A A 3 6 = 5 I- 7 = 2 m = ^i: 1 m ■~M 6 m — -1 — ■< >■ y — POEMS ARL E J ^'"A.iJ i THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES t* / i»i,v«';:' fl ^ ^ L^>K fi . i-^\^ \ • a A ^ trTT.-ia^^/Artrfv- u«,» -' :w y a ^t . /• I i - V ' ~-^^'ii jraw Vhi-i^ '— jr* ,* -^ > h-tix 'A**'_ fi •vA'i i^ i ^.w 'iT'-'iT '— —-^ - J' ^'«^^. ft^*- U JVC POEMS PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON P O E M S BY NINA F. LAYARD LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. AXD NEW YORK : 15 EAST 16"' STREET 1890 All rights re served p.- L4-5 !/ TO MY DEAR FATHER ^\K*»jr^ *T» s^y^ ADVERTISEMENT I WISH to acknowledge the kind courtesy of those editors who have consented to the reprint of poems which have already appeared in their magazines. 'A March Howl,' 'The Rout of the Rooks,' and * For Life ' were published in Longmafi's Magazine. ' A Snow Sonnet ' and ' A Legend of the Sky \Vatchers ' appeared in Harper's Magazine. In the three poems ' An Artifice,' • The Poppy King,' and ' God for god ' I have intentionally borrowed metres respectively adopted by Buchanan and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. In any other case I have done so unconsciously. ' Isadore ' bears a cer- tain resemblance to ' The Lady of the Lea,' though the metre is not the same. N. F. L. CONTENTS PAGK domine, probasti i The Dead Day 32 Whom the Strike Struck 34 The Sun Painter 36 For Life 3^ By the Shore 43 Ax Artifice 44 Robert Browning 46 A Legend of the Sky Watchers . . . . 4S The Day of Love is Tast 52 The Incendiary 53 Night 56 Day 59 The Rout of the Rooks 60 A Sequence 64 What is Love? 66 X CONTENTS PAGE A Harebell 68 What the Birds Say ' . . 71 A Sermon and a Love Letter .... 72 Pain's Triumph 80 The Sexton and the Bride 81 A Rain Sonnet 83 After the Rain 84 Out of My Sky I Lost a Star 85 Dead Pharaoh 86 Weep and Sing 96 Knowledge only Tasted 97 Out of the Town at Last . . . . '. 99 Love's Measure 100 Poppies Red loi A Summer Sonnet 102 A Snow Sonnet . . 103 Heart's Bitterness 104 A Song of Tears 106 To Evelyn R. Garratt, on Her Birthday . .114 Soul Discipline 115 A Secret . ii6 Presentiment 117 Harvest Song . ' 118 Gate of Death 119 A March Howl 121 CONTENTS xi PA(;ii Song 124 The ror-PY Kinc J25 In Vain 127 ISADORE 1 28 An Answer to Alfred Austin's Sonnet entitled •Love's Wisdom' 132 A Parakle 133 Love's Afternoon 134 The Challenge that Disarmed a Threat '35 Scotch Johnny 137 The Sparrow's Defence 139 A Day Dream 140 Love and Pain 142 The Bee, the Lizard, and ihe Man . . . 143 The Warrior Lover 145 The Secret of the Lily Pool 146 A Parting 149 Life Lore 150 God for God 159 Perseverando 161 DOMINE, PROBASTI. Part I. r Scene I.—h Student's Bedroom at a University. Francis asleep ; Ministering Anc.el and Spirit ok Remorse in attendance. Ministering Ancfx. Ah ! let him sleep aNvhile ; the morn shall bring Too soon, alas ! alas ! the bitter sting. Remorse. My bitter sting. Ministering Angel. And all the golden store Of boasted innocence — Remorse. Be his no more. Ministering Angel. Wait yet awhile, O stern. relentless sprite ; Look not upon him ; see, my wing is white, And over him I spread it with soft care, And fan his pulsing brow, and stir his hair. How damp it clings ! that yestermorning rolled In glossy waves about his forehead bold. Francis {half waking). Now do I wake at last! The awful night is past, B 2 DO MINE, PROBASTI With dreams of hellish pain. I am God's child again ! I am God's son, I know, And upright will I go, Nor ever shall foul shame Dishonour my fair name. [Sleeps again with an expression of peace on his face.] Ministering Angel. To soul so pure how terrible the blot ! I charge you, awful spirit, wake him not. Remorse. Nay, but he must awake, and sadly know That he who sleeps with Sin must wake with Woe. [He approaches the bed ; his shadow falls on the face of the sleeper.] Ministering Angel {weeping). Not yet ! not yet ! but give me time to pray. I may not kiss his lips, but I would lay, If God so willed, my hand upon their door And stop his mortal breath for ever more, Then straightly bear his blessed soul away To purer mansions and a cleaner day. Remorse. Indeed it may not be ; for finest gold The furnace must be heated sevenfold. DO MINE, PROBASTI 3 Past purity shall make the trespass foul Show black against the whiteness of his soul. Francis (tnoving uneasily). I thought the night had fled, And from my bed Upleaping like a soul new-born I met the morn ; And with a pride of grace, Because His face Had shined upon me where I lay, I hailed the day. I thought the blessM light, That all the night Lay sleeping like a tired child, Awoke and smiled ; Till every cloudlet blushed Like sweet cheeks flushed, Nor ever dreaming of offence 'Gainst innocence. Yet once again I feel A horror steal ! And once again I seem to know A shapeless woe ! Why are my eyes so dim For sight of Him ? B 2 DO MINE, PROBASTI And when I call He answers not ! Am I forgot? [He raises himself and looks round.] What do I find? What is it clouds my mind With half- remembered wrong? Does this belong To woeful fancies of the brain O'erwrought with mental strain ? Or can it be I wake indeed to see Myself a blot — a curse In God's fair universe? [He leaps from the bed, and stands gazing wildly out into the east, where light begins to break. What have I done ? O God ! if this be true, Blot out Thy sun, Nor ever in the year's amount Let this day count. O God ! if this be true, Let this day's morning Fail of its dawning, Or, as a threaded bead that some fair girl Impatient tossed, DOMINE, PROBASTI s Drop like a broken pearl And so be lost. God ! God !— God ! 1 am undone — undone ! Wrath has begun : This is Thy rod. Oh, bitterness of sin, That man lets in To his soul's stain. Nor ever can be clean again ! Alas ! alas ! my mother ! And my sweet sister, And you, my brother ! How have I wronged you all By my black fall. Gape at me, hell ! Laugh at me, cruel fiends, as once ye laughed When Judas fell. How like in this : I have betrayed the Master with a kiss. [He falls prone on the ground. REMORSE bends over him; the Angel again interposes her wing.] DOMINE, PROBASTI Scene //.—A Street in the University Town. Francis walking hurriedly and with bowed head. Francis. Stern eye of the sun, Sad eye of the moon ; Eyes of the stars and flowers ; Morning, and night, and noon, I have felt your sorrowful gaze, Your rapt, immovable gaze, Amazed with my soul's amaze. The sun is my father's eye In pitiful majesty Looking on my despair. The sad white moon is no other Than the eye of my sad mother, And when the stars shine fair I catch with a swift surprise A glance from my brother's eyes. Then I turn my gaze to the ground, Where the trailing weeds are found And the pink convolvulus creeps ; But the gentle flowers look up With a tear in every cup, And I know that my sister weeps. [He pauses at a church door, but hesitates to enter. A hand is laid on his shoulder, and he recog- nises his friend Terence.] DO MINE, PROBASTI 7 Terence. Come, brother Francis, we have missed your face From the accustomed place, Your fellow-students question me in vain To know the cause of pain. And why you walk with slow and heavy tread '* Xnd bending of your head. It is not good to nurse a secret woe ; I pray you do not so. Nay, dearest brother, for your soul's relief Unbosom me this grief. Francis. If any spoken word By mortal heard Could break the spell That chains my soul to hell. If guilt confessed Could make my spirit blessed With holy light, As heretofore when I did walk upright, Then would I stand. And with uplifted hand. To summon all, And voice so loud and dread As might awake the dead, Confess my fall. Terence. Alas ! your soul is sick. 8 DOMINE, r ROB AST I I pray you, friend, To enter now the quiet church, and bend Full lowly at His footstool who imparts His absolution to all humble hearts. Francis. Can prayer undo my deed ? Then will I plead Till the rent sky. Torn with my agony, Shall answer to my need. [They enter the church together.] Choir singing. Searcher of hearts, in vam we fly The terrors of Thy scrutiny ; Searcher of hearts, in vain we plot To find the land where Thou art not. Wings of the morning would I take, So sad the bed in hell I make ; If I ascend Thy holy hill, Searcher of hearts, I find Thee still. [Francis seats himself, repeating the words—] ' Searcher of hearts, I find Thee still.' DO MINE, PROBASTI 9 Scene III. — The Church. Remorse, disguised as a preacher, enters the puljiit. Remorse. A message from the Lord ! a spoken word ! In visions of my head upon my bed ; Forthfs way went the Spirit of the Lord ,To speak with nie, and thus and thus He said : ' To you, O son of man, it hath been given, To learn the awful mystery of pain : Through death to look on life, Through hell to heaven, From present fall and loss to final gain.' And I beheld, and lo ! the eye of day Was dim with sorrow, and a weeping wind Disturbed the heavy boughs, to creak and sway, Till all the hanging greenery did find A grief that must be uttered ; and I heard, And lo ! a sudden shivering of the leaves, That loosely smote together, and a bird Flashed swiftly upwards to the sheltering eaves ; Then dropt a feather, brightened by her blood. Her tender bosom's blood. ' O God !' I cried, ' O God ! it was to save her callow brood She hovered wistful and the bolt defied ! ' lo DOMINE, PROBASTI And even as I spake a murmured sound Of groaning anguish, or of wild despair ; And might be shrill, or hoarse, so muffled round And deadened was it by the heavy air ; But ever gathered strength, and filled the land With howling misery, an awful wave That swept to where I stood, and licked my hand With shuddering sense of coldness and the grave. And with the vague uncertainty of dreams That are, and yet are not, now lost or found, So to my puzzled sense the vision seems A thing of sight, or touch, anon of sound. And these are faces that before were sighs ; And blankness of unutterable woe Hath quenched the kindling beauty of young eyes \ And youthful feet, how heavily they go ! For everywhere is sorrow, and unrest. And living torture, crueller than death, That must be carried in a living breast ; And lips shall pale that cannot yield their breath. And there are smothered cries, for wounded things Look up, in dumb astonishment of pain, Or print the sodden earth with trailing wings, That never more shall brush the air again. And, as I mused upon them, suddenly ^ DOMINE, PRO BAST! ii A trembling horror took me, and I wailed, ' Is love of God exchanged for cruelty, And have the springs of His compassion failed?' A voice said, ' Cry,' and lo ! another voice Obediently made answer, and thus spake : ' What' shall I cry ?' and He, 'There is no choice. For all creation groaneth, and doth make Sore travail, waiting for the blessed time, Of ultimate adoption. Therefore say, " All flesh is grass, and glory most sublime Is flower of grass and withereth away. Moreover be it known that human woe Doth ever follow closely human sin ; Who opens to admit the deadly foe Hath never failed to let that other in.'" Francis {repeating the words to himself). 'Hath never failed to let that other in ' ! Remorse {continuing). Hearken to me, O ye who with rash lips Charge God with wantonness, and would eclipse The light of His serene beneficence. Hearken and learn, O ye whose impious speech Hath dared the Judge of all men to impeach ; Lie lowly in the dust, and mark from whence came this That ye have read amiss. 