Qass ^ 
 
 Book 
 
 By bequest of 
 
 William Lukens Shoemaker 
 
<o 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH OF CENONE, 
 AKBAR'S DREAM, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
-* 
 
 jg*m 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH OF CENONE, 
 
 AKBAR'S DREAM, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED 
 LORD TENNYSON 
 
 POET LAUREATE 
 
 Neto gork 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND LONDON 
 1892 
 
 All rights reserved 
 

 Copyright, 1892, 
 P,v MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped October, iSq2. 
 Large paper edition printed October t iSq2. 
 
 otit. 
 
 W. L. Shoemaker 
 
 ? 8 '06 
 
 Typography by J. S/Cushing & Co., Boston, U.S.A. 
 
 Presswokk p.y Berwick & Smith, Boston, U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 June Bracken and Heather i 
 
 To the Master of Balliol 3 
 
 The Death of CEnone 5 
 
 St. Telemachus 15 
 
 Akbar's Dream 23 
 
 The Bandit's Death 47 
 
 The Church-warden and the Curate 55 
 
 Charity 67 
 
 Kapiolani 77 
 
 The Dawn 81 
 
 The Making of Man 85 
 
 The Dreamer 87 
 
 Mechanophilus . 90 
 
 Riflemen form I ......... 93 
 
 V 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Tourney 96 
 
 The Bee and the Flower 98 
 
 The Wanderer 100 
 
 Poets and Critics 102 
 
 A Voice spake out of the Skies . . . .104 
 
 Doubt and Prayer 105 
 
 Faith 107 
 
 The Silent Voices 109 
 
 God and the Universe 110 
 
 The Death of the Duke of Clarence and Avon- 
 dale 112 
 
JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER 
 
 To 
 
 There on the top of the down, 
 
 The wild heather round me and over me June's 
 
 high blue, 
 When I look'd at the bracken so bright and the 
 
 heather so brown, 
 I thought to myself I would offer this book to 
 
 you, 
 This, and my love together, 
 To you that are seventy-seven, 
 
2 JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER 
 
 With a faith as clear as the heights of the June- 
 blue heaven, 
 
 And a fancy as summer-new 
 
 As the green of the bracken amid the gloom of 
 the heather. 
 
TO THE MASTER OF BALLIOL 
 
 i 
 Dear Master in our classic town, 
 You, loved by all the younger gown 
 
 There at Balliol, 
 Lay your Plato for one minute down, 
 
 And read a Grecian tale re-told, 
 Which, cast in later Grecian mould, 
 
 Quintus Calaber 
 Somewhat lazily handled of old ; 
 
TO THE MASTER OF BALLIOL 
 ill 
 And on this white midwinter day — 
 For have the far-off hymns of May, 
 
 All her melodies, 
 All her harmonies echo'd away ? — 
 
 IV 
 
 To-day, before you turn again 
 
 To thoughts that lift the soul of men, 
 
 Hear my cataract's 
 Downward thunder in hollow and glen, 
 
 Till, led by dream and vague desire, 
 The woman, gliding toward the pyre, 
 
 Find^her warrior 
 Stark and dark in his funeral fire. 
 
THE DEATH OF CENONE 
 
THE DEATH OF CENONE 
 
 (Enone sat within the cave from out 
 Whose ivy-matted mouth she used to gaze 
 Down at the Troad ; but the goodly view 
 Was now one blank, and all the serpent vines 
 Which on the touch of heavenly feet had risen, 
 And gliding thro' the branches overbower'd 
 The naked Three, were wither'd long ago, 
 And thro' the sunless winter morning-mist 
 In silence wept upon the flowerless earth. 
 
 And while she stared at those dead cords that 
 ran 
 
 Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co. *] 
 
8 THE DEATH OF (EN ONE 
 
 Dark thro' the mist, and linking tree to tree, 
 But once were gayer than a dawning sky 
 With many a pendent bell and fragrant star, 
 Her Past became her Present, and she saw 
 Him, climbing toward her with the golden fruit, 
 Him, happy to be chosen judge of Gods, 
 Her husband in the flush of youth and dawn, 
 Paris, himself as beauteous as a God. 
 
 Anon from out the long ravine below, 
 She heard a wailing cry, that seem'd at first 
 Thin as the batlike shrillings of the Dead 
 When driven to Hades, but, in coming near, 
 Across the downward thunder of the brook 
 Sounded ' CEnone ' ; and on a sudden he, 
 Paris, no longer beauteous as a God, 
 Struck by a poison'd arrow in the fight, 
 Lame, crooked, reeling, livid, thro' the mist 
 
THE DEATH OE (ENONE g 
 
 . Rose, like the wraith of his dead self, and moan'd 
 1 CEnone, my CEnone, while we dwelt 
 Together in this valley — happy then — 
 Too happy had I died within thine arms, 
 Before the feud of Gods had marr'd our peace, 
 And sunder'd each from each. I am dying now 
 Pierced by a poison'd dart. Save me. Thou 
 
 knowest, 
 Taught by some God, whatever herb or balm 
 May clear the blood from poison, and thy fame 
 Is blown thro' all the Troad, and to thee 
 The shepherd brings his adder-bitten lamb, 
 The wounded warrior climbs from Troy to thee. 
 My life and death are in thy hand. The Gods 
 Avenge on stony hearts a fruitless prayer 
 For pity. Let me owe my life to thee. 
 I wrought thee bitter wrong, but thou forgive, 
 
io THE DEATH OF (EN ONE 
 
 Forget it. Man is but the slave of Fate. 
 CEnone, by thy love which once was mine, 
 Help, heal me. I am poison'd to the heart.' 
 • And I to mine ' she said ' Adulterer, 
 Go back to thine adulteress and die ! ' 
 
 He groan'd, he turn'd, and in the mist at once 
 Became a shadow, sank and disappear'd, 
 But, ere the mountain rolls into the plain, 
 Fell headlong dead ; and of the shepherds one 
 Their oldest, and the same who first had found 
 Paris, a naked babe, among the woods 
 Of Ida, following lighted on him there, 
 And shouted, and the shepherds heard and came. 
 
 One raised the Prince, one sleek'd the squalid 
 hair, 
 One kiss'd his hand, .another closed his eyes, 
 And then, remembering the gay playmate rear'd 
 
THE DEATH OF (EN ONE i 
 
 Among them, and forgetful of the man, 
 Whose crime had half unpeopled Ilion, these 
 All that day long labour'd, hewing the pines, 
 And built their shepherd-prince a funeral pile ; 
 And, while the star of eve was drawing light 
 From the dead sun, kindled the pyre, and all 
 Stood round it, hush'd, or calling on his name. 
 But when the white fog vanish'd like a ghost 
 Before the day, and every topmost pine 
 Spired into bluest heaven, still in her cave, 
 Amazed, and ever seeming stared upon 
 By ghastlier than the Gorgon head, a face, — 
 His face deform'd by lurid blotch and blain — 
 There, like a creature frozen to the heart 
 Beyond all hope of warmth, CEnone sat 
 Not moving, till in front of that ravine 
 Which drowsed in gloom, self-darken'd from the west, 
 
12 THE DEATH OF (EN ONE 
 
 The sunset blazed along the wall of Troy. 
 
 Then her head sank, she slept, and thro' her 
 dream 
 A ghostly murmur floated, ' Come to me, 
 (Enone ! I can wrong thee now no more, 
 (Enone, my (Enone,' and the dream 
 Wail'd in her, when she woke beneath the stars. 
 
 What star could burn so low? not Ilion yet. 
 What light was there? She rose and slowly down, 
 By the long torrent's ever-deepen'd roar, 
 Paced, following, as in trance, the silent cry. 
 She waked a bird of prey that scream'd and past ; 
 She roused a snake that hissing writhed away ; 
 A panther sprang across her path, she heard 
 The shriek of some lost life among the pines, 
 But when she gained the broader vale, and saw 
 The ring of faces redden'd by the flames 
 
THE DEATH OF CENONE 13 
 
 Enfolding that dark body which had lain 
 
 Of old in her embrace, paused — and then ask'd 
 
 Falteringly, ' Who lies on yonder pyre ? ' 
 
 But every man was mute for reverence. 
 
