — 
 Need I then gifts? But I will try: help! Heaven! 
 In my pride's summer snow would have been hateful. 
 But it is sent to shield me. I am thankful. 
 Yes, I am thankful. — Gifts ! — A hut of snowflakes 
 From my proud neighbours! I am thankful for it. 
 Love here may live with happiness. My loved ones 
 Will be the world to me and to each other. 
 Yes, home may find a shelter in a snow-hut 
 When wooden rafters and stone walls withhold it. 
 It may; and then my poor hut's inmates still may 
 Feel pride. They will, as Woe's acknowledged chil- 
 dren. 
 As children of that mitred Queen, have homage 
 
Book 1. \ AARBERT 109 
 
 From all who fear her. Well, that thought brings 
 
 comfort. — 
 My loved ones never more will have man's homage 
 For worth of mine, although they, for their own, may. 
 And will they in that snow-hut be as happy 
 As once they were in halls, where all that earth had 
 Was waiting on the pleasure of their l)idding? 
 No: they will have their thoughts; and they will hide 
 
 them 
 From e'en themselves. Who lost to them that Eden? 
 Who let run out the cable of our wealth's ship? 
 Half-witted scoundrel! who let slip that cable? 
 I did, none other, I did. Is there lightning? 
 The sky is blue. How strange it is that heaven 
 Is blue, yet earth so wicked. Gone for ever! 
 I did. With what a scourge of stormy weather 
 She, after she had drifted from her moorings 
 Has on a freezing sea been with her cargo 
 Lashed hither into Woe's ice-locked midwinter. 
 And hurled upon its floor of rocks, all lifeless! 
 Crushed, crushed, the stout old barque, all copper- 
 fastened! 
 But summer even to this frozen stronghold 
 May haply come to loose the bars about us. 
 Ah-ha — ah-ha! and then may flee my loved ones. 
 Well! after that, what? — Then — then reft of canvas 
 And ship wherewith tb catch the gales of heaven, 
 I yet may, as a rough hard-handed boatman, 
 Drudge on the world's sea, rowing to their masted 
 Ships richer men. If I can borrow of them 
 A boat — But what, if not? why, then — I know not. 
 DarHngs! — what! all then lost? No, I shall still have 
 My good name, still my proud uprightness left me. 
 And therewith Heaven's blessing — still my good name, 
 And therewith men's goodwill — my name unsullied ! 
 
no AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 As you found happiness in all my weal, 
 
 When I in it could merely pleasure find, 
 So now my grief you for my folly feel 
 
 And, unlike me, are to my folly blind. 
 My Milda! — we were wont from Heaven to have 
 
 Whatever good things Earth had to bestow ; 
 But Heaven, since to those good things I gave 
 
 Too much that love which I their Giver owe, 
 Now sends me evil things which you must share ; 
 
 Yet therewithal, lest you should share with me 
 The pangs they give me, sends with loving care. 
 
 To you a mind which is from pride's fret free. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 Great wealth had I, when once I merely thought 
 Your own worth tenfold that of all your store ; 
 But since what then I thought I now have known, 
 More wealth I now, than I had then, possess. 
 My wealth, by being to my knowledge brought, 
 Is growing; and is now so much the more 
 Than erst it was, as it is being shown 
 By loss of all but you made not the less. 
 
 XXIII. 
 Milda. 
 
 What! Is this right? It is a doom from heaven ; 
 
 It must be right. Yet seemed it not quite righteous. 
 Which of God's laws then have we broken? which one? 
 
 I would I understood it, why He sends us 
 
Book I.] AARBERT in 
 
 Evil like this which is so more than most men's — 
 
 ' Loves not He those whom He has lashed?' says 
 Godard — 
 But this rod's lash has even wholly crushed us ; 
 
 Did not my husband well with all his riches? 
 Dare I thus answer Him who made me? Dare I? 
 
 My husband tried, he tried to do his duty. 
 This is quite wrong; I feel it must be wicked. 
 
 The doom bewilders; would I understood.it. 
 ' He is most good,' says Godard; ' I must trust Him. 
 
 He keeps me living.' Dare I? He is righteous. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Godard and Aarbert. 
 
 Godard. 
 
 Poor Aarbert! how my heart is aching for you, 
 
 For you and dearest Milda and the children! 
 
 Take meekly God's upbraiding. May I say so? 
 
 He loves you, He has meant your welfare 
 
 In all this chiding; He will bless you by it. 
 
 And as for me, though I am poor, you know that 
 
 Whate'er is Godard's will be also Aarbert's. 
 
 Our little crusts shall be together hoarded 
 
 In the sound bank of love for one another. 
 
 But let me speak to you, do let me say it. 
 
 That God has bread far better than those crusts are — 
 
 The bread of heaven. Would it not be timely 
 
 To ask Him for it now? It would be, brother. 
 
 Do let me turn your thoughts from these great losses ; 
 
 My roughness will be wholesome; let me turn them. 
 
 Methinks your ghost is hungry, and needs cheering. 
 
 I love her, Aarbert, love her very greatly; 
 
 Have not you starved her? You are feeling deeply 
 
112 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 Your loss of world-wealth. Are you not then fright- 
 ened 
 By thought that, though your ghost has lost for ever 
 Her all of riches, you have never missed them? 
 She, not for earth-life, but for life unending, 
 Has lost so much of wealth, that these your losses 
 Of land seem losses more of children's playthings; 
 For she has lost almost her life. She should be 
 Yourself, my brother! and her wealth should also 
 Have been your own; your worldly wealth was lent 
 
 you. 
 She yet can live by eating bread from heaven. 
 If God had taken you from those your acres. 
 Instead of them from you, where would she now be? 
 Poor ghost! but now your night has left you; 
 You are awaked from life's dream ; it is therefore 
 Her time for breakfast; give it her from God's Word; 
 And she, when fed, will lead your mind from earthness. 
 I know not better how to give you comfort; 
 It is my best. Oh take, and you will like it. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My brother, not just now. I know you love me; 
 And it is meet that you should, as a parson. 
 Speak thus : but — and I ought to thenk ^ of all this — 
 And so I will, too, trust me, when my grief wills. 
 Meanwhile, I thank you for this gentle teaching, 
 And for your love. I feel its comfort greatly. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, Bankruptcy, I mourned thy robbing me. 
 But, lo! that many-footed worm the mob, 
 ' Think. 
 
Book I.] AARBERT 113 
 
 That creeping length of men of every rank 
 
 Who follow one another, that long worm 
 
 Ten-thousand-jointed, having at each joint 
 
 A mouth at whose cry c[uake its other joints, 
 
 Is barking forth that thou and I have leagued 
 
 To rob the world; that I for many years 
 
 Have fed the hungry outlay of my State 
 
 With what the poor had laid up in my charge 
 
 To pay their costs of sickness or old age; 
 
 That I have flaunted guineas as mine alms, 
 
 Each one of which was but the name of some 
 
 Two hundred pennyworth's of sweating toil 
 
 Laid up by starvelings in my gilded trust; 
 
 That I have on my hounds and horses spent 
 
 The thrifty chapman's ^ slow and hard-earned hoard, 
 
 The struggling farmer's scraped-together rent. 
 
 The maiden's dowry, wifehood's pledge to her; 
 
 And even that poor dole, which bowelless 
 
 Gaunt Death had tossed, as bootless to itself. 
 
 Off to the widow and the fatherless ; 
 
 That through my stealing so much wealth, whereon 
 
 The honours of great households had been piled, 
 
 For tiers of lives, those honours with a crash 
 
 Have fallen Have I done these things? No, no; 
 
 Not one of them, not aught like one of them. 
 
 And yet have all these things been done through me. 
 
 I gave up to a rogue, a wicked rogue, 
 
 My honoured name; and did not watch the rogue, 
 
 As he was making it a vile decoy 
 
 For luring wealth into his robber's den. 
 
 For this vv^andeed - I gave my lands to those 
 
 Who had been robbed. The lands were not enough ; 
 
 And then I gave my tears, the only things 
 
 Yet left to me. They pelted these with taunts. 
 
 ' Tradesman's. '•^ Want of deed. 
 
114 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 Poor fellows! I have wronged them very much; 
 And I forgive them. In their pain I feel, 
 They, not in mine; I therefore can forgive 
 Them proudly; for they step by their unfairness 
 To my low level from their own high ground. 
 But as for slanderers unwronged by me 
 Who grope in blunder's every wayside ditch 
 For dirt to fling, I give to these my scorn. 
 I stand above them, and above their ditch. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 GoDARD and Aarbert. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 The rubbish, x-varbert, which on your unguilt 
 
 In this great bankruptcy is being blown 
 
 By a wild storm of outcry, strikes me, too, 
 
 As here I stand beside you. Had we stood 
 
 On lower ground the rubbish would have passed 
 
 Over our heads not touching us at all. 
 
 Should not our knowledge then of many faults, 
 
 Which we indeed have, and of much unworth, 
 
 Teach us to take a stand beneath this storm. 
 
 Which sweeps along the level of the world? 
 
 It is our pride alone, which lifts us up 
 
 Into its range. Were not it wise in us 
 
 To leave the pride then to its world, to quit 
 
 Them both, and in a heav'n of lowliness 
 
 With Christ live lower than the world's ground, till 
 
 We live in heaven far above its height? 
 
 A Christian, waiting for a better world 
 
 Than this, has need of nothing more than food, 
 
 Lodging and clothes here. God assures him these; 
 
 And he enjoys at ease what more he has. 
 
Book I.] AARBERT 115 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 What! Wise, say you, to quit the stormy world? 
 I know not whether once I might have Hked, 
 And might have fitted on another man 
 Your reasoning, as worthy and Platonic; 
 But I am wounded, Godard! and I now 
 Cannot in even play of loosest speech 
 Fit it at all upon my state of grief; 
 Nor can I wear unfitting what so much 
 Presses my bruises. Whilst my pride is hurt, 
 Your comfort, lo, is that I kill my pride! 
 I never did a thing for which my pride 
 Should die; and should I kill it? If it cost 
 Me grief or care, so much the more will I 
 Love it so costly, and well worth the cost. 
 
 Godard. 
 Aarbert! the cost is greater than the worth. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My mind is a Sun. It fringes so with light 
 These slanderous clouds that they are glory-bright. 
 And thus that their will to wrong works out my right 
 My mind were a Sun, although were I a slave. 
 
 My mind is a King. Its doom, if it should say, 
 ' W^ell done ! ' would enough of honour on me lay ; 
 Nor could it in saying, ' Ill-done! ' take away 
 What honour, in dooming, it as kingly gave. 
 
 Let, therefore, my mind to all its brightness cling! 
 Let, therefore, my mind reign ever as my king! 
 Let never it crouch to be a creeping thing! 
 
 Let never my mind become its honour's grave! 
 
ii6 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, Bankruptcy! thou fell and deadly weed! 
 By what means hast thou gotten so much speed 
 As thus to choke the gasping fields of trade? — 
 From out the richest soil upsprings thy blade. 
 Thou thrivest by the trader's husbandry. 
 Heaven's rain and sunshine feed and ripen thee. 
 Thy root is deeply sunk in right's own ground. 
 Fair-dealing wind broadcasts thy seeds around. 
 And thus by help of God and man they mar 
 Time's harvest near thee, and beyond sight far. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 The arrows, striking at my breast, fall blunted 
 From of¥ the breastplate of my proud self-knowledge. 
 Yet does their rattle on that breastplate pierce it. 
 And reach the heart defying them. Moreover, 
 As round about me lie those fallen arrows. 
 The reek of their heap's witness is loud venom 
 Which slays my good name. Oh) that name once 
 
 given 
 By God's self, once to me at birth, once only — 
 My good name, that which was from Him a passport 
 To all my neighbours, wheresoe'er I journeyed — 
 That dearer thing than life, my life's whole beauty, 
 Is dying even in their keep; whilst daily 
 The foul heap reeks. My good name, oh, is dying! 
 With fevered flush and dying look at heaven 
 It breathes the air thus poisoned by the muchness 
 Of witness from those slanders though unrighteous 
 
Book 1.] AARBERT 117 
 
 And dies within the keep of all my neighbours. 
 I thought that wrath was ripened into hatred 
 In but the venomed veins of fiends or vipers. 
 Can these be men, who fear to give me challenge 
 Within the law's fair tilt-yard; yet outside it 
 Behind its fence with deadly slanders shoot me? 
 
 If they be fiends, short rest have they from out of 
 
 Hush! they are men; and I am man — I also. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 What hateful feeling crawls with a tooth of venom 
 From those late thoughts of mine that I now am 
 
 raking? 
 I kill, I kill that adder with utter gainsay. 
 Let not me harbour curses as e'en mere feelings. 
 Should man to man his brother do deadly mischief, 
 Unfelt, unknown, and thus by the man unwarded? 
 My feeling's curse by Heaven was heard with sorrow. 
 But Godard knows not aught of it. I am thankful. 
 I hate his strange geleafs;^ and have yet full often 
 To look above myself at the mind which holds them. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My husband! how most wicked are these slanders. 
 I quite geleave thus much of Godard's teaching. 
 That the Almighty, though we see Him never, 
 Yet reigns; and in the world with love and wisdom 
 Arights at last the wrongs of all who trust Him. 
 
 1 Beliefs. 
 
ii8 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 GODARD to AaRBERT. 
 
 Would these your losses, my brother, of wealth in the 
 world ever fret you, 
 Were heaven's wealth to you more than the world's 
 whole wealth? 
 Would you, with heavenly wealth by you prized, 
 brother, give it to get you 
 This world's for thousands of years of unfiagging 
 health? 
 
 Would, would that, having the better and heavenly 
 
 riches, you rather 
 
 Rejoiced in these than at loss of the earth's repined; 
 
 Would, would that, soon to be hieing to heaven the 
 
 home of the Father, 
 
 Your love were less in the ties of the earth entwined. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 Aarbert, Milda, Sibriht, and Edda. 
 Aarbert. 
 Amidst the Poor will henceforth, Sibriht, be our lot — 
 The wards of heaven! They, with worth and under- 
 standing 
 As great as ours, live nigher heaven than we. Let not 
 Our gentleness, which curtseyed o'er wealth's sea, 
 lie stranding 
 Here on its shoals 'mid breakers! — Gentleness is 
 . might 
 Of strength within the check of love more mighty 
 hiding. 
 It is a ton weight, falling with crush feather-light. 
 It is a tiger's wary stepping as if gliding. 
 
BookL] AARBERT 119 
 
 Stout bones and brawny muscles move its fleshy touch 
 
 Of softest feehng. It is cheerful, yet hates folly. 
 It truckles not to man, although it fears God much. 
 It loathes, though pities, weakness — e'en of melan- 
 choly. 
 Its power is yclad with lowliness. Its wit, 
 
 Though keen, is kind, not ever comic, coarse, or 
 bitter. 
 It is frank, open, true, and loyal. Honour governs it. 
 Its rivalry is fair. It shuns loud noise and glitter. 
 Learn it from God, Who checks with sand the tide- 
 wave's tread; 
 Whose lightning points the trembling needle north ; 
 whose showers 
 Of snow are hurled bv nipping frosts on green life's 
 bed; 
 Who at His own cost quells with goodness Evil's 
 powers. 
 From woman learn it. Softer and less armed, indeed. 
 Than aught that breathes, so strong is she in utter 
 weakness, 
 That man, no less than babe, is of her help in need. 
 It grows from woman. 'Tis herself, whilst, veiled 
 with meekness. 
 She wrests from man proud homage. Oh, it is her own 
 Self halo-crowned with coarsest works of love; 
 which ever, 
 Like sparks of glory, fly from her, none having shown 
 The least of might her mighty charms from her to 
 sever. 
 It is that meek gethyld ^ wherewith she reigns as 
 Queen 
 Of Earth, beside man, crowned its King with 
 strength and boldness. 
 
 ' Compassion, patience. 
 
I20 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 In man or woman, whilst it glows, it is love's sheen; 
 
 And is fair courtesy, when stiff with deadly coldness. 
 But gentleness knows also how at duty's hest 
 
 With grasp of steel to seize the means of fiercely 
 wrecking ; 
 Whilst its love halts from giving to its strength arrest. 
 
 And whilst its reason's law alone is its self-checking. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My children! fallen as we are from all 
 
 Of Aarwick's rank and pleasures, each of us 
 
 By zy ^ behaviour ought to make the fall 
 
 Less painful to the others. We should thus 
 
 Much lessen it. 
 
 SiBRIHT. 
 
 Although, my mother dear! 
 We lose the park, we have the road and fields, 
 And shall be happy. Have I waked a tear? 
 
 Why, many a joy the rambling through them yields. 
 
 Edda. 
 
 Yes, happy, dear mamma! Have not we here 
 Papa and you? We should be anywhere 
 Happy with you and such a cosy home. 
 Days bright as Aarwick's often to us come. 
 We read nice books, too, here. The one read last 
 Was about ships. Now, list! were you to cast 
 A deep sea's lead into our happiness, 
 The— the 
 
 SiBRIHT. 
 
 Line's knots would prove it fathomless. 
 But, mother! since you into it will heave 
 No lead, you must, to gain such proof, inweave 
 
 ' His, her (suus, see p. 54). 
 
Book I.] AARBERT 121 
 
 Into our speech your faith; and get the proof 
 From out the pattern of that warp and woof. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 God bless you both, my children! and reward you. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 A goldfinch? Yes. Well caught, a very goldfinch! 
 Why, how it pants! It fears me — me, the stricken, 
 The hunted down: as if I could have hurt it! 
 Why, even in my haughty days I never 
 Wronged willes ^ aught. You wicked bird ! to fear 
 
 me. 
 These goldfinches sing well in cages? 
 Yes; what of that? poor fledgling! It this morning 
 Was wholly free within its nest — so sheltered, 
 So blithe, so cared for, so allowed. Poor fledgling! 
 I now might steal its little self and plunge it 
 Within the self of this great world. I hate this 
 Great world, which, like an ogre, eats its children. 
 And calls the deed love. Goldfinches are singers — 
 They do sing very sweetly. Now, I wonder. 
 Could not I keep the songster, yet not do it 
 The least wrong — not the least wrong? No, I could 
 
 not, 
 I know that well, and so — heigho! this morning 
 It left its nest. My nest needs much to cheer it. 
 But now this songster's nest — where hangs it? Some- 
 where, 
 Somewhere. My own first nest was foully pillaged; 
 And what I now have is so bare and cheerless — 
 Heigho! Poor bird, poor bird! thy nest. The chirpers 
 There soon will follow thee to this wild woodland, 
 
 ' Willingly. 
 
122 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 And they will be at home here; thou too wouldest 
 In this free land have found the home thou seekest, 
 If I were not to steal, I mean, to take thee. 
 Yes, for tlie sake of thy sweet song hereafter 
 I mean to give to thee a varnished cottage 
 For all thy days. It must be so. My parlour 
 Is dark and dismal; and my banished darlings, 
 Who sit there all day long will need some cheering. 
 It must be so: I cannot help but do it. 
 But thou must love me. What! why look so fright- 
 ened? 
 Cannot I feed thee? Have I wronged thee, birdie? 
 Didst not thou seek my path? Was I the seeker? 
 Wast not thou straying here athwart my pathway? — 
 Ha ! would I rob this goldfinch of its good name, 
 To make my stealing of itself more rightlike? 
 How Might, ere slaying Right, thus ever drags it 
 Ofif to its own plea's shed, made out of touchwood 
 From every rotten tree on which rains mercy! 
 I stand as Might here; yet shall Right have surely 
 Its life from me; and so that I may know it, 
 I fairly at the bar of that great Deemster 
 Who sits for God within me, that Inwitness, 
 Will stand. I seized this bird : I found it straying 
 All ownerless athwart my path, the highway. 
 
 All ownerless? Its Maker owns it. Straying? 
 It was at home: it lodges here in freedom's 
 Large inn; I broke into its home and stole it. 
 When it, aweary with its life's first outflight 
 Of hope, here rested, unaware of aught that 
 Could have awakened eye-lust: little bilwhit! ^ 
 It never costened^ me. It crossed my pathway, 
 Indeed; for though it knew not what was foeship, 
 
 ' Innocent. "■' Tempted by allurement. 
 
Book \.] AARBERT 123 
 
 Or why it feared, it, when it saw me, hurried 
 
 At fright's worst hint, with much ado and bustle, 
 
 To put its eyes beneath some heather's shelter. 
 
 Then it did naught amiss, and I am guilty! am I? 
 
 Have I to this no answer? — Yes, albeit 
 
 The bird was at its home, and not enticed me. 
 
 Its running drew my chase; and, ere I reasoned, 
 
 1 found that I had taken from its freedom 
 
 The life. The life is lost. Its life of freedom 
 
 To luck is forfeited; and thus is left me 
 
 To choose if I shall keep its freedom's carcase. — 
 
 This plea is rotten. Let the bird go, Aarbert! 
 
 I must; I fear so. Stop! I have another 
 
 And better plea; I overlooked it. Blockhead! 
 
 I but half knew my heart's brief. Yes, the pleading 
 
 Is sound. How wildly I till now have argued! 
 
 In nothing have I guilt. My plea is clearly 
 
 This, that I hold the bird by right of lordship; 
 
 For man is lord of beast and fowl — I. lately 
 
 The wronged, and the bereft of all that Folly! 
 
 This is mere foolish talk. Come, little songster! 
 I mean to gild thy cage; and thou therein shalt. 
 Through even winter's dearth, be feasted. Just so. 
 I hold the right, and lose my time in scruples. 
 Besides, what boots thy freedom? I will slay it 
 For thy behoof. Forsake thy lowly life, then. 
 And live within my parlour out of danger 
 
 Where I shall gar thy life be thy mere watching 
 From prison all thy herd of mirths outside it: 
 Where I shall gar thy life be thy mere passing 
 In woe from all thy share of weal untasted ; 
 Where I shall keep fast-bound thy love of freedom, 
 That love of thine which is, of all earth's metyards,^ 
 ^ Measuring rods. 
 
24 
 
 AARBERT [Book I. 
 
 The largest and most finely marked for telling 
 The pain of bondage, up to whatsoever 
 Pitch-tightened are the bonds: where I at daybreak 
 Shall hear thee sing a call to thy far fellows, 
 And shall await their answer; none shall give it; 
 Where I shall come up loving thee and courting 
 Thy love, whilst thou art pining and yet singing. 
 And loving only those free birds out roaming 
 Through uncaged air amid the light of heaven, 
 Wherever drops of dew and leafy greenness 
 Can catch their wings: nay, where, the more I love 
 
 thee, 
 The tighter I shall make the bars about thee; 
 And these, which will be bars of brass or iron, 
 Shall stand about to smite thy flight against them ; 
 Until thy nerves grow calm through utter hopeleast;^ 
 Until thy swoop becomes a well-trained flutter, 
 That has its mirth withdrawn to eke my own mirth ; 
 Until thy bones themselves, which all are airy 
 And full of flight, grow tame and fond of hopping. 
 And till thou sing out loudly for the breathing 
 Of all that stir-love which I thus shall smother — 
 Until, if thou wert loosed, the birds thou lovest 
 Would for the honour of their own free feathers 
 Hunt down a songster so undone, so fallen 
 From freedom's proud self-bearing. Little goldfinch, 
 I could have given thee such love; I could have 
 In one gulp drunk thy helpless life's whole sweetness. 
 Quit my hand — fly; I have as yet not wronged thee. 
 Fly further. So! I now am free as thou art: 
 And henceforth shall my thoughts be with thy carol 
 Blent in the blue-roofed and green hall of rainbows. 
 Fly further yet. Now stay, until I bless thee. 
 Live long! live free! live merry! live, antwhether^ 
 ''Hopelessness. ^ Notwithstanding,' in spite of. 
 
Book 1. J AARBERT 125 
 
 Mock sportsmen who may make thy song their target: 
 And Hve, antwhether landlords who may grudge thee 
 Thine eating what is theirs and thine together: 
 Live, too, antwhethei women who might set thee 
 Stuffed as their best of beauty on their bonnets. 
 Thou canst not fall to earth without God's knowledge 
 Sweet psalmist of the glade, by Him appointed 
 To thy high hardship at all landlords' charges. 
 May He then keep thee! I will share thy sweetness 
 In no whit lessened by my sharing largely. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 WORLDLY LIFE IN WOE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aarbert and Milua. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 News, wife! Now shall your mind beneath its. weighty 
 Thought's tread shake, as the rafters of a house do. 
 Where huge, heavily-beating and steam-driven 
 Cogwheelworks with their whirling arms of iron 
 Thump, each thump with a thud like laden waggon's 
 Drawn o'er stones of a roadway built on arches. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 What wreck's load are your hints behind them drag- 
 ging? 
 What news mean you? My fears are by your merry 
 Eyes mocked. Aarbert! the fears are fed and frisky. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 This kiss therefore shall take the fears from off you ; 
 Pay back straight to me one of yours as forfeit. 
 Prawst, godfather and fondest friend of Godard's, 
 Though fond never of me, I know not wherefore. 
 Died last week, and has left to him his money. 
 House, lands, even the whole estate of Prawstsel — 
 Worth half Aarwick's estate. The news is startling. 
 
 126 
 
Book II.] AARBERT 127 
 
 How much more, then, is that which is to follow! 
 Dear good Godard, whom all the lechs ^ have often 
 Warned most earnestly not to stay in England, 
 Means, God willing, to quit it; and is going 
 Soon far southward — I fear, from what they tell me, 
 Too late going for hope of his there being 
 Lungail-healed.- It is sad. And he has asked me — 
 Guess what! — asked me to live in charge at Prawstsel, 
 Send one-third of its rents to him, whilst keeping 
 Two-thirds net for my stewardship. His goodness 
 Outstrides thanks; they can never overtake it. 
 What storm-clouds do I see around you gather? 
 Whence this rain from your eyes in hope's mid- 
 harvest? 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Dear, dearest Godard ! I indeed am grieved 
 
 To hear you speak so sadly of his health. 
 
 I much had hoped to see him well again. 
 
 And Prawst, too, good old man ! I am most pained. 
 
 You thought him not your friend, but such he was ; 
 
 And we, for Godard's and our own sake, too, 
 
 Must speak of him with only thankful love. 
 
 The world has been indeed most loving; yes. 
 
 The stream of life that flows in all men's veins 
 
 Is but one river, trickling down time's rocks 
 
 By drops that, in their fall from point to point. 
 
 Keep each its roundness somewhat selfishly; 
 
 Yet always, elsewhere than at such points, glad 
 
 To meet in deeds of blessing and goodwill. 
 
 The more I love my fellow-beings all. 
 
 The more I find in them for me to love. 
 
 There is much goodness, Aarbert, in the world. 
 
 'Physicians. "^ Lung ailment (consumption). 
 
128 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 I hope my thanks may match its average. 
 But as for Godard, what a man is he! 
 And what a brother! Dearest fellow, thanks! 
 Oh, whilst I thenk^ of his ill-health, and then 
 His going far aw^ay for so long while, 
 A wish to weep in sorrow or in thanks 
 Is choking me. My husband, I do feel 
 For Godard so much pity and such grief. 
 
 II. 
 
 Aarbert {in self-talk). 
 
 Dear, dearest Godard — lucky, lucky man ! 
 Ah! only for my wife's and children's sake 
 I take this; it is like an alms to me. 
 But is he not my brother? Yes, he is, 
 My younger, and the gift is much too large ; 
 It weighs me down. Yet must I take it. Oh, 
 It would have been my bliss to give it him. 
 Say, Heaven! by my whole life's deeds sun-eyed 
 By Thee, and say, too, by its darkling thoughts 
 Pierced by Thy stars' sight — say by all of them 
 How rather I would give than take a gift. 
 No marvel that to give is sweet! To give 
 Is lordship's right, the privilege of kings; 
 To take is but the shift of bounden need, 
 A bondsman's lowly duty. Who to man 
 His mate would willingly be sold by want 
 A bondman, both to take a gift and pay 
 Thanks endless? Hum! my sore is there, is it? 
 May not a man, then, love his bond to pay 
 Thanks endless? No? Then does the freeman hate 
 The bond by which he freely binds himself? 
 Loves not the lover his free bond to love? 
 ' Think. 
 
Book 11. | AARBERT 129 
 
 The lover does so. Hate I Godard, then? 
 
 No, Heaven help me! no, 1 love him, oh, 
 
 I love, I love him ! Yes, I therefore like 
 
 My love's own bond to give him endless thanks. 
 
 Though he has been so raised up, I so sunk, 
 
 I love him. Dearest Godard, brother, friend ! 
 
 Him whom I sent to Oxford ; whom I gave 
 
 His vicarage, and welcomed at my house, 
 
 Whenever fancy brought him, till that time — 
 
 Name it not! He has been upraised, I sunk; 
 
 I love him. I am glad to see his weight 
 
 Borne lightly on the chariot of wealth. 
 
 Along the highway, up to courtly halls; 
 
 Whilst I upon my back bear forth from sight 
 
 My load of sorrows by some narrow lane. 
 
 Alas me! lucky Godard! It is hard. 
 
 I cannot take this gift. I must. I won't, 
 
 At least, I would not. Could I freely bend 
 
 My will so far to my lot's level ? No. 
 
 It must be taken. What! to have my poor 
 
 Downfall arrested by my brother's youth, 
 
 Which saucy life's wave lifts above my age? 
 
 And then for me, that was the wealthy Squire, 
 
 To be through life, for but one slip of mine, 
 
 Thus made my younger brother's underling, 
 
 To cringe to him who ever cringed to me? 
 
 Cringed Godard? No; he gave me honour's thanks. 
 
 All glowing from his love. What thoughts are these? 
 
 I should not dare to show^ them. God has w^illed 
 
 To lower me; my mind should now be low. 
 
 Meek, worthy, loving, honest Godard! — he. 
 
 My brother, too — my own dear loving brother, too! — 
 
 And who is now so ill. Oh, hateful pride! 
 
 How loathsome art thou. Pride! Hide, hide thyself. 
 
 I reasoned well erewhile, but reason rids 
 
130 AARBERT [Book II, 
 
 Not man of pride. I hate it — hate myself. 
 
 Can this be Aarbert who has had these thoughts? 
 
 III. 
 MiLDA and Aarbert. 
 
 Mtlda. 
 
 Why, Aarbert, when I drew the bolts of slumber 
 That held thine eyelids, showed they to my wonder 
 The glassy brightness of thy mind's two windows, 
 So dimmed by streaming mist that they could scarcely 
 Give welcome to the cheery light of morning? 
 I pray thee tell me why that mist within thee 
 So blinded thee, whilst all the world around thee 
 Was flashing back in joy the beams of daybreak? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I had been dreaming, I had dreamt, my Milda; 
 For up to midnight and beyond, while midnight's 
 Darkness, unmindful of the cock's crow, lingered, 
 I had been muning^ how unworthy, hateful. 
 Unclean and small was pride, when o'er me slumber. 
 As darkness through that night's darkness, settled; 
 And with a soft hand loosed me from the knowledge 
 That chained my mind to past things. I was quickly 
 Amongst some shadows, floating at my leisure. 
 In one of these I stayed. It was an empty 
 And large hall. It was mine. I had a feeling 
 That there was something wrong about and in it, 
 And that I ought to leave it; but, in trying 
 To do this, found before the door some hindrance. 
 It seemed a heap of life there in the twilight's 
 
 ' Meditatine. 
 
Book II.] AARBERT 131 
 
 Gloom darkling. I saw a face of some kind 'midst it, 
 And scanned this; but I could not from its shifty 
 Features catch one of them, so quickly flitted 
 Their short gleams, mingling one within another. 
 Sounds from the living heap I heard, however, 
 And lo! they were the words of someone speaking 
 The very thoughts that then were passing through me. 
 I thought of other things, and, lo! each thought came 
 In words distinctly back. I shuddered. What was 
 The speaker? No good being, no one friendly! 
 I seized the door to pull it to me open; 
 What seemed my foe, whatever it was I knew not, 
 Withstood me. Then my will was fired with anger. 
 I pulled the door with all the might of madness. 
 It, with as wild a will, a will of madness, 
 Withstood me still ; and so I gave up striving, 
 And stood bewildered, as before a being 
 Stronger than me, who, entering my mind, had 
 Seized my thoughts, making them its own. My mind, 
 
 which 
 Had all been whole and like a ship that ofif her 
 Dashed the big waves that leapt at her as fellows, 
 Here as a mass of stolen thoughts was more like 
 A wreck's planks flowing as the mates of water. 
 Long stood I, cowed. At last the living heap rose; 
 And that which lived was all upright before me. 
 It was myself! my very self outside me! 
 We gazed at one another, I, astounded. 
 But soon I looked with fondness. With like fondness 
 It looked on me. I found that whatsoever 
 I did, it did at once ; and still it gave me 
 My thoughts in words l^ack. Soon from out the heap 
 
 rose 
 Other shapes slowly; these were each myself too. 
 In all mv lifetime's moods of scorn, of anger. 
 
132 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Of haughtiness, of self-content, or vengeance. 
 They moved. I sprang aside to let them pass me — 
 But whither? There had been around me changes. 
 The lofty hall had grown into a temple. 
 And my grouped selves were as a pride-bent, stately 
 Stepfollowth ^ marching up its long nave eastward; 
 They marched, by twos, on slowly as the priests do. 
 My fond gaze, therefore, with the greater pleasure 
 Still tracked their steps; for these priests, true and 
 
 holy. 
 As you know, Milda, since they so have told us, 
 March in church not at all for their own glory, 
 Well knowing always^ that to show themselves off 
 Where men had met to worship God were treason. 
 But now I looked about me. In the niches 
 Of the great temple and upon its windows 
 The images of heavenly men and women 
 Were asking with the holiness of beauty. 
 The meekness of looks downcast, the assurance 
 Of marble, and the sinlessness of whiteness 
 The worship of my gaze; and whilst I noticed 
 That they were thus not flinching 'fore high heaven 
 From such a calm and stately show of worth-look, 
 Their daring woke within me fellow-feeling. 
 I caught their courage and my pride rose quickly. 
 At once a blast of wind, as if behind me. 
 Bore me off gliding to the temple's altar, 
 Behind which on a pedestal it set me. 
 Myselves marched onward. Kneeling at the altar. 
 They gave me worship, singing but my praises, 
 And each in order telling some past thought mine 
 Of pride, of anger, self-content or self-trust. 
 Whilst each one thought so sung was duly ended 
 With these words : ' Still I do both well and rightly.' 
 
 ^ Procession. 
 
BookTI.] AARBERT 133 
 
 I knew how, when, and where each tlioiij^ht had 
 
 passed me, 
 I oft had worshipped thns myself. At last I marvelled 
 And thouf^^ht thus: ' Here then stand I as my own 
 
 God.' 
 The thought came back in loud words, uttered 
 By all myselves, and those words through the temple 
 Pealed echoing almost in tones of thunder. 
 I looked; the sky was black, the sun was lurid; 
 The temple's floor seemed whirling, so that all things 
 Seemed drifting there into a pit amidst it. 
 Those lovely statues, foremost! I could feel that 
 My pedestal was sinking. With some mighty 
 Bounds by the standing walls I left that chancel, 
 And, rushing to the temple's door there fled it. 
 Then sat I weeping, for my having yielded 
 So oft to the small sin of pride within me. 
 I cannot understand my dream, or wherefore 
 Its black sky, and the pit within that temple. 
 I soon will brush my sin ofif; there is power — 
 That of the priest — to help me in so doing. 
 I never yet have sought this ; I will seek it. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 A fearful dream! When wxaried mind and body 
 
 At night-time slumber, angels good or evil 
 
 Come in for talk w-ith the lone ghost, and take her 
 
 Aw^ay from those tired sleepers. Godard tells me 
 
 That when, as in a holiroom,^ thus lonely 
 
 She sits at night, God's self with her talks often. 
 
 Or sends her shapes of warning. Would I knew Him, 
 
 For I am sure that He is good, dear Aarbert! 
 
 Moreover, Godard speaks of having evils 
 
 Within him such as Christ alone can drive out. 
 
 ' Sanctuary. 
 
134 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Your brother told me how, but I was restless, 
 And stayed not long enough to understand him. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 As once by holy Mother I was dubbed her knight 
 
 In church, and at her font there unned ^ her swav, 
 So now I with her banner, and red-crossed aright. 
 
 Ride forth my first one dragon foe to slay ; 
 And, feasting in her bowers or in else her bright 
 
 Grots fasting, as she bids me praise or pray, 
 I hope to have the strength from her and heart to fight 
 
 Against each comer who would stop my way. 
 She girt on me my sword, and she in every plight 
 
 Shall guide me, and be trusted as my stay. 
 By help from her I fight, and I, throughout death's 
 night, 
 
 Shall, resting in her blessing, wait for day- 
 
 V. 
 
 GoDARD and Aarbert. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 You trust in an ecclesia, which methinks 
 
 Is that of Rome, a gathering of priests 
 
 Mistaking lore mistaken from long-linked 
 
 Mistakes of a mistake of Peter's lore; 
 
 And holding fast the chain of their mistakes. 
 
 As if were its unbrokenness a proof 
 
 That they were linked with Peter's self bv it. 
 
 ' Acknowledged (owned). 
 
Book II.] AARBERT 135 
 
 A better proof that they are not so hnked 
 
 With him or Paul is the un-PauHness 
 
 And the un-PeterHness of the lore, 
 
 Which after all of their mistakes they hold. 
 
 Your trust should, Aarbert, be in Christ. His own 
 
 Ecclesia (or in England's speech) gelathe ^ — 
 
 That great gelathe of those together-led 
 
 By God's self, and by Him enrolled in heaven, 
 
 Which here is in the wilderness of men, 
 
 Who know her not as once they knew not Christ, 
 
 But which Christ knows. He never has forsaken. 
 
 Yet not in even her her children trust. 
 
 They trust in God, and in the Son of God. 
 
 I'hey trust, moreover, in God's holy writ. 
 
 Not in their thoughts of it. The Holy Ghost 
 
 Gives them its meaning clearly as to things 
 
 Needful, and as to these their lore has been 
 
 Thus the same ever in those Glathemen - all. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Ah! you take, Godard, from me all my prop; yet 
 Give me none other. You have nowise helped me. 
 Yet, as God's Priest, you might have helped me 
 
 greatly, 
 Had you, as largely as have many others. 
 Priestly assurance, showing priestly power; 
 Such an assurance as the priests of Rome have. 
 Nought is your Bible but a book to me ; and 
 How can I trust in it, or there find helper? 
 Faith in weak Laymen, whom the Holy Mother 
 Feeds at priests' hands and theirs alone, is wholly 
 Faith by them gathered from the priest's assurance, 
 
 ^ Ecclesia. '^ Members of the Ecclesia (Churchmen). 
 
136 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Shown in the bokhiess of his words; a Romish 
 Priest would say: ' I will, if I shrive thee, loose thy 
 Sins from thee, making thee as having not sinned.' 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 I dare not say this. Read in history 
 
 How lowly was of old the Christian knight. 
 
 Read how, by rule of Pauline chivalry, 
 
 He, armed with merely hope as helmet bright. 
 
 The word of God as sword, broad faith as shield. 
 
 And love as breastplate, sought earth's battlefield. 
 
 Read how he there, a thus-armed ghost, as flame, 
 With flame of God's own Holy Ghost inlit. 
 
 Bestrode his steed, which was his fleshly frame, 
 Sitting its rider o'er the pomps of it; 
 
 And praying meekly, whilst he boldly fought; ■ 
 
 And giving praise, whilst wilning ^ it in nought. 
 
 Read how he then w^as hindered by his steed 
 
 In all this lowliness, and had with rein 
 To curb and stay it, and to guide its speed ; 
 
 For pride was flowing through its every vein; 
 And every thought in it bore earthly lust. 
 It reared, it pawed, with wayward will's self-trust. 
 
 Then read how, riding to his life-wear's end. 
 He forced the steed to help him in his aim 
 
 Of fighting fleshlife, and the world, and fiend. 
 
 And all that pride of theirs which Christ o'ercame — 
 
 That priestly pride, that speaking in God's name 
 
 What God spoke not, and would, if spoken, blame. 
 
 ' Desiring, coveting. 
 
Book II.] AARBERT i37 
 
 VI. 
 
 AaKHERT Did Mll.DA. 
 
 Mild A. 
 
 I little like that Jesuit with whom 
 Yon seem so often to have lately walked, 
 Straying from Godard's and from Arnnlph's track. 
 He shirks, as even Glengly says, the road 
 Marked by the Bible's sign-post ' Heavenward,' 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 ] like his leading less and less, althongh 
 
 It wins me with a wizard's might along. 
 
 He leads me onward through enchanted grounds 
 
 Which, when by Glengly's help I climb again 
 
 To tliat highway, I thence see all are quagmire. 
 
 VII. 
 
 xA.RNULPii, Aarhert, and Glencilv (Costna coming 
 
 up). 
 
 Glengly. 
 
 See, Costna comes. Beware of him. I fear 
 
 That you have listened, Aarbert, much too oft 
 
 To that most zealous Jesuit. Beware ! 
 
 For he will meet you, handling playfully 
 
 The rapier of his lore; and seeming e'en 
 
 To strip the bosom of his own geleaf ^ 
 
 To the sharp point of your misliking's sword. 
 
 Till you strip yours; when, gently numbing you. 
 
 His sophistry's baned sword will sting your mind's 
 
 2 Belief. 
 
138 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Sheer nakedness. He then will lead you ofif, 
 
 With eyes bedimmed by bane, toward the edge 
 
 Of this our Anglican faith's garden here, 
 
 Bestrewn with Romish flowers of ritual. 
 
 For at its Romeward edge the garden lacks 
 
 A wall of hindrances; the wall has slipped; 
 
 And whilst the ground here merely slants, it there 
 
 Sinks with a leap into the popish gulf. 
 
 Hear, Heaven, as to Costna's faith. God speaks 
 
 By dooms. All kingdoms and all commonwealths, 
 
 Whatever means or want of means were theirs, 
 
 Of whatsoever race of men they were, 
 
 And in whatever clime they were on earth. 
 
 Have, as they have been Protestant, been raised; 
 
 And, as they have been popish, sunken down. 
 
 Not in the rule that these things should be so 
 
 Has there been ever breach. The rule is thus 
 
 As sur^ as are the laws that guide the stars. 
 
