. { wm 'Mm wm ///7 POEMS AUBREY DE VERE. LONDON : BURNS & LAMBERT, 17, PORTMAN STREET, AND 63, PATERNOSTER ROW 1855. ^53 • • • • LONDON : R. CLAY, TRINTER, BREAD STREET HILl!. TO THE VERY REVEKEND JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D.D. RECTOR OF THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF IRELAND, THIS VOLUME TS DEDICATED WITH THE UTMOST RESPECT AND GRATITUDE. 411446 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/devepoemsOOdeverich j INTRODUCTION. Nearly half of the present volume has been published before. Of the remaining poems few have been recently composed ; though several have been retouched at a period later than that of their composition. For one portion of them, that on "sacred sub- jects," some apology is, perhaps, due. Poetry, like every other authentic Art, finds, of course, her proper place among the Handmaidens of Religion. Her service, however, is twofold — direct and indirect : and when, without venturing to claim the title of sacred poetry, she yet treats directly on "sacred subjects," she may too often be charged with intruding into a region more elevated than her own. To Poetry commonly belongs rather the refracted and coloured beam than the white light ; and the humblest is often the highest offering VI INTRODUCTION. which she can lay on the Altar. In illustrating that divine beauty which still hangs in broken gleams around a fallen world; — in tracing a love more than human which lives within the human affections ; — in cherishing justice and truth as the foundations unremoved amid the fleeting pageantry of outward things ; — and in thus inculcating fidelity to the righteous cause, especially when obscured or trampled down ; — in doing these things, Poetry discharges a moral function, auxiliary to a higher teaching than her own: and thus much, without departing from her subordinate sphere, she cannot but do in proportion as her inspiration is pure, and her purpose sincere. In extenuation, then, of attempts which may be condemned as rash, I have only to observe that the sacred subjects touched on in the latter portion of this volume, belong, for the most part, rather to the border land of Religious Philosophy and Art, than to Religion, properly so called. CONTENTS. POEMS :— PAGE The Infant Bridal. A Tale of the Olden Time 1 King Henry the Second at the Tomb of King Arthur . . 13 Epitaph 20 The Solitary 21 Song— " Breath divine of morning odours ! " 23 Song—" Sing the old song, amid the sounds dispersing " . 25 Queen Bertha at her Vespers 26 Queen Bertha's Vigil 27 Queen Bertha's Alms 29 Queen Bertha's Matin Song 30 The Martyrs of Fatherland 33 To Burns's " Highland Mary " 40 SONNETS :— Colonization 48 The Year of Sorrow 51 Widowhood 63 The Irish Celt to the Irish Norman ; or, The Last Irish Confiscation 65 Psyche; or, An Old Poet's Love 77 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS :— •'Cold, pure, reviving, med'cinahle gales" 103 On the Death of a Good King 104 On the Fall of a Usurper ib. Poland 105 To the Nobility of England, 1848 ib. To Honour 106 National Strength ib. On a Convent. 107 A Convent School in a Corrupt City ib. VIU CONTENTS. PAGE MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS, continued:— " The reason why we love thee, dost thou ask ? " . . . .108 Troilus and Cressida. 1 ib. Troilus and Cressida. 2 109 Urania ib. On a Portrait 110 "Virgin! at placid mom, and when the airs " ib. To a Just Lawyer Ill A Churchyard. 1 ib. A Churchyard. 2 112 Constancy of Character ib. False Friendship 113 ** Free bom, it is my purpose to die free " ib. The Poetry of Life 114 *' Painter, in endless fame most sure to live " ib. Incompatibility 115 ** The happiest lovers that in verse have writ" ib. A Poet to a Painter 116 The Fall of Bacon ib. Spring Song 117 Second Spring Song 118 •' I take the gift you give me, friends " 119 Song — "Seek not the tree of silkiest bark" ib. " Heart, wingM once ; self-doomed" 120 Song—" Though oft beguiled, my friend, before " 121 To 122 Lines written at Halsteads 123 A Farewell to Naples 127 Lines — *♦ From coral caves and sunless mines" 130 Modern Philosophy 131 A Protestant's Musings at Rome 135 Sonnet — Early Friendship 149 Sonnet — Dmdgery 150 Sonnet— Old and Modern Learning 151 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL :— St. Peter's by Moonlight 153 Pontific Service in the Sistine Chapel 154 The Pillar of Trajan ib. The Arch of Titus 155 The Campagna seen from St. John Lateran ib. Birds in the Baths of Diocletian 156 The " Miserere" in the Sistine Chapel. 1 ib. The " Miserere " in the Sistine Chapel. 2 157 CONTENTS. ^ IX PAGE SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL, continued :— The Renaissance, and Savonarola. 1 157 The Renaissance, and Savonarola. 2 158 Frescoes by Masaccio ib. Giotto's Campanile at Florence 159 Old Pictures at Florence ib. On a Picture by Correggio at Parma 160 Correggio's Cupolas at Parma ib. To Italy. 1. . . 161 To Italy. 2 ib. Genoa , 162 A Picture by Andrea del Sarto, in the Cathedral of Pisa . . ib. The Campo Santo at Pisa. 1 163 The Campo Santo at Pisa. 2 ib. Written in Tasso's House at Sorrento 164 The Sibyl's Cave at Cuma ib. Venice by Day 165 Venice in the Evening . , ib. In a Cathedral 166 Leonardo's "Last Supper" at Milan ib. The Milanese School 167 The Cathedral of Milan ib. Byzantine Mosaics at Ravenna 168 The " Santa Casa " at Loretto ib. Written while sailing on the Gulf of Lepanto 169 The Setting of the Moon near Corinth ib. To a Mountain in Switzerland. 1 170 To a Mountain in Switzerland. 2 ib. To a Mountain in Switzerland. 3 171 The Chapel of Tell, (on the Lake of Lucerne) ib. The Mountain Muse 172 To a Flower on the Skirts of Mont Blanc ib. The Mountain Language 173 A Tyrolese Village ib. The Catacombs at Rome 174 The Appian Way ib. POEMS ON SACRED SUBJECTS:— Persecution 177 The Martyrdom 178 Ode — "The marvels of the seas and earth" 181 Lines — " The lights o'er yonder snowy range " 182 Nocturn Hymn . 183 The Moralist and the Christian 184 : CONTENTS. PAGE POEMS ON SACRED SUBJECTS, continued :— Magdalene in tbe Desert 185 Adam refuses the Presents of the Evil Race 1 87 Fragments on Truth 189 Spiritual Guidance 192 The Prodigal 193 Association of Ideas 194 Reality .195 Humanity 196 Via Tntelligentiae 197 Religious Hypochondria ib. Liberalism 198 Law and Grace 199 The Soul's Waste 200 An Epitaph ib. Alms 201 Inscriptions for Way-side Fountains and Oratories .... ib. Ceremonial 202 Songs : — " Her sable tresses swelled more bright " 203 St. Thecla 204 St. Cecilia's Song 205 Martha and Mary 206 Consolations 207 Warnings 208 Song for the Feast of the Purification 209 Hymns for the Canonical Hours : — *• Lord of the Lords of all the earth " 211 Peace 213 ** He giveth His beloved sleep" 214 •' In tliat cold cave with spices sweet" 215 " The stars shine bright while earth is dark ! " . . .216 " A low sweet voice from out the brake " 218 Christ our Example 220 To the Holy Spirit 221 Hymn for the Feast of the Holy Innocents 222 Hymn to the Meek 224 A Carol from the Catacombs 230 Hymn for the Feast of the Annunciation 232 Hymn for the Building of a Cottage 235 Hymn for Good Friday 241 Washing the Altar 244 Self-Sacrifice 245 A Tale of the Modern Time 246 CONTENTS. XI PAGE SONNETS :— *• Love to the tender ; peace to those who mourn" . . .261 Law and Grace 262 Law and Anarchy i^- Churches . 2G3 " Ye praise the humble : of the meek ye say " ib. <♦ That depth of love the Church doth bear to thee "... 264 " Be still, ye Senates: hear, and God will speak" .... ib. The Vastness of the Gospel lost in its Simplicity .... 265 Fame «*• Felicitas at her Martyrdom 266 " Blessed is he who hath not trod the ways" ib. Evidences of Religion. 1 267 Evidences of Religion. 2 ib. "The golden fruits of Earth's autumnal store" 268 Consecration of a New House ib. " What man can hear sweet sounds and dread to die ? " . . 269 The Alexandrian Version of the Scriptures ib. Religious Antiquarianism 270 *• Now, now, ye kings and rulers of the earth " . . . . ib. Simplicity and Steadfastness of Mind 271 Spiritual Ties symbolized through Natural ib. Penitence 272 Discipline of the Church. (Penitential I.) ib. Discipline of the Church. (Penitential II.) 273 Penitential Seasons ib. Magdalene 274 On a Picture of the Magdalene ib. Discipline of the Church. (Commemorative) 275 The Beatific Vision of the Earth. 1 ib. The Beatific Vision of the Earth. 2 276 The Beatific Vision of the Earth. 3 ib. Moral Application of Miracles 277 To ■ ib. The Constellation of the Plough 278 Natural Religion ib. " It was not with your gold, nor with your merit "... 279 Religious Literature ib. The Dying Platonist 280 Initiative Faith ib. Conversion 281 The Communion of Saints ib. " Sad is our youth, for it is ever going " 282 Evanescence of the Patriarchal Religion ib. Sorrow 283 Xll CONTENTS. PAGE SONNETS, continued:— Meditation 283 Nature and Grace 284 Universal History ib. Truth 285 Aspiration and Resignation. 1 ib. Aspiration and Resignation. 2 286 Prayers for the Conversion of England. 1 ib. Prayers for the Conversion of England. 2 . 287 Grace Dieu ib. " ' Sleep dwell within thine eyes, peace in thy breast ' " . 288 Valerian and Cecilia ib. Rome at Noon 289 HYMNS :— The Feast of St. Agatha . 293 The Feast of St. Lucy 295 St. Augustine of Canterbury 297 St. Paulinus 298 St. Anastasia at Aquileia 299 The Feast of Peter's Chains 303 The Feast of St. Peter's Chair at Rome 305 NOTES ,' ... 315 POEMS. %\t |ntot §riiral A TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME. PART I. Of old between two nations was great war. Its cause no mortal knew ; nor when begun ; Therefore they combated so much the more, The sire his sword bequeathing to the son : TiU gentleness and joy had wholly fled, And well nigh every hand with blood was red. In vain the mother wept. Her sighs were blown Away by the loud gust of popular rage. In vain the young fair widow made her moan : In vain the tender virgin would engage Her love to gentler thoughts. He rushed to arms, Proud of her beauty pale, and loud alarms. r^ ,-,,., , , T3E' INFANT BRIDAL, Glory, for Honour a blind substitute In hearts aspiring and a servile will, On to the battle ehaaed them. Man and brute, Horseman and horse, by the same trumpet-thrill Were borne into the frenzy of red fields. Ghastly ere night with dead, upstaring from their shields. 4. Glory at first, and after glory. Shame ; Shame to propose the compact, first to bend ; And Fear, \/hich masks full oft in Valour's name, And doth false honour hke a shade attend ; Fear to be thought to fear — these plagues did urge The maniacs forward with a threefold scourge. 5. •Both kingdoms raging thus in fever fit More direful every hour became their spleen : The sleeping boy full oft his brow would knit Against a foeman he had never seen : Full oft the man of venerable hairs Bowed to the dust his head depressed by griefs and cares. 6. Valley and town lay drowned in tears and sorrow. Each noontide trembled with perturbed annoy : And no one dared expect a kinder morrow. To be a mother was no more a joy. Hope no more hovered o'er the cradle. Love Wept ; and no friend had heart such anguish to reprove. THE INFANT BRIDAL. How often to a little sleeping child, Smiling, and sleeping on the mother's knee. That mother thus complained. " Ah, little child ! " God only knows if it be good for thee " My comforter, my solace, to have come " Down to this world so harsh and wearisome ! " Happy awhile with me thy spirit dwells ; " Awhile contented 'mid the petty range ^* Of daily things, to thee all miracles. " For arms thou dost not sigh, nor pant for change. ** Thy dreams are bloodless : thou dost smile when sleeping, " In Eden founts thy new-born fancies steeping. 9. " Ah, must that brow, so clear, so smooth, so white, " By a hard ruthless helm be one day prest ? " Ah, must the red lance in its murderous might " One day pierce through, and gore that tender breast ? " Ah, little infant ! must thou lie one day " Far, far from me, cold clay upon cold clay ? 10. " Wherefore so fast do these thy ringlets grow ? " Stay Httle child, be alway what thou art, " That I may ever, while the rough winds blow, " Clasp thee as now, and hide thee in my heart. " Where found you those new words ? I fear each day " To hear thee cry, ^ Mother, I must away.' 4: THE INFANT BRIDAL. 11. " Is this to be a mother 1 I am none — " And yet I fear to lose a gift not prized. '^ Is this, ah God, to have a little son 1 " Are these my prayers ? my dreams thus realized ? I " Defrauded of my own while visibly here, " How can I hope, O child, to deck far off thy bier V PART II. 1. The hosts, in silence marching on all night, At sunrise met upon the battle plain. The monarchs there engaged in single fight : There by a rival's hand was either slain. Long time men stood in gloom, stern, and sad-hearted ; Then, bound by solemn vows, homeward in peace departed. 2. A counsel went there forth. Each Eling had left Behind a blooming infant ; one a boy, A girl the other ; both alike bereft ; Both innocent ; both meet for love and joy ; Both heirs of sorrow. Holy Church these twain Shall join in one, men cried ; and peace be ours again. THE INFANT BRIDAL. Who first devised the expedient no one knows. Perhaps old sages, after long debate, And loud lament of immemorial woes, Bending their deep brows in a hall of State, Conceived the project : and from Fancy sought A cure for ills by rage fantastic wrought. 4. Some chief perhaps, of all his sons bereft. And now half blind in his forlorn old age. Cried loud in anguish while his tower he left To hide him in a moss-grown hermitage, " Hear ye my words, and on your hearts engrain them, " Love gave me many children : Hate hath slain them." 5. Haply some maiden, for the war deserted, Exclaimed, " I would that little warlike pair " Had loved as long as war the loved hath parted." Perhaps kind angels called her wish a prayer. Enough : I tell an ancient legend, told By better men than I, long dead and cold. 6. While the young bride in triumph home was led. They strewed beneath her litter branches green ; And kissed light flowers, then rained them on a head Unconscious as the flowers what all might mean. Men, as she past them, knelt ; and women raised Their children in their arms, who laughed and gazed. D THE INFANT BRIDAL. That pomp approacliing woodland villages, j Or shadowing convents piled near rivers dim, The church-bells from grey towers girt round with tree^ ] Eeiterated their loud, wordless hymn ; ; And golden cross, and snowy choir serene ] Moved on, old trunks, and older towers between. i i 8- j An hour ere sunset fi*om afar they spied j The city walls : dark myriads round them clinging : \ Now o'er a carpeted expanse they glide ; I Now the old bridge beneath their tread is ringing : ; They reach the gate — they pass the towers below — ] And now once more emerge, a glittering show ! j J '■ \ O what a rapturous shout receives them, blending i Uncounted bells with chime of human voices ! ] That fortress old, as on they wind ascending, \ Like the mother of some victor chief rejoices. ^ From every window tapestries wave : among * The steep & glittering roofs group above group they throng I la ] The shrine is gained. Two mighty gates expanding | Let forth a breeze of music onward gushing, i In pathos lulled, yet awful and commanding ; ■ Down sink the crowds, at once their murmur hushing. ' Filled with one soul, the smooth procession slowly \ Advances with joined palms, cross-led, and lowly. j THE INFANT BRIDAL. 7 11. Lo ! where thej stand in yon high, fan-roofed chamber — Martyrs and Saints in dyed and mystic glass With sumptuous haloes, vermeil, green and amber, Flood the far aisles, and all that by them pass : Rich like their painter's visions — in those gleams Bkzoning the burden of his Patmian dreams ! 12. A forest of tall lights in mystic cluster Like fire-topped reeds, from their aerial station Pour on the group a mild and silver lustre : Beneath the blessing of that constellation The rite proceeds — pure source whence rich increase Of love henceforth, and piety, and peace. 13. Small was the ring, and small in truth the finger ! What then ? the faith was large that dropped it down ; A faith to Heaven that soared (for Hope had winged her) And won from Heaven a perdurable crown. A germ of Love, at pHghting of that troth Into each bosom sank ; and grew there with its growth. 14. The ladies held aloft the bridal pair : They on each other smiled, and gazed around With unabashed delight, and generous air. Their infant brows with golden circlet bound. The prelates blessed them, and the nobles swore True faith and fealty by the swords they bore. 8 THE INFANT BRIDAL. 15. Home to the palace, still in order keeping, That train returned ; and in the stateliest room Laid down their lovely burden, all but sleeping, Together in one cradle's curtained gloom : And lulled them with low melody, and song. And jest past lightly 'mid the courtly throng. 16. Great is the sanctity of marriage rites — Therefore of these will I no more declare. Comus, away ! and ye, too curious Sprites, Touch not that couch, that curtain's fringe forbear ! Sleep, little lovers, sleep at will, or wake — Good night ! our worthless song must not your slum- bers break. PART III. 1. :, i Ah, lovely sight ! behold them — creatures twain, ] Hand in hand wandering through some verdant alley, ^ Or sunny lawn of their serene domain, j Their wind-caught laughter echoing musically ; j Or skimming in pursuit of bird-cast shadows \ With feet immaculate the enamelled meadows. \ THE INFANT BRIDAL. 9 2. Tiptoe now stand they by some towering lily ; ' And fain would peer into its snowy cave : Now the boy bending o'er some current chilly, The feebler backward draws him from the wave ; But he persists, and gains for her at last Some bright flower from the dull weeds hurrying past. 3. Oft if some age(J priest the cloister crossed, Both hands they caught ; and bade him explicate (That nought of good through idlesse might be lost) At large all duties of the nuptial state. And oft each other kissed with infant glee, As though this were some great solemnity. In some old missal sometimes would they look. Touching with awe the illuminated page ; And scarce for tears the spectacle might brook Of babes destroyed by Herod's murderous rage. Here sank a Martyr in ensanguined vest : With more famihar smile there beamed the Virgin blest. 5. Growing, their confidence as quickly grew : Light pet, and childish quarrel seldom came. To make them lighter yet, and yet more few, Their nurse addressed them thus — an ancient dame^ — " Children, what perfect love should dwell, I ween, " 'Twixt husband and young wife, 'twixt King and Queen. 10 THE INFANT BRIDAL. " The turtle, widowed of her mate, no more " Lifts her lone head ; but pines, and pining dies. " In many a tomb 'mid yon Cathedral hoar, " Monarch or Knight beside his lady lies : " Such tenderness and truth they shewed, that fate " No power was given their dust to separate. " Eachael, not less, and Ruth whereof men read " In book ordained our life below to guide, " Loved her own husband each, in word and deed, " Loved him full well, nor any loved beside. " And Orpheus too, and Pyramus, men say, " Though Paynim born, lived true, and so shall live for aye. " What makes us, children, to good Angels dear ? " Unblemished Truth, and hearts in sweet accord. " These also draw the people to revere " With stronger faith their King and Sovereign Lord. " Then perfect make your love, and amity " Alway : but most of all if men are by." Such lore receiving ofttimes hand in hand Those babes walked gravely : at the garden gates Meantime the multitude would flock and stand, And hooded nuns look downwards from their grates. These when the Princes marked, they moved awhile With loftier step, and more majestic smile : THE INFANT BRIDAL. 11 10. Or sat enthroned upon some broidered bank (The lowlier flowers in wrecks around them thrown) Shadowed with roses rising rank on rank : And there, now wreathed, now leaning into one, They talked, and kissed, again and yet again. To please good Angels thus ; and win good men. 11. Swift rolled the years. The boy now twelve years old. Vowed to the Cross and honourable war, For Palestine deserts our northland cold. Her husband — playmate — is he hers no more ! Up to his hand, now timid first she crept, — ^ Farewell,' he said : she sighed. He kissed her and she wept. 12. A milk-white steed ; a crest whose snowy pride Like wings, or maiden tresses drooped apart : A Cross between : and (every day new dyed) Fair emblem on his shield, a bleeding heart. Marked him far ofi' from all. Not mine to tell What fields his valour won : what knights before him feU. 13. No barbarous rage that host impelled ; but zeal For Christian faith, and sacred rights profaned ! And Triumph smiled upon the avenging steel That smote the haughty, and set free the chained. Foremost he fought. In Victory's final hour Star-bright he shone from Salem's topmost tower ! 12 THE INFANT BRIDAL. 14. Swift as that Fame, which hke an Angel ran Before him on a glory-smitten road, Homeward the princely boy returned, a man. A loveHer Angel graced their old abode — But where his youthful playmate ? where ? half-dazed Each on the other's beauty wondering gazed. 15. Strange joy they found all day in wandering over The spots in which their childish sports had been ; Husband and wife whilome, now loved and lover, A broken hght brightened yet more the scene ! Night came : a gay yet startled bride he led, Old rites scarce trusting, to the bridal bed. 16. No more remains of all this grand old story. They loved with love eternal : spent their days In peace, in good to man, in genuine glory. No spoils unjust they sought, nor unjust praise. Their children loved them and their people blessed — God grant us all such lives — in Heaven for aye such rest 17. But ye profane and unbelieving crowd ! Who dare to mock our childish bridal, cease ! Make answer first, and answer make aloud, Unblest was that which gave two kingdoms peace ? Much less, much less the high-souled Muse approves Grey hairs in rage and hate, than infant loves ! 13 f ing ^mxu i\t Bum^ at t\t %m^ af ling ^xt\ux. PART I. Why put the great in Time their trust ? Whate'er on earth we prize Of dust was made, and is but dust, For all its brave disguise. No boor but one day with the just May triumph in the skies ! 2. Ambition doth but chase a gleam. An idol toy the sword ! The crown a mockery ; power a dream — For Christ alone is Lord. This lore King Henry learned : — Of him I will a tale record. 14 KING HENRY II. 3. The tourney past, in festival Baron and knight were met : Last pomp it was that graced the hall Of great Plantagenet ; A Prince for valour praised by aU, More famed for wisdom yet. The board rang loud with kingly cheer : Light jest, and laugh, and song Rang swiftly round from peer to peer : Alone on that gay throng The harper looked with eye severe, The while in unknown tongue A mournful dirge abroad he poured ; Sad strains, forlorn, and slow : Poor wreck of music prized and stored Long centuries ago On Briton hills ere Saxon sword Had stained as yet their snow. 6. " Strike other chords," the monarch cried ; " Whatever thy words may be, " They sound the dirge of festal pride : " Warriors, not monks are we ! " The melodies to grief allied " No music make for me." AT THE TOMB OF KING ARTHUR. 15 7. The harper's eye with warlike fire One moment shone ; no more. His lips, but now compressed in ire, A smile disdainful wore, While forth from each resounding wire Its fiercer soul he tore. a Louder and louder pealed the strain, More wild, and soul-entrancing : Picturing now helmets cloven in twain ; Now swords like tneteors glancing ; Now trampling hosts o'er hill and plain Retreating and advancing. Each measure, mightier than the last, Rushed forth, stern triumphs wooing ; Like some great angel on the blast From Heaven to Heaven pursuing With outspread pinion, far and fast, A host abhorred to ruin. 10. The bard meanwhile with' cold, stern air, Looked proudly on the proud, Fixing unmoved a victor's stare On that astonished crowd — 'Till all the princes gathered there Leaped up, and cried aloud : 16 KING HENRY II. 11. " What man, what chief, what crowned head, " Eternal heir of fame, *' Of all that live, or all the dead, " This praise shall dare to claim ? " — Then rose that British bard, and said, " King Arthur is his name." 12. " What sceptre grasped King Arthur's hand ? " " The sceptre of this Isle." " What nations bled beneath his brand ? " " The Saxon foe erewhile." " His tomb ? " was Henry's next demand — " He sleeps in yonder pile." 13. Forth went the King with all his train. At the mid hour of night ; They pac3d in pairs the silent plain Under the red torch-light. The moon was sinking in her wane, The tower yet glimmered bright. AT THE TOMB OF KING ARTHUR. 17 PART II. Through Glastonbury's cloister dim The midnight winds were sighing ; Chaunting a low funereal hymn For those in silence lying, Death's gentle flock 'mid shadows grim Fast bound, and unreplying. Hard by, the monks their mass were saying ; The organ evermore Its wave in alternation swaying On that smooth sweU upbore The voice of their melodious praying Toward heaven's eternal shore. 3. Ere long a princely multitude Moved on through arches grey Which yet, though shattered, stand where stood (God grant they stand for aye !) Saint Joseph's church of woven wood On England's baptism day. c 18 ' KING HENRY II. ;• '■ . i The grave they found ; their swift strokes fell \ Piercing dull earth and stone. ! They reached ere long an oaken cell, Jj And cross of oak, whereon i Was graved, " Here sleeps King Arthur well^ \ " In the Isle of Avalon." | 1 The mail on every knightly breast, } The steel at each man's side, i Sent forth a sudden gleam : each crest | Bowed low its plumed pride : ] Down o'er the coffin stooped a priest — \ But first the monarch cried, i " Great King ! in youth I made a vow " Earth's mightiest son to greet ; " His hand to worship ; on his brow " To gaze ; his grace entreat. " Therefore, though dead, till noontide thou " Shalt fill my royal seat ! " Away the massive lid they rolled — Alas ! what found they there ? No kingly brow, no shapely mould ; But dust where such things were. Ashes o'er ashes, fold on fold — And one bright wreath of hair. AT THE TOMB OF KING ARTHUR. 19 Genevra's hair ! like gold it lay ; For Time, though stern, is just, And humbler things feel last his sway, And Death reveres his trust. — They touched that wreath ; it sank away From simshine into dust ! Then Henry lifted from his head The Conqueror's iron crown : That crown upon that dust he laid, And knelt in reverence down. And raised both hands to heaven, and said, " Thou God art Eang alone ! 10. " Lie there, my crown, since God decrees " This head a couch as low. " What am I better now than these " Six hundred years ago ? " Henceforth all mortal pageantries " I count an idle show." 11. Such words King Henry spake : and ere The cloistral vaults had felt Along their arches damp and bare The last faint echo melt, The nobles congregated there, On that cold pavement knelt : 20 EPITAPH. li And each his coronet down laid, And Christ his King adored ; And murmured in that mournful shade, " Thou God alone art Lord. " Like yonder hair, at last shall fade " Each sceptre, crown, and sword." He roamed half round this world of woe, Where toil and labour never cease ; Then dropped one little span below, In search of Peace. And now to him mild beams and showers, All that he needs to grace his tomb. From loneliest regions, at all hours, Unsought-for come. 21 f |t Sfllitarg. 1. A SAD Thought came there to my breast, And said, " I walk the world unblest : " I pray thee, let me be thy guest. " Each heart is full of its own care. " To me no space it deigns to spare. " A generous grief not one will bear. " The orb of earth like night I roam ; " But never found I yet a home : "Therefore at last to thee I come." 2. I let him in — for youth is kind ; Nor dare I call its prompture blind ; Though bitter fruits remain behind. He stay'd a day with me; and then I could not let him go again : I said, " Abide a week or twain," All day he sang ; all night he kept Long vigils near me as I slept. Thus on into my heart he crept. i 22 THE SOLITARY. ] 3. I He said, " If thou my lore wilt know, j , " And bear my heavenly pain below, i " Then thou shalt taste no baser woe. ] " And, careless of thy proper weal, \ " Thou for thy suffering race shalt feel " Deep pity and eternal zeal. " And, dwelling in thy place alone, " Thou shalt look down, thyself unknown, " Upon all knowledge round thee strewn. O Lady ! turn those eyes away : For when their beams upon me play. The whole wide world grows blank and grey! Disturb not thou a lonely fate. A milder beauty is my mate : And I to her am dedicate. Pass onward, beautiful as morn ! Pass on, and shine on hearts forlorn. Pass on from me — but not in scorn. In thee collecting all her gleams. As from a centre Beauty beams — I catch that Hght on leaves and streams. In waving boughs, and winding shells. In buds, in clouds, thy beauty dwells : From all the birds thy music wells. SONG. 23 In thought famiUar thus with thee, Thine outward form I will not see ; It jars upon my reverie. 6. Nay, oft from lifeless shapes around, My dazzled eyeballs seek the ground : And my heart beats with awe profound. I sit upon the duU grey shore ; And hear the infinite waters roar — One mournful sound for evermore. I lean upon a rock my breast. I love its coldness, heart-oppress 'd. I love its hardness, and its rest. S0ng* 1. Bkeath divine of morning odours ! Breath of blossoms, breath of buds ! Onward borne in winged chorus. Through the alleys and old woods ; And thou stream, that lightly flowing, Dost thy pretty mirth enforce ; 24 SONG. Flash, and laugh, and crystal ripple, Hurrying in perpetual course ! the joy to walk, low-singing. Through those blooming vales, and say Another morn hath stooped from heaven With our aged earth to play ! Phosphor, through my casement peeping, On my folded eyelids shone : " Wake," he sang, " no more of sleeping, " Shadows melt, the night is gone ! " A bird that with the year is ripening. One brief moment wakes to pour Through the boughs wild jets of music, Then sinks in sleep once more ! O the joy to walk, low-singing, Through those blooming woods, and say Another spring hath dropped from heaven With our aged earth to play ! 2b IffUg. 1. Sing the old song, amid the sounds dispersing That burden treasured in your hearts too long ; Sing it with voice low breathed, but never name her. She will not hear you, in her turrets nursing High thoughts, too high to mate with mortal song — Bend o'er her, gentle Heaven, but do not claim her ! 2. In twihght caves, and secret lonelinesses, She shades the bloom of her unearthly days ; — The forest winds alone approach to woo her. Far off we catch the dark gleam of her tresses ; And wild birds haunt the wood- walks where she strays, Intelligible music warbhng to her. 3. That Spirit charged to follow and defend her. He also, doubtless, suffers this love -pain; And she perhaps is sad, hearing his sighing. And yet that face is not so sad as tender ; Like some sweet singer's, when her sweetest strain From the heaved heart is gradually dying ! 26 1. Half kneeling yet, and half reclining. She held her harp against her knees : Aloft the ruddy roofs were shining. And sunset touched the trees. From the gold border gleamed like snow Her foot : a crown enriched her brow : Dark gems confined that crimson vest, Close-moulded on her neck and breast. 2. In silence lay the cloistral court, And shadows of the convent towers : Well ordered now in stately sort Those royal halls and bowers. The organ's peal had just swept by — Bright arms lay quivering yet on high : Thereon the warriors gazed, and then Glanced lightly at the Queen again. 3. While from her Hp the wild hymn floated, Such grace in those uplifted eyes, And sweet, half absent looks, they noted That, surely, through the skies (1) Queen Bertha was the wife of Ethelbert, first Christian King of QUEEN bertha's VIGIL. 27 They deemed her soul went floating ever Upon that song's perpetual river, And, smiling from its joyous track. Upon her heavenly face looked back. ^mm l^ril^a's iijjil 1. Beside the casement of her bower So tall the garden pageants grew, With every breeze each glimmering flower Its moonlit dews waved through : White in the radiance glanced the fawn ; Flitted the hare from lawn to lawn ; By close, broad firs, that flecked the sheen, And barred with black the silver green. 2. Far off, hke mighty cliffs, their shade Over a waste of waves that cast. The castle walls o'er wood and glade Flung down their darkness vast. Answering a monarch's joyous call, Far lands kept there high festival : There flocked the noble and the fair — The fairest, noblest was not there. 28 QUEEN bertha's VIGIL. 3. And yet for her no flowers were blowing : No listening dell or vale profound Enjoyed her breath : for her was flowing Nor glassy stream, nor stream of sound ! In vain the birds their raptures squandered : The winds that through her chamber wandered, And o'er her pillow brushed serene, But found the place where she had been ! 4. The Moon, whose glory swelled with light Each lilied slope and laurelled mound, With touch more sharp and exquisite, . Defined one rock cross-crowned. Like "argent flames or spires of frost Uprose that shape of stone, embossed With breeze- worn sculptures quaint and mild Of Maid and Angel, King and Child. There on her knees the Queen was praying : On that cold marble leaned her breast ; Prayer after prayer devoutly saying. With palms together pressed. There for her Lord she prayed aloud, Prayed for her people, blind and proud — That Heaven would chase away their night. That God would bathe his heart in light ! 29 f wm l^t^a's |ite. Glad as that thrill' some princely birth With hushed yet rapturous oraen gracing, The stir, as from her palace forth The young fair Queen came pacing. But here no pompous guard was set ; No flattering concourse gathered round : The poor about her gate were met : The readiest place the poorest found. 