OEMS lATUl^E AND UIFE ILLIAMSON I fl^H ^H MS^KSm 'V';- * POEMS NATURE AND LIFE POEMS OF NATUEE AND LIFE DAVID R. WILLIAMSON MINISTER 01 KIUKMAIDEN, WIOTOWNSII 1 1 1 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS BDIKBt HOB AND LONDON MDCCCLXXW III LOAN STACK '^ o-> ~> /ex? TO MY KIND FRIEND, THE EARL OF ROSSLYN, 2E!)t8 Uolume IS RESPECTFULLY AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. September 1888. 472 CONTENTS. PAGE ODE TO NATURE, 1 THE AUTUMN OF LIFE, 5 HYMN OF THE SNOWDROPS, 8 TO MATTHEW ARNOLD, 10 A POEM OF THE SEA, L9 A RKVERIE, 10 A POEM AT DEATH, . 18 TO THE WOOD-SOU UKI., 'JO A WISH, tt HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, 85 SONG OF THE MORNING, 27 BONG 01 tin: kvkmng 88 GEORGE Gil l II I \N 32 AN INVOCATION TO THE CI 85 A POEM OF LIFE, 88 TO M. 11. M., 41 Vlll CONTENTS. TO A BEAUTIFUL CHILD, A POEM OF THE TWILIGHT, NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1881, . A POEM OF SUMMER, MDLLE. THERESE TIETJENS, KESWICK LAKE, CUMBERLAND, IN MEMORIAM : MATTHEW ARNOLD. TO MY BOOKS, THE BEAUTY OF DEATH, TO THE TWILIGHT, . "THERE SHALL BE NO MORE SEA, SORROW, . TO THE UNKNOWN SINGER — I, TO THE UNKNOWN SINGER — II TO A BEREAVED FRIEND— L, TO A BEREAVED FRIEND — II. TO THE PRIMROSE — I., . TO THE PRIMROSE — II., . TO A GREAT SINGER — I., TO A GREAT SINGER — II., TO THE SUN — I., TO THE SUN — II., . TO "HERMIONE," TO A MUSICIAN — I., TO A MUSICIAN — II., TO A MUSICIAN — III., CONTENTS. IX UNFULFILLED RENOWN — I., UNFULFILLED RENOWN — II., IN MEMORIAM: LADY AILSA, ODE TO TIME, . THE CHOSEN OF THE POETS, KILLIN, . THE POET— PART I., THE POET — PART II., A SUNSET SCENE, . AN AUTUMN HYMN, 70 80 81 82 87 93 97 102 106 108 POEMS OF NATURE AND LIFE. ODE TO NATURE. Nature, my love is never far from thee ! I breathe thy spirit wheresoe'er I go ; Whether my steps are by the whispering sea, Or through the woodlands, where thy flowerets glow, I find a freshness which is wholly thine, A sweetness which thy soul alone can shed ; To me thou art a living voice divine, Though others deem that thou art dark and dead. 2 ODE TO NATURE. For thee I pined within the city's roar, Where thy fair children droop, and fade, and die ; I longed to hear thy waters on the shore Melt to the music of their Summer sigh \ Yet Memory in some lonely glen afar Drank thy pure inspiration, as of old ; While through the blue one solitary star Trembled above the boughs of green and gold ! Eternal rapture glows within thy woods, Where fragrance steals from Beauty's silent breast \ Joy mingles with the murmur of thy floods, Whose voice is music to the heart at rest ; With thy wide-stretching plains the mind expands, Or with thy mighty mountains soars serene ; While light, like radiance from God's gracious hands Floateth where'er thy fairest forms are seen. How great the glory of thy vernal hours, When beauty riseth into wondrous birth, ODE TO NATURE. 3 While the mild splendours of thy first-born flowers Gleam through the green of the rejoicing earth ! How deep the silence of each pensive grove, Mingled with breathings of the roses bright, When Summer, like the great Redeemer's love, Glides through the gladness of thy golden light ! But when thy favourite daughter, Autumn, reigns Queen-like o'er realms that own her peaceful sway, Is not this earth an Eden, while remains Upon the fruitful fields her gentle ray 1 We know that Heaven is near us, while she lays The gifts of her Creator at our feet ; Or pours through all the dear delightful days Those streams of life, where grace and goodness meet. O mother of all lovely thoughts that spring From loving souls, in presence of thy power ! Tnspirer of all hopes that soar and sing Bird- like, beneath thy beauty's silver shower !• ODE TO NATURE. O thou that with the joyful dost rejoice, And sorrowest with the sorrowing — not in vain, Be thou my consolation, till God's voice Shall call my spirit to its home again ! THE AUTUMN OF LIFE. The old man sits at his cottage door. In the gleam of the dying day ; His heart is calm as the silent shore, When the winds have passed away ; His thoughts are still as the fragrant breeze That whispers of peace to the azure seas. His is the beauty of earth and air, The glow of the twilight hours ; He feels that glory everywhere Is breathing from woodland flowers ; And his heart ^rows young, though his years are old, At the wondrous sight of the sunset gold ! 6 THE AUTUMN OF LIFE. For Memory comes with a gentle hand, And beareth on Fancy's wings His thoughts to her own immortal land Where the Past for ever sings Of joys that brightened the fair days fled, Ere friendships faded with friends long dead. And the Past, though sad, for the love that is gone, Is sweet to the old man's mind ; Like the birds that sang in those years have flown The hopes he hath left behind ; Yet Memory brings from each bygone day Some gift of peace for his lonely way ! And the children love that old man dear, As he sits in the twilight there, Listing a music they cannot hear, ' From the sea, and the voicef ul air ; And gather around, like gladsome flowers, As he tells them tales of the vanished hours. THE AUTUMN OF LIFE. 7 And so the Present is made more bright, By the lessons the Past hath taught ; As the east reflects the wondrous light Of the west, by sunset brought : And though his vision is growing dim, God maketh his pathway bright to him. His age is peace j yet he joys to think That a deeper than earth can know Shall be his, when his tranquil soul shall drink Of a balmier twilight glow In that happier Home, where his thoughts at last Shall yearn no more for the distant Past ! HYMN OF THE SNOWDROPS. Parent of peace, and Maker of all might ! We thank Thee for those pale and pensive flowers Which Thou hast given, to gleam upon our sight, After the darkness of the winter hours. They come, the first fair children of the year, To tell us that Thy love is with us still ; That faith shall rise to conquer every fear In all who wait with patience on Thy will. Thou who didst bless the lilies of the field, With moral beauty that shall bloom for aye, Hast given not less to these a power to yield Lessons of wisdom to our souls to-day. HYMN OF THE SNOWDKOPS. 9 Artless they shine ; but could we understand The art that raised them into beauteous birth, Then should we hold Creation by the hand ; Then should we know the secret of the earth. We may not grasp that wondrous Force which sways The workings of this vast mysterious scene ; We only see God's footprints on those ways Where His creative form at first hath been. Nor shall we know ourselves as we are known, Till larger knowledge through this wandering night Shall stream around us from that Unseen Throne Of Truth, that turns all darkness into light ! 10 TO MATTHEW ARNOLD. Poet of peace, by gentlest thoughts attended, Where'er thou niovest on thine upward way, Reverence and tenderness for ever blended In thy great heart, which mourns all sad decay j Not lost to thee the pathos of the dying, The dear remembrance of the peaceful dead ! Like some deep wind 'mid Autumn's ruins sighing, Thy Muse bewails the beauty that has fled. Not only mortal greatness that has perished For ever from thy vision far away ; Yet left behind a grandeur that is cherished By those it led toward a nobler day ; TO MATTHEW ARNOLD. 11 Not only such thy pensive song is singing In strains half heard by this strange world of ours; But some poor bird, whose music no more bringing The joys he warbled to the fields and flowers ; Some favourite dog, whose last look of affection Fixed on that master's face he knew so well ; TJnconquered love, through anguishing dejection Expressing more than eloquence could tell ; Even such as these some exquisite emotion Have wakened in the regions of thy heart ; Flooding thy frame, as o'er some boundless ocean The sunlight streams, when sorrow-clouds depart ! More than the mightiest thoughts that man has given In proud self-consciousness to charm mankind. Are those meek lays, like golden rain from Heaven, Which in the soul their inspiration find 12 TO MATTHEW ARNOLD. Not of ambition are thy songs begotten, O lofty Barcl ! whose deathless theme is love ; 'Tis thine to glorify the world's forgotten, To guard below what God has blessed above ! 13 A POEM OF THE SEA. 'Tis morn : a softly moving breeze Is rippling o'er the bay ; As gladly towards the flashing seas The fisher's boat makes way ; How gloriously the snowy sail Is bearing him along ; While his proud heart that fears no gale Is pouring forth in song ! From the low cot that nestles white Beside the waving wood, A tiny window looks in light Upon the ocean-flood ; 14 A POEM OF THE SEA. And well the fisher knows that there Twain eyes of azure hue, Sweet with the love for him they wear, Gaze o'er the waters blue. How swiftly glides his boat away Into the distance dim ! While those fond eyes that mutely say " I love thee," follow him ! Till like a bird upon the wave It vanishes from view, No more to bring the bold and brave Back to the sweet and true ! 