'1m D BY MRS. ASHLEY CARUS-WILSON (MARY L. GTPETRIE, B.A. LOUD.)""' HODDER AND STOUGHTON 27, PATERNOSTER ROW TOKIWA AND OTHER POEMS "" rtoa.ffa. Ao^tav i^evffdfMrjv. AESCHYLUS, Agamemnon, 1208 THE lives of men are woven with the thread Of love and sorrow, and we gods who dwell On high Olympus know them too, 'tis said. For love, the light of heaven, doth cast her spell Upon us, and the shadow of that light Is grief for human creatures we love well. She that I loved with all a god's great might Refused the love I meant to be her crown, And turned it to a halter for her white Round throat, and mine is sorrow not my own. Cassandra, fairest virgin of thy race, I have destroyed thee, I have cast thee down. 60 LOXIAS 61 A child, thou slumberest in my holy place. I came to thee, I taught thee things divine ; While each new year adorned thee with new grace. Then when the charms of womanhood were thine I clad me as a simple shepherd swain, I found thee at a lonely woodland shrine, I poured out love I could no more refrain ; And thou didst promise to be mine alone. But when with godlike gifts I came again To claim thy plighted troth, Apollo shone Upon thy gaze. Thou stood'st in dumb surprise, Thy warm arms folded o'er thy jewelled zone, One moment, then from out thy radiant eyes The princess flashed, " Thy gifts be to another." And then the shrinking woman kneels and cries, 62 LOXIAS " Blast me not with thy splendours, for no other Than mortal fires can kindle this poor breast. I am no Semele, that I should smother My fears in my ambition, ask as guest Thunder-clad gods. I pray thee, let me go." So dear art thou, that dear was thy behest ; And thou dost fly, as flies a milk-white doe Through brake and forest from the foaming hound. For peerless beauty and for peerless woe In song and story must thou be renowned. For unto thee the fatal gift was given When my eye, kindling with its passion, found Response in thine, and thought its suit had thriven. Grief must be thine no healing can remove, Till with the sword thy tender heart is riven. LOXIAS 63 Oh, would that thou hadst given me thy love ! Then I had taught thee songs that should have won The world to listen to the tale we wove. to Now thou shalt prophesy in Troy, and none Shall hearken to the words the gods inspire ; And, ere the undoing, thou shalt see undone Thy father's house, and feel the raging fire That wraps the city in its crimson shroud, Helpless to avert, though sickening with desire. To thee, beneath the double anguish bowed, Sweet love, that lighteneth all the load of life, Can never give relief ; for of the crowd Of fellow-mortals, who could call thee wife, Thee, who hadst known a god ? Nay, highest things, Seen but not grasped, leave heaven and earth at strife, 64 LOXIAS Earth's glory pale, and heaven beyond thy wings, And keener pains, with keener sense of pain. Now, in the triumph of the avenging Kings, I see thee, 'mid the slayers and the slain, Fly to the temple from the mad turmoil, Seeking Athene's sanctuary in vain ; I see thee led, as I lion's fairest spoil, To Greece, to chant thy wild prophetic song, Swan-like, ere death ; I see thy frame recoil From horrid visions, that upon thee throng, Of violence, teeming with its sinful brood ; Praying the agony may not be long, Which rends the life from thy fair flesh, endued With god-loved grace ; I see thy throbbing brow Dashed on the floor that soon shall drink thy blood ISMENE A TALE OF SPARTA, B.C. 479 " ISMENE," women shouted, as the damsel hastened by; " Ismene, art thou raving ? " But wingless was the cry. " She sobbed and beat her bosom when alive he came again, Not a tear had she to give him when we told her he was slain ; But with wild eyes, like a Maenad mantled in a leopard's hide, Drank she, as a draught of nectar, our news of how he died." 5 66 ISMENE Her snowy peplus fluttering, her rippling locks unbound, She flees from all the voices, she seeks the sacred ground, The grotto of Apollo, where the god in marble stands By a shadow-fretted stream, enriching wide Laco- nian lands. With arms stretched down and fingers twined and palms towards the sod, And upward gaze, Ismene tells her story to the god. " O radiant Son of Leto, lover of the Dorian race, Let me snap the chains of silence in this well- beloved place. ' Tell me what is Eros like, Leukippe ? ' asked I once, and she Fondling said, ' Be good, my floweret, and some day thou shalt see ! ' ISMENE 67 From the one child in the household such questions often burst, Fruit of lone and shadowy ponderings and wonder longtime nursed, Till the vagueness and the vastness of the thoughts I would explore Loosed my lips, to gain an answer that sealed them evermore. I was scolded for a fault and murmured, full of shame, ' Oh, would That I, like those around me, were full-grown and always good ! Now, to my childish vision the world was passing fair, And all men wise and good ; but wise and good beyond compare Were Lycophron, the lawyer, and the seer, Megistias. Till when the springtide sun had drawn first shadows o'er the grass 68 ISMENE I found my flowers, childhood's friends, in all their infant bloom, Slain by a curse that Winter hurled from out her ice-bound tomb. A yet more blasting wind I felt, stirred by an idle tongue, ' Lycophron's clever, but a knave ; 'tis so with half the young ; And worthy old Megistias dotes.' Thus grieved at heart I grew ;' Can Nature mar her fairest handiwork, and is it true That others stumble like myself, and dreams are only dreams ? They roused me from my musings, which would I blur my brow with seams Unfit for such a fair young head, for girls were made to please ; To love and be beloved, to all their problems were the keys. ISMENE 69 Then sunshine flooded all my life : I was beloved by one, In whom my lost ideal of the human creature shone. Much had he, lovelit eyes gave all to him ; and then I poured Forth the rich treasure of my maiden love, and called him lord. Proud were my tears when first he went to glory in the field : ' On it, or with it,' cried his mother, as he raised the shield. So came the famous fight, concerning which the minstrels sing, When the Three Hundred flouted all the myriads of the King. At the Gates of Greece they gathered ; there they fought and there they fell, Megistias, Maron, Alphaeus, and Dienekes, as well 70 ISMENE As the Thespian Dithyrambus, have their names engraved in brass : They flinched not when the traitor came upon them from the Pass ; But flung the spear, drew sword, and thrust the dagger to and fro, Then, like bloodhounds at a hunting, tore with tooth and nail the foe. Through the wooded glens of Oeta rang the groans that rescued Greece, And the vanquished were victorious in her dearly won release. Where was Aristodemus on that memorable day? Faint 'neath a load of sickness, he at fair Alpeni I lay; But thence his comrade Eurytus struggled to death and fame ; While he returned to Sparta safe and overwhelmed with shame. ISMENE 71 ' Weep not ; he was not worthy. Dear girl, the world is wide : We'll find a nobler Spartan, and thou shalt be his bride.' Thus they comforted my sorrow ; it was all they understood ; And stunned, I sought the shadows of the bright- haired Archer's wood. Truly the gods have mocked us ; for our vehement desire Makes us dream that others reach the goal, that we alone aspire. Time, robbing of the many, leaves us still the one whom we Dower with all graces as the god of our idolatry. 'Tis thus men worship women, and thus women worship men ; And Eros is like this ; while we, who live beneath the ken 72 ISMENE Of all Olympus, rouse the laughter of the immortal Powers, ' Why, men would be as gods, were all things theirs as well as ours. And still we yearn and still we clothe our God in human form. Athens has Pallas ; Sparta, Phoebus : and the gaping swarm By these may measure all their dull deformity and need. But does our yearning shape these gods, or are there gods indeed ? Homer says all men hunger for the gods. Then we are blind, And see them not, but seek on earth what we can never find. So the fair idol I had wrought lay shattered for a year. Till Hera heard our prayers and granted to the Dorian spear, ISMENE 73 ^^ ^ Between Plataea's bastions and Asopus' winding river, To hurl the foes of Hellas back for ever and for ever. * And from that battle-field to me one long, dark lock they bring, Clotted with gore, and tell me how they wondering saw him fling Him singlehanded on the foe, until the deeds he wrought Said, ' Ares nerves his arm to fight as mortal never fought.' And by-and-by my tears will flow, when all my loss I feel : But now my maddened brain exults, my dazzled senses reel. I cannot fathom in my thinking, why we aim so high, And could I, what were worth to men the thoughts of such as I ? 74 ISMENE Perhaps the Athenian sages understood it long ago ; Or maybe these are secrets which we all must die to know. But my woman's heart is satisfied, although my mind may crave ; For in the gloom of Hades I shall find him with the brave." NOTE. For the story of Aristodemus, who retrieved at Platsea his failure at Thermopylae, see Grote's " History of Greece," chaps. XL., XLII. ; see also "Odyssey," III. 48. THE TALE OF EPITHERSES THE GRAMMARIAN As TOLD IN PLUTARCH'S " DE ORACULORUM DEFECTU." " WELL, I will tell you how Corcyra mourned The great god Pan. But ask me not to tell Whether the gods can die, or why that voice Came to Tamois. I was pious once, And pondered all these things, and freely gave My substance for the sacrifice ; but now Fairer than such dim piety I find Obedience to the reverend law of Right That gods like men must bow to ; and since they Vex not their souls for us, I will not chafe Mine to resolve the riddles they propound. 76 THE TALE OF It was the nineteenth spring Tiberius reigned. Men still rejoiced that Tiber's yellow wave Rolled o'er Sejanus, praying a like hour Might yet be his, who on the Caprean isle Wore out his hideous dotage year by year. Earth had awaked once more, and flocks and herds Browsed with their yeanlings over hill and dale, When I took ship and sailed for Italy ; Laden with Greek books, which the Romans love (You are a Hellene) as they love our wines, Our slaves, our statues, pastimes for an hour, Which only rich and idle can enjoy. Prosperous breezes drove us through the Gulf Of Corinth, past Naupactus with her forts, To the Echinades, where Achelous, King of Greek rivers, pours his sluggish stream Into the main, and builds those islands up Of Acarnanian and ^Etolian soil. And there the wind sank into sleep as deep As the worn slave's whose master is abroad. EPITHERSES THE GRAMMARIAN 77 We furled the sails and trolled the rowers' lay, And smote the yielding billow with our oars. And so we came to Paxos, where we rode At anchor, waiting for a southern gale. The moon was full, and night and silence reigned, But for the water lapping on the keel With languid sway, more restful even than rest. All slumbered, save the watch and Tamois, The Egyptian pilot, when a sudden voice Rang from the rocky island, clear and shrill : * Tamois ! Tamois ! ' But he answered not, Startled and fearing either god or man. Clearer and shriller rang the voice again : ' Tamois ! Tamois ! ' So he made reply, * What wouldest thou with me ? ' and heard the words, * When thou arrivest at Phalacrum, shout, Loud as thy lungs can speak, GREAT PAN IS DEAD.' Then night and silence reigned on all around. 