UNDER THE^^WORD 
 
 PRICE HALF-A-CROWN,
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ^1^1^ 
 
 ^r*. 
 
 F. HARALD WILLIAMS 
 
 ■"i.iurc.Uc of tbc cSbitc Cross.''
 
 "TWIXT KISS AXI) LIP 
 
 OK 
 
 UNDER THE SWOilD. 
 
 " There is many a slip. 
 
 'Tucen the " kiss " and the lip." 
 
 Thougli sin n-.ay soil the wliite-rose lass. 
 
 The glory of thj Lord, 
 Yet sin itself at length must pass 
 Under the sxcord. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOE OF 
 
 "WOMEN MUST V^EEP 
 
 rmUD EDITIOX. 
 " Seiuina J-jtovuitatitf." — W. AlexandeKj D.V. 
 
 ^on^on : 
 
 G A E D X E E A X D CO 
 26, Hexrietta Street, Cotent Garden. 
 1890. 
 Price. 2 O
 
 WALLINGFOED : 
 W. D, JENKINS, STEAM PRINTER.
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 
 THE SILENl GODDESS. 
 
 Men measured not the love, 
 
 Enbracino- earth and skies. 
 
 Kindled from foiints above, ' ^^ -^ 
 
 Within her o-lorious eyes ; /c^ Jr C^ 
 
 Nor dreamed a saviour's part 
 She took in every ill. 
 And heaven was in the heart 
 That suffered and was still ; 
 For, though with battle chime 
 The thunders round her broke. 
 She looked beyond all time — 
 "But never word she spoke. 
 
 Men saw not piirpose pure. 
 Outshining falsehood's wraith. 
 That stooped but to endure. 
 In her heroic faith ; 
 A purpose grand, and green 
 As springtide beauty spread. 
 Alone, to stand between v 
 
 The dying and the dead ; 
 Alone, to bear for all 
 The suffering, till woke 
 Tlic sinner from his fall — 
 But never word she spoke. 
 
 Men knew not, woman's love 
 Almighty was and staunch, 
 And like the homeless dove 
 Broixght them the olive branch ; 
 When lesser souls might pine, 
 A patience lived in her 
 Immortal and divine. 
 To anchor feet that err ; 
 To gi\ide the pilgrim triie, 
 Through doubt's Tartarean smoke. 
 By hope's unswerving clue — 
 
 If never word she spoke. 
 Men cared not, how supreme 
 She rose above the shock 
 Of wind and wave extreme, 
 Stablished on Christ the Eock ; 
 How sorrows were her meat. 
 From evening unto morn. 
 With ban her burning seat. 
 And garland none but thorn ; 
 Till, in the ripening years, 
 God drew aside the cloko 
 <Df trouble and of tears — 
 
 And Qoddsss-liks she sjpoie,
 
 A PREFACE 
 
 WHICH MUST NOT BE SKIPPED, 
 
 The reception of my book of ballads, " Women Must Weeiy," haa 
 emboldened me to make another venture on a mnch larojer scale, 
 Majlis opus moueu. Perhaps no one has ever waited qviite so long, 
 remembering- the cauti(m of Horace, for "the years that bring the 
 philosophic mind." before piiblishing, and perhaps no one has ever 
 published at once such a vast and varied collection of poems. 
 My new book contains nearly 40,000 lines, and is indeed the history 
 of a poet's heart for a quarter of a century, and there is hardly a 
 phase of thought or feeling, 'in connexion with all the great 
 problems of time or ([uestions of the period, which is not repre- 
 sented here. It is both the ergon and tlie parergon of my life. 
 Poetry has l>een my lousiness and my play, the moiild into wliich 
 my views most naturally flowed. And yet I must jjrotest against 
 being made personally responsible for all the opinions I have 
 expressed about men antl things. Though there is nothing in 
 my writings, which should bring a blush to any cheek, and though 
 I might say " virginibus puerisque canto," yet in depicting the 
 sceptic or the libertine, or the pessimist, or the cosmopolitan, or 
 the iinfortunate and others, I have simjaly exercised the right of 
 every artist, and have not meant to draw myself. And so I hope 
 no running read<'r will rashly suppose I am an Agnostic, like 
 Bishop Huxley, or a rake, or a revolutionist. It is generally 
 said, that i^ootry is a thing of the past and there is no 
 demand for it now. But this cannot be true. Rubbish, 
 of cotxrse, never was and never will be wanted, except by 
 rubbishy people. But, as pectus est quod facit Poetam, so the 
 hearts of all will ever hunger for the real manna — " the thoughts 
 which wander through eternity," which have risen from the grand 
 fountain-head of love in some loyal human lieart. Call it what 
 you will— rwiMJii d(entonui)i, with the old Father — or sanguis cordis, 
 or angelorum tacryvtxe— true Poetry will always find a public and a. 
 future. The "maker," with a mission, with a mandate from
 
 n   FREFACK. 
 
 Heaven, looks in his heart and writes, shows men and women what 
 they are and what they want, explains the everlasting- principles 
 that underlie the meanest muddiest facts, raises gronndlings out 
 of thtir morbid ruts and narrow grooves w^hile giving them a noble 
 pxii'pose and a lofty aim, idealizes the coarse and refines the vulgar, 
 throws the shield of his great compassion over the weak and 
 unfortunate, flashes the rays of divine hope in the darkest breast, 
 helps the helpless, remembers the forgotten, makes believe that 
 the wish ;s the power and the promise is the performance, endows 
 the poor with something better than silver and gold, teaches the 
 humb'est to own with gratitude " Tat iuim ad" (''That thou art. 
 i.e, thou art Ood " ) deals with the incredible and the impossible 
 as common counters for current exchange, proves that two and 
 tv/o are five and two straight lines can enclose a space and the 
 part is greater than the whole for those who have eyes to see and ears 
 to hear.bi'ings down the gorgeous figures and infinite horizons and 
 ineffable vis ions of dreamland and wonderland to the level of daily life 
 or exalts that to their glorious atmosphei-e, is most practical w'hen 
 mof^t illusive and imaginative, is simple and sublime together, 
 and even plainest when his words illustrate the tn\th that omnia 
 aJ eunt in mysteria,. The poet is the mediator between man and 
 man, between man and himself, between man and God. He is 
 interijreter, champion, comforter, and, like Prometheus, steals fire 
 from Heaven to warm and lighten cold hearts or homes on earth. 
 
 The poet, who does not reflect or breathe the spirit of his age, 
 •without being bound by it, can never hope to be popular. He 
 must take the colour of his time, thoxigh hig life is eternity, and 
 lau.gh and wee}) with his fellows, reading the riddle of their 
 hopes and fears iind joys and sorrows, robing these in his immortal 
 verse. His teict is that of Jeremiah, xxix., 11, " I hnoiv the thoughts 
 that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace" (the 
 sumnnim honum in a world at war) "and not of evil, to give you a 
 future- and a. hope." He pours a celestial splendour on the little 
 and the lowly, finds everywhere a Burning Biish, and gi'ace and 
 glory and immensity in all. "He hath made every thin ;; ?"'^v'>^'(/? in 
 his time : also He hath set Eternity in their heart." 
 
 The two titles, I have selected for the record of my poetical 
 life's -work, have a very definite meaning. In my first bcok, 
 " Wor.icn Mils' Weep," I chose for description the wrongs of women 
 and children, weak and suffering, by no means always innocent, 
 and ur.aveng.-d Nc thing has given me more ir.tenc-e iDleasui-e, 
 than the fact that 1 am the accepted Poet of Purity, " tlie 
 Laureate of the army of the White Cross/' and the " Laureate of
 
 pkkfack, lii. 
 
 tht> Now Crusiulc." These are honours T prefer to any inania 
 nobilitatis. And I hope T shall continue to deserve the distinctions 
 unanimously conferred upon me. There was, so far as I knew, no 
 other poet in the field, and I offered myself, feeling from the 
 bottom of my heart, that 1 was inspired to write in the cause of 
 Purity and had received my commission from above. And it is 
 too late now, to think that so many competent critics and 
 independent judges, nearly all pei'fect strangers to me, in- 
 cluding several Bishops, were mistaken in their estimate of my work. 
 When tb.e great and gifted Bisho p o Derry, Dr. Alexander, quern 
 hnvoris eausil nominatiim volo, pronoimced that many of nxy ballads 
 in " Women Mu.it Weep," abounded in " semina' ceternitatis," and I 
 had " diuie a, noble piece of work," I felt satisfied that I had 
 indeed spokenasTlod's man. 
 
 In my new hook, tliough it embodies the poetical fruits of all 
 my working'^ life, I still remain the apostle of purity and the 
 champion of the oppressed. ",But I have taken a brighter and 
 different stand-point, exemplifying " quicquid sihi imperavit anivms 
 olitinmt," and painting woman tempted as the conqueror, and 
 rising refulgent and superior, Del grnthl, to the most overwhelm- 
 ino- weight of evil cireiimstance. And I liave pointed out, as ever 
 fiashing between her ;ind dishonour, the Sword of Jiidgment, 
 ''battled in Heaven, like ''that flaming brand " at Eden's gate 
 " with dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms," ready to descend 
 and save her at any moment, and to make of her extremity its 
 opportunity. And if the poet may not be the defender of the 
 outcast, the champion of the erring, and frail, and fallen, who 
 are often more weak than wicked, and more sinned against than 
 sinning, who may be ? Two opinions are possible about the dis- 
 cussion of the great Purity Question in newspapers, but there 
 cannot be two opinions about the poet's claim to sing of it. The 
 wrongs of all are his x>roper sphere, the grim and ghastly facts of 
 injustice he especially delights to redress. He always has and 
 always will do this. 
 
 In including hiimoroiis verses, and verses for children, I believe 
 I have acted wisely. My book is for all sorts and conditions of 
 men and women, for old and young, rich and poor. A partisan I 
 am not. And in my personalities of satire, I have attacked rather 
 the ineasures in the men than the men in the measures. One 
 political, personage, whom I have not spared, I have lashed, not 
 because 1 bear him the slightest ill will — and I have the pro- 
 < jundest respect for his talents — but because I consider him as a
 
 IV. tKEFACE. 
 
 representative of the Theoriist in Oovernmentj a man without any 
 settled convictions, and of all chaTacters the most dangerous. For 
 my part, I would rather be governed by an ass, who possessed 
 good principles and knew his own mind, than by the most brilliant 
 genius who possessed no principles and never knew his own mind. 
 What w^e ask of our rulers is, certainty, security, consistency, and 
 some sort of moral sense, or capital will emigrate and Great will 
 become Little Britain. 
 
 If my new boolc has no other salient feature, it has a psycho- 
 logical interest, and yet I hope it has more than. this. And I need 
 hardly say I shall be bitterly disappointed, if it is not a siiccess. 
 Failure would add another sting to death. Much of my work has 
 been done under the shadow of bad health, in weakness and 
 misei'y, but it has always been a laboui' of love. Vixi ut moriturus. 
 Even wh<'n I " feared " most, as I "entered into the cloud," I 
 scemcil to be still tio;hting Uod's battles, and following His call as 
 a soldier jjoet. And let no rash reviewer, in a few minutes and 
 with a few scornful words, dismiss this history of a poet's heart. 
 Let him be silent or be jiist. Standing, as I appear to stand now, 
 on the edge of the great sohition of continuity that awaits us all, 
 the revolution that is the last link in the chain of earthly evolution, 
 within measurable distance of eternity, I demand fair treatment 
 from fair men and women, and the verdict of the competent and 
 not the incompetent. My one pursuit is Truth, at all costs, and 
 with no respect for persons. Prosopolepsy I abhor. Amicus Soc- 
 rates, amicus Plato, magis ainica Veritas. Non setnper ^icnclehit inter 
 latrones Christus : resurget aliquanclo crucifixa Veritas." My one alle- 
 giance is to the Grod of Truth, to whom I must give an account, to 
 whom I appeal, and whose servant of servants I am. And, now, kind 
 or unkind critic, ntoritiiruste saluto — and yet I hope non onmismoriar- 
 
 P.S. 
 
 The intelligent reviewer will notice, that some of the poems are 
 little more than experiments — and probably not very successful 
 experiments — in metre. T have always felt stronQ,'ly, that the 
 style is the man, and therefoi-e every poet should have his o.vu 
 peculiar ineasures or moulds of thought. There is no assignable 
 limit to the multiplication of forms. And, when a man simj^ly 
 appropriates his neighbour's clothes, or tries to strut about in 
 siioes never made nor meant for him, they are sui'e not to tit 
 properly. Dnvid mvTst not wear Saxil's armour. To give a new 
 dress, is easy enough, for any one who possesses tile slenderest 
 amount of artistic faculty. To give new ideasj is quite a different
 
 PREFACK. V. 
 
 rhmg. and bolonsj's only to the teachers and prophets, the dazzlintr 
 suns of song. It is extraordinary, how even original minds are 
 content to follow each other tamely like so many sheep, treading 
 step by step in the same dull, beaten track, witliout daring to 
 deviate by a single hair's breadth from the monotonous routine 
 of predecessors, 1\y striking out bold and independent lines, 
 repeating humbly and wearisomely the stale old turns and tricks, 
 excellencies and faults, of others. Originality may be doubtful 
 or impossible for most, in matter, but in form it is within the 
 reach of all. Poets may be shepherds, but they should not be 
 sheep, meekly following the lead of some prize bell-wether. 
 Perhaps some of my new stanzas may be too intricate, and too 
 artfiilly involved, but they are at any rate — good or bad — my 
 own. 
 
 Tn including juvenile poems, aome undated, which the intelligent 
 reviewer will easily detect, I think now, too late, with Spimt-thean 
 wisdom, I have erred. At the same time personal experience has 
 satisfied me, that it is impossible for any one to bo a proper judge 
 of his own work. But all, to whom a po(!t is really precious, will 
 find an intei-esting psychological study, in following the gradual 
 evolution of his powers, till all traces of early influence by others 
 are entirely lost, in the ripe maturity of his final results. And it 
 niay be, that even some of my first efforts, sucli as " Venus and 
 Ascanius," suggested to me by the late Prof. Conington, and 
 admired by him^ possess the seed of vitality. While my hope is, 
 that out of the immense mass of work now published, I may be 
 able eventually to bring out another volume, embodying those 
 poems (if any) which critics agree have a permanent value. 
 
 Some authorities on poetry, at the jDreseut day, have views as 
 to what constitutes poetry, which seem to me' monstrous and un- 
 triie. No amount of mere melodious language can make a jirosaic 
 thought unprosaic. A fool in royal robes is a fool still, while a 
 king in rags is a king to the end. Musical jargon is not poetry. 
 Pretty words and accumulated epithets, agonies and attitudes, 
 paces and grimaces, postures and impostures, may produce certain 
 effects, but, when divorced from the beautiful idea or picture, are 
 just a dead body without the informing quickening sijirit, how- 
 ever cunningly disgixised and elaborately painted. The thought, 
 th.c soul, is everything. And, if judged by this cardinal fact, 
 some of our popular idols may prove to be rhetoricians, and not 
 poets —sotmding brass or a tinkling cymbal.
 
 VI. PREFACE. 
 
 It is as a Satirist, I suppose, on the whole, that I offer my chief 
 pretensions as a poet. From a child, I seemed to be always a 
 victim of the unknown quantity called chance, and disappointr 
 nient has been the breath of my life I only just missed so many 
 good things. And this experienci' has made me somewhat the 
 champion of th(i jjoor and weak and suiiering, and of all the lost 
 causes and impossible hive.-:. Victrix c.ausa diis placuit, sed vicia 
 Catoni. And it was early indeed when I first girded on the sword 
 of satire, in wild, i^etulant, imdisciplined protests against bigots 
 and tyrants, and the government of fraud, and force^ and fashion. 
 ArcMlocum proprio rabies armavit iamho. To the rule of Satirist I 
 have ever been faithful, if often the leader of a forlorn hope. 
 Though he must be in the majority who is one with God. And it 
 maj^ be th.at the sword of satire gleams through the scabbard of 
 every jioem I have written. But now my fighting days are 
 numbered. And even liere I might well say, " Hie fo\s/((S ttrtemque 
 reponn." 
 
 Note. — I wish, in conclusion, to express my gratitude to Mr. 
 Vv'^. D. Jenkins, of Wallingford, my Printer, for encouragement 
 and pympatiiy iluring the progress of my work. 
 
 As to th(^ portrait prefixed, taken from a- portrait by the prince 
 of x^hotographers, G. West, of East Southsea, I need hai'dly say it 
 is only given by urgent request.
 
 OOj^TEI^TS 
 
 Ballads, etc. — Dedication to my Wife 
 Between the Kiss and the Lip 
 Threading- the Needle 
 Baptized by Fire 
 My Creed 
 
 The New Cvvisade . 
 Publicans and Sinners 
 The Eleventh Hour 
 Women Must Weep 
 Man 
 
 Grentleman 
 The Two Pictures . 
 Beauty or Beast 
 Beauty and the Beast 
 Beau^ty in the Beast 
 The Song of the Sibyl 
 The Maiden Wife . 
 A Christmas Contrast 
 Fifty Per Cent 
 Parting- . 
 
 The Old Gospel and the New 
 Si Vis Pacem Para Belluni 
 The Shop Girl . 
 Beautiful Maiden . 
 The Child Innocents 
 God Bless the Queen 
 Clara 
 
 Ask Eternity . 
 My Picture 
 A Bleeding Bi-east 
 In Honorem . 
 Alexandra 
 Under His Wings 
 
 TAGK 
 
 1 
 :i 
 
 7 
 9 
 U 
 17 
 19 
 21 
 22 
 2;^ 
 2-i 
 25 
 27 
 28 
 29 
 30 
 39 
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 41 
 42 
 43 
 41. 
 
 ■m 
 
 47 
 4« 
 49 
 51 
 52 
 53 
 54 
 55 
 56
 
 11. 
 
 CONl'ENtS. 
 
 April Skies 
 Brown Beauty . 
 Keep your Powder Dry 
 Our Sister 
 Erin Ma Cushla 
 Erin Mavourneen 
 Loyfil Ireland . 
 The North Eastei- 
 Coward's Castle 
 AVrit ou Water 
 Built on Sand . 
 Work- 
 National Hymn 
 The Feast of Science 
 White Wings and Blue Broas 
 Our Feathered Darliiig-s 
 Brown Hand and Wlnte 
 The Euined Gamester 
 The I'amine Fiend . 
 Under the Eed, White, Blue 
 Before Dawn . 
 One .... 
 Made in Heaven 
 Jacoh's Ladder 
 The Twin Sisters 
 Wonderful Snow 
 
 Hell .... 
 
 Bi'oken Wino-g . 
 
 Tuij-i: Senilic Aiiiin- . 
 
 (-)nce only 
 
 Damaged Darlings . 
 
 Tlie Dance to Death 
 
 Pocula Circes . 
 
 T(mus Yictrix . 
 
 Jacta est Alen, . 
 
 A Broken Heart 
 
 The Last Straw 
 
 Wicked or Witched 
 
 Death in tlie Cup . 
 
 Tlie Fiiist Ki.ss . 
 
 My Manuscript 
 
 The Unknown Goddos; 
 
 58 
 , 59 
 
 (50 
 61 
 62 
 63 
 64. 
 65 
 67 
 6S 
 iV.) 
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 73 
 7-.t 
 76 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 lU. 
 
 At His Post . 
 
 Not Another . 
 
 Just a Woman. 
 
 Her Father's Daughter . 
 
 The Modern Armada 
 
 A Maid of Devon 
 
 I'hc Beautiful Nancy 
 
 Diogenes in Search of Virtue 
 
 A Threefold Coixl . 
 
 Queen Victoria 
 
 The Assignation 
 
 The Bunch of Flowers . 
 
 Withoiit and Within 
 
 Tlie Sti'ayed Angel . 
 
 The Irish Interdict 
 
 Victoria Dei Gratia Eegina 
 
 Tli,e Social Democrat 
 
 The Four Sisters 
 
 One Faith, One Flag 
 
 " No Space " . \ 
 
 St. Columb's . 
 
 Venus and Ascanius 
 
 Tlie Sunbeam . 
 
 The Storm Wind . 
 
 The Summer AVmd . 
 
 My Queen 
 
 Waiting .... 
 
 The Way of th.- World . 
 
 Country Notes 
 
 Oardea Fancies 
 
 I'he Old and the New Magdale 
 
 Discrowned not Disking) 'd 
 
 The Child of the Madonna 
 
 Tiie Tide of Tears . 
 
 Confessions of a Clergyman 
 
 Baby .... 
 
 On the Haymarket . 
 
 The Old Home 
 
 To a Cold Beauty . 
 
 Willing but Weak . 
 
 Love 
 
 A Legend of tlie Ini|U).sitJon 
 
 rAC4E. 
 
 Ill 
 li;i 
 
 Hi 
 11.-, 
 lit; 
 l:-;i 
 ii'.") 
 IMu 
 1 :;i' 
 i;!:5 
 isi. 
 
 14:3 
 Ml 
 
 115 
 
 us 
 
 1-49 
 1.14 
 
 l.")0 
 
 15H 
 KM 
 ](>4 
 1()() 
 107 
 lir.) 
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 172 
 17:i 
 17.-. 
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 , 1 s:i 
 lH{i 
 IbH 
 189 
 192 
 19.-) 
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 197 
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 201 
 202
 
 av.- 
 
 CONTKNT8. 
 
 To EstlKT . . 
 
 The Fragment Finished . 
 
 The Feast of philosophy 
 
 "01 love the Gleam ot Golden Hair 
 
 Little Brown Patch 
 
 N»vissima Verba 
 
 Avitumn Hours 
 
 Lethe .... 
 
 Kvishmere and Hazelden . 
 
 Verses to a Marchioness . 
 
 The Story of a Shell 
 
 Out in the World . 
 
 The Night Eose 
 
 The Last of the Immortals 
 
 The Little Angel without Wings 
 
 The Pauper's Friend 
 
 The Step on the Stairs 
 
 Necessity . 
 
 The Fool of Fortune 
 
 PrEeterhumanus 
 
 Tide and Time 
 
 On a Railway Platform 
 
 The Soldier's Oath . 
 
 Crowns of Sorrow^ . 
 
 The Curse of Cad\rallader 
 
 Sweet Imperfection . 
 
 On the Market 
 
 A Libel . 
 
 The Paradise of Fools 
 
 By the Banks . 
 
 Aurora Australis 
 
 The Sleep of Death . 
 
 The Great Mystery . 
 
 The Greater Mystery 
 
 Shadows on the wall 
 
 The Bulgarian's Belief 
 
 She is Coming 
 
 Charlotte 
 
 Vanished Voices 
 
 The Paver 
 
 Mad . . • • 
 
 Broken Heart.^ 
 
 lAOK. 
 
 212 
 
 212 
 214 
 218 
 219 
 221 
 223 
 230 
 234 
 240 
 242 
 245 
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 264 
 266 
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 - 272 
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 281 
 283 
 . 283 
 288 
 28S 
 200 
 291 
 299 
 303 
 3Ul. 
 305 
 309 
 312 
 313 
 313 
 314 
 316 
 318 
 321 
 323
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Ca,c?ed liird 
 
 A Psaii of the Pavement 
 
 At the Finish . 
 
 A Fallen Angel 
 
 The Woman's Heel . 
 
 Man's Woman 
 
 God's Woman 
 
 Jessie's Eevenge 
 
 The Old Order 
 
 The Last of the Giants 
 
 The Doomed Class . 
 
 Kemember the Children 
 
 " No Room " . 
 
 A Whim . 
 
 Charles George Gordon 
 
 " Declined with Thanks ' 
 
 The Story of the Stones 
 
 "At the Mouth of two or three 
 
 Magna Charta 
 
 Vnlgaria . 
 
 A King of Commerce 
 
 The Wild Rose of Devon 
 
 Only a Woman. 
 
 Thy Sister's Keeper 
 
 " Give lis this day," etc. 
 
 Misunderstood 
 
 The Cry of Blood . 
 
 Jim Givens 
 
 A Convenient Arrangement 
 
 An Inconvenient Arrangement 
 
 Somebody's Pet, etc. 
 
 Cent per Cent . 
 
 A Half -penny an Hour 
 
 Baby Fingers . 
 
 Bal)y Feet 
 
 Baby Lips 
 
 Baby Eyes 
 
 Baby Beautifid 
 
 Confessions of an Actres 
 
 Some Day 
 
 My Lady Beautiful 
 
 The Children's Cry 
 
 Red Kevolutiou 
 
 V. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 325 
 
 328 
 
 330 
 
 333 
 
 334 
 
 338 
 
 339 
 
 840 
 
 649 
 
 350 
 
 351 
 
 35S 
 
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 399
 
 VI. 
 
 CONTENTfj. 
 
 Stolen AVateis .... 
 
 The Conqueror 
 
 " A Marr:age is Arranged " . 
 
 " Unto Babes " . 
 
 "Men Must Work" 
 
 The EuSsian Moloch 
 
 To Fear" is to Govern 
 
 My Sweetest 'Heai't . 
 
 By the Cross .... 
 
 New Life . . 
 
 The Blot on the 'Scutcheon . 
 
 One Mad Moment . 
 
 The First Kfss. . . 
 
 A Woman's Breast . . . 
 
 Social Democrat to Nihilist . 
 
 My Mother's Hair . 
 
 A Witch 
 
 No' — Yes . . 
 The Anarchist 
 The Merchant Prince 
 To the Tsar .... 
 Queen Pvissy at Play 
 Political Poems. — Queen A i(.'toi-ia 
 How they CTO'vern us 
 Politics ..... 
 A Personage in Politics . 
 Home Cured . , 
 
 A Cry from the Gu.tter . 
 Spunky Tim .... 
 The Curse of No Labour. 
 The Adjournmont . , 
 Only Another Miu-der 
 The Devil and the Pitchfork . 
 A Page from' the Devil's Diary 
 Proteus in Westminster Abbey 
 The Conference of 1SS2 . 
 The First Shot 
 The Eoused Lion . 
 The Skeleton at the Feast 
 Liberal Protection . 
 The Irish Telegram 
 A Statesman of 1882 
 How to vote .... 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 406 
 
 4US 
 
 •100 
 
 410 
 
 414 
 
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 513 
 
 :,■>•■>
 
 The Man and the lionr . 
 
 No one at the Holm 
 
 The Worst Club in Lon^ lou . 
 
 HUMOKOUS POKMS AND Poii Mf- T'''>H C 
 
 EoLm Redbreast 
 The Story of a St— k 
 A Lover's Jotirual . 
 'I'he Story of a Stomacli . 
 The British Ass 
 A Valentine 
 .A Model Nursery 
 The Poor Old Vicar. 
 The Portrait of a Donkey 
 In a Quiet Sort of Way . 
 A Clerical Caucus . 
 The Omitted Initial 
 Killed by Conscie^lce 
 The Devil . ' • 
 Jenny Wren and "Robin . 
 Men Must Work " . 
 How to be ah Angel 
 Married or Marred . 
 Rkligious Poems.— Churdi CLork 
 ' Secret of the Presence . 
 Tree of Death . 
 (!)ur Mother 
 The Church 
 '• Though lie Slay Me 
 Memento Mori 
 Human Compass 
 My Father Divine 
 The Book 
 " Unto Me " . 
 The Incarnation of Innocence 
 " Not for Myself but Thee " 
 The Church . 
 " He hath done all things well 
 Hold Me .   . 
 At the Door 
 The Dove . . ' 
 
 The Supper nf the Soul 
 The Shadow . 
 Childless , 
 
 UILDREN. — 
 
 VU. 
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 VUl. CONTENT?. 
 
 "Faint yet Piirsiiinor " 
 
 My Beloved . 
 
 Sonnets to a Child . 
 
 " Storied Frames " . 
 
 The Miisic in the SheU 
 
 Fire and Snow 
 
 The Summer in the Seed 
 
 " Smothered Flame " 
 
 White Eose Maiden 
 
 Child of Evening . 
 
 Moonlight Maid 
 
 Gospel of Childhood 
 
 Crown of Stars 
 
 No Longer 
 
 Yet Again 
 
 The Starry Way . 
 
 To have seen . 
 
 Come to Me 
 
 Influence . 
 
 Moonlight Kisses . 
 
 Shining Shadows 
 
 Enchanted Walls . 
 
 God in Childhood . 
 
 The New Song 
 
 The Step on the Stair 
 
 At the Gate 
 
 Lights and Shades . 
 
 White Eobes . 
 
 Divine and Human . 
 
 The Book Beautiful 
 
 If Only— 
 
 The Great Gulf Fixed 
 
 Day and Night 
 
 Angels Unawares . 
 
 Walking on the Heart 
 
 The Burden of Beauty 
 
 The Banner of Blood 
 
 Knocking 
 
 The Children's Day 
 
 The Passion of the Pines 
 
 " I sleep but my Heart Waketh " 
 
 The Human Face Angelical 
 
 '•UnGrand;Pei;t.etre" . 
 
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 CONTENT .S. 
 
 More than Light 
 Sabbath Bells . 
 Miscellaneous Sonnets — "Mother of 
 The Service of Sorrow- 
 To the Marchioness C 
 
 To the Countess K 
 
 Verney Loveft Cameron 
 
 Xanthippe 
 
 Lesbia 
 
 " Bonus Dormitat Homerus ' 
 
 The Comedy of Death 
 
 Tlie Ferryman 
 
 The Devil A-broaii . 
 
 The Soiled Packet . 
 
 Problems . 
 
 The Angel and the Cross 
 
 Poor Heart 
 
 Working — Worshipping 
 
 My Master 
 
 Soft Cheeks 
 
 To my Wife 
 
 On Jesus' Breast 
 
 The Human Voice Divine 
 
 Innocence 
 
 The Bliss of Ignorance 
 
 Purity 
 
 To Lady J. Herschel 
 
 Sweet Lips 
 
 The Cup of Sin 
 
 The Plucked Eose . 
 
 The Marked Tree 
 
 The Fire from Heaven 
 
 The Discoverer 
 
 To Constance . 
 
 The Second Day 
 
 In memory of Lady Camden 
 
 Legend of the Eobin Eedbreast 
 
 The German Kaiser 
 
 Kaiser Friedrich 
 
 The North-East Wind 
 
 Ovitcast Erin . 
 
 Vixit! Vicit: . 
 
 Angels' Food . 
 
 all the Doves 
 
 iX. 
 
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 71S
 
 nONTENTf;, 
 
 Eastei' Eve 
 Tho Queen of Snrrow 
 Esther 
 Heartsease 
 Sweet Seventeen . 
 The Household Angel 
 " Sweet and Twenty " 
 The Larger Ho^^e . 
 To Ignes 
 To Isobel 
 
 The Golden Sceptre 
 My Beautiful 
 The Fatal Gift 
 A Broken Heart . 
 The London Cadger 
 Shadows on tlie Walls 
 Fallen Stars . 
 The Tree of Death. 
 UncroTfned Queens 
 Heartsease 
 Baptized in Blood . 
 The Burden of Bunlens 
 Rockingham . 
 The Dog's Heart 
 Under the Cross 
 Lahorar&eat Orare 
 Beneath His Wings 
 The Dark Mountains 
 " Clouds of Glory " . 
 " Bright Clouds " . 
 The Childless Land . 
 The Seal of Sorrow . 
 The Joy of Sorrow . 
 The Temple of Sorrow 
 The Baptism of Sorrow 
 Sorrow the Saviour . 
 The Gift of Tears . 
 'The Crown of Suffering 
 Hunger of the Heart 
 The First Idol . 
 Aa-ain 
 
 Another Idol Broken 
 Last not Least 
 
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 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 
 .Nl. 
 
 I'Al . 1') 
 
 Tlic Anu'oi of the D;iwii 7:57 
 
 Tlie Heart and its Treasures 
 
 
 7:57 
 
 The Treasure of the Tomb 
 
 
 73K 
 
 The Marriage of Life and Death .... 
 
 
 788 
 
 On the Pavement 
 
 
 738 
 
 Curves 
 
 
 739 
 
 Colour 
 
 
 739 
 
 Come Home ! Come Home 
 
 
 74.U 
 
 The Doom of Hell 
 
 
 740 
 
 The Curse of Hell 
 
 
 741 
 
 The Work of Hell 
 
 
 
 
 741 
 
 The Thought of Hell .... 
 
 
 
 
 741 
 
 Heaven 
 
 
 
 
 742 
 
 Deflowered 
 
 
 
 
 742 
 
 Angels' Thrones 
 
 
 
 
 743 
 
 Amaranth ..... 
 
 
 
 
 743 
 
 Curse of Beaiity 
 
 
 
 
 741 
 
 The Vision Beautiful 
 
 
 
 
 7.1,4. 
 
 Tragedy of Life 
 
 
 
 
 744. 
 
 Sting of Death .... 
 
 
 
 
 " i'O 
 
 The Victory of the Grave . ' 
 
 
 
 
 7i."; 
 
 Door Ajar 
 
 
 
 
 74G 
 
 Out into the Night . 
 
 
 
 
 7I'6 
 
 The Rhythm of Love 
 
 
 
 
 . 717 
 
 Fifth Essence 
 
 
 
 
 . 717 
 
 At His Feet 
 
 
 
 
 . 747 
 
 In His Arms ..... 
 
 
 
 
 748 
 
 Fallen 
 
 
 
 
 . 74.8 
 
 From Glory to dory 
 
 
 
 
 . 719 
 
 Stronger than Death . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 More Cruel than the Grave . 
 
 
 
 
 750 
 
 Nameless Dead ..... 
 
 
 
 
 750 
 
 Stories in Stones 
 
 
 
 
 750 
 
 Wlmt is Truth ? .... 
 
 
 
 
 . 751 
 
 The Superscription 
 
 
 
 
 . 751 
 
 Forging of the Fetter . 
 
 
 
 
 . 752 
 
 Burden of the Bells 
 
 
 
 
 . 752 
 
 " Novissima Verba "... 
 
 
 
 
 75:> 
 
 The Infinite Heart 
 
 
 
 
 . 753 
 
 " Vin\im Diemonum '' 
 
 
 
 
 75!) 
 
 Lacrymaj Dei .... 
 
 
 
 
 757 
 
 Sanguis Cordis .... 
 
 
 
 
 7:.!) 
 
 Bewitched 
 
 
 
 
 70 1
 
 Xll. 
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 The Crowiied Ass . 
 The Penny Poiralar 
 Xing- Hoclg-e .... 
 Sops for Cerberus . 
 King Clod .... 
 Gospel of Dirt 
 The Countiy Cadger 
 In Angello cum LibeUo 
 The j^ew^ Scandalous Chronicle 
 Through Yelloxr Spectacles . 
 The Last Revelation 
 Cheap and Nasty 
 The Dead Chief 
 The Xew Eeformatiou 
 My Four Darlings . 
 The Grand Old Woman . 
 Jenny ..... 
 The Blue Hours 
 Laughing Philosophy 
 The Squeamist. 
 " Always Wrong " . 
 To a Purist .... 
 Donna Juan .... 
 Donna Quixote 
 The Lost Lord 
 " Yicta Catoni " 
 Princess Rita 
 
 Blood Money .... 
 Queen of the Gipsies 
 A Baby's Price 
 Lily and Rose 
 The Innocents 
 An Eagle's Nest 
 The T'other World . 
 The Man-Wo 
 AVhite Heathen 
 EriGKAMs ANij Tkii'Le.s. — Sir W. Grovt 
 Dr. Mortimer Granville . 
 Lady Sweet! ips 
 Cardinal Newman . 
 S. Morley .... 
 
 The First Whig 
 To a Millionaire Thread Manufacturer
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Xlll. 
 
 PAGE . 
 
 To a Lady on the Loss of her Beauty .... «09 
 
 Epigram 
 
 
 
 
 809 
 
 King Clod ... 
 
 
 
 
 
 810 
 
 The New Peer 
 
 
 
 
 
 810 
 
 Is Life Worth Living ? . 
 
 
 
 
 
 810 
 
 The First Man 
 
 
 
 
 
 SIO 
 
 Ireland . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 811 
 
 The Second Step • . 
 
 
 
 
 
 811 
 
 The Valetudinarian 
 
 
 
 
 
 811 
 
 True Love ..... 
 
 
 
 
 
 811 
 
 Death the Leveller 
 
 
 
 
 
 811 
 
 Modern Poets 
 
 
 
 
 
 812 
 
 Pi'Oin-iety .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 812 
 
 The Goose that does not lay Goldei 
 
 lEgc 
 
 rs 
 
 
 
 812 
 
 A Per.5onage in Politics . 
 
 
 
 
 
 812 
 
 Huxley's Bathybius 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 81.3 
 
 The Marquess of Queensberry 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 813 
 
 Dr Eichardson ' . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 813 
 
 An Epita|)h .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 813 
 
 A Modern Politician 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 . 813 
 
 Epitaph 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 814 
 
 The Tailor and His Wooden Coat 
 
 
 
 
 
 814 
 
 Claudia ..... 
 
 
 
 
 
 814 
 
 Gordon 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 814 
 
 The Golden-Headed Image 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 815 
 
 The Gambler .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 815 
 
 Fortune's Favourite 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 815 
 
 Weighed and Found Wanting 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 815 
 
 The Modern Galba . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 816 
 
 Eome 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 816 
 
 The Church House . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 816 
 
 Change 
 
 
 
 
 
 816 
 
 Bishop King . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 817 
 
 Supper 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 81f 
 
 Physick 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 817 
 
 A Pill for the Doctor . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 817 
 
 To the Moscow Student .• 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 817 
 
 The Old Man Omniscient 
 
 
 
 
 
 818 
 
 The Woodman's Axe 
 
 
 
 
 
 818 
 
 The Sick Woman . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 818 
 
 The Sierra Leone of Politics . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 818 
 
 Wilfrid Blunt . 
 
 
 
 
 
 MS
 
 XIV CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Politics 819 
 
 The Angel 819 
 
 W. Tayler 819 
 
 The Prince and the Dragon 819 
 
 Written in a Lady's Photo Album 819 
 
 Financial Fooling 820 
 
 An African Study 820 
 
 A Fool 820 
 
 Dr. Whewell 820 
 
 The Modern Phoenix 820 
 
 Ilicet. — Good Night . . . : . . . . 821 
 
 Epilogue 822
 
 BylLLADS 
 
 c. 
 
 DEDICATION TO MV WIFE. 
 
 Life ot my life, the better part 
 
 Of one harmonious whole, 
 Whence all the sunny fountains start 
 
 That water all my sonl ! 
 I cannot speak, I dare not telJ, 
 
 However true it be. 
 One half tlie rapture of the spell 
 
 That links my soul to thee. 
 
 Thy heart is bare to liuman needs. 
 
 And never stirred hj strife, 
 A home of pure and precious seeds 
 
 That flower in faithful life. 
 Thy eyes are happy heavens of praise. 
 
 Whence thankless fancies flee ; 
 Thy lii« are thrones of prayer, that raise 
 
 My sinking- heart to thee. 
 
 Thou art my guardian angel, sent 
 
 To )n-ing me back to truth. 
 By giving virtues old and spent. 
 
 Another grander youth. 
 Thou art my guide, up rugged slopes. 
 
 To heights undreamed 1>y me ; 
 The inspiration of my hopes. 
 
 For ever flows fron'i thee. 
 
 Great works that send their light from far 
 
 (rreat words that strongly bind 
 The noble breast, rekindled are 
 
 When mirrored by thy mind. 
 High views that dying seem, or vain 
 
 To make their hea,rers free. 
 Turned into action sweet, iM^gain 
 
 A larger life in thee.
 
 DEDICATION TO MT WIFE. 
 
 I know thy'inmost piilse'is love, 
 
 A tender, tideless stream, 
 And that thy thoughts are far above 
 
 My highest, holiest dream ; 
 1 know thy face is wondrous fair, 
 
 Tyjje of the grace to be, 
 And that all nature is a stair 
 
 By which I climb to thee. 
 
 The curve and colour of the rose, 
 
 Reflect thy radiant cheek ; 
 And in the sweetest breath that blows, 
 
 I only thee liear speak. 
 While in the glory of the days 
 
 Thy presence still I see. 
 The moon that walks the starry ways, 
 
 But walks and shines like thee. 
 
 The freshness of the morning sun. 
 
 The fragrance of the flowers, 
 Th(^ strains that through the twilight run 
 
 And make melodious hours, 
 The holy sights and heavenly sounds. 
 
 That liaunt the mount or lea, 
 All find their centre and their bounds 
 
 In orbing only thee. 
 
 The murmuring breeze, the laughing brook. 
 
 Keep singing of the same : 
 Earth's every charm is but a book. 
 
 In which I read tliy nanu'. 
 The vocal sweetness of the land. 
 
 The silence of the sea. 
 Are as the beckoning of a hand 
 
 That beckons luito thee. 
 
 The common light, the common air. 
 
 And each unstudied grace, 
 Whatever is most good and fair, 
 
 These body forth thy face. 
 And though the world lias many a lock, 
 
 Yet thou hast every key ; 
 The secret of the rill and rock 
 
 Is secret none to thee. 
 
 All that is beautifu.lly strange 
 
 Or fresh from nature's mint, — 
 The glow, the glamovir, and the change, 
 
 On thee their image print. 
 All fruitful thought, that kindly speeds 
 
 The better world to be, 
 T trac(^ ill thy own genth' decnls. 
 
 And mingle heaven with thee.
 
 BETWEKN THIO KfSS AND 'I'lrK t,ir. 
 
 BbyrWEEN THE KISS AND THE LIP. 
 
 She was modest, pure of face, 
 
 And tlio snnrise on her hrow 
 Gavo a promise that was more than y^raue. 
 
 Grand as dedication vow ; 
 And the eyes looked forward far. 
 
 Beyond this small earthly bound. 
 As if she beheld some giiidin<^ star. 
 
 Heard some secret heavenly sound ; 
 As if she disdained the rest, 
 
 Sought by souls that feebly p'no. 
 For the riches she by right possest 
 
 Of her womanhood Divine ; 
 In the glow of beauty, bathed 
 
 By celestial flame and foimt. 
 With the sweetness of a rapture swathed, 
 
 From high vigil on high mount ; 
 Upward, onward, still she moved. 
 
 In the triumph of her trust. 
 Which embraced even what it had not proved 
 
 Stamped the evil down to dust ; 
 Knew not lust upon the way, 
 
 Would of such rare honey sip, 
 What delight with what destr\iction lay, 
 'Twixt the kiss and lip. 
 
 Innocence her name, her sires 
 
 Loyal iinto Church and State, 
 Had been oft baptised in battle fires. 
 
 Chased the foeman from the gate ; . 
 Borne, defaced with shot and shell. 
 
 As was ever Talbots' wont, 
 England's banner through the jaws of hell, 
 
 Riddled, glorious, to tlie front ; 
 Stood within the stern red line. 
 
 Which retired not save to spring 
 Farther forward, where the swords might shine 
 
 Brighter and more sharply ring ; 
 Faced on many a famous field 
 
 Awful odds, that men could dare 
 Only, who had never learnt to yield. 
 
 And were always glad to spare ; 
 Had not once a sword resigned, 
 
 B<>aten, iii the trench or flood. 
 Simply left great memories behind, 
 
 And the marks of noble blood ; 
 And she knew not, tender hands 
 
 Y(<t might snare in iron grip. 
 And tliore could be bite of iron bands, 
 'Ti':i;d the kiss und lip.
 
 BETWiiEN THE KISS AND THE LIP. 
 
 IiinocHiice her nature, wrou;^-ht 
 
 With the lessons, not from schools. 
 Of her fathers who had faithful fought, 
 
 Lessons never lived by fools : 
 Thus she gained a loving heart. 
 
 And a hospitable mind. 
 Which itself became a throbbing part 
 
 Of each mortal wave and wind ; 
 Like the foam her feelings tost. 
 
 At the suffering sadly met, 
 Though when maiden pities she is lost. 
 
 Even ere the eyes are wet ; 
 For the rashness in her race. 
 
 Better made to iight than fence. 
 While it poured the passion in her face. 
 
 Was not one for scraping pence : 
 And her ancestors, who served 
 
 Well their country and their God, 
 Could not help themselves, as those who swerved 
 
 From tlie path that honour trod ; 
 But she knew not, headlong strain 
 
 Thrilling to the finger tip 
 Must be<[ueath its heritage of pain, 
 'Twlxt the kiss and lip. 
 
 Innocence her life, as yet 
 
 ^Noiie had tampered witli th(^ blooiii 
 Of its vdrgin freshness, hvunbly set 
 
 Now within a cottage room ; 
 Like a diamond for kings. 
 
 That has fallen from its place. 
 And is lowly laid with meaner things. 
 
 Meant to fill a larger space ; 
 Poverty liad seized the Hall, 
 
 Where for centuries tluiv spread 
 Kindly branch and root, that shard with all 
 
 Shelter and the bounteous bread ; 
 Unlet farms and lack of heed. 
 
 Drove them from the friendly door 
 Ever open to the orphan's need. 
 
 Welcoming the widowed poor ; 
 Shut them with a remnant, saved 
 
 From the sad and bitter wreck. 
 In a nook which for old comforts craved, 
 
 As in sorrow they looked back ; 
 Still the spirit in her sti'ong. 
 
 Made a stafi' of penalwhip, 
 An<l foreboded not the stroke of wrong, 
 'Twixf i}i(> l-i^s fniil lip.
 
 BKTVVKEN TH K I\[SS ANX1 THK I, If. 
 
 Innoconce her hoavt. vvcjit out. 
 
 Unto every sufferer near. 
 To the hahy that conld only pout. 
 
 Not disclose its pain or fear ; 
 To the bego-ar, whom her help 
 
 Rescued froju the deed of sin. 
 And the strayino- doer whose starving' yelp. 
 
 Made her feel her wants akin ; 
 She had injured nont>, and pure 
 
 In tlie purpose of her love 
 Faced a wicked world, that strove to lure 
 
 Her from aim that reached above ; 
 Who could wish her ruin, plot 
 
 Once a,^■ain that lofty life. 
 Cast upon her snowy fame a blot. 
 
 For her whet the murderer's knife y 
 N"ever, for a moment, thought. 
 
 Of a hidden danger, crost 
 Her unsullied threshold, as she wrought. 
 
 With its icy touch of frost ; 
 Though she skirted deadly ground. 
 
 On which firmest feet nlay slip. 
 Where disaster stonter souls have found, 
 'Twioet the Msf; and lip. 
 
 Innocence her words, replied 
 
 To the Tempter when he came 
 Kind, with form that blackest ends belied. 
 
 By the fairness of its frame ; 
 Answered hina with ready speech. 
 
 Doubting not the pretty mask 
 Of the mouth, that would regard beseech. 
 
 Eyes that did more plainly ask ; 
 Listened to the tender tone"^ 
 
 Murnuired softly in her ear, 
 Flattery that melts a In-east of stone. 
 
 While disarming it of fear ; 
 Tvirned to greet the offering paid. 
 
 Ever to expectant heart. 
 Bait of honey delicately laid 
 
 On the hook, assuaging smart ; 
 Hearkened to the fluent oath. 
 
 Sworn a thousand perjured times — 
 Boundless love and everlasting troth, 
 
 Wedding ring and wedding'chimes ; 
 Gazed upon the fruitage sweet. 
 Glowing rind, not poison pip. 
 Did not mark how feast and funeral meet 
 'Tivixt the kiss and lip.
 
 J3ETWEEN THi: KISS AND THE TJP. 
 
 lunocenee her looks, returned 
 
 Falsehood foul with glance of trust. 
 Maidenly confiding, that discerned 
 
 Not infernal fire of lust ; 
 Shone the fruitage ripe for food. 
 
 Pleasant to the eyes that saw. 
 Fraught with wisdom for her womanhood, 
 
 Glimpses of a higher law ; 
 Thus she daily onward drew. 
 
 Daily sucked the venom in. 
 Love that seemed to open regions new. 
 
 Never dreamed as worlds of sin ; 
 Tims the Tempter grimly wove. 
 
 Fatal coils around her breast, 
 And upon the taint her spirit throve. 
 
 In response that was not rest ; 
 While he humoured all her will. 
 
 Grew more helpful in the strife 
 And the burden, that prest heavier still. 
 
 Necessary seemed to life ; 
 Till she welcomed him, as one 
 
 To befriend her, shoiild she trip. 
 And svxrrender now was nearly done, 
 'Twixt the Jciss and lip. 
 
 Innocence her wishes, longed 
 
 For some proved and sacred tie. 
 Not suspecting her true faith was wronged. 
 
 Or wonld word of hononr lie ; 
 Craved for a more solemn seal. 
 
 Ere she gave herself to him. 
 Ere she dared her passion to reveal. 
 
 Was not but an idle whim ; 
 Begged, ere she threw freedom up. 
 
 To his clasp her beaiity spread. 
 They should kneel and share the holy cup. 
 
 Kneel and share the holy bread; 
 Ere her virgin lips received 
 
 Homage, none had fondly set. 
 They should blessing pray, as they believed. 
 
 From the God she worshipped yet ; 
 This she asked, as maiden^s right. 
 
 Who would grant herself and all. 
 And in utter sacrifice delight. 
 
 If the Saviour heard their call ; 
 Asked, and saw the Tempter's hand 
 
 Turned into the Serpent's grip. 
 Just in time to break the deadly band, 
 ■" Twixt the hiss and li^.
 
 THKEAUINU THE NEEDLK. 
 
 THREADING THE NEEDLE. 
 
 She was threading her needle, by the light 
 
 Of an angry setting sun. 
 And the cotton woidd not travel right. 
 
 But in false direetions run ; 
 While it twisted here and twisted there. 
 
 Though it always just shot bye. 
 And it sent a message everywhere. 
 
 Except through the narrow eye ; 
 For her hand was moving now too fast. 
 
 And again it moved too slow 
 And her patience could not a moment last. 
 
 If a tangle chanced to grow ; 
 And her fingers trembled, as they toiled 
 
 At their little lowly task. 
 As if seriient somewhere hidden coiled. 
 
 Just behind the cotton mask ; 
 As if graver meaning deeper lay. 
 
 In the hvimble work she had. 
 And her heart as well had gone astray, 
 
 That she weary looked and sad ; 
 But the svin sank lower round and red. 
 
 And foreboded nought save ill. 
 Like a warrior laid on his bloody bed. 
 
 And she threaded the needle still. 
 
 She was threading her needle, while the clock 
 
 Chimed out in the silence " Four," 
 And she looked as if listening for a knock. 
 
 With a footstep at the door ; 
 And the cat lay blinking by the hearth. 
 
 Where the feeble fire burnt blue. 
 In the frost that had fettered all the earth. 
 
 And it gave a ghastly hue ; 
 And a solitary picture hung. 
 
 On the bare and yellow wall. 
 In the fitful draught it rose and swung. 
 
 As though answering to a call ; 
 And a tiny table, with three legs. 
 
 Held the homely evening fare 
 Of a loaf, some butter, and two eggs. 
 
 That another well might share ; 
 And no carpet decked the naked boards. 
 
 With their crazy, creaking deal. 
 That had gathered stains in grievous hoards. 
 
 Which they cared not to coHceal ; 
 And the light turned lovelier in the sky 
 
 With a crimson glow and thrill. 
 Ere it spread its beauteous wings to fly, 
 
 And she threaded the needle still.
 
 THREAr-lNG THE NEEDLE. 
 
 She was threading her needle, and the gust 
 
 Outside made a moaning sound. 
 Like a voice of sorrow from the dust. 
 
 That relief has nowhere found ; 
 In the twilight twinkled dim the gas. 
 
 And a ghostly glimmer threw 
 On the window with its cracking glass. 
 
 And the sill where the lichen grew ; 
 And the children balibled at their play. 
 
 With their ragged clothing girt. 
 As if formed anew from muddy clay, 
 
 In the gutter and the dirt ; 
 And the feet which paced with heavy tramp. 
 
 At their grinding labour's bid. 
 On her heart that fluttered seemed to stamp. 
 
 And her idle efforts chid ; 
 And the women lifted shriller tones. 
 
 As they huriied wrangling past. 
 And the history written on the stones. 
 
 Had tl:e bi-avest left aghast ; 
 And the frost waxed sharper, and the cold 
 
 Crept on with its ic_y cliill. 
 Till their work her hands could scarce uphold. 
 
 And she threaded the needle still. 
 
 She was threading her needle, and the thought 
 
 Of the sin that kept drawing nigh. 
 In her troubled bosom chafed, and wrought 
 
 The remorse of a bitter sigh ; 
 And her fingers biuigled at the task. 
 
 That they only helped to spoil. 
 While acciising whispers woke, to ask 
 
 If the soul had gathered soil ; 
 Should she sell her honour, for an hour 
 
 Of illicit joy or gain, 
 That wo\dd tui-n her life's young kindness sour. 
 
 And the virgin beauty stain ? 
 And the step that now with false comfoi't came. 
 
 To her dark and dreary strife- 
 Was it bringing blessing, or a shame 
 
 That would shadow all her life ? 
 And her childhood's prayer, long years imsaid. 
 
 For the tempted and the poor, 
 Biibbied up in the bosom sore afraid. 
 
 And she locked the traitorous door ; 
 Then the sun went down with a glorious blaze. 
 
 But the home within had light. 
 While she broke from the grim, entangling maze, 
 And the needle was threaded right.
 
 BAf'I'IZED BY FIKMO. 
 
 r>APTIZEl) P.Y FIT^E. 
 
 In tli<- <leii(l of the night broke the elaiiumr. 
 
 Upon lioiTor-strnck ears, 
 That .^'et found a delig-ht and a- •j.'hmKiur, 
 
 In the tlirilling of fears ; 
 When the last carriage now ouhi scai'oe Uimbor, 
 
 Over oi'ossing and stone. 
 In the silence and darkness of shxmher, 
 
 Burst that terrible tone ; 
 Amid howling- of dogs as they trembled 
 
 At the glare splashing oiit. 
 And the shuffling of feet that assenil>le<l, 
 
 Came the sinister shout ; 
 While policemen were bawling and running, 
 
 E,;uig that ominous din, 
 Of which even the deaf got no shunning. 
 
 Though they cowered within ; 
 When the gas flickered faint, and seemed troubled 
 
 In strange daylight shed round, 
 The dread voice from all quarters redoubled. 
 
 With a funeral sovind ; 
 On the wings of dire tumult and terror, 
 
 To the turret and spire. 
 With no room for the fancies of error. 
 
 Rose the outcry of " Fire." 
 
 With a laughter infernal and splutter. 
 
 In his mocking and game. 
 Up to attic and down to the gutter. 
 
 Sprang the Demon of Flame ; 
 As a whirlpool, with famine of suction 
 
 That was criiel and short. 
 In the mirth that to man was destruction. 
 
 And to him only sport ; 
 Danced on window sill now at his pleasure. 
 
 In great shinings and shrouds. 
 Like one stepjjing a festival measure, 
 
 Through dmi rolling of clouds ; 
 Bounded then to the roof, witli a crackling 
 
 And a hublnib of blows. 
 That made light of the iron and tackling. 
 
 As of pasteboard at shows ; 
 With a riot of roaring, the hissing 
 
 Of a myriad snakes, 
 Claspt the house with a passionate kissing. 
 
 Falling off in red flakes -, 
 Ran upstairs wfth his frolicsome paces. 
 
 After forms that woiild flee. 
 At the doors knocked witli ghastly grimaces. 
 
 In his devilish glee.
 
 !(• BAPTIZED BY i'lRK. 
 
 Dead asleep, but by vice's prostratiou, 
 
 He lay heavy and tired. 
 In the palace, upbuilt by starvation 
 
 Of the drudges he hired ; 
 The pi'ou<l merchant, who ate of the honey 
 
 And the fatness of all. 
 Nor perceived the doom, mockino- at money. 
 
 Written red on the wall ; 
 The dark hand of the Demon, who scribbled 
 
 (Drawing stertoroiis breath) 
 Hierog-lyphics of ruin, and dribbled 
 
 With the droppings of death ; 
 While he snored in his canopied slumber. 
 
 And in visions of g'old, 
 With hot fingers kept trying to number 
 
 The curst pieces untold ; 
 And yet dreamed not of kindness, nor sorrow 
 
 For the tyrannoiis ill, 
 And surmised how the gain of the morrow 
 
 Woiild be goodlier still ; 
 Nor once thought of ineffalile danger. 
 
 Overhanging his brow. 
 And the judgment, to which he was stranger 
 
 At his gate, knocking now. 
 
 Then he roused, with a wrench and a shudder 
 
 To his perilous fate. 
 Like a ship shorn of compass and rudder. 
 
 With the warning too late ; 
 To hear shrieks, in his agonized waking. 
 
 As he started and rose. 
 Amid roaring of fire, and the shaking 
 
 That portended the close ; 
 Then, in panic and trembling, he staggered 
 
 To the staircase, and fell 
 Down the steps up which gaily he swaggered 
 
 After feasting so well ; 
 Lay there bleeding and broken, and huddled 
 
 On the crater's red brink. 
 With his brain in the fright no more fuddled 
 
 By the vapoiirs of drink ; 
 Face to face with the Demon, who cares not 
 
 For big title or purse. 
 In the march of disaster that spares not 
 
 At the crying or curse ; 
 At first silent with dread, and by sifting 
 
 Of fierce suffering tost. 
 And then gathering strength, and uplifting 
 
 Wild lament of the lost. 
 
 All the servants had fled, not a laggard 
 Remained helpful behind.
 
 liArj'lSKl) 15Y FIKE. H 
 
 While ho oTOvelled thus hopoloss and hag-o-ard. 
 
 As in coffin confin'd ; 
 If his fancy, in crapulous vision. 
 
 Vaster profit yet shaped, 
 The avenger swooped down with derision. 
 
 Though the rats had escaped ; 
 And the crimes he discounted as venial, 
 
 Oanie like ghosts glooming round. 
 The wiongs heaped iipon hireling and menial, 
 
 With a menacing sound ; 
 And he knew not a soul in the City, 
 
 Through that furnace's fog, 
 Would take one step to aid him from pity. 
 
 And not even a dog ; 
 Evils long he had wrought, from refusing 
 
 The just wages, to sin 
 That was softer, returned with accxising. 
 
 Piercing deeply within : 
 And the child, he had torn from the bosom 
 
 Of her mother, to trudge 
 As an outcast, desjjoiled of hei- blossom. 
 
 Now arose as his judge * 
 
 And di-ew nearer the Fire, with the blasting 
 
 Of its passionate breath. 
 Till it looked like the flame everlasting 
 
 Of damnation, not death ; 
 While it lilackened and blistered his features. 
 
 And the eyeballs turned dim. 
 With the bites of those serpentine creatures. 
 
 All so hungry for him : 
 And his shoixting seemed fainter and sadder. 
 
 As of alien grief, 
 -\nd no glimpse of a heavenly ladder. 
 
 Not a ray of relief ; 
 And his labouring lungs now grew stifled. 
 
 In the volumes of smoke. 
 That curled slowly, as if it lint trifled 
 
 With the tei-ror it woke ; 
 Up it coiled, with ambiguous paces. 
 
 That retired as it danced, 
 In its tardy ascent and embraces. 
 
 And ypt ever advanced ; 
 Noise outside ebbed away in the distance. 
 
 Through the darkness and pain 
 That waxed fiercer, defying resistance. 
 
 And he shouted again. 
 
 Who would help him, and hie as a brother 
 
 To his pitiful need. 
 When the fireman hung back, ,ind no other 
 
 Had the courage to heed 't
 
 BAPTIZED BT FIRE. 
 
 Lo, the flame in its fury was master. 
 
 That no mortal conld chain. 
 For it leapt with its lis^htnino- still faster. 
 
 And the water was vain ; 
 And the Demon with blnster and antic. 
 
 Set his seal upon all. 
 In his onset each moment more frantic. 
 
 Seizing- window and wall ; 
 Planting feet in the brick and the timber, 
 
 Gripping glass with the hands 
 'J'hat were Instfiil and crnel and limber. 
 
 And acknowledged no bands ; 
 Howling scoff at the trnmpery measiirt'S, 
 
 That his forces would strike. 
 And devouring the riibbish and treasures. 
 
 In his hunger alike ; 
 Till he waved from the chimni'vs liis b inner. 
 
 That blazed boodj and dire. 
 And spread out in demoniac manner. 
 
 Like a biirial pyre. 
 
 Was there no one to rescue, no turning 
 
 To the swirling and swell 
 Of that flood, with insatiable burning. 
 
 Like an outburst of hell ? 
 Was there none, who could cope with the (riant 
 
 In his murderous tread. 
 Growing grimmer, in ashes defiant. 
 
 And bestriding the dead ? 
 Was there none, in that tragical station ; 
 
 Who the peril wovild scorn. 
 With a courage though but desperation. 
 
 And a hope if forlorn ? 
 And the hvmdreds behind them prest forward. 
 
 While the leaders shrunk back. 
 As the breakers on breakers roll shoreward. 
 
 And return on their track ; 
 There was swearing of men, and the screaming 
 
 Of pale women who blenched. 
 In the stutter of engines and steaming, 
 
 At the furnace they drenched ; 
 Here and there tiny voices shot, thrilling 
 
 Through the uproar that rose. 
 Of young children, who, scared and unwilling. 
 
 Waited yet for the close. 
 
 All seemed lost, as through smoke in dense masses 
 
 Crept a feeble last cry. 
 And a groan from that medley of classes. 
 
 Gave more hopeless reply ; 
 When a figure still girlish and tender. 
 
 Like an angel, supreme.
 
 BAl'TISKD BY I'IKK. 1:5 
 
 Braved the tire that enswathed lier in splendoiir. 
 
 At that inoiiient extreme ; 
 From the midtitiide stept, without staying 
 
 For a farewell or kiss, 
 And then plunged with her shawl's uue arraying, 
 
 In that awful abyss ; 
 While the gazers beheld, with a wonder 
 
 That escaped not in sound, 
 The red flames humbly breaking asund(:'r, 
 
 And all fawning around ; 
 Yea, preparing a path as for Moses 
 
 Once was parted the tide. 
 Strewing embers that burnt not, like roses 
 
 For a new-wedded bride ; 
 But, lo, when through that that flery portal. 
 
 As a maiden to play. 
 She passed on, a bright Presence not mortal. 
 
 Went beside all the way. 
 
 Who was she, that herself seemed scarce human. 
 
 Though so earthly of frame, 
 A sweet angel from Heaven, or woman. 
 
 That trod fearless the flame ? 
 Who was she, tliat, so modest in meekness, 
 
 As in virginal flower. 
 Matched the dew of her delicate weakness. 
 
 With that horrible Power y 
 Who was she, that, with never a turning. 
 
 Thus adventured her life. 
 Moved unscathed through the blasting and biu'uing. 
 
 Of the Demon's red strife ? 
 But the child he in sport had sore cheated. 
 
 For a season of lust. 
 Then deserted and damnably treated. 
 
 Kicked below to the dust : 
 Though deceived and betrayed and discarded, 
 
 Wlien his i^leasure was cloyed. 
 She alone now with love him regarded, 
 
 Who her fame had destroyed : 
 She alone, in that beautiful fashion. 
 
 If her reason was dim. 
 From the infinite depths of compassion. 
 
 Still felt yearnings for him. 
 
 On her brow not a brand dared to kindle, 
 
 In its fury and wrath. 
 And the heat seemed to droop and to dwindle. 
 
 At her confident path : 
 Oh, the fire looked all bafEed and blighted. 
 
 Fettered as by a band. 
 Like a dog that is beaten and;friglited. 
 
 And came licking her hand;
 
 14 MX CREED. 
 
 Formed a oeiliuo- for her to pass iiudor. 
 
 Like a conqueror's arch, 
 Sank to wliispers the roar of its tliunder, 
 
 And illnniined her march ; 
 Dropt the head, that rose haughty and pressing 
 
 On the riiin it made. 
 With a slavish and aljject caressing, 
 
 As if Some One forbade ; 
 Stopped the footsteps, that ramping and rushiu!. 
 
 Shattered stonework and wood. 
 Like a chikl, which its mother is hushing, 
 
 That essays to be good ; 
 Into crevice and corner shmk liiding, 
 
 Before faith's imsaid j^lea. 
 And kept ever more lowly subsiding. 
 
 In an ebbing Red Sea. 
 
 Till she came, where in anguish and humbling 
 
 Her seducer yet lay, 
 Withotit staying one moment or stiunbling. 
 
 On her glorious way ; 
 Through the flames, that so lately imperious 
 
 Swallowed all in their pride. 
 With the might of that Presence mysterious. 
 
 Walking on by her side ; 
 While she then, with a force not of maiden, 
 
 Eaised the cripple, and bore 
 On the breast he with sorrow had laden. 
 
 Like a shipwreck to shore ; 
 Just in time from the ill-fated mansion. 
 
 To flee judgment on sin. 
 Ere the pile in its pompous expansion. 
 
 Shrivelled up and fell in ; 
 Just to live and escape the dread sentence, 
 
 That was dark'ning the stair. 
 To be led by his Clod to repentance. 
 
 And the evil repair ; 
 Just to make her his wife, and confessing 
 
 All his vileness and harms. 
 While receiving her love's last careswing-. 
 
 Die absolved in her arms. 
 
 MV (UEED.— MY HEAirr AND I, 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed. 
 
 Which guided me in yoiith. 
 And on the mire of earthly greed 
 
 Flaslied its heroic trutli ; — 
 That every man shoidd be the knight 
 
 Of every woman born.
 
 My CREED 
 
 To beauty and tho love her rii>-lit. 
 
 Or shame and crnel scorn : 
 Wliatever be her form or face. 
 
 To make her sorrows mine. 
 And mark (thoiigh hidden in disj,n'ace) 
 
 A dignity Divine. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed. 
 
 Whereby I learned to live. 
 And to this heart by suft'erinif freed 
 
 A saintly sex-vice give ; — 
 Tliat woman, if she he a slave 
 
 To whom dishonour clings, 
 ifath in the gnttei- worse than grave, 
 
 A crown of bettei- things ; 
 And claims of me the kindly tear. 
 
 The glory of defence. 
 The ministry of holy fear. 
 
 The robe of reverence. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed, 
 
 A tender one and true, — 
 That every woman's bitter 2ieed 
 
 Should be her brother's due; 
 That she, of finer textvu-e wrought. 
 
 And swayed to sweeter ends. 
 Should be girt round by kindly tliought, 
 
 And stumbling stones find friends ; 
 .Vnd, if she fret in prison bands. 
 
 Feel them the conqueror's wreath, 
 While leap a hundred helping hands 
 
 Like sword-blades f ]-om the sheath. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed. 
 
 For which I fearless fight, 
 Which sheds a halo on each deed. 
 
 Done for a sister's right ; — 
 The very harlot fallen and low. 
 
 Whom ruin cannot kill. 
 Hath yet not lost her heavenly glou", 
 
 And is an angel still ; 
 And may once more, by pious love 
 
 Be cleansed of her stain. 
 And raised to the realms above. 
 
 To rank with stars again. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed. 
 
 By which I ever trod. 
 And living it is all the meed 
 
 I covet of my Uod ; — 
 Tliat woman is a precious gift, 
 
 If but in homespun clad.
 
 16 MY <_'KKKI) 
 
 '1V> teaeli us ^'eutler ways, iiiid lift 
 
 Beyond this turmoil uiad ; 
 And we should stand — and nothing spare — 
 
 Between her and the strife. 
 To cherish her with awful care. 
 
 As one would cherish life. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed. 
 
 Inspiring all my aims. 
 To which my inmost heart gives heed, 
 
 When deaf to other claims : — 
 That woman was not made the fool 
 
 Of man, however high. 
 To be mere passion's fleeting tool, 
 
 Then hopeless left to sigh ; 
 And her sweet piu'ity was meant 
 
 To triumph over fate- 
 While generations on it leant — 
 
 A bulwai-k of the State. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed — 
 
 Deny it, if you dare — 
 The oak should shield the bruised reed, 
 
 And stay in stormy care ; 
 That pverj' man who is a man 
 
 Shoidd be the spoiler's foe. 
 And link as part of every plan 
 
 The aid of woman's woe ; 
 And, in her midnight hoia* of stress. 
 
 Should never leave her lone, 
 Bnt with tlie lighting of redress 
 
 Rear up her radiant throne. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed, 
 
 Wliich all my work invests 
 With godlike splendovir, and a speed 
 
 Which sordid acts arrests ; — 
 That woman was not shaped to drudge. 
 
 And freedom idly crave. 
 The prey of every passing grudge, 
 
 The toy of every knave ; 
 But, hnmbly served and fondly named, 
 
 Shonld sit at man's own side. 
 Plucked from the shadow, unashamed. 
 
 His comrade and his pride. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed, 
 
 A manly one and good, 
 Which hath transformed the wayside weed. 
 
 And battle shocks withstood ; — 
 That Avoman is, for clown or king. 
 
 The wellspring of all dearth^
 
 THE NEW CRUSADE. 17 
 
 The faii'est, noblest^ sweetest thing, 
 
 God ever foxmed on earth ; 
 And it is Chi-istlike toil, to win 
 
 From evil's hatefnl hold, 
 The leper with her loathsome sin. 
 
 Who sells herself for gold. 
 
 I have a creed, a simple creed. 
 
 With many a sacred tie. 
 Tor which this heart hath chosen to bleed 
 
 And gladly even would die; — 
 That woman, veiled with glorious tears. 
 
 Is beaiitif ul in all. 
 The imknown goddess of the years. 
 
 From whom the veil must fall ; 
 And every man her fame should screen 
 
 From perjured lust or line. 
 Till every woman is a Queen, 
 
 Crowned by a right divine. 
 
 THE NEW CRUSADE. 
 
 Bind the token on thy breast. 
 
 Bear the cross upon thy heart. 
 Stoop not to voluptuous rest. 
 
 Toys of science, tricks of art ; 
 Time enough to pause to play. 
 
 When the labour thou hast done- 
 Time to walk the roses' way. 
 
 When the weary fight is won ; 
 Thousands even beside thee fall. 
 
 And thy fortvuie may be like. 
 And now God and duty call. 
 Strike. 
 
 They are many, they are strong. 
 
 And the world upon them smiles. 
 Smoothes the_ pathway of the wrong, 
 
 Which is glossed by golden wiles ; 
 We are few in numbers, weak. 
 
 Not in mercy but in might. 
 And the tempest gathers bleak, 
 
 Turning tops of noon to night ; 
 Yet the Truth is oiu-s, and such 
 
 Hath onmipotencc to give. 
 Only they that venture much^ 
 Live.
 
 18 THE NEW CRUSADE. 
 
 Take tho tempered shield of faitli, 
 
 Take the holy sword, that cleaves 
 Eainbow bubble, silver wraith. 
 
 And the fact iimiiortal leaves ; 
 If for frailty be no room. 
 
 If for poverty no part. 
 In the earth's clelight and bloom, 
 
 Ope to them thy j^reater heart ; 
 Never for the soul's distress. 
 
 Life o-ave ano-ht bnt iron glove, 
 Bvit is pain, onr Clod's caress. 
 Love. 
 
 Place is not for sviffering- here, 
 
 From the sordid hands of time. 
 Women falling, sad and sere. 
 
 Who disown the dogging crime. 
 Strive in vain to sunder bars. 
 
 Which yet worse than dungeon bind. 
 Stretching faces to the stars. 
 
 For the light they cannot find ; 
 And if thou wouldst truly give 
 
 Freedom from the abhorred tie. 
 Thou must first — that they may live- 
 Die. 
 
 Never soimd a note of truce. 
 
 Never sheathe the avenging sword. 
 When sweet falsehood woixld seduce 
 
 Souls repentant from their Lord ; 
 Wliile a tear there is to dry, 
 
 And despair weaves ghastly chains. 
 While a cloud dims any eye. 
 
 Or a sorrowing breast remains ; 
 If but one abide the curse, 
 
 Which would close from blessed light. 
 Be that one Thy universe. 
 Fight. 
 
 Mortal weapons soon must fade. 
 
 Soon must pass man's judgment rod, 
 But the lireatli of this Crusade, 
 
 Is the Spiiit of our Clod ; 
 Human wealth, however sure. 
 
 Moth and rust and worm despise, 
 Mercy's riches will endure. 
 
 Bidding fallen wiv>cks arise ; 
 When the earth has ruin met. 
 
 And the siins in darkness grope. 
 Ours the heaven that cannot set — 
 Hope,
 
 PUBLICANS AND SINNERS. 10 
 
 PUBLICANS AND SINKERS. 
 
 Whom did Christ come down to waken. 
 
 Come to give the conqueror's pahn. 
 From their grave-like shimber shaken 
 
 Through the shadow into eahn ? 
 For whom rang that trumi^et calling. 
 
 Melting even the hearts of stone. 
 As between the fallen and falling, 
 
 Eeaiitiful He set His throne ? ° 
 Whom lived He to choose and cherish. 
 
 Touch with loving healing hand ? 
 For whom did He plead and perish. 
 
 Bear and break the deathly band ? 
 
 Did He bid the whole, the healthy. 
 
 Fly unto Him to be healed. 
 With a gospel to the wealthy. 
 
 Or the mighty men, revealed ? 
 Did He, in the modern manner. 
 
 Which is now His churches' will. 
 Summon to the blood-red banner, 
 
 Eank and titles or the till H 
 Did He count among His treasures. 
 
 Fame and glorious pedigree, 
 And accept our earthly measures, 
 
 Frigid saint and Pharisee ? 
 
 Not the favoured few, that jugo-le 
 
 With the ignorant as they hist, — 
 But the men who daily strviggle. 
 
 Just to earn the daily crust I-' 
 Not the ladies finely guerdoned. 
 
 Stepping unto ball-room chime — 
 But the women, over burdened 
 
 With their own and others' crime ; 
 Not the social pets, the winners 
 
 Of the jn-ize in worldly race, — 
 But the publicans and sinners. 
 
 Heirs to nothing but disgrace. 
 
 These the jewels, Christ our Brother 
 
 Stooped to gath(»r from the mire, 
 Maimedand halt and blind, no other, 
 
 Sunk in order to aspire ; 
 These his darlings, weary, smitten. 
 
 Tost about on earthly waves, 
 Brows on which the brand is written, 
 
 Nobodies and sots and slaves ; 
 Yea, to loose the hangman's halter. 
 
 Came the Christ who worketh yet. 
 And could God this gosi>el alter. 
 
 Heaven itself would be to let.'
 
 20 PUBLICANS AND SINNERS. 
 
 Not the saints on marble niches.' 
 
 Who to snfferino- breasts are blind, — 
 Not the rich who trust in riches, 
 
 Kubbish they ninsc leave behind ; 
 Still the poor man has the blessing. 
 
 Who doth choose the better part. 
 Still the children the caressing, 
 
 And the Magdalen Christ's heart ; 
 Still the tired and troubled, laden 
 
 With the bondage of the years. 
 Woman seared in soul a maiden. 
 
 Find a Saviour from their fears. 
 
 Heads that seek no prond position. 
 
 Faces marked and marred with shame. 
 Girls of each diverse condition. 
 
 Every nature, every name ; 
 Golden Maud and blue-eyed Alice, 
 
 Mallei of the f;iiry form, 
 Drinking deep the bitter chalice. 
 
 Blown about by chance and storm ; 
 Ah ! I see them sore afiicted, 
 
 Under load that galls and grieves. 
 Girls by baser man rejected, 
 
 WJioni the Son of Man receives. 
 
 Hated by their own, and hunted 
 
 Into corners dark and drear. 
 Starved in plenty, crooked and stimted 
 
 By the vniearned toil and tear ; 
 Still they strive, and look for landing 
 
 Somewhere past the surging waves. 
 Somehow iind a solid standing. 
 
 Upon earth that gives but graves ; 
 Though the world scarce deems them liuman. 
 
 Yet for them is mercy won — 
 If mere scorn from sons of woman — 
 
 Mercy from the Woman's Son, 
 
 Blighted buds, that bear their sentence. 
 
 Bow sublinieiy to the doom. 
 Show the shoots of grand repentance. 
 
 Shall put on inimort il bloom ; 
 Dark-haired Ada, red-lipped Charlotte, 
 
 Who confess their sins are such. 
 Even the publican and harlot. 
 
 Pardoned greatly, loving much — 
 These who make the Cross their centre. 
 
 Bend to rod and social fiout. 
 Do the Heavenly Kingdom enter. 
 
 Which the Pharisee casts out.
 
 THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 21 
 
 THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 
 
 It is for tho bridegroom and tlie bride. 
 
 And the bosoms that give suck. 
 For the swimmer on the ebbing tide. 
 And the Dives by the labourer's side. 
 
 Who has had the gambler's kick. 
 
 And would trample dov/n the ruck ; 
 It is for the greedy coffers, wide 
 'I'o devour the gold, and not divide 
 
 With the moiler in his muck, 
 
 Wliich to honest work has stiick ; 
 There is nothing false that may abide ; 
 
 The Eleventh hour has struck. 
 
 It is O for the coward called a man. 
 
 With tho treacherous oily tongue, 
 Who for just a moment's paltry span, 
 Has deflowered his God's most gloi ious plan. 
 
 And the heart that fondly clung 
 
 Unto him, in beauty young ; 
 Who to evil cvirst so lightly ran. 
 Because he would never bear the ban, 
 
 That above his victim hung. 
 
 Like the hangman's necklace swung ; 
 For he shall not end, as lust began ; 
 
 The Eleventh Hour has rung. 
 It is for the sister pinched and poor. 
 
 From whom fortune long has fled. 
 Since she oped for one her humble door 
 To the ijromise, which the basest boor 
 
 Would have honoiired, if she pled — 
 
 Though to death alone it led ; 
 It is O for the hunted in the moor. 
 When the hound is hard upon the spoor. 
 
 And the earth bestows no bed. 
 
 While the threataning Skies are red ; 
 For the Jiidge's feet now shake the floor ; 
 
 The Eleventh Hour has sped. 
 It is O for the trustful woman, stayed 
 
 On a hope that idly swelled. 
 Who has lived her little hour, and played 
 With the flowers that hid the doom delayed, 
 
 By the waves that laughing welled. 
 
 And her coy misgivings quelled ; 
 It is O for her in grief arrayed. 
 Who believed and only was betrayed. 
 
 By the friend who with her dwelled — 
 
 Though the Axe has thousands tolled ; 
 For the tree is barren and decayed ; 
 
 The Eleventh Hour lias knelled.
 
 ''WOMEX MU»^T AVEEP." 
 
 For men the triumph, and the joy of liattle 
 Witli fellow men, who fain would keep 
 The well-springs and the fatted sheep, 
 And for themselves green pastures of the cattle j 
 For them the headlong rush, and iron rattle 
 Down the red line, the fiery sweep 
 Of forward squadrons dense and deep ; 
 And then repose, the club, the evening tattle. 
 
 The flowers from which the fairies peep. 
 And children with their playthings and their prattle. 
 In proud possession of some tiny chattel ; 
 Women must weep. 
 
 For men the golden prize, the lifted places 
 
 Above the tiimult of the years — 
 
 The harvest of the yellow ears. 
 Bursting their barns — and those more splendid spaces. 
 Where statesmen look upon each other's faces. 
 
 And with the onset as of spears. 
 
 Amidst a nation's hopes and fears. 
 Stamp on the passing hoiu- heroic traces — 
 
 The lightning law, that shines and shears 
 Through crumbling bolts and rotten braces. 
 And gives to honest day the hidden graces ; 
 For ivonien tears. 
 
 For men the rule, the glamour and the glory j 
 
 While others to their duty creep. 
 
 Or thinly babble in their sleep 
 Of the desired and still-delaying story. 
 Which glimmers far through shadow shy and hoary ; 
 
 While others clamber up the steep. 
 
 To starry posts they cannot keep. 
 Or droop and fall halfway on pillows gory ; 
 
 For men the laughter and the leap 
 Of winds and waves and galleys now not oai-y, 
 'J'he banner sj^read on some new promontory ; 
 Wome^i must weep. 
 
 For men the ancient charter of oppressing. 
 That yet its hideous forehead rears. 
 And many a maiden bosom sears. 
 Meant for the right and rapture of caressing. 
 But shaken with the cvirse instead of blessing ; 
 For men the tyrant sloth that hears. 
 When frailty in repentance nears. 
 And pities not the dire distressing. 
 
 Which weakness unto might endears. 
 But from the freedom of its foul transgressing. 
 In silence yields a demon's acquiescing ; 
 For ^vomen tears.
 
 MAN. 23 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Strono; in purpose, stron<j to dare 
 
 All that n()))ly may be done. 
 By a brother who would share 
 
 Burdens more than meet for one ; 
 Strono- to stand by failing- friends. 
 
 In the anu;uislied hour of need, 
 Working on to blessed ends, 
 
 Beaiity of the rio-hteous deed ; 
 £t 'ong- to bear another's cross 
 
 Bravely, if in victory's van. 
 If through shock of shameful loss — 
 Such is Man. 
 
 Tender unto woman, still 
 
 Crowned with fortiine and -v\'ith fame, 
 Bending- to imperious will 
 
 Others, as in idle game ; 
 Tender to the wanton speech. 
 
 Born of folly not of vice. 
 Curling- lips they must beseech, 
 
 Who her favoiu's would entice; 
 Tender to the sister, spoiled 
 
 By the praises worse than ban. 
 Who has but for pleasure toiled — 
 Such is Man. 
 
 True in welfare and in woe. 
 
 To the humble as the high. 
 Whether matched against a foe, 
 
 Or attent to orjahan's sigh ; 
 True to exiles mute, who miss 
 
 Faith in hideous haunts of crime. 
 Never knew a husband's kiss. 
 
 Never hear the chiirch-bell chime ; 
 True to broken spirits, crushed 
 
 Oiit of all their glorious plan. 
 Which to heavenly flower had riished- 
 Such is man. 
 
 Merciful to frailty most, 
 
 To the stricken bleeding heart, 
 Carried fainting from the host. 
 
 Just to sob and die apart ; 
 Merciful to weaker forms. 
 
 Sinking in unequal strife. 
 Tempt 3d, yielding to the storms. 
 
 Made of passions into life ; 
 Merciful to souls, that fall 
 
 From the ranks wherein they ran. 
 Marred, but womanly in all — 
 Such is Mail.
 
 24 GENTLEMAN. 
 
 C4ENTT.EMAX. 
 
 There is a title beyond, monai'chs' reach, 
 
 Cao-eil in their splendoiii* blind. 
 And yet within the humblest grasp of each. 
 
 Who gentle is and kind — 
 
 With majesty of mind. 
 Which gives its greatness in the tender speech. 
 
 And acts that pasture find. 
 From the lone stand in the lost sniferer's breach. 
 And lessons large that none bvit children teach — 
 
 Whom laws unwritten bind, 
 
 I^ot codes that cowards grind 
 To one dull shape, like shingle on the beach. 
 
 There is a title, grander than the crown 
 
 So often won by fool. 
 Which sits as well on forehead seamed and brown. 
 
 With knowledge not from school. 
 
 As on the bloody tool. 
 Who only rose by trampling weakness down. 
 
 To gain his velvet stool ; 
 A title purchased not by dead men's frown. 
 Nor the red murder of some helpless town. 
 
 Which like the evening cool 
 
 Fans some forgotten pool — 
 Whose simple kindness is its sole renown. 
 
 There is a title, all unknown to Lust, 
 
 Which behind golden screen 
 Would rob the orphan of her scanty ci-ust. 
 
 And comfort that had been. 
 
 Had it not stepped between^ 
 For him who faithful dares to l^e and just. 
 
 Though knaves should proudly ween. 
 Who greatly loves and lives, because he must 
 Uplift the fallen woman from the dust. 
 
 As who has ever seen 
 
 In outcast even a Queen, 
 And to enthrone her holds Divine his trust. 
 
 There is a title which through ages ran. 
 
 And lent our England grace 
 When clouds and darkness roared their threatening ban. 
 
 And left its heavenly trace ; 
 
 Which spurning vulgar race. 
 Prefers its honour to the imperial plan. 
 
 And princiiDle to place — 
 A title, rank and riches may but scan 
 And envy still, yet compass never can. 
 
 By tinsel, show or lace — 
 
 The brightness of God's Face, 
 Fii'st shown by Christ — the Christian gentleman,
 
 t'ht5 two pictures. 2o 
 
 THE TWO PKTURES. 
 
 Eobed in heavity for liei- raiiuont, 
 
 J?,ich with every virg'iu charm 
 Given by, Nature, witlioiit jjaynient. 
 
 To protect her chikl from harm ; 
 Growino", like the flowers, expanding 
 
 To the kisses of the lig-ht ; 
 Homage from the world commanding. 
 
 As her own by royal right ; 
 Crowned, by Heaven's .supremo anointing. 
 
 With the spell of queenly dower. 
 In her innocent appointing, 
 , Purity, the key of power. 
 
 IT. 
 
 Dark with prison brand, and stigma 
 
 Stamped by each devoviring lust, 
 Loathing life's accurst enigma. 
 
 That would grudge the very crust ; 
 Young, and yet in sin more hardened 
 
 Than the crone of seventy years. 
 Going forth uncleansed, unpardoned, 
 
 To the judgment with but fears ; 
 Woman, though unsexed by vices 
 
 Which have left alone the name. 
 In the hideous fate, that prices 
 
 Souls s\iblime for hire of shame. 
 
 T. 
 
 Day succeeded day, and heightened 
 
 Still the glory of her face. 
 And her path of pleasure brightened, 
 
 Witli a broader, freslier grace : 
 Nothing came amiss, and splendour 
 
 Fell wherever fell her glance ; 
 Tempest could not wring surrender, 
 
 From the joy of her advance; 
 All that hai^pened, to her fervent 
 
 Faith which ventured to aspire. 
 Yielded, and became the servant 
 
 C>f her maidenly desire. 
 
 11. 
 
 Night pressed upon night, and lower 
 
 Sank she in the fouling mud, 
 Staggering on with footstep slower, 
 
 Thrc'iugh a desert without bud ;
 
 26, THE TWO PICTURES. 
 
 Out of darkness into shallow. 
 
 Denser than tlie horrors past. 
 By no friendly stream or meadow. 
 
 Under skies more ovei'cast ; 
 Failing hourly sore, and deeper 
 
 Flounderinuf in the hideous gloom ; 
 Grimly conscious, yet a sleeper 
 
 Hurried blindly to her doom, 
 
 I. 
 
 Early she her part had taken, 
 
 Chose the holy for her seat. 
 Counselled wisely, and not shaken 
 
 By the blast that others beat ; 
 Fenced about with walls of pity. 
 
 Higher than the highest stars. 
 Bulwarks that give soul or city 
 
 Vaster strength than iron bars ; 
 Still she prospered, as God's planting. 
 
 Gathered bloom from dimmest day. 
 Put forth lovelier shoots enchanting. 
 
 And the world beneath her lay. 
 
 II. 
 
 Black at heart, and marred in feature. 
 
 By debauch that none can tell. 
 Hunted forth a homeless creature. 
 
 On the upper streets of hell ; 
 Shorn of all — save rags of fashion —   
 
 Every tender woman's gift. 
 With no look to tempt compassion. 
 
 Or the arm that could uplift ; 
 ' Moulded by the devil's nxirsing. 
 
 Gaol, disease, and famine's rod ; 
 Dying, thoixgh long dead, and cursing 
 
 With last breath the Unknown God. 
 
 O how diverse are the pictixres. 
 
 Painted on the scene of life, — 
 This the butt of scorn and strictures. 
 
 That beyond the breath of strife ! 
 This by fortune sweetly guerdoned. 
 
 With what makes a woman fair ; 
 That polluted, bowed and burdened. 
 
 Stumbling to the gallows' stair! 
 Yet, by flowery ways of sinning. 
 
 Surely was the ruin done — • 
 Danmod end from from blest beginning; 
 
 And the portraits are of one.
 
 EEAUTT OR BEAST ? 
 
 BEAUTY on BEAST? 
 
 Clad in the puri)l(' and the gold, 
 
 Eadg'O of a pamjiered class, 
 Pi'ond of a lineage grand and old, 
 Calm as tlie glacier and as cold. 
 
 Changeless though all things pass j 
 Bright and bold, 
 Bought and sold, 
 Grace like the cheat of a magic glass. 
 Polished with lies, harder than brass — • 
 
 Ah, is it Beanty's mould. 
 Or but the beast below the lass. 
 
 Flower of the graveyard grass ? 
 
 Only half -clothed in hideous tire,. 
 
 Filthy with stains, that stick 
 Closer than wounds of savage ire. 
 Deep in the heart that would aspire. 
 
 Spent as a candle's wick ; 
 Marked by mire. 
 Scorched from fire 
 Fierce with affliction's flames, that lick 
 Costlier walls than wood or brick — 
 
 Say in the harlot's hire. 
 Where is the Beauty warm and quick. 
 
 Under the Beast so thick ? 
 
 Followed about by flattery's gong. 
 
 Shielded from every harm. 
 Gaily excused for act of wrong. 
 Done in the right of custonx long. 
 
 Counted in her a charm ; 
 Soothed with song. 
 Riding strong 
 Over the slaves who kiss the arm. 
 Lifted to strike without a qualm — 
 
 Oh, is it Beauty's silken thong. 
 Or just the Beast, disguised with psalm. 
 
 Painted, not to alarm ? 
 
 Driven by hate from purer haunt. 
 
 Banished where women weep. 
 Thrust by superior sinning's vaiint. 
 Brave in its crimes that unknown jaunt, 
 
 Down to the leper's deep ; 
 Gray and gaunt. 
 Pierced with taiint 
 Framed in the breast where serpents creep, 
 Yet with a spirit firm to keep 
 
 Purj^ose, which none can daunt — 
 Ts it tlic B(\ast, unpowei'ed to steeji. 
 
 Beauty that stirs, in sleep ':
 
 28 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 
 
 BEAUTY AND THE BEAf^T. 
 
 Fair with :ill the gifts of nature, 
 
 Perfect in each royal part 
 Of the wondrous legislature. 
 
 Chanted by the priests of art ; 
 Sweet with every charm, that story 
 
 Gives the children of its choice. 
 Born in pui-ple, to the glory 
 
 Thundered by a people's voice ; 
 Delicate in features, moulded 
 
 By the spell of aL,es' flight. 
 Leaf and fruitage richly folded 
 
 In one marvel of delight ; 
 Dainty figiire, finely swaying 
 
 At the impulse of the mood, 
 Drawing life from earth, and staying 
 
 Sun and moon to furnish food ; 
 Biit with passion fiercely mated, 
 
 Limiiing from the histful feast. 
 Sad and sick and yet unsated ; — 
 
 Is it Beauty '^ Is it Beast ? 
 
 Splendid with the light of ages. 
 
 Written in each lofty look, 
 "With a face like dazzling images, 
 
 Out of Empire's mighty book ; 
 Gathering to herself the histre. 
 
 Of a dozen noble lines — 
 All that highest rank may nraster. 
 
 All that from refinement shines ; 
 Hoar romance in annals tragic. 
 
 Dew and fragrance of the flower. 
 Bud and blossom's mingled magic. 
 
 Offer unto her their power ; 
 Loveliness puts on its vesture, 
 
 Proiid distinction sets a seal. 
 To each queenly tone and gesture 
 
 Beggar rags could not conceal ; 
 But she hears no trump of Diity, 
 
 Sounding solemn through the night 
 Is it Beast, or is it Beauty 
 
 Fooled by pleasure's harlot sight ? 
 
 Pure and polished but in manner, 
 . That a world might render slave, 
 
 And is just a fairy banner, 
 
 Flavinting over woman's grave ; 
 Hiding, umler gloss of culture, 
 
 Fancy's glamour, glo^v of wit. 
 Taste more loathsonio than a vulture 
 
 Which on secret corpse has lit;
 
 BEAUTY IN THE BEAST. 29 
 
 Feeclinpf, with the garb of fcashion, 
 
 Off the pastures black and vile. 
 Decked by draping- of compassion. 
 
 Tricked in tender jest and smile ; 
 Turning seat of service holy, 
 
 To an idle passing toy. 
 If by wanderings dim and lowly 
 
 She may suck some lawless joy ; 
 Ah, it were the God asserted, 
 
 Grace that glimmers in the least. 
 Had not lie, and hist i^ervorted ; — 
 
 It is Beauty and the Beast. 
 
 BEAUTY IN THE BEAST. 
 
 Clothed — nay, unclothed in dismal rn gs. 
 
 Foul with yet filthier skin. 
 
 Haggard and thwart and thin. 
 As her shambling, shuffling footstep drags, 
 Whilo her troiibled breathing fails and flags, 
 
 Down in the hellish din ; 
 
 Gi'ay, with no human grin. 
 Is she Beast that still in darkness lags. 
 
 Clutching her like a gin, 
 That is driving on the iron crags, 
 Or awaits the hangman's grip and gags ? 
 
 — Is there Beauty none within ? 
 
 Wild, with the terror of the doom 
 
 Owned and deserved, but still 
 
 Hated with all her will. 
 She has foiind in London's length no room, 
 Nor a refuge in the deepest gloom. 
 
 Nothing but ache and ill. 
 
 Curses that slowly kill ; 
 Is there not for her a beggar's broom. 
 
 Broken miist life but spill, 
 And that heai't which is a royal tomb 
 Never rise again to bud and bloom. 
 
 And a woman's empire fill ? 
 
 Fallen, and yet she fain would reach 
 
 Hands so iinsexed and dark. 
 
 Up to the glimmering spark 
 Of the heavenly hope, which sunbeams teach, 
 And the vesper breezes dimly preach, 
 
 Snng by the caged lark. 
 
 Breathed in the lordly park
 
 30 THE SONG or THE SIBYL. 
 
 If the storm would cast upon the beach 
 
 Wrecked, the poor foundering- bark — 
 If there only were one (iod iov each, 
 Or one measure fair for every breach. 
 And in Church indeed an Ark. 
 
 Dead, and she fig-hts against her fate. 
 Catching, though love has ceast 
 Out of the sullen East, 
 At the wretched straw of the pulpit's prate, 
 And the cowards who misguide the State, 
 Profited not the least, 
 Groverned that they may feast ; 
 Though the worms ahme would with her niate. 
 
 And the billows boil like yeast ; 
 For if long in sin she wanders late. 
 Still for her may Mercy ope the (jiate; 
 — There is Beauty in the Beast. 
 
 THE .SONG OF THE 8113 YL. 
 
 What is that solemn sound, which makes 
 Strange music in the hearts it wakes. 
 
 And wins to nobler choice ? 
 It murmurs from the gates of morn. 
 And is with evening echoes borne — 
 
 It is the Sibyl's voice. 
 
 Through all the common cries of earth. 
 The wails of weakness and of dearth, 
 
 Above the victor shout ; 
 O hear her message sad and sage, 
 The sum of every clime and age. 
 
 The key to every doubt. 
 
 She comes, she comes, sui^erb and strong, 
 All higher wishes round her throng. 
 
 All he<arts are to her drawn ; 
 And on her piu-e prophetic lips. 
 Speaking in earthquake and eclipse, 
 
 Lo the ted rose of dawn ! 
 
 Her foot is on the pathless air. 
 
 The lightning licks lier streaming haif. 
 
 She stands in stormy skies ; 
 As one who in the future looks. 
 And reads its fate as writ in books, 
 
 With dark, deliberate eyes.
 
 THE SONG OF THE SIBTL. 31 
 
 She is not dead, she cannot die, 
 Thoiij^h nations prone in dotai^e lie. 
 
 There is no death for her ; 
 We hear her wh "n the nif^fht wind calls. 
 We see her when the darkness falls 
 
 On mig'hty sonls that err. 
 
 Behold her brow in surges bright. 
 That break on broader lands of light. 
 
 When prostrate peoples rise ; 
 When kindled by one common flame, 
 They burst the shadow of their shame. 
 
 And waken calm and wise. 
 
 She has put on a thousand masks. 
 
 The cowls of monks and warriors' casques, 
 
 A god-like place to fill ; 
 And though the lands have wooed her long, 
 With bribes of gold and battle song. 
 
 She is a Virgin still. 
 
 Though moving with the march of Time, 
 The toil, the tumiilt, and the crime. 
 
 No mortal was her mate ; 
 Unstained by all the lures of lust. 
 The crash of chaos and its dust, 
 
 Unveied, inviolate. 
 
 She stood above the flux and strife. 
 None mingled with her maiden life. 
 
 And she was mixed with none ; 
 She went on her majestic way. 
 Still without haste but without stay. 
 
 Unbending and unwon. 
 
 She heard the statesman's studied plea. 
 Who offered her the world for fee. 
 
 If she his counsel blest ; 
 But from her purpose fixed and wide. 
 She never swerved one jot aside. 
 
 Nor let its justice rest. 
 
 Throned in the ruddy dawn of Change, 
 She whispers words of omen strange. 
 
 And shakes her lance of light ; 
 Behind her leaps the laughing day. 
 With larger revelation's ray. 
 
 Before her flies the night. 
 
 She yokes the thunders as her steeds, 
 
 And tames the tempest for her needs, 
 
 The clouds her chariots are ;
 
 32 THE SONG OF THE SIBYL. 
 
 Her wings are the imresistiug winds. 
 
 She walks vipon the waves she binds. 
 
 And holds the morning- star. 
 
 An ancient aiigur hath she been. 
 Who wore a gray and withered mien. 
 
 When youth was at her heart ; 
 But yet her acts in history's page 
 Have never felt the blight of age. 
 
 And play a deathless part. 
 
 She bowed btit not with blasting fears. 
 Waxed pale bvit not with snows of years. 
 
 Halted bnt not to rest ; 
 Her natixre changed not with her name. 
 And witli a- fierci^ unwaning flame 
 
 A fire burned in lier breast. 
 
 And when she draws tlie robes away. 
 That light ineffable allay. 
 
 She seems immortal yoiith ; 
 Her front is innocence, her moiitli 
 Is the sweet music of the South, 
 
 Her every tone is truth. 
 
 Too tender for the sword that slays. 
 Too beautiful for bloody ways. 
 
 Too frail for ;iught but love ; 
 And yet her look is more than law. 
 It hath a mighty charm to draw 
 
 The loftiest from above. 
 
 Young as the hours that blossoms bring, 
 Her face is fresher than the Spring 
 
 That' trembles in the trees ; 
 And yet her gaze is dim and cold. 
 Deep as eternity, and old 
 
 As everlasting s(;as. 
 
 Unfaltering is her step and true. 
 Her robes are heaven's own az.ure hue. 
 
 The twiliglit halls her home ; 
 Her voice as soft as summer airs. 
 Sad as with universal cares. 
 
 Strong as the hates of Rome. 
 
 And all the varied notes of Time, 
 Summed in its subtle compass, chime 
 
 Each instant hour of change ; 
 While uj) and down the scale comi^lote. 
 With conquest now and now defeat. 
 
 The awful numbers range.
 
 THE SONG OF THE SIBTL. 33 
 
 She talked with seers on solemn nionnts. 
 She stood at Fame's primeval founts. 
 
 And. cradles of great kings ; 
 Mohammed, Attila, were stirred 
 By her intoxicating word. 
 
 To work such wondrous things. 
 
 Thus Alexander, Hannibal, 
 Found in the fight a festival, 
 
 Because they felt that flame ; 
 The ravening Caesars that unrest 
 Owned &,nd obeyed, as slaves possest 
 
 By hopes they could not name. 
 
 Prophets and poets knew her well. 
 And stooped to her tremendous spell. 
 
 She fired their splendid speech ; 
 And when the light of Learning died. 
 Save where in cloistered souls it sighed. 
 
 Yet she remained to teach. 
 
 Grand cities yielded to her yoke. 
 And sped, to battle when she spoke, 
 
 With victory in their van ; 
 She fashioned history as she chose. 
 And framed from Kevolution's throes 
 
 Each universal man. 
 
 She sang afar the sack of Troy, 
 Untouched by human grief or joy, 
 
 Untrovibled by its doom ; 
 She sang how Hellas had its hour. 
 And then with broken pride and power 
 
 The coming judgment gloom. 
 
 She made eternal Athens, Eome, 
 Venice like Venus raised from foam 
 
 To wed the boimdless sea ; 
 Fair Florence felt her waving hands, 
 And rose ennobled through all lands 
 
 "W ith an immortal plea. 
 
 For nations trained in war's wild shock, 
 "Whose hearts were hewn of rugged rock,- 
 
 She filled a larger space ; 
 She drew more near to ancient creeds, 
 When words were few — -colossal deeds. 
 
 And on them flashed her face. 
 
 The nurse of heroes, and the guide 
 Of freedom's flowing ebbing tide. 
 She broke the prison bars ;
 
 34 THE SONG OF TttE SlBtL. 
 
 When evil gained its monstrous will. 
 Then, in the night of ruin, still 
 She pointed to the stars. 
 
 We see her, as they saw her then, 
 A mighty. mistress among men. 
 
 With eyes serene and gray ; 
 Beyond the present and its tears. 
 Above our paltry hopes and fears. 
 
 In visions rapt away. 
 
 Yeai she was known ere history's birth. 
 And gently rocked the infant earth 
 
 To her enchanting strain ; 
 It was her touch that made it roll 
 For ever, to that glorious goal 
 
 Which is the death of pain. 
 
 The proudest tyrants were her tools. 
 War and religion formed the schools. 
 
 By which she held her sway ; 
 She deals with empires as with toys. 
 She makes and breaks what she employs, 
 
 And casts the wrecks away. 
 
 And when rebellion rears its crest. 
 Swooping as eagles from their nest. 
 
 She steers its stormy flight ; 
 And forth she pours her prophet tones. 
 Mid crumbling walls and tixmbling thrones^ 
 
 Till day is born of night. 
 
 When slaves are waking from their sleep, 
 Her gleaming paces swiftly sweep 
 
 The tempest-ridden skies ; 
 Firm is the triiimph in her glance. 
 And dark as destiny the trance 
 
 Of her untroubled eyes. 
 
 Before her mighty pageants pass. 
 Mirrored as in a magic glass. 
 
 In solenm scenes and sure ; 
 
 With parted lijis and floating locks. 
 
 She marks unmoved a thousand shocks. 
 All passionless and pure. 
 
 Forward she leans upon the gale. 
 Beholding still the Future's tale. 
 
 Even as a flower unfold ; 
 She heard, as from the dawn of things; 
 Nor stays creation's perishings. 
 
 Could she the doom withhold.
 
 THE SONdf Of the SIBYL. 35 
 
 When trampled races wreak her will. 
 Against the iron bonds of 111, 
 
 And crush its grinding wrong ; 
 O then across the chasm of Time," 
 We hear with thoughts and throes sublime 
 
 The Sibyl and her song. 
 
 It is not love, it is not hate. 
 
 It is the measured voice of Fate, 
 
 Divinely calm and clear ; 
 It has no part in human lot. 
 And yet it touches every spot, 
 
 It knows not mortal fear. 
 
 It is not pleasure, nor is pain. 
 It never reckons loss or gain. 
 
 Nor stoops to earthly bounds ; 
 And still it numbers all our bliss, 
 Desires we re;ip, delights we missj 
 
 With sad and mystic sounds. 
 
 Each fortune of each path it proves^ 
 And echoes every note that moves 
 
 The solemn harp of life ; 
 It thrills with every passing wind. 
 But leaves our longest storms behind. 
 
 And bodes unceasing strife. 
 
 'Tis deep as hell, and high as heaven, 
 And big with all the wants that leaven 
 
 Man's broadest, wildest will ; 
 It chants of madness, chants of mirth, 
 And blessing strangled ere its birth. 
 
 In accents stern and still. 
 
 And when the tempest muttering sends 
 Dire tumult in the breasts it bends. 
 
 With promise it has brought ; 
 Then, in the agony of hope. 
 It scatters, thunders in the scope 
 
 Of some world-shaking thought. 
 
 If tlireatening fearS be on the wing. 
 And passions from their primal spring 
 
 Fierce inspiration drain ; 
 Then in the seething, social air, 
 In new resolve and purer prayer. 
 
 We catch her song again. 
 
 It calls a\)ove the cries of ire. 
 And shouts of spirits that aspire 
 Upon it idly fall ;
 
 36 THE SONG OV THE SIBYL. 
 
 It mingles every craving deep, 
 Each impulse in its mighty sweep. 
 And is apart from all. 
 
 Though their vain fellows were so blind. 
 Yet many a leader of mankind. 
 
 Its claim has clearly seen ; 
 And left upon an early tomb 
 The living dream, that was his doom 
 
 Of that which should have been. 
 
 And now the Sibyl comes once more. 
 Wise with her old, unearthly lore. 
 
 Her awful book she brings ; 
 And thoixgh the nations heed her not. 
 Though kingdoms rise and kingdoms rot. 
 
 Her song again she sings. 
 
 We pipe of tuneless toiich or plan. 
 We babble feebly what we can, 
 
 She speaks because she must ; 
 And while she speaks our splendours fly. 
 Our loftiest dreams are born and die. 
 
 Our temiiles tiirn to dust. 
 
 Onward, yet onward doth she speed. 
 Through every dim heroic deed. 
 
 Earth's slowly-dawning tracts ; 
 Before she sends her voice, and still 
 She works her world-transforming will. 
 
 And fancies lead to facts. 
 
 Yea, to the present is she blind. 
 She never casts one glance behind. 
 
 But looks serenely on ; 
 The streanis of Time may ebb and flow. 
 And lay our golden cities low, 
 
 Yet when will she be gone ? 
 
 We cannot hate her if we dread. 
 
 And though she dwells among the dead. 
 
 She is so wondrous fair ; 
 She breathes the beauty of the earth. 
 The vastness of the desert dearth. 
 
 The ocean and the air. 
 
 We cannot love her if we would. 
 
 Nor has she portion in our good. 
 
 She is too cold and calm j
 
 THE SONG OF THE SIBYL. 87 
 
 For Tate in all her features lies, 
 In the deep gulfs of her great eyes. 
 And in each waving palm. 
 
 Fate is the legend of her brow. 
 
 To whicli once seen the peoples bow. 
 
 It rustles in her robes ; 
 Fate calls from every look and line. 
 In symbols dreadful and Divine, 
 
 As mapped on starry globes. 
 
 Why do we fear her, if we know 
 Her march must ever onward go. 
 
 Her empire never wane ? 
 Ah, why not welcome her, and be 
 A link of high necessity. 
 
 And triumph in her train ? 
 
 What if the clouds her curtains make. 
 And wild war trumpets roimd her shake 
 
 Earth's calmest field and flood ? 
 Clo^^ds are the cradle of the light, 
 While sweet are feastings after fight. 
 
 And creeds baptized in blood. 
 
 When Sims go down in seas of gore. 
 Where peace and pleasure smiled before. 
 
 And moons go up in fire ; 
 Lo, then she rides ixpon the gale. 
 Awful, inscrutable, and pale 
 
 With infinite desire. 
 
 Whoe'er has caught her kindling glance. 
 Is dashed into the fateful dance. 
 
 In which she gathers all ; 
 Her presence sore mutation brings. 
 And mighty men and meaner things 
 
 Before her onset fall. 
 
 She catches fortune at its ebb. 
 And weaves each colour in her web. 
 
 The threads of rest and rage ; 
 Mingled with mystical intents. 
 As swaddling-clothes and cerements 
 
 For infancy and age. 
 
 Her footstep sounds along the <^ ears, 
 
 When monarchs laid on stately biers 
 
 Are carried to their doom ;
 
 as 
 
 THE SONG OP THE SIBTL. 
 
 Her hand lets fall the sacred leaves. 
 When earth decaying crreatness grieves— 
 Her seat is on the tonab. 
 
 And nearer still her shadow draws, 
 In shifting creeds and shattered laws. 
 
 When class makes war with class ; 
 Yet when destruction, like the wind. 
 Old codes and customs casts behind. 
 
 Her skirts it cannot pass. 
 
 She seizes of all glories fiowM, 
 
 And with their spoils adorns her throne. 
 
 While death her pathway paves ; 
 And round licr roll the wrecks of man, 
 Frustrated force and blighted plan. 
 
 With ever-widening waves. 
 
 Before her wmter blasts its way. 
 Behind sweet summer blossoms play. 
 
 That bloom wlien lands are free ; 
 About her moves a murmur strange. 
 The prophecy of inward change. 
 
 Of fairer shapes to be. 
 
 There is a grandeur'in her gaze 
 That soars above the human haze, 
 
 A vastness in her strain ; 
 High thought, in her unfathomed soul, 
 Tliat grasps the world in its controk 
 
 Broods with sore travail pain. 
 
 Ah, now we hear her garments glide. 
 Across that dim and formless tide. 
 
 Where fierce disunion strains ; 
 And by her lips is shaped the spell. 
 That splits the darkest dungeon cell. 
 
 The direst despot chains. 
 
 Her song is on the evening borne. 
 And mingles with the breath of morn 
 
 Its incense old and sweet ; 
 Her song is in the awful hush. 
 When warriors pause before they rush 
 
 In mortal grip to meet. 
 
 And in the armed peace, that holds 
 The countries in its quivering folds, 
 
 O hear her warning word ; 
 She comes, and though no wisdom heeds. 
 Opens each ancient wound and bleeds ; 
 
 She speaks, and shall ]be heard.
 
 THE MAIDBN WIFK. 89 
 
 THE MAIDEN WIFE. 
 
 others have taken here and there 
 
 A mag-ic or a might. 
 The fire of passion, or a prayer 
 
 That trembles into light ; 
 The peace of sunset, or the power 
 
 And promise of the morn. 
 The freshness of the opening flower,- 
 
 Its bluslies and its thorn ; 
 A page from pansies, or a line 
 
 From lilies ere they close, 
 A lesson from the eglantine. 
 
 Its rapture from the rose. 
 
 But thou, from ocean and from air. 
 
 Hast caught each wildest grace. 
 Turned into something yet more fair. 
 
 To triumph in thy face ; — 
 The glory of the longest days. 
 
 The sweetness of the nights. 
 The hauntings of unearthly rays 
 
 That throb in Northern lights; 
 The snow lies on thy summer charms. 
 
 To make a perfect frame. 
 And in the heaven that is thine arms 
 
 The mingled frost and flame. 
 
 Others have eyes that quickly turn 
 
 To one of bolder hand. 
 And in his gaze with gladness burn 
 
 Or grieve at his command ; 
 Eed lips, that warm a welcome give 
 
 To fools that flattery teach, _ 
 And in those common kisses live. 
 
 With beauties ripe for each ; 
 Caresses that are cold and cheap. 
 
 With favours free to all. 
 And bosoms that in la^^ghte^ leap 
 
 At any lover's call. 
 
 But thou— thine eyes are never trained 
 
 To deck a public show. 
 By admiration yet imstained. 
 
 They guard their modest glow ; 
 Thy lips, that all their treasures keep. 
 
 As they have ever done. 
 For passing strangers proudly sleep. 
 
 And waken bvit to one ; 
 And, though thoii art a wedded wife, 
 
 Thine is a maiden will. 
 That cannot lose its inner life. 
 
 And mxist be maiden still.
 
 4(3 A OURTST^'-AS CONTRAST. 
 
 A CHRI.^TMAS CONTRAST. 
 
 I. Mantled in silks and muffled in furs, 
 
 Eolling along in her carriage. 
 Luxury's child, like a kitten she purrs. 
 
 Borne as a bride to a marriage ; 
 Daintily shod, each delicate hand 
 
 Grloved by Parisian makers, 
 All that she wants comes at every command, 
 
 Hovises, iinlimited acres ; 
 Loudly she laughs at the weather, and pipes 
 
 Happy and free as a starling. 
 Sheltered from cold and the storm's iron stripes- 
 Somebody's darling. 
 
 II. Limpling in rags that repel not the frost, 
 
 Down on the street or the pavement. 
 One against mirltidudes, lonely and lost. 
 
 Damned into life and enslavement ; 
 Homeless and hungry she totters, to find 
 
 Somehow a hole where to huddle, 
 Scorned by the wealthy, scourged by the wind. 
 
 Mocked by the mire and the puddle ; 
 Sadly she sobs, and her feet as they bleed 
 
 Beg just for rest not for pleasure. 
 Child but in name and unsexed by her need — 
 Nobody's treasiire. 
 
 I. Tempest may blow, and rain may come down 
 
 Wildly, but her's is a morrow 
 Curtained aloof from the fear of a frown. 
 
 Shutting out whisper of sorrow ; 
 Never may shadow of labour draw near 
 
 Childhood like that, which has double 
 Portion of plenty, with never a tear 
 
 Dropt for one serious trouble ; 
 Onward she moves to the nmsic of love. 
 
 Careless and gay as a starling, 
 Eoses beneath her and blessings above — 
 Somebody's darling. 
 
 II. Downward in darkness the beggar may sink 
 
 Low as the mud, in her tatters 
 Carried a day and then pawned for a drink. 
 
 Drugging the frame that it shatters ; 
 Christmas to her is unmeaning, a jest 
 
 Barbed with a poison that rankles 
 Deep in her bosom all chill and half drest. 
 
 Soiled as her naked brawn ankles ; 
 How shall she rise from the gutter, or change 
 
 Life of which woe is the measure — 
 Life to which living itself is most strange — 
 Nobody's treasiu-e ?
 
 FIFTY PER CENT. FT CETERA. 41 
 
 FIFTY PER OENT. ET CETERA. 
 
 It is down with the wages and up with the toil. 
 
 Though the sempstress is white 
 With the wearing of want, and her heart hath the soil 
 
 Which her miseries write 
 As in letters of fire, upon cheek, upon brow. 
 
 Burning, haggard and thin, 
 As they shrink from the gaze of her sisters and b 3W 
 
 With their burden of sin ; 
 Let her slave, till the spirit with honour is spent. 
 
 While she skulks imder shade ; 
 It is all for the glory of Fifty-per-cent., 
 
 And — the Trade. 
 
 She is paid, in a fashion, and body and soul 
 
 In the bargain were cast 
 By the Sweater who preys on her strength, like a ghoul 
 
 At his bloody repast ; 
 Never mind, if she suffers from pinching and pain. 
 
 And more terrible thought, 
 While she piles iip the dunghill of infamoiis gain — 
 
 She is honestly bought ; 
 Trodden low she in rags, that are loathsome and lent, 
 
 In the gutter may squirm. 
 It is all for the glory of Fifty per cent.. 
 
 And— the Firm. 
 
 What if daily she droops in the anguish for life. 
 
 Swelling higher the heap. 
 Till at last she lays hold on the poison or knife ? 
 
 Human chattels are cheap; 
 There are himdreds quite ready to step in her place. 
 
 And be ground iinto dust, 
 While they eke out their mite with a little disgrace. 
 
 Just to butter tlie crust ; 
 Were not drudges like her only made, to be bent 
 
 For the conquering Purse? 
 It is all for the glory of Fifty per cent... 
 
 And — the Curse. 
 
 Ah, the Many must wince at the ravisher's rod. 
 
 To aggrandize the Few 
 Who would drive four-in-hand, and sing praises to God 
 
 In a prominent pew ; 
 And this is but a drop in the Puddle, and need 
 
 Was her earliest cry ; 
 Let her struggle and starve to the end and be d d. 
 
 Ere a dog we deny; 
 If the torments, whose home is the lost, should be pent 
 
 In her agonized frame. 
 It is all for the glory of Fifty per cent.. 
 
 And — our shame.
 
 42 PARTING. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 I left her to the vulgai- throng. 
 
 And in the sta-ring <lay. 
 With waving- hand, and whirled along 
 
 The cruel iron way ; 
 But though her angel face is gono 
 
 From this poor ovitward sight, 
 A glory rests where once it shone. 
 
 That never can take flight ; 
 Ah, if no more that beauty zoned 
 
 My hvingry heart may thrill. 
 Deep in its bridal chamber throned 
 
 She is my Sovereign still. 
 
 I see her now against the sky. 
 
 As swaying oft she stood — 
 A morning radiance in her eye. 
 
 The pride of maidenhood ; 
 The svibtle movements of the form, 
 
 Reflecting every change. 
 Now struck as by some passing storm. 
 
 Now stirred to music strange ; 
 The crimson li^Js, the crowned hair. 
 
 The white and wondrous hand. 
 With all that makes a, woman fair. 
 
 And txiaixtiful a, land. 
 
 Thou, sunbeam, flashing out of space. 
 
 To lighten many a load. 
 Shed lilies on my darling's face. 
 
 And roses on her x'oad ; 
 Thou, wind, now ripijling on the sea. 
 
 And rustling through the grass. 
 Take sweetest waft of wave and lea 
 
 In perfume, ere she pass ; 
 And tell her how I always miss 
 
 Her presence, if I err 
 To others, and O breathe this kiss 
 
 That faithful is to her. 
 
 Ah, everywhere some vestige lies, 
 
 A riband or a glove. 
 Just common things but sacred ties. 
 
 Which daily strengthen love ; 
 While time, that friendship lulls to sleep, 
 
 And death with murderoiis knife. 
 Shall only render mine more deep. 
 
 And wake to larger life ; 
 Divided yet we have one will. 
 
 No earthly bounds may part. 
 And we will walk united still 
 
 For ever, heart with heart.
 
 THE OLD GOSPEL AND THE NEW. 43 
 
 THE OLD GOSPEL AND THE NEW. 
 
 Huxley, hierarch of Science, 
 
 Gospels out of stocks and stones 
 Puffs, and bids as pnt reliance 
 
 Now in gases and in bones ; 
 Vaunts the victories of knowledge, 
 
 Wrung from tortiired nerve and brain. 
 Wisdom's new and ghastly college 
 
 Eeared aloft of blood and pain ; 
 Points to progress of researches 
 
 Deep in hidden haunts of life, 
 Prxiitful method that besmirches 
 
 Lore with the dissecting knife. 
 
 Huxley swears there is salvation 
 
 Sweet, in quest of surer truth, 
 Eays of brighter revelation 
 
 Frozen in a mammoth's tooth ; 
 Brands the miracle a relict 
 
 Stupid of a barbarous age. 
 Sweeping off the hosts angelic. 
 
 Just to get a clearer stage ; 
 Thinks that demons raise suspicion 
 
 In the z-eason guided right. 
 Scoffs at Scripture superstition 
 
 Whence he borrows half his light. 
 
 Huxley cannot bridge the chasm 
 
 Vast, that severs man from beast. 
 Prating of his protoplasm. 
 
 Scraps from vivisection's feast ; 
 Brings us comfort unpacific, 
 
 For which brutes by myriads bleed. 
 But to make us scientifio — 
 
 We prefer the ancient creed ; 
 Heedless of his new relation 
 
 Man will take a nobler shape. 
 Though its proved to demonstration 
 
 Adam only was an ape. 
 
 None can shake the faith that fathered 
 
 Saints serene to do and dare, — 
 Faith that souls heroic gathered 
 
 Under its imperial care ; 
 Sophists may delight to dabble 
 
 Yet in questions dark, nor see 
 Jewels there, and falsehood babble 
 
 On of oracles more free ; 
 Let them find their Haman's halter 
 
 Is prepared for Haman's neck — 
 We will rally round the Altar, 
 
 Itook no earthly power can wreck.
 
 1'4 F?r VIS PACEM PARA BELLrM. 
 
 SI VIS PACEM PAEA BELLUM, 
 
 O my country, my dearest. 
 
 Whom a child I learnt to love, 
 Throned among the nations, nearest 
 
 To the throne of God above ; 
 Spreading freedom, as a river 
 
 Eolls the blessings of its ivave. 
 Ever foremost to deliver 
 
 Heathen soul or fettered slave ; 
 Home of right and truth, the charter 
 
 Eoyal which no king can give. 
 Bought with price of many a martyr 
 
 Dying that a land might live ; 
 Meting mercy from its fountains. 
 
 Laws that equal compass keep — 
 Eighteoiisness like lofty mountains. 
 
 Judgments like the mighty deep ; 
 Girt with fear of God, as ocean 
 
 Bound, on which sun never sets, 
 Propt by people's firm devotion. 
 
 Not by bloody bayonets ; 
 England, if thou wouldst be steady. 
 
 When the storms of battle break, 
 O betimes he armed and ready, 
 
 From thy fatal sleep awake ! 
 
 Where the prudence, now, that gathers 
 
 Weapons good in wealthy stores ? 
 Where the biilwarks of our father?. 
 
 Gallant ships and fenced shores ? 
 Where the wooden wall, salvation 
 
 Proved, to guard the golden Shop ? 
 Shall we stem war's inundation. 
 
 With a maxim or a mop ? 
 Fools, to sit at ease and wrangle. 
 
 Splitting hairs and tying tape. 
 Drifting on the rocks that mangle 
 
 Keel and crew, with no escape ! 
 Fools to let an empire's peril. 
 
 Closer yet, and closer stalk — 
 Toy with straw and motion sterile. 
 
 Still in aimless endless talk 1 
 Fools, to leave defenceless treasures. 
 
 Arsenal and teeming town. 
 Continent and isle, for measures 
 
 Useless when the night conies down 
 Will ye now not not see the beauty 
 
 Born of action, till too late ? 
 But begin to think of duty, 
 
 Wjth the foeman at the gate ?
 
 SI VIS PACEM TABA BELLUM. 45 
 
 O my England, O the g'lory 
 
 Won for tliee in larger days — 
 Won by men whose life was story, 
 
 Stept in the heroic ways ; 
 Wake, arise, be up and doing 
 
 Deeds more worthy of thy name. 
 Leave the helpless dreamers wooing 
 
 Shadows, that will burst in shame 
 Forth let din of dockyard labour 
 
 Echo, to the farthest crown. 
 Where the rifle and the sabre 
 
 Beat the fretting masses down ; 
 Heave the hammer, grind the axes. 
 
 King the chimes on every too 
 Better pay the dearest taxes 
 
 Twice, than be a tyrant's fool ; 
 Politicians wise may prattle 
 
 Big of splendours dead and gone. 
 Trusting in the God of battle 
 Stay no longer, up and on ; 
 Build the fleet, the men are standing 
 
 Idle, who for modest fees 
 Would make cruisers world-commandin<;'-— 
 
 If ye build upon your knees. 
 
 Out upon the coward faction. 
 
 Poisonous bane of party feud. 
 Selfish aim, and separate action 
 
 Ended but to be renewed ! 
 Must we still stoop low, and stumble 
 
 Tamely, where our fathers trod 
 Never, and give cringing humble, 
 
 At a foreign master's nod ? 
 Up, and off with meddling stranger ! 
 
 Up, away with potty strife ! 
 Up, and let a common danger 
 
 Rouse us o a common life ! 
 Every step be one and steady. 
 
 Every creek an armed port. 
 Every man a soldier ready. 
 
 Every ship a floating fort ; 
 Girdle with a wall of iron 
 
 England's honoiu- far from ill. 
 While our prayers to Heaven environ. 
 
 As of old, these homesteads still ; 
 Each a patriot in his station. 
 
 Staunch with freedom that is might. 
 Stand, as if on him the nation 
 
 Leant, and God defend the right.
 
 46 THK SHOP GIRL, 
 
 THE SHOP GIRL. 
 
 Day after day, she wakes to plod 
 
 The one same weary roimd. 
 Sport of each idle whim or nod. 
 
 Within her prison bound ; 
 A slave to petty tyrants, urged 
 
 Hither and thither still, 
 By folly's insults hourly scourged. 
 
 At fashion's wanton will ; 
 No rose of pleasure wreathes the chain. 
 
 That curbs her cramping part. 
 But ever a dull growing pain 
 
 Eats into her sick heart. 
 
 Week after week, with listless hands 
 
 The hateful task she jjlies. 
 Behind the dismal counter stands. 
 
 Repeats the stale old lies ; 
 Takes down the parcel from the shelf. 
 
 And pviffs its varied store. 
 Then puts it up to curse herself. 
 
 Just as she did before ; 
 Drags to and fro her aching feet. 
 
 Through the dark endless day. 
 Envies the harlot on the street. 
 
 Who yet goes freedom's way. 
 
 Month after month, she bears a load 
 
 That breaks the feeble back. 
 And writhes beneath the labour's goad. 
 
 Along her dreary track ; 
 Assu.nies the winning word and smile, 
 
 A mirth she cannot know. 
 And polishes with pretty wile. 
 
 The dirty work below ; 
 Eenews the sordid cares in sleep. 
 
 The haggling without stop, 
 Wliile rise as ghosts, that shroiided creep, 
 
 Grim shadows of the shop. 
 
 Year after year, she drudges on. 
 
 Fettered to iron strife. 
 Though health her only friend is gone. 
 
 And nothing left but life ; 
 The same mean duties bringing yet 
 
 The pittance, sneer or frown. 
 The same sad burdens daily set. 
 
 That grind her lower down ; 
 Till, stript of beauty, hope and strengthy 
 
 Stooping to the first knave. 
 She drops a broken toy at length. 
 
 Damned, in a harlot's grave.
 
 BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN. 47 
 
 BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN. 
 
 Beautiful maiden, wonderful, fair 
 
 Not with the gifts that fleet, 
 
 Gi'aces for ever sweet. 
 Voice that is soft as the evening air. 
 Queen by the right of thy crowned hair. 
 
 Thee I with reverence greet; 
 
 Beauty of builded street 
 Bright with its storied front, and stair 
 Stately that steps to a monarch's chaii'. 
 
 Crimson of banner sheet, 
 Stars in a summer night that pair. 
 
 All in thy beauty meet. 
 
 Delicate maiden, dainty and pui-e. 
 
 Throned above common things. 
 
 Venom that stabs and stings, 
 Kich with the kindness that is ciire 
 Kcady for broken heart, and sure 
 
 Eoyalty not of kings ; 
 
 Heaven about thee clings, 
 Strong to unmask the damned lure 
 Hid in the virtuous veil demure — 
 
 Heaven within thee sings ; 
 What, that is evil, may endure 
 
 Waft of thy angel wings. 
 
 Exquisite maiden, cunningly wrought. 
 
 Not by a mortal hand, 
 
 Not for the petty band 
 Binding the slaves of petty thought. 
 Daily in market sold and bought. 
 
 Meant for a larger land ; 
 
 Meet for some lofty strand. 
 Stretching away from battles foiight 
 Here for a vulgar prize, but brought 
 
 Down to our sinking sand ; 
 Sphered with an honour all unsought. 
 
 Stooping but to command. 
 Glorious maiden, steadfast, and still 
 
 Walking thy own sweet way. 
 
 Lit from the endless day, 
 Shining beyond the shadowy ill 
 Heaped as the thunder on the hill. 
 
 Hanging with sword to slp^y ; 
 
 Nothing thy step can stay. 
 Nothing withstand thy words that thrill. 
 Throb, through the burning breasts they fill 
 
 Ever with hopes tliat pray ; 
 Humble T bend to thy holy will, 
 
 Proud to accept thy sway.
 
 48 THE CHILE INNOCEKTS 
 
 ^ THE CHILD INNOCENT.^.— /^f/^ June, 1889. 
 
 A Inmdred children, fiill of life. 
 
 They left the busy town. 
 The dreary din, the stubborn strife. 
 
 And labour's iron frown ; 
 A hundred corpses now they restj 
 
 In horror stern and stark. 
 And on each little tender breast 
 
 Is many a cruel mark ; 
 Now all is silence dark and deep. 
 
 That thrilled with gay intents. 
 For they shall never wake from sle3p. 
 
 Those fair Child Innocents. 
 
 Out on that fatal Wednesday morn. 
 
 With bosoms tuned to play. 
 On wings of mirth and nnisic borne. 
 
 They went their frolic wtiy ; 
 With songs and dancing feet they flew. 
 
 With quick rejoicing TDreath, 
 So eager for their pleasure new. 
 
 To find their playmate Death ; 
 The shouts of laughter turn to shrieks. 
 
 Woe that for none relents. 
 That blasting ruin on them wreaks. 
 
 Those fair Child Innocents. 
 
 A tiny shoe, a tattered glove. 
 
 The fragments wildly shed 
 Of baby frocks, made bright by love. 
 
 Now grimly gashed and red ; 
 Yes, here a hat with ghastly stains. 
 
 And there a broken toy 
 A mother's hand but idly strains. 
 
 Sole remnant of her boy ; 
 And everywhere the signs of doom. 
 
 In dreadful rags and rents, 
 That gathers in its funeral gloom 
 
 Those fair Child Innocents. 
 
 Ah, shattered out of human shape. 
 
 That shelter none could shield. 
 Sweet forms too fragile to escape 
 
 That i)loody battle-field ; 
 Sweet trifles worn in girlish way. 
 
 The tress with ribbon crost— 
 Soft fingers stretched as though to pray. 
 
 And stiffened into frost ; 
 And faces jiist for kisses wrought. 
 
 Made strange with murderous dents. 
 By hungry hopeless gaze are sought. 
 
 Those fair Child Innocents.
 
 GOD Bt,ES9 THE QUEEX, 49 
 
 The father oped his eyes, at last. 
 
 To plead his darlings' fate. 
 And know not ere his spirit past. 
 
 His pleading came too late ; 
 The strong man looked upon the woe. 
 
 He saw the sufPorers lie. 
 And with one great heart-tearing throe. 
 
 Himself lay down to die ; 
 What had they done, to suffer more 
 
 Than fancy even invents, 
 Crushed out of gladness sick and sore. 
 
 Those fair Child Innocents ? 
 
 was it that the Master dear. 
 
 Who yet feels childhood's will. 
 Found very Heaven without them drear, 
 
 And needed playmates still ? 
 And thus, through bitter pangs, the b\xrl 
 
 That else might sadly fade. 
 Purged from its clinging earthly mud. 
 
 Was perfect blossom made ? 
 We cannot know, we hope, at least. 
 
 By agony's ascents. 
 They fitted were for glorious feast. 
 
 Those fair Child Innocents. 
 
 The mangled body, torturing i)ain. 
 
 The terror shutting in. 
 None— not a single ache — was vain. 
 
 To save from fiiture sin ; 
 And He, who walked the fiery flames 
 
 Of old with martyred men, 
 Perchance held up those writhing frames. 
 
 And stood beside them then ; 
 We cannot tell ? — nay, we are sure 
 
 Calm every soul contents. 
 And they are hapjiy now and pure. 
 
 Those fair Child Innocents. 
 
 GOD BLESS THE QUEEN. 
 
 God bless the Sovereign of His choice. 
 
 Who governs by His will. 
 Speak words of wisdom throrigh her voice, 
 
 Her heart with greatness fill ; 
 May she biit in His reign rejoice. 
 
 And be His Servant still. 
 God bless the Queen,
 
 SO" aO£) BLESS THE QtTEEX. 
 
 God bless the Sovereign He has blest^ 
 Who holds His earthly place ; 
 
 Give her from every evil rest. 
 To rale His favoured race ; 
 
 That she may guide our country best. 
 Encompassed by His grace. 
 God bless the Queen. 
 
 God bless the Sovereign, whom He set 
 High on our ancient throne, 
 
 Strong with the faith no troubles fret. 
 With love as corner stone ; 
 
 And may it gather glory yet. 
 That shines from His alone. 
 God bless the Queen. 
 
 God bless the Sovereign of His hand. 
 His heavenly Law to teach. 
 
 Which is the charter of our land. 
 Within the humblest reach ; 
 
 To guard and counsel and command. 
 As He would govern each. 
 God bless the Queen. 
 
 God bless the Sovereign tried and true. 
 Who serves as woman must ; 
 
 Who for her people holds the due, 
 Keceived from Him as trust ; 
 
 Who hath no shameful deed to rue, 
 j^To laurels laid in dvist. 
 God bless the Queen. 
 
 God bless the Sovereign on His seat. 
 That rises without stain ; 
 
 On which the waves of evil beat, 
 Bvit threaten all in vain ; 
 
 Which is the sure and one retreat. 
 For every subject's pain. 
 God bless the Queen. 
 
 God bleas the Sovereign at His side. 
 
 Partaker of His i:)ower ; 
 Her empire be no ebbing tide. 
 
 Its truth no fading flower. 
 But ever still more free and wide, 
 
 Divine as is its dower. 
 God bless the Queen. 
 God bless the Sovereign j^roved so long. 
 
 In nothing found to lack ; 
 May suffering she has turned \k> song. 
 
 Give to her blessing back ; 
 And love, that makes her sceptre sti-ong. 
 
 Light all her future track. 
 God bless the Queen. j
 
 CLAEA. 51 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 others may be fairer, moiilded 
 
 In accordance with high art, 
 Prim with graces frank, or folded 
 
 Shyly, in each studied part ; 
 Others may be coldly wiser, _ 
 
 Saying just the proper thing. 
 Calculating, as a miser 
 
 Tests his money by its ring ; 
 Others may be better, given 
 
 More to pious turns and tone. 
 Passing not a day unshriven — 
 
 But my Clara stands alone. 
 
 Not for one brief moment steady. 
 
 Even in frolic or at food, 
 Always for the changes ready. 
 
 Never in a settled mood ; 
 Shifting, like a shifting curtain. 
 
 Which at any time may fall. 
 Sweet, unstalile, and uncertain. 
 
 She is loveable in all ; 
 Now in some bright way surprising, 
 
 Now with trouble of a tear. 
 Ever true, if tantalizing — 
 
 Who as Clara is so dear ? 
 
 Sometimes the big eyes will soften 
 
 Sadly, with a cloud of dew. 
 Sympathizing, and as often 
 
 Harden mischief to renew ; 
 Then again the maiden blossom 
 
 Wilful grows, to cut and carp. 
 Piercing through my very bosom. 
 
 For the rose's thorns are sharp ; 
 Ah, she woimds me, hurts me, never 
 
 Lets my love remain at rest. 
 Mocks the pains of my endeavour — 
 
 Yet I love my Clara best. 
 
 When I dream at last the distance 
 
 Traversed is, and won her heart. 
 Gone the grief of long resistance. 
 
 She is miles and miles apart ; 
 When she seems most svirely yielding 
 
 Now, to months of faithfiil love. 
 Fain to wrap her in its shielding. 
 
 Up she soars a star above ; 
 All that man may give T offer. 
 
 All to gain her woman's will, 
 Thoiigh for nothing, to a scoffer— 
 
 But she is my Clara still.
 
 52 ASK ETEENITY. 
 
 ASK ETERNITY. 
 
 How I loved her, words can never tell — 
 
 Words that are no measure of the love. 
 Deeper than the lowest depths of hell. 
 
 Higher than the greatest heights above ; 
 Words are but the shadows, cold and dim. 
 
 Of the fearful joyous thoughts that lie. 
 Far as planets, and as mighty swim 
 
 On eternally, and may not die. 
 Prom one infinite, past human sight. 
 
 To another, in an endless day, — 
 How I loved, v/ith more than earthly might. 
 
 Words can never say. 
 
 Ah, I loved her, but no tender sign 
 
 Dropt she of the faintest love in tiirn. 
 Not one little word nor look benign. 
 
 Though the hidden fires might beat and burn ; 
 Yet she tost aside her scornful head. 
 
 Face on which in wondrous ebb and flow 
 Flushed the colour, like the morning spread 
 
 Soft on summit fair of virgin snow ; 
 How I loved her, with what patience still 
 
 Bor   in silence the consuming pain. 
 Heart of fire, to conquer that proud will. 
 
 Words will speak in vain. 
 
 Ah, I loved her, ministered as slave 
 
 Gladly to each idle whim, and bent 
 Every aim to her who nothing gave 
 
 Simply on her services intent ; 
 Though she laughed at my devotion, proved 
 
 Daily by her, and still daily found 
 Faithful, and as she in beaiity moved 
 
 Trampled what I oif ered on the ground ; 
 How I loved her, how she flouted all, 
 
 Siich allegiance tried as tested gold. 
 Yet expected me to come at call — 
 
 Words may not unfold. 
 
 Then misfortime seized me, and I fell 
 
 Low and lower in despair like night. 
 Tolling hourly, as the moiirner's bell. 
 
 While my treasures one by one took flight ; 
 Then she softened, smiled on me, and held 
 
 Forth the glowing clasp of kindly hands. 
 And the pity sweet in her that swelled. 
 
 Broke the iron of my prison bands ; 
 How she loved, as only woman can, 
 
 Though the other friends went falsely by. 
 Think not may be breathed by mortal man — ' 
 
 Ask cteruity,
 
 3rY ricTUKE. 53 
 
 MY PICTURE. 
 
 Once a sculptor, in a fabric solemn. 
 
 Wrought bright chcrnb figures liere and there. 
 Covered etich fair cornice and white column 
 
 With his mighty art, flashed everywhere — 
 Waving wings or ovitstretched arms, and scattered 
 
 Flowers and friiits and leaves, in lovely strife 
 Which should fairest be, and even flattered 
 
 Dumb dead marble into breathing life ; 
 Biit he carved, away from eye of scorner. 
 
 With that genius which could quicken stone. 
 One sweet angel face, in secret corner. 
 For his eye alonia. 
 
 Long at this he toiled, on this he lavished 
 
 All the wealth of all his heavenly art. 
 Beauty that the earth and sky had ravished. 
 
 Pouring into it his very heart ; 
 Yet aside from the parade and riches. 
 
 Spent upon the calm cathedral space. 
 Soft serene Madonnas, saints in niches, 
 
 Claspt beseeching hands and open grace ; 
 In that quiet nook, unseen its story. 
 
 Far apart, as on a starry throne. 
 Thus he set that one sweet angel glory. 
 For his eye alone. 
 
 So I have a sacred separate treasure. 
 
 Still imknown to m.en who know not love. 
 One outside the range of mortal measure. 
 
 And the reach of common rules above ; 
 Just a i^ortrait, i)ainted not for others. 
 
 Who at lesser works may carp and stare, 
 None of such arc hidden from my brothers. 
 
 But in this they may not ever share ; 
 Here it is, exposed to no cheap strictiu-e. 
 
 Done in dainty lines and tender tone. 
 One sweet bright and more than angel picture. 
 For my eye alone. 
 
 Ah, the rapture of those eyes adoring. 
 
 Upward tiirned as to their native stars. 
 Holding comnume with their God, imploring 
 
 Blest deliverance from our earthly bars ; 
 Delicate ripe lips, so ]3iire and parted 
 
 Bed, some royal ministry to ask. 
 Moved as though the message just had started 
 
 Fortli, upon its great and glorious task ; 
 Queenly maiden, with the face averted 
 
 Shyly, as if Heaven iipon it shone. 
 Yet it had not human ties deserted — 
 For my eye alone.
 
 54 A BLKEDING BREAST. 
 
 A BLEEDING BIiEA«T. 
 
 Her garb is humble, and the stain 
 
 Of labour on her hand. 
 Yet speaks not of the silent pain. 
 
 Nor of the inward brand, 
 
 "Which, in this crowded land, 
 Condemns her sternly to the chain, 
 A lonely prisoner, who in vain 
 
 Struggles to break her band ; 
 While through her dark disordered brain 
 
 Come, not at her command. 
 The ghosts of fear she fancied slain, 
 
 Ghosts she cannot withstand. ' 
 
 Unheeded in that busy throng, 
 
 Unhonoured by the glance. 
 Which only courts the fair and stx'ong 
 
 Carried to feast or dance. 
 
 The victim she of chance 
 Is driven to and fro, by wrong- 
 Scourging her with its cruel thong. 
 
 And piercing with its lance ; 
 For her no waft of soothing- son"-, 
 
 Bvit eyes that frown askance. 
 With weakness trailing shadows long. 
 
 And want that's no romance. 
 
 Ah, who shall read the hidden thought. 
 
 That tortures her, and sends 
 Its pangs of poison in her wrought. 
 
 And every fibre rends. 
 
 Till all her being bends ? 
 What hand can give the solace sought, 
 When hourly some new grief is brought. 
 
 That life-blood spills and spends. 
 To leave the wearied spirit nought 
 
 But blank despair, that blends 
 With the old struggle idly fought. 
 
 Its blasted hopes and ends ? 
 
 The sunlight conies, the sunlight goes. 
 
 But not the cruel guest. 
 The wakefiil burden of her woes. 
 
 The secret rankling pest. 
 
 Like inquisition's quest. 
 Which shakes her as with earthquake throes. 
 And shuts her in like icy floes ; 
 
 Though soft is others' nest. 
 And ladies pass with dainty toes. 
 
 Yet she may never rest. 
 With all her nature turned to foes. 
 
 Who beax-s a bleeding breast.
 
 IN HONOREM. OO 
 
 IX HONOREM— 10 March, 18S8. 
 
 Sphered above us, yet no strangers 
 
 Deaf to lowly name or need, 
 One with iis in doubts and dangers. 
 
 One in every noble deed ; 
 Prince and Princess true, and living 
 
 Fondly in the hearts of all. 
 Ever of your utmost giving 
 
 Gladly, at oiir country's call ; 
 You to-day we crown with praises. 
 
 Babies' lisping, manhood's tone- 
 Crown with reverent love, that raises 
 
 Higher than an earthly throne. 
 
 Loved and loving, by affection 
 
 Euling as we dare not ask. 
 Still devising new direction. 
 
 Good for mercy's glorious task ; 
 Dear to each, by sorrow sifted. 
 
 Years to five and twenty told. 
 Tried and only more iiplifted. 
 
 Shining out in purer gold ; 
 You, who with no thought of swerving. 
 
 Truly chose for us to bow, 
 Koyallest when freely serving. 
 
 We delight to honour now. 
 
 Trusted by the land, and trusting 
 
 That alike, and petty pride 
 Far away, with evil thrusting. 
 
 Us to gather at your side ; 
 In each other and the nation 
 
 Blest, and skilled with equal hand 
 How to mingle ministration 
 
 With the habit of command ; 
 Lines of peace have ye selected, 
 
 Less the eagle than tne dove. 
 Not by bayonets protected. 
 
 But with loyalty and love. 
 
 Yours be every boon and blessing. 
 
 All that honours, all that charms. 
 Children's love, the grand caressing 
 
 Only in a country's arms ; 
 Years of happiness, the beauty 
 
 None but God himself can send. 
 Bloom upon your path of duty 
 
 Brightly, to the brighter end ; 
 You, whom threatens no Cassandra, 
 
 Greet our millions with one voice, 
 Albert Edward, Alexandra, 
 
 Wedded to a people's choice.
 
 56 AlexAndkA. 
 
 ALEXANDRA. 
 
 Yes, we love her, we are loyal 
 
 Each to Alexandra's fame. 
 Since with breast so true and royal 
 
 She to conquer England came ; 
 Came, in trust her sole protection. 
 
 Strong- to play a noble part. 
 Bringing fetters of affection. 
 
 Bonds for every willing heart ; 
 Came, the child of ocean rangers 
 
 Who had plundered oft out shore. 
 Came and saw and conquered strangerSj 
 
 None had conquered thus before. 
 
 Ah, she let no icy distance 
 
 Yawn between us and love's throiie, 
 Keady still to yield assistance 
 
 Wanted, not to rule alone ; 
 Drew us in fair woman's fashion. 
 
 Ministering grandly thus. 
 Close to her in large compassion. 
 
 She who rules by serving us ; 
 Queenly, yet with modest carriage 
 
 Showing, where the poor man plods. 
 Heaven itself has made her marriage. 
 
 Sent a daughter of the gods. 
 
 Yet she moves, and takes her pleasure 
 
 Only in her subjects' need. 
 Shares with them her time and treasure. 
 
 Stoops to them in tender deed ; 
 Fills with royal ease a station, 
 
 Eank may hold and never fill. 
 Worthy of her, and the nation 
 
 Dear alike in good and ill ; 
 Yet she lives among us, going 
 
 In and oiit, as others crave. 
 Seeds of human kindness sowing. 
 
 Glad to be our sceptred slave. 
 
 AVhen did truer, sweeter woman 
 
 Over people rule so well. 
 Rich in all the graces hiiman, 
 
 Wrought into one radiant spell ? 
 Where the lady Nature gifted. 
 
 Earth endowed with wealth or crown. 
 Who herself so high has lifted. 
 
 Just by stepping greatly down ? 
 Like our own Princess, whoso beauty 
 
 Lets the love within her shine 
 Oiit, and, doing but her duty, 
 
 Rules our hearts by right divine ?
 
 TJNDEK HIS WINGS. 
 
 UNDER HIS WIXGS. 
 
 Pretty were tlicy, playful kittens 
 
 Once, thou<vh very soon they invvd 
 Worse than those that lost their mittens   
 
 Creatu.res for which no one cared ; 
 Yes, alas, their lovint^ mother 
 
 Left them, and perhaps she died — 
 Who can tell ?— and now no other 
 
 Tenderly about them plied ; 
 Off she went one summer morning^, 
 
 Himting after milk or mice— 
 Oft" for ever, without warning, 
 
 Or a word of good advice. 
 
 Hopeless then they lay, and huddled 
 
 Close together from the cold — 
 Ah, no longer softy cuddled. 
 
 In their gentle parent's hold ; 
 Lay, as shades began to darken 
 
 Surely round, and wondered why 
 Straining ears should vainly hearken. 
 
 And no purring make reply ; 
 Lay in silence there and trembled. 
 
 Sick as hours dragged slowly on, 
 Faint while ghostly sounds assembled. 
 
 Troubled for the guardian gone. 
 
 Then there came a friend, a stranger 
 
 Lonely kittens never knew. 
 Saw the sadness of their danger, 
 
 AVhen they hardly dared to mew ; 
 Just a hen, which had no chickens. 
 
 Though she felt the mother's heart. 
 That for helpless babies quickens. 
 
 And would play a mother's part ; 
 Came with 'jiie desire, to cherish 
 
 Pets, that needed warmtli and rest —   
 Pets that but for her might perish — 
 
 Took them to her feathered breast. 
 
 Wonderful her love, but vaster 
 
 His who suffered for our woes. 
 Ministered to us though Master, 
 
 Lived for blessing to His foes ; 
 Wonderful her love, but story 
 
 Cannot measure his who laid 
 All aside His robes of glory, 
 
 Us to clothe with heavenly aid ; 
 Wonderful her love,, but stranger 
 
 His, who makes of beggars kings. 
 Shared our weakness in His manger 
 
 Gathers all beneath His wings.
 
 o8 APBiL SKIES. 
 
 APIUL SKIES. 
 
 Her eyes said yes, her lips said no,. 
 
 And it was April weather ; 
 Her heart went qvxick, her feet went slow. 
 
 And still they moved together. 
 
 She would, and yet she would not, take 
 
 The hand to her extended ; 
 She could, and yet she could not, make 
 
 Believe herself offended. 
 
 And now she deemed him very dear. 
 Even hoped they might be mated ; 
 
 But then she found him much too near, 
 And felt qiiite siu-e she hated. 
 
 And now she whispered low " I will," 
 But then " I wont " she faltered. 
 
 And never in one mood was still, 
 And with the skies she altered. 
 
 And next she bade a long adieu. 
 And would draw down the curtain. 
 
 Then did the greeting old renew. 
 Consistently uncertain. 
 
 She called him rude, she thought him kind 
 And longed to be his blessing. 
 
 But never seemed to know her mind. 
 And shrank from his caressing. 
 
 She vowed he should not touch her lips. 
 Although her looks invited ; 
 
 But she enjoyed the honeyed sips. 
 When once they were united. 
 
 She pushed him back and wished him nigh. 
 Then broke the tender traces. 
 
 But to recall him with a sigh. 
 And sink in his embraces. 
 
 What could she say ? What should she do ? 
 
 To let him go, were sinning ; 
 W'hile she was beautiful to woo. 
 
 And womanly for winning. 
 
 She wishes they had never met. 
 Detests his hounds and horses. 
 
 But loves to Slick his cigarette. 
 And envies folks' divorces. 
 
 And still they quarrel and make friends. 
 
 When it is April weather. 
 Have different ways but common ends. 
 
 And hearts that Ijcat together.
 
 BROWN BEAUtV. o9 
 
 She fights against the golden band. 
 
 That yet she would not sever, 
 And hand in hand throiigh Fairyland, 
 
 They coiu'ting go for ever. 
 
 BROWN BEAUTY. 
 
 She has striven with many a gallant steed. 
 
 And yonr children stroked Brown Beauty, 
 She was ever a faithfnl friend in need. 
 
 And she failed not once in duty ; 
 Now the light from her liquid eye is fled. 
 
 And her step has lost its glory. 
 Must she die, and no tender tear be shed 
 
 For the fallen favourite's story ? 
 Though she shone in a hundred famous fields, 
 
 And has princes known as backers. 
 Now the strength that was long unbeaten yields. 
 
 Must she go to the bloody knacker's ? 
 
 She has carried your colours to the post. 
 
 When the odds were not in favovir — 
 On the hardest course that tried her most. 
 
 Did you know Brown Beauty waver ? 
 Ah, she never stumbled in her stride. 
 
 If the pace was hot and killing — 
 With the rush of her victorious j)ride. 
 
 She was always true and willing ; 
 But now age has opprest her with its load. 
 
 Though you loved her as a daughter, 
 Miist she limp down that dark familiar road. 
 
 With the rest, to the yard of slaughter : 
 
 She has brovight the money for your hand. 
 
 And the prizes to your stable — 
 Oh, she answered quick jonr least command. 
 
 And you fed her from your table ; 
 And she needed not the spur and whip. 
 
 If you showed just the direction. 
 And she let no rival past her slip. 
 
 For she served you from affection ; 
 Though the fairest wordd her triumph cheer. 
 
 And her neck with roses fillet. 
 Must the kennels end her grand career. 
 
 And a bullet be her billet ? 
 
 She has borne the burden of the strife. 
 
 All unwearied to the ending. 
 And has given you all — her very life. 
 
 In the fire of fierce contending ; 
 For she only asked to be your slave. 
 
 In the majesty of motion —
 
 60 KEEP TOUR POWDER DRY. 
 
 Will you now requite her ^dtl tlie grave. 
 
 For the long siiblinie devotion ? 
 Shall she pass from the flowers and festive arch,- 
 
 FrouiHho petting and the plaudit, 
 In no conqueror's worthy funeral marchi 
 
 To the shambles' final audit ? 
 
 KEEP YOUE POWDER DRY. 
 
 They say we aref far from ready. 
 
 With our shaky " thin red line," 
 And our ships are only steady. 
 
 When the weather-glass is fine ; 
 And we have no proper stations. 
 
 That our commerce wide can shield. 
 For the coal and renovations. 
 
 Should a foeman take the field ; 
 Aye, oiu- coats may get a dusting. 
 
 Though we are not going to cry. 
 But in Providence while trusting. 
 
 We icill keep our jpoiuder dry. 
 
 They say we have not a notion. 
 
 How defenceless is our plight. 
 And we cannot put in motioi^ 
 
 Jiist one army corps for fight ; 
 And in spite of Derby courses. 
 
 If for accidents we count. 
 We are lacking in the horses 
 
 Half our cavalry to mount ; 
 Well, if bayonets come thrusting. 
 
 Still our fortune we must try. 
 Put in Providence our trusting. 
 
 While we keep our powder dry. 
 
 They say all our party pleaders, 
 
 With their coxmtry's honour i>lay, 
 And we now have not the leaders. 
 
 Who can soldiers guide the way ; 
 And our ofiicers though willino-. 
 
 Have no worthy ordeal stood. 
 And want numbers and the driUing, 
 
 That would make them any good ; 
 Wen, if some things need adjusting, 
 
 We shall never need to fly. 
 But in Providence while trusting. 
 
 We ivill keep oiir pjowder^dry. 
 
 They say, we'arejbad in shooting. 
 And may soon their bullets fool. 
 
 But with all their talk and tooting. 
 We will answer with cold steel f
 
 OTTR RTSTER. 61 
 
 Ah, and if to blows they settle, 
 
 As in other times they camo. 
 When we proudly proved oiir mettle. 
 
 Two can always try that game ; 
 And our swords are not for rusting. 
 
 We will conquer or can die, 
 Aiid in Providence go trusting. 
 
 While tve keep our powder dry. 
 
 OUR SISTER. 
 
 Fair the Island, crowned with splendour. 
 
 Home of heroes and the bard. 
 Where the hearts are true and tender. 
 
 And l)ut their religion hard ; 
 Set in silver, like a jewel 
 
 Bright, which hand Almighty paints. 
 Now defaced by blotting cruel. 
 
 Though the Island once of saints ; 
 Erin is it, and she reaches 
 
 Fond to us her fettered hands. 
 For the Book which mercy teaches. 
 
 Which alone can break her bands. 
 
 And to us she sadly beckons. 
 
 Out of bondage and the night, 
 For the help on wliich she reckons, 
 
 Just to give the needed light ; 
 Just to show her, with the danger 
 
 Born from hopelessness of sin. 
 What a welcome even the stranger. 
 
 Trusting, still from Christ may win ; 
 Just to keep her steps from stimibling 
 
 Longer, and to shield from harms. 
 Guiding, through the wholesome humliling 
 
 Safe into the Saviour's arms. 
 
 Liberty she asks, to study 
 
 Triith, at present all unread. 
 Not from streamlets mean and muddy. 
 
 But the glorious foimtain head ; 
 Liberty for higher learning. 
 
 Earth itself may never give — 
 Earth that cannot slake the yearning. 
 
 Wakened by it, how to live ; 
 When the kindling word is spoken. 
 
 Strong to flash the sunlight sweet. 
 Till with priestcraft's barrier broken. 
 
 Sinners and their Saviour meet.
 
 62 ERIN MA OUSHLA. 
 
 Yes^ she wants the world-wide Charter, 
 
 Written large in saci'ed lines. 
 Birthright that her priests wonld barter. 
 
 For tradition that confines ; 
 Title-deeds, that make a nation 
 
 Beautiful and rich and strong. 
 Blessed yoke of free salvation. 
 
 Not self-government in wrong ; 
 Till the Gosi^el, pure and holy. 
 
 Brings them in the better yule. 
 Born again to service lowly, 
 
 Resting but in Christ's " Home Evde." 
 
 ERIN MA (JUSHLA. 
 
 Once their life was crowned with blessing 
 
 Grirded with the fairest powers. 
 Moved to music, and caressiner 
 
 Fragrance of the sweetest flowers ; 
 Once the siinshine on them lavished 
 
 All its light, the very cloud 
 Added to their gifts, that ravished 
 
 Every heart with beaiity proud ; 
 Once, as Queens who do no wronging, 
 
 Euled they with beloved sway. 
 Troops of subjects round them thronging 
 Only yesterday. 
 
 Now, where reeks the fetid puddle. 
 
 Thrust in dens and byeways lone 
 Wretchedly they hide and huddle. 
 
 Starving, on the clammy stone ; 
 Now they mate with tramps, the sweeping 
 
 Vile of gutter and the jails. 
 Mingle mouldy bread with weeping. 
 
 Chained to work that only fails j 
 Now survives no single token, 
 
 Eay of former place and pride. 
 And discrovnied, with sceptre broken. 
 Yet they Queens abide. 
 
 Once the fragile form, that winces 
 
 Shy at shame before not known. 
 Honoured by great peers and princes. 
 
 With the highest held its own ; 
 Once the world, vxdtli all its pleasures, 
 
 See:ned a captive in their arms. 
 Gold and jewels poiu-ed out treasures. 
 
 Vying to enhance their charxus j
 
 ERUT MAVOURNEEN. 63 
 
 Once their lightest mood or motion, 
 
 Even the pebble on the way. 
 Stirred the dullest to devotion- 
 Only yesterday. 
 
 Now with riches o-one, and lonely 
 
 Laid, of rank and homage reft, 
 Fainting still they strviggle, only 
 
 Their unconquered spirit left ; 
 Now they wear no gems, biit staining 
 
 Glorious from their servile lot. 
 Own no wealth but prayer and paining. 
 
 While they toil and murmur not ; 
 Now the noble hearts are loyal 
 
 Unto dirty, though they lie 
 Lowly, and their lite is royals 
 Shall they helpless die ? 
 
 ERIN MAVOURNEEK. 
 
 Women, used to women's portion, 
 
 Walking in a world of grace. 
 Meant not for the grim distortion, 
 
 Eags and dirt, of beggars' j)lac0 ; 
 Made not for the iron rounding. 
 
 Want, that is an armed host, 
 Blasts of rude contention, hounding 
 
 Weakness from its troubled post ; 
 Now they clutch, with cramped fingers 
 
 Weary, at the drudge's i^art. 
 What must memory be, that lingers 
 
 Just to stab the woman's heart ? 
 
 Ladies, with each treasure gifted 
 
 Once, and delicately bred 
 Long, when fortune smiled, and lifted 
 
 High the pure patrician head ; 
 Bornto bless a lofty station, 
 
 Eaised in luxury and rank. 
 Pride and glory of a nation. 
 
 Ere they through no error sank ; 
 Now they herd with thieves, and borrow 
 
 Paupers' payment for the strife. 
 What must be their cruel sorrow. 
 
 Eating out the sap of life ? 
 
 What if late their lot was shielded 
 Tenderly from touch of storm. 
 
 High and low with gladness yielded 
 Homage to the dainty form ?
 
 64 LOTAI, TRELAND, 
 
 What if yesterday the petting, 
 
 Which is still sweet woman's right. 
 Strewed with flowers their i^ath, besetting 
 
 All their duties with delight ? 
 What if hands xmtrained to toiling. 
 
 Hands that no assistance ask. 
 Grandly take the noble soiling. 
 
 Earned by the ignoble task ? 
 
 Sadly they at service hnnible 
 
 Work, and caged in cellar's gloom 
 Starve with outcasts, as they stumble 
 
 Feebly downward to their doom ; 
 Old and heljjless, in the straining 
 
 Struggle to which never reared. 
 Yet they battle uncomplaining. 
 
 Nothing bixt dishonour feared ; 
 Shall we now refuse to cherish 
 
 Sisters, who deserve not blame. 
 Leave them thus to j^ine and perish. 
 
 But a witness to our shame ? 
 
 LOYAL IRELAND. 
 
 Comrades were we tried in dangers. 
 
 Under Arctic skies and blixe. 
 Not when bugle sounded strangers. 
 
 Not where biillets sang untrue ; 
 Trouble only made us bolder. 
 
 Tost aboiit by wind and wave. 
 Fought we shoiilder unto shoulder. 
 
 Fell in one red soldier's grave ; 
 Forward conqtiering sent us Duty, 
 
 Breathing one undaimted vow. 
 Scars bequeathe us the same beauty, — 
 
 Why disown ti'ue Ireland now ? 
 
 When the bloody fray was ended. 
 
 Halting by the same camp fire. 
 We each other's wants have tended. 
 
 One in all things our desire ; 
 Bound each other's wounds, and brightly 
 
 Sinking hearts with hope raised up. 
 Borne each other's biu-dens lightly. 
 
 Shared a common plate and cup ; 
 Still to feast and fight we started. 
 
 With the same rejoicing brow. 
 Nothing then our friendship parted ; — 
 
 Why forget true Ireland now i*
 
 THE NORTH EASTER. 65 
 
 Stirring times and stormy weatlier 
 
 Known have we, upon the flood, 
 Famons fields, we rode together. 
 
 Poured alike onr brother blood ; 
 One alone onr glorious qnarrel. 
 
 Filled by common martial thirst. 
 Which shonld win the fairest laurel, 
 
 Which the enemy strike first ; 
 One our fear — the foe's retreating. 
 
 Ere attack, we cared not how. 
 We who recked of no defeating ;— 
 
 Why betray true Ireland now ? 
 
 Ah, these lives have shone out loyal. 
 
 Oft in England's utter need, 
 Oft again at bidding Eoyal, 
 
 Gladly would oiir Ireland bleed ; 
 Now when men are nigh to perish, 
 
 Stript of every store biit trust. 
 Now will honour fail to cherish 
 
 Comrades, proved so brave and jixst ? 
 Men whose one sin is obedience, 
 
 Love of law whereto they bow,— 
 Must they starve for mere expedience ? 
 
 Why desert true Ireland now f 
 
 THE NORTH EASTER, 
 
 Ho, hurrah for England's grim North-easter, 
 
 Hisaing, howling from the Northern night. 
 Shouting onward like some battle feaster. 
 
 Fallen on the enemy in flight ; 
 Dtmcing gaily to the banrpiet, drunken 
 
 With the fiery wine of fearless joy. 
 Shaking to new life the leaflet shrunken. 
 
 Stern to make the stoixtest tree its toy ; 
 Singing lusty strains of martial glory. 
 
 Strains that flower in gallant deeds at length. 
 Blasts that tell of England's ancient story. 
 
 Blasts that breathe in her unconquered strength ; 
 Passionate, as madman from his prison 
 
 Bxirsting, when he knows his time is shoi-t. 
 Scattering brands that bm-n, in fury risen 
 
 Headlong to the ruin of his sport.
 
 66 THE NORTH EASTER. 
 
 Ho,;hurrali for the North easter, blowing 
 English navies on tempestuons'flood, 
 
 "With"ari;illery of hail, and flowing- 
 Fierce as flame into our English blood ; 
 
 Hurling snow before it, as a banner 
 "Waved to victory in van of tight. 
 
 Moulding in us the imperial manner. 
 
 Force siipreme from its unmeasured might ; 
 
 Shaping us with its own stiu-dy nature, 
 Will that never bows nor can retreat. 
 
 Fashioning from its grand legislature. 
 Hearts heroic that despise defeat ; 
 
 Forging unto vaster use, the iron 
 
 Sword of character that rules the lands, 
 
 Out of frost and storm that us environ. 
 Tost and hardened by its awful hands. 
 
 Ho," hurrah for the North-easter, rushing 
 
 Forth to havoc on resistless track. 
 Stay to English breasts of steel, and crushing 
 
 Down the iinave and driving foemen back ; 
 Life to stalwart frame of honest toiler, 
 
 Nursed and dandled in its icy arms. 
 Death to onset of insulting spoiler. 
 
 Strangled in its grip before he harms ; 
 Healtli to all who love the fray, the nation 
 
 Schooled in piercing cold and angry gust, 
 Bufi:eted by bitter education. 
 
 Wrought to rugged manhood brave and just ; 
 Trammeled by no weakening pulse of pity. 
 
 Wasted on the fool that feebly frets. 
 Better than the walls of fleet or city. 
 
 Better than ten thousand bayonets. 
 
 Ho, hurrah for the North-easter, heaping 
 
 Chains alone upon the coward slave. 
 Armed as Liberty's bright spirit, leaping 
 
 Up in grandeiu- from its winter grave ; 
 Laden with the scent of Arctic ocean, 
 
 Wrimg from regions terrible and dark. 
 Beating in us the wild love of motion. 
 
 Leaving every land its lordly mark ; 
 Blessing, cursing now— now laughing, weeping. 
 
 In the riot of its giant life. 
 Striking down with dreadful stabs, and sleeping 
 
 Only to awake in madder strife ; 
 Eobcd' in whirlwind rage and shadow, making 
 
 Deeper spread its roots our old oak tree. 
 Crowning those that breathe it kings, and, shaking 
 
 Euglau^ into glory great and free.
 
 COWART)'g CASTLE. 67 
 
 COWARD'S CASTLE. 
 
 Snug behind his towers and trenches, 
 
 Hid the robber chief of old, 
 Fat witli spoil of flocks and wenches. 
 
 Torn from helpless farm and fold ; 
 Curtained in his secret study. 
 
 Skulks at ease the robber now. 
 Known but by the footstep muddy. 
 
 Dirty hand and broken vow ; 
 Eevels in his paid impurity, 
 
 Trvith defamed and falsehood's hint. 
 Daily from his safe obscurity. 
 
 Death distilling cheap in print. 
 
 Lurks anonymous the coward. 
 
 Sheltered by the Press with bars. 
 Shoots alike at Hodge and Howard, 
 
 Reckless whom his arrow scars j 
 If he can but sow confusion. 
 
 Steal the cripple's only crutch ; 
 Fool some dupe with fond delusion. 
 
 Leave a Hasty smell or smutch ; 
 If he may behind his journal. 
 
 Throw in neighbours' ricks a spark. 
 Sneer at precious facts eternal. 
 
 Stab a brother in the dark. 
 
 Ah, the knave, with evil unity 
 
 But in blots of poisoned pen. 
 Vents, beneath his veil's impurity. 
 
 Equal hate on Grod and men ; 
 Strikes at every institution. 
 
 Hallowed by the love of years. 
 Leads a Church to execution — 
 
 Tempered with assassins' tears ; 
 Draws bad bills upon futurity. 
 
 Others' wealth to labour doles. 
 Huddled in the rat's security. 
 
 Squirming from convenient holes. 
 
 Writers, to make sixpence from it. 
 
 Give the soul to endless fire— 
 Dogs retvirning to their vomit. 
 
 Swine that wallow in the mire ; 
 Cheat the blind man in his trusting. 
 
 While they grant the swindler sway. 
 Yet for some new mischief lusting — 
 
 Worms that riot in decay ; 
 Just to make a week's sensation ; 
 
 Splash the Throne with traitor's ink. 
 Kill a lady's reputation, 
 
 Sell an empir§ for a drink«
 
 68 WRIT IX WATER. 
 
 WRIT IN WATER. 
 
 Shadowed with a mother's love. 
 Shielded by a father's caring. 
 
 Straight and strong- she grew, above 
 Storms for weaker plants ^^nsparing ; 
 
 Jessica her name, the brow 
 
 Beaiitifnl with liglit, and tender 
 
 Grlowed as with a sacred vow- 
 Eyes, that God had made Defender ; 
 
 Child was she of many tears. 
 
 Each one's darling, England's daughter. 
 
 But her little life of fears 
 Writ in water. 
 
 Early died her parents, loath 
 
 Jessica to leave deserted, 
 Binding one to her by oatli. 
 
 Trust that scarce could be perverted ; 
 Prayers of hope before they trod 
 
 Sad the last dim jiathway, breathing — 
 Her to England and her God, 
 
 Lone in orphanhood, beqixeathing ; 
 Charge of all with kindly hearts. 
 
 All who gave a thought to others. 
 Chose to play a Christian part. 
 
 Lived as brothers. 
 
 Jessica had pretty ways. 
 
 Dainty plumage as a pigeon 
 Shining in the morning rays, 
 
 Grace despised not by religion ; 
 Piety was mocked, to win 
 
 Ignorance into the halter. 
 Flashed as flowers above the sin. 
 
 Lurking even behind the altar ; 
 Yea, her guardian with his hands. 
 
 Wove the web of veiled temptation. 
 Spread around her silken bands. 
 
 His damnation. 
 Hospitality was slain, 
 
 Only that she might be humbled, 
 Only to entrap and chain 
 
 Feet, that never strayed nor stumbled ; 
 Drugged she darkly fell, betrayed 
 
 By the coward, who should rather 
 Her's by his death have delayed. 
 
 Sworn to be a second father ; 
 Thus was she enticed to shanae. 
 
 Led a trusting lamb to slaughter 
 Innocent, and thus her name 
 
 Writ w %vQ,ter.
 
 BtJiLT ON SAND. 69 
 
 BUILT ON 8AN1). 
 
 Garda's mother, where the fountains 
 
 Flash beyond the ocean's flood. 
 Lived in lands of lakes and mountains — 
 
 Garda had Norwegian blood ; 
 Came her mother, seeking better 
 
 Earnings from a friendly shore. 
 Fell into the flowery fetter. 
 
 Whence the \ ictims rise no more ; 
 Left no fortune but a blessing 
 
 To the daughter, w^hom lier brand 
 Mai'kedj nor home but hope's caressing 
 Built on sand. 
 
 Garda grew up somehow, taken 
 
 Here and there, while storms withstootlj 
 Tost and tumbled on, and shaken 
 
 Sharply into maidenhood ; 
 Fair and tall, with tresses yellow 
 
 Eippling round her head, a,nd graced 
 With a form that had no fellow, 
 
 Trast that all alike embraced; 
 Struggling heavenward, in her story 
 
 Pinched and blighted from the first. 
 Bravely, for the brighter glory 
 Still athirst. 
 
 All against her seemed, no pity 
 
 Lightened on each tender bud 
 Straining higher, from the City 
 
 Dark with its defiling nnid ; 
 Everything turned hostile, corners 
 
 Wounded her with crviel fangs. 
 Struck her jjosts, and scowl of scorners 
 
 Pierced her worse with secret pangs ; 
 All against her set conspiring. 
 
 Gave her bitter touch or tones, 
 Leagued to mock her least desiring. 
 Stocks and stones. 
 
 Nothing prospered, save her beauty 
 
 Yet assuming richer gloom. 
 Shining from the shadowed duty 
 
 Done, as flowers unfold in gloom ; 
 Earth looked dim, and Heaven more dreary 
 
 Frowned upon the trembling shoot, 
 Shut from hajjpier worlds, and weary 
 
 Climbing thoiigh with starved root ; 
 Till, when wandering lost and lonely 
 
 Death the angel by the hand 
 Took her, since her life was only 
 Built on sand.
 
 70, WORK 
 
 WORK! 1888. 
 
 Theorist, and bat-like student 
 
 Blinking feebly in the light. 
 Bid us nothing do imprudent. 
 
 Till this cvirsed mess comes right ; 
 Aye, the antiquated scholar. 
 
 Smacking of his musty books. 
 Smirking through his classic collar. 
 
 But at things behind him looks ; 
 All, in spite of trade dejection. 
 
 Think that we can only wait. 
 Swear the Devil is Protection, 
 
 Which will never put us straight ; 
 Tell us we must humbly linger, 
 
 Eotting on our beds of straw. 
 Dare not even uplift a finger, 
 
 Doubting science and its law ; 
 Boasting of their sole solution. 
 
 One for every strife and storm. 
 Quack receipt of evolution. 
 
 Which will yet the world reform ; 
 Fools in phrases take enjoyment. 
 
 Party cant and cries be damned ! 
 Soon on us, with no employment. 
 
 Will the Workhouse door be slammed. 
 
 All are now for forms and phrases. 
 
 Not the measures that assist. 
 Wandering through the fancy phases 
 
 Of the last mad theorist ; 
 No one cares, if Truth and Honor 
 
 Die, and harlot falselioods live. 
 But for any sham Madonna 
 
 Dives will his thousands give ; 
 No one cares, while rogues are carving 
 
 Fortunes from the bleeding State, 
 If the honest men go starving. 
 
 Only have an empty plate ; 
 No one cares, thoiigh some new notion 
 
 Bought with sacrifice immense. 
 Framed to furnish knaves promoting 
 
 Is worked out at our expense ; 
 All are for the loaves and fishes. 
 
 Want their pile a little more. 
 Scraping, scraping dirty dishes, 
 
 That were scraped, and scraped before ; 
 Is it duty to your neighbour 
 
 Asking bread to cut him short ? 
 Give us just the rights of labour. 
 
 Ways and means of man's support.
 
 wokk ! ^1 
 
 Partisans must live, and prating 
 
 Politicians too will lie. 
 Though while they are still debating 
 
 Workers droj^ and hourly die ; 
 Parliament each small division 
 
 Must effect, while we lack bread, 
 And the Queen's grand Opposition 
 
 Will not even inter our dead ; 
 Yes, this great and glorious nation 
 
 Spends its preeioiis hours in sport, 
 Splitting hairs in speciilation. 
 
 On a rumoiir or report ; 
 Something must be said, if only 
 
 Sounding breath an ass might bray. 
 While we languish sad and lonely. 
 
 Mocked by Gi-overnment at play ; 
 Something mixst be done, no matter 
 
 How contemptible and small. 
 Though beneath the cloud and clattex*, 
 
 Needy servants faint and fall ; 
 Time thoy make for any trifles. 
 
 If providing rich men i poll. 
 Murderous bayonets and riiies, 
 
 Not for simple men who toil. 
 
 Must we wait, while sots are dining 
 
 Who would grudge the very crumbs. 
 Till our pedants cease refining. 
 
 Only for the downturned thvimbs ? 
 Wait, for better days to nourish 
 
 Us, who feel the present pang. 
 Hoping trade again may flourish. 
 
 Though meanwhile we rot or hang ? 
 Wait, perchance, till corn is dearer, 
 
 Genteel loafers learn to farm, 
 Tools their paradise bring nearer. 
 
 While its ciinning leaves our arm ? 
 Wait— when we no more can borrow 
 
 Bread, long wasted so by some, — 
 Blindly, for the brighter morrow. 
 
 Which will never never come ? 
 Wait, though the black tide is flowing. 
 
 Fierce to carry us away. 
 While the promised food is growing. 
 
 And we famish with delay ? 
 Give us not m«re words, when treasures 
 
 Countless lie in game-rvm lands, 
 111 it is to mock with measui-es 
 
 Hungry men with idle hands.
 
 73. WORK ! 
 
 Out upon the empty crazes, 
 
 Shibboleths of party tricks. 
 Dragging labour into mazes. 
 
 Where it only starves and sticks ! 
 Oiit vipon the wretched riddle. 
 
 Toyed by either side in turn. 
 Only that a few may fiddle. 
 
 While the many victims biu-n ! 
 Ont upon the greed of Mammon, 
 
 Capital that seeks afar 
 Interest, and i\s with gammon 
 
 Dares from proper rights debar 1 
 Ont npon the senile muinbling, 
 
 Oracles with lying lip. 
 Ministries that through their fumbling' 
 
 Fingers let good fortune slip ! 
 Out upon the statesmen, merely 
 
 Patriotic when it pays. 
 True for place, and so severely 
 
 Jvist in profitable ways I 
 Will your readjusting level. 
 
 Furnish food and speed the spade ? 
 If Protection is the Devil, 
 
 What the Devil is Free Trade ? 
 
 Change of front is no solution. 
 
 Fit for problem grave — you shoiit — 
 Euinous — but Revohition, 
 
 Very soon will come without ; 
 Idle hands are worse than stranger 
 
 Thirsting for a nation's blood — 
 Still they loom a standing danger, 
 
 Readj' to burst forth in flood ; 
 Idle brains, for which no Cupid 
 
 Now gives pleasure, yet will plot 
 Eulers' end, too rich and stupid 
 
 To perceive their fated lot ; 
 Empty mouths, with children crying 
 
 Sorely, vainly to be fed. 
 Tamely will not stoop to dying. 
 
 Nor take pavement stones for bread ; 
 Aching hearts, with outraged feelings, 
 
 liighteoiis pleas rejected long. 
 Passionate from hopeless kneelings. 
 
 Fly to arms for slighted wrong ; 
 Is there now no room for others. 
 
 In unsetting England's day ? 
 Ah, {remember we are brothers. 
 Work alone is what we pray.
 
 NATIONAL HYMN. 
 
 NATIONAL HYMN. 
 
 God bless His chosen one. 
 
 With all the riches in His store ; 
 By her be blest each loyal son. 
 
 Each maid that loves as maids l)oforc ; 
 Through her His battles yet be won, 
 
 And truth be purged to precious ore ; 
 In her His heavenly will be done. 
 
 Now and for evermore. 
 God bless the Qu.een ! 
 
 God bless His Servant's crown. 
 
 And hold her ministering hand, 
 To stem the storms that tyrants drown. 
 
 And break the helpless captive's band ; 
 To guard oiir England's old renown. 
 
 Which makes tlie meanest subject grand ; 
 And may she pass it fairer down. 
 
 Unto a fairer land. 
 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 God bless His Servant's throne. 
 
 Which He who founded fosters yet ; 
 Biiilt not of perishable stone. 
 
 Nor even as suns that rise and set ; 
 Which love hath fenced, that ever shone, 
 
 Not breath of fire nor bayonet ; 
 Established on His Word alone. 
 
 Which she doth not forget ; 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 God bless His Servant's ways, 
 
 And give His glory to her halls, 
 To light the ignorant foot that strays, 
 
 And lift the weary frame that falls ; 
 To turn dark hoiu-s to summer days, 
 
 While hope and worship a.re our walls, 
 With faith that every evil slays. 
 
 When duty arms and calls ; 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 God bless His Servant's might. 
 
 That it may scorn a vain pretence. 
 And ever ward with one delight 
 
 The wealthy's gold, the poor man's pence ; 
 May it be with His favour bright, 
 
 And she His champion sworn, and thence 
 Defender of the good and right. 
 
 Strong in His high defence 
 God bless the Queen !
 
 74 THE FEAST OF SCIENCE. 
 
 God bless His Servant's trust, 
 
 As f oimts that overflow their brim. 
 Who raiseth peoples from the dust. 
 
 And turns the noontide splendour dim ; 
 That she may draw for service just, 
 
 And not in passion, not from whim. 
 The sword which never gathers rust. 
 
 Which sacred is to Him. 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 God bless His Servant still. 
 
 Make her imperial realm as sure 
 As is the everlasting liill. 
 
 Like ocean wide, like heaven secure ; 
 Shield her and hers from every ill. 
 
 Keep brave her sons, her daughters pure ; 
 That one with His unerring Will, 
 
 We may in Him endure. 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 God bless His Servant true. 
 
 With olive twine her royal rod ; 
 And let her sky be always blue. 
 
 Green alway her earth's every sod ; 
 His honoixr be the only clue. 
 
 To guide her as our fathers trod. 
 Along the road that is His due. 
 
 Amen : so help her God. 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 THE FEAST OF SCIENCE. 
 
 It is God's own light, that through the room 
 Gleams, in the ciu-tained space — 
 Gleams with its heavenly grace. 
 Upon early manhood's glorious bloom. 
 And the furrowed lines and reverend gloom 
 Of the philosophic face ; 
 They have found for Science place. 
 At the crumbling tlireshold of the tomb. 
 
 With the daring that its trace 
 Has left in the land where spectres loom. 
 And has knocked at the very door of doom. 
 Nor recoiled from death's embrace. 
 
 It is God's own patience, whence they draw 
 The contemiit that sports with pain. 
 And as>arment wears the stain, 
 
 In the wild pursuit of blood-bought law.
 
 THE FEAST OP SCIENCE. 75 
 
 From the quivering of the mangled paw. 
 
 From the oped and carven brain. 
 
 And the horrors, all their gain. 
 Of the living things that rent and raw 
 
 In their anguish fondly strain, 
 And beneath the probe and grinding saw. 
 Must reveal how long without a flaw. 
 
 The old love will yet remain. 
 
 It is God's own earth whereon they tread. 
 
 And His breath inspires the skill. 
 
 Which they dare abuse for ill. 
 While they bruise and break the throbbing thread 
 Of the precious life, and not for bread. 
 
 But at fancy's wanton will ; 
 
 And His breath svistains it still, 
 . Which has given such cunning to the head. 
 
 That delights alone to kill ; 
 And the ghastly board is gaily spread. 
 For the festival but of the dead. 
 
 And the ruddy wine to spill. 
 
 It is God's own creature, witness grand 
 
 To the wisdom they would try 
 
 In their littleness to sjjy. 
 With the damned knives that bite and brand. 
 As the writhing victim frets its band. 
 
 And escapes a piteous cry 
 
 From the tortures it would fly. 
 That are done and done in a Christian land. 
 
 While the priest steps careless by. 
 And the women even admiring stand ; 
 Lo, it licks the butcher's bloody hand. 
 
 In its helpless agony. 
 
 It is God's own message kind and just. 
 
 And the covenant not boiuid, 
 
 By the breast of mercy foiind. 
 That they trample low as if the dust, 
 In the scorn of their never-sated lust. 
 
 While the idle laiigh goes round. 
 
 And the jests that jarring sound. 
 At the loUing tongue for pity thrust 
 
 In vain from the fetters wound. 
 And the loyal eyes that labour must ; 
 They are murdering love's devoted trust. 
 
 And defiling holy ground. 
 
 It is God's own Truth they madly slight. 
 
 As behind their coward v/alls. 
 
 And in Learning's crimsoned halls. 
 Against faith and God Himself they fight.
 
 x\r--.^ii WlSwt A>*X> BLrE BREASTS- 
 
 Orer S-- - ^iit 
 
 By rc^- ..-.-.. ; - ..:-- --Is, 
 
 Aid the btart of freedoai palis : 
 
 Ada -" - ' - ^ ""' ' - -^ -r of iigirr, 
 
 .;.. ;__ : . . : i:^ Diiirbt, 
 
 ADd t3ie crinse to jxKigsoexit e^s. 
 
 ^VHITE "WIXOS AXr» BLUE BREASTS. 
 
 
 'jilidlj tteir phmxag-e gleams. 
 
 Or rTTaauis, 
 
 Ft, ii csaxii and air, 
 
 - '.   -et, 
 
 Kestlesss and S?et, 
 
 Borne :r -'- ~ '^ - -'r ".rniz:^ -srind. 
 
 "H»? Kriftssts invMi the oi'flid. 
 
 w- . ; ^. 
 
 CalEi"*^- _ :_fsloiid. 
 
 Hosie^rard their certain ecxirse tli?T j^ .: 
 
 Tet in their tender l>?3i. 
 
 - .:: "STreak: 
 
 Comic:" 
 
 WaT'wi.- _ , ; -   
 
 PvGQtiiig to peac-? for th? battia-3d ark 
 I>ifxt£ig aisoe and dari_ 
 
 Br . ;ry. 
 
 . ; r Sk-ZD? esea-De thev trr. 
 
 Beaiir^ a? - 
 
 Hnrrr .. - r^ 
 
 Oh -- - — ^ ? ~ 
 
 Se;:^ : - - - "arn
 
 OTTR FEATHERED DARLlNaS. 
 
 Cold lireasts beneath the cloud, 
 Criishsd wintfs below the sky. 
 
 Low on the j^rasses that enshroud, 
 
 Never a^rain to nttex' cry ; 
 
 Never between the heaven and earth. 
 Treading the steps the angels trod. 
 
 Carrying joy to wor^ and dearth, 
 
 Ministf;r8 sent to man by God ; 
 Tuml>led and tost. 
 Lonely and lost, 
 
 H^iddled in feathered heaps of gore. 
 Never to call or fliitter more. 
 
 OUR FEATHERED DARLIXGS. 
 
 They have sung to ns in our saddest daj-s. 
 
 They have spoken in Holy Writ, 
 And they flutter along the flowery ways. 
 With the summer glory lit ; 
 And their cooing calls. 
 Through enchanted halls. 
 Which we trod in our youthful prime ; 
 With our early loves. 
 Came the plaintive doves. 
 They were one with that golden time ; 
 And the glamour of their plumage gleams. 
 Through the larger world of our wondrous dreams. 
 
 They were part of our tender hopes and fears, 
 
 When we had no settled choice. 
 For their murmur broke on awaking ears. 
 And it mixed with a mother's voice ; 
 While it laid a spell. 
 As if evening fell. 
 On the passion of later strife ; 
 And the calm it breathes. 
 Like a Sabbath, wreathes 
 The leafage of sunset life ; 
 And the music, that went with us so long. 
 Seemed an echo of sweeter Heavenly song. 
 
 And now they are butchered to our shame. 
 
 Just to give a pastime short, 
 After tort-ares that are dread to name. 
 In the guise of Christian sport ; 
 And the bleeding things] 
 With broken wings.
 
 " BROWN HAND AND WHITi:. 
 
 In tlieir helpless angaish lie ; 
 Or, for manly play. 
 They writhe away. 
 To despair and starve and die ; 
 Though it was a dove, that from the dark 
 Brought an olive branch to the troubled Ark, 
 
 ShaU the bird endeared to God and man. 
 
 By many a sacred bond. 
 Be a victim to the brutal ban. 
 Of which Fashion is so fond ? 
 Must it suffer still, 
 At the idle will. 
 Of the pleasiu-e that is blind ? 
 May it meet with rest. 
 In a Eoyal breast. 
 That is ever great and kind ? — 
 There is shelter for its misery lone. 
 In the mighty shadow of the Throne. 
 
 "BROWN HAND AND WHITE" IN 188G. 
 
 Under one heaven they meet. 
 
 Under one earthly dome. 
 In the bond that luiites the wandering feet. 
 
 And makes England still their home ; 
 Brown hand and white. 
 Dark face and fair. 
 From the realms where the bitter north-winds bite. 
 And the red rose streams on the icy stair. 
 
 On the snowy-mantled mount ; 
 
 To the blue of the sunny sky. 
 Where the lava leaps from its fiery fount. 
 
 And the birds in glory fly. 
 
 Under one sheltering flag. 
 
 Under one Mother's care. 
 From the lowland plain and the highland crag. 
 
 Where they suffer and sing and dare ; 
 White hand and brown. 
 Fair face and dark. 
 From the grimy depths of the gritty town. 
 Where the Cyclops moulds his giant mark ; 
 
 They have come in their varied life. 
 
 To one hospitable shore. 
 And they join in the gentle friendly strife. 
 
 As they bare tlieir treasure store,
 
 THE •RUINED GAMESTER. 
 
 Under one gracious law. 
 
 Under one equal ray. 
 They are banded close by the ties that draw. 
 
 On the same imperial way ; 
 Brown hand and white. 
 Dark face and fair. 
 For a common cause they have loved to smite, 
 When they breathed a common freedom's air ; 
 
 And they mingle now, to show 
 
 They are brothers first and last. 
 And no different thoughts in their bosoms glow. 
 
 While they share the immortal past. 
 
 Under one holy pledge. 
 
 Under one Woman'' s arms. 
 They woiild stand on the yawning earthquake's edge, 
 
 In the tempest gather charms ; 
 White hand and brown. 
 Fair face and dark. 
 Though the storms arise as the storms go down. 
 They have rallied around the nation's ark, 
 
 And her honour's jewel bright. 
 
 With an undivided will. 
 They would keep in their universal might. 
 
 For a grander future still. 
 
 THE RUINED GAMESTER, 188G 
 
 Darker and darker yet. 
 
 Deeper and deeper down, 
 He stoops in a world with his ruins set. 
 
 With the baffled gamester's frown; 
 
 Lower and lower still. 
 
 The sands in the hour-glass run. 
 For the blighted work and the traitor will. 
 
 That have had their shadowed sun ; 
 
 Shorter and shoi'ter now. 
 
 Is the shrift of the shameless plan. 
 For the perjured faith and the broken vow. 
 
 The eclipse of a fallen man. 
 
 Thicker a,nd thicker cloud 
 Signs of the coming end. 
 As the awful folds of the funeral shroud 
 On the lifeless form descend ; 
 Sadder and sadder, drawn 
 By tho retribution dire.
 
 80 THE FAMINE FIEND. 
 
 Cf th.3 hopeless gloom that has no dawn. 
 
 He sinks in the dungeon mire; 
 
 Nearer and nearer dragged. 
 
 By the hands from beneath him thrust," 
 He recoils at the iron feet, that lagged 
 
 But to dig the burial dust. 
 
 Wilder and wilder, sped 
 
 Down by the rolling tide. 
 In the last dim ray on his pathway shed, i 
 
 He clings to his fatal pride ;   
 
 Faster and faster, swept ^ 
 
 Over billows he could not lead. 
 He is hurried by wrath that only slept. 
 
 To the vengeance he failed to read ; 
 
 Fiercer and fiercer loom 
 
 Menacing shapes that mock. 
 As he staggers to his api>ointed doom 
 
 Of the old Tarpeian Rock. 
 
 Closer and closer prest, 
 
 ClutcMng at every straw. 
 At the muddy stones with their moment's rest. 
 
 From betrayed and oiitraged law ; 
 
 Driven to bay at length. 
 
 After desperate feints and slips. 
 He goes down in his still unbending strength. 
 
 With the curses on his lips ; 
 
 From a present out of joint. 
 
 With a, blurred and blotted past. 
 Beaten at evex-y bleeding point. 
 
 But iinconquered to the last. 
 
 THE FAMINE FIEND, 1886. 
 
 It comes over the ragged rolling waters. 
 
 It comes over the narrow restless sea, 
 The despair of poor Erin's suffering daughters. 
 
 With the starving children's piteous plea ; 
 From tlie rocky coasts of her western islands. 
 
 Where the wild Atlantic billows beat. 
 From the lonely plains, and the crested highlands 
 
 That the greedy cormorants make their seat ; 
 Out of every mean and nnid-])uilt cottage. 
 
 Out of evei-y bleak and boggy moor. 
 Where they sink for the lack of the paviper's pottage. 
 
 Comes the cry of the faint and famished poor.
 
 " UNDER 1HE -RED, WHITE, BLUE. 81 
 
 And amid the Pleasua-e that tastes so bitter. 
 
 As they groan heneath its gilded stress. 
 While they give their lives for an evening's glitter. 
 
 And two hundred guineas for a dress ; 
 Where the slaves of the social form and fiction, 
 
 With their willing hands impose the chains. 
 That have bound them fast, in a vrorse a,ffliction 
 
 Than the dreadest tyrant's dreadest pains ; 
 Auaid waste of wealth and the pampered vices. 
 
 From the land that seems under the curse of drouth. 
 When but half a meal for a day suffices. 
 
 Falls the feeble moan of the hungry mouth. 
 
 And athwart the strife of contending factions. 
 
 As the dupes of party lie for power. 
 In the fog- of the dirty words and actions. 
 
 That are all a modern statesman's dower ; 
 As they grin through their painted masks, and mumble 
 
 The old falsehoods long they have learnt so well. 
 While they cling to their ill-got place, and stumble 
 
 In costumes for which their souls they sell ; 
 Athwart all the hateful slough of vermin. 
 
 Who will not relax their ravening grip. 
 Be it patriot knave or the fool in ermino, 
 
 Steals the murmur of many a dying lip. 
 
 We have been estranged, we will not be longer, 
 
 Now we know our brothers are sore in need. 
 And the weakened bonds will grow tight and stronger. 
 
 If we staunch the open wounds that bleed ; 
 We will throw a bridge across the distance. 
 
 And fill lip the yawning chasm with gold 
 ' Of ithe love, that is coined in rich assistance, 
 
 An^l lis pining for just our brothers' hold. 
 But. "When once oitr hands are clasped, apid whether 
 
 We set out on a new and nobler start," 
 Or we tread on the ancient lines together. 
 
 We will never, never let them part. 
 
 ''UNDER THE RED, WHITE, BLUE 
 
 We are brothers, although we diiTer, 
 
 As wo proved in our desperate plight. 
 When the dying lad graw stiffer. 
 
 And we carried him out of the fight ; 
 When the bullets v/ere fiercely raining,, 
 
 On the dwindling ranks of men. 
 And each soldier his best was straining — 
 
 We thought of no parties then.
 
 S2 BEFORE DAWN. 
 
 Under the blood-stained banner. 
 Under the red, white, blue, 
 
 Form in the f amoiis manner, 
 Englishmen, do yonx due. 
 
 We are patriots, if we sever 
 
 For a season, after strife ; 
 We are comrades still, whatever 
 
 Be the lot of oui- peaceful life. 
 We may sit upon separate benches. 
 
 We may bicker a bit and nag ; 
 But we toiled in the same dark trenches. 
 
 And we honour the same old flag. 
 Under tlie glorious banner. 
 
 Under the red, white, blue. 
 Stand in the steadfast manner, 
 
 Irislimen, do your due. 
 
 We are strong when we keep united. 
 
 We are weak when we wildly part ; 
 But if helping be once invited. 
 
 We were never twain at heart. 
 And we rode from a common stable. 
 
 While we knelt on a common sod ; 
 We were fed at one Mother's table. 
 
 And are worshippers of one God. 
 Under the world-wide banner. 
 
 Under the red, white, blue, 
 March in the ancient manner. 
 
 Englishmen, still be true. 
 
 We may quarrel about our trifles, 
 
 And from sundered platforms see ; 
 When we handle our swords and rifles. 
 
 We are friends and in all agree. 
 In the presence of public dangers. 
 
 When the empire is threatened sore. 
 We forget we were ever strangers. 
 
 We can quarrel then no more. 
 Under the Union's banner. 
 
 Under the red, white, blue. 
 Fight in tie fearless manner. 
 
 Irishmen, still be true. 
 
 BEFORE DAWN. 
 
 God's honey-gatherers, like the bee. 
 Work better in the shade ; 
 
 And sorrow, that no others see. 
 Is into sweetness made.
 
 BEFOEK BAWN. S8 
 
 But. they have only eyes fot aeed. 
 
 When gone is earthly light, 
 Who on their acts of mercy spaed 
 
 By faith, and not by sight." 
 And only, when the worldly glare 
 
 No longer vision bars. 
 From depths of more than midnight cara^ 
 
 They trace the heavenly stars. 
 
 And if, like Mary, who loved much,. 
 
 By loyal service drawn 
 To Him, whose holy life was such, 
 
 _We coaie before the dawn — 
 Like her, we never seek in vain. 
 
 And, for the darkened feet. 
 Willtreak a morning without pain, 
 
 Wiien we the Saviour meet ; 
 MnB angel hands shall lead us on. 
 
 While angel voices bless, 
 -And show yet shining as He shone. 
 
 The Sun of Eightoousness. 
 
 ^Before Him mortal splendour pales, 
 
 And yields a feeble spark ; 
 And ever do God's nightingales.. 
 
 Sing sweetest in the dark. 
 As Paul and Silas in their cgll,. 
 
 With faith of earthquake mighty 
 Sang, till the shattered fetters ffell. 
 
 Songs in the deepest nigh^:. 
 And prisoned souls in rayl(5ss gloom, 
 
 V/here all seemed piercing scorn. 
 Have found a bright 'immortal bloom. 
 
 Burst from each bloody thorn. 
 
   There is a Light, that never lay 
 
 On any mortal sight, — 
 A Light that clearer is than day. 
 
 And softer than the night ; 
 It is the Presence of the Lord, 
 
 Who bids the blindest be 
 Partakers, in one calm accord. 
 
 Of joys eye cannot see ; 
 If we but look above to Him, 
 
 Out of our human pride. 
 To know the dusk however dim. 
 
 The shadow at His side. 
 
 God made the darkness and the day. 
 
 To both a blessing gives. 
 But He who hides His wondrovis way, 
 
 in.iarkncss chiefly lives ;
 
 84 ONE. 
 
 And hearts, that in the thickest cloud 
 
 Yet humbly work and sing, 
 Feel only in the funeral shroud. 
 
 The shadow of His wing ; 
 They learn, through all the nnrrky strife. 
 
 That is with promise strawn, — 
 Hope is the lowhest before Life, 
 
 The darkest before Dawn. 
 
 ONE. 
 
 We were linked in the wildest weather. 
 
 And united deeds have done, 
 We have lived and loved together. 
 
 And our memories all are one ; 
 We were scorched in the torrid regions. 
 
 We were chilled by the Arctic cold. 
 And abreast with our battered legions 
 
 Have we broken the tyrant's hold ; 
 Shamrock and rose and thistle. 
 
 One while the sword-blades cross. 
 One where the bvillets whistle. 
 
 One where the billows toss. 
 
 We have triumphed in battles gory. 
 
 When the enemy came as a flood. 
 And the sunshine of hard-won glory 
 
 Fell alike on oiu- mingled blood ; 
 For the fainting hearts grew bolder. 
 
 And our spirits gathered pride. 
 As we shoulder stood to shoulder. 
 
 As we galloped side by side ; 
 Eose and shamrock and thistle. 
 
 One for the stormy fight. 
 One in the blotted epistle. 
 
 One through the darkest night. 
 
 We were joined and our foes derided. 
 
 When a common will had each. 
 And if parted were undivided 
 
 As we dashed up the deadly breach ; 
 As we faced, in the fire and racket. 
 
 Iron tempest of shot and shell. 
 The red-coat and red-stained blue- jacket. 
 
 Closing up where a comrade fell ; 
 Shamrock and rose and thistle. 
 
 One at the stubborn strife. 
 One of our bone and gristle. 
 
 One in the wedded life.
 
 MADE IN. HEAVEN. g5 
 
 We have conquered as one our dangers. 
 
 In the darkness of all the lands, — 
 Shall we now step apart as strangers. 
 
 And unclasp our brother hands ? 
 We have shared in each other's rations. 
 
 Through the grim and weary tramp. 
 We were one in the worst privations. 
 
 On the shipboard or in camp ; 
 Eose and shamrock and thistle. 
 
 One to the farthest east. 
 One where the icebergs bristle. 
 
 One for the fight and feast. 
 
 MADE m HEAVEN. 
 
 There is somewhere the red lips' blessing, 
 
 There is somewhere the joy for thee 
 Of the hands that move caressing. 
 
 And the feet that never flee ; 
 There is somewhere the ancient story 
 
 That is always fresh and true. 
 That to heaven gives earthlier glory 
 
 And to earth a heavenlier hue ; 
 Under the light unfading 
 
 Of a sweet unsettiug day. 
 Under the overshading 
 
 Of the golden clouds at play. 
 
 There is £ cm 3 where a voice that trembles. 
 
 Like the wind in the aspen tree. 
 That in vain for delight dissembles 
 
 The one welcome it holds for thee ; 
 There is somewhere a step that falters. 
 
 When another step draws near. 
 And a colour that fondly alters 
 
 With the faith akin to fear ; 
 Under the rose's blossom. 
 
 Where the petals fall and rest — 
 Under the lily's bosom. 
 
 That is white as a maiden's breast. 
 
 There are somewhere the eyes that soften. 
 
 At the picture they frame of thee — 
 And that turn in their dreamings often. 
 
 To the face they cannot see ; 
 There is somewhere a heart that flutters, 
 
 Like the wing of a wounded dove. 
 And that owns (if it hardly utters) 
 
 All its treasure of virgin love ;
 
 86 
 
 JACOB S LADDER. 
 
 Under' the sunshine stealing' _ 
 
 Through the ciirtained windcnS' ])ars. 
 
 Under the puriDle cieling 
 
 That is strewn with diamond stars. 
 
 There is somewhere a spot of brightness. 
 
 Which is ever day for thee. 
 Where the load is turned to lightness 
 
 And the prisoner yet is free ; 
 There is somewhere an endless siunmer, 
 
 Where the flowers unceasing bloom. 
 And the Inrd like a merry mummer 
 
 Has a song for the saddest gloom ; 
 Under the arms so human 
 
 That like tendrils round thee twine. 
 Under the smile of woman 
 
 Who was made in Heaven for thine. 
 
