UC-NRLF 
 
 B 2 AE3 flbb 
 
 P R 
 
 5169 
 
 P73 
 
 A17 
 
 1868 
 
 MAIN 
 
POEMS 
 
 EDWARD A. PHILLIPS, B.A. 
 
 {PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION] 
 
 LONDON 
 SPOTTLSWOODE & CO., PRINTERS, NEW-STREET SQUAR 
 
 AND 
 
 30 PARLIAMENT STREET, WESTMINSTER 
 
 1 8 6 X 
 
 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD A. PHILLIPS, B.A. 
 
 [PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION] 
 
 LONDON 
 SPOTTISWOODE & CO., PRINTERS, NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND 
 
 30 PARLIAMENT STREET, WESTMINSTER 
 1868 
 
WAN STACK 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 RESURRECTION ...... ... 3 
 
 FAITH 4 
 
 HOPE 5 
 
 SUPPLICATION 6 
 
 FORTITUDE 7 
 
 THE POETRY OF PEACE 8 
 
 THE NEW CAPITAL (FLORENCE IN 1865) 9 
 
 A sister's VOICE 15 
 
 THE CASCADE 16 
 
 A CHRISTIAN 19 
 
 THE MIRAGE 21 
 
 MNEMOSYNE 26 
 
 THE SEAL 28 
 
 ' LIFE'S RIVER FLOWS ALONG ' 31 
 
 ALPHA AND OMEGA 32 
 
RESURRECTION. 
 
 \%toh 
 
 By this cold rock, and in this cheerless gloom, 
 Wherefore, lone weeper, hast thou vainly cried 
 Such bitter tears upon an empty tomb, 
 Deeming the absence of thy joy its doom ? 
 Look up, behold One standeth at thy side, 
 Worthier these longings than th' embalmed dead, 
 One God hath given to mourners in His stead — 
 To all with tears who seek the Crucified. 
 He spake : in bitterness her heart replied ; 
 But as she gazed on Him with looks forlorn, 
 Lifting her pale face to the light of God, 
 Through her chill frame there flush'd the hope oi" 
 
 dawn ; 
 Earth with its tombs — its thousand tombs — was gone. 
 And radiant in eternal life she stood. 
 
 a2 
 
 402 
 
FAITH. 
 
 * Father, where is the lamb ? ' The old man leant, 
 And look'd npon his child. Had those clear eyes 
 Sought out the mystery of his soul's intent ? 
 Nay, there no gath'ring cloud of dark surmise 
 With the pure ray of meek enquiry blent. 
 c My son, for man's most costly sacrifice, 
 God will Himself the chosen lamb provide.' 
 No voice was heard upon the lonely height ; 
 Each call'd upon his Father — none replied. 
 On that dear face, now blanch' d a deathly white, 
 Look'd love's last agony ; above, the knife 
 Hung like a falcon o'er the shrinking life ; 
 When, lo ! God saw His bloodless triumph won, 
 And broke the awful silence : ' Spare thy son ! ' 
 
HOPE. 
 
 ' Wilt thou go with this man ? ' ' If I should go,' 
 The maiden mused within herself, ' I yield 
 The Past, the Present, all of joy I know, 
 Save Hope's one star that soon may cease to glow. 
 And, lo ! my father's trembling lips are seal'd, 
 And he, whose arm hath ofttimes been my shield, 
 Forbids not.' Then, in tearful accents low, 
 ' Yea, God hath surely sent him : I will go.' 
 So, from the dwelling she should see no more, 
 Southward the patriarch's meek camels strode, 
 And to strange lands the Syrian damsel bore : 
 Most blessed among women, she who chose 
 The tent of Sarah for her fix'd abode, 
 Over whose top the star of Jacob rose. 
 
SUPPLICATION. 
 
 1 Lord, of a truth Thy straiten'd children own 
 How these, whose tumult and hot rage divine 
 Such ills against this holy place of Thine, 
 The nations and their gods have quite consumed ; 
 But Thou Thyself, Jehovah, God alone, 
 Whose high decree their former victims doom'd, 
 On their proud heads Thy wrath hast never shown 
 Now, Lord, arise, for David's royal throne, 
 Thine ancient covenant, and save.' 
 