2. Like youthful angels, all alert The Queen dispensed her bounteous load : On those whom keenest fates had hurt, Her earlier gifts bestowed. Her face the maniac's rage beguiled — She turned her now among the ring, And paused, above a poor blind child. The sweetest of her songs to sing ! Kind gifts to some, kind words to more ; Kind looks to each and all she gave. Which on with them through life they bore, And down into their grave. 30 QUEEN bertha's MATIN SONG. Around her feet the children crept, And kissed the grass those feet had trod ; Whilst eyes that many a year had wept, With tears of gladness gemmed the sod. The chiming of the convent bells Called her at last away to prayer : Farewell she smiled on their farewells — And turned ; when, unaware, An old grey man with hands outspread, She marked low-bent on quivering knee : Over his brow she stooped and said, " A kiss is all I have for thee." (^mm §trt|a's "§intm Sirag. The morning-star was rising — O'er ocean's tremulous crystal hung, His bright feet touched the billow, His glance o'er earth he flung. On the young Queen it played, Yet warm and disarray'd. As, leaping lightly from her pillow, The golden harp she swayed. QUEEN bertha's MATIN SONG. 31 Hide not the clouds among, Brightest star, and fairest ! Until her song those heavens along Between thy wings thou bearest. 1. " Thou that on my dreams " All night long wert beaming, " O'er shining leaves and silver streams " Brighter now art gleaming ! " Every fountain hath " Light thy keen smiles give her : " In every bay-leaf's dewy bath " Thy soft swift glances quiver ! " Hide not the clouds among, Brightest star, and fairest! Until her song those heavens along Between thy wings thou bearest. " Heaven doth laugh above, "Earth below is gay, " And souls that walk 'twixt light and love " Shall walk in joy alway ! " White as yon hly sweet, ** That springs, while cold airs fan it, " A virgin-spouse her mate to greet *' In thee, glad matin Planet !" Hide not the clouds among, Brightest star, and fairest ! Until her song those heavens along Between thy wings thou bearest. 32 QUEEN bertha's MATIN SONG. 3. " All the starry hosts, " And all the angelic band, " At once o'er all the ethereal coasts " Leap'd forth at God's command. " But surely from afar " 'Twas thee men saw on high, " When Darkness fled before the star " Of Christ's Nativity." Hide not the clouds among, Brightest star, and fairest ! Until her song those heavens along Between thy wings thou bearest. 4. " When the earth was made " Stars and angels sang : " When Christ was in the manger laid, " More loud the anthem rang. " But louder yet those choirs " The last great mom shall blend " Their heavenly songs and heavenly fires, " While thou dost last ascend ! " Hide not the clouds among, Brightest star, and fairest ! Until her song those heavens along Between thy wings thou bearest. 33 a; CHORAL ODE. " Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." 1. Go forth, fierce Song, no idle chime ! We fought and sang ; we sing and die ; But first into the tide of Time We fling the book of Prophecy. For ages we have fought this fight ; For ages fenced our land from wrong : — How long, Holy and Just, how long, Shall lawless might oppress the right ? No dreamy influence chains my song ! Too long suspended it has hung. Like glaciers bending in their trance " From cliffs, some horned valley's wall ; One flash — from God one ireful glance. To vengeful floods hath changed them alL Down, headlong torrents ('tis your hour Of triumph) on the Invading Power ! Woe, woe to Tyrants! Who are they ? Whence come they ? Whither are they sent ? Who gave them first their baleful sway O'er ocean, isle, and continent ? j D 34 THE MARTYKS OF FATHERLAND. Wild beasts they are, ravening for aye ; Vultures that make the world their prey ; Pests ambushed in the noontide day ; III stars of ruin and dismay. We heard them coming from afar ; Heard, and rushed into the war. We kissed our fathers' graves, and rose ; And rushed to meet our country's foes. Woe, woe to Tyrants ! Tyrants say \ That men were shaped but to obey. Dead spokes alone, to roll and reel Within their car's revolving wheel ! Let them take heed ; for they have driven In frenzy o'er an alien plain, Till earth's deep groans are heard in heaven, And fire bursts from those wheels amain. Not soon the stormy flames expire, When hearts, contagious in their ire. Burst forth, Hke forests catching fire. Or else this madness preys upon their spirit \\ That all good things to man's estate that fall Come from their sacred prescience — they inherit Wisdom divine to nurse this mundane ball ! THE MARTYI^S OF FATHERLAND. 35 Yea, they apportion times ; with care dispensing The seasons ; when to sow, what days for reaping, What space for feeding, labouring, praying, sleeping ; With stellar beams our harvests influencing ; Forth from the heaven of high conceit diffusing Sunshine and breeze amid our murmuring grain ; Showering the former, and the latter rain — Or else with groaiis their vacant hours amusing, And sending forth a famine to fulfil On men of froward heart the counsels of their will ! Such airy dream to realize, All rights, all landmarks they despise : On every hearth the Invader's foot Stands, importunate and brute : Bound every bed a serpent creeps : They make along the venomed wall The hundred-footed whisper crawl — But Vengeance in a moment leaps Forth from the frowning caverns of her noontide sleeps ! From heaven the curse was shaken On this predestined head : From thy hand the plague was taken ; By a mightier vengeance sped. Barbaric hosts like rain Came flooding vale and plain : I fought, but fought in vain : — From the trance of war I waken. Mine is the sorrow. M THE MARTYRS OF FATHERLANB. Mine, and for ever : Who can turn back again The shaft into the quiver ? Who can assuage my pain ? Who can make calm my brain 1 Who can deliver ? 6. But within me thoughts are rising. Severer thoughts, and soul sufficing : Swift, like clouds in exhalation. Come they rushing : whilst a glory Falls on locks this fiery Passion Turns from black to hoary ! Voices round me born in clangour Sound the trump of things to be : And heavenly flashes of wise anger Give my spirit light to see The great Future, and aright Judge this judgment of to-night. 7. I trembled when the strife began — Woman, my clasped hands trembled, With ill-timed weakness ill dissembled. But now beyond the strength of man. My strength has in a moment grown ; And I no more my griefs deplore Than doth a shape of stone. A marble shape, storm-filled, and fair With might resurgent from despair, THE MARTYRS OP FATHERLAND. 37 I walk triumpliant o'er my woe : For well I feel and well I know, That God with me this wrong sustains, And, in me swelling, bursts my chains ! ; 8. And dost thou make thy boast then of their lying All cold, upon the mountain and the plain, My sons whom thou hast slain ? And that nor tears nor sighing Can raise their heads again ] My sons, not vainly have ye died, For ye your country glorified ! Each moment as in death ye bowed. On high your martyred souls ascended ; Yea, soaring in perpetual cloud. This earth with heaven ye blended — A living chain in death ye wove ; And rising, raised our world more near those worlds above ! 9. They perish idly? they in vain ? When not a sparrow to the plain Drops imcared for ! Tyrant ! they Are radiant with eternal day 1 And oft, unseen, on us they turn Those looks that make us inly bum. And swifter through our pulses flow The bounding blood, their blood below 1 How Httle cause have those for fear Whose outward forms alone are here ! 38 THE MARTYRS OF FATHERLAND. How nigh are they to Heaven, who there Have stored their earHest, tenderest care ! Whate'er was ours of erring pride, This agony hath sanctified. Our destined flower thy blasts but tear Its sacred seed o'er earth to bear ! O'er us the storm hath passed, and we Are standing here immovably Upon the platform of the Eight ; And we are inwardly as bright As those last drops which hang hke fire. Close-clustered on the piny spire, When setting suns their glories pour On yellow vales perturbed no more ; While downward from the eagle's wing One feather falls in tremulous ring, And far away the wearied storms retire. 10. I heard, prophetic in my dreams, The roaring of tumultuous streams. While downward, from their sources torn, Came pines and rocks in ruin borne. Then spake that Storm to me and said, *•' Quake thou with awe, but not with dread : " For these are thrones and empires roUed " Down Time's broad torrent, as of old. " But thou those flowers remember well, " By foaming floods in peace that dwell ; " For thus 'mid wrecks of fear and strife, " Eise up the joys of hourly life ; THE MARTYRS OP FATHERLAND. 39 " And all pure bonds and charities " Exhale their sweetness to the skies. " But woe to haughtier spirits. They, " At God's command, are swept away, " Into the gulfe that know not day." 11. And now my song is sung. I go Far up to fields of endless snow. Alone till death I walk ; unsoiled By air the tyrants have defiled. Over a cheek no longer pale I drop henceforth a funeral veil ; And only dimmed and darkened see The mountains I have looked on free. Ye that below abide, unblest. Paint now no more with flowers yon dells ; Nor speak in tone hke that which swells, Loud-echoed from the freeman's breast : In sable garments walk, and spread With searments black your buried dead. Farewell to all : I go alone ; And dedicate henceforth my days To muse on God's high will, and raise My hands toward th' eternal Throne. And I beneath the stars will thread The dark beads of my rosaries ; And ofttimes earthward bow my head, And listen ofttimes for the tread Of some far herald, swiftly sent. To crown with light a shape time-bent, 40 TO BURNS'S HIGHLAND MARY. And dry a childless widow's eyes With tidings grave of high content, Wherein unheeded prophecies Shall have their great accomplishment ! f §ttras's '' f igl^lra^ llarg/' 1. LOVED by him whom Scotland loves, Long loved, and honoured duly By all who love the bard who sang So sweetly and so truly ! In cultured dales his song prevails ; Thrills o'er the eagle's aery, — Ah ! who that strain has caught, nor sighed For Burns's " Highland Mary?'* I wandered on from hill to hill, I feared nor wind nor weather ; For Burns beside me trode the moor, Beside me pressed the heather. I read his verse : — his life — alas ! O'er that dark shades extended : — With thee at last, and him in thee. My thoughts their wanderings ended. TO BURNS'S HIGHLAND MARY. 41 3. His golden hours of youth were thine ; Those hours whose flight is fleetest : Of all his songs to thee he gave The freshest and the sweetest. Ere ripe the fruit, one branch he brake, All rich with bloom and blossom ; And shook its dews, its incense shook, Above thy brow and bosom. And when his Spring, alas, how soon ! Had been by care subverted, His Summer, like a god repulsed, Had from his gates departed ; Beneath the evening star, once more, Star of his morn and even ! To thee his suppliant hands he spread. And hailed his love " in heaven." And if his spirit in " a waste Of shame " too oft was squandered, And if too oft his feet ill-starred In ways erroneous wandered ; Yet still his spirit's spirit bathed In purity eternal ; And all fair things through thee retained For him their aspect vernal. . 42 TO BURNS'S HIGHLAND MARY. Nor less that tenderness remained Thy favouring love implanted ; Compunctious pity, yearnings vague For love to earth not granted ; Reserve with freedom, female grace Well matched with manly vigour, In songs where fancy twined her wreaths Round judgment's stalwart rigour. 7. A mute but strong appeal was made To him by feeblest creatures : In his large heart had each a part That part had found in Nature's. The wildered sheep, sagacious dog, Old horse reduced and crazy ; The field-mouse by the plough upturned, And violated daisy. 8. In him there burned that passionate glow, All Nature's soul and savour. Which gives its hue to every flower, To every fruit its flavour. Nor less the kindred power he felt ; — That love of all things human, Whereof the fiery centre is The love man bears to woman. TO BURNS'S HIGHLAND MART. 43 He sang the dignity of man^ Sang woman's grace and goodness ; Passed by the world's half-truths, her Hes Pierced through with lance-like shrewdness. Upon life's broad highways he stood, And aped nor Greek nor Roman ; But snatched from heaven Promethean fire To glorify things- common. 10. He sang of yonth, he sang of age, Their joys, their griefs,, their labours ; Felt with, not for, the people ; hailed All Scotland's son& his neighbours : And therefore all repeat his verse — Hot youth, or greybeard steady, The boat-man on Loch Etive's wave, ; The shepherd on Ben Ledi. 11. He sang from love of song; his name Dunedin's cliff resounded : — He left her, faithful to a fame On truth and nature founded. He sought true fame, not loud acclaim ; Himself and Time he trusted : For laurels crackling in the flame His fine ear never lusted. 44 TO BUENS'S HIGHLAND MART. He loved, and reason had to love, The illustrious land that bore him : Where'er he went, like heaven's broad tent A star-bright Past hung o'er him. Each isle had fenced a saint recluse, Each tower a hero dying ; Down every mountain-gorge had rolled The flood of foemen flying. 13. From age to age that land had paid No alien throne submission ; For feudal fe-ith had been her Law, And freedom her Tradition. Where frowned the rocks had Freedom smiled. Sung, mid the shrill wind's whistle — So England prized her garden Rose, But Scotland loved her Thistle. 14. The land thus pure from foreign foot, Her growing powers thus centred Aroimd her heart, with other lands The race historic entered. Her struggling dawn, convulsed or bright. Worked on through storms and troubles, Whilst a heroic line of kings Strove with heroic nobles. TO BUENS'S HIGHLAND MARY. 45 15. Fair field alone the brave demand, And Scotland ne'er had lost it : And honest prove the hate and love To objects meet adjusted. Intelligible course was hers By safety tried or danger : The native was for native known — The stranger known for stranger. 16. Honour in her a sphere had found, Nobility a station, The patriots' thought the task it sought, And virtue — toleration. Her will and way had ne'er been crossed In fatal contradiction ; Nor loyalty to treason soured, Nor faith abused with fiction, 17. Can song be false where hearts are sound ] Weak doubts — away we fling them 1 The land that breeds great men, great deeds, Shall ne'er lack bards to sing them. That vigour, sense, and mutual truth Which baffled each invader. Shall fiU her marts, and feed her arts, While peaceful ohves shade her. 46 TO BURNS'S ^HIGHLAND MARY. ' la Honour to Scotland and to Burns !| In him she stands collected, A thousand streams one river make — Thus Genius, heaven-directed, Conjoins all separate veins of power In one great soul-creation ; And blends a million men to make The Poet of the nation. 19, Honour to Burns ! and her who first Let loose the abounding river Of music from the Poet's heart. Borne through all lands for ever ! How much to her mankind has owed Of song's selectest treasures ! Unsweetened by her kiss, his lips Had sung fa,r other measures. Be green for aye, green bank and brae Around Montgomery's Castle ! Blow there, ye earliest flowers ! and there, Ye sweetest song-birds, nestle ! For there was ta'en that last farewell In hope, indulged how blindly ; And there was given that long last gaze " That dwelt " on him «sae kindly." TO BURNS'S HIGHLAND MARY. 47 21. No word of thine recorded stands ; Few words that hour were spoken : Two Bibles there were interchanged, And some slight love-gift broken. And there thy cold faint hands he pressed, Thy head by dewdrops misted ; And kisses, ill-resisted first, At last were unresisted. 22. Ah cease ! — she died. He too is dead. Of all her girlish graces Perhaps one nameless lock remains : The rest stern Time effaces — Dust lost in dust. Not so : a bloom Is hers that ne'er can wither; And in that lay which lives for aye The twain live on together. COLONIZATION. 184S. 1. England, thy sinful past hath found thee out ! Washed was the blood-stain from the perfumed hand : O'er lips self-righteous smiles demure and bland, Flickered, though stiU thine eye betrayed a doubt. When round thy palace rose a people's shout — " Famine makes lean the Helots' helpless land." What made them Helots 1 Gibbet, scourge, and brand, Plaguing with futile rage a faith devout. England ! six hundred tyrannous years and more, Trampling a prostrate realm, that strength out-trod, Which twenty years availed not to restore. Thou wert thy brother's keeper — from the sod His life-blood crieth. Expiate thou that crime, Or bear a branded brow throughout all time. COLONIZATION. 49 2. Fell the tall pines ! — thou nobler Argo leap, Wide- winged deliverer, on the ocean floods ; And westward waft the astonished multitudes That rot inert, and hideous Sabbath keep ; Or, stung to madness, guiltier ruin heap On their own heads. No longer fabled Gods Subdue vext waves with tridents and pearl rods ; Yet round that barque heroic Gods shall sweep, And guard an infant Nation, Hope shall flush With far Hesperean welcome billows hoary. Valour and virtue, love and joy, and glory, A storm-borne Iris, shall before you rush ; And there descending, where your towers shall stand, Look back, full-faced, and shout, " Britannia, land ! " 3. I heard, in deep prophetic trance immersed, The wave, keel-cut, kissing the ship's dark side : — Anon men shouted, and the cliffs rephed : O what a vision from the darkness burst ! Europe so fair a city never nursed As met me there. It clasped in crescent wide The gulf : it crowned the isles : the subject tide O'er-strode with bridges, and with quays coerced. In marble from unnumbered mountains robed, With altar-shaped acropolis and crest, There sat the queenly City, throned and globe(^. Full well that beaming countenance expressed The soul of a great people. From its eye Looked forth a second Britain's empery. 50 COLONIZATION. How looks a mother on her babe, a bard On some life-laboured song ? With humble pride, And self-less love, and joy to awe allied : — So should a State that severed self regard, Her child beyond the waves. Great Nature's ward, And Time's, that child one day, with God for guide, Shall waft its parent's image far and wide ; Yea, and its Maker's, if by sin unmarred. Conquest I deem a vulgar pastime : trade Shifts like the winds ; and power but comes to go : But this is glorious, o'er the earth to sow The seed of Nations : darkness to invade With light : to plant, where silence reigned and death, The thrones of British law and towers of Christian faith. 5. England, magnanimous art thou in name. Magnanimous in nature once thou wert ; But that which ofttimes lags behind desert, And crowns the dead, as oft survives it — fame. Can she whose hand a merchant's pen makes tame, Or sneer of nameless scribe ; can she whose heart In camp or senate still is at the mart, A Nation's toils, a Nation's honours claim 1 Thy shield of old torn Poland twice and thrice Invoked : thy help as vainly Ireland asks. Pointing with stark, lean finger, from the crest Of western cliffs plague-stricken, to the West — Grey-haired though young. When heat is sucked from ice, Then shall a Firm discharge a Nation's tasks. 51 Mx af SffOTto.— Ittlanly— 1849. SPRING. 1. Once more, through God's high will and grace, Of hours that each its task fulfils, Heart-healing Spring resumes its place ; — The valley throngs and scales the hills, [2. In vain. From earth's deep heart o'ercharged, The exulting life runs o'er in flowers ; — The slave unfed is unenlarged : In darkness sleep a Nation's powers. 3. Who knows not Spring ? Who doubts, when blows Her breath, that Spring is come indeed 1 The swallow doubts not ; nor the rose That stirs, but wakes not ; nor the weed. 4. I feel her near, but see her not ; For these with pain uplifted eyes Fall back repulsed ; and vapours blot The vision of the earth and skies. 52 THE YEAR OF SORROW. 5. I see her not — I feel her near, A>s, charioted in mildest airs, She sails through yon empyreal sphere, And in her arms and bosom bears 6. That urn of flowers and lustral dews, Whose sacred balm, o'er all things shed, Revives the weak, the old renews. And crowns with votive wreaths the dead. \ 7. Once more the cuckoo's call I hear ; I know, in many a glen profound, The earliest violets of the year Rise up like water from the ground. 8. The thorn I know once more is white ; And, far down many a forest dale, The anemones in dubious light Are trembhng like a bridal veil. 9. By streams released that singing flow From craggy shelf, through sylvan glades, The pale narcissus, weU I know. Smiles hour by hour on greener shades. THE YEAR OF SORROW. 53 10. The honeyed cowslip tufts once more The golden slopes ; — with gradual ray The primrose stars the rock, and o'er The wood-path strews its milky way. 11. From ruined huts and holes come forth Old men, and look upon the sky I The Power Divine is on the earth : Give thanks to God before ye die ! 12. And ye, children worn and weak, Who care no more with flowers to play, Lean on the grass your cold, thin cheek. And those slight hands, and whispering, say, 13. " Stern Mother of a race unblest, " In promise kindly, cold in deed ;— " Take back, O Earth, into thy breast, " The children whom thou wilt not feed." 54 TEIB YEAR OF SORROW. BUMMER. 1. Approved by works of love and might, The Year, consummated and crowned, Has scaled the zenith's purple height, And flings his robe the earth axound. 2. Impassioned stillness — fervours calm— Brood, vast and bright, o'er land and deep : The warrior sleeps beneath the palm ; The dark-eyed captive guards his sleep. a The Iberian labourer rests from toil ; Sicilian virgins twine the dance ; Laugh Tuscan vales in wine and oil ; Fresh laurels flash from brows of France. Far ofi", in regions of the North, The hunter drops his winter fur ; Sun-stricken babes their feet stretch forth ; And nested dormice feebly stir. ^ THE YEAR OF SORROW. 0^ But thou, land of many woes ! What cheer is thine 1 Again the breath Of proved De^ruction o'er thee blows, And sentenced fields grow black in death. 6. In horror of a new despair His blood-shot eyes the peasant strains, With hands clenched fast, and lifted hair, Along the daily-darkening plains. 7. " Why trusted he to them his store ? " Why feared he not the scourge to come 1 Fool ! turn the page of History o'er, — The roll of Statutes — and be dumb ! 8. Behold, People ! thou shalt die ! What art thou better than thy sires 1 The hunted deer a weeping eye Turns on his birthplace, and expires. 9. Lo ! as the closing of a book. Or statue from its base o'erthrown, Or blasted wood, or dried-up brook, Name, race, and nation, thou art gone. 56 THE YEAR OF SORROW. 10. The stranger shall thy hearth possess ; The stranger build upon thy grave : But know this also —he, not less, His limit and his term shall have. 11. Once more thy volume, open cast, In thunder forth shall sound thy name ; Thy forest, hot at heart, at last God's breath shall kindle into fiame. 12. Thy brook dried up a cloud shall rise, And stretch an hourly widening hand, In God's good vengeance, through the skies. And onward o'er the Invader's land. 13. Of thine, one day, a remnant left Shall raise o'er earth a Prophet's rod, And teach the coasts of Faith bereft The names of Ireland, and of God. THE YEAR OF SORROW. 57 AUTUMN". 1. Then die, thou Year — thy work is done : The work ill done is done at last. Far off, beyond that sinking sun Which sets in blood, I hear the blast That sings thy dirge, and says — " Ascend, " And answer make amid thy peers, " (Since all things here must have an end,) " Thou latest of the famine years ! " 3. I join that voice. No joy have I In all thy purple and thy gold ; Nor in the nine-fold harmony From forest on to forest rolled : 4. -Nor in that stormy western fire. Which burns on ocean's gloomy bed, And hurls, as from a funeral pyre, A glare that strikes the mountain's head ; 58 THE YEAR OP SORROW. And writes on low-hung clouds its lines Of cyphered flame, with hurrying hand ; And flings amid the topmost pines That crown the steep, a burning brand. 6. Make answer, Year, for all thy dead, Who found not rest in hallowed earth ; The widowed wife, the father fled, The babe age-stricken from his birth. .7. Make answer, Year, for virtue lost ; For courage proof 'gainst fraud and force Now waning like a noontide ghost ; Affections poisoned at their source. 8. The labourer spumed his lying spade ; The yeoman spurned his useless plough ; The pauper spurned the unwholesome aid, Obtruded once, exhausted now. The weaver wove till all was dark. And, long ere morning, bent and bowed Above his work with fingers stark ; And made, nor knew he made, a shroud. THE YEAR OF SORROW. 59 10. The roof-trees fall of hut and hall, I hear them fall, and falling cry — " One fate for each, one fate for all ;" " So wills the Law that willed a lie." 11. Dread power of Man ! what spread the waste In circles, hour by hour more wide, And would not let the past be past ? — The Law that promised much, and lied. 12. Dread power of God ! whom mortal years Nor touch, nor tempt ; who sitt'st sublime In night of night, — O bid thy spheres Kesound at last a funeral chime. 13. Call up at last the afflicted race. Whom man, not God, abolished. — Sore, For centuries, their strife : the place That knew them once shall know no more ! 60 THE YEAR OF SORROW. WINTER h Fall, snow, and cease not ! Flake by flake The decent winding-sheet compose. Thy task is just and pious ; make An end of blasphemies and woes. % Fall flake by flake ! by thee alone, Last friend, the sleeping draught is given : Kind nurse, by thee the couch is strewn — The couch whose covering is from heaven. Descend and clasp the mountain's crest ; Inherit plain and valley deep : This night, in thy maternal breast, A vanquished nation dies in sleep. 4. Lo ! from the starry Temple gates Death rides, and bears the flag of peace,: The combatants he separates ; He bids the wrath of ages cease. THE YEAR OF SORROW. 61 Descend, benignant Power ! But 0, Ye torrents, shake no more the vale : Dark streams, in silence seaward flow : Thou rising storm, remit thy wail. 6. Shake not, to-night, the cliffs of Moher, Nor Brandon's base, rough sea ! Thou Isle, The Kite proceeds ! From shore to shore. Hold in thy gathered breath the while. .7. Fall, snow ! in stillness fall, like dew, On temple's roof and cedar's fan ; And mould thyself on pine and yew ; And on the awful face of man. 8. Without a sound, without a stir. In streets and wolds, on rock and mound, O, omnipresent Comforter, By thee, this night, the lost are found ! 9. On quaking moor, and mountain moss. With eyes upstaring at the sky. And arms extended like a cross. The long-expectant sufferers lie. 62 THE YEAR OF SORROW. 10. Bend o'er them, white-robed Acolyte ! Put forth thine hand from cloud and mist, And minister the last sad Kite, ' Where altar there is none, nor priest. 11. Touch thou the gates of soul and sense ; Touch darkening eyes and dying ears ; Touch stiffening hands and feet, and thence Remove the trace of sin and tears. 12. And ere thou seal those filmed eyes, Into God's urn thy fingers dip. And lay, 'mid eucharistic sighs. The sacred wafer on the lip. 13. This night the Absoiver issues forth : This night the Eternal Victim bleeds : O winds and woods — heaven and earth ! Be still this night. The Rite proceeds ! 63 1848. Not thou alone, but all things fair and good, Live here bereft, in vestal widowhood; Or wane in radiant circlet incomplete. Memory, in widow's weeds, with naked feet, Stands on a tombstone. Hope, with tearful eyes, Stares all night long on unillumined skies. Virtue, an orphan, begs from door to door. Beside a cold hearth, on a stranger's floor. Sits exiled Honour. Song, a vacant type, Hangs on that tree, whose fruitage ne'er was ripe. Her harp, and bids the casual wind thereon Lament what might be, fabling what is gone. Our childhood's world of wonder melts like dew ; Youth's guardian genius bids our youth adieu ; And oft the wedded is a widow too. The best of bridals here is but a troth, — Only in heaven is ratified the oath : There, there alone, is clasped in full fruition That sacred joy which passed not Eden's gates : For here the soul is mocked with dream and vision ; And outward sense, uniting, separates. The Bride of Brides, a maid and widow here. Invokes her Lord, and finds — a Comforter : — 64 WIDOWHOOD. Her loftiest fane is but a visible porch To sealed Creation's omnipresent Church. Zealous that nobler gifts than earth's should live, Fortune I praise — ^but praise her, fugitive. The Eoman praised her permanent ; ^ but we Have learned her lore (and paid a heavy fee) ; Have tracked her promise to its brake of wiles. And sounded all the shallows of her smiles. Fortune not gives but sells, and takes instead A heart made servile, and a discrowned head. Too soon she comes, and drowns in swamps of sloth The soul contemplative and active — both ; Or comes too late, and, with malignant art. Leaps on the lance that rives the sufferer's heart ; And showers her affluence on a breast supine. Her best of gifts the usurer's seal and sign Sustain, and pawn man's life to Destiny. We are shapes transient, and the end is nigh. Ah ! mightier things than man like man can die ! Between the ruin and the work half done I sit : the raw wreck is the sorrier one. Here drops an ancient Keep in slow decay : There the unfinished Mole is washed away. We sink, and none is better for our fall : We suffer most ; but suffering comes to all. Our sighs but echoes are of earlier sighs ; And in our agonies we plagiarize. O'er all the earth old States in ruin lie, And new Ambitions topple from their sky. (1) " Laudo manentem." — Horace. THE IRISH CELT TO THE IRISH NORMAN. G5 Greatness walks lame while clad in mortal mould ; The good are weak — unrighteous are the bold. Love by Self-love is murdered, or Distrust ; And earth-born Virtue has its " dust to dust." The future shall be as the present hour. The havoc past, again the slaves of Power Shall boast because once more the harvest waves In fraudulent brightness o'er a million graves. Why weep for ties once ours, relaxed or broken ? If weep we must, our tears are aU bespoken. One thing is worthy of them, one alone — A world's inherent baseness, and our own. Type of my country, sad, and chaste, and wise ! Forgive the gaze of too regardful eyes : — I saw the black robe and the aspect pale. And heard in dream that country's dying wail. Like Night her form arose, — as shades in night Are lost, thy sorrowing beauty vanished from my sight. ^t |ris| €tlt to tilt |ns| $nxmm ; Or, The Last Irish Confiscation. 1849. Your barque in turn is freighted. O'er the seas You seek a refuge at the Antipodes. Australia waits you. my Lord, beware ! Australia ! Floats not England's standard there I (1) See note {A). ^6 THE IRISH CELT Tyrconnell and Tyrone found rest more nigh : Rome guards their ashes, and St. Gregory. Their cause is mine — and foes, till now, were we ; Now friends, ashamed were I thy shame to see. Has Ruin no decorum ? Grief no sense ? Shall England house thee ? England drives thee hence ! worker of thy sorrows, with a vow Bind thou that head reduced, and careful brow, Wholly to root that idol from thy heart. Swear that thy race never shall have a part In aught that England boasts, achieves, confers : Her past is thine — thy future is not hers. • Loosed from the agony of fruitless strife, You stand, a lost man 'mid the wreck of life, And round you gaze. Sad Eva also gazed All round that bridal field of blood, amazed ; — Spoused to new fortunes . . . But your head is grey ! Beyond your castle droops the dying day ; And, drifting down loose gusts of wailing wind. Night comes, with rain before and frost behind. Lean men that groped for sea-weeds on the shore All day, now hide in holes on fen and moor. The cUfFs lean forth their brows to meet the scourge Of blast on blast : around their base the surge Welters in shades from iron headlands thrown : Through chasm and cave subaqueous thunders moan. — That sound thou lov'st ! Once more the Desmonds fall. To-night old wrongs shake hands in History's hall ; And, clashing through responsive vaults of Time, Old peals funereal marry chime to chime. TO THE IRISH NORMAN. *67 Of such no more ! Beside your fireless hearth Sit one night yet : and, moody or in mirth, Compare the past and present, and record The fortunes of your order in a word. England first used, then spurned it. Hour by hour, For centuries her laws, her fame, her power Hung on its hand. It gloried to sustain, High o'er the clouds that sweep the Atlantic main, The banner with her blazonries enrolled. Then came the change, and it was bought and sold : Then came the change, and ye received your due. Sir, to jSnr country had ye proved as true As to your England, she had held by you. Kuin ye might have proved ; ye might have known. Even then, the scorn of others — not your own ! Pardon hard words. Your race, not mine, is hard : But wounds and work the hand too soft have scarred. We are your elders — first-born in distress ; And century-seasoned woes grow pitiless. Hierarchs are we in pain, where you but learn : We have an unction, and our Rite is stern. If on our brows still hang ancestral glooms. Forgive the children of the catacombs. What have the dead to do with love or ruth ? I died ; and live once more — I live for truth. Hope and delusion trouble me no more : Therefore, expatriate on my native shore, Anguish and doubt shake other nerves, not mine : I drop no tear into the bitter brine : The world in which I move is masculine. QS- THE IRISH CELT Why to Australia ? Britain too was dear. Must, then, the Britain of the southern sphere Back you in turn ] Seek you once more to prove The furies of a scorned, unnatural love That cleaves to insult, and on injury feeds. And, upon both cheeks stricken, burns and bleeds ? Son of the North, why seek you not once more The coasts where sang the warrior Scald of yore ? If unhistoric regions you must tread. Hallowed by no commimion with the dead, Never by saint, or sage, or hero trod ; Where never lifted fane upraised to God, In turn, the hearts of sequent generations ; Where never manly races rose to nations, Marshalled by knightly arm or kingly eye ; If, with new fortunes, a new earth you try.