LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA PRESENTED BY MRS. DONALD KELLOGG UCSB LIBRARY WILD FLOWERS WILD FLOWERS A BOOK OF VERSE. REGINALD ROGERS. Flowers that bloom in country lane and field, Untrained and lawless as the tangled hedge Thro' which they peep. LONDON : JOHN OUSELEY LIMITED. FLEET LANE, FARRINGDON STREET, E.G. PREFACE IT has been said that all verse written in early life should be regarded as apprentice work, written only in order that the writer may gain the mastery of his tools. Many authors are of opinion that it is a mistake to publish these early works on which the 'prentice hand is so strongly marked ; but I do not share their views, because the first step must be taken before the writer can know his own strength and weakness. In the following poems, written during the last two years, I expect the reader to see many faults ; but it is possible, too, he may, bearing in mind my inexperience, find in an otherwise darkened sky a few sparks which show promise of better work later on. For I believe if a writer will ever do anything worth while, anything fit to live, a few harbingers of that to come, will be seen in his early efforts, if the critic will take the trouble to look for them. So I make my verses public, trusting they may be read by broad-minded men and women, who are ever ready to encourage even the faintest promise of ability. R. R. London. February, CONTENTS. Page DEDICATION ...... RENUNCIATION ...... I BLIND ....... 2 IN THE CLOISTERS OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY . . J IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY . . . .4 TO MY MOTHER ...... 5 ON VISITING THE TOMB OF SHAKESPEARE . . 6 SONNET ....... 7 ON SEEING A CHILD ROLLING A HOOP . . 7 ON VIEWING THE PERFORMANCE OF JullUS CcesdY . 8 TWO SONNETS ON THE PICTURE OF " HOPE " (by Watts) . g AGE AND YOUTH . . x . . . . IO THE SEASONS . . . . . ; .II SOLITUDE . . . . . . .II THE POET . . 12 JUNE DAYS . . . . . .13 SUGGESTED BY THE PICTURE ENTITLED, " HE HAD GREAT POSSESSIONS" . . . . .13 ON READING A CRITICISM OF MY POEMS . . .14 THE BEGGAR . . . . . .'15 THE PUNISHED CHILD . . . . l6 INFINITE ..... 17 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND . . . . 1 8 A RECOLLECTION . . . . . 19 IMAGINATION AND REALITY . . . .20 LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM . . . .22 SUNSET ON THE RHINE . . . . .23 REFLECTION . . . . . 2J Pare SLEEP . . . . . . .24 MY CANDLE . . . . . -25 IN THE STREET . . 25 LINES i 26 GOD IN THE EVENING . . . . .27 A DAY IN SPRING .... 28 AT NIGHT . . . . . .29 THE MAN WHO WENT TO GOD ... 30 THE LONG ROAD .... 3 2 HOME . 33 BEREAVED . . . . 34 THE POET'S POEM . . . 36 AN OLD ANTHOLOGY ... -37 LINES . . . . . . 38 IONA . . . . . . .38 SLEEP . . .... 39 HAPPINESS . . . . , .39 SHADOWS ..... 4O CHILDREN ..... 40 WHEN THOU WAST YOUNG ... 40 ASLEEP . . . . , . 41 TO IVY . . .... 41 HER GRAVE .... .42 DEPARTURE . . . . . -42 I LONG TO SAY I LOVE THEE . . 43 YOUNG LOVE .... .43 LOVE'S FORGIVENESS . ... 44 FIRST LOVE . . .45 A DREAM . . 45 LOVE AND TIME . . 46 LOVE'S TEACHING ... . 47 WRITTEN AT HAMPSTEAD LAKE . . . -47 WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COTTAGE . . 48 THE SLUM CHILD . . 49 THE WAYS OF LIFE . 50 THE END .... 50 THE POET'S INSPIRATION . . . -51 IX THE POET'S THOUGHTS ..... ON A PORTRAIT OF KEATS .... WRITTEN AFTER READING " THE SONNETS FROM THE POR- TUGUESE LOST HAPPINESS . ... THE FIELD OF METZ .... A LEGEND OF THE LAHN . AT LAST ..... SOHO SQUARE ; A DRAMATIC SKETCH . 62 DEDICATION To R.C.R., Esq. The little daisy hidden in the fields Must bloom obscure. Unseen, save by the wind That stirs the wheat above her, and the kind Sun whom all the flowers love ; and so she yields Her modest sweets to them alone, and feels No discontent that children do not find Her hiding-place, to pluck and gaily bind Her blossom to the wand the May Queen wields. So without thee, dear friend, and more to me Than friend, much like the daisy would my fate Have been. Condemned my life in poverty, With little or no hope of else, to wait ; Ne'er had I penned a line, who dedicate These verses, with my heart in them, to thee. Wild Flowers. RENUNCIATION As when some tired wanderer of the plain, With thirsty lips and burning brow oppressed, Finds a clear pool whose unperturbed breast Reflects his eager, yearning face O then Wet lips, wet brow, and so wet lips again ! But now the violated fount doth seem To show his image as a troubled dream Ghastly and strange, a phantom among men. So in my heart's deep well of silent love, I hold reflected, too, a face and thee In form and thy soft, summoning lips I see But I must never, never drink thereof ; And sealed against the quenching of love's fire Is that sweet fountain of my soul's desire. BLIND BLIND I CANNOT rest while these sad thoughts I keep ; So I'll tell all perchance 'twill ease my heart. As late I strode along that squalid part Of Bethnal Green, where ragged children weep The whole day long, and happy when asleep, In dreams (their only happiness) a little child, With haggard face that mocked her when she smiled, Pitifully begged from out her heart's core deep. And as I passed, regardless of her woe, She sobbed that she was blind ! Oh, then her cries Told me her lot ; and also ours they show. Poor child, thou shalt see God at Heaven's Gate ! We, too, are blind not to our high estate, But to the misery that round us lies. IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY ON SEEING A TABLET UPON THE WALL IN THE CLOISTERS OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY A TABLET grey with age : pause, loiterer ; nay, Observe full well the lines engraven : bare ' Jane Lister, Dear Childe " all that meets thee there. Oh, throbbing words ! Instinct with tears are they ; Remindful of the sad, sad time when lay A child deaf to a mother's call. What grief Is here ! " Dear Childe." A mother's words are brief When sorrow laps her round. No words portray True grief as silence, nor such grief convey. Oh, Mother, in thy love thou didst not show In verse elaborate that all might know Thy loss ; but in the passion of thy soul A sob from out thy broken heart to toll Thy impotent despair and bitter woe. IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY Tis of the " Virgin and her Child Unknown." In a dark corner of the gallery It hangs, and others pass it by. To me It has as great a charm as Raphael's own, Although it is unsought for and alone. Such sad beauty has the Mother, Mary, Such tender thoughtfulness ; (I cannot see Her without tears) a child, yet woman grown. The artist's name is lost. " Unknown " is styled The picture ; yet I needs must think his wife Is the Madonna here, the Christ his child. Too well does her expression speak their life Poverty and want are traced, but cannot hide The wondrous smile that still proclaims her bride. TO MY MOTHER TO MY MOTHER MOTHER ! the wild wave and many a mile Divide us ; and each year a longer one That keep thy tender heart and ready smile From me, thy first born and thy first loved son. But Thought, given the wings of Love, flies true, And faster than the falling of a star, So, though I cannot hear thy voice or view Thy form, they in my mind forever are. Didst thou not love me half so much, thou hadst Not let me live in London far away From thee ; for 'twas my wish and so thou badst Me speed. Yet, O, had I not gone, each day I had not learned how dear to me thy breath. If Absence so affects, how then would Death ? THE TOMB OF SHAKESPEARE ON VISITING THE TOMB OF SHAKES- PEARE THE setting sun half dimly lights the grey Old church, and turns to gold the elms which spread Before the portal's arch a shadowy way. Shakespeare ! 