78 THE TALE OF Panic and dim perplexity were ours ; Impiety to scorn divine behest ; Impiety to think a god could die. ' We need,' I said, ' another sign from heaven,' (The morning wind was rising as I spake) ' If, when we see the headland, all our sails Are swollen, we will pass, and let him find Another herald ; but if it be calm Take courage, Tamois, breath is only breath.' And then our skiff went bounding o'er the sea, Measuring all Corcyra's western coast ; Its vales gleamed green betwixt its rugged hills Washed by the same blue ocean that once bore Forlorn Odysseus to his bed of leaves And kind Phaeacian welcome. As I thought Of all our glorious past and Homer's tale, The crisply curling waves had ceased to dance And a calm sea mirrored a cloudless sky. Phalacrum viewed its image in the deep, EPITHERSES THE GRAMMARIAN 79 As Tamois spake, his swart face blanched with fear, His eyes set 'neath his low Egyptian brow, ' Current nor rock, nor shoal nor reef I dread By your Greek isles, but I must fear your gods, And cannot disobey them.' With that word He mounted on the prow and cried aloud, ' GREAT PAN IS DEAD.' Forthwith arose a sound From the Chaonian coast and countless isles, As when the breath of angry Zeus hath stirred The oaks of old Dodona, and his will Is woe to men, or when the wind and sea Uniting swell the dirge of all their dead. So Nature wailed, and heralded a cry Exceeding bitter, as from human lips, Maddened by no mere sorrow, but despair, No mere remorse, but never-dying shame. Great Pan is dead, and we have done the deed. Great Pan is dead, who lived through all the world 8o THE TALE OF And made it fair and fertile with his life. The vulgar tell their vulgar tales of Pan, In twofold nature, for they could not know The god we worship, even that same Power Whom we call Pan, since It is everywhere And kindles all creation with one Soul ; Thought, Passion, Will in man ; in lower forms Mere life that lives, moves and yields other life. But though I saw and heard all this, I doubt, If Pan be such, that Pan could ever die." Thus Epitherses. Then his hearer said, " The wondrous tale you tell confounds me not. There is a town in Syria where they slew, The nineteenth spring Tiberius reigned in Rome, One whose death agony upon the cross Caused earth to quake and rocks to rend in twain, And darkness over all the land at noon ; Although the moon then rode full-orbed in heaven. These signs and wonders were the works of GOD, EPITHERSES THE GRAMMARIAN 81 Wrought in the selfsame hour that yon Greek isles Bewailing Pan, mourned for the death of Christ." Said Epitherses, " I have heard of one Christus or Chrestus, who stirred up the Jews, And suffered death, which Rome awards to all Who cannot bow their necks beneath her yoke. Yea, some affirm that 'mid the city slaves A senseless superstition lingers yet ; They gather in the twilight dawn, and sing Hymns to this Christ. Maybe thou knowest more." In hushed and solemn tones the answer came : " Betray me not, and I will tell thee all. I am His servant and I bear His Name ; For I believe He is the Son of God, Only-begotten, through whom all was made, Who is the Life of all things, and who came, Two-natured, Very God and Very Man, Born of a Virgin, to redeem mankind 82 EPITHERSES THE GRAMMARIAN By His most righteous life and guiltless death ; Whom Pilate crucified, but the third morn He rose from death, ascending into Heaven ; Whence He shall come again to judge the world In righteousness, and every knee shall bow And own Him Lord. Life's shadows lengthen out, But still I pray that I may see one day Dawn deepening into glory not its own, His banner flaming in the eastern heaven, And hear the shout that hails Him earth's true King." NOTE. Vide TACITUS, Annals xv. 44; PLINY, Epist. x. 96 THUCYDIDES, ii. 84, 102. IV SONGS OF LIFE AND DEATH THE LAST LEAF "My days are in the yellow leaf." Byron SERE and solitary leaflet, fluttering on the naked tree, Last of all the clustering foliage that of old held revelry, Wintry winds are moaning dirges, as they sway the weary bough, Driving rains descend to dash thee on the lonely highway now ; Quickly fall and quickly perish, wrinkled relic of the past ! Wherefore should we linger, grieving that the summer cannot last ? 86 THE LAST LEAF I have lived and loved and waited, till my fairest hopes have fled ; Lived till all I loved have left me envying the untroubled dead. I have lived till men contemn me, last of all my name and race ; Lived till they have jostled by me, pressing to a higher place. Generations follow ever, each his petty course to run, While the timeworn world rolls onward, round and round the same old sun. Memories of lost companions mock my eld like spectres dim, While their heedless sons carousing fill the goblet to the brim. Take me to thine aged bosom, Mother Earth from whom I sprung, For their revels cannot vex me when my funeral knell hath rung. . THE LAST LEAF 87 Let the silent ferry bear me to the realm of shades, for there I may find my bitter spirit not alone in its despair. "EARTH TO EARTH" " Mortalem vitam mors quum immortalis ademit " LUCRETIUS, De Rer. Nat., III. 882 THOU art wearied with the stir of strife, our brother, Dimmed are thine eyes and chill thy breast, So we lay thee in the lap of Earth, thy Mother, To slumber in never-ending rest Fear not, 'tis a sleep without a waking ; Shrink not, no dreams can visit thee ; No troubled dawn for thee is breaking ; Lie down, from pain and struggle free. "EARTH TO EARTH" 89 Lie down ; thou canst not hear us weeping, Thou canst not see us as we mourn ; And yet Oh, would thou knewest we are keeping Love that can hope for no return ! Joy still is ours to taste of sorrow ; Garlands we weave upon our brow Only to watch them fade to-morrow. Would we might sleep beside thee now ! No more from bliss to anguish swaying, Thy scale to centred calm hath swung. And, were there gods, 'twere true, that saying, " Whom the gods love will perish young." ESSE EST PERCIPERE' " Before us there is certainly only Nothingness. . . . Nothing- ness which we discern behind all virtue and holiness as their final goal, and which we fear as children fear the dark. We must not even evade it like the Indians, through myths and meaningless words, such as re-absorption in Brahma, or the Nirvana of the Buddhists." SCHOPENHAUER, Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung VOICES and tumult and conflict ; hope and despair and pain, Echoed and yet re-echoed. Oh, where were the mighty gain Did they echo on for ever through worlds with being rife ? Sleep is sweeter than waking, and death is better than life. 90 "ESSE EST PERCIPERE" 91 When Vikings battled for plunder over the fields of ice, They dreamed in the pine-woods' gloom of a heroes' paradise ; Every day there was slaughter, and slain lived again to slay, Every night they feasted and drank the same mead alway. But I, of the world's old age, push from my sated lips A larger draught of life, and although the Future eclipse The Now in its power to please, it can offer nought to me That could satisfy my soul like the hope of Not to Be. I bury my face in sickness, longing with fevered will That the pulses of life may cease, that all be dark and still. 92 "ESSE EST PERCIPERE" Oh, sweet are the valley clods, when, worn with the jar of earth, Nirvana laps us in peace we were roused from at our birth ! Nothing in Nature is lost, but all is combined anew ; Dissolve then this subtle web, from which our consciousness grew. Twilight gathers and deepens, and hushed is the voice of strife ; Sleep is sweeter than waking, and death is better than life. THE MUSIC OF LIFE " Harmoniam Graii quam dicunt." LUCRETIUS A MAIDEN'S pure soul Through the cadence stole Where the linked notes meet In a lyre most sweet ; It wailed with woe and it thrilled with joy, Under her fingers' benign employ. Time the lyre will blast. Can the music last ? Will her soul abide When her flesh hath died ? The lyre is shattered, the music fled, Her bosom is still, her soul is dead. 93 94 THE MUSIC OF LIFE Say, thou heavenly sound, Is thy being bound By the broken lyre Thou didst once inspire ? " Nay, in rolling spheres and in ocean's swell, And in human heart of love I dwell." And the soul replies, " I gazed through those eyes, And I warmed that cheek, When I came to seek For the deathless a dwelling in mortal clod ; Now I go to the realm where I live in God." THE RIVER " From the great deep to the great deep he goes " STREAM full fed by many a brooklet Babbling down to blend with thee, Dancing, rushing, labouring onward To the unfathomed, boundless sea. Mystic forces man ne'er measured, Out of darkness gave thee birth, Past unknown and future hidden, Heaven-descended, born of Earth. Out of ocean Heaven absorbed thee, Earth received thee, sent thee hither, When or how or why we know not, Knowing thou returnest thither. 95 96 THE RIVER Out of darkness into darkness, Blind and borne by blinder Fate, Rolling down a restless river, Child of Man, is this thy state ? If thy past be dim and voiceless And thy future fancy-wrought, Let not either past or future Chafe thy soul with dubious thought. Like the gliding stream be happy In the life to-day possessed ; Flowers rain upon its ripples, Bear them with thee, count thee blest. While they bloom, enjoy them ; scorn them When they fade. Is this enough ? Nay, our life is great and earnest And our conflict wild and rough. THE RIVER 97 Fling away this sensuous dreaming, Rise and battle in the van : Work is waiting for the workers, Do for others what you can. Like the swollen stream that borders All its banks with living green ; This shall drown thy vague complaining For the shadowy in the seen. Wherefore battle ? Wherefore labour ? Yet I am not satisfied. Happy, all its life fulfilling, Sinks the stream in ocean's tide. But my inmost soul is hungry For an individual breath ; Whelmed in a sea of being. Dying, 1 might well fear death. 98 THE RIVER All that earth can offer, leaves me Wailing like an orphan lone ; My unnumbered yearnings claim me, God and Father, for Thine own. Thou hast left, like skilful workman, On Thy noblest work a mark ; * Thou hast linked Divine and human ; Light is ours from out the dark. * One of the most notable sayings of Rene Descartes. SUNSET IN MEMORIAM: BEATRICE T- Died December 2gth, 188 , Aged 27 NAY, leave it uncurtained, mother, that lingering last red ray ; I shall never behold it more, the light of God's beautiful day. And its evening comforts my spirit, that all through its hours hath grieved In grief for my half-lived life, in pangs for the unachieved. But now I am ready, mother ; let the passing bell be rung, For I go to-night, and the way is long, and I am weak and young. 