 Then moving quickly forward till the heat 
 
 Smote on her brow, she lifted up a voice 
 
 Of shrill command, ' Who burns upon the pyre ? ' 
 
 Whereon their oldest and their boldest said, 
 
 He, whom thou wouldst not heal ! ' and all at 
 
 once 
 The morning light of happy marriage broke 
 Thro' all the clouded years of widowhood, 
 And muffling up her comely head, and crying 
 * Husband ! ' she leapt upon the funeral pile, 
 And mixt herself with him and past in fire. 
 
ST. TELEMACHUS 
 
ST. TELEMACHUS 
 
 Had the fierce ashes of some fiery peak 
 
 Been hurl'd so high they ranged about the globe? 
 
 For day by day, thro' many a blood-red eve, 
 
 In that four-hundredth summer after Christ, 
 
 The wrathful sunset glared against a cross 
 
 Rear'd on the tumbled ruins of an old fane 
 
 No longer sacred to the Sun, and flamed 
 
 On one huge slope beyond, where in his cave 
 
 The man, whose pious hand had built the cross, 
 
 A man who never changed a word with men, 
 
 Fasted and pray'd, Telemachus the Saint. 
 
 Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co. jy 
 
1 8 ST. TELEMACHUS 
 
 Eve after eve that haggard anchorite 
 Would haunt the desolated fane, and there 
 Gaze at the ruin, often mutter low 
 *■ Vicisti Galilaee ' ; louder again, 
 Spurning a shatter'd fragment of the God, 
 ' Vicisti Galilaee ! ' but — when now 
 Bathed in that lurid crimson — ask'd ' Is earth 
 On fire to the West? or is the Demon-god 
 Wroth at his fall?' and heard an answer 'Wake 
 Thou deedless dreamer, lazying out a life 
 Of self-suppression, not of selfless love.' 
 And once a flight of shadowy fighters crost 
 The disk, and once, he thought, a shape with 
 
 wings 
 Came sweeping by him, and pointed to the West, 
 And at his ear he heard a whisper ' Rome ' 
 And in his heart he cried ' The call of God ! ' 
 
ST. TELEMACHUS 19 
 
 And call'd arose, and, slowly plunging down 
 Thro' that disastrous glory, set his face 
 By waste and field and town of alien tongue, 
 Following a hundred sunsets, and the sphere 
 Of westward-wheeling stars ; and every dawn 
 Struck from him his own shadow on to Rome. 
 
 Foot-sore, way-worn, at length he touch'd his goal, 
 The Christian city. All her splendour fail'd 
 To lure those eyes that only yearn'd to see, 
 Fleeting betwixt her column'd palace-walls, 
 The shape with wings. Anon there past a crowd 
 With shameless laughter, Pagan oath, and jest, 
 Hard Romans brawling of their monstrous games ; 
 He, all but deaf thro' age and weariness, 
 And muttering to himself ' The call of God ' 
 And borne along by that full stream of men, 
 Like some old wreck on some indrawing sea, 
 
20 ST. TELEMACHUS 
 
 Gain'd their huge Colosseum. The caged beast 
 Yell'd, as he yell'd of yore for Christian blood. 
 Three slaves were trailing a dead lion away, 
 One, a dead man. He stumbled in, and sat 
 Blinded ; but when the momentary gloom, 
 Made by the noonday blaze without, had left 
 His aged eyes, he raised them, and beheld 
 A blood-red awning waver overhead, 
 The dust send up a steam of human blood, 
 The gladiators moving toward their fight, 
 And eighty thousand Christian faces watch 
 Man murder man. A sudden strength from 
 
 heaven, 
 As some great shock may wake a palsied limb, 
 Turn'd him again to boy, for up he sprang, 
 And glided lightly down the stairs, and o'er 
 The barrier that divided beast from man 
 
ST. TELEMACHUS 21 
 
 Slipt, and ran on, and flung himself between 
 
 The gladiatorial swords, and call'd ' Forbear 
 
 In the great name of Him who died for men, 
 
 Christ Jesus ! ' For one moment afterward 
 
 A silence follow'd as of death, and then 
 
 A hiss as from a wilderness of snakes, 
 
 Then one deep roar as of a breaking sea, 
 
 And then a shower of stones that stoned him 
 
 dead, 
 And then once more a silence as of death, 
 
 His dream became a deed that woke the world, 
 For while the frantic rabble in half-amaze 
 Stared at him dead, thro' all the nobler hearts 
 In that vast Oval ran a shudder of shame. 
 The Baths, the Forum gabbled of his death, 
 And preachers linger'd o'er his dying words, 
 Which would not die, but echo'd on to reach 
 
22 ST. TELEMACHUS 
 
 Honorius, till he heard them, and decreed 
 
 That Rome no more should wallow in this old lust 
 
 Of Paganism, and make her festal hour 
 
 Dark with the blood of man who murder'd man. 
 
 (For Honorius, who succeeded to the sovereignty over 
 Europe, supprest the gladiatorial combats practised of old 
 in Rome, on occasion' of the following event. There was 
 one Telemachus, embracing the ascetic mode of life, who 
 setting out from the East and arriving at Rome for this 
 very purpose, while that accursed spectacle was being per- 
 formed, entered himself the circus, and descending into the 
 arena, attempted to hold back those who wielded deadly 
 weapons against each other. The spectators of the murder- 
 ous fray, possest with the drunken glee of the demon who 
 delights in such bloodshed, stoned to death the preacher of 
 peace. The admirable Emperor learning this put a stop to 
 that evil exhibition. — Theodoret's Ecclesiastical History?) 
 
AKBAR'S DREAM 
 
AKBAR'S DREAM 
 
 An Inscription by Abul Fazl for a Temple in 
 Kashmir (Blochmann xxxii.) 
 
 O God in every temple I see people that see thee, 
 and in every language I hear spoken, people praise thee. 
 
 Polytheism and Islam feel after thee. 
 
 Each religion says, ; Thou art one, without equal.' 
 
 If it be a mosque people murmur the holy prayer, and 
 if it be a Christian Church, people ring the bell from 
 love to Thee. 
 
 Sometimes I frequent the Christian cloister, and some- 
 times the mosque. 
 
 But it is thou whom I search from temple to temple. 
 
 Thy elect have no dealings with either heresy or 
 orthodoxy ; for neither of them stands behind the screen 
 of thy truth. 
 
 Heresy to the heretic, and religion to the orthodox, 
 
 Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co. 25 
 
26 AKBAR'S DREAM 
 
 But the dust of the rose-petal belongs to the heart of 
 the perfume seller. 
 
 Akbar and Abul Fazl before the palace at 
 Futehpur-Sikri at night. 
 
 ' Light of the nations ' ask'd his Chronicler 
 
 Of Akbar 'what has darken'd thee to-night?' 
 
 Then, after one quick glance upon the stars, 
 
 And turning slowly toward him, Akbar said 
 
 'The shadow of a dream — an idle one 
 
 It may be. Still I raised my heart to heaven, 
 
 I pray'd against the dream. To pray, to do — 
 
 To pray, to do according to the prayer, 
 
 Are, both, to worship Alia, but the prayers, 
 
 That have no successor in deed, are faint 
 
 And pale in Alla's eyes, fair mothers they 
 
 Dying in childbirth of dead sons. I vow'd 
 
 Whate'er my dreams, I still would do the right 
 
AKBAR'S DREAM 27 
 
 Thro' all the vast dominion which a sword, 
 That only conquers men to conquer peace, 
 Has won me. Alia be my guide ! 
 
 But come, 
 My noble friend, my faithful counsellor, 
 Sit by my side. While thou art one with me, 
 I seem no longer like a lonely man 
 In the king's garden, gathering here and there 
 From each fair plant the blossom choicest-grown 
 To wreathe a crown not only for the king 
 But in due time for every Mussulman, 
 Brahmin, and Buddhist, Christian, and Parsee, 
 Thro' all the warring world of Hindustan. 
 
 Well spake thy brother in his hymn to heaven 
 "Thy glory baffles wisdom. All the tracks 
 Of science making toward Thy Perfectness 
 Are blinding desert sand ; we scarce can spell 
 
28 A KB AITS DREAM 
 
 The Alif of Thine Alphabet of Love." 
 
