THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE QUEST OE SIR BERTRAND. AND OTHER POEMS. *• Kill nut I HAND hNtll.l Al- THK ABURT «ATK." THE \mt d Sir lertranir. AND OTHER POEMS. BY R. H. DOMENICHETTI. WITS A FRONTISPIECE BY MRS. TRAqUAIR. A NEW EDITION. W. H. ALLEN & CO., LIMITED, 13, Waterloo Place. 1893. (All Rights Reserved.) CONTENTS. PAGE The Quest of Sir Bertrand 1 The Bede of John 77 Danse des Bacchantes 81 The Christ of Andernach 83 A Spring Keverie 86 Love's Requiem 89 Benedicite 93 Lac d' Amour 96 Music of the Spheres 99 The Death of Time 104 A Northern Fantasy 106 The Palmer Grey 109 Babel • -113 Lordsman and Lady 119 The Tournament 124 St. Valentine's Eve 127 317W vi CONTENTS. LYRICS, &c. PAG 3 Ephemera 133 Proemion 134 The Ring . 135 HiRONDELLES 137 Valentine 139 The Question 140 Absence 142 Love's Crown 143 Nocturne 145 Too Late . 147 Penumbra 149 Spring 151 A Spring Ode 154 Autumn Leaves 159 Rest 161 The Tarantelle 162 The Prodigal 163 Peace 165 A Siren 167 Sleep 170 Life's Banquet 171 Torchlight 173 River Pictures 175 The River ok Love 177 The River of Song 179 SciROCCo 180 The Nightingale 182 CONTENTS. vii PAGE Parting 184 KONDEAU 186 Mors 187 "Janua Vit^" 189 Depression 191 Les Patineurs 193 Floodtide 195 Love and Fancy 196 Love's Victim 197 DEVOTIONAL. O Salutaris Hostia 201 Maria Desolata 204 Verbum Dei 207 Rhyme of the Haliwork Folk .... 209 ERRATA, Pnorc 79. line 7, 'vnit by it .. 18(i. .. '^>. I'or Hvor /vvzc/ avow I THE QUEST OF SIR BERTRAND. Sir Bertrand knelt at the abbey gate ; In sorry plight was he : He knocketh long, and yet may wait, Or ever it opened be. Against the lintel of the door Weary he laid his face All wan and white ; straight on before His wide eyes stared in space. Soiled was his shining morion. And soiled his cote d'armure ; The lions, wrought in gold thereon, Were dark with stains obscure. THE QUEST OF SIR BEETRAND. Dead thistles cumbered all the gate And withered hemlock tall, With tangled nightshade lingering late Against the mouldering wall. He knocketh until bolt and bar Long rusted gride and creak, And standing by the door ajar, A cowled monk 'gan speak. Now say, Sir Knight, wherefore dost stare With wide and awful eye ? There 's mire upon thine armour fair, Thy steed is fain to die." " Assoil me. Father, if my sin May e'er assoiled be, And bless me, that I may begin My penance dread to dree." THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTRAND. ** Nay, speak, my son ! no sin so dread, But may find boon of grace ; God grant thy soul be comforted Or ere thou leave this place." " O Father, Father ! though God's love Be wider than the sea. And deeper than the waves thereof. There is no grace for me. ** On my black steed, nine years agone, Over the green hill-side I rode from hunting all alone, At dewy eventide. *' I rode adown the wooded vale, In the solemn vesper hour ; The twilight lingered faint and pale By glade and trellised bower. 1 * THE QUEST OF SIB BEETEAND. " I came unto a thicket close, Eich scent lay on the ah', Cream-white and red the countless rose Bloomed forth, nor withered there. ** A wanton hymn slow-circled round, White limbs did softly gleam ; Like subtle scent, that airy sound Lulled me to drowsy dream. " White arms were stretched to draw me in, Eed lips they murmured * Come ! ' Ah ! Christ ! loud was the voice of sin, Thy face-veiled angels dumb ! " She led me to her lonely grot, She wove her mystic spell ; Full many a body there doth rot. Whose soul lies now in Hell." THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBANB. " Now, Heaven shield thee, wretched wight," Gasped forth the frightened priest. ** Nay, Father, ever day and night I lay, nor ever ceased " The magic rune, that wove me round ; Her lips pressed close to mine, In a dim web of sense and sound I lay for long years nine. ** Whether it was a voice from Heaven, Or pitying angel sent, I know not, but the grace was given, And forth in shame I went." Silence a moment lay on each ; Then faintly as in pain, The monk one trembling hand did reach. But drew it back again. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. " Arise ! my son, thy sin is deep, Yea, deeper than the sea ; But He, who heareth sinners weep, AVill heal thy misery. " Eise up, and in this holy place Wrestle all night in prayer ; Perchance thou here may'st find the grace Shall make thee free as air." Sir Bertrand rose, and in a dream Stooped through the lowly door : With a dull lantern's wannish beam The pale monk went before. So through the cloisters dark they came, Where moonbeams phantom-bright Made spire and wall a wan white flame With shadows black as night. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTRANB. And through the riven tracery He saw the shinmg sward, And one shade deep as ebony, The spire that rose skyward. The church within was with incense dim^ That round God's altar chngs, What time they echo to the hymn, God's shrines of evenings. Through casements rich and far withdrawn, Moon-jewels faint and rare, Like colours from a ghostly dawn, Glimmered adown the air. Jacinth and topaz, amethyst And crimson deep as blood ; 'Mid opal lights and pearly mist Uprose the Holy Eood, 8 THE QUEST OF SIB BERTRAND. With white Christ nailed in pain thereon; In that rich mystery, It seemed a ray of Heaven was won To encircle Calvary. And in the mystic gloom about The altar's silent throne Glimmered seven lamps, nor e'er died out By day, nor midnight lone. And spiring stone and carving rich, And fretwork frail as frost, Rose up, with many a flowering niche. Like foam on darkness tost. Silent they knelt in that dim place, "When, lo ! there faintly stole A sound of singing heard in space ; It tranced the listeners' soul. THE QUEST OF SIB BEETBAND. 'Twas three of God's own choristers Singing *' Magnificat " ; Blessed the voice that ministers God's House, and serves thereat ! For by the sweet high voice of praise This weary world is wrought To harmony with angel lays, And Heaven on earth is brought ! " Gloria Patri ! " sang the boys, Then ceased right suddenly : A sound of shuffling feet, a noise Of chanting books laid by. "Watch thou and pray," the pale monk said, " Endure the conflict keen ; The tempter whets his darts most dread With thought of what has been. 10 THE QUEST OF SIR BEETRANB. " Eesist his wanton lures and slay Thy lower self, that so, Where the dread tempest holds its sway, Thy soul unscathed may go. " Spurn thou his wiles ; this wondrous woof, Woven of fleshly sense, Chains not his soul, who holds aloof From its dream-tissue tense. Watch thou and pray ! and here subdue Thyself, and die to live A holier life 'mid lights anew. Than realms of sense can give." Alone in that vast place he la}'. With parched lips and sere ; His desert soul knew not to pray, Athirst for one cool tear. THE QUEST OF SIB BEUTRAND. 11 Then wicked memories hot Hke flame Thrilled through him, wild and sad His youth's dead passions whirling came In wanton dances mad. " Thine, are we thine ! and thou art ours ; That ruined soul resign, Where erst through dim voluptuous hours We reigned for long years nine ! " Pale-eyed he fought them off as one, Bent to some toil he plies At harvest time beneath the sun. Beats off the swarm of flies. Slow stole the dawn and steeped in light Each clustered shaft and aisle, And from their lofty vantage height The stern-faced seraphs smile. 12 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. Sir Bertrand gazed with tearful eyes Where at the altar stood A priest, clad all for sacrifice Of Christ's Body and Blood. The Mass was said, he bowed his head, God's blessing to receive ; Within his soul a still voice said, *' My son ! no longer grieve ! " II. Unto the western porch he came^ Where stood the monk in prayer. Nor marked how with a clear pale flame The sunlight warmed the air. Ever upon his breviary His steadfast eyes were bent, Where colours like an evening sky With holy words were blent. TEE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 13 ** Beneclicite ! " the pale monk said, " Yon path by the hawthorn hedge Leads to the deep green valley's head, And on by the steep slope's edge. " In the valley green the Hermit dwells In his cave by the streamlet's rim, Faintly he hears our abbey bells By morn and twilight dim. ** Give greeting unto the holy sage, Unfold thy woeful tale ; He only may read thy life's dark page. The Hermit of the vale." The warrior turned with one farewell, And held his charger's rein : In haste he wended the wide green fell, Nor once looked back again. 14 THE QUEST OF SIR BEBTBANB. Now journeying by a pathway dim Adown the wooded hill, He marked, amid the tree-trmiks slim, The sparkle of a rill. It was a fair deep-bosomed vale, Where dewy-dim did dream The April woods, all green and frail, Beside the winding stream. O'er rounded stones the waters fall. The primrose pale doth star Each shadowed slope, the cuckoo's call Rings vaguely from afar. Or 'mid the hawthorn clusters white Fluteth the throstle soft. And swallows in swift steel-blue iiight Circle and swoop aloft. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. 15 Both knight and war-horse pacmg slow Felt a soft influence thrill Through every limb with subtle glow, The fire of gay April. He thridded the silver beechen boles, Mantled with green bright moss : Shy conies peered from sandy holes. Or darted his path across. The squirrel leapt from bough to bough Of the dark and stately fir ; So still was the air, thou mightst avow The grass did scarcely stir. The underwood lay a frail green haze, Beyond blue hills were seen, Adown the leaf-strewn forest ways. Through the budding alder screen. 16 THE QUEST OF SIR BEBTBAND. '* Yon grassy bend of the rivulet Should be the Hermit's home ; The tired soul here might well forget All else, nor seek to roam ! " Sheer rose o'erhead the scarped rock Shrouded with branch and brier, Eent by an ancient tempest shock, Or bolt of thunder-fire. The cavern's mouth was screened from sight With ivy and eglantine ; 'Mid moss and fern the lichens bright Like gold and topaz shine. Snowdrop and yellow aconite, Crocus and daffodil, Lay round like flakes of starry light Reflected in the rill. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBANB. 17 Within bis cell the Hermit sat, A Book upon his knee ; Ever his deep ej'es pored thereat, For love of Grammarje. The tome was old and clasped fair With clasps of graven brass ; A butterfly most debonnair Had fluttered down and quivered there, While a minute's space might pass. His beard, more white than winter snow, Bested upon the page ; Keen were his eyes and bright, I trow He was a winsome sage. All on his table rude there lay A skull with fleshless eyes. And garlands fresh of flowerets gay, A cross and rosaries. 2 18 THE QUEST OF SIB BERTEAND. Green moss grew o'er the rugged floor, Green ferns waved from the wall ; No richer mantlet covers o'er Bower or monarch's hall. '* Now, hail to thee, thou holy man ! " " Sir Knight, peace be with thee ! " Thus with calm words the sage began, As he looked up steadfastly. His eyes shone bright beneath his brow " What quest is thine. Sir Knight ? Thine armour and tabaret avow Thou 'rt come from grievous fight." " Nay, Father, it is no body's pain. Or tourney wound I bring ; But a sick soul that sighs in vain For shrift and houseling." THE QUEST OF SIR BERTBAND. 19 Then with choked voice and bitter tears He told his woful tale : The Hermit soothes his anguished fears, With words of holy lore he cheers The stricken warrior pale. " Great is thy sin ; but out of sin By wondrous alchemy God doth his brightest jewels win, To set them in the sky. " Five senses fine to man were given For service and delight, Channels, whereby God's earth and heaven Might flood his soul with light,. " That sweetest sound and light serene And scents and colour rare. Like a wavering veil might hang between, Nor hide, but shadow forth th' unseen With imagery fair. 2 * 20 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBANB. *' But sin, like a noisome taint, did stain Man's nature's holiest springs With its heritage of mystic pain And dark foreshadowings. " And loveliness to him became A garish false delight, Alluring like the restless flame That mocks the marsh by night. Nathless to him who, spite of fears, Hath turned his heart to God, There 's pleasure in frail gossamers That glisten on the sod ; " There 's healing in the fresh green leaves, Blithe music in the brook ; Through pathways five his soul receives The vision it forsook. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. 21 ** Such blithesome joy of innocence Not thine it is to gain, Only by bitter penitence To purge that one foul stain. " Yet may'st thou still, at intervals Of thy dark spirit's strife, Listen unto the strain that falls Like dew on thy bare life. ** Still may'st thou list the jargoning, The sweet birds make in May ; 'Mid fires of God's own sunsetting Thou may'st kneel down and pray. ** And yet thy wounded heart may beat For all who travail sore, The weary, weary, world -worn feet, The wide world lies before." 22 TEE QUEST OF SIR BEBTRAND. In louring gloom the twilight sank, The night waxed drear and dim, A chill breeze swayed the grasses rank Beside the streamlet's rim. "Now, list, sir Knight," the Hermit said, " To-night shalt thou keep tryst 'Neath the hawthorn tree, in holy dread, Hell's power to resist. " At dawn, if thou hold leal and true, Christ's pardon will I bring. And rede thee the penance thou must do For thy soul's houseling." The moon's white face with rain was wet, Half-veiled in cloud and mist. She glanced amid the branched net, And the gnarled hawthorn kist. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 23 Sir Bertrand knelt with eyes upturned, Bathed in the broken gleams, Like crystal through his tears they burned, Beneath the moon's pale beams. Then on a sudden was he 'ware How 'neath that ancient tree. With white arms stretched and shadowy hair, There stood a fair ladye. Her full throat thrilled, as though she sobbed, E'en softlier than the dove. And, passion-wrung, her bosom throbbed With tender plaint of love. " Alack ! Sir Knight, thou faithless heart, Why didst thou leave me lorn '? Ah ! woe is me for the bitter smart, That hath my heart-strings torn ! " 24 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. E'en as she spoke she nearer drew, And her bosom, white and warm, Beamed through the shadow on his view, As she raised her rounded arm. " Heaven is a hollow phantasy Save on these lips and breast ; Hell's fire is where pale lovers sigh. Whose pains can find no rest. " Weary the pilgrimage thereof. Yet here his inmost shrine. Where burn the deathless fires of Love Within this heart of mine ! " What, wouldst thou spurn the rose full blown. Because its heart is red. Or press the thorns into thine own, Or crown therewith thine head ? " THE QUEST OF SIB BEUTBAND. 25 His eyes were wild, his cheek grew wan, The sweat-drops large and bright Stood out his anguished brow upon. Death-pale in the pale moonlight. " Temptress ! Avaunt ! That honeyed smile Masks death and hell. Avaunt ! Seek not to lure with wanton wile The soul thou didst enchaunt." Swift as the storm, an awesome light Glared in the lady's face. And marred her bloom, like a deathful blight Shrouding her beauty's grace. " A malison ! a malison ! " For the craven Knight," she cried ; Then chill stood she as carven stone, On her lips the wild curse died. 26 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. With faltering hand the Knight did sign His brow with the Holy Kood ; By might of that amulet divine The witch affrighted stood. Wan grew her brow, and wan her eyes ; With a piercing shriek, I wist, She faded away, as at sunrise Fadeth the white marsh-mist. Forspent and worn, with brain overwrought, Like a sculptured statue lay The Knight, bereft of sense and thought. Until the break of day. 'Mid drizzly mist the hawthorn stood. With budding leaflets green ; Gnarled and black its antique wood Glistened with raindrops' sheen. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 27 Anon the sun rose merrily, The branches' frail green fret Glittered like blithesome jewelry With emeralds overset. The Hermit riseth with the lark That from wet grasses springs, And a challenge to the flying dark In joyance wildly flings. 'Neath the hawthorn tree the Hermit spied Where the Knight lay on the grass : " Alack, alack ! " aloud he cried, ** Woe 's me for this sad pass ! " He set the Knight's head on his knee, The face showed white like death, Yet 'twixt the pale lips fitfully Laboured the hard-drawn breath. 28 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBANB. He drew from his vest a clear phial Of crystal fair and bright, And set to his lips a cordial Of strange and wondrous might. Each drop shone in the pale sunshine Like amber, as it fell, Distilled from herbs of Palestine By Paynim infidel. Slow stole the blood into his cheek, That death-pale was afore, But faint and weak, a fitful streak, A far wave on life's shore. The Hermit loosed his gorget close, And eke his cote d'armure ; With white lips doth the Knight disclose His grisly aventure. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBANB. 29 " Courage, my son ! The fight is won, By shrift is thy spirit cleared ; Last night I heard, in deep vision. The angels chant thy weu'd. " Seven years shalt thou wander to and fro, With worn and w^eary feet, Until this hawthorn-staff shall blow, Whereby thy ransomed soul may know Thy penance is complete." "A saying hard is this, I ween ! Yet a stranger miracle, Than for yon staff to bud in green. My soul hath known right well ! " " The word that bade my barren soul Burst forth from sin's dread power, May bid this withered sap unfold Leaflet and silver flower/^ 30 THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. "Well said, my son ; now haste thee don These weeds of Palmer gray, And eke these Pilgrim shoon bind on : God speed thee on thy way ! *' Thy goodly steed that here doth feed With thee this day must go : Of him the Master hath some need. Which thou eftsoons shalt know. " Farewell ! farewell ! God guard thee well ! " With tears the Hermit cried. " Farewell, farewell to thy blithesome dell, Blessings to thee betide. " Oh ! gay mine armour burnished bright. And gay my coat of gold ; But never beat my heart so light As 'neath this russet fold." THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 31 III. The morning skies lay far outspread, Cloud above pearly cloud ; Faint rainy lights yet lingered Amid their fleecy shroud. Sir Bertrand gazed, and unto him It seemed a city fair Eose faint and far, with gateways dim And bulwarks built of air. Wide alleys there the sun's pale gold Glinted full softly down ; And a stream of palest azure rolled Midmost that faery town. Dim were his eyes with vague desires, While through the dawnlight chill Rang, like a thousand golden lyres. The birds' song clear and shrill. 32 THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBANB. And now his path lay straight and clear Upon the high road white : The Palmer turned, a bitter tear Bedimmed his yearning sight. " Farewell, farewell, thou blithesome dell, Before the wide world lies ! " Still haunt of peace, farewell, farewell ! " The parting words rang like a knell. That tolls when a sweet soul dies. The dull thud of his charger's feet Smote on the high-road dry ; It seemed each beat did still repeat That farewell changelessly. As thus he wended sad and slow, Holding his charger's rein, A voice from the wayside hailed him low, The moan of one in pain. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. 33 ** Sir Palmer, a boon, for love of Heaven ! Sir Palmer, of thy good grace Have pity, as thou wilt be forgiven Before God's holy face." "Now say what boon thou poor leper Thou crave st of charity ; No alms have I, these weeds aver I can no poorer be ! " " No alms crave I, thou Palmer Gray, But a ride on thy good steed ; My feet faint sore on the King's highway, As well thine eye may rede." *' Now haste thee up, thou poor leper. Now haste thee up and ride ; I had liefer far thou shouldst sit there Than a king in all his pride." 3 34 TEE QUEST OF SIB BERTRANB. The Lazar's limbs ran foul with sores, Withered and leprous- white ; The noisome plague in his body's pores Lay like a festering blight. The face it was a ghastly thing ; In its features worn and lean The seal of God's own hand-making Might hardly there be seen. Deep groaned he as in deadly pain, His weary head was bent, Yet his parched lips breathed forth no plain For God^s scourge on him sent. As thus their toilsome way they made, A merry rout flashed by, A gallant knight and cavalcade Of flaunting chivalry. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 35 Full loud they laughed, m scornful way, ** A goodly pair ! " they cried, " The leper man and the Palmer Gray, And the leper man doth ride ! " Swift flashed they by with noise and glare, And nought doth there remain But clouds of dust upon the air That dwindle down the plain. ** So passeth this world's pomp and pride," Quoth the Palmer 'neath his breath ; " Like dust the wind doth puff aside, The viewless wind of death ! " Now journeying they might descry The high walls of a town, With four tall spires against the sky And slant roofs lower down. 3 * 36 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTRAND. St. Mary's spire, St. Martin's spire, St. James's steeple high. And the gilded vane that shines like fire Upon the tall belfry. " Oh ! yonder lies the goodly town, Its belfries one may count ! " *' Good Palmer, I prithee set me down. Here would I fain dismount." One hand he laid on saddle-bow, And his arms about him cast ; The leper breatheth weak and low. As each breath were his last. Sudden there beamed a heavenly light, The leper was no more, His raiment shone as angel's bright, That tattered was afore. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 37 His face all lovely, washed of tears, TJaat no cloud now doth mar, Unworn by all the pilgrim years. Shone brighter than a star. That face, fulfilled with heavenly light, Absorbed in its bright beams The Palmer's face, upturned and white, Eapt, as in wondrous dreams. Dread, beautiful and sadly sweet The moments mystical. When drowsed day and twilight meet, Sun-flushed at evenfall. But lovelier yet and sweeter still Than twilight's soft embrace. The rapture that his soul did fill. In the light of God's own Face. 38 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. From pierced Hands and Feet and Side Five rosy rays did smite, Seal of the God-love crucified, A carcanet of light. The gracious Guest hath gently prest With words of mercy fain That drooping head unto His Breast, Where it hath gladly lain. " My rule is o'er the poor and sad, My realm the silent bourn. Where patient sorrow maketh glad, The land of those who mourn." One instant ere his brain did swoon, O'erwrought with ecstasy, Through prison-bars of flesh a tune He heard fall from the sky. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBANB. 39 'Twas angels seven, who sang in heaven Then' glorious roundelay, Kejoicing o'er one soul forgiven. Whose sins are washed away. To earth he sank, those dear Hands move In blessings o'er his head ; There in an ecstasy of love Long lay he, as one dead. When that his wondering eye did ope, A chapel fair he spied. Hard by the road on grassy slope ; Thither straightway he hied. As he knelt before the stone chapell In joy and wonderment. Rang shrill and clear a silver bell ; Ever it ringeth that men may tell Passeth God's Sacrament. 40 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTRAND. Twain and twain the fair boys came, White-stoled and torch in hand ; Eedly blew back the scented flame, By breeze of morning fanned. Under a silken canopy The Priest did slowly tread : The Sacred Host he bare on high Unto some dying bed. The Palmer Gray, he smote his breast, Bent low for reverence, He felt the stir of silken vest. The fume of sweet incense. " Sir Priest ! a boon, a boon ! " he cried, " For His sake thou dost bear. Mount up. Sir Priest, mount up and ride Upon my charger fair ! " THi: QUEST OF SIR BEBTBAND. 41 " A blessing on thee, Palmer Gray, For thy holy charity ; I wend afar a lonesome way, Where a sick soul doth sigh. The boys have ta'en the goodly steed And set the Priest thereon ; The Palmer now in very deed Hath holpen his dear Lord in need, And on his way hath gone. The Palmer crossed the drawbridge strong. And wendeth on apace; No heed he payeth the giddy throng, His cowl drawn o'er his face. Minstrels and jesters, troubadours, Jongleurs in gaudy dress, Men of light songs and light amours. Leapt up and down the press. 42 TEE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. With twang of wire sweet rhymes they sung Unto the fair ladies, Who roses to the minstrels flung O'er arrassed balconies. From street to street 'twas pleasaunce all, Like wayward rivulet, The townsfolk pass without the wall. The tourney-lists are set. Two and two the Knights do ride, With jingling spur and chain ; Their chargers champ with haughty pride, Two pages pace on either side. Holding the bridle-rein. And pennons fair flap in the air. Wrought with strange imagery Of beast and bird ; the burghers stare To see the knights pass by. THE QUEST OF SIR BEBTBAND. 43 Amid the rout the Palmer stood Astonied with the din ; His face was covered with his hood, You scarce might see his chin. A jester with his staff and bell Smote him and idly jeered : " Thou hidest that face of thine right well, Yet one may see thy beard ! " With cheer and shout the burghers cried, ** Away, thou Palmer Gray ! " They bore him off upon the tide Unto the tourney gay. The lists were set in meadows green, A river circled round ; Full many a good knight there, I ween, Would bite the meadow ground ! 44 THE QUEST OF SIB BERTH AND. The seats were hung with arras rich, The damsels chattered bold ; Deep in her dim embroidered niche The Queen sat all in gold. The chargers pawed the dust and neighed, Eich housings swept the ground ; Loudly each brazen trumpet brayed, In rest each glittering lance was laid, In answer to the sound. Then closed the lines like thunder-cloud, 'Mid blare of trumpet-blast ; Like foam the white plumes swayed and bowed, And glittering spears were brast. These sights and colours that they prize Seem unto him, as one "Wlio from the sun's glare shuts his eyes, And sees its spangled phantasies About him reel and run. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. 