'twas thy last resting-place that led Me many miles to see ; yet now 'tis not This pile that calls thy spirit back to earth ; To woodland wide, to neighbouring hills the lot Has fall'n ; in them thy power and thy re-birth. E'en as I strolled among the large-limbed trees, My wakened fancy pointed to an oak, Where Jaques might have leaned with studied ease; And then methought that Justice Shallow spoke. For he, who lies so near the organ's tone, Hath spread his magic over every stone SONNET SONNET The boisterous winds have packed dark clouds away, And with a farewell blast have followed too, Leaving Spring mistress of the new-born day. It is a glorious evening, and a view Stretches before me of wide woods and sheep Upon the grassy hills ; tranquil the while The fields and flowery slopes, as if asleep Dreaming of Summer days with drowsy smile. So do I dream my thoughts are but as dreams, Which fade and vanish when I take my pen ; Vanish as sleep before Aurora's beams. I love I feel no more 'tis but again The same. My pen falls useless to my knee, My eyes are swimming and I cannot see. ON SEEING A CHILD ROLLING A HOOP THOU who adown the slope of yonder park Holiest thy hoop, thy locks flung to the breeze, Laughing as thou go'st I love to mark Thy course till lost to view in distant trees ! B 8 AT HIS MAJESTY'S THEATRE How much imagination hath the mind Of child, to fancy that so plain a toy Is such a wondrous thing ! and ever blind To its simplicity, a constant joy It doth remain, while he is young and free. Are we not grown-up children, after all ? Do we not think our deeds to be Far greater than they are ? To Him how small, E'en those who are o'er Earth victorious. We are to God as is the child to us. ON VIEWING THE PERFORMANCE OF JULIUS CAESAR At His Majesty's Theatre, Hay market As the warm wind doth clear the April sky From heavy clouds, sweeping them all before Her breath, to bide until the Spring be o'er, So from my mind these present days rush by At Shakespeare's wand ; and all my senses fly To Antony in Rome, the clash of war At Philippi and Cassius steeped in gore, And misled Brutus watching Caesar die. But now the curtain falls, the lights are out, The Player sheds his toga for the coat, I wake to hear the people clap and shout. How well the Poet's lines on Brutus can To himself apply, in clarion note To sound to all the world " This was a man " ! TWO SONNETS 9 TWO SONNETS On the Picture of " Hope," by Watts I. THOUGH blind I still can think she sees her way To Hope ; for Hope's a light when all around Is dark, and, like a star at close of day, Shines all the brighter as in duty bound To show the world she's not discouraged by The sun. Ay, she is blind ; and yet with mine Her eyes can see one lone star in the sky, For it is Hope's last spark which still doth shine. And she is deaf ; and yet her lute she hears, Though it has only one remaining string, The last of many broken these long years. Beautiful Hope ! thy faith new life doth bring To me. I look, and come again I cease Despairing : and my soul knows now great peace. II. When I behold thee, Hope, both deaf and blind, Yet looking out into the Future, still All undiscouraged and still strong in mind, Then do I think upon my own weak will, Despairing, spite of all I do. I know From the dark side of Life I have not force To turn away my eye ; nor do I go To drown my senses in slow Lethe's course. ' io AGE AND YOUTH Vet can I learn a lesson, Hope, from thee. I have my sight wherefore do I complain ? And I have friends, if need will comfort me ; And I am young, and have not had defeats nor pain, Nor sorrow, with which thou hast had to cope, O smile in midst of woe, for this is Hope ! AGE AND YOUTH WHEN Autumn of man's life is passed, and he No longer feels the buoyancy of youth, He finds the world inclined to let him be Maids pass him by, but not so Winter's tooth, Which leaves each year more strong upon his mien Its mark. Old Time hath turned his hair to white, As he has come within his sickle keen. He does look old indeed to outward sight. But young, and growing younger since age came, His soul. And when at last pale Death is due. That soul but leaves behind a worthless frame, And in another world starts life anew. Why then Old Age regard with such disdain ? Age has a youth the Young can ne'er obtain. THE SEASONS n THE SEASONS THERE is the Youth, when Spring with smiling eye Surveys her handiwork. How tender green The leaves on roadside hedge and tree are seen. Then languid Summer comes with scorching sky, Where clouds like snowy ships go sailing by, Bound to some port where only birds have been ; Their cargo rain-drops, for the flowers lean So toward the sun their cups are always dry. There is the middle-age, when the trees learn Autumn's dun garb to wear ; now Winter olJ, With icy fingers on a frozen dial, Is here, and snow-clouds all the skies blind-fold. So are the Seasons in men's lives but while Spring comes again, in man 'twill ne'er return. SOLITUDE AT sea, and out of sight of shore, is found True solitude ; on land it is not there. E'en in the very mountain's heart a sound Is piped by warbling bird, or insect where We least expect it, drones. And in the wide, Wide desert, with its great sand- wastes of white, Which rise and fall, even as falls the tide 12 THE POET Of ocean, long lean lizards love to creep ; The wild hyena's laugh rings out at night, And fierce-eyed owls shriek from stunted tree. Leaves, rocks, rough hills guarding shy deer, all keep The eye distracted and alert. The sea Reflects the sky upon its polished wave Like it is fathomless and lone and grave. THE POET A POET ! What need he of money ? cries The World the busy world that still can read With pleasure Shelley's odes. But this their creed : What has a Poet to do with monies ? He lives as best he can, and when he dies His fame's assured but living, people heed Him not. His soul is all he has to feed. And such the mystic poet in their eyes. Alas, some Poets must be poor ! but still The greatest had enough on which to live. Let but the Poet feel his funds are low And failing, then health, mind and verses will Soon crumble too. Then this plain truth believe Worry and Want the Poet's greatest foe ! " HE HAD GREAT POSSESSIONS " 13 JUNE DAYS THE year has given us her longest day Before she shows her favour to the night. The bees with busy boldness are in flight, While down the valley, deep in woody way, The cuckoo mocks their labour from the spray. O for a charm to keep forever bright The shady groves and sunny hills, so might We dream hard months before us all away. Alas, the longest day must have its eve, And summer night must run its course, and leave The world a shorter morn. Now in the west The low red sun, and we from yon hill-crest Must turn to town. What selfishness to grieve ! Such as our lot is, let us do our best. SUGGESTED BY THE PICTURE ENTITLED " HE HAD GREAT POSSESSIONS," (by Watts). WITH head bowed down he stands before the Lord, Who said : "If thou dost wish with me to live, First sell thy lands ; go, unto thy native Poor, distribute all thou hast." . . . With sad steps toward The palace-halls the rich man turns, where stored His great possessions, to obey and give. 14 SONNET Christ was not wroth when thus He saw him grieve, But won his heart with love, the sure reward Of gentle look and word. So it is writ The needy were made glad ; the ruler, who Gave all, loved Christ's dear Name and hallowed it. Eternal truth ! That selfish men who learn Unselfishness through love, gain God's love too ; For He hath said Love man, My love to earn. SONNET On reading a Criticism of my Poems, by MRS. FREDERICK KENDALL A POET'S love is like a flow'ret in The fields rejoicing in its life ; and so Is pure and tender and can bear no blow Of World's unkindness. Pluck, to smile within Some crowded room where all is