4735 H 7f 97'v i .1 E VE I LED FIGURE o ^^ 5 'i 2S THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE VEILED FIGURE AND OTHER POEMS WILLIAMS AND NORGATE 14 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London 20 South Frederick Street, Edinburgh and 7 Broad Street, Oxford. 1895. fio ill n fnfs CONTENTS. PAGE i. The Veiled Figure - - n 2. The Twin Sisters - - - 34 3. Whither ? - - - - 47 4. Hand in Hand - - -53 5. An Evening Thought 56 6. At Biarritz - - - 57 7. A Thought for a Worker - - 59 8. The Hill of Vision - - 61 g. Infinitude - - - 63 Gerda's Songs - - - 64 12. Walda's Song - - 67 13. Morning Song to Freedom - 6g 14. Lines to a Composer 71 15. Love and Death - - - 72 16. Hope - - - - 73 17. The Legend of the Briar Rose - 74 iS. Toil and Storm - - - 75 16. The Tribute Money - - - 76 20. Socialism - - - - 77 21. Isolation - - - - 78 22. The Unknown Song - - -79 23. A Sea-Shell - - - 80 24. To — — with a Volume of Tennyson's 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 96C Several of the shorter poems are reprinted from " Free Life,'" the " Woman s World" and " A Threefold Cord " by kind permission of the respective editors. The Sonnet on "Love and Death " is reprinted, by the Editor's per- mission, from the u Pall Mall Gazette,'''' where it gained the Second Prize in a Competition for a poem on one of G. F. Watts' pictures. THE VEILED FIGURE. A DRAMATIC POEM. " God's possible is taught by his ivovltTs loving." (E. B. Browning.) " Who will shew us any Tvuth ? " PERSONS. Apollodorus Cleisthenes Hestia LlCHAS A follower of Socrates. His Father. Betrothed to Apollodorus. A Spartan Priest. A Herald. A Messenger. Chorus of Priests and Citizens. Scene Period The Coast of Sparta. 427 B.C. Note. — This poem is the first of a projected series, dealing with the search for Truth in repre- sentative ages and races of the world. Hence its scene and date. II THE VEILED FIGURE. (Apollodovus enters, supporting his aged father. It is sunset.) Cleist henes. Son, are we there ? Mine eyes are clouded o'er, The dusk of Hades steals upon my soul. O set me down, ere I be dead indeed ; Thou'rt strong and young, must make no truce with Death, Lest haply Dis should envy thee thy youth And draw thee down with swift, relentless hand To dwell with him in yonder nether world. Now it is near me. Tell me, can'st thou see The great Messenian Bay ? Apollodorus. Yes, there it shines Like Sparta's helm ! And yet, I would thine eyes Might in its stead have rebeheld once more Phalerum's Bay. O father, we are Greeks ! What matters it if Hades lies before ? The fame of Salamis can never die And thou hast fought at Salamis. Cleisthenes. Ah, true ! But now all battles, pageants, sights of war 12 Troop like grey ghosts before my fading sight And summon me to Hades. Keep thine arms Close round me, O my son. I yet would feel Their warm young strength, the last remaining tie That holds me to this real and breathing world. I did not want for courage ; oft in shock Of battle, when the helms and burnished spears Flashed serried lightnings round my head, 1 laughed, And dared the gods to combat. Now, ay me ! My life creeps low, and all my pulses fail. I hate the thought of death ; it robs a man Of all that makes him half a god on earth And sends him forth disconsolate, unreal, To range with shades in that dim underworld Where I must now descend. — What music's that Approaching ? Apollodorus. Music, father ? I hear none. Clcisthencs. Ah then, 'tis well. I feared this was the day Our Ephors set apart for thanksgiving At Zeus's temple. Every citizen Must join the sacrificial throng, and thou Would'st leave me here to die alone. Apollodorus. Not though Zeus hurled his bolt from high Olympus' top J 3 And struck me dead ! I love thee, father, more Than to insult our great All-Father's name By offering empty tributes at his shrine While thou art left in thine extremity. If my poor care can soothe this bitter hour, Trust me, I'll never leave thee. Cleisthenes. Thanks, my son. The thunders of the everlasting sea Grow faint, and mingle dimly with thy voice Like some far echo from tumultuous years. My senses fail. Herald. (Passes, crying.) Know, all ye citizens ! The priests come hither, passing to the shrine Of Zeus, to offer vows and praises due For our late triumph at Plataea. Hear ! The Ephors will, that they who on the road Are passed by the procession, shall leave all And join it, under penalty of death. Praise to the gods ! (Passes on.) Cleisthenes. What voice was that, my son ? Icould not hear the words. Apollodorus. Some messenger Sent to acclaim Plataea*s fall. 'Tis nought H To thee or me. How is it with thee now ? The air grows colder. Let me wrap my cloak Well round thee. Over bay and shore the sun Glows like Hephaestos' shield, the hills gleam pink As Aphrodite's sea shell ; yet more rare The undying flame wherein your names are writ To flash down all the ages — you who stemmed The Persian tide of darkness from our land, Our little land of light. O never fear That Death hath any power o'er deeds like yours. Cleisthenes. The memory may live, the man must die. O me most miserable ! forced to roam With wretched shades, where never shines the sun ! Apollodorus [Aside.) How can I tell him of that new sweet faith The great Athenian teaches, that the Good Shall find a truer, fuller life through Death, Because the immortal Archetype they sought To imitate, shall draw them to Itself, With all their peers ? The sinning, careless gods Who love us not, but seek their selfish ease, Are all he knows. {Hestia comes towards them.) Hestia. Apollodorus ! J 5 Apollodoi'us. Hestia ! Whence com'st thou ? Hestia. From the great procession's midst I hastened in advance to seek thee. Apollodorus. Child ! Who told thee I was here ? Hestia. Cleon, thy friend. Know'st thou the harsh decree, that all should join In this solemnity, on pain of death ? The train has left the city's gates, the flutes Give forth shrill triumph : youths and maidens strew The path with myrtles ; wherefore tarriest thou ? {Perceiving Cleistlienes.) Ah ! I am blind and senseless ! He is ill. Apollodorus. Dying, my Hestia. Stay awhile in peace Beside him ; the procession comes not yet, The flutes sound faintly through the evening air. Kneel down, and let him feel thy warm white arms Around him. Could we lighten e'en a jot The darkness of that path he treads alone Down to the shadowy realm he hates ! Ay me ! i6 Our faith in that fair after-life to him Is foolishness. Cleisthencs (Regaining consciousness.) My son ; art thou still there ? Thou wilt not leave me ? Who is this ? Hestia. 'Tis I, Thy son's beloved, Hestia. Can I ease Thy pain at all ? Shall I implore the grace Of high Apollo ? Cleisthenes. No, no prayers ; the gods Care not for men. I tread the dreary path That heroes passed away have trod. What more Can any know ? But thou, fair child, art young, And life strews roses 'neath thy feet. Approach, Apollodorus, take her hand in thine, Tell me thou lov'st her. Trust me, boy, in life There's nothing worth a little present love, The love that man bears woman. 'Tis a flower Born of pure sunshine, hanging o'er the depths Of endless darkness. Might I but have lived To see thee wedded ! Apollodorus. Father, she is mine, Mine wholly. See, I take her in my arms In one long clasp of soul with soul — her eyes *7 Know I am hers to all eternity. What after-hour can better this ? But Love Is not of yesterday, nor like a flower That perishes ; its light and perfume pierce That circling darkness, and transfigure it Like young Persephone's rare loveliness Set in the heart of Dis's realm. Hestia. Thine eyes Are strange and sweet as his who looks on Death And knows it thrall to Love. O loose me now — I fear I know not what — some ill. Is that The festal chant ? I hear the measured tread Of many feet approaching. O ye gods ! Must we forsake the dying ? Apollodorus. I stay here. Hestia. Then I stay too. Apollodorus. No, my beloved, no ! Grant me this last extremest boon ! Be strong To live thy sweet, pure life in utter faith That all we know of perfect nobleness Through Socrates, our master, may be yours, And others, through your love, be lifted up To know the eternal Beauty whence we spring B i8 Yet visible to strenuous souls, who seek Here, through the transient loveliness of earth, To mirror it in act. Them it shall draw Through Death to nearer union with Itself, And earth is but an antechamber then To Zeus's palace, into which we pass Rejoicing, as a son who coming home From distant conquest, seeks his father's halls With lights and paeans. Hestia. Hark ! I hear the chant Approaching nearer. Take not yet thine eyes Away from mine. O ! let me drink their strength Deep, deep, through every fibre. I'll be strong, Not less strong than thou think'st me. Hold me fast, Breathe thy pure spirit wholly into mine That I may overlive this bitterness And quit me as befits thy bride — bride now Of one high memory and deathless hope. (Chorus of priests and citizens, approaching.) Hail to thee, Zeus ! Lo ! we bring thee oblations, Mightiest Father of gods and of men ! Shaker of cities and smiter of nations, Giver of conquest to Sparta again ! 