• PR 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVrRilTY Of 
 CAJiFORNIA 
 
^doU^^^^^^ : ^^^^ 
 
POEMS, 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 S H A KS P E RE: 
 
 A CRITICAL STUDY OF HIS MIND AND ART. 
 Second Edition, Post 8vo, cloth, price I2s. 
 
 "He has an unusual insight into the broader as well as the nicer meanings of 
 Shakspere. . . . The book contains many valuable remarks on the drama." — 
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 and elaborate workmanship. . . . Every page bears such marks of thought and 
 care, both in matter and in manner." — Examvier. 
 
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 of Shakspere, but from beginning to end there is no scamped work in a volume 
 which is as serviceable as it is interesting." — World. 
 
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 '• It is needless to expatiate on the difficulty of the task which Professor 
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 ous comprehension of the spirit." — Times. 
 
 Henry S. King.& Co., London. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD DOWDEN. 
 
 Henry S. King & Co., London, 
 1876. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 The Rights of Translation and oj Reproduction are Reserved. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 95"3 
 
 ZD74.5 
 
 The Wanderer, .... 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 The Fountain, .... 
 
 2 
 
 In the Galleries,— 
 
 
 I. The Apollo Belvedere, . 
 
 6 
 
 II. The Venus of Melos, 
 
 7 
 
 III. Antinous crowned as Bacchus, 
 
 8 
 
 IV. Leonardo's Monna Lisa, 
 
 9 
 
 V. St. Luke painting the Virgin, 
 
 lO 
 
 On the Heights, .... 
 
 II 
 
 La Revelation par le Desert, 
 
 17 
 
 The Morning Star, 
 
 25 
 
 A Child's Noonday Sleep, 
 
 28 
 
 In the Garden,— 
 
 
 I. The Garden, . 
 
 30 
 
 II. Visions, 
 
 31 
 
 III. An Interior, 
 
 32 
 
 IV. The Singer, 
 
 33 
 
 V. A Summer Moon, 
 
 34 
 
 VI. A Peach, 
 
 35 
 
 VII. Early Autumn, 
 
 36 
 
 VIII. Later Autumn, 
 
 37 
 
 The Heroines, — 
 
 
 Helena, .... 
 
 41 
 
 Atalanta, 
 
 47 
 
 Europa, .... 
 
 57 
 
 Andromeda, 
 
 62 
 
 Eurydice, 
 
 69 
 
 706 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 By the Sea,— 
 
 I. The Assumption, 
 
 II. The Artist's Waiting, 
 
 III. Counsellors, 
 
 IV. Evening, 
 V. Joy, . 
 
 VI. Ocean, 
 VII. News for London, 
 Among the Rocks, 
 To a Year, 
 
 A Song of the New Day, 
 Swallows, 
 
 Memorials of Travel, — 
 I. Coaching, 
 II. In a Mountain Pass, 
 
 III. The Castle, 
 
 IV. 'AiadrjTiKT] (pavracria, 
 
 V. On the Sea-Cliflf, 
 VI. Ascetic Nature, 
 
 VII. Relics, 
 VIII. On the Pier of Boulogne, 
 IX. Dover, . 
 An Autumn Song, 
 liurdens, 
 Song, 
 
 By the Window, 
 Sunsets, 
 Oasis, 
 
 Foreign Speech, 
 In the Twilight, 
 The Inner Life, — 
 
 I. A Disciple, 
 II. Theists, 
 
 III. Seeking God, 
 
 IV. Darwinism in Morals, 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 vii 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Inner Life, — 
 
 
 V. Awakening, .... 
 
 119 
 
 VI. Fishers, . . . ' . 
 
 120 
 
 VII. Communion, .... 
 
 121 
 
 VIII. A Sonnet for the Times, 
 
 122 
 
 IX. Emmausward, 
 
 123 
 
 X. A Farewell, .... 
 
 124 
 
 XI. Deliverance, .... 
 
 125 
 
 XII. Paradise Lost, .... 
 
 126 
 
 The Resting Place, .... 
 
 127 
 
 New Hymns for Solitude,— 
 
 
 I 
 
 129 
 
 II 
 
 130 
 
 Ill 
 
 132 
 
 IV. 
 
 134 
 
 V 
 
 135 
 
 VI 
 
 136 
 
 In the Cathedral Close, .... 
 
 137 
 
 First Love, ..... 
 
 140 
 
 The Secret of the Universe, 
 
 143 
 
 Beau Rivage Hotel, .... 
 
 146 
 
 In a June Night, ..... 
 
 147 
 
 From April to October, — 
 
 
 I. Beauty, ..... 
 
 152 
 
 11. Two Infinities, .... 
 
 153 
 
 in. The Dawn, 
 
 154 
 
 IV. The Skylark, 
 
 155 
 
 V. The Mill-Race, 
 
 156 
 
 VI. In the Wood, 
 
 157 
 
 VIL The Pause of Evening, . . . . 
 
 158 
 
 VIIL In July, 
 
 159 
 
 IX. In September, . . . . 
 
 160 
 
 X. In the Window, . . . . 
 
 161 
 
 XI. An Autumn Morning, . . . . 
 
 162 
 
 Sea Voices, .... 
 
 163 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 PAGH 
 
 Aboard the " Sea- Swallow," .... 165 
 
 Sea-Sighing, .... 
 
 
 166 
 
 In the Mountains, 
 
 
 
 168 
 
 " The top of a Hill called C/mr," . 
 
 
 
 172 
 
 The Initiation, 
 
 
 
 174 
 
 Renunciants, 
 
 
 
 176 
 
 Speakers to God, 
 
 
 
 178 
 
 Poesia, .... 
 
 
 
 180 
 
 Musicians, .... 
 
 
 
 182 
 
 Miscellaneous Sonnets, — 
 
 
 
 
 A Day of Defection, . 
 
 
 
 . 187 
 
 Song and Silence, 
 
 
 
 188 
 
 Love-Tokens, 
 
 
 
 189 
 
 A Dream, 
 
 
 
 190 
 
 M ichelangelesque. 
 
 
 
 191 
 
 Life's gain, . 
 
 
 
 192 
 
 Compensation, 
 
 
 
 193 
 
 To a Child dead as soon as born, 
 
 
 
 194 
 
 Brother Death, 
 
 
 
 195 
 
 The Mage, . 
 
 
 
 196 
 
 Wise Passiveness, 
 
 
 
 197 
 
 The Singer's Plea, . 
 
 
 
 198 
 
 The Trespasser, 
 
 
 
 199 
 
 Ritualism, .... 
 
 
 
 200 
 
 Prometheus Unbound, 
 
 
 
 201 
 
 King Mob, . 
 
 
 
 202 
 
 The Modern Elijah, . 
 
 
 
 203 
 
 David and Michal, 
 
 
 
 204 
 
 Windle Straws, 
 
 
 
 205 
 
THE WANDERER. 
 
 I cast my anchor nowhere (the waves whirled 
 My anchor from me) ; East and West are one 
 
 To me ; against no winds are my sails furled ; 
 — Merely my planet anchors to the Sun. 
 
 A 
 
THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN. 
 (An Introduction to the Sonnets.) 
 
 Hush, let the fountain murmur dim 
 Melodious secrets ; stir no limb, 
 But lie along the marge and wait. 
 Till deep and pregnant as with fate. 
 Fine as a star-beam, crystal-clear. 
 Each ripple grows upon the ear. 
 This is that fountain seldom seen 
 By mortal wanderer, — Hippocrene, — 
 Where the virgins three times three. 
 Thy singing brood, Mnemosyne, 
 Loosen'd the girdle, and with grave 
 Pure joy their faultless bodies gave 
 To sacred pleasure of the wave. 
 Listen ! the lapsing waters tell 
 The urgence uncontrollable 
 
THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 Which makes the trouble of their breast, 
 
 And bears them onward with no rest 
 
 To ampler skies and some grey plain 
 
 Sad with the tumbling of the main. 
 
 But see, a sidelong eddy slips 
 
 Back into the soft eclipse 
 
 Of day, while careless fate allows, 
 
 Darkling beneath still olive-boughs ; 
 
 Then with chuckle liquid-sweet 
 
 Coils within its shy retreat ; 
 
 This is mine, no wave of might, 
 
 But pure and live with glimmering light ; 
 
 I dare not follow that broad flood 
 
 Of Poesy, whose lustihood 
 
 Nourishes mighty lands, and makes 
 
 Resounding music for their sakes ; 
 
 I lie beside the well-head clear 
 
 With musing joy, with tender fear. 
 
 And choose for half a day to lean 
 
 Thus on my elbow where the green 
 
 Margin-grass and silver- white 
 
THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 Starry buds, the wind's delight, 
 
 Thirsting steer, nor goat-hoof rude 
 
 Of the branch-sundering Satyr brood 
 
 Has ever pashed ; now, now, I stoop. 
 
 And in hand-hollow dare to scoop 
 
 This scantling from the delicate stream ; 
 
 It lies as quiet as a dream. 
 
 And lustrous in my curved hand. 
 
 Were it a crime if this were drain'd 
 
 By lips which met the noonday blue 
 
 Fiery and emptied of its dew ? 
 
 Crown me with small white marish-flowers ! 
 
 To the good Daemon, and the Powers 
 
 Of this fair haunt I offer up 
 
 In unprofan^d lily-cup 
 
 Libations ; still remains for me 
 
 A bird's drink of clear Poesy ; 
 
 Yet not as light bird comes and dips 
 
 A pert bill, but with reverent lips 
 
 I drain this slender trembling tide ; 
 
 O sweet the coolness at my side, 
 
THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 And, lying back, to slowly pry 
 For spaces of the upper sky 
 Radiant 'twixt woven olive-leaves ; 
 And, last, while some fair show deceives 
 The closing eyes, to find a sleep 
 As full of healing and as deep 
 As on toil-worn Odysseus lay 
 Surge-swept to his Ionian bay. 
 
IN THE GALLERIES. 
 
 IN THE GALLERIES. 
 
 I. THE APOLLO BELVEDERE. 
 
 Radiance invincible ! Is that the brow 
 
 Which gleamed on Python while thy arrow sped ? 
 
 Are those the lips for Hyacinthus dead 
 
 That grieved } Wherefore a God indeed art thou ; 
 
 For all we toil with ill, and the hours bow 
 
 And break us, and at best when we have bled, 
 
 And are much marred, perchance propitiated 
 
 A little doubtful victory they allow : . 
 
 We sorrow, and thenceforth the lip retains 
 
 A shade, and the eyes shine and wonder less. 
 
 O joyous Slayer of evil things ! O great 
 
 And splendid Victor ! God, whom no soil stains 
 
 Of passion or doubt, of grief or languidness, 
 
 — Even to worship thee I come too late. 
 
IN THE GALLERIES. 
 
 II. THE VENUS OF MELOS. 
 
 Goddess, or woman nobler than the God, 
 
 No eyes a-gaze upon ^gean seas 
 
 Shifting and circling past their Cyclades 
 
 Saw thee. The Earth, the gracious Earth, was trod 
 
 First by thy feet, while round thee lay her broad 
 
 Calm harvests, and great kine, and shadowing trees. 
 
 And flowers like queens, and a full year's increase. 
 
 Clusters, ripe berry, and the bursting pod. 
 
 So thy victorious fairness, unallied 
 
 To bitter things or barren, doth bestow 
 
 And not exact ; so thou art calm and wise ; 
 
 Thy large allurement saves ; a man may grow 
 
 Like Plutarch's men by standing at thy side. 
 
 And walk thenceforward with clear- visioned eyes! 
 
JN THE GALLERIES. 
 
 III. ANTINOUS CROWNED AS BACCHUS. 
 (In the British Museum.) 
 
 Who crowned thy forehead with the ivy-wreath 
 
 And clustered berries burdening the hair ? 
 
 Who gave thee godhood, and dim rites 1 Beware 
 
 O beautiful, who breathest mortal breath, 
 
 Thou delicate flame great gloom environeth ! 
 
 The gods are free, and drink a stainless air, 
 
 And lightly on calm shoulders they upbear 
 
 A weight of joy eternal, nor can Death 
 
 Cast o'er their sleep the shadow of her shrine. 
 
 O thou confessed too mortal by the o'er-fraught 
 
 Crowned forehead, must thy drooped eyes ever see 
 
 The glut of pleasure, those pale lips of thine 
 
 Still suck a bitter-sweet satiety, 
 
 Thy soul descend through cloudy realms of thought t 
 
IN THE GALLERIES. 
 
 Make thyself known, Sibyl, or let despair 
 
 Of knowing thee be absolute ; I wait 
 
 Hour-long and waste a soul. What word of fate 
 
 Hides 'twixt the lips which smile and still forbear ? 
 
 Secret perfection ! Mystery too fair ! 
 
 Tangle the sense no more lest I should hate 
 
 Thy delicate tyranny, the inviolate 
 
 Poise of thy folded hands, thy fallen hair. 
 
 Nay, nay, — I wrong thee with rough words ; still be 
 
 Serene, victorious, inaccessible ; 
 
 Still smile but speak not ; lightest irony 
 
 Lurk ever 'neath thine eyelids' shadow ; still 
 
 O'ertop our knowledge ; Sphinx of Italy, 
 
 Allure us and reject us at thy will ! 
 
lo IN THE GALLERIES. 
 
 V. ST LUKE PAINTING THE VIRGIN. 
 (By Van der Weyde.) 
 
 It was Luke's will ; and she, the mother-maid, 
 Would not gainsay ; to please him pleased her 
 
 best ; 
 See, here she sits with dovelike heart at rest 
 Brooding, and smoothest brow ; the babe is laid 
 On lap and arm, glad for the unarrayed 
 And swatheless limbs he stretches ; lightly pressed 
 By soft maternal fingers the full breast 
 Seeks him, while half a sidelong glance is stayed 
 By her own bosom and half passes down 
 To reach the boy. Through doors and window- 
 frame 
 Bright airs flow in ; a river tranquilly 
 Washes the small, glad Netherlandish town. 
 Innocent calm ! no token here of shame, 
 A pierced heart, sunless heaven, and Calvary. 
 
UN THE HEIGHTS. 1 1 
 
 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Here are the needs of manhood satisfied ! 
 Sane breath, an amplitude for soul and sense, 
 The noonday silence of the summer hills, 
 And this embracing solitude ; o'er all 
 The sky unsearchable, which lays its claim, — 
 A large redemption not to be annulled, — 
 Upon the heart ; and far below, the sea 
 Breaking and breaking, smoothly, silently. 
 What need I any further ? Now once more 
 My arrested life begins, and I am man 
 Complete with eye, heart, brain, and that within 
 Which is the centre and the light of being ; 
 O dull ! who morning after morning chose 
 Never to climb these gorse and heather slopes 
 Cairn-crowned, but lost within one seaward nook 
 Wasted my soul on the ambiguous speech 
 And slow eye-mesmerism of rolling waves, 
 
12 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Courting oblivion of the heart. True life 
 
 That was not which possessed me while I lay 
 
 Prone on the perilous edge, mere eye and ear, 
 
 Staring upon the bright monotony, 
 
 Having let slide all force from me, each thought 
 
 Yield to the vision of the gleaming blank, 
 
 Each nerve of motion and of sense grow numb. 
 
 Till to the bland persuasion of some breeze, 
 
 Which played across my forehead and my hair. 
 
 The last volition would efface itself, 
 
 And I was mingled wholly in the sound 
 
 Of tumbling billow and upjetting surge, 
 
 Long reluctation, welter and refluent moan. 
 
 And the reverberating tumultuousness 
 
 'Mid shelf and hollow and angle black with spray. 
 
 Yet under all oblivion there remained 
 
 A sense of some frustration, a pale dream 
 
 Of Nature mocking man, and drawmg down. 
 
 As streams draw down the dust of gold, his will. 
 
 His thought and passion to enrich herself 
 
 The insatiable devourer. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 13 
 
 Welcome Earth, 
 My natural heritage ! and this soft turf, 
 These rocks which no insidious ocean saps, 
 But the wide air flows over, and the sun 
 Illumines. Take me. Mother, to thy breast, 
 Gather me close in tender, sustinent arms. 
 Lay bare thy bosom's sweetness and its strength 
 That I may drink vigour and joy and love. 
 Oh infinite composure of the hills ! 
 Thou large simplicity of this fair world. 
 Candour and calmness, with no mockery, 
 No soft frustration, flattering sigh or smile 
 Which masks a tyrannous purpose ; and ye Powers 
 Of these sky-circled heights, and Presences 
 Awful and strict, I find you favourable, 
 Who seek not to exclude me or to slay, 
 Rather accept my being, take me up 
 Into your silence and your peace. Therefore 
 By him whom ye reject not, gracious Ones, 
 Pure vows are made that haply he will be 
 Not all unworthy of the world ; he casts 
 
14 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Forth from him, never to resume again, 
 
 Veiled nameless things, frauds of the unfilled heart, 
 
 Fantastic pleasures, delicate sadnesses, 
 
 The lurid, and the curious, and the occult. 
 
 Coward sleights and shifts, the manners of the slave. 
 
 And long unnatural uses of dim life. 
 
 Hence with you ! Robes of angels touch these 
 
 heights 
 Blown by pure winds and I lay hold upon them. 
 
 Here is a perfect bell of purple heath, 
 
 Made for the sky to gaze at reverently. 
 
 As faultless as itself, and holding light, 
 
 Glad air and silence in its slender dome ; 
 
 Small, but a needful moment in the sum 
 
 Of God's full joy — the abyss of ecstasy 
 
 O'er which we hang as the bright bow of foam 
 
 Above the never-filled receptacle 
 
 Hangs seven-hued where the endless cataract leaps. 
 
 O now I guess why you have summoned me, 
 Headlands and heights, to your companionship ; 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 15 
 
 Confess that I this day am needful to you ! 
 
 The heavens were loaded with great light, the 
 
 winds 
 Brought you calm summer from a hundred 
 
 fields, 
 All night the stars had pricked you to desire, 
 The imminent joy at its full season flowered, 
 There was a consummation, the broad wave 
 Toppled and fell. And had ye voice for this ? 
 Sufficient song to unburden the urged breast ? 
 A pastoral pipe to play ? a lyre to touch ? 
 The brightening glory of the heath and gorse 
 Could not appease your passion, nor the cry 
 Of this wild bird that flits from bush to bush. 
 Me therefore you required, a voice for song, 
 A pastoral pipe to play, a lyre to touch. 
 I recognize your bliss to find me here ; 
 The sky at morning when the sun upleaps 
 Demands her atom of intense melody, 
 Her point of quivering passion and delight. 
 And will not let the lark's heart be at ease. 
 
1 6 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Take me, the brain with various, subtile fold. 
 The breast that knows swift joy, the vocal lips ; 
 I yield you here the cunning instrument 
 Between your knees ; now let the plectrum fall ! 
 
LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERTS 17 
 
 "LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERT." 
 
 "Toujours le desert se montre a I'horizon, quand vous prononcez 
 le nom de Jehovah." EDGAR QUINET. 
 
 Beyond the places haunted by the feet 
 Of thoughts and swift desires, and where the eyes 
 Of wing'd imaginings are wild, and dreams 
 Glide by on noiseless plumes, beyond the dim 
 Veiled sisterhood of ever-circling mists, 
 Who dip their urns in those enchanted meres 
 Where all thought fails, and every ardour dies, 
 And through the vapour dead looms a low moon. 
 Beyond the fountains of the dawn, beyond 
 The white home of the morning star, lies spread 
 A desert lifeless, bright, illimitable, 
 The world's confine, o'er which no sighing goes 
 From weary winds of Time. 
 ^ I sat me down 
 
i8 "-LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERTr 
 
 Upon a red stone flung on the red sand, 
 
 In length as great as some sarcophagus 
 
 Which holds a king, but scribbled with no runes, 
 
 Bald, and unstained by lichen or grey moss. 
 