^ Then seek, oh, seek her in her purity ! Drain not civilization's dregs and lees. In many an island dipt by tropic seas. Nature keeps yet a race by arts untamed, Who live half-innocent and unashamed. Ambition frets not them. In regions calm, 'Mid prairies vast, or under banks of palm. They sing light wars and unafflicting loves, And vanish as the echo leaves the groves ! Smooth space divides their cradles and their graves. What are they 1 Apparitions — casual waves Heaved up in life's successive harmony ! Brief smiles of nature followed by a sigh ! Why not with such abide awhile and die ? TO THE lEISH NORMAN. 69 0, summoned ere thy death to that repose The grave concedes to others ; by thy foes Franchised with that which friendship never gave — A heart as free from tremoiirs as the grave ; Last of a race whose helm and lance were known In furthest lands — now exiled from thine own ! Give thanks ! How rdany a sight is spared to thee, Which we, thy sires in suffering, saw and see ! Thou hast beheld thy country, by the shocks Of six long winters, driven upon the rocks High and more high. Thou shalt not, day by day. See her dismembered planks, the wreckers' prey. Abused without remorse to uses base. Thou hast beheld the home of all thy race, Their lawns, their walks, and every grove and.stream — Their very tombs — pass from thee like a dream. And leave thee bare. But thou shalt not behold Thy woods devastated ; nor gathering mould Subdue the arms high hung, and blight the bloom Of pomps heraldic, reddening scroll and tomb ; Nor the starred azure touched by mists cold-iipped, Till choir and aisle are black as vault and crypt ; Nor from the blazoned missal wane and faint The golden age of martyr, maid, and saint ; Umbria's high pathos, and the Tuscan might, And all thy wondering childhood's world of light. Thou shalt not see that cross thou lovedst so well From minster towers rock-built, and hermit's cell, Swept by the self-same blast that sent the hind Shivering to caves, and struck a kingdom blind ! 70 THE IRISH CELT All that was thine, while seas between thee roll And them, in some still cloister of thy soul Shall live, as, in a mother's heart inisled. Lives on the painless memory of a child Buried a babe. One image all shall make Still as the gleam of sunset-lighted lake Kenned from a tower o'er leagues of wood and lawn ; Or as perchance our planet looks, withdrawn From some pure spirit that leaves her — to his sight Lessening, not lost — a disk of narrowing light Sole-hung in regions of pure space afar — Of old the world he lived in, now a star ! Depart in peace ; and, if thou canst, forget — England ? . Not so, but that six-centuried debt She owes, while the world lasts, to thine and mine. Three centuries stood our country as a sign Opprobrious, target for old sneers and saws — Outlawed ; then England cursed her with her laws : Cursed her with laws that equalled with the beasts Her sentenced sons ; admitting to the feasts Of Power those only willing to abjure Faith, fame, and kindred for a worldly lure — Reptiles, the spumer's foot who kissed and licked ! Knowledge was banned. A secular interdict Enacted darkness, and to night consigned By law a growing Nation's heart and mind ; Proscribed was Industry, and each career Hope rules. The sixth black century passed, and Fear Unloosed the chains that Hate had fixed. Somewhile A troubled sunshine cheered a panting isle. TO THE IRISH NORMAN. 71 Then came the end : then Famine came to reap The fields Misrule and Madness, in their sleep (Mother and son) had sown with weeds, not grain ; Then Famine swooped upon the blasted plain, An omnipresent vulture, and o'erspread With her black wings the dying and the dead. It was the closing of the dread account. Europe looked on ; and from his specular mount The Genius that records man's deeds looked down. Not Earth alone grew dark before his frown As added sins were piled on sins half shriven. Dear was the hand by which the blow was given — Dire was the blow ! Daily new arts were found With which to fleece the bare, and beat the bound. Calumny, like a cloud of locusts, hung O'er the doomed race ; loosed was a nation's tongue j And they for Truth and Justice once so loud Stood mute, or feebly echoed back the crowd. Year after year dragged on the foul debate. One^ with dishonest red, pretended hate Of those who trampled down their serfs ; the next Pretended pity, and was sore perplexed Their errors from their fathers' to divide : A tear was in his eye— and yet he lied. Statesmen who feared to think, were bold to preach — " 'Tis just the poor should hang upon the rich." The Name invoked of Justice raised a rod Eeversed, that smote the shrine and bruised the God. Law sealed a proven, known, acknowledged lie ; Law spake and said, " Let there be anarchy ! " 72 THE IRISH CELT Law levelled down God's law : the labourer drave Back from the field, the yeoman o'er the wave. Law re-created chaos : high with low Confused in Communism's common woe — Woe to the weak, a master's law who trust ! In workhouse graves, with their mouths full of dust, A " Pauper's right " graved on each fleshless breast, Myriads of chartered castaways attest, To history's latest limit, and beyond. The worth of England's justice and her bond. Daughter of Babel ! wasted with deep woe ! In this most wretched, that thou dost not know How thou art naked, vaunting still for wealth The social tumours that entomb thy health ; O weak through seeming strength, poor through pelf, O atheist through idolatry of self ; Blest and thrice-blest the man shall be by whom Thy children, — not the offspring of thy womb, But of the heart diseased and corrupt mind — Pride, Passions, Prejudices, base and blind, Shall be uplifted high as heaven, and hurled Down on the stones, to disenchant the world ! Daughter of Babel ! they that loved thee most ; They on whose tongue thou wert the hourly boast ; They in whose soul thou wert, both day and night, A shape sun-clad, or fount of hidd'n delight ; They who, the dupes of Love, in passionate mood, Thy footsteps errant o'er the world pursued, TO THE IRISH NORMAN. / 6 And saw thv Future lordlier than thy Past ; Thej that enthroned thee in the regions vast Of earth not trodden yet ; whose fancy found, Mirrored in furthest seas, thine image crowned ; They that believed thee brave, and true, and just, And therefore trusted thee, — no more can trust ; Can flatter thee no more, no more revere Exterior Virtue's whited sepulchre. No part henceforth in them, their hopes, their cares, Hast thou. The loss is thine ; the pang is theirs. The pang is theirs. Whom most thou injuredst, he. If Samuel mourned for Saul, laments for thee. For wise thou wert, though miserably snared Thou art by wisdom's secular reward ; And inward was thy greatness, though the crown Of well-earned fortune weighs that greatness down. In thee two Nations ever are at war — The one that rules not is the nobler far ; For thee two Spirits, of good and evil, strive — The one that boasts not saves thy soul alive. Of thine how many gave of their increase To feed the famished land ! Be with them peace ! Pure hands, amid the unjust, to heaven they lift. The State, not less, conferred its golden gift : It brought no blessing. Darkness ruled the hour ; Panic, and Wrath, and proud intemperate Power Let loose a nation's hands, but sealed her eyes. — We cannot aid the sufferer we despise. But the wind swells your sails. Why waste we breath 1 My Lord, for thy soul's sake, and a good death. 74: THE IRISH CELT Forget the things a Celt's unmannered pen For thee records not, but for later men. Since hope is gone, let peace be thine instead. The snows which heap too soon that Norman head, Should calm it ; and a heart that bleeds for aye Has less to lose, and less to feel, each day. Seek not thy joys when on the desolate shore The raked rocks thunder, and the caverns roar, And the woods moan, while shoots the setting sun Discords of angry lights o'er billows dun. Make white thy thoughts as is a vestal's sleep — Bloodless : prolong, beside the murmuring deep. Thy matutinal slumbers, till the bird That tuned, not broke them, is no longer heard. The flowers the children of the Stranger bring Indulgent take : permit thy latest Spring To lure from thee all bitterness and wrath : Into Death's bosom, genial as a bath. Sink back absolved. Justice to God belongs : Soul deeply injured, leave with Him thy wrongs ! Justice, o'er angels and o'er men supreme, Still in mid heaven sustains her balanced beam. With whose vast scales, whether they sink or rise. The poles of earth are forced to sympathise. Unseen she rules, wrapped round in cloud and awe : — Her silence is the seal of mortal law ; Her voice the harmony of every sphere. Most 'distant is she ever, yet most near ; Most strong when least regarded. From her eyes That light goes forth which cheers the brave and wise ; TO THE IRISH NORMAN". 75 And in the arm that lifts aloft her sword, Whatever might abides on earth is stored. Fret not thyself. Watch thou (and wait) her hand. The thunder-drops fall fast. In every land Humanity breathes quick, and coming storm Looks through man's soul with flashes swift and warm : The fiery trial and the shaken sieve Shall prove the nations. What can live shall live. Falsehood shall die ; and falsehoods widest based Shall he the lowest, though they fall the last. Down from the mountain of their greatness hurled, What witness bear the nations to the world ? Down rolled, like rocks, along the Alpine stairs, What warning voice is theirs, and ever theirs ? Their ears the nations unsubverted close. For who would hear the voice whose words are woes ? Woe to ancestral greatness, if the dower Of knightly worth confirm no more its power. Woe to commercial strength, if sensual greed Heap up like waves its insolent gold, nor heed What solid good rewards the poor man's toil. Woe to the Monarch, if the unholy oil Of smooth-tongued flattery be his balm and chrism. Woe to the State cleft through by social schism. Woe to Religion, when the birds obscene Of Heresy from porch to altar-screen Range free ; while from the temple-eaves look down Doubt's shadowy brood, ill-masked in cowl or gown. Woe to the Rulers by the People ruled — A People drowned in sense, and pride-befooled. 76 THE IRISH CELT TO THE IRISH NORMAN. ; Trampling where sages once, and martyrs, trod. \ — Ye nations, meet your doom, or serve at last your God ! ] 'i But Thou, afflicted and beloved, Thou ^ Who on thy wasted hands and bleeding brow — \ Dread miracle of Love — from reign to reign, ' Freshenest thy stigmata of sacred pain : ] Lamp of the North when half the world was night — :\ Now England's darkness 'mid her noon of light ; \ History's sad wonder, whom all lands save one ) Gaze on through tears, and name with gentler tone : ] O Tree of God that burnest unconsumed ; ] O Life in Death, for centuries entombed ; j That art uprisen, and higher far shalt rise, I Drawn up by strong attractions to the skies : - ■ Thyself most weak, yet strengthened from above — j Stricken of God, yet not in hate but love : -:! Thy love make iDerfect, and from Love's pure hate i The earthlier scum and airier froth rebate. ^ Be strong : be true. Thy palms not yet are won : i Thine ampler mission is but now begun. i Hope not for any crown save that thou wearest — i The crown of thorns ! Preach thou that cross thou bearest ! \ Go forth ! each coast shall glow beneath thy tread. 1 "What radiance bursts from heaven upon thy head ? 'I What fiery pillar is before thee borne ? ] Thy loved and lost ! They lead thee to thy morn ! ; They pave thy paths with light ! Beheld by man, j Thou walkest a shade, not shape, beneath a ban. ^ Walk on — work on — love on ; and, suffering, cry — \ " Give me more suflfering, Lord, or else I die." ) 77 pnt\t; 0r, |n il^ |0tf s f cut . 1847. I ORIENT Isle that gave her birth ! O Delos of a holier sea ! O casket of uncounted worth ! How dear thou art to Love and me ! Thy whispering woods, in some soft dell, Now charmed, now broke the Infant's rest ; Thy vales the wild-flower cherished well. Predestined for the Virgin's breast. May airs salubrious, gusts of balm, On aU thy shores incumbent, blow Thy billow from the glassy calm. And fringe thy myrtles with sea-snow. My Psyche's lips thy zephyrs breathe ; My Psyche's feet thy pastures tread : — Isle of isles, around me wreathe Thine asphodels when I am dead. 78 psyche; or, an old poet's love. 11. How blue were Ariadne's eyes, When from the sea's horizon line, At eve, she raised them on the skies ! — My Psyche, bluer far are thine. How pallid, snatched from falling flowers, The cheek averse of Proserpine, Unshadowed yet by Stygian bowers ! — My Psyche, paler far is thine. Yet thee no lover e'er forsook ; No tyrant urged with love unkind : Thy joy the ungentle cannot brook ; Thy light would strike the unworthy blind. A golden flame invests thy tresses : An azure flame invests thine eyes : And well that wingless form expresses Communion with relinquished skies. Forbear, breezes of the West, To waft her to her native bourne ; For heavenly, by her feet impressed, Becomes our ancient earth outworn. On Psyche's life our beings hang : In Psyche life, and love are one : — My Psyche glanced at me and sang, " Perhaps to-morrow I am gone ! " PSYCHE ; OR, AN OLD POET's LOVE. 79 III. psyche's bath. O stream beloved ! O stream unknown ! In which mj love has bathed ! Be still thy fount unvexed with floods Thy marge by heats unscathed. How oft her white hand tempted thine ! How ofb, by fears delayed, Ere yet her light had filled thy depth, With thee her shadow played ! Thy purity encompassed hers ; Thy crystal cased my pearl ; Of founts, the fairest fount embraced Of girls, the loveliest girl ! The sweetest maid that ever yet Unbound a blameless breast, Or flung a cloud of modest locks Around her for a vest. May still thy lilies round thee wave. As shaken by a sigh ! Thy violets, blooming where she gazed, Bloom first and latest die ! May better bards, when I am gone. Like birds salute thy bower ; And each that sings thee grow in heart A virgin from that hour. 80 psyche; or, an old poet's love. IV. psyche's study. The low sun smote the topmost rocks, Ascending o'er the eastern sea : Backward my Psyche waved her locks, And held her book upon her knee. No brake was near, no flower, no bird, No music but the ocean wave. That with complacent murmur stirred The echoes of a neighbouring cave. Absorbed my Psyche sat, her face Eeflecting Plato's sun-like soul ; And seemed in every word to trace The pent-up spirit of the whole. Absorbed she sat in breathless mood, Unmoved as kneeler at a shrine, Save one slight finger that pursued The meaning on from line to line- As some white flower in forest nook Bends o'er its own face in a well ; So seemed the virgin in that book. Her soul, unread before, to spell. Sudden, a crimson butterfly On that illumined page alit : — My Psyche flung the volume by. And sister-like, gave chase to it ! psyche; or, an old poets love. 81 I saw at morn the locks your hands ij With laurel crowned the other day ; i And marked a silver tress, and looked ^ Another way. 1 Amid the woods to-day I saw i A sight for many a month unseen ; J A golden bough, a crimson leaf, \ Among leaves green. ■. When first we roamed those woods, the lark 1 Chaunted to God her cherub song : 1 To his fond mate the uxorious thrush \ Sang low, and long. ■'■ The wood-dove murmured to herself i Of joy to be renewed anon : I The cuckoo's note dissolved in heaven, i Like snow in sun. \ And all the birds in lawns rock-girt, ] And all the birds in sylvan cells, ; Blew loud their jewelled flutes; and chimed | Their silver bells. j But ah ! to-day upon the bough, ) I saw the wintry red-breast stand : — ] Like mourner's ring he seemed on some j New-pUghted hand. I 82 psyche; or, an old poet's love. His head he tossed, and twittered shrill, As one who cared not what he sung: The pine-tree's fallen cone I snatched, And at him flung. Soothe thou the winter ! but thy note Troubles, not cheers the autumnal glen :- Off, bird ! nor shake the unsteady hearts Of maids and men ! Alas ! my Psyche, many a year Of what they call my Hfe is flown ; Their lapse I knew not ; but thy light My loss makes known. VI. Nearer yet, by soft degrees. Nearer nestHng by my side. Her arm she propped upon my knees ; Her head, ere long, its place supphed. Mysteriously a child there lurked Within that soaring spirit wild : Mysteriously a woman worked Imprisoned in that fearless child. One thought before me, like a star. Rolled onward ever, always on : It called me to the fields afar. In which triumphant palms are won. psyche; or, an old poet's lovk 83 The concourse of far years I heard Applausive as a summer sea : — My trance was broken^ — Psyche stin-ed ; — " Is Psyche nothing then to thee ?" VIL Ah, that a light-lifted hand Should thus man's soul depress or raise. And wield, as with a magic wand, A spirit steeled in earlier days ! Ah, that a voice whose speech is song, Whose pathos weeps, whose gladness smiles, Should melt a heart unmoved so long. And charm it to the Syren Isles ! Ah, that one presence, mom or eve. Should fill deserted haUs with light : One breeze-like step, departing, leave The noonday darker than the night ! Thy power is great : but Love and Youth Conspire with thee. With thee they dwell : Prom those kind eyes with tenderest ruth On mine they look and say, " Farewell ! *' S4 psyche; or, an old poet's love. VIII. Love ! Love the avenger ! Had I deemed There lived such beauty, ere too late ; But once of Psyche had I dreamed. How different had been my fate ! I heard of Virtue, and believed : But till that glorious face I saw, Her image, in my soul conceived, Possessed me less with love than awe. It was mine own infirmity : — I heard, believed; but faith was weak: The Syren-Muse for ever nigh. Forbade me heavenly lights to seek. Deposed I stand by power divine : The robes of Song are changed for chains ; To love my Psyche — ^this is mine ; To love — not seek her — this remains. IX. • PSYCHE DRAWING. Of mind all light, and tenderest-handed. She sketched, untaught, an infant's face : And as the ideal Thought expanded, Stamped, line by line, a deepening grace. PSYCHE ; OR, AN OLD POET S LOVE. 8 Not pilotless her fancy dreamed, Though borne through shoreless seas and air : From native regions on her beamed, The archetypes of True and Fair. As when the Spring, with touches pure. Evolves some blossom, hour by hour ; ' So Psyche's Thought became mature, — So Psyche nursed her human flower. The billowy locks — the look intense — The eyes so piercing, sweet, and wild ! — I cried, inspired by sudden sense, " Thus Psyche looked, an infant child ! " X. psyche's remorse. A word unkind, yet scarce unkind, Was sweetened by so soft a smile ; It lingered long in heart and mind, Yet hardly woke a pang the while. At night she dreamed that I was dead ; And wished to touch (yet feared to stir) The heavy hands beside me laid, Incapable of love and her. "We met at morning: — still her breast Rose gently with a mournful wave : And of the flowers thereon, the best She gave ; and kissed before she gave. 86 psyche; or, an oli> poet's lovk XL PSYCHE SIN-GING, Between the green hill and the cloud The skylark loosed his silver chain Of rapturous music, clear and loud,— My Psyche answered back the strain. A glory went along the sky ; She sang, and all dark things grew plain ; Hope-, starlike, shone ; and Memory Flashed like a cypress gemmed with rain. Once more the skylark recommenced ; Once more from heaven his challenge rang : Again with him my Psyche fenced ; At last the twain commingled sang. Then first I learned the skylark's lore ; Then first the words he sang I knew : My soul with rapture flooded o'er, As breeze-borne gossamer with dew. XII. Wert thou a child, O then the joy, Thy hand in mine to roam the woods. And teach the adventurous girl or boy To scale tlie rocks^ nor fear the floods ! psyche; or, an old poet's love. 87 What joy the page of ancient lore To turn ; thy dawn of thought to watch : And from thy kindling eyes once more The sunrise of old times to catch ! Wert thou an infant, then my arms Might lift thee in the light ; and I The captive were of infant charms : — From such at least no need to fly. Wert thou my sister. Love would swear To own thenceforth no haughtier name. Whatever form that soul might wear. The spell would be to me the same. It is not love that rules my heart, Nor aught by mortals named or known : I know but this ; — when near thou art, I live. I die when thou art gone. XIII. As when, deep chaunts abruptly stayed. The Thoughts that, music-born, advanced. In tides of puissance, music swayed. And waves that in the glory danced. Contract, subside ; and leave at last. Where late the abounding floods were spread, A vale of darkness, grim and vast, A buried river's rocky bed; 88 PSYCHE ; OR, AN OLD POET's LOVE. Thus, when thou goest, my heart, my life, Descend to dim sepulchral caves ; My world, but late with rapture rife, Becomes a world of rocks and graves. Come back ! From mountain-cells afar, My soul's strong river shall return : Come back ! Again the morning star Shall shine against the exhaustless urn. XIV. My Psyche laid her silken hand Upon my silvering head ; And said, " To thee shall I remand The light of seasons fled V The child bent o'er me as she spake ; And, leaning yet more near, A tress that kissed me for Love's sake. Removed from me a tear. Pysche, not so ; lest life should grow Near thee too deeply sweet ; And I who censure death as slow, Should fear her far-off feet. Eternal sweetness, love, and truth. Are in thy face enshrined ; The breathing soul of endless youth On wafts thee like a wind. psyche; or, an old poet's love. 89 Those eyes, where'er they chance to gaze, Might wake to songs the dumb ! Breathe thou upon my blighted bays, — Rose-odoured they become ! Yet go, and cheer a happier throng : For Death, a spouse dark-eyed, On me her eyes has levelled long, And calls me to her side. O'er that not distant coast, even now. What shape ascends ? A Tomb. Farewell, my Pysche ; — why shouldst thou Be shadowed by its gloom ? XV. " Can Love be just ? can Hope be wise ? " Can Youth renew his honours dead?" On me my Psyche turned her eyes ; And all my great resolves were fled. Psyche, I said, when thou art nigh Transpicious grow the mists of years. I cannot ever wholly die If on my grave should drop thy tears. Nor thine a part in mortal hours : Thy flower nor autumn knows, nor May : Thou bendest from sidereal bowers A shape supernal, bright for aye. 90 psyche; or, an old poet's love. Though I be nothing, yet the best To thee no gift of price could give : — Fall then, in radiance, on my breast. And in thy blessing bid me live ! XVI. Pure lip coralline, slightly stirred ; Thus stir ; but speak not ! Love can see On you the syllables unheard Which are his only melody. Pure, drooping lids ; dark lashes wet With that unhoped-for, trembling tear ; Thus droop, thus meet ; nor give me yet The eyes that I desire, yet fear. Hands lightly clasped on meekest knee ; All-beauteous head, as by a spell Bent forward ; loveliest form, to me A lovely soul made visible : — Speak not ! move not ! More tender grows The heart, long musing. Night may plead, Perhaps, my part ; and, at its close. The morning bring me light indeed. psyche; or, an old poet's love. 91 XVII. " Such beauty was not bom to die !" That thought above my fancy kept Hovering like moonbeams tremulously ; And as its lustre waned, I slept. Deep Love kept vigil. Where she sate Methought I sought her. Ah the change ! Youth freezes at the frown of Fate ; And Time defied will have revenge. The summer sunshine of her head Had changed to moonhght tresses grey : O'er all her countenance was spread A twilight as of dying day. Dim as a misty tree ere mom, Sad as a tide-deserted strand, She sate, with roseless lip forlorn ; — I knelt, and, reverent, kissed her hand. I loved her. Whom I loved of yore, A shape all radiant from the skies, I loved that hour ; and loved far more, So sweet in this unjust disguise. A human tenderness, a love, More deep than loves of prosperous years. Through all my spirit rose and strove, And, cloud-Hke, o'er her fell in tears. 92 psyche; or, an old poet's love. XVIIL She leaves us : many a gentler breast Will mourn our common loss like me : The babe, her hands, her voice caressed, The lamb that couched beside her knee. The touch thou lovest — ^the robe's far gleam- Thou shalt not find, thou dark-eyed fawn ! Thy light is lost, exultant stream: Dim woods, your sweetness is withdrawn. Descend, dark heavens, and flood with rain Their crimson roofs ; their silence rout : Their vapour-laden branches strain ; And force the smothered sadness out ! That so the ascended moon, when breaks The cloud, may light once more a scene Fair as some cheek that suffering makes Only more tearfully serene : — That so the vale she loved may look Calm as some cloister roofed with snows, Wherein, unseen, in shadowy nook, A buried Vestal finds repose. XIX. Ah ! Grief had but begun to grieve When thus I trifled with my sighs ; — Who brings what Psyche brought must leave The loss no song can harmonize. psyche; oe, an old poet's love. 93 She brought me back the buried years ; And glorious in her light they shone : Once more their sun is set ; and tears Deface their care-worn aspects wan. Old joys, old sorrows, — ^ghosts unlaid, — In every dirge-like breeze go by : Loved phantoms haunt the unwholesome shade: — Ah then revived they but to die ? They die, like music : like a tide They ebb through darkness far away : Till, meeting Lethe, side by side The rivers roll that love not day. XX. Spring returned ! the pallid spectre, Winter, died in mist away ; Spring returned ! but to protect her, Wore, awhile, a mantle grey. To the rocks the snow retreated ; Flashed in light late-tawny rills ; Stronger-voiced the young lambs bleated From the breasts of greener hills. Spring advanced ; and children wondered At the daffodil no more : Violet banks in woods they plundered, And on sand-hills by the shore. 94 psyche; or, an old poet's love. Lilac triumphed over crocus : Thorns their green heads steeped in foam : " Without Psyche spring-flowers mock us," Sighed the valleys, " waft her home." Like a girl o'er hill and hollow, April through a sun-burst ran : Chasms of azure echoed, " Follow, " Follow, follow me, who can !" Like a beauteous, married maiden. Moving through her marriage day, Sweets withholding, yet sweet- laden, Moved, with tenderer footstep, May. But the year, one gift denying. Granting part, denied the whole : And the valleys languished, crying, "Where, Spring-tide, is thy Soul?" XXL Like a youthful matron. Summer Came : but young and aged cried, " Wherefore, beautiful new-comer, "Lingers Psyche from thy side?" " Streams, late stirred by woodland forces, " Darkhng sleep in pool and cleft ; " Or but show the shining courses "Which the Dragon-fly has left. psyche; OR, AN OLD POET's LOVE. 95 " Glens that, thrilled with vernal passion, " From river's mouth to eagle's nest " Sent the lightning-like vibration, " Sleep as sleeps a sea at rest. " Sleep the valleys, self-enfolden : " Sleep the mountains, crowned with light : " Forest temples, green and golden, " Vault in sleep a silent night. " Birds that sang, their wild notes blending, " When Love troubled first their house, " Sleep, contentedly suspending " Quiet nests on placid boughs. " Spring has well fulfilled her mission : " Nature rose in hill and holt : " Now the stillness of fruition " Lulls the exquisite revolt. "Why should we alone be cheated ?" — Summer smiled ; and from her breast Drew the blossom long-entreated ; And the suppHant vales had rest. XXII. Psyche trod once more her garden : — Softer bloom was o'er her thrown : Richer seemed her smile, but graver : On she moved — ^no more alone. 96 PSYCHE ; OR, AN OLD POET's LOVE. Flower with flower consorting fairly, Flower from flower disparting soft. Moved my lily 'mong her hlies, Moved at times, and halted oft. Blushed for pride the flower accepted ; Drooped, downcast, its rival spared : In her hand a red rose trembled ; And a myrtle better fared. " Tell our Psyche, rose deep-hearted, " All that heart in sweetness proves," Sang her playmates : — " Ask, myrtle, "Ask, has Psyche then no loves?" — " Ah who with happy lip shall stoop, "And o'er that palm extended linger?'* Sang the Stranger : — " Who shall drop " The love-ring down that tapering finger ?" XXIIL Cold Spring, I sing thee not, although Thy wave has cooled abandoned hands: Sing thou, cold-lipped, in whispers low, The praises of thy shells and sands. Dark cave that, lenient, in the woods Didst breathe thy darkness o'er my day ; I sing thee not, though sullen moods Eelaxed in thee, and waned away. PSYCHE ; OR, AN OLD POET's LOVE, 97 The Shepherd youth whose love is fled, Lies outcast in some lonely place : But o'er his eyes her veil is spread, And airy kisses touch his face. Beneath that veil his eyes may stream ; Beneath that heaven his heart may heave : The day goes by him like a dream, And comfort comes to him at eve. He sings : her name makes sweet his strains. Such solace suits a stripling's years — For age what healing herb remains ? Nor love, nor hope, nor song, nor tears. XXIV. What art thou 1 If thou livest, I know That thou art good, and true, and fair : But there are dreams that whisper low, " Thou dreamest ! thy passion paints the air. " Grief sat upon thy heart for years : — " That heart, by light bewildered now, " All that it missed beholds, through tears, " Throned on a single, beaming brow. " Or else thy Fancy, tired of dust, " Unsphered a Spirit. Self-enthralled, " It worships now, because it must, " An Idol pride at first enstalled, H 98 PSYCHE ; OR, AN OLD POET's LOVE. " Or else the pathos of the past " Above thy present moves in power ; "And o'er thy dusty day hath cast " This dewdrop from its matin hour. " In her thou lov'st the times gone by , " In her the joys possessed, not missed: — " It was not Hope, but Memory " Thy dreaming lids that bent and kissed. " In her the dewy lawns forlorn " Thou lov'st ; the gleams along them flung ; " The witcheries of the awakening morn ; " The echo of its latest song. " Thou treadest once more Castalia's brink : — " Far down, thy youth finds rest from trouble : " And thou that sawest it slowly sink " Dost watch its latest breaking bubble." XXY. psyche's bridal song. When now had come the marriage day, The church was decked, and nigh the hour, My Psyche said, " One other lay, " To bless the bride, and bless the bower ! " My Psyche's eyes in gladness swim ; His gladness, doubled in her breast : All that she is, and has, to him She gives, not doubting ; and is blest. psyche; or, an OLr/,EOST's^'Loyfc \ ; \'0&. She walks on air ; she lifts her brow Like one inspired : — Such light as flushes The Alps at morn, upon its snow Is stayed, in glory, not in blushes. Her world of dream has ta'en its flight ! The shadow passed : the substance came : A soul that long had fed on light Love touched, and kindled into flame. They met : twin Powers together drawn : — Twin nurslings of the summer weather : Twin eagles soaring through the dawn ; Henceforth they soar and sink together. Ah heart of hearts ! ah hfe of life ! My Psyche to another given ! — The 'VOW that changes Maid to Wife Is pledged to-day, and heard in heaven ! And must she change ? And must that wing So buoyant, fail from out its sky ? Then fairest, purest, o'er thee fling The lightest-robed mortality ! That mortal Hfe's less heavenly part May, touched by heaven, grow half divine And, sacramented in thy heart. The essential love of loves be thine. That joys which pass, like flowers may strew Thy path to blessings that remain : And what they lack of deep and true, May be supplied by sacred pain. iOO- ; , * 'PY3CHS,,' CRy .4N OLD POET's LOVE. But hark, the bridal bells ! and lo ! In shadow now, and now in sun, With suave and swan-like movement slow That white procession winding on ! Ah ! now her other life begins! The soft submission, humble pride : The smile tear-dipp'd ; the loss that wins ; The life transfused and multiplied. Even now, large heart, thy wish is this : — That from that altar love might stream. And bathe a sorrowing world in bhss ! That wish shall end not like a dream. Good works, good will, shall round her spread ; The desert blossom, and the waste : The poor man's prayer her golden head Shall crown with lustres ne'er displaced. With joy the villages shall glow. And many a hut in wood and wild, When comes the babe that comes to show How Psyche looked, an infant child. Go now, my Psyche : meet the throngs That sprinkle flowers and banners wave ; — Take, Psyche, take, my last of songs ; And keep a garland for a grave. iisullane0tts S0nnek 103 JisallauMS Sflmuts. L Cold, pure, reviving, med'cinable gales, Sea-born, nor charged with breath of herb or flower, That far o'er moonlight seas, perhaps this hour, Trouble some sleeping pilot's whispering sails, And pour into his ear consoling tales Of ivy murmuring round a known church tower ; — Crystalline airs, in love and pitying power, Serving that God whose love o'er all prevails : Hither in mercy also come, and lean One moment on those lids and o'er this breast ! O cooled by all the shadows of your caves ; O fresh from mountain snows or loneliest waves ; O pure from haunts where man hath never been ; Come with etherial dews and endless rest I 104 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. j i II. ? ON THE DEATH OF A GOOD KING. i i Honour that dies not, grief that Kves for aye, J And the benedictions of the suffering poor, | Come to thy grave ; — and there, as at the door i Of Heaven, their brows in mute expectance lay ; 1 A mighty nation stands uncrowned this day : 'j This day a widowed people's heart is sore ; ] A sire this day each household doth deplore ; i Each head hath lost its helm, each hand its stay. j Great king ! a nation smiled upon thy birth ; \ A nation's prayers, thy guards, each night watched round thee, j Now thou obey'st the summons of the earth, { Behold ! a nation's duteous tears have crowned thee : \ And millions at thy tomb to thee have given • ^ A portion of their heart to waft with thee to heaven ! ■■ III. \ ON THE FALL OF A USURPER. ^ I WISHED thee length of years ! the courtly crowd j Wished it less truly, and less fervently. | Thou livest ! How many a head miscrowned hath bowed ' In specious death ! The slow shaft missed not thee. \ Thou livest a posthumous life ; reserved to see The Future's verdict — laughter long and loud : — I Melted thy throne beneath thee like a cloud ; '] Like snow thy puissance vanished. Mockery ] Answered when that usurping hand invoked Thy host their hundred thousand swords to bare. ^ Unknown, alone, — ^uncrowned because uncloaked, \ Thou fled'st ; nor friend nor foe demanded where. ; Thou livest ! A King Batavian William died : — ^ j By which the nations were disedified. i MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 105 IV. POLAND. Lo, as a prophet, old, and fierce, and gaunt. Spurning the plains, when some detested foe His country and his country's hearths lays low. Makes in the mountain walls his caverned haunt ; There lurks ; thence leans ; half blind, yet vigilant, Watches red morning tinge the ensanguined snow ; And bends his ear, and says, " Thy foot is slow, " Deliverer ! see thy vengeance be not scant " — Not otherwise a trampled Nation waits, Regioned in fell resolve : her heart thus feeds On iron : muses thus on coming fates : Revels in rapture of predestined deeds : And finds at last the hour, and finds the way : — Let sceptre-wielding Rebels fear that day ! v.. TO THE NOBILITY OF ENGLAND, 1848. Princes of England, undeposed as yet, While panic-stricken thrones around you quake. And perplexed kings themselves their sceptres break. With a firm hand your house in order set. If sound ye be at heart, external threat That soundness can but probe to prove. Awake ! Hold fast your birthright for the people's sake : Let high and low discharge their mutual debt. Things hollow must collapse ; 'efiete decay : But that which stablished first Nobility — Valour and Truth — if these abide, her stay. While live the nations she can never die. Be true to England : to yourselves be true : And England shall work out her furthest fates by you. 106 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. VI. TO HONOUR. Bright and majestic Spirit ! faithful mate Of all true Virtue, and that generous Fame Which guards a spotless, seeks a glorious name From Love not Pride ; but seeks, content to wait, And prompt to share it — Angel of the State ! Sanctioning Order with religious awe ; Taking the harshness and the sting from Law ; Scorn from the lowly, envy from the great ; — Come to this region of thine ancient sway ! With thy heroic and inspiring smile lUume our perils and our fears beguile ! Was it not here that Alfred built his throne, And high-souled Sydney waived a throne away ? — The land is strong which thou hast made thine own. VIL NATIONAL STRENGTH. What is it makes a Nation truly great? Her sons : her sons alone : not theirs, but they ! Glory and gold are vile as wind and clay Unless the hands that grasp them, consecrate. And what is that in man by which a State Is clad in splendour like the noontide day ? Virtue — Dominion ebbs, and Arts betray : Virtue alone endures. But what is that Which Virtue's self doth rest on ; that which pelds her Light for her feet, and daily, heavenly bread ; Which from demoniac pride, and madness shields her, And storms that most assail the loftiest head 1 The Christian's humble faith — ^that faith which cheers The orphan's quivering heart, and stays the widow's tears. MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 107 VIII. ' ON A CONVENT. Glorious the thought ; not mortal the design, Defamed by fools, in earthly hearts to raise Unearthly citadels of prayer and praise : Revering, to renounce all bonds that twine With heavenly, human love : through Grace divine To rise o'er Virtue's secondary ways ; — Hidden to live with God : and by his gaze. Illumed yet veiled, like noontide stars to shine ! Glorious the deed each waste and wilderness And isle beleaguered by the raging main To thriU with Christian chaunts and psalmic strain ; And make a conquered world her Lord confess ! Ye that conventual pomps denounce, begin By fixing in your hearts conventual discipline. IX. A CONVENT SCHOOL IN A CORRUPT CITY. Hark how they laugh, those children at their sport ! O'er aU this city vast that knows not sleep Labour and Sin their ceaseless vigil keep : Yet hither still good Angels make resort, Innocence here and Mirth a single fort Maintain : and though in many a snake-like sweep Corruption round the weedy walls doth creep, Its track not yet hath slimed this sunny court. Glory to God, who so the world hath framed That in all places children more abound Than they by whom Humanity is shamed. Children outnumber men : and millions die (Who knows not this 1) in blameless infancy, Sowing with innocence our sin-stained giound. 