19 Thou from thy throne 'midst the shining Immortals Lookest unmoved o'er the dim tracts below ; Famine-struck cities fling open their portals Wide, at thy nod, to the conqueror's blow. Bring we white bulls crowned with odorous lilies, Cypress majestic, and garlands of oak ; Let their blood stream royal-red out, and fill his Altars with sacrifice, nostrils with smoke. Youths, maids, and elders, we lift up our voices ; Loud, in one paean, our thanks let us raise ! While Lacedaemon's glad spirit rejoices, Shout we, her children, the Thunderer's praise ! {The procession stops opposite the group of three.) Lichas. Know'st thou the edict, youth ? Then take thy place And follow to the shrine of Zeus. Apollodorus, Not so ; I cannot leave my aged father here At point of death ; I come not. Lichas. Foolish youth ! Great Zeus must first be honoured, not the sick, Who scarce are men. 20 Apollodorus. Is he, the All-Father, pleased That earthly fathers should be left to die Untended, for his honour ? Pass, O priest ; I stay, and pay the penalty. Lie has. 'Tis Death. Apollodorus. That know I. Lichas. Ah, methinks thou'rt one of those In whom the mischievous Athenian Hath wrought corruption, teaching them to scorn Our country's gods, and set up in their stead Some thin abstraction, shaping thence their acts Subversive to religion, order, law, And all that made our fathers great. This sect Must be suppressed. And yet 'tis pity too That thou should'st be its victim. I recall Thy face, and rumour tells thy valiant deeds At our late glorious siege. Bethink thee, youth, Forsake thy false philosophy, and live. Thy father cannot miss thee, he is past All knowledge of things present. Apollodorus. Vain, O priest, Thy arguments. My choice is made, and hence I move not till my father breathes his last. Lie has. Then words ate wasted on thee. One short hour Is thine on earth — no more. Lead on ! {The procession passes on.) Apollodorus. My life— My Hestia — the time has come ; — be strong And leave me. See, thy kinsfolk beckon thee To follow. Hestia. I will go. Apollodorus. One kiss — farewell ! Hestia. Though Death were sweet to this, I love thee more Than to deny thee. Apollodorus. Thou wilt come again ? Hestia. Yes, though the fiery waves of Phlegethon Rolled straight across my path. (She joins the procession. It passes on chanting.) 22 Chorus. When, far below thee, the war-din is clashing, Thou from the shining ones sendest thy son Ares, to succour thy favoured ones flashing ; Who can withstand him ? The battle is won ! Bring we white goats with their milkier fleeces Than Ocean-spray, children of mild Amalthea, She who on Ida once nursed thee, for Greece's Glory preserved, by thy mother, great Rhea. Lacedaemonians ! lift up your paean ! Let the brass clash, and the flutes sweetly ring! Rend with your praises the high empyrean ! Hail to thee, Thunderer, mightiest King ! (The chant dies away in the distance.) Clcisthenes. Where art thou, son ? Methought I heard strange voices. Is the maid Still here ? Apollodovus. No, she is gone. Her kinsfolk came To seek her. Theirs the voices thou didst hear. (Aside) Great Truth, forgive the lie I needs must tell For thine own sake. 23 Cleisthenes. Thou wilt be happy, boy In wedded years. I die more easily To think what days shall yet be thine, when I Am cold in earth. Apollodorus. Great happiness is mine In loving her — thou sayest true. {A side) O God! Each word he speaks burns deeper through my heart Than red-hot steel. — Wilt thou not let me raise Thy head a little, father ? So, thy breath Comes not so painfully. The sun has sunk Beneath the Ocean's rim ; there, in the West, Above the dusky isles, Selene drives Her silent, silver chariot. Shall I pour Libation to the god of Day ? Cleisthenes. No, no— The god of Day is nought to me ; my days Are sunk eternally in Death's deep sea Whence none return. For me, his blessed light Is quenched for ever. 2 4 Apollodoms. Father, — O would that I Might pierce thy cruel darkness with that hope Beyond all telling precious — Gods ! his breath Flutters, and stops. His hands are icy cold. Speak to me, father ! I am here ! O speak ! Dost thou not know me ? Here I press my hand Warm on thy heart. Ah ! it is deathly still, Silent for ever ! On thine ashen face The pure, cold moonlight rests, but thou art passed Beyond these earthly lights. The mystery Hid deeper from men's sight than ocean caves Where Proteus lies, thou knowest now. —And I Shall know it soon. . . . Unutterably strange It seems, to think that ere yon moon's white car Has climbed to midmost heaven, I shall be cold And motionless as this unanswering Form Stretched here beside me. O most strange ! to pass In one quick moment from the fullest rush Of vigorous, bounding pulses, to this stern Unending, awful silence of the dead. What voice has ever pierced it ? Even he — The Wisest, can but bow his head and own He nothing knows. What if that life beyond He reasons of beneath the olive grove Be unsubstantial as the Happy Isles That old Odysseus sought, when forth he fared 2 5 O'er the untravelled seas, and ne'er came back To re-behold his rock-girt isle ? — The wind Blows salt and strong across the tossing bay ; I hear the distant sound of drums and pipes And clashing cymbals. Soon the rite is o'er, The temple gates flung open, and the crowd Pass home with torches, peacefully to rest Within the sleeping city's glimmering walls Beside their loved ones. Soon the train will pass, And Hestia with it. O my love — my love ! I see thee stretch thy tender arms in vain Across the ruthless, silent gulf whence I May nevermore return, to fold thee fast, Fast to my breast, and take thy little head Between my hands, to read the liquid depths Of eyes that trust me wholly — eyes where all The sweet, wild magic of our dewy vales And deep, nymph-haunted woods, is woven through With tender motions of a woman's soul, Most holy and most mystical. O God ! What days divine beneath the enchanted blue Might have been ours ! What nights unspeakable When all the spheres should charm our listening sense With that most ancient harmony that none But those who love, can hear ! Such glorious life Must needs have been eternal ; — we should pass, 26 Hand clasping hand, together, those dim gates In the far West, and find the Happy Isles No dream, but fairer than this old, dear world Wherein we felt immortal. O thou Soul, O Zeus — All-Father — God — if we indeed And all souls living flow from thee, to thee Return at Death — thou needs must know the depths And pits of hideous darkness where our souls Sink down in utter loneliness — no hand Stretched out to help us, — leave me not to fail In this last bitterest hour, and fall away From Truth and Thee. Behold, I lay my life Bound, on thy great World-Altar, where the blood Of all who sought thee truly, has gushed forth To fertilise the barren earth, and sow A growth of unimaginable plants Of heavenly hue and odour. — Yet, 'tis dark, Thick darkness round my heart. O Truth, O God, Grant me some strength. [He throws himself down on the ground beside the body of Cleisthenes and remains motionless for some time. Then Hestia re-enters.) Hestia. Beloved, art thou there ? The darkness deepens, scarce I see thy form. The rite is over, and I fled away Before the rest had left the temple gates. How is it with thv father ? 