45 The Palmer thridded the gaping throng And hied to a convent fair ; There in the dark church all night long He knelt in silent prayer. IV. The Palmer Gray hath journeyed far, All unto fair Cologne, Where those three pilgrims of the star In stately shrine are shown. Full piously his tears did fall, And gazed he long on them ; " A weary pilgrimage withal Ye made to Bethlehem ! " The Palmer Gray hath journeyed south To Saint James of Compostelle, Whose glory speeds from mouth to mouth With dower of miracle. 46 THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. And where in jewelled fretwork rich, Amid the tapers' shine, St. Mark doth rest in sainted niche. His pious knees incline. And now unto the Holy Land, That blessed ground to greet, By day and night, o'er trackless sand, Travail his wayworn feet. Bare glisters now the desert wide, White glares the sun at noon ; " Alack ! " the woful pilgrim cried, " Death will come all too soon ! " Yet oft by night the silver beams Of the moon enwoven were, A ladder frail, that angel-dreams Glimmered adown 'mid pearly gleams, God's love to minister. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBANB. 47 Seldom with sound like silver bell, The babbling waters rise, With palms slow-heaving on the swell, Beneath the hard blue skies. Yon little cloud, what may it mean. On the far desert's rim ? It speedeth fast, and now, I ween, The sun beat sharp on lances keen 'Mid whirling dust-wreaths dim. And now the Palmer seeth plain The Paynim chivalry Bear down on him with loosened rein. Like a bolt from out the sky. Both hand and foot they bound him fast Unto their saddle-bow. At eve the wretched wight they cast In prison dark and low. 48 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND- Therein for many weary years A Bed Cross Knight had lain, Eising at night with bitter tears, And crying out, where no man hears, In piteous longing vain. Within the dungeon dark and deep Full many a year they lay. Beneath the Paynim's strongest keep. Far from the lightsome day. Nathless the dawn through stanchion high Shone blue as any gem, And when the cool dark night drew nigh, One star looked down on them. No face they saw, no sound they heard, Save from the garden fine. Unseen there sang some wondrous bird. That dwells in Palestine. THE QUEST OF SIB BEKTBAND. 49 Also what time the palace rang With dance and merriment, They heard the brazen cymbals clang, Where'er the Payuim went. Faintly at sunset cinnamon And balsams rich and rare, Made sickly by the summer sun. Stole to them on the air. At dawn and eve they chanted sweet Eoundels of days bygone, And oft-times would their lips repeat Our Lady's Antiphon. The Paynim's daughter paced at morn Along the garden-close, And, turning to her maids high-born. Asked them, " What strains be those ? " 50 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. Then spake straightway her fan- ladies, " Two Christian knights, pardie, Chaunt ballads sad and love ditties To loves they ne'er shall see." At eve the Princess with her train, 'Mid scent of musk and myrrh, Walked with her maidens three, the strain Kose sad and sweet to her. " Nay, by my troth, these Christian men Unto their loves be true, I trow the fickle Saracen Had found him heartsease new ! " ' Unto the dungeon will I go. And see this sweet minstrel ; My golden state I 'Id leave, to know His secret strong love- spell." THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. 51 When that the morrow's sun did dawn, The weary prisoners twain Heard rusted bolt and bar withdrawn, Down dropt the heavy chain. The blessed light full strong and bright Smote down upon their eyes. So that all dazzled was their sight, Nor aught could they surmise. Midmost there stood upon the stairs, Where the dark gates unclose. With pitying face a lady fair, Holding a fresh -plucked rose. Her maidens twain, on either hand. Were well-nigh fair as she, Be sure, they deemed that there did stand A heavenly company. 62 THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBANB. " Alack ! " cried one, " 'tis Mary Queen With her twain handmaidens, Catherine and Cecily." I ween Astonied was his sense. The vision spake ; her sweetest voice Was like the merry tmie Wherewith the blithesome birds rejoice The thickets close on June. Softly she questioned wherefore They sang so sweet and clear, That whoso passed their grille before, Halted the strain to hear. ** What love," quoth she, " hath power to live In this so gloomy cell ? Much gold and silver would I give To rede thy wondrous spell." THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 53 Then did the Palmer tell of Her Whom all true Christians love, Bound whom the bright choirs minister, The Queen of Saints above : Sweet mother-maid, whose tresses gold Fall o'er her broidered vest, While wrapt within her bosom's fold Her Babe is lulled to rest. In wonder then the Princess cried " I would some image see, Whereby in truth might be descried Thy sick brain's phantasy ! " The Princess parted therewithal With her handmaidens twain, And lock and bar with clangour fall, And all is dark again. "o*- 54 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTEAND. Within the cell a pillow rude Of shapeless wood there lay, Oft by the Palmer's tears bedewed At eve and break of day. From this he strove with labour vain To fashion forth his thought ; Toil as he might, yet all his pain No glad fruition brought. Weary he wrought till close of day, Then laid his tools aside, With aching heart to kneel and pray, At fall of eventide. The twilight stole, all hushed and dim, O'er the rose-garden fair ; The Palmer chanteth his vesper hymn, And kneeleth down in prayer. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. 55 *' Mary Queen, the night draws nigh To. those in bondage stress ; Bend thy sweet face from the sky, And our travail bless ! " At deep midnight our Lady came. Bright seraphs round her played, With wings that now in crimson flame, Now into twilight fade. The beauteous vision stretched her hand And touched the shapeless wood ; Lo ! straight in her fair likeness planned A heavenly image stood. The jewelled pinions round her whirl, The fiery colours blink, Like hues of sunset softly furl. And into darkness sink. 56 THE QUEST OF SIK BEBTEAND. Pale glanced the dawn through prison-bars, The Palmer oped his eye, And marked the last faint steely stars Yet lingering in the sky. All in the pallid light he sees A beauteous image gleam, "Where late he wrought upon his knees, And wrought with empty toil to seize An ever-fleeting dream. The Princess came at fall of eve Unto the dismal cell ; Scarce could her wondering eyes believe The gracious miracle. With reverence and holy fear The Palmer told his dream. And as he spake, a crystal tear Adown her cheek did stream. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. 57 He told her then of Bethlehem, And eke of Calvary : Be sure, the angels gazed on them, Eejoicing in the sky. Thereat her faith waxed firm and strong, She loathed her palace bowers ; For Christian ways her soul did long, Through all the weary hours. Unto the prisoners twain she cried, " Arise, at midnight deep Three steeds by the postern gate abide. The guards shall soundly sleep ! " At deep midnight the prisoners twain Heard rusted bolt and bar Fall down, and there unveiled again They gazed on sky and star. 58 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTRAND. Like shadows by the wall they glide Unto the postern gate ; By the castle wall three steeds abide, The Princess there doth wait. The holy image still she bare, Close to her bosom prest, Eich jewels glittered in her hair, And sparkled from her vest. " To our Lady Queen, the Eansomer, A dowry rich I bring ; Not empty-handed I come to her, The daughter of a king." The moon glanced through a cloudy rift, And the castle-bell did sound ; The Lady to her steed they lift, Their horses spurn the ground. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. 59 Swift, swift they fly o'er the desert wide Blanched by the pale moonlight. On ! on ! their phantom shadows glide, The sand flies in their flight. " Away ! away ! ere break of day We reach the Pilgrims' well ! " And ever on deserts blank the ray Of level moonlight fell. Pale-green the dawn awakening Glimmered along the sky. Like depths of ocean wavering In mellow mystery. Fierce glared the sun at noonday high, The trackless desert shone, The reddening sun sank down the sky, And day was well nigh done. 60 THE QUEST OF SIR BERTBAND. When lo ! against a liquid band Of primrose colour clear, Tall palms by eve's slow breezes fanned, At close of day draw near. A crystal well, a mossy bank. And green delicious shade ; The weary fugitives down sank In the soft-shadowed glade. Outwearied was each gallant steed. Panting and fain to fall ; Pursuers nigh, in bitter need To heaven for help they call. Fearful they laid them down to sleep. Midmost the desert vast ; The slow wind wending night's great deep Sighed gently as it past. THE QUEST OF SIE BEBTBAND. 61 "When dawn with bird's song softly rose, The pilgrims, fearful yet, From slumber now their eyes unclose ; What sight their wonder met ? All on a fair green knoll they lay. With daisies pied and starred ; Over the valley peered the day. Through cloudlets white and barred. With blithesome note the rivulet Eippled through birchen shade ; Around the leaf-hid violet Scented the budding glade. The Eed Cross Knight in wild amaze Leapt up, and loud he cried : *' Wander we yet in sleep's dim maze Upon the desert wide ? 62 THE QUEST OF SIR BEBTBAND. " Ob ! yonder lies my castle stroug, And there the village mill Tells to the dawn its undersong Beside the lilied rill ! " There stood those three, nor moved one limb, For fear the dream should fail ; As one who in sleep's valley dim Clasps some dead lover unto him With love's wild hunger pale. On emerald slope, girt round with yew. Uprose the grey church spire ; About the tower the jackdaws flew, The windows shone like fire. " Glory to God and our Ladye ! " With joy the Pilgrims cried, And swift unto the grey belfry Adown the vale they hied. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 63 Without the sun lay broad and strong Upon the graveyard green ; The bells their solemn peal prolong Amid the yew tree's screen. Within the light was dim and faint, The tapers twinkle bright ; With golden cloths embroidered quaint The altar was bedight. Sudden upon the morning still, A chant rose fitfully ; Adown the valley, o'er the hill, The lingering echoes die. Through hawthorn branches budded white, Black robes and white were seen, And a golden cross that glimmered bright, Atween the clustered green. 64 TEE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. Along the daisied slope they wend Through spring's soft light and shade, Beside the rippling streamlet's bend, While dim blue incense wreaths ascend And into thin air fade. First three fair boys the censer swung, And then devout and pale The pure-faced nuns their anthems sung, Beneath their wimpled veil. Next six handmaids in lily white The path with flowers did strew, Lilies and roses, vermeil-bright, New washed in morning dew. And in their midst, clad like a bride, A lady still and fair. Like some white spirit on did glide. With many a murmured prayer. THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBANB. 65 And now they reach the portal dark, And enter one by one ; The dim aisle gleams with taper's spark, The nuns their chant intone. The Priest hath at the altar bowed God's rite to minister ; The white-robed choristers sing loud, And swing the gold censer. With lips and cheeks like ivory. And eyes far off and large, The lady knelt, like those who see Loom nigh death's lone sea-marge. Low laid like corpse for burial rite The lady then they shroud ; At feet and head a burning light. The death-pall is with flowerets dight, Eose-lights on wannest cloud. 66 THE QUEST OF SIR BEBTBAND. And ever as they placed and flung Bright blossoms on the bier, A tender ditty thus they sung In accents soft and clear : — ** Lilies ivhite and virginal Strew we thus upon thy pall ; Roses red like drops of blood Fallen from the holy rood ; And ivhite roses pale and faint, Like some fair ecstatic saint ; Heartsease purple for a token Of the halm for sad hearts hroken ; And, for pain to pilgrim due, Rosemary and hitter rue. Bride of Christ, these earthly flowers Wither in wet autumn hours ; But the blooms of paradise Soon shall gladden weary eyes ; There bright beds of marigold Our dear Lady's throne enfold, THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBANB. 67 And her lilies marble-white Lift their coronals of light, Strewn with f/old-dust from the heart, Where the silver petals part." The Eed Cross Knight, as in a trance, Beholds the white robes wave ; Before his eyes the tapers dance. The chants hke billows rave. Nought clear but that white form he sees, The fair lost face that still, Like the mirrored moon on dreary seas. His bondage dreams did fill. Sudden he strides to the altar stair. With voice like trumpet tone He quells the sweet response and prayer ; The warrior stood alone. 