 But here he is ! 
 
 COSTNA. 
 
 Ha! Aarbert! Here amid blithe friends in talk 
 As to the rules of tennis, whether ripe 
 Somewhere for bettering, or — nay; but as 
 To whether in the State be not some wheel 
 Faultless which ought to give its room to one 
 Of later build! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Sir, I would rather chaflfer 
 Words as to such a wheel, than as to things 
 Whereof we know, whose worth at most to me 
 Is less than that of their asked price in time. 
 
Book II.] AARBERT 139 
 
 COSTNA. 
 
 Is that so? Your young brother, as I hear. 
 
 Has had dark reasonings with you. Take care. 
 
 No warrant has he as a priest. His sect 
 
 Has grown to be a wreck. It has thrown off 
 
 Some hundred sects as spHnters from its schism. 
 
 Lose not the lore which I instilled in you. 
 
 There is on earth but one gelathe, and that 
 
 Is Rome's. The splits from it are therefore schism 
 
 From Christ. Its chief is on St. Peter's throne, 
 
 A king with power in heaven, earth, and hell. 
 
 He, helped by Blessed Mary, Queen of Heaven, 
 
 Can ward away from men the wrath of Christ. 
 
 His priests, too, can, by warrant of writ holy 
 
 Read aright, of¥er Christ as sacrifice 
 
 For sin. Such things no other men can do. 
 
 Outside the one gelathe is there no hope 
 
 Of heaven, no forgiveness, to man's soul; 
 
 And clearly not mid Protestants, those men 
 
 Of cheerless faith. But I am glad to know 
 
 That many, x\arbert, of your countrymen. 
 
 Though Godard be not one, alas for him! 
 
 Wish to come back to us. I tell you, sir. 
 
 Your love of holy writ and of God's day. 
 
 Your Sunday-schools, your hospitals, your strength. 
 
 And well-earned welfare, claim our thanks to God. 
 
 And yet we thank Him for your passing now 
 
 From all that you have been apart from us. 
 
 Some of you kneel before our crucifix; 
 
 And some before the blessed Virgin kneel. 
 
 Some of you speak as Priests. Alas! that speech 
 
 Is play at priestwork; all your work as Priests 
 
 Is worthless, for you cannot change good bread 
 
 Into the living flesh and blood of Christ, 
 
I40 AARBERT [Book IL 
 
 Who had them once on earth. You Protestants 
 Have not a priesthood; yet you, robed as priests, 
 Outdo our rites. This makes us hunger for you. 
 Since we agree that as St. Peter's heir 
 The Pope is King of kings and Lord of lords. 
 Why stand you from His sway aloof? Oh, why? 
 Come wholly to us. There may haply be 
 Some faulty ground of ours, not having yet 
 The Holy Father's notice, which ourselves 
 Can quit, that we may nearer come to you. 
 Call Him your Father; unn Him as your King. 
 Untruth to Him is that one only sin 
 For which there is in hell no cleansing fire, 
 And no forgiveness; since it cuts off souls 
 From any way to heaven. Take your faith 
 From only Him. Faith Catholic alone 
 Has in all kingdoms, and at all times, held 
 Its sameness. You can therefore trust in it. 
 And it will guide you to the Bible's meaning. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Aarbert! your brother tells you that in things 
 Most needed for man's life through Christ the best 
 Guide to that meaning is the Holy Ghost. 
 
 COSTNA. 
 
 As speaking by the mouth of each of you? 
 Arnulph. 
 
 No; but as speaking to the mind of each : 
 So that each one may know the meaning, and 
 May utter this, but not as law by which 
 He binds the mind of anv other man. 
 
Book II. ] AARBERT 141 
 
 COSTNA. 
 
 Come, Aarbert! I so oft have through my lore 
 Led you that you must wish to pass it. Come! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Not so, dear Costna! I have been indeed 
 Your scholar, and have followed your tall teaching, 
 Although, whereas it was too near mine eyes, 
 1 could not view it well, or know in all 
 What thing it was which I was following, 
 But I have since then seen, as you have guessed, 
 Its cloud-capt height cast wholly to the ground 
 By the bright sun of heaven ; so that now 
 It lies below me as mere length on earth, 
 Thus darkened, and the more I scan its shape 
 In this dark shadow's answer, I the more 
 Mislike it. Sir, its limbs, its head, and all 
 Its body, if I so may speak, I mean 
 Its doings, goings, teachings, and whole state, 
 So hurt my look that I would wish to see 
 No more of them; and fear to trust myself 
 Into the power of so grim a guide. 
 
 Glengly. 
 No, Aarbert! we will go to neither Rome 
 Nor cold Geneva; but will warm our faith 
 With the mild glow of worship Anglican, 
 Amid the pomp of rightful ritual. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Glengly, Aarbert, Godard, and .Vknuliml 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Godard! I tell you, though to your great grief, 
 That I from Costna, you, and other men, 
 
142 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Hear now against the faith of England, now 
 Against Rome's, that which gars me loathe all faiths, 
 And hold that pomp is worship's better half. 
 Your faith is shifting. Whether England's glathe 
 Be sister or be daughter unto Rome's, 
 She will be Romish; she will deck herself 
 With gold and scarlet, jewels, pearls, and lace. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 I hope not so: her churches till restored 
 
 To fever-flush of sickly art were all 
 
 With fond love whitewashed from its death, and still 
 
 Herself as yet in them stands hale at heart. 
 
 Glengly. 
 
 But Godard, I, although I like not Rome's 
 
 Gelathe, yet like her churches thus bedecked. 
 
 I like them dark with smoke of incense; dark 
 
 With window-stains that give earth's hues to light 
 
 Of heav'n nor let it show earth's paltriness 
 
 Too flashingly, I like her images 
 
 That win, like players in a playhouse, awe. 
 
 My awe is merely that which I have felt 
 
 In such a house; but man is made for awe, 
 
 And wants some trickery to bring this forth. 
 
 When churches Anglican then settle down, 
 
 As do the Roman, in the very depth 
 
 Of worldly wants, I speed their sinking thus. 
 
 Most glad am I that, whilst their tiny spires 
 
 Point heavenwards, their naves with earthy sweets 
 
 Are crammed full, and their transepts are stretched 
 
 out. 
 As our good Mother Earth's dear kindly arms, 
 To clasp all comers to her loving breast. 
 
Book 11. | AARBERT 143 
 
 Aarrert. 
 
 What matters, if we good and happy be. 
 What are our faith and style of worship? Yonrs 
 Suit you, and Costna's him; so also ours 
 Suit us, and all are in their own way good. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Aarbert! do yours suit God? 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Why, Aarbert, feast in Church your fleshly eye? 
 
 Why there sip sweets that sweeter are elsewhere? 
 Since to live fleshly-minded is to die. 
 
 Why not, then, die where earth is merrier? 
 
 Come to Christ, brother! God will welcome thee. 
 
 But come to it as ghost to worship Ghost, 
 Who hates a worship bright with trickery, 
 
 And loves men least when they love that the most. 
 
 As for that jewelled harlot who to kings, 
 Rich men, and leaders holds her golden cup, 
 
 You, if you thence sip wine and sweetened things, 
 Must drink her boast and all its madness up. 
 
 She boasts of oneness: it is ofifness mere 
 
 From all not one w^ith her. She boasts of peace: 
 
 The peace lasts only during lifetime here, 
 
 And needs blind trust in her not meanwhile cease. 
 
 She boasts that all her children hold one faith: 
 One faith is by them all not held but said; 
 
 And faith, which through them she in one age saith 
 Is faith from hers in other ages strayed. 
 
144 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 She boasts of helping order; but the strength 
 
 Of evil in the help slays order's life. 
 Not one realm ruled by her has not at length 
 
 Been full of misrule, restlessness, and strife. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Aarbert, Godard, Glengly, and Arnulph. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Nay, Godard! trust no more the jealousy 
 
 Which tells you that I like those Romish Priests 
 
 Who aim to rule the kingdoms of this world. 
 
 Costna no longer is a friend of mine. 
 
 I dread those Pontiffs, though I like their pomps. 
 
 I loathe the silly and the lying tales, 
 
 The murders and misrule of Rome's gelathe.^ 
 
 Yet were it well, if we could gain her strength 
 
 From even evils like hers, were they stripped 
 
 Of all the sting and bane to health in them. 
 
 Might not a stingless evil work out good? 
 
 Godard. 
 
 Is there an evil which has not a sting? 
 
 Is there an evil which banes not the health? 
 
 Is there an evil which is not accurst? 
 
 No, nor is there an evil which brings strength. 
 
 Nay, more: to do an evil that a good 
 
 May thence come, bringing to the doer strength, 
 
 Is but to do the evil twice, and twice 
 
 To call and bring God's wrath to crush the strength. 
 
 God works out good from evil which is done 
 
 By any foe of His ; yet surely gives 
 
 ' Ecclesia. 
 
Book II. J AARBERT 145 
 
 The evil-doer what woe evil earns. 
 
 Rome feigns to shelter from that God-sent woe 
 
 Those who do evil for her good. For this 
 
 Most evil deed woe doubled waits herself. 
 
 What though she from the evil wards awhile 
 
 The woe by means more evil; that woe grows: 
 
 Yet only by those evil means, those stings 
 
 Of evil, as you call them, could she do 
 
 Evil without her losing strength at once. 
 
 And who could do it otherwise, if she could not? 
 
 What men could, copying the masterpiece 
 
 Of Satan's wisdom, hope to better it? — 
 
 That wisdom earthy, soulish,^ devilish, 
 
 Whose crimes, although to crush her at the last, 
 
 Are for a while allowed to be her stay? 
 
 Glengly. 
 
 But England's churches even now with gain 
 Have copied those of Rome in things which you 
 Call evils — they are filled with images. 
 And, see, I pray you, they thereby have grown 
 Already more, and stouter, and more strong, 
 By being fed with them and ritual. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 Churches thrive often in a starved gelathe. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Oh, Glengly! if I thought that aught could gain 
 Net strength or soundness through the wilful breach 
 Of one of God's laws, not one word of His 
 Would I thenceforward heed. Now, God forbids. 
 With the most fearful of His earthward threats, 
 An image in a church. So understood 
 
 ' Sensual (see p. 27). 
 
146 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 The Jews; and they, to help their faith, had none 
 In synagogue, and none that met the sight 
 Of more than Priests in e'en the temple's self; 
 Whilst God by Christ's death brought to naught e'en 
 
 those 
 Which He had willed should in that temple stand. 
 Moreover, the gelathe of Christ, whilst whole 
 In all her outward shape, and whilst He dwelt 
 Within her outer wholeness, when she thus 
 Well knew His mind, so loathed aught looking like 
 An image in her churches, through her first 
 Three hundred years, that, even in her fourth, 
 Good Bishop Epiphanius, having seen 
 With wonder in a church a curtain smirched 
 With a fair shape of Jesus, tore it down 
 In wrath and horror, bidding men to wrap 
 A rotting corpse in it. Can our gelathe ^ 
 Thrive, therefore, whilst, against the laws of God — 
 As written by Himself with threats, as read 
 By all the Jews until Christ's time, as read 
 After that time by Christians all for quite 
 Three hundred years in which Christ guided them — 
 She lets fond, foolish men set images 
 Upon her churches' windows and behind 
 Those churches' tables? No! Be sure that God 
 Will answer with ill-speed that deed of theirs. 
 The winds of speed may waft idolaters 
 From rightful worship's haven; but the storms 
 Of wanspeed - wait to sweep them through the seas 
 Forlorn and freightless. 
 
 Glengly. 
 
 We worship not a crucifix's stone. 
 
 ^' Ecclesia, '^ Adversity (want of speed). 
 
Book II.] AARBERT i47 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 But if you worship with its stony help 
 God, He forbids this as idolatry, 
 
 Glengly. 
 
 That I allow. But stones may rightly teach 
 What to revere and worship. They are books 
 To those who cannot or who will not read. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Ah! ah! I know. Mere sophistry, my friend! 
 Mere sophistry! the once strong, l^oasted child. 
 Now old and cloakless, begging, lame, and deaf. 
 Of Gregory's proud Hope; soon after birth 
 From which Nicea's second council smashed 
 Its lustihood by rule that second-rate 
 Worship be paid to images as shapes 
 Of unshapes having first-rate worship. This, 
 As you allow, is sheer idolatry. 
 
 For stones, when worshipped as are Gods, are (iods. 
 Not idols unto those who worship them. 
 Idolatry's growth knows no stop. Its eld's ^ 
 Death-guilt is to its naughtiness of youth 
 Assured; as God knows. Who forbids a man 
 To make an image for his worship's use 
 As ornament, or teacher, or aught else, 
 As much as He forbids him worship it. 
 True Christians loathe its use. Lactantius 
 In the three hundredth year from Christ's birth, wrote: 
 ' All pictures are forbidden in a Church, 
 Not only heathen, those of saints are too. 
 Where pictures are Christ's worship cannot be.' 
 Augustine wrote, ' The force of images 
 Is but to crooken souls.' What says our own 
 1 Old age's. 
 
148 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Beloved gelathe? ' No preaching of the Gospel 
 
 Or other stay or means can help against 
 
 Idolatry where images help worship/ 
 
 But what says God? ' Near where thou makest thee 
 
 An altar shalt thou not set up an image; 
 
 For this the Lord thy God hates utterly.' 
 
 Will our gelathe cast ever forth again 
 
 Her pictures from her churches? They, alas! 
 
 Are now the country's idols. You mislike her. 
 
 You want a new gelathe. Oh, might we keep, 
 
 But cleanse her — keep her cleansed, although we lost 
 
 Her Rome-stained chiu'ches! 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 I pray you, Glengly, mark me as I sketch. 
 
 Christ's gelathe, that of all the newly born 
 
 Who are, or will be, or have been, by God 
 
 Into the fold of Christ ' together-led,' 
 
 That great gelathe, known only by Himself, 
 
 Whose one and only Head is Christ in heaven, 
 
 And whose All-Teacher is the Holy Ghost, 
 
 Is guileless and unworldly; full of love, 
 
 Of hope and mercy, trust and holy joy. 
 
 She lives unveiled before her God, and lives 
 
 Therefore above the need of earthly helps. 
 
 She takes her faith from only holy writ. 
 
 She worships naught but God; and worships God 
 
 With naught of brightness from a tricksy flash. 
 
 But with the brightness of meek, cheerful love, 
 
 And thankfulness. She loathes a worship pompous, 
 
 And likes to pray within walls clean and bare. 
 
 That she may pray with cleaner faith. She stands 
 
 On only God's stay here, yet stands she fast. 
 
 Of such was the dear glathe of England once. 
 
Book II.] AARBERT 149 
 
 Now look with me at Rome's gelathe. You see 
 
 Her guileful, haughty, worldly, stained with blood, 
 
 Unholy, lusting for both gold and sway. 
 
 She hates the Bible; worships many things 
 
 Other than God, and worships God beneath 
 
 A veil of rites all steeped in earthiness. 
 
 With, 'twixt His jealous and her own fond eyes, 
 
 A grove of God-forbidden images, 
 
 Such as herself deemed heathenish, until 
 
 After four hundred years she loved them much. 
 
 She lives on earth coquetting with earth's kings; 
 
 Lives but by earthly helps, grasps all of these 
 
 Or good or evil, sets aside God's laws 
 
 And overrules them with her own at will ; 
 
 Yet for awhile she floats, and tightly floats 
 
 Over her waiting death's gulf, buoyed by e'en 
 
 Her very hollowness of skill-wrought worth. 
 
 Glengly. 
 
 I want not either of two such gelathcs. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 No; but the one you want, nor standing thus 
 
 All ghostly on the ghostly rock of Christ, 
 
 Nor floating thus all worldly on a sea 
 
 Of worldliness would on a quicksand lie 
 
 Where neither heaven nor earth would give her stay; 
 
 And there would wait till broken up by storms. 
 
 Or till Rome's Priesthood took her ofr a wreck. 
 
I50 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 X. 
 
 Aarbert, Godard, Ankirkly. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Lo! here is Godard. You can get his answer. 
 
 Ankirkly. 
 
 Godard, I grieve that you mislead your brother. 
 The great gelathe of Rome holds all the Fathers 
 And Councils General. It holds, moreover, 
 That Pontiff-king, the Pope, whose sway is needed 
 By Christendom, whose lore in undefined things 
 He also yet may mould to meet our pleasure. 
 Then if both we and such as we will Rome-shape 
 Our own mislore, the whole great world of Christians 
 In oneness with the headship of Rome's Pontiff, 
 May, with a crushing force against outsiders, 
 Await with him in joy Christ's second coming. 
 
 Godard. 
 
 Has Rome's Chief Pontiff reason thus to wait this? 
 Then where is seven-hilled Babylon, which once was 
 O'er all earth reigning, and was seen from Patmos 
 About to be the faithless Bride of Jesus, 
 And ghostly harlot of the Earth's kings, selling 
 To them for earthly power of theirs Christ's ghostly 
 Power, and making all the Earth's realms drunken 
 With her drugged wine of harlotry, and being 
 Drunken herself with blood of Christian martyrs, 
 And sinking then at last in flames for ever. 
 With all of'hers, not leaving trace behind her, 
 As soon as Christ was seen on Zion standing? 
 
Book II. I AARBERT '5' 
 
 1 ask for knowledge; where is that great city, 
 
 The seven-hilled o'er earth in John's day reigning, 
 
 And being, when Christ came, to sink thus wholly? 
 
 She not as yet has so sunk: not as yet has 
 
 The Lord come. She is standing somewhere: where 
 
 then? 
 And where is but in her, the man of sin too, 
 Who lived in Paul's day, waiting somewhat's passing, 
 Which then was known, and being to be crushed when 
 The Lord came? All has passed which barred his 
 
 being 
 Revealed. He somewhere lives; and where, then? 
 
 Ankirkly. 
 
 I know not. Who can understand the Bible? 
 My faith is from the teaching of the Fathers. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 But mine is from the Bible which God's children 
 Well enough understand, and which has told me 
 That St. John saw a ten-horned, seven-headed 
 And scarlet theor,i ridden by a woman 
 Arrayed in purple and in scarlet, decked with 
 Gold, costly stones, and pearls; who, whilst her right 
 
 hand 
 Held out to all the world her whoredom's golden 
 Cup of idolatry and filth, was titled 
 On forehead : ' Babylon the great, the Mother 
 Of Harlots and abominations earthly.' 
 That St. John saw her drunk with blood of martyrs; 
 That he was by an angel told that she was 
 The city seven-hilled o'er earth then reigning; 
 
 1 Wild beast (in Greek, ' thirion ' ; in Old English, ' deor,' whence 
 Derby and Durham). 
 
152 AARBERT \\Vy(^¥. 11. 
 
 And that St. John foresaw this city sunken, 
 Together with all hers, in flames for ever. 
 In God's Book she and hers are foreseen sunken; 
 But she has not so sunk yet; she is standing. 
 And where is she if not at Rome? Yourself say! 
 
 Ankirkly. 
 
 Who gave the world its Bible? Rome's gelathe did. 
 Who brought this Bible into England? She did. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 The world had erst the Bible from its writers. 
 And Christians, long ere Rome had claimed all Chris- 
 tians 
 As hers, both made that list of these men's writings 
 Which bears the Bible's name, and brought the writ- 
 ings 
 Hither to England, as our Holy Bible. 
 Augustine hither brought Rome's anti-Bible 
 Of teachings from her then much mistaught Fathers, 
 Together with that saying of his Master's, 
 Even of Gregory the Great who sent him. 
 He who shall call himself priest universal 
 Foreruns the anti-Christ. In ten years' time came 
 Boniface, that forerunner. In three hundred 
 Foul years whereafter, men more foul or wicked 
 Than popes breathed not upon this earth, by witness 
 Of cardinals, and Rome's gelathe's self chose them. 
 Moreover, she was taking, or had taken, 
 Back under Christian names the rites and statues. 
 The feasts and much too of the lore of Pagans,^ 
 For. sake of that same oneness now so wished for. 
 Was Christ, who guides His own gelathe, then guiding 
 Rome's? Surelv not so: She was anti-Christian. 
 
JJooKll.] AARBERT 153 
 
 Gregory's anti-Christ and anti-Bible 
 Of Christo-pagan lore were brought to England 
 By your Augustine, smothering Christ's Gospel, 
 And God's own Bible's teachings long here settled. 
 
 XL 
 
 Aarbert, Godard, and Glengly. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 If Rome's gelathe and that of Christ lie where 
 
 Arnulph, methinks, once rightly showed them each. 
 
 Then that of Christ is founded on a rock 
 
 Cut sheer away from all on lower earth ; 
 
 Whilst that of Rome as steadfastly is founded 
 
 Beneath the rock upon the lowest ground 
 
 On which earth-loving air can press its kiss : 
 
 And twixt the two grounds merely is a slope. 
 
 Which yields no rest by one fixed stay of thought 
 
 On level and unyielding utterness — 
 
 On utterness of all unworldliness, 
 
 Or else on utterness of earth's whole helps. 
 
 I do beseech you, Godard, not to fear 
 
 That I shall stand upon the lower ground. 
 
 Or on the slope that yearns down toward it; 
 
 But hope not ever my acknowledging 
 
 That on alone the slope and lower ground 
 
 Are found those flowers fair of ritual " 
 
 Which I acknowledge that I greatly love. 
 
 Glengly. 
 
 Godard, I take upon myself what blame 
 You give your brother's love of ritual. 
 For from my own heart into his has passed 
 That burning love; so what you have to say 
 
154 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Against it will you please to say to me. 
 Yon sun will soon be setting; will you, sir, 
 With evening's calm, unhasting mind set forth 
 Your reasons why such love as ours is wrong? 
 Lo! here a quiet nook! Shall we three sit? 
 The seat is cosy. Now then, Godarcl, thresh 
 This thing out here, until the flighty chaff. 
 If any of unsoth in aught I said to him. 
 Shall fly away from underneath your flail 
 Of reasoning and leave me grain on which 
 My love shall have the right to feed at will. 
 Aarbert shall listen; but on me alone 
 Shall fall your chiding, if it fairly can. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 In heaven worship is no player's plot. 
 
 Good angels redden not their zeal's own glow. 
 Love shows not off herself, and soth wears not 
 
 Fair mask: she loves her fairer face to show. 
 Of cold things ceremony most is cold; 
 And no man paints his rubies or his gold. 
 
 Can earthness higher than it rises raise? 
 
 Can Godward feeling, as it 'neath thee flows 
 From carvings, gildings, stains, and priestly plays. 
 
 Buoy thy ghost Godward high above these shows? 
 Must not she quit all earthness to arise 
 To heaven's mercy-seat beyond earth's skies? 
 
 Why this church-garnish? Has thy drawing-room 
 Been searched by God? Has He with hungry look 
 
 Been begging worldly things for chasing gloom 
 Of ghostliness from Church's every nook? 
 
 He asks thy best, and weenst thou that if these 
 
 He sees thy best things, thee as His He sees? 
 
Hook II. ] AARBERT r55 
 
 Is't Christ who wants the garnish? He has died 
 To earthiness, and lives He to earth's glory? 
 
 Or have His earth-poor for the rubbish cried? 
 
 Need these see stones to know His Gospel's story? 
 
 Are not God's poor less babylike and blind 
 
 Than are the world's rich both in mood and mind? 
 
 If thou believest with thine eye or hand. 
 
 If guns must roar that tales of war may reach 
 
 Thy wits, or if, ere words thou understand, 
 
 Thy flesh must to thy mind their meaning teach, 
 
 Yet God has gifted poor men otherwise, 
 
 They love His words and look on stones for lies. 
 
 What hangs from off thy neck? Men would-wise 
 scorn, 
 
 And men self-righteous stumble o'er Christ's cross: 
 Christians from earthlife by its wrench are torn. 
 
 But that toy! Brings it thee an earthlife's loss? 
 Bears not it earth's stamp? Does the earth-King care 
 Of what a shape His own stamped trinkets are? 
 
 Christ's cross, if thine, is that thou diest in Him 
 A felon's death for evil by thee wrought. 
 
 Thy carved cross is the cross of felons grim 
 Who put to death thy Hselend. It is nought 
 
 But Pilate's cross and that of priestly Jews, 
 
 Of Abbas and Barabbas and such crews. 
 
 If with mind nailed to Christ's stern cross indeed 
 Thou wend without the world's camp, and live there 
 
 His death to earthness, thou wilt never need 
 Bear shapes of Roman gibbets everywhere: 
 
 Which witness, whilst thou wearest them in pride, 
 
 That such art thou as those bv whom He died. 
 
156 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 But on thy duty laid athwart thy lot 
 
 Do thou thy fleshly length and breadth outspread? 
 That what of earthlife in thee likes them not 
 
 May hang on these until that thing be dead. 
 For clear of earth-mist by these crosses' death 
 Thou freelier wilt breathe sweet heaven's breath. 
 
 XIL 
 Mild A and Aarbert. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Lurked last night in the bowers of your brain. 
 
 Ere locked by sleep, that thief of night's rest, Care? 
 
 Or into them had that rough burglar Pain 
 Burst afterward? or did I thence but scare 
 
 A dream? when, hearing uproar through your frown, 
 
 I woke you, and put thus the uproar down. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I was in church where men, as priests attired, 
 Were worshipping with all a stage play's arts 
 
 In costumes gay and quaint: sith they desired. 
 For bettering of worldly people's hearts, 
 
 To have them where men's worship would be warmed 
 
 By seeing it in tragic style performed. 
 
 The church amidst an abbey's ruins stood. 
 
 Man's skill was shown of¥ in its fretted stones. 
 The window's stains showed ofT man's self as good. 
 
 Brass outlines honoured there man's buried bones. 
 Man's bowings there to God with pomp were done; 
 And with a waive there worshipped everyone, 
 
Book 11. ] AARBERT 157 
 
 There graven images were raised as teachers. 
 
 There candles gleamed to show a ghostly light. 
 There pastors were of rites and manners preachers; 
 
 There altars held up flowers to God's sight; 
 Whilst incense toned down daylight for a wheaten 
 God's being there made flesh, adored, and eaten. 
 
 I left the church, and, looking forth, beheld 
 The abbey; it had been unroofed when mind 
 
 Sought heaven's light. Its pillars all lay felled; 
 And in its wall's rift stood mid howling wind 
 
 An old man; him would I have passed aloof; 
 
 He stopped me. Pointing to the shattered roof, 
 
 ' So wrecked,' said he, ' are realms where idols preach ; 
 
 Where word of man undoes God's holy Word ; 
 Where priests bear rule, through what they wrongly 
 teach ; 
 Where kings wield priestcraft as their shield and 
 sword ; 
 And where the people love to have things so. 
 Whence comest thou, and whither wouldst thou go? ' 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My husband! whence this dream, and why, and how? 
 From Godard's chidings in your sleep awake? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Such church I oft have seen. I make a vow. 
 On keep of which my very life I stake. 
 To crush my pride and most that pride whereby 
 My singing there God's glory was a lie. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Oh, Aarbert! Pride, which, more than evil, is 
 The king of evil, cannot by a vow 
 
158 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Be overcome; nor can such hopeful words 
 
 As you have uttered daunt him. So at least 
 
 It seems to me; but I am woman weak, 
 
 And you are stronger. As for me, I unn 
 
 That when I have defied him with such words, 
 
 I soon have found that it was he hiself 
 
 Who put the bold defiance in my mouth ; 
 
 And that he never with a stronger grasp 
 
 Held me than whilst he crowned me with the hope 
 
 Of being his o'ercomer and his Queen. 
 
 Whenever I have led against his walls 
 
 My whole armed powers, he has cheered me on; 
 
 Has aimed my weapons at his weakest points ; 
 
 Has been the soul of my most bold assault ; 
 
 And thus, by leading me against his might. 
 
 Has ruled my own. But this I say as one 
 
 Who has by faiHng found her weakness out. 
 
 I know that you are stronger than your wife. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Now, Milda! are you quite against my weal, 
 And are my foe. Pride ! I will harry thee 
 From any home in me; so help me, Heaven, 
 As I will do this. So then, to begin: — 
 Too wrathsome am I ; thou shalt nevermore 
 Lay me low henceforth by mine angriness. 
 Upon the keeping this my vow to God 
 I stake all right to hope of reaching heaven. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 War is the life-breath of the better self 
 In man or woman, Aarbert. I myself 
 Am not without some knowledge of the war. 
 
Book II.] AARBERT ' i59 
 
 The feather of my check has often blocked 
 
 Your hurry's too straight path to evil things, 
 
 Which, being in a line with your eye's sight, 
 
 Were so foreshortened that you merely saw 
 
 Their winsome face and heard their speech. Now, I 
 
 See from aside the body of this vow: 
 
 It meets you as an Eden's angel-snake — 
 
 A helper sent you by the fiend to seize 
 
 You either by proud hope or reckless wanhope.^ 
 
 Why ask you not for Godard's help? He fights 
 
 With evil as it comes. He says that best 
 
 It is to crush an evil by God's might; 
 
 For then God rules the heart that crushes it; 
 
 And that the might of God is dealt to faith 
 
 And prayer when needed by them; but that vows, 
 
 Though overcoming by the might of pride, 
 
 Other things overcome not so Pride's self. 
 
 He oft has told me of this Pride: he says 
 
 That in man's mind there is a tower built 
 
 Upon the hill of honour by the fiend, 
 
 The king of evil, and that this his tower 
 
 Is named man's pride. And Godard says that when 
 
 The troops of evil have been driven out 
 
 By good from other places in the mind. 
 
 They win within it shelter, and do thence 
 
 With more of power often rule the man. 
 
 He says that some men stoical, although 
 
 From lust of honour, wealth and beauty free. 
 
 Are there by Pride's whole power often swayed; 
 
 That Anchorites, barefooted and coarse-garbed. 
 
 Have also in that tower oft been forced 
 
 To pay as toll to Satan, king of evil. 
 
 The most of all their fasts' and scourgings' winnings. 
 
 ' Despair. 
 
i6o ' AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Though be thou, Pride! a stronghold's tower buih 
 
 On highest ground within the realm of mind. 
 
 Where good and evil ever are at war — 
 
 A tower, which is by the choicest troops, 
 
 The life-guards, of the king of evil held; 
 
 And unto which, if driven in by good 
 
 From that realm's weaker parts, all evil flees 
 
 For shelter from the utmost might of good; 
 
 My whole soul, standing at thine iron gate. 
 
 Hurls challenge at thee; for although thou be, 
 
 Thou oughtest not to be in man at all ; 
 
 Nor canst be ever in a stalwart man 
 
 Like me, in whom is will that thwarts thy mood. 
 
 Therefore I, having sworn that by my might 
 
 I will for ever bring down thine in me. 
 
 And having staked upon the vow my hope 
 
 Of heaven, now shall surely keep it whole. 
 
 The thing is done. I overthrow thee, pride, 
 
 And, henceforth lowly, am of fault all clear. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I wonder, Milda, that you see not well, 
 That I must overcome by this my vow. 
 Know not you that the will of man is free? 
 And that he, as he wills, can do the right. 
 Or do the wrong? By that my will I did 
 My duty when I chose, and, when I chose, 
 I left it undone. I have often slipped 
 In carelessness, but not in weakness once. 
 
Book II.] AARBERT i6i 
 
 When found you weakness in me? Now, this pride 
 
 To which for pleasure 1 have yielded me 
 
 Too often, and for which I now so blush. 
 
 Is one of feeling. Can my will not quell 
 
 That feeling? You will see. I tried at first 
 
 To quell the pride with churchy ritual ; 
 
 But there was in the churchiness much pride, 
 
 And so I failed. So shall my will not fail 
 
 To-day. Do not you see this, Milda, now? 
 
 Mild A. 
 
 May not there be some pride in this your will? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 No. If I will to be not proud, my will 
 
 Is lowly. Surely you must needs see that. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 I cannot reason as do you by words ; 
 I only can by means of daily things. 
 I know this thing that I have often willed 
 To do aright, and yet have done awrong. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I never knew you do one thing not good ; 
 Your reasoning is therefore bad. No. no; 
 There is no evil in you, Milda, none. 
 Why cover you your face with both your hands? 
 
 Milda. 
 
 For that upon the glass of this your praise 
 I am so black and foul that it is meet 
 For me to hide a thing so hideous. 
 
i62 AARBERT [Book II. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Dear, foolish Milda. Well now, we shall see. 
 I go into the town here; fare we well. 
 
 XIV. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 That slander! Oh, that snare! that stumbling-block! 
 
 The broken vow! The deep-stained robe of pride! 
 The ditch! God's truth there like a sharp-edged rock! 
 
 And the stain branded with a rent so wide! 
 
 Can any deep-drawn sigh bring back the dead? 
 
 Can any primrose soap make dirt's self clean? 
 Can black be brightened into white? Can thread 
 
 So sew up rent that it shall not have been? 
 
 I never now can say I have no stain : 
 I cannot say again I could have stood : 
 
 I never can unfallen be again: 
 
 Nor can be, as my vow had made me, good. 
 
 XV. 
 
 . Aarbert and Milda. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 When man first rises to flee a sin that loves him, 
 And that had ruled him by his love's own will. 
 
 The charmer, rising in all her power, proves him 
 With tenfold wiles, and so she holds him still. 
 
 Then when he finds her to be a fiend that seized him, 
 That she might lure him into endless woe. 
 
 And finds the charms, wherewithal she so much 
 pleased him, 
 To be the witchcraft of a deadlv foe, 
 
Book II.] AARBERT 163 
 
 ' Thy gift this, Wisdom? ' he cries — ' the gift of seeing 
 A traitress Hfe-long in my fond love hide, 
 
 From whose embraces I lack the means of fleeing? 
 Away thy gift and thou — nay. 1)oth abide! ' 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Ha! learnedst thou that song of me? 
 
 I knew^ and sang it long ago. 
 No, never sang I that to thee — 
 
 I sang one like it, running so: 
 
 Song. 
 
 When woman rises to leave the faults which love her, 
 And whose charms oft had given her delight, 
 
 Those faults rise also to keep, or else recover. 
 Her love with ten times all their former might. 
 
 Then, when she feels that they each are but a fever. 
 Which woos her soul for Death, her suitor grim, 
 
 And feels that, since she is loath that they should leave 
 her. 
 Her soul must marry, and be marred by him. 
 
 ' Thy gift this. Wisdom? ' she cries — ' the gift of feel- 
 ing 
 That faithless friends in my warm friendship hide, 
 To give me hurt which the\ hold me back from 
 healing? 
 Take back thy gift — stay, Wisdom; let it bide! ' 
 
BOOK III. 
 WORLDLY LIFE CROSSED BY CHRISTIAN LIFE. 
 
 I. 
 
 GoDARD, Aarbert, Lesgeleaf, and Milda. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Something I see by your careworn face has been fret- 
 ting you, Aarbert! 
 What is it? Where is your sore? What is it ailing 
 you thus? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Yes, I indeed have a mind's sore; but why lingers 
 your sailing? 
 Sickness, I fear, gains ground now on your linger- 
 ing steps. 
 
 Godard. 
 
 Yet shall I tarry till winter is nearer; for, brother, be- 
 sides what 
 Business stays me, my love yearningly clings to 
 you all. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Ours not less to you fondly. You ask me what ails 
 me; I answer, 
 Knowledge of ailing; a fall into the wist that I fall, 
 Deeming, as ever I did, that I stood by a strength of 
 uprightness. 
 Whence by my sheer free-will, never in weakness, I 
 sank. 
 
 164 
 
Rook III. J AARBERT 165 
 
 Last week staked I mv life on walking clear of a fresh 
 fall 
 Into an old fault mine, wrathness, arising from pride 
 Wounded; for I will acknowledge that, stung by the 
 taunts of the poor men 
 Here by the bankruptcy robbed, oft have I into the 
 fault 
 Hurried: on that same day of my staking on walking 
 from fault free. 
 Life-everlasting's bliss, into the fault did I sink. 
 Now have I tried what strength I had boasted, and 
 now for the first time 
 Clearly have seen that the strength merely in fancy 
 was mine. 
 Now, antwhether^ my whole strained powers, have I 
 for the first time 
 Sunk into sin, and have thus utterly fallen from 
 hope. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Brother, when Adam was good as his God first made 
 him he sinned, caught 
 Sin-love, and gave it as plague down to his children 
 for aye. 
 Thou hast been born in the plague, in its weakness, 
 and death, and uncleanness; 
 Therefore, whereas having health, strength, and the 
 blessing of God, 
 He fell into the plague, canst thou, plague-stricken 
 and weakened. 
 Stand? No; never hast thou borne thee uprightly 
 an hour; 
 Neither shalt thou from his sins' fall, even in worship 
 of God, rise, 
 
 ' In spite of. 
 
i66 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Till by the new birth, asked erst at thy christ'ning 
 for thee, 
 Then, too, granted against thine own faith's taking the 
 gift up. 
 Thou shalt have Christ's life thine, thou shalt have 
 Christhood in full. 
 Thou, though striving with God, hast been walking as 
 righteous before Him, 
 Rating Him wrong in the strife, charging its guilt 
 upon Him. 
 Whilst thus warring against Him, what one deed has 
 been quite good 
 Out of thy whole past life's? All have been leav- 
 ened with sin. 
 Now first fallen hast thou into sin's death? Out of 
 the death thou 
 Never hast stood; thou there fallest from sin into 
 sin. 
 Thou art as guilty almost as the guiltiest man in the 
 whole world. 
 There is a measureless gulf simdering guilt and un- 
 guilt: 
 Small is the span over all guilt. Grieve for thy sin- 
 fulness, therefore, 
 More than for some one sin; ask for a grief unto 
 life. 
 Jesus has paid by His death that death for thy sins 
 that thou owedst; 
 Paid by His life's good deeds those that thou owedst 
 to God. 
 Waste not time, then, on vows of living uprightly, but 
 ask life. 
 Which at the font stood once given to thee on thy 
 claim. 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 167 
 
 Christ's indwelling in men by His (ihost, and their 
 dwelling in Him, too, 
 As does a branch in a vine, that is their Christhood 
 in full; 
 That is their life full-gained. When thou, no longer 
 by self ruled, 
 Yieldest thee up as His branch, bearing from only 
 Him fruit, 
 Then shall His will be thine own; and thy well-doing 
 therefore shall not need 
 Ever the threat of a law, ever the spur of a vow. 
 
 Lesgeleaf. 
 
 Store, Aarbert, every word of the answer which Go- 
 dard has given. 
 What he has said to you now oft have I told you 
 myself. 
 Only leave all to the Hgelend, forgiveness and heaven 
 are then yours: 
 Light is the labour of trust, easy the task to geleave. 
 As by the death of the Lord's being reckoned as yours 
 you are rightlike,^ 
 So are you righteous by Christ's righteousness reck- 
 oned your own. 
 As by the chorister's surplice the youth stands clean 
 in his foul clothes, 
 So in your sinning you stand cleansed by the robe 
 of the Lord. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 God mend your teaching! Call it never mine! 
 Christ's holiness can hallow only those 
 Whose faith has made them one with Christ; these die 
 His death, and in His life live righteously. 
 
 1 Justified. 
 
i68 AARBERT [Book 111. 
 
 The surplice o'er them of His righteousness 
 
 Has never foulness neath it; He will hide 
 
 No living sin. He neither hides a sin 
 
 Till in His death dead; nor is wholly one 
 
 With sinners till, by living in their lives, 
 
 He gars their deeds be righteous like His own. 
 
 Till having o'er them laid His righteousness, 
 
 He works it into them. Then, though arise 
 
 Foulness from up the flesh in which they live, 
 
 They cast it ofif them as it rises up 
 
 Before, by being their willed thought or deed, 
 
 It can become as foulness part of them. 
 
 Their own willed works are clean ; but they are theirs 
 
 Only by being wrought in them by Christ, 
 
 And all their worth and honour thus are His. 
 
 Such men have sin, for they have guilt of sin; 
 
 Such men have sin, for they have flesh, which is 
 
 Sin's self; but such men sin not, for their will 
 
 Is kept by Christ, in whom they die to flesh, 
 
 And float above its luring them to sin. 
 
 By not their works, by faith they live in Him; 
 
 But this is faith from which His good works flow. 
 
 If Jesus died, as being you, and you. 
 
 As being He, are dead as He to sin, 
 
 To pride of life, and lust of flesh and eye, 
 
 How can you sin or keep unrighteousness? 
 
 You, if you sin, abide not one with Him; 
 
 Or else, as biding one with you. He sins. 
 
 Lesgeleaf. 
 
 But Anglican and Roman priests would say 
 
 That any man who walks in sin, but means 
 
 To quit it, is by their great sacraments 
 
 Brought close to heaven, through whose gate he will. 
 
 Unfleshed, pass free from sin by faith in Christ. 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 169 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 As twixt an earthy tomb and heaven's gate 
 
 Is no Bethesda's pool, where souls may drop 
 
 Their sins and win the life of holiness, 
 
 So without holiness shall none see God. 
 
 Sin leads nor through nor up to heaven's gate. 
 
 Oh, narrow is life's path, and sin's broad way. 
 
 Even where hugging one of those two walls 
 
 Which mark off that path narrow, leads to death 
 
 As much as where it furthest quits the path. 
 
 Yet to touch one of those two walls, although 
 
 Upon its outside, is a restful thing 
 
 To some, who by the broad way hope to reach 
 
 Life endless, through some heaven-fitness won 
 
 In death by sinners. Many Protestants 
 
 Keep alive, hidden from their better knowledge, 
 
 A hope of heaven-fitness thus sin-won. 
 
 This heaven-fitness nor good works, nor faith. 
 
 But righteous qualities alone can show — 
 
 Those of Christ-likeness and sheer ghostliness. 
 
 Lesgeleaf. 
 
 We enter heaven then by having Christ's 
 Righteousness wrought within us by our faith ? 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 W^e are made rightlike by mere faith in Christ; 
 And are, as rightlike, welcomed here by God 
 On earth; but righteous are we made by Christ's 
 Righteousness wrought in us; and only as 
 Thus righteous shall we welcomed be to heaven, 
 With all our guilt washed off by blood of Christ, 
 And all our sin by water from His side. 
 Cleansed we, when flesh-rid, shall have nought to hide 
 But that which lowliness would keep from show. 
 