99 ioo SUNSET I need that good Christians should bow them in prayer before God's throne To win me strength for my journey, since I must go alone. The faces that I have looked on, I never shall see again ; The voices whose music I lived in, will speak to my ear in vain. Then tell me once more that He died and lay in the grave for me, And whisper His own sweet words, " I prepare a place for thee " ; That so, when the summons comes, and you watch my ebbing breath, I may trust myself in peace to the Lord of life and death. A LULLABY OF THE LAST SLEEP Ei' KeKoifJiriTai, awO^fferai. ST. JOHN xi. 12 WELL hast thou fought and borne and stood Well hast thou won the strife ; Lie down beneath the holy rood, Loosed of the load of life. Dream of the watch that angels keep, Dream that the night is past. So gently, calmly, deeply sleep The sleep that is thy last. 102 A LULLABY OF THE LAST SLEEP No more shall weariness or pain Conquer thy native fire ; No more shall flesh and blood restrain Thy spirit's high desire. No more shall echoes loud and low Rise till thy heart is riven. From earth's unceasing cry of woe, Reaching a righteous heaven. No more shalt thou behold dismayed Violence, greed and wrong, Or error's myriad pitfalls laid For all the heedless throng. Rivers of peace around thee flow ; Silence and endless rest Refresh thy dull and aching brow, And still thy heaving breast. A LULLABY OF THE LAST SLEEP 103 Body and mind alike repose, All tumult banished hence, When Death with kindly hand doth close Each avenue of sense. Thy spirit, yielded with thy breath, Feeds its undazzled eyes On thy throned Lord, who conquered Death, At home in Paradise. Till in Creation's springtide hour He on thy rest shall shine, And youth renewed in risen power, Abundant life be thine. MUTABLE AND IMMUTABLE Iva /J-eivy ret /urj ffaXevo^eva. HEBREWS xii. 27 FLEETING, fleeting with the flying year, Fleeting, fleeting fast, All that our longing hearts hold dear Youth and strength and the buoyant breast, Love and honour and gain and rest, Till joy itself is past. Fleeting, fleeting with the flying year, Fleeting, fleeting fast, ^.11 that our trembling spirits fear Eld and weakness and dulling care, Loneness, reproach and dark despair, Till pain itself is past. MUTABLE AND IMMUTABLE 105 Neither hath its abiding here ; Hope, then fear, flies fast. Whether of the twain abideth there ? God will rule all, though man rebel, And all He ruleth He loveth well. So joy, not pain, shall last. V TALES OF THE NORTH CORRIE-BHREACAN A LEGEND OF THE WESTERN ISLES OF SCOTLAND FOAMING stream of Corrie-vreckan, Chafing on the reef below, Churning all the ocean hoary, Snatching ships to whelming woe, Swirling round, thy maddened billows In the cauldron of the tide Echo, as they spout and eddy, Loud and clear, and far and wide : 109 i io CORRIE-BHREACAN " 'Mid the whirling wrecks of ages, This for ever standeth sure : Man is strong as woman makes him Woman strong as she is pure ! " Bhreacan, the heir of Lochlin, Reigned in every Danish heart, Maidens shyly praised his prowess, Wished him well in field and mart. For his princely mien was noble, And his princely eye was kind, Mighty was his arm in battle, Dauntless was his royal mind. Quoth the king, " My son, go wooing ; Bring thee home a Danish wife." Bhreacan was free no longer, He had loved, and loved for life. CORRIE-BHREACAN 1 1 1 Not the blue-eyed Dane's fair tresses Braided smooth from neck to knee, But a Highland girl's dark ringlets Bound him, as they fluttered free. Far away swim misty islets That the monarch of the day, Ere he sinks in boundless ocean, Kindles with a parting ray. Fringing Scotia's coast, they render Homage to a haughty lord, Father of the sweetest maiden Ardent lover e'er adored. With the daring Dane he bargained : " Ere she doff her snood for thee, Thou must anchor in the Whirlpool, Till the days and nights are three." ii2 CORRIE-BHREAC AN Denmark's sages met in council ; Listened to the Prince's tale : " I will win my love or perish ; Tell me how I may prevail ! " " Mighty ropes must hold the galley, One for every day of test ; Hemp the first, of wool the second, While the third, the last and best, " Must be woven from the tresses Of the wearers of the snood ; Then thou droppest anchor safely, Through the might of maidenhood." Bhreacan, the young and dauntless, Had the love of Danish men ; Danish maids, who shyly praised him, Proved their deep devotion then. CORRIE-BHREACAN 113 For their long fair locks they gave him, Braided smooth from neck to knee ; Then his galley, casting anchor, Rode upon the raging sea. Shuddering like a hunted creature, She endured the billows' dash, Though the hempen cable yielded, Sundering in a sudden crash. i When the second day was dawning, Burst the woollen rope in twain ; But the tumult of the current Lashed the silky cord in vain. Bhreacan had well-nigh won her Through the might of maidenhood ; When the third day drew to evening, Still he faced the boiling flood. 1 14 CORRIE-BHREACAN Then the striving waves discovered One weak strand in all its length : Feeblest link in any cable Is the measure of its strength. One fair girl who shore her tresses Falsely bore a stainless name, And relentless Corrie-vreckan Triumphed in her hidden shame. Shattered was the trembling safeguard Reeled the ship in one fierce shock, Then the hungry waters closing Sucked her to the fatal rock. Watched the noble Highland maiden, Till the Viking's faithful hound Dragged him from the waves, and laid him Dead beside her on the ground. CORRIE-BHREACAN 1 1 5 Plunging in again, he perished : Then they piled his master's grave. So she wore her snood for ever, Finding none so true and brave. Foaming stream of Corrie-vreckan, Awful with a hero's doom, Still thy rushing ferment echoes, When the autumnal tempests boom : " All our lives are linked together, Like the Danish damsels' hair ; To himself none liveth others In his life or death must share." THE PASSING OF SCYLD SCYLD is dead : the son of Scef hath entered on the fatal way ; Sorrow fills the hearts of all the warlike Danes who owned his sway. Bear him, comrades, ye who shared his deeds and sat around his hearth, Bear him on by naked heath and tangled holt and well-tilled garth. Never may we heap the pyre with helm and shield, and lay thereon Our loved lord, and light the bale-fire, so that men when he is gone, 116 THE PASSING OF SCYLD 117 Faring o'er the paths of ocean, see his mound upon the hill, Call to mind his doughty doings, praise his match- less valour still. Never can we build his barrow, tear by tear and stone by stone, For he willed to take his journey to the other land alone. We have borne him from his mead-hall ; nevermore shall antlered roof Echo to his footstep, never tremble to the trampling hoof, As he rides abroad to scatter all the scathers of our race. March we to the sandy sea-brim, to the fate- appointed place. Scyld is dead : the son of Scef hath given up this world for ever ; But the Scyldings live, and nothing can his name from Scyldings sever. u8 THE PASSING OF SCYLD Sixty years ago he came to Denmark, none can tell us whence ; Sixty years have passed, and whither goeth now our great defence ? Sixty years ago the spoiler ravaged all our prince- less land ; Sixty years have passed, and now in health and wealth and strength we stand. Wisest Hunferth, with the snows of eighty winters on thy brow, i Thou canst tell us all the story, when the champion came and how. " Watchers on the cliff were guarding Scedeland from treacherous foe Till the candle of the world was kindled, and its golden glow Spread o'er hill and dale and forest ; birds began their morning hymn As the rising sun discovered, partly bright and partly dim, THE PASSING OF SCYLD 119 Foamy-necked and birdlike flying o'er the flood, a little skiff. Treasure in its bosom glistened, when it nestled 'neath the cliff : Writhen gold, and jewelled goblets shining like the stars of heaven, Necklaces for comely maidens, rings to chosen heroes given, Caskets brought from distant regions, heirloom swords of tempered blade, Burnished coats of mail whose meshes Weland Smith's own fingers made. By the mast, amid the treasure, lay a rosy child asleep, All alone, a dimpled creature, cradled in the rock- ing deep. Grew to manhood's prime this Scefing (he had gained the mystic name, Since we took him from the ship's deep bosom), and he overcame 120 THE PASSING OF SCYLD Hostile bands of many nations, who had made our land their prey. Hail we him, great-hearted war-wolf, as our chief, and all obey Far and wide, and bring their tribute, and he pays us for our toil, Dealing from the royal gift-stool choicest treasure of the spoil. So we do him service gladly, thronging round our noble king, While the glee-beams at the banquet with the Scefing's praises ring." Scyld is dead : the son of Scef hath chosen him the light of God ; So we bring him to the shore that first his infant footsteps trod. Waiteth there the lofty floater, with its ringed and twisted prow, Outward bound and eager swaying on the curling breakers now. THE PASSING OF SCYLD 121 'Tis the earl's enchanted ferry (never saw I fairer skiff) ; Treasure in its bosom glistens as it nestles 'neath the cliff : Writhen gold, and jewelled goblets shining like the stars of heaven, Necklaces for comely maidens, rings to chosen heroes given, Caskets brought from distant regions, heirloom swords of tempered blade, Burnished coats of mail whose meshes Weland Smith's own fingers made. By the mast, amid the treasure, place our dear and aged lord ; Lacks not one of all the number that whilom the vessel stored. O'er the cup of waves he journeys, in the keeping of the flood ; Set the gilded banner by him, groaning in your mournful mood. 122 THE PASSING OF SCYLD Let the shallow water waft him where the deep sea-billows dance ; Let the swan-road lead him on to ocean's measure- less expanse. Sixty years ago, athwart the dawn-lit mere his bark drew nigh ; Sixty years have passed, and now he sails beneath the evening sky ; Sixty years ago by Heaven this man was granted to our prayer ; Sixty years have passed, and he departeth into God's own care. Scyld is dead : the son of Scef hath chosen the eternal gain ; Wan beneath the welkin stalking, Night hath shadowed all the plain. Who receives that freight, or where that vessel anchors, none can tell ; Whence and whither both are hidden ; but for each, we know full well, THE PASSING OF SCYLD 123 Better than a life of shame is death, which none may hope to flee. Sons of men, who dwell on earth, your narrow couch made ready, see. When the feast of life is finished, ye will sleep ; and it is best That ye work while yet ye may, and pass from worthy deeds to rest. NOTE. See " Beowulf," lines 1-52 ; 650-653 ; 1003-1009 ; 1192-1197; 1387-1390; 1802-1805; 2803-2809; 3I38-3H3; 3158-3164, etc., etc. I have translated literally many of its characteristic periphrases, and have reproduced the religious in- consistency due to its being a heathen saga, retouched by a Christian editor. VI SONGS OF DEED AND DARING THE KING OVER THE WATER 1746 HERE'S to the King that we longed for, Sprung of our own royal race ; Our fathers followed his fathers ; Ours be not rebels' disgrace. Southrons may bow to usurpers, Dane, Norman, German, in turn ; Hearts of his hunted adherents Still for our sovereign yearn. 