 Save me no living thing in that red land 
 
 Showed under heaven ; no furtive lizard slipped, 
 
 No desert weed pushed upward the tough spine 
 
 Or hairy lump, no slow bird was a spot 
 
 Of moving black on the deserted air, 
 
 Or stationary shrilled his tuneless cry ; 
 
 No shadow stirr'd, nor luminous haze uprose. 
 
 Quivering against the blanched blue of the marge. 
 
 I sat unbonneted, and my throat baked, 
 
 And my tongue loU'd dogwise. Red sand below, 
 
 And one unlidded eye above — mere God 
 
 Blazing from marge to marge. I did not pray, 
 
 My heart was as a cinder in my breast, 
 
 And with both hands I held my head which 
 
 throbbed. 
 I, who had sought for God, had followed God 
 
''LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERT:' 19 
 
 Through the fair world which stings with sharp 
 
 desire 
 For him of whom its hints and whisperings are, 
 Its gleams and tingling moments of the night, 
 I, who in flower, and wave, and mountain-wind, 
 And song of bird, and man's diviner heart 
 Had owned the present Deity, yet strove 
 For naked access to his inmost shrine, — 
 Now found God doubtless, for he filled the heaven 
 Like brass, he breathed upon the air like fire. 
 But I, a speck 'twixt the strown sand and sky. 
 Being yet an atom of pure and living will. 
 And perdurable as any God of brass, 
 With all my soul, with all my mind and strength 
 Hated this God. O, for a little cloud 
 No bigger than a man's hand on the rim, 
 To rise with rain and thunder in its womb, 
 And blot God out ! But no such cloud would come. 
 I felt my brain on fire, heard each pulse tick ; 
 It was a God to make a man stark mad; 
 I rose with neck out-thrust, and nodding head, 
 
20 ''LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERT." 
 
 While with dry chaps I could not choose but laugh; 
 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha, across the air it rang, 
 
 No sweeter than the barking of a dog, 
 
 Hard as the echo from an iron cliff; 
 
 It must have buffeted the heaven; I ceased, 
 
 I looked to see from the mid sky an arm. 
 
 And one sweep of the scimitar ; I stood ; 
 
 And when the minute passed with no event, 
 
 No doomsman's stroke, no sundering soul and flesh, 
 
 When silence dropt its heavy fold on fold, 
 
 And God lay yet inert in heaven, or scorn'd 
 
 His rebel antic-sized, grotesque, — I swooned. 
 
 Now when the sense returned my lips were wet, 
 And cheeks and chin were wet, with a dank dew. 
 Acrid and icy, and one shadow huge 
 Hung over me blue-black, while all around 
 The fierce light glared. O joy, a living thing, 
 Emperor of this red domain of sand, 
 A giant snake! One fold, one massy wreath 
 Arched over me; a man's expanded arms 
 
''LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERT:' 21 
 
 Could not embrace the girth of this great lord 
 In his least part, and low upon the sand 
 His small head lay, wrinkled, a flaccid bag, 
 Set with two jewels of green fire, the eyes 
 That had not slept since making of the world. 
 Whence grew I bold to gaze into such eyes? 
 
 Thus gazing each conceived the other's thought, 
 Aware how each read each; the Serpent mused, 
 "Are all the giants dead, a long time dead, 
 Born of the broad-hipped women, grave and tall, 
 In whom God's sons poured a celestial seed ? 
 A long time dead, whose great deeds filled the 
 
 earth 
 With clamour as of beaten shields, all dead. 
 And Cush and Canaan, Mizraim and Phut, 
 And the boy Nimrod storming through large 
 
 lands 
 Like earthquake through tower'd cities, these 
 
 depart. 
 And what remains ? Behold, the elvish thing 
 
22 ''LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERT:' 
 
 We raised from out his swoon, this now is man. 
 The pretty vermin! helpless to conceive 
 Of great, pure, simple sin, and vast revolt; 
 The world escapes from deluge these new days, 
 We build no Babels with the Shinar slime ; 
 What would this thin-legged grasshopper with us, 
 The Dread Ones? Rather let him skip, and chirp 
 Hymns in his smooth grass to his novel God, 
 'The Father;' here no bland paternity 
 He meets, but visible Might blocks the broad sky. 
 My great Co-mate, the Ancient. Hence! avoid! 
 What wouldst thou prying on our solitude.^ 
 For thee my sly, small cousin may suffice. 
 And sly, small bites about the heart and groin; 
 Hence to his haunt ! Yet ere thou dost depart, 
 I mark thee with my sign." 
 
 A vibrant tongue 
 Had in a moment pricked upon my brow 
 The mystic mark of brotherhood, Cain's brand. 
 But when I read within his eyes the words 
 * Hence ' and * avoid,' dim horror seized on mc. 
 
''LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERT." 23 
 
 And rising, with both arms stretched forth, and 
 
 head 
 Bowed earthward, and not turning once I ran ; 
 And what things saw me as I raced by them. 
 What hands plucked at my dress, what light wings 
 
 brushed 
 My face, what waters in my hearing seethed, 
 I know not, till I reached familiar lands. 
 And saw grey clouds slow gathering for the night, 
 Above sweet fields, whence the June mowers 
 
 strolled 
 Homewards with girls who chatted down the lane. 
 
 Is this the secret lying round the world ? 
 A Dread One watching with unlidded eye 
 Slow century after century from his heaven. 
 And that great lord, the worm of the red plain. 
 Cold in mid sun, strenuous, untameable, 
 Coiling his solitary strength along 
 Slow century after century, conscious each 
 How in the life of his Arch-enemy 
 
24 "LA REVELATION PAR LE DESERT." 
 
 He lives, how ruin of one confounds the pair,— 
 Is this the eternal dual mystery ? 
 
 One Source of being, Light, or Love, or Lord, 
 Whose shadow is the brightness of the world. 
 Still let thy dawns and twilights glimmer pure 
 In flow perpetual from hill to hill. 
 Still bathe us in thy tides of day and night ; 
 Wash me at will a weed in thy free wave. 
 Drenched in the sun and air and surge of Thee. 
 
THE MORNING STAR. 25 
 
 THE MORNING STAR. 
 
 Backward betwixt the gates of steepest heaven, 
 
 Faint from the insupportable advance 
 Of light confederate in the East, is driven 
 
 The starry chivalry, and helm and lance, 
 Which held keen ward upon the shadowy plain. 
 Yield to the stress and stern predominance 
 
 Of Day ; no wanderer morning-moon awane 
 
 Floats through dishevelled clouds, exanimate. 
 In disarray, with gaze of weariest pain ; 
 
 O thou sole Splendour, sprung to vindicate 
 Night's ancient fame, thou in dread strife serene, 
 With back-blown locks, joyous yet desperate 
 
26 THE MORNING STAR. 
 
 Flamest ; from whose pure ardour Earth doth win 
 High passionate pangs, thou radiant paladin. 
 
 II. 
 
 Nay ; strife must cease in song : far-sent and clear 
 
 Piercing the silence of this summer morn 
 I hear thy swan-song rapturous ; I hear 
 
 Life's ecstasy ; sharp cries of flames which burn 
 With palpitating joy, intense and pure. 
 From altars of the universe, and yearn 
 
 In eager spires ; and under these the sure 
 
 Strong ecstasy of Death, in phrase too deep 
 For thought, too bright for dim investiture 
 
 Of mortal words, and sinking more than sleep 
 Down hoher places of the soul's delight ; 
 
 Cry, through the quickening dawn, to us who 
 creep 
 
THE MORNING STAR. 27 
 
 'Mid dreams and dews of the dividing night, 
 Thou searcher of the darkness and the Hght. 
 
 III. 
 
 I seek thee, and thou art not ; for the sky 
 
 Has drawn thee in upon her breast to be 
 A hidden tahsman, while light soars high, 
 
 Virtuous to make wide heaven's tranquillity- 
 More tranquil, and her steadfast truth more true. 
 Yea even her overbowed infinity 
 
 Of tenderness, when o'er wet woods the blue 
 
 Shows past white edges of a sundering cloud 
 More infinitely tender. Day is new, 
 
 Night ended ; how the hills are overflowed 
 
 With spaciousness of splendour, and each tree 
 
 Is touched ; only not yet the lark is loud 
 
 Since viewless still o'er city and plain and sea 
 Vibrates thy spirit-winged ecstasy. 
 
28 A CHILUS NOONDA V SLEEP. 
 
 A CHILD'S NOONDAY SLEEP. 
 
 Because you sleep, my child, with breathing light 
 
 As heave of the June sea, 
 Because your lips' soft petals dewy-bright 
 
 Dispart so tenderly ; 
 
 Because the slumbrous warmth is on your cheek 
 
 Up from the hushed heart sent, 
 And in this midmost noon when winds are weak 
 
 No cloud lies more content ; 
 
 Because nor song of bird, nor lamb's keen call 
 
 May reach you sunken deep, 
 Because your lifted arm I thus let fall 
 
 Heavy with perfect sleep ; 
 
 Because all will is drawn from you, all power, 
 And Nature through dark roots 
 
A CHILD S NOONDA V SLEEP. 
 
 Will hold and nourish you for one sweet hour 
 Amid her flowers and fruits ; 
 
 Therefore though tempests gather, and the gale 
 
 Through autumn skies will roar, 
 Though Earth send up to heaven the ancient wail 
 
 Heard by dead Gods of yore ; 
 
 Though spectral faiths contend, and for her course 
 
 The soul confused must try. 
 While through the whirl of atoms and of force 
 
 Looms an abandoned sky ; 
 
 Yet, know I, Peace abides, of earth's wild things 
 
 Centre, and ruling thence ; 
 Behold, a spirit folds her budded wings 
 
 In confident innocence. 
 
30 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 I. THE GARDEN. 
 
 Past the town's clamour is a garden full 
 Of loneness and old greenery ; at noon 
 When birds are hushed, save one dim cushat's 
 
 croon, 
 A ripen'd silence hangs beneath the cool 
 Great branches ; basking roses dream and drop 
 A petal, and dream still ; and summer's boon 
 Of mellow grasses, to be levelled soon 
 By a dew-drenched scythe, will hardly stop 
 At the uprunning mounds of chesnut trees. 
 Still let me muse in this rich haunt by day. 
 And know all night in dusky placidness 
 It lies beneath the summer, while great ease 
 Broods in the leaves, and every light wind's stress 
 Lifts a faint odour down the verdurous way. 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 II. VISIONS. 
 
 Here I am slave of visions. When noon heat 
 Strikes the red walls, and their environ'd air 
 Lies steep'd in sun ; when not a creature dare 
 Affront the fervour, from my dim retreat 
 Where woof of leaves embowers a beechen seat. 
 With chin on palm, and wide-set eyes I stare, 
 Beyond the liquid quiver and the glare. 
 Upon fair shapes that move on silent feet 
 Those Three strait-robed, and speechless as they 
 
 pass. 
 Come often, touch the lute, nor heed me more 
 Than birds or shadows heed ; that naked child 
 Is dove-like Psyche slumbering in deep grass ; 
 Sleep, sleep, — he heeds thee not, yon Sylvan wild 
 Munching the russet apple to its core. 
 
32 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 III. AN INTERIOR. 
 
 The grass around my lirabs is deep and sweet ; 
 
 Yonder the house has lost its shadow wholly, 
 
 The blinds are dropped, and softly now and slowly 
 
 The day flows in and floats ; a calm retreat 
 
 Of tempered light where fair things fair things 
 
 meet ; 
 White busts and marble Dian make it holy. 
 Within a niche hangs Durer's Melancholy 
 Brooding ; and, should you enter, there will greet 
 Your sense with vague allurement effluence faint 
 Of one magnolia bloom ; fair fingers draw 
 From the piano Chopin's heart-complaint ; 
 Alone, white-robed she sits ; a fierce macaw 
 On the verandah, proud of plume and paint. 
 Screams, insolent despot, showing beak and claw. 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 33 
 
 IV. THE SINGER. 
 
 " That was the thrush's last good-night," I thought, 
 And heard the soft descent of summer rain 
 In the drooped garden leaves ; but hush ! again 
 The perfect iterance, — freer than unsought 
 Odours of violets dim in woodland ways, 
 Deeper than coiled waters laid a-dream 
 Below mossed ledges of a shadowy stream, 
 And faultless as blown roses in June days. 
 Full-throated singer ! art thou thus anew 
 Voiceful to hear how round thyself alone 
 The enriched silence drops for thy delight 
 More soft than snow, more sweet than honey-dew } 
 Now cease : the last faint western streak is gone, 
 Stir not the blissful quiet of the night. 
 
34 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 V. A SUMMER MOON, 
 
 Queen-moon of this enchanted summer night. 
 One virgin slave companioning thee, — I lie 
 Vacant to thy possession as this sky 
 Conquered and calmed by thy rejoicing might ; 
 Swim down through my heart's deep, thou dei»y- 
 
 bright 
 Wanderer of heaven, till thought must faint and die. 
 And I am made all thine inseparably. 
 Resolved into the dream of thy delight. 
 Ah no ! the place is conmion for her feet. 
 Not here, not here, — beyond the amber mist. 
 And breadths of dusky pine, and shining lawn. 
 And unstirred lake, and gleaming belts <^ wheat. 
 She comes upon her Latmos, and has kissed 
 The sidelong face of blind EndymicML 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 35 
 
 VI. A PEACH. 
 
 If any sense in mortal dust remains 
 When mine has been refined from flower to flower 
 Won from the sun all colours, drunk the shower 
 And delicate winy dews, and gained the gains 
 Which elves who sleep in airy bells, a-swing 
 Through half a summer day, for love bestow, 
 Then in some warm old garden let me grow 
 To such a perfect, lush, ambrosian thing 
 As this. Upon a southward-facing wall 
 I bask, and feel my juices dimly fed 
 And mellowing, while my bloom comes golden- 
 grey : 
 Keep the wasps from me ! but before I fall 
 Pluck me, white fingers, and o'er two ripe-red 
 Girl lips, O let me richly swoon away ! 
 
36 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 VII. EARLY AUTUMN. 
 
 If while I sit flatter'd by this warm sun 
 
 Death came to me, and kissed my mouth and brow, 
 
 And eyelids which the warm light hovers through, 
 
 I should not count it strange. Being half won 
 
 By hours that with a tender sadness run, 
 
 Who would not softly lean to lips which woo 
 
 In the Earth's grave speech } Nor could it aught 
 
 undo 
 Of Nature's calm observances begun 
 Still to be here the idle autumn day. 
 Pale leaves would circle down, and lie unstirr'd 
 Where'er they fell ; the tired wind hither call 
 Her gentle fellows ; shining beetles stray 
 Up their green courts ; and only yon shy bird 
 A little bolder grow ere evenfall. 
 
IN THE GARDEN, 37 
 
 VIII. LATER AUTUMN. 
 
 This is the year's despair : some wind last night 
 Utter'd too soon the irrevocable word, 
 And the leaves heard it, and the low clouds heard ; 
 So a wan morning dawned of sterile light ; 
 Flowers drooped, or showed a startled face and 
 
 white ; 
 The cattle cowered, and one disconsolate bird 
 Chirped a weak note ; last came this mist and 
 
 blurred 
 The hills, and fed upon the fields like blight. 
 Ah, why so swift despair ! There yet will be 
 Warm noons, the honey'd leavings of the year. 
 Hours of rich musing, ripest autumn's core, 
 And late-heaped fruit, and falling hedge-berry, 
 Blossoms in cottage crofts, and yet, once more, 
 A song, not less than June's, fervent and clear. 
 
THE HEROINES. 
 
THE HEROINES. 41 
 
 THE HEROINES. 
 
 HELENA. 
 {Tenth year of Troy-Siege.) 
 
 She stood upon the wall of windy Troy, 
 And lifted high both arms, and cried aloud 
 With no man near : — 
 
 " Troy-town and glory of Greece 
 Strive, let the flame aspire, and pride of life 
 Glow to white heat ! Great lords be strong, rejoice. 
 Lament, know victory, know defeat — then die ; 
 Fair is the living many-coloured play 
 Of hates and loves, and fair it is to cease, 
 To cease from these and all Earth's comely things. 
 I, Helena, impatient of a couch 
 Dim-scented, and dark eyes my face had fed, 
 And soft captivity of circling arms. 
 Come forth to shed my spirit on you, a wind 
 
42 THE HEROINES. 
 
 And sunlight of commingling life and death. 
 City and tented plain behold who stands 
 Betwixt you ! Seems she worth a play of swords, 
 And glad expense of rival hopes and hates ? 
 Have the Gods given a prize which may content, 
 Who set your games afoot, — no fictile vase. 
 But a sufficient goblet of great gold, 
 Embossed with heroes, filled with perfumed wine ? 
 How ! doubt ye ? Thus I draw the robe aside 
 And bare the breasts of Helen. 
 
 Yesterday 
 A mortal maiden I beheld, the light 
 Tender within her eyes, laying white arms 
 Around her sire's mailed breast, and heard her 
 
 chide 
 Because his cheek was blood-splashed, — I beheld 
 And did not wish me her. O, not for this 
 A God's blood thronged within my mother's veins ! 
 For no such tender purpose rose the swan 
 With ruffled plumes, and hissing in his joy 
 
THE HEROINES. 43 
 
 Flashed up the stream, and held with heavy wings 
 Leda, and curved the neck to reach her lips, 
 And stayed, nor left her lightly. It is well 
 To have quickened into glory one supreme, 
 Swift hour, the century's fiery-hearted bloom, 
 Which falls, — to stand a splendour paramount, 
 A beacon of high hearts and fates of men, 
 A flame blown round by clear, contending winds, 
 Which gladden in the contest and wax strong. 
 Cities of Greece, fair islands, and Troy town. 
 Accept a woman's service ; these my hands 
 Hold not the distaff, ply not at the loom ;; 
 I store from year to year no well-wrought web 
 For daughter's dowry ; wide the web I make. 
 Fine-tissued, costly as the Gods desire. 
 Shot with a gleaming woof of lives and deaths. 
 Inwrought with colours flowerlike, piteous, strange. 
 
 Oblivion yields before me : ye winged years 
 Which make escape from darkness, the red light 
 Of a wild dawn upon your plumes, I stand 
 
44 THE HEROINES. 
 
 The mother of the stars and winds of heaven, 
 Your eastern Eos ; cry across the storm ! 
 Through me man's heart grows wider ; little town 
 Asleep in silent sunshine and smooth air, 
 While babe grew man beneath your girdling towers. 
 Wake, wonder, lift the eager head alert, 
 Snake-like, and swift to strike, while altar-flame 
 Rises for plighted faith with neighbour town 
 That slept upon the mountain-shelf, and showed 
 A small white temple in the morning sun. 
 Oh, ever one way tending you keen prows 
 Which shear the shadowy waves when stars are 
 
 faint 
 And break with emulous cries unto the dawn, 
 I gaze and draw you onward ; splendid names 
 Lurk in you, and high deeds, and unachieved 
 Virtues, and house-o'erwhelming crimes, while life 
 Leaps in sharp flame ere all be ashes grey. 
 Thus have I willed it ever since the hour 
 When that great lord, the one man worshipful. 
 Whose hands had haled the fierce Hippolyta 
 
THE HEROINES. 45 
 
 Lightly from out her throng of martial maids, 
 Would grace his triumph, strengthen his large joy 
 With splendour of the swan-begotten child, 
 Nor asked a ten years' siege to make acquist 
 Of all her virgin store. No dream that was, — 
 The moonlight in the woods, our singing stream, 
 Eurotas, the sleek panther at my feet. 
 And on my heart a hero's strong right hand. 
 
 draught of love immortal ! Dastard world 
 Too poor for great exchange of soul, too poor 
 For equal lives made glorious ! O too poor 
 For Theseus and for Helena ! 
 
 Yet now 
 It yields once more a brightness, if no love ; 
 Around me flash the tides, and in my ears 
 A dangerous melody and piercing-clear 
 Sing the twin siren-sisters. Death and Life ; 
 
 1 rise and gird my spirit for the close. 
 