I70 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 These reasonings are new to me. My mind 
 
 Is shy before them; therefore I shall wait 
 
 My husband's leading them to me in talk, 
 
 When he has known them better through your speech. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Alas! poor Milda! for the reasonings 
 Bring you the Gospel. If you die without 
 The Gospel's haelth ^ 
 
 Milda. 
 
 God is merciful. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 You had a garden at your Aarwick once 
 
 Full of plants beautiful and yielding fruit ; 
 
 But in it was an evil weed which grew, 
 
 And quickly would have choked the ground. You 
 
 bade 
 Your gardeners to dig it up by root 
 And burn the root. You thus were merciful — 
 But only to your garden's fruits and flowers. 
 A cobra once was gliding up a bed 
 Where slept a child; its nurse was merciful — 
 But not to both;* she slew the murderer. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 Yet will I trust God's mercy, for I dread 
 
 And hate all wrangling, and I clearly see 
 
 That Aarbert will withstand your teaching long. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Lo! how your wife has put into your hands 
 Her life, and as you seem to stand in twonne ^ 
 ' Salvation. ' Doubt. 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 171 
 
 Whether or not to do God's bidding, halts 
 
 Herself; then, turning towards Him the back 
 
 Of all her heed, turns toward you its face. 
 
 What if He take that answer as her last? 
 
 Oh, Milda! love bides ever; mercy bides 
 
 But through the hour of hope. Trust not that hour; 
 
 Live rather by the Gospel's love for aye. 
 
 H. 
 
 Milda, Godard, and Aarbert. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Godard, I cannot understand your teaching. 
 How is the stain, which is by guilt in one man 
 Left on the law's roll, washed away by life-blood 
 Taken from some one other man quite guiltless? 
 
 Godard. 
 
 Jesus is not some other man than we are 
 
 Each; He is all men; all men's is His bloodshed. 
 
 He is the Son of God and Son of Adam, 
 
 Holding wathin Himself by faith the fleshly 
 
 Being of Adam's children all, and also 
 
 All of the ghostly life of any of them. 
 
 Therefore is He the heir in full of Adam's 
 
 Doom to a death, and of his hope of heaven. 
 
 After the death. And yet His own death touches 
 
 None of the men who shrink from oneness with Him. 
 
 So that His death is to the men it touches 
 
 Death as if theirs for all their own sins, through Him 
 
 Paid in a wise in which God takes it from them ; 
 
 Whilst it is death, which these same men, as being 
 
 One with Him, pay before they pay their grave's 
 
 death — 
 Death of an earthlife numbed; without which dying, 
 
172 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Though it be not a part of His in worth, yet 
 
 Naught would have pardon of their sins bestood them. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Jesus, you say, was sinless. How can therefore 
 God have, as most High Deemster, slain Him guilt- 
 less? 
 How can He even have allowed His dying 
 Thus? Can His guiltless Son's foul death have' 
 pleased Him? 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Jesus indeed was sinless; but the sinless 
 Bearer of Adam's sin and death-guilt; bearer 
 Also of all the sins of Adam's children. 
 And for the sins upon His head God slew Him. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Yet can I not see why God sternly asked that 
 
 Death from us men which Christ in such love paid 
 
 Him, 
 How can have vengeance more than mercy pleased 
 
 God. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 God, as all-wielder, needs is all-avenger, 
 
 Merciful all, these both together always. 
 
 He is in all things, not in merely some things, 
 
 Utterly good, and quite as true as loving; 
 
 Nor may His mercy clear His debts of vengeance. 
 
 Truth in Him claimed the death which Christ in 
 
 Adam's 
 Name has been paying, and the death's truth pleased 
 
 Him. 
 He, as I showed to you, is not man merely. 
 He is in God, God; what in God we know not. 
 
Book 111.] AARBERl^ 173 
 
 But we know this, that there is one God only, 
 And in His slaying Christ, His Son by Mary, 
 He at His own cost somewise slew Him therefore. 
 God was in manhood in the death thus paid Him. 
 Jesus as God, but also Son of Mary, 
 Son of a woman, was nor wholly God nor 
 Wholly was man; He thus, as God-man, could be 
 Seamer ^ betwixt our God and us. Had He been 
 Merely a man His death had not for man's stood, 
 But at the cost of charge that some unguilty 
 Man had been slain for guilty men; and had He 
 Merely been God He could not have at all died. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Must I, dear Godard, understand these answers 
 To Aarbert, ere I understand the Gospel? 
 
 Godard. 
 No, Milda! ten times no! Heed not these answers. 
 As not from God come cavils to His Gospel, 
 So not to anyone who takes His Gospel 
 Without the cavils, come from Him the answers. 
 Thrice happy you, if you with trust will take it 
 From Him unladen with its proof's faith-helpings! 
 But Aarbert asks for these ; and I must show him 
 That none for which he wills to ask is lacking. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Godard and Aarbert. 
 Aarbert. 
 Godard! I fain would follow all your teaching; 
 But it outstrips me. You have learnt at College 
 
 ' A mediator, one who, between divided beings, unites them, as a 
 thread unites sundered pieces of cloth. Seam and same are distinct 
 words, yet akin to each other. 
 
174 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Things which I never knew, or have forgotten 
 Wholly, if I in mother's days had known them. 
 I am a threefold being, understanding 
 Little my ownself; how much less the Being 
 Therefore of God, my Maker? I will pass on. 
 Why may a man not make by better doings 
 Fullest amends for all misdeeds before them? 
 How can you say that Greeks and Romans, such as 
 Socrates, Epictetus, Aristides, 
 Cato and Cicero, were life unworthy? 
 What ! does the Mussulman, who fasts nor mockfasts, 
 Bows to the will of God, and hates all idols — 
 Does the Hindoo, hook-hung, who racks his body. 
 Never by good and worthy deeds earn life-right? 
 Such are the men whose lives I would have copied. 
 Such are the deeds I would have wished mine own 
 
 were — 
 Deeds of a life's self-sacrifice and gainsay. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Mean you by Sacrifice your self-denial, 
 Whether of pleasure or aught else, for gaining 
 Good to yourself or others? Then I unn such 
 Sacrifice worthy; yet a deed not earning 
 Life in the least. The man has not lived ever 
 Who by his deeds won right to keep life given 
 Erst by his God. The very best of Heathens 
 Lose, and have ever lost, a life by living. 
 God has alone the right to rate the duties, 
 Earning a right to life. Man's greatest duty 
 Is to the God Who gave to him his being. 
 Keeps him, and showers o'er him daily blessings. 
 Is there a man who always did this duty? 
 Is there a man who always loved his Maker 
 More than he loved all other things and beings? 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 175 
 
 Is there a man as good as God made Adam? 
 
 No: there is therefore none that earns a Hfe-right. 
 
 If by your sacrifice you mean your giving 
 
 God by your forfeits some amends for evil 
 
 Done by you, God for such amends ne'er asked you. 
 
 What is the worth of such amends? Are losses 
 
 Borne by a man God's gains? Is man's pain ever 
 
 Pleasure in God, unless it gar man love Him, 
 
 Showing his love by good deeds which are welfare? 
 
 Can a man's fasting be itself God's feasting? " 
 
 How can a sacrifice of God's gifts please Him? 
 
 How can in any way be gain or goodness 
 
 In the mere casting quite away some goodness? 
 
 Sacrifice all is bad in man, unless it 
 
 Bettan ^ the sacrificer's own life. If then 
 
 You by the sacrifice mean self-denial 
 
 Made for the bettanness, how could it make you 
 
 Better until you were in Christ? In Jesus 
 
 Man has a ghostly and a fleshly being. 
 
 Therefore a higher Being and a lower. 
 
 Now, it is good that he should crush the lower 
 
 Being for better living out the higher; 
 
 But a mere heathen has in Christ no Being. 
 
 So his self-sacrifice is naught but crushing, 
 
 Bootlessly for his gaining aught of ghost life, 
 
 Some of the evil in his fleshly, which is 
 
 Also his only. Being. Low and evil 
 
 Lusts will abide with him, His pride will rule him 
 
 Only the more, the more he sacrifices. 
 
 Pride is array of life against life's Giver, 
 
 Pride is the blemish of man's lower Being. 
 
 He, that in Christ so lives as to be nothing 
 
 Out of him, yields self-sacrifice more thorough, 
 
 ' The old word was betan. 
 
176 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Costlier far to flesh and blood than Plato's, 
 Made in a life of bliss and wealth and glory. 
 Never do men so please their God as when they 
 Happily live a life hke that of angels, 
 Loving and trustful, lowly, meek, and hallowed. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 You yourself showed me, and with praise, Christ's 
 
 having 
 Lived and His having died self-sacrificed for others. 
 Since for the sins of others, and to make men 
 Good as Himself, He sacrificed His own life, 
 Why for my own sins may not I do likewise? 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Simply forthy^ you cannot. Sinners cannot 
 
 Copy the sacrifices made by Jesus. 
 
 His was the death in flesh of one who, being 
 
 Sinless and thus all worthy of a life, was 
 
 Also, in ghost, life's self; and after death could 
 
 Come to a flesh-life back, and bear it heavenward, 
 
 Stripped of its earthness; breaking, as He went, 
 
 death's 
 Barriers all away from those who, being 
 One with Him, followed or were soon to follow. 
 Sin and a death cannot be sundered. Sinners 
 Therefore may not outlive their death nor quit it. 
 Nor by it earn the smallest thing. They merely 
 Pay by it what they can of death still boundless. 
 
 IV. 
 Aarbert and Godard. 
 Aarbert. 
 If, if I rightly had laid the salve, dear Godard, 
 Of God's law over my deeds, it would have healed 
 them, 
 
 ' Because (for, this, that). 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 177 
 
 So far as this, that I now should not be mourning 
 That wound of worth in me which has so much 
 shocked me. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Well said, my brother; but deeds you know are only 
 
 The skin outlying the shape of all the inlife 
 
 Of thought and will in a man; and health, though 
 
 seemly, 
 If but skin deep in a life that all is ulcered 
 Within, is merely the hectic flush of beauty, 
 Which hides a death that is burrowing beneath it. 
 To lay God's laws as a salve on man's mere outlife 
 May thence rid sores, and to man's eyes make him 
 
 seemly; 
 Yet, whilst the life is with God-hate inly ulcered, 
 The salve works only the keeping in, and therefore 
 The keeping up, of a taint of death throughout him. 
 The laws should not be a lecsalve^^laid on smoothly 
 To heal up every breaking forth of deep sin: 
 They rather ought to be drinks for hurling outward 
 The deep sins into the sight of those who have them. 
 Indeed, they all are in two such lecdrinks^ made up; 
 Each less forbidding the show of outward illhealth. 
 Than bidding inwardly better health. The first one 
 Is law that man with his whole self love his Maker; 
 The next, that like as himself he love his neighbour. 
 These two work less on the outlife than beneath it; 
 And each so little agrees with all it finds there. 
 That thence it hurls to the man's affrighted knowledge 
 That show of sin in himself which you bemoan so. 
 He sees how weak is his will to love arightly, 
 With allself, God; and, with as-self, man his neigh- 
 bour; 
 
 ^ Medical potions. 
 
178 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 And straightway goes to the great Lech, Christ, to 
 
 heal him. 
 For Christ alone can at all in man heal sin-plague. 
 God's laws show sin; they will never heal the sinner. 
 
 V. 
 
 Aarbert and Godard. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Your sayings long have lain in my mind's store, 
 
 dearest Godard, 
 As lifeless statues; now, with a life of bones and 
 
 sinews, 
 They move, but move as beings that, gaunt and all 
 
 but fleshless, 
 Are strange withal in midst of the homely thoughts 
 
 there dwelling. 
 My old gethoughts ^ give not to them any friendly 
 
 welcome. 
 I all through life have trusted that, if I paid my Maker 
 As much as well I could of the deeds He asked, He 
 
 surely 
 Would not then ask the lave ^ of them ever to be paid 
 
 Him. 
 
 Godard. 
 
 And could you ever pay to your God one debt of 
 
 duty 
 With any heap of deeds by yourself done. Brother 
 
 Aarbert? 
 I pray you tell me now, are your deeds His own mint's 
 
 money? 
 They are at best well coined from the metal of your 
 
 badness — 
 
 ' Opinions, or summed thoughts (together-thoughts). 
 ■^ Remainder (left). 
 
Book 111.] AARBERT 179 
 
 The pewter, silver-like, of a rebel's show of fealty. 
 You hold not one good mite that can help you pay this 
 
 duty. 
 God claims your wealth as that of his bankrupt 
 
 debtor; all that 
 You are and have He claims. If you pay Him these, 
 
 and, standing 
 Before Him as no longer your own, but bought by 
 
 Jesus 
 Away from fleshly mind, from your world-love and 
 
 from Satan, 
 He will forgive you all that vou up to now have owed 
 
 Him, 
 And life of Christ will through you work out hence- 
 forth your duty. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, it is much to give my all up freely. 
 
 Well can I see, by what you now have showed me, 
 
 This — that to God I am a bankrupt debtor — 
 
 See that I cannot pay Him all my duty. 
 
 That which I cannot see is, why He therefore 
 
 Asks me to pay it all up. I have always 
 
 Hoped that my yielding, for the debt's unpaidness, 
 
 Life on the earth, had washed me clear from owing 
 
 Such of it as, by harm from Adam gotten, 
 
 I was without the means of ever paying — 
 
 Hoped that by paying what I could of duty 
 
 Here on the earth, I then should have at Edrist^ 
 
 Heavenly means of paying to my Maker 
 
 Duty in full, and taking stand in heaven. 
 
 Now, to my grief, you say I owe, for even 
 
 Duties unpaid, and quite beyond my paying, 
 
 ' The Resurrection (after-rising). 
 
i8o AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Death in Gehenna. What! Gehenna's utter 
 Death for the debts which were beyond my paying? 
 No, you have never meant that God is deahng 
 So with me. If, indeed, He is so deahng, 
 Idle is all my aim to do my duty. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Though do the laws of God ask either duty 
 Or a Gehenna's death of yours, yet surely 
 Not by the will of God you pay Gehenna's 
 Death for the lack of that your pay of duty. 
 Jesus has paid in full the death of all men 
 Being in one with Him, and He will give you 
 Means, by His working through you, of your paying 
 All of your duty; this I showed you plainly. 
 Here is your hitch — that you mislike God's chosen 
 Way of your paying Him; you shrink from Jesus, 
 Therefore you shrink from life: for you indeed are 
 Not with Gehenna's death now merely threatened. 
 Into the pit, whose bottom is Gehenna — 
 Into that pit of death you have already. 
 Brother, been plunged. You cannot stop your sink- 
 ing— 
 Cannot arrest, without Christ's stay, your sinking 
 Down in it: for its top is earth-life's ailing 
 Even from birthday's cries of pain; its bottom 
 Down in Gehenna lies. And as to plea, that 
 Idle is all your aim to do your duty — 
 If at the doomsday you before God make it, 
 Thus will He answer: ' Steward of the powers. 
 Trusted to you at birth, you say that you were 
 Helpless, and say moreover that you feared me, 
 Reckoning me a hard and harsh task-master. 
 Why were you not, by helplessness and fear, then 
 Driven to cast yourself upon my mercy. 
 
Book III.] AARBERT i8i 
 
 Pleading your helplessness, and asking power 
 Better to do my bidding — power better 
 Unto my rightful gain to spend my money? 
 These were at least some deeds of faithful duty 
 Which you had might to do, and then your doing 
 These would have surely from my mercy won you 
 Power of doing more. You missed the doing 
 Things which you might have done with fear to help 
 
 you, 
 Backed by the thought that you yourself were help- 
 less. 
 Great was your helplessness; your sloth was greater.' 
 
 VI. 
 
 Aarbert and Godard. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Godard! He made me; boundless is His might; 
 Well can He take away my sloth, take all 
 Evil from out my heart — my frowardness. 
 Fear, and unfaithfulness. Why lets He me 
 Sin to the death to which He dooms me thus? 
 What if 1 lack the faith to fear His wrath ? 
 Can it be guilt in me that I lack that 
 Faith which I never had from Him at all? 
 
 Godard. 
 
 Nay, you have quite enough of that same faith 
 Given you. Not the gift of faith you lack; 
 That which you lack is will to take the gift. 
 Knowledge that God has made the world is faith 
 Given to you that He can mar it all : 
 Knowledge that none flee earthly death, which God 
 Doomed them, is faith that from Gehenna's death, 
 Doomed by the same God, none but those who seek 
 
i82 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Shelter in Christ will flee. You thus have all 
 Faith that you need to fear God given you. 
 Then, in your knowledge that He spares your life, 
 Clearly He gives you faith that He is love. 
 Therefore He gives you faith for loving Him, 
 Whilst He is giving faith to fear His wrath. 
 Either and much more both of these His gifts 
 Ought to have garred you pray for mind and heart 
 Thoroughly changed, and bent on what is right. 
 Surely the prayer would not have been unheard. 
 Why have you not so prayed? You nilled the gifts. 
 Is it a fitting thing that now you claim 
 Mercy and life from God in not His way, 
 But in your own? He gives them as He wills: 
 Yours is to take them, or by not His will 
 Die; but your sloth forbids your taking them. 
 They, as you know, would ask that you should live 
 Wholly to Him by strife with everything 
 Hindering you ; you rather choose awhile 
 Pleasure on earth, in living not to Him. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Sloth! then I scantly, brother, have understood you; 
 Scantly am understood by yourself. Pray listen. 
 Oft have I done amiss, but have wished and striven 
 Always to do aright. Do you mean to say that, 
 Though I have wished and striven to do my duty, 
 Death in Gehenna, utterest death, is doomed me, 
 So that I need, my life being lost, another 
 Rather than any mending of this my old life? 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Aarbert, although you mostly, I unn, have meant well, 
 Death is a wage well-earned by your sins ; you cannot 
 
BooKlJl.] AARBERT 183 
 
 Live by appeal to aeright.^ You nor have striven 
 Always with all your power to do the right; nor 
 Would it have aught availed you in thus appealing 
 That with your utmost power you so had striven. 
 Done have you not the right, as you were bidden. 
 God, who upholds His laws by a truth unswerving, 
 Neither will loosely let them be overleapt, nor 
 Weakly will give to any who overleaps one, 
 Even although that one be the lowest of them, 
 Right to a life by having overleapt none other. 
 Therefore for one deed wrong by you done, albeit 
 That were the only wrong one, and you in doing 
 That one had wished it right, and had even made it 
 Right to the mark itself of your best endeavour. 
 Lost is the life which God to you erst had given; 
 Since it has swerved aside from the utter rightness. 
 Biding in which alone it had then its being. 
 
 VIL 
 Aarbert and Godard. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Your reasons merely shift and backward draw 
 
 That bar athwart my mind of which I spoke; 
 
 Here stands it: why does God not give me heart 
 
 To ask of Him a better heart than mine? 
 
 I needed not the Bible's help to know 
 
 That seed of good lore, scattered by His love. 
 
 Falls some on good hearts, some on evil hearts. 
 
 But God made every heart; why made He not 
 
 All hearts quite good? or, since He made some bad, 
 
 How can He, being love and truth, hurl men 
 
 Bad-hearted into endless pain from fire 
 
 ' Justice (eternal right, from ' ae,' akin to Greek ati, always). 
 
i84 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Unending? Has He mercy less than mine? 
 No, therefore am I all the more amazed. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Aarbert! beware. You speak with breath of His, 
 
 Yet with a daring of unwisdom, which 
 
 His boundless love alone has length to span. 
 
 The goodness of our God, Who lets us live 
 
 From hour to hour, though sinners, overlaps 
 
 The range of sight, which is a speck in it. 
 
 To know His mercy we must know His might. 
 
 His holiness. His doings, and His deeds. 
 
 His knowledge, and things other dark to us. 
 
 All goodness known is He ; nay, more, from Him 
 
 And from His works our only knowledge comes 
 
 Of goodness, beauty, rightness, everything. 
 
 Not only throughly good are all His works. 
 
 They are the shapers of our thoughts of goodness. 
 
 When by your mercy's height you measure His 
 
 You merely show yours naught. And yet His truth 
 
 Is boundless as His mercy; and to keep 
 
 Them both as whole as did His utterness 
 
 Of goodness need. His fellow-feeling bore 
 
 The shame and pangs of Christ's death for our own. 
 
 He bore thus far with sin. You cannot rate 
 
 The cost to God of His forgiving men. 
 
 You said that He had made bad hearts. Oh, no! 
 
 He erst made nothing bad: He made man good. 
 
 But free to make himself at life's cost bad. 
 
 Some things He made for life and honour; some 
 
 Not so. You ask me wdiy He gave to man 
 
 A free will; why He gave to him the means, 
 
 Of knowing evil, at the cost of life 
 
 To one unfitted for the knowledge; wdiy 
 
 He, being good, let any evil be. 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 185 
 
 I know not by one hundredth thousandth why. 
 
 I know that evil is the bound of good ; 
 
 So that, by knowing evil, man knows good. 
 
 The shape of goodness is to man's eye made 
 
 Only by all the evil bounding it. 
 
 No eye but God's can trace it as it lies 
 
 Within its being's whole and uncarved block. 
 
 Moreover reason shows me that were naught 
 
 Evil there would be naught to bring forth much 
 
 Of goodness, such as mercy, help, and hope. 
 
 Were nothing wanted, nothing could be given. 
 
 Were there no depth, or toil, or ugliness. 
 
 There would be neither beauty, rest, nor height. 
 
 Indeed, man's very greatestness comes forth 
 
 Through evil, whilst he overcomes its might 
 
 By Christ's might, and in overcoming it 
 
 Arises through his manhood's death up e'en 
 
 To angel-likeness. Other good I know 
 
 From evil coming. Evils on the earth 
 
 Make up a glass, where man can see himself 
 
 In all his sin and in its hideousness. 
 
 They make up, too, a school for heaven-life. 
 
 In which man learns to loathe the sin, 
 
 And love the heaven-life. Thus evils, though 
 
 They boot not travellers to hell, are helps 
 
 To pilgrims who are going heavenward. 
 
 Are you of these? Be thankful for them then; 
 
 But if you say you are a castaway, 
 
 A Being made for meanest use, then thrown 
 
 Into the pit, a Being reft of hope, 
 
 I answer that your own mouth utters that 
 
 Doom to death hopeless ; for you heard it not 
 
 From God. Oh, Aarbert! fear your fear. Dare not 
 
 Mistrust the loving words of God to you : 
 
 ' Whoever comes to Me him will not I 
 
i86 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Cast out.' That word ' whoever ' clasps yourself. 
 
 So live that evil may be good to you ; 
 
 That good and evil, both of which alike 
 
 To some are curst, may reach you blest alike; 
 
 That coming from your Maker and your life 
 
 They neither of them may be death to you. 
 
 Thus evil undoes much of evil's work, 
 
 And is the light of hell around the shape 
 
 Of good, and is a worker forced of good; 
 
 But it was not by God made. Sin alone 
 
 Is evil sheer, and sin is the unmaking 
 
 Of that which He made good. Sin, sin alone 
 
 Is that which He made not. His long delay 
 
 In crushing it is lengthened life to sinners 
 
 That they may sue His mercy. He at last 
 
 Will crush both it and them, and whilst withal 
 
 They ask why He allows it. Even now 
 
 Is evil sinking into death, wherein 
 
 It will be quite stamped out; for Death will be 
 
 God's last foe crushed. Quit, quit it! You have 
 
 asked 
 Why, having left to man free will to do 
 Evil, He dooms its doers to the dread 
 Flame everlasting's everlasting pain. 
 Who gave your question? who has told you what 
 Gehenna is? What know you of the doom 
 Awaiting buried babes or men born witless? 
 Keep God's writ holy. Fear to hurt His name 
 Among men foolish to their own great hurt 
 By cutting to your fancy shapes from out 
 The warnings which He chose to leave as clouds. 
 He lacks not aid to clear. He wills the clouds. 
 He wills not that His words be stretched, drawn out, 
 And twisted into thread for being spun 
 To thoughts that have some other words as shapes. 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 187 
 
 This well we know, that whatsoever God 
 
 Does that is right. To know a deed as His 
 
 Is to be well assured that it is good. 
 
 For He is Holy, good, almighty, wise, 
 
 A loving Father, though avenging King. 
 
 Whatever God has written that is right. 
 
 But let us, since we know not well His deeds, 
 
 Nor all the meaning of some words of His, 
 
 Acknowledge that we know them ill. Enough, 
 
 That well we know Him in His sway love's self, 
 
 Yet all-geburning ^ lire to that great sin 
 
 Of trampling on His love's appeals for love! 
 
 We know the rack, the thumbscrew, and the fire 
 
 Of even priestly power; yet Christ who knew 
 
 Them all, and well knew what was hell, said, ' Fear 
 
 Not man; but I will show you whom to fear, 
 
 Fear Him who kills, and casts His slain down Hell; 
 
 Yea, fear ye Him ! ' They who fear not that Hell 
 
 Which surely as the grave will overtake 
 
 All sinners, and will end for some of them 
 
 In but Gehenna, would not fear a life 
 
 Of everlasting agony in flames; 
 
 Their thought of which would faint in recklessness. 
 
 Oh, brother, cavil not at God's high dooms, 
 
 Nor strive against Him, as a minnow might 
 
 Against Niagara, if swimming up 
 
 Its rapids, he by force would stop their flow, 
 
 And thus arrest the roaring waterfall. 
 
 Your asking rose from out of things less known 
 
 By you than those of the far Pleiades ; 
 
 And earth's unknowledge answers you right well. 
 
 All evil angels, all good beings, know 
 
 Him righteous ; but He clears Himself to none. 
 
 He makes it sure that sinners, by their own 
 
 ' All-consuming. 
 
i88 AARBERT \ [Book III. 
 
 In-witness stern, have well been told their guilt; 
 Although, by ceaseless hearing it, their heed 
 Has to the sound been deafened. Blasphemy 
 By fools, earth-brained like neats/ will in the pit 
 Be smothered in its stench as rottenness. 
 It will not shock the sweet air. Breathe it not. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I will no longer gainsay, I will take 
 Your teachings to my trust; I clearly see 
 That I must gain God's pardon and His peace, 
 And on His terms. If only I could gain them! 
 His terms you say are that I give up all 
 For Christ, as He has shared with me His all. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I cannot give it. Godard drives me on 
 
 Too quickly. Oh, my own mind, give me help — 
 
 Thy whole help! Where — where, after every change 
 
 Through which both thou and I have from without 
 
 Been driven, where, oh where, at last am I? 
 
 (My own mind, help me ; thou must help me now.) 
 
 By Godard's rating here, upon the flood 
 
 Where worldlings drowning lie in dreams of sin. 
 
 My life here floats within that ark of faith 
 
 Wherein, when christened, it was laid. It floats 
 
 Not light with ghostliness and needs must founder. 
 
 It is an ark-life in the Christian fleet. 
 
 And yet not of the fleet — not written down 
 
 As one belonging to the Hgel end's fleet — 
 
 That fleet of ark-lives whose one life is His, 
 
 ' Brute beasts (ne -}- wit). 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 189 
 
 This is it: where and what I am. Alas! 
 
 I dare not earthly die, nor can I live 
 
 In Christ-life ghostly; 1 must halt for thought. 
 
 IX. 
 
 GoDARD and Arnulph. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Your words have to your brother's inner self 
 Not pierced. They lie uncovered on his mind; 
 And there he shows them, as mere things to catch 
 An eye's glance. They have not within his own 
 Knowledge so sunken as to be your levers 
 For moving to one deed his settled will. 
 And yet he pines to have his will so moved. 
 
 GoDARD. 
 
 I know — I know it. God, and not poor I, 
 
 Can move him. But, dear Arnulph, we may move 
 
 Our God by Christ's prayers carrying our own. 
 
 And will you not, my brother in the Lord, 
 
 Pray for him? Do so; let us pray at once. 
 
 X. 
 
 Note. 
 
 The terms 'ark-life' and 'ark-fleet,' or 'ark-life-fleet,' which ap- 
 pear in the following ode, and in several others like it in the poem, 
 are, of course, not words, but technical phrases. The odes in which 
 they appear are written with imagery suggested by, rather than taken 
 from, the stories of the ark of bulrushes in which Moses was laid 
 when an infant, and of Noah's ark. In the imagery every Christian 
 is a human being who has been placed by the baptismal covenant in 
 an ark of life, floating over the world's sin-death-flood, and floating 
 as an ark-life distinct from all its fellows, yet being within an ark- 
 life-fleet. Throughout this fleet there is but one real life : it is that 
 of Christ, its captain, and in the baptismal covenant the Christian 
 vows that he will receive Christ into his whole ark of life-being, so 
 
igo AARBERT [Book 111. 
 
 that his life shall l)e wholly a part of Christ's. If the vow is fulfilled 
 by the Christian, his ark-life floats buoyant over the flood of sin, 
 and its name is entered on the book of life in the ark-fleet. If the 
 vow is not fulfilled, the ark-life founders sooner or later. 
 
 The ark-life-fleet floats until the flood has passed away, although 
 the captain, of whose life it consists, has gone before to the New 
 World, and the ark-lives, which are not only in, but of the ark-life- 
 fleet, pass one after another to Him in that world. In the mean- 
 while, the people of this world are floating with pleasure in their 
 flood of sin-death, until they sink in it one after another. Each ark 
 is imagined to be furnished with two hopes — one a raven, as worldly 
 hope, and the other a dove, as hope heavenly. 
 
 I need hardly say that in the Bible Noah's ark, and its human in- 
 mates, really represent the Christ-life in the world of all nominal 
 Christians together. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Where am I? what am I? 
 
 A hopeless, hapless 
 
 Wretch floating 
 
 Upon the flood of sin-death here, 
 
 As its waters brood over the pit of Gehenna, 
 
 Bottomless ! 
 
 Floating within an ark, 
 
 Faith-built and woven 
 
 Once at the christening of me! 
 
 Floating as an ark-life 
 
 Amid the fleet of life, 
 
 The H«l end's life; 
 
 But not as of it! 
 
 A wretch estranged from God, — 
 
 Far from forgiveness — 
 
 Without peace with God made. 
 
 Hast thou then 
 
 Left me quite, Peace from God? 
 
 In childhood asleep as in guiltlessness 
 
 I kept thee; 
 
 In manhood I awoke and found thee gone. 
 
Book 111] AARBERT 191 
 
 A wave of worldly trouble 
 
 Had overflowed me! 
 
 Then I straightway sent for thee 
 
 A dark hope, a raven — 
 
 For thee, my childhood's peace, for thee — 
 
 For thee — it was a raven 
 
 Which I in manhood sent for thee! 
 
 She brought thee not, nor came she back. 
 
 I knew not why, and wondered much; 
 
 Watching, peering, looking long-while, 
 
 Till I— 
 
 I looked within me. What? 
 
 Nay, merely a speckle of sin's mud ! 
 
 It seemed a speck, and next to naught of it. 
 
 I now know that man's flesh is earth all. 
 
 And that whene'er there is a leak 
 
 In his ark-life of bulrushes 
 
 The life is all a mess of mud. 
 
 But Httle knew I then of that; 
 
 And, as to my wee sin, ' Bah! 
 
 I will rid me of the speckle.' And I 
 
 Blew at it jauntily 
 
 With a breathing of ritual. 
 
 And then I vowed to wash it from me, 
 
 Or forfeit all my hope of heaven. 
 
 But I washed it with the sin-flood, 
 
 And it fouler than ever was. 
 
 ' Sorrower ! sorrower ! 
 
 Hast thou no other 
 
 Hope yet left thee? ' 
 
 * What is thy name, oh breath of heaven? ' 
 
 * My name is Peace ; my breath the Gospel ; 
 
 My bidding, send the dove, that hope, oh, send her. 
 That dove to fetch me! ' 
 I thanked thee, 
 
192 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Breath of peace wilned!^ 
 
 I saw that all my worldly troubles 
 
 Were but the foam-sheet of a flood 
 
 Of sin-death, 
 
 Which was over the pit of Gehenna beneath me; 
 
 And fain I sent that hope 
 
 Forth on the errand. 
 
 Over the death-flood flew the dove, 
 
 Alas! meanwhile 
 
 My heart shrank back 
 
 From Him Who holds 
 
 And gives thee, Peace! 
 
 Therefore He withheld from me the pledge of thee 
 
 Lovingly, faithfully: thou wouldst 
 
 Fain have o'er the billows to my breast come; 
 
 But to my proud mind 
 
 There could be no peace. 
 
 I love my will, I love the world, 
 
 I love my pleasures more than God. 
 
 I willen - not Christ live in me. 
 
 Nor will to float buoyant with ghostliness. 
 
 Thou canst not come. 
 
 The dove went, she came back, without thee. 
 
 Woe! woe! woe! 
 
 My hope, lo, has come back without one 
 
 Token of thee, or a token 
 
 Of my fleeing the sin-death. 
 
 My mind is sinful, and it willens not thee. 
 
 Thou mayst not come, 
 
 Until I shall be Christ's. Oh, thou must 
 
 Stay away, stay from me. 
 
 This bale have I to thole 
 
 Until then. 
 
 Naught has been left to me now, naught 
 
 ' Desired (participle of to wiln or willen). - Desire. 
 
Book III. J AARBERT 193 
 
 But to be forsaken by thee thus quite, 
 
 Until then. 
 
 Woe! woe! woe! 
 
 Therefore from me stay, thou calm, blest, 
 
 Dweller in Paradise! stay from me. 
 
 And must thou not come? 
 
 Oh, must thou stay? Peace! 
 
 Still aloof! 
 
 It must be, thou must 
 
 Leave me to my earned lot. No ! 
 
 It must be, thou must 
 
 Stay away, stay from me. 
 
 Leave me to my earned lot, no ! 
 
 Shunnest thou my life, then? 
 
 Lost, lost, lost. 
 
 Lost life! 
 
 Dark clouds lour now; 
 
 Wild waves roll high; 
 
 Death is from between their lips 
 
 Yawning for me, but 
 
 My hope abides; 
 
 And all that is within me pants for thee. 
 
 Oh, Peace with God, my God. 
 
 XL 
 
 Aarbert and Godard. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 You are unhappy, Aarbert! for you want 
 A feeling of forgiveness and of peace. 
 You will not steal the feeling, as do some : 
 You will not cheat yourself. You are too true 
 To bless yourself with feelings of a peace. 
 Not given you by God; but when He says. 
 
t94 AARBERT [Book HI. 
 
 ' Come, and in Christ have peace,' you shrink from 
 
 Him. 
 You want forgiveness in the sin you keep 
 Of standing ofif from Christ; your want is bold. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I cannot give my fleshly mind up. I 
 Am flesh, and flesh is worldly; and to give 
 •It and the world up were to give up life. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 It were to take up, not to give up, life. 
 Your life you have already given up. 
 My brother! you are dying at this hour. 
 
 XII. 
 Aarbert (a letter). 
 
 Godard! if all men are sinners, and God l^e so true to 
 His law's threat. 
 How, having threatened to men death if they ever 
 should sin. 
 Still has He choice left whether to slay them or not at 
 the doomsday? 
 If He forgive them the death, death will they never 
 have had. 
 
 Godard (a letter of reply). 
 
 Oh ! how oft shall I tell you that God not threatens us 
 
 death now? 
 Men have already the death ; new is the life that He 
 
 gives. 
 Never forgives He a sin unpunished, although He is 
 
 Love's self; 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 195 
 
 Oft has He said that He clears never the guilty at 
 all. 
 That same death which in Eden to Adam and Eve He 
 had threatened 
 Came to them there. In their first sin did their 
 dying begin : 
 So that their children are born sin-loving, unmaying 
 avoid sin, 
 All of them sinking in that death which to Adam 
 was doomed. 
 Christ to them now gives life. Their first life lost is 
 for ever. 
 Not that life is the one now to them given by Him. 
 Not as in that life earthy and weak will they live in the 
 new life; 
 But will as children of God live in it likened to 
 Christ. 
 As they moreover have now not threat of a death, but 
 the death's self, 
 So have they now life's gift rather than hope of the 
 gift. 
 He by His death to the flesh and its sinlove e'en from 
 His birth's hour 
 Never to God's stern law forfeited life of His own. 
 So that with life in Himself, He, as being the children 
 of Adam, 
 Died, whilst also as God keeping His heavenly life. 
 This is the life by Him given to those who are shar- 
 ing His flesh-death, 
 God's life, which in His own to them comes by a 
 birth from the Great God. 
 Having a share in His deaths, they are dead to the 
 world and to sin now, 
 Whilst they are now in Him born newly as children 
 of God. 
 
196 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Like seeds sown do they die; but their dying will end 
 at the edrist.^ 
 Like sown seeds do they live; then will their life 
 have a shape. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Is it so that Christ has died my death and given 
 
 Life to me even His for ever? 
 Is it so that, since I now am one with Jesus, 
 
 God is to me as Him a Father? 
 Is it so that, I shall soon, as one with Jesus, 
 
 Share in His joy and all His Glory? 
 Is it so that, I am heir to better things than 
 
 Eye ever saw, or ear heard ever? 
 Heir to things so great and good, that mind has never 
 
 Wrought them by thought to hoped for Being? 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Like as a man who in sleep walks down some cliff to 
 its last ledge. 
 There is awaked; stands, looks upward, afraid to 
 go back; 
 Looks with as great fear downward; sees where les- 
 sening neath him 
 Rocks are as pebbles; and where billows, as 
 dimples of smiles, 
 Mock at his dread of a leap down; even as he in his 
 wanhope ^ 
 Crouches, arouses his strength, springs from the 
 ledge of the rock 
 
 ' Resurrection. '^ Despair (want of hope). 
 
Book III.] AARBERT 197 
 
 Into the sky, falls clear of the steep's crags, strikes on 
 the deep sea, 
 Sinks in it, climbs it, and swims; so in my wan- 
 dering waked, 
 I from my pride's high perch will leap to the mercy 
 beneath me; 
 Will in the foam of that sea fathomless swim for my 
 life. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I cannot take my stay away from earth, 
 • Although the stay be merely on a ledge 
 Jutting from out a grudging clifif's dead wall. 
 It is the only stay that I can feel. 
 I cannot slack my hold of that, nor leap 
 By faith from all on which I here so rest. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Milda, my Milda! more than ever lorn 
 
 And worsted am I. I have left one half 
 
 Of what I was. Undone are half my old 
 
 Thoughts of things. Half of what I had been built 
 
 Is loosed from that knit wholeness which was I; 
 
 And, lo! I am another man, with yet 
 
 My old self barring my new self's whole life. 
 
 I feel that I must flee earth's death, and cannot. 
 
 I cannot quit my hold of earth ; nor 
 
198 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Why flee you? Wherefore quit you aught of earth's 
 
 But that which is unrightful in it? What! 
 
 Are not earth's rightful pleasures given us 
 
 To love? May not we give our hearts to them? 
 
 To taste them with no zest of hungriness 
 
 Is, as it seems to me, to slight their Giver. 
 
 Says Godard then indeed that you should quit 
 
 Tight hold of earth's love, and love something else 
 
 Better than what has here been given us ; 
 
 And that the Gospel asks this? I must unn 
 
 His Gospel is to me all foolishness. 
 
 But, no; I must be foolishness to it. 
 
 He is so good! I often talk with him 
 
 Apart from you ; for then to my short sight 
 
 He nearer brings the showings of his lore. 
 
 In what he now has said to you I see 
 
 Mist merely; I enjoy the lovely world 
 
 With thanks ; and love it, love its people all ; 
 
 Nor know I aught that I can better love. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 He would have said that you may like this world; 
 But so much more must love things heavenly, 
 That unto these alone on earth you live. 
 Now that is what I cannot, cannot do. 
 Milda, I must again have talk with him. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Godard is still in London; for his ship 
 Has to be chosen, and his outfit bought. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Then thither nmst I write to him again. 
 
BooKlir.] AARBERT 199 
 
 XVII. 
 
 GoDARD {a letter). 
 
 OneneSvS with Christ does indeed mean all that you 
 say; but of all that 
 Nought can within you be wrought but by His 
 working it out. 
 Go to Him even in this your lack of it, go to Him 
 straightway ; 
 Ask it, and ask Him to come w^orking it out in your 
 heart. 
 What! is it harder to yield you to Christ than to Hell? 
 You have yet choice. 
 Will you be Satan's or Christ's? Will you to 
 heaven or hell? 
 Whence is the frowardness, brother! that so much 
 hinders your taking 
 Pardon, that hinders your thus yielding you wholly 
 to Christ? 
 Lust of the flesh and the eye are, with life's pride, out- 
 come of fiesh-life; 
 Flesh-life never is aught else than a hatred of God. 
 Up to this hour has it grown in you ; now is upgrow- 
 ing your ghost-life ; 
 Therefore do these two growths struggle within you 
 for sway. 
 Either the one or the other may thrive; but they both 
 of them cannot ; 
 Thrift of them both in you means thrift of the life of 
 the flesh. 
 Flesh-life's tree is a life-tree sprung from the earth - 
 ness of Adam; 
 Christ-life's rather a tree sprung from the ghostness 
 of God. 
 
200 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Flesh-life's tree is a bramble that bears sin's thorns. 
 You may prune them; 
 Others will grow in their stead. Kill them by kill- 
 ing the tree. 
 Let at the root of your fliesh-life Christ-life grow; and 
 the Christ-life, 
 Fed on your heart's love there, quickly will starve 
 it to death. 
 Pruning the thorns from the bad tree whilst it is thriv- 
 ing is far more 
 Painful than starving the tree, wasting its life at the 
 root. 
 Death to yourself and the world will be pleasant as 
 soon as you feel life 
 Heavenly thrilling your heart,, filling you wholly 
 with joy. 
 Ask for the life, and at once, why linger in going to 
 God's throne? 
 Ask it, and pray Christ come working its growth in 
 your heart. 
 List to the call of the Haelend, ' Come to me! Bide in 
 me ! ' Let Christ 
 Bide in you! Surely He gives power to do what 
 He bids. 
 
 xvin. 
 
 Aarbert and Godard. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh! Godard, how can I ask that from God 
 Which, were it given to me, I should hate? 
 I should in asking for it feel the prayer 
 Unheard. My brother, help me. ' Ask,' you say, 
 * For will to love God; ask for heavenly life.' 
 I oft have asked, and am without them still. 
 