12 DO MINE, PROBASTI In visions of my head Upon my bed Thus did I see, And thus it was revealed to me : Hand in hand Came Death and Sin From the far-off land, The land of sorrow, Where no to-morrow May let Hope in. Hand in hand They passed out From the rebel rout. From the noise and riot Into the quiet Of the fields of Space, Where no place Could ever be found For the dreadful sorrow sound. What do they, this truant pair ? From the portal whence they came Tongues of flame Lick out into the air ; From the region whence they hail. Gaunt and pale, DO MINE, P ROB AST! 13 Cometh a long-drawn wail Of infinite despair. O earth ! earth ! that hangs Bright in the dreadful vast, Now they drop unto thee, Plotting to undo thee, Fast — fast — fast ! Their black wings find no rest Upon the scanty ether, Ploughed by no bird's breast, Rufiled by no feather. Behold ! behold ! behold ! They have found thee, and they wait Impatient at the gate, As a wolf before the fold. They have found thee, ah ! poor earth ! So fair and so untried In thy newly-modelled pride And the glory of thy birth ; And they pause awhile to see What warder holds the key. Ah ! who is this that comes with dainty finger To ope the door where still the shadows linger, Whose airy footing leaves the sprouting green All velvet smooth, as though no step had been ? 14 DOMINE, PROBASTI Ah ! who is this that hghtly to her fall Doth trip and go ? I weep, and know — Sad Eve, alas ! the mother of us all ; Sad Eve, the mother of all living called : I learn, appalled, The mother of all dead that are to be ; Of her dead Abel One day to know herself the mother ! And his sad brother, Dark Cain, who slew him darkly, and must flee Where shadows sable May haply hide him and his infamy. O fellow men ! behold ! behold ! and wonder ; Hearken ! and understand. When flew the gates of Paradise asunder 'Twas by a woman's hand. For, all transfigured as an angel. Sin Stood pleading, Nor ever wist she of that deadly twin That followed at his leading. Francis {covering his face). Alas ! transfigurt.'d as an angel. Sin Stood pleading. Nor ever wist I of that deadly twin DOMINE, PROBASTI 15 That follows at her leading. Remorse (continuing). And even as one waking, who in vain Would find again The visipn that eludes him, so my eyes Awoke to blindness of that other world. For shuf eyes see in dreams, and vision flies The lifting day, with shadowy pinions furled. And all about me woke the common day. The common staring day, whose harsher lines The common light defines ; And where this picture ends we know, or where, again, That other hath beginning is made plain. And sound is of the ear, and tethered sight Must find its limit in the visual orb, With straightened circumstance of partial light That favouring planes absorb. Thus died the vision, but my spirit built From out the tumbled ruin of my dream A structured knowledge, that did grow and seem The twofold mystery of Pain and Guilt. i6 DO MINE, PROBASTI Part II. A^wf /.—Midnight. A House in Wiltshire. Francis restlessly pacing his chamber. Francis. Now my poor heart must play the pendulum, And count each measure of this heavy night, With its own tired swinging, left to right. And right to left again, to tell the sum Of souls that pass in death, and souls that come Reluctant earthward from th' unshadowed light ; Come weeping into life, to learn aright The lessons of their new curriculum. So full of pain my heart, so full of pain The muffled murmur of the growing sound ; Ah me, for new-born life and coming stain ! For death, ah me ! and lying in the ground, Ashes to ashes, earth to earth again, While all the woolly darkness gathers round. DO MINE, PRO BAST I 17 S^ene IT. A River bordered by a Wood. Fkanlis walking by the bank; Ministering Angel and Spirit ok Re- morse in attendance. Francis. The years may come and the years may go,' l)Ut I stretch my hand to an empty sky. If the stars are not clean in His sight How can a mortal man be white While sin is sin, and I am I, Though the years may come and the years may go ? Is it Hving to move and breathe, Now to forget, and now again To know the sting of eternal pain — l"2ternal pain, and eternal stings, And the worm that gnaws at the root pf things? Is it living to move and breathe? I wake u]) at the dead of night, AVhen the quiet world hath shut her ears ; Waketh a bird in the early dawn And singeth her song * Forlorn ! forlorn 1 ' And only my sorrow stirs and hears In the cold of the sad half-light. Spirit of God, that strives with men, Strive not thus with' me night and day. ,S DO MINE, PROBASTI Shall the strife end never, never, My soul for rock that an iron pen Cutteth and graveth in lead for ever With the name of my sin and my soul's dismay ? (iod, I am weary of life ! God, take from me this sad thing that men call living ; Not to forget doth prove Thee unforgiving. ( iod, I am weary of life ! 1 )eep and cool and dark and strong is the river That brims and passes, And a tiny breeze hath set the weeds a-shiver. And the long sad grasses. What if I plunge within, And sinking there, ^Vash my body of sin. My soul of despair ? Oh, to feel the wave on my temp'.es throbbing, Cooler than churchyard earth, and to hear the sound. The last sound in my ears, of the water sobbing Like some kind maid over the hai)less drowned ! Ah ! I would stretch at ease on so sweet a pillow, And the river should kiss me to death, as a doting lover DO MINE, PROBASTI 19 I"'inding my lips and touching them over and over, 'I'ill I fall asleep at the last in the shade of the willow . [IIelga suddenly appears from the wood behind him.] HeFvGA. Forgive me if it seem a thing too Ijold Thus to address you, who am all unknown, Batasrl paused to root a marigold In yonder avenue your voice was blown Adown the carrier-wind, and reached my ear Heavy with sorrows pitiful to hear. Francis {turning aside fearfully without looking up). Ah, lady, heard you me ? It is a trick My voice hath learnt of late, for spirits sick Let drop their thoughts in words, and talk to stones, When God and man disowns. Helga. God doth disown us never ; though Me chide He will not keep His anger. Francis {huskily). He will hide By night and day, will cover up His face, That not one ray of grace Steal throueh for comfort. He will smite the foe That is already down. And tread his crown Into the ashes — so ! [He brings his foot down heavily on a drooping flower and crushes it into the earth. ] c 2 20 DO MINE, PROBASTl Hki.ga {aside). I fear his look, and yet I cannot leave The stranger thus. The river runneth full, With sucking sounds that seem to draw and pull His harried soul ! Francis {contitming as if to /linisc/f). I hear their voices call ! Soft voices from the shallows of the stream, Deep voices, as the voices of a dream, I hear them cry and call, ' Come to us, poor heart breaking with the sadness Of God-forsaken grief ! Come to us, poor brain burning with a madness Beyond relief ! ' Gently, gently the ripples eddy and curl, About the brown leaves shifting ; They are turning now and lifting To the strong water-swirl. Would I were leaf or twig to float as they (Quietly down the stream, away and away Past the woods and out to the meadows lazy, Green with grass and pranked with poppy and daisy. There, where the banks are frayed with river sedges, Great brown cattle, leaning over the edges, DOMINE, PRO BAST I 21 Draw deep comfort without stint or stand, And bow their foreheads rough for blessing of the land. IFrancis moves nearer to the river's edge, with his hand lo his head. Helga follows.] Fr.^ncis {continuing). O great kind ri\cr, you will hold me soon. Dear mother-hand, I feel your fingers press My tortured brow to smoothness of a swoon. Oh, strong caress ! Tender as strong. To thee I yield and yearn ; In thee, sweet stream, I trust, and gladly turn From every comfort other. ( iod was my Father stern. Thou art m\' mother. Helg.^. Trust Him who made the stream, and loves to fling His gracious pity over everything. Francis {turning hastily). I pray you leave me, lady : God and I Have quarrelled, and His ways your words belie. I loved Him once. Oh ! how I loved Him ! Now He sits in wrath, and bids the ploughers plough. I loved Him once with loyal heart devout ; He shut Himself in heaven and left me out. Helga. Yet if you knock He surely will attend. Francis {tvildly). Ay, I will knock once more, when this clenched hand ?2 DO MINE, PROBASTI lieats on the startled water; if He send His angel to me I shall understand. Ministering Anget, {to Spirit of Remorse). Ah ' speed me to him ere the fatal leap ; God gives His angels charge the ways to keep Of His elert. Remorse. Do thou direct The action of the woman ; 'tis the hour When ghostly darkness hath him in its power. Francis {continuing). Close is the air, but cool the river's breath : Oh, agony of life ! oh, bliss of death ! God, I can bear no more , Thy arrows stick Fast in my shrinking flesh ; the head is sick And the whole heart is faint. Forgive the deed ; That frees my spirit as a bird is freed. [He walks on hurriedly towards a bridge that spans the river.] Hflga {clasping her hands in terror). Now do I think my leaping heart will burst For impotence to save him, or restrain His tortured spirit's rashness, if he gain The bridge's dreadful height I fear the worst. What if I cry Aloud to God, who listens from the sky? DOMINE, PROBASTI 23 Spirit oi' Rkmorse (/7 He was hurried when he came To the waiting poppy bed, So he took a splash of flame And he burnt the poppies red. 38 FOR LIFE. {Loiig'ii ait's Magazine, Jan. 1890. ) A FIGHT for his life with a horse ! A man, for his hfe, with a horse ! A terrible grappling of strong young arms, Lusty, but almost o'erpowered. Life or Death in the struggle ! Life, full-pulsing and joyous, A young man's life in its spring-tide, Or Death — still-faced and grey. Ah ! see you not 'tis a groom, Who is training a vicious brute From the stud of my Lady Diana? Yes — but a groom loves life, And now he must fight for it madly. With clenched teeth, grim in their setting, And dark eyes glittering fiercely. While he feels his muscles relaxing. FOR LIFE 39 All very well in the Gardens, Where there is space sufficient, But before him the Park gates widen. And all the stream of a city Bours into Piccadilly. As in a vision he sees it, That swirling, eddying torrent ; Lo ! now it runs like blood. Slowly and sluggishly here. Blocked by excess of traffic. As in a vision he sees it, Heavy and thick and slow-moving, Crawling, creeping before him. Right in the teeth of his coming, His terrible, headlong on-coming. Is it a horse he is riding Or the demon of Death incarnate. That with wide nostril distended, And wicked hot ears back-turning. Gathers its awful strength. From foam-wreathed flank to shoulder? Now for one mighty endeavour I One more bracing of sinews ! If the brute conquer at last 40 FOR LIFE He shall know he'd a man to deal with ; He shall know, by the bloody mouthpiece, By the sudden grip as of iron, Throwing him back on his haunches, While the red spume shows redder, Flung in the face of the rider. He shall know it, though he recover. Mad with the strength of his fury, Pausing only a moment To gather fresh force for the on-Ieap, And to plough his horrid passage Through that sullen human river. Now for muscle to muscle ! Now for the final contest ! But the rider's cheek it is ashen. And the fearful grip on the curb rein Is the clutch of his stiffening fingers. A fight for his life, with a horse ! A man, for his life, with a horse ! The groom of the Lady Diana — Yes, but a man for all that. Call him a man for one minute. Give him some brief adulation ; If he be king or servant FOR LIFE 41 It will matter little directly ; Monarchs and grooms turn to clay, And we speak softly of either, With reverent pity of either. A man — not a groom for one minute. What — is the tragedy over? They are crowding about the gateway. Follow and learn the sequel. How a groom fought with the devil ! How a young man fell fighting ! How a king died in the batde ! Yes — a king — do not wonder Though I say it with sudden passion. Ah ! — I am sick. Is it over? Constable, say, did you see it ? Did you see — the — king — fall ? The young man — whatever you call him, The groom of the Lady Diana? What do they say, the people? ' Somebody caught at the bridle, Just as his strength gave over. Somebody caught at the bridle ! ' Here through the crowd disparted Who is this that comes striding? 