 Last night Cassandra cried * Ruin, ruin, and ruin ! ' 
 I mocked her not, nor disbelieved ; the gloom 
 
46 THE HEROINES. 
 
 Gathers, and twilight takes the unwary world. 
 
 Hold me, ye Gods, a torch across the night, 
 
 With one long flare blown back o'er tower and 
 
 town. 
 Till the last things of Tro)^ complete themselves : 
 — Then blackness, and the grey dust of a heart" 
 
THE HEROINES. 47 
 
 • ATALANTA. 
 
 " Milanion, seven years ago this day 
 
 You overcame me by a golden fraud, 
 
 Traitor, and see I crown your cup with flowers, 
 
 With violets and white sorrel from dim haunts, — 
 
 A fair libation — ask you to what God ? 
 
 To Artemis, to Artemis my Queen. 
 
 Not by my will did you escape the spear 
 Though piteous I might be for your glad life. 
 Husband, and for your foolish love : the Gods 
 Who heard your vows had care of you : I stooped 
 Half toward the beauty of the shining thing 
 Through some blind motion of an instant joy, — 
 As when our babe reached arms to pluck the moon 
 A great, round fruit between dark apple-boughs, — 
 And half, marking your wile, to fling away 
 Needless advantage, conquer carelessly, 
 And pass the goal with one light finger-touch 
 
48 THE HEROINES. 
 
 Just while you leaned forth the bent body's length 
 To reach it. Could I guess I strove with three, 
 With Aphrodite, Eros, and the third — 
 Milanion ? There upon the maple-post 
 Your right hand rested : the event had sprung 
 Complete from darkness, and possessed the world 
 Ere yet conceived : upon the edge of doom 
 I stood with foot arrested and blind heart, 
 Aware of nought save some unmastered fate 
 And reddening neck and brow. I heard you cry 
 'Judgment, both umpires!' saw you stand erect, 
 Panting, and with a face so glad, so great 
 It shone through all my dull bewilderment 
 A beautiful uncbmprehended joy, 
 One perfect thing and bright in a strange world. 
 But when I looked to see my father shamed, 
 A-choke with rage and words of proper scorn. 
 He nodded, and the beard upon his breast 
 Pulled twice or thrice, well-pleased, and laughed 
 
 aloud, 
 And while the wrinkles gathered round his eyes 
 
THE HEROINES. 49 
 
 Cried ' Girl, well done ! My brother's son retain 
 
 Shrewd head upon your shoulders ! Maidens ho ! 
 
 A veil for Atalanta, and a zone 
 
 Male fingers may unclasp ! Lead home the bride, 
 
 Prepare the nuptial chamber !' At his word 
 
 My life turned round : too great the shame had 
 
 grown 
 With all men leagued to mock me. Could I stay, 
 Confront the vulgar gladness of the world 
 At high emprise defeated, a free life 
 Tethered, light dimmed, a virtue singular 
 Subdued to ways of common use and wont ? 
 Must I become the men's familiar jest, 
 The comment of the matron-guild ? I turned, 
 I sought the woods, sought silence, solitude, 
 Green depths divine, where the soft-footed ounce 
 Lurks, and the light deer comes and drinks and goes 
 Familiar paths in which the mind might gain 
 Footing, and haply from a vantage-ground 
 Drive this new fate an arm's-length, hand's-breadth 
 
 off 
 
 D 
 
so THE HEROINES. 
 
 A little while, till certitude of sight 
 And strength returned. 
 
 At evening I went back, 
 Walked past the idle groups at gossipry, 
 Sought you, and laid my hand upon your wrist, 
 Drew you apart, and with no shaken voice 
 Spoke, while the swift, hard strokes my heart out- 
 beat 
 Seemed growing audible, * Milanion 
 I am your wife for freedom and fair deeds : 
 Choose : am I such an one a man could love ? 
 What need you ? Some soft song to soothe your 
 
 life. 
 Or a clear cry at daybreak ?' And I ceased. 
 How deemed you that first moment } That the 
 
 Gods 
 Had changed my heart > That I since morn had 
 
 grown 
 Haunter of Aphrodite's golden shrine. 
 Had kneeled before the victress, vowed my vow, 
 
THE HEROINES. 51 
 
 Besought her pardon * Aphrodite, grace ! 
 Accept the rueful Atalanta's gifts, 
 Rose wreaths and snow-white doves '? 
 
 In the dim woods 
 There is a sacred place, a solitude 
 Within their solitude, a heart of strength 
 Within their strength. The rocks are heaped around 
 A goblet of great waters ever fed 
 By one swift stream which flings itself in air 
 With all the madness, mirth and melody 
 Of twenty rivulets gathered in the hills 
 Where might escapes in gladness. Here the trees 
 Strike deeper roots into the heart of earth, 
 And hold more high communion with the heavens ; 
 Here in the hush of noon the silence broods 
 More full of vague divinity ; the light 
 Slow-changing and the shadows as they shift 
 Seem characters of some inscrutable law, 
 And one who lingers long will almost hope 
 The secret of the world may be surprised 
 
52 THE HEROINES. 
 
 Ere he depart. It is a haunt beloved 
 Of Artemis, the echoing rocks have heard 
 Her laughter and her lore, and the brown stream 
 Flashed, smitten by the splendour of her limbs. 
 Hither I came ; here turned, and dared confront 
 Pursuing thoughts ; here held my life at gaze, 
 If ruined at least to clear loose wrack away, 
 Study its lines of bare dismantlement, 
 And shape a strict despair. With fixed hard lips. 
 Dry-eyed, I set my face against the stream. 
 To deal with fate ; the play of woven light 
 Gleaming and glancing on the rippled flood 
 Grew to a tyranny ; and one visioned face 
 Would glide into the circle of my sight. 
 Would glide and pass away, so glad, so great 
 The imminent joy it brought seemed charged with 
 
 fear. 
 I rose, and paced from trunk to trunk, brief track 
 This way and that ; at least my will maintained 
 Her law upon my limbs ; they needs must turn 
 At the appointed limit. A keen cry 
 
THE HEROINES. 53 
 
 Rose from my heart — * Toils of the world grow 
 strong, 
 
 * Yield strength, yield strength to rend them to my 
 
 hands ; 
 
 * Be thou apparent. Queen ! in dubious ways 
 
 * Lo my feet fail ; cry down the forest glade, 
 
 * Pierce with thy voice the tangle and dark boughs, 
 ' Call, and I follow thee.' 
 
 What things made up 
 Memorial for the Presence of the place 
 Thenceforth to hold ? Only the torrent's leap 
 Endlessly vibrating, monotonous rhythm 
 Of the swift footstep pacing to and fro. 
 Only a soul's reiterated cry 
 Under the calm, controlling, ancient trees. 
 And tutelary ward and watch of heaven 
 Felt through steep inlets which the upper airs 
 Blew wider. 
 
 On the grass at last I lay 
 Seized by a peace divine, I know not how ; 
 
54 THE HEROINES, 
 
 Passive, yet never so possessed of power, 
 
 Strong, yet content to feel not use my strength. 
 
 Sustained a babe upon the breasts of life 
 
 Yet armed with adult will, a shining spear. 
 
 O strong deliverance of the larger law 
 
 Which strove not with the less ! impetuous youth 
 
 Caught up in ampler force of womanhood ! 
 
 Co-operant ardours of joined lives ! the calls 
 
 Of heart to heart in chase of strenuous deeds ! 
 
 Virgin and wedded freedom not disjoined, 
 
 And loyal married service to my Queen ! 
 
 Husband, have lesser gains these seven good years 
 Been yours because you chose no gracious maid 
 Whose hands had woven in the women's room 
 Many fair garments, while her dreaming heart 
 Had prescience of the bridal ; one whose claims, 
 Tender exactions feminine, had pleased 
 Fond husband, one whose gentle gifts had pleased, 
 Soft playful touches, little amorous words, 
 Untutored thoughts that widened up toward yours. 
 
THE HEROINES. 55 
 
 With trustful homage of uplifted eyes, 
 
 And sweetest sorrows lightly comforted ? 
 
 Have we two challenged each the other's heart 
 
 Too highly ? Have our joys been all too large, 
 
 No gleaming gems on finger or on neck 
 
 A man may turn and touch caressingly, 
 
 But ampler than this heaven we stand beneath — 
 
 Wide wings of Presences august ? Our lives. 
 
 Were it not better they had stood apart 
 
 A little space, letting the sweet sense grow 
 
 Of distance bridged by love ? Had that full 
 
 calm, — 
 I may not question since you call it true, — 
 Found in some rightness of a woman's will, 
 Been gladder through perturbing touch of doubt. 
 By brief unrest made exquisitely aware 
 Of all its dear possession ? Have our eyes 
 Met with too calm directness — soul to soul 
 Turned with the unerroneous long regard, 
 Until no stuff remains for dreams to weave, 
 Nought but unmeasured faithfulness, clear depths 
 
56 THE HEROINES, 
 
 Pierced by the sun, and yielding to the eye 
 Which searches, yet not fathoms ? Did my lips 
 Lay on your lips too great a pledge of love 
 With awe too rapturous ? Teach me how I fail. 
 Recount what things your life has missed through 
 
 me. 
 Appease me with new needs ; my strength is weak 
 Trembling toward perfect service." 
 
 In her eyes 
 Tears stood and utterance ceased. Wondering the 
 
 boy 
 Parthenopoeus stopped his play and gazed. 
 
THE HEROINES. 57 
 
 EUROPA. 
 
 " He stood with head erect fronting the herd ; 
 
 At the first sight of him I knew the God 
 
 And had no fear. The grass is sweet and long 
 
 Up the east land backed by a pale blue heaven : 
 
 Gray, shining gravel shelves toward the sea 
 
 Which sang and sparkled ; between these he stood, 
 
 Beautiful, with imperious head, firm foot, 
 
 And eyes resolved on present victory. 
 
 Which swerved not from the full acquist of joy, 
 
 Calmly triumphant. Did I see at all 
 
 The creamy hide, deep dewlap, little horns. 
 
 Or hear the girls describe them } I beheld 
 
 Zeus, and the law of my completed life. 
 
 Therefore the ravishment of some great calm 
 
 Possessed me, and I could not basely start 
 
 Or scream ; if there was terror in my breast 
 
 It was to see the inevitable bliss 
 
 In prone descent from heaven ; apart I lived 
 
58 THE HEROINES. 
 
 Held in some solitude, intense and clear, 
 
 Even while amid the frolic girls I stooped 
 
 And praised the flowers we gathered, they and I, 
 
 Pink-streaked convolvulus the warm sand bears, 
 
 Orchids, dark poppies with the crumpled leaf, 
 
 And reeds and giant rushes from a pond 
 
 Where the blue dragon-fly shimmers and shifts. 
 
 All these were notes of music, harmonies 
 
 Fashioned to underlie a resonant song. 
 
 Which sang how no more days of flower-culling 
 
 Little Europa must desire ; henceforth 
 
 The large needs of the world resumed her life. 
 
 So her least joy must be no trivial thing. 
 
 But ordered as the motion of the stars. 
 
 Or grand incline of sun-flower to the sun. 
 
 By this the God was near ; my soul waxed 
 
 strong. 
 And wider orbed the vision of the world 
 As fate drew nigh. He stooped, all gentleness. 
 Inviting touches of the tender hands, 
 
THE HEROINES. 59 
 
 And wore the wreaths they twisted round his horns 
 In lordly-playful wise, me all this while 
 Summoning by great mandates at my heart, 
 Which silenced every less authentic call. 
 Away, away, from girlhood, home, sweet friends. 
 The daily dictates of my mother's will, 
 Agenor's cherishing hand, and all the ways 
 Of the calm household. I would fain have felt 
 Some ruth to part from these, the tender ties 
 Severing with thrills of passion. Can I blame 
 My heart for light surrender of things dear. 
 And hardness of a little selfish soul ? 
 Nay : the decree of joy was over me. 
 There was the altar, I, the sacrifice 
 Foredoomed to life, not death ; the victim bound 
 Looked for the stroke, the world's one fact for her. 
 The blissful consummation : straight to this 
 Her course had tended from the hour of birth, 
 Even till this careless morn of maidenhood 
 A sudden splendour changed to life's high noon : 
 For this my mother taught me gracious things, 
 
6o THE HEROINES. 
 
 My father's thoughts had dealt with me, for this 
 The least flower blossomed, the least cloud went by, 
 All things conspired for this ; the glad event 
 Summed my full past and held it, as the fruit 
 Holds the fair sequence of the bud and flower 
 In soft matureness. 
 
 Now he bent the knee ; 
 I never doubted of my part to do. 
 Nor lingered idly, since to veil command 
 In tender invitation pleased my lord ; 
 I sat, and round his neck one arm I laid 
 Beyond all chance secure. Whether my weight 
 Or the soft pressure of the encircling arm 
 Quickened in him some unexpected bliss 
 I know not, but his flight was one steep rush. 
 Oh uncontrollable and joyous rage ! 
 O splendour of the multitudinous sea ! 
 Swift foam about my feet, the eager stroke 
 Of the strong swimmer, new sea-creatures brave, 
 And uproar of blown conch, and shouting lips 
 
THE HEROINES. 6i 
 
 Under the open heaven ; till Crete rose fair 
 With stedfast shining peak, and promontories. 
 
 Shed not a leaf, O plane-tree, not a leaf, 
 
 Let sacred shadow, and slumbrous sound remain 
 
 Alway, where Zeus looked down upon his bride. 
 
62 THE HEROINES, 
 
 ANDROMEDA. 
 
 This is my joy — that when my soul had wrought 
 
 Her single victory over fate and fear, 
 
 He came, who was deliverance. At the first, 
 
 Though the rough-bearded fellows bruised my wrists 
 
 Holding them backwards while they drove the bolts, 
 
 And stared around my body, workman-like, 
 
 I did not argue nor bewail ; but when 
 
 The flash and dip of equal oars had passed, 
 
 And I was left a thing for sky and sea 
 
 To encircle, gaze on, wonder at, not save — 
 
 The clear resolve which I had grasped and held. 
 
 Slipped as a dew-drop slips from some flower-cup 
 
 O'erweighted, and I longed to cry aloud 
 
 One sharp, great cry, and scatter the fixed will. 
 
 In fond self-pity. Have you watched night-long, 
 
 Above a face from which the lifes recedes. 
 
 And seen death set his seal before the dawn.^ 
 
 You do not shriek and clasp the hands, but just 
 
THE HEROINES. 63 
 
 When morning finds the world once more all good 
 And ready for wave's leap and swallow's flight, 
 There comes a whiff of undiscovered flowers, 
 A drone of sailing bee, a dance of light 
 Among the awakened leaves, a touch, a tang, 
 A nameless nothing, and the world turns round, 
 And the full soul runs over, and tears flow, 
 And it is seen a piteous thing to die. 
 So fared it there with me ; the ripple ran 
 Crisp to my feet; the tufted sea-pink bloomed 
 From a cleft rock, I saw the insects drop. 
 From blossom into blossom ; and the wide 
 Intolerable splendour of the sea. 
 Calm in a liquid hush of summer morn. 
 Girdled me, and no cloud relieved the sky. 
 I had refused to drink the proffered wine 
 Before they bound me, and my strength was less 
 Than needful : yet the cry escaped not, yet 
 My purpose had not fallen abroad in ruin ; 
 Only the perfect knowledge I had won 
 Of things which fate decreed deserted me. 
 
64 THE HEROINES. 
 
 The vision I had held of life and death 
 
 Was blurred by some vague mist of piteousness, 
 
 Nor could I lean upon a steadfast will. 
 
 Therefore I closed both eyes resolved to search 
 
 Backwards across the abysm, and find Death there, 
 
 And hold him with my hand, and scan his face 
 
 By my own choice, and read his strict intent 
 
 On lip and brow, — not hunted to his feet 
 
 And cowering slavewise; 'Death,' I whispered 
 
 'Death' 
 Calling him whom I needed: and he came. 
 
 Wherefore record the travail of the soul 
 Through darkness to gray light, the cloudy war. 
 The austere calm, the bitter victory.? 
 It seemed that I had mastered fate, and held. 
 Still with shut eyes, the passion of my heart 
 Compressed, and cast the election of my will 
 Into that scale made heavy with the woe 
 Of all the world, and fair relinquished lives. 
 Suddenly the broad sea was vibrated. 
 
THE HEROINES. 65 
 
 And the air shaken with confused noise 
 
 Not like the steadfast plash and creak of oars, 
 
 And higher on my foot the ripple slid. 
 
 The monster was abroad beneath the sun. 
 
 This therefore was the moment — could my soul 
 
 Sustain her trial .^ And the soul replied 
 
 A swift, sure 'Yes :' yet must I look forth once. 
 
 Confront my anguish, nor drop blindly down 
 
 From horror into horror : and I looked — 
 
 thou deliverance, thou bright victory 
 
 1 saw thee, and was saved! The middle air 
 
 Was cleft by thy impatience of revenge. 
 
 Thy zeal to render freedom to things bound : 
 
 The conquest sitting on thy brow, the joy 
 
 Of thy unerring flight became to me 
 
 Nowise mere hope, but full enfranchisement. 
 
 A sculptor of the isles has carved the deed 
 
 Upon a temple's frieze ; the maiden chained 
 
 Lifts one free arm across her eyes to htde 
 
 The terror of the moment, and her head 
 
 Sideways averted writhes the slender neck: 
 
 E 
 
66 THE HEROINES. 
 
 While with a careless grace in flying curve, 
 And glad like Hermes in his aery poise, 
 Toward the gaping throat a youth extends 
 The sword held lightly. When to sacrifice 
 I pass at morn with my tall Sthenelos, 
 I smile, but do not speak. No! when my gaze 
 First met him I was saved ; because the world ^ 
 Could hold so brave a creature I was free: 
 Here one had come with not my father's eyes 
 Which darkened to the clamour of the crowd, 
 And gave a grieved assent ; not with the eyes 
 Of anguish-stricken Cassiopeia, dry 
 And staring as I passed her to the boat. 
 Was not the beauty of his strength and youth 
 Warrant for many good things in the world 
 Which could not be so poor while nourishing him } 
 What faithlessness of heart could countervail 
 The witness of that brow 1 What dastard chains .? 
 Did he not testify of sovereign powers 
 O'ermatching evil, awful charities 
 Which save and slay, the terror of clear joy, 
 
THE HEROINES. 67 
 
 Unquenchable intolerance of ill, 
 
 Order subduing chaos, beauty pledged 
 
 To conquest of all foul deformities ? 
 
 And was there need to turn my head aside, 
 
 I, who had one sole thing to do, no more, 
 
 To watch the deed ? I know the careless grace 
 
 My Perseus wears in manage of the steed. 
 
 Or shooting the swift disc : not such the mode 
 
 Of that victorious moment of descent 
 
 When the large tranquil might his soul contains 
 
 Was gathered for a swift abolishment 
 
 Of proud brute-tyranny. He seemed in air 
 
 A shining spear which hisses in its speed 
 
 And smites through boss and breastplate. Did he 
 
 see 
 Andromeda, who never glanced at her 
 But set his face against the evil thing } 
 I know not ; yet one truth I may not doubt 
 How ere the wallowing monster blind and vast 
 Turned a white belly to the sun, he stood 
 Beside me with some word of comfort strong 
 
68 THE HEROINES. 
 
 Nourishing the heart Hke choral harmonies. 
 
 O this was then my joy, that I could give 
 
 A soul not saved from wretched female fright, 
 
 Or anarchy of self-abandoned will, 
 
 But one which had achieved deliverance. 
 
 And wrought with shaping hands among the stuff 
 
 Which fate presented. Had I shrunk from Death } 
 
 Might I not therefore unashamed accept — 
 
 In a calm wonder of unfaltering joy — 
 
 Life, the fair gift he laid before my feet t 
 
 Somewhat a partner of his deed I seemed ; 
 
 His equal } Nay, yet upright at his side 
 
 Scarce lower by a head and helmet's height. 
 
 Touching my Perseus' shoulder. 
 