'Tis night ; the seas are one wide waste Of fiercely flying foam j A tempest terrible hath chased Peace from her ocean -home ; Like thunder on the quivering strand The helpless waves are tossed ; A POEM OF THE SEA. 15 The winds are wailing o'er the land Like spirits of the lost ! dread and awful is the night To her who watched so long For him who never more may light Her home with life and sons: ! In every sound the storm may bear, As wild it wanders by, Her eager fancy seems to hear Her fisher's footsteps nigh ! 'Tis morn ; and peace is bright again On earth and whispering shore ; And all is life and light again That was so dark before ; Yet joyless is that fisher's home Beneath the glittering skies, For no proud presence yet hath come To cheer two weeping eyes ! 16 A REVERIE. Here by the ripplings of an Eastern sea That seems to sound of days that are no more, In every wave that melts upon the shore, I sit and think of thee. Thy presence moveth with me everywhere ; My fancy floweth steadfast as a stream Towards that lovely vale, where thou dost gleam In memories ever fair. In every trembling lay that through the trees The warbling birds pour soulfully along, I seem to hear the sweetness of thy song Float on the evening breeze. A EEVERIE. 17 With the fair sunrise of the golden morn That blooms like Eden o'er yon eastern skies, Cometh the glory of thy dewy eyes, Of love and beauty born. Through all the grandeur of the glowing day, I feel the brightness of thy fancied face j It dwells amid the sweetness and the grace Of light's departing ray. And when the glory of the day has died Like some fair dream of Heaven o'er the sea ; And night arises, slowly, solemnly, Dark-robed and starry-eyed ; I love to think that as the yearning star That gazeth steadfast on the world below, So, wrapped around with night, thy fancies glow Towards me from afar ! 18 A POEM AT DEATH. Immortal Conqueror of mortal strife ! Who to our vision loomest far away Beside the door of Heaven's eternal life, And Hope's own boundless, everlasting day ; Thine inexpressive silences we fear ; Of thy dark form we dream, with speechless dread ; Most awful to our shrinking thoughts appear The soundless slumbers of thy gentle dead. And yet our Faith should teach us otherwise ; Should make thy peaceful presence star-like shine 'Mid sorrow's night, most radiant unto eyes Wearied with watching for the Light divine. A POEM AT DEATH. 19 dumb and mighty Messenger of God ! That holdest His deep secrets in thy hand ; Whom to have known is to have found the road To heights of knowledge Time can not command ; We love thee not ; and yet I do not know If thou art not a veiled, familiar friend ; We may not feel thee strange, when thou dost show How blessed is thy mission in the end ! Why should the Mind's dim prison-house endure, If with the dawning of thy wondrous ray, On wings of liberty, to skies more pure, The soul may rise, and wing its endless way ? teach us, Silent Spirit, so to live, That when we reach those realms thy feet have trod, We may be strong most hopefully to give The meaning of our life-work unto God | 20 TO THE WOOD -SORREL. Exquisite Floweret of the vernal hour, Whose tender sweetness steals upon our gaze, When the wild glory of the glittering shower Has faded in the sun's luxuriant rays ; Meekest of all the blooms that God has given To star this marvellous mystery of earth With gentle gleams of that ideal Heaven, Where Love the beautiful found radiant birth, — Even one so insignificant as thou May bring high thoughts to men of reverent mind ; For that meek loveliness thou wearest now Flowed from an Art our efforts fail to find. TO THE WOOD-SORREL. 21 That Power by which those wondrous worlds were made, In whose vast presence awe-inspired we stand, Like thee that shrinkest in the woodland shade, Was formed of one unseen, mysterious Hand. The soul that shines in every wondrous star Whose splendour thrills the darkness of the night, As faith through sorrow pierces from afar, When Knowledge fails, and Wisdom longs for light ; The Force that sways the boundless ocean's tide, That mingles with the river's ceaseless flow ; Whose unexhausted energies provide For all the countless lives that breathe below ; He who ordained no life may ever die, But shall subserve some wise end in decay ; So that those clouds of Mystery which lie Between our souls and Truth's dim-dawning day, 22 TO THE WOOD : SORREL. Are but as shadows cast upon the mind From the immortal picture of His love ; — Has given to such as these a power to bind Our hearts to Him who dwells with light above ! 23 A WISH. O Lady, though I cannot sing, " May no dark Winter cloud thy year ! For in their train life's shadows bring A music which we may not hear ; And angels mingle with the gloom That flows from Heaven upon our way, Yet in thy heart may Wisdom bloom, And guide thy steps from day to day ! May love, the fairest flower of Time, Sweet love, that makes all beauty dear, The rose that shines in every clime And through all seasons bright or drear ; 24 A WISH. Deep love that draws perennial stream From God's own breast to bless us here, Like some eternal sunrise dream To thy pure path be ever near ! And Faith, her sister j may she stand With Love in glory by thy side, As seraphs from that golden Land Where those fair sisters most abide, To light thee onwards to that blest Bright Region of most perfect peace, Where God's immortal Sabbath rest Bids all our earth-born passions cease ! 25 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. " There is no death ! what seems so is transition ; " So sang the Singer who has passed away To those bright Regions where his larger vision Gleams with the glories of God's deathless day. Heaven is the richer for that noble spirit Whose flower-like thoughts made glad our path so long; And we the poorer ; yet we now inherit The high example breathing through his song. And yet 'tis sad to think that voice of Duty Shall sound no more o'er all the grateful earth, Telling us Virtue is more fair than Benut v. In strains which touched the soul like second birth. 26 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. Not while our hearts their tenderest longings cherish, Shall the sweet children of his Muse decay ; Their deep, impassioned pathos may not perish, While Truth and Love shine steadfast on our way ! For when our souls are tranquil with reflection On those whom this dim world knows now no more ; Whose spotless lives are still their sure protection In minds that their pure memories adore ; Our thoughts will be of Him who, now departed From mystery and sorrow, pain and woe, Sings where the ever true and tender-hearted Reap the glad harvest which they wrought below ! 27 SONG OF THE MORNING. The lark is floating on waves of song Unseen in the shining sky j On the wings of the wind are swept along The strains that he pours on high ; Like a seraph he sings, as his way he wings, Of Love that can never die ! For dreary Night has dropped at last In the arms of the virgin Day ; The gloom that filled his face has passed, And faded far away, As the pure dew fades on the pale flower-blades, In the radiant morning ray. The bee is filling the beauteous bowers With the hum of his joyful lay ; 28 SONG OF THE MORNING. As he steals the sweets of the fragrant flowers, His deep voice seems to say — " Arise, O rose, for the dark night goes To the kingdoms of decay ! " The blackbird thrills the heart of morn With the floods of his cloudless glee ; As he swings in the breeze on the tremulous thorn In a musical ecstasy ; While the fair ringdove is dreaming of love In the depths of the dark fir-tree. The roses rise with dreamy sighs From sadness of the night ; The wild birds sing, and the woodlands ring With echoes of delight ; The bright rills gleam, and the rivers stream Like rainbows on their way ; All things rejoice with varied voice, For Night has passed away ! 29 SONG OF THE EVENING. The sun is leading the dying day Through the pearly gates of night ; O'er the silent sea his farewell ray Gleams in a golden light ; All earth and air seem hushed in a prayer Of peace, at the saddening sight. Silence is brooding on hill and dale, Like a bird with folded wings ; One singer alone his dreamful tale In the ear of evening sings, When the pride of day has died away At the touch of his lowly lay. 30 SONG OF THE EVENING. 'Tis the deep sad voice of the nightingale That melts in a a music-stream, When the pensive face of evening pale Glows in a sunset dream, And the dim dew falls in soothing showers On the eyes of the drooping flowers. The trees stand still to list the song That thrills from the soul of love ; The winds are hushed the woods among ; The plaint of the forest dove Is silent, as his angel voice Is bidding the heart rejoice. O softly-still as a tender rill In the breast of the woodland bright, His welcome sweet he pours at will To greet the coming night ; While the stars glide into the heavens above, At the sound of his songs of love. SONG OF THE EVENING. 