42 FOR LIFE Mo larch or groom that comes striding? Demon or horse is he leading? See ! the brute noses him kindly, Asks of him dumb forgiveness. Poor silly horse — not a jemon ! Poor tired boy — not a monarch ! Now Heaven defend you, young hero. Though you may stammer and redden Because the horse had the best of it. Well — yes, the brute is a beauty ; And you — why, you did your duty And God will take care of the rest of 43 BY THE SHORE. '"PO know the secret of the sea And hear the tale it tells, And why with broken filigree Lie all the scattered shells ; To learn the story of the shore, Of pebbles rolled and worn And why to shreds for evermore The seaweed lace is torn — I walk and ponder, musing still Of God and good, of hate and ill. 44 AN ARTIFICE. "XT OT any more shall word of mine entreat And thou my suit deny ; Not any more shall scorn and sorrow meet, Or love await reply In patient, bootless pain. The dream is ended, and the visions fleet ; The pageant has gone by ; Not any more shall word of mine entreat And thou my suit deny ; Not any more again. It may be in the twilight soft and sweet I shall your form descry ; Yet word of mine shall never more entreat. And thou my suit deny In pitiless refrain. I shall not pass you l)y with lingering feet Or longing, restless eye, For never more shall look of mine entreat AN ARTIFICE 45 And thou my suit deny, Or I my fate complain. Think not to glory in my love's defeat With smiles that still defy ; For lips of mine shall never more entreat, And thou my suit deny And yet my heart enchain. No after echo shall the sound repeat Of woe's most bitter cry, Nor any more shall tears of mine entreat, And thou my suit deny And twofold victory gain. The blessed flowers that twine about thy feet Look upward fond and shy, And mutely pulling at thy skirts entreat. Wilt thou their suit deny, And leave them crushed and slain ? They know thy footstep faltered in retreat I They marked a gathering sigh ! Not any more need word of mine entreat ; Thou wilt no more deny ; I have not loved in vain ! 46 ROBERT BROWNING. /^UT of the heart of the night Into the brave dayhght, Stepped a man, For God sent him. Who shall let or prevent him ? Whom God sends who can ? Out of the doubts of the past, Into the right at last, Pushed a soul That God fashioned. Mightily truth impassioned And strove for the goal. Out of the pitiful dream, That things are what they seem Rose a heart At God's shaking ; Stood as one newly awaking, And saw, though in part. ROBERT BROWNING 47 Out of the ranks of a crew, Into the roll of the few, Passed a mind God promoted; And we marvelled and noted A king of his kind. Out of the slothful ' Who cares? ' Into the noble 'Who dares?' Pressed a will, Strong, unbending, With its bias unending, Por good or for ill. Forth from a cage set wide, Into the blue outside, A spirit fled. Men come and go As God decrees, and so Browning is dead. 48 A LEGEND OF THE SKY WATCHERS. {Harper's Magazine, Sept. 18S9.) "pVVAS God who in the olden time- Fashioned a great red sun. 'And this,' He said, 'shall be the eye I 'hat daily from the silent sky For good and evil done Shall watch, and up the heavens climb.' And all obedient to the word, Unwinking from his place, Looked out the watchman at his post, And saw the ever-moving host, That with or grief or grace The changing landscape blest or blurred. A LEGEND OF THE SJCV WATCHERS 49 But when the daylight fades to eve Full heavily the wight Leans his great head upon his hands, And like a tired sentry stands And wearies for the sight Of one who shall his watch relieve. 'Twas God who in the olden time Fashioned a silver moon. 'And this,' He said, 'shall be the eye That, when the midnight of the sky Has overwhelmed the noon, Shall search the earth for love or crime' And all obedient to His word, But with a pallid fear Of what the dreadful night would bring, When every fierce and hidden thing Might suddenly appear, The blanching moon looked forth and heard. And what she saw we do not know, Or whether 'twas the sight Of Abel lying stiff and cold, Half trodden in the trampled mould, That filled her with affright, Until she feared her face to show ; 5c A LEGEND OF THE SKY WATCHERS We cannot tell, but even now, When mortals are asleep, Across her visage fixed and pale She hasteneth to draw a veil, And only dares to peep, But fears to bare her marble brow ; And only when the month has rolled Right round upon its wheel, Full cautiously, with anxious dread She lifts the shadow from her head. One moment to reveal Her glory and her face unfold. The stars, that are her children dear. And learning to be moons, Hang out their little lamps to burn, And quake and tremble in their turn. Or fall in sudden swoons. Infected by her grievous fear. And though to watch the ways of men Sun, moon, and stars are told. The sun alone with open stare Upon the guilty world doth dare To cast his eye of gold, And clouds enfold him even then. A LEGEND OF THE SKY WATCHERS 51 Perchance One brooding o'er the land Of purpose willed it so, And hath not been extreme to mark The crooked ways that in the dark His stumbling children go ; And even Cain shall have his brand ; r And if the moon her secret keep He may his brother find, And kiss away the dreadful blue That changed his body's goodly hue, By sudden stroke unkind That left him dead among his sheep. Perchance at lifting of the lid Of the resurrection day Sweet Abel, with his brother's hand Fast locked in his, shall meekly stand And for that other pray, ' Behold, he knew not what he did ; ' And for the brightness of that blood That covers every stain. The brothers two, in fields afar United, may forget they are The slayer and the slain, And emulate each other's good. E 2 THE DAY OF LOVE IS PAST. '"PHE day of love is past — the day of love. O day of love, so sweet ! O heart, poor heart ! You leaned your weight upon a wounding thorn You leaned your love upon a human soul, O day of love, and art thou past indeed ? Gone ! gone ! I know thee gone, I know myself Alone in God's full world. Have pity, God Have pity ! pity ! 3J . , THE INCENDIARY. TDULL down the stars ; Here let us have a game Of patent pattern ; You bowl with Mars, And I will take an aim With belted Saturn. Come, lend a hand ; The bright thing there is wasting, Not serving Hodges ; ^Ve'll make a stand, And give the star a basting : Till it dislods: s. -'& We'll sink the scale And light the rich man's winders I've tar and matches. When we turn tail, And all the house in cinders, Hindmost he catches. 54 THE INCENDIARY How now, you dolts ? Why tremble in your boots, My sucking Platos, At thunder-bolts, Or little star that shoots, Or— hot potatoes ? We have no fear ; And if you talk of reverence, And all that twaddle, We love our beer, And hope to see no severance 'Twixt screw and paddle. Who cares for caste In these new days of level ? We didn't make it. As for the past, It may go to the devil An' he will take it. Hold ! — there is God \ I almost had forgotten The Book— His letter- But paths are trod, And the old ways get rotten And we want better ; THE INCENDIARY 55 And, as I say, The old road is too straight, We'd have it wider. There's room to pray, But to be mad and hate, Or drunk on cider, There's hardly space. Or so our mother taught us When she lay dying. I see her face. And how her look I)esought us For some replying. My mother ! — yes ! All right, my lads, I'll come ; You needn't doubt it ; But I confess Just now I'm flummoxed some ; I'll — think about it. s^ NIGHT. T HAVE touched the hem of another night, And the awful darkness grows and crawls Round the curtains and up the walls, And all the comfort of the light Has gone with the sun, for the moon is white And ashen cold. There is death in the moon And a livid fear, like a face in a swoon. Can I forget the dread that wrought In my startled mind, and the awful thought That came in the day, iVnd surged and lay Heavy as waters that suck and pull At a drowning man, till his eyes are full Of Salter tears than he ever shed ? Can I forget that mortal dread Here where I climb up into my bed, NIGHT 57 And hug my body, and rock and groan ? I'or even my body is not my own ; ]}ut I think of the weight of an ^lgly stone That shall heavily crush and press nic down Into the earth so damp and brown : 4nd I feel the stamp of a heavy boot, For the sexton has dared to set his foot On my face, that men called sweet and fair ; And terribly neat is my braided hair, For a stranger lady's maid had its doing : Not for a wedding or a wooing, But for a long night's lie-a-bed She arranged my gown and coifed my head. Ah ! how I sicken while I write ! It is heavy truth, though the words are light, And I fear, I fear the coming grave ; Brave men fear, and I am not brave. Know you the look of a face death-stricken ? Ah ! while I write I pause and sicken. Know you the death stare of the eyes. Wide with a terrible surprise, And the fearful silence the dumb lip keeps When the fluttering breath comes forth in leaps ? Did they spare to tell us the truth. For pity of us and unselfish ruth. 58 NIGHT When, mutely turning from us aside, '("licy gave no signal but meekly died ? I am weary, weary : my pencil falls From my slack hand, and on the walls The flickering candle's fitful spark Scarce holds its own against the dark,' But falters and suddenly waxes dim As the taper burns to my candle rim. 59 DAY. .' r nrilE fear of the night has passed away ; I am strong with the light of another day, And instead of the ghastly moon I find A great red sun that is warm and kind. Is the day God, and life, and good, And do we taste in the desolate night The sorrow of souls that out of His sight Mourn in eternal orphanhood ? Here where I sit in grateful shade The bare-limbed beech trees stand and wade In a pleasant sea of washing air, Till their leaves are tossed like the tumbled hair Of laughing girls who dance and leap, Stepping fearlessly bosom-deep Into the ocean broad and fair ; And all about me the children play Their own sweet games in their own sweet way, Or stop to kiss with a sudden joy, Pigmy lovers — a girl and boy. 6o THE ROUT OF THE ROOKS. {Longman's Magazine, Sept. 1889.) /^AW ! caw ! caw ! Heavy and dark the rook and the daw Lodge on the trees and shake the branches, Or sweep to the earth, black avalanches ; Flooding the new-sown fields, Wasting the harvest-yields ; Here with a bullying beak To dig and scatter and seek ; To worry and tear the earth With reckless chattering mirth. Killing the child-wheat at its birth. Caw ! caw ! caw ! Careless of mortal law. What is a trespass board to a crow. Or a troop of rooks that all in a row Are hungry with flying. And purpose defying THE ROUT OF THE ROOKS 6i The King and the Queen and the whole bench of judges, Counsel and jury with fancies and fudges, Wigs and blue bags, pen, ink, and smudges ; Briefs that are big, and briefs that are small, And briefs that have never been brief at all, But wordy and fulsome, and drawn out and windy Contrived for the object of making a shindy ? At least that's what I heard them say, Those wicked birds on a sweet spring day. Caw ! caw ! caw ! Swinging up and down in a mad seesaw. Socialist birds who ignore the baton And laugh at the man with a constable's hat on. Dark intriguers. Bold land-leaguers ; Jail-birds surely, though not in jail ; Ticket of leave, or out on bail? Whatever they are I only know There never was seen such a noisy row Of hot-headed reprobates, bent on obtaining By hook or by crook, or (by way of explaining) By beak or by claw, what was haply remaining To poor farmer Johnson of all his hard labour, A good man enough and a generous neighbour. 