dance and din, That blossom from its rightful place, and lo, It droops its head, it fades, its odours go, And thus is lost what we had hoped to win. So at the World's cold sneer the Poet's love Alike doth fade. Since it is love he writes of Then love he needs to keep his verse alive, And for it looks to man. So now that I Have gained this love from thee, the more will strive To keep it lighted in my Country's eye. THE BEGGAR 15 THE BEGGAR I MET an aged beggar in my walk, And in his face, his step, his look, His bending figure, palsied hands that shook, I knew him for the man whose talk Would tell what one already saw that gone Was hope with age. And as I would pass tm He caught my eye ; I could not pass him by, For mirrored there I seemed to see Himself as when he used to be As young, as sanguine, free of care as I Who once had held his head as high With pride, as now with shame 'twas low. Ah, in those happier days of long ago Perchance he had a home, was loved, and lifo Was not the dreary strife He finds it now, all lonely and forlorn. Oh, pass not by with scorn, Ye proud, and ye who are by chance rich born For Life is but like steps we all must climb, Each in his different way, but every time We gain a step we look behind, And tell one more to bear our way in mind. But Life is treach'rous and lays snares for all, And balsam there is none for those who fall ! 16 THE PUNISHED CHILD THE PUNISHED CHILD I SAW you strike her, though not long Before she sang the little song You taught her, called " The Lamb of God," you know ; Ne'er dreaming of a blow From you from you of gentle tongue ; And she so young. She did no wrong ; Wrong in your eyes, but not in hers. She knew not why you struck her. So You are to blame, not she. Take her upon your knee, And with soft words, and with a kiss between, Explain to her just what you mean. Your only Dear Must learn through love to mind you, not through fear. But you have struck her. Well She will forget. I tell You, and you see Her playing underneath the tree, And singing with the firs. She will forget, your child, my pet. But you who struck her O, can you forget ? INFINITE 17 INFINITE Two travellers on the castled peak Of Liebenstein had stopped to rest. Neither could speak The other's tongue, but both were blest With that rare nature that alone Can love and understand The grandeur of a castle old, And the sad beauty of the hills. While one Stood near and gazed down where the setting sura Had bathed the Rhine in gold And murmured in low tone, " How beautiful ! How grand ! " The other with outstretched hand And wonder-wakened eyes Thus plainly told In language both command, His love of rocks, and trees, and sunny skies. THE MERRY-GO-ROUND THE MERRY-GO-ROUND WHEN them wast of that tender age When Life is like a page From fairy book, dear child, I took thee to a Merry-go-Round. And there in sound Of pipe and drum I stood, and smiled To watch thee where astride A toy horse thou didst ride With other children in a laughing line. And when the while Thy eager eyes met mine, Then I For love would wave thee a good-bye. Now that thou art gone, and leave me But the remembrance of thy smile, Thy voice, thy tears, to raise Thy many childlike ways Within my mind, I love to watch those horses as of old ; For sometimes do I find A child resembling thee, As thou wast in that age of gold. Then where I stand I smile, and wave my hand ; Though, looking on her youthful years My eyes are wet with tears. A RECOLLECTION 19 A RECOLLECTION It seems as yesterday, Half sleeping as I lay I saw my Mother in her loose white dress, As she stood there With her long dark falling hair, And one broad tress Would almost hide Her face that I looked up at, wondering Wherefore she came so early to my side. And then I understood. My Mother went to church, and would I, much to please her, go ? Then she left me as an angel might Who had watched o'er a sleeping soul at night. To-day it is with pain I think of how I went With her in discontent, Which I in many ways did show. I smiled not when she smiled, Although along our path the flowers wild Were bright with dew, And from the hedge a bird Did sing Twice over his sweet strain, For fear we had not heard His opening melody. So we came to church, and while I stayed And fretted in the pew, My Mother beside me prayed, Would God I had known then she prayed for me. 20 IMAGINATION AND REALITY IMAGINATION AND REALITY A CHILD I used to watch with so much love The mowers at their work, and I Loving to play In new-mown hay Approached to try, But men with coarse tongues drove Me with affright away. And now to-day I have seen faces in a crowd I would have liked to know ; For they, I thought, could understand my ways. I have seen cottages with thatched roof low, And flowers blowing from' the thatch, Here I would love to lift the latch. Here live ; no loud Streets hem them in, and days Of solitude I here could pass Among the flowers and sweet-smelling grass. I have seen children I have wished were mine, To press them to my heart, divine Through tender love their wants. But all these sylvan haunts, These pleasant faces, Have proved in many cases Not all they seemed to be, When I came near to see. IMAGINATION AND REALITY, 21 The hills that from a distance seem to rest Against the skies, and seen So smooth and round, Upon approach abound In crag, and steep, and wide ravine. And so to dream is best. With soulful eyes to see life through our dreams, And love it as it seems. 22 LINES LINES Written in an Album THINK on this day that thou wast born, Think on it from the first hours of the morn. How bright and pure shines out the sun, So was it when thy life had just begun. Pure as the lily in the wood Thy years have ripened to young womanhood. This thou couldst not help, for when the seed is good The flower must be pure, 'tis understood. But this from henceforth thou canst help. Make sure Each coming year is no less pure Than those that went before. Wait not until the year is o'er To say, " I will do better in the next," But make this for each day, each hour, thy te.xt. And when at length the years That now but tend to make thee the more fair, Shall turn with gentle touch thy hair From darkest brown to grey, And thou art nodding by the chimney nook, Thou'lt have no fears To take this down, and to thy grandchild say : " See here, and here, and here, " On this and this and this year " My life was better than the last ! " See how I read it through the past ! " Then take thy pen ; write in her book That I have writ in yours to-day. SUNSET ON THE RHINE 23 SUNSET ON THE RHINE AFTER a day of sailing like a seagull down the stream, We turned a bend and dropp'd into a mystic land of dream ; On our near side rose the Loreley with its legend- haunted head, And as we gazed, the sinking sun shot the sky one glorious red, And the heavens burned through ruined Rheinfels, toward Which the French had marched and laid waste its halls with fire and sword, The halls where the pine now moans and sobs in the valley wind That carried us on half-breathless with wonder, to find As I turned to thee from the glowing skies My thoughts, every one, were reflected deep in thy eyes. REFLECTION I SEE reflected in the river The green trees ; all a-quiver Are their laughing leaves. And as I gaze the sun goes down Behind the house-tops of the town, And, lo, the green branch leaves 24 SLEEP The tree- trunk, and the tree-trunks fade away As the golden glow with the dying day ; And I feel as I turn from the waters dark, My pleasures are like the trees in the park, That show their green heads in the stream ; And my love like the sun, For now she is gone ; every one Of the hours I spent with her, seem To have vanished, and left me alone with a dream. SLEEP O, Love, let us love Sleep, For