 JACOB'S LAUDER.— .4 r THE QUEEN'S 
 DRAWING ROOM. 
 
 Was it only a dream, or a vision 
 
 Of the heavens laid bare ? 
 A delight from above, or derision 
 
 From abysses of care ? 
 While the world all around me looked sadder. 
 
 Through its lacqvier of lies ; 
 Tet again seemed iipraised Jacob's Ladder, 
 
 From below to the skies- 
 Yet again streamed the wonderful glory. 
 
 From the figures that trod ; 
 And I saw re-enacted the story. 
 
 Of the angels of God. 
 Shapes of beauty, siirpassing narration. 
 
 Flitted up and down still ; 
 With the faces that were revelati&n. 
 
 In the darkness of ill — 
 With the eyes, that looked out in the splendour 
 
 Of their womanly trust. 
 And the love ever truthful and tender. 
 
 Like the sunshine on dust. 
 With the chime of melodious voices. 
 
 As in summery caves. 
 When the sea is asleep, and rejoices 
 
 In the rippling of waves — 
 With the rustling of delicate dresses. 
 
 And the shimmer of gowns 
 In the shadow, and light that caresses 
 
 All it daintily crowns —
 
 THE TWIN SISTEEg. 87 
 
 With the rapture of colour and movement. 
 
 And of jewels and lace. 
 Form and feature defying- improvement. 
 
 The indefinite grace, 
 Those sweet gifts, that demand not the favour 
 
 Of mere fortune to bless. 
 Of false art with its counterfeit savour. 
 
 Which queens may not possess. 
 And I saw in their charms such a magic. 
 
 In their sceptre-less hands 
 Such a power over all that ia tragic. 
 
 As would conquer the lands — 
 As would banish the sighing of sorrow 
 
 On oiir dolorous way. 
 And would bring in the happier morrow 
 
 Of a holier day. 
 They could give to earth's starving and straining 
 
 Its old innocent glow. 
 The lost Paradise richly regaining — 
 
 If they only did know ; 
 They might make the gray world so much gladder^ 
 
 And reform what is wry. 
 Just by being indeed Jacob's Ladder — 
 
 If they truly would try. 
 
 THE TWm SISTERS. 
 
 They grew together side by side. 
 
 Two branches of one tree — 
 They grew together in their pride 
 
 And promise, fair and free ; 
 Their arms were strong, their shelter wide — 
 
 As far as eye could see — 
 Where all who loved them might abide. 
 
 Though faithless friends should flee. 
 
 They toiled together in the shade. 
 
 Through lonely hours and loss ; 
 They saw around them systems fade. 
 
 And heard the tempest toss ; 
 While each bore out what either bade. 
 
 And rights refined from dross ; 
 Though one stretched out the justice blade 
 
 The other held the Cross. 
 
 They bled together, and the years 
 Waxed fruitful with their blood ; 
 
 And the two fountains of their tears 
 Flowed in one healing flood,
 
 88 WONDEKFUL SNOW, 
 
 Which cleansed the State from guilty feargy 
 
 Till it re-christenod stood, 
 And gave the Chiirch for pining years 
 
 A message glad and good. 
 
 They sang together in their joy. 
 
 And from horizons bright 
 Took the same hope tha.t could not cloy. 
 
 And drew a common might — 
 Eose out of forces that destroy. 
 
 To one more holy height ; 
 They purged each other from alloy. 
 
 And shared each other's light. 
 
 And still together now they stand. 
 
 Twin sisters free and fair, 
 Hand solemnly yet joined in hand, 
 
 As at the altar stair : 
 Bound in a sacred nuptial band. 
 
 They breathe no diiferent air. 
 And have one blessing for the land, 
 
 A God-iinited pair. 
 
 They live together, and they will 
 
 No less together fall ; 
 The shadow, that the one may kill. 
 
 Must be the other's pall ; 
 Parted they cannot linger still. 
 
 If fate should either call ; 
 And woe, that brings them mortal ill. 
 
 Dooms counti'y. Crown, and all. 
 
 WONDERFUL SNOW.— JULY 1888. 
 
 There is snow on the rose-covered places, 
 
 Tliere is snow fallen white at our feet. 
 And we laugh at the manifold graces 
 
 Of the summer and winter that meet ; 
 In the green of luxvmant gardens, 
 
 Vv'here the gay and the beaiitiful tread, 
 And the fruit that is mellowing hardens. 
 
 With its cai'i^eting cold is it spread ; 
 Up above in the eloudland of sjjlendour. 
 
 On the hay in the pasturage low. 
 In the air, on the foliage tender, 
 
 Hangs the wreath of the wonderful snow. 
 
 There is snow on the head turning hoary. 
 As it bends with the burden of age. 
 
 With the crown of the years, that is glory 
 To the warrior leaving the stage ;
 
 HELL. 89 
 
 Who has fought for his God and the nation 
 
 Of his fathers, and hero-like been 
 At the front, in the terrible station, • 
 
 Ever faithful to conscience and Queen ; 
 Sprinkled soft above wrinkles and hollows. 
 
 And the scars that the bayonet show, 
 Of the fame and the summer that follows. 
 
 Sweetly whispers the wonderful snow. 
 
 There is snow on the brow of the maiden. 
 
 On the delicate neck, and the arms 
 With their wealth of kind offices laden. 
 
 And it gives to her daintier charms ; 
 On the hand, that caressingly lingers 
 
 At the ministry moving our thorns. 
 With its throb of angelical fingers, 
 
 And that all things it touches adorns ; 
 Breaking into a comelier blossom^ 
 
 Hiding fire with its heavenly glow. 
 On the tlower of the virginal bosom, 
 
 Lies the light of the wonderful snow. 
 
 There is snow in the life, that is purest 
 
 And enlinked with vt^hatever is fair. 
 That from honour goes sacred and siirest. 
 
 And can breathe but the loftiest air ; 
 In the service that suffers, and lowly 
 
 Stooping down takes the weak to its side. 
 With the love that is humble, and holy 
 
 Rises up on the ruins of pride ; 
 In the heart that is human a.nd loyal. 
 
 Like the sea in its infinite flov/. 
 And the home of Divinity royal. 
 
 Is the secret of wonderful snow. 
 
 HELL. 
 
 Just the dim distorted will to follow 
 
 Ever, from the dawning to the dusk. 
 Ignorant the glittering gain is hollow. 
 
 Worthless as the fruit that yields biit husk ; 
 Never once to feel the glorious bridle 
 
 Laid by sei'vice on rejoicing strength. 
 Still to wander aimless on, in idle 
 
 Pastime, to the pall that drops at length ; 
 Still to lack the moulding of affliction. 
 
 Chisel keen that cuts and quickens well. 
 Free from saving loss, kind contradiction — 
 This is hell.
 
 90 BROKEN WINGS. 
 
 Jiist lo tread the same old selfish joiirney 
 
 Day by day, to the same selfish end. 
 Broken not by fierce delight of toiu-ney. 
 
 When brave spii-its meet and may not_bend ; 
 iSTot to know the agony of fighting 
 
 For the true and beautiful, or seek 
 Bliss in others' bliss by others righting. 
 
 Wiping tears from the pale orphan's cheek ; 
 Not to have the raptiiroiis pain of rising. 
 
 Borne on purpose like the ocean swell. 
 Upward to the Cross, while death despising — 
 
 This is hell. 
 Jnst to live for folly, and imtronbled 
 
 Yet to dance away the hours and jest. 
 Though the scourge with hateful lash redoubled 
 
 Falls upon the slaves who cannot rest ; 
 Yet to frolic on the graves of better 
 
 Men, who gave the world a little more — 
 Dared to loose if but a captive's fetter. 
 
 Leave two blades of grass for one before ; 
 Yet to pass iintoiiched the ancient riddle, 
 
 Written new in dnst and blossom's bell. 
 On the edge of solemn faiths to fiddle — 
 
 This is hell. 
 Just to flit, unchecked by noble serving. 
 
 On from flower to flower, in thoughtless haste, 
 Never for a petty moment swerving 
 
 Sweetly, to the founts that bitter taste; 
 Just to be a paltry peg for clothing. 
 
 Jewels, toys, and vanities, that shame 
 Our siiblimer lot, and bring us nothing 
 
 But the knife of self -condemning blame ; 
 Just to eat and drink, though thousands sorrow. 
 
 For to-day, and in the present dwell— 
 Glut one's way in all again to-morrow — 
 This is hell. 
 
 BROKEN AVIXGS. 
 
 Ah, theylwere once superbly bright. 
 
 Plumed with silver and gold, 
 
 Graces that could not be told. 
 Scattering from them flakes of light 
 Far, as they flashed with heavenly flight. 
 
 Stars in a midnight cold ; 
 
 Once they were sweetly bold. 
 Soaring in might 
 Upward to height 
 
 Hard for the pilgrim old. 
 Craving a glimpso of some better sight, 
 
 Blossoms above the mould.
 
 BKOKEN WINGS. 91 
 
 Now thoy are capped in dungeon dark. 
 
 Huddled with hateful things, 
 
 Torn from celestial spinngs, 
 Never to hear the morning lark. 
 Never to see a quickening spark — 
 
 Wealth that the summer brings ; 
 
 Now not a captive sings 
 Sorrows, that mark 
 Pathway and park — 
 
 Shade that to palace clings ; 
 Look at them fluttering near no ark. 
 
 Birdies with broken wings. 
 
 Once they were maidens white and fair. 
 Maidens of modest looks — 
 Features like gospel books. 
 Drinking a loftier, larger air, 
 Steadfast as on a temple stair, 
 Breathing of flowers and brooks ; 
 Once in the loveliest nooks. 
 Melody's lair, 
 E-oses their hair 
 Decked, while the sleepy rooks 
 Echoed the rest that would all repair — • 
 Toil of the reaping-hooks 
 
 Now they are women spoiled and spent, 
 
 Fools of the tempter's arts, 
 
 Hawked upon streets and marts, 
 Borne to their doom, as others went. 
 Pale with the rags and bosoms rent. 
 
 Playing their damned parts ; 
 
 Now the hot teardrop starts 
 Vain, in descent 
 Paved with intent 
 VirtuoiTS, leaving smarts ; 
 Oh for the bonds that are all imljont. 
 
 Women of broken hearts. 
 
 Once they were angels, fresh from God, 
 
 Moving with magic tread. 
 
 Weaving a golden thread 
 Deeply in web of life, as they trod, 
 Wreathing it round the judgment rod, 
 
 E-ound the grey tombstone's nead ; 
 
 Once were in blessing si^read. 
 Over bare clod, 
 Buxial sod. 
 Hands that transformed to bread 
 Stones of tho curse, where labourers plod, 
 
 Hands that awoke the dead.
 
 92 BI40KEN WINGS. 
 
 Now they are fallen, angels still. 
 
 Angels that cannot fly. 
 
 Cannot the errands ply 
 Meant for a world deformed with ill, 
 Following its own fatal will. 
 
 Dark with its duties wry ; 
 
 Now would they vainly try. 
 Grinding at mill 
 Mighty to kill 
 Body and soul, to buy 
 Back the bright places they should fill. 
 
 Angels, but not from the sky. 
 
 Yet shall the birdie burst its cage. 
 Sever the storms that cling- 
 Heavy above, and fling- 
 Shadows beneath, and dimly wage 
 Battle with doves that dread their rage. 
 Droop at their frosty sting ; 
 Yet shall the birdie sing. 
 Finding a stage 
 Fitter and age 
 Youthful again, and bring 
 Happier news of a holier i)age — 
 Birdie with glorious wing. 
 
 Yet shall the maiden rise, and shine 
 
 Fair without aid of ai't. 
 
 Fairer in nobler part. 
 Mingled of all things fond and fine. 
 Breath of the ocean, poet's line. 
 
 Light of the sunbeam's dart ; 
 
 Yet upon men and mart. 
 Sweetly shall twine. 
 Garlands, where pine 
 
 Souls, love with lovelier start. 
 Love that doth make the earth divine. 
 
 Maiden with maiden heart. 
 
 Yet shall the angel forth from stone 
 
 Stand, at the Master's call, 
 
 Comelier still from fall. 
 Speak, with a softer, wiser tone. 
 Wonderful words for the lost and lone. 
 
 Veiled iindcr worse than pall ; 
 
 Yet, where the fetters gall 
 Womanly zone — 
 Siin never shone — 
 
 Breaking the prison wall. 
 Beautiful, strong, shall stand her throne. 
 
 Deep within breasts of all.
 
 "turpe senilis amor." 93 
 
 Love is the name of woman, made 
 
 Subtly of tear and sigh. 
 
 Things that are holy and high, — 
 Wrought of the star light, and the shade 
 Cast jay the pure sharp battle blade 
 
 Flashing, when God is nigh ; 
 
 Love, with its heavenly tie^ 
 Gently shall lade 
 Outcasts that fade 
 
 Low in despair where they lie —   
 Yet shall exalt, as honour bade — 
 
 Lovej that can never die. 
 
 "TURPE SENILIS AMOll." 
 
 I seemed so old and she a simple child. 
 
 Who liked to be my plaything and my pet. 
 Though this old heart had feelings warm and wild 
 
 That human cravings still could not forget ; 
 She told me how she loved another, fair 
 
 In her young eyes as was the rising sun — 
 How wedded wei-e their lives^ like word and air. 
 
 That long to music had together run ; 
 And, all the while, deej) down the sleeping fire 
 
 Kept gnawing at my heart, until at length 
 It woke in hungry madness of desire. 
 
 As wakes a raging giant in his strength. 
 
 And on she babbled in her artless way, 
 
 Nor dreamed her grace in me could kindle love — 
 In one so old, with head already gray. 
 
 Who should such earthly weakness soar above ; 
 But, as she talked, the rosy colour came 
 
 And went, like radiance from a heavenly fovmt. 
 It trembled on her rounded check, as flame 
 
 Poured by the morning on a snowy mount ; 
 It seemed to send its beauty through my heart. 
 
 Burning and beating, and each tender look 
 So innocent, yet made my passion start 
 
 Up in armed might, and all my being shook. 
 
 Each thrilling word was as a dagger thrust 
 
 Eight in my breast, where bright her image dwelt, 
 
 And still I could not murder her sweet trust. 
 Nor dare to breathe a whisper what I felt ; 
 
 I had to mete her sympathy, and give 
 
 Grave counsel, and act out a hideous lie— «
 
 94 ON<:'E ONLY. 
 
 To hope her lover long might love and live, 
 
 When my fierce yearning wished he then could die i 
 
 I had to listen calmly to his praise, 
 
 Willie my fond need I might not ever tell. 
 
 And him with honour of ray own upraise. 
 
 When fain would I have dashed him into hell. 
 
 Her eyes grew bigger, brighter, as she laid 
 
 Her life's young dream all open to my sight. 
 In pleading frankness, pure, and half afraid. 
 
 As on her brow broke that unearthly light ; 
 And her whole form, with its transforming glow 
 
 Seemed bathed in heaven, and gathered in its arms; 
 Whate'er makes woman beautifid below, 
 
 And lifts us upward with its angel charms ; 
 And still I heard, and strove with measured ease. 
 
 Strong (though I reeled) to play my hated part,. 
 With tortured care to say but what would please,. 
 
 While pains of damned gouls were at my heart. 
 
 ONCE ONLY. 
 
 Once only— the large look beyond the stars. 
 The glimpse of God in the eternal shore. 
 As the free heart bursts through its prison bars — 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 Once only — the strong grip of earthly things. 
 
 When thou art master though the fight be sore. 
 The mighty sweep as of archangel wings — 
 OncG only, and no more. 
 
 Once only — the bold leap into the night. 
 Across the gulf that craven never bore. 
 When conquering love makes the mid darkness bright- 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 OncG only — the swift bow of pure intents. 
 
 That send the certain arrows to the core. 
 With faith creating its own continents — 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 Once only — the firm plucking from the deep. 
 
 The inmost secret of its subtlest ore, 
 From lands of sunset where the thunders sleep — 
 Once only and no more. 
 
 Once only — the firm stand on tops of thought. 
 
 Above the strife and garments rolled in gore. 
 Where deeds heroic out of trust are wrought — 
 Once only, and no more.
 
 DAMAGED DARLINGS. 95 
 
 Once only — the siire insight into trnth, 
 
 A beauty nothing mortal ever wore, 
 In the enchanted walk of wondrous youth— 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 Once only — triumph over awful odds, 
 
 Against the world that vainly tost and tore. 
 In other vaster days when men were gods — 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 Once only— the long gaze in maiden eyes. 
 
 That leaves thee wiser than mere bookmen's lore, 
 And with a flash imveils new earth and skies— 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 Once only— the wild clasp of all the sweet 
 
 Warm palpitating grace in woman's store. 
 When flesh and blood and spirit madly meet — 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 Once only — the soft plea of virgin's voice. 
 
 Which as the breath divine went on before. 
 When thou didst let her make the better choice— 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 Once only— the white hand in glory waved. 
 
 That opened to thee Eden's fiery door. 
 And from the curse in boundless pity saved— 
 Once only, and no more. 
 
 DAMAGED DARLINGS. 
 
 Yes, you. see them daily fliitter. 
 
 Gay within their gilded fence. 
 Daintily attired in utter 
 
 Pretty painted innocence ; 
 Breathing artless airs, and smiling 
 
 Softly with promiscuous grace. 
 On the fools for whose beguiling 
 
 Borrowed roses deck the face ; 
 Pleading to the highest bidder. 
 
 Hawked along from north to soiith, 
 Lovely — if you don't consider, 
 
 Don't look closely in the mouth. 
 
 Damaged Darlings, and yet vaunted 
 
 Free from every trick or vice, 
 Sound in character, undaunted 
 
 By the very lowest price ; 
 Not too proud to seek a pleasure. 
 
 From the biggest donkey's bray. 
 Glad to be an old man's treasure, 
 
 Any dotard's, who can pay ;j
 
 96 THE DANCE TO DEATH. 
 
 Scenting from afar the coffers, 
 Idiy it may be abused — 
 
 Ah, no reasonable offers. 
 Once rejected, now refiTsed. 
 
 Here they hover, at the doorway. 
 
 Marking out the man of gold, — 
 Hunted on to Nice or Norway, 
 
 Through extremes of heat and cold ; 
 There they wander, young and simple. 
 
 Angling sweetly in the Park, 
 Rich with bait of bhish and dimple. 
 
 Cunningly removed at dark ; 
 Everywhere, as Fashion orders, — 
 
 Opera, the social room, 
 Race-course, even religious borders —   
 
 Hut for market do they bloom. 
 
 Damaged Darlings, in fair station 
 
 Elegantly posed and drest. 
 Not without a reputation. 
 
 Though perhaps not with the best ; 
 Just a little soiled and faded, 
 
 Just a little worse for wear. 
 Not by slander overshaded — 
 
 If with other darlings' hair ; 
 Dwindled down by soro reduction. 
 
 From old prices to a half. 
 Wooing dupes still to destruction. 
 
 Hungry for the fatted calf. 
 
 THE DANCE TO DEATH. 
 
 V/hither, v/hither, O say, 
 
 Are they speeding away. 
 
 Youthful figures and old, 
 
 Over dead things not cold. 
 
 Scarce concealed by the iiowers. 
 
 Staring stark through bright bowers ; 
 
 Sober matron, sweet maid, 
 
 Not abashed, not afraid. 
 
 And the tenderest lewd. 
 
 With warm graces half nude. 
 
 That in modesty's pride 
 
 It were glory to hide ; 
 
 With the waving of arms. 
 
 And those delicate charms. 
 
 Breathing roses and rest, 
 
 Frorii white blossom of breast. 
 
 Coarsely bared to the glance. 
 
 In the rapturous dance.
 
 POCULA CIRCES 97 
 
 Beauty linked to the beast — 
 Are they finding a feast ? 
 Oh, to festival they 
 Carried are as its prey. 
 Like a bubble or breath, 
 —Unto death. 
 
 POCULA CffiCES. 
 
 They were gathered around the festive board. 
 
 At the wan and witcliing hour. 
 
 When the moon has a magic j)ower. 
 And the trees shed their shadows deep and broad, 
 On the miser creeping to his hoard. 
 
 And the ivy athwart tlie tower — 
 On the swan in the silver wave that oared. 
 
 And it peeped through the lady's bower. 
 
 They were scions of many a lordly line. 
 
 And of commoners greater still. 
 
 Who their country had saved from ill. 
 With the deeds that kingdoms shake, and shine 
 Throiigh the darkness they make more fair and fine ; 
 
 They had different posts to fill. 
 But they each took delight in the red red wine. 
 
 As it flashed at their wanton will. 
 
 They were crowned with every gift and grace. 
 
 In their stature strong and tall. 
 
 And the treasures came at call 
 That imite to adorn a lofty race. 
 But in lowlier cottage find no place ; 
 
 And they laughed at the dice's fall ; 
 But one had a statelier nobler face, 
 
 And he was the king of all. 
 
 He was heir to a glorious ancient stock. 
 
 That had sprung of a crimson seed. 
 
 From the fights in which heroes bleed. 
 And was shaped by the iron wear and shock, 
 When the royallest heads rolled on the block. 
 
 And the stoutest were a reed ; 
 Yet his fathers had stood, as a stalwart rock. 
 
 To which nations cling in need. 
 
 Yea, he was the chief of that brilliant band. 
 
 With the light of a larger morn 
 
 On the brow raised in regal scorn. 
 For he looked as if wrought to enrich a land. 
 Or to break a poor captive people's band. 
 
 Of their rights and freedom shorn ; 
 And hisvoice breathed the habit of command> 
 
 That is theirs in the pm-ple born.
 
 98 POCULA CIRCES. 
 
 And they jested and gaily slid the nightj 
 
 As if earth could beqtxeathe no pain. 
 
 In or the bosom put on a stain ; 
 But they took no heed of the heavenly light, 
 And the beam that stared through the ciirtain bright. 
 
 While a pleasure was left to gain ; 
 In the careless ease of their youthful might. 
 
 When the warning knocks in vain. 
 
 For the red, red wine went flowing fast. 
 
 And the mirth waxed louder yet. 
 
 As they bigger framed each bet, 
 And the cup its bewitching glamour cast, 
 That the future paints and obscux'es the past ; 
 
 Till the hideoxis seal was set 
 "Upon every soul, that v/ould even at last 
 
 All the faiths of Heaven forget. 
 
 And the Circe with transforming spell, 
 
 Though unliidden shared the feast. 
 
 With her juggling never ceast, 
 Till the svdnish lusts that darkly dwell, 
 In the heart so cheaply made a hell. 
 
 When the door is guarded least. 
 With the curse of discord fiercely fell, 
 
 And turned man divine to beast. 
 
 And the foremost in the drunken fray, 
 
 Who was mai'ked for mightiei things 
 
 A companion meet for kings. 
 Yet the farthest left the royal way. 
 And the lowliest down in miry clay. 
 
 Had defiled his angel wings ; 
 When upon them broke the blushing day. 
 
 And remorse with venom stings. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 It is joyous, the cup, 
 JBrimming o'er, flashing up, 
 Out of silver and gold, 
 That makes timid ones bold ; 
 With red fire of the grape. 
 Giving substance and shaT)0, 
 In its magical gleams. 
 To the lordliest dreams ; 
 With insatiable flood. 
 Drinking deep of man's blood, 
 As drank never the knife. 
 Slicking out the rich life, 
 From the treasures of all. 
 Silly slaves to its call ;
 
 VENUS VICTRIS. 99 
 
 Sparkling- on in the dance.. 
 Through the changing and chance. 
 For each passionate lip 
 Not content with a sip, —   
 For each petulant hand, 
 Lifted high to demand ; 
 Yet it kisses at last. 
 When the summer is past. 
 With delirious breath, 
 — Unto Death. 
 
 VENUS VICTRIX. 
 
 "The lamps biirn dim with their coloured light. 
 
 In a pale and purple glow. 
 
 And their shadows shyly throw 
 On a man rejoicing in his might. 
 And a woman wonderful and bright. 
 
 While her loosened tresses flow ; 
 And the winds outside, in the solemn night, 
 
 Do their stormy trumpets blow. 
 
 He was once the first in the festive throng. 
 
 When the ruddy wine went round. 
 
 And its joy was maddening found. 
 While he stooped in his youth erect and strong. 
 From the starry heights to the bestial wrong ; 
 
 Now he treads a fairer ground. 
 With red lips that move to murmuring souiad. 
 
 And wliite arms' enchanting bound. 
 
 Though one of a lineage high and old. 
 
 To him gives her maiden heart. 
 
 That is huckstered net in mart. 
 For the broad broad lands and the precious gold ; 
 He has taken the love so lightly sold. 
 
 And the glances sweet from art. 
 With the kisses richly paid and cold ; 
 
 He has chosen the doomed part. 
 
 Lo, her venal smiles upon him beam. 
 
 And her praises falsely steep 
 
 The infatuate soul in sleep ; 
 And he basks in those eyes of perjured glearri/ 
 Like a fool who floats in a dazzling dream. 
 
 While the fates yet closer creep, 
 Down the lazy breast of a lilied stream. 
 
 To some veiled and dreadful deep.
 
 100 VENUS VICTRIX. 
 
 But her warm soft hands about him twine. 
 And her breath in perfume plays 
 With delight that stings, and stays 
 
 A deliriovis hour, like the damning wine, 
 
 In which fires of a hundred sunsets shine ; 
 And a lock rebellious strays. 
 
 To the hungry hands that pant and pine. 
 For the lust tliat only slays. 
 
 And slowly her charms voluptuous slip. 
 
 As the dew on thirsty fields. 
 
 While he surely sinks and yields, 
 Throiigh the yearning bosom and parched lip. 
 And they throb like tlame to each finger's tip. 
 
 Like flame that a sorcerer wields ; 
 He forgets the Heavens that guide the ship. 
 
 And the holier love that shields. 
 
 He has only ears, in his prison pent. 
 
 As the hand within her glove. 
 
 For the voice that outcooes the dove. 
 While his thrilling form is spoiled and rent. 
 With the splendid beauty on him bent. 
 
 In a burning hell of love, 
 And the wanton grace profusely spent, 
 
 That would mock the skies above. 
 
 And her serpent limbs still tighter close. 
 On unmanned and pliant frame. 
 That no other touch would tame, 
 
 While the languid head in its luring pose. 
 
 And the mouth a ripe and perfect rose. 
 Have conspired to wreak his shame ; 
 
 He is walking the path ho wildly chose. 
 For the sunlit peaks of fame. 
 
 O she sucks the glory of his life, 
 
 And the blossom from his store. 
 
 What exceeds refined ore ; 
 Till his being all with passion rife, 
 Is of honoiu" reft, in the losing strife. 
 
 And the goodly fruits it bore ; 
 Till she casts him off as a blunted knife. 
 
 Wherewith sin can work no more. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Onward still do they haste. 
 Wanton bosom, wild waist. 
 And the jDaradise found. 
 In the arms softly wound. 
 And the dainty head tost, 
 Yet again to be lost.
 
 JACTA EST ALEA. 101 
 
 As the glowing limbs part. 
 And leave aching the heart ; 
 But in laughter and song. 
 Madly whirling along. 
 They are l:)orne without stay. 
 Turning darkness to day. 
 Of the noon framing night. 
 And with sadness delight ; 
 In abysses they drop. 
 But the rest never stop, 
 . In their feverish ti-ead, 
 On the dying and dead ; 
 Though the honeyed lips press 
 Closer still, their caress 
 Is but glory of shame. 
 And the sting after flame — • 
 Poison lurks in their breath, 
   — Unto Death. 
 
 JACTA EST ALEA. 
 
 He played for the highest chance, and staked 
 
 On a madman's throw his past, 
 
 And the future's promise vast. 
 With a passion winning never slaked. 
 And a conscience now that nothing waked ; 
 
 He drew to the hazard last. 
 To the crumbling edge and the ground that quaked ; 
 
 And the final die was cast. 
 
 He played with his honour, faith and fame. 
 
 As above the biirial sod. 
 
 Which with stumbling feet he trod ; 
 And he dragged his unsullied fathers' name. 
 Through the mire of the gamblei's shade and shame. 
 
 At the bid of pleasure's nod ; 
 And he played like a fool the Devil's game. 
 
 Like a fool against his God. 
 
 He played with the fortune his to spend. 
 
 And with others' lightly tost 
 
 Down abyss that none has crost. 
 In the lust that every bliss must bend. 
 Ere it fiic'S, and as a demon rend ; 
 
 But he counted not the deadly cost. 
 Till he came to the black and bitter end. 
 
 When he ventured his sovil and lost.
 
 102 JACTA EST ALEA, 
 
 It is over, then, the trumpet's call. 
 
 And the sunrise on his brow. 
 
 With the made and unmade tow. 
 While he owns he is but a helpless thrall. 
 Who has sold his birthright, life, and all ; 
 
 And he wonders blankly, how 
 He could ever sink to such ciirsed fall ; 
 
 There is nothing left him now. 
 
 He has had his morning swift and sweet. 
 
 Beneath skies of crimson glow. 
 
 By the la^ighing fountains' flow. 
 When the flowers leapt up his path to greet. 
 And in him each blessing seemed to meet. 
 
 And the breeze his praises blow — 
 When the world lay lovely at his feet ; 
 
 He is now himself below. 
 
 He has danced his time in the festive crowd. 
 
 He has drunk his fill of art. 
 
 And has had a dazzling start; 
 Shall he mvirmur, if his head be bow'd. 
 And the glory gone that life endow'd. 
 
 At the judgment in his heart — 
 If the reveller's robe tvirn funeral shroud ? 
 
 It is time he should depart. 
 
 And the friend who pledged his sacred oath. 
 
 He would never from him slip. 
 
 Though he lay in ruin's grip, 
 And to leave him always looked so loath. 
 Now regardless of the plighted troth ; 
 
 And the woman with red lip ; 
 Like the rats, they have failed and fooled him both. 
 
 And escaped the foundering ship. 
 
 And he stares at the litter in the room. 
 
 Here a cobweb, there a crumb. 
 
 As his groping hand grows numb. 
 That feels for some refuge from the gloom. 
 If a ray of sweet relief might bloom ; 
 
 But he sees the downturned thumb. 
 In the picture's grim familiar doom. 
 
 That condemns with sentence dvunb. 
 
 Then he turns from one gaze across the moor. 
 
 That bounds his beauteous land. 
 
 And the hills that purple stand, 
 To tho damned cards that made him poor. 
 And the shattered glasses on the floor — 
 
 To the gnawing inward brand ; 
 And he staggers blindly to the door, 
 
 Witli the pistol la his hand.
 
 A BROKEN HEART. 103 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Thoiigli they hurry so fast, 
 Sorrow seizes at last 
 On the gallant and fair. 
 With the (^rip of despair. 
 In the gliding of feet, 
 At the comedy sweet ; 
 On the loA^ers that cling 
 To each other, its wing 
 Wrought of trouble and gloom. 
 Falls with folding of doom — 
 Falls on weakness that slips. 
 Between kisses and lips ; 
 Ah, the hero with strength 
 Still unbroken, at length 
 To the last fatal throw 
 Must arrive, and below 
 Down be hurled in the deep. 
 Not of rest though of sleep. 
 And the woman's pure face 
 Worm and dust will embrace ; 
 For the jubilant dance. 
 Making ruin romance. 
 Is, with rose-laden breath, 
 — Unto Death. 
 
 A BBOKEN HEART. 
 
 She loved him, as a woman can. 
 Who gives but once affection oiit, 
 A single passion free from doubt, 
 
 Not tamely moulded on a plan. 
 
 Nor marred by fretful lips that pout. 
 
 Nor flirted lightly as a fan — 
 
 She loved him only, thp.t one man. 
 Heard but his voice above the shoiit. 
 
 Saw but his face, where thousands ran 
 In headlong race and battle rout. 
 Had known him under beggar's clout. 
 
 The prison gloom, the exile's ban — 
 
 Loved to the last, as she began. 
 Though tost about. 
 
 He loved her fondly, as man will. 
 
 Who seeks his pleasure not her own. 
 And harvest reaps he has not sown. 
 
 That comes from fortune not by skill. 
 With fancy tliat had gaily thrown 
 
 Eound her the movement of the rill.
 
 104 THE LAST STRAW. 
 
 The magic rest that haunts the hill, 
 And was as breezes wildly blown ; 
 
 He loved her, nor intended ill. 
 While grace so delicately grown 
 Had spread its dainty wings and flown ; 
 
 For, ah, his love was deadly still, 
 
 To him her beauty's inmost thrill 
 Was all unknown. 
 
 She loved him, as a woman must. 
 Who reckons not the price or pain. 
 Nor balances the loss with gain. 
 
 Who deems all others true and jiist 
 As she herself, nor thinks of stain 
 
 Left by the hideous grip of lust. 
 
 That kisses with the kiss of dust ; 
 
 She loved, nor dreamed of secret chain, 
 
 The serpent coil, the preying rust. 
 With every trouble in its train. 
 Until she found her glory slain ; 
 
 And so from home and honour thrust 
 
 She cannot, with her murdered trust. 
 Now love again. 
 
 He loved her idly, as man may. 
 Who buys for money on the mart 
 Some trifle scarce a work of art. 
 
 And would with it a little play. 
 To grace some folly at the start. 
 Or hasten on a weary day ; 
 
 With fatal love, that could not stay 
 Steadfast in any noble part. 
 
 But dragged her down to miry clay. 
 And stabbed her with its venom dart. 
 That gave a bitter biding smart. 
 
 He loved her in the sunliglit's ray ; 
 
 Then, like a toy, he cast away 
 Her broken heart. 
 
 THE LAST STRAW. 
 
 Brave as the bravest are, and willing 
 
 Now for the daily load. 
 
 Now for the longest road. 
 Fired with the dauntless courage, filling 
 All who delight in passions thrilling. 
 
 True to what duty showed ; 
 
 Ah, he would bear the sternest drilling. 
 If he might earn an extra shilling. 
 
 Ought that his master owed. 
 
 Yet, while the spirit flowed 
 Free in his breast, and, spite of spilling. 
 
 Life in its sunset glowed.
 
 WICKED OB WITCHED ? 105 
 
 Once at the front, he flashed, in races 
 
 Bright with the gilded throng. 
 
 Glory of feast and song. 
 Sheen of the daintiest lawn and laces. 
 Showered on women's tender graces ; 
 
 Sped without lash of thong, 
 Steady in conquering stride, and paces 
 Proud to be seen by angel faces, 
 
 Cheex'ing the courses long. 
 
 Trusting he would not wrong 
 Hopes, that assigned him foremost places. 
 
 Once, in liis sunrise strong. 
 
 Now in the cab that creeps and rumbles 
 
 Ever upon its way. 
 
 Ever from dawn of day. 
 Driven by trembling hand that fumbles 
 Oft on the reins, with oaths and grumbles 
 
 Deep after drunken stay ; 
 Now, though the task his record humbles. 
 Now, thoiigh his faltering footstep stumbles 
 
 Striking on muddy clay. 
 Stoutly he toils and never tumbles, 
 
 On throughthe gaslight's ray. 
 
 Still he is weaker, slowly tending 
 
 Down to the common grave. 
 
 Only the rest of slave. 
 Darkly by devious circuits wending 
 Lower, to the one sombre ending. 
 
 Silent, where none can save ; 
 Yet not a thought to spare the spending. 
 Yet not a sign of coward bending, 
 
 Respite he well might crave ; 
 
 Till the last trifle gave 
 Just the repose it lacked, his rending 
 
 Life, to the finish brave. 
 
 WICKED OR WITCHED? 
 
 Grand with the splendour of youth, the pride 
 
 Born of an R,ncient race. 
 
 Breathed by the noble face. 
 Gaily he launched on the social tide, 
 
 Rippling with pearl and lace. 
 Dancing along with its welcome wide. 
 Flowers that fangs of serpents hide. 
 
 Spread on the charmed space ; 
 Many a flatterer, none to chide 
 
 Footsteps that left a trace 
 Devious, dark, on the other side, 
 
 Down to the sunless place.
 
 106 DEATH IN THE CUP. 
 
 Rich in the treasures of earthly gift. 
 Treasures that rest on sand. 
 Silver and gold and land, 
 
 Heritage won by the ages' thrift. 
 Won without blame or brand 
 
 Courted he was by the friends, that shift 
 
 Always with every turn and drift, 
 Wave of an idle hand ; 
 
 Careless the false from the true to sift, 
 Garland from iron band. 
 
 Blind to the doom and the opening rift. 
 Fate with its dire'^demand. 
 
 Strong in the strength, that is given man 
 
 Yet unassoiled by years. 
 
 Stranger as yet to tears, 
 Indolent, prosperous, on he ran. 
 
 Making a jest of fears ; 
 Sickness had found not a place in plan 
 Framed for eternity, not the span 
 
 Hedged as by hostile spears. 
 Blighted with sign of the curse, the ban 
 
 Tolling on mortal ears ; 
 Merry each morn he anew began. 
 
 Under the sword that shears. 
 
 Dupe and delight of the Fortune, fair 
 
 Only to those that flout 
 
 Warning and honest doubt. 
 Shadows that darkeia n,nd climb the stair, 
 
 Sighs beneath victor shout ; 
 Favourite, fool of the summer air. 
 Tangled and tricked by a woman's hair. 
 
 Ruddy ripe lips that pout. 
 Dainty white hands that with his pair. 
 
 Eyes that would heroes vont ; 
 Flattered at last into liell's despair. 
 Not to be flattered out. 
 
 DEATH IN THE CUP. 
 
 Aroimd it goes, the cup of light. 
 
 With the old stoi.\y of the years. 
 Dark in ifn glory as the night. 
 
 Mingled wilh madness, pain and tears; 
 Laughing, and lying in the mirth, 
 
 That heavenly sounds, but is of hell. 
 And binds the soul with fiery girth. 
 
 Which bound the angels when they fell ;
 
 The last kiss. 107 
 
 He takes it fondly to liis lips. 
 
 That drink, nor feel the fatal dart 
 Below, and with no measixred sips 
 
 He sucks the poison in his heart. 
 
 Around it goes, the ciip of joy. 
 
 Thrilling through all his human flesh. 
 That turns the sky a coloured toy. 
 
 And movilds the ancient earth afresh ; 
 It tells of pleasure meant for youth. 
 
 That finds no burden in the task. 
 And hides the hateful serpent's tooth. 
 
 Under the paint and glowing mask ; 
 It bids him look on faces fair, 
 
 And listen to the tempter's voice, 
 Play with red lips and radiant hair. 
 
 And revel while he can rejoice. 
 
 Around it goes, the cup of liope. 
 
 With wine that ruddy is and sweet. 
 That makes the gates of Eden ope. 
 
 And lays the world beneath his feet ; 
 It points to pastures bright, and green 
 
 Spaces that break the ciirtained wood. 
 Where waters flash and sing, between 
 
 Hoar hills, that have for ever stood ; 
 It leads him to enchanted rooms. 
 
 With lovely eyes and luring games. 
 Where curled behind the radiant blooms. 
 
 Murmur the black eternal flames. 
 
 Around it goes, the cup of life. 
 
 And hundreds league to charm and cheat 
 The frantic trust, while cold the knife 
 
 Is sharpening for his bosom's beat ; 
 Smooth is the road, and smiling friends 
 
 Are there to hush alarm to sleep, 
 That veils the av/ful edge, and lends 
 
 The last wild plunge into the deep ; 
 Downwixrd he drifts and courts his fate, 
 
 Lulled by soft hands and Siren breath. 
 And (roused to danger) finds too late. 
 
 The cup of life is cup of death. 
 
 THE LAST KISS. 
 
 Old they called me, she was younger 
 Far, and fair in every part — 
 
 Not too old, tliough, then to hunger 
 Fiercely for her in my heart ; 
 
 When vt^as love, that laughs at distance. 
 Makes the infinite its stage.
 
 .108 MY MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 Weakly stooping to resistance. 
 Limited by straw like age ? 
 
 Paled the hour when we were parted. 
 As it ever ends with this. 
 
 And; I gave her, broken-hearted. 
 The last Mss. 
 
 Sweet she was with human sweetness. 
 
 Taking little, giving much. 
 Touched with earthly incompleteness. 
 
 Yet more beautiful for such ; 
 Shyly showing the affection. 
 
 Fools who knew not fancied cold. 
 Perfect in her imperfection. 
 
 Mixed of mortal clay and gold ; 
 But at length upon the glory 
 
 Fell the mourning none may miss. 
 Came to close our tender story. 
 The last Mss. 
 
 Lovely in her faults, and reaching 
 
 Heights that others did not gain 
 With their virtiies, and tlie teaching 
 
 Lightly won without a pain ; 
 Proud and wayward and imperious 
 
 Still, and no one's easy thrall. 
 Maidenly and coy, mysterious. 
 
 But a v/oman true in all ; 
 Ah, tipon our Eden daVkened 
 
 Change, and rose the serpent's hiss. 
 As I gave her lips, and harkened. 
 The last fciss. 
 
 Earth and heaven, of all their treasure. 
 
 Devil's gift and angel grace, 
 Joy and sorrow without measiu'e. 
 
 Gathered in that moment space ; 
 Day a,nd night of wondrous fashion. 
 
 Ocean breadth and whiiiwind sweep. 
 Every thrill of every passion. 
 
 Met in one delirium deep ; 
 Life no fiction ever moulded. 
 
 An eternity of l)liss. 
 Woe of hottest hell enfolded 
 The last kiss. 
 
 MY MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 The writing is not easy to be read, 
 
 So subtly traced, and dim 
 With mysteries that gather from the dead. 
 
 And cloiids that sweetly swim ;
 
 MY MANUSCRIPT, 109 
 
 That shine with woman's tender holy tears. 
 
 And look past earthly strife. 
 Beyond the vain l)lind yearning of the years. 
 
 The wonderment of life ; 
 Its characters are strangely mixed, qnd spread 
 
 Dark in each diverse tone 
 None may interpret, which my love has read 
 Alone. 
 
 The lines are broad and bold with maiden strength. 
 
 And in their shadows bright 
 With the great purpose hardly won at length. 
 
 After the toil and night ; 
 Cut on the calmness of the glorious brow. 
 
 By sorrow's chisel keen. 
 And wrought into one pure and perfect vow. 
 
 With awful lights between ; 
 Stamped round the mouth so chaste and chorry-lipt. 
 
 In work of suffering done. 
 Unknown to others, and a manuscript 
 For one. 
 
 But all those letters bear the blotted mark, 
 
 That tells of danger trod. 
 And wild white hands uplighted thro' the dark, 
 
 To silence men call God ; 
 And they are blurred with travail long, the sign 
 
 Of conflict healod o'er. 
 The seal of her, who, tost on surge malign, 
 
 Struggles at last to shore ; 
 What they have rescued from the fire they ttach. 
 
 Not fancy's lying art. 
 The dread romance of truths, that only reach 
 The heart. 
 
 A manuscript that, big with grief and i^ain. 
 
 May not be public still, — 
 My manuscript for ever must remain. 
 
 Through blessing that is ill ; 
 That grandly shows how good it is to live. 
 
 Though love in anguish lie. 
 And when the mocking world turns fugitive, 
 
 How beautiful to die ; 
 A prophecy, when lesser joys have flown. 
 
 Of supreme bliss to be. 
 Hid from the gaze of vulgar eyes, but known 
 To me.
 
 110 THE UNKNOWN GODDESS. 
 
 THE UNKNOWN GODDESS. 
 
 At first, I never guessed that such as she. 
 
 Who dwells among the stars. 
 Had stooped from dazzling heights to look on me 
 
 With all my ugly scars ; 
 That one so heavenly could in pity shine 
 
 On one so earthly, mean. 
 And with her beauty human and divine. 
 
 Stop at a thing unclean ; 
 I never dreamed a goddess on my fall 
 
 Had mercy's mantle thrown — 
 For thovigh she was a goddess, she was all 
 Unknown. 
 
 I thought her only woman, white and fair. 
 
 Though with an angel's pride. 
 Till once to cheer the night of my despair. 
 
 She drew the veil aside ; 
 And for a m-omenfc, just a little part 
 
 Eevealed of purer grace. 
 The wonder of the love that was her heart. 
 
 The rapture of her face ; 
 A glimpse of glory, for a life that ill 
 
 Instead of good had grown. 
 To comfort, though a goddess was she still 
 Unknown. 
 
 And now at times she visits me, in dreams 
 
 Of more than waking joy. 
 And flashes on my soul unearthly gleams. 
 
 To soothe my sad employ ; 
 O when my treacherous flesh and blood would fail. 
 
 From onsets fierce of sin. 
 She lets me gaze a. while behind the veil. 
 
 That shuts her heaiity in ; 
 And thus refreshed at work no more I fret. 
 
 If by the tempest blown, 
 Though with her gifts she is a goddess yet 
 Unknown. 
 
 She lets me touch the marvel of her hand. 
 
 At times, in lonely hour. 
 And then a light dawns on the darkest land. 
 
 The desert bursts in flower ; 
 And once she gave my hiingry lips a kiss. 
 
 That burnt into my heart. 
 And from the passion of that perfect bliss. 
 
 Life took a nobler start ; 
 She is a goddess true, in ebbing tide.
 
 AT HIS POST. Ill 
 
 Wlien other friends have flown. 
 Though still when she has drawn the veil aside 
 Unknown 
 
 At times her face is cold, and shadows break 
 
 The brightness of her brow^ 
 And waves of stormy troiible seem to shake 
 
 The head they cannot bow ; 
 But still they do not hide the heavenly fire. 
 
 That lights my humble spark. 
 And blends it wi^h her infinite desire 
 
 Leading me through the dark ; 
 And while I cannot hope to read her heart. 
 
 Or render it my own, 
 I feel she is my goddess, though apart. 
 Unknown. 
 
 But still I know, what often grieves me sore. 
 
 When nearer would steal love. 
 That one like me may never love her more, 
 
 AVho is so much above ; 
 I may not in the compass of my ken. 
 
 Embrace the mystic star, 
 But watch its radiant risings, now and then. 
 
 And worship it afar ; 
 And though the thought be bitter seed of pain. 
 
 Deep in my bosom sown. 
 To me she must a goddess yet remain 
 Unknown. 
 
 AT HIS POST. 
 
 The youngest of that brother band. 
 
 The best and noblest far. 
 He perished in a foreign land, 
 
 Beneath an Indian star ; 
 None of his kindred there was near. 
 
 With offices of love, . 
 To drop the tender human tear. 
 
 Or cry to God above ; 
 And none was there to render a'd. 
 
 Where it was wanted most, 
 When he, a soldier, not afraid. 
 Fell at his post. 
 
 But strangers' arms about him moved. 
 
 And swarthy faces bent 
 Upon him, in the furnace proved. 
 
 And by the torture rent ;
 
 112 AT HIS POST. 
 
 All, strangers only raised his head. 
 Or gave bnt careless heed. 
 
 And ministered, with noisy tread. 
 To him in iitmost need ; 
 
 These tended ^im, though wounded deep 
 And carried from the host. 
 
 When he, who did late vigil keep. 
 Fell at his post. 
 
 He early entered on the strife. 
 
 To play a conquering part. 
 And though a boy in stormy life. 
 
 His was a hero's heart ; 
 He bore the burden and the heat. 
 
 In battle lone and long, 
 Nor fainting once thoiTght of retreat, 
 
 Because his faith was strong ; 
 Because he would do all his due. 
 
 And made of Heaven his boast. 
 And to his God and country true. 
 Fell at his post. 
 
 And we shall never see his grave. 
 
 Nor plant memorial flowers. 
 Nor watch the petals ope and wave. 
 
 In those far foreign bowers ; 
 And callous eyes will mark the spot. 
 
 Where he was coldly thrust. 
 But ours in utter grief may not. 
 
 Nor mourn the sacred dust ; 
 Nor shall we now the relics take. 
 
 So sweet, to treasure most. 
 Since he, whom danger could not shake 
 Fell at his post. 
 
 His steed will whinny in the stall. 
 
 His dog whine at the gate, 
 Biit never answer to the call 
 
 Their master and their mate ; 
 No hand to -pet the glossy neck. 
 
 Or stroke the panting side. 
 Or brush away the white foam fleck. 
 
 That tells of glorious ride ; 
 And broken was no common plan, 
 
 One princely in a host. 
 When he, though fighting still, a man 
 Fell at his post. 
 
 And one he loved will never know. 
 
 How dear was she to him. 
 Though others' tears in torrents flow. 
 
 And others' eyes are dim 5
 
 NOT ANOIHEE. 113 
 
 But she to colder love will tiirrty 
 
 And list to lighter vow, 
 Yet not for him lier bosom burn^ 
 
 Nor pale her radiant brow ; 
 And othors may be told, not she, 
 
 How on that Indian coast, 
 Her name was murmured last, when he 
 Fell at his jwst. 
 
 NOT ANOTHER. 
 
 In a country of clear streams she grew. 
 
 And with graces all her own. 
 If she borrowed freshness of the dew. 
 And its freedom from the breeze that blew, 
 
 With the light by flowerets thrown, 
 
 That into her life had grown ; 
 the ifights onr noble fathers knew. 
 
 And their deeds of daring, sown 
 In her heart that each great exploit drew 
 
 To it, and had truly known. 
 They had taken root and sprang anew. 
 
 Though the glorious days were flown. 
 
 She was true as lines of < gospel book. 
 She was sweet as mountain air. 
 
 And bright as the music of the brook. 
 
 As it steals on in its leafy nook. 
 Or steps down its rocky stair. 
 Where the fern trees find their lair ; 
 
 And the beauty of all wild things she took, 
 With the sunset for her hair. 
 
 That in glints and gleams about her shook 3 
 And the mosses wioiight her chair. 
 
 While the moonlight gave the soft shy look. 
 And the morning made her fair. 
 
 With the courage not of women brave. 
 
 That is Nature's royal gift 
 To her favourites who an empire save. 
 Or could raise a people from their grave. 
 
 And the reefs whereon they drift. 
 
 And themselves of weakness sift ; 
 She was strongest, if the winter wave 
 
 Of a ruin without rift, 
 In its awful march was heard to rave. 
 
 In the shadow and dread shift. 
 And the danger but more courage gave. 
 
 And woiUci glorify and lift.
 
 114 JUST A WOMAN. 
 
 She was just herself, in splendid will, 
 Not a maiden carved of stone. 
 
 But a maiden pure through good and ill. 
 
 Who would evei-y tender office fill. 
 And imjjress a warmer tone, 
 Where the sunlight never shone ; 
 
 She was open to each earthly thrill. 
 Of our human flesh and bone. 
 
 That disaster would not turn, if kill, 
 Though the cross became her throne. 
 
 And remained a heavenly maiden still — 
 She was just herself, alone. 
 
 JUST A WOMAN. 
 
 Just a woman grimly slain, 
 
 Jitst a sister hacked and rent 
 By the knives, that left the murder stain, 
 And the wounds unclosing lips in vain 
 
 To the Heaven above them bent. 
 
 That no guardian angel sent ; 
 With the hands that would some pity gain. 
 And ui^lifted staiuich the warm red rain. 
 
 By the heart's deep fountain spent ; 
 
 Till the spirit God had lent. 
 Like a ransomed prisoner burst the chain. 
 
 And to God its Maker went. 
 
 Just a woman stabbed and torn, 
 
 Just a sister gash-jd and gray 
 By the cruel lust, that in its scorn 
 On the body, once by angel worn. 
 
 Had its cursed will, and lay 
 
 Black on glory turned to clay ; 
 Ah, the breast for love's caresses born. 
 And to beat in light of sunny morn. 
 
 Was cut short at opening day, 
 
 In its innocence of play, 
 Like a palace faded and forlorn ; 
 
 And the world went on its way. 
 
 Just a woman, oiitraged, killed. 
 
 Just a sister brought to shame. 
 Who had dainty posts of duty filled. 
 And in martyr's grand devotion willed 
 To have lifted up the lame. 
 Out of dungeon or the flame ; 
 Who in tasks of tender pity skilled. 
 Had to every touch of sorrow thrilled;,
 
 HER father's daughter. 11 = 
 
 And in all her glowing frame, 
 F'or the right and rescue came— 
 B \ i :f now for ever stayed and stilled. 
 Though in mocking mien the same. 
 
 Ju<?t a woman, fair of plan. 
 
 Just a sister peace had shod. 
 Who went down in race she sweetly ran. 
 As a soul foredoomed l)y some dread ban. 
 
 That makes even the bravest nod. 
 
 With its iron judgment rod; 
 Who had lived and loved a tiny span, 
 And the scarred world begun to scan! 
 
 Where the sufferers blindly plod. 
 
 To the grave beneath the clod ,- 
 Till she passed from cruelty called man. 
 
 To the mercy that is G-od. 
 
 HER FATHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Oh, he was a soldier bold. 
 
 And she was his daughter fair. 
 Framed of sunshine and of air. 
 
 Never made for suffering cold, 
 
 Never meant to leave the fold' 
 Brave the wolf within his lair ; 
 Up the easy velvet stair 
 
 Had she stept, and felt the hold 
 Soft of the luxurious chair — 
 
 Felt the joy of treasurers old. 
 
 Silk and satin, lace and gold. 
 Kisses warm on yellow hair. 
 
 But her father died, and went 
 With him all except his fame. 
 Simple cross and soldier's name. 
 
 Won beneath the banner rent. 
 
 Won by blood heroic spent. 
 
 Scars that graced the gallant frame ; 
 All the goodly things that came 
 
 Freely, pleasant sound and scent. 
 Vanished now. as though a game 
 
 Just of rank and riches lent 
 
 Only, and upon her bent 
 
 Poverty that fools call shame. 
 
 Yet she was her father's child. 
 And she proved her spirit now. 
 Would not to misfortune bow, 
 
 Met the brunt of billowa wild,
 
 116 THIC MODEKN ARMADA. 
 
 In lier girlhood sweet and mild. 
 Which no enemy could cow ; 
 Eesohite hei- maiden's vow, 
 
 Not by baits to be beguiled. 
 
 Yet — although she knew not how — 
 Still, if cowards her revil'd. 
 
 To draw round hei- undefil'd 
 
 Robes, and bear a stainless brow. 
 
 On she struggled glorious still. 
 Took but scanty food and rest. 
 While by cruel labour prest. 
 With her grand undaunted will. 
 Lured by all the tempter's skill. 
 Not to swerve from pathways blest ; 
 Still she firmly chose the best, — 
 Though her basket did not fill. 
 Hunger grew a daily guest — 
 Fought a losing battle, till 
 Friendly death that doth not kill. 
 Laid his cross iipon her breast. 
 
 THE MODERN ARMADA. 
 
 Silently it came, in motion 
 
 Secret, not a shot was fired, 
 Not a soldier's grand devotion, 
 
 Forth to meet its march aspired ; 
 Not a triimp{>t warning sounded 
 
 From the rampart, not an arm. 
 Though the v.alls v.ere close surrounded, 
 
 Waved defiance or alarm ; 
 Not a sentinel his duty 
 
 Did, or marked the solenm sight. 
 While the city flashed its beauty 
 
 Heedless, through the awful night. 
 
 Slowly on it rolled, in certain 
 
 Triumph, terrible to send 
 Waves of woe, in cloudy curtain 
 
 Wrapt, to its destroying end ; 
 Feasted some, and some were sleeping 
 
 Mad, unmindful of their fate. 
 None was faithful vigil keeping. 
 
 With the foeman at the gate j 
 Grimly came the new invader. 
 
 Read not in prophetic scroll, 
 Mightier than the old Armada, 
 
 iJring'iDg fetters for the soul.
 
 THK MODKRN AEMADA. 117 
 
 Dreamed the watclmian. at his poi'tal, 
 
 Lapt in selfish ease and lust, 
 Ifynorant of danger mortal 
 
 Nea,r him, traitor to his triist; 
 Laughed the captain, as he revelled 
 
 Long, at banquet starvelings gave. 
 While with tresses all dishevelled 
 
 Crept the woman to her grave ; 
 Sword and shield were gone, discarded 
 
 For the golden cvip of sin. 
 And through avenues unguarded 
 
 Stern the enemy stole in. 
 
 Slumbered even the priest, whom' honour 
 
 Called against the gathering;;host. 
 Checked not by the cheap Madonna 
 
 Daub, that decked instead his post ; 
 Though the temple needed purging. 
 
 Dust upon the altar lay, 
 Loud a thoiisand voices urging 
 
 Bade him now arise and pray ; 
 Till the holy fire, that dwindling 
 
 Down in ashes hid its light, 
 Lower sank, and past rekindling 
 
 Suddenly went out in night. 
 
 Not a voice a challenge uttered. 
 
 Owning peril, to the last, 
 Not a banner flamed and fluttered 
 
 Out upon the stormy blast ; 
 Not a step alert went faster 
 
 Yet, though nearer drawn to blood. 
 Strong to stem the dire disaster 
 
 Bursting on them like a flood ; 
 Not a hand the ai-mour buckled 
 
 Bright, round breast without a fear. 
 Brave for wife and babe she suckled. 
 
 Grasping l^iattle blade or spear. 
 
 Though dark fingers came and scribbled 
 
 Judgment on the palace wall 
 Proud, where drunkards lounged and dribbled 
 
 Lies, that coiild not hinder fall ; 
 Though unshaped a whisper, boding 
 
 Trouble, bred in ghostly gloom. 
 Clearer grew, and sharper goading 
 
 Conscience breathed of death and doom ; 
 Though the earth denied not token. 
 
 Skies gave comets dread to hang — 
 Fell th(g Cross de filed and broken. 
 
 As they jested, cursed and sang.
 
 118 THE MODERN ARMADA. 
 
 In they slii^t, with veiled faces. 
 
 Frightful shai:)es that crept and crawled 
 Sidelong, sinister, with paces 
 
 MuiHed, as they sped and sprawled ; 
 Still, with hungry looks averted. 
 
 On they hurried to the prey. 
 Into bulwarks left deserted, 
 
 Creatures serpentine and grey : 
 Still they sj^read their snares, and tangled 
 
 Easy victims in the mesh. 
 Hugged the sleeping fools, and strangled 
 
 Souls of men and throbbing flesh. 
 
 Doubt, with famished form and trailing 
 
 Dusky hair and garments dull — 
 Doubt, with appetite unfailing. 
 
 Grinning through a clammy skidl ; 
 Snakes entwined in twilight tresses. 
 
 Gnawing at the bosom stark — 
 Cold, with skeleton caresses, 
 
 Beaching blindly through the dark ; 
 Horrid, stealthy, dimly laying 
 
 Everywhere the icy spell, 
 Worse than winter, more than slaying— 
 
 Doubt, that hissing came from hell. 
 
 Doubt, the shapeless shape, came gliding 
 
 Gauntly from a caverned cloud. 
 Clad in rayless gloom, and hiding 
 
 Hateful featiires with a shroiid ; 
 Shedding mist around, and leaning 
 
 Low and yet without a trace, 
 Blank, with sightless orbs unmeaning. 
 
 Staring into empty space ; 
 Vaguely flitting here, and thither 
 
 Turning feet that made no soiind,— « 
 M.ade but blossoms fair to wither. 
 
 Loft the earth a burial ground. 
 
 Doubt, the disenchanter, setting 
 
 Here and there its Angers foul. 
 Branding all, and black forgetting 
 
 Bringing, like a midnight cowl ; 
 Still its presence evil thrusting 
 
 Into each most holy ha\mt. 
 Sapping sacred truth, and trusting 
 
 Tender blighting with its tatmt : 
 Still disturbing bovmds, and proving 
 
 Notliing to be great or good. 
 Shaking hoary faiths, removing 
 
 Landmarks that for ages stood.
 
 THB MODERN ARMADA. 119 
 
 Douht, the formless phantom, mockino- 
 
 Minds, with shifting- show, and hire 
 Baseless as a vision, rocking 
 
 Old foiindations sealed and sure ; 
 Murmuring its moods, and living 
 
 Death-like in the fogs of fear, 
 Born of madness and misgiving, 
 
 Speaking nothing loud or clear ; 
 Big with many an artiul question, 
 
 Dreadfiil hints that stick and stain. 
 Skilled to drop the vile suggestion 
 
 Prodigal in fruit of pain. 
 
 Doubt, disturbing each, the spoiler 
 
 Thirsting for the life of man. 
 Eager to defraud the toiler 
 
 Simple of his heavenly plan ; 
 Eager to mislead, in mazes 
 
 Murky reverent souls, and blind 
 Giant intellects, with crazes 
 
 Winding back to gidfs behind ; 
 Sowing hearts with poison, ever 
 
 Eolling sad and sightless orbs, 
 Dragging down the warped endeavour 
 
 Into night that all alisorl^s. 
 
 Greed, with bloated bulk, came dragging 
 
 Splay misshapen feet, and clutched 
 Fiercely at its gains, imflagging. 
 
 On with steps that only snuitched ; 
 Eaking up the mire, and groping 
 
 In the muck for treasure meet. 
 Out of any offal hoping 
 
 Still to gather something sweet ; 
 Snatching booty from the gutter 
 
 Filthiest, with fingers wried. 
 Scraping, scratching, in its utter 
 
 Zest, bixt never satisfied. 
 
 Greed, with hundred hands, that pointed 
 
 Everywhere, and spared no bud. 
 Not by priestly rite anointed. 
 
 Splashed with crimson marks and mud; 
 Pitting one against the other, 
 
 Jealousy and lack of rest 
 Planting, till the very mother 
 
 Spurned the baby at her breast ; 
 Parent but of deep division 
 
 In disordered will, and sped 
 Forth to rapine, to derision 
 
 Of the tears the orphan shed.
 
 120 THE MODEKN ARMADA. 
 
 Lust, witii shining garb, and glorious 
 
 Eyes, that sleeping souls wotild wake 
 Wild to passion — eyes victorious — 
 
 Lust, half -woman and half-snake ; 
 Came and saw and conquered bosoms, 
 
 Witched by her strange beaxity, blind 
 Still to doom beneath the blossoms. 
 
 Scattered by her to the wind ; 
 Touched, and with her magic thrilling. 
 
 Sent the venom in a flood. 
 Cruel, hot as lire, and killing. 
 
 Mixed with madness, through the blood. 
 
 Lust, with every grace invested. 
 
 Wonderful and white, and strong 
 Natures weak to woo, arrested 
 
 Hardly in the road of wrong ; 
 Soft and siniioiis, and stealing 
 
 Dimly on the drowsy frame. 
 Under smile and blush concealing 
 
 All the harlotry of shame ; 
 Lovely, niide, delicious, tempting 
 
 Saints with sighing honeyed breath, 
 None from her embrace exempting, — 
 
 Lust, whose parting kiss is death. 
 
 Many more, disguised and deadly. 
 
 Foes to man's diviner part. 
 Where the wine-cup flashing redly 
 
 Flowed, came fond into his heart ; 
 Enemies, whose name is legion. 
 
 Foul as fiends, with angels' air, 
 Eich in spoils of every region. 
 
 Entered fast and seemed so fair ; 
 Bringing bliss and rose-like vices, 
 
 Stript of every thorn, to suit 
 Timid tastes, with fragrant spicfes. 
 
 Veiling the forbidden fruit. 
 
 Yet no warning sign was given 
 
 Men, who woke but to despond. 
 While poor guilty souls, unshriven. 
 
 Past into the night beyond ; 
 Lost their splendid faith the holy. 
 
 Left his wisdom even the sage. 
 Mighty warriors lamed and lowly 
 
 Poll, though not in battle's rage ; 
 Widows stooped to the invader. 
 
 Maidens no more maidens wept. 
 Slew and slew the grim Armada 
 
 Still, and still the City slept.
 
 A MAID OF DKVON 121 
 
 A MAID OF DEVON. 
 
 Come, raise your hats, proud nobles, now 
 
 To one who never bent — 
 To a more noble maiden bow. 
 
 Whose name was Millicent ; 
 A child of gentle blood and bold. 
 
 If yet iinknown to fame. 
 Whose story should be writ in gold. 
 
 And she a household name ; 
 Ah, bow the haughty head, and kneel 
 
 To this young queenly maid, 
 Who held her purpose firm as steel. 
 
 To death; nor was afraid. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 Down in the lovely Devon land. 
 
 Where women all are fair. 
 Where men are mighty to command. 
 
 And breathe a larger air — 
 It happened, what I tell in song. 
 
 This true heroic deed. 
 To show a maiden can be strong. 
 
 Though fragile as a reed- 
 There ])eats a heart in childhood's breast. 
 
 To do and grandly dare, 
 A spirit that can laugh at rest. 
 
 And fiery tortures bear. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 Ah, mothers, when your pets run wild. 
 
 Thorns fret the floweret's stem, 
 Think of that tender woman child. 
 
 And gentle be to them — 
 Of her, who, as to burning stake, 
 
 A martyr dared to go. 
 And love all maidens, for the sake 
 
 Of her who sutfered so ; 
 Could those, who in a palace dwell. 
 
 And shielded are from wrong. 
 Stand vmder such a cross as well. 
 
 Such burden bear as long ? 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 She numbered scarcely sweet ten years. 
 
 And dainty was and slight. 
 And mingled seemed of roses' tears. 
 
 Pure lilioSj love^ and light ;
 
 122 A MAID OF DEVOK. 
 
 The promise of the bud, that opes 
 
 Just to the morning's kiss. 
 Lay on her with its radiant hopes. 
 
 In prophecies of bliss ; 
 Gleams as of siinrise in the east. 
 
 Glanced through her golden hair, 
 Foiuid in her glorious eyes a feast, 
 
 And made her wondrous fair. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 One day, at school, in careless play, 
 
 Kvmning to catch a ball. 
 She slipt on her impetvious way. 
 
 And had a grievous fall ; 
 She broke her pretty arm, and quick 
 
 The cruel pangs th:it came. 
 Turned her bravo bosom faint and sick. 
 
 And qviivered tlirough her frame ; 
 And hardly coiild she rise, and drag 
 
 Feet lightly i\sed to roam. 
 And oft she was obliged to lag. 
 
 Before she reached the home. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 She sought the mistress, sad and pale. 
 
 In quest of j^itying art 
 And helping hands, with trembling tale. 
 
 And anguish in her heart; 
 But kindness none she met from her. 
 
 Who held a parent's place. 
 And should have been a comforter. 
 
 But turned a frigid face ; 
 She called her " coward," many a name 
 
 Child never tamely bore. 
 Till a fixed purpose fierce as flame. 
 
 Arose — to say no more. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soiil of Millie Gray, 
 
 Hard was the mistress, stern and cold. 
 
 Who treated suffering thiis. 
 And only mocked the tale she told. 
 
 As if an idle fuss ; 
 She laughed at falls, bade Millie try 
 
 To bear a trifling pain, 
 And not for "nothing" weakly cry. 
 
 Or baby-like complain ; 
 Indeed, she said pride must be thrown. 
 
 Turned rudely on her heel —
 
 A MAin OF DEVON. 123 
 
 She had no children of her own. 
 Nor coi^ld for children feel. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 And then the resolution sprang' 
 
 Splendid, in that young mind. 
 Still to endnre the awful pang-. 
 
 When duty was so blind ; 
 Still to go on in silent grief, 
 
 Whate'er might be the harm, 
 Thovigh hidden pain, with no relief. 
 
 Gnawed at the pretty arm ; 
 Still to keep silent her sad plight. 
 
 The story how she fell. 
 And though at last it killed outright. 
 
 Yet never never tell. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 And so she did, she calmly went 
 
 From lessons to her play. 
 Though ceaseless tortures racked and rent 
 
 The broken limb, all day ; 
 And all the night, on sleepless bed 
 
 She lay, nor uttered cry, 
 Though tho wild throbbings never fled, 
 
 And rose to agony ; 
 Day after day, with wliite set face. 
 
 She played her conquering part. 
 And gathered fresh angelic grace. 
 
 With misery at heart. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Grey. 
 
 No thought of yielding, though more faint 
 
 And feeble she became — 
 As if had stept some martyr saint. 
 
 Forth from a pictiire-f rame ; 
 Her large gray eyes seemed larger still. 
 
 Beseeching, soft, and fond — " 
 Like eyes, that through this earthly ill. 
 
 Look into worlds beyond ; 
 Love found fair missions for her feet. 
 
 With more than childhood's power. 
 And all that makes a maiden sweet. 
 
 Burst into glorious flower. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gaay. 
 
 Companions thought her kinder, changed 
 To something gentler, new.
 
 124 A MAID OF DEVON. 
 
 From the wild darling who had ranged. 
 
 As each fresh fancy drew ; 
 They scarcely marked the paler cheek. 
 
 To the old kisses turned, 
 Nor troubled in riTde health to seek 
 
 The reason, why it biirned ; 
 "Why oft from their caresses roiigh 
 
 She shrank, and even at noon 
 Of the old pleasures had enough. 
 
 And grew so weary soon. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 Week followed week, and still she kept 
 
 Her bitter secret sure, 
 Nor wavered once, nor child-like wept. 
 
 Heroic to endure ; 
 Heedless to count the loss or gain, 
 
 In her devoted part. 
 While waves of purifying pain 
 
 Swept tlirough lier virgin heart ; 
 Till, without bowing broke the strength. 
 
 Compassion should have healed. 
 And death, more merciful, at length. 
 
 The dreadful truth revealed. 
 
 O y^ who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 The angels heard her call, one night. 
 
 Tost on her fiery bed. 
 And carried her to rest and light. 
 
 Whither the Saviour led ; 
 That frame, for which no pity cared. 
 
 With all its wasted charm. 
 Showed then the broken bone, when bared. 
 
 Pierced throiigh her pretty arm ; 
 Tears fell from eyes imused to weep. 
 
 For that true noble maid. 
 Who so in silence dared to keep 
 
 Such woe, nor was afraid. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Gray. 
 
 Then let her give another name. 
 
 To our great golden year, 
 And be a portion of the fame 
 
 That makes old Devon dear ; 
 And when we talk of gallant deed. 
 
 Done on the ocean wild. 
 By worthy men, in England's need, 
 
 Eemember that fair child ;
 
 " THE BEAUTIFUL NANCY. 12 
 
 Who chose to bear the bitter pain. 
 
 And the more bitter lie. 
 And rather thus than once complain, 
 To suffer and to die. 
 
 O ye who read this story, pray 
 For the sweet soul of Millie Uray. 
 
 ''THE BEAUTIFUL :NANCY." 
 
 The heavens were all gritty and grim. 
 With the rain-spluttered splashes ; 
 
 And the waters rolled ragged and dim, 
 In unmerciful crashes. 
 
 'Twas as though a mad painter had flung 
 
 On the sky and its vapoiu-s. 
 The gaunt shapes from his fantasy sprung. 
 
 Their ca^Jrices and capers — 
 
 The wild dreams of his frantic conceit, 
 
 la their writhings and rushes ; 
 All the chaos his hand could complete. 
 
 With tempestuous brushes. 
 
 And the billows were wrapped in a mist. 
 
 They fell backward and forward 
 As they hustled each other and hissed, 
 
 With the spray driven shoreward. 
 
 How they grappled the seaweed they caught, 
 
 In tlieir hunger and hurry ! 
 How they mumbled and mouthed it and fought, 
 
 As do hounds what they worry ! 
 
 They were yellow of feature and face. 
 
 And their fury was single ; 
 While they clutched with a cruel embi'ace. 
 
 At the yellower shingle. 
 
 What a jostling and thumping of stone. 
 
 What a rattling of pebbles, 
 Made the seaboard look famished and lone. 
 
 With their storm-cleaving trebles ! 
 
 Lean and lank lay the seaweed in lines — 
 
 Yea, it massed in to mountains ; 
 And in ridges and ribs and inclines. 
 
 Whence the steam flowed in fountains.
 
 126 "the beautiful nancy." 
 
 Down the wind swooped in passionate squalls^ 
 
 Sowing rnin and sadness ; 
 Till it sank into sinister falls. 
 
 In the midst of its madness. 
 
 Now it broke the broad spaces in lumps. 
 
 That wore swollen and savage ; 
 While they moved with cross jerkings and jumps. 
 
 To destruction and ravage. 
 
 Now it clotted the billows in curds. 
 
 With a fretting and foaming ; 
 Or it draggled slant wings of the birds. 
 
 That it dipt in their roaming. 
 
 Now it whipped the white tops of the waves. 
 
 With invisible scourges 
 Or it drove like a ploiighshare, that graves 
 
 Through the heart of the surges. 
 
 Now it crept through the cracks of the gale. 
 
 As through chinks in a hovel ; 
 While the waters went crawling and pale. 
 
 With a serpentine grovel. 
 
 Then in zigs and in zags rushed the rain. 
 
 From its toppled down sluices ; 
 Making mischief and mirth out of pain. 
 
 And a thousand abuses. 
 
 Here the shingle was scribbled and scrawled. 
 
 With the wreckage in acres ; 
 There the sand-hills rose bitter and bald. 
 
 Save with scum from the breakers. 
 
 And the ships in the stress of the storm. 
 
 Growing laggard and craven. 
 Just as doves in a timorous swarnij 
 
 Were all huddled in haven. 
 
 Ah, they tugged at their anchors and strained, 
 
 With a horror of reeling ; 
 And the hopes of the mariners waned. 
 
 To a desperate steeling ! 
 
 By the edge of the sea where it broke, 
 
 A wan woman went pacing ; 
 And yet never a syllable spoke. 
 
 To the strife she was facing. 
 
 In the teeth of the wind she stood fast, 
 
 Though it ever waxed bolder ; 
 ThoiTgh it tore at her garments, and cast 
 
 The wild hair on her shoulder.
 
 "THE BEAUTIl'UL NANCT." 12/ 
 
 Oft she shaded her eyes Avith her hands. 
 
 Through her tresses 'wet tangle ; 
 Slewing round on the sea and the sand, 
 
 In the riot and wrangle. 
 
 Was her boy not the flower of the flock, 
 
 And the fool of her fancy 'i 
 Woiild he 'scape through that shadow and shock. 
 
 In the " Beautiful Nancy " ? 
 
 She was due — and the seamen in doubt. 
 
 Stood with lean levelled glasses ; 
 Sweeping still the horizon about. 
 
 O'er those perilous passes. 
 
 But the ships in the Downs lay all snug. 
 
 Full a thousand and over ; 
 And not one braved the hurricane's hug, — 
 
 It was death to the rover. 
 
 Tossing up, tossing down, till they leaked. 
 
 Beating back to the ocean ; 
 While the cordage all rattled and creaked. 
 
 With a dismal commotion. 
 
 Though the timbers no rivet had lacked. 
 
 Yet the sea was their master ; 
 Into fissures and fiirrows they cracked. 
 
 That seemed doomed to disaster. 
 
 Though the framework was seasoned and sound, 
 
 The best bolts stirred and started ; 
 Though the bidwarks with iron were bound. 
 
 Yet the clamps pulled and parted. 
 
 Through the canvas and rigging the wind. 
 
 Made a whistling and rushing ; 
 Every angle and flap it could find, 
 
 Felt its rending or crushing. 
 
 Under shelter the water was slack, 
 
 Though the sea ran in wrinkles ; 
 While the beacon through rain and through rack. 
 
 Shed the feeblest of twinkles. 
 
 Yet that woman went lonely and white. 
 
 For the fool of her fancy ; 
 Would he come in the day or at night. 
 
 In the " Beautiful Nancy " ? 
 
 Lo, her sea-sodden garments drip down. 
 
 And her hands twist and tingle ; 
 And her feet tremble naked and brown. 
 
 As they gripe at the shingle.
 
 128 "THE BEAUTIFUL NANCT.*' 
 
 Open-mouthed and wide-eyed doth she lean. 
 
 In a gaze vast and vivid ; 
 Taking in at a glance all the scene. 
 
 With her look long and livid. 
 
 Blow on blow, sheet on sh.eet, they hit hard. 
 
 Savage wind, savage water ; 
 Till she bends as a mast or a yard. 
 
 In the whirl that has caught her. 
 
 Till she rocks as a drunken man reels. 
 
 Or a wight in a swooning ; 
 While she hears with a whizzing of wheels, 
 
 Tlie old songs of her crooning. 
 
 Till she sees, as she'staggers still On, 
 
 Through a mist of mad spangles, 
 A young face that is weeping and wan. 
 
 That the storm strikes and ma,ngles. 
 
 Now to larboard and starboard she sways. 
 
 Now backward and forward ; 
 Then she miitters a charm or she prays. 
 
 Looking southward and nor'ward. 
 
 Far to east, far to west went'her look. 
 Through the hurricane's chiu-ning ; 
 
 While her bosom was tortured, and shook, 
 With an infinite yearning. 
 
 Is his sail, that the blast beats and caves. 
 
 The white crest in the distance ? 
 Does he sink in the trough of the waves. 
 
 Beyond liail of assistance. 
 
 O she longs for a glimpse of her lad. 
 
 For the fool of her fancy ; 
 Who went sailing so bright and so glad. 
 
 In the " Beautiful Nancy " ! 
 
 What is this that the billovvs have cliitched. 
 
 As a prey or a plaything ; 
 That the foam flakes have yellowed and smutched. 
 
 With their creamy enwraithing ? 
 
 What is this that they grind in their grip. 
 
 As do hounds in their hurry ; 
 Which they mvimble and mouth and let slij). 
 
 Like a bone that they worry ? 
 
 Is it flotsam or jetsam, or corpse 
 
 With dank sea-braided tresses ; 
 That the Avild water strangles and warps. 
 
 In its cruel caresses ?
 
 "THE BEAUTIFUL NANOT 
 
 12^ 
 
 Is it waif of a wreck that has sunk. 
 
 And rolls rottin<,' or rotten ; 
   A brino-bitten plank or ii Imnk, 
 From abysses forgotten ? 
 
 How they tumble the toy in their sport. 
 
 Do those tyrannous surges ; 
 How the lashes rain sharper and short. 
 
 From those pitiless scourges ! 
 
 Now it leaps with a plunge from the womb, 
 
 Of the wind-riven breakers : 
 Now it flies like a ghost to its tomb, 
 
 In the ocean's dim acres. 
 
 And nearer and nearer it drew. 
 
 On its storm-ridden pillow ; 
 To a shape from a shadow it grew, 
 
 As it danced with the billow. 
 
 'Tis a plank or a rib from the side. 
 
 Of some sea-scuttled vessel ; 
 That was torn ]>y the fangs of the tide. 
 
 With the tempest to wrestle. 
 
 Ah, she buried her nails in her hands. 
 And she twined and untwined them ; 
 
 Staring rovuid on the sea and the sands. 
 And the gloom thsit confined them ! 
 
 Ah, she bit at her lips in their blood. 
 
 Till her teeth met together ; 
 While the rain's sheeted slants in a flood. 
 
 Blurred and blotted the weather ! 
 
 Empty hands she reached forth to the plank, 
 
 As it rose and siibsided ; 
 As she touched it, it shivered and sank. 
 
 And her anguish derided. 
 
 Now it flowed on the cap of a wave. 
 
 And the back current breasted ; 
 Now a flounder and wallow it gave. 
 
 And re-ebbed unarrested. 
 
 But at last to her prayers it was sent. 
 
 But in sorrow and pity ; 
 By the rage of the elements rent. 
 
 And all grimy and gritty. 
 
 Through the siirf with its passionate beat, 
 Drove the thing that she dreaded ; 
 
 Till it lay like a log at her feet. 
 In the seaweed embedded.
 
 130 DiOffENES IN SEARCH OF VIETUE. 
 
 With a hublnib and hiistiing it came, 
 
 Kead alar by hor fancy ; 
 For in letters of light ran the name — 
 
 Of the " Beautiful Nancy." 
 
 DIOGENES IN SEARCH OF VIRTUE. 
 
 (Pi'orei'J'S .r.fd'i. c, 10 v.) 
 
 Come with me and tread close on the traces. 
 Where the land of fair womanhood lies ; 
 
 With the gieam of volviptuous faces. 
 And the giance of unvirtnous eyes ; 
 
 Where lust with decor vim embraces, 
 In tremvilous laughter and sighs. 
 
 Let lis seek for some purity token, 
 In the blaze of the bvitterfly throngs ; 
 
 Where the will of the proudest is broken, 
 Witli the magic of amoroiis songs ; 
 
 Where if vice is a horror unspoken. 
 It is ever enactmg its wrongs. 
 
 Messalina the Queen has her histories. 
 And their secrets of shame and of shade ; 
 
 The debauches of wanton consistories, 
 And the criminal kisses well-paid : — 
 
 While the fliinky is fondling his Mistress, 
 See the Master caressing the maid ! 
 
 Here's Augusta the beaiitiful Peeress, 
 Who has jewels as cheap as her charms ; 
 
 Witli a heart that no libertine wearies. 
 And a bias to neighbourly arms ; 
 
 Though a blot on her titiilar series. 
 Yet no scandal her character harms. . 
 
 There is Constance whose delicate orgies. 
 
 Are inconstant to all but to lust ; 
 The wife of a Member who gorges. 
 
 And yieldsdier a port-witted trust ; — 
 Lo, she sits at his table, and forges 
 
 Fresh fetters of falsehood and dust. 
 
 There is Faith with her pious discretion. 
 
 As a Quakeress pretty and prim ; 
 While those eyes seem to play at confession, 
 
 liike her violets dewy and dim : — 
 Will she shrmk from a tender transgression. 
 
 If absolved by a sermon or hymn ?
 
 DIOGENES Tl? SEARCH OF VTRTUE. IS^ 
 
 Look at Prudence the wife of the Eectov, 
 
 A fair creMture of crotchets and nerves ; 
 Whose sentiment hiscious as nectar. 
 
 From no path of propriety swerves ; — 
 Look again, iind (behold !) you detect her. 
 
 As a poacher on other preserves. 
 
 What of Innocent made for adoring. 
 
 Like a lily or sensitive plant ? 
 With her manners and memory storing. 
 
 New maxims and modes to enchant : — 
 When her beef-nourished h\isband is snoring. 
 
 She belies all her exquisite cant. 
 
 Then the Ruth who went blithely and quickly. 
 
 Right away from the rout to her room ; 
 When her mother was taken so sickly, 
 
 Tliat she fell on tlie neck of her groom ; — 
 If the notes in her chamber lay tliiokly, 
 
 Did she come for her mother or whom ? 
 
 We have heaixl of the patience of Una, 
 
 In the midst of calamity sharp ; 
 Is a saint to be found to impugn her, 
 
 Or at one of her actions to carp ? — 
 Yet she has an aii'air with the Tuner. 
 
 Who plays more on her than her harp. 
 
 If the rest are offenders at seasons. 
 
 We are told Theodora is pure ; 
 And for this of all possible reasons 
 
 To be slow is as well to be sure '■ — 
 Yet she hugs her French novels and treasons, 
 
 Though her face is devoutly demiire. 
 
 Tiirn to Chai-ity now in her dairv. 
 
 Where she shines as a star in the shade ; 
 
 Was thei-e ever a being so fairy, 
 
 In a world so deformed and decayed ? 
 
 Say observers, whose glances are weary. 
 She is only the mask of a maid. 
 
 Zoii's bloom is of beautifiil rareness. 
 
 And her source of seduction is deep ; 
 Yet her sins have a ludicrous bareness, 
 
 And lasciviousness talks in her sleep :^ 
 To be common is portion of fairness. 
 
 To be charming is still to be cheap. 
 
 If we search in the house and the hovel. 
 
 We shall find the disgrace is the same ; 
 Yea, the fiction we damn in the novel. 
 
 May not half the reality name ;— 
 There are vices too hideovis that grovel. 
 
 Like serpents in shadow and shame.
 
 132 A THREKrotC rOUD. 
 
 For the wife is a mistress of many. 
 Though the title lie troasixre of one ; 
 
 If her bribe be a pound or a penny. 
 The disaster is equally done ; 
 
 And the evils more awful than any. 
 Turn to virtue in luxury's sun. 
 
 From the palace we pass to the gutter. 
 And we tread on the track of the curse ; 
 
 Though in one it may mumble and mutter, 
 In the other its silence is worse ; 
 
 The de^jravement is deadly and utter, 
 For the person as well as the purse. 
 
 As I finished this infamotis libel, 
 
 I saw saintly Irene go by ; 
 Who (for sake of the rhyme) is a high belle, 
 
 With engagements less saintly than sly ; 
 W^ith one hand she was coaxing her Bible, 
 
 Yet adultery beamed from her eye. 
 
 Are there none then of virtuous boai'ing. 
 Who deserve not the scoiu'ging of scorn ? 
 
 Not a few whose offences are sparing, 
 
 And whose garments are white and untorn ?- 
 
 There is virtue, perchance, for the caring. 
 In the women untried and unborn. 
 
 O adult and adulterous sinners, 
 
 Who are bloated with purjile and gold ; 
 
 Ye delight in your delicate dinners. 
 And in dainty debauches untold ; 
 
 But yet who (let me ask) will be winners, 
 When the breasts and the kisses are cold ? 
 
 When the fire under amorous lashes 
 Has gone out, and the riddle is read. 
 
 And the love that its witchery flashes 
 
 From the movith with its crimson is fled, — ; 
 
 Will ye toy with the worm and the ashes, 
 Ur caress with corruption the dead y 
 
 A THREEFOLD CORD.— .7/^/;// lOih. 1SS6. 
 
 It was fashioned in courts of light, 
 It was formed by tlie angels' hands, 
 And the blessing that shone so fair and bright. 
 
 Was prepared in the holier lands. 
 And revealed to the maiden's wondering sight. 
 With the grace of its golden bands ; 
 Prom the heaven it came. 
 Upon earth it fell.
 
 QUEKN VICTORIA. I'.i'i 
 
 And it whispered vi joy that has no nanie, 
 
 'J'hat was bidden with her to dwell. 
 By the Father whose love abode the same. 
 
 And declared that it was well. 
 
 They were made not by human art. 
 
 Nor united in earthly plan. 
 All the tender wealth of a woman's heart, 
 
 And the ruder might of man — 
 They were never meant to thrive apart. 
 
 Since the ages first began ; 
 For a woman's trustj 
 And a man's right arm. 
 Are the treasures that can take no rust. 
 
 And possess a secret charm, 
 To defy the shock of winter's gust, 
 
 And the shade of evil's harm. 
 
 From the boAvers of Eden's bloom, 
 
 And the early summer skies, 
 To the depths of th^' last and longest gloom. 
 
 That on weary bosoms lies. 
 There is still a place in the darkest room, 
 
 For the faith that upward Hies ; 
 On the sweetest lawn 
 May the sunbeam set. 
 But the spirits once together drawn. 
 
 Shall be imdivided yet. 
 And will shine in a fairer fuller Dawn, 
 
 Though the days to rise forget. 
 
 In the name of the gentle Lord, 
 
 Who is still at the marriage feast, 
 And will frame of your bond a " threefold cord," 
 
 That can kingly make the least, 
 With the love that is stronger than the sword. 
 
 And enthroned from west to east ; 
 To your duties go. 
 In the larger life. 
 That by will Divine was broadened so — 
 
 Not unequal to the strife. 
 If the billows toss you to and fro — 
 
 As anointed man and wife. 
 
 QUEEN VICTORIA.— 26*^7/, JUJ^E, 1SS6, 
 
 Queen of a nation's choice, 
 Qiieen of a vaster earth 
 Than the orb which obeyed the Ca3sar's voicej 
 
 Where the eagles carried dearth — 
 It is well that thy people should rejoice. 
 In the Gruardiau of the Hearth ;
 
 134 THE ASSIGNATlOSf. 
 
 Altar and shrine, 
 Castle and home, 
 Tho\i hast made the cottage these and thine. 
 
 And as safe as the palace dome. 
 Till the darkest portals ope and shine. 
 In the happier days that cohie. 
 
 Queen for nigh fifty years. 
 
 Queen of a willing realm, 
 Thoii hast shared thy subjects hopes and fears. 
 
 And stood steadfast at the helm — 
 Thou hast wiped away all the sufferer's tears> 
 
 When the storm would overwhelm ; 
 Woman and tried. 
 Sister and true. 
 Thou hast halved the sorrows that sorely plied. 
 
 As if ti'ouble were thy due — 
 Thon hast doubled the joys that would have" died, 
 
 111 a heaven no longer blue. 
 
 Queen of the loftiest line. 
 Queen by no foreign art. 
 By the gifts that engather and entwine. 
 
 The rude bosoms that else might part— 
 And enthroned by a tender right Divine, 
 In the love of each loyal heart ; 
 Honoured by all. 
 Ruling as Guelf, 
 And yet riiled as thy servants' crowned thrall. 
 
 With a hate of the gilded pelf, 
 That has made the mightiest sceptre small — 
 And the Sovereign of thyself. 
 
 Queen of the earth and sea, 
 C^ueen of the larger race. 
 That has flashed on the wildest wood and lea 
 
 Tlie delight ot freedom's face, 
 And has rolled the thunder of its plea 
 To the tyrant's farthest place; 
 Tighten the band. 
 Girding thy State, 
 With the woman's heart and the woman's hand. 
 
 That with Royal purpose mate, — 
 That are still the bulwarks of our land. 
 And have grown with Britain great. 
 
 THE ASSTGNATIOX. 
 
 Pitiful, pale. 
 Earthly, not good — 
 As the world counts uuimmery stiff and stale. 
 And the hypocrite's pioue hood.
 
 THE ASSIGNATION. J39 
 
 That conceals what the j,^raveyard should-^ 
 She i-enienibered the old young tender tale. 
 That was iiuirinured so long in that Iom' valOj 
 And the answering of the nightingal(?j 
 
 As in wonderment she stood, 
 
 By the dimly-waving wood. 
 Looking np at the hill and down the dale, 
 
 For the loviiig that was her food ; 
 Pitiful, pale. 
 In her snowy snood, 
 Was she weighed and found wanting in the scalei 
 
 Though she ventured all she could •' 
 
 Trill, trill, 
 
 Fruui the leafy shade, 
 Throliljed upon her heart with its maddening thrill, 
 Which the perjured Dives bade 
 Keturn to the wreck he inadf*, 
 As they raced with the echoes o'er the hill. 
 And pursued the ripples that hemmed the rill, 
 Or displayed to the whispering ground their skill 3 
 And she shook like the dewy bladej 
 Like the rose that began to fade 
 By her bosom, where he had vowed throug't ill 
 To abide, and be her aid ; 
 Trill, trill. 
 
 From the haunted glade. 
 Like a sword arose that fain would kill 
 But her sin must first ui)braid. 
 
 Beautiful, sweet. 
 Trustful and fond. 
 She was true herself with unswerving feet. 
 She believed that his hand was bond, 
 As it touched like a magic Avand, 
 That the starlight could in the sunlight meet. 
 And the jewel match with the stone from street. 
 And the lightning would not blast if greet; 
 For her lesson was not conn'd. 
 How the mud of the foulest pond. 
 Is yet cleaner than the promise fleet. 
 
 Which has nothing save lust beyond ; 
 Beautiful, sweet. 
 In the moonshine donn'd. 
 Which was wedding-robe and her winding-sheet^ 
 Should she now so sore despond ? 
 
 Hark! Hark! 
 O ye earth and sky. 
 He has sworn to the trysting in his park. 
 And the tempest that rolled by. 
 In its thunder made reply. 
 That the God who over-rules would inarkji
 
 1^6 TkE ASSIGNATION. 
 
 Who dotli fan the faith with its dying spark,' 
 And can feel for even the lap-dog's bark, 
 
 Or the woman-child's faint cry. 
 
 That with broken wings woiild fly. 
 To the heaven where sings the soaring lark,- 
 
 From this hideous hnnian sty ; 
 Hark: Hark! 
 And she wonders why 
 It is dim without and within mbr". dark, 
 
 And the world seems all awry. 
 
 Timid and weak, 
 Inn(x;ent, pure 
 Id her purjwse set as a sunny peak. 
 Of herself she was so sure. 
 Far above the vulgar lure, 
 AV'hich in her would not find a faulty leak, 
 'J'o her maiden spirit could not speak. 
 On her woman's will might never wreak 
 A wound that defies a cure, 
 To which time did not iniu'e ; 
 Should she deem his troth was a wayward freak. 
 That an hour might just endure i-' 
 Timid and weak. 
 Shy and demure. 
 She had slipt in the ruin she did not seek. 
 From which beauty could not secure. 
 
 Soft, slow, 
 
 From the hollow tree, 
 Came the measured hoot, like the hostile blow 
 Of the weapon that foot might flee. 
 If the eye could only see — 
 If the shadows did not creep and grow, 
 And the awful silence would not throw 
 Such a freezing spell on the blood's quick flow. 
 And the planets two or three 
 Would not bind her movements free ; 
 For she felt like a puppet in a show. 
 Of which life itself is fee ; 
 Soft, slow, 
 
 Sank her tremliling knee 
 In the terror of the gloom and glow, 
 Which to mock coiild but agree. 
 
 Credulous, coy. 
 Foolish and fair. 
 She had been imto him a mere trifling toy. 
 While he played with her wondrous hair, 
 And the tresses tried to pair ; 
 It was only to him a bubble's joy.
 
 THE ASSIGNATION. 'l'J7 
 
 That in later mood would as lightly cloy, 
 And no more his fickle fancy bnoy — 
 
 Just a passing pleasant air, 
 
 Or a moment's helpful stair. 
 Which another moment might annoy. 
 
 When he sat in his lordly chair ; 
 Credulous, coy, 
 In the lion's lair 
 She had fallen, and her he must destroy, 
 
 Who his Saviour did not spare. 
 
 Up, down, 
 
 Went the nodding grass, 
 Whei'e it wavered coldly white and l)rown. 
 Like the shades in a magic glass, 
 As if eager to now let pass 
 The one form that oceans could not drown, 
 Nor the desert banish with its frown. 
 That to her was adorned with hero's crown ; 
 For she thought in the common mass. 
 He outgrew his kind and class, 
 Yet she worshipped a king who was a cio\\'n 
 And an idol but of brass ; 
 Up, down. 
 
 Went the flickering gas. 
 From the castle top and the far-off town. 
 And the night-wind sighed, "Alas." 
 
 Maidenly now. 
 Delicate yet. 
 With the light of the passion on her brow. 
 And the eyes upturned and wet. 
 That so lately he would pet. 
 With the words which a virgin bosom l)ow. 
 Which no dream of death could avail to cow. 
 When the heart is given it knows not how — 
 She was promised and would be met. 
 And the sweet caress be set 
 As a seal, to remind him of his vow. 
 Or half payment of the debt ; 
 Maidenly now, 
 Cliildish to fret. 
 If his promise was pledged — he did allow. 
 And he dares not nor shall forget. 
 
 Lost, lone. 
 
 At the trysting place, 
 She was lingering still and heard no tone,- 
 And she nowhere saw the trace 
 Of that proud familiar face. 
 But the misty line of the starry zone.
 
 138 'I'HK ASSIUNATXON. 
 
 As it struggled throiigli a cloudy cone. 
 Though his loving looks within her shoildj 
 
 With a strange and noble grace ; 
 
 And his strong imperial pace^ 
 As it sank in mosses or struck a stone, 
 
 Like the sun along its race ; 
 Lost, lone. 
 In the ghostly space 
 Then lier hand fell chill on some victim's borie, 
 
 Which survived the worm's embrace. 
 
 Terribly clear, 
 Sinister, grave, 
 Eang a voice in the chambers of her ear. 
 As the beat of a stormy wave 
 In a desolate ocean cave. 
 And it seemed just a sentence tolling near. 
 On a life that was blasted, black and drear. 
 While it syllabled solemn words of fear— 
 " I Jim coming but not to save. 
 Nor with kisses that women crave, 
 And I carry the doom of the judgment spear. 
 That descends on the fallen slave " ; 
 Terribly clear. 
 Funeral stave. 
 Did it laugh at the penitential tear, 
 
 And tlie bosom that would be brave ? 
 
 Lost, late. 
 
 In her human grief. 
 She had hoped tlirough that weary watch the mate. 
 Who had played the dastard thief. 
 For a season base and brief. 
 Might yet come once more by the garden gate. 
 Nor would leave lifu- to the outcast's fate, 
 ^^^^ile he site and di'ank from his silver plate —   
 Could not n:ake his pleasure chief. 
 And deny the pledged relief, 
 To the child he brought to that low state. 
 Who had erred f I'om fond belief ; 
 Lost, late, 
 
 With the dropping leaf. 
 Should she deem his delight now sere as hate,' 
 And the harvest would have no sheaf 'i 
 
 Faithful to him. 
 Drooping the head. 
 That began with its weeping wild to swim. 
 In the angiiish none had read 
 Of the dark hands dumbly spread. 
 She could only think of the pastures prim.
 
 THE BUNCH OF FLOWERS. iJi'J 
 
 And the moonlight stroll by the water's l>rim. 
 When he praised her figure tall and trim, 
 
 While he smiled away her dread, 
 
 With his firmer talk and tread. 
 As he swore she shoidd leave her corner din!. 
 
 And be sharer of his bread ; 
 Faithful to him. 
 Like a broken thread, 
 The poor life was clift for a scoundrel's v-him. 
 
 And an infinite heart lay dead. 
 
 Weep, weep, 
 For the woman's shame. 
 Which would stab her still in the troubled sleep. 
 Which woiild always be the same. 
 And around as a picture's frame, — 
 ■Which would always yet more i^hastly creep. 
 And woidd >?ather i^loom more dire and deep, 
 And the trustfiil soul in horror steep ; 
 But a curse for the coward's game. 
 When he soiled his sister's fame. 
 Who is still decoyed as the simple sheep. 
 While she bears alone the blame ; ^ 
 Weep, weep. .r^tr^S 
 
 Be the teardrops flame, "~^' ": 
 
 Per the heart that could not its honour keep, 
 And the doom alone that came. 
 
 THE BUNCH OF FLOWER^S. 
 
 oh, why did she stagger, stop and reel, 
 
 In her blazing scarlet sin. 
 And swing rotind as if swooning on her heel. 
 From the mortal blow of a piercing steel. 
 
 Which had found a pathway in. 
 
 Through the pretty paintecl skin P 
 Had sheslipt on a scrap of orange peel, 
 
 Or grown dizzy fi-om the din 
 
 And the fiery gulp of gin ? 
 Did a flash of sorrow bid her feel 
 In a moment all her shame, and kneel 
 
 To the God who is our Kin ? 
 
 Lo, the prim policeman in his jaunt. 
 
 Who the helmet stayed to don 
 He had loosened to wipe his brow, and flaunt 
 In the face of the children it might daunt. 
 
 Grave a glance at her features wan. 
 
 Which he hardly cared to con. 
 As he blessed his lot with a selfish vauut. 
 
 That the sunlight on him shone.
 
 14:0 THE BUXCH OF FLOWERS. 
 
 And liis day was nearly gone ; 
 "While lie thrust lier Ijac-k with a briital taunt, 
 To the brothel and the drunkard's haunt. 
 
 And said loughly, '' G^irl, move on." 
 
 But she saw him not in her utter need. 
 
 And she felt not the cruel hand. 
 And she heard not the bitter words to speed 
 Her away from the pavement, as a weetl 
 Tliat must fly from the garden land. 
 And is imder the ciu'se and brand ; 
 To the passing world she had lent no heed. 
 If they boimd her in prison band. 
 And the hour-glass with its sand 
 Had run out, and her forfeit life should bleed, 
 "Which had sown for the gaEows deadly seed. 
 That black fruit would now demand. 
 
 And if men should mock at her evil stress. 
 
 Or the earth refuse to pay 
 "What it lavished upon the nobler di-ess. 
 Of the titled harlot none would guess, 
 
 "Who was wrought of viler clay. 
 
 Though her head in the piu-ple lay, 
 "Which the piu'chased priestly lips might bless, 
 
 "When in public she would pray ; 
 
 Yet she marked not sinful sway. 
 If the riches' glow made the stain look less. 
 And to her was doled not one caress. 
 
 For her heart was far away. 
 
 Ah, why did she totter so and turn, 
 
 "With the wild and wondering look 
 Of a soul, that this little stage would siuu-n. 
 And go back once more to its Orient lu-n, 
 "When it laughed as a limpid brook. 
 And a piu-er channel took y 
 Did the fii-e frc>m Heaven Avithin her biu-n, 
 "Which illumined her heart's black book. 
 And her shadowy bosom shook :•' 
 In that <.ii"ea^ry life would her spirit yearn. 
 For the lessons that the children learn, 
 "Who the fold never yet forsook h 
 
 She had sallied forth in her beauty's pride. 
 
 To the quiet evening hours. 
 And again on her sinful track would slide, 
 "Where the gallants lounge and the toilers glide. 
 
 And the stately palace towers — 
 
 "Where wealth of its glory showers. 
 And the knaves in their blazoned coaches ride. 
 
 That are bcaight with widows' dowers.
 
 THE BUXCH Ol' FLOWERS. 141 
 
 And were built of blood-won powers ; 
 And she saw by a crossing in the tide. 
 Just a country child at her very side, 
 
 Who held out but a bunch of flowers. 
 
 It was only a bunch of hawthorn bloom, 
 
 Xothing more than the common sprays 
 From a country hedge, with the yellow broom 
 She had twined round the jwny she would groom. 
 
 In the dim forgotten days, 
 
 ^^Tien she walked in other ways ; 
 But it carried her back to the dear old room. 
 
 And she sees the dusty rays 
 
 Fall again, as the shadow plays 
 On the cottage far through which faces loom ; 
 And it looked like a solemn sight of doom, 
 
 "V\Tien the parting spirit prays. 
 
 Jiist a handful of blossoms white and pink. 
 
 Such as she had often found 
 On the primrose banks, where the footsteps sink 
 Through the grass and dews that the mosses drink. 
 
 When there comes a singing sound 
 
 From the many -coloured groimd — 
 Where the violets blue from their refuge blink. 
 
 And red lichens gather round 
 
 The decaying barand bound ; 
 Biit it wrought with the past a ghostly link 
 And she stood once more on the crumbling brink 
 
 Of the sea, that myi-iads drown'd. 
 
 In a moment all her life lay bare. 
 
 At the flash of that lurid light. 
 Which luiveiled the form of every care. 
 And the direst memory would not spare, 
 
 ?for the tenderest secret sight, — 
 
 Like a thunder bolt at night ; 
 Till her trembling reason did not dare. 
 
 As it gi-asped her bitter pKght 
 
 In the lost unequal fight. 
 For a minute meet the accusing glare. 
 And the record that she would not share. 
 
 Which was hers by hateful right. 
 
 Oh, she seemed again a modest child. 
 
 In her little maiden cot. 
 Where her happy dreams were true and mild. 
 And her fancy did not wander wild 
 
 On the paths, that only blot 
 
 The repose of fairest lot : 
 And again her mother on her smil'd, 
 
 W'hile ste bathed her bosom hot.
 
 142 THE BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Where the l)n\iso still left a spot 
 Which was grace itself, to what defil'd 
 All the Godlike heart that its God revil'd. 
 
 When it woman's crown forgot. 
 
 For a while the staring street had fled. 
 With its rude and wrangling crowd, 
 AVith the idlers who on pleasure sped. 
 And the woiinded souls that toiled and bled. 
 As they fra:ued their funeral shroud. 
 That the revellers might laugh loud. 
 And the sunshine be more shaiply shed 
 On the lonely siift'erer's cloud. 
 In her innocence pure and proud ; 
 And again the cooing doves she fed. 
 And watered the big geranium 1>ih1, 
 Or at homelier duties liowM. 
 
 B\\t a pvilse or two of the fleeting time. 
 And her startled thouglits went back 
 
 To the bees that nnu-mured in the lime. 
 
 And the breezes of a softer clime 
 Where the daisies hid her track. 
 And there gaped no earthquake crack ; 
 
 Ah, she heard once more the harvest cliinie. 
 And beheld the rising stack 
 Which defied the wolf of Lack ; 
 
 From her jewelled shame and gilded slime. 
 
 It all looked like a rainbow's foot sublime. 
 As it flies from a hopeless wrack. 
 
 And she then returned to the blasting stain. 
 
 Which had pierced into the quick. 
 And she felt an unfamiliar pain, 
 Like the gnawing of a prison chain. 
 
 Which doth ever drag and stick. 
 
 Till her spirit trembled sick : 
 And a darkness set within her brain, 
 
 She recalled the dastard trick. 
 
 And the serpent's loving lick, 
 Ere his victim felt the deadly strain. 
 When her wildest efforts proved but vain. 
 
 And the fangs began to prick. 
 
 And it all came surging on her gaze. 
 
 The old pavement she had trod. 
 As she blindly looked through the splendid ha^e 
 Of voluptuous sin — that maddening maze. 
 
 Which concealed the judgment rod, 
 
 Like the bones beneath the sod : 
 And it seemed so dreadful and to daze. 
 
 That she wondered how she still could plod
 
 WITHOTIT ANT) WITHIN. 143 
 
 On that evil quest, at vice's nod. 
 And had never burst from the mocking blaze, 
 Which the courts infernal well might graze. 
 
 And was still afar from God. 
 
 And, behold, a fire within her burned, 
 
 That no charm would ever choke. 
 While the dazzling show it fiercely spurned. 
 And for something purer, fairer, yearned. 
 
 Than the gay and gilded yoke 
 
 With the ashes nought could cloke ; 
 And a glimi^se of peace that was not earned. 
 
 As remorse deep in her spoke. 
 
 From the Heaven above her broke ; 
 And when once the gixilt her love discerned. 
 To her better self her heart returned. 
 
 And the higher life awoke. 
 
 And the flowers long blighted in her breast. 
 
 With the graces she did not prize. 
 Were now shaken from their winter rest. 
 And the frozen soil that on them prest. 
 
 And shone out from her weeping eyes. 
 
 Into new-born earth and skies ; 
 And she knew for her was a refuge blest. 
 
 In a hush of awed surprise. 
 
 Though the world would her despise. 
 That no prim policeman coiild molest. 
 If the loathed sin were all contest. 
 
 And the Saviour said "Arise." 
 
 There was joy in the lofty realms of Light, 
 
 And a new exultant soiind. 
 At the sinner who returned that night. 
 In the dew of her repentance bright; 
 
 While the mud seemed holy ground. 
 
 And the captive pale and bound, 
 Took a courage fresh from the great sight, 
 
 Which reflected glory roimd. 
 
 And the gyves with roses woiind ; 
 The enfranchised soul regained its right. 
 And put on a sweet immortal might. 
 
 When the wandering child was found, 
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 Her crimson lips the laugh may sxmdei*, 
 And pouting may they plead 
 
 More eloquently, than the thunder 
 Which man would conqviering lead 5
 
 144. THTK STRAYED ANGKL. 
 
 The jest may give that dainty curling. 
 
 Which only woman wills. 
 Bright as the banner-like unfurling 
 
 Of morning on the hills ; 
 The song may play in light and shadow. 
 
 Which flashes from her mouth. 
 With ali the notes of wood and meadow. 
 
 And sweetness of the South ; 
 The might of music, fain to captvire 
 
 The hearts that coyly doubt, 
 May move her feet with rhythmic i-aptuve 
 
 To let their passion out ; 
 The hand may lightly toy and tremlile. 
 
 Upon the silver strings. 
 In pride that can no more dissemble 
 
 The strength of eagle wings ; 
 Her life may seem the same to others. 
 
 Who but rejoice and rest ; — 
 And yet the smile so hardly smothers 
 
 A torn and bleeding breast. 
 
 Witliout her shines the lying story. 
 
 Which naakes a woman fair — 
 The grace of form, the wondroiis glory 
 
 Of coloiir, curve, and hair ; 
 Within, the spirit lient and liroken. 
 
 Consumed by the slow pain, 
 Which is its wealth, the bitter token 
 
 Of some accursed stain. 
 Without, tho pomp of queenly paces. 
 
 Which step to happy chimes — 
 The touch that leaves liut golden traces. 
 
 And talks of nobler times ; 
 Within, the falling of the curtain 
 
 Which wraps a guilty soul. 
 And sounds more grim because uncertain, 
 
 Which to its funei'al toll. 
 Withoid the world's admiring clamour. 
 
 The rich unspotted dress. 
 The heaven of beauty, and the glamour 
 
 Of eyes with love's caress ; 
 Within the self-accusing sentence. 
 
 The bosom no one heeds. 
 Which finds no place for its reijentance. 
 
 And darkly burns and bleeds. 
 
 THE STRAYED ANGEL.— .9 >S7;P7'. JSS6, 
 
 From Heaven she came, and therefore could not stay 
 
 Long on her earthly track ; 
 She was an angel, v.ho liad lust her way. 
 
 Till Jesus called her back.
 
 THE IRISH INTERDICT. 145 
 
 She heard the melodies, that round us lie. 
 
 The sweep of g'olden strings ; 
 And passed through conquored death> but did not die — 
 
 She only spread her wings. 
 
 To Heaven she went, when she no more could win 
 
 New triumphs for her love ; 
 The door was open, and God took her in — 
 
 One little step above. 
 
 Her home of peace and happiness was there, 
 
 Known if not fidly seen ; 
 And she would fain at last herself, be whera 
 
 Her heart had ever been. 
 
 Ah, she was weary as a weary child. 
 
 Who does her Father's will ; 
 Who braves the tempest, though the winds are wild. 
 
 Faint yet pursuing still. 
 
 And when she scarcely held, (nor port Seemed nigh). 
 
 The heavy cross she bore ; 
 The last rough wave just washed her safe and high. 
 
 Upon the Shining Shore. 
 
 And the last angry blast, that on her beat, — 
 
 Nor woiild she any miss- — 
 But wafted her to the dear Saviotir's seatj 
 
 And mingled with His kiss. 
 
 The gentle spirit, that was sorely prest. 
 
 Nor once her task denied. 
 Hath now returned as to her native rest. 
 
 And she is satisfied. 
 
 THE IRISH INTERDICT. 
 
 What is this that we see in the cottage, 
 
 What is this that we hear in the hall ? 
 Not a faggot of sticks for the pottage. 
 
 Not a handful of oats for the stall. 
 Though the tiles from the chamber are tumbliitg, 
 
 Where the girl lies deserted and sick ; 
 Though the dog that was pampered, is mumbling 
 
 The white bone which has nothing to pick ; 
 Not a hand is upraised for repairing. 
 
 Not a doctor to stand by the bed, 
 Not a sound but the sob of despairing. 
 
 When all creatures but vermin are fled ; 
 Nx)ta heart with the hope of assistance. 
 
 Not a step on the mud-littered mats,
 
 146 THE IRISH IXTERDICT. 
 
 Xot a si.2;n of the meanest existence. 
 
 Save the sinister gnawing of rats. 
 Ah. the corpse waits nnburied, iintended 
 
 With the rites, that no savage could grudge 
 To the vilest, most lowly descended, 
 
 To the poorest most pitiful di-udge. 
 Who are these that no mercy are givnng, 
 
 While the orphan is crying for bread l" 
 They are men that will war with the living. 
 
 They are devils that war with the dead. 
 
 And the house that was splendid and spacious. 
 
 With the glory of silver and gold, 
 With the beauty of women so gracious. 
 
 With romances so awful and old, 
 Now is shut in the shadow of mourning. 
 
 Now is shovu of the jubilant feast. 
 While a shroud is the robe of adorning. 
 
 And the darkness is shared by the beast : 
 Not a scrap for the pets that are crying 
 
 After food, at which once they would spurn. 
 Not a chance for the dearest if dying. 
 
 That the tide of theu- ruin will turn. 
 For the mistress who is to be mother. 
 
 Not the commonest help of a nurse, 
 And one evening may follow another, 
 
 But each only makes deeper the curse. 
 And the friend must not bring of her la'.^our. 
 
 Which would lighten the troubles th.nt loiu-, 
 Nor the breast of the tenderest neighbour 
 
 May relent and be human an hour. 
 Who are these that refuse even shriving. 
 
 And the burial block in its tread ? 
 They are men that will war with the living. 
 
 They are devils that war with the dead. 
 
 Wh.at is this that we see in the city. 
 
 What is this that we find in the fit Id r 
 Are there bosoms all emptied of pity. 
 
 That but hate to be harvested yield r 
 Against brother the brother is plotting. 
 
 As his fingers catch hold of the knife ; 
 And the husband the furnace is hotting 
 
 For his Moloch, to oner a wife. 
 And the servant so true to his master. 
 
 Now has hardened his breast as a stone ; 
 And the saviour who drew from disaster. 
 
 Now is left in his anguish alone. 
 Tea, the landlord is struggling with tenant. 
 
 And the tenant is struggling with lord ; 
 While the pirate has hoisted his pennant. 
 
 And the murderer sharpened his sword-
 
 THE IRISH INTERDICT. 147 
 
 For the bonds of assurance are broken 
 
 By grim doubt.?, that devour as the rust, 
 "And the word is not meant that is spoken. 
 
 And no man in his fellow can trust. 
 Who are these that old links have been riving. 
 
 To the grave pay no honour or dread ? 
 They are men that will war with the living. 
 
 They are devils that war with the dead. 
 
 O the creatm-es that batten and burrow. 
 
 In the gloom on the tenors of man ! 
 O the ploughshare that halts in mid furrow, 
 
 And the sowing thiit brightly began : 
 For the horses ate ruthlessly strick'en 
 
 By the hands of the cowards, who fight 
 With the weak, or when sufferers sicken. 
 
 Gather courage to stab in the night ; ' 
 Who are heroes behind their safe hedtroSj 
 
 And dare look at an enemy's back, 
 But who blanch at the ball and cold edges. 
 
 If avengers are hard on their track ; "^ 
 Who can mutilate old men and cattle. 
 
 And disfigxu-e the maidens they shame. 
 Who with childhood and helplessness battle. 
 
 And do this in dear Liberty's name ! 
 Aye, they carry a passion more cruel 
 
 Beyond time and the limits of all. 
 And for eternity glean a black fuel. 
 
 In the horror and woe of the pall. 
 Who are these so inhumanly striving. 
 
 With the veil in sweet charity spread ? 
 They are men that will war with the living. 
 
 They are devils that war with the dead. 
 
 What is this, that is writ in the blazing 
 
 Of fair ricks and the homesteads of friends. 
 That would spare not the flocks in their grazing 
 
 If destruction but furthered their ends ? 
 That respects not the high and the holy. 
 
 And in temples of God leaves a smutch,' 
 That makes havoc of blind things and lowly. 
 
 And the cripple despoils of his crutch ? 
 That regards not the sui-est possessions. 
 
 Nor the person of wealthy or poor. 
 Forms its samts out of bloody transgressions. 
 
 And assassins who grope at the door ? 
 Is it fear of the despot and stranger. 
 
 Who heap fetters on souls that are free ? 
 Is it chafing at taxes, or danger 
 
 Of the evils that patriots see ? 
 Is it love of the captive and lonely. 
 
 Which has reddened the hands of the brave,
 
 148 Victoria dki gratia KfeoiNA. 
 
 Who would dance to the gallows, if only 
 
 A new country might spring from their gravity 
 
 Who are these on base butchery thriving. 
 That yet outrage the corpse's pale head y 
 
 They are men that will war with the living, 
 They are devils that war with the dead. 
 
 Ha, the ban has been uttered by treason, 
 
 And the interdict now may not rest. 
 For eiich crime has some liallowing reason, 
 
 Alid sedition l>y priestcraft is blest. 
 Not the rogne is accursed, but the loyal 
 
 Who desires to be faithful and true- 
 Not the tyrant, but Woman if Royal, 
 
 And the <lebtor who renders his due ; 
 Not oppression for grinding is branded. 
 
 Nor the burden that hampers and blights. 
 But the courtesy never demanded. 
 
 And the simple confession of rights, 
 for now vice is the maxim of morals. 
 
 It is sinful for man to do well ; 
 While mere mercies for babies are corals, 
 
 And religion comes hissing from hell. 
 And the snakes, on which banishment utter 
 
 V/as imposed by St. Patrick so long, 
 Have retui-ned — as the swine to its gutter^ 
 
 With their venom more dreadful and strong. 
 For they poison the well springs of grieving, 
 
 When at last life has broken its thread ; 
 They are men who will war with the living, 
 
 They are devils that war with the dead. 
 
 VICTORIA DEI GRATIA REdlNA. 
 
 Well has she held the sceptre long. 
 
 Well has she ruled a happy land ; 
 It was the Almighty made her strong. 
 
 Who held through all her human hand. 
 For else her womp^n's acts were weak^ 
 
 Her woman's feet had vainly trod ; 
 Had she not evi'r learnt to speak, 
 
 .lust by the grace of God. 
 
 Well has she tuned her woman's heart. 
 
 To even the smallest tale of grief ; 
 And been herself the sweetest part. 
 
 Of all her womanly relief. 
 Her power was rather felt than seen. 
 
 The blossoms hid the royal rod ; 
 We only knew that she was Queen, 
 
 Just by the grace of God.
 
 THK SOC'IAI. DRMOORAT. 149 
 
 Well has she played the noblo wife. 
 
 As wedded to her country's -weal ; 
 Who to it consecrated life. 
 
 And set her honour as a seal. 
 To all her greatness fjrandly trne. 
 
 She failed not those that meanly plod ; 
 Her humblest action took its hue. 
 
 Just from the grace of God. 
 
 AVell has she all a Mother's care. 
 
 To all her countless children shown ; 
 Who every burden ran to share. 
 
 And every sorrow made her own. 
 It was not that she stooped to us. 
 
 She raised the fallen from the sod 
 Unto her side, and gloried thus 
 
 Just in the grace of God. 
 
 W^ell has she kept her solemn trust. 
 
 For fifty bright and blameless years.; 
 Erect in strife and stormy gust. 
 
 Unshaken by a world of fears. 
 From duty's path she would not swerve. 
 
 Though other thrones might round her nod ; 
 Her people not herself to serve. 
 
 Just )>y the grace of God. 
 
 Well has she done what despots feign. 
 
 And nothing base or little thought ; 
 Until we seemed with her to reign, 
 
 So queenly for us all she wrought. 
 Long may she live to govern yet. 
 
 Whom faith has shielded, peace has shod ; 
 Who never did her rule forget, 
 
 Was by the gi-ace of God. 
 
 THE vSOCIAL DEMOCRAT, 
 
 Tories brag of broad dominions. 
 
 On their neighbours growing fat ; 
 These are honest men's opinions —   
 
 I'm a Social Democrat. 
 T opine the State is rotten, 
 
 Destined to the fiery forge ; 
 W^hen the plunder so ill-gotten. 
 
 Thieves though titled must disgorge. 
 Though the workers too have stumbled. 
 
 Wandered far from track of right. 
 Masks, which mocked their hopes and humbled^ 
 
 Griuned between them and the light.
 
 150 THB SOCIAL DEMOCEAT. 
 
 Nay, we cannot blame the people. 
 
 It is falsehood that they x'cad. 
 Hear proclaimed from tovrer and steeple. 
 
 By their guardians vAio mislead. 
 Ever was and ever will be, 
 
 "While the Britor. boasts a shop. 
 While cheap wine is sold by Gilbey, 
 
 Scum that rises to the top — 
 Froth that makes a show and glitter. 
 
 Froth that sputters and is spent ; 
 While the gold, so fair and fitter. 
 
 Has no value and no vent. 
 Nay, we dare not blame the masses, 
 
 If they fancy night is- day ; 
 But the braying of the asses. 
 
 Who their dupes would guide a.stray. 
 Priests may err with pious kneeling, 
 
 Poets even lie in song ; 
 But a nation's mighty feeling. 
 
 Never, never can be wrong. 
 It is knaves who play at schooling. 
 
 Be it parliament or pen ; 
 Who, while Fate themselves is fooling. 
 
 Turn to beasts of burden men. 
 Dotards, who to reign have lusted, 
 
 Though they carry cap and bells ; 
 • Who, with sacred rights entrusted. 
 
 Poison all a covmtry's wells. 
 Robbers, who remove the land marks. 
 
 That took centuries to trace ; 
 And but leave on fleeting sand marks, 
 
 Which the tide will soon efface. 
 Wreckers, who the State could weaken. 
 
 By their shameful hidden shocks ; 
 And uplifting treacherous beacon. 
 
 Lure the vessel on the rocks. 
 Blood-Slickers, who, but for gaining. 
 
 Chopping keep their tune and chimes ; 
 And, old books of beauty staining. 
 
 Write the story of their times. 
 Sots, who, when a realm is sinking. 
 
 Split mere hairs and measure straws ; 
 Pass the social bottle, drinking 
 
 To the health of class-made laws. 
 O the comic range of choices ! 
 
 Some are filled with gallows chat. 
 Others hang on ducul voices — 
 
 I'm a Social Democrat. 
 
 There are Editors who edit. 
 There are Editors who don't ;
 
 THE SOCIAI. DEMOCRAT. 151 
 
 Hirelinofg, who have lost their credit,' 
 
 But their filthj money won't. 
 Soon thoy uiust accounts be making. 
 
 How tliey earned their monstrous fees, 
 To the masses now awaking. 
 
 That are final legatees. 
 They must stand before their master. 
 
 Answer for their trifling ti-icks. 
 If they build our bulwarks fast, or 
 
 Only deal with bogus bricks — 
 If, to float a lying journal. 
 
 They espouse the traitor's part. 
 While thoy toy with truth eternal, 
 
 And from gutters liorrow art. 
 Ah, they pawn their country's honour. 
 
 They would welcome stake and ciirse. 
 And woiild bui-n their saints, like Bonner — 
 
 If it added to the purse. 
 They would sell a mighty nation. 
 
 And her glory brand with scars. 
 For the largest circulation 
 
 And the very best cigars. 
 They would hail a despot's wishes. 
 
 And indorse the crime he wooea — 
 Aye, lick up his dirty dishes. 
 
 And black all his bloody shoes ; 
 If by paid and perjured treason. 
 
 And by wallowing as swine. 
 They might have a merrier season. 
 
 And might purchase better wine ; 
 If they so coiild make a marriage. 
 
 That woiild foist them into fame. 
 And parade a prouder carriage. 
 
 For the shabby price of shame. 
 What is England's ancient story. 
 
 And her grand historic flag. 
 To the knave who turns a Tory, 
 
 Just to fill his Judas bag ? 
 What are principles to places. 
 
 And consistencies to powers ? 
 What renown to Derby races. 
 
 And a faith to hothouse flowers ? 
 What are laws to social station. 
 
 What are measures unto men. 
 Who " scotch " England's reputation. 
 
 With the scratching of a pen P 
 What is duty to a dinner. 
 
 In the fashion, with a swell ? 
 What is frailty, if the sinner 
 
 Duly paints and powders well ?
 
 152 THE SOCIAL DEMOCRAT. 
 
 What is justice to mere actors ? 
 
 What is petted bird to cat ? 
 Others are loisocial factors, 
 
 I'm a Social Democrat. 
 
 What is any d d division. 
 
 In the pestilential House, 
 To the Editor's decision. 
 
 But the mountain and the mouse ? 
 What are hoary creeds and morals. 
 
 Or the decalogues of schools. 
 If not jingling bells and corals. 
 
 Just to quiet babes and fools ? 
 What are sacred place and portals. 
 
 What is even the Civil List, 
 To that monster, pest of mortals— 
 
 To the jaunty journalist ? 
 If he chance to cut a finger. 
 
 If some tender tooth should pain ; 
 Church or State aitairs may linger. 
 
 Till he is himself again. 
 Perish India, wrecked be Ireland, 
 
 Empire suffer any cost, 
 Fall in misery and mire land, 
 
 Eather than his nap be lost. 
 Lower class may war with xipper. 
 
 Feel starvation's hangman grille ; 
 If he simply wants his svipper, 
 
 Or a casxial quiet pipe. 
 Criminal may be his lenience. 
 
 None will dare to censure him ; 
 All must bow to his convenience. 
 
 All must curtsey to his whim. 
 Pots that iiow with milk and honey. 
 
 He reserves upon his shelf — 
 Aye, he only aims at money. 
 
 And he only loves himself. 
 Handling of the gravest qiiestion. 
 
 Though a Premier tug his bell. 
 Just depend on his digestion. 
 
 If he dines or slumbers well. 
 When his spleen is in ascendance. 
 
 Or his hobby wants a bait. 
 Kings and queens may dance attendance. 
 
 Parliament and people wait. 
 Birds of prey have stealthy manners. 
 
 Darkness love the owl and bat ; 
 We fear not to show our banners ; 
 
 I'm a Social Democrat. 
 
 This the stuff to make memorials. 
 Falsify a nation's tale !
 
 THE SOCIAL DEMOCRAT, lo5< 
 
 Editors and Editorials, 
 
 Bottled infamies and ale ! 
 Dreams and dreams from cushioned quarter, 
 
 Worlds observed from club and cab ! 
 Sparklincf spite and milk and water, 
 
 Judas kiss and coward stab ! 
 Thanks to Fashion's yoke and Fortune, 
 
 Thanks to greed for social gain ; 
 Thoiisands may for bread importune, 
 
 Thotisands die and die in vain. 
 Teachers, who should fight our battles, 
 
 Purchased are by smile or gold — 
 By the Devil's bribes, as chattels 
 
 On the market bought and sold. 
 Good, to be a daily winner, 
 
 Putting something in the pan ; 
 Best, be true, though growing tliinner, 
 
 Starving still to be a man. 
 Bad, to be a drone consiuning. 
 
 Adding nothing to the stock ; 
 "Worst, to be a light illuming. 
 
 Only to the fatal rock. 
 These, my comrades, are your leaders. 
 
 Who to shambles b\xt decoy ; 
 These the miserable pleaders 
 
 Who their clients woiild destroy ! 
 These the gods we called iipon us. 
 
 Worshipped in an evil hour — 
 Gads who, like King Stork or Chronos, 
 
 Slaves infatuate devour ! 
 Once I liked the names with handles. 
 
 Once supposed the earth was flat ; 
 Now I court the sun, not candles ; 
 
 I'm a Social Democrat. 
 
 Once I styled myself a Tory, 
 
 Once burnt incense at the shrine, 
 Wliere the laurels all are gory. 
 
 Where the gods are crowned swine. 
 Once I was a child, and cheated 
 
 By the semblance and the sound ; 
 Once I was a fool, and treated 
 
 Shams and shades as holy ground. 
 Now, a man, I know the better, 
 
 Strike against the false and ill ; 
 Now I ])roken have the fetter. 
 
 Which is myriads holding still. 
 But I see the gleam of morning, 
 
 Eifting the horizon gray ; 
 Glimiise of Liberty, that, scorning 
 
 Lies, announces endless day.
 
 154 THE FOUR SISTERS. 
 
 For the Giant now is waking. 
 
 Out of long and snllcn sleep ; 
 With a shadow and a shaking. 
 
 From the turret to the deep. 
 When he rises thrones will tumble. 
 
 Stricken with avenging death : 
 Prison walls and shackles crumble. 
 
 At the blasting of his breath. 
 Ha, the mighty downtrod masses 
 
 Shall unite, and with their flood 
 Sweep away the bloated classes. 
 
 That have battened on their blood. 
 Then hurrah for Eevolution, 
 
 For the bayonet and gun ; 
 That is now the sole solution. 
 
 With its red and rising sun, 
 For the dark and damned riddle. 
 
 Which has blighted many a home. 
 When the ransomed slaves shall fiddle. 
 
 On the ruins of their Bome. 
 Once I was a foolish baby, 
 
 I have had enough of that ; 
 Got my teeth, and wisdom — may be ; 
 
 I'm a Social Democrat. 
 
 THE FOUR SISTERS. 
 
 We were four sisters, fair and free. 
 
 We blossomed like the flowers ; 
 We knelt at one kind Mother's knee. 
 
 And made her wishes oiu's. 
 We drank from one pure sacred fount. 
 
 The precious draughts of life ; 
 We climbed the same old solemn mount. 
 
 Which raises above strife. 
 We feasted at one banquet still. 
 
 When toiling hours were done ; 
 Our labours had one counnon will, 
 
 Our pleasures all were one. 
 
 We were four sisters, free and fair. 
 
 One glorious home we had ; 
 We breathed the same large liberal air. 
 
 One sunshine made us glad. 
 Oixr joys and sorrows too we shared. 
 
 Together learnt each art ; 
 In storm and calm alike we fared. 
 
 And had no thovights apart.
 
 ONE FAITH, ONE FLAG. 155 
 
 . We fashioned ever with one tool. 
 
 And with one vision saw ; 
 We sat as piipils in one school. 
 Where honour was the law. 
 
 We were four sisters tried and true. 
 
 In triumph and in care ; 
 The load one sister had to rue. 
 
 The other sisters bare. 
 Swept on the same advancing- swell. 
 
 We suffered the same cross ; 
 The gain of each to all befell. 
 
 And one was every loss. 
 And if we quarreled, just by chanee. 
 
 Or differed in our ends ; 
 It needed but a word or glance^ 
 
 And we were faster friends. 
 
 Wo were four sisters, true and tried. 
 
 And one was passing sweet ; 
 Who with us had the world defied. 
 
 Or witched unto our feet. 
 The youngest of our graciovis band. 
 
 One by the holiest vow. 
 She gave us long her willing hand ; 
 
 Where is that sister now i-' 
 Has she but strayed a little while. 
 
 By foolish fancies tost. 
 Soon to return with brighter smile ; 
 
 Or is our sister lost ? 
 
 We were four sisters, one in hope, 
 
 Though wayward Erin seem ; 
 We saw the same grand futvire ope. 
 
 The same brave banner gleam. 
 Otir strife is but a fleeting wind, 
 
 Though friends may falsely plot ; 
 We have a thousand links that bind, 
 
 And parted we are not. 
 Ah, though the shadows heavy lie. 
 
 And traitors pitfalls set. 
 No force can break our tender tie ; 
 
 We are four sisters yet. 
 
 ONE FAITH, ONE FLAG. 
 
 We must be severed far. 
 By desert, wave, and crag ; 
 We follow many a star. 
 But rally round one Flag.
 
 156 ON?! FAITH, ONE FLAG, 
 
 The mother and the child, 
 Thougjh different be their name. 
 In storm or breezes mild. 
 Their spirit have the same : 
 To bring- to peoples dead. 
 The lamp of holy oil, 
 Till every spot they tread. 
 Is free as England's soil. 
 
 We heard, if Dvity bade. 
 
 From stubborn Maori pah. 
 To Burmah's grim stockade. 
 The old true wild hurrah. 
 The old true fearless will. 
 Is tinder foreign skies, 
 The boast of England still- 
 It conquers, or it dies. 
 The father and the son. 
 Draw the same soldier breath. 
 Divided yet are one. 
 In life and iinto death. 
 
 We walk in different ways. 
 But show in every part, 
 The light of other days, 
 The same warm English heart. 
 Beneath the cloudless bhie. 
 And in the Arctic night, 
 England is one and trite. 
 The champion of the right. 
 Thovtgh parties rise and set. 
 Her love is ever fond ; 
 Her word is given yet. 
 And taken as her bond. 
 
 The naked doth she dress. 
 And in that royal robe, 
 Which covers all distress, 
 And gathers xtp the globe ; 
 The charity, that dares 
 Its freedom wide to stretch. 
 And its grand charter shares 
 With any hunted wretch. 
 Wherever one complains, 
 A comrade's voice is known ; 
 For England still maintains. 
 All other wrongs her own. 
 
 False traitors are the knaves. 
 Who downward would tis ilrag. 
 And over brothers' graves 
 Divide our English flag.
 
 6nk kaith, one i-'lag. 157 
 
 We sundered are by sea, 
 And sou.e may lowly plod. 
 But one great solemn plea 
 For justice goes to God. 
 However dread the coat. 
 United is our aim, — 
 If life itself be lost— 
 To honour every claim. 
 
 From Canada's black pine. 
 And gray Australian gum. 
 To India's golden mine. 
 Where beats the English drxun ; 
 Though armed worlds may lilock. 
 Our purpose yet holds good, 
 To stand upon the rock, 
 Where firm owv fathers stood ; 
 To live the noble life. 
 Their faith established then. 
 To bridle barbarous strife, 
 And carry peace to men. 
 
 The mother and the child. 
 
 The father and the son. 
 
 Though winds may threaten wild. 
 
 In glory too are one ; 
 
 A flag without a spot, 
 
 A venerable name. 
 
 Which never has forgot 
 
 Its heritage of fame ; 
 
 To do their duty well, 
 
 By sowing lands of dearth 
 
 With kindly acts, that swell 
 
 The happy fruits of earth. 
 
 A tide that ever flows, 
 A sun that never sets, 
 A power that alway gi-ows, 
 A care that none forgets ; 
 A pulse that truly beats, 
 With every noble thing ; 
 A foot that but retreats. 
 To give a farther spring ; 
 These are the lofty lines. 
 Wherever deeds are done. 
 That show how England twines 
 Of many heroes one. 
 
 One voice for valiant plan. 
 One hatred of a blot. 
 One verdict that we can. 
 If all the world cannot
 
 158 
 
 One eye for Duty's pai-t. 
 One ear for Honour's call 
 One hospitable heart. 
 Which oijon is to all ; 
 One action without brag, 
 One empire more than Eome, 
 One faith, one glorious flag. 
 And everywhere one home. 
 
 ''XO SPACE."' (Editor.) 
 
 It was written in darkness and grief. 
 
 And conceived iji the brooding of pain ; 
 For his song was his single relief. 
 
 Though its refuge too often proved vain. 
 It was blotted and blurred with his tears. 
 
 As he trembled the verses to trace ; 
 And his eyes were half blinded with passionate fears i 
 
 But the answer was only — "No space." 
 
 " No space " for the gifted, who shone 
 
 Like a lamp in the shadowy night ; 
 Who himself had no comfort alone, 
 
 Thoiigh all roxxnd wish his beauty was bright. 
 But " space " for the ignorant fool. 
 
 Who had nothing but what he could steal; 
 And who copied his lore, as his lessons at school, • 
 
 Yet his folly still could not conceal. 
 
 It was wrung out of rapture and woe. 
 
 Like a page torn away from the heai't. 
 In the thought that creates with its throe. 
 
 When the body and sox\\ seem to part. 
 It had cost him an earthqiiake of strife. 
 
 Ere it grew to its virginal grace ; 
 It was shaken by death, and made splendid with life ; 
 
 But the answer was only— JVo space. 
 
 No space for the poem that lives. 
 
 For the word that is winged and burns ; 
 That receives but from Truth what it gives. 
 
 And in showers of blessing returns. 
 But " space " for the pestilent lie. 
 
 For the fancy that comes from the tomb ; 
 That has nothing to do but to rot and to die. 
 
 And go back to corruption and gloom. 
 
 It was fashioned with fever and hope. 
 And it biirst from his suffering strong ; 
 
 As great doors in eternity ope. 
 And let out revelations of song.
 
 " NO srACE." 159 
 
 For it'spoke of new triumph and tinist. 
 
 And it flashed as a prophet the face. 
 That had gazed upon God who doth qiiicken the dnst ; 
 
 But the answer was only — No space. 
 
 "'No space" for the lofty and fair, 
 
 For the spell that turns water to wine ; 
 And with secrets of sunshine and air. 
 
 Makes the garments that clothe the Divine. 
 But " space " for the lecherous tale. 
 
 For the M'ork of the pander and beast ; 
 For the horrible lust, that the holiest pale 
 
 Rushes through, to its damnable feast. 
 
 It was all he could offer, his life, 
 
 Jiist himself, as a continent new : 
 That had passed from the sacrifice knife 
 
 To the heaven, in its glory and dew. 
 There were prayers and pinions of fire. 
 
 To uplift and ennoble a race ; 
 With the yearnings, that ever and ever aspire ; 
 
 But the answer was only — No space. 
 
 No space for the righteous and true, 
 
 Who alone can God's victories win ; 
 Who alone is possest of the clue. 
 
 That will guide through the sorrow and sin. 
 But " space " for the villain and cheat. 
 
 And the j apings of jester and fool ; 
 For the man that is mighty to drink and to eat. 
 
 And the hand made iniquity's tool. 
 
 It was done, he had laboured for nmight ; 
 
 No one recked of the noble and good. 
 Of the world-changing lightning of thought, 
 
 That unveiled what in darkness had stood. 
 No one knew what a treasure was lost. 
 
 Though not blazoned in purple and lace ; 
 No one coiinted the pangs of the infinite cost ; 
 
 But the answer was only — No space. 
 
 No space for the spirit, that dares 
 
 To defy what is rotten and rank ; 
 That for weakness and misery caies. 
 
 And would fill iip the desolate blank. 
 But " space " for the coward and knave. 
 
 For the wicked if wealthy or bold. 
 Though he never had lifted a finger to save, — 
 
 But the hoards of his ill-gotten gold. 
 
 He had lived for his fellows in vain. 
 
 He had loved the forlorn and the low 
 But at last from the pitiful strain. 
 
 His brave genius snapt, as a bow.
 
 160 "NO SPACE.' 
 
 Thousrh they shovelled him into the ground. 
 As a paiiper, and ^riidj^ed him a place, 
 
 Let us hope that in Heaven some room he has found j 
 If on earth there was only — No space. 
 
 Ah, 710 space for the Saviour called God, 
 
 And 710 space for the saviour called man ; 
 And no home, save that under the sod. 
 
 For the heart with a holier plan. . 
 
 But all " space " for the slayer of souls. 
 
 The destruction that leaves hut a wraith ; 
 And the palace and crown for the devils and ghouls, 
 
 Who grow fat on the riiins of faith. 
 
 He had written, as if with his blood. 
 
 And in letters of grandexir and flame. 
 Of the arc that can brighten the flood. 
 
 And new marvels that yet had no name. 
 He had stood on the thundering mount. 
 
 With his harp, not with warrior's mace ; 
 He had drunk of the bliss of the life-giving fount ; 
 
 But the answer was only — " No space.". 
 
 " No space " for the singer, who struck 
 
 A fresh note on his v7onderful sti'ings. 
 From the Mother whose bosom gave suck. 
 
 To her child with angelical wings. 
 But " space " for the babbler of wrong. 
 
 The old falsehoods corroded and vile, 
 That dethrone the true bard with redemption his song. 
 
 And whatever they breathe on defile. 
 
 He had shared his small pittance and room, 
 
 With the brother who told him his lack ; 
 To himself he had gathered the gloom, 
 
 To shed light on one sorrowfiil track. 
 Yea, his heart in magnificent sweep, 
 
 Took the world to its tender embrace. 
 Every hope of the height, every doubt of the dee]} ; 
 
 But for him there was only — " No space." 
 
 No space for the hero, who gave 
 
 Of hie utmost, and all uttered well. 
 But the sombre six feet of the grave. 
 
 And a handful of earth for its knell. 
 But " space " for the spoilers, who prey 
 
 On the marrow and life of the best ; 
 Who in ashes lay gardens like Paradise grey. 
 
 With the knowledge that kills, as the pest. 
 
 He had fought with the armies of night. 
 
 He had spoken the ransoming word. 
 He had seen the ineffalile sight. 
 
 The last innermost mystery heard.
 
 ST. COLTJMB'S 101 
 
 He had taken his stand on the seat 
 
 Of the hio-hest, and stooped not an ace ; 
 While his pulse with the laws of the universe beat ; 
 
 But the answer was only — No space. 
 
 " No space " for the teacher and wise. 
 
 Who would lead to the pasture so green. 
 Where the down-trodden toilers arise. 
 
 And the drift of the ages is seen. 
 But " space " for the guides that go ill. 
 
 That draw ever more darkly aside ; 
 And all honour to those that dishonour their skill. 
 
 And the man from his Maker divide. 
 
 No one dreamed he had wanted a crust. 
 
 No one heeded or wondered or wept ; 
 And the world, in its lying and lust. 
 
 Went on dancing to doom — though he slept. 
 Though the mind with its music was dumb. 
 
 And the foot with its conquering pace ; 
 Though the hand that had helped was now withered and numb ; 
 
 And his epitaph only — No space. 
 
 No space for the kingly and grand. 
 
 Who had offered such jewels of love ; 
 And whose heart was a heavenly land. 
 
 Like a star that had dropt from above. 
 But " space " for the haters of men. 
 
 And rewards for the sowers of loss ; 
 Who the Temple had turned to the plunderers' den. 
 
 And their God again nailed to the Cross. 
 
 ST. COLUMB'S. 
 
 Prayer upon prayer it rose, God bade it rise, 
 Eeligiovis steps that claimed their kindred skies; 
 When Wealth looked far, and beautifully bold 
 Put blessing forth its pious wand of gold. 
 And into sacred marble turned the mud. 
 And made the glowing columns bloom and bud ; 
 When work was worship, and in deathless layers 
 Strong men of old built up heroic prayers 
 And praise, stone iipon stone, line upon line. 
 In characters that shall iinclouded shine. 
 Celestial lamps . . So God's cathedral stept.
 
 102 GT. colu::b s. 
 
 As to its native stars, and coninnine kept 
 
 Arcl counsel cweet with Gcd. . . But bitter years 
 
 Troubled its birth, with passion throbc and tears. 
 
 Fierce st ruck the storm of battle on its walls. 
 
 Descended leaden rain in cursed squalls. 
 
 And cruel blasts of bigot lust swooped down. 
 
 While Heaven itself seemed set in hostile frown 
 
 And leagued with earth, to mar that fabric bright, 
 
 "Which into blossom changed the deadliest blight. 
 
 And yet again the ghastly thunder spoke 
 
 Wilder, and iwll its fatal terrors broke 
 
 Black on the Virgin City — woe and pain. 
 
 Hatred and wrath — but threatened yet in vain. 
 
 The young cathedi-al over Derry still 
 
 Spread benedictions, from its cone-shaped hill. 
 
 And niinistrant in all things glad and good. 
 
 Above the winding Foyle unstained stood, 
 
 Baptized in blood and sighs and searching fire, 
 
 Nor scathed .... It had a King for niu-sing sire. 
 
 And royal care its cradle rocked, and lent 
 
 The voice that made its tower so eloquent. 
 
 Talking of God the Father. . . Silver lips — 
 
 After the horror of the long eclipse. 
 
 When all was lost but faith — in richer swells, 
 
 Kang forth the glory of the conquering bells. 
 
 Then strange new strains of deeds essayed or done. 
 
 Burst from a thousand mouths that all were one. 
 
 In reverend music ; rapt tlie organ pealed. 
 
 And mysteries of souls to souls revealed 
 
 And gave them tongues, and carried to the bovmd 
 
 Of those deep notes that through the centuries sound 
 
 Ever, and only come to beauteous birth 
 
 In thoughts that round the ages put a girth. 
 
 And mingle clime with clime . . . Erect and armed, 
 
 God's temple with God's weapons, unalarmed 
 
 At wars and rrimours, seen and unseen foes. 
 
 Amidst an anguished world in earthqiiake throes, 
 
 St. Columb's fane, through the sad twilight shone, 
 
 A witness to the trnth, when truth seemed gone; 
 
 V. hile suns seemed darkened at mid-day, and Fear 
 
 More dire than death, grew hourly still more near. 
 
 Set fast its icy seal even on the brave. 
 
 Stilled stoutest throats, dug the live martyr's grave. 
 
 Palsied the arm, dogged the fleet foot, and lay 
 
 A shadow and a shroud across the way. 
 
 Which was no way ; and still that ghostly Fear 
 
 Crept on in sei-pent folds, moi-e dim and drear. 
 
 Wrinkling the brow, and clutching in its grip 
 
 Bridegroom and bride, and on the loyal lip 
 
 Freezing the prayer ... It stood though terror called. 
 
 Unmoved, by might of daily worship walled.
 
 ST. columb's 103 
 
 Biittressed with love, on hope's foundation built. 
 Shielded with trust that scorns the slavish guilt 
 Of doubt ; it stood, strong against Satan's harms. 
 Girdled but with God's everlasting arms. 
 And sentinelled by God, who knew his own 
 And kept them safe — if He were half imknown ; 
 It stood, St. Coliimb's hoiise, the one sure seat, 
 A fovtress of the faith, a calm retreat. 
 For willing hands and hearts devout, that served 
 Their Sovereign and their Lord, and nothing swerved 
 From the rough path of Duty. Till the Dread, 
 Which by degrees waxed to Mediisa's head — 
 A writhing horror with its crest of snakes, 
 And beams of blackness falling off in flakes — 
 The third and biggest wave of war, at length. 
 Dashed on the doomed City in its strength. 
 A wave it was, that to an ocean grew 
 Grey, over which the funeral ravens flew. 
 Billow on billow, fast and faster still. 
 Blow after blow, and each a graver ill. 
 Trouble on trovible, sad and sadder yet. 
 Care after care ; the pangs that gnaw and fret 
 Body and mind, the wants that seethe and siirge. 
 Beat and kept beating with luipitying scoixrge. 
 Against the handful that fought pale and poor, 
 And knocked with skeleton fin.gers at the door 
 God had shut to ; and higli the grisly stair 
 Of corpses rose, and hands that would repair 
 Breaches covild not. Wind blew, wave broke, and on 
 New foes and perils prest, when old were gone. 
 Like fronts of Hydras ; loud and louder boomed 
 Black mouths, crashed roofs, men fell, wailed women, gloomed 
 The yellow sun on that starved desperate shout ; 
 Friends tied, soiir treason worked, and still held out 
 Derry, and still its calm Cathedral sang 
 Beneath glad tidings, and above it rang 
 Throvigh iron throat grim messages, that broke 
 From the pale pulpit of the battle smoke — 
 God's temple and God's battery, its breath 
 Peace to the faithful, to the unfaithful death. 
 Bright flamed the beacon, red the banner waved. 
 As tighter round the coils of slaughter raved. 
 On that white rock. St. Columb pointed high 
 To heaven, which hourly seemed more sweet and nigh ; 
 The anguish waxed to agony ; they past 
 Through hell itself, and would not yield ... At last. 
 When scarce were lifted piteous arms that prayed. 
 The help desired so long, so loag delayed. 
 Came; and God listened to His soldiers' plea. 
 And rode in triumph on the avenging sea. 
 Himself. And fair St. Columb's guiding star 
 Shone forth agaiu, though gashed with many a scar.
 
 1G4 VENrs AND ASCAN'irS. 
 
 VENUS AND ASC^ANIUS.— 1865. 
 
 "At Venus Ascanio placidam per membra quietem 
 
 " Inrigat, et fotuin gremio dea tollit in altos 
 
 " Ida,lioe lucos, ulii mollis amaracus ilkim 
 
 " Floribns et dulci adspirans complectitiir iimlira." 
 
 1 iEneid 691-4. 
 
 Pillowed upon the bosom of a goddess. 
 And lightly laid to sleep in rosy rest, 
 Gentle Ascanius held nnconscioiis flight ; 
 Through dewy clouds, that, leaning from above. 
 Kissed and embraced his sculjitxired brow and breast. 
 And stirred his golden flood of mantling hair. 
 The soft airs made a music as they glided. 
 Sweetened with balm and scenting frankincense. 
 The breath of gods. 
 
 For Venus moved upon 
 His lissom limbs, bedewing them with mists 
 Of easy slumber ; and, fondling him aloft 
 In arms divine, transported to her bower — 
 To the tall woods Idalian and their shades. 
 Where the lazy lotus, breathing in his ear. 
 Lulling with odorous tears and charmed dews. 
 Imprisoned him in leaves and wooing flowers — 
 The shades and flowers that bloomed and gloomed for him. 
 Blossoms of every hue around him smiled. 
 And languidly drew in the vital air. 
 Exhaled again in richer interest 
 Of perfume, which adcwn the swimming trees. 
 Wavered on swooning breezes, faint with love. 
 Laden with ministries of various use. 
 But from its skies the laughing blue stc oped down 
 And made a roof of overshadov>'ing light. 
 And looking down the tangled foliage seemed 
 Eyes of a goddess wor.shipping a god. 
 And meeting love with love, sweet interchange. 
 In some bright land where everything is love. 
 While birds, like winged sunbeams, went and came 
 With lightning presence through the lights and shadows. 
 So dimly separate in that holy place. 
 On hushed melodious pinions, momently, — 
 Expressing swiftest thought or fancy's flight. 
 When the rapt poet gives a loosened rein 
 To fancy's course and wild imaginings. 
 The murmuring life was as a music muffled. 
 And each soft sound stole like a guilty thing 
 Into the silence, sweet, ambrosial. 
 And folding all as in a magic cloak. 
 
 But Venus stood beside the flowery niche.
 
 VENUS AND A8CANIUS. U'.o 
 
 Beautiful Venus, statuesque and lovely. 
 Beautiful Venus, very sad and lonely, 
 With tlie warm light of jjrophecy in her eye. 
 And the n-esli flusl) of promise on her lip, 
 And a wild f^lory round her ruffled head ; 
 So still she seemed as carven out of silence, 
 So Bad as if a part of frozen sadnes3. 
 So frail as woven froni the threads of air. 
 Or in the marble sleep of breathing nanrble ; 
 Dim as a mist, and yet more clear than morn, 
 Kobed in the sunshine of her radiant hair. 
 
 She stood beside, as in a wondering dream, 
 
 (Like one that waits and watches for the dawn. 
 
 And sees even now its crimson finger pointing 
 
 To the immediate advent of the siin. 
 
 Who dallies with the darkness half in scorn) 
 
 And laid her hand upon his lovely forehead — 
 
 A golden sunljeam lighting on a fair 
 
 Eound polished pebble — smoothing every crease 
 
 Or rippling shadow thrown athwart the light. 
 
 Drawing new inspiration from his dreaming, 
 
 Beiiuty from beauty; and whispering awful wcr 's, 
 
 She lifted a low voice and sang to him — 
 
 Sang of the budding future and its glory. 
 
 Of mighty empires — and her voice waxed stronger ; 
 
 Of brooding love, and then — then, she faltered ; 
 
 Of melting tears, and in her eyes they trembled ; 
 
 Of Roman matrons, and her white lips quivered — 
 
 She sang until the mighty passion moved 
 
 And shook her frame and seized the soul within. 
 
 Of the dream-future and its agonies, 
 
 The triumphs and victorious issuings ; 
 
 Strong battles and the armies mustering 
 
 And meeting hand to hand, the shocks and griefs. 
 
 And the great Konian rising over all. 
 
 Thus then she darkly sang, while the boy slept. 
 
 The silver hours rolled radiantly away. 
 
 The pictixred hours dropped in the lap of silenc?. 
 
 Slipping in music past the shores of Time ; 
 
 And from below upstreamed an incense rich, 
 
 A rapturous dim chorus of far soixnds,, 
 
 Sweet tears, soft vows and prayers, and that appeal 
 
 Of wedded loves to the incarnate Love. 
 
 And, intermingling with the pleasant noise. 
 
 The tranquil notes within, the chorus rose. 
 
 In an eddying upward column of sick joy. 
 
 For ever into the deep and sublime Vast beyond. 
 
 Thus rolled the wheels of Time, and the boy slept 
 
 Set in a rosy sleep pure and profound.
 
 166 THE SUNBEAM. 
 
 THE SUNBEAM. 
 
 It iipsprang, in the splendour of its track. 
 
 From the mercy-seat of God; 
 To scatter its radiance on the wrack. 
 
 And a glorj' on the clod. 
 
 And it came, on a mission of peace and joy. 
 With a message of love and bliss ; 
 
 To say that the earth was only a toy. 
 And that death was only a kiss. 
 
 And it burst from the cloudland dark and drear. 
 Till its brightness filled the shade ; 
 
 "While it lit with a glow the falling teai". 
 And the cheek that began to fade. 
 
 And it warmed the heart that was dim and cold. 
 
 In the saddest, dullest land ; 
 And whatever it touched it turned to gold. 
 
 With the magic of its hand. 
 
 And it lingered fondly, if it went. 
 
 To brighten and to bless ; 
 And the wearied spirit nearly spent. 
 
 Was revived by its glad caress. 
 
 And it fell on the evil and the good. 
 
 With its grand impartial span ; 
 And as with the bonds of brotherhood. 
 
 It united man to man. 
 
 And it seemed like a saviour in its flight, 
 When it glanced on the judgment rod ; 
 
 And the flowers that were pining for the light, 
 Leapt up from the laiighing sod. 
 
 And it gathered in its gracious smile. 
 
 All things that arose or fell ; 
 It ennobled what was mean or vile. 
 
 With its soft transfiguring spell. 
 
 And it shed its shining on the jDeer, 
 
 As upon the beggar's face; 
 And it folded blooming lives and sere. 
 
 In the breadth of its embrace. 
 
 And it rested, a moment, on the crutch 
 
 Of the cripple helpless laid ; 
 And it seemed to him like an angel's touch. 
 
 Sent down from the heavens to aid.
 
 THE STorJi wi?:d iC)'i 
 
 And it strengthened the iaith that waxed faint. 
 
 While it lightened the darkened eyes ; 
 And it lay on the brow of the dying saint, 
 
 As a benediction lies. 
 
 And, at last, when the shadows were painted bright. 
 
 On the p'lthway of peace it trod ; 
 It returned, from the dnty that was delight. 
 
 To the Goodness that is God. 
 
 THE STOHM WIND. 
 
 It was born in a sable mass of cloud. 
 
 It was cradled in mist and gloom ; 
 And the trump of its vengeful voice was loud. 
 
 Like the solemn trump of doom. 
 
 As the sun sank down in a sea of blood, 
 
 And the moon came iip in fire, 
 It outspread its wings on the field and flood. 
 
 And went forth in its restless ire. 
 
 It was clothed in a sad and sombre hue. 
 
 And a knell was on its lips ; 
 As if from the tomb its tones it drew. 
 
 And its garb from the eclipse. 
 
 Like a wandering earthquake forth it sped. 
 
 On the wings of woe and death ; 
 And its path was dark with pain, and red 
 
 With the lightning of its breath. 
 
 And it lashed the spark from a cottage blown. 
 
 Till they bvirst into billows wild ; 
 Into cruel flames that made their own. 
 
 Both the parent and the child. 
 
 And it seized two forms with a tiger's leap, 
 
 As they stood by a quarry side ; 
 And it laid in one grim funex-al heap. 
 
 The bridegx'oom and the bride. 
 
 And it caught the vessel, as she heeled 
 
 In the swell of the swirling main ; 
 Till she shivered and shook and downward reeledy 
 
 And never rose up again. 
 
 And it tore the bridge, with its hungry teeth. 
 That was spanned by the iron road ; 
 
 And it sank in the gurgling depths beneath. 
 With the shrieks of its living load.
 
 168 'XHE STOKM WINiJ. 
 
 And it rent the man from the helpless niaid, 
 
 As she wildly to him prest ; 
 While it swept the sick from the arms of aid. 
 
 And the baby from the breast. 
 
 And it strangled the feebly gasping breath, 
 That was sighing away from lack ; 
 
 And it carried confusion, pain and death, 
 In the terror of its track. 
 
 And wherever it came it came like night. 
 With the shadows black it brought ; 
 
 For it overcast the loveliest lightj 
 And it laughed at the ruin wrought. 
 
 And the sights it found, thoiigh bright and sweet. 
 
 Yet it left them grim and gray ; 
 Yea, it trod them down with furious feet. 
 
 And it turned them to decay. 
 
 And it swooped with the withering of its blast. 
 
 On the feeble and the fair ; 
 And the drowning wretch, as it hurried past. 
 
 Saw the sentence of despair. 
 
 And it struck the monarch on his throne. 
 With its keen and piercing knife ; 
 
 For it was resolved to rule alone, 
 In a kingdom without life. 
 
 And it robbed the beggar of his crust, 
 
 AVhen his head began to bow ; 
 And it laid him starving in the dust, 
 
 With its brand upon his brov/. 
 
 And it lashed the wealthy and the poor. 
 With its loud remorseless scourge ; 
 
 And it knocked at the barred and bolted door. 
 With its unresisted surge. 
 
 And it set its wounds iipon weakness most. 
 
 If it spared the wicked long ; 
 And it rushed like the tramp of an armed host. 
 
 Over biilwarks of the strong. 
 
 And it left the humble lower still. 
 While it would not hear the proud ; 
 
 And it broke on the valley and the hill. 
 With a bursting thunder cloud. 
 
 And it grew in fury as it went. 
 
 In himger the more they gave ; 
 And it seemed a thing incontinent. 
 
 Like the never-glutted grave.
 
 THE StfMMEK WIND. ' 1()9 
 
 And it gathered fuel from its wrath. 
 
 That w;i;s ;i,s a burning- fire ; 
 And the darker its destroying path, 
 
 The deadlier its desire. 
 
 And it wrote its tale in woe and tears. 
 
 On the beautiful and good ; 
 And it wrung its toll from the coward's fears. 
 
 While the brave in vain withstood. 
 
 And it raged iintil it was spent with play. 
 
 Though ics sport was only death ; 
 Until it had stormed itself away. 
 
 With tired unsated breath. 
 
 Till it clothed the land, in its cruel strength. 
 
 With the pall of the funeral shade ; 
 And then it lay down to rest at length. 
 
 In the mourning it had made. 
 
 THE SUMMER WIND. 
 
 It arose in the morning with light and with song. 
 It arose with the bubbling of brooks ; 
 
 In the lipJls of the night it had lingered long. 
 In the tender twilight nooks. 
 
 It arose like a bridegroom to meet the bride, 
 
 Witli the glory of the dawn ; 
 And it swept, in the swiftness of its pride. 
 
 The dews on the dainty lawn. 
 
 And it kissed the lovers on the cheek. 
 While they pledged the vows of youth ; 
 
 And it spoke, as the things of nature sj^eak, 
 Vrith the pleasant tones of truth. 
 
 And it breathed a blessing on the pair. 
 As they gazed a.t the glowing Bast ; 
 
 While it toyed with the maiden's shining hair. 
 And found on her lips a feast. 
 
 And it touched the pillow creased with pain. 
 
 Till the pangs released their hold ; 
 And the sleepless suii'erer dreamed again. 
 
 Of the painless times of old. 
 
 And it fanned the flickering spark of life, 
 
 As it stilled tlie struggling breath ; 
 While it scattered the gioomj- clouds of strife. 
 
 And realeased the prey of death. 
 
 And it flew on a sunbeam up the slope, 
 That climbed to a prison wall ;
 
 170 THE SUMMER WIND. 
 
 And it whispered the blessed news of hope. 
 In the ears long deaf to all. 
 
 And it broiight a message for the man. 
 With a song for the weeping child; 
 
 And the downcast maid, as the breeze began. 
 Looked up to the heaven and smiled. 
 
 And it filled the looks of woe with light. 
 When its quickening presence past ; 
 
 And the world became a fairer sight. 
 To the eyes that were overcast. 
 
 And it called so sweetly to despair, 
 With the notes of a mated dove. 
 
 That the dumb found language to declare 
 The unmeasured works of Love. 
 
 And it swept the shadows from the blind. 
 With the sway of its gentle powers ; 
 
 And the dreariest road it left behind 
 Was turned to a track of flowers. 
 
 And it laid a hand on the moiildering graves. 
 
 Till corruplrion lost its sting ; 
 And the dead arose from their silent graves. 
 
 As they rise at the touch of Spring. 
 
 And wherever it went, with its lightsome tread. 
 
 It assuaged the angry smart ; 
 While it softly soothed the aching head. 
 
 And made whole the broken heart. 
 
 And it fell like sunshine on the spot. 
 Which was darkest and most cold ; 
 
 And the aged and infirm forgot. 
 That they ever had been old. 
 
 And it sped as a spirit through the land. 
 
 With the music of its voice ; 
 While it told the fainting frame to stand. 
 
 And the mourner to rejoice. 
 
 And it took the blight from the barren ground, 
 With the curse from the troiibled mind ; 
 
 And whatever the care and grief it found. 
 Yet a blessing it left behind. 
 
 And on it went in its welcome flight. 
 Like the waving of angel wings ; 
 
 While it changed the bitter waves of night. 
 To a thousand radiant springs. 
 
 Till it reached the white and wondrous shore. 
 
 At the noontide of the day ; 
 And then it lay down to sleep once more. 
 
 Like a child that is tired with play.
 
 MY QUEEN. 172^ 
 
 MY QUEEN. 
 
 Let others talk of golden tresses. 
 
 And ej^es that glance and glow ; 
 Of lii3s that curl with sweet caresses, 
 
 And shoulders white as snow. 
 I am not blind to beauty's treasures, 
 
 Nor cold to queenly cliarms ; 
 And I have had my youthful pleasures. 
 
 In soft vohiptuous arms. 
 
 Let others praise the 1)loom and brightness. 
 
 Which all the world can see ; 
 Nor heed that lovely gifts and 'lightness. 
 
 Too often well agree. 
 I care not for those common graces. 
 
 As free as sun and air ; 
 I seek not out such public faces. 
 
 So generally fair. 
 
 There is a spell in faultless beauty. 
 
 The coldest must confess ; 
 It almost seems .a woman's duty. 
 
 To please with prettiness. 
 Bivt still, while this may give direction. 
 
 To others' fond desires ; 
 I little prize that broad perfection. 
 
 Which every one admires. 
 
 The lure of fine harmonious features. 
 
 And tlie most radiant smiles. 
 May thrill the breasts of doting creatures. 
 
 But not my heart bes-uiles. 
 It is not needful for salvation. 
 
 To worship mere good looks ; 
 Nor even a Liberal education. 
 
 To love them out of books. 
 
 Though men may deem it dire transgression. 
 
 Against the rules of art ; 
 Give me the beauty of expression. 
 
 That blossoms from the heart. 
 I value not the outward finish. 
 
 Which animals may show ; 
 But gifts the years will not diminish. 
 
 That still more lovely grow. 
 
 Leave me the harmony of sweetness. 
 
 That marks a moral grace ; 
 And I wdll give you the completeness, 
 
 Ot the most perfect face.
 
 172 WAITING. 
 
 The poets long liave piled theii* verse on. 
 
 The trappings of the troll ; 
 Away Tvith your mere pretty person, 
 
 I want a pretty soul. 
 
 I look not for, in any woman, 
 
 A mere fine weather form ; 
 I wish her to be sweetly htiman. 
 
 To brave with me the storm. 
 The glow and colour, that will perish, 
 
 Tlie senses quickly sate ; 
 I choose to honour and to cherish — • 
 
 No picture but — a mate. 
 
 The charms that stand the test of troiible. 
 
 Yet fiy from social glare ; 
 That age and trial only double, 
 
 I reckon the most fair. 
 And all this unobtrusive merit. 
 
 The pure and modest mien. 
 The equalities no kings inherit, —   
 
 I find them in my Queen. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 It will dawn, the day of pleasure. 
 Shedding light on vale and hill ; 
 
 Others wait not for their treasure, 
 I am waiting, waiting still. 
 
 She will come, my queen of beauty. 
 Come and scatter clotids of ill ; 
 
 Let the world pursue its duty, 
 I am waiting, waiting still. 
 
 When she first admits affection, 
 I shall feel a, secret thrill ; 
 
 They may jest and raise objection, 
 I am waiting, waiting still. 
 
 All her face will sweetly soften. 
 Love will each misgiving kill ; 
 
 Though my comrades chide me often, 
 I am v/aiting, waiting still. 
 
 All her heart for me will blossom. 
 
 Like the roses by the rill ; 
 Men may court an easier bosom, 
 
 I am waiting, waiting still.
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 1":^ 
 
 Soon her bre;ist but one emotion, 
 
 With its passion beats will fill ; 
 Fools may lang-h at nay devotion, 
 
 I am waiting, waiting still. 
 
 Love will slowly, surely teach her. 
 
 Mould her with a sciilptor's skill ; 
 Wealth and rank will never reach her^ 
 
 I am waiting, waiting still. 
 
 She is fair and she is mortal. 
 
 She has but a woman's will ; 
 Hark ! her feet are at the portal, 
 
 I am waiting, waiting still. 
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 ( The Pessimist.) 
 
 my brother, what is there on which we may rest ? 
 
 For nothing biat death can be stable; 
 And the wife that you. clasp to your credulous breast. 
 
 She is only a beautiful fable. 
 
 And though all that is modest and good to your face. 
 While adorned with each gift and each talent ; 
 
 Yet the charms you exalt, she delights to abase, 
 In the arms -of some lecherovis gallant. 
 
 For your children are only your children in name. 
 
 And begot by some luckier neighbour ; 
 And if born in the purple are born in the shame. 
 
 That betokens the loss of your labour. 
 
 And the love that you fancy they give from the heart. 
 
 Is a matter of cupboard afPection ; 
 Wherein yoiu- good cook has a prominent j)art. 
 
 Though it cheats the paternal detection. 
 
 While the friend that you tenderly take to your arms. 
 And entrust with your welfare and credit ; 
 
 He will rob you of wealth and work nothing but harms. 
 And survive your dishonour to edit. 
 
 For that friend is no less than an enemy masked. 
 Though you deem him a joy and a treasure ; 
 
 Who in all the misfortimes with which you are tasked, 
 Finds a secret and exquisite pleasure. 
 
 While you hold him a man of the worthiest mark. 
 
 And invest him with wonderful virtue ; 
 He will quietly stab yorir repute in the dark. 
 
 And seize every occasion to hurt you.
 
 174 THE WAT OF THE WORLD. 
 
 And the butler for years in your confidence liigli. 
 
 So relijijions and ready and civil. 
 Will make off with your jewels when no one is nigh. 
 
 And will not go alone to the devil. 
 
 Aye, the daughter, the darling of many a prayer. 
 
 In professions of tenderness fervent ; 
 She will not be reluctant the plunder to share. 
 
 And elope with that sanctiiied servant. 
 
 And the heir who was seldom denied for a day. 
 Though he has not one merit to bless him. 
 
 Yet will waste an estate on his ruinous play. 
 And on women who gull and caress him. 
 
 And the parson whose piety never grows faint. 
 Though his body gets sparer and thinner. 
 
 Plays only (believe me \) the part of a saint. 
 Because he dares not be a sinner. 
 
 Yes, he turns on the maid an adulterous eye. 
 As she flits with her mistress to matins ; 
 
 While he wishes that fate had not made him so shy. 
 Or more proof against beauty in satins. 
 
 And the paupers for whom you have catered so well. 
 Though the pensioners all of your bounty, 
 
 At the weight of the debt that they owe you rebel. 
 And go cursing yen over the county. 
 
 And the lawyer, with instances ever replete. 
 Who has stuck to your lands like a blister. 
 
 Just to crov^'n all the years of his licensed deceit. 
 Will solicit the hand of your sister. 
 
 And the doctor, for ^vhom, when a youngster at school 
 
 You fought that remarkable gipsy. 
 Is only at best a diplomatized fool, 
 
 And will poison yoii when he is tipsy. 
 
 And your widow will raise a most elegant tomb. 
 That proclaims to the public her sorrow. 
 
 To recount all your virtues and pitiful doom. 
 And will marry again on the morrow. 
 
 Then your college companions so true and so tried. 
 Who with protests affectionate girt you, 
 
 When they hear your poor memory basely decried. 
 Will lament and lament and— desert you. 
 
 Not a friend or relation will miss you the least, 
 If they write on the blackest of borders ; 
 
 Thouo-hperhaps for a season some favourite beast.. 
 Will go moping in vain for your orders.
 
 COUNTRY XOTES. l7o 
 
 And the son who was yonncfost and dearest of all, 
 
 Who like Benjamin always was pampered. 
 Will abscond f with the plate, in the shade of the pall. 
 
 By no folly like sentiment hampered. 
 
 And the ontlnu-st of grief which arose at yonr fate. 
 Which declared that it could not grow lesser. 
 
 In a week will be turned to a jubilant state. 
 To salute your ignoble successor. 
 
 Those who mourned you the loudest the day that you died 
 
 To yoiu- heir will be foremost to pander. 
 And will strive to exalt his contemptible pride. 
 
 By depressing your doings with slander. 
 
 For this is, O my brother, the way of the world, 
 
 If its systems are hollow and rotten ; 
 When the banner of life has been broken and furled. 
 
 It is wept and abused and forgotten. 
 
 COUNTRY NOTES. 
 
 Beside an ivied lattice, in the shade, 
 
 I sat ; and so my recreation made 
 
 Of rural sounds, that floating far and near, 
 
 Foimd welcome access to my open ear. 
 
 A distant sheep-bell tinkled ; and the lambs 
 
 Cried from the folded pastures to their dams. 
 
 Whose deep responses though remote and faint. 
 
 Kept pleasant concert with the sweet complaint. 
 
 The workman's trowel, busy on repair. 
 
 Clinked, and its echoes climbed the startled air. 
 
 A saiicy chaffinch sang of leisure long. 
 
 With si^rightly flourish winding up the song, 
 
 Poised on a tree-tojD ; while his homely mate. 
 
 Low on a neighbouring nest reposed sedate. 
 
 A nameless bird, from some divided choice. 
 
 With hesitating desultoi-y voice. 
 
 Performed a solo. Nature smiled. The axe. 
 
 Plied by the woodman, laid its wonted tax 
 
 Upon the timber. But at every stroke. 
 
 Faint snatches of a countz-y ballad broke 
 
 From lips unskilled but hearty, keeping time 
 
 And cadence with the ringing axe's rhyme. 
 
 The shepherd-boy his rough "and ready din 
 
 Expended on the chorus, chiming in. 
 
 A buzzing sound at intervals would come. 
 
 That made the happy little homestead hum. 
 
 From threshing-engines ; and the lumbering wain 
 
 Kolled slowly onward as a thing in pain. 
 
 t This is a fact.
 
 176 ' COTJNTET NOTES. 
 
 Heaped skyward, heavy ; at the turning-point. 
 
 It groaned and shook in every laboiiring joint. 
 
 Pigs grunted, poultry chicked ; the carter's cry. 
 
 Instant and keen, rang out and scaled the sky. 
 
 A song-thrush warbled. On the landscape bent. 
 
 The brooding shadow of a vast content. 
 
 My soul was soothed and in no sadness sighed. 
 
 And withot\t wooing sense was satisfied, 
 
 Not cloyed. A gentle hush, of heavenly kin, 
 
 Plad found ajar the gates and entered in. 
 
 The genial fulness of the sounds and sights. 
 
 Not overflowing, bound nie with delights 
 
 Of flowers and music that would not be pent. 
 
 And many a tender symphony and scent. 
 
 The tawny hare, half-hidden in the grass. 
 
 Crouched, trembling as the mirrored cloudlets pass. 
 
 And draw the heaven to earth. A snake obscene. 
 
 Glanced fugitive and sought the copse's screen. 
 
 Trailing his lengths of light — but from behind 
 
 Escaped the wail of some imprisoned wind. 
 
 Meanwhile I dreamed of worlds without a curse. 
 
 And sudden fancies took the form of verse : 
 
 But thus I fixed the fleeting waifs of thought. 
 
 By fond compulsion into order brought. 
 
 " J<^rom fields of sleep, the heavenly babes unborn. 
 
 In lands of shadow fairy and forloi'n. 
 
 Send messages of peace and pleasant cheer. 
 
 As echoes wafted over waters clear. 
 
 They bid us still with jealousy prepare 
 
 The present means, to build a Fiiture f?ar ; 
 
 A fabric piire with every favoured nook, 
 
 Where wanderers rest, and qviiet casements look 
 
 On spaces cool, in floating isles becalmed — 
 
 With twilight temples poinilous, and palmed 
 
 By tufted trees : yea, mixed with mtisic deep. 
 
 Old oracles they murmur in their sleep. 
 
 Life with its men and maidens cherry-lipt. 
 
 Its undecypherable manuscript. 
 
 Leans forward ; and we fill our costly shelves. 
 
 For generations nobler than ourselves. 
 
 More beautiful. They come, they come at length. 
 
 Star-bright, reposing in their god-like strength ; 
 
 Crowned with their laurels, and with light of deeds 
 
 That settle not as perishable seeds ; 
 
 But pave the glorious streets with stones of gold. 
 
 And bringing forth their fruit a hundred-fold. 
 
 They supersede bj' graduations blest. 
 
 Our broken knowledge, wonder, and unrest." 
 
 Melodious nonsense muttering I woke. 
 
 And throixgh my vision's veil the scenery broke. 
 
 Awake, I watched the reaper — now he ground
 
 aARDEK FANCIES. . 177 
 
 His sickle on the whetstone, and jiround 
 The iron flashed, the herbage flew, the spray 
 Dividing right and left in beauty lay. 
 But as he dipped his brown and brawny hand, 
 A gentle ripple by resistance fann'd 
 Ran o'er the surface, loitering in the light, 
 And played a moment as a zephyr might. 
 Beneath the hissing hook snccumbed the swathe. 
 The kine had straggled riverwards to bathe. 
 And belly-deep in troubled waters stood. 
 The noontide made a marvel of the wood, 
 With sunbeams woven into golden haze; 
 While scudding swallows swept the windless ways. 
 In zigzag fashion, swift, on slanting wings- 
 God knows I praised the innocent bright things. 
 I praised the hourly miracles of grace. 
 The sunset glov/ing on a woman's face. 
 The evening hush that orbs her actions round. 
 Her consecration of the vilest ground. 
 I praised the little prettinesses heard 
 In girlish laughter, and in wisdom's word 
 That falls by chance from children's lisping mOuth, 
 And warmer breezes of the balmy south. 
 I praised the precious loveliness of light. 
 The sense of sound, the captivating sight ; 
 That grand creative effort, which adorned 
 The admirable Armament, nor scorned 
 To labotir in the lower world, but took 
 A living pen and wi-ote in Nature's book_, 
 Sweet lessons to be learnt from idle days — 
 And was there anything I did not praise ? 
 My heart was f\ill of love, and humbly showed 
 Its love to Him from whom the loving flowed. 
 I praised mankind and Grod, without a thought. 
 And found a solace which I never sought : 
 
 The rich thanksgiving novirished in my breast 
 
 Eose to my lips, and gave enjoyment zest. 
 
 I blest the beasts, and every spark of life 
 
 That sleeps in stone or dreams in fruitful strife. 
 
 Still unawares my benediction fell, 
 
 A.nd blessing all I blest myself as well. 
 
 GARDEN FANCIES. 
 
 It was a garden, fanciful and fair. 
 
 That showed an artist's hand, a lover's care, 
 
 The patient waiting of an iron will, 
 
 A nurse's watch, a calm physician's skill. 
 
 The master's moulding counsel and control, 
 
 While woman's presence purified the whole.
 
 178 GARDEN FANCIES. 
 
 For, lo, the' blooms that ever youth renew. 
 
 In radiant robes and draperies of dew, 
 
 Were sure their magic mistress prized them much. 
 
 Her influence felt and trembled at her toiich — 
 
 Smiled as she smoothed their glossy cheeks, and broke' 
 
 In brighter blushes, when with praise she sjDoke. 
 
 Such was the garden, so serene and gay. 
 
 As if it ne'er declined from green to gray — 
 
 And never winter with its blasting breath, 
 
 Like sudden fear, had darkened it in death — 
 
 Nor change, as evil thoughts, woiild gnaw at root. 
 
 The russet globes and yellow spheres of fruit. 
 
 Here once I lingered, lying in the shade ; 
 
 And near me rang the labourer's ready spade. 
 
 Striking a stone, that checked his eager toil. 
 
 To sweat an extra sixpence from the soil ; 
 
 As some usurious farmer haply bound. 
 
 Who plagued his drudge and drained the weary ground 
 
 Of all its virtue, till its value ceast, 
 
 And honoured less his laboiirer than his Iseast. 
 
 Above I saw the flowers and foliage meet, 
 
 And heard the fir cones cracking in the heat ; 
 
 Yet, higher still, there spread a gorgeous waste 
 
 Of leafy branches, sweetly interlaced.. 
 
 I was the centre of a fairy ring. 
 
 With Summer treading on the skirts of Spring-, 
 
 And scattering fragrant freshness in its track — 
 
 As to embalm the fallen floweret's wrack. 
 
 Around me stretched the plants that climb and creep. 
 
 Put forth a hundred hands, and lightly leap 
 
 From bough to bough — where haj^py squirrels hide. 
 
 Or mad with frisky frolics swing and slide. 
 
 Below me daisies peeped in shyness up, 
 
 And rich with gold-dust gleamed the 'outter-cup. 
 
 'Twas sultry weather — yea, a gentle drouth 
 
 Had paled an unknown blossom's opening mouth. 
 
 Had marred the curve and colour of its lips. 
 
 And dimmed its whito and piu-jjle, like eclipse. 
 
 Laburnum, lilac, pendiilous in knots. 
 
 With flne confusion crowded splendid spots 
 
 Of sunlight ; while on ravished sense and soul, 
 
 The hues fell softly and the odours stole. 
 
 And that bright wonder of the waving line. 
 
 The far horizon, dancing in the shine. 
 
 Surprised and i>leased. But gleaming cattle graced 
 
 The belted pastures, which they cropped and paced. 
 
 In stately languor stalking — by the change 
 
 Of light and shadow, turned to phantoms strange. 
 
 Here hills arose, like visions of the True, 
 
 And languished seaward, beautiful and blue. 
 
 But there the ocean broadeuedj flushed and laughed,
 
 GARDEN FANCIES i7<J 
 
 Burst into niii-th and music, from the waft 
 
 Of i^assing wind, that made the vessels reel. 
 
 With glad white water leaping at the keel ; 
 
 While tightened cordage creake:d, and canvas strained, 
 
 And great hulls groaned like creatures, prest or pained. 
 
 Then in a lull the sailors' jocund cheer. 
 
 Was carried mild and mellow to the ear. 
 
 By fits the tune of tumbling torrents woke. 
 
 And every note a novel message spoke. 
 
 Each little leaf a meaning of its own 
 
 Murmured, yet indistinctly — every stone, 
 
 From out its frozen sleep, gave sermons new j 
 
 Nor prophecies, in shimmering pearls of dew,' 
 
 Were wanting— while the dreaming plant and flower, 
 
 In lazy slumber lapt, a present power 
 
 Usurping held— the herbage green and crispedj 
 
 A separate precept unexpected lisped. 
 
 The very tree-tops, M'ith their rookery bent. 
 
 Talked to me in a sigh intelligent, 
 
 That swept them— but the tenants, poised on high. 
 
 Seemed scribbled on the faint and sketchy sky. 
 
 Which (as I nodded) looked too blank and bare. 
 
 With curling vapours still and stagnant air— 
 
 A dismal reflex of the poorest part, 
 
 Projected by the baldest painter's art. 
 
 As hy a craftsman prompt to interpose. 
 
 The rough and ready patches tliat he knows, 
 
 With sapient sameness — and in every piece. 
 
 His everlasting flower or flock of geese ; 
 
 The flash of sunshine, or provoking hlxie 
 
 Monotonously bright, and breaking through 
 
 His old tame clouds— those miserable tricks. 
 
 At which tliough hackneyed now ho never sticks ; 
 
 And, lo, he gives us calmly as before. 
 
 The well-known waves that beat the well-known shore ; 
 
 Eternal iteration of the past. 
 
 He reproduces still his first and last. 
 
 The academic picture. So, I thought. 
 
 Appeared that dulness which the spirit brought— 
 
 At least a moment— for from sightless nooks. 
 
 The intermittent clamour of the brooks 
 
 Eejoicing, roused me slightly— and, in vain. 
 
 Accord with outward life I strove to gain ; 
 
 And listened fondly in a gentle drowse. 
 
 As May flowers fell and rested on my brows. 
 
 Uplifting, lo, its tall and taper stem. 
 
 O'er many a meaner bud and blossom gem. 
 
 The feathering foxglove, with its weight of bells, 
 
 "Drooped m the wind and wove bewitching spells— 
 
 Where wind there was— for in the leafy ways. 
 
 Some waft forlorn and lost for ever strays •
 
 IgO GARDEN FANCIES. 
 
 Though in the open space the air be still, 
 And weary grasses wayer on the hill. 
 Left by the wandering breezes that they miss. 
 Vibrating yet to their last loving kiss. 
 And frequent strains of music, faint and far, 
 ^Soaped from the forest as a door ajar. 
 The wood-dove's requiem told, in thickets coy. 
 Supreme content and consecrated joy ; 
 And songless birds for their unblissful fate. 
 By emulous loudness tried to compensate. 
 In ordered utterance sweet, his fairy tale 
 Was poured in passion by the nightingale. 
 Now garrulous, aud eloquently rang 
 The bloomy bowers with echoes, as he sang. 
 His plaintive call, his whistle clear and fine. 
 The tremor and the melody divine. 
 Suspense more vocal of the tones that hung. 
 To break in tempest from the trembling tongiie ; 
 Seemed accents as of mourners who condole. 
 Or wrung by terror from a tortured soul — 
 Forced with reluctance of relenting lips, 
 And labouring sore m deep and dire eclipse — 
 The outburst of a prisoned saint in pain. 
 His agony of penitential strain. 
 All sad emotions, every joyous note. 
 Were gathered in the compass of his throat ; . 
 The shout of victory in triumphant heat. 
 The wail of desperation and defeat. 
 The poles of passion, feeling's every form 
 Appeared to meet in stillness or in storm. 
 Tea, counter clamours blent in loving lease, 
 1 ne cry of war, the lullaby of peace — , 
 
 The soft low laughter of the whispering ti-ees. 
 The piilse of bubbling brooks, the wash of seas ; 
 And evening niTirmurs with the morning came. 
 The sui^pliant's sigh with revellers' wild acclaim — 
 The hymn of happy feasts, the dirge of doom. 
 The rival chords of gladness and of gloom — 
 The noise of torrents and the lisp of leaves. 
 With sobbings of the heart that broods and grieves- 
 The moan of woimded pines and cypress tops, — 
 With ripple from the raincloud on the copse — 
 The secret plaint of every clime and cult — 
 All mingled madly in one fierce result ; 
 Joined without jarring, mixed within the soul, 
 ' A strange and stirring, but harmonious whole. 
 It was the voice of Nature and of Fate, 
 Prophetic, frenzied, full, articulate ; 
 Now breathing mystic babble, in its whim. 
 Old oracles and psalms and sayings dim ; 
 Now giving voice and volume to the dumb.
 
 GARDEK FANCIES 181 
 
 And bodying forth the end of thing:8 to come. 
 The wayward cuckoo, wrapt in shades remote. 
 Denied his absence by a distant note ; 
 Then chuckling past and gabbled, as he told, 
 With hoarse and'hiisky voice his song was old — 
 That Spring was gone, and he the time mis-spent. 
 Foreboding changes after the event. 
 Between the bleatings of a peevish calf. 
 The shy woodpecker's idiotic laugh 
 Grated discordant, from his lonely ledge, 
 A blasted branch that liroke the forest's edge ; 
 Till frightened by his voice, as well he might. 
 • Yet farther off he winged his heavy flight- 
 To tap fresh trees, where timid humour bids. 
 Like ghostly workmen nailing cofhn lids. 
 But all the scenes, and every sound that stirred. 
 From me seemed flowing or to me referred. 
 The pivot of the play — my dreamy brain 
 Wound up the puppets, and unwound again — 
 Projected fancies, oiitward forms, at will, — 
 Selecting, colouring, and creating still. 
 To suit the impulse of the hour. Afar, 
 Across the sun a cloud's obtruded bar 
 Lay bvirning, smouldering in the smothered glare. 
 Which burst at times from its imprisoned lair. 
 Not many clouds the keenest gaze coidd spy, 
 Scrawled"^here and there and scattered on the sky. 
 But each one looked a thwart and thunderoiis sign. 
 With sanctions sad and iunninence malign ; 
 Like tragic pages from the book of doom. 
 And traced by trembling hands in hues of gloom. 
 While muiiied notes and undertones exprest. 
 Some nameless sorrow with a vague imrest. 
 But silence haunted, unimpaired and whole. 
 The far-withdrawn and deep-sequestered soul. 
 For all the uproar of the mightiest mart. 
 Has not an echo for the hidden heart 
 Of tranquil minds, with treasures set above. 
 And lost in lapses of celestial love. 
 But as I stood betwixt the gloom and gleam. 
 Behold the revelation and the dream. 
 
 Subdued and sudden, as a conscious pause, 
 Wliicli breeds expectance of a sounding clause 
 About to come, in some sweet period's swell. 
 Whose undulations softly rose and fell. 
 Like ocean nmrmurs, till the labouring throes 
 Ceased but to soar and sing a grander close : 
 Thus was the sleep that came in pregnant calm. 
 And o'er me shed the splendour of its charm, 
 I dreamed of lovely women. how fair.
 
 182 GARDEN FANCIES. 
 
 Their figures in the mild and mellow air. 
 
 Serene and settled in their heavenly home ; 
 
 As ships in shadow on the moonlit foaan. 
 
 Which ride at anchor lightly. How they leant. 
 
 Between the crimson cloudlets' radiant rent. 
 
 Against the piirple twilight, all aglow. 
 
 As listening to a tale of long ago — 
 
 A tale of love and soft as tender tears. 
 
 Mixed with the music of forgotten years. 
 
 They leant, and listening oftentimes they quaffed 
 
 From golden ciips, and delicately laughed ; 
 
 But bright the dew of dainty weeping still 
 
 At intervals would rise, and flooding fill 
 
 The glorious globes of their great eyes intent. 
 
 With looks of sorrow ptire and penitent ; 
 
 Till wonder wiped the 1" ealing drojis away. 
 
 And joy succeeded. Without stint or stay 
 
 Each drank the living breezes, and her bust. 
 
 Transported with the rapture of its trust. 
 
 Heaved beautifully big ; while sudden bloom. 
 
 Broke through the circles of the gorgeoiis gloom. 
 
 The sun, the moon, and many stars were there. 
 
 And quivered in the quiet of the air — 
 
 Not as on earth — of glare and dimness stript. 
 
 And deep in hues of pensive periods dipt. 
 
 The sea of separation was no more, 
 
 Invitizig waves were welcomed by the shore 
 
 And plaj'ed in pleasure, as they fondly roll'd 
 
 Fresh freights of diamond dust and diist of gold. 
 
 Then some one spoke. It was a voice so sweet, 
 
 I cannot charge my memory to repeat 
 
 The hidden riches, yet woiild I regain 
 
 Faint fragments of the bright and broken strain. 
 
 A miracle of sense was in me wrought. 
 
 And this expression of the song I caught. 
 
 " A happy period, as it orbs and grows. 
 
 Unfolds its years as petals of the rose. 
 
 The tears of trouble turn to glittering gems. 
 
 That make a nation's noblest diadems. 
 
 And she who fled through many a fiery flood. 
 
 Or trailed her modest robes in treacherous mud. 
 
 Now goes through pastures green, by placid streams. 
 
 And hears the waters babble in their dreams." 
 
 Then cried another, from behind a cloud, 
 
 Whose voice vibrated trumpet-like and loud : — 
 
 " She is avenged of all the evil done, 
 
 Beneath the silence of the moon and sun. 
 
 By wise endurance ; and her white-washed hands, 
 
 Baptized in T)lood, are strong as iron bands. 
 
 By suffering sifted, purified by j^rayers. 
 
 As priestess on the white-wox*ix altar stairs^
 
 THE 6Lr» AXD THE NEW MAaPALEN. 188 
 
 She stands repentant, clothed in raiment white, _ 
 
 Crowned with her sorrows changed to love and light." 
 
 Yet more perchance I know, bxit wherefore harm 
 
 By repetition what will lose its charm ? 
 
 Antiphony it seemed of anthem joy — 
 
 As in cathedrals calm man calls to boy 
 
 Across the holy interspace, and each 
 
 With emulation wrestles to ontreach 
 
 His fellow, in the choral passion's height, 
 
 The challenge, answer, raptnre, and delight. 
 
 And still in dreams of wonderment, I drew 
 
 Some testimony to the good and trne. 
 
 In woman's world ; I saw the figures list. 
 
 With floating limbs and draperies of mist 
 
 And leaning forms, to eatch the uttered word ; 
 
 While a low wind of laiighter wavelets stirr'd. 
 
 That more than music were yet were not speech. 
 
 Like spell-botind waters washing on a beach. 
 
 I woke reluctant, yet refreshed, and round 
 The messages of modulated soimd 
 Dropt down the wind. I saw the mower's scythe 
 Glance in the clover, like a serpent lithe : 
 Before him blossoms, climbing to the knee, 
 Retreated blood-red — ebbing as the sea. 
 And as I gazed, the hills and levels long, 
 Brimmed o'er with laughter and broke out in song. 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW MAGDALEN. 
 
 l.—THE OLD MAGDALEN. 
 
 Mute in large and mourufiil niches. 
 Stare her globes of glittering eyes ; 
 
 Low her locks' redundant riches. 
 Trail in penitential guise. 
 
 Scars her brow the brand of sorrow, ' 
 
 Feed her breast the fires of pain ; 
 Sees sh(> night beyond the morrow. 
 
 On the stars a cursed stain. 
 
 Drinking deep of troxxbled fountains. 
 
 Following fast the lying wraiths ; 
 Stumbling on the darksome mountains. 
 
 O'er the rocks of barren faiths. 
 
 Dreading biit a bastard sentence. 
 
 Forged of dead and dying facts ; 
 Dreaming not the sole repentance. 
 
 Lies in fair and loving acts.
 
 184 THE OLD AXD THE NEW MAGDALEN. 
 
 Fi'aiid and falsehood bend and blind her. 
 With decaying rubrics' reek ; 
 
 Fear before and shame behind her, 
 Baulk the solace woe would seek. 
 
 Pale with hojje that springs from terror. 
 
 Blighted at its very birth ; 
 Nourished on a lofty error. 
 
 Strangling every strain of mirth. 
 
 Torture warps her withered duties. 
 With its livindred links of loss ; 
 
 And her blossom's tender beauties. 
 Droop beneath the bitter cross. 
 
 Yet she serves the limping letter. 
 Yet she hugs the prisoner's part ; 
 
 And her faith is but a fetter. 
 Eating, eating in the heart. 
 
 Chains of custom, loads of fiction. 
 On her weary shoulders fret ; 
 
 And her service is affliction. 
 And her worship is regret. 
 
 Slave of systems, duped by shackles. 
 That the spirit cannot bind ; 
 
 Scared when Convocation cackles. 
 O'er its eggs of addled mind. 
 
 Wringing by her pangs acquittance, 
 • From the doubts that never cease ; 
 
 Crowned at last with grudged admittance. 
 To the rest that is not peace. 
 
 Yet serene with grand assurance. 
 Kindling inward solemn rays ; 
 
 While most crushed in gray endiirance. 
 By the faith that saves and slays. 
 
 2.— THE NEW MAGtDALEN. 
 
 Bright between the dusk and dawning. 
 Sweet with joys that vitterance seek ; 
 
 Fair while fervent shadows fawning. 
 Paint their changes on her cheek. 
 
 Purified by widows' blessings. 
 
 Cleansed with orphans' holy tears ; 
 
 Eeaping ever rich car«ssings. 
 
 From the sad and suffering years.
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW MAGDALXN. 18' 
 
 Burstinor from the blasted shelter. 
 
 Of old fossil forms and shades ; 
 Where the friiits of wisdom welter. 
 
 Where the flower of fancy fades. 
 
 Breaking from the surface frozen, 
 
 Eank with doctrines doomed to rot — 
 Dim with laws that cramp and cozen, 
 
 Woman's lean and sterile lo*. 
 
 Though the stunted stony present. 
 
 Yet with feudal rags be girt ; 
 Heaping harvests pure and pleasant. 
 
 In the darkness and the dirt. 
 
 Lo, the desert red with roses. 
 
 Trembling heavenward at her tread ; 
 
 While her hand like dew disposes. 
 Ministries that move the dead. 
 
 Thorns and thistles are her pillow. 
 
 Softened by the touch of tears ; 
 And the passion of the billow. 
 
 Is the music that she hears. 
 
 Grim conventions sink before her, 
 
 Liist puts off its dazzling dress ; 
 Eyes that would deny adore her. 
 
 Lips that ciu-sed are tiu'ned to bless. 
 
 Bowed with bondage, prest by burdens. 
 
 That are liberty and love ; 
 Gleaning in the dust the guerdons. 
 
 Foretaste of the bliss above. 
 
 Glorified by falls, that frighten 
 
 Doubt from paths each failure paves ; 
 
 Wresting hopes that labour lighten. 
 From the grij) of iron graves. 
 
 Trampling under starved transitions, 
 
 I'etters that can bind but fools ; 
 All the bare and bleak traditions. 
 
 Of a thousand perjured schools. 
 
 Bones of dogmas damned despising. 
 
 Fleeting cries of phantom creeds ; 
 Still rejoicing, still arising, 
 
 In the light of larger deeds.
 
 186 DIS-CROWNED NOT DIS-KINGED. 
 
 DIS-CEOAVNED NOT DIS-KINGED, 
 
 The clay followed day, and the night 
 
 Came in turn ; 
 And the waters went brawling and bright. 
 
 From their emerald urn ; 
 While the moonlight was wavy and white. 
 
 On the breast of the beautiful fern. 
 
 The night followed night, and the day 
 
 Was not slack ; 
 And the simrise with moonrise had sway. 
 
 O'er the wanderer's track ; 
 And the restless and fingering ray. 
 
 Led him on with the world at his back. 
 
 Still he travelled away with the sun. 
 
 To the west ; 
 As a man who is mighty, and one 
 
 With the brave and the best ; 
 As a torrent, whose passion is done. 
 
 To its home in the infinite Eest. 
 
 Still he journeyed in haste, with the moon 
 
 And the stars ; 
 As a soul that will waver not soon. 
 
 Before perilous bars ; 
 And he treasured the time as a boon, 
 
 With the light on his face and his scars. 
 
 He had sorrowed and sufPered, as all 
 
 Who have fame ; 
 He had made of his people a thrall. 
 
 And magnificent shame ; 
 And their life beyond reach of recall, 
 
 Was the history wint in his name. 
 
 In a penitent's garb, he had gone 
 
 On his road -, 
 And his forehead was weary and wan. 
 
 As oppressed by a load ; 
 Bxit the river was smiling, and shone — 
 
 Yea, it laughed as it frolicked and flowed. 
 
 In his hand was a cross, on his heart 
 
 Was a weight ; 
 Not a triice of his empire and art, 
 
 Not a rag of his state ; 
 And the thoiTght of his greatness, was part 
 
 Of the innermost pangs of his fate.
 
 DIS-CROWNED NOT DI3-KINQED. 187 
 
 Though his path was beset, with the thorn 
 
 And the stone ; 
 Yet he hailed them as crowns to bo worn, 
 
 Or as steps to a throne ; 
 On the wave of repentance upborne. 
 
 In his sin and his sorrow alone. 
 
 And his footstep was firm, and his brow- 
 Did not fret ; 
 
 On his lips lay a sacrament's vow. 
 As a seal was it set ; 
 
 Biit the worst of the trouble came now. 
 That his people could never forget. 
 
 Though his God should forgive him, his pride 
 
 And his power ; 
 Though the folly within him had died. 
 
 As a shade or a shower ; 
 Yet he covild not undo, if he tried. 
 
 All the evil that flourished in flower. 
 
 Could the lashes of scorn, or the scourge. 
 
 Give him jjeace ? 
 If he trod on the sepiilchre's verge. 
 
 Would his suft'erings cease ? 
 Could his prayers and his penances purge. 
 
 And extort for his spirit release ? 
 
 Should he ever attain, to the goal 
 
 And the shrine? 
 Might he wring from his agonized soiil. 
 
 But a hope or a sign ? 
 Did he think to atone for the whole. 
 
 As with refuse and rinsings of wine ? 
 
 Did he lay on the altar a gift. 
 
 That was nought ? 
 Was his pilgrimage else than a shift. 
 
 And too tardily sought ? 
 Was the heaven to come down and uplift. 
 
 Or with leavings of life to be boiight ? 
 
 Lo, before him a cloud seemed to swim. 
 
 In his eyes ; 
 And a shape that was shapeless and dim. 
 
 Seemed to threaten and rise ; 
 And no glimpse of their glory to him. 
 
 Stole in mercy from earth or the skies. 
 
 With the wayfare his feet were all sores. 
 
 And all blor)d ; 
 While the sweat of his toil from the pores.
 
 1H3 THE CHILD OF THE MADONNA. 
 
 Trickled down in a flood ; 
 Yet he sighed not to taste of the stores. 
 He had broiight to the fruit from tho biid. 
 
 The sharp horrors of shadows arose. 
 
 In the way ; 
 And yet keener within were the throes. 
 
 That no fasting could stay ; 
 And forebodings of measureless woes. 
 
 Were more dark and more dreadful than they. 
 
 But he loitered not once on his course, 
 
 Nor waxed faint : 
 And he looked beyond time to its source. 
 
 As to Sion its saint ; 
 And he plunged in the deeps of remorse. 
 
 To lie cleansed of his terrible taint. 
 
 Though dis-crowned and dis-throned by his will. 
 
 Yet he reigned ; 
 He was king in his purpose, to kill 
 
 All the passions that pained ; 
 ' And he ruled with more majesty still. 
 
 As he stooped to the trial ordained. 
 
 "THE CHILD OF THE MADONNA." 
 
 Great wondering eyes and golden hair. 
 
 The orphan's q uiet blessing ; 
 Soft lips that part in silent prayer. 
 
 And crave for lips caressing. 
 
 A face that mates with moonlit glooms. 
 
 Where blessed shadows linger ; 
 With lights that play on ancient tombs. 
 
 And touch with trembling finger. 
 
 A smile that haimts as holy airs. 
 
 It is so sad and solemn ; 
 A brow that's carved with early cares. 
 
 Like tracery round a column. 
 
 A cheek with ever-shifting hues. 
 
 That tell-tale fancies dapple ; 
 With now the glows of sunset dews. 
 
 And now the bloom of apple. 
 
 White dimpled hands that close in trust. 
 
 Like lily tendrils clinging ; 
 That nestle round and nestle must. 
 And breed their faith in bringing.
 