 There went 
 An angel forth that night, and slew and slew, 
 Till when at dawn the pealing trumpets blew 
 To battle, of the mighty none arose. 
 Who did arise with secret horror fled, 
 By none pursued — the living from the dead. 
 
FORTITUDE. 
 
 Op all who mourn th' inconstant moods of Time, 
 
 That is the heart which most is marr'd by change 
 
 Itself which changeth most ; the good possess'd 
 
 Is taken from it, and its chosen gains 
 
 Are natural losses. That which doth not change 
 
 Standeth at least in vigour of its youth, 
 
 If not of manhood, and the living joy 
 
 Which once it breathed is of its endless life 
 
 An early portion still ; whereof assured, 
 
 Let me arise, if morning once again 
 
 Summon this sorrow-darken'd world to toil, 
 
 And, though the fruits and flowers of love and joy 
 
 Perish from off the earth by slow decay, 
 
 Face the blank future, having faith in God. 
 
THE POETRY OF PEACE. 
 
 A conscience basking in the smile of Heaven, 
 
 Whose noonday sun is holiness and love, 
 
 Glad in the consciousness of sins forgiven 
 
 And justice satisfied, can rise above 
 
 Earth's trifles and earth's cares, and cast below 
 
 A look of peace ineffable : but so 
 
 Is that clear conscience made of Christ's pure mind 
 
 A blest partaker, that ere long the woe 
 
 Dark'ning a world to its own interests blind, 
 
 Shrouds the bright spirit's radiance, and, with Him 
 
 Who over Salem wept, the eye of peace grows dim. 
 
 Immortal being, who are they all fair, 
 
 The limits of whose sight is perfect bliss ? 
 
 They've reach'd the heavenly world, and, happy there, 
 
 Have ceased to weep for misery in this : 
 
 Not one inhabitant their eyes behold 
 
 Without a robe of white or crown of gold. 
 
 This too is peace ineffable, but far 
 
 Beyond the earthly, as those things untold, 
 
 Which fancy paints, beyond experience are 
 
 In real life ; but how can thought increase, 
 
 Or fancy paint the bounds of perfect, lasting peace ? 
 
THE KEW CAPITAL. 
 
 (Florence in 1865.) 
 
 Yesternight, when the sunset's golden hues 
 
 Were tarnish' d, and the dim world silently 
 
 Roll'd on into the darkness, swiftly borne 
 
 Far hence, my spirit in a trance was found 
 
 Upon a lofty height, sore buffeted, 
 
 And chill beset with winds that, 'twixt two seas, 
 
 Conflicted in mid gloom ; while, far away 
 
 To right and left, fell back th' embattled front 
 
 Of each antagonist host, whom barriers broad 
 
 Of mountain-reach and level interposed, 
 
 So render' d impotent to mix their rage. 
 
 More peaceful far, when from this spacious scene 
 
 Rolls the riv'n gloom, northward the Lombard plain 
 
 Like to some Power, firm-based, which scorns the 
 
 strife 
 Of turbulent misrule, luxuriant smiles, 
 Skirting Modena ; or to south, beyond 
 The famous valleys and extremest view, 
 
 A3 
 
10 THE NEW CAPITAL. 
 
 Tuscan Maremma with adjoining flats — 
 
 The alter'd region of a treach'rous calm. 
 
 # * # # # 
 
 Then came there voices on the windy height. 
 
 The one for love of it full well I knew ; 
 
 'Twas that illustrious Florentine's,* whose doom 
 
 Of cheerless exile, hef who tended flocks 
 
 On the Campagna, and was timely led 
 
 To Florence by Cimabue, had mourn'd, 
 
 When, from Pistoia sprung, once more a stream 
 
 Of kindred strife through the vext city ran, 
 
 Like Arno of its oneness making twain. 
 