62 THE ROUT OF THE ROOKS Caw ! caw ! caw ! Down they came, and the farmer saw : 'Run, Ellen, run, And take my gun. You can run swiftly, my little daughter ; You can aim truly, and neatly slaughter These greedy foes, who deserve no quarter.' All through the fields of sprouting rye In a flash of light the maid passed by, And into the midst of the dusky crew, Like a glittering pearl of morning dew, Dropped on their columns, black as night, With her shining hair and her kirtle white. And stood among them, and looked, and sighed, Then dropped the gun to the earth and cried, ' Dear black robbers of rye and oats. With your silky heads and your glossy coats. Dear black robbers of oats and rye, I always liked Robin Hood on the sly, And would take his part if I dared be true. For I think he was handsome and bold, like you. Have no fear of me or my gun. For I love you well as I watch the sun Kissing your necks with a sheeny light. Till your feathers are purple and smooth and briL^^ht. THE ROUT OF THE ROOKS 63 Afar I thought you as black as ink, But a rook is beautiful near, I think.' Caw ! caw ! caw ! What of the ravenous beak and craw? What of the pecking and picking and priggini;, The delving and diving, the drilling and digging? Suddenly from the field uprose That hungry army of rooks and crows ; Suddenly did the sunlight fade From the golden hair of the little maid , For over the face of the morning sky They spread like a funeral canopy ; Spread, and moved, and sailed away As the night that is leaving the new-come day. But the farmer s daughter, who watched the while Smiling a little wistful smile, Said, ' Dear robbers, I loved you so ; You were good to come, but better to go I may not say it, but still I think It is bad for birds to want food or drink ; And when I go to the church to pray, " Give us Thy bounty day by day," I shall whisper low while the prayer is said, " And give to the rooks their daily bread." ' 64 A SEQUENCE. "D LUE, blue, all is blue ! The flower that you wear, And the sky above, And your eyes, my love, And the veins that cross the sweet hands of you. Oh, my life ! oh, my dear ! All is blue. White, white, all is white ! The pearls in your hair. And the bridal lace, And your sweet young face, And the blossoms that crown your forehead's height. Oh, my love ! oh, my fair ! All is white. Black, black, all is black ! The night (for you died), And the gloom over all, And the funeral pall, A SEQUENCE O5 And the sorrows that keep my soul in rack. Oh, my heart ! oh, my bride ! All is black. Green, green, all is green ! The tender young life, That borrowed your breath, And lived by your death, And the grave where the alders stoop and lean. Oh, my lost ! oh, my wife I All is green. Grey, grey, all is grey ! The sun over-head No colour will throw To the earth below. And I know not the darkness from the day. Oh, my loved ! oh, my dead ! All is grey. Gold, gold, all is gold ! I pass to my rest Through a sun-pierced rift, Where the shadows lift, And I come to your heart as in days of old. Oh, my own ! oh, my best ! All is gold. F 66 WHAT IS LOVE? ' A NSWER me : What is love ? ' I looked around On all the joyful revellers, and found One common language, eyes that challenged eyes To that sweet mortal conflict where who dies Doth straight uplift again ; palm meeting palm In feverish impatiency of calm, For as a badge of brotherhood to such Is whispered word or sign, or stolen touch. 'Answer me : What is love?' I see this earth,' This handling of twin tissues that had birth In one same Adam-fathered mould, and must Eve-mothered turn as surely back to dust. I know this heat, that stirs the rushing flood Of hurrying corpuscles that men call blood ; But this will stop i' the veins, grow cold, and clot. And what will love do then, that finds it not? ' Earthiness. WHAT IS LOVEf 67 ' Answer me : What is love ?' From out the throng Slow moving, with a visage pale and strong, Came one had watched his lady from afar As who should gaze upon the morning star ; And in his eye there burnt a sacred fire That lit my own in passing. ' Such desire Is of the soul,' I cried, and from the band Passed with him through the moonlight hand in hand. F 2 68 A HAREBELL. "C^LOWER I hold within my hand, Blue as God's eternal sky, On a dainty pattern planned, You were never made to die. Inhere is pleasure in your cup. In the very shape of you ; ' J^ill me, night drops; fill me up,' You are crying to the dew. All your swaying beauty finds Added sweetness, if it could. When you bow before the winds As a gracious lady would. At the moving of your bell Comes the whisper of a sigh : Only those can hear it well Who among the grasses lie ; A HAREBELL 69 For the harebells have a voice, And the tiny insect band Know their music and rejoice, In that quiet undcrland. And the booming honey-bee. All in suit of velvet trim, Pauses in his flight to see If you hold a gift for him ; But he pays you like a lord For the spoil of precious things, And the golden pollen hoard Is the money that he brings. If he shelter in your cell From the sudden thunder showers, Many a story he can tell Of the loves of other flowers ; For he gossips with them each, And he knows the secret tale Why the pink is on the peach, But the blossom deadly pale ; lo A HAREBELL Why the cups have modest eyes, But the pockets patch and paint ; Why the lily martyr-wise Vowed herself a maiden saint. Ah ! he knows them one and all ; And, my harebell, too he knows, In the shadow of the wall, AVhere another harebell grows. He is postman to the field. And I fancy in his kit He has brought a letter sealed : Only you can open it. Flower I hold within my hand. Blue as heaven's eternal sky, All for joy and beauty planned. Which is blithest, you or I ? 71 WHAT THE BIRDS SAY. r) IRDS that chirp in the morning, Sharp and shrill in the early light, VMiat do they say when the dawning Has folded away the night ? ' Cheep ! cheep ! cheep ! ' from the gables overhead ; 'Give us — give us — give us, give us our daily bread.' 72 A SERMON AND A LOVE LETTER. Hilary {tvalking in a garden). Here comes my sister. Ah ! how light her tread ! How dainty proud the carriage of her head ! Her lips apart, For ever breathing song, as though her heart Would break for very joy's sweet pain Should they refrain. Eileen {sings). My garden is full of roses, And over my garden wall They hang their clustering petals Li a white and crimson fall. Nothing is found in my garden That yieldeth not its due — Sweets of ravishing perfume, Tints of delicate hue ; A SERMON AXD A LOVE LETTER 73 This for its cup of nectar, And that for its honied cells, And the old-world plant in the border For its chime of purple bells ; (Jold and purple and scarlet. Colours to deck a queen ; Every tint of the rainbow, With a thousand shades between. Graces and joys and beauty Grow in my garden beds ; I'or the homelier weeds of duty, I leave them for wiser heads. Hilary. Ah, my sweet sister, you have caught the day New-waking, and have chid her where she lay. As who would chide a slumbering milking lass When on the upland grey full-uddered cows Uplift impatient from the dewy grass. And lowing stand, with broad, expectant brows. Thus have you chid the morning with your voice, 1-ulI-throated warbler. Yet I would your rhyme Had shaped itself to other words — and time. I love it not, this ditty of your choice. 74 A SERMON A XD A LOVE LETTER Eileen. A little wanton song that speaks my mind, How should it grieve you, brother? Hilary. In this kind : That only out of wantonness of thought A fellow wantonness of words is wrought ; That lightness makes for lightness ; lip and heart Do haply sing together, each in part. It argues poorly for the spirit's creed If joys are flowers, and duty but a weed. Eileen. I know my fault, dear brother — that I bless Joy for joy's sake, and love and loveliness. And all that pleases eye and soul and sense. HiL\RY (aside), I would upbraid, but surely innocence Alone could prompt her tender heart to tell What guiltier souls would feel and hide so well. Eileen. Life is too short for sorrow : I would fill The shrunken days full up with pleasure, till A SERAfON AND A LOVE LETTER For very overflowing of delight Day stretched itself to gather in the night , And night, not any whit to be outdone, Raised languid eyelids to the chiding sun, Then closed again with soft, indulgent sigh, ^ Her interrupted bliss to satisfy. Hilary {sighing heavily). Ah, sister, may you never live to find Sweetness your woe, and kindliness unkind. Love all things beautiful and good, but pray God of His mercy teach you which be they. Too gentle nesting-place doth never mark Sun-loving eagle, or sky-seeking lark ; The one from thorns, the other from the sod, Springs up to light, to heaven, and to God. Eileen. If sweet must turn to bitter, ease to strife. Then better death than such unlovely life. My lightness is my own, and if I dare To have it so why should another care ? Hilary {tmfolding a letter). God hath not made us units, but doth knit Soul to its fellow soul, as He sees fit. / 5 76 A SERMON AND A LOVE LETTER Eileen. It will be time enough, my brother, then To talk of creeds and commonplace. For men (So I am told), in seeking for the bliss Of life companionship, ask firstly this : ' Is she a cook, and will she serve aright Her lord's best part, a manly appetite ? What of her needle ? Does the dainty shaft A weapon prove of wifely handicraft, Which, deftly wielded with a patient skill, Subdues the sullen fabric to her will ? ' Why are you frowning, brother ? Must I plead This nineteenth century, and woman freed From looms and lace, and threading tapestry, That cruellest device of all, whereby She should be kept in due subservience ? Nay, brother ! and I will not make pretence To love those modern labours of the brain By women called ' self-culture,' which, again. Destroy the joy of living for life's sake, Of loving for love's sake, and rudely take The bloom from off the peach, as when a hand Should brush its velvet, bent to understand The manufactured texture and to pry Into great Nature's work with curious eye. A SERMON AND A LOVE LETTER 77 For me— I love the ripe thing where it falls, A luscious, blushing morsel, from the walls. As crying, ' Take me, mellowed over-much By surfeit of sun's rays ; yea, taste and touch. Taste me and learn my juicy virtues well ; Feedjieart and sense with touch and taste and smell.' Hilary (sloivly re/oldiftg the letter). I came upon an errand, but I fear. Young sister, that you are not ripe to hear. Eileen. What have you there ? A letter from your friend. The grave man Hubert ? Tell me, does he send A message of most fatherly reproof To a poor silly woman ? How aloof He stands in his stern manliness ! I would he'd stoop a little and confess To just a touch of human frailty. The heavens are beautiful, but only sky Hath never made a landscape to my mind : I fear I look for earth or sea combined. But of this letter : What hath he to say ? The same old story — grave instead of gay. Learning instead of leisure, sober joys For heaven-made rapture ? How the teaching cloys ! 7 8 A SERMON AND A LOVE LETTER Hilary. If I should tell you that the man you blame As cold has yielded to the tender flame Of a first passion, would you think it well And call it wisdom ? Eileen {hurriedly). That I cannot tell. But you are jesting. If you said the moon Gave out a sudden heat, I should believe As soon the lunar wonder as conceive Your friend love-stricken. Hilary. Yet the truth is so, My sister, and a woman's yes or no Will turn the balance of his happiness. Eileen {turning away). I think there is no question, no or yes. If Hubert loved it would be love indeed. If Hubert wooed he would not stand to plead, As other men, content to sue and trim, The patient victim of a woman's whim, But tell me of this maid who dares to play So venturesome a part. A SERMON AND A LOVE LETTER 79 Hilary. I dare not say, For even now I met her in the grove, A woman foir of feature, whom to love Seemed a religion ; but I looked for grace, And lo ! a mocking lightness, and the face. So godly beautiful, I found a mask Of vanity Eileen {interrupting him). Oh ! brother, if I ask Her name and where she dwells, and you reply, ' Not Eileen, but another,' how should I Be glad and call it wisdom ? Hilary. Sister mine. Love be thy teacher, for his heart is thine. So PAIN'S TRIUMPH. 