then in dreams we meet ; O then our spirits meet In sweet felicity. Sleep, do not leave me, Else you will grieve me. O my love, my love is by ! And we so love Sleep, my love and I Night let it ever be ; Day let us never see. Day we abhor ; Night we adore. Day, I do deride thee ! O, sweet Night, abide thee ! For then in dreams we meet, O then our spirits meet In sweet felicity. MY CANDLE 25 MY CANDLE A CANDLE is a thing to love, When it is for the Son of God above. And notice well before Christ's Shrine How there will shine A halo of warm light From tapers placed there by the priest. And so when in my room at night With only one small candle burning bright, I think of God and Christ. IN THE STREET As I wandered on with tired feet Through the hurrying crowds of a London street I heard my name called soft and sweet ; Sweet in a loved, remembered sound I had not heard in a long, long while. And I stood and gaz'd with a wondering smile And a beating heart at the crowd around, And the love in my eyes faded thereat, For I saw but faces, sad and gay While she who could only have called like that Was a thousand miles away. 26 LINES LINES IT is too late, and I have gone too far To turn back now. Although my path is set with rock and scar, I must keep on. I must endure The road that I have ta'en. I must keep on. To turn back now, Though weary and of myself not sure, Would only end in my despair. I must keep on and try to gain That I have gone to find. I must keep on. Although I leave thee far behind In rose-sweet air. If I should turn back now A painful pleasure only would be mine ; For I cannot be thine As I am now, and so I must keep on. To God and thee I pray, O help me keep my chosen way t GOD IN THE EVENING 27 GOD IN THE EVENING THE sun was low and the air was cool, And the crows like children out of school, In noisy groups of two and three, Were going to rest on loitering wing Then as I watched each living thing I thought of how much God had done for me. The evening set in, and the stars one by one Came out like jewels to gladden the eye ; The lambs bleat sleepily on to the fold, And the moon for them cast a path of gold - Then as I heard them passing by I thought of what God for me had done. I have often wished to do what I can't For money to buy all the things I want ; I have fretted and fumed like a child of three Who is spoiled by having more than his share. But as I stood in the evening fair, I thought of all God had done for me. I have thought of it since, again and again, When the eve is cool in the country free, And the breezes blow from over the lea, Bowing the heads of the growing grain ; And I wondered how I could ever complain. When God has done so much for me. 28 A DAY IN SPRING A DAY IN SPRING Blue is the sea, bright is the sea Blue and bright as the Day ; How can one fail to be Happy and gay ? Good weather is coming Has come. The bees are humming Will hum As long as the flowers are bright, As long as the day is right. So how can one not delight To be living to-day ? The birds are singing, The swallows are winging Their way through the bright blue sky ; Nothing complains In the sunny lanes, So why indeed should I ? But I see o'er the brow Of yonder cliff a dark cloud rest ; Soon will the rain drench the song-bird's nest. Soon will it weep the sky, Oh, yon dark cloud holds sorrow for me, And it will come by and by. AT NIGHT. 29 But the birds are singing, The swallows are winging Through the bright blue sky their way ; The bee still hums, And the woodpecker drums. So away with sorrow ! Until it comes I will be happy and gay, I will be happy to-day. AT NIGHT I. HE stands the London kerb beside, And Hunger's mark is on his face ; The woman, ragged, absent-eyed, Sees not the crowds sees not the place. Sees not the baby at her breast, Nor bends her head to hear his croon ; He laughing hears and it is best The Organ-grinder's merry tune. II. In some cold corner of the street The Match-girl, shivering, takes her stand ; From morn to eve her weary feet Have paced in vain the throbbing Strand. Woeful and wan, her pleading eye Looks in the face of all who come ; Above, the pitiless cold sky ; About, the city's ceaseless hum. 30 THE MAN WHO WENT TO GOD THE MAN WHO WENT TO GOD WITH painful steps the stairs he climbed, As the bells in the belfry midnight chimed. His face was hollow and gaunt and old, Though his years were but six and thirty all told. But the man who climbed was starving to death, And at every stair he stopped for breath, And at every stair he cursed the Lord Who had smote him down with so keen a sword. The World had spurned and cursed him away. And now in his heart could he pray ? He had prayed before He would pray no more ! So he reached his garret door. For long he sat and in silence now He thought of his life, and the manly vow He had made to his Mother long ago, When he stood by her bed and held her hand Her hand that was whiter than snow. Thank God, there was none in the land To know how he failed, how he lied ! Thank God his Mother had died Believing in him. Hot tears came, and he cried, " Oh, God, forgive me my wild outburst, " Forgive me the many times I have cursed " And profaned Thy Holy Name." Then his spirit calmer became, But the pain in his heart was like flame. He had eaten nothing for three long days, And his body burned with eternal blaze. THE MAN WHO WENT TO GOD. 31 He looked below on the noisy crowds, And he looked above at the moonlit clouds ; He heard below the city's jars, But his eyes were fixed on the dancing stars; Then peace crept slowly into his heart, And he felt less painfully hunger's dart. In a voice he hardly knew as his own, So gentle, so calm had it grown, He said, "If I'm wretched and poor, " And hunger and worry endure, " To-night in my garret so high, " So close to the beckoning sky, " I am better than those who below " Are so rich, but to earth are so low. " I am nearer to God than ever before "Oh, God, I will knock at Heaven's door And he fell down dead on the floor. They found him there on. the following day, A ragged outcast, who lay With his face to the skies, His lips were still in a wondrous smile, And in peace were closed his eyes. And they said to each other the while, " We have watched him for long, and his ways ; " He has eaten nothing for three long days." They looked not below on the noisy crowd, But they looked above at the morning cloud, And then bore him away, with heads bowed. 32 THE LONG ROAD THREE times you came And looked adown the road with anxious eyes ? Lifting my voice I called his name, His pet name only I may use ; But no call came in answer, no replies. He cannot lose His way, or wander from the path ? The Road unto the very end Has neither break nor bend. And many walk that highway soon and late ? The Road is open to the king and thrall. But still he hath Not come, and still you watch and wait ? Yes, still I watch and call, And now the mist-wreaths hide the vales from sight, And skies are now fast fading into night. HOME 33 HOME I NEVER dreamed that in the days to come My home should be to me no longer home. Careless childhood has no thoughts like these Where all is sunshine one no shadow sees. My home to me, alas, is not the same ! And yet it was with longing and with love I came. For when upon Life's Ocean I long tossed, And my comrades and my friends to me were lost, I always thought I had one place to come, If worst should come to worst I had my home. When Care and Worries' waves would hem me round, I strove against them boldly, for I found That thinking of my home would send me through, And in the end it did I conquered, too. And then I let my thoughts my footsteps guide, And they brought me safely to my old home side. I found my mother waiting at the door. She cried and laughed to