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Orpheus and Other Poems

<hr class="full" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/cover.jpg" width-obs="308" height-obs="500" alt="[Image of the book's cover unavailable.]" /></div> <h1>ORPHEUS AND OTHER   POEMS</h1> BY <big>EDWARD   BURROUGH   BROWNLOW</big>. (SAREPTA.) Published by The Pen and Pencil Club. Montreal. 1896. Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the Year 1896, by The Pen and Pencil Club, at the Department of Agriculture, Ottawa. THESE POEMS ARE NOW COLLECTED AND PUBLISHED IN MEMORY OF EDWARD   BURROUGH   BROWNLOW, Born in London, England, 27 November, 1857, Died in Montreal, Canada, 8 September, 1895, BY His Fellow-Members of THE   PEN   AND   PENCIL   CLUB. <h2>CONTENTS.</h2> <table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> <tr><td valign="top">Orpheus</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">1</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Dead Summer</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">14</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Autumn</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">15</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Sky-Lark</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">16</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Constancy</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">17</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">A Ballade of the Street</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">18</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Sonnet</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">19</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Pantoum—The Blush</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">20</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Rondeau</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">22</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Winter</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">23</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Purpose</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">24</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Sonnet</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">25</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">A Roman Girl’s Prayer</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">26</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">A Ballade of Boccaccio</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">27</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Release</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">28</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Whip-Poor-Will</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">29</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Death of the Laureate</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">30</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Sonnet</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">32</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Poet</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">33</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">In Bœtia</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">35</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Love-Land</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">36</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Legends and Lilies of France      </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">38</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Hawthorn Spray</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">40</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">If I were King</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">41</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">World, Wind, Leaves and Snow</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">42</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Rose</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">45</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">A Sea Dream</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">46</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Black Knight</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">49</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Golden Line</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">56</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Sweet of my Life</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">57</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Hastings</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">58</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Shelley</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">59</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Morning</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">60</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Love’s Voice</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">63</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Lilies and Poppies</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">64</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">To Bacchus</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">65</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Love’s Whispers</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">66</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Work</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">67</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Where Blue-bells nod</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">69</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Loss and