 And here again, methought, by word he drew 
 
 Forth from the sable sheath of night a sword, 
 
 Which, gleaming naked through the centuries, 
 
 Follow'd the fugitive Past, as once it had 
 
 Pierced the mail'd bosom of Futurity : 
 
 While at his side, made visible by the flash, 
 
 Giotto stood. To him, in speech that rose 
 
 Through sorrow's dark abysses as of old, 
 
 The poet spake — his words subject to none 
 
 Save his own spirit's powerful control, 
 
 Yet seem'd they thus ; a sire whom worthy deeds 
 
 Had raised to dignity was hers, beloved 
 
 Of his lone heart with an unequall'd love 
 
 In life, and follow'd through the shades of death, 
 
 * Dante. f Giotto. 
 
THE NEW CAPITAL. 11 
 
 Till, fairer in the halls of Paradise, 
 On her sweet face he gazed with calm delight. 
 His Florence, too, how royal was her birth — 
 She who no less had shared and scorn'd his love, 
 Thrust into hopeless exile from her walls. 
 Did Rome not bear her, when the might of Rome 
 Had pass'd compare with all reputed might ? 
 Then was she lapp'd in yon sweet Tuscan vale, 
 And nourish'd from the purple veins that streak 
 Its Eden-fashion' d slopes, whose mantle drawn, 
 Of silver-olive, yields them to our view — 
 Worthy the lineage whose proud marks she bore. 
 
 Then did he speak who, with reluctant soul, 
 Leaving for peerless fame his pastoral joys, 
 Here dwelt, and said, ' But thou art great in more 
 Than the possession of a princely name, 
 From out whose shadow thine own walls and towers 
 Rose beauteous and substantial, who didst wear, 
 Wax'd comely, on thy classic brow by turns 
 The crown of Literature, the crown of Art, 
 While at thy side were sages ; in thy lap 
 Commerce profusion upon plenty pour'd. 
 Yet was not this thy chief renown — to lead 
 Learning and Genius back to brighter day; 
 Nay, higher than all other fame, was thine 
 That fortitude which, as a burnish' d shield 
 Girt on the arm of Freedom, did conceal 
 a4 
 
12 THE NEW CAPITAL. 
 
 From Death's keen search the throbbing heart 
 
 within — 
 Italy's life and longings, safe in thine 
 Through centuries twain,* mark'd by alternate strifes 
 Of tyranny and aggression ; till at length 
 Thou too, undone by opulence, didst fall.' 
 
 Then, thus embolden' d, half unconsciously 
 
 I spake : ' Alas ! what boots it that arise 
 
 Marble similitudes of fallen power, 
 
 And sculptured monuments, recalling those 
 
 Whose dust is mute with Machiavelli's dust, 
 
 And Michael Angelo's ? For that thou crav'st, 
 
 O Italy, if these gifts do compensate, 
 
 Then doth that peerless form,f so passive here 
 
 Enthroned, by likeness compensate for life.' 
 
 Whereat, methought, with much solemnity, 
 
 A voice replied, ' God makes not to destroy, 
 
 But casteth down from dangerous heights of power, 
 
 The fallen to securer heights to raise ; 
 
 And if in her this purpose of His will 
 
 To-day be wrought, to-day she doth arise.' 
 
 Thought- quick this utterance made my dream anew, 
 
 * From the time of the Emperor Henry VII.'s invasion in 1310 
 to 1512, when Florence, recalling the Medici, took a place 
 among the principalities under Duke Alexander I. 
 
 f The Medicean Venus. 
 
THE FEW CAPITAL. 13 
 
 Sealing a silence. O'er me the same stars 
 
 That were his counsellors, brought back to mind 
 
 How hereabout, in the dark days of yore, 
 
 'Midst so unutterable a voicelessness, 
 
 Great Galileo plann'd for mortal gaze 
 
 A path to scale yon immaterial height, 
 
 And reach the summit of Truth, whom men that loved 
 
 To grope in the thick gloom which madden'd his soul, 
 
 Assay'd to frustrate. 
 
 But anon it seem'd 
 Those stars, from topmost pinnacles of space 
 Had look'd.upon a glory, for they veil'd 
 Their faces as did Moses. Soon it grew 
 Also upon the world in luminous waves, 
 A surging tide, loosed from the orient bar, 
 Breaking the passes of the Apennine. 
 