 He knows Himself, men nor themselves nor 
 Him, 
 For every splinter'd fraction of a sect 
 Will clamour " / am on the Perfect Way, 
 All else is to perdition." 
 
 Shall the rose 
 Cry to the lotus "No flower thou"? the palm 
 Call to the cypress "I alone am fair"? 
 The mango spurn the melon at his foot? 
 " Mine is the one fruit Alia made for man." 
 
 Look how the living pulse of Alia beats 
 Thro' all His world. If every single star 
 Should shriek its claim "I only am in heaven" 
 Why that were such sphere-music as the Greek 
 Had hardly dream'd of. There is light in all, 
 And light, with more or less of shade, in all 
 
AKBAIVS DREAM 29 
 
 Man-modes of worship ; but our Ulama, 
 Who " sitting on green sofas contemplate 
 The torment of the damn'd " already, these 
 Are like wild brutes new-caged — the narrower 
 The cage, the more their fury. Me they front 
 With sullen brows. What wonder ! I decreed 
 That even the dog was clean, that men may taste 
 Swine-flesh, drink wine ; they know too that when- 
 e'er 
 In our free Hall, where each philosophy 
 And mood of faith may hold its own, they blurt 
 Their furious formalisms, I but hear 
 The clash of tides that meet in narrow seas, — 
 Not the Great Voice not the true Deep. 
 
 To drive 
 A people from their ancient fold of Faith, 
 And wall them up perforce in mine — unwise, 
 
30 AK BAR'S DREAM 
 
 Unkinglike ; — and the morning of my reign 
 
 Was redden'd by that cloud of shame when I . . . 
 
 I hate the rancour of their castes and creeds, 
 I let men worship as they will, I reap 
 No revenue from the field of unbelief. 
 I cull from every faith and race the best 
 And bravest soul for counsellor and friend. 
 I loathe the very name of infidel. 
 I stagger at the Koran and the sword. 
 I shudder at the Christian and the stake ; 
 Yet "Alia," says their sacred book, "is Love," 
 And when the Goan Padre quoting Him, 
 Issa Ben Mariam, his own prophet, cried 
 " Love one another little ones " and " bless " 
 Whom? even "your persecutors"! there methought 
 The cloud was riftetj by a purer gleam 
 Than glances from the sun of our Islam. 
 
AKBAR'S DREAM 31 
 
 And thou rememberest what a fury shook 
 Those pillars of a moulder'd faith, when he, 
 That other, prophet of their fall, proclaimed 
 His Master as " the Sun of Righteousness," 
 Yea, Alia here on earth, who caught and held 
 His people by the bridle-rein of Truth. 
 
 What art thou saying? "And was not Alia call'd 
 In old Iran the Sun of Love? and Love 
 The net of truth?" 
 
 A voice from old Iran ! 
 Nay, but I know it — his, the hoary Sheik, 
 On whom the women shrieking " Atheist" flung 
 Filth from the roof, the mystic melodist 
 Who all but lost himself in Alia, him 
 
 Abu Said 
 
 — a sun but dimly seen 
 Here, till the mortal morning mists of earth 
 
32 AK BAR'S DREAM 
 
 Fade in the noon of heaven, when creed and race 
 Shall bear false witness, each of each, no more, 
 But find their limits by that larger light, 
 And overstep them, moving easily 
 Thro' after-ages in the love of Truth, 
 The truth of Love. 
 
 The sun, the sun ! they rail 
 At me the Zoroastrian. Let the Sun, 
 Who heats our earth to yield us grain and fruit, 
 And laughs upon thy field as well as mine, 
 And warms the blood of Shiah and Sunnee, 
 Symbol the Eternal ! Yea and may not kings 
 Express Him also by their warmth of love 
 For all they rule — by equal law for all? 
 By deeds a light to men? 
 
 But no such light 
 Glanced from our Presence on the face of one, 
 
AKBAR'S DREAM 33 
 
 Who breaking in upon us yestermorn, 
 
 With all the Hells a-glare in either eye, 
 
 Yell'd " hast thou brought us down a new Koran 
 
 From heaven? art thou the Prophet? canst thou 
 
 work 
 Miracles?" and the wild horse, anger, plunged 
 To fling me, and fail'd. Miracles ! no, not I 
 Nor he, nor any. I can but lift the torch 
 Of Reason in the dusky cave of Life, 
 And gaze on this great miracle, the World, 
 Adoring That who made, and makes, and is, 
 And is not, what I gaze on — all else Form, 
 Ritual, varying with the tribes of men. 
 
 Ay but, my friend, thou knowest I hold that 
 
 forms 
 Are needful : only let the hand that rules, 
 With politic care, with utter gentleness, 
 
34 A K BAR'S DREAM 
 
 Mould them for all his people. 
 
 And what are forms? 
 Fair garments, plain or rich, and fitting close 
 Or flying looselier, warm'd but by the heart 
 Within them, moved but by the living limb, 
 And cast aside, when old, for newer, — Forms! 
 The Spiritual in Nature's market-place — 
 The silent Alphabet-of-heaven-in-man 
 Made vocal — banners blazoning a Power 
 That is not seen and rules from far away — 
 A silken cord let down from Paradise, 
 When fine Philosophies would fail, to draw 
 The crowd from wallowing in the mire of earth, 
 And all the more, when these behold their Lord, 
 Who shaped the forms, obey them, and himself 
 Here on this bank in some way live the life 
 Beyond the bridge, and serve that Infinite 
 
AK BAR'S DREAM 35 
 
 Within us, as without, that All-in-all, 
 
 And over all, the never-changing One 
 
 And ever-changing Many, in praise of Whom 
 
 The Christian bell, the cry from off the mosque, 
 
 And vaguer voices of Polytheism 
 
 Make but one music, harmonising, " Pray." 
 
 There westward — under yon slow-falling star, 
 The Christians own a Spiritual Head ; 
 And following thy true counsel, by thine aid, 
 Myself am such in our Islam, for no 
 Mirage of glory, but for power to fuse 
 My myriads into union under one ; 
 To hunt the tiger of oppression out 
 From office ; and to spread the Divine Faith 
 Like calming oil on all their stormy creeds, 
 And fill the hollows between wave and wave ; 
 To nurse my children on the milk of Truth, 
 
36 AK BAR'S DREAM 
 
 And alchemise old hates into the gold 
 
 Of Love, and make it current ; and beat back 
 The menacing poison of intolerant priests, 
 
 Those cobras ever setting up their hoods — 
 
 One Alia ! one Kalifa ! 
 
 Still — at times 
 
 A doubt, a fear, — and yester afternoon 
 
 I dream'd, — thou knowest how deep a well of 
 
 love 
 My heart is for my son, Saleem, mine heir, — 
 And yet so wild and wayward that my dream — 
 He glares askance at thee as one of those 
 Who mix the wines of heresy in the cup 
 
 Of counsel — so — I pray thee 
 
 Well, I dream'd 
 That stone by stone J rear'd a sacred fane, 
 A temple, neither Pagod, Mosque, nor Church, 
 
A K BAR'S DREAM 37 
 
 But loftier, simpler, always open-door'd 
 To every breath from heaven, and Truth and Peace 
 And Love and Justice came and dwelt therein ; 
 But while we stood rejoicing, I and thou, 
 I heard a mocking laugh "the new Koran!" 
 And on the sudden, and with a cry " Saleem " 
 Thou, thou — I saw thee fall before me, and then 
 Me too the black-wing'd Azrael overcame, 
 But Death had ears and eyes ; I watch'd my son, 
 And those that follow'd, loosen, stone from stone, 
 All my fair work ; and from the ruin arose 
 The shriek and curse of trampled millions, even 
 x<\s in the time before ; but while I groan'd, 
 From out the sunset pour'd an alien race, 
 Who fitted stone to stone again, and Truth, 
 Peace, Love and Justice came and dwelt therein, 
 Nor in the field without were seen or heard 
 
3 8 AKBAIVS DREAM 
 
 Fires of Suttee, nor wail of baby-wife, 
 
 Or Indian widow ; and in sleep I said 
 
 " All praise to Alia by whatever hands 
 
 My mission be accomplish'd ! " but we hear 
 
 Music : our palace is awake, and morn 
 
 Has lifted the dark eyelash of the Night 
 
 From off the rosy cheek of waking Day. 
 