 HE TIDE OF TEARS. 189 
 
 "Warm rippling veins that paint the throaty 
 
 With bhie and wondrous windings ; 
 An car that seeks the truest note. 
 
 In all its tender findings. 
 
 A life that turns to love and bliss, 
 
 As blossoms to the morning ; 
 That moves to music others miss. 
 
 Or steals a still adorning. 
 
 A voice which has a secret thrill, 
 
 With words that fall as kisses ; 
 Which throbs with thoughts the visions fill, 
 
 From faint and far abysses. 
 
 A mouth that feeds on prayer and praise, 
 And wreathed with reverent chanting ; 
 
 Or fondly rapt in sweet amaze. 
 For concords higher panting. 
 
 A shade of awe that broods at times. 
 
 With mild and mellowed shinings ; 
 That saddens dreams it yet sublimes. 
 
 In troubled quaint refinings. 
 
 A shapely head that loves to stoop. 
 
 Adoring as it listens ; 
 Where leavings of the violet droop, 
 
 And straying glory glistens. 
 
 A heart that dwells on summits dim. 
 
 And doats on waters pleasant ; 
 While wander winds and vapours swim, 
 
 And more is felt than present. 
 
 A home of memories piire and bright, 
 Where snow-whito doves are winging ; 
 
 That's roofed with still and starry light, 
 And walled by solenrn singing. 
 
 A soul that nothing hero can stay. 
 
 But sacred shrines of honour ; 
 ' That worships all its loving way ; 
 " The child of the Madonna." 
 
 THE TIDE OF TEARS. 
 
 There is a Tide that never eblis. 
 And murmurs through the years — 
 
 That weaves its flowers in fatal webs- 
 The tide of human tears.
 
 iOO THE TIDE OF TEAKS. 
 
 And fair it is with waving weeds. 
 That snare the straying feet ; 
 
 With many a dancing light that leads; 
 To ruin dark and fleet. 
 
 It washes on the strand of Life, 
 
 And f 1 eshens as it flows : 
 For ever fed by streams of strife. 
 
 And widening- with onr woes. 
 
 With passion strange it sternly keeps. 
 
 Its dim and dreary track ; 
 While every barrier only heaps, 
 
 New victims on its wrack. 
 
 Lo, mournfvil figures by the marge. 
 
 Go weeping to and fro ; 
 And through its shadows dense and large. 
 
 Drop echoes sad and slow. 
 
 And tossing arms and trailing hair. 
 
 Come floating on its mist ; 
 With faces warped by cruel care. 
 
 That vainly lean and list. 
 
 Its bii'th was in the budding times. 
 That were the birth of man ; 
 
 And with the dawn of happy chimes. 
 Its mvirmur first began. 
 
 We see from far the weary sight. 
 While catching on the breeze. 
 
 Borne through the silence and the night. 
 The sound of solemn seas. 
 
 Till nearer yet and nearer heaves. 
 The torrent's barren march ; 
 
 Through blighted ears and blasted shea ves. 
 That rainbows may not arch. 
 
 It deepens as it drags its course. 
 And angrier grows its beat ; 
 
 And in the refuge of remorse. 
 Its foam is at our feet. 
 
 O think not, reveller, in thy joys. 
 
 This flood will never flow ; 
 'Tis gliding without note or noise. 
 
 And sapping from below. 
 
 The less thy sorrow is at first. 
 When gi-een is lifetime's leaf ; 
 
 The more thy evening will be cursedj 
 With grayer hours of grief.
 
 THE TIDE OF TEAKS. ISfl 
 
 Fair is tlie morning of our youth, 
 
 And fond the noontide's gleams ; 
 But settle round the roots of truth. 
 
 The broad and bitter streams. 
 
 There is a Tide that never stays. 
 
 And follows on our fears ; 
 That waxes with the waning days ; 
 
 The tide of human tears. 
 
 And drop by drop, and wave on wave^ 
 
 It gathers strength and store ; 
 And from the cradle to the grave, 
 
 It uiurmurs evermore. 
 
 We know not whence its rivers come. 
 
 Nor whither they may go ; 
 For these are sorrowfully dumb. 
 
 And those are wild with woe. 
 
 While some in i-adiant daylight rise. 
 
 Where mirth is sweetly made ; 
 Some wander luider starry skies. 
 
 And wither bloom and blade. 
 
 And now the path is fringed with flowers, 
 
 Thoiigh troiible be not far ; 
 And now it lies through lonely hovirs. 
 
 Or leaps some chafing bar. 
 
 And here there is a hungry rush. 
 
 Of currents loud and long ; 
 And there they delicately gush, 
 
 With siidden bursts of song. 
 
 But all are restless still and sad. 
 
 And every fashion prove ; 
 They have the strain they ever had. 
 
 And murmiir as they move. 
 
 They pass from shadow into shade, 
 
 And hide their bourne and source ; 
 Wo see our dreams and darlings fade. 
 
 And so we track their course. 
 
 And if they bear no common name. 
 
 Though dimly sharing nuich ; 
 Their deadly nature is the same. 
 
 To darken what they touch. 
 
 But wave on wave, and drop by drop. 
 
 They siu-ely hurry on ; 
 And ere we strive its march to stop. 
 
 The fatal flood is gone.
 
 192 CONFESSIONS OF A CLERGTMAN. 
 
 Yet holy still may be its track. 
 And fresh from wellsprings sweet 
 
 That after many days comes back, 
 With gladness to its seat. 
 
 Though salt and sad the waters? taste, 
 And troiibled be their sound ; 
 
 Though wide and weary be the waste, 
 That marks their moving bound. 
 
 But faith that follows to the fount. 
 Where never mortal trod ; 
 
 Will trace them to the heavenly mount, 
 And to the throne of God. 
 
 Tears fill in Love their silver iirns. 
 And flow from Mercy's feet ; 
 
 And unto God their stream returns. 
 Where Love and Mercy meet. 
 
 CONFESSION.^ OF A CLERGYMAN. 
 
 Confessions that have nothing to confess. 
 
 Or in the deed more dai-kly still transgress. 
 
 Not svich are mine — 1 merely bring the load. 
 
 Wherewith I travel on my troubled road. 
 
 And set it down a moment by the way. 
 
 While at the restful shrine I pause and pray. 
 
 And here, while on the altar is my hold. 
 
 Part of my burden I will now unfold ; 
 
 With Heaven above my words to blame or bless, 
 
 Whate'er my speech or silence shall confess. 
 
 Lo, I confess that I am hviman all, 
 
 That every day a hundred times I fall, 
 
 And every day a hiuidred timers repent. 
 
 To pave my life with many a inxve intent. 
 
 Yea, I confess my nights are dread with dreams. 
 
 And ffloomier from the light that throiigh them gleams- 
 
 That but the fetters of convention gilds. 
 
 And decks the living tomb the darkness builds. 
 
 While all my sunshine is by shadow prest. 
 
 And day is only night without its rest. 
 
 But I have lived and loved and suffered loss. 
 
 And ci^rsed the ocean that I coiild not ci-oss. 
 
 That leads to fairer fields of peace and light. 
 
 Where faiths are broad and every brow is bright ; 
 
 While o'er its waves I stretched my starving hands 
 
 In hiinger for the sweet and pleasant lands. 
 
 That rise in radiance from the farther shore. 
 
 Where sufferers feast and never hunger more.
 
 CONFESSIONS OF A CLEKGYMAN. 19;J 
 
 And I have blotted oiit the exiise with tears. 
 That shed a verdure throvigh the shadowy years. 
 And made the barren pastures bloom and shine. 
 As with the droppings of a dew divine. 
 
 1 have laboured in the heat of noon, 
 
 And weary vigils watched beneath the moon. 
 With wan white faces like a fiickering- flame, 
 That waited for the dawn which never came : 
 And hopes that trembling on the track of light. 
 Went sighing into silence and the night. 
 Oft I liave l>ound in wedlock man ivnd maid, 
 And to the dying borne cons(?ling aid 
 
 1 missed myself, and dindy longed to feel ; 
 And while my own I fondly failed to heal, 
 I had a salve for alien wounds and sores. 
 For strangers only heaping iip my stores ; 
 
 And though the same fresh streams were flowing still, 
 
 I thirsted when the others drank their fill. 
 
 So one has plenty got and one has nought. 
 
 And they that find may never yet have sought ; 
 
 While he who seeks shall haply find in pain. 
 
 Time is biit trouble and devotion vain. 
 
 Yea, though I mixed myself with many fears. 
 
 And was a portion of the bitter years, 
 
 I felt for ever, in the weary round 
 
 Of awful vision and of solemn sound. 
 
 In all I heard, in every scene I saw, 
 
 The iron limit of a grinding law, 
 
 That ground the nations in its hungry teeth. 
 
 And drew them down to fiery gulfs beneatli. ' 
 
 I saw the outcast shivering in the shade. 
 
 That kind and casteless nature never made — 
 
 Besotted rulers arming hideous hordes. 
 
 Who educate their slaves to be their lords. 
 
 And with the splendour of their gold and spice. 
 
 Adorn themselves for dreadful sacrifice : 
 
 When from a thousand thousand mines and mills. 
 
 Where vice its bosom long with vengeance fills, 
 
 The swart grim masses spiu-ning thankless toil. 
 
 Swearing and sweating out their sin and soil. 
 
 Shall fall upon their masters like a fiood. 
 
 And blot them out in blinding fire and blood — 
 
 W^hen rooting up each rank and Koyal weed^ 
 
 The sovereign people shall be king indeed. 
 
 And I have learned from bitter cult and creed. 
 The blood of Martyrs is the Churches' seed. 
 For life is large, and deeper than our dreams. 
 And in its bosom gathers all extremes ; 
 It is the suu of mortal hopes and fears,
 
 194 CONFESSIONS OF A CLEEGYMAN. 
 
 And all the contradictions of the years. 
 The broadest of the systems framed by man 
 Has each a limit in its broader plan ; 
 The lowliest joys and sorrows hold a place. 
 Within the ample bliss its arms embrace. 
 It takes account of every loving sigh. 
 And every cloud that darkens in our sky. 
 It bathes in beaiity even the meanest plea. 
 As earth is girdled by the kindly sea. 
 For mere existence is a joy that gives 
 A grace and grandeur to each thing that lives. 
 And human nature in its heart has room 
 For every ]>roken gleam and barren gloom. 
 
 Ih'^n shall religion, which is more than life. 
 
 With all our richest vows and visions rife. 
 
 Be cramped and coffined in an earthly shell. 
 
 By sanctions that of cemeteries smell — 
 
 The narrow catchwords of a noisy crew. 
 
 Whose tongiies are many and whose faiths are few 
 
 Dead bones may fashion doctrines but not deeds. 
 
 And fossil crotchets are poor stuff for creeds. 
 
 Religion is no form of frozen signs. 
 
 That prisons man in jjrindy -lettered lines : 
 
 It is the dawn that with our darkness cojies. 
 
 The best expression of the best of hopes — 
 
 The channel into which our choicest dreams. 
 
 Pour all the pathos of their starlit streams. 
 
 The boiii'ne to which wo dimly reach in prayers, 
 
 Through golden gates, iij) white-worn altar stairs — 
 
 The sweetest blossom of our saddest hour. 
 
 When love and wonder burst in perfect flower. 
 
 It feeds the pvirest passion of our strife. 
 
 And is the perfume and the dew of life — 
 
 The bloom of every pleasure, and the joy 
 
 That nought increases, and that nought can cloy — 
 
 It gives to pain its keenest edge and point, 
 
 And crowns the head that sorrow's hands anoint. 
 
 Faith is the fuel of its heavenly fire. 
 
 And yet it scorns not any dim desire ; 
 
 While the misgivings of the darkest night, 
 
 Are but the phimes that wing its arrowy flight. 
 
 But bitter are the friiits of bloody cults. 
 While earnest erring garners grand results ; 
 Yea, bleak and pinched are laws of human pride. 
 Though God's commandment is exceeding wide. 
 All honest doubts and fears are nobler tools 
 Than all the dogmas of a thousand schools ; 
 And one sweet act that lightens hiimble needs. 
 Is better than the cries of all the creeds.
 
 BABY. 
 
 Would you see our precious Baby ? 
 Look around you on the r^iys 
 Of her playful sunny ways. 
 Shining, shining, 
 Twining, twining, 
 Eoiuid the hearts that once 'W'ere pining 
 Fur the i-apture and refining 
 Of a baby love ; 
 Like a splendour, 
 Soft and tiaidoi'. 
 Fallen from above ; 
 In the midst of sunshine, may be. 
 
 In the midst of shade, 
 Yoii will see our precious Baby, 
 Light of lights that never fade. 
 
 Would you hear our precious Baby ? 
 Listen to the echoes sweet. 
 Of her soft melodious feet. 
 Patter, patter. 
 Clatter, clatter. 
 All about no earthly matter, 
 But her own bright childish chatter. 
 On the nursery floor ; 
 Ever cooing. 
 And undoing. 
 What she did before : 
 In the midst of laughter, may be. 
 
 In the midst of tears. 
 You will hear our precious Baby, 
 Centre of our hopes and fears. 
 
 Would you find our precious Baby ? 
 Seek about you in the wrack 
 Of her pretty wasteful track. 
 Papers scattered. 
 Pictures tattered, 
 Dolls most mercilessly battefed. 
 And the strangest playthings flattered 
 With the briefest life ; 
 All the treasures 
 Of her pleasures, 
 At a hopeless strife ; 
 In the midst of fragments, may be^ 
 
 Of her broken toys. 
 You will find our precious Baby, 
 Centre of our griefs and joya.
 
 19G ON THK haymarket. 
 
 Would you have a precious Baby ? 
 1)0 you hunger for the sound 
 Of a Baby's Toice around, 
 Rattle, rattle, 
 Prattle, prattle. 
 Innocent and simple tattle ? 
 Daily, hourly, loving battle, 
 With a pleasant pain. 
 Sweet as leaven 
 Of the heaven 
 Which yon hope to gain ? 
 When you least expect it, n.iay be. 
 
 As yon darkly plod, 
 jfou -will have a precious Baby 
 Like a little piece of God. 
 
 V 
 
 ON THE HAYMAKKET. 
 
 Sweet little piece of sin. 
 So fair yet touched with sorrow. 
 What devil bade thee this damned life begin, 
 A life with such a morrow, 
 
 Sweet little piece of sin ? 
 
 Fair little piece of flesh. 
 Why make that beauty venal, 
 Whicli keeps its charms yet innocent and fresh, 
 And woo the jiulgment penal. 
 
 Fair little piece of flesli ^ 
 
 Frail little piece of life, 
 Kemember thon art woman ; 
 And thongh with guilty passions now at strife, 
 Thy bosom still is human. 
 
 Frail little piece of life. 
 
 Poor little piece of lust, 
 That mars thee like a blister, 
 With ajl thy failings honour thee I must. 
 For thou art yet my sister. 
 
 Poor little piece of lust. 
 
 Dear little piece of love. 
 As I woidd call thee rather. 
 In that wide heav(m of mercy's home above. 
 Thou even hast a Father, 
 
 Dear little piece of love.
 
 THE OLD HOME, 107 
 
 Lost little piece of woe. 
 Why lanih-liko liaste to slauo-hter? 
 Hifjh in the light that is for thee aglow, 
 God moiirneth for His daughter. 
 
 Lost little piece of woe. 
 
 Saved little piece of hope. 
 Before the final sentence, 
 Lo, angels lead thee to that upward slope. 
 Whose name is called Repentance, 
 
 Saved little piece of hope. 
 
 Sweet little piece of sin. 
 Whose sweetness is corruption. 
 No better title canst thon ever win, 
 Than tliat of God's adoption, 
 
 Sweet little piece of sin. 
 
 THE OLD HOME. 
 
 There is a spot of hallowed earth. 
 
 That once was all my own ; 
 Where birds make melody, and dearth 
 
 Is never known. 
 
 Embosomed in green hills, that bound 
 Those pure and pleasant lands ; 
 
 As the Almighty Giiardian round 
 His people stands. 
 
 And planted on a happy slope. 
 That mounts for weary miles ; 
 
 As, even though clouds, a sunny hope 
 Looks up and smiles. 
 
 Here in the glory of the Spring, 
 
 Comes every tint of green ; 
 All beauteous plants, that climb and cling. 
 
 Unfold their sheen. 
 
 It is a paradise, of pai-k 
 
 And down and winding vale ; 
 Yoii hear, from foliage dense and dark. 
 
 The cushat's tale. 
 
 A marvel bright with waving wood. 
 And flowers of changeful face ; 
 
 It stands, as it has ever stood, 
 A thing of grace.
 
 198 THK OLD HOME. 
 
 Here was I cradled, and g-rew up, 
 A proud and waywai'd child ; 
 
 I drank the ovei'flowing cup 
 Of sweetness wild. 
 
 I mixed with none, but wandered lone, 
 A sad and separate thing ; 
 
 My playmates were the mossy etone. 
 And insect's wing. 
 
 The child of nature, I was wrought 
 
 As is the devious rill; 
 Each rviral sight and simple thought. 
 
 Moulded my will. 
 
 Now all has vanished, every bond 
 
 That linked me to my heme ; 
 I gaze, as exiles gaze, beyond 
 
 The hounding foam. 
 
 Another hand now jihicks tlie flowers. 
 Whose fragrance haunts me yet ; 
 
 Another footstep treads the bowers. 
 My tears made wet. 
 
 Another eye feasts on those charms. 
 
 Which me such solace gave ; 
 While towards them I stretch empty arms. 
 
 That vainly crave. 
 
 Another fancy shapes, in play. 
 
 The shadows of the trees ; 
 And rifles, in luidispixted sway. 
 
 On every breeze. 
 
 My heart is like a tender shoot. 
 
 Torn fx'om its native sky ; 
 With every bleeding spray and root. 
 
 Condemned to die. 
 
 And a strange world about me lies. 
 
 In doom and darkness wrapt ; 
 And all affection's earliest ties. 
 
 Are 1 udely snapt. 
 
 For each familiar face is gone. 
 
 And each familiar sound ; 
 And I tread dimly, toiling on, 
 
 A homeless ground.
 
 TO A OOLD BEAUTY. 199 
 
 TO A (H)L1) r>EAUTY. 
 
 Thou art formed in woman's fashion. 
 
 And dost play her social part ; 
 But without one pulse of passion. 
 
 And without a woman's heart. 
 
 Thou hast eyes that sweetly soften. 
 
 But from languor not from love ; 
 Thou hast pretty feelings often. 
 
 But which fit thee like thy glove. 
 
 Thou hast lips that curl and tremble, 
 
 Swayed as finely as a fan ; 
 Coldness while thou dost dissemble. 
 
 Warmth is lavished on a plan. 
 
 Thou hast hands that match thy dresses. 
 
 White and delicate and fair ; 
 But tlie clasp of their caresses. 
 
 Is as false as is thy liair. 
 
 Thoii hast dainty feet, that fobow 
 
 Victims of thy amorous art ; 
 Feet as fickle as the swallow. 
 
 That would trample on the heart. 
 
 Thou hast glances, that are treasured 
 
 By each frantic diipo and fool ; 
 But" thy every look is measured, 
 
 Like a lesson learnt at school. 
 
 Thou hast words, which he who misses 
 
 Deems his is a bitter fate ; 
 Thovigh they fall as soft as kisses. 
 
 They are crueller than hate. 
 
 Thou hast ways that conquer blindness. 
 
 Melting even a heart of steel ; 
 But tliou dost in all thy kindness. 
 
 Feign a part thou dost not feeb 
 
 Thou hast artless arts, for buying 
 
 Golden praise at little cost ; 
 But the name of them is lying. 
 
 And their nature is but frost. 
 
 Thou liast mercies duly meted. 
 
 And thy breast at seasons burns ; 
 But thy petty soul is heated, 
 
 Jixst to suit its petty turns.
 
 200 TO A COLD EEATTTY. 
 
 Thou hast pity's every fashion. 
 And thy voice the teiiderost ring ; 
 
 Every featiire of compassion, 
 Thon hast richly, save the thing. 
 
 All thy virtues are but borrowed, 
 All thy vices are thy own ; 
 
 Thou hast never truly sorrowed. 
 And thy bosom is a stone. 
 
 Sentiments are thine and reasons, 
 Neatly on the siirface set ; 
 
 T>al)eiled for ajipropriate seasons. 
 Like a plot of mignonette. 
 
 Exit thou art not touched by troiibles. 
 If they only fall on friends ; 
 
 Nothing moves thee more tlian bubbles. 
 If it siiits no private ends. 
 
 On thy cheek no coloxir kindles. 
 Like the sunrise on the hills ; 
 
 When the day of others dwindles. 
 Not one throb thy being thrills. 
 
 B\it in youth's wild course remembei". 
 Every triumph has its term ; 
 
 June is followed by December, 
 And the roses by the worm. 
 
 And the charms that thou dost cherish. 
 Never dimmed by care or grief; 
 
 Will too quickly pass and perish. 
 Fading like an autumn leaf. 
 
 Then the suitors who have girt thee. 
 Given thee many a crown and throne, 
 
 One by one will soon desert thee. 
 All mihonoured and alone. 
 
 Then be sure, when thou dost languish 
 In the evil hour of dearth ; 
 
 Those will only harvest anguish. 
 Who trust beauty more than worth. 
 
 When the days are dark and showery. 
 Thou shalt never, never know. 
 
 What are fields for ever flowery. 
 What are springs that ever flow. 
 
 When comes trouble's fiery onset. 
 Hatred, shame, and scorn of men ; 
 
 When thy life is at its sunset. 
 Think of this and tremble then.
 
 WILLING BUT WEAK. 201 
 
 Thoii shalt only wed affliction, 
 
 And despair shall ] le thy lord ; 
 And the cvirse of malediction, 
 
 Shall pursue thee like a sword. 
 
 Go, thou thing of paint and powder. 
 
 False and rotten to the core ; 
 Let them blow thy trimipet louder. 
 
 It will only damn thee more. 
 
 Go, reject a hundred lovers. 
 
 Weaving pleasure from their pain ; 
 Till thy heart at length discovers 
 
 Love, that meets no love again. 
 
 Go, while life may yet be pleasant. 
 
 Ere the blossom's pride is shed ; 
 Fashion from the foolish present. 
 
 The dark future's bitter bed. 
 
 Go, to ripeness that is rotten. 
 
 With tlie tinsel of thy rank ; 
 Soon thy fame will l^e forgotten. 
 
 Leaving nothing but a blank. 
 
 Go, to meet the darkening seasons. 
 
 With no promise on their brow ; 
 To the riiin without reasons. 
 
 Which is gathering round thee now. 
 
 Go, from sorrow iinto sorrow. 
 
 Cheered by no relenting ray ; 
 Let a bitterer to-morrow. 
 
 Wait upon each bitter day. 
 
 Go, with dancing and with lauglitor. 
 
 In the glory of thy bloom. 
 To the sorrowful hereafter. 
 
 With its fiery door of doom. 
 
 Go, till every trace is faded 
 
 Of thy conquering beauty's part ; 
 Till each hope a,nd joy is faded, 
 
 And the worm is at thy heart. 
 
 Go, to suffering and to sighing. 
 
 That no moment's respite give ; 
 Live, when thou dost pi'ay for dying. 
 
 Die, when thou dost pray to live. 
 
 WILLING BUT WEAK. 
 
 She had spent the last poor shillmg, 
 Slie had scarcely power to sj^eak ; 
 
 And her spii-it yet was willing, 
 lint lier flesh was weak.
 
 202 LOVE. 
 
 In hor ear a voice came thrilling. 
 
 Fell a hand upon her cheek ; 
 And her spirit yet was willing, 
 
 Biit her flesh was weak. 
 
 Sunshine dawned, her shadow filling. 
 Like the morn on monntain peak ; 
 
 And her spirit yet was willing, 
 Bnt her flesh was weak. 
 
 Miisic rang, her bosom stilling. 
 
 With the heart-strings prone to break ; 
 
 And her spirit yet was willing. 
 But the flesh was weak. 
 
 Pity came, till it seemed spilling, 
 
 Vengeance for her wrongs to wreak ; 
 
 And her spirit yet was willing, 
 But her flesh was weak. 
 
 Love o'ercame her, conscience killing. 
 Warming life all l)are and ))leak ; 
 
 Died her spirit th.at was willing. 
 For the flesh was weak. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Love might not picture, if it would, 
 
 A face as beautiful as good. 
 
 So shyly proud, so proudly shy. 
 
 As if her footsteps longed to fly 
 
 Back to the heaven that gave her birth. 
 
 But linger on the enchanted eai'th. 
 
 Love would not picture, if it might. 
 The shadow mingled with the light. 
 As from some blessed region borne, 
 ¥/here it is ever eve and morn, — 
 Where siinrise blends with sunset fires. 
 And all delights with all desires. 
 
 Love could not picture, though it tries, 
 A charm which every test defies, — 
 That fixed and yet that fleeting grace, 
 Which has no settled name or place, 
 A moment here, a nioment there, 
 And still bewitching everywhere. 
 
 Love only knows that she is fair, 
 With human eyes and crowned hair. 
 And all about her glory lies 
 Of summer nights and southern skies ; 
 And in her form is splendour strange. 
 Of perfect rest with perfect change.
 
 LOVK. 20^ 
 
 Love craves not for the answering chord. 
 
 It ia its own siipreme reward ; 
 
 It sees the head serenely high, 
 
 That nothing base conld venture nigh. 
 
 As if it scorned earth's soiling leaven. 
 
 And communed with its kindred heaven. 
 
 Love sits and to itself it sings, 
 Of angel ways and angel wings —   
 The rose that vainly art would seek. 
 So restless on her radiant cheek — 
 The glance that falls like starry gleams. 
 And by itself it sits and dreams. 
 
 Love finds a message in the mouth. 
 Laden with sweetness of the South, 
 Even in its silence, from the years 
 Of younger hopes and nobler fears. 
 And in the vastness of its joy 
 Feels the old world an empty toy. 
 
 Love lingers on her precious gifts. 
 
 Each grand surprise that shines and shifts. 
 
 The i^urity of white-waved hands. 
 
 Like lialf -caresses, half-commands— 
 
 The dew, the colour, and the glow 
 
 Of northern lights on northern snow. 
 
 Love listens for a step, a sound 
 Of tinkling feet on paved ground. 
 The shiver of the shaken robe. 
 That, like the mighty silver globe. 
 Draw the deep waves of troubled bliss. 
 To the fair face they cannot kiss. 
 
 Love fondly takes what fortune brings. 
 The dainty views, the vanishings. 
 Like flashes of the unseen storm, — 
 The poetry of perfect form. 
 As the lithe body softly sways. 
 And every passing mood obeys. 
 
 Love whispers, " She is all my own. 
 
 And in my heart she reigns alone. 
 
 With magic as of moonlit seas. 
 
 And bloom of flowers on laiighing leas. 
 
 With majesty of motion stayed 
 
 In its mid march, like dawn delayed." 
 
 Love was not ever idly spent. 
 
 If it may live it is content — 
 
 If its own flame may brightly burn. 
 
 It asks for little in return : 
 
 To hear iier voice, to touch her glove. 
 
 To look, to tremble, and to love.
 
 204 A LEGEND OF THE INQUISITIOX. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE IN(^)UISITIOX, 
 
 In the darkness of the dolorous time. 
 When simple faith was the only crime. 
 And the earth had lost its Gospel chiinOj 
 
 There was done a deed in Spain —   
 A deed, though generations old. 
 At which the very ])lood runs cold. 
 
 And the heart tvirns sick with pain. 
 
 In the time, when the Inquisition lay. 
 Like a thunder cloud vipon the day. 
 And the iron grip of its grim sway 
 
 Into men's hearts had grown. 
 There was done this di>ed of bitter shame 
 On a woman fair of noble name. 
 
 Who called her will her own. 
 
 When she dared to love her husband best. 
 To be f aithf vil still though sorely prest 
 By the priests, who, while she sins contest. 
 
 To worse sins tried to hire ; 
 They denounced her, they denounced hor lord, 
 Because she feared not rack or sword. 
 
 And kept her purpose pure. 
 
 They were dragged before that coiirt so fell. 
 Which was but the uj^per court of Hell ; 
 For they loved their honoiir all too well. 
 
 More than their living bi-eath ; 
 And the sentence of theu- secret doom. 
 Was recorded in the iudgment gloom. 
 
 And the sentence it was death. 
 
 Then his wife was slain before his face. 
 Because she scorned to be so base. 
 As to yield to them her sjiotless grace. 
 
 What makes a matron strong ; 
 And before his staving maddened eyes, 
 And beneath the veiled and silent skies. 
 
 Was done this damned wrong. 
 
 But first in the black defiling dust, 
 
 They wreaked on her all their hellish lust. 
 
 Though they coixld not break her woman's trust. 
 
 In the great God of love ; 
 Though they laid her outraged body low. 
 Yet the angels came in the sunset glow. 
 
 And they took her soul above. 
 
 Then they bound the live man to the dead. 
 And they bound them fast from foot to head, 
 And they si^urned him with their cruel tread. 
 As a master spurns the slave ;
 
 A LEGKND OF THE INQUISITION. 2Ui: 
 
 And they left him in that ghastly life. 
 The husband with liis bntchered wifo, 
 In tlw darkness of th(; ^L^'i-ave. 
 
 They were wedded in a ])iarria<T(' str;)-n<;-o, 
 And stern as the tonili that Itnows not change, 
 A\^hen the thoiiyht alone can freely range. 
 
 And madness is the thought ; 
 They were wedded in that funeral place. 
 And they mingled in that last embrace. 
 
 That the hand of hell had wrcaight. 
 
 And the white lips lay iqjon his own, 
 But the spirit warm had from them flo'^^'u. 
 And they spoke of mj^steries imknown, 
 
 But they breathed no tender breatli ; 
 And their message he might never guess, 
 In the silence of that cold caress. 
 
 Which was the kiss of death. 
 
 And he listened as his heart beat on, 
 Till the last low lingering step was gone. 
 And the last dim lantern no more shone. 
 
 Till the light within went out : 
 And he looked as dying souls for day, 
 Till the last pale shadow passed away. 
 
 With the distant ribald shout. 
 
 And he was alone with his heart and Grod, 
 Alone like a man in the burial sod. 
 And the ghostly stillness on him trod. 
 
 Like the weight of the coffin lead ; 
 And his thoughts ran high in a raging flood. 
 As he lay in the horror and the blood. 
 
 Alone with his precious dead. 
 
 For the key was turned and the bolts were sliot. 
 And for him had fallen the changeless lot. 
 And the massive door woxdd open not. 
 
 Till his ijulse had ceased to beat ; 
 And he cried for mercy, and the walls 
 Re-echoed his despairing calls. 
 
 From out their stony seat. 
 
 But he cried in vain f u-om his iron cage, 
 And the moment seemed an endless age. 
 And the cell the universe's stage. 
 
 And his breast a battle groiind ; 
 There was night without in the rayless gloom, 
 There was night within in the dreadful doom. 
 
 That his soul with darkness bound. 
 
 And he felt'the warm blood slowly drip. 
 From the corpse and each dumb crimson lip. 
 And each droi) falling seemed to slip
 
 206 A LEGEND OF THE INQUISITION. 
 
 Into his heart's own tide : 
 And the hours went by, and there he lay. 
 In the tomb tliat sle^A'-, and did not slay. 
 
 With the dead thing at his side. 
 
 But, hark 1 a sonnd as of friendly feet. 
 
 Mustering many and mustering fleet ; 
 
 If the message were God's, the voice were sweet 
 
 For it would release the slave ; 
 They are coming and coming, an army strong ; 
 He has waited late, he has waited long, 
 
 In the grip of that living grave. 
 
 They will break his bonds, they will set him free. 
 The light will arise and the shadows flee. 
 And the blinded eyes again shall see 
 
 The woman he loved so well ; 
 And the dreadful dream in which he lies. 
 It will pass like a thunder-cloud from the skies. 
 
 Or the throb of a funeral bell. 
 
 There is help for the helpless soul at last. 
 There is hope for the hopeless, fear is past, 
 And the biirdened breast its cares can cast 
 
 On the Lord who bids him come ; 
 There is rest for the restless grinding paina, 
 Kemembrance of forgotten chains. 
 
 And for the weary home. 
 
 But what do they mean ? For the sounds are strange. 
 Has his mind, in its maddened wandering range — 
 Has his mind gone through some awful change. 
 
 And mocked his brain with din P 
 Is the noise outside in the ghostly space .^ 
 Or is fancy but its dwelling-place. 
 
 And is its seat within ? 
 
 Oh, is it the wind from his mountain moor, 
 
 Chittering, chattering, 
 
 Pittering, pattering. 
 Over the breadth of the bloody floor. 
 Out of the walls and under the door. 
 
 Hurrying, scvirrying. 
 
 Flurrying, v.^orrj-ing — 
 Has the wind swept down to visit the poor ? 
 
 Is it lapsing of raindrops on the leaves. 
 
 Tinkling and twinkling, 
 
 Callintr and falling. 
 Fretting the edge of familiar eaves. 
 Flying in spray from the armed sheaves. 
 
 Dripping and droi^ping. 
 
 Chipping and chop^jing 
 The pebbles to which the dust still cleaves ?
 
 A LBGEN]} OF THE INQUISITION. 207 
 
 Is he dreaming ? Or arc they waves that beat. 
 
 Leaping and lisping, 
 
 Creeping and crisping, 
 Shy in the shadow and bold in the heat. 
 Up to the foot of the castled i:cat. 
 
 Nearer and nearer. 
 
 Clearer and clearer. 
 Dancing to light from their dim retreat ? 
 
 Are they feet of his children upon the mats. 
 
 Sliding and gliding, 
 
 Hiding and chiding. 
 That come flitting across the marble flats ? —   
 Or are they the wings of the vampire bats, 
 
 EiTstling and bustling, 
 
 Hustling and justling ? — 
 Or are they — Oh, arc they the damned rats ? 
 
 At the gastly thought, his heart stood still 
 And he heard afar the laughing rill. 
 As it hastened down his native hill. 
 
 In its bright enriching track ; 
 He saw it all in a moment's time. 
 And the music of its happy chime. 
 
 Brought his whole history back. 
 
 It all came back, with his childhood's toys. 
 And the mother's smile that caught her boy's. 
 And the splendoiir of his springtide joys. 
 
 And the service of the sword ; 
 He knelt once more by his Inez' side. 
 When his love became a soldier's bride, 
 
 And he gave her to the Lord. 
 
 And then as the dreadful truth came nigh, 
 
 His breast was torn with a tempest sigh, 
 
 And his heart beat quick and his heart licat high, 
 
 Like a steed that longs to start ; 
 And face to face with the frightful death, 
 He clenched his teeth and he held his breath,. 
 
 To play a conqueror's part. 
 
 And lo ! in a kind of tranced daze. 
 Through the horror of the battle haze. 
 He saw the ranks in their rhythmic maze. 
 
 And many a noble Don ; 
 He saw the red masses backward reel. 
 From a moving wall of flashing steal. 
 
 That still kept rolling on. 
 
 Then he felt the rats in their legions steal. 
 To the feasting cf that funeral meal. 
 On the face his hands would fain conceal.
 
 208 A LEGEND OF THE INQUISITION. 
 
 Wore they not in fettei's tied ; 
 And they peeled the precious tender flesh. 
 Grew tired, and then began afresh. 
 
 And -were yet unsatisfied. 
 
 And they tore her tresses,'shred by shred, 
 As the bloom of a si^lorious flower is shed ; 
 But they lingered on tlie lovely red. 
 
 Where the red rose had l)een : 
 And God, indiis mercy, veiled the night 
 Of the living man in dnsky night. 
 
 From the things he nught have seen. 
 
 For they crept and crawled, a hideous rout. 
 Laid bare the skidl, and in and out 
 They swarmed, 'and revelled all about. 
 
 To find soirie feast to suit ; 
 They gnawed and nibbled, rent the skin 
 To suck the^weetness from within. 
 
 As one might rend a fruit. 
 
 They fought and frolicked o'er their prey. 
 And none were better fed than they ; 
 Till his jet black hair grew stiff and grey. 
 
 And his mind began to rave; 
 And he heard his teeth at v/ork on her 
 He loved, like the pick of the grave-digger 
 
 Digging his own dark grave. 
 
 And the cruel greedy crunching sound 
 Went on, in its dull and ceaseless round. 
 As the busy fangs were sharper ground 
 
 On the once so lovely form ; 
 And outside the walls of that dismal deep. 
 There came echoes as from the land of sleep- 
 Were they guns, or a gathering storm 'i 
 
 And he listened and listened, in breathless need ; 
 But the feasting rats, they took no heed, 
 As they stript the frame in ravenous greed 
 
 Of the features that made it fair ; 
 And when they they were fvrll, with enudous pace 
 Fresh troops poured in to take their place. 
 
 In the reeking fetid air. 
 
 And still they came in their hungry hosts. 
 
 They squeaked and moaned like gibbering ghosts. 
 
 And still drove in the outward posts 
 
 Of the army on the field ; 
 They fought with frantic tooth and nail 
 For the dainty food, ere it should fail. 
 
 That none would lightly yield.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE INQUISITION. 209 
 
 And his straining face was ashen gray. 
 
 As he cried to God for breaking day ; 
 
 And the rats they gnawed and gnawed away. 
 
 Till his starting eyes grew dim ; 
 But the sim would rise and the sun would set. 
 And the mother might her child forget. 
 
 Yet nought would, shine on him. 
 
 In the blackness of that bloody strife. 
 On the shapeless thing that was his wife. 
 It seemed each rent was the butcher's knife. 
 
 And was driven into his frame ; 
 It seemed as if for him they fought. 
 On him the devilry was wrought 
 
 That had no Christian name. 
 
 Each tap of the feet that darkness hid. 
 As a rat was gorged and downward slid, 
 "Was the hammer's tap on the coffin lid. 
 
 From a hand that would not spare ; 
 And the work went on, and the work went fast. 
 Till the awful meal was done at last. 
 
 And they picked the body bare. 
 
 And now was a pause in the dreadful deed. 
 While fresh rats gathered still to feed. 
 And still they came in their cursed speed. 
 
 And they all had to be fed .... 
 But then they turned to the living man. 
 And on him once more fresh hosts" began. 
 
 While they tore him shred by shred. 
 
 And the lean grew fat and the fat grew more. 
 
 As they revelled in human flesh and gore. 
 
 And they gnawed and nibbled, sucked and tore. 
 
 And ground as the millstones grind ; 
 For they plucked the meat to the very bone. 
 As a dainty girl, though she has but one. 
 
 From the apple sheds its rind. 
 
 And they gouged his eyes and gauged his lips, 
 They clove to the cheeks with relentless grips. 
 And tasted his throat with greedy sips. 
 
 In their hunger great and grim ; 
 And they rent him piecemeal," till the bands 
 They rattled upon his fleshless hands. 
 
 And they fastened on every limb. 
 
 As he heard the grating rasping strain. 
 He laughed like a marked undying Cain, 
 And he laughed till the walls they laughed again, 
 And the rats one moment stopjped ;
 
 210 A LEftEND OV THK IXQl ISLTION. 
 
 For it seemed to him, as lie maddened lay. 
 They wore ftiastino- on somethint; far away, 
 That the liattle had somewhere dropped. 
 
 He felt no pain in the cutting pangs, 
 And there was no edge to the cruel fangs. 
 For his sense was dead as the life that hangs 
 
 Over the pit of death ; 
 Though he knew the damned rats were there. 
 And rats and rats were everywhere. 
 
 And he drank their short sharp breath. 
 
 Though he heard them pieking, picking still. 
 And each one worked its savage will. 
 And each one ate its ghastly hll, 
 
 Till they conld eat no more : 
 Though lie saw the branding on his brain. 
 Yet never he felt a pulse of pain. 
 
 As he felt for her before. 
 
 And a fire within him seemed to burn. 
 
 As the embers in the funeral urn, 
 
 While fresh rats quarreled for their turn, 
 
 For the flesh of man is sweet ; 
 And they had starved and waited long. 
 They were mad for food and fresh and strong. 
 
 And the famine winged their feet. 
 
 But again he heard that volleying sound. 
 That like a tempest wra^jped him round — 
 Was it overhead or underground y 
 
 Or within his reeling mind ? 
 And with those echoing thiuider tones. 
 The teeth went on like chattering stones, 
 
 That cannot choosi' but grind. 
 
 It nearer drew and yet more near. 
 It clearer came and yet more clear. 
 Like a message to the moxirnfid ear 
 
 Of the soul that fortune shuns; 
 And he strained till his ribs began to start. 
 For he knew it in his soldier's heart- 
 was the soimd of guns. 
 
 And onward still the tumult came. 
 
 With the clash of swords and the glare of flame. 
 
 Till it rolled unto those walls of shame. 
 
 And it thundered at the door ; 
 And the rats they fled from that slaughter room. 
 And he heard them scattering through the gioom. 
 
 And i^lashing over the floor.
 
 X LEGEND OP THE INQUISITION. 211 
 
 A wonderment filled his soul I And then. 
 There trod into his troubled ken 
 The heavy tramp of armed men. 
 
 With the clanking of the sword ; 
 And it seemed to his poor clouded brain. 
 As if the old life had dawned again. 
 
 And he of himself was lord. 
 
 Then the tide swept in, till it reached the cell. 
 
 And the bars before its billows fell. 
 
 As the earthquake rends its earthen shell. 
 
 And vengeance flashed its light; 
 But the men who would rather die than yield. 
 And were blood-stained from tlie battle field, 
 
 Stood aw(^struck at the sight. 
 
 Lo, there was the dead to the livin<; boiuid. 
 And the fleshless jaws they mumbled sound, 
 Wliile the eyeless sockets stared around. 
 
 And the clean-picked liead stood white : 
 For the thing lialf-eaten still lived on, 
 And jabbered to the skeleton. 
 
 And the fingers strove to write. 
 
 And there in the light of that judgment day. 
 
 In a resixrrection cold and gray. 
 
 By the dead and the dying the live rats lay 
 
 So gorged that th<^y could not fly ; 
 And there was the man who would not sell 
 His soul, and the woman who loved too well 
 
 Her honour and purity. 
 
 The stones were strewn with knots of hair, 
 And bloody rags, that once were fair ; 
 And 1)loody steps i-an down the stair. 
 
 With more tliat did not show ; 
 Tlie air was thick witli bloody fume. 
 And the red torch shone but to illume 
 
 The redder pools below. 
 
 And the rugged face turned sad an<l soft, 
 While the vow of vengeance trembled oft. 
 And many a sword was lield aloft 
 
 By many a strong right hand ; 
 And the hardened soldiers turned away 
 From the woe no mortal could allay. 
 
 As it passed to the silent land. 
 
 Then a cry of horror and of hate 
 The prison shook to its utmost gate. 
 When they measured all the accursed fat© 
 Of the grimly-wedded tAvain j
 
 212- THE FRAGMENT FINISHED. 
 
 And they huntod far and hunted wide. 
 For the fiends who had killed a woman's pride. 
 And a man had doul^ly slain. 
 
 Till they dratyged them from their holes of shade. 
 At the point of the pursuing blade. 
 To every tortiire they had made. 
 
 And every hellish doom ; 
 To see the future grow more black. 
 To lie on the more dreadful rack 
 
 Of memory's torture-room. 
 
 And they chained the murderers cheek by jowl. 
 In the reverend cassock and the cowl. 
 And laid them with their dying howl. 
 
 In the darkness with the bats ; 
 With their gimcracks and their Devd's tricks. 
 Their crosses and their candlesticks, 
 
 They left them to the rats. 
 
 TO ESTHEII (STAR.) 
 
 O Esther, if thou be a star, 
 
 Eemember whence thy light is drawn ; 
 Its lustre cometh from afar. 
 
 Prom no dull earthly clime or dawn. 
 
 Eemember that it shines from Him, 
 Whose glorious lieams alone can bless ; 
 
 And thy poor feeble rays were dim. 
 But for the Sun of Righteousness. 
 
 Thy light will yet more brightly shine. 
 And on its courre more gladly run. 
 
 And with a warmth yet more Divine, 
 The nearer thou art to thy Sun. 
 
 THE FRAGMENT FINISHED. 
 
 It stood for many years, a fabric shorn 
 
 Of half its beauty, like a creature born 
 
 Out of due season in an alien clime. 
 
 Where thought and speech have lost the common chime 
 
 Of their young marriage — like a gem unset — 
 
 A blotted page, a record of regret — 
 
 Unfinished. As from resurrection groimd 
 
 It rose, like flame that laughs at every liound. 
 
 But in mid distance stayed its upward fight—
 
 THE FEAGMENT FINISHED. 213 
 
 A broken aim that would be infinite, 
 
 Thoiigh earth-fast. For He who alone could give 
 
 The crowning grace, whose love had made it live 
 
 And leap from marble, the great Master Mind 
 
 Had passed away, and had not left behind 
 
 The secret of his art. And thus it stood 
 
 Imperfect, in its utter orphanhood, 
 
 A thought half-spoken, hid in holy state, 
 
 A song unended, inarticulate — 
 
 God's temple still, but with no hand of hope 
 
 Uplifted to the golden gates that ope 
 
 To faith. It stood, while praises rippled round 
 
 Its walls, and made a sanctuary of sound. 
 
 Years followed years, and then a pupil came. 
 
 Who at the Master's feet had learned to frame 
 
 Stories in stones, that speech had never wrought. 
 
 And mould in marble the imperial thought 
 
 Too large for iitterance, and coidd draw from mire 
 
 Music and passion and the tongue of fire. 
 
 And he had learned that nothing is so weak 
 
 Or worthless, but it can be tuned to speak. 
 
 And has within the angel's wings to fly. 
 
 That links its sj^irit with eternity. 
 
 He learned the gladness that is taught by tears. 
 
 And studied hope in the stern school of fears. 
 
 And so he knew that to the open heart 
 
 No mystery lives, and in the meanest part 
 
 The whole lies hidden, and the touch of love 
 
 Can raise the oarthliest to the courts above. 
 
 He came, and marvelled that the mighty plan 
 
 Had not borne orit the glory it began. 
 
 And oft he wept : till, as he daily l^ent 
 
 In worship, lo I the walls grev/ eloquent 
 
 And to his reverence told the secret, long 
 
 Locked in their bosom like a silent song. 
 
 And on him flashed, to his pure sorrow giveii. 
 
 The finished fabric like a glimpse of heaven. 
 
 And so he wrought in prayer and with sweet pain, 
 
 Nor foimd his sacred labour was in vain 
 
 For the great Master, though the world was blind. 
 
 Translating into marble the great Mind, 
 
 That left its beauty like a watch-tower lont% 
 
 And building thoughts in everlasting stone. 
 
 Till the rich spire rose from the radiant whole, 
 
 Whit(5, pure, and perfect, like a cleansed soul — 
 
 Like a glad spirit freed from prisoning bars. 
 
 Returning to its rest and native stars — 
 
 Embodied flame, rejoicing in its strength. 
 
 When its completeness had received, at length, 
 
 The last fair finish of the workman's hand. 
 To be a joy and wonder in the land.
 
 214 THE FBAST OV PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 THE FEAST OF I'HILOSOPPIY.— 18G6. 
 
 It was a iiiiu;hty hall, a splendid space 
 
 Of pleasant twilig'ht, an enchanted place ; 
 
 A high-built palace himg- in middle bine. 
 
 By arrowy rays without a mote shot through^ 
 
 With sudden shafts, a multitudinous maze. 
 
 That interpenetrate it a thousand ways. 
 
 Without the deeji and dark-blue circle spread^ 
 
 Within faint purple light its lustre shed. 
 
 Calm WHS its grandeur as the sunset fire. 
 
 Of some heroic an'l supreme desire, 
 
 That liathed a Avorld in beauty at its birth^ 
 
 And dvin<>- left a glory on the earth 
 
 Living and growing. And its bulk was Wrought, 
 
 Tiike the great compass of a kingly thought. 
 
 Above our blessing and beyond our curse, 
 
 AVliirh is a part of all the luiiverse ; 
 
 \'ast. measureless, and pompous, in suspense 
 
 Poised, in the central heart of the Immense ; 
 
 By qiuntesseutial substance and th'^ form 
 
 Of added art, made manifold and warm ; 
 
 Glowing with wealth, and spiritual bloom 
 
 Mildly refulgent from the purple gloom. 
 
 Nor lacked it aught of fair and good, of grace 
 
 Which elevates and purifies a place. 
 
 And here the mighty men, who sometime were 
 
 The brain o' the world, had gathered without stir ; 
 
 For all was calmly jirbilant, and all 
 
 Sat silent in the shadow of the hall. 
 
 It was a pih' no mortal T)uild<'r inade. 
 
 Mingled with many a solenm light and shade - 
 
 An a\vfid fabric knit of ghostly stones, 
 
 Made populous and venerable with thrones, 
 
 Kunning with flux of rainbow-coloured brooks, 
 
 And pierced by lightning of lascivious looks 
 
 Froui statel^y wonum, who daiiced to iind fro 
 
 With flying feet as soft as falling snow — 
 
 Dabbled in tears and painted o'er with blood ; 
 
 But ruined blossom and unvirgiu bud 
 
 Olove to their head-gear pendulous, and filled 
 
 The hair with colour and sad scents distilled. 
 
 But immaterial stones upbare the frame 
 
 Of that o'ershadowing dome, and flowers of flame 
 
 Bloomed on the twilight, shaping into words ; 
 
 And far away faint music as of birds 
 
 Sang ; to its sound the amorous women kept 
 
 Responsive movements, and most lightly leapt. 
 
 AbQut a mighty table, pro2>t at ease, 
 
 Lapt in luxurious dream.? and smeared with lees
 
 THK FEAST OF PHILOSOFHT. 2l5 
 
 Of deep-drunk juices ; on the lip above 
 And under, for the simple social love 
 Which channeth revellers, drenched with vinous spray; 
 Their throned foreheads crowned with splendid bay. 
 And chapleted and filleted like gods- 
 Like them august with the imperial rods 
 Of jixdgment ; grouped as gracious stars in he;iven. 
 Here clustered two or three, there six oj- seven ; 
 Ceased philosophic spirits, who on earth 
 Did coin their brain in thoughts of golden worth. 
 Here old Pythagoras, mystical and mild 
 (A sleeping ocean dim and undefiled), 
 Mate and mysterious, clothed with saintly whitd,- 
 In vision wandered through successions bright 
 Of being, unconscious of his peers arotxnd, 
 Or numbered in great thought J one Helf the cjround ; 
 Superbly fashioned, like the idea of man, 
 As it api^oared to God ere- H<> l^egan 
 'i\) make the work Fate after mai-red — a thing 
 Of noble act, and nobler purposing. 
 But many fair and giant forms abound, 
 And many holy lowly notes resoimd ; 
 Not fleshly faces, but the informing fire. 
 Aspiring, full of hunger and desire. 
 Yet mitigated to wise impulse, tamed. 
 Free from old ciirbs yet not of law ashamed ; 
 And not terrestial are the effusive notes, 
 The liguid tribute of sweet human throats — - 
 Flesh hath no part in these serene retreats. 
 Which peace in God with happiness completes. 
 For through their being, with an influx vast. 
 The awfiil presence of the Maker past ; 
 The silent power of a tremendous spell, 
 A rolling tide-wave, irresistible ; 
 Creating still He all their nature shook. 
 Thrilled in each thcaight, and flashed in every look. 
 There Socrates rests, in a dark-browed gi-oup, 
 And diudy talks, and questioning doth stoop 
 His furrowed face, to meet their faces bent 
 And l>owed toward him, in mild uncontent 
 Of upturned eye]»rr>vvs and of lifted lids. 
 Of gathered lips and twitch that nor forbids 
 Nor praises ; he, vrith studied ignorance. 
 And irony of Attic shield and lance. 
 Seems deprecating combat and yet fights — 
 Merging himself i'the method, he delights 
 In its victorious issue ; they, perplexed. 
 Wear finer self-esteem than to be vexed. 
 And like the sighing of a summer sea 
 
 X Ferrier's theory of the thought of Pythagoras.
 
 216 THE PEAST OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Troubled in sleep, their voices rise and flee. 
 
 Now round an old man, garrulous and meek. 
 Who murmurs to his soul and doth not speak, 
 Who prattles like a child, and holds debate 
 In whispers as with sophists good and great. 
 Flit naked boys, with bloomy cheek and lip,_ 
 From which they tempt him honey-dew to sip. 
 To suck the blood of love and draw sweet breath. 
 That he may touch and drink the indwelling death ; 
 Fair, waving flowers and fruits in eloquent 
 Uplifted hands, with artful bodies bent — 
 Flitting and flying round him and before. 
 Undoing what they do, for evermore. 
 The women too that weave the rhythmic dance. 
 Draw nearer to his words of wise romance. 
 Link lovely hands and feet and then unweave 
 Their woven work, and gracefully deceive— 
 Spin tangled webs of wondrous depth, to win 
 By rhetoric; of i-adiant eyes, soft sin. 
 The innocent ancient sage, to their fond ways 
 Of blandishment and sweet libidinovis gaze ; 
 Eevealing half, half hiding the wild charms 
 Of heretofore, and winding unwound arms. 
 But he far-seeing, unconcerned, urbane. 
 Secure and calmly catholic, hixmane — 
 Like some glad quiet brook through moonlight wan- 
 Smiles, flows, and garrulously babbles on. 
 For ever wandering in delicious dreams, 
 Down fancy's ancient and enchanted streams. 
 And the broad shoulders and the lifted brows 
 With cross-cut lines, the contemplative drowse, 
 The low lisped Attic syllables, betray 
 Plato's melodious maze and silver say. 
 
 The feast flow§ on, boys tempt, and women make 
 
 Music and motion — their lithe bodies shake. 
 
 And mingle like mixed serpents serpentine ; 
 
 From thickest liair fall scents of flowers and wine, 
 
 From hiimid hair wine steams, and casual flowers 
 
 Drop, and reluctance chains the dancing hours. 
 
 Now in a double orb, a waving wealth 
 
 Of feet and hands, with subtlety and stealth 
 
 The dancers twine their snaky snares about 
 
 A holy figure, edging in and out, 
 
 Saln.ting him with gesture and soft sign 
 
 Of full-lipped love, as Father and Divine. 
 
 A form austere and chaste, and simply grand. 
 
 Is that grave pious man ; a golden band 
 
 Coerces his great carven brows, a thing 
 
 Of royalest i-are gold, as offering 
 
 Men dedicate to some dark god supreme, 
 
 Who stirs the human heart with fear and dream.
 
 'i?HE FEAST OF PHILOSOPHY. 217 
 
 Most continent he seems and most devout, 
 
 Most full of love, yet emptied not of doubt ; 
 
 His eye regards, or it appears to see. 
 
 The unveiled glory of Infinity. 
 
 In beatific vision ; and delig'ht 
 
 Fulfils his sxibtle soul, with light and miglit —   
 
 An inward glow possession cannot cloy, 
 
 An awfxil incommiinicable joy. 
 
 But from his trenmlous lijjs, half white, half red. 
 
 And wholly curled in prayer, this say is said — 
 
 As an ecstatic underbroath, a tone 
 
 Mixed with the indwelling God intensely known — 
 
 "Who loves but God he asks for nothing more. 
 
 For love it is sufficient to adore." 
 
 Tlie venei'ation and the trance, the gleam 
 
 Gladdening his wondrous eyes, the distant drcajii, 
 
 A mouth fed full of praise as breath, an air 
 
 And circumstance of vast benignant care — 
 
 All mark the upright seer, the outcast Jew, 
 
 Spinoza, who lost all to gain the True. 
 
 ****** 
 
 But many other kindred souls of worth. 
 
 Who left a name and fame green on the earth 
 
 And growing still, shone there with softened light ; 
 
 Some clothed like spring in green, some veiled witli white 
 
 Like winter, all in stainless garments clad. 
 
 And wearing all (the splendours erst they had) 
 
 The soul's apparel, mien of vision clear. 
 
 And the sweet looks that man to man endear — 
 
 High faith and humble fear, tha^t chymist love 
 
 Unites and integrates ; of which the dove 
 
 And eagle, are fit everlasting signs. 
 
 Which passion separates and peace combines. 
 
 So in that purple sky which twilight wove. 
 
 Floated the shapes of eagle and of dove, 
 
 Mated ; they urged the flight and the pursuit. 
 
 And ever shadow as with shadow, mute, 
 
 Made love and pastime ; as winged arrows speed. 
 
 Feathered, from twanging bow, so they recede 
 
 And then advance in fence of amorous feuds, 
 
 A mimic war of fond vicissitudes. 
 
 As fall their passing plumes athwart the light. 
 
 Low lilies laugh and turns the red rose white ; 
 
 And from the belly of the silver bowl. 
 
 From rippling wine, wit finds a song and soul 
 
 Cousin to calmness ; while the lips of truth 
 
 Speak, and its hearer is the heart of youth. 
 
 Though fairy women, instant, paced between 
 
 The bird-like music's pulses, each a qiieen 
 
 In lower spheres, and little love-boys leapt — 
 
 Though many linked notes did intercept
 
 ^IS "^O I LOVE THE GLEAM 0¥ GOLDEN HAIR. 
 
 The sovereign silence — yet 'twas silence still, 
 Ancient and vast, dim and ineii'a1)le ; 
 With tender niurniiirs that interpreted, 
 Made audible to space, time's silent tread. 
 
 I LOVE THE GLEAM OF GOLDEN HAIR." 
 
 O I love the glean] of golden hair, 
 
 And the glance of glorions eyes ; 
 But the sight I ever lind most fair. 
 
 Is a sight no others prize. 
 
 It is not the flower in regal Idoom, 
 
 Thoiigh its blossoms proudly wave ; 
 That has bnilt its throne on another's tomb. 
 
 And was cradled in the grave. 
 
 It is not the Min of a system bright. 
 
 That irradiates wide and far ; 
 For the snn has dia-wn its da/.zling light. 
 
 From the death of many a star. 
 
 It is not the river with haughty looks. 
 
 That is rushing to the sea; 
 For the river had drained a thousand brooks, 
 
 Ere it rolled so fresh and free. 
 
 But it is the violet of the vale. 
 
 In its lowly beauty bent ; 
 That is only known beyond its pale. 
 
 By the sweetness of its scent. 
 
 And it is the hum1)le lamp of love. 
 
 With its lustre feebly shed; 
 On the night beneath and the night above. 
 
 And beside the sufferer's bed. 
 
 And it is the stream with meagre store, 
 
 When it waters a withered life ; 
 That the barren feeds till it flows no more. 
 
 And with verdure clothes the strife. 
 
 O I love the ripjjle of rythmic feet. 
 
 As they lightly come and go ; 
 But the sound I ever And most sweet. 
 
 Is a sound no revellers know. 
 
 It is not the la^ighter of a maid. 
 
 With a lover at her side; 
 When they wander through the wooing shade. 
 
 To the chime of a tinkling tide.
 
 LITTLE BROWN rATCM. -li> 
 
 It is not tilt' carol of a voico, 
 
 When it climbs th<-! ppaks of sono; ; 
 While the waves are o-]ad ;ai<l the winds rejoice, 
 
 As they watt its airs ;ilony. 
 
 It is not the murmur of tlii> pine. 
 
 Nor the nuisic of the sea : 
 Though they steal their tones from the strains divine, 
 
 And they both have charms for me. 
 
 But it is the breath of a prayer that slips, 
 
 As a melody from tln^ toni;-ue ; 
 Wlien it liui^ers loving-ly on lips. 
 
 That liy ali<'n grief are wrung. 
 
 And it is the crown of genii" pra.ise. 
 
 That enwreathes a bending brow ; 
 When the hands of honour would upraise. 
 
 And llie modest still would bow. 
 
 An<l it is the sigh of a troubled breast. 
 
 From a penitential heart ; 
 "When the woi-n and weary fain would rest, 
 
 Ere the demon will depart. 
 
 But the sound to mi' most doRv of all, 
 
 Is the sound of joyous tears ; 
 When the shad(nvs flee and the barriers fall. 
 
 And when faith is born of fears. 
 
 LITTLF. BROWN PATCH. 
 
 A rO EM OF THE PA VE WE N T . 
 
 Out in the rain and pinched by tlie cold, 
 
 Is she lost in the street and strayed from tlie fuld 
 
 Little Brown Patch, 
 
 With her hair like thatch. 
 Trippingly, slippingly, toddles along. 
 In a cloiul of rags arid a glory ot song. 
 
 Over the pavement, under the lamps. 
 Breathing the winter bravely she ti-amps ; 
 
 Ijittle Brown Patch, 
 
 With no clothes to match ; 
 Pattering, chattering wonderful things, 
 While the friendly mud to her features clings. 
 
 Into the glitter, now on the stones, 
 
 Mending her manners and bruising her bones. 
 
 Little Brown Pattdi, 
 
 None the worse for a scratch, 
 Provokingly, jokingly, rises from slips, 
 With the dirt in her eyes and a laugh on her lips.
 
 220 LITTLE BEOWN PATCH. 
 
 Jostled by constables, jolted by carts, 
 Picking hei- road with miracnlotis arts. 
 
 Little Brown Patch, 
 
 Takes them all in a batch — 
 Verily merrily, bears with them all. 
 With a blessing- for blows and a rhyme for a fall. 
 
 Far from her friends and away from her nest. 
 From the sheltering arms and the motherly breast. 
 
 Little Brown Patch, 
 
 (What a chicken to hatch !) 
 Eegviilingly, smilingly, nothing would shun. 
 While she reckons the bruises as buffets in fun. 
 
 Hear how she carols wl en grappling the gixst. 
 That is homely to her with its halo of dust I 
 
 Little Brown Patch, 
 
 Whom the eddies all catch, 
 Miistering, blustering, still at the turns. 
 Where the wind is as wild as the spirit it spurns. 
 
 And what troiibles she for the wind or the wet. 
 When all are good fish that come to her net ? 
 ' Little Brown Patch, 
 
 At her life makes a snatch ; 
 Splashing and dashing her vehement way. 
 With a sister's affection for commoner clay. 
 
 The cats and the curs that are straying as she. 
 That she takes to her heart without question or plea. 
 
 Little Brown Patch, 
 
 Has a spell to attach. 
 Hurriedly, flurriedly, sleeking their coats ; 
 While, the truth must be told, upon donkeys she doats. 
 
 Is she ripe for a revel or off for a job. 
 
 That she scrambles along through the mire and the mob ? 
 
 Little Brown Patch, 
 
 In sitch reckless despatch. 
 Hustles and bustles with impudent air. 
 While her clouts all misfit and her shoes do not pair. 
 
 Others have homes that they find at the last. 
 When their sad pains and their perils ai-e past ; 
 
 But will Little Brown Patch, 
 
 Ever light on a latch. 
 Lingering, fingering, yet at the door. 
 Where her touch was familiar and welcome before ?
 
 "NOVISSIMA VERBA." 221 
 
 JS-OVISSIMA MJRBA—m MEMORY OF 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 He is gone, witli his hand on the pen. 
 Who was wisest and best among- men. 
 Who moved us to lavTghter and tears. 
 Who kindled our passions and fears — 
 He bowed not, but breaking- he felL 
 He is gone. Let liim go. It is welL 
 
 He is gone with the roses of Jvme, 
 Like a song that is sacred of tune, 
 Or old cadences homely and sweet. 
 Laid low in his fame at our feet. 
 To his Florence and Agnes and Nell, 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone in his beaiitiful prime. 
 
 Who was splendid with spoils of a time. 
 
 Who was used with enchantments to sing. 
 
 As a poet, a preacher, a king. 
 
 To the children who charmed with the spell. 
 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone to the dreamland of rest, 
 To the place of the perfect and blest ; 
 With the laugh on his lip not expired. 
 And his eye by imaginings fired. 
 Do the heroes his f»resence repel ? 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, and the daughters of dreams 
 Take him home to their shadows and streams. 
 In the quiet and questionless place. 
 Where the righteous and i^eacef ul embrace. 
 With the breath of the echoing bell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, and we will not deplore. 
 Though we see him among us no more ; 
 He remains iinforgetting afai-, 
 And he hears us throixgh portals ajar. 
 Like a child with its ear at a shell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, who was goodly and brave, 
 But his poems shall conqiier the grave. 
 As monixments simple and pure ; 
 V^^'hile his sermons for ever endure. 
 And his empire shall brighten and swell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well.
 
 222 " NOVISSIMA VERBA. 
 
 He is gone, but by wonder of will, 
 
 Shall he live and enlififhten us still ; 
 
 For our country, our hoiiscliolds and hearts. 
 
 Shall retain all his magical arts ; 
 
 Though we would not, his witchcrafts compel 
 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, while his head had a crovv^n, 
 With his hands full of joy and renown ; 
 He bent not in weakness or age. 
 But he ceased as in tiirning a page ; 
 And his services who can foretell ? 
 He is gone. Let him go. It ib well. 
 
 He is gone, with his hand on the plough. 
 While the honours were bright on his brow ; 
 In the ripeness of manhood sedate. 
 He collapsed in the furrow of fate. 
 And the share he shall no more impel. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone to the music he proves, 
 For to harmony harmony moves ; 
 In the midst of his glory and pride. 
 With the wonderful Harp at his side ; 
 He has fled from the shadow of hell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, with the turn of the flood. 
 And forsaking a bloom in the bud : 
 But the flowers and the foliage and fruit. 
 Which he gave us, are rich in their root. 
 And the blossoms of Pai'adise smell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, whither monarchs descend, 
 For all have their haven and end. 
 Where nothing provokes or molest s; 
 \n the circle ()f greatness he rests. 
 With the glorious deail in liis cell, 
 lie is gene. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, and he shall not retuni, 
 Till the seal of the fimeral iirn, 
 Is dissolved in the furnace of gloom. 
 At the sound of the trumpet of duom ; 
 And we will not, we dare not relud. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, and the roses may rise, 
 Jlejcdi-ing in radiance of skies ; 
 And the suuuaer will lighten again.
 
 AtTTTTMN HOTTRS. 223 
 
 But he cannot come in its train. 
 With his melody murnnu-s to quell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, iind why should we complain. 
 If our weeping be idle and vain ? 
 But forgetting the sinking in night. 
 Let us think of the rising to light — 
 Of the trumpet and not of the knell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, but his words cannot go, 
 With the fashions and changeable flow ; 
 For the Future will stamp them divine, 
 And in Memory's temple enshrine. 
 Like the daisies that hide in a dell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 He is gone, and his coming is dim, 
 But we shall be gathered to him. 
 In the fulness of time, with the years. 
 When we pass from this valley of tears. 
 Where the dear and departed ones dwell. 
 He is gone. Let him go. It is well. 
 
 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 has the shadow clothed the climes, 
 Or is it on my heart ? 
 
 And does the change in summer chimes. 
 From my own winter start ? 
 
 Foi all has now a dimmer hue. 
 
 And wears a graver dress: 
 Willie laliour covets moi-e than due. 
 
 And plcasun- asks for less. 
 
 1 cannot wake as once at will. 
 The glowing hours of youth ; 
 
 When every thoiight was Natiu-e's tlnill, 
 And every accent Truth. 
 
 Then all the windows of my frame. 
 
 Were open to the sun ; 
 The beams and airs that ever came, 
 
 A dream of splendoui' spiin. 
 
 My fancy ranged from sight to sight. 
 
 As flits a snow white dove ; 
 And in the tender morning light, 
 
 1 felt tho diiwu of love.
 
 224 x\.UTUMN HOURS, 
 
 And thoiip:li the path was rugged ground. 
 
 That led me to my goal, 
 While night its curtain spread around. 
 
 No night was in my soul. 
 
 An odour breathed from apple bloom. 
 
 That now I sadly miss ; 
 And in the Autiimn's golden gloom. 
 
 The leaves woxild laugh and kiss. 
 
 The oak-tree offered ampler shades. 
 
 And better shelter then. 
 To gayer groups of rosier maids. 
 
 More jiist and generous men. 
 
 And love was like a mighty wave, 
 That mingled hearts it drew ; 
 
 And even in grasses of the grave, 
 A secret passion grew. 
 
 For nought is dead to fancy fond. 
 That knows no fear or fence ; 
 
 It gives to all a mystic bond. 
 Some sympathatic sense. 
 
 Then by the river waved the reed. 
 With fresher green and grace ; 
 
 The dust that dimmed the wayside weed. 
 Fell on a fairer face. 
 
 Then every ill had something good, 
 And scorn was free from scoff ; 
 
 And heaven was better understood. 
 That now is farther off. 
 
 My dreams with certain place and poso, 
 Took body, hiie, and shape ; 
 
 And music out of discord rose, 
 With soft and sweet escape. 
 
 And glorious types my landscape filled. 
 The hximblest moved me much ; 
 
 A nameless effliience through me thrilled. 
 From every tone and toi^ch. 
 
 O happy sounds would lightly gush. 
 From sorrows on my way ; 
 
 While blossoms had a maiden blush, 
 A charm they lack to-day. 
 
 The petals now have found a flaw. 
 And lost their power for me ; 
 
 The curve and colour once I saw, 
 I can no longer see.
 
 AUTUMN- HOURS. 22ij 
 
 The plants my folly wildly plucked, 
 
 To trace their growing- roots, 
 A richer sap from ruin sucked, 
 
 And yet bore finer fruits. 
 
 The joys that all so quickly wen',, 
 
 Made merry days as hours : 
 Turned poisoned fumes to precious scent; 
 
 And common weeds to flowei'S; 
 
 For then my heart was never sa I, 
 
 And only felt the <xood ; 
 i painted darkness gay and glad, 
 
 And made it what I would; 
 
 Yea, every labourer was a lord, 
 
 And every maid a queen ; 
 While hate was tardy to record. 
 
 And mercy quick to screen. 
 
 " The wish was father of the thought ; " 
 
 And thought more potent still, 
 A wondrous revolution wrought ; 
 
 And all was all my will. 
 
 Then pidscd a rapture with the spring. 
 
 Like fire in bough and bud ; 
 It buoyed the wild bird on its wing, 
 
 And trembled through the blood. 
 
 It danced in swift and rhythmic feet. 
 And throbbed in storm clouds' breast ; 
 
 It heaved in kindling bosoms' beat. 
 Or slept in xDassions' rest. 
 
 It loosed and bound the wandering wave. 
 
 And sped the falcon's path ; 
 To quivering lip and nostril gave. 
 
 The spell of splendid wrath. 
 
 It made each field a fairy ring. 
 
 Each chain a silken mesh ; 
 It lent each lonely wood and spring, 
 
 Enchantments ever fresh. 
 
 It brought a vision to the eye, 
 
 A brightness to the brow ; 
 It turned to singing every sigh ; — 
 
 Where is that rapture now ? 
 
 It wreathed a glory round the nights, 
 
 A glamour over scars ; 
 And drew the soul, through siidden sights, 
 
 To banquet with the stars.
 
 226 AUTUMN HOUKS. 
 
 Then subtle forces stirred in streams. 
 And with the wind would blow ; 
 
 They blended blithely with my dreams ;- 
 Why have they ceased to flow :■' 
 
 The sun of half his beams is shorn. 
 The daisies lose their dew ; 
 
 And in the mag'ic of the morn. 
 Does earth its rolies renew '■; 
 
 Can any sorcerer's potent wand. 
 Give life its coloiu- back ? 
 
 Or lend the weary who despond. 
 
 The flowers that fringed their track H 
 
 Stilled is that tremor of the trees, 
 Which flame-like flickerino-s cast ; 
 
 And with the perished power to please. 
 Has all the freshness past ? 
 
 Whei-e is the voice that lightly led. 
 My fancy's footsteps on ? 
 
 The roses of my youth are dead. 
 But is their perfume gone ? 
 
 If boyhood left the shining East, 
 If dance and song have flown 
 
 ilas manhood foimd no richer feast. 
 No fragrance all its oivu 'i 
 
 Are there no witcheries in the West, 
 When dimness brings decline 'i 
 
 lias then the thought of perfect rest. 
 No solace more divine H 
 
 Ah, fled for ever is the sheen. 
 
 That lit my early stage ! 
 But life has changed its foliage green. 
 
 For sober fruits of age. 
 
 Breathe fairer flowcirs, that keep their blooin. 
 Sweet scents of brighter grimnd ; 
 
 Sleeps fancy in its virgin tomb, 
 Dispetaled and discrowned. 
 
 Yea, o'er its head the sunbeams play. 
 
 And on its dreaming breast. 
 With memories of a milder sway. 
 
 The moonlight makes its nest. 
 
 And voiceless visions waving white. 
 
 Its troubled chambers fret ; 
 And sealed with silence and the night. 
 
 It moves and murmrus yet.
 
 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 But from its grave grow l:>lossOlns sweet, 
 
 (_)f forosio-ht iind of trust ; 
 That kiss and salve the cliuibing feet. 
 
 And glorify the dust. 
 
 Imagination now is seen. 
 
 Not as in treacherous youth ; 
 It Avears a graver, grander mien, 
 
 It waits and shines on truth. 
 
 The light is softer to the sense. 
 
 If sadder than of old ; 
 And faith in strong intelligence, 
 
 Is calm as power controlled. 
 
 The freshness goes, the fragrance Hies, 
 
 And outer forms are vain ; 
 And colour after colour dies, 
 
 Biit yet the germs remain. 
 
 The smile, the glow, the halo fade, 
 
 And youthful pleasures jiall ; 
 But when the surface has decayed. 
 
 We see the source of all. 
 
 The mists that mantled on the sight, 
 
 The masks that flouted faith, 
 Have molted with the murk of night, 
 
 And every morning wraith. 
 
 The tinsel trappings once so sweet. 
 
 Have perished with the past ; 
 And where the dawn and darkness meet. 
 
 An arc of azure cast. 
 
 Those tender shapes were all a show, 
 
 I saw a splendid sham ; 
 But now, I see myself — and so. 
 
 By right divine, I am. 
 
 Now Art in earnest gathers grace, 
 
 While Science takes a heart ; 
 And scattered parts and beams embrace. 
 
 When Science strengthens Art. 
 
 Now broadens Peace from shore to shore, 
 
 The dove and eagle mate ; 
 Religions, rival now no more, 
 
 Fortret their fears and hate. 
 
 The Stateman's craft, the Ohur<;lmian's spite 
 
 In specious garb and gaiid, 
 And party rancour's withering blight. 
 
 Are doomed with force and fraud. 
 
 227
 
 228 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 The useless lore of narrow ken. 
 No longer crowds onr shelves ; 
 
 And those that triist their fellow merii 
 K"o more can dovxbt themselves. 
 
 From deeper insight now we see. 
 How ills are softly draped ; 
 
 And troubles that we may not flee, 
 May still be kindly shaped. 
 
 A higher honour comes at call, 
 
 A better beauty wooes ; 
 In just aiid gentle contact all. 
 
 Their rugged angles lose. 
 
 The early truth was just in name, 
 A shadow, symbol, type ; 
 
 Eefreshing draughts of wisdom came. 
 When time was rich and rijje. 
 
 A meanini? like a lustrous belt. 
 Connects my every view ; 
 
 I know what once I only felt, 
 I am what I but knew.- 
 
 I see the streams that never stop. 
 The poise of equal force ; 
 
 The law that guides a falling drop. 
 And keeps the planets' course. 
 
 I see how suns have slowly gone. 
 From darkness vmto daj' ; 
 
 The mighty systems carried on, 
 Their wasteless deathless way. 
 
 I see that order duly grows. 
 From warring creed and cult : 
 
 The solemn march and rapt repose. 
 Of process and result. 
 
 I see the moulding gleams of thought, 
 
 In cloudy chaos rise ; 
 And perfect union sweetly wrought. 
 
 By sure and secret ties. 
 
 I see that mist in morning fades. 
 
 Divided duties kiss ; 
 That fancied hindrance only aids. 
 
 The crowning synthesis. 
 
 I see the hidden sj^rings and grooves. 
 The matter finding form ; 
 
 While in its fiercest madness moves. 
 The method of the storm.
 
 ATTTUMN HOTTRS, 229 
 
 I see the structure free from flaws. 
 
 With trvith the buihler's tool ; 
 And forged of liner links and laws, 
 
 A new and nobler school. 
 
 I see discoveries dim and old, 
 
 Renewed in broader frames ; 
 And knowledge, though a story told. 
 
 Made power by perfect names. 
 
 I see the strokes of ripened age. 
 
 Yet heahng all they hit ; 
 And flashing through a vaster stage. 
 
 The winnowing wing of wit. 
 
 I see the fancies born of fact. 
 
 Dissevered by the years. 
 United into living act. 
 
 And purged with precious tears. 
 
 I see the fountain's mystic shade. 
 
 Give forth a crystal flood ; 
 And beauteous flowers that never fade, 
 
 Ai'ise from martyrs' blood. 
 
 I see that falsehoods only cling. 
 
 Which steal from tru.th their germs ; 
 And faith's beginnings sweetly spring. 
 
 From fear's unquiet terms. 
 
 I see the roses in the thorn 
 
 The seedling in the sheaves ; 
 The sunset in tlie radiant morn. 
 
 The sunrise in the eves. 
 
 I see in empire of the heart, 
 
 A wise and worthier goal ; 
 That prouder than a prince's part. 
 
 Is service of the soul. 
 
 I see how great and godlike minds. 
 
 As common centres j^uU ; 
 And mixed of many curbs and kinds. 
 
 One cosmos fair and full. 
 
 The splendour bathing former years. 
 
 That gives their bliss a bloom ; 
 Though warm its welcome then appears- 
 
 Will lighten round the tomb. 
 
 Though fond and dazzling be the hue. 
 
 That wiles our opening eyes ; 
 To wisdom's late and wider view, 
 
 'Tis only earth's disguise.
 
 230 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Stript of its false and foolish glare. 
 The world more wondrous seems ; 
 
 And knowledge in a pnrer air, 
 Keflects its rainbow beams. 
 
 Eemonldino- showers of lovelier lore. 
 
 To feed the fertile strife. 
 Their shining shadows evermore, 
 
 Shed on a larg-er life. 
 
 A purpose gleams, a progress glows. 
 
 In every sight and sound ; 
 The march of many movements throws, 
 
 An orVi of glory rountl. 
 
 And by the rays of Learning's lamp, 
 
 Shail truth not travel far ? 
 Leave on the night its living stamp. 
 
 And push from star to star ? 
 
 Then comes the ending glad and calm. 
 
 To those that stdl abitle ; 
 The breathing of a holy balm. 
 
 The hush of eventide. 
 
 Yea, thoiigh no outward discord cease. 
 The inner world has light — 
 
 The joy of philosophic peace, 
 The consecrated sight. 
 
 But on the brink of grander things, 
 
 A higher qiiest we try ; 
 liike l)irds that wave their unproved wings. 
 
 And flutter ere they fly. 
 
 We see the glimmering tops of truth. 
 That lead to deathless day ; 
 
 And glim^jses of eternal youth. 
 Beyond the ages gray. 
 
 For all discoveries like a song, 
 
 To one great issue tend : 
 But life is short and science long. 
 
 And who shall guess the end y 
 
 LETHE. 
 
 There is a shoi-e where shadows dwell. 
 With amaranth and the asphodel ; 
 And lilies whiter far than snow. 
 With beds of nodding poppies blow ; 
 While drowsy flowerets fleck the lea. 
 And lotos twines with latace. 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully.
 
 LBTHE.   281 
 
 Oblivion's dim and lazy lands, 
 
 "Where figures flit on solemn sands ; 
 
 And dreamy cvirrents idly drop, 
 
 Thi'oug-h meadows tureen from mountain top 3 
 
 And on their borders softly press. 
 
 The waters of forgetfulness— 
 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfulness. 
 No sun. nor moon, nor any star. 
 Within these restful regions are ; 
 But reflex radiance in the sky. 
 And lights that di-oop but never die ; 
 With humming like the distant bee. 
 Where Letlu' widens to a sea — 
 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully . 
 The holy hush of old romance. 
 Religious scenes and eircimistance. 
 For ever bind these beauties r<iiuul. 
 And thrill and clothe the pensive ground ; 
 No discord there, nor dark distress. 
 But witchery of forgetfulness— 
 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfulness. 
 O Inez, when my footsteps err. 
 My beacon and my comforter. 
 The guardian angel of my walk. 
 With guileless ways and winning talk 5 
 When thou hast ceased to bloom and be. 
 My sister, wilt thou come with mo. 
 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully ? 
 
 For we have toiled and troubled long. 
 And madness mingled with our song ; 
 Biit there is converse piu'e and calm. 
 Beneath the tall and tufted palm ; 
 And solace will not be the less. 
 Because we feel forgetfulness — 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfulness. 
 
 We'll wander on the shadowy shore. 
 Where sin and sorrow pain no more ; 
 Where blessed Lethe scatters joy. 
 And suffering ceases to annoy ; 
 Together will we go, and flee 
 Our genius sad, Monemosyne, 
 ForgetfiiUy, forgetfully. 
 
 And hand-in-hand, my sister dear. 
 We'll drink the waters cool and clear ; 
 The balmy petals will we plvick. 
 And herbs with sleepy juices suck ; 
 Eternal secrets will we guess. 
 That slumber in forgetfulness — 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfulness.
 
 232 • LETHE. 
 
 Ah, brother, shall I know thee theie. 
 When thou hast lost that brow of care ; 
 And left thy anguish all behind. 
 Perchance to other breasts resigned ? 
 And wilt thoii pass, or bend on me. 
 Regardless looks of mystery, 
 Forgetf villy, forgetfully ? 
 
 It shall not be, if I repeat 
 The echoes of the anthem sweet. 
 We sang together when above ; 
 Thine eyes will open to airs of love ; 
 And then no music will express. 
 Our union of forgetfulness. 
 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfulness. 
 And fondly pressing, side by side. 
 We'll bury in the soothing tide. 
 The burdens of the bitter past. 
 When heavens were cold and overcast ; 
 We'll sink our sadness, and agree 
 To bear in mind no memory. 
 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully. 
 
 Yea, where the waves and margin meet. 
 We'll bathe oi^r worn and weary feet. 
 And wash them white from dust and blood. 
 Within the soft and healing flood; 
 While brooding silence shall confess. 
 Our only creed, forgetfulness — 
 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfulness. 
 There all is fragrant, fresh and fair. 
 With placid streams and purple air ; 
 With golden lawns and levels green. 
 And happy hills that slope between ; 
 There will we ;'ndolently see. 
 The fabrics of our fantasy. 
 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully. 
 
 Contentment crowns the head of each. 
 And ]oads the lips with honeyed speech; 
 While preciovis showers of fairy dew ; 
 The bosom ravish and renew ; 
 And welcome is the warm caress. 
 The enchantment of forgetfulness — 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfu.lness. 
 
 And thou idol of my heart. 
 For whom these tender teardrops start, 
 Shall we not seek that sacred place P 
 And linger in a long embrace ? 
 What enviable life, were we 
 To love throiigh all eternity. 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully ?
 
 LKTHE. 238 
 
 Though parted now, we'll mingle then, 
 "With gentler maids and juster men ; 
 We'll marry where the meadows close. 
 With slum])roiis Lethe as it flows ; 
 And on each other's cheeks impress. 
 The kisses of forgetfnlness — 
 
 Forgetfnlness, forgetfulness. 
 
 Thy bridal wreath shall not decay ; 
 Though brighter blossoms be away. 
 Yet virgin Mowers shall smile, and put 
 Their sober colours at thy foot ; 
 While magic blooms shall comfort thee. 
 And bind thy brows immortally, 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully. 
 
 Yea, fairy fruits shall yield thee rest. 
 And cool thy lijjs and calm thy breast ; 
 Thy heart shall feel no hungry ache, 
 Nor throb of thirst thy soul awake ; 
 Biit langiior lightly shall oppress 
 Thy being, with forgetfulness — 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfulness. 
 
 I long to hav;nt that harmless sphere. 
 With all tliat truly love me here ; 
 And sitting on those ghostly sands. 
 To dip my soiled and sinful hands — 
 To lave my face and wipe it free. 
 From every mark of misery. 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully. 
 
 With wavering wings and faltering brea.th. 
 The Zephyr in it whispereth ; 
 But what it sighs no creature knows. 
 Nor whence it comes and whither goes ; 
 So quiet all and questionless, 
 Lapt in a deep forgetfulness — 
 Forgetfulness, forgetfulness. 
 
 My loved ones, leave these surging seas. 
 For tranquil bowers and groves of ease ; 
 To greener pastures will we turn. 
 And drink oiir fill from Lethe's urn ; 
 Ah, long and sweet that draught shall be. 
 Of waters still that lick tlie lea. 
 Forgetfully, forgetfully. 
 
 Why labour ye, and till the loam, 
 When Lethe is our lightsome home ? 
 Then fly fi'om fields where gladness fades. 
 And enter in the peacetul shades.
 
 234 RUSHMEEE AND HAZELDEK. 
 
 We are sick of earthly stir and stress, 
 And'would put on forjretfulness — 
 Forgetf Illness, furgetfulness. 
 
 Ye kingdoms ever mild and meek. 
 Whose spirits nmrmnr more than sjjeak ; 
 Where swooning mist and swimming cloiid. 
 Above a stormless world are bowed ; 
 We pine for pleasant lethargy, 
 And wonld throw off mortality. 
 Forgetfully, for etfnlly. 
 
 Serener seats there will we fix. 
 And in a kinder commiine mix ; 
 And float with limpid waves, or lie 
 On lilies Lethe ripi>les hj ; 
 Robed in a new and nobler dress. 
 And filled with fine forgetfulness — 
 Forgetfulness, foi'gt'tfnlness. 
 
 RUSHMEEE AXD HAZELD|]N 
 
 A SOUTH COUNTRY LEGEND, 
 
 Wrapt in the tender restfnlness of home. 
 
 In cooling calm, the soft nndirageons dome 
 
 Of fluttering foliage, lijipod liy lambent airs — 
 
 Those restless wafts for ever free from cares. 
 
 Which wander through the avenues and glades 
 
 Of greenery — sheltered by incumbent shades, 
 
 I pause. Around me roll the whirl and strife. 
 
 The flux and refliix of the sea of life. 
 
 Left for a moment. Exiled from the press, 
 
 Lapt in the bosom of forget f illness, 
 
 I muse : while gentle rivulets of sound. 
 
 Steal through mj' fancy as forbidden ground. 
 
 Meandering, murmurous, musical, divine. 
 
 With solemn march and numbers clandestine. 
 
 And, ah, to live fcr ever in the hush 
 
 Of haunted hazels, where the rustling rush. 
 
 Intruder on the margin of the mere, 
 
 Pvits forth a fairy foot in waters clear. 
 
 And pushes through the mass of singing sedge 
 
 Its phalanxes of spears, and waving wedge 
 
 Armed and effidgent in the sun. O joy. 
 
 To linger in some indolent employ. 
 
 While weaving daisy chain and cowslip ball ; 
 
 To watch the leaflet fluctuate and fall. 
 
 From windy tops of trees, that shine, and show 
 
 Their movements mirrored in the deeps below ; 
 
 J"
 
 RUSHM-EUE AND HAZELDEN, 2f?5 
 
 With half-siiut eyes, by links of leisure bound, 
 To seem the centre of the world of sound — 
 That hemisphere of separate sense, which fills 
 The intervals and hollows of the hills, 
 With mocking echoes multiplied ; to hear 
 The laughing wavelets of the magic mer-e. 
 Lapping the edges, lazy — with its freight 
 Of floating moorhens, silent and sedate. 
 Scared at a whisper, beating by the bank. 
 And oft retreating in the herbage rank. 
 Even so I stay my wandering step, and glean 
 Some ears of wheat from harvests now imseen. 
 
 Not far a monstrous oak-tree, gnarled and grim. 
 The growth of ages nor in grandeur dim, 
 Planted by Druids for some dreadful rite. 
 With half a liiuidred branches breaks the light ; 
 Scarred by the thunder-bolt, beseamed and seared. 
 The child of Time and umler tempests reared. 
 With ghastly weather-bruises gashed and rent. 
 Incomparably great, incontinent ; 
 Enroaching on the eartli that grudges space, 
 It crashes down the stems of meaner race. 
 Primaeval is the Forest. Still it swarms 
 With monuments of past and jjerished forms. 
 Gigantic structures, tiunulus and camp. 
 Which echoed back the fierce invaders' ti'amp. 
 And treasure heroes. Here the anchorite, 
 Slejit in his coffin, quaking through the night ; 
 With circling rope and roughest horsehair girt. 
 Self-tortured, shivering in his sackcloth shirt ; 
 Or lashed to heights of meritorious i^ain. 
 In heaven-assaulting penance, howled again. 
 Here robbers roved : and many a quiet blow 
 Of moonlit murder, laid its victim low. 
 
 Yet why awaken memories that sleep. 
 
 The misery of records buried deep, 
 
 Unconsecrated tales ? . . . But let me tell. 
 
 One legend of a tragedy that fell. 
 
 Far in the Forest, on a City fair. 
 
 Whose pinnacles rose radiant throiigh the air. 
 
 Where all was lovely. It was called, by men 
 
 Who rested in its porches, Hazelden. 
 
 Thus chanced it. Lo, they built the City ill. 
 
 On one side lay the shadow of a hill 
 
 Sixperincumbent, on the other spread 
 
 Broad spaces of a circuit dank and dead, 
 
 A foiil morass ; yea, binder the fair town. 
 
 The quagmire bvirrowed deep and settled down. 
 
 Sapping foundations firm. What could they know*? 
 
 The awful process moving on below.
 
 230 RTTSHMHRE AND HAZELDBN. 
 
 Mysterious, baffled all. A.t times was heard — 
 
 As miitterings of some inarticulate word. 
 
 Wrested from one that suffers anguish dire. 
 
 Extorted by the rack or roasting fire — 
 
 An ominoiis and intermittent sound, 
 
 That boded much and grumbled underground. 
 
 Tearing the bowels of the tortured earth. 
 
 But blinded by the madness of their mirth. 
 
 They thought it distant thunder, or the moan 
 
 Of sullen earthquakes in the heart of stone 
 
 That held them captive, struggling to be free ; 
 
 Or else the sobbings of a central sea. 
 
 Locked in recesses nethermost. In vain. 
 
 The rumbling rose and died away with rain. 
 
 In premonitious dread. Meanwhile, they bought 
 
 And sold, and children to the birth were brought ; 
 
 They married, feasted-; tilled the soil, and sowed ; 
 
 Made hovels houses ; reaped the crops ; and rode 
 
 With joy to battle ; or returned in jDeace, 
 
 Splendid with spoils ; waxed wanton and obese. 
 
 Like other states . . . The periods passed ... At length. 
 
 Arising in their armies and their strength. 
 
 The prisoned waters burst their brittle bands. 
 
 And superseded the reluctant lands. 
 
 Down sank the City, bright, in pomp and pride. 
 
 With tossing arms and faces warped and wried. 
 
 With agonizing limbs of wailing men. 
 
 And angry surges swallowed Hazelden. 
 
 Now nodding flags and crested spear grass wave. 
 
 While withered beldams mutter o'er its grave. 
 
 Once forth I wandered, in the great calm night. 
 
 By restless rage to see again the sight. 
 
 Hounded ; and hurrying past the river's rush. 
 
 With many a qualm, I sought the solemn hush. 
 
 Where lay the buried city, stern and still. 
 
 I heard the foxes barking from the hill. 
 
 Earth slept. The lights and shadows played. A dance 
 
 Of fairy figures fled. A wild romance. 
 
 And awful consecration, seemed to sway 
 
 The land with sweetness. I compelled my way. 
 
 Bogged by nocturnal noices, and the shades 
 
 That shimmered in the moonlit forest glades, 
 
 Inconsta,nt. But the sense of something weird. 
 
 Besieged my heart vrith fables. And I feared. 
 
 Before me, stretched the water; while behind, 
 
 I was aware of G-od's unfettered wind. 
 
 Bewailing in the pines and drawing near. 
 
 Most melancholy, terrible and drear. 
 
 Around appeared to rise a presence strange. 
 
 Which, stole upon me with a wondrous change.
 
 KUSHMERE AND HAZELDEN 237 
 
 Unearthly. In a moment, throiigh the gloom. 
 
 The resurrection of the city's doom 
 
 Gleamed. And I saw the agony renewed, 
 
 Of all that miserable multitude. 
 
 The surface of the boiling- pool was strown. 
 
 With dead and djdng bodies eddying down — 
 
 With corpses — faces spent, yet spared to life. 
 
 Cadaverous, and in the tumbling strife. 
 
 More woe-begone than all — with l>loated bulks, 
 
 That wallowed in the waves like mastless hiUks — 
 
 With frames of frantic wretches, showing then 
 
 Decomposition's tooth — with sinking men, 
 
 And reappearing. How they strove for ])reath 1 
 
 And wrestling with the tyranny of death. 
 
 They prayed, implored, and with no words besought ; 
 
 Chitched at each other, clung, in frenzy fouglit ; 
 
 Entreated, gasped and glared, for mercy wrung 
 
 Their strained and struggling hands, with lolling tongue ; 
 
 But all in silence desperate and deep. 
 
 Like men that close with fiends in frightful sleep. 
 
 Then they siibsided but to rise again. 
 
 And re-enact that carnival of pain. 
 
 It seemed the Devil's own peculiar den, 
 
 That dreadful water choked with drowning men : 
 
 Faces on which the anguish of despair. 
 
 In every form was stamped — the ghastly stare. 
 
 The writhing horror, and the livid look — 
 
 Unutterable woe, that hugged and shook 
 
 Its strangled prey. Then suddenly as sin. 
 
 The waves prevailed and sucked the sufferers in, 
 
 And washed them down and whirled them underneath. 
 
 Tormented in the un relaxing teeth 
 
 Of fiirious currents. Caml}'' as of old. 
 
 The playful ripples in the twilight rolled 
 
 Their tribute to the banks. That hideous store. 
 
 The horrid wrinkles which the ruin bore. 
 
 Had vanished. But I saw the well-known view. 
 
 And felt my forehead wet with midnight dew. 
 
 The frolic rabbit frisked. The beetle boomed. 
 
 Through silver mists the silver birches loomed. 
 
 Gigantic, ghostly. While the aspen sighed 
 
 And shivered, willows wept, and owlets ci'ied. 
 
 The clouds looked frosty. Swimming in a swoon. 
 
 Earth glimmered through the glorious plenilune. 
 
 Again, by day, in search of summer flowers, 
 
 I rambled through the radiancy of bowers. 
 
 By noontide fired. Here shy forget-me-nots. 
 
 Sequestered grew ; and there the crimson spots 
 
 Of clover blazed. God knows, I gladly found 
 
 His gracious footsteps graven on the ground. 
 
 And walking in the wind . . . Anon, by chance.
 
 288 EUSHMERE AND HAZKLDEN. 
 
 I lijjhted on the lake of pale romance. 
 
 The Sim was hot, and cooling looked the ware, 
 
 Inviting weai-y travellers to lave 
 
 Their languid limbs. So boldly swimming out. 
 
 To satisfy the cravings of a doubt 
 
 Importiinate, I dived through fathoms deep. 
 
 Prone to disturb the City's oozy sleep, 
 
 And solve the secret . . . Unexpected truth. 
 
 Fair forms of perished things and faded youth. 
 
 Broke on bewildered eyes. I saw, I saw. 
 
 The level lengths of streets with little flaw. 
 
 And tops of towers ; the palaces of pride. 
 
 The marble mansions wonderfid and wide. 
 
 And most intact by time ; some aptly graced 
 
 For entertainments, miracles of taste ; 
 
 Some desolate by funerals, or worn 
 
 By frequent feet of dancers — all forlorn. 
 
 And many seemed not finished : slain as fools. 
 
 The builders worked and grijjped their grimy tools ; 
 
 Piled heavy burdens, blocks of granite shaped. 
 
 Or quarried ; while their ribs in ruin gaped. 
 
 Tall edifices framed of costly stone. 
 
 Abominable things had made their own. 
 
 And paddled in them ; on th<^ portals sprawled 
 
 Weeds of corruption ; loathsome reptiles crawled. 
 
 Within the comely precincts — leaving still 
 
 A line of slime and slaughter, at their will — • 
 
 Upon each other feeding ; and the walls, 
 
 AVere scribbled over with no liuman scrawls. 
 
 But skeletons of mighty men untold. 
 
 Bleached by the bitter waters there were rolled. 
 
 Or lay reposing . . . One was rising up, 
 
 And in his hand he clasped a golden cup. 
 
 In a^t of drinking . . . Here a citizen. 
 
 With crooked fingers crushed an iron i^en, 
 
 Convidsed by death when writing . . . By him pres , 
 
 A mother with a baby at her breast. 
 
 Feeding and fondling it ; and in her look 
 
 Life lingered still, that never love forsook. 
 
 Th(> market-place stood : huddled in a heap. 
 
 Were bones of cattle death had rendered cheap ; 
 
 And by them idly lay the butcher's blade. 
 
 Among the victims it so newly made. 
 
 Fallen with the butcher . . . Horrid hands would peepy 
 
 From open windows, clenched ; as though to keep 
 
 Doom and destruction off . . . Behind them peered. 
 
 The ghosts of men that eyeless sockets reared. 
 
 Fantastic . . . And. with senseless skulls askance. 
 
 Seemed figures frozen in a frightful dance. 
 
 With twisted limbs ... I marvelled much ... At length, 
 
 Stretched out a giant stricken in his strength.
 
 RUSHMERK AND HAZICLDEN. 239 
 
 Wlio rent a lion in his g-rasp of steel ; 
 
 Yet he siiccumbed . . . And one with iron heel, 
 
 A niifjhty serpent niant^led ; but it curled 
 
 Circunivohitions vast . . . The water-world 
 
 Teemed with the fragments of the broken past. 
 
 And forms licroic . . . There a boy had cast 
 
 A winning disc, in beautiful address ; 
 
 He had no shadow of the sharp distress. 
 
 That stiffened him : but like Apollo stood. 
 
 Erect and instant, pointing . . . Where a wood 
 
 Once sacred grew, a furious athlete strove^, 
 
 Against a stubborn ilex which he clove, 
 
 Horribly grinning, with his hands. . . . Anear, 
 
 Two combatants had shattered shield and spear. 
 
 And menacingly struggled foot to foot. 
 
 Indignant . . . Elsewhere, lo, an artist put 
 
 The last fair finisli to his pictured dream. 
 
 In contemplation rapt. . . A song supreme. 
 
 Seemed hovering round the mouth of one that clung 
 
 About a stringi'd instrument, and swung 
 
 In swirling eddies, where a swollen jet " 
 
 Bubbled and broke ... I saw the currents fret 
 
 The sexless remnants of a wretched knave. 
 
 Who laid another in the wormy grave. 
 
 With frantic gestures . . . .' One had stabbed behind 
 
 His fellow ; turning fugitive, to find 
 
 The death he meted . .   . . Here a sulfei-er sat ; 
 
 And there a warrior fell, supine and fiat. 
 
 But many prone, with grim confusion crowned, 
 
 With buried faces grovelled on t\w. ground. 
 
 Some in defiant manner fixed tlieir feet, 
 
 And grappled Avith their hands ; for life was sweet ; 
 
 They peradventure young, and wooing maids 
 
 AVho waited for them in the shuddering shades. 
 
 Constant and calm . , . . A frame of slender muiild. 
 
 With Ijridal gifts and ornaments (jf gold, 
 
 Crumbled—unsexed by death : I tore a tress, 
 
 (On her blanched forehead's lingering loveliness,) 
 
 From which the summer sunshine had not fled. 
 
 Where frost and fire in mockery seem to wed. 
 
 And still 1 laboured on .... I scarcely freed 
 
 My body from the shackling water-weed. 
 
 The clammy leech had fastened in my blood. 
 
 And vile abortions of the pregnant mud 
 
 Embraced me . . . Ever 'painfully I went,| 
 
 Bathing with creatures cross and imn'uneut. 
 
 That plagued my path. Why notice them ? I saw, 
 
 I felt alone, the mystery and awe, 
 
 Which like a thunder-cloud with gloomy wing. 
 
 Had swallowed up the thought of every thin"-,'
 
 240 VERSBS TO A MARCHIONESS. 
 
 And every sight but one . . . An iron room. 
 
 Made populous with engines dire of doom, 
 
 Encountered me ... I paused . . . The prisoners rude. 
 
 In nameless orgies overtaken, strewed 
 
 The dismal depths ; and some in mad despaii'. 
 
 Had burst the bars to find destruction there — 
 
 Infatiiate ... I swept throu'-i;h yolden gleams. 
 
 Lost in the lustre of forbidden dreams ; 
 
 And found a store-house, piled with precious stones — 
 
 The amethyst, the emerald, and thrones 
 
 Inlaid with riibies, shapely — yellow crowns 
 
 "With diamonds garnished, fretted into frowns 
 
 Of frosted art, by cunning workmanship — 
 
 And pitchers bossed with pearls, whose lucent lip 
 
 Once priceless liqiiors drank ... In wild amaze, 
 
 I stood within the green and golden blaze. 
 
 While starry lightnings flashed . . . But then a skull 
 
 A regal head, but emj^ty no^v and diill, 
 
 Wherein the maggot fed and mawworms jilayed. 
 
 By sudden afflux at my feet was laid. 
 
 I started . . . Soon a gaunt and hungry arm 
 
 That held a dazzling sceptre, snapt the charm. 
 
 And challenged by a touch . . . Away I turned. 
 
 To fly a seething whirlpool, as it churned 
 
 A charnel-house to foam ... I spied a bed. 
 
 Whereon an infant j)ressed its pretty head, 
 
 And one was watching ; in her hand a bowl. 
 
 Of silver fine ... A terror seized my soul 
 
 I rose . . . But in a minute brief I wrung 
 
 The treasured truths from secret Nature's tongue, 
 
 Reluctant . . . Round me rustled, as before. 
 
 The bulrush ; laughing waters washed the shore ; 
 
 And sedge-birds sang . . . The City slept below, 
 
 In dreamless rest, and weltering in woe. 
 
 And often now, when stormy grovf the nights. 
 
 Belated wanderers catch those solemn sights, 
 
 That haunt the mere ; and throiigh the troubled gale, 
 
 They hear afar the sad and searching wail. 
 
 VEK^ES TO A MARCHIOXESS. 
 
 fairer yet than eye can see. 
 As clouds are purer than the clod ; 
 My dreamland draws its light from thee. 
 And thou thy light from God. 
 
 Serenely settled as a star. 
 In splendid spaces of the sky. 
 Thy beauty shining from afar. 
 Still raises me on high.
 
 VERSES TO A MARCHIONESS. 241 
 
 My fancy wavers in its flight. 
 To reach thy pure and lofty place ; 
 A dazzling- veil falls on my sight. 
 The glory of thy face. 
 
 Thou breathest in a larger air, 
 The brightness of the Orient beam ; 
 And if thou art so wondrous fair. 
 What must thy Foiintain seem ! 
 
 But woo to him who wonders long. 
 And gazes miTch on spheres above; 
 Whose admiration waxing strong. 
 Shall deepen into love. 
 
 We cannot only fix our eyes, 
 The fettered heart will follow soon ; 
 As ocean when it flows or flies. 
 Must follow still the moon. 
 
 T only bear wliat others bore. 
 And all luy feelings fear to guess ; 
 If thee I truly love the more. 
 Or seek myself the less. 
 
 Thy goodness lures me with its charm. 
 To grander forms from fabrics thin ; 
 And awful were thy power to harm. 
 If gods could fashion sin. 
 
 Ave suns as conscious of their night, 
 As those who revel in their rays ? 
 And do they feel the joy of light. 
 Of making nights and days ? 
 
 Ah, no, they never mete their strength. 
 Nor half their little kingdoms know ; 
 They never dream the dreadful length, 
 A sunless soiil will go. 
 
 O, when thou shinest, lovely orb. 
 And homage lirings me to my knee ; 
 Though thousands more thy gleams alisorb. 
 Yet shine a while on me. 
 
 The humblest herb must have its share. 
 Of sunshine as of dewy shade ; 
 Or killing grows the kindly air. 
 That lacks the sunshine's aid. 
 
 Some bow where lesser lustres are. 
 And every systena has its sun ; 
 I own no second sun or star, 
 I worship only one.
 
 242 THK STORY OF A SHELL. 
 
 There are who tribute fondly give. 
 To any dazzlins^' cheat or thief ; 
 To meteors that a moment live. 
 To visions bright and brief. 
 
 The fallins' stars and fallen light. 
 Have yet their courtiers by the score ; 
 And wildly blaze the flames at night. 
 That burned by day before. 
 
 Let triflers talk of regal mien, 
 Of glorious eyes and noble lirow ; 
 To me there is no other qiieen. 
 One half as sweet as thou. 
 
 Though one has lips that shame the rose. 
 And one a blossom for her breast ; 
 I honovir every flower that blows, 
 I can liut love the best. 
 
 THE STOllY OF A S?IELL. 
 
 PAET I.— THE CRADLE. 
 
 It lay for aqes on the shore, 
 
 Upon the shore ; 
 And in the miiihty waters came, 
 That fashioned it with frost and flame. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 But not a creature knew its name, 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 It heard the ocean rise and roar. 
 
 And rise and roar, 
 Biit little recked it of the strife. 
 With weeping and with ruin rif;>, 
 
 For evermore ; 
 It waited for the glow of life, 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 It saw the sand-bads soft and ho.ar, 
 
 So soft and hoar ; 
 The seaweed glimmered red and wliite, 
 "With ghostly colours in tlie night. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 And there was many a solemn sight, 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 An I still it gathered living store, 
 
 A living store ; 
 Though yet it rested caliii and lone.
 
 THE STORY OK A SHKI.L. 243 
 
 By dappled weed and polished stane. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 A simple shell, a thing unknown. 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 Within it waxed a striiggle sore, 
 
 A struggle sore ; 
 For life was labouring in the shell, 
 "With intermittent swoon and swell. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 Jnst as the waters rose and fell. 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 Tlie travail first h\it touched the core, 
 
 But touched the core ; 
 Yet lif(^ kept fretting in its honnd. 
 With titfiil force and nnirmiiring sonnd. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 Until it won and widened I'oxmd, 
 
 For evermore ; 
 
 It looked not now as heretofore. 
 
 As heretofore ; 
 It stirred and trembled in its seat. 
 And made a music low and sweet. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 For life grew mighty and complete. 
 
 For evermoi'e. 
 
 It breathed through every crimson pore. 
 
 Each crimson pore ; 
 The heart had risen stout and strong. 
 The pulses liravely beat along, 
 
 For evermore ; 
 An echo of the Ocean's song. 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 But still the weaiy centuries woi'e. 
 
 The centuries wore ; 
 It felt the quickening seasons roll. 
 And shift and shape its heaving soul. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 A perfect individual whole. 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 PART II.— THE BIRTH. 
 
 Tlie moon was mellow on the shore, ^ 
 
 Upon the shore ; 
 And made it mystic, yellow, sad. 
 As though some sacred grief it liad. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 Yet through it gleamed a secret glad. 
 
 For evermore.
 
 '244 THE STORY OF A. SlfELL. 
 
 And on the sea the moonbeams pour, 
 
 The moonbeams pour ; 
 Their silver shafts beat up its shield. 
 And shimmer down its fairy field, 
 
 Yov evermore ; 
 All round the softening waters yield, 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 A wanderer might have garnered lore, 
 
 H;ive garnered lore ; 
 For figures moved in magic bands, 
 Kejoicing on the wrinkled sands. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 With flying feet and following hands, 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 The pebbles glanced like golden ore. 
 
 Like golden ore ; 
 O th(>y were polished,, smooth, and round. 
 And hj the moiilding ocean ground. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 But some with water-blooms were Ijound, 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 And mazes such as children score. 
 
 As children score, 
 When tracing lines in dusk and doubt. 
 Went v>rinding in and winding out. 
 
 For evermore — 
 Went winding all the shell aliout. 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 A strife its tender mansion tore. 
 
 Its mansion tore ; 
 The sea had ebbed a mile away. 
 It might not further ebb or stay. 
 
 For evermore ; 
 So mighty were the moonlieams' sway. 
 
 For evermore. 
 And then with joy-notes three or four. 
 
 Just three or four, 
 Tlie shell flew open to the sight ; 
 And, lo, a woman fair and white. 
 
 For evermore — 
 A woman beautifully bright, 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 She dallied with the open door. 
 
 The open door — 
 Framed in her glowing crimson cell. 
 While on her face a glory fell. 
 
 For evermore; 
 Yovx saw her bosom fall and swell. 
 
 For evwuiore.
 
 TilK NIGHT liOSE. 24o 
 
 A form to lovo ;in<i linger o'er, 
 
 And linger o'er ; 
 Tlien tripi^cd she on the yellow sands. 
 And niintj^led with the merry bands, 
 
 For evermore ; 
 With floating hair and flitting liands. 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 (JUT IN THE WUJILL). 
 
 And mnst she leave h(>r father's home. 
 
 That little patch of kindly loam. 
 
 The yellow soil she loves so well, 
 With alien hearts and homes to drvfell ? 
 
 Cold is the bitter wind and chill 
 The parting by the mossy rill ; 
 
 But colder far the deepening donbt. 
 
 The darkness felt, the world without. 
 
 Yet forth she goes with aindess air, 
 111 formed the rngged road to liear ; 
 
 With feeble feet, with troubled mird. 
 And casting tearful looks behind. 
 
 Her love was better than her fate, 
 She found her deadly sin too late ; 
 And half the cruel woea to be, 
 We dare not guess, we cannot see. 
 
 She goes to join the maddening throngs. 
 Which veil in vain their nameless wrongs ; 
 Un sphered and rayless stars that roam, 
 For ever farther from their home. 
 
 THE NHIHT KOSE. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her Kose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 She gi\thered lovers as she chose. 
 And crushed them with her feet. 
 
 They crowned her Queen of starless night, 
 She veiled her face by day; 
 
 But then they took a lesser light. 
 And basked in feebler sway. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her Eosej 
 She was bo dark and sweet ; 
 
 Her passions were as stormy throes, 
 When night and morning meet.
 
 246 THE NIGHT KOSE. 
 
 They broug-ht her royal gifts of gold. 
 To sate her cruel lust ; 
 
 She drew the treasures from their hold. 
 And scattered gems as dtist, 
 
 They called her Night, they called lior Kose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 She spoiled the splendour of her foes, 
 And made their necks her seat. 
 
 They offered her their limits and lives, 
 She was not glutted still ; 
 
 She haled their children and their wives. 
 And tortured them at will. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her Kosej 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 Her wrath was lightning to enclose. 
 And thimder to retreat. 
 
 They gave her service of their best. 
 Their thousands and their thrones ; 
 
 She tore their baliies from the breast. 
 And dashed them on the stones. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her Eose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 She tired the cities in their woes. 
 And warmed her in the heat. 
 
 They grovelled at her chariot wheels, 
 They kissed her foot and skirt ; 
 
 She spurned them with lier horses' heels. 
 And ground them in the dirt. 
 
 They called her Night, they called lier Rose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 From tempests, ills, and battle blows, 
 She came more fresh and fleet. 
 
 They bade hei- wring her bitter fill, 
 From every goodly lord ; 
 
 She wreaked on all lier lustful will, 
 Then cast them to the sword. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her Eose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 She blazed her shame at public shows. 
 And murder was her meat. 
 
 They paid her in the dearest kind. 
 With blood and sweat of men ; 
 
 Some 'scaped her in her scornful niindj 
 Some fed the lion's den.
 
 THE LAST OK TllE IMMORTALS. 2i7 
 
 They called her Niohl, thej^ called her liose. 
 She WHS so dark aild sweet ; 
 
 'Twere sin her uiaiiy criuies to i^-lo/.e, 
 ^Twere madness to repeat. 
 
 They drained the world by power and jielf, 
 To build their god a shrine ; 
 
 She blackened women like herself, 
 She herded men as swine. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her Kose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 Her hatreds never knew repose, 
 And bridged the ocean's heat. 
 
 They added to their lives their lands. 
 And dowtsred her with their all ; 
 
 She lightly weighed it in her hands. 
 And held the tribute small. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her liose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 What failed her empire to compose;, 
 Her beauty to complete ? 
 
 God mingled lightning witli the gLxmi. 
 To make her perfect form : 
 
 He mixed the midnight's raven !)lo(im. 
 With whirlwind, woes, and storm. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her Rose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 Her bath was where the life-blood flows. 
 Her robe a winding-sheet. 
 
 Biii still her passions were not gorged, 
 Though worlds her hiniger met ; 
 
 She came from racks her fury forged. 
 If wearied craving yet. 
 
 They called her Night, they called her liose, 
 She was so dark and sweet ; 
 
 But now her lust more dainty grows. 
 And vice is more discreet. 
 
 THE LA.ST OF THE IMMOKTALS.. 
 
 For years I toiled, a meditative man. 
 Since youthful reason Ijorn of sense began 
 Its course imperious, eager to find out 
 (Through thorny paths of speculative doubt) 
 The meaning of the mystery of Life, 
 With its strange riddles of destructive strifd
 
 248 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 Unceasing. Muoh I longed and longed to know, 
 
 "What boded all this wilderness of woe. 
 
 And whither tended ; why the poor and weak 
 
 Who had no hands to help, no voice to speak. 
 
 More than the wicked suffered, and weie blent 
 
 (Themselves so pure and just and innocent) 
 
 In judgment with the bad : if cosmic pain 
 
 Were x)VTrgatorial,and not borne in vain 
 
 By weeping millions who in sorrow moved, 
 
 A thing permitted, not by God approved]; 
 
 If evil might be an imperfect form 
 
 Of undeveloped good, through stress and storm 
 
 Evolving into something better, a.nd at length 
 
 Unfolding all the loveliness and strength 
 
 Of the completed work, thoixgh now it seem 
 
 A black defect in what we dimly deeju 
 
 The oi'b of Nature ; and if haply vice, 
 
 Though framed in subtle fashions to entice. 
 
 Might be the remnant of a bygone age, 
 
 The reminiscence of a lower stage 
 
 Or animal condition, which in time 
 
 By virtue with its aims and acts sublime 
 
 Would be removed. Thus did I reason long. 
 
 Sore troubled by the tyi-anny of wrong. 
 
 That like a plague spot to creation clings. 
 
 And the survival of imfittest things — 
 
 The M'anton suiferings, and the fatefid dance 
 
 Of misery that seemed to strike at chance 
 
 The undeserving, not the guilty lust. 
 
 With distribution idle or unjust. 
 
 My fond inquries farther still went back, 
 
 Upon a midnight and mysterious track. 
 
 To life's appearance — whether from within, 
 
 Or from without, its sources might begin — 
 
 If from some othey distant planet hurled 
 
 A moss-grown fragment, to this formless world 
 
 Its fair commencement gave ,- or if at last. 
 
 When matter had through countless stages pass'd. 
 
 Life fashioned out of self -begotten throes. 
 
 By gradiial change and stress essential rose 
 
 The grand result and necessary term 
 
 Of set conditions, which implied the germ. 
 
 I saw that life, which slumbered in the stone. 
 
 Dreamed in the plant, in animals alone 
 
 Awoke to active functions, more or less. 
 
 And in man only was self-consciousness ; 
 
 That there was progress upward from the clod. 
 
 Through links angelic, to the perfect God. 
 
 Then the instructed reason higher drew, 
 And winged with many-coloui-ed fancies flew
 
 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 249 
 
 On boldei- guests, beyond oiir senses' lies, 
 
 Tlieosophies and grave theogonies. 
 
 Was llie Supreme a Tyrant ruled by Fate, 
 
 Who governed as He could by fear and hate, 
 
 Inspired by wanton cruelty and lust, 
 
 And grinding creatures grimly into dust 
 
 From which he wrought them, like a brittle toy 
 
 Made to be broken, in His short-lived joy ; 
 
 O'errided by solemn Destiny, that lay 
 
 An awfvii burden on his empty sway ? 
 
 Or was He tru.ly, absolutely good 
 
 But not Almighty, and in vain withstood 
 
 At times the efforts of an Evil Power 
 
 That shared with Him the dread imperial dower. 
 
 And oft defeated by disastrous claims. 
 
 His schemes of mercy and benigner aims ? 
 
 Did He create the universe, and give 
 
 Fixed constitutions by which all might live. 
 
 Then leave it darkly to the storms of chance. 
 
 The prey of strife and evil circumstance ; 
 
 Led by that narrow rule and faithless friend, 
 
 iSTon-intervention, which frustrates its end. 
 
 Which serves no purpose but engenders hate. 
 
 While making self the measiire of the State ; 
 
 Like landlords who hold half a world in fee. 
 
 And drain its life-blood — proud and absentee ? 
 
 Or was He — and I heard no glad reply — 
 
 Impersonal, a pale necessity. 
 
 Mechanically working out, by laws 
 
 That shaped and guided sbars alike and straws. 
 
 His dark unconscious will, through heartless modes. 
 
 To some dim end, not moved by moral codes ^ 
 
 To universal chaos, or the doom 
 
 Of final fire, or equilibrium's gloom 
 
 And stagnant close, when forces all at length 
 
 Have stayed the brirning fever of their strength ;■' 
 
 A mere ma<;hine, both deaf and dumb and blind. 
 
 Heedless of what His progress left behind. 
 
 And dully pushing on, in cold calm ways 
 
 The inexorable coiirse that spurned delays ? 
 
 Was He the slave of His own system, fooled 
 
 By the strong laws He made but had not schooled ? 
 
 For lo ! I saw that philosophic thought. 
 
 Which every day a grosser darkness wrought. 
 
 Kept thrusting farther and yet farther back. 
 
 Beyond creation's broad and sunny track. 
 
 The near Creator into mist and shade. 
 
 For ever building up a barricade 
 
 Of laws between the creatru'e and the Grod, 
 
 And blotting out the path by which we trod 
 
 To heaven of old, and giving in its stead
 
 250 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 Poor thin iilistractions and negations dead, 
 The husks of mental food, that neither filled 
 The heart's deep hnncjer, nor one moment stilled 
 That innate passion which possesses all. 
 To find a God who answers to their call ? 
 
 Long barren years I laljoured in my mind. 
 Revolving much and tossed by every wind 
 Of every doctrine, as it wildly blew 
 In shy and shifting gusts for ever new. 
 Prom scientific quarters ; till I found 
 Their boastful trumpets gave no certain sound, 
 AVhilc all were false or foolish — idle terms 
 And names, without the quick informing germs 
 Of prin(?iples <jr facts, a fruitless lore 
 That made no hearer wiser than before — 
 Mere learned jargon, theories of schools, 
 Not meat for men, but only food for fouls. 
 
 Then I betook me, from the mists of doubt, 
 
 To exorcise of prayei-s and dreams devout. 
 
 With faith and fasting, practices Divine 
 
 And all the ancient godly discipline 
 
 Of soul and body; wrapt in solemn trance 
 
 Which comes from sweet and serious governance 
 
 And self-effacement. Fi-om the Holy Book, 
 
 As drinks the jjilgrim of the desert brook, 
 
 I drank deep draughts of spiriti\al life 
 
 And inward stillness born through clouds of strife 
 
 In blissful siinshine. There I read of One, 
 
 Who, as no earthly conqueror had done. 
 
 Lived, wrought, and ministered in every thing, 
 
 Without sin biit not withoi\t sixff'ering, 
 
 For human weal, and carried to its end 
 
 God's thought in man, which sin availed to bend 
 
 From its grand purpose, in the ages past 
 
 Wiien that grim shadow over all was cast 
 
 And ever lengthened ; who. as none of yore. 
 
 The burden of our cares and sorrows bore. 
 
 And bought us peace at a tremendous price, 
 
 Throiigh life and death, by the dread sacrifice 
 
 Of perfect manhood, and that heavenly throne 
 
 Which He siirrendered Init to make oiir own 
 
 And seat us with Him ; while by laying down 
 
 All that was won. He gained a brighter crown 
 
 Even in the darkness, when He offered up 
 
 His victories and drained the bitter cup 
 
 Of anguish ; for He conquered most in loss. 
 
 And triumphed as a King apon the Cross. 
 
 Him I accepted as the Perfect Man, 
 
 Who had fulfilled the fair eternal plan, 
 
 God's high idea, to edxicate our race
 
 THE LAST OF THE IMMOKTALa. 2dl 
 
 And still exalt by stages that abase — 
 
 By fiery sufferings that alone refine. 
 
 Till human wills wore one with the Divine. 
 
 Him I accepted as the Perfect God, 
 
 Who bowed His head to the avenging- rod 
 
 Of wovmded Justice long at war with Time, 
 
 Nor in His low estate was less sublime. 
 
 But greater than when, clothed in Royal robes 
 
 He stood in glory on the starry globes ; 
 
 Who thus revealed that God was truly Love, 
 
 As well as Law, nor had a heart above 
 
 The little cares and stirs of daily strife. 
 
 But mingled frt^dy with our common life 
 
 From Him I learned a nobler track to try, 
 
 And yielding to the yoke of liberty 
 
 By willing service formed, I found the Truth 
 
 AVhicli its disciples gives eternal youth 
 
 In rest and joy, and th.it serene content 
 
 Which is the faithful soul's enfranchisement. 
 
 To Him my homage I directed, urged 
 
 By liurning hopes that in my bosom siu-ged 
 
 With waves of promise, by assixrance led 
 
 And witli the blessed food of knowledge fed, 
 
 That filled mj^ heart when I expectcxl least. 
 
 With the rich dainties of a daily feast. 
 
 For Him I treasured every brighter thought. 
 
 That in my spirit holy nuisic wrought. 
 
 With separation solemn, compassed round 
 
 By many a secret prayer and sacred bound 
 
 Of praises, till I had no other aim 
 
 Than that which bade me witness to His Name. 
 
 By Him transformed, in all my parts and powers, 
 
 I faced the fiercest onset of the hours 
 
 That bounded me, and conquered them at length. 
 
 Not in my own ]nit with a vaster strengtli. 
 
 Which stirred my inmost pulse witli feelings strange 
 
 And through my being sent the roots of change. 
 
 In him I lived and moved, in union sweet 
 
 That knit me closely to His blessed feet 
 
 By holy ties ; and thence communion q|ime 
 
 (As on the altar falls the lieavenly fiame) 
 
 With consecrating touch and kindly might, • 
 
 Which fiooded all my soiil with saving light. 
 
 Through Him I access had to higher sijheres.. 
 
 Beyond the narrow circle of the years. 
 
 Above the grasp of even the greatest mind. 
 
 To mysteries of joy that lie behind 
 
 The cloudy veil that shuts the vision in. 
 
 And links us to a sordid world of sin. 
 
 Thus dedicated by devotion's choice.
 
 252 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 Wliicli spoke aloiid witli no iincertain voice. 
 
 Self-offered, I to wondrous heights attained 
 
 In service willing yet not nnconstraincd 
 
 By the great love of Christ, which deeply vi^rought 
 
 Sweet revolutions in the realms of thoiight 
 
 And sentiment, till the old self was dead,^ 
 
 And only He reigned royally instead — 
 
 Till I had broken every cumbering chain. 
 
 That bound me to a mortal state of pain. 
 
 But now my soul seemed full of dazzling light, 
 
 And like a glorious planet in its night, 
 
 Eevolving gladly round the central source. 
 
 Whence it deiived its fairiiess and its force — 
 
 That sacred Svm which never seemed to set. 
 
 And as it broadened shone more brightly yet — 
 
 Rolled out along its holy, happy path, 
 
 Above the angry waves of human wrath 
 
 And tread of human tempests, and the call 
 
 Of fleshly claims that tempt and troiible all ; 
 
 Put forth, as in the presence of its Lord, 
 
 Its every movement in complete accord 
 
 With Him, and in the sunshine of His Face, 
 
 Still gathered daily richer pov/ers and grace, 
 
 And daily travelled fartlier from the round 
 
 Of sorrow ; while I soared above its seat, 
 
 And trod it down with my triumphant feet, 
 
 And broke its bitter sway, and beat it back 
 
 Far, far beneath my own unsullied track, 
 
 Despoiling it of all its darkling pride. 
 
 That like a shadow ever at my side 
 
 Once haunted me, and dogged my devious v.-ay. 
 
 And like the pall of night upon me lay. 
 
 Bu.t when the last black lingering stain was gone, 
 
 And sin a fading memory lived on 
 
 A little season, just to point my bliss 
 
 By the deep contx-'ast of that state and this — 
 
 A mere tradition or a doubtful dream. 
 
 Or flickering note in the resplendent beam 
 
 Of sanctity — when I had reached the height 
 
 Where reigned perfection in its own pvire light 
 
 By faith .unfaltering, agonizing prayers. 
 
 And all the arduous penitential stairs 
 
 That climb to glory — then my body took 
 
 The bright expression of the spirit's look, 
 
 And rinderwent a sweet and solemn change, 
 
 Transflguration beautiful and strange. 
 
 As did my Master on the Holy Mount, 
 
 When He returned a moment to the fount 
 
 Of abdicated Godhead. Weakness fled 
 
 With all the sickness and the grief that shed 
 
 A dire eclipse on every human course,
 
 THE LAST or TKE IMMORTALS. 2o3 
 
 And flowed from sin as water from its source. 
 
 Yea, death itself and death's o'ershadowino^ shroud. 
 
 Passed from me like the passing of a cloud. 
 
 I was immortal, and my fleshly frame. 
 
 The avenue through which such suffering came 
 
 In elder days of evil, now partook 
 
 Of life immortal, when it once forsook 
 
 The yoke and bondage of Satanic sway. 
 
 To choose the noble and the narrow way. 
 
 And when the better law expelled the worse. 
 
 Then perished sin with all its power and curse. 
 
 And sorrow once for many years my mate. 
 
 Arising early and abiding late 
 
 To scourge my soiil, now meteor-like had set 
 
 And left behind no record of segret 
 
 Nor lurid trail of troubled thought. I stood. 
 
 The centre of a sunny world of good 
 
 And sweetness, that yet never seemed to cloy. 
 
 While still expanding golden gates of joy 
 
 And vestibules of hope : as one who stands 
 
 Apart from earth in lonely moiintain lands. 
 
 And sees around hiin curled the snow-white wreath 
 
 Of wrinkled clouds, and traces down beneath 
 
 And far beyond the limit of his ken 
 
 The dim and dusty ways of mortal men, 
 
 Who, from the watch tower of his glorious height, 
 
 Appear like insects sporting in the night. 
 
 Now faith and reason melted into one, 
 
 (As divers colours mingle in the sun 
 
 And by their sweet and kindly union make 
 
 A perfect beavtty) when they learned to take 
 
 And give alike, and each to other lent 
 
 The one desired and destined complement. 
 
 And in the splendour of their wedded rays, 
 
 I caught the meaning of mysterious ways. 
 
 And all those dark and those defiant plots 
 
 Which underlay all life in tangled knots 
 
 And riddles. For my soul was full of love 
 
 Unbounded and unfolding, nor would move 
 
 To any lesser law, and its clear gaae 
 
 Resolved at once the thickness of the haze 
 
 And horror of the gloom, that o'er the earth 
 
 Spread the grey curtains of despair ami dearth, 
 
 Poixred still disorder and a deepening shade 
 
 And revelled in the misery they made. 
 
 Before my vision stretched the perfect plan. 
 
 That compassed all the history of man. 
 
 Which mortals view but piecemeal, and I saw 
 
 The majesty and moulding of the law 
 
 Which bound in one the scant and scattered parts.
 
 254 THK LAST OP THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 And covered more than sciences and arts 
 
 In grand connexions ; which embraced the whole. 
 
 From tlie mean oiitset to the mighty goal. 
 
 And contradictions that were still at strife 
 
 Joined in the marriage of harmonious life ; 
 
 Which showed how mortals, who mere fragments knew. 
 
 No semblance of the wondrous picture drew 
 
 In its broad branches, and outlying shoots 
 
 That nourished were by deep eternal roots ; 
 
 Which proved that earthly happiness was small, 
 
 And carnal welfare not the end of all 
 
 But accidental, not the naain intent 
 
 Of this v/orld's work, but its embellishment 
 
 And casual trappings — while afQiction gi-ew. 
 
 As naturally as the lireezes blew. 
 
 From the great heart of Love that is Divine, 
 
 To be a sweet and saving discipline 
 
 And steps of progress, and and a kindly nurse 
 
 To guard the soul from some yet darker curse — 
 
 As wise physicians, shunning graver ill. 
 
 Strange poison into healthy frames instil ; 
 
 Which taught me that the glorious aim of things, 
 
 Through agonies and overshadowings. 
 
 Was to illumine all the human sky 
 
 With the broad light of love and purity 
 
 And hiimble trust, and out of suffering's seliool 
 
 To bring these lessons as the living rule 
 
 And master motives of each word and act. 
 
 Transforming specious dreams to sijlendid fact. 
 
 Till self was blotted out of every soul. 
 
 And simple love of God possesst the whole. 
 
 T saw tha,t only love could conquer vice. 
 
 By the sweet yielding of self-sacrifice. 
 
 Which (not destruction) is the vital triith. 
 
 Explaining what seems cruel or xuicouth 
 
 In earth's stern struggle, and though creatures live 
 
 Upon each other yet they no less give 
 
 Life /'or each other as the final cost 
 
 Of mere existence, saved alone when lost ; 
 
 Which all must pay, with or without their will. 
 
 Who would the part at birth bestowed fulfil. 
 
 As factors in that plan which cannot fall, 
 
 The grand organic unity of all. 
 
 For if i^erfection I at length had gained. 
 
 By many a toarfiil cry and footstep stained 
 
 Vk'ith penal blood, 'twas only when my love 
 
 (Brooding o'er self a moment like the dove 
 
 xVbout to leave for ever its sweet rest) 
 
 Flew fortli abroad on mei'cy's nol^le quest. 
 
 Disdaining danger, and mid earthquake thi'oes 
 
 Snatching an awful rai^ture^of repoise
 
 THK LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 255 
 
 "Upon the edge of storms, miuI misery's breath 
 Fanning to life even in the jaws of death — 
 The olive branch of peace and of good will 
 Bearing across the angry waves of ill 
 And sori'ow — with the miisic of its voice, 
 Compelling hearts most hopeless to rejoice — 
 Followingthe raven, as day follows night. 
 And putting every shade of woe to flight 
 By its pure presence — bringing in its train _ 
 Each pure and pleasant gift and blessed gain 
 Unbought of gold — and dovelike to its nest 
 Took sick and helpless sonls that needed rest — 
 Yea, gathered to it all created things, 
 Beneiith the shadow of its sheltering wings. 
 
 Thus by devotion conquering years of strife, 
 I plucked the friiitage of the Tree of Life. 
 Which lilooms where none before me ever trod. 
 Hard by the fountain in the throne of God, 
 That flows imceasing — thus I plucked and ate, 
 For nothing else my hiingemow could sate ; 
 While deep within me mighty piilses thrilled. 
 And the large spaces of my spirit hUed 
 W ith melody and meaning all my own, 
 Of solemn joys till then undreamed, unknown. 
 And imconjectured. Fast I grew in grace. 
 As grows a stately i)laut in some green place 
 Of watered gardens, where the summers rest 
 With ripening rays that make it bright and bh\st 
 And fruitful. All my fertile being burst. 
 Through the dark fetters with which life was curst. 
 In fragrant flower and beauty ; as the sun 
 Breaks through the clouds its glorioiis race to run. 
 Most jubilant. I drew from secret springs. 
 That iapt iny soul in sacred murmurings ; 
 And through my heart, as ages still went l^y, 
 I drank the fulness of eteniitv. 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 Years followed years, men came and soon w(>re gone. 
 
 Fresh kingdoms rose and fell, and T lived ou 
 
 Tnmiortal, calm and lone, untroubled still 
 
 By revolutions in their wildest will 
 
 And bliiidest fury. Russia's hoiise of sand 
 
 All cnunbled piecemeal at the avenging hand 
 
 Of judgment, and its military glare 
 
 Of glory died, witu not one pitying prayer. 
 
 Before the indignant blaze of truth, and rule 
 
 Passed to the grasp of an imperial school 
 
 Of mighty-minded women, while the men
 
 256 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 Turned to the kitchen and the cattle pen 
 
 Their* powers inferior, for the battle blade 
 
 Taking the housewife's brcom and peaceful sj)adej 
 
 And. taught by humble tasks and duty stern 
 
 The lessons pride so long refused to learn. 
 
 The torpid Turks from Europe moved their sway. 
 
 With harems, pipes, and sweetmeats swept away. 
 
 Absorbed in Asia, purged with sword and fire, 
 
 And trained by bitter trouble to aspire 
 
 To higher ends, and shaken into shape. 
 
 Like wine by ferment gathered from' the grape. 
 
 I'rance, like the vapours of a sputtering pot. 
 
 Boiled up and bubbled over, and was not. 
 
 Spent in vain dreams of conquest and of fame. 
 
 And liu'od to ruin by the lying name 
 
 Of reputation ; while her prurient pride 
 
 And bloody laiirels all were laid aside 
 
 For ever, with each miserable boast 
 
 That led her straying from her proper post 
 
 Of service ; and the hands that could not lay 
 
 The storm they raised, consented to obey. 
 
 Then over earth the race Teutonic spread 
 
 Their mighty arms, aiid quickened lands long dead 
 
 With blood of commerce, and girt round with steel 
 
 Set on oppression's neck the indignant lieel 
 
 Of jristice, conquering as they went, 
 
 And making sea and sandy continent 
 
 A paradise of plenty, wliile they sprang 
 
 Into broad beauty and the deserts rang. 
 
 With cries of cities, that had learned to draw 
 
 Through freedom's lungs the breath of equal law; 
 
 And carrying with them on their fertile track, 
 
 Charters for slaves, chains for the tyrant's back. 
 
 And scoiirgss ; as they opened prison doors. 
 
 Or winnowed out the dusty temple floors. 
 
 And left behind them many a liberal plan 
 
 Of government, with love of Grod and man. 
 
 Trade oti untravelled oceans bent its wings. 
 
 The wildernesses teemed with water springs. 
 
 Through isthmus and through mountain science clove 
 
 Its civilizing Avay, the people strove 
 
 With contests but of kindness, all was good 
 
 In the sweet light of common brotherhood. 
 
 Even as a giant tree puts proudly forth. 
 
 Vexed by no travail of the troubled north. 
 
 Its giant limbs, through which the sun and rain 
 
 * Craniology has proved that the skulls and brains of Slav women are 
 larger than those of Slav men. In the recent outbreaks of Nihilism — 
 no wonder, too — womea as fearless as Charlotte Corday took the fore- 
 most place.
 
 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 2^7 
 
 Can beat no entrance thongh they beat again ; 
 
 While in its shadow thrives each weaker plant. 
 
 And on its branches birds whose songs enchant 
 
 Eest and rejoice, while offshoots from it grow 
 
 And gather grace from all the winds that blow ; 
 
 Till through the forest they have stretched their stems 
 
 And crown the sky with leafy diadems. 
 
 So rose, so flourished the grand Teuton race. 
 
 Peopling with mighty men the empty space. 
 
 Till it o'erflowed in golden waves of wealthy 
 
 Bearing the lamps of truth and hope and healthy 
 
 With love of right and hatred of the wrong, 
 
 Whatever makes a nation wise and strong 
 
 And steadfast. While the buds of freedom fair 
 
 Expanded in the pure and pleasant air 
 
 Of larger modes, and striking deep their roots 
 
 In nature's subsoil, yielded goodly fruits — 
 
 Such harvests as the arbitrary codes. 
 
 That on galled shoulders bound the bitter loads 
 
 Of artificial systems, could not reap, 
 
 Though lands on lands should all their folly heap. 
 
 Before the bar of justice, without fear. 
 
 On equal terms the peasant and the peer. 
 
 The clown and king, stood to receive their due. 
 
 Not by the faulty sentence of the few. 
 
 But the gieat public voice that dealt to vice 
 
 Its proper meed, nor knew one prejudice ; 
 
 That had in nought an interested part. 
 
 And uttered from the universal heart. 
 
 Secured by every strong religious tie. 
 
 The verdict that could nevex-, never lie. 
 
 Yet rolled the world on its refulgent track. 
 
 For over trampling down and beating back, 
 
 The lines of darkness and the hosts of ill. 
 
 And customs changed, and I existed still, 
 
 Tl- e sole survivor of my house and name. 
 
 Outliving generations as they came 
 
 And went. I saw sad Erin pass away. 
 
 Merged in oblivion and the New Cathay, 
 
 To leaven a nobler nation, and to breed 
 
 A race of giazits from her restless seed. 
 
 Mingled with milder blood, and thus retain 
 
 The splendid spirit she could not restrain 
 
 Transfused in others, wedding fire to frost. 
 
 The ark of England, by the tempest tost. 
 
 And sorely strained, yet rode the roughest waves. 
 
 While others sank in revolutions' graves. 
 
 And jealous of her honour to the last. 
 
 Superbly braved the terrors of the blast. 
 
 And though sedition howled its hungry cry,
 
 258 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS; 
 
 Raised by the winds of lust and words that lie. 
 While envy's billows rose like raging hoimds. 
 And dashed against the vessel's iron bounds ; 
 Though every shape of shadowy fraud and force 
 Conspired to turn her from the even course 
 Of truth and justice ; thoiigh, a period brief. 
 Wild agitation and blind unbelief 
 And all the offal demagogues had spread. 
 Seemed poisoning freedom at its fountain head ; 
 Yet every effort of malignant frame. 
 Brought but confusion on the author's aim ; 
 And while stern duty stood high at the helm. 
 Each danger when it could not overwhelm, 
 Advanced the vessel (if its aid were short,) 
 And only drove it nearer to the port. 
 
 But yet for ages I endured the ch;uige 
 
 Of forms and fashions, while the world waxed strange 
 
 And uncongenial — heedless of the cost. 
 
 Though loving much — and what I loved I lost; 
 
 Outliving all my comrades and my kin. 
 
 Who were biit mortal as the slaves of sin ; 
 
 Outliving what my heart looked kindly on, 
 
 For when again I looked, the light was gone ; 
 
 Beholding in all spheres the present sway 
 
 Of pain and sorrow, though refined away 
 
 And long reduced by science and the arts 
 
 Of progress, which had conquered many parts 
 
 And powers of evil, but though vast of reach 
 
 Could never find an antidote for each ; 
 
 While men submitted to the senses' yoke, 
 
 Or even but one of Christ's commandments broke. 
 
 In vain my fellows I essayed to show. 
 
 That all transgi-essions ever found in woe 
 
 Their penalties, and he alone was free 
 
 Who to the letter the Divine decree 
 
 Obeyed from choice and love, who fully gave 
 
 Not tlie reluctant homage, of the slave 
 
 But willing service, and at any price 
 
 Made soul and body one sweet sacrifice. 
 
 In vain I proved that, if they hated sin 
 
 And burst its bondage, health woidd then begin 
 
 To drive out sickness with its brood of jDangs, 
 
 And hiingry sorrow would relax its fangs 
 
 Of iron, when the spirit's might arose 
 
 The troubled waves of passion to compose 
 
 With faith that flower<!d in action. All in vain 
 
 I preached protesting, while they fell again. 
 
 And after striiggling yet would feebly swerve 
 
 From the strait track of truth, and in reserve 
 
 Kept back some darling vice, to which they stil
 
 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 259 
 
 Offered their incense and abused their will, 
 
 Infatuate. I wondered at their choice. 
 
 And lifted up the sad and solemn voice 
 
 Of wax'ning, while as madly as of yore 
 
 They sinned, repented, and then sinned onco more ; 
 
 The dreary ronnd of failure to repeat. 
 
 And in the van of victory court defeat. 
 
 While had they watched and waited but their hour 
 
 Of trial, though it fell in tempest power. 
 
 With lighted lamj^s and loins girt up to fight. 
 
 The duty would have grown into delight, 
 
 And the stern task in strong devotion merged 
 
 Become a rock, against which idly surged 
 
 Temptation's seas. But ah ! they would not heed 
 
 Although I simply preached the mother creed. 
 
 On whoso great breasts more soft than any silk 
 
 Their infant faith was suckled, with the milk 
 
 Of love religious : they preferred to snatch 
 
 Its dew from everj^ day that passed, and catch 
 
 The moi-ning bloom of pleasure, ere it shed 
 
 Its shining petals and decayed and fled. 
 
 I seemed the teller of a foolish tale. 
 
 Told by the fireside in a winter gale. 
 
 And often in the rapture of the bliss 
 
 That bathed my soul, I somehow seemed to miss 
 
 The tovich of human fellowship, and points 
 
 Of tender contact with the social joints. 
 
 By which I yet held converse with my kind. 
 
 That loosely linked but could not ever bind 
 
 My lot to theirs. And I asj^ired to lift. 
 
 Above the fleeting shade and changeful shift 
 
 Of time, congenial comrades to the height 
 
 On which I stood, to revel in the light 
 
 And share witli me the glory and the power 
 
 Of pure perfection, in its God-like dower. 
 
 For while all earthly feelings from my mind 
 
 Had clean been purged, and left no trace Ijehind 
 
 Of former empire — though no carnal pulso 
 
 Of passion lingered fondly to convulse 
 
 My breast with sensual throes, and the frail flesh 
 
 (With soft allurements that did once enmesh 
 
 The very soul) was crucified and dead. 
 
 Nor ever now raised mp its stricken head, 
 
 And buried in the grave of that dear Lord 
 
 Who for us all and of His own accord 
 
 Died and was buried ; though my loyal will 
 
 Was mine no longer, I was human still. 
 
 And though possessing every heavenly good, 
 
 In close communion with the Fatherhood 
 
 Divine, that like the universal air
 
 260 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 Environed me with blessings btight and fair 
 
 Of a continiTal Presence, and my soul 
 
 Swayed with the sweetness of a calm control 
 
 And strength restrained ; and though I lacked no gift. 
 
 Nor one good thing that coidd the heart uplift 
 
 To holy joy, and i^eace in pleasant dreams 
 
 Poured through my being in refreshing streams 
 
 And watered all my life and made it glad 
 
 With spiritual fruits ; and though I had 
 
 Whatever fancy craved or bodied forth, 
 
 Among the treasures of eternal w^orth. 
 
 And onlj^ wished and then the will was deed. 
 
 For will and power in their result agreed. 
 
 Yea, though a cloud of care I never knew. 
 
 And not a breath of pain or discord blew 
 
 Across my azure slvy — thoiiglr one with God, 
 
 Between the dead and dying still 1 trod 
 
 Myself iunnortal : yet began to grow 
 
 Within me what I felt long, long ago, 
 
 The sense of something w.anting, and the need 
 
 Of human friendship though a bruised re6d — 
 
 A thirst for any change, howe'er it fell — 
 
 If it but broke the rigoiu- of the spell 
 
 Of everlasting rest, which in its zone 
 
 Girt round my gloi-y with its monotone 
 
 Unalterably fixed, and on me lay 
 
 Like the great stillness of a summer day 
 
 Unclouded, when no wind its revel keeps. 
 
 And all the land in solemn silence sleeps. 
 
 The human in me could not wholly die. 
 
 Though it was merged in inunortality 
 
 With undecaying vesture and I felt 
 
 Its stifled remnants still within me dwelt 
 
 And fretted more and more, as fricndsliips fond 
 
 Were snapt by deatli, an<l ever some fresh bond 
 
 Of beai\ty was in time dissolved and passed. 
 
 While I endured of all new links the last 
 
 And sole siirvivor : till the mighty love. 
 
 Which steeped my heart from holy founts al)ove. 
 
 Scarce dared to issue towards my mortal kind, 
 
 By strange misgivings in its seat confin'd, 
 
 Nor flowed to ought that crumbled with the clod. 
 
 And went unhindered forth alone to God, 
 
 From whom it came. 
 
 At first ecstatic joy, 
 That nothing more my rest could now annoy 
 By evil impact, so al^sorbed my soiil 
 And permeated with its power the whole 
 Of my existence, that I seemed to dwell 
 * On heights serene and inaccessible. 
 
 In a sublime and unimpassioned trance.
 
 THE LAST OF TKTl IMMORTALS, 261 
 
 Apart from men and the delirious dance 
 
 Of fortune ; and the small affairs of time 
 
 Appeared remote, as if sonae muffled chime 
 
 Heard at a distance from recesses deep. 
 
 And breakin<)f faintly tlu'ough the bars of sleep. 
 
 Not that I loved my fellows less than erst. 
 
 But loved the Almiglity more, with a great thirst 
 
 That drank and drank, at wellsprings of the truth, 
 
 Fiill draughts of wisdom and of wondroiis truth, 
 
 And was insatiate still. But as time roll'd 
 
 That scattered on its pathway gifts of gold, 
 
 I seemed to weary of the victor's palm. 
 
 The cloudless light and the eternal calm 
 
 Of rapt repose. For all the outward shocks 
 
 Fell on mo as the rain upon the rocks 
 
 Nor stirred my breast ; I wanted inward throes 
 
 And thoughts which thrilled the mind as they arose. 
 
 With battle strains ; yet not a wish would move, 
 
 To bid me pleasures so illicit prove 
 
 By test, I simply lot my fancy range. 
 
 And dreamed how pleasant was the sound of change, 
 
 How gratefvil shadows though they sheltered grief; 
 
 And then I pictured moments of relief 
 
 From the unvarying measured march of things. 
 
 Even if it brought the mists .and murmurings 
 
 Of human lot. I dreamed, how sweet to bear 
 
 With men the burden of their daily care. 
 
 To take the cross their feeble hands let drop. 
 
 And carry it in trumph to the top. 
 
 Of high success ; to live, as lived my Lord, 
 
 When He as man in sympathy's accord 
 
 With all our suft'erings ministered on earth, 
 
 And came like dew to universal dearth. 
 
 But yet I know that this could never be. 
 
 So long as my pure soid continvied free 
 
 From taint of sin — that God alone could hold 
 
 Siich equal terms with man, nor he controlled 
 
 By ill. And though my spirit might aspire 
 
 To be a helper, it dared not desire 
 
 To undertake what Christ had richly wrought, 
 
 If a mere fancy framed in passing thought 
 
 This service. Nor could I the rision check 
 
 From reappearing, as an alien speck 
 
 In the broad splendour of unspotted day 
 
 That all around my life superljly lay 
 
 With an unsetting sun of joy. At last. 
 
 It grew and grew to such dimensions vast. 
 
 Till it assumed a fitful presence. Forth 
 
 It flashed, as the avirora. in the north. 
 
 With troubled if with transitory power. 
 
 Till, in the weaknesses of an idle hour.
 
 262 THE LAST OF THE IMMORTALS. 
 
 A sudden wish the world once more to probe 
 
 With mortal state, and lay aside the robe 
 
 Immortal, in my secrecy of heart, 
 
 Obsciu'ing even its highest holiest part, 
 
 Bnrned. But thoiigh wishing brought me every bliss 
 
 Consistent with the sacred synthesis 
 
 Of my new natxire, and that life Divine 
 
 "Which nothing now could raise or more refine. 
 
 Complete in Christ ; it wholly failed to give 
 
 Capacity, while I should duly live 
 
 And fiilly all my holy functions ply. 
 
 To abdicate my immortality. 
 
 One thing, one only, might avail to win 
 
 The boon I sorely craved ; and that was — Sin. 
 
 And through that door of darkness, like the grave. 
 
 Which yawned for all and took but never gave 
 
 One blessing, must I from my dazzling height 
 
 Dethroned go down to gain the world of night. 
 
 Where mortals blindly crawled and groped for day. 
 
 Through that abhorred and accursed way 
 
 Must I, the pure and perfect, basely creep. 
 
 And my fair life with foul pollution steep 
 
 That stained both soul and body. At the thought 
 
 Of that descent and that dishonour wrought 
 
 By my own hand, the heart recoiled and reeled 
 
 And all its portals and its biilwarks steeled 
 
 With adamantine will, not to admit 
 
 Sin. Nay, my reason scarcely coiild acquit 
 
 The erring fancy, I impeached its aim. 
 
 Because it idly pictiu-ed evil's claim. 
 
 Sin ! That was bondage of the blackest Icind, 
 
 Which flesh and spirit both alike confined 
 
 With shades of hopeless night and prison dole, — 
 
 And chains whose iron pierced the very soul. 
 
 Sin ! That was blindness, when the eyes were dim. 
 
 And could not catch one precious glance of Him 
 
 Who is the end of seeing, and the Sun 
 
 Into whose source all lesser lustres rvin. 
 
 Sin ! That was deafness to the word revealed 
 
 By every law of nature, which concealed 
 
 Behind its gloomy veil the glorious truth 
 
 Meant to make free and yield eternal youth. 
 
 Sin ! That was dumbness, when the stifled voice 
 
 Could never find a respite to rejoice, 
 
 And could not lift the langour of its cry 
 
 Bej'ond the bai's of bitter destiny. 
 
 Sin ! That was suffering, when the being felt 
 
 Its amosphere one malady, and dwelt 
 
 In poisoned chambers where no healing air 
 
 Blew, and tho only breath was of despair.
 
 THE LAST OP THE TMMOETALS. 263 
 
 Sin ! That was sorrow, wliich confessed no bounds 
 But those of its own melancholy sounds ; 
 Which, if it had the mockery of a name. 
 Acknowledged simply the dire brand of shame. 
 Sin ! That was death, the most profound of all. 
 When the sweet moral sense became a thrall ; 
 When conscience gave no answer unto ill. 
 Nor made one sign to roixse the slumbering will. 
 Then how could I, the perfect and the pure. 
 Again corruption and decay endure ? 
 
 And yet I sinned. But in what bitter way 
 
 The deed was done, I cannot, dare not say; 
 
 Tn truth, T hardly know. With one wild act 
 
 T plunged into the perpetrated fact. 
 
 The dread abyss of evil, depths of gloom 
 
 1 hat carried with them their own grievous doom. 
 
 From truth's sublime and tranqiiil mountain tops 
 
 With jjurity and peace, that fall like di'ops 
 
 Of morning dew, on the ecstatic soul. 
 
 Stark madness made me lose the last control 
 
 Of my poor will, and fiercely spoke aloud. 
 
 And with the threatening of its thunder-cloud 
 
 Above me darkly, desperately near 
 
 Hung. Swayed by trembling moods of hope and fear, 
 
 I swore I had too long been proiidly blind, 
 
 And cared not to be greater than my kind. 
 
 Content with mortals to rejoice and weep. 
 
 To live like them, and duly die and sleep 
 
 As they ; being sick of separation wide 
 
 That parted us, yet not dissatisfied 
 
 With what I had, but like a weary wave 
 
 Most willing to lie down within my grave 
 
 Upon the shores of Time, to lay my breast 
 
 Where my forefathers found a welcome rest. 
 
 And yet the seed of sin was early sown. 
 
 In the first wish I fondly made my own 
 
 For some mutation — aye, in the first thought 
 
 Which to my mind the faded picture broiight 
 
 Of days departed and imperfect joy. 
 
 So soiled and mingled with the earth's alloy. 
 
 Thus I took up the broken thread of life. 
 
 With all its strands of old and friendly strife. 
 
 Just where I let it drop, when on me fell 
 
 Transfiguration with its wondrous spell 
 
 And gifts divine and meed immortal. Pain 
 
 Like some familiar countenance again 
 
 Rose up. Once more I gaily laughed and wept. 
 
 And my light footsteps still in concert ke^it 
 
 With every pulse of change, and the wild dance 
 
 Which life and death beat out of circumstance.
 
 264 THE LITTLE ANGEL WITHOUT WINGS. 
 
 And now my own are as my fellows' hours, 
 
 Not without sunshine, watered with the showers 
 
 Of sorrow, darkened by the shadow deep 
 
 Which passing troubles cast ; and winds that sweep 
 
 The atmosphere with useful ills, hold sway 
 
 And fill the barren years with fruitful play. 
 
 Yet I have sinned. Nor can I backward look 
 
 Upon the holy lot which I forsook 
 
 In madness for a meaner, lower sphere. 
 
 Where with corruption things are sad and sere. 
 
 And not be pierced with pangs of shar^i regret. 
 
 For the fair past I never may forget. 
 
 Nor can I forward gaze, and snatch a glance 
 
 At the dim future, through the change and chance 
 
 Of lying fortune, that illusion brings 
 
 To mock the eyes with cruel vanishings ; 
 
 I cannot face the judgment that draws near. 
 
 Nor be unshaken hy the throes of fear. 
 
 Oh, I have sinned. And in some frightful shape. 
 
 The penal scourge how can I long escape ? 
 
 Though oft remorse will wrestle with my choice. 
 
 And lift to heaven the penitential voice 
 
 Of anguish ; while in all the joys of Time, 
 
 Rings out the solemn and reproachful chime 
 
 Of memory, with that accusing tone 
 
 Whose sound would shatter even a heart of stone. 
 
 Yea, I have sinned. And though reprieved T live, 
 
 This black confession I alone can give. 
 
 As seasons sadly come and then are gone. 
 
 And my dark steps are rudely carried on 
 
 By waves avenging, to the gloomy goal 
 
 That now awaits my poor polluted soul. 
 
 And when the closing scene of earth has come. 
 
 To me so dreadful, thoiigh desired by some ; 
 
 When witliout warning the last woe of death 
 
 Falls on my frame, and strikes the struggling breath 
 
 With dire confusion, and the senses reel. 
 
 As dissolution's doom they shuddering feel ; 
 
 When terrors round me throng and hopes are thinned. 
 
 My final utterance will be, " I have sinned;" 
 
 As I surrender life for ill or good, 
 
 To the great mercy of God's Fatherhood. 
 
 THE LITTLE ANGEL WITHOUT WINGS. 
 27th APRIL, 1880. 
 
 God sent an angel from the Land of Light, 
 
 Into a childless home ; 
 He wanted it to be complete and bright. 
 
 And bade that Angel come.
 
 THE LITTLE ANfiEL WITHOUT WINGS. 265 
 
 The Angel spoke a sweet but different voice 
 
 Fi'om that of common tone ; 
 And yet its bnrden seemed to be, " Rejoice, 
 
 Ye are no more alone ! " 
 
 Her language was a faint and feeble cry. 
 
 That touched the mother's heart ; 
 The fountain of her tears had long been dry. 
 
 But now it made them start. 
 
 And forth they flowed in fertilizing streams, 
 
 "With seeds of promise rife ; 
 Tliey mingled gently witli her dearest dreams. 
 
 Enriching all her life. 
 
 That pleading cry which drew the mother's tears. 
 
 And told her not to pine, 
 Seemed but an echo throiigli the empty years. 
 
 Of the great Voice Divine. 
 
 It filled with music all the silent strings. 
 
 And made them softly chime ; 
 It sounded on in sacred murmurings. 
 
 Unto the end of time. 
 
 God sent an Angel from the Land of Love, 
 
 Into a world of care ; 
 Faith brought that blessed Angel from above. 
 
 Upon the wings of prayer. 
 
 She hTd a message written on her face. 
 
 Proclaiming God is good ; 
 And in each helpless act and tender grace. 
 
 Those words were understood. 
 
 And in the father's fond and anxious heart. 
 
 Affection liubblcd wp ; 
 It grew, as joy poured into every part. 
 
 An overflowing cup. 
 
 And all the features of his life, it seemed 
 
 To beautify and raise ; 
 Till back to Heaven the gift of gladness streamed. 
 
 In daily songs of praise. 
 
 This angel was a sign of pardoned sin. 
 
 Which wiped out every spot ; 
 That from forgiveness love might yet begin 
 
 A new and nobler lot. 
 
 Nor was the angel's only utterance this, 
 
 That pardoned was the past ; 
 But that He who had'guided unto l)liss, 
 
 Woiild guide unto the last.
 
 26.& THE PAUPIR'«f FRIBKD. 
 
 And linked together by this precious bond. 
 
 That knit their hearts to God, 
 The happy parents seemed upraised beyond 
 
 The narrow stage they trod. 
 
 Love in a purer life went forth to Him 
 
 Who gave that kingly crown, 
 "Who saw their little home was cold and dim 
 
 And sent the angel down. 
 
 Once more the Holy Savio^^^ seemed to live 
 
 In this dear firstborn child. 
 And by His Presence a fresh power to give 
 
 Which cnrbed their passions wild. 
 
 Till even the darkest sky looked bright and clear, 
 
 With blessings scattered roimd. 
 And every spot of earth liowever drear 
 
 Appeared as sacred ground. 
 
 All mortal things they once deemed poor and vile. 
 
 Seemed consecrated now. 
 By the pure radiance, that like God's own smile. 
 
 Streamed from that infant's brow. 
 
 And lest the angel should grow sad and pine. 
 
 Or fly from earthly things. 
 The Heavenly Father in His care Divine, 
 
 Took off that angel's wings. 
 
 THE PAUPER'S FRIEND. 
 
 No food had he, and scarce one kindly rag 
 Wherewith to clothe his sad and naked sores. 
 That ever wept at all their pleading pores, 
 
 And still his steadfast heart refused to flag. 
 He only passed by barred and bolted doors. 
 
 That opened )iut to Judas with his bag, 
 
 As feebly weary limbs he strove to drag 
 
 Through stony-hearted streets with golden stores. 
 
 Then came a Friend he long besought in vain. 
 Whom fears the wicked and the wealthy loathes, 
 And bore him beyond reach of taunts and oaths ; 
 He gave repose for bread, and hushed tlio pain 
 Of hunger, when he broke the jjaviper's chain 
 And dressed him in the coffin's wooden clothes.
 
 NECESSITY. 267 
 
 THE STEP ON THE STAIRS. 
 
 A step for which I hearkened. 
 
 In hours of stormy airs. 
 Even now when skies are darkened. 
 
 Falls lightly on the stairs ; 
 The step of one I cherished 
 
 In the nnbiiried past, 
 Who dying never perished. 
 
 And loved me to the last. 
 
 I hear her softly clamber, 
 
 When stars begin to shine ; 
 She comes ixnto my chamber. 
 
 And pvita her hand in mine. 
 Yea, as with feet that flutter. 
 
 She gently to me steals ; 
 And what I dare not utter. 
 
 She to my heart reveals. 
 
 NECESSITY. 
 
 Necessity on my sad soul was laid, 
 
 A grievous burden, since it leant for aid 
 
 On this vain world of falsehood, closely pent 
 
 With all its forces so incontinent 
 
 In uncongenial bounds, chained from its birth 
 
 (Like criminal and corpse in one grim girth) 
 
 To a poor narrow stage, though with fvill scope 
 
 For the free play of an unworldly hof)e ; 
 
 Even at the portals of its being crushed 
 
 By earthly weights, when it would fain have rushed 
 
 In exultation to a grander goal — 
 
 Necessity was laid upon my soiil. 
 
 It brooded cloud-like o'er my infant life. 
 
 And with the ferment of its hidden strife 
 
 It wroiight within me, till my l^reast was rent 
 
 And the heart tiu-ned from its first fair intent. 
 
 Which aimed at higher ends, which deejDly knew. 
 
 With every wave that rolled and wind that blew. 
 
 It had no portion here, Init journeyed on 
 
 (As other passing souls before had gone) 
 
 From world to world of unconditioned Spade, 
 
 ThroiTgh the dim isthmus of eai-th's halting-place. 
 
 Yet conscience owns there was a glorious chance, 
 
 In all the iron bonds of circumstance. 
 
 Freedom I had, by which to die or live. 
 
 My very birth's sweet young prerogative. 
 
 The liberty of choice — a thing of awe —
 
 2fiS NECESSITY. 
 
 Stamped on my being- as its primal law^ 
 
 To stand or fall : to consecrate my will 
 
 And destiny's o-reat pui-pose to fulfil. 
 
 Or to subside in sense and tamely bend 
 
 To sordid slavery and a selfish end. 
 
 I chose the latter, chose the rule of lust. 
 
 And now no longer what I will but must 
 
 I go on working- — now I cannot check 
 
 Myself from sinning — like a helpless wreck 
 
 Tossed up and down by every wanton wind. 
 
 And drifting from its course, all deaf and blind, 
 
 To certain ruin, till the last sharp shock 
 
 Grinds it to powder on the Iningry rock. 
 
 In vain I rally every power and skill. 
 
 And lash and spur my faint and fettered wull. 
 
 No answer conies, no qiiickening of the pulse. 
 
 That now not even an earthquake could convulse ; 
 
 I only hear the surging- of the sense. 
 
 And writhe and curse my wretclied impotence. 
 
 Still creeping on, sliiit out from influence fair 
 
 By habits worse than death, in blank despair, 
 
 I love the day and yet prefer the dark, 
 
 When vice can work its will and leave no mark ; 
 
 I love clean ways, but wallow in the dust, 
 
 And sin and sin and sin — becavise I must. 
 
 For now I cannot see the light I love ; 
 
 And the sweet sun, though it may shine above 
 
 In all its breadth of beauty, yet to me 
 
 Is like the rain clouds tliat arise and flee ; 
 
 And I discern no briglitness in its beams, 
 
 Beliolding but its shadow, as it streams 
 
 And lengthens on my path, and darkly dips. 
 
 My soiil itself in one extreme eclij^se. 
 
 These eyes are dim ;ind troubled with the blight 
 
 That ia my natiire now, and deep as night 
 
 Lies at the roots of being- and lias part 
 
 Even in the subtlest fibres of my heart ; 
 
 Till that is also blind, and steeped in gloom, 
 
 And self -condemned awaits the last dread doom. 
 
 I see no beauty in the summer bowers, 
 
 No lustre in the fairest of the flowers. 
 
 Those vegetable flames that glow and burn. 
 
 And the cold earth to wai-mth and sweetness turn 
 
 With fragrant fires -, no glory in the green. 
 
 When from its tomb the maiden spring- is seen 
 
 In resiirrection beavity l>urstir.g- fortli. 
 
 As some aurora in the sunless north. 
 
 While scattering garlands on a world of g-raves. 
 
 And overflowing all the earth in waves 
 
 Of tidal verdure, with rich iimsic rife.
 
 NECESSITY. 2GD 
 
 And chang-ing dearth to bloom and death to life. 
 Gone are these sights from me, for ever gone. 
 And in a crowded land 1 dwell alone. 
 With sin and sorrow as my constant mates, 
 And penal terrors knocking at the gate« 
 Of my doomed heart, in one unceasing round, 
 And uuittering to my ears their solenm sound 
 Like distant thunder, in sad thoughts that swell 
 "With echoes awful, deep, ineffable. 
 Gone is their blessing from the plenteous fields, 
 That to piire minds the food of pleasiu-e yields 
 An endless feast— yea, gone is every good, 
 From rippling river and from waving wood. 
 And meditation, that was used to niirst; 
 Fair fancies at its l)reast, becomes the curse 
 Of apprehension which foreruns its fate 
 With wild misgivings, to anticipate 
 The final judgment. Now I simply see. 
 In hill and valley and in flower and tree, 
 A bare and blasted earth possost with fears. 
 And watered by the tide of human tears 
 That flows for ever, from which all the grace 
 And grandeur that made splendid every space 
 Are all departed, like a poefs dream. 
 Sent drifting down the melancholy stream 
 Of darkness which at last engidfs the best 
 And strongest work, with cold oblivion's rest. 
 
 Now ugliness and mockery rule the shade 
 
 Of universal evil, fear has made 
 
 From sin's foundation ; and through clouded years 
 
 The ghastly earth of agony appears 
 
 A thing disjointed and deformed, and bent 
 
 From the sweet base of its Divine intent. 
 
 To some occult and miserable goal. 
 
 That shall extinguish at a stroke the whole. 
 
 I seem a part of the pervading ill. 
 
 And with it link the freedom of my will 
 
 That I have oiiered, for this poor world's price, 
 
 An incommensurable sacrifice. 
 
 To lose my soul, and gain in pampered sense 
 
 The surfeit of a sickly recompense. 
 
 Now suffering seizes me, and hell's fierce pangs 
 
 Have fastened on my soul their fiery fangs. 
 
 And made their prey each black accusing spot ; 
 
 While restless craving for I know not what, 
 
 A maddening hunger, riots in my breast 
 
 And holds within a ghostly funoi-al feast. 
 
 I burn, I burn already, ere my doom, 
 
 And yet I revel in my prison gloom ; 
 
 I loathe the light that shines like judgment flaniej
 
 2^0 THE I'OOL OF FORTUNE. 
 
 And g'lory iu the greatness of my shame ; 
 
 I hate the good, that merely mocks my call 
 
 And comes at times to my repentant call. 
 
 Like the departed, in a burial shrond. 
 
 And passes like the shadow of a cloud. 
 
 Necessity is now my spirit's choice. 
 
 The changeless law of its vmbridled voice. 
 
 I err no longer sadly since I must. 
 
 For in the evil only is my trust. 
 
 And now my soul has nothing more to lose, 
 
 I sin and sin and sin— because I choose. 
 
 THE FOOL OF FORTUNE. 
 
 The iron Spartans in the grand old Past, 
 Men of heroic mind, whose aims were vast 
 And acts yet greater, deemed dishonour worse 
 Than any kind of pain or fleshly curse 
 Or death itself, and never from the fight _ 
 Returned imless as conquerors in their might. 
 Eesolved that Victory, which at times withdrew. 
 Should lead them still to battle as she flew 
 Fair in their van, lo ! on the temple's brow 
 They set her image, strong with many a vow. 
 And bound its beauty in a heavy chain. 
 But all their clumsy shackles were in vain. 
 They bound not her but the poor outward form. 
 And in the last dread shaking of the storm. 
 That broke for ever Sparta's iron day. 
 She spread her splendid wings and flew away. 
 
 The light Athenians, nursed in gentle codes. 
 
 And softened by the sway of sweeter modes. 
 
 No loss decreed that victory should not fly 
 
 From their bright heavens, and the far brighter sky 
 
 Of glorioiis art that had not yet turned sere. 
 
 And culture with its kindly atmosphere. 
 
 And their keen wit, long bent on curious lore, 
 
 Hungering for somewhat new or somewhat more 
 
 Than they' possessed, and versed in subtle things. 
 
 Set lip her statue too- but without wings : 
 
 As if, when Fortune's favouring smile were gone. 
 
 Her fickle presence could not flit with none. 
 
 And so, when Athens suffered shame and loss. 
 
 Men looked in vain to Nike Apteros, 
 
 And filled her fanes ; wave only followed wave. 
 
 Till what had been been her glory was her grave. 
 
 Thus I— who in my youth's proud joyous prime. 
 Seemed to have conquered death itself and Time,
 
 THE POOL OF FORTUNE. 271 
 
 With my strong will, that owned no earthly bound 
 
 And some new help in each new hindrance found. 
 
 That still delighted storm-clouds to disperse. 
 
 Itself the centre of the universe. 
 
 King in the world of thought, and even when tired 
 
 Yet all insatiate then ; that yet aspired 
 
 To inconjecturable heights of hope. 
 
 And those great steps that ever upward slope 
 
 To light through darkness— I who boldly faced 
 
 Most fearful odds, and hell itself embraced 
 
 As though my bride, who laughed at dangers' frown 
 
 In gay assurance, and who trampled down 
 
 Dread difficv^lties like tlie ocean swell, 
 
 And never knew what was impossible — 
 
 Who with firm footstep lightly crost 
 
 Fate's fiery gulf — who played and never lost 
 
 At every game of Fortune— I at length. 
 
 One day awoke to find my conquering strength 
 
 Gone like a dream of glory, gone for aye. 
 
 Like the sweet fruit yoii suck and throw away. 
 
 Gone with my hope and that exiilting might 
 
 Which from defeat wrung victory as right. 
 
 Which never doubted, never faltered still, 
 
 Secixre in its grand capital of will 
 
 And jubilant young pride — yea, all was gone 
 
 That made earth lovely ; and yet I lived'on. 
 
 Nay, I lived not, for I was wholly dead. 
 
 With hope's broad blossoms that so brightly spread 
 
 Their colours to the sun, and but my frame 
 
 Dragged out in dreary emptiness and shame 
 
 A vegetable being, like the ruck 
 
 Who eat and drink and curse their barren luck ; 
 
 While from some dim and distant world of shade, 
 
 I saw my dreams of greatness flit and fade ; 
 
 Snatched from the joy and fever of the strife. 
 
 To the cold funeral of my own fair life. 
 
 Smooth victory that smiled on me so long. 
 
 And made my pulses dance a measure strong 
 
 To the heart's music, now had tiu-ned and flown, 
 
 Ere I could woo her to abide my own — 
 
 Ere 1 could forge one fetter that might stay 
 
 The fickle impulse of her wanton way 
 
 And faithless flight — ere I could clip a wing. 
 
 Or to some fleeting straw of promiee cling. 
 
 All, all was lost with fortune .- I had failed. 
 
 In the old arms that once so well availed, 
 
 The dauntless courage, and the faith intent 
 
 That had created sea and continent. 
 
 If there were none to conquer — that had called 
 
 New worlds to light to live and be enthralled. 
 
 If the old perished. Yea, it was too late.
 
 272 PK^TEEHXJMANUS. 
 
 To pluck the sting of shame from crael fate. 
 
 Or make misfortune now unmeasured scorn. 
 
 Though big with pain a tiling that might be borne, 
 
 And overcome witli daily wear and wont. 
 
 By resolution's adamantine front 
 
 Which wrath and hate and every ill can tame. 
 
 And turns to crowns of glory crowns of shame. 
 
 Ah, could I, like the good old Hebrew king. 
 
 The stream of life roll backward to its spring 
 
 And have again my youth, then woiild I make 
 
 A prison-house that victory could not break. 
 
 And keep her captive behind golden bars. 
 
 Beneath th(^ heaven of hope's luisetting stars. 
 
 But Fortune, with her painted harlot face. 
 
 With all her harlot tricks and bought embrace. 
 
 Has left me in the shadow of sharp need. 
 
 Sore bruised and broken, and with wounds that bleed 
 
 At many a gaping moiith, even unto death 
 
 That dallies grimly with my lingering breath. 
 
 Across the fiery su.rface of my mind 
 
 Flit fearful shapes I cannot loose or bind. 
 
 With veiled averted eyes, and hands that wave 
 
 My tottering footsteps to a shameful grave : 
 
 Shapes bodied outward by the sickly brain, 
 
 That haiint with terror though they are but vain. 
 
 And on my shoulders fall the fiery surge 
 
 Of woe that lashes 2ne as with a scoiu-ge. 
 
 That still rolls on where mortal hath not trod. 
 
 And beats for ever at the feet of God. 
 
 PR.ETERHUMANUS. 
 
 I am not wiser better than my kind. 
 
 And all the interests that my fellows bind 
 
 Are likewise bonds to me, though xiot the same 
 
 In dignity and nature, as in name. 
 
 For among men a proper place I fill, 
 
 To my own jsrivate work apply the skill 
 
 I have acquired, bid with them on the mart. 
 
 And play no idle or ignoble part 
 
 In the affairs of state, join in the strife 
 
 For mere existence that is miscalled life. 
 
 Contend against them in the headlong race 
 
 For vanities of riches, power and place. 
 
 Like them I find a sort of cold i-elief. 
 
 In empty fanes they build to Disbelief, 
 
 By acts of worship and the ])ious props 
 
 Of forms and rites, while giving conscience sops 
 
 With penitential prayer. And in the shade,
 
 I'KiETERHtrMANUS. 2*73 
 
 I SCO the dark and devious tricks of ti-ade. 
 
 By which men prosper. At worua-caten ports. 
 
 Where prostitution spawned by commerce sports 
 
 Its venal hour of misbegotten joy, 
 
 T know how soon the sins of sweetness cloy, 
 
 1 low soon the sense is glutted. Every ill 
 
 And every good have passed before my will. 
 
 Been tried and tested to the very lees. 
 
 And paid for in the costliest, bitterest fees, 
 
 Ev(?n the last farthing, and alike have failed 
 
 To hold me captive. Nor has ought availed. 
 
 That I should give myself entirely up 
 
 To labour's mill or pleasure's poppied cup. 
 
 For ever. And when I most wildly err'd, 
 
 I somehow felt I was not of the herd. 
 
 Though madly with the multitude I went, 
 
 Away from honour and its fair intent. 
 
 I still was different from the vulgar throng, 
 
 Not worse nor better ; and I heard a song, 
 
 They did not hear, and saw unwonted sights 
 
 They could not see ; and in the solemn nights, 
 
 Strange feelings touched me that they never felt. 
 
 And in another world my spirit dwelt ; 
 
 Even when I most was with my fellow men. 
 
 And seemed most bounded by the connnon ken. 
 
 I am a stranger and a pilgrim here. 
 
 An exile banislied from my projier sphere 
 
 Into an alien world, by some sad play 
 
 Of natixre, that is not imused to stray 
 
 At seasons, falling into wanton freaks. 
 
 While her wild fancy all its folly wreaks 
 
 On new creations — poor mismated things. 
 
 Lone in the densest crowd that to them clings. 
 
 Yea, while companions make me their's by day. 
 
 My heart is fondly roaming far away, 
 
 I know not where, in wondi'oua realms of thought. 
 
 In which no mind biit this an embrace sought 
 
 And found. Not that I ever simply see 
 
 The same old system different in degree. 
 
 But a new kind — a set of other joys. 
 
 And other hope that other powers employs. 
 
 While other fears and sins and sorrows shake 
 
 The bases of my being, and awake 
 
 Strange sentiments in me and stir the sold. 
 
 But, as for men, we have no kindred goal 
 
 Of inner object, interest, or aim ; 
 
 No points of union or communion claim 
 
 Our luidivided homage. When they droop. 
 
 No fellow-feeling bids me also stooj). 
 
 To seek repose with them ; and if I rest. 
 
 Then they already have beyond me prest.
 
 274< PRiETEEMUMANUS. 
 
 And left me standing still. We have no mood 
 
 Of common measure, no true brotherhood. 
 
 I am a different creature, though the same 
 
 To all api^earance, yet of other frame. 
 
 Cast in the fashion of a foreign mould. 
 
 And when constrained by outward cares to hold 
 
 Sweet converse with my heart, I speak a tongue 
 
 Not even by fabling poets ever sung. 
 
 Nor known to human hearing, yet to mine , 
 
 Most sweet, familiar and a truth divine. 
 
 And spiritual food. In lonely nooks, 
 
 I read higli teachings not in holy books ; 
 
 And in the shadow <,)f i-ecesses shy. 
 
 Still do I trace some subtle memory 
 
 Not understood by mortals ; and I find 
 
 Deep sympathies and social bonds, that l)ind 
 
 My soul to nature in a friendship fair, 
 
 Made fast by links of heavenly light and air. 
 
 And elemental forces strong as fate. 
 
 That shut and open life's mysterious gate. 
 
 I claim no sage's insight, nor the gift 
 
 Of powers creative, that the world uplift 
 
 Aliove the dixll low level of its stage. 
 
 The vulgar platform of the vidgar age. 
 
 And send it rolling from the dirty ruts 
 
 Of common trade that man with meanness gluts. 
 
 To nobler ends, and makes the mortal kno^v 
 
 That to immortal greatness it may grow. 
 
 No bard, self -blinded, proiie to dream and err 
 
 With grand delusions, no philosopher 
 
 Or architect of thoughts that march through Time, 
 
 To the deep music of their own sweet chime. 
 
 And fringe our path with glorious floM'^ers of truth. 
 
 That give the earth again its golden youtli. 
 
 And make sublime the simplest acts of man. 
 
 With the ])road sweep of their majestic plan. 
 
 Nay, I am none of these — a humble sold, 
 
 To whom this life can offer not a goal, 
 
 Wlio knows that he is severed from his mates 
 
 By different being and by different states 
 
 Of feeling, who is centuries in front, 
 
 Of the dim period's paltry use and wont. 
 
 Or else behind — a whole wide world removed. 
 
 From these cold thoughts his faith has not approved- 
 
 A thousand thousand windy leagues of space. 
 
 From all the fleeting hopes that men embrace. 
 
 Divided — who in faint unheeded signs 
 
 Finds daily food, and reads between the lines 
 
 Of human books, and gathers goodly sheaves. 
 
 From unknown harvests, and beneath the leaves 
 
 Of outward forms sees fruit no mortals mark,
 
 TIDE AND TIME. 275 
 
 Aiid frioiidly light even in the deej)est dai'k— 
 
 Who dilTering thns from men this comfort draws. 
 
 He will be also judged by different laws. 
 
 Lo, I appeal from eaith and earth's blind courts. 
 
 Where i)edant lore with love and justice sports. 
 
 And loud coarse cimning wrangles down the right. 
 
 To that tribunal throned in perfect light. 
 
 Where sits the judge of judges, who from far, 
 
 At His serene and universal bar. 
 
 Weighs men and things in soales that cannot swerve. 
 
 And metes to all the measure they deserve. 
 
 Yea, I appeal to Truth from folly's rod — 
 
 Eternity from time, from man to God. 
 
 TIDE AND TIME. 
 
 Time onward travels pitilessly fast. 
 
 And leaves me nothing but a barren Past 
 
 With expectations bitter. I would stay. 
 
 To muse awhile, at least one little day, 
 
 On life and death and what we mis-call fate. 
 
 And all the mysteries deep of man's estate. 
 
 I hate this forAvard movement, and the flight 
 
 Of day so quickly followed by the night. 
 
 This ceaseless rush of things. But what I crave, 
 
 Is just to let the frantic taimult rave. 
 
 To step aside from these wild hopes and fears. 
 
 And fall asleep for full a thousand years 
 
 Of rest unruffled — or to watch awake 
 
 The fortunes of the woi-ld I thus forsake, 
 
 And yet retain my youth, abiding still. 
 
 Beyond the noisy eager throng and thrill 
 
 Of action and its passionate intents. 
 
 And all the foaming eddies of events. 
 
 As one unmoved by even its wildest act. 
 
 Stands on the brink of some fierce cataract 
 
 And cahnly gazes, as its fury flings 
 
 Into the vortqx wrecks of men and things —   
 
 Himself secm-e and fearless — while the cry 
 
 Goes up to God, and smites the laughing sky. 
 
 So too woiild I, while earthly discords rage. 
 
 Stand by the fiery current of the ago 
 
 A mere spectator, and a season wait 
 
 Uninfluenced but observant, at the gate 
 
 Of its grand issues— though untouched, unbent, 
 
 Not all incurious nor indifferent — 
 
 With philosophic calm, that only heeds 
 
 The reign of law and love with fruitfid seeds. 
 
 Beneath eonfusigns and the maddest roar.
 
 276 TltoE AND TIME. 
 
 And from their writliings orathers restful lore. 
 
 For I am sick of tiirmoil, and the strife 
 
 Of hourly cares, and this grim mill-like life 
 
 That grinds ns into grace, and as by storms 
 
 Compels and tortures ns to fairer forms. 
 
 May I not wrest one moment from the din. 
 
 One moment rid me of the weight of sin. 
 
 The jar and struggle, and for pity pause. 
 
 When criished to earth liy blind and cruel laws ? 
 
 Am I the fool of earth's relentless dance, 
 
 The dupe and slave of wretched circumstance ? 
 
 Not my own lord with mj own meed of joy. 
 
 But sonie deaf tyrant's hopeless, helpless toy i^ 
 
 Oh, let me stay and rest my weary head. 
 
 Emancipated from tlie troubled tread 
 
 Of fevered myriads eveis on the march. 
 
 Towards the fair and fleeting rainbow arch 
 
 Of some false promise — wealth or love or fame. 
 
 And mocking hopes that only lead to shame. 
 
 I spurn ambition as I would the dust. 
 
 No gold I need nor in affection trust ; 
 
 And all the tinsel mummeries of rank, 
 
 To me are but a stale and stupid blank. 
 
 Made to be blotted by the same sad stains 
 
 Of vice and folly, or accursed gains. 
 
 What are these gauds and bribes of baited chance. 
 
 To one who has outlived his youth's romance. 
 
 Who in his day has tasted and has tried 
 
 The sweetest sins that ever lived and lied 
 
 And ruined, who, though rocked on pleasvxre's wave, 
 
 Has foinid the whole as bitter as the grave ? 
 
 I want no phantom honours, nor would ask 
 
 For flattery, with its perjured painted mask. 
 
 Nor one small leaf of these poor fading bays. 
 
 To which men crawl by dark and dirty ways. 
 
 I l>eg but rest a moment from the rush 
 
 And frenzy of the rude earth's iron criish — 
 
 A breathing space in which to lie and dream. 
 
 Disturbed not by the world's broad glaring l^eani 
 
 And outward shocks, of shy and happy shades 
 
 In Idooming fields with tender dewy Idades, 
 
 WMiere it is always evening. I would creei) 
 
 AVithin myself to some soft world of sleep. 
 
 The sacred hidden cloisters of the soul, 
 
 Far from the conflicts that around us roll. 
 
 To shrines in which the purest fancies meet. 
 
 As one who, passing from the staring street. 
 
 Enters a solemn church, whence every sin 
 
 Is fast shut out with every good shut in. 
 
 For evermore, by high and holy walls, 
 
 ]Beyoocl the clamour of these vulgar calls.
 
 ON A RAILWAY PLATFORM. 277 
 
 Nay, I would hie not all from gfreed and pelf. 
 
 But from the hateful shadow of myself. 
 
 That haunts and dogs my footsteps as I go. 
 
 And broods within, a consciousness of woe. 
 
 An \inlaid ghost, a sense of something dread. 
 
 Like wings of darkness round my being spread, 
 
 Tf to some shelter I covxld only fly. 
 
 And let the damned world of pain pass by. 
 
 Or I might rid me of this pressing ill. 
 
 Had I the power one moment to stand still. 
 
 But ah ! I cannot from the seething tide, 
 
 Just for the little resjjite steji aside. 
 
 To wait and watch these tossings to their close. 
 
 And snatch a gentle season of repose ; 
 
 While the great w^heels go working out their way, 
 
 And moulding brittle forms from brittle clay. 
 
 I am a part and parcel of the whole. 
 
 Not a self-centred individual soul, 
 
 A separate i^lan — to future links and past, 
 
 A thoiisand. interlacements bind me fast. 
 
 The slave of systems and the sum of thinga. 
 
 To which against its will the spirit clings 
 
 Eebellioiis. Yea, I am a wretched sti'aAv, 
 
 Whirled by the current of some mighty law 
 
 From darkness unto darkness, catching" still 
 
 At any hope that mocks my foolish will. 
 
 And dreaming I at every turn shall stay 
 
 Though as I dream I yet am swept away. 
 
 ON A BAILWAY PLATFORM, 
 
 I stood beside the iron road 
 
 which runs from north to south. 
 And watched the iron horses load 
 
 that feed with fiery mouth ; 
 That ever fretted to "be gone, 
 
 and spurned their iron reins ; 
 And when at length they thundered on, 
 
 tossed high their stormy manes. 
 
 I watched the people, as they pass'd 
 
 and hurried to and fro. 
 Till I appeared myself at last 
 
 part of the ebb and flow. 
 To enter into all their grief 
 
 and mingle with their minds. 
 Borne like a helpless autumn leaf 
 
 vipon the rushing winds.
 
 278 ON A RAILWAY PLATI-OBM. 
 
 Cast vip and down by furious fears, 
 
 and robed with radiant hopes, 
 Now sinking in abysmal years 
 
 and now on mountain slopes. 
 Elate with every gust of joys, 
 
 and whirled with every woe. 
 With empty thoughts of idle toys 
 
 and blasts that passions blow. 
 
 Till all the windows of all hearts 
 
 seemed opened to my gaze. 
 And the most hidden aims and arts 
 
 stood out from stormy haze. 
 In naked strength and startling lines, 
 
 as when the morning breaks. 
 And bursting through the shadow twines 
 
 around the sunlit peaks. 
 
 Till all the doors of that retreat 
 
 in which abides the soul. 
 Expanded in that secret seat 
 
 their very inmost whole. 
 And I moved with the mighty streams 
 
 of many-coloured life. 
 Lit here and there with blessed gleams 
 
 or evil clouds at strife. 
 
 And in the thickest of the crowd 
 
 I saw unearthly shapes. 
 Some fair us angels brightly-browed 
 
 and some as hideous apes ; 
 Both leading and misleading all, 
 
 for welfare or for woe ; 
 And those that heai'kened to their call, 
 
 were doomed like them to grow. 
 
 Till they became celestial forms 
 
 or into devils turned. 
 Who soared above the stress of storms 
 
 or with hell-torments bvirned. 
 While luider some who blindly raved 
 
 would dread al^j^sses yawn ; 
 And gracious palms for others waved 
 
 with crowns of golden dawn. 
 
 And all about the restless throng, 
 
 lo ! serpents as of flame. 
 In silence crawled, and most among 
 
 those of the fairest fi-ame ; 
 For still through all the stormy haze 
 
 that blurred the view in part, 
 I saw the fairest, with amaze, 
 
 had yet the foulest heart.
 
 OM A. RAILWAY PLATFORM. 279 
 
 I marked a child with cherub eye, 
 
 and brow as briji-ht as morn. 
 Tempted to listen to a lie 
 
 and darkly onward borne. 
 And hurried still from stage to stage, 
 
 till conscience none was left, 
 Down to the black and blotted page 
 
 of shameless hardened theft. 
 
 Though a fair white-robed being strove 
 
 to guide the guilty feet. 
 That still i^referred astray to rove 
 
 on pathways all unmeet ; 
 And tried ti) hold the eri'ing hands 
 
 that hungered still for wrongs. 
 And murmured as from distant lands 
 
 forgotten cradle songs. 
 
 T marked a girl with maiden look 
 
 of modesty and joy. 
 Who pure and peaceful ways forsook, 
 
 to be a villain's toy ; 
 Lured by the sin that whispering spoke 
 
 what loud it dared not say. 
 Until the pretty plaything broke 
 
 and then was thrown away. 
 
 But yet a guardian angel stood 
 
 by the unshielded side 
 Of sweet and tender maidenhood 
 
 in all its gentle pride ; 
 With unslied tears that fain would start 
 
 and words that breathed of lio^De, 
 And knocked for entrance at the heart 
 
 tliat would not to him ope. 
 
 I marked a man of splendid mould, 
 
 who once had not a stain. 
 Driven by the maddening loss of gold 
 
 to sell his soul for gain ; 
 To barter freedom even and fame, 
 
 his honour and his wife. 
 And then with the last shift of sliame 
 
 to take his blasted life. 
 
 While had he only given an ear 
 
 to duty's kindly voice. 
 And conquered his unworthy fear 
 
 by a majestic choice, 
 He would have heard the rustling robes 
 
 of angels from the skies. 
 And glimpses seen ot radiant globes 
 
 of;pure immortal eyes.
 
 280 ON A UAILWAY PLATFORM. 
 
 I marked a youth with passion fed 
 
 and fond indulgence fired. 
 By dark and devious footsteps led, 
 
 through hyeways crookt and mired ; 
 Until he reached that dreadful day 
 
 when into crime he fell. 
 And crushed in awful anguish lay 
 
 within the murderer's cell. 
 
 Yet even to the last dread scene, 
 
 there wrestled with his will, 
 A sjiirit form that would have lieen 
 
 his friend and heli^er still ; 
 That spoke in conscience with a cry 
 
 which rang through many a dream, 
 And tolled with speechless agony 
 
 the solemn hour supreme. 
 
 And still with even these blessed aids 
 
 sent down from God to men. 
 The sinner chose the cursed shades 
 
 and tilings of guilty ken ; 
 And the proud heart to all the hate=;, 
 
 wlien pity could not move. 
 Threw open wide the holted gates 
 
 that yielded not to love. 
 
 While glorious woman and great man, 
 
 that should have lived and left 
 The lives of many a lordly plan 
 
 in the grand world's grand weft, 
 Yet hearkened to those hellish apes 
 
 that carried nought but night. 
 And saw in them more lovely shapes 
 
 than in the forms of light. 
 
 They felt no horror at their touch, 
 
 when serpents framed like fire. 
 Said if they only ventured niui;h 
 
 to win their soul's desire, 
 The doors of Eden woidd expand, 
 
 behind those earthly clods. 
 Its treasures briglit at their command, 
 
 and they should be as gods. 
 
 And up and down the masses swept, 
 
 like waters in the wind. 
 While all about their victims crept, 
 
 or followed fast behind. 
 Those phantom forms of ghastly powers, 
 
 in silence and in gloom. 
 To bind them in their weaker hours 
 
 with chaitos of death and doom.
 
 THE SOLDIER R OATH. 281 
 
 But then the veil thcat keeps apart 
 
 the spirit from the sense. 
 Descended on each tronliled heart 
 
 with the okl dazzling- fence ; 
 The portals and the windows closed, 
 
 that let my glances in. 
 And the smooth smilino' fronts exposed 
 
 no semblance of the sin. 
 
 I only saw a g'litterino- crowd 
 
 that eddied to and fro 
 I only heard the laughter IoikI 
 
 that killed the sig-h of woe ; 
 And knowing what lurked there to damn, 
 
 and held with iron tie, 
 I said the world was biit a sham 
 
 and life was all a lie. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S OATH. 
 
 Come, lay a soldier's hand in mine. 
 
 Old friend and true. 
 And swear, while suns arise and shine. 
 
 And skies are blue — 
 Swear, thou wilt ever faithful pi-ove, ' 
 
 Whate'er betide, 
 To try the bases of our love. 
 
 That now abide 
 As steadfast as the very stars^ 
 
 Unmoved by chance. 
 Which nightly veil the glorious scars 
 
 Of wounded France. 
 Our's has no comuion friendship been. 
 
 And we have fought 
 Shoulder to shoulder,'and have seen 
 
 Great records wrought 
 Beneath our eyes, and helped to make 
 
 With steel and shot. 
 The history that no storm can sliake. 
 
 No envy blot. 
 Aye, comrade, in the bitter breach. 
 
 Where hundreds fell. 
 If they might but the glory reach 
 
 They loved so well. 
 We smirched with battle smoke, in will 
 
 Of fearless pride. 
 Welcomed the fiercest odds, and still 
 
 Stood side by side.
 
 282 THK SOLDIER S OATH. 
 
 Our friendship from the winter morn 
 
 Its freshness fed. 
 And seas that beat on lands forlorn 
 
 Their wildness shed 
 On that frank fellowship in arms^ 
 
 Baptized with blood, 
 ■Which found the wiles of women's charms. 
 
 Than fire and flood 
 More cruel, yet displayed to all. 
 
 Unstained by lust 
 Of place and power, and mammon's call, 
 
 Triumphant trust. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Come, lay a soldier's hand in mine. 
 
 Old friend and true. 
 And swear, while suns arise and shine, 
 
 And skies are blue — 
 While we such gallant memories keej) 
 
 Of sword and lance. 
 And treason crushed by vengeance deep, 
 
 AVhile France is France — 
 Swear, when the last great muster roll 
 
 Heaven's Captain calls. 
 On whichsoever soldier soul 
 
 The summons falls — 
 Swear that the other will the same 
 
 Clear answer give. 
 And not. for a divided fame. 
 
 His friend outlive. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 He spoke, and in his iron grip 
 
 A hand was laid. 
 And an iinfaltering grizzled lip 
 
 The promise made —   
 By stern rememlirance of old frays. 
 
 And dangers faced 
 Together, and of glorioiis days 
 
 No flight disgraced. 
 The summer heard, how that dread plea 
 
 ■\Vas proiidly borne; 
 And laughed, when before eartli and sea. 
 
 The oath was sworn. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Time pass'd, and the (^reat Captain read 
 
 The muster roll. 
 And from the ranks stept with firm tread 
 
 One soldier soul. 
 Upon the corpse the other fell. 
 
 And kissed his brow ; 
 The pistol shot, that rang his knell, 
 
 Fulfilled the vow.
 
 THK CURSE OF CADWALLADER. 283 
 
 Thus the last grand promotion came. 
 
 For comrades true ; 
 Who lived for Franco, and left one name. 
 When skies were blue. 
 
 CROWNS OF SORROW. 
 
 To sleep and dream of love. 
 And miss it on the morrow. 
 
 To find none here and none above — 
 This is a crown of sorrow. 
 
 To live and lack an aim. 
 And others' ends to borrow. 
 
 To die and leave no lingering name — 
 This is a crown of sorrow. 
 
 To want a settled hope. 
 
 And fear the coming morrow. 
 
 To have no fitting field and scops — 
 This is a crown of sorrow. 
 
 To forfeit honest fame. 
 
 And beggar's arts to borrow. 
 
 To lose the latest touch of sliame — 
 This is a crown of sorrow. 
 
 To be and not to live. 
 
 To waste the day and morrow. 
 To take from all and never give — 
 
 This is a crown of sorrow. 
 
 To break a trusting- heart. 
 
 To feign the love you borrow — 
 
 This is the deepest deadliest smart, 
 The crown of crowns of sorrow ! 
 
 THE CURSE OP CADWALLADER 
 
 Cadwallader sat in his father's hall, 
 
 Frect on his father's throne ; 
 And he heard the sound of the waterfall. 
 
 As it fell down its stairs of stone. 
 And he leard the sound of the singing birds. 
 
 As they sang in their blooming bowers ; 
 And they spoke to him in wondrous words. 
 
 From the beaiiteous book of, flowers.
 
 2§4 THE CURSE OF CADWALLADEE. 
 
 Cadwallader knew all creatiires' speech. 
 
 And they knew he loved them well ; 
 For his power was mighty over each. 
 
 And they owned his magic spell, 
 But the voices which he heard that day. 
 
 Awoke feelings kin to tears ; 
 For they told of the glories past away. 
 
 And the new degenerate years. 
 
 Oadw;*llader had the mystic lore. 
 
 Which the spirits ever binds ; 
 And out of his awful treasiire-store. 
 
 He could bend the proudest minds. 
 But there vv'as a force he might not liend. 
 
 By his strongest wizard rhyme, 
 Which moved to its lofty measured end. 
 
 And that was the march of Time. 
 
 Cadwallader mused on his father's fame. 
 Of the battles lost and won ; 
 
 And there broke o'er his brow a flush of shame. 
 When he thought of his only son. 
 
 For he knew that upon the latest field. 
 In which his warriors fought. 
 
 He had left behind hi.^ father's shield- 
 There was madness in the thought. 
 
 Cadwallader called for his ancient bard. 
 
 Who had numbered a hundred years. 
 With a foot yet as active as the pard. 
 
 And an arm like iron spears. • 
 While he bade him bring the harp he loved. 
 
 Ere he put his armour on, 
 As his hand and dagger lightly played, 
 
 In a solemn unison. 
 
 Cadwallader said to the hoary sire, 
 
 " There hath grievous shame been wrought. 
 And it burns within my bones like fire, — 
 
 There is madness in the thought. 
 For mine only son hath craven been. 
 
 And a dastard action done ; 
 So open the gates of the future scene, 
 
 And curse, and ciu-se my son." 
 
 Cadwallader spoke through his bearded lips. 
 
 And his face grew dark with scorn. 
 And his words they fell like iron whips. 
 
 On the son that he wished unborn : — 
 " O curse him in bed, and curse him at board. 
 
 In the storehouse and the field ; 
 And eiu-se tlie hand with the coward sword. 
 
 That hath lost his father's shield "
 
 THE CURSE or CADWALLAUEK. 285 
 
 Cadwallader shook his conquering spoar. 
 
 That made shadows long and dark ; 
 While the ancient bard drew yet more near. 
 
 And his fingers felt the harp : — 
 "0 ciirse him in all liis going out, 
 
 And in all his coming in : 
 Let him shudder at the battle shout. 
 
 Let him strive biit never win ! " 
 
 Cadwallader rose from his father's seat. 
 
 And he stejit where his father stood. 
 And the stamping of his fiery feet. 
 
 Sent its eclioes throiTgh field aiid wood :— 
 " cvirse him in all his rising up, 
 • And in all his lying down ; 
 Put the poison in his festive cup. 
 
 And weave of thorns his crown ! " 
 
 Cadwallader paused for breath, to hear 
 
 Just a note of the Master's art ; 
 And his hand grew closer to the spear, 
 
 Tliere was murder in his heart : — 
 " O curse the son who lay on my knee 
 
 Whom a royal breast has nursed ; 
 For he dared without his shield to flee ; 
 
 He is cursed and he shall be cursed." 
 
 Cadwallader thought of the youthful face. 
 
 That was wont on him to shine. 
 That a mirror seemed of kingly grace. 
 
 In its every look and liiie ; 
 And a blessing wrestled in his soul, 
 
 With the thoughts like daggers sharp ; 
 While afar he heard the thunder roll, 
 
 And a wail broke from his harp. 
 
 Cadwallader ceased, for he coidd nut Ijcar 
 
 The stress of that feeling strange ; 
 And a rival passion arose, to tear 
 
 The heart that it might not change. 
 And a cloud came over the iron bi-ow. 
 
 As he thought of his bridal bed ; 
 And tlic memory of an early vow, 
 
 Brouglit a tear that abode imshed. 
 
 Then the solemn harp of the hoary sire. 
 
 Awoke on that stormy stream ; 
 Awoke from its sleep at the touch of fire, 
 
 Like a soul from si troubled dream. 
 And its utterance fii-st was soft and slow, 
 
 Nor a swve expression found. 
 And it gave in murmvirs sad and low. 
 
 An itncertain solemn sound.
 
 286 THE CUKSE OF CADWALLADEK. 
 
 And it told in fitful stammering toneSj 
 
 Cadwallader's gloriovis jarinie ; 
 While the waterfall stejjpiug down its stones. 
 
 Broke in with a monrnfnl chime. 
 Yet the strain was weak and the meaning dark, 
 
 As if the old bard delayed. 
 Inspired by a far off voice to hark. 
 
 Which was first on his heart-strings ^jlayed. 
 
 But then, as the tempest grew more high. 
 
 And called with a clearer strain. 
 The harji burst forth in a wailing cry. 
 
 With a flood of pent-up pain. 
 While the harper's fingers glanced like flame. 
 