31 The sun has sunk o'er the distant deep, Like a king to his royal rest ; The lark has sung himself to sleep In the green of his grassy nest ; Yet the nightingale pours his soul away Through the gloom of the evening grey ! 32 GEORGE GILFILLAN. The maiden moon, whose pure and pensive light Like some fair seraph's face illumed our way, Hath suddenly from our enraptured sight Withdrawn behind the cloud her wondrous ray. And so with that great Spirit whom we love j Though here his presence cheers our path no more, Yet far beyond the cloud of death above His soul streams glory on a fairer shore ! Bard-like he trod the earth, with eyes that shone With the deep glow of Inspiration's light, For ever gleaming towards th' Eternal Throne Like heavenly stars, through Time's wild wandering night ! GEORGE GILFILLAN. 33 High hopes for human fate were sparkling there ; They saw beyond the mist and darkness here The spotless Lamb to God the Father bear The sweet life-flowers refreshed with Mercy's tear ! Though Heaven was in his gaze, there, too, was seen The sweetness of all lowly things of earth : Though with the stars his loftiest song hath been, Not less he loved the blooms of humbler birth. Through all the seasons of the changeful year He felt the meaning of immortal love ; Whether mild Summer on the early bier Of Spring laid all the glories of the grove ; Or Winter 'midst his utter loneliness Mourned like a wild repentance o'er the dead ; He found some hidden beauty still to bless ; Some inner peace, by resignation 1, ,1 34 GEORGE GILFILLAN. Within the gracious garden of his heart Bloomed the eternal flowers of Truth divine j Their fragrance from our minds can ne'er depart ; Their radiance in our memories shall shine ! Farewell, great heart ! though we may hear again Thy voice no more, proclaiming " God is Love ; " Yet through all gloom of sorrow and of pain Thy life shall light us to the spheres above ! 35 AN INVOCATION TO THE CITIZEN. Come, O son of the city ! Come from the dust and the din, Where Pathos calls upon Pity, And sad is the soul in sin ; Come from the breath of Art To the sweetness that Nature pours From the depths of her tender heart O'er the lands of the shining shores ! Come from the dark and dismal street To the bright and glorious plain. Where the silvery sunbeam's joyous feet Dance, when the sweetening rain . 36 AN INVOCATION TO THE CITIZEN. Has fled the flowers in the shady bowers, And things smile again, Like a lowly life, when care and strife Have passed in a cloud of pain ! Come to the ways where Summer lays A flower where'er she goes, As a footprint fair to flourish there, Till her gloomy Winter foes, The mist and the rain, have crossed the main From Northlands far away, And the woodlands pale, and the wild winds wail, As they see her dark decay. Come from the scenes where Labour streams In a sad and sullen tide, To the woodlands wide, where the violets hide From the sun's deep searching beams j Where the bright trees dream in the twilight gleam O'er the clear and sparkling pool \ AN INVOCATION TO THE CITIZEN. 37 And the glad rills dance in the strong sun's glance, Like boys let loose from school ! Then come, O son of the city ! Come from the dust and the din, Where Pathos calls upon Pity, And sad is the soul in sin : Come from the breath of Art To the beauty that Nature pours, From the depth of her tender heart, O'er the lands of the shining shores ! 38 A POEM OF LIFE. The earth is full of beauty and of sadness ; Deep tones are heard in Nature's sweetest song That tell her inspiration is not gladness ; — To her great soul our smiles and tears belong. And why should we lament that sorrow ever Moans round our lives like some far-sounding sea ; That from our hearts the shroud of fear can never Depart ; that joy can never lasting be ? Does not the sun's pure light beam most benignly Through the dark shadows of the gloomiest bough I Does not the heavenly rainbow most divinely Rise, when the sky is one black-bending brow ? A POEM OF LIFE. 39 Would the great ocean's Summer face more brightly Gleam on the glowing lands with warmer love, Did his sad speech with softer sounds more lightly Whisper of His deep voice who reigns above ? Do not those seeds of Spring's glad sweetness grow Beneath the blackness of the Winter earth, That yet, when th' inspiring breezes blow, Shall rise like Hope, to tell of Beauty's birth ? From the proud breast of the supremest Singer, Of Nature's choir the saddest sounds arise ; Tis when the cloud hath wept the lark doth wing her Most rapturous way to th' exulting skies ! Does not the dewy loveliness of morn Beam the more brightly for the night that lay Like anguish on the earth, till lie was borne Dead from the threshold of triumphant day! 40 A POEM OF LIFE. And so with human life : though sorrow seem To our weak hearts the cloud of life's sweet ray, Yet it will bring more beauty than we dream To Memory, when it is far away ! Amidst the deepest night-shades that surround The darkest life, high Hope the glowworm gleams ; E'en to that soul where saddest sins abound, She steals, arrayed in Revelation's beams. The Valley of the Shadow that we bear Shall only make hereafter the more bright That fadeless home of God, where never tear Shall dim the radiance of His holy light There to the glorious gaze the Past shall shine In the deep meaning of forgotten pain ; There all our sorrows shall be made divine, Where Death no end shall seem, but endless gain ! 41 TO M. R. M. Beautiful Singer of tender lays, That linger long in the hearer's heart ; Like the golden breath of the Summer days Is the sweetening touch of thy matchless Art ; In times of gloom, when the spirit seems To lie like a load on the wearied breast, Thy presence comes from a land of dreams, And the sound of thy song is the voice of rest ! Winter is wailing around me here ; Beauty hath vanished from land and sea ; In dreary woodlands the leaves fall sere From tht' shivt'riiig gT**p of rnch d/MOlat6 tnv . 42 TO M. R. M. The rapture of music is heard no more Breathing of love from the blossoming bough ; The singers are flown to a sunnier shore, Whose strains bloom only in fancy now. But thou, perennial Nightingale ! Through all the seasons art with us still ; Though flowers have faded from wood and dale, And mists are creeping from hill to hill ; Yet nought can silence that stream of song Wherewith thou makest all eyes gleam bright \ For grief is banished, and hope grows strong, Wherever thou pourest thy floods of light ! 43 TO A BEAUTIFUL CHILD. Sweet child whose softly streaming hair Makes beautiful the breeze, Like some light wave that rippleth fair In Summer o'er the seas ; There is no mist of sorrow In those clear eyes of thine ; No shadow of the morrow Beclouds thy joy divine ! Thy face is sunshine in the air, Where'er thy footsteps glide ; No place is dark, if thou art there, With Beauty by thy side : As softly as the snowfall, Thy tiny feet I hear; 44 TO A BEAUTIFUL CHILD. The joyous Graces know all Their little dove-eyed dear ! Thy brow is beauteous as the snow That glorifies the lands ; And lovely as the blooms that blow, Are thy white lily-hands ; Thy cheeks are radiant roses, Their silver leaves, thy hair ; Meek Innocence reposes In thy blue eyes so fair. Yea surely flowers of God's own love Are such pure souls as thine ; Transplanted from the Vales above, A moment here to shine : Not long they linger lonely On this dark earth of ours ; For He can keep them only, Who formed those gentle flowers ! 45 A POEM OF THE TWILIGHT. The sun is sinking slowly Behind the purple hills ; A twilight calm and holy The golden evening fills ; Like some bright dream the glorious West Smiles o'er descending day, As through the regions of sweet rest We wind our wondrous way. The river with a slumbrous sound Is inunniirinij aloni; ; For its deep voice mild era bath h A more enchanting song : 46 A POEM OF THE TWILIGHT. There is a wonder in the air, A radiance on the sea \ A fragrance as of flowers that wear Their beauty all for rne ! Why is the sky more lovely now Than e'er I dreamed before I Is there new music from the bough, New grandeur on the shore \ No, 'tis thy presence, love, that makes Each radiant thing more bright ; For every drooping flower awakes, To gladden in thy sight ! The roses rise more dewy fair, When thou art by my side ; A purer strain the streamlets bear, As down the glen they glide ; The clouds that 'midst ethereal blue Move on their heavenly way, A POEM OF THE TWILIGHT. 