 He has wrought 
 Great deeds. Athena loves to honour him ; 
 And I have borne him sons. Look, yonder goes 
 Lifting the bow, Eleios, the last-born. 
 
THE HEROINES. 69 
 
 EURYDICE. 
 
 " Now must this waste of vain desire have end : 
 Fetter these thoughts which traverse to and fro 
 The road which has no issue ! We are judged. 
 O wherefore could I not uphold his heart ? 
 Why claimed I not some partnership with him 
 In the strict test, urging my right of wife ? 
 How have I let him fall ? I, knowing thee 
 My Orpheus, bounteous giver of rich gifts. 
 Not all inured in practice of the will. 
 Worthier than I, yet weaker to sustain 
 An inner certitude against the blank 
 And silence of the senses ; so no more 
 My heart helps thine, and henceforth there remains 
 No gift to thee from me, who would give all, 
 Only the memory of me growing faint 
 Until I seem a thing incredible. 
 Some high, sweet dream, which was not, nor could 
 be. 
 
70 THE HEROINES. 
 
 Aye, and in idle fields of asphodel 
 Must it not be that I shall fade indeed, 
 No memory of me, but myself; these hands 
 Ceasing from mastery and use, my thoughts 
 Losing distinction in the vague, sweet air. 
 The heart's swift pulses slackening to the sob 
 Of the forgetful river, with no deed 
 Pre-eminent to dare and to achieve. 
 No joy for climbing to, no clear resolve 
 From which the soul swerves never, no ill thing 
 To rid the world of, till I am no more 
 Eurydice, and shouldst thou at thy time 
 Descend, and hope to find a helpmate here, 
 I were grown slavish, like the girls men buy 
 Soft-bodied, foolish-faced, luxurious-eyed. 
 And meet to be another thing than wife. 
 
 Would that it had been thus : when the song ceased 
 And laughterless Aidoneus lifted up 
 The face, and turned his grave persistent eyes 
 Upon the singer, I had forward stepped 
 
THE HEROINES. 71 
 
 And spoken — ' King ! he has wrought well, nor 
 
 failed, 
 Who ever heard divine large song like this, 
 Keener than sunbeam, wider than the air. 
 And shapely as the mould of faultless fruit ? 
 And now his heart upon the gale of song 
 Soars with wide wing, and he is strong for flight. 
 Not strong for treading with the careful foot : 
 Grant me the naked trial of the will 
 Divested of all colour, scents and song : 
 The deed concerns the wife ; I claim my share.' 
 O then because Persephone was by 
 With shadowed eyes when Orpheus sang of flowers, 
 He would have yielded. And I stepping forth 
 From the clear radiance of the singer's heights. 
 Made calm through vision of his wider truth, 
 And strengthened by deep beauty to hold fast 
 The presences of the invisible things, 
 Had led the way. I know how in that mood 
 He leans on me as babe on mother's breast, 
 Nor could he choose but let his foot descend 
 
72 THE HEROINES. 
 
 Where mine left lightest pressure ; so are passed 
 The brute three-visaged, and the flowerless ways, 
 Nor have I turned my head ; and now behold 
 The grayness of remote terrestrial light, 
 And I step swifter. Does he follow still ? 
 O surely since his will embraces mine 
 Closer than clinging hand can clasp a hand : 
 No need to turn and dull with visible proof 
 The certitude that soul relies on soul ! 
 So speed we to the day ; and now we touch 
 Warm grass, and drink the Sun. Oh Earth, O Sun 
 Not you I need, but Orpheus' breast, and weep 
 The gladdest tears that ever woman shed, 
 And may be weak awhile, and need to know 
 The sustenance and comfort of his arms. 
 
 Self-foolery of dreams ; come bitter truth. 
 
 Yet he has sung at least a perfect song 
 While the Gods heard him, and I stood beside 
 O not applauding, but at last content, 
 
THE HEROINES. 73 
 
 Fearless for him, and calm through perfect joy, 
 
 Seeing at length his foot upon the heights 
 
 Of highest song, by me discerned from far, 
 
 Now suddenly attained in confident 
 
 And errorless ascension. Did I ask 
 
 The lesser joy, lips' touch and clasping arms, 
 
 Or was not this salvation ? For I urged 
 
 Always, in jealous service to his art, 
 
 ' Now thou hast told their secrets to the trees 
 
 Of which they muse through lulled summer nights ; 
 
 Thou hast gazed downwards in the formless gulf 
 
 Of the brute-mind, and canst control the will 
 
 Of snake, and brooding panther fiery-eyed. 
 
 And lark in middle heaven : leave these behind ! 
 
 And let some careless singer of the fields 
 
 Set to the shallow sound of cymbal-stroke 
 
 The Faun a-dance ; some less true-tempered soul. 
 
 Which cannot shape to harmony august 
 
 The splendour and the tumult of the world, 
 
 Inflame to frenzy of delirious rage 
 
 The Moenad's breast ; yea, and the hearts of men, 
 
74 THE HEROINES. 
 
 Smoke of whose fire upcurls from little roofs 
 Let singers of the wine-cup and the roast, 
 The whirling spear, the toy-like chariot-race. 
 And bickering counsel of contending kings 
 Delight them : leave thou these ; sing thou for Gods.' 
 And thou hast sung for Gods ; and I have heard. 
 
 I shall not fade beneath this sunless sky, 
 
 Mixed in the wandering, ineffectual tribe ; 
 
 For these have known no moment when the soul 
 
 Stood vindicated, laying sudden hands 
 
 On immortality of joy, and love 
 
 Which sought not, saw not, knew not, could not 
 
 know 
 The instruments of sense ; I shall not fade. 
 Yea, and thy face detains me evermore 
 Within the realm of light. Love, wherefore blame 
 Thy heart because it sought me } Could the years' 
 Whole sum of various fashioned happiness 
 Exceed the measure of that eager face 
 Importunate and pure, still lit with song, 
 
THE HEROINES. 75 
 
 Turning from song to comfort of my love, 
 And thirsty for my presence ? We are saved ! 
 Yield Heracles, thou brawn and thews of Zeus, 
 Yield up thy glory on Thessalian ground, 
 Competitor of Death in single strife ! 
 The lyre methinks outdoes the club and fist. 
 And beauty's ingress the outrageous force 
 Of tyrant though beneficent ; supreme 
 This feat remains, a memory shaped for Gods. 
 
 Nor canst thou wholly lose me from thy life ; 
 Still I am with thee ; still my hand keeps thine ; 
 Now I restrain from too intemperate grief 
 Being a portion of the thoughts that claim 
 Thy service ; now I urge with that good pain 
 Which wastes and feeds the spirit, a desire 
 Unending ; now I lurk within thy will 
 As vigour ; now am gleaming through the world 
 As beauty ; and if greater thoughts must lay 
 Their solemn light on thee, outshining mine, 
 And in some far faint-gleaming hour of Hell 
 
76 THE HEROINES. 
 
 I stand unknown and muffled by the boat 
 Leaning an eager ear to catch some speech 
 Of thee, and if some comer tell aloud 
 How Orpheus who had loved Eurydice 
 Was summoned by the Gods to fill with joy 
 And clamour of celestial song the courts 
 Of bright Olympus, — I, with pang of pride 
 And pain dissolved in rapture, will return 
 Appeased, with sense of conquest stern and high." 
 
 But while she spoke, upon a chestnut trunk 
 Fallen from cliffs of Thracian Rhodope 
 Sat Orpheus, for he deemed himself alone, 
 And sang. But bands of wild-eyed women roamed 
 The hills, whom he had passed with calm disdain. 
 And now the shrilling Berecynthian pipe 
 Sounded, blown horn, and frantic female cries : 
 He ceased from song and looked for the event. 
 
BY THE SEA. 77 
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 I. THE ASSUMPTION. 
 
 Why would the puissant sky not be denied 
 Possession of me, when I sat to-day 
 Rock-couched, and round my feet the soft slave 
 
 lay, 
 My singing Sea, dark-bosom'd, dusky-eyed ? 
 She breathed low mystery of song, she sighed, 
 And stirred herself, and set lithe limbs to play 
 In blandishing serpent- wreaths, and would betray 
 An anklet gleaming, or a swaying side. 
 Why could she not detain me } Why must I 
 Devote myself to the dread Heaven, adore 
 The spacious pureness, the large ardour t why 
 Sprang forth my heart as though all wanderings 
 Had end } To what last bliss did I upsoar 
 Beating on indefatigable wings } 
 
78 BY THE SEA. 
 
 II. THE ARTIST S WAITING. 
 
 Tender impatience quickening, quickening ; 
 O heart within me that art grown a sea, 
 How vexed with longing all thy live waves be, 
 How broken with desire ! A ceaseless wing 
 O'er every green sea-ridge goes fluttering, 
 And there are cries and long reluctancy. 
 Swift ardours, and the clash of waters free, 
 Fain for the coming of some perfect Thing. 
 Emerge white Wonder, be thou born a Queen ! 
 Let shine the splendours of thy loveliness 
 From the brow's radiance to the equal poise 
 Of calm, victorious feet ; let thy serene 
 Command go forth ; replenish with strong joys 
 The spaces and the sea-deeps measureless. 
 
BY THE SEA. 79 
 
 III. COUNSELLORS. 
 
 Who are chief counsellors of me 1 Who know 
 My heart's desire and every secret thing } 
 Three of one fellowship : the encompassing 
 Strong Sea, who mindful of Earth's ancient woe 
 Still surges on with swift, undaunted flow 
 That no sad shore should lack his comforting ; 
 And next the serene Sky, whether he ring 
 With flawless blue a wilderness, or show 
 Tranced in the Twilight's arms his fair child-star ; 
 Third of the three, eldest and lordliest. 
 Love, all whose wings are wide above my head. 
 Whose eyes are clearer heavens, whose lips have 
 
 said 
 Low words more rare than the quired sea-songs 
 
 are, — 
 O Love, high things and stern thou counsellest. 
 
8o BY THE SEA. 
 
 IV. EVENING. 
 
 Light ebbs from off the Earth ; the fields are 
 
 strange, 
 Dusk, trackless, tenantless ; now the mute sky 
 Resigns itself to Night and Memory, 
 And no wind will yon sunken clouds derange. 
 No glory enrapture them ; from cot or grange 
 The rare voice ceases ; one long-breathed sigh. 
 And steeped in summer sleep the world must lie ; 
 All things are acquiescing in the change. 
 Hush ! while the vaulted hollow of the night 
 Deepens, what voice is this the sea sends forth. 
 Disconsolate iterance, a passionless moan ? 
 Ah ! now the Day is gone, and tyrannous Light, 
 And the calm presence of fruit-bearing Earth : 
 Cry, Sea ! it is thy hour ; thou art alone. 
 
BY THE SEA. 
 
 V. JOY. 
 
 Spring-tides of Pleasure in the blood, keen thrill 
 
 Of eager nerves, — but ended as a dream ; 
 
 Look! the wind quickens, and the long waves gleam 
 
 Shoreward, and all this deep noon hour will fill 
 
 Each lone sea-cave with mirth immeasurable. 
 
 Huge sport of Ocean's brood ; yet eve's red sky 
 
 Fades o'er spent waters, weltering sullenly, 
 
 The dank piled weed, the sand-waste grey and still. 
 
 Sad Pleasure in the moon's control ! But Joy 
 
 Is stable ; is discovered law ; the birth 
 
 Of dreadful light ; life's one imperative way ; 
 
 The rigour hid in song ; flowers' strict employ 
 
 Which turn to meet their sun ; the roll of Earth 
 
 Swift and perpetual through the night and day. 
 
82 BV THE SEA. 
 
 VI. OCEAN. 
 
 More than bare mountains 'neath a naked sky, 
 Or star-enchanted hollows of the night 
 When clouds are riven, or the most sacred light 
 Of summer dawns, art thou a mystery 
 And awe and terror and delight, O sea ! 
 Our Earth is simple-hearted, sad to-day 
 Beneath the hush of snow, next morning gay 
 Because west-winds have promised to the lea 
 Violets and cuckoo-buds ; and sweetly these 
 Live innocent lives, each flower in its green field, 
 Joying as children in sun, air, and sleep. 
 But thou art terrible, with the unrevealed 
 Burden of dim lamentful prophecies, 
 And thy lone life is passionate and deep. 
 
BV THE SEA. 83 
 
 VII. NEWS FOR LONDON. 
 
 Whence may I glean a just return, my friend, 
 For tidings of your great world hither borne } 
 What garbs of new opinion men have worn 
 I wot not, nor what fame world-without-end 
 Sprouted last night, nor know I to contend 
 For Irving or the Italian ; but forlorn 
 In this odd angle of the isle from morn 
 Till eve, nor sow, nor reap, nor get, nor spend. 
 Yet have I heard the sea-gulls scream for glee 
 Treading the drenched rock-ridges, and the gale 
 Hiss over tremulous heath-bells, while the bee 
 Driven sidelong quested low ; and I have seen 
 The live sea-hollows, and moving mounds grey- 
 green. 
 And watched the flying foam-bow flush and fail. 
 
84 AMONG THE ROCKS. 
 
 AMONG THE ROCKS. 
 
 Never can we be strangers, you and I, 
 Nor quite disown our mysteries of kin, 
 Grey Sea-rocks, since I sat an hour to-day 
 Companion of the Ocean and of you. 
 I, sensitive soft flesh a thorn invades. 
 The light breath of a rose can win aside, 
 Flesh fashioned to be hourly tried and thrill'd. 
 Delighted, tortured, to betray whose ward 
 The unready heart is ruler, still surprised. 
 With emissary flushes swift and false. 
 And tremulous to touches of the stars. 
 You, spiny ridges of the land, rude backs, 
 Clawless and wingless, half-created things. 
 Monsters at ease before the sun and sea, 
 Untamed, unshrinking, unpersuadable. 
 My kindred. 
 
 For the wide-delivering" womb 
 
AMONG THE ROCKS. 85 
 
 Which casts abroad a mammoth as a man, 
 And still conceals the new and better birth, 
 Bore me and you. Old parents of the Sphinx 
 What words primeval murmured in my ears 
 To-day between the lapping of the waves ? 
 What recognitions flashed and disappeared ? 
 What rare faint touches passed of sympathy 
 From you to me, from me to you ? What sense 
 Of the ancestral things shadowed the heart, 
 Cloud-like, and with the pleasure of a cloud. 
 
 Therefore I know from henceforth that the shrill 
 Short crying of the sea-lark when his feet 
 Touch where the wave slips off the shining sand 
 Pierces you ; and the wide and luminous air 
 Impregnate with sharp sea-smells is to you 
 A passion and allurement ; and the sun 
 At mid-day loads your sense with drowsy warmth, 
 And in the waver and echo of your caves, 
 You cherish memories of the billowy chaunt, 
 And ponder its dim prophecy, 
 
86 AMONG THE ROCKS. 
 
 And I — 
 Lo here I strike upon the granite too, 
 Something is here austere and obdurate 
 As you are, something rugged and untamed. 
 A strength behind the will. I am not all 
 The shapely, agile creature named a man, 
 So artful, with the quick-conceiving brain, 
 Nerve-network, and the hand to grasp and hold, 
 Most dexterous of kinds that wage the strife 
 Of being through the years. I am not all 
 This creature with the various heart, alive 
 To curious joys, rare anguish, skilled in shames, 
 Prides, hatreds, loves, fears, frauds, the heart which 
 
 turns 
 A sudden venomous asp, the heart which bleeds 
 The red, great drops of glad self-sacrifice. 
 Pierce below these and seek the primal layer ! 
 Behind Apollo loom the Earth-born Ones, 
 Half-god, half-brute ; behind this symmetry. 
 This versatility of heart and brain 
 A strength abides, sustaining thought and love. 
 
AMONG THE ROCKS. S7 
 
 Untamed, unshrinking, unpersuadable. 
 
 At ease before the powers of Earth and Heaven, 
 
 Equal to any, of no younger years, 
 
 Calm as the greatest, haughty as the best, 
 
 Of imprescriptible authority. 
 
 Down upon you I sink, and leave myself, 
 
 My vain, frail self, and find repose on you, 
 
 Prime Force, whether amassed through myriad 
 
 years 
 From dear accretions of dead ancestry. 
 Or ever welling from the source of things 
 In undulation vast and unperceived, 
 Down upon you I sink and lose myself! 
 
 My child that shouts and races on the sand 
 Your cry restores me. Have I been with Pan, 
 Kissing the hoofs of his goat-majesty? 
 You come, no granite of the nether earth. 
 Bright sea-flower rather, shining foam that flies. 
 Yet sweet as blossom of our inland fields. 
 
TO A YEAR. 
 
 TO A YEAR. 
 
 Fly, Year, not backward down blind gulfs of night. 
 Thick with the swarm of miscreated things : 
 
 Forth, flying year, through calms and broader light. 
 Clear-eyed, strong-bosom'd year, on strenuous 
 wings ; 
 
 Bearing a song more high-intoned, more holy 
 
 Than the wild Swan's melodious melancholy, 
 More rapturous than the atom lark outflings. 
 
 I follow on slow foot and unsubdued : 
 
 Have I not heard thy cry across the wind? 
 
 Not seen thee. Slayer of the serpent brood, — 
 Error, and doubt, and death, and anguish blind? 
 
 I follow, I shall know tliee by thy plumes 
 
 Flame-tipped, when on that morn of conquered 
 tombs, 
 I praise amidst my years the doom assigned. 
 
A SONG OF THE NEW DA V. 89 
 
 A SONG OF THE NEW DAY. 
 
 The tender Sorrows of the twilight leave me, 
 And shall I want the fanning of smooth wings ? 
 
 Shall I not miss sweet sorrows ? Will it grieve me 
 To hear no cooing from soft dove-like things ? 
 
 Let Evening hear them ! O wide Dawn uprisen, 
 Know me all thine; and ye, whose level flight 
 
 Has pierced the drear hours and the cloudy prison^ 
 Cry for the pathless spaces and the light ! 
 
90 SWALLOWS. 
 
 SWALLOWS. 
 
 Wide fields of air left luminous, 
 Though now the uplands comprehend 
 How the sun's loss is ultimate: 
 The silence grows; but still to us 
 From yon air-winnowing breasts elate 
 The tiny shrieks of glee descend. 
 
 Deft wings, each moment is resigned 
 Some touch of day, some pulse of light. 
 While yet in poised, delicious curve, 
 Ecstatic doublings down the wind. 
 Light dash and dip and sidelong swerve, 
 You try each dainty trick of flight. 
 
 Will not your airy glee relent 
 At all.-* The aimless frolic cease. ^ 
 
SWALLOWS. 91 
 
 Know ye no touch of quelling pain, 
 Nor joy's more strict admonishment, 
 No tender awe at day-light's wane, 
 Ye slaves of delicate caprice? 
 
 Hush, once again that cry intense! 
 High-venturing spirits have your will! 
 Urge the last freak, prolong your glee, 
 Keen voyagers, while still the immense 
 Sea-spaces haunt your memory, 
 With zests and pangs ineffable. 
 
 Not in the sunshine of old woods 
 
 Ye won your warrant to be gay 
 
 By duteous, sweet observances, 
 
 Who dared through darkening solitudes, 
 
 And 'mid the hiss of alien waves, 
 
 The larger ordinance obey. 
 
92 MEMORIALS OF TRA VEL. 
 
 MEMORIALS OF TRAVEL. 
 
 I. COACHING. 
 {In Scotland.) 
 
 Where have I been this perfect summer day, 
 — Or fortnight is it, since I rose from bed, 
 Devour'd that kippered fish, the oatmeal bread, 
 And mounted to this box } O bowl away 
 Swift stagers through the dusk, I will not say 
 * Enough,' nor care where I have been or be. 
 Nor know one name of hill, or lake, or lea, 
 Or moor, or glen ! Were not the clouds at play 
 Nameless among the hills, and fair as dreams ? 
 On such a day we must love things not words. 
 And memory take or leave them as they are. 
 On such a day ! What unimagined streams 
 Are in the world, how many haunts of birds. 
 What fields and flowers, — and what an evening 
 Star! 
 