128 THE KING OVER THE WATER Here's to the King that we fought for, Sweeping the hireling swords Over our marches, and chasing Them home to their panic-struck lords. Bannockburn firing our courage, Tramped we through counties that quailed ; Where were the men who should rally Till Charlie in England prevailed ? Here's to the King that we bled for, Charging afresh o'er the killed, Mown by the cowardly cannon, Drenching the soil we had tilled With blood of the staunchest and boldest Who ever drew clay more, to flout Dastardly, alien princeling, Smarting from Fontenoy's rout. THE KING OVER THE WATER 129 Here's to the King we are true to ! Stained with his grandfather's blood, Driving his father to exile, Pouring out gold in a flood, Tempt they to basest of treasons, Sale of his heir to our foes ? Breathes not a Scot who could barter The Prince, or his refuge disclose. Here's to the Cause we will live for, Cause dearer still than the King. Witness to Loyalty unswerving On through the ages shall ring. Tyrants may ravage our homesteads, Rob us of garb and of name ; While we are leal men and brave men Glory is ours, theirs is shame. THE VOYAGE OF LIFE THE stream is smooth, the wind is fair, Our little boat is fleet ; My comrades, we are tired of toil And ease is passing sweet : Then hoist the sail, fling by the oar, For gaily we will dream While wind is warm and sun is kind, Drifting adown the stream. The stream is smooth, the wind is fair- Stay ! Hark ! A rumbling roar, The waters race towards the rocks, And down the gully pour. THE VOYAGE OF LIFE 131 Then ply the oar, and seize the helm, See how the foam-clouds gleam ! Haste ! haste ! and put the skiff about, And row against the stream. Thus swiftly down the stream of Time Our heedless lives are borne ; We fly from toil, and pain is shunned And duty laughed to scorn. The stream is smooth and life is short, Then gaily let us dream ; Be merry while we can, my boys, And travel with the stream. 'Tis easy drifting down the stream, Till breakers catch the craft ; But only they will reach the port Who labour fore and aft. 132 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE Then ply the oar of stern resolve That Right shall be supreme To rule our days. So help us God To pull against the stream ! VII TALES OF TO-DAY THE SHEPHERD'S SUMMONS A TRUE STORY RELATED BY ONE OF THE CLERGY OF A WELL-KNOWN ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH IN LONDON AH ! ye who do the business of the world Know when and where ye work from day to day ; But we, whom Holy Church hath given cure Of her baptized children, oft are called At times fixed by a wiser will than ours To seek the lost sheep in the wilderness. Once, as I waited for my penitents, Charged with the message of forgiving love The last sweet canticle had soared to Heaven, The altar lights burned low there came to me 135 136 THE SHEPHERD'S SUMMONS A woman, not to kneel unseen and pour Confession, but to stand with summons clear : " Your aid is sorely needed in a place Where lies a young man now at point of death. Come with me." And I answered, " In an hour ; Till then my appointed ministry is here." Her face was shadowed by her anxious thoughts, Her clasped hands pleaded with her pleading voice : " An hour ; and all the life to come at stake ! Haste, while you yet may guide his soul to God In penitence and faith. The time is short." And so she led me forth into the town, Up one street, down another, on and on ; And left me at the threshold of a house, Questioning her who opened unto me. I had been summoned to a dying man, But youth and health were his who here abode. Yet, strangely thither by a stranger led, I lingered. " Tell your master that a priest Would fain speak with him on a weighty theme." THE SHEPHERD'S SUMMONS 137 He gave me friendly greeting, and I urged Christ's claim on all who bear His Holy Name, On one who once had sought the means of grace At my own hands ; but now for two whole years Our worship had not wafted up his prayer, So in the uncultured garden of that heart Rank weeds of worldliness had grown apace. Still, echoing the reproachful voice within, My words found entrance ; and he owned his fault, And thanked me that I cared for his true weal. He could not tell me whence my summons came. In vain I limned that gentle woman's face In halting speech ; till, as I took my leave, I saw it, imaged by the painter's art And framed in pearls. " Stay, this is she indeed, Your angel." " Tis my mother you behold. Ten years ago God took her saintly soul, Or I had been a better Christian now. Can her love watch, stronger than death, o'er me ? 138 THE SHEPHERD'S SUMMONS At the tenth hour to-morrow I will come, And make confession of my erring past." My heart was full, I blessed him and withdrew, Trusting his word so utterly that when The tenth hour passed, and I was still alone, I sought the unfolded sheep a second time. The house was darkened. He was slumbering still ; Not to awaken till the Judgment Day. Now take my tale, and spin your theories. But let me still believe that she who came From out the tomb nay, rather from the light Where God's dear saints pray for us had been charged, Through me, to seek one wanderer nigh to death, By the Great Shepherd, Who once gave His life For all the flock upon that bitter Cross. EVORA THRICE welcome ! With the holy Eastertide, And with the earliest smile of tardy spring, Thou comest, and I know how gladly, home. But thou canst never know with what goodwill My heart keeps holiday at thy return, My own, my all, my daughter Evora. Thrice welcome, for thy gentle childhood's sake, And for thy dawning womanhood, which finds Thee all thou wert and even more to me, Now that the wandering sunshine of thy hair Lies in a rope above thy broad white brow. Thou standest 'mid the sprouting lilac trees, Thy fresh cheek kindled with the year's first warmth, 139 140 EVORA Thy mantle fluttered by caressing winds, Even as she stood there, seventeen years ago, Who passed into the silence, leaving me Deaf to the music of life's joy henceforth. For her sake, welcome ! With thy mother's form, Thy mother's stature and thy mother's voice ; Now thou art thus, she is not wholly dead. She stood there smiling (thou hast her own smile), My fair betrothed, whose wedding-day drew near. But I had come to her with heavy news Of sudden summons to the seat of war, Where Britain's outposts waged a doubtful strife. " I dare not claim thee for the dull suspense That strains the patience of the soldier's wife." " Think'st thou," she asked, " the circlet of pure gold Could chain thy distant peril to my thoughts More than this ruby's glow, this diamond's flash, That sealed the vows which knit us soul to soul ? " EVORA 141 " I dare not bring thee home a partner maimed, Whose helplessness might shadow all thy life." " Give me the right to go and tend thee there. Steel wounds not souls, and mars not therefore love," She answered, though she quivered as she spake. " But steel may winnow out the deathless soul From mortal frame, wherein we live and love ; And Death hath many a dart that is not steel, Where warriors suffer hardship in strange lands." " My life must needs be widowed if thou fall, Then let me mourn as one who bears thy name." So we were joined and straightway sundered, ere The flowers that made our bridal gay were dead. Here as we parted that bright summer morn We plucked, each for the other, one red rose From yon south wall. I wore my fragrant bloom, 142 EVORA As dim devotion wears an amulet, O'er sea and camp and battle-field, and still Its faded petals cluster on their stem. She laid hers in her bosom. As we kissed Once more, I murmured, " 'Twill not be for long At Eastertide we surely meet again, If God preserve me." So I left her there ; Yet turning saw the leaflets of her rose Shower like rain upon her snowy robe. The story of that winter hath been told Elsewhere. There were who fought and died un praised, There were who fought and lived and earned renown, Till on a day the foe who seemed so strong Fell utterly, and all the strife had end. Then I outstript the news of my return, And gained the village late on Easter Eve ; Too late to cross the shadow-fretted fields EVORA 143 Under the glimmering moon and rouse the Hall. " On Easter Day," I said, " we meet again." But meanwhile sleep fled from my hungry eyes, And daybreak led me forth and drew me on, Rapt by the deep expectancy that stills Hope, longing, love, vague fear, and whirling thought. Scared at my step, one leveret dashed the dew From yonder thicket, one melodious thrush Prevented with her praise the myriad bells That called men to adore the Risen Lord. All else was hushed, and I was still drawn on, On to her open window by the lawn. I entered, as we enter God's own house, And saw her sleeping in the pearly light, And smiling as she slept ; her sunny hair Strewn on the pillow like an aureole. Her bosom seemed to heave, as if her dreams Had lifted sin and sorrow from her soul 144 EVORA And borne it one brief hour to Paradise ; And all the room was sweet with daffodils. Yet something held me from her, and I stood, How long I know not, gazing on her face, And thanking God she was so passing fair. " She will behold and greet me when she wakes, Till morn is here I will not mar her rest." But as the sunbeams shot into the room Strange trembling came upon me, and my soul Fainted to hear her voice. When would the day Unseal her lips ? So reverently I bowed O'er my beloved, and kissed an icy cheek. I know no more, but that in this cold touch I died to all, as all was dead to me, All save thine orphaned wail, my Evora. The daily turmoil of the world passed by Unheeded and unheeding for a space, Till I was summoned to my post again. EVORA 145 Then comrades told me time would heal my wound, And when I answered, " I have lived my life," They gave me ampler pity than they give To him who treads a solitary path From dawn to eve ; or him who links his life To one who cannot yield him love for love ; Or him who woos ideal womanhood, And, wedded, learns to call it but a dream. The world accounts these happy when they die With earth's best bliss untasted, life not lived. But what are years of common, painless days Of fame and ease, weighed with a single hour Wherein one human soul entirely fair Hath crowned our life's ideal with its love? My life is lived, and happier far is he Who found and lost, than he who never finds. The past is sweet, the future glows with hope ; For she will see and know me when she wakes, And we shall meet on Christ's great Easter Day. 10 "TILL DEATH US DO PART' " Despairing of no man." ST. LUKE vi. 35, R.V. "THIS convict's wife is free to go and to share with him his lot, Or to stay behind and wed again, as if the condemned were not" My heart-throbs are like the steps of a fiend, saying with mocking voice, "Faithless wife or felon's wife, go, make thine awful choice." Echoes out of the days that are fled, echoes of children at play, Come thronging across my soul, " O Caspar, you're bad. I will go away, "TILL DEATH US DO PART" 147 And marry Eugene when I'm old enough, and not be your little wife." Eugene, upright like a rock at sea, lived his un- swerving life ; Caspar was like the wave that smiles and plays in the summer breeze, Pleased with all that could pleasure afford, and eager ever to please. I gave a hand to each, as we roamed down the blossomed paths of spring, My flitting childish fancy to each dear comrade in turn did cling. To Eugene I went in my troubles, and leaned on his strength for aid, And valued his worth evermore, though sometimes it made me afraid. With Caspar I laughed in my glee, until from his light control Some thwarted passion rushed into tempest and darkened his soul. 148 "TILL DEATH US DO PART" Swiftly come, it was swiftly gone ; and then he would rue, not the storm, But the check to our mirth and his, through