 Up and down the stormy strings : 
 Like the lightning in its cloudy frame. 
 
 While the thunder's trumpet rings. 
 
 And at last it broke with a human voice. 
 
 That spoke from a funeral pall. 
 As a soul that has 'made its'Jsolemn choice. 
 
 And upon it staked its all. 
 But it left the present at one leap. 
 
 Wherein armed foemen trod. 
 And embraced the fxituro in its sweep. 
 
 Like a seer who talks with God. 
 
 And it said, Init said with many a sob. 
 
 That the reign of war would cease, 
 That the breasts of men would only throl). 
 
 In the gentle strife of peace. 
 And it said, but said with many a sigli. 
 
 That the law of force v/as gone ; 
 And the law of love, now drawing nigh, 
 
 Woidd lead generations on. 
 
 And the harpstrings sent a deadly thrill. 
 
 Through the bosom of the king ; 
 For the player played against his will. 
 
 And he sang what he would not sing. 
 For he struggled with the cruel fate. 
 
 That had bound him in its stress ; 
 And his sj^irit was full of bitter hate. 
 
 But his voice constrained to bless. 
 
 And the sweat-drops gathered on his brov/. 
 
 As he told with livid looks. 
 How the sword woiild be fashioned for the plough. 
 
 And the spear for priining-hooks. 
 And an earthquake shook his mighty frame. 
 
 Which eclipse had given its gloom. 
 As he prophesied perforce his shame. 
 
 Like a mau who fights with doom.
 
 THE CTTESE OF CADWALLADEK. 287 
 
 But withal the harper liarpod and strove. 
 
 Though he knew the battle lost ; 
 For a stronger power the fingers drove^ 
 
 Than his spirit torn and tost. 
 And a benediction from him fell. 
 
 In a broken angry flood. 
 As he spoke of the shepherd's pipe and bell. 
 
 That would fill the old fields of blood. 
 
 And the white foam mantled on his lips, 
 
 As he saw in a vision far, 
 The trading tracks of the shining ships. 
 
 That displaced the keels of war. 
 While the people wrangled on the mart, 
 
 And contended but in word. 
 Who had once played well the soldier's part, 
 
 With the judgment of the sword. 
 
 And there, as the hoary sire sang on. 
 
 The death of the days of old. 
 The lightning around his for(>head shone, 
 
 Aiid the thunder wildly rolled. 
 And tlie monarch like an asx^eu shook. 
 
 While his hand forgot its clasp. 
 As he lieard of the fate he could not bx-ook, 
 
 And the spoar drop»ped from his gras}). 
 
 And behold I in an agony of wrath, 
 
 The bard crashed on the strings ; 
 And they broke, as an eagle in its path. 
 
 When it falls with broken wings. 
 He had sung the dirge of his glorious land. 
 
 And its gallant deeds were o'er ; 
 Till the solenm harp slipp'd from his liand, 
 
 And the harper harped no more. 
 
 (Jadwallader fell upon his face, 
 
 Witli a death note in his ear ; 
 ^Vhile his life seemed darkened with disgrace, 
 
 And the future big with fear. 
 And one who had braved a hundi'ed figlits. 
 
 Who was scarred with a hundred wounds. 
 Yet could not confront those peaceful sights. 
 
 Nor encliu'e those peaceful soiinds. 
 
 And the monarch lay just where he fell. 
 
 He loved biit the warrior's art. 
 And the waterfall it sang his knell, 
 
 For the knife was at his heart. 
 And his spear that had carried woo and gloom 
 
 As he fell was snapt in twain ; 
 But little he recked of his sceptre's doom. 
 
 For he never rose again.
 
 288 ON THE MAKKET. 
 
 Cadwallader's son reigned in his stead. 
 
 And the gentler years went on. 
 And they^bnried his weapons witli the dead, 
 
 For the reign of war was gone. 
 And the arts of husbandry he wrought, 
 
 "While tlie weary land had rest ; 
 For he tilled the fields where his father fought. 
 
 And the people called him Blest. 
 
 ►SWEET IMPERFECTION. 
 
 •'SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS." 
 
 Eosa is bright as summer's skies. 
 Adorned with every meetness ; 
 
 And who will gentle V^iolet prize, 
 Rich with biit incompleteness ? 
 
 Eosa is without flaw, I know. 
 
 She has all woman's graces ; 
 As fair and faultless as the snow. 
 
 As cold in her embraces. 
 
 But though poor Violet's charms be small, 
 Xor win the world's detection ; 
 
 Yet give me Violet still, with all 
 Her precious imperfection. 
 
 Better a breast of human mould. 
 
 For every feeling fitted ; 
 Than beauty that has gifts untold. 
 
 With just the heart omitted. 
 
 If I admire the radiant bloom, 
 The form of perfect splendovu* ; 
 
 I love the sweetness, that no gloom 
 Can make less true and tender. 
 
 ON THE MAHKET. 
 
 To many lovers is she known. 
 
 And all who loved have sorrowed : 
 
 Her vices only are her own. 
 Her virtues borrowed. 
 
 To gold she turns a ready ear, 
 Ajid nothing else is treasured ; 
 
 Her best devotions are biit fear. 
 And faith is measured.
 
 ON' THE MARKET. 28D 
 
 lit} Certain, thdii',^! she change her uame, 
 
 Her nature cannot vary ; 
 In drawiutr-rooms she is the same. 
 
 As ill the dairy. 
 
 Her one endeavour is to trade 
 
 Upon her trustful neighbours ; 
 To thrive on, what she never made. 
 
 Her victims' labours. 
 
 Some call her Love, who little dreamed 
 
 What hate is lying under ; 
 Who boded not, whate'er she seemed; 
 
 Hf'r life is plimder. 
 
 Urave Doctors say hei" heart is si.und; 
 
 Divines declfire it rotten ; 
 A moment both are soothing found. 
 
 And then forgotten. 
 
 Golden opinions, loves, and joys. 
 
 She courts who never counted ; 
 When won, she drops as broken toysj 
 
 The steps she mounted. 
 
 Each neighbour is a hope of gain, 
 
 The sport of speculation ; 
 And, if it brings no private pain, 
 
 Of depredation. 
 
 Her dream of heaven is — shall 1 tell ? — 
 
 To drive a lord and carriage ; 
 And this is what she pictures h 11 — 
 
 A pauper's marriage. 
 
 Her sweetest words' are duly weighed. 
 
 Her very smile is venal ; 
 To '• blush unseen " or else unpaid, 
 
 Alone is penal. 
 
 She owns to scarce a genuine dread, 
 
 But meeting poor relations ; 
 Her tears are elegantly shed —   
 
 On expectations. 
 
 Of course her virtue, with its seed 
 
 In old and tried tradition, 
 (Like her complexion), is a creed 
 
 Beyond susi^icion. 
 
 Some subjects are, howe'er they grow. 
 
 Mere food for idle fussing; 
 But maiden fame is, most men know. 
 
 Not for discussing.
 
 290 A LIBEL. 
 
 AH tliat may swell lier social gains. 
 
 She can affect at pleasure ; 
 But when off duty she refrains^ 
 
 And lies at leisure. 
 
 While still on sale, she goes as far 
 
 As goods sent on apjiroval ; 
 If bought, her charnis conspicuous are. 
 
 By their — removal. 
 
 A LIBEL. 
 
 The world is ruled with little skill. 
 
 And man may rule for ever ; 
 Who loves sweet woman, if ho will. 
 
 But trvist her — never. 
 
 Put faith in foxes, April skies, 
 
 ()r madmen given to murther ; 
 And trust your wife — beneath your eyes. 
 
 But trust no further. 
 
 Religion, culture, every art, 
 
 From toilets unto dinners ; 
 Make woman look the saint's pure purl. 
 
 And live the sinner's. 
 
 Though man lias- turned old falsehoods out. 
 
 While new slip in securely ; 
 She has but learned to be devout, 
 
 And lie denuirely. 
 
 Then give to woman, if you wed, 
 
 Kiss, comijlimcnt, or science: 
 And let her share your l>oar(l and bed. 
 
 Not youi- reliance. 
 
 Hawk is the natural foe of doVe, 
 
 And woman of her inastei- ; 
 Her hate is better than hei' love. 
 
 Her praise disaster. 
 
 Whoever trusts lier soon repents. 
 
 But deadly is detection ; 
 When she destroys, she first .dements 
 
 With false affection. 
 
 Her kindni'ss is a common mart, 
 
 The richest buy her blessing ; 
 And when she strikes she statis the heart. 
 
 And kills — caressing.
 
 I'HE PARADISE 01' FOOLS. 291 
 
 Dowel" her witli every gift yoii thoose, 
 
 (iivo hei- your life and labour ; 
 She longs to settle in yovir shoes, 
 
 Some simpering neighbour. 
 
 Try what you will, clo all you can, 
 
 She only grows more shameless ; ^ 
 Your friend, the enemy of man. 
 
 Untamed and tameless. 
 
 Her only weapon is her tongue, 
 
 A match for court or college ; 
 Poetry oft its charms has sung, 
 
 But never knowledge. 
 
 Her lips liave been the Tempter's scat. 
 
 Since Eve entangled Adam ; 
 And when she tempts, she looks as sweet 
 
 As thou, fair madam. 
 
 THE TARADISE OF FOOLS. 
 
 I had a vision that was not a dream. 
 
 Of men turned to machines, and worked by steam. 
 
 In a strange coiintry governed but by fools. 
 
 Where each one follows his own nose and rriles 
 
 And leads the others, and is led in turn 
 
 (While all instruct, and nobody will learn) 
 
 Just by the nose ; and, in a House of Glass, 
 
 Incense is offered to a Crowned Ass, 
 
 Whose name is Humbug, and whose shoulders thin 
 
 Are covered with a mangey lion skin. 
 
 And praise ascends for ever, night and day. 
 
 From worshippers who only love to bray. 
 
 In old Egyi^tian style, when shrines were stables, 
 
 And men adored their beasts and vegetables. 
 
 Here men had grown to women and their ways, 
 
 And strutted out a litth^ life in stays 
 
 Or petticoats, and with loose scented hair 
 
 Piped of the secret Pleasui-es of Despair 
 
 That spring from Culture and Eefinement's march, 
 
 Made up of paint and agonies and starch. 
 
 With other raptures, and delicious woes 
 
 Nursed by high doctrines and — dyspeptic throes. 
 
 Here women, turned to men, affect their hats 
 
 And coats, and play with vices just like cats ; 
 
 And breaking free from the frail schoolroom bars. 
 
 Drink the best wine, and smoke tho best cigars. 
 
 Tell tlio best stories in the best-cut clothes^
 
 292 THE PAKADISE OF FOOLS, 
 
 Aud drop from ix>selnid lips the roimdest oaths. 
 
 Like honey deAT ; and please to gamble high. 
 
 And carry all before them Trith a sisjh 
 
 Or siigared side-g'lauce, when they choose t\> >-hfat 
 
 Some rustic lamb that love has taught to bleat. 
 
 Hei-e all ai-e -writers — though i-esults are nought. 
 
 And make by stealing what they lack in thoua'ht ,- 
 
 While fancies duty do for absent facts. 
 
 And vvoi-ds moi-e honour win than nobit- a<. i^.. 
 
 From prince to peasant, and from throne to gutter. 
 
 Pens worry paper, with a general sputter. 
 
 Natui-e will somotimos nod. and when she makes 
 
 Poor mortals, falls into absiu-d mistakes. 
 
 She gives a title old to rakes and sots. 
 
 And crowns the heads of p>eers with pewter pots, 
 
 Coins gentlemen of sharpers every hoiu-. 
 
 And deals to billi:u-d-markers place and power. 
 
 So noble patriots chov>se the jockey's bays. 
 
 To win a Derby — ^not a people's praise; 
 
 Lords are less jealous for their house than horse. 
 
 To clear their honour than to clear the course. 
 
 But still wliate'er they do, they do on springs. 
 
 Like puppets moved by hidden wires and strings. 
 
 Wound iij) to work, regai-dless of the sensi-. 
 
 Results the greatest at the least expense. 
 
 But all is wi-ought by form and measure still. 
 
 Whether the matter be a prayer or ptill, 
 
 A patent for new blacking' or a peer. 
 
 An act of Parliament or pint of beer. 
 
 Some square their conduct by the tradesman's tap>e, 
 
 And shut emotions in a kitchen shape. 
 
 Pocket their feeling-s. hedge their fancies in. 
 
 And mete each day so urany yaixls of sin. 
 
 They wear by regulation joys and loves. 
 
 And make them fit as neatly as their glo^^es. 
 
 And if in aught they differ, they agree 
 
 To settle all things by the Eule-of-Three. 
 
 They eat and drink, ai-e daily bought and sold 
 
 In marriage, as fi-om Noah's days of old ; 
 
 And some of them seem wise, and some seem stupid, 
 
 But stiU in varioiis masks all bow to Cupid. 
 
 Some pull the ehirrches down, to make (luite siue 
 The old foundations really are secure ; 
 As ckiltlren pivU up flowers, that make no show. 
 To see if they are rooted and will gi-ow; 
 Though, in the process, while they pry and gape. 
 The suffering life may happen to escape. 
 While others cook, and warm their hands or bed. 
 By biu'ning their own houses overheadj
 
 THK PAP.ADTSE OT FOOLS. 293 
 
 Just for the humour of the passing hour. 
 
 To roast a pijj or gain a moment's power. 
 
 And aro indignant when t]iey cool, and find 
 
 They have but aches and ashes left behind. 
 
 And every day the Master-Fool is seen. 
 
 Hacking some oak or institution gi'een, 
 
 "VMuich he deeiiLS rotten, or bestriding high 
 
 Some goofJIy bi-anch he does not love too nigh. 
 
 And sawing hard hetv.een the tree and him. 
 
 While both his blinded eyes with sawdust swim; 
 
 Till down he rudely topples, branch and all. 
 
 And rubs his eyes and wonders at his faU. 
 
 Civilians play at sailors in their seats. 
 
 And give mere figiu-es when they're asked for fleets. 
 
 The soldiers chantre their uniform and face, 
 
 And " military units " take their place. 
 
 The CommLssarutt is a farce, that acts 
 
 Only on paper, %^ ith rosewater facts. 
 
 And still collapses at the first small sti-ain, 
 
 Wnen warriors for Tobacco ask in vain 
 
 And get Eed Tajx^ : and horses have their hay. 
 
 Compressed indeed with refuse and decay. 
 
 But if high powers to jobbing are propitious. 
 
 What Expedition can be expeditious if 
 
 And hospitals, when comes the pinch of need, 
 
 Keceive the patients whom they cannot feed. 
 
 Abound in every kind of forms and rules. 
 
 Prescriptions, precedents, and food for fools. 
 
 And rubbish dear to the official mind. 
 
 Though instruments and drugs are left behind. 
 
 "VNTiile on his couch the gorged Inspector snores, 
 
 And dons lead ai-mies and are led by whores. 
 
 The heroes are condemned to starve and die. 
 
 Ere cursed customs loose their iron tie. 
 
 Or false contractors, thi-iving on the pain. 
 
 Forfeit one farthinjj of their iU-tjot ijain. 
 
 The Transport, when it's tried, can nothing do, 
 
 A perfect form and perfect failvu-e too. 
 
 That would work wonders — if it liad but lege. 
 
 But l>reaking \\-ith a stench like rotten eggs. 
 
 And though the Senate (or the Asses' Pen) 
 
 Is filled with prigs, whose ancestors were men. 
 
 And did men's deeds — and though the leaders draw. 
 
 In long descent, a legendary awe ,- 
 
 Yet the bright hon-mir they have never known. 
 
 If all the tnipty honours ai-e their own. 
 
 And of that glory they are not the heirs, 
 
 Xor is that grand ancestral mei-it theirs. 
 
 And ne'er will be; while, though the country grieves. 
 
 Their Cabtaet is but a den of thieves
 
 294 THE PARADISE OF FOOLS. 
 
 But ancient names do not avail to make, 
 
 A politician from a spoon or rake. 
 
 And statesmen shovild give laws of better stuff. 
 
 Than will suffice to line a lady's muff. 
 
 And be an evening-'s gossip at the clubs. 
 
 Or point the drunk.ird's jest in village pubs. 
 
 What can to curs, or sots or fools give graces ? 
 
 TSTot coats of arms, nor pedigrees, nor paces. 
 
 There was an Island, set in silver seas. 
 
 Whose every feature had some charm to please, 
 
 Where earth puts on her saddest sweetest smile — • 
 
 Now, so diseased, it is the Emerod Isle ! 
 
 Her patriots would tlieir all (that's blarney) give. 
 
 And for their coimtry die — not in it live. 
 
 Oh, here, too proud or indolent to dig. 
 
 The noble savage breeds the nobler pig ; 
 
 The pampered paiTpers, and the rebel brood. 
 
 Whose breath is treason, who make crime their food, 
 
 Here hug their cruel murders, dastard deeds. 
 
 Done in the darkness of their coward creeds. 
 
 And under cover of protecting priests. 
 
 Prove Darwin's dream that men have sprung from beasts. 
 
 They pray and slay, and from absolving hands. 
 
 Let loose like hounds of hell their damned bands. 
 
 They praise their God, and practise every lust. 
 
 Adore the light and wallow in the dust. 
 
 Rise from their knees at human laws to mock, 
 
 And change the pulpit to the felon's dock. 
 
 The jaded libeller drops his jDoisoned pen, 
 
 And turns from killing time to killing men. 
 
 And finds, when lifted high on fortune's flood, 
 
 Less joy in spilling ink than spilling blood. 
 
 With tire assassin's dagger grimly girt. 
 
 They cover blood with lies and lies with dirt, 
 
 Join force to craft, and stab in rev?rend stoles. 
 
 To save their pigstyes and to lose their soids. 
 
 And discontented still, whate'er they pluck 
 
 From folly's fears, these leeches ever suck 
 
 Their country's life away, and clamour yet 
 
 For every morsel that their greed can get. 
 
 Nor sated with the life, their hungry hands 
 
 Stretch farther even, and grasp the very lands : 
 
 And like the billows on a blasted shore, 
 
 Goes lip the cry that niurnrars still for more. 
 
 But while they drain the country with their bleeding. 
 
 No greater curse could seize them than — succeedimj . 
 
 For lo ! in this strange Paradise of Fools, 
 
 The workmcm are the victims of their tools. 
 
 Do what they scouted, mean not what they say.
 
 THE PAUA-mmr: of fooi-s. 29^ 
 
 And with the nation's fame and fortunes play. 
 
 Swear war is perfect peace, and Mack is white. 
 
 And ill is really good, and wrong is right. 
 
 An agent is no agent — should he fail. 
 
 And eouqjacts ai-e no compacts — made in jail. 
 
 And should their blood-built grandeur scale the sky. 
 
 Thanks to the helpful earth they then deny. 
 
 Who nectar quaif from the imperial fount. 
 
 And kick the ladder down whereby they mount. 
 
 Their glili opinions have a changeful hue, 
 
 And daily turn, at need, from buff to blue. 
 
 And back again — to please the fickle mob, 
 
 Or hide the shame of some more perjiired job. 
 
 ind what their doctrines are, no mortals know, 
 
 (Not they themselves) that like the breezes blow. 
 
 And shift with every shadow of the hour. 
 
 Or shine like blacking on the boots of Power. 
 
 But then this is the very kind of mystery. 
 
 To suit the mother of all lies — called History. 
 
 The women here have turned to third-rate males. 
 And among minnows play the part of whales, 
 And Itlow and spout and splash at every board. 
 That lets them air their little pocket hoard 
 Of virile wisdom, and some rapturous plan 
 For showing females are as mad as man ; 
 While they would take their lords' superior place. 
 But only cojiy him in his disgrace. 
 And ape man's vices which they fondly preach, 
 Who find his virtues are beyond their reach. 
 Love now is often least of woman's charms. 
 She sets her husliand's legs, and wields his arms ; 
 The dark-eyed darling by her lover lies. 
 Prattles of bones or gaseous mysteries. 
 Or sighs of pretty " subjects " to her'groom. 
 And treasures dear to the dissecting-room. 
 And flirts with scalpel as she did with fan. 
 And grows tenfold more maseiiline than man. 
 Ah 1 make them mothers true and virtuous wives. 
 Before you arm them with the surgeons' knives. 
 Before you soil the sweetness of their fame, 
 And soak their minds in Science and in shame. 
 Yea, leave them to their bauliles and their brats. 
 Pet lions, lapdogs, clergymen and cats. 
 And if they cannot wed, and must be doing 
 Then let them turn the tables and go wooinsr. 
 
 Here man, like autiunn flowers that run to seeds. 
 Strives to become like woman, and succeeds. 
 He lisps like school girls, mews in mincing tones. 
 And round the wasinsh waist draws virgin zones^
 
 296 THE PARADISE OF POOLS. 
 
 Pads the small bosom, frils the fancy shirts. 
 And trails what is most feminine in skirts. 
 Parts in the middle hair, tliat lias all night 
 Jjain in curl papers to rejoice the light, 
 Painted and perfuniod witli art's every aid. 
 The lady's man that is a lady's maid '. 
 With whiskered grace the dapper coxcomb fares. 
 Big with his little stock of shrugs and stui-es. 
 Poises an eyeglass in his errant eye. 
 And puffs his breast and well-adjusted tie. 
 And as the choir of nymphs around him flocks. 
 Gives the last finish to his scented locks. 
 The buxom nursemaid trembles at his tread. 
 And streamers flutter from her windy head. 
 With joys imknown her rustic bosom glows, 
 Before such polished words and ways and t<jes. 
 Trim and triumphant in his ilandy drill. 
 He weighs the claims of rival flounce and frill — 
 To this ;i smile, to that a courtly bow, 
 And to Parisian modes a i^assing vow. 
 One ril)bon more or less, one style of hair, 
 Call from his ready store the appropriate air. 
 If fortime aids, he breathes an amoroiis gush. 
 And i.'ith demurencss meets the maiden blush. 
 He sues his victims, each by rule and reason. 
 And modulates his sighs to place and season. 
 
 Lo ! Medicine, now, has made a mighty stride, 
 And kills its thousands where Init hundreds died. 
 In murderous driigs and drenches Progress rules. 
 And makes our bellies battle-grounds of schools. 
 Death is the fruit, and doctors are the stem — 
 Diseases somehow midtiply with them. 
 'Tis " kill or cure," the patient or the pain ; 
 But if you die, bj- Science you are slain. 
 And people poisoned, or cut up with knives. 
 Find this the only solace that survives — 
 To be made out some startling theory's base. 
 And called no more a person but a " case." 
 How differ quacks, from true physicians' skill ? 
 These have credentials, those have not — to kill. 
 Diplomas are a licence, to insiire 
 The art of murder being quite secure ; 
 That fools may sufferers make the sport of chance. 
 And death Vieds cheer with chartered ignorance. 
 Of vital force they starve the struggling breast. 
 And breed a stupor which they christen rest ; 
 Then bid the death-knell sound and joy-bells cease, 
 And in the churchyard spread the reign of pc'aee. 
 The march of Eeason were a charming sight. 
 If only Keasou did not march by night I
 
 THE PARADISK OV VOOLS. 297 
 
 Now each prescription has its proper tang, 
 That veils its folly in a learned slang. 
 While ready terms for every cracked conceit, 
 For niakini;" torture more and more (joniph^te, 
 With easy methods a,nd compendious rules. 
 To render faith the vi(;tim of the schools, 
 Oome cropping- up as qiiick as early clover — 
 Mere recipes for turning money over 1 
 
 Though doctors' views may differ, like their fees. 
 And each the rest to contradict agrees, 
 Yet, Abernethy, Baillie, Marshall Hall, 
 Clark, Astley Cooper, Majendie, and all — 
 All who knew best the trade with every trick. 
 Have damned its impositions on the sick. 
 Have heaped on Medicine doid>t, contempt, and shame. 
 And coupled dt-ath and dosing as the same. 
 The pet of ladies, tlic successful man. 
 Is an empiric or a charlatan. 
 And sometiuKKs botli,and always humluig still. 
 Whose remedies are worse tha,n any ill. 
 The pestle and th(> moi-tar, scoop and scale. 
 Have slaughtered more than firo and swoi'd and gale. 
 'Tis in the face of nostrums and of knives. 
 In spite of doctoring, that the wretch survives. 
 And why, beneath a clo\id of curst prescriptions, 
 Eevive the horrors of the plagued Egyptians ? 
 
 But Doubt iinhallowed, ever waxing more, 
 
 Groes death-like forth and creeps from door to door. 
 
 Steals through the tossing market-place, and still 
 
 Pursues its prey with blind unbending will, 
 
 Tracking its victim to the vilest lair. 
 
 And touching passers on the street or stair. 
 
 Hark ! in the festive stir its step is heard. 
 
 Just in the breathing of some wanton word. 
 
 And in the silence of the solemn tomb. 
 
 Its pi'esence has a tacit rank and room. 
 
 Its hand is heavy on the house of pride. 
 
 Knocks at the door, and will not be denied. 
 
 And when the weary watcher of the hoiTr. 
 
 Calls throiigh the shadow of the thunder shower, 
 
 [t whispers to the pleading wail for light, 
 
 "We came from darkness and we go to night."' 
 
 While State Religion, in its lofty attic. 
 
 Looks down in wonder on a world erratic. 
 
 Alas ! for laws that iron fetters wear. 
 And but incarnate a sublime despair. 
 Whose light is darkness, throwing over all 
 The bloom of glory, one great funeral pall.
 
 298 THE PARADISE OV POOLS. 
 
 Better the lie that earth witli beauty fills. 
 Than the cold comfort of a truth that kills ! 
 The captive soul must either die or dance ; 
 Is life worth living without one romance ? 
 And where is Faith, to lay the grisly ghost ? 
 — Bi-awling in print, or sleeping at its post. 
 Or run to farce with masquerading saints — 
 Wet piety that daily drips or faints. 
 That oozes into ears like leaking tubs. 
 Or crawls and casts the dirt about like grubs— 
 And brawny preaching, with a fistic leaven. 
 That knocks its hf>arers headlong into Heaven. 
 
 Think of the glorious age that Venice saw, 
 
 Whose blood was connnerce and whose breath was law. 
 
 With veins distended by the pulse of Power, 
 
 And hands that plucked the passion of the hour ! 
 
 But now the Idessing, Trade, has grown a curse. 
 
 And merit takes its measure by the Purse ; 
 
 The servants are the masters, means the end. 
 
 And misers hoard what charity should spend ; 
 
 While bag-men get all that by greed is got, 
 
 And heaping riches heap up moral rot. 
 
 And noble hjrds their empty coffei's fill. 
 
 By making shameless love unto the till. 
 
 And wed the coiinter, which has wondrous charms 
 
 For those who hide a faded coat of ai'ms. 
 
 Or else they kick at each obstructing fence : 
 
 As Randolph storms and strives with Providence —   
 
 And Queensberry, given to siqjpers with the Stoics, 
 
 Damns us all round, and goes into heroics. 
 
 Where is the Poet, for a, world so poor ? . . . 
 
 Even now his awful feet are at tlie door 
 
 Of judgment, and the Dawn is round him spread. 
 
 And virgin lilies bloom beneath his tread. 
 
 As at St. Leonard's. Yes, he comes, he comes. 
 
 Not with a martial tramp and beat of drums, 
 
 Bvit bearing Peace, and with a voice that sings. 
 
 As with the rushing of an eagle's wings. 
 
 He comes, whom, now the world is out of joint. 
 
 The dread extreme of troiibled times anoint, 
 
 To be the saviour in an age of dearth. 
 
 And bring back beauty to a signless earth. 
 
 He gathers volumes from a touch or tone. 
 
 And bids the statue start from prisoning stone ; 
 
 He sees the Ocean in the tiny shell, 
 
 And shapes a. ]3alace of the dungeon cell. 
 
 He sweetens life with dreams no surfeits cloy. 
 
 In pleniluncs of wonder and of joy. 
 
 Like Time, liis luellow touch can turn to gold
 
 BY THK BANKft. 299 
 
 The tiling most tigly and the thought most old. 
 The vermin blight, that gathers round the great. 
 Can leave no shadow on his high estate. 
 Which stands ajiart and shall for ever stand. 
 As some white peak that guards a holy strand. 
 He battles on through adverse flint and flood. 
 And wrings from tears and many a stain of blood. 
 The truth so darkly liorn of pain and strife, 
 The joy that trembles into troubled life. 
 The things that clamour, and the things that goad. 
 He kneads beneath him on his royal road ; 
 Faint, yet i^ursuing his unfaltering way. 
 Towards the fair founts of Everlasting' Day : 
 Though on his bosom, from the Idiish of morn. 
 The liurden of an erring world is borne. 
 And the chill shadows of departing night, 
 Still wrestle in him with the powers of light. 
 But round him ripple breezes, soft and vernal. 
 And in his song the summer reigns eterna,]. 
 
 He sings, because he must and lays on all 
 
 The law of love, while errors round him fall 
 
 Discrowned and "dying. Fairer earth and skies, 
 
 Fresh forms of grace at his enchantments rise; 
 
 And life grows riper, from the frost that prost 
 
 Its heart so long, and richer after rest ; 
 
 Till faces, white with watching, catch from far 
 
 The mystic radiance of the Morning Star, 
 
 And imfolds Time, like Vestal rosy dipt. 
 
 The hidden meaning of its manuscript, 
 
 Whicli never ends its roll of wondrous acts, 
 
 'translating fancies into sacred facts. 
 
 And ceases but as carving round a column. 
 
 That crowds the unseen side with pictures solenni. 
 
 BY THE BANKS. 
 
 I stood on the bank of a Eiver, 
 
 When the day was dawning fair ; 
 .ind I watched the willows qiiiver. 
 
 In the dim and dewy air. 
 And through the mists of the morning. 
 
 I saw like a passing dream : 
 The young in their proud adorning. 
 
 As they floated dowjx the sti-eam.
 
 300 BY THE BANKS. 
 
 And the birds, they sano- in the sedges. 
 
 With a iJlayfnl pleasant tone ; 
 As they sing in the Ajn-il hedges, 
 
 "When they sing for love alone. 
 And afar the forms of the cattle. 
 
 They loomed throiigh the early light ; 
 "While the water's mystic prattle. 
 
 Seemed awakening from the night. 
 
 And the river from its sources, 
 
 EoUed on in its newborn strength ; 
 Till the tide of its joyous forces. 
 
 Broke out into song at length. 
 With a free and frolic motion. 
 
 It told of the bliss in store ; 
 It spoke of the glorious Ocean, 
 
 And the wonders of its shore. 
 
 All things apix'ared fair and tender, 
 
 And ))rig]it with the brow of youth; 
 They were fresh in their virgin splendour. 
 
 And sweet as the face of truth. 
 Tliey had not a thoiight of sadness, 
 
 As they moved to the morning's call; 
 They lived — and to live was gladness. 
 
 They loved — and to love was all. 
 
 And I with a head that was hoary. 
 
 With a heart whose fires burnt low. 
 Looked on at the happy story. 
 
 That was mine in the long ago. 
 And I who h;id passed through danger. 
 
 Who knew tliat the flowers would fade — 
 I felt as a lonely stranger. 
 
 That is kept in the cold and shade. 
 
 Then I hailed a boat, that was trying 
 
 Its sails in the gentle wind ; 
 For I felt that the time was flying. 
 
 And I .should be left behind. 
 For I saw there was room for others. 
 
 And the maid(>ns smiled at me ; 
 And the men they were like my brothers. 
 
 In the hours that used to be. 
 
 And I begged — and not as a sconier. 
 
 But more as a grateful guest — 
 It was only a little corner 
 
 That I begginl, in which to rest. 
 But tliey answercNl that time was treasure, 
 
 And declared they covdd not stay : 
 That youth was the age for pleasure. 
 
 And I — I had had my day.
 
 BT THE BANKS. oOl 
 
 In vain did I seek my fortune, 
 
 In vain did I show my need. 
 In vain did I still importune. 
 
 For never a boat took heed. 
 They said I was old and a burden. 
 
 And my chances all were gone. 
 But that they had now their guerdon - 
 
 And away they went sailing on. 
 
 There were friends and beloved relations, 
 
 To whom I stretched my hands ; 
 But they gave no salutations, 
 
 And they mocked at my dennnds. 
 Yet they seemed so full of kindness, 
 
 And so radiant and so free. 
 That I thought it must be blindness. 
 
 Which had turned their hearts from me. 
 
 And still did I cry and dally. 
 
 And still did the l)oats go by ; 
 In vain did my courage rally. 
 
 When it quickened but to die. 
 The morn grew brave with its glory. 
 
 And the birds they were wild at play ; 
 But they all told the same sad story, 
 
 And said I had had my day. 
 
 Then— though it's a sore confession — 
 
 I beheld my children last ; 
 They mixed with tlie gay procession. 
 
 And they likewise floated past. 
 I called — but they never hearkened, 
 
 I wept — and they did not mind — 
 I prayed — till my hopes were darkened. 
 
 And I still was left )>ehind. 
 
 I had toiled for them from the morning, 
 
 T had toiled for them till the eve ; 
 They were clothed with my own adorning. 
 
 They had nought they did not receive. 
 And I never spared my drudging, 
 
 Though it cost me years of pain ; 
 It was lavished without grudging, 
 
 If my children found it gain. 
 
 I was used to man's aspersion, 
 
 I expected nothing sweet ; 
 And my oldest friends' desertion, 
 
 I had often risen to meet. 
 Bvit it wrung my heart like dying. 
 
 And it killed my human love ; 
 When I saw my darlings flying, 
 
 And the bliss for which I strove.
 
 303 BY THE BANKS. 
 
 I had borne them on my bosom. 
 
 And had fed them with my life ; 
 1 had g-iven them fruit and blossom. 
 
 And had fenced them round from strife. 
 But they dropt me in the distance. 
 
 When my life was sere and sad ; 
 T]i<m.i;-h they owed me even existence. 
 
 And whatever jojs tliey had. 
 
 And there were they idly drifting. 
 
 Into perils dark and stran<re ; 
 With companions always shifting. 
 
 While their parents could not change. 
 But tliey answered me with laughter, 
 
 AVhen I begged them just to stay. 
 And it echoed sadly after 
 
 That I — I had had my day. 
 
 When the beast that knew my manger. 
 
 Were it only kept a week, 
 AVoiild have felt I was no stranger. 
 
 Had it simply heard me speak. 
 Biit these, that were i^arts so vital 
 
 Of my very flesh and bone. 
 They thought it no base reqiiital. 
 
 That I should be left alone. 
 
 Then I saw. as in a vision. 
 
 Though it came not at my call. 
 The meaning of this derision. 
 
 And the great end of all : — 
 That a man must build for otliers. 
 
 And must ask no sort of price ; 
 That the burdens are our brothers. 
 
 And all life is sacrifice. 
 
 I saw it was education, 
 
 That the poor shovild always give ; 
 And that death and separation. 
 
 Are the law by which we live .- 
 That neither the liall n(^r hovel. 
 
 Can a grateful memory save ; 
 And the child is but the shovel, 
 
 That will dig the jDai-ents' grave. 
 
 But with old affection's embers. 
 
 Still I feel the spirit strive ; 
 And the past that love remembers. 
 
 It will somehow yet survive. 
 And if all my darlings perish. 
 
 And if nothing else should last. 
 Yet a treasxire I can cherish — 
 
 Is the perfume of the Past.
 
 '"AURORA AtrsTRAHS. 3u3 
 
 And when 1 awckp from droauiin^, 
 
 Lo, the birds were babbling still ; 
 And the day with a broader tjlcaming, 
 
 Had broken on vale and hill. 
 And the waters were leapin<>' lityhtly, 
 
 While the eai'l}' mists had (rone ; 
 And the 1)oats that danced so brig-htly. 
 
 They Went sailing, sailing on. 
 
 And still 1 stand by the Eivei', 
 
 As it hnrries to the Sea ; 
 But though it will flow for ever. 
 
 It will flow no more for me. 
 For I know my day is over, 
 
 And my stream of life run dry ; 
 But it passed througli th(^ fields of clover. 
 
 And their scent will never die. 
 
 '' AUliOEA AUSTliALlS."' 
 
 There is a world of f(jrest land and leas, 
 
 (lirdled and guarded by the wash of seas. 
 
 That take the radiance of the Southern star, 
 
 And rise at once a biilwark and a bar — 
 
 A virgin woi-ld of joy, with wonders new. 
 
 That hitherto have kept their fairy dew. 
 
 Fresh with the fragrance of a nameless grace. 
 
 And revelations of a veiled face ; 
 
 While savage grandeurs in their sternness meet, 
 
 With all that is most delicate and sweet. 
 
 And pathless thickets threaten, dark and dire, 
 
 Uncrossed by any foot but that of fire ; 
 
 Where linger on a thousand sylvan charms. 
 
 And towering giun trees spread their mighty arms 
 
 Where green retreats and quiet shelter woo, 
 
 The wandering emu and the kanga.roo. 
 
 Drawn to the refuge of these lonely lands. 
 
 As by the presence of protecting liands. 
 
 For yet a si^lendid spell is all its own, 
 
 The magic mystery of a world unknown . 
 
 Whose vmtrod spaces fancy peoples still. 
 
 With miracles of nature's wildest will ; 
 
 And gh(jstly stories fill the outlines dark. 
 
 Which great explorers gave their lives to mark. 
 
 Here, on the borders of' the trackless waste. 
 
 Fair fiocks of sheep an alien pasture taste 
 
 And by their myriads, on the grassy run, 
 
 Clrow to fresh beauty in a brighter'sun.
 
 304 THB SLEEP Oi' DBATH. 
 
 While wringing treasures from their rocky hold, 
 The miner works his way throiigh paths of gold. 
 
 There is a spot, where summer never fades, 
 
 Kesides these shy but hospita.ble shades, 
 
 A virgin city, crowned with joyous youth. 
 
 Not blighted yet hy scathe or scar uncouth, 
 
 Where progress reigns and art puts forth its plea^. 
 
 And winds the yellow Yarra to the sea, 
 
 A glory and a marvel to all time. 
 
 Where life is simple and the tliought sublime ; 
 
 Whose past is brief, but has a brighter page. 
 
 Than the dull records of ignoble age. 
 
 Here sovereign commerce holds its court, and sways 
 
 The varying fortunes of adventurous days. 
 
 And witli calm fingers, that divine and proVie, 
 
 Feels all the fickle pvilses of the globe. 
 
 While in the free and friendly haven meet. 
 
 The gallant flags of many a merchant fleet. 
 
 To her the Fixture, with its boundless hopes, 
 
 A world of promise and of splendour oj^os ; 
 
 While still unfold the hours their young romance. 
 
 And bid the child of victory advance. 
 
 THE SLEEP OF DEATH. 
 
 Death had been merciful to her, she lay 
 
 Even from the setting sun till blush of day. 
 
 As in a tranquil slumber with sealed lip. 
 
 That let cold moonbeams on the cold face slip 
 
 Delicately, and midnight's mourning breath 
 
 Miirmured no music of the sleeper's death. 
 
 Fair stars went in and fairer stars came oiit, 
 
 And a low wind went whispering about. 
 
 The light leaves rustled with a ghostly noise, 
 
 All things seemed filled with intimated joys. 
 
 Morn than expressed : and still the hours went on, 
 
 Still lu-eezes brushed her face, and planets shone 
 
 Serenely in their holy spheres on high. 
 
 The far faint blue aljysse^ of the sky. 
 
 A soft wind rosi\ and as a mourner stands, 
 
 Played with the flowing tracery of her hands. 
 
 Breathed in her ear and rippled round her hair, 
 
 Yet rufiled not the lightest ringlet there. 
 
 One moonbeam stole through heavy-fruited boughs^ 
 
 And open lattice, to the sleeper's brows, 
 
 Biit nowhere rested ; with a wandering grace. 
 
 It glorified the glory of her face. 
 
 Made whiter still her forehead's unstained snow. 
 
 Then with a sudden sigh made haste to go.
 
 TTTK OHBAT :\rT?iT'E!r>,y, 805 
 
 T PI E a T{ E A T. ^\. Y^TT.V.Y. 
 
 CH.OEITR OP GREEK MAIDENS. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Whispered all in accents low. 
 AVheu the clays have lost their glow. 
 And the honrs like flowers uprooted. 
 Now no longer rosy-footed. 
 Big with heavy burdens grow. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Mixttered in unwilling ears, 
 With a trembling as of tears. 
 By the passing of the story 
 Of this gladsouie slimmer glory, 
 By tlie comino- in of fears. 
 This is^Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Murmured on the busy mart. 
 By a sickening of the lieart. 
 In a rising up of terrors. 
 As the ghosts of all our errors. 
 When the actor drops his part. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 When the river, on its course. 
 Feels a sinking at the source. 
 Dimly desi^erately boded 
 By tlie hopeless spirit, goaded 
 With th(i gadfly of remorse. 
 This is death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Ask it of the gods, whose spells 
 Once made splendid woods and wells. 
 Now departing with a weeping 
 From the shrines they had in keeping, 
 From the sliadowed rocks and dells ! 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death y 
 Darkness to >)e felt, that di-apes 
 All the bright and beauteous shapes, 
 Wr(night l)y fancy (.ir by Nature, 
 E,ai8ed|by Art to noliler statiire,^ 
 Darkness from which none escapes. 
 This is Death.
 
 SOC THE GREAT MTSTEEY. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 See it, when the lig-ht is brief. 
 In the yellow falling leaf. 
 
 In the misting of the nionntains. 
 In the poisoning of the fountains. 
 And the shadow on the sheaf. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Taste it, in the troiibled hour 
 Of the sweetness rendered sour. 
 By the tonch of frosty fingers 
 Laid iqion the charm that lingei-s. 
 Loath to leave the Dryads' bower. 
 This is death. 
 
 What is Death :-- 
 Feel it in the drawing near 
 Of a presence dark and drear. 
 Over every bud and blossom, 
 Into even the throbbing bosom 
 Piercing, like a foeman's spear. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Hear it, in the broken strain. 
 Like the songh of autumn rain. 
 In the wailing voice of sorrow. 
 Crying that tliere is no morrow 
 For the gathering of the grain 
 This is Death. . 
 
 What is Death ? 
 In the breaking of the bond. 
 Long so tender and so fond. 
 
 When the sacred friendsliips sever. 
 That must part and part for ever 
 To the shades that loom beyond. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 It is only whispered here, 
 But the winter sad and sere 
 
 Finds its footprints, in the turning 
 Of the blooms with sunshine burning, 
 On the meadow, by the mere. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death? 
 Tliough we trick our rose, at will, 
 TniHting to avert the ill. 
 In th(> v<nl <if fair disguises.
 
 The great mystery, ?.07 
 
 Yet too soon with grim surprises, 
 Lo, the worm defies us still. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 It is known by many a name. 
 Some of terror, some of shame, 
 
 Thiindered forth in battle schisms, 
 Sio'hed Math gentle euphemisms. 
 But its sentence is the same. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Deatli ? 
 Other evils have their stinjj;-. 
 This alone is truly tiug, 
 
 For it is the end of jjleasiire. 
 End of every earthly pleasure, 
 End of every living thing. 
 This is Death. 
 
 CHORUS OF CHEISTIAN MAIDENS. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Hope, ]iy happy sufferers named, 
 WhereMdth pictured life is framed. 
 Surging round us with its billows 
 Softer than all earthly pillows, 
 Hope that maketh not asliamed. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Comfort for the jjangs that press. 
 Rainbow over stormy stress, 
 Bi-ight and bh^ssed expectation 
 Of the glorious transformation. 
 Which awaits oiu' mortal dress. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Dawn that guides the faithful path, 
 Dawn no pagan pilgrim hath. 
 For the soldier in his tourney. 
 For the traveller on his joiu-ney. 
 Beaconing through the night of wrath. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death y 
 Light for every uirturned mind, 
 When the outward eye is blind. 
 Over earth with evil hoary. 
 Streaming from the gates' of glorv, 
 On the chains that cannot bind. 
 This is Death.
 
 308 TH-E OR EAT MYSTEHY. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Not a sinking in the tide. 
 But a pixrging of our pride, 
 Not a failure or miscarriage. 
 But a high and holy marriage. 
 When the Bridegroom takes the Bride. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Not a stumbling of the feet. 
 Not a parting ne'er to meet, 
 But a grand reunion's token 
 For the friendships, only broken 
 To be made for ever sweet. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Not an unsurmouuted bar. 
 To a vision fair and far. 
 
 But a stepping-stone uplifting. 
 Though it be through weary sifting. 
 To the bright and morning star. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 End of troulde, end of toil 
 Woven like a serpent's coil 
 
 Eoimd the lives of man and niaitlcn, 
 Eesting for the heavy-laden, 
 Cleansino- lor the clinging soil. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death V 
 End of every damning vice. 
 Bought at a tremendoiTS price, — 
 Like a sanctuary solemn, 
 (?alm with many a storied column — 
 Bought by (lod's own sai-i-ifice. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Starting-point for purer strife, 
 Striven withoiit the blood-stained knife. 
 End of sorrow, and of sinning, 
 Briglit and yet more bright beginning. 
 To a new and nobler life. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 But a bridge-way to the shore, 
 Bnt the opening of a door, 
 
 Wlien this sad and sulfering mortal
 
 THK GKEATIOK, MYSTEKY. 309 
 
 Bursts itri wretched prison portal, 
 That shall hold it nevermore. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death ? 
 Treading-, where the Conqueror trod, 
 On the tyrant's broken rod. 
 
 With earth's loving latest blessing, 
 And Heaven's tender first caressing — 
 Yea, it is the kiss of God. 
 This is Death. 
 
 What is Death H 
 As the shadows rise and flee. 
 And tlie eyelids ope to see. 
 It is life itself, eternal. 
 Breaking from the foimt supernal. 
 When the soul begins to be. 
 This is Death. 
 
 THE GHEATEll MY^STEKY. 
 
 (PAET I.) 
 
 Wliat is Life ? 
 Winged hotxrs with rosy feet, 
 All the dazzling, all the sweet ; 
 Draughts of pleasure. 
 Without measure ; 
 Flowers caressing, with their scent. 
 Faces half incontinent — 
 This is Life. 
 
 What is Life? 
 Days that cannot find a girth. 
 For the music of their mirth 
 Glad and glowing. 
 Overflowing 
 Into nights more rapturous still, 
 With a passion nought can fill — 
 This is Life. 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Heights of philosojihic peace. 
 Where the sounds of turmoil ceasey 
 In the seeing 
 Of pure being ; 
 Beyond travail, joys, and tears. 
 Above hopes and loves and fears — 
 This is Life.
 
 310 TiiE obbAtsr mtstert. 
 
 What is Lift' ? 
 Art's creations purt> aud bright^ 
 Rising from the silent night ; 
 At life's portal, 
 Made iunnortal ; 
 Forms of beauty, paths of bliss, 
 Where Divine and human kiss — 
 This is Life. 
 
 What is Life H 
 Stern intention like a bow. 
 Bent against a coming foe ) 
 Straining ever, 
 With endeavoui', 
 To add something to the stores 
 Of the gold its Inst adores — 
 This is life. 
 
 What is Life r 
 Action with its leaping fire. 
 Kindled by a fierce desire ; 
 Greed of glory, 
 Lanrels goiy 
 From the fields where thousands lie 
 Slain that Honour might not die —   
 • This is life. 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Bridling seas, and liridging straits, 
 Barring storms with iron gates. 
 Levelling moimtains, 
 Digging fountains 
 In the desert, wedding lands 
 With the clasp of kindred hands — 
 This is Life. 
 
 What is Life:-^ 
 Firm controlling, c;ilm as Fate, 
 Of the helm that steers a State, 
 Through the wtlter. 
 To its slielter 
 In the haven of the blest. 
 Freedom's richlv chartered rest— 
 This is Life. 
 
 (PART II.) 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Weeping at a world of sin. 
 At the fiends that enter in 
 
 Doubt's dark region. 
 
 Ills a legion ;
 
 THE GREATER MYSTERY. 
 
 Tears remorsei'iil, shed in sliameii 
 O'er a desecnited name — 
 That is Life. 
 
 What is Life ?' 
 Watching /"or the souls that sleep. 
 And with those that vigils keep ; 
 Canning biirdens, 
 Without guerdons. 
 Striving, in a thankless state^ 
 With a love returned by hate — 
 That is Life. 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Toil and suffering, hurt and scorn, 
 Madly given and meekly borne ; 
 Blasts of troiibles, 
 Thick as bubbles, 
 On the stormy stream of years. 
 Wrecking earthly hopes in fears — 
 That is Life. 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Weakness, want, and bitter stress, 
 Grrowing, grinding weariness ; 
 Pang and peril. 
 Pasture sterile ; 
 Withered flower and dusty tomb. 
 Where the roses used to bloom — 
 That is Life. 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Seed of promise in the breast. 
 Bearing f I'uit of better rest ; 
 Love of neighbom-s. 
 Larger laboiu's ; 
 Rising still to richer ends. 
 Fellowship with foes for friends — 
 That is Life. 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Insult, in its dastard part. 
 Trampling on the tender heart, 
 Coldly spurning 
 Every yearning ; 
 With its deeds malign and fierce. 
 And the taunts that deeper pierce- 
 That is Life. 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Darkness all with discord rife. 
 Waves of sorrow, winds of strife. 
 Ever crossing, 
 
 311
 
 Sl2 - SHADOWS ON THE WALL. 
 
 Ever tossing 
 Man's frail bark, aci'oos the sea. 
 To its port, eternity — 
 That is Life. 
 
 What is Life ? 
 Bearing still the cross uf hane 
 Up the stony stej)S of pain ; 
 Faint and ruing. 
 Yet pursuing; 
 Offering humbly hope's last lu'cath, 
 To the veiled angel. Death — 
 That is Life. 
 
 j^HADOWS ON THE AVALL. 
 
 At morning and at evening and at noon. 
 
 They flicker on my sight ; 
 Beneath the magic silence of the moon. 
 
 And in the blaze of light. 
 
 They are tlie heralds of the secret fates. 
 
 Stern oracles they give ; 
 Prophetic of the destinies of states, 
 
 That none may read and live. 
 
 IJnt te the dying it ia gi'auted then. 
 When at the grave they stand, 
 
 To read the luiwritten histories of men. 
 And break their mortal band. 
 
 And I that have already kissed the tomh. 
 
 With these most willing lijjs. 
 See from afar the mysteries of doom, 
 
 In earthquake and eclipse. 
 
 Tliey tell me, that t(.i-morro\v 1 must track 
 
 The way we all must wend ; 
 Nor do I give one glance regretful back, 
 
 Nor fear the fatal end. 
 
 And this is what the shadows on the wall, 
 
 M urmur with mystic breath ; 
 Tliat there is sorrow at the liearts of all, 
 
 And uoLhiug sure but death.
 
 " H\IV. IS COMING." 813 
 
 THE BULGAiUAxN'S BELIEF (A FACT), 187(1. 
 
 ':. 
 
 The tributary tides. 
 
 That go to make the morrow. 
 All merge in what the present hides. 
 
 One sea of sori-ow. 
 
 Upon the brow of morn, 
 Is written evening's story ; 
 
 The blossom will be winter's seoru, 
 Though summer's glory. 
 
 And thou, whose tender frame 
 
 Is clothed in silk and ermine, 
 Wilt be a shapeless thing of sliamc, 
 A feast for vermin. 
 
 The stream oft travelled o'er. 
 Has yet its rocky shallows ; 
 
 And they who never danced )>eft)re. 
 Dance on the gallows. 
 
 The loftiest seats and souls. 
 
 Find soon a cursed level ; 
 There is a God who all controls. 
 
 But he's a Devil. 
 
 "SHE IS coming;' (I,s7(;.) 
 
 Slie is coming, in all her glorious bloom. 
 
 She is coming in all her light ; 
 Thoiigh she pass through the v(n;y dour of dixuii, 
 
 And slie enter the corirts of night ; 
 
 xVnd she enter the courts of night 
 She will tread as a conqixeror on the toinl). 
 
 In her Ijeaiity strange and briglit. 
 
 She is coming, will) rapture in her gaze, 
 
 And with lilierty in \wr hands ; 
 From many a blind and bleeding iiiaze. 
 
 Of the sad and suft'ei-ing lands — 
 
 Of the sad and siiii'ering lands ; 
 Through the striiggling gleams and the purple haze. 
 
 To the clear and cloudless strands. 
 
 She is coming, in all the power of good. 
 
 And she takes no menial hire ; 
 Thoiigh the sun go down in a sea of Ijlood, 
 
 And the moon rise up in fire — 
 
 And the moon rise up in fire ; 
 Though alarms roll b,-irk in ;i, mighty hood, 
 
 Ou the iiupus tliat would faiu iiBpire.
 
 314 CHAKLOTJE. 
 
 She is coming, I hear the falling feet. 
 As they trample oiit the stains ; 
 
 For the prisoners all her presence greet, 
 And her steps are broken chains —   
 And her steps are broken chains. 
 
 And the passions that once with purpose meet, 
 Are an end to ancient pains. 
 
 She is coming, the movirners mark her call. 
 And the princes in their pride ; 
 
 AVhile the thrones and dungeons fail and fall. 
 At the toiich of freedom's tide — 
 At the touch of freedom's tide ; 
 
 For the tyrant's pleasure is his pall. 
 And a skeleton is his bride. 
 
 She is coming, I see her ardent eyes. 
 As they flash from her flowing hair ; 
 
 And her breath is as sweet to the heavy skies, 
 As a storm to the stagnant air — 
 As a storm to the stagnant air ; 
 
 When the troubled winds and waters rise. 
 In a concei't fierce and fair. 
 
 She is coming, our more than Love and Queen, 
 Who is all our Life and Lord ; 
 
 To assuage the ills th it, if unseen. 
 Yet fret as the captive's cord — 
 Yet fret as the captive's cord ; 
 
 And her head has the olive's gracious green, 
 Though her hand has the judgment sword. 
 
 CHAHLOTTE. 
 
 Thou wast fair and thou wast fickle. 
 And thy love was like a sickle, 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 Keen and cold, and finding fuel 
 Ever in a pastime cruel, 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 
 Yet I loved thy blemished blossom. 
 Bade the welcome to my bosom, 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 For I hoped the blight would perish. 
 Leaving beauty I could cherish, 
 
 Charlotte !
 
 ClfAULOTTE. 32.- 
 
 So I made thy portals pleasant, 
 Made a Paradise the present 
 
 CJharlotte ! 
 Smoothed thy way, the journey lightened. 
 All thy hours with music hrio-htened 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 
 Flowers and fruits for tliee I treasured. 
 Nought I offered thee was measiu-ed 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 Winds of care I strove to banish. 
 Bade the clouds of trouble vanish 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 
 Then I left thee to the trial 
 Of one little hour's denial 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 Left to find my visions scattered, 
 Home and hope and gladness shattered 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 
 Now I dream of thee at seasons, 
 Dream forgetting all thy treasons, 
 
 Charlotte I 
 In my sleep the byegone living, 
 Perjury and shame forgivin.r,"' 
 
 Charlotte I 
 
 And I fancy that thy beauty, 
 Still is loyal unto dvity, 
 
 Charlotte I 
 That the days with dew are tender. 
 And thy spring has yet its splendour. 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 
 Have I lost thee, have I fovmd thee ? 
 Are my weary arms aroimd thee, 
 
 Charlotte l-- 
 Then I waken from my visions. 
 To my darkened heart's derisions, 
 
 Charlotte ! 
 
 Thou art fallen— lie and languish. 
 Thou art spotted— spare no antruish, 
 
 Charlotte! 
 Pass from all the hopes I cherish. 
 Pass into the night and perish, 
 
 Harlot!
 
 3iG VANISHED VOICES. 
 
 VANISHED YOI('E«. 
 
 They came, I know not how or whence, 
 
 Those voices fond and fair ; 
 They mingled sweetly with each sense. 
 
 And had in all a share. 
 They sj)oke of love, they spoke of triith. 
 Those vanished voices of my youth. 
 
 I cared not for comiJanions then. 
 
 When I had faith at heart ; 
 I was not lonely, far from men. 
 
 In hope's more hnsj mart. 
 They gave me back what discord stole, 
 Those vanished voices of the sonJ. 
 
 I felt that once the world was wide. 
 
 And all things set to song ; 
 That hope the winter frosts defied. 
 
 And summer was more long. 
 They sang of destinies more vast. 
 Those vanished voices of the past. 
 
 The angels then came down at tiu30s. 
 And mixed with mortal things ; 
 
 They made me hear the heavenly chimes, 
 And drink eternal springs. 
 
 l^hey said bright dreams could never die, 
 
 Those vanished voices from on high. 
 
 They came, and carolled in the morn 
 
 Of life's refulgent years ; 
 They came with hoj^es of wishes born, 
 
 And went away in fears. 
 They left a halo round my head, 
 Those vanished voices of the dead. 
 
 But still when evening lights are low. 
 
 And shadows softly fall ; 
 Those dear old innocences grow. 
 
 And send sweet shoots thi-ough all. 
 While with a deep ecstatic pain. 
 Those vanished voices thrill again. 
 
 And when the noiseless hours of night. 
 
 Have put the world away ; 
 Those wondrous soiinds that seem like sight. 
 
 The hungering heart allaj'. 
 And like the music of a star. 
 Those vanished voices call from far.
 
 VA.'NTi5TrKr» VOTCES. 317 
 
 B\\\ yet T know 11\iit tlipy are gone, 
 
 Aud nevei* can come laack ; 
 To lead my steps divinely on. 
 
 The old enchfinting ti'ack. 
 Still let mo dream, if tliey have flown. 
 Those vanished, voices once my own. 
 
 What if they have not taken flight. 
 
 But are gone forth to roam ; 
 And will return with richer light. 
 
 As birds to roost fly home ? 
 What if when faith has conquered all, 
 Those vanished voices j^et will call ? 
 
 And when a better wish or tliought. 
 
 Comes borne on angel wings ; 
 Shall I not find as fondly brought. 
 
 The ancient visitings ? 
 Yea, I will murmur to my heart. 
 Those vimiBhed voices that depai't. 
 
 Perchance, they may be granted now. 
 
 To comfoi't me once more : 
 When in some young and yearning vow, 
 
 I catcli them as before. 
 From tender breasts that brightly ])virii. 
 Those vanished voices will return. 
 
 Then I shall live the past again. 
 
 In other faii-(M' souls ; 
 And join the jidiilant refrain. 
 
 That rotnid sweet childhood rolls. 
 And in its accents calm and clear-. 
 Those vanished voices love will hear. 
 
 And with a higher holier tone. 
 
 My footsteps will be cheered ; 
 And peace will reign upon the throne, 
 
 That faith and love have reared. 
 And wlien all other strains are gone, 
 Those vanished vniee'i will sing on. 
 
 So may the evening of my years, 
 
 Become a brighter morn ; 
 While from the tender dew of tears. 
 
 Will fruitfiil hopes be born. 
 Till at the call that Jesu's is. 
 Those vanished voices mix with His.
 
 niR THE UIVER. 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 I. THE RIVEE'S COURSE. 
 
 There is a river stern and strong, 
 That flows through vale and lea ; 
 
 That bears our faded hopes along- 
 Into a silent sea. 
 
 'Tis fed with precioits tears of man. 
 
 And fravight with woman's woe ; 
 It tosses wrecks of plot and plan. 
 
 With loves of long ago. 
 
 'Tis liorn of sad and sacred springs. 
 
 And imder Orient skies : 
 And though the death of prouder things. 
 
 Itself it never dies. 
 
 Far in the mists of ancient time 
 
 That solemn River rose ; 
 It hath a strange and mournful chime, 
 
 And weepeth as it flows. 
 
 Our youths and virgins fill its urns 
 With sorrow's tender dreams ; 
 
 But not a ray of hope returns 
 Fi'om those uujoyous streams. 
 
 By lawn and level on it winds. 
 Through jiastures bright or bare ; 
 
 Yet food from every field it finds. 
 And nuirmurs everywhere. 
 
 Its breast is full of many a bud. 
 And garlands fresh and green ; 
 
 Its breath is felt before the flood. 
 And oftener heard than seen. 
 
 When life is in its loveliest pride. 
 
 Soft as a summer's day, 
 The River I'oUs its troubled tide 
 
 And sweeps that life away. 
 
 In vain our labouring hands we load. 
 And fashion bars or dykes ; 
 
 It gives no knowledge of its road. 
 No warning till it strikes. 
 
 The childreii playing where it steals. 
 Hid under flowery wreath, 
 
 Ei'o seing what that wreath conceals. 
 Are wash'd and whirl'd beneath.
 
 THE RIVEE, 319 
 
 Though o-allant be the bridegroom's mien, 
 
 And dear the bride and true. 
 The cruel cui-rent slips between, 
 
 And cuts their bond in two. 
 
 The mother has her first-born love 
 
 Strained to her bosom's heat. 
 But witli the hai^py heavens above. 
 
 The River licks her feet. 
 
 The young- and old they liear its call. 
 
 And fondly try to flee ; 
 It takes and carries one and all 
 
 Down to the silent sea. 
 
 We feed it with our costly tears. 
 
 From many a hallow'd rill ; 
 And though we lavish hopes and fears. 
 
 It is insatiate still. 
 
 It tiirns the cradle to a grave, 
 
 And freezes laugh and kiss. 
 And witli the shadow of its w^ave 
 
 It darkens every bliss. 
 
 Of riiin'd lives it takes no count, 
 
 Nor how its volumes grow ; 
 And none can seize its fatal fount, 
 
 Or check its endless flow. 
 
 By town and hamlet forth it roams. 
 
 In sunshine as in shades ; 
 It hales the fatlings of oiir homes. 
 
 The sweetest of our maids. 
 
 The depths of deserts feel its touch. 
 
 And know its presence wan ; 
 It robs the cripple of his crutch. 
 
 And hurries, hurries on. 
 
 We all give tribute to its store. 
 
 And swell its weary sound ; 
 It beats for ever on the shore. 
 
 And pushes back its bovxnd. 
 
 And gnawing still at bed and bank, 
 
 It eats into oiir lives ; 
 It makes a bitter blot or blank 
 
 Where'er its passi on strives. 
 
 And deeper yet the channels sink. 
 
 And wider heaves the wave ; 
 We tiemble on the dreadful brink, 
 
 Some batter 'd plank to save.
 
 S20 TITT? TJTVEE. 
 
 0, if a inomont it ■u-onld hold 
 'Jt;5 calm tind ceaseless course, 
 
 N"or glide so pitiless and cold 
 b'rom its unfathoni'd source ! 
 
 Lo, we have lost oiir comely wives, 
 To still its hiingry fret, — 
 
 Have lost our children, lands, and lives ; 
 It is not sated yet. 
 
 Ah. no. it never rests a while, 
 But flows through vale and lea. 
 
 Without the g-liinmer of a smile. 
 Into its silent sea. 
 
 It has a dreary strain of grief. 
 That wafts its freight along : 
 
 And as it rifles blade and sheaf, 
 This is the River's sonsj : 
 
 II. THE EiVEE'S SONG. 
 
 When Night was born 
 
 I fiU'd my liorn 
 With waters from the deep ; 
 
 With dregs of death 
 
 I glut my breath. 
 And steal the charms of sleep. 
 
 I feast on joy. 
 
 And pleasures cloy. 
 With murnnir'd sounds of woe ; 
 
 And when the light 
 
 Is broad and bright 
 My fountains ope lielow, 
 
 I know not fear. 
 
 And hope I sear 
 With bitter blasts and chill ; 
 
 Seas ebb and flow. 
 
 Men come and go, 
 My stream is never still. 
 
 No stop nor staj", 
 
 I slew and slay. 
 Destroying from the first : 
 
 Though deep I drain 
 
 Erom pang and pain. 
 Yet naught can slake my tliirst.
 
 MAJJ. 
 
 If to the birth 
 
 I came with earth, 
 I never now can die ; 
 
 From early biers 
 
 And blighted years 
 My waves grow grim and high. 
 
 When Time has fled, 
 
 [ shall be dead, 
 Till then I creep and kill 
 
 With bone and blood 
 
 I feed my flood, 
 And raven at my will. 
 
 Ye chafe and cry 
 
 That snnmiers fly. 
 And winter reigns instead ; 
 
 With sombre mien 
 
 I roll between 
 The dying and the dead. 
 
 Alas, alas, 
 
 Your pageants pass, 
 And generations range ; 
 
 Things rise and fall, 
 
 And perish all, 
 I only never change. 
 
 321 
 
 MAD I 
 
 I paced by the iron road that runs, 
 
 Ronnd the curves of the surging sea, 
 LV) the music of the mighty guns. 
 Through waving wood and lea. 
 I was only one in a motley crowd. 
 That was tossing, strxxggling, shifting, loud. 
 Like the broken mass of the thunder cloud. 
 With its stern and stormy plea. 
 
 They were now in glitter, now in gloom, 
 
 While they hurried up and down ; 
 And the youthful faces flushed with bloom. 
 
 Set off old age's frown. 
 And the moon looked on a maddened throngy 
 Of the sad and merry, weak and strong. 
 The lips that uttered curse and song. 
 Bed coat and silken gown.
 
 322 mAd. 
 
 But then throiigli the clamour and the crush. 
 
 Came a figure slight and fair ; 
 And there fell on the strife a sudden hushj 
 
 As -when they call to prayer. 
 For a woman came in her beauty's niio-ht, 
 Like a star that trembles into sight. 
 But her face was sad as a winter's night. 
 
 And her head had a crown of care. 
 
 And forth she stept, like a holy thing. 
 Whereon God hath set His mark. 
 
 Like a fluttered bird with woimded wino-. 
 Prom the tumidt of the dark. 
 
 And she stared straight onward down the track. 
 
 Into the distance deep and black, 
 
 She stared straight onward, nor looked back ; 
 As if a voice said. Hark ! 
 
 And she listened for the well-known tramp 
 
 Of the iron horses on the road. 
 With their stuttering breatli and eager stamp. 
 
 To discharge their living load. 
 For a heavy jjurden on her prest. 
 And a bitter pang that knew not rest. 
 That shadowed life, and shook her breast. 
 
 Which like a furnace glowed. 
 
 Her golden head was streaked with white. 
 And the quick breath went and came ; 
 
 And in her eyes there burned a light 
 That had no eai-thly name. 
 
 The delicate form M^as boAved and weak, 
 
 And the quivering lips had woes to speak, 
 
 And fed about her faded' cheek 
 A cruel crimson flame. 
 
 She stood upon the altar-stair 
 
 Of the gray and solemn Past : 
 While tlie soft wind kisse.l her loosened hair, 
 
 And the moon its glory cast. 
 But then rang from her poor pale mouth a cry. 
 Up to the stars of the purple sky. 
 And away to the throne of God "on high— 
 
 " He is coming, my love, at last." 
 
 " He is coming, and I have nothing spared. 
 
 That can comfort give, or o-race • 
 The lamp is lit, and the feast prepared. 
 
 And his chair is in its place. 
 I have lingered long, I have lingered late. 
 On the threshold at the garden gate. 
 And now by the iron road I wait — 
 
 He is coiuiug, I see his face."
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 323 
 
 She was one day's bride ; the morrow shone. 
 
 And he left with morning light ; 
 But she wept not for the husband gone. 
 
 For he would be hers that night. 
 She watched and wondered all in vain. 
 Hour followed hoiir and brought but pain. 
 Her dai'ling she never met again — 
 
 His soul had taken flight. 
 
 And still, when the fateful day comes back. 
 
 When the garish gaslights burn. 
 She goes to her tryst by the iron track. 
 
 Where the great wheels champ and churn. 
 She stands, fresh from the bridal room. 
 And stares straight onward through the gloom- 
 She recks not of his long-sealed doom. 
 
 And bide her love return. 
 
 BROKEN HEARTS. 
 
 What is the burden of that plea. 
 The murmur like a hungry sea 
 
 I heard when first a child ; 
 Now tolling as a burial bell. 
 Now shadowed to a tiny shell. 
 
 Which shuts the ocean wild ? 
 For ever young, for ever old. 
 And awful as the hills, and cold 
 
 As the eternal frost ; 
 If higher than the highest stars. 
 Yet deeper than infernal bars. 
 In the same surging tost ? 
 And grimly keeping 
 Its watch unsleeping 
 Beside the cradle of creations new. 
 
 While vuider all the glorious flower. 
 The crown and rapture of rejoicing dew. 
 It bears the dark and solemn dower 
 Of the dissolving doom. 
 Even in the spring of bloom — 
 Foretells the crumbling of the giant tower. 
 At morn the midnight gloom ? 
 
 It is the restless cry of need. 
 
 Wrung from the breaking hearts that bleed 
 
 Beneath their iron tie. 
 That pine for labour which is not. 
 For love which is the idler's lot. 
 
 And would but cannot die ;
 
 S2i 
 
 BROKEN HBAET8. 
 
 The cry for daily work, more dread 
 From bosoms in which hope is dead, 
 Than any g-hastly doubt. 
 Or (shaking- pampered princely shades, 
 And from red reeking- barricades) 
 Grimrevolntion's shout: 
 The cry of ant,niish. 
 From souls that languish 
 And lie in helpless want and worse tlian poor. 
 
 In the lone cellar dark and dim, 
 Or in the gutter at the rich man's door. 
 And not a morsel get from him ; 
 
 Though petted crime doth feast, 
 Nor ever lack the least, 
 While dainty dogs may sate each greedy wliim 
 And plenty spoils the beast! 
 
 It is the cry of woman, torn 
 Into the night without a monij 
 
 The world without a sun ; 
 Because the breathing earth and air. 
 And heavenly light have made them' fair. 
 
 And streams that singing run 
 
 Because the grace, that'they should hold 
 More precious than refined gold, 
 
 To serve Clod's holy jjlan. 
 Was blackly warped and waxed a pur.sc 
 Direr than despots' blood-filled purse. 
 To them and guiltier man ; 
 The cry of sorrow 
 That sees no morrow, 
 And sinks more sadly in the human mud. 
 And grows more passionate and shrill,' 
 BecaiiLse the life may not put forth one Inul, 
 In its gray gaunt enchaining ill ; 
 While none lifts helping- hand. 
 And sisters fouler stand 
 Close to them, proud and undetected still. 
 Whose jewels hide the l)rand. 
 
 It is tlie cry of children weak. 
 Who only vvy and cannot speak, 
 
 And child rem but in name. 
 Who unto Moloch's hideous lust. 
 Sacrificed in their maiden trust. 
 
 Pass through the hellish flame ; 
 The cry of women-liabes, that yet 
 Uncradled and unmothered fret, 
 
 And a chill shadow fall 
 Upon the banquet of the knave. 
 Whose love is fiercer than the grave—
 
 THE C'A&ER BTRB. S2* 
 
 As on Belshazzar's wall. 
 The fate indited 
 Pell uninvited. 
 And the dark fingers of the Dark Hand traced. 
 
 Amid the shining of the show, 
 The judgment sentence which as night embraced 
 The pageant's pompous ebb and flow ; 
 The cry of children, flowers 
 Snatched from their virgin bowers. 
 Who ere they pass to silent giilfs below. 
 Protest they yet are o\irs. 
 
 And shall that hopeless cry go on, 
 While titled harlots yet may don 
 
 Lace, that refines the shame. 
 And purple which is given as price 
 For varnished and i^rotected vice. 
 
 Allowed to nobler fame ? 
 Ah, must the humble who are frail, 
 For ever bear the ache and ail. 
 
 While men have human hearts ? 
 Do we forget our sisters' cross 
 Is all our own exceeding loss. 
 And we have brothers' parts, 
 To do ovir duty. 
 And love is beauty. 
 Which still transflgures even the meanest lot. 
 
 And glory showers upon the dearth. 
 That was a howling blank or dismal blot. 
 And recreates the fallen earth ? 
 Oh, to that bitter cry 
 Send back a blest reply, 
 Which to the dead shall give a second birth. 
 And ope the bolted sky. 
 
 THE OAGP^D BIRD. 
 
 Beating against the bars, 
 
 Fretting within the cag(». 
 For the piirplo sky and the kindred stars. 
 
 Of a loftier lovelier stage. 
 
 In the bloom of her budding age ; 
 She beholds the pomp of the princely cars. 
 And the shipwrecked wretches lashed to spars. 
 
 On the ocean's rage ; 
 And she beats, tliovigh her bosom hides the scars. 
 
 Which are woman's wage. 
 At the prison bovmd which her being mars, 
 
 And no gilding can assua^-e.
 
 326 THE CAGED BIRD. 
 
 Pining for lack of air. 
 
 Fading away from light. 
 Though the sunbeam just may touch her hair. 
 
 Where it rested once so bright. 
 
 In her tresses' heavenly night ; 
 Must she see the dog in its velvet chair. 
 And the vilest creatvire with a lair, 
 
 !N"or possess the right 
 Of the very dust on the gallows' stair ? 
 
 And enjoy no sight. 
 That with gleam of hope wovild her wrongs repair, 
 
 In the famine and the fight ? 
 
 Shut in a narrow lot. 
 
 Shelved like a shameful tiring. 
 Where the hatred strikes still against her hot, 
 
 As the blast the Siroccos bring, 
 
 And the love has a sharper sting ; 
 She receives the praise which is but a blot. 
 And her spirit owns the accusing sjjot. 
 
 In the poisoned spring ; 
 As the thoughts arise that can only rot. 
 
 And the broken wing 
 May not soar above, when the sky is not. 
 
 And the voice forgets to sing. 
 
 Beating her breast in vain, 
 
 Beating until it bleed. 
 On the painted bolt and the silver chain. 
 
 That despise the imploring need. 
 
 Nor her helpless fiutterings heed. 
 She may wildly yet at the barrier strain, 
 Though she shall but gather the fruits of pain ; 
 
 For the first Hack seed. 
 That was sown in soil of a wilful brain, 
 
 Bears the blacker weed, 
 Like a upas-tree which must kill the grain. 
 
 And the fatal hai'vest feed. 
 
 Only a bird which spread 
 
 Slendour of gold and bkie 
 In the early dawn, and upraised its head 
 
 To the zephyr that it might sue. 
 
 And believed the wide world was true ; 
 It was only a bird, with its tender tread, 
 Which looked up to heaven for the daily bread. 
 
 As its earthly due, 
 And had never tale of deception read. 
 
 That its victims rue, 
 Wliich would seek the living among the dead. 
 
 And have lost the saving clue.
 
 THE C'AGKD BIED. 327 
 
 Woman and t^entle clay. 
 
 Clothed in the glorious dress 
 Of the grace, which is a more sweet array 
 
 Than the robes that a monarch bless — 
 
 In her iimooence could she guess, 
 That her sun would set in its dewy day. 
 And the hands that clasped be provoked to slay ? 
 
 Or the last distress. 
 Would be born of blossoms upon her way. 
 
 Like a skiiU's caress. 
 And the worm in the opening petals play. 
 
 And make naught her loveliness ? 
 
 Tempted with beaiity's gift. 
 
 Fallen becaiise so frail, 
 In the searching tests that the weakly sift. 
 
 As the stroke of a thresher's flail ; 
 
 Must she ever mourn and ail. 
 And adown the fiery current drift 
 Of the passions, that shake but do not shift. 
 
 Till their fuel fail ? 
 Must the awful bonds refuse to lift 
 
 To her hopeless hail ? 
 Must the darkness nowhere ope a rift. 
 
 From the grip of her golden jail ? 
 
 Petted and still a slave. 
 
 Pampered and yet less free 
 Than the sailor borne by the surging wave, 
 
 When no haven he may see. 
 
 And the rocks are on the lee — • 
 Or the prisoner in his grimy cave. 
 Which to him is sealed as the solemn grave ; * 
 
 And no earthly fee. 
 Shall i-estore her now the pure forehead brave. 
 
 And the bended knee : 
 She has gathered of fruits that cannot save. 
 
 From the fair forbidden tree. 
 
 Curious and not vile. 
 
 Thirsting for something more 
 Than the vulgar stones of the vulgar mile, 
 
 Which were not of the precious ore. 
 
 As she burdens humbly bore 
 To the Town, which gave her a welcome smile. 
 And allured her witli its enchanting wile. 
 
 To the deadly store ; 
 Like the monsters of the mystic Nile, 
 
 Which its children tore ; 
 For she dreamed not the lips would yet defile. 
 
 And the hands that did adore.
 
 S28 A PiEAN OF THE PAVEMENT. 
 
 Ignorant, lout a lass 
 
 Filled with the fancies rai'e 
 Of a mind that outsoared its narrow class 
 
 And would higher ventures dare — 
 
 That had known not a single care. 
 And compelled all the blackest forms, to pass 
 Through the misty light of its magic glass ; 
 
 She wonld fondlj^ fare. 
 If the world beat round in its blinding mass. 
 
 And its glory share ; 
 Though the earth was iron, the heaven was ];>raes. 
 
 And no maiden might they spare. 
 
 Virginal, coy, and still 
 
 Mad for the larger room 
 Oi the larger life, that would drink its fill 
 
 Of the dazzling dew and bloom. 
 
 And discard the cottage broom ; 
 Where her cunning hand could show some skill. 
 And the himgry heart delight its will ; 
 
 From the curbing gloom, 
 To the 1)riuiming cup that seemed to spill. 
 
 She pursued her doom, 
 In the lustful kisses that miist kill ; 
 
 And her freedom turned a tomb. 
 
 A P.EAX OF TFIE PAVEMENT. 
 
 They have sucked of the sweetness of labour. 
 
 And then spurned at the ladders that lift, 
 For they lo\ed not their lowlier neighbour, 
 
 Who enthroned them by patience and thrift ; 
 They have trodden us down to the pavement, 
 
 While they mocked at our pitiful need. 
 Though our lives with their xittei' enslavement. 
 
 Have conspired all their follies to feed : 
 They have played and abused their long innings. 
 
 As if never were tiu-ning of tide. 
 And the wretches who reaped them their winnings 
 
 Have been kicked as the rubbish aside ; 
 They have fared on the cream and the honey. 
 
 And our drudging has loaded their shelves. 
 Not a piece of their ill-gotten money 
 
 Have they made by one effort theioselves ; 
 They have fattened on children left crying, 
 
 Whom they clothed not and islundered as prey; 
 And at Length in their course they are dying, 
 
 ').'hey are hroug'ht to the: judgment — yes, they ;
 
 A P^.AN OF THK PAVEMENT 328 
 
 Thoy have come to the sentence Supernal, 
 
 And lie helpless as prisoners bound, 
 They are weighed in the balance Eternal, 
 
 And have Wcxnting- in all things heen found. 
 
 Shall we pity them, now they are troubled 
 
 By disaster not dreamed of or known ; 
 While the burdens, that on us they doubled. 
 
 Have recoiled and are waxing their own ? 
 If they worked for the wages of Fashion, 
 
 Which is fickle and chastens them thus. 
 Must we offer tlie sigh of compassion, 
 
 And the aid they denied unto us ? 
 When the knell of confusion grows loi^der, 
 
 And is shattered their power as a toy — 
 When the faces grow pale through their powder. 
 
 Must we give them tlie roses of joy ? 
 Though we hear the wild shout of despairing. 
 
 As of wrecks on an iron-girt shore. 
 Is ic we who must lend them repairing, 
 
 Which will make them oiir masters once more ? 
 Should they pass from all knowledge and perish; 
 
 If the earth ever wipe out their stain. 
 Must the girls, whom they swore so to eherisli 
 
 And betrayed, raise their ruin again ? 
 They are falling before the true voices. 
 
 Which their pride but so lately contemned. 
 And the heart of the people rejoices. 
 
 That their tyrants at last are condemned. 
 
 They have feasted on sorrow and famine. 
 
 Though the sob of the orphan rose up. 
 Which they liked not to own or examine. 
 
 If the wine only flashed in their cup ; 
 From her home they have tempted the daughter. 
 
 With the promise which was but a lie, 
 As a lamb that is led to the slaughter. 
 
 And goes leaping and trustfiil — to die ; 
 They have revelled, while bosoms were aching 
 
 For the solace that vainly they sought. 
 And have danced on the hearts that were lireaking, 
 
 Because nobody gave them a thought ; 
 The poor widow they thrust to a distance. 
 
 To escape her importunate wail. 
 And to beggars they showed no assistance. 
 
 Unless sometimes they helped them to jail ; 
 They have drowned all the anguish of labour, 
 
 In the glory of miisic and song, 
 And with jubilant trumpet and tailor. 
 
 They have muffled the curses of ^rong ; 
 But the blight has now entered their border.
 
 nnO AT THE ilNISH, 
 
 And the paint is immasked of its bloom- 
 Yes, the ancient and reprobate order. 
 Which has failed, is descending to doom. 
 
 Do we weep at the ravishers' ending. 
 
 Who are going the way of their class — 
 Who have nothing now left for their spending. 
 
 And discover their fortress is glass ? 
 Can we monrn them, whose mercies were cruel. 
 
 And their victims ground into the dust ; 
 When the virgins they robbed were but fuel. 
 
 For the fire of their infamous lust ? 
 May we fence them from falling, who cared not 
 
 For the wolf at the cottager's door ,- 
 And who spoiled all the weaker, and spared not 
 
 The one little ewe lamb of the poor P 
 Shall we miss them, who grudged the mere pittance 
 
 That they paid for our terrible toil ; 
 And who chose for themselves an acquittance. 
 
 From the darlings they boasted to soil ? 
 Must we patch them up still with our struggling. 
 
 To return to their rapine and sloth ; 
 And now harken to cowai-dly juggling. 
 
 When they broke without pity their troth ? 
 No, the life of our rulers is rotten. 
 
 And the gilt cannot cover the knaves ; 
 While the blood of our dead, unforgotten. 
 
 Cries for vengeance from thousands of graves. 
 
 AT THE FINISH. 
 
 Just fifteen — fifteen — that November, 
 
 When tlie black winter came 
 And caught us napping — I remember. 
 
 The story and her name ; 
 Yes, she was fifteen, tall and stately. 
 
 For such a comitry child. 
 And went about her work sedately. 
 
 Even in that weather wild ; 
 I see her now, my Jessie, standing 
 
 By the cracked iron trough. 
 As though the very storm commanding — 
 
 Confound this dreadful cough ! — 
 And bidding wind and snow, that hurried 
 
 Around her shapely head. 
 Adorn the grace that was not flurried. 
 
 Nor quickened once its tread ; 
 So proudly did she move, as hearing 
 
 Some loftier secret chime.
 
 AT THE FINISH. 331 
 
 Which raised her above common fearing. 
 
 Or petty hopes of time ; 
 I see her now, as over billow 
 
 A ship goes grandly on — 
 Good God, there she is — by my pillow — 
 
 She beckons — she is gone ! 
 
 Well, had I pitied her and cared not. 
 
 Nor followed to the end. 
 Another would such charms have spared not. 
 
 And proved a falser friend ; 
 She had a woman's bane, her beauty. 
 
 Not hid in i-ustic gown — 
 It somehow seemed to me_my duty, 
 
 To let her gently down : 
 You see, for her was no escaping 
 
 The vulgar fate, of all 
 Who have a finer show and^shaping — • 
 
 They certain are to fall ; " 
 And she was nothing more than woman. 
 
 With wondrous eyes and lips, 
 And softly richly weakly human. 
 
 To her pink finger tips ; 
 So she was one, no man of feeling 
 
 Could ever doubt to woo. 
 And win — as sure as orange-peeling — 
 
 I did it kindly too ; 
 And then I loved her — Jessie — truly. 
 
 At least one winter's day. 
 And though at first a bit unruly. 
 
 She went the usual way. 
 
 I bought her cheaply— for a shilling-7- 
 
 Sham gold, not precious ore — 
 But when was ever girl unwilling. 
 
 Who had no ring before ? 
 Tt looked like gold, nor could her pleasure 
 
 Have worn a brighter hue. 
 If it to every test and measure 
 
 Had given a proper due ; 
 Nor was she happy without reason. 
 
 Not made mere brutal sport. 
 To hear of higher life, a season — 
 
 Though it were somewhat short ; 
 My love was not a rogue's invention, 
 
 A sheathed and shameful knife — 
 I paid her also siich attention, 
 
 I never paid my wife ; 
 Yes, it was quite sincere, a passion 
 
 Worth shillings, even a crown— 
 I said she would be all the fashion.
 
 3S2 AT THK VTNI.SK. 
 
 If she did visit Town ; 
 I promised, nor meant to refuse her — 
 
 But O this cursed pain I 
 And there she stands, the same accuser 
 
 And there she points again ! 
 
 Of course, it grew a bit of scandal. 
 
 The parson too turned soiu-. 
 But tlien the game was worth the candle. 
 
 If only for an hour ; 
 And were I tempted by a figure. 
 
 Moulded like hers, once more. 
 I fear my stock of moral rigour^ 
 
 Would vanish as before ; 
 It was not a cold blooded playing. 
 
 Resolved at length to strike, 
 Nor could you call the case betraying. 
 
 When both were pleased alike ; 
 I fancied her and lent position. 
 
 Though not for very long — 
 She took me thus, on that condition. 
 
 Nor question made of wrong ; 
 It was a little bit of dealing. 
 
 In which each something gave — 
 Not, as the story ran, of " stealing," 
 
 Or " driving to the grave " ; 
 And as my deeds were always chatter. 
 
 And food for ^jrurient doubt. 
 It's well I furnished folks with matter. 
 
 At last, to talk about. 
 
 Let's see — the days so soon get darker. 
 
 The lines are scarcely read — 
 Save just the words, " Your Jessie Parker/' 
 
 And kisses *,.."* freely spread ; 
 It is her letter, full of blunders 
 
 And blots and little screams. 
 With hopes and fears, and all those wonders 
 
 Which make up women's dreams ; 
 That dreadful perfume, which she vaunted 
 
 And wanted me to share — 
 Which ever since my steps has haunt ud, 
 
 And still declines to spare ; 
 This is a crease, and that a staining 
 
 Where haply tears have dropt, 
 A silly muddle of complaining 
 
 And blessings, wildly stopt ; 
 The writing — ^Oh, this cough is cruel. 
 
 Its tortures seem to grow ! 
 As if my body now were fuel. 
 
 For bonfires down below I —
 
 A. FALLEN ANGKL. 3^8 
 
 This writing really is too shocking — 
 
 Ah, there she crouches yet, 
 With threatening hands and glances mocking, 
 
 Wliicli bid nie not forget. 
 
 I did not kill her — lack of money. 
 
 Proscribed a change of air — 
 Swiss moimtains, moderation, honey. 
 
 With all ( but women) fair ; 
 My debts had grown so big and pressing, 
 
 r had no other card. 
 They put an end to our caressing — • 
 
 I also f ovmd it hard ; 
 How could I comfort at a distance. 
 
 Or know her wretched fate ? 
 In what a bankrupt give assistance. 
 
 With bailiii's at the gate ? 
 And then a baby came, to doiible 
 
 The bother and to pine. 
 When she was qiiite enough of trouble — 
 
 Perhaps, it was not mine .... 
 
 Heaven, have mercy, I am falling 
 Deeper and deeper down ! 
 
 That's Jessie's voice, I hear her calling. 
 
 And blood is on her gown ! 
 And now I see her, witli the baby — 
 
 Ours — yes, I know it well — 
 
 1 miirdered faith and love — and, may be. 
 Them likewise — is this hell ? 
 
 A FALLEX ANGEL. 
 
 " The other evening a girl of about 17, with a sweet voice and 
 a face like an angel's, offered me her younger sister, assuring nie 
 that the child was a ."Letter from a Friend. 
 
 Beaiitiful, as treads the day 
 
 Through the purple coui'ts of light —   
 Beautiful, as is the way 
 
 Of an angel through the night — 
 
 Pure and pleasant to the sight. 
 Crowned with a heavenly ray. 
 Glorifying alleys gray. 
 
 Where the knowledge is not might. 
 And even hope has taken flight — 
 Foi'th she stept, from meaner clay. 
 
 From the horror and the blight, 
 CTaspiny- hands that seemed to pray.
 
 334. THE WOMAN S HEEL. 
 
 "Was she human, or a guest 
 
 From the splendours of the sky. 
 
 Who would render bright and blest 
 Cursed haunts, where demons ply 
 Dh-ty work, as pigs in sty P 
 
 Had she fluttered from her nest. 
 
 Hunting food, or seeking rest. 
 Ere her tender wings could fly. 
 Wandering she recked not why ? 
 
 Oh, by love her bosom prest. 
 
 Craved for hearts with hunger's cry, 
 
 Kefuge from the ravening pest. 
 
 Then she spoke with murmur sweet, 
 Words that fell as falling rain. 
 
 When the shine and shadow meet, 
 Just to kiss and part again — 
 Part with tears, but without pain ; 
 
 Was it message, sent to greet 
 Earthly form with weary feet. 
 
 In a world of sordid gain. 
 
 And to soothe the bitter stain ? 
 
 Thus the labour were not vain. 
 If though for a moment fleet. 
 
 Heaven looked down upon the chain. 
 
 Was it fancy ? Did I dream ? 
 
 Had my reason fled its throne ? 
 Was that grace a mocking beam. 
 
 Playing on a breast of stone. 
 Which from fires infernal shone ? — 
 
 Out of fairness without seam. 
 Pure as starlight on a stream. 
 
 Sighed in soft and silvery tone. 
 
 Offer, as to dogs a bone, — 
 Sighed from lips of scarlet gleam — 
 
 Virtue of a child left lone. 
 None to hear the outrage scream. 
 
 THE WOMAN'S HEEL. 
 
 Clothed in rags that do not cover. 
 
 Shod in boots that do not pair. 
 With a face that not one lover 
 
 Now could ever fancy fair ; 
 Clothed in dirt that is no vesture. 
 
 Soiled by fingers fouler still. 
 Showing in each shadowed gesture 
 
 Blight of some polluting ill ;
 
 THE women's HEKL, 33,- 
 
 Clothed in shame, that gives but scorninsr 
 
 J^ rom the pampered and the proud 
 With the sinister adorning. 
 
 Of the roses, that are shroud • 
 Clothed in pain, that fits like fetter 
 Dragging helpless prisoner down, 
 Who has found no fortune better 
 
 Than a world with hostile frown • 
 Clothed in sackcloth of the sorrow ' 
 Which provides but famine's feast 
 As m night without a morrow ;— 
 
 Is she aught above the beast ? 
 — She is one who loved and barkened 
 
 To the whisper now she lothes. 
 Till her sun at noon was darkened- 
 And it's thus the Devil clothes. ' 
 Stript of purity, the tender 
 
 Garbing of a maiden's brow 
 Brighter than the dazzling splendour. 
 
 Which yet veils not broken vow ; 
 btript of honour, the rare jewel 
 Dearer than a diamond stone. 
 By the kindness that is cruel. 
 
 Though it steps from prince's throno • 
 [5tript of beauty, the white blossom 
 
 Every woman's sacred right 
 In the fond and faithful bosom, 
 Which has modest v for mio-h't • 
 
 ^^^W-!'-''l ^.^T' *^^* 'heavenly treasure 
 
 Which defies the moth and rust- 
 Just to yield a moment's pleasure 
 
 To a coward's gilded lust ; 
 Stript of all, that makes a woman 
 
 Sweet and lovely in the least. 
 The Divine within the human ;'— 
 
 Is she aught above the beast r 
 — She is one who lost her raiment 
 
 When she touched forbidden lip's. 
 But to get the curse repayment • 
 
 And it is thus the Devils strips. 
 Starving in the wild profusion, 
 
 Emjity and without an aim. 
 Baffled only by illusion, 
 ^ Lacking what the dogs may claim; 
 Starving, if the hands were loaded 
 
 With the bribes of wicked wealth. 
 Grimly by a hunger goaded 
 
 Which the guilty stabs in stealth • 
 Starving, when she most hath taken 
 Of the plenty earned by sin.
 
 yog THK WOMAN S HESL. 
 
 With the throes of famine shaken. 
 
 Which erects its cotirt within ; 
 Starving, in the rotten rankness 
 
 Which abont her flames and flares. 
 With her pining heart's great blankness 
 
 For which no caressing cares ; 
 Starving, with the richest ration 
 
 Of the daintiest flower and frviit. 
 In her awful separation ; — 
 
 Is she aught above the brute ? 
 —She is one who trusted, tasted. 
 
 Just to please the lower needs. 
 Which to utter dearth have hasted ; 
 
 And it's thus the Devil feeds. 
 
 Bought, for kisses cold and venal. 
 
 Which despoil her of her strength. 
 By the pleasure that is penal. 
 
 And must surely kill at length ; 
 Bought, for vice's cloying honey. 
 And the poisoned silver bowls, 
 AVith the bitter blood-stained money. 
 
 Which is ever jn-ice of souls ; 
 Boiight, when heavenly truth was calling. 
 
 By the gay and glittering lie, 
 For the worse than tomb's enthralling, 
 
 i'or a moment's feast to die ; 
 Bought, by any careless rover, 
 
 Who the harlot's fee can give,' 
 And again (though life is over) 
 
 With corruption's worms to live ;_ 
 Bought, by praise that axe is whetting 
 
 Now, against the shining shoot, 
 To the woe beyond forgetting ;— 
 Is she aught above the brute ? 
 — She is one who weakly trifled 
 
 With the pretty primrose ways. 
 Woke to see her glories rifled ; 
 And it's th\is the Devil pays. 
 
 Sold, who had the high anointing 
 
 Of the holy virgin head. 
 To the dust of disappointing, 
 
 And a trysting with the dead ; 
 Sold, who should have reigned for ever, 
 
 By the seivicc of pure hands, 
 To the ties that only sever. 
 
 And the freedom that is bands ; 
 Sold, who gave her hour of leisure. 
 
 Meant for calmer sweeter joy. 
 To false weights and scanty measixre.
 
 THE woman's heel. 357 
 
 Though she were a monarch's toj^ j 
 Sold, to jj'reedy lust that levels 
 
 Fairest fashion to its mire. 
 And in dance of corpses revel.-?, 
 
 With her secret licart of lire ; 
 Sold, by him .who should have guarded 
 
 Grace just bursting from the bud, 
 As from button-hole discarded ;— 
 
 Is she aught above the mud ? 
 — She is one, who lightly counted 
 
 Not the cost of joassion's beats. 
 As the marble stei:)s she mounted   
 
 And it's thus the Devil cheats. ' 
 
 Tooled, just at the height of fortune. 
 
 On the homeless waters cast. 
 Left a shipwreck, to importune 
 
 Mercy vainly of the blast ; 
 Fooled, when all seemed gained, and .siunmer 
 
 Beamed on her with witching glance. 
 Sounding welcome, as the druumier 
 
 Bids a bannered host advance ; 
 Fooled, though she had grown so wiser. 
 
 And turned every step to gold. 
 Sport of ruffian and despiser. 
 
 Or the pity that is cold ; 
 Fooled, by friends with whom she mated. 
 
 And divided once her purse. 
 Chucked to wounds of foes unsated, — 
 
 Charity, whose gifts are worse ; 
 Fooled, through liglits she fain v/ould follow. 
 
 Which no heavenly temple stud. 
 Only sky of Fashion hollow ; — 
 
 Is she aught above the mud ? 
 — She is one, who first but fingered 
 
 Just the hem of doulrtful diiys, 
 Lost because she looked and lino-erod ; 
 
 And it's tlius the Devil slays.'' 
 
 Ah, now draw aside the curtain 
 
 Infamy has round her cast, 
 Out of horror, dim, uncertain. 
 
 Let her be herself at last ; 
 Scrape off vices, which have rusted 
 
 Over the once queenly frame. 
 Moral filth and rot, encrusted 
 
 In the piu-ple rags of shame ; 
 Strike away the chains that ciimber 
 
 Feeble steps' in weary strife. 
 Till she starts from prison slumber. 
 
 Yet again to gracious life ;
 
 g39 man's woman. 
 
 Salve with solace her poor blindness. 
 
 And unclose the clouded ears. 
 Feed her with the milk of kindness. 
 
 Wash her in compassion's tears ; 
 For though sin hath set its token, 
 
 On her erring human heel. 
 Still her spirit is unl^roken, 
 
 Still as woman she can feel : 
 Yea, the Seed of woman, glorious 
 
 Flowering from the awful dead, 
 Over sin and hell victorious, 
 
 Yet shall bruise the Serpent's head. 
 
 MAA'S WOMAN. 
 
 Cursing and ciu-st'd and lighting. 
 
 Filthy without and within 
 In yet filthier fancies delighting, 
 
 Reeking of poisonoxis gm ; 
 
 Ragged all up to her chin. 
 Bagged all down with the writing 
 Of the dark and the dreadful indicting 
 
 Branded by letters of sin ; 
 
 Haggard and thirsty and thin. 
 With her horrible thoughts, and the blighting 
 Of the general slurring and slighting, 
 
 Stamped in a maniac grin. 
 
 Hands that are grimy, and fumbling 
 
 Feebly with ill-fitting wraps, 
 Or the hair that hangs matted and tumbling 
 
 Down on the forehead, and flaps 
 
 Grimly and just as it haps ; 
 Feet that go straying and stumbliilg 
 In tune and in time witli her grTimbliug, 
 
 Bursting her slippers, through gaps 
 
 Showing the Ijruisos and chfps ; 
 In her ears a great terror of rumbling. 
 From the starving and struggle and liumbling, 
 
 Years of brute bv\ffets and slaps. 
 
 Eyes, that are bloodshot and blinking. 
 
 Turned from the simshine of day. 
 If it glances where she may be slinking. 
 
 Low in the alleys so gray. 
 
 Ghastly, no sunshine can stay : 
 Brain all bemuddled and thinking. 
 Like a beast, of the next chance of drinking, 
 
 Could she discover a way —
 
 GOD S WOMAX. 339 
 
 Had she a i^eiiny to pay- 
 In the chains of that merciless linking. 
 And deeper and deeper yet sinking, 
 
 Euin tliat is bnt man's play. 
 
 Heart, that is burnt up with shaming. 
 
 Under society's ban. 
 In the fortune past knowing and naming, 
 
 Ont of the glorious plan 
 
 Meant for the victor, who ran 
 Bravely a time, and with taming 
 Of her passions in virginal framing ; 
 
 Life, which its beautiful span 
 
 Spread for the angels to scan, 
 Now death deformed with the laming 
 Of its lusts, like hell-fire through it flaming ; 
 
 Woman, the creature of man. 
 
 GOD'S WOMAN. 
 
 Blessed and blessing, and lighted 
 
 Inward with heavenly grace, 
 Shown in the shades that are blighted, 
 
 Showered in pestilent place, 
 
 Ev'rywhere finding a space ; 
 Ev'rywhere seeking the slighted. 
 Lifting the wronged to be righted ; 
 
 Ev'i-ywhere leaving its trace. 
 
 Priest of a holier pace. 
 In the lives that were lost and benighted. 
 Among homes that were ever affrighted. 
 
 But for her woman's embrace. 
 
 Hands, that are busy, and flutter 
 White with the needle and thread. 
 
 Working for slaves in the gutter 
 Bowed by their burdens of lead, 
 Hardly with courage to tread ; 
 
 Feet that forsake not the stutter. 
 
 Oaths of the outcast, in iitter 
 Shame, that is only her bread- 
 Shame that envelopes the head 
 
 Thrust through the hole in the shutter. 
 
 From the haunts where shapes mumble and mutter 
 Dimly, as ghosts from the dead. 
 
 Eyes, that are tnithful and tender, 
 
 Litten with lustre of skies 
 Breathing ineffable splendoitr. 
 
 Lovely wherever it lies.
 
 840 
 
 JESSIE S KEVENGE. 
 
 Quick'iiino- wherever it trios ; 
 Briiin, full of thoi\g-hts for the sijciidcr 
 Spoiled of inheritance slender. 
 
 Cheated by fortnne that flies — 
 
 Training- celestial ties 
 For the soul, that )iut dares to surrender 
 Just itself, and will take as defender 
 
 Her, who would help it arise. 
 
 Heart, like a palace, whose glowing- 
 Welcomes the pilgrims that plod 
 Darkly, while teiajjests are blowing. 
 Yet through the In-iar and clod," 
 Poorly an(i painfully shod ; 
 Life, in magnificence flowing- 
 Fresh, for the empty and owing — 
 Shoulders scarce lifting the hod. 
 Backs almost broken with rod — 
 A new life and new dignity throwing' 
 Upon all, and more beautiful g-rowin^cj-,- 
 Woman, the creature of God. • 
 
 All the heavens were blotted and black, 
 
 Ah in. sackcloth and ashes, 
 Save where lightning just opened a crack 
 
 For its blue blinding- flashes ; — 
 As a door left ajar in a room 
 
 Of the regions infernal. 
 Shooting flame from the horrible gl(_Him 
 
 In the biirnings eternal : 
 For the storm was abroad and at strife 
 
 With tumultuous medley, 
 Wliile its lashes cut keen as kniic. 
 
 And their kiss was as deadly ; 
 Yea. it chui-ned the wild waters to snow. 
 
 Till the waves rose in mountains — 
 Past the highest higli-watermark's flow. 
 
 Rushed the tide in tierce fountains ; 
 Al>ove scream of the tempest, a cry 
 
 Not of seabird or stranger, 
 Eang oiit clear as if scaling the sky. 
 
 From a seaman in danger ; 
 Through the riot of shingle, and roar 
 
 Of the surf with its tearing. 
 Beyond rescue of rocket and oar. 
 Knelled the cry vt despairiu;;-.
 
 .tksrie's rkvenqe. Ml 
 
 Ah, the tidings of sorrow soon flew. 
 
 Up that gray sloping village. 
 That the wind unto burials blew, 
 
 And the waves lieat for pillage ; 
 So they hastened and flocked far and near. 
 
 Old and yonng, and were carried 
 On the wings of confusion and fear — 
 
 Not a skulker who tarried ; 
 To the strand did they gather and gaze 
 
 Out to sea, over travail 
 Of the labouring deep, tlirough th<' haze 
 
 That they fain, would unravel ; 
 FJung the foam in tlieir faces the fpi-ay 
 
   With its splashing, and fluttered 
 The shy maidens who cowei'ed in tJie way. 
 
 Where it sported and spluttei'ed ; 
 Growled the siirf, as it struggle*! with stones 
 
 It would grind into powder. 
 As do dogs that keep worrying bones. 
 
 Leaping higher and louder ; 
 Hissed the gale that was cruel and cold. 
 
 With a venomous hissing. 
 As it snapped at their garments, and told 
 
 Of the man they were missing. 
 
 With the glass running down, and a curse 
 
 At the moon for not shining. 
 He had sailed over night, that liis purse 
 
 Might get somehow a lining ; 
 He had drunk a small fortune away. 
 
 At the sign of the "Dragon," 
 And he now w<iuld not l^rook a delay. 
 
 To replenish the flagon ; 
 With a scowl of intent on his brow. 
 
 And a laiigh as if landed. 
 He had sworn (with a terrible vow) 
 
 No return empty-handed ; 
 What was weather to mariner's pluck. 
 
 Or the buffet of billow ? 
 What was surf to the seafaring luck. 
 
 That would make it his pillow ? 
 So lie sailed fortli alone, not a lad 
 
 Woidd go with him froni haven, 
 With a jest at the bodings so bad. 
 
 And an oath foi- tlie craven ; 
 And away to tlu^ southward he went, 
 
 Without liidding oi- blessing, 
 With his credit and character spent, 
 
 iVnd not one girl's caressing.
 
 842 Jessie's eevenge. 
 
 But the tempest in shadow and shower. 
 
 From its lying and langonr, 
 V Like a giant awoke in its power 
 
 And arose in its anger ; 
 Opened mouth that bieathed fury and fire. 
 
 Poured fourth volumes of tiiundei-. 
 With the hate that fvdfilled dark desire, 
 
 Andtlie night clove asimder; 
 Put forth hands that were ghastly and grim. 
 
 Through its dank trailing tresses. 
 That wove ruin and winding-sheets dim, 
 
 ^\\t of cloudy recesses ; 
 Flew on footsteps of passion and pride. 
 
 That sped fast and yet faster. 
 From its thousands of leagues on the tide, 
 
 In its uncliecked disaster ; 
 Grew in greatness of feature and face. 
 
 With its stride and its tangling, 
 Till it wrapt the whole world in embrace 
 
 Of a serj^entine strangling ; 
 Until sea and the skies were so mixed 
 
 With its devilish leaven. 
 None could guess, with all borders unfixed. 
 
 Which was earth, which was heaven. 
 
 Down it fell on the venturous boat, 
 
 In its ignorance la/y. 
 Like a toy thing in picture atioat , 
 
 Eocking helpless and hazy ; 
 Full it swooped in its merciless march. 
 
 On the helm of the ranger. 
 With the infinite span of its arch. 
 
 As he dreamed not of danger : 
 As he huddled a fool at his post. 
 
 In a bestial slumber. 
 While the enemies gathered their host. 
 
 And drew near without number ; 
 From the bosom that nothing could tame. 
 
 In gaunt cavernous windings. 
 It hurled arrows of rapine and flame. 
 
 Forged with sulphurous grindings : 
 And it struck the poor ill-fated craft. 
 
 Which forth boldly had swaggered. 
 Now before, now abeam, now abaft. 
 
 Till it stumbled and staggered ; 
 Till it reeled, like a creature in pain. 
 
 And then moaned from its trouble. 
 As if conscious its liibour was vain, 
 
 xlnd itself but a bubl>le.
 
 Jessie's rkvengs. 843 
 
 Went the mast by the board, and away 
 
 Flew the sails into tatters. 
 That made lately such gallant display. 
 
 In the peaceful regattas ; 
 There was cracking- of spars and the kit 
 
 Yet more lightsome and limber,. 
 With a ratthng of ropes that were split, 
 
 And a groaning of timber ; 
 All the boat felt that sinister strain. 
 
 And grew hopeless and hnmble. 
 Fore and aft was it struck, and again 
 
 Did it stagger and stumble ; 
 Ah, it bowed to the pressiire and pinch 
 
 Of its pitiless foeman, 
 Through each innermost fibre and inch, 
 
 As a puppet to showman ; 
 As a di'unkard the worse for his cup. 
 
 And in raggedest clothing. 
 To the hori-id debaiich totters up 
 
 Yet once more, though with lotliing ; 
 Gone were canvas and sticks, and the shore 
 
 Showed no friendlier token. 
 Than the mountainous waves that broke o'er. 
 
 And the rudder wJis bi-oken. 
 
 Not a man moved a footstep, no hand 
 
 To the rescue was lifted, 
 As the wreck within sight of the land 
 
 To destruction came drifted ; 
 When a girl, with a glorious leap 
 
 In the fearless old fashion. 
 Through that mob as of timorous sheep. 
 
 Sprang with lightning of passion ; 
 With a branding on brow, but the love 
 
 That had strength beyond terror. 
 Burning brightly and looking above. 
 
 For the pardon of error ; 
 Without word, nor the care to revolve 
 
 The qualms others might cherish. 
 And but filled with one noble resolve. 
 
 Just to save him or perish ; 
 With a force that descended from God, 
 
 And that never was hiinian. 
 She in triumph and majesty trod. 
 
 Single-handed, a woman : 
 Ban a boat down the beach and thrust out. 
 
 With no help but her Maker's, 
 Through that hell, and towards the wild shout 
 
 Disappeared in the breakers.
 
 344 Jessie's kevenge. 
 
 It was frantic, that shoiit, at his doom. 
 
 When all hope seemed to languish. 
 As of one who alive from his tomb, 
 
 Fig-hts for help in last angnish ; 
 Tolled so bitter and dreadful the cry. 
 
 That the women they trembled, 
 And the men could not muster reply. 
 
 If their fear was dissembled ; 
 It was pleading for life and foi' aid. 
 
 By an agonized spirit 
 To eternity passing, afraid, 
 
 Which but woe must inhei'it ; 
 It was wail of a sinner, who long- 
 Has been rebel and rover. 
 And who feels for his manhood of wront 
 
 Now repentance is over ; 
 It was call of a snffei-er in need, 
 
 Who was too still a brother. 
 And still clung to some desperate deed, 
 
 Hope forlorn, from another ; 
 But what keel in that chaos could live. 
 
 Through the darkness and distance ? 
 And what hero advent uie to give. 
 
 The one wanted assistance ? 
 
 For a mojnent the stillness of awe 
 
 Fell upon those rude fishers, 
 As the )ioat tost about like a straw, 
 
 And tliey merely well-wishers ; 
 As it flashed from the smoke of the surf 
 
 Seething, which she put off in, 
 Into water more clear, li?aped like turf 
 
 On the bed of a coffin : 
 As it swept up the swirling of tall 
 
 Great green rollers, and breasted 
 The full brunt of the tempest, whoso fall 
 
 Had those "white horses " crested ; 
 As it sank for a season like lead. 
 
 In the hell of the hollows. 
 Then arose like a ghost from the dead. 
 
 That some destinj"- follows ; 
 As it toppled first this way, then that. 
 
 And was tiimbled and shaken. 
 Like a derelict hulk, which the rat 
 
 Now at length has forsaken ; 
 As it swayed in the whirlpools, and swung 
 
 In the grip of the giant. 
 Or shot high in the flashes, and Jiung- 
 For a second defiant .
 
 J.ESSIE R KEVENflE. 'M'» 
 
 Then a burst of ai)plaiise, from the men 
 
 Sc abashed and confounded, 
 Broke in thunder of rapture, and then 
 
 Yet again it resounded ; 
 It was Jessie, the girl he had shamed 
 
 And consigned to damnation. 
 Who was only with whisperings named, 
 
 But noAv sought his salvation ; 
 It was Jessie, the outcast and scorn. 
 
 And the dupe of sediiction. 
 Who siiblime in her purpose Avent, boi'iic 
 
 To relief or destruction ; 
 It was Jessie, the foolish and fair. 
 
 The despised of their daiighters, 
 Who alone in her weakness would dare 
 
 The mad liirbbub of waters ; 
 It was Jessie, the fallen and frail. 
 
 Now by no one regarded, 
 AVho replied to his pitiful hail. 
 
 Though he her had discarded ; 
 Ifc was Jessie, who thus from wild shore 
 
 Hurried out on waves wilder. 
 Who a boat never hand led before. 
 
 To the wretch that defiled her. 
 
 In the glare of the lightning, they saw 
 
 The doomed man and the otlier. 
 Who would save, by the Gospel's grand law, 
 
 Fler betrayer and brother ; 
 Sumc believed they beheld in the l^oal, 
 
 With the eai'thl'ier feature. 
 Arms unearthly that kept it afloat, 
 
 A celestial ci'eature ; 
 When the billows seemed ready to whelm, 
 
 And to leave not a relic, 
 Tliey thought surely was one at tJie lielin. 
 
 Like a being angelic ; 
 Others swore it was Christ, and His form 
 
 Who each obstacle scattered. 
 And would pilot the boat througli tlie storm. 
 
 Which a ship must have shattered ; 
 Others vowed slie had sunk as she ought. 
 
 In that hiu'ricane savage. 
 For the tempest waxed louder, and wrought 
 
 Direr ruin and ravage ; 
 Others knew it was bootless, to mark 
 
 What could never be certain. 
 Or to read in that riddle so dark. 
 
 The sight veiled by its curtain.
 
 S4G .ikssik's revenge. 
 
 Aud again a dead silence, the Imsh 
 
 Of suspense sorely troubled. 
 Fell upon them— tliey prayed— in the rush. 
 
 And the roar now redotibled ; 
 O they prayed from compassion and fear. 
 
 In their hearts praying only. 
 To the God who is ready to hear. 
 
 And the God of the lonely ; 
 Who is Lord of the tempest, to bind 
 
 Or imloose at His pleasure, 
 Who a bridle has set on the wind. 
 
 And gives all things by measure ; 
 Yes, they prayed, who for years without thought 
 
 Had such Providence taken 
 As their right, and their welfare but sought. 
 
 Nor to praying would waken : 
 Prayed the men, tor the mercy they hoped 
 
 Against hope, on the daring 
 Which unarmed and unaided yet coped 
 
 With the ocean unsparing ; 
 Prayed the women, for pity on her 
 
 Whom He held in His keeping. 
 Who was His if she sadly did err ; 
 
 Prayed the children, with weeping. 
 
 He was struck, by the falling of mast 
 
 And the shifting of himber. 
 As he roused to the peril aghast. 
 
 From his stupefied slumber ; 
 One arm broken, half stunned, and the blood 
 
 Dripping fast from the gashing 
 Of a splinter, he faced the dark flood, 
 
 And the storm in mid crashing ; 
 Ah, a frenzy of dread seized his soul. 
 
 And the horror of panic. 
 As he eyed the stern strife "past controul. 
 
 And the battle Titanic ; 
 He was doomed, ho who never had'cared 
 
 For a penitent station — 
 He was dying and all uniirepared 
 
 Going forth to damnation ; 
 All his sins in their vileness came back. 
 
 To his tortured reflection, 
 And they looked now so loathsome and black. 
 
 In the gaunt recollection ; 
 And the wrnnsr last committed, stood out 
 
 In its pestilent badness. 
 Till he shuddered, and heaved that last shout, 
 
 Which seemed wrung out of madness.
 
 JESSIE S RKV1ENGK. 
 
 It votiirned in a flaring of firOj 
 
 Like a late dying embei- 
 Leaping- up, her last burning desire. 
 
 Which he quailed to remember ; 
 Ashy agonjs stamped in the stare 
 
 Of the face, as if hunted 
 By the hounds of importunate care. 
 
 With life stiffened and stunted ; 
 And the looks more entreating than speech, 
 
 With the dumli writhen gesture 
 Of the hands that essayed to beseech, 
 
 In her grief's ghostly vesture ; 
 And the feet that just faltered one pace. 
 
 Then refused to go farther. 
 As if seeking for hiding a place, 
 
 Or that earth would ope rathei- ; 
 He recalled it too well, every link 
 
 Of the crime, though confusing" 
 Through the fumes of debauches of drink, 
 
 In its baseness accusing ; 
 And he now was descending alone. 
 
 In woe none had depicted. 
 With no Christ for his sins to atone. 
 
 Self-condemned, self-convicted. 
 
 What was that in tlie dark drawing near. 
 
 Through the blast with its scourges. 
 Now aloft on the foam driven drear, 
 
 ISTow below in the surges ? 
 Was it Jesus yet walking the waves. 
 
 As in Galilee story. 
 And yet shedding on shipwrecks and graves 
 
 The new life of His glory ? 
 Was He coming again with the light. 
 
 Which the shadows would shiver, 
 And again in His mercy and mig-lit. 
 
 The danmed soul to deliver ? 
 Was it dreaming, and only the cheat 
 
 Of delirious fancies. 
 That had dragged from their dusky retreat 
 
 The old boyish romances ? 
 And that figure, he knew it too well — 
 
 But his brain must be giving — 
 Was.it heaven he felt? was it hell? 
 
 Was he dead ? was he living ? 
 The curst drink had unmanned him, its mist 
 
 Filled his mind with fond guesses ; 
 Yet that hair flowing loosy, had he kist ? 
 
 And that face, was it Jessie's Y
 
 S4'S Jessie's KEVENfiE, 
 
 While he wondered and hardlj'' believed. 
 
 What his fancies had painted. 
 As he pictiired the girl he deceived. 
 
 For a moment he fainted; 
 Then he unclosed his eyes, and once more 
 
 It drew nearer and nearer. 
 And that vision of joy on him bore. 
 
 Growing- clearer and clearer ; 
 With her face all deflowered, and dim 
 
 From the tears beyond shedding, 
 She had sworn to wreak vengeance on him, 
 
 Tn a funeral wedding; 
 And yet now was she seeking him, she 
 
 Wiiom he marred in her blindness. 
 Fain to pluck him from riiin to 1)0 ? 
 
 Was her vengeance biit kindness ? 
 Was she faithful, when nobody moved 
 
 For his succour one finger. 
 And the mates who his bounty had proved. 
 
 Were contented to linger ? 
 Did the girl he dishonoured, and left 
 
 When he cared not to ravish. 
 Fly to rescue him lost and bereft. 
 
 And her own life to lavish ? 
 
 Then he looked to his Father, and sjioke 
 
 A brief stammering sentence ; 
 For his heart was quite conquered, and l^rokt* 
 
 In a I'vish of repentance ; 
 And he lift(;d his hands, and they met 
 
 .lust the hands that they needed. 
 While she drew him within, nor wdiild let 
 
 Him again toss unheeded ; 
 And he opened his arms, and her name 
 
 From his lips fell in rapture. 
 And nndoubting she hearkened, find came 
 
 To his passionate capture ; 
 What of vwin the white waters clmmed. 
 
 Now his soul had been shriven — 
 .Now the one he had outraged returned, 
 
 And their God had forgiven ? 
 Foi- the tempest, which robbed them of breath, 
 
 Bequeathed comelier graces, 
 Tlcninited and married by death. 
 
 In each other's embraces ; 
 Aiad the travailing ocean gave In'rtli 
 
 To a, marvellous l>lossom — 
 To a man who found Heaven in earth, 
 
 • ►ii a ^voalanly bosom.
 
 THE OLD ORDER. 519 
 
 THE OLD OlIDEK. 
 
 Lo, they havo had their day, a damned innings, 
 
 Played lightly for themselves alone, 
 And for those long- and black arrears of sinnings, 
 No earthly i^enanee can atone — 
 No hiiman judge would dare condone 
 Tlie crimes, which naade a sport of widows' winnings, 
 And fattened out of foolish orphans' thinnings. 
 By tricks unknown, 
 And picked the bone 
 Before they chiicked it to the dogs, whose spinnings 
 And tortured toil but fed their tiendisli grinnings. 
 Of stone. 
 
 It has departed, the imperial story, 
 
 From their lascivious and dishonoured line. 
 To tried and truer hearts, to heads not hoary 
 In hells of passion and of wine ; 
 They would not let the smilight shine. 
 Save on the lordly Wliig and landed Tory ; 
 And hands thnt held the sceptre now are gory 
 From cruel min<_', 
 AVhere women pine ; 
 And that gi-im sentence old, mementv lUDri. 
 lias stamped on every palaces of their glory. 
 Its sign. 
 
 Ah, we for ages sad have borne the blighting. 
 
 That is no simple outward spot. 
 But spreads about the soul against it fighting 
 The poison of its hateful rot, 
 A dark inexpiable blot ; 
 And we have suii'ered all the pain and slighti]ig, 
 For which dawned never day of honest righting, 
 On helpless lot. 
 By men forgot ; 
 And we, when shared should they have our beuightiitg, 
 Have juinistered for years to their delighting, 
 For what 'f 
 
 It totters, as accursed, the old prder. 
 
 With the avenging earthquake throes. 
 That shake from centre to the farthest border. 
 The kingdom of our passing foes ; 
 Who would not set their haught toes 
 Within the mud, vi'here woman stands as warder. 
 Without the solace that they should afford her, 
 In winter woes. 
 Like icy floes ; 
 And for the bloated jjriest and prince marauder. 
 Their time is sealed by change, the great recorder. 
 And UQesj
 
 j.jO the last of the giants. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE GIANTS 
 
 He had outlived them all in every clime. 
 
 That band of mighty x^leaders. 
 For there were heroes in the ancient time. 
 
 Though now are none such leaders ; 
 And those were days when Truth itself came nigh, 
 
 And faith was big and bolder. 
 With men divine as Atlas, who held higli 
 
 The spheres upon his shoulder ; 
 When mountain forms stood but above the i-uck, 
 
 And giant warred with giant. 
 And glorioi\s hearts for honoiu- grandly struck. 
 
 On love of right reliant. 
 
 And still he stood, a venerable tower. 
 
 Scarred with the tempest levin. 
 And still with more than Promethean power 
 
 Drew down the fire from Heaven ; 
 While lesser souls gazed at the god-like plan. 
 
 And caught a reflex splendour. 
 Transformed by him who passed all human span. 
 
 And seemed a world's defender ; 
 They wondered at his strange iinearthly might. 
 
 Which oped each sacred portal. 
 And in the presence of that conqviering light. 
 
 Themselves grew half immortal. 
 
 But when no open force could break the sweep 
 
 Of his sublime intention. 
 Then all the vermin hordes that crawl and creep 
 
 Conspired with vile invention ; 
 Tliey knew his spirit proiid could not be bought. 
 
 By any bribe of money. 
 And flattery's jewelled poisoned cup they brought. 
 
 Which sweeter tastes than honey ; 
 And this he drank while it became a rod. 
 
 Unto his own confusion, 
 Till he believed that he himself was God, 
 
 And lived iipon delusion. 
 
 And wlien he lost his early loving hold 
 
 (Jf pai'th, which is our mother, 
 Vanished the touch that turned all clay to gold;, 
 
 And made each man a brother ; 
 The mocking mists of error round him drew 
 
 Their dim deceitful ciirtain, 
 ^nd even faiuiliar faces changed and grew 
 
 To other shapes uncertain ; 
 And though the awful strength beyond his kind 
 
 Yet marked him out as Master, 
 It served no purpose now when h© was blind. 
 
 But to beget disaster.
 
 THS DOOMED CLA8S. 351 
 
 And tliiis ho stnick at random, and the l)low 
 
 That should have raised a nation, 
 Laid only old and precious ])iilwarks low, 
 
 Or fools g-ave lordly station ; 
 And thus when he no longer saw those ends. 
 
 Which once bade deserts blossom, 
 He wounded not liis enemies but friends. 
 
 And pierced his country's bosom ; 
 Till, in mad effort to redeem liis fame, 
 
 Though by a land's seduction, 
 He brought upon his people nought lint shame. 
 
 And to himself destruction. 
 
 THE DOOMED CLASS. 
 
 Too long, as unmerciful masters. 
 
 Have they trodden us down to the mir», 
 AVithout care for the women's disasters, 
 
 If they glutted their devils' desire ; 
 Too long, in the pride of position. 
 
 They have used us as playthings and fools, 
 Though they sentenced our souls to perdition. 
 
 And our bodies degraded as tools ; 
 Too long, with the license of money. 
 
 They have scorned for their sins to atone, 
 And grown fat on the milk and the honey. 
 
 While they gave us the bitter alone. 
 
 But, at last, has the judgment been spoken. 
 
 If it seemed to delay in its tread, 
 For the breakers themselves shall be broken. 
 
 And the curse but recoil on their head ; 
 And, at last, shall the awful demerit, 
 
 Which has toyed with tlio gloiy of life 
 And the beauty God bade us inherit, 
 
 Feel the edge of the pitiless knife ; 
 And, at last, though they render no thanking.. 
 
 Is the prison preparing its gloom. 
 And we laugh at the dolorous clanking 
 
 Of the fetters which drag them to doom. 
 
 Too long, when they seemed yet securer, 
 
 In the insolence gotten of rank. 
 Have they feigned a religion demurer. 
 
 While the land with their lechery stank ; 
 Too long, though the stewards of treasure. 
 
 Which they never disgorged for the shelves
 
 »E3IE5rBEE THB, CHILDREX. 
 
 Of theii- dupes, have they wantoned in pleasure. 
 And heaped favoui-s on none but themselves ;' 
 
 Too long, TvithoTit fear of detection. . 
 
 Have they outraged the weak and the hiss. 
 
 And made laws just for their own protection,' 
 As they governed alone for a class. 
 
 But, at last, the deep vengeance, which muttered 
 
 In the heart of the woman and slave. 
 Has through earthquake its reckoning uttered 
 
 Though they call on their idols to slive ; 
 And, at last, from the dungeon and tavern 
 
 Flock theii- jailers, and black for the end 
 Hell has opened the fires of its cavern 
 
 For the cowards and sots to descend : 
 And. at last, from the guilt of their station. 
 
 Which they only abused to its close. 
 They go down, with a long execration. 
 
 To the dirt from wliich first thev arose 
 
 J{M>IBMBEK THE CHILD] I EX, 
 
 Fivm the forges black of labour. 
 
 Where the day is always drear, 
 Aoid the night itself no neighboiu- 
 
 To the childi-en full of fear- 
 To the childi-en lone, and laden 
 _ With the biu-dens to which born, 
 Xever meant for boy or maiden. 
 
 To the evening from the morn ; 
 We, who lack a mother's nursint^-. 
 
 Ere oin- little wings can fly. 
 From tlie laboiu- tliat is curding, 
 Fi'ebly cry. 
 
 Frum the workshoj) Lu-,;,.-,. »vi),.r,. tuilers 
 
 Woitld, btit cannot, earn the crust. 
 
 Grudged by hands of greedy sj^ilers, 
 
 Who have ground them into dust ;' 
 
 "^Tiere the hammer rests in stillness^ 
 
 And the rust devom-s the steel. 
 Though poor sufierers pine with illness. 
 
 And in vain for pity kneel : 
 We, but babies for the bosom. 
 
 Who can scarcely stand or crawl. 
 In the dirt that does not blossom, ' 
 Faintly call.
 
 KKMRMBER THE CHILDREN. 353 
 
 From the crossing and the gutter. 
 
 Where we hopeless beg aiid creep, 
 In M night forlorn and utter. 
 
 For the pence wo cannot keep ; 
 \Vli!Te we herd with dogs and vermin, 
 
 Fighthig witli them for the bone. 
 While sweet ladies wrajjt in ermine, 
 ^ Asked for bread, give pavement stone ; 
 From the drunken woe and reelings. 
 
 Only for some tiny task, 
 AVe, who still have children's feelings. 
 Dimly ask. 
 
 From the hateful maze of error, 
 
 Winding down to prison walls. 
 And the hourly scourge of terror. 
 
 Which on broken spirit falls ; 
 As we blindly starve and struggle, 
 
 1 ottering on from bad to worse, 
 Lured by lights that only juggle 
 
 Ours, and fill another's purse ; 
 We, whose lot has lost direction. 
 
 And without a friend to plead, 
 For some crumbs of your affection 
 Fondly plead. 
 
 From the awful oaths, and cruel 
 
 Kindness that woiild drug with gin. 
 And the poison, that is fuel 
 
 To more fiery bm-sts of sin ; 
 As we ever stray and stumble. 
 
 Under skies that are not blue. 
 With the weary feet that fumble. 
 
 On their treadmill, for a clue ; 
 We who did not choose oiir portion. 
 
 And would even prefer the grave. 
 For one smile, from life's distortion, 
 Humbly cx-ave. 
 
 From the archway and the corner. 
 
 Where we snatch a haimted rest 
 From the parent, and the scorner 
 
 Who has not a parent's breast ; 
 When in dreams of want and weeping. 
 
 The dark daily strivings close, 
 ii^nd we sink in dreaded sleeping. 
 
 With the mockery of repose : ° 
 We, who meet with nought but loathino-,. 
 
 Just on this the children's day, "' 
 
 For your scraps of food and clothing 
 Humbly pray.
 
 JJo'i " NO EOOm/' 
 
 "NO ROOM." 
 
 With totterino- steps that would not, yet did, lihindei', 
 
 So worn and wearied by their endless tramp 
 Beneath the skies that frowned, on pavements under 
 
 The blistered feet that left a stony stamp ; 
 fehe craved for shelter from the poor, whoss' jiortion 
 
 Was lietter than her own forsaken lot, 
 With li])s that ti'emliled in their gray distortion. 
 
 For help she needed and iliscovered not ; 
 A rbof to shield her achino- head, a haven 
 
 Where she mi<i;ht lie a little, and have rest 
 From the rougli Idow and more rough word of ci-aven, 
 
 For her sore weakness and the troubled breast ; 
 A crust of refuse bread the dog discarded. 
 
 To ease the gnawing of the hungry pain. 
 Sapping tlie life of want no long unguarded, 
 
 That could not bear the torture of the strain ; 
 It was not much she asked her huni1)le neighboiu'. 
 
 Who still coidd call her own the humlde floor. 
 And earned a pittance for the ill-i^aid labour. 
 
 That kept the wolf of famine from the door ; 
 But from the hearth that gajjed with scanty fuel. 
 
 Where the dim light but shed a ghastly gloom. 
 Came liack the dirge-like answer, cold and cruel — • 
 " No room." 
 
 With frozen hands, that vainly seemed to wrestle 
 
 In its keen scourges with the scornful blast — 
 That once were warm, and tendei-ly would nestle 
 
 Within a mother's, loving to the last ; 
 Witli lingej's seamed and soiled, that strove to tighten 
 
 About her starving frame the palti-y tags 
 Of faded ribands, that now did not brighten 
 
 The remnants foxil of iinprotecting rags ; 
 She craved for Ivindnc^ss from the rich, whose glory 
 
 Was rudely tln-ust upon her dazzled sight, 
 And mocked tlie meanness of her stunted story 
 
 With insolence of overbeai'ing might ; 
 For just a harbour from the temi^est, raging 
 
 Around her without pi-omise of a check, 
 Which might afford one hour's serene assuaging, 
 
 To the spent spirit, now a liattered wreck ; 
 A smile of welcome for the liomeless stranger. 
 
 Who had no prospect l^iit the curse of ill. 
 And hximan greeting which disanned the danger, 
 
 From hearts that pitied and were human still ; 
 But no reply came from the lofty station. 
 
 With all their plenty and rejoicing bloom, 
 Save that which tolled like sentence of damnation— 
 " No room."
 
 "no room." 3o5 
 
 With startled eyes that could not hide their terror. 
 
 She stumbled on in her ill-fated search 
 Of mercy for the lono-.repented error. 
 
 If she might find it in some friendly Church ; 
 Within the cloistei'ed ref u<^e, where calm column 
 
 Goes iipward in its awful prayer of stone. 
 And angel faces oiit of sadness solemn 
 
 Beam down compassion on the lost and lone ; 
 If priestly mouth might jilead for her affliction 
 
 With t.he closed Heaven that darkened on her dearth, 
 And liver broken heart breathe benediction. 
 
 To ope again for her a grudging earth ; 
 If in the precincts of the sacred portal. 
 
 Her dreadful woe she might at length lay down. 
 And r'se once more to the true life immortal, 
 
 In the soft radiance of pure woman's crown ; 
 If she might there give xip the ghostly burden. 
 
 Which crushed her to a fellowship with mire. 
 And thence baptized go forth with fairer guerdon 
 
 Of hopes that mvist unto their fount aspire ; 
 But in God's hovise for her was seen no corner. 
 
 Not even the clasp of the caressing tomb. 
 She heard but pious words that seemed to scorn her — 
 "No room." 
 
 And still she staggered on by feebler stages. 
 
 With death unveiled in her anguished look. 
 As one who grimly turned the closing pages 
 
 Of some forgotten and forbidden book ; 
 For her from hall and hut no helpful savour. 
 
 While brutes received a proud and honoured seat, 
 And knaves were never once denied a favour 
 
 Sternly refused to her they chose to cheat ; 
 And still she wandered forth to pine and jDorish, 
 
 To envy corpse in its black funeral coach. 
 Though wealthy shame its sin could lightly cherish. 
 
 And none would li±t a murmur or reproach ; 
 For her no pity from the high or lowly. 
 
 No cup of water and no draught of wine. 
 And the averted glance of bigots holy. 
 
 Who offered incense at a gilded shrine ; 
 Until by madness hounded to the prison. 
 
 In desperation of State-aided crime. 
 Who iinto glorious summits might have risen. 
 
 If she had only heard love's heavenly chime ; 
 Though wretches who gave her contempt or wonder. 
 
 In Heaven itself shall find, by righteous doom — • 
 When the great God speaks out ixi judgment thunder — 
 '.' No room."
 
 S66 A WHIM. 
 
 A AVHDI. 
 
 Country yirl troui coiinti'T conicr, 
 
 "\Vlicl-e the ciastoms never change. 
 And the muffled face of mourner 
 
 Even is a featiu-e strange ; 
 Where tlie world rolls on for ever. 
 
 Slowly, as it di<l at iirst, 
 Nor do slaves their bondage sever, 
 
 And for higher freedom thirst : 
 Where the carter tends his horses. 
 
 As he tended them for years. 
 And the clouds uxson their covu-ses 
 
 Mingle with the sun their tears ; 
 Where, when summer comes, the swallow 
 
 Builds its nest below the eaves. 
 And the autumn tints that follow 
 
 Lay a glory on the leaves .- 
 Where the sou lives, as his fathers. 
 
 On the crop the pasture yields. 
 And the same dull harvest gathers 
 
 From the same dull hai-vest fields ; 
 Just a cliild. who, from the cottage, 
 
 Drest in her first woman's gown. 
 Dared to leave her mess of j)ottage. 
 
 For a visit to the Town. 
 
 Dazzled with the glare and glamoiu- 
 
 Of a thousand thrilling sights, 
 Deafene<i by the wheeled clamour 
 
 Never ceasing iu the nights ; 
 Lured to many foolish fancies. 
 
 Off the lieaten track of things. 
 Doors that seemed to ope romances. 
 
 With the sweej) of angel wings ; 
 Cheated by the charm so novel. 
 
 Lifting her above the gray 
 Lights, tliat seemed to gloom and grovel, 
 
 On the old familiar way : 
 To temptation's plea she havkened, 
 
 Held by rapture of its voice. 
 Saw not how destruction darkened. 
 
 On the fair and fatal choice ; 
 Heard not whispered words of chiding, 
 
 From the sj)lendid flush of flower 
 Over the great gulf, dividing 
 
 Her from piirity and power : 
 To her ruin lightly hasted. 
 
 In a maiden's idle w'nini. 
 And in one short moment wasted 
 
 Grace her C^od preixired for Hiui.
 
 CHARLES GEO-RGK GORDON*. 357 
 
 CHAPxLES CTEOiidE GOUDON, 1888. 
 
 Greatest of the sons of woman. 
 
 Not for one small coiintry born. 
 More than man, yet £>-randly human 
 
 To the feel:ile and forlorn ; 
 Made in time, but meant for ever 
 
 To endure a beacon light. 
 In large deeds and calm endeavour 
 
 Of a consecrated might ; 
 Gordon, with his faith's appointing. 
 
 Strong in darkest days to shine. 
 Lent to Oiirth, by Heaven's anointing 
 
 Crowned to work the will Divine. ' 
 
 Cradled by a j^raying mother. 
 
 Drawing bhiod from soldier sire?. 
 Trained to call the poor man brother. 
 
 Christened in Crimean fires ; 
 Not in pomp of purple folded. 
 
 But by every buffet tost, 
 In red trendies schooled, and moulded 
 
 By the deadlier strokes of frost ; 
 Never one false footstep taken. 
 
 As his purpose bodied forth. 
 Into manhood shaped and shaken 
 
 By the Giant of the North. 
 
 China saw him d(^ his dut}% 
 
 Leaning not on sMord's defence, 
 Winning thousands, by the lieauty 
 
 Of his child-like confidence ; 
 Gaining victories, by magic 
 
 Of his presence in the breach , 
 Coolest in the liour most tragic, 
 
 First in fighting as to teach ; 
 With no thought of fear or failing. 
 
 Faced he bayonet and ball, 
 Walked unharmed where shells were hailing, 
 
 Conquering the hearts of all. 
 
 King of men, to Afric's regions. 
 
 Still the same heroic man. 
 With his mightier love, not legions. 
 
 To redeem the wild Soiidan ; 
 Forth he went, by lofty living 
 
 Euling breasts untamed before. 
 Without pause or one misgiving. 
 
 For the God he did adore : 
 .Just and gentle, yet with iron 
 
 Of a plan unstained by jiride, 
 Froni the death that would environ, 
 
 Eaised the captive to his side.
 
 358 CHARLES GEORGE GORDOX. 
 
 Then, with his majestic sweetness. 
 
 He i-esought oui' shores to win 
 In strange hannts a new completeness. 
 
 By his conquests over sin ; 
 By his war with vice more savage, 
 
 For the heathen of his land. 
 Till the lust that souls wonld ravage 
 
 Bowed to his kind, patient hand ; 
 Yet a monarch, though so humble. 
 
 Who could lift from meanest things 
 Fallen lives, no more to stumble. 
 
 And of outcasts fashioned " kings." 
 
 Still, on peacefvxl triiunphs, lonely. 
 
 Under skies of bluer dome; 
 Then he pitched his tent, who only 
 
 Found the spacioiis world his home ; 
 In his quest for truth, by travel 
 
 That btit endless love could bounds 
 Fain to read, and even unravel' , 
 
 Mysteries of sacred ground ; 
 Yet, in quiet, as in storming 
 
 Of the breach, he simply trod, 
 Wrong redressing, ill reforming, 
 
 Fighting battles foi' his God. 
 
 Once again he braved the peril 
 
 Of the fever and the heat. 
 In the desert stern and sterile. 
 
 Where the tyrant made his seat ; 
 Did his duty, held the city. 
 
 Though it should become his grave. 
 With a sleepless watch, in pity 
 
 For the wretched he would save ; 
 Fell — deserted by the traitors, 
 
 Who had sent and promised most. 
 Sold to party ends of praters — 
 
 As a soldier at his post. 
 
 But, if England's walls are cotton. 
 
 And of paper trash her troth, 
 Gordon shall not be forgotten. 
 
 Nor the violated oath — 
 He, who in his grandeiir lowly, 
 
 Walked but honour's upward way; 
 And in Mecca's holiest holy. 
 
 For him did the Moslems pray ; 
 On the Nile and by the Jordan, 
 
 Wheresoever praise is heard. 
 Everywhere the name of Gordon 
 
 Fs a blessed household woi'd.
 
 ''BECLTKEn WITH THANKS," goO- 
 
 Noblest of the sons of woman. 
 
 Working not for span of time, 
 Just to show lis how the human 
 
 Can be made like Grod sublime ; 
 Prophet, missionary, reaching 
 
 Helping- arms to all men's needs. 
 Never for himself, and preaching 
 
 By the glory of good deeds ; 
 Claimed by every age and nation. 
 
 Shining like a heavenly fire. 
 With the light of consecration. 
 
 Men tliatifollow to inspire. 
 
 Leaving Africa indebted. 
 
 Europe's tear and Asia's sigh. 
 Now he is at length gazetted 
 
 To the great command on high 
 After life's one long d<'votion. 
 
 Martyr faith and woman's love, 
 He has foimd his last promotion 
 
 In the radiant ranks above • 
 Taking nothing, always giving 
 
 Unto each who asked his store. 
 Dying for the world, and living 
 
 In all hearts for evermore. 
 
 Fools for whom he gnidged no aching. 
 Costly service unto blood. 
 
 With their guilty hands are breaking- 
 Bulwarks, that keep l)ack the flood ; 
 
 Fools and cowards let him perish, 
 And in bitter mock, at lengtli, 
 
 Build his sepidchre, and cherish 
 Foes that l^asely sap our strength 
 
 Write his epitaph, whose keeping 
 Never was for tower or till, 
 
 Swear true penitence, and weeping 
 Go and some new savioiu- kill. 
 
 "DEOLIXED WITH THANKS. 
 
 What is all this endless prating. 
 
 Babblement from morn till nightj 
 Fools with broth(>r fools dt^bating. 
 
 How to make the wi-ongfid right ? 
 Only just the same didl chatter. 
 
 Still aboiit the same dull things. 
 Each new nasty mess or matter. 
 
 Each new nasty season brings ?
 
 360 '■'■ DECLINED WITH THAXKS." 
 
 Darkness, welcomed as a portal. 
 For the slippery boards and banks. 
 
 And the light with truth immortal. 
 
 That might save — " Declined xvith thanls." 
 
 Why is all this weary walking. 
 
 Up and down the well-known mount. 
 Dipping, with the usual talking. 
 
 From the well-known muddy fount ? 
 Nothing done but idle sinning. 
 
 Wasted f)ounds and hoarded pence, 
 And the stale old work beginning. 
 
 With the stale old imijolbnee r 
 Drain upon the dwindling coffers 
 
 Fostered, though they leave such l)lanks. 
 And the great imselfish oii'ers 
 
 Fain to bless, — " DecUned ivifh thanks." 
 
 Whence the love of scoff or scandal. 
 
 If but black enough a lie, 
 Games that are not worth the candle. 
 
 While they let a nation die ? 
 Study of unworthy trifles, 
 
 Pattern of a glove or boot. 
 Toys in bayonets or rifles. 
 
 That will break or cannot shoot ? 
 For the wealthy knave promotion, 
 
 Though a coward in the ranks. 
 And the hero's grand devotion 
 
 Of a life — "Declined with thanks." 
 
 Who has strength to hold the rudder, 
 
 Now the waters rise to whelm. 
 And with not a doubt or shudder, 
 
 Will stand steadfast at the helm ? 
 ^ Who is tainted not with leaven, 
 
 That is poison to a State, 
 And has still belief in Heaven, 
 
 To control a jjeople 's fate ? 
 Who can pierce through falsehood's mystery 
 
 Padding its poor shrunken shanks. 
 Though to faith which made our history, 
 
 Thousands cry — " Declined with thanks.'' 
 
 When shall men to Good give hearty 
 
 Homage, as their fathers trod. 
 Sink not principle in partj^ 
 
 And imite to serve their God ? 
 When will leaders really ruling, ' 
 
 Hold not sacred honoiir cheai). 
 Leave rot lands the prey to fooling, 
 
 Whilf we sow and others reap /
 
 THE STORY OF THE STONES. SHI 
 
 When will stateriiuen heed tlio iinguish. 
 
 Where the labour's fetter clanks. 
 Think it shame that prophets languish, 
 
 Hearing but — " Declined with thanks" ? 
 
 Whither is our England drifting. 
 
 As she turns a darker page. 
 By the shabby ways of shifting, 
 
 I'roni her glorious anchorage :■' 
 Whither all the aimless babble, 
 
 Of the same familiar text. 
 Wild ajspealings from one rabble 
 
 Of electors, to the next ? 
 Whither is our grandeur falling. 
 
 While the enemy our flanks 
 Threatens, and our giiides are calling 
 
 To true help, — " Declined wi-bli. thanks ? 
 
 " 
 
 THE STOEV OF THE 8T0NES. 
 
 Ah, could they utter all they know, 
 Of that unceasing ebb and flow. 
 The awful tide-wave of the Town, 
 Which ever miirmurs iip and down. 
 And ever pining is and poor. 
 Nor finds a resting, save the door 
 Which opens once for prince and swain. 
 To shut and open not again ; 
 And could they for a moment speak. 
 Just something of the sisters weak. 
 Who sadly wander to and fro. 
 And dream not whither they should go- 
 Those helpless children, loved and lost. 
 Upon the world's dark waters tost, 
 W^ho erred in passion or from pride. 
 And now stand on the other side 
 Hopeless, with hands that vainly reach 
 Across the never-closing breach. 
 Who blindly look and blankly yearn 
 For comfort, which they cannot earn ; 
 Ah, could theyiitter all they know. 
 Of that dim troubled passing show. 
 In every stone would every stain 
 Just be, a weeping world of pain,
 
 1^62 THE STORY 01' THE STORES. 
 
 All, eoixld tliey utter all they hear, — 
 ^he black regret, and blacker fear 
 Of sighs, that wrung from breaking heart 
 Leave paler yet the lips they part ; 
 The sobs of baby forms, that creep 
 Down, deeper down, the ghastly deep. 
 Wherein the fires of angnish burn. 
 And whence no footsteps may return ; 
 The moan of many a bleeding breast. 
 Which in it famine is a feast 
 To the imdying worm and ghouls 
 That torture the despairing souls, 
 And drag from secret haimted graves 
 The bxiried sins of writhing slaves ; 
 The Avail of woman, still a child, 
 Plucked by a wanton hand, defil'd. 
 And trodden in the mud, by power 
 That only heeded the Ijright flower. 
 And not the spii'it that was slain, 
 Bi\t would and cannot bloom again ; 
 Ah I could they utter all they hear. 
 The stories not for mortal ear. 
 Each flint would have a knelling tone. 
 And be a curst sepulchral stone. 
 
 Ah, could they utter all they see. 
 The bitter joangs that only flee 
 For others to come on, and fill 
 The vacant spot with viler ill ; 
 The serpent woes that with gaimt girth 
 Strangle the purest .-joys at birth, 
 T'rom the sweet cradle, as they ope 
 Their heavenly eyes in tender hope,— 
 And twine their grim and greedy coil, 
 Round the frail arms of honest toil ; 
 The hidden fretting wounds that gape 
 Beneath thin sliawl and threadbare cape. 
 The outcasts meant for better things. 
 Who might have risen on angel wings. 
 Unto the hush of 'grander height. 
 And lived for ever in the light ; 
 The sorrow that lias not a name. 
 And leaves the scar of scorching flame 
 Where'er it falls, and sucks its food 
 From tears of blasted maidenhood ; 
 Ah, could they utter all they see. 
 In bosoms liound that should be free, 
 Then ovin-y stone, for want or worse. 
 Would be a witness to the|curse.
 
 '•' AT THE MOUTH OF TWO OK THREE." •>' 
 
 ''AT THE MOUTH OF TWO Oli THEEE. 
 
 J)('nf. 17, 6. 
 
 " At the mouth of two or three, shall every sentence 
 
 Established be," saith God, 
 Whose name is Love, W,ho leads unto repentance 
 
 Those that have farthest trod 
 Away from Him, Who would not have a womn.n 
 
 By the mere idle word 
 Of Init one witness, who is weakly human, 
 
 Consio-ned to shame, unheard. 
 And marked with brand that cannot ]>e amended. 
 
 If it should ever lie 
 Athwart the honoixr, that is undefended, 
 
 An<l then miist simply die. 
 
 " At mouth of only one, whate'er the vices 
 
 Himself hath wrought," saith man, 
 " The life most pure and modest, it suffices 
 
 To lay beneath the ban ; 
 So long as saving Law we somehow cherish. 
 
 And vindicate its might. 
 If inno(;ents should sometimes chance to perisli — 
 
 Who can be always right ? 
 And it were better for the whole grand nation. 
 
 Which else might be condemned, 
 That some should suffer from false accusation. 
 
 Than Order be contemned." 
 
 Thus he with God at variance is, revising 
 
 The justice of that plan, . 
 Which girds the ages, every clime comprising 
 
 With imiversal span ; 
 And still defacing, by the crirel nature. 
 
 Which woman has laid low. 
 Which renders sport of man-made legislature. 
 
 The image he would show ; 
 While tearing statutes from the poor man's Bible, 
 
 Which is his charter deed. 
 To read in it the outrage of a liliel. 
 
 Ul)on his sister's need. 
 
 But he who dares to give the Scripture scorning, 
 
 That any child may see. 
 And robs the maiden of that proud adorning. 
 
 Which fashions bright and free 
 The lowliest form — who thrusts his mortal error. 
 
 Before eternal Truth, 
 Shall wake himself at last to judgment terror, 
 
 Who pitied not his Euth^
 
 3(34 MAGNA CMARTA. 
 
 To hear the final doom of separation. 
 
 Because he slighted her. 
 At moixth of One who fixes condemnation. 
 
 And one who cannot err. * 
 
 MAGKA CHAKTA. 
 
 English men, who did their duty. 
 
 Have with thunder girt the throne, 
 English women walk in beauty. 
 
 Which is lent to them alone ; 
 Where the Granges rolls its waters. 
 
 To the farthest icy flood, 
 Shines the grace of England's daixghters. 
 
 And is shed oiu- soldiers' blood ; 
 Oft the hero, who, as martyr. 
 
 At the post of honour dies : 
 But what glory, like the Charter 
 
 Of our ancient liberties?' 
 
 This the jewel of the nation. 
 
 And the brightest in its crown, 
 Source of fame, our faitli's salvation. 
 
 By the centuries passed down ; 
 Handed on from fathers fighting 
 
 For tlie bulwarks of their age 
 Unto sons, who left their writing 
 
 Broader on each golden page ; 
 This, more splendid than the Garter, 
 
 For which princes bow the knee. 
 The imperishable Charter, 
 
 Making us a people free. 
 
 Do we yield without a struggle. 
 
 Truth for which have thousands bled— 
 Yield what fools away woiild juggle. 
 
 For a party place or bread ? 
 Can we now refuse its fitness. 
 
 To our sacred solemn right. 
 At the mouth of one frail witness. 
 
 Giving up our l»eacon light ? 
 Shall the justice, which is parter 
 
 Between innocence and shame. 
 Be expunged from England's Charter, 
 
 Leiive it but an empty name ? 
 
 * Note. — "Inspector Cuthbert stated to Sir C. Warren, that in 
 South London the custom was, to accept the evidence of one con.stable 
 against amj woman ! Hundi'edr were thus convicted ! \l^ And Mag-is- 
 tnites were agreed about the propriety of this " ! 1 l^Morning I'ot-t.
 
 VULOAKIA. 3G5 
 
 What was granted to the Roniau, 
 
 We concede to even the slave, 
 To Ihi' Diurdorer or fuciuan, 
 
 Wlio woidd ri^'ht of liearinp,' <'iMve ; 
 fcihall we not then honest trial. 
 
 Mete the maidens of our laml, 
 But to them alone deniid, 
 
 While they bear the leper's brand ? 
 Miist we for oppression barter 
 
 Holy treasures of the State, 
 And renounce the mighty Charter, 
 
 Which has made onr Britain Cli-eat F 
 
 VULGAHIA. 
 
 (rirt with gruesome walls of iron. 
 
 Walls no mortal eye can see. 
 That with fatal arms environ 
 
 Spirits meant for si^reading free ; 
 Where the gold is lightly scattered. 
 
 In the courts of careless ease. 
 And each idle sense is flattered 
 
 With the gifts that idlers please ; 
 Rich it rises np, a City 
 
 Beantifvil, from marlde throne, 
 Blest with every grace but pitv, 
 
 Hearts and palaces of stone. 
 
 Flourish jjomp and pride, th(» glory 
 
 Of ten thousand goodly sights. 
 Plash of fountains, and the story 
 
 Told by ever-new delights ; 
 Song Ijirds delicately twitter. 
 
 Drowning ugly notes of pain, 
 Precioiis jewels with their glitter 
 
 Would conceal the prison chain ; 
 No expense is spared to cover 
 
 Awkward hints of secret strife. 
 Where the husband is a lover 
 
 Faithful — to his neighltour's wife. 
 
 Yet it all is outward glaiaour. 
 
 But the nninmier's ghastly grin. 
 And the artful glow and clamour 
 
 Do not veil the want within ; 
 Do not, with their costly aping 
 
 Of the pleasure that is not. 
 Choke the shadow, and the shaping 
 
 Of the hidden poison spot ;
 
 3G6 YULGARIA. 
 
 Do not by their clainty varnish 
 
 Mask, in the polluted land 
 Deeds, that fame imperial tarnish. 
 
 With the leper's loathsome brand. 
 
 Here the fool steps to the title, 
 
 Wliich true merit might not crave ; 
 And the hero gains requital 
 
 In far exile or a grave ; 
 Here the place is given for monej'. 
 
 To the Dives on the mart. 
 And the drones consume the honev 
 
 Who in hiving took no part : 
 Deeper sinks the' killing leaven. 
 
 With the honours bought and sold. 
 While each door (bnt that of Heaven) 
 
 Ojjens to the key of gold. 
 
 Wealthy scoundrels prove their courage. 
 
 On the humble and the ^eak. 
 And their lust finds ready forage 
 
 In the woes that cannot speak ; 
 In the miu'der of the maiden 
 
 Cast in tomb of early care. 
 With the crushing sorrow laden 
 
 That they give but cannot share ; 
 From the piu-ity, that blighted 
 
 Laid its blossom in the dust. 
 And a passing hoiu- delighted 
 
 The bleared eyes of hoary lust. 
 
 Here the paid and perjured scribble. 
 
 Safe in editorial gloom. 
 Dropping lies and venom di-ibble, 
 
 Meting out cigars and doom ; 
 Doze in dim Olympic station. 
 
 Using brandy more than ink, 
 Kill a glorious reputation. 
 
 And go home again to drink ; 
 Wake to set some nasty riddle. 
 
 Of a woman or a horse. 
 And though d\-ing dance and fiddle 
 
 Over faith's unburied corse. 
 
 All is empty show, the shining 
 
 Of disorder and decay. 
 Mockery of gaud's repining. 
 
 When the life has passed away ; 
 And beneath the specious splutter. 
 
 Purple hangings, foaming wine. 
 Writhe the revels of the gutter. 
 
 And the wallowiny of swine ;
 
 A KING OF COMMERCE. 3(57 
 
 Under sham of tawdry paintiiii;^, 
 
 Flowei's that baby fingers ciill, 
 Liirks the skeleton of tainting-, 
 
 Scowls the cold and claininy skull. 
 
 Here they serve one god in Fashion, 
 
 Have no virtue but degree 
 In each folly, crime or i)assion, 
 
 That their tyrant maj' decree ; 
 Decked with silver, lace, and ermine, 
 
 Over rags and running sores, 
 Minghng diamonds and vermin. 
 
 Saints of slimis and temple whores ; 
 All is false and vulgar, pointing 
 
 Of the pageant of a breath. 
 And below the bright anointing, 
 
 Dirt and infamv and death. 
 
 A KIXU OF COMMERCE. 
 
 A sober silent man, who rarely speaks. 
 
 And scei>tre-like his hand 
 Waves, as a watcher upon mountain jjcaks 
 
 Lighting a distant land, 
 And in one sweep of action swiftly wreaks 
 
 The custom of command. 
 
 A simple steadfast man, who knows his mind 
 
 And others' even as well. 
 Able to shut and open, loose or bind. 
 
 As fortune's turn may tell, 
 And fixed in farthest venture gain to find. 
 
 True as his dinner bell. 
 
 A calm and earnest man, whom nothing moves 
 
 From purpose duly weighed — 
 That more than giant sword which first he proves,- 
 
 If purlilind souls inveighed 
 Against it, flashed on siire triumphant grooves ; 
 
 He speaks, and is obeyed. 
 
 A self-sufficient man, who leans on none. 
 
 And shapes the hindrance meet 
 To serve his object, ere the fight is done. 
 
 And deems brief failure sweet — 
 Who sees, as forth he steps, reliant, one 
 
 All markets at his feet.
 
 36S THE AVILD ROSE OF DEVON. 
 
 A many-witted man, whom trial shakes 
 
 But to a firmer hold. 
 Whereby the tempest at its flood he takes — 
 
 Upon it stamps his mould. 
 And from its baiHed wrath and refuse m;ikos. 
 
 Serene, a bridge of gold. 
 
 A poised and prudent man, who looks all round. 
 
 While others dine and dance. 
 Feels every pulse, notes dim sedition's sound. 
 
 No handle leaves for chance, 
 Exactly tests the worth of each rebound. 
 
 That he may yet advance. 
 
 A wakeful working man, wlio not by pelf 
 
 Eules over realms that heed. 
 And lays no plans to moulder on the shelf. 
 
 Until dark days of need. 
 But what ho wishes done that does himself. 
 
 And therefore must succeed. 
 
 A wise and kingly man, who patient bides 
 
 The season that will send 
 His will at last, and gloriously rides 
 
 On seas that nations l^end. 
 And bids all winds and waves and adverse tides 
 
 Bring tribute to his end. 
 
 THE WILD KOSE OF DEVON. 
 
 Down in meadows, where the streams meander. 
 
 Bright, and laughing is the lea — 
 Loud, that many a great and good commander 
 
 Bore, to wed the virgin sea ; 
 Where red apples hang, and stepping stately 
 
 Ked rocks scale the azure sky. 
 And the red kine rest or feed sedately, 
 
 As the rusliing world goes by ; 
 Like a white rose that had dropped from Heaven, 
 
 Shaped by larger light and air. 
 Grew in glory the " Wild Eose of Devon," 
 Eresh and fair. 
 
 Brave her fathers fought, beneath that banner 
 Called the Cross, which cannot yield 
 
 Fought with sin, in tlie old fearless manner. 
 Proved on each old bloody field ; 
 
 Soldiers of the Captain, who wins laurels 
 From a sterner better strife.
 
 THE WlhV KOiSE or 1JEVON-. Q{j[) 
 
 iriymt^ a yi'and nioauiiif;' to ilead morals. 
 
 And to dyini; souls now life ; 
 yi.'h(>ol(xl by them, she g;ithered truer beauty, 
 
 Hato of every ill and wrong, 
 Learnt to love and do whate'er Avas diity, 
 Pure and strong-. 
 
 Sb she grew the dai-ling child of Nature, 
 
 Drinking in, at every sense, 
 All gootl things of God's high legislature. 
 
 Each sweet wholesome influence ; 
 Taught more truths by sunshine and the saddle, 
 
 Than the lore of dusty books. 
 Or from happy hours, when she could paddle 
 
 Fair white feet in bubbling brooks ; 
 Trained to make her own her neighbour's distress, 
 
 Aching bosom, empty shelf, 
 But in mercy to remain the mistress 
 Of herself. 
 
 Yearly did she put forth rarer petal. 
 
 Softer bloom and daintier bud. 
 Free from meanness, as refined metal. 
 
 Purged of darkening dross or mud ; 
 In the chase, though feebler wills might falter> 
 
 Gaining courage that was true, 
 And a deeper faith when at the altar 
 
 Kneeling for the holier due ; 
 In the dance despising not the blessing. 
 
 Yielded by the spell of art. 
 And through all in patience yet possessing 
 Pure her heart. 
 
 Eich admirers courted her, and plenty 
 
 <;)ffered of their own rich will. 
 Vainly to the joy of " sweet and twenty," 
 
 Fond of maiden freedom still ; 
 Vainly titles wooed, and fain would flatter 
 
 Fancied weakness with their bribe. 
 Coaxing her by false and fulsome chatter, 
 
 Fhient jest or painful jibe ; 
 Vainly suitors pleaded the old story, 
 
 That the stoutest well might stir — 
 For no vision, even of gold or glory. 
 Tempted her. 
 
 Till, from worthless pomp and wicked splendour. 
 
 Which a frailer breast would storm. 
 Came a thing that yet had pulses tender 
 
 Creeping forth with crippled form ; 
 Scarce of gentle blood, and marred in feature. 
 
 Without dignity or plan.
 
 370 THE WILD KOSB OF DEVON. 
 
 Ail Unfinished and mis-shapen creature, 
 
 Mere apoh>g-y for man ; 
 Yet who dared to love her in his fasliion, 
 
 Witli allegiance deep but dim ; 
 And her heart, in greatness of^compassion. 
 Turned to him. 
 
 Yes, to his poor stammering tale she listened, 
 
 Proiidlj placed in his her hand. 
 As in glorious eyes unwonted glistened 
 
 Tears that snapt his prison band ; 
 And her breast untouched before by pleading. 
 
 Scorning to be jmnce's toy. 
 Loth to follow wealth or title's leading:. 
 
 Gave to him its maiden joy ; 
 While his stunted earth was turned to Heaven, 
 
 When she smiled upon his call. 
 And a cripple the " Wild Eose of Devon " 
 Chose from all. 
 
 But sore sickness, doomed to be his master. 
 
 Fell upon that feeble frame. 
 Brought liini bridal portion of disaster. 
 
 Ere she could assume his name ; 
 Broke the bending form, and wildly scattered. 
 
 Rising hope and radiant dream, 
 rill the fragile tenement was shattered. 
 
 By the shadow without gleam   
 Though the God, whose wisdom makes no error, 
 
 Saw his little work was done, 
 Wlien the angel, miscalled death by terror, 
 Claimed that one. 
 
 Then, as bj' a lurid flash of lightning. 
 
 On a pilgrim's midnight way. 
 Came a lesson all her future brightning. 
 
 With a new uneartlily ray ; 
 Wlien she knew, the truth in trouble spelling 
 
 God alone must be her guest, 
 Eoyal hearts wei-e the Eternars dwelling. 
 
 And no other could give rest ; 
 When she saw liy intuition clearest, 
 
 Beauty, if it tjueenly trod, 
 Was not meant for any man, though dearest. 
 But for God. 
 
 Then, though had to her oped palace portal. 
 
 All the glamour earth can give 
 Fools, who think to cheat the sentence mortal 
 
 Thus, and make believe they live ; 
 Though again hers might have been the treasure, 
 
 Rank and riches, and the light
 
 THE WILD JiOftE uF DEVON. 371 
 
 Shed on darkness by each passing pleasiu'e^ 
 
 Ere it vanish into night ; 
 Yet she chose the furnace fed by trial. 
 
 Which coukl her bring nowise gain, 
 Cliose tlie iceptre of divine denial. 
 Crown of pain. 
 
 In the hospital she took her stationj 
 
 By the bedside of the sick, 
 With the largeness of a dedication. 
 
 That to suffering's want was quick ; 
 There she eased the tossing of affliction. 
 
 With the calm of queenly hand, 
 Moving like the peace of benediction, 
 
 In the love that was command ; 
 There she fought the fight, and bore the burden 
 
 Left a weary world by sin, 
 Won through woe from Calvary the guerdon 
 Few may win. 
 
 Thus she gave her splendid life for others. 
 
 Let its beauty and its bloom 
 Shine upon her sick and suifering brothers. 
 
 Who without her had but gloom ; 
 Gave lier woman's wealth of grand devotion 
 
 To the souls in liondage set. 
 If to kindle just one glad emotion. 
 
 In one heart that men forget ; 
 Gave the strength that might have been eustated 
 
 High in royal place and deed. 
 Liberty and love, all consecrated 
 Unto need. 
 
 'j'hcre unnoticed and unfamed she wrestled 
 
 Boldly with disease and ill. 
 Nursed the babe that to her bosom nestled. 
 
 Dealt the vilest loving skill ; 
 Waged the war, not trumpeted by story. 
 
 Studied not by public heed. 
 Carried oiit on fields of battle gory. 
 
 But with pity's saving deed ; 
 Waiting ever, as could woman only, 
 
 "When seemed desperate the fight. 
 Shedding upon wretches lost and lonely 
 Heavenly light. 
 
 There, with scanty sleep and food, unswerving, 
 
 In the work that pleasure wrought. 
 On she laboured in her love, preserving 
 
 Life, with hers so dearly bought ; 
 Smoothed the creases of the criunpled pillow. 
 
 Patient at her sacred post.
 
 ONLY A WOMANi 
 
 Let the onset of the ungry billu\v 
 
 Speml itself <»n her the most : 
 Counting- not the cost of all, nor living 
 
 In her welfare to be blest. 
 Still content to find repose, in giving 
 Others rett. 
 
 Tims for years she nt>bly toiled, and sorrowed 
 
 With tiie helpless and the weak, 
 Loftier grace from lowly service borroAved, 
 
 Whicii in acts alone would speak ; 
 Ministered witli patient hands, that lightly 
 
 Soothed the saddest m their loss, 
 And with reverent lijis consoling, brightly 
 
 Turned the dying to the cross ; 
 Till the Master plucked the perfect blossom. 
 
 Kissed away her x^arting breath. 
 Laid her softly on a Brother's bosom. 
 True to death. 
 
 But though dead she may not wholly perish. 
 
 If her face indeed be gone. 
 And in holy memories they cherish. 
 
 Yet her spirit liveth on ; 
 Yet they give her name a niche of honour 
 
 In the temple of the just. 
 Look to her as to some pure Madonna, 
 
 Drawiirg upwaid love and trust; 
 Yet they talk of her who came from Heaven, 
 
 Brought its balm to evil's taint, 
 Ci'own with blessings the " Wild Eose of Devon, 
 Now- a saint. 
 
 riNLV .V WOMAN. 
 
 Only a Woman, of name 
 
 Murmured with bating of breath, 
 Out in the shadow, an<l shame 
 Waiting the sentence of death : 
 Only another 
 Hounded, to smother 
 Under the darkness the son'ow of sin, 
 Big with its burden of darkness within 
 Deeper, and dragging 
 Lower the flagging 
 Feet, throiigh the gaslight and gloom, 
 Btunibliug along to their doom.
 
 ONLY A. WOMW, i<73 
 
 Only a woman, and all 
 
 Sadly imsexod, with the taint 
 Branded at heart from her fall. 
 Star in <? through jewels and jjaint ; 
 EoblxHl of her piirity. 
 Sacred seeiirity. 
 Given to guide with its lamp through the night. 
 Virginal souls to the infinite light ; 
 Courting by stages 
 Downward, the wages 
 Woeful and awfully won. 
 But through the infamy done. 
 
 Only a woman, and oast 
 
 Forth by starvation, and strife 
 Choking the desperate last 
 Stand for the leavings of life; 
 Reft of her rudder. 
 Fain not to shudder. 
 Though by the ocean that hath not a bound. 
 Tumbled and tossed in the misery round ; 
 Flying, with haunted 
 Eyes, yet undaiuited. 
 Out from the angixish of ill. 
 On to a fearfuller still. 
 
 Only a woman, but sweet 
 
 Now with th(^ remnants of grace. 
 If are befouled her feet. 
 If lies eclipse on her face ; 
 Ragged, and trusting 
 Man with his lusting 
 Passion that makes her its victim and toy, 
 Hugged for a moment of danmable joy ; 
 Over the pavement 
 Borne, in enslavement 
 Helpless, and sold to the first 
 Bid for the hopeless athirst. 
 
 Only a woman, and bought 
 
 Cheaply, no matter the suit. 
 Just for the pittance she sought. 
 Just for a handful of friiit ; 
 Finding no pity 
 Ther(\, in the City 
 Bought with the blood and baptised with the tears 
 Poured by its toilers, repaid biit in fears ; 
 Blinded, a daughter 
 Led to the shuighter. 
 Masked with the feasting of love. 
 Mocking the light from alwve.
 
 3'r4 THT sister's keeper. 
 
 Only a woman, one more 
 
 Offered to Moloch by vice. 
 Laying her low in her gore, 
 Diiped by that terrible price ; 
 Faithfiil in error. 
 Dreaming no terror 
 Hnnted her close, and the murderer's knife 
 Wooed Avith the kiss of a Jndas her life ; 
 Only a woman, 
 Tender and human. 
 Plunged in the merciless deeji, 
 Eounded by sorrow and sleep. 
 
 THY SISTER'S KEEPEl^ 
 
 Sometime in the dead of night. 
 
 Sometime between moon and morning. 
 When the gas a ghostlier light 
 
 Grave, and silence dread adorning ; 
 When the last cab crawled away 
 
 Heavy, as it homeward lumbered. 
 And the clocks that spurned delay. 
 
 Stroke by stroke their tidings numbered : 
 Sadder than through flame or flood 
 
 Ever broke the rest of sleeper. 
 Burst the helpless cry of blood — 
 
 Man, art thou thy sister's keeper ? 
 
 Lust, the mockery of love. 
 
 Wooed her in the blossom vernal. 
 Drew its fashion from above, 
 
 Tliough its fire from dejaths infernal ; 
 Lulled her by the dainty wiles. 
 
 Wont to win a tender woman. 
 Paid in perjury of smiles. 
 
 Yet with nought but semblance human ; 
 Wrapt around her snaky charms. 
 
 Twining like a jioison creeper. 
 Languished in her easy arms — 
 
 Man, art thou thy sister's keeper ^ 
 
 Hell had awful power that night. 
 Sterner than the stormiest billow. 
 
 And with all its devils' might, 
 
 Played around the victim's pillow ; 
 
 Feigned the ravishment of bliss. 
 Yielding to the soft seduction.
 
 " GIVE US THIS DAY," ETC. 87.- 
 
 While beneath the honeyed kiss 
 
 Hid the horror of destriiction ; 
 Mimicked every throb of joy. 
 
 Palpitating- faster, deeper, 
 Jvist to make a murder's toy — 
 
 Man, art thoii thy sister's keeper ? 
 
 Lo, ao-ain the crimson flood 
 
 Flashed, and one more erring daughter 
 With that silent cry of blood. 
 
 Sent a hopeless lamb to slaughter ; 
 Tricked and flattered to her fate. 
 
 Fallen yet with sister tresses 
 Tangled round the hand of hate. 
 
 Turned to death in mid caresses ; 
 Ah, no more let honoxir fly 
 
 Heedless from the sin of sleeper. 
 Her exceeding bitter cry — 
 
 Man, thou art thy sister's keeper. 
 
 '•GIVE US THIkS day," ET( 
 
 From coiirt and cellar dank, and grim 
 
 With filth and figures gray, 
 Where upon night defiled and dim. 
 
 Follows the darker day ; 
 From lips that tremble, white with need, 
 
 ISTor words can fitly frame. 
 To picture how they bend ami lileed. 
 
 In shadow that is sliame ; 
 Yea, in a hundred alleys lone. 
 
 That never saw the sky. 
 From bosoms harder even than stone. 
 
 Breaks forth the starving cry. 
 
 In attics bare beneath the tiles. 
 
 At mercy of the frost. 
 Where not a leaf or floweret smiles. 
 
 That look like regions lost ; 
 On stairs by stumbling footsteps trod. 
 
 In drunken strife or play. 
 From mouths that often speak of God, 
 
 But not as those that pi'ay ; 
 Knells through the frolic and the feast, 
 
 As hours g'j gaily by. 
 From brothers lower than the beast, 
 
 The helpless hopeless cry.
 
 S76 MI8UNDEE.ST00D. 
 
 From miry street, and archway old 
 
 Idly hy outcast won. 
 That offers refnge from the cold. 
 
 It may bestow on none ; 
 From pavement, corner, crossino-, lair 
 
 Blackened with smoke and dnst, 
 Where wa-etches suckled on despair. 
 
 Bear damned fruit of lust ; 
 From withered heai-ts that years of ill 
 
 Have seen iinskilled to fly. 
 And children's breasts more aged still. 
 
 Goes up the bitter cry, 
 
 " Week after week, through fog and rain. 
 
 Through sleet and stormy wind. 
 We work and pity seek in vain. 
 
 And nought but fasting find ; 
 Week after week, with cruel fears, 
 
 We wander late and lone. 
 Our only cup is that of tears. 
 
 Our only bi-ead the stone ; 
 These hungry hearts are more than dead, 
 
 For love ye well might give — 
 'Give us this day our daily bread,' 
 
 And let your l^rothers live." 
 
 MLSUNDBRSTOOD. 
 
 Long she lived in her unuttered sorrow. 
 
 Within walls of frost. 
 Sanctified for some unearthly morrow. 
 
 Bought at bitter cost ; 
 With herself, a snowy-mantled maiden, 
 
 Far from earthly mire. 
 Yet below the icy fetters laden 
 
 W ith a hidden fire ; 
 In the hush of sacred sadness folded. 
 
 As in cloister hood. 
 Surely imto perfect beauty moulded. 
 
 If misunderstood. 
 
 Others thought her proud and cold, and centered 
 
 But in idle ease, 
 Careful only of the joys that (mtei'ed 
 
 Just herself to please ; 
 Judged her harslily by unequal measure. 
 
 All unlike the true. 
 Grudged her trust the poorest claim as treasure. 
 
 Charity her due;
 
 THK CRY OF T5LOnp. 
 
 As she toiled and suffered, separated 
 
 Simply for the good, 
 Aud to God's great service consecrated. 
 
 Though misunderstood. 
 
 Others thought her hard, denied her human 
 
 Pathways for her feet. 
 While she had whatever makes a woman 
 
 Beautiful and sweet ; 
 Called her callous, from her spirit spurning 
 
 Vulgar heed and hire. 
 Though within her throl>bed that ever-hurning 
 
 Heart of holy fire ; 
 Deemed her stubborn, if, wlien weaklings faltei'od, 
 
 She unswerving stood. 
 Who had never with an evil paltered. 
 
 If misunderstood. 
 
 One there was, who watched her long and lonely 
 
 Battling for the right, 
 Knew her mighty secret, as can only 
 
 Love with heavenly sight ; 
 Saw beneath the ice the precious jewel. 
 
 Hatred could not see, 
 Took it to his heart with bondage cruel. 
 
 Set the angel free ; 
 Gave her all that faith in reverence offers. 
 
 All devotion could 
 Lavish on her life, which, dark to scoffers, 
 
 Christ vet understood. 
 
 THE CRY OF BLOOD. 
 
 What is that crowd at the corner. 
 
 Tumult of hurrying feet, 
 Face of the mirthful and mourner, 
 Stopping the rusli of the street ^ 
 Sullenly crying. 
 Eager and prying, 
 Figliting each other for si>ace. 
 
 Wrangling and cursing, and yet 
 Elbowing on to the place 
 
 Haiinted, that none may forget. 
 Once taken in with the sight ? 
 
 Satin and homespun and rags, 
 Jostling each other for light. 
 Over the slippery flags ? 
 
 Forms without shaping. 
 Grinning and gaping
 
 378 TBtE CRY OF EtOOD. 
 
 Down into g-linimer and gloom, 
 
 Shed by the gaslight that glares 
 Fitfully, marking with doom 
 Something that'horribly stares 
 Upward and seeks 
 Mercy through tears 
 Idly rained on the white cheeks. 
 Frozen in agonized fears. 
 
 Ah, there is blood on the portal. 
 
 Splashed on the threshold that drips, 
 . Blood of a beauteous mortal. 
 Spluttered about on the stejjs. 
 Written with ruddy 
 Letters, in muddy 
 Pavement, not hard as the breast 
 
 Black, that with damnable hate. 
 Worse than a devil or beast. 
 
 Fashioned that terrible fate ; 
 Blood of accusing on stones 
 
 Branded, that cry with their stain 
 Out in dumb pitiful tones. 
 
 Vengeance for murder, in vain —   
 Hopelessly weej^ing. 
 Helplessly keeping 
 Watch for the judgment, that, strong 
 
 Eefuge for rich men and high 
 Places, in poverty's wrong. 
 
 Heeds not the lowly one's sigh ; 
 Blood upon Power, 
 Impotent all 
 Still to protect the bright flower. 
 Stricken to death in its fall. 
 
 Only the common old story. 
 
 Stranger than fancy, and thus 
 Scribbled with characters gory. 
 Pleading in silence to us. 
 Born to be brothers. 
 Careless of others 
 Weaker, less fortunate, frail. 
 Tumbled aside by the rush 
 • Tranipling the victims that fail, 
 
 Whispered perchance with a blush ; 
 Only a woman gone down. 
 
 Deep in the darkness and mire. 
 Infamous dregs of the town. 
 Meant to ascend and aspire ; 
 Wrought for no fetter, 
 Wrought to make better
 
 JIM GIVENS, STO 
 
 Men, who want delicate feet 
 
 Movino- among" them, and hands 
 Soft with a ministry sweet. 
 Loosing- the prisoner bands ; 
 Only a child 
 Feeble and lost, 
 Eeaping-, thron<?h torturing- wild. 
 East at such infinite cost. 
 
 Once she was dainty and fair, 
 
 Modest in maidenhood, bright 
 Haloed with glorious hair. 
 Catching- the kisses of light. 
 Opening- her bosom. 
 Pure as a blossom, 
 FitII to the freshness of morn. 
 
 Beams that were blessed and true, 
 Eosebud that scarce had a thorn, 
 Eoofed with a heaven of blue ; 
 Now all disfigvired and dark. 
 
 Wrecked by the jjassionate flood. 
 Sin. unrelieved by a spark. 
 There she lies dabbled in blood, 
 Scornfully scattered. 
 Poured from the shattered 
 Body, that should be a^ shrine 
 
 shapely, and filled with the flame 
 Breathed by the Presence Divine, 
 Signed with the holiest Name ; 
 Now unto dust 
 Shamefully ground. 
 Killed by the demon of lust. 
 Woman despoiled and discrown'd. 
 
 JIM GIVENS, 1881). 
 
 Wall, mates, I guess ye'd like to know. 
 
 How it chanced that Christmas Eve, 
 In the midnight darkness and the snow. 
 
 So I'll tell you by your leave ; 
 How the " John H. Hanna " fai-ed, worse luck, 
 
 In her last derned fatal trip. 
 And with all aboard her went amuck. 
 
 On the grave of the Mississip. 
 
 She were built like any steamer craft. 
 
 Not fur safety but to hire, 
 Heaped up with the cotton fore and aft. 
 
 As if fashioned fur a fire :
 
 380 .TTM OTVENS. 
 
 And her crew wore stout biit keeiiess men. 
 
 Whom I'm not agomg to blame. 
 Though they had a hero good as ten. 
 
 And Jim Grivens were his name. 
 
 Now he weren't a pious chaj), weren't Jim, 
 
 And he did not often pray. 
 But in danger ye could lean on him. 
 
 Fur ye knowed that child would stay ; 
 Though he might not talk religion much. 
 
 And with oaths his speech would leaven. 
 Yet he lived religion, and of such 
 
 Aint the Kingdom, mates, of Heaven ? 
 
 And he weren't no scholar, I've heerd tell. 
 
 In hook laming and the like, 
 But he seen his dooty and did it well. 
 
 And he on'y fair would strike ; 
 Aye, he looked you squarely in the face. 
 
 And fur any oped his puss, 
 While he arned and kep his proper place. 
 
 As an upright downright cuss. 
 
 They was fast asleep, when the fire bust out. 
 
 And it flew from starn to stem. 
 And there were a yelling and a ^hout. 
 
 When the hot wind walloped fliem ; 
 Fur the flames with liglituing fury sj)read. 
 
 As no mortal might could drown. 
 And ripon the dying and the dead. 
 
 The soft white snow come down. 
 
 In the blinding smoke and scalding steam. 
 
 In the blazing cotton stuck. 
 They went shrieking down the hissing stream, 
 
 Till the slippery bank were struck ; 
 But they bounded off, though the Cap'ain cleared. 
 
 When his voice were needed most. 
 And the pilot too as oughter steered — 
 
 But Jim Givens kep his post. 
 
 Fur he seen, as the life of every sovil 
 
 Jest hung on the boat going back. 
 And her helm swong round with no controul. 
 
 And the fire were on its track ; 
 But he weren't the boy to skulk and squirm, 
 
 And he had a lieart to feel, 
 And there, with his pulses fit and firm, 
 
 Jim Givcns were at the wheel.
 
 A CONVENIENT ARKANGEMKNT. 
 
 So lie brouglit her to, and fetched her nose 
 
 With a will af^in the bank, 
 Thoiijyh the luuiLiTy fliunes rushed on to eh)Se, 
 
 A-nd their l)lastiiii>' breath he drnnk ; 
 Aye, he lashed the Avheel as it coiUd not turn, 
 
 And he did it clean and well, 
 AVhile his coat and hair began to biuii. 
 
 In that rag-ing howling hell. 
 
 Ah, he fought the tire, but it weren't no good. 
 
 Fur his checks was handed in. 
 If he griudy strove and gamely stood, 
 
 Thoiigh he weren't this bout to win ; 
 But like 'lijah he weren't cradled soft. 
 
 And his grit ye could not tire, 
 And like Mm his sperrit went aloft. 
 
 In a charriot of fire. 
 
 Yes, that were the last of spunky .Jiui, 
 
 In his brothers' sarvice spent, 
 And I'd rather stood the side of h'nn, 
 
 Than been 'lected President ; 
 And he weren't as steady, mates, as some, 
 
 Excep in the lioru- of stress. 
 But if Jim aint up in " Kingdom Come," 
 
 Then it won't be Heaven, I guess. 
 
 381 
 
 A CONVENIENT AERANGEiMENT.— M/. P^st.) 
 
 Little can surpris(> me fui'ther, 
 
 Now I'm getting sere and ij'ray. 
 Not the mystery of murtlicr 
 
 Done the queer Whitechapel way - 
 Not the wonder in i^omatunr 
 
 Boiind to cloth(> the baldest head — 
 Not the latest ultimatmn, 
 
 Gladstone's, that would wake the dead — • 
 Not that target for the scorner 
 
 Thi'owing thousands on the street, 
 That delightful Inisiness "corner" 
 
 Where the hlthiest lingers meet. 
 
 But I was surprised a' little. 
 
 Feeling too a twinge of i^ain. 
 Spite of resolutions brittle 
 
 Not to be sirrprised again ; 
 When at breakfast, in the Paper, 
 
 One that elevates me most. 
 Flashed my love's astoiuiding caper, 
 
 Flcurished in the " Horning Post " ;
 
 "^^-^ AN INCONVENIENT AREANGEMENT. 
 
 Yes, my heart was somewhat fluttered. 
 Nob that I my garments tore. 
 
 But I ate my toast njibuttered. 
 For one mouthful — if not more. 
 
 She is young and fair, not twenty, 
 Bright with every charm and grace, 
 
 All that woman gifts, in plenty- 
 Yet no fortune Init her face ; 
 
 And I loved her, deemed the blossom 
 Opened only unto me. 
 
 Fancied mine the maiden bosom 
 Beat with hapjjy hopes to be ; 
 
 And I love her now, though selling 
 What should never thus be sold,— 
 
 Honour for a palace dwelling. 
 Beauty for a pile of gold. "^ 
 
 He is old and ugly, burnished 
 
 Up to date like fattened pigs. 
 With a head to let unfurnished 
 
 And the wildest thing in wigs ; 
 Has a mansion on the rivex-. 
 
 Meadows winter turns to marsli, 
 Diamonds, a decaying liver, 
 
 Eskell's teeth, a dyed moustache ; 
 Owning many a horse and carriage. 
 
 Scores of servants (weekly changed). 
 Millions thieved— and so " a marriage 
 
 " Is," as you may read, " arranged." 
 
 AX INCO.WEXIENT AURAXGEMEXT. 
 
 He is fifty seasons older. 
 
 All a man should never be. 
 Somewhat crooked in the shoidder, 
 
 Eather shaky at the knee ,■ 
 Coarse and vulgar, given to using 
 
 Language but for pothouse fit," 
 Spiu-ning grammar laws, confu.sing 
 
 Scurrilous attacks with wit ; 
 Fat and foolish, and if sober 
 
 Hiccoughing how he can pay. 
 Dreary as a di\ll October 
 
 Dragged through fog and foul decay. 
 
 She is sixteen, April, human, 
 
 Eich in health and dainty chai-ms — 
 
 Child, that, waking into woman. 
 Stretches out both eager arms ;
 
 somebody's pet — nobody's pet. 383 
 
 Friendly, fond of dress, and dancing-. 
 
 Wise in curious Jings and " Polls," 
 Pressing- forward, and yet g'lancing' 
 
 Shyly back on tarts and dolls ; 
 Plunging gaily into pleasure, 
 
 Midnight pranks, the moon, the st.ige. 
 Glad to share youth's golden treasure 
 
 Still with comrades of her age. 
 
 Hence an inconvenient puzzle — 
 
 Jack is always after her, 
 Jack who always wears a muzzle, 
 
 Mai-ried to his grandmother ; 
 Should she, in the Eow called Rotten, 
 
 Peradventure choose to ride, 
 One will not leave her forgotten, 
 
 Faithful Jack is at her side ; 
 If a headache makes her martyr. 
 
 Posing sweetly on her back, 
 Who will (humming a sonata) 
 
 Casually drop in, biit Jack ? 
 
 And whenever she goes shopping. 
 
 Lured by Elise and her wiles. 
 Jack by accident comes popping 
 
 Out, all innocence and smiles ; 
 Once tney say — just like the scandal. 
 
 Talked in drawing-room and park — 
 Jack blew out decorum's candle. 
 
 Lit between her and the dark ; 
 So poor " grandpapa " keeps fretting. 
 
 Dreams of poison and the knife. 
 Meditates divorce, while getting 
 
 Doubtfiil comfort from Jack's wife. 
 
 ^SOMEBODY'S PET— NOBODY'S i'ET. 
 
 This is Somebody's Pet — she has all that she asks. 
 
 While her life is made sunny and sweet 
 By the kindness that turns into pleasures her tasks. 
 
 And the riches that lie at her feet ; 
 For society smiles on her, fences her round 
 
 With protection it offers but few. 
 And they daily remove the rixde stones from the ground 
 
 That she treads on, and sweep it anew ; 
 Yea, the thorns are cut down, if they venture too near. 
 
 And her pathways with blossoms are set. 
 Every weed is destroyed, every shadow of fear — 
 She is Soimbody's Fet.
 
 ,'3Si' CENT. PEK CKNT.— Ui'. 
 
 This i^ Nohoih/g Fct — she has little she needs. 
 
 Just a cup (if cold water, the crust 
 Of stale bread that is mouldy, and often she feeds 
 
 (Fighting hard) with the dogs in the dust ; 
 For society frowns on her, eyes her askance. 
 
 Shuts her out from its iDity and love, 
 And while framing her sorrows a pretty rom;ince. 
 
 Would not touch her afar with a glove ; 
 She may tramp on the pavement from morning to night. 
 
 Half the night too, a morsel to get, ■' 
 But no table for her will be welcome and liright — • 
 She is Nobody's Pet. 
 
 This is Somebody's Pet — she goes daintily drest. 
 
 Now in velvet, and now in warm furs. 
 And no winter would dare one small toe to molest. 
 
 She is covered so well that she purrs ; 
 Cuddled up in her -wTaps she may laugh at the frost, 
 
 That can onlj^ give wings to her way, 
 As she dances decked out quite regardless of cost. 
 
 Like a kitten whose life is all play ; 
 And grand meals of the best and whatever she will. 
 
 Are her pox'tion — she has not to fret. 
 For they care for her tenderly, shield her from ill — 
 She is Somebody's Pet. 
 
 She is Nobody's Pet — she looks weary and old. 
 
 Flap the rags on her threadbare and scant. 
 Her poor forehead is crumpled and pinched with the cold. 
 
 She finds nothing to comfort but cant ; 
 She is hnngry and weak, and the world is too strong 
 
 For a baby half fed and half clad. 
 As she faces it fearfully, limping along, 
 
 In mute wonder the earth is so bad ; 
 Not a word of compassion, though hundreds pass bye. 
 
 Though her cheeks are drawn, withered and wet. 
 And the tear of the orphan protests in lier eye- 
 She is Nobody's Pet. 
 
 CENT. PER ('EXT.— UP. 
 
 Up the stately steps she goes. 
 
 In her himdred-guinea dress. 
 Wrung from toilers' dying throes. 
 
 Poverty and nakedness ; 
 Bought with bitter orphan's teai-s, 
 
 Eainbow never graced or girt, 
 Shaped with shadowing orphan's fears, 
 
 Ground by spoiler in the dirt ;
 
 A HALF-PENNY AN HOTTE. — DOWN. 385 
 
 Ah, she treads on famished frame. 
 Gyved with grief, with suffering rent, 
 
 Scornful in her scarlet shame. 
 Infamy of cent, per cent. 
 
 Every stitch has cost a sig-h. 
 
 Done in weai-y woe and pain. 
 Killing- hopes that would he high. 
 
 Coined into the sweater's gain ; 
 Every seam that splendour's flood 
 
 Swells with sweet enchanting art. 
 Fashioned is of very blood, 
 
 Drawn from aching breaking heart ; 
 Oh, the garment wrought in strife. 
 
 Earning scarce tlie crust of bread, 
 Sewn with precious threads of life. 
 
 Should be garment for the dead. 
 
 Up the stately steps she goes. 
 
 Heedful of the passing stain. 
 Loth to soil her dainty toes 
 
 With one tiny drop of rain ; 
 Many a thoughtful arm is thrust 
 
 Eound to clear away the road. 
 Lest she catch a speck of dust. 
 
 Or her fan become a load ; 
 Oh, she enters qiieenly drest, 
 
 Proud the portals shut her in, 
 Eich and ])eautiful and blest. 
 
 With lier glory and her sin. 
 
 All for lier make aljject way, 
 
 Eank rejoices in the smile 
 Which ennobles, and can pay 
 
 Well for each imhallowed v.'ile ; 
 Wisdom miirinurs in her t»ar 
 
 Wit of every classic kind. 
 In her folly feigns to hear 
 
 Echoes of a loftier mind ; 
 Ah, to her they grovel down — 
 
 Her on whom are thousands spent — 
 Creep before that devil's crown. 
 
 Majesty of cent, per cent. 
 
 A HALFPENNY AN HOUR.— DOWN. 
 
 Down the dirty steps she goes. 
 With a shamliling shuffling pace. 
 
 In her heart a hell of woes. 
 
 Writhing outward to her face 3
 
 386 A HALF-l'KNNT AN HOTTR. — DOWN. 
 
 Ckitching tight to peaked chin 
 
 Ea/^ged wraps that are not clothes. 
 Wise in evei-y damned sin 
 
 Felt, that yet her spirit loathes : 
 ppid — nay nioeked by wealthy thief. 
 
 As with ref nse scraps tiu-ned soiir. 
 That for dog were poor relief. 
 
 Doled a halfpennj' an hour 1 
 
 Doivn ske totters to the cold 
 
 Den, that poisons as it mnst. 
 She who helps to gathei' gold, 
 
 All to sate a Satyr's lust ; 
 Shabby, shivering, and faint 
 
 With the choking in her breath. 
 Striving hard to be a saint 
 
 Still in living that is death ; 
 Late and lone, a driven slave, 
 
 Now the drudging work is done. 
 Longing for the kinder grave. 
 
 In the shelter that is none. 
 
 Bourn, yet lower, lower yet. 
 
 Dragged with bruised and broken wings. 
 On tlK! path with snares l)eset, 
 
 Though to better thoiights she clings ; 
 Leaving now the honest name. 
 
 Once through want she proudly bore. 
 For the refuge that is shame. 
 
 And the raptures that make sore ; 
 Pierced with wounds that never heal. 
 
 Selling in the starving strife. 
 Maiden honoiir for a meal. 
 
 Woman's soul for very life. 
 
 Down, still deeper, deeper still. 
 
 Carried by the fiery flood. 
 On to blacker aim and ill. 
 
 To the awful end of blood ; 
 Till by hate and hiuiger prest 
 
 Farther, to the prison wall. 
 Mad she slays the babe at breast. 
 
 Loved, birt blossom of her fall; 
 Prosperous sinners deem her fate 
 
 JiTst, and inous foreheads lour, 
 Eeck not of the doomed state, 
 
 Doled a halfpenny an hoiu*.
 
 BABY FINGERS, ggy 
 
 BABY FINGERS. 
 
 Ah, the touch of baby fingers 
 
 Prest against the mother's cheek. 
 Softly as it chides and lingers. 
 
 Fain some solace thus to seek ; 
 Fain to ask, and without fretting-. 
 
 Shelter from the shawl so thin. 
 Just a little praise and petting, 
 
 Not the poison taste of gin ; 
 As it throbs in that hard city, 
 
 Knocking gently at the door. 
 If there may be pnlse of j^ity 
 
 There, although the garb'is poor. 
 
 Ah, the lial)y fingers travel 
 
 Kound the breast, the prey of crime. 
 Striving dimly to unravel 
 
 Mysteries of death and time ; 
 Tenderly tlu>y woo and wander 
 
 Up and down the stricken frame, 
 Feeling, as if they did ponder 
 
 Shadows of the cursed shame ; 
 Blessing to the end the mortal 
 
 Mansion, sealed eyes and brmv, 
 Ti^nocking vainly at the portal 
 
 Wliich can never ojaen now. 
 
 Ah, the baby fingers wrestle 
 
 Now with hateful want and hartns. 
 Find no haven where to nestle — 
 
 Not a drunken mother's arms ; 
 Coldly grown and s^dly thinner 
 
 While the sufferer creeps her way. 
 Toddling, trembling for the dinner 
 
 Thrown the pampered dogs at play; 
 Jostled is she, roughly jolted 
 
 Over stones, thougli tears may start. 
 Knocking at that barrier bolted, 
 
 Eiches' sour and selfish heart. 
 
 Ah, the touch of liaby fingers 
 
 Idly fights with cruel fate. 
 Falls on brutal hands, and lingers 
 
 Lightly at the guard<Ad gate ; 
 Till at length it turns in terror 
 
 Feebly, unto mercy's door, 
 Eefuge from all wrong and error. 
 
 Ever open to the poor ;
 
 388 BAET FEET. 
 
 Death, that for lier cradle's rocking 
 From the first gave ghastly sin, 
 
 Hearkens to her patient knocking. 
 Comes and lets the baby in. 
 
 BARY FEET. 
 
 Hark, amid the oaths, what is it 
 
 Dropt like iiiiisic from the slcies. 
 Dearest of the sonnds that visit 
 
 Earth with all its bitter cries ? 
 Up and down, in dninken clatter, 
 
 To and fro, with horrors pent. 
 Tiny steps, that pace and patter 
 
 Through a world of wonderment ; 
 Oh, across the strife infernal. 
 
 Swelling in reproaches sweet. 
 Echoing on as if eternal. 
 
 Chimes the fall of baby feet. 
 
 High and lo, they lightly wander. 
 
 As from dnsty ground to gain 
 Joy, or in the sunbeam yonder 
 
 Shivering through the shattered pane ; 
 Here and there, and not contented. 
 
 When the ghostly day has done 
 Mocking pretty wiles invented. 
 
 Seeking rest and finding none ; 
 ()h, while human lives are spilling. 
 
 Where extremes of evil meet, 
 Throvigh the tiimxdt, softly thrilling. 
 
 Chimes the fall of baby feet. 
 
 On and back, in aimless vision 
 
 Flashed by love on orgies curst. 
 Always stopt in stern derision 
 
 By the liounds they cannot btrrst ; 
 Eound and round, in weary struggles 
 
 Still the prison bars to bend. 
 Buoyed by hojie that only juggles. 
 
 Travelling darkly to the end ; 
 Oh, if breasts are false, and blighting 
 
 Dogs each step with tempest fleet. 
 Yet, above the blasts of fighting. 
 
 Chimes the fall of baby feet. 
 
 In and oiit, so cold and naked. 
 
 Totter they along the road, 
 Sa lly weak and rudely waked 
 
 Now, beneath the hourly load ;
 
 BABY LIFS. 389 
 
 Leaving' her that is no mother 
 
 ThaiiKful tlius the time to save. 
 Glad to have a home and other 
 
 Greater comforts in the g-rave ; 
 Oh, if death the tie should sever. 
 
 Wrapping- thoui in burial sheet. 
 Echoing on and on for ever 
 
 Chimes the fall of baby feet. 
 
 BABY LIPS. 
 
 Dost thou know the whisper of the waters^ 
 
 Hast thou heard the babble of the brooks. 
 Low sweet laiig-h of innocence's daughters, 
 
 Murmuring- love in shy and shadowy nooks ? 
 Dost thou know, when bruised thy heart is sorest. 
 
 Message of the pines in sunset lands. 
 Secret of the old enchanted forest. 
 
 Waving in the dusk strange awful hands ? 
 Then hast thou heard something of the story. 
 
 Soft as sleep that on the bosom slips. 
 Young as spring, and yet as hill-tops hoary. 
 
 Breathed so artlessly by baby lips. 
 
 All that is most sacred and most solemn. 
 
 All of beaiity flitting to and fro, 
 Subtle as the carving on a column 
 
 Great with mysteries of long ago 
 Told in twilight, when the doorways darken, 
 
 Calm the moon through curtained window looks, 
 Unto breasts that tremljle as they lioarken, 
 
 Records written not in earthly books ; 
 All the tender sweetness plucked from sorrow. 
 
 All the sadness of which pleasure sips. 
 Dim to-day and ^jromise of briglit morrow. 
 
 Meet in melody on baby lips. 
 
 Ah, they talk a Lmguage high, but liidden 
 
 Deei) from sordid ears that deafer grow. 
 Mocked by brutal mouths, and roughly chidden 
 
 Down by lives that cling to strains below ; 
 Ignorant of sin, their lonely station 
 
 Prisoned closed with ugly bolts and bounds. 
 But so faithfiil with their revelation. 
 
 Breaking through the night of savage sounds ; 
 Eich in human hope, and mortal leaven 
 
 Dear as dew that from the rosebiid drips. 
 Mixed with mx\sic only heard in heaven. 
 
 Only spoken by pure baby lips.
 
 390 EABT EYES. 
 
 Still they ijive the iijrandtniv of their message 
 
 Undefiled,, in all the dirt and dust 
 Glooniiiig round th(nn, with its glorious presage, 
 
 Prattling gently on Vjecause they must ; 
 Singing truth, that hath foundation siirer 
 
 Far than hideous dregs of lust and lies, ; 
 And for souls iinelean a garment purer, 
 
 Wrought of snow and azure from the skies ; 
 Unregarded, yet for ever pointing 
 
 Homeward, as to harbour speed the ships. 
 Till, long set apart liy God"s anointing, 
 
 Blend with angel songs the baby lips. 
 
 BABY EYP]S. 
 
 Baby eyes look out in wistful wonder. 
 
 Out iipon a world all new and strange 
 Eolling on, with rifts that close and sunder 
 
 Evermore, in gleam and gloom of change ; 
 Dazzled yet by light, unknown to mortals. 
 
 Clinging to the brow in glorious beams. 
 Left by fairer lands and palace portals 
 
 Glimpsed in visions of unearthly dreams ; 
 Unaccustomed to the garish glitter 
 
 Shed by gaslit courts, and ghostly day 
 Making ruin but more bright and bitter. 
 
 Lurid candles shining on decay. 
 
 Baby eyes look fondly into others, 
 
 Clouded by the seeing that is sin. 
 Catching no reflexion from a mother's. 
 
 Like the splendoiu- yet uncpienched within ; 
 Kound with awe, and tremulously oping 
 
 Wide and wider to the curse and ])light 
 iStaring roand, and vaguely vainly hoping 
 
 On for somethiu!^- of their own delii;'ht ; 
 Uinding, in those mean and nutddy fountains. 
 
 Only niglit of shame and evil scars. 
 Not the dawn that dwells on virgin mountains. 
 
 Tender rays of unarisen stars. 
 
 Baby eyes, in deep unuttered paining. 
 
 Turn from hers that cannot solace give. 
 Dim with disappointed love, and straining 
 
 Somewhere yet in kinder eyes to live ; 
 Txirning blankly in those blasted sjiaces. 
 
 Haunted by dark forms they idly woo. 
 With their sweet appeal to cruel faces. 
 
 Blind to all that is not blasted too ;
 
 BABY BEAUTIFUL IN THE BLACK COUNTREE. 391 
 
 Fresh from gazing- upon God, and longing 
 
 Now His image to behold in some. 
 Seeking now, amid the wrecks of wronging. 
 