 ' She doth arise ! ' Into th' unseen we pass 
 
 'Neath Heaven's triumphal rainbow arch of Hope ; 
 
 For on the place of storms each vivid hue 
 
 Of Hope doth brighten. Even here shall shine 
 
 That dawn at length for which thy martyr's* eye 
 
 Look'd vainly — not in vain his toil for thee, 
 
 Unhappy Florence, though his ashes, dear 
 
 To Heaven, thou shieldest not, by impious hands 
 
 Guiltily gather' d from the smouldering pile, 
 
 And borne afar on Arno's watery bier. 
 
 * Savonarola. 
 
14 THE NEW CAPITAL. 
 
 O Thou ! within th' eternal centre throned, 
 Advance this morn ; protect this capital 
 Of future Italy ; make wise to more 
 Than selfish ends her senators and her kings ; 
 Supremely govern her affairs of State. 
 Here, in the days to come, let Thy great Name 
 Have honour, here the needy soul have right ; 
 And while th' oppressed of every kind and clime 
 Are suppliant at Thy throne, fulfil their faith ; 
 Hold back the arm of violence, and lay 
 Thine hand of peace upon a weeping world ! 
 # # # # * 
 
 Broke this strange reverie a lambent flame, 
 Which in its smould'ring socket shook awhile, 
 Then leap'd into th' impenetrable gloom. 
 
15 
 
 A SISTER'S VOICE. 
 
 How often on my heedless ear, 
 
 In days gone by, that gentle tone 
 Had fallen soft, but ah ! though near 
 The words were breathed, I did but hear, 
 Not half they meant was known. 
 
 Now stealing o'er the moonlit wave 
 
 With the wild music of the sea, 
 Lost words from many an early grave, 
 Words which a gentle sister gave, 
 Come sadly back to me. 
 
 I close mine eyelids, and I stand 
 
 Where no deep billows roll around, 
 For in my childhood's far-off land 
 I seem to clasp her soft white hand, 
 And listen to the sound. 
 
 Ah me ! in golden youth, soon gone, 
 
 Such proffer'd joys we rudely spurn, 
 Then, far on life's waste billows borne, 
 We close our weary eyes forlorn, 
 And woo them to return. 
 
16 
 
 THE CASCADE. 
 
 Under the dark'ning bridge it ran, 
 Into the sunshine swift and bright, 
 
 And there its fairy sport began, 
 
 Leaping from off the giddy height : 
 Young primroses, to see the sight, 
 
 Look'd up in pretty groups and smiled, 
 
 And the wild woodland's fav'rite child, 
 The delicate anemone, 
 Its perilous descent to see, 
 
 Grew pale and trembled with affright. 
 
 It sparkled in the May-morn sun, 
 
 Shooting its silver arrows round ; 
 Rested, and then more wildly ran, 
 
 Enraptured by its own sweet sound ; 
 
 O'er many a devious ledge it wound 
 Its moss-paved path, and crooked fall, 
 Admired and wonder'd at by all : 
 No overshadowing turf, to gain 
 A lightning kiss, hung o'er in vain 
 
 Betwixt the bridge and level ground. 
 
THE CASCADE. 17 
 
 One instant — but one instant there, 
 
 With mute and glowing smile it stood ; 
 
 Trembled at what itself could dare, 
 Then wander'd on in thoughtful mood, 
 Down winding through the solemn wood : 
 
 On either velvet side was spread 
 
 A varied carpet, and its bed 
 
 Smooth pebbles form'd ; in this retreat 
 Soft sounds of Naiad's tiny feet 
 
 Oft fall, or wood-nymph's whispers brood. 
 
 And here sometimes, when all around 
 And in the lofty boughs is still, 
 
 Nor near or far is heard a sound 
 Except the tinkling of the rill, 
 A breath from summer skies will fill 
 
 The clust'ring leaves, and gently shake 
 
 The flow'rets sleeping in the brake, 
 
 Then murmur while the mavis sings, 
 And all the waken'd valley rings, 
 
 Such tales as all their bosoms thrill. 
 