MEMORIALS OF TRA VEL. 93 
 
 II. IN A MOUNTAIN PASS. 
 (I7i Scotland.) 
 
 To what wild blasts of tyrannous harmony 
 Uprose these rocky walls, mass threatening mass, 
 Dusk, shapeless shapes, around a desolate pass ? 
 What deep hearts of the ancient hills set free 
 The passion, the desire, the destiny 
 Of this lost stream ? Yon clouds that break and 
 
 form, 
 Light van ward squadrons of the joyous storm, 
 They gather hither from what untrack'd sea ? 
 Primeval kindred ! here the mind regains 
 Its vantage ground against the world ; here thought 
 Wings up the silent waste of air on broad 
 Undaunted pinion ; man's imperial pains 
 Are ours, and visiting fears, and joy unsought, 
 Native resolve, and partnership with God. 
 
94 MEMORIALS OF TRA VEL. 
 
 III. THE CASTLE. 
 (Ill Scotland.) 
 
 The tenderest ripple touched and touched the shore; 
 
 The tenderest Hght was in the western sky ; — 
 
 Its one soft phrase, closing reluctantly, 
 
 The sea articulated o'er and o'er 
 
 To comfort all tired things ; and one might pore. 
 
 Till mere oblivion took the heart and eye, 
 
 On that slow-fading, amber radiancy 
 
 Past the long levels of the ocean-floor. 
 
 A turn, — the castle fronted me, four-square, 
 
 Holding its seaward crag, abrupt, intense 
 
 Against the west, an apparition bold 
 
 Of naked human will ; I stood aware. 
 
 With sea and sky, of powers unowned of sense, 
 
 Presences awful, vast, and uncontrolled. 
 
MEMORIALS OF TRAVEL. 95 
 
 IV. ^Aiffdririx^ ipavTccaia, 
 (In Irelaiid.) 
 
 The sound is in my ears of mountain streams ! 
 I cannot close my lids but some grey rent 
 Of wildered rock, some water's clear descent 
 In shattering crystal, pine-trees soft as dreams 
 Waving perpetually, the sudden gleams 
 Of remote sea, a dear surprise of flowers. 
 Some grace or wonder of to-day's long hours 
 Straightway possesses the moved sense, which 
 
 teems 
 With fantasy unhid. O fair, large day ! 
 The unpractised sense brings heavings from a sea 
 Of life too broad, and yet the billows range, 
 The elusive footing glides. Come, Sleep, allay 
 The trouble with thy heaviest balms, and change 
 These pulsing visions to still Memory. 
 
96 MEMORIALS OF TRA VEL. 
 
 V. ON THE SEA-CLIFF. 
 {In Ireland.) 
 
 Ruins of a church with its miraculous well, 
 
 O'er which the Christ, a squat-limbed dwarf of 
 
 stone. 
 Great-eyed, and huddled on his cross, has known 
 The sea-mists and the sunshine, stars that fell 
 And stars that rose, fierce winter's chronicle, 
 And centuries of dead summers. From his throne 
 Fronting the dawn the elf has ruled alone. 
 And saved this region fair from pagan hell. 
 Turn ! June's great joy abroad ; each bird, flower, 
 
 stream 
 Loves life, loves love ; wide ocean amorously 
 Spreads to the sun's embrace ; the dulse-weeds 
 
 sway, 
 The glad gulls are afloat. Grey Christ to-day 
 Our ban on thee ! Rise, let the white breasts 
 
 gleam, 
 Unvanquished Venus of the northern sea ! 
 
MEMORIALS OF TRAVEL. 97 
 
 VI. ASCETIC NATURE. 
 {hi Ireland.) 
 
 Passion and song, and the adorned hours 
 
 Of floral loveliness, hopes grown most sweet, 
 
 And generous patience in the ripening heat, 
 
 A mother's bosom, a bride's face of flowers 
 
 — Knows Nature aught so fair .-* Witness ye 
 
 Powers 
 Which rule the virgin heart of this retreat 
 To rarer issues, ye who render meet 
 Earth, purged and pure, for gracious heavenly 
 
 dowers ! 
 The luminous pale lake, the pearl-grey sky, 
 The wave that gravely murmurs meek desires, 
 The abashed yet lit expectance of the whole, 
 — These and their beauty speak of earthly fires 
 Long quenched, clear aims, deliberate sanctity, — 
 O'er the white forehead lo ! the aureole. 
 
98 MEMORIALS OF TRA VEL. 
 
 VIL RELICS. 
 (In Switzerland.) 
 
 What relic of the dear, dead yesterday 
 
 Shall my heart keep ? The visionary light 
 
 Of dawn ? Alas ! it is a thing too bright, 
 
 God does not give such memories away. 
 
 Nor choose I one fair flower of those that sway 
 
 To the chill breathing of the waterfall 
 
 In rocky angles black with scattering spray, 
 
 Fair though no sunbeam lays its coronal 
 
 Of light on their pale brows ; nor glacier-gleam 
 
 I choose, nor eve's red glamour ; 'twas at noon 
 
 Resting I found this speedwell, while a stream 
 
 That knew the immemorial, inland croon 
 
 Sang in my ears, and lulled me to a dream 
 
 Of English meadows, and one perfect June. 
 
MEMORIALS OF TRA VEL. 99 
 
 VIII. ON THE PIER OF BOULOGNE. 
 (A Reminisce?tce 0/ i^jo.) 
 
 A venal singer to a thrumming note 
 Chanted the civic war-song, that red flower 
 Of melody seized in a sudden hour 
 By frenzied winds of change, and borne afloat 
 A live light in the storm ; and now by rote 
 To a cold crowd, while vague and sad the tide 
 Loomed after sunset and the gray gulls cried, 
 The verses quavered from a hireling throat. 
 Wherefore should English eyes their right forbear, 
 Or droop for smitten France .'* let the tossed sou, 
 Before they turn, be quittance for the stare. 
 O Lady, who, clear-voiced, with impulse true 
 To lift that cry " To Arms T alone would dare, 
 My heart received a golden alms from you ! 
 
lOO MEMORIALS OF TRAVEL. 
 
 IX. DOVER. 
 {In a Field.) 
 
 A joy has met me on this English ground 
 
 I looked not for. O gladness, fields still green ! 
 
 Listen, — the going of a murmurous sound 
 
 Along the corn ; there is not to be seen 
 
 In all the land a single piled sheaf 
 
 Or line of grain new-fallen, and not a tree 
 
 Has felt as yet within its lightest leaf 
 
 The year's despair ; nay, Summer saves for me 
 
 Her bright, late flowers. O my Summer-time 
 
 Named low as lost, I turn, and find you here — 
 
 Where else but in our blessed English clime 
 
 That lingers o'er the sweet days of the year, 
 
 Days of long dreaming under spacious skies 
 
 Ere melancholy winds of Autumn rise. 
 
AN AUTUMN SONG. 
 
 AN AUTUMN SONG. 
 
 Long Autumn rain ; 
 White mists which choke the vale, and blot the 
 
 sides 
 Of the bewildered hills ; in all the plain 
 No field agleam where the gold pageant was, 
 And silent o'er a tangle of drenched grass 
 The blackbird glides. 
 
 In the heart, — fire, 
 Fire and clear air and cries of water-springs, 
 And large, pure winds ; all April's quick desire, 
 All June's possession ; a most fearless Earth 
 Drinking great ardours ; and the rapturous birth 
 
 Of winged things. 
 
I02 ■ BURDENS. 
 
 BURDENS. 
 
 Are sorrows hard to bear, — the ruin 
 Of flowers, the rotting of red fruit, 
 
 A love's decease, a life's undoing, 
 
 And summer slain, and song-birds mute, 
 
 And skies of snow and bitter air ? 
 
 These things, you deem, are hard to bear. 
 
 But ah the burden, the delight 
 
 Of dreadful joys ! Noon opening wide, 
 
 Golden and great ; the gulfs of night. 
 Fair deaths, and rent veils cast aside, 
 
 Strong soul to strong soul rendered up, 
 
 And silence filling hke a cup. 
 
SONG. 103 
 
 SONG. 
 
 (From "'Tis Pity she's a Queen."— a.d. 1610.) 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE 2. 
 
 The Lady Margaret, with Susan ^;z^ Lucy ; Lady M. 
 at her embroidery frame, singing. 
 
 Girls, when I am gone away, 
 
 On this bosom strew 
 Only flowers meek and pale, 
 
 And the yew. 
 
 Lay these hands down by my side. 
 
 Let my face be bare ; 
 Bind a kerchief round the face, 
 
 Smooth my hair. 
 
 Let my bier be borne at dawn, 
 Summer grows so sweet, 
 
I04 SONG. 
 
 Deep into the forest green 
 Where boughs meet. 
 
 Then pass away, and let me lie 
 
 One long, warm, sweet day- 
 There alofte with face upturn'd, 
 One sweet day. 
 
 While the morning light grows broad, . 
 
 While noon sleepeth sound, 
 While the evening falls and faints, 
 
 While the world goes round. 
 
 Susan. Whence had you this song lady ? 
 L. Mar. Out of the air ; 
 
 From no one an it be not from the wind 
 That goes at noonday in the sycamore 
 
 trees. 
 — When said the tardy page he would 
 return } 
 Susan. By twelve, upon this very hour. 
 
SONG. 105 
 
 L. Mar. Look now, 
 
 The sand falls down the glass with even 
 
 pace, 
 The shadows lie like yesterday's. Nothing 
 Is wrong with the world. You are a part 
 
 of it,— 
 I stand within a magic circle charm'd 
 From reach of anything, shut in from you. 
 Leagues from my needle, and this frame 
 
 I touch. 
 Waiting till doomsday come — 
 
 {Knocking heard] The messenger ! 
 Quick, I will wait you here, and hold my 
 
 heart 
 Ready for death, or too much ravishment. 
 [Exeunt both Gir/s.] 
 How the little sand-hill slides and slides ; 
 
 how many 
 Red grains would drop while a man's keen 
 
 knife drawn 
 Across one's heart let the red life out ? 
 
io6 SONG. 
 
 Susan. \returning\ Lady ! 
 
 L. Mar. I know it by your eyes. O do not fear 
 
 To tell all punctually : I am carved of 
 stone. 
 
BY THE WINDOW. 107 
 
 BY THE WINDOW. 
 
 Still deep into the West I gazed ; the light 
 
 Clear, spiritual, tranquil as a bird 
 
 Wide-winged that soars on the smooth gale and 
 
 sleeps, 
 Was it from sun far-set or moon unrisen ? 
 Whether from moon, or sun, or angel's face 
 It held my heart from motion, stayed my blood, 
 Betrayed each rising thought to quiet death 
 Along the blind charm'd way to nothingness, 
 Lull'd the last nerve that ached. It was a sky 
 Made for a man to waste his will upon, 
 To be received as wiser than all toil. 
 And much more fair. And what was strife of men.^ 
 And what was time } 
 
 Then came a certain thing. 
 Are intimations for the elected soul 
 
io8 BY THE WINDOW. 
 
 Dubious, obscure, of unauthentic power 
 
 Since ghostly to the intellectual eye, 
 
 Shapeless to thinking ? Nay, but are not we 
 
 Servile to words and an usurping brain, 
 
 Infidels of our own high mysteries, 
 
 Until the senses thicken and lose the world, 
 
 Until the imprisoned soul forgets to see, 
 
 And spreads blind fingers forth to reach the day. 
 
 Which once drank light, and fed on angels' food ? 
 
 It happened swiftly, came and straight was gone. 
 
 One standing on some aery balcony 
 And looking down upon a swarming crowd 
 Sees one man beckon to him with finger-tip 
 While eyes meet eyes ; he turns and looks again — 
 The man is lost, and the crowd sways and swarms. 
 Shall such an one say " Thus 'tis proved a dream. 
 And no hand beckoned, no eyes met my own V 
 Neither can I say this. There was a hint, 
 A thrill, a summons faint yet absolute. 
 
BY THE WINDOiV. 109 
 
 Which ran across the West ; the sky was touch'd, 
 And failed not to respond. Does a hand pass 
 Lightly across your hair ? you feel it pass 
 Not half so heavy as a cobweb's weight, 
 Although you never stir ; so felt the sky 
 Not unaware of the Presence, so my soul 
 Scarce less aware. And if I cannot say 
 The meaning and monition, words are weak 
 Which will not paint the small wing of a moth. 
 Nor bear a subtile odour to the brain, 
 And much less serve the soul in her large needs. 
 I cannot tell the meaning, but a change 
 Was wrought in me ; it was not the one man 
 Who came to the luminous window to gaze forth, 
 And who moved back into the darkened room 
 With awe upon his heart and tender hope ; 
 From some deep well of life tears rose ; the throng 
 Of dusty cares, hopes, pleasures, prides fell off. 
 And from a sacred solitude I gazed 
 Deep, deep into the liquid eyes of Life. 
 
no SUNSETS. 
 
 SUNSETS. 
 
 Did your eyes watch the mystic sunset splendours 
 Through evenings of old summers, slow of 
 
 parting, — 
 Wistful while loveliest gains and fair surrenders 
 Hallow'd the West, — till tremulous tears came 
 
 starting ? 
 
 Did your soul wing her way on noiseless pinion 
 Through lucid fields of air, and penetrated 
 
 With light and silence roam the wide dominion 
 Where Day and Dusk embrace, — serene, un- 
 mated ? 
 
 And they are past the shining hours and tender, 
 And snows are fallen between, and winds are 
 driven ? 
 
SUNSETS. Ill 
 
 Nay, for I find across your face the splendour, 
 And in your wings the central winds of heaven. 
 
 They reach me, those lost sunsets. Undivining 
 Your own high mysteries you pause and ponder ; 
 
 See, in my eyes the vanished light is shining, 
 Feel, through what spaces of clear heaven I 
 wander ! 
 
OAS/6 
 
 OASIS. 
 
 Let them go by — the heats, the doubts, the strife; 
 I can sit here and care not for them now, 
 Dreaming beside the glimmering wave of Hfe 
 Once more, — I know not how. 
 
 There is a murmur in my heart, I hear 
 Faint, O so faint, some air I used to sing; 
 It stirs my sense; and odours dim and dear 
 The meadow-breezes bring. 
 
 Just this way did the quiet twilights fade 
 Over the fields and happy homes of men. 
 While one bird sang as now, piercing the shade, 
 Long since, — I know not when. 
 
FOREIGN SPEECH. 1 1 3 
 
 FOREIGN SPEECH. 
 
 Ah, do not tell me what they mean, 
 
 The tremulous brook, the scarcely stirred 
 
 June leaves, the hum of things unseen, 
 This sovran bird. 
 
 Do they say things so deep, and rare, 
 
 And perfect } I can only tell 
 That they are happy, and can bear 
 
 Such ignorance well ; 
 
 Feeding on all things said and sung 
 From hour to hour in this high wood, 
 
 Articulate in a strange, sweet tongue 
 Not understood. 
 
114 IN THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 A noise of swarming thoughts, 
 A muster of dim cares, a foil'd intent. 
 
 With plots and plans, and counterplans and plots ; 
 And thus along the city's edges gray 
 Unmindful of the darkening autumn day 
 
 With a droop'd head I went. 
 
 My face rose, — through what spell ? — 
 Not hoping anything from twilight dumb : 
 
 One star possessed her heaven. Oh! all grew well 
 Because of thee, and thy serene estate : 
 Silence . . . I let thy beauty make me great; " 
 
 What though the black night come. 
 
THE INNER LIFE. 1 1 5 
 
 THE INNER LIFE. 
 
 I. A DISCIPLE. 
 
 Master, they argued fast concerning Thee, 
 
 Proved what Thou art, denied what Thou art not, 
 
 Till brows were on the fret, and eyes grew hot. 
 
 And lip and chin were thrust out eagerly; 
 
 Then through the temple-door I slipped to free 
 
 My soul from secret ache in solitude, 
 
 And sought this brook, and by the brookside stood 
 
 The world's Light, and the Light and Life of me. 
 
 It is enough, O Master, speak no word ! 
 
 The stream speaks, and the endurance of the sky 
 
 Outpasses speech : I seek not to discern 
 
 Even what smiles for me Thy lips have stirred ; 
 
 Only in Thy hand still let my hand lie, 
 
 And let the musing soul within me burn. 
 
 ♦ 
 
ii6 THE INNER LIFE. 
 
 II. THEISTS. 
 
 Who needs God most ? That man whose pulses 
 
 play 
 With fullest life-blood ; he whose foot dare climb 
 To Joy's high limit, solitude sublime 
 Under a sky whose splendour sure must slay 
 If Godless ; he who owns the sovereign sway 
 Of that small inner voice and still, what time 
 His whole life urges toward one blissful crime. 
 And Hell confuses Heaven, and night, the day. 
 It is he whose faithfulness of love puts by 
 Time's anodyne, and that gross palliative, 
 A Stoic pride, and bears all humanly ; 
 He whose soul grows one long desire to give 
 Measureless gifts ; ah ! let hhn quickly die 
 Unless he lift frail hands to God and live. 
 
THE INNER LIFE. 1 17 
 
 III. SEEKING GOD. 
 
 I said " I will find God," and forth I went 
 
 To seek Him in the clearness of the sky, 
 
 But over me stood unendurably 
 
 Only a pitiless, sapphire firmament 
 
 Ringing the world, — blank splendour ; yet intent 
 
 Still to find God, " I will go seek," said I, 
 
 •* His way upon the waters," and drew nigh 
 
 An ocean marge weed-strewn, and foam-besprent ; 
 
 And the waves dashed on idle sand and stone. 
 
 And very vacant was the long, blue sea ; 
 
 But in the evening as I sat alone, 
 
 My window open to the vanishing day, 
 
 Dear God ! I could not choose but kneel and pray, 
 
 And it sufficed that I was found of Thee. 
 
li8 THE INNER LIFE, 
 
 IV. DARWINISM IN MORALS. 
 
 High instincts, dim previsions, sacred fears, 
 
 — Whence issuing } Are they but the brain's 
 
 amassed 
 Tradition, shapings of a barbarous past, 
 Remoulded ever by the younger years. 
 Mixed with fresh clay, and kneaded with new tears } 
 No more } The dead chief's ghost a shadow cast 
 Across the roving clan, and thence at last 
 Comes God, who in the soul his law uprears } 
 Is this the whole 1 Has not the Future powers 
 To match the Past, — attractions, pulsings, tides, 
 And voices for purged ears 1 Is all our light 
 The glow of ancient sunsets and lost hours } 
 Advance no banners up heaven's eastern sides .'* 
 Trembles the margin with no portent bright } 
 
THE INNER LIFE. 119 
 
 V. AWAKENING. 
 
 With brain o'erworn, with heart a summer clod, 
 With eye so practised in each form around, — 
 And all forms mean, — to glance above the ground 
 Irks it, each day of many days we plod. 
 Tongue-tied and deaf, along life's common road. 
 But suddenly, we know not how, a sound 
 Of living streams, an odour, a flower crowned 
 With dew, a lark upspringing from the sod, 
 And we awake. O joy and deep amaze i 
 Beneath the everlasting hills we stand, 
 We hear the voices of the morning seas, 
 And earnest prophesyings in the land. 
 While from the open heaven leans forth at gaze 
 The encompassing great cloud of witnesses. 
 
120 THE INNER LIFE. 
 
 VI. FISHERS. 
 
 We by no shining Galilean lake 
 
 Have toiled, but long and little fruitfully 
 
 In waves of a more old and bitter sea 
 
 Our nets we cast ; large winds that sleep and wake 
 
 Around the feet of Dawn and Sunset make 
 
 Our spiritual inhuman company, 
 
 And formless shadows of water rise and flee 
 
 All night around us till the morning break. 
 
 Thus our lives wear — shall it be ever thus t 
 
 Some idle day, when least we look for grace, 
 
 Shall we see stand upon the shore indeed 
 
 The visible Master, and the Lord of us. 
 