 Fur the sight desired that will not come. 
 
 Baby eyes, like creatures wild and hunted, 
 
 Fiee for refuge to the friendlier wall — 
 From the life so early starved and stunted — 
 
 AVhere the shadows making pictures fall ; 
 "Watching there, to hide the unhomed anguish. 
 
 Doors and windows breaking into light. 
 Though they cannot choose but pine and languish 
 
 Sorely, for the lost and better sight ; 
 Waiting, while the barriers are unl3olted. 
 
 That would bind the spirit unto clay. 
 Misery from which it has revolted. 
 
 Till they ope in everlasting day. 
 
 BABY BEAUTIFUL in the BLACK COUNTREE. 
 
 Whence, O little stranger. 
 
 Hast thou travelled here. 
 To a world of danger. 
 
 Yellow leaves and sere ? 
 From what misty mountains. 
 
 Veiling virgin peaks. 
 Where the heart of fountains 
 
 To the spirit speaks ? 
 From what blessed altars 
 
 On a fairer sod, 
 AVhere the fragrance falters 
 
 Houi'ly up to God P 
 From M'hat realms of glory 
 
 Hung in puri^le space. 
 Living the sweet story 
 
 We so dimly trace '^ 
 From what halls in splendour 
 
 Spreading, where with love 
 Angels true and tender 
 
 Watch us from above ? 
 Dear to God and dutiful, 
 
 hosi, in foliage ser-e. 
 Whence, my Baby Beautiful, 
 
 Hast thou travelled here ?
 
 S93 BAB? BEAUTIFUL IN THE BLACK COUNTKEE. 
 
 Why, pretty angel. 
 
 Hast thou journeyed thus, 
 Bring-ing an evangel 
 
 All unknown to us ? 
 Here are oaths of liars, 
 
 Cruel blows and words 
 Worse than Hints and briars. 
 
 Stabbing breasts like swords ; 
 Here, throiigh windows broken. 
 
 Dreadful facos peep, 
 Fierce, with hate unspoken, 
 
 Cursing even in sleep ; 
 Here, through holes and alleys. 
 
 Clutching stick and knife. 
 Dark and darker sallies 
 
 Forth the danuit'd life ; 
 Here, what shapes go shrunken. 
 
 Slinking oiit to slay. 
 As by stages drirnken 
 
 Limps the ghastly play ; 
 Fashioned fond and dutiful. 
 
 Smiling so on us. 
 Why, my Baby Beaiitiful, 
 
 Hast thou joiu'neyed tluxs ? 
 
 Why, thou child intended 
 
 Not for hideous toil, 
 Art so \uidofended 
 
 In this stony soil ? 
 llor(\ are thorns and thistle^. 
 
 Weeds and pasture poor, 
 Hungry wind that whistles 
 
 Through the shattered door ; 
 Here are women wasted, 
 
 Shrouds they only spin. 
 Since they fell and tasted 
 
 Fiery di-aughts of sin ; 
 Here are more than devils. 
 
 Shambling through the gloom. 
 Shuffling in black revels, 
 
 Eotting to their doom ; 
 Here are vermin crawling 
 
 Round thy maiden bud. 
 Spent with crime, and sprawling 
 
 In congenial mud ; 
 Dainty flower and dutiful, 
 
 In the serpent's coil, 
 Why, my Baby Beautiful, 
 
 Set in stony soil ?
 
 EAEY BEAUTIFUL IN THE BLACK COUNTEEE. o93 
 
 Why;, birdie, beating 
 
 On those iron bars. 
 Sink to earth's mistreating 
 
 From thy native stars P 
 Here are lash and fetter, 
 
 Tortures for the slave. 
 Dung-eons, nothing l>etter 
 
 Than an early grave : 
 Here, while troubles quicken. 
 
 Creeps the dreary drudge, 
 Till she, starved and stricken. 
 
 Seeks the tyrant's Judge ; 
 Here, on agrd shoulder 
 
 Is the biu'den piled. 
 And the young look older. 
 
 That have never smiled ; 
 Here, the infant shaken 
 
 By the fevei-'s throe. 
 Dreams of rest, to waken 
 
 Only unto woe ; 
 Delicate and dutiful. 
 
 Face no evil mars. 
 Why, my Baby Beautiful, 
 
 Leave thy native stars ? 
 
 Whither, little stranger, 
 
 Shut in shadowy bound, 
 I'leeing death and danger ? 
 
 Where shall rest l>e found ? 
 Uieams of sunset glisten 
 
 In those heavenly eyes, 
 As they look and listen. 
 
 Gleams from other skies ; 
 J'ust as if the ciu'tain. 
 
 Though we cannot see. 
 Parted, making certain 
 
 Better things to thee ; 
 Just as if the numbers 
 
 Not for naughty men, 
 While their spirit slumbers. 
 
 Spoke to infant ken ; 
 Hark, are voices calling 
 
 Thee to happier lands, 
 Where no tears keep falling 
 
 On the prison bands ? 
 Dear to God and dutiful. 
 
 Broken is thy bound. 
 Thou, my Baby Beautifulj 
 
 Art of Angels found.
 
 394 CONCESSIONS OF AN ACTRESS. 
 
 C^ONFESSIONS OF AN AC'TRESS. 
 
 Ah, but then I knew no better, 
 
 Saw alone that primrose way 
 Out of want with iron fetter, 
 
 Woe, and weakness gaunt and gray ; 
 Then to look at I was pleasant, 
 
 As yon would not fancy now. 
 In this pale and sickly present. 
 
 With the wi'inkles on my brow ; 
 If possessing not a beauty 
 
 After pattern or the tape, 
 I had eyes that did their duty 
 
 W^ith a lithe and dainty shape ; 
 With a pretty mouth, and motion 
 
 That was ever true and sweet. 
 And a step that gave the notion 
 
 As of music in my feet ; 
 I was needy, and his offer 
 
 Made in bitter stress and cold. 
 Came like opening of a coffer. 
 
 Pouring out its gems and gold ; 
 Girls are fools, I was not twenty. 
 
 With my fortune at the dregs, 
 I believed his tale of plenty. 
 
 In the gaslights and the legs. 
 
 t 
 
 So I lost the life I guarded. 
 
 Plunged into the giddy whirl. 
 Maiden modesty discarded. 
 
 Putting on the ballet-girl ; 
 Left my humble class and cottage. 
 
 Claims that yet woidd backward pull. 
 Sold as for a mess of pottage 
 
 Woman's birthright beavitiful ; 
 Callous, from this new disclosiu-e. 
 
 Thus in figleaf fashion drcst. 
 How, regardless of exposure. 
 
 Shame were advertised the best ; 
 Learnt to curb, with ease siirprising, 
 
 Guilty liluslies on my face. 
 All my members advertising. 
 
 Marketing each timid grace ; 
 Learnt to hawk the person venal. 
 
 Throwing pearls to lust of swine, 
 Drowning the regrettings penal 
 
 Deep in ardent words and wine ; 
 Loved, at last, in posing graphic. 
 
 Publishing of breast and arms. 
 Gloried in the ghastly traffic. 
 
 Praise and pence for holy charms.
 
 CONFBBSIONS OF AN ACTRESS. 395 
 
 TliGuce I rose to places higher. 
 
 While, as victims siu'ely wend. 
 Sinking in myself, and nigher 
 
 Drawing to the dreadful end ; 
 Hugged the evil to my bosom. 
 
 Taking now the bigger part. 
 Though it all the dew and blossom 
 
 Dashed from my defiled heart ; 
 Thus the book of golden pages 
 
 Opened to me, as I sung. 
 And, as I stept broader stages, 
 
 Eoyal hearers on me himg ; 
 Though my spirit lost its unction 
 
 Heavenly, chose the falser smile, 
 Turned, no more with shy compimction. 
 
 Willing to the honeyed wile ; 
 Till it seemed the scriptures moral. 
 
 Once awaking virgin's blush. 
 Were mere empty bells and coral. 
 
 Meant but l^aby minds to hush ; 
 And I bade cold creeds defiance. 
 
 Drifting whither souls are wreckt. 
 Borne to deadly self-reliance, 
 
 From diviner self respect. 
 
 Yes, he swore a constant passion. 
 
 Met me at the acting's close. 
 Wooed, in his grand lordly fashion. 
 
 Love expandmg like a rose ; 
 As the boards I trod on, ever 
 
 His the hands that followed still — 
 His, that at each new endeavour. 
 
 Led the plaudits at his will ; 
 At the footlights, when I waited 
 
 For the cheers I humbly took, 
 Hi's the flattery sweetly baited 
 
 Sure to catch my hungry look ; 
 Then, of coui'se, his was the carriage 
 
 Ready for me at the door — 
 Murmured petting, hints of marriage. 
 
 When he was no longer i^oor ; 
 Daily worked the poisonoiis leaven. 
 
 While he gave no saving rest. 
 Loud with arm upraised to Heaven, 
 
 And with mviixler in his breast; 
 Till I fell, by pity's cheating. 
 
 Fooled — by love witli perjured breath. 
 Fell, and now is no retreating, 
 
 From dishonour worse than death.
 
 396 SOME DAY. 
 
 SOME DAY. 
 
 Some day, thy breast will waken. 
 As yet I never knew. 
 
 Bright as a blossom shaken. 
 That drops its early dew. 
 
 Some day, thy face will alter. 
 In strange delicious fear. 
 
 And thy red lips will falter 
 Confessions I would hear. 
 
 Some day, the locks my linger 
 Would reverently clasp. 
 
 Unprized will roughly linger 
 Within a coarser grasj). 
 
 Some day, those eyes will soften. 
 To the old sacred strain. 
 
 And give what I so often 
 Have pleaded for in vain. 
 
 Some day, thy heart to other 
 And younger suit will bend. 
 
 And gain a more than brothei, 
 To lose a more than friend. 
 
 Some day, thy hand will tremble. 
 Thy blush-rose cheeks turn pale. 
 
 And, though the moutli dissemble. 
 Will tell a different tale. 
 
 Some day, thy form no slender 
 In ruder arms will twine 
 
 The raptures of its splendour. 
 For lesser nature shine. 
 
 Some day, when shadows darken 
 Deaf on my downward waj^. 
 
 Those dainty ears will hearken 
 To what I idly say. 
 
 Some day, thy love, though danger 
 Aroiuid thee shed its gloom. 
 
 All lightly for a stranger 
 Will rush to glorious bloom. 
 
 Some day, the life I cherish 
 In honoiir's heavenly air. 
 
 With dreams but born to perish. 
 For folly will grow fair.
 
 MY LADY BKATTTTFTTL. 397 
 
 Some day, thy hope, to Lmguish 
 
 In bondage mean and low^ 
 "Will dawn and mock my anguish. 
 
 Which thou wilt never know. 
 
 Some day, will troth be spoken. 
 
 In which I cannot share. 
 Though this poor heart is broken. 
 
 And thou wilt never care. 
 
 MY LADY BEAUTEFUL. 
 
 I sono'ht her in the tumult fair and festive, 
 
 With rapture sweet. 
 Where passion burns and hf)mele8s hearts are restive. 
 
 And mad lips meet ; 
 Where pleasiu-e thrills, like Circe's magic potion. 
 
 Denying rest. 
 And life is one fierce mystery of motion. 
 
 To the young breast ; 
 Where gay admirers frame in corner shady 
 
 The loving plot ; 
 But there, in all the gilded throng, my Laily 
 
 Was not. 
 
 I sought her in the cradle of the fountains. 
 
 That fret in vaiii. 
 Where echoes answer to the ancient mountains, 
 
 Some secret strain ; 
 Where nature weaves of branches gray and solemn 
 
 Cathedral piles. 
 The groined roof, the fluting of the column. 
 
 The pillared ;dsles ; 
 Where leaves drop honey for the liruising sorest. 
 
 The saddest lot ; 
 But there my Beautiful, in the calm forest. 
 
 Was not. 
 
 I sought her in the market, among masses 
 
 At greedy strife. 
 And in the hurly-lnirly of the classes, 
 
 Misreckoned life ; 
 Where lust of lucre sounds its trumpet clearest. 
 
 And hirelings fall. 
 Who sell for cheapest price, and buy for dearest. 
 
 Honour and all ; 
 Where noble spirits from pollution shamble. 
 
 With hideous blot ; 
 But there my Lady, in the sordid scramble. 
 
 Was not.
 
 898 THE children's cry. 
 
 I sought her in the sanctiiaries only 
 
 By siippliant trod. 
 Where, in the hour of vigil hushed and lonely, 
 
 Man meets with God ; 
 Where weakness makes of straw and rags its pillow 
 
 And silent plea. 
 And tosses feebly xipon fiery billow 
 
 Worse than the sea ; 
 Beside the sufferer that will have no morrow 
 
 On sacred ground; 
 And there my Beautiful, in lands of sorrow. 
 
 Was found. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S CRY. 
 
 What are those nestlings so in need. 
 
 With feathers dull and torn, 
 "\^'it]l ruffled breasts that pant, and bleed 
 
 A gainst some cruel thorn ? 
 They miss the light that gladness yields. 
 
 And makes tlie meanest fair, — 
 They hunger for green woods and fields. 
 
 And fret for freedom's air ; 
 Their wings are bruised and broken now. 
 
 And thence they cannot fly. 
 But to each blast of sviffering bow — 
 
 O hear the children's cry. 
 
 Shut in their cold and gloomy cage. 
 
 And beating on its bars, 
 Thej- waiit the joys of tender age. 
 
 And see no heavenly stars ; 
 They meet not ministry of love. 
 
 But bitter word or blow. 
 Their sky is only clouds above. 
 
 Their earth all pain below : 
 Their every tie a prison bond. 
 
 While pleasiu-es pass them by. 
 And nothing still but chains beyond — 
 
 O hear the children's cry. 
 
 They have no peace however brief. 
 
 In watchful care or skill. 
 And know not respite fi'om their grief. 
 
 But only change of ill ; 
 The common kindness is not theirs, 
 
 "When parents even are foes, 
 They come as sad unportioned heirs. 
 
 Into a world of woes j
 
 RED BEVOLtTTION. 890 
 
 Tliey seek some friendly look ov place, 
 
 And ti^rn with wistfnl eye 
 To the blank wall and blanker face — 
 
 O hear the children's cry. 
 
 Yes, there is sickness without cure. 
 
 And helxiless is that lot, — 
 No tiny pillow white and piire, 
 
 No warm and sheltered cot ; 
 By suffering tost, in weakness laid, 
 
 They plead for hope and health. 
 At the one door that offers aid. 
 
 And opens wide to wealth ; 
 All, rescue them from pain and sin, 
 
 A fairer part to try. 
 Unbolt the heart and take them in, 
 
 And hear the children's cry. 
 
 RED EEVOLUTIOX. 
 
 Its home is in the liaunted ai'r. 
 
 It rides the gathering- uiooui. 
 Its In-eath is on the jialace stair 
 
 And darkens prince's room ; 
 It knocks at every golden door. 
 
 That duty has defied. 
 But l^rings a blessing- to the poor. 
 
 By jiistice long denied ; 
 It sits in rulers' crumbling seat. 
 
 And guides the statesman's choice. 
 Strong as tlie flowing ocean's beat, — 
 
 Eed revolution's voice. 
 
 Its spirit speaks, in angry gtists 
 
 Shaking the tyrant's art. 
 Or fossil form that eats and rusts 
 
 Into a nation's heart ; 
 It springs from cellars at our feet. 
 
 With sudden bitter cries 
 Of women, once as soft and sweet 
 
 As clouds in siuumer skies ; 
 It stirs, in starvelings cooped and jammed 
 
 Behind the mouldering wall 
 Of institutions dead and damned — 
 
 Red revolution's call. 
 
 In miu-murs — in the swarthj^ mine. 
 
 And oiit of sweating mill. 
 From throats of Christians kept as swine. 
 
 Their masters yet to kill j
 
 400 RET) RKVOLTTTION'. 
 
 Ill workshops io\\\, where drudge the slaves 
 
 Of systems false their hour. 
 And drop in early unknown graves. 
 
 To gild a lady's bower ; 
 In courts and alleys grim, that pen 
 
 The masses drink cloth maim. 
 That still beneath the beast are men — 
 
 Eed revolution's claim. 
 
 It scowls— through every stubborn Strike, 
 
 That worlds together draws. 
 And proves the high and low alike 
 
 Are led by common laws ; 
 In writhings, to be free from loads 
 
 That feudal fetters bring, 
 Till the pale toiler make new roads. 
 
 And of liimself be king ; 
 In fiery biirsts of broken speech. 
 
 The poet's lurid line. 
 That unto Heaven for mercy reach — 
 
 Eed revolution's sign. 
 
 It mutters — where the servants feel 
 
 Their labour is for nought, 
 And, ground below the rich man's heel. 
 
 Know jixstiee must be bought ; 
 Where sad they see the ancient right. 
 
 And public pastures, rent 
 Away from them by bloated might. 
 
 Themselves so impotent : 
 "Where sop of suffrage given in name, 
 
 A jest and mockery still. 
 Is yet the landlord's to his shame — 
 
 Eed revolution's will. 
 
 It sounds — when sots, called noble, sink 
 
 Down to the dirty clay 
 From which they basely rose, to stink 
 
 And strut their little day ; 
 Where houses, that by crime weru raised, 
 
 Adorned by pelf and all 
 For which the glorious thief is praised. 
 
 Are tottering to their fall ; 
 In desperate blows, to ease the grijie 
 
 Of each blood-sucking tax. 
 And break the scourge's iron stripe — 
 
 Eed revolution's axe. 
 
 It creeps — from darkness wrought by dearth. 
 
 To burst ill lightning soon. 
 As falls the sliadow of the earth 
 
 Upon the anguished moon ;
 
 RED REVOLUTION. 401 
 
 On brows that want has sorely blanched. 
 
 On burning bloodless lijis 
 Whose tale of wounds by wealth unstanched 
 
 Sows horror of eclipse ; 
 On wasted arms, that fain would toil. 
 
 And nothing find but doom 
 Prom those who made them merry spoil — 
 
 Ked revolution's gloom. 
 
 It hangs — a tlumder cloud in air. 
 
 O'er faithless fool and lord. 
 As hung, suspended by a hair. 
 
 The legendary sword ; 
 Athwart the tower of trembling state. 
 
 Athwart the chvirch and spire. 
 That ripen for the one black fate, 
 
 Erom the one black desire ; 
 Above the hoardings of the bank. 
 
 The plunder of the purse 
 That lives of men by thousands drank — 
 
 Red revolution's curse. 
 
 It rumbles — like the earthquake's throe. 
 
 Dissolving sacred bound. 
 That gvilfs alike the friend and foe. 
 
 In one gray burial ground. 
 Through hoary structures, that have stood 
 
 For ages long, and laws 
 Abused and spent, and only good 
 
 To toss in Tophet's jaws ; 
 Though sugar-pkxms and maxims mock 
 
 The eyes with watching wet. 
 And cobweb franchise veils the rock — 
 
 Ked revolution's threat. 
 
 It rolls — while parties rise, and fall 
 
 Under its greedy tide. 
 And round it whining placemen crawl — 
 
 Or craven helmsmen hide ; 
 While hobbies of the class-made code. 
 
 All foul with falsehood's brand. 
 Pass with the knaves that them bestrode. 
 
 As wrinkles on the sand ; 
 While hate treads on the broidered hem. 
 
 Fear opes its ocean grave. 
 Which mops of measui'es idly stem — 
 
 Ked revolution's wave. 
 
 It rings — below the widow's sigh. 
 
 That meets the master scoff. 
 And brings eternity so nigh. 
 
 But earth sends farther off ;
 
 402 RED KEVOLUTION. 
 
 Above the pai'tial jvidge's worcl. 
 
 That wives with veual sway. 
 The pauper but the hangman's cord. 
 
 The rich his wicked way ; 
 Around the triumph that is short. 
 
 The peer can cheaply buy. 
 Who curses God and sips his port — 
 
 Red revolution's cry. 
 
 It treads — with muffled steps, that pace 
 
 Down the complaining years. 
 That, flashing joy on withered face. 
 
 To smiles turn orphan tears ; 
 With conquering feet, that broken chains 
 
 Leave wheresoe'er they fall. 
 And robbers stript of lawless gains 
 
 Below their levelled wall ; 
 Till drops the writer's perji^red pen. 
 
 Prompt with its poison stamp. 
 As at the march of armed men — 
 
 Red revolution's tramp. 
 
 It waves — in sanguinary dawn. 
 
 When wretches dare to be 
 Themselves, and though their rulers fawn. 
 
 Yet purpose to be free ; 
 In ruddy rose of maiden's cheek. 
 
 Who, smarting at her shame. 
 Would from the dastard spoiler seek. 
 
 Through fire, a surer name ; 
 In dazzling dreams, that fool and fold 
 
 The Judas with his bag. 
 The mumbling priest in mask of gold — 
 
 Red revolution's flag. 
 
 It points — beyond false verdict's rod. 
 
 And sermon's o'erpaid fume. 
 Unto the Vengeance that is God, 
 
 Who doth His trust resume ; 
 Unto the sceptred wrath, that rides 
 
 Far on the tempest's wing. 
 And in eternity abides. 
 
 Till every clown is king ; 
 To fuel heaped, for centuried sin 
 
 Against a bleeding land. 
 The hell beneath the lava skin — 
 
 Red revolution's hand. 
 
 It whispers — in the solemn hush. 
 
 Before the purging storm 
 Awakes, and with its righteous rush 
 
 Sweeps off each useless form ;
 
 RED REVOLUTION. 403 
 
 In secret tones of qviiet songs. 
 
 That sharpen needs and knives. 
 Each on the whetstone of its wrongs, 
 
 T^ill the dread hour arrives ; 
 In the mtite grievance of the child. 
 
 Who plies the beggar's broom. 
 Petted, aiid dropped when once defil'd — 
 
 Ked revolution's doom. 
 
 It warns — in cruel clash of steel, 
 
 The oath and dying sob. 
 When drilled battalions bend, and reel 
 
 Before the untaught mob ; 
 When hand to hand, till chaos end 
 
 The strife that devils rouse, 
 With shot and cheer and thrust, contend 
 
 Red coat and ragged bloiise ; 
 When soldier and civilian meet. 
 
 And women even turn out 
 To barricade in bloody street — 
 
 Eed revolution's shout. 
 
 It speaks — with mighty thoughts, that knit 
 
 Mortals to lasting youth. 
 In ordinances yet unwrit. 
 
 But honoured as the truth ; 
 Where insight, with its heavenly gate. 
 
 Expands to earthly ken 
 Treniendoxis oracles of Fate, 
 
 And broadens hearts of men ; 
 Where feelings, that no mould can frame 
 
 Nor measure, leap in awe 
 To one great impulse fierce as flame — 
 
 Eed revolution's law. 
 
 It tolls — as through the troubled air. 
 
 From some dim distant height, 
 A mourning bell, that message fair 
 
 Singeth to souls in night ; 
 If heroes, whom the world knew not, 
 
 Depai't with white set lips 
 Into the silence, without spot. 
 
 As into haven ships ; 
 If earthquake rocks, and despots fall 
 
 As despots ever fell. 
 Less missed than glandered steed from stall — 
 
 Eed revolution's knell. 
 
 It echoes — in the solemn sound 
 
 Of falling truths and trees. 
 While saws and sentences are ground. 
 
 And each to slay agrees ;
 
 404 BED REVOLUTION. 
 
 While capital takes fi'ight, and flies 
 
 To other safer soil. 
 And labour for itself applies 
 
 The treasures of its toil ; 
 In ghastly stabs, that make to reel 
 
 Oiu' gnarled and and ancient Oak, 
 Done by the Traitor Woodman's steel — 
 
 Red revolution's stroke. 
 
 It throbs — thro^^g•h every noble deed. 
 
 Wrought though by nameless hand. 
 That sows the everlasting seed 
 
 Of a more Christian land ; 
 Through beauteous words, the wondrous birth 
 
 Of better thoughts and things. 
 That round all classes put one girth. 
 
 White as an angel's wings; 
 Throixgh tender signs, that soften hearts 
 
 Which hates and fears convulse. 
 With something more than Culture's arts — 
 
 Red revolution's pulse. 
 
 It grows — a fatal force, in breast 
 
 Big with a cancerous ill. 
 And doubly pledged to take no rest. 
 
 Era bloodshed pay the bill ; 
 A sickness in the camjj and fleet. 
 
 That palsies loyal arms. 
 And sends through quaking shroud and sheet 
 
 The fever of alarms ; 
 A trembling, in the golden ring. 
 
 On titled harlots cast. 
 Who sell their bodies to their king — 
 
 Eed revolution's blast. 
 
 It spreads — a terror in the town. 
 
 And to the country woe. 
 That catches at the satin gown. 
 
 And is of Fashion foe ; 
 A nightmare, that in college creeps. 
 
 Nor spares the very Court, 
 And wakes the sentinel, who sleeps 
 
 In every lazy port ; 
 A thrilling throe, o'er flood and field. 
 
 And in the maiden's bower. 
 That shakes both couch and battle shield — 
 
 Red revolution's power. 
 
 It hardens — finding form and place 
 
 In baby minds, and text 
 In woman robbed of woman's grace. 
 
 By progress all unsexed j
 
 STOLEN WATERS. 405 
 
 Against the jades from palace door. 
 
 As daintily they tread. 
 Upon the brnised and bleeding poor. 
 
 Who butter all their bread ; 
 Against the Science, that shapes worse 
 
 The troubled toiler's fate. 
 And only swells the sweater's purse — 
 
 Eed revolution's hate. 
 
 It glows — a sunrifse in the east, 
 
 A morning with no cloud. 
 That brings the famished soul a feast, 
 
 A wedding robe for shroud ; 
 With fingers motherly, that take 
 
 The helpless sufferer's part. 
 And for the sorrowing outcast make 
 
 A home within a heart ; 
 With kiss, that is to purer breath 
 
 Soft as the settling dove, 
 And to the wicked whisper death — 
 
 Red revolution's love. 
 
 It strikes — as on the anvil falls. 
 
 Just when the iron is hot. 
 The hammer, that a people calls 
 
 Unto a larger lot ; 
 At last, at last, with brighter brow 
 
 When comes, and kingships flee, 
 The man, that is one nation, now 
 
 United to be free ; 
 If tempest turn, a while, the milk 
 
 Of human kindness sour. 
 And homespun spurn the sin in silk — 
 
 Eed revolution's hour. 
 
 STOLEN WATERkS. 
 
 Sweeter they seemed than earthly draught. 
 
 Kinder than cup of Heaven, 
 Held to the lips that lightly quaffed. 
 
 Flushed with their fiery leaven ; 
 Sweeter they seemed, than music drawn 
 
 Deep from the heart of mountains. 
 First to receive the kiss of dawn. 
 
 Kindling the poet's fountains ; 
 Sweeter than treast^re from the spring, 
 
 Guarded by Hesper's daughters. 
 Sweeter than life's last blossoming — 
 
 Eapture of stolen waters.
 
 406 THE CONQUEKOR. 
 
 Sweeter he sought, a wicked love. 
 
 New, if it brought not better, 
 Tired of the old as faded glove. 
 
 Found for the time a fetter ; 
 Drank of another's sacred well, 
 
 Pleasiu-es of sin, confvxsion 
 Mixed with the madness of the spell. 
 
 Balm that was but delusion ; 
 Drank with the hot vohiptuous lip. 
 
 Moulded to lust and laughter. 
 Only to reap the Erinnyes' whip. 
 
 Death in the bowl hereafter. 
 
 Sweeter it seemed, what could not cloy 
 
 Hurried embrace or greeting 
 Snatched in the dark, the fearful joy 
 
 Wrung from a giiilty meeting ; 
 Passionate words in secret nooks. 
 
 Dearer from tread of dangers. 
 Fugitive signs, and furtive looks 
 
 Flasned and retvirned with strangers ; 
 Twining of arms and bosom beats. 
 
 Sobbing and sighs, and hidden 
 Graces revealed in dim i-etreats. 
 
 Precious because forbidden. 
 
 Sweeter it seemed, the moment's bliss 
 
 Gone ere it grew quite certain. 
 Drowned in the serpent's damning hiss. 
 
 Coiled in the shadow's curtain ; 
 Oh, but the sorrow came like night. 
 
 Followed like lava svirges. 
 Changed to despair the wild delight. 
 
 Tender caress to scourges ; 
 Honey, that mocked the hungry mouth. 
 
 Passed like the swallow's twitter. 
 Turned to the grave's devoui-ing drouth 
 
 Life, with its ashes bitter. 
 
 THE CONQUEROK. 
 
 1 am the spirit of the Silent Deep, 
 
 And at my quickening tread. 
 
 The ghostly slieeted dead 
 Start from the stillness of tlieir conturied sleep. 
 Where the gray aspens ever watch and weep. 
 
 And hands to Heaven outspread.
 
 THE CONQUEKOK. 407 
 
 The prophet sees me in his castled height. 
 
 Who breaks through earthly bars. 
 
 In commune with the stars. 
 And from the rapture of the solemn sight. 
 In awfu.1 unimaginable light. 
 
 Forgets his human scars. 
 
 The poet hears me from his cloistered nock. 
 
 In more than mortal dreams, 
 
 Throu::rli r/hich immortal gleams 
 The passion of some nevf great gospel book, 
 Vast"\7ith its loving universal look 
 
 Beyond these muddy streams. 
 
 The thinker tracks my footsteps in the maz3 
 
 Of systems, that would tie 
 
 Man to a splendid lie. 
 Till from the trouble of their travailing haze. 
 They burst in blossom, and a glorious blaze 
 
 That never more may die. 
 
 The lover knows me, as his throbbing heart 
 
 Beats out the blessed chime. 
 
 The same in every chme. 
 Of which all natiire is a living part, 
 That bids each waking soul arise, and start 
 
 Forth on a fairer time. 
 
 The maiden feels my presence, when she turns 
 
 The tamult of her eyes. 
 
 Which for caresses cries. 
 The flame that kindled cnce for ever burns. 
 And finds this world too small, and wildly yeajns 
 
 For other earth and skies. 
 
 The baby owns the impress of my hand. 
 
 Your beauteous God-sent boy. 
 
 Half angel and half toy , 
 Who gazes out on glittering sea and land, 
 So strange and new, as if at his command. 
 
 In wonder and in joy. 
 
 The cowslip answers to my secret call 
 
 That stirs each golden glove. 
 
 And bids the drowsy dove 
 Kejoice, and laughs at the dividing wall. 
 Which else would darken between heaven and all ; 
 
 For I am conc^uering Love.
 
 408 "A MAKEIAGE IS AKEANfiED," ETC. 
 
 " A MAERIAGE IS ARRANGED," Etc. 
 
 It is settled, at last — I am thankful — 
 
 For papa is so poor ; 
 He has millions, they say — quite a bank-full. 
 
 With a castle and moor. 
 Itjis triie they were all made in shoddy. 
 
 By low trading and tricks ; 
 And, I know, he is given to toddy. 
 
 While in grammar he sticks — 
 Drops his aspirates, and without reason 
 
 Puts them in at his will. 
 Like a bird or a beast out of season 
 
 He^s determined to kill. 
 He is fat, too, and more than twice thirty. 
 
 With a horrible leer ; 
 His complexion is vile, and as dirty 
 
 As some statesmen's career. 
 And he cannot tell who was his father. 
 
 If he ever was young — 
 Or, indeed, he had one — though I rather 
 
 Should suspect he was hung. 
 Never mind ! For no life is all honey, 
 
 And I am not a bee. 
 But a drone, and with heaps of good money. 
 
 And a fool on his knee. 
 And I promised him only to marry. 
 
 Not a word aboiit love ; 
 And I'll teach him to fetch and to carry. 
 
 My last plaything or glove. 
 But I need not give up my old darling. 
 
 Though the shoulders you shrug. 
 Whom I like the next best to my starling. 
 
 And the Willoughby pug. 
 For he is such a beautiful stejDper, 
 
 Knows my waltiies and walk. 
 And he tries not to put too much pepper 
 
 In his wickedest talk. 
 Though my likings go out all directions. 
 
 And I get little thanks. 
 And I doubt I've a heart and affections — 
 
 If I have, they are Frank's. 
 Are these tears ? No, it's simply the weather. 
 
 For these changes do fret ; 
 And the months we have frolicked togethex', 
 
 I can never forget. 
 Then he has biit a younger son's pittance. 
 
 With an older son's pace ; 
 And mamma would not give him admittance. 
 To a son-in-law's place.
 
 "unto babes." 409 
 
 He will be to me always a brothei', 
 
 Or whatever it is ; 
 A.nd one man is as good as another. 
 
 When a fortune is his. 
 And, you see, in the case of estrangement, 
 
 Fm provided for well ; 
 Ours is bvit a convenient arrangement — 
 
 Of the Piu-se and the Belle. 
 
 " UNTO BABES." 
 
 Where are now the rapture and the vision 
 
 Of the larger times. 
 Given to hearts that through the world's derision, 
 
 Heard'eternal chimes — 
 Heard the angels singing the old story. 
 
 Ever new as then, 
 Love, that links to earth unearthly glory. 
 
 Godlike maketh men — 
 Love, that leads'; the planet on its stages. 
 
 Pours on insect's wing 
 Dust of gold, and down the night of ages. 
 
 Sweetly mixrmuring. 
 Steps in beauty to that Christmas carol. 
 
 Which the centviries rolls, 
 Clad in innocence and white apparel 
 
 Worn by \irgin souls ? 
 Where are now the words, like doors and windows 
 
 Opening into Space, 
 To Chaldeans, Greeks, Egyptians, Hindoos, 
 
 Flashing forth God's Eace ? 
 Are they hushed by the sour tones of treason. 
 
 With assassin tread. 
 Or, beneath the blasting sneer of Reason, 
 Dead? 
 
 Monarchs thought, by fruits of others' travail. 
 
 Armed with sceptred sin. 
 They might awful mysteries unravel. 
 
 And thiis enter in ; 
 When they talked with seers, and hoped to ravish. 
 
 By some splendid vow. 
 Truth, that unto kings, though lordly lavish. 
 
 Never yet did bow ; 
 When they would, by pious fits of fasting. 
 
 In their purple i^ride. 
 Force the oracles of Wisdom casting 
 
 Thrones and toys aside.
 
 410 " MEN MUST WORK." 
 
 Sages, grey with lore of every college. 
 
 Wresting from the deep 
 Treasures hidden, deemed with cosmic knowledge 
 
 In its starry sweep — 
 Stuffed with all the facts of all Induction, 
 
 Logic and its lailes. 
 Mad from triiimph in wholesale destruction 
 
 Of the sacred schools — 
 The]j could hear the Voice, the Veil could sever. 
 
 By their subtle brain ; , 
 But their boast was idle, their endeavovir 
 Vain. 
 
 Ah, philosophies to Love not loyal. 
 
 Bubbles are that pass. 
 And the ignorant king however royal 
 
 Is a crowned ass ; 
 Not to such the rapture and the vision 
 
 Granted unto few, 
 Not to learning, nor the sword's decision 
 
 Bathed in bloody dew ; 
 Not for such, but for the meek and holy. 
 
 Babes of simple faith. 
 Who do hear in adoration lowly 
 
 What the Silence saith ; 
 Yea, for these the Heaven keeps yet expanding 
 
 Doors in very dust — 
 Windows, that ope not to brute commanding, 
 
 But to childlike triist ; 
 From their blessed love no truth is hidden, 
 
 Nothing is held back, 
 And Infinity its stores unbidden 
 
 Strews along their track ; 
 Time for them was alway young and vernal, 
 
 Death hath only smil'd, 
 Theirs is Christ, who is Himself the Eternal 
 Child. 
 
 "MEN MUST WORK.-' 
 
 God, who made the muscle taut and knotted 
 
 On the sinewy arm, 
 Straight as rifle, ready, double-shottoil, 
 
 With its athlete charm ; 
 Built the shoulders broad and st'ff, reliant. 
 
 Danger deeming jAay, 
 Fair and square, confronting all, defiant. 
 
 Holding worlds at bay ;
 
 " MEN MUST WORK." 411 
 
 Moulded deep the chest, with ribs of iron 
 
 Cased the supple form. 
 Stout, though devils should its walls environ. 
 
 Yet against the storm ; 
 Wrought the columned back to carry burden 
 
 Even up Sinai's moimt, 
 So to win through fire the priceless guerdon 
 
 Of the heavenly fount ; 
 Carved as buttresses the legs, sustaining 
 
 All that glory, still 
 True to speed it, and withou.t complaining 
 
 Tools of lightning will ; — 
 God, who fashioned thus the man, and thunder 
 
 Harnessed for his spoil. 
 Bade him, cleaving rocks and seas asunder. 
 Toil. 
 
 God, who made the woman fair and tender. 
 
 Sweet with amorous might. 
 Poured into her eyes the spell and splendour 
 
 Of a Southern night ; 
 Breathed the breath of violets enticing 
 
 In her cvirling lips. 
 All the dew of roses' soft sufficing, 
 
 • Sunset's red eclipse ; 
 Shaped of frost and flame, the eve and morning. 
 
 Beautiful her face. 
 Blent into tlie delicate adorning 
 
 Of one conqiiering grace ; 
 Gave her breast of snow from summits maiden. 
 
 Heart of burning fire. 
 Sending on and up with blessings laden 
 
 Infinite desire ; 
 Crowned the man with kingly strength for labour. 
 
 Whether mine or mill. 
 Armed with j)ick or saw, or peaceful sabre 
 
 Science girds on skill ; 
 Bade him, not forgetting Earth, his mother. 
 
 Drawn from lowly soil. 
 While in heaven be found of God a brother. 
 Toil. 
 
 God, who set for man no sort of tether. 
 
 Save a boundless love. 
 Mating him and woman close together, 
 
 Thiis to climb above ; 
 Thus inspired with the same sacred leaven. 
 
 The same simple trust 
 One to journey to their kindred Heaven, 
 
 From their common dust ;
 
 412 "men must work. 
 
 Lent to him the triumph, gained by wrestling 
 
 With dark giant fears, 
 And to her in prayerful corners nestling. 
 
 Victory of tears ; 
 But to Man assigned the steimer portion. 
 
 None but cowards slight. 
 In the teeth of hate and hell's distortion. 
 
 Thankfully to fight ; 
 Awful odds to face, and wring from Natux*e 
 
 Her long-hoarded Truth, 
 Thereby lifted to the Godlike statiu-e 
 
 Of immortal youth ; 
 Bade him, shielded with fair Woman's kisses. 
 
 Where the breakers boil. 
 Or where fiercer metal molten hisses. 
 Toil. 
 
 God, who deals His creatures nought for nothing. 
 
 Hides His wondroiis ways. 
 Braces us to find the food and clothing. 
 
 After many days ; 
 Who reveals to student or to lover. 
 
 Striving for the stars. 
 Nought that they by seeking can discover. 
 
 If through royal scars ; 
 Willed that Man, by evermore pursuing 
 
 Sustenance of need. 
 Should attain the innermost imbuing 
 
 Of the heavenliest creed ; — 
 Fortified by ordeal of provision 
 
 In the daily strife. 
 Should put on the raiment of decision 
 
 Magnifying life — 
 Should put off the lazy rust, that creeping 
 
 Eats into the soi^l, 
 Eobs him of his birthright, in the sleeping 
 
 Of Divine controul ; — 
 Bade him, though around the blackest peril 
 
 Knit its serpent coil. 
 And the desert mocked with menace sterile. 
 Toil. 
 
 Man, who feareth God, and in the wonder 
 
 Of a watchful awe. 
 Reads the message of His thoiight in thunder 
 
 Flashing out His law ; 
 Finds in service of the thews and struggle 
 
 With the hoiu'ly task. 
 Solemn suns above the lights that juggle 
 
 Mind with glittering mask ;
 
 "MEN MUST WORK." 413 
 
 Reaps the harvest of the hands, whose strivinga 
 
 Strenuous on way 
 Stony, to the last supreme arrivings. 
 
 Joined to reverence, pray ; 
 Frames of work a worship, by salvation 
 
 Of the body's health. 
 And in joy of muscle's consecration 
 
 Spiritual wealth ; 
 Gathers in the grand discharge of duties 
 
 Small, that round him lie, 
 Out of daily drudging, crown of beauties 
 
 That can nowise die ; 
 Man, who in his labour helps to cherish 
 
 Lamp of sacred oil. 
 Must for ever, if that should not perish. 
 Toil. 
 
 Man, who loves and venerates the woman. 
 
 In his household shrine, 
 Seemg in that temple sweetly human 
 
 Door of the Divine ; 
 Cares to girdle her about with honour. 
 
 Like a holy flame. 
 As if each were the one pure Madonna 
 
 Of the Blessed Name ; 
 Gleans in trudging of the feet, and straining 
 
 Arms that fashion things 
 Common to a richer vise, throiigh paining. 
 
 Glimpse of angel wings ; 
 Hails the tops of Truth, afar no longer. 
 
 Fair white virgin peaks, 
 In the hurly-burly that makes stronger 
 
 Man, who God-like speaks ; 
 Glories, that he needs in life's appointing. 
 
 Carry bitter cross. 
 Sweetness turned by maiden's love anointing. 
 
 Shed on every loss ; 
 Man, who heeds no winds nor weather cruel. 
 
 In the miry moil. 
 Knows the one inestimable jewel. 
 Toil. 
 
 Man, who hears the children's pleading voices. 
 
 Out of empty night. 
 Dauntless in bread-winning strength rejoices, 
 
 Eeady for the fight ; 
 He delights to bear the brunt of danger. 
 
 Nature's fiercest mood. 
 Compassing the seas and lands, a ranger 
 
 For his nestlings' food;
 
 414 THE RTTSSIAN MOLOCH. 
 
 He exults in want and woe, and pleasure 
 
 Plucks of sharpest pangs. 
 If for them he may but heap up treasure 
 
 Forced from lions' fangs ; 
 He pursues his path through deserts dreary. 
 
 Suffers hunger first. 
 Faint and fainter, worn and yet unweary. 
 
 Lest his darlings thirst ; 
 He bestows on them his every blossom. 
 
 Clasps himself the thorn 
 Stabbing to the very heart, through bosom 
 
 Gloriously torn ; 
 Man, who bleeds to hush the children's crying. 
 
 Fate itself would foil. 
 Loves, althovxgh it rounded be by dying. 
 Toil. 
 
 Man, who doth respect himself, and others. 
 
 Labour cannot shirk. 
 Contemplating God and beasts his brothers. 
 
 Banded all in work ; 
 Marking ever, with the One Divinity 
 
 Still inspiring each. 
 Every creature aiming towards infinity. 
 
 Higher yet to reach ; 
 Must himself do something for the ages. 
 
 Add unto their store, — 
 If but leave two blades of grass, on stages 
 
 Where one grew before ; 
 Must abate a little of the sorrow 
 
 Darkening earthly skies. 
 Though he may not see a brighter morrow 
 
 Laugh in hiiman eyes ; 
 Must build up, somehow, for happier nations 
 
 Broader bridge of trust. 
 If himself with the obscure foundations 
 
 Buried in the dust ; 
 Man, the worker, sceptred servant, scorning 
 
 Idler's leprous soil. 
 Clothes him in that most divine adorning, 
 Toil. 
 
 THE RUSSIAN MOLOCH. 
 
 Tartar, still a black and blood-stained rover 
 Through the groaning lands. 
 
 With a little culture varnished over 
 Vice of iron hands ;
 
 THE RUSSIAN MOI,OCH. 415 
 
 Preaching the evangel of i^erdition 
 
 Unto worlds of slaves. 
 Marking bounds of savage superstition 
 
 But with crimson graves ; 
 Giving grasp of fellowship, to throttle 
 
 Dupes that idly trust. 
 Leaving nought save broken vodka bottle — 
 Ood is just. 
 
 Bringing with thy Cossacks, to the nation 
 
 Sentenced out of joint. 
 Progress and the knout, and sure salvation 
 
 At the bayonet's point ; 
 "^runken generals with starred initials. 
 
 Touching but to stain. 
 All the hungry horde of fierce officials 
 
 Ravenous for gain ; 
 Yermin, red tape, justice to the bidder 
 
 Highest sold by lust ; — 
 
 Tyrant, in thy cruelty consider, 
 
 God is just, 
 
 Tartar, rising red in ghastly vision, 
 
 Eack and strangling cord. 
 Meting matters by the grim decision 
 
 Only of the sword ; 
 Still content thy Babel tower to fashion, 
 
 Tottering though it leans. 
 In the old style stript of fools' compassion, 
 
 The old same damned means ; 
 Building up a grand and gory steeple. 
 
 On some miu-der"s dust. 
 
 Levelling alike a path or people ; 
 
 God is just. 
 
 Big with blessings looking large on paper. 
 
 Hiding shell and shot. 
 Proved at best but dirt from despot's scraper, 
 
 Einsings of his pot ; 
 Drowning bitter voice of myriads' crying. 
 
 Hopeless as they bend. 
 With official and officious lying 
 
 To the loathsome end; 
 Quenching the poor widow's dying ember. 
 
 Stealing orphan's crust. 
 Spoiler, in thy monstrous greed, remember, 
 God is just, 
 
 Tartar, what is this last helpless anguish. 
 Borne on feebler breath.
 
 41B THE RUSSIAN MOLOCH. 
 
 From the hopeless mines where thousands languish, 
 
 thou crowned death ? 
 What is this weak wail of tender mortal. 
 
 Tortured, not for sin. 
 Knocking at the dread exjmnding portal. 
 
 Shutting vengeance in ? 
 Fearful is thy passing reign, and shaken 
 
 With the dagger thrust. 
 And, though priests have long their faith forsaken, 
 God is just. 
 
 Oh, that pitiful appeal of woman. 
 
 Wrung from darkest night. 
 To the brother man that is not human. 
 
 Cries aloud to Eight ; 
 Cries aloud to earth that doth not hearken. 
 
 If her corpse it wreathe. 
 And to Heaven that will not, though it darken, 
 
 Mercy's sword unsheathe ; 
 For redress, from violated bosom 
 
 Bearing shame it miust. 
 That shall yet from tomb of martyrs blossom- 
 God is just. 
 
 Tartar, while thy hate's unsparing scourges 
 
 Eain on gentle form, 
 Hearest not the hissing of the siirgbs 
 
 Gathering for the storm ? 
 Hearest not the sullen sound of grinding 
 
 Knives in dungeons deep. 
 Knelling through the proud and fatal blinding 
 
 Of thy haunted sleep ? 
 Deaf to sure signs of the retribution. 
 
 Hot infernal gust. 
 Beating muffled drum of execution, 
 God is just. 
 
 All the voices of the starved and stricken, 
 
 Men and maidens loath. 
 Meet in that one woman's call, and quicken 
 
 Eevolution's oath; 
 Till, at length, to blast imperial error. 
 
 From that outraged frame 
 Sown in sorrow, leaps with thundering terror 
 
 The devouring flame ; 
 Yea, though now men feast and dance demented. 
 
 Axe of judgment rust. 
 Broader spread the realm with blood cemented, 
 God is just.
 
 TO FEAR is TU (iOVKKN. 417 
 
 TO FEAIJ IS TO GOVERN. 
 
 Linked t^ the resplendent wraith of error 
 
 Blind and beauteous, that wise men warps. 
 Is the shapeless shadow we call terror. 
 
 Cold as is the shadow of a corpse ; 
 Dreadful as an armed host, that, risen 
 
 Out of earth and with no travail pains. 
 Shrinks the haunted heart into a prison. 
 
 Dark with closed doors and clanking chains ; 
 But in that serene and sunny knowledge, 
 
 Siu'ely marching- on with liglitning spear. 
 Never learned in crabbed school or college. 
 Breathes a blessed Fear. 
 
 Ah, thou canst not name the secret number 
 
 Wi-itten on the horn of natiu-e's robe. 
 All that lies beyond the lands of slumber. 
 
 All that hid is in a dew-drop's globe ; 
 Canst not guess the rapture of the vision. 
 
 More than death and deeper far than life. 
 Palpitating in the stern decision. 
 
 Wrought with blood through sacrificial knife ; 
 Canst not tell or spell the splendid letters. 
 
 In the soul by penitential tear 
 Burnt, unless with free diviner fetters. 
 Perfected in Fear, 
 
 Never shalt thou see the side, my brother, 
 
 Turned away from thee by virgin moons. 
 Mysteries of spaces, and the other 
 
 Greater world with its unearthly boons ; 
 Never catch the passion of the story. 
 
 Chanted by the stars, in silent nights. 
 When the heavens have lent their g^arb of glory 
 
 To the sea in biu-sts of solemn sights ; 
 Never note the meaning of the messsag'e 
 
 Sighed at evening to' the waiting ear. 
 Till instructed in more faithful presage, 
 Mii-acles of Fear. 
 
 Nay, thou canst not read that inner teaching, 
 
 Past the lying mascxuerade of form. 
 Dazzling vain philosophies, and reaching 
 
 Lower than the shaking of the storm ;'' 
 Canst not stamp ripon thy fleshly nature. 
 
 Dragging thee for ever deeper down. 
 One small line of that grand legislature. 
 
 Meant to gift thee with a monarch's crown ; 
 Canst not start aright, nor shape a minute 
 
 Path across the desert lone and drear. 
 If thou hast not compassed, to begin it,' 
 Masteries of Fear.
 
 418 TO IFEAE. IS TO GOVIEN. 
 
 O thou may'st not heed the last glad sentence 
 
 Sung by angels that around us lie. 
 For the soul that by sublime repentance 
 
 Chose to live, because it chose to die ; 
 May'st not see, when jjlumage of the pigeon 
 
 Briglitens with the siin, the endless spring 
 Speaking to us in that old religion. 
 
 Still renewed on resurrection's wing ; 
 May'st not rise when flowers and faiths ai'e drooping. 
 
 And when heaven no longer seems to hear. 
 Till thou first hast climbed by himibly stooping, 
 Sinai s of Fear. 
 
 AAve is wise, and reverence looks deeper. 
 
 Through the vision of its veiled eyes. 
 Than the scoffing sce2)tic or the sleej^er 
 
 Rocked to death upon his bed of lies ; 
 Holy wonderment will steer the spirit. 
 
 Through the rocks and whirlpools that are rife. 
 To eternity it doth inherit. 
 
 Over ocean ignorance names life ; 
 Yea, it saves iis from a hair's breadth swerving. 
 
 Lights the nights to noontide calm and clear. 
 And imparts to us at length by serving 
 Government of Fear. 
 
 Fear alone can ope to us the portal. 
 
 The invisible that girds iis round, 
 All the poorness of this purblind mortah 
 
 With its walls of unknowai sight and sound ; 
 Shows us God. the Lowliest Being, seated 
 
 At our feet a glorious crowned slave, 
 Only when false Science has retreated 
 
 Back into its native gloom and grave ; 
 Makes us see, while slight and meretricious 
 
 Are the vistas of delusion dear, 
 Nought is like the view, in vast delicious 
 Loveliness of Fear. 
 
 Ah. thou know'st not God nor any learning. 
 
 Not thyself though more than mighty stars. 
 With thy lore, and that tempestvious yearning 
 
 Beating at its iron dungeon bars ; 
 Till thou hast achieved the final issue. 
 
 Which is still the infant's earliest cry. 
 Worked into our natui-e's inmost tissue. 
 
 Stamped in flame upon the earth and sky; 
 Till by insight thou hast jjassed, not pi-oving, 
 
 Into truth that tender is and near,— 
 God, whose name is Love, in all His loving, 
 Yet Himself is Fear.
 
 MY SWEETK6T HBAKT. .jlfj 
 
 MY RAVEETEST HEART. 
 
 ( Cordatus llomo to Cor C&rdium.) 
 
 I lived and loved, as other men. 
 
 And snatched from blooming howrs 
 The dew, with pageant and with pen, 
 
 That sprinkled earth with flowers ; 
 I deemed each world was only wrought for me. 
 
 In frolic feast and play, 
 I at my passing pleasure bade it be. 
 
 Then lightly cast away ; 
 For I had never foixnd as yet, * 
 
 In revel round or art. 
 The siin that risen cannot set — 
 My Sweetest Heart. 
 
 From time to time, I fancied now^ 
 
 As mirth a moment stayed, 
 The one I wanted heard my vow. 
 
 Desired and long delayed ; 
 Btit when I held her in my amorous arms. 
 
 And looked into her eyes, 
 I found the foreign touch of fleshly charms 
 
 The bb.ie of alien skies ; 
 Not her I hai'dly felt I missed. 
 
 My best and brightest i^art, 
 Whom in wild vision once I kissed — 
 My Sweetest Heart. 
 
 And still I wandered over earth. 
 
 From country unto town. 
 To gain within a growing dearth. 
 
 Without a darkening frown ; 
 I danced and sang, as other idlers did. 
 
 And winged the wicked jest. 
 Or gambled careless on the coffin lid. 
 
 If it was gaily drest ; 
 I brushed the bloom from Siren's mouth 
 
 And bouglit on sunny mart. 
 But met not in the mocking South, 
 My Sweetest Heart. 
 
 And on my devious footsteps strayed 
 
 By mountain, stream, and moor, , 
 With riband, rose, and love I played. 
 
 And kittens knew my door ; 
 Yes, pretty pussy creatures, flounced and furred. 
 
 That only owned my laws, [purred. 
 
 Fawned fair and wanton round, and, though they 
 
 Betrayed their cruel claws j
 
 420 MY SWEETEST HEAET. 
 
 And rattled on the iron road, 
 
 Or in the reckless cart, 
 I lacked the helpmeet of my load — 
 My Sweetest Heart. 
 
 It was not out of palace hall. 
 
 Nor in the pui-ple clad. 
 At leng'th she hearkened to the call. 
 
 No woman ever had ; 
 It was not where the gilded laughini^ tide 
 
 Of fashion, throui^h the parlc, 
 Or stately temples in their pillared pride. 
 
 Goes down into the dark ; 
 But where I lay in sickness bound. 
 
 And pierced with deadly dart. 
 In shadow great and grim I found 
 My Sweetest Heart. 
 
 It was not when my fortimo seemed 
 
 Bright as the Indian ray, 
 And glorious life I fondly deemed 
 
 One endless holiday ; 
 It was not when rejoicing radiant youth 
 
 Brank in the libei'al air. 
 And, far from thiinderous wings of things uncouth, 
 
 Belonged to all things fair ; 
 It was not then the maiden came. 
 
 But in the burning smart, 
 Stept out of the black fiu-nace hame. 
 My Sweetest Heart. 
 
 When life was at his lowest dregs. 
 
 And horror mixed my mind 
 AVith phantoms, as a world that liegs 
 
 The rest it- cannot find ; 
 
 then in woman's more than luuuan love. 
 She came with angel hand. 
 
 And from the noisome night raised me above. 
 
 To her own wonderland ; 
 When Eden's sweet forbidden fruit 
 
 Had bitter turned and tart. 
 Uncalled she heard the silent suit. 
 My Sweetest Heart. 
 
 And nov,', though stript of every prize. 
 That folly reckons dear, 
 
 1 walk for ever lunhn" skies 
 With summer all the year ; 
 
 I seek in crowds no longer dark and lone. 
 
 To find my demon there, 
 And read a revelation in eacli stone. 
 
 While Heaven is everywhere ;
 
 DY THK OBOHS. ^oj^ 
 
 My life, that withered looked and menu, 
 
 Has made a stvono-er start. 
 Because that life on her I lean— 
 My Sweetest Heart. 
 
 V>Y THE rj(US.S. 
 
 When the Saviour hung deserted 
 
 In his bitter need, 
 Findino- pledge of man perverted, 
 
 Xone to render heed ; 
 When in that dark hour of trial. 
 
 Heaven in darkness bound 
 Seemed to yield his prayers denial, 
 ^ Who was faithful found ? 
 Though by God and man forsaken. 
 
 He endiired the loss. 
 Woman weeping stood, unshaken, 
 By the Cross. 
 
 Thus it was, and thus for ever 
 
 Is th(^ woman's part, — 
 Though the end of her endeavour, 
 
 Be a brokeJi heart —   
 Though the shop, by rats and vermin 
 » Friends abandoned, reel 
 On the rocks that doom determine — 
 
 Still alone to kneel ; 
 Loyal to the last, if gather 
 
 Reefs and ruin whelm. 
 Steadfast, looking to the Father, 
 At the helm. 
 
 Soldiers, to whom death no stranger 
 
 Is,'by iron strife 
 Dandled on the bi:east of danger 
 
 Into hero life ; 
 Yet at times, when grim defiance 
 
 Eears its awful arch, 
 Somehow lose their self-reliance 
 
 Like a conqueror's march ; 
 Woman will be seen, commanding. 
 
 Whom no panics reach. 
 Shot and shell and hell withstanding. 
 In the breach. 
 
 If the coxcoD]b trim and da]>per, 
 
 Sink beneath his load — 
 Even the pioneer and sapper. 
 
 Fail to fashion road ;
 
 422 ST THE CEOSS. 
 
 If the veteran of stages 
 
 Trod in history's light. 
 Shrink from the last dreadful pages 
 
 Of the coming night ; 
 Woman, then, with fearless beaiity 
 
 Fresh from heavenly font, 
 Will shine out and do her dvity. 
 At the front. 
 
 Should the furnace pile be heated 
 
 Seven times, and the frame 
 Which so often Death has cheated. 
 
 Blench before its flame ; 
 Should a hopeless fight, or fortune. 
 
 Shape of darkness day. 
 And a thousand bribes importune 
 
 Her a safer way ; 
 Woman delicate, and only 
 
 With divine desire. 
 Will not quail, if lost and lonely. 
 In the fire. 
 
 Sentinels may fail to nuniber 
 
 Focmen round them prest, 
 Soothed by a voluptuous slumlier 
 
 Into deiidly rest ; 
 Watchmen may desert the treasure 
 
 Of their station high. 
 Lured by honeyed lips of pleasure. 
 
 Wanton look or sigli ; 
 Woman, if her life be breaking. 
 
 Overborne by host. 
 Still will stand erect, awaking. 
 At her %)Ost. 
 
 Pilgrims by the wayside sicken. 
 
 Dropping one by one, 
 While the threatening shadows thicken, 
 
 Fainting and foredone ; 
 Statesmen, who, a nation moulded 
 
 To some mightier shape. 
 Fall at length, by doom enfolded 
 
 Power could not escape ; 
 Woman, if the earthquake Sunder 
 
 Paths, or whirlwind bend. 
 Walks serene through bolts and thunder. 
 To the end. 
 
 In eclipse of pain and peril. 
 
 At the birth or grave, 
 Yv'hon the hours are starved and sterile. 
 
 There is woman brave ;
 
 NEW LIFE, 42S 
 
 When our wealth and liealtli prove mortal. 
 
 When we suffer ill. 
 Lovely at the loveless portal. 
 
 There is woman still ; 
 Heedless of the wounds, or wages 
 
 Unto her but dross, 
 Standinf^, as she stood for ages. 
 By the Cross. 
 
 NEW LIFE. 
 
 My life was darkness, though the varied bloom 
 
 Of rank and riches and of art 
 Their dazzling lustre gave me, for the gloom 
 
 Was in my very heart ; 
 And, though ai-ound we throbbed a thousand eliaTms, 
 
 That wooed me sweetly on 
 With the white waving of voluptuous arms. 
 
 The light was gone ; 
 And, though my fortune slaked each wanton whim 
 
 Of glorioxis sight 
 Or gracious sound, my soul was truly dim 
 As night. 
 
 For I was old, and all my early grace 
 
 Had with my early comrades fled. 
 And time had stamped upon my furrowed face 
 
 The blight upon the dead ; 
 I had outlived a hundred friends and faiths, 
 
 And foimd, though they did strike 
 Fair as the glimmer of mere corpses' wraiths, 
 
 Them false alike ; 
 I had essayed to grasp the trick of Truth, 
 
 With mocking gleam. 
 And fancied it was with departed youth 
 A dream. 
 
 And all seemed hopeless, I went drifting down 
 
 From shadow to the darker shade, 
 That stai-ed still at me like a murderer's frown. 
 
 And unto murder bade ; 
 When from the midnight, and its framework wild 
 
 More dreadful yet to be, 
 Stept beatitif ully forth a maiden child. 
 
 And smiled on me ; 
 And, lo, my golden path, that gave no rest — 
 
 That seemed but mire. 
 Grew soft and lovely, as I felt her breast 
 Of fire.
 
 4.24 THE BLOT ON THE 'SCTTTCHEON. 
 
 She breathed new hope in my cold withered heart. 
 
 With her yonng- beauty g-lad and strange. 
 Which now became an undivided part 
 
 Of all my blessed change ; 
 Her touch of flame, in a caressing flood 
 
 Of laughter and of tears. 
 Poured throiigh the summer of my quickened blood 
 
 Diviner fears ; 
 And now I hold her, as a mailed glove 
 
 Against the strife. 
 And drink in the deep passion of her love 
 New life. 
 
 THE BLOT ON THE 'SCUTCHEON. 
 
 strong my ancestors, and stately 
 
 Took their feastings and their fights, 
 W^alked through history sedately. 
 Calm as stars in stormy nights — 
 Beacon lights ; 
 All they did was done so greatly 
 For the need, and nothing lately ; 
 
 Noble sights 
 Somehow breathed on them their beauty. 
 
 As if set on heavenly heights. 
 Moulding, out of death and duty. 
 Eights. 
 
 In their annals proud was nothing- 
 Dark, or with a doubtful air. 
 That might rouse a jjeople's lothing. 
 Or appeal to judgment chair — 
 Scaffold stair ; 
 Honour was their simjDle clothing, 
 Sweet as, bent to seal betrothing. 
 
 Woman's hair ; 
 Ah, their banner had no smutch on. 
 
 Glorious deeds did not repair. 
 Nor was one blot in their 'scutcheon 
 Fair. 
 
 But I had no magic moly. 
 
 Such as wise Ulysses Imew, 
 And I loved a maiden lowly _. 
 
 Who round me enchantments threw — 
 Softly drew 
 By a secret passion, slowly 
 Turned to love, that high and holy 
 Upward flew ;
 
 ONE WAT) irojrKNT. 42;" 
 
 Till I felt an Eden's thrillino-. 
 
 Whore no tempest ever blew^ 
 On my weai'v heart distilling- 
 Dew. 
 
 Then 1 thnist aside; the fjlory, 
 
 Whicli liad dimmed my b(>tt(!r sight, 
 
 Gilded bonds, and passin^^ story. 
 
 Purple ijatohes in the Ligdit 
 
 Paltry blight ; 
 
 Dropt for her the grandeur gory. 
 
 Winged riches, falsehoods hoary 
 
 Taking flight ; 
 Foiind my fame was bnt a erntch, on 
 
 Which I won~a worthless might, 
 While the blot made all my 'HCutch(Y)n 
 Bright. 
 
 ONE MAD MOMENT. 
 
 Eoyal was she by her birth 
 
 On a royal stage. 
 Bounded by the cruel girth 
 
 Of a golden cage ; 
 But I loved her with a royal love 
 
 While her subject, still' 
 Dared, as with the eagle, though''a dove. 
 Mate plebian will 
 With patrician might ; 
 When with heavy eyes and wet. 
 One mad moment, our lips met ; 
 Then came night. 
 
 Beautiful was she, with meed 
 
 Rank can never give, 
 BeautifiTl and fair indeed. 
 
 Not with fugitive 
 Graces, that are gauds of time or dross — 
 
 Beautiful in soul. 
 Beaming brighter through the darker stress, 
 In a self-control 
 More than monarch's might ; 
 When I caught her gloi-ious charms, 
 One mad moment in my arms : 
 Then came night. 
 
 Generous, and lowly too 
 
 Prom her lofty -plKce 
 Bending, as if she would woo 
 
 With her queenlj- face
 
 426 THE FIEST KISS, 
 
 Our affections all unmeet for her, 
 
 Stooping lower still 
 Down to stay the footsteps that might err^ 
 In their sunless will — 
 Wonderful and bright ; 
 When I snatched an awful rest. 
 One mad moment on her breast ; 
 Then came niqht. 
 
 Pitiful was she, and sweet 
 
 As a southern sky. 
 When the moon and morning meet, 
 
 And the shadows fly ; 
 But a lovely terror roimd her lay. 
 
 With the blasting breath 
 Of that fire which is imperial sway. 
 Whose embrace is death. 
 To a creature slight ; 
 When I drank eternal bliss. 
 One mad moment, in a kiss ; 
 Then came night. 
 
 THE FIRST KISS. 
 
 Sweet it is, when men have parted 
 
 With a more than earthqviake shock 
 Shattering the breast of rock, 
 
 Heavy-eyed and broken-hearted. 
 After years of yearning vain 
 Big with jjenury of pain, 
 
 Then once more by chance imited. 
 
 Long delayed and long invited. 
 Yet again in joy to meet — 
 That is beautiful and sweet ; 
 
 But there is a greater bliss — 
 The first kiss. 
 
 Grand it is, to be the pleader 
 
 Of some great and glorious cause, 
 Moidding new and truer laws. 
 Not as a mere party leader- 
 Laws that fit a nation's need. 
 And enshrine immortal seed- 
 Laws that myriads can cherish. 
 None Avould willingly let perish. 
 Bulwarks of a faith to stand — 
 That is beautiful and grand ; 
 But more rapturous is this — 
 The first kiss.
 
 A woman's brkast. 427 
 
 Dear it is, before yonr brothers. 
 
 Pioneerings thousands on. 
 
 Where no traveller hath gone, 
 There, beyond the bounds of others — 
 
 There, though cowards faint or lag. 
 
 First to plant the Eng-lish flag — 
 After labour long- and sorest. 
 First to cleave the virgin forest. 
 
 Opening out a golden year — 
 
 Tliat is heaittif ul and dear ; 
 But discoverj' may miss 
 The first kiss. 
 
 Good it is in summer season. 
 
 If authority is near. 
 
 In the luxiiry of fear. 
 With a friend to talk of treason ; 
 
 But, beyond all old content. 
 
 Foremost prize and ravishment. 
 Past the count of vulgar measures. 
 More than any common treasures. 
 
 That is beautiful and best — 
 
 When the Goddess gives the blest. 
 Though a thousand serpents hiss. 
 The first kiss. 
 
 A WOMAN'S BREAST. 
 
 The wheels of iron Labour never rest. 
 
 That from their demon mills 
 Beat out, in lives of men all over-prest. 
 
 The grinding task that kills 
 Its cotxntless tools and fools, unknown, unblest. 
 
 And heaps up bloody bills ; 
 While callous Greed its dirty gain invests, 
 In dirtier tills. 
 
 Onward, yet onward speeds th(^ shuttle. Thought, 
 
 Whci-ewith the spirit plies 
 Penelope's old web, so richly wrought 
 
 In glittering loves and lies. 
 With hope tiiat every hour is sold and bought. 
 
 And vainly heavenward flies, 
 Mingling with monstrous dreams that are but nought 
 Eternal ties. 
 
 Faster, still faster rushes the grim race 
 
 For riches, or the spoil 
 Of party in the foremost honour's j)lace, 
 
 Won by dishonour's soil.
 
 42S SOCIAL BTIMOCEAT TO NTHTLTST 
 
 Or tho resplendent charms of some fair face 
 
 That like a serpent coil ; 
 And no one heeds the goal or the disgrace. 
 In ceaseless toil. 
 
 To pause one moment is to be left ont. 
 
 Within the dark and cold, — 
 Alone with baby lips, that plead and pont 
 
 For the lost mother's hold — 
 With shattered frames that die, and are in doubt 
 
 Of riddles dim and old — 
 With broken wings that, though the battle shoiit. 
 Cannot unfold. 
 
 The pace grows fiercer, as I long to stay 
 
 The feet, unwilling torn 
 From each new refuge in some blessed ray 
 
 Flashed from some brighter morn ; 
 How shall I dare to stop or even delay. 
 
 And victim be of scorn ? 
 Ah, as I snatch at peace, I am away 
 More helpless borne. 
 
 Child-like with lessons that I scarce may con. 
 
 Or like a haunted guest 
 Hurried from bancpiet which a second shone 
 
 Above a blasting pest ; 
 I know, thongli ages should have come and gone, 
 
 I nerer might find rest. 
 Unless I plucked it from the grave, or on 
 A woman's breast. 
 
 SOCIAL DEMOCRAT TO XIHILIST. 
 
 Brothers, from the icy forges, 
 
 Whei-e the Eussian winters hold 
 Evermore their cruel orgies, 
 
 Hammering out the killing cold —   
 Hammering out the lives of mortals 
 
 Trodden low by iron heel, 
 Driven' from the tyrant's portals 
 
 Friendless to the friendlier steel ; 
 Put no faith in prince, or others 
 
 Who would trade upon your ill. 
 Only wait — are ive not brotliers ? —   
 We are waiting still. 
 
 Patient be, and measures bolder 
 
 Cast with rich and ruddy seed. 
 Till you feel ns at your shoidder 
 
 Figliting, in the hour of need ;
 
 MY mother's HAIK. 429 
 
 Froodom, votes, and constitution, 
 
 Wliich no despot would indite. 
 Can Ijo won by revolution, 
 
 Witli a pinch of dynamite ; 
 Lon|j' that too paternal Father 
 
 Gives you pap from wooden spoon ; 
 Meat of sutfrage, would you i-ather ? — 
 We are coming- soon. 
 
 Lilx'rty its will hath spoken 
 
 From a thousand martyrs' g-raves. 
 Chains Siljerian may be broken 
 
 By Divinity in slaves ; 
 Rulers, subjects do not differ. 
 
 Fashioned equally of dust, 
 If in bondag-e we walk stiffer. 
 
 If the others gild their lust ; 
 Tired of generals, who swagger 
 
 More, the more your fortune lours. 
 Whet your purpose and your dagger — 
 We are sharpening ours. 
 
 Change, that laughs at law and manners. 
 
 Tossing monarch's head on pike. 
 Waves at length victorioiis banners 
 
 Over hands that wait to strike ; 
 Change, redressing wrongs, the Giant, 
 
 Bringing better things to be. 
 Smiles upon the self-reliant, 
 
 Simi^ly daring to be free ; 
 Nihilists, who know the prison. 
 
 Shake the jailor's purjile pride. 
 Wait a little, till arisen 
 
 With the rising tide. 
 
 MY MOTHER'S HA11{. 
 
 I have a treasure no one else woidd prize, 
 
 To me more precious far 
 Than all the marvel of the sunset skies. 
 
 Or unconjectured star ; 
 Worth nothing to the stranger, or the glance, 
 
 That careless falls on it. 
 But yet to me a world of real romance, 
 
 Aiid passion infinite ; 
 Blent as of moonbeams and the morning rose, 
 
 And something moi'e than fair. 
 Nor without calmness of the evening close, 
 My Mother's Eair,
 
 430 A Witch. 
 
 The tyranny of gray deflowering years 
 
 No portion had in this. 
 Soft as the trembling of an angel's tears. 
 
 Sweet as an angel's kiss ; 
 A lock of heavenly light, it is a part 
 
 Of life's bright inward June, 
 And rests for ever on my heart. 
 
 That singeth it a tune ; 
 Tea, though aroimd me roars the surge of sin. 
 
 And evil is the air, 
 I find a balm of solace sure herein— 
 My Mother's Hair. 
 
 No portrait have I of her perfect face. 
 
 No relic but this tress 
 To picture all the glory of her grace. 
 
 In lonely loveliness ; 
 And yet enough it is for me, T mark 
 
 From one piire petal's dower. 
 That sheds its lingering lustre on the dark. 
 
 What was the finished flower ; 
 And in the wonder of the waiting night. 
 
 When spirits climb the stair, 
 I clasp that vision which is more than sight — 
 Ml) Mother's Hair. 
 
 A fragile chain it is, and yet I feel 
 
 As much no ruler's rod. 
 And in dim corners when I humbly kneel. 
 
 It draws me unto God ; 
 It binds me to whatever good and true 
 
 About my path may lie, 
 A link 'twixt this world and the other's due, 
 
 A sacramental tie ; 
 Ah, when I pass to my eternal rest. 
 
 To leave an empty chair. 
 Will not some reverent hand lay on my breast 
 My Mother's Hair ? 
 
 A AVITCH. 
 
 Scarlet lips, and scornful mouth 
 Breathing of the langixid South, 
 
 Night entangled in the hair 
 Stirred with starry gleams, that ran 
 Here and there without a plan — 
 
 All that makes a woman fair. 
 All that must allure a man 
 To despair.
 
 A WITCH. ,^31 
 
 Eyes with an unearthly fire, 
 Not delight and not desire. 
 
 Calm and fathomless and cold. 
 Looking through the masks of things. 
 Angel ways and angel wings. 
 
 Steeled against the bribe of gold. 
 And the cursed love of kino-s 
 To withold. 
 
 Hands, that like a scejDtre wave 
 Over peace that is a grave. 
 
 Beautiful and white, and stroncr 
 Every soul to render slave. 
 Every empire she may crave. 
 
 Set as to a conqueror's song — 
 Hands, that never yet forgave 
 Any wrong. 
 
 I, who left the truer North, 
 Marked her proudly pictured forth 
 
 Thiis in sunnier softer clime — 
 Knew the rapture of the spell 
 Dragged me downward, as to hell 
 
 Falls a spirit ere his time. 
 Yet rejoicing, if I fell 
 
 Into crime. 
 
 Thus I felt the curling lips 
 Strike me with their red eclipse, 
 
 Wrapping me in fiery wreath 
 
 Felt the haunting of the hair 
 Stab me with its midnight air. 
 
 Heavy like a poison breath ; 
 Though on sacrificial stair. 
 Courting death. 
 
 Thus I saw the burning eyes 
 
 Pom- on me their thunderous skies. 
 
 As where lightnings laugh and thrill- 
 Owned the drawing of the hands 
 Robbing me of life and lands. 
 
 Though they then disdained to kill 
 Holduig more than iron bands. 
 Holding still. 
 
 Terrible her beauty lay. 
 With its sweet and cruel sway. 
 
 On the bondage of my breast— 
 Crloomed above me, like the sio-ht
 
 433 A WITCH. 
 
 Of a deadly Southern night, 
 
 Soothin<r but not unto rest — 
 Dreadful beauty that was blight. 
 All unblest. 
 
 Surely did her sinuotis frame. 
 Weave around nie slow the flame 
 
 Of its passion's fatal frost — 
 Me,- like winged creatiu*e wiled 
 To destnietion, as she smiled 
 
 Darkly, counting not the codt. 
 Till dishonoured and defiled. 
 Loving, lost. 
 
 In the cii'cle of her anns. 
 Only could I see the charms. 
 
 Only suck the sensuous heat 
 Melting even the rock of right, 
 "With the magic of its might. 
 
 Driving conscience from its seat- 
 Magic I could make delight, 
 ^lot repeat. 
 
 Yet she had a maiden's form. 
 Still herself in every storm 
 
 That her blasting graces lit ; 
 Womanly in all the ways 
 Of her dehcate soft days, 
 
 Eoses, idlesse, dainty wit ; 
 But ran thx-ough her folly, i-ays 
 Infiryte. 
 
 Suitors pleadetl without end. 
 Vainly strove her wiU to bend 
 
 By rich offerings to their own ; 
 Wooed with agonies of love, 
 Xot so precious as the glove 
 
 Lightly to her servant thi-own 
 As some? mount her mind above 
 Stretched, tuiknown. 
 
 Xow no other face I see. 
 And from tamer graces flee. 
 
 Which enchanted me before ; 
 Hear no other music now. 
 Save her daily broken vow. 
 
 And no other eyes adore ; 
 But to her alone I bow, 
 Evermore.
 
 KO — TX3. 
 
 XC>— YES, 
 
 Let the coward, let the fool 
 
 Take the slashing sv:ord-nit XO — 
 Advei-se weapons are a tool 
 
 Subject to me, as I go ; 
 Waves, that frightful on me fling 
 
 Surf of sorrow, when I stand. 
 Creep, like a discrowned king. 
 
 Tame and ti-embling to my hand 5 
 Winds, that blow the craven craft 
 
 "Wrecked upon the rugged shoal. 
 Yoked as servants, only waft 
 
 Mine in safety to its goal. 
 
 Let the coward, let the fool 
 
 Quail before the furnace XO — 
 It is but a shadow cool 
 
 Compassing me, as I go ; 
 Fiery portals breathe no harms. 
 
 Tliat to others were a grave. 
 And with sweet caressing arms 
 
 Open ever to the brave ; 
 Warm me in the wintry blast. 
 
 Fears and frailties bui-n, and bend 
 Stubborn fancies, and at last 
 
 Light me to the glorious end. 
 
 Let the coward, let the fool 
 
 Halt oiitside the barrier XO — 
 It is but a blessed stool 
 
 Striving ujiwai-d, as I go ; 
 Every hindrance is a help. 
 
 Cuibed by coiu-age — every lack. 
 Lions are but cui-s. that yelj) 
 
 Idly on my forward track : 
 Giants melt in mist, and mounts 
 
 Cai've their crosses into thrones, 
 Mai-ahs yield refreshing formts. 
 
 Stumbling-blocks turn stepping-stones. 
 
 Let the coward, let the fool 
 
 Flinch before the ocean XO — 
 It is but a wayside pool. 
 
 Scarce i-egai-ded, as I go ; 
 All the crests that cruel rise. 
 
 All the biiffets, ai-e as sport. 
 Speeding me imto the prize 
 
 Somewhere in a golden port ;
 
 484 THE ANARCHIST. 
 
 Till the angel sent to slay. 
 
 Borne on clouds that blacker press, 
 
 Wrung from iron lips of NAY, 
 Falters the reluctant YES. 
 
 THE ANARCHIST. 
 
 Anything-'s better than stagnant monotony, 
 
 Anything's better than this — 
 Leap into darkness, a course of phlebotomy, 
 
 Flung at Divorce Courts a kiss I 
 Tumbling and twisting of humbugs and Harcoiu-t, 
 
 Mares' nests so dear to the " Times," 
 Labouchere who in reviving the Star Court 
 
 Only himself of more begrimes I 
 Down with the palace of cards, and the steeple 
 
 Mocking at anguish of dearth ! 
 Up with the pavement and sovereign People 
 
 Eacy of primitive earth I 
 
 Sick of the tyrannous rule by the classes. 
 
 Drowning our cries with the drum. 
 Else from the dirt in the might of your masses. 
 
 Men of the cellar and slum ! 
 They must now wallow a w-hile in the gutter. 
 
 Mumble the crust and the scraps. 
 Give up each ^jrivilege, thin bread and butt3r. 
 
 Broadcloth and all the best taps ; 
 Time that such preaching, good news of damnation 
 
 Merely for poor men should close — 
 Time, our misleaders and class-legislation. 
 
 Sank in the mud whence they rose. 
 
 Anything's better than fictions, like order 
 
 Made for protecting the rich — 
 Eifles and BaKours, that beat from their border 
 
 Outcasts to die in a* ditch ! 
 Justice, so-called, only jibes at our strviggles. 
 
 Doling its service so dear. 
 Meant for the landlords and sweaters, and juggles 
 
 Basely with weakness and fear ; 
 Give ixs a chance at the bloated metropolis. 
 
 Fog or Monro in a maze — 
 Y/arehouses, arsenals, banks and monopolies. 
 
 Pile. up a glorious blaze. 
 
 Gladstone is whipping on Anarchy's chariot. 
 
 Selling his Master the State, 
 Periurod, a second and meaner Iscariot. 
 
 Bidding for office's i^late ;
 
 THK 5rKnOKA\T PttlNrE 4S5 
 
 Ygs, ho is active and useful a season, 
 
 Now the true actors must liide. 
 Varnishing with his great name what were treason. 
 
 Till we can kick him aside ; 
 Changes may come, though our Princes are Eoyal, 
 
 Heads, institvitions, may fall. 
 Soldiers and sailors are not over-loyal — 
 
 Dynamite eqiials us all. 
 
 THE MEHCJHANT PRINCE. 
 
 " I am a Merchant Prince, my sceptre is the pen 
 That governs thousands, since I learned to honour men — 
 The secret of their breasts, the weakness and the want, 
 Wherein my art invests all that may fools enchant, 
 I buy from cheapest mart and to the dearest sell. 
 And capital would part (if paying) luito hell ; 
 Not at another's lamp I kindled this great light. 
 Which upon all I stamp, royal in my own right ; 
 I bailt this glorious pile, raise fortiines at my nod, 
 Kings quarrel for my smile, myself I made — not God. 
 I am a Merchant Prince, and somehow sure to gain. 
 Nor do at losses wince, to bankrupt lands like Spain." 
 But yet the hungry vjorms, that saw the foliage grey. 
 And snielled corruption'ii germs, were era wling to their pr»y. 
 
 "Their monarchs made the rest, the precioTis paiiper lord. 
 
 Who carved his eagle's nest by fire and liloody sword ; 
 
 Who purchased, with his soul, the tinsel of a time. 
 
 By giving coward toll — a falsehood or a crime ; 
 
 Who rose from native dust, by playing biit the pimp 
 
 For royal ravening lust, through centuries to limp ; 
 
 Who washed the dirty clothes of Princes, called his friends. 
 
 With ready lies and oaths, to serve their Princely ends ; 
 
 Who trades upon the past, dishonour of a sire 
 
 That dragged a nation vast thro' meanness and thro' mire ; 
 
 Whose glory even if true, from far-oif ages thrown. 
 
 To worth ancestral due, can never be his own." 
 
 But yet the greedy worms, that harry all things high. 
 If yuan a moment squirms, were darkly drawing nigh. 
 
 "I am a Merchant Prince, if peerage-books say no. 
 Which ])astai-d matters mince to blaze a better show : 
 A hundred pathways speed my freightage through the lands. 
 To nourish empires' need and bear to distant strands ; 
 My arins are iron roads oiitstretched from west to (;ast. 
 Which scatter countless loads, that everyone may feast ; 
 The greyhounds of the wave, which daily grow more fleet. 
 To link (where'er I crave) the countries^ are my feet ;
 
 436 TO THE TRATl. 
 
 And make the wondrous wires, that marry north and south. 
 And flash my grand desires in many tongues, my mouth ; 
 No sovereign, though he ride on ruin for an hour. 
 In all his empty pride, hath half my solid power." 
 
 But yet the conquering worms, about his splendour wound, 
 Thiti knew the final terms of things, icere closing round. 
 
 TO THE TSAK. 
 
 Crowned Death, who sittest on the nations 
 
 At thy bloody bid. 
 Quenching starrj^ strains and aspirations. 
 
 Like a coffin lid ; 
 Shutting down the thoughts that look and languish. 
 
 For their kindred sky. 
 With the burden of an iron anguish. 
 
 Till they cannot fly ; 
 Shutting up, in helpless hopeless rigour. 
 
 Hearts that Heavenward call — 
 Lance at point, and hand upon the trigger — 
 
 God is over all. 
 
 Crowned Death, who with a breast not hxxman 
 
 Hatest all things fair, 
 Waging cruel war with tender woman, 
 
 To the altar stair ; 
 Flogging dainty frames, that at condition 
 
 Slavish faint and fx*et. 
 And with nothing for their soft petition 
 
 But the bayonet ; 
 Blows and curses, and the coward thrixsting 
 
 Of the Cossack spear — 
 Only these for woman weak and trusting — 
 
 God Himself is near. 
 
 Crowned Death, who but with bonds and terror 
 
 Beatest down the lands. 
 And with crimson streams would'st drown the error 
 
 Done by butcher hands ; 
 Throned among the waves and woes, that toss us 
 
 On their tempest tide, 
 Grinning like a Skeleton Colossus, 
 
 Which doth earth bestride ; 
 Girt by brutal force, that sere and solemn 
 
 Mercy never gives, 
 Cracked and worthless as a crumbling column — 
 
 God Almightv lives,
 
 TO 'I'llE TSAR. 437 
 
 Orowned Death, tlioii thing of paiiit and patches, 
 
 Fightini^ against fate, 
 Thinkest thou to break the will, that hatches 
 
 JDooni against thy state ? 
 Thinkest thou, to stem the march of ocean 
 
 In ti'iuniphant flood. 
 By the mops of might and devils' potion^ 
 
 Innocence's blood ? 
 Ah, thoiigh thou exalted art, and savage 
 
 Heedest not the sigh 
 "^Vrnng from prostrate realms thy armies ravage — 
 
 God Himself is high. 
 
 Crowned Death, dost deem thy bolts and shackles 
 
 Can a moment bind. 
 If the gilded Polly round thee cackles, 
 
 Man's immortal mind ? 
 Guns and generals, and brazen swagger 
 
 Blinding none but thee. 
 Are as fragile as a pasteboard dagger. 
 
 To the soul's decree ; 
 If thou still dost scatter fears and fetters. 
 
 On the dreary drudge — 
 Nihilists and regicides, thy betters — • 
 
 God Himself is Judge. 
 
 Crowned death, the triith from tower and steeple 
 
 Now goes flashing forth. 
 Vengeance for a starved downtrodden people. 
 
 Wakes thy frozen North ; 
 Women, children, man not man, arousing 
 
 At that conquering cry. 
 Catch the sweet voice, through thy mad carousing, 
 
 Of young Liberty ; • 
 Oh, they feel, though earth be clouded under. 
 
 Heaven above is blue. 
 And if all thy hangmen falsely thvmder, 
 
 ( xod Himself is ti'ue. 
 
 Crowned Death, thy own dark days are numbered, 
 
 And the reckoning speeds. 
 Which too long for weary slaves hath slumbered. 
 
 While thy country bleeds ; 
 Tyranny, at length, a black December, 
 
 Damned shall surely pass — 
 And an unwise king, O Tsar, remembei'. 
 
 Is a crowned ass ! 
 But, in spite of thy imperial braying. 
 
 And the drunken ring 
 Of grand dukes in scarlet sins' arraying — 
 
 God Himself is King.
 
 ■438 QUKEN PUSSY AT PLAY. 
 
 Crowned Deatli, who riilest but by killing, 
 
 Varnished o'er with lie. 
 With thy big battalion's mvirderous drilling, 
 
 Thou thyself shalt die ; 
 Yet the slaves, against whom thy affection 
 
 Stubborn is as steel 
 Homicidal, shall in resurrection 
 
 Grind thee under heel ; 
 While thou slayest love and all things holy; 
 
 Pitiless at strife 
 Still with unarmed right and justice lowly — 
 
 God Himself is Life. 
 
 QUEEN PUSSY AT PLAY : 
 
 Being the natural history of a fast and fashionable 
 young woman of tlu^ day. 
 
 1.— HEE MANNEES. 
 
 Of woman all have perfect knowledge. 
 
 With whom to be is bliss ; 
 She is the toast of camp and college ; 
 
 But who, I ask, is this ? 
 
 What shall we say of her, who catches 
 
 Her colovir from bad taste Y 
 That odious thing of pins and patches, 
 
 Impertinence and paste ? 
 
 Her life is false and lean and little. 
 
 By tiu-us she hates and hems; 
 And scatters promises as brittle. 
 
 As are her bastard gems. 
 
 Her scattered wits, by dint of clubbing, 
 
 Have formed a plan of life ; — 
 The charms, that all come off with rubbing. 
 
 With luies and hopes at strife. 
 
 And when she deals with sober matters. 
 
 Like sentences and towns ; 
 She knows far less of globes than hatters. 
 
 Of grammar than of gowns. 
 
 And can she tell of meers and mountains. 
 
 As much as of her wraps ? 
 Though (xuite at homo with sparkling fountains. 
 
 Whoso names are not in maps.
 
 CJUEKN PUSSY AT PLAY. 439 
 
 Fresh scandal is she always scraping. 
 
 All fashions she can find ; 
 And gives more study to the shaping 
 
 Of mantles than of mind. 
 
 She thinks the end of education. 
 
 To dance and dress and ride ; 
 And bounds her views of cultivation, 
 
 By what is just outside. 
 
 No heed she takes of fair creations. 
 
 But toilet scents and soaps ; 
 And on her milliner's foundations. 
 
 She builds her brightest hopes. 
 
 To play on fiddle-strings and passions^ 
 
 And love by etiquette ; 
 To trick her hair in fifty fashions, . 
 
 Is all her alphabet. 
 
 She wears a look so sad and simple. 
 
 When made a parson's pet ; 
 Yet will at social dangers dimple. 
 
 And with a crime coquet. 
 
 In deadly flowers you see her flutter. 
 
 And to destruction trip ; 
 And for white lies and bread and butter, 
 
 She has a loving lip. 
 
 At times she tries a truth or sonnet. 
 
 And will witii projjhets preach ; 
 Then on a beefsteak or a bonnet. 
 
 She sprinkles pearls of speech. 
 
 For every form of every fashion. 
 
 She has a fancy face ; 
 For this a prayer, for that a passion. 
 
 For all a dashing pace. 
 
 Her course is stranger far than fiction, 
 
 Froni nothing will she fly ; 
 The sum of every contradiction. 
 
 From hoops to heresy. 
 
 From penitence she goes to pleasure. 
 
 And tears and tarts combines ; 
 Her mind has never lack of leisure. 
 
 For dunces or divines. 
 
 Her plot of life she loves to dapple. 
 
 Not more with flower than weed ; 
 From church she passes on to chape 
 
 From giving unto greed.
 
 iiO QiJEEN PUSSY At PlAy. 
 
 With ever sliiftinjij aiuis and ayesi 
 
 More furious grows her fun ; 
 She takes all characters and stages. 
 
 And mistress is of nOne. 
 
 O have y<)U seen her in the Gardens, 
 
 Or pasised her in the Park ? 
 t^or esvery year her folly hardens, 
 
 And vices leave their mark. 
 
 And you can scarcely miss lier manners. 
 
 In any festive tlirong ; 
 Her colours fly with flaunting banners, 
 
 At every dance and song. 
 
 Nor does she hide them from detection, 
 
 5f or mince her meals of sin ; 
 And is less careful of complexion. 
 
 In character tlian skin. 
 
 She has an easy sort of bearing. 
 
 Not all in custom's codes ; 
 And at the point of playful daring. 
 
 She carries men and modes. 
 
 While in Ler judgments of the season. 
 
 She does not often err ; 
 And kills with every form of reason, 
 
 A flea or character. 
 
 Slie si>reads with all the spice of sliinder. 
 
 Men's fond affairs of heart : 
 And handles, with a cliarming candoui'. 
 
 Adultery and Art. 
 
 And if her talents do not travel. 
 
 Beyond lier glass and gloves. 
 They only riband knots unrsivel. 
 
 With tangled lies and loves, 
 
 O who can coimt her aims and arrows. 
 
 The power that saps or rives ; 
 The wounds and Aviles, with which she harrows 
 
 Oiir luiprotected lives y 
 
 She has the current love of scribbling. 
 
 And scandal wings her pen ; 
 She likes a little toothsome nibbling, 
 
 At muffins and at meii. 
 
 You meet lier at the Priin'c's party, 
 
 In each su))scviptioii list ; 
 S}ie knows a knack about ocartc, 
 
 A trick or two at whist.
 
 QUEKN rtrssy at riiAr. 441 
 
 Her private ways she has for beating'. 
 
 And honours coiue at call ; 
 And if you haply seo her cheating. 
 
 Why, back her — that is all. 
 
 She plays her cards in many matters. 
 
 With equal art and luck ; 
 And if she means to squeeze you, flatters 
 
 The orange she would suck. 
 
 And with her bleak and barren notion. 
 
 Of intellectual states, 
 No wonder she has small dcvotidn. 
 
 Except for pots and plates. 
 
 She is but one of cupboard lov<'rs, 
 
 A l(\yal trencher friend : 
 And metes your merit, by the covers 
 
 You choose on her to spend. 
 
 A character she takes to shred it, 
 
 And brings you quick to book; 
 But does not trouble for your credit, 
 
 So much as for your cook. 
 
 II.— HER ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 
 
 Her brow is brass, her will is iron, — 
 
 And yet too yielding <^)ft ; 
 Though ribs of steel her sides environ. 
 
 Her heart is rather soft. 
 
 Her views are mainly silk and satin, 
 
 And ill together hang ; 
 She stores a little stock of Tjatin, 
 
 And not a little slang. 
 
 She boasts a bastard Frencli a,nd German, 
 
 Strange phra ses not a few : 
 And dotes, if not on dew of Hermon, 
 
 At least on " mountain dew." 
 
 Her h\inter has she every season. 
 
 Her hobby every hoiir ; 
 Sweet Parnell's newest piece of treason. 
 
 And Tattersall's last flower. 
 
 She rides them both with equal vigour. 
 
 And takes her fences well ; 
 She knows the way to cut a figure. 
 
 But not to count or spell. 
 
 She laughs at sordid computations. 
 
 And leaves accounts to cooks ; 
 And piishes not her calculations, 
 
 Beyond her betting books.
 
 442 QUEEN PUSSY AT PLAY 
 
 Content is she, like folks bucolic. 
 To hedge, if not to ditch ; 
 
 And keeps a corner alcoholic. 
 To cm-e of coui-se the stitch. 
 
 But in the sphere of speculations. 
 
 And fortunes of a day, 
 XTpon the brink of " backwardations," 
 
 She is not loth to play. 
 
 The money mart and that of marriage. 
 She reads with all their rocks ; 
 
 And buys or sells her horse and carriage. 
 As she may stand in stocks. 
 
 In brokers' consecrated jungle. 
 She breathes a fearful bliss ; 
 
 Nor is she wont to wince or biuigle, 
 At consols or a kiss. 
 
 The high and hidden springs of jobbing. 
 She loves to gauge and laud ; 
 
 The bounds and base of royal robbing. 
 The poetry of fraud. 
 
 But most she likes her maiden pleasures. 
 Where man may never gaze ; 
 
 Choice miracles of female treasures. 
 Chaste mysteries of stays. 
 
 The rise and fall of modes she guesses. 
 What winds from Paris blow ; 
 
 The tides of dynasties and dresses. 
 As they are high or low. 
 
 A score of schools her talents treated. 
 And made them good for noiight ; 
 
 A score of masters well completed. 
 The ruin those had wrought. 
 
 At home she is with seals and sables. 
 With things that are no use ; 
 
 And then in turning coats and tables. 
 She is the very deu.ce. 
 
 Her mind in Art is dimly grounded. 
 Though Science is her strength ; 
 
 With frills and fancies cut and rounded. 
 The regulation length. 
 
 Yet all her meddling does not master, 
 
 The simplest facts of life ; 
 The so-called polish is but plaster, 
 
 Eubbed oli' by real strife.
 
 QUEBN rUSSr AT PLAY. 413 
 
 She cannot, tlionj^h she learns flirtation. 
 
 Her dress or manners mend ; 
 And such a costly education. 
 
 Has tau<:^ht her but to spend. 
 
 ' Accomplishments 'she scarce can number. 
 
 Excepting mere good taste ; 
 But most are only worthless lumber. 
 
 And all are money's waste. 
 
 What is the crowning- of the building. 
 
 That rises to the stars P 
 A sportive dash of glass and gilding, 
 
 A lover vowed to Mars. 
 
 Her converse, like a flooded river, 
 
 Breaks through convention's pales ; 
 Her memory is a bristling quiver. 
 
 Of little darts and tales. 
 
 And she has all the old assortment. 
 
 Of fashion's studied stage ; 
 Her church and company deportment. 
 
 Her platitudes and page ; 
 
 A taste for suicide and fiction, 
 
 A fair French lady's maid, 
 With cups of coffee and affliction. 
 
 And tradesmen's liills unpaid. 
 
 She duly makes her audience tingle. 
 
 With little screams and twirls ; 
 And she can prance and patch and jingle. 
 
 Or daub like other " girls." 
 
 At times she plays tlie part of teacher. 
 
 And scatters words and scent ; 
 And owns she is a silly creature. 
 
 The soul of sentiment. 
 
 When radiant with the I'osy blossom. 
 
 That blooms for every dance ; 
 She sprinkles in her partner's bosom. 
 
 The dews of warm romance. 
 
 And when champagne has made lier bolder. 
 
 And faster fly the hours ; 
 She babbles freely on his shoulder, 
 
 Of poetry and bowers. 
 
 But ere the climax of the revel. 
 
 She shatters custom's bars ; 
 And swears decorum is the devil. 
 
 And freedom flowers and stars.
 
 •141 QUEEN rUSSY AT i'LAST. 
 
 Next clay she is no lono-er jolly. 
 
 And proves how cheap her charms ; 
 
 You find her weeping off her i'olly. 
 In some sleek curate's arms. 
 
 She follows fashion's utmost rigours. 
 
 Nor is her folly sparse ; 
 Adores a whitebait lunch and niggers, 
 
 Hymnologies and farce. 
 
 A footman she has huge and hairy. 
 With most seductive calves ; 
 
 A caged admirer and canary. 
 Heart-sores and patent salves. 
 
 For creditors, she keeps — cajoling. 
 For morning calls — a blush ; 
 
 And trembles but at once controlling. 
 The tyranny of plush. 
 
 Her thoughts of life are rather rapid, 
 A whirl of dukes and debts ; 
 
 She stamps the Christian creed as vapid. 
 And sucks her cigarettes. 
 
 Her gossip has a salt and savour. 
 
 That always are its own ; 
 And Bacchus adds a crowning flavour. 
 
 To faiicies highly flown. 
 
 She treasures sentiments for horses. 
 And port and pathos blends ; 
 
 Strange bigamies and stern divorces. 
 Are at nor fingers' ends. 
 
 III.— HEK COUNTEY AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 The season o'er she turns agrarian. 
 
 And has a naealy mood ; 
 Grows virtuous and vegetarian. 
 
 And steals her filly's food. 
 
 Her talk of oxen is and fodder. 
 
 And every mortal herb ; 
 She grieves at snafSes growing odder, 
 
 And mystic kinds of curb. 
 
 Your rabbits she delights to capture. 
 
 To sports plelieian bends ; 
 And feels a far more thrilling rapture, 
 
 For ferrets than fur friends.
 
 QTIEKN PTJRST AT VLXY. 44' 
 
 She has a weakness for all veriiiin, 
 
 InclxidiiiiJ; rakes and rats ; 
 And let theltiiae of year determine, 
 
 Her habits as her hats. 
 
 In matters rxira-l as in nrhan. 
 
 Her head she does not hide ; 
 Affects an eyeglass and a turban. 
 
 And makes her g-room her guide. 
 
 His choice opinions will she iitter. 
 
 Upon her male allies ; 
 She likes with little qnips, to fintter 
 
 The bosoms she denies. 
 
 Discounting friends she does not falter. 
 
 And spite her memory jogs ; 
 Sends single victims to the altar. 
 
 And puppies to the dogs. 
 
 Their private blots she gently handles, 
 
 And fondly treads on corns ; 
 They almost bless the pixblic scandals. 
 
 And hardly feel the thorns. 
 
 O'er biiried sins she softly dances. 
 
 And fingers social sores ; 
 And sheds the halo of romances. 
 
 Wherever virtiie snores. 
 
 Her life, with all its selfish fashions. 
 
 Has philanthropic thrills ; 
 And teems with venomons compassions, 
 
 And coiirtesy that kills. 
 
 So delicately served is malice. 
 
 With snch a dainty screen ; 
 Yoii taste no poison in the chalici'. 
 
 Of sugar plums and spleen. 
 
 Yon meet her gracious bnffets blindly 
 
 And one you would not miss ; 
 And take her tender kick, as kindly 
 
 As though it were a kiss. 
 
 The dagger she so well can dandle. 
 
 You nuist admire her art ; 
 And coiint the diamonds on its handle, 
 
 When it is at the heart. 
 
 She bows you to the door with unction, 
 
 And strokes you down the stairs ; 
 And turns you out with sweet coinpunt tlon. 
 
 That all the wrong repairs.
 
 446 QUEEN PTISST AT PLAT. 
 
 You see a mist of droopinon laslies. 
 And locks that fondly flow. 
 
 With crimson flowers and starx-y flashes — 
 And there yoiir senses go. 
 
 And then with such actite affection. 
 She gives the pai'ting stab ; 
 
 You qxiite forget your own direction. 
 And overpay the cab. 
 
 To viilgar scoffs she scorns to pander, 
 Or crippled anger's crutch ; 
 
 And spurns the common tools of slander, 
 Tliat leave a smell or smvitch. 
 
 She lightly casts her defamation. 
 With low and loving tones ; 
 
 You dream she builds yovir reputation. 
 When she is throwing stones. 
 
 To proper names she does not stickle. 
 
 To give improj^er play ; 
 And tries with artful touch, to tickle 
 
 A character away. 
 
 Of peccadilloes Avill she rattle. 
 And why shoiild truth be mixte ? 
 
 What if with laughter and with tattle, 
 She kills a good repute ? 
 
 She knows how idols are unsainted. 
 
 How well can silence lie ; 
 And when they laud a life untainted. 
 
 She slays it with a sigh. 
 
 A host she has of sad sux-prises. 
 
 And epigrams succiixct ; 
 With misty ixxaxims moralizes. 
 
 O'er inixoceixce extiixct. 
 
 Her talk is never wholly trivial. 
 
 To gratify a grudge ; 
 She bieixds with levity convivial. 
 
 The sexxteixce of the jxxdge. 
 
 Philosophy with dim distortions. 
 Makes social pleasures meet ; 
 
 And nxingles, ixi the same proportions, 
 Her claret and conceit. 
 
 The friendly toasts her taleixts doxxble. 
 
 And fuel give to fix-e ; 
 She sees in evei-y bixrsting bubble, 
 
 Some pux'ity expix-e.
 
 QUEEN PTTSf5T AT PLAT. 447 
 
 But while she cuts such o-racoful capers. 
 
 In every giddy walk ; 
 We hear the rustle of the papers 
 
 Through all her tight-rope talk. 
 
 We smell, behind the latest essence. 
 
 The vinous breath of Clubs ; 
 And find her news a mere liquescence. 
 
 Of toilet dreams and tubs. 
 
 With pretty tints that never tire us. 
 
 The men she paints and decks ; 
 Bvxt bottles all the choicer virus. 
 
 For her devoted sex. 
 
 Fair fame she takes from some poor sister. 
 
 And smirches with a smile ; 
 Or breatVies her lilessing like a blister. 
 
 That drops Init to defile. 
 
 She has her fling at unwashed preachers. 
 
 Whose missiles are of mire ; 
 And hurls contempts at humid teachers. 
 
 Who piety perspire. 
 
 And next indulging in varieties. 
 
 She lets her fancy flit ; 
 And scans the scatter-brained Societies, 
 
 Who spend more words than wit. 
 
 She reckons up what radiant blessings. 
 
 With staimp-orations march ; 
 G-lad tidings of the new assessings. 
 
 Of ignorance and Arch.Ij; 
 
 The rate she knows of all the missions. 
 
 The price of every sin ; 
 The cost of freedom and physicians. 
 
 Of justice and of gin. 
 
 Tobacco, opium, beads, and Bibles, 
 
 She is au fait of each ; 
 The vulgar voice that culture libels. 
 
 Where sj^read our flower^ of speech. 
 
 The reign of brotherhood and mammon. 
 
 And love's extorting hold ; 
 The civilizing guns and gammon. 
 
 The godliness of gold, 
 
 X " At the Paris Working' Men's Peace Conrerenoe Arch s; oke of 
 France as still au Eaiipire, iu August, 1875 ! ! "
 
 448 qtit:f,n rrfiSY at plat. 
 
 Commei'cial gospels of salvation. 
 
 That savage soiils impress ; 
 The glorious British revelation. 
 
 Of rum and righteousness. 
 
 Our present pride and sweet fruition. 
 
 The manly modern creed. 
 Good news of progress and perdition — 
 
 " Believe, or else be d d." 
 
 She counts the luscious loaves and fishes. 
 
 That fill the converts' packs ; 
 And says so many j)ounds and dishes, 
 , Will whitewash any black. 
 
 But, ah 1 the Moloch of advancement. 
 
 Exacts more victims still ; 
 And for religion's own enhancement. 
 
 Brings in its liloody bill. 
 
 And so she points^to lu-anching knowledge. 
 
 That raises, as'it raves. 
 The dregs of cloister and of college. 
 
 Upon its rolling waves. 
 
 And then she tur]is to praise a pony. 
 
 Or cavil at a coat ; 
 Hears one has cut his greatest crony. 
 
 Another cut his throat. 
 
 And this to baffle warm attentions. 
 
 Has sailed to lands more free. 
 From policies of interventions — • 
 
 He always was at sea. 
 
 And that, before he well could borrow 
 
 So pressing an amount. 
 The partner of his joy and sorroAV 
 
 Had left— say, on accoimt. 
 
 And she, the more to aid solution, 
 
 Biit not from loving less. 
 Had given by way of contribution, 
 
 Her credit and — caress. 
 
 And he who swilled with swine and hunters^ 
 
 And scorned connubial bliss. 
 Has foimd how cheap are steeds and grunters. 
 
 How costly is a kiss. 
 
 And now ho fills domestic dramas. 
 Who never played a part ; 
 - And mourns the change from silken charmers, 
 I'o accusation's dart.
 
 QUKtN PUSSY AT PLAY. 4-i9 
 
 Instead of sweet voluptuous tresses. 
 
 He feels his cause's flaw ; 
 And wakes, from fond and soft caresses 
 
 In iron arms of law. 
 
 He darkly broods on outraged duties. 
 
 The dirty coiirt and case ; 
 And leaves the warmth of pliant beauties^ 
 
 For judgment's cold embrace. 
 
 These are our heroine's conmion trifles^ 
 
 A round that never fails ; 
 The morning with reviews and rifleS) 
 
 The evening with fresh tales. 
 
 An estimation now she murthers, 
 
 That stood tlio storm and tide ; 
 And now with friendly kindness further^ 
 
 Some social suicide. 
 
 She loves the byeways close and shady. 
 
 Where snaky rumour crawls ; 
 And on a tripping lord or lady. 
 
 With tenfold relish falls. 
 
 And when she needs new recreation, 
 
 Or tires of daily shams : 
 She finds a fertile inspiration, 
 
 In morning calls and drams. 
 
 But then her mind has no connexions. 
 
 With vulgar views that pass ; 
 Her brightest thoughts and best reflexions. 
 
 Are in her looking-glass. 
 
 But o'er her person most she muses, 
 
 And at her toilet purrs ; 
 Yet sometimes by mistake confuses. 
 
 Another's spoons and hers. 
 
 Abstraction though of useless particles. 
 
 Her principles to reach. 
 Ends in abstracting alien articles. 
 
 Besides the parts of speech. 
 
 Her nerves at need are strong as iron, 
 
 When impulse holds its sway ; 
 And then she goes to bed with Byron, 
 
 And gives Don Juan play. 
 
 We will not rashly raise the curtain. 
 
 Or shed a curious gleam ; 
 Because we are a bit uncertain, 
 
 If there is but the dream.
 
 ijU QUEEN PUSSY AT PLAT. 
 
 knd then there is the sacred mystery. 
 That seals such maiden nights ; 
 
 Why ope that sacred page of historj% 
 On sliadowy robes and rites ? 
 
 Though haply all the darkness covers, 
 
 Might be her dainty wi-aps ; 
 Some locks of hair — biit not a lover's. 
 
 No lips but — silver taps. 
 
 Then comes the day of various duties, 
 
 With rosy-fingered dawn ; 
 Tliat paints her cheeks with charming beiiutieSj 
 
 And blushes not withdrawn. 
 
 And forth she goes on missions glorious. 
 
 To conquer fairer fields ; 
 And ever vapouring and victoiious, 
 
 New arms and objects wields. 
 
 To guide her she has magic crystals. 
 
 And balms for every scar ; 
 Nor slights a powder-box and pistols. 
 
 To keep her foes afar. 
 
 Her bedroom is her strong position. 
 
 With waiiike weapons set ; 
 And when she wants fresh ammunition. 
 
 She makes a raid or debt. 
 
 The guns she points have heavy metal, 
 And there are shells to moimt ; 
 
 She knows the very shot to settle 
 Each onset and account. 
 
 Her boudoir teems with locks and letters, 
 Witli fractured fans and arms ; 
 
 And here ane-n- she forges fetters. 
 Or mends old chains and charms. 
 
 And here she notes insidious schisms. 
 
 Or at reunion tugs ; 
 And hoards her strong cements and chrisms. 
 
 For broken hearts and jugs. 
 
 And she has chambers fenced and furnished. 
 
 Held under bar and ban ; 
 And some with engines bright and Inirnished, 
 
 That mirroi' stars and — man. 
 
 And now the (h'adly lust of lucre, 
 
 She deems her tradesmen's doom : 
 And makes a pulpit or proseiicha, 
 
 Of her reception-rooju.
 
 QUEEN pussy at fLAT. 45I 
 
 And then in salons fresh and varnished. 
 
 She sees her worldly giiests ; 
 Or in a sanctum grimly garnished, 
 
 A prude or prelate rests. 
 
 She studies art for balls and dinners, 
 
 At least her person paints ; 
 And now she is a saint with sinners, 
 
 A sinner now with saints. 
 
 And parlour v/isdom lurks in whisky. 
 
 To move offending- sjjots ; 
 And sends her forth more fair and frisky. 
 
 To other brands and blots. 
 
 But then she is so blithe and nimble, 
 
 She soon repairs a stain ; 
 And armed with thunderbolt and thimble. 
 
 Hies to the vrars again. 
 
 She plays at cards and kindred pleasures. 
 
 While neighbours are in flames; 
 And sings among the tears she treasvires. 
 
 The ruins of good names. 
 
 Such are her daily small diversions, 
 
 Backljiting's generous boon ; 
 Though varied sometimes by excursions, 
 
 In science and the uujon. 
 
 A little gardening now she favours. 
 
 Or mouths of model farms ; 
 And now a surgeon is, and savours 
 
 Of broken legs and arms. 
 
 To-day she spends her hours in spinning. 
 
 Calumnious yarns, of course ; 
 To-morrow she grows sick of sinning. 
 
 And plays at brief remorse. 
 
 Then fits of delicacy stop her, 
 
 And chords of candoiu- strike ; 
 She finds the Bible quite improper. 
 
 And truth unladylike. 
 
 But now she calls for chaste elision. 
 
 And coy and maiden deans ; 
 To i^ractise holy circunicision 
 
 On nude and naughty scenes. 
 
 Confession next when too auricular. 
 
 She visits with her hate ; 
 And waxing more and more particular^ 
 
 Thinks love indelicate.
 
 452 ycEEX PUSSY at ^x\. 
 
 And stern conipimctions as to stockiuiis, 
 With carnal promptings fight : 
 
 Misgivings as to midnight flookings. 
 In search of doubtfnl light. 
 
 A virgin scruple as to dancings^ 
 
 Her modest bosom thrills : 
 And calls from captains" prurient prancmgs. 
 
 To cousins and quadi-illes. 
 
 And then she takes to com-ses serious. 
 To making caps for friends ; 
 
 And is most a\s-ful and mysterious, 
 About her kindly ends. 
 
 Anil next she has a boiit of knitting, 
 
 New coats for scandal cold ; 
 And is fastidious, as to fitting 
 
 Each little fib and fold. 
 
 IV.— HEE EADICAL DEVELOPME^'T. 
 
 As liberal is she as any. 
 
 And yet delights to dole ; 
 And just to gain a point or penny. 
 
 Will lose her pound or soxil. 
 
 She has her jjlatforms of progression 
 With various views and jauis ; 
 
 And with a glorious indiscretion. 
 She rails at shifts and shams. 
 
 have you heard her in the rostrum. 
 
 Declaim with bitter soorn : 
 And scream a new and simple nostrum. 
 
 For every fleshly thorn ? 
 
 She has her ready furnished corners. 
 
 For all who suffer ills ; 
 And for minorities and mourners. 
 
 Fresh parliaments and pills. 
 
 Her dream is of a common level. 
 When wrongs will lose their stings ; 
 
 And man will hurry to the devil. 
 His cobwebs and his kings. 
 
 And in the darkness quite Egyj^tiau, 
 That dawning climes would clog; 
 
 Th.e sulfrage is her sure prescription. 
 To set tile world agog.
 
 QTTKKN PTTSST AT rr.AY. 4^;^ 
 
 Tlio francliisp and the men who love it. 
 
 Her pityinu- spirit spans ; 
 And as an a^gis holds above it. 
 
 Her petticoats and plans. 
 
 In vain slio swears to eat no supper. 
 
 Till each has bread and votes : 
 Till every damsel has her Tapper, 
 
 And all the cadgers coats. 
 
 She finds her crumbs of contributions. 
 
 Have less support than sound ; 
 And breaks her fast and resolutions. 
 
 As every nig'ht comes round. 
 
 Cheap are her maxims for the masses. 
 
 That after fictions pant ; 
 Red rags, that madden brutes and asses, 
 
 Of couiiuunos and of cant. 
 
 Nor does she fail to fling her liabMe, 
 
 At sacerdotal greed : 
 Nor do her fingers fear to dabble. 
 
 In any dirty deed. 
 
 She preaches ptruning of pollutions. 
 
 And cutting to the quick ; 
 And yet, with all her revolutions. 
 
 Faints at a needle's prick. 
 
 The caste distinctions we would cherish. 
 
 She liarries with her hate; 
 And bids that pioor abstraction perish. 
 
 Which stupid men call State. 
 
 Throixgh others' fate she freely ranges, 
 
 With stern miitation's stress ; 
 But she will never suifer changes. 
 
 Unless of duns and dress. 
 
 While pounds and views she vainly squanders. 
 
 And taunts high powers witli pelt ; 
 From bald piescri^jtion though she wanders. 
 
 When does she leave herself ? 
 
 She gives good reformation hinches, 
 
 Where talk is fast and loose ; 
 And dines witli democratic crunches. 
 
 On guillotine and goose. 
 
 But first and last of all the courses. 
 
 And served with every meat. 
 Well spiced with sporting slang of horses, 
 
 Is her sweet sauce conceit.
 
 4,54 QUEEN PUSSY AT PLAY. 
 
 Her Comte is always in hor pocket. 
 
 And strange confusion stirs; 
 She shoots republics like a rocket. 
 
 Mid deans and dowagers. 
 
 For paupers she has ready rations 
 
 Cheap pity and police ; 
 She pension's all her poor relations. 
 
 So much advice apiece. 
 
 "What are connexions, does she clamour, 
 But parasites who grudge ? 
 
 Espoiising with indifferent grammar, 
 Fraternity and fudge. 
 
 She points to thankfulness, that savours 
 
 Of mercenary need ; 
 The lively sense of future favours. 
 
 Of gratitude and greed. 
 
 Away she would with mere accretions. 
 That mar the general good ; 
 
 And argues foi' the true cohesions. 
 Of common brotherhood. 
 
 Why have such wretched ties dividing. 
 
 That nobler instincts ban ? 
 She opens Avide her arms confiding. 
 
 To universal man. 
 
 What if she be a bit deluded 
 
 By agitation strikes ? 
 The individual is excluded. 
 
 Their race is what she likes. 
 
 Of course the rule will sometimes vary. 
 
 To take excejjtions on : 
 When she delights in John and Mary, 
 
 Especially in John. 
 
 And waxing deaf to dull orations. 
 That youthful yearnings flout ; 
 
 She turns her back on cold negations. 
 If shutting " lirothers " out. 
 
 Convention bars her large affinities. 
 With base restraints on wives ; 
 
 Or dooms to virtues and virginities. 
 Poor women's bai'ren lives. 
 
 But yet her words belie lier actions, 
 W'hich often come out right ; 
 
 Her soul is but a seat, where factions 
 Of wrong and reason fight.
 
 QTTEEN PTTSSY AT PLAY. 4oo 
 
 And so sensations draw licr liithci'. 
 
 While solf-i-espect piiDs buck; 
 She se«s h(U' flowers and fancies wither. 
 
 Her heart and china crack. 
 
 And when to-day has lost its li^lamour. 
 
 She rang'es through the years ; 
 And hails the time when kings and grammar. 
 
 Will strike no foolish fears. 
 
 Beyond the billows of the jDresent, 
 
 She sees a brighter port ; 
 When even Parnells will be pleasant. 
 
 And bishops cease to snort. 
 
 Then statesmen will be trne and tender. 
 
 Nor dogs and lawyers bite : 
 Then claimants be refined and slender. 
 
 And bloody Fenians white. 
 
 No courts divorces will adjudicate. 
 
 No churches dare to damn ; 
 The Jesuit will lie down witli Newdegate, 
 
 And lion graze with la.ml\ 
 
 On every side she sheds her graces, 
 
 And plays with secret springs ; 
 She likes to pull at puppets' traces. 
 
 At heart and bonnet strings. ^ 
 
 Yast is her vision of the nations. 
 
 When woman claims her due ; 
 And to the rapturous revelations. 
 
 Her roiTge-pots give a hue. 
 
 But still her heaven is Hyde Park Corner, 
 
 With powder, peers, and lace ; 
 The country then, though none would mourn her. 
 
 She thinks the — other place. 
 
 She lets her crotchets do for reason. 
 
 And worships pi'igs and pugs ; 
 And dearly loves to talk of treason. 
 
 Of Bradlaughs and of b gs. 
 
 Her bouts she has of party ruffling. 
 
 And apes the Premier's pose ; 
 And sees the end of Tory shuffling. 
 
 No farther than her nose. 
 
 Time-servers she receives with rating 
 
 And scurvy trimming scorns ; 
 And whets her knife, for amputating 
 
 Conservatives and corns. 
 
 o'
 
 456 QITE-EN PITSSY AT PLAT. 
 
 Mere placemen slie consigns to limbo. 
 Or makes them meals for mobs ; 
 
 And with indignant arms akimbo, 
 Denounces Jews and jobs. 
 
 She leaves the knaves who t-wist and tumble. 
 
 And truckle every hour ; 
 And bids them live and stink and stumble, 
 
 In perjury and power. 
 
 For worms of greed are growing bolder. 
 
 And seek in Senates meats ; 
 While piecemeal politicians moulder. 
 
 And rot in royal seats. 
 
 In quest of revohition's powder. 
 
 In dubious soils she digs ; 
 When sullied simply cries the louder, 
 
 For Windsor soap and Whigs. 
 
 Slie has a certain sort of knowledge. 
 
 Of all uncertain modes ; 
 Her morals draw from camp and college, 
 
 Their sophistries and codes. 
 
 But if yo\i try to sift her tenel s. 
 They have no rhjmie or rank ; 
 
 Embracing Stopford Brookes and Bennetts, 
 And every mountebank. 
 
 She Irving thinks a glorious fact, or 
 
 Is Capel's honoured guest ; 
 Opining each a perfect actoi', 
 
 But Capel far the best. 
 
 Her views have yet one common meaaur.'. 
 Though with a method mad ; 
 
 That in oiu- old established treasure. 
 Whatever is — is bad. 
 
 \Vhile coupling rotten thing and royal. 
 
 She favours sounder pleas ; 
 And calls it weakness to be loyal. 
 
 To any faith but fees. 
 
 Opinions quite as bold as Gate's, 
 
 She offers cut and dry ; 
 Disease in patriots aid potatoe.s. 
 
 Does not escape her eye. 
 
 She scoffs at military schooling, 
 
 That calls a desert peace ; 
 And vows decid(Hl views on riiling, 
 
 l>y buckshot and jiolice.
 
 QTTEF.N PTTSST AT PLAY. 4o7 
 
 Sick Erin iVoin \\ov mate slie siindors. 
 
 And soothes with landed sops ; 
 And scatters thirty tlionsand tliiinders. 
 
 No rents, and lollipops. 
 
 Well versed is she in all the hobbies. 
 
 That folly brings in view ; 
 The loves of placemen and of lobbies. 
 
 Republics' rosy hue. 
 
 She does not pipe without ideas. 
 
 If never quite her own ; 
 And keeps her patent panaceas, 
 
 For every mess and moan. 
 
 But all, alas I are false and hollow. 
 
 And bi'ed of bile and pelf ; 
 And though she calls on us to follow. 
 
 She does n(jt move herself. 
 
 They smell of midnight fumes ,-in<l tallow, 
 
 Of bottled spite and Bass ; 
 And prove as vain as they are shallow, 
 
 (xilt gingei'])read and gas. 
 
 Her constitution is for cloister.?. 
 
 Her paradise the pen ; 
 Her measures not for states but oysters. 
 
 Or more for monks than men. 
 
 We see the stage and study taper. 
 
 And catch the well-known reek, 
 Of ink and print and foolscap paper — 
 
 Of Gladstone and his Greek. 
 
 The plans she has precise and handy, 
 
 For draining fens and bogs ; 
 Elicits use and sugar candy, 
 
 From sewers and demagogues. 
 
 Sweet perfumes even from duns and dahlias, 
 
 She knows the art to i^ress ; 
 And draws from splendid fibs and faihuM^s, 
 
 True essence of success. 
 
 Her mind is wide, her wit is ready. 
 
 And ripe for port or pun ; 
 And if a trifle over- heady — 
 
 Why, that is half the fun. 
 
 Her hands ax'e ever quick to fiddle, 
 
 With*human coats and chords ; 
 She likes to finger every riddle, 
 
 And buttonholes her lords.
 
 4.jS QTTEEN P,tTSSY AT PLAY, 
 
 She has a Inst for twilight mazes, 
 
 Unexjiuro-ated 1)Ooks ; 
 A stomach for strang-o fruits and phrases^ 
 
 And cakes not known to cooks. 
 
 She stjdes Establishments corroded. 
 
 And even insipid love ; 
 Theologies but dreams exploded. 
 
 That want a downward shove. 
 
 The claims she pleads of poor aspirants. 
 And cries that truth has flown ; 
 
 That privilege is but for tyrants. 
 Excepting just her own. 
 
 She rails at feudal rags and fetters. 
 That blight where freedom blooms ; 
 
 And hails the day. when so-called betters 
 Will wait upon their grooms. 
 
 A cheery word she has for Odger, 
 
 And pats him on the back ; 
 And deems the devil and Sir Eoger, 
 
 Are not so very black. 
 
 She keeps a whiskered Count and earringe. 
 
 A liishoj) and two pugs ; 
 Holds Malthns better far than marriage. 
 
 And babies worse than b gs. 
 
 She takes no troiible for the morrow. 
 
 Unless the beer goes sour ; 
 Her jDlatitudes and wardrobe borrow. 
 
 The rubbish of the hour. 
 
 What least she knows the most she honoiirs. 
 
 Herself serenely piques 
 On spurious princes and Madonnas, 
 
 And yesterday's antiques. 
 
 All barbarous modes and bearded strangers, 
 
 Arc foibles still she owns ; 
 She revels long in bloody dangers. 
 
 And travels paved with bones. 
 
 I'rom France she draws her dancing lesson, 
 
 Italians tune her voice : 
 A gentle German tries the dress on. 
 
 That Eussia gives her choice. 
 
 A Pole with her is quite a passion, 
 
 The shadier be his shii-t ; 
 She swears by every foreign fashion. 
 
 That raises dust or dirt.
 
 QTTEEN PUSSY AT PLAY, 45'rt 
 
 The chaste embraces of liev g-artei'. 
 
 An exiled patriot laves ; 
 She finds a tonic in a Tartar, 
 
 And sedative in slaves. 
 
 And while her life is bnt a medley, 
 
 That rino-3 the chimes of change ; 
 Though this is dark and this is deadly. 
 
 She sticks to what is strang;e. 
 
 She covets as an educator. 
 
 The senatorial seat ; 
 And stamps her startling imprimatur 
 
 On every cracked conceit. 
 
 And oft she argues with her fellows. 
 
 If babies shoiild have votes ; 
 While nameless nectar flows, and mellows 
 
 Their sweet and thirsty throats. 
 
 And folly's fabrics thinly shrouded, 
 
 Her idle seasons kiait -, 
 Evolving systems weak and clouded. 
 
 From sorry wine and wit. 
 
 From Manchester come maxims rotten. 
 
 With goods of doubtful gear ; 
 And propijed on bales of cant and cotton. 
 
 She foimds a fairer sphere. 
 
 She paints a new and nobler nation, 
 
 To ploughshares turning guns ; 
 With joys of genial " cerebration," 
 
 Attimed by port and puns. 
 
 Caressing all the forms of fiction, 
 
 From flower to flower she flits ; 
 The sum of every contradiction. 
 
 She mocks and moiirns by fits. 
 
 She loves to push her folly further. 
 
 Than those she calls to guide : 
 Who while they preach good news of murther. 
 
 Yet practise suicide. 
 
 Sweet is the " poetry of progress," 
 
 With all its food for flats ; 
 Whicli more nnnatural tJian an ogress. 
 
 Devours its bastard brats. 
 
 Dear is the dupe in nonsense seething, 
 
 His weak and floundering wits ; 
 Mistaking only mental teetliing, 
 
 For inspii-ation's fits.
 
 400 QXTEEN PtTSSY AT PLAY. 
 
 When he should buy a penny rattle. 
 Stop singing- through the nose ; 
 
 And frighten with his tipsy tattle. 
 Old grandmothers and crows. 
 
 And still she seeks for fresh sensations. 
 New pulpits and new points ; 
 
 And with strange strokes and combinations. 
 Her broken plans rejoints. 
 
 And now a friend to copes and cassocks. 
 She mvirmurs mystic sound ; 
 
 And now she turns from tea and hassocks. 
 To slang the saints all round. 
 
 Hers is the superficial varnish. 
 
 That shines without a fire ; 
 And hers the light and grace that garnish. 
 
 Mere monuments of mire. 
 
 To lie with ease, and act a story 
 
 Equivocally good ; 
 This is the climax of her glory. 
 
 The shame of womanhood. 
 
 And should she fail to liit the pigeon. 
 She does not miss the crow ; 
 
 And tired of raptures and religion. 
 To billiards will she go. 
 
 She sees in Eadical physicians, 
 
 A cure for Tory gout ; 
 And when she cannot beat traditions. 
 
 She knocks the balls about. 
 
 But she prefers the fence of fancies. 
 
 The play of equal wits ; 
 And turns" from tedious games and dances. 
 
 To loftier hopes and hits. 
 
 Tl:e latest books her judgment pillow, 
 
 The wildest theories bind ; 
 She traverses with breeze and billow. 
 
 The tideways of the mind. 
 
 She has her Mills and Herbert Spencers, 
 
 As pat as pat can be ; 
 And jn-ates of boilers and condensers. 
 
 And what it is to be. 
 
 Tn softer moods she has illusions. 
 Of rustic wealth and ranlc ; 
 
 And dear deceits, with fond confusions. 
 Her pretty pictures prank.
 
 QUEEN PUSHY AT I'LAV. J61 
 
 Sweet fancies flit in flowery mazes, 
 
 Thron^-li her fair moonlit dreams ; 
 IJor visi(jns are of deans and daisies. 
 
 Of counts and gliding stivains. , 
 
 But now her frequent revelation, 
 
 Finds " ethics" in " the dust "' ; 
 And grasps her grand imagination, 
 
 A kingdom in a crust. 
 
 She sees in each mad craze a credo, 
 
 And perishtul stars in stones ; 
 In some poor dotard's da.uljs a (luido, 
 
 And poetry in bones. 
 
 Forth spring enchantments dim and docile. 
 
 Upon her magic stage ; 
 And from a fragment or a fossil, 
 
 An elephant orage. 
 
 Just give her elbow-room ajid anvil, 
 
 And see the realms that rise ; 
 From compromise she makes a Granville, 
 
 And Walpoles out of sighs. 
 
 And failing limping Whig and layman. 
 
 She has not far to haste ; 
 From indiscretion comes a Hayman, 
 
 A Temple from bad taste. 
 
 Her strokes require no sort of planning. 
 
 Creations quickly grow ; 
 And superstition breeds a Manning, 
 
 And littleness a Lowe. 
 
 While from a, mist of wordy muffling.^, 
 
 The king of cobblers hies ; 
 And drifts, with shabby robes and shufHings, 
 
 In search of crowns and cries. 
 
 Vulgarity and bigot blunders, 
 
 A spitting Ayrton spawn ; 
 And with weak jokes and weaker thunders, 
 
 Lo, ti'imming dressed in lawn. 
 
 For she has choicer bits to dish up, 
 
 And cattle fat to call ; 
 From soap and water builds a bishop, 
 
 And from a stock a stall. 
 
 From rills of Plato rises Jowelt, 
 
 With hoary jests and locks ; 
 And obfuscation's ponderous i)0(;t, 
 
 Comes rushing from his rocks.
 
 4-92 QUEEN PUSSY xVT PLAV, 
 
 But should one doubt her fabrics' crowning, 
 
 She takes m tears to bed : 
 Or hurls a heavy brick or Browning, 
 
 At his misguided head. 
 
 Yet all her smooth and flippant smatterings. 
 
 Are seeds but idly sown ; 
 Her charms are cheaper than her chatterings. 
 
 And nothing is lier o^^'n. 
 
 Then she has favourite sins and saiices. 
 
 To season hungry hours ; 
 And never knows what real remorse is. 
 
 Save moods that surfeit sours. 
 
 A shi'ug she has for na.ughty graccjs, 
 
 A nod for jocks and grooms ; 
 A pretty lisp for pr(;tty faces, 
 
 A drawl for di-awing-room. 
 
 But though she has her smiles ]>y dozens. 
 
 How playful is her pout ' 
 Which most rebellious nature cozens. 
 
 And wiles away the gout. 
 
 You see her at a certain distance. 
 And praise her pleasant guise ; 
 
 What is she, stript of false assistance, 
 But impudence and eyes 'i 
 
 An amorous Jehu in tlie season. 
 
 She drives a team of loves ; 
 And daily dons, with little reason. 
 
 New gallantries and gloves. 
 
 The gayest is her g-ilded carriage, 
 
 Tlie freshest are her steeds ; 
 And though she be averse to marriage. 
 
 She has provoking creeds. 
 
 Beside her, as attendant Cupid, 
 
 She seats a pretty page ; 
 Her starry looks make suitors stupid. 
 
 And fail to ask her age. 
 
 She stores her ever-conquering quiver, 
 
 With each well tested shaft ; 
 Knows when to burn and when to shiver. 
 
 And how a lie to waft. 
 
 A"es, all that's vulgar, cheap, and odiuiis. 
 
 She gathers as her tools ; 
 Caresses ardent, lips commodious, 
 
 And tendcn- traps for fools.
 
 QUEEN PUSSY AT I'LAY. 403 
 
 But soon she quits the softei* science. 
 
 And turns to broader tiohls ; 
 Sets all her sisters at defiance, 
 
 And manly weapons wields. 
 
 She takes her seat with sapient guessers. 
 
 Who AvondroTis questions woo ; \ 
 
 Makes friends of problems and professors. 
 
 Herself a problem too. 
 
 For, lo, she trains a mind prolific. 
 
 And has her loftier hours ; 
 Wlien she is sad and scientific, 
 
 And Hing^ aside her flowers. 
 
 And yet, whatever be her posc>:. 
 
 There's oneness in her will. 
 And if she plays witli ra^'s or roses, 
 
 She is a. woman still. 
 
 Her ([nibbles never raise a question. 
 
 More grave than fancy's grudge ; 
 But half her doubts are indigestion. 
 
 And half are merely fudge. 
 
 Althoiigh she brags the march of Learning, 
 
 Will tenfold make oui' joys ; 
 And forces now oiu- bridh; spurning. 
 
 Will he oiu' children's toys. 
 
 But when she drops her role rhajJEodic, 
 
 And vivisects her dogs ; 
 She is as musty and methodic. 
 
 As twenty catalogues. 
 
 She raves of " energy " and "lunction,"' 
 
 And pigeonholes each power ; 
 The holiest hopes, with no compunction. 
 
 She makes dissection's dower. 
 
 Her views are bound in calf and vellum. 
 
 And ranged in order stand ; 
 She murnuu's of the " cei-ebellum," 
 
 And of the " pineal gland." 
 
 And every tissue she can ticket. 
 
 To ^hich her faith to pin ; 
 But keeps a transcendental wicket. 
 
 To let emotion in. 
 
 Of nerves she makes no reservation. 
 
 To stay the prying lens ; 
 And falls in love with "innervation," 
 
 And " ganglia "^chiefly men's.
 
 6> 
 
 z].^J4, QUEEN PUSSY AT PLAY. 
 
 She shows how chymistry is blowin 
 
 And makes the dunojhill bud ; 
 Tlic hio-hest tide of reason's flowin 
 
 Its watermark of mud. 
 
 And tracing garbage up to blotter, 
 
 Or art from excrements ; 
 She sings the gospel of the gutter, 
 
 And sewage sentiments. 
 
 Sucli is the circle of production, 
 That grinds our )>oiies for Jiread ; 
 
 And by a rather quaint refluxion, 
 Makes capital the dead. 
 
 Of progress often is her prattle. 
 
 And eke of woman's rights ; 
 And from receipts for fattening cattle, 
 
 She draws no faint delights. 
 
 She decks her speech with purple patches. 
 
 Of metaphysic clothes ; 
 And salves her controversial scratches, 
 
 With good round classic oaths. 
 
 One creed she calls a shameful shackle. 
 
 And hers are by the score ; 
 She laughs at Convocation's cackle. 
 
 And bishops made to bore. 
 
 Of wit in cellar or in attic. 
 
 She feels an envy strange ; 
 Episcopalian or schismatic. 
 
 With every breath of change. 
 
 Foi' when does Genius have its lodgings, 
 
 [n any middle sphere ? 
 It creeps by grim and devious dodgings. 
 
 From pavement unto bier. 
 
 Now it's advanced in views and splutter. 
 
 And Nonconformist greed; 
 First puffs, then scrapes its bread and bvitter. 
 
 For every mortal ne(>d. 
 
 Yea, even in sleep it fain would snivel. 
 
 And dreams of dirty jobs ; 
 And builds of lies and sties and drivel. 
 
 Its paradise of snobs. 
 
 It seeks a sermon in a bottle. 
 
 And cites Eusebius next ; 
 Or to discourse from Aristotle, 
 
 Anacreon gives the text.
 
 QTTEEN PirSlSY AT PLAT. iGo 
 
 We see it sane and sing-inff dii'sjes. 
 
 In surplice or in bands ; 
 Or rnshing- on erotic surges. 
 
 Unto the Siren's lands. 
 
 We know it drinks as deep of Bass's, 
 
 As of the waters wise ; 
 And meet it marchino- after asses. 
 Or catch its prophecies. 
 
 We find it as a liedgerow artist, 
 
 On whom no sun has shone ; 
 Or out of elbows as a Cliartist, 
 
 With occupation o-onc. 
 
 But here it wallows in the gutter. 
 
 And makes the mud its mint ; 
 And there we hear its drunken stutter, 
 
 In pothouse or in print. 
 
 And now it hoists more holy pennants. 
 
 Discarding dice a.nd beer ; 
 And prays till all B<jhemia's tenants. 
 
 Come rushing out to hear. 
 
 But then it sweeps the road of party. 
 
 And sweats the Whigs and stones ; 
 And swears, with affectation hearty. 
 
 At threadbare clouts and thrones. 
 
 And if, when hunger makes its entry. 
 
 It kicks at Custom's fence ; 
 'Tis fed and clothed, with other gentry, 
 
 At Government expense. 
 
 At times it pawns its shirt and honour, 
 
 ' To diner for once at ease ; 
 Or is as bloody as a Bonner, 
 
 • And nuirders on its knees. 
 
 Oixr mistress has a prurient yearning. 
 
 For talent lame or lewd ; 
 And still embraces outcast learning. 
 
 Though it be sometimes niide. 
 
 She has her idols, by the token 
 That some are silver spoons ; 
 
 And likes her days and darlings broken, 
 Eclipse of men and moons.
 
 4G6 QtfEEN PTJSST AT PLAT. 
 
 HEE EELIGIOUS EELAXATIONS. 
 
 She has her lapdog and her lion. 
 
 Pet curate and pet cat ; 
 And smells, within the walls 'of Sion^ 
 
 A heresy or rat. 
 
 No wonder deems she, doubts that enter 
 
 Are moving devilish fast ; 
 The Devil was the first dissenter. 
 
 But who will lie the last ? 
 
 She knows not how the Grand Old Tory 
 
 Looks down on party strife ; 
 And reads the lame and lying story. 
 
 Of dead religion's life. 
 
 When well she is a daring sceptic. 
 And steps where Huxley stands ; 
 
 Devout as any when dyspeptic. 
 She gives the Chux-ch her hands. 
 
 And with the Vicar then she lingers. 
 
 To cheer his single soul ; 
 And lets him fiddle with, her fingers, 
 
 Or sigh of soup and coal. 
 
 For there are seasons when she falters. 
 And finds free thoiight a snare : 
 
 And will replace with saints and psalters. 
 False friendships and false liair. 
 
 And should a dim or toothache weaken, 
 The charms of worldly cliat ; 
 
 She singles out in some archdeacon 
 Most foolishness and fat. 
 
 The crown and glory of conversion. 
 
 To him she briefly lends ; 
 And tempers hope, with liate's aspersion. 
 
 Of all her bosom friends. 
 
 The saint, who must condemn transgression. 
 
 Will beauties find to bless ; 
 And he who comes to hear confession. 
 
 May linger to caress. 
 
 But then her faith is young and tender 
 And he must soothe her soul ; 
 
 And though he censure the offender, 
 He also should condole.
 
 QUEEN PTTRST AT PLAT. 4G7 
 
 Besides, sho is but a beginner. 
 
 And cliarity has place ; 
 And while it may not touch the sinner, 
 
 The woman will embrace. 
 
 A little penance is sweet leaven. 
 
 And goes a mighty way : 
 To trip with such a guide to heaven 
 
 Is better than a play. 
 
 The farther fetched, the more ascendant^ 
 
 The burden of hei- part ; 
 A Baptist now, then Independent, 
 
 She hugs the Church at heart. 
 
 But then, like Eve, she sees the apple. 
 
 Forbidden f rviits are sweet ; 
 She takes a bite, and goes to chapel ; 
 
 And tires both faith and feet. 
 
 She sips the sweets 'of every fashion. 
 
 From rural deans their dew ; 
 And deals a measure of compassion, 
 
 To Gentile dog and Jew. 
 
 And fits she has of fish and starving, 
 
 Remembering all but self ; 
 And leaves the flesh and worldly carving. 
 
 To shiver on the shelf. 
 
 Her debts she counts, and ponders payment. 
 
 And settles some that urge ; 
 Yet, changing not her heart but raiment^ 
 
 Is sensual under serge. 
 
 Of sermons dull she makes selections. 
 
 And dines on broth and bills ; 
 Takes to dry toast and genuflexions. 
 
 To penitence and jiills. 
 
 She turns to candlesticks and crosses. 
 
 From gaslights and from legs ; 
 And broods on gloves and betting losses. 
 
 Or addled hopes and eggs. 
 
 In search of new and grave sensations. 
 
 She broiders stools and stoles ; 
 And broadcast heaves illimainations. 
 
 In chaste and virtuous scrolls. 
 
 But in the atmosphere of slipjDers, 
 
 Her fingers love to range ; 
 Cut ties and knots with holy clippers, 
 
 Aud find a rapture strange.
 
 468 QUEEN PtrSSY AT PLAY. 
 
 Then seeking refuge in the Eector, 
 She melts'his breast with tears ; 
 
 He claims the right to be protector. 
 And o'er his glasses leers. 
 
 Fare-well she bids to lusts and larder, 
 And feigns their spells have ceased ; 
 
 And bends her eyes with holy ardoiu' 
 Upon her handsome x^riest. 
 
 His ear she charms and then confesses. 
 All scandals she can score ; 
 
 And if he frowns at her excesses. 
 She tries her tender store. 
 
 She nioiirns she was the dupe of folly. 
 That those who serve it robs ; 
 
 And storms his virtiie with the volley 
 Of little sighs and sobs. 
 
 Prepared she is to pay for error. 
 Sweet dishes and sweet drinks ; 
 
 If he, with all his eyebrows' terror. 
 At some pet vices winks. 
 
 She bows demurely to the sentence. 
 And takes her pinch of pain ; 
 
 Performs with relish her repentance. 
 And goes and — sins again. 
 
 HEE SAD EELAPSE. 
 
 But then she gibes at priests' oppression. 
 And. knaves who kneel for hire ; 
 
 Plucks off the bloom of indiscretion. 
 And minces in the mire. 
 
 She likes her wine in brimming glasses, 
 jSTew gospels and good cheer ; 
 
 And keenly condemnation passes. 
 On pixlpits and small beer. 
 
 Religion she remits to tsble. 
 
 With grace and slops and soups ; 
 
 And boasts, though more the fool of fable. 
 Her faith in scales and scoops. 
 
 True orthodoxy lies in Science, 
 And not in worn-out robes ; 
 
 So deems she, with her gross reliance. 
 On pincers and on probes.
 
 QtTEEN ptJssr At pHy. 469 
 
 She bows to all tho last iiiTentions, 
 
 Strang-e gods of pot and pan ; 
 And wields, with elegant intentions. 
 
 Her scalpel and her fan. 
 
 And now her worship shows its wonders. 
 
 That ne\rev were before'; 
 Devotions that are worsfe than blundersj 
 
 And make what they adore. 
 
 A sermon draws she from a soakiftg. 
 
 Although the text be stale ; 
 And staggers, from a bout of smoking. 
 
 More penitent and pale. 
 
 But then aft'ecting sorrow's nnction. 
 
 She goes again to Church ; 
 Confesses sins, with no compunction. 
 
 Her neighbours more to smirch. 
 
 And so she has a rank rotation, 
 
 Of crops for ever fresh ; 
 A sad and sickening oscillation, 
 
 From fanatics to flesh. 
 
 She goes to laugh at breezy Spurgeon^ 
 
 But comes away with cries ; 
 And for a week she has the surgeon. 
 
 And daily weeps and dies. 
 
 Convictions are abominations. 
 
 To such a fickle mind ; 
 She acts on sudden insi^irations. 
 
 Of vanity and wind. 
 
 She knows no principle for guiding. 
 
 But that of private ease ; 
 No hearty love, or hate abiding — 
 
 Except of fools and fleas. 
 
 And yet she has a creed or crotchet. 
 
 She often likes to own ; 
 A wild belief, howe'er she botch it. 
 
 In all that is unknown. 
 
 The wonders of the future widen. 
 
 On her ecstatic gaze ; 
 When every driveller is a Dryden, 
 
 And honoiired every craze. 
 
 Then music will be all our morals. 
 
 And sentiments oiu' fees ; 
 Our babes will have their Conites and corals. 
 
 Their Tennysons and teas.
 
 470 QUEEN PUSSY AT PLAT. 
 
 Good things she liberally offers. 
 
 In politics and pap ; 
 And enii^ties out her neighbours' coffers. 
 
 In every pauper's lap. 
 
 Of wings and wisdom is she lavish. 
 
 To all wlio cannot fly ; 
 And feels an awful joy, to ravish 
 
 A virgin theory. 
 
 She has her eharitalile gushes, 
 And rags and ruffians courts ; 
 And unto broth and blankets rushes. 
 
 When she is out of sorts. 
 
 Her outspread hand is never sparing, 
 Of others' goods at least ; 
 
 And makes of all its pious jsaring, 
 A philautrophic feast. 
 
 Her heart is open to the pleading. 
 
 Of each imi^roving plan ; 
 She loves a little friendly bleeding. 
 
 When it is tried on — man. 
 
 She tells the fop to cede his locket. 
 
 If he can give no cash ; 
 And picks a rosebud or a pocket. 
 
 With equal ease and dash. 
 
 She victimizes even the miser, 
 And bids his guineas drop ; 
 
 And leaves the simpleton a wiser, 
 Bu.t not a richer, crop. 
 
 And with his plumage parts the dandy. 
 The glutton with his fat ; 
 
 She has a programme always handy. 
 And reasons prim and pat. 
 
 And if he is not quite a statue. 
 
 What can a mortal do '^ 
 To one who throws Kamschatka at you. 
 
 And on it Timbuctoo ? 
 
 But then she wearies of her notion. 
 Or finds some fatal leak ; 
 
 And flies to dinners from devotion. 
 From begging to Besique. 
 
 She has an ear for lovers' trouljle. 
 
 And Continental jars ; 
 And lilows a kiss or warlike bubble, 
 
 To Venus or to Mars.
 
 f^jITKEN I'USSY AT. PLAY. 471 
 
 Astronomy is nover sli!>'htetl, 
 
 AVlieu she is one of two ; 
 Nor does she dread to be benighted. 
 
 If Cupid holds the clue. 
 
 Sli(i notes the ebb and flow of nations. 
 
 And individual pests ; 
 Compound and simple oscillations, 
 
 Of particles and breasts. 
 
 Each doctrine of the day she dockets, 
 
 With its appropriate mark ; 
 And fresh impertinences pockets. 
 
 That flovirish in the dark. 
 
 Our wooden walls she tiirns to faggots, 
 
 And blasts time-honoured stones ; 
 Unfolds the mysteries of maggots, v 
 
 And lisps of laws and bones. 
 
 She saps with smiles the solid flooringa. 
 
 On which our fathers trod ; 
 And drifts ns from the ancient moorings. 
 
 That anchor man to God. 
 
 And if her course be somewhat heady. 
 
 She always finds a guide ; 
 And is for either fortime ready, 
 
 A romp or regicide. 
 
 And then with sad and sapient presage, 
 
 She cleaves the coming storm ; 
 And wrings from time its funeral message. 
 
 The future's final form. 
 
 But in the rising of redressers. 
 
 She partial comfort finds ; 
 And swears by pipeclay and professors. 
 
 And milliners of minds. 
 
 She sings of Truth's refined attrition. 
 
 That moulds the meanest lot ; 
 The solemn march and imposition. 
 
 Of calicoes and rot ; 
 
 The splendid vice and spurious blurtingg. 
 
 Of retrograde advance ; 
 The charms of reason and of shirtings. 
 
 Of roast beef and romance ; 
 
 The iron grip of Law, that throttles 
 
 The native's noble stay ; 
 And moniiments of broken bottles. 
 
 That bound imperial sway ;
 
 472 QUEEN PUSSY AT PLAT, 
 
 The coarse machinery for schooling 
 Fair freedom's struggling flower ; 
 
 That nlark a taste for rum and ruling. 
 With no backbone of power ; 
 
 The spawn of claptrap's last aljortions. 
 That preaches peace and rape ; 
 
 And evolution's grim contortions. 
 That grind us into shape. 
 
 Afar she scents the. coming schisms^ 
 In parliaments and powers ; 
 
 Says juries are anachronisms. 
 And judges leaning towers. 
 
 She sees the rifts of institutions, 
 
 In every bench and board ; 
 And of the Comtist resoliitions. 
 
 She keeps a ready hoard. 
 
 With wit from chibs and racing courses. 
 
 Her tongue is ever tart ; 
 The things she dannis she yet endorses. 
 
 And worships kings at heart. 
 
 She tall?:s of headsmen and of axes. 
 And goes the same to Court ; 
 
 Inveighs against the grinding taxes. 
 And pays though funds are short. 
 
 She calls oppressors food for faggots. 
 But thinks their cellars right ; 
 
 She despots deems a meal for maggots. 
 And dines with them at night. 
 
 She vows that exile is for traitors. 
 And likes them rather nigh ; 
 
 Terms gallows glorioiis educators. 
 And would not hru't a fly. 
 
 She chants the charms of lower classes. 
 But owns their odour bad ; 
 
 Upholds the sovereignty of masses. 
 And could not touch a cad. 
 
 And while she breathes her fiery vaunting, 
 She screams should peril press ; 
 
 And though she rails at waste, is flaunting 
 A fifty-guinea dress. 
 
 And then she weeps at wicked factions. 
 But picks from party stoi'e ; 
 
 And mourns for rulers' gross exactions, 
 yet screws her servaaits more.
 
 QUEEN rUSST AT I'LAY. '1'73 
 
 THE TRANSFOEMATION AND ANTI-CLIMAX. 
 
 But when she turns a tearful ranter. 
 
 And wails at statesmen's guile ! • 
 'Tis not distress btit the deeantei". 
 
 And less belief than bile. 
 
 And should she play at crime or treason. 
 
 The only cvire is this — 
 To catch her in a softer season, 
 
 And conquer with a kiss. 
 
 And if she still her logic presses. 
 
 Then praise her hair and eyes ; 
 And answer reasons witli caresses. 
 
 Or cxrguments with sighs. 
 
 But should she yet liave grievance cases. 
 
 Then smile her cares away ; 
 And fight her fears with more embraces. 
 
 And doubt with love allay. 
 
 And matrimony then will smother. 
 
 Her discontented tone ; 
 And when she is a wife and mother. 
 
 She will respect the Throne. 
 
 Her nursery too will teach her granuuar. 
 
 When that republic comes ; 
 And little radicals will clamoiir, 
 
 For rights and sugar plums. 
 
 And then the ending of the story. 
 
 Will strike the well-known chord ; 
 And leave her truckling as a Tory 
 
 To her three-bottle lord.
 
 474 QUEEN VICTOEIA. 
 
 POLITICAL POEMS 
 
 QUEEN VICTORIA, 1887. 
 
 God bless our gracious Queen, 
 Who blest to us has been, 
 
 Throvig'h liopes and fears ; 
 To laboui'er's lowly spade. 
 To soldier's battle blade. 
 In sunshine and in shade. 
 
 These fifty years. 
 
 Clod bless the Queen. 
 
 God bless our noble Queen, 
 In perils hid or seen. 
 
 In earthqiiake throes ; 
 Victorious make her power. 
 Be unto her a Tower, 
 Though tempests darkly lower. 
 
 Against her foes. 
 
 God bless the Queen I 
 
 God bless our gentle Queen, 
 Whose Court's unspotted sheen, 
 
 Ovu- beacon is ; 
 Whose fair and lofty life. 
 As woman, mother, wife. 
 In stillness and in strife. 
 
 Was ever His. 
 
 God bless the Queen I 
 
 God bless our blameless Queen, 
 Her judgment sword make keen. 
 
 If fall it nuist ; 
 Love be her Royal dress —   
 Her armour for distress, 
 Her breastplate righteousness. 
 
 Her buckler triist. 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 God bless our loving Queen, 
 From scathe and evil screen, 
 
 Her happy throne ; 
 Her head with glory crown. 
 And send her history down. 
 Written in true renown 
 
 Not crumbling stone. 
 God bless the Queen !
 
 HOW THEY GOVERN US. ^Vc 
 
 God bless oiir hononrecl Queen, 
 Preserve her memory green. 
 
 As Ens^land's soil ; 
 Let song her trimnjDh swell. 
 To children's children tell, 
 She wisely rnled and well, 
 
 And shared onr toil. 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 God, who is ever King, 
 Bless her and treasures bring. 
 
 Earth can but feign ; 
 Make over sea and land. 
 Which lie within His hand, 
 Her people as the sand, 
 
 And by her reign. 
 God bless the Queen ! 
 
 HOW THEY GOVEIIX US. 
 
 Two cronies were they and yet one. 
 That sat upon the stile. 
 
 As they for ages now had done- 
 It seemed a little while ; 
 
 They sat upon the stile, because 
 It could not sit on them. 
 
 And talked of lollipops and laws. 
 And each new theorem ; 
 
 Why little babes have little teeth. 
 Within their gums to bite. 
 
 And what's Society, beneath 
 Its sugar plums and spite. 
 
 They sat upon that ancient stile. 
 
 Awaking and in sleep. 
 It pleased the Popinjay to smile. 
 
 The Nincompoop to weep ; 
 The Popinjay he smiled so long, 
 
 As often as he durst ; 
 That soup and sentiments went wrong. 
 
 And every button burst ; 
 He smiled, as one who fondly thinks 
 
 He backs the winning steed. 
 And all the tiny Tiddlywinks 
 
 Came running out to feed. 
 
 That i^ainted Popinjay was wise, 
 Aiid scattered crumbs of wit, 
 
 Blue-ljooks and precedents and pies, 
 That sometimes someone hitj
 
 47(j HOW THEY GOVERN tfS. 
 
 Benevolent and bland^ he joked 
 
 At very good mammas. 
 Drank deep his neighbour's wino and smoked 
 
 Only his best cigars ; 
 He saw the saint and sinner both 
 
 Were brotliers oil' the stage. 
 How party ends determined trothj 
 
 And smiled upon the Age. 
 
 ThejT talked of every rising pup. 
 
 In their peculiar way, 
 AVhy Irish noses will turn up. 
 
 And Irish jjatriots bray ; 
 They wondered if the moon Were cheosej 
 
 And maiden's eyes were stars, 
 Or why poor Poland made us sneeze, 
 
 And Cabinets had jars ; 
 How Gladstone was, like ftimous bards. 
 
 In twenty places born. 
 Or gave but telegrams and cards. 
 
 And kicked at facts in scorn. 
 
 It did appear a curious fate. 
 
 None coimted more than ten. 
 All dinner put before, the State, 
 
 And measures after men ; 
 While rulers, who a country led, 
 
 Though playing fast and loose. 
 Would take a Continent to bed. 
 
 And followed some sweet goose ; 
 None cared for principles, but power 
 
 Or just the filthy pay, 
 To buzz and sting one little hour. 
 
 Or stack a little hay. 
 
 They marvelled, sages ran about 
 
 From fancy shops to farms. 
 And left their citadels without 
 
 The money and the arms ; 
 And when the house was burning quite,. 
 
 They quarreled abotit names. 
 And parties could not then unite 
 
 To quench the killing flames ; 
 And how the leaders talked, and slid 
 
 Off with the dinner bell. 
 Then talked again and nothing did, 
 
 But did that very well. 
 
 Grood Mrs. Grundy sometimes came. 
 
 To have a cup of tea 
 And tattle, or a qiuet game 
 
 Of fiddle-diddle-dce;
 
 HOW THEY GOVKKN trfi, 4,7 
 
 Shs know the propoi- tiling to doj 
 
 In any time of stress. 
 And had siicli proper feelings toOj 
 
 Behind her black silk di'ess ; 
 The Popinjay, that best of men. 
 
 By her was sweetly wiled. 
 And, if she cheated now and then^ 
 
 Yet only more he smiled. 
 
 They often made their neighbours' beds. 
 
 With thorns and ginger beer. 
 Or danced a hornpipe on their heads. 
 
 When nobody was near ; 
 They played at war and stately tricks 
 
 Esteemed in camps and courts, 
 Puss-in-the-corner, politics. 
 
 And other little sports ; 
 For Mrs. Grundy loved high jinks. 
 
 If they were but discreet. 
 And all the tiny Tiddly winks. 
 
 Sat gaping at her feet. 
 
 And still the Nincompoop would weep. 
 
 Whatever they might do. 
 He wept to farmers about sheep. 
 
 He wept to lace his shoe ; 
 He wejDt because the crops were good. 
 
 He wept if they were bad. 
 He wept that no one understood 
 
 Who wrote the Iliad ; 
 He wept because great England's Bank 
 
 A beggar's balance kept. 
 If judges cups of sheri'y drank — 
 
 As coffee — still he v/ept. 
 
 But yet upon the stile they sat. 
 
 That shut their treasures in. 
 The Po^Dinjay was nice and fat. 
 
 The Nincompoop was thin ; 
 His tears went flowing fast, he knew 
 
 His precious life was brief. 
 He saw but men and manners, througii 
 
 His pocket handkerchief; 
 Although he had a patriot taste, 
 
 And throve on women's fears. 
 And pretty orphans loved to baste. 
 
 Behind his veil of tears. 
 
 The Popinjay he worked the State, 
 
 By subtle words and wire. 
 And fed it from a dirtj" plate 
 
 With maxims of the mire; 
 
 H
 
 478 HOW THEY GOVERN ITS. 
 
 He made the silly puppets danoe, 
 
 To every aii' he chose. 
 And called it only dear romance, 
 
 "When treading on their toes ; 
 Ho beamed on all with gracious blinks, 
 
 He beamed for many a mile. 
 And all the tiny Tiddlywinks 
 
 Kept basking in his smile. 
 
 The Nincompoop, he plied the Church 
 
 With platitudes and pills. 
 And left the people in the lurch 
 
 To nothing btit the l>ills ; 
 But then he wept at their distress, 
 
 And wrung- his reverend hands. 
 And tore his hair which still grew less. 
 
 While forging firmer bands ; 
 He wept, and bade them only wipe 
 
 The outside of the dish, 
 And collared (with a easiial pipe) 
 
 The fairest of the fish. 
 
 A rather festive time they spent. 
 
 Betwixt them and the pot. 
 In playing games of Government 
 
 And loo and idiot ; 
 Champagne and oysters every day. 
 
 And likewise every night. 
 That wretched patriots had to pay. 
 
 Toiling with all their might ; 
 Admiring crowds, an easy seat 
 
 In which they sweetly slept, 
 And practised how to drink and eat. 
 
 Or simply smiled and wept. 
 
 They talked of scandals, how Lord This 
 
 Made love to Lady That, 
 Who sold a kingdom for a kiss, 
 
 A rosebud and a cat ; 
 How noodle Jack was made a peer. 
 
 And Tom enriched his shelf 
 By brewing fools the famous beer. 
 
 He never touched himself ; 
 But if a creature passed, that, lo. 
 
 Had some productive frame. 
 They thought it sinful it shoxild go 
 
 As heavy as it came. 
 
 It seemed a shabby trick, the twain 
 Shoiild milk their neighbour's goat. 
 
 But Mrs. OruMdy hid their gain 
 Behind her petticoat ;
 
 HOW THEY GOVERN tTS, 479 
 
 You see, she always made it I'i^-lit, 
 
 By her decorous dress. 
 That covered every sort of plio-ht. 
 
 From killing- to caress ,- 
 And then tlic Popinjay was fat. 
 
 He hoped for better days. 
 Passed round his comprehensive hat. 
 
 And solid went for stays. 
 
 It idle were, to tell the plans 
 
 By which they conquering ^•vent, 
 With mops and sops and kitclien pans. 
 
 That pair benevolent; 
 Though daring people said, the stile 
 
 Ere long would topple down, 
 For all the Popinjay might smile. 
 
 And crack some person's " crown ": 
 They fenced their power with further links. 
 
 And deeper struck its roots, 
 And all the tiny Tiddlywinks 
 
 Made blacking for their V)Oots. 
 
 They always left a sort of lo(ip. 
 
 By which they might recede, 
 The Popinjay and Nincompoop, 
 
 For they were wise indeed ; 
 They had a useful box of salve. 
 
 To soothe the bitter brunt. 
 If ever through that safety-valve. 
 
 They made their exeunt ; 
 'Twas wrought of butter and of jam. 
 
 Of legal writs that squash 
 Unpleasant things, mint-sauce and lamb — 
 
 And not unknown as Bosh ! 
 
 They held a big Umbrella too, 
 
 Though badly soiled and seamed, 
 And a tall cock-a-doodle-doo. 
 
 That on his dunghill screamed ; 
 Beneath that patched and palsied roof 
 
 Of soap and artful lies, 
 Flocked creatures that lived else aloof, 
 
 And called it compromise ; 
 Their genius, which was highly paid. 
 
 Turned little what was great. 
 And fiddled over it — some said. 
 
 That dunghill was the State. 
 
 Their purpose was, to humotar folks 
 
 With promises and bims. 
 With pretty toys and prurient jokes. 
 
 Or something new in guns ;
 
 480 POLITICS. 
 
 To pledge whatever they might ask, 
 
 Wlio liked a thiimpino- tale. 
 And running keep a goodly cask 
 
 Of soi>orific ale ; 
 And so they choked Lord Randolph's lynx. 
 
 And members armed witli maps. 
 While all the tiny Tiddlywinks 
 
 Fed humbly on their scraps. 
 
 POLITICS. 
 
 If you have a son, believing 
 
 Simply what he thinks will pay. 
 Scoffer, sceptic past retrieving. 
 
 But in sickness known to pray — 
 One who loves the true and solemn 
 
 ^Never, save for social need. 
 With the money-market cohimn 
 
 Frames his temple out of greed — 
 One whose glory is to question 
 
 Pennies on the Gospel spent. 
 Pounds to give his d d digestion — 
 
 Push him into Parliament. 
 
 If you have a son, so stupid 
 
 That he cannot learn at school. 
 Blind to his own faults as Cvipid, 
 
 Just an utter downright fool — 
 One who scarcely knows his letters. 
 
 Always bottom of his class. 
 Hates and ridicules his betters. 
 
 But will follow any ass —   
 One who never grasped a notion, 
 
 Though as plain as man's descent. 
 Yet would back the wildest mction — 
 
 Push him into Parliament. 
 
 If you have a son, whose knowledge 
 
 Lies where vice and vei-min creep. 
 Publicly expelled from college. 
 
 Very black among black sheep — 
 One who shines in dealing shady. 
 
 Blown by any doiibtful wind. 
 Would an infant stiike or lady. 
 
 Leads into the ditch the blind- 
 One who likes his cards and cheating. 
 
 Loaded dice and other tricks, 
 While you bet upon his beating. 
 
 Let him play at Politics.
 
 POLITICS. 4S1 
 
 If yovi have a son, whose knowledge 
 
 Lies where vice and vermin creep, 
 Publicly expelled from coUeo-e, 
 
 Very black among l^lack slioep — 
 One who shines in dealing shady. 
 
 Blown by any doubtful wind, 
 Would an infant strike or lady, 
 
 L6ads into the ditch the ]>lind — 
 One who likes his cards and cheating-^ 
 
 Loaded dice and other tricks. 
 While you bet upon his beating. 
 
 Let him play at Politics. 
 
 If you have a son, a selfish 
 
 Seeker, deaf to other's pain; 
 Shut from duty as a shell-fish. 
 
 Oldening unto nought but gain — 
 One who greedy is, and grovels 
 
 Down among the vilest mates. 
 Nursed on neighbours' wine and novels, 
 
 Einsings out of dirty plates — 
 One who souses in the meanest 
 
 Mess, the boot avenging licks, 
 Happy only when uncieaiiest. 
 
 Let him roll in Politics. 
 
 If you have a son. who lying 
 
 Always on a settled plan, 
 Prejudice like truth defying, 
 
 Scorns to be an honest man — 
 One whose falsehoods too are clever. 
 
 Troubled not by pangs of gout. 
 Conscience often called, and never 
 
 In his worst excess found out — 
 One who laughs at honour's holding. 
 
 And against decorum bent, 
 He has got a statesman's moulding — 
 
 Push him into Parliament, 
 
 If you have a son, a trial 
 
 Daily, with the lips that store 
 Platitudes, nor take denial. 
 
 Grown a nuisance and a bore — 
 One who but delights to dab))le 
 
 In the oldest tales and freaks, 
 Whose unceasing aimless babble 
 
 Empties rooms, whene'er he speaks — ' 
 One who, with the same dull paces, 
 
 Dances to the same intent. 
 Fossil cant and common-places — 
 
 Puah him into Parliament.
 
 482 I'OLITICS. 
 
 If you liave a son, a laggard 
 Proved in each respected line, 
 
 Thonu-h a ripe and ready blackguard. 
 Swilling from the trough of swine — 
 
 One who hrazen is of featiire, 
 Big and blatant in his voice. 
 
 Cruel i^nto every creature 
 
 In his service, and l\v choice — 
 
 One who sins and sins with unction, 
 And at deed of mercy sticks, 
 
 Never felt an hour's compunction- 
 Let him stew in Politics. 
 
 If you have a son, in revel 
 
 Still nn soiled and loving right. 
 Whom the world and flesh and Devil 
 
 Hitherto have failed to }>light — 
 One who helpful is and human. 
 
 Whom the wine-cup cannot drown. 
 Strong against the arts of woman. 
 
 That might drag an angel down — 
 One who finely fills his station. 
 
 Building not with others' bricks — 
 If for him you seek damnation. 
 
 Let him plunge in Politics. 
 
 If you have a son, devoted 
 Mainly to the village puli. 
 
 Fond of gossip, and denoted 
 Bad l)y every decent club — 
 
 One who burns the midnight c.indk-, 
 Eank witli nameless orgies" reek, 
 
 Tr\impet of the last new scandal 
 Bringing Iduslies to the cheek — 
 
 One who all your care h;is undone, 
 Euining yt>ur fame and rent, 
 
 (yood for the worst cluli in London- 
 Push him into Parliament. 
 
 If vou have ;i. won, whose idle 
 
 Hands are always doing harm. 
 Kept not in by bit and l_)ridle 
 
 Known to the paternal arm — 
 One who will not toil, or study 
 
 Useful things that cost liini pains. 
 Wipes on yoi^ and carpets, nuiddy 
 
 Shoes and actions that leave stains- 
 One who spoils your nags' condition. 
 
 Fires with wild cigars your ricks —   
 He may yet lead Op]x>sition, 
 
 L<^t iiiiu work ul Politics;.
 
 A PERSONAGE IN POLITICS. 483 
 
 A PERSONAGE IX POLITICS. 
 1 
 
 He read the Sunday lessons in his church, 
 He cut down trees and took to conjurmg tricks. 
 He always left his comrades in the lurch. 
 Worked hard with toys, and played at politics. 
 
 2 
 A statesman without principle or plan, 
 A ]xitriot who laid low his country's flag, 
 Great as a babblei', sophist, charlatan. 
 He left behind him but his " Gladstone Bao- " 
 
 3 
 An antiquary, casuist, divine. 
 He knew some sort of Greek, a little Latin, 
 Betrayc^d his brethren and his base design. 
 And (when once out) he could not get the 'cat in. 
 
 4 
 He loved of church and theatre to sip. 
 Protested foul was fair and niglit was day, 
 Knew every uiorta} thing but statesmanship, 
 S nd bullied bravely and then ran away. 
 
 5 
 He only had one friend— the " Daily News," 
 He let no pledge his glorious freedom bind. 
 He hated liouour, empire, truth, and Jews — 
 The cleverest, shiftiest, smallest of ma ^ kind. 
 
 G 
 He failed to stand because on rotten ground, 
 He coidd not walk and yet attempted flying, 
 His life was noted less for sense than sound. 
 But the best thing he ever did was— dying. 
 
 lie tried at every trade and failed in all. 
 
 He squandered goods that filled his neiglibour's shelf, 
 
 He found a nation great and left it small. 
 
 And millions ruled who c-ould not rule himself. 
 
 « 
 He trimmed and twisted, quibbled, sense defied. 
 Explained, distinguished, what he said denied, ' 
 He pawned his conscience for Iscariot's place. 
 And wove his glory of a world's disgrace. 
 
 9 
 He served his country while it served his ends, 
 To keep the traitors whom he called his friends. 
 And was so deeply moved by Eidn's fate. 
 He chucked his brother's gold into the plate 
 
 10 " 
 He changed his views witli every passing gust. 
 He covered all he touched wifh dirt or dust. 
 Betrayed his fellows, stol(>n l)ooty <j-avc. 
 And paid his servants A\'illi the suck or 'grave,
 
 484 HOME CUBED. 
 
 11 
 
 He talked and talked but never did a thing. 
 He fiddled loudly upon every string. 
 His love of morning was the evening's hate. 
 His actions always (even his death) too late. 
 
 12 
 The slave of feeling, enemy to fact. 
 He broke his i^arty, cause, and every fact, 
 Deserted all his friends, and lived and lied. 
 And only when his venom failed him died. 
 
 He sold his soul to get a bloody power. 
 With his own hand his comrades' funeral rung, 
 For lasting shame he won a triumph hour, 
 And over England's ashes piped and simg. 
 
 14 
 Shifting and drifting, shiiffling on he erred, — 
 OiEce to honour, victory to right, 
 And party still to principle preferred — 
 Till cursing yet he sank in native night. 
 
 15 
 He picked the poor man's jDOcket, filled his own. 
 Who left a siillied flag, an empty purse ; 
 He reaped the evil vanity had sown, — 
 To Church and State, allies and all, a curse. 
 
 10 
 He loved with passion — but he loved his ovvn. 
 He laboured hard — b\\t for the Judas pelf. 
 He knew all — save tlie duty left unknown. 
 He worshipped greatly — but it was himself. 
 
 17 
 He swore that blaek was white and ill was good. 
 Until the doom of blindness grew his fate, — 
 While fabrics fell, that once augustly stood — • 
 Triie to the last, the Devil's advocate. 
 
 He took the colour of the time and spot, 
 Pvilled up his plans bofoi-e they struck their roots. 
 Tied fast some purpose to untie the knot. 
 Imprisoned scoundrels fii-st — then blacked their boots. 
 
 HOME CURED. 
 
 Long upon her suffering bed she lay, 
 
 Ever doctors came and doctors went. 
 
 Felt her pulse, prescribed a better way. 
 
 Dosed her, bled her, with the best intent — 
 
 Drugged her, drenched her, for her numerous ills. 
 
 Lavished medicines that they never took. 
 
 Gave heroic parliamentary pills, 
 
 4.11 the reniedies they lee.rnt from book —
 
 A CRY FEOM THE CiTTTTER. " 4S5 
 
 PoTilticed, blistered, bandao-ed, picked her up, 
 Fiimig-ated, tickled, piilled her down, 
 Stutt'ed her platter, filled her brimming cup, 
 Starved her, stript her, robbed of every crown. 
 
 Still her miserable bed she kept. 
 
 While each novice proved his 'prentice hand 
 
 On her wounds, and each reformer wept 
 
 Tears of anguish for the wretched land — 
 
 Swore they could and would the troubles mend. 
 
 Wherewith her afHicted frame was rife. 
 
 Big- with theories to the bitter end 
 
 And at any cost — if it were life ; 
 
 Bound to show the beauty of their skill 
 
 On the helpless body, they were sure 
 
 Art at least could elegantly kill. 
 
 If it did not happen quite to cvire. 
 
 Strange to say, her sickness never ceased. 
 Though physicians all their cunning tried. 
 And as they in nvimbers yet increased. 
 Her diseases somehow multiplied ; 
 Till from head to foot with bitter pain 
 Racked, she shook and groaned in fever sore. 
 While her piteous cries appealed in vain. 
 And the burden grew upon her more. 
 What the matter might be, it was clear 
 No one knew and no one truly cared ; 
 K they all agreed to charge her dear. 
 And the gains from her misfortune shared. 
 
 Whigs and Tories, Eadicals, and those 
 
 Who are champions of the wronged and poor. 
 
 Plied their trades aboiit her as they chose. 
 
 And kept sweetly knoeliing at her door ; 
 
 While the x^atient low and lower sank. 
 
 Weak and weaker tiu-ned, despoiled of wealth. 
 
 As her lovers prospered, ate, and drank 
 
 To the prospect of her better health, 
 
 Till, at last, the invalid got vext. 
 
 At the promises that lied and lured. 
 
 Took a preacher with a different text. 
 
 Saved her haeon and became Home Cured, 
 
 A CRY FROM THE GUTTER. 
 
 " Wot's the evenin news, me matey ? Tell us ; 
 
 Fiu- it's offul heer aloiin, 
 Whon ther's summut broken in yer bellus, 
 
 Au the mischief be unkuoan ;
 
 48G A CRY TEOM THE GTTTTF.R. 
 
 '^''han yer vice be loike a fiddle scra)>in, 
 
 With a wheezin wlmstlin sonn : 
 Or a rusty liingc as hano-s, a sliapin 
 
 Fur ter dror itsel aroiui. 
 
 " l!)octev hill — ar knowod he were a ciiminin. 
 
 Cause the dij) lued coffin shells ; 
 An ther Avere a cv\rous kinder strnuamin 
 
 In nie earn, loike funeral hells. 
 An he says, says he, " It's mainly pinin. 
 
 As is pinchin yer, ole chap ; 
 An yer westcnt wants a hetter linin. 
 
 Leastways not the loikes o' pap. 
 
 " " Aint yer got no friends, excep the parrish, 
 
 As ken tide yer over this. 
 That yer croaks loike bull-frogs in a marrish ? 
 
 Wharfs yer elargy niaani or miss? " 
 " An he larfs, " Ye've sich a constitootion. 
 
 As should he a Briton's pride, 
 Loike Ole England's, wuss fur Eivolootion, 
 
 An the rats that gnaws inside.'' 
 
 " Thin he tries me tongue, an pokes his fisties 
 
 In me ribs an on me back ; 
 Taks liis watch (all gole) an feels me vvristies. 
 
 Till the verra sinews crack. 
 " Wall," says he, "ar knows a barn-door creakin, 
 
 Bets the beauties wot goes fast ; 
 Pull yer through ar wull, if with some sqiiea kin. 
 
 But this time nniss be the last." 
 
 — " Wot d'ye says ? Mor fellers in the gutter. 
 
 Sacked, an hy thez furrin Ijlokes, 
 Prigs our bread, mate — let aloiin the butter. 
 
 Whither we go hang an chokes ? 
 Plague on thim, an cusses on the mortals 
 
 As is hnntin nortli an south 
 Fur the labour, jiinin at ther portals, 
 
 Takin food frum chiicUn-'s moutli. 
 
 " Whoy doant furrin chappy stick tei- liis'u, 
 
 Kip hez crack-jaw lingo ter hez kin ? 
 Whoy be ourn the poor-house or the prison, 
 
 If we're Ixicky ter creep in ? 
 An ther ahit no kinder use o' cryin 
 
 Fur the moiiey, or a male — 
 Cep fur maggots, whan it coom ter dyin ; 
 
 Yer ken on'y starve or stale.
 
 sptjnky Tm, iR^^ 
 
 Sepm ter mo. thpi- miiss ho siiiiiniut rotting 
 
 Tn ii C'onntry loiko this heor : 
 Wlian it's tlesli and hlood is all furo'ottin. 
 
 An the stranyei- drinks its heor. 
 Seem ter nie, as this poor hleedin nation. 
 
 That they tickles jist with straws. 
 Wants a precious sight o' alteration, 
 
 J n its leaders or its laws. 
 
 " Ar were allers peaceful, hated brawlin, 
 
 Niver keered as some ter roJim ; 
 But ar doant loike an woant hev this crawlin. 
 
 Shunted out of house an hoam. 
 Vittels we muss o'it, an fur our labour, 
 
 As shan't thus a-])eo-o-in IJc ; 
 Ts't'our guv'nors' dnty ter ther nei^^hbour. 
 
 If they lets uu droj) an die ? 
 
 " Times is bad, in coorse, but hearts aint better. 
 
 If the bizness limp in chains ; 
 It's the charity wot feel the fetter. 
 
 An ther's rogues as pockets gains. 
 Makin ev'ry 'lowance fur the saison. 
 
 Yet if 'ployers work ken give 
 Furrin hands, it aure-ly stan ter raison. 
 
 Us has stronger riglit tor live. 
 
 " Wot's the wuth of all yer rates an taxes, 
 
 Whan yer brother han't a boiin ? 
 If hir but a pauper's crust he axes, 
 
 An yer gives the iiavement Htoiin ? 
 Ah, tlun-'s snmnuit wrong as cries fur niendin, 
 
 'Pears ter jjass our bosses' skill, 
 Though a million voices votes its endin ; 
 
 If tliey woant, the people will. 
 
 SPUNKY TIM, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE LAST OP THE CHARTISTS. 
 
 I were niver wot yer might call a scholar. 
 
 An I aint no better now ; 
 Hut T Ivuows th(> wuth of the cussed dollar. 
 
 An am kinder fond of a row — 
 Won the coats goes off, an the .stont« comes flyin, 
 
 Like the hail in a winter morn — 
 Won the women weeps an the kids is crying— 
 
 Fi\r I were ter tlae manner born.
 
 488 SPTTJfkT TI5I, 
 
 And I fust seed liglit in a London cellar. 
 
 Won the wolf howled at the o-ate. 
 Won the Chartist boys raised the re'l amhreller. 
 
 In the o-lorions forty-eight. 
 An I hearn the t;ile, not fruui lyin jc'urnals 
 
 As is paid iwv party spells, 
 Biit fruui lads that cracked the nuts fur kernels, 
 
 Though they only got the shells. 
 It were fine an fast while the runuin lasted, 
 
 Btxt the pace too hot ter stay ; 
 Yet they singed the bigwigs they'd ha blasted. 
 
 If thev'd gone the proper way. 
 An the nobs turned out, an that Prenchy feller, 
 
 Louis Nap frum cross the flood, 
 Who went in ter fight with his face all yeller, 
 
 Got the tiger taste fur blood. 
 I remember that April, by thes token. 
 
 As I entered the earth too quick, 
 An my dad had his smellin-lwttle broken. 
 
 By a blow frum a special's stick. 
 But he says, says he, that he were a martyr. 
 
 And the wuld were out of joint ; 
 While he med me swear ter keep the Charter, 
 
 An ter stan by every point. 
 An I kep it wull, in spite of hunger, 
 
 Though it niver did me no good. 
 An I b'lieved it too won days was younger. 
 
 With the faith as is human food. 
 An a hate fur them bloated upper classes. 
 
 With ther clothes-pegs of gran silk, 
 With ther jewelled swine un crowned asses, 
 
 I sucked in with my mother's milk. 
 So the times wagged on, an I were at seven 
 
 Fur a rivolootion ripe : 
 An I dreamed my dreams of the Chartist heaven. 
 
 As I puffed at my daddy's pipe. 
 Thin they brought in a Bill ter starve us under. 
 
 An ter stop the Sunday trade ; 
 An they mistook it fur the Jedgment thander. 
 
 Cause a pi\lpit donkey brayed. 
 So we rose agin at Dicky Grosvenor, 
 
 I went out myself that June, 
 An T lef my mark (as they calls a sovemr), 
 
 Whilewe danced the Devil's tune ; 
 Fur we smashed no end of palace winders. 
 
 An we riddled Grosvenor Place ; 
 An if it v/as not chawed up ter cinders, 
 
 'Twern't us as given it grace. 
 Fur the fire it hung an only sputtered. 
 
 An the flame it would not stick ;
 
 9PtfNKY TIM. 499 
 
 But poor Dicky Grosvenor's broad were buttered. 
 
 With the broken glass an brick. 
 Ther were thin a long dead starvin quiet. 
 
 An they offered us sugared sops ; 
 As if nK>n would rest content ter diet. 
 
 On the likes of lollipops. 
 But it were no use ter tickle ailins. 
 
 While we lay in that slavish fix, 
 An we walked slap over Hyde Park i-ailius. 
 
 In the summer of sixty-six. 
 Bixt we split no heads, if we bust the fences — 
 
 Though we stirred a precious storm — 
 Ter show we was tired of sham pretences. 
 
 An we would have real Keform. 
 It seemed childer's work, an not meat fur artists. 
 
 Who had battles starn ter win ; 
 But we helped the game along, iis Chartists, 
 
 An I were the foremust in. 
 An the folks what scowli d behind ther glasses. 
 
 Who was blin ter the bleedin sights. 
 Found a kinder kick in the downti'od masses, 
 
 As was goin tohev ther rights. 
 They kep chuckin bones, an crusts, an " measures," 
 
 Won we wanted a decent coat : 
 An the swells went on at ther own derned pleasures. 
 
 With tner grip on the labourer's throat. 
 Won our hands it was as were all ther ladder. 
 
 That they scorned because we was poor. 
 While they climbed on us and us grew sadder. 
 
 An the wolf niver lef the door. 
 But they bragged, an ther words di'opt sweet as honey. 
 
 That they'd cheapened the people's bread ; 
 But the loaf's no meal without the money. 
 
 An it won't bring back yer dead. 
 So the years they pass'd, and our needs waxed riper. 
 
 An they dolin us crumbs an sich ; 
 But the workin-mau allers paid the piper, 
 
 An no hoppin med him I'ich. 
 An it were no grist jest ter call him brother, 
 
 If he only hacl things ter pay ; 
 Won they give with one hand, with the other 
 
 They took better goods away. 
 Es, the bread were cheap, and the work were eheai^er, 
 
 An the labourer did'nt look up ; 
 Fur the honest arm as were the reaper. 
 
 Couldn't get a bite or sup. 
 Whar's the fun of they prices lower fallin 
 
 An a fiddlin we is free. 
 Won a chap who will can't ply his callin, 
 
 An there aint no Trade ter see ?
 
 49n sptrNKT TIM. 
 
 I wevc nivov wdt yov iiii<;-ht call a soholav. 
 
 But I knows exti-ejnt'S won't mix; 
 An a^in with the boys I off my collar. 
 
 In the blossi'd eis^'hty-six. 
 It were time, fur matters turned all contrai'y. 
 
 An us thoiisands had the sack. 
 In the second week of Febnaiy, 
 
 On the Monday they names Black. 
 But them plaa^uey thieves with their dirty mannerSj 
 
 As can only steal an shout. 
 They has lef a stain on our bright banners. 
 
 Which can sceercely 1)0 washed out 
 'Twas ther stories as killed that carriao'e beauty. 
 
 An not one of our Chartist pals : 
 I'd hit any man (fur I sticks ter duty). 
 
 But I niver struck the gals. 
 An I reckon ef Tim had nailed the varmint. 
 
 He'd a message which lie eixld tell, 
 An the cur that spiled her purty g-arment, 
 
 Would hev ijassed in his checks ter hell. 
 Pur my name it be Tim, as it's known ter Nunky, 
 
 Though I w(n-on't liaptized ter it. 
 An my mates piu'hxes likewise Spunky, 
 
 Along of my cussed grit. 
 B\it I can't git over that murdered woman. 
 
 Her as died the most frum fright ; 
 Fur my heart be warm an I's very human, 
 
 An I'd like ter hev said " Good night." 
 An it done no gf o 1, (,'f the rogues med plunder, 
 
 Thougli I cannot go out no more; 
 The fools is above an the slaves is under. 
 
 An the times as they was before. 
 Fur the bleak black fog it has stuck in my bellevs. 
 
 An I notice is sarved ter <[uit. 
 Nor be life so kin' ter the workin fellei's, 
 
 As they should object ter flit. 
 I hev foiight my liest, an said my notion 
 
 Aboiit men an maids an all, 
 An I guess it be arned tliis here jiurmotion. 
 
 If it were the Capting's call. 
 Fur I've starved below, like a fly in amber, 
 
 As has died fur an outward shove ; 
 An I b'lieve this move's ter the Upper C'liamber, 
 
 Leastways the great House alcove. 
 Though I've not sot foot in them pious borders, 
 
 Nor yet troul)led my brains with Church, 
 I niver once disobeyed my orders^ 
 
 Nor a comrade lef in the lurch. 
 I'd a mind fur the chapel meetins, rather 
 
 Then tlie parsons wot corned round;
 
 TTTR f'TTTlflK OP NO LABOtTR. 4f)] 
 
 An I on'y sino's one tune, " Oiu' Fathor," 
 
 Thouo'h ther aint no sweeter sound. 
 I weren't the shape of yer prayin people. 
 
 With relii^-ion cut an dried ; 
 I know more of the tiles of the parish steeple. 
 
 Nor the texes as is inside. 
 Bnt I holies the Lord, ef He beant no viction. 
 
 Won't fnrg-it how^ I tried ter be 
 As a man should live, in his dang-ed affliction. 
 
 An will chalk that down ter me. 
 An I niver shammed, nitlier shirked my labour, 
 
 Excep won I's on the shelf ; 
 An I done my dvity by my neigdibour 
 
 Wot's more nor he done by myself. 
 I hev laid no finger on a hussy. 
 
 Nor picked x^ockets the ways ef sonie — 
 An I hearn as Christ on all souls has mussy — 
 
 An of sich is the Kingdom Come. 
 These is curous times, and the wuld lie rollin 
 
 In permiscus sort of ruts : 
 Ther's knells in the air as of death-bells tollin. 
 
 An ther's Jestices an Butts. 
 Yei' marks coves an coves, an some is bastards. 
 
 As goes shakey in ther jints, 
 Med of drunken sots an knaves an dastards. 
 
 An particler ter ther "pints." 
 Rut tliey beu't the Five of the gi-an oh- Cliarter, 
 
 Which was lights wdiarby ter stetM-; 
 An these swillin-tubs ther soles woidd barter, 
 
 Fur as many "pints " of beer. 
 They're a class of goods as is not negotiable, 
 
 Them Socialists yer sees. 
 As is all tliat's splash, but dern(>d (itisoeiable, 
 
 An nary man agrees. 
 I hev writ my name, with reformin artists, ' 
 
 On the ballot and sich like boons ; 
 An, mebbe, I's the last of the true ole Chartists, 
 
 Wasn't born with silver spoons. 
 Fur the price be low an the glass keep fallin. 
 
 An so am poor Spiinky Tim ; 
 An, hark I ther's the Capting's trumpet callin. 
 
 Fur ter pipe the evenin hynui. 
 
 THE CUl^SE OF NO LABOUK. 
 
 It is not that we are idle. 
 It is not that we are proud. 
 
 If we slouch along or sidle 
 In the silence or the crowd. 
 
 With our pallid cheeks and hollow. 
 And the shuffling shambling tread
 
 492 THE CURSE OF NO LABOUR. 
 
 Of the steps that slowly follow 
 
 Other victims to the dead. 
 It is not that vi'e are shamming. 
 
 Or would shirk the toiler's fate-. 
 That we like the dreary slamming 
 
 Of the hjitefvil workhovise gate. 
 With the pauper's brand and pittttncej 
 
 And the patronising sneer. 
 Which bestows a grudged admittance 
 
 To the welcome withoiit cheer ; 
 If we creep with heavy paces. 
 
 Up and down the heartless street. 
 With a trouble on our faces 
 
 And a trembling in our feet. 
 And we beg not for your money. 
 
 Though we scorn not what yovi give. 
 We have heaped up for you honey. 
 
 And we only ask to live. 
 2 
 
 It is not the curse of laboiir. 
 
 Which we suffer day and night ; 
 As we see each man his neighbour. 
 
 Sinking deeper in his plight. 
 For these hands are scarred with toiling. 
 
 And these brows are seamed and worn 
 By the burden of the broiling. 
 
 Which we long have gaily borne ; 
 With the dim and dying ember, 
 
 And tlie scarcely broken fast. 
 To the fogs of dark December 
 
 Eight from Janiiary's blast. 
 It is not th;it v/e are thriftless, 
 
 Or wer(^ skiTlking sots and knaves. 
 When we shabby go and shiftless 
 
 On the road beset with graves— 
 When our wives are bowed with weeping. 
 
 And lie smitten in the dust. 
 And the children pine for sleeping. 
 
 From the lacking of a crust. 
 T'ts the curse of no employment. 
 
 Which we sorely feel and dread ; 
 And we crave not for enjoyment, 
 
 But for daily work and bread. 
 
 3 
 
 It is not that food is dearer. 
 
 Which our arms have helped to reap ; 
 
 For though want was never nearer. 
 The food never was more cheap. 
 
 But we may not ply otir calling. 
 And we must not use our skill ;
 
 THE ADJOURNMENT. 493 
 
 And if bread is lower falling, 
 
 We are falling lower still. 
 And why mock ns with the plenty. 
 
 Which we have no power to get — 
 Not a single man in twenty — 
 
 And with labour cheaper yet ? 
 It is not that gold is failing. 
 
 For the coffers are too full ; 
 But they do not aid oiir ailing, 
 
 Thongh the little fingers pull. 
 And the Trade (in Freedom's title !) 
 
 Has forsaken us and flown 
 To sti-ange lands, without requital. 
 
 Which are careful of their own ; 
 While we miss the means which nourish. 
 
 And the strivings movivn which stay. 
 Just that foreign herirths may flourish 
 
 And a Party have its day. 
 
 4. 
 
 It is not that we woiild hanker 
 
 For the goods of richer men ; 
 We despise the social canker. 
 
 Of the poisoned speech and pen. 
 But we weary and we sorrov.-. 
 
 For the wounds we cannot heal ; 
 And if l)lacker were the morrow. 
 
 We would rather die than steal. 
 Though we stagger on and stumble, 
 
 And our loved ones fade and' fall. 
 And we may be poor and liumble, 
 
 We are honest before all. 
 From our dwellings wo arc driven. 
 
 By the bitter cry of need ; 
 For the darlings, who were given 
 
 Unto us, we may not feed. 
 And we dare not v/atch them ])erisli. 
 
 As the helpless never should. 
 When we swore and meant to cherish, 
 
 And would labour if we could. 
 We are loyal lowly brothers. 
 
 And the feast is grandly spread 
 In the happy homes of otliers, 
 
 ^Yhile we starve for work and bread. 
 
 THE ADJOURNMENT. (2Gth Ma>j, 1882.) 
 
 I am weai-y of wishing discernment 
 
 In our rulers, like mine ; 
 And I jump at the rest of Adjournment ; 
 
 If it 's only to — diue.
 
 'ti''* THE ADJOUKNMEN-r. 
 
 I am weary of talk and want resting. 
 
 If for but a few days ; 
 And T laug-h as I come to divesting 
 
 My political stays. 
 
 I am weary of Parliament's session, 
 And its wrangles grow dull ; 
 
 And the flower of some sweet indiscretion, 
 I am eager to cull. 
 
 I am weary of Brummagem glory. 
 
 Of the Parnell and prig ; 
 For the Bible says God is a Tory, 
 
 And old Satan a Whig. 
 
 I am weary of Pats that lead lilindly. 
 
 And I liope for a hush ; 
 Till sour Sexton has learnt to speak kindly. 
 
 And bold Biggar to blush. 
 
 I am weary of Dillon and murther. 
 
 And yet murther again ; 
 Though the Devil can never go further. 
 
 Than the end of his chain. 
 
 I ain weary of Gladstone's long foolino- 
 Who can only cry '• inew " ; ° *'" 
 
 And I long for an hour of the ruling. 
 Of the heaven-sent Jew. 
 
 I am weary of bloodthirsty peasants. 
 
 And want rustics to woo ; 
 I look forward to potting tlie pheasants. 
 
 And a Fenian or two. 
 
 I Mui weary of Jingo who IraveLs, 
 That witli Dukes he may sixj) ; ' 
 
 Of the problem each season U))r'avcls, 
 For the next to tie up. 
 
 I am weary already of dances. 
 
 And the kisses are cold ; 
 Tliere remains not a rag of romance.^ 
 
 And the youthful look old. 
 
 T am weary of Avomen, who blossom 
 
 In ambiguous charms ; 
 Of- tlae beauties, who boldly imbosom. 
 
 With rude shoulders and arms. 
 
 I am weary of fops with tiglit stays on. 
 And of ball-rooms and ]x41es   
 
 Of the flirts, who so lavishly blazon 
 Iheu- unsaleable spells.
 
 THIO ADJOURNMENT. 495 
 
 1 am weaiy of lovely cosmetics. 
 
 And the prottievst i^oiit ; 
 And a, twing-e for a course of ascetics, 
 
 Comes from conscience or — g-oiit. 
 
 I am weary of routs antl want more way, 
 
 I'ree from powder and plush ; 
 From the overdressed crowd at the doorway, 
 
 And the drawingroom crush. 
 
 1 am weary of treading- a ladder. 
 
 Hung as Jacob's in air ; 
 And the vision grows paler and sadder. 
 
 Though the angels are there. 
 
 I am weary of love in the (ihslrnrf, 
 
 And too general a sweet ; 
 And the passing from clubs to the cabs' ti'act, 
 
 Is my only concrete. 
 
 I am weary of fashions half-liearted. 
 
 And the rosewater strife ; 
 For the grace (with the starch) has departed. 
 
 From the sliirtfrouts of life. 
 
 1 am weary of hypocrites' faces. 
 
 Of the preachers Avho pant, 
 Through thc^ mask of their lying grimaces, 
 
 l^Vir the charms they enchant. 
 
 I am weary of dowagers, matching 
 
 Strange paees and legs ; 
 And the liumbugs, who ever are hatching 
 
 Matrimonial eggs. 
 
 I am wrary of actresses' painting-, 
 
 And auiliassadors' piigs : 
 Of tine ladies addicted to fainting, 
 
 At Bradlaughs or- I) g.s. 
 
 1 am weary of tragedy dinners 
 
 And the ()Tganiz(>d lies ; 
 And the raptnres of delicate sinners. 
 
 Now no longei- T jirizc. 
 
 I am weary of Luxury's plenty, 
 
 Though the source may be vague ; 
 For the stir and the magic of Twenty, 
 
 Are to Thirty a plague. 
 
 I am weary of follies, that flutter 
 
 Not a puls(^ in my veins ; 
 And tlie comtited compliments uttev 
 
 The most tuneless of straiusi
 
 496 "ONLY ANOTHER MURDER." 
 
 I am weary of wanton Belgravia, 
 
 Its voluptuous air ; 
 And I forget to adjiist my behaviour 
 
 To betitled Mayfair. 
 
 I am weary of elegant trifling. 
 Of the dawdling and bows ; 
 
 Every pleasure is stvipid or stifling, 
 From the Highlands to Cowes. 
 
 I am weary of Park and of carriage. 
 
 Of old china and Guelf ; 
 And I poise between murder and marriage 
 
 Or — the killing myself. 
 
 I am weary of drawling the speeches. 
 That I drawled from the first ; 
 
 Of pet vices that fasten like leeches. 
 And are ever athirst. 
 
 I am weary of all that isfproper. 
 
 And Society's ciix-bs ; 
 Of Decorum that comes with a stopper. 
 
 For irregular verhs. 
 
 I am weary of life so imbelfish. 
 And of padding my breast ; 
 
 Let me shut out the world like a shellfibh, 
 Davitt take all the rest. 
 
 '•ONLY ANOTHER MURDER." 
 
 " On Sunday night, a desperate murder was perpetrated, at King 
 William's Town . . . County Cork. The victim is John Keefe 
 . . . cause, disputes in reference to land . . . brother . , , nephew 
 . . . arrested." — Staridard, 2nd May, 1882. 
 
 We wake, untouched 'r)y ill, and break our fast. 
 
 And on the papers careless glances cast — 
 
 What news to-day ? We idly turn the page. 
 
 And nothing find our interest to engage 
 
 More than a passing moment. — Notliing ? — Stay, 
 
 But is there really nothing new to-day ':■ 
 
 And yet it is not new, the story told 
 
 Is not more dark and dolorous than old. 
 
 Just look again — the curse that never fails. 
 
 That bloody record in the Irish mails ! 
 
 " On Sunday night " [the one day out of seven. 
 
 When man is nearest lirought to God and Heaven] 
 
 "A desperate murder" [quite the devil's own] 
 
 " Was perpetrated at King William's Town.
 
 THE DKVIL AND TIlE PITCHFORK. 
 
 The victim is Jolin Keete " — but listen ! — " «/wZ 
 The cause disputes in reference to land. 
 His brother . . . nopliew " [brothers sometimes fall 
 Out still] " hiive been arrested."— That is all. 
 And is it notliinyj P Ask the widowed wife, 
 The children orphaned by this damned strife. 
 This hellish lust of land that nought may spare, 
 And call such nuirder nothing — if you dare.^ 
 But only Ireland — that's the usual way 
 In whicli they settle matters, do you say ? 
 Only another murder, one more crime, 
 A human life cut short before its jsrinle ! 
 
 Only another soul, above all price. 
 
 Thus offered up in dreadful sacrifice. 
 
 By those false statesmen who their ditpes befddli 
 
 Unto the bloody Moloch of misrule ! 
 
 Only another " woe " — only another. 
 
 And friend kills friend, and brother butcliers brother! 
 
 Only another cry, that common sound, 
 
 Sent up for pity from the crimson ground ! 
 
 (July another Ijlot on that black page. 
 
 That goes to make the sliamefid Gladstone stage ! 
 
 And though poor Ireland bleeds at every pore, 
 
 Yet London dances gaily as before ; 
 
 The shuffling Premier witii due relish dines. 
 
 While over that dead body he refines ; 
 
 And as he jwns each too well-known initial. 
 
 Declares he haa "received no news official." 
 
 THE DEVIL AXl) THE ITLVHFOHK.i 1S,S2. 
 
 From his gridiron rose the old Devil in Hell, 
 With a splutter of fire and of brimstone ; 
 
 And although he came uj) with a horrible smell. 
 Yet his voice was as sweet as a hymn's tone. 
 
 For his medical man, whosoever he was. 
 
 Had just ordered a visit to Ii'oland, 
 Prescribing a Fenian frolic, because 
 
 That coiintrv was like his own Fireland . 
 
 X On 12th April, J8H2, in Ireland, the house of an old man, 
 over KG. was attacked by moonlighters. Arming himself with a 
 pitclifork, he }->()ldly salli('d forth, and sent the cowai'ds Hying. 
 That pitchtork sliould be historical.
 
 495 THE DEVIL AND THE mTCHFORK. 
 
 But. if I inistako not, tbo naiDO of the Leech 
 
 Wlio hail sent him to Erin to o-acl on, 
 Has been written at length, though in Scriptural speech, 
 
 Bv the ominous name of Abaddon. 
 
 And nothing averse, in the garb of a priest, 
 
 That he njight not occasion a panic, 
 Prepared for a murder or tortiu-e at least, 
 
 Thus arose his great Highness Satanic. 
 
 And he said to the fool who was feeding his pigs 
 " Why <^o fattening a damned institution :■' 
 
 You must Boycott your masters, if Tories or Whigs, 
 And I will ensure absolution." 
 
 And he said to tht' tenant just filling his purse, 
 
 "The laud is yoiu' own, by your labour 1 
 Don't pay, or the rent will only be made worse, 
 
 Your improvements enriching a neighl)our, 
 
 •' Even now you are jiist on the victorj^'s edge. 
 
 In the war with the grinding of grand lords ; 
 Stand bravely behind a convenient hedge. 
 
 And pistol the spoilers and landlords." ' 
 
 " The nio-ht is yoiU' friend and it will not ]>etray, 
 
 If you mutilate beasts or go further; 
 Do not mind if a woman should stand in the way. 
 
 For there never was logic like murther. 
 