27 Apollodovus. Well. He knows That secret all men long to know. His soul Is with the immortal Essences. And I Shall soon be with him. Tell me, love, when come The messengers to summon me ? Hestia. E'en now They follow in my footsteps. Apollodovus. Then our time Is short. Draw near, and lay thy shining head Here on my shoulder, while I fold thee close, Close in my arms. This is our marriage night, And all the eternal eyes above look down To mingle their pale fire with that which glows Deep in our souls, as deathless as their own. Love, canst thou sing to me that little song Thou mad'st when first we loved, and all the world Broke into song, as when the laughing waves Bore Cytheraea, sprung of Ocean-foam And elemental fire, to her far isle Sea-washed, for endless worship ? Hestia. I will try. My voice will falter, but I'll sing it low For thee and me. 28 Song. " What is the best that earth can show ? " I asked the Sea ; And it replied : " The joy I know When o'er my ceaseless ebb and flow The great sun broods with ardent glow And kisses me." " What is the best that earth can show ? " I asked the Dove ; And it replied : " The bliss I know When, nestling in the breast of snow Of Aphrodite, cooing low, I simply love." " What is the best that earth can show ? " I asked the Flower ; And it replied : "The thrill I know When from my brimming chalice go The bees with honey to and fro, And take my dower." " What is the best that earth can show ? " I asked the Soul ; And it replied : " The peace I know When, loving Truth, I love men so That Death and Love together show One perfect Wnole." 29 Apollodovus. " When loving Truth " — O child ! What prescient insight breathed these strange high words Into thy soul, to be my death chant ? Yet 'Tis life thou sing'st of, and thy sweet voice lulls My poor wild heart to peace ineffable. For listen. I will tell thee of a dream God sent me, for my strength, when thou were gone And I alone here with the dead — alone With worse than death, a thousand fiends that tore My heart, and dragged it down to Stygian depths Of blackest night. I thought of leaving thee, Beloved, and all that might have been rose up With eyes whose bitterness was as the salt Heaped up, of all the Oceans. Then I lay Face downwards on the rocky ground, and clenched My hands upon the senseless stones, for strength. Lo ! all at once a rush of sunlight poured Into my soul, — methought I heard a voice Which said " Look up, and mark." I raised my head, And there before me was a woman's Form Standing upon a hillside, closely veiled. Around her feet sprang flowers ; crystal streams Rose from her vesture's hem, and flashing down Towards the purple smoke beneath, where men Dwelt in the valleys, eager hands were stretched 3° And caught the liquid crystal, gaining thence New life and strength. But still her face was veiled. And then, methought I heard one bitter cry Ascending from the valley : — " Ah, how long Shall thy most glorious face be hid from us ? We languish here in darkness ; sickness, death And ignorance make havoc in our midst Because we cannot see thee — thou whose eyes Hold secrets godlike-fair, and point the clue To all this weary labyrinth wherein We vainly wander, yearning towards the heights But finding yet no issue to the maze Wherein our feet are set." And then I saw A man spring forward, leaving the dim crowd With eyes that shone, and pressing towards the ledge Whereon the Figure ever stood, her veil Hiding immortal beauty. Lo ! he reached Her feet at last, and stretching forth his hand, Fearless, yet reverent, he drew aside The veil for one brief moment. Oh, the face Beneath it ! Though the brow and eyes were still Hid from our sight, the lips wore such a smile Ineffable, that all who saw it ceased From memory of sorrow, pain, and death, And knew that smile the one reality In all creation. Mothers clasped their babes With sobs and laughter ; youths and maidens held Each others' hands, and knew their love should last To all eternity ; the dying passed 3 1 With rapture, into fuller, fresher life, And all things were transfigured. Then the man Suddenly dropped the veil, and fell down dead. And then arose the bitter cry again From those beneath. And all at once I sprang Up the steep mountain track, and reached the feet Of that same awful Figure, and I strove To draw aside the veil from brow and eyes While from the valley rose a muttered prayer To all the gods, and piteous, straining eyes Followed my every movement. Then a shout Rang forth ; I think I drew the veil aside ; But stricken with intolerable light I fell, as one that perishes. But still The shout rang through my swoon ; 'twas as the sound Of multitudes in some beleagured town When a delivering army storms the gates And brings them succour. Then it grew more faint, And sank to one low murmur of content. And then I woke and heard thy voice. So now 1 know thy song is true, and that is all We need to know, both thou and I. —Is that 32 The sound of steps approaching? — Dear, be strong ; 'Twill soon be over. Have we not good hope That this, which seems to part us, hath no power To touch our very selves, our souls ? Not Time, Not Death, nor that vague After-life can touch My love for thee. O somewhere, sometime, yet We two shall clasp, and all this present pain Shall seem like thinnest mist that flees away Before the blessed Dawn. (Messengers enter.) Messenger. The Ephors will That thou should'st follow us to instant death, Justly incurred through disobedience To their most righteous law. Apollodorus. 'Tis well, my friends. I come; — one moment. — Hestia, should'st thou see Our Teacher, tell him that I died not false To Truth and manliness. Thou must not stay Here in the dark alone, my child. Go home, Seek Cleon, he will take this mortal frame Of my poor father, burning it with all Due obsequies he would have wished. And now One kiss, one long, long kiss, to seal me thine And Love's for ever. Turn thine impassioned face Here to the moonlight, let thine eyes meet mine 33 In utmost faithfulness, whilst all the spheres Do chant our hymeneal hymn. Farewell. Hestia. My love — -my love — the Veiled Figure smiles, I feel it, though I see it not, and men Through this thy deed shall pass those western gates That loom so dread and spectral, fearlessly, And bless thee, dying. Linger not — my heart Is not so strong as thine — I would not sink To woman's weakness — I, thine equal soul, Pledged to thy strength for ever. O farewell. Apollodoms. Farewell, beloved. [He follows the messengers.) Hestia. O my God — my God ! Let not my heart break utterly, but hold My hand in this dark life through which I pass Towards the glorious West, where he and I Shall know why Thou didst lay this bitterness Upon our quivering souls. O touch this wild Rebellious heart, and let it sink to peace Before that Veiled Figure's eyes divine That smile on him, my love, and all the world Through him raised nearer to the Perfect Whole. 34 THE TWIN SISTERS. A TRUE STORY OF THE MIDLANDS. As a fair sister by a homely one Sits Derbyshire beside her neighbour, Notts ; An honest, open, smiling English lass Who leaves romance to please her sister's heart, Yet, not quite free from fancies, blossoms out But once, into a Matlock of her own — A little valley ; half is hers, and half (Divided by the stream) her sister's share. Amidst the bare, flat country, 'tis a joy To come upon this rocky, wooded vale With peaceful meadows, where the cattle feed Beside the rippling brook, which broadens out Anon, into a smooth and wide expanse Of water — the mill-dam ; for even here The busy hand of Commerce is not still, And all day long the whirring of the looms (Woven into the stillness of the place) Keeps up the memory of the outside world. But when the shadows lengthen, comes a clang Of bells, and merry shouts, and eager talk, As from the two great mills, left silent now, A stream of folk, with tramping, hurrying feet, 35 Women with shawls and baskets, men and boys, Pass through the quiet valley to their homes Some on this side the stream, and some on that. Seven years ago or more, you might have seen (Had you been watchful) two old sisters quit The noisy throng, and close together press With even step towards their little home One side the yard on which the silent mill Looks down, as if to keep its workers safe. Their hair is silver; furrows deep are drawn Upon their patient foreheads, and their lips Tell of a life-long war with poverty. Their homespun gowns are scrupulously neat, Their shawls pinned tight ; but though in much alike, (For they are twins) some distant traces left Of what in youth had been a love of dress And pretty things, in Harriet may recall The different natures of those neighbouring shires We spoke of at the outset, — one, so wild, Fantastic, with its rocks, and wooded vales, The other, simple, homely. (That's to stand For Mary