 And leave our nets, nor question of his creed. 
 
 Following the Christ within a young man's face t 
 
THE INNER LIFE. 121 
 
 VII. COMMUNION. 
 
 Lord, I have knelt and tried to pray to-night, 
 
 But thy love came upon me like a sleep, 
 
 And all desire died out ; upon the deep 
 
 Of thy mere love I lay, each thought in light 
 
 Dissolving like the sunset clouds, at rest 
 
 Each tremulous wish, and my strength weakness, 
 
 sweet 
 As a sick boy with soon o'erwearied feet 
 Finds, yielding him unto his mother's breast 
 To weep for weakness there. I could not pray, 
 But with closed eyes I felt thy bosom's love 
 Beating toward mine, and then I would not move 
 Till of itself the joy should pass away ; 
 At last my heart found voice, — " Take me, O Lord, 
 And do with me according to thy word." 
 
122 THE INNER LIFE. 
 
 VIII. A SONNET FOR THE TIMES. 
 
 What ! weeping } Had ye your Christ yesterday, 
 Wound round with linen, made your own by tears, 
 Kisses, and pounds of myrrh, the sepulchre's 
 Mere stone most venerable } And now ye say 
 " No man hath seen him, he is borne away 
 We wot not where." And so, with many a sigh, 
 Watching the linen clothes and napkin lie, 
 Ye choose about the grave's sad mouth to stay. 
 Blind hearts ! Why seek the living amongst the 
 
 dead } 
 Better than carols for the babe new-born 
 The shining young men's speech " He is not here ;" 
 Why question where the feet lay, where the head ? 
 Come forth ; bright o'er the world breaks Easter 
 
 morn, 
 He is arisen, Victor o'er grief and fear. 
 
THE INNER LIFE, 123 
 
 IX. EMMAUSWARD. 
 
 Lord Christ, if thou art with us and these eyes 
 Are holden, while we go sadly and say 
 " We hoped it had been He, and now to-day 
 Is the third day, and hope within us dies," 
 Bear with us, Oh our Master, thou art wise 
 And knowest our foolishness ; we do not pray 
 " Declare thyself, since weary grows the way 
 And faith's new burden hard upon us lies." 
 Nay, choose thy time ; but ah ! whoe'er thou art 
 Leave us not ; where have we heard any voice 
 Like thine t Our hearts burn in us as we go ; 
 Stay with us ; break our bread ; so, for our part 
 Ere darkness falls haply we may rejoice, 
 Haply when day has been far spent may know. 
 
124 THE INNER LIFE. 
 
 X. A FAREWELL. 
 
 Thou movest from us ; we shall see thy face 
 No more. Ah, look below these troubled eyes, 
 This woman's heart in us that faints and dies, 
 Trust not our faltering lips, our sad amaze ; 
 Glance some time downward from thy golden place, 
 And know how we rejoice. It is meet, is wise ; 
 High tasks are thine, surrenders, victories. 
 Communings pure, mysterious works and ways. 
 Leave us : how should we keep thee in these blown 
 Grey fields, or soil with earth a Master's feet t 
 Nor deem us comfortless : have we not known 
 Thee once, for ever. Friend, the pain is sweet 
 Seeing thy completeness to have grown complete. 
 Thy gift it is that we can walk alone. 
 
THE INNER LIFE. 125 
 
 XI. DELIVERANCE. 
 
 I prayed to be delivered, O true God, 
 Not from the foes that compass us about, — 
 Them I might combat ; not from any doubt 
 That wrings the soul ; not from Thy bitter rod 
 Smiting the conscience ; not from plagues abroad, 
 Nor my strong inward lusts ; nor from the rout 
 Of worldly men, the scourge, the spit, the flout, 
 And the whole dolorous way the Master trod. 
 All these would rouse the life that lurks within, 
 Would save or slay ; these things might be defied 
 Or strenuously endured ; yea, pressed by sin 
 The soul is stung with sudden, visiting gleams ; 
 Leave these, if Thou but scatter, Lord, I cried, 
 The counterfeiting shadows and vain dreams. 
 
126 THE INNER LIFE. 
 
 XII. PARADISE LOST. 
 
 O would you read that Hebrew legend true 
 Look deep into the little children's eyes, 
 Who walk with naked souls in Paradise, 
 And know not shame ; who, with miraculous dew 
 To keep the garden ever fair and new, 
 Want not our sobbing rains in their blue skies. 
 Among the trees God moves, and o'er them rise 
 All night in deeper heavens great stars to view. 
 Ah, how we wept when through the gate we came ! 
 What boots it to look back } The world is ours, 
 Come, we will fare, my brothers, boldly forth ; 
 Let that dread Angel wave the sword of flame 
 Forever idly round relinquished bowers — 
 Leave Eden there ; we will subdue the earth. 
 
THE RESTING PLACE. 127 
 
 THE RESTING PLACE. 
 
 How all things transitory, all things vain 
 Desert me ! Whither am I sinking slow 
 On the prone wing, to what predestined home, 
 What peace beyond all peace, what ultimate joy ? 
 Nay, cease from questioning, care not to know. 
 Let bliss dissolve each thought, all function cease. 
 Fold close the wing, let the soft-flowing light 
 Permeate, and merely once uplift drooped lids 
 To mark the world remote, the abandoned shore. 
 Fretted with much vain pleasure, futile pain. 
 Far, far. 
 
 The deepening peace ! a dawn of essences 
 Awful and incommunicably dear ! 
 Grace opening into grace, joy quenching joy ! 
 Thy waves and billows have gone over me 
 
128 THE RESTING PLACE. 
 
 Blissful and calm, and still the dreams drop off, 
 And true things grow more true, and larger orbs 
 The strong salvation which has seized my soul. 
 
 The stream of the attraction draws me on 
 Toward some centre ; all will quickly end. 
 All be attained. The sweetness of repose 
 And this swift motion slay the consciousness 
 Of being, and bind up the will in sleep. 
 Silence and light accept my soul — I touch . . . . 
 Is it death's centre or the breast of God } 
 
NEW HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE, 129 
 
 NEW HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE. 
 
 I come to Thee not asking aught ; I crave 
 
 No gift of Thine, no grace ; 
 Yet where the suppliants enter let me have 
 
 Within Thy courts a place. 
 
 My hands, my heart contain no offering ; 
 
 Thy name I would not bless 
 With lips untouched by altar-fire ; I bring 
 
 Only my weariness. 
 
 These are the children, frequent in Thy home ; 
 
 Grant, Lord, to each his share ; 
 Then turn, and merely gaze on me, who come 
 
 To lay my spirit bare. 
 
ISO NEW HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE.. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet one more step — no flight 
 The weary soul can bear — 
 
 Into a whiter light, 
 Into a hush more rare. 
 
 Take me, I am all Thine, 
 
 Thine now, not seeking Thee, — 
 
 Hid in the secret shrine, 
 Lost in the shoreless sea. 
 
 Grant to the prostrate soul 
 Prostration new and sweet, 
 
 Make weak the weak, control 
 Thy creature at Thy feet. 
 
 Passive I lie : shine down, 
 
 Pierce through the will with straight 
 
NEW HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE. 131 
 
 Swift beams, one after one, 
 Divide, disintegrate. 
 
 Free me from self, — resume 
 
 My place, and be Thou there ; 
 Yet also keep me. Come 
 
 Thou Saviour and Thou Slayer ! 
 
132 NEJV HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Nothing remains to say to Thee, O Lord, 
 
 I am confessed, 
 All my lips' empty crying Thou hast heard. 
 
 My unrest, my rest. 
 Why wait I any longer ? Thou dost stay, 
 And therefore. Lord, I would not go away. 
 
 Let me be at Thy feet a little space, 
 
 Forget me here ; 
 I will not touch Thy hand, nor seek Thy face, 
 
 Only be near. 
 And this hour let Thy nearness feed the heart. 
 And when Thou goest, I also will depart. 
 
 Then when Thou seekest Thy way, and I, mine. 
 
 Let the World be 
 Not wide and cold after this cherishing shrine 
 
 Illum'd by Thee, 
 
NEW HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE. 133 
 
 Nay, but worth worship, fair, a radiant star, 
 Tender and strong as Thy chief angels are. 
 
 Yet bid me not go forth : I cannot now 
 
 Take hold on joy, 
 Nor sing the swift, glad song, nor bind my brow ; 
 
 Her wise employ 
 Be mine, the silent woman at Thy knee 
 In the low room in little Bethany. 
 
134 JVEIV HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah, that sharp thrill through all my frame! 
 
 And yet once more ! Withstand 
 I can no longer ; in Thy name 
 
 I yield me to Thy hand. 
 
 Such pangs were in the soul unborn, 
 
 The fear, the joy were such, 
 When first it felt in that keen morn 
 
 A dread, creating touch. 
 
 Maker of man. Thy pressure sure 
 
 This grosser stuff must quell ; 
 The spirit faints, yet will endure, 
 
 Subdue, control, compel. 
 
 The Potter's finger shaping me ... . 
 
 Praise, praise! the clay curves up 
 Not for dishonour, though it be 
 
 God's least adorned cup. 
 
XEIV HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE. 135 
 
 Sins grew a heavy load and cold, 
 And pressed me to the dust ; 
 
 " Whither," I cried, " can this be rolled 
 Ere I behold the Just?" 
 
 But now I claim them for my own ; 
 
 Thy face I needs must find ; 
 Lo ! thus I wrought, yea, I alone. 
 
 Not weak, beguiled, or blind. 
 
 See my full arms, my heaped-up shame, 
 
 An evil load I bring: 
 Thou, God, art a consuming flame, 
 
 Accept the hateful thing. 
 
 Pronounce the dread condemning word, 
 
 I stand in blessed fear; 
 Dear is Thy cleansing wrath, O Lord, 
 
 The fire that burns is dear. 
 
136 NEW HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I found Thee in my heart, O Lord, 
 
 As in some secret shrine ; 
 I knelt, I waited for Thy word, 
 
 I joyed to name Thee mine. 
 
 I feared to give myself away 
 
 To that or this ; beside 
 Thy altar on my face I lay. 
 
 And in strong need I cried. 
 
 Those hours are past. Thou art not mine, 
 
 And therefore I rejoice, 
 I wait within no holy shrine, 
 
 J faint not for the voice. 
 
 In Thee we live; and every wind 
 Of heaven is Thine; blown free 
 
 To west, to east, the God unshrined. 
 Is still discovering me. 
 
IN THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. 137 
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. 
 
 In the Dean's porch a nest of clay 
 With five small tenants may be seen, 
 
 Five solemn faces, each as wise 
 As though its owner were a Dean ; 
 
 Five downy fledglings in a row, 
 Packed close, as in the antique pew 
 
 The school-girls are whose foreheads clear 
 At the Venite shine on you. 
 
 Day after day the swallows sit 
 
 With scarce a stir, with scarce a sound, 
 But dreaming and digesting much 
 
 They grow thus wise and soft and round. 
 
 They watch the Canons come to dine, 
 And hear the mullion-bars across. 
 
138 IN THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. 
 
 Over the fragrant fruit and wine 
 Deep talk about the reredos. 
 
 Her hands with field-flowers drench'd, a child 
 Leaps past in wind-blown dress and hair, 
 
 The swallows turn their heads askew — 
 Five judges deem that she is fair. 
 
 Prelusive touches sound within, 
 
 Straightway they recognize the sign, 
 
 And, blandly nodding, they approve 
 The minuet of Rubenstein. 
 
 They mark the cousins' schoolboy talk, 
 (Male birds flown wide from minster bell), 
 
 And blink at each broad term of art, 
 Binomial or bicycle. 
 
 Ah ! downy young ones, soft and warm. 
 Doth such a stillness mask from sight 
 
 Such swiftness ? can such peace conceal 
 Passion and ecstasy of flight. 
 
AV THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. 139 
 
 Yet somewhere 'mid your Eastern suns, 
 
 Under a white Greek architrave 
 At morn, or when the shaft of fire 
 
 Lies large upon the Indian wave, 
 
 A sense of something dear gone-by 
 Will stir, strange longings thrill the heart 
 
 For a small world embowered and close, 
 Of which ye some time were a part. 
 
 The dew-drench'd flowers, the child's glad eyes 
 
 Your joy unhuman shall control, 
 And in your wings a light and wind 
 
 Shall move from the Maestro's soul. 
 
H^^ FIRST LOVE. 
 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 My long first year of perfect love, 
 My deep new dream of joy ; 
 
 She was a little chubby girl, 
 I was a chubby boy. 
 
 I wore a crimson frock, white drawers, 
 
 A belt, a crown was on it ; 
 She wore some angel's kind of dress 
 
 And such a tiny bonnet, 
 
 Old-fashioned, but the soft brown hair 
 Would never keep its place ; 
 
 A little maid with violet eyes, 
 And sunshine in her face. 
 
 O my child-queen, in those lost days 
 How sweet was daily living ! 
 
FIRST LOVE. 
 
 How humble and how proud I grew, 
 How rich by merely giving ! 
 
 She went to school, the parlour-maid 
 Slow stepping to her trot ; 
 
 That parlour-maid, ah, did she feel 
 How lofty was her lot ! 
 
 Across the road I saw her lift 
 My Queen, and with a sigh 
 
 I envied Raleigh ; my new coat 
 Was hung a peg too high. 
 
 A hoard of never-given gifts 
 I cherished, — priceless pelf; 
 
 'Twas two whole days ere I devour'd 
 That peppermint myself. 
 
 In Church I only prayed for her — 
 "O God bless Lucy Hill;" 
 
 Child, may his angels keep their arms 
 Ever around you still. 
 
142 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 But when the hymn came round, with heart 
 That feared some heart's surprising 
 
 Its secret sweet, I climb'd the seat 
 'Mid rustHng and uprising ; 
 
 And there against her mother's arm 
 The sleeping child was leaning, 
 
 While far away the hymn went on, 
 The music and the meaning. 
 
 Oh I have loved with more of pain 
 Since then, with more of passion, 
 
 Loved with the aching in my love 
 After our grown-up fashion ; 
 
 Yet could I almost be content 
 
 To lose here at your feet 
 A year or two, you murmuring elm, 
 
 To dream a dream so sweet. 
 
THE SECRET OF THE UNIVERSE. 143 
 
 THE SECRET OF THE UNIVERSE: 
 AN ODE. 
 
 (By a Spinning Dervish.) 
 
 I spin, I spin, around, around, 
 
 And close my eyes, 
 
 And let the bile arise 
 From the sacred region of the soul's Profound ; 
 Then gaze upon the world ; how strange ! how new ! 
 
 The earth and heaven are one, 
 
 The horizon-line is gone. 
 The sky how green ! the land how fair and blue ! 
 Perplexing items fade from my large view. 
 And thought which vexed me with its false and 
 
 true 
 Is swallowed up in Intuition ; this, 
 
 This is the sole true mode 
 
 Of reaching God, 
 
144 THE SECRET OF THE UNIVERSE. 
 
 And gaining the universal synthesis 
 
 Which makes All — One ; while fools with peering 
 
 eyes 
 Dissect, divide, and vainly analyse. 
 So round, and round, and round again ! 
 How the whole globe swells within my brain, 
 The stars inside my lids appear. 
 The murmur of the spheres I hear 
 Throbbing and beating in each ear ; 
 Right in my navel I can feel 
 The centre of the world's great wheel. 
 Ah peace divine, bliss dear and deep. 
 
 No stay, no stop, 
 
 Like any top 
 Whirling with swiftest speed, I sleep. 
 O ye devout ones round me coming, 
 Listen ! I think that I am humming ; 
 
 No utterance of the servile mind 
 With poor chop-logic rules agreeing 
 
 Here shall ye find, 
 But inarticulate burr of man's unsundered being. 
 
THE SECRET OF THE UNIVERSE. 145 
 
 Ah, could we but devise some plan, 
 Some patent jack by which a man 
 Might hold himself ever in harmony 
 With the great Whole, and spin perpetually, 
 
 As all things spin 
 
 Without, within, 
 As Time spins off into Eternity, 
 And Space into the inane Immensity, 
 And the Finite into God's Infinity, 
 
 Spin, spin, spin, spin. 
 
146 BE A U RIVA GE HO TEL. 
 
 BEAU RIVAGE HOTEL. 
 
 SATURDAY EVENING. 
 
 Below there's a brumming and strumming, 
 
 And twiddling and fiddling amain, 
 And sweeping of muslins and laughter, 
 
 And pattering of luminous rain. 
 
 " Miss Lucy fatigueed ? " " Non, Monsieur ! " 
 " Ach Himmel ! " " How precious a smother ! " 
 
 But the happiest is brisk little Polly 
 To galop with only her brother. 
 
 And up to the fourth etage landing 
 
 Come the violins' passionate cries, 
 Where the pale femme-de-chambre is sitting 
 
 With sleep in her beautiful eyes. 
 
IN A JUNE NIGHT. 147 
 
 IN A JUNE NIGHT. 
 
 {A Study in the manner of Robert Browning^ 
 
 I. 
 
 See, the door opens of this alcove, 
 
 Here we are now in the cool night air 
 Out of the heat and smother ; above 
 
 The stars are a wonder, alive and fair, 
 It is a perfect night, — your hand, — 
 
 Down these steps and we reach the garden, 
 An odorous, dim, enchanted land, 
 
 With the dusk stone-god for only warden. 
 
 II. 
 
 Was I not right to bring you here } 
 
 We might have seen slip the hours within 
 
 Till God's new day in the East were clear. 
 And His silence abashed the dancer's din, 
 
148 IN A JUNE NIGHT. 
 
 Then each have gone away, the pain 
 And longing greatened, not satisfied, 
 
 By a hand's slight touch or a glance's gain, — 
 And now we are standing side by side ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Come to the garden's end, — not so. 
 
 Not by the grass, it would drench your feet ; 
 See, here is. a path where the trees o'ergrow 
 
 And the fireflies flicker ; but, my sweet. 
 Lean on me now, for one cannot see 
 
 Here where the great leaves lie unfurled 
 To take the whole soul and the mystery 
 
 Of a summer night poured out for the world. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Into the open air once more ! 
 
 Yonder's the edge of the garden-wall 
 Where we may sit and talk, — deplore 
 
 This half-hour lost from so bris^ht a ball. 
 
IN A JUNE NIGHT. 149 
 
 Or praise my partner with the eyes 
 And the raven hair, or the other one 
 
 With her flaxen curls, and slow replies 
 As near asleep in the Tuscan sun. 
 
 V. 
 
 Hush ! do you hear on the beach's cirque 
 
 Just below, though the lake is dim, 
 How the little ripples do their work. 
 
 Fall and faint on the pebbled rim, 
 So they say what they want, and then 
 
 Break at the marge's feet and die ; 
 It is so different with us men 
 
 Who never can once speak perfectly. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet hear me, — trust that they mean indeed 
 Oh, so much more than the words will say. 
 
 Or shall it be 'twixt us two agreed 
 
 That all we might spend a night and day 
 
I50 IN A JUNE NIGHT. 
 
 In striving to put in a word or thought, 
 
 Which were then from ourselves a thing apart, 
 
 Shall be just believed and quite forgot, 
 When my heart is felt against your heart. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ah, but that will not tell you all. 
 
 How I am yours not thus alone. 
 To find how your pulses rise and fall, 
 
 And winning you wholly be your own, 
 But yours to be humble, could you grow 
 
 The Queen that you are, remote and proud. 
 And I with only a life to throw 
 
 Where the others' flowers for your feet were 
 strowed. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Well, you have faults too ! I can blame 
 If you choose : this hand is not so white 
 
 Or round as a little one that came 
 
 On my shoulder once or twice to-night 
 
IN A JUNE NIGHT. 151 
 
 Like a soft white dove. Envy her now ! 
 