see me home once more. 34 BEREAVED I found my room the same as when a boy I left it gladly, full of hope and joy. The pleasant fields where as a child I played With my dear brother, and the sunny glade Where we used to camp out in the spring, Had changed not since and yet one thing I missed my youth my childhood's days, And missing that I missed my home's old ways. And then I knew, and felt it with great pain, Home and the child would never come again. BEREAVED Come to me, dear one, come, I plead But me you do not heed. Come to me, dear one, come before The low sun draws his curtain of rose red. Come and lay your little head Against my heart, that I may love you more. I call to you dear Child ! Hark how ! Come back ! Oh, hide not from me now. BEREAVED 35 Come back and press against my side. Come back and laugh and say, " Now, sir, let us play " At hide and seek. You hide " And I will find you hide ! " Come back, dear one, and sit upon my knee, You were never shy, dear Child, with me. How did I dare To kiss you so ? Twos Love, not I, that kissed you. There I Come back, and we will go To feed your gold-fish in the, garden pool. You cannot go to school To-day, you are not well enough, you know. To-morrow you may though. To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow I And on that day of sorrow, On that bleak black day She went alone her way. And One was there to let her in, The Master of us all, She was so very small He took her in His arms within. And she is happy there, for He Has gardens far more beautiful Than those she loved to see When she came home from school. 36 THE POET'S POEM THE POET'S POEM WHAT shall I write ? The Poet sighed And opened his garret window wide. He looked below on the passing crowd, And the noise of the city was loud. And he said Not of Peace, but of Care I will write of that deepest despair That tears at the hearts of the poor Of the misery great they endure, When their children are praying for food. Can they think God is watchful and good, When they start and shiver in bed With cold, and their children cry for bread ? I will write of that dreary morn That steals on the outcasts forlorn, As they rise from their beds in the street, And are spurned by all whom they meet ; Till, mad by starvation, they cry In their agony " God, we shall die Like dogs in the streets do You care? You see us and heed not our prayer 1 " I will write of that wretched unknown, Who starves . in his garret alone . . . I will write this and call it A Life Where God and the Poor are at strife. AN OLD ANTHOLOGY 37 AN OLD ANTHOLOGY THE book was torn and shabbily bound I searched it through and through ; And on a faded page I found The name of William Drew. William Drew and Poet, I saw, But no verse of his to us is known ; No sonnet or ode from the half a score That rest in the book I own. No date of when he lived or where Of that the world will never know ; And knowing not his name will care ; But as the book is old, 'twas long ago. I read the verses he had penned. They were verses sad and sweet, As when great joy and sorrow blend, As when the heart for love doth beat. And then I came to a verse which read (His words have proved too true), " Fresh flowers thrive o'er last year's dead ' The World forgets the old year for the new.' LINES LINES THE first faint sight of land after a ten Days' stormy voyage on the seas. The sun Warm shining on the farmer's wheat-field when He feared the rain would ruin all that he had done ; A first-born to a mother, and a holiday To the schoolboy dawning clear and gay ; To thirsty wanderer, who long has searched in vain, A stream, when first the cool spring water sips ; Are sweet but sweeter far are lover's lips on lips ! IONA OMNIPOTENT GOD, dost from Thy High Seat smile Pleased upon the wicked and all-hardened face Of this our world ? If so, lona's lonesome isle Must claim that hallowed place. Here, whilst these lawless isles knew not Thy Name, From Ireland, with holy zeal, Columba came And raised to God his church, religion's chosen pile. As erst the scales dropped from the eyes of Saul, From sinful man before Columba's shrine they like- wise fall. SLEEP 39 SLEEP SOLACE of life ! sweet Sleep ; would thy caress Might ever close my aching eyes, nor would I Wake when bids the dawn, thy deputy ; the stress- Of present ills thou tak'st ; for every sigh Thou giv'st a smile. I know not of the life Beyond, but that it should atone the strife Men wage against our God on earth then why Should Sleep, eternal Sleep, appal ? God knows That in thy arms my tired soul would fain repose. AM I not happy ? Yes, but happiness Is like a pent-up stream, too deep and wide To prattle like the brook by watercress And wood ; flows solemnly and still, to bide The time when it shall reach a channel steep. So the soul, too full of love and joy, doth keep In silence and in thought, until its bliss Shall find an eager outlet in a storm Of breathless ecstacy before its giver's form. SHADOWS SHADOWS WHEN Death shall come to me, if grimly viewed, His closing arms I will elude ; And to crimson even I will fly, And be one with the shadows and the sky. CHILDREN O, CHILDREN are all born of Happiness Happiness who will wean them in the end. The secrets of their baby hearts to guess, To join their play in all she is their friend. WHEN THOU WAST YOUNG WHEN thou wast young I loved thee. Yes, And much thy beauty would extol ! I love thee now canst thou not guess ? I love thee for thy pure white soul. ASLEEP 41 ASLEEP How fares the child ? Are her slumbers deep ? I will go to her bed and see. She has not stirred since she went to sleep, Since she kissed good-night to me. She will wake when the lark's shrill song Floats down from the sky to the green ? I have come from her bed I have seen She will wake where the weary are strong. TO IVY AROUND the oak's heart clings the ivy vine. So when thy arms around me twine Thou hast no wish that is not mine, I have no life that is not thine. 42 HER GRAVE HER GRAVE I DUG the grave 'twas deep, oh ! deep- Deep in my heart I made the grave ; And she whom the angels denied me to keep, To the angels her spirit I gave. At the roots of my heart I buried my dear, And close, oh ! close to my soul. Her ways were the flowers I laid on that bier, And I water those flowers with dole. DEPARTURE A SMILE upon her lips, a whispered part Of a farewell no more And then the bark that bore her from my heart Set sail, and steered from shore. I saw her dimly through the mist That in my eyes so swiftly came, I saw the shadow sails assist To bear her to that land of happy name. I LONG TO SAY I LOVE THEE 43 I LONG TO SAY I LOVE THEE I LONG to say I love thee and to rid My bosom of its hopelessness. Thou hast Forgotten our early love, for years have passed, To change us both since then, and I have hid Within my heart the love that once I did Not hesitate to show. One night when last Thou cam'st, like thy own self, and held me fast With one arm round my neck as once, and bid Me tell thee why I was so sad, the tears Came flooding to my eyes, but I strove and smiled, Giving as answer thoughts of our younger years. With breaking heart I made thee comprehend, As one who tells a story to a child With a deep moral hidden at the end. YOUNG LOVE I ASKED thee, Dear One, in thy younger years As to a sister, if thou loved'st me ; When straightway thou, climbing upon my knee As thou wouldst often do to hide thy tears, Did'st kiss me for thy yes. Still I had fears, And wishing more to test thy constancy The reason asked. Another kiss from thee, And then " I love thee just for love, for love." 44 LOVE'S FORGIVENESS So when that night I laid me down in bed, Ere sleep had come to seal my eyes, I said, She loves me as she loves the star-lit sky, The dewy morning and the sun