Gain</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">70</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Trio</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">71</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">De Senectute</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">74</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Coming of Summer</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">78</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Rondel</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">84</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Abbey Walls</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">85</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Violet</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">87</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">La Farfalla</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">88</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Cowper</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">92</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Rain</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">93</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">Hymn</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">94</td></tr> <tr><td valign="top">The Great Play</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom">96</td></tr> </table> <h1>ORPHEUS AND OTHER POEMS.</h1> Printed by D. Bentley & Co. At Montreal, Canada, this First day of May, A.D. 1896. {1} <h2>ORPHEUS.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Unto the realm of Pluto many roads Lead with dark winding from the bright abodes Of men, and when life’s last detaining thread Is cut by Iris, and the body, dead, With Charon’s coin in palm, rests in the tomb Or on the pyre, the dæmon of its doom After much pitiful forbearance tears The soul from its environment of cares With promise sweet of love’s awaiting kiss, Of old friends greeting, and much holy bliss On shores Elysian, where all ways are peace, And all existence virtue without cease; But ere the fields of Asphodel are won Dire labours manifold must first be done By soul and dæmon. </div> <div class="stanza"> All the paths descend To four great streams, whose turgid waters blend With suffering souls: here flows sad Acheron On whose black banks impatient spirits run And call to that grim boatman, ferrying o’er His last embarker to the nether shore In silence, bent with duty’s measured pull, Certain of all to follow; there, too, full Of awful lamentations from lost souls Cocytus its fierce waves of sorrow rolls Wherein dwells one whose face is only seen—{2} </div> <div class="stanza"> Above the surface, human and serene, Below, her horrid serpent-form encoils And stings the hapless spirits in her toils With scorpion venom; Phlegethon rolls by Flaming with waves that hiss, and mount on high To lick with burning tongue each crusted shore Where not the vilest weed dare clamber o’er, There swim huge salamanders, whose desire Grows with the maddening tumult of the fire; And lastly, Styx, that pool of pitchy slime Whereby the great gods swear their vows sublime, In whose black channel hatred finds a home, And breeds with fury many a plague-born gnome Loathsome to gods and men. </div> <div class="stanza"> These rivers run Far to the West, beyond the sinking sun, Beyond old Ocean’s limits, past the range Of starry travel or where comets strange Rush in hot madness; there too Lethe flows Where souls must drink to gain the sweet repose Of all-forgetfulness, before the Fates Lose power to plague them, or their bygone states Haunt them like ghosts. </div> <div class="stanza"> These waters safely crossed, The plains beneath thick filled with spirits lost, Avernus meets the view, vast, horrid lake At Hades’ entrance; who its waters take,{3} Sicken and die in torture that must rend With endless tooth, for such death has no end. Beyond Avernus stands the gate of Hell, With Cerberus to guard its portals well. </div> <div class="stanza"> Unto that gate came Orpheus with his lute Whose most melodious music had made mute The wailing souls on Acheron’s sad shore, And charmed old Charon, as he ferried o’er The son of great Apollo in his quest For her whom of all women he loved best, And as he came fierce Cerberus stood still Fixed by the magic of the player’s skill: On Orpheus went and played, for he knew well The wondrous potency of this great spell Would by a pause be broken, and his fate Never to pass alive the solemn gate; He roused the Harpies, those most fearful things With heads and breasts of women and the wings Of birds, and talons of the lion fierce, Whose breath is poison and whose venoms pierce Deep in man’s soul—the hags were planning then Foul plots for planting grief in hearts of men; He stayed stern Nemesis, now poised for flight As she in darkness left her mother Night; The three great judges of the soul now paused In giving sentence, for the music caused Minos and Æacus and Rhadamanthus think{4} What change the gods had wrought, that at the brink Of Tartarus such heavenly sounds should rise To make the heart upleap and to the eyes Communicate swift tears of sudden joy— Had Jupiter grown mad to let this boy, This gold-haired stripling with the silver strings Enter dark Hades with such sound that brings Pity to their stern breasts? </div> <div class="stanza"> The Gorgons stare In vain at Orpheus through their viper-hair, He sings and heeds them not, and he alone Looks at them, eye for eye, and not to stone Is turned; the Lemures, that spectral swarm, That fill the space of Hades without form, Halt in their wanderings to hear the notes That fall as from a thousand song-birds’ throats. Pale Death sits sharpening her dart and hears With sad dismay the sound that soothes her ears, Her arm grows powerless—the black dart falls With echoing clang on Hades’ marbled halls; The triple sisters who turn mad the mind With envy, rage, and hatred, and make blind The heart with judgment false, hear the high strains, And knowledge of lost joy o’erwhelms their brains; Triptolemus stands still with bated breath While on his way to that great hall of death Where his stern fellow judges sit aghast Still pondering on Orpheus.