 And when you talked to that padded thing 
 And I passed you leisurely by, your bow 
 
 Was cold, not a flush nor fluttering. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Such foolish talk ! while that one star still 
 
 Dwells o'er the mountain's margin-line 
 Till the dawn takes all ; one may drink one's fill 
 
 Of such quiet ; there's a whisper fine 
 In the leaves a-tremble, and now 'tis dumb ; 
 
 We have lived long years, love, you and I, 
 And the heart grows faint, your lips, then : 
 come, — 
 
 It were not so very hard to die. 
 
152 FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 
 
 FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 
 
 I. BEAUTY. 
 
 The beauty of the world, the loveliness 
 Of woodland pools, which doves have coo'd to sleep. 
 Dreaming the noontide through beneath the deep 
 Of heaven ; the radiant blue's benign caress, 
 When April clouds are rifted ; buds that bless 
 Each little nook and bower, where the leaves keep 
 Dew and light shadow, and quick lizards peep 
 For sunshine, — these, and the ancient stars no less. 
 And the sea's mystery of dusk and bright 
 Are but the curious characters that lie. 
 Priestess of Beauty, in thy robe of light. 
 Ah, where, divine One, is thy veiled retreat, 
 That I may creep to it and clasp thy feet. 
 And gaze in thy pure face though I should die t 
 
FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 153 
 
 II. TWO INFINITIES. 
 
 A lonely way, and as I went my eyes 
 Could not unfasten from the Spring's sweet things, 
 Lush-sprouted grass, and all that climbs and clings 
 In loose, deep hedges, where the primrose lies 
 In her own fairness, buried blooms surprise 
 The plunderer bee and stop his murmurings. 
 And the glad flutter of a finch's wings 
 Outstartle small blue-speckled butterflies. 
 Blissfully did one speedwell plot beguile 
 My whole heart long ; I loved each separate flower, 
 Kneeling. I looked up suddenly — Dear God ! 
 There stretched the shining plain for many a mile. 
 The mountains rose with what invincible power ! 
 And how the sky was fathomless and broad ! 
 
154 FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 
 
 III. THE DAWN. 
 
 The Dawn, — O silence and wise mystery ! 
 Was it a dream, the murmurous room, the gHtter, 
 The tinkhng songs, the dance, and that fair sitter 
 I talk'd aesthetics to so rapturously } 
 Sweet Heaven, thy silentness and purity, 
 Thy sister-words of blame, not railings bitter. 
 With these great quiet leaves, and the light twitter 
 Of small birds wakening in the greenery. 
 And one stream stepping quickly on its way 
 So well it knows the glad work it must do. 
 Reclaim a wayward heart scarce answering true 
 To that sweet strain of hours that closes May ; 
 How the pale marge quickens with pulsings new, 
 O welcome to thy world thou fair, great day! 
 
FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 155 
 
 IV. THE SKYLARK. 
 
 There drops our lark into his secret nest ! 
 All is felt silence and the broad blue sky ; 
 Come, the incessant rain of melody- 
 Is over ; now earth's quietudes invest, 
 In cool and shadowy limit, that wild breast 
 Which trembled forth the sudden ecstasy 
 Till raptures grew too swift, and song must die 
 Since midmost deeps of heaven grew manifest. 
 My poet of the garden-walk last night 
 Sang in rich leisure, ceased and sang again. 
 Of pleasure in green leaves, of odours given 
 By flowers at dusk, and many a dim delight ; 
 The finer joy was thine keen-edged with pain, 
 Soarer ! alone with thy own heart and heaven. 
 
156 FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 
 
 V. THE MILL-RACE. 
 
 " Only a mill-race," said they, and went by. 
 But we were wiser, spoke no word, and stayed ; 
 It was a place to make the heart afraid 
 With so much beauty, lest the after sigh, 
 When one had drunk its sweetness utterly, 
 Should leave the spirit faint ; a living shade 
 From beechen branches o'er the water played 
 To unweave that spell through which the con- 
 quering sky 
 Subdues the sweet will of each summer stream ; 
 So this ran freshlier through the swaying weeds. 
 I gazed until the whole was as a dream. 
 Nor should have waked or wondered had I seen 
 Some smooth-limbed wood-nymph glance across 
 
 the green, 
 Or Naiad lift a head amongst the reeds. 
 
FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 157 
 
 VI. IN THE WOOD. 
 
 A place where Una might have fallen asleep 
 Assured of quiet dreams, a place to make 
 Sad eyes bright with strange tears ; a little lake 
 In the green heart of a wood ; the crystal deep 
 Of heaven so wide if there should chance to stray 
 Into that stainless field some thin cloud-flake, 
 When not a breeze the trance of noon dare break. 
 About the middle it must melt away. 
 Lilies upon the water in their leaves, 
 Stirr'd by faint ripples that go curving on 
 To little reedy coves ; a stream that grieves 
 To the fine grasses and wild flowers around ; 
 And we two in a golden silence bound. 
 Not a line read of rich Endymion. 
 
158 FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 
 
 VII. THE PAUSE OF EVENING. 
 
 Nightward on dimmest wing in Twilight's train 
 The grey hours floated smoothly, lingeringly ; 
 A solemn wonder was the western sky 
 Rich with the slow forsaking sunset-stain, 
 Barred by long violet cloud ; hillside and plain 
 The feet of Night had touched ; a wind's low sigh 
 Told of whole pleasure lapsed, — then rustled by 
 With soft subsidence in the rippling grain. 
 Why in dark dews, unready to depart. 
 Did Evening pause and ponder, nor perceive 
 Star follow star into the central blue 1 
 What secret was the burden of her heart t 
 What grave, sweet memory grew she loath to leave } 
 What finer sense, no morrow may renew ? 
 
FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 159 
 
 VIII. IN JULY. 
 
 Why do I make no poems t Good my friend 
 Now is there silence through the summer woods, 
 In whose green depths and lawny solitudes 
 The light is dreaming ; voicings clear ascend 
 Now from no hollow where glad rivulets wend, 
 But murmurings low of inarticulate moods. 
 Softer than stir of unfledged cushat broods 
 Breathe, till o'erdrowsed the heavy flower-heads 
 
 bend. 
 Now sleep the crystal and heart-charmed waves 
 Round white, sunstricken rocks the noontide long. 
 Or 'mid the coolness of dim-lighted caves 
 Sway in a trance of vague deliciousness ; 
 And I, — I am too deep in joy's excess 
 For the imperfect impulse of a song. 
 
i6o FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 
 
 IX. IN SEPTEMBER. 
 
 Spring scarce had greener fields to show than these 
 Of mid September; through the still warm noon 
 The rivulets ripple forth a gladder tune 
 Than ever in the summer ; from the trees 
 Dusk-green, and murmuring inward melodies, 
 No leaf drops yet ; only our evenings swoon 
 In pallid skies more suddenly, and the moon 
 Finds motionless white mists out on the leas. 
 Dear chance it were in some rough wood-god's lair 
 A month hence, gazing on the last bright field, 
 To sink o'er-drowsed, and dream that wild-flowers 
 
 blew 
 Around my head and feet silently there, 
 Till Spring's glad choir adown the valley pealed, 
 And violets trembled in the morning dew. 
 
FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. i6i 
 
 X. IN THE WINDOW. 
 
 A still gray evening: Autumn in the sky, 
 And Autumn on the hills and the sad wold ; 
 No congregated towers of pearl and gold 
 In the vaporous West, no fiend limned duskily, 
 No angel whose reared trump must soon be loud, 
 Nor mountains which some pale green lake enfold, 
 Nor islands in an ocean glacial-cold; 
 Hardly indeed a noticeable cloud- 
 Yet here I lingered, all my will asleep. 
 Gazing an hour with neither joy nor pain. 
 No noonday trance in midsummer more deep; 
 And wake with a vague yearning in the dim, 
 Blind room, my heart scarce able to restrain 
 The idle tears that tremble to the brim. 
 
i62 FROM APRIL TO OCTOBER. 
 
 XL AN AUTUMN MORNING. 
 
 O what a morn is this for us who knew 
 
 The large, blue, summer mornings, heaven let down 
 
 Upon the earth for men to drink, the crown 
 
 Of perfect human living, when we grew 
 
 Great-hearted like the Gods ! Come, we will strew 
 
 White ashes on our hair, nor strive to drown, 
 
 In faint hymn to the year's fulfilled renown 
 
 The sterile grief which is the season's due. 
 
 Lightly above the vine-rows of rich hills 
 
 Where the brown peasant girls move amid grapes 
 
 The swallow glances ; let him cry for glee! 
 
 But yon pale mist diffused 'twixt paler shapes, — 
 
 Once sovereign trees, — my spirit also fills, 
 
 And an east-wind comes moaning from the sea. 
 
SEA VOICES. 163 
 
 SEA VOICES. 
 
 Was it a lullaby the Sea went singing 
 
 About my feet, some old-world monotone, 
 
 Filled full of secret memories, and bringing 
 Not hope to sting the heart, but peace alone, 
 
 Sleep and the certitude of sleep to be 
 
 Wiser henceforth than all philosophy ? 
 
 Truth! did we seek for truth with eye and brain 
 Through days so many and wasted with desire ? 
 
 Listen, the same long gulfing voice again : 
 
 Tired limbs lie slack as sands are, eyes that tire 
 
 Close gently, close forever, twilight grey 
 
 Receives you, tenderer than the glaring day. 
 
 [He sleeps, and after an interval azaakes.] 
 
 Ah terror, ah delight! A sudden cry. 
 
 Anguish, or hope, or triumph. Awake, arise, — 
 
i64 SEA VOICES. 
 
 The winds awake ! Is ocean's lullaby 
 
 This clarion-call ? Her kiss, the spray that flies 
 Salt to the lip and cheek ? Her motion light 
 Of nursing breasts, this swift pursuit and flight ? 
 
 O wild sea-voices 1 Victory and defeat, 
 But ever deathless passion and unrest. 
 
 White wings upon the wind and flying feet, 
 Disdain and wrath, a reared and hissing crest, 
 
 The imperious urge, and last, a whole life spent 
 
 In bliss of one supreme abandonment. 
 
ABOARD THE ''SEA-SWALLOW." 165 
 
 ABOARD THE "SEA-SWALLOW.' 
 
 The gloom of the sea-fronting clififs 
 
 Lay on the water, violet-dark, 
 The pennon drooped, the sail fell in, 
 
 And slowly moved our bark. 
 
 A golden day; the summer dreamed 
 In heaven and on the whispering sea, 
 
 Within our hearts the summer dreamed ; 
 The hours had ceased to be. 
 
 Then rose the girls with bonnets loosed, 
 And shining tresses lightly blown, 
 
 Alice and Adela, and sang 
 A song of Mendelssohn. 
 
 O sweet, and sad, and wildly clear. 
 
 Through summer air it sinks and swells. 
 
 Wild with a measureless desire, 
 And sad with all farewells. 
 
[66 SEA-SIGHING. 
 
 SEA-SIGHING. 
 
 This is the burden of the Sea, 
 
 Loss, failure, sorrows manifold ; 
 Yet something though the voice sound free 
 Remains untold. 
 
 Listen ! that secret sigh again 
 
 Kept very low, a whole heart's waste ; 
 What means this inwardness of pain > 
 This sob repressed } 
 
 Some ancient sin, some supreme wrong, 
 
 Some huge attempt God brought to nought. 
 All over while the world was young. 
 And ne'er forgot } 
 
 Those lips, which open wide and cry, 
 Weak as pale flowers or trembling birds, 
 
SEA-SIGHING. 167 
 
 Are proud, and fixed immutably 
 Against such words. 
 
 Confession from that burdened soul 
 
 No ghostly counsellor may win ; 
 Could such as we receive its whole 
 Passion and sin ? 
 
 In this high presence priest or king, 
 
 Prophet or singer of the earth. 
 With yon cast sea- weed were a thing 
 Of equal worth. 
 
i68 IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Fatigued of heart, and owning how the world 
 Is strong, too strong for will of mine, my steps 
 Through the tall pines I led, to reach that spur 
 Which strikes from off the mountain toward the 
 
 West. 
 I hoped to lull a fretted heart to sleep, 
 And in the place of definite thought a sense 
 Possessed me, dim and sweet, of Motherhood, 
 The breasts of Nature, warmth, and soothing hands, 
 And tender, inarticulate nursing-words 
 Slow uttered o'er tired eyes. 
 
 But suddenly 
 Rude waking ! Suddenly the rocks, the trees 
 Stood up in ranged power, rigid, erect. 
 And all cried out on me " Away with him ! 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS, 169 
 
 Away ! He is not of us, has no part 
 
 In ours or us ! Traitor, away with him ! " 
 
 And the birds shrilled it " Traitor," and the flowers 
 
 Stared up at me with small, hard, insolent eyes. 
 
 But I, who had been weak, was weak no more, 
 
 Nor shrank at all, but with deliberate step 
 
 Moved on, and with both hands waved off the 
 
 throng, 
 And feared them not, nor sent defiance back. 
 Thus, till the pine-glooms fell away, and goats 
 Went tinkling and no herd-boy near ; glad airs 
 With sunshine in them moved angelical 
 Upon the solitary heights ; the sky 
 Held not a cloud from marge to marge ; and now 
 Westward the sun was treading, calm and free. 
 I lay upon the grass, and how an hour 
 Went past I know not. When again time was, 
 The sun had fallen, and congregated clouds, 
 A vision of great glories, held the West, 
 And through them, and beyond, the hyaline 
 Led the charm'd spirit through infinite spaces on. 
 
I70 IN THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 I think of all the men upon this earth 
 
 The sight was mine alone ; it for my soul, 
 
 My soul for it, until all seeing died. 
 
 Where did I live transfigured ? through what times 
 
 Of heaven's great year ? What sudden need of me 
 
 For sacrifice on altar, or for priest. 
 
 For soldier at the rampart, cup-bearer 
 
 At feasts of God, rapt singer in the joy 
 
 Of consonant praise, doom'd rebel for the fires ? 
 
 — 1 know not, but somewhere some part I held, 
 
 Nor fail'd when summoned. 
 
 When the body took 
 Its guest once more the clouds were massy-grey, 
 The event was ended ; yet a certain thing 
 Abode with me, which still eludes its name, 
 Yet lies within my heart like some great word 
 A mage has taught, and he who heard it once 
 Cannot pronounce, and never may forget. 
 But this I dare record, — when all was past, 
 And once again I turned to seek the vale, 
 And moved adown the slippery pine-wood path, 
 
IN THE MOUNTAINS. 1 7 1 
 
 In the dimness every pine tree bowed to me 
 With duteous service, and the rocks lay couched 
 Like armed followers round, and one bird sang 
 The song I chose, and heavy fragrance came 
 From unseen flowers, and all things were aware 
 One passed who had been called and consecrate. 
 
172 " THE TOP OF A HILL CALLED CLEAR.' 
 
 " THE TOP OF A HILL CALLED CLEARr 
 {l7t sight of the Celestial City.) 
 
 And all my days led on to this ! the days 
 
 Of pallid light, of springs no sun would warm, 
 
 Of chilling rain autumnal, which decays 
 
 High woods while veering south the quick wings 
 swarm, 
 
 The days of hot desire, of broken dreaming, 
 
 Mechanic toil, poor pride that was but seeming. 
 And bleeding feet, and sun-smit flowerless ways. 
 
 Below me spreads a sea of tranquil light, 
 No blue cloud thunder-laden, but pure air 
 
 Shot through and through with sunshine ; from this 
 height 
 A man might cast himself in joy's despair, 
 
 And find unhoped, to bear him lest he fall, 
 
 Swift succouring wings, and hands angelical. 
 And circling of soft eyes, and foreheads bright. 
 
" THE TOP OF A HILL CALLED CLEAR." 173 
 
 Under me light, and light is o'er my head, 
 And awful heaven and heaven to left and right 
 
 In all his worlds this spot unvisited 
 
 God kept, save by the winging of keen light, 
 
 And the dread gaze of stars, and morning's wan 
 
 Virginity, for me a living man. 
 
 Living, not borne among the enfranchised dead. 
 
 New life, — not death ! No glow the senses cast 
 Across the spirit, no pleasure shoots o'er me 
 
 Its scattering flaw, no words may I hold fast 
 
 Here, where God's breath streams inexhaustibly ; 
 
 But conquest stern is mine, a will made sane, 
 
 Life's vision wide and calm, a supreme pain, 
 An absolute joy ; and love the first and last. 
 
1 74 THE I NIT I A TION. 
 
 THE INITIATION. 
 
 Under the flaming wings of cherubim 
 
 I moved toward that high altar. O, the hour ! 
 
 And the light waxed intenser, and the dim 
 Low edges of the hills and the grey sea 
 
 Were caught and captur'd by the present Power, 
 My sureties and my witnesses to be. 
 
 Then the light drew me in. Ah, perfect pain ! 
 
 Ah, infinite moment of accomplishment ! 
 Thou terror of pure joy, with neither wane 
 
 Nor waxing, but long silence and sharp air 
 As womb-forsaking babes breathe. Hush! the 
 event 
 Let him who wrought Love's marvellous things 
 declare. 
 
THE I NIT I A TION, 1 7 5 
 
 Shall I who fear'd not joy, fear grief at all ? 
 
 I on whose mouth Life laid his sudden lips 
 Tremble at Death's weak kiss, and not recall 
 
 That sundering from the flesh, the flight from 
 time, 
 The judgments stern, the clear apocalypse. 
 
 The lightnings, and the Presences sublime. 
 
 How came I back to earth ? I know not how, 
 Nor what hands led me, nor what words were 
 said. 
 
 Now all things are made mine, — ^joy, sorrow ; now 
 I know my purpose deep, and can refrain ; 
 
 I walk among the living not the dead ; 
 My sight is purged ; I love and pity men. 
 
176 RENUNCIANTS. 
 
 RENUNCIANTS. 
 
 Seems not our breathing light ? 
 
 Sound not our voices free ? 
 Bid to Life's festal bright 
 
 No gladder guests there be. 
 
 Ah stranger, lay aside 
 
 Cold prudence ! I divine 
 
 The secret you would hide, 
 And you conjecture mine. 
 
 You too have temperate eyes. 
 Have put your heart to school, 
 
 Are proved. I recognize 
 A brother of the rule. 
 
 I knew it by your lip, 
 
 A something when you smiled, 
 
RENUNCIANTS. 177 
 
 Which meant * close scholarship, 
 A master of the guild.' 
 
 Well, and how good is life, 
 Good to be born, have breath. 
 
 The calms good and the strife. 
 Good life, and perfect death. 
 
 Come, for the dancers wheel, 
 Join we the pleasant din, 
 
 —Comrade, it serves to feel 
 The sackcloth next the skin. 
 
 M 
 
[7& SPEAKERS TO GOD. 
 
 SPEAKERS TO GOD. 
 
 First Speaker. 
 
 Eastward I went and Westward, North and South, 
 And the wind blew me from deep zone to zone ; 
 
 Many strong women did I love ; my mouth 
 I gave for kisses, rose, and straight was gone. 
 
 I fought with heroes ; there was joyous play 
 Of swords ; my cities rose in every land ; 
 
 Then forth I fared. O God, thou knowest, I lay 
 Ever within the hollow of thy hand. 
 
 Second Speaker. 
 
 I am borne out to thee upon the wave. 
 
 And the land lessens ; cry nor speech I hear. 
 
 Nought but the leaping waters and the brave 
 Pure winds commingling. O the joy, the fear ! 
 
SPEAKERS TO GOD. 179 
 
 Alone with thee ; sky's rim and ocean's rim 
 
 Touch, overhead the clear immensity- 
 Is merely God ; no eyes of seraphim 
 
 Gaze in ... O God, thou also art the sea ! 
 
 Third Speaker. 
 
 Thus it shall be a lifetime, — ne'er to meet ; 
 
 A trackless land divides us lone and long ; 
 Others who seek Him, find, run swift to greet 
 
 Their Friend, approach the bridegroom's door 
 with song. 
 
 I stand, nor dare affirm I see or hear ; 
 
 How should I dream, when strict is my employ ? 
 Yet if some time, far hence, thou drawest near 
 
 Shall there be any joy like to our joy .-* 
 
i8o POESIA. 
 