the storm-cloud's hideous form. Years fled. Their boyish trebles passed into deep tones of the man ; My childhood's bud was bursting out, and neigh- bours were prompt to plan Which should be first to pluck the petal that drank the morning dew. Not Eugene : his mien was changed, and quiet and distant he grew : He loved so deeply, he held his hand, lest he should chance to spill First dew from a cup that second dew could never so sweetly fill. But Gaspar sought me pleading : " Oh, would thou wert ever at my side ! As brother and sister our paths diverge, then come and be my bride." "TILL DEATH US DO PART" 149 I knew not my heart, nor his, nor the world ; I could not answer " Yes." Then came the eager question again, and then the unguarded guess, " 'Tis Eugene thou lov'st." And then the girlish pique and flippant " No : I shall not be good enough for him, however good I grow." Yet he had made me dumb, with thought of good- ness without a taint. Said Caspar, " O far too good for me, who do not profess to be saint, Whose heedless steps will lead me one day un- willing to some dread brink ! Beloved, thou canst save me, and only thou. Save me, nor let me sink ! Say, wilt thou cling to the strong and make him glory more in his strength, Or comfort the weak, who wanders else, on the toilsome journey's length ? " ISO "TILL DEATH US DO PART" Then the pitiful heart stirred in me, robbing of will to withstand, Made me woman ere he was maw, and so I gave him my hand. That was May, and this is dull December in an icy blast. Stretched between them lay a summer-tide of hope that could not last. Not a wind to twist the bright-hued arras to the other side Where the tangles gather, where the devious stitches straggle wide. So my happiness in him drowned thought of doing good to him ; His the passions lulled, and his the humour un- deformed by whim. Heavenly Christ ! Thou saidst man's life consisteth not in things possest ; Rather, hew we out short cuts to death, and life from living wrest, "TILL DEATH US DO PART" 151 While we toiling gather, while we vainly chase the mocking pelf, That returneth nevermore when wings it taketh to itself. Caspar scattered gold uncounted ; made first reckoning, when alarmed, With a wily traitor who beneath a gala dress went armed. " As a friend, I counsel." " Then I take advantage of thee, friend." So thro' meanest shifts and doublings, plunged in darkness to the end, End when he who thought to cozen, found himself the only dupe. " Ha, thou art silenced, O most cunning, O most simple of our troop ! " " Deed, not word, shall answer." This the Southern blood leapt up and roared, And a grinning devil set a ready knife upon the board. 152 "TILL DEATH US DO PART" I was going home to greet him, in my still un- broken dream, When a garrulous neighbour met me with an all- absorbing theme : How a newly welcomed traveller (little knew she whom she told) Proved himself the kindest friend to sick and poor, to young and old ; He had fondly loved a girl whom he could never hope to gain ; So he went to distant regions, lest perchance she suffer pain Knowing how he loved her. " Yet to me at least 'tis clear he knows, Had he sought her, she had found him worthier than the one she chose." Worthier. Yes, Eugene ; and yet more blessed has it been to give To his need in Love's devotion than to hear thee say " Receive." "TILL DEATH US DO PART" 153 Then my thoughts were sundered by the watchdog as he sprang to greet Steps that in the empty homestead news of " Wilful murder " meet. Humbled that the task I thought achieved had never been begun, Wounded that I knew not aught of all that he had planned and done, Mad with anguish, blindly then I rushed away, the chain's whole length, Which in happier days I felt not, save to triumph in its strength ; Now it well nigh strangled, as the blank and miserable IS Stood beside the WAS the MAY BE, since the life, no longer his God ! is sin so far away that any child of man should look As I looked upon that sinner, whom for weal or woe I took ? 154 "TILL DEATH US DO PART" I relented not, until I heard the Law's stern voice that said : " Yes, his life is forfeit ; he ere long is numbered with the dead." Then one heartfelt cry went up, " God, spare him ! " And God hears the prayer ; Death not yet, but death in life, where far away he may outwear, Outcast 'mid the outcasts, seasons measured by a convict's toil, While his doom, by law of God and man, unknits the marriage coil. Guiltless, I may break the union which availed him not. Alone Be the doer of the deed, saith Justice, by the deed undone. As the tree falls, so it lies. But why should my fresh foliage be Trampled in the mire because it clings about the fallen tree ? "TILL DEATH US DO PART" 155 As it falls it lies, saith man. But what saith God in Heaven above? " Of that fallen tree go make Me carvings for the place I love ; Carvings that may stir devotion where, in holy mysteries, Faithful people kneel to thank Me for My grace to such as these." Fallen, lost, and ruined. Thou, who cam'st to seek and diedst to save, In Thy love which hopeth all things, what are we that we should grave This on tombstones none can roll away, entombing hopes of men ? Since Thou bidst us share Thy work by giving, as Thou gavest then, Not our words or alms, but even ourselves, that we may witness bear Unto God's large pity, ever mightiest in man's despair ; 156 "TILL DEATH US DO PART As the faithful moon that telleth of a glorious, changeless sun, Shedding forth the light she borrows when his course unseen is run. Hoping for this life, I gave ; and once upon Thine altar laid, Hoping for a life beyond for him, I leave the debt once paid At God's feet. I take the shame and exile, hearkening to His voice ; Faithful wife and felon's wife ! So have I made my blessed choice. NOTE. The alternative described was actually, a few years since, put before a wife by a French court of law, who had given a murderer the benefit of " extenuating circumstances." MY MIDNIGHT RIDE ON THE MOOR THIS is the children's hour. Ye gather round As day's brief light dies down ere lamps are lit And fire-glows dance upon the glimmering walls, To hear the old, new tale of what befel Once, when I rode at night across the moor. Picture me then a lad, but man enough To love your gentle mother more than life. Not yet I ventured whisper of my love, Doubt left me hope that certainty might quench. I was the stoutest lad the village held, And owned the stoutest horse ; so could not choose But go to seek the far-famed leech for her 158 MY MIDNIGHT RIDE Whom all the sorrowful had called their friend, Whom all the poor had blessed for twenty years, Holden of grievous sickness now she lay, Racked by fierce pains that baffled all the lore The wisest woman in the vale had gleaned. (Women were ever wise in healing arts.) But in the city dwelt the deftest hand, The ablest brain, that ever gave their skill To lessen human groans ; and two short hours Might bring him in the morning to her side, Drawn by the tireless steed with lungs of iron That visited our village once a day, Could one give news at sunrise of her need. Evening drew on as I stroked Chieftain's neck, Telling him why and whither we must wend, And saddling him as I was wont to do. So forth we paced beside the summer sea, Rippling with joy beneath the sinking sun. The golden clouds that kissed its laughing waves ON THE MOOR 159 Were not so golden as my love's young dreams : Eventide's gentleness so wrought on me That bounding hope sped with the fleetest barque, And I could count her tenderest smile my own. But as we turned away from the bright bay Inland and eastward, rolling purple clouds Dappled the sky. I asked myself again, " Why should the sweetest maid in all the world Listen to me, when every man that breathes Were fain to do her homage ? " Then I chafed That Chieftain's trot was blithe, till one faint star Swam in the austere blue, and hid herself, Like damsel coy, behind a mantling cloud. When she stole forth upon the darkening heaven My comfort came. Better to feed the soul With the far beauty of a lamp above, Than grasp a rushlight honoured by my use ! Happiest he that wins, but happier they, The few that loved, than all that never knew. 160 MY MIDNIGHT RIDE Yet my heart answered to the plaintive note Sweeping along the tapering poles that run Wirebound beside the road, and seem to grieve For their lone nakedness, in sight of stems Bowed by a quivering benison of leaves. Day hears not such JEolian song as this, Throbbing upon a silence only stirred By Chieftain's speeding hoofs, and that sea- mew Who wails benighted far inland ; I see Its wings flash past me in the strange star- light, Its cry hath echoes of a human woe. Truly creation mourns with mourning man. Mine is the only human heart that beats On all this desolate land the plough contemns, This moor where Autumn dons his royal robes, Gold gorse and purple heather, mile on mile, And Winter's dazzling raiment is unrent From week to week upon the billowy meads. ON THE MOOR 161 Not so. O God, that was a woman's shriek ! That dim white fluttering is no sea-bird's wing, But robe of anguished dame who succour needs. Now, by my loyal love to one fair maid, All that an honest man may do, I dare ! Imagination mocks me nought is here 'Twas but the pitiful lone bird again. The dizzy stars dance in a rising haze. Brave Chieftain flags. At midnight we must halt I know a hollow where a streamlet sings And makes a pleasant greenness, canopied By murmuring trees. Here half our task is done. Sleep drowns me in a moment as I sit. And in my sleep I dream my love says " Nay," And shrieking flees across the shadowy moor. Trembling I wake. That shriek hath pierced beyond The inner sense of which our dreams make sport. ii 162 MY MIDNIGHT RIDE For as I whistle Chieftain to my side (He ne'er has harsher halter than my voice), I find him near, and hungry for caress, Thrusting a trembling face into my hand. And as I draw the girth we hear once more That weird lament and see that waving robe. He plunges fear-struck ; and I search afresh For the lorn wanderer, lavishing dear time, Till the long road calls me to hasten on. Mounting, I hear the voice beside my ear, And know that she who cries is past my aid, If not beyond God's mercy otherwhere. Can I ride many a mile across the moor With only that lost soul for company ? My memory tells me of an inn that gives Welcome of light and warmth and friendly voice Half a mile hence, where I might wait for day. And my desire goes out towards that inn, Fleeing a doubtful wraith, and leaving thus ON THE MOOR 163 A living woman to the undoubtful chance Of longer anguish and too tardy aid. Cowardice, avaunt ! For duty's path ne'er led To evil, though it often leads to pain. So, urging Chieftain through the gathering gloom, Past stunted trees waving deformed arms, Scourged by the harsh night wind, I meet wild rain, Chill blast, and films of an unearthly garb Flapping upon my face, and fiendish cries, Dying in gibbering laughter, ring around. Can I dare demons on a haunted moor ? That by-path still leads quickly to the inn, Welcome of light and warmth and friendly voice. My blood stands still. Yet we unswerving strike Down the defile that outworks the wide heath. O'erhanging trees cling to its rocky sides Which echo jingling rein and speeding