{5} </div> <div class="stanza"> Now he passed Poor Marsyas, whose love of music great Lured him to challenge for his after-fate The laurel-crowned Apollo and his lyre, Wherefore he stayed in the eternal fire; But Orpheus, passing, played so wondrous well That all the flames about him flickered, fell, And left the wretch in peace to hear once more The power of sound he staked his spirit for. Black Discord in her den of hideous noise Grew sudden silent, and her breast with joys Filled, as the gentle tremblings of the lute Found subtle ways to reach her. </div> <div class="stanza"> Resolute Strode Orpheus on his path, and to the right Stood Sisyphus, the stone just at the height Of the great mountain, ready to roll again Into the vale beneath, but that sweet strain Held it in place so long as it could reach The spot it rested on—and to beseech Eternal playing, Sisyphus held high Tired arms to Jove as Orpheus passed him by; There to the left Ixion ceased to feel The endless revolutions of the wheel Over the flaming river, and the fangs Of serpents leave him as he, listless, hangs Listening to such sweet music.{6} </div> <div class="stanza"> Now the lake Whose tempting waters Tantalus forsake When his parched lips and maddened hands would take Of their cool touch relief, hears the new sound And Tantalus with surfeit is near drowned For this brief respite, and with hungry clutch Plucks tender fruits before he could not touch, Eating in joyous wonder that Hell’s God Gave him such feasting for a period. Now Orpheus passed the black, oblivious lair Of Sleep, a cave devoid of light or air, Paved with strange shapes and horrid phantasies Inanimate and senseless, and they rise, As through the cave’s dark mouth the music sweet Fills to the inmost parts that foul retreat, Crying for air to breathe and light to see The wondrous worker of such harmony. Pluto’s high throne within the distance looms, Built of the gold and marble of men’s tombs Upon a base of bones, and by its side Stood the pale throne of his beloved bride, Persephone.—Behind her shadowy seat Shone one blue star and at its cloud-hid feet Glared the red oval of the waning moon That tells sage shepherds of a storm in June When flocks grow restless.—When the player came Nearer to that great place a sudden flame Shot from the silent air, and blazed as fierce{7} As though a thousand lightning strokes would pierce In one vast sheet of overwhelming fire The daring mortal who would thus aspire To reach great Plato’s love-shrine;—in the blaze Millions of serpents writhe, but Orpheus plays Heedless of all, nor dares to cease lest he Lose the safe conduct of his minstrelsy. Unharmed he passes through the floods of flame That would arrest his progress, and he came Unharmed beyond them. </div> <div class="stanza"> Lo! before his eyes A scene of wondrous beauty did arise; Such as a poet sees when every sense Leaves its abode, and the intelligence Of soul usurps the functions of the mind, When unto every object he grows blind Seeing through all beyond. </div> <div class="stanza"> For Pluto’s throne Is more magnificent than Love might own In higher regions. Orpheus stood beneath The lowest step thereof; a flowery wreath Crowned his bright golden locks—the flowers Plucked from the dew-fed meadows and fair bowers Where he had wandered with his beauteous bride In happy love-quests, ere that eventide When he was wakened by the short, sharp cry Calling his name, and saw a snake glide by{8} Into the thicket—when he saw the breast That oft had made his head a pillowy rest Marked with the fatal venom, which his lips, Used to the honey that the love-bee sips, Closed on in vain endeavor to remove The sentence of the gods on their sweet love— When his strong hands clutched madly the thin air As unto Jove he poured his soul’s deep prayer For pity—when, with all his blood turned lead, He looked and saw Eurydice was dead, And when ’gainst all the gods he took that oath Sacred to her, Death’s awful bridal troth, That by the power of music’s magic spell Against their will he would go down to Hell And rescue his lost love. Whereat Jove laughed And said to Bacchus as they gaily quaffed In high carousal: “Let the fool take care, Pluto can mind his own. Once in the lair Of Hades, e’en Apollo’s son must stay, No goats from that black fold can ever stray.” </div> <div class="stanza"> Thus Orpheus stood; but now no longer mute, For to the rich-wrought tremblings of his lute He raised his rare-heard voice and stilled the word On Pluto’s lips, and then all Hades heard:—{9} </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! Give back my lost delight to me! By thy great love for thy great lord, By each sweet thought for him adored, By love that thrills and love that fills Thy heart as with a thousand rills Of joy, break down his frozen breast And lull his vengeful mood to rest, Till mighty Pluto joyfully Shall, from his very love for thee, Give back my soul’s delight to me— Eurydice! Eurydice! </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! Recall thy lord’s great love for thee, When in sweet Enna’s golden meads Thou heard’st that rustling of the reeds, And in thy hands the love-crushed flowers Were grasped with fear, as from earth’s bowers He strained thee to his mighty breast, And bore thee, senseless, to the West Beyond the opalescent sea That nightly sings its song of thee; Give back my soul’s delight to me— Eurydice! Eurydice!