Ann, who never in her life Indulged a wish of simple vanity, But though a handsome lass enough in youth Cared nought for finery to set her off; But prized her independence ten times more Than " keeping company " with any lad Who sought her favour.) Now with Harriet 36 T'was different. She loved the lighter side Of life ; prized admiration, which she found — Or thought she found — in a sharp artizan Named Williams ; him she wedded, but her life, Pent up within a smoky northern town, Where then they dwelt, had hardships, for he drank, And spent her scanty earnings, giving nought But hard words in return. So when at last He died, she sought her sister, Mary Ann, Who leaving the black town, had come to dwell Here in the quiet valley, near the home Where fifty years ago their father lived And taught a school. A hard, strange man was he, Who, loving learning, yet loved money more, And in his little daughters' pleading eyes, That spoke of undeveloped powers, could read Nought but capacity for making gain. And when scarce six years old, he sent them both To earn their bread by working twelve long hours Each day, in the grey mill beside the stream. He had his way. No School Boards flourished then To assert the Principle against the Man ; And so the children, early thus bereft Of childhood's freedom from the cares of bread Took rank among the citizens of the world And grew inured to toil. But Harriet, Who pleased her father with her pretty ways, He taught to read, and felt some little pride In the child's quickness, when he'd reach her down 37 The worn Old Testament, and bid her read The hard names in the battles of the Kings. Fearless she read them out, while, open-eyed With wonder, Mary Ann stood by and heard, Resting her small brown arms beside the book Upon the scoured deal table, marvelling much At Harriet's cleverness ; yet now and then A shade of envy dimmed the clear brown eyes As she would plead, "O father, learn me too ! Thee knows, I'm sharp enough ! thee allers says I'd make a first-rate scholard if thee chose To learn me ; then, when mother has a bout* I'd take and read a chapter." " Nay, my lass," He'd answer then half sadly, " one's enough ; I can't make scholards of you both. Don't fesh With books — they never brought me money yet, But stick to work, and lay your savings by To keep you from the House when I am gone." Then would the clear brown eyes be dimmed with tears, And with her arms around her father's neck She'd sob, "I'll work for me and Harriet too ; We won't go i' the House ; we'd sooner clem ; She'll be the scholard, and I'll work for her ; You say I'm quick for such a little 'un, So may be I shall catch it up from her." But then his mood would change ; he'd cast her off * A fit of illness. 38 Quite roughly, muttering, "Get away, my gell ; Go mind your stitching ; food and drink's enough For such as us to think of, schooling's dear ; I teach 'em 'cause I'm paid for it, that's all." So by degrees in the child's mind there grew The thought that she should work for Harriet. Of course, 'twas natural, that brought up fine And taught to read, she could not work so hard, And loved to buy a fairing now and then, A bit of ribbon, or a gay print gown, To make the lads look after her and say " Eh ! she's a pretty 'un, is Harriet ! " And what cared Mary Ann for such as they ? But when their father died, they came to live Beside their brother in the northern town, Where all day long the humming of the wheels And tramp of feet along the rough paved street Grate harshly on the idle, careless ear, With thought of workers, who from morn to eve Must toil, for bread is dear, and wages scant. And here they lived a pinched and hard-fought life, Working the life-long year from June to June, With scanty pleasures, long-remembered. Once They stood among a crowd that gaped to see A wonder — carriages that ran along Without a horse! and once, they saw the lights That flashed from every window, when the Queen Took up the sceptre in her girlish hand. 39 But when her sister married, Mary Ann Was free to leave the dismal northern town, And for a space, the wholesome country air Brought health and peace, and she was well content. Her fellow-workers liked her, and respect Was hers, for she was honest as the day. But then came letters — not from Harriet, She never learnt to write — but from a friend, Telling of troubles growing worse and worse With Harriet. Her husband out of work Because he drank — her scanty matters pawned ; Even the Bible which their father left Had gone with all the rest — and she was forced To sit up half the night at needlework To pay the rent. Then Mary Ann took down A small deal box from off the mantelshelf Wherein her earnings for the last six months Were stored. Without them, no new gown, Of which she stood in need, this year were hers; What matter ? Certain 'twas that Harriet Stood more in need than she; for brought up fine And taught to read, she could not work so hard, And then a man was ever thriftless. So The money went. She got a friend to write, A lad named Joe, more skilled in penmanship Than most among her mates, more skilled as well In reading faces, and one face he loved Above the rest. He marked how thin she grew, Her clothes how threadbare, though she strove to hide 40 Her want, and would not borrow, though she starved. So one day after work (it was a keen And bleak November evening) Joe drew near To where she walked alone, for pride of late Had made her hold aloof from other girls Lest they should mark her want. So Joe began " Good evening, Mary Ann ! " more awkwardly Than usual ; " You've heard the money's safe ?" " No," she replied, " they've never wrote to say ; But if it weren't, then they'd have wrote again, So it's all right." " Nay, lass, I doubt it's not All right," he answered, slackening his pace To drop behind the rest. " Thee'll sooner clem Than borrow owt from us, and times is hard, Hardest of all for thee. Now listen, lass; I'm strong — 1 work full time, and mother's all I have to keep at home " — " No, thank'ee, Joe," She cried, and tossed her head ; " I don't want none Of all your money, I have kep' myself Till now ; I'll never borrow yet, please God, I'll stand alone." " That isn't what I meant, Thee takes me up too sudden," he replied. " Money the husband earns to keep the wife, That's not like borrowed money. . . . Dost thee see? 4 1 A woman's quick at seeing. •. . . Mary Ann, I've loved thee true this many a day." With that He strove to take her hand, but she drew back And wrapped her shawl more closely round her, while A sudden colour flushed her sallow cheek. " Thee means it well, I know, my lad," she said, " But let's ha' done with that. I've seen enough Of poor folks wedded. That's for gentry, not For you and me. When troubles come, it's worse For two than one, and then they're forced to ask The neighbours help them. No, I'll never wed. Don't take it ill. Thee'll find some honest lass Who'll make thee a good wife." But Joe broke out , " Thee knows, I shan't ! What's any lass to me ? It's thee I want, no other ! " and again He groped to find her hand. " It's all no use ; When I have spoke, I've spoke. Now don't be vexed ; Oo's been a faithful friend to me, my lad, That's all I want. Goodnight." She turned away, And Joe, without another word, strode off With sorrow in his heart. But when she reached Her little room, she dropped upon her knees Beside the bed, and bowed her head and wept 4 2 As never she had wept before. — " Oh Joe, A true wife I'd have been to thee, God knows ! But it's for her — for Harriet. Shall she come And find no home here either ? Joe and I Enough to do to keep ourselves, and she Turned out to earn her living as she may ? No, we will stick together to the end." And so she rose and went about her work That day and every day, till winter changed To summer, and the savings in her box Were doubled by her frugal living. Then Came news. Her sister's hushand, while in drink, Had been run over, and his life was gone Within two days ; and all the money left Had gone to bury him, for while he lived He'd never put a penny in the Club Against his funeral ; " but don't be feared, We buried him quite handsome, gloves and all," The letter said ; and then went on to tell That just enough was left for Harriet To join her sister ; and next day she came. 