Book 111.] AARBERT 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Ask then again and yet again, and till 
 Doing so proves that asking wins them yours. 
 Never has God turned off a suitor meek, 
 Who for His Holy Ghost's most needed help 
 Prayed, if he waited that for which he prayed. 
 Never has Christ, Who pleads for man, cast out 
 Any who came to Him for help in prayer. 
 Therefore, my brother, you must ask, still ask 
 God for His gifts, and wait to have them; nay, 
 Ask for a faith that they are yours ; for yours 
 Surely they are, w^hen you with faith thus ask. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I will, I W'ill thus ask Him as you bid. 
 But leave me not just now; I lean on you; 
 And if you take from me your priesthood's stay, 
 The upgrowth of my heavenward life will all 
 Be from its climbing spilt upon the ground; 
 And as a pool of w^avy leaves wall lie. 
 Like a tall ivy wrenched from off the oak 
 To which its thousand weaknesses had clung. 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 My brother, hear and heed these words of mine. 
 If not one other breathed by me you heed, 
 Yet heed for ever these my words to you. 
 Lean not on me, or any arm of flesh. 
 For cursed is the man who trusts in man. 
 In angel or in aught of heaven's or earth's, 
 Instead of trusting in the Lord his God. 
 I am a Prest,^ an Elder, not more priest 
 Than other Christians are. God pours His gifts 
 
 ' Presbyter (see p. 41). 
 
202 AARBERT [Book III. 
 
 Into the very hand of every man 
 
 Who trusts in Him through Jesus Christ our Lord. 
 
 There is between God's Son and every man 
 
 Who takes Him as his High Priest, no mid-Priest. 
 
 All they who boast as middle Priests to stand 
 
 Betwixt them are mere priests of Antichrist. 
 
 Their boast is that of pride, e'en Satan's sin. 
 
 I pray you loathe from your soul innermost 
 
 All such mid-priesthood. But moreover loathe 
 
 Priestcraft. It is the craft of Satan's self. 
 
 True Christians all are Priests; and pray down gifts 
 
 Through Christ, in measure of their faith in Him, 
 
 Or for their own or for each other's needs. 
 
 You know that I am bidden go abroad 
 
 For health. I cannot stay to teach you more. 
 
 Lean, lean on Christ, Who is the one High Priest 
 
 Of all our priesthood, whether we be Prests ^ 
 
 Or not; and set you running free some thoughts 
 
 Which I have left you. Hunt them to their homes; 
 
 And where they lead you, you perhaps may catch 
 
 What knowledge God would give you. Pray to Him: 
 
 And search His book. Aarbert, I fear for you. 
 
 Poor men and children, men unskilled to read. 
 
 Heathens, and even outcasts oft are found 
 
 Dying to self, to Satan, and the world, 
 
 And to God living. Proud men, worldly-wise. 
 
 And rich men, too, are found so doing; but — 
 
 But only as a wonder-work God-wrought. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Yet pray for me, dear Godard! will you so? 
 
 GODARD. 
 
 Yea, with my heart's heart will I. 
 
 ' Presbyters. 
 
Book 111.] AARBERT 203 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, that my love's look might with thy truth, bright 
 sunflower! henceforth 
 Follow the lead of the light beaming from heaven 
 above ! 
 Oh, that the hues which my God's love would to me 
 give as His own were 
 Over and into me now wrought by the speech of 
 His light. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Aarbert (a letter). 
 
 So have you left us at last? 
 
 Yet wisely went you, dearest Brother, 
 Off to a sunnier clime. 
 
 May health on balmy breezes meet you ! 
 Since we are parted by seas 
 
 Which nill that words of mine should cross them, 
 Look in your heart for my thanks; 
 
 Our hearts are one still : Read my thanks there. 
 But from your foreign abode 
 
 Look hither, too: in home's sky hovers 
 Light from the hearths of its love; 
 
 Whence rays, as star-beams, track the truant's 
 Every step, to await 
 
 Their being by his look found faithful. 
 Talk with me much by the ships. 
 
 Your flight has left a gap which nothing 
 Earthly can fill, and a blank 
 
 On which can naught of earth's be written. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 WORLDLY LIFE AND CHRISTIAN LIFE CROSSING 
 EACH OTHER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 What thoughts did Godard leave me? One of them 
 
 Looks sternly at me to be called to mind. 
 
 It is that I, a man of fleshy soul, 
 
 Must have new birth, and be a ghostly man; 
 
 If I would flee the fire which is at last 
 
 To burn things earthly up with earth itself. 
 
 This is a sword-girt thought that will not brook ^ 
 
 My slight — a thought, pushing, that stidhly - holds 
 
 Its large claim forth. Another thought of His 
 
 Looks frowning from behind it, and thence shows 
 
 That I must, as a ghostly man — a man 
 
 Of Christ-kind, not of Adam-kind, live dead 
 
 To this doomed world, the Devil, and the flesh. 
 
 Dear Godard ! These his thoughts ask much of me. 
 
 Now let me count the cost of what they ask : 
 
 My having not on earth, but up in heaven 
 
 My home, and having there my chiefest wealth ; 
 
 My being here a pilgrim, with my soul 
 
 And body held by Christ; my being dead 
 
 From fellow-feeling in their worldly life 
 
 With many whom I love and daily meet, 
 
 Until my life becomes rebuke of theirs ; 
 
 ' Endure. '^ Resolutely. 
 
 204 
 
Hook IV.] AARBERT 205 
 
 My drinking with numbed taste the sweets of earth 
 
 And relishing but heaven's. To pay these costs 
 
 Were death indeed to all that now I am. 
 
 How any man can pay them cheerfully 
 
 I know not. Some men do so. Godard does. 
 
 He seems, and what he seems he is, quite happy. 
 
 Nay, more, it is from out the paying them 
 
 That springs his happiness. The thing is strange. 
 
 I wonder whether I shall ever know 
 
 By some means how the paying them is done 
 
 Without a pain, which evens that great deed 
 
 With loss of earthly life. But not to pay 
 
 These great costs is to pay the greater ones 
 
 Of loss of heaven, and of life for ever. 
 
 Must one or other set of costs be paid? 
 
 It must. I cannot pay these fearful costs. 
 
 I must pay one or other of them — which? 
 
 I was at ease when once I knew them not, 
 
 Nor thought of them: I was in worldly peace 
 
 When I was worldly. Would I then go back 
 
 To earth-life, sleeping into hell? No — yet 
 
 n. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Thought! I fear to let thee lead my mind 
 
 Through thy caverns hollow; 
 Though thou whisper I shall 'yond them find 
 
 Sunshine if I follow. 
 When in answer to thy words I say, 
 
 ' Lead! I will be braver; ' 
 Though I, fain to quit my wonted way, 
 
 Would and will, I waver. 
 
2o6 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 Thought! I fear thee. Show me what is right; 
 
 Need be that the rightest? 
 Though thou brighten for me what is bright, 
 
 Must thou make it brightest? 
 When from ofif my wonted ways I rise 
 
 Briskly at thy rally, 
 Though I fain, as willing to be wise, 
 
 Walk with thee, I dally. 
 
 Thought ! I fear thy roughness and thy zeal ; 
 
 Fear thy haste, thy power. 
 Though in pushing me thou wouldst my weal, 
 
 Pushed, I sink, I cower. 
 When thou raisest me to hurry me 
 
 Into caverns hollow. 
 Though I rise, it is to fight thee, flee; 
 
 Then I thee would follow. 
 
 III. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Where, whence, whither am I? Oh! I am backwardly 
 Near, more near to a steep's treachery staggering. 
 How soon sunk have I down thus to be grovelling 
 Here, whence wisdom awhile beckoned me up with 
 
 her! 
 How short while from my youth's pathway of earthli- 
 
 ness 
 Faith's wings bore me aloft up to my heaven-home ! 
 Blocked paths stay me, alas! here, as I heavenward 
 Climb God's mountain afoot. Faith would have 
 
 carried me 
 Past those blocks had I dared trusting myself to her. 
 Dared quite slacking my grasp's hold of the world be- 
 neath. 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 207 
 
 IV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Dragged from flight heavenward on faith's wing down 
 To crawl up over earth-love's hill of rocks, 
 
 I shall yet sing that I, as ghost, have flown 
 Again by faith high over all earth's blocks. 
 
 And between whiles shall be my song: ' Thrice blessed 
 Is he who nigh to heaven, like the lark, 
 
 Floats on bright sunbeams o'er his earthy nest. 
 Until from death's dark thunder-clouds a spark 
 
 ' Parts his two selves, and they asunder bound. 
 The high-born up, and to, the realms above; 
 
 Down the self low-born to the nether ground — 
 Each thither where its home and country are.' 
 
 Oh ! the thought cheers me, that I not as yet, 
 
 Although by earth-love down-drawn, am enthralled 
 
 Whilst my heart's wishes are on freedom set, 
 Whilst I by bondage am but chafed and galled. 
 
 V. 
 MiLDA and Aarbert. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 So early from the feast! Not yet had I 
 At all of time thought. I had left to you 
 To bring me your return's time — (This I see 
 Has outrun that of my mind's watch) 
 And was in restful pleasure, midst my work 
 Beholding you, as you were soon to come 
 With a quick step befitting brows that bore 
 
2o8 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 A wreath of flowers from the evening's mirth, 
 Or, that at least, brought back the sunny joy 
 Which, when you left a sunset to your wife, 
 You carried with you glowing with her love 
 Off to the supper with your merry friends. 
 Where have you hidden now that wreath, or those 
 Bright rosy looks? I see not one of them. 
 You must have been at some great gathering 
 Of lofty minds, and caught its show of height; 
 Or else you would not stand there, like a mount 
 At mid-day; which, with collar of linked clouds 
 And look of smothered thunder-rolls of care 
 Anent the world's weal, cannot see the glance, 
 That out of the poor sunny home beneath 
 With all its might yet idly courts his heed. 
 If down from some great Witenagemot 
 You now have not come, why that knitted brow? 
 Why so? my husband! wherefore so? I pray. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 From not above, but from beneath I come, 
 
 My Milda! when I into this my home 
 
 Bring clouds; and when I bring them so indeed 
 
 They dwindle, trust me, and then quickly dwin ^ 
 
 Beneath your loving heart's rebuke of them. 
 
 Your sunny joy, which cannot steadfastly 
 
 Behold awhile the darkness of my gloom 
 
 Ought not to catch a knowledge of it, whilst 
 
 It flees and hastes to hide its dismalness. 
 
 I tell you, sweetest darling! that my foot 
 
 In stepping o'er my threshold carries me 
 
 From a dark, sulphurous and busy mine 
 
 To daylight's freshness blowing still o'er time 
 
 ' Vanish. 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 209 
 
 From off my childhood in my mother's home. 
 
 It hfts me upward to a heaven of peace, 
 
 And trust, and knowledge free from evil's touch; 
 
 And sets me treading upon holy ground. 
 
 Lo ! gone is now the gloom ; and with my head 
 
 Uncovered with that ugly cap will I 
 
 Say where and how I got it. We had dined : 
 
 My friends had drunk much wine, which loosed in 
 
 each 
 The arrow of his bow's bent; fun and wine 
 Filled all. I shunned the grape; and being stung 
 With wish to preach to them of heaven's worth 
 And better things than were their best, said, ' Friends ! 
 The guild, to speed which we have met to-day. 
 Was framed on wisdom's plan by freedom's leave; 
 How much we owe to freedom ! ' ' Much ! ' they cried ; 
 And so we praised it. They sang songs with jokes 
 That told the goodness of all kinds of freedom; 
 Whilst I, much loathing some of these, yet needs 
 Sate listing. Now we sang in turn at call ; 
 And as the call fiew round and came to me 
 I caught it; then I hurled through air this strain: 
 
 Song. 
 
 Breeze of evetiing! born of freedom. 
 
 Tarry, prithee; take my lays; 
 These to light, and those to darkness, 
 
 Carry whither wend thy ways. 
 
 Light! abide on lands of freemen, 
 
 Cover them with glories all! 
 Night! above the homes of bondmen 
 
 Hover like a dead man's pall! 
 
 But how shall the light, if both it see, 
 
 Know which are the bond, and which the free? 
 
■o AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 And how shall the black-eyed night, too, tell 
 Where freemen abide, and bondmen dwell? 
 
 Say thou the free, O breeze! are men 
 Whose lives away from folly's fen 
 Flow forth like rivers quick and bright, 
 That, filled to lowest depths with light. 
 Are mirrors whereon all descry 
 The pattern of things heavenly. 
 And there they live, O Light, where seen 
 Are men arrayed in heaven's sheen. 
 
 Then say, the bondmen are, O breeze! 
 
 The men whose lives of luxe and ease 
 
 Are each one like a reedy pond 
 
 That tells of earth and nought beyond. 
 
 Their pools, their place, their sleep, their slough. 
 
 Are for their highest hopes enow: 
 
 And where men live in pleasure's graves 
 
 There know thou. Night! where dwell the slaves. 
 
 {End of Song.) 
 
 My friends, who restlessly had heard my song, 
 Stoned it with jeers ^ slung out by voices strong. 
 But they asked for another, if fitlier sung; 
 To the winds then I this for it heartily flung. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Fly, O freedom! tell thy lover 
 Where thou dwellest on the earth. 
 
 Cry that in his heart thou lodgest — 
 There, and there in only worth. 
 
 ., 1 Mock-cheers, ironical cheers. 
 
Book IV. ] AARBER T 211 
 
 Men unworthy say their freedom 
 
 Dwells in laws. Where dwelleth she 
 
 When to change the laws each freeman 
 Sells himself if bribed he be? 
 
 Bribes will buy the man of pleasure 
 
 My friends here stopped me. They misliked e'en 
 
 more 
 What now I sang than what I sang before; 
 And whilst some cried, 'Your preaching, Aarbert! 
 
 cease,' 
 Old Bradwater began a song for peace. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Our mirth, O master! prithee spare 
 
 Whatever woe betide, 
 To-morrow be the day for care; 
 
 To-night the feast abide! 
 If even now you let us patch 
 
 On mirth's imwelcome rent 
 A rag of peace, its nearest match, 
 
 We all shall be content. 
 The morrow we will then put off 
 
 To quite another day; 
 For day as well as night should scoff 
 
 At care's arrest of play. 
 
 He stopped. You stop, said I, ^00 soon: 
 Thus ends the song of the buffoon : 
 
 ' The time will come, alas! alas! 
 
 When stayed shall be the feast; 
 And when both day and night shall pass 
 
 In care or thought at least.' 
 
2 12 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 And, friends, e'en now what peace have ye? 
 What peace belongs to you or me? 
 Are want, and woe, and wastings wan. 
 And ache, and plague, the peace of man? 
 
 Then Clegge, or if not he, I know not who. 
 Rose shouting loudly and with thick speech too : 
 ' Down with this bother all and wretched strife ! 
 Preacher, hence ! troubler of the feast of life ! ' 
 Next rose up Wrohtly. This man, once afraid 
 To speak one word before me, grimly said: 
 ' His zeal is burning with a dullish haze, 
 But with some chafing's heat to give it blaze. 
 The bankrupt will behave most merrily, 
 And this good feast shall then go pleasantly.' 
 Whereto I answered, having stared agape, 
 ' I take my speech off, but I leave its shape. 
 These drunkards know that I no longer here 
 Have house or land, but am a steward mere.' 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Poor Aarbert! Now, in looking on your wound, 
 I too have one; and mine is taught by pain 
 Much wisdom, which its lips are opened wide 
 To preach : what ! if the wisdom be as cheap 
 And thin as air ; the weightless air you know 
 Has more than gold's worth to the life of man. 
 So listen to the speech your little wife's 
 Poor fellow wound in meekness makes to you. 
 When into folly's clump of trees you walked. 
 And standing in its midst began to notch 
 The sickly boughs there with a pocket-knife, 
 Whilst yet within the clump a drunken wind 
 Of revel raged with force enough itself 
 To snap all boughs too weakly, did the trees 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 213 
 
 Not after well-known manner of the earth 
 
 In hurling at your head those wounded boughs, 
 
 Which so were driven by the gusty wind? 
 
 But oh, my husband! had you to that clump 
 
 Been called to do the work you took on you, 
 
 With nor fit tools, nor skill in woodman's craft, 
 
 Nor smiltness ^ from the hour which ruled your task? 
 
 The whole wide field had begged you choose your 
 
 path: 
 Its Lord had never given you or charge 
 Or means to lop the boughs of those His trees: 
 And was it wise in you, my husband dear! 
 To make your way to that one clump, to cut 
 Its sickly branches to the heart, and stand 
 Beneath its wrath, when, by the gusty wind 
 Hard pressed, it was so likely to seek ease 
 In hurling at your head that deadness which 
 Your knife's unfeeling edge was marking out? 
 Have not you badly wrought another's work 
 At your own hiring, and at wages large 
 Of only sorrow paid you by yourself? 
 
 VL 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Yes, for work wrought and even overwrought. 
 And by which taunts to me and jeers were brought. 
 Grief in full pay was not the wage I sought 
 
 Or wished, poor me! 
 
 Well was once said of me, ' Ah ! overmuch 
 Righteous, how strains he to achieve by touch 
 Work of long lifetime ! not a strain for such 
 
 As him ' — as me ! 
 
 ' Fairness of weather (smilingness). 
 
2 14 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 I shall heed less all other people's weal, 
 And with old Time shall also mildly deal; 
 Freely he grants what from his grasp no zeal 
 
 Can wrench — ah, me! 
 
 Time, who frets fetters, ay! and rocks away. 
 Time shall crush all that would my climbing stay; 
 Time shall work out for me by night and day 
 
 My task — for me! 
 
 VIL 
 MiLDA and Aarbert. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Ah ! Aarbert, we had not too many friends 
 
 To lose! and this new quarrel with our kith ^ 
 
 For sake of righteousness will cost us loss 
 
 Of some of them. It may to me cost those 
 
 Few buds of better life that bloomed in me; 
 
 I feel the bloom much withered by this blast 
 
 Of winterness. But those poor buds of hope 
 
 Had, I acknowledge, merely in me bloomed 
 
 On staves of thought cut green from Godard's talk, 
 
 And driven into my mind's fallow ground: 
 
 They therefore were but sickly. Had they there 
 
 Been blooming on young trees of rooted life, 
 
 They would have lived throughout this nipping frost. 
 
 And would have thriven rather than have thus 
 
 Been by the wintry witherwardness ^ killed. 
 
 I fear that e'en in both of us the glow 
 
 Which had been forcing better life is chilled. 
 
 ' Acquaintances. '^ Opposition. 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 215 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Fear nought, till it has come out of the shell of it. 
 Lo! lads, into a wood passing at eventide, 
 See trees standing as fierce robbers in wait for them, 
 Hear leaves rustling, and catch some of their shiver- 
 
 ings. 
 Lo! men, passing at night fearfully, haltingly, 
 Churchyards, spy in their nooks things the unearth- 
 
 liest, 
 Mild gleams, flashed from the moon, seem to them 
 
 glyderings.^ 
 Fear nought. Evil is far; shadows are near to us. 
 
 Fear nought, till you have learnt whether you need to 
 
 fear. 
 Lo! wrecked sailors in boats mid the Atlantic's swell. 
 Faint, fagged, hungry, athirst, row in affright whither 
 Some good ship is unseen coming with help to them. 
 Lo! brave soldiers throughout hundreds of battle- 
 fields 
 Live, though many a wild bullet has shrieked for 
 
 them. 
 Death shrinks oft from the bold, seizes the cowardly. 
 Fear nought. Evil is strong; stronger your will may 
 be. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Your words are cheery ; yet I fear we both 
 Have slidden ofif from Godard's trust in God ; 
 And in ourselves are trusting now the most. 
 When self in us is showing least of stay. 
 Forgive! I should have said that I had slipped. 
 
 '^Apparitions. 
 
2i6 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 VIIL 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Watching, self-curbing, into training putting 
 Deed and thought, I shall be for heaven fitter; 
 And by this strength-work of my ghostly powers 
 
 I, as they grow great, 
 
 Shall in their might up to the block which barred my 
 Heavenward climbing — to the block which time is 
 Crumbling, rush forward; and the rush shall sweep 
 me 
 
 Over its hindrance. 
 
 IX. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 A crafty plan as well as righteous this is 
 
 Of doing strength-work as the means of climbing 
 
 With greater ease the uphill of an earthly 
 
 Life toward heaven. Better plan than Godard's ! 
 
 For by it climb I by a circling pathway. 
 
 With surest speed, at not the cost of flying 
 
 On wing of faith from of¥ the earth's stay wholly. 
 
 X. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 After all said, and after many thoughts 
 Anent this world and life here, I have come 
 To this gethought: ^ These worldly men on whom 
 I have been looking down from Godard's clouds, 
 Although not living high above this earth 
 In clouds as he does, nor like me on earth 
 
 ' Opinion (summed thought). 
 
Book TV.] AARBERT 217 
 
 More wisely living by the rules of training, 
 
 Are quite as good as he, and better men, 
 
 More loving and more cheerful than myself; 
 
 Broad-minded men are they, great-hearted men, 
 
 Men so unsparing of allowance large 
 
 And lofty, that they reckon naught as wry, 
 
 Or evil in the hungry commonwealth, 
 
 Unless it be such thing as robbery, 
 
 False witness, murder, or adultery. 
 
 That Hell ! why even its mere whispered name 
 
 Is to their goodness shocking; as a thing 
 
 Which has a hateful evil-willing look. 
 
 Yes, yes, they are more hopeful men than I, 
 
 More loving and more worthy to be loved. 
 
 Their hearts send all men with themselves to heaven 
 
 And not a line is there that tells of guilt 
 
 In all that story-book of pleasant thoughts, 
 
 Which at a glance is read from off their round 
 
 Mirth-kindling wholesome faces, no, not one. 
 
 Sadness and gloom! Ye sins in long black cloaks, 
 
 Who came to me as mourners for my sins, 
 
 Avaunt! Ye much dishonour Godliness, 
 
 Whose face is cheerful. But not thou, avaunt, 
 
 bright world, I have lately rated thee 
 A sandy waste with green oases stocked; 
 
 1 see thee now an Eden full of fruit 
 
 Scarce aught of it forbidden. Could I spurn 
 
 Those charming forecasts and those brightest hopes 
 
 That freshly crown each dawning day of thine. 
 
 The noon-like riot of thine earnest life. 
 
 And all thy lore, which, as a sunset sky. 
 
 Shows back in every shape and glowing hue 
 
 The glory of thy life of burning deeds? 
 
 Could I forswear thee, oh, thou ever new 
 
 And young world ! world of revelry and rest, 
 
2i8 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 Of rain and sunshine, frost and blossoms, speed 
 And wanspeed,^ strife and hazard? no: these all 
 Are more than mine are of me; and at once 
 In taste, in foretaste, and in after-taste, 
 Are as my being's self. And could I swear 
 That thee I love not with my whole heart? No, 
 Nor does thy rule of worship ask but that 
 I bend the knee, and bow myself in church 
 With lowly awe, then yield me all to thee, 
 Soul, body, mind, and strength. Thee must I love. 
 I cannot gainsay but that I to thee 
 Would live, as once I did, if so I might. 
 
 XL 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Oh! that in heaven now my life were hid 
 
 From eyes here! I should not be missing then 
 The friends from whom our quarrel with these men 
 
 Will keep me back; and should of grief be rid. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Were hid in heaven! and from earthly eyes! 
 I know not what you mean. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 Nor I. I am unhappy; and my heart 
 
 Said, Aarbert, what I know not with my mind. 
 
 What said I? Nay, but let it pass. 
 
 '_^ Adversity (want of speed). 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 219 
 
 XII. 
 
 Aarbert and Clegge. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Well met, my good friend! Sir, we parted last 
 
 With too much willingness; but meet again 
 
 With more, I hope — not more than most is meet, 
 
 If you forgive the thing that parted us. 
 
 When from good fellowship I fell away. 
 
 Forgive my breaches of good manners then. 
 
 I would be now your scholar if I might. 
 
 And since my mind has not arisen quite 
 
 To an uprightness making it a staff 
 
 On which my bearing of myself may lean, 
 
 I now would ask you to uplift my mind. 
 
 Sir! would you, with your known goodwill, set forth 
 
 How best, according to your view of things, 
 
 A life may pass uprightly and with proud, 
 
 Well-mannered, lofty mien amidst the thorns 
 
 And flowers, and o'er the pits and mounds 
 
 Of changeful things that wait it, as along 
 
 It glides o'er this most charming world of ours? 
 
 Clegge. 
 
 Sir, I will set it forth right willingly, 
 But I am weary. Walk we to yon bank ! 
 
 Aarbert {in self -talk). 
 
 Oh, can have, in my dying, time been deemed by me 
 The means of my recruiting my lost health? Oh, 
 can — 
 
 Oh, can have, in my fever, strength-work seemed to be 
 As good a thing for me as for some healthy man? 
 
2 20 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 Oh, can have men, with mere untaught minds seemed 
 to be 
 More wise than Godard, who is heaven-taught? 
 Oh, can — 
 Oh, can have men ungodly good been deemed by me? 
 And dare I sin to God to please some fellow-man? 
 
 Clegge. 
 I now am ready. — A greater question 
 
 Could not be asked me. 
 Have you, a man of the world, forgotten 
 
 That life's uprightness 
 Is kept so long as in rolling downhill 
 
 The life's self carries 
 The set and fling that it had at starting? 
 
 My friend! these held it, 
 When erst it into the world came bowHng; 
 
 And so will hold it 
 Whilst still they bide in it, sway, and guide it, 
 
 As they at first did. 
 Whilst thus they sway it, it keeps its being's 
 
 First worth: and dashes, 
 Antwhether ^ outer assault and inner 
 
 O'ertoppling bias, 
 Through scrub of hardship, and slush of pleasure, 
 
 And folly's molehills, 
 And clash of rivalry, too, a hundice ^ 
 
 More trying to it, 
 Till, though with some of the earth's mould laden, 
 
 And though marred also 
 With show of many a dint, it reaches 
 
 With ease and glory 
 Its rest at bottom of time ; and boldly 
 
 From righteous heaven 
 
 * Notwithstanding. ^ A hund timesjfhund is a form of hundred). 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 221 
 
 There claims reward, as a life unfallen 
 
 From seemly bearing 
 Throughout its running. A life like this is, 
 
 Methinks, worth living. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Reward claimed? Hum! — For what? for that a life 
 
 Of rolling downward in its self-will's ease 
 
 Has reached its lowestness within the grave, 
 
 So much in oneness with its rolling down, 
 
 Instead of rising by the might of Christ 
 
 To higher life in heaven, that God in wrath 
 
 Has let it hold itself from other fall? 
 
 Can I have made so bold a claim as this? 
 
 Did ever I live thus, not staying me 
 
 From aught but from a fall from living down 
 
 To that low bottom of a flesh-life's bent 
 
 Of pleasure, which is lower than the grave, 
 
 And is below the hope of life beyond it? 
 
 Can I have ever had at Aarwick Clegge's 
 
 Low cow-brained eyes, that feed on earthness, whilst 
 
 His kisses crop the earth? How I have grown 
 
 To manhood's bearing, and its heavenward look! 
 
 Poor Clegge! I blame not. He is what was I. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My ghost! my better self! my highcrness! 
 
 My fleshly being's pleasure and its pain 
 Shall have henceforward all my care for less 
 
 Than thine shall, that thou mayest through me 
 reign; 
 
222 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 And that my Ghostly Father me may bless. 
 
 And thou, not lusting earthly sheen to gain, 
 Thou, being strengthened by my care of thee, 
 
 Thou, being free by birth from world-love chain. 
 Thou, quite from lust of aught of earthness free. 
 
 Thou, staying me from ride in folly's wain 
 Mid idle bustle, pomp and revelry — 
 
 From ride which worldlings, for their hour, love 
 fain — 
 Thou, crowned Christ's under-king within my breast, 
 
 Shalt rule within me by His might and main, 
 Shalt bring me greatness, honour, joy, and rest, 
 
 Shalt rule till other self in me is slain. 
 And thou art I. — If ruled by Christ thy guest 
 Who is thy life too, thou wert self-possest. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Yet, though this world be but a moorland, 
 
 And I, in living 
 Above it, do so well — yet — there is 
 
 Much flight of knowledge 
 Above the moor; which mind high-flying 
 
 Might, like a falcon. 
 Have swooped on. May I not then love it 
 
 For that large flight's sake? 
 Still love it, whilst in chase of wisdom 
 
 I live above it? 
 Or, put in thus: — Though not an Eden, 
 
 The world has in it 
 Full many worthy trees of knowledge. 
 
 Whose fruit is pleasant; 
 The fruit is fair, and not forbidden, 
 
 Mav not 1 love then 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 223 
 
 The world for such fruit's sake, such only? 
 
 I wonder whether 
 No pleas could force my loving worldly 
 
 Life for its lore's sake, 
 For not its own sake; oh, no! not so — 
 
 For but its wisdom's. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Aarbert, Udwita, Ltsta, and Wynliffe. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Why, here they are, the very men to tell me! — 
 It is most strange, my friends, that I have met you. 
 You catch me tracking out in thought the wayfares 
 Of life to see which one of them trends highest; 
 And you, methinks, are just the men to guide me. 
 
 Udwita. 
 Lista! will you give answer to our friend? 
 
 LiSTA. 
 
 I will, but I would hear your answer first, 
 Or, why should Wynliffe not be first to speak? 
 
 Aarbert {in self -talk). 
 
 Oh! can have I, plague-stricken, thought it right to be 
 Behaving just as though I were in health? Oh, 
 can — 
 Oh! can have been the Haelend's help held light by 
 me? 
 And will I for my haelth trust another man? 
 Oh! can have been this world so much loved still by 
 me, 
 That I will for it forfeit heaven's bliss? Oh, can — 
 
224 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 Oh! can have I, although in sins dead, will to be 
 Unchanged? Will not I be in Christ another man?. 
 
 LiSTA. 
 
 Come! no more backwardness! We waste the day. 
 
 Wynliffe. 
 
 You know my thoughts, old friends, of higher life. 
 
 The highest life must needs be that of wisdom ; 
 
 And wisdom is, as said the wisest man, 
 
 For man to eat and drink, and to enjoy 
 
 The good of all his own works. If you list 
 
 To me then, Aarbert ! you will loose your mind 
 
 From careful questions, wherefore you were made; 
 
 Or whether, if you drain without a fear 
 
 The cup of worldly pleasure, as it comes. 
 
 There is a hell for you. It wiser is 
 
 To flee such questions, and be merry now 
 
 Without them. What to you this morning is 
 
 The you of afterlife? Let that ' you ' burn. 
 
 If so it is to burn ; and laugh to-day 
 
 Over its groans. Enjoy yourself to-day. 
 
 Set yourself hard to hope that there is not 
 
 A hell; but if there is, when in its flames 
 
 It will be soon enough to writhe. Meanwhile 
 
 Time is the enemy of life. Keep this 
 
 In mind, that life can show no greater skill 
 
 Than in the manner of its killing time. 
 
 Which should be done by drunkenness of mind 
 
 In things like gaiety and novel reading. 
 
 For time and thought are the two foes of one 
 
 Who lives for pleasure. Pleasure is their death. 
 
 Let pastime be your wisdom's aim ! and when 
 
 All time "is past be aftertime for thought. 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 225 
 
 Together with the pastime's earnings all ! 
 If there be aftertime and earnings there. 
 My pleasure-love, you see, is that of one 
 Who, loving wisdom also, has his eyes 
 Wide open to his walk on every side. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I thank you ; but I cannot love your pleasure. 
 You show her deadly secrets. These the world has 
 Within its knowledge, but looks never at them. 
 Whilst kissing her. Are you a wisdom-lover? 
 Oh, Wynliffe! yet I thank you for your frankness. 
 Do you love even knowledge? when the knowledge 
 Which you have kept is that a life for pleasure 
 Is stay within a frosty world's unwaked volcano. 
 For sake of warmth arising from the oozy 
 And slumber-forcing lava there, and when you 
 Have thrown away the fruit of that your knowledge, 
 And nill the knowing that unwisest is it 
 To bask in that volcano's warmth and slumber? 
 You, my poor friend, enrich me with your knowledge ; 
 Whilst yourself, having it, have not its riches. 
 
 Udwita. 
 
 A life for pleasure is the lowest life; 
 
 Paths thither then through lowerness must lead. 
 
 You ask me which of all the ways of life 
 
 Tracks highest ground. I fain will tell you, friend! 
 
 For now you speak, as spoke your wiser youth, 
 
 And show yourself a would-wise man. A man's 
 
 Most highly rising path is that which seeks 
 
 The house of knowledge; and, in treading which, 
 
 The mind is leader of each wayfarer. 
 
 You, if you choose the path, will from the world 
 
2 26 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 Win breadth of honour, and will from yourself 
 
 Win honour boundless. Now, I pray you, look! 
 
 The march of mind and of the worshippers 
 
 Of knowledge tracks that path. It shall be yours 
 
 And what, if you awhile be not beside 
 
 The leading mind and at the March's head. 
 
 You will at once have place there; for you know 
 
 That he has caught by head and horns the bull. 
 
 Whose tail he tightly in his strong grip holds; 
 
 And he, who grows, may claim to have the youth 
 
 Of all the greatness ever reached by growth; 
 
 And he who makes his first step up the hill 
 
 Of highestness, is nearer to the top 
 
 Than he who half-way up it makes a stop. 
 
 You nod; to what is further you shall bow. 
 
 Come! let me lead you. Take a step or two 
 
 In knowledge. Know you how the leopard won 
 
 His spots? This is a thing of nearest sight 
 
 To men of knowledge : he must erst have had 
 
 Armour-plates; which when bony food grew scarce. 
 
 Dropped off, and somehow left these spots on him. 
 
 But this is reasoning to eyesight's glance. 
 
 We shall find things more hidden as we go. 
 
 A furlong's march in knowledge is to know 
 
 Thus far, sir, that a thing grows out of that 
 
 In which it is ; and yet within it grows. 
 
 By taking itself forward; and withal 
 
 Grows thus by might within itself, and so 
 
 By but its own might: for you know that nought 
 
 Wholly outside a thing has life within it. 
 
 If naught is in me but myself, my growth 
 
 Is clearly by my own self's might. The ground. 
 
 You see, is hard beneath us; let us walk. 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 227 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I seem within a wood. The ground, I hope, 
 
 Is hard; but it is rich with undergrowth 
 
 Of leafy thorns, whose love's fond catch holds back 
 
 Rags torn from off my reason's having quite 
 
 In whole, come hither; so that I can scarce 
 
 Say I am wholly up to you in mind. 
 
 Udwita. 
 
 Leave now the wood, and we will come at once 
 
 To thought of that great might by which man grew 
 
 From mist, and is to grow to angelhood. 
 
 Sir, wise men know not surely aught of aught. 
 
 Nor e'en that there is aught; and therefore all. 
 
 Who know aught more than this know less than 
 
 naught. 
 But insofar as well is known by man. 
 Some Being must from mist, or else the mist 
 Must as a Being have from something else, 
 Once made that spray of life, from which then sprang 
 Those great forefathers of those mighty worms 
 From whom, still rising up the steps of life 
 Through froghood, doghood, and then monkeyhood. 
 We men have wrought ourselves in bone and limb, 
 In eye and heart, in liver, brain and nerve, 
 According as we wished at times to grow. 
 You follow me I trust. Well, since to grow 
 A hand forth asks much time, my scholar needs 
 To have the strongest faith in unseen work 
 Of past time's may-have-beens : and, to be strong. 
 Such faith has need to be his slave with might 
 To work his will with every other thing. 
 The times of which we know, give not a sign 
 Of have-beens which from beings vary much : 
 
228 ' AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 But I can bid faith give to time what age 
 
 I will. Why not an age of one hund-thoiisand ^ 
 
 Millions of years? and I can ask the time 
 
 To speak from ofif the standpoint of that age. " 
 
 Then must the man have brows of inch-thick brass 
 
 Who can step forth to gainsay what Time thence 
 
 Shall, in the honours of his white hairs, say. 
 
 If faith shall tell me, as from hoary Time, 
 
 That men were maggots when the Time was young, 
 
 Or beetles, nay, were seeds of gossamer, 
 
 What fool so saucy as to gainsay that? 
 
 Our teaching as to growth is out of reach 
 
 Of all irreverence. I pray you, then. 
 
 To trust it with your fondest love and hope. 
 
 It is not shallow-clear, like that which shows 
 
 The stones at bottom of its flow; which flow 
 
 The wary child of wisdom should withstand, 
 
 With foot set firmly upon every stone, 
 
 If he would keep the ground which he has taken. 
 
 Our teaching has a depth too great for that. 
 
 My scholars, awestruck at its misty depth. 
 
 Give it a free flow, saying they have now 
 
 A law to thought for further knowledge — dark, 
 
 But therefore of a depth all fathomless. 
 
 LiSTA. 
 
 My friend Udwita's cunning Fancy 
 
 Has stepped within him. 
 Into his idle Reason's workshop. 
 
 And there is framing 
 Such wares as much amaze that craftsman, 
 
 And more the dealers 
 Who buy of him, and ne'er before had 
 
 Such wares from Reason. 
 
 ' Hundred thousand. 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 229 
 
 I followed, whilst my friend walked over 
 
 His warehouse, showing 
 His stock; but, after some short walking, 
 
 With thought behind him, 
 My heed came hither back to wait you. 
 
 His faith is folly. 
 The faith of wisdom waits the witness 
 
 Of sight or hearing. 
 If back to your own self you now have 
 
 With loose mind travelled, 
 Come, start with me, and you will know then 
 
 What life is highest, 
 And whither wends it. Come, hope whispers, 
 
 Of soon our seeing 
 Old shapes of thought unrolled as mummies, 
 
 From rags grown rotten, 
 To freedom's air and light. Thus wakened 
 
 By breathing freshness 
 They will, ashamed like things of darkness. 
 
 No longer hidden, 
 Slink from their outlines down to powder. 
 
 Which, flying off then 
 With the first wind, will leave behind them 
 
 Merely their traces 
 Upon the eye of gazing wonder; 
 
 Till these quit wonder 
 And fade e'en thence to white forgotness. 
 
 So come on, Aarbert! 
 No path of life can run so rightly. 
 
 And none can raise you 
 So high as that which rises, climbing 
 
 The hill of knowledge, 
 Where Earth, our mother, that great teacher 
 
 Most sure and trusty. 
 
230 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 Holds locked in strong rooms up for study 
 
 Her books and records. 
 There Moses is rebuked by quothness 
 
 Of land and water ; 
 And thence as witnesses moreover 
 
 Rise godlike beings 
 From underground; who, till now hidden, 
 
 Are telling secrets 
 Of other-world-life. No As-beings 
 
 Are these. We feel them; 
 We know that they are living with us ; 
 
 We talk with — hear them ; 
 And they are but the newest, latest. 
 
 Of this hill's showings. 
 Then, come! Be 'midst the first in seeing 
 
 When air, which hurries 
 In living things their life, and hurries 
 
 To death things dying, 
 Shall, helped by light, prove full of deadness 
 
 Your very Bible. 
 Quit old lore's ruins, haunts of creepers, 
 
 And homes of mummies; 
 And let me show you why that Book should 
 
 Be much mistrusted ; 
 Or shall this tract at leisure draw you 
 
 From trusting in it? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I thank you. I will surely try its strength. 
 
 My friends ! although I give you thanks unfilled 
 
 With my whole trust in all that you have taught, 
 
 Yet take them as a casket made of love. 
 
 In such a golden casket give I you 
 
 An answer, friend Udwita. My dear sir! 
 
 As a man's lowliness, in his account. 
 
BooKlV.] AARBERT 231 
 
 May not with falsehood underrate his worth, 
 
 So may his folly's speech not bear against 
 
 His worth false witness. You have earned our 
 
 honour, 
 And proved yourself much more than maggot-born. 
 
 Udvvita. 
 
 No praise, sir! at my mind's cost. Sir, I say 
 
 That we must true be to the shifty times. 
 
 We must, sir, for our own sake, walk behind 
 
 This age's nation-big and booted legs. 
 
 For whilst the age walks right athwart the trend 
 
 Of old thought-ways to that of later ones 
 
 More meet for its strong youth of later wisdom. 
 
 The men who walk not with it needs are bruised. 
 
 Is it a wider thing for mind to clasp 
 
 That flowers have from God a might to give 
 
 To seeds the might to give to flowers again 
 
 What shape they choose out with their herbal mind, 
 
 Than that at first were flowers made from naught? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 No, but an asking which would step before 
 
 Yours is, Has God to flowers given might 
 
 To work new shapes out with a herbal mind? 
 
 Chooses a husband whether boy or girl be born? 
 
 God makes and unmakes; and none other can. 
 
 And unto that which He has made He gives, 
 
 As pleases Him, both life and might: but these 
 
 Are, even in its very using them, His own. 
 
 Had aughts which He had erst made changed their 
 
 shapes 
 By their own might or will to other ones 
 They would have thus far made themselves; and earth, 
 Made on plans countless, would have all been chaos. 
 
232 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 But order shows that change of kind by growth 
 
 In any of them has been made by one 
 
 Might and will only. Even while such change 
 
 Is wrought by might of God's laws, it is God's 
 
 Own Self and He alone who works that change. 
 
 Laws on things powerless no further work 
 
 Than lawgivers work through the laws. Thus, friend. 
 
 You have not proved that by the will and work 
 
 Of maggots you have into manhood sprung; 
 
 Nor can you claim these worms your forefathers. 
 
 Friend Lista! I will, as I told you, try 
 
 Your tract's strength. I do long to climb your hill 
 
 If I may climb up heaven's too. But though 
 
 On heaven's hill some earth-hills may be climbed, 
 
 No hill but heaven's may to heaven lead. 
 
 I well will try your pleas for my mistrust 
 
 Of that good book which is best guide to heaven. 
 
 Forgive me, if the embassy of words, 
 
 Which, in my answer comes to you, shall wait 
 
 A meeting of some thoughts of mine, grown gray 
 
 In watching this great question. For the thoughts 
 
 Gave honour to your speech, when heard by me; 
 
 And now would give it more by putting rank 
 
 Of worth upon the answer ere it starts. 
 