{10} </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! I bring love’s garland unto thee:— She made it with her loving hands, She plaited it in golden bands, And placed it on my chosen brow When by my side she sat, as now Thou sittest by thy great lord’s side: That night no lover snatched his bride, But Death seized all remorselessly, And took her soul beyond the sea; And life became a memory— Eurydice! Eurydice! </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! Let this lute’s magic minstrelsy Find with love’s music, sweet and clear, Thy heart-depths through each pearly ear: Behold! how when I strike one string The lone sound floats with cheerless ring; Behold! when double chords are driven, With harmony the air is riven; So Fate plays on our souls, and we Yield plaints of love or misery; Give back my soul’s delight to me— Eurydice! Eurydice!{11} </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! By all the joy that lovers see When first they feel the hidden fire Burst forth in blaze of heart’s desire, By all the music lovers hear When language laps against the ear, Like crystal waves on golden sands, By touch of lips and clasp of hands When long-zoned raiments are made free, By all love’s sweets that fell to thee; Give back my soul’s delight to me— Eurydice! Eurydice! </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! Mark how thy lord yet frowns on me, Behold the tightening of his lip— Kiss—kiss his mouth lest there may slip One word of doom to dash my hope; Bend down on him thine eyes and cope With love the gleams that in them shine, The while I summon to me, mine; Break—break—by love and memory The bond of Hades, set me free Her soul, that is the soul of me— Eurydice! Eurydice!{12} </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! Clasp him so close he may not see; Look deep into his soul with love That from thine eyes he shall not move His own;—ah! thus I gazed on her That night and heard no serpent stir, For love, once thralling all the mind, Makes all the little senses blind; ’Tis well! he drinks love’s alchemy! Where’er in Hades thou may’st be— Come back! my love! come back to me, Eurydice! Eurydice! </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! Lull him with love that unto me No thought may leap with sudden ire, And steal again my heart’s desire When she shall come. Ye Gods! that light! It shone when on that fatal night The dæmons took her from my side;— ’Tis she! they bring her back! my bride! Let Pluto wake—let Jove decree— My self—my soul—come back to me My joy in life and death to be— Eurydice! Eurydice!{13} </div> <div class="stanza"> Persephone! Persephone! A moment more and we are free; I feel the breath of outer air, I see the upper stars so fair, I hear the lapping of salt waves, I see the light of day that saves, I feel the pulsing heart-throbs run Through her fair limbs, I watch the sun Uprising in her eyes—and see! Its living light thrills into me; She has come back! come back to me— Eurydice! Eurydice! </div> </div></div> {14} <h2>DEAD SUMMER.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> The lord and lover of the year is slain, Fair Summer! Nature’s joy and earth’s sweet pride. The wind mourns sadly as a mournful bride Loading the air with monodies of pain; Down from the branches rustle, light as rain, The rarely-coloured leaves; afar and wide Blight-stricken blossoms strew the country-side, No more to deck it with delight again; The bright winged choristers that carolled round Sweet overflowings of supernal joy, No more their thrilling ecstasies employ To glad man’s soul with music’s purest sound; Summer lies dead upon the lap of earth, Pale melancholy weeps where late laughed mirth. </div> </div></div> {15} <h2>AUTUMN.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> When Autumn, like a prophet filled with fears, Warns Summer’s golden beauty of that death Which soon the chilling blast of Winter’s breath Shall bring; fond Nature by her falling tears Attests her grief unchanged through all the years, And from the blossoms that lie dead beneath Seizing the unseen colours, weaves a wreath, And lo! a garland on each tree appears. So, when to thee life’s end is drawing near And weeping kinsmen kneel about thy bed May all the rays of goodness thou hast shed From out the buried past shine bright and clear, And golden deeds and thoughts of heavenly hues Over thy fading mind soft light diffuse. </div> </div></div> {16} <h2>THE SKY-LARK.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Blithe is the lark when first the morning breaks, And from his nest up-circling through the air He leaves below a world of shadowy care, And off his wings the dew of darkness shakes; For those high lakes of blue he gladly makes, With song that overfloweth everywhere Like the sweet grace that falleth after prayer To one who from sin’s sleep at last awakes. Poets have sung thy praises;—but thy song Is far above all sound of poet’s voice, Though listening to thy notes he may rejoice, And wonder if some raptured angel-throng Pause in their service as thou soarest near, And to thy music lend entrancèd ear. </div> </div></div> {17} <h2>CONSTANCY.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I did not ask thy love nor tell mine own When others sought thee in thy sovereign days, For my sad heart, beholding the bright blaze Of thy great beauty, seemed to turn to stone, And on my lips that now have bolder grown, No word would form to utter thy high praise; So stricken was I in love’s conquering ways That my poor soul consumed its love alone. </div> <div class="stanza"> Vindictive time now veils thy queen-like charms To thy old champions, and they quickly leave, As grim misfortune comes to cross their arms And pluck thy colours from each coward sleeve, All fly the tilt-yard. Now to Fate’s alarms I fling my gage at last. Wilt thou believe? </div> </div></div> {18} <h2>A BALLADE OF THE STREET.