'T'HUS and thus spake Love to Pain ' I am stronger, thou art weaker ; All seek Love, but the Pain-seeker You may seek in vain.' Answer thus made Pain to Love : ' If you count my victims duly \Vomen-seekers have I truly That your words disprove.' ' Silly souls that puke and pule,' Muttered Love with indignation, ' Feeding on their own vexation. Only prove my rule.' Yet that other spake again : ' Friend, I have advantage double. Who pursue thee, for their trouble Seeking Love find Pain.' 8i THE SEXTON AND THE BRHJE. qPADE for sexton, And wreath for bride ; Two in the church, And one outside. ' Whom God joins let no man sunder ; ' Yet he up atop and she hereunder Shall lie, Ere a year and a day go by. Silk and satin And bed of down, But a crib of straw For a country clown. Let 'em have it ; the days fly swift, And she'll soon want nothing but shroud and shrift. And then To be carried by serving men. G 82 THE SEXTON AND THE BRIDE Gifts of silver, And gifts of gold, And a sight more gems Than her hands can hold ; And don't be afraid that the sexton will stint To draw on the treasures that crowd his mint For a curse He will promise to fling at her hearse. What of sexton ? And what of bride? Tis a year and a day Come Eastertide, And the sexton that lies on a mortal bed And the lady that holds his sinking head, For hate Is forgot at the beautiful gate. 85 OUT OF MY SKY I LOST A STAR /'^'iUT of my sky I lost a star. Ah, sweet star with your tender ray, The gloom of the night was chased away ; Drawn by the magic of your spark, Our I)rothcr men who had walked in the dark Looked up to the heavens and thought it day. Out of my heart I lost a joy. Ah, sweet joy from so mean a nest, 'Tis no wonder you fled to another breast, To light the flame on another cheek. And prompt the words that I dare not speak, When you left me alone with great unrest. Out of my life I lost a friend. Ah, my sweet star, sweet joy, sweet friend, The Lord He hath taken, for He did send. Come what may, I will bless Him still, Bless Him alike for the good and the ill ; I shall love you again in the world without end. Amen, Amen, Amen, 86 DEAD PHARAOH. Written after reading two articles on the finding of Pharaoh, the Century 1 Unst rated Moiilldy Magazine for May 1887. T T E called me dog, and spurned me from the path- I, scarcely more than infant, sent to learn The ways and manners of the outer world, Beyond the kindly shelter of my home : I, a Jew boy with native prejudice To be remodelled on an English plan ; He, big with all the swelling insolence Of eighteen wasted years. He called me ' dog ' And ' skulking Hebrew slave,' and ' only wished He had been Pharaoh, that he might with whips Have scourged away my Jewish stubbornness ; ' And with the rough print of his cruel hand Red on my shrinking flesh (albeit a Jew, My flesh would shrink and redden) I lay still Where he had flung me, lay and would not move, Face downward in the gutter, and my teeth DEAD PHARAOH 87 Closed on the soaking ooze, and scarcely knew To mutter smothered curses, choked and thick. Yet I did mutter them, and rose at length To wipe the horrid moisture from my lips. I think I never was a child again Thereafter, for the vulgar, wanton wrong So scorched and seared my spirit's tenderness That all a man's wrath battled in my heart. And all a man's pride rose to manage it ; And in that I had suffered at the hand Of that young modern Pharaoh, English-born, I seemed to taste again the bitterness That grieved our fathers in the ancient time, And to those early days of tyranny My forming mind turned ever in its smart. And this and that seemed one for cruelty. And pride and wrath together did rear up. Brick after brick— for so my softer clay Would harden ever in the fiery kiln- Did rear, I say, a sullen monument, Broad-based and steadfast as the pyramid That Cheops builded, and that Moses knew When all the land was trampled with the foot Of that old Pharaoh, second Rameses— A great eternal monument of wrong 88 DEAD PHARAOH That must not be forgotten, thus inscribed : ' Here lies Oppression, ready for the day Of final judgment. Here the Assyrian ' waits The verdict of the Hebrew by-and-by.' Would God I were that Hebrew ! would to God That I might stand and beard him to his face, That ' new king over Egypt,' that base lord Who ' knew not Joseph ' ! Thus I made my cry, And still waxed fiercer, muttering, 'Would that I Might see him struggle from his sere grave-clothes In that most awful morning of the world When wicked sleepers waken to their doom.' Ah ! how he'd start at hearing of his name ! ' Get up, old Pharaoh I it is time to rise ! How have you slept, old Pharaoh, darkly hid In black recesses of the silent rock?' I see him turn upon me suddenly, With all the hateful tyranny of old. ' Back, Hebrew slave ! Ho ! careless taskmasters. That leave an idle Israelite at large ! Here with your rods, and see that he fulfil His work as heretofore, when there was straw.' ' The Pharaohs are supposed by some to have been of Assyrian origin. DEAD PHARAOH 89 I think I would, or very villany Of deep revenge, cringe to him for awhile, Crying, ' Be pitiful, great Pharaoh, god. Whose name on fruits of the great Tree of I-ifc Those deities inscribe, Amen-Ra-Tum,' , Supreme in godly power, and great Tahut, In knowledges and science the supreme, And Safekh, goddess of all writing cnlled. Be pitiful, great king, and spare a slave Whose only title to be called a man Is that he sells for so much more than kine.' Thus would I sue and cringe and fawn awhile, Then straight uplift, and face him eye to eye. In (luiet strength of scorn — yes, I and he. Eyes meeting, king and slave, a Pharaoh there And here an Israelite, and bid him come And follow me to judgment — ^he the king. The tyrant, bid him come and follow me. The beaten Hebrew slave. I would not spare In that my day of vengeance, not for all The tears and prayers and cryings, rather make ' ' The walls of the Ramesseum presen-e a bas-relief de- picting the apotheosis of this exalted sceptre-bearer ' (Rameses II.)- See article in Centtn-y llhistrated Montltly Magazine^ May 1887. go DEAD PHARAOH His pitiful entreaties feed my flame, My l)urning flame of righteous recompense. It would be pretty sport to see the king Eat dust before his menials — ay, and feel The bitter strokes he laid so plentiful On tired shoulders straining to their load. 'i'hus thought I. and thus spake, until my soul Lost all it knew of mercy, that sweet grace Which finds a common brotherhood in men ; And ever with my spirit's fierceness came A growing suUenness of eye and brow, And, darkly patterned on my countenance, The hidden thought would trace itself in lines. And so I passed from youth and never knew The blessedness and gentleness of youth. Men looked askance, then shunned me, whispering, 'The fellow hath a humour of the mind Best unprovoked,' while I, unheeding them And careless to explain my spirit's mood. Walked on alone, unmated and unloved ; And still one prayer was ever on my lips, That had been prayerless else, one muttered cry For 'vengeance upon Pharaoh.' DEAD PHARAOH yi So it came I'hat on a certain morning of the year, That seemed to chide my temper with its Hght, \\'hen all the air was jubilant with birds, And crimson i)oppies lolled their wind- blown heads I« royal apathy above the grass — On such a day the strong, full-blazing sun Looked down upon a flame that did not pale- Before the searching ardour of his gaze, For in my bosom the long-smouldering heat Burst sudden into fiery utterance. 'This day,' I cried, 'must see a Pharaoh fall. Be steady, hand ; knife, pitiless and keen. Spare not for age who spared not tender youth ; A tyrant's blood shall stain the earth to-day.' Perhaps it was a madness of the brain ; If rightly called I know not, but 1 fled, Hate-tortured, through the streets, with wandering eye And fearful covert glances, mouthing still ' A Pharaoh ! Pharaoh ! tell me where he dwells, I'hat I may visit him.' Then one who passed. And hearkened wondering, came hasting back. And touched me lightly, crying, ' He is found : 92 DEAD PHARAOH Pharaoh is found. If you uould see his face Take ship for Cairo ; there behold the king, Face open to the Hght of modern day.' And while I knew not for astonishment If now indeed I dreamed, or if perchance That other sported with me, yet again Spake out the stranger boldly, ' In the rocks Of Deir-el-Bahari they found the king, Great Pharaoh - the oppressor.' Then my heart Leapt in my bosom with a sudden throb Of pleasure, fiercer than the panther knows When through the wood steals his unwary prey ; For now I knew that I should see the man, And curse him to his face, and call on God To multiply His vengeance sevenfold. What lay between this and my journey's end I cannot tell, for straight upon the word I hasted seaward and took ship for Thebes ; And like a shell that on a broken wave Is washed and hurled and tumbled in the foam, But earthward flung at length, so did our bark, Wind-harried, tempest-beaten, take the shore In far-off Egypt, and I stood and knew A common country held my foe and me. DEAD PHARAOH 93 Then came a day (I almost wonder now I lived to see it, for so hotly burned The vengeful passion, fuelled by my hate), A day when with my hand upon a door In thirsty Biilak, and my heart tied down To save its bursting, I stood still to frame The fierce anathema ; for there beyond, With only this thin wood to sever us, I knew he lay, the mummied Rameses. Said one who watched me, ' Enter ; have no fear : He will not turn upon thee for a Jew ! ' But I, the careless words had stung my heart 'I'o nicer frenzy, suddenly outreached My straining arms, and held him in a vice Of rigid sinews, and jerked close my beard Into his startled face, and 'Look you, man,' I muttered, hissing, ' look you, tis the day Of vengeance upon Pharaoh. Tis the day \Vhen righteous God shall judge twixt man and man.' i'hen from my grasp I put him slowly back As one who does, yet knows not that he does, And felt the door, and groped with staring eyes, That saw not clear for fury, and passed in I'o curse the haughty monarch to his face. .\h ! now I'd meet him, not on cra\en knee. 94 DEAD PHARAOH With creeping flesh, to glad his wanton eye With lust of tyranny, but thus and thus. I clenched my iron hand till all the palm ^^'as marked with bloody crescents, and my eyes Burnt in their sockets, like the living coal A touch would stir to flaming ; then strode in, A Jew, to face him. Who? This poor old man ? This pitiful, most pitiful old man, With hollowed cheek, and meekly fallen jaw, And dead blind eyes, that from their shrunken lids- Looked out, but saw me not? I could have wept To know myself defeated. What was this, That I should curse it ? A mere clod of earth. This blackened, shrivelled remnant of a man ! As Balak summoned Balaam to his need With ' Curse me these,' but he, ' How can I curse When God wills not? ' so with my lips as dumb, Not willingly, but of necessity, I stood amazed, while all the surging wrath That foamed about my lips, broke, backward drawn DEAD PHARAOH 95 By sudden ebb. And even while I looked, Lo ! all the pity of it to my heart Stole softly in, and robbed my eyes of hate, And touched my hand to foreign gentleness. The pity of it ! Thus to see a king ! For still he looked a king, for all his rags And horrid charnel wrappings, lying thus, Outbeggaring the worst. I never knew The blessedness of tears that wash the soul Of brutish evils, but a sudden storm Shook all my frame with passionate remorse ; And then I spake, with hand uplifted high, And eyes that met the pitiful dead eyes \\'ith equal meekness. How the prayer was made I know not clearly. For the words I used It matters less. God knows, I cursed him not. 96 WEEP AND SING. A 1 rEEP and sing, Toll and ring, Bells and voices together ; Sun and rain. Pleasure and pain, Summer and winter weather. \Vhitfc and red, Living and dead, A wreath for my lady's marriage ; Corpse and bride. Side by side, And a plume for a funeral carriage. 