47 Are more celestial in the view Of thy dark eyes to-day ! O may thy light for ever shine Upon my life as now ; And heart with heart in love entwine, As blooms upon the bough ! So every day shall make more dear Thy beauty unto me ; And all the glory of the year Be glorified in thee ! 48 NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1881. Through the deep silence of this Winter day My thoughts are with the Spirits of the Past ; High hearts that like bright mornings waned away Into effulgent memories that will last ! Old Year, now mingling with the mighty stream That soundeth ever by the Throne of God ; Musing on thee, my pensive soul doth dream Of those who slumber with thee 'neath the sod. Ah, where is she, the young, the gentle-eyed, Whose heart was happiness, whose life was love ; Whose path of peace was ever by the side Of Him who bore her to His home above 1 NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1881. 49 And he, whose wealth of intellectual light Made lovely with benign Religion's rays, Passed from the prospect of our inward sight To find that glory he had sought always t We see but darkly through those mists that hang O'er the vast music of that Unknown Sea, Which sings the same mysterious song it sang, Since first this wondrous life began to be. Yet do we dream those spirits otherwhere Bloom flower-like in some realm of perfect rest, Breathing the sweetness of a purer air In those fair regions that God's km hath bl es sed ! 50 A POEM OF SUMMER. This is the season of Love j She sings with the bird on the tree ; Like the rainbow she bends from above, O'er the earth and the tremulous sea ; She gleams through the woodlands that shine In the light of her comrade, the sun ; Like her spirit the twilight divine Glides earthwards when daylight is done. This is the season when glory Is breathing on mount and main ; When the beautiful, olden story Of Eden grows green again ; When God seems walking at even, In the cool of the lingering day j A POEM OF SUMMER. 51 And the light and the love of Heaven Are streaming once more on our way ! How fair are the new-old flowers That glow like the emblems of joy In the grace of the musical hours, Whose praise is the birds' employ ! They rise from the graves where perished The blooms of the last bright year, Like the loved, lost ones we cherished, Who have faded, — beyond all fear ! O season of sunny showers, Whose silvery radiance sweet Brings beauty to the bowers, Spreads violets at our feet ; — O could thy voice of gladness Sing all our cares away, In souls that own no sadness Thy light should dwell alway 1 • 52 MDLLE. THERESE TIETJENS. Those glorious strains no more ! ah, can it be, That she who swayed the human heart so long With the deep passion of divinest song, Has found the silence of Eternity 1 O nightingale, that through the starry night Sendest the streams of melody and love, Lament your silent Sister, while you light The listening soul with raptures of the grove ! With passion pure and radiant as thine, She sang the songs sublime of life and death ; Of Hope, that faileth not with failing breath ; Of Love, the golden-haired, with eyes divine. MDLLE. THERESE TIETV 53 With the fresh flowers of Pity in her hand She came like sunshine to the lowly bed Where life lay waiting for the Silent Land, To soothe with sympathy the fevered head In light of gentleness she went her way, While myriad tongues were shouting her renown ; Scorning weak Pride's short-lived, deceitful ray, The Queen of Song, — Humility her crown ! Like an immortal snowdrop o'er her tomb Hangs sweet Benevolence, witli pensive head ; While Memory, by tenderest Sorrow led, Waters the flowers of love that o'er her bloom. That mighty Voice no more ! yet shall thy Make music in the regions of the mind The Conqueror of heroes cannot Mud In chains the glory of a deathless fame ! 54 MDLLE. THERESE TIETJENS. Thy spell was potent ; never harp or lute Poured purer raptures to the human heart ; Thy glorious gift made Nature of thine art ; Now in a deeper Voice that voice is mute ! " I know that my Redeemer liveth." — Who More sweetly sang this high, seraphic strain 1 And now that great Redeemer in thy view Stands to declare thy faith was not in vain ! " Ah, death in thee! " l And shall thy voice no more Rise like a fountain o'er the raptured ear 1 Yea, for when Death hath made all mystery clear, Thy holier strains shall glad th' eternal shore ! 1 "Ah, clie la morte ! " is the most inspired and impassioned of the many grand solos in Signor Verdi's " Trovatore." It was always one of Mdlle. Tietjens's most impressive inspira- tions. 55 KESWICK LAKE, CUMBERLAND. Do I indeed behold at last The image of my dreams ? Yea, that bright hope which starred the Past Before my vision gleams ; I stand at length in mute surprise Upon this lake's lone shore ; The fair, ideal picture lies In future realms no more ! lovely lake of Derwentwater, How soothing is thy scene ! • Thou sleepest, England's dearest daughter, Ami. I Imt mountains i^reon ; • 56 KESWICK LAKE, CUMBERLAND. The arms of grandeur fold thee round In their embrace of love ; Here Heaven's own peace a home hath found, Like that which shines above. The twilight of the year is mild On thy pure breast to-day ; Thou seemest Autumn's favourite child, So still thy calm alway ; Beneath thy crags' aspiring forms How tranquil is thy rest ! Safe from the raging of the storms, Thy beauty is most blest. How grand thy gloom, when lightning streams Across thy quivering face ! When thunder's mighty shadow seems To darken all thy grace ! When showers are dancing o'er thy woe, And thy great Guardians stand KESWICK LAKE, CUMBERLAND. 57 Enthroned in clouds that come and go In a mysterious land ! How deep thy rapture when the voice Of tempests passed away ; All Nature smiles, and groves rejoice In light's returning ray ! How glorious Scafell's crest appears Dark rising from his dales ; While Skiddaw, hoary with his years, Looms o'er the misty vales ! But when the fires of sunset glow Upon thee from afar, And wondrous in thy depths below Is seen the evening star, — O, then, in that calm, holy time Thy peace is Paradise to me ; I breathe the fragrance of that clime, Where Death is dead, and Love is free ! 58 IN MEMORIAM: MATTHEW ARNOLD. Poet of English birth, of Grecian heart, For ever from our presence passed away, Leaving to men the greatness of thine Art To lead them upwards to a larger day j I cannot comprehend that thou art gone ; Still do I feel thy fervent hand in mine ; Thy gracious form is near, yet greater grown — For Death has made thine aspect more divine. O sweet Consoler of each sorrowing life That 'midst its darkness seeks the light of God ; Assured that through this aimless, earthly strife No path is peace save that which Love has trod ; INMEMORIAM: MATTHEW ARNOLD. 59 O earnest Soul that felt for other's pain So deeply, that thou didst forget thine own ; Striving by silent sympathy to gain Their thoughts who dwell in this dark world alone ; How fondly didst thou linger o'er the dead, And bless the loved ones in their lonely grave ; While thy meek Muse a fadeless fragrance shed Around the memories of the pure and brave ! The reverence of that Spirit which did raise From death a mortal friend, abode in thee ; Now that thou art beyond all reach of praise, May Christ, who died for men, thy comfort be ! Soft be thy sleep, lover of mankind, Far from those storms that rave around us here ; For when thou dost awake, thy soul shall find That Love whose strength has conquered every fear I 60 TO MY BOOKS. Silent Consolers of the loneliest days Of sorrow and distress ! whose gracious power Doth shed around us in immortal rays The splendours of the Past : through storm and shower, Sunshine and shadow, ye are with us still, Touching our souls with your own calm repose, Even as the glory of the rainbow throws Its tenderness on sea and distant hill ; More than mute memories are ye of those Minds, That, blossoming 'mid the gloom of doubt and pain, Gave to the world that majesty which binds Our earth to heaven in Thought's celestial chain : Ages may perish ; Kingdoms pass away ; In you the soul, embalmed, defies decay ! 61 THE BEAUTY OF DEATH. Death makes all things more fair. When from the frame Of man his soul lias faded far away, A holy sweetness that life may not claim Shines from his face with deep and tender ray ; Like purest marble gleams the placid brow, As if the calm of Heaven slumbered there ; The mystery of pain hath vanished now ; The eyes are closed, as if in gentle prayer. The gracious glory of the fading grove, Touched by the peaceful pathos of decay, Is not so beautiful as those we love, When they have found God's own eternal day. Death has disclosed a beauty like to Thine, O God ! whose grace hath made His* voice divine ! 