 Our hymn to the sun. They sing it. Let us go. 
 
 Hymn 
 
 Once again thou flamest heavenward, once again 
 
 we see thee rise. 
 Every morning is thy birthday gladdening human 
 
 hearts and eyes. 
 
AK BAR'S DREAM 39 
 
 Every morning here we greet it, bowing 
 lowly down before thee, 
 Thee the Godlike, thee the changeless in thine 
 ever-changing skies. 
 
 Shadow-maker, shadow-slayer, arrowing light from 
 
 clime to clime, 
 Hear thy myriad laureates hail thee monarch in 
 their woodland rhyme. 
 
 Warble bird, and open flower, and, men, 
 below the dome of azure 
 Kneel adoring Him the Timeless in the flame that 
 measures Time ! 
 
NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM 
 
 The great Mogul Emperor Akbar was born October 14, 1542, 
 and died 1605. At 13 he succeeded his father Humayun; at 
 18 he himself assumed the sole charge of government. He 
 subdued and ruled over fifteen large provinces; his empire 
 included all India north of the Vindhya Mountains — in the 
 south of India he was not so successful. His tolerance of 
 religions and his abhorrence of religious persecution put our 
 Tudors to shame. He invented a new eclectic religion by 
 which he hoped to unite all creeds, castes and peoples : and 
 his legislation was remarkable for vigour, justice and humanity. 
 
 ' Thy glory baffles wisdom' The Emperor quotes from a 
 
 hymn to the Deity by Faizi, brother of Abul Fazl, Akbar's chief 
 
 friend and minister, who wrote the Ain i Akbari (Annals of 
 
 Akbar). His influence on his age was immense. It may be 
 
 that he and his brother Faizi led Akbar's mind away from 
 40 
 
NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM 41 
 
 Islam and the Prophet — this charge is brought against him 
 by every Muhammadan writer; but Abul Fazl also led his 
 sovereign to a true appreciation of his duties, and from 
 the moment that he entered Court, the problem of success- 
 fully ruling over mixed races, which Islam in few other 
 countries had to solve, was carefully considered, and the 
 policy of toleration was the result (Blochmann xxix.) 
 
 Abul Fazl thus gives an account of himself ' The advice of 
 my Father with difficulty kept me back from acts of folly; 
 my mind had no rest and my heart felt itself drawn to the 
 sages of Mongolia or to the hermits on Lebanon. I longed 
 for interviews with the Llamas of Tibet or with the padres 
 of Portugal, and I would gladly sit with the priests of the 
 Parsis and the learned of the Zendavesta. I was sick of the 
 learned of my own land.' 
 
 He became the intimate friend and adviser of Akbar, and 
 helped him in his tolerant system of government. Professor 
 Blochmann writes ' Impressed with a favourable idea of the 
 value of his Hindu subjects, he (Akbar) had resolved when 
 pensively sitting in the evenings on the solitary stone at 
 Futehpur-Sikri to rule with an even hand all men in his 
 dominions; but as the extreme views of the learned and 
 the lawyers continually urged him to persecute instead of 
 to heal, he instituted discussions, because, believing him- 
 self to be in error, he thought it his duty as ruler to 
 inquire.' ' These discussions took place every Thursday night 
 in the Ibadat-khana a building at Futehpur-Sikri, erected for 
 the purpose' (Malleson). 
 
42 NOTES TO A K BAR'S DREAM 
 
 In these discussions Abul Fazl became a great power, and 
 he induced the chief of the disputants to draw up a docu- 
 ment defining the ' divine Faith ' as it was called, and assign- 
 ing to Akbar the rank of a Mujahid, or supreme khalifah, the 
 vicegerent of the one true God. 
 
 Abul Fazl was finally murdered at the instigation of Akbar's 
 son Salim, who in his Memoirs declares that it was Abul 
 Fazl who had perverted his father's mind so that he denied 
 the divine mission of Mahomet, and turned away his love 
 from his son. 
 
 Faizi. When Akbar conquered the North-West Provinces 
 of India, Faizi, then 20, began his life as a poet, and earned 
 his living as a physician. He is reported to have been very 
 generous and to have treated the poor for nothing. His 
 fame reached Akbar's ears who commanded him to come to 
 the camp at Chitor. Akbar was delighted with his varied 
 knowledge and scholarship and made the poet teacher to his 
 sons. Faizi at 33 was appointed Chief Foet (1588). lie 
 collected a line library of 4300 MSS. and died at the age of 
 40 (1595) when Akbar incorporated his collection of rare 
 books in the Imperial Library. 
 
 The Warring World of Hindostan. Akbar's rapid con- 
 quests and the good government of his fifteen provinces with 
 their complete military, civil and political systems make him 
 conspicuous among the great kings of history. 
 
 The Goan Padre. Abul Fazl relates that ' one night the 
 
NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM 43 
 
 Ibadat-khana was brightened by the presence of Padre Ro- 
 dolpho, who for intelligence and wisdom was unrivalled 
 among Christian doctors. Several carping and bigoted men 
 attacked him and this afforded an opportunity for the dis- 
 play of the calm judgment and justice of the assembly. 
 These men brought forward the old received assertions, and 
 did not attempt to arrive at truth by reasoning. Their 
 statements were torn to pieces, and they were nearly put to 
 shame, when they began to attack the contradictions of the 
 Gospel, but they could not prove their assertions. With per- 
 fect calmness, and earnest conviction of the truth he replied 
 to their arguments.' 
 
 Abu Sa'id. ' Love is the net of Truth, Love is the noose 
 of God ' is a quotation from the great Sufee poet Abu Sa'td 
 — born A.D. 968, died at the age of 83. He is a mystical 
 poet, and some of his expressions have been compared to our 
 George Herbert. Of Shaikh Abu Sa'id it is recorded that 
 he said, ' when my affairs had reacht a certain pitch I buried 
 under the dust my books and opened a shop on my own 
 account {i.e. began to teach with authority), and verily men 
 represented me as that which I was not, until it came to this, 
 that they went to the Qadhi and testified against me of unbe- 
 lieverhood; and women got upon the roofs and cast unclean 
 things upon me.' ( Vide reprint from article in National 
 Review, March, 1891, by C. J. Pickering.) 
 
 Aziz. I am not aware that there is any record of such 
 
44 NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM 
 
 intrusion upon the king's privacy, but the expressions in 
 the text occur in a letter sent by Akbar's foster-brother 
 Aziz, who refused to come to court when summoned and 
 threw up his government, and ' after writing an insolent and 
 reproachful letter to Akbar in which he asked him if he had 
 received a book from heaven, or if he could work miracles 
 like Mahomet that he presumed to introduce a new religion, 
 warned him that he was on the way to eternal perdition, and 
 concluded with a prayer to God to bring him back into the 
 path of salvation' (Elphinstone). 
 
 'The Koran, the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms 
 of David are called books by way of excellence, and their 
 followers "People of the Book"' (Elphinstone). 
 
 Akbar according to Abdel Kadir had his son Murad 
 instructed in the Gospel, and used to make him begin his 
 lessons ' In the name of Christ ' instead of in the usual way 
 ' In the name of God.' 
 
 To drive 
 A people from their ancient fold of Truth, etc. 
 Malleson says ' This must have happened because Akbar 
 states it, but of the forced conversions I have found no 
 record. This must have taken place whilst he was still a 
 minor, and whilst the chief authority was wielded by Bairam.' 
 
 ' / reap no revenue from the field of unbelief ' 
 The Hindus are fond of pilgrimages, and Akbar removed 
 
NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM 45 
 
 a remunerative tax raised by his predecessors on pilgrimages. 
 He also abolished the fezza or capitation tax on those who 
 differed from the Mahomedan faith. He discouraged all 
 excessive prayers, fasts and pilgrimages. 
 
 Sati. Akbar decreed that every widow who showed the 
 least desire not to be burnt on her husband's funeral pyre, 
 should be let go free and unharmed. 
 
 Baby-wife. He forbad marriage before the age of puberty. 
 
 Indian widotv. Akbar ordained that remarriage was 
 lawful. 
 
 Music. * About a watch before daybreak,' says Abul Fazl, 
 the musicians played to the king in the palace. ' His Majesty 
 had such a knowledge of the science of music as trained 
 musicians do not possess.' 
 