'Twas three years since they parted ; both were changed, But Harriet most ; her pretty looks were gone, Her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes grown dim With constant watching. Either scarcely knew The other. As they walked across the fields, Between them that small bundle which contained All Harriet's worldly goods, towards the Vale 43 Which henceforth was her home, her sister strove To cheer her, for she could not speak for tears And all her ancient spirit quite crushed out By years of misery. " Coom, lass, cheer up ! " Said Mary Ann ; " we've got each other still ; I've plenty for us both, and don't you mind What father said when we was little gells, That I should be the husband, thee the wife ? He'd set us on the table, side by side, And say, " Why, here's my daughter — here's my son And then he'd pat my cheek, and say that I Should keep the wolf away when he was gone, And we were left alone. And then I'd cry " Ay, father, I'se a man ! " Oh, how he'd laugh, And call us sharp 'uns, both of us ! But thee He alius thought the sharpest. - ' Then she smiled, And something of her ancient heart came back Before they reached the cottage in the yard Beside the great grey mill. And here they lived An uneventful life for many years ; A kind of Indian Summer, passing o'er In sober work, together growing old, But well-content, for cruel Want no more Snatch'd at their peace, nor were their pleasures dead. 44 The neighbours all were kind, and oftentimes The master's daughter came and read a tale Well known and loved by both of them. Or else She'd set the kettle on the hob and find The old black teapot and the china mugs That once they bought at Cleethorpes, with the train Painted upon them ; and they'd tell her how They stood that day among the crowd to see The carriages that went without a horse, And many a tale besides. Then came a day When Harriet fell ill and took to bed. Her hardships in her early days had worn Her power of resistance, and she sank By slow degrees. Her lingering illness touched The clearness of her mind, and oftentimes She'd say sharp things to poor old Mary Ann, Which brought the tears into the old brown eyes ; But still she never faltered in her care And loving tenderness, and when at last The summons came — that bond of seventy years Was severed, and the neighbours sorrowing bore The poor worn body to its resting-place Within the green churchyard, — the brave old heart Broke down ; she lay and sobbed upon the grave, Called wildly for "our Harriet," promised none Should make her think those harsh words changed their love In any wise. She did not want to live ; 45 She'd always lived for Harriet, and now They'd hidden her away. Then gentle hands Led the old woman home, and there the sight Of things that had been Harriet's — all the clothes And little keepsakes which their friends had sent From time to time, changed her despairing mood To quiet sorrow, and with silent tears She dusted all the things and laid them by Inside her old oak-chest. For many months She lived as in a dream, and half believed Her sister still was there. But kindly Time And her strong nature partly healed the wound And brought her back to waking life, where now A kind of autumn sunshine hovers round Her silvery hair and furrowed brow, and brings A deep and quiet thankfulness for all Her blessings, as she calls them. If you ask If she has need of aught, she'll shake her head, And say she's much to be most thankful for, And tell you that through all her eighty years She's gone on getting better off, and now There's nothing more to wish— except, indeed, She often wishes she could read a book To while away the time, like Harriet. But in her young days schooling was not free To all, as now it is ; and if they knew — The young folk — what their blessings were, how glad 4 6 They ought to be to learn whate'er they can ! Ah ! faithful, true old soul ! methinks that thou Hast gained more wisdom in thine eighty years Than all the learning of the schools can give ! 47 WHITHER ?* Lines ivvitten after attending a Positivist service at Newton Hall, Fetter Lane, E.C. And this contents you ? This can still the cry That goes up from the darkness where we sit Dreaming of home — the solitary place In all this numbing Universe, wherein Our hearts may be at ease — because we love, And dream we are beloved ? If 'tis a dream, No more— why then that dream's more dear to us Than all dull Matter that our hands may touch And minds acknowledge Fact. Will Fact assuage This passionate quenchless thirst to pierce beneath The veil of the Actual ? all its cruelty Trampled beneath the godlike feet of man, Its insolent yoke spurned from him, having that Within, which renders him invulnerable To all its tyranny — another air That's round him ever, though earth's atmosphere Close round and stifle him ? You are content To yield you captive to the idiot Force, * This poem is included for whatever value it may have as an expression of the dualistic point of view. If, however, the monistic standpoint be taken, the antithesis dwelt on in these lines falls to the ground. 48 Whirled round in its unconscious, eddying gulfs, Mixed with its alien life — a life not yours Through aeons passed, and asons yet to come ? Without a hint of yours ; for can the wheel That's set in motion by the master-hand Judge why it spins ? 'Tis blind, and deaf, and dead Eternally ; but you, who know 'tis so Because you are outside of it, you're still Content, when seventy summers shall have passed, To leave your natural place, where now you stand Erect beside that master-hand, and gain Dim glimpses of its purpose (we allow They're dim, but yet the gap is of degree Not kind) and stretch yourselves beneath the wheels Till your whole substance shall be mixed with theirs, Knowing no other life ? Why, even Pride By which the Son of Morning raised up Hell And all its devils, should have power to keep This thought at arm's length. Shall we brook that we Who once have known the Universe our thrall, Should feel its iron yoke upon our necks Nor turn and cry " Thou hast no power, none " ? Did these submit, these calm and dauntless brows Who in their marble stillness here gaze down Upon your hopeless worship ? Plato, vast As Ocean, with its tidal fealty 49 To skiey influences ; Dante, strong To bear his bitter exile, breathing air Of Paradise, whence none might banish him ; Shakespeare, a royal figure 'midst his throng Of royal men and women ; (had they been So strong to live, if vassals unto Death ?) Homer, who saw the eternal spring-tide youth Of heights Olympian in the souls of men Unquenchable in Hades ; then the great Aurelius, steadfast in all saint-like aim, Whose ponderous palace walls were thin as air Before his winged soul in upward flight Towards crystal mountain-peaks ; Goethe the wise, Who saw the heart of the Visible, heard it beat In time with the Invisible, knew them one, Fearless to look the human through and through And sound the depths of darkness : — Ah ! could these, This deathless company, have reached their height Of sovereign manhood, nor have stood erect, Thundering defiance eternal 'gainst the yoke Of Matter over Spirit ? Had they lived So prodigal of mind, and heart, and brain, As if Eternity were round them, Time A fleeting shadow, — bounded by the thought That Darkness was their lord ? a puny race Who fancy they touch heaven, while in truth The smallest fly that crawls its hour and dies Becomes their equal in that final Night D 5° Which levels all ? Forgive us, calm, great brows, If, being clogged with actualities Swathing our eyes, we cannot see that light, Around you, not of earth, by which ye walked, Which made you what you are — the beacon flames To lead us through the storm ; unconquerable For ever, since you knew it ; lords of Time, And striking all his fetters off our hands By your bold challenge. Were it worth your while To gain this empty victory for us And for yourselves, if at the last we fall (His destined prey) into the void Abyss, Which swallows us for ever ? All our hopes Which beat at heaven's gate ; our loves, more deep Than space, which palpitates with rushing wings Of star-compelling angels ; nameless tides Of yearning after some dim splendour seen In trances of the spirit, haunting us With rarest loveliness, unmatchable, — To sink at last into the All-Inane, Cancelled, destroyed, as never they had been ? Why, 'tis a nightmare worse than any dream We cherish blindly ; if a dream it be, 'Tis then the only precious thing we know In all this howling waste; we'll keep our dream Nor change it for your nightmare. If