5 * 68 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. Deep silence fell on all that throng, So that each one tongue-tied Might hear the twittering chirping«song The small birds made outside. He rent the cerecloth from her face, And cried, " My love, awake ! " " My wife ! my love ! " the blood apace On her cheek like dawnlight brake. Surely she deemed his spirit blest Beckoned from Paradise ; Till closely to his bosom prest, Her face in rapture lies. What need to tell how thence did fare The knight and his ladye Unto their home, with trumpet blare And merry minstrels}^? THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 69 The Eed Cross Knight with loving guile Oft-times the Palmer prest, " Bide with us here a little while, Bide with us here and rest." But aye the Palmer said him nay, With tears upon his cheek : " No rest for me upon my way Save in the heaven I seek." The Paynim jDrincess bideth there With our Lady of Liesse ; She hath shorn away her raven hair, And vowed a life of holy prayer, Her heart's love to express. By hawthorn glade in summer green Uprose a convent fair ; The grey walls there may yet be seen, A house of chaunt and prayer. 70 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. The convent bells sound sweet and deep. The poor those grey walls bless, Solace of all sad eyes that weep, Our Lady of Liesse ! On the low hill the Pilgrim stood, A figure lone and dim, And on his left, as red as blood, Sank down the broad sun's rim. The twilight lay, dim-fretted gold. All o'er the vague dark plain, Where now the sheep unto their fold Were wending back again. Swift falls the night, the sunset fades Into the last gold ray ; The Pilgrim, 'mid eve's closing shades. Pursues his darkening way. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 71 V. Now unto Eome the Pilgrim wends, Wherein St. Peter reigns ; Thither his way-worn steps he bends, And bHthely now his hymn ascends Upon the lonesome plains. Wide green waste places, whereon lie Temple and ruined shrine : Wide wastes of sultry purple sky, And wide waste pools that shine. The white mist gathers o'er the waste. Blotting its vivid green And polished pools. On, Pilgrim, haste ! Or night will intervene ! But now at sultry fall of even He sees the city loom Against a fiery rift of heaven, Amid the gathering gloom. 72 THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTEAND. The warders pace the battled walls, Dark shapes agamst the moon ; They challenge, and the drawbridge falls, The Pilgrim entereth soon. Sleep ! Pilgrim, sleep ! for all is well ! The dawn of Christ will break ; When tolleth the first matin-bell. Pilgrim, awake, awake ! In St. Peter's Chm-ch 'tis Easter day, They sing the Holy Mass. The Pilgrim Gray doth meekly pray That here at length his sad soul may From fleshly bondage pass. All in a cloud of incense sweet, The priests in robes of gold Softly the Kyrie repeat. The solemn bell is tolled. THE QUEST OF SIB BERT BAND. 73 From his high throne the Pope steps down And kneels right humbly there ; They lay aside the triple crown, A silence holds the air. And in the tranced interval, That seems eternity, The Priest lifts up in sight of all The Sacred Host on high. Far off and soft the organs play, Like heavenly psalteries : The last chant echoes far away. And into silence dies. The Pilgrim worn, with seraph eyes, Murmurs the holy song ; From the watch-towers of Paradise Gaze down the angel-throng. 74 THE QUEST OF SIB BERTBAND. " Now lettest thou ! " his Hps repeat, As o'er his straining view A haze of happy memories sweet Gathers in tearful dew. An odour on his senses steals, Like smell of fresh April : Bird-music in his glad ear peals, From a green valley still. Bright through the mist he sees them blow Each silver hawthorn flower. And leaflets green that broaden slow, As under April shower. Aiid in that moment he was 'ware How from his golden throne The Pope intoned the Blessing there ; The Holy Mass is done. THE QUEST OF SIB BEBTBAND. 7b Nought recks he now of earthly things ; Only the body fain In slumber swoons j while round him rings The angels' glad refrain : " Weary years seven Now are done ; Welcome in Heaven, Weary one. " Wreath of white flower, Without thorn. They weave for thy dower. Pilgrim forlorn ! " 76 THE QUEST OF SIB BEKTBAND. ENVOI. Ou earth, with Httle pomp, they laid His body poor in sod ; One taper lit, a few prayers said, His soul hath rest in God. "What guerdon for the bitter tears. What for the weary Quest ? The angels count those Pilgrim years. And God — He knoweth best ! THE BEDE OF JOHN, An utter drought consumed the land, Dimmed all the golden grain With bitter blight : quite still did stand The cattle on the plain, Weary with pain. Then John, the lowly, gazed abroad At noon, with pinched face thin. Upon his field, and sighed " Lord ! On two dear souls within Lay not my sin ! " 78 THE BEDS OF JOHN. At eve he took the rugged way Across the sun-dried rill With pain, to where he knew alway The great Christ hung so still Upon the hill. He laid his hot brows on the stone, His dizzy brain spun round : ** Spare but my little field ! " his moan, Like waters on dry ground, Sank without sound. The blight smote on the field of John, No cloud stirred in the sky, His cattle faltered and fell down, And there each one did die, Beneath his eye. Anon, for food grew scant, his wife Sickened, and sat alway Staring upon the wall ; her life Ebbed like the fading ray Of a spent day. THE BEDE OF JOHN. 79 Thereat he clomb once more the hill And knelt there, undismayed, Before the great Christ white and still ; " Only her life ! " he said, " Her life! " he prayed. Within the house a corpse lay stiff, His child wept by it on her knees ; So lightly passed her soul as if, Amid the poplar trees. Died out the breeze. The Crucified was swathed in mist At dawn ; before Him, pale He knelt, while those pierced feet he kist : " My child ! if all else fail, Let this avail ! " But that sweet maid, his dark home's light, Waned ever worn and wan ; Till on the midwatch of a night. Laid in the arms of John, Her breath was gone. 80 THE BEDE OF JOHN. Tearless, the tender body dead In linen white he wound, Set on the breast a poppy red ; Then laid it 'neath the ground, And sank and swound. With dizzy brain he clomb to where Wide-armed the white Christ shone ; With dry lips murmured this one prayer " Behold thy servant John ! Thy will be done ! " Sunrise and sunsetting, long years, Tending that way his herd. The self-same prayer he said with tears : One day he sank, nor stirred. His prayer is heard ! At Heaven's door a sad soul waits ; " Behold thy servant John ! " It saith, and lo ! the pearly gates Ope the dim dusk upon — His will is done ! 81 DANSE DES BACCHANTES. Euoi ! Euoi ! Not one dark branch is stirred Of all the dewy pines, nor one white bell Sways of the faint narcissus ; yet they come ! For from the vale's green depths rose up a cry Far off, which echo, huntress-like, pursued In every chasm and twilight cave. Euoi! Hark ! how the branched glades ring to the shrill Ecstatic piping of the Phrygian flute ! The wild bright cymbals clash, and swift and white "Wild arms gleam through the green, and momently Some glad face, all o'errun with god-like joy, Strikes on the sense like light or glint of steel. 6 82 BANSE DES BACCHANTES. A dream unveiled of white limbs leaping, foam Of snowy breast or hand, and sumptuous wave Of hair unbound, and dappled fawn skin, flung O'er wine-stained shining shoulders, on they come ! The cymbals clang, thick incense fumes drift by, They shout and sing, the unnumbered rosy lips And full white throats, while swift, like first hot drops 0' the thunderstorm, beat quick and thick their feet In whirlings of the fierce phrenetic dance. Their vine-clad thyrsi wave far down the glade, 'Mid tremulous light and gloom alternately, The wild h^^mn dies, faint breathe their flutes far heard, The cymbals softlier clang ; and all are gone ! Save where one wearied Bacchant sideway flung Lies, over-wrought with dance and ecstasy. Her white limbs purple-stained, and eyelids soft Slow-drooping, while her bright breast panting sighs To the deep heavings of a dreamless sleep. 83 THE CHRIST OF ANDERNACH. Ah ! bitter cold and wet with mist the night, A dreary heaven lit by one pale star ! Strait is the street and dark, save where a light Before the white Christ glimmers faint and far. " Lord ! for these stones are hard, and heart of man Harder than stone, I lay me down to die. No bread have I, and this poor babe's lips wan Turn from my wasted breasts, for they are dry. ' ' Lord ! be thou pitiful unto my sin, Who art so meek of heart ; life's ways are sore ; My ears are all aweary of life's din. Lord ! I am tired ! open thou Death's door ! " 6 84 THE CHRIST OF ANDEBNACH. The flickering lamp before the Cross yet swung, Whereon, all naked and sore-buffeted, The pale Christ drooped his head, and still there clung The weary woman, praying to be dead. She slept ; the first slow steps of Death drew near. Soft as o'er poppies strewn beneath his feet ; When one stood by her side, and in great fear The lost one lifted up her eyes to greet. Scant covering had that stranger from the wind, The drizzling mist dropped from his long thick hair, And on that lost one crouching were inclined Eyes wet with sorrow, but surpassing fair. One hand he reached, 'twas wounded in the palm : " Bread for thy child and thee ! Behold I mourn With those that mourn ; my sorrows are the balm For toil-worn feet and hearts by anguish torn." TEFJ CHRIST OF ANDEBNACH. 85 He blest and passed, and lo ! the light was gone, That ever burned before the dead Christ there ; And gazing upward, through the moonhaze shown, Cold, stark, and drear, she saw the Cross was bare. Whereat with one loud cry she swooned and lay Before the Cross ; and one, who heard the cry, Looked forth into the street, where now the day Made blank and pale the spaces of the sky And lo ! before the Cross a ladder set. And one mounts up and hangs the lamp thereby ; And stretching arms of love with night dews wet. Bows down in death on that new Calvary. 86 A SPRING REVERIE. A LONELY spire beside the river, Dark on the grey sky's monotone, Beside the stream, whose windings quiver With gleams that linger and are gone. The sun glints through a misty veil Upon the steep road wet with rain, That gleams like burnished silver pale. Embossed with many a wandering vein. O'er all the distance vague and sweet Dreams the dim promise of the spring : Tlie spring, the spring ! my lips repeat. My heart exults and strives to sing. A SPRING REVERIE. 87 The trees stand bleak with branches bare, And yet I know that spring is nigh, By this soft circumambient air, Circling in mellow myster}'. No primrose stars the dun wet slopes, Cowslip, or bright March daffodil : This is the hour of half-formed hopes. Hid in the future vast and still. Arouse, my heart ! the winter fades. The frost is o'er, the spring's glad song Shall waken all these barren glades, And vacant meadow space ere long. wondrous woof of sight and sound, Woven around from waking hours, Behold me by thy magic bound, A willing captive to thy powers ! 88 A SPRING REVERIE. These subtle scents and colours fine, With every phase of thy great life, Nature, mould my soul with thine. Peace with thy peace, strife with thy strife. When those I loved, with bitter words And hostile glances turned aside. Solace came to me from thy birds, And rest, close nestling to thy side. Not ever thus, as in some shrine, Dost thou with open face confer ; As if some sacrament divine Thy presence did administer. Day wearies and the night draws nigh ; Kindle thy mighty lamps, and set Thy starry watch-fires in the sky. Seals of a love that watches yet ! I 89 LOVE S REQUIEM. Marie. " The garden-close is bright with heat, That wafts a cloud of odours faint From beds of flowers ; the hot rays beat In dazing hues through the blazoned saint ! I can only lie in this broidered chair, And lean my head, and gasp for air ! " Eene. " Then lift thy white face^ pale Marie, From its cloudy nest of tresses dark : I close with care the jalousie, So that never a single garish spark Can steal into the scented gloom Of this tapestry-hung and silent room.'' 90 LOVE'S REQUIEM. Marie. ** This sudden shroud on the sun's hot glare Makes dim the scroll before mine eyes : Blue spots and green dance in the air, Like a swarm of painted dragon-flies. Then how can I read the notes aright In this close chamber, devoid of light ? " Rene. " Let not that thought distress thee more ; For lo ! in its cavern of ivory I kindle the silver lamp, before This dim old picture, pale Marie. Now let thy song flow free and bold, In waves and rivulets of gold." Maeie. " My lips are parched : they strive in vain ! My throat is like a fountain dry In a desert land, which yearns for rain That falls not from a cloudless sky. Or as at noon the nightingale Is athirst for dews and moonlight pale." LOVE'S BEQVIEM. 91 Rene. " Set thy parched mouth to this cup of gold, Where white snow melts in the wine blood red ! Drink deep ! nor let thy lips withhold, Until thy thirst be comforted ! Then let thy voice, pale Marie mine, Flow full and free, like outpoured wine ! " Makie. "But see ! I cannot, for a string- Hath snapped and shivered in the lute. How to thy measures might I sing, If one sweet silver wire be mute ? That would make discord harsh for love. The peacock shrieking to the dove ! '" Rene. " See, I reset the broken wire ! Now list ! languid pale Marie, How swift and clear, like rising fire. The notes ascend in harmony ! Then linger not, my lady, pray. Thy slim hand's cunning to essay ! " 92 LOVE'S REQUIEM. Makie. " Thou wilt not heed ! Then list, and hear Marred music of my heart's unrest ! The discords jar upon thine ear ? My heart is broken in my breast ! Death plays the only psaltery, That hath a charm for pale Marie ! " 93 BENEDICITE. Cecily, Gertrude and Aloyse Lay in the shade of the orchard trees. Fair are the blossoms that blow in the Spring ! Bright-hah*ed and comely, as may be seen. Clad all m pm-ple and velvet green. Fair are the blossoms that bloiv in the Spring ! The apple-blooms drift down, pink and white, Through April shadow and April light. Fair are the blossoms that blow in the Spring ! 