 ' The Divine Faith? The Divine Faith slowly passed 
 away under the immediate successors of Akbar. An idea 
 of what the Divine Faith was may be gathered from the 
 inscription at the head of the poem. The document referred 
 to, Abul Fazl says 'brought about excellent results (1) the 
 Court became a gathering place of the sages and learned of 
 all creeds; the good doctrines of all religious systems were 
 recognized, and their defects were not allowed to obscure 
 their good features; (2) perfect toleration or peace with all 
 
46 NOTES TO AK BAR'S DREAM 
 
 was established; and (3) the perverse and evil-minded were 
 covered with shame on seeing the disinterested motives of 
 His Majesty, and these stood in the pillory of disgrace.' 
 Dated September 1579 — Ragab 987 (Blochmann xiv.) 
 
THE BANDIT'S DEATH 
 
TO SIR WALTER SCOTT 1 
 
 great and gallant scott, 
 
 True gentleman heart, blood and bone, 
 
 1 WOULD it had been my lot 
 
 To have seen thee, and heard thee, and known. 
 
 1 I have adopted Sir Walter Scott's version of the following 
 story as given in his last journal (Death of II Bizarro) — but I 
 have taken the liberty of making some slight alterations. 
 
THE BANDIT'S DEATH 
 
 Sir, do you see this dagger? nay, why do you start 
 
 aside ? 
 I was not going to stab you, tho' I am the Bandit's 
 
 bride. 
 
 You have set a price on his head : I may claim it 
 
 without a lie. 
 What have I here in the cloth? I will show it 
 
 you by-and-by. 
 
 Sir, I was once a wife. I had one brief summer 
 of bliss 
 
 Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co. 49 
 
5 o THE BANDIT'S DEATH 
 
 But the Bandit had vvoo'd me in vain, and he 
 stabb'd my Piero with this. 
 
 And he dragg'd me up there to his cave in the 
 
 mountain, and there one day 
 He had left his dagger behind him. I found it. 
 
 I hid it away. 
 
 For he reek'd with the blood of Piero ; his kisses 
 
 were red with his crime, 
 And I cried to the Saints to avenge me. They 
 
 heard, they bided their time. 
 
 In a while I bore him a son, and he loved to 
 
 dandle the child, 
 And that was a link between us ; but I — to be 
 
 reconciled ? — 
 
THE BANDIT'S DEATH 51 
 
 No, by the Mother of God, tho' I think I hated 
 
 him less, 
 And — well, if I sinn'd last night, I will find the 
 
 Priest and confess. 
 
 Listen ! we three were alone in the dell at the 
 
 close of the day. 
 I was lilting a song to the babe, and it laugh'd like 
 
 a dawn in May. 
 
 Then on a sudden we saw your soldiers crossing 
 
 the ridge, 
 And he caught my little one from me : we dipt 
 
 down under the bridge 
 
 By the great dead pine — you know it — and heard, 
 as we crouch'd below, 
 
52 THE BANDIT'S DEATH 
 
 The clatter of arms, and voices, and men passing 
 to and fro. 
 
 Black was the night when we crept away — not a 
 
 star in the sky — 
 Hush'd as the heart of the grave, till the little one 
 
 utter'd a cry. 
 
 I whisper'd ' give it to me,' but he would not 
 
 answer me — then 
 He gript it so hard by the throat that the boy 
 
 never cried again. 
 
 We return'd to his cave — the link was broken — 
 
 he sobb'd and he wept, 
 And cursed himself; then he yawn'd, for the wretch 
 
 could sleep, and he slept 
 
THE BANDIT'S DEATH 53 
 
 Ay, till dawn stole into the cave, and a ray red 
 
 as blood 
 Glanced on the strangled face — I could make Sleep 
 
 Death, if I would — 
 
 Glared on at the murder'd son, and the murderous 
 
 . father at rest, . . . 
 I drove the blade that had slain my husband thrice 
 thro' his breast. 
 
 He was loved at least by his dog : it was chain'd, 
 
 but its horrible yell 
 ' She has kill'd him, has kill'd him, has kill'd him ' 
 
 rang out all down thro' the dell, 
 
 Till I felt I could end myself too with the dagger 
 — so deafen'd and dazed — 
 
54 THE BANDIT'S DEATH 
 
 Take it, and save me from it ! I fled. I was all 
 but crazed 
 
 With the grief that gnaw'd at my heart, and the 
 
 weight that dragg'd at my hand ; 
 But thanks to the Blessed Saints that I came on 
 
 none of his band ; 
 
 And the band will be scatter'd now their gallant 
 
 captain is dead, 
 For I with this dagger of his — do you doubt me? 
 
 Here is his head ! 
 
THE CHURCH-WARDEN AND 
 THE CURATE 
 
THE CHURCH-WARDEN AND THE 
 CURATE 
 
 This is written in the dialect which was current in my 
 youth at Spilsby and in the country about it. 
 
 I 
 
 Eh? good daay! good daay! thaw it bean't not 
 
 mooch of a daay, 
 
 Nasty, casselty weather ! an' mea haafe down wi' 
 
 my haay ! 
 
 57 
 
58 CHURCH -WARD EN AND CURATE 
 
 How be the farm gittin on? noaways. Gittin on 
 i'deead ! 
 
 Why, tonups was haafe on 'em fingers an' toas, an' 
 the mare brokken-kneead, 
 
 An' pigs didn't sell at fall, an' wa lost wer Hal- 
 deny cow, 
 
 An' it beats ma to knaw wot she died on, but wool's 
 looking oop ony how. 
 
 in 
 
 An' soa they've maade tha a parson, an' thou'll git 
 
 along, niver fear, 
 Fur I bean chuch-\varden mysen i' the parish fur 
 
 fifteen year. 
 
CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 59 
 
 \V e ll — s i n ther bea chuch-wardens, ther mun be 
 
 parsons an' all, 
 An' if t'one stick alongside t'uther the chuch weant 
 
 happen a fall. 
 
 IV 
 
 Fur I wur a Baptis wonst, an' agean the toithe an' 
 
 the raate, 
 Till I fun that it warn't not the gaainist waay to 
 
 the narra Gaate. 
 An' I can't abear 'em, I can't, fur a lot on 'em 
 
 coom'd ta-year — 
 I wur down wi' the rheumatis then — to my pond 
 
 to wesh thessens theere — 
 Sa I sticks like the ivin as long as I lives to the 
 
 owd chuch now, 
 
60 CHURCH -WARDEN AND CURATE 
 
 Fur they wesh'd their sins i' my pond, an' I doubts 
 they poison'd the cow. 
 
 Ay, an' ya seed the Bishop. They says 'at he 
 
 coom'd fra nowt — 
 Burn i' traade. Sa I warrants 'e niver said haafe 
 
 wot 'e thowt, 
 But 'e creeapt an' 'e crawl'd along, till 'e feeald 'e 
 
 could howd 'is oan, 
 Then 'e married a great Yerl's darter, an' sits o' 
 
 the Bishop's throan. 
 
 VI 
 
 Now I'll gie tha a, bit o' my mind an' tha weant 
 be taakin' offence, 
 
CHURCH -WARDEN AND CURATE 61 
 
 Fur thou be a big scholard now wi' a hoonderd 
 
 haacre o' sense — 
 But sich an obstropulous lad — naay, naay — fur I 
 
 minds tha sa well, 
 Tha'd niver not hopple thy tongue, an' the tongue's 
 
 sit afire o' Hell, 
 As I says to my missis to-daay, when she hurl'd a 
 
 plaate at the cat 
 An' anoother agean my noase. Ya was niver sa 
 
 bad as that. 
 
 VII 
 
 But I minds when i' Howlaby beck won daay ya 
 
 was ticklin' o' trout, 
 An' keeaper 'e seed ya an roon'd, an' 'e beal'd to 
 
 ya ' Lad coom hout ' 
 
62 CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 
 
 An' ya stood oop maakt i' the beck, an' ya teli'd 
 
 'im to knaw his awn plaace 
 An' ya call'd 'im a clown, ya did, an' ya thraw'd 
 
 the fish i' 'is faace, 
 An' 'e torn'd as red as a stag-tuckey's wattles, but 
 
 theer an' then 
 I coamb'd 'im down, fur I promised ya'd niver not 
 
 do it agean. 
 