 "Be gallant and merciless, quit you like men, 
 With yoiu' mightiest Macs and yoiir great O's ; 
 . And the pigs witl have plenty of feasting, and then 
 There will be such a crop of p(>tato(>s." 
 
 So the tenants went forth in the moonlight and murk 
 
 To their deeds of destruction and evil ; 
 And the blacker and bloodier waxed their bad work. 
 
 The more pleased and devout was tlu' devil. 
 
 For they shot down the women and children, and preached 
 The o'ood news of the Home Eule damnation ; 
 
 And they thought that the era of Peace had been reached,' 
 When' they only had made desolation. 
 
 And they hamstrung the cattle of those who had paid. 
 
 And inflicted a, liell-begot sentence 
 On the innocent sleepei's, and Imtchered, and pi'ayed. 
 
 Were absolved, and tlien butchered repentance. 
 
 And the Devil went with them, applaiuling their deeds. 
 
 Though in pidilic th(i holiest pastoi' : 
 And he bade tliem sow widely the dynamite seeds, 
 
 For the reaping of death and disaster.
 
 A PAGE FROM THE DKVIL S DIARY. 49U 
 
 And for dolorous months they went doinj^ their worst. 
 
 Between crime and confessional hassock ; 
 Till tlie earth became hell, for so sore was it curst. 
 
 And the Fiend f^vaw quite fond of his cassock. 
 
 But then all in the midst of that terror and sway, 
 As they murdered or questioned on wliich fork 
 
 Of those bloody dilemmas to spit tlieir poor prey, 
 Lo, they met with a MAN and his PITCHFOEK ! 
 
 He was af^ed, but weaponed not only with i^rongs. 
 
 But with justice on outrage agrarian ; 
 And they fled, as their Master of old from the tongs. 
 
 From that sturdy old Octogenarian. 
 
 And the Devil liimseK went back howling to Hell, 
 Though Miss Parnell had kept a nice drop o' tea ; 
 
 But for years there remained such a horrible smell. 
 That all bolted — at least, who had property. 
 
 And as long as tlie exploits of heroes are told, 
 With their liglits and their shadows of evil. 
 
 There is one, I am sure, that will never grow old. 
 Of the hero Avho pitchforked the Devil. 
 
 A FA(IE ¥\{i)M THE DEVIL'S DIARY 
 
 1 was up with the lark, from my pillow of fire 
 
 And voluptuous visions of torment, 
 Thougli I go lo l:)ed late, and I never perspire,— 
 
 If it's summer I scarcely feel warm iir't. 
 And I found a Great Personage at his cigar. 
 
 As I slyly peeped in at the window ; 
 And the door of his heart he just stopped to unbar. 
 
 While he said to me kindly, " Come in, do I " 
 
 Then our talk was of oxen and horses and farms. 
 
 Of pet kittens and rosebuds and races ; 
 To his catholic mind all these topics had charms. 
 
 And especially beautiful faces. 
 He objected to women whose breasts were of stone. 
 
 And to Chinamen's ladies like Foo Sing ; 
 But comiDlained that the rest would not let him alone. 
 
 And that so there was really no choosing. 
 
 And I left him deflowering a maiden cheroot. 
 
 Lost in wonder at v.^hat dear Lord Charlie meant ; 
 
 For 1 wished my Home Eulers' lost powers to recruit. 
 And thy best of my pupils iu Parliament.
 
 GOO A PAGE FKOM THE JDTIVIL S DIARY. 
 
 Wiiile the taste of the Toddy had freshened iiie up, 
 
 And I always feel livelier, when I see 
 How my subjects delight in the kiss and the cup, 
 
 In the wives of their neighbours and Hennessy. 
 
 To the Commons I came and found Gladstone not gone. 
 
 In his happiest vein, I am blest if I 
 Did not leave hiui still speaking last night, and yet on 
 
 He went, ready to (|viibble and mystify. 
 They may call me the Father of lies, and I am, 
 
 And for lovers of truth I have no mercy ; 
 But the half-lie's my favourite weapon to damn 
 
 Souls, and nothing can beat his diplomacy. 
 
 It dishono lived a little is my poor old Bill, 
 
 And an article scarcely negotiable. 
 As a statesman long dead, though unburied, yet still 
 
 I have found him oliliging and sociable^ 
 1 have lofty opinions of him, and his mind 
 
 Cannot fail in its flight to impress you, it 
 Is so free from all conscience, and veers like the wind. 
 
 And is subtler than th;it of a Jesuit. 
 
 Then I whispei-ed to Dillon, who looked dark as hell, 
 
 ,4nd as if he had sjDent a niglit in it ; 
 For his tongue is as go(;d as a fun(:'ral bell. 
 
 And it tolls a new death every minute. 
 So he rose to explain that a crime has its charm, 
 
 And that all the great heroes were o' my side ; 
 That evictions alone are the cause for alarm. 
 
 And mere " murther "' is venial homicide. 
 
 "Stop evictions," he pi-omisecJ, •■;uid I will stop crimes. 
 
 And the rents must of conrse be just nominal; 
 Tliere will then ))e no stabs, at inoijportune times. 
 
 In the back or in regions abdominal. 
 The proprietors are the assassins, you know. 
 
 And our boys are not Teutons for toy-cutting : 
 For the Kelt is but good at the blarney and blo\v. 
 
 And is driven to force and to Boycotting." 
 
 But then Sexton jumped up, with his face of soui milk, 
 
 And his maxims I ardently furthered: 
 Undertaker-like, he, lookiiig daggers at Dilkc, 
 
 Eose to bury what Dillon had murtherod. 
 " Mind, in killing the landlord, it is not the man 
 
 That they shoot at, l)ut only the principle ; 
 AVliich was j'otten ami curst, ever since it began : 
 
 And the truth must be alwjiys invincible."
 
 A TAflE FROM THK DEVTT.'s nTARY. 501 
 
 No one evor reus half ao malii^'ii jis lu- hiohed. 
 
 And I fondly stick close to my favourite. 
 As he scowled with his body all writliing and crooked, 
 
 While he hissed, "Now yon Saxons must pay for it." 
 He prcceeded, " Too long to the yoke have we bowed. 
 
 And been inlaying' the victim find faineant." 
 Then he muttered a curse, as if weaving a shrond. 
 
 That was heard in my realm subterranean. 
 
 And then swaggering Healy, swaslibuckler and all> 
 
 (Though he paused to adjust his affecticins, 
 Whi(di were ruffled a little) arose at mj'^ call. 
 
 And gave some of his choicer selections. 
 Ah, if only such boys could take Erin in hand. 
 
 With sweet Parnell to play the hai'monium ; 
 It would truly be Froedoui's most glorious land. 
 
 And a iiattern for my Pandemonium. 
 
 I was egging on others to licence in speech, 
 
 Which would bear fruit of outrage agrarian ; 
 When the pestilent Speaker came down iipon each. 
 
 As if servants like Thomas and Mary Anne. 
 Though the boys were all mad and the Speaker got slanged 
 
 With abuse it is needless to mention. 
 It is tilting that as they were born to be hanged, 
 
 They should taste of the joys of suspension. 
 
 So I left them all snai)ping and snarling like hounds 
 
 That are baulked of their prey and barred from it ; 
 That go fighting for offal, with sinister sounds. 
 
 Which they worry and nuunble and vomit. 
 They have tasted the lash and yet smart with the pain. 
 
 And from l)lows they imagine keep swerving : 
 And with eyes that are bloodshot expect it again, 
 
 While tlwy know they will get their deserving. 
 
 Then I went to a Irreakfast lai<l out l)y a lord. 
 
 In the bosom of languid Belgravia ; 
 But the manners were all that his friends could afford, 
 
 And the morals wer(^ not of Moravia, 
 For the ladies were easy of virtue, antl gave 
 
 Their sweet souls to the claims of Society : 
 Tliough a Bishop was there, at their chastity's grave, 
 
 With some Scriptxxral saws for propriety. 
 
 Then I pickt d up a duchess, to dri\e in the Park, 
 Who has turned from dear saint to dear sinner ; 
 
 She met somebody there, I will merely remark. 
 And just told him to drop in at dinner.
 
 502 A PAGE PROM THE DKVIL's BIART. 
 
 Though tho cai-riagos shone with proiid lieaiity and mig-ht. 
 
 Yet the hearts were my private ni-^nopolios. 
 And were on the Broad Eoad tha,t is level and bright. 
 
 And goes down to my fiery metropolis. 
 
 I was next a,t a party where gathered the fair 
 
 And the frail, in a garden like Eden ; 
 I suggested elopement which pleased an odd pair. 
 
 And the pastures forbidden to feed on. 
 And I said " Down below it could not be more iine 
 
 While the course of Society siich is ! "' 
 But I did not forget my engagement to dine, 
 
 .And the evening alone with the duchess. 
 
 On the whole I was pleased with the progress of all 
 
 The disciples who give me adherence ; 
 HiTuian nature is still what it was at the Fali. 
 • Though it wears a more decent appearance. 
 I ]-eturned to my kingdom to find that some fool 
 
 (He was Irish and gray with hypocrisy) 
 Had persuaded his fellows to beg for Home Eule, — 
 
 So I gave them tln' hfdl <if Democracy. 
 
 PART [1. 
 
 "All is well," said the Devil, as gaily he rose 
 
 From the smoke of his fiery pillow. 
 " Man is now (what he used to ho) led by tlie nose 
 
 And fair woman as weak as a willow ; 
 Things are mending a bit, and the Socialist craze 
 
 Is preparing the way for a better. 
 That will wrap this dead land in a h-11 of a blaze 
 
 When I choose to slip Anarchy's fetter : 
 I must here take a peep, in my pastoral rounds. 
 
 At thissheepfold of car<ls and seduction, • 
 And relax a few more of the bulwarks and bounds, 
 
 That some fanatics keep from destruction. 
 
 " In a clerical suit and got up like the deuce, 
 
 With a very long face and big " choker," 
 I may pass as a Canon, if I am profuse 
 
 In my coat and come oiit as a joker : 
 With a sigh at command for the comely and frail. 
 
 And a sprinkling of texts from the Bible 
 Carried under my arm, and a whitewashing pail 
 
 J^'or the swells, and for paupers a libel; 
 So here goes, I will i^ose, in this muimne'ry drest. 
 
 Bought of Vanheems and Wheeler, as parson 
 And uo duke would reftise to i-eceive me as o-uest. 
 
 Though I advocate outrage and arson.
 
 A PAGE FROM THTI DEVTI/'!^ DIARY. 503 
 
 '• I see Somebody, cvor a (l.n'lino' of mine. 
 
 Still II student of figures and faces. 
 In his paradise open to women and wine. 
 
 And sweet legs with the prettiest paces ; 
 He will always bo welcome, in sjnte of Papas 
 
 Who object to liis amorous talent. 
 If he offers his friends the best soups and cigars. 
 
 And continues so yoixthful and gallant ; 
 He shall have a warm place of esteem ere the close. 
 
 In my journal of richer variety 
 Tlian the scandalous chronicles favoured, and those 
 
 Which sneak up the liackstairs of Sotdety. 
 
 " Ah, the Church is yet helfiing me on as of old. 
 
 With its hyjjocrite pomps and professors. 
 So attached to the faith of tlie fathers, and gold 
 
 Pouring in from good solvent transgressors ; 
 For they scramlile or squirm, and they grovel or fight, 
 
 For the pick of the loaves and the fislies. 
 For the rinsings of millionaires' plates, and delight 
 
 To lick nol:ilemen's dii-tiest dishes ; 
 Doctor Tinder my tirelirand, has kindled a tiame, 
 
 Au<l a, music-hall made of his Minster, 
 I'luent Charlatan, playing \inconscious my game. 
 
 Just to scare any fool or old spinster. 
 
 And the State is fast drifting along to its doom. 
 
 Without helmsman or compass or rudder, 
 W^hile the Eats that woiiid bolt in the gathering gloom. 
 
 With their spoil, as they gloat on it shudder ; • 
 And the riilei's demented hj me, sluiffle on 
 
 To the shame I assign them for napping. 
 Put to wake with the worm when their emjiire is gone. 
 
 And when nothing remains but the trapping ; 
 The sick Government, hopeless of finding a port. 
 
 After firing away with blank cartridge. 
 Now is idly its impotence hiding in sport, 
 
 And is faithful at least to tlie partridge. 
 
 Put in Ireland the brimstone goes sweetliest iip. 
 
 Where my cauldron of evil is hotting, 
 And I really to-night nuist find leisrire to sup 
 
 Witli my' pupils, and coach them in plotting ; 
 I'hen they weary of Palfour, and he is so tougli 
 
 That weak stomachs to tackle him question, — 
 They have grilled him, have roasted and frie<l him, enoiigh 
 
 To imjiair the most hardy digestion ; 
 T shall give them a change, something savoiu-y, strong, 
 
 Such as Conybeare's skin or his diet, 
 A new grievance or lie showing England all wrong — ' 
 
 Wholesale nnu'ther alone can give quiet.
 
 504 A. fAGE FKOM THE DEVIT;'ft ■DIARY. 
 
 "As to money, Fiuanco In its deviuns ruts, 
 
 Of my nietbods is proving- the master. 
 While it drag's my spent tools by the shabbiest cuts 
 
 To the end that they merit— disaster : 
 Mammon reiyns, my ricf-roy, and the death-bell he tolls 
 
 For the dupes that resjiond to his i^assion. 
 In the g-ani1>ling' that o-ives me so many d d souls. 
 
 Now that swindling- is fairly the fashion ; 
 I am proud to record — for I prompted the King 
 
 By a tip which at I'aris was spoken — 
 That 1 nearly pulled off an infernal good thiiag. 
 
 With the great Bank of England half-broken. 
 
 ''My grand agent. Jack Fi'ost, who ninst do as 1 like. 
 
 From lost labour his capital borrows. 
 Driving o\it all his victims to starve on the strike. 
 
 While he fiddles a tune on their sorrows ; 
 Oh, for stirring iip messes he bears off the wreath. 
 
 As a devilish downright hot poker, 
 And if Proteus gets cold, I will use him beneath 
 
 For my own special patent head stoker ; 
 May he prosper, in each operation that blocks 
 
 London business by any bad stages. 
 Till he anchors at last in the " dock," or the Docka 
 
 Whore I pay the most liV)eral wages. 
 
 " But a woman foe choice— mind, I mention no names— 
 
 If you fancy a tile fnll of pepper, — 
 For the rapidest goer, if masculine, frames 
 
 Never quite like a gentle high-stepper ; 
 I confide in her still, through her beanty and charms 
 
 Backing up her own ardent opinions. 
 With the magical touch of her dainty white arms 
 
 And red lips, to extend my dominions ; 
 Yes, a thoroughbred Peeress, when once she plumps in 
 
 For the fnn, does not stick at a copper. 
 Yields hers'»lf soul and body entirely to sin. 
 
 And soon learns all the nouns most improper. 
 
 " Now perhaps I had better retire to my rest. 
 
 Though a figure of speech, for a season. 
 And I hope my disciples (like Frost) will he — blest. 
 
 For their little amusements in treason ; 
 But I first must affix my particular In-and 
 
 On a Lord, whos(^ amours are all shady, — 
 I have got a delicious elopement on hand. 
 
 And should whisper a word to my Lady ; 
 Ere I hie to my brimstone retreat, in the place 
 
 For which I need not make an apology. 
 Though no Science its seat has been a])le to trace, 
 
 Guaranteed ]>y the soundest Theology.
 
 PROTKTIS IN Wl^STMTNRTER ATIBET. 
 
 ri{OTEUS iN WKSTMLNSTEU ABBEY. 
 
 So here I am, within these storied stones. 
 
 To clioose a- pLic(> for my ilhisti'ious Ijones 
 
 To rest, aiuoni)- tlie dead wlio had their Hin;^', 
 
 And lived and elieated subject fools and king, 
 
 (As is uiy lot), and having- had their day 
 
 And done their liest (or worst) then passed away 
 
 Devoutly, or with the convenient aid 
 
 Of other adverbs, when the d(>bt was paid. 
 
 And I am qidte as good as any here. 
 
 Though rtty leaf may be getting somewhat sere 
 
 And sickly. Never mind 1 The yellow tones 
 
 Will not appear in the distinguished stones 
 
 Whereiii T still can lie, as 1 have all 
 
 These fifty years, while I kept the great ball 
 
 Going. My features have the classic turn, 
 
 And will look glorious o'er a funeral i\i-n 
 
 Of marble. 
 
 Hang those precicnis busts I 
 One lifts a foot, and one a finger thrusts 
 Indignant at me ; just because they failed 
 To ruin England, and I have prevailed, 
 I have succeeded. How they seem to frown. 
 As if I came to cut the nonsense down 
 Of their untrue memorials 1 I could find 
 A joy in trimming them more to my mind. 
 And mending liistories that my patience tax, 
 If I had only brought my trusty axe. 
 Confound that ugly knave, that Chatham there. 
 Whose angry ghost must meet me evei'ywhere. 
 And haunts like conscience that I cannot kill — 
 So you are there, and you accuse me still I 
 1 hate you, I defy yoxi : out with fear, 
 Wliile 1 have got the purblind people's ear. 
 And keep it ! I shall till a larger sijace 
 In public memory, thg,n your threatening face. 
 
 Come, let me now be still. He cannot harm, 
 
 Although he knits his Jirow, and shakes his ari)i. 
 
 " Let's talk of tombs, of worms,'' and mortal state, 
 
 It does one good at times to meditate 
 
 On death — T mean the death of others- fools, 
 
 Wlio were awhile my honoured toys and touls — 
 
 Not on my own : for Proteus cann.")t die. 
 
 If in this Temple he hereafter lie. 
 
 I've followed to the end my settled i^laTi, 
 
 And killed them all, and Imried the last man — - 
 
 For duty's sake I packed them in the shell 
 
 iVIyself, poor Morley, Sixmcer, Haroiurt, and rarnell 
 
 And all the rest. 1 undertaker am ;
 
 iOC) THE CONFERENCE 01' 1882- 
 
 I snap my fino-crs now at Birming'liam, 
 And Manchester, that l)ii]lied nie so long, 
 With their eternal drivelling Caucus song. 
 And cant about the people's rights and cheer. 
 Who do not want more freedom but more beer. 
 
 This is a pleasant place, and fit for me : 
 
 How beautiful and blest it is to be. 
 
 Or rather not to be — it's all the same — 
 
 When you hav^e neatly rounded off your Fame, 
 
 And got the headstone ready, and the Book 
 
 (Like magic views) through which the world shall look. 
 
 And read the picture done by your own hand. 
 
 With every shadow toned to the demand 
 
 Of eager dupes ! And yet it's nice to live. 
 
 To show at least you never do forgive — 
 
 To teach the children in the Svinday schools. 
 
 And thunder lessons to religious fools 
 
 Who come to Church and never liad a doubt, 
 
 And tlien to go away and feel devout 
 
 For half an ho\ir ! [fs really quite divine. 
 
 So long as they don't ask me to resign. 
 
 Or oven share my empire with some ass 
 
 Who sees the woidd thi-otigh one small looking-g-lass. 
 
 And not through laany. t will live and die 
 
 For my dear eox\ntry, sunder evei-y tie, 
 
 Bnt this of OiRce ; here the line I draw ; 
 
 My service still shall be without the flaw 
 
 Of such a weakness. England's general voice 
 
 Chose me as chief, and I accept the choice. 
 
 But now what shall I <lo ? The season calls. 
 
 And echoes answer from the holy walls. 
 
 My epitaj:)!! I'll write, and be no debtor 
 
 To ignorant men : and who could do it better ? 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 " His acts were many, but his fame was most 
 That naught could sh.ake hie grasj) of Duty's post ; 
 And though he often sliifted form and plan, 
 Yet he remained through all the Grand Old Man." 
 
 THE COXFEin^.NC'E OF lS8i>. 
 
 There went foi'th a iiiysterious rumour. 
 
 That tlie Sick Man was bad ; 
 Thouo-h some said it was only the tumoiar 
 
 That he always had had. 
 There were sounds in each surgical college, 
 
 Of the sharpening of knives ; 
 With a furbishing np of old knowledge. 
 
 And of rusty okl lives.
 
 TfTT; finST flHOT. 
 
 Lo, the Frenchman, with shru^'o-int;' of .shonlilor, 
 
 Ciune the first ti> the front ; 
 But his confidence somehow seemed colder, 
 
 Tlian before it was wont. 
 Operations, thouo-h often, mere gwesses, 
 
 He accoimted a feast ; 
 I f lie nnmhered but scanty successes. 
 
 He was brilliant at least. 
 
 Then the Englishman came in suspicion 
 
 Of his livelier friend ; 
 And he swore that the patient's condition 
 
 MiTst now fatally end. 
 Dr. Grranville prescribed a pomatuni 
 
 Though his spirit was vext ; 
 And protested this new ultimatum 
 
 Was the last— till the next. 
 
 The Italian caine looking absurder. 
 
 For the grapes were so sour ; 
 But his will, which was equal to nmrder, 
 
 Alas I wanted the power. 
 For his own constitution was rotten. 
 
 He had left on the shelf 
 His loved lancets, and had not forgotten 
 
 He took medicine himself. 
 
 All agreed that the patient was dying, 
 
 And would go before long ; 
 But all measirres suggested for trying. 
 
 All conchided wi^re wrong. 
 Some advised of saltpetre a powder. 
 
 And of iron a pill ; 
 The prescriptions grew longer and lou<ier, 
 
 As the worse grew the ill. 
 
 For the ill required less of incision, 
 
 Than decision of deed ; 
 While the Sick Man looked on with derision. 
 
 And objected to bleed. 
 Till the German, with wisdom Egyptian, 
 
 And grave shaking of head. 
 Said, " In vain is yoiu- grandest prescription. 
 
 For the patient is dead/' 
 
 THE FIRST SHOT (Ja///, 1SS2). 
 
 Lo, the Demon of drink went abroad on the blast. 
 
 In political messes he will be ; 
 Goody Granville made this Ultimatum his last. 
 
 If it was not that coujiuor Gilbey.
 
 oOS THE VIEi5T SHOT, 
 
 For a very lad spirit had soniohow g-ot ont^ 
 
 And the better for all if it were in ; 
 As it knocked the poor Kingdom qnite into a clout, 
 
 While it revelled in Egypt and Erin. 
 
 Yet it matters bnt little who firgt made the mess. 
 
 When the land was the prey of the Demon ; 
 Though the Irishman swore he had gone to confess. 
 
 And the Scotsman denied it was he, mon. 
 And the Englishman said, he had stuck to his shop. 
 
 It was loixdly disclaimed by the Cabinet ; 
 And wise <Tladstone had let foreign policy di'op, 
 
 Eor he knie\\ lie w as not a great dab in it. 
 
 Though abroad went the Demon through field and through 
 
 At a chapel he stopped to have mass in ; [flood. 
 
 For he scented afar the sweet savour of blood. 
 
 Yet he wished to absolve the assassin. 
 Then he kindly looked in on the Priest at his Psalms, 
 
 And took jvist one hot tumbler of toddy ; 
 While he left a large case for assistance in ahns — 
 
 To encourage, of course, the poor body. 
 
 He was loth to leave Ireland, and yet he must go 
 
 To the banquet of slaughter Egyptian ; 
 In the face of Bright's Hat, and Ineffable Joe ; 
 
 To let blood, wns his only prescription. 
 He left Whig craft at strife with the Eadical art. 
 
 And still trying to put a new gag on ; 
 While poor Gladstone was posed in St. George's old part, 
 
 And the Cha-rlatan playing the Drag-on. 
 
 And he found the whole Fleet in a terrible rage. 
 
 The men more bloody-minded than Bonner; 
 While thev fretted and chafed for the word to engao-e, 
 
 And to wipe off the stain of dishonour. 
 Ammunition was there, and the weather was hot. 
 
 And the sailors look vastly like winning ; 
 So he said to himself I will fire the first shot. 
 
 And just set the great war-ball asTiiuuing. 
 
 In tlie stillness pn^ceding the storm, from lienoath 
 
 In the Admiral's ship came a popping ; 
 And all hands hurried forward, all armed to the teeth, 
 
 To give Aralii — O such a whopping I 
 And the first shot was fired with such fatal effect. 
 
 As was never before in a campaign. 
 That a horrible panic seized Egypt's elect — 
 
 Though it was Init a bottle of champagne.
 
 THE ROUSED LION. 509 
 
 THE HOUSED LION. (1-^82.) 
 
 The grand old Lion In.y within his laiv, 
 At rest ; and children hung npon the hair 
 Of his huge mane, and kissed the cruel jaws. 
 And stroked with fearful joy those massive paws, 
 Moiilded like granite columns ; round his nock 
 An infirnt clung, who came with flowers to deck 
 His awful head ; and baby fingers swayed 
 The mighty beast, that hosts of men dismayed. 
 
 The lesser beasts grew bolder, as he lay 
 
 Still in repose, and took from evei-y day 
 
 That passed fresh courage : till at last they stole, 
 
 Each from the darkness of liis liiding-hole. 
 
 And crept into the liglit. They trembled yet. 
 
 They could not, if they would, at once forget 
 
 The terrors of the Past ; they cowered and crawled. 
 
 Like beaten hounds, by the old spell enthralled. 
 
 Day followed day, and still the Lion kept 
 A calm unbroken. Then they thought he slept. 
 Gorged with the Ijlood of victims, and would sleep 
 Till hunger waked him. So they ceased to creep. 
 And sported round him with defiant tread. 
 Then openly they cried that he was dead. 
 And spurned him, as the rider siJirrs the hack. 
 Curs, that once fawned, came snapping at his back. 
 
 " Is this the King we worshipped _so," they said, 
 " Whose every movement made us sore afraid, 
 " Whose face struck panic '■! Nay, it is an Ass, 
 " Clothed in a Lion skin, witli lungs of brass ,- 
 "We will be slaves no longer.'" Then, in pride. 
 They trampled him, and round each mountain side 
 Heaped heavy chains, and built an iron pen. 
 But still the Lion stirred not in liis den. 
 
 Why did he bear those insults, who of yore 
 Made the earth tremble with his temj)est roar. 
 And shook it with his tread ? His keeper knew 
 Who, though a coward and a traitor drew 
 The hireling's wages, while he drugged the food. 
 And stuiaefied his charge. Darkly fee stood. 
 Vaunting his victim's tameness . . . But, at length. 
 The damned poison lost its wonted strength. 
 
 A change came over him. He stirred, he stretched 
 His giant limbs. In vain the keeper fetched 
 Fresh dainties, and the old encnantments tried. 
 The captive King his poison dashed aside, 
 And crushed him with a ])low. In royal rage, 
 He rose. And, lo 1 the bonds and iron cage 
 Crumbled and fell ; and, at liis dreadful roar. 
 They crawled and grovelled round him us I'ofore.
 
 510 THE SKELETON AT THE lEAST. 
 
 THE SKELETON AT THE FEAST. 
 
 The lamps were lit, the gorgeous Feast was spread ; 
 And to their scats the guests, with thoughtless tread, 
 Trooped. Their proiid hearts were dancing high with joy ; 
 Though forth had gone the Angel to destroy. 
 Whose name is Death. They heeded not the cry 
 Of murder, that seemed only to make fly 
 Swifter and sweeter the dark hours of sha.me. 
 With looks elate to that high Feast they came. 
 
 The master's eye ranged over that rare sight, 
 A monument of beauty and of might 
 Made captive to his will, with fearful bliss. 
 He saw alone the hidden black abyss 
 Below, that poisoned all his ciu-sed pride. 
 He saw a Shadow ever at his side. 
 And stared aroimd, with thunder-laden brow ; 
 Mrxmbling, unconscious, still the broken vow. 
 
 Fast flew the rosy hours, the mirth waxed higli ; 
 
 Wine flowed, wit flashed ; the maiden morn drew nigh, 
 
 Trembling, to that flushed seene, and oii'it laid 
 
 One pure white shaft of light, as if afraid 
 
 To enter. liovely women and famed men 
 
 J laughed, jested, drank to fairer times . . But, then, 
 
 A solemn hush fell on the hearts of all. 
 
 Forth came a Hand, and wrote wixm the wall. 
 
 Forth came a Hand, and then a gory Head, 
 
 And then a grisly Foot, that seemed to tread 
 
 r>own their mad mirth and even the very life. 
 
 A horror, sharp as the assassin's knife 
 
 Pierced every soul. Deep darkness on them fell. 
 
 While a, still Voice spoke with a fiineral knell. 
 
 - -" W<.'ighed a,nd foinad wanting ; tried but never tv\\e ; 
 
 " Gone is thy kingdom ; take thy dre;idfiil due." 
 
 It ceased. And loud the Master laughed, and ])M\e 
 No guests be troubled at a conjuror's shade. 
 And tricking sounds, " More dainties bring," he cried, 
 " Pledge the bright Future, let faint hearts be plied 
 " With generous wine." He spoke. And, at this hour. 
 Still his strong will retained its ancient power. 
 His words their wonted magic ; and, once more. 
 They ate, they drank, they jested, as before. 
 
 But, lo '. the laugh died on the curling Hps, 
 And the cold shadow of a grim eclipse 
 Struck ; as from plates uncovered seemed to start, 
 Her(> a pale head, and there a bleeding heart. 
 While snakes of Are liissed from each horrid light ; 
 Skulls grinned from flowers ; and a blue ghastly blight, 
 Like wan weird corpse-lights upon all was sj^read. 
 The Ban<[uct was the Banquet of the Dead.
 
 LTBERAt- PROTECTION IN JUNE, 1882. 511 
 
 LIBEHAJ. PROTECTION IN JUI^E, 1882. 
 
 The great Oliver gave us Protection, 
 
 And he loved it right well ; 
 Though, perhaps from excess of affection, 
 
 A liead or twt> fell. 
 And if one, alas '. chanced to be Koyal, 
 
 At this blood-sprinkled feast ; " 
 No one donbted that Cromwell was loyal, 
 
 To his country at least. 
 
 But the Liberals now have Succeeded. 
 
 To the sceptre laid down ; 
 And think lightly to tamper, unheeded. 
 
 With the kingdom and crown. 
 They to Africa i:)i'omised Protection, 
 
 And a resi^ite from woes ; 
 But, in some way, it lost the direction. 
 
 And went over to foes. 
 
 Then to Ireland they shifted its siielter. 
 
 Against crime at its flood ; 
 And they swore that the country sliould welter. 
 
 No longer in bhiod. 
 They held out to the landlord Protection, 
 
 And accepted his pleas ; 
 But the knife, of paternal dissection. 
 
 Is far worse than disease. 
 
 Now they deem that the proldem Egyptian, 
 
 Can V)e watered like milk ; 
 And they offer oui- latest prescription. 
 
 Of i^alaver and Dilke. 
 And they brandish the shield of Protection, 
 
 That but crushes its friends ; 
 And they boast, in disaster's coniplectieu. 
 
 Of victorious ends. 
 
 O Protecti(ni \ While ministers blunder. 
 
 And add insult to lie ; 
 While the ironclads dare not to thunder. 
 
 Though our countrymen die. 
 And what Moloch is worse than Protection, 
 
 For M'hich hundreds nuist fall ? 
 What is help that gives only rejection. 
 
 To the sufferer's call 'i 
 
 We are sick of this, Gladstone, an<l you, siiv 
 
 And your Libf-rai ways : 
 You protect as the wretched seducer. 
 
 Protects her he betrays. 
 We invoke the avenging Election, 
 
 For this trifling with fame; 
 To protect us from crn vcn Pi-otectiou. 
 
 Which is ruin ;md sliame.
 
 ol2 THE IKISH TZLEGRAir. 
 
 THE lElsH TELEGRAM. 
 
 It was heard in the clubs as a rnmoiu-. 
 And It knocketl at the door : 
 
 While it silenced the noisiest htiniouTj 
 Of the rich and the poor. 
 
 It was whispered with fear in the Lobby, 
 
 Like alarming of tire : 
 And the humbug forgetting his hobby, 
 
 Hm-ried out to enquire. 
 
 Then it gathered, in shajHj and complexion. 
 
 To the substance of sin : 
 It appealed to all human affection. 
 
 As it grimly broke in. 
 
 It was murmured at first by the members. 
 
 As some newspaper craze ; 
 Till ere long the dark smouldei-ing embers. 
 
 Burst out in a blaze. 
 
 Till at length it was openly uttered : 
 And the House looked a hearse ; 
 
 And the orator stopt. as he muttered 
 What apjDeai-ed like a cvirse. 
 
 For it seemed to leave nothing for eiTor, 
 
 And to catch at the breath. 
 As the Telegiiuu came in its terr^ir. 
 
 With the biuxien of death. 
 
 It laid hold of the gay and the serious. 
 
 And each countemmce fell : 
 And they lx*wed to the presence mysterious. 
 
 Of that murderous spell. 
 
 It went forth in the street that it troubled. 
 
 It was felt on the mart : 
 Every home had its misery doubled. 
 
 And sad searchings of heart. 
 
 Twas repeated in sorrow and danger. 
 
 For all bosoms it rive<l .- 
 And fine ladies forgetting their Lingour, 
 Then rememl>ered they lived. 
 
 It increased in iL^ meaning and motion. 
 
 Like a wave that is blown 
 By the blast of a storm-ridden '.>cean. 
 
 Till it reached to the Thr-.-ue.
 
 A STATESMAN' OF 1882. 513 
 
 It was woe to the chiefs of the nation. 
 
 As in moui-ning they trod ; 
 And the cry of a cjreat execration. 
 
 Went up unto God. 
 
 There are ch.ains for the brute and the savage. 
 
 That no kinchiess can bend ; 
 And when nothing is left them to ravage. 
 
 Perhaps murders will end. 
 
 A STATESMAN OF 1882. 
 
 Act I — Ireland. 
 Peoteus. 
 
 Peace, peace, at any price, my dearest friends, — 
 
 Although it cost us war to gain our ends ! 
 
 I am your Premier — there's not much to do. 
 
 And Chancellor of the Exchequer too ; 
 
 I would not mind another post — or more j 
 
 There never was so good a chance before. 
 
 For getting all that really can be got. 
 
 Indeed, I'd gladly imdei-take the lot, 
 
 But for ambitious men . . . Well, so am I, 
 
 There's not a mortal thing I woidd not try. 
 
 Yes, there is gentle John, an honest fool. 
 
 And victim to the fossil Clapham school 
 
 Of virtue, dupe of Principle and Pat, 
 
 And so-called conscience : we have changed all that. 
 
 His matter is good stuff — too good for knaves. 
 
 Who twist his moral saws to drunken staves ; 
 
 His manners might be mended, just a bit ; 
 
 For, like his hat, they don't exa<;tly fit 
 
 My polished Whigs, at oiu- high festivals. 
 
 I'm sick of all those seedy Eadicals, 
 
 Save gentle John : they g-ive a world of pain. 
 
 There is that lump of venom, Charlatatn ; 
 
 He has the himgi-y, gTim, and wolfish loots 
 
 Of the old Cassius : and his hands, like hooks. 
 
 Stretch out a gi-eedy grasp. If I could drop 
 
 Him now, I would ; but he expects a sop. 
 
 And it may choke him (that's a comfort I) yet ; 
 
 He is a fi-iend I dare not quite forget. 
 
 And seeks a seat that lie can never fill. 
 
 Though he accomplish all his ugly will. 
 
 I'll give him something — he may sweep the shop. 
 
 And ply Eeform, as housemaids ply the mop. 
 
 And sleep beneath the counter in the dtist. 
 
 And live upon cold water and a crust.
 
 5J.4 A STATESMAN OF 1882. 
 
 I'll promise every earthly thin<j tliey ask. 
 
 And squeeze myself into whatever mask 
 
 They choose to make ; Init if conditions change 
 
 (As they are sure to) I shall re-arranaje 
 
 Tlie pretty programme more to my own will. 
 
 And at but little cost befool them still. 
 
 Badlaw again has tried to force his seat 
 
 Upon the Commons, liut to court defeat 
 
 By a low trick. With his feline look 
 
 He entered, read tlie oath, and kissed the Book 
 
 Of Christ, betrayed once more with Judas kiss. 
 
 That had the semblance of the serpent's hiss. 
 
 It was a dirty trick ; but why seek grace 
 
 In one who is but matter out of place ? 
 
 He did some little jobs, and served, poor fool I 
 
 My purpose ; now he is a worn out-tool. 
 
 [Receives telegram from Ireland. 
 So („"o;ixing fails, and reason is no use. 
 Though from the first I have been most profuse 
 In prouuses ! I care not what I say ; 
 It's easy ever to explain away 
 Whate'er I said, when I don't it indite. 
 To something that is just the opposite. 
 Think you I am at all embarrassed yet ? 
 
 [Produces a magical cabinet. 
 Observe the structure of this cabinet. 
 Which is my hope, my harboui', and my fort ! 
 I liought it of the brothers Davenport 
 For a mere song ; the pul)lic guessed their tricks. 
 But T apply them now to politics. 
 You see. I have a host of ready woixls 
 And (jui)j)iles, that will loose the strongest cords 
 Or pledges ever tied. liegard me now ! 
 Just let them bind me with the firmest vow. 
 The heaviest rope that human hands can frame. 
 Or with the tightest knot that has a name ; 
 And in a moment, by my magic wand 
 (Which men call Gammon), I will break each bond 
 And free myself, and, without scratch or fall. 
 Prove clearly I was never bound at all. 
 
 [Another Telegram is ha)tded to lilin. 
 Attempt upon the Queen ! Oh, if it's that. 
 She has as many lives as any cat ; 
 I fejired attempt was made upon ]ny own. 
 Which is more precioiis far than even the Throne — 
 To me at least. It's but one more convulsion 
 
 Of the dejjarting Devil 
 
 called " Compulsion " : 
 " i'orce is no remedy ! " 
 
 Yes, Gentle John^
 
 A STATESMAN OF 1882. 515 
 
 I always say bo too ; tliough 1 put on 
 
 Tlie screw at times. And murders were bixt met 
 
 Not with more murders, but the biiyonet 
 
 Of I'esohition ; t-ratt with greater skill. 
 
 Police and buckshot — buckshot does not kill. 
 
 It tickles. But it's all alike to me. 
 
 If Ireland is to be or not to be ! 
 
 If they desire, I'll turn, as is my wont, 
 
 And to the Land League show the fairer front 
 
 Of mildness ; we must change with changing times ; 
 
 I always said, " Why jDunish crime with crimes ? " 
 
 So the suspects I'll free. And notice, how 
 
 I burst the bond of the most binding vow ! 
 
 Parnell would ti-eason-talk, and Dillon hint 
 
 At measures he denied wlien seen in print -, 
 
 And tlien I clapi)ed then, in Kilmainham botl), 
 
 'J'hough to extremes I long was vei-y loth. 
 
 I liad good leason for this step, you see: 
 
 And after all, perhaps we shall agree 
 
 To settle something for the pu1)lic weal — 
 
 " By compact ? "—No, I care not to conceal 
 
 The honest truth from every honest man. 
 
 There was a purpose in my little plan 
 
 For sounding them, to see what they would do ; 
 
 There may have been some " understanding," too. 
 
 But not a formal " treaty "—not a bit ; 
 
 To such I never would myself commit, 
 
 I'm far too careful . . , Groschen also went 
 
 Unto Berlin, but then he was not " sent," 
 
 He had no more a mission than the fool 
 
 Who is his wiser comrade's toy or tool. 
 
 And the sole mission, that my creatures fill. 
 
 Is blind submission to my sovereign will. 
 
 I made another friend, who knew my mind 
 
 (Not a real" agent," nothing of the kind) 
 
 A " reconmiended agent," who might act 
 
 Informally — that's quite another fact ! 
 
 He did not carry with him Peter's Pence, 
 
 But took instead a " note of confidence.' 
 
 How stujiid peopile are ! How they go on ! 
 
 If I was Erring what was Enington ? 
 
 [^Another telegram arrives. 
 
 A telegram ! How goes the Irish game ? 
 
 No doubt, more heartless murders, with the same 
 
 Old bloody story ;-'... No, the news is good : 
 
 Forcer resigns, who has so long withstood 
 
 My plans ; because I called his measures rough,, 
 
 And tlien refiised to give him rope enougli 
 
 To hang assassins ; so he seeks the Shelf. 
 
 Go, Forcei*, if you will, and hang yourself ;
 
 51j3 A STATESMAN Of 1882. 
 
 I never lored yoti, and I feared your will 
 
 Would clash with mine ; althout>-h I keep the Till, 
 
 And mean to keep what you shall never gain. 
 
 Now, shall I give the post to Charlatain ? 
 He wtHild not take it ; he's a prudent man. 
 And loves his person better than his plan, 
 Though plan he has. But there is dear Trevelyan, 
 "Whose very face would crush tlic worst* rebellion ; 
 And Cavendish. 
 
 Yes, Cavendish will do, 
 A gentleman, and — a relation, too ! 
 
 '[Telegram again comes. 
 
 But there is something fresh . . . Lord Sloper swerves 
 Like a raw ciirate jibbing-, full of nerves 
 And sentioients. So he resigns as well ; 
 Says he might govern earth, biit cannot hell. 
 Thus rats, false friends, and other vermin fly 
 The doomed house or shij), that may supply 
 No longer food and shelter. Ijet them tlec ! 
 More room (and more emoluments) for me. 
 Who shall have Ireland now ? A Royal Prince 
 Could stop a bullet, and would never wince. 
 But Spencer's gone, he likes a stirring scene. 
 And with him takes once more his Fairy Queen. 
 [Another telegram. 
 
 What's this ? Another telegram ? Good news 
 
 Again, I hope, from those tempestuous stews 
 
 In rebel Ireland . . . O, the damned tale ! 
 
 Has then the devil burst his tiery pale. 
 
 And armed with all hell now broken out. 
 
 To reign in bloodshed over the dread rout 
 
 Of black assassins ? He has got his wish. 
 
 But I have lost my soul in Cavendish 
 
 And Burke, in daylight done to shameful death, 
 
 Thoiigh speaking uiercy with their latest breath. 
 
 Those knives are in my heart ! Their edges fierce. 
 
 At individuals aimed, the bosom pierce 
 
 Of the whole nation, which for justice cries ; 
 
 For in their death a mighty people dies. 
 
 My heart is bleeding. And, O God, I see. 
 
 Those bloody stains are on my hands and me ! 
 
 But there is comfort still, and after all. 
 
 If i^rinces pass, the Prince can never fall. 
 
 Though individuals go they cannot slay 
 
 My politics, which alter every day. 
 
 And will outlast a hundred mortal lives, 
 
 * But "a rebellion is not necessarily of a condemnatory descrip- 
 tion !'*—C?la£isioHe, aeth October, 18S2.
 
 A STATESMAN OF 18R2. 517 
 
 As the ,^reat Tj^pe its fleeting form survives, 
 Immortal yet. So, to tell trutli, lietweeia usy 
 I am no mortal i:)orson, but a Gen\is — 
 At least a species ! 
 
 And, as time has proved, 
 I flit from state to state, myself unmoved. 
 
 Coercion now — a Crimes Act ! I will try 
 Force, even if it is no remedy. 
 Lest they misjudge me and my motive still, 
 I must disgiiise with jam the bitter pill; 
 This nice Arrears Act now comes neatly in ; 
 Commissioners will good opinions win ; 
 And I have bless;'d opiates if yoii please, 
 That calm yet, if they do not crire, disease. 
 And open am I to Amendments too 
 Upon the Land Act, if they only woo 
 In humbler tone, and take their propar level ; 
 I'd gladly give them all unto the Devil. 
 Here, as "in Egyj^t, though good people fret, 
 The Tories lei't us a tremendous debt ; 
 And all our troubles, through no fault of mine — 
 Well, I'll give all, but this — / ivon't rnsign. 
 I know my duty. Let them take by force, 
 And kill my colleagues — not myself, of course ; 
 But I will fool them yet. I'm equal quite 
 To their most subtle craft, and murderous spite. 
 Aye, and the direst curse and deepest ill, 
 (And they shall have it), is their wicked will. 
 Let Parnell out ; he is no more to fear. 
 Nor Dillon, like the Devil at his ear. 
 Still darkly whispering what he dare not say. 
 Let them have all, and go their damned way. 
 Though wretched Ireland bleeds at every pore. 
 Now that confounded Land League is no more. 
 Patience must win — they cannot tire me out. 
 Though I am free to turn and turn about. 
 They cannot shake the confidence I feel 
 In destiny ; I laugh at shot and steel. 
 I'll not be tamely pistolled in the Lobby, 
 While by my side remains one faithful Bobby, 
 Every Day We Chanqe Our Coaki. 
 
 Every day we change our coats. 
 
 Every day we sing new notes. 
 
 But the burden is the same. 
 
 And we only change the name. 
 Say, what is a mere* majority 
 Biit " a little brief authority " ? 
 
 * The Government suffered a defeat on the Procedure Bill, but 
 showed more signs oi patience than resignation.
 
 518 A STATESMAN OF 1SS2. 
 
 And minorities must be 
 Kepreaented now, say we. 
 
 Stick to office, that's the trick ; 
 
 Stick to office, stick, stick, stick ! 
 
 Turn your coats, and, double quick. 
 
 Lick the dishes, lick, lick, lick ! 
 
 They're " found out," and we're found in. 
 
 So we cannot choose bvit win ; 
 
 Party needs, of coiirse, must range 
 
 " Down the ringing- grooves of 'Change." 
 
 For the Whig and for the Tory, 
 
 It is quite a diii'erent story ; 
 We stop in and they go out, 
 "Wliile we dance our turnabout. 
 
 Stick to office, that's tlie trick ; 
 
 Stick to office, stick — stick— stick. 
 
 Take their coats,:!; and, double quick. 
 
 Pick the pockets, inck, pick, pick. 
 
 Act II. — Egypt. 
 
 Proteus. [Taking tip his parahle again. 
 
 " You promised peace," my friends observe, "Init now 
 The Alexandrian forts are, like your vow 
 Broken ! " . . . But they once more mistake the fact ; 
 I have not broken ever yet my pact. 
 And never will ; nor shall my efforts cease 
 To pacify the land ..." But is this jieace ? 
 " Peace ! " not exactly peace, but still not war ; 
 I always said, I would not go so far. 
 Let them define their terms : there is no doubt. 
 War only may be strictly carried out 
 With notice, when i^olitical pomatum 
 Has failed ; and this is tlie last Ultinuitum, 
 Of good old Granny 1 . . . They woiild rather not. 
 And call these " argumenfs of shell and shot. 
 And downright war." . . It's nothing of the kind. 
 If they distinguish rightly, they will find. 
 There are so many different sorts of Peace ; 
 And what they christen War is a fresh lease. 
 Or altering of the terms by which we hold. 
 There's Peace -pacific — getting rather old ; 
 And Peace aggressive — at the bayonet's point, 
 When the conditions have got out of joint, 
 And readjusting need, like a lame wife ; 
 Extremities, we know, demand the knife. 
 And if it raise at times a little storm, 
 Their ''War" is Peace in its most active form. 
 
 X When the Conservatives had gone to bathe, the Liberals came and 
 stole their clothes.
 
 A STATESMAN OT ]S82. 519 
 
 Ask common sense"; it's bnt a change of face. 
 
 And War is simply Peace in the wrong place. 
 
 And thoug-h the bearings may appear extensive. 
 
 All these attacks are nothing- bnt " defensive." 
 
 Though Gentle John has fled and Tories fleer 
 
 At snch secessions, yet I well can steer 
 
 The ship alone. His sentimental heart 
 
 Has ever hampered me in my great part, 
 
 Lilce France in Egypt. Nero bnrnt down Eome, 
 
 To bnild him np a true palatial home ; 
 
 They say so, if yon can believe it all — 
 
 I don't, of course. But still, at Party's call. 
 
 We may some day have to perform the same. 
 
 And such a bonfire kindle in the gamCj 
 
 As never shall go out ! 
 
 Old Spain is dead. 
 Like Turkey ; but still Eiissia rears a head 
 Of misty menace^ on the Persian front ; 
 And Bismarck darkly plots, as is his wont ; 
 Italians show how they repay the debt 
 Of gratitude, and they can hate us yet 
 Biit harm us not. And France, with sullen soul, 
 Hopes for a Dual state in tlie Control : 
 A duel were more likely. I've my heel 
 On Egypt, and I mean to make it feel 
 That bondholders can fight as well as fret. 
 And obligations must be honoured yet. 
 "But are these ruins Peace — the bloody creases 
 Branded in England's Flag P " — Well, call them Peaces. 
 
 Here comes my shop-boy, like a dustman's bell. 
 Who does my dii'ty work, and does it well. 
 What next ? 
 
 Chaelatain. The final battle now is fought 
 And won at Tel-el-kebir, as we thought 
 It woiild be settled ! Arabi is ours. 
 And waves our glorious flag on Cairo's towers. 
 The gallant men did wonders — marched all night ; 
 And favouring f ortime proves the folly right : 
 Then, in the foeman's face, they calmy formed., 
 And with one rush the fiery wall was stormed. 
 'Twas a mad scheme, but that should not be heeded : 
 The madness answered, as it has succeeded. 
 
 Proteus. 
 
 Thus barren sessions, if they laave a root. 
 May yet with forcing bear some Aiitiimn fruit. 
 And blind the people. My Procedure Bill 
 Must law become, and I shall work my will 
 About the Cloture, and can laugh at fate 
 When 1 kave crushed the freedom of debate.
 
 520 X STATESMAN OF 1882. 
 
 At present, too, there are r.o new Atrocities, 
 And folks will have to pvit uv> with Verbosities 
 \' ulgarian. 
 
 Charlatatn. What of wounded Epjypt's fate ? 
 
 Brave Arabi, of coiirse, you'll reinstate. 
 Like Cetewayo, and give Egypt back 
 To the Egyptians. . . . What if ^England lack ! 
 Let's bravely bear the bitter cost and pain. 
 As in the Transvaal, and be kind again. 
 Surrendering all, and face tlie Tories' curse 
 With a full heart, albeit an empty purse. 
 
 Proteus. 
 
 This coiirse may please — if only Caucus prigs ; 
 And I shall lose those patronising Whigs, 
 Witli their traditions. Well, Jf can hxii burn 
 My fomner idols, now it suits my tiirn. 
 And cliange conditions — and they do, you know ; 
 Transition is the law of tilings below. 
 And relative are all, both men and nations ; 
 One might have even to sacrifice relations — 
 Go, tell those stiff-necked Whigs, 
 
 Charlatain. I go, my friend ; 
 
 But I would never say, of course, you " send." 
 Proteus. 
 
 Whatever happens, it shall serve me still. 
 
 If only as the stuff of some new Bill. 
 
 I weary am of supercilious airs. 
 
 And social starch, and tramping up the stairs 
 
 Of duchesses, till this poor head is hoar. 
 
 Because T ana a lion and can roar ; 
 
 Not that they love me. It's too great a tension ; 
 
 I'll drop them and their jewelled condescension. 
 
 What do they say ? 
 
 Charlatain. They all resign, and bid 
 
 You drive more nails in your own cofSn lid. 
 Which you are making with yoiir madness. 
 
 Proteus. Well ! 
 
 — But here is something novel yet to tell ; 
 For I have changed my mind again, and plan 
 To govern Egypt for the Englishman, 
 That it may jmy our little expeditions. 
 For there has been a change in the conditions. 
 Since you departed. 
 
 Charlatain. Oh, the bitter cup ! 
 
 Do you, indeed, at this late hour, throw up 
 Your truest friends, who gave you all you have. 
 And bury faith in this poor country's gz'ave ? 
 It canuot be. And yet I feel it's fact,"^
 
 A STATESMAN 01'' 18S2. 621 
 
 The final scene of the sad final Act. 
 " I and my colleagues " * leave you to yowr doom. 
 While clovids of shame are gathering round in gloom, 
 Like winding sheets. 
 
 Proteus. That's good ! Now there is hope, 
 
 For I liave really broken the last rope 
 Tliat bound me, and ambition's wings can fly 
 Up to the Heaven of Power, in liberty. 
 I can discard them, now that things look calmer. 
 As I did Gill and Charrington and Palmer j 
 And dead men tell no tales. 
 
 No boys again ! 
 I'll keep the shop more clean than Charlatain, 
 With all his mopping. Aye, let him go out. 
 And talk of conscience when it's really f gout. 
 For I have lived to carry my intent ; 
 I am alone the British Government ! 
 Now I can breathe ; at length I'm truly free. 
 And know how beautiful it is to eb, 
 When all my friends are gathered to the Shelf, 
 And no one can ojjpose me but myself — 
 That's quite enough. . . . And I may change the story. 
 And end (as I began) an honest Tory. 
 Turn, and turn and turn about. 
 
 Tui-n, and turn, and turn about. 
 
 They shall never turn me out ; 
 
 Let the conscience pine and pout. 
 
 Conscience is a form of gout. 
 
 Louder and yet louder shoiit. 
 
 Spoil the landlords, let them spout, 
 
 I will clean and clean them out ; 
 
 Mine be plenty, theirs be drought. 
 
 Let them starve if I am stout. 
 
 Wield the Cloture like a knout. 
 
 On the head of Tory tout, 
 
 Fenian rebel. Home Eule rout. 
 
 Spare them not one honest clout. 
 
 Madtiened Manchester may scout 
 
 Measures that it can but flout, 
 
 Birmingham and every lout 
 
 Grow (like dying knaves) devout. 
 
 Turn, and turn, and turn about. 
 
 They shall never turn me out ; 
 
 Let the conscience pine and pent. 
 
 Conscience is a form of gout. 
 
 * This very modest expression is historical. 
 
 t Kadicala even now, according to the newspapers, are liable to this 
 infirmity.
 
 J523 HOW TO VOTE. 
 
 HOW TO VOTE. 
 
 Vote for your g-lorious Church and Crown, 
 
 An empire all rinrent ; 
 For merry England's old renown. 
 
 And goodly government. 
 
 Vote for the men who reverence law. 
 
 And love each holy right ; 
 Who will preserve our fame from flaw. 
 
 And keep our banner bright. 
 
 Vote for the men who honour hold. 
 Better than power and place ; 
 
 Who do not sell themselves for gold, 
 Xor triumph in disgrace. 
 
 Vote for the men whose hearts are fond, 
 Who heed not slander's breath ; 
 
 AVhose word is sacred as their bond, 
 iVho gi^ard it unto death. 
 
 Vote for the men whose hands are clean. 
 
 Whose purposes are piire ; 
 Wlio scorn the muddy ways and mean. 
 
 And of themselves are sure. 
 
 Vote for the men who will not swerve. 
 From virtues that have been ; 
 
 Who deem their chiefest pride, to serve 
 Their country and their Queen. 
 
 Vote for the men who nol^ly act. 
 What they have nobly said; 
 
 Eemember every broken pact. 
 And the forgotten aid. 
 
 Vote for the men who falsehood hate. 
 Nor work their comrades ill ; 
 
 Eemember Gordon and his fate. 
 And black Majuba Hill. 
 
 Vote for the men who still have stood. 
 True to the Nation's trust ; 
 
 For all that ancient is and good. 
 The beautiful and just. 
 
 Vote for the men who fear their Cod, 
 And prize His solemn dower: 
 
 Who trend the path their fathers trod. 
 To iirogress and to power.
 
 THK MAN AND TWE HOUR. .')23 
 
 Vote for the men who promise homes 
 
 To chiMren and to wives ; 
 For peace to oiii- eudano-ered domes. 
 
 Our liberticB and lives. 
 
 Vote for the happy days of old. 
 
 New federated might ; 
 Let England hold what Elig-land held. 
 
 And Heaven defend her right ! 
 
 THE MAN AND THE HOUR. (FEB., 1885.) 
 
 Lo, the hour has struck for action. 
 
 That requires a broader plan, 
 Witli an end to strife of faction. 
 
 And a hero of a man. 
 Yes, a man and not a mumbler 
 
 Of old sentences and saws — 
 Like a tempest in a tumbler. 
 
 Or a baby pulling straws. 
 He must triithful be, and tender 
 
 As a woman in her love. 
 And his brows must wear the splendour 
 
 Of anointing from above. 
 He must grandly serve the nation, 
 
 Though his person be the price ; 
 His uuist be the-donsecration 
 
 Of the living sacrifice. 
 Was thei^e not a man, the warden 
 
 Of our honour unto doom ? 
 Ah, remember England's <„i(jrdon, 
 
 And the hero of Khartoum. 
 
 Lo, the time is for decision, 
 
 To remove the withering ban. 
 That h;is cursed i\s Avith division. 
 
 And the man that is no man. 
 Who has ruled and fooled the nation. 
 
 Till it half forgets its name. 
 And has cast it from its station. 
 
 To the shadow deei^ of shame. 
 Now we want a faithful leader. 
 
 Who despises place and pelf, 
 Not a petty special pleader. 
 
 One who cannot rule liimself.
 
 524 I'HE MAN AND TFE HOUR« 
 
 We must have a statesman hearty. 
 
 Who can cope -with any fate ; 
 Who will not be for a party. 
 
 But who will be for the State. 
 Was there not a man, the warden 
 
 Of oiir honour unto doom ? 
 Ah, remember England's Gordon, 
 
 And the Hero'of Khartoum. 
 
 Lo, events are sternly moving. 
 
 While our ministers stand still ; 
 They have failed to bear their proving. 
 
 To obey the people's w"ill. 
 Our repute was high and royal. 
 
 They have brought our glory down, 
 Who have ever been disloyal 
 
 To the country and the Crown. 
 They have dragged our stainless banner. 
 
 Through the gutter and the mire ; 
 They have lost the stately manner. 
 
 And the spirit as of fire. 
 We must have a sturdy statesman. 
 
 Who will paths of duty walk ; 
 Not a mouther and debates man. 
 
 Who can only talk and talk. 
 Was there not a man, the warden 
 
 Of our honour luito doom P 
 Ah, remember England's Gordon, 
 
 And the hero of Khartoum. 
 
 Lo, the spell at last is broken. 
 
 And the steed is on the strain ; 
 While it listens for the token. 
 
 Of the guiding voice and rein. 
 For we only wait the mounting. 
 
 And we only want the man ; 
 Who will dally not in coiinting 
 
 Just his pennies, not a plan. 
 He nuist he like our fifth Harry, 
 
 With a heart for every ill. 
 And an iron will to carry 
 
 Unto victory his will. 
 He v/ill speak till nations hearken. 
 
 He will strike till nations fear ; 
 Though the whole horizon darken. 
 
 And a thoiisand foes draw near. 
 Was there not a man, the warden 
 
 Of our honoiir unto doom ? 
 Ah, remember England's Gordon, 
 
 And the Hero of Khartoum,
 
 NO ONE AT THE HELM, 525 
 
 NO ONE AT THE HELM. 1885. 
 
 Hark ! the winds are blowing shoreward. 
 
 And the rocks are on the lee ; 
 But for England fair and forward. 
 
 Not a pilot can we see. 
 And the ship of State is drifting. 
 
 Where she has no ocean room ; 
 And the stormy waves are lifting 
 
 Her all desperate to doom. 
 Ah, the planks they shake and shudder. 
 
 As they feel the coming fate ; 
 If some captain takes the rudder. 
 
 Will he take it now too late ? 
 For the bi-avest men are stricken. 
 
 From the precious help delayed ; 
 And the noblest bosoms sicken, 
 
 For they know they are betrayed. 
 Every jjromise was perverted. 
 
 When our grandest heroes fell ; 
 And when Gordon died deserted. 
 
 It was England's funeral knell. 
 Shall a nation lie and languish. 
 
 With a ruler in the realm ? 
 But for England in her anguish 
 
 There is no one at the helm. 
 
 Lo, the iron bolts are starting. 
 
 In the tempest's angry flail ; 
 And the gods are all departing. 
 
 With a weeping and a wail. 
 For the ship of State is drifting, 
 
 With her broadside to the blast ; 
 And the sides are slowly rifting. 
 
 And is cracked the straining matt. 
 Not a voice to give tlie orders. 
 
 Not a trump a certain sound ; 
 Thougli we tremble on the borders. 
 
 Of destruction's hopeless bound. 
 When we ask for swift decision, 
 
 A commander for the ship. 
 There is nothing but division. 
 
 Or a lie upon the lip. 
 Though the flag is torn and tattered. 
 
 And is not without a stain. 
 Though our forces are so scattered. 
 
 We a leader ask in vain. 
 Shall a nation lie and languish. 
 
 With a ruler in the realm ? 
 But for England in her anguish. 
 
 There is no one at the helm.
 
 526 NO ONE AT THE HELM. 
 
 Yes, the shoals are creeping nearer, 
 
 And tlacy show their awful shape. 
 With the breakers tossing nearer. 
 
 As if now were no escape. 
 For the ship of State is drifting. 
 
 To the nnrelenting- shore ; 
 To which many pass through sifting. 
 
 But alas, return no more. 
 We can trust the words of strangers. 
 
 We can glorious battles win, 
 AVe can conquer giant dangers, 
 
 Eut not treachery within. 
 Oh, our Gordon, England's jewel. 
 
 And the bulwark of the State ! 
 Oh, the mercy that was cruel. 
 
 And the help that came too late ! 
 Must the country's pride l)e taken. 
 
 And his butcher darkly stand. 
 He himself alone unshaken. 
 
 And upon a ruined land :■' 
 Shall a nation lie and languish. 
 
 With a ruler in the realm ? 
 But for England in her angiiish, 
 
 There is no one at the helm. 
 
 Ah, the last sad hour is tolling, 
 
 Like a muffled mourning bell ; 
 And the billows fierce are rolling. 
 
 While we labour in the swell. 
 For the ship of State is drifting. 
 
 With no happy sign to cheer ; 
 Not a heart with aim iinshifting, 
 
 Not an honest hand to cheer. 
 Must we di(^ without a struggle y 
 
 Must we fall with<->ut a blow ':• 
 Must we let the traitor juggle, 
 
 Wlio has laid our honour low H 
 We will serve a faithful mastei'. 
 
 Who will nobly guide and feel ; 
 We can yet defy disaster. 
 
 With a steersman at the wheel. 
 But the wind is growing higher. 
 
 And the clouds are gathering still ; 
 And the curse is drawing nigher. 
 
 The inexorable ill. 
 Shall a nation lie and languish. 
 
 With a ruler in her realm ? 
 But for England in her anguish^ 
 
 There is no one at the helm.
 
 THE WOKST CLUB IN LOxNUON. 527 
 
 THE WORST C'LUB IN L0ND0:N\ 
 
 Once we boasted in pride, Jind believed to be true. 
 
 That our Parliament Club was the best, — ^ 
 And the Home of the Coumions, to tjivo it its due. 
 
 Was a place which no cad could molest ; 
 We believed that but o-entlemen there held their own. 
 
 Who behaved still as gentlemen must. 
 And no law save the practice of honour was known. 
 
 With no stroke beyond courtesy's thrxist ; 
 We believed that the snob and the rowdy and rogue. 
 
 Though abroad they might j)urchas(^ a seat — 
 And sedition, if elsewhere with traitors in vogue — 
 
 Would not find in one house a retreat. 
 
 We- rejoiced that our Senate was sacred, and pure 
 
 From the breath of the blackguards who blight — 
 There was one spot where truth reigned supreme and secure. 
 
 As our charter of national right. 
 We were certain the bully, wherever he dropt 
 
 The coarse threats of his cowardly mind — 
 If he darkened the pulpit — yet there would be stopt. 
 
 And would leave not his brandings behind 
 We announced to the world, how the Commons retained 
 
 The grand style that had robed them with power ; 
 And the jiistice, which ran through our annals uirstained. 
 
 Blossomed there in its loveliest flower. 
 
 But where now is the glory, when foul is the change 
 
 Which has fallen as night on the scene. 
 With the antics and orgies to Englishmen strange. 
 
 In their dignity once so serene 'f 
 Have the sweepings of gaols, and of gutters been searched 
 
 To provide the most pestilent gang. 
 Who the ancient and awful and fair liavo l)esniirched, 
 
 With the reek of their ruffianly slang 'f 
 Have the back slums <»f Ireland been vomiting up. 
 
 The contents of their murderous maws. 
 Politicians who range between crime and the cup. 
 
 And acknowledge no manners or laws 'f 
 
 For the floor of our Parliament House is defiled. 
 
 With the strut of stipendiary knaves ; 
 And the customs of decency wither, reviled 
 
 By the lip that consi^iracy raves ; 
 And the precincts once solemn as h(_.liest bounds, 
 
 Now have sunk to a scandalous school. 
 Where the volley of low malediction resounds, 
 
 And the scoff of the liar or fool. 
 And though London has many a shelter for vice. 
 
 Whence the organised evil may burst. 
 And the gambler no lack of his hells to entice, 
 
 Y&t the Club called the Senate is worst.
 
 528 ROBIN EIDBEEAST. 
 
 HUMOEOUS POEMS AI^TD POEMS 
 FOR CHILDHEi^. 
 
 ROBIN REDBREAST, 
 
 on 
 THE DOLEFUL LEGEND OF THE BLOODY BEEAST. 
 
 Now I'll tell you a story of Eobin, 
 And how he got blood on his breast ; 
 
 Why his voice has a tremor and sob in. 
 And his life is a life of unrest. 
 
 He was once a most exquisite gallant, 
 And was known by the bravest of names ; 
 
 Who possessed a particular talent. 
 For paying attentions to dames. 
 
 He lavished the brightest of glances. 
 With sweetmeats and all that is nice ; 
 
 And after voluptuous dances. 
 He always remembered the ice. 
 
 Champagne he would offer by dozens. 
 
 To all who were fond of the fiz ; 
 And his sisters and beai;tif ul cousins, 
 
 He was never so base as to quiz. 
 
 Yes, he was such a dear little man. Oh ! 
 
 And he sang them the proi^erest songs ; 
 He performed on the harp and piano, 
 
 And adapted to miisic their wrongs. 
 
 So they loved him, and where is the wonder ? 
 
 All the ladies were madly in love ; 
 For he never committed a blunder, 
 
 In returning a glance or a glove. 
 
 Ah, the havoc he worked with deportment, 
 At the balls, in the street, on the stairs ; 
 
 For he had such a dainty assortment. 
 Of postures and paces and airs.
 
 But the worst of the mischief is coming. 
 The misfortune that led to his fall ; " 
 
 In spite of his harping' and humming?. 
 He could not be married to all. 
 
 Though he handed their chairs to the table. 
 And did just the service he shovdd ; 
 
 Like the excellent youth in the fable. 
 Who was always so steady and good. 
 
 Thoiiwh he humoured the ladies with scandal. 
 And bowed them so brightly to bed, 
 
 That they scarcely had need of a candle. 
 Such a radiance around him he shed ! 
 
 Though he said the right thing in a moment, 
 And did the right thing as he ought ; 
 
 Though he knew what a feminine No meant. 
 And when his affections were sought. 
 
 Though he bore no repute as a sinner. 
 And his manners were polished and gay ; 
 
 Though he always came sober to dinner. 
 And never went tipsy away. 
 
 "Yet in spite of his charming addresses. 
 
 His elegant airs and his drawl ; 
 In spite of ten thoiisand successes. 
 
 He could not be married to all. 
 
 So at length, all the ladies of fashion. 
 
 The ladies of blood and of birth. 
 Agreed to debate on their passion — 
 
 On Robin, his ways and his worth. 
 
 At the house of a tliorough-bred lady, 
 That seemed made of sunshine and air ; 
 
 Though her fame, as they whispered, was shady ; 
 They met in a toiu-nament fair. 
 
 There was many a beauty of title. 
 
 Who joined in the tilting of love ; 
 Who felt that the cpiestion was vital. 
 
 For her happiness here and above. 
 
 And in short it was settled discreetly. 
 With tears and with amorous strife ; 
 
 That she should be Eobin's completely. 
 Who was taken by lot for his wife. 
 
 Then Robin was told their proceeding. 
 And he bowed with the lowest of bows ; 
 
 And he smiled with such perfect good breedino-. 
 That they saw not the cloud on his brows.
 
 530 EOBIN R-EBBUEAST. 
 
 Then he handed them all to the table, 
 And helped theui to ice and champagne ; 
 
 His step was so btioyant and stable, 
 
 That none had the thought to complain. 
 
 B\it now they had come to the Drawing, 
 Which was held in decoi-um and state ; 
 
 And with wonderful hemming and hawing. 
 They drew for poor Eobin his mate. 
 
 Her name I can tell yon was Jenny, 
 She was sprightly and tiny and trim ; 
 
 But she had not the worth of a penny 
 And she vented her temper on him. 
 
 For, alas, she was artful and jealous, 
 
 She followed wherever he went ; 
 Though his homage was constant and zealous. 
 
 Yet he never could naake her content. 
 
 He tried a cocked hat like a beadle's. 
 He tried her with all that he knew ; 
 
 But she pinched him and pricked him with needles. 
 And twisted his necktie askew. 
 
 He tried her with singing and dances, 
 
 • He tried her with stories and scents ; 
 But she cared not a fig for romances, 
 And tore all his wristbands in rents. 
 
 He tried her with billing and cooing. 
 He tried her witli ice and champagne ; 
 
 He tried her with sugar and wooing. 
 But all his devotion was vain. 
 
 And she plagiied him so much with her odd kin. 
 
 While she never gave Eobin a rest ; 
 Then he stabbed her to death with her bpdkin. 
 
 And she fell as a corpse on his breast. 
 
 But she spoke — and her voice had a sob in — 
 Before she surrendered her breath ; 
 
 " My life-blood for ever, O Robin, 
 
 Shall accuse you of caiising my death." 
 
 By a process well-known to the sages. 
 He was slowly transformed to a bird ; 
 
 CJrew a Inll in a couple of ages. 
 
 And some practical claws in .a thii'd. 
 
 His coat was turned drab, from tlie uuirther. 
 And where his jjooi' Jenny had )iled ; 
 
 There Nature to punish him furtlicv. 
 Developed a waistcoat of I'ed.
 
 HOBIN -REnBHEAST. 5Sl 
 
 Foi' this is the safes' solution, — 
 
 Could a better one too be desired ? — 
 He was changed, by a calm evolution. 
 
 Though ages of course were required. 
 
 The grandest result of oiir Science, 
 
 Has taught us that nothing is strange ; 
 
 That time, with a tender compliance. 
 Will account for all possible change. 
 
 So we'll hope that in right of probation. 
 
 And in spite of his terrible ban ; 
 Through a course of judicious migration. 
 
 The bird may return to a man. 
 
 But now in the winter poor Robin, 
 
 When the gardens are frozen and hoar, 
 
 Must pipe— and his voice has a sob in — 
 His plaintive despair at our door. 
 
 He will sometimes peep in at the window. 
 
 When fretted with flowers of frost ; 
 And we say to him, "Robin, come in, do 
 
 But he looks quite bewildered and lost. 
 
 With his jacket of drab like a Quaker, 
 
 And his criminal waistcoat of red. 
 He follows the track of the baker. 
 
 And gathers the crumbs that are shed. 
 
 D' 
 
 O' 
 
 Poor Robin ! we feel he is human. 
 In spite of his feathers and look ; 
 
 For he shows such a wondrous acumen. 
 In courting the love of the cook. 
 
 He is fond of the clergyman's daughters. 
 Who cater so well for his good ; 
 
 He is fond of the babble of waters. 
 
 That steal through the leaves of a wood. 
 
 His voice is as sweet as a brooklet's. 
 That sings in the sunshine of .lune ; 
 
 And he'll gossip all day, if the cook lets 
 Him freshen his throat for a tune. 
 
 The gardener himself, with a dead breast 
 
 To feelings of pity for lairds. 
 Would not think of destroying a Redbreast, 
 
 Or of giving him scurrilous words. 
 
 The liorsp does not mind his .advances, 
 And will let him alight as he jogs; 
 
 He has nothing to fear from the fanXiies, 
 Of any respectable dogs.
 
 532 THI STOEY OF A ST --K. 
 
 In the lapses of time he gets bolder. 
 If tempted with tid-bits of bread ; 
 
 And he'll perch for a while on your shoulder. 
 Or settle perhaps on the head. 
 
 He is known to fly in at the window. 
 And to lead all the household a dance ; 
 
 But he forfeits his caste lite a Hindoo, 
 If he falls down the chinniey by chance. 
 
 His notes that we love are not many, 
 Though a pretty performer is Kob ; 
 
 But you hear them begin with a Jenny, 
 And end with a tremulous sob. 
 
 For the murther his quiet embitters. 
 And he broods on it early and late ; 
 
 While he cocks up his tail as he twitters, 
 Bewailinsr his wife and his fate. 
 
 THE STORY OF A ST K (Tellurium). 
 
 I had once a friend, I deemed. 
 Whom I tenderly esteemd. 
 
 Of old; 
 For he really did inherit 
 A large amoimt of merit 
 
 And — gold. 
 
 There is nothing like a friend. 
 Who has money yovi can spend 
 
 At your will ; 
 Who does not in conclusion. 
 Overwhelm you with confixsion 
 And — a bill. 
 
 And his gentle name was Jones, 
 I can't speak it without groans 
 
 Like a knell ; 
 For he sank below my level. 
 When he sold him to the Devil, 
 
 For — a smell. 
 
 Now there is an' awful drug. 
 Which is worse than any b-g 
 
 That sneaks ; 
 Take enough, though it's expensive, 
 it will make you most offensive, 
 
 For weeks.
 
 THE STOBT O? A ST K. 533 
 
 And it has a o'hastly name. 
 As befits a thing of shame 
 
 And worse ; 
 I will tell it \into n() men. 
 For to think it (absit omen) 
 
 Is a curse. 
 
 Bnt one day there came by post, 
 A strange letter like a ghost. 
 
 With the news ; — 
 " I am happy beyond measure, 
 For I always eats at plsasiire 
 
 What I chews." 
 
 Then soon after up in Town, 
 
 We met at the " Sword and Gown," 
 
 To make fun ; 
 And I noticed an effluvium, 
 Like the vilest of alluvium 
 
 In the sun. 
 
 Ho responded with a shrug, 
 " I have eaten of the drug. 
 
 You malign'd; 
 And though it breeds an odour. 
 It leaves brandy even and soda 
 
 Far behind." 
 
 But he was so far from sweet. 
 And besotted with conceit 
 
 In his choice ; 
 That I begged for some assistance. 
 And the mellowing touch of distance. 
 
 To find voice. 
 
 So we jjarted still as friends. 
 While we had our different ends 
 
 In view ; . 
 I, before a month's exj^iry. 
 To make a grand enqviiry. 
 
 He — to chew. 
 
 I read all the books I found. 
 That could anyone confound 
 
 With shame ; 
 I grew sadder still and seedier. 
 As everj'- cyclopcedia 
 
 Said the same. 
 
 And then in the open air. 
 
 It was Trafalgar Square, 
 
 Once again ;
 
 534 THE STORT OF A 
 
 We met, lie with exultation. 
 And I in indignation 
 To complain. 
 
 For a pestilential breath 
 Hung over him lilce death 
 
 Or its blast; 
 And I marked even men like MoseSj 
 Held handkerchiefs to noses, 
 
 As they passed. 
 
 And J said unto hilii, " Joaca I " 
 In sad and solemn tones, 
 
 " Is it well ';' " — 
 (The truth is, What I stated, 
 (Jan hardly be related) — 
 
 " You smell ! '' 
 
 But I dreV it rather mild, 
 
 And he looked at me and smiled. 
 
 As possesst : — 
 " I don't care if I am chidden. 
 The fruit that is forbidden. 
 
 Is the best." 
 
 He even cracked a joke. 
 Because I sadly spoke. 
 
 With a wink ; 
 So I talked a little longer. 
 And then put it rather stronger, 
 
 " You stink ! " 
 
 But I could not make him grave. 
 He continued to behave, 
 
 Likt) a Avench ; 
 So I shot a bitter arrow. 
 Though I knew its point would harrow, 
 
 " You're a stench 1 "' 
 
 But he ventured still to stay. 
 And to boldly give me nay. 
 
 Till 1 said :— 
 " Though you wear the finest clothing, 
 You're a horror and a loathing. 
 
 Like the dead. 
 
 Then he turned upon his heel. 
 Like a ghoul that's made its meal 
 
 In the tomb ; 
 He had sold his soul for ages. 
 And was drifting by dark stageg 
 
 To hits doom.
 
 THE STOKY OF A ST— — K. 533 
 
 And uuto this vez-y day, 
 Whon people go that way. 
 
 Through the Square ; 
 I mark even men like Moses, 
 Put handkerchiefs to noses, 
 
 And — swear. 
 
 For a fetid odour still, 
 tinremoved liy human skill 
 
 And lime. 
 Yet haunts the spot, past mendings 
 And will haunt it till tlie ending 
 
 Of time. 
 
 And 1 saw, as in a dream, 
 Adown the niig-hty streani 
 
 Of life, 
 A chemical sdlutioil 
 Of every evoltition 
 At strife. 
 
 For 1 saw ho\\' men and tilings^ 
 And our high imaginings^ 
 
 All fell, 
 Before the dread artillery. 
 Far worse than any pillory. 
 
 Of — a smell. 
 
 I saw constitution, throne. 
 And ministry, undone 
 
 In a wink ; 
 Not by grape shot and old courses, 
 But by the direr forces 
 
 Of — a stink. 
 
 And I saw the grandest powers, 
 That we fondly think are ours. 
 
 Nor will blench ; 
 Yet in a moment shattered. 
 And with all their engines scattel'ed. 
 
 By — a stench. 
 
 And I said, " The future lies 
 With the cvmning chemistries 
 
 That illume ; 
 And with weeping and with laughter. 
 Men will pave the great hereafter 
 
 With — perfume . 
 
 With good odours landlords will 
 Their barren acres till. 
 And get rents ;
 
 A lover's JOTJRNAt. 
 
 And the world witli little trouble. 
 Will be governed (be it double) 
 
 By — scents. , 
 
 For the restless nations can. 
 As erery i^rndent man 
 
 May suppose, 
 When their hearts are most divided. 
 Be only safely guided 
 
 By — the nose ! 
 
 A LOVER'S JOURNAL, 
 
 Or 
 THE D Y OF A D CI N. 
 
 A pain lay heavy on my heart. 
 And sorely racked my breast ; 
 
 All day I felt the bitter smart. 
 All night I got no rest. 
 
 On Sunday at the solemn church, 
 
 I saw her golden hair ; 
 But ah ! she left me in the Im-ch, 
 
 And yet the pain was there. 
 
 Then Monday dawned, and with the siin 
 
 I prematurely rose ; 
 Her presence still I could not shun. 
 
 And it increased my woes. 
 
 The Tuesday followed all too sluw. 
 To soothe my fretful frame ; 
 
 And every wind, that chanced tO blow, 
 But breathed my darling's name. 
 
 By Wednesday ere the crisis dire. 
 
 Came to a ghastly point ; 
 My very flesh seemed full of fire. 
 
 My bones were out of joint. 
 
 The Thursday brought my lawyer round, 
 
 With all his legal skill ; 
 I chose a piece of sacred ground,   
 
 And calmly made my will. 
 
 On Friday had she seen me pine. 
 It surely would have shocked her ; 
 
 At first I summoiaed a divine. 
 And then 1 called a doctor.
 
 THE STOUT OP A STOMACH, 537 
 
 On Saturday a wondrous change 
 
 Upon my spirit fell ; 
 The draught had si^ed, and (what was strange) 
 
 I felt completely well. 
 
 Perchance it may some pity move. 
 
 Though sad is the suggestion ; 
 This was no diary of love, 
 • But only of digestion. 
 
 THE STORY OF A STOMM^H. 
 
 I suffered sore for many years. 
 
 With every kind of pangs ; 
 And pains, that brought the bitter tears. 
 
 Struck deep their cruel fangs. 
 
 I sought physicians without end. 
 
 And emptied out my purse ; 
 I wandered both to foe and friend, 
 
 But only made things worse. 
 
 My stomach, said they, was not sound. 
 
 And needed tone no doubt ; 
 While on it, as a battle ground. 
 
 They fought their crotchets oitt. 
 
 With draughts my system all was soaked. 
 
 The pills I could not name ; 
 But the more doctors I invoked. 
 
 The more diseases came. 
 
 1 gorged myself, and then gi'ow thin. 
 To please the different sdiools ; 
 
 And when I had new helpers in. 
 They called the others fools. 
 
 They labelled me with learned terms, 
 
 And libelled me as well ; 
 They talked of " symptoms " and of " germs," 
 
 And things I could not spell. 
 
 One said I wanted measures rough. 
 
 And should be freely bled ; 
 One vowed I had not sleep enough. 
 
 And bade me keep my bed. 
 
 Another cried, my blood was thick, 
 
 And treated it witn gin ; 
 Another xirged, it made me sick. 
 
 Because it was too thin.
 
 538 THE "BEITIStt ASS." 
 
 One told me never to take meat. 
 
 And live on fruits and air; 
 One swore, that flesh was the receipt 
 
 To turn me fat and fair. 
 
 This man said, acids were the cure 
 
 By which I might be saved ; 
 That man knew sugar would bo sure 
 
 To work the end I craved. 
 
 One thought, I wanted stirring up. 
 
 Another, stroking down ; 
 Oije praised tlie coiuitry's honeyed cup. 
 
 Another pvitted tho town. 
 
 Another sang the tiso of change, 
 
 And ordered me to liome ; 
 Another deemed my case was strange. 
 
 And let me stay at home. 
 
 But though they diflered in their way 
 
 Of driving out the pest ; 
 They all agreed to make me pay. 
 
 And contradict the rest. 
 
 At length 1 felt that draughts and pills. 
 
 Were quite as vain as sad ; 
 That drugs and doctors were tho ills. 
 
 Which rendered me so bad. 
 
 I bade them and the medicines fly^ 
 With all their specious pleas ; 
 
 I told them, that the remedy 
 Was worse than the disease. 
 
 Now health and happiness are mine^ 
 
 I eat and drink and revel ; 
 And, in my freedom, I consign 
 
 The doctors to tlie devil. 
 
 THE ''BRITISH ASS." 1888. 
 
 There was a great nation so free. 
 
 That they covild but in one thing agree ; 
 
 For the worshipped an Ass, 
 
 In a Palace of Brass, 
 And they played to it fiddle-de-dee.
 
 THE '^BRITISH.JVSS." 539 
 
 For they made it their gaiardian and god. 
 And burnt incense wherever it trod ; 
 
 And whate'er it niig-ht bid. 
 
 Still they cheerfully did. 
 All the better because it was odd. 
 
 And they danced in its honi:)U]- all ni<^-ht, 
 And belauded its beaiity and might ; 
 
 When they told it to bi'ay. 
 
 It never said ikhj. 
 With lung-s stethoscoj^ically right. 
 
 And tliey treasured each sayiilg so well. 
 Which from its onmiscience fell. 
 
 That they s^jread it abroad 
 
 At the point (.)f the sword, 
 To the soTind of the funeral Ijell. 
 
 For this was their jubilant creed. 
 They imposed on the nations in need, 
 
 (Thovigh they flattered with flowers 
 
 All the prosperovis Powers), 
 " Believe in the Ass, or be d d." 
 
 It had prophets and priests not a few. 
 The Uentile and even the Jew ; 
 
 And the Celt on it sat. 
 
 With his reasoning pat. 
 And expounded at length all it knew. 
 
 The people who listened were pleased. 
 They blessed it whenever it sneezed. 
 
 Though away with soft soap 
 
 It washed every hope. 
 And swore that their burdens were cased. 
 
 And they sang to it all the day long. 
 Though their Lmguage was certainly strong, 
 
 " ^ yt* people who pass, 
 
 " Bow down to the Ass, 
 " That preserves us from ruin and wrong." 
 
 In seasons of danger or drouth. 
 The Ass would then open its month. 
 
 And would lighten their fears 
 
 With its sapient ears. 
 Which it stretched from the north to the south. 
 
 Though learned in Art, yet in science 
 It inspired them with greater reliance ; 
 
 For it hiimoured their pride. 
 
 And each prejudice plied. 
 And set common sense at defijince.
 
 540 TUB '-'BRITISH ASS." 
 
 It said, with a dignified mien. 
 That man once a monkey had l.ieeu. 
 
 Who lacked freedom of will. 
 
 And could only fulfil. 
 The part of a chimsy machine. 
 
 If its arguments ever were lame. 
 
 It would coin some new jionderous name, 
 
 And bid tliem all grovel 
 
 Before what was novel. 
 And glory the most in their shame. 
 
 And the pi-ophets and priests, as was meet. 
 Sat in solemn array at its feet. 
 
 And applauded the Ass 
 
 In its Palace of Brass, 
 That made wisdom so simple and sweet% 
 
 And it had such an erudite store, 
 To vai'nish its ignorance o^er. 
 
 That even when it blundered 
 The people still wondered. 
 And believed it and honoured it more. 
 
 Now once in the course of the year. 
 It tickled the popular ear. 
 
 By propounding some riddle. 
 
 Whatever could diddle 
 The fools who delighted to hear. 
 
 And its votaries eagerly prest. 
 From the bounds of the east and the west, 
 To receive its last bray. 
 And some new-fangled way 
 AVherewith they wert wont to be blet;t. 
 
 And at last when the Jubilee fell. 
 It had something especial to tell; 
 And all its chief men. 
 At the platform and pen, 
 Blew their trumpets u.ncommonly well 
 
 But the greatest, as any could see. 
 Was the mighty Sir W. T., 
 
 The liigh-priest of the Ass 
 
 In its Palace of Brass, 
 Who discoui'sed on the wonders to be. 
 
 He predicted the glorious stage. 
 
 Of a new and electrical age. 
 
 When things would be done. 
 Without help of the sun. 
 
 From cooking to printing a page.
 
 THE "BRITISH ASS/'" 541 
 
 So ho merrily beat on his drum. 
 And unfolded the ^'lory to como, 
 
 When the others would plough 
 
 And go milking- the cow. 
 By the light of the science of Some. 
 
 And at last he became so prophetic, 
 When he spoke of our stores energetic. 
 
 That he ventured to guess lie 
 
 Could malce posse be esse. 
 And our life all electro-magnetic. 
 
 His tale was of mystical foi-ces, 
 
 That came from more marvellous sources^ 
 
 And flew thousands of miles 
 
 Over oceans and isles. 
 And made useless our engines and horses. 
 
 He said at that jubilant hour, 
 
 There was nought like transmission of i^ower. 
 
 And that even Niagara, 
 
 Which was thought such a staggerer. 
 Could be tamed for the parlour and bower. 
 
 Still he sang in his happier vein. 
 
 Of the triumphs of what he called brain. 
 
 As did Hoaxley and Sjiindle, 
 
 Who delighted to swindle 
 Poor starvelings with chaff they thought grain. 
 
 Though, alack ! the few fools who would foster 
 Yet doubts, and yet said "Pater Noster," 
 
 Swore the Palace of Brass 
 
 Was a plaything of Olass, 
 And the Beast was but an Impostor. 
 
 Not so many a prophet and priest. 
 Who all sounded the praise of the Beast, 
 
 And enlarged without fears 
 
 On the length cf its ears. 
 And the reason it spread for a feast. 
 
 And before the decline of the day. 
 So supreme was the asinine sway. 
 
 That the folks of all classes 
 
 Were transformed into asses. 
 And themselves began also to bray. 
 
 " Bray ! bray 1 bray ! 
 While the enemy comes to the door ; 
 
 Bray ! bray ! bray ! 
 While oiir science is starving the poor.
 
 542 
 
 A valentint:;. 
 
 It's oh I sucli a victory too. 
 To brag of lihilosoph's sway. 
 
 And if all ive are gninq fn ijo ; 
 There is nothing- like'loarnino- to bray." 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 Unprized, when all nnist be thy lovers. 
 
 Who know thy beautous woman's part, 
 I do not wear a mask that covers 
 
 Tt falsehood ot a flatterino- heart. 
 
 My love is true, it may be little. 
 
 Compared with thine that is so vast, 
 
 And yet its bond is not as brittle 
 As louder loves, that do not last. 
 
 For thee no connnon ^-ifts, tliat other 
 And lesser natures well may win— 
 
 I give thee all, myself, as brother. 
 Who reads a sister soul within. 
 
 I ask, in earthly moil and muddle. 
 To help thee to some holy end. 
 
 Between the thorn or miiy puddle 
 And thee, to stand a steadfast friend, 
 
 I ask, when thou art sad and lonely. 
 To take the burden and make bright 
 
 The rough and shadowy road, and only 
 To hear thy Iniffets as thy knight. 
 
 I ask, though other vows be fervent. 
 And younger suitors seek thy trust, 
 • To be at least thy faithful servant, 
 
 And l)ru8h from thee the fouling dust. 
 
 I ask, to share but in thy sorrow. 
 And not the gladriess of the strife. 
 
 To raise thee still, and build tliy morrow 
 More sweet from my own lavislu'd life. 
 
 I ask, if angry beat the billow, 
 
 For thee the stormy strand to tread, 
 
 For tliee to suffer, as a pillow 
 That rests a while thy acliing head. 
 
 T .ask for thee to live, and ch(>i'isli 
 Whatever may be part of tliiue, 
 
 For tliee some day witli joy to perish, 
 And be in death thy Valentine.
 
 THE POn-R OLB VTCAE. 54S 
 
 A MODEL XniSERY. 
 
 Two tiny girls and two too naiighty l)oys 
 Among- a heap of shatterod ho^x's and toys 
 And broken legs and arms, and dreams of dolls 
 That never lived nor will, and pretty Polls 
 And ngly apes, a Noah's ark, a pail 
 Without a bottom, ;md without a tail 
 A donkey, picture books all thumbed and torn. 
 With pages tattered scattered soiled and worn. 
 And manners qiieer (all wanting mending), carts 
 That draw their horses and defy the arts. 
 Four little voices and one big white lie. 
 Eight hands (just washed Imt dirty) in one pic 
 Of the worst mischief, and Dadda's best hat. 
 In peace a cradle for the Persian cat. 
 In war a driim and thunder-box of coals, 
 A tortoise and a bird, and shadowy shoals 
 For the unconscious nursemaid, scraps of buns 
 And soap and bread and butter and spring-guns. 
 White mice and marbles and Mamma's new dress. 
 Old boots and shoes and caps and every mess 
 Known and unknown, cups, brushes, combs, and knives 
 That threaten nuu-dor to unwary lives, 
 A three-legged chair, a topsy-turvy table. 
 The sights of Bedlam and the sounds of Uabol. 
 
 THE POOR OLD VTOAR. 
 
 I am only a poor old Yicar, 
 
 And }ny head is growing gi'ay ; 
 And the ladies pass me quicker. 
 
 Or they tarn the other way. 
 For they say, we like them younger. 
 
 With their faces fi-esh and glad ; 
 And our hearts they fondly hunger 
 
 For the compliments we had — 
 For the sugar phuiis and sj^eeches. 
 
 And the fnigers warm and white. 
 Not the hands that f (^el like leeches. 
 
 And the lips that don't invite. 
 
 I am only a poor old Yicar. 
 
 And the ladies think me slow ; 
 And they say, Why not go quicker ? 
 
 But, alas ! I am no go. 
 Oh. tliey like them trim and tender. 
 
 When they liave a verdant charm ;
 
 544 "in a qtiiet soet of wat." 
 
 And they sigh, " What's our defender. 
 If not the Vicar's arm ? " 
 
 If you give us but a Curate, 
 We will try to be content ; 
 
 You can pay him with a pew-rate. 
 Encumbering incainibent.'^ 
 
 ON THE PORTRAIT OF A DONKEY. 
 
 Sweet Artist, long I bui'dens bore. 
 
 For many a tyrant lass ; 
 But never had I wished before 
 
 To be a lady's ass. 
 
 Until I saw a donkey, wrought 
 
 Bj^ thy transforming hand ; 
 Ennobled by the kindly thought 
 
 That gilds the coarsest band. 
 
 And now I gladly would be thine. 
 
 If painted I might be. 
 And feel the touch that must refine. 
 
 Transfigured all by thee. 
 
 Yea, I would bear tlie heaviest loads. 
 
 To gather, at tliy gates. 
 The look that lifts to higher roads. 
 
 The love that educates. 
 
 What though the world should call me ass, 
 
 My fame be still decried ? 
 Yet the lone hours would lovelier pass. 
 
 And life be glorified. 
 
 "IN A QUIET SORT OF WAY." 
 
 I am very shy and modest. 
 And most careful what I say ; 
 
 And I shrink from what is oddest. 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 And when [ go to dinners. 
 Or have leisure for the play, 
 
 I but glance at pi etty sinners. 
 In a quiet sort of way.
 
 " IN A QTITT5T ROT^T C\V WAT." G4o 
 
 Tn the poor T give a copper. 
 
 But ['11 help not, if I may. 
 The nouns that are improper. 
 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 I to verbs for conjugation. 
 
 When irregular, cry nay ; 
 And use Cocker's calculation. 
 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 I know Maud is "sweet and twenty," 
 
 And frail man is only clay ; 
 And a kiss or two are plenty. 
 
 In ;i (|uiet sort of way. 
 
 T am rather fond of honey. 
 
 And for what I purchase pay — 
 At least, if I have money, 
 ^ In a quiet sort of way, 
 
 I am not averse to dances. 
 
 That turn darkness into day, 
 And to little ball romances. 
 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 My heart is tuned to hopping, 
 
 Thovigh my feet are somewhat splay, 
 
 And to tender questions popping. 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 I live in good Society, 
 
 And you must observe I pray. 
 That I worship all Propriety, " 
 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 I keep a careful distance 
 
 From the darlings that are gay. 
 If they ask for my assistance. 
 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 I am really most particular. 
 
 At visits not to stay. 
 When confessions grow auricular. 
 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 The correctness of my noddle. 
 
 Ought to carry off the bay 
 From the dearest saint and coddle. 
 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 My coat is ever dusted, 
 
 And defies the broadest ray. 
 And my aims are well adjusted. 
 
 In a quiet sort of way.
 
 SSiG " TX A QTTTET SOET OF WAY. 
 
 My motions are as balanced. 
 
 As a blossom is in May ; 
 My affaires dc csur are valanced. 
 
 In a qiiiet sort of way. 
 
 I like summer rambles niglitly. 
 And making love and bay, 
 
 Wben tbe moon is shining briglitly. 
 In a qniet sort of way. 
 
 There are lambs with golden fleeces^ 
 For a tender hand to flay. 
 
 Among my country nieces. 
 In a qniet sort of way. 
 
 I like rural deans and scenery. 
 And a steady one-horse shay. 
 
 And the girls that peep from greenery. 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 It is sweet to hear the birdies. 
 And that ass the Eector bray ; 
 
 They recall the hurdy-gi\rdies. 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 I fim shepherd to the lonely. 
 That alas I has learnt to stray ; 
 
 But I show attentions only, 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 I like Annie but not her Aunt, 
 And the dragon I wovild slay, 
 
 Por I am George night-errant. 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 I was taught a little Latin, 
 
 By a dictionary fay ; 
 But my books are bound in satin, 
 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 Yes, in dainty silks they prattle. 
 And they laugh like silver sj^ray ; 
 
 Their contents are tea and tattle. 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 For my hbrary is woman, 
 
 Fronr the Thames unto the Tay ; 
 
 And my heart is very human. 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 And at five I flutter often, 
 To the social tiff and tray ; 
 
 Where the bright eyes beam and soften. 
 In a quiet sort of way.
 
 A OLBTlTrAT- rATIf'TTS. 
 
 Fov f.nir laneos I've a liking. 
 And am eager for the fray. 
 
 When the attitudes are striking, 
 In a quiet sort of way. 
 
 T am not a crnde abstainer 
 And I love the brewer's dray ; 
 
 For this child's an old campaigner. 
 In a qniot sort of way. 
 
 When I go to Ascot races, 
 
 A small wager I can lay. 
 On the horse with winning paces. 
 
 In a qniet sort of way. 
 
 I have studied ornithology. 
 
 And distinguished duck from jay 3 
 
 And am groat at J?ine-thropology, 
 In a qniet sort of way. 
 
 My locks are growing fewer. 
 And my lioad is turning gray ; 
 
 TJut I use the " Hair EenVwer," 
 In a qiiiet sort of way. 
 
 A (CLERICAL ( AUCITS. 
 
 Forth they flocked from mews and mansion. 
 Horsey men with strange expansion, 
 
 >Sheei3ish forms from shady pen ; 
 Slaves of awful early rising. 
 Timid souls ai^ologising — 
 
 Wondering if they were men. 
 
 Punctual man with virtuous visage, 
 Doiditful man (whatever's his age ?), 
 
 Yellow leaf and foliage green ; 
 Lovers from their love and cottage. 
 Not so provident in pottage. 
 
 As i^erhaps they might have been. 
 
 Bachelors, divided fractions. 
 Seeking better halves and actions. 
 
 Figures that eiichant them most ; 
 Winter pear just turning mellow. 
 And the jealous Moor, Othello, 
 
 With the late incumbent's ghost.
 
 '548 A fLETJICAL OATTC'IIS. 
 
 Stretching like n. band elastic. 
 Came the pied ecclesiastic, 
 
 Black in nature, white in face ; 
 Striving with some private leaven. 
 To commingle earth and heaven. 
 
 And in neither finding place. 
 
 Came the cockney from his villa, 
 Aqtiila without Priscilla, 
 
 And the poet in his pride ; 
 Fanatics disjiosed to further 
 Foi'ce, and meditating murther. 
 
 But committing suicide. 
 
 Mean men on the via media, 
 Growing seedier and seedier. 
 
 Safe and sapient in vain : 
 Men indifferent to quarter. 
 Moderates of milk and water. 
 
 Chiefly vjatcr on the brain. 
 
 Maiden speakers, soft as crumpets. 
 Like small children blowing trumpets. 
 
 Little flourishes and shoots ; 
 Evangelicals past mending. 
 Deeper, deeper, still descending, 
 
 Down into their native boots. 
 
 Men with just the right solution, 
 Eadicals with revolution. 
 
 Voting things established mill ; 
 Men of peace with pioiis fables. 
 Fixed in views like vegetables. 
 
 Dear, delightful, good, and dull. 
 
 Prayer-boolc men, the smart and dowdy, 
 And alas ! the reverend rowdy. 
 
 Souls of pleasure, souls of grief ; 
 Men for party and for faction. 
 And short-tempered men of action 
 
 Keady to be " curst and brief." 
 
 Pretty parsons coyly blushing. 
 Sentimental subjects gushing. 
 
 Greedy men who clutched at gain ; 
 Heavy whale and si3ortive minnow. 
 Chaffy men like fans that winnow, 
 
 Sometimes too against the grain. 
 
 Idle fellows sat with active. 
 Ugly faces by attractive. 
 
 Though they inferences dreio ;
 
 A CLEKICAL I'AUCUS. 549 
 
 ITna,tla('hnd men stuck io lixtui'es, 
 yiiuplc-iiiinded mou to mixtures 
 Of all matters old and new. 
 
 Came tliougli redolent of sherry, 
 Bibulous Augustus Perry, 
 
 Panting- for the pious fray ; 
 Blending levity ethereal. 
 With the graver mode imperial 
 
 Of the lofty Eoman way. 
 
 And from DuUford hied the Doctor, 
 Like a Convocation Proctor, 
 
 With amendments on the brain— 
 With interminable fussing. 
 The same question still concussingj 
 
 O'er and o'er and o'er again. 
 
 Leering over learned glasses 
 Came like Saul in search of asses. 
 
 Peeping up and peeping down, 
 The tremendoiis Oxford scholar, 
 Stiff emerging from his collai'. 
 
 Only not to find a crown. 
 
 Wade, who loveth the "Girls' Friendly " 
 Came in eager haste from Wendly, 
 
 And brought with him his new hroom ; 
 Torn from parish teas and pleasures, 
 E/ipe for the most sweeping measures. 
 
 In his young Indiiction bloom. 
 
 He who thinks the East position 
 Is the sure way to perdition. 
 
 Came Avith murder in his mouth ; 
 Prompt to question or to quibble 
 Standing the *North end of Kibble, 
 
 Strenuously facing south. 
 
 Spoke that ancient one, the Dodo, 
 With his suaviter in modo. 
 
 And \\\ii fortiter in re; 
 Proving like a pair of snuffers. 
 All who doubted him were duft'ers. 
 
 And the only sage was he. 
 
 He from Combe, the scourge of varmint. 
 Left, as Joseph left his garment 
 
 And fled, hounds and hunting lore ; 
 But it nnist be owned, that Snarker 
 Only made the subject darker. 
 
 Which was not too clear before. 
 
 *The Kural Dean was " North ' ' Kibbled
 
 g-g A CLERICAL CAVfCUS. 
 
 Came thejsaintlytfrom his cloister. 
 Like a consecrated oyster. 
 
 Fresh from ceremonial tricks ; 
 Swearing no State laws could bind him^ 
 Lookino^like Lot's wife -behind him, 
 On his cross and candlesticks. 
 
 Pussy curates; to'keep the line 
 Taken, scratched in ways quite feline, 
 
 Sticking to it like a burr ; 
 Caterwauling in siu-prising 
 Tones not feeling, catechising, 
 
 Though accustomed more to purr. 
 
 Quibblers with the dew of college. 
 Flaunting their degrees and knowledge. 
 
 Quick at thrusting and at fence. 
 Forced the pace and made the running. 
 Drawing tlieir distinctions cunning 
 
 Without any ditference. 
 
 Whigs with ample upper storeys. 
 And with cellars only Tories, 
 
 But good wine in them at least ; 
 Latitudinarian peoijles , 
 Longitudinarian steeples. 
 
 Stretched and soared at Reason's feast. 
 
 Pale dyspeptics, slow and sleepy, 
 Llinkiiig bookworms, crabbed and creepy. 
 
 Dimly crawled into the light ; 
 OvAds and ]wits from coimtry corners. 
 Huddled like a molt of mourners, 
 
 Sighing tor their native night. 
 
 Literary stars, and fogeys, 
 Graunnarless and scared by bogeys 
 
 Sprung from prejudice or beer; 
 Men who borrowed each conviction, 
 Martyrs to the last affliction. 
 
 From the Street whose name is Queer. 
 
 Prigs with nothing, prigs with some bent 
 Came, encumbrance and incumbent. 
 
 For the glory to be won ; 
 Old and young each with opinions. 
 Squarsons proud of their dominions. 
 
 And unhappy men with none. 
 
 Lo tlu! silent ate the chatty 
 And llie^leau devoured the fatty. 
 And the tall oppressed the short ;
 
 A CLEHiOAL CAUCUS. ooi 
 
 fling' ai rich men, 
 And proved facts and faces which men 
 Stuck to clarot, v/hich to port. 
 
 Game the widower in trouble, 
 Wliich his cat had rendered double. 
 
 By departing- from this life ; 
 Clothed in garments grave and shabby. 
 Mourning tor his favourite tabby. 
 
 More than for liis i^rudent wife. 
 
 (iood companions, fond of lasses. 
 Breathed benevolence and Bass's, 
 
 And to liidden music moved ; 
 Satisfied the Church was nieetest. 
 And its present state the sweetest. 
 
 That could never be imi^rovcxl. 
 
 Imitators of old Sparta, 
 
 Free men fond of Magna Charta, 
 
 Slaves exulting in their chains ; 
 Prophets like the trump of doom's tones, 
 Eesurrectionists on tombstones. 
 
 Picking one another's brains. 
 
 Stern and lengthy was the struggle. 
 As they strove in vtiin to juggle 
 
 Simple words, and make them dark ; 
 Crafty Greek was matched ^vith Trojan, 
 And divine met theologian, 
 
 Like the creatures in the Ark. 
 
 Vicars tilted against Rectors, 
 And Diocesan Inspectors 
 
 Laid aboiit them with a will ; 
 Cui'ate combated with curate. 
 And soft hearts grew quite obdurate. 
 
 As they mauled each other still. 
 
 Never was there such a shining. 
 Such reflecting and refining. 
 
 Such displays of Logic's arm ; 
 Inferences and inductions. 
 Stern conclusions and destructions. 
 
 That did nobody a harm. 
 
 And, pray, what was all this action. 
 Objurgation and retraction. 
 
 Agonies of learned lore ? — 
 AVhy, they somehow were not able. 
 To agree about tlic Table — 
 
 If before it meant " before."
 
 552 THE OMITTED INITIAL. 
 
 Only one bold man was certain. 
 Who had drawn aside the cnrtain, 
 
 Which obscures the Rubric's frame ; 
 With a private revelation. 
 From the Chnrch Association — 
 
 Looking east is sin Mid shame. 
 
 After endless combinations. 
 Of their wits' exercitations, 
 
 It was passed without a No ; 
 To let be the sc)lenni question. 
 Which prodviced but indigestion, 
 
 Quietly in statu' quo. 
 
 Biit what was the status ante, 
 None could tell — not even Dante, 
 
 Who knew earth and heaven and hell ; 
 Yet, though he might so enchant age 
 And youth, he lacked the advantage 
 
 Of the Rubrics we know well. 
 
 It was passed withovit objections, 
 Save the doctor's grim reflections, 
 
 Who would croak till " crack of doom ; " 
 And they left him at the ending. 
 Still protesting, still amending. 
 
 To the silent empty room. 
 
 THE OMITTED ENITLAL. 
 
 I had a fi'iend of whom I speak 
 
 in jjensive tones, 
 Whose honoured name was 
 
 A. B. C. 1). E. F. .Tones ; 
 He was an upright man, I 
 
 never knew a better. 
 But fell a victim to 
 
 a miserable letter. 
 
 He did not pride himself 
 
 upon the gold he spent. 
 Or legendary glories of 
 
 a long descent ; 
 Nor did he think it much 
 
 to rule among officials, 
 But on his private alphabet 
 
 of pet iuitialo.
 
 THE OMITTED INITIAL. 
 
 But even he was human, he 
 
 with all his pride. 
 And longed at last to i^laco 
 
 a partner V)y his side ; 
 A lady who would do some 
 
 credit to his story, 
 And be a kind of reflex 
 
 brightness of his glory. 
 
 She was young of course and fair, 
 
 and had no Irish rents. 
 But prattled of the sweetness 
 
 of the three per cents ; 
 She had good teeth and hair 
 
 and all her own complexion, 
 But was a. little short of 
 
 what is called affection. 
 
 Though rather bothered by his 
 
 ardent looks and loves. 
 She owned a lady's weakness 
 
 for perfumes and gloves ; 
 And he wooed her patiently 
 
 in high oflicial fashion. 
 In hopes that she would yield 
 
 at last from mere compassion. 
 
 He could not give her crowns, 
 
 (there Avere no vacant thrones). 
 But coukVmake her Mrs. A. B. 
 
 C. D. E. F.Jones; 
 And what woman, who had any 
 
 pity in her bowels, 
 Could resist that long arraj- 
 
 of consonants and vowels ? 
 
 So he sent her many notes, whicli 
 
 had more sound than sense. 
 With every prefix set in all 
 
 its eloquence ; 
 But though her maiden nose 
 
 liked well his scented paper. 
 She only tore it up to light 
 
 her evening taper. 
 
 But he could not work himself 
 
 vip to the proper pitch. 
 And whenever he essayed 
 
 there always was some hitch ; 
 For he had not yet the pluck 
 
 to make a formal offer, 
 Though he dwelt upon her virtues 
 
 and her golden coffer.
 
 551 THE OMITTED INITIAL. 
 
 So as he courage lacked to 
 
 do the needful thing. 
 He gave his humour play and 
 
 bought a wedding-ring ; 
 He made upholsterers all 
 
 his cottage sweep and garnish. 
 And on his manners put 
 
 an extra coat of varnish. 
 
 He bought a poodle dog, a 
 
 pug, and Persian cat, 
 And got the latest fashion 
 
 in a beaver hat ; 
 He even went so far, in 
 
 prospect of his marriage, 
 To order horses two and 
 
 the appropriate carriage. 
 
 He wrote his groomsmen's names 
 
 upon a virgin sheet, 
 And set a score of shoemakers 
 
 to deck his feet ; 
 He thought of every item down 
 
 to Nubian blacking. 
 And all was of the liest and 
 
 only one thing lacking. 
 
 He had not yet proposed, to know 
 
 the lady's will. 
 For whom he thus i-an iip 
 
 so elegant a Ijill ; 
 And though no mortal's fancy 
 
 could have been more supple, 
 Tliere never was a mari'iage yet 
 
 without a couple. 
 
 In vain he piirchasod gloves 
 
 and novelties in scents. 
 And practised attitudes 
 
 and sighs and blandishments ; 
 They only gave her nose a more 
 
 celestial turning. 
 And added fuel to the fii-e 
 
 within him burning. 
 
 And vainly in his home he 
 
 studied every style 
 Of coiu'tship, tl^.at a woman's 
 
 bosom might beguile ; 
 He knelt and made the lover's 
 
 prayer his daily portion. 
 And wreathed his face in every 
 
 amoruus contortion.
 
 I'HK OMITTED INITIAL. 
 
 But thoug-li he writhed and put 
 
 his body out of joint, 
 He coidd not bring his courage 
 
 to the sticking point ; 
 He only grew more limp, 
 
 invertebrate and flabbj^, 
 Wliile his behavionr people 
 
 said was really shaliby. 
 
 At length in sheer des^mir 
 
 he called a lielper in. 
 And asked how h(i the awfid 
 
 fj[nestion should l.iegin. 
 His friend replied, " Wonld you 
 
 escape the vulgar scoffer. 
 Sit down at once and write a 
 
 plain and formal offer." 
 
 So down he sat and wrote, 
 
 with many sighs and groans. 
 And signed himself, " Your A. 
 
 B. C. D. E. F. Jones." 
 Of course he talked of love 
 
 and all that sort of twaddle, 
 And swore, were he her husband, 
 
 he would be a model. 
 
 Then it was sealed and sent, the 
 
 matter to illume. 
 And wafted to her shrine 
 
 with incense of perfume ; 
 And every person cried, whose 
 
 judgment was of value, 
 " You think that you shall conquer 
 
 now, my boy, but— shall you ?" 
 
 He argued to himself, that, if 
 
 his ardent love 
 The lady's frosty heart availed 
 
 not still to move. 
 She must bow humldy down, 
 
 as did his sub-oihcials. 
 To the majesty of those 
 
 invincible initials. 
 
 But his logic, as he found, was 
 
 not extremely good. 
 And the heroine of the three 
 
 per cents, his suit withstood. 
 Though the ring and pug and cat, 
 
 the horses two and carriage. 
 And poodle, would, he hoijed, 
 
 insure a happy marriage.
 
 So6 THE OMITTED INITIAL. 
 
 And tliougli his beaver hat was 
 
 burnished more and more. 
 And though such boots and shoes were 
 
 never seen before. 
 And though iipholsterers' hands 
 
 were always at his cottage. 
 And always on the liob boiled 
 
 the lovers' mess of jjottage. 
 
 The lady would not listen 
 
 to his tender vows, 
 But begged to be exciised and 
 
 took a trip to Cowes ; 
 She returned his locks of hair 
 
 and notes as never dreamt he. 
 And the bottles of perfume, but 
 
 somehow they were empty. 
 
 But he did not q uite despair, 
 
 nor was his ardour less. 
 For he had read in novels 
 
 a lady's no meant yes ; 
 He ordered two new coats, and 
 
 made Poole take the measures. 
 And wrote again at length upon 
 
 connubial pleasures. 
 
 But the lady still was firm, and 
 
 stuck to three per cent. 
 And fled for refuge to the 
 
 bearded Continent ; 
 Slie said that she preferred 
 
 the sweet condition single, 
 And knew their spirits twain, 
 
 were never meant to mingle. 
 
 Then as he yet pursued her 
 niaiden path witli notes. 
 
 And ordered yet from Poole 
 A weekly brace of coats. 
 
 And spent one day of seven 
 in visiting his hatter, 
 
 Slie saw she must be stern 
 ' and piuictuate the matter. 
 
 For she was wise and knew 
 
 wherein his weakness lay, 
 And what would quench his love, 
 
 as could no other way ; 
 She wrote once more and hoped 
 
 that'*he would soon be better 
 But carefully left out his 
 
 last iiiititil letter.
 
 THE OMITTED INTTTAL, 
 
 Her brief epistle i^eaclied liim 
 
 by the early post, 
 He looked at it and stared as if 
 
 he saw a g-host. 
 And never ate the eg'g- that he 
 
 was calmly cracking, 
 For on the envelope, lo ! 
 
 there was something lacking. 
 
 For she had written in her most 
 
 decisive tones. 
 And addressed him only as 
 
 "A. B. C. D. E. Jones ;" 
 He could have borne a " no/' if it 
 
 were soft and tender. 
 Not what would rob his name of 
 
 any of its splendour. 
 
 There is a certain point in all 
 
 mundane att'airs. 
 At which the stoutest heart 
 
 at last perforce despairs ; 
 For man must somewhere di;aw 
 
 the line, if (with Mercator) 
 He draws it large and only 
 
 stops at the Equator. 
 
 He wasted then away, in spite 
 
 of every hat. 
 His boots and shoes and coats 
 
 the wedding-ring- and cat. 
 The savoury pottage and 
 
 the horses two and carriage. 
 And the polished manners 
 
 meant to make a brilliant marriage. 
 
 In spite of the pet pug, and the 
 
 upholsterers' sticks. 
 And even the poodle dog- which 
 
 knew a hundred tricks. 
 And all the attitudes which 
 
 made him like a statue. 
 And the distracted eyes which 
 
 languidly looked at you. 
 
 In short he quickly died, 
 
 lamented much by all — 
 His creditors, who found that 
 
 his assets were small ; 
 For since that fatal day lie 
 
 - never left his portal. 
 And why ? Because the Avonnd 
 
 he had received was mortal.
 
 S'^S KILLED BT CONgOn^NCK. 
 
 Tliei'P was an inquest held ni^on 
 
 his lilighted frame. 
 And the doctors all ao-reed 
 
 his illness had no name ; 
 Some said that he succumbed 
 
 to dire routine official. 
 But most from the omission 
 
 of his sixth initial. 
 
 But his heirs redressed his wronga 
 
 on monumental stones. 
 And blazoned proudly " A. B. 
 
 CD. E. F.Jones"; 
 And the lady paled and pined, 
 
 as folks oppressed with sin do. 
 Though she set up in the Church 
 
 A chaste memorial window. 
 
 KILLED BY ( T)XSr*TENOE, 
 
 He hardly dared to ope his mouth. 
 
 Or act in things the least ; 
 For if he said the wind was south. 
 
 It might be soiith-south-east. 
 Did any ask what was the time. 
 
 On answer none they reckoned ; 
 For he esteemed it qiiite a crime, 
 
 To err by even a second. 
 
 And once he flew two weary miles. 
 
 To set a traveller right. 
 While over hedges, streams, and stiles. 
 
 He held his headlong flight ; 
 Because he had, as iieoi^le do. 
 
 Whose ways are not so thrifty. 
 Told lum of minutes fifty -two. 
 
 When they were only 'fifty. 
 
 Wlien friendly folks outstretched a hand. 
 
 And said, as they were wont, 
 "• How do you do, good neighbour Bland ? 
 
 He cried, " How do you— don't ! " 
 No person's hand he cared to hold. 
 
 In all the Queen's dominions ; 
 Because he deemed, that thus he sold 
 
 Himself to their opinions.
 
 KILLED BT flONRCTKNOE, 
 
 And if a lady passing- by, 
 
 A. letter haply dro]it. 
 He hastened with averted eye. 
 
 And not a moment stopt 
 To pick it np ; because, he said, 
 
 (And he was not a thick-head). 
 He women knew and was afraid 
 
 The bnrden would be wicked. 
 
 And when you asked him his advice. 
 
 He hesitated long-. 
 And scanned you with a look jjrecise. 
 
 As if you meant some wrong- ; 
 And when at length he gave his views. 
 
 He qualified, and acted 
 As though he laboured to confuse. 
 
 And then the whole retracted. 
 
 Becavise he feared, by chance, to make 
 
 A slip in what he spoke. 
 Considering even the least mistake 
 
 As sinful as a joko. 
 And not a mortal knew his mind, 
 
 While as to earthly measure. 
 The wisest tailor could not find 
 
 Whatever was his pleasure. 
 
 And thus at length, by dire degrees. 
 
 He reached that ghastly pass. 
 He scarcely dared to walk or sneeze. 
 
 Or look at any lass ; 
 Lest his chaste thoughts and modest glance 
 
 Should basely be reported. 
 And those pure paces as a dance 
 
 By slander be distorted. 
 
 He feared to eat, lest carnal men 
 
 Should him a glutton think ; 
 He feared to quench his thirst lest then 
 
 He might be thought to drink. 
 So he proceeded to expire. 
 
 Some said from fever bilious ; 
 But really fi-om a deeper fire. 
 
 Consumed by pangs piinctilious. 
 
 Phrenologists were all agreed. 
 
 About his secret ills ; 
 Though doctors only doctors d d. 
 
 And ciu-sed each others pills. 
 They built him up a blessed tomb. 
 
 Set off with golden staunchions ; 
 Whereon the muse bewailed his doom. 
 
 And called him " Killed by Conscience."
 
 j60 THH ■DEVIl. 
 
 THE DEVIL. 
 
 He was a man no worse than most. 
 And as for that no better ; 
 
 And held an ornamental post. 
 Within the Lane called Fetter. 
 
 "But somehow he fell out of sorts. 
 Though sitting under Spurgeon, 
 
 And tried in vain the choicest ports. 
 The latest soup and surgeon. 
 
 He deemed himself suj^remely ill. 
 Nor Icnew what was the matter ; 
 
 And as his head grew foggier still. 
 At first he blamed lais hatter. 
 
 But when the aclio went lower down, 
 Aiid set at feud liis bowels. 
 
 Upon liis tailor's luckless crown 
 He heaped unholy vowels. 
 
 And then, as he grew rather worse. 
 He laid it to the weather ; 
 
 Till pinching feet called forth a curse. 
 Upon the man of leather. 
 
 Yet still abode the sleepless pangs, 
 Uneased by " wet damnation ; " 
 
 And set at work with all its fangs. 
 Most awful " Cerebration." 
 
 It vexed his heai-t and reached his head. 
 From breakfast unto supper ; 
 
 And over lunch a gloom it shed. 
 Like reading Martin Txipper. 
 
 It was a pain he could not brook. 
 And yet a mental fidget ; 
 
 In vain he told it to his cook. 
 
 Whose Christian name was Bridget. 
 
 He sighed in confidential tones. 
 Books failed from Punch to Plato ; 
 
 She nnirmiu:ed, " Try a grill of bones. 
 And eke a roast potato." 
 
 But still the anguish was not stayed. 
 Though he went on to pheasant ; 
 
 And then (to term a spade a spade) 
 She styled it "d d uniilcasaut."
 
 THK DEVIL, 561 
 
 It turned him sail and often sick, 
 
 And made liim drink like fishes j 
 He told it to his man called Dick, 
 
 Who offered his — good wishes. 
 
 While recommendino- ohano'e of scene. 
 
 And ev'en a change of diet ; 
 He thought his nxaster had the spleen. 
 
 And only wanted quiet. 
 
 But though he moved from room to room, 
 
 From iron bed to oaken, 
 He coiild not thus escape his doom ; 
 
 The spell remained unbroken. 
 
 And though he taxed the iitmost powers. 
 
 Of all his pot and pan dom- 
 inion, throughout the weary hours. 
 
 His eff<n-ts were at random. 
 
 The cook was stiimped, and that's a fact, 
 
 Although she slaved from morning 
 To midnight, till the dishes cracked ; 
 
 And so she gave him warning. 
 
 Her culinary skill was great. 
 
 Fair trials could not dim it ; 
 But who could stand this ? cook or plate ? 
 
 And then — there is a limit. 
 
 She went, bequeathing delits unpaid, 
 
 Accoimts that would not tally ; 
 And left him to the kitchen maid. 
 
 Whose Christian name was Sally. 
 
 But still his hunger would not stay. 
 
 And still he drank like fishes ; 
 And wrought the dreadfullest dismay, 
 
 In stoutest hearts and dishes. 
 
 He thoiight it indigestion first. 
 
 Until he found it chronic ; 
 The doctor, to assuage his thirst. 
 
 Prescribed a gentle fonic. 
 
 Still stuck his sickness like a leech, 
 
 Of the worst kind " Dissentery," 
 It even impaired his powers of speech. 
 
 Which grew unparliamentary. 
 
 The man of many plots and pills. 
 
 Who knew what every dose is. 
 And throve ixpon his neighboixrs' ills, 
 
 Then made a diagnosis.
 
 iR2 THE nKViL. 
 
 With sapient air and soarchini^- hand. 
 
 He all the organs pounded : 
 With "viscus," "srano-lion." eyeglass, " gland," 
 
 The patient was confounded. 
 
 The doctor slapped hiui on the back. 
 
 And poketl him in the bowels ; 
 He made his joints and muscles crack, 
 
 And used alarming vowels. 
 
 He punched his head and tapped his V)roast, 
 
 And, not without a. stutter. 
 Said, " Put your trouliled mind at rest. 
 
 The aihuent is not litter." 
 
 Adding with In'ight elat(!d brow. 
 
 " Though you seem going on drear. 
 Three cheers for glorious Science now. 
 
 It's hyp — hyp — hyi3 — ochondria ! 
 
 And yet and yet, in spite of each 
 
 Big phrase and awful letter. 
 The wretch dared Science to impeach, 
 
 Nor was one whit the better. 
 
 Long words and learned jargon may 
 Suit quacks, whose aim to please is, 
 
 But though tremendous fees we pay. 
 They will not cure diseases. 
 
 The lord of many a pill and plan, 
 
 In which hv was no miser. 
 Withdrew at least a richer man. 
 
 If not perhaps a wiser. 
 
 His victim still no comfort gat, 
 At breakfast, luncheon, or tea. 
 
 And kept as foolish and as fat. 
 As any fool of forty. 
 
 He then invoked a holy seer, 
 
 Whose praise was great in Zion : 
 
 Who. after solemn di-auglits of lieer. 
 Said, " Voii may me rely on." 
 
 " For yours is (juite a common case. 
 
 Indeed 1 call it simple ; 
 I have marked it in a prelate's face. 
 
 And in a maiden's dimple. 
 
 " You are bitten by tlie "Devil's Dog," 
 !'ut I will l«»ave you merrier ; 
 
 Yov you sliall shortly make good prog- 
 ress, dpite of even his terrier.
 
 THE nKVITi, nfiS 
 
 " It lui-ks within tlio manly spino, 
 But flies from Tnrkisli towels. 
 
 Beer and cold water, though it mine 
 Ria-ht in the bow — wow — owels. 
 
 *&* 
 
 " Give up, my friend, all lesser loves. 
 Drink Bass, spar, rise at seven ; 
 
 The Bible and the boxing gloves, 
 Will carry jon to Heaven. 
 
 " Fear God, and walk a thousand miles. 
 
 In hours the same in number ; 
 Go straight o'er, hedges, streams and stiles. 
 
 And trust to time and slumber." 
 
 But then he leapt across two chairs. 
 
 And bowing like a Hindoo, 
 Despising doors and stuff like stairs. 
 
 Went flying tlii-ough the win<lnw. 
 
 Thus back, and then his pious mouth. 
 
 He moistened with a bumper, 
 "This," said ho, " slakes the direst droixth. 
 
 And makes the finest jumper." 
 
 And then, to still the pleasant strife 
 
 Of thirst, ho drank another ; 
 *' Bread," cried he, is the staff of life, 
 
 " Bixt this is life, my brother." 
 
 He grimly smiled, and truth to tell, , 
 
 His very smile was muscular ; 
 And rose six feet to bid farewell. 
 
 For it was now creptxsciilar. 
 
 Away he went, and at a run. 
 
 Cleared gates not to \ye reckoned ; 
 
 Leaving a coat-tail iipon one. 
 His hat upon a second. 
 
 And then the sufferer tried a coursa 
 
 Of beer and early rising. 
 Long walks, big jumps, and brutal fore«, 
 
 With i^ationce quite surprising. 
 
 Eenouncing all his lesser loves. 
 He never said, " Come in, do ! ' 
 
 But met his friends with boxing gloves. 
 And made them scale the window. 
 
 But still the demon would not budge. 
 
 But poisoned his hilarity ; 
 Though he a thousand miles might trudge. 
 
 Evolving muscixlarity.
 
 fji^i JENNY WREN AND ROBIN. 
 
 And though most ln-avely all along'. 
 
 He tubhrd and sonibhpd and cbank lie ; 
 And shoxitf d every sacrod song, 
 
 Witliin the bool: of Sankey. 
 
 In fine, each hnniau hope seemed vain. 
 And sceptics clanioiii'ed '• O 'tis 
 
 Mere fancy," and to crown Ms pain. 
 The kitclien maid i^iive notice. 
 
 And still his symptoms nowise fell. 
 In spite of tubs and hymns' tone ; 
 
 And there was a. susj^iciotis smell, 
 AVliich sa\(>uied mnch of brimstone. 
 
 And what was all the fuss ab>out. 
 
 The roof of all this evil i- 
 Thouo-h doctors and divines might doubt, 
 
 He said it was tlie — devil. 
 
 JENNY WIJEN AND IJOBIX. 
 
 ATSrOTHER YERSFON. 
 
 Saiicy looked Miss Jennj' Wren, 
 • Coming through the wood : 
 Tripjiing down the mossy gl<'n, 
 Nimbly as she coidd. 
 
 Happy shone her hazel eye. 
 Scarlet gleamed her cloak : 
 
 All that passed Miss .Tenny by, 
 Kindly to her spoke. 
 
 Blossoms Ining in l)oth her hands, 
 
 Blossoms fair and sweet ; 
 Never even in fairy lands. 
 
 Glanced such hands and feet. 
 
 Lightly up and lightly down, 
 
 Dainty shoes she put ; 
 From beneath her russet g-own. 
 
 Pretty peejied her foot. 
 
 Rang her voice a merry chime. 
 
 Rang in falls and swells : 
 Moved her hands to tune and tinjc, 
 
 TnVe a peal of bells.
 
 JENNY WllKN AND KOBIN. 565 
 
 Browner than the nut hor haii-. 
 
 Softer than the silk ; 
 I'ink and white lier colour rare, 
 
 Apple bloom and milk. 
 
 Swiing a baskt't at her side, 
 
 P\ill of fancy things ; 
 Fluttered out her mantle wide, 
 
 Like a pair of wings. 
 
 Oft she tossed her little head, 
 
 Oft she blushed and smiled ; 
 While in concert to her tread. 
 
 Laughed the flowerets wild. 
 
 Leaves would blow against her face. 
 
 Petals too would fall ; 
 Natiire's magic gaA'e her grace. 
 
 Sunset more than all. 
 
 Eve it grew, and Jenny sped. 
 
 Quickly through the shade ; 
 Though the light was scantly shed. 
 
 Felt she not afraid. 
 
 Once indeed her scarlet cloak, 
 
 Waving as she went. 
 Caught the branches of an oak, 
 
 But it was not rent. 
 
 Robin met her by the way, 
 
 Robin bade good-night ; 
 Robin seemed so glad and gay, 
 
 Jenny haigiied outright. 
 
 Stra.uge it is when IruHage sweet, 
 
 'I'lUubles i)l the liiji; 
 
 Stranger far, when Livm-.s meet. 
 Just by mei'est liaj). 
 
 Eobm took her by the arm. 
 
 Led her through th(» wood ; 
 Jenny had no thought of harm, 
 
 Robin was so good. 
 
 Then they sat beside a stream. 
 
 Watched the lilies bob ; 
 " Life is but a fleeting dream," 
 Jenny sang to Rob. 
 
 Stole his arm around her waist. 
 Came a kind of mist : 
 ■' Cherries none so sweetly taste," 
 Robin sighed and kissed.
 
 GG6 JENNT WEEJiT AND KOBIN. 
 
 Why slioulcl Jenny's lips bo coy ? 
 
 She had known him long: 
 Knew that from a very boy, 
 
 Eobin did no wrong. 
 
 " iioses are not half so fair. 
 
 Though they please the eye," 
 Kobin said with tender air ; 
 Jenny told him, " Fie 1 " 
 
 " Day has got its gladsome boon, 
 Night was meant for love," 
 Kobin mtirmured to the moon, 
 As it rose above. 
 
 Eose the moon alcove the twain. 
 Made the shadows less ; 
 
 Eobin -wooed nor wooed in vain, 
 Jenny whispered, *' Yes." 
 
 Then they saw the starry gleam, 
 Heard the night-wind sob ; 
 " Life may not be all a di'eam," j 
 Jenny lisped to Eob. \ 
 
 Kobin answered by a squeeze. 
 Pressed her closer still. 
 
 Eustled round the nodding trees, 
 Eippled on tlie rill. 
 
 Broke a moonbeam on her Ijrow, 
 Lightened on her face : 
 
 Happy was Miss J(niny now. 
 Sacred seemed the place. 
 
 Flew an owl with staring eyes. 
 
 Like a falling clond ; 
 Floated down the solenm skies, 
 
 Tlirougli an insect crowd. 
 
 Whirred tlie mollis in cindiiig flight. 
 Far the beetle boomed ; 
 
 Faint were noises of the night. 
 Long the shadow.? loomed. 
 
 Wheeled the bats aboiit the pair. 
 Brushed them with their wings ; 
 
 Kobin blest them *unaware, 
 Blest the beauteons things. 
 
 * Coleridse'i? " Ancient Mariner."
 
 MWN MUST \V<_)RK. 
 
 Were we but as free a,s birds," 
 
 Jenny chanced to say ; 
 Idle wore her passing words, 
 
 Idle was her way. 
 
 Shunber on the lovers fell, 
 
 Silent slept the glen ; 
 Came a Spirit with a spell, 
 
 Changed them there and thcrl. 
 
 f^ha])ed them like the wingv'd throng) 
 
 Covered l)oth with down ; 
 Him he gave a silver song. 
 
 Her a fgolden crown. 
 
 When they woke they knew no change, 
 
 Joy their bosoms filled ; 
 But they found the power to range, 
 
 Ever where tliey willed. 
 
 So tlicy flit thi-ougli woods and fields, 
 
 Wliile the sununers last; 
 Hcize the peace the present yields. 
 
 Dream not of the past. 
 
 Ijoving na^nes and hearty <'licer. 
 Deal them maids and nieu; 
 
 Other birds Cod reckons clear. 
 These His §cock and hen. 
 
 '567 
 
 MEN 3IUST WORK. 
 
 '• Wom-u must Weep ? " . . . I'fetty darlings, 
 
 When they nev^er should have needs, 
 Free and happy as the starlings 
 
 Picking out your garden seeds ; 
 Well, i>erhaps, they must ; a Poet, 
 
 If he is a little blind 
 To their follies, <.iught to know it— - 
 
 And it he's a little kind ; 
 But though mistress is a dragon. 
 
 Though the master is a Turk, 
 Though no beer is in the flagon — 
 Men must ivork. 
 
 t Golden-crested wron. 
 
 § " The Robin Redbreast and the wret], 
 Arc God Almighty's cock and hen."
 
 5G8 HOW TO BE AN ANGEL. 
 
 " Women must weep ?" . . .. Dainty creatures 
 
 They of raptures and romance, 
 Feel the beautj' of tlaeir features 
 
 Tears do only more enhance ; 
 Languid on the couch they mutter 
 
 Broken words of hopes and fears, 
 Nibbling thinnest bread and butter, 
 
 Witli no other gift than tears ; 
 But thougli in the lamp the benzo- 
 
 line is low, and Tom woiUd shirk, 
 Jim is mad with infliienza, — 
 
 Men must icork. 
 
 " Women *(!(( si weej) ? " . . . In the poses 
 
 Best becoming graceful forms, 
 Curtained olf witli wraps and roses 
 
 From the breath of vulgar storms ? 
 With tlie finest cambric folded 
 
 Softly, as a lily lies, 
 To the face discreetly moidded. 
 
 Just to sliow the lovely eyes ? 
 But, though tired in silk or satin. 
 
 They go driving to the kirk, 
 Where's the i^ew to take poor Pat in r — 
 Men niMst worl. 
 
 " Women must weep ? " . . . Ah, no pleasure 
 
 Is there like a. genial cry. 
 Which so thoughtfully they treasiire 
 
 Till the favoured man is by ; 
 Their one logic without reason. 
 
 Their one weapon to the close. 
 Fashion never oi\t of season. 
 
 Which no male tiling can oppose ; 
 But tliougb //((';/ may ^igli of marriage 
 
 By the fireside, ])eck and perk, 
 Hip sweet tea, or loll in carriage, — 
 3Ien must work. 
 
 HOW TO 151'] AN ANGEL. 
 
 " He needed only the handsome young lady model . . . some 
 long white drapery, and a pair of goose's luings, and he would manu- 
 facture your popixlar modern angel with the greatest ease." — G. D. 
 Leslie, E.A. 
 
 If you have the usual charms — 
 
 Never mind aifection — 
 Radiant eyes and rounded arms, 
 
 Pink and white complexion ; 
 Tliough not strictly all your own, 
 fcioft and suuny tresses,
 
 HOW TO BE AN ANGEL. uU'J 
 
 Kippliug as by breezes blown, 
 
 . Meant for kind caresses ; 
 Lips, that while they murmur nay — 
 
 This I should not mention — 
 As they sweetly pout and play, 
 
 Yet invite attention. 
 If jour costume, comme il fav.t, 
 
 Just sets oil' yoiu graces. 
 With the aiDpendag-e of a beau 
 
 Broken to yoiir paces ; 
 Yet in this your dainty store. 
 
 Fashion is a fetter. 
 Need you find of beauty more, 
 
 Sig-h for something better ; 
 Fancy with the jjink and white. 
 
 Which of Heaven is relic. 
 You have feelings fitted quite 
 
 For a course angelic ; 
 Seek not doctor nor divine 
 
 For tlie one fair finish. 
 That yoxir spirit will refine 
 
 Earthliness diminish ; 
 Trouble not your favourite church, 
 
 Try not chosen chapel, 
 Piish not far a doulitful search 
 
 For forbidden apple ; 
 Help is at year very door. 
 
 Never dreamed by Wesley, 
 Freely offered the most poor — 
 
 Witness CI. D. Leslie ! 
 Yes, if you would angel be. 
 
 If no more capricious. 
 Worldly vanities you flee. 
 
 Piously ambitious ; 
 If you d^i indeed asx)ire 
 
 For celestial sailing, - 
 Ever walk in white attire. 
 
 Snowy garments trailing ; 
 And, whatever fortune bring. 
 
 Ere the day is older, 
 Clap — its cheap — a (joose's wing. 
 
 On eacll pretty shoulder 1 
 Then, above these earthly rocks, 
 
 Plumed by Art's prescription, 
 Yovi can fly from stumbling " stocks," 
 
 Plagues and " Bonds Egyptian " ; 
 Ah, yoii then may yet attain 
 
 To a loftier stature. 
 If (what art cannot ordain) 
 
 Goose ijou arc hy naturs.
 
 570 MARRIED OK MARRED. 
 
 MARRIED OR MARRED. 
 
 PAET I.— THE SACEAMENT OF SOEEOW. 
 
 I am told, O mj' love, thou hast niarried. 
 And I yiiessed thou wast marred ; 
 
 Could'st thou not for a season have tarried^ 
 Ere thy freedom was barred ? 
 
 I was pocn-, I was thwarted by distance— 
 
 Out of si^ht, out of mind ; 
 There was no one to oif er assistance 
 
 To the deaf and the blind. 
 
 Fdr I he;vi'd not, I saw not misfoi-tuijej 
 
 I was voiceless and far ; 
 Did I knowj should I Care to import Uud 
 
 So fallen a star ? 
 
 , Yet percliance liad 1 dr(_'ainf"d of disastef, 
 
 I had s})ared not to sjiciik ; 
 1 Jiad flown to thy I'escuiii!.; faster, 
 To print shame on tliy clieek. 
 
 Post foryct all the vows that we pliLi'lited, 
 
 Ami the I'ing that W(! broke : 
 That thou aniony women hast l>liL;-hli'd 
 
 The sweet life hive awoke y 
 
 L)i)st I'eniember tlie hours that we wand(_'r(xl 
 
 "\Vith hand clasped in hand. 
 And the fears for oiir future wii jiondcred, 
 
 In the dusk of the lan<l ^ 
 
 O the kisses, the sighs, the embr.-ices. 
 With the tears that would start ! 
 
 Ha,ve they left not a touch of their traces 
 In the hush of thy heart i" 
 
 Hast thou g'one into gloom of forgetting, 
 
 In the lapse of thy course ? 
 Hast thou past beyond pangs of regretting, 
 
 Beyond reach of remorse i-" 
 
 In the past, or the future, or present, 
 
 Is thy haven of .light? 
 Is the harvest about thee so j^leasant. 
 
 That thou reapest delight H 
 
 And the churl that thy lieauty has brightenpd. 
 
 In his parish and scliool-- 
 Though the load on thy soul is nut liglitened — 
 
 Is he knave oi- a fool '■f
 
 MARKIED OK MAEKI5U. oil 
 
 I am told lie is rich and a rector. 
 
 Fond of pigs and of port ; 
 A n<l there's iise in a saintly i^rotector, 
 
 Vl) in heaven or at coiii-t. 
 
 After dinner, they say, he gets fuddled, 
 
 And he needs to be fanned ; ' 
 
 While his tithings and wenches are luud'lled. 
 
 With the sermon on hand. 
 
 Then he dreams in his ci'apnknis shimber, 
 
 What the beast in him must ; 
 Prates of sins without name, withoiit numljer. 
 
 Mixes learning and lust. 
 
 Then he wakes with the clatter of glasses, 
 
 And a sound like a curse ; 
 Chucks his maid on the chin as she passes. 
 
 And jingles liis purse. 
 
 Uut he seems, in the pulpit, so sober. 
 
 So devoted and sound ; 
 And as mellow as pears in October, 
 
 When just frosted and browned. 
 
 Never mind, if he's ugly and narrow". 
 
 Or as old as thj sire ; 
 Let him sport with his hoc and his ImriMW, 
 
 With his pigs in their mire. 
 
 my love, I am jealous and bitter, 
 
 For the fate thou hast met ; 
 For I hoped, like a fool, I was fitter— 
 
 O mj^ playmate, my jiet ! 
 
 Thou liast left me so soon without warning, 
 
 That it's all like a dream — 
 Like a nightmare that comes before morning. 
 
 In the gloom and the gleam. 
 
 Yesterday we were finends, we were lovers, 
 
 And our faces were bright ; 
 Yet to-day but the dawning discoy('rs 
 
 The delusions of night. 
 
 And the morrow — I muse on the uinrrnw 
 
 With an awe and a grief ; 
 Will it heap on us suiferings and sorrow, 
 
 Will it bring iis. relief y 
 
 O the visions that rise and confound me. 
 
 When for solace I burn ! 
 O the troubles that chafe and surrnund me. 
 
 Wheresoever I turn !
 
 •o72 MARRIED OK MARRED. 
 
 And thou — is there peace in thy bosom, 
 
 Is there lig-ht in those ej^es ? 
 Has thy life not ji-one out in its blossom. 
 
 And the snn in thy skies ? 
 
 'Will a child ever call thee its mother, 
 
 And climb to thy knee ? 
 Will its fondlint^s and foolishness smother 
 
 All the yearnings to be ? 
 
 Ah, the fii-elight will flicker and show thee 
 
 Fair tresses that sliine : 
 Dim features will waver and throw thee 
 
 Their endearments divine. 
 
 In thy chamber no blessing to nestle 
 
 To the warmth of thy breast ; 
 On thy i^illow no darling to wrestle, 
 
 And to sweeten thy rest. 
 
 In the day a mute hunger and raving 
 
 For the lips and tlie hands ; 
 In the night but a pitiless craving 
 
 For the childish demands. 
 
 Thou wilt hear but thy husl;)and's dull tattle, 
 
 As he chokes with liis bile ; 
 But no infantine lisping or ^Drattle, 
 
 To provoke thee to smile. 
 
 When the babe of thy friend chides its nKjthcr, 
 
 Will it sting thee at last ? 
 Wilt thou wish that thy fortmie were other 
 
 Than tbe fortune tliou luist ? 
 
 Yet tUuu laclcost no ]uirc:lia.sc of i)ion<'y. 
 
 At the l)eck of thy hand ; 
 Thou hast stores of the milk ;nid the Jioimj 
 
 Of the fat of the laud. 
 
 For his animal eye in thy satins 
 
 Finds a luxury cold : 
 And he swells to survey thee at Matins, 
 
 In his purple and gold. 
 
 Is the! title of wife such a treasure. 
 
 If the truth is not there ? 
 Wilt thou find in his thoughts an^^ jjleasure. 
 
 That thou ever canst share ? 
 
 Is it home where the household is saddened 
 
 By the plaint of thy dove y 
 Where the liall and the stairs arc not gladdened, 
 
 With tlic laughter uf love ?
 
 JIARftTKD OR MARTiTin, 
 
 Tn tho darkness and silence I wonder. 
 
 When thy dreams are at strife, 
 Wilt thou deem it a sin, or a blunder. 
 
 To have blasted thy life ? 
 
 And in vain any hop(>s dost tho\i cherish, 
 
 Wnere the pi-omise is not ; 
 They will dazzle thy sig-ht but to perish, 
 
 They will ripen to rot. 
 
 (J T know how the shadows will thicken, 
 
 And thy l)osoni will quake ; 
 Thoii wilt cry for a rajrtiiro to quicken. 
 
 For a pi'esence to wake. 
 
 Thoug-h thy sobs and entreaties were double, 
 
 Yet the storm would be still ; 
 Shall God and His thimders have trouble. 
 
 To come down at thy will ? 
 
 At each step thou wilt tremble and licarkcn 
 
 For the foot that has fled : 
 And the eyes in their anguish will darken, 
 • As the eyes of the dead. 
 
 And for nu" — but f cannot uncover 
 
 Half the wounds of my heart ; 
 It were idle to plead as a lover. 
 
 When a stranger's thou art. 
 
 If I dared for a moment to sever 
 
 From my passion its mask, 
 Shoidd I find what I follow for ever. 
 
 Should I have what I ask ? 
 
 Would my fire be availing to heat thee. 
 
 And to draw thee more near ? 
 W^oirldst thoii mock at my weeping to meet thee. 
 
 Were I borne on my bier ? 
 
 Thy hands would be surely averted, 
 
 In the maddening of pain ; 
 And the tears would not leave thee deserted, 
 
 By their tempest of rain. 
 
 But, alas I as a fool I am dreaming. 
 
 As a knave I conspire ; 
 To defraud thee of sanctity's seeming. 
 
 Is an impious desire. 
 
 Stick fast to thy holy supporter. 
 
 While he is still thy own ; 
 Till the qiierulous days growing shorter. 
 
 Leave thee childless and lone.
 
 )7'1 • MAREIKn OR MAtlEED. 
 
 Thoiig'h Its gossip wax flat in its flavoiir. 
 
 And liis stories be stale. 
 And his breath have too often the savour 
 
 Of his snuff and his alo; 
 
 Tlioui;'li he stint tliee and cease to be civil. 
 
 And be free with liis oath ; 
 Though in waking and dreaming he drivel, 
 
 Nor to lying is loath ; 
 
 If, at last, when his senses are duller. 
 
 And his life in his paunch. 
 He should beat in thy paleness a coloui'. 
 
 Thou nmst bear and be staunch. 
 
 Is he not all thy husband and patron. 
 
 With his burden of fat; 
 And thou but the jest of a matron. 
 
 Who art wedded to that '-f 
 
 Do not fret at his vices and weakness. 
 
 His debaiiches of wine ; 
 13 ut put up with the scandal in meekness— 
 
 For, rcnieniber, he's thint. 
 
 But my lij^s, O they long so to bless theo. 
 
 And they tliirst so to kiss ; 
 And my arms, how they crave to caress thee. 
 
 The dear maiden they miss. 
 
 In the daytime thy image yet lingers. 
 
 And I grope in the night — • 
 Ah, 1 feel for the touch of thy fingers. 
 
 That are wondrous and white. 
 
 I am hiingry, and nought can appease me 
 
 But the words of thy moutii ; 
 I am parched, and what medicine can ease me 
 
 Bvit thy balm for my drouth Y 
 
 I am faint, and the morning is dreary. 
 
 And the noon has a cloud ; 
 Yea, at evening I mourn and am wearj'. 
 
 For the love that was vowed. 
 
 I am stricken, and no one is neai- me 
 
 To take coiuit of iny sighs ; 
 I am dying, and nothing can cheer me. 
 
 Save the light of thy eyes. 
 
 Is it day ? is it night ? for 1 know not. 
 
 And my (eyesight is darlc ; 
 Do they call me and chide ? Ijut X go not. 
 
 For iny ears canngt hai'k.
 
 MAHRIIon on MARRED. O/O 
 
 my davliuo-, my sweet, I :ini thinking 
 
 Tliroiigli tlie seasons of bheo ; 
 And thy voice I am ever enlinking 
 
 With the sonnd of the sea. 
 
 When I toy with the shell of the shina^le, 
 
 That I lift to my ear ; 
 My God ! the soft mnriuvirs that tini;-le. 
 
 And the name that I hear 1 
 
 In the wail of the west wind it quivers. 
 
 With low pulses of grief ; 
 In the chill of the east wind it shivers. 
 
 Like a storm-beaten leaf. 
 
 In the crowd I go foolishly chasing 
 
 Thy ph;intom or thoi\ght, 
 And alone I am always embracing 
 
 A form that is nought. 
 
 Sliall I give of luy liatred or laughtt'r. 
 
 For the wrong thou hast done ? 
 Shall we meet in the world or hereafter. 
 
 And apart or as one ? 
 
 There is death with its sting and its scourges, , 
 
 .-Vnd the grave has its curse ; 
 Yea, the sea has its funeral siu'ges ; 
 
 But tliv lov(> — it is worse. 
 
 PAET IL— KINODOM OF SORROW, 
 
 It is come, as I dreamed in a vision 
 
 Of the night that is past ; 
 Brief with sunshine of dazzling derision. 
 
 Long with shadows to last. 
 
 Thou hast sent me a sign of thy hearing. 
 
 As a moan from the main ; 
 I have read it wdth hope that is fearing. 
 
 With a pleasui'O like pain. 
 
 'I'hou hast written in sorrow not anger, 
 
 O my Beaiity, my (.^ueen ; 
 1 have broken the lull of thy languor, 
 
 With a tempest unseen. 
 
 It is, ah, such a thing for caressing. 
 This sweet flower of thy heart ; 
 
 And perchance l\y my p.issionate pves-iing, 
 J liiy own shall luijiart.
 
 o7B MARftlED OR MARRKH. 
 
 I have covered the pages with kisses. 
 
 I have bathed them in tears ; 
 With the sobs that unsealed the abysses. 
 
 That were buried for years. 
 
 Then T counted the words — aye, the letters, 
 
 Thoiio-h tlie coimting was vain ; 
 Till I fashioned them all into fetters. 
 
 And their charm was my chain. 
 
 And tlie leaves had a musical rustle. 
 
 Like the leaves of a tree ; 
 When they chime through the turmoil and bustle. 
 
 Of our life's troubled sea. 
 
 And the sheets that no ruler had levelled, 
 
 Ban in wrinkle and wave ; 
 And I pictured the tresses dishevelled. 
 
 Of a pitiful slave. 
 
 Not a dot. not a line has escaped me. 
 
 And each dash has its doom ; 
 In each crease I liave cruelly shaped me, 
 
 Sdinc iuiagining's tomb. 
 
 And T saw — could I miss them ? — tlie traces 
 
 Of the tears that were thine ; 
 But I folded their stains in enrbraeos. 
 
 And effaced them with mine. 
 
 O the charms of the tremulous writing. 
 
 By that wonderfiil hand ; 
 Hiei-oglyphies for one man's delighting. 
 
 With their darling demand I 
 
 They are symbols of sadness and travail. 
 
 That are bruising my breast ; 
 And, ah, what but my love coidd imravel 
 
 All the utter unrest ? 
 
 Yet the blots are the bloom of their beauties. 
 
 Are the cro^\ar of the whole ; 
 And the slips and the slurs are but duties. 
 
 Scarce expressed by th(! soul. 
 
 Lo, in this is a voice above Fashion, 
 
 Is a cry beyond speech ; 
 With the rush of a mighty compassion. 
 
 That no writing could reach. 
 
 And in that is a queruloiis paining. 
 
 For some delicate turn ; 
 Or the stir of an infinite straining. 
 
 After words that will burn.
 
 MABUIKIJ Olt MAIIREU. 577 
 
 Au*l just, here is a mystical meauiiig, 
 
 A sweet trouble of mist ; 
 Wliere the head was laid low in its leaning, 
 
 On its miseries' list. 
 
 And there is a cross in the cryincTt 
 
 In tlie passion a pause : 
 Wlien the sonnd of a sorrowful si^'hing, 
 
 Gave a clinch to the clause. 
 
 And the next is a shadowing,' shorter, 
 
 JJut mon.^ keen in its ken ; 
 "Where a joy was thy suftering's sorter^ 
 
 And the point of thy pen. 
 
 And there now came a terrible struggle/ 
 
 Wliere the strokes are so lilack ; 
 While the heart had not courage to juggle',. 
 
 With its ruin and wrack. 
 
 Then a blank with its sinister tjmen,, 
 
 In the wliirl of thy woes ; 
 Like the parting of desperate foemen, 
 
 When they part but to close. 
 
 Till the waves of calamity's ocean, 
 
 That liad spared for a space. 
 Sallied forth witli a wilder commotion. 
 
 With a fiercer embrace. 
 
 Till the steeds of thy outraged convictions;^ 
 
 For a moment reined back. 
 Bursting out with yet deeper afflictions. 
 
 Swept them on in their track. 
 
 .■Vnd forsooth in this beggarly nation. 
 
 In which some of us live. 
 There's a. freshness in frantic sensation, 
 
 That no grinding can give. 
 
 All our pleasiu'es we grudgingly levy. 
 
 Just as felons reprieved ; 
 They not only are sombre and heavy^ 
 
 But in coarseness conceived. 
 
 And the Venus we worship is stiipid, 
 
 But a dowdy and drab ; 
 While the wings and the arrows of Cupid 
 
 We discard for a — cab. 
 
 And we see but a dangerous faction. 
 
 In the play of our hearts ; 
 Fo)' our love is a business transactionj 
 
 And a' matter for marts.
 
 678 KAREIED OR MAREEfl. 
 
 So our feelings are labellecl with prices. 
 
 And are loaded with lids ; 
 And our wives and luxurious vices. 
 
 All are open to bids. 
 
 Though our maids be of milk and of honey. 
 
 And look lovely and sweet; 
 They are sold for a handful of money. 
 
 Like the scum on the street. 
 
 We so cling to the counter and grubbing. 
 
 And so smell of the shop ; 
 I'hat we ought to be gratefid for ridDbing, 
 
 That makes some of it drop. 
 
 I'here's a genius in perfect disaster. 
 
 Turns the wilderness green ; 
 Moulds the clown a great tragedy ma.ster, 
 
 Paints the i^easant a queen. 
 
 Every pain has an element scenic. 
 
 And gets rid of a crutch ; 
 Going back to the glories Hellenic, 
 
 And a natural touch. 
 
 When we wallow in festering triteness. 
 
 And vulgarities' reek ; 
 What a boon were the naked politeness. 
 
 Of the elegant tfreek ! 
 
 Go and study in sorrow your notions. 
 Learn from solitude thuutrht ; 
 
 You may purchase some bastard emotions, 
 But the true are unbought. 
 
 Then be thankful, my darling, for crosses. 
 That are crowns in disguise ; 
 
 There are gains in the gloomiest losses. 
 If old fountains^arise. 
 
 To have felt, at wliatever the peril. 
 That our heart? are our own, 
 
 Iji a period so stony and sterile. 
 Is a joy to have known. 
 
 To return, if but once for a second. 
 
 To the Orient springs ; 
 Is for ever a space to be reckoned. 
 
 Among holier things. 
 
 And to thee has been given the treasure, 
 
 From its sources above ; 
 The sweet pain that is higJier than pleasure. 
 
 That is deeper than love.
 
 ' MAltBIED Oli MAKiiED. 579 
 
 Tlioil art blessed of women who languislij 
 
 And anointed a chief ; 
 Thoui^h thy sceptre is suffering and anguish. 
 
 Though thy kingdom is grief. 
 
 Thou canst say that thy crown was no trinket. 
 
 Nor thy enlpire a sliam ; 
 " I had bitterness' cup and could drink it. 
 
 And therefore I am." 
 
 To thy feet all the sorrows come bending. 
 
 And thy subjects are sins ; 
 Where the conquests of others aie ending, 
 
 There thy triumph begins. 
 
 Then rejoice in the riches of moiu'ning, 
 
 And in misery's hold ; 
 For thy sackcloth is noblest adorning, 
 
 And thy ashes are gold. 
 
 Thou art robed in regalia lowly, 
 
 In remorse of the years ; 
 While thy chaplet has charms that are holy, 
 
 And thy jewels are tears. 
 
 Thou hast seen the fair secrets of weeping. 
 
 And that fears have their flowers ; 
 Thou hast wakened the truth that was sleeping, 
 
 With thy penitent showers. 
 
 I could guess how thy portion was meted, 
 
 I could picture thy pangs ; 
 All the thoughts that were never comjjleted. 
 
 Every sentence that hangs. 
 
 All the moans that are mute, I could finish. 
 
 All the shadows could show ; 
 Not a spray would my wearing diminish. 
 
 In thy garland of woe. 
 
 I could fancy I looked o'er thy shoulder. 
 
 At each striving and start ; 
 Saw thy face growing darker and colder. 
 
 Felt the beats of thy heart. 
 
 I could shape every wincing and shudder. 
 
 Every heave of thy form ; 
 As a ship without compass and rudder. 
 
 Eunning wild throiigh the storm. 
 
 I could trace how each Istter was fashioned,- 
 
 How it laboured or flowed ; 
 In a stroke road a story impassioned, 
 
 lu a line see a load.
 
 530 MAKBIEU Oil MAfcEED. 
 
 I €Ould follow the curve k as they trembled. 
 
 In some petulant touch ; 
 Mark when this a mere trifle dissembled. 
 
 And when that made too nuich. 
 
 xN.h. the breaks with their eloquent hollows. 
 That were crowded with pain ! 
 
 The erasure that uselessly follows, 
 A confession insane ! 
 
 O defetits, that, in spite of the railing, 
 Are yet dearer than law ! 
 
 ye faults, that are fairer in failing. 
 Than a face withoirt flaw ! 
 
 Give me life that at least has election. 
 
 With a blemish or two ; 
 Give me love with its sweet imperfection^ 
 
 In its tripping- so true. 
 
 Give me frailties of natural cravings. 
 
 With a dash of the clay ; 
 And some spots in the splendid behavings. 
 
 Or a star that can stray. 
 
 Give me lapses all human in meekness. 
 
 From the formalist fence ; 
 And some segments of rich incompleteness. 
 
 In the circle of sense. 
 
 Give me taints in the temple's own porta), 
 And a, faith that may fall ; 
 
 1 am earth-born and terrildy mortal. 
 And have room for them all. 
 
 I have foibles for generous errors. 
 
 As I feel them within ; 
 Nor am squeamish and troubled by terrors. 
 
 At magnanimorxs sin. 
 
 Bvit away with your whitewash complexion. 
 
 And your prurient breath ; 
 There is life in a tender deflexion. 
 
 While in dogmas is death. 
 
 From conventions of cant comes no issue. 
 
 Save a purulent sore ; 
 Under dresses decorous of tissue. 
 
 Throbs the heart of a whore. 
 
 Who has patience with whining and snuffling, 
 
 Or with prudery's plea '^ 
 Have yoiir fill of the shadowt and shuffling, 
 
 But the substance fur nie.
 
 ^rA■RRT■RD OR MABRETl, 581 
 
 I am weary of ways ceremonious. 
 
 And the mincing- of feet ; 
 I am sick of the looks sanctimonious. 
 
 Of the canonised cheat. 
 
 Take the forms, if you like them, to plague you. 
 
 With a frost-bitten creed ; 
 But to some they give tits of the ague. 
 
 Or to lechery lead. 
 
 They that wash the outside of the platter. 
 
 While they wash not within ; 
 When their washing should purge only flatter. 
 
 Where they end should begin. 
 
 He who plays the iincleanly ascetic. 
 
 Without shifting his shirt, 
 Recommends not by robe or.cosmetic. 
 
 Either doctrine or dirt. 
 
 And a discipline nature avows not. 
 
 Rather hinders than aids ; 
 And the tortiire, that Freedom allows not. 
 
 The whole being degrades. 
 
 All the racks and the scourges invented, 
 
 For the flaying of flesh. 
 Never made one poor doubter contented. 
 
 If they yet might enmesh. 
 
 I have tried with an infinite yearning. 
 
 All your perfecting jDain ; 
 But the penance had siich a returning, 
 
 No perfections again. 
 
 Let the saints have their delicate dinners. 
 
 With a perfume of lust ; 
 Shall I shrink from the dirt of the sinners. 
 
 Since I sprang from the dust ? 
 
 There's a spark in the dingiest hovel. 
 
 That the palace may lack ; 
 And the highest have natures that grovel. 
 
 In a bestial ti-ack. 
 
 Give me modesty, mewed in its cottage. 
 
 Not a rose-coloiired shame ; 
 Grive me frankness, though starved upon pottage. 
 
 Calling things by their name. 
 
 Find me woman, with kindness untainted. 
 
 Of whose heart is no doubt ; 
 ^ot a creature bepatched and bepainted, 
 ' And with loving- left out.
 
 582 MAEEIKB OR MARRED. 
 
 And the priory of womau is weakness. 
 
 When the weakness is pure ; 
 Though the blossom of maidenly meekness. 
 
 In the kennel endnre. 
 
 Theologians may wrangle and bellow. 
 
 At piir friendships with clay ; 
 Give ine rather the worm for my fellow. 
 
 Than the ass with his bray. 
 
 Call me heretic— guiltily lenient. 
 
 To the blight in the blood; 
 Though yoxir codes may bo cool and convenient. 
 
 There is warmth in the mud. 
 
 Turn away from the claims of the gvitter. 
 
 The unfortunates bar ; 
 Yet the stuff that yovi mumble and mutter. 
 
 It is fouler by far. 
 
 There's a filth of the surface, my brother. 
 
 That is often but shammed ; 
 In the sanctuary's seat is another. 
 
 That is deadly and damned. 
 
 On the pavement is loftier cleanness, 
 
 And the mire has more trvitli ; 
 There are touches of godlike sereneness. 
 
 In the mean and uncouth. 
 
 There are specks in the groundlings you si^urn at. 
 
 But your spots are not known ; 
 There are motes in the vision you turn at. 
 
 But a beam in your own. 
 
 And O all ye sweet sinnings and blottings. 
 
 Ye are welcome to me ; 
 Behind piety's mask tl:ere are rottings, 
 
 That are viler than ye. 
 
 Ye are preciovis, O innocent blurrings. 
 
 Ye are holy at heart ; 
 Your mistakes are the liberal stirrings 
 
 Of some Catholic part. 
 
 But enough of pretesting at purists. 
 
 And at dogma's dead bones ; 
 What's the rise to attack sinecvirists. 
 
 Or in striking the stones ? 
 
 It is idle and pestilent treason. 
 
 To retiirn to first acts ; 
 And no right has so solid a reason. 
 
 As the logic of facts.
 
 Thing's aeooniplisliod admit no solutions. 
 
 Though the rust to them sticks ; 
 And to kick against institutions, 
 
 Only hurts him who kicks. 
 
 For, alas, in the shrines of society. 
 
 There's no god like the fool ; 
 And whatever the minor variety. 
 
 It's the corpses that rule. 
 
 But untruths have an end — though it tarry. 
 
 And to that cannot lie ; 
 And the systems that haunt us and harry. 
 
 They shall moulder and die. 
 
 Noble vices and splendid distortions. 
 
 With the fanatic's dream. 
 Shall be rounded with radiant proportions 
 
 Into virtues supreme. 
 
 Then the discords that flow from our greatness, 
 
 From our heaven-givon speech. 
 Flowing back in a fuller sedateness, 
 
 To their sources will reach. 
 
 For the jarrings and jibbing and jolting, 
 
 Onlj" rise from our haste ; 
 There is nothing in tumbles revolting. 
 
 Nothing wrong but bad taste. 
 
 Is there dirt like the demon of coarseness, 
 
 Of a scatter-brained skull ? 
 The sole sin of the sinner is hoarseness. 
 
 Of the wit to be dull. 
 
 Be the singer a Whig or a Tory, 
 
 That is not what we scan ; 
 Be his erroi's the sting of a story. 
 
 Yet his voice is the man. 
 
 If the wit has no income for owning, 
 
 That is not to the point ; 
 He can vex vis alone by his droning. 
 
 By a joke out of joint. 
 
 Yet I blame not the rudeness and roughness. 
 
 Of the clods or the clouts ; 
 Not that human and healthier toughness. 
 
 That our daintiness flouts. 
 
 Not the coarseness of primitive sprawling, 
 
 Or an animal roll ; 
 Biit a withering mildew's enthralling, 
 
 That is sapping the soul.
 
 jgi _ MARRIET) OR MARREP. 
 
 No;t tlio coarseness of chann A and border, 
 
 When the rivulet swells : 
 But corruption of deeper disorder. 
 
 That which poisons the wells. 
 
 Tor the worst of a Bacchanal sousing. 
 
 Is defiling the skill ; 
 There's no danger in common carousing. 
 
 With no plague-siK't within. 
 
 And bad taste is an adec^uate meanu-e. 
 
 Of the evil at core ; 
 Which slips out when he lies at his leisure. 
 
 From the charlatan's store. 
 
 Who would care for the actress's history, 
 
 If she perfects her part ? 
 If her birth was a blot or a mystery. 
 
 That is nothing to Art. 
 
 Antecedents and private excesses. 
 
 Her repute may have spoiled : 
 But our nature is large and ti-ansgresses. 
 
 While the soul is not soiled. 
 
 On the stage we may smile on the artist, 
 Though at home we must scowl ; 
 
 If the uiiin is a tippler or Cliartist. 
 Or his linen is toul. 
 
 When he's true to his part, does it matter 
 
 If he limps in his life ? 
 I he hails in his father a hatter. 
 
 Beats his carpet oi' wife 'f 
 
 What has nature to do with the scandals. 
 
 That a character smirch y 
 Why, the game is not worth half the candles. 
 
 That are sjjent in the search. 
 
 To be wicked no doubt is a blunder. 
 
 To be stupid is worse : 
 To be blind in the world an<l its wonder. 
 
 Is the deadliest curse. 
 
 To have with you the beauty and sori-ow. 
 
 And to feel they are flat ; 
 To see none of the mist of the morrow ; 
 
 There's no pathos like that. 
 
 There are minds that are coarser than matter. 
 That in frost have their roots ; 
 
 Who give birth to but imbef-ile clatter ; 
 It is they that are brutes.
 
 Whilo above thPin and richly aroimd tlicni, 
 
 Yoa, and under their foet, 
 Are tho ansjels that fain would have wound them. 
 
 In investiture .swMrt. 
 
 Hut tliey will not, tiieir cars are so darkened, 
 
 And in Heaven there are tears ; 
 For the spirits tliat once niij^-ht have hearkened. 
 
 To tlie yuarniuLC of years. 
 
 And the ang-els go grievine- an<l mourn in ;..,', 
 
 For the souls of their care ; 
 If they would but have heard without scorning, 
 
 When the music was there. 
 
 God Himself is sore troubled in glory. 
 
 For the work of His hands ; 
 As he lists to the pitiful story. 
 
 Through the night of the lands. 
 
 But they hear not the voices a))ove tliem. 
 
 Or the mercies that pull ; 
 And they heed not who hate or who love tliom. 
 
 If their bellies be full. 
 
 And they will not, they will not look higher. 
 
 To the palms that are waveil ; 
 They are deaf to the strains that draN\' nigher. 
 
 They refused to be saved. 
 
 And the raptiire of suffering and losing. 
 
 Is no rapture to these ; 
 And the dignity lent us in choosing. 
 
 Has no pathos to please. 
 
 They know nought of the glorified trouble, 
 
 That's the crown of the throne ; 
 And their darkness is deadly and double. 
 
 Since it's all so unknown. 
 
 There are cloird-lands too gloomy to picture. 
 
 That encircle our souls ; 
 But thy own gives a beauty to stricture. 
 
 That the censor consoles. 
 
 And the blots are thy majesty's blo.^soms, 
 
 That were blasted by fate ; 
 Though when littleness lives in our bosoms. 
 
 It's a crime to be great. 
 
 Yet if blots have an elo([uent pleading, 
 
 There is more between lines ; 
 There are riches of passionate meaning. 
 
 In all absence of signs.
 
 586 MAERIED OB MAR-REB, 
 
 For tlie soul of the silence is laden, 
 
 With a burden of woe ; 
 Like the wail of a death-stricken^maiden, 
 
 At the ravisher's blow. 
 
 As he o-loats on hei' infinite graces. 
 
 With libidinous breath ; 
 And she flies from his brutal embraces. 
 
 To more merciful death. 
 
 And thy miiteness is vocal with panting. 
 
 For a loftier air ; 
 Which comes home with the ancient enchanting. 
 
 Of the ages so fair. 
 
 Ah, the times that to Nature were docile. 
 
 And with principles dwelt ; 
 When they feared not a formula fossil. 
 
 When they spolce as they felt. 
 
 When the silence itself was a sermon, 
 
 Tliat no pulpit could preach ; 
 And the dews of Parnassus and Hermon, 
 
 Had a spell more than speech. 
 
 When the seer had his seat on the mountain, 
 
 And his sight on the star ; 
 And the music that flowed from the fountain. 
 
 Sang of things as they are. 
 
 When each man heard tlie palse of Creation, 
 In its throbbings tlirough space ; 
 
 And each maiden from eve's ministration. 
 Stole the flush of her face. 
 
 When the world had a wonderful colour. 
 
 With a stir and a glow ; 
 Ere the shadow waxed darker and duller. 
 
 And the melodies slow. 
 
 When they worked to the rhythm of dances. 
 
 And the earth was in tune ; 
 While the flame of their prodigaFfancies, 
 
 Made of January Jiine. 
 
 When they fought as they frolicked for pleasure. 
 
 And no pleasure was sad ; 
 Yea, the clash of their swords beat a measure. 
 
 And their sorrow was glad. 
 
 Do I see not a sign that thou bnrnest. 
 
 With the searchings of light ? 
 Not a glimpse of a grappling in earnest^ 
 
 With the pliautoms of light i*
 
 jrARRTBD OR jrARRET). o87 
 
 And between all tlie lines of thy letter. 
 
 In the spaces that yatVn, 
 I imagine the crack of a fetter. 
 
 And the g-liuimer of dawn. 
 
 I can trace in tlie blankness a yearning, 
 
 For the altars (;f eld ; 
 And there gleams a religious retiirning^ 
 
 To the fire that they held. 
 
 When the altar was life at its highest, 
 
 And a faith was the fire ; 
 And its offering the prayers that thou criest. 
 
 When they rend and aspire. 
 
 Shall I breathe in the liarron hiatus. 
 
 All the passion to come ? 
 When the blast of a mighty afflatus, 
 
 Gives a voice to the dumb :■' 
 
 Lo, the chains shall be broken in sunder. 
 
 The ice-barrier part ; 
 And thine eye shall awaken in wonder. 
 
 To the wealth of the neart. 
 
 But I cannot, I will not unseal it. 
 
 What the future withholds; 
 Let the rapture of being reveal it. 
 
 When the spirit unfolds. 
 
 Yet I know thoii art true and art tender. 
 
 And hast wings of remorse ; 
 That thy nature will rise in its splendour. 
 
 To the height of its source. 
 
 It will rise ? Nay, the struggle is ended. 
 
 And thy spirit is free ; 
 From the deep of despair has ascended. 
 
 To the " mighty may-be." 
 
 But O here is the thing thou has fingered. 
 
 With the warmth of thy hands ; 
 And the light of thy glances has lingered. 
 
 Like the starlight on lands. 
 
 Here thy kisses (as summer's have rested,) 
 
 And I touch it with mine ; 
 Touch the treasure thy lips have invested. 
 
 With a fragrance divine. 
 
 Here thy sanctified sighings have pondered. 
 
 And thy tresses have trailed ; 
 Meditations like moonrise have iDondei-edj 
 
 On the seas thou hast sailed.
 
 588 MAEEIEP OR MARKEt). 
 
 Here lias throblied for a siifrering- season. 
 
 The sweet lilooin of thy breast ; 
 When desire had its struggle with reason. 
 
 And ill liowiiig was blest. 
 
 Here tlie blush luis come baek to tliy l^eauty. 
 
 As the dove to its home ; 
 After moments of flittino- from duty. 
 
 On the passionate foam. 
 
 Here thy tears, as the dewdrops when falling 
 
 On a desolate plain. 
 Have gone up to the Heaven of thy calling. 
 
 With the incense of pain. 
 
 Here the demons of darkness have pressed thee. 
 
 With importunate stings ; 
 Ami the angels of day have caressed thee. 
 
 With the\vaft of tiieir wings. 
 
 Here have fought for thy spirit's embroiling. 
 
 All the powers of despair ; 
 And have fled at their baffled^despoiling. 
 
 From the armies of prayer. 
 Here the night-wind has loitered and listened. 
 
 And the niglit-bird has peeped ; 
 And the rays from the glooming that glistened. 
 
 In thy sorrow were steeped. 
 
 Here I have what thou had'st in thy folding. 
 While thy sobbings have swelled ; 
 
 And mine eyes are not tilled with beholding. 
 What thy own have beheld. 
 
 Here I hold in so hungry a hoarding, 
 
 Since the travail was such. 
 The sweet wealth of thy woeful recording. 
 
 And in mine is thy touch. 
 
 Here I feel all the grandeur of meekness. 
 
 When a sin has been slain ; 
 And lay mine in a moment of weakness. 
 
 Where thy clieek may have lain. 
 
 Here I stand face to face with the nature. 
 
 That is better than bliss ; 
 And from summits of goodlier stature, 
 
 I look down the abyss. 
 
 Here I bind the first fruits of our winnings, 
 
 In a shadowy slieaf ; 
 And I measure the ends and beginnings. 
 
 With the measure of grief.
 
 MAKKIED Oli MARllKD. oSO 
 
 Hero i know lh;it my thirstintj,' is slaked. 
 
 For a season at least ; 
 And the sprinijj of my knowledge lie naked, 
 
 Before misery's feast. 
 
 Here I livc^ and I move and have beiuic, 
 
 And divine what 1 scan ; 
 1 rejoice; in the riches of bein^:-, 
 
 In the fulness of man. 
 
 Here beliefs are no longer the creatures. 
 
 Of prescription or strife ; 
 lint stand forth with magnificent features, 
 
 On the canvas of life. 
 
 Here inspires not the motive of terrors. 
 
 And results do not (doy ; 
 There abound no abuses or errors. 
 
 Save excesses of joy. 
 
 Here the modes of perception all mingle, 
 
 False distinctions all flee ; 
 And the touching and lasting are single. 
 
 And to hear is to see. 
 
 Here the body no more is a clogging. 
 
 But extension of mind ; 
 And the faculties never need flogging. 
 
 And to seek is to find. 
 
 Here the hand reaches out from within yuu, 
 
 Nor is reaching in vain ; 
 And the feet are but powers that continue. 
 
 And that supplement brain. 
 
 Here there riot no cliances or changed, 
 
 And the night is as day ; 
 Never kiss of betrayal estranges, 
 
 And to work io to pray. 
 
 Here in regions made x^erfect by sorrow. 
 
 Every bane is a boon ; 
 And the moon draws its light from the morrow, 
 
 And the sun from the moon. 
 
 Here each man is endowed with regalia. 
 
 And each maiden has rule ; 
 And there breathes not the blighting of failure. 
 
 Bub the fall of the fool. 
 
 Here each one is the lord of his 1>rother, 
 
 And each lord is a slave ; 
 For they serve and tlicy sway but each (.ither, 
 
 And their crown is a grave.
 
 590 MARRIED OK MARRED. 
 
 Here no shadow is cast by contention. 
 
 But a shadow to shield ; 
 Comes no strife but tlie strife of invention, 
 
 How the wovmds may be healed. 
 
 Here is uttered no accent of wailing, 
 
 Save the weejjing for sin ; 
 Here to enter no fear is availing, 
 
 But that evil may win. 
 
 Here no vice has its ominous token, 
 
 And no passion has i^lace ; 
 And the chains of the tyrant are broken. 
 
 Into chaplets of grace. 
 
 Here has hatred perpetual prison , 
 
 Except hatred of wrong. 
 And the feet that were fallen are risen, 
 
 And the weakest are strong. 
 
 Here the thought is no beggarly factor. 
 
 In an advocate's case ; 
 But shines out where the Truth is an actor. 
 
 And the theatre Space. 
 
 Here I seem not the world's nor another. 
 
 Nor the plaything of pelf ; 
 If I doubt on the fate of my brother, 
 
 I am sure of myself. 
 
 Here I mark all the meanings of matter. 
 What no tumbling can find ; 
 
 And I trace in the jewels they scatter. 
 All the mysteries of mind. 
 
 Here I see the divineness of bearing. 
 
 And the price of a pang ; 
 On the fleetings so far from our earing, 
 
 What immensities hang. 
 
 Here I glean at the gateways of glory. 
 
 All the secrets they store ; 
 While I read an iinspeakable story. 
 
 And I pause and adore. 
 
 Here I dream on the threshold of Motion, 
 Why its swellings are sweet ; 
 
 And the shells from its murmuring ocean. 
 Are thrown up at my feet. 
 
 Here I commune with Silence, that travails. 
 
 In the troiible of years ; 
 And I catch at the clue tliat luiravels. 
 
 All our beautiful tears.
 
 MAREIED OU MARKED. 501 
 
 Here I find that but visions are real. 
 
 And the darkness is light ; 
 That the truth is the highest ideal. 
 
 And the faith is the siglit. 
 
 Here the fancy is one with the feeling. 
 
 And the feeling is pure ; 
 While the doubt is the dawning's revealing, 
 
 Whose revealing is sure. 
 
 Here the soid is at one with the souses. 
 
 And they chime in their plea ; 
 Yea, the circle of seeing condenses. 
 
 And to think is to be. 
 
 Here the hope is the same as fruition. 
 
 And to guess to be right ; 
 Its degrees are removed from transition. 
 
 And desire is delight. 
 
 Here the wish by the thought is incited. 
 
 Yet is later than act ; 
 And the thought and the thing are united. 
 
 In a loftier fact. 
 
 Here is none that may dare to be jealous. 
 
 But for crowns of the cross ; 
 And the seeker that fain w6nld be zealous. 
 
 Must be zealous for loss. 
 
 Here the head that goes bowing and hoary. 
 
 For the slanders of fame. 
 Has a diadem dazzling in glory. 
 
 Be the diadem shame. 
 
 Hei-e the flower that is fairest in blooming, 
 
 Is the blossom of pain ; 
 And no prize can compare, with entombing 
 
 The gold baubles of gain. 
 
 Here the heaven thtit is forged by a fetter. 
 
 In the Beautiful Land ; 
 And its world is enshrined in the letter. 
 
 That I hold in my hand. 
 
 Here a man can live only by dying. 
 
 And no cravings encroach ; 
 All the songs are the nnisic of sighing. 
 
 All the honoiu-s reproach. 
 
 Hero the body is bruised by the scourges. 
 
 That invisibly hail ; 
 And tlie cradles are passionate surges, 
 
 And the blushes are pale.
 
 592 MARRIED OR MARRE15. 
 
 Hero the evenings are g'l'ay, and the morning 
 
 AVears the red rose of storm ; 
 And the day has that sombre adorning. 
 
 Which the cerements form. . 
 
 Hero the eyes are from sadiiess so tender, 
 
 And a blii^ht is the lilooni; 
 And the skies ;ire supreme in their splendour. 
 
 But the splendour is doom. 
 
 Here is stillness more perfect than any. 
 
 Not annoyed Ijy a breath ; 
 And the umltitudes in it are many. 
 
 Though the stillness is death. 
 
 Ilere is pity completed by knowledge, 
 
 By the wisdom of woe ; 
 And the lore not of coiirt nor of college, 
 
 Not a sham nor a show. 
 
 Here the child has the elder's diseorning, 
 
 From the schooling of grief ; 
 And a change in the place of the bui-ning. 
 
 Is alone the relief. 
 
 Here all seasons with sorrow are wedding. 
 
 And all ages are one ; 
 And the light of the sepulchres' shedding, 
 
 Ts the firmament's sun. 
 
 Here is loving consummate in losing, 
 
 Kendered sacred by scai-s ; 
 A renouncement the spirit's own choosing, 
 
 That upraises its bars. 
 
 Here the prizes of earlli are ;is ashes. 
 
 And the Imll'ets are balm ; 
 For the thrones and the garlands arc lashes, 
 
 And the pain is the palm. 
 
 Here has vanished all vestige of merit, 
 
 And denial is power ; 
 Not a soul has a shred to inherit. 
 
 Save disaster as dower. 
 
 Here his tears are the sufferer's treasures. 
 
 And the darkness his bride ; 
 Yea, the shadows of mourning the measiires. 
 
 And its measures are wide. 
 
 No despair in this Ivingdom can enter. 
 Though the hope l>e not glad : 
 
 Yet is faith its immovealjle centre, 
 If the circle is sad
 
 MARBIEn on MARRED. :'*9S 
 
 But distress is the bread of ilif Ucations., 
 
 And aiSictioii their cup ; 
 In long sacrifice graud education. 
 
 And abasement lifts up. 
 
 In the bosom of sorrow they nestle. 
 
 By its billows are tost ; • 
 
 They are blest who with misery wrestle^ 
 He has lived who has lost. 
 
 Here they trample the wine-press of anguish. 
 
 In the heat of the noon ; 
 Under infinite burdens they languish. 
 
 But the load is their boon. 
 
 Still they look from the dust of the valleys. 
 
 To the summits beyond ; 
 Though they drudge in the dreariest alleys. 
 
 Yet they never despond. 
 
 They rejoice in no respite from Inbour, 
 
 For to work is to win ; 
 No one needs to ask who is his neighboxir. 
 
 Since the world is his kin. 
 
 They demand not the wages of toiling. 
 
 But the thorns for the breast ; 
 Tlieir reward is the enemy's spoiling. 
 
 And rebuking their rest. 
 
 They desire not a term to their trouble. 
 
 Save the limit of life ; 
 Pray but torture its IjIows to redouble. 
 
 And make sharper its knife. 
 
 For their triumph is keen tribulation. 
 
 In their sicknesses gain ; 
 And they covet no meed of mutation. 
 
 But more winnowing pain. 
 
 They find peace in the searchings and siftings. 
 
 Of hostility's gales ; 
 They aspire not to heiglits an<1 ui^liftings, 
 
 Save the cross that impales. 
 
 In the print of the nails is their study, 
 
 On the stigmata looks ; 
 Though the letters are livid and bloody. 
 
 Yet their wounds are their books. 
 
 On the point of tlie spear is their pillow. 
 
 In the mouth of tht^ sword ; 
 They are calm in the crash of the billow. 
 
 And of hurts is their hoard.
 
 594 MARRIED OR MARRED. 
 
 Their most precious possession is spending, 
 
 While tlw strokes -re their liire ; ' 
 
 And the joy of tlieir substance is lending, 
 JBe the borrower tire. 
 
 Of their righteousness rich is the raiment. 
 
 And to clothe us they bend; 
 "^lien they take they give ten-fold repayment, 
 
 And they take but to mend. 
 
 If their service be sorrow and weeping. 
 
 Yet tlie sorrrow is sweet ; 
 If no kisses of lips be the reaping, 
 
 Tliere is kissing the feet. 
 
 They have fruits that they gather and harvest, 
 
 l^ut of stubble and stocks ; 
 And when thou, O sad shepherdess, starvcst. 
 
 They resign thee tlicir flocks, 
 
 Ah, the worm is their friend and their neighbour. 
 
 And their fellow tlie grave ; 
 Their repose is the rapture of la])our. 
 
 Their refreshment to slave. 
 
 And their children are outcasts and strangers. 
 
 That no father will own ; 
 While their waking is darkness and danger. 
 
 And their pillows a stone. 
 
 Still their life is the gift that they offer. 
 
 At calamity's call ; 
 And their home is the hate of the scofl'er. 
 
 And in nothing their all. 
 
 And the part of the doomed is their portion, 
 
 While their garjnent is grief ; 
 And their greeting is slander's distortion. 
 
 When it comes as a thief. 
 
 In the beggar they welcome a brother. 
 
 And their kinsman is care ; 
 And to misery looking as mother. 
 
 With its minions they share. 
 
 For esteem they have fagots and halter. 
 
 For reward they have rods ; 
 And no glory is seen in their altar. 
 
 And no grace in their gods. 
 
 All their pride is the stooping of meekness. 
 
 All their profit is loss ; 
 And their strength is the streng'th of their weakness^ 
 
 And their crown is a crossi.
 
 VARTHKT) OT7 JTARK'ED, 595 
 
 They have thrones— but of thoi-ns and despising. 
 
 They have drink — but of tears, 
 They liave names— but not nances of our prizing. 
 
 They have bread — but of fears. 
 
 Theirs is honour— that liolds not of glory, 
 
 Tlieirs is wealtli — made of woe, 
 Theirs is fanie^that is infamy's story. 
 
 Theirs are stars — fall'n below. 
 
 O the right of this people is wronging. 
 
 And their privilege ills ; 
 In their pangs are their deai'est belongings. 
 
 And their cure is what kills. 
 
 They are here in the bounds of these pages. 
 
 And their voice is tliy cry ; 
 Yet they stretch through the measureless ages, 
 
 Beyond earth and tlie sky. 
 
 For in grief is the perfectest measures. 
 
 Of the land and the main ; 
 Lo, it holds up its mirror to pleasure. 
 
 And the picture is pain. 
 
 Though the feet of the picture be shrouded. 
 
 To its sceptre they rise ; 
 And eternity's cycles are crowded. 
 
 In a second of sighs. 
 
 And the multitude only of mourners. 
 
 By thy eloquence stirred, 
 In their farthest withdrawings and corners, 
 
 They have seen — they have heard. 
 
 For the silence has echoed thy troubles. 
 
 And the darkness h is told ; 
 And the stream breathed them mit in its bubble*, 
 
 That the air might enfold. 
 
 Thou hast wept — and the sh;\ lowy races. 
 
 They have wept with thee still ; 
 Thou hast throbbed- and in passionless places. 
 
 They have moved at thy thrill. 
 
 Thou hast called — and they muster their legions. 
 
 From horizons of shade ; 
 And they rally from sorrowfiil regions. 
 
 Where the flowers ever fade. 
 
 And, behold, they are here in their numbers, 
 
 A mysterious mob ; 
 Thou hast broken their visionless slumber* j 
 
 With the sound of a *ob.
 
 506 MARBIED OR MAR-REB. 
 
 They have come— and no pleading- can bring- tliem. 
 
 That is fathered by fear : 
 They have flown -vrith the mercies that wing them, 
 
 In the space of a tear. 
 
 In these leaves with their pitiful lisping, 
 
 Is the riistling- of robes : 
 As if o-rave-clothes were creeping and crisping, 
 
 Eound the presence that probes. 
 
 Yea, I fancy the trailing of fetters, 
 
 And the clinking of chains ; 
 And the lines that an; only thy letter's. 
 
 Look like blood-written stains. 
 
 Such a spell has the spirit of sadness. 
 
 To awaken th<^ dead ; 
 It givts form to the phantoms of mailness. 
 
 And to horror a head. 
 
 It adds body to mists of the morning. 
 
 To despairing is light ; 
 While the touch of its tender adorning. 
 
 Will transfigure the night. 
 
 It sheds softness on shackles of iron, 
 
 And on granite-lxmnd shores ; 
 It makes shapely the shades that environ. 
 
 And has beauty for sores. 
 
 It has substance for dreams and delusions. 
 That bewilder the hope ; ^ 
 
 And it guides, fi-om the slough of confusions. 
 To the beaconing slope. 
 
 Lo, it lends of its balm to the panting, 
 
 When they fall in their vows ; 
 And it wreathes a diviner enclinnting, 
 
 Eound the conquering brows. 
 
 And it breathes in tlie tempest a quiet. 
 
 Or in sepulchres lite ; 
 While the force of its terrible fiat. 
 
 Turns the stillness to strife. 
 
 It is here in this pinch of a paper, 
 
 All the empire of grief ; 
 It has come and will go as a vapour. 
 
 But itself is relief. 
 
 It has come with a salve for thy :icorni'ng,_^ 
 
 And with healing at core ; 
 It will go in the fulness of mourning, 
 
 When thej nig-ht is no more.
 
 MAKKIED OR MARBEC. 597 
 
 To the majesty beamiuy from sorrows. 
 
 No corruption can clini; 
 And a Imndredfokl more than it borro'Ws, 
 
 It will lavishly bring. 
 
 Here the bourne and the bases of being. 
 
 Are expressed in a prayer ; ' 
 
 And the sight is as one with the seeing) 
 
 And to be is to bear. 
 
 Kere the ground is so wondrous and holy. 
 
 That the foot may not tread ; 
 Save with weeping and worshipping lowly, 
 
 And a heart that has Ided. 
 
 Hero the air is so silent ;rnd solemn, 
 
 That we catch at our breath ; 
 As in ruins who read on a coUuun, 
 
 That the reading is death. 
 
 And yet here — at the truth thougli 1 tvemlde, 
 
 At the truth to hn told— 
 One has gazed that 1 fain would dissemble. 
 
 Like the blighting of cold. 
 
 Did I say that thy shelter was .shak<'n, 
 
 " iJy a tempest unseen " ? 
 That thy fate was a j)ortion forsaken, 
 
 Willi a surface serene? . 
 
 Here has lighted tlie l'.>i.>k of a stranger. 
 
 Though thy nearest in law ; 
 When tliou hadst not a dream of the danger, 
 
 Of the spying that saw. 
 
 Here has gloated the hatred that scorches. 
 
 When the love has dropped off ; 
 And has held its unholy debauches. 
 
 Of defiance and scott'. 
 
 AVhen the sleep that is sleep of prostration, 
 
 Was disarunng thy frame ; 
 With a choking of choice execration. 
 
 The catastrophe came. 
 
 With the text for next Sunday just pointed, 
 
 By an exquisite oath ; 
 The beloved of thy breast, thy anointed. 
 
 Came to murder his troth. 
 
 This assassin of hearts and of slumbers- 
 Call him huslian(|, uiit man — 
 
 Came thy tears and thy troubles to uuuibei". 
 All his malice could scaa.
 
 ggg MARJfliED OR MAERED. 
 
 Lo, lie crept to thy bosom's dissection, 
 
 "With the scalpel of lust ; 
 With the shuifling- and shambling detection. 
 
 Of obesity's crust. 
 
 Then he warmed to his work of defilement. 
 Though his movements were slow ; 
 
 And his"^ limbs felt a novel beguilement, 
 In the foretaste of woe. 
 
 With a sliding and sinister winding. 
 
 Like the slot of a slug ; 
 On he crawled to the grave of his finding, 
 
 What his liatred might hug. 
 
 There was nuimbling and mincing of Latin, 
 
 With a roiinding of Greek ; 
 When he found there was faith under satin. 
 
 And a woman could speak. 
 
 There was shrugging of shoulders, though flavoured 
 
 With a favoiirite cixrse ; 
 When he saw that thou simply hadst wavered ; 
 
 He had hoped it was worse. 
 
 And his lips gave a blasphemous blessing, 
 
 Biit no blessing of thee ; 
 And his fingers moved fondly caressing, 
 
 Not his wife but his knee. 
 
 On his tongue was the name of his Maker, 
 
 Not in prayer nor in praise ; 
 And his mien while demure as a Quaker, 
 
 Hid the anger that slays. 
 
 And his teeth shut a trifle yet closer. 
 
 Lest some frailty should feel ; 
 While he borrowed false weights from his grocer. 
 
 From the butcher his steel. 
 
 The short measures and shorter endiu'ings. 
 
 That adulterate all ; 
 Ho took up for his slander's securing. 
 
 And to soften his fall. 
 
 Then as grinding of heels on the gi-avel. 
 
 Or the rasp of a file. 
 Low he muttered some manglings of ca^'il. 
 
 With a terrible smile. 
 
 And his features relaxed for a season. 
 
 Not from changing of aim ; 
 His lips watered witli savour of treason, 
 
 At the bau'iuct of sluuue.
 
 MAKKIED OR, MAKRED. 599' 
 
 Em \v^ souseil in the rioting revels. 
 
 Of his venomous feast ; 
 The carousal that manliness levelSj 
 
 To the slong'h of the beast. 
 
 O the warpini;' that was not a wcakeninof, 
 
 Of caliinniioiis eyes ; 
 As they fell witli a. funeral heaeoning. 
 
 On their innocent prize. 
 
 Yet they dallied awhile in derision. 
 
 With a priu'ient scowl ; 
 And delay that was no indecision^ 
 
 Stayed their scrutiny foul. 
 
 There was swaying of form and of fashion. 
 
 But no swerving of mind ,- 
 As the gusts of disfiguring passion. 
 
 Made him bitter and blind. 
 
 As in clouds they went chasing each other, 
 
 With their shadowy shoots ; 
 The vile piirpose no smiling could smother, 
 
 They confirmed at its roots. 
 
 ill the shifting of face did not falter. 
 
 Nor with mercy might mix ; 
 All the shaking of wrath could not alter, 
 
 And they shook but to fix. 
 
 Not a shade on his brow's resolution, 
 
 *But the shade of dislike ; 
 Not a pause in his grim execution, 
 Biit the pause how to strike. 
 
 So he stayed l)ut to toy and t<> trifle, 
 
 And Ills apjx'tite bait ; 
 While his lusts rallied fiercely to rifle, 
 
 All the sweetness of hate. 
 
 As a serpent its victim invc)lvi'ngj 
 
 With invincible rings ; 
 Has a doubt for a moment's dissolviiig. 
 
 Where to fasten its stincjs. 
 
 Then the keener from lingering's unction. 
 
 Like a shaft from a bow ; 
 Like a shaft that's not winged with compunction. 
 
 He delivered his blow. 
 
 And his mark was the soul of a mourner,. 
 
 And her sleep would he slay ; 
 As the hand of the perjured suborner, 
 
 Makes the helpless its prey.
 
 GOO MAE.EIKD OK MABEED. 
 
 But the ailgels that poise on their pinions. 
 
 Round the innocents' thi-one. 
 Drew her soiil in their tender dominions. 
 
 And he harmed but his own. 
 
 For the stroke that he aimed at the dreamer. 
 
 Who divided his bed ; 
 Tliat recoiled with reveni^ing supremer, 
 
 Witli its doom on his ]icad. 
 
 And the sin that thy honoiir was seeking, 
 
 With the blackness of pelf ; 
 it fell short of its infamous wreaking, 
 
 And he mvu'dered himself. 
 
 AVliat if treachery ransacked thy riclies, 
 
 All tliy dignity's boast H 
 Though defencelessness offered no hitches^ 
 
 His he ransacked the most. 
 
 He despoiled his own soul of its beauty. 
 
 Of respect and of prides ; 
 And when foi-mless desire shaped his duty, 
 
 Then his manliness died. 
 
 He defrauded his life of its treasure. 
 
 The fair treasure of trust ; 
 When Ik; phicked from debasement his measure. 
 
 And his learning from lust. 
 
 He has dared with the devils to palter, 
 
 For betrayal of truth ; 
 He has sacrificed faith on his altar. 
 
 To an idol uncouth. 
 
 What if then he has read the recesses. 
 
 Of thy glorious heart ? 
 Not a gleam to his pestilent guesses. 
 
 Could thy glory impart. 
 
 He has seen but the symbols so blotted. 
 
 By the wrestling of grace ; 
 With a sight too unpurged and besotted. 
 
 Such a breadth to embrace. 
 
 At his highest he halts in the letter. 
 
 On the surface and sign ; 
 Yea, his freedom thy si)irit woidd fetter. 
 
 And his candoixr malign. 
 
 He has searched but the visible striving, 
 
 Of invisible might ; 
 But the shadows and outward derivings, 
 
 Not the intimate light.
 
 MARKIED OK MARKEt). GOl 
 
 Thou art silent and soalod to his vision, 
 
 As a vohime unwrit ; 
 For the fields and the fountains Elysiau, 
 
 No corruption admit. 
 
 He has sta£)-g-ered and fall')! at tlio portal. 
 
 Without glimpse of the clue ; 
 Of the key that unlocks tlie iiiunortal, 
 
 Of the tender and true. 
 
 Let him dream in his impotent malice. 
 
 What he never may win ; 
 Though he Vn-oud on the In-iui of the clialice. 
 
 He shall driid< not witliin. 
 
 Let him dote with the longing of lovers, 
 
 On the plunder of hate ,- 
 Not thy doom is the doom Jie discovers. 
 
 But liis own is the fate. 
 
 He has lieard not tlie antliem of sorrows. 
 
 From the crosses made thrones ; 
 And no catch from the pothouse he Iioltows, 
 
 Can interpret its tones. 
 
 On his feelings howev(n- lu' fiddle. 
 
 They are dumb to the air ; 
 Ih' is deaf to the ravishing riddle. 
 
 To the visitmgs fair. 
 
 With tlie strings he may finger and fujiible, 
 
 They attune not his mind ; 
 He may strike but he only will htumlde. 
 
 On delusions of wind. 
 
 Let him heap up thy furnace x\ illi iuel. 
 
 And be glutttxl with ire ; 
 Be his hatred as cunning as cruel, 
 
 Yet for him is the fire. 
 
 He is blind to thy beautiful cravings. 
 
 Revelations of woe ; 
 To the wondrous celestial wavings. 
 
 And the summits that glow. 
 
 The fumes of debauchery fvxddle. 
 
 His poor vaijouring- brain ; 
 While he meddles with all Init to nuid<lle, 
 
 And thy bliss is Ids bane. 
 
 He is far from the sources of sweetness. 
 
 Where thj^ heart has its home ; 
 When; the pain is but pk'a.siu-e's completeness. 
 
 And no ulowu evex'y clonib.
 
 (30i> MARRIED OB MARRED. 
 
 With tlie swine of his animal fashions, 
 
 Let him fatten on husks ; 
 Till he fall as the food of his passions. 
 
 And is torn with their tusks. 
 
 They shall strip him with terrible spoilings. 
 With their hoofs they shall spurn ; 
 
 They shall rest from their rending = and soilings. 
 With more wrath to return. 
 
 He has trod on the uttermost border. 
 
 Of the kingdom of grief ; 
 He has come as a midnight marauder, 
 
 And has gfone as a thief. 
 
 For by purity's sword is he thwarted. 
 
 And by modesty's shield ; 
 And thoarins that his darkness distorted, 
 
 Were not arms he could wield. 
 
 By the merciless storm is he shaken. 
 
 Which he called to his aid ; 
 In the treacheroiis traps is he taken. 
 
 Which his villainy laid. 
 
 He is baulked, he is blinded for ever, 
 
 By excess of the light ; 
 And the blight of his barren endt'avour. 
 
 Has but blasted his sight. 
 
 Ho has groped in captivity carnal, 
 
 With his step on the stair ; 
 He has fled as a ghoul to the charne]. 
 
 As a worm to its lair. 
 
 He is l)ailled, O I^ady of Mourning, 
 
 By the depth of thy blots ; 
 And the fl.ish of his insolent scorning, 
 
 Turns to siilendoiu- the spots. 
 
 Does he think with his evil invention. 
 
 To make light of thy loss ':! 
 Lo, tlie fire of his biu-ning contention, 
 
 Is but purging thy dross.' 
 
 As in blackness of ruin and storming, 
 
 Withoiit moon, witiiout stars ; 
 Comes the lightning with liu-iil Iransfurming, 
 
 And ennobles the scars. 
 
 And the flower of a fairer creation. 
 
 From his earthliness grows ; 
 And the crown of a great consecration. 
 
 His unholiuess throws.
 
 MAEUIED OR MARRED. 003 
 
 By tliP side of Lis lieartlessness lioary. 
 
 In the dirt where he lies ; 
 Thou art touched and transfigured with glory. 
 
 And raised up to the skies. 
 
 And O now with tliat halo surrounded, 
 
 Tliou art drifting apart ; 
 All the width of the world so unbounded. 
 
 Of the infinite heart. 
 
 Though your hands may be clasped in convention. 
 
 In the bonds that have been ; 
 Ye are burdened with endless dissension. 
 
 As by ages between. 
 
 Ye may close in conjugal eml)races, 
 
 And be friends in the street ; 
 While estranged by unmerciful spaces, 
 
 If your souls never meet. 
 
 And hypocrisy widens the distance. 
 
 With its counterfeit coin ; 
 And society's rigid resistance. 
 
 Can attach but not join. 
 
 Not a judgment whatever its meetness, 
 
 Not a formula's force. 
 Ever wrought with such fatal completeness. 
 
 So supreme a divorce. 
 
 No revulsion of scorn or of rancour. 
 
 And no jealousy's breath. 
 Could divide as your sacrament's anclior, 
 
 With its sentence of death. 
 
 And no hate has so cruel a carriage. 
 
 And no hold siicli a tie. 
 As tile prison whose title is marriage. 
 
 And whose chains are a lie. 
 
 No divisions can utterly sever. 
 
 As the bondage of shams ; 
 And no partings (nin laanisli for ever, 
 
 As the union that danms. 
 