 XVII. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, can my soul's sore canker yet be thought by me 
 A freckle on the outside of its health? Oh, can — 
 
 Oh, can my Hselend's leccraft ^ yet seem nought to be 
 For me, and only something for some other man? 
 
 Oh, can the balm of Gilead be still by me 
 ' Medical art. 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 
 
 l-h 
 
 Misliked, for that so thoroughly it cleans? Oh, 
 can — 
 Oh, can I have health given me, nor will to be 
 
 Hale, lest I so be changed, and be another man? 
 Oh, can be yet my dying soul advised to be 
 
 Mis-spending time by living as in health? Oh, 
 can — 
 Oh, can be still the lech ^ of souls despised by me, 
 The Godman Healer, slighted for some other man? 
 
 xvin. 
 
 GoDARD (a letter). 
 
 Whilst from my window o'er the waves I see 
 
 The mere blue sky, my brother hid behind it 
 
 Seems listing to my last fond prayer to him 
 
 To lean on Jesus, and to rate God's Book 
 
 As best of Teachers, yea, the very best 
 
 Of glosses on all glosses on itself. 
 
 If Aarbert still is listing so, the words 
 
 Which I am shipping to him will breathe through 
 
 And make the old prayer louder. Then I said 
 
 That that Book is the only light on earth 
 
 Which shows things ghostly, and that it to him 
 
 Shows them whose faith is an unprinted page 
 
 So smeared with love's good feeling to the light 
 
 That it can take the light's writ to itself. 
 
 I said, moreover, that the ghostly things, 
 
 Ligraven^ thus on leaves of faith in man, 
 
 Set forth how God would drag him from his death. 
 
 I said this then to you, my brother. Now 
 
 I tell you that such leaves of faith in man 
 
 Are fellows, leaf for leaf, of leaves of thought 
 
 Within him, whereupon his own self tracks 
 
 ^ Medical man. ^ Photographed (light-graven). 
 
234 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 Sketch of his being and its wants. When first 
 
 I saw that thus my own self's showings matched 
 
 The Bible's, wheresoe'er these bore on me, 
 
 I laid the showings each beside its fellow, 
 
 And bound them all up in a book of love. 
 
 But looking down then upon earthly things, 
 
 And knowing that their outlines and their lines 
 
 Of bearing to each other are God's writ 
 
 On earth to guide me from without, as He, 
 
 To guide me from within, had on my faith 
 
 And reason wTitten, I had hope to find 
 
 That that writ's showings matched my faith's and 
 
 reason's. 
 I therefore, taking copies of the writ 
 On fresh leaves, placed them also in my book, 
 Each by its fellow. Then I read, and, lo! 
 The Bible and the earth and I gave each 
 Clear quothness, and the quothnesses agreed ; 
 Thus proving that the Bible's writer wrote 
 Also myself and all the earth. I rose; 
 I walked; my heart was burning with new life. 
 Yet when I looked around me on the world's 
 Scoiifers who, much too slothful or too proud 
 To ask from God the gift to understand 
 His Bible, cannot see its tallying 
 With earth and with themselves, and so quite miss 
 One mighty proof that it has come from Him — 
 When on these men I looked, and thought how God 
 Gives often after not before men's faith 
 The fulness of the many proofs of soth 
 In what He tells them, lest, untrue to Him 
 And even upon evil bent, they learn 
 The proofs, and, through more knowledge of their 
 
 sin. 
 Sin at more cost to their poor souls in Hell, 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 235 
 
 My praise sank into childhood's stilly awe; 
 
 And having once been not less blind than they, 
 
 I worshipped meekly with a child's whole trust, 
 
 As chastened too by that His will so stern 
 
 And yet so wise, so full of very love, 
 
 So truthful e'en to those untrue to Him. 
 
 Learn, Aarbert, learn to love this Holy Book. 
 
 It is to highest knowledge of the earth 
 
 And to a right self-knowledge that great key, 
 
 The use of which is given by Him alone. 
 
 And given to but those to whom He gives 
 
 wSight ghostly. Ask these gifts: without them you 
 
 In strife with evil, will be crushed by it. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 How strangely has an answer to your friend 
 
 Been placed within your hands! What brought about 
 
 This timely warning? Is there One indeed 
 
 Who, even in our wanderings from Him, 
 
 Is unseen tracking us? How awful seems 
 
 His nearness now! This letter should awake 
 
 Thoughts which have, Aarbert, slept in you since last 
 
 You saw your brother. In the thoughts are wrapt 
 
 Your answer to young Lista, are they not? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 They are so ; He who will not meekly ask 
 Sight ghostly is by love held back from it; 
 And nor could take my show of ghostly things. 
 Nor give against them show which I could take; 
 For I see that in them which he sees not. 
 The unfaith therefore of mv friend must bide 
 
236 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 Still as a hollow. Since it is a hole, 
 
 I cannot pluck it out, and since the air 
 
 Of merely reasoning is in the hole, 
 
 There would be, were I 'gainst his reasoning 
 
 To breathe mine, wrangling mere of wordy winds 
 
 Within the emptiness of his unfaith. 
 
 The Gospel, could he take it in, would force 
 
 Its own self s being clenched. That emptiness 
 
 Would then be stomach's hunger ; but, alas ! 
 
 Lista lacks stomach for the Gospel's sweets; 
 
 And sees he that myself have fed on them? 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 If only Godard had been here! 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, me — me! tenfold more the fool than Lista! 
 Must I say over still for evermore 
 And yet not know them, yet not know them all? 
 The reasons why I dare not love this world 
 For e'en its wisdom, that as-wisdom, which, 
 Talking as if earth's God were naught on earth, 
 Is Folly grown stark mad, and in the gown 
 Of Wisdom raving out of Wisdom's chair? 
 I know that earth-life is a railway-run. 
 An ownership of seat upon a car;" 
 Nought more to even those who love the world; 
 Whilst hell and heaven are the wither-ends ^ 
 Of this run. Train to hell I dare not take. 
 Although the cars be filled with all that yields 
 An hour's sweet pastime even to a scholar. 
 I know that I must take the train to heaven. 
 When, when will I cease luring these, my friends, 
 To talk all this my knowledge out of worth? 
 
 ^_ ' Opposite ends. 
 
BooKlV.J AARBERT 237 
 
 XX. 
 
 Arnulph (a letter). 
 
 Lista, I write instead of Aarbert. He has 
 Shown me your tract ; and, having told me also 
 Speech of yours bearing on it, he has prayed me 
 Give you an answer. 
 
 Oh! but how shaped shall be my answer? If it 
 Shaped be as truth bids, it will vex you; yet if 
 Not by truth shaped, it will be trash. Let therefore 
 Truth from me please you. 
 
 For your love's giving him the tract he thanks you. 
 For the tract likewise would he send you thanks; but, 
 Taken in wholly by his mind, it never 
 
 Reached to his mind's trust. 
 
 You have not shown to him the Bible's wrongness ; 
 But have well show^n that it is read arightly 
 Only when looked at by the light its own self 
 
 Gives, and with right sight. 
 
 Those, your new; kiths,^ that seem as gods, are angels, 
 Dealings with whom have been, of old time, treason 
 High to God, partnership with fiends hell-waiting. 
 As to your lore, that 
 
 Earth itself gives to holy writ a gainsay, 
 'Tis an old tale, but not of Earth's own telling. 
 That the earth gainsays holy writ. Freethenking 
 Science has told it. 
 
 Ah! but this science is a lying painter. 
 With a loose brush she daily gives a pleasant 
 Change to her sketch of the unknown, and boasts it 
 Steadfastly each day. 
 
 ' Acquaintances. 
 
238 AARBERT [Book IV. 
 
 As a sure likeness, by the measure taken. 
 Though her last touches of it mostly please her, 
 Yet she lacks never on her lip a faithful 
 
 Smile of fuldoneness.^ 
 
 Be her last sketch whate'er it may, she sets it 
 Down beside that of Holy Writ, and where they 
 Tally not says that hers has there proved Holy 
 Writ's to be quite wrong. 
 
 If, by time, hers is as the wrong one shown there. 
 Softly she rights it, and as muth as ever 
 Boasts herself trustworth. Holy Writ when teaching 
 Heavenly things used. 
 
 Earthly speech, faulty as it was in earth-lore, 
 Which it taught not; but when you, Lista, gainsay 
 What of things heavenly it taught, and put your 
 Guesses against that. 
 
 You, my friend, gainsay what our God and Maker 
 Vouched for. Fear having after death to answer 
 For the lost souls who shall on these«your guesses 
 Slip to the pit's pit. 
 
 Ought you not more to bear in mind your danger? 
 Much has been held by you as known, of which yet 
 Proofs have lain underneath the dusk that that has 
 Merely been fancied. 
 
 Much has been branded by you proofless which your 
 Reason's self ought to have well proved. Your rea- 
 son 
 Shows your hand lifted by a life behind it 
 Utterly imseen. 
 
 '^ Satisfaction. 
 
Book IV.] AARBERT 239 
 
 Reason, moreover, sith the lives of men are 
 Flitting, whilst others in their stead are coming, 
 Shows an unseen life, out of which the seen must 
 Spring and have being. 
 
 Reason, too, shows that, since are seen in all things 
 Order and plan, they are by that Self-Being 
 Governed no less than they were made, though He is 
 Never by man seen. 
 
 But the Self-Being who has made men claims their 
 Love; and since some of them withstand and hate 
 
 Him, 
 Yet on earth speed, they live, as reason tells you. 
 After an earth-life. 
 
 Lastly, this Being must, as God, have given 
 Sight of that after-life; and nowhere is it 
 Given as fully or as well, says Reason, 
 As in the Bible. 
 
 XXL 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, glorious sunshine! fearful is thy light 
 
 As it is veiling fire which blazes now 
 
 Within this earth, and waits there eagerly 
 
 The goodliness of all earth's outward show — 
 
 As it is veiling that fierce fire in hell 
 
 Which waits all those who, earthy, pass from earth 
 
 Ere earth's thin crust is reached by fire. My flesh. 
 
 Wilt thou abide this burning? wilt thou stay 
 
 Me from my rising from thine earthness up 
 
 To Christian ghostliness, till thou thyself. 
 
 At Christ's touch, rise up like a seraph's lihhome ^ 
 
 To be the sheen in which my ghost shall dwell? 
 
 * Flesh-home (a man's whole body whilst his soul is still at home in it). 
 
BOOK V. 
 CHRISTIAN LIFE SOUGHT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Book of God! They to whom thou givest sight 
 
 See stamped upon thy lore His warrant's seal, 
 No other book can shed a thine-like light 
 
 On heaven and on man's best way to weal. 
 I take thy tellings to my utter trust, 
 
 Though but of ends of things which here are not ; 
 And though thy writ be dim beneath time's dust, 
 
 My trust in it is bated not a jot 
 By boast of check from past life's ashes mere. 
 
 Not mine to paint thy sketches, or clip down 
 Thy models to what seem the right ones here, 
 
 Those models shaped to things by me unknown. 
 I know scarce aught of what beyond earth lives; 
 
 And God knows better what the best I ken. 
 I therefore will be lowly. Since He gives 
 
 Earth-knowledge for but earth-use unto men, 
 I will not sit in doom, thou holy Book, 
 
 Upon thy dooms; nor wrest them, that by thee 
 My evil life may have unevil look. 
 
 Show righteous God, though thus unrighteous me; 
 
 And earth-life reft me ere thou reft me be! 
 240 
 
Book v.] AARBERT 241 
 
 II. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, Art! oh, Hlist!^ by man befriended fain 
 Why help ye witches, that are man's worst foes? 
 
 In thraldom pining he through you should gain 
 More freedom : thraldom more he undergoes. 
 
 Queen Freedom's Daughters! Why, why hurt him 
 so? 
 
 He came your lover, let him harmless go! 
 
 Fair Art! that catchest for his jaded mind 
 All flitting beauties, every flying charm. 
 
 Why let old Priestcraft, that hag hateful, bind 
 
 His ghost and soul with chains, and do the harm 
 
 Which she is doing with those mighty wiles 
 
 Wherewith thou snatchest loveliness and smiles? 
 
 Fair Hlist! ^ why let that imp of night short-brained. 
 Called Freethought, build around man's mind a wall 
 
 Of earthly knowledge, which from thee she gained? 
 Why let man's mind be tombed in earth from all 
 
 Beyond earth? Thou! whose eye o'erruns the star. 
 
 Why let man's sight be else than free and far? 
 
 III. 
 
 GoDARD (a letter). 
 
 Your story of the wounds, which your true love 
 To God's writ bore in shielding it from foes, 
 Has grieved me. Lista is but one of millions, 
 Who hate the word of God: but in your heart 
 Let that word rule, and it will keep your heart. 
 The Fiend, who thwarted it in Fden erst 
 ' Science. 
 
242 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 With gloss and gainsay, brands with hate of it 
 All who are not God's children on the earth. 
 Nought recks he in what ranks they stand of faith, 
 Or of unfaith; if but they bear that brand 
 He knows them his, and you may know them thus. 
 Some of these Bible-haters, the mid-priests, 
 Write over it a gloss which shapes God's words 
 Into their own, and gives His speech to men 
 What meaning e'er they will: and some, the men 
 Of Freethought, smear its writ with utterness 
 Of gainsay's blot. Now, these two sets of men 
 Hate much each other, but the Bible more; 
 And so they work together: for the Fiend 
 Works through them evenly against that Book. 
 He with his swither ^ arm hurls priestly hate 
 At God's Word : Then he with his wynster ^ arm 
 Hurls at it freethought's hatred. But that Word 
 Abides almighty not the less — abides 
 Whatlike it came at first from God's own mouth ; 
 And keeps all those who keep it at their hearts. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Hope! Dove, heavenly Hope! 
 
 Cheerer of the Sorrowful ! 
 
 Thou whom I had sent from me 
 
 Forth, that if amid sin's flood, 
 
 Haply thou didst 
 
 Spy a mountain 
 
 Of mercy, whereupon thy feet could rest. 
 
 Thou wouldest for my faith bring thence 
 
 ' Right (stronger). 2 Lgfj (Latin, sinister). 
 
Book v.] AARBERT 243 
 
 A Token 
 
 Of peace; 
 
 At what time I first saw my life's ark away cast 
 
 Loose on that deep flood — 
 
 Saw and was fear-struck, 
 
 As in, and not as of, 
 
 Christ's ark-fieet there — 
 
 Being estranged from Him amidst His fleet 
 
 On the dismal gulf 
 
 Of the flood of death, 
 
 And was being there ^ 
 
 Afloat by my not leaking to the full ; 
 
 Not floating by my buoyancy as ghost 
 
 As those were who 
 
 Were ark-lives of His fleet. 
 
 Hope, Dove! 
 
 Finding nowhere 
 
 Rest, thou camest 
 
 Back, and anew then 
 
 Forth I sent thee. 
 
 Home again thou straightway ilewest 
 
 Quick-winged with joy, 
 
 Bringing to me by thy beak a newly-plucked 
 
 Leaf from the hilltops, 
 
 The leaf of an olive, a loving 
 
 Green pledge 
 
 Of the merciful forgiveness 
 
 Of the misdoings of my whole life. 
 
 Which from my Maker thou hadst gotten. 
 
 I held the green leaf; 
 
 I held its pledge, that 
 
 If only I indeed gave 
 
 Mine ark-life wholly 
 
 Up to Christ as 
 
 To the Ark-fleet's Captain, 
 
244 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 If I would have His life all ghostly 
 
 As my own for aye, 
 
 And not have earthness fill mine ark-life's veins, 
 
 I should with ease float 
 
 O'er the flood of foul sin 
 
 To the realm of peace which 
 
 I so by thee sought, 
 
 By thee, Hope, Dove! 
 
 Thee. 
 
 Antsong. 
 
 What, what thrillings of joy. 
 
 Even unto wyndrym were — 
 
 Even unto wyndrym — mine! 
 
 Joy, which I had not felt, till 
 
 I, outlooking. 
 
 Saw the token, 
 
 The pledge that in thy mouth, O dove! thou thus 
 
 Hadst brought to me of God's rich love, 
 
 And mercy. 
 
 And truth. 
 
 But those thrills from thought came; my heart shrank 
 
 in weak faith 
 Back from my own life's 
 Sinking in Christ's life. 
 Afar, anigh, around. 
 Huge billows rolled. 
 I was in terror of my losing life 
 In the flood; for though 
 I was not there left 
 Without help to drown. 
 As always are the children of the world, 
 But lodged within an ark that was amidst 
 Christ's ark-life fleet, 
 Mine ark was not by Christ's 
 Life filled. 
 
Book V.] AARBERT 245 
 
 Tops of mountains, 
 
 Each an island, 
 
 Peeped from the flood, bore 
 
 Trees of olive. 
 
 Stretching o'er the death their branches; 
 
 And all showed peace. 
 
 Therefore I upon the billows sent thee forth 
 
 Now for the third time — 
 
 I sent thee to bring me another 
 
 Leaf back, 
 
 For the helping of my yielding 
 
 Me to my Lord, Who in His manlife 
 
 Went into death within the sin-flood, 
 
 That He, all sinless. 
 
 Might give men God's life — , 
 
 Might there be as an ark-fleet 
 
 Of lives for ever 
 
 Free to all men. 
 
 Who would yield Him lordhyld/ 
 
 Then ffewest thou for such dear pledge that, 
 
 If I indeed willed 
 
 To live no more as Adam but as Christ, 
 
 I should, as ghost-full. 
 
 O'er the sin-flood's death float 
 
 To the home of life where 
 
 Love dwells, and whence too. 
 
 Thou camest, Hope, 
 
 Dove! 
 
 Aftsong. 
 
 Longwhile hast thou been gone, Dove. 
 Hope! Dove! Hope! 
 I have longed ever since 
 Thou hast gone; I have longed 
 
 ' Allegiance (hold to a lord). 
 
246 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 Ever since thou hast gone — 
 
 Have longed for thee. 
 
 Therefore would I fain have 
 
 Trusted to the loud hoarse 
 
 Bluster of the bold winds 
 
 That were lawlessly ranging 
 
 O'er the waste of the waters, 
 
 Who showed ofif their own bird 
 
 As thee — 
 
 Their raven as thee! They called her thee, but her 
 
 Beak was with the garbage of the flood foul. 
 
 She fed and floated upon things 
 
 Which Death would soon engulf from her — 
 
 The peace of which she knew was but a peace which 
 
 HaiJ no stay. 
 
 The wild bird! 
 
 I knew her well before I knew thee. 
 
 Heavenly Hope! come, thou, come! 
 
 Bring to me — cheering me, 
 
 That other 
 
 Branch of an olive-tree 
 
 Ofif from the mountain-tops 
 
 For which I sent thee : 
 
 Bring it, bring it! Oh, that token 
 
 Of peace were peace itself — were peace 
 
 To me. 
 
 V. 
 
 GoDARD {a letter). 
 
 My brother, I will give the answer 
 
 For which you ask me. 
 How lags your bark of life in sailing 
 
 From out Sin's harbour! 
 The ground there cannot hold an anchor. 
 
 Your Earth-hope's cable 
 
Book v.] AARBERT 247 
 
 Is but a brittle chain of breathings. 
 
 You hear the breakers 
 Which roar from rocks around, and well may 
 
 You feel uneasy. 
 You pray for peace; you hate its Giver; 
 
 Your prayer is selfish. 
 You cannot have peace, till is anchored 
 
 Your life in Christ's realm. 
 Your port of peace is in His kingdom ; 
 
 He there awaits you. 
 The peace, when you have come to Jesus, 
 
 Will come unsought for. 
 
 VI. 
 
 GoDARD (a letter). 
 
 You ask me what the faith that haels ^ 
 
 A soul from death is. 
 •Hear what it not is — not such knowledge 
 
 As fiends with fear have 
 Of sin and death, and of the gospel 
 
 Of Christ, man's Hselend; 
 Nor such a knowledge as is gotten 
 
 From lore or reason. 
 It comes not needs from mumbled prayer and 
 
 A splash of w^ater. 
 It is a thing by God's self given 
 
 To those who love Him. 
 It is His gift to but His children — 
 
 The meek and loving — 
 And with it He to these gives also 
 
 His words to feed it. 
 It is that trust of love which rather 
 
 The heart than head has, 
 
 ' Saves. 
 
248 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 The lack of which proves lack moreover 
 
 Of love and lordhyld.^ 
 It is that trust which love gives ever 
 
 To worth as homage, 
 And gives in whole to God as being 
 
 The One all-worthy. 
 It is the trust by which men, gifted 
 
 By God to love Him, 
 Both see and feel as things whatever 
 
 In words He shows them. 
 It is assurance that His truth will 
 
 Not fail, however, 
 Man's trust in Him may fail through weakness 
 
 Awhile in trial. 
 God-given faith is more, however, 
 
 Than mere a feeling. 
 It is a clasping of the things which 
 
 The mouth beseeches. 
 It is the after-prayer of waiting 
 
 What prayer has asked for. 
 It is the breathing and heart-beating 
 
 Of restful worship. 
 It is its name — geleaf.- Geleavers 
 
 In God do leave their 
 All, piled together in His keeping. 
 
 And trust Him wholly 
 And lovingly therewith ; well knowing, 
 
 That since He loves them, 
 He well will work out all things for them. 
 
 It is a Christian's 
 Self-leave to be to Christ's shape moulded, 
 
 As God-begotten. 
 It is the very self of Christians 
 
 When thus begotten. 
 
 ' Fidelity to a lord. '^ Belief. 
 
Book v.] AARBERT 249 
 
 It is their Christ-life's might and magen.^ 
 
 It is man's lifeness. 
 It more than look is sight. It rather 
 
 Than thought is knowledge. 
 It holds far more than has ; it also 
 
 Less lives than quickens. 
 It even wills instead of wishing 
 
 When God is willing. 
 Geleaf is more yet; it is more than 
 
 A feeling's working. 
 It grows to be the mind's gate ghostly; 
 
 To be that andget,^ 
 That living gate, which, nobler far than 
 
 Mind's other andgets 
 Of touching, tasting, smelling, hearing, 
 
 And fleshly seeing. 
 Gives ghostly things a way of entry 
 
 Through walls of fleshness 
 To the poor g-host locked up within them 
 
 In earth-night's darkness. 
 It is the ghost's blue eye; that eye, which 
 
 Lies like a filmy 
 Blue vault of heaven stretched betwixt her 
 
 And boundless ghostdom; 
 And down through which, as all the roof that 
 
 Her walls of flesh have, 
 God o'er her sheds His dew of blessing; 
 
 And rains His shower 
 Of light in bright words, burning largely 
 
 Enough for faith's sight, 
 Though some are star-points which no farspy^ 
 
 Makes ever larger. 
 Through this her living roof of blueness 
 
 She sends her praises 
 
 ' Means of might. ' Mental faculty. ^ Telescope. 
 
250 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 And prayers to God, and gets His answers. 
 
 The eye, if slighted, 
 Grows dull and horny; then in darkness 
 
 She sits forlornly, 
 Walled up in flesh, where sin and death corne 
 
 To sit beside her. 
 But God all holy is her guest whilst 
 
 She keeps it living; 
 And then she does His will almighty. 
 
 And works with power ; 
 She knows the mind of Him all-knowing, 
 
 And glows with wisdom. 
 Yea, faith is power drawing power 
 
 From God in heaven, 
 By which a man, whilst like the lightning 
 
 It flashes through him, 
 Does meekly all the will and pleasure 
 
 Of God, antwh ether ^ 
 The let or lure of flesh, the world and 
 
 The whole of Hellware;^ 
 By which he grasps the gifts God helps him 
 
 To ask and wait for; 
 By which his ghost can roam to places 
 
 Afar and see them; 
 Can search the vaults wherein lie hidden 
 
 The Been and Will-be, 
 And can in each one read the book that 
 
 Its shelf holds darkling. 
 By which he moves earth's laws, and forces 
 
 Its highest rulers. 
 Although unwitting, nay, unwilling. 
 
 To give whatever 
 The Lord has made his own, whilst praying 
 
 In lonely chamber 
 
 ' In spite of. - The inhabitants^of hell. 
 
Book V. I AARBERT 
 
 251 
 
 Woe them, though throned, who wrong God's praying 
 
 Though poor geleaver!^ 
 
 By which, by which But where are they that 
 
 Have marvellously 
 Wrought through geleaf? and Aarbert merely 
 
 Asks what such faith is. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Aarbert (a letter). 
 
 To Aarbert's friend, Udwita, and through him 
 To their beloved and loving Lista, these: 
 My friends! great wrong I did you in that hour 
 In which my knowledge was the innkeeper 
 Of words of yours betrayers of your weal. 
 I give these guilty words up for gedoom ^ 
 To that which sits as Deemster in the breast 
 Of each of you, and there I charge their guilt 
 Of being lies against the Book of God, 
 And being treason to Himself, the King 
 Who more than all can work you weal or woe. 
 
 vni. 
 
 Aarbert {a circular letter). 
 
 From Aarbert to his old friends all, God's speed! 
 Oh, still beloved, my fellow-travellers! 
 With whom o'er what in youth seemed sunny paths 
 I walked in magic's day-dreams, now I write 
 To warn your lives away from them. The paths 
 Lie in a ghostly night amid foul swamps 
 Where fen-fire flits o'er death-pits bottomless. 
 If any of you, by the fevered breath 
 Of rotting marshy life envenomed, still 
 
 * Believer. ^ Condemnation. 
 
2 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 Are dreaming, wake! and see, it is the hour 
 
 Of midnight ; and what seems afore you flash 
 
 Of sun's hght is indeed the fitful gleam 
 
 Of witchery. But I have found a lamp 
 
 By which a man in this benighted world 
 
 Can pass without a risk these gleaming swamps 
 
 To that far cheery home in other life. 
 
 Where w^elcome and a ready home await. 
 
 The home is far away, and I, forlorn 
 
 And cheerless, all as yet, am merely starting 
 
 To reach it. Will ye, if ye are not yet 
 
 Upon the way before me, .have the help 
 
 Of my good lamp, and come with me along? 
 
 IX. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 They glide away. They leave me, one by one. 
 Oh, how there comes a damp like that of death, 
 When many of man's world of kith and kin 
 Have left him ; and he, mid his friendships' tombs. 
 Stands in his long life-evening's hush and gloom. 
 With his bereaved love finding nought in touch. 
 And shedding warmth on emptiness, until 
 It coldly faints. Thou carest for me, God! 
 I pray for my old feres^ : may they yet hear 
 Thee speak as love in my late call to them. 
 
 X. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 How sad, and yet how glad is he 
 Whose growth of mind has cast its shell, 
 When, hid in rock from billows' swell, 
 
 He lies forlorn amid life's sea; 
 
 ' Companions in travel (fare). 
 
BooK^V.] AARBERT 253 
 
 Till, whilst he braves the billow's jest, 
 God over him new armour fits. 
 When, sad no more, the rock he quits 
 
 To find again in life's surf rest! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I would not frozen lie again ; 
 
 My limbs are thawing, I awake; 
 
 Mine ease of numbness grows an ache; 
 But life is burning in my pain. 
 
 Nor would I sleep again death-sleep; 
 
 The trance has left me, and I live; 
 
 My sweetest dream I gladly give, 
 That I my bitter thought may keep. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Whilst, O my mother, Holy Writ 
 
 Was, ere thy heavenward flight, 
 Read daily by thee, how on thee and it 
 
 Fell holy light? 
 
 As dashed into a thousand deeds 
 
 Falls daybreak on a town; 
 As dashed into the growth of grassy seeds, 
 
 The dew falls down. 
 
 On me, alas! that light from God, 
 
 Whene'er I read the Book, 
 Falls like the moonbeams that are splashed abroad 
 
 On rippling brook. 
 
254 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 Like daybreak on a rocky plain 
 
 It falls on me. On me 
 It falls like dew on dying leaves, like rain 
 
 On rootless tree. 
 
 God giveth light to even him 
 
 Whose eye, howe'er it gaze, 
 Can catch nor ray, nor e'en a glimmer dim 
 
 Of noonday's blaze. 
 
 The sun's bright beam has might to thrill 
 Through rocks as through the waves; 
 
 The rocks no might have to let sunbeams fill 
 Their sealed-up caves. 
 
 The sunset's dew has might to give 
 
 To grass a life renewed ; 
 The mown-down grass has not the might to live, 
 
 Although bedewed. 
 
 xA.nd thus art thou (whilst o'er thy grave 
 
 At dawn the daisy wakes, 
 Or whilst at passing of an earthquake's wave 
 
 Thy grave's self quakes). 
 
 Still lying with thy powers lorn 
 
 Beside thee in thy death ; 
 The whole earth's life is being waked by morn: 
 
 Thou sleep'st beneath. 
 
 But shalt thou thus without quick ear, 
 
 Without a flashing eye, 
 For ever there neath morning's levelled spear 
 
 In slumber lie? 
 
 Although may not live mown-down grass, 
 
 Nor may be rock inlit, 
 Thy grave shall give life entry, thou shalt pass 
 
 Clear out of it. 
 
Book v.] AARBERT 255 
 
 Thou, filled with light, shalt look abroad 
 
 Again at outer light; 
 Thou shalt again have power from thy God 
 
 To win back might. 
 
 And could not God to me too give 
 
 Such might that I, who now 
 Am dead to Him, should, reading this Book, live, 
 
 As yet shalt thou? 
 
 A thought, thou scatteredst as seed 
 
 Within me long ago. 
 Climbs like a woodbine up my manhood's heed 
 
 To tell me so. 
 
 It was where rows of elms abreast 
 
 Seemed daily to have come, 
 Like henchmen honouring each welcome guest 
 
 Who sought our home. 
 
 My father homeward drove his steed, 
 
 And seeing thereabout 
 His wife and child, came nigh to catch his meed — 
 
 A smile, a shout. 
 
 I looked at thee, and then at him ; 
 
 Thou pleadest for my ride; 
 I rode, but, glancing back with careless whim, 
 
 I thee espied. 
 
 I saw my mother weak and wan 
 
 Left all alone. I knew 
 Her toilsome walk was to an ailing man. 
 
 We stopped; I flew; 
 
 And I was caught by thy sweet kiss; 
 
 My love was fondly grasped 
 Within a greater love than mine; my bliss 
 
 Tn thine hung clasped. 
 
256 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 We sauntered listening along 
 
 With footsteps growing slow; 
 The earth and heaven sang their even-song 
 
 With mantling glow. 
 
 Upon a harp of slanted rays 
 
 The sun struck chords full loud; 
 The welkin shook and waved with peals of praise, 
 
 Cloud rolled on cloud; 
 
 The earth's own hushed, but deep and clear, 
 
 Voice answered heaven's strings: 
 The evening's stillness echoed, ' Love and fear 
 
 The King of kings ! ' 
 
 The landscape into awe was stilled; 
 
 The birds sang psalms; and then — 
 Whilst strains as soft as angels' earth-song thrilled 
 
 The breasts of men — 
 
 Then saidst thou, ' Aarbert listless saw 
 
 These very clouds when white 
 At noon, from which he now can, thrilled with awe, 
 
 Hear speech of light; 
 
 * Yet was as full of light each cloud 
 
 That whispered in noon's sky, 
 As these are which of God and heaven aloud 
 
 In all hues cry. 
 
 ' Dear child! ere reading holy writ 
 
 Look upward, and beseech 
 That God would stir the living lore in it 
 
 To quickening speech ! ' 
 
 My mother! now I understand 
 
 These words. When I was tost 
 Into the godless world, I lacked thy guiding hand, 
 
 Thy faith I lost; 
 
Book V.] AARBERT 257 
 
 But God has never lost the prayers 
 
 Thou breathedst for thy child; 
 His love has led through manhood's thousand snares 
 
 My footsteps wild. 
 
 And so His mercy leads me still : 
 
 He shows me duty's tasks; 
 And names my mother to my stubborn will 
 
 As one that asks. 
 
 He stoops in pity's love to twine 
 
 Thy bidding with his own, 
 And takes it done for Him, when done as Thine, 
 
 And His, too, known. 
 
 XHL 
 
 Aarbert, Godard, and Milda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 What! Godard here! Right welcome home again! 
 
 My dearest brother! Welcome, welcome back! 
 
 But how — but how is this? You seem — you wrote — 
 
 No letter — you are pale. Do tell me what 
 
 Has brought you. Had you not my last month's note? 
 
 You seem much ailing. What to me has brought 
 
 This joy in seeing you — this — brother! — pain 
 
 In seeing you so — wan — with travel faint. 
 
 Godard. 
 
 Aarbert, I had your note, and much I ail. 
 Yes, I am wayworn and have travelled far; 
 For I have, on my road to heavenly health. 
 Passed that of earth, and I have come to find 
 Some sleep within an English house of dust. 
 Let not this saying shock you. Earth awaits 
 All men; and, brother, Christians cannot die. 
 
258 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My dearest Godard, let me straightway send 
 
 For the good lech. Your bedroom longs for you; 
 
 And a warm supper comes to cheer you soon. 
 
 Godard. 
 
 I thank you, Milda. Call the skilful lech ; 
 
 And till he comes sit still to hear the words 
 
 Which I have brought to both of you from God. 
 
 My breathings all are numbered. I must give 
 
 His errand ; take it as from Him through me. 
 
 My sister, I shall speak to Aarbert, but 
 
 What of the warning in my speech you need 
 
 Is yours; and it is spoken with my love 
 
 To you and him, and with for both of you 
 
 My prayers. My brother, take this from your God; 
 
 He tells you you have stayed aloof from Him; 
 
 Your eyelids to His Gospel's light are sealed ; 
 
 Your heart is cold to all its tearful love. 
 
 Your life on earth is ever held from Him 
 
 At but a twinkling's lease-tide, which may end 
 
 Without more warning when he wills; when that? 
 
 A man unskilled to read, nay, more, a child, 
 
 A heathen often, under one day's light 
 
 And love from God as great as you have had 
 
 For many years, will give Him heart and life. 
 
 Oh! He will have you. How then? Crushed by woe? 
 
 If so, the woe will on your earthwardness, 
 
 Not on your Godwardness, at all alight; 
 
 And it shall win you, though at death's thin gate. 
 
 Oh, Aarbert! Aarbert! must it win you so? 
 
 My brother, I am going. Let us meet in heaven ! 
 
 Seek God, and then the holy Frefriend^ still 
 
 • The Paraclete (Lord-friend). 
 
Book V.] AARBERT 259 
 
 Will bide to teach you. Read your Bible much. 
 
 Man's words at best are names of living things; 
 
 The Bible's words are living things theirselves, 
 
 Far easier of being understood 
 
 Than are man's teachings as to what they mean. 
 
 The Holy Ghost, who wrote them, speaks in them, 
 
 And shows their meaning as can no one else. 
 
 That book will guide and cheer and strengthen you. 
 
 Read, mark it, learn it; prove by it the words 
 
 Of every man who comes to teach it you. 
 
 Hold naught on trust which even I have said. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My own, own Godard! what would not I give 
 
 To see his health recovered ! That is lost. 
 
 But if he might have lived for some few years! 
 
 My God! Oh, spare him, spare him, woeful day! 
 
 He dies, and this unworthy I yet live. 
 
 Make — make me at all cost his follower. 
 
 Oh, what a jewel in our fear lies loose! 
 
 But it is God's, and He will keep it where He will. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 Poor Godard! — nay, rich, rich, and we the poor! 
 
 My heart is rent, my life is withered up. 
 
 Ah, woeful day indeed! The world knows not 
 
 What worth it soon will in his lost life lose. 
 
 He yet is with us. Oh that hope could keep him ! 
 
 I wonder whether prayers can keep a soul 
 
 Half fled from earth's hope. Godard would have said, 
 
 ' Not wonder's prayer could keep it ; that of faith 
 
 Assured might.' Would that I could pray for him. 
 
26o AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 As he would pray for me, were I so ill ! 
 
 How earned by us his chiding was! How strong 
 
 Were his appeals! Hear how he coughs. Poor 
 
 Godard ! 
 Oh, I, like you, have stayed from God aloof. 
 Go you to bed; I sit with him this night. 
 How golden time is, whilst his life's hours shine! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Nay, half the night; the other half's watch mine. 
 
 XV. 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 The lech says now that Godard yet may live 
 
 A year or longer, if his life escape 
 
 The bleak winds which, as ambushed archers, line 
 
 The passes of this wild month. Much he hopes 
 
 That in the covered wain of home's defence 
 
 It may, in fleecy armour, pass the month. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, may it! may it! I shall hug the hope. 
 
 To prayer ! — ^for I have too much talked — have prayed 
 
 Too little. Come; he yet may live awhile. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Milda and Edda. 
 
 Mama, dear uncle soon will %o away 
 To Jesus. He this morning told me so. 
 And I am going some time afterwards ; 
 And Sibriht too is going, I geleave. 
 Dear lesus! I so love Him! Do not vou? 
 
Book V.] AARBERT 261 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 I wish to do so; and you ought to say, 
 Not, ' I am going,' but ' I hope to go.' 
 
 Edda. 
 
 Why, dear mama, when Jesus bids me come, 
 And when I wish so much to go to Him? 
 I love Him, and am quite, quite sure of it. 
 That He will take me, since He bids me come. 
 And you will come, and so will dear papa. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My darling! has your uncle talked with you 
 And Sibriht much about such things as these? 
 
 Edda. 
 
 Oh yes: all through this month, when we have read 
 The Bible to Him. I so like that Book. 
 It says that all my sins are washed away. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 It says they may be washed away; and you 
 Can only say you hope that they are so. 
 
 Edda. 
 
 Mama, mama, I know they are! Why, look! 
 The Bible says they are. Besides, I know 
 They must be so, for I have prayed to God ; 
 I prayed to Him this morning in my room, 
 And told Him I was sorry for them all. 
 And asked Him to forgive me for Christ's sake. 
 They are then washed away, you see — quite, quite. 
 And Jesus now will make me a good girl : 
 And uncle says that He will keep me so; 
 
262 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 For God says, Trust in Me, which means that He, 
 Almighty and all-true, will keep me then. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My dear, you understand not what you say. 
 Oh God, have mercy, mercy, mercy, Lord! 
 
 Edda. 
 What did you say? 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Ask not, but take your hoop and have a run. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Book written as with a sun's bright beam 
 
 In ink of sheerest ghostly light, 
 That flashes through earthy wisdom's gleam 
 
 As through the gloom of pitch-dark night, 
 
 The wisdom of earth aloof at thee 
 
 Stares blindly like a cavern dark 
 At flame in its midst ; which, woulding see. 
 
 It mocks in seeing but a spark. 
 
 Wherever on earth appears thy blaze. 
 The gloom around is like some grot. 
 
 Whose empty and wide eye-socket gaze 
 Beholds lit torch, but knows it not. 
 
 Mind heavenly meets thine each one ray. 
 
 And draws it home to it to shine, 
 As that of a bright and open day ; 
 
 And oh! that more such mind were mine! 
 
Book V. j AARBERT 263 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Gone! the room empty! and how empty seems it! 
 How, oh, how emptier the world around it! 
 Even care's pangs, which are the joys of love, have 
 
 Left me alone now. 
 
 Gone, my dear brother! even gone for ever. 
 
 What a woe death has, since the dawn, been working! 
 
 Nought can unwork it; he has broken that which 
 
 Nothing can mend now. 
 
 Yet has death done his very worst, and merely, 
 After all, burst a jewel's casket open: 
 God has that jewel. He has wrecked a prison: 
 
 Fled has its inmate. 
 
 Godard has tied, as in a ship's escaping, 
 Only her masts loom w4th their every sail set, 
 Whilst a bright track's wreath is the last which 
 watchers 
 
 Saw of her hull's flight. 
 
 When, aside drawing from thee daylight's curtains. 
 Thou, as night's blackness, through this chamber 
 
 stalkedst, 
 Treading down tenderness's careful nursing. 
 
 Slayer of all men! 
 
 Flinched my dear brother from thy dagger? Did he? 
 Failed his faith once? As he had boldly waited. 
 Fearless he met thee. We have seen the battle, 
 
 Fought by him, won too. 
 
264 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 Thou indeed sniotest at the heart his carth-hfe. 
 And the Hfe ralHed; and again thou smotest; 
 But his ghost, mightier in Christ than was his 
 
 Body, o'erfought thee. 
 
 Soon his gaze told us of the looming nearness 
 Midst thy dark suite of one of Christ's own angels 
 Bright and armed, waiting in his glory. Then did 
 
 Where is my brother? 
 
 Gone with him! know I not that look? Yea, he has 
 Slipped from thee. Though thou hast as spoil this 
 
 earthen 
 Mould which I loved so, it is not his self, but 
 
 Merely his likeness. 
 
 Take it. Dear Godard is no longer in it. 
 Ah! he seems speaking from it. What? He tells me: 
 ' Yield to Christ all of thee! For heaven's life's sake — 
 
 Yield, and be praying ! ' 
 
 Will I not yield? Will not I pray? My brother. 
 Wisest and truest! Oh, I will! I never 
 
 Knew thy worth so as I do now, when I have 
 
 He is at home — home. 
 
 Why do I grieve? He is at home. That word ' home ' 
 Answers grief. Heaven be my home henceforward! 
 Oh, me! Home! His was ever but a Christ-life, 
 
 Flitting to heaven. 
 
 Nevermore, brother, oh, my faithful brother! 
 Now shall I hear thy loving voice of warning. 
 Never! how helpless am W Not a thing thou 
 
 Badst will I not do. 
 
Book v.] AARBERT 265 
 
 Take, O Death! take away this image. God-Hke 
 Was the life dwelHiig in it once, and loving 
 With the love which is from the heart of Jesus, 
 
 Beaming on all men. 
 
 Take it! I know that Godard's self awaiteth 
 Till an archangel by the blast of trumpet 
 Sound the call, ' Edrise! '^ when will e'en his body 
 
 Float up in glory. 
 
 What will that glory be? a glory like his 
 King's, who will give to him this welcome: 'Well- 
 done ! 
 Good and true bondman! enter thoii thy Lord's joy.' 
 