94 BENEBICITE. " Heigh lio ! right fair is the world to see ! " Sung Gertrude loud to Cecily. Fair are the blossoms that blow in the Spring ! Father Austin passed by the orchard wall : Lightly the maidens to him did call. Fair are the blossoms that blow in the Spring ! With eyes downcast on his Breviary, Father Austin gave " Benedicite ! " Fair are the blossoms that blow in the Spring ! " ! prayers are well for a shaven head, And shrift is the balm for a death-bed ! " Fair are the blossoms that blow in the Spring ! Then they laughed and sang to the sky above " heart, true heart, thou hast my love ! " Fair are the blossoms that blow in the Spring ! jt * * * BENEDICITE. 95 Father Austin passed by the orchard wall ; But no sweet voices to him did call. Where are the blossoms that blew last SjJring ? The withered leaves drift down and blow On three green graves, set all a-row. Where are the blossoms that bleiv last Spring ? By tapers' shine they chant for them In the Abbey dim a Eequiem. Where are the blossoms that bleiv last Spring ? Their bodies three are laid full low ; But where their souls be, who may know ? Where are the blossoms that blew last Spring ? 96 LAC D AMOUR. Morn pales above thee mistily, And far as any eye can see, The shining water-spaces gleam Lucid and grey, as in a dream. The silver water-lilies float With broad dark leaves upon the moat ; Far out a single swan scarce stirs The lake with that white breast of hers And ruffled plumage, drifting by O'er still reflections of the sky. Midway a low-built bridge of stone Runs o'er, and mirrored there alone A time-beat tower stands bleak and grim Against the grey horizon dim. LAO D'AMOUE. 97 Where be the loves which gave thee name ? All perished is the rosy flame That lit those bygone centuries : Nought save their ashen memories, Unrecked of man, breathe round thy marge ! Did here, at midnight, some dark barge Steal up unto yon lonely tower, And music-wooed from out her bower A maiden fair yearn down upon The passionate face she had undone ? Or through these rustling reeds did come. By dawn, some youth to hear his doom Breathed forth from rosy faltering lips ? If so, 'tis hid in time's eclipse. I, rather, musing, love to dream, That deep in the uncertain gleam Of these wan waters dwells a sprite. And through the watches of the night 7 98 LAC D' AMOUR. She sings of love, and doth unfurl Moon-coloured hair with comb of pearl. Far down beneath the shadowy mere, Five fathom deep, in water clear. They sleep on beds of river bloom, The men she lured unto their doom. Howbeit, whatever dead romaunt Of love doth thy pale waters haunt, Vague lake ! like thee, the calm grey years Lie hushed of vain desire and tears, Calm and unvexed by any wind. "What issue of the passion blind. The wild caresses, tear-stained eyes. And sad hearts rent by sacrifice ? Fit image of the past, dim shore And shadowy water, Lac d'Amour ! 99 MUSIC OF THE SPHERES. I LAY upon a heathery crag at noon, And o'er the crystal blue, And o'er the phantom-wraith of the dead moon Eain-vapours drew. O'er the rent rocks and the green vale, where swept In silver curves the stream, And o'er the seven vague distant hills there crept A wan rain-dream. From ruddy crag and emerald slopes of vine Their colours died away, From opal arch of heaven the clear sunshine, Till all was gray. 100 MUSIC OF THE SPHERES. Then, on a sudden, the great sun grew strong, And, like a sword of light. The river flashed from out its scabbard, long And keen and bright. The mountains slow unveil their purple head, The vineyards glitter gold, With glory of purple heather and granite red The crags unfold. Then on my beating heart, like angel's tears, Or drops of faery dew, There fell the music of the crystal spheres, Thrilling me through With pleasure deepenmg into pain, until Pleasure grew out of pain ; It penetrated all the vale and hill With a clear rain MUSIC OF THE SPHERES. 101 Of melody, more sweet than in moonlight Echoes a god-struck lyre, 'Mid olive woods on a Thessalian night. Strung with desire. My soul was as a woof of thinnest mist Which the sun's burning flame And passion burn, and the keen dews have kist, And sunset's shame, And multitudinous stars and white moon-rays. With web of pearly dreams Have SM-athed, ere yet the garish swift-foot days Bring back their beams. My soul hung o'er the deeps of mystery ; Yet how may tongue express The varying music of the melody. Its loveliness ? 102 MUSIC OF THE SPHERES. It brought to mind dim caves in unknown seas, Haunted by ghostly foam, And boundless forests of rich-blossomed trees, Where no men come. But all its endless glades are wreathed in bloom And loud with throbbing song; Music like this drew that proud city of doom, Her gateways strong, Pale palaces and white magnificence. Cloud-like from Ilion's plain : Delight so exquisite and so intense Is sharpest pain ! On, as a mountain runs with rifted light And sheets of dazzling snow And violet ice, up to a central height From lakes below : I MUSIC OF THE SPHEEES. 103 So with up-gathered strength the melody, Circhng, swept round and round, And culminated in an ecstasy, A point of sound. Then scattered like a billow's shattered spray Dissolved in rainbow light, It faltered on the winds of heaven astray. Shorn of its might. Soft as the falling of a seraph's tears, Or drops of faery dew, Rapt into silence, music of the spheres. Adieu ! Adieu ! 104 THE DEATH OF TIME. Upon a w]iite moon crag, that, like a wraith, GHmmers amid th' aerial crystal waste, Where after the red surge of ruin spreads A silent yawning chasm of atmosphere. Hangs ancient Time, clutching its topmost peak With drooping pinions whiter than sea-foam. Hollow his eyes, that through his scattered locks Glow, like a lamp expiring in the gloom. His half-shut lips, with writhing effort, strive To syllable the word Eternity, But only vent strange murmurings that fade In that fine deluge of unmeasured air. THE DEATH OF TIME. 106 Slowly his tense grip loosens, and he glares Adown the abyss of awful nothingness, Where that sharp peak runs out like a keen sword. His eyes are kindled in a last weird flame, His parched lips move, as with an extreme breath They echo forth the dread Eternity. Then with rent pinions, like distorted cloud, And glitter of his moonlight scythe, Time falls Down, down into the Infinite Eterne ! 106 A NORTHERN FANTASY. She sits far off and dreams, Her laughter shrilly climbs The chill stars' woven beams, Like silver-changing chimes, Around her circling gleams The mist of bygone times. Bright shameless marigolds Enwreathe her glistening hair, Pale jewels clasp the folds About her shoulders fair, Her listless right hand holds The courses of the air. A NORTHERN FANTASY. 107 The monstrous snake that lies Around the gleaming world, With dull unchanging eyes Beneath her feet is curled ; The while her deft hand plies The tempest- woof unfurled. A dead eternal light Broods round her pearly seat, And in wild dances bright Eed northern fires compete ; Seldom in wan long flight White northern sea-wings beat. Above in jewelled sleep The million ice-peaks loom Through veils of mist that creep Over their lustrous bloom. And in their ravines deep Eesound her songs of doom. 108 A NORTHERN FANTASY. Ever through airy veils, Her bright ice-spindle speeds, And her sweet song not fails. Careless of earth's wild needs - What, though a mother wails. Or many a nation bleeds ? Some day, they say, in fire And glare of ruin fell Shall perish her desire. With every magic spell, Consumed on lurid pyre — I know not : who can tell ? 109 THE PALMER GREY. A palmer's staff was in his hand, Grey palmer's weeds he wore, With sandal shoon, from Holy Land, He trod fair England's shore. In pious zest He smote his breast, And said " Confiteor ! " The merry, merry hunt was out, The hunter's horn rang free ; With horse and hound the blithesome rout Flashed by him on the lea. He bent his head, And softly said Another "Hail. Marie!" 110 THE PALMER OBEY. With solemn pace he walked beside The streamlet's mossy rim, Where lovers twain sat side by side, And reckoned nought of him. With stifled moan. He did intone A penitential hymn. Upon the white high-road he met A merchant, with his train Of bales of silk on palfreys set, And glare of jewels vain. He turned and sighed, " Ah ! this world's pride Is dust upon the plain ! " At close of eve the holy man Within a stone chapell Laid down his burthen for a span. That he his beads might tell. THE PALMER OBEY. Ill Three psalms he said For newly dead At " De Profundis " bell. Eftsoon the hunters wending slow Eode by in sorry plight ; Nor beast nor bird they found, I trow. From dawn to fall of night. In that dim place They saw his face Shine, as an angel's bright. The lovers eke passed by the place, But strange and far apart, With sullen frowns upon each face, And daggers in each heart. "Alack!" he sighed, " The rose doth hide The sharp thorn's bitter smart ! " 112 THE PALMER GREY. "When that the midnight moon did rise, Two wounded henchmen bore The merchant rich, in dying guise, Unto the chapell door. With bated breath He whispereth, " Yea ! Blessed are the Poor ! " At break of day three woodmen found The Palmer kneeling there, All stark in death upon the ground With hands clasj^ed as in prayer. In greenwood glade His corse they laid — His soul was otherwhere. 113 BABEL. Hushed into stillness lay the midnight plain, And dark against the purple sky In lonely majesty Towered that wondrous pile, the effort vain Of a mad world to live in memory. Eising in tier on tier, and yet again In gallery on golden gallery, Sombre and still the proud presumptuous mass Awaited the loud tumult and the hand Of countless workers yet to overpass All bounds of time, mortality, to stand Its head among the planets' whirl, its base Firm-fixed to be the wonder of each land. 8 114 BABEL. Around the sides ran sculptured fair Old stories of primaeval world, The dark earth wondering at the starry line, The glory of the orb of day, and there Those heaven-aspiring angels earthward hurled ; And rich and rare The storied walls rose upward, with a stair Enwreathed around them, like the vine Close to the windy elm-tree curled. And drooping in the pauses of the wind Her sunny leaves about the glowing bunches twined. Far as the verge of sky did reach The tented myriads lay, Innumerous as on the beach In some deep-brooding bay. Before the confusion and rush of the wind The storm breakers burst in feathery spray, And prelude the fury that lingers behind The utter cloud- darkness in battle array. BABEL. 115 Is it a star ? A star ? Or meteor rushing bright ? That shines where constellations are And grows in light : Opening, opening like a rose, Wings are beating the gloom, and close And closer an angel silvery white, With thunder under his feet, With the beat Of thunder under his winged feet. He stands on the tower, his eagle eyes Are fixed on the slumbering plain ; He sees the farthest tent that lies Dimly shown. And the wilderness lone, Beyond the uttermost mortal gaze : Then his hand he lays On the crown incomplete of the tower : the rays Of the dawn touched his wings, as in thunder he says 8 * 116 BABEL. " The swift-footed days Have numbered a time and half a time ; The Author subhme Hath scattered thy glory and shattered thy praise. ** Confusion and tumult henceforth be thy name, And the flame Of discord sever with Babel of sound, And the flying of camels to find A land beyond the sun's golden bound, And to speed on the wings of each hurrying wind, Till after many mad wildering years All ocean and earth be calmed, and the blind Struggle after the vain be lost, and all tears Wiped away in the love of the Infinite Mind, And the flush of the morning that never dies From the roseate depths of marvellous skies." A flash in the night ! He is gone ! And the plain, BABEL. 