hoof, As anvil hammer ; all the straight white road, 164 MY MIDNIGHT RIDE Is swallowed up in blackness ; horrors press Upon my brain ; though seeing nought, I close My eyes, as a scared child shuts out his fear, Counting the footfalls, like one stunned from thought. * Till through my eyelids pierces sudden light. Soft breezes fan me. I behold, and lo, A sheet of sunshine fallen upon the world. Beyond that valley, day from night hath sprung, And we have issued from the fearsome gloom On morn's still radiance and the mounting lark. The Minster bell floats o'er the dewy fields, Summoning thus the newly-wakened town , To hallow a new week with Eucharist. Well, children, I have told my lingering tale, Living that night once more as I have told. And now you ask me how my errand sped. Came he in time ? And did she live ? One hour Ago she took you in her kindly arms, ON THE MOOR 165 Garnering your story of the morning school. For that long combat with my coward heart Gave me ere long a mother and a wife. The maid I loved had this response for me, " Can I say ' Nay ' to hjm who dared the moor, With all its legends, for that dearest life ? Save for thy faith, I had been motherless." And so her children call me father now. What was the woful voice ? That question seeks An answer yet. Wind music, or a bird, Delusion, or a dream, or living soul, Or ghost uncomforted, or tempting fiend ? I know not. I have told you what I know. But this I learned upon that awful night : We wrestle not with flesh and blood alone. What way the wicked hosts maintain their war Is mystery ; but howsoe'er they fight, Their Conqueror is with us. I had fled, Or flung away my reason on the moor, 166 MY MIDNIGHT RIDE Had not God heard my cry, and compassed me. Perchance, I prayed 'gainst harms that are not harms, That only borrow strength from our weak hearts ; Perchance, we heedless move 'mid greater harms ; God only knoweth what the darkness hides, But light dwells with our Keeper evermore. VIII TWO VISIONS DOLCE FAR NIENTE WHIRR the swift clacking wheels above, around, Morning and noonday and evening whirled By the grim black engine with snorting sound. In vain is the sunlight shed o'er the world ; 'Thwart that window the smoke hath always curled ; And light would reveal, could it pierce the gloom, Squalor and dust in that long, hot room. Drive the senseless, ceaseless, resistless wheels Dull gliding bands to and fro in the din, Till to wan-cheeked children the whole room reels God placed them His beautiful world within ; Man must have workers his money to win ; For living they labour till life is lost. But is it worth earning at such a cost ? % 169 i;o DOLCE FAR NIENTE From the toil, the heat, and the din I fled, Saw the fading heavens, crimson and grey ; The sunshine is dying, the day is dead. Too soon hast thou left us, delightsome day, Too soon is our youth all fleeting away. Oh ! tarry a little longer, sweet light. I fear the long hush of the chilly night. Through gathering gloom I came down the hill, And lay in the vale where the river rolled. Dim in its darkening depths and still The tall trees their nodding tops behold. A faery boat with a rudder of gold I saw, to a rugged trunk updrawn ; I loosed it, and hastened to follow dawn. Gently the waters bore me along, Far over my head tree twined him with tree, Till I heard the distant unceasing song, DOLCE FAR NIENTE 171 The song of the boundless exultant sea. I floated away on the ocean free, Into the jewelled and wavering track Where the fleecy clouds from the moon rolled back. Then, swift as a thought or a bird's smooth wing, Darted the boat through the path of light ; Waves at her prow a long lullaby sing, And hush me to sleep in the moonbeams white, As a bird is hushed by approaching night. Over my eyelids stole sleep's soft balm, And thought drifted into a dreamless calm. Her keel grated harsh on the shore propelled, And I dreamed of a rending mountain grand ; Till a ringing laugh all my dream dispelled, And I saw the nymphs of a strange new land Gleefully sport on the tawny sand, Their ankles dewed by the circling sweep Of the pearl-crowned waves that towards them creep. 172 DOLCE FAR NIENTE They led me away to a shadowy nook, Where the air was scented with orange bloom. I dabbled my feet in a rippling brook, They clad me in curious work of the loom, Anointing my forehead with rich perfume ; Then a twisted garland of white and blue Faery flowers on my neck they threw. Gaily we roamed down a mossy glade Till we came to a gently rising ground, And beheld a wide cool lawn displayed, By tremulous birches belted round ; There a banquet awaiting us we found, And white-armed women, who bending bore Dark water, and treasure of autumn's store. The cloven pomegranate with ruby glow On a crystal platter they gave me, and wine Bubbling and sparkling they caused to flow DOLCE FAR NIENTE 173 From a dewy goblet, and paused to twine (While they bade me still on the grass recline) Its silver margin with roses red, And luscious grapes from the cluster shed. We feasted and hearkened still to the notes Of the throstle and bullfinch, who all the day Poured torrents of song from their quivering throats. Then a harp and a shining crown of bay, To rejoice our hearts with a gladsome lay, Were borne by a child with guileless eyes To a dark-haired dame in a queenly guise. Then she 'gan sing of that region blest Where flowers never fade, where fruits never fail, Where sunset glow cannot die in the west Ere the car of Dawn in the east prevail, And the lark responds to the nightingale ; Where earth is as fair as the heaven above, No strife for its peace, no tears in its love. 174 DOLCE FAR NIENTE So they sang by turns. When the final chord Was struck, all the maidens rising flung To each sweet singer a leafy reward. They gave me the harp, and my heart's joy strung Into music its strings, though I ne'er had sung. And then they sprang up in their glee and beat The tender turf with their glancing feet. Thus I joyed with careless unbounded joy, While the merry days all unheeded roll ; Till all my delight began to cloy, And the melting grape and the flower-crowned bowl Nor refreshed my lips nor aroused my soul ; ! And even the sonorous harp's sweet strain Rang on in my ears with a sad refrain. Oh, would that a withered leaf might fall From the waving trees, or a sullen cloud O'er the still blue heaven would drag its pall ! DOLCE FAR NIENTE 175 Or that I unthinking might laugh aloud With the soulless nymphs who about me crowd ! Then into the deepest forest I rushed Where 'neath tangled osiers a fountain gushed. There the wind crept murmuring through the boughs Whispering soft, " We can welcome morn And spring when from winter and night they rouse ; Oh, sunset is sweet to the labour-worn ! " And the birds replied from the hoary thorn, " Know the links of love are welded fast By the burdens shared and the trials passed." The grasshopper's " tettix " said in my ear, *' 'Tis for us who feed on the diamond dew, Idly to chirrup the livelong year, But work and its guerdon are given to you. Then go, to your honoured lot be true." 176 DOLCE FAR NIENTE While the dove in her secret recess alone For a wailing and weary world made moan. Oh, to find my magic bark and fly Back to the world of work again ! I sank in the sands they were ankle-high And the boat was drifting out on the main, And the sky grew dark in a sudden rain. With a cry, on the river's bank I woke To hail the dark night and the city's smoke. AMARANTH " The idle singer of an empty day." ON through the greatening city's gloomy streets A Poet wandered ; round him roared and rolled The ever-surging tide of human life. Dim eyes met his from out the hurrying throng, Hungry for higher blessing than they found I' th' divers gains so eagerly pursued, Which, like the mocking flame across the fen, Fled as they followed, luring ever on Through false morass to darkness and to death. Sunk eyes met his of those who wrestled once With fierce temptation, but were thrown, and now The beast glares in a face once marked for God. 177 12 178 AMARANTH And faded women moved with weary feet, Their souls so bowed by nameless, countless cares They could not cast a glance to Heaven, a thought On aught beyond their daily, dreary round ; While little children at the corners swarmed, Strewn like soiled blossoms from a spring-clad tree. The Poet passed them by, and saw them not, For all his soul was in his song, and all His song was of the past ; so on he roamed, Weaving a wreath of asphodel and thyme And hyacinth to crown his brows, and struck His lightly-twanging lyre } and gaily sang Of the innumerous laugh of deathless gods, Of white-armed nymphs at sport beneath the trees, Of shepherds piping to their flocks, when yet The world was young and men were full of mirth ; He sang how knights of yore with vizor closed Laid lance in rest to win themselves renown ; How ladies fair in cauls of fretted gold AMARANTH 179 And ermined robes strolled on the castle leads, To view their prowess and award the meed ; In softer key he sang of sunny scenes In Italy, of gliding gondolas, Where dark -eyed dames lapt up in lanquid ease Drew jewelled fingers through the waveless tide. Most sweet, and all unheeded was the strain ; No toil-worn brow relaxed ; but hastening on, They marvelled on the lightness of his lay. Two brawling, bare-armed women barred his road ; A child clung quivering to the skirts of one, Which, as he passed, fell on its face and sobbed, And scattered all the cadence of a rime Chanted beneath a moonlit balcony. And then the Singer cried, " O jealous Fate, To cast me on a world that has no room For poets, that is sordid, deaf, and cold, With downcast gaze and narrowing heart ; while I Have worshipped all the beautiful in vain ! i8o AMARANTH Ah ! times there were when round the ringing harp Of the aged minstrel all the city thronged, And wept and laughed to hear the tale he told. And dimmer times there were when Orpheus drew The lion from his prey, the tardy kine From the meadow, and the pigeon from her mate, And tamed the hearts of tigers with his song. Such times are o'er ; farewell then, haunts of men, For I will hence to Nature's solitude." He sought the covert of the clustered copse ; Where wind-swept branches bowed, like gracious dames, Sweet greeting, and with wavering arms flung down Long shadows flecked with light across the way. There all was still, save when a crumpled leaf Fell fluttering, or athwart the sunshine flashed A frightened leveret wooing deeper shade. AMARANTH 181 And there he sang how upon summer eves The vintage foams in overflowing vats ; A song of mirth and careless jollity. But all his voice died down in echo drear And the reproachful murmur of the boughs. He plunged in thicker gloom, where lofty elms Shut daylight out and made of noon a night ; Thin vapours slowly rose and all grew dim. Onwards he strayed until the mist dissolved Upon a dreamlike and unreal scene, Such as blind mortals image forth the world Of souls departed hence, when vagrant thought Leaves all that is, to muse on what shall be. A hollow sound of harping smote his ear, Then he was in the middle of a group Of those whose singing hath enriched the earth, Teaching to men amid their daily toils Theirs is a noble Whence and Whither still. And all were chapleted with sacred bay, 182 AMARANTH Some