 Thou art separate, clouded ami cloven. 
 
 By tlio welding that warps ; 
 Yet art bound by the web thou hast woven, 
 
 As a bride to a corpse. 
 
 Consolation may come for bereavino-, 
 ^ And a light to the lost ; 
 Not to usage's solenui deceiving, 
 With its fetters of frost.
 
 (JOi MARRIED OR MARRED. 
 
 There arc forms that will blossom and flourish. 
 
 Without sunshine or seed ; 
 Ceremonial ashes will nourish, 
 
 And corruption will feed. 
 
 Are there idols so o-rim in adherence. 
 
 Or such blood-suckin<^ ghouls, 
 As that monster whose name is Appearance, 
 
 And whose sacrifice souls Y 
 
 There are despots too many and mighty. 
 
 Who devour as with strife ; 
 They have bovmds to their tyranny flighty, 
 
 They are sated with life. 
 
 But the empire of Custom is vaster. 
 
 And more bitter its breath : 
 It both kills with a, hopeless disaster, 
 
 And destroys after death. 
 
 And ])ecoi-um its darling ami minion, 
 
 Is as strong as its lord ; 
 In oui- hearts is its hungry dominion, 
 
 And our joys are its sword. 
 
 It ]iursues us, on wings it has stolen, 
 From tlie breast of our doves : 
 
 And the ruin it deals lis is sw()llcn. 
 With the sweets of our loves. 
 
 And in this is what deepliest harrows. 
 
 Is the crown of your ctirse ; 
 It is bad, when yoiir own are the ai'rows, 
 
 But to speed them is worse. 
 
 Ye conspire with the plottings of Fashion, 
 
 To make faster your chains ; 
 Wliile the rivets are lent by compassion. 
 
 And by pleasure the pains. 
 
 But if calumny breaks with its slanders, 
 
 All the linkings of love ; 
 A true hope to no ritual panders. 
 
 And has linkings above. 
 
 my Beauty, I wander in ravings, 
 At the earth-cloud that clings ; 
 
 1 am clogged with the jDotsherds and pavings, 
 The unfltness of things. 
 
 Dost thou ask how I know of tlie treason, 
 
 Of the lord of thy life y 
 That he found thy extremity's season. 
 
 With occasions so rife ?
 
 MARRTET) OR MARRED, p,05 
 
 How T know ? I have written assurance^ 
 
 VVliat thy slumbers betrayed ; 
 He nas sent it, to test my enchirance, 
 
 With his reasons arrayed. 
 
 Yea, lie brags of his liase prijstitiition, 
 
 At his dastardly skill ; 
 1 have tried to wash off the pollntion. 
 
 But it sticks to me still. 
 
 For this hand has been soiled by the token. 
 
 Of his triumphing mean ; 
 It is marred with its purity broken, 
 
 And can never be clean. 
 
 He has dared from my quivcM- to borrow, 
 
 His most excellent dart ; 
 It is feathered with plumes of my sorrow. 
 
 It is here at my heart. 
 
 And what ^yeapons were iinor and fitter, 
 
 Than the gibes ]w. has thrown r 
 And what wounds were more deadly and l')itter. 
 
 Since unseen and luiknown r 
 
 1 am sorely distained and stricken. 
 
 And my soxil is the seal ; 
 And the bruises that sadden and sicken. 
 
 There is nothing to heal. 
 
 He is filthy with foulest obsceneness. 
 
 Both at heart and cm hand ; 
 And his brow% with its pitiful leanness. 
 
 Has no breadth for my brand. 
 
 (') thou thing, beyond reaching of title, 
 
 Beneath hate and contempt ; 
 Thou art surely fi-om blows of requital. 
 
 By thy vileness exempt. 
 
 I have erred in my angry defacement. 
 
 From the goading of cares ; 
 Thou art saved by thy very aliasement, 
 
 And thy littleness spares. 
 
 Keep that peace, in the sloth thou dost cherish. 
 
 That ignobleness gives ; 
 While the great in all wickc^lness perish. 
 
 Insignificance lives. 
 
 Ah, thy forehead is hopelessly narrow. 
 
 For the " fool " I would grave ; 
 And thoii hast not enough of the man-Qvy., 
 
 For the making- of " knave."
 
 PjOG jrARRTET) OR MARRED. 
 
 And tliy breast is too stony and stunted, 
 
 For the curse I would root ; 
 And the beasts were with justice affronted, 
 
 If I dubbed thee a brute. 
 
 And thy life, were it creeping for ever, 
 Thro\io-h its windings and mire ; 
 
 Would not reach in its longest endeavour. 
 To the length of my ire. 
 
 And thy hatred though deep as the ocean, 
 
 Wlien the storm is its mate ; 
 WoiUd not sound in its angriest motion. 
 
 Half th.e depth of my hate. 
 
 HhoiTld thy wrath be more fierce in its burning, 
 
 Tlian the raging of flame ; 
 It would gauge not a tithe of my spurning. 
 
 At the shadow of shame. 
 
 ~ Now go down to the latest December, 
 In thy self-woven net ; 
 As a creatiu-e too base to remember. 
 And too black to forget. 
 
 Dost thou think that by gowns and by cassocks. 
 
 By thy bands and thy beard. 
 Or the tea that is tempered with hassocks. 
 
 Thy repute will be cleared ? 
 
 Thou art big in the pulpit, no wonder. 
 
 Since the pulpit is small ; 
 But no art can atone for the blunder. 
 
 Of thy being at all. 
 
 ' Tis a sight, how he sputters and spatters, 
 
 If the subject is deep ; 
 How the dust and the doctrine he scatters. 
 
 Would make jackasses weep. 
 
 For the cushion he shows no compunction. 
 When with sin he would cope ; 
 
 While he washes his hands in his nnction, 
 With invisible soap. 
 
 Then with "thirdly and lastly " he wrestles. 
 
 And belabours his book ; 
 And concludes you are weaklier vessels. 
 
 Meant to breed or to cook. 
 
 He rates men as a nobler creation. 
 
 That you hamper or vex ; 
 And reserves his more hearty damnation. 
 
 For the gxiiltier sex,
 
 MARRIED OR MARRBP. {Joy 
 
 o' 
 
 " Look at Eve " lie Avill s:i j, with a i-olliiis 
 
 Of his sensual lip ; 
 " It was she in her scorn of controlling,^ 
 
 Made that terrible slip." 
 
 Then he chvickles with sinister sleekness. 
 And loolcs round witli a, scowl :— 
 
 "To be wt)nian is still to be weakness. 
 To be fair to bt; foul." 
 
 While; he swallows his words with a relish. 
 
 That their virulence lends ; 
 With a pur7iose inhiiman and hellish, 
 
 Thoui^-li (lefeatin<>- its ends. 
 
 Hero he snorts, and then crowning tht? lib^l. 
 
 That he likes not to leave : — 
 '■■ As of old," (and ho bany-s at the Bilile), 
 
 She delio-hts to deceiTe." 
 
 " Slie was first in the fatal transgression, 
 
 And she is to this hour ; 
 And the last she will be, without pressing ; 
 
 It's her birthright and dower." 
 
 Then inflicting with infinite ardour. 
 
 On his sermon a hug. 
 He expands with some utterance harder. 
 
 Which he caps with a shrug. 
 
 Then he turns to the feminine faces. 
 
 And makes play with his eyes ; 
 He convicts them of pestilent graces. 
 
 Buries learning in lies. 
 
 If he hits on some heterodox bonnet. 
 
 He pronounces its doom ; 
 Pours his vials of slander upon it. 
 
 Like a crapulous groom. 
 
 Then assuming the air of a mourner. 
 
 Who some wickedness stems ; 
 He looks sti-aiglit at thy innocent corner. 
 
 With a glance that condemns. 
 
 " T have suffered my friends," he confesses, 
 
 " From these antics and airs ; 
 Sad experience points my addresses. 
 
 And would warn yoii of snares." 
 
 " There are womt>n and women, my brothers 
 And with numlxndess arts ; ' 
 
 But one end every difference smothers, 
 Aud illuniines their parts."
 
 fiOS MARRIED OR MARRF,B. 
 
 " And tlio end, thouo-li by history chidden. 
 And rebuked in their sight, 
 Is a passion for courses forbidden. 
 And for stolen deliglits." 
 
 So he recklessly bellows and blusters. 
 
 With a devilish aim ; 
 And the raggedest reason he musters. 
 
 For the clothing of shame. 
 
 Now he chokes with his surfeit of malice. 
 
 And grows purple of mien ; 
 As he drinks from the poisonous chalice. 
 
 Of his murderous spleen. 
 
 Now he flogs at some difficult turning. 
 
 Some recalcitrant noun ; 
 With a hid.bub of spitting and spurning. 
 
 And the voice of a clown. 
 
 Or he halts on the obstinate angles. 
 
 To recover his wind ; 
 W^hih; his spite with his memory wrangles, 
 
 A now falseliood to find. 
 
 Then away he is off at a canter. 
 
 From the highway of sense ; 
 Till he jibs in his boisterous banter, 
 
 At Theology's fence. 
 
 Still he covers his fiction with fable. 
 
 And avers them on oath ; 
 Draws his facts from the pigstye or stable 
 
 And his feeling from both. 
 
 Yet he stammers at times in invective. 
 
 Not from pity or doubt ; 
 But when chix)sing some arm more effective. 
 
 His poor victim to flottt. 
 
 An<l he blushes, but not with the reildening 
 
 Of remorse or of fears ; 
 For his souls has a desperate deadening ; 
 
 And it's only his ears. 
 
 And he offers a laboured apology, 
 
 Which is not a pretence ; 
 For some trngical trip in chronology ; 
 
 Not, alas, for offence. 
 
 And he bows with a sweep consequential, 
 
 As if saddened and sick : 
 Yet his bending is not penitential. 
 
 But rhetorical trick.
 
 >rARRIED OR MARRIED. (lOQ 
 
 And lio eoases by fits fvom hi.s fuinint;', 
 
 To consider a debt — 
 What he owes to a hatred consuming — 
 
 And not that of regret. 
 
 And he swerves from his uiiirderoiis measures^ 
 
 Not from vulvar concern ; 
 Jint to seek in his calumny's treasures. 
 
 Some more terrible turn. 
 
 Should he drawl like a simpering waiter. 
 
 Or mock thunderbolts hurl, 
 He has still but the hand of a traitor. 
 
 And the heart of a churl. 
 
 Though his face so austerely be shaven, 
 
 And the tears come at call ; 
 He is ever a pitiful craven. 
 
 He is abject in all. 
 
 If he glosses the evil he fuses. 
 
 With a varnish of good ; 
 Yet the credit you grant he abxises, 
 
 And his hypocrite's hood. 
 
 "When his sentiments savour the sweetest. 
 
 And his piety boast —   
 When his language is modest and- mectest — 
 
 Then avoid him the most. 
 
 While he harps on the horror of meanness. 
 And is heavy on pelf — 
 
 Though his oAvn gives the satire its keenness- 
 He is always himself. 
 
 Let him rave of the riches of trials. 
 
 And the lusting that kills ; 
 Never mind all his praise of denials. 
 
 But what coifers he fills. 
 
 Let him bless the believer that anchors 
 
 Far from covetous gales ; 
 But yet see for wliat harbovu' he liankers. 
 
 On what voyage he sails. 
 
 He may prate of the prize of salvation. 
 
 And the covenant j)acts ; 
 Look at home on his splendid negation. 
 
 And observe how he acts. 
 
 He may talk of the merits of manna. 
 
 Nor to flesh-pots be blind ; 
 He may shout with the loudest Hosauna, 
 
 Aiad be Judas in mind.
 
 610 MARltlED OR MARKED. 
 
 O ye fools, that delight to be taken, 
 
 With his clap-trap and cries, 
 "\Vith his ininciiig- and umnimery shaken. 
 
 When he lives in your eyes I 
 
 He is flowino- with milk and with honey. 
 
 And celestial balms ; 
 While he feathers his nest with the money. 
 
 That he wrings from yoiir alms. 
 
 Though he screws from the panper his pittance, 
 
 From the widow her mite ; 
 Yet he deals them no rigliteoxxs acquittance, 
 
 When they waken his spite. 
 
 If his balance is good witb his banker. 
 
 He is thirsting for more ; 
 And he nurses the deadliest rancour. 
 
 At a wealthier store. 
 
 Too nnworthyto live with the meanest. 
 
 And too dirty to die ; 
 Is there anywhere space the imcleanest. 
 
 Where in peace he may lie ? 
 
 If Oblivion will have him and hold him. 
 
 Let him pack and be quick ; 
 For the worm is no fellow to fold him, 
 
 And a coffin would kick. 
 
 Yea, the grave is too pure for his shelter ; 
 
 And the vermin, tliat sup 
 On the refuse and rot where they welter, 
 
 They woidd vomit him up. 
 
 In the tombs of the homicides' city. 
 
 He shall never abide ; 
 Nor his name will Contemi^t. in its pity. 
 
 With its excrements hide. 
 
 And the ghoiils that go preying and prowling. 
 
 Where the vilest are lain ; 
 They shall fly him lest theirs be the fouling. 
 
 And lest tJiey be the slain. 
 
 He shall find not the filthiest portion, 
 Witli the hangman and wliore ; 
 
 He shall live as a pntrid abortion. 
 Until Time be no more.
 
 MABBIKD OB MABRED. f H 1 
 
 PART TTT.— THE CEOWN OF SOREOW, 
 
 Is it death or a vision of dying. 
 
 With a knell in the air ? 
 Is the fate that in silence was lying. 
 
 Bodied forth from its lair ? 
 
 Can it be that I peddle or palter. 
 
 With the rubbish of life ; 
 Now my neck is so fast in a halter. 
 
 At my heart is a knife ? 
 
 Do I pander to parts that are grosser. 
 
 Give my appetites scope ,- 
 When the point is still pressing mo closer. 
 
 And more tightly the rope Y 
 
 Is the doorasman of sorrow my brother. 
 
 Who has come as a thief ? 
 Am I he who I was, or another 
 
 With a kinglier grief ? 
 
 Is it day-time or night-time, I wonder. 
 
 That so hard on me lies ? 
 For a dream of destruction and tJiunder 
 
 Is abroad in the, skies. 
 
 Have I died and awakened, to harken 
 
 To a soul-stirring strain ? 
 Are these tears or delusions, that darken 
 
 With their shadowy rain ? 
 
 Is it rather a middle fruition. 
 
 Of a phantasy slow ; 
 Between bliss and an uttor perdition. 
 
 Neither pleasiire nor woe ? 
 
 I'O, I ask, biit I know not the answer, 
 
 And I hear not a breath ; 
 I am struck as a petrified dancer. 
 
 When his partner is death ? 
 
 But around me the festival raises. 
 
 Its excess to its height ; 
 While I move thi-ough the passionless mazes. 
 
 In a banquet of night. 
 
 I am wrapped in the silepce as raiment 
 
 I am clad with the gloom ; 
 I am bound by a bitter repayment. 
 
 In the fetter of doom.
 
 f;]^2 jvtarkted ok maerep. 
 
 There has come on my HUfiH--e a vision. 
 
 On my wakino: a trance ; 
 And. betore me are slmt in derision. 
 
 The sweet gates ol' romajice. 
 
 I -nas playing my part, in tlie juggle 
 
 Of deception and strife ; 
 When there fell on my fatnous striiggle. 
 
 The unmasking of life. 
 
 As of old, there was toiling and spinning. 
 
 And the world was a top ; 
 The repentance was onsted by sinning, 
 
 And the grave had the crop. 
 
 And the weak, not the wicked, were falling. 
 
 In the scourging of Fate ; 
 And the passions grew grim, and enthralling, 
 
 And the criminals great. 
 
 There was lifting of hands in the cliurches, 
 
 But no lifting of hearts ; 
 And a blighting made barren researches. 
 
 In the embers of arts. 
 
 And the State with its riches was cloying. 
 
 Waxing foolish and fat ; 
 Like a garridons dowager, toying 
 
 With her ciu-ate or cat. 
 
 They were'married and giving in marriage. 
 
 And they bought and they sold ; 
 While the fool had his hand on his carriage. 
 
 And the knave on his gold. 
 
 And the bride was as bright as a blossom. 
 
 In the sixnnier South ; 
 And, more fair than the rose on iu>r bosom. 
 
 Was the rose of her inouth. 
 
 And the priest was pronouncing a blessing. 
 
 On the new -wedded pair ; 
 And the lover liad breathed his caressing. 
 
 To the bird of the air.- 
 And the kiss was, though severed by distance. 
 
 On its way to the lip ; 
 And the lily was feigning resistance. 
 
 To the biitterfly's sip. 
 
 There were sounds of rejoicings and laughter. 
 
 Upon uiountaiai and lawn ; 
 There were beams of a better hereafter, 
 
 In the dews of the dawn.
 
 JIAUIMK!) OK MAiiKEL*. I')!:! 
 
 And the lad had his step on the stirrup, 
 
 That would bear him to hope ; 
 And the lass heard the nightingale chirrup, 
 
 On the wJiispering- slope. 
 
 And the moon paid her silver transmuted, 
 
 From the gold of the sun ; ' 
 And the stars with their magic repvited. 
 
 Had their missions to run. 
 
 And the bard at humanity's portal. 
 
 Seized the fancy that flies ; 
 While he fixed it in colours immortal. 
 
 From the earth and thf; skies. 
 
 There was screwing and hoarding in hovelj 
 
 As in elegant room ; 
 And the author so wise in his novel. 
 
 Was tlic gull of his groom. 
 
 And a horror of mourning and hunger. 
 
 Fashioned maidenhood gray ; , 
 And his joy made the patriarch younger. 
 
 Than the boy at his play. 
 
 And the trencher acquaintance was sidling, 
 
 Within scent of the pot ; 
 And the king (like the corpse) in his idling, 
 
 Was beginning to rot. 
 
 There was scraping of fiddles and dishes. 
 
 And a pinching of shoes ; 
 And the sum of the loftiest wishes, 
 
 Was how -little to lose. 
 
 Just to steer beyond hail of the halter. 
 
 Was the pride of the waif : 
 And the miser with knee at the altar, 
 
 Kept his soul in his safe. 
 
 There was cackle of geese, at the wedding. 
 
 Of the title and till ; 
 And the peer gave the packman his bedding, 
 
 AVith his eye on the will. 
 
 And the nobleman's bastard vras i^uzziing. 
 
 How his belly to line ; 
 While his three-bottle father was guzzling. 
 
 His debauches of wine. 
 
 And the truth had its throne, in the pillory. 
 
 Of a beef-witted race ; 
 And the soldier to beauty's artillery, 
 
 Was abasing his face.
 
 6l4 MAREIED OB MARREr>. 
 
 There was spreadinj^ of doctrines and dinners, 
 
 For old women to meet ; 
 And the pvilpit at war with the sinners, 
 
 Was their friend in the street. 
 
 And the drawing room's delicate hero, 
 
 And the idol of " drnms," 
 Foiind his level was lower than Zero, 
 
 Without scandalous crumbs. 
 
 And the pavement was ripe for a revel. 
 
 Be it feasting or wrack ; 
 And would luarch to the dogs or the devil. 
 
 With a flea on its back. 
 
 And the world was a tragical medley. 
 
 Of starvation and gold ; 
 While its 'tender embracing was deadly. 
 
 And its kisses were cold. 
 
 To the strong was no prize, in the battle. 
 
 Nor the race to the swift ; 
 And the waves of a driveller's tattle. 
 
 Set an empire adrift. 
 
 And tlie wastathat no weights could examine. 
 
 Had its seat on the thi-one ; 
 While the heart of the people was famine. 
 
 And their bread was a stone. 
 
 And the gosjiel whose home is tlie gxittei-. 
 
 In the palace was preached ; 
 And the A'ices that mumble and muttei'. 
 
 To the sanctuary reached. 
 
 One was taken by justice desultory. 
 
 And the other was left ; 
 While the woman was catight in adultery. 
 
 And the man in his theft. 
 
 And the maid still hei- mistress was robbing, 
 
 Of repiite and of gowns ; 
 And the world was a pendulum, bobbing 
 
 Between crosses and crowns. 
 
 And the smock held a court in the cottage, 
 
 That was nobler than kings' ; 
 And the du^je bought a handful of i^ottage, 
 
 When his birthright took wings. 
 
 And the prince was a fool to his peasant. 
 
 And his love was his loi'd ; 
 And the queen to his pillow so pleasant. 
 
 Was no queen of his board.
 
 MAIiRVKD on MAKUKD. (jlC 
 
 There was penury raised to the gallows. 
 
 And the bribe to the bench ; 
 While the statesman was wrecked by the shallows 
 
 And the wise by a wench. 
 
 As of old there were laughter and weeping 
 
 Between lienor and lips ; 
 Under roses the serpent was creeping. 
 
 Before kisses came slips. 
 
 And the lout who by day swept the crossing 
 
 Was a lion at night ; 
 And the nnid of his beggarly crossings 
 
 Tiirned to jewels and light. 
 
 And the dirt that was s^Dlashed on the chariot. 
 
 On the coronet's jsride. 
 Was more clean than the gorgeous Iscariot, 
 
 Who was hninging inside. 
 
 And the dungeons of dogmas were battered. 
 
 By a famishing flood ; 
 And the safegaiards that tyranny shatters. 
 
 Were cemented by blood. 
 
 And the maiden so eager for marriage. 
 
 Was impaled on its hoi-ns ; 
 While her life was a lie or miscarriage. 
 
 Her caresses Averc thorns. 
 
 And the past was the bliss of the matron, 
 
 Biit the present her bane ; 
 And her future the nod of a patron, 
 
 When his revenues wane. 
 
 And the child of the saintliest mother, 
 
 To whom prayer was as breath. 
 Grew a stranger and infamy's lirotlier. 
 
 And the darling of death. 
 
 And the widow had still to importune, 
 
 For the justice that slept ; 
 And the villain, whose smile was his fortune,- 
 
 Still was hanged when he wept. 
 
 And the leech with his eye on the pocket. 
 
 And the piilse in his h.T,nd, 
 Every symptom was careful to docket. 
 
 Every luxiiry scann'd. 
 
 To be virtuous still seemed an error. 
 
 Unless virtue was paid ; 
 To be chaste still the deadliest terror. 
 
 Both to man and to maid.
 
 Gl(j MARRIED OR MARRED. 
 
 And the mercliant whose credit was liollow. 
 
 Made the goodliest lieap ; 
 And the singer her sisters would follow^ 
 
 Who was ciiarming was cheap. 
 
 And the lawyer nonsuited by coma, 
 
 Yet eluded its grip ; 
 And expired in the sweetest aroma. 
 
 With a lie on his lip. 
 
 Antl the churches with portals expanding. 
 
 Were a solitude still ; 
 And tlie prisons though ])ai'red and ^\itl"i standings 
 
 Yet had more than tlieir fill. 
 
 To he natural would liave been duty. 
 
 AVere cosmetics not known ; 
 And the face of the actress been lioauty, 
 
 If it had been her own. 
 
 'J'he diplomatist finding his level. 
 
 All the length of a knave. 
 Still confessed and defrauded tiic deTil, 
 
 And deflowered the grave. 
 
 Still the maw of the monk was a eavei'u, 
 
 And his pleasure in plot ; 
 While the temple gave way to the tavern, 
 
 And the pyx to the jjot. 
 
 And the actor whose part was deluding, 
 
 Tiiough ho died made no sign ; 
 And the ass, with his e'ars so protruding. 
 
 Yet when dead was divine. 
 
 Still the tongue of the saint was an ar^o^\■, 
 
 And denial meant more : 
 And to init oif the world and ii.s luarrow. 
 
 Was to put on the whore. 
 
 And the love for the soul in the cloister. 
 
 Still was leav(!ned by lust ; 
 And the nunnery still was an oyster. 
 
 That when opened was dust. 
 
 More than prudery nouglit was transgression, 
 
 And there well might be less ; 
 And the fathers who came for confession. 
 
 Still remained to caress. 
 
 Still sweet vesjjers were sung by the willows. 
 And strange matins at anorns ; 
 , While the ]x>nance was paid on the pillow-.. 
 But nu pillows of thorns.
 
 And to ci-iicify joy and its fellows, 
 
 AVas to darken the soiil ; 
 Was to banish the mingling- that mellows, 
 
 And illumines' the whole. 
 
 And to shut oiit the world and its angles. 
 
 Was to shut in the flesh ; 
 And to trap the desire in the tangles^ 
 
 Of a self-woven ^mesh. 
 
 And to pen up the fe3ling^ in i^^inds. 
 
 Was to coflin the heart : 
 And to tnrn them in gloomier channels, 
 
 A more prurient plant. 
 
 And to torture delight at its sources. 
 
 Was to poison the fount ; 
 And to crowd all its exquisite <'Min>t'-\ 
 
 In one deadly account. 
 
 To m;ike mountains of possible evilj 
 
 Was to render it siu'e ; 
 And to open to worm and to wce\il. 
 
 Every granary pure. 
 
 And to barter the sense for salviitiou. 
 
 Was to gain what is worse, 
 (Not a futiire but present daumal' : . 
 
 Both to kill and to curse. 
 
 To be poor Avas the worst of oft'onces. 
 
 To be just was a sin ; 
 And the nature with fairest pretences, 
 
 Was the foiilest within. 
 
 To be good was a ludicrous blunder. 
 
 That the failure would mend ; 
 T'o be honest was simply to sunder. 
 
 The success from the end. 
 
 To' be sick, in the world of the strongest. 
 
 Was to go to the wall ; 
 And for sorrow, though life were the longest. 
 
 There was room but to fall. 
 
 Where the mass was a chaos polluted, 
 
 To be clean was a crime ; 
 For religion (save merely reputed). 
 
 There could never be time. 
 
 It was folly for man to be moral. 
 
 When reward was a wraith ; 
 And a creed was the bells and the coral, 
 
 Tor the infants of faith.
 
 G18 MARRIED OR MARRED. 
 
 A regret was as weak as compassion. 
 
 And remorse was to dote ; 
 It was frenzy, when l^eams were in fashion. 
 
 To repent of a mote. 
 
 So was wagging the world in its madness, 
 
 As it rollicked of yore ; 
 Still a i^remium was put on its badness, 
 
 Like the preminm before. 
 
 Still the monkey was blowing his trnmpctj 
 
 xVnd the cat was his paw ; 
 And the hand that conld cosset a strunipetj 
 
 Yet would shi'ink from a straw. 
 
 Still the nnn was a delicate morsel, 
 
 For an amorous month ; 
 And while pity sat on the doorsill. 
 
 All inside there Avas drouth. 
 
 Still if satire would hope to exhibit. 
 
 Now a vice, now a curse ; 
 There were virtues too vile for the gibbet. 
 
 And some blessings were worse. 
 
 Then the flood in its fury came rifling. 
 
 And the storm from its tomb ; 
 And within and without was the stifling, 
 
 Of a horror of gi(,)om. 
 
 Then the thunderbolt fell out of pitj". 
 
 With a balm in its blows ; 
 And a moaning went up from the city, 
 
 And a weeping arose. 
 
 And the brow of the bridegroom was darkened, 
 
 As the eyes of the l^ride ; 
 Aiul the ears of the roysterers barkened. 
 
 And the wailing replied. 
 
 And the song was despoiled of its glamour, 
 
 In the pride of its breath ; 
 While a silence descended on clamour. 
 
 And the silence was deatli. 
 
 And the stream of the r6vels was frozen. 
 
 At the palace's gate ; 
 By the shadow no juggler coiild cozen. 
 
 And the shadow was fate. 
 
 Thoiigh the flower in its glory was double,- 
 
 It was stript of its bloom ; 
 And there fVdl on the gardens a trouble, 
 
 And the trouble was doom.
 
 MAlvJilKJD OR MAERKU. 019 
 
 Lo, tlie tempest was black in the byeway. 
 
 And in luxury's lair ; 
 While its voice was a curse on the highway. 
 
 And its step on the stair. 
 
 And its knock was a knell to tlie portal. 
 
 As the call of the dead ; 
 And the monarch, in majesty mortal. 
 
 Felt its hand on its head. 
 
 'J'hen they rose up because of the lashes. 
 
 And they sat down to ji'rieve ; 
 And they grovelled in dust and in ashes, 
 
 Biit they did not relieve. 
 
 And the cry of the orphans was bitter. 
 
 But the answer was dumb ; 
 Though they longed for the end that was fitter. 
 
 Yet the end did not come. 
 
 Yea, the widow put sack-cloth around her, 
 
 And a veil on her face ; 
 But the breath of destruction enwound her. 
 
 With a darker embrace. 
 
 Then the infant was torn from its mother. 
 
 And the husband from wife ; 
 111 their sorrow they knew not each other. 
 
 And the friends were at strife. 
 
 In the night-time they prayed for the morning, 
 
 Then for morning to go ; 
 And the scoffer whose hire was for scorning, 
 
 Had the wages of woe. 
 
 Then above them the heavens were confusion. 
 
 And the fountains were dry; 
 In their blindness they worshiiiped delusion, 
 
 And their god was a, lie. 
 
 They believed that the mire was their father. 
 
 And their faith, was in sin ; 
 In the cleansing of surfaces, rather 
 
 Than the purging within. 
 
 And they bent to the phantom fe of error, 
 
 Till their spirits were bowed ; 
 And they made from the mockings of erro'r. 
 
 Their own funeral shroud. 
 
 From the creeds they had luu-ied beneath theni. 
 
 Their consumings were lit ; 
 And like serpents of shade to enwreathe them 
 
 Kushed the knots they had knit.
 
 tjOQ MARKIKD OR MAREF.D. 
 
 Then the brother was nought to the sister. 
 
 And the son to his sire ; . 
 While the dripping of dew was a blister. 
 
 And the grave their desire. 
 
 For they heard not the accents of pleasure. 
 
 And they saw not its mien ; 
 When the meting of pain was their measure. 
 
 And the night was their queen. 
 
 And they craved for the light that bedizens, 
 
 The disasters of shame ; 
 But in hopes were undreamed of horizons. 
 
 And they knew not their name. 
 
 There was jjining for biids that were blighted, 
 
 And dishevelling of hair ; 
 And a gathering or tears they had slighted, 
 
 4s of rain in the air. 
 
 Then the food of the seeker was sorrow. 
 
 And a pall was his dress ; 
 ^Vhile despair was the name of the morrow. 
 
 And to-day was distress. 
 
 Then the end of the maiden was madness. 
 
 And her dower was her doom ; 
 And her bridal a bridal of sadness, 
 
 With the worm of the tomb. 
 
 Then the bed of the wealthy was bareness. 
 
 And his pillow a void ; . 
 While his gems were all shorn of their fairness 
 
 And his daintiness cloyed. 
 
 For the pets that would never be playing, 
 There was wringing of hands ; 
 
 And the light th;i,t is bred by decaying, 
 Was the light of the lands. 
 
 Then the sage could no grievance discover. 
 
 And the fool was as wise ; 
 And the darling once sweet to the lover. 
 
 Was not sweet in his eyes. 
 
 And, alas, for the beautiful faces. 
 When their beauty was gone ; 
 
 When the glow was put off from their graces. 
 And the gloom was put on ! 
 
 There was beating of breasts, and a wailing 
 
 As the wailing of seas ; 
 And the jester fell down in his railing.. 
 
 And the knave on his kuees.
 
 MARBIEn OR MAERED. f'21. 
 
 Then their sleeping was suffering and anguish, 
 
 And their waking was woe ; 
 And the mourner, w-hosc lifVi wns to languish, 
 
 Found abysses below. 
 
 Th<'n the loser was one with the winner, 
 
 And the mighty waxed faint ; 
 While the saint was esteemed as the siunci , 
 
 And the sinner a saint. 
 
 And a wonder was seen in the tresses, 
 
 Grrowing gray of a night ; 
 That had laughed to the wooer's caresses. 
 
 With but yesterday's light. 
 
 Then the usurer's gold was yet cheaper, 
 
 Than the market-place mire ; 
 And the reveller shared with the weeper. 
 
 And their share was the fire. 
 
 Then the meek was as high as the highest. 
 
 And the luiiiglity lay low ; 
 And the farthest was near as the nighest. 
 
 To the nivager's blow. 
 
 And the masters their menials then followed. 
 
 And with ruin were girt ; 
 Yea, the twain in their misery wallowed. 
 
 And they wallowed in dirt. 
 
 And the blossom was plucked in its splendoixr 
 
 Prom the delicate cheelf ; 
 And the lips that were dewy and tender. 
 
 They turned pallid and bleak. 
 
 And the peoples that strengthened their stations. 
 
 Under heaven and the stars : 
 They were struck in the night of the nations. 
 
 Behind bulwarks and bars. 
 
 And the swift met calamity faster, 
 
 Tlioiigh more swift than the sword ; 
 Tliey were shaken with litter disaster. 
 
 At the blast of the Lord. 
 
 And the strong with the shield held before him. 
 
 And his hand on the spear ; 
 He was shattered when shadows c-nm^ o'er him, 
 
 With the shattering of fear. 
 
 And the feet that were fleet on the mountain, 
 
 Lo, they fell on the plain ; 
 And the damsels that drew from the fouiltaiE 
 
 Were encompassed with pain.
 
 622 MABRTED OR MARKED, 
 
 Tlien the lord was to lowliness servant^ 
 
 And the service was grief ; 
 And the priest, in his ministry fervent^ 
 
 Was no priest of relief. 
 
 Foi the day of avenging had spoken. 
 
 And the day was as night ; 
 Yea, the pride of the spoiler was broken. 
 
 And the king in his might. 
 
 It was thi\s in my petulant sorrow. 
 When I dreamed not a close ; 
 
 That the morning, (for ever the morrow). 
 Of my agony rose. 
 
 On the waters of weariness drifting, 
 
 I was wafted throiigh air ; 
 "Until dashed by the tempest's uplifting 
 
 On the rocks of despair. 
 
 Ah, in truth I had played but with weeping, 
 And had grazed bnt its track ; 
 
 I had painted its fancifiil heaping. 
 With a border of black. 
 
 I was clipping the cypress of mourning. 
 
 To an elegant shape ; . 
 And was giving a tender adorning. 
 
 To my grievances' crape. 
 
 I was showing the willows I water, 
 
 A more tragical fall ; 
 And the sables a daintier qiiartor. 
 
 On the jjose of the jiall. 
 
 I was teaching the dirge that I nourish, 
 
 A more delicate turn ; 
 And was carving an exquisite flourish. 
 
 On my sentiment's itrn. 
 
 I was toying awhile with the tassels. 
 
 On the fringes of care ; 
 And was building most masterly castles. 
 
 In the funeral air. 
 
 I was trifling with misery's traj^pings, 
 
 AVith the pageant of iJain ; 
 And was fingering the edges and wrappings. 
 
 In imaginings vain. 
 
 I was feigning the sepulchre's scenery. 
 
 And the glamour it gave ; 
 While I marshalled the graces and greenery, 
 
 With the flowers of the grave.
 
 MARRIED QR MARRKT), (j23 
 
 And T caught all the cheerh-r giances. 
 
 Of the tressels and biers ; 
 And I sported with sorrow's romances, 
 
 A nd made music of tears. 
 
 And I marketl every point that w;is telling. 
 
 And the poetry stole. 
 From the passions of pangs, that were swellino- 
 
 My theatrical whole. ° 
 
 I was feeding a furnace ideal, '• 
 
 That I fanned with my breath ; 
 And I lent it a fuel unreal. 
 
 While I flirted with death. 
 
 And I added the form of a finish. 
 
 From the costumes in store ; 
 Did my vapouring ever diminish, 
 
 I could clotlre it. with more. 
 
 And I looked as an artist may ponder. 
 
 On a fantasy fair ; 
 And I suifered my pencil to wander, 
 
 "With a touch here and there. 
 
 And I tricked out the shade of the picture. 
 
 With the blue of the skies ; 
 And I toned it with hints from the stricture. 
 
 Of hostility's eyes. 
 
 And I lavished the airs and the attitudes. 
 
 That might serve for a heart ; 
 And 1 polished the usual platitudes. 
 
 On an object of art. 
 
 And I studied the dues of the statue. 
 
 As a sculptor may dc ; 
 Ami took care that' its charms should look at vou 
 With a figleaf or too. " 
 
 And I ordered the tay-s and the trimmino-g, 
 
 And the drapery spread ; 
 And I flitted with butterfly skimmino-s. 
 
 On the skirts of the dead. 
 
 And I tired not in all my inventino- 
 
 Where I filched not from bards f 
 And made capital out of lamentino-. 
 
 O'er a coffin of cards. 
 
 It was but a delusion and medley, 
 
 Thotigh dehxsion has weight; 
 "^ m^, *^® semblance is often more deadly 
 
 Thau the sixbstauce of fate.
 
 021 MAREIET) OR MAUKED, 
 
 So I dreamed a mere fatuous vision. 
 
 And I clove to a cloud ; 
 Until doom with an iron decision, • 
 
 Wrapped me round in its shroud. 
 
 As I dallied in delicate foolinp;. 
 
 With the phantoms and forms. 
 Came the primness of grief with its schooling. 
 
 And its strokes were the storm's. 
 
 Then the pliable fancies and feelings, 
 
 I haxl conjiu-ed in play ; 
 Lo, they turned into stubborn rovealings. 
 
 And of me made their prey. 
 
 And the thought I had thralled was my master. 
 
 As it grew into shape ; 
 With a body of bane and disaster, 
 
 AVhich T could not escape. 
 
 And the forces I called to protect me. 
 With themselves Avere at strife ; 
 
 And my dead foes arose to reject mo, 
 A^'ith the friends I gave life. 
 
 And the mourning that once was luxurious. 
 
 And a joy to my soul ; 
 Now an interest asked so usurious. 
 
 That it mocked at control. 
 
 And the figures I shaped as my creatures 
 
 That had gladdened my sight, 
 Now returned with implacable featiu-es. 
 
 Like a comfortless niglit. 
 
 And the willo^-s of elegant weeping. 
 
 Became rods for my back ; 
 And the hills of despair I was heaping. 
 
 Were the stones of my track. 
 
 And the roses I grew in my gard en, 
 
 To make misery sweet, 
 Now accorded no place for my pardon. 
 
 And were thorns to my feet. 
 
 And the pity I squandered in fumings, 
 
 Fov the bastards of care. 
 Shed no dew on my cruel consumings. 
 
 Nor had solace to spare. 
 
 Thus it was and is now and for ever. 
 
 Since my darling is dead ; 
 And the bloom of my lifetime's endeavour. 
 
 With its fratrrance has fled.
 
 jWAERIET* ok makkkp. G25 
 
 iTcro T stand face to face willi ra.y dnty, 
 
 And the seasons flow on ; 
 Thou^-h the gleam and the g-low and the beauty. 
 
 From their presence have gone. . 
 
 I have passed beyond glosses of Fashion, 
 
 To the granite of grief ; 
 I am tossed on the billows of Passion, 
 
 Like a storm-stricken leaf. 
 
 Now I grapple with issues of iron. 
 
 And my strife is with stone ; 
 And though mercies my bosom environ. 
 
 Yet my heart is alone. 
 
 And the sky that was dull has waxed duller. 
 
 While the earth has grown gray ; 
 And the throb and the thrill and the colour. 
 
 All have fleeted away. 
 
 I have sounded the hollow moralities. 
 
 Of the creeds and the cults ; 
 And I close with the naked realities. 
 
 Of thb final results. 
 
 What is man but a vanishing vapour. 
 
 With a dream for his dower ; 
 What is life but the light of a tai:>er. 
 
 When it burns but an hour ? 
 
 I have measured the bounds of the naortal. 
 
 Where the yew -branches wave — 
 As I sat at the sanctuary's portal — 
 
 And its bounds were the grave. 
 
 I have heard the decree of the sentence. 
 
 On the pampered and poor ; 
 When I knocked with the knock of repentance. 
 
 At the sepulchre's door. 
 
 I have seen that the end is inanity. 
 
 The beginning is pain ; 
 That the upshot of life is its vanity. 
 
 It is empty and vain. 
 
 I liave severed the fact from the fable. 
 
 With the winning of woe ; 
 While I proved that no pi'omise was stable. 
 
 If its roots were below. 
 
 I have handled the pulses of pleasures. 
 
 And I felt they were false ; 
 I have drunk of the fountain of treasures. 
 
 And their savour was salse,
 
 ggg marrit:t» oe marred. 
 
 I am sure that the surface is hollow. 
 
 The adorning of lust ; 
 There is nothing but famine to follow. 
 
 And the kernel is diist. 
 
 And I know that the casket is bitter. 
 
 Though it be not to taste ; 
 Thovigh it circles but leavings and litter. 
 
 And the jewels are paste. 
 
 I have learned the delusion is doiible. 
 For the thing and the thought ; 
 
 That tlie tribiite of seeking is trouble^ 
 And the finding is nought. 
 
 O my voice with its weeijing is weary, 
 
 A nd vexation its gain ; 
 And my dreams are the eehoings dreary. 
 
 Of the burden of ijain. 
 
 While my waking is ghastlier vision. 
 
 And my sleeping not rest ; 
 And a battle-ground torn by collision. 
 
 Is my sorrowful breast. 
 
 And my ears without music are lonely. 
 Without accents that cling; 
 
 And the tendrils entwining me only. 
 Have a funeral ring. 
 
 Yea, I hear but the sob of the surges. 
 And I drink biit the brine — 
 
 Of the doom of disconsolate dirges — 
 And the dirges are mine. 
 
 Now the sun is despoiled of his splendour. 
 And the moon gives no liglit ; 
 
 The caresses no longer are tender. 
 And the red cheek is white. 
 
 Disillusioned is time of its glory. 
 
 Disenchanted is space ; 
 And the tiead of creation is hoary. 
 
 And her growth without grace. 
 
 We are dust and a handful of ashes. 
 
 Just a shadow and show ; 
 And our truths are but transient flashes. 
 
 From horizons below. , 
 
 She has fallen — has fallen — my Beauty, 
 When no storm-cloud was nigh ; 
 
 Like a queen in the height of her duty. 
 Like a star from the sky.
 
 SrATlRIED OK. MARRID. 627 
 
 Lo, the tempest has come without warning. 
 
 As it swoops in the South ; 
 And the night that has never a morning'. 
 
 It has opened its mouth. 
 
 Yesterday she was mistress of many. 
 
 And their worship was one ; 
 But to-day, if her mourners are any. 
 
 She is mistress of none. 
 
 But the tomb has rejoiced to bereave her, 
 . And the clods are her bed ; 
 Willie the earth had made room to receive her. 
 With its dust on her head. 
 
 Now the silence alone is her sister. 
 
 And the darkness her spouse ; 
 Ah, the worm that is clammy has kist her. 
 
 And embraces her brows. 
 
 Where the lips of a lover once rested, 
 
 A new wooer has hied ; 
 And her blossoming breasts are molested. 
 
 By caresses untried. 
 
 Over features no calumny altered. 
 
 There has stolen a change ; 
 And the heart that for others but faltered. 
 
 Now has stirrings more strange. 
 
 She had suitors their service to mingle. 
 
 And who hixng on her breath ; 
 But the service now offered is single. 
 
 And the sixitor is death. 
 
 She is fondled by festering vermin. 
 
 And the queen is a slave ; 
 While the grave-clothes her kingdom determine. 
 
 And her court is the grave. 
 
 Now the bosom with modest arraying. 
 
 Without fear, without spot. 
 Has the life that is only decaying. 
 
 Has the rest that is rot. 
 
 Now the mien that was growing in graces. 
 
 Like a flower in the light. 
 Has the growth that corruption defaces. 
 
 And the bloom that is blight. 
 
 And the brood of the clay are her lieges. 
 
 Who are more than their lord ; 
 And their sapping her stronghold besieges. 
 
 With rebellious accord.
 
 g2S MAEEIED OB MABEEP. 
 
 And the tribiito no king is desii-ing, 
 
 Now lier treastiry fills ; 
 And the homage whose name is bomirnig. 
 
 Through her avenues thrills. 
 
 Now the grub dissolution has gendered. 
 
 In her palaces plays ; 
 And to eyes that are darkened, is tendered 
 
 The allegiance that slays. 
 
 O her subjects may press her with sighing, • 
 
 And her servants naay come ; 
 Yet she cannot concede them replying, 
 
 And her answer is diimb. 
 
 They may strike and she will not withstand them, 
 
 Nor give heed to their scorn ; 
 They may pay but she does not command them. 
 
 Nor take tithes of their corn. 
 
 They may harass her hearing with praying. 
 
 Yet she knows not their vows ; 
 Yea, their slanders and all their gainsaying, 
 
 No revenging will rouse. 
 
 They may fall at her feet with their wailing, 
 
 And with wringing of hands ; 
 But she deems not, as once without failing. 
 
 Her delight their demands. 
 
 Now no more shall their suits from a distance. 
 
 Find their pleasure her j)art ; 
 Ere they gathered a shape and consistence. 
 
 In the mould of the heart. 
 
 They shall ask, but in folly and blindness. 
 
 The petition they hoped ; 
 They shall knock at the door of her kindness. 
 
 But it will not be oped. 
 
 They may bring of their splendovir and spices. 
 
 All the brightest and best ; _ 
 But no incense her nostril entices. 
 
 From its infinite rest. 
 
 Let them call and she gives no responding. 
 
 Let them weep if they will ; 
 She can hearken not now to desponding. 
 
 To their tragedies' thrill. 
 
 When they weary her gates with oblations, 
   When they trip by her walls ; 
 She shaU reck not of false adulations. 
 Or how foul are their falls.
 
 MAEKIED OK MAEEED, 629 
 
 Do the courtiers troop to her porches. 
 
 With their gifts in their hands ? 
 Do they trouble the darkness with torches. 
 
 Round her cerements' bands ? 
 
 Yet she craves not for jewels to cherish, 
 
 Nor for silver and gold ; 
 And the torches and darkness may perish. 
 
 Ere she break from her hold. 
 
 Shall they beg for the pitiful glances. 
 
 That were salves to their sores P 
 Shall they sue her with cymbals and dances. 
 
 And with melody's stores. 
 
 Yet she cares not for trumpet and tabor, 
 
 Nor for viol and flute ; 
 And she tells not the tread of her neighbour. 
 
 And the music is mute. 
 
 They may throng in their masses, and thunder 
 
 At the door of her tomb ; 
 Yet it shall not be riven asunder. 
 
 Nor disburden its womb. 
 
 And the mark of humanity mortal. 
 
 Shall still lie as it lay ; 
 And the stono from her sepulchre's portal. 
 
 None shall roll it away. 
 
 They shall loose not the load of her fetter. 
 
 Nor the fangs of her chain ; 
 Though their love with its labour beset her. 
 
 They shall labour in vain. 
 
 She is -wounded, and where is the healing ? 
 
 She is bruised of breast ; 
 And her brow has the terrible sealing. 
 
 Strange embraces have prest. 
 
 She is weary of toiling and troubling, 
 
 With the weight and the heat ; 
 But the bahn of no rivulet's bubbling. 
 
 To her hearing is sweet. 
 
 'o 
 
 With the shafts that are sure is she stricken, 
 
 With the ai'rows of fate ; 
 In the swoon beyond help does she sicken. 
 
 In her passionless state . 
 
 She is sleeping and when will she waken ? 
 
 Though we shout in her ears ; 
 By the earthquake itself Avero she shaken. 
 
 It would fret not her fears.
 
 638 MARBIED OR MABKED. 
 
 Though the bolts of the lightning should volley, 
 
 Would they dazzle her eyes ? 
 And the wisdom is one with the folly. 
 
 In the land where she lies. 
 
 The eclipse with its withering curtain. 
 
 And the shadows of doom. 
 Are to her as a message uncertain. 
 
 And she knows not from whom. 
 
 Ah, her windows are covered with mourning. 
 
 And with heaviness hung ; 
 For the ashes are now her adorning. 
 
 And the silence her tongue. 
 
 And the wayfarers pass by her mansion. 
 
 But its glory is veiled ; 
 And the dearth with its dreary expansion. 
 
 O'er its pride has prevailed. 
 
 Lo, her lovers go bowing in sorrow. 
 
 And her lovers are all ; 
 While their wail from the waters they borrow. 
 
 From the breezes their call. 
 
 Since the elements chime in our chorus. 
 
 With an elegy sad ; 
 For the fruit that is gathered before ua. 
 
 And the harvest we had. 
 
 And the face of Creation is smitten. 
 
 With a trouble and blight ; 
 And her features are wrinkled and bitten, 
 
 With the frosts of the night. 
 
 We go weeping and bending and lowly. 
 
 For the light of the skies ; 
 Now the darkness has drawn from us wholly. 
 
 The desire of our eyes. 
 
 O the aspens are quaking and sighing. 
 
 And the flowerets are faint ; 
 Yea, the harlots of Fashion are cryino-. 
 
 And grow pale througli their paint. 
 
 And the sons of the house and the hovel. 
 
 Both have dust on their brow ; 
 While her enemies groan as they o-rovel. 
 
 Nor are enemies now. 
 
 All the leaflets are troubled and tremble. 
 
 As they warp in the wind ; 
 And the dews do not shrink to dissemble. 
 
 What a dimness they find.
 
 MARRIED OR MARRED. 631 
 
 And the blades of the grasses may shiver, 
 
 But they bring her no more ; 
 And the sedges will qixaver and quiver. 
 
 On a desolate shove 
 
 And iinheeded the destitute shudders. 
 
 If the snowflakes should fall ; 
 And the kine, with their pendulovis udders. 
 
 Shall not come to her call. 
 
 And the dog that would leap to her whistle. 
 
 Shall be whining in vain ; 
 And the spear of the thorn and the thistle. 
 
 Shall infest her demesne. 
 
 And the naked she clothed with her mercy. 
 
 Shall not mark in her tone, 
 All the chivalroiis pride of a Percy, 
 
 "With a love quite her own. 
 
 And the dove that would light on her shoulder. 
 
 Or would feed from her lips. 
 Now unsuccoiu-ed shall pine to behold her. 
 
 For the delicate sips. 
 
 It shall fly to the perch as it flitted. 
 
 But no perch will be there ; 
 And its murmurs shall wander vmpitied. 
 
 Over passage and stair. 
 
 And the pets that in plenitude flourished. 
 
 Within sheltering walls ; 
 Shall go moaning iinheard and unnourished. 
 
 Through the motherless halls. 
 
 ■■o^ 
 
 And the pensioners dear to the bounty. 
 
 May her welcoming wait ; 
 But the voice that was law to the county. 
 
 Shall not open their gate. 
 
 Let the death-bell be tolled in the steeple. 
 
 And the revelries bann'd ; 
 For a mother has passed from the people. 
 
 And a queen from the land. 
 
 She was parent of joy to the saddest. 
 
 Though the daughter of grief ; 
 And with heartsease her glances were gladdest. 
 
 When she most lacked relief. 
 
 She was empress by right the divinest, 
 
 Thoiigh the servant of all ; 
 And no slander went out the malignest. 
 
 But came back as her thrall.
 
 632 MARRIED OK MARRED. 
 
 By a title of sanctions unwritten^ 
 
 She was lord of our hearts ; 
 Wei-e our portions the smoothest or smitten. 
 
 Still she govex-ned their parts. 
 
 O my Queen, dost thou reign in the regions, 
 
 Wliere thy beauty has flown ? 
 Art thou chief among sorrowful legions^ 
 
 With thy sorrow thy throne. 
 
 Thou hast followed the fasces and lictors. 
 
 That attend upon death ; 
 And dost thou with the vanqiiished and victors. 
 
 Draw thy liberal breath ? 
 
 Be the cottage thy innocent schooler. 
 
 Or the court of a Guelf ; 
 Yet I know thoix art ever a ruler. 
 
 Thou art queen of thyself. 
 
 Biit the masters of earth are thy minions. 
 
 Wheresoever thy lot ; 
 And the praises of men thy dominions. 
 
 And thy spoils without spot. 
 
 For thy sway is the spell of thy sweetness. 
 
 And tliy scej)tre is love ; 
 And tlrine unction has holy completeness, 
 
 From anointings above. 
 
 Thou art far from our passionate panting. 
 
 Yet with thee it is well ; 
 ■\Vliere thou art is a heaven of enchanting, 
 
 Wliere thou art not is hell. 
 
 Tliou art flrat, from the fairest of reasons. 
 
 If the empire is grace ; 
 And there blows not a flower of the seasons. 
 
 Like the flower of thy face. 
 
 Thou art foremost in every contending. 
 When they strive not with arms ; 
 
 And the prizes, are only a blending 
 Of the bloom of thy charms. 
 
 Yet perchance thou art never so distant, 
 
 But art nearer than thought ; 
 When it thrills as a healing assistant. 
 
 With the balm it has brought. 
 
 From the waving of woods hast thou beckoned, 
 
 in the hushing of airs ? 
 Or as angels fi'om sources unreckoned. 
 
 When tliey call unawares P
 
 MARKIED OB MARKED, 
 
 Tliou art to me as dew in the dawning, 
 
 When it silvers the trees ; 
 Thon art with me as eventide's fawning. 
 
 While it sets on the seas. 
 
 Thoii art o'er me as skies with their arches, 
 
 Of imperial blue ; 
 Thon art in me as spring, in the larches. 
 
 With their emerald hue. 
 
 Thou art on me as moons in the Maytinie, 
 
 When they mellow the grass ; 
 Thou art by me as brooks in the j)laytime. 
 
 When they pipe as they pass. 
 
 Thou art for mo as one for his brother. 
 
 When to death is the strife ; 
 Thoii art sister and wife and a mother. 
 
 And the loadstar of life. 
 
 I am dead and it's thou that art living, 
 
 Whilst I sleep thou hast waked ; 
 And my dreams of delight are thy giving'. 
 
 And my thirst thou hast slaked. 
 
 Am I hungry with infinite yearning, 
 
 For the secrets of Time ? 
 Thou dost feed me with fuller returning. 
 
 Of volition sublime. 
 
 Am I naked and lost on the ocean. 
 
 By its billow ings rent ? 
 Thou dost clothe mo with tender emotion. 
 
 In the calm of content. 
 
 Am I cold and despairing and fearful. 
 
 In the winter of woe ? 
 Thou dost warm me with memories cheerful. 
 
 How the summer vail grow. 
 
 Am I sick with a sorrowful craving. 
 
 At the misery wrought ? 
 Thou dost medicine my heart with the saving 
 
 Of a holier thought. 
 
 Do I reel in the faintness of anguish. 
 
 When the wickedness wins ? 
 Thou dost sigh, it is better to languish. 
 
 Than to riot in sins. 
 
 Were I slain with the choice I have cherished. 
 
 Ere I sullied its seal ; 
 Thou wouldst rather I many times perished, 
 
 Than imperiled my weal.
 
 634 MARRIED OR MAEEED. 
 
 But O why hast thou entered before me. 
 
 In the kingdoms of shade ? 
 When the moon of the morning was o'er me. 
 
 And the ear in the blade. 
 
 When my creed was as yet in its crescent. 
 
 Thine has grown to the full ; 
 While for me there are doubtings incessant. 
 
 That to darkness would pull. 
 
 I am heavy of heart, and am burdened 
 
 With a pain-stricken breast ; 
 And art thou in the shadow-land guerdoned. 
 
 With the garland of rest ? 
 
 There are crowns for the victors in battle. 
 
 For the butchers of earth ; 
 And the mother with children to prattle. 
 
 Has a crown of more woi-th. 
 
 There are crowns of a glory serener. 
 
 For the givers of ease ; 
 And the crowns of the Martyr's arena. 
 
 Are yet brighter than these. 
 
 There are crowns of ineffable splendour. 
 
 For the orator's sway ; 
 But the crown of a charity tender. 
 
 Has more radiance than they. 
 
 There are crowns for perverters of Science, 
 
 For the spoilers of man ; 
 But the crown of a saintly reliance. 
 
 Is of mightier span. 
 
 There are crowns for reformers of morals. 
 
 That are woven by foes ; 
 But in loving humility lavirels. 
 
 Are diviner than those. 
 
 There are crowns with a grace never tarnished. 
 
 For discoverers' brows ; 
 But a crown still more graciously garnished. 
 
 Comes from sanctity's vows. 
 
 There are crowns that for poets are shaded. 
 
 By the breadth of the bays ; 
 But a crown that more broadly is braided. 
 
 Lies in poverty's praise. 
 
 There are crowns for the sculptor and painter^ 
 
 Who adorn what they touch ; 
 But if crowns of denial are fainter. 
 
 They are fairer than such.
 
 MARBIED OR MABUED. 635 
 
 There are crowns for the preacher of duty. 
 
 When the world heeds not right ; 
 But the crown of a comelier beauty, , 
 
 Lives in piu-ity's light. 
 
 There are ci-owns that our treasuries muster. 
 
 For the ravisher's head ; 
 But a crown of the loveliest lustre. 
 
 Follows chastity's tread. 
 
 There are crowns, without name, without number, 
 
 For the dreamers of night ; 
 But the crowns for the watchmen of slumber. 
 
 Have a richer delight. 
 
 There are crowns for the merciless tyrant. 
 
 That are dazzling and cold ; 
 But the crown won by mercy's aspirant. 
 
 Is of goodlier gold. 
 
 There are crowns that the victors may merit. 
 
 With the world at their will ; 
 But the crowns that the vanqxxished inherit. 
 
 May be loftier still. 
 
 There are crowns for the day and the morrow. 
 
 But that last not for long ; 
 But the crown of a conquering sorrow. 
 
 Is immortal as song. 
 
 This is thine, O my Lady of Mourning, 
 
 This is wholly thy own ; 
 For thy kingdom was villainy's scorning. 
 
 And its scoffs were thy throne. 
 
 The defeat of desires that were idle. 
 
 Was a victoi'y yet ; 
 And on spells that thy spirit could bridle. 
 
 Not a sun ever set. 
 
 But O yet thou art more than a master. 
 
 And enfranchised from pelf ; 
 And in death thou hast conquered disaster. 
 
 Who hadst conquered thyself. 
 
 Thou hast drudged with the servants and toiler?/ 
 
 For the wages of woe ; 
 Thou hast given thy back to the spoilers. 
 
 And thy face to the foe. 
 
 And at lenglh in the ripeness, that borrows. 
 
 All the fulness of years ; 
 Thou art fall'n in the fruit of thy sorrows. 
 
 In the triumph of tears.
 
 0S6 THE CHURCH CLOCK, 
 
 EELIGIOUS POEMS, ETC 
 
 THE CHURCH CLOCK. 
 
 The cliixrch clock stands m the church tower. 
 It chimes alike in shine and shower. 
 And tells of seasons passing by — 
 That dearest things must fade and fly ; 
 It sounds, as would an angel speak. 
 That carries comfort to the weak ; 
 Throughout the night, throughout the day. 
 It calleth sinful souls to pray. 
 
 What is its Lenten cry ? 
 
 Live to thyself, and die : 
 
 What message doth it give ^ 
 
 Die to thyself, and live. 
 
 The church clock striketh, when the bell 
 Hath ceased its solemn warning knell ; 
 It hath soft tones for human tears. 
 And metes an end of mortal fears ; 
 It bids us turn from earthly toys, 
 To penance and its purer joys ; 
 Ah, let its stroke the dreamer raise. 
 And open careless hearts to praise. 
 
 What is its Lenten voice ? 
 
 Let Mary's be thy choice. 
 
 To iind the diist is sweet. 
 
 If at the Saviour's feet. 
 
 The church clock measures out the time. 
 Between two worlds with awfiil chime ; 
 Its white face glimmers through the gloom. 
 Its lips toll like the trumi) of doom. 
 To the lost wretch outside the gate. 
 That to repentance flees too late — 
 It beats like scourges on his sleej}. 
 And wakes him evermore to we^p. 
 
 What is its Lenten text ? 
 
 Thy soul shall be the next. 
 
 That did its tribute grudge. 
 
 Unready for the Judge.
 
 THF, RKCRET OF THK PU"RSENC'E, 
 
 The olinreh clock pointetli with its hands 
 Tojbi-ighter loves and better lands. 
 With solemn witness preaching on, - 
 When other tongues are hnshed and gone ; 
 It speaks of grace, its deathless charms. 
 That girds ns with imconqnered arms ; 
 Throughoiit the day, throughout the night-, 
 It cheers the soldier to the fight. 
 
 What is its Lenten call ? 
 
 Beware, lest thou shouldst fall ; 
 
 The cross thy burden be. 
 
 And it shall cai-ry thee. 
 
 The church clock stands, as it has stood 
 And shall through ages yet, for good — 
 Above the noise of petty strife. 
 Lifting to peace of holier life ; 
 It speaketh now, as in the past. 
 Of lonely vigil, vow, and fast. 
 The sacraments that wash from soil, 
 .And bids iis share Christ's loving toil. 
 
 What is its Lenten tale ? 
 
 The reddest cheek grows jiale ; 
 
 Nigh is the burial sod, 
 
 Projiare to meet thy God. 
 
 (ih7 
 
 THE SECRET OF THE PRESENCE. 
 
 With the glow of the last dying ember. 
 
 As it flushed and flickered on the hearth. 
 And the cricket cried, I well remember. 
 
 When the snow's white robe enwrapt the earth 
 When the lire made shadows dance and darken. 
 
 With their figures weird across the wall. 
 And the straining ear would fain not harken. 
 
 At the ghostly sounds that seemed to call ; 
 In the boding darlniess before morning. 
 
 In the cold of a wild winter March, 
 That had stript the heaven of stars adorning. 
 
 And with sackcloth hung its glorious arch ; 
 While I ooxild not sleep, and strove to number 
 
 The feeble sparks of the sputtering flame, 
 FrQui the world within the world of slumber, 
 It came.
 
 638 THE SHCEET OF THB PRESENCE, 
 
 "What it was I cannot utter. 
 
 For our human words are weak. 
 And the heart would vainly flutter. 
 
 That the wonder tried to speak ; 
 But appeared at once a portal. 
 
 In eternity to ope. 
 From the fetters of the mortal. 
 
 And beyond the di-eams of hope ; 
 I was conscioiis of a Being, 
 
 That yet mingled with my own. 
 And a sight far more than seeing, 
 
 Into mysteries unknown ; 
 Wliat below is the most pleasant. 
 
 And what is most pure above. 
 All their raptui-e then seemed present. 
 And was Love. 
 
 And whatever now attend my fortunes, 
 
 I must yet bo alway sure of this, 
 "While the grief besets and pain importunes. 
 
 That my soul has tasted Heavenly bliss ; 
 And whatever leaves me, this is certain — 
 
 I have Love Almighty seen and known, 
   And He di-ew aside the cloudy curtain. 
 
 Which divides His dwelling from my own ; 
 There has passed between us something solemn. 
 
 Like a consecration's covenant seal. 
 And before me'goes the fiery column. 
 
 That the path of Duty doth reveal ; 
 I have drunk of joy the awful essence. 
 
 And I now can never be the same. 
 Since with all the Secret of the Presence, 
 He came. 
 
 It is whispered by the forest. 
 
 It is murmured by the stream. 
 When the troubled heart is sorest. 
 
 Thou shalt catch the gracious gleam ; 
 In the mist upon the mountain. 
 
 When bestridden by the storm. 
 In the plashing of the foitntain. 
 
 Breathes the beauty of that Form ; 
 It is He and not another. 
 
 In each earthly tone and tide. 
 The sweet Man who is a Brother, 
 
 And who suiiers at our side ; 
 In the clamours that enfold us. 
 
 In the cooing of the dove. 
 He is present to iiphold us. 
 And is Love.
 
 THE TRKB OF DEATH, 63f) 
 
 THE TREE OF DEATH. 
 
 In the dead of the night the Christ came down. 
 
 To visit the eax-th He made ; 
 And a cross of care was His only crown. 
 As He stood in the heart of a mighty Town, 
 
 In the dread of the prison shade. 
 
 Lo, his brow had the brand of the cruel thorn, 
 
 And His hands by the nails were rent. 
 And His face with a voiceless woe looked worn. 
 Though His eyes shone out like the light of morn 
 
 On a waJfing continent. 
 
 And He came, as a mourner comes to keep 
 
 His watch, till the shadows fly ; 
 And the prisoner felt a solace deep. 
 As he turned in his hateful haunted sleep. 
 
 When the gracious Christ wont by. 
 
 And the doors unlocked and the bolts shot back. 
 
 As He passed from cell to cell ; 
 While a trail of glory marked His track. 
 And the walls they seemed to reel and crack 
 
 To their uttermost iron cell. 
 
 And the murderer dreamed, where he huddled lay, 
 
 That he yet again was free ; 
 And he raised his blood-stained hand to pray, 
 For soft did a heavenly whisi^er say, 
 " Dark soul, I died for thee." 
 
 And the creature with his years of crime. 
 
 Though he still was biit a boy. 
 When he heard those words of pity chime, 
 In the midst of his visioned slough and slime. 
 
 Had the thrill of a purer joy. 
 
 And the woman fallen so long and low. 
 
 Who was all vinsexed by sin. 
 In her winti-y suffering found a glow. 
 And a sudden rapture through her flow. 
 
 As the Blessed One came in. 
 
 And the villain stamped with every stain. 
 
 With the scar of every lust. 
 Drew a respite from the galling chain. 
 As an unseen Hand relaxed his pain. 
 
 And upraised him iu his dust.
 
 540 THE TUV.Vj r>v dkath. 
 
 And the wretch, who was tigly and old and lost. 
 
 Who the vice as of ages bore. 
 In his hopeless misery torn and tost. 
 When that unknown Step his wanderings crost. 
 
 Looked young and fair once more. 
 
 So the Christ passed on, as a presence bright. 
 
 In his \'igil lone and dim ; 
 And the gates, that mocked at the human might. 
 They bent to the jjower of that solemn sight. 
 
 And they opened wide to Him. 
 
 Then He came at length to the Gallows high. 
 
 Where it stood like a funeral stone ; 
 And again he wept, as His feet drew nigh. 
 While there broke from His heart a htimau sigh. 
 As he gazed at the Devil's throne. 
 
 For it seemed as sackcloth on the sky. 
 
 As if all were under ban ; 
 And its roots, for ever parched and dry, 
 Sucked food of the exceeding cry. 
 
 From lIip bleeding breast of nran. 
 
 Till He spoke, — " I planted many a tree," 
 But He spoke with troubled breath— 
 " And I framed them beautiful to see, 
 " And I called them good, but who made thee, 
 
 " O ghastly Tree of Death ? 
 
 And I know thee not, O sterile stem. 
 
 With thy harvest of grief and strife ; 
 But I know the precious ore and gem, 
 And I love the flowers and fashioned them. 
 
 And I gave the Tree of Life. 
 
 " For thy branches reach to the farthest land. 
 And thy poison shade is spi'ead. 
 Over mountain peak, over desert sand. 
 Like the midnight gloom, with its cursed band. 
 And it follows the l3ridal tread. 
 
 " I formed thee not, and I fed thee not. 
 Thou are bathed in no showers of mine. 
 And thou growest there as the one grim sj^ot. 
 With the fruit that ripens but to rot. 
 Whereon no sixn may shine. 
 
 It was sinful man who sowed the seed. 
 When the first foul deed was done ; 
 It was sinful man who let thee speed. 
 Who chose the barren tare and weed. 
 When I had planted none.
 
 THE TEKE OE DEATH. 641 
 
 " Thou hast had thy reign, blasted trunk, 
 
 In a "blighted orb since then ; 
 And thouo-h worlds have risen and worlds have sunk, 
 Thoii hast thriven on sighs, and still art drunk. 
 
 With the blood of martyred men. 
 
 " Through the day and night of the dreadful years, 
 
 I have heard the cry of pain. 
 From the famished heart and the widow's fears ; 
 And thou art fat with the orphan's tears. 
 
 And thy empire is in vain. 
 
 " Thou hast had no pity from the first. 
 
 If tlie poor before thee bent ; 
 On the helpless thou hast wreaked thy worst, 
 And with all thy ravening yet dost thirst. 
 
 For the sweet and innocent. 
 
 " Thou hast only scattered the fiery brands. 
 
 That sunder man from mate ; 
 And the shadow of thy shameful liands^ 
 It has fallen upon the fairest strands. 
 
 With a heritage of hate. 
 
 " Thou bast hung the heavens with curtain black. 
 And hast mingled earth with moans ; 
 For thou takest all, nor givest back. 
 And thou leavest but the one pale track 
 Of bleaching skulls and bones. 
 
 " And I bid thee go, thou withered stock. 
 
 With the laws that grind and slay ; 
 And I swear thou shalt no longer mock 
 The hope of the penitent, nor block 
 
 The path of a kinder sway. 
 
 " Thou hast run thy course and had thy fill. 
 With the terrors that live and lie ; 
 Thou hast had tliy time to curse and kill, 
 Witli the plagues of )iell and the powers of ill. 
 And now thyself niiist die. 
 
 "Thou art wanting found, a,nd hast no lot 
 
 In the day from darkness born ; 
 For thou canst not hold what thou hast get ; 
 And I bid thee go, thotx damned blot^ 
 
 At the burst of a brighter morn." 
 
 He spoke, and the gloom before me fled. 
 
 As a guilty thing that must ; 
 And the bowing heavens a glory shed, 
 AVhile the yawning earth gave up its dead. 
 
 From the depths of the cofiin dust.
 
 (542 THE TKEE OF DEATH. 
 
 He spoke, and I saw theiii upward start, 
 From their tombs that flashed like flame. 
 
 As again to play a liviu<j part. 
 
 Through the battle stress, on the busy mart"— 
 In a solemn host they oame. 
 
 He ceased, and the night apjjeared to ope. 
 
 And out of its silent deep, 
 In a sorrow that had no ray of hoiae. 
 All the victims of the hangman's rope. 
 
 Arose from their awful sleep. 
 
 The old and young, the rich and poor. 
 
 They met in a ghostly mob. 
 From the crowded street, the quiet moor ; 
 AU'l the long-locked vault threw wid.e its door, 
 
 That the Conqueror came to rob. 
 
 They uplifted al] their piteous avms, 
 
 But they never uttered sound ; 
 While they stared behind at fancied harms. 
 And they huddled close in dire alarms. 
 As on infernal ground. 
 
 And they cried for mercy unto Him, 
 
 Who alone was strong to save ; 
 Like sinking sovals that fain would swim, 
 When they swoon u2)ou the threshold grim 
 Of the inexorable grave. 
 
 And again He spoke, and His words were few. 
 
 But they breathed a holy balm. 
 And they fell as soft as the erening dew, 
 When it makes the woai-y meadows new. 
 In the happy twilight calm. 
 
 " Thou art doomed, O spoiler of the earth. 
 Thou hast held in bondage long 
 The lives of men, with the leperous dearth 
 Which has clouded every household hearth. 
 And saddened every song. 
 
 " For the axe of Judgment at thy root. 
 It is laid and thoa must fall ; 
 That instead may spring a better shoot, 
 And a goodlier stem may bear the fruit 
 That a blessing is to all." 
 
 Bvit then in a moment it was gone. 
 
 And its rule with murmuring rife ; 
 While the multitudes went latighing on. 
 And the sun in all jts sijlcndour shone 
 Around th'? Tree q£ Life.
 
 OUR MOTHER. g43 
 
 Lo, its healinor boughs stretched far and wide. 
 
 And the leaves their shadows threw, 
 Wherein the timid heads could hide ; ' 
 And it took the sufferer to its side. 
 
 And beneath its shelter drew. 
 
 For the power of violence was past. 
 
 And the people knew their o^vn. 
 And they all received their King at last, 
 "\\ hile he turned to feasting every fast. 
 
 And made every heart His throne. 
 
 It was broken thus that bitter chain. 
 
 When the only law was love — 
 When the earth cast out the curse of pain. 
 And the heavens came down to cleanse each stain. 
 
 And the lands leapt up above. 
 
 A.nd thus was shattered evil's might. 
 
 With its nuu-derous j^enal rods'; ' ' 
 
 The captives saw a blessed sight. 
 And they walked rejoicing in its' light. 
 
 And men became as gods. 
 
 OUR MOTHER. 
 
 Sweet as a vision of night. 
 
 Fair as the stars that stay, 
 She stood in the world with her beauty bright,- 
 She stood as the chamiDion of the rio-ht. 
 
 And the darkness turned to day. 
 
 Strong with the Spirit sent 
 Down from the Heaven on high. 
 
 Brave on her ministering path she went 
 
 To the solace of the penitent. 
 And belief's departing sigh. 
 
 True was the story told 
 
 Of the love that cannot tire. 
 When the evil earth was growing old. 
 And the warmest bosoms had waxed cold 
 
 In their infinite desire. ^ 
 
 Light to the lonely came. 
 
 With its tidings glad and new ; 
 For it brought a hope to the desperate shame; 
 While it kindled a vast undying flame 
 
 That over the kingdoms flew.
 
 (51J. OUK MOTHKli. 
 
 ^H.teadfasit v/hou all were faint, 
 She walked on hcv qiiickening roa<:l, 
 With a liaba that drew tho poison taint 
 From the direst wounds, and soothed the saint 
 Who was tottering- with his load. 
 
 For the hungry she had broad, 
 
 And a shelter for the weak ; 
 And the tlowers arose on the blood-stained tread 
 Of her martyrs, ami thc^ mighty dead 
 
 Who yet to the faithful speak. 
 
 Motlier iif soids, and nurse 
 
 She waited by beds of woe : 
 With the poorest wretch she shared her purse, 
 And the cup of Ijlessing for the ci^rse 
 
 She gave to the bitterest foe. 
 
 Prophet, as one who saw. 
 Of the peace that scatters health. 
 She threw the bridge of her golden law. 
 Across the gnli of the hate and awe 
 
 That gaped between want and wealth. 
 
 Witness to Truth, ;ind stay 
 
 (.)f the rights jjossest by all. 
 She hashfKl the breath of her biu'ning ray 
 On the Powers of 111, that barrc^l the way 
 
 And the mind woidd fain enthr;dl. 
 
 Calm in hoi' mission grand. 
 She called to the fettered slave ; 
 And the touch of her liberating hand 
 Was the breaking of the iron band. 
 And the opening of the grave. 
 
 Guardian'of every act 
 
 That is liberty and love. 
 She kept as a jewel enah great pact, 
 That has root in everlasting fact, 
 
 And its glory from above. 
 
 The suffering ceased to weep. 
 
 The weary found a rest, 
 And a refuge the unfolded sheep. 
 While the helpless babe was rocked to sleep 
 
 On her miiversal breast. 
 
 Maker of heroes, still 
 ' She moulded the human mind. 
 
 Till it took the irnpress of her will. 
 And the hearts that only thought to kill 
 Bowe<:l to her precepts kind.
 
 Tin-: (''HrrRCTr, G4-' 
 
 Ami now is lier bosom rent 
 
 Bj^lthe strokes of.their cruel rod, 
 After vigil, fast, and life-bluod s])ent. 
 And the care that over the jieoples bent. 
 
 Like the dear l>lue sky of Ood ? 
 
 She carried the words that bless. 
 
 In the sunshine of one end. 
 For the welfare of no party less 
 Than the world with its dark wilderness. 
 
 To the enemy as tlie friend. 
 
 Bvit the foeman whom she fed. 
 
 And the naked whom she clad. 
 And the thirsty who by her were sped. 
 And the feeble whom she surely led, 
 
 Have forsworn the help they had. 
 
 But alas ! it grieves her most, 
 
 With a sorrr>w never feared. 
 To see in league with the liostile host, 
 Her soldiers fled from their duty's post. 
 
 And the children that she reared. 
 
 Yea, it wrings her heart-strings sore. 
 
 To hear in the ril)ald cry. 
 The voices that once Hos;innas bore. 
 And by her were tuned to sing before, 
 
 Now^ shouting " Crucify ! " 
 
 But her feet are on the Eock, 
 
 While the troubles round her twinp. 
 And the brighter from the shade and sliock> 
 If the bands of hell her pathway block. 
 
 She shall yet arise and shine. 
 
 For she yet is the Saviour's Bride, 
 
 And she treads as she firmly trod, 
 Though the waves may roar in their raging tide. 
 At the bulwarks built against their ^jridej 
 
 And they fight in vain with God. 
 
 THE CHUrn^H. 
 
 The ocean ebbs and flows, 
 The\t.irs arise and set. 
 The flower to-day that blows, 
 To moirow we forget,
 
 64fi THK CHURCH. 
 
 Things mortal, passing soon. 
 Leave nothing hut their wraith ; 
 God's Church outlives tlie sun and moon. 
 And God defend the Faith. 
 
 The summer has its time. 
 Its turn the yellow sheaf ; 
 And man's majestic prime. 
 Falls into withered leaf. 
 Things human live their day, 
 God's Church hath ever light. 
 Though heaven and earth shall pass away. 
 And God defend the Eight. 
 
 The strongest earthly power. 
 Must pine and suffer thirst ; 
 The proudest Bahel tower. 
 Was fated from the first. 
 But, glory of all lands. 
 Which only keeps its youth, 
 God's Church unchanged and changeless stands. 
 And God defend the Truth. 
 
 No sinful word is sure. 
 And nothing huilt on sand ; 
 No falsehood may endure. 
 That forges prison band. 
 The iron bar and lock. 
 Are into ruin thrown ; 
 God's Church is founded on the Eock, 
 And God defend His own. 
 
 The fabric raised by man. 
 Will wanting yet be found ; 
 The thinker's giant plan. 
 Has yet a final bound. 
 The conqueror too must kneel. 
 Beneath the judgment sword ; 
 God's Chux'ch on conquerors set its heel. 
 And God defend His Word. 
 
 The world is growing gray. 
 It is a fleeting breath ; 
 The fairest lives decay. 
 The longest come to death. 
 Grace is a fading toy, 
 Fame is an ebbing tide ; 
 God's Church is portion of His joy. 
 And God defend His Bride,
 
 "THOTTGH HE sr.AY ITV..'' C)i\ 
 
 Creeds born of orrino- uiind, 
 Betray the heart that trust 
 And blown by every v/ind, 
 Shall vanish into dust. 
 No rest for wounded will, 
 In labour's mire and murk ; 
 God's CJhurch is freedom's fortress still. 
 And God defend His woi-k. 
 
 Our systems come a7id <;o. 
 Our temples rise and fall ; 
 Doom, ravening to and fro. 
 Is written vipon all. 
 And vanity the end, 
 Of every carnal search ; 
 God's Church alone shall never bend. 
 And God defend His Church. 
 
 "THOUGH HE SLAY ME" (Jol>xin,lo) 
 
 Though He slay me, 
 
 I will lay me 
 In the dust beneath His feet ; 
 
 What is trouble. 
 
 Were it douldo. 
 If it draws to death so sweet ? 
 
 Let to-morrow 
 
 Bring me sorrow. 
 Let to-day be rife with wrongs ; 
 
 In my anguish, 
 
 Let me languish ; 
 When I'm weak, yet He is strong. 
 
 While I trust Him, 
 
 Nought shall thrust Him, 
 From His empire in my heart ; 
 
 Hope may leave me. 
 
 Time bereave me ; 
 Faith shall never, never part. 
 
 W^ild misgiving. 
 
 Death in living, 
 Doubts may darken as they rise ; 
 
 In my shrinking — 
 
 In my sinking — 
 Though I know not, He is wiso.
 
 eiS '■' THOraH HE SLAY ME." 
 
 If my yearnino-s 
 
 Lack retiirnings, 
 I can fix my love on Him ; 
 
 In the Burden, 
 
 Hides the Guerdon : 
 Ho is Light, when life ia dim. 
 
 Welcome losses. 
 
 Welcome crosses, 
 I will bear my master's doom ; 
 
 IHss the scourges. 
 
 Breast the siirges — 
 Thoixgh they take me to the Tomb. 
 
 Days of scdirning, 
 
 Nights of mourning. 
 Are but steps that guide to (iod; 
 
 Day is drearer. 
 
 When I'm nearer 
 To the summit Christ has trod. 
 
 While I suiier. 
 
 Night grows rougher. 
 But I suffer nought in vain ; 
 
 Blest and lowly. 
 
 Sweet and holy. 
 Is the fellowship of pain. 
 
 Pain and pining. 
 
 Are refining. 
 For the severance of our sin ; 
 
 Worldly trials, 
 
 Man's denials. 
 Do but make us rich within. 
 
 Gloom is deepest. 
 
 When thou weepest. 
 Yet the Dawning then is nigh ; 
 
 Weeping, sighing. 
 
 Daily dying. 
 Are that we no more may die. 
 
 Come then, faster. 
 
 Woe, disastei'. 
 If ye lead the way to life ; 
 
 All your troubles 
 
 Are but bubbles. 
 On the healing stream of strife.
 
 Thmio-h mj pillows 
 
 Be the billows, 
 Thotigli my bed the thorn and stone ; 
 
 Sleep is broken, 
 
 As a token 
 That I do not sleep alone. 
 
 To have perished 
 
 For the cherished. 
 Is a precious gain from loss ; 
 
 Bnt a glory. 
 
 Passing- story, 
 Ci'owns the bearers of the Cross. 
 
 Savionr, Brother, 
 
 Not another. 
 Ever shall divide my love ; 
 
 Fears are ti^easures, 
 
 Pangs are pleasni-es, 
 Tf they fit for Thee above. 
 
 Though He slay me, 
 
 I will stay me 
 On tlie only Eock that is ; 
 
 What is crying ? 
 
 What is dying"? 
 He is Life, and I am His. 
 
 V MEMENTO MORI. 
 
 What says the Clock of Time, 
 
 With sad and solemn chime ? 
 I see its white and sj^ectral face, 
 1 hear it throngh the halls of Space, 
 With muffled voice that seems to cry. 
 As the dim dreary hours go l)ye. 
 
 That ancient and familiar story, 
 
 " Meynento mori." 
 
 What says the clock of man. 
 
 Who lives hi^ little span ? 
 It tells of sorrow and of sin, 
 That suffering heart which l>eats within. 
 Which measures for each toiling day 
 The hopes that blossom to decay — 
 
 It speaks in dying dreams of glory, 
 
 " Memento mori."
 
 6o0 THE HITMAN COMPASS. 
 
 Wliat says tlie clock of G-od, 
 
 Above the o-reenest sod ? 
 It strikes upon the walls of stone 
 The doom of its deep imdertone. 
 At which all eai'thly splendoixrs bow — 
 It spells for the most haucjhty brow. 
 
 Above the boldest promontory, 
 
 " Memento mori." 
 
 What says the clock of Time. 
 
 That throbs through every clime ? 
 The same calm ojhostly knell gives out. 
 Beyond the strife of fear and doubt — 
 Beyond the cries that come and go, 
 And all this trivial ebb and flow. 
 
 While kingdoms sink in svmsets gory — 
 
 " Memento mori." 
 
 What says the clock of man, 
 AVho ends where he began ? 
 I know it bids the teardrop start, 
 I feel it in this breaking heart — 
 Yea, childhood's happy years move round, 
 To the one grave and awful sound, 
 That tolls, as when the days arc hoary, 
 " Memento mori.'* 
 
 What says the clock of God, 
 
 Pointing with judgment rod ? 
 It sighs, Things human turn to dust. 
 And nothing lives but love and trust — 
 Strong friendships fail, bright honours pass ; 
 And grace, more fleeting than the grass. 
 
 Calls from earth's dark depository, 
 
 " Memento mori." 
 
 THE HUMAN COMPASS. 
 
 One foot should centre in the Now, 
 Another compass the Unseen ; 
 
 While tlie bent shouldex's do not bow. 
 Beneath the weight of what has been. 
 
 One hand sliould grasp the present use. 
 And turn and shape it still to bear ; 
 
 Another wrest in faith the clues. 
 Of Him whose hand is everywhere.
 
 THR BOOK, 051 
 
 Tlraa, bvoadeniri!^ evor more and more, 
 By exercise of prayer and plan. 
 
 To beat the mark we hit before. 
 We come unto the perfect man. 
 
 TO MY FATHER DIVIXE. 
 
 Father, thong-li I thy laws have broken. 
 Have wandered often and run wild ; 
 
 Yet Christ has died, and by that token. 
 With all my faults I am thy child. 
 
 I madly wanted to be free. 
 
 But now my heart hath need of Thee. 
 
 Father, I would be pure and holy, 
 As was Thy own most precious Son; 
 
 I have been jiroud, I wovild be lowly. 
 And do what I have left iindone. 
 
 I thought it better to be free. 
 
 But now my heart hath need of Thee. 
 
 Father, I crave no higher pleadintr. 
 
 Than that dear Name's most sacred sign 
 
 I know. Thy goodness has lieen leading 
 My sord, to see that it is Thine. 
 
 I vainly laboured to be free, 
 
 But now my heart hath need of Thee. 
 
 THE BOOK. 
 
 There is a book of sweet and solemn page. 
 
 Written by ( .Tod's own hand ; 
 With truths too vast for the most learned sage. 
 
 That babes may understand. 
 
 It tells a stoiy clear to every time. 
 
 So simple is its plan ; 
 While mysteries lie there, the most sublime 
 
 That ever spoke to man. 
 
 Unto the humble heart its tale is plain. 
 
 And lifts the lowliest mind ; 
 While philosophic pride may read in vain, 
 
 And nought but folly find.
 
 (352 THE BOOK. 
 
 The little cliild. that comos in Icve to hear. 
 
 Will learn some lesson wise ; 
 Thouo-h to the critic's eclncated sneer. 
 
 But difficulties rise. 
 
 On faith it falls as softly as the dew. 
 
 And bring-s a living breath ; 
 But unto reason's false perverted view. 
 
 Its savour is of death. 
 
 For docile students, it divinely opes 
 
 Its wonders new and sweet ; 
 While the inquirers swayed with earthly hopes. 
 
 No help or comfort meet. 
 
 If unto some it never can grow old, 
 
 And still its guidance lemls ; 
 To some its ray seems only dun and coid. 
 
 And mortal aims offends. 
 
 And through the hands of many holy seers. 
 This goodly book has past ; , , , 
 
 They witnessed to it with their words and tears. 
 Nor gyudged their lives at last. 
 
 They knew the Spirit of the Maker moved. 
 
 In every burning Line ; 
 And by the signs of fruitful suffering proved. 
 
 The" message was Divine. 
 'Tis sealed with blood of martyrs dead and gone. 
 
 Who passed through fiery strife ; 
 Who left their record, and then handed on 
 
 The glorious lamp of Life. 
 
 For every golden Letter was the grave. 
 
 Of some heroic saint ; 
 Who unto death his testimony gave. 
 
 That others might not faint. 
 And though through all pleads Peace with tender sound 
 
 That bids our passions fly ; 
 Each l)lessed Passage was a battle ground. 
 
 Each Verse a battle cry. 
 
 r Around the Ark of Eest the conflict raged. 
 Fought at a bitter cost ; 
 And on its waters wild and unassuaged. 
 The precious Truth was tost. 
 
 But persecution and the vilest storm, 
 
 The darkest brand of blame. 
 Made only yet more beautiful its form. 
 
 Like gold refined by.iame.
 
 TUK i;ouK. 653 
 
 The furnace and the tomijest in their wrathj 
 
 The foaming of the flood. 
 Failed still to turn its conquering path. 
 
 Though that was loathed in l)lood. 
 
 And for each soldier fallen in the fight, 
 
 S^n-ang up a himdred new ; 
 And the Gre;tt Book grew fairer and more bright, 
 
 From every blast that blew. 
 
 Its guardians did not sell, for sordid hire. 
 
 The words of Sacred Writ ; 
 A nd on its blessed pages sits a fire. 
 
 No mortal ever lit. 
 
 For it was kindled at a heavenly fount, 
 
 And by no earthly spark ; 
 And forth it shone from Sinai's mj'-stic mount. 
 
 On ages dretir and dark. 
 
 And freely was it offered unto all, 
 
 A blessing without price ; 
 For those who heird its holy trumpet call, 
 
 AVhat other could suffice '^ 
 
 It pierced the barrier that was built by shame, 
 
 Nor turned from aught but doubt ; 
 The vilest soul that yet believed and came. 
 
 Was never once cast out. 
 
 The being that was most possest with sin. 
 
 And craved a holier lot, 
 Sought here and found a remedy within. 
 
 For cleansing every spot. 
 
 It gave the hixngry heart the living bread. 
 
 Which hidden was at first ; 
 From seijulchres of sin it raised the dead. 
 
 And quenched the dying thirst. 
 
 The lame leapt up at those rejoicing sounds. 
 
 The deaf began to hear, 
 The prisoner burst the iron of his Iniunds, 
 
 The coward ceased to fear. 
 
 It satisfied, as sages never did. 
 
 The mind's most angry throes; 
 And on the lost and troubled breast it slid. 
 
 With infinite repose. 
 
 The sufferer felt the soothing of its strain. 
 
 Caressing as a kiss ; 
 And sickness listened and forgot its pain. 
 
 In all that new-born bliss.
 
 654 THE BOOK. 
 
 It stilled uiisgiving's voice which cried for light. 
 
 That it mio-ht [ook and live ; 
 And to the blindest eyes it gave a sight. 
 
 No earthly sun coiild give. 
 
 Those stores a medicine had for every mood. 
 
 Beams for the darkest day ; 
 And of the thousands who had come for food. 
 
 None empty went away. 
 
 The labouring, and the heavy-Lidcn, took 
 
 Its comfort to their breast ; 
 They laid their sorroAvs on the Sacred Book, 
 
 And lo, it gave them rest. 
 
 The curse from toiling, and the sting from grief. 
 
 Its revelation drew ; 
 The worst affliction was its own relief. 
 
 When men this solace knew. 
 
 All weary souls that sin's oppression broke, 
 
 With guilt's accursing might, 
 Saw here the freedom of an easier yoke. 
 
 And foimd its burden light. 
 
 The slave who drudged in sad and sinless mines. 
 
 Nor dreamed that shadows flee, 
 Eead in those living and imperial lines. 
 
 The charter of the free. 
 
 And as he searched his soul expanded fair. 
 
 With grace the i^romise gave ; 
 He could not breathe its large and liberal air. 
 
 And yet abide a slave. 
 
 For when his feet were planted on the Eock, 
 Where bondsmen may not stand. 
 
 His fetters snapt, as falsehood at the shock 
 Of Truth's avenging hand. 
 
 And though the chains lay heavy on him still. 
 
 Gone was their bitter smart ; 
 They coxild not bind the motions of his wiU, 
 
 His unimprisoned heart. 
 
 He felt that he was spiritually free. 
 
 In hope's eternal youth ; 
 For there was none more fetterless than lie. 
 
 Enfranchised by the Truth. 
 
 To heathens on a dark and distant shore, 
 
 Tlie sweet glad Tidings came ; 
 And thousands, rapt in Ijloody rites before 
 
 Now hailed the Saviour's name.
 
 THE nooK. 635 
 
 The hard and savag;e nature owned His sway. 
 
 Though nothing else could inove ; 
 And hearts, tho homes of murder, learnt to pray 
 
 Unto the Lord of Love. 
 
 And there were Gospel riches for the poor. 
 
 Given with no grudging hand ; 
 The neediest, passing through that open door. 
 
 Entered the Golden Land. 
 
 Yea, those that lacked the common things of life. 
 
 Even if they lal)Oiu'ed sore, 
 Poxuid here an end of every toil and strife^ 
 
 And wanted nothing more. 
 
 Weak women, trodden down l\y brutal force. 
 
 Gained comfort too at length ; 
 And drew and drew from this unfailing soux'ce. 
 
 Unconquerable strength . 
 
 They learnt how victory waits u^jon God's will. 
 
 And faith can only save ; 
 And how the beaten sufferers triumph still. 
 
 Who i)atient are and brave. 
 
 They saw the power of purity, the light 
 
 Which inward peace assures ; 
 The majesty of meekness, and the might 
 
 Of courage that endures. 
 
 Hope gave them rank, and more than royal grace 
 
 Flowed from the Sacred Line ; 
 And if from man they won tlie lowest jjlace, 
 
 They had their thrones divine. 
 
 Ennobled thus they made the world their own. 
 
 With bonds tliat could not fret ; 
 They governed all with gentle laws unknown. 
 
 And sweetly govern yet. 
 
 Such revolutions did the Blessed Book, 
 
 Work in the heart of man ; 
 In all that cast a single faithful look. 
 
 Upon its wondrous i)lan. 
 
 For it proclaimed the doom of pain and death. 
 
 Of sorrow, fear, and sin ; 
 If those who breathed one penitential breath. 
 
 Would fairer lives begin. 
 
 It niade men brothers who before were foes. 
 
 That love might hinds ally ; 
 And as its sweet and solenm empire rose, 
 
 Fell ethnic enmity.
 
 656 THE Book. 
 
 Nor did it lower so mucli the loftiest pride, 
 
 Of inonarclis in their might ; 
 As raise the meanest subject to their side. 
 
 Upon one common height. 
 
 And from the throne of its snblimer thought. 
 
 There was no upper space ; 
 The lords that rnled, the ministers that wrought. 
 
 All held an equal place. 
 
 Still on it piished the rapture of its plea. 
 
 To earth's most distant bound; 
 And in the siu-ging of the farthest sea. 
 
 Was heard Salvation's sound. 
 
 But now in all things human it has pait. 
 
 In every human tone ; 
 Its laws are written on the living heart, 
 
 Not perishable stone. 
 
 Its constitution is the mind of God, 
 
 And perfect is His path ; 
 Eevealed in the jmre acts of Him who trod 
 
 The winepress of His wrath. 
 
 And thiis it rules, with its sweet inner sway. 
 
 By codes that gently move ; 
 And rolls the world on the rejoicing way 
 
 Of liberty and love. 
 
 While mortal law can only fears compel. 
 
 And moulds in iron forms ; 
 It softly wins the passions that rebel. 
 
 And guides the headlong storms. 
 
 So tenderly it shapes and governs all. 
 
 Who follow its high track ; 
 None ever knows he is a happy thrall. 
 
 Or asks his freedom back. 
 
 With hopes that quicken, and with words that heal. 
 
 It holds an even course ; 
 Men bow unto that pitiful appeal. 
 
 Who would not bow to force. 
 
 And yet its kingdom may not find an end. 
 
 While there are hearts to thrill ; 
 While there I'emain one savage soul to bend. 
 
 It spreads and conqiiers still. 
 
 Yea, it shall speed, till every breast is tamed. 
 
 And every will is won ; 
 Not till each stony desert is reclaimed, 
 
 Its mission can bo done.
 
 / 
 
 "unto me." 657 
 
 Then shall its Holy Spirit reign on earth. 
 
 And ills no more oppress ; 
 While riveis brighten tracts that once were dearth, 
 
 And flowers the wilderness. 
 
 Far from its_ quickening presence then shall fly, 
 
 Whate'er is sad and sere ; 
 All things shall drink in fresh vitality. 
 
 In its sweet atmosphere. 
 
 While with the calm of consecrating hands, 
 
 It holds the world in fee ; 
 Till Christ's own glory covers all the lands, 
 
 As waters clothe the sea. 
 
 Till Truth is universal as the air. 
 
 And like the fruitful sod ; 
 And Love has made the meanest things, as fair 
 
 As is the Face of God. 
 
 And then its duty will be done, when each, 
 
 Ilhzmined by its lore. 
 Walks in the light that its grand lessons teach, 
 
 Rejoicing evermore. 
 
 Wlien the last word comes down from heaven to time. 
 
 Which was its message first ; 
 While the whole earth 'gives back the heavenly chime, 
 
 And souls no longer thirst. 
 
 When the Great Book is written in the life 
 
 Of all who bore the rod, 
 And every son of man i-edeemed from strife. 
 
 Becomes a son of God. 
 
 "UNTO ME." 
 
 Late, late one evening to my door 
 
 A little child drew near. 
 His face was pale, his raiment poor. 
 He staggered on the cottage floor. 
 
 As though in mortal fear ; 
 His mien was innocent and mild, 
 He seemed a lonely orphan child. 
 
 To no one dear.
 
 658 THE INCABNATION OF INNOCENCE. 
 
 No word he uttered, but his look 
 
 Was full of sorrow grave. 
 As if he could no longer brock 
 The cruel breasts, that thus forsook 
 
 The sufferer they mii;-ht save ; 
 And still no anger formed a part 
 Within that warm and gentle heart. 
 
 Which all forgave. 
 
 I opened wide to him my arms, 
 
 And took him to my breast ; 
 T gathered all his childish charms, 
 Far from the faintest breath of harms. 
 
 Safe in that home of rest. 
 I said. Thou shalt abide with me 
 For ever, and lor ever be 
 
 My heart's own guest. 
 And then he spake in accents low, — 
 
 " Yes, I have wandered far. 
 With footsteps weak from pain and slew. 
 Seeking for love's bright beacon glow. 
 
 To find the prison bar ; 
 In every house each eye seemed blind 
 To my distress, nor could I find 
 
 One door ajar. 
 
 Anil jis he told his bitter lot. 
 In sorrow free from hate, 
 A sudden glory, seemed to blot 
 Out with its light whatever spot 
 
 Upon his garment sate ; 
 A wondrous change his features shook. 
 And as he rose his movements took 
 A heavenly state. 
 
 Strange light the room began to nil, 
 Which mortal scarce could see ; 
 
 And solemn words that sent a thri'l. 
 
 Fell from those blessed lips, that clill 
 More beauteous seemed to be ; — 
 " Love rendered to the humblest one. 
 
 In humblest acts, is kindness done 
 Even unto Me." 
 
 THE INCARNATION OF INNOCENCE. 
 
 When Innocence came down to earth, 
 To scatter flowers o'er fields of dearth, 
 And sunshine on the storm ;
 
 " NOT FOE MYSELF BUT THEE.^' 659 
 
 She with her brought a human mind. 
 But left her heavenly robes behind. 
 And found a humbler form. 
 
 She could not show her perfect grace. 
 But put a veil upon her face. 
 
 And bore another name ; 
 She did not wear a dazzling dress. 
 But just the simple loveliness 
 
 That clothes the tenderest frame. 
 
 She might have come in angel might. 
 With brightness, blasting mortal sight, 
 ^ No earthly cloud could drape ; 
 She chose a lowlier, lovelier dower. 
 And weakness made a grander power, 
 And took an infant shape. 
 
 "NOT FOR MYSELF BUT THEE.** 
 
 I ask for riches, Lord that they— 
 
 May consecrated be. 
 To Thy dear service night and day 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I ask for glory. Lord, that I 
 
 May more Thy greatness see ; 
 To make the offering paid most hio-h— 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. '^ 
 
 I ask for power, that thereby. Lord, 
 
 I may from dangers flee ; 
 To use it as a conquering sword — 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I ask for roAilc, O Lord, if it 
 May add a stronger plea. 
 
 One sinner to Thy side to knit- 
 Not for myself but Tliee. 
 
 I ask for grace, O Lord, that thus 
 
 I may not bow the knee 
 In vain, for Him who died for us— 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I ask for health, O Lord, and strength, 
 
 To hold the world in fee. 
 Till all accejit the Cross, at length 
 
 Not for myself but Thee.
 
 660 
 
 " NOT FOB MYSELF BUT THEE. 
 
 I ask for victory. Lord that led 
 
 On by Thy guidance, we. 
 Who trust, may find o\ir mission sped— 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I ask for hioidedge, Lord, whose arms 
 
 Are mig-htier than the sea ; 
 To snare the wicked in its charms — 
 
 Not for myself hut Thee. 
 
 I ask, O Lord, for Iniman love. 
 
 Soft as the lilied lea ; 
 Thy drooping sovils to lift above — 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I ask for gladness, Lord, to bloom 
 Like an o'ershadowing tree ; 
 
 To lighten sufferers wrapped in gloom- 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I ask for all, Lord, that is meet. 
 Of whicli Thou hast the key ; 
 
 That I may lay it at Thy feet — 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I am amhitious. Lord, of fame. 
 And evermore shall be ; 
 
 But only to exalt Thy name- 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I am most jealous. Lord, to tell. 
 
 That men may clearly see. 
 Thy honour is their own as well — 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I am possest, Lord, with pride, 
 From which I would not flee ; 
 
 Which has no room for ought beside — 
 Not for }nyself but Thee. 
 
 I am a greedy man, O Lord, 
 
 But righteous is my plea, ; 
 That airthings tribute may affcrd - - 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I often quarrel. Lord, with sotils, 
 
 And wrestle on my knee -, 
 That they may learn thy love controls— 
 
 Not for myself bvit Thee. 
 
 I noixrish anger. Lord, at sin, 
 
 Which dying has as fee ; 
 Poor wanderers from thy fold to win — 
 
 Not for myself but Thee.
 
 THE CHURCH. 661 
 
 I feel a haired, Ltird, of ill 
 Which doors onv path, lest we. 
 
 Wlio trust, should mao-nify Thy will- 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 I am impatient, Lord, with hearts 
 
 That ope not to Thy key ; 
 To ply them with a thousand arts — 
 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 Lord, I evjr crave for more, 
 Till truth is like the sea. 
 
 And bathes the world from shore to shore- 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 Lord, I would wish tlie earth my own. 
 And plant each barren lea ; 
 
 Only to lay it at Thy throne- 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 1 have no will, Lord, but Thine, 
 Make it a fruitful tree ; 
 
 That every thought may be Divine- 
 Not for myself but Thee. 
 
 THE CHURCH. 
 
 The tim?s are dark with danger. 
 
 The Oliureh is wrapt in gloom ; 
 The infidel and strang-er 
 
 Are striving for her doom. 
 The guardians, whom she nourished. 
 
 Against her stand arrayed ; 
 And friends, who by her flourished. 
 
 Have their high trust betrayed. 
 But shall she lose her glory. 
 
 Her fair immortal youth. 
 The dear old Church of story. 
 
 The grand old Church of Truth ? 
 
 Lo, she has stood for ages, 
 
 Unharjned through storms of strife ; 
 And England's brightest pages. 
 
 Are written in her life. 
 In country she and city. 
 
 The champiou of the poor;
 
 "HE HATH DONE ALL THINGS WELL.' 
 
 And none who knock for pity, 
 Go einj^ty from her door. 
 
 But shall she lose her glory. 
 Her fair immortal youth. 
 
 The dear old Cluirch of story, 
 
 The grand old Church of Truth ? 
 
 Yes, when the days were dreary. 
 
 She yet her comfort gave — 
 A refuge for the weary. 
 
 His freedom to the slave. 
 When came from woe and welter. 
 
 The cry of suffering weak, 
 Strong was her arm to shelter, 
 
 Keady her voice to speak. 
 But shall she lose her glory. 
 
 Her fair immortal youth. 
 The dear old Church of story, 
 
 The grand old Church of Truth P 
 
 We will not let her perish, 
 
 She shall not suffer ill ; 
 Her loyal hearts shall cherish 
 
 The Mother they love still. 
 If foes against her sally. 
 
 In ever-deepening lines. 
 Her loyal hands shall rally, 
 
 Aroimd their holy shrines. 
 She shall not lose her glory. 
 
 Her fair immortal youth, 
 The dear old Church of story. 
 
 The o-rand old Church of Truth. 
 
 "HE HATH DONE ALL THINGS WELL. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." The joy and sorrow 
 
 Flow from the fountain of Eternal Love ; 
 The bright to-day and the forlorn to-morrow. 
 Both drew their sanction from His throne above. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." The dower and duty 
 
 Are meted out by the same bounteous Hand ; 
 The saddest blemish and the sweetest beauty 
 Obey alike His one Divine command. 
 
 " He hath done all things v:ell." The eyes that darken, 
 When all around is laughing in the light. 
 
 And the dim ears that nevermore may hearken. 
 Stand known aud cared for in His holy sight.
 
 " «K kaTh done all THINas WELt." 668 
 
 " He liaih done all things well." The baby fingers 
 
 That for a iiioineut play a baby jiart, 
 And tl'.e broad grasp that <>\}i- a nation lingers, 
 Touch chords within His universal heart. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." The strong limb broken. 
 
 With the fleet footsteps has an equal share ; 
 The shout of triumph, th i dumb words unspoken. 
 Are numbere<l Ijy His wise and watchful care. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." The torrent rolling 
 
 Its flood of woe on helpless souls that fret. 
 The wedding chime and the deep death-hell tolling. 
 Are in the book of His reaiambrance set. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." He heeds not rather 
 
 The hopes like sunbeams, than the fears like night ; 
 Alike are shine and shade to zae great Father, 
 Who dwells within the darkness as the light. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." The sigh that trembles 
 
 Into the silence that is still no rest. 
 And the faint whisper that its woe dissembles. 
 
 Find a responsive echo in His breast. 
 
 "He hath done all thinq^ well." The lip of pleasure 
 
 Is but the answei'ing to His kindly call ; 
 And voices weeping for the loved lost treasiire, 
 Are just as dear to Him who fashioned all. 
 
 " He hath done all things wdl." The cares that troubled. 
 
 Were halved by him who in our weakness trod ; 
 The calm delights and conquering hopes are doixbled 
 By the glad pi-esence of the Son of God. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." T?-^ watchuuin's patience 
 
 Is mai'ked, and is th? violated trtith ; 
 The happy meetings, the sad separations, 
 
 Ht counts and in His glory feels them both. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." The stormy trying. 
 
 And the sweet stimmer of the settled mind. 
 The living lessons and the daily dying. 
 
 His calm hands weigh that only loose and bind. 
 
 " He hath done all things well." The faith that bi-idgea 
 
 Ocean and desert in its giant stride. 
 And doubt that stumbles at the lowliest ridges. 
 Have each a place and hoaiing at His side. 
 
 " He hath done all things wdl." The timid paces 
 Just entering blindly a black world of harms. 
 And the bold plunge in far celestial spaces. 
 Are gathered in the compass of His arms.
 
 664 AT THE DOOR. 
 
 " He hath done oU thincis well." The bane and blessing 
 
 The mapped ont life and the iinwritten plan. 
 Are all but portiurujof His Q;Tand caressing, 
 Who is our Brother and the Son of Man. 
 
 IIOIJ) ME ! 
 
 Here am T, Saviour sweet. 
 Cast by sorrow at Thy feet ; 
 Take me as I am and bend 
 To somt! consecrated end ; 
 Make me olive branch or sword, 
 <.)nly do 'l']i(ai hold me. Lord. 
 
 Here 1 am! J had no choice, 
 Ihit to listen to Tliy vi)ic<' : 
 Use me wholly at Thy will. 
 Though for sadness use me still ; 
 I can drink the bitter cup, 
 If Thou, Lord, dost hold me up. 
 
 Here I am ! O take me all. 
 Body, soul — for Thou didst call ; 
 I should deem it service meet. 
 Lying only at Thy feet ; 
 Be it suffering, be it song. 
 Hold me — and I shall be strong. 
 
 Here I am ! I fain would be. 
 Just what Thou dost fashion me ; 
 Make me what Thou art, and then 
 Thee will I make known to men ; 
 Silver ask I not, nor gold. 
 But that Thou my footsteps hold. 
 
 Here am I ! And here I lay 
 All, and own no other sway ; 
 Hold me waking, hold in sleep. 
 For myself I cannot keep ; 
 When I triumph, when I bow. 
 Hold me ever — hold me now. 
 
 AT THE DOOR. 
 
 I stand in darkness at the door. 
 
 All soiled with sin ; 
 Too faint tolknock or wander more; 
 
 O let me iu !
 
 THE DOVE. liG.J 
 
 Lord Josus, open unto me ; 
 
 For Thoii hast said, 
 At evening time a lig-lit shall be 
 
 On wanderers shed. 
 
 And having- left, for mortal fare, 
 
 Tlie mansions brig-ht, 
 Thoii spentest otf in pleadini^ prayer. 
 
 The livelons;- nigfht. 
 
 And Tliou hast consi^eratod tlius. 
 
 The darkest j^-rade ; 
 Transforming into light fur lis 
 
 The very sliade. 
 
 l^ut some there are who cannot see, 
 
 Whose eyes are blind ; 
 Who dare not lift a look to The-, 
 
 Or raise the mind. 
 
 And I am one whose spirit needs. 
 
 And feebly flags ,- 
 I reckon all my purest deeds. 
 
 As filthy rags. 
 
 I can but smite my troubled breast. 
 
 And hang my head ; 
 So sad I feel with such unrest. 
 
 So cold and dead. 
 
 My wishes bless to love Thee more. 
 
 Though few they are ; 
 Make all my dross as golden ore. 
 
 Each stain a star. 
 
 My strongest faith is strangely weak, 
 
 Nor seems to grow ; 
 I know not rightly how to speak. 
 
 But Thou dost know. 
 
 O Savioiu", let Thy voice be heard. 
 
 Some token give ; 
 That I may catch the saving word, 
 
 " Look up and live." 
 
 THE DOVE. 
 
 O'er the hills and through the valleys, 
 
 I was wandering far ; 
 Where the flood its forces rallies^
 
 666 THE DOVE. 
 
 Ere it bursts its bar ; 
 Where the mountain summit dallies. 
 With the morning star. 
 
 All iinshepherded and shiftless. 
 
 All withoiit a way ; 
 Wrapped in darkness deep and riftless. 
 
 Night at noon of day ; 
 Homeless, friendless, thoughtless, thriftless. 
 
 Ever more astray. 
 
 Only had I as my fellow, 
 
 Flint that tore my feet ; 
 Only waters wan and yellow. 
 
 My conductors meet ; 
 Not a gleam the gloom to mellow. 
 
 In its solemn seat. 
 
 Up above the sun was hidden. 
 
 In a hateful shroud ; 
 Down l)elow the breezes chidden. 
 
 Dared not i^ijje aloud ; 
 All around was hope forbidden. 
 
 Everywhere a cloud. 
 
 Then when life was nigh despairing, 
 
 Sped the blessed bird ; 
 When my travail most was wearing. 
 
 Streams of gladness stirred ; 
 Spoke when pain was overbearing. 
 
 Like a winged word. 
 
 Yes, when love was dimly treading, 
 Dawned that heavenly Dove ; 
 
 Gentle drops of sunshine shedding, 
 Bright from springs above ; 
 
 Wings of healing fondly spreading. 
 From the land of Love. 
 
 In its beak a tender token, 
 
 Olive branch and bud ; 
 But its plumes were briiised and broken. 
 
 And its bosom blood ; 
 Like a spirit that has spoken. 
 
 With the fire and flood. 
 
 And I lifted hand and took it. 
 
 Took it to my breast ; 
 In the shelter nothing shook it. 
 
 But the heart it prest ; 
 Till the throbbing all forsook it. 
 
 All but throbs of rest.
 
 THK dovp:. 667 
 
 Then a chano-e came on my being, 
 
 Breathincf shadows bri<i^ht — 
 To my blinded eyes a seein;^. 
 
 That was more than sio-ht ; 
 In the walls of darkness fleeing. 
 
 Opened doors of light. 
 
 O the rapture then that blended. 
 
 With a blessed pain I 
 O the weary thirst that ended. 
 
 In refreshing rain ! 
 the glory that descended. 
 
 Starring every stain ! 
 
 Softly pleading, sweetly calling, 
 
 Sang the voice of Peace ; 
 Bade the evil stay its thralling. 
 
 Made misgivings cease ; 
 Like the hnsh of evening falling, 
 
 On some soul's release. 
 
 And T knew that love had found I£i;n, 
 
 Him it least had sought ; 
 That these hands which once had bound him, 
 
 Now for Jesus wrought ; 
 Now and evermore enwound Him, 
 
 In one kindly thought. 
 
 One fond deed of faithful straining, 
 
 To a brother blest ; 
 One pure wish for simply gaining. 
 
 One poor bosom rest ; 
 Hath for angels entertaining, 
 
 Maketh God the guest. 
 
 Waters coolly, sweetly v.'elling. 
 
 Through the desert roll. 
 Rocks and hills in vain rebelling, 
 
 At their tender toll ; 
 Peace erects its richest dwelling. 
 
 In the barest soul. 
 
 Christ hath breathed His larger blessings. 
 
 On the halt and blind ; 
 And His hand its softer pressings, 
 
 Keepeth for the kind ; 
 Heaven comes down with most caressings. 
 
 On the lowly mind. 
 
 O'er the hill and through the valley, 
 
 I was wandering still ; 
 Where the torrent surges sally. 
 
 Like some wicked will ; 
 Where in moans unmusically. 
 
 Hollow calls to hill.
 
 668 THE SUPPER OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Every step was toil and troiible. 
 
 Every breath was pain ; 
 Folly like a bursting- bubble. 
 
 Died and left — a stain ; 
 And the darkness was as double^ 
 
 In the light to gain. 
 
 When the Dove in mercy speeding. 
 
 To tliose barren bounds ; 
 Trembling, torn and tossed, and bleeding, 
 
 Came with saving sounds ; 
 Only just its weakness pleading. 
 
 Only just its wounds. 
 
 Then my vices lost their splendour. 
 
 When I took this guest ; 
 Gave it welcome true and tender. 
 
 Gave it of my best ; 
 Though the whole that I could render. 
 
 Was an empty breast. 
 
 I who sought no path but pleasure. 
 
 Found alone its stings ; 
 I who made myself the measure. 
 
 Of eternal things ; 
 Having nothing now, have treasure 
 
 Greater far than kings. 
 
 Now when storm waves roimd me welter. 
 
 Peace has most its pai-t ; 
 He who bvxt has truly felt her. 
 
 Feels no earthly smart ; 
 And the Dove has still its shelter. 
 
 Nestling at my heart. 
 
 THE SUPPER OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Come, my soul, and set the dishes. 
 
 For the goodly meal ; 
 Not a feast of loaves and fishes. 
 
 Nor of earthly weal ; 
 But of higher hopes and wishes. 
 
 And of thoughts that kneel. 
 
 God, my soul, has spread the table, 
 
 Witli the Bread of Life ; 
 Though thy foes are more than fable^
 
 THE SHADOW. 669 
 
 And their wrath is rife ; 
 He shall smite their, pride like Babel, 
 He shall quench their strife. 
 
 Faith, my sonl, with promise wrestles. 
 
 In the hour of need ; 
 Till it brings the precious vessels. 
 
 That the fainting feed ; 
 And the Dove of Mercy nestles. 
 
 In the wounds th at bleed. 
 
 All, my soiil, both food and platter,. 
 
 Are God's gifts and care ; 
 Time is biit a little matter. 
 
 Yet thou hast thy share ; 
 And the feasts that make thee fatter. 
 
 Are the fasts of prayer. 
 
 Christ Himself is plate and chalice, 
 
 Christ is drink and meat ; 
 And we build the banquet's palace. 
 
 When we kiss His feet ; 
 But the world's own meat is malice. 
 
 And its drink deceit. 
 
 Earth has only starving pleasures. 
 
 Food that frets and harms ; 
 But with overflowing measures, 
 
 Christ our hunger calms ; 
 Yet we never taste His treasures. 
 
 Till within His arms. 
 
 Earth is but a sorry planner. 
 
 When our wealth has ceased ; 
 But our prayers are mixed with manna. 
 
 When wo know it least ; 
 And the heart that sings Hosanna, 
 
 Has the fairest feast. 
 
 Thoiigh I have no human mother. 
 
 Though no father be. 
 Heavenly Jesus, Holy Brother, 
 
 Bid my hunger flee ; 
 Bring Thyself and not another. 
 
 Come and sup with me. 
 
 THE SHADOW ( Luke U, 34.) 
 
 There is a Shadow deep. 
 
 That darkens with the years. 
 
 Where sufferers sadly watch and weep- 
 The shadow of our fears.
 
 670 THE SHADOW. 
 
 There is a shadoAv dim. 
 That lightens as we look : 
 
 Shed by the hroodino- love of Hira, 
 Who once our nature took. 
 
 There is a shadow bright, 
 That broadens as we go ; 
 
 A shadow that is all our light. 
 When tears of trouble flow. 
 
 There is a shadow sweet. 
 
 That streams from Jesu's hand ; 
 
 That stays the weary waiting feet. 
 And strengtiiens hope to stand. 
 
 There is a shadow soft. 
 
 By " clouds of glory " made ; 
 
 And sinners seek that shelter oft. 
 Who once have felt its shade. 
 
 There is a shadow calm, 
 
 Poured from the gates of Life ; 
 That for each bruise ha^ precious balm. 
 
 In silliness as in strife. 
 
 There is a !-hadow fair. 
 That nothing fjilso can give : 
 
 When Triitli sets up its cross of care, 
 For thosf that look and live. 
 
 There is a shadow yet. 
 
 That has no part in night ; 
 
 The shadow cf the dreadful debt. 
 Which Love has changed to light. 
 
 There is a shadow cast. 
 On cruel scorn and scars ; 
 
 By Mercy blotting out the past. 
 And turning stains to stars. 
 
 Thei'e is a shadow dear. 
 
 That draws us near to grace ; 
 
 Told by the timid unshed tear. 
 The wan and wistful face. 
 
 There is a shadow showij, 
 Tliough ne'er a cloud is by ; 
 
 From troubles that are all vinknown, 
 And depths that round us lie.
 
 THE SHADOW. G71 
 
 There is a shadow rare. 
 
 From overflowiniii^ rays ; 
 When all the inner life is prayer. 
 
 And all the outward praise. 
 
 There is a shadow wrou<,dit. 
 
 Like that of temple walls ; 
 The shadow ni a holy thono;ht. 
 
 That blesses where it falls. 
 
 There is a shadow felt. 
 
 When not a glimpse is seen ; 
 From ansrels that have with us dwelt. 
 
 And joys that mij^ht have been. 
 
 There is a shadow glad. 
 
 Beyond the gloom of Time ; 
 Left by the glorious deeds, that had 
 
 Their fount in faith sixblime. 
 
 There is a shadow wreathed, 
 
 Round all our brightest bliss ; 
 By gayest sounds of uuisic l^reathed. 
 
 And in the sweetest kiss. 
 
 There is a shadow here. 
 
 In every act and aim ; 
 It binds the cradle to the bier. 
 
 The shadow of our shame. 
 
 There is a shadow set, 
 
 For ever at our side; 
 When sickness haunts and sorrows fret. 
 
 Our truest, tenderest guide. 
 
 There is a shadov/ siu-c. 
 
 Though all the world be loss ; 
 Where Christ has fixed His palaji pure ; 
 
 The shadow of the Cross. 
 
 There is a shadow thrown 
 
 O'er every living bloom ; 
 Which He through dying male His own. 
 
 The shadow of the tomb. 
 
 There is a shadow still, 
 
 A new and nobler text, 
 For waudtrers in this world of ill — 
 
 The shadow of the next.
 
 CHILDLESS. 
 
 There is one shadow more. 
 To close this passing- breath ; 
 
 The burden that our Saviour bore, 
 The-shadow that is death. 
 
 Then let us humbly pray. 
 
 While still the darkness lours ; 
 
 That when the shadow flees away. 
 The substance may be ours. 
 
 Christ is the living Truth, 
 That all the shadows teach ; 
 
 In gloomy age and clouded youth. 
 He is the Sun of each. 
 
 And in His city bright. 
 One shadow yet remains ; 
 
 Shed in the sweet excess of light. 
 By Love that never wanes. 
 
 His gates are never shut. 
 
 On faith that waits and clings ; 
 
 The shadow most we dread, is but 
 The shadow of His wings. 
 
 CHILDLESS. 
 
 Lord give me children or I die — I die ! 
 
 Thou art not childless, and to Thee I cry. 
 
 For blessings of the breasts and of the heart. 
 
 Like streams of joy that sterile pastures part. 
 
 I only ask Thee for the bright soft head 
 
 Turned slowly uj^ward, with the tears unshed, 
 
 In laughing eyes that peep through fingers pink. 
 
 That turn and move the heart with many a link ; 
 
 I only ask Thee for the climbing hands. 
 
 And clinging lips with infantine demands ; 
 
 I only a.=5k Thee, Lord, (be Thine the choice). 
 
 For just the blessing of a living voice, 
 
 And coumion comforts that are idly tost — 
 
 So lightly taken, and so lightly lost — 
 
 From hearth to hearth in hu.ml>lest homes and ranks. 
 
 As things scarce worthy of our daily thanks. 
 
 For I am as a sad and barren lield, 
 
 That men have ploughed, and yet it does not yield — 
 
 That men have sown, and yet it will not bear — 
 
 That rain and sun and no unkindly air 
 
 Have visited, and yet the niggard earth 
 
 Brings nought but thorns and thistles to the birth.
 
 ^1-)' 
 
 CHILDLESS. 073 
 
 But (it may be) that to the latter dews. 
 
 Even at the hist, it couki not still I'efnse 
 
 A better growth — and as the seasons went, 
 
 ^Vaxed fair and fruitful with giad sounds and scent ; 
 
 And clothed itself with precious gold and corn. 
 
 To meet the jileasant kisses of the morn. 
 
 And I am childless among- men, and go 
 Shamefaced and with a weight of voiceless woe. 
 And delicately trea d in darkened ways ; 
 Far from the trouble of rejoicing rays. 
 And childish prattle — fearing lest the dart 
 Of arrowy jests should pierce my stricken heart. 
 And mock my misery — hoping against hope, 
 The doors of mercy ere the night may ope. 
 While \\omen taunt me, though they speak not loud ; 
 And all my life is heavy with a cloud. 
 O Lord, have pity on my utter drouth 1 
 And let me feel the little lips and mouth 
 AVarni on my bosom, drawing life and love 
 (With sacred hidden joys) to light above, 
 From deep heart foimtains. Blessed Lord, I lonjj 
 To murmvu- once the mother's cradle song; 
 To catch the baby kisses on my brows. 
 And sweet soft breath that answers tender vows 
 In mute caresses — yea, I long so much 
 To know the rapture of the kindling touch. 
 From something nestling in my happy arms. 
 And winning love with strange undreamed-of charms- 
 A portion of myself, this flesh and bone- 
 All, all my l)abe — my own, my very own. 
 And n(jt another's. Give my hands to fold 
 The blind small lingers feeling for some hold, 
 And wandering dimly on their wondering way, 
 Half sounding the new world and half in play ; 
 And grant tlie graces of the speaking eyes, 
 So round and ]_>ig with pitifiil surmise. 
 That plead for fondling. Grant the mother's name. 
 And trustful treasure of the loosening frame 
 That thaws in slumber, sliding to its rest ; 
 Rising and falling on the heaving lireast. 
 Life of my life. Let Mercy yield my prayer. 
 Bodied in leaping limbs and curling hair. 
 In lustrous glances — and the mimic show 
 Of striving, but with blessing in the blow. 
 More dear than salutations cheap and rife. 
 And careless kisses of the common life. 
 O Lord, I weary — weary for the sound 
 Of little feet tliat patter o'er the ground. 
 And echo on in many hopes and fears. 
 For ever and for ever through the years —
 
 074 "FAINT TET PURSUING." 
 
 Through the long chambers of the loving soul, 
 InmelodiesthatVipple as they roll 
 With waves of welcome— through the dreamlit lands, 
 That open at the knock of little hands. 
 And flood the world with sunshine, when the day 
 Is blindly groping on its shadowy way- 
 Through hearth and home and the memorial breast. 
 And niingling with the music of the Blest. 
 Now send the latter dews and evening light. 
 And make the silence beautiful and l^right, 
 With voices that a glamour backward cast. 
 That people Avith their chimes the empty past. 
 And knit it to the present— till I be, 
 A living part of all the joy I see : 
 With voices — voices — that T hear from tar. 
 Between the nioonrise and the morning star. 
 Like angels calling to the saint forlorn— 
 Those heavenly voices of the babes unborn. 
 Vnd though the day be wondrous sad and long, 
 " At last '' there surely " comes the evensong." 
 Lord, give me children, or I die— I die ! 
 Thou art not childless, and to Thee I cry : 
 
 hear me, hear me from Thy perfect peace. 
 Ere in the stillness of the grave I cease ! 
 
 Lest men revile Thee, saying, " Lo, she prayed. 
 And no one answered, none would give her aid ; 
 She called and no one listened— none would come,^^ 
 Her Heaven was deaf and Mercy's message dumb. 
 
 1 faint with crying, and my heart is old ; 
 \nd life is bitter, dark, and cold— so cold 
 
 Even though my hope should slay me m its birth, 
 And bring me nothing of the after mirth 
 Or mother's music, 1 would not repent ; 
 But giving life by death, were well content 
 To lay me down and cease a little space. 
 And leave the gift an offering unto Grace. 
 O bless me with the blessings of Thy love. 
 And blessings of the earth and from above— 
 With blessings of the breast and of the womb— 
 Those blessings that are borne beyond the tomb 
 Or touch of Time, and never-ending rills, ^^ 
 
 And " the utmost bound of the everlasting hills. 
 
 " FAINT YET PURSUING." (J>uhjes riii., 4.) 
 
 Why, O sufferer, art thou craven, 
 
 When the Rock of Life is nigh ? 
 i'lee the sands that have no haven, 
 
 But to die.
 
 FAINT YET PURSUING. " 676 
 
 Whither art thou wildly going ? 
 
 Is no Saviour still above ? 
 Troubles are the overflowing 
 
 Of His love. 
 
 Art thou sick and sad and lonely. 
 
 Torn with passions and with jjain ? 
 Seeing doubts and darkness only, 
 
 Eack and rain ? 
 
 Look beyond the gloomy spaces. 
 
 Look beyond the barren years ; 
 Christ for crosses has embraces, 
 
 Joy for tears. 
 
 He is strong and ever waking. 
 
 From thy bareness reaping fruits ; 
 And the storms are only shaking 
 
 Fast thy roots. 
 
 Stay not then by pastures sterile, 
 
 Hope not in the flowers that fade ; 
 Times of peace are times of peril. 
 
 Shedding shade. 
 
 Green the palms and white the raiment. 
 
 That await the cont^ucror's march ; 
 Bright the heavens, that are repayment. 
 
 Overarch. 
 
 "What if battle be thy duty. 
 
 What if suffering be thy need ? 
 Have not lasting bliss and beauty, 
 
 Sorrow^s seed ? 
 
 Gay the song and glad the token. 
 
 Warn the Avelcome after frowns ; 
 When the swords of war are broken. 
 
 Into crowns. 
 
 Fear no danger, no disowning. 
 
 If thy feet have Calvary trod ; 
 [f each thought is an enthroning 
 
 Of thy God. 
 
 Christ has climbed the hill and hollo-W, 
 
 Crossed the billows to the shore ; 
 And He calls to Thee to follow. 
 
 Evermore. 
 
 Fair is many an earthly fashion. 
 
 Great temptations still must be; 
 Greater far is His compassion, 
 
 Fairer Ke.
 
 676 
 
 Conies to me the message, brin^^ing 
 Balm for bruises and for wrong; 
 
 Soft as children's voices, sinu-iiii;- 
 Evensong. 
 
 Comes to me the watchword, crying 
 From the wrestlers in the fight ; 
 
 AVhere among the dead and dying. 
 Day is night. 
 
 Past appealings, calls of pity, 
 Mingle with the battle waves; 
 
 From the Silence, and its City 
 Grim with graves. 
 
 And am I a slothful servant, 
 Playing l)ut a feeble part ? 
 
 Cold is faith that should be fervent. 
 Sad the heait ? 
 
 Ah, my service is pretending. 
 While by weakness I am prest ; 
 
 Aiding when I need defending. 
 Bad when best. 
 
 Still it is not all so dreary. 
 
 With the struggle and the care ; 
 
 See, the wells2)riugs for the weary. 
 Shrines fur prayer. 
 
 Though before my eyes is spreading 
 Dim discomfortable waste ; 
 
 Yet I gather fruits, in treading. 
 Sweet of taste. 
 
 Do I weep an<l toil and wonder. 
 Full of clinging pangs that cloy 'i 
 
 Every sorrow has an under 
 Note of joy. 
 
 Has the sky no gleam of clearing, 
 As the shallows westward slope H 
 
 Past the shadows, past the fearing, 
 Shines a hope. 
 
 Am I mocked and am I hated. 
 
 By the serpent tongues that hiss ? 
 
 Hate and mocking both are mated. 
 With a bliss. 
 
 Th )ugh the t(Mnpest is behind me. 
 Though th(! lireikers are before ; 
 
 E'hoes from beyx^.ud remind lue. 
 Of the shore.
 
 •'l?AINT TET PtTRSUlNfl.'* Q.J'J 
 
 Christ h,ia hrido'cl the angry billow, 
 
 And His pi'int is on its brow ; 
 He who made the storm its pillow. 
 
 Makes it now. 
 
 If I could but see Him rightly, 
 
 As Ho walked the waves of old ; 
 All His steps are bvu-nished brightly, 
 
 Steps of gold, 
 
 In the wilderness He wandered, 
 
 Hvmgry with the homeless beast; 
 Pearls of wisdom then He squandered, 
 
 At the feast. 
 
 Oft with wicked wills He pleaded. 
 
 Breathed on wounded souls a balm ; 
 In the tumult when unheeded. 
 
 Shed a calm. 
 
 He has watched upon the mountain. 
 Till the Temptei-'s power should cease j 
 
 He has whispered hj the fountain. 
 Words of peace. 
 
 He has paid our forfeits owing, 
 
 Bitter vows and vigils kept^j 
 And when bitter tears were flowino-, 
 
 Jesus wept. 
 
 He has stood beside the portal. 
 
 Of the never-glvitted tomb ; 
 He has bid the blossom mortal. 
 
 Lire and bloom. 
 
 Woe and want and base denial. 
 
 He has faced and conquered all j 
 Every form of every trial. 
 
 Save our fall. 
 
 He has felt the victim's portion, 
 
 Felt the blackening of His name ; 
 Seen the blasting of distortion. 
 
 Shade and shame. 
 
 He has drunk the cup of weeping, 
 
 Laboiired over pity's plan ; 
 Agonized when all were sleeping ; 
 
 He is man. 
 
 Then shall I lose heart and tarry. 
 
 Now that He has known th(> worst = 
 Borne the burdens I must carry, 
 
 Paiu and thirst ?
 
 678 "faint YTi:T pttrsuing." 
 
 Scorn and misery I may suffer. 
 He has tasted. He has dared: 
 
 My calamities, and rougher. 
 He has shared. 
 
 Words of solace He has spoken. 
 
 To the spirit troiible-tost ; 
 Bread of poverty has broken, 
 
 AVith the lost". 
 
 What if He should tribute levy. 
 Of the treasiTres dear and dead ? 
 
 If His hands be sometimes heavy. 
 On my head ? 
 
 Let me bless the mercy slaying, 
 Let me kiss the rods that smite ; 
 
 Waiting, watching, tremljling, praying 
 For the light. 
 
 Christ I know has soiTght and foiTnd me, 
 Though I feel Him not as yet ; 
 
 And His tender arms are round me. 
 While I fret. 
 
 Vainly woe on woe is thrusting. 
 Vainly shadows darker fall ; 
 
 I am looking, listening, trusting. 
 For His call. 
 
 Do I doubt Him, shall I linger. 
 If my flesh is faint and bowed ? 
 
 Lo, the flashing of His finger 
 Lifts the cloud. 
 
 Though a little while I languish. 
 Ere the never-ending day ; 
 
 He, in all my wandering anguish. 
 Is the Way. 
 
 Though a little while I lose Him, 
 In the hiring fields of youth ; 
 
 If I only will Isiit choose Him, 
 He is Truth. 
 
 Doubts a little while are stronger. 
 Death itself may close the strife ; 
 
 He my sins has suffered longer, 
 He is Life. 
 
 Yet a little while of pressing. 
 In the labour and the heat ; 
 
 Soon my head will feel His blessing. 
 At His feet.
 
 "FAIKT YilT PtTBSTTTNa." 679 
 
 Death shall then be but a story. 
 
 Time a dream of happy hovtrs ; 
 Every tear shall turn to glory. 
 
 Thorns to flowers. 
 
 Nothing fairer, nothing fitter, 
 
 Than" the arrow and the goad ; 
 Than the thorns so sharp and bitter. 
 
 On my road. 
 
 Nothing shall have pain and stinging. 
 
 To the faith -transported eye ; 
 Every sob shall soiind as singing, 
 
 Every sigh. 
 
 Each disaster shall be counted. 
 
 As a harvest pleasure lacks ; 
 Sore distresses prayer surmounted. 
 
 Heavenward tracks. 
 
 Hard aiflictions waxing pleasant, 
 
 Shall assume an aspect sweet ; 
 Gates of glory, where the present 
 
 Angels meet. 
 
 What will then appear a trouble. 
 
 To the raptiu-e of the saint ? 
 Losing he was gaining double. 
 
 Strong when faint. 
 
 Heavy cross and hopeless burden. 
 
 Yet were richer far than rest ; 
 Each misfortune was a guerdon. 
 
 Blows were blest. 
 
 Yea, when victory had retreated. 
 
 He was with the conquering host ; 
 And when seeming most defeated. 
 
 Triumphed most. 
 
 Viewed from pure and perfect splendour. 
 
 Earth shall take a radiant hue ; 
 Tears be visions true and tender. 
 
 Blight a dew. 
 
 Founts shall mn.ke the deserts gladd'ning, 
 
 Dust shall grow to paths of gold; 
 Every danger dark and sadd'ning. 
 
 Seem a fold. 
 
 All that hatred now addresses. 
 
 Hands that strike and feet that spurn ; 
 
 Into kisses and caresses. 
 Then shall turn.
 
 680 JIY BELOVED. 
 
 Evil shall have a^ood for leaven. 
 Scorn and shame a r-onifort liide ,- 
 
 Fancied hindrance helj) to heaven. 
 Grieving guide. 
 
 Mourning shall be changed to laughter. 
 Trials be transformed above ; 
 
 Seen (as woes are seen hereafter) 
 Lit with love. 
 
 Dread not then the threatening morrow, 
 Christ has borne thy siitt'ering years ; 
 
 All His hours were hours of sorrow. 
 Tales of tears. 
 
 Aye, and He who knew no sinning. 
 Though He liare our passions thus ; 
 
 Yet was made — salvation winning — 
 Sin for us. 
 
 Then I choose tlie thorns and scourges. 
 With the Blood He lavished wet ; 
 
 Then I meet the cruel surges, 
 He has met. 
 
 O my Saviour, touch and take me. 
 From the misery and the guilt ; 
 
 Mould me, as Thou art, and 'make me 
 What Thou wilt. 
 
 He shall hide me. He shall hold me, 
 Far from deadly thoughts and things ; 
 
 He shall feed me. Ho sliall fold mc; 
 With His wings. 
 
 Clothed in faith and love enduing, 
 I will beat the shadows down ; 
 " Faint " and fainter ' yet pursuing," 
 Christ my crown. 
 
 MY BELOVED. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 He is fairest of the fair; 
 
 And His presence ever round me. 
 Is like the breath of prayer. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 There is mercy in His eyes 
 
 He is purer than tlie jnirest. 
 And all His words are wise.
 
 My TJelovod, My liolovod. 
 He is )ietter i'ar tlian <^nhl -, 
 
 And the riches of His blessino-. 
 Have never half been told. 
 
 My Beloved, my Lieloved, 
 He is beautiful and bright ; 
 
 And by faith that He has o-iven, 
 I am walkint;- in His light. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 In his comfort is no sting. 
 
 And the shaking of the temi^est. 
 Is the hushing of His wing. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 My glory and my choice ; 
 In the calm ami in the tumult, 
 
 I can hear His welcome voice. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 There is rapture in His name ; 
 
 A soothing of my sorrow, 
 
 And a blotting out of shame. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 He is all the world to me ; 
 
 The treasures of remembrance. 
 And the perfect joy to be. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 He is never, never far ; 
 He is present in the siinrise. 
 
 And with the evening star. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 In the solemn hush of night. 
 
 When the moon is dim and setting, 
 Then He rises on my sight. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 111 the dark and silent hour ; 
 
 He is stronger than the silence. 
 And the darkness is his dower. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 He is radiance and relief ; 
 And though all His gifts are precious. 
 
 Yet is He Himself^the Chief. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 O how pleasant is my jiart ! 
 
 For when love would sing his jirfiiseSj 
 It is He attunes the heart.
 
 682 iVIT BELOVED, 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 Fx'om His care I cannot roam ; 
 
 Is not He my place and portion. 
 Is not He my heaven and home ? 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 I am fainting with delay ; 
 
 When shall I see His glory. 
 And walk the shining way ? 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 He will come in pity down ; 
 
 And for me He is preparing, 
 A kingdom and a crown. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 In His sorrow there is joy; 
 
 In His anger there is mercy. 
 And His pleasures do not cloy. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 He is ninsic to the mind ; 
 
 A shelter to the weary. 
 
 And enlightening to the mind. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 In the little cares of life. 
 
 He is great as in the greatest. 
 Both in stillness and in strife. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 How I long His face to see ; 
 
 If the streamlets are so glorious. 
 What will the Fomitain be H 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 There aie rivers of His love ; 
 
 And the waters all are living. 
 But the ocean is above. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 He is in the stormy wind ; 
 
 And when bitter blasts pursue me. 
 He is closer still behind. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 He is sweet as morning dews ; 
 
 And the henrt that is His Eden, 
 He refreshes and renews. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 He will save my soul from doubt ; 
 
 And with laughter and with singing. 
 He will girdle me about.
 
 MT BELOVED. 683 
 
 My Beloved, my lieloved. 
 
 He is lioly. He is blest ; 
 In His arms there is a refuge. 
 
 And on His bosom rest. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 There is healing- in His hand ; 
 By His grace am I triunii^hant. 
 
 And in His strength I stand. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 my Saviour and my Friend ! 
 He was mine from the beginning, 
 
 And He will be to the end. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 1 can feel His Presence now ; 
 It is like the breath of evening, 
 
 When it trembles on the bro^v. 
 
 My Beloved, My Beloved, 
 
 He is Peace to all opprest ; 
 While death is but a sleeping. 
 
 And a sinking on His breast. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 I am feeling for the fold ; 
 For the shadow of His pasture. 
 
 For the shining gates of gold. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 Thoiigh my eyes are often dim ; 
 Yet I know His voice is calling. 
 
 And I follow, follow Him. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 If a little while I wait ; 
 He will bear me in His bosom. 
 
 And beyond the blasts of fate. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 Though I hear not He will come ; 
 And His word will bid me welcome. 
 
 When my own at length is dumb. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 Let me only trust and pray ; 
 Till the secret of the darkness. 
 
 Is discovered by the day. 
 
 My Beloved, my Beloved, 
 
 He is speaking — He is nigh. 
 Shall I doubt or be disheartened, 
 
 If to win Him be— to die ?
 
 <i84 THK MITSTC IN THE SHKLt. 
 
 SOl^l^ETS TO A CHILD (M.AY.L,) 1874, 
 
 ''STORIED FRAMES." 
 
 Shy maiden, with tlie form of g-lancino- flame, 
 O dost thoii in thy moonlight beauty rise. 
 Like some dim i>ictnre under deeper slvies. 
 
 Divinely stepping from its storied frame ? 
 
 For tliine is passion that no touch can tame. 
 The tempest owns those dark mysterious eyes. 
 While in thy face a dreamy langxtor lies, 
 
 With strange still graces that deny a name. 
 
 A pure caressing perfume from thee breathes. 
 And with the sweetness of a Southern night. 
 Sheds a soft shadow that is more than light ; 
 
 Which in the sullen snrga that round us seethes. 
 Yet every heart a willing ca^^tive wreatlies. 
 With flowery tetters woven of delight. 
 
 THE MUSIC IN THE SHELL. 
 
 Thou spirit child, with an unearthly spell. 
 Thy every limb is like imi^risoned fire. 
 
 The burning heart of some white blossom bell. 
 That glows beneath its delicate attire ; 
 
 And is thy charm a soft enchanted lyre. 
 Mixed in each mood as music in a shell. 
 
 That gently sways to every sweeter swell. 
 And bodies forth an infinite desire ? 
 
 There is a glory in thy midnight hair. 
 That plays about thee with a holy air, 
 And thy pure presence is a dainty dew ; 
 
 This gives to all it touches fragrance new. 
 And stealing from the stars its fulness fair. 
 It crowns our common lives with heaven's own hue.
 
 "smothered flame" 685 
 
 FIKE AND SXOAV. 
 
 thou ai't more tliaii lu'jmtiful, fair child. 
 
 And inovest iimoiig- maidens iiioi-^ than queen. 
 
 As flows a stream through desoi'ts dark and wild, 
 And leaves pure tokens where its jiath has been ; 
 
 Lo, laughing flowers and foliage glad and green, 
 Mark where aroiuid it throws a magic mild. 
 
 Nor yet may mingh? with the passing scene, 
 And keeps its waters crystal xindefil'd.. 
 
 For thou art subtly framed of fire and snow, 
 And what is best of light and dew and shade. 
 This thou hast all thy tributaiy made ; 
 
 And wheres Dover thy fond footsteps go, 
 
 Thou takest every sweet from bloom and blade. 
 And givest back a warmer wider glow. 
 
 THE SUMMER IN THE SEED. 
 
 But words are weak to paint thee as thou art. 
 And what thou wilt be never dream could guess. 
 
 For thou hast every charm of face and heart. 
 The years to brighten and the world to bless. 
 
 A balm to make the bitterest Inu-den less, 
 A smile to draw the sting from any smtu-t, 
 A teiu- to wash the poison from the dart. 
 
 And tender hands to lull the stormy stress. 
 
 Yet well I know thy beauty in the bud. 
 
 Will gather grace from each succeeding liour, 
 And store fresh treasures in its virgin bower ; 
 
 As hides the seed the summer in its bjood. 
 And gains new life from even th(^ winter iIhikI, 
 To give the world at last a perfect fiower. 
 
 " SM()THE]{ED ELAME." 
 
 Didst thou bewitch me with thy wondrous charms. 
 
 When soft as simset on my visions came, 
 Those dark and dewy ejes and twining arms. 
 That stood between me and a host of harms ? 
 
 Thy pale pure face, set in its shadowy frame 
 Of tangled tresses, like a smothered flame. 
 Gives birth to hope and hateful thoughts alarms. 
 
 And shields my path from blasts of withering shame.
 
 6S6 CHILD OF EVENING. 
 
 There is a message in thy wistful gaze, 
 And in the trembling- of thy lifted lip. 
 As though some music from thy soul would slip 
 
 But yet I see thee through a distant haze. 
 As one whc wanders in a mocking maze. 
 
 And hears the singing wares he may not sip. 
 
 WHITE HOSE MAIDEN. 
 
 Thou white rose maiden, shining through the dark. 
 
 We voyage for a dim and distant port 
 In the poor shelter of a battered ark, 
 O'er these gray seas on which our lives embark ; 
 
 To tlico the temiJRst is bvxt idle sport. 
 And all our troubles are a shadow short. 
 From which the beacon's lustre youth may mark. 
 And hear the gathering in the Temjjle's court. 
 
 But we are far from sunny morning hours. 
 And only feel the glooming of the night. 
 Which overflows to thee with waves of light ; 
 
 For thou art fresh from Eden's fairest bowers, 
 A bud transi^lanted from its pleasant floorers. 
 To make our mirdens beautiful and briiJ-ht. 
 
 (JHILD OF EVENING. 
 
 O child of evening, with thy flower-soft face. 
 Mild as the nioonrise yet as morning's glow. 
 When winds that bode the storms their triunpet blow. 
 
 And gloom and gleam strive for the proudest place ; 
 
 Thy track is like the midnight meteor's trace, 
 That dazzles us with dreams we do not know. 
 To leave vis more in darkness and in woe. 
 
 As lovers who a fleeting cloud embrace. 
 
 Behold, tliou art a mystery and a joy, 
 Eepose and rapture in thy spirit meet. 
 And mingle in a mist of jxission coy ; 
 
 The clinging of thy trellised arms is sweet, 
 And glad the cadence of thy dancing feet. 
 And thou luist kisses sweet thai never cloy.
 
 THE CROWN Ol-' STAEa. 087 
 
 MOONLIGHT MAID. 
 
 1 saw tho picture of a iiidonlight maid; 
 
 And, lo, it stirred strange memories of thee, 
 A marvel woven out of shine and sliade. 
 And in a mystic robe of stars arrayed ; 
 
 It mixed the rippling of a summer sea. 
 With odours wafted from a flowery lea. 
 Till in a moment every strife was stayed, 
 And all my fettered hoiu's waxed fair and free. 
 
 I dreamed a vision of a flashing form. 
 That fled for ever through a night of storm, 
 
 While round its feet the radiant clouds were roll'd ; 
 
 And then I thought of places pinched and cold. 
 That drew from thee a glory rich and warm, 
 I smelled the roses rising from the mould. 
 
 GOSPEL OF C^HILDHOOI). 
 
 Two upturned orbs of dark and lustrous dow. 
 Two worlds of light that have no human guise. 
 Like clouds of glory set in solemn skies ; 
 
 For ever shifting into shadows new ; 
 
 Such heavenly lessons are thy wondrous eyes. 
 With shimmering rays and sheen of varyino- hue. 
 Their fitful path of conqiiest to pursue. 
 
 While all the captive world before them lies. 
 
 More light I asked for in rebellion wild, 
 
 AVith brighter beams of sure and saving truth, 
 Till heaven, behold, on my petitions smil'd ; 
 
 And giying ancient strains a tender youth. 
 It wrought amidst the gloom of ills rincouth, 
 A gospel in the glances of a child. 
 
 THE CROWN OF STARS. 
 
 Daughter of dreamland from the worlds of sleep. 
 Whose crimson petals in the moon are pale. 
 
 And laughing blossoms in the twilight weep. 
 Thine are all treasures of the hill and vale ; 
 
 Thy glorious youth is an enchanted tale. 
 Big witli the promise of its issues deep. 
 That yet their heavenly bloom and beauty keep, 
 
 When other sources ebb and fancies fail.
 
 G88 TET AGAIN. 
 
 Tl: ovi art so nigh in thy sweet crescent years. 
 The fair preambles of all thoughts and things, 
 Thou hear'st the waving of the angels' wings ; 
 
 While thou canst trace the fountain of our tears, 
 And see, beyond the gathering clouds of fears. 
 The crown of stai-s that to tlie summit clings. 
 
 XO LONGER. 
 
 I turn the portrait's features to the wall. 
 And close the volume I inay read no more. 
 Nor add one memory to the music score. 
 
 And now what pleasure yet will be my thrall ? 
 
 For me no longer shall thy footstejas fall. 
 
 Like waves that wash on some celestial shore. 
 
 Nor will thy carol answer to my call. 
 
 The soft responses that it breathed before. 
 
 Thy purtrait hangs with pictures of the mind, 
 Whose charms are chains the wildest heart to bind. 
 And ranks thy volume with unwritten spells ; 
 
 And while its magic every murmur ((uells, 
 Lo, like the hushing of a lieavenly wind, 
 
 Thy mubic swoons to sleep on passion swells. 
 
 YV/T xiGAIN. 
 
 Ihit yet again 1 take the Portrait down, 
 
 And gaze with reverent rapture on tlie grace, 
 'I'hat in no feature has a settled place. 
 
 Like wavering starlight on the waters strown ; 
 
 For in the magic mingling of thy face. 
 No separate colour may another drown. 
 And white and red are mixed with darkest brown. 
 
 While dawn and dusk in wedlock pure embrace. 
 
 And moves about the nioutli a subtle scent. 
 The spirit as of unembodied speech. 
 That trembles with the marvels it would teach ; 
 
 And in the forehead is the vast intent, 
 With jmrted lips and looks of wonderment, 
 Oi one who lias the heavens within her reach.
 
 COMK TO JMP;. G8'J 
 
 Till': STAiniV WAY. 
 
 Oh, there arc seasons wlien the sliadoAvs flee, 
 
 And radiant morning rises on the soul, 
 
 \s far away the baffled thnnd(;rs vol]. 
 And then, sweet maiden, I would liriny my plea ; 
 
 And in the silence 1 would talk with thee. 
 Of joys the Past has sculptured on its scroll. 
 
 And wonders oi the world that are to be, 
 While earth is circlinsj-to its sacred goal. 
 
 And half my life I would with ^dadness pawn. 
 
 To see fair Freedom striking from their stay. 
 The creeds that fetter and the cults they spawn ; 
 
 And while it piu'ged the iron fi-om the clay, 
 I still with thee would walk the starry way, 
 That leads to glory through the gates of Dawn. 
 
 TO HAVE SEEN. 
 
 But to have seen thee once is pleasure still. 
 
 That will be fragrance to my future years. 
 And all their barren spots with colour fill. 
 That nought may sever from my plighted will ; 
 
 Tliou art a portion oi my liopes and fears. 
 
 For ever mingled with my joys and tears. 
 
 While giving every thouglit a deeper thrill,. 
 
 And to each shadowy sheaf some bi'ighter ears. 
 
 Yea, to have known thee even a little while. 
 Is education better than our books. 
 And true the teachings of thy lovely looks ; 
 
 Theirs is no taint of any earthly guile. 
 
 They have the sweetness of the summer brooks, 
 And springtide's bliss when all its blossoms smile. 
 
 COME TO ME. 
 
 Come to me when the dew is on the grass. 
 And every tint is waking from its trance. 
 
 Nor let thy presence from the sunsets pass. 
 And mix thyself with moonbeams as they dance ;
 
 GOO MOONLIGHT KISSES. 
 
 And let the stream be yet a starlit ;j;lass, 
 Eeflectino- as of old thy radiant o-lance. 
 
 And when I weary in the moiling mass, 
 
 Eefresh me with thy dreams of young romance. 
 
 Be with me in the hurden of the noon. 
 
 When smitten with the shafts of glaring light, 
 1 moment in my march I haply swoon ; 
 
 And Avhen the day has dipped from mortal sight, 
 1 crave thy pity, with a gracious boon. 
 To blow soft kisses on the balmy ui^-ht. 
 
 INFLUENCIE- 
 
 I cannot see thy face nor feel thy hands. 
 
 Yet like a prayer thy influence folds me roundj 
 With many a holy sight and solemn sound. 
 
 In dew-soft shadows of caressing bands ; 
 
 And though thy tongue witli silent spells be bound. 
 Yet is thy voice a liglit in all the lands, 
 "Wliile winds and waters sigh thy sweet demands. 
 
 And in the flowers and simshuie thou art found. 
 
 A song without a prelude or an end, 
 Tha.t the wild gusts of every wood-note bend. 
 With sudden sobs of delicate desire ; 
 
 The wings of passion and the feet of fire. 
 All these divinely in thy being blend, 
 
 ^\ ith faitli's strong liands that evermore as^rirc. 
 
 MOOXIJdlJT Ki^SEfS. 
 
 child of many marvels, bathed in dreams, 
 
 Thou ;irt the offspring of the light and air. 
 Encompassed with the strains of gliding streams. 
 And mantled in a mist of twilight beams ; 
 
 The stars beqiieathed those eyes a perfect pair. 
 And in thy making every fountain fair. 
 Gave for thy glam.our all its richest gleams. 
 And night was woven in thy woudi'ous hair. 
 
 Thy kisses in the moonlight come to me. 
 Through roses tossing in a scented sea, 
 And, lo, I hear thy footsteps at the gate ; 
 
 But when I woo my darling and my fate. 
 Ah, then thy sweet Avhite feet arise and flee. 
 And leave me all so dark and desolate.
 
 Uon IN c'liiLDiKxji-). (591 
 
 ^SHINING {SHADOWS. 
 
 I'hoii standcst dimly between day and night. 
 
 And stealest still from each its rarest grace. 
 The bloom of all the treasures dark and bi-ight. 
 Darling of Hope and every Jieart's delight ; 
 
 And richly rendero<l in thy varying face. 
 What holy thoughts with shining shadows trace, 
 The faith that yet is more assured than sight. 
 When love and awe in perfect bliss embrace. 
 
 Thy path is as the whisper of the west. 
 
 When earth is waking from its winter sleep. 
 That woos the violets from the valley's breast | 
 
 And time has ransacked all its riches deep, 
 The lands of laughter and the waves that weej). 
 To mould thy life so beautiful and blest. 
 
 ENCtlAXTED WALLS. 
 
 mistress thou of many a, prayer and song. 
 
 That cherish thee in their enchanted walls, 
 If life be short yet conquering love is long. 
 And over death and deathful weapons sti'(jng ; 
 
 Then sjieed tlie triumphs of its ti-umpi.'t calls. 
 Till <'verv bolt of every barrier falls. 
 While blessings shield tlieo from the reacli of wrung, 
 An(.l crown that grace whicli (>ven the grave enthralls 
 
 Fair wreaths of love I fashion for thy head. 
 As light as petals by a blossom shed, 
 
 Tliat to the evening Zephyr gently bows ; 
 
 Thou art tlie heir of all my highest vows, 
 And were my power as fleet as fancy's tread. 
 
 What gems of joy should brighten on thy brows. 
 
 GOD IN (JHILUHOOD. 
 
 Qvieen of my heart and every happy thought. 
 Behold the secret of the solemn spell. 
 That from thy ef&uence on my spirit fell. 
 
 And chastely hath such changes iu me wrought ;
 
 ggg THE STEP ON THE STAIUS. 
 
 t fotilid in thee the Saviour I laad aouyht , 
 Who once in ehildliood was content to dwell, 
 
 And hallowed it with heavenly ^ifts lie l)rou<?ht. 
 To teach the wonders wisdom could not tell. 
 
 And from thy tender youth transformed hy Him, 
 I see the branches of His presence shine. 
 With loving tendrils that my life entwine ; 
 
 Celestial glory lightens every limb, 
 And though ]ny blindness makes its beauty dim. 
 The grace I worship is the grace Divine. 
 
 THE NEW SONG. 
 
 There is a song not syllabled by word. 
 
 That thrills the bosom of the virgin wood, 
 A language dear to butterfly and bird. 
 With which the bubbles of the brooks are stirr'd ; 
 
 It is a strain of universal good. 
 That all the ages never understood, 
 But yet from children's lips its chimes are heard. 
 And sweetly breathed from budding maidenhood. 
 
 And thou this secret tongue canst call thy o^vn, 
 Yov every mystery by the breezes blown. 
 Is only to thy ears a simple tale ; 
 
 And whispers of the daisies in the dale. 
 
 Were, ere embodied, to thy spirit known. 
 
 And all the passion of the nightingale. 
 
 THE STEP ON THE STAIUS. 
 
 Thy step is on the stairs when evening falls. 
 
 When like a sacred sea the silence grows. 
 In mighty waves that murmui- on the walls. 
 And faintly echo unto calls ; 
 
 Ah, then thy balmy breath upon me blows. 
 And through the portals of the twilight flows. 
 Deep in the stillness of the shadowy halls, 
 With flowers of speech unfolding as a rose. 
 
 Thy hand is gentle in the hush of sleep. 
 
 Which broods at night and fondly wraps me round, 
 W^ith raiment woven of soft scent and sound; 
 
 1 feel thy touch when dawn's dim tokens peep, 
 And when about me twines the vision deejj, 
 'Tis in thy arms 1 am so sweetly wound.
 
 AT THE GATE. 
 
 I wait In darknoss at the trolden gate. 
 
 To catch some gleams and glimpses of the truth. 
 From time corroding age with jealous tooth. 
 
 Now earth is fading and the hour is late ; 
 
 1 am denied the mercies tlion dost mate, 
 So largely granted to thy glorious youth. 
 And wildly gather signs and sounds uncouth. 
 
 With dark foreshadow in gs of a f utiire state. 
 
 While thou dost in the dazzling Temple stand. 
 One of the pure and white-robed virgin band. 
 Who wave the ])alm and wear the sacred seal ; 
 
 I still in vain all sadly knock and kneel. 
 To these dim eyes and this deflowering hand, 
 Thy revelation nothing would reveal. 
 
 LIGHT,^ AND SHADES. 
 
 O flower-like faw that art so much to me. 
 
 That takest briglitest beauty from the shades. 
 And In the hueless years yet more wilt be. 
 When clouds arise and morning sunbeams flee ; 
 
 Thine is a bloom that never falls nor fades. 
 And night that nestles in the dewy blades. 
 While all its vassal hours bear gifts to thee. 
 Has breathed its glory in thy tresses' braids 
 
 Thine is the fairness of the nioonlit foam. 
 The rapture of the petrels when they roam 
 And all the sweetness of the saddest hoiu' 
 
 Day gives to thee its pei-fume for thy dower. 
 While in the heart of silence is thy home. 
 And built of mist and music is thy bower. 
 
 AVHITE ]{OBES. 
 
 Thou lovest well to linger in the light, 
 
 (Even while thou glidest throixgh the glooming dark 
 Thy spirit kindles with a kindly spark). 
 
 At every sweeter sound and richer sight ;
 
 094? THK BOOK BEAUTlFUjj. 
 
 And thou to hymns of hiippy souls wilt havk. 
 That keei3 their garments undefiled and white. 
 
 While misery A^-hich on thee can make no mark. 
 Yet draws a solace from thy sunny liight. 
 
 O thoii the sister art of all that's fair. 
 Of every brig-hter bloom and softer air, 
 
 And each enchantment of each virgin thing ; 
 
 The summer lustre of the cushat's wing, 
 Has been entangled in thy dreamy hair, 
 
 And from thee iiows the freshness of the Spring. 
 
 DIVINE AND HUMAN. 
 
 Diviner art thou than a poet's dreams, 
 
 Who sees the sunset in the morning's mirth, 
 
 And in the radiance of red-litten streams, 
 Beads mirrored all the miracles of earth ; 
 
 The blessings that have perished in their birth 
 Yet flying fii-ed the lands with lurid gleanis, 
 
 And unbegotten marvels, crown tin- wortli 
 With aureoles of the future's broader lieams. 
 
 O sweet imperfect bud of teiider days. 
 
 When even thorns put on a pleasant sheath. 
 And veil in velvet dov.-n their bitter teetli ; 
 
 Yet tliou art richly human in thy ways. 
 While every storm thy roots more surely stays, 
 
 And glorious are thy clouds with rainbow's wreath 
 
 THE BOOK BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 And yet again I break the solemn seal. 
 To bid the volume of thy beauties ope, 
 With tales of promise on the page of hope. 
 
 That when reserving most the most reveal ; 
 
 As on shy waters deeper shadows steal. 
 And l)luer skies put forth a fidler scope, 
 While gi'eener pastures from the mountain slope. 
 
 And scars of morning evening mercies heal. 
 
 Lo, fire and air and earth's most dainty stores, 
 The golden glimmer of the eagle's crest. 
 The rays that ripple on the opal's breast ; 
 
 So rare a reflex from the pages pours, 
 As though the very heaven I'oUed back its dooi-s, 
 And with its splendours made thee bright and blest.
 
 DAY AND NIrtHT. R95 
 
 IF OXLY— 
 
 If only I were thoix and north were soiith. 
 
 And every bosom were the balm of rest, 
 And all kind maidens had one kissing mouth. 
 
 What sweet confusion then would be our guest 
 
 For longing lips no more would pine from drouth. 
 And love unuttered would be love exprest. 
 
 While age would wax as free as frolic youth. 
 And sunrise windows open in the west. 
 
 If only I were thou and man were maid. 
 There would be strange low laughter in the shade. 
 With winding arms and arms again withdrawn 
 
 While morning's feet would light the midnight lawn. 
 And weeping ot its tears would be afraid, 
 If only I were thou and du.sk were dawn. 
 
 THE GREAT GULF FIXED, 
 
 Between thee and tl\e world wherein I dwell. 
 The holy presence of some purer power. 
 Sweet as the fragrance of an unseen flower. 
 
 Enfolds a rai)turo that no tongue can tell ; 
 
 A portion that is blessed childhood's dower. 
 On which no cloud of coarseness ever fell. 
 And yet it has the awe and brooding spell. 
 
 That part the sliadow fruuLthf thunder shower, 
 
 It is the pathos turned to smile ov tear. 
 The wondrous fount that flows with hope and faav 
 And pours a halo roan<l the licro's head ; 
 
 The space which holds the dying from the dead, 
 A solemn hush, a sacred atmosphere, 
 
 "Where loftiest angels dare not lightlv tread. 
 
 DAY AND NIGHT. 
 
 O thou that breatliest all the grace of each — 
 While siinlit pictures fret in frames of gold. 
 And marble brows are pure and pale and cold — 
 
 Hast learned from both their mute melodious speecji
 
 69G WATJCTNO o-sr tttt: heaet. 
 
 Thou dost refioct them in a ricluM' inouM. 
 Beyond tlio r;iiio-e of iinilluininoil reach, 
 Thouf,^h I whose eyes arc dark can Imt beseech. 
 
 And liunger for the joys 1 would behold. 
 
 For thou art minoied of the night and day. 
 
 With balms for all our pains' accursed probes. 
 Each restful shade and every kindly ray ; 
 
 These thy sweet presence still around it globes. 
 And as thou walkest, thy benignant way 
 Is like the rustling of the angels' robes. 
 
 ANGELS UNAWAT^ES. 
 
 There was a time when life itself was nought. 
 
 And in the circle of iny troubled year, 
 The seasons only sadder changes wrought. 
 And fond desire indulgence vainly sought ; 
 
 The pleasures dreamed of proved but sick and sore, 
 And i^ale was promise and each fancy fear, 
 While pain would throb in evei-y passing thought. 
 And light was dim and clouds above were clear. 
 
 Days brought me brief delights and petty dowers, 
 
 Till on me breathed tiiy fresher fuller airs, 
 From hidden blossoms of encli anted bowers ; 
 
 And taking thee with larger hopes and cares, 
 I found a halo roiuid the darkest hoiirs. 
 And entertained an angel unawares. 
 
 WALKING ON THE HEART. 
 
 I dreamed, alas, my heart was at thy feet. 
 The sole sad gift my poverty could bear, 
 
 And thou didst spurn it with thy paces fleet. 
 As one who walks upon tlie waves of care ; 
 
 .4nd at each footstei) it arose to meet. 
 
 The conqueror's march that sped and tlid not spare. 
 And ever gave a loyal throb to greet, 
 
 The stroke that in its very fall was fair. 
 
 And when I see the bitter stripes, that part 
 The loving from the lost and work from will. 
 And i)romise from the jwwer to solace ill ; 
 
 I feel the world is walking on my heart. 
 And though Time's healing hand allay the smart. 
 Yet every step is stamped upon it stilL
 
 KNOC'KTNO! . 697 
 
 THE BUROFA' OV BEAUTY. 
 
 ponder, darling-, mi tln^ ^-ift of o-vaces. 
 
 That crown thy budding lite with tender bloom, 
 And though they be not seen yet leave their traces. 
 
 As perfumes lingering in the moumer's room ; 
 
 When withered Eden at the blast of doom, 
 God set its fairest flowers in children's faces. 
 That they might blossom in the sunless places. 
 
 And called them good and bade them break the gloom. 
 
 But. ah, the breath of passion and of pleasures. 
 
 Falls on tkeir growth and warps it unto worse, 
 "While cold corruption makes their heart its treasure ; 
 
 It changes beauty's blessing to a curse. 
 Till folly wakes to find the tomb its measure. 
 And at the toxich of truth its dreixms disperse. 
 
 THE BANNEK OF BLOOD. 
 
 The armies of the Night are breaking fast. 
 The mists are shattered and the shadows flee. 
 And on the silence of tlie earth and sea. 
 
 The spell of speech and melody is cast ; 
 
 Yet thine the songs I hear for peril past, 
 And in the sunbeams I behold bi\t thee, 
 
 Disthroning darkness, to unveil at last 
 The splendid spaces of the world to be. 
 
 The waters wild at thy sweet footstep fawn. 
 
 And warring winds make peace and round thee play. 
 While bane is turned to blessing on thy way ; 
 And in a dream T see thee upward drawn, 
 Beneath the blood-red banner of the Dawn, 
 And towards the gates of everlasting Day. 
 
 KNOOKING. 
 
 'Tis bitter work to beat against the rock, 
 ( Yet never gain an entrance to the rest. 
 'I'hat bears the weary on its tender breast). 
 
 And at the portals of the light to knock ; 
 
 But sore misgivings all approaches block. 
 
 A nd doirbt, that darkens where its foot is prest. 
 Sets on the doors its sad and sullen lock. 
 
 And bars the way whose issue else were blest.
 
 OOS THK PASSIOK nr thk pinks. 
 
 But cliildhocxl has no hai-ren quest of pain 
 Nor are its search and satisfaction twain. 
 
 Its faith is furthered by llie prisoner's band j 
 
 While at one touch of its caressing hand, 
 Lo, every barrier is built wp in vain. 
 And revelation's golden gates expand. 
 
 THE CHILDUEN\S DAY. 
 
 Come to nie, little one, and we will dream 
 Of all that on this happy day was wrought. 
 When love and life to earth were freely brought. 
 
 To lighten liouseholds witli tlieir broader beam, 
 
 Come, wake again the glad celestial gleam, 
 That ages past our pale horizon caught ; 
 For truth is dark till it is truly sought. 
 
 And then its floodgates pour a dazzling stream. 
 
 For at this time a Heavenly Child was born. 
 When all the world in doubt and dai'kness lay. 
 To guide lis in the everlasting way ; 
 
 It opes the portals of a purer Morn. 
 A nd we ^^'hose brows by weary age are worn. 
 Delight to call it still tlie children's day. 
 
 THE PAS8T0N OF THE TINES. 
 
 Go to the virgin forest, virgin child, 
 
 When breezes are abroad and storms ai'e still. 
 
 And pluck the secret from the pinewoods wild. 
 That wave upon the hollow and the hill ; 
 
 They murmur mystei-ies to the rock and rill, 
 But if thou callest with entreaties mild. 
 
 The woods will answer to a maiden's will. 
 By i)urity and faith alone beguil'd. 
 
 Thy spotless spirit there will find a mate. 
 In pxirer air that round thy temples twines. 
 And wooes thee with a thousand tender signs ; 
 
 Till love unlocks the silent lips of Fate, 
 Translating into truths articvdate. 
 
 The vague and voiceless passion of the piues.
 
 ''•■ UN TiRANP PKTTT-F.TER." Oflfi 
 
 I S^i.ERr. lU^T iAlV liKAlIT WAKRTTi;" 
 
 ( Soloiiiii/i ■■< So/h/. •)., 2). 
 
 There is a, day that has no beam of shixiiu^. 
 There is a ni<;ht that is without a shade, 
 Thovigh all the rays of earth's illuuiing fade. 
 
 And there is sorrow severed from repining. 
 
 My captive bonds are bonds still not confining. 
 
 But into tender links of mercy made ; 
 While every suffering is a sure refining, 
 
 And all my steps are (when I stumble) stayed. 
 
 And if the night its chains of darkness maketh, 
 
 Tt cannot bind the soul whose faith is free, 
 Andtlien the shadow in my spirit break eth ; 
 
 Yea, all my inner life begins to be. 
 And thoiigh 1 sleep. O then my heai-t awaketh. 
 For every dream is link(Kl with love and thee. 
 
 THE HUMAN 1^A(!E ANGELICAL, 
 
 We met as strangers yet thy face was not, 
 Biit seemed familiar as a face I saw 
 Tn other woi-lds. where liberty was law, 
 
 And all the splendour waswithorxt a spot; 
 
 We parted friends Init parted not our lot. 
 
 For mine from thine its bearity still doth dra-n". 
 And in thy fairness loses every flaw. 
 
 And even forgets it ever had a blot. 
 
 We shall not meet again as we have met. 
 When time was yoiing and life w^as miisical. 
 And love for ever kejjt high festival ; 
 
 Antl though thou dost yet do not 1 f(-irget. 
 But still through all the strife, sweet Margaret, 
 I see thy human face angelical. 
 
 " UN (UiAND peut-etre;' 
 
 The seeri!t which to solve we first must die. 
 
 The light to see which I must cleave the cloud, 
 An<l learn from silence what is in its shroiid. 
 
 The enigma of the ages^ now is nigh.
 
 TOO SABBATH BRLIS. 
 
 Is it to loftier sono-s from sense I flv. 
 
 To rise at length my hopes are lowly bowed ? 
 
 For will to g-row, is not my will allow'd ? 
 And enters pain, that pain may cease to sigh ? 
 
 This world is no more with me, and the next 
 In lio-hts and shadows that my being shake, 
 Blind motions in my breast begins to make. 
 
 My fluttering soul is strangely, sweetly vex'd. 
 
 And shall I from the silence never wake. 
 To strains for which ours are the broken text ? 
 
 MORE THAN LIGHT. 
 
 is this death ? or is it larger life, 
 
 That bears me upward to a Ijlissf ul state. 
 And stirs me with the stillness born of strife. 
 Till all 1 was is with new raptures rife ? 
 
 "What strange fruitions of the radiant fate, 
 That lies lieyond the dark and dreadful gate; 
 And suffering's sad and separating knife. 
 Is edged by mercy that woiild find its mate. 
 
 But through the valley dost thou stay me still 
 With fearless f ootstejis and a presence bright, 
 
 1 know the love that leads — the hopes that thrill ; 
 
 Thy words of solace give me sweeter sight. 
 Than dawn's pure fountains when with fire they fill. 
 And in the shadow thou art more than light. 
 
 vSABBATH BELLS. 
 
 The sound of Sabbath bells is in my ears, 
 
 And wings me iipward to the pleasant land. 
 Where children's voices chime away my tears. 
 And chide my spirit with th.r-ir hopeful fears ; 
 
 I hear the call to l>urst my prison band. 
 As on the threshold of the stars I stand. 
 With echoes of the happier holier years, 
 Ijike wash of waters on a distant strand. 
 
 But through the glooming thou art still my giiide, 
 
 A nd if I see thee not I feel thee yet. 
 As soft as sunbeams ever at my side ; 
 
 And though the darkness is ai-oimd me set, 
 My eyes still turn to thee, my Margaret, 
 Whose tender hands the gates of death divide.
 
 THE SERVICE OF SOKKOW. 70l 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 " MOTHER OF ALL THE LOVES." 
 
 Mother of all the cloves, when morniug beams, 
 I see them circling round thy radiant head. 
 With rainbow-colonred wings about them spread, 
 
 While the glad sunshine on their plumage gleams; 
 
 Lo, fi-om thy lips they take their daily bread. 
 And when through cloudy rifts of silver seams. 
 
 The moon and stars their piu-ple pavement tread. 
 They nestle on thy breast in blissful dreams. 
 
 Mother of all the doves and happy things, 
 
 In thy soft heart all soft things find a nest, 
 To thee whate'er is sweet and helpless clings ; 
 
 Ah, had 1 only childhood's right of rest. 
 And like thy doves a pair of heavenly wings. 
 Then woi'dd 1 fly as quickly to thy breast. 
 
 THE SERVICE OF fSORROW. 
 
 When sorrow came upon uic in a cloud, 
 
 And all that makes life beaut ifid was spent. 
 While the great glory of the earth seemed rent. 
 
 And turned into the shadow of a shroud ; 
 
 When low before the knife of pain I bowed. 
 And bared my heart, till all my being went 
 
 Forth in an offering, with the life-blood l)lent. 
 Even as I knelt I nursed a spirit proiid. 
 
 But ah ! the knife of suffering pierced me sore. 
 It tore away the mask of dazzling lies. 
 And cut the old and gave me grander ties ; 
 
 Till as I angiiished on the altar floor. 
 Truth opened to nic like the Temple door— 
 The sacrifice of meekness saattifiesi
 
 70'2 VEJJNET LOVE'l'T CAJIEKON. 
 
 TU THE MAKC^HIONESS 0—. 
 
 Most noble thoii, whose kind and gentle hand 
 Was laid npon my head in sickness brief, 
 
 And (while it smoothed my pillow) like a thief, 
 Stole all my heart from this poor will's command : 
 
 Thoii liroug-htest joy so near akin to grief, 
 I felt tlie impress, like a biirning brand ; 
 
 Of that sweet touch, and all that soft relief 
 Was turned by fate to one great iron band. 
 
 But did I love thee ? nay, my passion's tire 
 
 Burnt like a victim on the altar laid, 
 That has been dragged tlirough misery and mire; 
 
 I sought no solace and I asked no aid, 
 But to serve on without thy heai't for hire. 
 Drawn Ijy thy b^ailty, yet of love afraid. 
 
 TO THE COUNTEISS R— . 
 
 Oh, a,rt thou gone, and I h;ive never known 
 The sweetness of thy presence, and the light 
 
 That sat upon thy foiehead as a throne, 
 
 And lent a power when nothing else was Itright ? 
 
 Yea., tluiu liast passed, f;i,ir Molhei', fnun my sight, 
 (Ere I had learnt to feel tliec all my nwn. 
 
 Or to the knowledge of tliy gifts )iad grown), 
 To a serener home and grander heiglit. 
 
 Yet hast thou left me si.imething of thee still, 
 A pi:>rtion <>f thy presence, and the thrill 
 
 Of mighty thoughts that anchor me to Clod ; 
 
 That makes the humblest twig and meanest clod. 
 Glow like the stars that space celestial till, 
 AVave lilce the waving of a prophet'a rod. 
 
 VERNE Y LOVETT (^AMEROX. 
 
 Great Traveller, whose firm and fearless will 
 Bore thee across a continent of shade. 
 From peril unto peril safe, and made 
 
 Like one man's heart the heart of Europe thrill I
 
 LESIJIA. 703 
 
 Thy sword was kindiioss, and lli<m didst not wade 
 To i^jlory tlirouL^'h a sea of blood and ill ; 
 
 And so thy honoured name will never fade. 
 It is thy country's pride ;ind shall be still. 
 
 Go on and conquer yet, in thy gi-and course. 
 With patient faith and not by fraud or force. 
 New worlds for Truth from superstition's I'od ; 
 
 (Ao, where explorers' feet liave never ti'od. 
 Track out the stream of knowledge to its sourcCj 
 And carry with thee love of ma,n and God. 
 
 XANTHIPPE. 
 
 i am siL'k of sweet-faced women and their ways, 
 Tlieir sugai'cd sentences, aiidsUgared looks, 
 I know by Jieart like children's picture books. 
 
 And all the dulcet arts that poets praise : 
 
 i long for Nature without starch oi- stays. 
 
 For words that brawl and boil like winter brooks. 
 The deeds unclogged l)y social eyes and hooks,' 
 
 That set old systems in a glorious blaze. 
 
 But me Xanthippe pleases far the best, 
 
 Flushed from brute triiimplis o'er Socrai ic wit. 
 Whose tongue is not to trifle but to hit: 
 
 In her reluctant arms cnuld I find rest. 
 Soothe her sour glance, tame her tempestuous breast, 
 And turn to kisses the cold lips that bit. 
 
 LESBIA. 
 
 1 lore thee, Lesbia, though I scarce know why, 
 
 i'or thrju art old and ugly, aard thy face, 
 With the dark terrors of that frowning eye. 
 Hath not one charm to wake one amorous sigh ; 
 
 But still the very absence of all grace. 
 The f eal'less features that no arts embi'ace. 
 And flaunt their native nakedness on high. 
 
 Make half sublime their sorry dwelling-jjlace, 
 
 I love, because thy soul hath dared to be 
 Its own and not another's, and is free 
 From false Convention and its fatal hold ;
 
 704 TilK COMKBT OF DEATll. 
 
 Aud t liuiiq-li thou art a skinflint and a scold, 
 Thy graceless form i.s yet niorp fail' to me, 
 Tlian liarlot Custom witlkits pearls and gold. 
 
 - B0NU8 DORMITAT HiBIERUS." 
 
 St. Peter sometimes nods and drops his keys. 
 Before lie shuts to eyes profane the t;"ate. 
 And thou all Heaven is in a dreadful state, 
 
 Like an upset and outraged hive of bees; 
 
 Till some archangel smites the porter's gate. 
 And brings him promptly yawning to his knees, 
 With half a smothered prayer and all a sneeze, 
 
 That sniiffs the candles out as sure as fate. 
 
 But now the mischief is a finished fact. 
 That grows at once a miserable centre. 
 Where circle troubles and whence others enter ; 
 
 For ere the culprit can deny his act. 
 
 Or with intruders make some sort of pact. 
 
 In rushes through the door some d d Dissenter. 
 
 THE COMEDY OF DEATH.* 
 
 Though the proud hero of a hundred 1)attlcs, 
 
 And borne through all wUliout a scratch or scar, 
 Upon the herce and foaming waves of war. 
 
 No volley now but laughter round him rattles. 
 
 Upon his knee his little grandson prattles, 
 And what the fathers made the children mar ; 
 
 While at his side his prudent partner tattles. 
 And scents the savoury dinner from afar. 
 
 And though the shades of life begin to thicken. 
 
 He feels no toiich of overbearing age. 
 Nor have the days begun to dim and sicken ; 
 
 Till comes a foe not writ in histoi-y's page. 
 And he succiTinbs to its more fatal rage. 
 Choked by the bone of an avenging chicken. 
 
 A Waterloo veteran was choked by a chicken boiie — perhaps a 
 drumstick of French extraction.
 
 THT5 ROILED PACKET, 705 
 
 THE FERRYMAN. 
 
 A ferryman with wild and withered face, 
 
 With lean and hungry looks, and restless eyes 
 
 That long to hide but cannot find a place. 
 Away from earth and the pursuing skies ; 
 
 A river that from dai-kness seems to rise. 
 
 And into darkness flows, within a space 
 Too short for weeping and too sad for sighs. 
 
 And ever rolls and never gathers grace. 
 
 A ferryman, a river, and a boat. 
 And sweet familiar forms I see. that float 
 Down into silence on the solemn stream ; 
 
 And then a cloud comes o'er my bitter dream. 
 Yet as it breaks I cannot choose but note. 
 That even Charon ferries now — by steam. 
 
 THE DEVII. ABROAD. 
 
 The Devil now is quite a dainty fop. 
 
 He learns his lessons in the modern school. 
 And has his coat acutely cut by Poole, 
 
 While as to fashion he is at the top ; 
 
 Of course he never, never talks of " shop," 
 And fire and brimstone arc no more his rule. 
 
 He lets such disagreeable subjects di'op. 
 
 And goes abroad like men and plays the fool 
 
 You hear him in the drawing room of deans, 
 Discoiu'sing low to maidens in their ttmns. 
 And dowagers he helps to cheat at cards ; 
 
 He spins melodioiis nonsense off by yards. 
 Or if avowing little much be means. 
 
 And prompts the lies and lusts of barren bards 
 
 THE 8()TEED PA(JKET. 
 
 This soil(>d and sacred packet is my own. 
 To me more dear than any locks and lines. 
 And all the tender and delicious signs. 
 
 That still remain when love itself has flown
 
 706 THE ANGEL AND THE CROSS. 
 
 And tlioiigh no more its creamy cover shines. 
 Since such caresses it lias daily knowR, 
 
 Yet if my hungry heart at seasons pines, 
 I take otit this and fi^el no more alone. 
 
 Love held the pen, and loitered on the page — 
 But it was love of money to be won. 
 When life had just a little course to run ; 
 
 The hand that traced it trembled — but with rage. 
 The heart that breathed it cursed its coffined stage. 
 And glowed with all the passion of — a Dun. 
 
 PROBLEMS. 
 
 By every waft of change and wave of thought. 
 That sadly tax the meditative miud, 
 With ragged reasons it goes far to find. 
 
 Dread questions man must .solve are daily brought ; 
 
 Enigmas dire that issue out of nought. 
 
 And into nothing through the darkness wind, 
 
 By blasts of fate in brief consi-stence wrought. 
 And grimmei- problems ever press behind. 
 
 But, ah, the question that confounds me most, 
 Is that which broods with hunger on my breast. 
 
 And enters in an uninvited guest ; 
 
 It comes with bristling puzzles in a host. 
 And cries in accents all forbidding rest, 
 " Are babies better eating boiled or roast ? " 
 
 THE ANGEL AND THE CROSS. 
 
 I had a cross to carz-y up the steep 
 
 That winds through wastes of shadow, to the Light 
 Which is the Face of God serene and bright. 
 
 Beyond the bitter rocks where mourners weep ; 
 
 And faith had ever vigil sad to keep. 
 
 Against the music of temptation's might. 
 Pursuing me with delicate delight. 
 
 That well might kill the surest watch to sleep.
 
 WORKING— WORSHIPPING. 707 
 
 But as with patient prayer I bore it on. 
 By patlis that martyrs' feet before had a^one, 
 Throusifli penitential pnrg-ing- lone and keen ; 
 
 Lo, a fair ani,'el where the Cross had been. 
 
 And lif^ht, that never yet round reveller shone, 
 
 Tiimed the dark desert to an Eden green. 
 
 POOR HEART. 
 
 Another string is gone, another tie 
 That bound me to these pleasant fields of flowers, 
 Snapt in mid music of the sweetest hours. 
 
 And I have nothing left me but to die ; 
 
 To lay me down, where my beloved ones lie 
 Calm in the cradling of their sacred bowers. 
 Caressed by sunsliine, kissed by tendt^r showers. 
 
 And let this world of falsehood all go by. 
 
 No string remains to link us, O poor heai't. 
 Yet longer to the earth whereon we staj'. 
 For all have past the same sad silent waj^ ; 
 
 And thou hast lost the old unconscious art. 
 Which made each beauteous thing around, a part 
 Of melodies that deej) in theo held sway. 
 
 WORKIXG— WORSHIPING. 
 
 I winhod to worship God, and I was sad. 
 
 Because I knew not how to serve Him right. 
 
 Who filled my mouth with songs, my eyes with lights 
 
 And gave whatever made me rich and glad ; 
 
 For all my offerings seemed so poor and bad. 
 And smiLten to the core with evil blight. 
 My prayers were arrows shot into the night,' 
 
 And even my praises lost the joy they had. 
 
 Then in despair I ceased to test my deeds. 
 
 If they were by some sterile standard wrought. 
 And purged from evil's misbegotten seeds ; 
 
 T bared my heart to every noble thought. 
 And lieyond reach of all the narrow creeds. 
 In work I found the worship that I sought.
 
 708 TO MT WIFE. 
 
 MY MASTEK. 
 
 I was apprentice unto many arts. 
 
 And many masters taut>'lat me all their skill. 
 From miisic with its deep mysterious thrill. 
 
 To the vast ventures of the mightiest marts ; 
 
 In all I played no inconsijicuous parts. 
 
 Passing from sphere to sphere with wayward will, 
 Baring my breast to love's unhurtful darts. 
 
 And yet I felt that I knew nothing still. 
 
 I only gathered folly, not true lore. 
 Mere jiretty shells and pebliles on the shore, 
 Waslied i\p from tlie unfathomable wave ; 
 
 But when T to the Galilscan gave 
 My heart, as I had never given before. 
 The tree of wisdom grew on folly's grave. 
 
 ROFT C'HEEKS. 
 
 I have a daughter, and her face is fair 
 As IS the morning on tlio moiintain top. 
 
 The sunbeams ever play about her hair. 
 And even at night will all that glory stoj? ; 
 
 And when \ipon my bosom's weary crop 
 Of cares, no dews come through the sultry air. 
 
 And fields are pining for the clouds to drop. 
 She gives them of her tears a living share. 
 
 Her names are sweet and many as the weeks. 
 That in the heart of the glad summer fall. 
 And quickly doth she answer to them all ; 
 
 My fond approval prettily she seeks. 
 
 And new endearing names, but most of all 
 She loves to take the title of " Soft Cheeks." 
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 True wife, who dost in thy benignant frame 
 Emliody all tliat is most soft and sweet. 
 Making a miisic witli thy measured feet, 
 
 Tl^at never yet from earthly footsteps came j
 
 THE HUMAN VOICE DIVINE. 70^ 
 
 In llice strano-e graces beautifully meet. 
 With ^'ifts that have not any nioi/tal nanae. 
 And play about thy path like heavenly flame, 
 
 Sent down in pity suffering souls to greet. 
 
 I love thee altogether, every part. 
 From the pure eyes that mirror the pure heart. 
 To the light diist that flecks thy dainty skirt ; 
 
 Thou dost transfigure even the clods and dirt. 
 By that bright presence which is more than art. 
 And all thou touchest is with glory girt. 
 
 ON JESUS' BREAST, 
 
 I tried a thousand spots on which to lay 
 My aching head, so harassed with the goad 
 
 Of little cares, that made the weary day 
 A lengthening and insufferable load ; 
 
 From the damp dungeon with the snake and toad. 
 To dazzling seats that kept perpetual day, 
 
 I duly trod each glad and glorious road, 
 I tried them all and nothing found to stay. 
 
 I vainly sought with universal quest, 
 
 Throxxgh bowery valley and in bloomy lea. 
 In fair white arms that had a heavenlier j)lea ; 
 
 And then I found, more sweet than woman's rest. 
 
 Softer and wider than the summer sea. 
 The place I panted for— on Jesus' breast. 
 
 THE HUMAN VUIUE DIVINE. 
 
 (TO SISSr W—NT—R IN HEAVEN.) 
 
 Fair sister, up in Heaven by God's high seat. 
 Part of the brightness of the angel band 
 That roiind the central glory singing stand. 
 
 Where souls that are most pure and perfect meet ; 
 
 Thy voice is sweetest in that lovely land, 
 Glad music waits upon thy moving feet. 
 
 It echoes from the waving of thy hand. 
 And without thee that choir wfere not complete.
 
 7l0 THE BLISS OF IGNORANCE. 
 
 When lights are low and darkness gathers fast. 
 While solemn searchings holy shadows cast. 
 Thou art a blessed portion still of mine ; 
 
 And oft, if tender memories rovmd me twine 
 MelodioiTs tendrils of the undying past, 
 
 I hear from Heaven thy human voice divine. 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 I met a Maiden who seemed wondrous fair. 
 As I was rushing headlong forth to win 
 The crowned folly that is only sin, 
 
 Down the gay slopes of pleasure's golden stair ; 
 
 She had a snow-white lily in her haix'. 
 And though around her broke the eddying din 
 Of dancing feet, yet as she entered in. 
 
 All hushed and holy grew like summer air. 
 
 She stopped me, ere I gained the enchanted room. 
 That rioted with beauty and with bloom. 
 Whatever j^ampers the voluptuous sense; 
 
 She laid the lily on my bosom tense 
 With passion beats, and said " Seek not thy doom, 
 Biit wear this flower whose name is Innocence." 
 
 THE BLLSS OF IGNORANCE. 
 
 I met a Spii'it in a human shape. 
 
 Whose mouth was music and whose eyes were light. 
 As I was drifting round the stormy Cape, 
 
 That leads to ruin and the lands of night ; 
 
 I did not see the horror of the sight. 
 Behind the gloiy of the purjjle grape, — 
 
 The cup of poison and the breath of blight. 
 And the dread scourge no mortal may escape. 
 
 He took reluctant hands, and with sweet force 
 Stayed the wild stoppings of my devious course. 
 And whispered counsel soft as summer wind; 
 
 Triie wisdom was, he said, to evil blind. 
 And looked straightforward like the battle horse. 
 While he M'as happiest still who could not And.
 
 SWEET Lirs. 711 
 
 rURlTT. 
 
 I met a datigliter of the sons of men, 
 Whose face was sunshine, and whose feet were dew. 
 That comes at evening when the lights are few. 
 
 And whose sweet month was like a poet's pen ; 
 
 And lo ! onr souls a moment touched, and then 
 I shrank confounded from the glamoiir new. 
 Which like the breath of Heaven about her blew. 
 
 And gathered every secret in its ken. 
 
 Her calm bright glance like sudden lightning came. 
 Illumed my being in its inmost shame. 
 While her soft footsteps on the evil trod ; 
 
 Her gentle words fell like a judgment rod. 
 And I beheld with awe her solemn name. 
 As if unveiled I saw the face of God. 
 
 TO LADY J. HERSCHEL. 
 
 O Lady, mate with no unequal mind 
 Of liim who, in his world-compelling glass, 
 A mighty master, made the planets pass. 
 
 And wonders to which mortal eyes were l)lind ; 
 
 If he, who was far greater than his kind, 
 Is gone fresh marvels to record and class. 
 Their glory has not fled from sky and grass. 
 
 And other vaster worlds are yet to find. 
 
 Queen among women, thine is still tire rod. 
 Before which open the most hidden bars 
 Of heavenly spaces, where no discord jars ; 
 
 Though with unfaltering feet, as thou hast trod, 
 Thoii treadest still the lowliest earthly sod. 
 Thy heart is yet among its native stars. 
 
 SWEET LIPS. 
 
 I have a child, with tresses fair and bright. 
 And happy eyes that ever upward look. 
 Wherein her thoughts are like a story book, 
 
 Written in tender characters of light ;
 
 712 THE PLUCKED EOSE. 
 
 And all her frame, so grateful to my sio-ht, 
 Responds to every influence like a brook, 
 As if each rippling breath that passed her shook 
 
 Her soul, and turned to music in its flight. 
 
 Her lips are roses that retain their bloom. 
 And though all flowers are overcast with gloom 
 In winter, hers have yet no part in this ; 
 
 They take fresh beauty from a Father's kiss. 
 And keep their radiance in the darkest room. 
 The home of sweetness, and the heaven of bliss. 
 
 THE C!UP OF SIN. 
 
 That golden cwp — she pat it from her twice. 
 
 With hands indignant that no speck had stained. 
 And with a bosom pure, that fiercely strained 
 
 Against the semblance of the sweetest vice ; 
 
 No spleudid poison coiild one whit entice 
 
 Those virgin lijts, by tlie poor pleasure gained. 
 To barter for tlie pangs with sin ordained. 
 
 The peace and freedom that alone suflice. 
 
 But late one evening, lo ! an angel came. 
 Into her maiden sanctuary to sup. 
 And oHered her once more the glittering cup ; 
 
 And then at last she felt the burning flame 
 
 Of love within her woman's breast rise up, 
 And in the paaeion she forgot the shame. 
 
 THE PLUCKED ROSE. 
 
 1 plucked a rose that in its glory grew, 
 Within the shadow of a cottage door. 
 The only riches of the inmates pooi% 
 
 Bathed in the beauty of its summer dew ; 
 
 It was unsheltered from the storms that blew. 
 And woidd surrender soon to some rude boor 
 
 Its gi'aces, did I not those charms renew. 
 In golden courts and Qii a marble floor.
 
 THE FIRE FROM HEAVEN. 713 
 
 But lo ! when it was in my eag-er s'vip. 
 
 The virgin bloom I deemed woiild ever last. 
 Seemed as if blighted by a winter blast ; 
 
 It was no longer honey to the lii). 
 That could its sweetness any moment sip. 
 The freshness faded and the splendour past. 
 
 THE MARKED TUBE. 
 
 It woke one morning in the summer dawn. 
 To spread its branches in the early light. 
 
 And wave its foliage o'er the flickering lawn. 
 As if the dancing leaves would fain take flight : 
 
 But in the midst of all that promise bright. 
 It paused and trembled like a frightened fawn. 
 Around whose lair the huntei's toils are drawn 
 
 Wrought in the silence of the secret nio-ht 
 
 For on its stem no loving hand had laid 
 A little brand, that yeib great shadows cast. 
 And showed the hour of doom was hastening fast 
 
 Its gladness at the fountain head was stayed. 
 As light deijarts from some deflowered maid, ' 
 For death had come and marked it as he pass'd. 
 
 THE FIKE FROM HEAVEX. 
 
 I raised an altar, built of costly stones. 
 Unto the God I worshipped, on a height 
 Which the first kisses of the morninglight 
 
 Eeceived, and heard the breezes' earlie'st tones ; 
 
 And on these jewels plucked from royal thrones, 
 I laid an offering beautiful and bright. 
 
 The tribute of the fairest, richest zones, ' 
 And all that v/as most grateful to tlie sight. 
 
 And yet I built and offered still in vain. 
 For to my purest offering clove a stain,' 
 And I could nowhere find a kindling'spark ; 
 
 But when I aimed at a more lofty mark 
 And sacrificed my will, albeit with pain ' 
 Fell fire from heaven and lit that altar dark.
 
 Vli THE SECOND DAT. 
 
 THE DISCOVEilEIi. 
 
 Before him stretched white lengths of shining? shore. 
 Strange mountains raised their stormy heads on high. 
 Range beyond range, and in an immapped sky 
 
 Flamed stars that lamps of unknown beauty bore ; 
 
 And from the moonlight gleamed a boundless store 
 Of marvels new, and the deep forest's sigh 
 To him of mortal men first wafted nigh, 
 
 A wondroiis music never heard before. 
 
 No human eye had ever fondly dwelt 
 Upon the mysteries, now about to ope 
 Their fair iintrodden breadths of vale and slope ; 
 
 No human heart had ever dreamed or felt 
 The troubled joy and awe, with which he knelt 
 Upon the threshold of this world of hope. 
 
 TO CONSTANCE— 
 
 O thou, who bearest a historic name. 
 Dear to the heart of England, and to all 
 Who love that land their mother-land to call. 
 
 Thy face to me as England's glory came. 
 
 For it reflects full many a noble dame, 
 
 Wliose i^ortrait hangs upon tlie pictured wall 
 
 Of memory, and nations risen to fame. 
 
 With woman framed like thee can never fall. 
 
 For purity is written on thy brow. 
 
 And breathes about thee, in a queenly state, 
 The holy siJell that stronger is than Fate ; 
 
 Nor is there safeguard like the solemn vow 
 Of consecration, and we ask not how. 
 
 While maidens live like thee, men must be great. 
 
 THE SECOND DAY. 
 
 The day had dawned on an enchanted space. 
 
 But stretched no barrier between earth and sky. 
 And on creation fell the solemn cry 
 
 Of benediction, that gave all its grace ;
 
 LEGEND OF THE KOBIN KEDBKEAST. 715 
 
 And tl\en tlie heaven was lifted to its place. 
 While earth alone was left its lot to try 
 
 Divided, and yet not without a trace 
 
 Of the sweet union past — it knew not why. 
 
 And thouo'h the world unsoiled by sin or j^ain. 
 In the first freshness of its beauty stood, 
 Like a young maiden in her maidenhood ; 
 
 God breathed no blessing, though He saw no stain. 
 
 For well He knew it was not wholly good. 
 That heaven and earth should ever thus be twain. 
 
 m MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 Clementine Angusta, Marchioness Camden, Born 
 6th May, 1848, and Died 27th March, 1886. 
 
 No fading wreath for her, who was a " Flower " f 
 
 Herself, and by a noble native right. 
 
 Turning her tender graces to the Light, 
 And drawing thence all beauty and all power ; 
 But wreath of honour true, a fitting dower, 
 
 That knows not touch of winter's age or blight, 
 For her who rose where little glories lower. 
 
 And blossomed Sweetest in the darkest night. 
 
 For her no sadness of the common doom, 
 A few false tears, and the yet falser line 
 Of flattery's leaves, that round' the memory twine ; 
 She is not dead, but from this gaslit gloom 
 Transplanted, into brighter heavenly bloom — 
 Belovedj bemourned by all, sweet Clementine; 
 
 LEGEND OF THE ROBIN REDBREAST. 
 
 As on the Cross the dying Saviour hung. 
 With all the woes of all the ages worn. 
 And the great burden none but He has borne. 
 
 Which with its curse like midnight to him cluno- • 
 
 As in his ears the ribald voices rung. 
 And pierced the crown less sharply than the scorn ; 
 
 A little bird one note of comfort sung, 
 
 And from His forehead plucked one bitter thorn. 
 
 t She was only daughter of the 6th Duke of Marlborough by 
 his 2nd wife the Hon. Charlotte Augusta Fio iter. "
 
 71(3 KAISER FKIEDEICH. 
 
 And as it sweetly ministered to pain, 
 
 Tell on the hunible breast that faithful beat, 
 
 A drop of blood, and left a crimson stain ; 
 And there for ever it has kept its seat, — 
 To show, if Fame may sound the Hero's feat, 
 
 God deems no act of love thoixgh little vain. 
 
 THE GERMAN KAISEll. (Marrk 9th, 1888.) 
 
 No dreams of earthly splendour bade him draw 
 That giant sword, which gave him deathless fame. 
 And never once unsheathed by him in shame 
 
 Flashed, as it fell and wrought its righteous law ; 
 
 And only he could wield it, he who saw 
 God's purpose in the cloud as in the flame. 
 
 Beneath Time's petty fumes and party flaw. 
 And fought for Him without a fear of blame. 
 
 That conquering sword was " bathed in Heaven," and 
 Its will to make divided j^eoples one, [breathed 
 
 To mould the feeble strong, despoiling none ; 
 Greatly it shone and it was grandly sheathed. 
 When from red shadow with its glory wreathed, 
 Stept forth an Emjnre, and its work was done. 
 
 KAISEit FiaEDJilCH. 
 
 The blood is shed, the awful offering made. 
 Which gave an empire new its costly seed. 
 To fl')wer and fruit in many a glorious deed, 
 
 When honour called and duty sternly bade ; 
 
 Now let the bird build in the armed shade 
 Of silent guns, and step the battle steed 
 
 To better triumphs of tlie conquering spade, 
 And harvests golden for a nation's need. 
 
 The Kaiser i'riedrich reigns, who fain would fight 
 More peaceful frays, that never bosom shook 
 With fear, and but from toiler burdens took ; 
 He seeks to govern with the gentle might 
 Of love, that knows no other law than right. 
 And turns the slaying sword a reaper's hook.
 
 visit! vicit! 717 
 
 THE NORTH-EAST AVIND. 
 
 Howl, fierce North-Easter, howl, and fiercer blow ; 
 
 That art our roaming- spirit's equal mate. 
 
 To keep the hauo-hty spoiler from the gate. 
 And bid onr sturdy nature strono-er urow ; 
 Still raise the stormy waves, that round us flow 
 
 In dreadful walls and fence us oiit from fate. 
 And make the heart of fire A\ithin us glow 
 
 Imperial yet, thou buhvark of the State. 
 
 It is the iron of thy bitter cold. 
 
 Wrought in the fibre of our English tree. 
 And our iinconquered bosona comes from thee ; 
 
 Yea, thus we walk tlie earth erect and bold. 
 