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> High clamour of rooks o’er a meadow of clover That make for their haunts at the break of the day; Low babble of brooks where the rain-spotted plover Paddles at noon through the sand-banks grey; Gold-banded bees on their murmuring way To the honey-filled blossoms that yield their sweet— These are the visions that round us play As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street. </div> <div class="stanza"> Slow pacing of herds and the song of the drover; A score of clean sails in a Kentish bay, With a glimpse of the castle and cliffs of Dover, And the girdle of sea that shall gleam alway; Far off in the fields where they make the hay Darby and Dorothy manage to meet, And kiss for a moment—alack-a-day! As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street.{19} </div> <div class="stanza"> Across the wide world Love is ever a rover, In palace or cot not content to stay. Soon the pastoral play of our youth is over With its spangles of hope and its fine array. June stifles the flowers that are born in May, And their beauties the autumn shall not repeat; Our fancies the Fates try to strangle and slay— As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street. </div> <div class="stanza"> Let us heed not the passers or what they say, While Love in our hearts finds a safe retreat, For souls can reach Heaven, though feet may stray As they steer through the turbulent throng of the street. </div> </div></div> {20} <h2>THE BLUSH.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Within my heart there fell a hush, I thought my very soul had died, When first I saw my lady blush And own the love she strove to hide. </div> <div class="stanza"> I thought my very soul had died Before affection bade her speak, And own the love she strove to hide With silent ways and manners meek. </div> <div class="stanza"> Before affection bade her speak, I watched her as she used to go With silent ways and manners meek, Whilst I with love was all aglow. </div> <div class="stanza"> I watched her as she used to go To gather simple blossoms fair, Whilst I with love was all aglow Yet dared not lay my passion bare. </div> <div class="stanza"> To gather simple blossoms fair I often went—to give to her, Yet dared not lay my passion bare Though all my soul with love did stir. </div> <div class="stanza"> I often went to give to her My life if she would deign to take, Though all my soul with love did stir My lips their silence dared not break.{21} </div> <div class="stanza"> My life if she would deign to take ’Twas her’s, not mine—yet strange to tell My lips their silence dared not break, Ere she had learned love’s sacred spell. </div> <div class="stanza"> ’Twas her’s, not mine—yet strange to tell Moons waxed and waned and years flew by, Ere she had learned love’s sacred spell By touch of hand and glance of eye. </div> <div class="stanza"> Moons waxed and waned and years flew by, I thought she loved, alas! not me; By touch of hand and glance of eye The truth was told—ah! ecstasy! </div> <div class="stanza"> I thought she loved, alas! not me— Within my heart there fell a hush, The truth was told ah! ecstasy! When first I saw my lady blush. </div> </div></div> {22} <h2>THE RONDEAU.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> First find your refrain—then build as you go With delicate touch, neither heavy nor slow, But dainty and light as a gossamer thread, Or the fleecy white cloud that is breaking o’erhead, Or the sea-foam that curls in the soft evening glow; And your rhyme must be swinging—not all in a row, But as waves on the sands in fine ebb and quick flow; Yet of rules for a rondeau I hold this the head— First find your refrain. </div> <div class="stanza"> For the subject—there’s nothing above or below, That a poet can learn or a critic may know, But a rondeau will hold a rhyme-ring that will wed The thought to the thing; yet whatever is said Will ne’er be a rondeau till you with one blow— First find your refrain. </div> </div></div> {23} <h2>WINTER.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Winter’s blast is coldly sweeping O’er the pallid face of earth; All the merry elves are sleeping, Wearied out with last year’s mirth; Dismal spirits doomed to wander, Never resting anywhere, Chase the sparkling crystals yonder Through the chill and cheerless air; Where the birds sang in the branches Not a sound is heard at all; Snowy flakes in avalanches Flutter down with silent fall; Where the grasses nursed the flowers Not a sign of life is seen And the frost has turned the showers Into sheets of icy sheen; All the air is sadly sighing, All the trees with sorrows ring; All is dying—dying—dying Winter—go! come back, O Spring. </div> </div></div> {24} <h2>PURPOSE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Brother! awake from thy long lethargy; Walk forth into the world, search out the task That is allotted thee; tear off the mask Of morbid thought that ever blindeth thee. God hath appointed each good man to be His warrior in the righteous fray; then ask His benison, and, donning sword and casque, March forth to meet the common enemy. Each good deed done shall be a death-blow given Unto a sin conceived; each true word said Shall be a javelin that hath not sped In vain—its force doth come direct from Heaven. Waste not the time; man’s inmost spirit saith “Life without purpose is a lingering death.”{25} </div> </div></div> <h2>SONNET.