had wide, leafy crowns half faded, some But slender sprays that blossomed ever new, And some had crowns that withered as he gazed. And one there was, a faint yet kingly form, His garland almost hid his clustering locks, His keen eyes shone with changing light, his lip Had felt and conquered all the shifts of fate. The Singer did him reverence, and cried, " O first and best of poets, who hast shrined The world's heroic youth, and all ye bards, Whose harps ring with the music of the past, With classic chorus and with knightly rime, Pity the warbler of untuneful days That have nor theme nor ear to give to song." " Son," the majestic minstrel smiling said, " The times had been heroic when I lived, But they were so no longer. Then I sang Because my mind was troubled when I saw Honour and hardy virtue all decayed AMARANTH 183 I pictured my Achilles, swift and strong, And generous and dauntless, but the prey Of fiercest passions uncontrolled, and thus A lordly lion raging in his wrath, Doomed to pull ruin on his friends, and fall Untimely ere his purpose was achieved. I sang ' the much enduring man,' who fled Flowery Ogygia and the Scherian strand, And pressed through stormy seas and savage realms, At duty's call to rocky Ithaka." Then from the shadowy crowd of forms well known And loved from childhood, clearer one face grew, Eyes saddened with a heart-devouring grief, Not because men gainsaid and banished him, Nay, that great soul apart could never dwell, Contented with its own sphere-harmonies, While worlds were jangling discord in their woe. Patient lips spoke : " Thou dreamest human hearts 'Neath glittering mail and tartaryne doublet beat 184 AMARANTH More noble than beneath your sombre vest. Not so found I ; but seeing guile and hate And selfish faction drag my Florence down, I through the nine sad Circles of despair, And up the Hill where souls are purified, And into Light eternal mused my way ; That I might tell how actions cannot end, But wait for all their outcome till we pass From the dim turmoil that we call our life." Then one of ruddier hue and stronger voice, He of the expanded brow and "ocean mind,"* Came near, and grasped the Poet's hand : " Dost think I wrote to tickle senseless ears, and fill Vain eyes with merry sights, and chanced to please More ages than I wrote for ? Nay, around I saw men jarring in their petty strifes, Yet knew that deep in the immortal soul Dwells harmony,f and so I strove to paint * Coleridge, " Table Talk." f Merchant of Venice, v. I. AMARANTH 185 In mimic show man to his fellow-men. Ye mock ; I wake your sympathy : ye hate ; I bid you love : and pity, not despise." " Well hast thou sung, O sweetest Shakespeare," said A clear, calm voice ; " but mine the nobler theme And higher aim, though not so nearly reached. I told men that God loved the world He made, And plants again man's bartered Paradise. But ere my soul was tuned to sing that song, God made for me a peaceful solitude, And shut out all the garish beams of day, That I might bathe me in the light of Heaven." The Poet saw, framed in long waving locks, A placid brow and gentle lips, long since Passed from their conflict into perfect peace. Then like a wind that moans and swells and dies About a lonely hillside cottage, rose i86 AMARANTH A mournful cry of many as of one : " Oh, woe is me that when the sacred fire Burned in my heart, I sang that I might please The loiterers by the path of life, and strew More scented blossoms in their dewy meads ! They had their hour's amusement, I my praise : But now my garland fades, my name is dead, And all my life is as it ne'er had been." Thus far, and then the voice of drear com- plaint Was drowned in yet a louder wail of woe : " I knew the heart of man was in my hand ; I made his baser self prevail, and played Passion's wild music, drove his shivering bark Through boiling seas, and shipwrecked all his life. Now I would pass through agonies untold To strangle out the life of my own words, And tear this stinging garland from my brow." Then as the clamour shrill and ceaseless grew, AMARANTH 187 And song and shriek and wail were madly blent And round him closed weird forms with hopeless eyes, The Poet threw him on the earth and wept. But lastly music conquered, and o'er all The tumult thrilled a blissful harmony. " O happy poets ! who have spent yourselves In mighty love for suffering fellow-men, And poured out all your being in your song ; Whose glorious voices sound thro' all the world, Nerving the arm and comforting the heart, And echoing on till time shall be no more ; With poet's piercing eye and winged feet, You climb the misty peaks of Truth, untouched By human steps and rising nearest Heaven, And there you kindle beacon-fires to guide Men through waste moors, through forest, rock and fen, On, ever higher, to the final goal. i88 AMARANTH Though for a season poverty and scorn Were yours ; time tunes the hearts of men to hear, And for the faithful singer garners up A deathless name and amaranthine bay."* * Ko(u.fiff6e rov &napo.vnvov ffrtyavov. I Peter v. 4. A Prize offered to the students of University College, London, in 1880, for the best English Composition upon "Thought and Action," was awarded to " Amaranth." IX HEBREW SKETCHES MICHAL I " Michal, Saul's daughter, loved David" LOST ! From clinging arms and straining gaze my lord is fled and gone : Blackest shadows by the moonbeam, blot him, as he hastens on, From my father's whispering minions gathered round about our wall ; Whom I balk thus of their prey, and brave the wrath of wrathful Saul. Now I live upon those kisses till his lips are mine again, Press my lips upon his pillow in the darkness, and see plain I 9 2 MICHAL David, all his face aglow while women pour the joyous song : *' Saul slew thousands, David myriads, our cham- pion true and strong." So he bowed the hearts of all as one, that ruddy shepherd lad. All gave David praise and love, and two gave everything they had : Arms and fame and foremost station were my brother's freewill gift, And my heart leapt out like flame to him, though scarce I dared to lift Up my soul toward the height of being loved by such as he ; I, who thought it scorn to be the prize of any victory, Languished till my father kept his word, and trembled when I knew He would make my love abet his hate, " Let David rise and do MICHAL 193 Yet another deed, and he shall wed the daughter of the king." Hope and pride contended with my fears, and I was fain to bring Jacob's God a heartier prayer than I had ever thought to pray. " High the price you set upon her, higher still the price I pay," Said my hero : " see your tale told twice ; and all the foes of God Perish as these Gentile dogs whom I this day have heaped with sod." Ten score forfeit lives of Philistines made aliens fear his name, And our cloudless spring of love came following hard upon his fame. Hand in hand we sat beneath the stars, while wandering breezes played With thy harp strings, O my poet love, until my whole soul swayed, 13 194 MICHAL As the tide to moon, (so travellers tell) to that sweet voice whose tone Conquered Saul's dumb gloom, and all thy world of love was mine alone ; Though thy warrior feats and mounting thoughts outsoared my baffled eyes. So I crowned thee, David, king, I first, whose quenchless star shall rise, Borne from son-in-law to more than son, if sacred oil can seal. Hist ! weak woman, strong in wile through love, is plotting for thy weal. Yet I fear. 'Mid many fierce and crafty foes alone he goes ; " Yes, alone with God," he said, and smiled. I must believe he knows That he loves that distant Being at whose voice I cower and quake When, in noonday hush, the woods in Gibeah with His thunders shake ; MICHAL 195 When He rides upon the storm, and grinds His enemies to dust Him I dread, but to a human heart I give my love and trust. David's best-beloved of women needs no God else ; they may kill Thee, they cannot slay our love ; in life and death I hold thee still. II " Michal despised David in her heart " LOST ! though thou art King of Israel, and Michal is thy wife ; Lost ! though all the foes are quelled who sought the son of Jesse's life ; \ Not through Saul, but through Saul's fury boiling in his daughter's blood. Now my ire dies down, and unavailing tears come like a flood ; IQ6 MICHAL Bitterer tears I shed not when my father tore me from our home, Claimed by fond and foolish Phalti, who in earlier days had come To be flouted by a reckless girl. My heart had broken then Had not Jonathan, the bravest, gentlest, kindest among men, Told me of my David's safety and unconquerable truth. And I thought I had again the ardent lover of my youth, When as crowned king he sent for me, the daughter of the crushed. All the untarnished love of Phalti's hapless captive forthwith gushed Out to David only, as in happy maiden days of yore : His the sealed and incensed shrine no other foot could e'er explore. MICHAL 197 All I gave him once had then been his again, as when he loved Me alone. Alas ! I found that pride and policy had moved Him to cleanse affront and place me, princess, on the shepherd's throne. Wily Abigail, the sot of Carmel's widow, for her own Held him now, with JezreeFs passionate Ahinoam, who first Made him father. David blindly loves that wanton boy she nursed : But I saw him snatch the morsel that they bore to one who lay Moaning in sore sickness. " Cost my toothsome dainties what they may To another, I will have them." That was written on the face Of the child. I saw him doomed to fall, a loathing to his race, 198 MICHAL In his prime, his mother's only grief she ever gave him birth. And may God judge Abigail likewise by cutting off from earth Pretty Daniel, proudly named by her who stole my husband's heart Stay ! Such curses dull my pain, they cannot heal its cruel smart ; Cannot win me back the lover whom my maddened words estranged ; Cannot lay a babe upon my barren breast. How all is changed Since I said, " God gave to Merab five fair sons and Adriel, Me He dowered with David's love, so I most blest of women dwell." All is changed since outraged love and wounded pride said words, not I, Words of scorn for him I honoured most, when, kindled from on high, MICHAL 199 Shone his zeal for the mysterious God, Whom lowlier now as king Than whilom as shepherd lad he worships; while the people sing He, like any starveling Levite, danced before that awful Ark. My contempt was roused, and all the sky once lit by love grew dark, For he answered scorn with scorn and told me of my father's fall. Died then all his former tenderness for proud child of proud Saul. Had 1 died before I said it ! Nay, I said it, and I I live Widowed in the lifetime of my lord . from all he once did give When I first taught love's sweet lore to fresh and ardent heart to fan Human love in him whom love for God made noblest son of man. THE FIRE OF GOD. A TALE TOLD BY JEDAIAH OF SAMARIA TO HIS SON, IN THE DAYS OF JEHU, SON OF NIMSHI, KING OF ISRAEL, IN THE FIRST YEAR OF HIS REIGN CURSING again I curse them, for the Law Doomed them to death six hundred years ago, All those glib prophets, all those juggling priests, Who throng our streets in their outlandish garb Gathering to the solemn sacrifice Which the new king proclaims. His hand still red With Ahab's blood, he sins as Ahab sinned, So may he die the death that Ahab died, And