108 MISCELLANEOUS SQNNETS. The reason why we love thee dost thou ask 1 We love for many reasons joined in one. Because thy face is fair to look upon : Because, when pains or toils our hearts o'ertask, In sunny smiles of thine they love to bask : Because thou honourest all, and harmest none : Because thy froward moods so soon are gone : Thy many faults and foibles were no mask. Because thou art a woman. Unto me A gracious woman is a child mature ; Docile, and gentle, though with many a lure Enriched, and, in a soft subjection, free. A sanguine creature, full of winning ways ; Athirst for love, and shily pleased with praise. XL TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 1. Had I been worthy of the love you gave, That love withdrawn had left me sad but strong : My heart had been as silent as my tongue ; My bed had been unfevered as my grave : I had not striven for what I could not save : Back, back to heaven my great hopes I had flung : — To have much suffered, having done no wrong, Had seemed to me that noble part the brave Account it ever. What this hour I am Affirms the unworthiness that in me lurked : Some sapping poisoa through my substance worked. Some sin not trivial, though it lacked a name, Which ratifies the deed that you have done With plain approval. Other plea seek none. MISCELLANEQUS SONNETS. • 109 XII. — TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 2. Give me one kiss, sweet love, and so farewell ! Those magic lips, when they were all my own, To me were dearer than the loftiest throne That ever made a conqueror's bosom swell. Those youthful eyes retain their luminous spell : Fairer those brows, that droop like flowers o'erblown, For the dim, dubious shadow o'er them thrown : Still on that cheek the pure carnations dwell ! — Softly of infidehty ashamed. Yet with recovered freedom softly pleased. She sighed : — her hand unwillingly released. Withdrew, yet something seemed to leave behind : — She's gone ! so fleets the fleeting stream unblamed ; So fleets the unquestioned cloud, the imchallenged wind ! XIII. URANIA. Urania ! Voice of Heaven, sidereal Muse ! — Lo, through the dark vault issuing from afar. She comes, reclining on a lucid star. Her dark eyes, trembling through celestial dews. The glory of high thoughts far ofl" difiuse : While the bright surges of her refluent hair Stream back, upraised upon sustaining air Which lifts that scarf deep-dyed in midnight hues To a wide arch above her hung like heaven. — I closed my eyes. Athwart me, like a blast. Music as though of jubilant gods was driven. Once more I gazed. That form divine had passed Earth's dark confine. The ocean's utmost rim Burned yet a moment : then the world grew dim. 110 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. XIV. ON A PORTRAIT. A DEEP still Sorrow, beautiful and bland, Across those brooding brows and eastern eyes Bests, as a broad shade on the mountain lies — How few that Sorrow's cause shall understand ! Methinks, the years to come, a tragic band. Move, heard by him, with funeral harmonies. Up life's dim vale : and prescience, vainly wise. Shadows a fair face with prophetic hand — 'Tis but a picture — Stranger, grief-betrayed. Weep not ! The man not portrait hadst thou seen, For early death then justly hadst thou prayed To shield the mourner with the grave's kind screen From woes, his portion destined from his birth, — noble souls, what do ye here on earth 1 XY. Virgin ! at placid morn, and when the airs Of evening fan her flushed and throbbing sky. Send up, like homeward doves, thy thoughts on high, And mingle with those gentle thoughts thy prayers. Blameless thou art : but One there is who dares Assail for ever, and remorselessly The soul of finest grain and purest dye ; And in the softest herbage sprinkles tares. Virgin ! that Power which sends the winds of even To rock the blossoms on the boughs of May, That Power the Spirits of the Mind obey, And come and go at His command alone. Yea, but for Him the loftiest star of Heaven Would drop, supplanted, from his glittering throne. MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. Ill XVI. TO A JUST LAWYER. Defrauded Justice, long a wanderer driven From Law, her Temple, holy kept of old. Though now the money-changers' strongest hold, Invoked not vainly aid from thee : and Heaven To thee that voice heroical hath given Wherewith to aU thy brethren thou hast caUed, Standing alone among them disenthralled, All chains of custom, fear, and interest riven. Young Priest of Justice, what was their reply ? ^* Justice herself this human sacrifice " Eequires : if thou wouldst serve her, rob and lie ; " So keeps the State her needful equipoise " — Such answer thou didst scorn ; and hast for this. Attained, fully to see its utter hollo wness. XYII. — A CHURCHYARD. 1. It stands a grove of cedars vast and green, Cathedral-wise disposed, with nave and choir, And cross-shaped transept lofty and serene ; And altar decked in festival attire With flowers like urns of white and crimson fire ; And chancel girt with vine-trailed laurel screen ; And aisles high arched with cypresses between — Retreats of mournful love, and vain desire. In the dusk porch a silver fount is breathing Its pure, cold dews upon the summer air : Round it are blooming herbs, and flowers (the care Of all the angels of the Seasons) wreathing Successively their unbought garniture Round the low graves of the beloved poor. 112 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. XYIII. — A CHURCHYARD. 2. But when the winds of night begin to move Along the murmuring roofs, deep music rolls Through all the vaults of this Cathedral grove ; A midnight requiem for departed souls ! Piercing the fan-like branches stretched above Each chapel, oratory, shrine and stall ; Then a pale moonshine falls or seems to fall On those cold grave-stones — altars reared by love For a betrothal never to be ended ; And on the slender plants above them swinging ; And on the dewy lamps from these suspended ; And sometimes on dark forms in anguish clinging, As though their bosoms to the senseless mould Some vital warmth would add — or borrow of its cold. XIX. CONSTANCY OF CHARACTER. Man's mind should be of marble, not of clay : A rock-hewn temple, large, majestic, bare ; Not decked with gewgaws, but with life-long care And toil heroic shaped to stand for aye : Not like those plaster baubles of the day. In which the hghtest breath of praise or prayer Crumbles the gauds wherewith they garnished are : In which we dare not think, and cannot pray ; — In which God will not dwell. Constancy ! Where thou art wanting all our gifts are naught ! Friend of the martyrs — both of those who die, And those who live — beneath that steadfast eye The breast-plates and the beaming helms were wrougtit Of all our far-famed Christian chivalry ! MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 113 XX. FALSE FRIENDSHIP. Alas, dear friends, we do each other wrong, For we long years in love conjoined have been ; Many vicissitudes, and strange, have seen ; Joyed oft, wept oft, outgrown our griefs ere long : Yet what we were, still are we. Love is strong, Though vigilant hate of aU things base and mean. To raise her votaries, and with tire make clean ; But we her awful aids away have flung. Over complacent Friendship weakly doted On virtues, oft through dim tears magnified. Till Friendship, o'er-indulgent, scarcely noted The faults hard-by ; or, noting, feared to chide ; Therefore dishonoured Friendship asks too late, "My seat inglorious must I abdicate ]" XXI. Free born, it is my purpose to die free. Away, degrading cares ; and ye not less, Dehghts of sense and gauds of worldhness ; — I have no part in you, nor you in me. They that walk brave wear the world's hvery : Their badge of service is their sumptuous dress. Seek then your prey in gilded palaces ; Revere my hovel's humble liberty. Are there no flowers on earth, in heaven no stars. That we must place in such low things our trust ? Let me have noble toils, if toil I must ; — The Patriot's task, or Friendship's sacred cares. Beside my board that man shaU break no crust, Who sells his birthright for a feast of dust, I 114 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. XXII. THE POETRY OF LIFE. DiAN ! thy brother of the golden beams Is hailed for ever as the Lord of Song, Master of manly verse, and mystic dreams : — Doth, then, no female lyre to thee belong ? Say, is that pearly bow whose crescent gleams. Above black pine-woods lifted, or low-hung 'Twixt homed rocks, or troubling midnight streams, With immelodious chord, and silent, strung ? Ah no, not so ! Thou too art musical ! The world is full of poetry unwrit ; Dew-woven nets that virgin hearts enthrall ; Darts of glad thought through infant brains that flit ; Hope and pursuit ; loved bonds, and fancies free ; — Poor were our earth of these bereft and thee ! XXIII. Painter, in endless fame most sure to live, If thou my Celia's face reveal to men. Thy heart, all other schools forsaking, give To him whom Parma boasts her citizen. All gladdening forms, with exquisitest ken Scan thou hke him ; and sift as with a sieve From each its dross : — then fix the fugitive, Painting that Joy which mocks the poet's pen. The new-born fountain, and the sea-bird's grace, Be dear to thee. Whole hours, where violets gleam. Muse thou on eyes as blue, and lids as white. Where, under chestnut boughs, the moon's pale light Glimmers o'er banks of primrose, sit and dream Of those soft lustres on her innocent face ! MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 115 j XXIV. t INCOMPATIBILITY. ] Forgive me that I love you as I do, ] Friend patient long ; too patient to reprove j The inconvenience of superfluous love. ^ You feel that it molests you, and 'tis true. 1 In a hght bark you sit, with a full crew. Your Hfe full-orbed, compelled strange love to meet, j Becomes, by such addition, incomplete : — >■ Because I love I leave you. adieu ! j Perhaps when I am gone the thought of me i May sometimes be your acceptable guest. \ Indeed you love me : but my company \ Old time makes tedious ; and to part is best. Not without Nature's wiU are natures wed : — gentle Death, how dear thou mak'st the dead ! 'i XXV. The happiest lovers that in verse have writ. After all vows to perfect beauty paid, Full oft their hymns of triumph intermit. And harp and brow with funeral chaplets shade. A Babylonian choir on earth they sit In garb of exiles. Sadly they upbraid Beauty and Joy that only bloom to fade, And Love and Hope to Death and Ruin knit. What shall we say ] Have poets never loved l (For small that love which fears that love can die) : Have those that earthly immortality Dispense, the name itself a mockery proved 1 Or of the Spirit of Life so full are they That with Death's shadow they are pleased to play? 116 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. XXVI. A POET TO A PAINTER. That which my fault has made me, paint not : Paint me as that which I desire to be. The unaccomphshed good that died in thought, Deep buried in my heart, seek out, set free ; And all I might have been concede to me : The veil my errors and the world have wrought Remove : the cloud disperse : erase the blot : Bid from my brow the temporal darkness flee. In that celestial and pure fount, whereof Some drops afiused my childhood, bathe me wholly; And shield me from my own deserts : lest they Who now but see me by the light of love A sterner insight learn from thee one day ; And love pass from them hke some outworn folly. XXVII. THE FALL OF BACON. Apologist for a great man, take heed ! Needs he such aid 1 Of errors worse is none Than fond excuses urged for deeds ill-done By men whose actions mould a nation's creed. They that in might of mind their race exceed. And walk this earth hke Spirits from the sun. By them should Virtue's palms not less be won : — These if they reach not, let the victim bleed ! And who shall dare lament them 1 All are frail, Though Nemesis the meaner culprit slights. Adversity and Justice, hail, hail ! Sacred the laurelled head your lightning smites. Him from the prosperous herd ye raise, and down On crowns of fortune drop a kinglier crown. 117 ^^ting ^Mg. The infant Year with infant freak, Intent to dazzle and surprise, Played with us long at hide and seek ; Turned on us now, now veiled her eyes. Between the pines for ever green, And boughs by April half attired. She glanced ; then sang, once more unseen, " The unbeheld is more desired" With footstep vague, and hard to trace, She crept from whitening bower to bower ; Now bent from heaven her golden face. Now veiled her radiance in a shower. Like genial hopes and thoughts devout That touch some sceptic soul forlorn. And herald clearer faith, and rout The night, and antedate the morn, Her gifts. But thou, all beauteous May, Art come at last. Oh, with thee bring Hearts pure as thine with thee to play, And own the consummated Spring. To hands by deeds unblest defiled In vain the whiteness of thy thorn : Proud souls, where lurks no more the child, For them thy violet is unborn- 118 SECOND SPRING SONG. For breasts that know nor joy nor hope Thy songstress sings an idle strain : Thy golden-domed laburnums drop O'er loveless hearts their bowers in vain. ^wonir Sjjring ^0ng. The mother of the Heavenly Child Who made the world and who redeemed, The maid and mother undefiled ; — She died, or else to die she seemed. Once more above the late entombed They bent. What found they ? Vacant space. To heaven had Mary been assumed. And only flowers were in the place. O happy Earth, elected sphere ! Dream bhssful dreams in vale and grove ! Thou too thy Maker's voice shalt hear ; Thou too thy great Assumption prove. The Earth shall be renewed. The skies Shall bloom with glories unrevealed : And every spring but typifies The wonders then to be unsealed. Even now, behold, the year that died Revives. The winds of south and east Have blown upon our shores, and cried, " Prepare, prepare, the Paschal Feast." 119 ] I TAKE the gift you give me, friends, With grateful smiles, and lessening tears, And I let go that friendly foe, The memory of past years. Fair wrecks of friendship — alms well-meant I take, though one to alms not used. The rich in love are proud ; but I Have seen my state reduced. My share was mine. I never strove Your chief of kindness to engross ; And now, a bankrupt, mourn that none Is richer for my loss. What interest have I to believe The fault was rather yours than mine 1 I take the gift you give ; the rest Unquestioned I resign. ^r ^ang. 1. Seek not the tree of silkiest bark And balmiest bud. To carve her name, while yet 'tis dark. Upon the wood. 120 SONG. The world is full of noble tasks, And wreaths hard-won : Each work demands strong hearts, strong hands, Till day is done. 2. Sing not that violet-veined skin ; That cheek's pale roses ; — The lily of that form wherein Her soul reposes ! Forth to the light, true man, true knight ! The clash of arms Shall more prevail than whispered tale To win her charms. 3. The warrior for the True, the Eight, Fights in Love's name. The love that lures thee from that fight Lures thee to shame. That love which lifts the heart, yet leaves The spirit free ; That love, or none, is fit for one Man-shaped like thee. 1. Heart, winged once ; self-doomed To pine in bonds the saddest : Strong spirit, self-entombed Within the vaults thou madest : Thy Wni it is, thy WiU That holds thee prisoner still. SONG. 2. 121 O soul, in vain thou strainest Against thy prison bar ; Of all vain things the vainest Our poor, half efforts are. Wholly be free, — ^tiU. then Thou dost but hug thy chain. Song. Though oft beguiled, my friend, before, Still, still permit me to beguile ; Denounce not harshly, but deplore My laugh, and it may end a smile. To children more akin than you We women are — we give them birth — If we are sometimes childish too. Be men, nor war with childish mirth ! 2. Once on my head your hand you laid ; I shook it thence ; — ^but 'twas an art To hide from you how near it weighed On that which shook beneath — my heart Go not : be cold, be stem, be mute ; Yet stay : lest I, who cannot choose But tremble sometimes at thy suit. At last should tremble to refuse. 122 We know that ofttimes gain is loss : Believe, sad heart, that loss is gain. From golden ore to clear the dross — This is thy sacred function. Pain. The sleep is past of musing sloth : The tyranny of Self is o'er: Thou knowest by faith and suffering both, The truths thou knewest by rote before. Cloud-temples — thoughts on thoughts up-piled- Are vain ; more vain the Stoic heart. His own wild spleen — a chance — a child — Can vanquish Merlin's magic art. And well the enfranchised soul might bless The wounds a poor self-love would hide, Then when our veriest foolishness Breaks down the bulwarks of our pride. Ah ! not within us lies our strength, J^or yet around us ; but above ! We seek, and vainly seek : at length We rise to heaven for Truth and Love : Drawn on through realms of hght and rest. Where God is known as God, and reigns ; — Not to possess, but be possessed, Our last of wishes, first of gains. 123 f mts torite at falsfeaJts. 1. Four years ago beside this lake, O'er which the mountain shadows close, I walked in s£|,^ness for the sake Of one who could no more partake That grave joy it bestows. 2. " Since she is gone," I said, " ah why *' Have they not here her ashes laid ? " Here strayed her feet in infancy : " The studious girl was glad to he " Under yon oak-tree's shade. 3. " By Old-church, (dear to her,) a spot " Once consecrate, twice sanctified ; " Beneath its yew she slumbers not, " Nor in the adjoining garden plot, " Nor by the water's side. 4. " Ah that but once the Lark might sing " Above his sister Poet's bed ! " (For she sang also.) Ah that Spring " Her tardy northern flowers might fling "O'er that beloved head!" 124 LINES WRITTEN AT HALSTEADS. 5. Such thoughts were mine : the mood is gone ; Once more, I stand this lake beside : Maturer thoughts, and wisdom won From years that Hke a dream are flown, Cheer me instead, yet chide. 6. As deeply, with a purer heart, She loved these mountains which I love ; And, loving, left them. To^;n apart From them and from the Poet's art. She neither wept nor strove. 7. Amid the stress of daily life She, for ethereal stillness framed. Advanced ; 'mid scenes for others rife With petty troubles, care, and strife, Uncrippled and unmaimed. 8. The call of Duty was a call To her more constant and more strong Than voice of wintry waterfall. Which from the mountain's echoing wall Increases all night long. 9. The humblest tasks of day and hour. If Duty's hght around them shone. Challenged her breast with mightier power Than Placefell's brow or Yewcrag's bower, lUumined by moon or sim. LINES WRITTEN AT HALSTEADS. 125 10. We dwell not in the sacred fane, But seek for strength supernal there, Elsewhere to use it. Not in vain Did vales and hills her youth sustain, For loftier loves prepare. 11. In crowded street and clamorous mews, Her face its placid candour kept : Her heart, like flowers refreshed by dews The mountain's noontide mists diffuse. In endless sabbath slept. •^ 12. To aU her gentle ways was bound A grace from woodland memories caught : Her voice retained that touching sound, (Pathos not plaintive though profound) Contented rills first taught. 13. Surely in sleep the torrents poured. For her their requiem : and the wind, And many a valley wind-explored, Answering in full harmonic chord. Their solemn burthen joined. 14. In dreams unvanquished by the dawn She saw red dawn the darkness rout : Gradations saw of mountain lawn. And ridge behind ridge, far withdrawn. In " linked sweetness long drawn out : " 126 LINES WRITTEN AT HALSTEADS. 15. Saw tracts high up of whitening grass, (Sunshine of Earth when Heaven's had failed) The crimson Birch-grove's feathery mass By rain drops in a warm, still pass With silver drapery veiled. 16. The dark gold of the autumnal gorse, The auburn of the faded fern. She saw. Thy murmur, Aira Force ! Kept pure its Arethusan course, ''Mid dirge of biUows stem. 17. If ever now she moves to earth That eye fast fixed upon the Throne, In vale or city, south or north, What sees she ? All things nothing worth, Save virtuous tasks well done. 18. Then rightly rests in death her head, Where life to her its duties gave : Among the poor she clothed and fed, And taught, and loved, and comforted, Rightly remains her grave. 127 ^ imMl t0 iaplw. 1. A GLORIOUS amphitheatre, whose girth Exceeds three-fold th' horizons of the north, Mixing our pleasure in a goblet wide, With hard, firm rim through clear air far-descried ; Illumined mountains, on whose heavenly slopes. Quick, busy shades rehearse, while Phcebus drops, Dramatic parts in scenic mysteries ; Far-shadowing islands, and exulting seas, With cities girt, that catch, till day is done. Successive glances from the circling sun, And cast a snowy gleam across the blue : — A gulf that, to its lake-like softness true. Reveres the stillness of the syren's cell. Yet knows the ocean's roll, and loves it well ; A gulf where Zephyr oft, with noontide heat Oppressed, descends to bathe his sacred feet, And, at the first cold touch, at once reviving. Sinks to the wings in joy, before him driving A feathery foam into the lemon groves ; — Evasive, zone-like sands and secret coves ; Translucent waves that, heaved with motion slow, On fanes submerged a brighter gleam bestow ; Fair hamlets, streets with odorous myrtles spread, Bruised by processions grave with soundless tread. 128 A FAREWELL TO NAPLES. i That leave (the Duomo entered) on the mind ; A pomp confused, and music on the wind ; J Smooth, mounded banks like inland coasts and capes, i That take from seas extinct their sinuous shapes, \ And girdle plains whose growths, fire-fed below, ] In Bacchanal exuberance burst and blow ; ] A light Olympian and an air divine — '1 Naples ! if these are blessings, they are thine. | i i 2. 1 a Thy sands we paced in sunlight and soft gloom ; ] From Tasso's birthplace roamed to Virgil's tomb. ] Baia ! thy haunts we trod, and glowing caves i Whose ambushed ardours pant o'er vine-decked waves. 1 Thy cliffs we coasted, loitered in thy creeks, i O shaggy island ^ with the five grey peaks ! 1 Explored thy grotto, scaled thy fortress, where j Thy dark-eyed maids trip down the rocky stair, j With glance cast backward, laugh of playful scorn, ) And cheek carnationed with the lights of mom. j The hills Lactarean lodged us in their breast : i Shadowy Sorrento to her spicy rest j Called us from far with gales embalmed, yet pure ; Her orange brakes we pierced, and ranged her rifts obscure. ; Breathless along Pompeii's streets we strayed i By songless fount, mosaic undecayed, \ Voluptuous tomb, still forum, painted hall, j Where wreathed Bacchantes float on every wall ; \ Where Ariadne, by the purple deep, j Hears not those panting sails, but smiles in sleep ; j (1) Capri. A FAREWELL TO NAPLES. 12^ Where yet Silenus grasps the woodland cup, And buried Pleasure from its grave looks up. Lastly, the great Vesuvian steep we clomb ; Then, Naples ! made once more with thee our home. We leave thee now — but first, with just review, We cast the account, and strike the balance true — And thus, as forth we niove, we take our last adieu, 3. From her whom genius never yet inspired. Or virtue raised, or pulse heroic fired ; From her who, in the grand historic page. Maintains one barren blank from age to age ; From her, with insect life and insect buz. Who, evermore unresting, nothing does ; From her who, with the future and the past No commerce holds ; no structure rears to last : From streets where spies and jesters, side by side, Kange the rank markets, and their gains divide ; Where Faith in Art, and Art in sense is lost. And toys and gewgaws form a nation's boast ; Where Passion, from Affection's bond cut loose, Eevels in orgies of its own abuse ; And Appetite, from Passion's portals thrust. Creeps on its belly to its grave of dust ; Where Vice her mask disdains, where Fraud is loud, And nought but Wisdom dumb and Justice cowed ; — Lastly, from her who planted here unawed, 'Mid heaven-topped hills, and waters bright and broad, From these but nerves more swift to err has gained, And the dread stamp of sanctities profaned ; K 130 LINES. And, girt not less with ruin, lives to show • That worse than wasted weal is wasted woe, — We part ; forth issuing through her closing gate, With unreverting faces, not ingrate. 1844. fiws. From coral caves and sunless mines. And prone expanse of snows and sands, Whereon, while shadowing eve declines, The sohtary exile stands : From blasted fields and branded coasts, And citied deserts black with fire ; From putrid swamps where conscript hosts A foe behold not, yet expire ; — At last ascending, claim your place. Nor fear to answer ban with ban, And smite the Insulter on his face, Ye manlier faculties of man, That, long in rising, rise at last ; And, winged with lightning, thunder-zoned, The turrets shake, and scare the feast Of malefactors crowned and throned. MODEKN PHILOSOPHY. ' 131 The blood of Catherine fires the Czar : — Teach it less proudly to rebel ! False priests baptize an impious war ; — The homicidal synods quell ! From Arctic regions, and the shore Medea left of old, make way ! The heart of Poland beats once more : The nuns of Minsk await their day. Pten |PffS0p|g. Are these thy Prophets ? England, speak ! Shall Strength be mastered by the weak ? Shall we, in times gone by For spiritual things who strove, submit (By ease seduced or scared by wit) To worship of a lie ? Woe to the land if this be so ! The heights infected, vales below Will soon with plague be rife. The philosophic sceptre rules. Vicar of Faith — or foe — the schools That rule the walks of life. 132 MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 3. Pass then before us in review ! Rise, modem teachers ! claim your due Of honour, love, or fear. First comes the chemist Locke, who taught That minds in crucibles are wrought Supplied through eye or ear. 4. The man who dreamed that fleshly seed Those great creative thoughts could breed. Which stamp us truly men. Away ! From God we come : with awe From God those Truths ideal draw, That mock the senses' ken. 5. Paley beside him takes his stand ; His pupil, graced with gown and band — What scroll is that he rears ? Behold the Gospel, new-translated. Of " selfishness well-calculated :" Well motived hopes and fears ! 6.. From human hearts wouldst thou expel The demons with a demon spell ? Sophist and Sadducee ! Thy work is vain : thy work is woe : — Jesus they know and Paul they know ; But have not heard of thee. MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 133 7, Who next 1 A monk of modern cheer, An economic sage draws near ; And, 'mid the fancied wreck Of instincts old as earth, declares " I'll make the planets move in squares With my ^ preventive check ! ' " Task easier than to tear apart. For Mammon's service, heart from heart : Those genial streams to freeze. That cleanse onr valleys and make sound. Yet fertilize earth's utmost bound, — The nuptial charities ! Of old monastic virtue left Such bonds behind ; and, thus bereft. Brought forth the soul's increase. The mountain plains of ice and stone It ploughed ; and reaped what God had sown : Below, the plains had peace ! 10. Of old, where natural Love had sway, The chains were flax that barred its way : Through deserts, and o'er floods The warrior led a fearless bride ; And city towers were soon descried O'er forest soUtudes. 134 MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 11. Alas ! with us had Faith been strong, Or Natui'e^s yearnings, not so long Had we these shames endured ! Glassed in the church's font serene Keason her god-like face had seen. And seen it unobscured. 12. Duty, erect, severe, and hard, Had won her own sublime reward Then most when seeking none. On all the highways of our Hfe, Now mired with shame and dinned with strife, The light of heaven had shone. 13. No lawyer — ^faithful to his fee — Had found in " average good " a plea : No statesman then had made The " nation's wealth " his first, great aim ; Nor to her greatness and her fame Preferred her growth in trade. 14. ye who watch those springs cloud-girt Of Thought, that soon their heights desert. And sweep by field and town ! Keep pure your precious charge ! Their breath Can steep in dews of life or death A nation's laurel crown ! 