 An' I cotch'd tha wonst i' my garden, when thou 
 
 was a height-year- howd, 
 An' I fun thy pockets as full o' my pippins as iver 
 
 they'd 'owd, 
 An' thou was as pearky as owt, an' tha maade me 
 
 as mad as mad, 
 
CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 63 
 
 But I says to tha ' keeap 'em, an' welcome ' fur 
 thou was the parson's lad. 
 
 IX 
 
 An' Parson 'e 'ears on it all, an' then taakes kindly 
 
 to me, 
 An' then I wur chose Chuch-warden an' coom'd 
 
 to the top o' the tree, 
 Fur Quoloty's hall my friends, an' they maakes ma 
 
 a help to the poor, 
 When I gits the plaate fuller o' Soondays nor ony 
 
 chuch-warden afoor, 
 Fur if iver thy feyther 'ed riled me I kep' mysen 
 
 meeak as a lamb, 
 An' saw by the Graace o' the Lord, Mr. Harry, I 
 
 ham wot I ham. 
 
64 CHURCH -WARDEN AND CURATE 
 
 x 
 
 But Parson 'e will speak out, saw, now 'e be sixty- 
 seven, 
 He'll niver swap Owlby an' Scratby fur owt but the 
 
 Kingdom o' Heaven ; 
 An' thou'll be 'is Curate 'ere, but, if iver tha means 
 
 to git 'igher, 
 Tha mun tackle the sins o' the Wo'ld, an' not the 
 
 faults o' the Squire. 
 An' I reckons tha'll light of a livin' somewheers i' 
 
 the Wowcl or the Fen, 
 If tha cottons down to thy betters, an' keeaps thy- 
 
 sen to thysen. 
 But niver not speak plaain out, if tha wants to git 
 
 forrards a bit, 
 But creeap along the hedge-bottoms, an' thou'll be 
 
 a Bishop yit. 
 
CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 65 
 
 XI 
 Naay, but tha nutn speak hout to the Baptises 
 
 here i' the town, 
 Fur moast on 'em talks agean tithe, an' I'd like 
 
 tha to preach 'em down, 
 Fur they've been a-preachin' mea down, they heve, 
 
 an' I haates 'em now, 
 Fur they leaved their nasty sins i' 7ny pond, an' it 
 
 poison'd the cow. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 ' Casselty,' casualty, chance weather. 
 
 ' Haafe down wi' my haay,' while my grass is only half- 
 mown. 
 
 ' Fingers an' toas,' a disease in turnips. 
 
 ' Fall,' autumn. 
 
 ' If t'one stick alongside t'uther,' if the one hold by the 
 other. One is pronounced like ' own.' 
 
 ' Fun,' found. 
 
 1 Gaainist,' nearest. 
 
 ' Ta-year,' this year. 
 
 1 Ivin,' ivy. 
 
 ' Obstropulous,' obstreperous — here the Curate makes a 
 sign of deprecation. 
 
 'Hopple' or 'hobble,' to tie the legs of a skittish cow 
 when she is being milked. 
 
 ' Beal'd,' bellowed. 
 
 In such words as ' torned,' ' turned,' ' hurled,' the r is hardly 
 audible. 
 
 ' Stag-tuckey,' turkey-cock. 
 
 ' Height-year-howd,' eight-year-old. 
 
 ' 'Owd,' hold. 
 
 ' Pearky,' pert. 
 
 ' Wo'ld,' the world. Short o. 
 
 ' Wowd,' wold. 
 66 
 
CHARITY 
 
CHARITY 
 
 What am I doing, you say to me, ' wasting the 
 
 sweet summer hours ' ? 
 Haven't you eyes? I am dressing the grave of a 
 
 woman with flowers. 
 
 II 
 
 For a woman ruin'd the world, as God's own 
 
 scriptures tell, 
 And a man ruin'd mine, but a woman, God bless 
 
 her, kept me from Hell. 
 
 Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co. 69 
 
70 CHARITY 
 
 III 
 Love me ? O yes, no doubt — how long — till you 
 
 threw me aside ! 
 Dresses and laces and jewels and never a ring for 
 
 the bride. 
 
 IV 
 
 All very well just now to be calling me darling and 
 
 sweet, 
 And after a while would it matter so much if I 
 
 came on the street? 
 
 You when I met you first — when he brought you ! 
 
 — I turn'd away 
 And the hard blue eyes have it still, that stare of 
 
 a beast of prey. 
 
CHARITY 71 
 
 VI 
 
 You were his friend — you — you — when he prom- 
 ised to make me his bride, 
 
 And you knew that he meant to betray me — you 
 knew — you knew that he lied. 
 
 VII 
 
 He married an heiress, an orphan with half a shire 
 
 of estate, — 
 I sent him a desolate wail and a curse, when I 
 
 learn'd my fate. 
 
 VIII 
 
 For I used to play with the knife, creep down to 
 the river-shore, 
 
 Moan to myself ' one plunge — then quiet for ever- 
 more.' 
 
7 2 CHARITY 
 
 IX 
 
 Would the man have a touch of remorse when he 
 
 heard what an end was mine? 
 Or brag to his fellow rakes of his conquest over 
 
 their wine? 
 
 x 
 
 Money — my hire — his money — I sent him back 
 
 what he gave, — 
 Will you move a little that way? your shadow falls 
 
 on the grave. 
 
 XI 
 
 Two trains clash'd : then and there he was crush'd 
 
 in a moment and died, 
 But the new-wedded wife was unharm'd, tho' sitting 
 
 close at his side. 
 
CHARITY 73 
 
 XII 
 She found my letter upon him, my wail of reproach 
 
 and scorn ; 
 I had cursed the woman he married, and him, and 
 
 the day I was born. 
 
 XIII 
 
 They put him aside for ever, and after a week — no 
 
 more — 
 A stranger as welcome as Satan — a widow came to 
 
 my door : 
 
 XIV 
 
 So I turn'd my face to the wall, I was mad, I was 
 
 raving-wild, 
 I was close on that hour of dishonour, the birth of 
 
 a base born child. 
 
74 
 
 CHARITY 
 
 XV 
 
 you that can flatter your victims, and juggle, and 
 
 lie and cajole, 
 Man, can you even guess at the love of a soul for 
 a soul? 
 
 XVI 
 
 1 had cursed her as woman and wife, and in wife 
 
 and woman I found 
 The tenderest Christ-like creature that ever stept 
 on the ground. 
 
 XVII 
 
 She watch'd me, she nursed me, she fed me, she 
 
 sat day and night by my bed, 
 Till the joyless birthday came of a boy born happily 
 
 dead. 
 
CHARITY 
 
 XVIII 
 
 75 
 
 And her name? what was it? I ask'd her. She 
 
 said with a sudden glow 
 On her patient face ' My dear, I will tell you before 
 
 I go.' 
 
 XIX 
 
 And I when I learnt it at last, I shriek'd, I sprang 
 
 from my seat, 
 I wept, and I kiss'd her hands, I flung myself down 
 
 at her feet, 
 
 xx 
 
 And we pray'd together for him, for him who had 
 
 given her the name. 
 She has left me enough to live on. I need no 
 
 wages of shame. 
 
76 CHARITY 
 
 XXI 
 
 She died of a fever caught when a nurse in a hos- 
 pital ward. 
 
 She is high in the Heaven of Heavens, she is face 
 to face with her Lord, 
 
 XXII 
 
 And He sees not her like anywhere in this pitiless 
 
 world of ours ! 
 I have told you my tale. Get you gone. I am 
 
 dressing her grave with flowers. 
 
KAPIOLANI 
 
 Kapiolani was a great chieftainess who lived in the 
 Sandwich Islands at the beginning of this century. 
 She won the cause of Christianity by openly defying the 
 priests of the terrible goddess Peele. In spite of their 
 threats of vengeance she ascended the volcano Mauna- 
 Loa, then clambered down over a bank of cinders 400 
 feet high to the great lake of fire (nine miles round) 
 — Kilauea — the home and haunt of the goddess, and 
 flung into the boiling lava the consecrated berries which 
 it was sacrilege for a woman to handle. 
 