 There came a stranger to these halls, 
 In beautiful disguise, when bright 
 
 The May-sun sparkled on the falls, 
 And all things marvell'd at the sight ; 
 They said that morning that the light, 
 
THE CASCADE. 
 
 And all around in earth or air, 
 A wondrous glory seem'd to wear. 
 She came all beautiful, and still 
 Her voice is in the sparkling rill, 
 Sweet heavenly music day and night. 
 
A CHRISTIAN. 
 
 God had been with him, though he knew it not, 
 
 In the hush of eventide, 
 When his body had rest from its daily toil, 
 
 And the din of the world had died. 
 
 He only knew that exceeding still 
 
 Grew that world about his soul ; 
 That a sense of being unfelt till then 
 
 On its solemn silence stole. 
 
 Then life look'd new when the morning broke — 
 
 Past, Present, and Future new — 
 For the things were false that seem'd true before, 
 
 And those that seem'd false were true. 
 
 In his lofty soul there dwelt a peace 
 
 Apart from life's common ills, 
 As waters that stand in some hollow dark 
 
 Of the everlasting hills. 
 
20 A CHRISTIAN. 
 
 And he pass'd among men as rivers pass 
 Through a parch' d and thirsty soil, 
 
 Till life and gladness sprung up like flowers 
 In the place of sorrow and toil. 
 
 They said he was one of a patient few 
 
 Who follow the Christ of God 
 In that lowly path through this world of woe 
 
 Which His blessed footsteps trod. 
 
21 
 
 THE MIRAGE. 
 
 The busy hum of Oriental mart, 
 
 That still, a dream-like sound, when far away, 
 
 Fails, and is heard again, 
 
 Like echoes born of echoes in the mountains, 
 
 Waste leagues behind had wholly ceased to live, 
 "For that which yields subsistence unto sound 
 Seeking without avail 
 On the bare confines of the broad'ning desert. 
 
 The swarthy Islamite with sullen brow, 
 
 Lord of this land through which he journey 'd lone, 
 
 From morn to night survey 'd 
 
 Th' unvarying aspect of his void dominion ; 
 
 From morn to night through many a year-long day 
 
 Of utter solitude, till thought refused 
 
 To wait on sense severe, 
 
 And all the space with forms fantastic peopled. 
 
22 THE MIEAGE. 
 
 Again in courtyard of the gilded mosque 
 Abstracted worshippers spread forth their palms, 
 Or touch'd with one accord 
 The marble pavement with their dusky foreheads. 
 
 Again through narrow streets flow'd on the stream 
 Of drowsy life, and merchants strew'd their wares, 
 Heedless of passers-by, 
 In rich profusion under fresco'd arches : 
 
 Whereof a goodly store on either side 
 His camel-gear was now securely slung — 
 Thick ivory, chaste as pearl, 
 And gold, and billets of the fragrant sandal. 
 
 So mused the sheik, till on a day there fell 
 Disaster rude across his cheerless way, 
 Which from the busy past 
 Drave all his thoughts into a dreaded future. 
 
 Scorning complaint, the faithful beast that bore 
 His life and treasure o'er the sandy plain, 
 Smitten with sore disease, 
 Sank in the midway of his last long journey. 
 
 Meek his full eye, upon his master turn'd, 
 Spake still a purpose strong and true in death, 
 Then closed for evermore, 
 Ended life's tale of duty, toil, and patience. 
 
THE MIRAGE. 23 
 
 Watching till nightfall, now his weary lord 
 On this rough pillow fain his head would lay, 
 When all the air around 
 Was fann'd by huge wings into wild commotion. 
 
 Onward he sped till morn was up, and day 
 Laid on the desert floor its scorching brand, 
 Then wish'd he too had died, 
 Clasping the neck that now was food for vultures. 
 
 But wherefore die ? for, lo ! upon the verge 
 Of prospect suddenly a sight appears — 
 His eye hath never seen, 
 His fancy never hath conceived a fairer : 
 
 Deep as the azure heaven a cool expanse 
 Of rippled lake, that to the nearer shore 
 Rolling its thin blue wave, 
 Woos the faint traveller to its blissful borders. 
 