97 KNOWLEDGE ONLY TASTED. 'T^O know and not to know, to stand apart Self-centred in the Awful Universe, Myself the core of all things and my heart The one converging point — this is the curse. Oh, most ungentle teaching of our nurse To half-arouse, yet leave us in a trance ! Oh, most unkindly done to thus disburse Half-knowledge, which is conscious ignorance, And with pretended aid to simulate advance. Light-handed mother, who with careless glee Didst pull the fruit which was to be our harm, And plucked it with a smile, and laughed to see The red juice trickle on thy dainty arm. Was never woe hid in so subtle charm, Or sword enveloped in so fair a sheath Ne'er blanched thy astonished lips, but, soft and warm. Did lend their loveliness to feed on death, Nor ever shorter came thy constant regular breath. H 98 KNOWLEDGE ONLY TASTED And yet of old, when God in Paradise Did build the pleasant trees in sheltering wood (Some ministered to grace and pleased the eyes, For usance some and rare ambrosial food), In very midst the tree of knowledge stood With heavy-fruited splendour dominant. ' Behold,' He said, ' my trees are very good, And this of all in place most prominent Shall stand, with that great tree of life pre-eminent.' Now I could weep for you, my brother men Who with shrill voices tear th' unanswering sky With rocket questionings, which yet again Fall earthward hissing, and give back your cry In silly coloured sparks to cheat the eye ; And they, while still you wonder at their grace And deem them constant stars, do straight let fly The sudden hurtling rod, which hurled apace Anon strikes cruel blindness on your upturned face. 99 OUT OF THE TOWN AT LAST. T7IVE foot four of sweet brown earth, To bed me and cover me ; Dear green grass, with flowers in birth Spreading all over me. Is it snug to lie adown Neath mosses and daisies? If they bury me out of town, To Heaven be the praises. I shall know the cool o' the sod On my forehead burning ; And crumble away, to the earth and God Myself returning. Out of my dust will grow a bloom, Blood-red and flaming, For all it was nurtured in a tomb, The poppies shaming, 11 2 lOO LOVE'S MEASURE, T OOK up the sky, there where the rifted cloud Lets through a deeper blue than gentians know ; A space that presently the stars will crowd With clustered brilliants, playing with the glow Of hidden fires, too far for mortal ken. Look up the sky, and past the place of stars, And out into the dismal night, and then On, on until the ruddy globe of Mars Is left so far behind it cannot warm The empty desolation, and still on Into the silent deep, unmoved of storm ; And while your climbing vision stays to con The utmost height of heights, behold and say, ' I reached the threshold of our love to-day.' lOI SONG. POPPIES RED, /~\PENED the morning with drops of dew, ^"^^ Clear in the evening the stars shone through Out in the fields, when the corn was high, Worked we together, my John and I. Poppies red and a field of gold. That's where the tale of our love was told. He to the binding, and I to glean ; Never was merrier work, I ween. How he laughed as the stalks fell round ! How I blushed as they strewed the ground ! Poppies red and a field of gold, That's where the tale of our love was told. Straight and strong as a forest tree, Firm and good as a man should be. Tender truth in his blue eyes shone : Is it a wonder that I loved John ? Poppies red and a field of gold, That's where the tale of our love was told. I02 A SUMMER SONNET. C^O heavy sweet the tired, scented breeze, That hardly moves for languor of delight, I'hat hardly stirs the hawthorns red and white, The flowery Imrden of full-freighted trees ; Sweet honey-cargo of rich merchant bees, That ply their busy trade from morn till night, V\'hile drowsy birds are faltering in flight And slowly drop to cover for their ease. O fulness of the early summer bliss, A blessed wealth of love-embodied thought, Forbid that I should greet thee with the kiss Of smiling Judas, comprehending nought, ^^'ith sense-bound eyes, that still behold and miss The inner mystery, divinely wrought. J03 A SNOW SONNET. {Harper's Magazine, April 1889.) TV /T V ear can find no rest ; the throbbing tide Of city commerce is at midday flow : Like pulse's beat the footsteps come and go ; Harsh rattles thrash the tremulous air aside, And tumbling sounds like hoary breakers ride. ' Who chid primeval waters, can He so Bind this wild flood with His great "Hitherto"?' So moaned I, fever-stricken, and so cried. My ear awake, and yet can find no sound ; Another midday, and no midday rush. But blessed silence, deep, unbroke, profound. While feathered flakes my window lightly brush. God came into His nursery, and found The children noisy, so He whispered, ' Hush. 104 HEART'S BITTERNESS. T F you could see my heart, I think you would Be very gentle on your part, And good. If you could plumb my pain, I think your brow Would never knit in wrath again, As now. If you could lift the veil. And know the truth, I think your very lips would pale For ruth. If you could draw anear. To read my mind, I think you must for very fear Grow kind. HEARTS BITTERNESS 105 If you couid take my love ! Ah ! I rebel ! No more — What comes from God above Is well. io6 A SONG OF TEARS. ' "We bait our hook with a dead child," said an agent of an insurance company.' — See Contempormy Review, July 1890. r T OW can I turn my rhyme most mournfully ? Throw it out like a cry, Breathe it up with a sigh, So that not one shall listen scornfully ? Not as a verse-repeater In one set metre, With the sing-song of the children, Who sway to and fro In a neat row — The small white-aproned children of the village school, All in rule. Not so will I shape my song. But with a line here drawn out doleful and long, A SONG OF TEARS 107 Quavering, shaking the air, With the last despair Of an infant crying alone in a garret bare. Even so will I wail ' Out my sorrowful tale ; ^ Even so turn my ditty Till the dews of an infinite pity Stand in your eye, \Vhile you catch the cry Of the child victims of drink in the city. There are quick gasps While the baby grasps The tumbled rags in its tiny hand. Feeling blindly For comfort kindly. With a vain demand. For its throat is dry For lack of the sweet supply, And the tear where it falls must lie. When no help is nigh. Courage, baby ! soon you will die And fly To the sky. Where the soft angel-mothers will sing you a lullaby. io8 A SONG OF TEARS You shall be pressed, As in a nest, To a warm breast, Where they hunger no more, Neither thirst any more. For the babies are blest. Ay, then but now Stop short my verse, Sound thick Each broken word. Half spoken and but half heard. Sobbing, Throbbing, While the sweet breath comes quick. Care not a jot Whether or not This line with this. By counted beat. Or regular feet, Reckons amiss.- It would drown The up and down Of the baby's breathing. So uncertain. Behind the torn curtain ; A SONG OF TEARS 109 For the poor wee thing Hears the step of its mother, And knows it from any other. One — two — three, Up the creaky stair cometh she. r Four, five, six, seven Quicker, mother, for the love of Heaven ! Eight \\^hy does she wait So long there On the broken stair ? Nine — ten — eleven. How uneven Is her heavy treading ! Twelve— thirteen. The passage threading. Uncertain. Come at length, And the babe makes known With a gathered strength. Its wants in a querulous moan. She heeds not. Poor sot, As she lies where she fell, While all hell no A SONG OF TEARS Is aflame on her face To erase Beauty of woman and all trace Of heaven's sweetest grace. She knows not, And there she will He, While the pitiless night goes by, Dragging its heavy chain Of hours that go and come, Counting the laggard sum By an infant's hunger-pain, While every breath is a doubt Beating the seconds out From the dry lips apart ; And the iron tongue of the hour. In its hard metallic power. Strikes on an infont's heart. And an infant's heart is riven With anguish keen ; But ' our Father which art in heaven Hath seen. Courage, baby ! though now There is strange dew on your brow, And a mist that deepens the hue Of your sweet eyes' early blue. A SONG OF TEARS \\\ Courage ! poor little soul, Heir apparent of ruth, Prince of the Castle of Dole In the land of Dalmanuth. ' Princes are born to fight ; Thus you enter the list, Closing your hand so tight. Clenching your tiny fist. Aye — but surely was never Fight so unequal ! And to your bravest endeavour Remains but one sequel, Only one possible issue For all your trying. What indeed can we wish you Better than dying ? Now it has come ! a slight stirring Moves the thin cover. Sighs that are longer recurring, And then all is over. 'Twas well done, little soldier ; You fought with a will. The battle is ended ; unfold your Hand, and lie still. ' The Persic for Dalmanutha, meaning exhaustion, leanness. 112 A SONG OF TEARS Alas ! my poor impotent verse, Have you wept with me ? Have you done worse ? Have you smiled At the wild Unheeding passion That led the rhyme in its own fashion ? For all night in my sleeping, With woful faces, Come the sad children creeping Out of their places ; And my ear weaves The sound of the pattering Of their soft feet With the thin beat Of the rain-drops scattering Dry autumn leaves, And my ear mingles The wail of their sorrowing With the drawn sigh Of a wave gone by, That is evermore borrowing A voice from the shingles. And for the rest I beseech you, Merciful Nation, A SONG OF TEARS 113 By the great Heart of God, And His awful iron rod, Let their cry reach you, And the High Wisdom teach you Wise legislation. 114 TO EVELYN R. GARRATT, ON HER BIRTHDAY. T T is a time of birds ; from every spray Soft voicings chide the silence of the grove. This to the other tunes of Hope and Love, And Love and Hope is still th' alternate lay In chaunted grace of sweet antiphony ; While all the air is nicely interwove With mellow-fluted sounds, as doth behove Should be the warp and woof of such a day. For as on such a day (so legends tell) God, looking from the tenderness of blue. Let drop a thought of love, which where it fell Took sweetest shape, and rooted there, and grew. Lo, now my heart doth read the meaning well. That thought of God I recognise in you. "5 SOUL DISCIPLINE. A S some poor bird, brushed ragged by the gale, Drops from the airy tumult of the hills, And with nice labour readjusts her quills. Blown painful, where rough hurricanes assail ; So now my passion-hurried soul, as frail. The quicker beating of her bosom stills. And her meek task in duteous wise fulfils, Low hid in leafy temples of the vale. O soul and bird, thus ever must it be? Shall vernal equinox no signal bring For glorious venture on outreaching wing Or daring joy of sky-blown ecstasy ? Go, eager fools, taught wisdom by your pain ; Learn how to fly, then you shall mount again. 1 2 ii6 A SECRET. T T NTO my love I came with tears and cried, ' O love, there is a secret chamber hid Within our dwelling ; ' but she only chid My sad misgivings, putting them aside Time after time ; and whether pain or pride Most urged her keep the counsel that had rid My soul of peace, I know not : God forbid That I should doubt, or she be further tried ! Unto my love I came with tears and wailed, ' O love, I cannot enter at the door Of your dear heart, that hitherto hath been My resting-place, but firmly barred and nailed I find its portal,' and for evermore I stand outside the palace of my queen. 