135 51 Irfltetant's W^mmp at ftrme. Thanks be to Heaven ! yon grove of sombre pines, Whose several tops, like feathers in one wing Folded o'er one another, hang in air, From the great City hides me. From its sound. Low but mysterious, urgent, agitating, Not distance only, but those riffced walls Immense (how oft at noontide have I watched The long green hzard from their fissures glance, And glide from thicket-mantled tower to tower). Not less protect me. Thanks once more to Heaven ! This nook in which I lie, this grassy isle, Amid the burnt brake nested, hath no name : No legend haunts it. Unalarmed I turn. Confronted by no despot from the grave, By no inscription challenged. If this spot Was trod of old by consul or by king, It is my privilege to be ignorant : They lived and died. If here the Roman twins Tugged at the she-wolf, they have had their day. Yon lambs have now their hour ; and I, a stranger, Following the path their feet have worn, here find Their cool recess, and share it. Pretty thrush ! Possess thy soul in peace, and sing at will. Sharpening thy clear expostulating note, 136 A Protestant's musings at romb. Or softening, 'mid the branches. Thou art free I Save that hereditary song no tie Connects thee with the past. Complacent stream ! Sufficient to solicit and reward An unconstrained attention, thou to me (A lover of the torrents ere I heard them) This day art dearer far than Alpine floods, In whose abysmal voices all the sounds Of all the vales are met and reconciled. From admiration I desire repose ; Rest from that household foe, a beating heart ; Yea, from all thought exemption, save such thoughts As, lightly wafted towards us, leave us lightly. And, like the salutation of those winds That curl yon ilex leaves, if sweets they bring. Bequeath a sweeter freshness. Three weeks since To me this dell of grass had seemed a prison, And hours here spent ignoblest apathy. The change, whence comes it ] Fevered nights and days Make answer. Answer thou, mysterious City, Whose shade eclipsed the world a thousand years ! Tomb, aqueduct, and porch I visited. And strove with adulating thoughts to clasp ; And could not : for as some vast tree, the sire Of woods, flings off" the span of infant arms. So by its breadth and compass Rome rebuked My sympathies. The "lesser," verily, '' Is of the greater blessed;" and Love, a gift. Falls back, repulsed, from that which scorns its aid ; From that which, sohtary in its vastness. Admits no measurement, nor condescends A Protestant's musings at rome. 137 To be in portions grasped ; from that which yields No crevice to the cHmber's hand or foot ; Whose height o'erawes our winged aspirations, Like some steep chff of ocean in whose shade The circHng sea-birds wail. And yet unable, With soul-unburdening love, to clasp thee, Rome, Much more was I unable to forget thee. I mused in city wastes, where pitying Earth Takes back into her breast huge fragments strewn Around, like bones of savage beasts extinct : From wreck to wreck I roamed. My very dreams Nested in obscure haunts and vaults unhealthy. Ruin on ruin pressed, rivals in death, Like grave dislodging grave in churchyards choked. Triumphant Pillar, and vain-glorious Arch Towered in blue sky. Voluptuous Baths laid bare Colossal vice: and one great* Temple, meet For that promiscuous worship Statecraft loves, Lifted its haughty dome and pillared front. I sought Cornelia's house, but found instead The Csesars' Palace, and the Coliseum; That theatre of blood, where sat enthroned, Swollen with the rage of Roman merriment. The Roman people, like an idol served With human victims ! From its own excess Triumphant Evil suffers confutation. Not here where, tested by the extreme it reached, The Imperial instinct stands unmasked — not here Can the sword's conquests subjugate the soul. * The Pantheon. 138 A Protestant's musings at rome. A lucid interval perforce is ours, By these memorials sobered. Warlike sounds Confirm, not break a sleeper's martial dream ; And energies of mind shut out full oft That truth to babes revealed. The race that here Trod down their brethren daily, in their day Might plead some poor excuse. Each war to them Some singular necessity might urge. Or final peace impledge : but we who stand Outfaced by all the congregated trophies They reared that gloried in their shame : who pace O'er Tulha's way to reach Domitian's halls ; Who in one choir behold the British Queen And earliest Sabine maid; who hear at once The wail of Veii and the falling roofs Of Carthage, till monotonous becomes . The cry of nations, atid the tale of blood A tedious recitation ; we who scan. Marbled in Rome, the form of injured Earth, And trace her wounds, and count each accurate pang In that dread victim by Rome's talon and beak Grav'n and recorded ; — we are scantly moved On martial sway to dote. What magic, then. Draws us to Rome '? What Spirit bids the nations Send up their tribes to one Metropolis — To her whom many hate — whom many fear; Not many love ! Luxurious wealth has spread No velvet o'er the Roman streets, nor hung The spoils of Cashmeer, Persia, Samarcand On either side the way. No flattering dream Of Fame restored, and ancient life renewed, A Protestant's musings at rome. 139 Looks forth from heaven into a young man's eyes, Then drops and plants its tent on Tyber's bank. The tawny Tyber is no mountain rill Where Fancy slakes her thirst. The Sage shrinks back. And in the Roman Sibyl's bleeding book Will read no line. The future here is mortgaged to the past ; Hope breathes no temporal promise o'er that plain On which Malaria broods : amid the tombs Her foot moves slowly ; and where Hope is lame The social forces languish. Whence the spell That draws us, then, to Rome. In arms, no more It Hves : — perchance it rules in sovran Art 1 The reign of Art is over. To uprear A prostrate column on its crumbling base Is here her chief of triumphs ! Art remains — Here, as elsewhere, a Hving power no more : Her Ufeless body, stretched across the street, Blocks up the public ways. The artist's study, Of old a hermit's cell, where Mind recluse, Pillowed on stores aforetime rung from Thought By Passion, by Experience drawn from Life, Saw visions as in Patmos, and set forth The shapes it saw, is now a wrangling shop In all the regal cities of the world. For them that buy and seU. In ancient time The painter was a preacher, whose sage hand Pictured high thought. If Martyrdom that Thought, The radiant face of confessor unmoved, 140 A Protestant's musings at rome. Expressed full well that death which is a birth Into the realms of light. If Faith that Thought, Lo ! where St. Jerome, eremite and saint, A dweller among rocks, himself a rock, Wasted and gaunt, fast-worn, and vigil-blind, Dying, draws near in faith (with both hands clasped, And awe-struck hp) to Him the invisible. And on that " Last Commimion " hanging, rests The weight of all his being ! If he mused On purity, ah, mark that seer (nor young, Nor female) who a lily holds, and reads Writ in its depths the life white-robed of them Who follow still the Lamb ! How oft, how gladly, On such fair picture, found in village church Or loneliest convent, has my spirit fed ! But here in Rome, the centre once of Art, Here, as elsewhere, her mission Art hath lost : Her health is here in rank abundance drowned. The living paint for profit. Pictures old Are to inglorious eminence reduced ; And, from the spots that gave them meaning torn, Hang now in brute confusion ranged round halls Where Vanity sits umpire. Art of old, Handmaid of Faith ; prophet that witness bore Of God, not self, nor came in her own name; Initiate in the Ideal Truth that spans The actual scope of things ; and thence advanced To stand great Nature's meek Interpreter, Is now a painted queen ; and keeps her court In galleries whose marble labyrinths Like cities peopled by a race of stone, A Protestant's musings at rome. 141 Branch forth unnumbered. Breathlessly we turn ; And sigh for stillness, sigh for utter peace, For darkness, or assuasive twilight drawn In dewy gentleness o'er pastures broad. Whose cool serenity of blue and green Lures the tense spirit forth, and in a bath Of relaxation soft, soothes and contents it — Too much of ostentatious aid unasked ! Are we so weak within ? Can we advance No step without a crutch ? no lessons learn, Save lessons thrust upon us ? Can we catch In Nature's music manifold no voice But sad confessions of her nothingness 1 Trust we in dead things only 1 Nature lives ! Her moving clouds, the rapture of her waves ; Her rural haunts domestic ; — nooks sunwarmed, Endeared to babe and greybeard ; — her expanse Of fruitful plains, with hamlet, hall, and tower, Homestead and hedge, in autumn's glistening air Drawn out at eve, or by the ferment dazed Of summer sunrise, or on vernal noon Melting in pearly distance Hke our dreams For man's far welfare ; — her mysterious glens. That with the substance of one shade are thronged. And other habitant have none, that speak Of God and God alone ; — transpierce the heart With wisdom less imposed on man than won From man's resources. Nature's demonstrations, Maternal, not scholastic, need have none Of diagram. Her own face is their proof, Subduing in the pathos of its smiles. 142 A Protestant's musings at rome. Or power of eye. And being infinite Her life is all in every part ; her lore In lowliest shape is perfect. Thou frail flower, Anemone ! that near my grassy couch, By a breath shaken which I scarcely feel. Thy gracious head as though in worship, bowest Down on thy mother's lap — in thee, in thee (I seek no further) Uves that power supreme, Whereof the artists boast. Immaculate Beauty In thy humiHty doth dominate ; Is of thy trembhngs proud ; and, gladly clothed In thy light garb of colours and fair forms, Looks up and smiles. I pluck thee from thy bed — Lie hghtly on a breast that weary grows Of haughtier burthens ! Cool a fevered heart, That seeking better things hath sought in vain. Be thou my monitor : let me sum up. What have I chiefly learned from human life ? That hfe as brief as thine is to be praised: That life's best blessings are the joys we tread To death unseen, chasing inventions vain : That he who made thee, made the heavens and earth, And man : and that in Him is life alone ; To serve Him freedom and to know Him peace. — Thine ancestress that bloomed in Paradise, Possessed no softer voice to celebrate (Joining the visual chorus of all worlds) Her great Creator's glory ! Hark that peal ! From countless domes that high in sunUght shake, A Protestant's musings at rome. 143 A thousand bells roll forth their harmonies. The City, by the noontide flame oppressed, And sheltered long in sleep, awakes. Even now, Along the Pincian steep, with youthful step To dignity subdued, collegiate trains Follow their grave preceptors. Courts grass-gi'own, That echoed long some fountain's lonely splash, Now ring more loudly, smitten by the steeds Of prince, or prelate of the Church, intent. On some majestic Rite. That peal again ! And now the linked procession moves abroad, Untwining slowly its voluminous folds. It pauses — through the dusky archway drawn, It vanishes — ^upcoiled at last, and stiU, Girdling the Coliseum's central cross. The sacred serpent rests. With stealthy motion So shd the Esculapian snake of old Forth from the darkness. In Hesperian isle So rested, coiled around the mystic stem. The watcher of the fruit. The day draws on. The multitudinous thrill of quickening life Vibrates through all the city, while its blood Flows back from vein to vein. That sound prevails In convent walks by rustling robe trailed o'er. Like hum of insects unbeheld it throbs Through orange-scented, cloistral gardens dim. It deepens with the concourse onward borne Between those statued Saints that guard thy bridge, St. Angelo, and past the Adrian Tomb. It swells within those colonnades whose arms Receive once more the concourse from all lands — 144 A Protestant's musings at rome. The lofty English noble, student pale From Germany, diplomatist from France, Far Grecian patriarch, or Armenian priest, Or Koyal Exile. From thy marble roofs, St. Peter's, in whose fastnesses abide, Like Arab tribe encamped, the bands ordained To guard them from the aggressive elements — From those aerial roofs, to whispering depths Of Crypts where kneels the cowled monk alone. The murmur spreads, like one broad wind that lifts Ere morn the sighing shrouds of fleet becalmed. The churches fill ; the reUcs forth are brought : Screened by rich fretwork the monastic apse Eesounds the hoarse chant, like an ocean cave : And long ere yet those obelisks which once Shadowed the Nile, o'er courts Basihcan Protrude their evening shades, like silver stars. Before white altars glimmering, lights shall burn, And solitary suppliants lift their hands To Christ, for ever present, to His Saints, And to His Martyrs, whom the Catacombs Hid in their sunless bosoms. Rome, O Rome ! Surely thy Strength is here ! Three hundred years The faithful people lived among the Tombs ; The Catacombs were their Metropolis. There in the darkness thirty Pontifis ruled ; And died, save two, by martyrdom. The Rite, Dread, and tremendous, yoking earth and heaven. The Christian Sacrifice, was offered there, A Protestant's musings at romb. 145 A tomb the altar ; and, for relics, blood Of him who last confessed. The pictured walls To Mary and to Peter witness still. Here is thy Strength, Rome ! Sun-clad, above, The emperor triumphed, and the people triumphed ! The Nubian lion, and the Lybian pard Roared for their prey ! Above thy tawny wave, Tyber, the world's increase went up each day : Daily from Rome the legions passed whose arms Flashed back in turn the sunrise of all lands. Through every gate the embassies of Kings Advanced with gifts. But in the Catacombs The faithful people, circled by their dead, Worshipped their God in peace. Three hundred years Passed like three days : and lo ! that Power went forth Which conquered Death. Then Hell gave up her prey. That hour the kingdoms of this world became The kingdoms of the Lord, and of His Christ. The Prince of this world, from his throne, upreared On subject thrones of every land, was hurled: The Empire quintessential that absorbed All its precursors, lay a ruin : God His Family on earth a Kingdom made, And Sion built on buried Babylon. The Sacrament of Obedience paid to God Through Man, His Vicar, glorified, that hour. Subjection ; and the Apostles reigned at Rome — Reigned from their tombs, and conquered from their dust. Behold the mystery of the ages ! Man Wrought it, unconscious ! — History is mad, Or finds its meaning here. One mystery vast L 146 A Protestant's musings at rome. Solves here Philosophy's uncounted riddles : Time and its tumults here is harmonized : Hope here is found or nowhere ! As a mist That strives no longer, swept by quiring winds From some peaked mountain, my oppression leaves me. The world is mine once more. Refreshed I rise ; And gales of life from that celestial bourne Whereto we tend strike on me. With soft shock Yon almond bower lets fall its summer snow. The sun is setting. The despotic day Which, blessing earth with increase, suffered none To lift a grateful eye, hath heard his doom ; And round him folds his robes, blood-stained and golden. With dignity to die. Like haughty hopes From one reduced by sickness, from the clouds Their pageantries are melting : and ere long No hue save that translucent, tender green, Will speak of pomps gone by. The increasing wind. Incumbent on the pine-grove's summit broad. Gathers in volumed strength. Within its vaults An omnipresent and persistent whisper Waxes in loudness. Well might I believe The hosts angelic, who with guardian care, Urging belike the seasons in their course. Circle the earth, even now on wings outspread Were rustling o'er me, countless as sea-sands. Glorious and blessed armies ! free ye are From man's uncertainties, and free not less, From man's illusions! Passing in one flight A Protestant's musings at rome. 147 Calpe and Athens, — ^all that makes renowned This many-mountained, many-citied globe, To you our schemes of worldly rule must seem Like some poor maniac's towers in charcoal sketched (Airy possession) on his cell's bare wall ; Our science like that knowledge won from touch By one born blind ; our arts like gems minute, Poor fragments crumbled from your spheres eterne ! Pity us, then, bright Spirits, for ye know The weakness of our strength ; the poverty Ye know, which we for wealth misdeem, — exchanging The gold of Truth Unchangeable and One (Shared, not divided) for the baser coin Of Truth in portions, scattered through the world. Ye know the sad vacuity of hearts With trifles filled, and thence from Him averse In love for whom is clasped the love of all things, And their possession. Starlike in your ken, By distance, and the barriers of the nations, And all that haze which men call ancientness, Unfooled ye are. For you the Church of God, Unwrinkled as the ocean, wears for aye Its Pentecostal glory. All things that live. And die not — all realities divine, Live in the light of an eternal Present And prime perpetual. Him whom we revere As patriarch, ye behold a white-haired babe. Poor, heaven-protected infant of fourscore. His course accomplished, still in him ye see His mother's new delight, — a bud dried up ; Dropt from the human stem at noon ; ere night 148 A Protestant's musings at rome. Blown forth into the darkness. Spirits blest ! The sun that runs before you rises ever ; For ever sets ; reigns ever throned at noon : Past, Present, Future mingle in your sight. And Time its tortuous stream spreads to a lake Girt by, and imaging. Eternity, Between whose mirror and the infinite vault Ye in the radiance bask. Bask on, bright Spirits ! Bathe in the beam of Godhead ; or fulfil With awe your ministries of love ; in Man That seeing which they saw not who of old The Galilean mocked. By death absolved — By perfected Obedience rendered free, Man o'er the ruins of the world shall rise ; Yea, from the height of heaven, the throne of God, Shall gaze upon a universe renewed — His Image o'er that universe shall cast And o'er your shining hosts : — ^His hand shall raise ; And, with the voice supreme blending his own. Shall bless you, and pronounce you " very good." SONNET. 149 Sfinmi EARLY FRIENDSHIP. The half-seen memories of childish days When pains and pleasures lightly came, and went ; The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent In fearful wanderings through forbidden ways ; The vague, but manly, wish to tread the maze Of life to noble ends ; whereon intent. Asking to know for what man here is sent. The bravest heart must often pause, and gaze — The firm resolve to seek the chosen end Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature : Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to friend With strength no selfish purpose can secure ; — My happy lot is this, that all attend That friendship which first came, and which shall last endure. S. E. S. E. 150 SONNET. Sffmiet. DRUDGERY. Pleasant it is, at close of weary day, When all is out of sight that vexed the mind To dull routine or petty task confined, — Pleasant with intermitting chat to say " This easy converse fully doth repay " The morning's labour." Search ! and you shall find That only toil upon some work assigned Can fit foundation for such leisure lay. My friends are gone ; these things I think and feel, As o'er the dewy grass a path I make : Some distant wagon with its labouring wheel Betrays the silence which it seems to break ; Slow, heavy perfumes o'er the garden steal ; The flickering branches in the moonbeam shake. S. E. S. E. SONNET. 151 Imml OLD AND MODERN LEARNING. The learning of old times was as a stream Through many an untrodden glen that held its way, Smooth-flowing, clear, and silent as a dream To the calm precincts of a cloister grey ; In which the sculptured fount would doubtless seem A Station fit, where holy men each day Might read the gracious "Word, and muse, and pray, " Send us the living water. Lord Supreme ! " The learning of these days doth rush along By humblest hut and proudest palace bowers, Like a broad torrent, troubled, loud, and strong ; Each sloping bank, throughout the circling hours, Is crowded by an eager, restless throng — They crush to dust the few remaining flowers. S. E. S. K. 153 Bsmtti iaxittm m totol I. ST. PETER'S BY MOONLIGHT. Low hung the moon when first I stood in Rome : Midway she seemed attracted from her sphere, On those twin Fountains shining broad and clear Whose floods, not mindless of their mountain home, Rise there in clouds of rainbow mist and foam. That hour fulfilled the dream of many a year : Through that thin mist, with joy akin to fear, The steps I saw, the pillars, last, the dome. A spiritual Empire there embodied stood : The Roman Church there met me face to face : Ages, sealed up, of evil and of good Slept in that circling colonnade's embrace. Alone I stood, a stranger and alone. Changed by that stony miracle to stone. 154: SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. II. PONTIFIC SERVICE IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL. Forth from their latticed and mysterious cells The harmonies are spreading, onward rolled: Ere long, by counter tides met and controlled, Midway more high the gathering tumult swells. It sinks — a breeze the incense cloud dispels : — Once more Sibylhne forms, and Prophets stoled Look down, supreme of Art's high miracles, Upon the Church terrene. Once more, behold, With what an awful majesty of mien The kingly Priest, his holy precincts rounding. Tramples the marbles of the sacred scene : — The altar now he nears, and now the throne ; As though the Law w^ere folded in his zone. And all the Prophets in his skirts were sounding. III. THE PILLAR OP TRAJAN. Degrading Art's augustest minist'rings, Yon PiUar soars, with sculptured forms embost. Whose grace at that ambitious height is lost. Lo ! as the stony serpent twines its rings Priests, coursers, heralds, warriors, slaves, and kings, Mingle, a tortuous mass confused and crost ; Whilst Art, least honoured here where flattered most. Deplores in vain her prostituted springs, By a fallen Angel at their source ill-stirred ; Unholy — thence unhealing! — What is aid, Vouchsafed, upon conditions that degrade. To one who her allegiance hath transferred ? — O Attic Art brought low^, that here dost stand Full-fed, but hooded, on a tyrant's hand ! SONNETS WEITTEN IN TRAVEL. 155 IV. THE ARCH OF TITUS. I STOOD beneath the Arch of Titus long ; On Hebrew forms there sculptured long I pored ; Till fancy, by a distant clarion stung, Woke : and methought there moved that arch toward A Eoman triumph. Lance and helm and sword Glittered ; white coursers tramped and trumpets rung : Last came, car-borne amid a captive throng, The laurelled son of Eome's imperial lord. As though by wings of unseen eagles fanned The Conqueror's cheek, when first that arch he saw, Burned with the flush he strove in vain to quell — Titus ! a loftier arch than thine hath spanned Rome and the world with empery and law ; — Thereof each stone was hewn from Israel ! THE CAMPAGNA SEEN FROM ST. JOHN LATERAN. Was it the tramphng of triumphant hosts That levelled thus yon plain, sea-like and hoary ; Armies from Rome sent forth to distant coasts. Or back returning clad with spoils of glory 1 Around it loom cape, ridge, and promontory : Above it sunset shadows fleet like ghosts. Fast-borne o'er keep and tomb, whose ancient boasts, By Time confuted, name have none in story. Fit seat for Rome ! for here is ample space, AVhich greatness chiefly needs — severed alone By yonder aqueducts, with queenly grace That sweep in curves concentric ever on, (Bridging a world subjected as a chart) To that great City, head of earth, and heart. 156 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. YI. BIRDS IN THE BATHS OF DIOCLETIAN. Egerian warbler ! unseen rhapsodist ! Whose carols antedate the Eoman spring ; "Who, while the old grey walls, thy playmates, ring, Dost evermore on one deep strain insist ; Flinging thy bell-notes through the sunset mist ! Touched by thy song rich weeds and wall-flowers swing As in a breeze, the twilight crimsoning That sucks from them aerial amethyst — O for a Sibyl's insight to reveal That lore thou sing'st of ! Shall I guess it ? nay ! Enough to hear thy strain — enough to feel O'er all the extended soul the freshness steal Of those ambrosial honeydews that weigh Down with sweet force the azure hds of day. YII. — ^the "miserere" in the sistine chapel. 1. From sadness on to sadness, woe to woe. Searching all depths of grief ineffable Those sighs of the Forsaken sink and swell. And to a piercing shrillness, gathering, grow. Now, one by one, commingling now they flow : Now in the dark they die, a piteous knell. Lorn as the. wail of exiled Israel, Or Hagar weeping o'er her outcast. No — Never hath loss external forced such sighs ! O ye with secret sins that inly bleed, And drift from God, search out, if ye are wise. Your unrepented infehcities : And pray, whate'er the punishment decreed, It prove not exile from your Maker's eyes. SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 157 VIII. — THE "miserere" IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL. 2. Those sounds expiring on mine ear, mine eye Was by a corresponding impress spelled : A vision of the Angels that rebelled Still hung before me through the yielding sky, Sinking on plumes outstretched imploringly. Their Tempter's hopes and theirs for ever quelled. They sank, with hands upon their eyes close-held. And longed, methought, for death, yet could not die. Down, ever down, a mournful pageant streaming With the slow, ceaseless motion of a river, Inwoven choirs to ruin blindly tending, They sank. I wept as one who weeps while dreaming. To see them, host on host, by force descending Down the dim gulfs, for ever and for ever. IX. — THE RENAISSANCE, AND SAVONAROLA. 1. Painter, that on these sacred convent walls The symbols paintest of the fleeting Hours, Reserve thine art, poor spoil from pagan bowers. To deck withal the rich man's secular halls. Are these the Hours ? aerial Bacchanals With urn down-bent or basket heaped with flowers. Through sunshine borne — flight Zephyr's paramours ? — Thralls though we be, we are not Pleasure's thraUs ! When God with thunder and his prophets' voice The temples where of old he chose to dwell Chooses to shake and summon, cleanse or quell, How impious sounds thy summons to rejoice ! Erase thy work : kneel on the tombstones bare : Thine eye with fastings purge : make firm thy hand with prayer. 158 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. X. — THE RENAISSANCE, AND SAVONAROLA. 2. Then rise, and paint the Hours ; and launch them forth Like sequent arrows hurled frora God's right hand ; Or eagles of the ocean, borne to earth By soHd storm their wings no more withstand. Yet calm in speed, a stern, predestined band, In meditative might or gloomy mirth Speed them, dread forms of elemental birth — And let one bear the trump, and one the brand. Fix thou their mighty eyes those dark locks under Massed o'er their fervid foreheads, like a cloud Whose heart is flame. And be their faces bowed, As though they listened to unsleeping thunder ; The breaking of the billows of Time's sea On the far confines of Eternity. XI. FRESCOES BY MASACCIO. Well hast thou judged that sentence, " Had ye Faith, " Ye could move mountains." In those forms I see What God at first appointed man to be ; His image crowned, triumphant over death. Born of that Word which never perisheth. Those Prophets here resume the empery By sin in Eden lost. Their eye, their breath Cancels disease ; lays prone the anarchy Of Passion's fiercest waves. Secret as Fate, Like Fate's the powers they wield are infinite. Their very thoughts are laws : their wiU is weight — On as they move in majesty and might The demons yield their prey, the graves their dead : And to her centre Earth is conscious of their tread. SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 159 XII. GIOTTO'S CAMPANILE AT FLORENCE. Enchased with precious marbles, pure and rare, How gracefully it soars, and seems the while From every polished stage to laugh and smile, Playing with sportive gleams of lucid air ! Fit resting-place methinks its summit were For a descended Angel ! happy isle, Mid life's rough sea of sorrow, force, and guile. For Saint of royal race, or Vestal fair. In this seclusion — call it not a prison — Cloistering a bosom innocent and lonely. — O Tuscan Priestess ! gladly would I watch All night one note of thy loud hymn to catch Sent forth to greet the sun, when first, new-risen, He shines on that aerial station only ! XIII. OLD PICTURES AT FLORENCE. Thrice happy they who thus before man's eyes Eestored the placid image of his prime ; Illustrating th' abortive shows of Time With gleams authentic caught from Paradise. Those Godlike forms are men ! — Impure disguise By us now suffered ! for wings to climb Once more to Virtue's mountain seats sublime. And be what here we poorly recognise ! From these fair pictures our Humanity Looks down upon us kindly. 'Tis no dream : — Truth stands attested by Con^stency : And all the Virtues here in peace supreme So meet, so blend, that in those Forms we see, The sum of all we are and fain would be. 160 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. ' XIV. ] ON A PICTURE BY COREGGIO AT PARMA. ■ Paint thou the pearl gates of the Morning Star, j Loftiest of Painters, and the lovehest ; ■; For only of thy pencil worthy are i Those ever-smiling mansions of the blest. ' Thyself when homeward called to heavenly rest j Couldst scarce have marked our earth's receding bar : i No happier shapes could greet thee, near or far, ; Than oft in life thy radiant fancy drest. God, when he framed the earth, beheld it good. \ The light from his approving smile that shone \ For thee waned never from her features wan : ! Before thine eyes, unfallen and unrenewed. Still moved that Race supreme and fairest made ; i And Love and Joy, twin stars, still on their foreheads played. XY. \ \ COREGGIO'S CUPOLAS AT PARMA. -j Creatures all eyes and brows, and tresses streaming, j By speed divine blown back : — within, all fire j Of wondering zeal, and storm of bright desire ; ^ Kound the broad dome the immortal throngs are beaming : ] With elemental powers the vault is teeming. ^ We gaze, and, gazing, join the fervid choir, | In spirit launched on wings that ne'er can tire 1. Like those that buoy the breasts of children dreaming. i The exquisitest hand that e'er in light | Revealed the subtlest smile of new-born pleasure, k The depth here fathoms and attains the height ; ■"; Is strong the strength of heavenly hosts to measure ; Draws back the azure curtain of the skies. And antedates our promised Paradise. SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 161 XVI. — TO ITALY. 1. O Italy, how beautiful thou wert, If in thee dwelt an answerable soul ! Fair in each feature, perfect in each part, That, that thou lack'st which should inspire the whole. Thine are all gifts of nature, all of art ; Yet a slow sadness we cannot control Steals, as we gaze, o'er the dejected heart. And our checked Passion meets too soon its goal. Beyond the mark of Virtue thou hast shot, (For only Virtue's ornaments are thine) And so fallen short of Greatness. Solid Thought, Strength, courage, prudence — all save Truths divine Thou hast corrupted. Therefore falls thy hand, Prone, and unsceptred of its old command. XVII. — TO ITALY. 2. O'er-mastering passion, an enervate will, Demand the Despot. The quick, petulant guest Of joys inglorious, this inglorious rest Of absolute submission follows still With self-ordained succession ; doth fulfil The providence of Nature. Ye detest Bondage — alas ! her iU for you is best ; And Freedom's good for you were utmost ill. Her fortress is the hearth, to you not dear : Her throne the patriot's heart paternal there : Her shrine the mind that doth itself revere : Her sanction this, that Freedom is the air By action breathed, and Virtue's natural sphere : Duty the name that all her standards bear. M 162 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. XVIII. — GENOA. Ah ! what avails it, Genoa, now to thee That Doria, feared by monarchs, once was thine ? Univied ruin ! in thy sad dedine From virtuous greatness, what avails that he* Whose prow descended first the Hesperean sea, And gave our world her mate beyond the brine. Was nurtured, whilst an infant, at thy knee ?— All things must perish — ^all but things divine. Flowers, and the stars, and virtue ; — ^these alone. The self-subsisting shapes, or self-renewing, Survive. All else are sentenced. Wisest were That builder who should plan with strictest care, (Ere yet the wood was felled or hewn the stone,) The aspect only of his pile in ruin ! XIX. — A PICTURE BY ANDREA DEL SARTO, IN THE CATHEDRAL OF PISA. Are there not virtues which we know not of ? — By man unnamed because not met with here ; Perchance too lofty for this lowly sphere ; Our great and glorious heritage above, — Yet here in virtues which we know and love Dimly foreshown 1 Thus dimly to the seer. In instincts of brute tribes that round us move Rehearsed, the attributes of man appear. Madonna ! I have hung day after day On thy strange beauty with a devout eye ; And now, all passion, marvel, ecstasy Rebuked, or harmonized, or worn away, I gaze ; and ask what I have asked ; and stay Lingering, and vainly hoping a reply. * Columbus. SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 1G3 XX. — THE CAMPO SANTO AT PISA. 1. There needs not choral song, nor organ's peeling : — This mighty cloister of itself inspires Thoughts breathed like hymns from spiritual choirs ; While shades and lights, in soft succession stealing. Along it creep, now veiling, now revealing Strange forms, here traced by painting's earliest sires, — Angels with palms ; and purgatorial fires ; And saints caught up, and demons round them reeling. Love, long remembering those she could not save. Here hung the cradle of Italian Art : Faith rocked it : like a hermit child went forth From hence that Power which beautified the earth. She perished when the world had lured her heart From her true friends, Religion and the grave. XXI. — THE CAMPO SANTO AT PISA. Lament not thou : the cold winds, as they pass Through the ribbed fret-work with low sigh or moan, Lament enough : let them lament alone, Counting the sear leaves of the innumerous grass With thin, soft sound like one prolonged — alas ! Spread thou thy hands on sun-touched vase, or stone That yet retains the warmth of sunshine gone, And drink warm solace from the ponderous mass. Gaze not aroimd thee. Monumental marbles, Time-clouded frescoes, mouldering year by year, Dim cells in which all day the night-bird warbles — These things are sorrowful elsewhere, not here : A mightier Power than Art's hath here her shrine : Stranger ! thou tread'st the soil of Palestine ! 