 Of this all happy sights and sounds were born, 
 Dear to reviving hope, to memory dear, 
 Light as the snow-sail'd barque 
 That dipp'd and rose upon its tranquil bosom. 
 
 The plume-crown'd pillars of slender palm he saw 
 That mark'd the dwellings of his tribe, and heard 
 Once more, beneath their shade, 
 The musical clamour of his children's voices. 
 
24 THE MIRAGE. 
 
 ' Would thou wert nearer,' spake he, as he strove 
 Sternly with death to reach life's bounteous goal ; 
 In every pulse an age 
 Of joy unspoken or unspoken anguish. 
 
 ' Would thou wert nearer, or a sight less fair, 
 
 O urgent promise of too rich a prize ; 
 
 Or fate, unmoved and dumb, 
 
 Were like a man, with heart to bleed and pity ! ' 
 
 More had he utter'd of the soul distress 
 For lack of joy whose fulness waits so near, 
 When, moving westward, blew 
 A wav'ring breeze across those magic waters : 
 
 Nor rose their surface, as the yielding tide 
 Of other waters, but afar withdrew ; 
 Then hung in middle air 
 Awhile, and vanish' d like an airy vision : 
 
 While underneath lay stretch'd the arid plain, 
 By no cool stream refresh'd, no verdure crown'd, 
 Farther than eye could reach 
 Nought but the barren and the burning desert. 
 
 With one great cry his arms to heaven he raised, 
 Then stagger' d through the sickly heat and glare- 
 The fierce hot light that now 
 Closed on his sense in swift and icy darkness. 
 
THE MIKAGE. 25 
 
 Ere yet th' increasing bulks of Arab train 
 Blotted the margin of the pale horizon, 
 The wand'rer's whiten'd bones 
 Whirl'd in the dust-cloud of the mad sirocco ; 
 
 Or lightly lay when, like the heart's low song 
 For one who comes not, o'er the lifeless waste 
 Of ribb'd sand sparkling keen, 
 Flow'd the sad cadence of a gentler wailing. 
 
MNEMOSYNE. 
 
 Thou reignest in a land whose flowers 
 Are fragrant though their bloom is fled, 
 Thou rulest o'er the quiet dead, 
 
 Sad queen of half this world of ours : 
 
 That half which, moving slowly round, 
 Has pass'd from underneath the sun, 
 Where purposed deeds shall ne'er be done, 
 
 Where what is lost shall ne'er be found. 
 
 And o'er thy mute dominion glow 
 
 Ten thousand stars that catch their ray 
 From vanish'd light of summer day, 
 
 Withdrawn immensely from below. 
 
 While, standing on the border line 
 
 O'er which their best beloved have gone, 
 Men wish that they had ne'er been born 
 
 To pleasures that so soon are thine. 
 
MNEMOSYNE. 27 
 
 Oh sin ! for man to stand and weep 
 
 That life immortal is his share, 
 
 Because a dream, however fair, 
 Hath faded when he wakes from sleep ! 
 
 More wise if to the toil and strife, 
 
 Where new day shines, his face he turn, 
 And from life's after pages learn 
 
 The secret of this wondrous life. 
 
 Till fate and feud no more divide 
 
 The realms by Hope and Memory sway'd, 
 And thou, pale guardian of the dead, 
 
 Art conqu'ring Life's most beauteous bride. 
 
•28 
 
 THE SEAL. 
 
 I saw one poring deep and long, 
 Whom laughter could not move nor song- 
 Poring in silence and alone 
 Upon a signet's graven stone ; 
 Who, startled in his reverie, 
 Look'd up without reproach on me, 
 And thus, in faint and falt'ring tone, 
 While not one soothing tear down roll'd, 
 His simple tale of sadness told : 
 
 'Tis but a seal, a trifling thing — 
 Two birds, a loosely knotted string ; 
 One on a rock that wakes the roar 
 Of ocean — the forsaken shore, 
 The other free on joyous wing, 
 Hov'ring above a vessel's stern, 
 That goes and never may return. 
 
 I This does the artless symbol mean : 
 The wider space that comes between, 
 The tighter shall that knot be tied — 
 The firmer shall that love abide 
 Which in the past has faithful been. 
 