117 Where the morning is cleaving his way alone From under a fire-fringed cloud, with a sword Dew-dripping, and scattering diamond rain, Far abroad Is shaken with rushing hurrying feet, And a clamour as loud as the cry that is blown From the ocean-line of birds, as they beat The wild breeze. That roars from over the wind-driven seas ; When they seek, like an arrow, voluptuous lands Of low red sunsets and gold-scattered sands. Where over the valley the mountain stands. And the incense of flowers ascends to God, Where the shadowy spirit of morning hath trod. Madly they glared at each other, the blast Of Heaven's displeasure cold-withering blew ; And at last The long laden line of camels swift flew, Some east and some west ; 118 BABEL. And the babel of sound, All the still-blazing noon, Eoared ever around The motionless pile, till the moon Gazed down on that ruin of hopes, and the ground Bestrewn with the weary unable to fly, Over all the deep sky, And the fire-panting stars that never can die. 119 LORDSMAN AND LADY. A LORDSMAN went a-wayfaring, To gather tithes at harvesting ; A good man he and true of word, Well loved withal by serf and lord For justice strait and charity, Albeit a bended brow had he. This autumn eve it chanced that slow Homeward he rode through sunset glow Upon his sorrel palfrey, clad In amice furred of colour sad : Within the lea,thern scrip, that hung About his neck, gold coins rung. 120 LOBDSMAN AND LADY. The silence, that the falling year Oft hath, possessed him. Sharp and clear His horse's hoofs rang out upon The white high road, till gladly won The green sward, smooth as velvet, sank Adown the wood by mossy bank. Quite still and dim the forest seemed ; Yet where he needs must pass there gleamed Keen steel amid the bracken red, Wherein three thieves lay ambushed. Musing he rode, his reins let fall Upon his horse's mane ; the call Of thrush and corncrake sounded faint : Anon all rich with storied saint He drew from vest his Psalter Book. It was a way he ne'er forsook, Each day upon his bended knee To say our Lady's Psaltery. That livelong day his business Had hindered with unwonted stress, LOBDSMAN AND LADY. 121 So now he tethered there his steed, Knelt down, and straight began his bede. The robbers watch him there dismount. And his devotions tell ; they count Impatient, every " ave" told Fulfilled with cruel greed of gold. E'en as he prayed in that dim place, A light broke o'er the earnest face. Transfigured quite ; and lo ! there stood Beside him in the lonely wood, "With mantle blue, a lady fair ! And as the good man told his prayer. She laid a chaplet on his head, And soft with each low ave said, Set in the wreath a rose so bright The darksome wood was filled with light : Then when his prayers all finished are He kissed the earth for Venia, The lady parted therewithal. 122 LOBDSMAN AND LADY. Straightway the thieves upon him fall And hale the lordsman to their lair. Some shadowed splendour of that prayer Yet lingered in his wondering eyes, Haunting them with still mysteries : Like face of one who hath beholden In ecstasy the portals golden Half-open, thronged with faces keen Of angels, such seemed his, I ween. Euthless they drag him to their chief; With jealous hate the cruel thief Chafed at such innocence, his no more, Minding him how in days of yore He lisped at a mother's knees With childish lips such prayers as these. He smote the lordsman on the cheek : " Sir praying clerk, look up and speak ! That downcast mien thy trade avows. What lady was it crowned thy brows L0BD8MAN AND LADY. 123 With wreaths of roses white and red ? " Whereat the man astonished Made answer : " Lady none saw I ; For, reading in my Psaltery, I said our Lady's lauds and nones. Till pausing I looked upward once ; And for my heart was cold with fear Of these, prayed Mary Queen to hear The cryings of her servitor." The robber's brow was dark afore With greed of gold : at Mary's name He shrank, as from a touch of flame. *' Nay, for her blessed love, pardie, Pass on thy road ! In charity Pray for my soul unto her grace ! " And therewithal in little space Safe on his way the lordsman went. Fulfilled with joy and wonderment. Such succour may our Lady bring To all on their life's wayfaring ! 124 THE TOURNAMENT. The lists rang loud with trumpet blare And shout of victory, the last thrust Had laid the last knight in the dust That eddied yet in the hot air. 'Mid all that wave of helm gone down And shorn white plume he sat upright, And on his pale lips came a light, And from his brows died out the frown. High on his lance-head flashed and swung The tourney's death-won diadem ; The ladies smiled ; he glanced at them Leaning athwart the barriers hung THE TOURNAMENT. 125 With loom of Ind enwoven rich In bird and flower ; and there serene , Cheeks triumph-flushed, the tourney queen Sat in her deep embroidered niche. Silent a moment, thus he gazed On all that beauty and the loud Upturned white faces of the crowd, Askance, and sight and ears were dazed. Then crying loud : " The meed of Love For her the victor deems most fair. My Lady ; I must seek her there f " He pointed to the heaven above, That blue as any gem lay spread : With frantic shout they mocked and jeered " The Dastard ! " — they who lately cheered. He answered nought, but bowed his head. 126 THE TOURNAMENT. Then forth they drove him from the list With ribald shout and missile vile ; Yet none the less his clear eyes smile ; He rode from out the gate : they hissed. 127 ST. VALENTINE S EVE. The moon shines faint, the winds are low, The pearly cloudlets, one by one, Fleet o'er her face full sad and slow ; Before moon-set my task be done. Marjoram and balsam sweet, Streiv them on my true love's breast ; Stone at head, and turf at feety how she lies in dreamless rest. My love lies 'neath the black yew-tree (Softly tread or she will wake ! ) 128 ST. VALENTINE'S EVE. Soft the shadows pass and flee : Softly or the charm will break. Marjoram and balsam S2veet Strew them on my true love's breast; Stone at head, and turf at feet, Low she lies in dreamless rest. 'Neath the sod my love sleeps somid, All alone by the dark church-tower ; Softly tread and strew around Marjoram and gilly-flower. Marjoram and balsam sweet, Strew them on my true love's breast ; Stone at head, and turf at feet, Low she lies in dreamless rest. Wildly now my heart doth beat ; Hark ! the church bell deep doth toll ; Eest is all that I entreat, Eest like thine, thou sainted soul ! ST. VALENTINE'S EVE. 129 Marjoram and balsam sweet, Strew them on my true love's breast ; Stone at head, and turf at feet, Loiv she lies in dreamless rest. Here 1 lay me down beside : This green turf is softest bed ; Sleep will come at thy dear side, Churchyard mound beneath my head. Marjoram and balsam sweet, Strew them on my true love's breast ; Stone at head, and turf at feet, Loiv she lies in dreamless rest. The morrow is St. Valentine ; At the dawn our lips shall greet, When the first pale ray doth shine On the daisies at thy feet ! Marjoram and balsam siveet, Strew them on my true love's breast ; ST. VALENTINE'S EVE. Stone at head, and turf at feet, Low she lies in dreamless rest. Sweet thy slumber 'neath the sod, Sweetheart now no more adieu ; We shall wake and be with God, Close together, I and you ! Marjoram and balsam stveet, Strew them on my true love's breast ; Stone at head, and tnrf at feet, Low she lies in dreamless rest. LYRICS, &c. 133 EPHEMERA. A DELICATE ripple of sunlight, Quenched in an April gloom ; Faint-fluttering petals drifted From the latest pale rose-bloom ; A phantom glimmer of twilight, Eevealing a darkened room. The jewelled mist of a rainbow, When the sun and the rain-storm meet ; Vibrations of exquisite music, As the lute-strings cease to beat ; Things lovely and evanescent — Oh ! wherefore are these things sweet ? 134 PROEMION. Where the priestess stands and showers Keen salt on the cracklmg fire, White and red-hearted flowers Are strewn for the god's desire. A few faint rose leaves fluttered On the marble altar base ; A few swift fancies uttered In the heart's most hol}^ place. As the dewy petals drifted Are fraught with an odour of prayer, These songs with the solemn are gifted, And laid on Life's altar-stair. To wither there ! 135 THE RING. I HAD a ring that unto me seemed fair, So many rainbow lights dwelt in the gem ; So strangely wrought the setting rich and rare : Yet few e'er praised it, when I showed it them. And years I treasured it for my delight, And oft-times rising in the earl}' morn Would joy to see its inner fires grow bright. And redden through faint opal like the dawn. Or at noontide behold it flash and burn And tremble, like a flame blown divers ways ; But most at night within my palm to turn The stone that in the moon enwove wan rays. 136 THE RING. Now seemed it like a faded sapphire, now Pale emerald, topaz, or the beryl stone : Till seeing this, my friend did straight aver I did great wrong to hoard my joy alone. " Nay, let it sparkle in men's eyes, and so Shall it win wonder and its beauty's meed." This saying troubled me, I answered low : " Why let all careless eyes their glances feed " Upon my treasure, fair indeed to me ; But to all those, who have not loving eyes To see the glamours that mine own eyes see, My well-loved gem will seem a worthless prize ! Such words in haste I spake : " Give me the ring ! " With voice reproachful murmured that dear friend ; "I prize it, though it be no precious thing." And so I gave it him to make an end. 137 HIRONDELLES. Love came with the wild sweet swallow, On a wild March day, To abide for the summers that follow, Alway. While the green still hours of summer Glided softly away. He abode, that blithe new-comer, Alway. "When the last pale roses were dying. And skies grew grey. Love spread his wings, and was flying Away. 138 HIBONDELLES. The spring will come back, and the swallow Eeturn some day : But alack for a love found hollow Alway ! 139 VALENTINE, My Valentine ! All of pale violets, ]?it for Love's shrine, My valentine. Love in a line Is the law of these Triolets ; My valentine, All of pale violets ! 140 THE QUESTION. You glanced at me last night, And heaven looked through : This dark world would be bright, If it were true. The pressure of your hand To bid adieu Would unlock fairy-land. If it were true. The heartsease at your breast, Purple and blue, Looked up from that sweet rest. As if thev knew. THE QUESTION. 141 Bright sudden splendid gleams Build earth anew : If these be but fair dreams, Oh tell me true ! 142 ABSENCE. Could you but guess the longing vain, The aching weary restlessness, Until I see your face again, Could you but guess ! Parted from you, all empty seems ; The moment that I bid adieu. Fade from the earth its fairy gleams, Parted from you ! What time we meet, the earth grows bright Eound me the air is faint and sweet, And radiant M'ith a mystic light, What time we meet ! 143 LOVE S CROWN. ! BEING for my love a coronet, Aflame from Dawn's pale throne, With jewelled fires in a golden fret. Beryl-stone : And casting back Love's own rose light From my Lady's sovereign face, With inner fires that kindle bright, Chrysophrase : And soft as a spray of lilac bloom. Seen through an April mist, Or a star, dissolved in night's blue gloom,, Amethyst : 144 LOVE'S CROWN. Go, then, sweet angel ministers. Smite each your silver lyre, And crown that royal brow of hers, Heart's desire ! 145 NOCTURNE. The night is soft, a tender haze Bedims the stars, Through cloudy bars The moon doth seaward gaze. And all the wandering ocean-ways Are touched and kindled by her beams. The while this shadowy shore I pace in dreams. The moon-white spray upon the rocks is thrown, And quivering like a lyre Each separate wave this way and that is blown In tremulous shafts of fire. 10 146 NOCTURNE. A shade steals o'er the heaven, The lonely vast Looms dim, until the cloudy woof is riven, And light is cast Far over rock-bound shore and ocean pale ; Then slow once more the brilliance soft doth fail. The steep town sleeps in night, But blurs of golden flame Burn here and there in windows bright. ! joy I scarce dare name, Yonder her chamber's rosy light, Love's beacon-star beams on my gladdened sight. ! for a fairy lute. Strung from the silver spray, Whereof no string is mute : Love's roundelay Might then sigh on amid this hueless air. Night's secret passion throbbing in my prayer. 147 TOO LATE. ! SWEET pale face, I saw you first, As in some dim place A sudden burst Of orange flower at twilight seen Amid the deep leaves' sombre green. Pure, virginal, Close-folded yet, The Spring's sweet call And warm tears wet Had not yet wooed into a star Of odorous white the bud's close bar. 10 * 148 TOO LATE. " I will return, Some other morn, When rich suns burn And fruits are born, Warm, golden-red, and ripe at last Ere summer hours be overpast." I came elate To pluck my prize ; I came too late. For other eyes Had marked my gold fruit hanging there, And nought was left on branches bare ! 149 PENUMBRA. One more kiss, love ! Even Death Cannot rob our lips of this ! One more touch of that dear breath, One more kiss ! ! dear eyes I know so well. Shadowed by that cloud of hair, With love's self, as in a well. Mirrored there. Yes ! you whisper we shall meet Far beyond in some dim land, Piecognize and gently greet. Hand in hand. 150 PENUMBRA. So you say, but still a fear Haunts me with foreboding strange ; Will the face I worshipped here Suffer change ? 151 SPRING, The snow hangs thick upon the fir And on the grass ; no wmd doth stu- The smooth gray waters of the stream, That through the cedar-branches gleam. Beneath the cedar one gem lies Of emerald sod ; the wintry skies Are white and clear and crystalline ; No azure spaces laugh and shine. And yet I know, beneath the snow Snowdrop and golden aconite Full faintly blow, or brightly glow, Like burnished gold or silver^iright ! 152 SPRING. And ivy buds are breaking forth, And yellow jessamine's pale stars Peer out, albeit the bitter north Breathes blight, and swift their beauty mars. And yesterday, his first wild lay I heard the fluting throstle sing : Through barren wood and coppice stray The first faint footfalls of the Spring. Soon the season of snows will be over, The mantle of winter will slowly discover. And primrose and snowdrop and daffodil Will star the valley and crown the hill ! Half-fulfilled and incomplete, I love this season of promise sweet ; The vague uncertain lights that linger One shadowy moment and are gone ; It stirs the heart of bird and singer. And lends enchantment to their tone. SPRING. 