164 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL XXII. WRITTEN IN TASSO'S HOUSE AT SORRENTO. O Leonora, here thy Tasso dwelt, Secure, ere yet thy beauty he had seen : Here with bright face and unterrestrial mien He walked, ere yet thy shadow he had felt. From that green rock he watched the sunset melt, On through the waves : yon cavern was his screen. When first those hills, which gird the glowing scene, Were thronged with heavenly warriors, and he knelt To hail the vision ! Syren baths to him Were nothing ; Pagan grot, or classic fane. Or glistening pavement seen through billows dim. Far, far o'er these he gazed on Judah's plain ; And more than manhood wrought was in the boy — Why did the Stranger meddle in his joy ? XXIII. THE sibyl's cave AT CUMA. CuMEAN Sibyl ! from thy sultry cave Thy dark eyes level with the sulj)h'rous ground Through the gloom flashing, roll in wrath around. What see they 1 Coasts perpetual Earthquakes pave With ruin ; piles half buried in the wave ; Wrecks of old times and new in lava drowned ;-*- And festive crowds, sin-steeped and myrtle-crowned, Like idiots dancing on a Parent's grave. And they foresee, Those pallid lips with pain Suppress their thrilling whispers. Sibyl, spare ! Could Wisdom's voice divide yon sea, or rear A new Vesuvius from its flaming plane, Futile the warning ! Power despised ! forbear To deepen guilt by counsel breathed in vain ! SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 1 65 XXIV. VENICE BY DAT. The splendour of the Orient, here of old Throned with the West, upon a waveless sea, Her various-vested, resonant jubilee Maintains, though Venice hath been bought and sold. In their high stalls of azure and of gold Yet stand, above the servile concourse free. Those brazen steeds — the Car of Victory Hither from far Byzantium's porch that rolled. The winged Lions, Time's dejected thralls. Glare with furled plumes. The pictured shapes that glow Like sunset clouds condensed upon the walls, Still boast old wars, or feasts of long ago : And still the sun his amplest glory pours On all those swelling domes and watery floors. XXV. VENICE IN THE EVENING. Alas ! mid all this pomp of the ancient time, . And flush of modem pleasure, dull Decay O'er the bright pageant breathes her shadowy gi-ey. As on from bridge to bridge I roam and climb It seems as though some wonder-working chime, (Whose spell the Vision raised and still can sway) To some far source were ebbing fast away : As though, by man unheard, with voice sublime It bade the sea-born Queen of Cities follow Her Sire into his watery realm far down — Beneath my feet the courts sound vast and hollow ; And more than Evening's darkness seems to frown On sable barks that, swift yet trackless, fleet Like dreams o'er dim lagune and watery street. 166 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL* XXVI. IN A CATHEDRAL. This work indeed is glorious : fit the shrine — For God ? — Not so, but fit for God-hke men Divinely joined in rites which make divine. Lo I like a stream that, toiling through a glen, Its own breath veils at times from human ken, Yon white Procession curves its distant Hne ; Now seen through columns like a grove of pine, Anon in clouds of incense veiled again. Those roofs high-arched, like hands upraised in prayer, Invoke, as plainly as the Litanies They echo, Him whose seat is everywhere — Great God ! the race that reared their mighty span Obey an Alien's sceptre ! that man Were worthier of his nobler faculties ! XXVIL Leonardo's "last supper" at milan. Come ! if thy heart be pure, thy spirits calm. If thou hast no harsh feelings, or but those Which self-reproach inflicts — ah no, bestows ; Her womids, here probed, find here their gentlest balm. O the sweet sadness of that lifted palm ! The dreadful Deed to come His lips disclose : Yet love and awe, not wrath, that count'nance shows, As though they sang even now that ritual psalm Which closed the Feast piacular. — Time hath done His work on this fair picture ; but that Face His outrage awes. Stranger ! the mist of years, Between thee hung and half its heavenly grace, Hangs there, a fitting veil ; nor that alone — Gaze on it also through a veil of tears ! SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 167 XXVIII. THE MILANESE SCHOOL. What memory of a being ere his birth Possessed Luini with the idea strange Of that SibylUne beauty ? Hall or Grange, Palace or Hut, whate'er we know on earth, Holds nothing like it. Sadness here and mirth So blend, or so into each other range, We deem them ancient foemen that exchange Love-vows, and sit henceforth beside one hearth. Those half-closed eyes with mournful peneti-ation Look on through all things ; yet a furtive smile Brightens her thin, smooth, shadowy face the while : — Methinks that subtle-visaged creature hears The narrowing thread of Life in soft gyration Drawn out; or closing of the fatal shears ! XXIX. the cathedral of MILAN. With steps subdued, silence, and labour long, I reached the marble roofs. Awe vanquished dread. White were they as the summit of Mont Blanc, When noontide parleys with that mountain's head. The far-off Alps, by morning tinged with red. Blushed through the spires that round in myriads sprung : A silver gleam the wind-stirred poplars flung O'er Lombardy's green sea below me spread. Of these I little saw. In trance I stood ; Ere death, methought, admitted to the skies : Around me, like a heavenly multitude Crowning some specular mount of Paradise, Thronged that Angelic concourse robed in stone : The sun, ascending, in their faces shone ! 168 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. XXX. BYZANTINE MOSAICS AT RAVENNA. Traced on dim gold, in azure vaults enshrined, Dreary adornments of each glaring space. Those figures lean lack not a terrible grace ! Like cloud-rack dragged along the wintry wind, Forth stream at large their grey locks unconfined. A vulture's foot each hand might seem : each face Reports of wilds where, mid the ferine race, Couched hungry seers and prophets vigil-blind. Rocks, forests, caves, before me rise austere ! And that strong Church in childhood wandering wide, By visions nursed, by tempests lullabied : And hymns of warlike blast I seem to hear ; Victorious hymns no pen of scribe records : — Fly, scattered Fiends ! stand back, terrestrial Lords ! XXXI. THE "SANTA CASA " AT LORETTO. A poet's, not a pilgrim's, vow was mine : And with unworthy eyes, though pleased, I scanned That house walled round with sculptured forms divine, Labour illustrious of a Tuscan hand : If Angels hither from earth's holiest strand Wafted the hut those sumptuous walls enshrine, Not less the artist here with potent wand Wafts back the wanderer's soul to Palestine : There lays, there lulls it in a peaceful haven. O'er which, distinct as stars o'er sleeping seas, All Christian truths and Human, blended, bow^ Embodied in those gospel imageries. Of song-raised temples we have heard ere now — Lo, here a visible hymn in marble graven ! SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 169 XXXII. WRITTEN WHILE SAILING ON THE GULF OF LEPANTO. All round they lie, deep breath to breath replying, — Those outworn seamen in their well-earned sleep : From the blue concave to the dim blue deep No sound beside. Fluttering all night, or sighing, Since morn the breeze dehcious hath been dying, And now is dead. On yonder snowy steep The majesty of Day diffused is lying ; Whilst Evening's Powers in silence seaward creep, From glens that violet-shade the lilac vest Of Delphi's hills. Ye mariners, sleep well ! Eun slowly, golden sands, and noiselessly. There stands the great Corinthian citadel : Parnassus there : Rest, wearied pinnace, rest ! Sleep, sacred air ! sleep on, marmorean sea ! XXXIII. THE SETTING OF THE MOON NEAR CORINTH. From that dejected brow in silence beaming A light it seems too feeble to retain, A sad, calm, tearful light through vapour gleaming. Slowly thou sinkest on the iEgean main ; To me an image, in thy placid seeming Of some fair mourner who will not complain ; Of one whose cheek is pale, whose eyes are streaming, Whose sighs are heaved unheard, — ^not heaved in vain. And yet what power is thine ? as thou dost sink, Down sliding slow along that azure hollow. The great collected Deep thy course doth follow, Amorous the last of those faint smiles to drink ; And all his lifted fleets in thee obey The symbol of an unpresuming sway. 170 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. XXXIV. — TO A MOUNTAIN IN SWITZERLAND. 1. From all the glittering towers and spires star-bright That fret thy crystal bastions far below, With what an awful grace yon dome of snow Ascends, and swelling, grows upon our sight ; White as an infant's spirit, or the might Of grey hairs in a monarch ! Soft and slow. Dark clouds across thy Pine-wood vesture flow, But touch not, mountain king, that sovran height. The avalanche, borne down in solid flood, Thunders unechoed mid those seats divine : And heaven's great diadem of starry globes Is all thou seest, for thine own white robes Shut out the world — Never shall foot of mine Assail the region of thy solitude. XXXV. — TO A MOUNTAIN IN SWITZERLAND. Lead to this spot Ambition's outcast son, ) With unslaked hopes burning from youth to age ; — ^ That snowy vault, its latest crimson flown, With cold aspect his fever shall assuage. j Lead hither him who, pining in the cage \ Of love remembered when the loved is gone, ; Feeds on one thought, and that a poisonous one ; — Haply that free expanse may disengage ^ His heart from earth — ^that region whence there seems I To heaven one short step only. To this spot j Be thou, bewildered maniac, also brought ; ■ Gaze on that calmness, and forget thy dreams ; i While noontide slumbers on its breezeless height, | While kissed by rose-lipped Mom, or crowned by starry Nigh SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 171 XXXVI. — TO A MOUNTAIN IN SWITZERLAND. 3. The Spirits of the midnight and noonday On thee, great mount, obsequiously attend : Within thy skirts shadow and sunHght play ; And the stars hail thee as their earthly friend. From their immortal charge the Twins descend ; The Plough awhile forgets his heavenly way ; The Pleiads from their shining cloisters stray ; And the crowned Archer doth his bow unbend. Thy vastness draws the sphere above thee nearer : — Or is it that our hearts by thee are raised ; And, strengthened thus, delight with vision clearer To pore on starry wonders unamazed. Earth's noblest shape forsaking for the sky — As life when sweetest makes it sweet to die ? XXXVII. THE CHAPEL OF TELL, (ON THE LAKE OF LUCERNE.) On this green platform with its' chapel small Embowered, the centre of the mountain land, Take, holy Ereedom, take for aye thy stand ; And hither from all regions ever call Thy sons to thy perpetual festival : — Or bid them drink, a sacramental band, From Gruth's founts, that rose at thy command, There where the three Deliverers vowed the fall Of Power unjust. Night heard those whispered tones ; — Have they not found large echoes in the world ? Have they not been like God's own thunder hurled In ruin down on all opprobrious thrones ? All sway that, deifying lawless might. On that doth build, and not on God and on the right 1 172 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. XXXYIII. THE MOUNTAIN MUSE. Where shall we spread the couch of thy repose 1 For here below thou find'st no worthy dwelling ; Rise then where Alp o'er Alp, like clouds up-swelling, Above th' attempt of eagle's wing enclose Inviolate spaces of suspended snows : — There, while the floods far down are faintly knelling, And hooded Evening, star by star, is telling Her rosary dim-seen through skies of rose — There, thy large eyes steadfast and open keeping, Olympia, rest ! what tune in mournful choir The mighty winds, through endless pinewoods sweej)ing. Draw from those chords, their melancholy lyre, Eolian tones of elemental weeping ; And the last gleams of dying day expire. XXXIX. TO A flower on THE SKIRTS OF MONT BLANC. With heart not yet half-rested from Mont Blanc, O'er thee, small flower, my wearied eyes I bent. And rested on that humbler vision long. Is there less beauty in thy purple tent Outspread, perchance a boundless firmament O'er viewless myriads which beneath thee throng. Than in that mount whose sides, with ruin hung. Frown o'er black glens and gorges thunder-rent ? Is there less mystery ? Wisely if we ponder. Thine is the mightier marvel. Life in thee Is strong as in cherubic wings that wander. Seeking the limits of Infinity ; — Life, life to be transmitted, not to expire Till yonder snowy vault shall melt in the last fire ! SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. 173 XL. THE MOUNTAIN LANGUAGE. Silent to watch great rivers at their rise, And downward track them to the murmuring deep ; The sunht storm to follow as it flies, Broken, through purple glens ; in lingering sweep To hear the forest sigh, the torrent leap ; — These things, great Nature's tragic agonies, What lesson teach they which the soul should prize As precious, and the memory strive to keep ? " Lift up your hearts ! " strange and mystic words ! Sounds truly eucharistic ! — ^Nothing mean Is heard in them, or common, or unclean. This is the mountain language. Sense affords An instrumental medium : but the Spirit Draws near in faith ; and God, that hour, is near it ! XLI. A ttrolese village. This village, thronged with churches, needeth none. Each house like some old missal rich and quaint, Is blazoned o'er with prophet, seer,. and saint : Each court and street a sanctity hath won. Here a great Angel stands, crowned with the sun : Magdalene there pours her perpetual plaint ; — There o'er her child the Maiden without taint Bends, as His mercy bends o'er worlds undone. Of earth's proud centres none like this recalls That mystic City in the realms supernal Built upon God ; whose light is God alone. The very stones cry out : the eloquent walls Plainly confess that name the proud disown ; The Father's glory, and the Son eternal. 174 SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL. XLIL THE CATACOMBS AT ROME. Whoever seeks for penitential days, And vows that fitly on such days attend, A region apt, his wanderings here may end. These caverns, winding in sepulchral maze, Are stronger than the desert's loneliest ways. Thoughts meek and sad with lofty thoughts to blend :- Descend, great Pontiff ! Sovran Priests, descend ! Let all the Princes of the Church upraise With annual rites their sceptred hands to God ! Kings of the nations, purpling those strange glooms With robes imperial, on your faces sink ; — Sink, and be saved, in those dread catacombs ! And deeply of the inspiring incense drink That rises from the dust the Martyrs trod ! XLIIL THE APPIAN WAY. Awe-struck I gazed upon that rock-paved way. The Appian Road ; marmorean witness still Of Rome's resistless stride and fateful Will, Which mocked at limits, opening out for aye Divergent paths to one imperial sway. The nations verily their parts fulfil ; And War must plough the fields which Law shall till ; Therefore Rome triumphed till the appointed day. Then from the Catacombs, like waves, up-burst The Host of God, and scaled, as in an hour. O'er all the earth the mountain seats of Power. Gladly in that baptismal flood immersed The old Empire died to live. Once more on high It sits ; now clothed with immortality ! ^oents 0it Sacreb SttBjetts. 177 hxmuim. 1. There was silence in the heavens When the Son of Man was led From the Garden to the Judgment ; Sudden silence, strange, and dread ! All along the empyreal coasts, On their knees the immortal hosts Watched, with sad and wondering eyes, That tremendous sacrifice. 2. There was silence in the heavens When the Priest his garment tore ; Silence when that Twain accursed Their false witness faintly bore. Silence (though a tremor crept O'er their ranks) the Angels kept While that judge, dismayed though proud, Washed his hands before the crowd. 3. But when Christ His cross was bearing. Fainting oft, by slow degrees. Then went forth the angelic thunder. Of legions rising from their knees. N 178 THE MAKTYRDOM. Each bright Spirit grasped a brand ; And lightning flashed from band to band : An instant more had launched them forth, Avenging terrors, to the earth. 4. Then from God there fell a glory, Round and o'er that multitude ; And by every fervent Angel With hushing hand another stood ; — ■ Another, never seen before, Stood one moment and no more ! — — Peace, brethren, peace ! to us is given Suffering : vengeance is for Heaven ! %\t llartp^Bra. ANGELS. Bearing lilies in our bosom. Holy Agnes, we have flown, Missioned from the Heaven of Heavens Unto thee, and thee alone. We are coming, we are flying, To behold thy happy dying. AGNES. Bearing lilies far before you. Whose fresh odours backward blown Light those smiles upon your faces. Mingling sweet breath with your o\\ti. Ye are coming — smoothly, slowly — To the lowliest of the lowly. THE MARTYRDOM. 179 Unto US the boon was given ; One glad message, holy maid, On the lips of two blest Spirits, Like an incense-grain was laid ; As it bears us on like lightning Cloudy skies are round us bright'ning. AGNES. I am here, a mortal maiden ; If our Father aught hath said. Let me hear his words and do them — Ought I not to feel afraid, As ye come, your shadows flinging O'er a breast to meet them springing? Agnes ! there is joy in Heaven! Gladness like the day is flung O'er the spaces never measured ; And from every Angel's tongue Swell those songs of impulse vernal, All whose echoes are eternal. Agnes ! from the depth of Heaven Joy is rising like a spring, Borne above its grassy margin, Borne in many a crystal ring; Each o'er beds of wild flowers gliding, Over each low murmurs sHding. 180 THE MARTYRDOM. When a Christian lies expiring, Angel choirs, with plumes outspread, Bend above his death-bed singing, That, when Death's mild sleep is fled, There may be no harsh transition While he greets the heavenly Vision. AGNES. Am I dreaming, blessed Angels ? Late ye floated two in one ; Now a thousand radiant Spirits Round me weave a glistening zone ! Lilies as they wind, extending ; Roses with those lilies blending. See ! the horizon's ring they circle ; Now they gird the zenith blue ; And now o'er every brake and biUow Float like mist, and flash like dew. All the earth with life o'er-flowing, Into heavenly shapes is growing ! They are rising : they are rising : As they rise, the veil is riven ! They are rising : I am rising : Rising with them into heaven : — Rising with those shining legions Into Life's eternal regions. 181 1. The marvels of the seas and earth, Their works and ways, are little worth Compared with Man their lord: He masters Nature through her laws ; And therefore not without a cause Is he by all adored. 2. Lord of the mighty eye and ear, Each centering an immortal sphere Of empire and command: Lord of the heavenly breast and brow, The step that makes all creatures bow, And the earth-subduing hand. 3. And yet not loftier soars the state Of Man o'er shapes inanimate, In majesty confest. Than among men, that man, by Faith Assured in life, confirmed in death, Uptowers above the rest! 4. For God is with him : and the end Of all things, downward as they tend, Toward their term and close, A sov'reign throne for him prepares ; And makes of vanquished pains and cares A couch for his repose 1 182 LINES. 5. While kingdoms lapse, and all things range, He rules a world exempt from change ; He sees as Spirits see : And gamers ever more and more^ While years roll by, an ampler store Of glorious liberty — 6. Yea, ten times glorious when at last His spirit, all her trials past. Stands up, prepared to die ; And, fanning wide her swan-hke plumes, A glory flings across the glooms Through which her course must lie. The lights o'er yonder snowy range, Shine yet, intense and tender; Or, slowly passing, only change From splendour on to splendour. Before the dying eyes of Day Immortal visions wander ; Dreams prescient of a purer ray And morn spread still beyond her. Lo ! heavenward now those gleams expire. In heavenly melancholy ; The barrier mountains, peak and spire, BeUnquishing them slowly. NOCTURN HYMN. 183 Thus shine, God ! our mortal powers, While grief and joy refine them — And when in death they fade, be ours Thus gently to resign them ! ^atkxn fpn. Now God suspends its shadowy pall Above the world, yet still A steely lustre plays o'er all, With evanescent thrill. Softly, with favouring footstep, press. Among those yielding bowers ; Over the cold dews colourless, Damp leaves and folded flowers. Sleep, little birds, in bush and brake ! 'Tis surely ours to raise Glad hymns, ere humbler choirs awake Their anthem in God's praise. The impatient zeal of faithful love Hath forced us from our bed ; But doubly blest repose will prove, After our service said ! How dim, how still this slumbering wood ! And 0, how sweetly rise From clouded boughs, and herbs bedewed, Their odours to the skies ! 184 THE MORALIST AND THE CHRISTIAN. Sweet, as that mood of mystery, When thoughts, that hide their hues Reveal their presence only by The sweetness they diffuse. But hark ! o'er all the mountain verge, The night-wind sweeps along ; haste, and tune its echoing surge To a prelusive song ; A song of thanks and laud to Him Who makes our labour cease ; Who feeds with love the midnight dim— And hearts devout with peace. 1. " Within man's heart, his natural heart/ " Those virtues bud and blow " Which Faith pretends to give ; and Art " In empty types would show. " Great Nature must I then desert ? " Abjure her gifts ? " Not so. 2. Such flowers, where'er you find them, cull : But pardon those who cry, " The Good is like the Beautiful, " It blossoms but to die." — And yet Christ came not to annul Such natural piety. ST. MARY MAGDALENE. 185 3. He came to strengthen what is good, Yet here grows weak and dies : The hfe we cannot lead, yet would. He came to realize ; To wash it in atoning blood, And crown it in the skies. 4. Sell all thou hast, and purchase this ! And count it cheap to buy With merits Pride alone can miss, Eaith, Hope, and Charity ; — With dreams of man his Maker's bliss, With dust those worlds on high ! lu^Mmt m t\t §mxi. 1. Say, who that woman kneeling sole Amid yon desert bare 1 The cold rain beats her bosom. The night-wind lifts her hair — It is the holy Magdalene, listen to her prayer. " Lord, I have prayed since eventide : " And midnight now hath spread " Her mournful pall abroad o'er all " The living and the dead. " The stars each moment shine more large, " Down-gazing from the skies — " Father of the sorrowful, " Turn thus on me Thine eyes ! " 186 ST. MARY MAGDALENE. 2. Hark, thunder shakes the chff far off ! The woods in lightning glare ; The eagle shivers in her nest, The lion in his lair; And yet, now trembling and now still, ' . She makes the same sad prayer. * " Lord of the sunshine and the storm ! " The darkness and the day ! "Why should I fear if Thou art near? " And Thou art near alway ! " Thus in the wilderness, Thy Son " Was tempted. Lord, by Thee : " He triumphed in that awful strife — " let Him plead for me." 3. How often must that woman pray 1 How long kneel sighing there ? O joy to see the Holy Cross Clasped to a breast so fair ! — Speak louder, blessed Magdalene, And let me join thy prayer. " Lord ! Thou hast heard my plaints all night ; " And now the airs of morn " My forehead fan, my temples wan, " My face, and bosom worn ! " ! o'er my weak and wildered soul, " Make thus Thy Spirit move ; " That I may feel the light once more, " And answer love with love ! " 187 §itam xtkm t\t |wseiits juf \\t ^Ml %m' 1. EiWHRONED, and mantled in a snow-white robe, Man's sire I saw, the Lord of all the globe ; High-priest of all the Church, and Prophet sure Of Him, whose promised kingdom shall endure Until the last of Adam's race is dead. Nor crown, nor mitre rested on his head ; Yet kings with awe had viewed him ! Deep and slow His speech ; the words I knew not, nor could know ; But wept to hear, amid their golden sound, A melancholy echo from the ground. Ages were flown since Adam's lifted hand Had plucked, insurgent 'gainst Divine command, That fruit, a sacrament of death, which gave Perpetual life a forfeit to the grave : Yet still those orbs, their Maker once that saw. Governed the nations of the world with awe. Mournful they looked, as though their sorrowing weight Reposed for aye on Eden's closing gate ; Mournful, yet lustrous still those lordly eyes. First mortal mirror of the earth and skies ; (1) The arts and sciences were invented by the descendants of Cain; who were the first to build cities, wage wars, and substitute complicated systems of society for the Patriarchal. 188 ADAM REFUSES THE PRESENTS And still with piercing insight filled, as when God's new-made creatures passed beneath their ken, While he decreed, in his celestial speech. Prophetic names, symbolical, for each. All round, checkering the steep with giant shade, His mild and venerable race were laid, For dance and song no wreaths as yet had won : Many their strong eyes bent upon the sun ; Some on a sleeping infant's smiling face. Wherein both Love and Faith were strong to trace The destined patriarch of a future race ! Then through the silent circle, winged with joy, A radiant herald moved, a shepherd boy. Wondering he stepped ; — ere long, like one afraid, A tribute at those feet monarchal laid, A Lyre, gem-dowered from many a vanished isle. Thereon the Father gazed without a smile : But some fair children with the bright toy played ; While sound so rapturous thrilled the echoing glade. That Seers, cave-hid, looked up with livelier cheer ; And the first childless mother wiped away a tear ! And next there came, as one who comes from far, A branded warrior, gloomy from the war. Dark was his face, yet bright ; and stern as though It bent o'er that of an expiring foe, Ketorting still, with sympathetic glare. The imprecating anguish imaged there ! OF THE EVIL RACE. 189 A tribute too that warrior brought, a shield Graven with emblems of a death-strewn field, And placed it at the Patriarch's feet, and spoke. " Certain Oppressors reared an impious yoke, " And passed beneath it brethren of their race ; " Therefore we rose, and hewed them from their place." All pale the Patriarch sat — long time his eye Fixed on the deepening crimson of the sky. Where sanguine clouds contended with the dun : Then turned, and whispered in the ear of one. Who, on his death-bed, whispered to his son — That man beheld the Deluge 1 Iraptnts 011 f rat|. THE SEARCH. The Way, the Truth, the Life ! Ah ! would that they Who follow Truth, pursued it by that way Which Truth itself hath 'stablished, and made broad ! Christ is the Truth : and Christ alone the road. " To him that doth My will, to him alone," Thus saith the Lord of Truth, "will I be known." To him that follows Truth in peace, not strife. Truth will become the mystic seed of Life. iA little while we seek for Truth ; and then Earthward we turn, and seek ourselves again. We ask for knowledge, and we ask for fame. For mental beauty masked in Truth's great name ; 190 FRAGMENTS ON TRUTH. An exercise for strength, a bait for wit, A mark for boastful skill, unprized when hit ; — For all but Truth. On earth condemned to roam, Unloved, or else ill-loved. Truth sighs for home. Because we are unlike her. Truth is One, But we like dust divided — ^thence undone : ^ And Truth is spiritual ; she appears ( Only to spiritual eyes and ears. ^Too proud for aid, for self-support too weak. Thou neither knowest, man, to find her, nor to seek ! Ye, who for Truth are clamouring, first declare. Her light to you if granted, could ye bear ? Each flattering dream abjure, each coloured ray. And face life's statue in its awful grey 1 Even then a thousand bars obstruct your way ! Courage he needs, the aspiring strength of faith, Who seeks for light in darkness, life in death ; And love he needs, whose open eyelids keep Vigil eternal in a world of sleep ; And hope, the virgin valour of a breast Which reaps in action a sublimer rest ; Meekness he needs, for ofttimes he shall find Truth's broken beams in lowliest dews enshrined ; And purity, for he as oft must mount, And seek them sparkling in their heavenly fount : Patience he needs to wait, and zeal to meet The earliest light of her celestial feet ; Humility, her sov'reign crown to wear With awe — ^for oft success becomes our deadliest snare. FRAGMENTS ON TRUTH. 191 NOVELTY AND PRACTICAL UNBELIEF. That Truth, whose strangeness chiefly lured us on, Upon the palate palls, as soon as known. We hold, yet have it not ; with jealous care Guarding the treasure we no more can share. We feel it going ; dare not let it fly ; And, in our anguish, scarce have power to cry ; " O for the plaints, the prayers of long ago, " That what the heart believed the mind might know : " Now, and henceforth, more hopelessly we grieve " That, what we know, we can no more believe ! " So ill may Truth assuage a selfish thirst — " So much our latter state is sharper than our first." unity of objective truth. Truths are but relative ; and day by day. Assume new phases while they waste away : But Truth is absolute and whole ; one heart, One soul, one spirit, all in every part. Her vesture Truth divides not ; she bestows All on her votaries, nothing on her foes. Plunderers ! for favourite truths who spoil Truth's stem ! Alas for you ! — ^those truths — alas for them ! Torn from the tree, ere long they lose their bloom. Poor faded chaplets on the spoiler's tomb : And of their leaves decaying or decayed. The poison draughts of future times are made ! 192 We all the old sad tale have heard Of babes in that dark wood who perished ; And of the sweet and pious bird, Their leaf-strewn grave that cherished. Hark, children, to a tale as true : And, if you catch its meaning, pray As kind a friend to wait on you, And guide you on your way. Where'er my pilgrim foosteps rove These labyrinthine forests wide, A little, silver-pinioned dove Attends me as my guide ! There's sunshine wheresoe'er she moves ; She wafts upon her wings a freight Of lustre through the faded groves, And pine-boughs desolate. Sometimes, to chide the laggard Spring, Beyond my feeble sight she flies : But then a feather from her wing Oft dropt, her place supplies ! THE PRODIGAL. 193 Ketuming, in her pearled beak A branch of some blest fruit she bears ; And thus, when cold I grow, or weak, My failing strength repairs. Nor doubt I, with her gracious aid, To reach, ere yet my life is o'er. The shrine with light divine arrayed In this grey forest's core — wanderers in a darker maze ! If such a guide our steps attend. Why walk ye up and down the ways Of evil without end ? %\i |wMpl I LIVE : my days not yet are spent. Grace may at last to me be given, When least I hope it, to repent On earth ; and pass from earth to heaven. But they, my friends of earlier years. They traverse other seas and lands : My heart alone their footsteps hears : I grasp no more their answering hands. o 194 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. From me one grave reproof, yet kind, Had wrought, perchance, their endless rest : For men by such strange links are joined. That oft the worst can aid the best. The barque my rashness over-set Was filled with many men : the day Descends : upon the margin yet I sit, and murmiu", "Where are they 1" ^mtmim si pas. " Those destined Thoughts that haunt my breast, " And throb, and heave, and swell, " Impatient of their painful rest, " And state invisible, " Those Thoughts at last must meet the day, " And with me dwell, or on me prey : " On me, on me those Thoughts must call, " And act, and live, and move abroad — " I am the mother of them all : " Be Thou theh- Father, God !" BEALITY. 195 2. Thus prayed I ; musing on that law By which the children of the brain Their linked generations draw (A melancholy train) From moods long past, which feigned to die ; But in whose quickening ashes lie Immortal seeds of pain or pleasure No foot can crush, no will control, No craft transmute, no prescience measure — Dread harvests of the ripening soul ! lra% Love thy God, and love Him only : And thy breast will ne'er be lonely. In that one great Spirit meet All things mighty, grave, and sweet. Vainly strives the soul to mingle With a being of our kind : Vainly hearts with hearts are twined ; For the deepest still is single. An impalpable resistance Holds like natures still at distance. Mortal ! love that Holy One ! Or dwell for aye alone. 196 pttraaratg. 1. Earth's green expanse : her dawn's one wave of light : Her soft winds creeping o'er the forest tall : Her silence ; and the comfort of her night — Are these then all ? All thou canst give to me, Humanity ? 2. Tears running down the track of buried smiles : Time's shades condensed into the sable pall : Hope that deserts ; and Gladness that beguiles — Are these then all ? All thou canst give to me, Humanity 1 3. I saw a Spirit dark 'twixt Earth and Heaven, Holding a cup in both hands lest it fall — friends ! a mournful life to us were given, If Earth were all ! But He who lives for aye hath looked on thee. Humanity. 197 ^/' O WASH thine eyes with many a bitter tear ; And all things shall grow clear. Bend that proud forehead nearer to the ground ; And catch a far foot's sound. Say ! wouldst thou know what faithful suppHants feel ? Thou, too, even thou, must kneel. Do but thy part ; and ask not why or how : Religion is a Vow, They sang not idle songs ; pledges they made For thee, an infant, laid In the Church's lucid bosom. These must thou Fulfil, or else renounce ! Fulfil them now. A Cross, and not a wreath was planted on thy brow. Forward, a step or two, where'er we go We gaze ; not on the spot our feet are treading : Reading, we look along, or glance below. Unconscious of the letters we are reading. The Future moulds the Present. Do not halt To probe, or mourn, each felt, or fancied fault ; " Steadfast by Faith," who treads where Hope hath trod, Following her winged Sister to the throne of God ! 198 fitalisra. 1. " Let them alone," men cry. " I lie, thou Uest, they he : " What then ? Thy neighbom^s folly hurts not thee !" Error is Freedom ! such the insensate shout Of crowds that, Hke a Psean, hymn a Doubt : Indifference thus the world calls Charity. 2. Charity mourns the sin it doth condemn ; Condemns the sin it weeps for : and reproves The more, the more it loves. Those whom it loves it heals — Zeal for its God it feels : Pity for them. 3. " Battles at last shall cease." At last, not now : we are not yet at home. The time is coming, it will soon be come. When those who dare not fight For God, or for the right, Shall fight for peace ! 