 I I gave it to a maiden bright, 
 The living gladness of my sight ; 
 The meaning if she mark'd or miss'd, 
 She bound the bauble to her wrist. 
 
THE SEAL. 29 
 
 In. sooth, that was a happy day, 
 The future, veil'd in silv'ry mist, 
 Illumined by the present's ray. 
 Alas for brief joy's slow decay, 
 And sorrow's passionless delay ! 
 
 ' We rose upon the rising tide, 
 We saw the waters past us glide, 
 We bade the glimmering coast adieu, 
 We lost the faces that we knew. 
 Then all was sea without a shore ; 
 Oh ! shall I never see her more ? 
 But still along the track of Time 
 That faithful bird on wing sublime 
 Love's silken cord yet tighter drew, 
 And ever tighter as he flew. 
 
 'I said, " This is a thing divine," 
 Not knowing if her heart was mine, 
 Unconscious of the weight I bore, 
 " At home, on earth's remotest shore, 
 To-day, and in the days afar, 
 Beneath the sun and cloud and star, 
 This treasure of love's faith to keep, 
 This sacred solace sure and deep." 
 But still I mused, " Will Time reveal 
 The hidden purpose of that seal ? " 
 Until from out the long-ago 
 Would gather shape a speechless woe, 
 And life, once beautiful, would seem 
 The marr'd confusion of a dream. 
 
30 THE SEAL. 
 
 ' True love hath never found a grave 
 Beneath the ocean's restless wave ; 
 Within the compass of the years 
 Immortal are its hopes and fears : 
 I faint, with faintness of the soul, 
 Where fancy fix'd a vanish' d goal. 
 * * * # 
 
 ' Here is the seal ; 'tis mine once more : 
 It is not what it was before. 
 With cheerless eye and careworn brow 
 I read the truth upon it now ; 
 The fixed forms that there are seen 
 Shall be as they have always been ; — 
 The bird that rests, the bird that flies, 
 The loosen' d knot that never ties, 
 The rock, the vessel on the main, 
 That goes, but comes not back again. 
 
 ' O speed, my barque, from that dread shore, 
 I hear the hollow breakers roar : 
 So shall my path henceforward be 
 Out on life's lone eternal sea, 
 Where nothing but an arch of sky 
 Meets all around the wandering eye, 
 Ajid countless waves roll on and on, 
 Till sound and sight and sense are gone — 
 The quiet of some distant clime 
 Beyond the ravages of Time.' 
 
'LIFE'S RIVER FLOWS ALONG.' 
 
 Life's river flows along, 
 
 I seem to hear it flow ; 
 Not noiselessly and deep, not strong 
 
 And rapid, yet not slow. 
 
 And, faintly as it may, 
 
 It strikes some hidden bar 
 Which makes the murmur of its way 
 
 Sound upward from afar. 
 
 The landscape fails for drought 
 
 Through which its journey lies, 
 The star-cool lamps are faded out 
 
 In quiet sultry skies. 
 
 Life ! that stealest on 
 
 Into unfathom'd seas, 
 With what glad cheer, through pastures gone, 
 
 Hast thou made haste to these ? 
 
 Ah ! less than other tides, 
 
 In channels deep and broad, 
 Replenish'd from the streaming sides 
 
 Of the far hills of God. 
 
32 
 
 ALPHA AND OMEGA. 
 
 When the first light of morning breaks 
 
 The spell by night's enchantment wrought, 
 
 Thou by whose light the spirit wakes, 
 Be then the Alpha of my thought ; 
 
 And when the day's extinguish'd fire 
 Leaves dark the chambers of the west, 
 
 Its Omega of calm desire, 
 
 Its finish'd labour's crown of rest. 
 
 Blest is that life whereof in Time 
 Thou art, O Christ, the secret birth, 
 
 Its joyous and unchanging prime 
 In the new heavens and new earth. 
 
 The least whom Thou hast form'd from dust, 
 Glorious among Thy saints shall rise, 
 
 In Thee the pearl of whose pure trust, 
 As in its native ocean, lies. 
 
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