 Into the jpy, Death, 
 
 Thou shalt not enter. Oh ! that I might follow 
 Godard's each footstep thither with my children, 
 Milda, yea countless others! Hear this prayer mine, 
 
 Jesus in heaven! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My Father's halls are up in heaven; 
 
 My home beyond these skies. 
 My heart it clings to what is earthy; 
 
 And what is earthy dies. 
 
 Wrecked is the world's weal. Men from oflf it 
 
 Drop into earthy waves. 
 Earth's hills are but a sea of billows, 
 
 A stormy sea of graves. 
 
 ' Rise again (ed = after), float up in glory. 
 
266 AARBERT [Book 
 
 But wrecked is earth's woe. Souls of men flit 
 
 Thence Hke a sky-w^de gale. 
 They leave the woe to be their children's. 
 
 They flit as a told tale. 
 
 How we had hoped to live together, 
 
 Dear Godard! unto eld. 
 Your life's blade then was green and growing; 
 
 It lies beside me felled. 
 
 It lies amidst w^hole fallen kinrens ^ 
 
 Of men, once hale and blithe. 
 All mown down, kinren after kinren, 
 
 By sweeps of Time's great scythe; 
 
 Of men whose lips w^ere sealed from blessing, 
 Whose hands were dashed from toil, 
 
 Whose gallant hearts beat fast and fainted, 
 Whose minds sank midst their moil. 
 
 Man's earth-life is an endless quitting 
 Of all things which have come. 
 
 To even earthlings shunning heaven 
 This earth is not a home. 
 
 It is the very home of fleeting, 
 
 Where naught may long abide; 
 Where what is good and strong rests only 
 
 On groundless hope of pride. 
 
 If envy ever showed me greatness, 
 There passed by Change and Chance; 
 
 And lo! in Envy's place stood Pity 
 With meek, upbraiding glance. 
 
 ' Generation (run of kindred). 
 
Book V.J AARBERT 267 
 
 If ever Wonder showed me Beauty, 
 
 And I then praised its sheen, 
 Soon Wonder's self cried, ' Oh, how wan is 
 
 The cheek w^here glee had been! ' 
 
 Then wherefore longs my heart, so jilted, 
 
 For rest beneath these skies? 
 My heart it clings to what is earthy. 
 
 And what is earthy dies. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 There at that churchyard whither Death had borne 
 
 him, 
 There, and where both had into earth together 
 Plunged, I stood brotherless; and thence I called up 
 Thoughts of my lost one. 
 
 Everything gave me them: a stone on which he 
 Lately sate talking with me caught my glance, and 
 There I saw, heard him; with him thence strolled 
 homewards, 
 
 Lost him, and sighed, wept. 
 
 Hundreds of miles would I have trudged to get one 
 Walk with him more. I thought of past ones, locking 
 Each in my heart up like a book of stories. 
 Left as a keepsake. 
 
 Whilst I stood weeping over things there — weeping 
 Over things smallest in the past, that least seemed 
 Worthy one thought, when I so richly had them 
 All in his own self; 
 
268 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 When I could slight him, I could wrangle with him 
 Through the long day; and then at bedtime clasp his 
 Warm and dear hand with the sure hope to meet him 
 After the sun rose — 
 
 Whilst I stood thus, W'here he had often cheered some 
 Poor bereaved mourner like myself, the sun set. 
 Stillness came nearer then, and spoke of good deeds. 
 Some of his unknown 
 
 But to ourselves. T w^as in thought lost wholly, 
 When a slow rustle to my feet came gliding. 
 Nay, it was nothing but the breeze of evening 
 Bearing the earth's sigh. 
 
 Stealthy breeze! thou that with a leaf-like rustle 
 Garredst flesh shiver in me, I am coaxing 
 Time to come back with the past life of one who 
 Sank in this churchyard. 
 
 Take, then, man, take, then, from my sigh his answer. 
 Time is no trifler. He is ever dragging 
 Earth from fresh deaths through newer life's own 
 dyings 
 
 Of¥ to the world's death; 
 
 W^hence will start kinships, aye, and kithships newly. 
 Men, on earth living, are the seeds of beings 
 After earth. Nothing do they show of what they 
 Will be for ever. 
 
 As the men now are inly fair or ugly. 
 Ugly or fair will be their outer shape then; 
 Since to themselves it will be fitted. Earth-lost 
 Shapes are for aye lost. 
 
Book v.] AARBERT 269 
 
 As the tale also of their earthly life shall 
 Give its stern quothness or against or for them, 
 So will their home be either hell or heaven. 
 Linger no longer. 
 
 Earth alone here is. Unto life's or death's home 
 Godard's whole past has with himself hence flitted. 
 Is he not one of very life's own household? 
 Linger no longer. 
 
 Hence from these tombs! and, as thy brother liveth, 
 Yea, as earth lives, which is from death now drawing 
 Back his dust, live ! achieving right to stand his 
 Brother in heaven. 
 
 Hence! for not here, but at the end of earth-life's 
 Path is thy brother. By it hope to meet him. 
 Loose me. Life beckons; we have loitered, each one 
 Bearing the Lord's charge. 
 
 Breeze of wise evening! I will, as thou biddest. 
 Go; the more fain, for that my brain is fevered, 
 Whilst the cold shiver of an ague thrills my 
 Body and each limb. 
 
 XXL 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Out of the grave has a gourd of fresh wealth over us 
 grown now. 
 
 Under its shadow we might in the heat of our earth- 
 day have rested 
 
270 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 Pleasantly, but that the gourd's root feeds on the death 
 
 of our lost one. 
 Milda! the shade thus far to me seems more gloomy 
 
 than cheering. 
 
 Milda. 
 If one feeling have I but of loss which seems to en- 
 gulf all 
 Near me, the feeling is dread of a woe that is looming 
 
 behind it. 
 Thought of a gain have I none; but am atfore ^ that 
 
 which alarms me. 
 What is it? Fear I the wealth, or the loss of my fear 
 
 of it rather? 
 Though we may mock earth's power, its wealth when 
 
 thriftily spread out 
 Into the world's all shapes with the thinness of gilding 
 
 and colour. 
 Quickly will win us away still further from Godard; 
 
 and sorrows 
 Then will be sent us as oiTsets; one great joy will be 
 
 yours now, 
 That of your paying in full whatever is left of the 
 
 bank's debts. 
 Oh me! God was your brother's joy as well as his 
 
 w^hole wealth. 
 I have at least from him learnt to be wretched in being 
 
 without God. 
 
 XXII. 
 Milda. 
 
 I said it well, that there was woe foretold me 
 By that strange cloud upon me looking dumbly. 
 My darling Aarbert! Spare him to me. Heaven! 
 ' In presence of (coram). 
 
Book V.] AARBERT 271 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Death ! have I talked with thee day after day, 
 
 Nor known so deep thine arrow in my breast 
 That now. though thence I cut the shaft away, 
 
 The forkhead yet will, as thy pledge, there rest, 
 
 Whilst thou behind me climb'st day over day 
 
 Time's stairs to my last month ; to catch my breast 
 
 In that month's bedroom, w^orn by wound away, 
 And panting on its bed for breath and rest, 
 
 And there to watch my fever night and day, 
 Till it has wasted quite my stricken breast; 
 
 When thy rough hand will dash her work away, 
 Pluck forth thy pledge, and in its stead plant rest? 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 MiLDA, HuLDA, Arnulph, and Aarbert. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Well leapt! Not yours, sir! No. My own gold 
 
 bought 
 That horse. Poor man! you lost your all. I know it. 
 I must sell Aarwick. Who are you? My wife! 
 Ha! ha! But what! has she acknowledged you? 
 Is she dead? I forgot it. Packs of lies! 
 Have you come here to die? 
 King Death is a shadow 
 That married young Life, 
 And strolled o'er the meadow 
 With her as his wife; 
 Till they came to a grave dug deep, 
 And were bedded and fell asleep. 
 
272 AARBERT [Book 
 
 V. 
 
 Know you that song? 
 
 Deep! deep! Stand back! A gulph! We shall fall in. 
 Is that the sea there roaring in on us? 
 How the surf thumps the beach! Fly! Loose me, 
 sir! 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Good Hulda, run to fetch the lech; run, run! 
 Nay, you are lame; stay, I will go; watch here. 
 
 Hulda. 
 Trust me, dear lady. Sir, drink this. Now, hush! 
 Speak softly! Let us stand awhile aloof. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 It is the mind's fret at that bankruptcy's 
 Large pack of yelpings at his covert which 
 Withstands the soothing voice of drugs to it. 
 How his mind rambles ! That the world has wronged 
 
 him 
 His tombstone may at last know; but a thing 
 Grievous is knowledge bought with loss of that 
 In whose behalf alone it has its worth. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Arnulph, Milda, Aarbert, and Hulda. 
 Arnulph. 
 Have not you borrowed many hours from sleep, 
 Milda, in these last fearful weeks of watching? 
 Beware of wronging Sleep, the friend of health, 
 That health which you would lead to Aarbert back. 
 
 Hulda. 
 He wakes. It is time for his new lecdrink.^ 
 
 ' Medical potion. 
 
Book v.] AARBERT 273 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My darling! you are cooler, and your look 
 
 Is brighter. For this mercy thanks! The lech 
 
 Has told me that he cannot see the face 
 
 Of Death here now; and even that its back 
 
 Is gliding out of sight. He leaves with you 
 
 And Hulda, who is waiting on you now, 
 
 The head-nurse, Stillness; and he greatly hopes 
 
 That your soon-growing strength will honour her. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I! I am well; I am strong. Thanks, thanks! I have, 
 Milda, seen 
 Strange things, have wandered away to a foreign 
 star. 
 No, no; not wandering now, but wandering much 
 have been. 
 Do let me speak. I have roamed from you all afar. 
 
 The fever, seizing my mind, and reeling along death's 
 shore. 
 Had borne it ofif to the fields and the bowers sweet. 
 Where dwells the shade of my buried youth, and I held 
 no more 
 A mind; 'twas carried away by my fever's feet. 
 
 When swooned the fever, my mind came back to the 
 brink of death. 
 And whispered : ' Shallow as bloom on a cheek is 
 health; 
 Man's life floats loose in the floating cloud of his 
 looser breath ; 
 And vet that life is the chief of his earthly wealth.' 
 
274 AARBERT [Book V. 
 
 Then begged I life of my God as that which had so 
 much worth 
 To me a sinner, whereon to me came in dream 
 An angel, bidding my ghost to fly with him forth. We 
 forth 
 Flew therefore up by the path of a star's bright 
 beam, 
 
 Until we came to the star's self. There I around with 
 awe 
 Looked back for earth and its glory. He showed 
 me then 
 A spark like that from a forge; and said that the spark 
 I saw 
 Held all earth's women and children, and hosts of 
 men. 
 
 The fleets and armies of volks^ all swayed by its 
 thrymful" kings. 
 Its wealth worth millions of souls, and its works 
 whose worth 
 Is priceless — nameless, and all the rest of its awful 
 things, 
 Launched their whole glory through each of its 
 twinkles forth. 
 
 Its mainlands, islands, and seas, its ranges of moun- 
 tains rife. 
 Were all at large on the point of a pin spread out. 
 We homeward flew: so he said, ' Thou livest; and sell 
 thy life 
 No more although for the bulk of this speck of rout.' 
 
 Mtlda. 
 
 Enough, my husband! you must more be calm. 
 What God has in your illness said to you 
 
 ' Nations. * Yx\\\ of glory. 
 
Book V.J AARBERT 275 
 
 Must be for afterwork; you have to-day 
 The work of doing nothing. Thanks to Him, 
 For having spared you, and in you myself! 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 To God thanks, Aarbert! for your earthly life, 
 
 Thus given back, and for the better life 
 
 Which soon will be His larger gift to you! 
 
 I now would by your leave in prayer with you, 
 
 The nurse, and Milda, shape due thanks to meetness 
 
 For the large taking of these gifts from God. 
 
BOOK VI. 
 
 WORLDLY LIFE FORSAKEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 With a ' woe-worth thee ! ' earthy World ! I greet 
 Thee, Foe mine ever deadly! that with blaze 
 
 Of magic sheen hast had the might to cheat 
 
 My will, and lure me through thy ctronghold's maze 
 
 Of streets; although I well the while did weet 
 That men, there treading thine unfaithful ways. 
 
 At beck of pride or greed or pleasure sweet. 
 
 Were slipping one by one with death-drawn feet 
 
 Down pits, which, diving under thee through night, 
 Quit thee and neath thy wall in flame-moat meet. 
 
 Oh, there was time when I, by faith's keen sight, 
 Could at thine every crossway see the street 
 
 Which would have led me lifeward on aright; 
 And when I would have fled with footsteps fleet 
 
 O'er bridge that overleaps thy moat's ill plight. 
 
 But whilst I wished to pass, if so I might. 
 
 That moat, that lake of flame wherewith is bound 
 
 Thine outer wall, thou spread'st mirage bright 
 To stay me. Clouds with blackness fore me frowned, 
 Or made through all earth's glory-shapes their 
 flight; 
 
 276 
 
Book VI. J AARBERT 277 
 
 And neath me loathsome things, that crawled the 
 ground, 
 Showed heavenly loveliness by witchcraft's light. 
 My steps were tangled in thy spells around. 
 My will was in thy charm-wrought pleasures drowned. 
 
 I have been lifelong following in thee 
 Sheen ever fleeing me, or faded found. 
 
 But slowly sinking seem I now to be 
 
 With lung-ail^ through a rift here in the mound 
 
 Of time, which, as thy wall, imprisons me. 
 Already through the rift I hear the sound 
 
 Of roaring everness, and frighted see 
 
 The moat's fire. Could I be from Death's hold free, 
 
 If down this grave I slipped throughout thy rail? 
 
 His moat would catch me : none past that, can flee. 
 But over drawbridge made by Christ, man's Bail. 
 
 Let, let me reach the bridge! or, mid thy glee. 
 Thy feast's glee, hear from out the moat this wail : 
 
 ' Lost! all good, lost! A lower life I dree 
 For ever. As a blighted wreath I trail 
 Life's hopes. Their blighter thee, oh, world! I hail.' 
 
 Kill thought, that fireworm ! weary out the pain, 
 And shame, and unrest of this flaming gaol ! 
 
 Or at least send me dreams and lies again! 
 No: thou hast left me. Oh! at that I quail. 
 
 I wear thy mischiefs linked into a chain. 
 
 Which thy rust eats not — I who, clad in mail 
 
 To fight the fiends who forged them, might have — 
 fain — 
 
 I strove with them; but now I sink here slain. 
 
 ' Phthisis (puhiionary disorder). 
 
278 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 11. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 At all my past life, then at thee, • 
 
 At it again — at both I look; 
 Then shut mine eyes that night may cover me, 
 
 Great Doomsday Book! 
 
 Thus hidden from myself I lie, 
 
 My hiding-place, God's sight. 
 My very mind and flesh are but His eye; 
 
 His look is light, 
 
 Which writes on thee whate'er He heeds. 
 
 The ligwrit^ which that look has wrought 
 Is thus the story of my lifetime's deeds 
 
 Within thy thought. 
 
 And in thy page's brain will bide 
 
 That dread thought, till at day of doom 
 
 It forth as speech shall in thy mind's flash glide 
 Throughout geroom.^ 
 
 III. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Unmeek, unloving! ever putting forth 
 An evil-hurried foot with daring speed 
 To meet that woe which meets all evil deed, 
 
 As welfare meets all welfare-meeting worth ! 
 
 Photograph (light-writ). ^ Space. 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 279 
 
 IV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Self-staiulini;ness ^ as self-life — this, tiic core 
 
 And bark, the leaf and stem, too, of that tree 
 Of guilt, which, from my heart through every pore 
 
 Of brow-sweat branches ! I have built in me 
 The shrines of idols ; I on holy lore 
 Have fed my pride; have brought, like Cain of yore 
 
 To God my fruits of work as freegifts all, 
 Thus striking from account the boundless score 
 
 Of works I owed to Him; have held, as small, 
 Sins each as great as death which Christ once bore. 
 Is mercy for my life-long guilt in store? 
 
 V. 
 MiLDA and Aarbert. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Would I could comfort you; but comfort none 
 Have I myself. Our fear is as to what 
 That book of God's great doom may say of us. 
 Spake not dear Godard of a book of life, 
 In which whatever name was written down 
 Was that of one who had a pass to heaven? 
 I would our names were in that blissful book ! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Would, would that they were so! — that aught would 
 
 blot 
 My deeds from doom's great book! — that it forgot! — 
 That ink would strike them there, and they were not! 
 
 ' Independent. 
 
28o AARBER2 [Book VI. 
 
 The cloud has passed by, he that sate thereon 
 Has with his sword in sheath of thunder gone. 
 But only breathing time I thus have won; 
 
 That at full speed I may, athwart the field 
 
 Of earth's sin, reach the shelter Christ would yield 
 
 Beneath His lightning-catching iron shield; 
 
 Before the sin-avenger come again, 
 
 To cut my sickness down, and me in twain — 
 
 Before my soul forsake my body slain. 
 
 And pass from earth to wait the dreadful tide, 
 
 When Christ no more with shield on earth shall bide — 
 
 When even He on fiery cloud shall ride — 
 
 When through the hour-glass shall have slipped the 
 
 sand, 
 And ruthless doom shall take the flashing brand 
 From war's more rough but mercy-slackened hand. 
 
 VI. 
 BiRTNOTH and Aarbert. 
 Aarbert. 
 Birtnoth! it is most loving thus to come. 
 Our youth-sown friendship never died in me; 
 And at your call its root has at a bound 
 Sprung into stalk, and tendril holding out 
 Its clasp to your good fellowship. Oh yes. 
 My fellow-thane! we both of us, nay, more, 
 The country all has lost a friend indeed, 
 A teacher matchless. I have lost in him 
 The brother of my body and my mind. 
 I thank you for your greetings and for all 
 Your loving wishes. I have better health 
 In some things, but in mind am not at ease; 
 And I could tell you 
 
Book VI. ] AARBERT 281 
 
 BiRTNOTH. 
 
 It is the thing! — the leaven of that thing 
 Within my thoughts it is, which works as yeast 
 And gars them so to well up in my mind, 
 That from it they will overflow in speech 
 To other ears, if not now caught by yours. 
 Pray take my speech in, though in foamy hints 
 At its first outflow, charged with zealous haste. 
 It burst upon you hoarsely from my grief. 
 You once to me showed such a height of mind, 
 And so strong truth to duty, that I grieve 
 To see your goodness seem undone, and this 
 Before the taunting world. My friend, my friend. 
 The world has seen that you are not at ease; 
 That you have bowed your head beneath your own 
 Self-chiding, and it listens when the gloom. 
 That reeks from you where'er you walk abroad, 
 Unns ^ fire of knowledge smouldering beneath. 
 I will not ask you what it is that burns 
 In your inwitness, but would quench its heat. 
 The ghost in each of us is by the mind, 
 And more so by the witless body oft. 
 In all their lusts for wealth and pleasure wronged; 
 And since these two our wrong-doers are each 
 A mere astondness ^ of ourselves, we see 
 No wrong of theirs, and need another's eyes 
 And gentle hand to set things right in us ; 
 Then, when right, we with loftiness of worth 
 Can meet the world's eyes with our own again. 
 And even eye blue heaven's look with look 
 As bright and unaware of cloudy guilt. 
 If I might help you win back ghostly health. 
 Sir, I would boast my pleasures passing yours. 
 
 ^ Owns, acknowledges. ^ Outstandingness (branch). 
 
282 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 I pray you spare then my endeavour's life, 
 Till it has dealt with your great sores of mind. 
 And firstly let me, as your friend, say this: 
 That you do well in feeling shame and grief. 
 For such right feeling takes away shame's food. 
 But furthermore you ought to show in works 
 A proof of your beruing ^ your misdeeds ; 
 Such works would win you heavenly health again. 
 If in that wretched bankruptcy were deeds 
 Of yours not quite forgiven by your heart, 
 You now that you have wealth may 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Hold, hold, sir! what will you say next of this? 
 But hold there; draw the bridle of your speech, 
 And let my answer overtake its haste; 
 For it ahead runs through the hedge of soth 
 And over-rides my ownings. I will show 
 Marks, and you then shall know my rightful grounds. 
 Across which you have galloped in a mist. 
 I swear, sir, that by that foul bankruptcy 
 Of which you speak, not one man so was wronged 
 In money, none so wronged in name, as I. 
 Besides loss naught I ever gained by it; 
 And all its loss I gained; for I have paid 
 To all my fellow-losers every loss, 
 And they have but lost losses. No, my wounds 
 Of mind are not from sin of mine to man. 
 You say that I have fallen ; so I have. 
 You say that I am changed from what I was ; 
 You say this well; I am a man quite changed; 
 And I have sickness more than you have thought, 
 For I have sores of sin-plague unto death. 
 But therefore set me down as past your skill, 
 
 ' Repenting. 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 283 
 
 And fear to lay a lancet's easy edge 
 
 Or e'en the finger of a probe on mind. 
 
 The workings of whose wheelry not a thought 
 
 Of yours can track. The bluntness of your knife 
 
 Would bruise its cogs and hair-springs. Do not try 
 
 To cut out aught from mid them or to mend 
 
 One of them. All of us, the soundest men 
 
 Are in the mind unsound. Man's flesh is quite 
 
 Blood-poisoned; and its fever makes his mind 
 
 Unsteady. It is better with us when 
 
 We live in not the flesh, but in the ghost, 
 
 Which is the heaven-born and heaven-homed 
 
 Higherness of our else low selves on earth. 
 
 The ghost itself, however, oft is bruised; 
 
 And for the looking at its bruise one needs 
 
 A ghostly sight. Sir, have you this? Well, yet, 
 
 I was not sound when once you thought me so; 
 
 Nor ail I now where most your speeches grope 
 
 For ailing. List! you may by hap have felt 
 
 Such things as I shall speak of. It is so; 
 
 My soul is troubled. Yes, but there is One 
 
 Within me mending that which erst He made. 
 
 His skill is sure; and boundless are His means; 
 
 His work is thorough; and, indeed, dear friend, 
 
 His leccraft ^ is my life's last fondest hope. 
 
 Wliereas the surgery of undue blame 
 
 (And all my friends are surgeons to the mind) 
 
 Would come to me not blessed by hope at all. 
 
 For raw and touchy wounds of mind, you know. 
 
 Are heated by such mauling; yea, they feel 
 
 Affronted by it; and more sinned against 
 
 Than sinning: w4ser also than the salve 
 
 Which hands, too much enfranchised, and too brisk 
 
 Of men who are apprentices, to skill, 
 
 ' Medical art, 
 
284 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 Lead up to heal them of their festerings. 
 The wounds are ruffled by the bungHng salve, 
 And show but anger at its aim to soothe. 
 Have you, too, felt this? Then indeed you know, 
 That when so mauled, the wounds shed many a tear 
 From their self-pity, whose rank bitterness 
 Frets their sore edges ; and they spread so much 
 That, whilst the dapper freshmen who have made 
 These wounds plot more mistakes, death's under- 
 taking 
 Of all the surgery is called in. Sir, 
 Man's knife can never cut sin's canker out. 
 I pray you therefore hide from me your tools. 
 You used them lovingly; but lay them down. 
 Forgive me; I have in my wound's behalf 
 Been brandishing a branch of speech unleafed 
 Of wordiness and quite unflowery 
 Against your well-willed haste to meet its sore; 
 But pray forgive me: I am sinful man, 
 A weak man. What! there yet is that in me 
 Which, at the smart of twitting taunt, breaks loose 
 To wield a battledore, and send the taunt 
 Back like a feathered cork as light as down, 
 A shuttle fledged and pointed for return. 
 Awake not up that fiend in me, with whom 
 I have through years been struggling for my life. 
 As you have man's flesh, wake not that — nor — ■ 
 Birtnoth ! — nor yet be startled ofif from me ; 
 Nor take aw^ay your friendship. Well, farewell! 
 Since fare you will, you must so, but, farewell! 
 
 VII. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh ! that was wrong to God and to my friend. 
 Have I more knowledge of some higher things 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 285 
 
 Than he? Yes, both of its had on our knees 
 
 For that good knowledge begged; but, having asked 
 
 The more of it, I was the beggar thus 
 
 To whom the more was doled. Not much was that: 
 
 The knapsack of my mind held earthly thoughts, 
 
 And had for heavenly knowledge little room. 
 
 What of the knowledge I could take I had; 
 
 And with my crumbs I should have fed my friend ; 
 
 For all of these were love's free gifts to me, 
 
 As one of men. But I have to my friend 
 
 Tossed both the knowledge, and the knapsack, too. 
 
 And all the earthliness within the sack. 
 
 I tossed my bag of knowledge at his head — 
 
 A heavy bag, though filled with lightest crumbs. 
 
 Wretch ! I did toss my bag at him, until 
 
 He wore the blush I should have rather worn 
 
 For such unloving dole of love's free gifts, 
 
 Such fling of Avisdom in unwisest words. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Aarbert, Lateinos, and Edda. 
 Edda. 
 
 Why, here you are, papa! The Rector asks 
 To see you. Here is my papa, sir, here. 
 
 Lateinos. 
 
 Dear sir, good-morning! I have broken through 
 Your leisure's fence, I fear. Your daughter showed 
 My way, perhaps, too rashly. You must now 
 Forgive us both. — I thank you. — Then I stay. 
 Trusting the unearned welcome which you give. 
 Farewell, my child! Come when you will to me. 
 My duty chides me, sir! that I must unn 
 Myself a stranger to you ; but in soth 
 
286 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 I now have for a long while wished this day 
 
 Of sweet amends to come; and overlong 
 
 Have fasted from the pleasure it bespeaks: 
 
 For I, your parish priest, although you stray 
 
 To churches other than the one where gifts 
 
 From heaven, through myself and me the most. 
 
 Wait you, have oversight to give you still. 
 
 Would I could give it, and give insight too, 
 
 To all of whom I have the holy charge, — * 
 
 As touching that, allow me, by the way 
 
 To tell you — since I touched it by a chance — 
 
 You greatly lose in keeping from me back 
 
 Your inward likeness. I have that of men 
 
 As well as that of women and of girls 
 
 In this my parish, and should hold it locked 
 
 From others' sight; and if you gave it me — 
 
 Not now I ask it — not unless you would — 
 
 But in good time. I see that you are moved. 
 
 I had not hoped so soon to stir your heed 
 
 To this great duty. Since I so have done, 
 
 I will say this, unclothing you of check 
 
 In giving that your inward likeness whole, 
 
 That I shall by your gift of it have means 
 
 Of being, what I wish to be, your friend. 
 
 I feel for you; I hear with pain the talk 
 
 Of all the town here, of — of — well! Had I 
 
 The gift of that your likeness from yourself, 
 
 I should have means of smoothing out the shape 
 
 Which your unhappiness, as you must know, 
 
 Too freely hands about; and which, alas! 
 
 The rabble, full of dismal talk of you. 
 
 And chiefly as to that sad bankruptcy 
 
 And all its flighty deeds— well! well! But if 
 
 I may behold the fret of that grim shape 
 
 Which your inwitness bears about, I soon 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 287 
 
 Shall smooth it of its riiggedness with paint 
 
 Of absolution, which would make you like 
 
 One that had never had life's beauty marred. 
 
 And oh! how I have longed that something might. 
 
 In my first call upon you lead to this. 
 
 I like your zeal, but shall we slowly speed? 
 
 Show yourself fully, as to God; and when — 
 
 My son, allow, I crave, a few more words — 
 
 When you unclothe a sin, have faith assured 
 
 That I shall not betray your trust in me. 
 
 Just one or two thoughts more, before you answer! 
 
 Besides my loosing you from guilt of sin, 
 
 It shall be mine to borrow from the world's 
 
 Wardrobe of many suits of speech, a cloak 
 
 For your sin, showing it a deed in which 
 
 Other men wrought with your right-minded hand. 
 
 Pity, a mistress of the robes, will ask 
 
 The bulging cloak from Hope; and then your sin. 
 
 Although it was till shriven, a skeleton. 
 
 May, as if large and fleshly, having halt 
 
 From over-flesh's weakness, walk abroad 
 
 With smile of kinship to the passing works 
 
 Of this unsteady world. Besides, dear sir, 
 
 It is well taught that there are cases where 
 
 Misdeeds make Love their debtor for mild doom. 
 
 Your alms were great, and 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Though, my bold sir! who call yourself my father. 
 Whilst I to God alone have ghostly sonship — 
 
 Though, my bold sir! you are a priest, what warrant 
 Have you for claiming thus my inward likeness? 
 
 All are God's priests who have a share in Christhood ; 
 And Christ alone amid them has High-Priesthood. 
 
288 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 You among priests are but a prest; for though you 
 
 Have claimed high-priesthood o'er us priests un- 
 prestly, 
 Holy Writ gives you to the rank no title. 
 
 Since, therefore, Jesus only has High-Priesthood, 
 Whilst the mere presthood you have more than I have, 
 
 I nill to strip to you my bandaged bosom. 
 Why have you asked this? Holy Writ has bidden 
 
 Us all to strip our sores to one another; 
 But the deed's shieldness ^ is that so we strip them 
 
 Before a throng of gazers, grieving with us. 
 Praying too for us, whilst to them our brethren 
 
 We strip our shame. You yield me not this shield- 
 ness;^ 
 Nor to you grant I power such as knowledge 
 
 Of all my sores and weaknesses would lend you. 
 Well you know how has been such power wielded 
 
 By wicked prests - who passed as sacrificers. 
 Ask you this, hating what you ask, and fearing 
 
 The sin-plague-wound's l^reath, when its mouth 
 you open? 
 Christ alone heals that wound; and, as all-holy, 
 
 He well can do it harm-free. Oh! His balsam. 
 Made at life's cost to Him, indeed could heal me. 
 
 He gives both health and haelth '^ in that balsam. 
 Earth for His love has not a name; none other 
 
 Than He could thole my sores: I would none other 
 Nurse than Him. No one is so near as He is. 
 
 I tell Him things which I could not have told you. 
 Would my sin's lowness make you lowly? Would my 
 
 Pain at your stripping it become yours? No, sir. 
 Could your mind cleanse me? No; it must itself have 
 
 Been fouled by dabbling's with the filth of others. 
 
 ' Proteclioii. -Presbyters. ^'Salvation.- 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 289 
 
 As to that bankriiplcv, the tales are rubbish; 
 
 And as to ahiis, mine — Rector! — he has left nie. 
 Should I run after him? No; nothing can 1 
 
 Unsay. No; let him go! But I am sorry. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Aarbert and Arnulph. 
 Arnulph. 
 
 What kind of thing is it which bows thee, Aarbert? 
 I pray thee drag it from thy neck awhile, 
 And know it, that thy friend may give thee help. 
 Or stoopest thou 'neath weight of that foul sin 
 Whose other name is flesh-mind, and whose grasp 
 Of worldlings is a loved and sweet embrace? 
 If so, thou needs must to the flesh-mind die; 
 And must in Christ's life be of God new-born. 
 Or, art thou bowed by thought that thou hast done 
 Wrong to thy fellow-man? Then, as thou canst, 
 Thou needest to aright the man. I deem 
 Aarbert unguilty willes ^ of such deed. 
 Or, bendest thou beneath the gloom set up 
 By wrong which other men have done to thee, 
 Such wrong as slander? Then must thou of that 
 Gloom rid thee by forgiveness of men all. 
 Shun gloom. It is the child of married Pride 
 And Hate, and is the brother of foul Fear. 
 Oh! shun them all; for they have deadly guilt. 
 Now, which of these things named by me, or else 
 What other thing is there thus bowing thee? 
 Look closely ; and give answer, not to me. 
 But give it to thy God, whose liss - alone 
 
 'Willingly. '-' Absolution (loosed-being). 
 
29<^ AARBERT [Book VL 
 
 Should bring thee peace of mind : and give it, too, 
 Through Christ thy High-Priest, who will feel with 
 
 thee, 
 And will, as one with thee, be thy new life. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I know not. Slanders some, although their own 
 
 selves 
 Lie lightly on my knowledge of them, bow me 
 With their ill-will's weight. Oh! but I am loaded 
 With much sin, Arnulph! and this drags me down- 
 ward 
 Into the gloom you spoke of — wounded pride and — 
 And many other things of which I cannot 
 Now speak to you. I cannot rid me of them. 
 I sink, and still, in rising from the gloom's pit. 
 Sink back in it. I know no evil fully 
 Wrought into deed mine, since I quitted childhood. 
 To any being, in the breach of honour 
 Or chastity or mercy. Yet do many 
 And great sins through my law-clear mind keep leak- 
 ing 
 To heaven's sight. My mind has taken knowledge 
 Of all of them with greedy gaze of loathing, 
 Until it with their fret has grown unhealthy. 
 The rabble, looking at their own lives' worstness. 
 As the grim likeness of the things which grieve me. 
 Give hatred to me for them. To my Maker 
 The evil of my life is. He has stricken 
 Me — He, none other! And His stripes. His only, 
 I feel ; I earn them. Would that He would clear me 
 Of sin at all cost! Would that He would scourge it 
 From out of me with tenfold His past scourges! 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 291 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 My friend. He cannot scourge it from you; you are 
 Sin's self; you need in Christ a change of Being. 
 You love Him not; and why? You cannot love Him 
 Until you, as a sinner, fear Him — till you 
 Do quake for that as, bidding you to trust Him, 
 He binds Himself to keep you in your trusting, 
 So, in His bidding that you fear Him, He is 
 Self-bound to crush your welfare in your sinning. 
 When you fear sin as wedded into oneness 
 With hell, you soon will feel how great God's mercy 
 To you is; you will love Him, and will gladly 
 Ask His forgiveness. Are you ripe to ask this? 
 Then ask it with whole trust that you will have it, 
 And rate it lowly love to boast it yours then. 
 For He is by His own truth pledged to give it; 
 And as you have it you will have ne\v being. 
 
 X. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, Thou by me more wronged, my God, my Father. 
 Than I by any other being could be, 
 I wonder that a man can live so wicked 
 As I am — I who am with all sin leprous. 
 For every deed of mine hath been sin-smitten.^ 
 My best deeds bad have been; my bad deeds count- 
 less; 
 I strive against sin; Thou, my God, Thou knowest; 
 But it abides, and all my strife is bootless. 
 I should have loved Thee with my whole of being. 
 For all I ever had of good Thou gavest. 
 And I have wholly to myself lived. I have 
 Lived free from Thee who givest me my breathing — 
 
 ' Tainted. 
 
292 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 Lived making as a God my own law. Have I 
 
 A word to say against my doom to hell? No; 
 
 I ought to be there. Thou hast till now spared me, 
 
 And Thou hast bidden me to ask forgiveness. 
 
 Oh, wilt thou therefore give it me for Christ's sake? 
 
 Give, give me, give me in Thy Son new being. 
 
 XL 
 
 BiRTNOTH and Arnulph. 
 
 BiRTNOTH. 
 
 I hear that Aarbert, our old friend, than whom 
 Breathed not a man once prouder, worldlier — 
 You know how long he scornfully withstood 
 His good wise brother's preaching — now at last 
 Raves as to sin, and says that he hiself 
 Is no whit better than a murderer; 
 Pleads guilt of everlasting death, and cries 
 For mercy from the calm and stilly heavens. 
 In soth he wears an unrest's guilty look, 
 Bespeaking need of mercy much from God. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 If you had felt with Godard, you would feel 
 
 With Aarbert. Godard pitied both of you; 
 
 His heart was full of rest as yours is. Yours 
 
 Is that of stillness in the world's strong grip; 
 
 And well did Aarbert when he left such rest. 
 
 In his not having reached to Godard's rest 
 
 Of stillness in the grip of those still heavens, 
 
 He has done worthily of all your pity. 
 
 I know men strong in a full-blooded faith 
 
 In their own selves, whilst strongly in the world's. 
 
 Grip held too. Never faints that faith; no, though 
 
 They snatch all chance of sin. Their stride is 1)old; 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 293 
 
 Their heads high: great their peace; their guiltless- 
 ness 
 Unstain of guilt-look. These you deem good men. 
 E'en the faith-faintness, known as evil shame, 
 Is no sure proof of some one sin. It earns 
 The scorn and loathing paid to faith-lack's fear; 
 Yet is it sin of often those the least 
 Guilty of aught but pride, and too great love 
 Of man's praise, and a want of faith in God. 
 The gloom of heart-change tells but grief at sin. 
 When a man proud as Aarbert is — a man 
 Into this world-life canker-rooted too — 
 Is being wrenched from it, w^hilst quivers still 
 His one half in it, and his other half 
 To heaven's claim is given, his mind is all 
 A tatter of torn thoughts and weaknesses 
 Unknown to some men who, whilst giving up 
 Themselves to heaven, were lowlier. To these 
 He is a wonder; to the world he seems 
 Mad, and most surely mad is he or it. 
 Rut not so surely he is so. I watch 
 With prayer and awe my friend's mind. Look on him, 
 I pray you, with more loving lack of knowledge. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Why, aching heart — why, why, O heart, thy scare? 
 
 Speak; murmur not, thou dull ache; though 
 through rift 
 Of all my hopes, speak out! ' Has Christ a share 
 
 With him w^ho, after having had inlighting's gift, 
 Sins walfully? Will God that sinner spare? ' 
 
 Oh me! ' Prayer hopeless is but mockery.' 
 Oh me! ' Thy misdeeds huge and countless are.' 
 
 Oh me ! I know, I know it ; I must flee — 
 
294 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 I know not whither. I must cast off care, 
 Drown thought in riot or in bustle's din, 
 
 And follow — I shall but as most men fare. 
 
 Oh, lost me! ' Aarbert! ' — who is that within 
 
 Who called my name out? 'Aarbert, dost thou dare?' 
 
 Help me. Lord Jesus! Is it thou? 
 
 My all is from the fander's fan 
 Fast flying. Help me, help me now! 
 
 Am not I Thine? Oh, I am man. 
 
 But was the voice from cut my breast 
 The Lord's, and was it not mine own? 
 I know not — oh, I know not. Past 
 Forgiveness! Satan holds me fast. % 
 
 Christ's am I, otherwise men good and evil, 
 Devils, good angels, He, the Lord, my Haelend, 
 God my loved Father, hell, and earth, and heaven, 
 
 All are against me. 
 
 Turn not Thy face from me away, 
 
 Lord Jesus! Thou hast bought me; Tliou hast 
 
 seen. 
 Oh, whither, whither do I slide? 
 Thou knowest all that I have been. 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive me What, Lord? These, 
 
 Were these words Thine? They were. 
 
 No — yes, they were. 
 
 My Lord! my Lord! 
 
 And these words follow them. My Lord! He sees. 
 
 My Lord! They were Thine own. 
 
 But were they? Yes, they were. 
 
 Where is the Bible? Here they all are, here. 
 
 They all have been sent to me. Then Thou hast 
 
 known. 
 Thou seest me. 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 295 
 
 This holy writ, 
 
 Every word of it, 
 
 I take as answer to my prayer. 
 
 This sword, which flashes all around mine eyes, 
 
 Has loosed me from my every fear, has cut my 
 
 chain. 
 This flaming sword gives me to be 
 No more the lost, no more the bound. 
 But now the loosed; and once again, 
 No more the lost, 
 But now the found. 
 
 Lord Jesus, keep me, for I quake. 
 
 I dread, Lord ! Hold me fast, for I trust in Thee. 
 
 Am I forgiven? Am I quite? 
 
 But what, if not? Hell! hell! 
 
 I scarce can breathe for fright. 
 
 Who? Milda, you? I will unlock the door. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Why bide you in this dingy room all day, 
 
 Mine Aarbert? What is troubling you? Your look 
 
 Affrights me. What is it? Come, tell your wife. 
 
 What keeps you in this lonely room away from us? 
 
 We know your worth, and love you. Let the world 
 
 Say what it will. Is not our love enough 
 
 To cheer you? Won't you come, or let me stay? 
 
 Do let me stay with you. No? will you not? 
 
 XHL 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My wife! my Milda! thanks be to the Lord! 
 The war is ended. I have made my flight 
 
296 AARBKRT [Book VI. 
 
 From hell's whole powers. By God's mighty 
 
 word 
 Their chain was sundered from me. By that 
 sword 
 My way was through the fiend-king's armies cleft. 
 I fought. My strength was often in the fight 
 Spent. Once I felt almost of hope bereft. 
 But, looking upward, with my last hope left 
 To Christ, I cried forlornly, ' Be my stay; 
 
 My own Lord, help me!' Whilst I spake, ther- 
 right ^ 
 Came words that carried all my fears away. 
 They back were rushing, when you at mid-day 
 Foun.d me; and ever since then I have been 
 Struggling for life itself in battle's plight. 
 
 My foes flashed all their powers fore mine e'en, 
 The wrath of man, earth's pleasures, and its sheen. 
 Came warning, ' Look on Me! ' Then Christ alone 
 As a sheer ghost unearthly grasped my sight. 
 As sheer ghost gave I Him myself. Thereon 
 My battle was His own. My fight was won. 
 For whilst I prayed the Holy Ghost of God 
 Upbore me, and mine earthiness felt light. 
 The hosts of evil shrank, as from His rod, 
 Before my path; until, as men dryshod 
 Walked over Jordan, I had passed along 
 
 O'er peace throughout them. Oh, how fair, how 
 bright, 
 The world was! I was full of joy and song. 
 But word came, ' Foes behind the darkness 
 throng; 
 Keep watch and pray. Lo, I am near thee ; stand ! ' 
 They came, I shook, I felt one qualm. The might 
 
 ' Immediately. 
 
BookVT.] AARBERT 297 
 
 Of Ood's word through me Hashed. As levin- 
 
 brandJ 
 Cleaves cloud, I them. They stood on either 
 hand. 
 And I was left with Christ. My brain did reel; 
 The ground seemed hallowed, all was new. Delight 
 And wonder thrilled me. I was fain to kneel, 
 But could not speak. I could but weep and feel. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Oh Aarbert, Aarbert! what has happened now? 
 You yet are ill. Your weary mind needs rest. 
 I have not stopped your speech, for I will bear 
 With all my love's strength somewhat of the woe 
 That burdens you. I pray you now be calm. 
 And w^e will get the lech in. By his help 
 And God's great mercy all will yet be well. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Joy! Milda, joy! The peace, the joy. 
 
 Which nought can nim- and nought destroy! 
 