117 PRESENTIMENT. T HEARD a hell toll on a summer's day, When all ihe air deliciously was stirred With whirring wings, and throbbing note of bird : And every flitting thing was painted gay, For winged motes were keeping holiday. This hummed, another chirruped, and a third Made wiry insect music ; but I heard, Above them all, that bell that tolled alway. Give me your hand, dear love, and let me know That I am near you ; let me feel the spell Of your sweet presence. Once before you go Your heart upon my heart shall lean and dwell : And let us love in silence Even so, For still I hear the tolling of the bell. ii8 HARVEST SONG. HP HE shadows lean across the lands, And paint the fields a deeper blue ; With spreading hands the chestnut stands And falling lights are sifted through. And all the uplands move and swim, As full of corn as they can hold. And to the rim the meadows brim With precious floods of waving gold. Now let our hearts the harvest meet, Nor show a mean disparity, But ever greet the summer sweet With larger soul for charity. 119 GATE OF DEATH. TJ OW shall I part from thee, my dear, When death hath said to thee and me, * Take hands once more, Outside the door, Then one must pass, and one shall be A solitary wanderer here ' ? How shall I take thy hand in mine, And to my bursting heart allow That gentle touch, Loved over-much. Shall never tell again, as now. One heart of love is mine and thine ? Or if I take thy hand and know The night has come when we must part, Thy dying head Shall know for bed The throbbing pillow of my heart. The garden where our lilies grow. 120 GATE OF DEATH And if for stress of failing breath The battle rages sharp and long, My arms, around Thy body wound, Shall compass thee and keep thee strong, And nurse thee to the gate of death. O God, to vindicate that day, The immortality of love. Let one grave hold Our human mould, And from the gentle grass above Let one stone mark our common clay. 121 - f A MARCH HOWL. {Longman'' s Magazine, March 1SS9.) 'T'HE weather is rude and rough, with its shade and stare, And great wild clouds do saucily flirt their wings r the face of the yellow sun, then leave it bare ; And the boughs are broke on the trees and no bird sings ; And the cattle are blown on the hills, and grass is rare. There's a wind in the empty house, where the ivy clings, And the gnawing mice in the wainscot begin to pair, And the dust is swept into rings. And the opening daylight brings No joy anywhere. I am soured and old and grey, and the hunger stings. I have given the dog his meat, and the cat her share : 122 A MARCH HOWL I have nibbled my mouldy crust while they fed like kings, And still they are asking for more, and I've none to spare. And I've caught the owl in the barn, and cut her wings ; And if worst must come to the worst, still fare is fare And we'll try her with pepper and salt, and such like things ; She'll last us a week with care, If we pick and pickle and pare, With no questionings. I've pawned the last of my goods, and the three-legged chair ; But the broker's a greedy dog, and he screws and wrings. And he never was known to settle a business fair. He's a Jew by the hook in his nose and his bargain- ings ; He's a Jew by the cut of his coat and his greasy hair ; And I'll warrant he'll feather his nest with his ill-got ware. While the sign of the gold balls swings hwdi its baneful shadow flings A curse everywhere. A MARCH HOWL 123 It's cold in the month of March and the early springs, When I creep to bed like a ghost up the creaky stair ; And I'm taken with chill and cramp and the shiver- ings, And the rats leap off to their holes with a sudden .^cate, When I shake the floor with the cough and the quiver- ings ; And I lie like a hungry beast in a frosty lair, And the blanket's of little use, for it's worn to string?. And I've 'most forgotten my prayer, But I'll say it to-night, howe'er, For Heaven's favourings. There's ' Matthew and Mark and Luke and John ; ' With the best of prayers I rank it ; But there's never a ' bed that I lie on,' And if ever an angel had brought me one I'd down on my knees and thank it. So I stretch on the stone, with a sigh and a groan, And a ' Providence bless my blanket ! ' SONG. 'T'HE heavens that lay so blue by day Are deep as deep can be ; Though all bedight with clustered light, There is one star for me. The fields that hold their store of gold Are waving like the sea ; In shaded walk the lovers talk : There is one path for me. The hearts that beat for rapture sweet, Or break at fate's decree, Are tuning still to good or ill : There is one heart for me. O star above, I call thee Love ! O path, what name I thee ? The path of pain I tread to gain The one sweet heart for me. 12S THE POPPY KING. /BROWNED is the poppy-head \\' ith a thatch of scolloped green \\here the flaunting flower has been, And the purple stamen-thread Its wealth of pollen shed, Behind the crimson screen, In a chamber all unseen. Crowned is the poppy-head, Though it wear no silken vest, Like the gown of a bridal guest ; Though the blossom's blown and dead, And its glorious beauty fled, Yet the globings of its crest To the forming fruit attest. Crowned is the poppy-head. King of the flowery land ; It is swaying tall and grand, 126 THE POPPY KING Like a monarch born and bred To the right of the royal red, And below it, smooth and bland, The nodding courtiers stand. I looked on the poppy-head. With its glory crown of ten. Till I thought of an opium den, And my heart grew heavy as lead. 'King of the flowers,' I said, ' Shall you be a king of men ? ' And I broke the poppy then. 127 SONG. IN VAIN. 'T'AKE my hand, and forgive the pain.' She had been scornful, and I, in pride, Sullenly put her hand aside : ' Never again — no, never, never again.' I came to my love. Was it all in vain ? I took her hand, in a silent room. All in the stillness and the gloom. She will clasp my hand, no, never, never again. 128 ISADORE. "V 17" HERE the scarlet poppy-heads, Glowed among the grain Walked the Lady Isadora, With her maiden train — Very fair to look upon, Very lithe of limb. With a bonny girdle-chain Round her body slim : All in suppleness of gold. Still it coiled and wreathed, Moving ever serpent-like When the lady breathed ; For a patterned beauty shone Where the gleaming clasp Showed, in cunning workmanship, Jewelled head of asp. IS ADORE 129 Oh, the Lady Isadore And her heartless wiles ! And the dreadful loveliness Of her mocking smiles ! Came the knight Sir Veritas Through the corn at eve : ' By my right of cousinship, And by your lady's leave, ' I will walk with you,' he said, 'And your maidens three.' Laughed the Lady Isadore, ' It matters not to me.' Rose the colour to his brow, Red as any flame ; Gleamed the lightning in his eye : Was it pride or shame ? Fled the colour from his face. Blanched his brow above, Steely cold his countenance : Was it hate or love ? But he met her in her mood : Dofl'ed his bonnet low ; ' If it matter not,' he said, ' Should I come or go, K 130 IS AD ORE ' I will please myself awhile With your maidens three ; If their lady go or stay Matters not to me.' Oh, the Lady Isadore ! But her heart was stone ! He, of all the suitor band, Was her chosen one ! In the mellow harvest time, When the poppy grieves, And like weary labourers Lean the tired sheaves, When the careful husbandman, Watching cloudy signs. Saw a quiet sky above, Ruled with quiet lines. Came the Lady Isadore, Passing yet again Where a fallen poppy flower Left a crimson stain ISA DO RE MI Not in scornful ladyhood, Not for wilful hurt ; With no bonny girdle-chain Was her body girt. Circled with the bitterness Of a spirit sore, And the jewelled sorrow-drops Were the gems she wore. She may walk till eventide, She may weep till morn, But no lover knight is seen Striding through the corn. She may rue the frowardness Of her cold disdain, But the knight. Sir Veritas, Cometh not again. Oh, the Lady Isadore Hath foregone her wiles, And the cruel blandishment Of her mocking smiles In the mellow harvest-time, Lo ! she hath forgot. If her lover go or stay That ' it matters not.' 1^2 AN ANSWER TO ALFRED AUSTIN'S SONNET ENTITLED 'LOVE'S WISDOM.' ' 1^ ISS we and part,' he said : ' the limit found Of all love's possible ; beyond this hne Our ling'ring eyes shall follow love's decline. Here is the marge,' he said: 'who reach this bound Do hear with awful joy the rising sound Of swelling ocean, when the pulse divine Sweeps upward to the soul. O heart of mine ! Kiss we and part,' he said, 'lest love be drowned.' I gave him back, I gave him back his heart. ' I think,' I said, 'we need no seal for this. We part, but not, as Judas, with a kiss. If I could kiss,' I said, 'I could not part; Such wisdom knows not love ; belike thou art Too coldly wise to venture wedded bliss ! ' 'Jj A PARABLE. IVT OW came there such a tangle of sweet sound "^ From out th' adjoining brake, that I would fain \\'ith finger deft unravel so fair skein, And trace each silken winding, till I found Where this and that in threaded music wound, And say, * Here pipes a bullfinch ! ' or again, ' Thus doth a lonely throstle tell the pain Of unrequited hope, and love uncrowned.' So God, attentive from the ordered bliss Of heaven's pure harmonies, doth stoop His ear To gather earthly voices, nor will miss A murmured sound ; for, be they far or near, Not one of all our human cries, I wis, But He, most fatherly, doth bend to hear. '34 LOVE'S AFTERNOON. ^\ H, deep and sweet ! this is Love's afternoon. Now stretch great hghts across the heavenly cahns, AVith tenderness of soft outreaching pahns ; And fretful earth in long delicious swoon To that dear bosom will be folded soon. The heavy air is fraught with subtle balms, A fragrant evensong, in voiceless psalms Breathed from the flower-lipped marge of the lagoon. O heart of mine ! big with supreme desire, That ever like a caged bird dost beat Bruised breast and bloody plumage on the wire Of adverse destiny, be still, and greet Love's afternoon as better than the fire Of its so fierce unchecked meridian heat. 135 THE CHALLENGE THAT DISARMED A . ' THREAT. T T ERE is my naked heart — Friend, be not afraid — Naked heart for a naked blade. Thrust in deep ; I only pray Draw not back till the steel shall slay And the yielding ghost depart. Friend, your hand Will be nearer my heart this night, I ween. Than it ever before for love has been, Will be nearer the seat Of the wild heart-beat Than you had planned. My heart's blood, O my friend, Will leap to kiss you where you bend ; Though you draw back You shall not lack A baptism in its flood. 