above, Which, like great love, we love so naturally, We never stop to ask the reason why. LOVE'S FORGIVENESS I COUNT upon my ringers one by one The happy years I loved thee as a child With curls close-clustering and blue eyes mild, Which now would beam with laughter, now o'errun With tears at something I had said or done In all the thoughtlessness of school-boy wild. But quickly through the tears thy dear eyes smiled, As after summer shower shines the sun. Forgive me, oh ! forgive me, dearest dear, That I was ever irritated by Thy ways, forgive me that I made thee cry ; Yet love me too ; oh, love me, love me thou ! For had my hard words never hurt thy ear, I would not love thee half so dearly now. FIRST LOVE 45 FIRST LOVE WHEN did I love thee first ? Why, no more than Thy years, though I was but in childhood when Thou wast born. I had been playing up the glen At camping out ; it seemed the birds began To tell me first the secret, for I ran Forewarned of something, though I knew not then How much 'twould bring to me, towards home again. Then, dear, I found that thou hadst come. I can Remember with what childish wonder thee I saw, lying by thy mother ; even now I see the smile with which she welcomed me, As with finger to her lips she showed me thou Didst sleep sweet sang the thrush upon the bough Outside, as I away stole silently. A DREAM AFTER a day's long thought of her, I dreamed Last night that we were playing in the fields. Her hair, caught by the breeze, would now and then Like gold corn tassels hide her sun-tanned cheeks, 46 LOVE AND TIME Then stream away behind, or cling around Her neck in half unwilling curls ; but when Her young fresh lips met mine in love's caress, It, falling wildly o'er her forehead's height, Would blind us, while I felt it on my mouth. Then we were climbing up a sea-lapped cliff- But, oh ! ere we could gain the topmost peak I woke, to hear the moaning of the wind Still loud within my ears, and restless waves That beat upon the brown, bleak beach below. LOVE AND TIME CRUEL Time, who is the foe of lovers parted, Long held me captive from my love. " I fear Thee, Time ! " I said ; but Love's voice in my ear I heard replying : " Do not be downhearted ; Naught can fade the cheek, so quickly started, As inconstancy in love. So keep good cheer ; When Love is by, Time cannot mark his year." I wondered at the knowledge Love imparted, And, half trusting and half doubting, waited long. Until at last from my despised thraldom I was free ; when, turning once more toward home, I saw her as the sun dropped down the sky Whispered, while I held her in embraces strong : " Now I know Time cannot harm when Love is by." LOVE'S TEACHING 47 LOVE'S TEACHING Beloved ! when a child thou wast wont to say To me who loved thee then with a boy's love, Who love thee now with love I try to prove Is man's that if I should not grow, but stay For thee, thy years would o'ertake mine some day. Then thou wouldst only laugh, the while I strove To make thee understand I was above Thee ever ; if we both grew old and grey I would be first to change. . . . And now how true ! But not as I foretold, for thou hast taught Me what my elder }7ears have never brought The love of man, which for thy sake would do, Till loving so I loved thee greater toa. Thus the years I hold above thee count as naught. WRITTEN AT HAMPSTEAD LAKE Where Shelley used to sail his paper boats HERE to this breezy upland stream once more, Oh, Hampstead, do the school-boys come, with free Unclouded faces, where I love to see Them at their play, as in the days of yore When Shelley sailed his paper boats, with straw For masts, at this same pond ; and you fancy How, with laughing children round, on bended knee He launched his tiny craft out from the shore. 48 WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COTTAGE Still do thy ships, oh, Shelley, sail their way, Not on this gentle lake, but o'er Life's sea Go journeying with words of gold, while they To every haven bear thy poesy. And ever so sail on until that day When man, or world itself, shall cease to be. WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COTTAGE Where I stopped for tea. BEHIND me I have left the city's roar, The burning streets, for fields and valleys cool ; And like a child I feel, just out of school. Here could I live, I thought, for evermore, Here in this cottage live and ask no store Of happiness so great or bountiful. Straightway I heard a voice, like one to rule Within me say (it spoke from my heart's core) : 1 Turn and go back from whence thy footsteps came, Learn to make others happy ; thou shalt be The first to feel its blest effects." Then ye Good people of this cottage Paradise, Farewell ! I go, and leave you both where Vice, And Crime, and Wretchedness are but a name ! THE SLUM CHILD THE SLUM CHILD STRAIGHT from the foulness of the city slum They brought him to fresh fields a withered child, Who stood bewildered 'mid the flowers wild. He asked if they were flowers, and said some Told him there were such things far from the hum Of London. So he sat amongst the cowslips, And plucked a few and smiled, with poor, pale lips That scarce could form a smile when it had come. We do not know, O God, what thou wilt give To us when we are called upon to leave This world. We feel Thy goodness while we live, We know Thy law, we pray, and we believe ; And for this child, who never knew a prayer, Heaven Thou hast, and he will love Thee there. 50 THE WAYS OF LIFE THE WAYS OF LIFE Two roads in my youth lie stretched before me ; The one I follow, groping in the dark. And Life is bitter, as the bitter bark Of quinine, and salt-bitter as the sea. On one hand flows a river sluggishly, While on the other side there lies a low And broken shore ; and always wild winds blow The dead leaves in a cloud across the lea Into the stream, where they float on and on. And ever with my hands before me spread, With halting steps I stumble on alone ; And ever this is ringing in my head The Ways of Life are hard for a great gain : The goal is reached, but only after pain. THE END WHEN from this mortal body pulse and breath And will shall all depart, and that may be E'en soon or late, for true it is that we Oft leave this life when least we think of death, Then this of me do write, the old man saith, And on my tomb inscribe, for all to see : " Here lieth one whose only enemy THE POET'S INSPIRATION 51 Throughout this life was Self ; and Self alone All hope, ambition, fame and love hath killed." He died ; the grave was unsought and unknown ; The twisted ivy twined an arm around And hid the letters " Self " ; the linnets found In leaves above his head a place to build, And roses dropped red petals on his stone. THE POET'S INSPIRATION THE Poet sighed, and said with deep despair : " How can I find in this great London's town That inspiration which my fame will crown ? The hurrying crowds I hate ; the smoky air Suits not my genius ; so away to fair Warm skies Italian." . . . Thrice had Autumn's brown Leaves strewn the ground, and thrice wild winds blown down The winter snow ere he returned with ne'er A new idea. But as he strode along Side streets he saw a starving child, scarce clad. He had seen many such, and passed ; then moved By sudden impulse gave him all he had ; And, lo ! he found unconsciously he loved Mankind, and that which he had sought so long. 52 THE POET'S THOUGHTS THE POET'S THOUGHTS WHAT are the Poet's thoughts, and whence come they? Surely the voice of God, which in his heart Finds utterance in that immortal art Called Poesy. Where oft another's way Leads by a flower, he sees but that alway ; But from the Poet's mind great thoughts upstart, Suggested by its bloom. So doth he part, But that sweet blossom never fades away. Blind Milton had no share in