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Year after year I see the trees unfold Their baby leaves to the maturing sun; Then tender birth of blossoms, one by one, From parent stems that still their nurture hold; Later the tall green corn takes on its gold, Crowned with the glory of a purpose done; And last, the sands of beauty being run, All things decline into the common mould. Age after age whirls on the appointed round Of mortal destiny; old thoughts take bloom; And new minds battle in the time-worn strife, Death’s winter nips before the task is crowned, And, soon or late, within oblivion’s tomb Men fall like leaves from God’s great tree of life. </div> </div></div> {26} <h2>A ROMAN GIRL’S PRAYER.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> On thy grassy altar, dear, Pour I out the two-year wine, And the incense rises clear From thy holy shrine. </div> <div class="stanza"> Lend me Venus, both thine ears; Let me whisper unto thee All the hopes and all the fears Raging now in me. </div> <div class="stanza"> He whom I have loved so well— For whose love my soul hath burned, Yields to Chloe’s fatal spell And my vows hath spurned. </div> <div class="stanza"> On her beauty now his eyes Beam as once they beamed on mine— Broken are the solemn ties Made beneath the vine. </div> <div class="stanza"> It cannot be that he is born All my joy to turn to grief, For if he do prove forsworn— Death is my relief. </div> <div class="stanza"> Mother Venus, look with smiles, Lest I lose this joy of love: Lend me all thy wit and wiles His cold heart to move. </div> <div class="stanza"> Bless this philtre I prepare From the swift and sweet vervain; Mother Venus, hear my prayer— Lead him back again! </div> </div></div> {27} <h2>A BALLADE OF BOCCACCIO.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> The length of each day to make short And friendship to bind by a chain, Our Queen was appointed to reign In the realm of a leafy resort. Strong laws did her ruling support If need were her wish to maintain; Though none could Love’s presence profane When Philomel governed the court. </div> <div class="stanza"> How fine did our gallants disport With ladies who followed the train, Whilst wisdom enlightened each brain In the wit of each ready retort. Ah! those were the days of fair sport The world ne’er will witness again, For Honour her rights did retain When Philomel governed the Court. </div> <div class="stanza"> What stories our souls did transport O’er the beauties of Fancy’s domain, And their morals and meanings were plain, Though your critics now try to distort. When Beauty and Truth do consort, Hypocrisy preacheth in vain, And Scandal and Slander were slain When Philomel governed the Court. </div> <div class="stanza"> Ye moderns, who fight, might and main, For Mammon, believe this report, Men lived in their castles in Spain When Philomel governed the Court. </div> </div></div> {28} <h2>RELEASE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> He fears to die who knows not how to live, For Death is friendly, shaping to an end The woeful accidents which fate doth blend With high success, to fairer fortunes give; Who for this close would ask alternative Unto a further lease of earth to lend His soul, and clip the wings that would ascend To God, the source of life infinitive? Look at the parable of things—the sun Must some day out—the fairest blossoms die— Sweet-throated songsters cease their minstrelsy— And Nature endeth all she hath begun. So fear ye not to meet the great release, For direst storms dissolve in lasting peace. </div> </div></div> {29} <h2>THE WHIP-POOR-WILL!</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> When early shades of evening’s close The air with solemn darkness fill, Before the moonlight softly throws Its fairy mantle o’er the hill, A sad sound goes In plaintive thrill; Who hears it knows The Whip-poor-will. </div> <div class="stanza"> The Nightingale unto the rose Its tale of love may fondly trill; No love-tale this—’tis grief that flows With pain that never can be still, The sad sound goes In plaintive thrill; Who hears it knows The Whip-poor-will. </div> <div class="stanza"> Repeated oft, it never grows Familiar; but is sadder still, As though a spirit sought repose From some pursuing, endless ill, The sad sound goes In plaintive thrill; Who hears it knows The Whip-poor-will. </div> </div></div> {30} <h2>THE DEATH OF THE LAUREATE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Weep, England, weep! if thou hast tears to shed— Thy master-son of song has passed away; The Arthur of thy poets far has sped, As the long-toiling light fades out of day Into an unseen land; no later lay, To cheer thy heart and make thy soul more strong, Shall sound within thy walls of sea-girt gray, From the rare voice of him who gave so long The noblest numbers of new English song. </div> <div class="stanza"> Around the world the echoes of that song Swiftly rebound, all English hearts to fill, And o’er each peak of empire speed along In roseate splendour, as the sudden thrill Of sunrise tips with beauty each new hill; From east and west the glory of his fame Rolls back to Albion’s shores, and ever will— For east and west can show no poet’s name More true and pure, more free from blot and shame.{31} </div> <div class="stanza"> He died in dear old England—in the land Where Chaucer first sang tales of jovial cheer; Where Spenser chanted forth his pæans grand, And Shakespeare left a word supreme and clear; Where Milton bade the epic reappear, And Wordsworth, later, gained a deathless name; With these great five, this memorable year Has yielded Tennyson, for future fame The sixth true English poet to acclaim. </div> <div class="stanza"> The moon streamed through the lattice where he lay, In that last struggle of the living powers, And round his brow her glory ’gan to play, As when he wooed her in sweet English bowers, ’Midst silent birds and open-hearted flowers, Till scenes of old-time beauty through his brain Before him passed; thus kindly death endowers The last sad moments, lulling them from pain, And memory brings her sweetest stores again. </div> </div></div> {32} <h2>THE SONNET.