you say Because we dream, we sleep, then surely we 5 1 Have right as good to say, your nightmare proves A slumber deep as ours. — Ah me ! I think We're both like mariners o'er wind-tossed seas, Our eyes fast sealed in sleep, while silently We float 'twixt deeps above and deeps below Without a pilot, ever driving on In some compelled course we wot not of, Some hidden spirit-hand upon the helm. You dream you'll wake and find those awful deeps Around you everlastingly, while we. Ah ! through our dreams we dimly hear a voice Wafted from eastward-lying lands, towards which Our bark is ever tending, lands where now, Perchance, the dawn is breaking ; all sweet sounds Of wakening Nature mingled with the pulse Of tender hearts that yearn to welcome us After our dreary, homeless voyaging ; A voice that whispers : " Children, sleep awhile Without a care, nor dream your course is lost Across the trackless waves ; the ship makes straight For home, where loving arms shall fold you fast ; And, while you sleep, the night begins to wane And streaks are seen to eastward, while the faint Fresh breeze of daybreak greets your foam -swept sails And dries their salt tears with its healing kiss, Drawing you ever nearer. Ah, sleep on, Forgetful of the Night and all its brood Of shapeless Terrors ; dreams are mine to give, A precious gift ! how precious you shall know When you shall wake 'midst those realities They dimly shadow forth; till then, sleep on, Because your eyes are sealed in tenderness By One Who wills not that His children swoon To see those dread abysses, crushing them With stony blankness. His the hand that guides Your prow towards that Morning-continent On which your eyes shall open, with the beams Of doubt-dispelling sunshine, and the pure Cool wind of morning clearing every sense To sober, blessed consciousness of home Attained at last — at last." 5* 53 HAND IN HAND. To . I remember in the garden one fair summer long ago, When the sun was sinking slowly through the pine trees' ruddy glow, All at once you left the lawn, Dear, left it, you and he together, Turned your faces towards the glory, then you leapt into the heather Eager to behold the sunset turning all the stems to flame Ere the happy day was folded in that Peace from whence it came. As I watched you disappearing, in my heart there rose a prayer Sudden, deep, and very earnest, for I knew God sent it there. And I prayed while standing silent with the sweet grass underneath And the gentle wind of evening blowing from the scented heath, Prayed that God would keep you ever strong and true in His deep rest, 54 Hand in hand to journey always towards the glory of the West. For though sunrise follows sunset, and at times the day seems long, And the heat strikes on our foreheads, we'll not falter in our song. After all our pain and sadness, lo ! the earth is clothed with Spring, And we weep for very gladness at so fair and strange a thing. For 'twas many years ago, Dear, many things have chanced since therj, Voices we have loved are silent, sounding not on earth again. Gone the early morning freshness, when the world lay elfin-bright ; We have cried into the darkness, questioned all the stars of Night, And we fear it now no longer, for it laid its mighty hand On our restless hearts and stilled them with a music dim and grand. Lingering on through sultry noon-day, never can that music die, For its harmonies were wafted from the far Eternity. Interwoven with your joyful Easter carols it shall ring, 55 And your joy shall be immortal, filled with fragrance of the Spring ; Carrying with you breaths of Heaven through the crowded thoroughfares, Cooling weary, fevered foreheads, breathed on by diviner airs. Hand in hand you watched the sunset, hand in hand you watch its rise, Strong to do, and be, and suffer, through that Love which makes you wise. I who love you both so truly, pray as once before I prayed Standing in that quiet garden while the day began to fade ; Pray that Peace may fold you ever in her star-em- broidered veil Woven with the mystic crimson flowing from the Holy Grail ; Then, through winter and through summer never can your joy decay, For the sunset's crimson glow is herald of the perfect day. 56 AN EVENING THOUGHT. Shine down upon my troubled heart O pure and white untroubled Star ! The day was weary, racked with doubts, But now I see things as they are. cursed be all my selfish wants, My restless thirst for praise and place ; The sun shone on a whited mask, Thou shinest on a human face. Lift me above this fret and stir, Shine deep into my soul ; and then Might I but see those steadfast eyes Like thine, that sought thee, — godlike men Of far-gone days, who lifted free Their foreheads to thy purest light, Contented, if 'twas theirs to see Through starlit woods Truth's robe gleam white — 1 think I should not greatly grieve Though Love and Fame were dreams, and past; The worlds are ours with all their hopes, And God shall give us Peace at last. 57 AT BIARRITZ. Oxen of the solemn pace Wit you of your kingly race? Know that Egypt's skies are blue As those of Biarritz, yet o'er you Like a canopy they spread, While with garlands for your head Long robed priestesses drew near Raising hymns and praises clear ? There, immovable and staid Standing while the people prayed, Many heartfelt supplications Ye have heard from dusky nations. With Osiris once so great Then ye ranked, but now your fate Makes you toil beneath his rays, Wending patiently your ways On the glaring, dusty road, Hastened by the cruel goad. With a captive brother bound Slow ye pace ; the only sound That your coming doth foretell Is the little tinkling bell. 58 Fallen from your high estate Ye well may seem ; but how if Fate Through your humble, patient lot, Say to us: "True kings are not Those who sit above the crowds Wrapped in fragrant incense-clouds, Turning deaf and heedless ears To the people's hopes and prayers. No, the king is he who serves, Who the meanest's good observes, Wills his subjects to be free. Least of all a tyrant he; Least of all doth seek his pleasure Giving over all his leisure To his people's good and peace." Thus, O mild-eyed ones ! I cease To lament that Fortune's wheel Hardly with you seems to deal, Since a truer glory lies In your humble ministries Here beneath the Pyrenees Near the murmur of the seas, Than in ancient adoration By old Egypt's mighty nation. 59 A THOUGHT FOR A WORKER. It is enough, if at the close of day, Thou, resting wearied limbs, canst truly say, " I have walked humbly with my God this day ; " It is enough. Though failure, oft repeated, dim the light Of high resolve, wherewith thy youth was bright, If each fresh morn thou gird thee to the fight, It is enough. Though hopes which made the world seem half divine Fade in thy clasp and suffer slow decline, If thou for others' hopes exchangest thine, It is enough. Though thou hast laboured hard where idlers reap The fool-crowd's plaudits through its sodden sleep, If thou a heart most lowly-pure dost keep, It is enough. Though thou hast longed in vain to find a friend Whose glance thy heart's sore loneliness can mend, If thou hast loved thine own unto the end, It is enough. 6o Though death should come ere half the projects vast, Which seemed thy life's breath, into form are cast, If without wrath or fear thou breathe thy last, It is enough. And when the Dark shall flee before the Day, And God shall comfort thee in His great way, Then thou at last in utter peace shalt say " It is enough.'" 6i THE HILL OF VISION. " O where are you going, my son, my son ? Why climb that lonesome hill ? The winds are up and the day nigh done, And the sunset bodeth ill." " O mother, sweet mother, nay, loose my hand ! I cannot choose but go ; On that purple ridge I this eve must stand And read my weird below." He freed himself, and he strode away Up the wind-swept hill alone : And over the land the shadows lay, And the sky like a witch-fire shone. One moment he stood on the hill's bare height And faced the. flaming skies, Then he turned and strode back through the gathering night With a secret in his eyes. " O what have you seen, my son, my son ? Why look you so stern and old ? What weird have the three dark sisters spun That your hand is icy cold ? 