153 Whatever lips thy glories sing, Summer, or Autumn golden- deep, My hymns be thine ethereal Spring, Light after night, life after sleep ! 154 A SPRING ODE. There is a brightness in the new-born year, A light and beauty in the budding leaf, Which softens grief, And with a hallowed strength restrains the tear. I know not what it is, This bounding heart of joy, Or whence flows down this plenteousness of bliss, Without alloy. Is it that Winter's ice And whirling snows and mist And bleak cold now desist ? Or is it that the summer-guerdoning sjiice, Which blows around the cheek, Of joys to come doth speak ? Or is it of our coursing blood some natural freak ? A SPRING ODE. 155 Over the blackthorn brake Blossom the faery clusters white, And sunny-bright The daffodil flutters a golden flake, In winds of gusty March. Among the withered leaflets dead. Where the fresh sap runs through the oak and larch, Lo the faint-scented primrose lifts its head \ The hedge-rows burgeon green, And fresher are the meads. The lambkins frisk and leap in the gay sheen, And the mother watchful feeds. Under a blue sky flecked With racing clouds, ripple the loosened streams. The cuckoo's far-off note Sounds as in happy dreams. Joyous the lark doth soar and float. And his sky-piercing song is heard the while, As in the meadows decked The shepherd woos his love beside the mossy stile. 156 A SPRING ODE. All this, all this, I love ! I loved, when still A child I sought the woodland grove, And did my eager hands with flowers fill. Nor was my heart content ; For each beyond seemed a delight more fair, Till on the ground wearied I sank and spent. Here thick the blue-bells in the grass Lie like a drifted azure cloud. To all the winds that o'er the marish pass. The iris slow unfurls his purple banner proud. Why wail for what is gone ? Still blows for me the fruitful air. Still where the cawing rookery clusters tall, I love to see the April violet. It stirs no vain regret. Though one by one the vanished summers fall. Life is but just begun ; And all my thoughts are like yon changeful heaven, Now bright with sun, Now curtained o'er by gloom and tempest-driven. A SPBING ODE. 157 I know not why my bliss ! Is it that life for me Hath bloomed from out the dark abyss Of all that is to be ? Or that when young my thought, I joy to dream in hope of fuller strength, Of all life's powers to their highest brought And great at length ? For yet the world is young, Still in her mighty veins bounds fiery blood. Glories there are unsung. And many a noblest theme for bard in noblest mood. Ocean's loud- sounding shore, And roaring tract of darkest flood Can now divide no more ! Beneath the wave the magic message flies ! Behold the risen crowds, the god-like poor, As o'er each waking land oppression slowly dies ! Come, stand with me above the level marsh. And gaze from here upon the windy sea. 158 A SPRING ODE. And listen to the billow's music harsh, Where on the yellow strand the foam flies free. Lo ! as yon opal distance dimly deep, Where sky and ocean meet, As fully vast Stretches the boundless years' unfettered sweep, Of which but the first waves are at our feet : Like yonder hill-girt marsh lies the forgotten past. 159 AUTUMN LEAVES. Autumn leaves are whirling fast, Summer days are over and done : But oh for the golden hours fled past And the years that are flown and gone. The flowers hang heavy with petals wet, Heartsease and faint pale rose : Sad heart lie still, and strive to forget The hours that the years foreclose. Faded flowers of the heart's lost peace, Golden occasions fled, Blighted promise of bright increase. And hope down-trodden and dead. 160 AUTUMN LEAVES. The sad eyes fill and brim with tears For the promise of bygone Spring, Made void by the flight of the eddying years, In the wind of Time's wild wing. 161 REST. Wild passionate heart dost thou tu-e In the prison-house of my breast ? World-wearied, what is thy desire, Best ? Aye Eest ! Aching eyes, aweary of day And glamour of colour deep, What boon shall thy pain allay. Sleep? Aye Sleep! Tired body and soul of mine, That groaneth and travaileth. What well-loved guerdon is thine. Death ? Aye Death ! 11 162 THE TARANTELLE. The Tarantelle ! This white road's heat Glisters Hke glass ; her swift brown feet Glance in and out, the slim hands sway Unto the pipe's shrill roundelay, While quick and loud the dull drums beat. Swift and more swift her steps compete. Her dark eyes glitter vague and sweet Through her dark hair. Away, Away ! The Tarantelle! Her golden anklets clash ; replete With glow and clangour, down the street She whirls. Ah ! dare not to essay To follow where those wild feet stray ! Marvel, but shun with eyes discreet The Tarantelle ! 163 THE PRODIGAL. Is this the quest ? Yes, all around deposes That I have seen it in a hundred dreams, The trellised alleys and the wildering roses. The cedar gloom where the white statue gleams. The same old lichened walls and ivied gables, Grey timeworn dial with mosses green o'ergrown, The flower-vases, wrought with antique fables, The mouldering buttress and half-open door. Through which half-seen, gliding in graceful measure Amid green glooms and sunny interspace. The light-foot stags and does, with airy measure Flit by, all heedless of a stranger face. 11 * 16i THE PRODIGAL. All silent, from the white doves on the tower To the huge mastiff on the smibeat stair ; The bee hangs idle in the dreaming flower, The peacock spreads his jewels to the air. How stir in such a charmed and calm seclusion ? Nay, rather in the golden atmosphere Gaze at those peonies in rich confusion, Globing their crimson blossoms bright and clear. A fairy palace ! Sure some princess slumbers, "Where odorous silks her tender limbs enfurl, The while slow hours her heaving bosom numbers. Dark-tressed and dreaming on a bed of pearl. And I, the Fairy Prince ! Ah no, the vision Melts as I gaze across the fountain's side, And laugh aloud in sad and cold derision, A wrinkled Prince, who seeks a phantom Bride ! 165 PEACE. In the cool green deep The seaweed swings : Low songs of sleep The curled sea sings, And west winds harp on sea-foam strings. In the meadows green And moist, the kine Lie there serene, While slow decline The Spring's pale hours we deemed divine. 166 PEACE. In the crystal air The blithe birds poise, Wide-winged ; from there Earth's plaintive noise Their sacred calm noway alloys. All rest in peace ; Only for man No calm surcease Of labour's ban, But endless toil consumes life's span. Mother of life. Breathe on my face ! Amid this strife Grant me thy grace, Vision of Peace in thine high place! 167 A SIREN. SiBEN you seem, as you sit on the sand, Half mystery and half glee, Touching the chords with a magical hand To the music of the sea : I feel, as I listen here where I stand, That a spell steals over me From the notes that dreamily pause and flow : ** Tazah he tazah, na be na o / " The grey eyes are gazing far away, Under her hat's broad brim, Her dress is blue, with a kerchief gay Twisted in wilful whim, 168 A SIBEN. O'er the dark guitar long ribands stray Of a hue that is rich and dim, While the sweet lips murmur dreamy and low, ** Tazah he, tazah, na he na o f" The shore is limitless, wild and bare, Edged with hillocks of sand, And the waves that ceaselessly murmur there Come stealing up to the strand, To mingle their melody with the air That flows from her skilful hand, Soft as a lullaby, dreamy and low, ** Tazah he tazah, na be na o / " The sound of that weird barbaric strain Brings visions strange to my mind, A golden-red sunset and pallid plain, A mother dusky and kind. Hushing her babe, while ever again That lullaby floats on the wind, Falling and soaring and eddying low, " Tazah he tazah, na he na of" A SIREN. 169 Siren ! you draw us all from our game, And the ringing laughter has died, As one by one to the circle came, And sank on the sand beside, Where rippling mystical sad, the same Soft lullaby still replied To the beat of the bright sea echoing low, " Tazah be tazah, na be na o f " 170 SLEEP. The winds have hushed the sun to rest, The lilies dream in twilight skies, And those soft eyelids slowly prest Droop o'er thy languid eyes. All beauty falls asleep with thee, Save yon unwearied lights above : But brighter than those stars shall be The morrow and my love ! 171 (( life's banquet. With mournful eyes and laughter, In mockery of our pain, We drain the cup, and after Chant low the sad refrain : For all the swift hours flying Chant low, chant slow and sweet ! " We wreathe pale brows with roses, And greet the gleaming wine, While time's cold shade forecloses The hours we deemed divine : •* For all the swift hours dying Sing low, sing sloiv and sweet ! " 172 LIFE'S BANQUET. The purple wine falls wasted On the marble floor serene, And life's rich fruit half-tasted Is sharp with juices keen. ** For all the sivift hours flying Chant low, chant slow and sweet !^' With mingled pain and pleasure The soft lutes throb and fail ; Their sweetest saddest measure To soothe can nought avail : *' For all the sivift hours dying Sing lotv, sing slow and siveet ! " Till one veiled minstrel singeth Unbidden at the feast : To one and all he bringeth Sleep and a dreamless rest : ** For all the sivift hours flying Chant low, chant slow and siveet ! " 173 TORCHLIGHT. Fling roses ! Let the brazen horn Breathe stormy joy ! Our God rides, borne High o'er the press, that shakes like corn. Euoi, Bacehe, Euoi, Euoi ! Young Bacchus, leaning, crowned with vine ; Low laughter on his lips divine, He spills the red Falernian wine. Euoi, Bacehe, Euoi, Euoi ! The heavy incense curls and sways, And gold glows red and jewels blaze ! Lift up, lift up the hymn of praise ! Euoi, Bacehe, Euoi, Euoi! 174 TOBCHLIGHT. The clashing cymbal, pipe, and lute Eing to the beat of many a foot. Hark ! not a single lip is mute ! Euoi, Baeche, Euoi, Euoi ! Love ! lean on me, the while your tresses Stream o'er mine eyes in blind caresses, And all about the mad throng presses. Euoi, Baeche, Euoi, Euoi ! Look up ! The statue laughs, the stone Lives in the light of torches blown To ruddy splendour, fiercer grown ! Euoi, Baeche, Euoi, Euoi ! The multitude foams like a sea Of tumult golden, lean on me ! Now, for the last time, loud and free ! Euoi, Baeche, Euoi, Euoi! 175 RIVER PICTURES. O'er the wan river-reaches smooth and deep, In tangled wilderness the lilies sleep, With broad curved leaves and myriad blossoms blown, Dreaming in silvery mist at dawn alone. An odorous summer evening, dark until The rising moon o'er yonder rounded hill Shines, like a silver lamp, that in dim halls. Where all night long the fountain-cadence falls, Is lifted to an ivory lattice, slow Through eastern silks, to love that sighs below. 176 RIVEB PICTURES. Tall poplar spires, dark on an evening sky, And dark in the clear waters, that steal by. To fall in veils of pallid foam, beneath The ruined mill, that starry marshflowers wreath. A watery waste, at morn, with vivid isles Of meadow, a swollen river, sunken piles : Far off, grey spires and wintry lights of dawn. Waters that babble past a summer lawn, Whose sun-flecked ripples murmur undersong ; A boat with merry laughter thrust along Into the water-vistas, arched with trees. Hours, happy hours in happy haunts like these ! 177 THE RIVER OF LOVE, Like a river is glad Love, When the summer suns are burning, And the singing waters rove, Where the limpid eddies turning Glass the azure skies above : With a murmur of delight, Through the starry summer night, And an under-echo born of delighted ecstasy, Adreaming of the keen embraces of the purple sea. Like a river is sad Love, When the winter winds are moaning, 12 178 THE RIVER OF LOVE. And the skies stretch pale above : Where the thunder-lioods are groaning At the bars they cannot move : With a roaring of despair Through the lurid evening air, And a tremulous clamour born of bitter agony, For the unresponsive haven of the far-divided sea. 179 THE RIVER OF SONG. The streamlet sparkles from the side Of the pm^Dle mountains ; Thus from broodings solemn glide Fancy's sudden fountains. As are gleaned its thousand rills In silver sheaves together, Till the river softly fills Its breast with lucid weather : erse, the gleaner, binds in one Bright reflective river, Thoughts that glitter and are gone, Absorbed in song for ever. 12 180 SCIROCCO. The skies are grey and blank, the bare White walls and barren hillocks dream ; Far on the endless ramparts stare, Like breath-dimmed steel the harbours gleam. In the blank sky a pale sun fades Above the long hills' far dun rim, Shorn of his light, into the shades He sinks, without one gold ray dim. A dull bell tinkles : on the slope The goats 1)rowse on the herbage pale. Where o'er the rampart strays the flock, And into dusk their white shapes fail. 8CIB0CC0. 181 A land of placid barren rest, Forgetfulness and pallid peace ; Nought left to strive for, sad, unblest. Without remorse in hope's surcease. Malta, 1889. IH2 THE NIGHTINGALE. Night shades the summer vale, and all The flowers sleep on yonder hill : Only the hollow-whispering rill Breaks silence with its silver fall. Peace sleeps upon the midnight air And hushes every stormy thought, While in the arms of silence caught Sinks every sigh and murmur there. Her hymn to the clear stars of eve Sobs forth the plaintive nightingale, And all the thicket and the vale Re-echo to the notes and grieve. THE NIGHTINGALE. 