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> The sonnet is a diamond flashing round From every facet true rare colored lights; A gem of thought carved in poetic nights To grace the brow of art by fancy crowned; A miniature of soul wherein are found Marvels of beauty and resplendent sights; A drop of blood with which a lover writes His heart’s sad epitaph in its own bound; A pearl gained from dark waters when the deep Rocked in its frenzied passion; the last note Heard from a heaven-saluting skylark’s throat; A cascade small flung in a canyon steep With crystal music. At this shrine of song High priests of poesy have worshipped long. </div> </div></div> {33} <h2>THE POET.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Men call him mad because he weaves The glory of the golden corn And paints the beauty of the sheaves They gather night and morn. </div> <div class="stanza"> They laugh when he in rhapsody, With eye uplift and soul serene, Translates the wonders of the sky Which they have dimly seen. </div> <div class="stanza"> Or if he pluck a wayside flower And tell them of its beauty rare, They smile, not knowing God’s great power Is manifested there. </div> <div class="stanza"> Or if when tempests rule the sky He walk and talk with wind and rain, They call his soul’s great ecstacy A sickness of the brain. </div> <div class="stanza"> He walks unrecognized of men, For sense may not discern the soul; The morrow’s wonders of his pen Their sympathies control.{34} </div> <div class="stanza"> Along the battle-field of life, Content to lose if others gain, He lifts no finger in the strife, Yet feels its bitter pain. </div> <div class="stanza"> He wanders through the crowded street, Or lingers by the country side, For all things good his heart doth beat With love that is world-wide. </div> <div class="stanza"> The troubles of his fellow men He shrines with pity in heart, And prays the time to hasten when All sorrow shall depart. </div> <div class="stanza"> And when the kindly voice of Death Proclaims life’s journey duly trod, He blesses all with parting breath And leaves the rest to God. </div> </div></div> {35} <h2>IN BŒOTIA.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Vine tendrils drooping in the mid-day sun Take me to Greece, ere Sappho sang those lays, Whose echoes, falling down this length of days, Trance us with beauty, sweet and halcyon; Satyrs, green-garlanded, skip madly on Through woody wilds, loud shouts of ribald praise Mingle with merry laughter, and amaze The peaceful shepherds, who, affrighted, run; Fair dryads swell the riot-filling song From every tree trunk, and from each pure spring Sweet naiad voices rise with silvery ring To welcome him who leads the dancing throng, Old Bacchus! reeling ’neath the weight of wine, Chanting a stave, half drunken, half divine. </div> </div></div> {36} <h2>LOVE-LAND.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Ah! Jenny! though life is not over, Yet the sweetness of living is past; No longer we walk through the clover And watch the white clouds sailing fast; For a darkness has newly arisen To spread and to spoil our fair sky, All our days must be spent in a prison And the black cloud shall never pass by. </div> <div class="stanza"> Ah! Jenny! though bright the scales glitter, In the midst of the coil lurks a fang, The fruit of the almond is bitter Though the blossoms are fair while they hang; The rose has a canker within it, And some day the lark will not sing, The year that flew by as a minute Shall bear heavy on Love’s broken wing. </div> <div class="stanza"> Ah! Jenny! our play-book lies broken Behind us;—before is the page Hermetic;—and so for a token To charm away grief in our age Remember the words of Creation, Our “Let there be Love,” when Love’s fire Through our lips like a sacred libation Drenched our souls with the wine of desire.{37} </div> <div class="stanza"> Ah! Jenny! we journeyed together Life’s road for a year and a day, Bright summer has been all our weather, Fair blossoms have strewn all our way; And shall we now part at the corner Of the cross-roads and meet nevermore, Because the world leers like a scorner And mocks when we pass by its door? </div> <div class="stanza"> Ah! Jenny! the hand that I gave you That night when I promised to keep Your heart—lo! I stretch out to save you And to save my own soul from Hell’s deep; Let the world say its worst;—we shall never Hear its voice or see aught of its gloom, For in Love-land the birds sing forever And the roses are always in bloom. </div> </div></div> {38} <h2>THE LEGENDS AND LILIES OF FRANCE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Sad and soft is the dirge on the Gallic shore By the mournful moan of the ocean made For the days and the deeds that are now no more ’Ere the last of the Knights in his tomb was laid In the depth of an old cathedral’s shade; Above are his casque, shield, banner and lance With the sword that had struck him the accolade; But dead are the legends and lillies of France. </div> <div class="stanza"> Did he pine for the powder and polished floor, Gay dances, bright glances of masquerade? When he parleyed of politics, was it not o’er The lightning-blue gleam of his Damascene blade? If he sang, was it not of an old Crusade? If he listened and laughed at a love romance, Would he rather not look at a carronade? But dead are the legends and lilies of France. </div> <div class="stanza"> If his lady’s fair favour he sought to implore By a witty ballade or a sad serenade Did he write it? Not he, when a troubadour Was willing to sing all the day if paid{39} In a bower of bloom or a vine arcade, Or to sigh all night in the moonbeam’s dance, While he dreamed of rampart and escalade; But dead are the legends and lilies of France. </div> <div class="stanza"> The Cathedral still stands with its fine façade; Some old stones of the rampart remain by chance; There are diplomats, dances, and gasconade— But dead are the legends and lilies of France. </div> </div></div> {40} <h2>HAWTHORN SPRAY.