62 " Say, what did you see from the hill-top bare In the shadowy vale beneath ? Was it some witch-woman with sun-bright hair And blue eyes cruel as death ? " Or was it a vanishing exquisite maid, The centre of dreams of youth ? Or was it — I shudder — what makes me afraid ? A black cross, naked as Truth ? " " O mother, sweet mother, now ask me no more ! What it was, I may not say ; Not even you, who my body bore, May know what I've seen this day. " Nor though I should live to be old and white May I tell any human soul : But through all my life shall this evening's sight Each thought and act control. " And I know that the day before I die I shall climb that hill again, And facing the blood-red evening sky That vision shall be made plain, " The shadowy vale shall darker grow As night falls over the land ; But my weird shall flash forth in the sun's last glow, I shall see — and shall understand." 63 INFINITUDE. If it must be, O Lord, if it must be That ever as some higher peak we gain In seeking Thee, Beneath us lie such deepening depths, that pain And awfulness in gazing down alone Do so o'ercome us that we fear to swoon — Then give us strength to reach a human hand To some lone brother in that silent land, — If it must be. If it must be, O Lord, if it must be That as we climb, some unsuspected height We ever see Still rising up before us, till the sight Of that unending pilgrimage we're bound To follow, turns our sick gaze on the ground — Then towards the stars O lift Thou up our eyes And calm us with their mystic harmonies, — If it must be. 64 GERDA'S SONGS. (From the libretto of the opera " Hertha." ) I. " Why wander so late by the darkening foam, O fisherman's daughter ? " " I seek my true lover who never came home O'er the western water." " Was he strong and tall and fair to see, O fisherman's child ? " " O tall and strong and fair was he, And his blue eyes smiled." " Haste home, haste home, O maiden lone ! Thy love is lost. The Sea-Maid hath ta'en him for her own And holds him fast. " Her kiss was like ice and fire, her eyes Like the beryl cold ; In her pale green halls he forever lies While the world grows old." 65 II. (From the original libretto of the opera " Hertha") Methought I lay at set of sun Upon a pine-clad hill ; I slept, and when I woke 'twas night ; Around me all was still. Lo ! like a wraith the moon uprose ! A rush of tiny feet ! The elfin-folk, with magic song Came trooping past my seat. Some flew to shake the swaying bells Of mountain blossoms fair, Whose heart gave forth a charmed peal Of music wild and rare. Some caught the starshine in the cups Of harebells wet with dew, While crystal-clear o'er wood and mere The elfin bugles blew. " Haste, haste away," methought they sang, " To where the lovers dwell ! We'll bear them gifts, for fairy folk Love all such mortals well. E 66 " Our gifts shall be of royal wise, For royal are these twain ! We'll bring them songs and light, that they May ne'er know grief again. " The heart of flowers shall yield us songs, And light, the starry skies ; The songs shall nestle in their hearts, The starshine in their eyes." 67 WALDA'S SONG. (From the original libvetto of the opera " Hei'tha") Glorious world with thy streams and thy mountains, Clouds sailing over the infinite sea ! Praises unending I sing to thy beauty, Make me as thou art — exultant and free! Here in my heart is thy throne spread with purple, Spirit that ridest on wings of the blast ! Freedom! with eyes born of sunshine and starshine, Enter, and take up thy sceptre at last ! Why are ye fearful, my brothers and sisters ? Stand at my side, look me straight in the eyes ! Though I be Queen, ye are each of you royal, Crowned with a glory — a crown from the skies. Hark! from the lowliest hearths in my kingdom Rises a mighty and jubilant song ! See ! through the fields in the light of the morning Goes a fair company, godlike and strong ! 68 Fathers and mothers, brave youths and fair maidens, Children as lovely as spirits of May ; Free, fearing nothing, they wend through the meadows, Joyfully hailing the new-risen day. These are my people, — O people, I love you ! Dear men and women whose hearts beat with mine ! Free, for your sakes, shall my soul be for ever ; Make us, O Freedom, eternally thine ! 69 MORNING SONG TO FREEDOM. (Final chorus from the original libretto of the opera " Hertha") Light, that now risest from Ocean ! we worship thee, seeing thee glow Deep in the eyes of these twain whom we follow through weal and through woe ! Love, we behold thee and worship thee ! come to us, e'en in such guise As to these, thy glad children, who fear not to look even Death in the eyes ! As to us they have held hands of healing, so make thou us strong, that through thee We may stretch forth our hands to the nations across our untameable sea And strike off the chains of the captives, till, link'd in one fellowship vast, The whole of mankind, free and godlike, attain its true stature at last. Freedom, thou holiest, loveliest daughter of Love and of Light ! Lovely as gates of the morning, holy as stars of the night, 70 Freedom, we worship thee ! hither, O hither across the salt foam From thy seat in the heaven of heavens, O come, make our island thy home ! Light, Love, and Freedom, thrice mighty ! Against thee what ill shall prevail ? How shall we name thee, Unnameable ? Holiest ! Hail to thee, hail ! 7i LINES TO A COMPOSER ON HIS BIRTHDAY. Gifts — the richest! Colour-glory, Titian's glow and Pheidias' line ! Gifts — the noblest ! Words undying, Shakespeare's flash and Dante's shrine ! Gifts — the purest ! Bach's high chant and Beethoven's great spirit-war ! Gifts — the fairest ! Morning's rose and evening's first pale, holy star ! What of gifts can earth show better ? Yet, if all were ours to give — All that's richest, noblest, purest, fairest in this life we live — Could it make this soul the richer, in whose depths all riches lie, Glory, grace, and inspiration flashing forth in harmony ? Nay ! no gifts, when all that's precious lies in one divinest power, His that power of might}' music — glow and flash and rose and star ! Gifts — for us ! Ah, this we wish him ! Still to have and still to give ! His be still this crown of blessing — power to bless all souls that live ! 72 "LOVE AND DEATH." On the picture by G. F. Watts, R.A. If Love be mighty to impel the stars, — Ah me ! can this be Love on which I gaze ? This piteous boy, his blue eyes all amaze At cruel wrong, his outstretched arm that bars His dear home's threshold — effort vain that mars His rainbow wings — all powerless to evade The entrance of that silent, shrouded Shade Whose step relentless presses on, nor spares The flowers, whose petals on the threshold lie, The tender flowers, that Love's dear home entwined ? Ah, could he speak, yon shrouded Mystery With grave, bent head, perchance might say: "Love's eye Of blue eterne, with burning tears is blind, Else would he see, the face of Death is kind." 73 "HOPE." On the picture by G. F. Watts, R.A. .Look up, ye weary-hearted, spent with sighs ; Say not " all's dark " while one fair spirit here Keeps loyal vigil o'er your shadowed sphere. And yet not vigil — blindfold are her eyes ; She sees not yet the end of miseries That, rising like harsh discords from beneath, Have riven the lyre her faithful arms enwreath. — For from that sphere ascend no harmonies, Ah no ! but moaning on its single string Like midnight wind, one note of anguish frets Her lyre, and yet she smiles while bending low, A sweet, worn smile, wafted from far-off Spring. "Sweet note!" she seems to murmur, "well I know Thou chim'st with that one star which never sets." 74 "the legend of the briar rose: 1 On the pictures by Sir E. Burnt Jones. The dreamful loveliness enthralled so long Awaits thy kiss, O Prince in whose deep eyes The spiritual strength of pureness lies. Pale knight, through strife and star-lit vigil strong, Thy counter-charm shall loose this ancient wrong. The spell-bound world waits on thy high emprise, Ah ! bid the thorn-girt, perfect woman rise ! For while she sleeps, all sleep ; the maidens' song By fount and loom is hushed ; with tranced brows The nation's guides lie slumbering. Prince ! not dead Is she, the world's hope, though her warm limbs £tay Bound as in grave clothes. See, above her head The dawn is reddening ! Thy pure kiss shall rouse With her, the enfranchised earth to Life and Day. 75 "TOIL AND STORMS On the picture by J . P. Beadle, representing three peasant- women of Brittany engaged in clearing the " terrain " from debris after the harvest, on a ivild sea -coast. Wild, gusty, desolate, the day wanes fast ; The thunders of the wind-tormented sea Roll at their feet, yet still they toil, these three Pale workers, spite of storm and driving blast. For work is still to do ere light be past — The land swept clean for next year's crop. But she — The youngest, wearies ? Through the gloom doth see With straining eyes afar some hapless mast Tossed on the waves ? Poor child ! ah, wiser 'twere To toil with these thy sisters, and endure. For, while you work, the sky, unnoticed, clears ; The sea weaves spells of peace, the stars shine pure As home you pass, your faithful labours o'er, And in your hearts the song of all the spheres. 