 POESIA. 
 
 {To a Painter^ 
 
 Paint her with robe and girdle laid aside, 
 Without a jewel upon her ; you must hide 
 By sleight of artist from the gazer's view 
 No whit of her fair body ; calm and true 
 Her eyes must meet our passion, as aware 
 The world is beautiful, and she being fair 
 A part of it. She needs be no more pure 
 Than a dove is, nor could one well endure 
 More faultlessness than of a sovran rose, 
 Reserved, yet liberal to each breeze that blows. 
 Let her be all revealed, nor therefore less 
 A mystery of unsearchable loveliness ; 
 There must be no discoveries to be made, 
 Save as a noonday sky with not a shade 
 
POESIA. i8i 
 
 Or floating cloud of Summer to the eye 
 
 Which drinks its light admits discovery. 
 
 Did common raiment hide her could we know 
 
 How hopeless were the rash attempt to throw 
 
 Sideways the veil which guards her womanhood ? 
 
 Therefore her sacred vesture must elude 
 
 All mortal touch, and let her welcome well 
 
 Each comer, being still unapproachable. 
 
 Plant firm on Earth her feet, as though her own 
 
 Its harvests were, and, for she would be known 
 
 Fearless not fugitive, interpose no bar 
 
 'Twixt us and her. Love's radiant avatar, 
 
 No more to be possessed than sunsets are. 
 
1 82 MUSICIANS. 
 
 MUSICIANS. 
 
 I know the haqDS whereon the Angels play, 
 
 While in God's listening face they gaze intent, 
 Are these frail hearts, — yours, mine ; and gently 
 they, 
 Leaning a warm breast toward the instrument, 
 And preluding among the tremulous wires, 
 First draw forth dreams of song, unfledged desires. 
 Nameless regrets, sweet hopes which will not stay. 
 
 But when the passionate sense of heavenly things 
 
 Possesses the musician, and his lips 
 Part glowing, and the shadow of his wings 
 
 Grows golden, and fire streams from finger-tips, 
 And he is mighty, and his heart-throbs thicken. 
 And quick intolerable pulses quicken. 
 How his hand lords it in among the strings ! 
 
MUSICIANS, 183 
 
 Ah the keen crying of the wires ! the pain 
 Of restless music yearning to out-break 
 And shed its sweetness utterly, the rain 
 
 Of heavenly laughters, threats obscure which 
 shake 
 The spirit, trampling tumults which dismay, 
 The fateful pause, the fiat summoning day, 
 The faultless flower of light which will not wane. 
 
 How wrought with you the awful lord of song ? 
 
 What thirst of God hath he appeased ? What bliss 
 Raised to clear ecstasy ? O tender and strong 
 
 The eager melodist who leaned o'er this 
 Live heart of mine, who leans above it now : 
 The stern pure eyes ! the ample, radiant brow ! 
 Pluck boldly. Master, the good strain prolong. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS, 187 
 
 A DAY OF DEFECTION. 
 
 This day among the days will never stand, 
 Carven and clear, a shape of fair delight, 
 With singing lips, and gaze of innocent might, 
 Crown'd queenwise, or the lyre within her hand, 
 And firm feet making conquest of a land 
 Heavy with fruitage ; nay, from all men's sight 
 Drop far, cold sun, and let remorseful Night 
 Cloke the shamed forehead, and the bosom's brand. 
 Could but the hammer rive, the thunder-stone 
 Flung forth from heaven on some victorious morn 
 Grind it to dust! Slave, must I alway see 
 Thy beauty soil'd 1 Must shining days foregone 
 Admit thee peer, and wondering, new-born 
 To-morrow meet thy dull eyes' infamy } 
 
[88 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 SONG AND SILENCE. 
 
 While Sorrow sat beside me many a day, 
 I, — with head turned from her, and yet aware 
 How her eyes' light was on my brow and hair. 
 The light which bites and blights our gold to grey, — 
 Still sang, and swift winds bore my songs away 
 Full of sweet sounds, as of a lute-player 
 Who sees fresh colours, breathes the ripe soft air, 
 And hears the cuckoo shout in dells of May, 
 Being filled with ease and indolent of heart. 
 So sang I, Sorrow near me : chide me not, 
 O Joy, for silence now ! Hereafter wise, 
 Large song may come, life blossoming in art. 
 From this new fate; but leave me, thou long sought, 
 To gaze awhile into those perfect eyes. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS, 189 
 
 LOVE-TOKENS. 
 
 I wear around my forehead evermore, 
 
 The circlet of your praise, pure gold ; and how 
 
 I walk forth crown'd, the approving angels know, 
 
 And see how I am meeker than before 
 
 Being thus proud. For roses my full store, 
 
 Upon a cheek where flowers will scantly blow, 
 
 Is your lips' one immortal touch, and lo ! 
 
 All shame deserts my blood to the heart's core. 
 
 Dare I display love's choicest gift — this scar 
 
 Still sanguine-hued .'* Here ran your sudden brand 
 
 Sheer through the starting flesh, and let abroad 
 
 A traitor's life; your wrathful eyes afar, 
 
 Had doom'd him first. Ah, gracious, valiant hand 
 
 Which drew me bleeding to the feet of God ! 
 
I90 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 I dreamed I went to seek for her whose sight 
 Is sunshine to my soul ; and in my dream 
 I found her not ; then sank the latest beam 
 Of day in the rich west ; upswam the Night 
 With sliding dews, and still I searched in vain, 
 Through thickest glooms of garden-alleys quaint, 
 On moonlit lawns, by glimmering lakes where 
 
 faint 
 The ripples brake and died, and brake again. 
 Then said I, " At God's inner court of light 
 I will beg for her ; " straightway toward the same 
 I went, and lo ! upon the altar-stair, 
 She knelt with face uplifted, and soft hair 
 Fallen upon shoulders purely gowned in white, 
 And on her parted lips I read my name. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 191 
 
 MICHELANGELESQUE. 
 
 Shaping thy life what if the stubborn stuff 
 Grudge to inform itself through each dull part 
 With the soul's high invention, and thy art 
 Seem a defeated thing, and earth rebuff 
 Heaven's splendour, choosing darkness, — leave the 
 
 rough 
 Brute-parts unhewn. Toilest thou for the mart 
 Or for the temple ? Does the God see start 
 Quick beauty from the block, it is enough. 
 The spirit, foiled elsewhere, presses to the mouth, 
 Disparts the lips, lives on the lighted brow. 
 Fills the wide nostrils, flings the imperious chin 
 Out proudly. Now behold ! the lyric youth, 
 The wrestler stooping in the act to win, 
 Pythian Apollo with the vengeful bow. 
 
192 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 LIFE'S GAIN. 
 
 " Now having gained Life's gain, how hold it fast ? 
 The harder task ! because the world is still 
 The world, and days creep slow, and wear the will, 
 And Custom, gendering in the heart's blind waste, 
 Brings forth a winged mist, which with no haste 
 Upcircling the steep air, and charged with ill. 
 Blots all our shining heights adorable, 
 And leaves slain Faith, slain Hope, slain Love the 
 
 last." 
 O shallow lore of life ! He who hath won 
 Life's gain doth hold nought fast, who could hold 
 
 all, 
 H olden himself of strong, immortal Powers. 
 The stars accept him ; for his sake the Sun 
 Has sworn in heaven an oath memorial ; 
 Around his feet stoop the obsequious Hours. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 193 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 You shake your head and talk of evil days : 
 My friend, I leam'd ere I had told twelve years 
 That truth of yours, — how irrepressible tears 
 Surprise us, and strength fails, and pride betrays. 
 And sorrows lurk for us in all the ways 
 Of joyous living. But now to front my fears 
 I set a counter-truth which comes and cheers 
 Our after-life, when, temperate, the heart weighs 
 Evil with good. Do never smiles surprise 
 Sad lips } Did the glad violets blow last spring 
 In no new haunts } Or are the heavens not fair 
 After drench'd days of June, when all the air 
 Grows fragrant, and the rival thrushes sing. 
 Until stars gather into twilight skies } 
 
 N 
 
194 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 TO A CHILD DEAD AS SOON AS BORN. 
 
 A little wrath was on thy forehead, Boy, 
 
 Being thus defeated ; the resolved will 
 
 Which death could not subdue, was threatening 
 
 still 
 From lip and brow. I know that it was joy 
 No casual misadventure might destroy 
 To have lived, and fought and died. Therefore I 
 
 kill 
 The pang for thee, unknown ; nor count it ill 
 That thou hast entered swiftly on employ 
 Where Life would plant a warder keen and pure. 
 I thought to see a little piteous clay 
 The grave had need of, pale from light obscure 
 Of embryo dreams ; thy face was as the day 
 Smit on by storm. Palms for my child, and bay ! 
 Thus far thou hast done well, true son : endure. 
 
 February 1871. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 195 
 
 BROTHER DEATH. 
 
 When thou would'st have me go with thee, O 
 
 Death, 
 Over the utmost verge, to the dim place. 
 Practise upon me with no amorous grace 
 Of fawning lips, and words of delicate breath. 
 And curious music thy lute uttereth ; 
 Nor think for me there must be sought-out ways 
 Of cloud and terror ; have we many days 
 Sojourned together, and is this thy faith ? 
 Nay, be there plainness 'twixt us ; come to me 
 Even as thou art, O brother of my soul ; 
 Hold thy hand out and I will place mine there ; 
 I trust thy mouth's inscrutable irony. 
 And dare to lay my forehead where the whole 
 Shadow lies deep of thy purpureal hair. 
 
196 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 THE MAGE. 
 
 When I shall sing my songs the world will hear, 
 — Which hears not these, — I shall be white with age, 
 My beard on breast great as befits a mage 
 So skilled ; but song is young, and in no drear 
 Tome-crammed, lamp-litten chamber shall mine 
 
 fear 
 To pine ascetic. Where the woods are deep, 
 Thick leaves for arras, in a noonday sleep 
 Of breeze and bloom, gaze, but my art revere ! 
 There I will sit, and score rare wisardry 
 In characters vermilion, azure, gold, 
 With bird, starred flower, and peering dragon-fly 
 Limned in the lines ; and secrets shall be told 
 Of greatest Pan, and lives of wood-nymphs shy. 
 Blabbed by my goat-foot servitor overbold. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 197 
 
 WISE PASSIVENESS. 
 
 Think you I choose or that or this to sing ? 
 
 I lie as patient as yon wealthy stream 
 
 Dreaming among green fields its summer dream, 
 
 Which takes whate'er the gracious hours will bring 
 
 Into its quiet bosom ; not a thing 
 
 Too common, since perhaps you see it there 
 
 Who else had never seen it, though as fair 
 
 As on the world's first morn ; a fluttering 
 
 Of idle butterflies ; or the deft seeds 
 
 Blown from a thistle-head ; a silver dove 
 
 As faultlessly ; or the large, yearning eyes 
 
 Of pale Narcissus ; or beside the reeds 
 
 A shepherd seeking lilies for his love, 
 
 And evermore the all-encircling skies. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 THE SINGER'S PLEA. 
 
 Why do I sing ? I know not why, my friend ; 
 The ancient rivers, rivers of renown, 
 A royal largess to the sea roll down, 
 And on those liberal highways nations send 
 Their tributes to the world, — stored corn and wine, 
 Gold-dust, the wealth of pearls, and orient spar, 
 And myrrh, and ivory, and cinnabar, 
 And dyes to make a presence-chamber shine. 
 But in the woodlands, where the wild-flowers are. 
 The rivulets, they must have their innocent will 
 Who all the summer hours are singing still, 
 The birds care for them, and sometimes a star, 
 And should a tired child rest beside the stream 
 Sweet memories would slide into his dream. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 199 
 
 THE TRESPASSER. 
 
 Trespassers will be prosecuted, — so 
 
 Announced the inhospitable notice-board ; 
 
 But silver-clear as any lady's word 
 
 Come in, in, in, come in, now rich and low, 
 
 Now with tumultuous palpitating flow, 
 
 I swear by ring of Canace I heard. 
 
 " Sure," said I, " this is no brown-breasted bird, 
 
 But some fair princess, lost an age ago 
 
 Through stepdame's cursed spell, till the saints 
 
 brought her 
 Who but myself, the knight foredoomed of grace." 
 Alas ! poor knight, in all that cockney place 
 You found no magic, save one radiant sight, 
 The huge, obstreperous house-keeper's grand- 
 daughter, 
 A child with eyes of pure ethereal light. 
 
:oo MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 RITUALISM. 
 
 This is high ritual and a holy day ; 
 I think from Palestrina the wind chooses 
 That movement in the firs ; one sits and muses 
 In hushed heart- vacancy made meek to pray ; 
 Listen ! the birds are choristers with gay 
 Clear voices infantine, and with good will 
 Each acolyte flower has swung his thurible, 
 Censing to left and right these aisles of May. 
 For congregation, see ! real sheep most clean, 
 And I — what am I, worshipper or priest } 
 At least all these I dare absolve from sin. 
 Aye, dare ascend to where the splendours shine 
 Of yon steep mountain-altar, and the feast 
 Is holy, God himself being bread and wine. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 201 
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 
 
 I, who lie warming here by your good fire, 
 
 Was once Prometheus and elsewhere have lain ; 
 
 Ah, still in dreams they come, — the sudden chain, 
 
 The swooping birds, the silence, the desire 
 
 Of pitying, powerless eyes, the night, and higher 
 
 The keen stars ; (if you please I fill again 
 
 The bowl, Silenus) — ; yet 'twas common pain 
 
 Their beaks' mad rooting; O, but they would tire, 
 
 And one go circling o'er the misty vast 
 
 On great, free wings, and one sit, head out-bent, 
 
 Poised for the plunge ; then 'twas I crushed the cry 
 
 " Zeus, Zeus I kiss your feet, and learn at last 
 
 The baseness of this crude self-government 
 
 Matched with glad impulse and blind liberty." 
 
202 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 KING MOB. 
 
 Dismiss, O sweet King Mob, your foot-lickers ! 
 When you held court last night I too was there 
 To listen, and in truth well nigh despair 
 O'ercame me when I saw your greedy ears 
 Drink such gross poison. I could weep hot tears 
 To think how three drugged words avail to keep 
 A waking people still on the edge of sleep, 
 And lose the world a right good score of years. 
 I love you too big Anarch, lately born. 
 Half beast, yet with a stupid heart of man. 
 And since I love, would God that I could warn 
 Work out the beast as shortly as you can, 
 Till which time oath of mine shall ne'er be sworn, 
 Nor knee be bent to you King Caliban. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 THE MODERN ELIJAH. 
 
 What went ye forth to see ? a shaken reed ? — 
 Ye throngers of the Parthenon last night. 
 Prophet, yea more than prophet, we agreed ; 
 No John a' Desert with the girdle tight, 
 And locusts and wild honey for his need, 
 Before the dreadful day appears in sight 
 Urging one word to make the conscience bleed. 
 But an obese John Smith, " a shining light " 
 (Our chairman felt), " an honour to his creed." 
 O by the gas, when buns and tea had wrought 
 Upon our hearts, how grew the Future bright,— 
 The Press, the Institutes, Advance of Thought, 
 And People's Books, till every mother's son 
 Can prove there is a God, or there is none. 
 
204 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 
 
 DAVID AND MICHAL. 
 
 (2 Samuel vi. 16.) 
 
 But then yon do fit mean really what you say — 
 To hear this from the sweetest little lips, 
 O'er which each pretty word daintily trips 
 Like small birds hopping down a garden way, 
 When I had given my soul full scope to play 
 For once before her in the Orphic style 
 Caught from three several volumes of Carlyle, 
 And undivulged before this very day ! 
 O young men of our earnest school confess 
 How it is deeply, darkly tragical 
 To find the feminine souls we would adore 
 So full of sense, so versed in worldly lore. 
 So deaf to the Eternal Silences, 
 So unbelieving, so conventional. 
 
WINDLE-STRAWS. 
 
WINDLE-STRA IVS. 207 
 
 WINDLE-STRAWS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Under gray clouds some birds will dare to sing, 
 No wild exultant chants, but soft and low ; 
 
 Under gray clouds the young leaves seek the spring, 
 And lurking violets blow. 
 
 And waves make idle music on the strand, 
 And inland streams have lucky words to say, 
 
 And children's voices sound across the land 
 Although the clouds be gray. 
 
 II. 
 
 Only maidenhood and youth, 
 
 Only eyes that are most fair, 
 And the pureness of a mouth, 
 
 And the grace of golden hair. 
 Yet beside her we grow wise, 
 
 And we breathe a finer air. 
 
2o8 WINDLE-STRA WS, 
 
 Words low-utter'd, simple-sweet, — 
 Yet, nor songs of morning birds, 
 
 Nor soft whisperings of the wheat 
 More than such clear-hearted words 
 
 Make us wait, and love, and listen, 
 Stir more mellow heart accords. 
 
 Only maiden-motions light, 
 Only smiles that sweetly go, 
 
 Girlish laughter pure and bright, 
 And a footfall like the snow, 
 
 What in these should make us wise ? 
 What should bid the blossom blow ? 
 
 Child ! on thee God's angels wait, 
 'Tis their robes that wave and part, 
 
 Make this summer air elate. 
 
 Fresh and fragrant, and thou art 
 
 But a simple child indeed. 
 One dare cherish to the heart. 
 
WINDLE-STRA WS. 209 
 
 III. 
 
 Were life to last for ever, love, 
 
 We might go hand in hand, 
 And pause and pull the flowers that blow 
 
 In all the idle land. 
 And we might lie in sunny fields 
 
 And while the hours away 
 With fallings-out and fallings-in 
 
 For half a summer day. 
 
 But since we two must sever, love, 
 
 Since some dim hour we part, 
 I have no time to give thee much 
 
 But quickly take my heart, 
 ' For ever thine," and " thine my love," — 
 
 O Death may come apace 
 What more of love could life bestow, 
 
 Dearest, than this embrace. 
 
2,1 o WINDLE-STRAWS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now drops in the abyss a day of life : 
 I count my twelve hours' gain ; — 
 
 Tired senses ? vain desires ? a baffled strife, 
 Vexed heart and beating brain ? 
 
 Ten pages traversed by a languid eye ? 
 
 — Nay, but one moment's space 
 I gazed into the soul of the blue sky ; 
 
 Rare day ! O day of grace ! 
 
 V. 
 
 She kissed me on the forehead, 
 
 She spoke not any word, 
 The silence flowed between us, 
 
 And I nor spoke nor stirred. 
 
 So hopeless for my sake it was, 
 
 So full of ruth, so sw^eet, 
 My whole heart rose and blessed her, 
 
 — Then died before her feet. 
 
WINDLE-STRA WS. 2 1 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nay, more ! yet more, for my lips are fain ; 
 
 No cups for a babe ; I ask the whole 
 Deep draught that a God could hardly drain, 
 
 — Wine of your soul. 
 
 Pour ! for the goblet is great I bring. 
 
 Not worthless, rough with youths at strife, 
 
 And men that toil and women that sing, 
 — It is all my life. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Look forward with those steadfast eyes 
 
 O Pilot of our star ! 
 It sweeps through rains and driving snows, 
 
 Strong Angel, gaze afar ! 
 
 Seest thou a zone of golden air } 
 
 Hearest thou the March-winds ring } 
 
 Or is thy heart prophetic yet 
 With stirrings of the Spring t 
 
2 1 2 WINDLE-STRA WS. 
 
 VIII. 
 » 
 
 Words for my song like sighing of dim seas, 
 
 Words with no thought in them, — a piping reed. 
 
 An infant's cry, a moan low-uttered, — these 
 Are all the words I need. 
 
 Others have song for broad-winged winds that pass, 
 For stars and sun, for standing men around ; 
 
 I put my mouth low down into the grass. 
 And whisper to the ground. 
 
 TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PKINTERS. 
 
65, Cornhill, and i, Paternoster Stjiiarc, London, 
 October, 1876. 
 
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