62 TO THE TWILIGHT. Beautiful Spirit of the Summer eve, Thou art not wedded to the thoughtless mind ! With thee arise those tender moods that grieve Over some vanished beauty which doth bind The pensive Present to the fadeless Past ; Thy deep, mysterious stillness well accords (As music moves harmonious to sweet words), With memories whose power to bless will last ; Whose fragrance, fairer than all breath of flowers, Comes with remembrance of the lovely dead ; Thou glidest like God's presence 'midst those hours When Labour unto rest by Love is led ; Bringing to souls much wearied with the day, Gleams of a joy that owns eternal ray ! 63 "THERE SHALL BE NO MORE SEA." Mysterious Sea, whose holy Summer psalm Fills with soft tenderness the pensive mind, Steeping our fancies in a glorious calm That Memory loves, when thou art left behind ; O mighty Sea, with thunder in thy roar, When Winter moans like anguish o'er the dead, Whose snowy legions with fierce-sounding tread Charge the stern forces of the steadfast shore ; When Time like some dim scene hath passed away From the pure prospect of the Silent Land, Shall we not long to hear thy children play With the white pebbles on the glittering strand ? How fair beyond all human hope must be That Heaven whose bright perfection knows not thee ! 64 SORROW. The purest blessedness that life can know Is born of sorrow's strength. The vast cloud seems, When it obscures the sun's benignant glow, More powerful than the glory of his beams ; He only grows the fairer, when the gloom At length has slowly, sadly passed away. So shall our pain appear beyond the tomb, Touched into light by God's undying ray. Then the sweet, solemn sadness of the Past Shall bring a nobler meaning to the mind ; The beauty of all mystery at last In Love's fair dwelling-place our souls shall find ; On the deep vision of the Blest shall shine The truth that calm endurance is divine ! 65 TO THE UNKNOWN SINGER. O youthful Singer, singing from the heart Sweet, soulful songs, unnoticed and unknown ! Around thy glad sunrise the shroud is thrown Of dark oblivion ; yet thy gentle art Is not in vain ; — does not the unknown stream Make pure the pathways of the unknown land ? Do not the trees o'er its bright beauty dream, And cheer it onwards to the distant strand ? Doth not the flower in the lone forest wild, Untrod by men, delight the wandering bee More than the loveliest plot that ever smiled In fairest gardens by the whispering sea? The lowliest bloom that scents the lowliest sod, Lives in the grateful gaze of Nature's God ! 66 TO THE UNKNOWN SINGER. II. Then sing, O Singer ! of immortal Love, — That wondrous sun, in whose deep radiance shine The sacred rays of faith and peace divine ! Sing Truth, that, like a rainbow from above, Bends with a god-like promise o'er the earth ! Sing of high Hope, by meek -eyed Patience led, — That silent watcher by the lonely bed Where life is fading into glorious birth ! Sing down the dark with softly sounding song, With thy glad music sanctify the bright ; And though thy strain be as a secret light Gleaming unnoticed 'midst the starry throng, Yet shall th' Eternal thy sweet presence know In that far-shining, universal glow ! 67 TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. Lady, to whom thy God hath early given That sacred sorrow for the beauteous dead, Whose knowledge is so greatly born of Heaven, That gracious souls like thine have oft been said To bless amid their inward agony The Hand that took their light of life away, Though like the moaning of some restless sea They mourned that loss which nothing could repay ; There is a pain more powerful than all bliss, To lift our natures nearer unto God ; The deep voice of Bereavement whispers this, When like the Holy Child whose feet have trod The shadowed path which leads to deathless Love, We rise through sufforing to the Realms above ! 68 TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. II. I know that such consoling thoughts are thine, O mourning Widow, weeping for thy dead ; Tender amid thy tears gleams Hope divine, To thy sad heart by Revelation led. He is with thee, O loved one ! in thy woe, Whose power hath swept all darkness from the grave ; The flowers of Faith and Mercy bloom below The boughs of Mystery that o'er them wave. The wondrous calm upon the dying brow, The light of glory in the last, long gaze, Are but faint pictures of that peace which now Is with the soul whose passion was thy praise. May his meek spirit with thy love abide, Till God's veiled Angel bring thee to his side ! 69 TO THE PRIMROSE. Peaceful companion of the spotless lamb That fills with innocence the fields of Spring, When earthly love ascends on heavenward wing, And Contemplation breathes a holy calm ; Once more, like joy arising from the tomb Of Winter stern, thou gleamest into view ; Through all the dreary days of sullen gloom My hopes were onwards with thee, for I knew That He was faithful who so sweetly said, " While earth remains, the seasons shall not cease. 1 ' Thus when loud winds were wailing o'er leaves dead, And fair flower-children born of Autumn's peace, Sweet Faith l«'d gentle Memory by the hand To where thy glory filled the vernal land I 70 TO THE PRIMROSE. II. Through the dark season of the varied year, Thy sleep was calm and beauteous underneath The cold and cheerless ground. O'er Nature death Had breathed, and Beauty lay upon her bier. But at the touch of His life-giving breath, To whom all things of grace we love are dear, Because they are His gifts, thou didst arise, "While soft winds sang the story of thy birth, And birds with showers of music thrilled the skies, Like some fair dream of sunlight o'er the earth. So in the grave of silence Truth may sleep, While Falsehood raves like Winter o'er her rest ; But she shall rise serene, when God shall sweep All darkness from the memories of the Blest ! 71 TO A GREAT SINGER. Now, when bright birds with music in each heart Fly from their far-off dreamlands to our shore, Thou with the inspiration of thine Art, Queen of immortal Melody ! once more Dost glide like sunrise to the city's gloom, To touch with sweetness as of that fair Land, Whence first all streams of music from one Hand Divinely came, the listening hearts of men ; With deeper strains than through the vernal bloom The bird of evening from the shadowy glen Pours tremulously-glad, — the subject soul, That dreams alone of beauty and of thee, Is thrilled, while heavenly sounds arise and roll Like showers of sunshine o'er a Summer sea ! 72 TO A GREAT SINGER. II. Nor with thy purity of voice alone Dost thou exalt and glorify the mind Of him who feels thy spell. Upon the throne Of Tragedy thy genius unconfined Hath set thee gloriously, while crowds below Pour to thine ears the passion of thy praise. Fame is with thee where'er thy footsteps go ; Anticipation fondly hears thy lays. And when thy song, like some ethereal stream, Now glad with rapturous joy's effulgent ray, Now sweetly sad as twilight when the dream Of heavenly sunset wanes, has died away-^— In Memory's soul thy radiant raptures rise, And fade, like rainbows in the silent skies ! 73 TO THE SUN O beauteous parent of a lovely day ! That from the starry grandeur of the night Pourest like some pure stream thy morning ray, Filling the world with floods of amber light, And making all things joyful with thy love ; O couldst thou from thy presence wipe away Those stains of sin and passion and decay, So darkening all the earth that Heaven above Is bright in vain to sorrow-blinded eyes ; couldst thou in the sounding city's gloom Touch with thy life the drooping flower that dies In hopeless yearning for thy glorious bloom ; How much more sweetly would thy morn arise, Like heavenly hope from darkness of the tomb .' 74 TO THE SUN. II. But thou art pitiless : thy light falls sweet Among the darksome yews that moan and wave Like human anguish o'er the early grave ; Thou minglest with the pathos of the street Unsympathetic brightness of thy grace ; 'Midst the still sadness of the bed of death Where all is silent, save the fleeting breath Soon to become immortal, thy bright face Gleams, all-relentless, on the lonely scene ; Sorrow and sin thou see'st everywhere, Where Happiness and Beauty might have been, Sinking sad life in gulfs of deep despair, And smilest calm ; on foul deformities Thou gazest all unmoved, with golden eyes ! 75 TO "HERMIONE." Marvel not, Lady, that a sense of pain Should ofttimes touch the brightness of thy lay, Even as the sad voice of the sounding main Breathes through the gladness of some cloudless day. Already dost thou hear the solemn Sea Of Sorrow breaking on Time's steadfast shore ; The pathos of a world's deep misery For ever rising in its restless roar. And thus thy music, rainbow-like, is born Of Nature's intermingling smiles and tears ; For thee the very dawning of thy morn Is dimmed by thoughts of mortal cares and fears : Yet Sympathy the beautiful is thine, Whose light doth make all sadness seem divine ! 