183 She warbles forth her mournful cry, Welled from the heart in constant flow, As from unceasing founts of woe, Sprung from regret for days gone by. Sad voice ! be still, for thoughts of years. Deep in the past, disturb my peace ; I would thy sad sweet song might cease To fill these watching eyes with tears. Too sad to be a voice of good ; Too sweet for any voice of ill. Mourning beside the weeping rill, And shaded by the solemn wood. 184 PARTING. For the last time ? Even so, my clear, Adieu, adieu ! 0, white set face without one tear. Adieu, adieu ! Here through the waning woods made bare The moon shines cold, Sole-hung far up the fine chill air That girds the wold. Your hands are cold, but mine are ice. And in my breast The heart's flame burns, but cannot rise, Clenched and comprest. PARTING. 185 Adieu, adieu ! this moment seems Time's needle point, An agony of formless dreams And pain conjoint. Your hands in mine, love ! Is it so True love must die, With no heart's knell, no tears that flow For days gone by ? Nay, if it be the last time, love, Behold this breast Open, as those broad heavens above. Love's last long rest ! I8(> RONDEAU. A BRAMBLE spray ! Now dry and sere. I plucked it on a morning clear, From that bare hedge-row, where it swung, While your sweet graces softly rung, For that late relique of the year, A bramble spray. That night I saw its purple peer Into your white breast's secrets, dear. Where hid in fluttering lace it clung, A bramble spray. And as I saw you disappear Through the dark door, in joy and fear One leaf I craved with faltering tongue, One spray with one swift smile you flung. Now consecrated by this tear, A bramble spray. 187 MORS. Death ! Death ! Death ! Cold immutable king, Who dost thy shadow fling O'er all that hath a living breath ! Hollow, hollow are thine eyes ! Hollow as the world we prize, Death ! All this life is but a flower. In an hour, Fading or dead ! monarch weird and dread ! Let us wreathe our brows with flowers, Laugh and sing, Chain with music the swift hours ! Vain thing ! Vain thing ! 188 310 BS. Laugh and carol as we may, Stands at hand the fixed day. Veil the face and sadly lay The cold earth m the cold clay. Hollow, hollow, hollow ! What is it doth follow ? Blindest darkness without end. Kiss thy lover, clasp thy friend. Dip the trailing lily in wine. Let the sparkling goblet shine ! All is vain ! Cark and pain ! Wreathe the locks with bitter bane. Bane and rue, For that Death must come is true ! Too true ! Too true. 189 JANUA VITAE, No ! there is a music higher In the melody of the spheres, And my spirit soars and hears Harp-strings thrilling, Heaven filling, As in glowing leaping fire Eosy dawn divine appears. Higher, higher, life there is. Where the spirit, wrapt in bliss. Knows unutterable things. And for ever, ever sings Beside a crystal sea, Whilst the swelling harmony Surges around the golden throne. 190 JANUA VITAE. This life is not all alone ! But that man, who dares to climb Past the bitter waste of time, To the lonely Pisgah height, Sees below, in golden light, Jordan-circled and fair to view, The Land of Piest ; And upon his breast Death sinks, like an evening dew. On the hill's highest crest ; And God in the lone Inaccessible stone Will bury him deep ; And his sleep Will be watched o'er by angels unspeakably blest. 191 DEPRESSION. Weary my heart ! a hollow space of Heaven, Where no soft cloud-wreaths steer, Or wind stirs, like a silent sea undriven, An ocean drear. A stillness holds it, as of ilex leaves Hushed into boding rest ; Ere yet the red sword of the tempest cleaves The thunder's breast. Weary my heart ! as his who with worn eyes, Amid the desert glare, Sinks under vengeful glare of changeless skies And sees the air 192 BEPBESSION. Surcharged with waving phimes of carrion birds. Though near at hand a well, A ripple of water through the palms be heard : For him death's knell. The merciless thoughts close in like wings of doom, No ray amid the night ; Then darkness parts and through the black soul-gloom Streams in God's light. 193 LES PATINEURS. Lo ! mid the grey-blue of yon waning sky The moon hangs, like a silver sickle, pale Above the ensanguined dusk, while far and nigh The ice-bound streams and water-floods prevail : The leafless trees stand with black branches frail There where the skaters speed like phantoms by, And in December dreams the dim spires lie Above the city, where day's murmurs fail. Over the bridge the wayfarers press on Swift through the frost to many a fireside bright, Wrapt from the wind ; me only, here alone. This dreary eve suits better than warm light, And my heart, cold as this insensate stone. Greets with dull throb the chill December night. 13 194 LES PATINETJRS. II. White snow, bright skies and tract of wind-swept ice, Keen kicid air that thrills the brain like wine, And whirl of flashing feet that swift entwine This way and that in many a strange device : Laughter and life encircling, that suffice To stay the conscious soul's deep-seated range, And hold it void of thought's close interchange, Gripped by the strenuous instant in a vice. The needle-point of pleasure, without link Past or to come, the moment infinite ! Even as a javelin poises on the brink. Self-balanced up the far sun-smitten height. One instant, ere it waver and then shrink Down, to be buried deep in earth's dark night. 195 FLOODTIDE. Grey hueless skies and long slip islanded Of barren trees and manifold dome and spire, With one pale streak of warmest sunset-fire, Mirrored upon the polished floods outspread. The deep tides struggle in the river's bed, Surging with fierce remonstrance ever higher, As though their waves Lethean would aspire To whelm yon phantom city and all her dead. Thou desert waste of waters weltering. And vacant space of blank unshaded cloud, Triumphant now — soon shall recurring Spring Invade these meadows with wind-trumpets loud. And barren branch and blade break forth and sing, With glory of flower and April heaven avowed. 13 * 196 LOVE AND FANCY. Love is the Monarch of the heart's domain, And from his throne, engirt by passion's slaves, Hie awful ministering sceptre waves, Compelling all beneath his absolute reign. Yet is there an usurper, Fancy vain. Armed all as Love with quiver and bright bow. Who leads in bondage vacant hearts that know No higher Lord to follow in his train. Yet is the throne of True Love set on high. And perdurable, his divine rose-crown Blooms with bright blossoms that can never die : But False Love passeth, at the world's cold frown His roses fade, and with a hollow sigh. Prone from his shattered height the God falls down. 19? LOVE S VICTIM. Love, thou cruel tyrant of my soul, Flame-winged and holding keen darts in thy hand, Behold me bound within thine iron band, And groaning under thy supreme control I Yea ! for I pay thee all thine uttermost toll Of tears and sleepless nights and bosom-sighs : Behold the shadowy circles of mine eyes And hollowed cheeks that yearn to some far goal ! Have pity, Love, and ease me of my pain ; Bring me unto the harbour of thy rest ; Soothe with the dulcet tones of thy refrain The bitter anguish of my labouring breast. Or let me on thine altar. Love, be slain, With bitter perfumes and rose-garlands drest ! DEVOTIONAL. 201 O SALUTARIS HOSTIA. I HAD a vision as the night drew nigh O'er the soft-rounded hills and hollow stream ; An arm of twilight lay along the sky, The trees stood dark against the yellow gleam, And by the deep weir-pool the abbey lay With shattered oriels, where pale nuns were wont to pray. Anon there fled a wailing on the wind, And echoes faint phantasmal 'mid the leaves Trembled, and in its depths the water blind Murmured, as when a soul in sorrow grieves, And my limbs shook, and in the heart's chill lake The heart's blood shuddered as when nightly terrors wake. 202 SALUTABIS HOSTIA. A sound of mystic singing, and a light, Lucid and deepening to a rosy red, That moved along the arches richly dight, Athwart the grass that rustled o'er the dead, And through the riven tracery there I saw A marvel living wight might see in breathless awe. For in a lifted monstrance bright as flame The Sacred Host gleamed white, like driven snow, Borne by a cloud of angel wings that came, Bathed in a mystery of roseate glow : And their keen faces, adoration-thrilled, Gave vent to piercing song that those waste ruins filled. With clear ecstatic notes, like heavenly dew Scattered around, sounded a silver bell. And all the seraphs' pinions as they flew Flushed into fire as from a sunset-well. And moving onward sank in purple dyes, Or glittered, spangled with a million jewelled eyes. SALUTABIS EOSTIA. 203 One moment, as I lay with awe entranced, The vision hung above the glassy deep And in the lucent pool its colours glanced, Enwoven like the splendours rich of sleep. The anthem pealed in one expressive tone, The bright wings flashed, and flashing died: I lay alone. 204 MARIA DESOLATA. Three crosses set upon an Eastern hill, A blood-red stripe of sunset waning low, And that white wounded body stretched so still Athwart thy knees, while yet the blood-drops flow. Is this the end, mother desolate ? Thou, whose wide eyes gaze forth into the night, As striving still to comprehend thy fate. Too strangely sad to credit thine own sight. This for those touches of the baby hands, And glances when His soul spake unto thine. These balm«5d grave-cloths for the swaddling bands, And death for sleep to seal those eyes divine ! MAEIA DE SOL AT A. 205 Yea ! lift the bright hair, clotted thick with gore, And lave the marble brow in death more dear, While angel millions tremble and adore To see that kiss commingled with a tear. Thine ears are throbbing yet with those loud cries, Pulsating with the blows on wood and nail : Now all is silent under the dark skies, Save for yon crouching Magdalen's low wail. Yea ! close His eyes staring so blindly up To the unpitying skies, and cleanse the mouth That drank so deep from out the bitter cup. And parched for thirst in agony of drouth. Arouse thee, mother, from thy sorrow's trance ! Fold after fold, like cloud or moonlit foam. Round wounded feet and side pierced by the lance. They swathe thine own slain Lamb for His last home. 206 MABIA DESOLATA. And now, Mother, for the task is done, Press one last kiss upon His icy lips, Veil o'er the sacred Face of Christ thy son. And shroud all Nature in one dark eclipse ! 207 VERBUM DEI. Sweet are the first pale flowers that begin the golden year, And sweet the dewy dawning with its veils of twilight clear ; * But sweeter than all blossoms or the light from out the night Was the first low word of Jesus, filling Mary with delight. When the wonder of the angels and the Star of earth's desire Gave the first low premonition of His hidden sacred fire, 208 VEBBUM DEL When lying in the radiance of our Lady's loving eyes, Her Babe first whispers " IMother," and the mother first replies. She had known of dim communion and strange motions in her heart, And unfathomable knowledge where the wells of being start ; But sweeter far than knowledge, or the sound of Gabriel's " Hail ! " Was the cry of her Creator, was her helpless infant's wail. First word and best and sweetest of the great Incar- nate Word, That within her heart immaculate the mighty mother heard, And laid as in a silver shrine midmost the holiest place. The price of our redemption and the crown of all her grace. 209 RHYME OF THE HALIWORK FOLK. Haliwork folk, seven in all, Hardy for burthen, strong and tall ; Seven brethren we of noble race, Kith and kin in limb and face : Seven long years our feet have trod Vallev and hill with the ark of God. Hallowed burthen for wayfaring Far and wide our shoulders bring. Hallowed body of Cuthbert saint, Swathed in vesture of purple faint, Wrought with gold flowers cunningly. Marvel great for eyes to see. 14 210 RHYME OF THE HALIWOBK FOLK. Hallowed body, whole and sound, As though our Father slept or swound ; Nor cark nor sign of corruption That blessed flesh may light upon ; Enwrapt in linen fine and sweet Erom crown of head to sole of feet. Hallowed body, ark of God, Hallowed blossom of Aaron's rod, Hallowed temple, gate divine, Saint of God and purity's shrine. Pillar of cloud by noonday light. Beacon of fire in dark of night ! Vouchsafe to us, thou blissful saint, Who have borne thee far and faint. When done life's travail and journeying, To realms on high our souls to bring. With endless bliss and benison, Through bitter passion of God's dear Son ! BHYME OF THE HALIWOBK FOLK. 211 Amen my heart doth say to it, Whose pen this holy rhyme hath writ : Oh ! Mary, mother of fair mercy ; St. Cuthbert, likewise, pray for me ! And "gloria" be in the uttermost To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! LONDON : PEINTED BY W. H. ALLEN AND CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL. S.W. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from wfhich it vi/as borrowed. OCT 18 1999 Form L9- UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 364 623 9 .'■'0 ';!$■'■•:; *. .*, •■, .,,'.■*> ' ;■:■ >''.y;';'. m '■"■'■ '■:';:.:$;';Ct;ivV:;; ii-ilp^i;^!;:;'