 Build up this grandeur not by craft or gold. 
 
 And with thy boundless breath wax fair and free. 
 
 OUTCAST ERIX. 
 
 Born in the purple, folded from the blast 
 
 That beats on labour in its iron mill. 
 
 To noble diities they alone can fill, 
 With grand traditions of a golden Past ; 
 
 Erin's fair daughters shone, and at their will 
 Poured riches as if they would ever last, 
 Eank over them its shield of honoitr cast. 
 And Heaven and earth heaped blessings on them still. 
 
 Now hunted forth in want and shame they hide. 
 
 The dainty prey of factions' cruel ban. 
 
 To give a party government a plan ; 
 Prest downward by the dark unsparing tide. 
 Called justice, which has thriist their rights aside. 
 
 They wait for death more merciful than man. 
 
 VIXIT ! VICIT ! 
 
 In Memoriam, Kaisor Friedrich, 15tli Jnius 1888. 
 
 The galln.nt figlit is fought, the victory won. 
 
 At last, throiigh pangs, grief, woo — the long dark spell 
 Of doubt is broken, by the solemn bell — 
 
 To giorioixs father goes more glorious son j
 
 Y18 EASTER EVE, 
 
 For lie has conqtierecl death, as conquered none 
 Mortal, and wrung new wreaths from very hell. 
 
 To be immortal now his work is done. 
 
 Wrought out of i^ain endured — and it is well. 
 
 We would not weep, and even these natural tears 
 Fall at our bitter loss and severed ties. 
 But not for him who in God's mercy lies ; 
 
 He suffered sore, with no complaint or fears. 
 
 And now he rests and speaks through endless years- 
 Yea, victor Friedrich lives, 'tis death that dies. 
 
 ANGELS' FOOD. 
 
 I knew not what it was in byegone years, 
 
 AVhen passion was the most and faith the least. 
 The food on which the blessed angels feast. 
 
 Although I sought it carefully with tears : 
 
 Although T compassed it with hopes and fears. 
 Knocked at the golden portals of the East 
 With daily, nightly prayers that never ceast, 
 
 I sought in vain through long and lonely years. 
 
 But now, I know what is this holy food. 
 That makes the meanest nature great and good. 
 And can the pulses of Creation move ; 
 
 Its universal name is only — Love, 
 And if it is not now quite understood. 
 Yet I shall taste its fulness all above. 
 
 EASTER EVE. 
 
 Prudentius (Cathem. 5. 125 " Sunt et spiritibus," etc.) says 
 that on Easter Eve there is temporary otium even for the damned. 
 
 Tradition says, that, in the depths of hell. 
 
 The dead and damned shut out from earthly gains. 
 Yet once a year put oif their cursed stains. 
 
 While on their spirits falls a peaceful spell ; 
 
 The fiery fetters then relax their pains. 
 And blessed hopes that every miu-mur quell, 
 
 Eise in the riven heart that most complains. 
 And fondly whisper, " All shall yet be well."
 
 ESTHER. 719 
 
 For upon Eastei^ Eve a silence falls, 
 Within tlie bai-rioi' of those Imrnino" walls, 
 And thfui the Blessed Saviour passes by ; 
 
 Before tlis footsteps Avoe and snlferings fly. 
 Peace unto mercy musically calls. 
 
 And promise brightens darkest memory. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF SORROW. 
 
 Imperial maiden, whose majestic soul 
 
 By some g-reat sadness is eclipsed and smitten. 
 
 As waves of trouble still against thee roll. 
 
 And leave their i-ecord on thy forehead written ; 
 
 Eemember tliese but bear thee to the goal. 
 Beyond tlie shores of sliadow weather-bitten. 
 That is with calm and cloudless glory litten^ 
 
 And are but 1)ubbles of the boundless whole. 
 
 Bear then thy portion bravely to the end. 
 
 And from thy own grand heart the weapons borrow. 
 Which all the jDOwers of evil cannot bend ; 
 
 Thou needest but to wait ixntil the morrow. 
 While we who suffer will thy court attend. 
 And gladly crown thee Queen — thoii Qiieen of Sorrow. 
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 Three days she fasted, and no kindly food 
 
 Passed those deliberate lips, and notlung bent 
 The burning heart that all within her went 
 
 I'orth in the fire of its avenging mood ; 
 
 She recked not of the evil or the good. 
 
 She weighed not life that might be vainly spent. 
 
 In her deep eyes one settled purpose stood. 
 And on her brow was written one intent. 
 
 Then she arose, in all her royal state. 
 With solemn footsteps like the march of Fate, 
 That knows no barrier and regards no tie ; 
 
 Though death itself should on her pathway lie. 
 She s^vept unswerving to the inner gate. 
 And luuruiured only, '• If I die^ I die."
 
 720 fHE HOUSEHOLD ANGEL. 
 
 HEARTSEASE. 
 
 Sweet mother, on whose calm and candid brow. 
 Love makes its happy and abiding home. 
 As siinsliine on the Soutli's celestial dome. 
 
 Of all fair souls most beavitiful art then. 
 
 I gave thee love at first, but worship now 
 
 Springs from my heart, as lilies fx'om the loam. 
 Or out of pvu-ple seas the flowers of foam. 
 
 And takes the sliape of many a holy vow. 
 
 Let others style thee by thy wedded name. 
 Or by wliat pi'etty fantasies they please, 
 <j;!ulled from the kindly vales or laughing leas ; 
 
 In all thy titles thou art still the same. 
 Followed by blessing and unscathed by blame. 
 But in thy household rites my own Heartsease. 
 
 SWEET SEVEXTEEX. 
 
 G-ive me sweet kisses, maiden, give me smiles, 
 Wliile thine can take the mould of other lips. 
 And that light footstep innocently trips 
 
 Down pleasant paths, as yet unstained with guiles. 
 
 Oh, ere the world has taught thee deeper wiles. 
 While hand in hand still naturally slips, 
 
 Give me that heart which nothing dark defiles. 
 Till fashion clouds it with a dire eclipse. 
 
 Gfivo me thyself, so pure and simple yet, 
 Before bad custom uj^on thee has set 
 The sameness of its miserable seal ; 
 
 Let no false shame thy dew and blossom steal, 
 W]iile honest love with honest love is met. 
 
 Nor hide those cliarms thy frankness would reveal. 
 
 THE HOUSEHOLD ANGEL, 1880. 
 
 God sent an angel, wlien my soul was sad 
 And torn witli cruel and corroding fears. 
 To givo me hope and wipe away my tears. 
 
 By making all my life complete and glad.
 
 Till: LAHUiai motk'' '-1 
 
 No wondrous wings, no radiant rolio.-; slu'. had, 
 But a sweet cry that echoed through the years 
 
 And tui'ned to brightness what seemed dark or bad. 
 With helplessness that heart to heart endears. 
 
 (Jod sent an angel from the gates of Day, 
 To guide my footsteps on the better way. 
 As from the ark went forth the gentle dove ; 
 
 Her name and nature were the same as love. 
 And though He bade her out of mercy stay. 
 He gave her eyes that ever looked above. 
 
 ''SWEET AND TWEl^TY yShakspeare. 
 
 Sweet Lady, who from thy gay girlish teens 
 Hast passed into a stage of grander good. 
 As from the shelter of a shadowy wood 
 
 The pilgrim enters on imbounded scenes ; 
 
 Consider well what this strange magic means. 
 The mystery by none yet understood, 
 
 (Though love soi'ne scattered ears of wisdom gleans,) 
 Theniiracle of maiden womanhood. 
 
 Thy feet have crossed the threshold, and they stand 
 White on the borders of a brighter land. 
 Clogged by no touch of earth's polluting ill; 
 
 -And if thou would'st be mistress of thy will. 
 Not the poor slave of this world's iron hand. 
 
 Then carry with thee childhood's freshness still. 
 
 THE LAllGEK HOPE. 
 
 O God, to whom all creatures .look for light. 
 When their dim eyes on mysteries first ope 
 With which the human mind must bravely cope. 
 
 If it would gather what is good and right ; 
 
 Above the lying tales of priest and pope. 
 Of pious fools that for delusions fight. 
 And think to settle creeds by fraud or might, 
 
 I fly to Thee and to the Larger Hope.
 
 722 
 
 TO ISOBEL. 
 
 If pardon should not upon all men shine. 
 Or but one soul should be for ever lost, 
 Of the poor millions by temptation tost ; 
 
 How would the final victory be Thine, 
 
 Which was achieved at such an awfid cost. 
 Or how -would'st Thou be still indeed Divine' 
 
 TO AdXES. 
 
 O Aijnes, did I do thee wrong that harms, 
 Who scorned at first the riches of thy grace, 
 ^Nor dreamed of all the large imperial space' 
 Where walks thy spirit, which no fear alarms ? 
 
 But now I see the grandeur of thy charms. 
 The glory of thy proud and peerless face^ 
 The poetry of every queenly pace. 
 
 The heaven within the circle "of thy arms. 
 
 I feel the greatness of tliy royal soul. 
 
 And when I bow my pride beneath thy feet, 
 I know such service is a freedom sweet ; 
 
 And now, though mighty seas between us roll. 
 Accept the love I can no more control. 
 And let forgiveness my confession meet. 
 
 TO i.^OBEL. 
 
 Tasnianian Witch, wlio.se dark and dewy eyes 
 Shine forth beneath a cloud of glorious hair. 
 
 As from the heart of thunder-laden skies. 
 The moon steps out on her celestial stair '. 
 
 Eemove, I beg, the spell that deeply ties 
 
 My heart to thine with wliich it cannot pair. 
 And cease to be so pitilessly fair 
 
 To one who vainly from thy beauty flies. 
 
 Why dost thou waste on an imworthy aim. 
 
 Those sorceries which but torment my breast. 
 When loftier victims thy encliantiiients claim ?' 
 
 Oh, if that soul has ever known unrest, 
 Kelease me from thy charms which burn' like flame 
 And be most kind as thou art loveliest. '
 
 THE FATAL Gli'T. 725 
 
 THE GOLDEN SCErHiE. 
 
 Fail- C^ueen, thy subjects are the hearts of all 
 Who see thy beatity and who know thy face. 
 With its imperious and unearthly o-race. 
 
 That gieams like lightning from its thunder pall. 
 
 And though the humblest in this earthly race, 
 I dare myself to offer as a thrall. 
 Whatever sentence from thy lips may fall. 
 
 And in thy love to crave the highest place. 
 
 I will be bold and cut my misery short, 
 By venturing all that may thy pity move. 
 The pleasure of thy haughty will to prove ; 
 
 And if I enter that last inner court. 
 Hold out to me for a divine support. 
 The golden sceptre of thy queenly love. 
 
 MY BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 My Beautiful, and yet not fair to me. 
 
 Though that sweet heart was ever linked with mine. 
 Since young affection first began to twine 
 
 Its tendrils round the hope that might not be ; 
 
 For other alien lips now mix with thine. 
 And other hateful kisses fall on thee. 
 
 While those bright eyes niiist now to order shine. 
 For one from whom thou would'st arise and flee. 
 
 My Beautiful, and yet I love thee still. 
 Though other hands with thee may work their will, 
 And f oi'ce caresses that they cannot keep ; 
 
 Yea, though another make thee laugh or weep, 
 Doth not my love and not another's fill 
 
 The circle of thy breast with passion deep ? 
 
 THE FATAL GIFT. 
 
 I craved foreknowledge, and the fatal gift 
 Of bringing firture scenes so clearly nigh. 
 
 That I might read the shadow and the shift 
 Of coiuiug yetirs, as from a watch tower high.
 
 24 THE LONDON CADGEE. 
 
 Fate heard my prayer, and not without a sigh 
 Gave me the power I long- desired, to lift 
 Its veil from far-off destiny, and sift 
 The solemn secrets of futurity. 
 
 Biit, ah ! I little knew the boon I asked, 
 N.or all the terrors that my being tasked. 
 
 When that dread foresight was indeed my own ; 
 
 My pathway seemed uith death and darkness strown. 
 And distant evils, once so kindly masked, 
 
 Arose each hoiu- to torture me — when known. 
 
 A BROKEN HEART. 
 
 I gave the world the glory of the years, 
 
 The dew and blossom and the wealth of life, 
 Hope's yearning youth and sorrow's sacred tears. 
 The tender lilade, the ripe and full-grown ears ; 
 
 I gave to man the slioots witli promise rife, 
 And pruned the budding branches with the knife 
 Of wise denial, forged by wholesome fears, 
 
 Till golden harvests crowned the fruitful strife. 
 
 And now on Thee, O God, what fitting part 
 In these poor dregs and leavings of the hours. 
 Can I bestov/ from all my wasted powers ? 
 
 For thougli 1 see ho\v l)enutiful Thou art. 
 
 More precious than the earth's most costly dowers. 
 Yet I can give Thee but— a broken heart. 
 
 THE LONDON CADGER. 
 
 An exile from the eyes of love and light. 
 He was the butt of vulgar hate and scorn. 
 And by the scourge of many winters worn, 
 
 A thing too vile for virtiie's mark or slight. 
 
 The very stocks put forth their hands to smite. 
 And by the teeth of stones more cruel torn. 
 
 He wanclered dimly into the dark night, 
 
 And every thuuglit he leant on was a thorn. 
 
 Tlie wind was -wild and fought each feeble pace. 
 
 It clutched his throat and clogged his weary breath, 
 And its cold grip fell heavy on his face :
 
 FALLEN STARS. 723 
 
 Ent whon tlie snow had bouiul liis bitter wreath, 
 Tt Rti-ipi)(>(l nis form of all that made it base. 
 And clothed him in the dignity of death. 
 
 SHADOWS OX THE WALLS. 
 
 They come, they come, as at Belshazzar's Feast, 
 Those strange unearthly shadows on the walls ; 
 
 They bring a message both for prince and priest, 
 That on the careless heads in judgnient falls. 
 
 The writing is sent forth, from west to east. 
 From festive palaces to funeral palls ; 
 Each class and kingdom to its doom it calls. 
 
 And those that fly it most elude it least. 
 
 There is no noise of stern avenging feet. 
 We only see the mute memorial Hand, 
 Witli its sad summons from the Silent Land ; 
 
 It strikes with equal step, where mourners meet. 
 And in tlie riot of the revellers' hand. 
 In holv gatherings and the sinner's seat. 
 
 FALLEN STAUS. 
 
 I went into the niglit, and watched the skies. 
 Ami saw th(> starry wanderers on their way. 
 That nought could hasten and no storm could stay. 
 
 Rejoicing in the race each planet plies. 
 
 I went into the world, and marked its cries. 
 The rajjture of the battle and the play. 
 
 The hand that follows and the foot that flies. 
 Sweet lips that promise and refuse to pay. 
 
 But as 1 gazed and inspiration drank. 
 From heavenly radiance and from earthly rank. 
 The splendid spaces were with darkness strown : 
 
 For in the skies I saw the stars go down. 
 
 And in the world I saw the souls tliat sank. 
 
 Between the consecration and the crown.
 
 726 HEARTSTCASE. 
 
 THE TJIF.E OF DEATH. 
 
 Fov weary ages has it sternly stood, 
 
 Wliils hailed by men with false and flattering breath 
 The tree of life and nniv(>rsal good. 
 
 When it was truly bnt the tree of death. 
 
 The majesty of justice was the wreath 
 They hung- around its head, though bathed in blood 
 That from it poured in oni^ perpetual flood, 
 
 And fattened the cold graves which yawned beneath. 
 
 Hate planted it, and not the hand of God, 
 Fear watered it that' held the judgment rod, 
 And madly strove to banish crime by crime. 
 
 It bore its bitter fruit in every clime,. 
 And turning to a tomb each verdant sod, 
 It made a charnel-house and called it Time. 
 
 UNCROWNED QUEENS. 
 
 Fair crowned souls, sealed with compassion's sign. 
 
 Go sowing through the world immortal seed 
 Of ministering mercy, that makes fine 
 
 Each effort, as the sun adorns the weed ; 
 
 For these are Queens who, by a right divine. 
 
 Have won their glorious coronation meed. 
 
 In the large radiance of some lovely deed. 
 That shall for ever and for ever shine. 
 
 Thus have they sweetened toil by gentle sway. 
 And tiirned the midnight into more than day, ! 
 
 With honey-dew of love that patience hives; 
 
 And thus, as starlight with the darkness strives. 
 Still do they walk on their serener way. 
 In the soft lustre of their own pure lives. 
 
 HEARTSEASE. 
 
 'Twas on a country stage I saw her first, 
 A shape of beauty, and a tiling of light. 
 So soon to shake fair pinions and take flight, 
 
 Just when the darkness was by love disperst.
 
 THE ETTRCEN OF BURBENS. 7g7 
 
 Foi' I was youno-, and yparninc^ witli the tliirst 
 Of unknown throbs, that raised me to the height 
 
 Of human passions, not as yet accurst, 
 And all the world seenied beautiful and bright. 
 
 She sang some plain and tender l:>allad strains. 
 As artless as the airs of summer seas. 
 Sweet simj)le tniths that could not choose but please ; 
 
 They banished from my liosom all its pains. 
 And though the voice has fled, a scent remains. 
 As of the flower that lovers call Heartsease. 
 
 BAPTISED IN BLOOD, 
 
 He stood between the dying and the dead. 
 Soldier of science, armed with awful lore 
 And mystic charms, that blessed solace bore 
 
 To wounded bosom and to weary head. 
 
 The cloud of suffering vanished at his tread. 
 The thorn of sorrow pierced the soul no more 
 That opened to his touch its bleeding sore, 
 
 And his soft word made sweet the pauper's bread. 
 
 Between the dying and the dead he stood, 
 
 From shame's wan brow he wijied away tlie stain, 
 While taming hands that dared the deed of Cain ': 
 
 But though he broke the power of evil's flood. 
 His forehead sadly was baptised in blood. 
 And ere he soothed it he first suffered pain. 
 
 THE BURDEN OF BURDENS. 
 
 Before the morning I began my toil. 
 
 And when the sun had set I laboured still 
 With steadfast hands, nor fled from that sad soil 
 Which v< inds around the world its hateful coil ; 
 
 My spirit spared no effort, for the will 
 That bore me bravely through the flood of ill. 
 Was mighty on me as a holy oil, 
 
 To consecrate the most unworthy skill,
 
 ^28 THE T>0(i'i< HEART. 
 
 And tlivono-h the nio-ht I dnuloed until the day. 
 While fair stars sweetly rose and sweetlj^ set. 
 For faith iij)held me with its deathless ray ; 
 
 But when the seal of heaven my labours met. 
 Earth only cursed me for the thankless debt. 
 And tiTrned agfiin to its old sordid way. 
 
 b 
 
 HOOKINGHAM. 
 
 Grray pile, of grand and weather-beaten stone. 
 Standing so boldly on the steadfast height. 
 
 In thy proud beauty, calm, erect, and lone, 
 Watching- the ages in their weary flight ! 
 
 Time has not dimmed that crown of honoiir bright. 
 And even disaster hast thou made thy own. 
 Stooping a moment from thy starry throne. 
 
 To rise more radiant from the passing night. 
 
 Behold, thy towers for evermore shall stand, 
 A wonder and a witness to the land. 
 
 Though many a younger fabric round thee falls; 
 
 For in thy fair and hospitable halls, 
 God's work is duly wrought with ready hand, 
 And worship is the buttress of thy walls. 
 
 THE DOG'S HEART. 
 
 A friend I had, that seemed a priceless thing, 
 Like the fair friends in the heroic past. 
 
 When men were mighty or to slay or sing. 
 And their great deeds a greater shadow cast ; 
 
 But when my love to him was rooted fast. 
 As cedars that to the earth's centre cling, 
 
 Lo, he tiirned false and faithless at the last. 
 And changed to winter all my glorious spring. 
 
 A dog I had, in many a trouble tried. 
 
 Who was to me a true thovigh voiceless friend. 
 And never cared to wander from my side ; 
 
 No pain nor peril could his staunchness bend. 
 And when death menaced me with sudden end, 
 Withoiit a murmur fur my sake he died.
 
 BKNKATH Hlfi WINGS. 729 
 
 UNDEIJ THE (M^OSS. 
 
 Armed with the; old and a.\vful sign, that tells 
 
 A story such as never else was told. 
 Arise and conquer for the sacred fold. 
 
 The spirits chained by sin's accursed spells ; 
 
 Go forth, and face the misery that dwells 
 
 In dens of shame and palaces of g-old, 
 And where voliiptous vice its kingdom swells. 
 
 Proclaim the Love that never waxes old. 
 
 Beneath the Cross and its red banner stand. 
 
 Uplift the Grospel that is in thy breast, 
 And take the trumpet of the Truth in hand ; 
 
 Give no iincertain sound to those opprest 
 By sin's sore burden, and then leave the rest 
 To Him who makes and )n"t\aks the heaviest band. 
 
 (LAnnRARE EST oTLMiF.:) 
 
 T could not weep, nor raise a conquering cry 
 To heaven, above the insuU'erable years 
 That smote my life with shadow and with fears, 
 
 Nor let the burden of the past go by ; 
 The bruised wings of faith refused to fly. 
 And though my heart was full of bitter tears, 
 AVhile a great soiind of sorrow filled my ears. 
 
 Yet no relief would come — I knew not why. 
 
 Then in the silence of the darkened days, 
 I bowed my head to meet some duty slight. 
 And set my hand to labour, as was right ; 
 
 Wheii in a moment fell a flood of rays 
 
 Upon my soul, till all was blest and right. 
 
 And as I worked a voice — " Behold he prays I " 
 
 BENEATH HIS WINGS. 
 
 A horror of great darkness on me fell, 
 And lay like midnight on my very soul. 
 While in my ears the thunder seemed to roll 
 
 For ever, with a sad and solemn knell ;
 
 -30 
 
 OLOUDS OF GLORY 
 
 A stnvm was gatlierin£r round my path, and stole 
 The strength that in my heart was wont to dwell. 
 It wrapi^ed me round with its increasing swell. 
 
 And swept me onward to a gravelike goal. 
 
 Then lightning flashed, and lo ! the clouds of doom 
 Were cloven through, and the reluctant gloom 
 Broke, as a mist which to the mountain clings - 
 And I beheld the Father's hand, that brings'' 
 Death unto life and barrenness to bloom, 
 Aaad I was walking but beneath His wings. 
 
 THE DAr}K MOUXTAIXS. 
 
 The plains of life but not the pangs are past, 
 Tlie vales but not the peril and the press ; 
 And trouble with a travail T but guess. 
 
 Paints on the present shadows vague and vast. 
 
 Fears on the future cold enchantments cast. 
 That more bewilder while revealing less ; 
 
 And to their goal my feet are hurried fast,' 
 Borne with a stern inevitable stress. 
 
 Above me loom the mountains dark and dread. 
 With night eternal on their summit spread. 
 And in their bosom blasts and thunders dire : 
 
 Yet through the fierce artillery of fire. 
 
 And in the dim encampments of the dead, 
 
 I stumble on the stores of life's desire. 
 
 '^ riLOUDS OF GLORY." 
 
 And higher still in happier visions ope. 
 
 Vast ranges with their vistas of the morn. 
 And fragments fair of faith's expanded scope. 
 
 Beyond the regions by the tempest torn j 
 
 And in the armed peace of passion born. 
 From clouds of glory on the climbing slope, 
 
 I hear above the strife and strains forlorn, 
 The trumpet notes of triumph and of hope.
 
 THP: r'HTLDLKRS LAND 7f?l 
 
 And from tlie visions comes thp voice of love. 
 Soft as the summer tidin^-s of the dove, 
 And breaks the l)itter spell that on me lay. 
 
 Unwind the dawning wonders of the way. 
 And, lo, the towers of Truth unfold above, 
 Their tops that tremble at the touch of Day. 
 
 " BRIGHT clouds; —1^ Zcrl.. 1. 
 
 My heart is heavy with a troubled psalm. 
 With mist that for this life is fair and fit. 
 That by the links of dazzlino- lig-ht was knit. 
 
 And is its own exceeding precions balm. 
 
 I know the shade was by the altar lit. 
 And that my name is graven on His palm. 
 
 The book of life where God's redeemed are writ, 
 High up in heaven in the eternal calm. 
 
 The cloud of day becomes a lire by night. 
 And breaks into a thousand waves of light. 
 To show the L(>rd has yet Tlis teuii^le here ; 
 
 And when the world is desolate and drear. 
 Then oi\t of darkness dawns the sacred sight, 
 Which sees in hope the other side of fear. 
 
 THE CHILDLESS LAND. 
 
 There is a world no mortal hand can paint. 
 With no abatement by the ages brought. 
 
 The diiest hell whose dreams could sadden saint. 
 Or sinner drive to higher holier thought : 
 
 The dolorous world where love is vainly sought. 
 And hearts for ever hunger and are faint ; 
 Where every joy has yet a joyless taint. 
 
 And peace and kissing lips may not be bought. 
 
 Tt is a realm of dim and lonely lands. 
 Where waves of pleasure beat on sterile strands. 
 And yearnings of all yomig delight are pain ; 
 
 Where chimes no sound of children's happy strain. 
 Nor thrills the toiich of small caressing hands. 
 And mothers call bixt ever call in vain.
 
 '32 THE TEMPLE OF SORROW, 
 
 THE SEAL OF SORROW. 
 
 There is a crown no monarch ever wore. 
 In right of ancient and imj^erial blood. 
 
 With jewels that the wealthy do not store. 
 That has no measure in onr mortal ^ood. 
 
 It stands unstained and has for ages stood. 
 When other crowns the soil of baseness bore, 
 'Tis won by those, who love not living more. 
 
 The lowly hand of sorrow's brotherhood. 
 
 And on their foreheads is the solemn seal. 
 That stern baptisings of distresses gave. 
 The sign of suffering which destroys to save j 
 
 The stamp of love that only strikes to heal. 
 And sets on those it winnows for their weal. 
 The a'wful consecration of the o-rave. 
 
 THE JOY OF SORROW. 
 
 The taste of evil secret terrors cloy, 
 
 While bitter pangs are hid in pleasant sin. 
 And with each error trouble enters in. 
 
 But gladness is a maiden mute and coy. 
 
 Her welcome never lustful lovers win, 
 Tliat woo her as a mistress or a toy ; 
 
 But sued in sadness then her balms begin. 
 And he that sows in tears shall reap in joy. 
 
 There is a bliss in all otir blighted hopes. 
 Which avenues of i^eace with jsatience opes. 
 To those that meekly bow to blasts of wrong ; 
 
 When overcoming though they suffer long. 
 They wring from pain with which the promise copes. 
 The joy of sorrow set by faith to song. 
 
 THE TEMPLE OF SORROW. 
 
 There is a temple 1)ut not built by hands. 
 Of which the martyrs are the corner stones. 
 And whose foundations are of prophets' bones, 
 
 Who purchased with their blood the light of lands-
 
 SOltBOW THE SAVIOUR. 733 
 
 W^hilf in its courts arc Sorrow's aacred thronerf, 
 With robes of conquerors framed of captives' bands. 
 And none but suffering-'s diadems demands, 
 
 Nor asks for mnsic save the mourner's tones. 
 
 There is a priesthood which by none is souyiit. 
 But those who that groat sacrifice have wrouf^ht, 
 When they the altar and the victim yield ; 
 
 The holy order of the sad and sealed, 
 That are tliemselves the offeriuo^ that is brought. 
 To whom the truth by travail is revealed. 
 
 THE BAPTISM OF SORROW. 
 
 Blest are the souls that Sorrow marks from birth. 
 For the great empire where abasement lies. 
 
 And severs as the sanctuaries of worth. 
 
 When the red harlot Fortune from them flies. 
 
 They find a better treasure in the dearth, 
 liefreshing- streams of purer promise rise 
 
 Even from the desolations of the earth. 
 And suffering while it crushes sanctifies. 
 
 Although the billows that beset us sore. 
 Between us and our earthly idols roll. 
 Pain is a jjath that has a glorious goal ; 
 
 Its tempests toss us to a peaceful shore. 
 While separation but anoints the soul. 
 And crowns it as a king for evermore. 
 
 SORROW THE SAVIOUR. 
 
 There was a strain of weeping and of woe, 
 A noise of travail on the troubled night. 
 
 From hearts that throbbed with some convulsive throe. 
 And wearied for the never-coming light : 
 
 Dark were the sounds, yet darker far the sight 
 Of hands that parted but were loth to go. 
 And with the locks of beauty stricken low. 
 
 The warpi^l and withered faces of affright. 
 
 But as 1 wept and trembled for the morn. 
 And sought for respite's calm and guiding clue. 
 I found a friend I never wished to woo ;
 
 734! THE CROWN OF SUFFERING. 
 
 And when my bosom was most sharply torn. 
 Of sin and suffering- I again was born. 
 And then my sorrow was my savioixr too. 
 
 THE GIFT OF TEA1I«. 
 
 With sighs perchance but without hesitation. 
 Vexed by the violence of unfruitful years. 
 
 Low Love descended from His lofty station. 
 Disdaining gvery gift but that of tears ; 
 
 And mingling with the mortals not His peers. 
 He wrought of grief a grander education. 
 And in the habit of humiliation, 
 
 He wrestled with our weakness and our fears. 
 
 He left the walls of chrysolyte and beryl. 
 
 The Holy City and the sons of light. 
 And boldly entered in the place of jjeril ; 
 
 He made the shadows beautiful and bright. 
 And though the earth was cold and dark and sterile. 
 He gave the dumb a voice and blindness sight. 
 
 THE ClIOWN OF ^UFFEIUXG. 
 
 He stood within the breach though uninvited. 
 He chose the death and danger not assigned ; 
 
 Yea, when the world was old and sore benighted. 
 Then those that wandered gently He inclined. 
 
 When men waxed cruel and their hearts iinkind, 
 When truth had fled to humble haiuits affrighted. 
 And wayward wills were sick and promise blighted. 
 
 Then He transformed and glorified mankind. 
 
 From earthly i^leasures He refused to borrow. 
 Yet bade us not without a hope to grieve. 
 As all the treasure that His love could leave ; 
 
 He gave us nought but hunger for the morrow. 
 The crown of sutt'ering- and tlie throne of sorrow. 
 And tender light that only dawns at eve.
 
 AGAIN. 735 
 
 THJ'^ HUNGER OF THE HEART. 
 
 Fierce is the flame not nursed by sensuous fires. 
 Wherein our passions never liave a part. 
 
 And wliich no spirit of tlie earth inspires. 
 Nor any giowing- beacon light of art : 
 
 It is the faith wlienco fairer actions start. 
 That daily vows of purity requires. 
 And dedicates to heaven its high desires. 
 
 The never-sated hunger of the heart. 
 
 Its voice is in the penitential sigh, 
 
 Its seat in widows' robes and orphans' tears. 
 And hopes that are the birth of pious fears ; 
 
 In every hour that passes panting by. 
 In soids that sicken and yet cannot die, 
 And sad and ceaseless yearnings of the years. 
 
 THE FIRST IDOL. 
 
 When I was young and radiant were the years, 
 
 I made an idol for my soul to serve, 
 I watered it with soft delicious tears, 
 
 And hedged its home with colour and with curve 
 
 1 Avrung a tril>ute from my very fears. 
 
 And so I plied with every pulse and nerve. 
 That griefs at last from homage did not swerve, 
 
 And swelled its sweetness with their long arrears. 
 
 Then came the Fates to see my foolish bower. 
 By storuis of trouble never torn nor tost, 
 Nor by the cloud of suffering to be crost ; 
 
 And in the compass of a little hoiu-. 
 When fortune smiled in all its perfect flower, 
 I lay among the ruins of tlie lost. 
 
 AGAIN. 
 
 Again I sot an image on a throne. 
 
 And biiilt it up a loftier lovelier shi'ine. 
 
 Where no rude blast of trouble might be blown, 
 And only seed of joy was ever sown ;
 
 JQQ LAST NOT LEAST. 
 
 I made the tendrils of the ivy mine. 
 And let them sweetly round the columns twine. 
 Till all the statvies looived like flowering stone. 
 And every biittress was a bloom divine. 
 
 But, lo, the ivy strong and lusty grew. 
 
 Between the stone it thrust a hundred hands, 
 
 That crushed whate'er they grasped like iron bands ; 
 
 While part from part it mercilessly drew. 
 
 And piece from piece it tore with mute demands. 
 Till shrine and image all it overthrew. 
 
 ANOTHER IDOL BROKEN. 
 
 But yet another idol did I raise. 
 
 And lifted it above the world on high, 
 
 I fed it with the pleasant food of praise, 
 And swore a solemn oath it should not die ; 
 
 1 clipped its wings that it should never fly. 
 Around it flashed a stream of starry rays. 
 While on it fell the dew of heavenly days. 
 
 And all the earth was mingled with the sky. 
 
 Behind it rolled the thunder, and the flame 
 
 Of flying lightning as its herald went. 
 And as it gathered grace men called it fame ; 
 
 But when its name was noised abroad, and bent 
 The hearts of peoples to its own intent, 
 Lo, from a little stroke destruction came. 
 
 LAST NOT LEAST. 
 
 Thou girt by shattered idols, yet once more 
 I left for one a niche within my life. 
 
 And gave it largely of my richest store. 
 For it was dearer far than child or wife ; 
 
 And while the hours with goodly gifts were rife^, 
 I brought it all the sunny seasons bore. 
 The purple raiment and the golden ore. 
 
 And walled it in from every wave of strife.
 
 THE HKART AND TTR TREASURE. 737 
 
 But trnulilo entered as a damned elf, 
 
 Wliilc all the beauty perished a.-i it past. 
 
 And from its place the pampered <;-od was cast ; 
 
 It was a rnler throned liy pride and pelf, 
 
 A.nd tht)ii;4'h not leaLit of idols it was last. 
 For, ah, the thing I worshipped was myself. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE DAWN. 
 
 I took a haiighty love within my breast, 
 To make it merry with the songs of joy, 
 1 broiiglit it hopes that comely were and coy, 
 
 And gave it of my treasiires what was best. 
 
 Bnt when the gladsome strains began to cloy, 
 
 then it sickened and was sorely prest, 
 It songht a refuge and it found no rest. 
 
 And ere the noon it was a broken toy. 
 
 1 set a hiimble love upon my heart, 
 And to it daily saci-ifieed my pride. 
 Till at the sotting of the sun it died; 
 
 It left me nothing but a bitter smart, 
 Yet when the dusk and dawn began to part, 
 I saw an angel sitting bv its side. 
 
 THE HEAK'T AND ITS TREASURE. 
 
 I throned an image on a silver seat. 
 
 And poured a wealth of curves and colours round, 
 I fenced it in with music sad and sweet. 
 
 And made the chamber soi'row's secret ground. 
 
 I bade the lights and shadows softly meet, 
 And added consecration's solenni bound; 
 But in tlu! morning I arose, and fouml 
 
 My pretty idol fallen at my feet. 
 
 And then I moui-ned as men that love too well. 
 That dearly win what they so cheaply woo — 
 And theirs are helpless gods, they know not who ; 
 
 For Wiien my idol from its empire fdl, 
 It was no less my havighty spirit's knell, 
 And when it broke my heart was broken too.
 
 738 '^N THE PAVEMENT. 
 
 THE TREASURE OF THE TOMB. 
 
 Lo, with the burden of the passintj bell. 
 
 That tolls the downfall of the reign of sense, 
 A purer comfort conies we know not whence — 
 
 Each headstone is a step to heaven or hell. 
 
 And every grave with m\ite memorial spell. 
 Has truth engraven on its giiardian fence ; 
 And when we break from bondage dark and dense. 
 
 The sweetest music is the saddest knell. 
 
 And where these earthly rays can have no room. 
 
 By bviried hopes and passion spent and sped, 
 I see the tender Hand that wrought the doom : 
 
 Suns as they set the bow of mercy shed. 
 And T,\'ith the solemn circle of the dead, 
 I found a living treasvu'e in the tomb. 
 
 THE MAREvIAGE OF LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 The world is big with ijarables and signs. 
 
 And ho who reads with reverence in its book. 
 
 Will be rewarded by the light tha^ tliines. 
 On every pvire and penitential look ; 
 
 For though the reign of wonder earth forsook, 
 It still in secret humble hearts inclines. 
 Who mark the mysteries writ between the lines. 
 
 With old enchantments of which heaven partook. 
 
 But was there ever miracle so sweet. 
 As that renunciation daily makes. 
 Which all the springs and spells of wonder wakes ? 
 
 When he who lays his all at Calvary's feet, 
 A nobler dower and new existence takes. 
 When life and death in solemn wedlock meet. 
 
 ON THE PAVEMENT. 
 
 As on the pavement I am blindly borne. 
 
 And struggle with the busy stream of men, 
 
 I see the sui-face into eddies torn. 
 That toss and moan and pass beyond my ken ;
 
 OOLOTTR. 739 
 
 And all n world nf sin and aiiflVring then, 
 iVs driving mists that blot the face of morn. 
 Breaks on my vision in a flood forlorn. 
 
 And sorrow seems the only citizen. 
 
 At evei-y step I meet with misery's train. 
 
 While in each stone I read a page of jjain, 
 
 And hoar the story that is never old ; 
 
 Yea, though the pathway be a tide of gold. 
 And evet\y moment bring an age of gain, 
 1 know that priceless liearts are bought and sold. 
 
 CURVES. 
 
 There is a magic in the flowing line. 
 
 There are high mysteries in the insect's wings. 
 And daily miracles in comnion things. 
 
 That througli tlieir mortal shade send slioots Divine ; 
 
 Yea, in a roseleaf's curve strange meanings twine. 
 And to a tool's soft turn enchantment clings. 
 
 While in the moulding of the meanest sign,j" 
 Shines out the glory of its heavenly sjirings. 
 
 The rounded fancy and the rounded face. 
 
 The sculptor's chisel and the labourer's hod. 
 Attest alike tlie workmanship of Clod ; 
 
 He left on blade and petal His own trace. 
 Who laid His hand upon the lowly sod, 
 And made the herb (like heaven) His dwelling-place. 
 
 COLOUR. 
 
 The painter draws the summer from the peach. 
 And snares the simset lights with fancy's strands ; 
 And in the compass of his cunning hands, 
 
 He brings the stars within the infant's reach. 
 
 He turns each little hue to living speech, 
 
 ■\Vhile binding heaven to earth with rainbow bands. 
 
 And learns with music of fair forms to preach. 
 The gospel of sweet colours to the lands. 
 
 Pure is the revelation of the rose, 
 That in the bowers of virgiji faces glows. 
 And out of laughing lips iix radiance looks;
 
 -MQ THE DOOM OP HELL. 
 
 All heaven is oontred in the linmblest nooks, 
 \.nd in the vilest wayside weed that blows, 
 Breathes a religion never taught by books. 
 
 COME HOME I COME HOME ! 
 
 I look abroad and see bnt exile sights. 
 
 Flowers that have dropped from far serener spheres. 
 And in the shadows lone mismated lights, 
 
 With joys that find a strange abode in tears ; 
 
 I see that hopes have fellowship with fears. 
 That prisoned beanty for d<"liverance fights. 
 Prom stern eclipse which all its blossom ))lights. 
 
 The iron yoke of gray and grinding years. 
 
 However far my devious footsteps roam. 
 I seem to hear the same unceasing sigh. 
 From all the bloums that only blow to die ; 
 
 And from the gardens iinder the cold foam, 
 
 <~;oes up to heaven one sad and common cry, ^ ^^ 
 And silence answers, " O come home, come home , 
 
 THE DOOM OF HELL. 
 
 'Tls not the searclnng fire, tire worm that preys. 
 Which ])urn and gnaw and never never die, 
 Nor the unheard and the imanswered cry. 
 
 Nor cruel fear that doth not kill yet slays ; 
 
 But though beholding every good go by. 
 And all the grace of all the summer days. 
 
 To know them not and let their blessings fly. 
 Beyond the reach of any prayer or praise. 
 
 To find no beauty, nor to feel the love 
 That dwells in bosoms like a brooding dove. 
 And gathers every wound beneath its wings ; 
 
 This is the doom that hell its inmates brings. 
 They see no windows in the heaven above, 
 Nor hear its voice when Mercy to them sings.
 
 THE THOUGHT OP HELL. 741 
 
 THE (^UESE OF HELL. 
 
 \ 
 
 To see alone the ugiiness and ills, 
 
 The baseness and the poverty of earth. 
 
 In garden splendour but the spots of dearth. 
 
 And only discord in the dancing rills ; 
 
 To feel in nought the wonder and the worth, 
 What every turn of every trifle fills. 
 
 No gladness in the very heart of mirth, 
 No glory in the everlasting hills. 
 
 To hear no music when the world goes well. 
 But the fierce jarring of a jealous heart. 
 That deems a pviblic joy a private smart ; 
 
 And ne'er to dream what finer issues dwell. 
 
 In even what plays a sad and sordid part — 
 This is the horror and the curse of hell. 
 
 THE WORK OF HELL. 
 
 They drudge for ever as the slaves of sin. 
 
 Anil glean no rest nor lightening of tlieir load, 
 Though gleams of heaven's sweet Sabbath enter in, 
 To find no footing and to claim no kin ; 
 
 They tread for ever the same bitter road, 
 And reap the same sad crops that folly sowed, 
 While the sole change that they may ever win. 
 Is change of pain V>ut not of pain's abode. 
 
 Tof) late it is fur iiKjurning or to mend, 
 And evil is the only faithfid friend. 
 
 Whose hungi-y maw they feed Jntt cannot fill 
 
 And as on earth they wreaked their wicked will. 
 The unjust then is unjust to the end. 
 And he that filthy was is filthy still. 
 
 THE THOrUHT OF HELL. 
 
 They dwell on all the love that hatred lost, 
 
 And dream of pleasure though they wake^to pain. 
 And muse on freedom when they feel the chain, 
 
 The great gulf fixed that never can be crost ;
 
 742 DEFLOWERED. 
 
 Yea, in the fire they think of cooling frost, 
 Kemeniber blessings in the midst of bane, 
 
 And when their spotted hands are torture-tost, [staiil. 
 They see the streams that would have cleansed their 
 
 Remembrance is their every picture's frame, 
 I'he point and edge of all their grief and shame. 
 That flits about their sores and will not fly ; 
 
 And though the fleshly snare is its ally^ 
 Whilp every thought is a consuming flame. 
 The sting of all their woe is memory. 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 It is not rest nor joy nor any lot. 
 
 However bright and pure and free from pain. 
 Though emptied all of every ache and stain. 
 
 Where work is wanting and where change is not ; 
 
 Yea, if at last we break our bondage vain. 
 And loose about our necks the prisoner's knot, 
 
 'Tis biit another service yet to gain. 
 And to work out the good on earth we got. 
 
 The only rest is liberty of change, 
 Whei'e time is tiined to variations strange. 
 In toil that knows no staying of its store ; 
 
 The only joy is still to gather lore, 
 PVe(jh sermons from a new and nobler range. 
 To labour and to learn for evermore. 
 
 DEFLOWERED. 
 
 The bloom was on the blossom of the plant. 
 The fire was in the bosom of the flower ; 
 
 The scourging of the gale had been too scant. 
 To blow one petal from its dewy bower. 
 
 And in the depths of hope's unrifled dower. 
 For brighter beauties envy fain would i^ant ; 
 
 When even the sliaking of the thunder shower, 
 Left all the charms that all the world enchant.
 
 AiMAKANTIl. 7 13 
 
 But wlien tke crest of pride began to jJ^row, 
 
 The vvoriii was working upward from the ground, 
 And dark decay was coldly closing round ; 
 
 And while the storm had fairer feasts of woe, 
 A doom more deadly laid the blossom low, 
 Dispetaled and dishonoured and discrowned. 
 
 ANGELS' THRONES. 
 
 I see dim shadows and wild shapes, that pass 
 Beneath the garish gaslights, and the scars 
 With which they banish heaven and all its stars. 
 
 Like phantom figures in a magic glass. 
 
 And as between two nights, through iron bars, 
 I catch the writhings of the wretched class. 
 
 Whose discord mad with all our music jars, 
 For ever tossing in a troubled mass. 
 
 But though the misery darkly miivinurs round, 
 Still seething with its sad eternal sound. 
 
 Yet there the angels plant benignant thrones ; 
 
 These to the spirit speak in children's tones. 
 Who sweeten as they sway the bitterest bound. 
 And soften with their steps the heartless stones. 
 
 AMARANTH. 
 
 It grows not in the gardens of the land, 
 Nor in the books of science is its name. 
 And though o'ershadowed oft by ugly shame. 
 
 It needs no friendly eye nor fostering hand ; 
 
 Its seed from earthly sources never came. 
 Nor is its growth by mortal breezes fann'd. 
 But yet it thrives beneath the captive's band, 
 
 And shoots its branches through the flood and flame. 
 
 Yea, I have found it even in childhood's form. 
 
 And seen its maiden blossom white and warm. 
 
 Beam forth in beauty that a falsehood gave ; 
 
 It springs like Aphrodite from the wave. 
 It blooms in blood in revolution's storm. 
 
 And grows the sweetest on the martyr's grave.
 
 J4.1 THE TRAGEDY OF LIFE. 
 
 THE CURSE OF BEAUTY. 
 
 When beauty only sees itself in all, 
 
 And has no thought of bliss beyond its own, 
 
 And hears in every voice a flattering call. 
 To come and woo or worship at its throne ; 
 
 If praise of others is as bitter gall. 
 
 And jealousy comes in when peace has flown, 
 To rule and ravine in self-love alone. 
 
 Its fate is deadlier than its very fall. 
 
 But darker, deadlier is its lot at last, 
 When adulation's airs become a blast, 
 
 That blights the fruitful promise of its joys 
 
 When even praise from its own surfeit cloys. 
 While flattery's sweetness is a pleasure past, 
 And what deli-ihts at first in time destroys. 
 
 THE VISION BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 To be like God and see things as they are, 
 
 To be like man and and see things as they seem, 
 
 To see an e(iual light in stone and star. 
 
 This is the poet's dower -tlie prince's dream. 
 
 He sees a hidden beauty in tlie scar, 
 
 That is to scorners but an ugly seam ; 
 He knows the truth though trouble be its gleam, 
 And understands its message from afar 
 
 O nought is base or common in his eyes, 
 
 An<l"all the world is sovai with secret grace, 
 Kefiected sweetly from its Father's face ; 
 
 And on the thunderous skirts of brazen skies. 
 He sees a fairer heaven and earth arise. 
 And gathers manna in the desert space. 
 
 THE Ti{A(IEl)V OF LIFE. 
 
 To toil tVir tyrants and to love for nought. _ 
 And unto 'thankless crowds to pipe and smg, 
 
 Xor yet to taste the daintiuetx; of thouglit 
 While others fatten on the feast we bring ;
 
 THE VICTORY OF THE GRAVE 745 
 
 To know our work is tainted at its spring, 
 That aalies are but found when joy is sought. 
 And that a curse by very victory wrought 
 
 Doth to our highest holiest eii'orts cling 1 
 
 To see the ruius that our pathway pave. 
 
 The sweetest pleasure with its poison spot, 
 The brightest flowers that in corruption wave ; 
 
 To feel our labour is a blank or blot. 
 Our fairest fruitage ripens but to rot. 
 And when we reap we gather for the grave : 
 
 THE STING OF DEATH. 
 
 Death is a friend who has a fairer mien. 
 
 Than any friend that life can give our lot, 
 If we have played our parts upon the scene, 
 Eejoiced that heaven was blue and earth was green 
 
 And though to-day we are and then are not. 
 While sin and stirrow still against lis plot, 
 Death cannot kill the blisses that have been. 
 And only hallows wluit was once a blot. 
 
 But though a man should every joy have proved. 
 
 Wrung" from reluctant fa,me the victor's bays. 
 Or mountains iii the path of progress moved ; 
 
 Yet if no love has lightened on his ways. 
 Ah. then the sting of death that nought allays. 
 Is to have lived and never to have loved. 
 
 THE VICTORY OF THE (IRAVE. 
 
 To conquer death is but a little thing. 
 
 To spoil the grave is what ten thousand dare. 
 Whose name in honour never has a share. 
 
 Nor flies across the earth on glory's wing ; 
 
 But time is long and death is loth to spai*e. 
 While life is short and shadows round it cling, 
 
 And what no powers of hell availed to bear 
 The silent armies of oblivion bring.
 
 74:6 OUT INTO THE NIGHT. 
 
 If earth forgets the glorious souls, that gave 
 Their love and life and all their bosom store. 
 And sank themselves that other souls might soar ; 
 
 And if the world is but the season's slave. 
 
 When man is less and circumstance is more. 
 This is alas ! the victory of the grave. 
 
 THE DOOR AJAR. 
 
 When Hope in Mercy came to mate with fear. 
 And left h«r heavenly home without a sigh. 
 To teach a world of sufferers how to die. 
 
 She did not come to man without a tear ; 
 
 And those she shed were not allowed to fly. 
 Some fell as dew on bosoms sad and sere. 
 
 And others rose as heavenly lights on high. 
 That send their saving lustre far and near. 
 
 She thought not of the worship she might win, 
 Nor of the fame that follows as a star. 
 The puissant hand that breaks the prisoner's bar ; 
 
 She only marked the siiffering and the sin. 
 That stood between to stop our entering in. 
 And fondly left the door of heaven ajar. 
 
 OUT INTO THE XIGHT. 
 
 Forth from her home she plunged into the tide. 
 
 Sped by the rebel tongue she could not rule, 
 In all the bloom of promise and of pride, 
 "With lofty hopes that sweetly to her lied ; 
 
 Fresh from her brok(m toys and baby school, 
 And cherisluKl coi-ncr tin her motlier's stool. 
 The dangers of the world she now defied. 
 An easy prey and all too pretty fool. 
 
 And flowers sprang up to cheer l.er lonely flight. 
 While from the stones of peril flashed a spark. 
 That mocked so well the friendly beacon's mark 
 
 And gaily on by precipices bright, 
 She went awandering oiit into the night. 
 And the great curtain fell — and all was dark.
 
 AT HIS FKET. 71.7 
 
 THE RHYTHM OF LOVE. 
 
 There is a tide that ever ebbs and flows, 
 
 When other tides of time arise and flee 
 And yet no blast its mighty waters blows. 
 
 Save that which never was on lawn or lea ; 
 
 Yet but the heart in all its fulness knows 
 
 The awful surging of that central sea. 
 Whose only font is love that comes and goes. 
 
 W^hose only borders are infinity. 
 
 And love's sweet ocean makes the breast its bound, 
 
 When life is dreary and its springs run dry. 
 And every pasture is a barren ground ; 
 
 Wliile in tlie heart we hear it tossing high. 
 Set to the music of its own soft sound. 
 That is a portion of eternity. 
 
 THE FIFTH ESSENCE. 
 
 I seek I know not what, but something fair. 
 That ever flies before me, as I climb 
 The misty mountain range that men call Time, 
 
 And like a perfume haunts the xipper air ; 
 
 But now it glimmers in a woman's hair. 
 And then 1 trace it in some cloudless clime. 
 Where life is simple and the love sublime, 
 
 Or find its footstep on the altar stair. 
 
 Yea, under cottage roofs it is not mute. 
 And in the sunshine of a sweet repute 
 It has a note that never fails to speak ; 
 
 And though its home be on tlie pathless peak, 
 The ecstasy and passion of pursuit. 
 
 Are treasures greater than the truth I seek. 
 
 AT HIS FEET. 
 
 The way was long and weary, and it led 
 
 Through dim untrodden patlis of bitter gloom, 
 Where flowers rose up and blossomed without bloom, 
 
 And then again lay down ere Spring had sped;
 
 7-1.8 
 
 FALLEN. 
 
 I walked as in a vision to my doom. 
 My thoiights were fellows of the prisoned dead, 
 
 And seemed but echoes of the solemn tomb, 
 And there was weeping — but no tears were shed. 
 
 Then as I sought a sure and calm retreat, 
 
 1 struck and stumbled on my journey's bound. 
 And what I fled was yet the Mercy-seat ; 
 
 For, lo, it was the Shepherd I had found, 
 
 Who met me thus on Calvary's trysting- ground. 
 
 And I had fallen only at His feet. 
 
 IN HIS ARMS. 
 
 Low in the dust I lay, and dared not cast 
 One upward glance to meet an injured look ; 
 "While all mybeing with a tempest shook. 
 
 And endless ages seemed in j)enance past. 
 
 But as hoj)e rallied in my heart, at last 
 I lifted eyes that jixstice could not brook. 
 
 And saw instead a mercy strange and vast. 
 Writ on His Face as in His Gospel book. 
 
 But then He raised me, as a mother takes 
 Her tender infant when in fear it wakes. 
 And gives it of the tre_isures it loves best ; 
 
 He took me in His Arms, and liade me rest 
 From all my weary wanderings and their acheSj 
 And make a home for ever on His Breast. 
 
 FALLK^^ 
 
 Thou waGt the glory of all times and lands. 
 And art thon fallen from thy fair estate, 
 Queen among nations, whom all men called great. 
 
 Though now they point at thee contemptuous hands ; 
 
 Ah, dost thou stoop and hug thy hateful bands. 
 And in dishonour find a fitting mate, . 
 When courage is the conqueror of fate, 
 
 And fortune gives what fortitude demands ? 
 
 Know that th(,'re is a balm for every shame. 
 In each high hope that suffers well and long, 
 
 In each brave heart that bondage none can tame.
 
 STRONGER THAN DEATH. T'lf' 
 
 A oominon dano-er makes a roimtry sti'ono- 
 An<l the fierce fuel of a coiiimon vvroiio-, 
 
 When kindled once, will net the world in flame. 
 
 FROM GLORY TO GLORY. 
 
 Eternal progress is the law of man. 
 
 Eternal death is every falsehood's doom ; 
 
 And thongli the flower of folly thrive and bloom. 
 
 It lies beneath a dark and fatal ban. 
 
 And shoiild the evil mock the better plan. 
 Yet is its root in nothing but the tomb. 
 
 And if the arts of error well b(\o-an. 
 
 Tliey still nmst end in niiserabh* ghjoni. 
 
 Tliough history all be but a lying story. 
 
 And graven in the chronicles of shame. 
 Or writ on battle fields in letters gory ; 
 
 Earth soils no soul (if it defiles the name). 
 That simple love and pnrity enfra.me, 
 And it shall pass from glory unto gloiy. 
 
 STRONGER THAN DEATH. 
 
 There is a mighty passion, that defies 
 
 The powers of darkness and the hand of hell. 
 That most superbly oh itself relies. 
 And to its forces even its foes allies; 
 
 It finds a music in the funeral knell. 
 And reads the ages written on a shell, 
 And when the term of time its march denies. 
 Though all is lost it deems that all is well. 
 
 It takes no heed of honour's dazzling wreath. 
 It scorns the meed of flattery's garlic breath. 
 Nor yet in want and woe requires it riith ; 
 
 It has a fair and everlasting youth. 
 And thougii it dies it stronger is than death. 
 Because it is the deathless love of truth.
 
 '.jO STORIKS IN STONES. 
 
 MOKE (^{LTEL THAN THE flllAVE. 
 
 The rri-ave is cruel, and a greedy thin<? 
 
 That all the world could never soothe nor sate. 
 Nor all the bloody feasts prepared by fate. 
 
 That all the hours in soi-row to it bring. 
 
 And still beneath the vultiu'e's sombre wing, 
 It gluts the hunger and the savage hate. 
 
 And where the curses of coi-ruption cling. 
 It finds fresh booty sweet and delicate. 
 
 But there is something with a fiercer heart. 
 More grim than hatred's most infernal art. 
 Which is more cruel than the very grave; 
 
 And ihat is love, when honour is its slave. 
 And jealousy has taiiglit its blackest part. 
 
 Which slays its victim with the sword it gave. 
 
 THE NAI\rELERS DEAD. 
 
 We lightly trample on a thousand graves. 
 Where rest the bodies of the nameless dead. 
 Whose lofty souls in little issiies sj^ed. 
 
 And whose remains no ma.r))le mourning paves. 
 
 And, ]o, uiJon'each dim and dreamless head. 
 That now no more the crown of honour craves. 
 
 Oblivion passes with a tender tread, 
 Ind what is lost in fame in service saves. 
 
 For silence is the sister of good fame, 
 
 While those are happiest who are never known. 
 And leave no legend for the storied stone ; 
 
 But there are royal soiils witho\it a namp, 
 Uncrowned by blessing and rxnscathed by blame. 
 Whose unowned deeds our hearts for ever throne. 
 
 STORIES IN STONES. 
 
 What honest books lie open through the lands. 
 In every stone on which the stream of life 
 Has stamped its record of imnoted strife. 
 
 And written lowly truths with trembling hands !
 
 THE STTPERSCRIPTION. 751 
 
 No rank niomorialfi liastard worship brands, 
 Witli leai-ncil lios and lalionred folly rife, 
 Roai'od ]t_y a thankless world oi- faithless wife, 
 
 The tardy dues of honour's just demands. 
 
 Our fleeting stories soon grow pinched and pale. 
 Like leaves that in the autumn fade and fly, 
 "While human history seems biit born to die ; 
 
 Ajid though our walls bear proof of falsehood's tale. 
 The everlasting rocks are never stale. 
 The chronicles of nature cannot lie. 
 
 WHAT IS TRTTTT? 
 
 What IS Truth? the old Procurator cried. 
 And What is Truth ? the generations say. 
 
 That caught the question up, and vainly tried 
 To ease the yoke that pressed their weary way. 
 
 And souKj bhisplu^med, and some preferred to pray. 
 While others to their lands and conscience lied. 
 
 But all at last in darkness went asti-ay. 
 And silenoe only What is Truth ? replied. 
 
 Yea, Who,t is Truth ? is yet the cry of all. 
 It is the bitter burden of our youth. 
 And gives its point to Time's destroying tooth ; 
 
 .A^nd when the nations into nothing fall. 
 Still will arise one riniversal call. 
 
 From every dying system " Wluit is trutli." 
 
 THE vSUPERSCRIPTION. 
 
 Lo, in the shadow of the shrine is cut, 
 A superscription that no eye can read. 
 With lines that from the dusk to darkness lead. 
 
 And in a maze of melancholy shut. 
 
 But here and there the letters outward jut. 
 
 And sjjeak in lurid light to hearts that heed — 
 
 •' Pain is the path to heavenly pleasures, hut " — 
 And then the silence mocks our mortal need.
 
 752 THK BURDEN OF THE BKLLS. 
 
 And all clt'cyphor it. witl^ divers minds ; 
 
 Bnt those wlioso hands in innoceni.'e are laved, 
 Will see the meaning on their conscience graved. 
 
 Thoiigh fear within the perfect vision blinds. 
 
 Yet every path that charity has paved. 
 If lit by faith at last admission finds. 
 
 THE FORGIXG OF THE FETTER. 
 
 I had a dream of trouble and of tears. 
 
 That bound my heart in its remorseless hold. 
 Till very love had waxen dead and cold — 
 
 The forging of the fetter of my fears ; 
 
 And all night long I heard the sound of years, 
 For ever hammering on their anvil old. 
 
 To seal with silence what life most endears. 
 And break my spirit with their iron fold. 
 
 But waking day the captive shadows clove. 
 
 And hope descended from its mountain height, 
 While faith looked up and lost itself in sight : 
 
 The fears but bonds of liappy promise wove. 
 
 My whole horizon turned a line of light. 
 And every chain a tender link of love. 
 
 THE BURDEN OF THE BELLS. 
 
 Between the heaven and earth I hear them call, 
 And on the wind their tender tones are flung, 
 In melodies that speak the spirit's tongue, 
 
 And weary hearts with sounds celestial tlirall ; 
 
 They catch the notes the angels first have su" ;, 
 And on our gloom their gladsome voices fall. 
 
 Whenever Sabbaths rise and jjeals are rixng. 
 With blissful tidings that are balm to all. 
 
 Sweet is the mediation ot the bells, 
 
 That chime so softly with our saddenin , fear 
 AVhen hope is born and in the bosom swells ; 
 
 Their peaceful strains the wayworn wanderer hears. 
 And bright the news their sacred music tells. 
 Which ln'aven interprets unto human ears.
 
 THE INFINITE UKAKT. 753 
 
 " NOYISSIMA VERBA." 
 
 THE INFINITE HEART, 
 
 I had loved with loving not of earth, 
 
 Fire divinely blest. 
 But delight to me was only dearth. 
 
 No attainment rest ; 
 Thong-h I wooed enchantments, as they lie 
 
 In imperial thought 
 Of the knowledge that will never die. 
 
 Into victory wrought ; 
 I pursixed the lily and the rose 
 
 Of enticing Art, 
 Biit I found not there the craved repose 
 
 For the boundless heart. 
 
 Then I turned from Reason's banquet spread 
 
 Free with splendid flowers. 
 Fruits that shall ( when riddles all are read) 
 
 Still keep blooming bowers ; 
 Left the Science, that with golden bridge 
 
 Fancies to things done 
 Links, and shows the Maker and the midge 
 
 Are most truly one ; 
 Proved philosophy, with pathway rough. 
 
 Though of Heaven a part 
 Heavenly, yet alone is not enough 
 
 For the boundless heart. 
 
 So I fared to women, whence the King 
 
 Wisest among men 
 Drew the lore for his appareling. 
 
 Beyond human ken ; 
 Deeming they, perchance, with insight pure, 
 
 Had some hidden gate 
 In eternity, that matte tliem sure 
 
 jVIistresses of Fate ; 
 If they could, wlio in white vesture .went. 
 
 Ease my bosom smart. 
 And reveal the secret of content 
 
 For the boundless heart,
 
 Voi THE INFINITE HEAKT. 
 
 Now I questioned oracles, that flash 
 
 Out of azui-e eyes. 
 Under eanoi^y of midnight lash. 
 
 Opening snnny skies ; 
 Sought upon the palpitating breast. 
 
 In voluptuous looks, 
 Refuge, and enfranchisement of rest 
 
 Not from dusty books ; 
 Breamed at length in niinglings fond, to find 
 
 Peace of fairer start, 
 More than mere bewitchings of the mind. 
 
 For the boundless heart. 
 
 First I conquered Kate, the coy and fair. 
 
 Swore my ardent love, 
 Basking in the glory of her hair. 
 
 Fitted like her glove ; 
 Circled her with honour, at her feet 
 
 Leaimed the blessed Ways 
 Only gained from glances bright and sweet 
 
 As celestial rays ; 
 Till I proved the ripe and ready fruit. 
 
 Had a savour tart 
 Under, and in vain was all my suit. 
 
 For the boundless heai't. 
 
 Next I vvooed in Ada's gipsy face 
 
 Darkly shaded charms. 
 Won from hei- a welcome resting-place 
 
 In her winding arms ; 
 On her heavy limbs and sleepy lids 
 
 Problems raised once more. 
 Which the Puritan his dujries forl)ids, 
 
 Stuffed with frigid store ; 
 Till 1 felt her beauty ])urn and pit'i'ce 
 
 Like a poisoned dart. 
 And I knew no counter guard or tierce. 
 
 For the boundless heart. 
 
 Then to Mabel, passionate and i^roud. 
 
 Turned my amorous will. 
 Braved the terrors of the thunder-cloud. 
 
 Fire vouchsafed to kill ; 
 Though my daring wings were scorched, and faint 
 
 Eeeled my spirit l^ack. 
 From lier clasj), lialf-dt^vil and half-saint. 
 
 On her meteor trade ; 
 But within that furnace respite none 
 
 Came, nor guiding chart. 
 Yet the lal>oui' ^vas a deed undone, 
 
 Fur the boundless heart.
 
 I'llE INFINITE JJKAUT. 753 
 
 Clara then withdrew me, to the calm 
 
 Of her cold desires. 
 Tall and stately as an Orient palm, 
 
 Which to Heaven aspires ; 
 Though 1 found, ^\•hen once 1 boldly crost 
 
 Gulf of virj^in shame. 
 If one side was fierce as Arctic frost. 
 
 One was torrid flame ; 
 Still not here, in regulated love. 
 
 Measured as Mozart, 
 Got I peace, that lifted me above. 
 
 For the boundless heart. 
 
 Then in Marjory, I met a face 
 
 Tuned by elder times. 
 Music, stepping grarely to the pace 
 
 Of heroic chimes ; 
 Bathed in other-worldly beauty, till 
 
 With no niggard dole. 
 All the waves that all the busom thrill, 
 
 Overwashed my soul ; 
 But I yet was as a jjassing guest. 
 
 Careful of the carte. 
 And in her embrace I felt no rest 
 
 For the boundless heart. 
 
 Gwendolen now took me, as a joy 
 
 For a leisure hour. 
 Made me thus half-ornament, half toy. 
 
 In her gilded bovver ; 
 From her varying fashionable modes. 
 
 Truth I sweetly sipped. 
 Such as into me by classic codes 
 
 Never had been whipped ; 
 But dissatisfied too soon was she. 
 
 Greedy as a scart. 
 And no solace then remained to me. 
 
 For the boundless heart. 
 
 So at last to Floribel I turned. 
 
 To her venal smile. 
 Charms that like a public candle burned. 
 
 With a sugared guile ; 
 In her studied raptures, and the rose 
 
 Of a borrowed grace. 
 Elegance and mercenai-y pose. 
 
 Sought a resting-place ; 
 Yet, alas, though she was doubly paid. 
 
 Bought upon the mart. 
 Even in her I won no lasting aid 
 
 For the boundless heart.
 
 ■7^6 " VINUM D^MONUM.'' 
 
 Fools, who fancy any woman can, 
 
 Thouo-h superbly done. 
 Give all soft delights to any man, 
 
 Gathered up in one ; 
 Fools, who dream one beautuus woman will, 
 
 If she never tires. 
 Always with her fond alhirements thrill 
 
 Man's complete desires ; 
 Fools, who tliink that oiight may satisfy. 
 
 Which is only part — 
 Fulness less than the infinity 
 
 Of the boundless heart. 
 
 " VINUM n. i: MO NUM.'' 
 
 The grim old Father — was it gaiint Tertullitin ? — 
 
 Starved with gray-minded lore. 
 Who saw through life no further than a scullion. 
 
 Cramped in his kitchen store — 
 That hater of sweet wine, and sweeter woman. 
 
 Which him denied their part. 
 Possessed with every grace but what was human, 
 
 Devoid of head and lieart — 
 Who on the Muse's romj^s and Graces' revels 
 
 His prison portal slammed, 
 God's poetry dared call the " wine of devils," 
 
 And so himself has damned. 
 
 I never worked, like Huxley, at theology, 
 
 &'ave Watts's nursery hymns, 
 And little learned — though this is no apology — 
 
 Of texts and Cherubims; 
 And yet I deemed I was as educated 
 
 In liberal thouglits and things, 
 As monks and mannikins, with codes castrated 
 
 That cut away our wings ; 
 Nor do I blush to own, the " wine of devils " 
 
 By me is oft desired. 
 And the gay nymph whose locks the god dishevels. 
 
 With water not inspired. 
 
 I thought the poet was a grand creator 
 
 Of lovely things and triie, 
 A guardian angel, a crowned liberator 
 
 For wanderers without clue ; 
 Who Inought \xs draughts of wisdom, out of glory 
 
 By sophists never seen. 
 And left to meaner minds the garlands gory 
 
 That only stci,in wirth's green ;
 
 " LACRYM.'E TiTJ." 757 
 
 Yea, all the noble deeds of (xfants and Grevilles 
 
 Mix in the niio-hty bowl 
 Bri!>'ht with tlu3 lant^-hin^ dancing- " wine of devils," 
 
 That yud-like makes the soul. 
 
 If Puritans, who whine for Heaven's best favour 
 
 In prayers that falsehoods fuse, 
 Delij^ht in so^js of milk, I love the savour 
 
 Of " devilled " meat and Muse ; 
 I love the flowing- feast, and in mad measure 
 
 EnterjDe's flying feet, 
 And all the passion of the rhythmic pleasure. 
 
 That if profane is sweet ; 
 And bright as grape-juice of a hundred Sevilles, 
 
 Where ripened invisic rvins. 
 Is the pale prosing Father's " wine of devils/' 
 
 Lit by Olympic suns. 
 
 For I had dreamed — it's true, I was no Quaker— 
 
 The poet with his fire 
 Was more than mortal, and a Heaven-sent maker 
 
 To bid our speech aspire ; 
 Who tiines our steps to the celestial dances 
 
 The stars in order tread. 
 And weaves cf dew and light those love romances, 
 
 Tliat (piicken even the dead ; 
 I fancied him a conqueror, who levels 
 
 ( "are with its lictor rods. 
 And crabbed Tertullian's poisoned "wine of devils,' 
 
 AVas glorious wine of gods. 
 
 And this I hold, though each sour fusty Father 
 
 Should thunder at my exceed 
 Anathemas, wliich piety may gather. 
 
 That all the world has d d ; 
 
 The celibate may hvig cold consolation. 
 
 In musty dusty books. 
 And gloat ui^on a future of damnation 
 
 For errant lips and looks ; 
 Give lue the goidan cup the binder bevels 
 
 With his enchanting art. 
 And I will drain and drain the " wine of devils " 
 
 Through my whole thirsty heart. 
 
 LACEFM^ DEI. 
 
 W'e read in Holy writ, and doubt it not. 
 If still false Judas on it stab his blot. 
 
 Who creeps to murder as he always <-rept, 
 That twice in His great beautiful pure Life, 
 Which orbod with evening hush a woj'ld at strife, 
 Christ we^t.
 
 VoS " LACKTM^ BET." 
 
 Onoe at the t^rave of Lazarus, the ilonr 
 Foredoomed disciple, fell tlie human tear. 
 
 Which woke the shimberer where he darkly slept ; 
 And as He saw the black procession wind 
 Through ages, that one stricken group behind, 
 Christ wept. 
 
 Aga,in, when on Him flashed in starry state. 
 Matchless, white marble front and golden gate, 
 
 That with the kindred skies proud concert kept. 
 When all around was triumph glad and bright, 
 And all within ;i sorrow deei) as night. 
 Christ wept. 
 
 And we are sure, that in His childhood sweet. 
 While lay Creation curbed beneath His feet. 
 
 And awful angels at His bidding stept. 
 Yet then at times in natural tender grief. 
 Which even to Him gave some Divine relief, 
 Clirlst ivejjl. 
 
 And still, in poet's luiiversal thought 
 Of sadness, into song celestial wrought. 
 
 While vengeance He in vain foreboded creeps 
 Grim and unmarked, on fools that dine and dance. 
 Blown to and fro hy wind of circumstance, 
 God weeps. 
 
 In thundering lines, that like a battle shout 
 Shake the close rank's of dim and stubborn doubt. 
 
 When the drugged soldier on his watch-tower sleeps. 
 That knocks at tombs, where splendid spirits lie 
 }5orxnd with the grave clothes of a harlot tie, 
 God weeps. 
 
 In the wild ballad from the breaking heart. 
 Fashioned of flame and storm and iron dart. 
 
 At woman's woe that endless vigil keeps. 
 Flung like a firebrand in the gilded pelf. 
 With burning words that pierce the Heaven itself, 
 God weeps. 
 
 In the lone voice iiplifted for the right 
 Against the rule of gold, and monstroiis might 
 
 That innocents and all to ruin sweeps — 
 When lost the baby opens its pure eyes 
 To see but sin, and closes them and dies, — 
 God weeps.
 
 ••'SANGUIS OOR-DIS." 759 
 
 SA.YGUTS roRors. 
 
 Wnino- from di^pths of Nature's fiery fountains. 
 
 Sin and suHeriny, pain and yrief, 
 Stirred by blasts that blow on unsealed mountainSj 
 
 Cares beyond the world's relief ; 
 Made of all the mystic soimds of sorrow. 
 
 Wandering- throug-h our doubt and dearth, 
 r>awnlo^s days, and nitj-hts without a morrow 
 
 HiibitiiiiJ' a, homeless earth ; 
 Mingled with the breath of boundless oceans, 
 
 Fed by tears of ages' flood, 
 Turn from bruised breasts and lost devotions, 
 Drops of blood 
 
 Yet but words in semblance, wisdom only 
 
 Hammered out on iron forge, 
 Where the sadnesses of exiles lonely 
 
 Sigh to Heaven from sunless gorge; 
 Hammered out led-hot by burning passion. 
 
 In the. sweater's slaving den. 
 Jarring on the joys that fools of fashion 
 
 Frame from goodly lives of men ; 
 Hammered into shapes, that shine for ever 
 
 Beacons on the foaming flood. 
 Shedding fruitful on each brave endeavour 
 Eays of blood. 
 
 All the sobs of children, chants of sages 
 
 Who of hope divine made part. 
 Gathered by the Poet, and like jjages 
 
 Itent from liis great troubled lieart ; 
 "Wrought into one purjjose pure, a ti)ken 
 
 Of deliverance for the slave 
 iManacled, who on the tyrant broken 
 
 Steps in grandeur from the grave ; 
 Breathing promise for the soiils that sicken. 
 
 At the march of famine's flood, 
 Till upstart from fleld and fortune stricke i. 
 Flowers of blood. 
 
 Just a simple song, a new creation 
 
 Flashed upon the night of faith. 
 Bursting into blossom of salvation. 
 
 As a spirit from its spathe ; 
 Out of inner empyrean gloi'y. 
 
 Where the wheels of nature grind. 
 For discrowned falsoloods, sceptres gory. 
 
 Speeding in the kingdom knid ; 
 As the harvest sown by women tender. 
 
 Who endured the adverse flood. 
 Scatters from sweet cross of life's surrender. 
 Fruits of blood.
 
 760 BEWITCHED. 
 
 BEAVITCHED. 
 
 Ah, sho was her needle threading. 
 
 When npon me first 
 Flashed her face, so lovely to one treading 
 
 Wilderness of thirst ; 
 And directly passion, spurning 
 
 Forms of frigid art. 
 Like Athena sprang full-armed and burning 
 
 From my eager heart ; 
 Till, entangled in her labour. 
 
 As slie Fate-like stitched, 
 I, forgetting duty to my neighbour. 
 
 Was bewitched. 
 
 For her hand, so softly closing 
 
 On my foolish life. 
 Was not then quite at her own disposing. 
 
 As another's wife ; 
 Though she toyed with me demiirely. 
 
 Like a Qimker's cat, 
 Wliich has caught and trifles with secui-ely 
 
 Some too frisky rat ; 
 While her legal old appendage. 
 
 Whom she early hitched. 
 Gave me welcome, nor would I offend age, 
 
 If bewitched. 
 
 She, besides, seemed ever willing 
 
 Listener to my tale. 
 And when it waxed nearer and more thrilling. 
 
 Sometimes turning jDale ; 
 And, may be, at favoured season. 
 
 She would sweetly glance 
 Up at me, without a glimpse of treason, 
 
 Eeally quite by chance ; 
 Things went gliding on, and gaily 
 
 As in temple niched 
 Her I worshipped, growing deei^ly, daily. 
 
 More bewitched. 
 
 Till at last. Old Fogey caught me 
 
 Making curious curves 
 With my lips, and thus unkindly thought me 
 
 Poaching his preserves ; 
 Ancient he, but yet with vigour 
 
 I could never match. 
 Seized me with a more than youthful rigoixr. 
 
 Heedless of her scratch ; 
 Yes, a vulgar arm of iron 
 
 Me most rudely switched. 
 And I am no more by any Siren, 
 
 Now bewitched.
 
 THE CROWNED ASS. 7(>1 
 
 THE run WXEJ) ASS. 
 
 Once a very business people, 
 
 Eayer to jj-ivt' Ileavon a sop. 
 Clapt a whitewashed holy steeple. 
 
 On their old adulterous Shop ; 
 Then, loss reverent than Hindoos, 
 
 In a temple made of glass, 
 Brittle doors and broken windows. 
 
 Penned as god a Crowned Ass ; 
 Which, with tones of cracking trumpet, 
 
 Cried all night and every day. 
 Linked with a lewd painted Strumpet, 
 Let us hray. 
 
 Clad in mangy skin of lion, 
 
 Did this most astounding beast 
 Mingle sacred songs of Zion 
 
 With the oaths of brothel feast ; 
 And the jnous unwashed masses, 
 
 Wliile they heaped their filthy coin. 
 Plotting whence to cheat the classes. 
 
 In the concert loved to join ; 
 And the monster, as it mellowed. 
 
 Guzzling port whicli came that way, 
 Loiider and yet louder bellowed. 
 Let us hyidj. 
 
 Editors, with pothouse manners. 
 
 Not concealed in white kidgloves. 
 Chanting most discreet Hosannas 
 
 Over their illicit loves. 
 Vied with spectacles and spinsters 
 
 How, while leaving in the lurch 
 Readers, to destroy the minsters 
 
 Old and bulwarks of the Church ; 
 All luiiting in the burden, 
 
 i'or which others had to pay 
 Much too often costly guerdon. 
 Let us hray. 
 
 Still the blind and stupid people. 
 
 Giving gold for worthless brass. 
 Only saw that holy steeple, 
 
 When they praised the Crowned Ass ; 
 Welcomed poets, if impirrer 
 
 Than the very foulest pigs, 
 And in cesspools felt securer. 
 
 Dancing out their dirty jigs ; 
 While the god, so dear to varlet 
 
 Who enjoyed lascivious play. 
 Thundered to the Thing in Scarlet, 
 Let us hray.
 
 762 TH-'E PKNKY POPTTLAR. 
 
 THE PENNY POPULAR. 
 
 It's just one penny, gentlemen, no more, 
 
 Come in ; 
 And such a varied feast and dainty store 
 
 Of sin, 
 Or scandal, never offered Avas to men. 
 And never will be by the gayest pen ; 
 
 Here are 
 The latest stories of the loudest club. 
 
 The star 
 Be;nning with borrowed gems of some one's cub. 
 Who heaps her harlot plate, 
 Witli all the old estate. 
 
 A triflt merely, ladies, never mind 
 
 The nude 
 And wanton figures, that woxild deem a blind 
 
 So rude ; 
 Nor are thoy worse tlian that new evening dress, 
 A figleaf and the lovely nakedness ; 
 
 Tliese shapes 
 Despise the vulgar forms, which folly hides 
 
 And drapes, 
 And brazen forth tlieir charms on Fashion's tides ; 
 They would, for royal stare. 
 Their every limb unbare. 
 
 Dear innocents, too, let your tender hearts. 
 
 If pure. 
 Drink in the dew of these lascivioiis arts. 
 
 Demure, 
 And learn liow well a mother or a sire. 
 Picks doubtful jewels from undoiilitful mire ; 
 
 The day 
 Has long departed, when the baby child 
 
 With play 
 And decent toys was honestly beguil'd ; 
 Noiv, for the nursery, vice 
 Is sweetened and made nice. 
 
 And you, O blushing Puritan, poor maid, 
 
 Conie in ; 
 It cannot be, an English girl afraid 
 
 Of sin ; 
 Fie, such is sacred nou^, the clergy look 
 With favour on the filthiest play or book ; 
 
 Our time 
 Has swept away the stupid old restraints. 
 
 And slime 
 Or falsehood noiv it delicately paints ; 
 Wliy, darlings sliould you poixt. 
 When firelates don't stay out P
 
 KING HODGE. 763 
 
 KING HODGE. 
 
 Squire assures mo I a,m Kincj, 
 
 Says the Sovereign Masses 
 Need not any longer cling 
 
 To the bloated classes ; 
 But it cannot be, my mates, 
 
 For I hate aggression. 
 And he keeps the old estates 
 
 Tight in his possession ; 
 No, he is not coming down. 
 
 From the swag and swilling, 
 If he otters ine a " crown " — 
 
 I would take a shilling. 
 
 Papers lie, we know them well. 
 
 When they call us master. 
 Just to make their garbage sell. 
 
 Coined in money, faster ; 
 Still I tramp aboiit the fields. 
 
 Sweating, swearing, itching. 
 Heaping up what harvest yields 
 
 Not for my enriching ; 
 Still I never have my ease. 
 
 As is bosses' habit. 
 Eking out the bread and cheese 
 
 With a casual rabbit. 
 
 True, at first I rather took 
 
 To my new position. 
 Bought a lying Gladstone book. 
 
 Playing politician ; 
 Thought those acres and the cow 
 
 Lovely in the distance. 
 Liked the mercenary bow 
 
 Begging my assistance ; 
 Fancied I was what they said — 
 
 Though iinchanged mv station. 
 And as vilely housed and paid — 
 
 Monarch of Creation. 
 
 Noblemen were " brothers " quite. 
 
 Ere the last Election, 
 Ladies all in pink and white 
 
 Showed me marked affection ; 
 Swells came cadging for my vote. 
 
 Promised landed treasures. 
 Better wages, a good coat — 
 
 But they stopped at " measures " ; 
 Lord Flapdoodle tried each dodge. 
 
 Introduced his sister — 
 Now I am but simjale Hodge, 
 
 Though I then was " Mister."
 
 "fi^ S0P8 FOR CERBERTTg. 
 
 Yet they now salute me King, 
 
 Brag about the glorios 
 Suffrage and the ballot bring 
 
 Slaves set free from Tories ; 
 Though it always is but cant. 
 
 Not a bit for spending — 
 Only food and clothing scant. 
 
 Till tlie workhouse ending ; 
 And I would, however queer 
 
 Seems my own opinion. 
 Barter for a glass of beer 
 
 All my new dominion. 
 
 SOPS FOR CERBERUS. 
 
 Old Cerberus has wakened from his sleep 
 
 In darkness deep. 
 He stretches giant limbs, and opens jaws 
 
 That menace laws. 
 And mocks at measures only passed to please 
 
 Jlis iron ease — 
 'IMie scraps and bones and futile fancy sops, 
 
 In dribl)Hng drops 
 Of suffrage, ballot, education's cry, 
 
 'J'o i^acify 
 His appetite, that thirsts (a raging flood) 
 
 For blood. 
 
 He feels returning to his veins fresh life 
 
 For vaster strife. 
 Till, as he shakes his mighty frame, the tow.'.-.i 
 
 And golden bowers 
 Of painted wantons, sickening, reel and roc^.: 
 
 With earthquake shock ; 
 At every step each crazy bencli and board. 
 
 With shameless hoard. 
 Trembles and turns to some escaping rift 
 
 Of shabbier shift. 
 As though to stay, with goose's quill or ft .rjh. 
 
 His march. 
 
 He sharpens now, as nearer judgment han -?, 
 
 His dreadful fangs. 
 On the grim whetstone of a tottering State, 
 
 Tliat offers plate 
 Thrice-licked already by its greedy crew. 
 
 Gentile and Jew —
 
 KING CLOD. 765 
 
 On false foundations cruniblin<]f to thoir doom, 
 
 Tartarean <jlooni, 
 Where perjured placemen and the fuels of fraud, 
 
 Or 2)urplo bawd. 
 Lie till peals forth for England's headless Kump, 
 
 God's trump. 
 
 At every hissing breath or hungry growl, 
 
 Beneath his cowl 
 The hireling priest turns pale, and seeks for flight 
 
 From coming night ; 
 Stewards and guardians, who betray their trust 
 
 In Judas lust. 
 Arise and call on Heaven, and find in earth 
 
 Nothing but dearth, 
 And not one refuge from the avenging slave, 
 
 Except the grave ; 
 Por Cerberus has waked, and knows his power 
 
 And hour. 
 
 KING CLOD. 
 
 Each day he early goes to toil. 
 
 As soldiers int(.) tight. 
 Stiff as his native clayey soil. 
 
 Unconscious of his might ; 
 Sunlnirnt and freckled is the face. 
 
 The })urp<,ise in his talk 
 Gives just the one redeeming grace, 
 
 To that sloAv slouching walk ; 
 He serious takes the working knocks. 
 
 And serious is his play. 
 As rims through youthful raven locks 
 
 A streak of sober gray ; 
 His faiths are few, but strongly held. 
 
 And seldom on his lip. 
 But generations passed to weld 
 
 These to their iron grip ; 
 He knows the labour must be done. 
 
 By roadway or in field. 
 The rain and sunshine are all one. 
 
 And he will never yield ; 
 His busy hands, by weather browned. 
 
 Move like a royal rod. 
 And this is why he stands, uncnnvned. 
 King (Jlod,
 
 76G KING CLOD. 
 
 Yes, every day, from morn to night. 
 
 He gi'apples with his tasks. 
 And oi'teu ere a ray of light. 
 
 But respite never asks ; 
 Tlie winter winds, that idly l)eat 
 
 The lady's curtained bower. 
 But teach him not to own defeat. 
 
 And grant him giant power ; 
 The summer, if it bronze his brow 
 
 And cheek, yet cannot tire 
 The sinewy frame that scorns to bow. 
 
 Implanting- heart of fire ; 
 He feels the freshness of the dawn. 
 
 On dewy grass and tree. 
 Its boundless breath into him drav/n 
 
 Makes his brave spirit free ; 
 Love him his steeds, with striving worn. 
 
 And whinny, as they raise 
 Their noses buried in the corn. 
 
 To have liis sweeter praise ; 
 The seasons serve him with their might, 
 
 And subject is the sod, — 
 These crown him, not the suffrage right, 
 Kim? Clod. 
 
 A (£uiet man, with honest aims. 
 
 While bloated Dives feasts. 
 He bears the liurden, nor disclaims 
 
 A fellowship with beasts ; 
 Tlie birds his playmates are, he calls 
 
 Wild creatiu'os to his ends, 
 The cattle feeding in their stalls, 
 
 Ai-c every one his friends ; 
 At liomo with Nature in each mood. 
 
 Whatever be the spur. 
 He loves to share his scanty food 
 
 With any starving cur ; 
 Sometimes he feels the pinch of lack. 
 
 If his have little dearth, 
 Bnt still as sturdy is his back. 
 
 As dear his Mother Earth ; 
 And on he drudges, at his jjost. 
 
 Unfailing as the sun. 
 The hardest loads he covets most. 
 
 And counts the bufiets fun ; 
 No sovereign's scepti-e yet he wields. 
 
 And he may meanly plod. 
 But he is ruler of the fields. 
 King Clod.
 
 THE (jiOSPEL OL' UIKT. 'JQJ 
 
 Jle s^-athers in his heart the lore 
 
 Of river, sky, and land. 
 And if but slender be -his store. 
 
 He gives with open hand ; 
 The giory of the summer day. 
 
 The stillness of the night, 
 Mix in his mind witli equal sway. 
 
 And make one calm delight ; 
 He has few thoughts, his daily toil. 
 
 His children's merry tricks. 
 The wife and home, the surly soil 
 
 That stovitly to him sticks; 
 To noiight he looks for solid aid. 
 
 Save his own dogged will. 
 Though badly fed and badly paid. 
 
 He does his duty still ; 
 Come cold or heat, he ever wakes 
 
 True as the Simday bell. 
 And, sick or sad, he simply takes 
 
 All in a working spell ; 
 And if a humble realm he his. 
 
 If coarsely drest and shod. 
 He changes dirt to gold, and is 
 King Clod. 
 
 THE GOSPEL OF DIRT. 18110. 
 
 I am a Poet, sir. 
 
 As every critic sees, 
 Who is ;i true philosopher. 
 
 And takes my golden f ct s ; 
 Some for the scholar sinu:. 
 
 And deal in classic lore. 
 Or a fair snow-white mantle fling. 
 
 On any titled whore ; 
 Let me the masses ply, 
 
 And show beneath his shirt. 
 How man is made of Deity 
 And dirt. 
 
 My last and greatest book— 
 
 A shilling is the price — 
 Takes a large comprehensive look. 
 
 On poesies of vice ; 
 The pure romance of bawd 
 
 And unprotected sin, 
 It's my peculiar part to laud. 
 
 And genius note in gin :
 
 768 I'HE GOSPEL OF DIRT. 
 
 I prove, if heroes lian<,^, 
 
 They are with glory girt — 
 How every precious jewel sjjrang 
 From dirt. 
 
 The virtues are played out, 
 
 And at their sickly scent 
 Our maids and matrons only pout, 
 
 And won't be continent ; 
 With marriage now they fight. 
 
 As with an iron glove. 
 And so I sketch theni the delight 
 
 Of free, promiscuous love; 
 I follow good old Ham, 
 
 And draw aside the skirt 
 Of modesty, and mark how jam 
 Is dirt. 
 
 Let others stick to rule 
 
 Or stupid Decalogue, 
 And cold castrated bigots pule — 
 
 I play the ethnagogue ; 
 I lead a nation on 
 
 Beneath a sunnier sky, 
 From shades where never comfort shone. 
 
 To lands of liberty ; 
 Back to the blessed foixnt. 
 
 With naked truth to flirt. 
 Where man and beast have one account 
 With du-t. 
 
 l<Vir I am human, sir. 
 
 To passimis give the reins. 
 And likeby ardent strokes to stir 
 
 The blood in woman's veins ; 
 I raise the devil, too. 
 
 With bolder, brighter play, 
 Whom all the darlings rush to won, 
 
 And find they cannot lay ; 
 I draw the sinner niide, 
 
 Except his scanty shirt. 
 And etch the saint below the prude 
 In dirt. 
 
 I move behind the scenes. 
 
 Unmask the muddy source 
 To virgins in their early teens. 
 
 Who want a candid course ; 
 French novels point my pen. 
 
 And yield uk' spicy food. 
 With nice if naughty ways of men. 
 
 In every wanton mood :
 
 THE COTTNTRY I'AnDKTi. 7G9 
 
 Divorops out I traok. 
 
 With Imt a fio'leaf g'irt. 
 That teacli how nature soon goes back 
 To dirt. 
 
 I read the people's heart. 
 
 And study thus to please, 
 ^Vith visions of a warmer art 
 
 And morals that don't tease ; 
 I open wide all gates. 
 
 Nor keep the pooi'est out. 
 Demolish bolts and liars and liates. 
 
 And superstitious doubt ; 
 I never hint at l)lanie. 
 
 Cut short the clogg-ing- skirt, 
 Eevealing how to creep to fame 
 By dirt. 
 
 My mission is qnite clear. 
 
 To rub off pious paints. 
 And the old dull uni'easoning fear 
 
 Of fanatics' restraints ; 
 To make a wider stage, 
 
 With life and loving free. 
 That man and woman, youtli and age. 
 
 Unfettered, may agree ; 
 riiat lofty minds and low 
 
 With aiiy filth may flirt- 
 Till tlu:'re is nothing left to show 
 Jiut dirt. 
 
 THE CUJUNTUV CADGER 
 
 Yes, he works, if yon are watching. 
 
 Or the famine at his door 
 Lifts a finger for unlatching, 
 
 That is terror to the poor ; 
 But he does not love his neigh bo viv. 
 
 And his very brow turns black 
 At the thought of steady labour. 
 
 With its burden on the back ; 
 For he hatps the horse's whinny. 
 
 Which at tardy feeding frets'. 
 And his heart is in the spinny. 
 
 With the poaching traps and nets,
 
 " IN ANOKLLft CUM LIBF.I.LO. 
 
 Eut he works for lus own pleasure. 
 
 And is often oiit all nio-ht : 
 Thouf)-li he cannot find the leisnre 
 
 For one sinipli' h<aiie delight ; 
 He delays not in his vices. 
 
 And is never slow to sin — 
 Qr the demon that entices 
 
 With the damning^ gulp of gin ; 
 While he scamps tlie task allotted. 
 
 And woidd quarrel with the soil. 
 He will fly to feasts besotted, 
 
 And to aught save honest toil. 
 
 And he works as hard at begging. 
 
 As the tramp upon the road. 
 And his master still keeps egging 
 
 For a lightening of the load ; 
 Ah, his tongiie is never idle. 
 
 When his footsteps do not haste, 
 And he chafes at any bridle, 
 
 That pulls counter to his taste ; 
 He will wliine about his sorrows. 
 
 Or Ills weakness for the way. 
 While he pitilessly borrows 
 
 What he means not to repay. 
 
 And he works, at least, hy others. 
 
 Hut enslaved to fill his purso. — 
 liy tlie wife, wliose tears he smothers 
 
 With the blood or fiercer curse; 
 By the children, whom he teaches 
 
 Only how to thieve or lie ; 
 Though their conscience sadly preaches. 
 
 It were better far to die ; 
 Till, at last, its vengeance wreaking, 
 
 Judgment falls witli iron grip. 
 And he dies as ho lived, sneaking. 
 
 With a falsehood on his lip. 
 
 IN ANGELLO CUM LIBELLO. 
 
 There my little hook and I , 
 
 There we lay in shelter, 
 Roses made our scarlet sky, . 
 
 Fai' from working welter ; 
 Oh, the pretty book, it lay 
 
 Lightly on my bosom.
 
 ■^IN ANGKLLO CtTJI LITiRT.r.O." 771 
 
 iBound in ^wnetest silk, and cfay 
 
 As tlw> I'oae's blossom ; 
 Tenderly the linos I read 
 
 And between, in i|niet 
 Bending- low my loving head 
 
 To the dainty diet ; 
 I had known the volume well. 
 
 Learned the fairy pages 
 Si^eaking m one master spell 
 
 Joys of all the ages ; 
 Eeverently T each grace 
 
 Marked, as was my duty, 
 Finding in each silent space 
 
 Some new secret beauty ; 
 Thus 1 clasijed those thrilling charms, — 
 In angello. 
 Cum libello. 
 Though the world might brawl and bellow- 
 In mv arms. 
 
 There my little book and I 
 
 Bathed in sweet blue weathec. 
 As tlie busy wind went by 
 
 Lau<>'hin"' to the heather ; 
 Ever*y leaf I knew by lieart. 
 
 In my memory printed, 
 Lines that miracles of art 
 
 Flashed, and lines Init hinted ; 
 Never yet from classic press 
 
 Did a volume issue. 
 Clothed in such a dazzling dress, 
 
 Woven of tendei- tissut- ; 
 Never was a truer type 
 
 Set in living letters, 
 One with all enchantments ripe. 
 
 Forging welcome fetters ; 
 Never, framed to soothe and serve 
 
 Passion's ardent story. 
 Fetched a fairer lirighter curve 
 
 Characters of glory ; 
 Thus I weighed each subtle tone, — 
 In angello. 
 Cum libello — 
 Jealous as the worst Othello, 
 And alone. 
 
 There my little book and I 
 'V^'ith each other nestled.
 
 '72 
 
 " IN ANGELLO CVU LIBELLO. 
 
 Fastened with the orihlen tie 
 
 For wliich love hail wiestled ; 
 Holdinof it with fervent liand. 
 
 Treasure of my iindin;.;- 
 In the world of fairy-land. 
 
 Oft I praised the binding : 
 Glow of darling white and pink, 
 
 Wealth of wondrous cover. 
 Each alluring look and link 
 
 Meant to chain a lover ; 
 Breast that only to my gaze 
 
 Half revealed the rapture. 
 All removed, when my amaze 
 
 Held it as a capture ; 
 Words that would invite a kiss. 
 
 With uielodions sentence. 
 And to make more perfect bliss 
 
 Then required repentance ; 
 Wit I drank from dewy lips, — 
 In angello. 
 Cum lihello — 
 As his port a college fellow. 
 Softly sips. 
 
 There my little book and I 
 
 Plnnged in varied vision, 
 While all Heaven seemed all to lie 
 
 Close, with breath Elysian ; 
 Dreamily I found therein 
 
 Still diviner graces. 
 Gifts that had their origin 
 
 But in my embraces ; 
 Gleamed the text with studies strans'e. 
 
 Readings bright and clever, 
 Monntain meanings rose, to rang<^ 
 
 On and on for ever ; 
 Eock and river, earth and sky. 
 
 Lights in starry station. 
 Angels and sweet devilry. 
 
 Wrought one revelation ; 
 Never were in wisest books 
 
 So bewitching fancies. 
 As in that dear volume's looks. 
 
 Big with young romances ; 
 Thus I lay in languor bound, — 
 In angello. 
 Cum lihello — 
 While the evening, mild and mellow. 
 Wrapt ug round.
 
 THE NKW S0A.NDALOUS CmiONICLE. 773 
 
 THE yVAV SCA^N^DALOi;^ (JHRONKJLE 
 
 Then s«?/— wo do not giiiiranit'e the truth. 
 
 If it is fre«ly told — 
 That pretty Lady Splash. w]i<. played at Euth, 
 
 lias wandered from the fold; 
 Eloped, with rich Lord Boaz, from a mate 
 
 Who reined her tightly in. 
 And wanted lier sweet mind to educate. 
 
 But never could begin ; 
 Gone off to Paris, with a China jug 
 » Worth thousands and her maid. 
 
 Her husband's diamonds and his favourite pu"-— 
 
 And scores of bills unpaid. 
 
 They say— though it may be a shocking lie, 
 
 And careful nmst we be — 
 A peeress ate too much of cranberry pio. 
 
 Which did not quite agree ; 
 Then talked of death, and formed a holy plan 
 
 Her errors to confess, 
 And sent for her pet pill, and clergyman 
 
 Who came but to — caress ; 
 Who was indeed her lover, and abused 
 
 The grandeur of his task. 
 And penance and embraces all confused. 
 
 Beneath that blessed mask. 
 
 They say—hnt dirty mud we will not fling. 
 
 On any noble dress — 
 Lord Fudge, who could not do a naughty thing 
 
 Has got into a mess ; 
 AVe name it simply to deny the fact— 
 
 That he, of sober age. 
 Took home a lady who can partner act. 
 
 Upon and off' the stage ; 
 Then overslept, and the next day at noon. 
 
 When dreaming not of harms, 
 Was caught by someone that returned too soon 
 
 In the fair sinner's arms. 
 
 They sa;/— brit this is a most doubtful page. 
 
 At which we only hint — 
 A certain ardent Eoyal Personage, 
 
 Is rushing into print ; 
 To tell the story of his thousand loves. 
 
 The honey from strange hives. 
 The cost each year of kisses, rosebuds, gloves 
 
 And other persons' wives ; 
 His ventures in new fancies and on 'Change, 
 
 Expenses of his cook 
 And pussy things with whoni he chose to rano-p 
 
 His heart and betting book. "^
 
 7yi THROUGH YELLOW SPECTACLES. 
 
 THltOL'GH YEl.LOAV SPECTACLES. 
 
 I put my glasses on Diy eyes, 
 
 And walked about the streets, 
 And heard the modern Babel's cries. 
 
 Where fraud with i'olly meets ; 
 I saw the swindler rising up, 
 
 'J'lie hero going down. 
 And leaders between kiss and cup, 
 
 Who traded on the Crown ; 
 And teachers tossed by every wind 
 
 I saw without a plan ; 
 But, seeking, nowhere could 1 hud, 
 A MAN. 
 
 1 put my glasses on my eyes^^ 
 
 Took lantern in my hand. 
 But read no rainbow in the skies. 
 
 No promise in the land ; 
 1 saw the ass who loudest braye.l 
 
 Usurped the lion's power. 
 And rogues might plunder Christ, who prayed 
 
 With Him a little hour ; 
 1 saw a Constitution cooked 
 
 Within a kitchen pan, 
 Bui coid<l not note (where'er 1 looked) 
 A MAN. 
 
 1 put my glasses on my eyes, 
 
 And ti'ied each Senate house. 
 But from such labour and such lies 
 
 Came only a meek moi;so; 
 I saw how Parties would outbid 
 
 Each other, bought and sold 
 With bribes, and on the coffin lid 
 
 Of England played for gold ; 
 1 saw a nation, once so free. 
 
 Now doled its petty span 
 By foreign force, but could not see 
 A MAN. 
 
 I put my glasses on my eyes. 
 
 And through the Churches trod. 
 But they had broken all the ties 
 
 That bound them luito God ; 
 T saw the worship at the best 
 
 Was but a gorgeous wi-aith, 
 With tilings in luilliiicry drest. 
 
 Preserving forms not faith ; 
 1 saw but mununeries and rites. 
 
 Beyond wliat bope could scan. 
 But not (though midLTcs fought with mites) 
 A MAN.
 
 THBOUGH YELLOW SPECTACLES. i7o 
 
 I put uiy o-lasses on iiiy eyes. 
 
 And strolled into the Conrts, 
 Where dirty fin<;'ers make niiid-pies. 
 
 And spoilers have their sports ; 
 1 saw dear Justice hawked for sale, 
 
 And law was lon<jjest piu'se, 
 That whitewashed even the blackest tale^ 
 
 And proved the country's curse ; 
 1 saw the needy had no right, 
 
 With poverty for ban. 
 But met not there, while triumphed might, 
 A MAN. 
 
 1 put my glasses on my eyes. 
 
 And turned where beauty blooms, 
 Where from red lips sweet laughter flies, 
 
 In stately drawing rooms ; 
 I saw the fairest felt no pain. 
 
 At the most dauming vice, 
 While all had still some hiddtm stain. 
 
 And every one her price ; 
 I saAV the adulterer at play. 
 
 Behind the modest fan, 
 But spied not on that primrose way 
 A MAN. 
 
 1 put my glasses on my eyes, 
 
 And wandered over fields 
 Whose soil, that niggard folly plies. 
 
 No more its fatness yields : 
 I saw the tenant treading yet 
 
 The ruts his fathers trod. 
 And simpletons who drew but debt. 
 
 Not increase, from the sod ; 
 I saw the toiler, who would shirk 
 
 As much as cimning can. 
 But not in waste they miscalled work, 
 A MAN. 
 
 I ]nit my glasses on my eyes. 
 
 And traversed fleets and camps, 
 Where the new statesman most will rise 
 
 Who most his duty scamps; 
 I saw the trooj)er without horse. 
 
 The navy served with guns 
 That burst on each now trial course 
 
 Which each new crotcliet runs ; 
 I saw the sliores had no defence. 
 
 While traitors profit span. 
 But marked not in their loud pretence 
 A MAN.
 
 776 
 
 THE LAST revelation'. 
 
 THE LAST KEVELATION. 
 
 We live in ciirious times, and even the fool 
 
 Who has his private pew 
 In earth or Heaven, and nothing learned at school, 
 
 Can scratch about and mew : 
 He has his fanoies, which he onh' took 
 
 From some yet greater dunce. 
 Who with judicious extracts made a boolc. 
 
 And was quite famous once ; 
 He thinks, hecavTse he deals with shining shams 
 
 And all the painted nuick 
 That sells, God sends him special telegrams. 
 
 And goldmines he has struck. 
 
 The revelation came of old, on wings 
 
 Of awful searching lire. 
 Not to the gorgeous palaces of kings. 
 
 But to the pure desire. 
 It came, to those that opened simple heait 
 
 J?or every sacred truth. 
 And of their life it grew a living part, 
 
 And gave them endless youth ; 
 It came with breath of recreating power. 
 
 In beauty that was love. 
 Till each neAv natiire burst in glorious flower. 
 
 And glowed from founts above. 
 
 But, now, the driveller has liis idi:)ls cheap. 
 
 And fashions by the score, 
 From cast-off harlots, and the rubbish heap 
 
 That beggars seek no more; 
 The scavengei- has gone abroad, and waves 
 
 His banner drojjping lice. 
 And steals the worms and carrion from the graves 
 
 Of each old buried vice ; 
 He seeks in sewers fresh gospels dvipes to bless. 
 
 Or crawls among the clods 
 And digs in dxinghills for the nastiest mess. 
 
 Then ci'ies, " Behold your gods ! " 
 
 The women, too, if maidens, do not blush 
 
 To take the Devil's t(^xt. 
 And screaming, scolding, into print they rush, 
 
 All naked and unsexed ; 
 Each has some doctrine suited for the age. 
 
 And inspiration draws 
 From lowest orgies of the lowest stage. 
 
 From In'caldng zones and laws ; 
 And, though upon the sidlied marriage tie 
 
 'I'hey cast a poet's wreath. 
 Their revelation of such lusts and lie^ 
 
 Is only from beneath.
 
 CUJiAI' AND NA8TT. 777 
 
 CHEAP AX]) XASTV. 
 
 " Ll. Clcii. 6'ir E. Wood, commanding I he Alderslwt Division, 
 received yedcrday the authority of the War Office to pay £SS losMd. 
 
 to 3Irs. H., of , as a grant, in consideration of her husband's 
 
 death, having been in some measure attributable to the wound he 
 received from a stray bullet, about three months ago." — Morning 
 Post. 
 
 He is dead, and if dead be the lion, 
 
 A live dog- is far Joettei\than he, 
 Thong-h his tomb were as sacred as Sion, 
 
 And he once set a Continent free ; 
 He is buried and shunted and rotten. 
 
 And we only concerned are with life. 
 Not with tales of the past and forgotten. 
 
 Not Avith tears of a desolate wife ; 
 What are hnsbands, when Budgets are brewing 
 
 For a kingdom of shopmen to hear. 
 Who deliglit in the skimping- and screwing ? 
 
 They are not, and will never be, dear ; 
 They are common, domestic, colonial. 
 
 Foreign count and the patriot bore. 
 And purveyors of News Matrimonial 
 
 Will supply any void with a score ; 
 What though Government bullets go straying. 
 
 And one, chancing- a husband to wing, 
 Stirs up asses for recompense braying ? 
 
 Yet economy still is the thing ; 
 We must cut down such casual trifles, 
 
 If tlie harvest again we would reap ; 
 And some fool may start costlier rifles ; 
 Nothing pags like the cheap. 
 
 Cut the salaries down, say the Axes 
 
 And the Tools of the Government Gang, 
 We will pile on the burdens of taxes. 
 
 But our drudges ma.y starve or go hang ; 
 For the labouring- world is extensive, 
 
 And our jirofits we care laot to lose. 
 While a rope is not very expensive 
 
 For the suicide — never mind, whose ; 
 We must stick to the loaves and the fishes. 
 
 With which Providence helps us to gains. 
 And will leave our successors but dishes 
 
 That are empty of all but the stains ; 
 For who asks for the moral old manners. 
 
 That fouglit sliy of the soiling and dust ? 
 And cheesepaiing is blazed on our banners, 
 
 Thotigh the pauper may cry for a crust ; 
 Cups of water suffice for the suction 
 
 Of the people, while ice fill our bags,
 
 778 CHEAP AND NASTT. 
 
 Skinning- flints, and applying reduction 
 To the Royal, as well as the vugs ; 
 
 Ah, retrenchment looks jjretty on paper. 
 And the nation (or we) make a heap 
 
 From a practical use of the scraper ; 
 Nothing pays, like the Cheap. 
 
 All is cheap now, the man and his labour. 
 
 While the Sweaters rejoice in his need. 
 And his life (below trumpet and tabor) 
 
 Yet is offered the Moloch of Greed ; 
 Bread is cheai>— if you only can win it. 
 
 And your service you happen to sell, 
 Though, for death of a toiler each minute. 
 
 We keep tolling the funeral bell ; 
 Lies are cheap, as the j^artisan's journal 
 
 With its politics sweetened to suit. 
 Bears a witness, that leaves out the kernel. 
 
 And retaini^ but the husks of the fruit ; 
 Votes are cheap, and the glory of backing 
 
 Just the dolt your employer may choose. 
 Though you gain not the price of the blacking 
 
 That would jiolish one pair of your shoes ; 
 Words are cheap, good advice, consolation, 
 
 Merely meant at tlie best for a blind, 
 Witli free land and the free education. 
 
 While we kick the d d masses behind ; 
 
 Bribes are cheap, if no bread they may butter. 
 
 While the tide yet remains at the neap, 
 And King Demos abides in his gutter : 
 Nothing pay a, like the Cheap. 
 
 Flesh is cheap— if it simijly be luiDian, 
 
 For a sheep is a different thin"- ; 
 And none thinks of the honour of woman. 
 
 Should she go to the Devil or swing — 
 When she barters her person for raiment, 
 
 And the food in its beggarly dole 
 Ts ill bought, with the terrible payment 
 
 Of a lost and a sacrificed soul ; 
 Truth is cheap, and one Hiirlingham pigeon 
 
 Would fetch more than the Bibh;, and all 
 The delights of each rival religion. 
 
 If you follow a Peter cir Paul ; 
 God is cheap, and wh(>re is there a Curate 
 
 Who will now not insure you a niche — 
 On receipt of a jjrayer oi- pew-rate— 
 
 In the Heaven reserved for the rich ; 
 All is cheap, my dear fi-iends, as the novel 
 
 Fur a shilling, though borrowed and bad.
 
 TUK I)EA)3 t'HIEi\ 775 
 
 W'hieii i^'ues doun for its lord to the. hovel. 
 
 To the bawdhoiise for ladies to gad ; 
 Dirt is cheap, and it really is pleasant. 
 
 If with scum to the surface you leap. 
 And of all worlds the best is the present; 
 Nothing p'lijs like the Ckcaji. 
 
 THE DEAD C.'HIEE. 
 
 A child, I learned tti reverence rank. 
 
 And deemed a noble must 
 Do noble things, if low he sank. 
 
 Who held a sacred trust ; 
 1 deemed the leg-endarj- lord, 
 
 Whose acts make history speak. 
 Had always ready hand and sword. 
 
 As champion of the weak ; 
 1 deemed he lived for duty's call. 
 
 With V)eg-!L;'ars sliared his bread, 
 And oi)eiied witle his door to all — 
 But thou art dead. 
 
 A man, L still respected Ijirtli 
 
 And thought the prison band 
 Of patriot seers, had put a girth 
 
 Of glory roimd tlie land ; 
 I Ijowed my head, to titles won 
 
 Bright in the country's need. 
 By sacrifices grandly done. 
 
 That sowed no mortal seed ; 
 I dreamed, if others wore a mask, 
 
 That rank a golden thread 
 Kan through each great and gallant tas"-i — 
 But thou art dead. 
 
 To thee I looked, a worthy chief. 
 
 As seeks a tender diild 
 His father, and had found I'elief, 
 
 If he just fondly smiled ; 
 For sure I felt, thy noble name 
 
 A nobler nature hid, 
 And vviis not over thing of shame 
 
 A painted coiiin lid ; 
 1 saw in thee no common life, 
 
 That would in beauty tread, 
 
 A part of every splendid strife — 
 
 But thou itrt dead.
 
 rSO • THE DEAD CHIKF. 
 
 My blood runs in thy niyyard voiuSj 
 
 We claim H kindrcid stock, - 
 
 But thou dost shrink from clansmen's pains. 
 
 And blencli at battle shock ; 
 The shadow of a craven pride 
 
 Piu'sues thy path, like night. 
 And stalks for ever at thy side. 
 
 And blinds thy better sight ; 
 The conrse of tliy heroic sires, 
 
 By wondering worlds was read, 
 Who passed for brothers through the fires— 
 But thou art dead. 
 
 I sought thee, in the armed field. 
 
 Where serried squadrons fight. 
 But thou'hadst cast away thy shield. 
 
 In safe and 'sordid flight ; 
 T saw thee, in the Senate, girt 
 
 With peers that empire propt, 
 But only found the casual dirt 
 
 Thy fleeting foot had dropped ; 
 I sought thee, where calm justice rears 
 
 Its awful equal head. 
 And fashions laws of blood and tears — 
 But thou art dead. 
 
 1 sought thee, by the sufferer's bed. 
 
 Assuaging hopeless ill. 
 Whence all but comfort's voice had fled — 
 
 And thou wast dancing still ; 
 I sought thee, in the busy hive 
 
 Of labour's iron charms. 
 And marked thee, not where toilers strive. 
 
 Laid in a wanton's arms ; 
 1 sought thee, in the holy courts, 
 
 Wliere pi'aying hands are spread, 
 And heard thee cursing at thy sports — 
 But thou art dead. 
 
 Ah, I disown thee as my lord, 
 
 I will not follow him. 
 Who only wears a paper sword. 
 
 And swayed by every whim ; 
 Who if not buried is a corpse. 
 
 To debts of duty blind, 
 That harlot Fashion fools, and warjjs 
 
 To its own harlot mind ; 
 "Who cannot bravely lead his clan. 
 
 And is by follies led 
 Or dainties of his^^kitchen pan — 
 Bat thou art dead.
 
 THE NEW REFORMATION. 781 
 
 Ah, what is uattivo crowned with joy. 
 
 With laughter in hev breath. 
 Below the ;;,nldino- of the toy, 
 
 But decjorateil death ? 
 And what art thou, O recreant chief. 
 
 Beneath thy pomp, and mii^ht 
 Of rank and riches, but a thief 
 
 That filches lionovir's ri^'ht ? 
 For fallen art thou into deeps 
 
 Lower than plummet lead, 
 And over thee wan England weeps — 
 But thou art dead. 
 
 TPIE NEW UEFOT^MATTON. 
 
 Hark, the oracle lias spoken, 
 
 But wliat jjromise it may bring. 
 Mumbling out its message broken. 
 
 That is quite another thing ; 
 Misty words, that have no meaning, 
 
 Ijimp as strumpets without stays, 
 Doubtless sense and sentence, leaning 
 
 Half a dozen different ways ; 
 Miirky views of musty Cxerman, 
 
 Blinking blindly like a bat 
 Into day, thoiigh none determine 
 
 What the devil he is at. 
 
 Ei'nan, Eeuss, and Strauss who spell mere 
 
 Pretty myths in Bible fact. 
 Boiled with watery Robert Elsmere, 
 
 Till the suffering kettle crackt ; 
 Baur and Martineau and Silencer, 
 
 Huxley and his croaking frogs. 
 Mixed and muddled into denser 
 
 Dust, from fusty catalogues ; 
 Learned nonsense, like Lux Mundi, 
 
 Or Nooc Mundi — which is it? 
 With a dash of Mrs. G-rundy, 
 
 Just to make the folly fit. 
 
 Ah, the oracle is vaguer 
 
 Far than oracles of old. 
 When through moonlight song and saga, 
 
 Ean a glorious thread of gold ; 
 Then was method in the fables. 
 
 Pledge of an undying youth.
 
 "^- MY IfOTTR DAHLINfiS. 
 
 Not from ved <lissootin,o' talilos 
 
 Man!4-le<l limbs of mvirderod Truth ; 
 
 Flashed then lia-htniiio- with the thunder. 
 If the ore some rubbish girt. 
 
 And from clouds that burst asunder 
 Stept Divinity, not Dirt. 
 
 Now oiu- Piety and Learning 
 
 Work, as scavengers, in gloom. 
 Leave the dust, and dogma spurning 
 
 Call to worship of their broom ; 
 This is the " New Eeformation," 
 
 Destitute of light and love, 
 With a ragged revelation, 
 
 That can scarce be from above ; 
 Lies at last will find their level, 
 
 Tliough false ju'opliets' conjuring rod 
 Turn our Grod into the Devil, 
 
 And the Devil into God. 
 
 MY rOUE DA TILINGS. 
 
 Ten and wayward, lilitlie and blonde. 
 
 Precious as a Lohis 
 d'or, and ])oy-lilcp shyly fond — 
 
 Sxich is little Oooey'; 
 Proud, reserved, and glad to give 
 
 Of her tiny treasure. 
 Quite content a while to live 
 
 In another's i>leasi\re ; 
 Moody, i^rone to manage all 
 
 With a state to keep up, 
 And, thougli each one's willing thrall. 
 
 Tempest in a tea-cup. 
 
 Eight and fragile, small and trim. 
 
 Dainty, true and tender. 
 Face of glowing Seraphim, — 
 
 Such is little Wenda ; 
 Blue eyes, that with wondrous tear? 
 
 Overflow too often. 
 And when vanished are her fears. 
 
 Sweet to laughter soften ; 
 Sociable and kind, and yet 
 
 Just a trifle selfish 
 Sometimes, with her toys beset. 
 
 Shut in like a shell-fish.
 
 ■I'HK liKANTi (il.l, WOUfAK. 7S.S 
 
 ■Soven and fair, with devious ways. 
 
 Pond of cats and o-uinea 
 Pio-s, but not of any stays — 
 
 Such ia little Winnie; 
 Not averse to dolls, and mud 
 
 pies in quiet corners, 
 Dear, domestic, and a bud 
 
 Meant to brighten mourners ; 
 Coy, but (breaking nurse's band) 
 
 Merry as a stariing. 
 Everybody's torment, and 
 
 E verybody's_ darling. 
 
 Five and noisy, dark, and ripe — 
 
 As, we'll say, a strawberry — 
 For a bottle or a jjipe — 
 
 Such is little Aubrey ; 
 Given to 'analytic joys 
 
 And unearthly vowels. 
 With a hand that all his toys 
 
 Daily diseml)owels ; 
 Plumping on his mother's best 
 
 Uonnet, then a rover 
 Some per. creature to molest, 
 
 Poy of liovs all over. 
 
 THE (IT^ANl) OLD WOMAX. 
 
 Talk of woman, as you will. 
 
 She's a sjilendid creature. 
 Whether with a golden till. 
 
 Or a Grace in feature ; 
 But, for subjects, there is one 
 
 We delight to honour. 
 Who has nothing dirty done. 
 
 Pure as a Madonna ; 
 Queen Victoria (bless her name !) 
 
 Has a heart all human, 
 Without fear and without blame — 
 
 She's the Grand Old Woman. 
 
 Fifty years and more have proved. 
 
 In their service loyal 
 To her country, she is moved 
 
 By a nature Eoyal ; 
 Fifty years and more, that brought 
 
 Cares and snares not lighter;, ^'
 
 784 
 
 •TENJrT. 
 
 Yet tor lier liave only wroiio^ht 
 
 Crown of glory In'ighter ; 
 ^ifty years and mure have past. 
 
 Left her richly human — 
 Wife and Mother— to the last. 
 
 She's the G-rand Old Woman. 
 
 Queens there are of every kind. 
 
 Some devoid of feeling-, 
 Pnlling down the window blind 
 
 At the first appealing ; 
 Closing to the shutters hard 
 
 On the precious pocket. 
 If a beggar or a bard 
 
 Thinks he may rinlock it ; 
 Some ai-e feminine in name 
 
 Merely, ours is human 
 Through and througli her kindly fi'ame- 
 
 She's the Grand Old Woman. 
 
 Long may good Victoria live 
 Yet, and with affection 
 
 Such as Royalty can give. 
 Show us God's direction ; 
 
 Till, the soul no baseness tliralled, 
 Soul the peril nigher 
 
 Moi-e heroic found, is called 
 To a kingdom higher ; 
 
 True to trust iipon her laid, 
 True with weakness human. 
 
 True in debts of duty paid- 
 She's the Grand Old Woman. 
 
 JENXY. 
 
 Sweet and shy. 
 Sweet and shy. 
 With the dusky locks and the blue-gray eye. 
 That has stolen its beauty from the sky 
 And the cheeks that are red roses ; 
 With the head bent down. 
 As beneath a crown. 
 In the daintiest of looses; 
 Shy and sweet. 
 Shy and sweet. 
 With the delicate form and the tripping feet. 
 Where the sunlight and the moonlight meet. 
 And all golden as a guinea ; 
 With the saintly look. 
 As of gospel book. 
 Is the Queenof maidens, Jenny.
 
 TWE BLUK HOXT-RS. 78." 
 
 Dark and soft. 
 Dark and soft. 
 As the niidniy-ht on a summer croft, 
 With the west wind low and the stars aloft. 
 She is true as steel, and tender 
 As the mating" dove. 
 When it murmurs love 
 In the spi'iui'-tide at its splendour; 
 Soft and dark. 
 Soft and dark. 
 With a breast that hides a heavenly spark. 
 And a face where sadness sets its mark. 
 But as dewdrops in the spinny, 
 AVith a briu-hter hxxe 
 From the arching bhxe —   
 There is no one quite like J.enny. 
 
 Fond and fair. 
 Fond and fair. 
 With a halo on the glorious hair, 
 With an angel wallc and an angel air. 
 And the lips of crimson coi-al, 
 llie despair of Art, 
 That in music part. 
 With some piu-e delicious moral j 
 Fair and fon<l, 
 Fair and fond. 
 She has tones that bid you not desjiond. 
 And that echo ixp to licights beyond ; 
 You would never note the whinny 
 Of your favourite steed. 
 Nor another heed, 
 If you only heard my Jenny. 
 
 THE BLUE HOURS. 
 
 My favourite season, you should know, sweet madam. 
 
 Is not when sunlight falls, 
 Nor when to stroll with some blest son of Adam, 
 
 Thee, darling, even calls ; 
 It is not when the festive speech is spoken. 
 
 And friends are gathered round. 
 
 With jest and laughing sound. 
 To toast the fair, and social l^read is broken ; 
 
 But when with silent thrill 
 
 Eacli earthly voice is still, 
 And early morning tarings with magic powers 
 Blue hours.
 
 7Sfi LAUGHTNO PHILOftOPHY. 
 
 Yes, I am happy, if alono, unbothevp<l 
 
 By the most touiToi- talk, 
 When with bold front (in blanket base not smothered) 
 
 I hear the spirits walk ; 
 In fearful rapture then I look, and listen 
 
 Witli ears both open ^vide, 
 
 As ghostly c^arments i,'lide, 
 And in the o-looming dreadful faces glisten ; 
 
 My flesh begins to creep. 
 
 From haunted lands of sleep 
 Descend upon me, like uncanny sliowers. 
 Blue hours. 
 
 Then even tlie prettiest woman blue is painted. 
 
 By that cadaverovis light, 
 The purest innocent is all nnsainted 
 
 In nimhus of blue night : 
 And on round cheek the fairest reddept roses. 
 
 That sjiamed the sunset hue. 
 
 Are changed to ghastly blue. 
 That does not spare the most celestial noses ; 
 
 The very snow, that slips 
 
 As kisses on dead li]is, 
 A'ssumes, with awful and uneartlily dowers. 
 Blue hourn. 
 
 When one great darkness now all things is over. 
 
 And the church clock strikes two. 
 And like a flying cloud the belfry rover, 
 
 Goes, stuttering " Who are you ? " 
 Then does my daring fancy love to revel. 
 
 And like a conjuror calls 
 
 Wild shadows on the walls, 
 And skeletons from graves, and plays the devil ; 
 
 Then bhie my candle burns. 
 
 And bluer still it turns. 
 While dimly grimly pass, as from blue bowers. 
 Blue AoiM-s. 
 
 LAUGHING PHILOSOPHY. * 
 
 ('• Life is to those who think a comedy.") 
 
 Cares and snares are like a fetter 
 On the person and the purse. 
 
 But no moping makes us better. 
 It can only edge the curse ; 
 
 * This title is copyright.
 
 LATTfiHIN& PHILOSOPHY. 787 
 
 Men ;iro hcivn to toils and trials. 
 
 And they may not lianish fears, 
 Thouj^li tlie trouble of denials 
 
 Never was improved by tears ; 
 Sorrow is'the soul's anointint;-, 
 
 Pain our portion — more than half, 
 Bvery day is disappointin<^' — 
 
 Therefore live uiul laugh. 
 
 Woes will come, and death is master 
 
 Over our poor bodies' ill, 
 But we yet may turn disaster 
 
 Into gain, by gallant will ; 
 We may pluck a song from sadness. 
 
 Of which pleasure is not lord. 
 For the neck find wreath of gladness. 
 
 If within the hangman's cord ; 
 Eut thei'e is no food in fretting. 
 
 No despair doth comfort give. 
 Like the wisdom of forgetting. 
 
 Therefore laugh and live. 
 
 Some may reap a larger measure 
 
 Of the fishes and State loaf. 
 Hut a cheery heart is treasure 
 
 shared alike by earl and oaf ; 
 Some have meat ^i^ithout the gravy, 
 
 Some must merely drumsticks eat, 
 But the best confess PeccaiH, 
 
 An<l the Devil cannot cheat ; 
 B(.' not dragged by bane or Berry, 
 
 As to slaughter house a calf 
 Tamely, while you may be merry — 
 
 There/ore live and laugh. 
 
 Comes to all the ultimatum. 
 
 That snuffs out the Royal gas ; 
 Vanitas va.nitatum. 
 
 Omnia sunt vanitas .' 
 But, though every one is mortal, 
 
 Young as old, even prolix Pat 
 Ever knocking at our portal. 
 
 Do not be disturbed by that ; 
 riod is good— aye. God is better 
 
 Than the system or the sieve, 
 Which but keeps the lying letter- 
 
 Thcre/orc Umgh and live.
 
 78S THE SQTIT5AMIS,T. 
 
 THE SQUEAMI8T. 
 
 Have 5'ou .seen the Squeamist lately. 
 
 Have yoii hoard him talk, 
 Mincing- up and down sedately 
 
 In his solemn -walk ? 
 Slow and sleepy. 
 Cold and creepy 
 
 With his pious frown 
 
 At some wicked noun, 
 Here he turns from fleshly dances. 
 There he sneers'at^tjjames of chances. 
 Or the riblions of romances 
 
 On a worldly gown. 
 
 Have you seen the squeamist, posing 
 
 Like a funeral bell. 
 Burying the truth, and nosing 
 
 Out some nasty smell ? 
 Sneaky, snaky, 
 Jiahid, raky 
 
 Tn the rotten hole, 
 
 He miscalls his soul. 
 How he masks in moral dresses. 
 Over all the vilest messes. 
 Which at heart he still caresses. 
 
 While he damns the whole. 
 
 Have you seen the Squeamist, playing 
 
 With his favourite pitch. 
 Till he tumbles, cur.-iing, praying. 
 In the nearest ditch ? 
 Sleek and slimj^ 
 Grim and giimy, 
 lie protests at vice. 
 Sins in secret nice, 
 Thoiigh the dungheap is his level, 
 And his fancy does the devil. 
 And beneath his sackcloth revel 
 All corruption's lice. 
 
 Have you seen the Squeamist, squirming 
 
 In a nobler air. 
 Worrying the great, and worming 
 
 Into lion's lair ? 
 Stale and sticky. 
 Trite and tricky. 
 
 He disdains not pelf 
 
 From a richer shelf. 
 If he storms at starry teaching, 
 AVorlds above liis petty reaching. 
 He (while better men impeaching) 
 
 Only blacks himself.
 
 ' • A L \ V A Y S VfRO NO." 789 
 
 ''' ALWAYS WRONG." 
 
 Blind to all her beauty, witlioiit notion 
 
 Save of brutal selfish aims. 
 Taking as a thing of course devotion 
 
 .Such as liiissian despot claims ; 
 Cold was he and hard, a master cruel 
 
 To his gentle faithful wife. 
 Heedless of the precious heavenly jewel 
 
 In that bright and blameless life ; 
 Her he flung the scraps of the affection 
 
 Only for his stable strong. 
 Sure, if dog or man defied detection. 
 She was always wrong. 
 
 Her sweet ministries of office lowly 
 
 He to evil basely turned. 
 Careless how the lamp of loving holy 
 
 In her woman's bosom burned; 
 Truth was made of his false nature portion, 
 
 By a sordid narrow mind. 
 As by mirror cracked, with dark distortion 
 
 Into error most unkind ; 
 Every note she struck he rudely strangled. 
 
 Like a discord in a song. 
 All she said or did he mocked and mangled— 
 She xoas always wrong. 
 
 Vain her tender service, vainly squandered 
 
 Loyalty that knew not bounds. 
 When his heart (in crib or kennel) pondered 
 
 But on horses or on hounds ; 
 All her purest homage was mistaken. 
 
 Though she simjjly strove to please. 
 While abode he sensual, and unshaken 
 
 In his vulgar swinish ease ; 
 Eight to him the tending of his cattle. 
 
 Right the welcome dinner gong. 
 And most right the lying pothouse tattle— 
 She was always wrong. 
 
 Then she sickened, and the link was parted 
 
 Binding him to one so good, 
 Yet from no disease but broken-hearted. 
 
 Murdered and misunderstood; 
 Till the angel came whose face is hidden. 
 
 Though his presence still is rest. 
 And received her, bruised and spent and chidden. 
 
 In the refuge of his breast ; 
 But she sobbed, her last breath feebly flyin'"^. 
 
 She who greatly sei-ved him long, 
 " If I erred in living, now, by dyiiig. 
 Am I atwaijs wrong •'"
 
 m 
 
 TO A PURIST. 
 
 TO A PUIUST 
 
 Never s^-o to forei>>-n climes. 
 
 Where wild flowers and <;entry 
 Always make their entry, 
 Naked, at most awkward times 
 Never stop in sculptor's pale, 
 Lest a naug'lity statue, 
 Ncd-ed should l(X)k at you — 
 If you don't jDossess a veil 
 Never, when you go to bed. 
 Light a prying candle, 
 Lest some scurvy scandal 
 On your nal-ed frame be shed. 
 
 Never, for domestic cats, 
 
 Take the Toms as mousers, 
 AVhile you put in trousers 
 
 Table legs and pegs for hats ; 
 
 Never look at Highland braves 
 Who have not our riches. 
 And march without breeches. 
 
 And kick out disgusting calves 
 
 Never heed barefooted boys, 
 
 Tlioirgh their tears be recent, 
 Wlro are so indecent. 
 
 And delight in naked joys. 
 
 Never note a pretty face. 
 Stick to kit and curate. 
 And be most obdurate, 
 
 T'j irncovered ball-room grace ; 
 
 Never glance at undressed arms, 
 Eot ^\\t\l prudes and spinsters, 
 Ancient men and ministers. 
 
 Who can boast of sober cliarms ; 
 
 Never go abroad at night 
 Lest the dainty garter 
 Of some Traviata, 
 
 Shock your unprotected sight. 
 
 Never call a spade a spade, 
 Bathe not in the watcn- 
 Nude posterior quarter. 
 
 Shut the daylight out with shade ; 
 
 Never in a volvmie look. 
 
 Lest the name of sinner, 
 (Harlot) spoil your dinner. 
 
 Though it be the Blessed Book; 
 
 Never own one manly creed. 
 Be a mere old woman. 
 Everything but human. 
 
 Still be proper and be d d.
 
 DONNA JUAN. 791 
 
 DONNA JUAN. 
 
 Old foft-eys j^'ive uie a bad name, 
 
 I really scarce know why. 
 And if luy talk yuu ever blame. 
 
 You cannot call it dry ; 
 Nor woidd 1 lightly care to vex 
 
 Good people, and be bold, 
 Eut then the freedom of my^sex 
 
 Is what I must uphold ; 
 The rights of woman, who lias long 
 
 The burden borne too well, 
 And the deep burning sense of wrong, 
 
 Constrain me to rebel. 
 
 And so I mix on equal terms. 
 
 With pilgrims of the Park, 
 And study passion's hidden germs, — 
 
 If sometimes in the dark ; 
 Of course, my uncurbed fancy^ takes 
 
 No orthodoxy's flight, 
 I liberally deal with " rakes," 
 
 And call a " spade " aright ; 
 Appearances I do not dread. 
 
 Nor words of solemn sound. 
 Archbishops could not make me tread 
 
 The stale old stupid round. 
 
 Let critics rather call me fast. 
 
 Than dowdy, dull, or slow. 
 For I have broken with the Past, 
 
 And its i^ale proper show ; 
 Dead Institutions are my pet 
 
 Aversions, and the sham 
 Of fossil forms I don't forget. 
 
 And delicately danm ; 
 I've left poor Custom and that fudge. 
 
 To babies led by string. 
 And forward hasten, and why grudge 
 
 Me just an honest fling .'' 
 
 Men have their innings haxi, and now 
 
 We turn another page. 
 And Donna Juan makes her bow. 
 
 And steps upon the stage; 
 We cannot do much worse than males. 
 
 Who keep us under ban. 
 And, lo, the Tripos tells us tales. 
 
 Of what sweet vfoman can ; 
 And here, though every prude slwuld pout, 
 
 I'll snap Decorum's chain. 
 And smoke and drink aud flii-t about. 
 
 Nor be a slave again.
 
 792 DONNA QUIXOTE. 
 
 DONNA QUIXOTE. 
 
 A champion I've been of the poor. 
 
 Since I bejjjan to weep. 
 And liow to brighten their dark door 
 
 I babbled in my sleep ; 
 I did not care for dainty dolls, 
 
 However long tlieir hair. 
 And most excrviciating Polls 
 
 To nie were nowise fair ; 
 Unlike all babes, I used to lothe 
 
 The bottle and the bibs. 
 And only dreamed that I could clothe 
 
 The babes in ragged cribs. 
 
 And ere I cnt a single tooth. 
 
 I formed such serious plans 
 Of gr.ints for beggars and Maynooth, 
 
 And broth in public pans ; 
 Free education was my cry, 
 
 AVhen first I practised thought, 
 And w]Kmc(^ the State could best supply. 
 
 Old women news for nought ; 
 I knew what perils lurked in beer. 
 
 While yet in girlish frocks. 
 And conld ( with any Premier) steer 
 
 Our country on tbe rocks. 
 
 My name is Donna Quixote, sir. 
 
 On platforms am I seen. 
 And there's a little glow cir stir, 
 
 Wherever 1 have been ; 
 In each grand MOVEMENT do I take 
 
 A fine and foremost part. 
 And with my breezy whisper, shake 
 
 The masses' mighty heart ; 
 1 play with statesmen as with straws. 
 
 Who would the people rob. 
 And oft appeal from nnjust laws 
 
 Unto the glorious MOB. 
 
 I have a Journal, too, to hold 
 
 The grounds whereon I stand. 
 And maxims great, by which I mould 
 
 The nation to my liand ; 
 1 fliatter in the highest ranks. 
 
 And air new social ci-eeds. 
 And grateful Princes murmur thanks 
 
 For all my noble deeds ; 
 I don't believe in very much. 
 
 Though Spencer is my Sage 
 With Evolution, and of such 
 
 I build the Golden Age.
 
 THE LOST LORD. T93 
 
 THE LOST LORD. 
 
 Ho clasps nie in a husband's arms. 
 
 And gives ine many a Iciss, 
 He praises me and jjets my charms, 
 
 Yet him I seem to miss ; 
 I lie unsleeping- by his side. 
 
 On our dear nuptial bed, 
 While, severed as by ocean wide. 
 
 His sjiirit far hath fled ; 
 For, thono-h the loving lips may sigh. 
 
 The soul doth not confess. 
 And he himself is never nigh. 
 
 And cold seems each caress. 
 
 He loved me once, his noble brow- 
 As blossoms turn to light — 
 
 For ever followed me, but now 
 He seeks some other sight ; 
 
 We sit together at ouv meals. 
 We mix in social throno-s. 
 
 Our voices blend, but all reveals 
 A discord in the songs ; 
 
 Nor do we oft take different parts 
 In pleasure or in toys. 
 
 Though yawns a giilf between our heai'ts. 
 That saps the sweetest joys. 
 
 And when affection turns to him, 
 
 Whei-e it would ever stay, 
 I know, if outward signs be dina. 
 
 His own is far away ; 
 He duly drives me round the Park, 
 
 He duly walks with me. 
 And will to faintest whisjjer hark. 
 
 But still it is not he ; 
 Our likings do not rudely rub. 
 
 He visits only whei-e 
 I visit, not in any club. 
 
 And yet he is not there. 
 
 He brings me presents every day. 
 
 And makes my boudoir sweet 
 With summer flowers, but what are they, 
 
 When spirits do not meet ? 
 The light that sparkled in his look. 
 
 And sparkled but for me, 
 Eead clearly as in open book, 
 
 I now no longer see ; 
 Though not by doom of cruel sword. 
 
 And not in darkness blind. 
 Have I not lost my dearest lord. 
 
 And shall I ever find 'f
 
 794 "VICTA CATONI.'* 
 
 " VICTA CATOmr 
 
 brother, why I cannot tell, 
 
 Bnt ever fi'om a child. 
 With instinct trvie if wild, 
 
 1 learned to reason and rebel 
 Against the sj^nr, and l^ridling span 
 
 That shut the noblest in 
 
 To sorrow and to sin. 
 And gave the reins to bigots' jDlan ; 
 T learned, in Nature's wiser school, 
 
 A grand and godlike hate 
 
 Of that unequal fate. 
 Which crowned the coward or the fool. 
 
 I heeded not what rulers said. 
 
 Who treated man as dog, 
 
 iSTor power of pedagogue. 
 If they but burdens on me laid ; 
 I heeded not what preachers taught. 
 
 Who chafing peoples chid. 
 
 And nothing better did 
 Themselves, thoiigh hard their victims wrought : 
 I heeded not the penal blows. 
 
 And broke that petty box. 
 
 The dead and orthodox. 
 With all its windbags and vain shows. 
 
 Truth was my first and darling choice. 
 
 And my young fearless pride 
 
 Embraced her as a bride. 
 And caught each whisper of lier voice ; 
 But not the Thing, on bloody throne. 
 
 Tired in ii harlot's grace. 
 
 With bold and painted face. 
 That long had lost the virgin zone ; 
 Nay, rather Trutli, that, under rags. 
 
 If with no honoured nanuj. 
 
 Had kept a maiden frame. 
 Though stifled with the hangman's gags. 
 
 I loved the champions of the Eight, 
 The suffering, and the weak 
 Who ventured not to speak, 
 
 Exit turned their foreheads to the Light ; 
 
 And falsehood, aping what was good. 
 The foremost at the feast. 
 Upheld by prince and priest ; 
 
 Thoiigh vanqviished yet I still withstood ; 
 
 I trod the troubled upward way. 
 While Baals all of earth. 
 That temples made of dearth. 
 
 With all their thunders strove to stay.
 
 pteiNCESS kitA. 795 
 
 PillNCESS lUTA. 
 
 Dark-eyed, true and tall. 
 Clad in i^ipsy shawl 
 Fliint;' like flame across the shapely shoulder, 
 
 Flashing, more than any speech, 
 Looks in which the lights of sunset smoulder. 
 Feared and yet beloved by each ; 
 Dai'k-eyed, tall and true, 
 With an orient hue 
 Flushing, as a fii'e that burns its Avay 
 
 Into something fairer, sweeter 
 Than the earthly bounds of common clay — 
 Princess Eita. 
 
 Dark-haired, pale and proud. 
 Radiant as a cloud 
 Borne on magic wings of midnight splendour, 
 
 Marking all her conquering course 
 With the grace as of an infant tender. 
 Though with a restrained force ; 
 Dark-haired, proud and jsale. 
 Like a summer gale. 
 Wandering over sea, and land, and still. 
 
 As it wanders, waxing fleeter. 
 Bending all things to its devious will — 
 Princess liita. 
 
 White-robed, soft and slight. 
 Mingling day and night 
 Into one superb and sudden sweetness. 
 
 While she gathers beauty more 
 From til at two-fold world and its completeness. 
 Dusky dross as well as precious '■vo ; 
 White robed, sliglit and soft , 
 As in niche aloft 
 8tands a saint, above yet of this life. 
 
 Pointing as to marvels, meeter 
 Than this hateful round of haggling strife — 
 Princess Kita. 
 
 Heavenly, though of earth. 
 Hungering in its dearth 
 For the freshness of the hidden fountains. 
 
 Where an angel at the first. 
 Walking in the rapture of the mountains. 
 Deep she quenched her holy thirst ; 
 Earthly, though of heaven, 
 With thci human leaven, 
 Savoiiring of the richness of the soil, . 
 Muddy garment made to greet her 
 And be glorified by godlike toil — 
 Princess Kita.
 
 TOG BLOOD MONEY. 
 
 13L00I) MONEY. 
 
 Hasten the old woman's tedious dyinj^, 
 
 Hiivry her off from the stage 
 Hung as in black with her querulous crying. 
 
 Made not for bui-dens like age ; 
 She, on the milk of the land and the honey. 
 
 Long has been fattened, and ive 
 Kow want our share of the good things, and money 
 
 Meant for a funeral sjiree ; 
 What if the doctor suspects, or is certiin 
 
 Drugs should her sickness have cured ? 
 Slip oii the pillow, and draw down the curtain ; 
 For she's insured. 
 
 True the old woman was not a bad mother 
 
 Once, but remember the gain, 
 And it were kind witli a blanket to smother 
 
 Such grim contortions of jjain ; 
 Drink, girls, although there is blood on the bottle 
 
 Drink will support us the best. 
 Just in a minute that clamour to throttle. 
 
 Spoiling oxu- comfort and rest ; 
 Coroners are not severe on a sinner. 
 
 When to these doings inured, 
 Inquests too might interfere with a dinner — 
 And she's insured. 
 
 Hang the old woman, she keeps us all waiting, 
 
 Dying so long and so hard, 
 When I by rights should be else where, and baiting 
 
 Neddy (the ass) in the yard ; 
 Who would supiDose, with these days of starvation, 
 
 Stript of lier bed-clothes, and reft 
 Clean of what's needful, save parson's oration. 
 
 Breath in her body was left ? 
 Still she can bother vis with her affection. 
 
 Woes for us children endured. 
 Plague us with Scripture and home recollection — 
 But she's insured. 
 
 Ah, the old woman, in spite of her bleeding ' 
 
 Wounds, bitter tears, and white hair, 
 Now, girls, at last must be helped by a speeding 
 
 Up to a liappier air ; 
 Choke her, the nuisance, she loves us and lingers — 
 
 Aye, and the meat getting cold — 
 No one will see the blue jDrint of the fingers. 
 
 While we shall coUai- the gold ; 
 There — it is done — and the fools must be juggled 
 
 Soinehow, and wo are secured. 
 Though she was game to the finish and struggled ; 
 And ^he's itisured.
 
 QUEEN OF THE GIPSIES. 797 
 
 QUEEN OF THE GIPSIES. 
 
 Brown as a berry, 
 
 Stately and tall, 
 
 Beantiful very. 
 
 Mistress of all ; 
 Ah, she is queen of the gipsies, and goes 
 Hither and thither, and never finds foes 
 Finds none bi\t friends in the lofty and least. 
 Playmate of Nature, the bird and the beast ; 
 
 Each is aspirant, 
 
 Cxladly to crown 
 
 Her, as sweet tyrant. 
 
 Beautiful brown. 
 
 Willowy, slender. 
 
 Perfect in plan. 
 
 Touched with a splendour 
 
 Hardly of man ; 
 Star of the evening she moves, at her feet 
 Stones turn to kisses her passao-e to greet ; 
 Over dark eyes fall dark lashes, and liide 
 Wonderful visions of womanly pride.: 
 
 Sunny, not serious 
 
 Even her frown, 
 
 Softly imjierioiis. 
 
 Beautiful, brown. 
 
 Born in a hovel — 
 
 Thoug-h crowned queen. 
 
 Truer in novel " 
 
 Nowhere were seen ; 
 Royalty breathes in each gesture, and grace 
 Not of kings' palaces gives to her face — 
 Gives to the j)oetry framed in her form. 
 Calm of the Sabbath and strength of the storm 
 
 Wild as a plover 
 
 Haunting the down. 
 
 Won by no lover, 
 
 Beavitiful, brown. 
 
 Brown as a berry. 
 
 Ripe without art. 
 
 Beautiful very. 
 
 Outward from heart ; 
 Child of the moorland, and maidenly kind 
 Ever to others and free as the wind. 
 Taught but by labour and knowing not fear. 
 Yet unashamed of an innocent tear ; 
 
 Dust of her toiling 
 
 Jewels the gown, 
 
 Noble with soiling. 
 
 Beautiful, brown.
 
 798 ' A baey'i^ price, 
 
 A BABY"S PRICE. 
 
 First his little shoes I sold. 
 
 Then the knitted socks 
 Followed, then (in spite of cold) 
 
 All his broidiHT-d frocks ; 
 There he shivers in his bed. 
 
 Under tatters thin, 
 Sheets and blankets long have fied- 
 
 For the cursed gin ; 
 None will lend nie fittins^- food, 
 
 Howsoe'er I lie. 
 And though he is very good. 
 
 Baby now must die. 
 
 Soak I will, at any cost. 
 
 For I cannot think. 
 Character and all are lost — 
 
 Ent the power to drink ; 
 Every stick at last is gone, 
 
 ThPot a penny gives. 
 And tlie raging thirst gnaws on, 
 
 Wliile my darling lives ; 
 He's a burden too, and brings 
 
 Trouble in his track. 
 Nothing earns, and to me clings — 
 
 Baby now must pack. 
 
 He's insured, a pretty sum, 
 
 And one tiny twist — 
 Just a finger and a thumb — 
 
 Might the end assist ; 
 That's not murder — he would go. 
 
 Shortly— it's too late. 
 Him to keep for sadder woe. 
 
 From a certain fate ; 
 Children are so cheap, and this 
 
 Only death will buy. 
 Though he pleasant is to kiss —   
 
 Baby now must fly. 
 
 One more squeeze — another yet- 
 Fondly trusts he still. 
 
 Sure his mother won't forget. 
 Never means him ill ; 
 
 Bless his pretty eyes and lips. 
 And those loving ways. 
 
 That sweet throat the demon grips. 
 While he mutely prays ; 
 
 Ha, the money's mine, and gin 
 Better far than bread. 
 
 Soon will drown the needful sin- 
 Baby now is dead.
 
 THE LILT' AND TK ROSK, 7f)f) 
 
 THE LILY AND THE ROSE. 
 
 Fiiir and white and straifi;lit and stainless, 
 
 Up to kindred Heaven sl'e ij,'rew. 
 Not through stages poor and painless^ 
 
 Nursed by every storm that blew ; 
 Every bitter blast a purer 
 
 Grace upon her person laid — 
 Wrought by travail pangs securer 
 
 Beauty, to a perfect maid ; 
 Cold and heat and fierce affliction. 
 
 Bent beneath her patient will. 
 Turned to angel benediction. 
 
 Left the Lily whiter still. 
 
 Fair and dark, a ruddy blossom 
 
 Dashed with showers and shadowy dust. 
 Baring an undaiuited bosom 
 
 Freely to the wild wind's lust ; 
 Set in guardian tliorns, that cruel 
 
 Pierced t]\e hand those cliarms would di'aw, 
 While they kept the glorious jewel 
 
 Safe with its own wanton law ; 
 change and chance, the criished-ovit sweetness 
 
 Gained from every grinding ill. 
 Even its scars and incompleteness, 
 
 Made the Eose more lovely still. 
 
 Fairer, whiter yet, and sainted 
 
 For Pantheons of the pure. 
 High above all sin, untainted 
 
 By the most enticing lure ; 
 With her heart in Heaven, and living 
 
 Tn its light, that laid on all 
 (ilory it could not help giving. 
 
 Calm as sanctuary wall ; 
 Power despised, and goodly treasure 
 
 Gathered from the mine or mill 
 Spurned, and each resisted pleasure. 
 
 Left the Lily farther still. 
 
 Fairer, darker yet, in clouding 
 
 Of rxide contact with the clay 
 Common to us all, the shrouding 
 
 Shed from breaking of the day ; 
 Oh, she hourly shoots expanded 
 
 Fresh to kisses of the sun. 
 And the tempest she commanded. 
 
 Who its shaking did not shiin ; 
 Thus communion with the sinner's 
 
 Cares, the market and the till, 
 (ri'ief of losers, joy of winners. 
 
 Made the red Rose nearer still.
 
 800 THE INNOCENTS. 
 
 THE INNOCENTS. 
 
 Thou wee helpless thing. 
 
 Baby, 
 Who could ever bring, 
 Tiaby, 
 Pain or sickness, want or wounds, to thee. 
 
 With the woes that follow after ? 
 When thy dawning day should brightly be. 
 
 Ringed with i-ainbow of gay laughter, 
 liiuh in happiness, and love 
 
 Fitting fair and tight. 
 As make pretty hand and glove 
 One clelight. 
 
 O sweet tender thing. 
 
 Baby, 
 Only made to cling. 
 Baby, 
 Eoiind a mother's neck, and fondly frame 
 
 From the trust that passes seeing, 
 Wi'altli of raptxiroxis union, amd tJie same 
 
 I'erfect bliss of perfect being ; 
 Why, a burden unto some. 
 
 Dost thou suffer so, 
 If unwanted thou shouldst come. 
 But to go ? 
 
 Thou soft winsoine thing, 
 
 Baby, 
 Fashioned for a king. 
 Baby, 
 Meant to govern every hiiraan heart. 
 
 As a gentle loving tyrant. 
 And to lift by ways of heavenly art, 
 (Trrovelling lireasts to be aspirant ; 
 But if all unduly born. 
 
 Out of marriage tie. 
 Sold to fiends in kindly form. 
 Just to die. 
 
 O dear, dainty thing. 
 
 Baby, 
 Under death's black wing. 
 Baby, 
 Cast and cuddled on a she-wolf's breast. 
 
 Worse than the sepulchra,l portal. 
 Never now to know a moment's rest. 
 In that grip whose kiss is mortal ; 
 Grudged the common meed of life. 
 
 Shared by very beast. 
 Slowly sapi^ed with hungry strife, 
 111 thu feast.
 
 ^^ AN EAftLK's NKST. 801 
 
 Thou bricfht angel tliingf. 
 
 Baby, 
 Bird-like meant to shvj;, 
 Baby, 
 Tunes that God Himself alone hath taught, 
 
 Who the fairest of his ci-oatures, 
 1'hee at first endowed, and ri./.hly Avrought 
 
 With Divine and glorious features ; 
 Born to feed, that Moloch flame 
 
 Pity cannot quell. 
 For the bloody gold of shame — 
 Pact with hell. 
 
 O lost homeless thing, 
 
 Baby, 
 Pierced by fatal sting. 
 Baby, 
 Loft by last on thy rejoicing morn. 
 
 Innocent and pure in meetness, 
 Eudely shaki'u now. and fiercely torn 
 
 Into crushed and crumpled sweetness ; 
 Doomed by devils, who suck gain 
 
 Otit of nameless woes. 
 From thy agonies of pain — 
 Dying throes. 
 
 AN EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 An eagle's nest. 
 Built on the waving tops of wooded hills. 
 
 Where shadows rest, 
 And the deep heart of Nature throlis and thrills 
 With thunderous rapture, when the demon wakes 
 
 That miisic makes 
 Of broken branches, and tlu^ wounded pines 
 
 His arm entwines ; 
 Where wanton wandering winds can never sleep, 
 
 And shakes its shroiided form. 
 With stammering lips that madly laugh and weep. 
 The storm. 
 
 On rocky perch, 
 Eich with the memories of its many years. 
 
 The hoary church, 
 A beacon light its rugged belfry rears, 
 A wi'inkled shape th;it now for centuries seven 
 
 Still points to Heaven, 
 And tells the crowded dead that rouud it lia 
 
 Love cannot die j
 
 802 AN ea(tLK s nest. 
 
 And fov the childi-on ■whom it? worship cliavins, 
 
 Beneatli that sabred dtiinc. 
 Spreads in the Sabbath of its ancient anas 
 A lionie. 
 
 With poet's heart. 
 A shy and cloistered man the Rector lives 
 
 His reverend pai-t. 
 And of his scanty substance freely gives 
 What he can hardly spare, and precious thought 
 
 None ever bonsi-ht. 
 And pearls of wisdom from tlie ocean mines 
 
 That wit retines ; 
 And works in secret kindness (as he prays) 
 
 Which liumbly yet he hides, 
 Among- the souls his wisdom g-ently sways 
 And guide?. 
 
 Along the road, 
 Sesqiiipedalian tower, tlie, doctor swings. 
 
 And b(^ars the load   
 Of others' pangs, that sickness daily brings — 
 A landmark quite — rwho lends a ready ear 
 
 To every fear. 
 And lias a pleasant word for weaker clay 
 
 In cottag'c gray ; 
 His portly presence breathes a cheery balm 
 
 From his own vital health. 
 And sheds on trembling shades the 1 >lc,;aed calm 
 Of health. 
 
 The foundry here, 
 By day a cloud, at night a pillared fire. 
 
 Its lurid sjjhere 
 Torments, as looks to Heaven some large desire. 
 That born in gloom breaks with its burning hope 
 
 The envelope 
 Of darkness, leaping to its native light. 
 
 The inner sight ; 
 And there the forge the stirring strain it knows 
 
 For ever grimly chants. 
 While like a thing in pain the furnace glows 
 And pants. 
 
 The master smith, ' 
 A rugged man, hewn as of granite rock 
 
 With iron j^ith. 
 Fronts the whole woi-ld and bears im moved the shock 
 J ust, self-reliant, brave, and strong in right 
 
 Whereon his might 
 Js centred, he plants steadfast feet on earth 
 
 Whose moorland dearth
 
 AN eagle's nest. son 
 
 Ho tuiMis to power and plenty, while his honrt 
 
 In music dwells and clings 
 To sacred Sion's peaks, in praise apart. 
 And sings. 
 
 The farmer plods 
 .•Vhoiit the stony fields his patience tames, 
 
 That grudging clods 
 Sweats into gold which yet his voice disclaims ; 
 <„"unibered with serving, yet a genial man 
 
 Of prudent plan, 
 Ho orders, rules, his teams and toilers bonds 
 
 To ])rosperous ends ; 
 In spite of dreadfiil times and falling wheat, 
 
 A costly cart he drives, 
 Or in the County Council holds a seat, 
 And tlu'ives. 
 
 The labourer, still 
 And stalwart, buckles to his daily task, 
 
 A stubborn will 
 Concealed behind a smug and smiling mask ; 
 Though underfed and underpaid, big thews 
 
 He yet renews 
 '\Vith stern robustness, in the dreary round 
 
 Of prison bound : 
 If sometimes through his poor ill-furnished brain. 
 
 Moves in the murmuring dark. 
 From blaze of frantic schemes of fixture gain, 
 A spark. 
 
 Old Grannie Oray, 
 The nurse, Liicina, friend of I'ieh and poor. 
 
 Her kindly way 
 Pursiies, and welcome finds at every door ; 
 Tlie children kiss her seamed and trembling hand. 
 
 And staring stand. 
 Attentive to the stories none can tell 
 
 So wisely well 
 As she, who saw the gi;ints in Lor youth. 
 
 And, wakeful in strange posts, 
 Snatch<><l awful visions of forgotten truth. 
 And ghosts. 
 
 Here scandal's track 
 Is marked and measured by the filthy tale, 
 
 Whose creeping clack 
 At first a whisjjer, then a winter gale, 
 (loes scattering seeds of poison, that take root 
 
 And deadly fruit 
 Bear; till, beneath each flower and bower of bliss 
 
 The serpent's hiss
 
 804 THE t'other world. 
 
 Is darkly heard ; and still, whoro all is fair. 
 
 Its murderous trade it plies, 
 And even in virg-in breast it }iiakes its lair 
 Of lies. 
 
 The children lift 
 Sweet piping trebles, at their simple games. 
 
 And rndely rift 
 The veil of silence with shrill sharp-edged names ; 
 Or, at their lessons in the crowded school. 
 
 Against the rule. 
 Low voices hum, as wind among the trees. 
 
 Or swarming bees ; 
 And there the Rector's feet are often set. 
 
 Who loves the Scripture hour. 
 Unknown, unhonoiired by the woi'ld, and yet 
 A power. 
 
 Rise rounded heights, 
 That carry beeches to their very tops. 
 
 And catch the lights. 
 In splendid splashes or in twinkling drops. 
 And gently slope tier behind tiei-, in mist 
 
 Of amethyst 
 Or rose to su^nset, as they fade and fly 
 
 Into the sky ; 
 A forest land, that in its winding scrolls 
 
 The hills with foliage frames, 
 "While through the valley it enricht'S rolls 
 '■ Tlie Thames. 
 
 THE T-OTHER WORLD. 
 
 I am just a simple plain ole body. 
 
 And a woman, if ye please. 
 One who likes at times a glass of toddy. 
 
 As it gives the in'ards ease ; 
 But a tiny drop of comfort, mostly 
 
 When the lamp be burnin blue. 
 And the sights and sounds is getting ghostly. 
 
 And the footstep doant fall true ; 
 I mebbe no scholard, as at Girton 
 
 The young ladies coached and curled, — 
 A mere " ignorama " — but I'm certain 
 Of the t'other xvurld. 
 
 As to present things, I be a scepjiick. 
 
 It appear a wurld of lies 
 After siippm, if the fiend dysj^eppick 
 
 His pursuits of darkness plies;
 
 THE MAN-WO. 805 
 
 Then, it look a wurld of dreams and phantoms. 
 
 And with no soi-t of solid pes^s — 
 A delnsion, like my purty bantam's. 
 
 When she sat on addled ejyo-s ; 
 But, if made of siig-ar-plums, oi- brimstone 
 
 On the g'nilty rebels hurled, 
 I am sure, as of my favourite hymn's tone. 
 Of the t'other wurld. 
 
 I am only an honest workin body. 
 
 And I never were at school. 
 But I knows good cloth from shams like shoddy, 
 
 And yoii cannot call me fool ; 
 If I never tried my hand at Science, 
 
 And my fancy may be dense. 
 Yet in business ways I puts reliance. 
 
 And I trusts my common-sense; 
 Ye may stop at the Eiffel or the cellar. 
 
 But for me, and perhaps if furled. 
 There be room for my faithful ole iimbreller, 
 In the t'other wurld, 
 
 I woant say I believes in blank damnation. 
 
 For the millions of the Show, 
 For I knows as above is compensation. 
 
 For us poor that sweats below ; 
 Theer is summut in my buzzum, nabour, 
 
 Thouo-h your Huxleys at me scoff. 
 That assure rae when I done my labour. 
 
 These here pins '11 be better off ; 
 I aint i)'reedy, as I fears no scorner. 
 
 For the garmints g-ole and pearled. 
 But I reckims on a qtiiet corner. 
 In the t'other ivurld. 
 
 THE MAN-WO. 
 
 Ah, it is n<.it one of either sex, 
 
 A.nd to neither is it dear, 
 Though combining faults of both, to vex 
 
 Victims that may come too near ; 
 Feminine in form alone, and dress 
 
 Borrowed from the ancient books — 
 Not the modern lively nakedness. 
 
 Just a figleaf and some hooks; 
 All that fashion will not choose to take. 
 
 If the fancy fai-thest go. 
 It adopts as armour, thus to make 
 The Man-Wo.
 
 806 WHITE HEATHEN 
 
 Mark, this monster hides in crystal house',' 
 
 Playing- still with lives and straws. 
 And is death to any man or mouse,} 
 
 In the compass of its claws ; 
 Fbv, behind the sijectacles, it spies 
 
 Each defect in Church and State, 
 Coloured by the jaimdice of its eyes, 
 
 Blastino- like an evil fate; 
 Nought is sacred to its demon spite. 
 
 As it ravens to and fro, 
 And descends on monarcli or on mite 
 'I^he Man-Wo. 
 
 In ill-fitting, ill-assorted clothes. 
 
 Out it snllies on the murderous march ^ 
 i)ealing looks that dreadful are as oaths. 
 
 Grim with learH('d stays and starch ; 
 Children know its wari^ath well from far, 
 
 Fly the lips that tightly purse. 
 Thankful to escnpc with scratch or scar, 
 
 Or the blessing that is worse ; 
 Innocents too young to tell that shape, 
 
 Smiling turn to it, and, lo, 
 J'ind a terror, human half, half ape. 
 The 3Iau-Wo. 
 
 Free from passions of the earth, and i)rone 
 
 To tlu! penance and the jn-aj-er, 
 iJomid with mockery of virgin zone. 
 
 Shame wherein it has no share ; 
 Cold and hard and narrow as the grave. 
 
 To whate'er is sweet and nice, 
 Stiff as stones that claiamy churchyards pave, 
 
 Ami without one honest vice; 
 Hating every charm of fact; or dress, 
 
 And" each grace, with damning no 
 For the gifts of Nature meant to bless, — 
 'The Man-Wo. 
 
 WHITE HEATHEN. 
 
 A man of mighty intellect and aims, 
 
 Re moves 
 A giant among men, and centuried claims 
 
 Approves, 
 Before he takes them to his boundless heart. 
 And makes them of his glorious mind a part 
 He knows the proudest life is but a breath, 
 
 And death 
 A deeper life, and he disdains the lot 
 
 Of pelf ; 
 And yet, in all his wisdom, he knows not 
 
 Himself.
 
 WHITE HEATHEN. 807 
 
 Omniscient, he is armed with wondreiis lore. 
 
 That drains 
 'J'lie treasnies of the earth and sky and shore. 
 
 And gains 
 I'tnirl.-j from tJie dvist, and promise oivt of nought. 
 That to his eye is big with beauteovis thought; 
 ■The rocks he reads, nor is the darkness dim 
 
 To him ; 
 On the wild waves, where others feebly sank. 
 
 He trod ; 
 But, in his wealthy world, an awful blank 
 
 Is Grod. 
 
 A man called Christian, ]nit a heathen still, 
 
 He stands 
 A bidwark of the State, and guides at Avill 
 
 The lands ; 
 He decks his body with the best of gold. 
 And woixld not leave his spaniel in the cold. 
 And gives his mistress way for each new hiiff 
 
 Or nuiff ; 
 But though refusing not to honest need 
 
 Its d(jle. 
 He grudges rag or crumb to clotlie or feed 
 
 His soul. 
 
 Ctmiplete, and yet in all his riches poor. 
 
 As wide 
 To nothing opens out a dazzling door 
 
 Of pride ; 
 Siui-like, and yet in all his brightness dark. 
 Without I'odemption of one heavenly spark. 
 And with his learning that a world would suit 
 
 No fruit ; 
 Ho lacks the one last touch, that never can 
 
 Gro down — 
 Without faith's hnal glory, meant to span 
 
 His crown. 
 
 So a great temple jises in the air. 
 
 And spreads 
 Koimd its white wings, and lifts a splendour fair 
 
 That ti'eads 
 The paths of light, with fluted column rich. 
 The silver shrine, the shy and frosted niche ; 
 While every gift of art and worship bends 
 
 To ends 
 Sublime its service, for the pillared space 
 
 And spire ; 
 But, from the laden altar, leaps no gi'ace 
 
 Of fire.
 
 S08 
 
 S. MOKLET. 
 
 EPIGRAMS AND TEIFLES. 
 
 SIR W. GROVE. 
 
 When wearied fancy cares n<i nioi-e to rove. 
 It finds in thee, great Will, a ghady arove • 
 To put it plainly, without innuendo, 
 Art thou a birns. Sir, anon luc.cndo '^ 
 
 mi. MORTIMER GliANVILLE. 
 
 To storm-tost woman his advice is short, 
 Take refuge in the best and oldest Port ' 
 " Then " (to himself) " if this should fail to suit her,. 
 I will apply the tap of my percuteur ." 
 
 LADY SWEETLIPS. 
 
 Lady Sweetlips onco asked gallant Admii al Harry 
 /'itching into her port on return from a trip. 
 Which vessel was nicest his foilunes to carry — 
 So he moored alongside, and piped, " Your ladys/u> " 
 
 OARDIJNAL NEAVMAN. 
 
 Too vast a subject to define, 
 That varied Doctor Newnian- 
 
 A ix)et, preacher, and divine. 
 And everything l>ut— human. 
 
 S. MORLEY.. 
 
 All Morley touched it turned to gold. 
 The fairies had liis cradle's rocking 
 
 No coffer could such treasures hold," 
 And so he put them in his stocking.
 
 THE FIRST AVHIG}.— (Uk Johnson.) 
 
 Vei'y old, very true is the story. 
 And the lesson it teaches is big — 
 
 That (we need not say who was first Tory) 
 The Devil was quite the first Whig. 
 
 TO A MILLIONAIRE THREAD 
 MANUFACTURER.— (Since Bankrupt.) 
 
 Your fortune, 1 am told, is vast. 
 
 Your acres widely spread ; 
 But how can that fair fortune last, 
 
 That hangs but hy a. thread ? 
 
 Ah, it will soon no record leave. 
 
 Bound by that feeble band ; 
 Unless the thread to which you cleave. 
 
 Is held hj .God's own hand. 
 
 TO A LADY OX THE LOSS OF HER BEAUTY. 
 
 Has cruel sick]iess been thy lot. 
 
 That bade thy graces flee ? 
 But love is blind to every blot. 
 
 And knows no change in thee. 
 
 Thy beauty sweetly to nie calls. 
 
 With all its ancient art ; 
 'Tis pictured by the memory's walls. 
 
 And written in the heart. 
 
 Though all the waves of slander toss, 
 
 No sliadow thee can shame ; 
 My love is conscious of no loss, 
 
 And thou, art still the same. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 I sent a gift to one in royal place^ 
 A.nd have heard nothing since • 
 
 The beggar thanked nie with a royal grace ; 
 Now, say, which -was the Prince ?
 
 810 ' TKIPLES. 
 
 KING CLOD. 
 
 Oncp low we buwetl to ladies" tread. 
 The j^'ilded cuach, the beadle's rod ; 
 
 But now the dvmg-cart goes ahead, 
 And we are governed by King Clod. 
 
 THE NEW PEEPx. 
 
 Tlie doctor came and shook his head. 
 And swore the patient must be bled, 
 Eut M'hat the malady might be. 
 With all his skill he could not see. 
 
 He sent the sufferer to his bed, 
 And hoped the sickness soon woidd flee. 
 But ere the night had flitted by. 
 The patient died, of — Dignity. 
 
 IS LIFE AVORTPI LR'ING? 
 
 " Is our life worth the living ? " she sighed 
 To the barber, with tears in her eye; 
 
 "If your hair keeps its gold," ho rei^lied, 
 " You should certainly nevei- say, JDyc." 
 
 Her pet curate she asked in tlir Zoo, 
 And iie said with unclorical ghx' ; 
 
 "A good living with nothing to do. 
 Is the only ijovd Living I see." 
 
 To the doctor she tvu-ned with a shiver. 
 As she told of her terrible nights ; 
 
 "It's a c[nestion," he langhed, "of the livev, 
 And a little perhaps of the lights." 
 
 THE F11I8T MAN. 
 
 Boy, fired with glory's thirst, man, 
 Said in his simple lad's tone, 
 
 When asked, Wlio was the I'irst man ? 
 "Of course it must be Gladstone."
 
 DEATH THE LEVELLEE. 811 
 
 lie is the First man, madai)i, 
 
 Of (jiiite a new creation ; 
 But Jle has fall'ii, like Achun, 
 
 And dragged with him the nation. 
 
 IKELAXl). 
 
 Land of hlack-thoni, black-leg, and reverend rogue 
 Land of cut-throat, cut-lass, and treason's brogue I 
 Land of potatoes, pigs, and Sovereig*n Blarney ! 
 Land of kill-women cowards and A'iWarney ! 
 
 TliF. 8EC0NI) >STEr. 
 
 Though the first step is often bad. 
 And every one woiild rather 
 
 Avoid it, if the chance he had— 
 It's worse, man — a stepfather] 
 
 THE VALETUDIXAIIIAN. 
 
 Sickness for many suii'ering years he bore. 
 And sjient on hungry doctors half his wealth ; 
 He had defied a hundred ills and more, 
 Biit died at the first symptoms of — good health . 
 
 TirUE LOVE. 
 
 True love is liounded not l>y blood. 
 Estranging mountains or the flood ; 
 'Tis vast as nature, strong as law 
 That makes the worlds together draw 
 And, universal as the air. 
 Deems itself kin to all that's fair. 
 
 DEATH THE LEVELLED. 
 
 Death all distinctions levels. Churchyards show 
 What man was made of, ere he went below : 
 And thus the Scotsmen, of the highest worth, 
 Dyin"" return to oatmeal not to earth ; 
 While statesmen and divines who crawled to anie, 
 Buried and changed to worms will crawl the same.
 
 812 A PERSONAGE IN POLITICS. 
 
 MODERN POETS. 
 
 As port and prejudice exi^ound, 
 In comnion-roonis their f^races ; 
 
 So modern poets most abound. 
 In cant and common-places ? 
 
 PROPIUETY, 
 
 Propriety no proTidcr dream conceives. 
 
 Than carriages ; 
 And selfishness its highest forni achieves, 
 
 In marriages. 
 
 THE GOOtSE THAT DOES NOT LAY GOLDEN 
 
 EGGS. 
 
 Say, where does folly, free from every shackle. 
 Evolve its very quintessence and quiddity Y 
 In the official and officious cackle 
 Of goTernment's stipendiary stupidity. 
 
 A PEHSUNAGl-: JX POLITICS. 
 
 There was an old statesman, alas ! 
 Who lived in a palace of glass ; 
 
 And he killed all his foes, 
 
 How do you siippose ? 
 Heaps on heaps, vAtli, the jaxr of an uss. 
 
 To the halt and the maimed and the blind. 
 He would offer a " piece of his mind " ; 
 
 Which they treasiu-ed (poor fools !) 
 
 Quite as Scriptural rules ; 
 Till at length there was none left behind. 
 
 So they then forbade him to s^jeak. 
 Except once (tor his health) in tlie week ; 
 
 And they set him to hewing 
 
 Down trees, and pursuing 
 The science of quibbling, and Crreek. 
 
 i
 
 A MODERN POLITTCIAN. 813 
 
 HUXLEY'S Bx\THYBIU'S. 
 
 Oh, what a bathos was in Huxley's bi-ain. 
 
 To find tlie germ of life beneath the main, 
 
 And tlie first tlirob of Homer's epic chime. 
 
 In vile abortions of the ocean sJime ! 
 
 For broader Science, with a brighter gleam. 
 
 Has proved Bathybiiis but a dotard's dream. 
 
 Eiit liow can mortal scientific be, 
 
 Who disbelieves tlie Book and dines otihrea ? 
 
 THE MAHQUESS OF (,)UEENSBERRY. 
 
 Ilis l)l(nv^s are favours that opponents ruo. 
 And if not always " tender " they are "true " ; 
 " Hit hard all rovind ! — '■' this is his lordshiii's creed — 
 " And if yon are not resjiected yon b(^ d« d ! " 
 
 m\. RK^HAUDSUN. 
 
 Richardson gives us homes, whose bricks are porous. 
 And calls these houses much the healthiest /or us, 
 But lives himself in walls, by Science hated. 
 With stones (like his mad schemes) unventUated. 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 
 Infamy was his fame ; he served his Master well ; 
 Destruction was his game; he sold all he coiild sell; 
 His principle was I ; his policy was jyrate. 
 He left a reeking Stye, where he had found a State. 
 
 A MODERN POLrTICfAX. 
 
 Witli loud coarse voice, a coat not free from stain, 
 
 A castle tall in Ireland or in — Spain, 
 
 Dangerous foe, more dangerous ally, 
 
 The slave of slander and " Adullamy," 
 
 The fool of figures and the miser's dole. 
 
 To save a penny and to lose a soul, 
 
 A Charlatan by choice, a brute by nature, —   
 
 — Behold the hero •£ the Legislature !
 
 SI 4 GORDON, 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Here reposes the ^ood Doctor Latitude, 
 Who expired in the godliest attitude. 
 Whose last word wa^ a holy beatitude, 
 And to Heaven went oJi' on a phititude, 
 The poor victim of Goddess Ina^ratitude, 
 
 " Amen, and God bles^s her." ! 
 
 Said his holy successor. 
 Amen. 
 
 THE TAILOR AND HIS WOODEN COAT. 
 
 A <'OMMON EriTAPII. 
 
 No coat had I to clothe my naked back. 
 And all my littler stock of o-oods was gone ; 
 
 Of sympathizing friends I had no lack. 
 Tint all declined to put one garment on. 
 
 Then, as the winter gripped my labouring breath. 
 And I had spent my last long-hoarded groat, 
 
 I soiight tlie Tailor whom we misname Death, 
 Wlto clad me in his goodly wnotlen coat. 
 
 CLAUDIA. 
 
 Said Claudia, in her acid tone. 
 
 With that familiar jiout ; 
 " God made the world for men alone. 
 
 And left poor women out." 
 
 Said I, and gazed with open stax-e. 
 At her redimdant shelves : 
 
 " Gvd knew they would take better care, 
 'lliiin he could, of themsdres." 
 
 OOHDON. 
 
 He did his duty, his resistless sword 
 
 Waved ever in the cause of freedom's will; 
 
 He loved liis country much and more his Lord> 
 In i^eace and war the same true Hero still.
 
 WT:T<5fHED ANP FOITNIi WANTING. 815 
 
 THE GOLDEX-HEADED IMAGE. 
 
 His head was gold and stood among the stars. 
 
 His leg of iron went their wilful way. 
 That knew no law and mocked even sacred barSj 
 
 And yet his feet were wrought of miry clay. 
 And as, colossus-like, bestriding all. 
 
 He dragged the Empire down that gave him trust. 
 His feet beneath him met the traitor's fall. 
 
 And he himself was shattered into du.st. 
 
 THE GAMBLE^}. 
 
 Stript of his credit, power, and all but shirt. 
 
 And stung to frenzy by tlie sticking stain. 
 He threw his country's honour in the dirt, 
 
 To make a stepping-stone to rise again ; 
 And in the gaml>lei''s fond and final cast. 
 
 He was so blinded by his fatal pride. 
 That (contemplating nnirder to the last) 
 
 Bv his own hand he sank a suicide. 
 
 FORTUNE'S FAVOURITE. 
 
 His own was every human gift. 
 
 To govern and refine. 
 That above meaner things might lift. 
 
 And mingle with Divine ; 
 To him all heaven appeared to ope. 
 
 Earth promised all things fair ; 
 Born to beget a nation's hope. 
 
 And to bequeathe despair. 
 
 WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING. 
 
 He had his golden chances — none had more. 
 
 And all a willing world was at his feet ; 
 In him the statesman's craft, the scholar's lore. 
 
 With every mental grace conspired to meet. 
 Men lionoured him and hung upon his breatli. 
 
 Devoted victims to his chariot bound ; 
 But, not on trial faithful iinto death. 
 
 Weighed in the balance he was wanting found,
 
 816 chanot;, -■ 
 
 Omnium consensu capax im2)erli, nisi mq^er asset." — lacitus- 
 
 THE MODERN GALEA. 
 
 Most wox'thy he to i-iilo the land 
 Were tliouo-ht, with no denial, 
 
 A stilt esman who would ever stand — 
 Had he not had the trial. 
 
 ROME. 
 
 Eome, lovino' to play fast and loose, 
 . As suits her wise (^'oniinander, 
 Once owed her safety to a goose. 
 Now to lier Propagdmhi. 
 
 THE CHUROH HOUSE. 
 
 Had the Christian days of old, 
 Chnrches wooden, hearts of gold ; 
 Now reversed have we the good, — 
 Churches golden, hearts of wood. 
 
 II. 
 
 Once, like the Master, knew no rest or home 
 
 The Church, whose suffering saints were all her j^ride ; 
 
 Now she herself wovild build a palace dome. 
 
 And leave the Master in the cold outside. 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 Though dear to mortal man is change, 
 
 And sweeter far than lioney — 
 The rolling sea, the mountain range, 
 And all that stirring is and strange — 
 The sweetest " change " is monty.
 
 TO THE MOSCOW STUDENT-. 817 
 
 TO 13ISH0P KING. 
 
 Eight reverend Bishoi), kindly ever. 
 
 Though bigots hate and himt thee down 
 With perseciitioTi, no endeavour 
 
 Can take away thy saintly crov:.i ; 
 If fanatics against thee thunder 
 
 Confusion, at their jsrayers or wine, 
 And nod the Law and Learning blunder, 
 
 Thoii rulest yet by right divine ; 
 To Church and faith and duty loyal. 
 
 Should coward stab or vermin sting. 
 Thou hast a heart serenely royal. 
 
 And of oxw love art chosen King. 
 
 SUPPER. 
 
 Last night I slipped with one, who furnished well 
 
 My lower story and my upper ; 
 And learnt, where wit and wine together dwell. 
 
 One swallow does not make a supper. 
 
 PHYSICK. 
 
 My child was ailing sore, and I had spent 
 Upon my sapient doctor many a " fiver," 
 
 When nurse (in whom all wise prescriptions blent) 
 Cured him for sixpence with some " kid-reviver." 
 
 A PILL FOR THE DOCTOR. 
 
 You, who know more of drugs and dollars. 
 Appealed the other day to scholars. 
 And calmly said, if I had been a 
 Scholar I should have said Helena. 
 But Homer, who is called a poet. 
 And had a little Greek, should know it ; 
 And he, unless he strangely fell in a 
 Mistake, wrote plainly oft of Helena. 
 
 TO THE MOSCOW STUDENT, 
 
 Greeting to you, Moscow student, 
 England sends who hears your cry ; 
 
 Mind you notliing do imprudent. 
 Only keep your power dry.
 
 ^18 WliiFBED BLUNT. 
 
 THE OLD MAN OMNISCIENT. 
 
 Proteus has niiud of mighty stature. 
 
 That mightier looks in worlds of pelf, 
 Yet little knows of legislature, 
 A little less of human-nature, 
 
 And nought whatever of himself. 
 
 THE WOODMAN'S AXE. 
 
 The English woodman Ireland sent an axe, 
 
 Its npas-tree to shunt, 
 But bear it could not such a grievous tax. 
 
 For it, alas, was — Blunt, 
 
 THE " SICK AVOMAN." 
 
 The poor " Sick woman's " sufferings would not cease. 
 It seemed no medicine could assist her. 
 
 No skill coiild give her the desired release, 
 Not Gladstone's pills nor Balfour's blister : 
 
 At last the Doctor said, " Depart in ;piece, 
 O Erin sister !" 
 
 THE SIEKKA LEONE OF TOLITICS. 
 
 The curse of every Government that fell. 
 Dead block to business and the dinner bell. 
 To Opposition doubtful joy, for knave 
 A life ofjprofit, and the statesman's grave. 
 
 WILFRID BLUNT. 
 
 The paladins of old went south and north, 
 
 Despising prudence and the purse, 
 Bvit our crusader dares not venture forth. 
 
 Unless he has with him his nurse; 
 No doubt he fights, not always though by day 
 
 And takes good care his vessel floats— 
 Whoever sinks -and ilearly loves to play 
 
 At hero, behind pdiicoats.
 
 WRTTTEN T>f A LADY P rHOTO ALBTTM. 8J9 
 
 POLITICS. 
 
 Hii, Siiid tlu' Di'vil, if I fail with wine. 
 
 Or cannot d;imn a soul witJi woman's tricks, 
 
 One more and never-failing- trap is mine, 
 — I send my pupils into Politics. 
 
 THE ANGEL. 
 
 An angel came — I thought in love — 
 
 With more than earthly grace and glow ; 
 It was an angel, though not frona above. 
 But from below 
 
 W. TAYLER. 
 
 Tayler stood in stormy place 
 
 Foixght in England's need for brothers ; 
 England crowned him — with disgrace ; 
 
 Wherefore ? — To encourage others. 
 
 TPIE PHINOE AND THE DRAGON. 
 
 Wise Labouchere, the wit of Town, 
 
 Would save a sixpence if he lost a "Crown; " 
 
 Though penny-wise, he means no ill : 
 
 But thinks we are going down the liill, 
 
 A.nd so, to ease the Royal wagon. 
 
 He plays the careful part of Dra.r-on. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A LADY'S PHOTO ALBUM. 
 
 Sweet maiden, earth has many a face 
 
 Angelic, and they shine 
 Out upon scenes that take their grace. 
 
 But none so fair as thine. 
 In this book angels rest a while. 
 
 That should to Heaven have flown. 
 But all the enchantments of their smile 
 
 Are borrowed from thy own. 
 And I could see no beauty here, 
 
 Nor one bright angel look. 
 To soothe a woi-ld with autumn sere, 
 
 Unlesa it were thy book.
 
 820 THE MODERN PHfENIX. 
 
 FINANCIAL FOOT.IXO. 
 
 Alas, poor Englanrl ha.L!,-oietl o'or by Lalwuchere, 
 
 Who would it wei-e the mai-ket's whinint^ slave, 
 To sell our honour for a whim or shabby share. 
 
 And i^lant i^otatoes on his country's grave ! 
 To do subtraction sums, disgrace to schooling. 
 
 And drag in dirt a lofty Senate down. 
 While gagging' business with financial fooling. 
 
 To skimp with greedy hand a B.ojal gown ? 
 
 AN AFRICAN STUDY. 
 
 It's a cynical fact, but then his is the stain, 
 
 That returned was our medal by proud Duke Palmella, 
 And so now, if it chance decorations to rain. 
 
 We can only present him with— Gladstone's umbrella. 
 But, in hopes that his ill-advised ardour may cool. 
 
 Ere he swagger about under ignorant banners. 
 We once more recommend him to study at school 
 
 Geographical facts and some little good manners. 
 
 A Frxn.. 
 
 I met a foul among the masses, 
 Who cried no wca-k had he ; 
 
 Said T, " Our Lord made use of asaes 
 And will make use of tliec 
 
 DR. WHE^VEI.L. 
 
 Said the omnisapient Whewell. 
 Though his words were somewhat cruel. 
 
 If a lady cries. 
 And intrudes upon your sleeping — 
 If you wish to stoj? her weeping, 
 
 " Bam her eyes." 
 
 THE MODERN PHCENIX. 
 
 The Ancient Pho3ni.\-,, but once, from its ashes. 
 
 More beautiful rose up on wondrous wings : 
 The Modern Phoanix, from a hundred smashes. 
 
 Though dead and buried— aye, and damned— upsprings,
 
 OOOT) NIGHT. 821 
 
 ILICET. 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 And now for Death, the beantifnl and strong. 
 
 With wliich so many years 
 This breaking- heart hath lived, that tnrned to song 
 
 The sadness of its fears ; 
 Known to me lietter far than chihl or wife. 
 
 And ( may be) sweeter still 
 Than these, or the jwor thin nnlivino- life 
 
 "Of ano-nish born and ill ; 
 Why should I shrink from the appointed end. 
 
 That always was in sight — 
 From the dear face of a familiar friend ? 
 Good night. 
 
 Oh, T have loved, throiigh my small humble sj^an. 
 
 The sutfering and the poor. 
 And in my measiire tried to play the man. 
 
 At the dark cottage door ; 
 This sti-aining breast was stabbed by every pain, 
 
 If it a brother's thrilled. 
 And sacrifice T found a richer gain, 
 
 That more my coffers filled ; 
 But was my work, in tears and travail done, 
 
 A desperate losing fight 
 Against tremendous odds, although Christ won ; 
 Good night. 
 
 I do confess I feebly served my Grod, 
 
 Who iiere for mercy pray. 
 And with wild steps that stumbled oft, I trod 
 
 The stony upward way ; 
 Though sure I am that u.nder every mask 
 
 Which made my worship dim. 
 My heart of hearts was loyal in its task. 
 
 And pointed unto Him ; 
 Perchance too much I valued human praise, 
 
 Or basked in earthly light. 
 But T have loved and others tried to raise — 
 Good night.
 
 822 
 
 EPILOGUE, 
 
 It te not death, to which T slowly drift 
 
 From this vain fevered strife. 
 But the great ocean Love, which me will litt 
 
 To true and living Life ; 
 I am not going far, I only mount 
 
 Into a higher room. 
 One step, and then the fulness oi the Foimt, 
 
 Whose waters here were gloom ; 
 And though my darlings I may sorely miss. 
 
 The parting must be right. 
 And now I feef the Father's evening kiss— 
 Good night. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 God, whom my spirit crowns the King, 
 
 Whom it delights to serve, 
 Eefulgent on the insect's wing. 
 
 As in the rose's curve ; 
 To one has given a glorious thought. 
 
 That bridges heaven and earth. 
 And bri-rhtens with a grace unbought 
 
 The breast of homeless dearth ; 
 To one a song, the solemn part 
 
 Oi some eternal chord, 
 That echoes on in every heart ; 
 To me, a sword. 
 
 God girded it with thongs of flame 
 
 On" this unequal side. 
 And whispered to me the dread Name 
 
 At which the tempests hide ; 
 He breathed into this bosom fire. 
 
 From altars of His love,_ 
 With wings of iufuiite desire. 
 
 Trembling to Him above; 
 He bade me' never sheathe the blade 
 
 Till sin contest Him Lord, 
 And fallen had ills that curse the shade 
 Under the sword. 
 
 God drew it first, and sacred set 
 
 Its lightning in my hand, 
 With tears of child and woman wet. 
 
 And blood of prison band ; 
 He bade me all its terrors beat 
 
 On vices veiled and hoaXj
 
 EPIIiOUUE. ^^^ 
 
 If sceptred in a royal seatj 
 
 Or in a iieople's roar ; 
 To heed no odds, nor pity rank 
 
 That 'scaped the liano-man's cord. 
 And titrht till each injnstice sank 
 Under the sicord. 
 
 God held my hand, and blessed made 
 
 The blow at tyrants hnrl'd 
 That was almighty when He bade. 
 
 Though one against a world ; 
 And it has ever been its wont. 
 
 To wave at duty's call 
 For sufferers, flashing in the front. 
 
 Where lusts and liars fall ; 
 But face 1 could not foemen massed. 
 
 Nor those wild torrents ford. 
 
 Till I myself had died, and passed 
 
 Under the sword.
 
 TT'. D. Jenkins, Sleam Printer, 
 I Va II iiKjfo rd , Berks.
 
 ,, . at end of last line 
 
 " frills," 1st line 
 
 . at end of 6tli line of 4th stanza 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tor " Tat Uiam asi " read " Tat tvam asi" 11th line Preface ... ... 3 
 
 Read , at end of line 19 ... ... ... ... .., ... ... 3 
 
 „ against for again \mt\^ ... ... ... ... ... ... 5 
 
 „ , at end of line 29 ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 12 
 
 ,, ; for note of intenogation at end of line 28 ... ... ... ... 1» 
 
 ,, ovet -burdened 'dt end of '.meSl ... ... ... .. ... 1^ 
 
 „ ««A: for "find" in line 31 ... ... ... ... ... ... 20 
 
 „ Jfaw for " man " in line 36 ... ... ... .. ... ... 23 
 
 Put 2nd line and 4th line forward, and 3rd back in last stanza but one ... 34 
 
 Head " years " in last line but 2 ... ... ... ... ... ... 37 
 
 „ ! at end of last line but 4 ... ... ... ... ... ... 44 
 
 „ ; at end of line 8 ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 45 
 
 " Crown " for crown at end of line 10... ... ... ... ... 45 
 
 ',', " tool " for " too " „ „ 14 45 
 
 ,, ? for . at end of 2nd stanza ... ... ... ... ,. ... 47 
 
 for " God bad made Defender "—"made her God Defender" line 8 ... 68 
 
 ,',' , at end of last line but 5 ... ... ... ... ... ... ^' 
 
 „ , at end of 5th line ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 1^° 
 
 „ , after " form," 1st line, 2nd stanza ... ... ... ... .. 11° 
 
 ;, " cleft '■ for " clift," 9th line 139 
 
 " bar ana " for "baranri,"line25 ... ... ... ' ... ... 141 
 
 „ "landmarks" for "land marks," line 29 ... ... ... ... 150 
 
 ,, ; at end of last line ... ... ... ... ... ' ... ... 1^7 
 
 Omit " its " in line 16 ... ... ... ... ... ... ... j^^ 
 
 Throughout poem "No Space" read the inyerted commas as in title 158 to l^J 
 
 For " Wa'i* " put " ldal!8e,"line3 ... ... ... ... ... ^^ 
 
 Put . at end of last line but 2 of "Country Notes" ... ... ... ... ^y 
 
 „, at end 01 7th line 20b 
 
 Omit second •' they " in last line but 9 .. ... ... ... ... ^"° 
 
 For " away " reau '• ulway," 3rd line ... ... ... ... ... 2U9 
 
 Insert " It " at beginning of last line of last stanza but one... ... ... 2ii' 
 
 Put . at end of 24th line .. ... ... ... ... ... ... 2j4 
 
 Bead "influx" for "influx," line 31 ... ... ... ' ... ... -\1^ 
 
 ,, ■' sympathetic" eud of 5th stanza ... ... ... ... ... J-^* 
 
 " murmurs," lust stanza ... ... ... ... ... ... 2^° 
 
 „ " forgtiluUy," luth line , ... 2di 
 
 ,, " encroaching," 21st line ... ... ... ... ... ... ^^^ 
 
 „ "speargrass," 29th line 2db 
 
 ,, , at end of 18th line j^' 
 
 ' "prest," 36th line... 238 
 
 "might"ior "night," 7th stanza 241 
 
 " quests " for " guests," 1st line ... ... ... ... ... 24» 
 
 . at end ol sth line ... 20" 
 
 „ " might " for " night," nth line f.i 
 
 ■Omit second "and," Ibth line 20* 
 
 Head , at end of last line but 7 ... ... ... ... ... ... t^' 
 
 „ " still," last line „ 2^° 
 
 Put " youth" for "truth," 9th line ... ... ^°J. 
 
 For "Not flit with one," " Yet linger oh" ... ... ... ... ... 2/0 
 
 For " embrace," " entrance," 37th line ... ... ... ... ... fj^^ 
 
 Read , end of last line but one in " Tide and Tide" 
 „ ; end of 4th line 
 
 trnsts " for " trust," 1st stanza of " Libel " 
 
 277 
 289 
 290 
 
 Insert "thfir" between " fancies" and "duty," 8th line ... ... ... 292 
 
 296 
 
 306 
 
 thee " for " the," 8th line of " Charlotte ".., 314
 
 PAOE 
 
 Eead at top of pa?e the omitted number ... .. 335 
 
 „ " handled," 23rd line ... ... ... ... '" "■ 345 
 
 „ "palace," not " palaces," line 23 ... ... " "" '" 349 
 
 „ "haughty," line 41 ... ... ... ... ... ■" 349 
 
 ,, . at end of 48th line... ... ... ... ... ' "" 349 
 
 For " humbly " read " sadlj " ... ... ... '..'. '" "" 353 
 
 Read ; at end of 20th line .. " "" "' " '" "" 359 
 
 „ "its "for "it," 10th line .'.V .'.".' .'."." .".". 362 
 
 „ ; at end of 12th line ... ... ... ... .. " "■ 352 
 
 „ " Sighting " for " Lig^htingr," 4th line, " King'of Commerce " .'.'. '" 367 
 
 „ "playful" for "painful," 38th line ' 369 
 
 ,, ; end of 16th line of " Baby Lips" .. "■ 389 
 
 ,, "close" for "closed," 30th Una ... ... ... "" "■ 389 
 
 „ , at end of 17th line ... ... ... ... .. '" "' 401 
 
 ,, , end of 35th line ... ... ... ..'. " '" '" 40I 
 
 Omit "of " in 8th line of " Anarchist" ... ..". " "" "" 434 
 
 Read .between "nu-n" and "should, 22n'd line of "Anarchist," '" "" 434 
 
 „ "A" for "And," in 4th line... 459 
 
 Omit 4th dtanza altogether of " Politics " ... "" "" 431 
 
 Read " mankind," 5th stanza ... ... '" '", "" "■ 483 
 
 „ "at top of page ... ... .V." '", ■" 437 
 
 „ , at end of 34th line ... ' *" '" 504 
 
 „ " a " for " A " in 16th line ... '.'.'. .". 558 
 
 „ " If," 27th line • 534 
 
 Strike out brackets in 1st line of liith stanza .'.'. "" "* "" 587 
 
 Put "tasting "for " lasting," 3rd line of 5th stanza '" '" "" SS9 
 
 „ " us " for " as," 2nd line of 3rd stanza ... .'.'. 604 
 
 „ " garden," 9th st-inza ... ... ... "' "■ 624 
 
 „ ? for . end of 4th line of 3rd stanz I .'.' .'.'.' " "' '" 829 
 
 Put mverted commas at beginning of stanzas 6 and 9 '" "" 640 
 
 „ " accusmg " for " aceursing," 5th stanza ... .. "' '" 654 
 
 „ " at c-nd of 3rd stanza . ■" "" 658 
 
 „ " warm " for " warn," 8th stanza ".'.". .'.'. 675 
 
 „ . end ot 8th, and ; end 11th line, " Lights and Shades," '" '" 693 
 
 „ ! end of 4th hnc, 'If Only," and ; end of nth line 695 
 
 „ , end of 10th line, " Great Gull Fixed... ... "■ ■" 695 
 
 „ ; end of 4th line, " Day and Night," ... ... "■ "■ 695 
 
 „ "Though " for " Those," 1st line of " Last not Least!'' 738 
 
 „ ; end of nth line, " Work of Hell," ... 741 
 
 „ , end of nth line ... '" '" 754 
 
 ,, " blow" for "blood" 28th liiie "' '" "■ ■" "" 770 
 
 „ " doubtful " "doubtless," 7th line .. " '" ■" "" 781 
 
 „ "spells" for "spell," 13th line ... 781 
 
 For " Epigram," put " The True Prince," ... "" "' '" 809 
 
 Put " at end of " A Fool," ... ... ... "■ "' "" 820 
 
 ,, , at end of 8th line ... ... '" ]" '" "' '" g23 
 
 Venus and Ascanius 
 The Sunbeam 
 The Storm Wind 
 The Summer Wind 
 Country Notes 
 Garden Fancies 
 Feast of Philosophy 
 Autumn Hours 
 Lethe 
 
 Rushmere and Hazelden 
 Story of a Shell, etc . 
 
 JUVENILIA.
 
 Price, Is. 
 "WOMEIS^ MUST WEEP" (;>,ran S>naenschein.) 
 
 Third Edition. 
 
 " Another hooh woHh getting is Prol. F. H. Williams' volume, 
 " Women must Weep," a collection of remarkable poems, dealing with 
 power and keen sympathy with the condition of fallen .women and 
 neglected children. Mr. Williams is a genmne poet of the " White 
 Cross." The purity of his sentiments is equal to the force with 
 which he expresses them, and "Women Must Weep" shoiild 
 prove a real aid to all who have the welfare women and of children at 
 h»art." — Society Times. 
 
 " We have read many of the pieces, and it is only fair to say 
 we have not found one which in expression could fairly give offence to 
 the most fastidious taste. Prof. Williams writes like a gentleman, as 
 well as like a Christian. He is fired by a very noble enthusiasm, and 
 he has both literary fluency and lyrical fervour." — Manchester 
 Examiner. 
 
 " I have read " Women Must Weep " with mingled feelings 
 of pain, pleasure, and gratitude. Nothing I can say will do justice 
 to it." — Jennette Fothergill, the Poet. 
 
 " Women Must Weep," by Prof. F. H. Williams, is a collection of 
 verses written with a truly noble pwpose — the advocacy of the 
 cause of the poor and neglected, especially the women and children 
 in our city streets. Apart from this, the verse is at tim^s of a high 
 order, as in "The White Cross," "On the Threshold," "Baby 
 Innocents," and " Nobody's Child." — Qraphic. 
 
 " A really remarkable volume of poems. The author is a veritable 
 modem crusader. He fights for the purity of women vinder the 
 white cross, like a knight of old, and his weapons are a curiously 
 unconventional poetic style and a boldness verging upon audacity 
 in his choice of subjects. . . Not only clever, but strikingly in 
 earnest, and therefore effective. . . . Evex-y side of the delicate 
 problem is treated with philosophical consideration and poetic force. 
 Some of the metaphors and phrases are conspiciious for originality 
 and beauty, and the book as a whole is something quite out of the com- 
 mon groove." — Court Journal. 
 
 " The author has a true conception of the needs of humanity, 
 and has therefore the true poet's proper standpoint. He writes in 
 active sympathy with the poor and needy, and has the courage to 
 denounce the oppression of the strong. Many of his poems are 
 worthy of immortality, and some of them (if we mistake not) vjill 
 secure this." — Christian Commonwealth. 
 
 " The Laureute of the Army of the White Cross." — Liverpool 
 Daily Post.
 
 " There is plenty of wit and humour in yoiii* book, and real 
 pathos too." — George Barlow, the Poet. 
 
 "Prof. F. H. Williams is the Laureate of the "New Crusade." 
 These poems are red hot with holy passion, and fierce with the 
 righteous indignation that rises unbidden at the sight or the story 
 of woman's woes and wrongs." — The Christian. 
 
 " The Wesson of Mercy and Charity eloquently taught by Prof. 
 F. H. Williams' volume of sympathetic verse, especially by his 
 fine City poems " Between the BanJcs," " A thoughtful and seasonable 
 book of poems." — Penny Illustrated Paper. 
 
 " Prof. Williams handles his subject ivith the ease of a master 
 and yet with the finesse of a diplomatist. The topics treated of 
 demand the most delicate handling — swerve a very hair's breadth, 
 and you offend susceptibilities predisposed to take offence. Prof. 
 Williams has skilfiilly steered his bark through the many treach- 
 erous shoals, and we arise from a periasal of his tuneful poems 
 with a glow of satisfaction. In tone and in 'manner of execution 
 they charm and enchain attention. Their lines are melodious, they 
 bespeak the culture of a scholar and the deep earnestness of a 
 Christian." — United Service Gazette. 
 
 " His poems " treat of many social evils and miseries with 
 generous indignation. The poems entitled " Light and Shade," 
 and"Grod's Griids," are among the best of the writer's effoi-ts." — 
 Morning Post. 
 
 " The grateful thanks of all women, from the Princess f to the 
 Peasant, are due to the author of this volume of exquisite ^joems. 
 Smooth and flowing, with wonderful changes of metre, " On the 
 Threshold," "The' Cup of Water," and "The Angel's Child," 
 bring vividly to the imagination the scenes which he pourtrays so 
 faithfully and feels so acutely, that the very words seem to be 
 a cry of pain wrung from a suffering heart. The literary merits 
 of the work, and the glorious object, will recommend it to all who 
 would see their fellow mortals rise to a holier and happier life." — 
 Church Portraits. 
 
 " Exquisite in melody and rhyme, all will be moved by the 
 splendid descriptive power shown in " The Cup of Water," " A 
 Bubble on the Stream," " The Angel's Child," and, we trust, 
 stirred to action. The author fearlessly wields his pen against 
 the vices of the age, pleading eloquently for women, children, the 
 sinful and suffering, all who are down-trodden. His charity 
 reaches the lowest. His hatred of wickedness in high places is 
 cutting and merciless."— Family Churchman. 
 
 t Note: — A copy of "Women Must Weep " has been accept- 
 ed by the Qvieen, and the Princess of Wales also wrote (by Col. 
 Clarke) to thank Prof. Williams for a copy of his book.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 NOV 1 7 1959 
 OCT 1 i ^Q* 
 
 Form L9-50m-7,'54( 5990) 444
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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