76 TO A MUSICIAN. When through the darkness of a Winter night I moved, my friend, towards thy glad abode, I scarce could have conceived that so much light Of music lay before me on my road ; Or that, while the wide waste of wrathful sea Was shuddering 'neath the cold and cruel blast, That swept the white sail from the moaning mast, Or shook the sere leaves from the swaying tree, Such joy awaited us ; such gladness pure, Poured from the depths of Melody divine ; Oh, would this inexpressive Muse of mine Could sing those radiant raptures which endure In Memory's mind ! — The passion of thine Art Hath shed a wondrous splendour o'er my heart ! 77 TO A MUSICIAN. II. When thou didst brightly celebrate the day When thou and she, thy constant joy, were wed ; When evening came, and all was glad and gay Within thy happy home, as if, unled, Pleasure had glided there ; when to the stream Of music, graceful forms were circling sweet To the soft-floating strains with joyful feet, And I was gliding with thee in a dream Of pensive contemplation through those lands Of Fancy, that make musical the mind ; " I know not why," thou saidst ; " God's gracious hands Have gently been upon me ; He is kind Much have I read upon Life's changeful page, Yet Youth is ever with me in mine age ! " 78 TO A MUSICIAN. ill. O Friend, I thank thee for that soothing thought ! For it doth lead fair spirits unto me That whisper, " God is good." Thy words have taught The lesson of that peaceful purity Which is the soul of Truth. For perfect Love, Flowing from His own calm, immortal heart Who loves for evermore, brings from above Eternal Youth to dwell with noble Art. Thy love of Nature knoweth not the touch Of drooping age ; for thine is some sweet part Of Heaven's own youth. Because thou lovest much Those forms of beauty that may never know Time's chilling breath, or Death's destructive dart, — Therefore to thee their fadeless grace doth flow ! 79 UNFULFILLED RENOWN. 'Tis sad to see the woodland glories fade In Winter's cruel breath, and list the sighs Of ever-growing streams that thrill the skies With solemn sounds, when leaves on earth are laid ; Sad to behold the dark, deserted trees Bending, as in unutterable woe O'er their pale offspring, while their murmurs blow Into the voice of the consoling breeze ; But sadder far to watch the slow decay Of some sweet youthful soul that lived for fame, And found it not, because his music came Too early on the great world's ear, to lay Impression deep and strong. — No sunset flame Of mighty triumph crowns his dying day ! 80 UNFULFILLED RENOWN. II. O yet we hope the early night of death Fades in the glory of a deathless day To those who, pale consumptive, pass away, Panting in vain to breathe the flowery breath Of Fame, that feeds on great Parnassus hill ; And that as Labour, feeble in his birth, But strong in life, is sweetener of the earth — So the sweet effort of their Muse may still Be felt in Zion ; and a heavenly fame Of purer rapture than is known below, May follow those deep strains which softly flow From harps that ever sound His sacred name, Whose voiceless power, to work His gentle will, Can make all good the end of seeming ill ! 81 IN MEMORIAM: LADY AILSA. Meekest of souls, whose gracious work is o'er ; Whose rest is now for ever by God's side, Where sorrow and where suffering nevermore Can turn to pain and pathos mortal pride ; The strength that dwells in earnest sympathy, The grace that glides with gentleness, was thine ; The sadness of deep natures came to thee Through love, and made thy being half-divine ; Like Him whose graciousness o'erflowed God's Heaven, That it might bless, and sanctify, and save, To thee, O earthly Saint ! was greatly given The power to snatch from Ruin's yawning grave Those lives whose silent gratitude shall be Thy deathless praise through all Eternity ! 82 ODE TO TIME. voiceful Son of calm Eternity ! Born at a breath of that immortal Soul Whose sun-like spirit shines into our hearts Through myriad clouds of mystery we see, Touched by His heavenly radiance ; raise my Muse To heights of inspiration while she sings, Modest with veneration of the theme, Deep-toned and tremulous 'neath the reverend awe Of its great majesty, thy songs of praise. When out of nothingness sublime arose The clear realities of earth and sky • And into beauteous being sweetly came That all too short-lived Paradise of peace, Fairest of gardens, where the sunny streams ODE TO TIME. 83 Flowed of bright beauty and humility, Since seldom seen united upon earth ; Where in angelic light of her own grace, Pure with the spotlessness of love, all-veiled In meekest shroud of innocence, more fair Than consciousness, the mild and spotless Eve With our great Sire first walked the ways of God ; Thou from the bosom of Eternity Arose to guide the restless stream of life Through storms of dark affliction, paths of peace, Deserts of deep despair, with oases Of sacred hope, and many a fair mirage, To that eternal Ocean whence it came. Thou with the pure beginning of all things We see around us, and all thoughts we feel Didst rise to being ; when they cease to be Thou too shalt fade, and, dying, leave no trace Within the clear light of Eternity Of all thy wondrous works. But who dyflj dare 84 ODE TO TIME. Ascribe to thee the praise that is thy due, For all those mighty deeds 1 For unto thee Are dedicated all the mountain-thoughts Of the inspired soul. At thy command Invention came, a captive to the mind To work the will of man. Then continents, Between whose glorious limits lay long lengths Of solemn-sounding seas, united were By the electric language, swept along On wings that shame the pinions of the winds. Steam poured his marvels o'er a wondering world, When thou didst say : " Arise, O princely Power ! For Civilisation waits, and Commerce drags Her grievous burdens through the paths of pain, Groaning for thee. Arise, arise and sing A mightier song to God, — that one great Source Of all the marvellous triumphs of the mind." To cheer thine onward march, pale Poesy Pours like a bird her many-sounding song Into the ears of Fame. — Philosophy ODE TO TIME. 85 Peers through fair Fancy's telescope to scan Thy hidden mysteries, or looks beyond Into the regions of the Yast Unknown, Where Truth hangs mystic as a dim-seen star, In realms of utter night. Aspiring Fame Through thy calm atmosphere essays to bear The beauteous deeds of men to fadeless lands Of Immortality ; but, heavy with the flight, Droops wearily to earth. Oblivion falls Like some fierce vulture on the drooping bird, And Fame is seen no more ! — Like withered leaves, Sere with the dark of Winter, names decay Within thy freezing breath ; and nought can come Into Eternity with thee besides The all-eternal Soul ! Thy giant hands Have changed the winding pathways of the streams ; Sunk islands in the ocean ; cast the hills From their first-formed foundations, as a child The bounding ball ; sliattered the rocky shores 86 ODE TO TIME. "With raging seas ; stolen from volcanic hills Their fiery life ; yet, when that Final Fate Springs from the heavenly Heights on angel wings, Fierce with devouring flame, in glorious light Of His immortal Presence, earth and thou, As dew-drops in the morning of your God Shall melt away ! 87 THE CHOSEN OF THE POETS. The time had come at length, when to the chiefs Of soaring Singers, queenly Fame should give According to their deeds. Sublime she sat Upon a lofty throne, on either side Encircled by those mighty Minds whose Muse, Endowed with her undying life, had braved The dissolution of the darksome grave. Fearing the direful doom of those who bear All their pure memory with them to the dust, Pass into dim Oblivion like pale stars Before the blaze of day, and leave no light Behind them that the great world may behold As ever-living beauty, three had come, With hope deep burning in their pensive hearts, 88 THE CHOSEN OF THE POETS. Like glow- worm in the night, to give account Of their high deeds to Fame. And first * of these Was he who Truth and Chivalry had sung In pure Arthurian verse, while others poured The darkness of their passions o'er the world. Around his head was bound a circling wreath Of verdant laurel, given by the Queen Of that green Land which blossomed in the light Of his beloved Muse. Erect he stood, A venerable Bard, in quiet pride Of modesty, while veneration shone Like sunshine through the hazel of his eyes. Then softly said the Queen : " What hast thou done, That I should give thee Immortality 1 " The Bard's deep voice fell on the silence sweet Of that majestic Temple, as the sound Of long waves melting on the Summer shore. And slowly, as if weighing well his words, 1 Tennyson. THE CHOSEN OF THE POETS. 