199 f ato TOir (§xut 1. ] It is not true, that unto us, enrolled Within Christ's band, the Law exists no longer : 1 But this is true ; that we, who sank of old, j Oppressed beneath that armour's weight of gold, ' j Sustain it now in glory, being stronger ! i 2. I The Form remains : but is a form no more > To eyes inspired, that see .J Yet there, while headlong hosts beside me sped, \ That footstep still I heard and knew from all ; \ Now harsh, now dull as moth fretting a cofiin's pall. \ 254 A TALE OP THE MODERN TIME. 4. Thick, thick like leaves from autumn's skeleton woods, The shafts went by me, and as idly went. Then back I turned into my solitudes, As slow, in sullen cloud of rage o'er-spent. As mountain beast into dim forest tent, With hunger unabated, when the night Melts ; and the eastern wolds spread wide in hated light. 5. Stranger ! I tell you part : I speak not all. Thenceforth I walked alone; and joined my kind Only when lured by some black funeral : On capital cities oft, with watchings blind, I gazed, what time rushed forth the freezing wind Between their turrets and the wintry stars ; All day I lay in tombs, or caves dim-Ut with spars. 6. On peaks eclipsing to its rim the ocean Hath been my dwelling : rivers I have seen Whose sound alone dispersed a gradital motion O'er cloud-like woods, their deep primeval screen. Sand-worlds my feet have trod beneath the sheen Of spheres unnamed. From zone to zone I fled. As though each land in turn grew fire below my tread. 7. But Heaven had ended now my time of sorrow When most I seemed in penal horror bound : Dreamless one night I slept, and on the morrow Strange tears now first amid the dew I found Wherewith my heavy hair and cheeks were drowned. And in my heart, fanned by that morning air, There lay, as I walked on, my childhood's long-lost prayer. A TALE OF THE MODERN TIME. 255 8. Wearied, I sat upon a sunny bank, Ridged o'er a plain yet white with virgin snows, Though now each balmy noon, and midnight dank. Lightened the burden of the vernal rose ; My eyes (their wont it was till dayhght's close) Fixed on my own still shadow — in that light Intense — ^keenly defined, and dark as night. 9. I hung above it : sudden, by that shade Another shadow rested ; faint and dim : At first I thought my tears the phantom made ; Then cried, " I do but dream it, form and limb." In horror then abroad I seemed to swim : Then my great agony grew calm and dumb ; For now I knew indeed my destined hour was come. 10. My spirit's foe was now the spoil to claim : My heart's chiU seemed his hand upon my heart — marvel ! clearer while that shade became, No mocking fiend, I saw, no lifted dart ; But a dejected Mourner ! down, apart, His head declined : one hand in grief he pressed Upon the heaving shadow of a sorrowing breast. 11. The other round my neck was thrown, so fair. So kind, so geijtle, none thereon might gaze. Nor feel that Love alone had placed it there ! There dropped the cloud of my Self-haunted days. He who for years had tracked my wandering ways Had followed me in love ! Virgin-born, Thy shadow was the light of my eternal morn ! 25G A TALE OF THE MODERN TIME. 12. Stranger ! there came a joy to me that hour ; Such joy, that never can it leave my soul. All Heaven, condensed to one ambrosial flower, Fell on my bosom— Truth's inviolate whole ! ; Obedience was the way ; Love was the goal : God, the true Universe, around me lay : Systems and suns thenceforth were motes in that clear ray ! 13. From that time saw I what 'tis Heaven to see. That God is God indeed, and good to Man. Theist then first. Who Love's Eeality Hath proved, forgets himself to probe and scan. Knowledge for him remits her ancient ban : Back fly those demons, outwardly to sin That lure the soul or turn our inquest sad within ! 14. Then looked I up ; and drank from Heaven that light Which makes the world within, and world around Alone intelligible, pure, and bright : My forehead then, but not by me, was crowned : Then my lost youth, no longer sought, was found : My penance then complete ; or turned to pain So sweet, the enamoured heart embraced it like a gain. 15. My kind, new-vested in the eternal glory Of God made Man, glorious to me became. Thenceforth those crowns that shine in mortal story I deemed it grief to bear, madness to claim. \ To be a man seemed now man's loftiest aim. True Rule seemed this — to wait on one the least Of those who fight God's fight, or join His kingly feast. A TALE OF THE MODERN TIME. 2b7 16. Then the Three Virtues bade me kneel and drink: Then the Twelve Gifts fell from the heavenly tree : Then from the Portals Seven, and crystal brink, Dread Sacraments and sweet came down to me. Then saw I plain that Saintly Company, Through whom, as Living Laws, that world which Sense Conceals, is ruled of God, by Prayer's omnipotence. 17. Thus in high trance, and the way imitive, 1 I watched one year : which sabbath ended, God Stirred up once more my nest, and bade me live, Active and suffering. So again I trod The temporal storm, and wrestled with the flood ; And laboured long ; and, by His grace, behold, Two grains I brought, or three, to swell the hills of gold. 18. Lastly, my faculties of body and mind Decayed, through God's high will and boundless love ; And from the trunk whereon they grew declined, As leaves from trees, or plumes from moulting dove. Thenceforth, more blest, I soared no more, nor strove ; But sat me down, and wait the end, as waits. Sun-warmed, a beggar by great palace gates. 19. Stranger ! this tale of one man's life is over. No knowledge mine in youth have I unlearned ; But I the sense was gifted to discover Of lore possessed long since, yet undiscerned : Truths which, as abstract or remote, I spurned In youth, as real most my heart now prizes ; And, what of old looked real, now as dream despises ; s 258 A TALE OF THE MODERN TIME. 20. Or but like dreams reveres. Hollow and vain To me the pageants of this world appear ; Or truth but symbolled to the truthful brain. The future world I find already here ; The unbeholden palpable and dear : Firm as a staff to lean on ; or a rod Of power miraculous, and sent by God. 21. Strajiger, farewell ! Far off a bell is tolling : A bridal or a funeral bell — ^whate'er It chaunts, in harmony the tones are rolling. \ All bells ahke summon mankind to prayer ! Yea, and for me those twain one day shall pair Their blended chimes to one. When I am dead Stain not with tears my grave — it is a bridal bed. 22. He ceased. The inmost sense of that I heard I know not : yet, because the man was wise, His legend I have written word for word. All things hold meaning — ^to unclouded eyes AVhere eagle never flew are auguries. It may be then this weed some balm doth bear ; Some cure for sight long dim — some charm against despair. mnh. 261 Sffniuts. I. Love to the tender ; peace to those who mourn ; Hope to the hopeless, hope that does not fail, Whose symbol is the anchor, not the sail ; Glory that spreads to Heaven's remotest bourn, And to its centre doth again return Like music ; health revisiting the frail ; Freedom to those who pine in dungeons pale ; Sorrows which God hath willed and Christ hath worn ! Omnipotence to be the poor man's shield ; Light, uncreated light, to cheer the blind ; Infinite mercy sent to heal and bind All wounds encountered in life's well-fought field ; These are God's gifts to man ; — nor these alone : Himself He gives to all who make those gifts their own. 262 SONNETS. 11. LAW AND GRACE. Yes, I remember : once beneath a yoke We walked, with jealous pride and painful fear: Then a stern footstep sounded ever near ; And, when that Presence dread His silence broke,, Austere and cold as if a statue spoke, Each marble sentence smote upon my ear ; Yet " Thou shalt not " was all that I could hear — So swiftly from its trance my spirit woke. The sun was rising. Floods of light divine. Golden, and crimson on the mountains played. I saw the village spire like silver shine : Eolian music filled the echoing shade : And I could hear, through all the murmuring glen. Music of moving Gods come down to live with men. ni. LAW AND ANARCHY. One mighty Thought, the sure though secret germ Of all the unbidden thoughts which throng the brain ; One deep Emotion, centre, soul, and term Of all the heart's desires that wax and wane ; One living Law to quicken and constrain ; To keep our acts and days in unison — These we must have ; these three must have in one : Or we have thought and felt and lived in vain. O'er the great deep within us Darkness broods : And though, beneath the Spirit that moves thereon^ Some waves, aspiring in their solitudes, Swell up with gleams from loftier regions won. The Soul is still a chaos 'till God's Word Rolls through it, and in Light her answer back is poured. SONNETS. 263 IV. CHURCHES. A CASTLE strongly built, and eminent Above Time's battle-plain, defaced and gory ; A palace, where, in robes of kingly glory " Our spirits rest ; among parched sands, a tent ; One sunlit isle in a vexed element ; A gallery, graced with all the pictured story Of earth and man ; a high observatory. Whence eyes of seers for aye on Heaven are bent : — Such is yon Church : and round its tapering spire I see, descending lik;e a heavenly crown, Immortal forms, a wreathed and beautiful choir, Bearing in golden urns and baskets down Angelic food ; and scattering with the sound Of hymns and chaunted psalms those demons hovering round ! V. Ye praise the humble : of the meek ye say, " Happy they live among their lowly bowers ; " The mountains, and the mountain-storms are ours." Thus, self-deceivers, filled with pride alway, Beluctant homage to the good ye pay, Mingled with scorn like poison sucked from flowers — Eevere the humble ; godlike are their powers : No mendicants for praise of men are they. The child who prays in faith " Thy will be done " Is blended with that "Will Supreme which moves A wilderness of worlds by Thought untrod ; He shares the starry sceptre, and the throne : The man who as himself his neighbour loves Looks down on all things with the eyes of God! 264 SONNETS. VI. That depth of love the Church doth bear to thee Thou knowest not yet ; for thou not yet hast felt The beatings of an infant's bosom melt Into thine own ; and all that mystery Whereby, nought-seeing — caring not to see — The creature, instinct-taught, its food doth draw By a sweet pressure and benignant law Forth from its mother's breast perpetually. But, by the blessings of thy futm-e hearth, By all its order, sanctity, and peace. Resist not Her whose meek and tearful eyes Followed the wanderer ever from Her birth ; Whose shadow charmed thy sleep ; whose litanies Soft as Spring's breath woke first thy soul's increase ? YII. Be still, ye Senates : hear, and God will speak. " Through all the world, in every chme and zone, " WiU I the glory of my Name make known : ^^ And men alike or nations, if they seek, " Shall find Me : yea, the humble and the weak^ " ShaU sit beside Me, throned upon My throne ; " Seeing successive Babels lying prone, " And God's consummate triumph in the meek.'^ O then, that nations had but faith to see That, as each separate heart its powers doth draw From one great fountain of Humanity, So, by a solemn and imchanging law. Upon the Kingdom God hath raised must all The kingdoms of the earth find rest — or fall. SONNETS. 265 * \ VIII. ] THE VASTNESS OF THE GOSPEL LOST IN ITS SIMPLICITY. ., From end to end we glance ; from Adam's faU ' To Christ's triumphant death and victory, j At once — ^those mysteries that between them be I By man are known but scantly, if at all: * j And thus in time our marvel waxes small ; \ Thus gazing down into an air-like sea s Its depth eludes us from its purity, j And treasures ours so cheaply vainly caU ^ For gratitude or gladness. On we go, | Unmoved beneath a heaven of awe-struck eyes ; While purer beings, Angel minds that know i The cost of that great boon which we despise, '■> Look down on us, suspended from their skies, ! With deeper awe than men on God bestow. IX. I Aspiring souls ! henceforward without blame \ Revere in Faith, and fearlessly obey ^ That hope which wings you o'er the righteous way : ; Glory your spur may be, though not your aim. ? Love hath its archetype, nor less hath Fame I In Heaven ; there shines that light whereof one ray \ Is Fame below : re-echoed thence for aye, I Spread the great echoes of God's sacred Name. : God's living Words through aU the worlds sent forth, \ Support those worlds by them ordained and made. i True Glory is God's sentence, rightly weighed. ' \ His Lips establish aU things : and his Eyes ] Kindle the imiversal sacrifice, I And everlasting, of the Heavens and Earth ! \ 266 SONNETS. FELICITAS AT HER MARTYRDOM. Silence, ye crowds ! how dare ye thus make start An infant, feeding at its mother's breast, Feeding on sacred food, and sacred rest ? Vain are your cries, your pity vain. Depart ! But ye, dread masters in death's fatal art. Torturers ! remain : and try, though shame-opprest. Once more your skill ; fulfil the dread behest : Her head ye shall not bow, nor shake her heart. — The Lady's eyes alternately were bent On Heaven, and on her child ; a grave, sweet smile Tenderly circling her pale lips the while ; Until at last the infant was content : Then drooped her lids, and sighing o'er his sigh. The mother's spirit sought its native sky. XL Blessed is he who hath not trod the ways Of secular dehghts ; nor learned the lore Which loftier minds are studious to abhor. Blessed is he who hath not sought the praise That perishes, the rapture that betrays : Who hath not spent in Time's vainglorious war His youth : and found, a school-boy at fourscore, How fatal are those victories which raise Their iron trophies to a temple's height On trampled Justice : who desires not bliss. But peace ; and yet when summoned to the fight. Combats as one who combats in the sight Of God and of His Angels, seeking this Alone, how best to glorify the right. SONNETS. 267 XII. — EVIDENCES OF RELIGION. 1. Letters there be too large for us to read : Words shouted mock the sense, and beat the air — Emblazon not in such a type thy creed : Through such a trumpet peal not thou thy prayer. Truth has her Saxon friends, of whom beware — No alien help, or haughty, doth she need : To him who seeks her, pure in heart and deed, Her pledges and her proofs are everywhere. Whate'er we hear or see ; whate'er doth lie Bound us in Nature ; all that human thought In Science, or in Art, hath found, or wrought, Stand fixed as notes on Truth's immortal book. What need we more ? a Commentary 1 look Through aU the mighty roll of History ! XIII. — ^evidences of religion. 2. Ye who would build the Churches of the Lord ! ^ See that ye make the western portals low : Let no one enter who disdains to bow. High Truths profanely gazed at, unadored, Will be abused at first, at last abhorred ; And many a learned, many a lofty brow Hath rested, pillowed on a humbler vow Than keen logicians notice or record. O stainless peace of blest Humility ! Of aU who fain would enter, few, alas ! Catch the true meaning of that kind, sad eye ; While thou, God's portress, stationed by the door. Dost stretch thy cross so near the marble floor, That children only, without bending, pass. (1) An ancient custom. 268 SQNNETS. XIV. The golden fruits of Earth's autumnal store Are ours: and yet we know not how they grow. Ours are the cooling winds that o'er us blow, Albeit their causes we in vain explore. And what if Heaven be wilhng to bestow, Like Earth, her gifts, yet hide her secret lore ? How to enjoy them, be it ours to know. And to be grateful : seek for nothing more. Unanswerable questions but disturb That Faith through which alone Knowledge is won. O Friend ! walk boldly forward in the Sun, Its vital warmth contented to absorb ; And to reflect its light. Others shall see In thee, that radiance unbeheld by thee. XV. CONSECRATION OF A NEW HOUSE. 1 I BLESS thy new-raised threshold : let us pray j That never faithless friend, insulting foe ' O'er this pure stone their hateful shadows throw : May the poor gather round it day by day. I bless this hearth: thy children here shaU play : l Here may their graces and their virtues blow : j May sin defile it not ; and want and woe \ And sickness seldom come, nor come to stay. j I bless thy House. I consecrate the whole ; To God. It is His Temple. Let it be \ Worthy of Him, confided thus to thee. j Man's dwelling like its lord enshrines a soul : ; It hath great destinies, wherein do lie Self-sown, the seeds of Immortality. SONNETS. 269 XVI. What man can hear sweet sounds and dread to die? for a music that might last for ever ! Abounding from its sources hke a river Which through the dim lawns streams eternally ! Virtue might then uplift her crest on high, Spuming those myriad bonds that fret and grieve her : Then all the powers of hell would quake and quiver Before the ardours of her awful eye. Alas for Man with all his high desires, And inward promptings fading day by day ! High-titled honour pants while it expires , And clay-bom glory turns again to clay. Low instincts last : our great resolves pass by Like winds whose loftiest paean ends but in a sigh. XVII. THE ALEXANDRIAN VERSION OF THE SCRIPTURES. Beside a little humble Oratory There sat a noble lady all alone : Over her knees a parchment lay, whereon Her slender fingers traced the Gospel story. Old Nile flowed noiseless by : through vapours dun A low-hung moon let forth its last faint glory On all the dark green flats, and temples hoary. That grey and ghostly through the morning shone — Theckla ! Mankind will ne'er forget that zeal Which, ere the night-bird stays her melody, Raises thee daily to the Church's needs : No doubts, no fears hast thou — thou dost not feel The cold, damp winds of morning as they sigh, Murmuring forlorn through leagues of murmuring reeds ! 270 SONNETS. XVIII. RELIGIOUS ANTIQUARIANISM. I SAW a wild-swan flying toward the West, Following the traces of a sunken Sun. The sky grew momently more pale ; yet on She urged her indefatigable quest ; Faint crimson lights suffusing stiU that breast, Out of whose deep recesses forth she flung Exhausted waihngs of immortal song ; Wind-scattered dirges, psalmody unblest ! Sad lover of the Past ! in vain that flight ! A law there is that bids the earth roll round. And marvellously marries day and night. Truth hves and works. Yet drop not to the ground ! Once more the orb thou lovest on thee shall rise, Far-shining from the East of thine abandoned skies. XIX. Now, now, ye kings and rulers of the earth. Lift up your eyes unto the hills eterne. Whence your salvation comes. From Earth's dark urn The great floods burst ! From each ancestral hearth Look forth, ye bold and virtuous poor, look forth : The meteor signs of woes to come discern ; And whence the danger be not slow to learn : Then greet it with loud scorn, and warlike mirth. The banner of the Church is ever flying ! Less than a storm avails not to unfold The cross emblazoned there in massive gold — Away with doubts and sadness, tears and sighing : It is by Faith, by Patience, and by dying. That we must conquer, as our sires of old ! SONNETS. 271 XX. SIMPLICITY AND STEADFASTNESS OF MIND. When plain and city, garden, mount and wood, Under the Flood's blank tablet lay unseen, Three objects only met thy vision keen. Angel of Earth ! in that wild solitude : The Sun ; that shining and mishadowed flood: And (heaven-ward lifted on its tide serene) The Ark, sole-drifting where a world had been — . No meaner image lured thine eye from God. Our eyes are full of idols : ! that we From those soul-murdering gewgaws of the day, Might turn, and fix our gaze immovably Upon God's Church, tracking its marvellous way Over the ocean of God's awful Love — And on that steadfast Sun which lights her from above. XXI. SPIRITUAL TIES SYMBOLIZED THROUGH NATURAL. Father ! — ^the childless Angels cannot call Upon their God, by that most sacred name ! Brother ! — the seed of Adam, one and all, With Christ Himself true brotherhood we claim. King, Prophet, Priest ! — ^the whole predestined frame Of hfe in one symbohc mould is cast ; To prove of Heaven a mystic antepast. And a pure language to reveal the same. But we have scorned that old and simple life ; And, building social Babels, fain to reach. Yea storm high Heaven itself, through hate and strife Confused that Catholic and Godhke speech : Therefore God's face is dark as in a glass To us — the Patriarchs saw Him face to face. 272 SONNETS. XXII. i PENITENCE. • From grave to grave I pace, inwardly sighing, \ " Is not this place for my repentance meet ?" Borne through dark boughs the night-winds unreplying \ The unanswered question mournfully repeat. To you I turn, under the damp grass lying, ] O Friends ; and pray you from your dusk retreat ? To breathe a spirit of sorrow holy and sweet, i Over this heart dried up, in languor dying. And thou, in Palestine's cold shadows sleeping, i 'Mid dust with tears of thine so often blent, ] Give me one gush of thy perpetual weeping, ' Holy Saint Mary, ever penitent ! ) Night after night fresh dews revive the flowers : — j Ah ! that one Baptism should alone be ours ! ] XXIII. ] DISCIPLINE OF THE CHURCH. (PENITENTIAL I.) 1 Baths of the Church ! seclusions sad, yet dear ! \ Amid your cloistral caves, and shadowy cells, ] That dark-stoled hermitress, Eepentance, dwells, ] Haunting your loneUest shades with patient cheer ; ] And agitating oft with hallowing tear ^ The streams Bethesdal of your healing wells ; I Or murmuring low her grief-taught oracles | For souls too weak to feel, too proud to hear. ■ " Alas ! world-wearied Spirits, fly no more ! j " These springs make strong the feeble knees : these dews ■ " Efiace the Hues of lingering care ; infuse j " Immortal youth through bosoms of threescore : — " Draw near. The Angels shall your introit sing, j " Fanning your weary foreheads with assuasive wing." ■ SONNETS. 273 XXIV. DISCIPLINE OF THE CHURCH. (PENITENTIAL II.) Too much of mirth — too many smiles — depart, Vain phantoms of the Sense, false baits of sin ! One hour for holy mourning who may win Amid the clamour of the world's loud mart ? A sigh throws wide the portals of the heart : Pure Spirits enter : good resolves begin : How wholesome then that care, how kind that art. The highways of man's life o'ershadowing With C3rpress thickets, at wide intervals, And gardens bowered 'mong cedar-darkened rifts. Hollowed with dewy vaults, and silent halls ; Where smooth once more the soul her forehead Hfts, And pleasurably spreads a widening eye. Shrunk up too long and dimmed by the sun's tyranny ! XXV. PENITENTIAL SEASONS. " Large as the beads of this dark rosary " Was each successive drop that slowly fell " Down from my Saviour's temples, audible " To the earth's beating heart. agony ! " I had forgotten them ! forget not me, " Thou merciful Kedeemer. Like a knell " My sinful Past salutes me ! Let me dwell " Henceforth in that sad garden. Lord, with Thee." Even thus the Holy Church (with lifted palms On her wet eyehds pressed ; and forehead pale Depressed beneath a dusk, funereal veil) Chaunteth all night her penitential psalms : Nor from her mournful litanies can cease Until the sun shall rise, and give her peace. T 274 SONNETS. XXVI. MAGDALENE. Let the Repentant on Thy head, Lord ! Lavish their precious ointments, odours sweet. Tears let the Pardoned bring, an offering meet For hearts long heavy, now to peace restored. I am a wretched creature, self-abhorred. When I would shed my tears upon Thy feet, Unholy Shame, and Sorrow's wasting heat Dry up the streams, which else these eyes had poured Profusely forth for days, and months, and years. But heavenly mourning is a gift from Heaven ; Distilled like honey-dews, at faU of even. Upon our thirsting palms with touch benign. Therefore, Lord, an humble prayer is mine : Grant Thou this weary soul the " gift of tears." XXYII. ON A PICTURE OF THE MAGDALENE. Weeper perpetual, of whom men say Not that she lived so long, "but so long wept ;" And in her fond imagination crept (Fearful, yet fond) to those blest feet each day : There knelt to wash them : there to wipe them lay : There in her shining locks caught them and kept : And hallowed thus, a tender love-adept. Thenceforth those glittering tresses never grey ! — Fulfilled Thy Master's word hath been ! Where'er Thy Lord is preached art thou remembered, making Repentance to sad hearts dear, and yet dearer. Thine eyes like heavens by midnight rains left clearer, How oft we see thee thus through deserts bare, Thy sad yet solaced way in silence taking ! SONNETS. 275 XXVIII. DISCIPLINE OP THE CHURCH. (COMMEMORATIVE.) With solemn forms, benign solicitudes, (But each a Sacramental type and pledge Of Grace,) the Church inweaves a sheltering hedge Around her garden vale in the wild woods ; Giving Heaven's calm to Nature's varying moods. She plants a cross on every pine-girt ledge : A chancel by each river's hlied edge. Where'er her Catholic dominion broods, Behold how two Infinities are mated. The Mighty and Minute, by the control Of Love or Duty, linked with care sublime ! On earth no spot, no fleeting point of time. Within our mind no thought, within our soul No feeling, doth she leave unconsecrated. XXIX. — THE BEATIFIC VISION OF THE EARTH. 1. Glad childhood's dream of marvels past, we rise. Still on our cheeks the flush of sleep remaining ; And roam the wastes of Earth, our eyelids straining The glories of that dream to realize : — Nor seek in vain. Stream, bird, or cloud replies^ (Echoes that mock young passion's amorous feigning) : Fancy shines starlike forth 'mid daylight waning. And Hope the night-bird sings 'neath shrouded skies. At last the charm is broken : day by day Drops some new veil, until the countenance bare Of that ice-idol, blank Eeality, Confronts us full with cold, and loveless eye — Then dies our heart, unless that Faith we share Whose touch makes all things gold, and gives us youth for aye. 276 SONNETS. XXX. — THE BEATIFIC VISION OP THE EARTH. 2. Hail, Earth, for man's sake cursed, yet blessing man ! The Saviour trod thine herbage, breathed thine air : Henceforward, not alone through symbols, fair. Thou showest, delivered from thine ancient ban, Memorial bloom withheld since death began : Thy Maker's glory doomed at last to share. Even now that light transfiguring thou dost wear For Us, which once adorned His forehead wan — " All things are new." O sing it, heavenly choirs ! (And ye, the choir of God's great Church below, uThe Poets ! sound it on your deep-toned lyres : From every mountain-top the tidings blow — " All things are new." The Earth hath thrown aside Her mourning weeds, and sits a pale, and veiled bride. XXXI. — THE BEATIFIC VISION OF THE EARTH. 3. Cowering beneath a semilucid veil, A semilucid bridal veil of snow. Which from the wreath that binds her temples pale Down to her white and slender feet doth flow. She sits. I hear her breathings soft and low : They shake the vine-leaves in that garland frail — Like Mary's when she heard th' Angelic ^* Hail," Dimly I see her blushes come and go. And now, that veil thrown back, her head she raises, Fixing upon the stars her star-like eyes — As though she felt that Heaven on which she gazes Her bosom rises : lo ! her hands, they rise : She also rises. Time it is to meet Her Lord, and bless " the light of His returning feet." SONNETS. 277 XXXII. MORAL APPLICATION OF MIRACLES. If thou art blind with error Hke a hood Bound o'er thine eyes : if thy distempered ears Catch now no more the music of the spheres : If one thou art of that great multitude Which faints for lack of wisdom's manna food : If thou art dumb, and canst not say thy prayers ; Fevered with weakness, palsied with despairs, Possessed by legioned Passion's demon brood : If thou with sin, as with a leprosy, Art foul; among the tombs naked and bound — Oh ! think of Him who walked Earth's suffering ground Healing, and giving peace : before whose feet The natural laws of mortal misery Melted like frost before the vernal heat. XXXIII. TO . How oft that haughty and far-flashing eye, i Have I not seen thee upward fiercely raise, ; Or on the dark earth root thy tyrannous gaze ^ As on a scroll, with piercing scrutiny! J Great scorn it seemed and great indignity | That aught should mock thy search: — and yet that haze ; Which veils the loftiest, deepest things, obeys i Be sure, the cloud-compeUing Power on high. ,i Our life is finite — let the mind be so ; '\ And therefore bound the spirit's appetites. !^ Some things we cannot, some we should not know : I Wisdom there is that weakens, lore that blights — He too that walks among the eternal lights, j Casts, as He moves. His sacred shade below! \ 278' SONNETS. XXXIV. THE CONSTELLATION OF THE PLOUGH. Type of celestial labour, toil divine. That nightly downward from the glistening skies Showerest thy light on these expectant eyes ! Around thee in their stations ever shine Full many a radiant shape and emblemed sign ; Swords, sceptres, crowns, bright tresses, galaxies Of all that soaring fancy can devise — Yet none, methinks, so truly great as thine! On, ever on ! while He who guides thee flings His golden grain along the azure way Do thou thy sleepless work, and toiling, say, " men, so sedulous in trivial things, " Why faint amid your loftier labours ? Why " Forget the starry seed, and harvests of the sky ?" XXXV. NATURAL RELIGION. Search ye the Heart of man until ye find That which is deepest. Raise your eyes again Up through the loftiest region of his Mind ; And in each spacious, and serene domain The same calm Presence ye shaU mark enshrined r The Thought of God — For pleasure, or for pain^ It fills the one great soul of all our kind : And Conscience to her breast this Truth doth strain.- Away with blind, empiric argument To 'stablish that which is the ultimate, The ground, o'er which all other notions pass ! Man may distort God's Image, not create — We dim (too closely o'er the semblance bent) With our own breath pure Re^on's mystic gla^. SONNETS. 279 XXXVI. It was not with your gold, nor with your merit, You bought that peace celestial now your own. You did not those heart-quickening hopes inherit, . Like youthful princes born to grace a throne. These are the fruits of that eternal Spirit, Who showers His grace on faith, and faith alone : Whose yoke but steadies those who gently bear it. Whose Presence can but through His Gifts be shown. These are the proofs, th' assurance which you thought That you were seeking ; while, intent to shun Truth's living Lord, yourself alone you sought- Now you have found yourself in Him, and won The bloodless triumphs of the fields He fought : The rest your own right hand must teach — Ride on! XXXVII. BELIGIOUS LITEKATURE. Stranger! yet friend ! who from the ways unblest Of common life retired, art pleased to rove Religion's Pleasance bound, and Golden Grove, By woodland odours, sportive gleams carest. That lure thee forward in thine easy quest Of Wisdom bowered with Beauty and with Love ; Beware ! a Presence that thou deemest not of Is here concealed. From out the air-rocked nest Of every leaf, looks forth some Dream divine. The grass thou treadest — the weeds, are cyphered o'er With mystic traces, and sibylline lore. Each branch is precious as that golden bough Hung by JEneas (ere he passed below) Upon the sable porch of Proserpine. 280 SONNETS. XXXVIII. THE DYING PLATONIST. Fain would I call that Night which spreads so fast Out of the vault of Death's abysmal skies, A gentle gloom like that of thy dark eyes. Fain would I say that we, like children, cast Our blind-fold faces with a timid haste Into a mother's lap — ere long to rise Some little forfeit and some sweet surprise The playful Future of a playful Past. But ah! it is not so. Eeahty Makes a dread language of this ebbing breath ; Preaching those awful homilies of Death Which sound so like each other at their close. f The least of Sins is Infinite : it throws / A shade into the face of the Most High. XXXIX. — INITIATIVE FAITH. You ask us for a sign, misdoubting friend. And you will then beheve. A thousand eyes To the same point fixed in the same clear skies Are raised at once — a thousand foreheads bend Before one breeze, by you unfelt. Attend. He is not humble, and he is not wise. Who deems no star is there, that breeze denies. Because his science cannot comprehend How shines that light, or whence that zephyr blows. Or whether Alpine or Caucasian snows Have cast their coolness on its wings serene. If you see nought, ! trust the eyes of those Who read dark tablets by that light unseen : Desire, believe, and pray: Peace comes where Faith hath been. SONNETS. 281 XL. CONVERSION. Loud as that trumpet doomed to raise the dead God's voice doth sometimes fall on us in fear : More often with a music low yet clear, Soft whispering, '^ It is I : be not afraid." And sometimes, mingling strangely joy with dread, It thrills the spirit's caverned sepulchre. Deep as that voice which on the awe-struck ear Of him, the three-days-buried, murmuring, said " Come forth " — and he arose. Christians, hail As brethren all on whom our glorious Sun, At morn, or noon, or latest eve, hath shone With light, and life : and neither mourn nor rail Because one Hght, itself unchanging, showers A thousand colours on a thousand flowers. XLI. THE COMMUNION OP SAINTS. How many precious influences meet In this frail flower, the orphan of the year! To her the Sun, her little span to cheer, Sends down two momentary heralds, heat And light, and pours his tribute at her feet : Yea, every atom of earth's solid sphere Shoots forth attractions that concentrate here, And in this lowly creature's pulses beat. Then wherefore fear that any human soul. Small though it be, is worthless in His sight Whose Mercy, like His Power, is infinite 1 Why doubt that God's eternal Love can reach At once the vital soul of all and each ; And one vast Sympathy inspire the whole ? I 282 SONNETS. XLII. Sad is our youth, for it is ever going, Crumbling away beneath our very feet : Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing In current unperceived, because so fleet : Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in sowing, But tares, self-sown, have over-topped the wheat : Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blowing — And still, still, their dying breath is sweet. And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us Of that which made our childhood sweeter still : And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us A nearer Good to cure an older 111 : And sweet are all things, when we learn to prize them Not for their sake, but His who grants them or denies them! XLIII. EVANESCENCE OF THE PATRIARCHAL RELIGION. Hermes! unearthly were those melodies That closed the lids of Argus ! one by one His hundred orbs, by a sweet force pressed down, Yielded successively, hke Heaven's bright eyes When moonlight spreads along her glistening skies. Smihng he sank, more pleased the more undone, Inebriate, while through those thin lids the sun Shone warmly without light ! — Thy sorceries. Faith of the Pagan world, so fair of old. Worked like those songs! Procession, Legend, Kite, Sapped thus transmitted Truth by spells of Art : 'TiU the ever-waking spirit in man's heart Relinquished at the last its sacred hold Of God's prime creature, beatific Light ! SONNETS. 