these delights. What need ! On wings of Poesy to heights Ne'er reached he soared high as the Pleiades, Searching the Heavens, poised upon the breeze Then, sweeping down like Lucifer, he writes Of Lethe, and of Hell, and sunless seas. ON A PORTRAIT OF KEATS In the National Gallery AND long I gaze before I turn to go. I seek to grave his image as I find It here, so like the life, upon my mind. His eyes of wondrous beauty shine as though He saw some glorious sight, for us to know But through his words, without which we are blind ; And in his face there's that when left behind Which draws us back, whether we will or no. AFTER READING SONNETS 53 We are in love with Keats in face as well As soul. When we have read again each line Of his immortal odes, we feel that where The purest beauty is, his soul doth dwell. Then Keats thou art not dead to us ! and ne'er Shall be, while we have with us songs like thine. Written after Reading " THE SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE " HER words are like notes clear and full heart strings That take all Cupid's skill to sound their song A melody that floats out rich and strong, Now deep, now low pathetic quiverings, Now piercing joy. Few strike the note which brings To them this music pure, for those who care But for Self-Love, and love not purely, bear No part where Love-Unselfish lives and sings. Yet all may make attempt ; and I have tried, And feel my soul hath found a voice in these High poems. But ne'er the less I cannot hide That I have not yet struck the golden keys By which I can call forth the Poet's whole I am too selfish still to gain her soul. 54 LOST HAPPINESS LOST HAPPINESS " So sad, so strange, the days that are no more ! " Back through the years I look with longing gaze ; The years that brought to me so many days Of happiness unmarred, alas ! are o'er ; And deep the cause thereof on my heart's core Is graved. Ah ! now I know it to be Self. Out of my Eden I drove forth myself, O could the peace I lost this life restore ! Happily there are griefs that can be borne : There is a sadness which when it is slept On, flies from the first sunbeam of the morn. There is Sorrow when friends, with you have wept. But over one pain sleep has no control, Nor morning stills the anguish of the soul. THE FIELD OF METZ CAN flowers with their petals purest white Spring from a field once dyed in blood ? They do. They spread like snow-flakes far as eye can view ; Their roots twine round the bones of one who might Be living now, to cheer his mother's sight. Men who had brothers, sisters, sweethearts, wives, Men face to face the first time in their lives Fell by each other's hands. God, is this right ? A LEGEND OF THE LAHN 55 To do or die for glory ! So they fight. ~ For that, twice fifteen thousand soldiers fell Pierced through ! and here at nameless graves we pray ! They fought as foes, those whom another day Perchance they might have met as friends ! Then well We may ask God Can this be is this right ? A LEGEND OF THE LAHN* THERE lies a valley far from here, A valley with a river bright and blue. Wild are the hills, and wild the deer That roam the forest through. Near by a ruined castle stands ; Two crumbling walls that now Frown down upon the barren lands That never know a farmer's plough. There is a legend of this valley told, And of the castle on the hill. Though many a season's moons have rolled Away, it haunts me still. *A river in Germany, a tributary of the Rhine. 56 A LEGEND OF THE LAHN Twas in the days when knights in armour fought And fell for glory and renown ; When Charlemagne's proud banner caught The sun from every citadel and town. There in his stronghold now no more A young Count lived, and with his train His only thought to hunt the boar, And fly the falcon for the crane. Once while returning from a longer chase Which led him many a mile away, He came at even to a place He had not seen before that day. The river wide before him spread, The waves were gleaming in the setting sun ; He stretched himself upon the sandy bed, And dreamily watched the waters run. All was so still and all so calm, He noticed not the day was done, As with his head upon his arm He dreamily watched the waters run. The reeds on the bank of the river moved, And the waters rushed back in two rippling curves, And a maiden as fair as the day he loved Arose from the waves whose God she serves. A LEGEND OF THE LAHN 57 Arose from the waves of the river wide, A nymph of loveliest form and mien ; Her hair in two golden braids was tied, And she wore a crown of river-grass green. He fell in love with this nymph of the stream, And spent all his time as her thrall ; The pleasures of hunting became as a dream, And his charger stood still in his stall. His falcon grew tired of wearing her hood, And his hounds grew weary of play ; The boar roamed unhurt without fear in the wood, And the crane took unheeded her way. The maiden he loved as he ne'er loved before, And she unto him her love would oft tell ; And over again every day he swore He'd ne'er love another, he loved her too well. The fairy-like maiden would then only smile, And her smile was both happy and sad, As she said to him, slowly and sadly the while, " Remember, young knight, that love is soon had. " We daughters of old Father Rhine, We love only once, and we love not again ; So if you desert me, for aye must I pine, And spend all my days in weeping and pain. 58 A LEGEND OF THE LAHN " And my sighs you will hear as you dance in your hall, Will hear as you hunt in the glen ; The waves of the river our love will recall To the pines on the hill- top again. " The reeds of the river will murmur it through To the willows that wave on the shore Thou shalt hear it again, whate'er thou may'st do, But me shalt thou never see more." But the knight only laughed, and said as he smiled, " Never fear for my love's reality." And he swore at the feet of the River God's Child An oath of eternal fidelity. So days and so weeks and so months passed away, As light as the clouds in the sun ; And the knight remained faithful and loving alway, As loving and faithful as he had begun. But in time he grew weary of love's first kiss, Grew tired of love's first embrace ; He thought of the wild deer and hunts he would miss, And he longed all the more for the chase. Day by day the maiden saw, How his love it cooler grew ; Day by day she wandered by the shore, And day by day the more unhappy too. A LEGEND OF THE LAHN 59 She waited by the river there, Half hid amid the rustling reeds, About her fell her golden hair, But he came not o'er the meads. Then as she waited, heard from far away His bugle blow to cheer the horse and hound ; She sighed, she raised her lovely arms to pray, Her heart was breaking at the sound. Fainter again she heard the bugle sound Across the valley wild and up the hill ; Faint and more faint the baying of the hound And then once more the woods were still. A knight was found soon after dead He rested beneath a tall pine tree, And at his feet the river bed : And the winds through the reeds moaned drearily And his castle was left to crumble away, And flowers bloomed in the lofty hall, Where the white owl rested at day, 'Till naught remained but the outer wall. And many have said, and swear it is true, When the setting sun throws the valley in gloom (The valley with the river that runs it through) They have heard from the pines that loom 60 A LEGEND OF THE LAHN Dark on the hill, and from the brown bull-rush That waves in the stream, a voice that murmurs and cries ; And it rises and falls on the evening's hush A sound of wailing, a sound of sighs. And they say 'tis the river-maiden, who sighs And who mourns for her false lover-knight ; And the peasantry all with frightened eyes Shun the wild valley at