136 THE CHALLENGE Then from its place My inner life, Set free by your dear knife, Shall touch and feel, Not the cold stee ' But your face. i37 SONG. SCOTCH JOHNNY. C COTCH JOHNNY came to the fair As proud as proud could be ; There was Arminel, And Christobel, And Meg and Molly and me. Ah ! Scotch Johnny, I would ye had kept away, For a heart may be broke At a single stroke, But it can't be healed in a day. Scotch Johnny's tongue was smooth, And his voice as soft as silk ; It was ' Meggy, my dove ' And ' Molly, my love,' And sugar and honey and milk. 138 SCOTCH JOHNNY Ah ! Scotch Johnny, I would ye had kept away, For a heart may be broke At a single stroke. But it can't be healed in a day. Scotch Johnny, had ye dwelt At home in a Highland glade, Ye would never have won, As ye have — a — done, The love of a lowland maid. Ah ! Scotch Johnny, I would ye had kept away ; For a heart may be broke At a single stroke, But it can't be healed in a day. i.)9 THE SPARROW'S DEFENCE. What little character the Sparrow ever possessed has of late years been so rapidly disappearing that the accusation which several correspondents now bring against him will probably put a finishing touch to the tale of his iniquities. He is destroying the crocus beds. — Standard, Thursday, April 7, 1887. O All) a sparrow to a crocus, ' You are trying to provoke us By obtruding on the public an imaginary woe ; For though Passer Londinensis Has been noted for offences, We were only passing Bills about the crocuses, you know.' I40 A DAY DREAM. T ^REAM — dream — dream. You and I, in our hammock bed, Sway with the branches overhead ; Move and swing in a rhythmic measure, Resting long, for the summer leisure Hath found us willing to take our ease In the lazy time of the lazy trees. What is it doing, the heavy elm. That its tired branches bend and lift Like an anchored boat with an idle helm On the placid ocean turned adrift ? Though the chestnut fruit is forming fast. Scarcely the languid blossoms fall, But, faltering from their place at last. They are swooning earthward one and all ; And I hear a voice from the faded blooms, That still for a moment cling and hold, ' It is hard to be hurried to our tombs. That the young may take the place of the old A DAY DREAM 141 And a swelling chestnut makes reply Jauntily from the branches' top : ' When the wine is spilt and the bottle's dry, It is time that the useless vessels drop." Dream — dream — dream : Jt was only a dream in the changing liglit Of the moving shadows left and right, But I hated the chestnut where it swung In the silly pride of its glory young, And I aimed a missile straight and true At the twig where the boasting berry grew, And laughed to see it fall and meet The dear pink blossoms at my feet. 142 LOVE AND PAIN. ' A MEN,' I said to my dream of love, Said it solemnly, said it slow. Is it Amen, and must I know Never again the thrill and the glow. And the sudden joy, and the joyful pain ? Must I know it never again ? How the pain strove with the love, how it strove With the pulsing joy, but I would not care. For ever the love had the largest share ; But now the pain, alas ! and alas ! That came to my soul, and would not pass. 143 THE BEE, THE LIZARD, AND THE MAX. T^HERE came a bee to suck a hud, All on a summer's day ; It hovered once, It hovered twice. And then it flew away. There came a lizard to a wall, But the lizard did not stay ; It ventured once, It ventured twice. And then it crawled away. There came a man to woo a maid : She met him blithe and gay; But he kissed her once, He kissed her twice. And then he went away. 144 THE BEE, THE LIZARD, AND THE MAN For the flower had no honey, And tlie wall was not sunny, And the maid had no money ! Isn't it funny ? But true. MS THE WARRIOR LOVER. A LL pleasant things and gentle good I had foresworn ; see, here my rnood Is rough as war and harsh as death. Fierce pants my heart, the fiery breath Of battle-lust fulfils my breast. Before the eagle on my crest : The warrior turns a timid dove. Yet love me woman, for I love ; And trust me woman, for my heart Hath still reserved one tender part. r. 146 THE SECRET OF THE LILY POOL. T^HE lily leaves lay flat and green ; They made a cover for the pool ; And all beneath the tender screen Was deep and dark and cool. The lily bloom had gathered up Her petal skirt of bridal silk ; The blue fly lighted on her cup, Her cup as white as milk. And to the pool the trees let down A drapery of tasselled grace ; But, where they met the water brown. They swept a dead man's face. And every falling seed that lit Must throw a circle from its place ; The dimpled waters play with it About that dead man's face. THE SECRET OF THE LILY POOL 147 A moorhen, darting from her nest, Made sudden tracks from north to south ; The moving ripples at his breast Rose up and touched his mouth. Beside the pool, where sedges grew And heavy rush-heads bend and sink, A fisher-bird of azure blue Peered downward to the brink. And, leaning from her reedy bower, In that clear water-mirror scanned. She seemed a winged lupin flower Held in the dead man's hand. And no man knew the deed was done ; For no man ever passed that way. And he was seen by only one — A little child at play ; For she had wandered through the wood. And, oh ! she kept the secret well ; Her infant signs none understood — She had no words to tell. Nor paled her cheek for pity then. But, when she grew to woman's case She said, ' I know not where or when I saw a dead man's face.' 1. 2 MS THE SECRET OF THE LILY POOL The mother turned her head away, For sudden sorrow fills her eye, And the maiden knows not to this day None saw her father die. And still the lily cups are seen. And, from the rushes by the shore, The fisher-birds of blue and green Hang watching as before. 149 A PARTING. WOUR hand, my friend: this is to say 'Good-bye.' As suddenly \vc met, so now we part. With such a rash precipitance did I To you, a stranger, open my bare heart. My bare and sacred heart ; and even set Its careful curtains wide, that you might see. I loved you then— I love you still — and yet Good-bye, my friend ; GoD knows what is to be. ISO LIFE LORE. pULFILLED with life Was all the teeming earth ; Birth followed birth. Fair souls took sweetest flesh To learn afresh The mystery of being, and the strife Of soul-good and flesh-evil Mixed, not mingled. Each one and singled, As holy God and devil. With open hand From out the flowery land Where bright things blossom in a genial ray, Soft twilight, but warm day, Flung out the Master on the waiting broad Of world's rich bosom all the treasure-hoard Of seed, ripe taken from the over-yields Of wealthy heaven's fair fields. LIFE LORE 151 As thoughts in sudden words Take shape, like birds, And fly from heart to heart, Or span long leagues apart, So straight 'These blessM things from heaven Did mate Their rarer essences to flesh, and leaven Its clay with germs immaculate. From thence upgrew Forms beautiful and new : Love-looks of maid, and lion-hearted grace Of warrior youth ; And silent haunting face Of deep lore-seeking student ; All and each With one hand holding earth, And one to reach The Fatherland of truth. But some were marred, And some on stony place Down-lighting took the nature of the stone ; And some were scarred, A stunted, sickly race, Earth-prone. '52 LIFE LORE 'I'hen came I into beins, I, — heaven-sent, God-seeing ; I, — unasking and unasked, A spirit masked. More hampered than the rest ? I know not. Wholly blest ? Alas ! I trow not. Only this I know : I wept to come, as I shall weep to go — As I shall weep to know that gate undone Which shut me out of bliss, When forth alone I wandered into life, And knew the kiss Of mother's lips, and knew the heaving rest Of sacred mother's breast. How close I lay. And yet my tears were rife. How deep I drew Of that sweet well, but knew My soul from heaven shut out, My weaned spirit's drought. As hedgeling flowers. LIFE LORE 153 That with a wilful frailty take hold Of stone, or stem, and climbing over-bold, Tie juicy knots about the piercing thorn. And think it rose-wood, so my tender youth Made hurting fairy-bowers, ""And troth was truth. And never love forsworn. Once when the rain Had made the summer grass Lean, heavy-headed, waiting for the scythe. And all the trees were blithe With wreathed drops, that in a threaded chain Hung round like beaded glass, 1 took my way, joy-drifted, hither, thither, Whence come or going whither I cared not, only bent On learning Nature's hidden sacrament. The thicket leaves, that in the sturdy spring Stood out awhile in tender folded strength. Were lying smooth and pliant, length on length. As wing to wing A hovering flock of birds in marshalled flight Makes shadowy dusk of artificial night. So by the green was made 154 LIFE LORE A tremulous bosky shade, Where filtered lights stole in, In dappled pools, or thin As thread of silver laced By leaves displaced. In such a spot I, stooping low to see The wonder of the dimness, and the way The flickering sunbeams play, Did sudden rest My vagrant eye Upon a dainty nest, Close held in forked tree. When joy is sad for over-joy, Then love for over-love Must needs employ The agency of pain, And hearts complain For very comfort, as a dove. Bliss-wooed, Moans o'er her brood. So when I see the gentle mossy thing, Love-tented by the bosom of a bird, The ready tears upspring. LIFE LORE 155 And all my heart is stirred. ' And this,' I said, ' is peace, and this The perfecting of bliss.' Blame me not if I dreamed That love was all, For so indeed it seemed. (Have I unlearned it yet, Or do I still forget The wormwood and the gall ?) Blame me not, you who know The early matin glow Of life, the sunrise hue That warms the prudent blue, And clothes the earth below In royal red. ' O little bird,' I said, ' Most wise are you, To make So soft a bed. Lie still. And take Your fill Of blissful ease, and measure Good by your treasure, God in your pleasure. 156 LIFE LORE And, for the rest, Heaven in your nest.' How long I stood I know not, held in trance By that sweet vision, fearing lest perchance My presence chase The timid songster from its nesting-place. But when at length My eyes, that in the twilight of the tree Saw only dimly, schooled themselves to see With proper strength, A sudden dread Fell on my soul like lead. So strangely still the little creature lay, And turned no restless eye, as who should say, With mother courage and with mother care, 'Though I should die, I dare.' What if my bird were dead ? I reached a hand And moved the trailing ivy strand by strand ; I touched the nest, And laid a trembling finger on the breast, That answered not with trembling. Then my ruth Found sudden outlet, for I knew the truth. LIFE LORE 15; ' There lies my heart,' I wept, and here I raised the gentle bird with wistful fear Lo ! through the nest a thorn, That, piercing deep, Her heart had torn ! Why should I weep ? One farthing would have bought her and her mate ! Yet could I hold as cheap This augury of fate ? Thenceforward walked I not, as other-while. Sun-dazzled, seeing nothing but the smile Of festive nature, for my secret heart Knew where she wept in silence, and descried, For all her broidered dress, an under side Of broken threads, a tangled counterpart She could no longer hide. And now I know Heaven is not compassed by this puny ball A god might play with ; now indeed I find Within the utmost limit of the mind God-knowledge only guessed at, and the all Of wisdom, but a ripple left behind From that great overflow. IS8 LIFE LORE And life of earth Is newly-quickened infancy, ere birth Hath freed it into meaning. So we fight, And think our house a tomb, And wonder at the darkness, or upleap Like Baptist John, impatient for the sight Of Baby Jesus, who was still asleep In gentle Mary's womb. Behold a day When one on earth shall say, ' She died,' But on the other side Shall one cry out, ' A babe is born ! ' Ah ! in that time of change. That country nev/ and strange. For evermore Father me God, and leave me not forlorn, A naked foundling on a friendless shore ! 159 GOD FOR GOD. ' r^ OD and love,' I said, ' If it be the two agree, It still is for the dead, God and love,' I said. ' Love,' I said, 'and God, Thus reversed, if love be first. It moulders in the sod. Love,' I said, 'and God ' Therefore,' said I, weeping, ' As of erst, let God be first. And love be in His keeping.' This I said with weeping. So for love of love I took down my love's new crown And worshipped God above, Still for love of love. i6o GOD FOR COD * Fear thee not, my son,' Said the Blessed ; ' thus confessed Love and God are one ; Fear thee not, my son.' Now with God for god, Yet not lost the love I crossed, Blossoms clothe the rod, Now with God for god. i6i PERSEVERANDO. A 1 T^E live in many worlds in this one ball, And each man's world is as himself doth make it. He who doth find the globe compressed and small Must beat against the shell until he break it. He yet shall find when he has broken through That his small world is girded by a greater, Which if he persevere and grow unto Shall open to his knock a little later. M PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50m-9,'60(B361064)444 I PR I UR7B_ , Lh^lAl? Poe-ns Layard - CSOUTHf-RrjHK-liiNAl I IliHAfu I /•( IIITY AA 000 367 216 9 ^^4 ?3. U378 LU^lAl? «^»t*i'