 My freedom from the power of the fiend is won. 
 
 The sway, too, of his dukes in me is quite undone. 
 
 Evil-hope, Evil-fear, Evil-shame, Evil-trust, 
 
 Evil-thought, Evil-pride, Evil-love, Evil-lust, 
 
 Each of them a chieftain who has wrought upon me 
 
 woe, 
 Each my soul's deadly foe! 
 And thus it is the day for thankful song; 
 And this it is, of which in thanks I sing, 
 That now I to myself do not belong. 
 But to God through my Lord, 
 Made a priest, made a king, 
 
 ' Flash of lightning (thunderbolt). '^ Take away. 
 
298 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 Born of God through His word! 
 
 My hfe He only is, 
 
 And my Hfe is wholly His; 
 
 And what is His He well will keep. 
 
 I was mine and lost; I am His and found. 
 
 I rath ^ was mine, I His am rather. 
 
 Was chained by the world, to Him am bound — 
 
 To Him, my Hselend! Him, my heavenly Father! 
 
 O day, come never to be gone! 
 
 deeds, by nought to be undone! 
 My aching joy for ease would weep. 
 Dearest Milda! also come, 
 Welcomed to the angels' home. 
 Feel a forgiven sinner's bliss. 
 
 That is mine; and that is this. 
 
 That on earth I can live with my Father above; 
 
 And I soon shall in heaven live with Him, 
 
 Where all is good, and all will stay, 
 
 With but its betters and the best, 
 
 In the halls of the holy, the halls of love, 
 
 Which are thronged by the glory-clad cherubim. 
 
 In the homes of beauty, bright and fair. 
 
 Where life is health and love is air. 
 
 Away from sin, from death away. 
 
 In the sweet abodes of sheen and rest. 
 
 Of light and soth, 
 
 Of right and troth, 
 
 Where Jesus reigns in every breast. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 1 cannot follow you, my husband! Here 
 You leave me, Aarbert, and are out of sight 
 Upon some dizzy perch, that more by thought 
 
 Willingly (the positive of rather). 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 299 
 
 Is trodden than by foot of man. Beware! 
 Oh! where are you? I cannot understand 
 Your feelings. Stay! These high-wrought hopes 
 
 may faint. 
 My reason claims that I, at every step, 
 Should follow it, but here it cannot go. 
 Your talk seems wild and witless. Can you mean 
 What you have said, and as you said it all? 
 Oh! you have made me wretched, thus apart 
 From you in mind. But I have been unhappy 
 For years, whilst I, with flowVs from every path 
 Laid on my stilled behaviour, hid the death 
 And burial within it of my joy. 
 
 And have you found the peace you talked of? How? 
 And are you sure of it? You seemed to speak 
 So wildly. Oh, then I must flee to prayer! 
 I, even I, might Pray for me, do. 
 
 XIV. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I now am happy. Oh, I now am free! 
 
 The choice is made, and the trial was past, when I 
 
 Gave myself to Thee — 
 
 To Thee, my God! my Father! Thee, my All in All! 
 
 Lord Jesus, hold me — hold me fast; for I 
 
 Once was Satan's thrall; 
 
 His world was the owner of me. 
 
 Thine am I, my Hselend, Lord! 
 
 Thine, my every wish and word, 
 
 Thine, my every deed and thought; 
 
 And now be mine Thy war with evil fought! 
 
 Life to me ever be 
 
 Work of Thine within me wrought, 
 
 Wayfare mine, wherein is sought 
 
300 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 Thy holy, happy, happy home, 
 
 To rest at last in which I pine, 
 
 To bide in which I yearn to come. 
 
 And which I even now call- mine. 
 
 My God, in only heaven be my home henceforth 
 
 Love I none as Thee I love! 
 
 Reckon I nought as having worth, 
 
 If to be held without Thy love. 
 
 If to be held from Thee away! 
 
 Happy day! 
 
 Happy, happy, happy day! 
 
 Angels greet me from above. 
 
 Whatever shall on earth betide me, 
 
 Lord Jesus, ever stay beside me, 
 
 Thou to say when, and what, and Thou, 
 
 Too, to say whither, and where, and how, 
 
 I am to feel, or thole, ^ or do, 
 
 I am to speak, or bide, or go. 
 
 Thrice blessed bonds that bind me to Thee! 
 
 Let loose by the sword 
 
 Of Thy holy Word. 
 
 I am thine. 
 
 From tie to the world for ever free, 
 
 I am Thine, Thine own. 
 
 My all in every thing, 
 
 My God, my King! 
 
 Oh, Thee to know, forgiving me, 
 
 My Father! and to know 
 
 That I am one 
 
 With Jesus Christ Thy Son, 
 
 As a branch in a vine, 
 
 And then to be sure that I by Him am known, 
 
 This — this indeed is life. 
 
 Is endless good, 
 
 ' Endure, 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 301 
 
 Is end of pain, of toil, and strife, 
 
 Is peace that may be felt, not understood. 
 
 XV. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Earth! Earth, so bright, so gay, so sweet! 
 
 Could Milda though but faintly know 
 
 The joys I know that cannot fleet, 
 
 The sweets I know that cannot cloy; 
 
 If only this she knew, that naught 
 
 Of thine at its best can once bestow 
 
 Peace like mine now or like mine joy, 
 
 How dull wouldst thou by her be thought! 
 
 How chilly she soon would feel thy glow! 
 
 The charms thou boldest forth 
 
 I dare to hold 
 
 At but their worth. 
 
 By the dying told — 
 
 At naught. 
 
 I spurn thy joys; 
 
 For they start w^ith leaps both long and high ; 
 
 But soon they limp from sigh to sigh. 
 
 I scorn thy toys. 
 
 I dread thy beauty as a thing 
 
 That often flits as soon as seen ; 
 
 That flits away on Death's black wing, 
 
 And leaves behind his baneful sting; 
 
 And in life of Christ, life heavenly, 
 
 That chariot of love, 
 
 I would from love of thee. 
 
 And of thy joys 
 
 And beauties, flee 
 
 To the joys full of glory, and the beauties full of sheen 
 
 Of the realm of bliss. 
 
302 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 Whilst these to me, coming from Jesus above, 
 
 Entice, call off, drag, whirl my love away 
 
 From an Earth like thee that canst not stay; 
 
 From an Earth like thee arrayed in sin ; 
 
 From an Earth like thee that, whilst arrayed in this. 
 
 Yet seemst to be an Eden both without, within, 
 
 Treacherously. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 BiRTNOTH and Arnulph. 
 
 BiRTNOTH. 
 
 Well, clearly madness is in many men 
 At home. Then from our evening's talk I draw 
 That Aarbert, our poor friend, would seem to you 
 Wise if he steeped his whole life's joys in tears! 
 
 Arnulph. 
 Of tears I spoke not. Let us calmly talk. 
 We trust the Bible. With that trust in it, 
 I know not how we could be wise in steeping 
 Our joys as Christians in the worldly joys 
 Of those whose life is foeship unto God 
 In growing wrath from Him; nor know I how. 
 If we be striving as we should with sin 
 Within ourselves, the world, and those dread fiends, 
 Each one our stronger, in the whole of v/hom 
 Hunger-pangs force their feeding on our woe, 
 W^e else can be than sober and oft sad. 
 Is Aarbert sad? He has full many mirths. 
 And will, I hope, have many thousand more. 
 Of which, alas! you know not aught as yet; 
 For these as yet are far above your reach. 
 No earth-joy matches one alone of these, 
 The joy of loving God. If Aarbert wins 
 This, you will have small need to pity him. 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 303 
 
 XVII. 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Joy, Aarbert, joy! your joy can I quite share now; 
 
 And bid you share one like to it, e'en mine own. 
 
 Oh! mine is weUing forth with an overflow, 
 
 Oh! mine is overflowing its selfhood's wall. 
 
 Oh! mine is into the stream of yours self-poured. 
 
 You must have been praying for me — Ah! I thought 
 
 I felt at the time, I knew that it w^as so. 
 
 In my bower, and there 
 
 Before that throne where mercy meets us all 
 
 By whom through Jesus it is sought — 
 
 Oh! Aarbert, at that seat of mercy, where 
 
 Not even I could plead with idle breath. 
 
 There knelt I begging life, as having earned a death 
 
 Until was blocked mine upward gaze 
 
 By a misty head, that, with a frown 
 
 Rose turbaned with the shades of night, 
 
 That in jetty folds were around it curling. 
 
 Upon that turban's browband were 
 
 The world's bright glories, each a gem ; 
 
 And witchery's light was flashing over them. 
 
 It was the Fiend-king's head. 
 
 And the locks of his hair, as they rolled from it down, 
 
 Hung o'er me like thoughts whirling 
 
 Upon a restless bed ; 
 
 And from his lips there flowed a stream of speech, 
 
 Whereon swam flocks of fancies, his strong elves. 
 
 These soon took wing and settled themselves 
 
 Around me all ; and then so wrought 
 
 That a hundred landscapes met my sight, 
 
 And a hundred wains began to alight; 
 
304 AARBERT [Book VL 
 
 And as, one by one, they started each, 
 
 In one or other wain my own 
 
 Rapt fancy rushed with an elf away. 
 
 Our wains were some of the wildest dreams. 
 
 So I roamed with the elves to mountain streams, 
 
 And coral isles with surf beset. 
 
 We roamed through plans for coming years; 
 
 We flew through hopes; and flew through fears. 
 
 We flitted — whither — I forget. 
 
 At length their hour with me had passed, 
 
 And all my troubles and my sin at last 
 
 Sank with me into sleep. 
 
 I woke up, kneeling, and with headswim ill, 
 
 And looked around me dazed and chill; 
 
 And strove to pray. 
 
 But, though, whilst reading God's good Book, 
 
 I got from it the sounds of print, 
 
 Yet nothing out of these I caught ; 
 
 Nor could mine eyes so worldful take up aught 
 
 From out it with their crammed though greedy look; 
 
 They could but shed their worldly load in tears — 
 
 They could but overladen weep. 
 
 And so went slipping all the day. 
 
 Then came a crawling whisper saying, 
 
 ' Arise from ofif this bootless praying; 
 
 God helps you not, you see His mind; 
 
 Your wishes are as idle wind.' 
 
 But I knew that the Fiend was nigh me still; 
 
 And I knew that from him had come that hint; 
 
 And I knew that God is love. 
 
 And the more with tenfold strife I strove, 
 
 I hoping, trusting, waiting, prayed, 
 
 Until I had, I had my will, 
 
 For God had heard my sigh ; 
 
 For He with help was nigh; 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 305 
 
 For He was near with aid. 
 
 Mine eyes, with sightless look, 
 
 Were fastened on the open book, 
 
 When flashed a verse as with a spark, 
 
 Which running left a fiery chasm deep. 
 
 Deep, reaching unto hell. 
 
 Another flashed. Then all around was dark. 
 
 But down that chasm still I looked, and still 
 
 I saw it to the lurid lake wherein fiends dwell. 
 
 My sins before my frighted mmd were brought. 
 
 As I saw^ hell-fire, I saw myself within. 
 
 Rushed into me dear Godard's lore. 
 
 His many long years' daily reasonings 
 
 Of earth and hell and heavenly things 
 
 Passed whole through some great hours of thought; 
 
 And crunching, one by one, my old mind, stood 
 
 Instead of it in every part. 
 
 I did not know my old self; nor 
 
 Could else than wonder how I never saw 
 
 Things now so clear as what he then had taught; 
 
 I wondered how the world had filled my heart. 
 
 I now could see that God all good, 
 
 Who slew His only Son 
 
 For bearing sin though sinlessly, 
 
 So hated sin 
 
 That I, who sinned all day, had not one claim to live. 
 
 But I saw my Lord on sin's accursed tree — 
 
 Saw Him accurst on that unholy tree, 
 
 Hanging for me the wicked woman me ; 
 
 And I prayed that God would therefore me forgive. 
 
 I pleaded that my life was won 
 
 By Him on whom was laid my guilt; 
 
 And I forced my prayer up, up to where He stood. 
 
 Then, whilst I pleaded there that He had spilt 
 
 For me the flowing blood, 
 
3o6 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 For me the water's flood, 
 
 All my fears, 
 
 And all my sadness 
 
 Went off in tears, 
 
 But those of gladness. 
 
 And there was in my heart peace, rest ; 
 
 And I was to my hope's height blest; 
 
 And then, oh, Aarbert, then the bliss, 
 
 Which nought of earth gives, even this. 
 
 To know Him faithful, and to know 
 
 That I was now indeed God's child, 
 
 No more to be by sin beguiled, 
 
 But held in lordhyld ^ by His love — 
 
 To know all this, and know yet more 
 
 Than all of this laid up in store 
 
 For me and for the race of men, 
 
 I found, and well 
 
 I cannot tell 
 
 What this will be when found above; 
 
 But this I found, as felt I then. 
 
 Was life, was bliss, was heaven on earth below. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 I thank my God. We more than ever now 
 Are one, dear Milda! You have not withstood 
 His love so longwhile or so stubbornly 
 As I did, when through Godard He besought 
 That I would pass the gate of Christ to Him. 
 I wonder that I live to speak of this. 
 But how more quickly than or you or I 
 Godard self passed that open gate to Him ! 
 It was at Oxford, ere you knew my brother. 
 I like to read the story from my mind ; 
 And you, T know, will like no less to hear it. 
 
 ^ Allegiance. 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 307 
 
 He had been wont to ask his day's bright hours 
 
 To glide away down Isis in his boat, 
 
 Leaving their sunshine's glory on his skill 
 
 As oarsman, whilst he begged each night to keep, 
 
 Until the birds began their morning hymn, 
 
 Sleep from his reading, and to leave the sheen 
 
 Of lamplight on his brilliant scholarship. 
 
 He asked for more than health had strength to hold. 
 
 And when his prayers were granted (for he shone 
 
 As oarsman and as classman also) health 
 
 In anger fled the boy; and then a chill 
 
 Seized him, and brought him to the tomb's gate, where 
 
 Sate Death, who tried him for some fourteen days, 
 
 But loosed him with the fine of half one lung. 
 
 A gospeller soon found and spake to him 
 
 Of after-life. Dear Godard heard and did. 
 
 No seed of Gospel knowledge sank in him. 
 
 That sprang not up into a rooted deed. 
 
 He asked forgiveness of his sinful life, 
 
 And took the whole forgiveness. Then he cleared 
 
 All hindrances as cobwebs from his path. 
 
 And started heavenwards in trim as man 
 
 That, having died at heart a felon's death 
 
 With Christ for sin to God, was living, too. 
 
 With Christ a hidden life in heaven. He made 
 
 All things of his about him fit at once 
 
 Into his state of newness; saw them fly 
 
 Before his faith into the fitness all; 
 
 Won peace, and in a fortnight showed his friends 
 
 His life's great change. A show that asked of him 
 
 His whole sheer thoroughness of truth and will ; 
 
 For but to know him was to love him much ; 
 
 And in his college some dear friendships cracked 
 
 At strain of that bold show. I smiled at it. 
 
 And thought him frantic; but myself was mad. 
 
3o8 AARBERT [Book VI. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My God! I sought Thee. 
 
 Then Thy holy Word 
 
 Came to me, and I became to Thee 
 
 A daughter; and then 
 
 Came Hfe and hght to me, indeed, 
 
 And then indeed to me came joy and peace, 
 
 And then came blessedness beyond my earthly ken, 
 
 But which by hope was brought. 
 
 By that good hope and Thee its guard. 
 
 My love is quite from earth set free ; 
 
 And heavenward, heavenward. 
 
 Soaring in the joy of new release. 
 
 Oh, my Father! Oh, my Lord! 
 
 I sought; but thou the while wast near; 
 
 For Thou hadst found me ere I sought. 
 
 I called ; but Thou hadst heard my need : 
 
 Ere I called Thee Thou didst hear; 
 
 Came Thy help before my call. 
 
 Now I all to earth am naught: 
 
 Thou to me art all in all. 
 
 Oh ! I feel so happy, I have not a care. 
 
 All my care on Thee is laid; 
 
 All my debt to die is paid. 
 
 How my Haelend! how could I 
 
 Ever thank Thee worthily? 
 
 My God! my God! 
 
 Nought from me through life's trials sever 
 
 Thy loving aid! 
 
 Wilt Thou forsake me? Wilt Thou leave me ever? 
 
 For faithful His crook, and faithful His rod! 
 
 And will He leave me, leave me ever? 
 
Book VI.] AARBERT 309 
 
 My Haelend! by Thyself my trust on Thee is stayed. 
 I trust Thy pledge of endless truth to me ; 
 I trust, I do put all my trust in Thee. 
 
 XIX. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I sate within my thought's cell in a crowd, 
 And heard a whisper, ' Who most loved should be? ' 
 I thought of that which had been done in me: 
 
 Mine eyes swam, and I heard my breathing loud. 
 
 My neighbours saw not, heard not, whilst I strove 
 To quell my thought. Then prayed I, as I sate, 
 ' My loved, my all-loved God ! not here ask that, 
 
 Lest here I shout my worship and my love! ' 
 
 I dared not trust my mind. I kept me calm, 
 With all my feelings bubbling. In the strife, 
 The toil, and turmoil of the day's hot life. 
 
 When I was chafed, men knew not whence my balm, 
 
 My yearning cry was ' When will evening come, 
 That I may loose my every thought and word 
 In worship's wildest joy? ' and now, my Lord! 
 
 Have come the hour, and joy, and Thou, and home. 
 
BOOK VII. 
 CHRISTIAN LIFE CHOSEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Hope! Dove! twice by me sent forth 
 From the ark-Hfe of bulrush-canes, 
 Wherein I was, when christened, laid, 
 Under vows made for me 
 That every cane of it 
 Should be buoyant with ghostliness — 
 Under vows made that I should float amidst 
 That fleet of ghostly lives. 
 Which is summed in the life of the Hselend — 
 That fleet of ark-lives. 
 
 All of them buoyant with faith and with ghostliness. 
 Hope! Dove! twice by me sent forth, 
 Thus for a token of peace 
 From God, 
 
 Thou at the second flight 
 Broughtest it. 
 I could not take it; 
 
 For I hated God. My vows had been naught to me; 
 My veins were full of earthliness; 
 And I lacked the faith to have them filled 
 From the mighty rushing wind of God, 
 Which bloweth where it listeth, 
 As the life of the Born-of-Him. 
 I floated midst the fleet, but not 
 
 310 
 
Book Vll.] AARBERT 3 
 
 As of it. 
 
 I floated on the flood of sin-death, there to founder. 
 
 Therefore I sent thee 
 
 Forth for a third time, 
 
 Forth for my faith's help, 
 
 To bring me another 
 
 Green leaf's token of peace. Thou 
 
 Flewest for it. 
 
 Hope, hope! since then 
 
 Have I with great joy 
 
 Yielded me wholly up to Christ. 
 
 My name is on His book of life. 
 
 Mine ark-life is filled with Him. 
 
 Therefore have I the peace itself. 
 
 Oh! I have a peace that never more will wane, 
 
 One that will yet greater and yet greater grow. 
 
 Greater, greater, through the ages. 
 
 It is the peace of quick stillness 
 
 That is in Love's embrace breathing, 
 
 And with a flame of life's power 
 
 Within itself aloud roaring — 
 
 Of a delight by none else known. 
 
 And with a voice by none else heard. 
 
 Now I hold it, here I hold it 
 
 Mine. 
 
 I do already in my Lord's life hold it 
 
 Mine. 
 
 And need I therefore now to bid thee 
 
 Bring its token back from the hilltops? 
 
 I need not, I want not, that token. 
 
 Yet come thyself. Fast-flyer! 
 
 Come back, 
 
 Hope, Dove! 
 
 Breathing of the flowers. 
 
 Dripping of the dew, which 
 
312 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 Thou hast on the mountains, 
 Ranging by my faith's side, 
 Met. 
 
 For I am longing, oh! so longing to be 
 Over the floods and far away — 
 There upon the mountains, 
 Heavenly, evergreen, far away. 
 Bring me of the dew there. 
 Come! 
 But, nay: 
 
 Why should I bid thee 
 Come to me hither — 
 Come to abide here? 
 Wherefore should I tell thee 
 To come and thence, 
 To bide and here? 
 Stay, and I will follow thee. 
 Stay, dove! stay 
 
 Upon the hills, upon the hills of p^ace 
 The everlasting hills — 
 Within the homes of peace 
 Upon the islet hills. 
 Tarry for me till I thither 
 Come to find thee. 
 There abide mine. 
 Bide afar there. 
 Why should'st thou 
 
 Abide here on wrath's flood awhile buoyed, 
 To glide ofif at last hence to love's ground? 
 Be yet there, O Hope, Dove! 
 Tarry for me 
 And I will follow thee. 
 For even now I have thee there; 
 
 Yea, even now my ghost is ranging those green 
 mountains 
 
Book VII.] AARBERT 313 
 
 The homes of peace beside thee; 
 
 There even now and with the Haelend, 
 
 The Captain who has gone before His fleet. 
 
 By faith beside thee, 
 
 My ghost is ranging, 
 
 Now, and ye shall range there till I find thee 
 
 Mine own in Him and in my Heavenly Father 
 
 As all of good for ever. 
 
 My wide-winged Errander, my Dove, 
 
 Hope! 
 
 II. 
 
 The First Brothersmoot^ of Arnulph, Aarbert, 
 and Mild A. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Life begun now by us in Christhood, Milda! 
 Should be unselfish and unworldly, hallowed, 
 Lowly and loving. For myself I daily 
 
 Utter the fond prayer: 
 
 The Prayer. 
 
 Be not my life a self-tombed well of pride; 
 
 Be it a rill of love, which no stone wall 
 
 Can check from flowing like a brook that fain 
 
 Quits selfness, deals out wealth on either side, 
 
 Often looked down upon by clififs too tall 
 
 To be refreshed, and speeds all grass and grain ; 
 
 Yet onward hastens eager to abide 
 Lost in the sea its home that coral hall, 
 Nor stayed by hill nor loitering on plain ; 
 
 ' A meeting of brothers (in council), as witena-gemot is a meeting 
 together (ia council) of wise men. 
 
314 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 As unning ^ thus that, roving far and wide, 
 Mists from the sea had fed its flow when small 
 With mountain dews, and feed it still with rain ; 
 
 Whose drops, aleaping from the winds they ride, 
 Cheer it when ripples from it loudly call 
 When both its banks like parched lips complain; 
 
 And on yet hastens, till tide after tide, 
 Sent by the sea, come meeting it with all 
 It ever lost by love's unslacking drain; 
 
 When, full of flow, it bows itself to glide 
 Off to its source; and with an easy fall 
 Age-hoary rests in love's own boundless main. 
 
 Let thus my life flow! God be still its Guide! 
 Let it not hoard its smallness, or be thrall 
 To aught that bars its way by loss to gain. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Also mine, Aarbert! such a life as that be! 
 Life that glides onward as a stream, enriching 
 All in its reach, and is in self-loss ever 
 
 Gathering greatness. 
 
 Oh, the great life of one who loves his neighbour 
 Is a life streaming through a beauteous country 
 Under bright sunshine, giving countless riches. 
 Gaining them thrice back. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Every life, friends! that in a love to other 
 Lives, is out cruising in the king of love's yacht. 
 Buying up shares in them with fellow-feeling 
 All for the pood King, 
 
 ' Owning, acknowledging. 
 
Book VII. J . AARBERT 315 
 
 Feasts on rich blcssinii^s and has dranghts of angels' 
 Mirths from gold chalice which the King's hand 
 
 gives it; 
 For that through buying thus a share in other 
 Lives it may buy grief. 
 
 When it buys grief with fellow-feeling, having 
 Not enough worth to buy it all, the King's self 
 Comes, at call, buying up alike the griever's 
 
 Heart and his whole grief. 
 
 But the King always has at gift His gospel. 
 Showing how woe is, as His Father's scourging, 
 Means of His working in the wights ^ who thole - it 
 Weal everlasting. 
 
 There is one w^oe whereof a share is never 
 Bought by love's cruisers from its wretched holders, 
 Sin. From that woe may be their love, however, 
 Bought by the King's love. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Second Brotiiersmoot"' of Aarbert, 
 Arnulph, and Milda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Sweet, next in sweetness to that talk at night. 
 Which Christians, speaking in the w-ordless lyden * 
 Of thoughts and feelings to their God through Christ, 
 Have, whilst they throw themselves into His arms, 
 And know that they are fondly to His breast 
 
 ^ Person. ' Endure. ■* Meetint^ of brothers in council, 
 
 ■» Language, 
 
3i6 AARBERT [^o^k VII. 
 
 Clasped with a joy far overflowing theirs, 
 
 Is their talk one with other, whilst their thoughts, 
 
 Then being into speeches struck by Him 
 
 Who is the harmonist of all their minds, 
 
 Plump on the chords of answer's many yeas. 
 
 We much enjoy these talks with you, dear Arnulph, 
 
 My brother! 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Pleased you more are not than I, 
 
 My friend, that we have thus each other's help 
 
 In holding up the swinsong ^ of this talk. 
 
 Then pray we that we all may well be tuned 
 
 To one another and to God's sweet Book; 
 
 That so the sonnets of our speech may be 
 
 Such as were those which Godard's mind poured forth. 
 
 For he was altogether a strung lute. 
 
 Through whom thought passed in tuneful melody 
 
 As breath from heaven. Again then to that breath 
 
 Let us hold out our minds all strung to catch it! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Thought! tnat, when as lightning flashing 
 
 Through a mind with Christ-lore bright, 
 Art in brightest noonday dashing 
 
 Cloudy dulness into light; 
 And that, when as lightning blazing 
 
 Through a dark ungodlit mind, 
 Art in very night amazing 
 
 Maze, and making gazer blind. 
 Lighten when the sun is beaming! 
 
 Clear from all its cloud my day. 
 Lighten not at night! Thy gleaming 
 
 Then would only blurr my way. 
 
 ' Harmony, 
 
Book VIJ.] AARBERT 317 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Sunny thought, that beams on sparkhng 
 
 Holy Writ, to Avorldly mind 
 Draws up clouds of mist; which, darkling 
 
 There, fly wildered, tost with wind. 
 Oh, the thrill! when, after sipping 
 
 Cloud, the mind to God draws near; 
 Through the cloud is lode-fire ^ slipping. 
 
 Light is flashed forth, mind is clear. 
 Mind! with mystic knowledge reeling, 
 
 Would'st thou be from darkness free? 
 Meet the cloud of God Avhich, wheeling, 
 
 Turns to flash forth light through thee. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Thought! that, when as war beginning 
 
 Neath the flag of Christ, art strife 
 Which to living soul is winning 
 
 Back from evil more of life. 
 And that, when as war neath flying 
 
 Flag of fiend with evils might. 
 Art a strife that unto dying 
 
 Soul is winning death outright. 
 Fight, when God is eke attacking 
 
 Evil in me; else take heed 
 Lest the evil, through thy lacking 
 
 Might, should by thy warfare speed. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 War with evil is unending 
 
 War with death; and thought in this 
 War is striving to be rending 
 
 Out of death's grip hope of bliss. 
 
 ' The electric fluid (leading fire) as in lode-stone. 
 
3i8 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 Oh! the wyndrym ^ of the striving, 
 
 When the mind sees, God-led strife 
 Winning and the spoil arriving 
 
 Won by Christ to warring life. 
 Thought! to mind of Jesus clinging. 
 
 Take to thee, in war His might. 
 His the battle! thine the bringing, 
 
 Life His spoil from overfight! ^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Third Brothersmoot^ of Aarbert, Arnulph, 
 and MiLDA. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Oh! more than Adam-born, begotten thou, 
 
 My brother Aarbert! even as am I 
 
 By God's word, so that of a ghostly kind 
 
 We now are, though from earth's womb through its 
 
 grave 
 We not yet into heaven's air are born 
 To live as angels there, how well by that 
 Word living are we nourished in this world, 
 Within the fleshness of our mother earth! 
 
 I eat and drink of Christ's word, when the bread 
 
 And wine which tells Him lifeless is my food; 
 When I take into mind His body dead, 
 
 And when I take to mind His poured-out blood. 
 There is no more a dead Christ; but He wills 
 
 Thought of His past death kept up by man's mind, 
 And this His will my mind most fain fulfils. 
 
 It keeps as feast the thought He left behind, 
 
 ' Rapture. '-'Victory. '^A meeting (in council) of brothers. 
 
BookVU.J AARBERT 3^9 
 
 That He the Lamb of God for man was slain. 
 
 Then, whilst with friends I share that thought, I 
 feed 
 Upon His life in Heaven, where again 
 
 He lives, and is the all my life can need. 
 My life hiere feeds on His there — His is there 
 The only life I could have anywhere. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 I eat and drink Christ's life into mine own 
 
 When I am looking at its shape and sheen. 
 As these have by (lod's written word been shown: 
 
 h^or whilst His life is by my faith there seen, 
 My faith's eye, fastened on that Holy Writ, 
 
 And quick and eager thence to know His shape, 
 Is by the light of heaven traced with it; 
 
 Till, shamed, all else from that life makes escape. 
 Then does my whole mind, from behind the eye, 
 
 Catch that fair shape; and with such love behold 
 Its beauty, that its own old features die, 
 
 And others like His start out where its old 
 Had been. These are not only over me, 
 But through me wrought till I am all as He. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Now, call your thoughts back, Aarbert! let them track 
 The run of holy life through some its ways. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Since on this earth God erst made all things good. 
 Yet all their goodness warped is by His foe, 
 
 The speed of all things here, unless withstood, 
 Is to a man's unholiness and woe. 
 
320 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 I therefore, that I may that speed withstand, 
 
 Live here unearthly, with but Christ my Lord, 
 And Christian brethren, as in Robber-land; 
 
 And live in merely tents here by my sword, 
 The Word of God, with heaven's foreign life 
 
 Within me. Thus, though daring every death, 
 I fight unharmed. I hold throughout my strife 
 
 The Holy Ghost within me as my breath ; 
 And have my Haelend as my life, my health ; 
 And keep my heaven-home. There, all my wealth! 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 As I was once made rightlike in God's sight 
 
 By my faith's sharing Jesus' life and death; 
 So by my letting through me flow Christ's might 
 
 Am I made righteous by my loving faith. 
 I never by my own best works could make 
 
 Such righteousness as His mine. His is stored 
 In Christian manhood; and when that I take 
 
 Is through me wrought by Christ, not merely scored 
 To mine account. When Christhood has been quite 
 
 Formed through me, Adamhood is in me dead. 
 And Christ lives, filling me with heavenly might. 
 
 He, as my power, and my will, and head, 
 Works out my works. Can they unrighteous be? 
 All works are holy, when the Worker He. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 One thought I hope that I shall never lose. 
 It is a thought of Godard's, and is this: 
 I cannot lay my sins on Christ, and deem 
 Such laying as my riddance of the sins. 
 The sins of all men, when He died, were laid 
 On Him; and now can they, if one with Him 
 In life and death, live free from sinning more. 
 
Book VII. J AARBERT I 
 
 Or, when they sin, they, knowing that their guih 
 Is laid on Him, can through Him ask forgiveness 
 And power again to hve in Him sinfree. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 God cannot clear men sinning, though they mourn 
 Their sin, and pray it be in Christ's blood washed, 
 If so they mourn as not the less to sin. 
 By what they be at day of doom will theirs 
 Be hell or heaven, though by what they then 
 Have done, and now are doing, will their state 
 In either place be better or be worse. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Our meeting ends then. IL has been 
 Delightful to us all, I ween. 
 Much cheer to me has been your lore. 
 Such meetings, Arnulph, many more. 
 Attuned to this, be, as you say. 
 Our joy on many a toward^ day! 
 
 V. 
 
 The Fourth Brothersmoot of Aarbert, Milda, 
 and Arnulph. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Arnulph, I feel that I have overrated 
 Much the wrongs done me, and have blamed in people 
 Faults which I, knowing more myself than others, 
 
 Most in myself find. 
 
 ' Future. 
 
322 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 Made alike all, and all alike marred also, 
 None of us spy in our neighbours' wrongness 
 Root of whose growth they would, if searching closely, 
 
 Not in themselves see. 
 
 Nor is one millionth of the wrong which each man 
 Does to God ever to himself by man done. 
 Even those wrongs which to their fellows men do 
 
 Done are to God most. 
 
 Yet they, though wronging Him so much — though 
 
 seeming 
 None so wrong ever to each other as they 
 Seem to Him always, are by Him forgiven — 
 
 Ay, and beloved too. 
 
 Oft as they plead for His forgiveness; therefore 
 They tlie forgiveness of each other owe Him. 
 When a man wrongs me, he is asking of me 
 
 Mercy in God's name. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 I my own self am never wronged ; the only 
 Foes I have, Aarbert! ever had, are those who 
 Wronged you; but I have, as I feel, been never 
 
 Worth having others. 
 
 You are withal to me a shield. Had I been 
 Wronged, my forgiveness of my poor wrong-doers 
 Would have lagged far behind my bounding pleasure's 
 
 Haste to forgive them. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Good! I would rather have a hedgehog nestling 
 At my bare breast, than I would nurse mine anger. 
 Wrath at wrong done to us should never outlive 
 
 Evening's last prayer. , 
 
Book VII.] AARBERT 323 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Fifth Brothersmoot of Aarbert, Milda, and 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 What is there good, which Love is not, dear Arnulph? 
 Love is Hfe, honour, faith and hope. Oh, love is 
 Truth and soth, largeness of the heart, wealth bound- 
 less. 
 
 Blessing and bliss too. 
 
 Love is life's strongest of all bonds and motives. 
 Love will build that which knowledge merely puf¥s u]). 
 Order and love together dw^ell. Love's joy is 
 
 Heaven's own heaven. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Love is life's glow. It is a people's money, 
 Which, as from all of them it still is passing. 
 Is by all gotten. Men are one another; 
 
 They are a built man. 
 
 Milda. 
 
 Love is Christ's badge. Though He for each one 
 
 man died, 
 As for each only; yet He died for all too. 
 Of¥ from each other men have hope not any; 
 
 Ofif from the Lord none. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Love is not fondness that will cocker children. 
 Love is not weakness that for peace will ever 
 Yield a word's worth of Holy Writ's right meaning 
 
 I']) to a foe's wrench. 
 
324 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 Love is no breastfellow of guile's ^ or hatred's, 
 
 Nor is love aught which, under love's name, snatches 
 
 Bliss without giving in its stead a blessing 
 
 Having a like worth. 
 
 Love is not someone's giving up his whole wealth, 
 Ay, or e'en life, for other people's welfare, 
 But is his giving them the goodwill forcing 
 
 Forth from him such gifts. 
 
 Love does not faint through fear of check; love's 
 
 uptide 
 Overflows soon the falling stream of shyness. 
 With a goodwill, which is by no force ever 
 
 Daunted or slackened. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Dwellers in love like that of holy Jesus 
 
 Dwell in God's self, and have in all life's changes 
 
 Peace. Then what clearness to the sight does love 
 
 give! 
 
 Lookers for evil. 
 
 Having eyes spotted with it, shed on whiteness 
 Spots, and walk lifelong as in filth by dirty 
 Fancies smirched. More than even love, when 
 fondest, 
 
 Hate is geleaf-light. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 How it keeps guessing! and how often wrongly! 
 What has guilt's look is often not guilt; what is 
 Guilt indeed oft has come of things outside, and 
 
 Even above men, 
 
 ' Credulous. 
 
Book VII.] AARBERT 325 
 
 Things perhaps old, and by themselves forgotten, 
 Known to but God; which, had we known them also. 
 Might, as we frowned upon the men, have softened 
 
 Some of our hard looks. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Jesus so loved them, that He died as Godman 
 For the most guilty of them. Man is always 
 Haloed with greatness; whether he on heaven's 
 
 Road be or hell's road. 
 
 Mild A. 
 
 Love is worth nothing if it can be beaten 
 Back; it flows forward with a force almighty 
 Forth from God's life; and in its own life finds from 
 
 Him its reward paid. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Had I, whilst cleaving to my standpoint tightly, 
 Taken love's peep from that of those about me, 
 I had more known them, and had gained more knowl- 
 edge 
 
 As to myself, too. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Neighbour-love always, oh, my friends! is self-love. 
 Lovers of thousands live a thousand lives out; 
 Which may bring griefs, but they are griefs joy- 
 bearing, 
 
 They are a king's griefs. 
 
 Nought but sin working in me brings such grief as 
 Kingly love's sharing does not soothe and lessen; 
 Nought but sin wilful in my friends can make my 
 
 Love for them joyless. 
 
326 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Lord God! True and Almighty! Whose bidding 
 
 man 
 Put whole trust in Thee pledges Thy keep of him ! 
 No foe fears he if Thou felt art as friend by him. 
 Faint heart, sorrow, or shame never can whelm any 
 Man whose trust is in Thee. Evil, until it has 
 Thy leave, never can work harm to him. When it has 
 Gained that leave, he has lost w4sh to escape from it. 
 Thy will mine be. It works all for the best to me. 
 No harm e'er did a wound dealt by Thee deal to nu-. 
 Not such wounds do I fear; all that I fear is sin. 
 No chance happens to those who are with Thee in 
 
 one. 
 Where stern* duty would lead, marked is my path by 
 
 Thee. 
 There no danger I know. Evil is none in it. 
 But that only which Thou wiliest allow be there. 
 Oh God, Keeper of men! they who unslothfully 
 Use what helps in their reach Thou hast already put. 
 Leave helps other than these all to Thy care of them. 
 Wealth, joy, courage, is theirs who have their trust in 
 
 Thee. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Sixth Brothersmoot of Arnulph, Aarbert, 
 and MiLDA. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Oh, almond's blossom! as the worth in thee, 
 Whilst thou in beauty bidest on thy tree, 
 Is that thou there dost o'er an almond brood ; 
 Yet bitter almonds are a baneful food; 
 
Book VII. I AARBERT 327 
 
 So mind's whole worth is in that from it forth 
 Springs love; yet holiness gives love its worth; 
 And if mind's fruit be but unholy love, 
 The mind and love, though blooming, baneful prove. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Oh, rose-bud ! slighted as a ruddy ball, 
 
 With glories folded up and hidden all, 
 
 Yet kept in wdioleness which is beauty's health, 
 
 And trimmed to open in their time their wealth! 
 
 As God has propped with green leaf-buttresses. 
 
 Thy shrouded life of hallowed lowliness, 
 
 So keep He now my Christ-life's hidden sheen, 
 
 Until in heaven it is open seen. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, dewdrop! pilgrim over leaf and flower, 
 Or anchorite that passest there thine hour, 
 Self-gathered from all earthness, and alone, 
 And bright as though some spark from out thee 
 
 shone, 
 Till, the sun rising, calls thee. I, like thee. 
 Would on my leaf of earth live loose, and free, 
 And holy, till I hear God's loving call 
 From earth's poor everything to heaven's rich all. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Oh, daisy! shutting thy meek, hallowed eye. 
 To every star that decks the darkling sky. 
 Nor gazing till thou seest thy sun again, 
 E'en as the beauty of thy petals plain 
 Were less, if petal from a gayer flower 
 Were set mid those that are from God thy dower 
 So all earth's other beauties worth are less 
 To me than that of mine own holiness. 
 
328 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, peach-bud! grafted upon plum-tree's stock 
 So closely, that ye both together lock 
 One into other, and become then one; 
 Whilst cither's wholeness still abides undone, 
 And each is holy, though nor plum nor peach. 
 I, too, and Milda, married, though we each 
 Partake the other's being, yet remain 
 Both whole and holy, since no longer twain. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Oh, holiness! for more of thee we sigh. 
 From whom High God His title takes most high ; 
 For more of thee, without whom none may live ; 
 For more the worth and beauty thou dost give ; 
 For more of thee, sith God on earth can rest 
 In but one temple, that of hallowed breast; 
 For more of thee, how all-worth unto us 
 Mean earthlings, that art God's chief glory thus. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Seventh Brothersmoot ^ of Aarbert, Milda, 
 and Arnulph. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My God! my Father! 
 Lived I once, taking Thy best gifts all day, 
 
 Like some fruit, which is bitter, whilst it hourly 
 Is being ripened by Thy summer weather; 
 Whose sun beseeches fruit its thanks to pay. 
 Not even bitter-sweetly, much less sourly. 
 But mellowly and sweetly altogether? 
 Yes, alas! once. 
 
 ' Meeting of brothers in councils. 
 
Book Vll. I AARBERT 329 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 My God! my Father! 
 Lived I once, althoug-h daily blessed anew, 
 Like some land which is barren still abiding, 
 
 Whilst still it drinks by day food-laden showers; 
 And whilst it quaffs by night Tliy blessing's dew, 
 Whose cheer keeps asking with such gentle chiding 
 Some thankful bloom from its so fostered powers? 
 Once, alas! yes. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 My God! my Father! 
 Blessed by Thee daily, did I once yet live 
 
 Like some trees which, although on rich loam 
 growing, 
 And though on sunshine, rain, and fresh air feed- 
 ing. 
 Yet, when the time for fruit comes, merely give 
 By leaves, and more of their own wood a showing, 
 That all Thy tilth of them at all is speeding? 
 Alas! yes, once. 
 
 X. 
 
 The Eighth Brothersmoot of Arnulph, Milda, 
 and Aarbert. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 This morning, Father, Thine to us, be Thine 
 From us as morning of our this day's thanks! 
 And Thine this day's life new to us from Thee, 
 This day be Thine from us in life of love! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 How freshly sings the morning that Thy love 
 Broods ever over us in cloud or mist; 
 
330 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 And, morn by morn, is found in drops of dew. 
 Gems of gift, blessings, strown along our paths! 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Thine earth has waked. Thy sun makes heard the 
 
 song 
 Of flower and fruit, the breathings of the trees 
 And greensward many-tongued, whilst man, the 
 
 world's 
 Priest, offers up the tunefulness in praise. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 This earth accurst, thus being by Thee left 
 
 Full of such beauty's carol, what will be 
 
 Our new earth? Fancy knows not. Will be there 
 
 Rocks, rivers, mountains, dales, and flowery meads? 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Yet ghostly, all! no mouldering, no death. 
 Around its flashing city's golden streets. 
 And pearly gates and walls of all-hued gems! 
 There will the happy and the blest be found. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Maker of all things! that new earth, the more 
 Glorious of the two! and yet the less, 
 In that here Jesus gave His death for man's ; 
 Here gave He man a life — His heavenly 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Our God! in goodness reaching to our needs 
 
 The nearest One of Beings to us each ; 
 
 The furthest from us in Thine utterness 
 
 Of goodness, far beyond our praise's reach! 
 