his house perish like the house he slays. Come thou, my foolish son, whom I have plucked THE FIRE OF GOD 201 From out the idol temple. Dost thou ask " Why should I not behold strange Baal's rites ? " Wilt thou too join the multitude who say, " At Dan and Bethel we will serve the God Who brought us out of Egypt's cruel bonds ; But in Samaria our prayers are made To Baal, owned at Zidon and at Tyre, That Israel may grow as wise as they, The cunning with the trowel, oar, and loom. Great is Jehovah. Great is Baal too. And both can bless and make their servants great." Take heed, my son. Ours is a jealous God, Who will not share His glory. This I learned For ever, six-and-twenty years ago. I followed Ahab through a fainting land, Where two-and-forty months the dazzling sun Had emptied all the storehouse of the deep. The sky glowed like a furnace, and the flocks 202 THE FIRE OF GOD That sought in hollows for the wonted springs Finding nor herb nor water, panted forth Their life upon the cracked and shrivelling ground ; While men were mad with thirst, or quenching thirst Perished of hunger on the barren soil. Thus were the Sun-god's worshippers sore plagued With drought and famine, while the foreign queen Slaughtered the prophets of the Lord, whose voice Had sealed the rain-clouds and dried up the dew. Round the king's painted chariot thronged one day Pale victims clamouring for the royal aid. Forth from the melting crowd there strode one man, Stern as his native rocks of Gilead, With hair like Samson's on his shoulders tossed, In sheepskin raiment of the pastoral tribes Who scoff at our proud cities and rich plains, THE FIRE OF GOD 203 Yet envy when they cross quick Jordan's flood. Zeal for his God had kindled his fierce eyes, And the king quailed before their wordless speech More than before the raging Jezebel. " Troubler of Israel, is it thou ? " he cried. And the gaunt prophet said, " Not I, but thou Hast troubled Israel. Jehovah's Law Thou didst forsake to follow Baalim." I thought to see the accuser mown to earth, Or supplicated to remove his curse ; Nay, Ahab cowered silent to receive Commandment from the foe that he had banned : " Gather thy people unto Carmel's Mount, With all the seers of Baal and Asherah." So, even as fish are swept into the net, Israel gathered to the appointed place : Where the bright waves lapped Carmel's ample skirts East, north, and west, and Kishon's failing stream 204 THE FIRE OF GOD Faltered with scarce a murmur to the deep. All the thick woods that climb the mountain side Languished in ruin round the crumbling pile Built for an altar of our fathers' God. Unbounded useless water mocked our thirst On that side, and on this the pinnacles Of Ahab's ivory house and idol fanes Rose from the gardens of his fair Jezreel. Here Baal's prophets marshalled their array, Four hundred men and half a hundred more ; Beside them were four hundred priests who taught The shameful rites of Ashtoreth, and fed From her most faithful votary's laden board. Around them clustered Israel beguiled By lies to leave God's truth, obedient To the enthroned apostate in their midst. And there the prophet of Jehovah stood, One man alone, the one with whom was God. THE FIRE OF GOD 205 Loud to the double-minded mob he cried, " How long 'twixt two opinions will ye halt? Follow Jehovah if He be the God ; If Baal, follow him." And all were dumb. Then, kinglier than the king, he gave behest : " Bring us two bullocks ; choose ye one and slay And place it on the wood, and call your god ; I will prepare the other in the name Of mine ; and let him only be our God Who fires the unkindled pile with flame divine." So all was done according to his word. The morn was breaking when they raised the cry, " Hear, Baal ! " Louder song and swifter dance Circled their untouched altar till high noon, When the bold Tishbite held his peace no more, But mocked their bootless folly. " Cry aloud ! Your god is musing ; he is at the chase ; He journeys ; or he sleeps and must be waked. Cry till he hears you, for he is a god." 206 THE FIRE OF GOD At noon their chorus swelled, at noon they danced Streaked with their own warm blood, till all the Mount Rang with their frantic prayer and prophecy, Their wild words wildly hurled to heaven, that fell Unheeded back to earth. The day declined : Their cries grew fainter, and their weapons gleamed More slowly, till they sank forspent to earth, Their gaudy garments stained by desperate wounds. And then Jehovah's prophet said, " Come near," And built the ruined altar of the Lord With twelve great stones, a stone for every tribe, And duly laid the sacrifice thereon ; And all the trench about the altar filled With water poured upon the offering thrice. In Judah's Temple the unblemished lamb Hallowed its evening worship when he spake To Him who hears before the silent throng : " Jehovah, Abram's, Isaac's, Jacob's God ! THE FIRE OF GOD 207 Let it be known this day that Thou art God In Israel, that I Thy servant do These things at Thy command. Hear me, O Lord, That they may know that Thou art God indeed, And that their wavering hearts are turned by Thee." Then from the darkening evening sky there flashed Fire which consumed the sacrifice, the wood, The altar's stones and dust, and drained the trench, Lapping the tide with which it brimmed erewhile. Down on their faces all the people fell, Shouting, " Jehovah, He is God alone ! " Now His unheeded Law must be obeyed Concerning those who lead our sons astray, Ere earth could be refreshed and yield her fruits. So at the prophet's word the people turned On their blind guides and dragged them to the brook, 208 THE FIRE OF GOD The ancient brook of Kishon, whose full flood Once swelled to gulf the chariot and the horse Of Sisera, and swept away our foes. To-day its dusty bed was washed with blood. Stern vengeance wrought, the awestruck host dis- persed ; The man of God sought Carmel's loneliest height, And prostrate pled for his repentant race. Seven times he bade his servant go and gaze Across the undimmed sky that spanned the sea ; Till from the trembling sparkle floated up, As thistledown drifts from its brilliant flower, A cloudlet like the shadow of a hand. It rode the air, still quivering with heat, And summoned the dark squadrons of the sky. They rushed together headlong o'er the blue ; The forest bowed and groaned : the ocean swelled In sudden tumult ; all the winds were loosed From the four quarters of the earth, and all THE FIRE OF GOD 209 The fountains of the deep were broken up. From heaven's open windows God poured forth Abundant blessing of long holden rain. And so the curse was lifted from our land, For one man's faith had turned a nation's heart. Well was he named " Elijah " who proclaimed That JAH alone is God. His mission done, He vanished as he came ; yet came again Twice, once to Ahab, once to Ahab's son, Since when we have not seen his dauntless face. But no man knoweth of his sepulchre ; Dim Sheol cannot claim him : nay, he passed Deathless, like Enoch, unto God in Heaven, Kept to restore our Israel some day, And put away the idols God abhors. I thought that day had come when Nimshi's son Avenged the Lord of Ahab's house. But lo ! He bids his subjects bow at Baal's shrine. 14 210 THE FIRE OF GOD " Jehu shall serve him more than Ahab did." Even now their riotous festival proceeds. Hark ! But their shouts are shrieks, and mix with cries Of men who vanquish and divide the spoil He traps them in their own iniquity ! So subtle is this strong, relentless king ! Towards the temple all the city streams ; See, from its courts the royal guards have burst With reddened blades ; they bear the idols forth, Whose smoke mounts up, and the unholy house Sinks crashing on the dying and the dead. Fallen is Baal, ne'er again to rise. Praise to the Lord, our King for evermore. X SONGS OF THE SEEN AND UNSEEN MAY DAWN HARK ! from the spring-gladdened tree Singeth the merle, Singeth to God, awakening thee. Rise, poet, rise and see Morning unfurl. Winter has long held sway, Chill was the night ; Dawn glory drives the clouds away, Hope, on the rosy wings of day, Riseth in light, God giveth youth and dawn and spring, Life lies before us ; Birds soar on dewy wing, Swelling the chorus ; 213 214 MAY DAWN While the sun triumphing, Flames through his portal Rise, poet, rise and sing, " Man is immortal." IN AN AVENUE ON, where the saplings shoot Yet in their young joy mute : To the tender feet Is the moss most sweet ; And the rich-breath'd violets root. On, where the tall trunks spring, And arms to heaven upfling, In the new delight Of the coming might ; While birds in their branches sing. On, where the stately trees Sway slowly in the breeze, 216 IN AN AVENUE In calm strength endued Once again renewed ; They cradle the nests at ease. On, where giants across the heath Stretch gaunt arms in living death. Left in that grim clutch 'Spite of Spring's soft touch ; With a stony ground beneath. Fair Avilion stands ajar, Cloudy pillar, crimson bar, Through whose portals dim Shadowy beings swim Into seas of light that are near and far. On but thither no path brings Souls borne down by earthly things. So we gaze and cry To the glowing sky, " O God, give strength to our wings." VOICELESS MUSIC hath murmured round my ears, Hath held me by enchantment strong, And I have been from childhood's years Haunted by sweetest song. I soared, desiring still to see The invisible, that purest flame Of primal orbs might lighten me ; But utterance never came. The silence filled my soul with pain. I cried to Nature, bade her tell To me her secret ; all in vain : And yet I loved her well. 218 VOICELESS At dawn upon the first of May Woodward I went for aid to seek ; My quickened heart had much to say, But still I could not speak. Dame Nature held her court anon, The herald cuckoo summons sang, The trees their fresh attire put on, Flowers at her footstool sprang. The birds were quiring all at once, " Gloria Patri " loud and low ; My lips took up the glad response, " Gloria Filio." Ye heavenly birds, your anthems made In higher air unbidden come I paused, for on the hawthorn swayed One new-fledged throstle dumb. And I was dumb. I heard his note Complaining, " At my heart's request I sang, and ceased with throbbing throat, Tired limbs, and ruffled breast. VOICELESS 219 Wherefore ? Because the day was bright, And Spring had come to bless the earth, The darkness had been quelled by light And morn again had birth. Hath not the day been always bright ? Is not the earth for ever young ? Hath not the triumph of the light Ten thousand times been sung ? Go, trivial warblers, tune your lays, And thrill with well-worn themes the air. I wait a subject of my praise In something new and rare." Now while he spake a shuddering went Through all the wood foretelling shower, The trees upon each other leant, Dull did the welkin lower. Then all the songs are hushed and all The flowers bow their heads and close ; And fast and fierce the waters fall, And shrill the tempest blows. 220 VOICELESS That throstle, when the storm was o'er And rainbow smiles dispelled the wrath, Crept from the dripping leaves to pour A heart-wrought music forth. From him I learned that there are chord* . <..;* i No passing idle zephyrs sweep The tempest only wakes in words Their voices strong and deep. TRUE ART H yuerct rjs ev ayvif fia.6p