7 6 THE TRIB UTE-MONE Y. Ah ! not alone to these, the worldly-wise Blind teachers of the Law, who vainly sought To entangle Him in speech, His answer, fraught With unifying insight's power, applies. For teachers in these vexed days arise Who cry, " To Caesar, Caesar's ! There is nought To render elsewhere ! " others, " Caesar's court Is vain! To God what God's is ! Let our eyes Heedless of earthly kingdoms, seek that throne Behind the veil, our souls yield tribute there." Amidst the strife of such, thrice blest are they To whom their Master's words stand trulier known ; Who give to Caesar, Caesar's, yet who dare With palm unsoil'd, to God their tribute pay. 77 SOCIALISM. Of social wrongs that sap society And make one joyless treadmill of our land He spoke, the bitter Democrat : — " We stand Between starvation and satiety, With ever one abhorred anxiety 'Neath Waste and Want — the Workhouse ! " then he planned A future commonwealth, when every hand Should serve the State in forced sobriety. Yet while he spoke, beside his chair stood One With brows thorn-bound, and eyes whose depths serene A clue to earth's dark problems did disclose. The speaker saw Him not, or had he seen Perchance had said " The Christ ? — His day is done ! " And yet those eyes fathomed our modern woes. 7« ISOLA TION. Methought I saw the great ones of the world Standing like mountain-peaks, alone, alone ; Whose immemorial summits' storm-swept stone Where wreathed mists their spectral pennon furled Woke pity in me. " O, my God ! " I cried, " Must it be thus ? This age-long loneliness Must needs be agony. No foot may press These aching slopes, no blue-eyed children hide Their fresh, cool faces in the wholesome grass; No voice can break the silence which they hold. The doom is hard. Is there no help ? " I said. Then in the wind down-borne a voice did pass, Solemn with gladness : " Think me not all cold ; The morning sun's first splendour strikes my head. 79 THE UNKNOWN SONG. That calm, heroic time I picture oft When in the quiet vales of ancient Greece The shepherd sang, and on the hills was peace, And with content blithe maidens carolled soft. Then men were strong and simple, free from art, And loved the mountain tops and murmuring shades Where crescented Diana and her maids, The modest-robed stars, did chase the hart That westward ever fled, himself to save ; While from each bubbling spring and gnarled tree Naiad and Dryad crept, and in the sea Nereus' daughters tossed the moon-tipt wave ; But of their songs no mortal ear might know The purport — nought save sea and streamlet's flow. 8o A SEA SHELL. Fronting the western sea we stood ; deep calm With evening came ; the waves scarce rose and fell. Stooping, you picked a tiny, pearl-hued shell Out of a pool, and set it on your palm And said " It means a pilgrimage; " and lost In thoughts unspoken, silently stood we In utter quiet, gazing out to sea. O fellow pilgrim, who with me art tossed Out of the depths on this strange shore, still fraught With echoes faint of our unfathomed home, The tide that brought us in its morning rush Shall sweep us back at eve. Ah, let it come ! For well we know, this frail shell, finely wrought, The seas shall cradle tenderly — not crush. 8i TO With a volume oj Tennyson s Songs. I said : " What gift for one from foreign climes May help to bring again those skies of blue ? What, in our wailing English autumn, chimes With warmth of colour, joyous sound and hue ? The wind that whirls the leaf and drives the cloud Till evening wraps the meadows in a shroud, How can this mind us of the mirror'd rest Of Venice, fairest city of the West ? You have brought sunshine from those realms of gold Still lingering in your smile ; I can but bring The songs of one who yet found voice to sing 'Neath skies so grey as ours, nor grew heart-cold With stormy winter's stress. O, hold it true, Our hearts make summer, dearest one, for you ! 82 TO- Nay, Sweet, 'tis nothing new ! What though the light Of your life's love first break upon you now, What though its radiance shine from your pure brow Telling of some great Day beyond our Night ; What though your gracious kindness melt the snows Of world -worn, weary hearts, and cannot cease To gladden his, who, finding you, finds Peace, — Yet, 'tis no change. — You are not one of those Love lifts from drear December into May ; On us, your nearest, you have ever shed May's healing charm while snows lay thick around ; 'Tis but the essence of a perfect day. In his true eyes your truth with truth doth wed, And by his love your sweet life's love is crowned. 83 TO- October's sun foretells the coming May, Like one whose parting glance hath caught a gleam Of that last fairest Spring across the stream Unwittingly called Death. Who shall not say, — Seeing this wealth of golden lights that play O'er wood and heathy common, birds that seem Like souls in bliss, — that winter's but a dream, Which scatters with the throstle's April lay ? What sure, blest Springs may then be hoped for thee, Thy spirit lit by that undying sun Of Love whose light o'erleaps th' encircling night ! — For one who stands beside the sapphire sea Hearing its cosmic music, winter's done, And every May brings fairer, holier light. 8 4 TO I. High in an eastern chamber richly dight I sat and watched the sunrise. Fountains tossed Their spray to kiss the morning star, while lost 'Mid listening angels, sang the lark, and bright As gods, men strode across the plain. No light Save that which flooded Avalon or Thrace E'er broke with such enchantment from the face Of Dawn, as that I saw. At noonday's height I strove to see it still, but ah! too soon The twilight into dreary darkness died, Veiling the East as with a funeral stole. The high, lone chamber, lighted not by moon Nor any star, appalled me. " God!" I cried, "Send back the light, or send some human soul ! " 85 II. Long time the darkness lasted. Forms of dread, Eyeless, that glided past me, froze my breath ; The twin and awful shapes of Life and Death Mute, motionless, immense, with veiled head, O'erwhelmed me utterly. Fain had I fled, But could not stir. The primal mysteries Lay heaped on me like earth upon the eyes Of one long buried. " O my God ! " I said, 1 1 ask not now to sit aloft, apart, Watching the Dawn's unearthly magic break; I loathe this haunted solitude. My heart Cries out for men, not visions. Down below Among the toilers on the plain I'll take My stand, and wait for day. O let me go ! " 86 III. Lo ! suddenly a hand that clasped my hand And raised me where I lay ; a voice that said ''The daybreak, see! " Then gently was I led Nearer the wide-flung casement. All the land Lay clear and cold with dew. A toilsome band Of wayworn men and women passed, their tread Weary, yet very patient. Each bent head Was touched with solemn light, that did expand Into a glory, as the sun rose slow. Then she who stood beside me said : " Above We must not stay. Come down." I turned, and lo! A light like that which lit the toilers, shone Deep in her eyes, yet mixed with my lost Dawn, And fairer far, for Light there wedded Love. 87 IV. O vain these faltering words of mine, most vain To speak what burns within me. How express In speech, the passionate great thankfulness Of one from darkness and a place of pain Led forth to feel God's precious sun and rain And look on human faces ? I possess No power at all to bless as I would bless Her who delivered me ; yet am I fain To wish her something fairer than e'er shone In poet's verse, she who through deeper night Than mine, for Love's dear sake has often pressed. Some Dawn may Christ stand near her, all the light Of later centuries with Love at one In His deep eyes, and she, beholding, rest. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. FR 4793 H7197v p R4793 .H7197v yr L 009 538 875 7 ^5 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 001 421 495 1