 I 
 
 When from the terrors of Nature a people have 
 fashion'd and worship a Spirit of Evil, 
 
 Blest be the Voice of % the Teacher who calls to 
 
 them 
 
 ' Set yourselves free ! ' 
 
 77 
 
78 KAPIOLANI 
 
 II 
 Noble the Saxon who hurl'd at his Idol a valorous 
 
 weapon in olden England ! 
 Great and greater, and greatest of women, island 
 
 heroine, Kapiolani 
 Clomb the mountain, and flung the berries, and 
 
 dared the Goddess, and freed the people 
 Of Hawa-i-ee ! 
 
 in 
 A people believing that Peele the Goddess would 
 
 wallow in fiery riot and revel 
 On Kilauea, 
 Dance in a fountain of flame with her devils, or 
 
 shake with her thunders and shatter her 
 
 island, 
 .Rolling her anger 
 
KAPIOLANI 79 
 
 Thro' blasted valley and flaring forest in blood-red 
 cataracts down to the sea ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Long as the lava-light 
 Glares from the lava-lake 
 Dazing the starlight, 
 Long as the silvery vapour in daylight 
 Over the mountain 
 
 Floats, will the glory of Kapiolani be mingled with 
 either on Hawa-i-ee. 
 
 What said her Priesthood? 
 
 ' Woe to this island if ever a woman should handle 
 
 or gather the berries of Peele ! 
 Accursed were she ! 
 
80 KAPIOLANI 
 
 And woe to this island if ever a woman should 
 
 climb to the dwelling of Peele the Goddess ! 
 Accursed were she ! ' 
 
 VI 
 
 One from the Sunrise 
 
 Dawn'd on His people, and slowly before him 
 
 Vanish'd shadow-like 
 
 Gods and Goddesses, 
 
 None but the terrible Peele remaining as Kapiolani 
 
 ascended her mountain, 
 Baffled her priesthood, 
 Broke the Taboo, 
 Dipt to the crater, 
 CalFd on the Power adored by the Christian, and 
 
 crying ' I dare her, let Peele avenge herself ! ' 
 Into the flame- billow dash'd the berries, and drove 
 
 the demon from Havva-i-ee. 
 
THE DAWN 
 
 "You are but children." 
 
 Egyptian Priest to Solon. 
 
 I 
 Red of the Dawn ! 
 Screams of a babe in the red-hot palms of a 
 Moloch of Tyre, 
 Man with his brotherless dinner on man in the 
 
 tropical wood, 
 Priests in the name of the Lord passing souls 
 thro' fire to the fire, 
 Head-hunters and boats of Dahomey that float 
 upon human blood ! 
 
82 THE DAWN 
 
 Red of the Dawn ! 
 (iodless fury of peoples, and Christless frolic of 
 kings, 
 And the bolt of war dashing down upon cities 
 
 and blazing farms, 
 For Babylon was a child new-born, and Rome 
 was a babe in arms, 
 And London and Paris and all the rest are as yet 
 but in leading-strings. 
 
 in 
 
 Dawn not Day, 
 While scandal is mouthing a bloodless name at her 
 cannibal feast, 
 
THE DAWN 83 
 
 And rake-ruin'd bodies and souls go down in a 
 
 common wreck, 
 And the Press of a thousand cities is prized for 
 
 it smells of the beast, 
 Or easily violates virgin Truth for a coin or a 
 
 cheque. 
 
 IV 
 
 Dawn not Day ! 
 Is it Shame, so few should have climb'd from the 
 dens in the level below, 
 Men, with a heart and a soul, no slaves of a 
 
 four-footed will? 
 But if twenty million of summers are stored in 
 the sunlight still, 
 We are far from the noon of man, there is time 
 for the race to grow. 
 
84 THE DAWN 
 
 Red of the Dawn ! 
 Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall 
 we lay 
 The Ghost of the Brute that is walking and haunt- 
 ing us yet, and be free? 
 In a hundred, a thousand winters? Ah, what 
 will our children be, 
 The men of a hundred thousand, a million summers 
 away? 
 
THE MAKING OF MAN 
 
 Where is one that, born of woman, altogether can 
 escape 
 
 From the lower world within him, moods of tiger, 
 or of ape? 
 Man as yet is being made, and ere the crown- 
 ing Age of ages, 
 
 Shall not aeon after aeon pass and touch him into 
 shape ? 
 
 All about him shadow still, but, while the races 
 
 flower and fade, 
 
 85 
 
86 THE MAKING OF MAN 
 
 Prophet- eyes may catch a glory slowly gaining on 
 
 the shade, 
 Till the peoples all are one, and all their voices 
 
 blend in choric 
 Hallelujah to the Maker ' It is finish'd. Man is 
 
 made.' 
 
THE DREAMER 
 
 On a midnight in midwinter when all bat the 
 
 winds were dead, 
 ' The meek shall inherit the earth ' was a Scripture 
 
 that rang thro' his head, 
 Till he dream'd that a Voice of the Earth went 
 
 wailingly past him and said : 
 
 ' I am losing the light of my Youth 
 
 And the Vision that led me of old, 
 
 And I clash with an iron Truth, 
 
 When I make for an Age of gold, 
 
 And I would that my race were run, 
 
 For teeming with liars, and madmen, and 
 
 knaves, 
 
 87 
 
88 THE DREAMER 
 
 And wearied of Autocrats, Anarchs, and 
 
 Slaves, 
 And darken'd with doubts of a Faith that 
 
 saves, 
 And crimson with battles, and hollow with 
 
 graves, 
 To the wail of my winds, and the moan of 
 
 my waves 
 I whirl, and I follow the Sun.' 
 
 Was it only the wind of the Night shrilling out 
 
 Desolation and wrong 
 Thro' a dream of the dark? Yet he thought that 
 
 he answer'd her wail with a song — 
 
 Moaning your Josses, O Earth, 
 Heart- weary and overdone ! 
 
THE DREAMER 89 
 
 But all's well that ends well, 
 Whirl, and follow the Sun ! 
 
 He is racing from heaven to heaven 
 
 And less will be lost than won, 
 For all's well that ends well, 
 
 Whirl, and follow the Sun ! 
 
 The Reign of the Meek upon earth, 
 
 O weary one, has it begun? 
 But all's well that ends well, 
 
 Whirl, and follow the Sun ! 
 
 For moans will have grown sphere-music 
 
 Or ever your race be run ! 
 And all's well that ends well, 
 
 Whirl, and follow the Sun ! 
 
MECHANOPHILUS 
 
 (In the time of the first railways) 
 
 Now first we. stand and understand, 
 
 And sunder false from true, 
 And handle boldly with the hand, 
 
 And see and shape and do. 
 
 Dash back that ocean with a pier, 
 
 Strow yonder mountain flat, 
 A railway there, a tunnel here, 
 
 Mix me this Zone with that ! 
 
 Bring me my horse — my horse ? my wings 
 
 That I may soar the sky, 
 90 
 
MECHANOPHILUS gi 
 
 For Thought into the outward springs, 
 I find her with the eye. 
 
 O will she, moonlike, sway the main, 
 
 And bring or chase the storm, 
 Who was a shadow in the brain, 
 
 And is a living form? 
 
 Far as the Future vaults her skies, 
 
 From this my vantage ground 
 To those still-working energies 
 
 I spy nor term nor bound. 
 
 As we surpass our fathers' skill, 
 
 Our sons will shame our own ; 
 A thousand things are hidden still 
 
 And not a hundred known. 
 
92 MECHANOPHILUS 
 
 And had some prophet spoken true 
 
 Of all we shall achieve, 
 The wonders were so wildly new 
 
 That no man would believe. 
 
 Meanwhile, my brothers, work, and wield 
 
 The forces of to-day, 
 And plow the Present like a field, 
 
 And garner all you may ! 
 
 You, what the cultured surface grows, 
 Dispense with careful hands : 
 
 Deep under deep for ever goes, 
 Heaven over heaven expands. 
 
RIFLEMEN FORM! 
 
 There is a sound of thunder afar, 
 
 Storm in the South that darkens the day ! 
 
 Storm of battle and thunder of war ! 
 
 Well if it do not roll our way. 
 
 Storm, Storm, Riflemen form ! 
 
 Ready, be ready against the storm ! 
 
 Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! 
 