283 J XLIV.— SORROW. r Count each affliction, whether light or grave, God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou With courtesy receive him : rise and bow : And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave Permission first his heavenly feet to lave. Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow, Or mar thy hospitality ; no wave Of mortal tumult to obhterate The soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate ; Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free ; Strong to consume small troubles ; to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end. XLY. — MEDITATION. What is more glorious than a noble Thought ? What is more blessed ? — In that thought to dwell : To build your bower within it ; scoop a cell ; Inlay with precious ores a secret grot, A hermit's place of rest : to wander not ; But lean in peace above its caverned well, Yielding to that pure runnel's murmuring spell, Or sound of sighing forests heard remote. Such holy promptings moved of old our sires Those vast cathedrals cruciform to raise That make us dwell within the Cross : and still, Sweet as the gradual breeze from aU their choirs Moving with dawning day o'er wood and hill, The thoughts by those grey Minsters quickened to God's praise ! 284 SONNETS. i j XLVI. ] NATURE AND GRACE. j That Light which is the Life alone can give | The living Power which makes us love the Light : ^ Love it in Faith, and with the GodHke might \ Of Love, to Love's one object cling and cleave — But we can only have what we receive. Instinctively man's eye discerns the Right ; ' But this we lack — ^the strength to scale its height, | That we with it might dwell, and in it live. Science and Song, their constellated wings : Waving from Eastern unto Western skies, | Soar but to sink. Not any bird that flies ; Mounts straight ascending : — Grace, and Grace alone j Shoots heavenward, as from yonder altar-stone I The sacrificial flame triumphant springs ! XLYII. I UNIVERSAL HISTORY. ! Methought I gazed upon a dusky Round, I Our mortal planet's monumental urn — ! Around its orb with many a spiral turn i Ascending, a Procession slowly wound. \ There saw I laurelled poets, kings renowned ; Prophets I saw from earth's remotest bourne : { There saw I maids and youths, old men forlorn, ; And conquerors full-armed, and captives bound. | A Funeral pomp methought it seemed far down ■ In pale relief ; and, side by side, therein ; Hooded, there paced, a Sorrow and a Sin : | Midway in ampler ring, and vision clear, ! A Sacrifice embraced that mighty sphere — • Above, a lovely Bridal was its crown. ■ SONNETS. 285 XLVIII. TRUTH, Centre of Earth ! keystone of Heaven's great dome! In thee the world's vast arches rest suspended : — Within thy zodiac's belt round all extended The orb of Knowledge evermore doth roam. Thou art the lamp and hearth of each man's home — How many wondrous powers in thee are blended ! By thee we Uve ; by thee from death defended, We find a second cradle in the tomb. In thee all good things breathe ; without thee die : Strength, Justice, Loyalty, (Truth's noble thrall) Song, Science, all the Loves ; yea most of all. Though deemed too oft thy rival, Charity, Whose golden arrows swift as sunbeams fly, And scatter seeds of life where'er they faU ! XLIX. — aspiration and resignation. At times I lift mine eyes unto " the Hills Whence my Salvation cometh " — aye, and higher ; And, (the mind kindhng with the heart's desire,) Mount to that realm nor blight nor shadow chills : With concourse of bright forms that region thrills : I see the lost one midmost in the choir : From heaven to heaven, on wings that ne'er can tire, I soar; and God Himself my spirit fills. If that high rapture lasted need were none Of aid beside, nor any meaner hght. Nothing henceforth to seek, and nought to shun : — But my soul staggers at its noonday height ; And, stretching forth blind hands, a shape undone, Drops back into the gulfs of mortal night. 2SB SONNETS. L. — ASPIRATION AND RESIGNATION. 2. Then learn I that the Fancy's saintliest flight Gives or a fleeting, or a false relief : And fold my hands and say, " Let grief be grief, " Let winter winter be, and bhght be blight ! " O Thou all-wise, all-just, and infinite ! Whate'er the good we clasped, the least, the chief. Was thine, not ours, and held by us in fief — Thy Will consummate in my will's despite! " Blessed the Dead : " and they not less are blest Who, dead to earth, in full submission find (Buried in God's high Will) their Maker's rest. Kneehng, the blood-drops from their Saviour's feet. Their brows afiusing, makes their Passion sweet ; And in his sepulchre they sleep enshrined. LI. — prayers for the CONVERSION OF ENGLAND. Above the futile world of things that seem, Above the beauteous wreck of things that were. Above the horizon Eden, falsely fair, Of hope terrestrial, and the Poet's dream. Ascend, sole strength of man ! Swift as the beam Of sunrise, hurled, though late, through arctic air, Rise, might divine of universal prayer. And clasp with myriad arms the throne supreme ! From Earth's expanse rise like the exhalation Sent up from ocean touched at morn with gold : Else like the censer-cloud, the altar-fire. Blind, old, and chained, a proud yet prostrate nation Waits her dehverance. Higher mount and higher! " Deus id vult." In heaven the bells have tolled. SONNETS. 287 LII. — PRATERS FOR THE CONVERSION OF ENGLAND. 2. Oh for no nation, but the race of man, How wide a joy, and for the heavenly host, When England, flinging far her insular boast, And issuing, queen-like, through eclipse and ban, Uphfts once more her eagle eyes to scan That sovran, sole, and sunUke Truth, long lost^ Which crowns, a never-ceasing Pentecost, That See where Priestly Unity began. It must be so. The sceptred hand whereon The secular future of the world is stayed Shall rise, its matricidal madness gone. Vestal once more. Once more, with saints to aid, England shall lift that conquering cross on high Which gave her Constantine his victory. LIII. — GRACE DIEU. When Francis Beaumont wandered in old time Beside that stream which throws, as then it threw, A music sweeter than the poet's rhyme O'er the grey ruins of " forlorn Grace Dieu," How oft, while bat and owl around them flew. Mourned the great Bard the blood-stained Monarch's crime ; How often yearned to hear that convent chime Which, century after century, shook the dew From Charnwood's forest branches eve and dawn ! PhilHpps ! God's Grace it was thy heart that stirred ! All praise to Him, the Angelus is heard. Once more from hill and woodland, crag and lawn : And yon Cistercian abbey on the height Once more " with psalms resoundeth, and the chaunt<^d rite." 288 SONNETS. 1 ] LIV. \ " Sleep dwell within thine eyes, peace in thy breast." ' To-night the memory of thy native hills, \ To-night the charm of unforgotten rills, ! Be kind to fevered nerves and thoughts opprest. j Yet, if the mourners are most surely blest ; j If He, who only wounds to heal us, wills \ That thou shouldst have thy load of twofold ills, j And, love-amerced, in vain solicit rest ; \ Then like a cross thy patient hands put forth, | And gently welcome that which God accords : ] And let the sharpest of terrestrial swords i Transfix, unblamed, the meekest heart on earth — •] Nor Sleep nor Death repose so perfect gives i As in entire Submission wakes and Hves. LV. VALERIAN AND CECILIA. The eyes that loved me were upon me staying : The eyes that loved me, and the eyes that won. Guardian or guide celestial saw I none ; But the unseen chaplets on her temples weighing Breathed heaven around. A golden smile was playing O'er the full lips. Meekly her countenance shone. And beamed, a lamp of peace, mid shadows dun — Round her lit form the ambrosial locks were swaying. Fair Spirit ! Angel of delight new-born. And love, unchanging love and infinite, Aurorean planet of the eternal morn ! That gaze I caught ; and, kindling in that hght, My soul, from Pagan bonds released by thee, Upsoared, and hailed its immortahty. SONNETS. 289 LVI. ROME AT NOON. The streets are silent, as the shadows deep Of obehsk and statue o'er them thrown ; A people slumbers in its noonday sleep ; No sound save yon cicala's lazy drone. Sunshine intense each glittering dome doth steep, Each Lombard tower, and convent's court grass-gi'own ; Fires the tall arch, and heats each column prone, My prop in turn, as slowly on I creep. Methinks such stillness reigned that hour in Kome Three centuries since, when through the fiery air Uprose, sole-heard, the saintly Pontiff's prayer — Rose, and a slumbering world escaped its doom. Vanquished that hour beside Lepanto's shore, Satan like lightning fell, thenceforth to rise no more. Ipns. TO ;iR JOHN SIMEON, Bart. THE FOLLOWING HYMNS, COMPOSED UNDER HIS ROOF, ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 293 ^t itmt 0f St ^pt|a. 1. Dark as ministers of Hell, The gaolers strode the Maid beside : Light from heaven upon her fell As she raised her face, and cried, " Lo, my Jesus, all I am " Give I freely unto thee : " Guard from harm thy little lamb : " Quell the demon brood through me." 2. Dark the Prseter sat, his hand Pointing to the statued Gods : Round his throne the lictor band Reared their axes, and their rods. " Sacrifice ! " the concourse cried — " Sacrifice, and thou art free." " Christ I serve," the Maid replied; "That is Life and Liberty." 294 THE FEAST OF ST. AGATHA. 3. They led her to the haunts of shame : — Sin was shamed ; and Satan fled. They stretched her on a couch of flame : — 'Twas to her a rose-strewn bed. BHssful martyr ! loud she cried, " Glory be, my Christ, to thee ! "Teach Thou well Thy little bride " Patience, Love, and Purity." 4. It was midnight, and the Maid, Robed from face to foot in blood, Stood with hands outstretched, and prayed :■ One she saw not near her stood. Fell the Apostolic Light Where had fallen the Pagan sword : Beams of healing, words of might. Touched her bosom, and restored. 5. Blest Palermo ! LuUabied "Was the babe by thy blue sea ! Catana more blest ! she died, Dowered with palm and crown, in thee ! Share with us your double boast, Happy land, for poor are we : Plead, among the heavenly host, Agatha, for mine and me. 295 %\t itmt »f St f tttg. 1. " Light divine, those outward eyes "That languish, nothing seeing " Save thine inferior suns and skies, " Blot wholly from my being; " But grant me one short hour to see "What Anna saw, and Stephen — " The Babe upon His Mother's knee ; " The Saviour crowned in heaven. 2. " heavenly, uncreated Word, " That took'st our mortal nature, " And, still on high as God adored, " Didst die on earth, a creature ; " We die because we may not die : — " Each act, word, thought, betrays thee : " Biit thy good Martyrs, in the sky, " And where they suffered, praise thee !" 3. Thus sang Saint Lucy, bright like day, Where others hoped not, hoping ; To thy worn tomb, Agatha, A mother's footsteps propping. She knelt and prayed the Martyr's aid — " My mother ! help her, shield her ! " " Why ask my aid?" the Martyr Maid Replied ; " Thy prayers have healed her." 296 THE FEAST OP ST. LUCY. 4. She rose : her country's Gods defied ; Idol and altar spurning. To death adjudged, with tenderest pride Her cheek, late pale, was burning : — A thousand men their strength put forth : Nor man nor beast might move her : — The hand that made the heavens and earth Lay strong that hour above her. 5. Round her they piled the wood : the fires Forth flashed, and fiercely mounted. She, like a bird 'mid golden wires, The praise of God recounted. " The Empire falls : the Church is free !"— So rang her song ; and ended, " Agatha ! for Sicily • " Henceforth our prayers are blended." 6. Sicilian sisters, fair and brave, In bonds of God close-pHghted, That, like two lilies on one wave, Float, evermore united ; Upheaved upon the Church's breast In aspiration endless, Plead, from the bosom of your rest, For exiled souls, and friendless. 297 St. Jittpstine af Cantelrarjr. Strong in the strength of Rome, And the mission from on high, To the English coast is Augustine come. To conquer or to die. The keel has touched the shore ; The Cross has touched the strand : The train, that Cross held high before. Moves forth through the pagan land. Knock at the palace gates, O Cross ! The Kings within Shall rise from their thrones, and cry, " Who waits ?" And let their Maker in. Knock at the temple doors : The idols within shall hear ; And fall, dead weights, on the marble floors. As the Holy Host draws near. The Apostolic man Held up the Cross on high : And a nation knelt ; for the rumoiu" ran That the Lord of all was nigh. Happy that kneeling shore ! Glorious and blest the boon ! England, turn thee, turn once more, To the Rock whence thou art hewn. 298 31 lattliMS. Pontiff and Priest of old ! Our Shepherd still on high ! Call back thy sheep to their ancient fold — Why should thy children die ? Paulinus ! Saint and Sage, O'er the heavenly hills move on : For kings to-day thy pilgrimage Will join ; not monks alone. Forth to the throne of God : Plead for a land sense-blind : — Egbert and Alfred where thou hast trod Will plant their steps behind. And the Confessor ; and all Those cloistral sovereigns pure ; And nobles who died under Salem's wall, Or at Cressy and Agincourt. Night lay on hill and glen When thy lamp dispersed the gloom : — 'Tis night again ; or light as when The cold morn stares at a tomb. Silent were cape and creek As thy boat drew near the land : 'Tis Babel now : for a milHon speak ; But no man can understand. ST. ANASTASIA AT AQUILEIA. 299 | Patriarch, once more forth pace, :i And thy realm below- shall hear ; ^ Though we live in the City's suburbs base, ^j And thou in its regions clear. i Forth, great Procession ! Break • ! Our slimabers with thy tread : 1 For the dry bones live, and the ashes wake, I Like the waking from the dead. i St ^nastasia at ^pMa/ 1. Ocean, anew creating Old harmonies ; Ether, star-germinating While dayHght dies ; Simset, but lately firing The city towers, and still. In crimson flames expiring On yonder snow-capped hill : Far peaks, and cliffs that shiver In golden mist ; — ^henceforth lure no more, forever. My spirit back to earth ! (1) See Note at p. 318. 300 ST. ANASTASIA AT AQUILEIA. 2. Moored is at last our galley : Our pilgrimage is o'er : But not for us yon valley ; And not for us that shore ! The cymbals from the city Shake the water like a breath — Chant we, in turn, one ditty, Martyr Maids, ere death ! people, who can teach thee That joy to earth unknown ? Saviour, who can preach thee ? — Not words, but death alone ! 3, Mother ! Ah, twice, my mother, Thou gav'st me Christ ! This day 1 thank thee, and that other My childhood's staff and stay. How oft when trial pressed me, And earthly hope was none. That more than father blessed me, And said, " Poor child, strive on." He prayed for me : he cherished : He gained me strength to win : — Through him the tyrant perished That tempted me to sin. 4. Like a Seraph in its fleetness. My life above me flew : Its sorrows past, its sweetness Falls back on me as dew. Again I tread the prison. And bring the Christians bread ; ST. ANASTASIA AT AQUILEIA. 30 1 They have raised their heads : they listen : Sweet souls, ye know my tread ! The children hide their faces In an unmaternal breast : And, warmed in my embraces, Yomig mothers, too, find rest. 5. Once more, the Forum pacing. The temples I behold. As they stand, the sun outfacing. With their marble and their gold. I scorn them : — I am taken : — I am judged to death once more: Half-famished I awaken On the cold dark dungeon floor. Chrysogonus ! thou hast taught me Once more to kiss my chain : Theodora ! thou hast brought me ' Celestial food again ! 6. 'Tis past. The dream is over, And the life that does but seem : — They are past ; and I discover The World, too, is a dream. Its meaning, its consistence, From a higher world is caught ; Thy Will is its subsistence ; Its order is thy Thought. Thou hast made it : it arrays Thee ; Yet it cannot fill man's heart : — For what Thou art I praise thee ; And I praise thee that Thou art. 302 ST. ANASTASIA AT AQUILEIA. • 7. l Entering his own creation, " True God true Man became. ^ Who wrought the world's salvation ? — j The Babe of Bethlehem. 1 For each man death He tasted: He died that Death might die : ^ Three days entombed He rested : ^ He rose into the sky. I Ne'er watched I spring flower waking From its grave beneath the sod ; j But I saw that tombstone breaking, ] And that Form ascend to God. j ^- 1 How oft in youthful slumber ] I saw all worlds ascend : — l Unmeasured, without number, I Still up they seemed to tend! ] Like angels interwoven i Up passed the shining choir, j Through the black vault o'er them cloven ; \ And higher rose, and higher. J Creation seemed a fountain ^ Sun-changed to heaven-ward mist : \ • But I knew the parent mountain \ Was God : the sun was Christ. ] 9. ] As one that, gold refining, ; Bends o'er the metal base, j Till, purged by fire, and shining, i It reflects at last his face, i So God oft saw I clearing J By pain man's race from sin, THE FEAST OF PETER's CHAINS. 303 Till, the perfect mirror sphering, He, imaged, shone therein. — — The city stays its revels : The minstrel bands retire : No sound o'er the sea-levels : No light, save yonder pyre ! 10. wind, once more that playest With the palm-grove near the bay, Low words to us thou sayest Of palms that live for aye. That veil the ocean dimming Brings the world of Stars more near : And the anthem they are hymning In my spirit I can hear. They sing, " Of dust partaker, " Our wondrous world must die : " But oiu" Master, and our Maker " Lives on eternally." f |f itut af lute's €\ms. 1. Her crown is bright with many a gem ; But costlier far each tear that glides Down that pale cheek. Jerusalem ! She weeps as up thy steep she rides. Before their empress,^ gifts they shower : One only to her heart is pressed : An iron chain. In Herod's hour It bound the Apostle ever blest! (1) The Empress Eudocia. 304 THE FEAST OF PETER's CHAINS. 2. The beauteous vision melts in gloom — What lights are those that pierce that shade ? One walks, the mitred sire of Eome : Beside him moves a crowned maid.^ Mamurtine prison ! In Nero's reign, O'er Peter's head thy shade was thrown : — They kneel ; and, kneeling, kiss the chain That bound him to his couch of stone. 3. That Roman, that Judean bond. United then, dispart no more — Pierce through the veil : the rind beyond Lies hid the legend's deeper lore. Therein the mystery lies expressed Of Power transferred, yet ever one ; Of Rome — ^the Salem of the west — Of Sion built o'er Babylon. 4. A city set upon a hill Whoe'er has eyes may turn and see : Through thee the Church is visible ; Made visible by unity. The PiUar and the Ground of Truth!— Through thee she speaks what all may hear: — Peter ! to hear and hearken, both Were hard indeed wert thou not near. 5. Through thee her Mysteries high and sweet The Church with History weds, and Fact ; Through thee contingencies can meet; Through thee can witness, and can act. (1) Eudoxia, daughter of the Empress Eudocia. FEAST OF ST. PETER's CHAIR. 305 Bind round the Church thy sacred chains !— The electric Hfe that feeds her heart, Flashing through them, her iron veins, Makes thus the whole sustain the part, 6. Droop but a branchy to natural bhght Subjected, or the storms of men, Through thee sent forth, like life and light, Health flows into that branch again. Through thee that Strength the world hath missed The Church renews while ages flee : Her inward Unity is Christ ; ger outward^ Christ set forth in thee. %lt itmi flf St lute's €\m at ^mt 1. I FAWN not on the Eoman height — Caesarian laurels, wreathe not ye A harp of Christian Psalmody ! Whoever builds, and not on Eight, Though high he build as eagle's flight, * Can never true acceptance find With manly heart, or equal mind. Though every State ; though land and sea ; Though all the flying years of Time, Should bend to Power unjust the knee, And venerate with rite and rhyme, True sway is God's, and his alone Who holds from God a righteous throne. 306 THE FEAST OF 2. But I the Fisherman revere Who left the Galilean lake, And all he loved, for Christ's dear sake ; — Who left his nets, and rules a sphere. Rock of the Rock ! From Him alone, Eternal Rock, and Corner Stone, That Name and Function didst thou take ; Through Him that great Confession make ! Rock of the Rock ! A Rock is She Who built on thee, and strong by thee, Resounds it everlastingly ! " And will ye also go away ? " " To whom, Master, shall we go 1 " The words of Life that lasts for aye " With thee are found. Behold we know- " We doubt not — ^we are sure indeed — " Thou art the Christ, the expected One ; " Thou art the Christ, the promised Seed ; " The Living God's anointed Son." 3. Mystery of Unity, Of all the mysteries the key ! Prime Sacrament, that bind'st, like Fate, Created things and uncreate ! Godhead in Persons Three is One : In Him all harmonies began: And from His archetypal throne Descends the chain that ends in Man. In One our race transgressed, and died: In One it lives— the Crucified. ST. Peter's chair at rome. ' 307 One Faith ; one Baptism ; — Truth is one ; For separate Truths, or new, or old. Form still one family, one fold. One everlasting unison. ^ " I say to thee, thou art the Rock ; " And on this Rock my Church I found. ** Nor Powers of Hell, nor mortal shock " Shall shake that Church unto the ground. *' And I the Keys will give to thee " Of heaven's great Kingdom, earth around : " That which thou loosest loosed shall be ; " And what thou bindest shall be bound." 4. The cloud of Time is lifted. Lo ! What man is he that, sole and slow, Forth moves o'er Haran's well-loved plain, With forehead turned to Canaan ? That Unity which Abel's blood Dissolved ; which God restored in Seth ; Which Noah rescued from the Flood ; Again Corruption dooms to death. Nimrod has lifted up on high The brand of godless Tyranny : And Anarchy, the converse woe. Has reigned, and hes, with Babel, low. The single, and transmitted tongue Is broken into dialects : The single Faith, held fast so long. Gives way to idols, and to sects. That Covenant whose rainbow span Embraced the total hopes of man, 308 THE FEAST OP Totters and shakes ; but is not dead. Again through One it rears its head, And^ narrowing to a centre, forth One day shall spring to clasp the earth. Strong is that Patriarch's Faith, and true, Who bids the Patriarch world adieu ; Sole Patriarch of an order new. The seal of God on one — but one — Is pressed : and forth he fares alone. " Simon, behold, your souls to gain, " Satan hath longed with longings sore ; " That he may sift you, even as grain " Is sifted on the granary floor. " But I for thee my prayer have made ; " That thy Faith fail not, nor decay. " Converted once, be strong to aid ; " Strengthen thy Brethren day by day." 5. ^ The cloud of Time is raised once more. A city shades a far-off shore ; And the red sunset many a mile . urns silent on the silent Nile. An old man dies : abound his bed Twelve Patriarch Brethren take their stand: Each kneels : on each he lays his hand : One crowns he — o'er the rest the head. " Lion of all the sacred Fold, " Judah, in thy strength thou art : — " TiU Shiloh comes, the King foretold, " Thy Sceptre never shall depart." The seal of majesty on one Is pressed once more — on one alone. ST. Peter's chair at rome. 309 6. Long ran the promise underground : Long pined the sacred Bace in chains ; Then, bursting from their prison bound, Retrod at last their Fathers' plains. The Law was given : a brazen band, It fenced from baser realms that land Predestined from the first to be An isthmus in a stormy sea, Joining the Patriarchs' Church with her In whom the Apostles minister, And making visibly of twain One Church, one Household, and one Reign. Then rose at last the Throne decreed. Who grasped the sceptre ? Judah's seed — The Shepherd summoned from above ; The sworded man who wept, and strove ; The man heart-frail, yet strong through Love. " Lovest thou me with mightier love " Than these, thy brethren 1 " — "Master, yea ; " Thou knowest I love Thee."- — " Simon, prove " Thy love, and feed my lambs for aye. " Lovest thou me with love more deep "Than these, the others?" — "Master, yea; " Thou knowest I love thee." — "Feed my sheep : " Shepherd and feed them day by day." 7. Who chains that Shepherd ? Chain who will, The Evangel is unshackled still ! Forth, like an eagle from its eyry, Abroad o'er all the world it flies, 310 THE FEAST OP And, poised in regions solitary, Gives back the sunset to the skies. The Day of Pentecost had come : Descending from that upper room, Who first the Gospel trumpet blew. Opening Christ's Eangdom to the Jew 1 Before the Gentiles next who laid His great commission, undismayed ; Washing the feet, and hands, and head Of realms unclean, till then, and dead 1 Who, when the council long had sate. Closed with a word the loud debate. Treading with Christ a sea whose waves. Thus touched, rolled back into their graves ? Who with a royal meekness took A younger brother's wise rebuke 1 Who judged, and judged with death, the lie Of Sacrilege and Blasphemy ? — His shadow cures disease ; for he The shadow is of Christ beneath : Before his face the demons flee : He holds the keys of life and death. " Simon, when thou wort young, behold, " Thy girdle thou didst bind at will ; " And in the peaceful days of old *^ Thy footsteps freely wandered still. " But when thy head is old and grey, " Thy hands thou shalt stretch forth ; and lo, " Thee shall another gird that day ; " And bear thee where thou wouldst not go." ST. Peter's chair at romb. 311 8. A thousand years passed by between The earlier and the later storms Ere yet, across the golden scene, Eushed back old Error's myriad forms. That Eastern hand, which raised again Samaria's altar, withered soon ; And on that altar bones of men Were burned beneath the Arabian Moon. But, in the West, o'er all the lands The Kock cast far its sacred shade. Till regions bare as desert sands Grew green at last with wood and glade. That Crown august, which, like a star. O'er all things, and through all things shone, Was regal, feudal, popular ; Was friend to each, and slave to none. — ^What Power was that which, strong yet meek, The equipoise of earth maintained. Siding for ever with the weak ? That bound the haughty ; freed the chained ? The Church of God— that Church which wound Around the globe the Apostles' zone — What clasped that zone ; that girdle bound ? The Roman Unity alone. 9. He who established Power on earth. And sanctioned Order and Degree, First raised, supreme o'er every hearth, The sceptre of Paternity ; 312 THE FEAST OF And next, o'er every realm and nation, The delegated thrones of Kings, Within the bounds of civil station Potent above terrestrial things. Lastly he raised, and raised o'er all, The Sceptre Apostolical. Whoe'er, seduced by pride or fear, Affronts, within its proper sphere, That great Pontific dignity — Though emperor or king he be ; Though arms and arts make strong his cause, And large pretence of ancient laws, O'erlaid by centuries of wrong ; Though every pen and every tongue Hail him Deliverer ; and the acclaim Of ages echo back the name — That prince against God^s edict fights. Sole basis of inferior rights. He that abets betrays him too ; A flatterer, and no liegeman true. He Eoman is ; but takes his side With Pagan Rome self-deified. Against the Saviour, and the Bride. " Not for the world my prayer I make : " I pray for those thou gavest to Me : *' I taught them all things for Thy sake — " Make perfect Thou their Unity. ^' As Thou with Me art One, even so " Make them, my flock, in one agree : *^ Father, that thus the world may know " That I am Thine, and come from Thee." ST. Peter's chair at rome. 313 10. Who chains the Apostle ? Chain who will, He blesses those who chain him still! Them that abhor him, them that fly, Still, still he follows with his eye ; As some white peak o'er seaward streams Casts glances far, and snowy gleams. They that renounce thee beg thine alms : They live but on thy grace benign ; Thine are their creeds, and thine their psalms : Whate'er they have of Faith is thine. Whate'er of Truth with them remains Is theirs but in Tradition's right : Their sheep, that die on wealthier plains, Are pastured on thy hills by night. True Shepherd King ! all powers beside Are transient, and an empty show : Around thee, like a shifting tide. The world's great pageants ebb and flow. True pilot of the Saviour's barque ! Who sails with thee is safe. The flood But lifts more high thy sacred ark, And floats it to the feet of God. Thy God revealed His Son to thee : Thy Maker called thee from above : He chose thee from eternity : He sealed thee with electing love. — Thy Strength is Prayer. For them pray most, With love matured in God's own beam. Who make of liberty their boast. Yet sell true freedom for a dream ! 314 FEAST OF ST. PETER's CHAIR. 11. Prince of the Apostles ! Like an hour The years have passed since first that Word Which signed thee with vicarial power Beside that Syiian lake was heard. 0, strong since then, from heaven's far shore Hold forth that Cross of old reversed ; O bind the world to Christ once more : The chains of Satan touch and burst. Strengthen the Apostolic Thrones : Make strong without, and pure within, That Temple built of living .stones. With planetary discipline. Strengthen the thrones of Kjngs : the State Encompass with religious awe ; Paternal rule corroborate : Impart new majesty to Law. Strengthen the City, and the Orb Of Earth ; till each has reached its term. Insurgent powers, and impious, curb ; The righteous and the just confirm. SWAINSTON, Sept 1854. Sot^s. NOTES. " The anemones in dubious light Are trembling lihe a bridal veil" — P. 52. This image is found in Father Faber's beautiful poem, ' Sir Launcelot." " The last Irish Confiscation." — P. 65. Many of the allusions in this poem will be found illus- trated in a work by the same author, entitled "English Misrule and Irish Misdeeds. The mortality predicted in that work as the consequence of meeting a famine by a mode of legislation not only denounced by every class in Ireland, but, in many respects, at variance with all principles recognised by English writers on political and economical science, has been proved by the census of 1851 to have been enormous indeed. Making all due allowances, it seems certain that not fewer than a million of lives were lost, in consequence of want, or of the diseases produced by want. The confiscation of property, referred to in that book, as certain to result from the combined action of laws tending at once to destroy its value, and to precipitate its sale, has been carried out to an extent deplorably attested by the earlier annals of the Encumbered Estates* Court. To the absence of systematic colonization we owe an 318 NOTES. emigration insufficient at an early period of the famine? excessive at a later, needlessly prolonged, and accompanied by an undue drain of capital. In the work mentioned above, ample acknowledgment was made of the private donations so munificently sub- scribed in favour of the Irish by multitudes in all classes of English society. A similar acknowledgment is, perhaps, due to the [State, on account of that act of justice which cancelled the debt for which Ireland stood responsible on account of expenditure under the Labour Rate Act. The debt in question was cancelled expressly and frankly on the ground of justice, not of benevolence. Events such as the last few years have witnessed leave a moral behind. To that moral few are disposed to attend, attracted rather by that renewed prosperity which is the usual reaction after national calamity. When such a lesson is lost, it is not to the dead only that an injury is done. ^^ All heaven is ever thus extending.'' — P. 236. This thought is beautifully expressed by Mr. Kenelm Digby, in his Mores Catholici. " When Francis Beaumont wandered in old time" — P. 287. Grace Dieu was a favourite haunt of Wordsworth's in his early days, and has more than once been celebrated by him in his inscriptions at Coleorton. The great Poet visited also the Abbey of St. Bernard, built in Chamwood Forest, by Ambrose Lisle Phillipps, Esq. of Grace Dieu Manor. No reader of his works is ignorant of the respect for the Religious Orders expressed in them. NOTES. 319 " St. A nastasiay—V. 299. St. Anastasia was banislied, with two hundred yoimg Christian maidens, to Aquileia, where she underwent her martyrdom. She had previously ministered in his captivity to St. Chrysogonus, by whom, when a child, she was in- structed in the Christian religion. *' I fawn not on the Roman height.^' — P. 305. " Envy, avaunt ; away with the pride of the dignity of Kome; I speak with the Fisherman's successor, and the dis- ciple of the Cross. Following no chief but Christ, I am joined in communion with your Holiness, that is, with the chair of Peter. Upon that Rock I know that the Church is built. Whosoever eats the lamb out of this house is profane. If any be not in the Ark of Noah, he will perish while the Deluge prevaileth." — St. Jerome, quoted from " Waterworth'e Faith of Catholics." THE END. H. CLAY, PRIKTER, BREAD STREET HILL V \ 14 DAY USE I RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED ! LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, ot on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 18Jan'60fO2 f% } MU ]W ItJsn'SzDS- ,.^crO t-D ^ 1 ^9^1 •a 1 f \f^ViVf^ ^ ^^-^O LD 1 ^•'•: ^m9 ~ fe-S ;il.;,. \ f '-^^m^ J LD 21A-50w-4,'59 (A1724sl0)476B General Library = University of California j Berkeley j 1446 54- UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA UBRARY