Hook VII.] AARBERT 331 
 
 MlLDA. 
 
 Our (Jod! The life to all who ])urn with love, 
 And death to only those who, being;- touched 
 By Mercy's torch, become not loving flames! 
 Most merciful and not less righteous King! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Our God! The so forgotten, slighted, wronged! 
 Upbraiding w^ith but sunshine, rain, and food, 
 And love through earth-life! Yet, afraying most 
 By meekness more than that of all Thy meek! 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Our Father! watching till hope's latest hour 
 The wreck and wreckers of what Thou mad'st good 
 Yet watching also for our own poor love. 
 By only Whom our heart's love can be filled! 
 
 XL 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My little daughter and my son 
 
 Were kneeling at my Milda's knee; 
 
 I waited till their prayers were done, 
 And then I blessed my hallowed three. 
 
 How gifted is in head and heart 
 
 My Milda, watching life's well-spring. 
 
 To aim the life for God at start. 
 To check its early wandering. 
 
 And still to guide it, whilst, a rill. 
 
 It splashes down life's mountain side, 
 
 To flow until its waters fill 
 A valley's coil with fitful tide. 
 
332 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Mine Aarbert to my bairns and me 
 Is mider God the shield and stay. 
 
 Their guide am I, and mine is he; 
 
 And ours is Christ throughout our way. 
 
 Then, withal I to them have shown 
 
 Our far-off home at sight's best hours, ,^ 
 
 My show of them is Aarbert's own ; 
 His guide is mine, and theirs is ours. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Aarbert, Milda, and Sibriht. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 O'ershading heights which God, ne pride, has made. 
 
 So stream with blessings that they not annoy. 
 By putting here His light and there His shade, 
 
 He o'er unevenness spreads wealth and joy. 
 If He, then, raising you to earthly height, 
 
 Should rain His gifts there on you, dear my boy! 
 Let not pride keep them in a lake's store tight, 
 
 Till fulness come your thirst for them to cloy ; 
 And Hate's eye scan your height. Loose, let them 
 forth! 
 
 God's gifts are all for stewards to employ; 
 Nor should be any of them robbed of worth 
 
 By being greed's own wealth, or pride's own toy. 
 Seek highestness; but let mere height-love raise 
 
 Your hope! God's blessing cares not to convoy 
 To higherness a hope's proud search for praise. 
 
 Hope led by height-love is a climber coy; 
 But pride is to a hope the rashest guide. 
 
 I saw this guide once up a steep decoy 
 
Book VIJ.] AARBERT z^i 
 
 One of Hope's daughters. Woe, the wife of Pride, 
 
 Watched both. The steep was panting to destroy. 
 They fell. Hope shattered found! near where she lay, 
 Pride seen in Woe's arms now her own for aye! 
 
 SiBRIHT. 
 
 My Father! I by God's good help will aim 
 
 With all my might to reach the goal of worth ; 
 
 And if one w^orthier than I shall reach 
 
 Its honours, passing me, I shall be glad 
 
 To know myself his friend, and feel him mine. 
 
 I meanwhile not at all at what I am 
 
 On the back-flying racecourse fain would rest. 
 
 I hope to use aright God's gifts to me; 
 
 And lowlily to thank Him for them all. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 No lass wore ever hrail ^ so fair 
 As that which life-clad lilies wear. 
 No flowers have a living dress 
 So fair as faith, love, lowliness. 
 
 While now, with lamp betrimmed and burning. 
 Thou waitest for thy Lord's returning, 
 Thou needest, Edda, this attire, 
 This bridal robe of living fire: 
 
 And if thou shalt, with lamp in hand, 
 Glide ofT from earth to sheol's strand 
 Before He come, He wills thee seen 
 There too in this His robe of sheen. 
 
 ' Clothing (night-rail = night-clothing). 
 
334 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Ninth Brothersmoot of Aarbert, Milda, 
 and Arnulph. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh, praise Him! Let us love Him till 
 
 Our love arise, and higher raise 
 Our hymn than air to v^aft may will. 
 
 Till love to heaven take its praise! 
 
 Milda. 
 Who entered manhood's life to break 
 
 Its sin-love's chain, and set it free; 
 And passed through manhood's death to make 
 
 A way for men from death to flee. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 Thy praise, O Lord, for slaying Death, 
 
 Would lost within Thy praiseworth stay. 
 Though Earth's and Heaven's air were breath 
 
 Of men's and Angels praise for aye. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Come, sinners! No more sinbound sigh! 
 
 Be freed by Him, and being freed, 
 Come, praise Him! calling, ' King Most High! ' 
 
 Come, praise Him! calling, 'Friend indeed!' 
 
 2. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 Oh, praise Him! Whom? e'en Heaven's King 
 
 The King of kings, the Lord of lords. 
 Our lives His praises so should sing 
 
 As to outpraise our praise's words. 
 
Book VII.] AARBERT 335 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Who rose a room in heaven to dight, 
 
 To which we sin-free might arise, 
 And sit with God and angels bright 
 
 Above these bhie and starry skies. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Thy praise will. Lord! by all who live 
 Be sung with joy around God's throne, 
 
 When Heaven's kings their worship give 
 To God and Thee, and You alone. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Come ye. His poor! bring thanks for this: 
 
 That ye will, as His brethren made. 
 Share both His being, home, and bliss, 
 
 In glory that will never fade. 
 
 3- 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Oh! praise Him, warriors in His ranks! 
 
 How praise they Him? Their deeds do there 
 So shout His praises that their thanks. 
 
 Though loudest breathed, seem whispers mere. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Who gave for life to them His life; 
 
 And now to live within them strives, 
 That theirs should likewise aye be strife, 
 
 To live out all in Him their lives. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 Thy praise, dear Lord, they louder still 
 
 Are singing, whilst resounds their thought, 
 That but by Thine own work and will 
 
 Throughout them were their good deeds wrought. 
 
336 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Come, all ye kingdoms! Praise the King! 
 
 Ye islands! cry His name abroad! 
 Come, Africa! Come China! sing: 
 
 Praise, South and North! the Son of God. 
 
 4. 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Oh! praise Him, brethren, till ye live 
 Within His home of light and glow; 
 
 And then until the praise ye give 
 
 Shall endless prove the praise ye owe. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Who will in heaven let you view 
 
 His glory by His glory's rays. 
 With wonder waking wonder new, 
 
 And praise that ebbs on flowing praise. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Thy praise, dear Lord, Thou help me tell! 
 
 In whom is all my hope but Thee? 
 My life is that in Thee I dwell, 
 
 It is that dwellest Thou in me. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Come, all my being! all my frame! 
 
 Come, all my strength! Come, all my heart! 
 Give glory each to Jesu's name, 
 
 Bear each in praising Him your part. 
 
Book VII. ) AARBERT 337 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Aarkert and Mtlda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Sang not we last night praise in many a word, 
 Whose greatness we were lacking means to fill? 
 
 And did our hollow praises reach our Lord, 
 Though wafted toward Him with utmost will? 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 In words though hollow, yet made up of love. 
 All praises reach Him if they so unclose 
 
 Their truth that toward Him around, above, 
 Beneath, they ray forth like an opened rose. 
 
 XV. 
 
 x\arbert and Milda. 
 
 {Singing before a large assembly.) 
 
 Milda. 
 
 I heard a bird amid the trees ; 
 
 And who will do the bird this wrong, 
 To take his thoughts as being these. 
 
 And chide as if were his my song? 
 
 * Dear grove! in which we built our nest. 
 The nest we feathered so with care ; 
 
 I would have lulled thy leaves to rest, 
 With evensong throughout the year; 
 
338 AARBERT [Book VII. 
 
 * But soon will flee thy leaves outright; 
 
 No grub or berry bide for food; 
 And then my life will follow flight, 
 
 And leave thee, too, thou dearest wood! ' 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 If bird there be that, like a man, 
 
 So foolishly doth make his moan. 
 Let that bird take, as this man can. 
 
 My answer to a lackwit's groan! 
 
 Should leaves be lulled by that one's breath, 
 Who makes his woe, then makes his plaint? 
 
 Who sings his ease, yet knows its death; 
 Has faith to know, to do is faint? 
 
 Nay, songster! wherefore are thy wings? 
 
 To bear thee till on wintry earth 
 The bird shall die that there now sings? 
 
 So keen the blast ! so dread the dearth ! 
 
 Let earthlings stay; but is there not 
 A clime wherein abides the spring, 
 
 Nor overcold nor overhot? 
 
 Canst not thou thither wend on wing? 
 
 Cling not to earth; arise, take flight; 
 
 Stoop never to the earth beneath. 
 Unless thou stranger-like alight, 
 
 For halt as on a lonely heath. 
 
 Then, up again! and onward fly. 
 
 Well taught by Him w^ho thee has sent, 
 
 Where lies, although unseen by eye, 
 The fair land whither thou art bent. 
 
Book VII.] AARBERT 339 
 
 What, though thou weary wend thy way, 
 
 Forgomg ^ all the goodly things 
 That bid thee fall, and mid them stay 
 
 Like others that, like thee, have wings? 
 
 Fly, fly! The winter comes apace. 
 
 For what hast thou or strength or time, 
 
 But to flee death in this doomed place, 
 And win thy life in yon fair clime? 
 
 ' Forgoing is frogoing, and a different word from foregoing. 
 
BOOK VIII. 
 
 CHRISTIAN LIFE AT START. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 Song I. 
 Thus far have we upward come 
 On our heavenward way, 
 Milda, by might 
 All Christ's. 
 
 I in my own small strength once climbed 
 Up God's high hill 
 By steadily putting foot 
 
 On each of the blocks to my climbing there: 
 And thus I, by even their hindrance, rose. 
 But when I reached a cliff where, these 
 Blocks being high, 
 Climbing is stopped. 
 Unless in mighty faith 
 Wholly to the Hselend pilgrims yield 
 Life, limb, wallet, and very staff withal, 
 Heart there quite faint forced me to halt. 
 
 Antsong i. 
 I therefore besought and won 
 That in strength for a while, 
 Half of it mine, 
 Half His, 
 
 340 
 
Book VIII.] AARBERT 341 
 
 I by the steps of those high blocks 
 
 Might cHmb that hill. 
 
 But whilst I was climbing thus 
 
 By grasp of the earth, to the earth I clung. 
 
 And lessened His heavenly strength's good help: 
 
 So, since the cliff allowed my path 
 
 Little and less 
 
 Breadth, till at last 
 
 It nearly cast it off 
 
 Into the mid heavens, there I slacked 
 
 All tight hold of its stay, and felt at once 
 
 Strong arms seize, raise, carry me past. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Song 2. 
 
 It is even so, Aarbert; I climb. 
 
 As you are climbing, 
 
 With ease by the power of Christ 
 
 My heavenward path, though rough 
 
 Always, and often so blocked, 
 
 Narrow and steep, that it stops 
 
 Every climber having 
 
 Mere man's powers; 
 
 For even when 
 
 The path is grooved 
 
 In the wall of a rock, 
 
 And becoming so narrow a ledge in its side 
 
 That needs there I slack hold of earth quite. 
 
 And fain trust my whole weight on Christ's strength. 
 
 That strength not once fails trust of my all 
 
 To Him. 
 
 Antsong 2. 
 
 Be it, Aarbert, our glory and joy 
 That thus to heaven 
 
342 AARBERT [Book VIII. 
 
 We climb by a strength not ours, 
 
 But wholly by that of Christ. 
 
 Ours is the might of a man, 
 
 His are the powers of God. 
 
 All of us may by faith have 
 
 Christ's strength's help. 
 
 We need it much ; 
 
 For oh, how oft 
 
 Is our heavenward path 
 
 As the slippery ledge of a clifif that anon 
 
 Will sink quite in flat rock, whose steep side 
 
 Afloat soars from sight lost in dark clouds, 
 
 Whilst far low down sunk also from sight 
 
 In gloom. 
 
 11. 
 Aarbert, Milda, and Lesgeleaf. 
 
 Lesgeleaf. 
 
 Aarbert, I bring to you a friendly wish. 
 
 It is, that you w^ould for your own sake breathe 
 
 Your worthy protest against Popery 
 
 With, in its words, less sound — with, in its words. 
 
 Dear friend, not so much loudness. We must fight 
 
 God's battle so as not to waken wrath 
 
 Too much in those with whom we fight, and thus 
 
 To put the battle's outcome into danger. 
 
 Your foes are strong men, and a wise man's fight 
 
 With strong men should be full of wary thought; 
 
 With ceaseless eye at peace, and with a show 
 
 High-minded of allowance, where they push 
 
 Their fight. But how behave you here? Have you 
 
 Been liberal with darkling things of faith. 
 
 Which your foes hated in you, and which you, 
 
 By dropping them in darkness, would not miss 
 
Book VIII. | AARBERT 343 
 
 More than an old oak does the |)ith which time 
 
 Steals out of it? Have you known how to yield 
 
 Such things of pithy weight up, to your foes? 
 
 Or, there, have you stepped forth to meet your foes, 
 
 When men of high rank? and been. gentleman-like 
 
 And thankful for their courtesy, although 
 
 Of course unfriendly? No; these courteous mCn 
 
 Are fearless and unflinching; yet you hold 
 
 Your faith's flag, that one thing of yours accurst 
 
 By them, unfurled! You shrink not from your faith's 
 
 Clashing with that of men so mettlesome! 
 
 Their rule of war is this; ' Dare, ever dare! ' 
 
 Should yours become like theirs then? Frightful 
 
 thought ! 
 They give way not an inch ; the greater need 
 Is therefore that you yield the inch to them. 
 And barter cheaply some good ground for theirs. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Tn our o\v\\ strife for earthly things a peace 
 
 Ought to be sought by us at all pride's cost. 
 
 Moreover, whilst we may not bid, God-speed! 
 
 To those who stop or mar the faith once given 
 
 To Christians, and must rather strive against them, 
 
 We so must strive against them as against 
 
 The dupes of our own deadly foe the Fiend. 
 
 This I acknowledge; but whereas your rede 
 
 To Aarbert shocked me, woman as I am, 
 
 I tell you from the mind of Holy Writ 
 
 That of the faith, left once to us in trust 
 
 By God, we may not sell the faintest show 
 
 For peace with man at hint of either fear, 
 
 Or hope, or love. That faith belongs to God. 
 
 And Aarbert's strife on its behalf with e'en 
 
344 AARBERT [Book VIII. 
 
 The mightiest men cannot endanger it; 
 Ahhough it might his holding it, were he 
 Not held ; but God will hold him. As for me, 
 Though woulding not in strife for it to hurt, 
 I would myself be. hurt to fleshly death 
 And utter earth-loss, rather than forsake 
 One whit of it, or have my protest for it 
 At all toned down by frown of man. Our peace 
 With one another, made at cost of truth 
 To God, is war by all of us with Him. 
 
 Lesgeleaf. 
 
 Your boldness, lady, more befits a preacher 
 Than one who bears the brunt of earthly life. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 You are a man, sir! Let me blush for you. 
 Aarbert. 
 
 My wife has given to you, Lesgeleaf, 
 
 Her husband's answer. Take it with these thoughts: 
 
 God and one man are an unfearing army 
 
 Wherever stands a Christian! Our bad speed 
 
 In protest for the Bible's lore is first 
 
 From those of us who fear God's foes, and next 
 
 From those who speed their rights as Protestants 
 
 Ere strife for God's right that that protest speed. 
 
 Had we been, like our fathers, ghostly men. 
 
 Unworldly, soon would our foes been like 
 
 Those of Elizabeth and William, dust 
 
 Before an unseen gale, which bore ourselves 
 
 On a career of glory, striving all. 
 
 Without let, earnestly for that old faith 
 
 Entrusted once by God to holy men. 
 
HookVIH.J AARBERT 345 
 
 III. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Keep me, Lord, when I do my best and when 
 
 My very best I thole ^ and dree ; ^ 
 When from sin furthest I do feel, keep then 
 
 The worst sin — Pride — from me. 
 
 Thine, the might; therefore is the glory Tliine, 
 May through me straightway rise to Thee 
 
 Loving friends' praise of me! for, held as mine, 
 It would be pride in me. 
 
 If myself spy within me good, I ought 
 
 To thank its Giver. Let me see 
 Theft and mean lie in but a passing thought 
 
 Of pride at good in me ! 
 
 Praise from Thee, Christ! from Father, Thee, all good 
 
 That praise my glory ever be! 
 Though, alas, that too may be also food 
 
 Of pride that lurks in me. 
 
 Life and life's wealth I to Thy goodness owe. 
 
 I should, if I bethought me, flee 
 Sin as death ; then would never pride, I trow, 
 
 Pride even costen ^ me. 
 
 Would it not? keep me! If the keep Thou quit, 
 
 I shall at once bend worship's knee 
 To the mean thing, this very me, to it. 
 
 Whom pride will mock there — me. 
 
 ' Suffer, endure. * Act, sufferingly, enduringly. 
 
 ' Tempt by seduction or alluring. 
 
346 AARBERT [Book Vlll. 
 
 Keep me, Lord! tlierefore. Keep nic day by day, 
 
 Until I am from trial free; 
 Till I quit earth, till all of earth away 
 
 And pride go far from me. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 The fight is won. The danger past is and the sigh. 
 Upon the wave of routed battle floats on high 
 My iiaming banner. Rest from overfight is nigh, 
 And iron peace shall as the battle's statue stand. 
 
 Lateinos, Ankirkly, Aarbert, Milda, Costna, 
 Wrohtly, and an open assembly. 
 
 Lateinos (to Ankirkly). 
 
 Lo! here is Aarbert. At the parish church 
 We idly look for him. I never there 
 Found him at hour of morning sacrifice, 
 The eighth o'clock. But then, as I am told, 
 At that most w^holesome hour a Protestant, 
 Who has his will, is in his bed asleep. 
 
 Ankirkly. 
 I fear that he has heard you. 
 
 Lateinos. 
 If so, then he has heard some wholesome words. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 At that good hour the eighth o'clock I lead 
 Worship for all my household at my home. 
 
Book VllI.J AARBERT 347 
 
 You haply wished me not to overhear 
 
 Your speech. The air has brought it to my heed 
 
 With challenge of my answer. You are grieved 
 
 That at your church I do not share with you 
 
 The breakfast of your morning sacrifice. 
 
 Our Lord has left no breakfast to be eaten, 
 
 Nor has He left a sacrifice for sin . 
 
 Which men can either make or show to God. 
 
 Making your sacrifice as part of Christ's, 
 
 You say that Christ made not an end of His. 
 
 Showing your sacrifice to God as show 
 
 Of Christ's, you say that one made by Christ 
 
 Has by His loving Father been forgotten. 
 
 In either way you wrong Him. He has left 
 
 A supper's tokens of His death to us, 
 
 With charge that we should show them to the world 
 
 Until in life He came to earth again, 
 
 When men would need no more the show of them. 
 
 Moreover, when to show these hallowed tokens, 
 
 He clearly told us by the time of day 
 
 At which he held the supper — day's ninth hour — 
 
 That at which afterwards He died; at which 
 
 Withal the passover's foreshow of it 
 
 Was given, and the Paschal Lamb was slain. 
 
 Ankirkly. 
 
 The Eucharist was in Tertullian's times 
 
 A sacrifice at after-midnight oft. 
 
 It therefore then was quite a morning's feast. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 The tokens in those times of danger oft 
 
 E'en after midnight were in caverns shown 
 
 At a belated supper, which asked night 
 
 To hide and shield it. When four hundred years 
 
348 AARBERT [Book VIII. 
 
 Of the then mystery of lawlessness 
 
 Had wrought, the fathers, whom you boast forbade 
 
 Christ's supper, bidding after sleep, instead. 
 
 This breakfast, which agreed in time of day 
 
 With naught of Christ's, but which was timed to 
 
 match 
 Feasts to the upper heathen gods, all held 
 Ere mid-day; and before which feasts men made 
 A sacrifice; but I, not having mind 
 To breakfast in a church, or anywhere 
 Sacrifice, like Lateinos, shut my ears 
 Against the chiming of his parish bells. 
 
 COSTNA. 
 
 What mean, ' This is my body, this my blood? ' 
 Christ by these words changed bread into Himself, 
 His Godhead, ghost and body, blood and bones. 
 Whilst yet He sate at supper; and He bids 
 Us priests to do what He did then. By these 
 Words, therefore, we His priests — we, mightier 
 'Than are archangels, call Him down from heaven 
 To lie before us on a plate, disguised 
 As bread, and in a cup disguised as wine ; 
 And there abiding, as if merely bread 
 And wine, to undergo the sacrifice. 
 Be given as food, shut up awhile in pyx, 
 And dealt with otherwise, as pleases us. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Against this lore does England pay Lateinos 
 To make the protest of God's Holy Writ, 
 Which tells us that Christ's sacrifice was made 
 Once by Himself, not ever to be made 
 Again by Him, and far less by another. 
 
Book VIII. J AARBERT 349 
 
 You, when you make up into what you say 
 Is Uving Christ your wafers, which may then, 
 As Christ, be charged with poison, rat-eaten. 
 Grow mouldy or be carried through a waltz, 
 As in a snuff-box, or be lost in ditch. 
 And there lie helpless, make up wheaten gods. 
 And when you say that Christ has given men power 
 To drag Him down from off his heavenly throne 
 At will, and then to sacrifice Him thus. 
 You say what, not as faith soars over reason. 
 But bolts as folly neath it at the check 
 Of scorn. Y^ou would yourself deem that man mad. 
 Who, if his lawyer, placing in his hands 
 A freehold's title-deeds, said, ' Take and pocket. 
 For this is your estate! ' should, pocketing 
 The deeds, make claim that he within his coat 
 Had a house, fishpond, some twelve hundred trees. 
 And seven thousand acres of good land. 
 Besides the live stock feeding on the grass. 
 Yet is the papal lore, which you would shove 
 Past our allowance now, more branched with hooks 
 On reason's check than would have been that mad- 
 man's. 
 
 Ankirkly. 
 
 To you the church is not the house of God? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 God's house is not the church, but the gelathe. 
 There Christ is, and Lateinos turns his back 
 On these to seek Him on a plate of bread. 
 Ankirkly, is not your large heart of love 
 For lack of guidance by a Christ-taught mind 
 Trying to bring within a circle those 
 Who worship God, and those who bow to idols. 
 Which God hates; and who needs fly back, the more 
 
350 AARBERT [Book VIIL 
 
 They are together drawn? Will you have Christ 
 Within your circle? How can He stand there 
 W' ith men who claim to have Him on a plate 
 Within the image of a piece of bread, 
 For the mean uses of fresh sacrifice 
 By them? 
 
 One in the Crowd. 
 The sour old Puritan! why hear ye him? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 1 know not who you are; but this 
 
 I know, that I would wish to have you as my fi-iend. 
 
 If I am Puritan I am not sour; 
 
 If sour I cannot be a Puritan. 
 
 Lesgeleaf. 
 I know the gentleman who spoke to you 
 As Puritan, dear Aarbert. 
 
 Wrohtly. 
 
 What! here, the bankrupt? Puritan no less. 
 
 Since knowledge wrought is knowledge great, the 
 man 
 
 Who, having outdone worldly wickedness. 
 Then fights it-=-fights as but a traitor can. 
 Cheer, friends, the mighty bankrupt Puritan! 
 
 Enjoy our world, sir, as a hero may. 
 
 Then hoot it with a talk of moth and rust. 
 
 Taste all our sweets, but make wry face, and say 
 You live for heaven; and since live here you must, 
 You give us courtesy but keep your trust. 
 
 Bradw^ater. 
 Hush! Wherefore shout so loudly, man? 
 
Book VIII.] AARBER7' ;- 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 Most wicked slanders! which from this back-seat 
 
 I needs leave answerless. But Aarbert sits 
 
 Still as a rock, against which swelling waves 
 
 Dash ; and, with then the rock's allowance calm. 
 
 Go trickling back in foamy wrath's content. 
 
 I wonder whether my weak voice could reach — 
 
 But no; I must not, if I could, be heard. 
 
 I cannot in the hubbub hear those men. 
 
 What mean their angry looks, and all that noise? 
 
 Some other man seems now to rail at him. 
 
 He speaks — what? He is answered. Yet again 
 
 He speaks. He buries in his hands his face. 
 
 He is not well. Oh, Aarbert! But what now? 
 
 Two other gentlemen are quarrelling! 
 
 Something is wrong. Friends, let me pass you by 
 
 Friends. 
 Sit still, good lady! See, your husband sits. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 He must be ill, he must be. Something hard 
 Has struck his head. Do help to make a way 
 For me. Oh, friends! do help. 
 
 Friends. 
 
 You cannot pass to him. But lo! his hands 
 Are taken from his face, and you can see 
 That he has not been hurt at all. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 He rises like an angel, full of peace 
 
 And love to all men. What! and going home! 
 
 He has forgotten me. Yet all is well. 
 
352 AARBERT [Book YIII. 
 
 VI. 
 MiLDA and Aarbert. 
 
 MiLDA. 
 
 You fell not. How I watched your strife's career! 
 And how I longed to waft you this my cheer: 
 Take meekly on your whiteness that black sneer! 
 
 There shamed and starkly shown up let it stay! 
 Outlive all slanders! Let them float and feed 
 Upon the air through which they love to speed. 
 Till they and those who hurl them, and, indeed. 
 
 That air itself, shall pass as wind away! 
 God knows your life as one of love and soth, 
 Of death to earthlove and to sinlove both, 
 And that you live His steward not in sloth, 
 
 His soldier fighting earthness, not in play. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Alas! I have not earned the praise which you bestow. 
 My morning's prayer had scantly to me drawn 
 down might 
 From Jesus; and I swam without God's blessing's 
 glow 
 That folkmote's stream of trials into all its plight. 
 Then came the trials' billows up my pride to over- 
 throw ; 
 Until my self-trust and my strength went quite 
 away. 
 The need of Christ's help shall I not forget, I trow; 
 
 For streams of trial oft athwart life's goings stray ; 
 And, when unlooked for, meet high mind to lay it low. 
 
 Half over those of this stream to its further bank 
 I well had swam; when, seeing how row after row 
 The waves were overpassed by me, I did not thank, 
 
Book Vlll.] AARBERT 35S 
 
 But thought thus: How my brawny arms each billow 
 mow ! 
 Then was it that no more Christ held me; and a 
 squall 
 Of stormy wind began upon the stream to blow. 
 
 My strength was quickly broken by the billows all. 
 And I could see that I was drifting en their flow- 
 To those rock-dotted rapids wherein deaths are rife. 
 So, looking up to Christ, I said: My sin I know 
 With sorrow. Hael me, my Lord! my Strength! 
 my Life! 
 He therefore seized me; and although my speed was 
 slow, 
 I reached dry land here, where I prayed Him as be- 
 fore 
 That He would keep my trust, nor need to me to show 
 
 My weakness, if I swam such trying river more. 
 I said: ' Oh, keep in me the trust which Thee I owe! ' 
 And, as I spoke, I looked back. Shaken into 
 waves. 
 The stream was rushing like a landslip of rolled 
 graves. 
 
 VH. 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 For that I will not. Father, bend my will 
 To the meek stowing of this slander's wrong 
 Within my cheerful love of Thee and those 
 Who wrong me, does it fester as a thorn 
 Within me. Make my still proud life so meek 
 That it shall hug the thorn as fellow flesh, 
 And live at peace with it!. To choose my lot 
 Is Thine; and mine it is to love it then. 
 Not much were there for man to choose betwixt 
 
354 AARBERT [Book VIII. 
 
 Lots whose iinlikenesses have but his hour 
 On earth for show of them ; and are but those 
 Of evil's more-or-lessness. What makes each 
 Quite good is that its bearer loves it well. 
 My heavenly Father, teach this to my deed! 
 Then take my love of griefs allowed by Thee 
 As my fond duty. Take it wreathed each day 
 With my fresh kisses of Thy holy will. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Arnulph and Aarbert. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 Good day! my brother! I but now have heard 
 
 How greatly was your Christ-life's meekness tried 
 
 Last week. You fell, arising from the fall. 
 
 So ever should we falling twist the fall 
 
 Into self-lowering for such a rise. 
 
 Have you felt much yet of that inward strife 
 
 Arising from the Christian's twofoldness? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 No sooner had I 
 Been christened inwardly, 
 Than I, by the peace of my mind betrayed. 
 Thought that my rest had for aye been won. 
 Bewrayed by passing peace of mind, I said 
 That I felt that my battles all were done. 
 And done indeed is that great fight. 
 Which I in alone the Lord's great might 
 Have fought with fiends, the powers swart. 
 The powers of darkness, who stood athwart 
 My quitting their kingdom for that of light. 
 But now, alas! that fight I find 
 Was but the first in deadlv strifes 
 
B()or\1I1.] AARBERT 355 
 
 Whose last one's end will be my life's. 
 
 My fleshly soul, at so much cost 
 
 From those swart powers so set free. 
 
 Hates, hates the freedom she had won; 
 
 And, loving the thraldom she had lost, 
 
 Is at war with my freedom-loving ghost; 
 
 Is at war with myself, then. I am she. 
 
 My fleshy soul, which erst was I, 
 
 And hopes she so again may be. 
 
 Is at war with me. 
 
 Peace I now have none 
 
 Out of Christ; though in Him boundless peace still I 
 
 find. 
 I but have been, in all my breaking 
 The chain of dreams which bound me, waking 
 To battles in mine own self every day beginning ; 
 To battles which I shall be winning, and so winning 
 Life's greatness; or I shall be losing, and so losing 
 Life's self; and left me now is but the choosing. 
 Or to fight or else to die. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 The glorious fight of faith! that overfight,^ 
 
 In which each Christian, strong through Jesus' might. 
 
 Strikes off him as a ghost his flesh's death. 
 
 And lives by God's word as her food and breath ! 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 Moreover, my fleshly mind, 
 
 \\^hich erst was a bondslave of my soul's — 
 
 This my soulish mind which, when 
 
 My ghost crushed my soul's sway 
 
 Through Christ's might, to whose ghost 
 
 She then became a wife, 
 
 ' Victory. 
 
356 AARBERT [Book VIIL 
 
 Did at once pass along with her mistress as part of the 
 
 spoil 
 To be the new Queen's maid, 
 Therefore to be mine, 
 Often awakes to the war in me 
 Things of greed, and things of strife, 
 Things that creep, and things that fly, 
 Lusts of the flesh, and lusts of eye, 
 Pride of life, 
 
 Butterflies, beetles, moths, and bats. 
 Scorpions, spiders, slugs, and rats. 
 All of them out of my flesh ruin's holes. 
 Heigho ! 
 
 So these try often thence to come. 
 Some on foot, and some on wing, 
 Crawling some, and flying some, 
 Some to smear, and some to sting 
 The poor ghost, that 
 Pale queenly anchoret. 
 And if, still beating, still beset. 
 She sink in sleep. 
 Worn out with toil, 
 
 Or not as Christ's abode — if she forget 
 That Christ must keep. 
 Bah! ah! ah! ahh! 
 One here, another there, 
 A third some other where — 
 
 And shudderingly 
 
 For she to heaven with none of them can go. 
 
 For she hates them with a hatred's strife 
 
 Which is the breathing of her very life — 
 
 But soon she hears a whispered word. 
 
 It is a loving call. 
 
 It is the voice of Christ, her loving Lord. 
 
 Whereon she tells her grief that things were so 
 
BookVUL] AARBERT 357 
 
 Faring with her, and with heavy sigh 
 
 She through Him asks His Father throned on high 
 
 For whole forgiveness, and that He anew 
 
 Would free her from her loatheds, which afresh 
 
 Did so beset her in her house of flesh ; 
 
 And that He burning out of it their food, 
 
 That so they might be starved with all their brood. 
 
 Would be her guest once more. 
 
 Then — 
 
 As when — 
 
 As when upon a grassy plain, 
 
 With the quickening might of a morning's glow, 
 
 And the freshening life of its bath of dew, 
 
 Day breaks with a ruddy hope again. 
 
 Afresh on her falls a cleansing flame. 
 
 Around her again is cheering light, 
 
 Within her is felt the Frefriend's ^ might; 
 
 And her faith, once more unlet by shame. 
 
 Can boast of what gifts God gave her before; 
 
 Her hope, once more set free by liss, - 
 
 Can take His pledge of endless bliss. 
 
 Of everlasting peace and health, 
 
 Of a sheeny robe of lowliness, 
 
 Of the rank of highborn holiness, 
 
 With endless joy and endless rest. 
 
 Amid the Good, amid the Blest. 
 
 Arnulph. 
 
 She dares hold her hope full of God's pledge of all 
 this? 
 
 Aarbert. 
 
 For albeit shadows may by stealth 
 Creep o'er her in her fleshly cell, 
 
 • The Paraclete's. '■^ Forgiveness (the being loosed). 
 
35S AARBERT [Book VIIL 
 
 Though still that cell 
 
 For a few flashwhiles 
 
 Be overspread 
 
 With a web of the flight 
 
 Of thoughts that hate, and thoughts that hide. 
 
 This ghost, 1 tell, dear Arnulph! thee. 
 
 This ghost through Christ (I tell it thee with smiles) 
 
 From welcomed foulness wholly free, 
 
 Nay, less befouled from day to day. 
 
 Nay, growing holier. 
 
 Nay, growing daily like her God her King, 
 
 Dead unto sin, to all of earthness dead. 
 
 Shall bide in honour borrowed of Him, honour bright 
 
 In even the house of flesh now filled by her; 
 
 Until she, no longer a prisoner 
 
 In that her fleshly cell, 
 
 Nor there in strife with foreign foes. 
 
 Nor slighted there and weak. 
 
 Shall in body more worthy of Beings holy. 
 
 Of the free, and the fair, of the loving and lowly, 
 
 A ghostly body clad in whiteness glistening 
 
 Or in hues of the rainbow like to those 
 
 Of the gem of the earth or the sea's red shell — 
 
 Shall not within a world accur'st not there 
 
 Not where the Proud and wicked are the strong 
 
 Shall amid the mightiest and those most meek 
 
 Shall in greater wealth than earthlings seek. 
 
 Shall amid good things which eye has never seen, 
 
 For ever midst them to abide, 
 
 Shall crowned with an overfight's flowers of light. 
 
 Amid good things of which no dream can tell. 
 
 So clad, so crowned, in so much bliss. 
 
 As one of the rays of the glory of Christ's great bride. 
 
 As daughter to God alwielder dwell 
 
 Thus surely, though not here. 
 
BookVIII.J AARBER7' 359 
 
 Shall, oh! with Christ for ever dwell 
 As this, and thus, and more than all of this. 
 With God and Christ and angels bright, 
 Elsewhere! elsewhere! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Aarf.ert. 
 Hope! thou that flashedst o'er my youth's night forth 
 
 In brightest sheaves of rays auroral, till 
 My sky was wholly streaked, and south and north 
 
 Mingling garred reel my reason and my will 
 In the wild glory of what yet was night! 
 
 Then seemed thy sheen, where'er I looked around. 
 To fill the earth with heaven; and my sight. 
 
 Borne forth upon it, only back did bound 
 From sky, that glass which bars unghostly gaze. 
 
 But now my sight by thee has pierced this sky 
 To heaven's self beyond the starry maze; 
 
 And far on thine auroral rays shall fly, 
 Till through the window of their flash I see 
 
 The bright ones who will soon edrisen ^ come — 
 See Christ's own self; until my sight by thee 
 
 Shall reach New Salem, that, that blessed home 
 For those who love Him. Flash then, through these 
 skies; 
 
 And on to heaven flash! Cheer thence mine eyes! 
 
 X. 
 
 Aarbert and Milda. 
 Aarbert {speaking for both). 
 
 Lord Jesus. Word of God! our life, our All, 
 
 Our Hope, our Strength! If we may, free from 
 blame, 
 
 ' Risen again (aft-risen. 
 
36o AARBERT [Book VIII. 
 
 Call Thee the Branch, we so to Thee will call 
 
 For more and more of life by that great name, 
 And say, Lord God! Who, stooping from Life's 
 Tree, 
 
 As deathless hast in man's death stricken root, 
 And sprung up death-barked thence; that grafted on 
 Thee 
 
 Men, cut from earthness, should be each Thy shoot, 
 Give, give to us, who through Thy bark of death 
 
 On Thee art grafted, more of life from Thine, 
 And ever breathing through us life-sap's breath. 
 
 Feed us, as branches fed are by a vine. 
 Feed us from heaven! For Thy root hast Thou 
 
 Uplifted quite from earth's mould. More and more 
 Uplift our wills then, that no longer now 
 
 We willen ^ bear such earth-fruit as we bore; 
 But that, as boughs of Thee the Tree of Life 
 
 Who hast no part in earth, we may from lust 
 Of aught but heaven live. Oh! let the knife 
 
 Top all our shoots, which down would root in dust! 
 And such our fruit be all, as love, faith, hope, and 
 trust! 
 
 XL 
 
 Aarbert. 
 On! onward! on! 
 
 The wreck of earthlife now behind me left! 
 Staved on the breakers earth-hope's every boat! 
 Of every stay but that of Christ bereft! 
 And on the deep by but His might afloat! 
 On, onward, with from Him 
 More might to swim! 
 On! onward! on! 
 
 ' Desire. 
 
Book VIII.] AARBERT 361 
 
 On! onward! on! 
 
 The tide against me flowing! If I swim 
 
 With all my strength, well! If I slack my strength, 
 
 I drift from off the coast. My every limb 
 
 Loses or wins the race throughout its length. 
 
 On ! therefore, onward strain ! 
 
 With might and main 
 
 On! onward! on! 
 
 On! onward! on! 
 
 This stroke, if winning, wins for me the race. 
 
 P^or all are but a this-one to the coast; 
 
 And this, if slacked in hope of quicker pace 
 
 In strokes to come, will be the whole race lost. 
 
 On! therefore, onward! on! 
 
 Till all is won. 
 
 On! onward! on! 
 
 On? onward still? 
 
 Yea, onward! for each surf wave is the all 
 That I must pass. Unpassed it is the whole 
 Wide surf before me. Not one wave is small 
 If swelling twixt me and the coast my goal. 
 On ! doubly speed the pace ! 
 With each wave race 
 On, onward still! 
 
 On, onward all! 
 
 That plank drift past me! Naught but Christ my 
 
 stay! 
 That toy too drift! For all my wealth is He. 
 I shall by Him be at the goal some day; 
 And now am there, whilst it alone I see. 
 On! on! soul, ghost, and mind! 
 Look none behind! 
 On, on-ward all! 
 
362 AARBERT [Book Vlll. 
 
 On! onward! oh! — 
 
 Yet onward! Bide wdthin me! Let me drink 
 Thv life, Lord Jesus, more! The tide to death 
 Would sweep me off. (He wdll not let me sink.) 
 On, onward! More to me of heavenly breath! 
 More, Lord! of strength, of speed! 
 These most I need. 
 On, onward! oh! 
 
 THE END. 
 
A BLESSING PRAYED FOR, AND WAFTED 
 AFTER, ' AARBERT ' BY THE WRITER OF 
 THE POEM. 
 
 Although of Thee unworthy be this Hedsong,^ 
 
 Thy blessing I beseech, oh, Lord God, for it! 
 
 Whatever worth it has by Thee was given, 
 
 Whatever speed it may have, if the speed be 
 
 Not sent by Thee, will to its hearer's welfare 
 
 Be worthless. Thou be through it light and power! 
 
 And till Thy Herald, e'en the Hebrew chosen 
 
 By Thee to keep alive that fire from heaven, 
 
 The holy Gospel, rise to do his duty, 
 
 Bless still the Briton and the Briton's children, 
 
 All sprung from Albion's or from Erin's Islands, 
 
 Who, whilst that herald sleeps within some cavern, 
 
 Sit watching by the fire to breathe beneath it 
 
 The blast of prayer, and to be also sending 
 
 Thence through the world's black night of sin and 
 
 priest-craft 
 By faithful erranders - lamps lighted from it! 
 For Thou hast known the Briton. As an Aidan, 
 A Patrick, Wickliffe, Cranmer, Knox, and Tvndale, 
 He stood on earth as warden of Thy Gospel ; 
 And such hast Thou acknowledged Him, by giving 
 To Him as warden might and wealth and glory 
 And sway as wages, though he but be Gentile. 
 He keeps his watch; keep Thou, himself! The harlot 
 Has lured him to her lap; her Eastern daughter 
 Abetting her in this. Behold him writhing 
 
 ' Poem. " Messenger. 
 
 3^3 
 
364 AARBERT 
 
 Beneath her deadly spehs to stay from slumber! 
 Let not her shear his strength, nor let her dagon 
 Have him, with eyes put out, within his temple! 
 Not, not as man, but as a man protesting 
 Thy gospel, he has been in might and main 
 A dwarf gigantic, father of young giants. 
 All strong as yet in like faith thus protesting 
 And puritan. Oh, keep them from the traitors 
 Midst them, who, whilst those storms are now begin- 
 ning. 
 Wherein earth's night shall end, would make them 
 
 partners 
 With Babylon in all her lurid glory _ 
 On earth, her lurid flames in deep Gehenna. 
 Keep them in one with Christ from her far sundered; 
 And keep them looking out to spy the Hebrew 
 Who, when he comes, will as the great Outrider 
 Of Christ, Thy holy Son, bring day. Come, Herald 
 Of day! Come, Hebrew! Come, Lord Jesus! 
 quickly. 
 
 fJC'/ -4 15/7 
 
A A R B E R T 
 
 H 2)rama 
 
 WITHOUT STAGE OR SCE.YER\\ WROUGHT OUT THROUGH 
 SONG IN MANY METRES. MOSILY LYRIC 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM MARSHALL 
 
 2nd COPY, 
 1898. 
 
 I^^T- 
 
 NEW : AMSTERDAM : BOOK : COMPANY 
 is6 : FIFTH : AVENUE : NEW : YORK : CITY 
 
^