 Be not deaf to the sound that warns, 
 
 Be not gull'd by a despot's plea ! 
 
 Are figs of thistles? or grapes of thorns? 
 
 How can a despot feel with the Free? 
 
 93 
 
04 RIFLEMEN FORM 
 
 Form, Form, Riflemen Form ! 
 Ready, be ready to meet the storm ! 
 Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! 
 
 Let your reforms for a moment go ! 
 
 Look to your butts, and take good aims ! 
 
 Better a rotten borough or so 
 
 Than a rotten fleet and a city in flames ! 
 
 Storm, Storm, Riflemen form ! 
 
 Ready, be ready against the storm ! 
 
 Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! 
 
 Form, be ready to do or die ! 
 Form in Freedom's name and the Queen's ! 
 True we have^got — such a faithful ally 
 That only the Devil can tell what he means. 
 
RIFLEMEN FORM 95 
 
 Form, Form, Riflemen Form ! 
 Ready, be ready to meet the storm ! 
 Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! 1 
 
 1 I have been asked to republish this old poem, which was 
 first published in 'The Times,' May 9, 1859, before the Volun- 
 teer movement began. 
 
THE TOURNEY 
 
 Ralph would fight in Edith's sight, 
 
 For Ralph was Edith's lover, 
 Ralph went down like a fire to the fight, 
 Struck to the left and struck to the right, 
 
 Roll'd them over and over. 
 'Gallant Sir Ralph,' said the king. 
 
 Casques were crack'd and hauberks hack'd, 
 
 Lances snapt in sunder, 
 Rang the stroke, and sprang the blood, 
 Knights were thwack'd and riven, and hew'd 
 
 Like broad oaks with thunder. 
 
 * O what an arm/ said the king. 
 96 
 
THE TOURNEY 97 
 
 Edith bow'd her stately head, 
 
 Saw them lie confounded, 
 Edith Montfort bow'd her head, 
 Crown'd her knight's, and flush'd as red 
 
 As poppies when she crown'd it. 
 'Take her Sir Ralph,' said the king. 
 
THE BEE AND THE FLOWER 
 
 The bee buzz'd up in the heat. 
 ' I am faint for your honey, my sweet.' 
 The flower said ' Take it my dear, 
 For now is the spring of the year. 
 So come, come ! ' 
 < Hum ! ' 
 And the bee buzz'd down from the heat. 
 
 And the bee buzz'd up in the cold 
 
 When the flower was wither'd and old. 
 98 
 
THE BEE AND THE FLOWER 99 
 
 'Have you still any honey, my dear?' 
 She said ' It's the fall of the year, 
 But come, come ! ' 
 < Hum ! ' 
 And the bee buzz'd off in the cold. 
 LOFC. 
 
THE WANDERER 
 
 The gleam of household sunshine ends, 
 And here no longer can I rest ; 
 Farewell ! — You will not speak, my friends, 
 Unfriendly of your parted guest. 
 
 O well for him that finds a friend, 
 Or makes a friend where'er he come, 
 And loves the^ world from end to end, 
 And wanders on from home to home ! 
 
THE WANDERER 
 
 happy he, and fit to live, 
 
 On whom a happy home has power 
 To make him trust his life, and give 
 His fealty to the halcyon hour ! 
 
 1 count you kind, I hold you true ; 
 But what may follow who can tell? 
 Give me a hand — and you — and you 
 And deem me grateful, and farewell ! 
 
POETS AND CRITICS 
 
 This thing, that thing is the rage, 
 Helter-skelter runs the age; 
 Minds on this round earth of ours 
 Vary like the leaves and flowers, 
 
 Fashion'd after certain laws ; 
 Sing thou low or loud or sweet, 
 All at all points thou canst not meet, 
 
 Some will pass and some will pause. 
 
 What is true at last will tell : 
 Few at first will place thee well ; 
 
 I02 
 
POETS AND CRITICS 
 
 Some too low would have thee shine, 
 Some too high — no fault of thine — 
 
 Hold thine own, and work thy will ! 
 Year will graze the heel of year, 
 But seldom comes the poet here, 
 
 And the Critic's rarer still. 
 
A VOICE SPAKE OUT OF THE SKIES 
 
 A Voice spake out of the skies 
 To a just man and a wise — 
 'The world and all within it 
 Will only last a minute!' 
 And a beggar began to cry 
 ' Food, food or I die ' ! 
 Is it worth his while to eat, 
 Or mine to give him meat, 
 If the world and all within it 
 Were nothing the next minute? 
 
 104 
 
DOUBT AND PRAYER 
 
 Tho' Sin too oft, when smitten by Thy rod, 
 
 Rail at ' Blind Fate ' with many a vain ' Alas ! ' 
 
 From sin thro' sorrow into Thee we pass 
 
 By that same path our true forefathers trod ; 
 
 And let not Reason fail me, nor the sod 
 
 Draw from my death Thy living flower and grass, 
 
 Before I learn that Love, which is, and was 
 
 My Father, and my Brother, and my God ! 
 
 105 
 
ioG DOUBT AND PRAYER 
 
 Steel me with patience! soften me with grief! 
 Let blow the trumpet strongly while I pray, 
 Till this embattled wall of unbelief 
 My prison, not my fortress, fall away ! 
 Then, if thou wiliest, let my day be brief, 
 So Thou wilt strike Thy glory thro' the day. 
 
FAITH 
 
 Doubt no longer that the Highest is the wisest 
 
 and the best, 
 Let not all that saddens Nature blight thy hope or 
 
 break thy rest, 
 Quail not at the fiery mountain, at the shipwreck, 
 
 or the rolling 
 
 Thunder, or the rending earthquake, or the famine, 
 
 or the pest ! 
 
 107 
 
108 FAITH 
 
 II 
 
 Neither mourn if human creeds be lower than the 
 
 heart's desire ! 
 Thro' the gates that bar the distance comes a gleam 
 
 of what is higher. 
 Wait till Death has flung them open, when the 
 
 man will make the Maker 
 Dark no more with human hatreds in the glare of 
 
 deathless fire ! 
 
THE SILENT VOICES* 
 
 When the dumb Hour, clothed in black, 
 
 Brings the Dreams about my bed, 
 
 Call me not so often back, 
 
 Silent Voices of the dead, 
 
 Toward the lowland ways behind me, 
 
 And the sunlight that is gone ! 
 
 Call me rather, silent voices, 
 
 Forward to the starry track 
 
 Glimmering up the heights beyond me 
 
 On, and always on ! 
 
 * Copyright, 1892, by Macmillan & Co. 
 
 109 
 
GOD AND THE UNIVERSE 
 
 Will my tiny spark of being wholly vanish in your 
 
 deeps and heights? 
 Must my day be dark by reason, O ye Heavens, 
 
 of your boundless nights, 
 Rush of Suns, and roll of systems, and your fiery 
 
 clash of meteorites? 
 
 Spirit, nearing yon dark portal at the limit of thy 
 human state, 
 
GOD AND THE UNIVERSE m 
 
 Fear not thou the hidden purpose of that Power 
 
 which alone is great, 
 Nor the myriad world, His shadow, nor the silent 
 
 Opener of the Gate.' 
 
THE DEATH 
 
 OF THE 
 
 DUKE OF CLARENCE AND AVONDALE 
 
 (To tbr $ttoitrnrrs. 
 
 The bridal garland falls upon the bier, 
 The shadow of a crown, that o'er him hung, 
 Has vanish'd in the shadow cast by Death. 
 
 So princely, tender, truthful, reverent, pure — 
 Mourn ! That a 'world-wide Empire mourns with 
 you, 
 
 1 12 
 
DEATH OF THE DUKE OF CLARENCE \ 
 
 That all the Thrones are clouded by your loss, 
 Were slender solace. Yet be comforted ; 
 For if this earth be ruled by Perfect Love, 
 Then, after his brief range of blameless days, 
 The toll of funeral in an Angel ear 
 Sounds happier than the merriest marriage-bell. 
 The face of Death is toward the Sun of Life, 
 His shadow darkens earth : his truer name 
 Is ' Onward,' no discordance in the roll 
 And march of that Eternal Harmony 
 Whereto the worlds beat time, tho' faintly heard 
 Lmtil the great Hereafter. Mourn in hope ! 
 
 THE END 
 
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