89 That fell upon the ear like drops of rain On a still Summer sea, he spake : " O Fame ! That I have striven through my length of days To sing of all things pure and beautiful That this dim world of mystery can show, Or man's high life unfold, thou knowest well. To elevate my Art ; to purify The passionate sea of poetry that rolls In grandeur round the world, with living springs From the clear fount of Nature ; to disclose Those hidden flowers of loveliness that lurk, Minute yet beautiful, in lonely ways, Known only to the searching soul that sees A sweetness in the small things of the earth, — Has been the one great glory of my life, The music of my mind." Then the Queen : " O noble Bard ! thy words are pure and true ; Sweet with the unheard melodies of Peace. Within my Temple thou shalt ever pour 'I 'I iy purity of song." 90 THE CHOSEN OF THE POETS. And next came one, 1 Who sang the life of man in verse that bore The freshness of the breezes to the mind. Passion alone he needed, to have thrilled The great heart of the world. Tall he stood, Manly and modest, for his earnest soul Was deep with meditation, and the love Of all things peaceful blossomed in his gaze. Reverently he spake : " O gracious Fame ! Though thy sweet smile is mine, thou knowest well It was not my ambition. Ever filled With lowliest love of sacred Truth, I wrought, I fought for her alone. Well I know, My Muse has not illumined all the world. And why I am permitted thus to stand One of three Singers of a glorious reign, Thy chosen of so many who have sung Of Love and Beauty, and some things less pure, — I cannot clearly, wholly comprehend. 1 Matthew Arnold. THE CHOSEN OF THE POETS. 91 A few high hearts alone have found a grace In my calm numbers. Yet, O thanks to God ! I have not courted favour, wrought my way Through flowers of flattery, to where I stand, Waiting thy word to-day." Then in a voice Of sweetest music from her starry throne She spake, while the mild moonlight of her gaze Made glory in the Temple. Perfect peace Waited upon her words. " lofty Soul ! There is a secret sweetness in thy heart That men have never known. Ascend and sing, Rich with my wreath, a never-ending song." And last l of these the grandeur of whose mind, Mingled with purity of life, had gained Admittance to that sacred Fane which lay Open but to the noblest, came a Bard, Whose song was sunshine in those city-streets, 1 Knlicrt Huchantn, This potBO refers only to the pott* ol the Yirtoriun |gfc 92 THE CHOSEN OF THE POETS. Where Pathos dwells with Sin. His high heart set To music the deep sadness of the world. A mildness dwelt within his glowing eyes, A glory on his snowy brow. — Then Fame : " What hast thou done for immortality ? " As with a sad sea-cadence rose the voice Of him who stood before her. — " T have sung Of scenes unsung before. My Muse has made Sweet melody beside the lonely couch, Where Poverty lay dying. I have found A grandeur in the lowliest life that dwells In depths of darkest misery and sin." Then lofty Fame : " Great heart ! thy words are true. More than the Bard art thou ; for thou hast been The Poet's friend. Across that roaring stream Which foams between thee and the dark Unknown, Thy hand was stretched to save the sinking soul. Thy song was not in vain. Thy Muse has shed A splendour in the dark ways of the world. Thy strains shall rise in grandeur o'er thy grave ! " 93 KILLIN. Once more, as in the mirror of a dream That holds the fairest pictures of the Past, I view thy scenes of joy ; thy woods that flash Like gleams of sunlight on the mountain's brow ; Thy lonely lake, enfolded with the peace Of mighty hills ; thy murmuring streams that make Wild music 'midst the boughs ; thy village sweet Beneath its guardian crags ; thy tranquil vales, Where peacefulness with beauty ever dwells ; Pleasure hath glided with me in my walks Through thy green solitudes, where scarce a voice Falls on the raptured ear, drinking serene Those sounds of rural life that make more glad The soul of Meditation, and uplift The heart of him who hears to the calm heights 94 KILLIN. Of speechless adoration, voiceless praise ! No Summer bloomed athwart thy woodland ways, Or smiled in flowers, when first I gazed, and saw Thy winding dale ; when first I moved alone Amidst thy leafless woods — for Winter reigned O'er all the region ; whitely stretched afar The mountains, ghost-like, through a frosty sky j Hushed was the voice of each slow-gliding stream Beneath an icy hand ; with gurgling sound As if of suffocation 'neath the grasp Of some fierce tyrant, all unseen they stole Towards a deeper peace than that which breathed On all things round ; pallidly the snow, Like the white cloth that covereth the couch Of hushful death, enshrouded the sad bier Of Nature's beauty ; dim with eery drift, Curved the pale paths from vale to frozen vale ; Below the hoary Hills that mutely rose Like mighty Meditations unexpressed From the deep vale to Heaven, lifeless lay KILLIN. 95 The lonesome lake ; yet to the pensive soul Whose love is Nature, joy serene was there ; Grandeur stood on the mountains, lifting Thought Into sublime emotion ; Fancy found A glory in the sky, when the still snow Dropt like the feathers of a fairy's wing From the dark clouds upon the slumbering earth, Or glimmered, dream-like, in the tremulous air ; A rapture in each wondrous tree that stood By the great artist of the Frost arrayed As some pure bride, in splendour that outshone The brightest splendour that fair summer brings To glad the glittering lands. High o'er the vale Ben Lawers dwelt in marvellous i Like some eternal Destiny that knows No touch of Time, gazing for evermore Towards the skies, while round him moved the clouds Like things of earth, that ever grow and fade Before the face of calm Eternity. 96 KILLIN. In the dim distance, glorious as a crag That towers vast above some lonely sea, Arose the great Ben More ; no pyramid Uplifts more grandeur from th' Egyptian plains Than this exalted Mount, that from afar Gleamed o'er the snowy vales, 'midst lesser hills That stood like courtiers round their mighty king. Farewell, proud scene ! Perchance no more mine eyes May gaze upon thy grandeur, raising thought With thy dim-soaring monarchs to those heights Where Contemplation broods \ whence wildly flow From founts of inspiration the full floods Of deep, impassioned Song : yet Memory long Shall keep thy beauty ; mirrored in my mind Whose dreams are of thy glory, wondrous flash Thy rivulets to the dale ; through the fierce crags Where Fancy loves to lean, thy cascades white Crash in the listening glen ; while o'er thy vales Imagination like a Summer sky Is bending evermore ! 97 THE POET. PART I. "Fair as a flow'ret that the gentle May Breathes into fragile life was his sweet soul Whose praise I sing. No high and haughty tower, Rearing its grandeur o'er the boundless lands Ruled by its master, owned his simple birth ; But the low cottage, nestling underneath The sheltering ash-tree, where the busy hand Went to the songs of labour, and the heart Free from the snares Ambition loves to lay For those who deem her lovely, breathed that peace Which fills the shades of mild Humility, Where dwells the lowly mind. His birth, unknown Beyond the limits of his native vale, G 98 THE POET. Was silent in the voices of the earth As the small brook whose life is from the hill To the deep-sounding stream that rolls below ; — No farther did its fame extend ; his death Has thrilled a world whose heart he could not move, Till his had ceased to feel. No sunlight sweet Of gracious sympathy from those that dwell With rapture on the music of the Muse, Hailing the Poet as a golden mean 'Twixt man and his Creator, a great Guide Pointing from Time unto Eternity, — Came to refresh his lowly soul that felt The beauty of the earth, the love of Him Who lives in all things pure ; and sang that love, And beautified that beauty in his strains. But as a kindred soul 1 so sweetly said, In words that Memory loves, and keeps within Her own immortal light — streams from within 1 The late Thomas Tyrie, Edinburgh, whose exquisite poems appear in the eighth volume of 'Modern Scottish Poets.' THE POET. 99 Watered the growing garden of his mind, As the great Nile the ever-thirsting sands Of Oriental regions ; his great soul Shone like a sun through all the darksome clouds, That loomed along the path to future fame." He was a Prophet, who was honoured not In his own country. Much his parents loved Their poet-child, but could not comprehend His wondrous aspirations. For he sat Wrapped in the silence of engrossing thought At evening by the fire, when Winter reigned O'er all the landscape, gazing steadfastly At the fair visions Fancy placed before His inner eyesight, silent as a cloud, Brooding ere it descends in gentle rain To soothe the fevered flowers. Much they gazed, — His parents, — at their mute and pensive boy, And wondered at his wonder ; searching vain To find the secret source of all his thought In things that lay around him. For to thein 100 THE POET. The river sounding on its sea- ward way- Was but a simple stream, suggesting nought Save what it seemed ; the peaceful valley, filled With the great power of sunset, spake in vain Of heavenly dreams ; no marvellous rapture rose With th' ascending sun. But he had learned From Nature's self the love he longed to give Reflection in fair verse, and felt within His heart a music he would fain repeat, — Sweet sounds they could not hear. And soon the Muse Began to guide his pen. His soul o'erflowed, When through the cloudless skies of childhood rose The great Parnassus, beckoning from afar Where stood the mighty Chiefs of soaring song, Rich with the wreath of Fame. Eternal thirst Was his for love, and tender sympathy. Nor did he thirst in vain ; though many seemed To scorn his music, for they felt it not. THE POET. 101 He lived to sing, and singing, sang to live, — For music was he made ; his only wish, To raise to Fame the quiet scenes that knew His humble birth. But sad Consumption came, And led him tenderly to Death's dark dale (Whose gloom he brightened with his dying song), Ere the sweet wish was gained. Parnassus guards His pure remains. " A morning with no noon, A rose unblown," his life indeed ; but Fame Has made the morning fadeless ; blown the bud Into the perfect rose. His native vale Gleams with a wondrous light ; his streamlets flow Through the bright regions of immortal Song, Pouring his peaceful praises evermore ! 102 THE POET. 'Twas early Spring ; meek buds were peering through The hopeful trees ; the earth was smiling gay With her first-born flowers, and all things told Of growing bloom, when first I viewed the grave Of the sweet Poet of Simplicity, With one * who, while the Singer sang on earth Those strains that sound the sweetest in our ears, With him went singing on his peaceful path Towards the Mount of Fame ; and cheered with hopes Of after-death renown his tender heart, When Death was solemnising all his song. 1 William Freeland, the Glasgow poet-editor ; an accom- plished journalist and a thoughtful UtUrateur. THE POET. 103 Bright was the day ; from the all-silent sky The sunshine glittered to the lands below, Filling with light the faces of the streams That rolled like streaks of silver to the sea. The air hung silent, tremulous with the sun, Beneath the dome of Heaven ; all things obeyed The softening spell of Peace. One sound alone, The rush and roaring of the distant trains Speeding with voice of thunder on their way, Burst on the silence like a sudden thought, Then faded into distance like a dream That comes and goes at intervals of night. Pensive we passed to where the Poet lies, Silent below the flowers he loved so well, Far from the sounding City where lie lii >t Felt the cold mist of death relaxing all The energies of life, and breathed the prayer That he might rest beside his natal stream, Far from the cares and rivalries of men, P>tMH\'ith the spotless skirs. TIuto Summer w.vivis 104 THE POET. Her flowery vestures o'er his dear remains, And Winter falls in purity of snow O'er his repose, who sweetly poured their praise In purest verse. The crumbling, antique Aisle Rising as if from out the shadowy Past To view the deeds of Death, in pity seems Gazing with speechless sympathy towards His early grave, as he was wont to gaze In a poetic dream, when Twilight filled With dewy splendour all the peaceful flowers, And mellow Silence walked the evening sky, To meet the sadness of the coming night. A stately Stone, reared by the tender strength Of Sympathy and Friendship, stands to tell His genius, music, sad consumption, death, Whose name immortal shines for evermore In golden letters in the Book of Fame. No fitter resting-place for him whose song Was Nature's love ! Calmly he sleeps among Those scenes he sweetened with the fadeless light THE POET. 105 Of his undying verse. Dim with distance rise The hoary hills that elevate his song, — Parents of wandering rills which wanton through The glens that knew his footsteps, while more near, His streamlets murmur on their sea-ward way, And seem to him who loves their Poet's name, The sweeter for his sake. So may they flow, Wedded for ever to his earthly song, While in the realms of light, he, greater grown, Pours with a mightier Muse His perfect praise From whom all music issues, and to Whom It must return ; Who ever takes alone But what He gives ! 106 A SUNSET SCENE. (from 'sabbath eve in a valley.') Lo ! o'er the Western waves the golden Sun, Mingling with his own glory in the deep, Has sunk to rest, his daily labour o'er, Leaving his glowing footprints in the sky. A wondrous train of clouds of varied hue, Dreaming along his glorious sea- ward way, Attest his power. Upon the purple hills His splendour still remains, and on the face Of the sad sea his feet are beautiful. As if to mourn his departing Friend, The cuckoo from the bosom of the glen Pours his far-echoing song ; the ringdove's moan Grows deeper with the shadows of the grove ; A SUNSET SCENE. 107 The silvery radiance leaves the pensive stream, Deep-sounding through the vale ; tear-drops are seen On the pale faces of the drooping flowers, — All things are saddening into silent night. The distance narrows ; and the far-seen hills Seem ghosts dim-rising through a misty dream. As still and silent as the pale primrose Starts from the wakening earth at touch of Spring, And fills with light the vale ; so sweet and still The evening star creeps imperceptibly Through the deep bosom of the deepening night, And looks in love upon the lands below. Soon like a garden, the all-silent sky Breaks in a million starry blooms, that smile Like hope-gleams through the sadness of the night And gaze in wonder on the darkening earth. 108 AN AUTUMN HYMN. Parent of Time ! to work whose holy will The world first rose to being, and all things Moved to the music of Thy fadeless words From dark, confusing chaos into life, Clear with Thy glorious light ; whose Spirit moves Through all Thy wondrous works, unfelt alone By those who close their senses to Thy Truth, Or wander from Thy ways ; — inspire my pen, While in this bright perfection of the year, Its glory thine, I pour Thy hymns of praise. The season speaks Thy love ; the golden fields Gleam grateful 'neath the gladness of the sun From shore to peaceful shore ; the rivers flow In mellow light along their lonely ways, AN AUTUMN HYMN. 109 With voices sounding of Eternity, In shadows of the grove ; the rainbows rise Like marvellous wreaths of incense from the earth To Thine eternal skies. The pale clouds glide Through heavenly silence, preaching of Thy peace To listening lands below. The mighty main, Blushing beneath the glories of Thy heavens, Loud sounds Thy praises o'er the glowing lands With that deep tongue Thou gavest unto him When Time began. The universal voice Of all Thy great Creation sings of Thee ! I too would touch my feeble harp, and pour, Modest 'neath all Thy matchless majesty, Thy never-perfect praise. Thou madest man In Thine all-spotless image ; Eden gave, Fair emblem of Thine own enduring Home, The Paradise of peace. But this he lost, Lured by the soul-ensnaring strength of sin Into a gloom, eternal, save for Him W i lit of lu\r lias pierced its darkness through, 110 AN AUTUMN HYMN. As morning shines through night ; Thy gentle Son, Who came, the Shepherd to the flock that fled Far from the heavenly Fold. O, lift us up To heights of knowledge, whence our eyes may see The far-extending greatness of Thy grace, And His, the pure Redeemer of the world ! Thy greatness is to us a mystery ; So dim and dreadful that our drooping souls Are bound beneath its grandeur, as pale flowers Beneath the weight of night. Yet Thy sweet love Shines star-like midst that grandeur on our souls Through all the devious courses of our lives. We feel that Thou art gracious as great ; For the clear moonlight of Thy perfect peace Gleams steadfast through this mystic night of Time Into the heart of Faith. When tossed about On fierce Affliction's seas, with not a star To guide our weary way, high thoughts of Thee Sustain our trembling frames, and waft us past AN AUTUMN HYMN. Ill The roaring tempest to the welcome shore. In Thy pure light the last, long, dismal Dale Seems but a solemn thought that looms before Eternity of hope ; for Thy beloved Son Hath planted 'midst the terrors of the tomb The first fair flower of Faith. We ever see, We feel Thee everywhere. Thou movest through The restful regions of our nightly dreams, Rich with the angel-ladders of Thy love ; Thou risest with the radiance of the morn, Thyself the deathless Dawn of heavenly light, To wipe away the gloom ; Thy spirit dwells Through all the glowing day ; the twilight calm Bears the pure presence of Thy spotless peace. All silent things in Nature have a voice That tells us Thou art God ! PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. HH^h lis ^^H 1 1 • I ■msi ■1 ■ - Hi U.C.BERKELEY LIBRARIES ■M CDMBbMBM^a ■ BB v " HH1 K^S^b 1 ■ *V: ( - ■ ■ Vj ji ***ss