night. And the river runs through the valley wild, And circles the hill with the castle stone ; And the peasants tell of the river child Who haunts the river-shore with moan. And the river runs through the valley wide, And the wind at night bends the rushes o er. Till they shiver and murmur, side by side, In the waves that whisper to the shore. AT LAST 61 AT LAST WHEN I at last am dead, Carried from my death-bed, Place a cold stone at my head, And then pass by. Drop not a foolish tear Upon my lone grave here, For when the end draws near, It is not hard to die. But in your hearts this say, He lies as we shall lie some day, All his faults are swept away, Only good remains for aye. 62 SOHO SQUARE SCENE. An old man and woman resting under the shelter of a portico. They are clothed in rags and emaciated. (Aside) NEWSBOY (to Stranger) : Yes, sir, you'll find them here every night ; They think they're children, and call each other foolish names. Listen ! OLD MAN. Sit closer, dearest Ann so ; lean thy head Against my bosom. Didst ever know a mother ? ANN. Oxford Street's my mother, or every street And stone in London, for I've known them all Since I first 'gan to notice things. OLD MAN. A hard, Cruel mother. ANN. And one that gives birth every day To many such as I. Hast thou a mother ? OLD MAN. I do not know. But often in my dreams There comes a face a sweet and gentle face I see it bending over me as though I lay in bed indeed, I feel as if I were in bed, and she my mother come To kiss good-night. Then she is gone, o.nd I Awake to darkness and to cold. I see Her often now of late. I cannot think What it may mean. SOHO SQUARE 63 ANN. Is't all thou canst remember, That sweet face ? OLD MAN. Yes, all. ANN. But why think 'tis thy mother ? Like as not it is an angel, although angels Must hate London town. OLD MAN (absently). If it is my mother, How came I here, and wherefore does she not Come to me ? If not my mother, why then do I see this vision sweet, and think 'tis she ? O where my mother ? Where am I ? Oh, oh, oh ! ANN. If 'tis thy mother she will come to thee. O would that I had dreams like thine. O would A sweet and gentle face bend over me, E'en though in a dream. But all is dark As this black square ; or, if I dream it is To dream of never-ending terraces, And hurrying crowds with hideous heads, That ever urge me on o'er fiery streets That scorch and burn my feet till I fall down Insensible. OLD MAN. That's strange, for I oft dream That I am near a blazing fire, but feel No warmth ; instead grow colder till I wake Up shivering. 64 SOHO SQUARE ANN. What are dreams ? OLD MAN. If I should see An angel in my dreams, I'd think that dreams Were glimpses into Heaven. But I do not know. ANN. I fear we dream of Hell. OLD MAN. Then we do drearn Of London. ANN. Then I do dream of mother. OLD MAN. Canst thou remember no sweet face, no home However mean, no father and no mother ? ANN. I have said I can remember nothing. Yet, strange it seems so very long ago, I knew a man a great gruff man but he Was not my father least, I do not think so. I often see him in my dreams oh, God ! OLD MAN. Poor child ! Poor dear ! Draw closer unto me, And let thy long curls mingle with mine own. ANN. They are as black as mine are golden. See How these fine threads so stray and mix with thine, Like starry clusters that in black skies do shine 1 SOHO SQUARE 65 OLD MAN. Thy feet are cruelly torn. Hast thou had food Or nourishment of any kind to-day ? ANN. Nay, tell me first didst thou ? and if may-hap Thou didst, then thou wilt feel the more for me. OLD MAN. Alas, too well I know thou didst go hungry ! Poor Ann ! and I have nought. Why do all spurn A child like thee ? Thy little pleading ways Would melt the heart of hardest man, and not To speak of woman. Did none give to thee ? ANN. None ; and yet one woman gave me much a smile Which still I live on, albeit 'twas sad, And not the happy one I should have looked for In one so finely dressed. OLD MAN. Didst thou know aught of her ? ANN. No, but I have seen so many like her. OLD MAN. Street Walkers they are called. ANN. I do not know But they are kind to me, when no one else Is kind. I think that I could live on kindness. OLD MAN. They are our sisters in calamity. 66 SOHO SQUARE ANN. They are fallen angels. OLD MAN. Ay, but will they go To Heaven ? ANN. Many will, that I am sure. OLD MAN. In all the thousand thousand souls that brush Thee by in London, does no one smile on thee ? ANN. Alas ! more pennies I receive than smiles. But what didst thou to-day ? OLD MAN. I paced the streets. I cannot think why all do spurn me so. To one I said " Can I do aught for thee ? For I am young, but have not Youth's full strength For hunger, yet will I wait on thee." " Poor fool ! " I heard him say, though not unkindly, as He turned away. They all do call me that " Poor fool ! " What means it, dear ? I am no fool, But only weak and hungry that is all. ANN. Thou'hast had nothing, then. Oh, would I were A dog, such as I see dressed up in coats A little pampered thing, no bigger than The muff fine ladies carry in the Park. SOHO SQUARE 67 OLD MAN. Dogs have no souls. ANN. I am not sure of that Surer am I that many men have none. There is a God. OLD MAN. Ay, truly, dearest Ann ! And let us go to Him, for He will love us. ANN. God lives in Heaven. We cannot go there. OLD MAN. God lives in the country and in the fields, And in the woods and hills and purling streams. God lives in the song-birds, in the flowers. Thou canst not kill a bird but God will grieve, Nor pluck a daisy without hurting God. ANN. Then God will love us there ! OLD MAN. Ay, that He will. ANN. But where is this country thou dost speak of ? OLD MAN. Why, 'tis not far from here. For one morn when That great bright star above us was the last Left shining in the sky, and all the streets Still silent and rich London slept, I saw A man who drove to Covent Garden Market, 68 SOHO SQUARE His wagon so high-heaped with vegetables, It seemed a green field moving, and I asked, Fearing he would not heed me, " Come you from The country ? Is it very far from here ? " " An hour's steady drive, and would that I Were back," said he. " I hate the crowded town ! " Then pointing down that long street looking north, He told me it would bring me to fresh fields. " But you are old," he said, " and cannot walk." I laughed aloud, and tried to run to show Him I was still a Youth, but slipped and fell. He drove off, saying what they always say " Poor fool ! " ANN. Yes, but the country ! the green fields ! How reach them, and what like are they once reached ? OLD MAN. Much like the Park, dear Ann, only they stretch Away for ever ; no unwholesome streets, But pleasant paths that wander everywhere. No city- walls surround us, but the hills ; Upon our faces feel no poisonous gas, But the flower-scented breeze ; above our heads No smoke and fog, but sunshine and blue sky, And milk-white clouds that make me long to ride Upon their brilliant backs. ANN. And we can wander wild O'er field and fell ? SOHO SQUARE 6c* OLD MAN. Assuredly, dear Ann. ANN. Then here we stay too long ? Let us to God. I long to see His country let us go ! OLD MAN. Alas ! thy little feet can carry thee No farther now, and thou art weak ; thy head Ere I did speak of God was heavy on My shoulder but, yes, let us go, and when Thou art a weary I will help thee so ! Or rest awhile, thy head upon my breast. ANN. Let us to God and leave behind this Hell. OLD MAN. In London we will then no longer dwell. (They move away slowly.} NEWSBOY (briskly to Stranger) : They will be back again to-morrow night. When- morning comes They forget where they are going, and wander up and down The streets. Men around here say they are not long for this world. What do you think ? BURLEIGII LTD., BRISTOL.