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> After the early spring’s dissolving powers Had eased the earth of winter’s icy weight, I went into the woods with soul elate To watch the coming of the first-born flowers; Fair Flora soon began to build her bowers Of leaf and bloom in forms both small and great, The trees put forth their canopies of state, And from the ground sprang up between the hours Most beauteous blossoms in a glorious band Of perfect shapes and colors richly blent, And all my soul was fill’d with glad content; But one pink hawthorn in a far-off land Sent all my thoughts like birds on eager wing Back to the beauty of Old England’s spring. </div> </div></div> {41} <h2>IF I WERE KING.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> If I were King of some great land With lords and commons to command, My crown should be with justice bright Instead of jewels—and Love’s light Should be the sceptre in my hand. </div> <div class="stanza"> One law of virtue should be planned That all alike might understand The simple rule, that right is right— If I were King. </div> <div class="stanza"> One Church should stand in God’s own sight Where all who wished to worship, might, Its ministers should be a band Of soldiers with a purpose grand To put all evil thoughts to flight, If I were King. </div> </div></div> {42} <h2>WORLD, WIND, LEAVES AND SNOW</h2> <h3>World.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Grey wind of the North! with thy burden so chill, (Oh! for the blast and the blowing,) Why flyest thou fast over river and rill, Adown the deep valley and up the steep hill, (Alas! for the storms that are sowing.) Through gloom-spreading forest, bare meadow, bleak moor, Above the sea-surges, along the sea shore, O! whither, grey wind, art thou going? </div> </div></div> <h3>Wind.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> The corpse of my lover my arms do enfold, (Oh! for the roar and the rattle.) Whose beauty was rarer and fairer than gold, Whose joys were bright jewels, unbought and unsold, (Alas! for the fear-stricken cattle.) And I chant in thine ear the sad dirge of the dead, For the summer is slain and the winter so dread Is hasting to offer thee battle. </div> </div></div> {43} <h3>World.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Sere leaves of the autumn, resplendent and bright, (Oh! for the frost and the fading.) Why fall ye so thickly by day and by night, With raining of color that dazzles the sight, (Alas! for the winter’s invading.) Till heaped on my bosom like relics of love Ye lie, sad remembrancers, sorrow to move My spirit with woe overlading. </div> </div></div> <h3>Leaves.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> We thought to have woven a garment of grace, (Oh! for the moon and the veiling.) Embroidered with beauties bright fancy should trace, But, alas! we have gazed on his death-stricken face, (Alas! for the heavens are paling.) And the robe of our fancy is changed to a pall And the garlands that lately did crown him must fall; Love’s labor is all unavailing. </div> </div></div> {44} <h3>World.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Pale snow, with a touch that is light as the air, (Oh! for sky’s cloud and earth’s cover.) Why weighest thou down on my heart filled with care, On my soul with its anguish too heavy to bear. (Alas! for the end when ’tis over.) In thy mantle of gauze why hid’st thou mine eyes, That would look at fond love e’er forever love lies In the grave of my newly-slain lover. </div> </div></div> <h3>Snow.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I cover thy face lest the sight of thy dead, (Oh! for love, sacred and splendid.) Should strike in thy soul its unnameable dread, For sympathy now and forever is fled, (Alas! for lost love, undefended.) And I wrap up thy breast with the warmth of my heart, Which shall stay till the spring breaks and bids me depart, When the time of thy mourning is ended. </div> </div></div> {45} <h2>ROSE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Know you whence the roses came? Roses are the queen of flowers; Rose is my beloved’s name. </div> <div class="stanza"> All my heart was set aflame As we walked through Cupid’s bowers; Know you whence the roses came? </div> <div class="stanza"> Is it sweetness—is it shame— When the sunshine’s spoiled by showers? Rose is my beloved’s name. </div> <div class="stanza"> Duty sits a stern old dame On a throne of ruined towers; Know you whence the roses came? </div> <div class="stanza"> Youth must live and who shall blame If with love it pass the hours? Rose is my beloved’s name. </div> <div class="stanza"> Life and love is all a game, Shine and shadow—gleams and glowers— Know you whence the roses came? Rose is my beloved’s name. </div> </div></div> {46} <h2>A SEA DREAM.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> My spirit wandered by the ocean shore; Proud argosies sailed out to Albion’s isle Deep-laden with a new world’s golden store, The sun-kissed waves danced lightly, Nature’s smile Suffused o’er all the scene sweet loveliness awhile. </div> <div class="stanza"> Light silver veils, like tender thoughts outspread When dreaming lovers taste supernal joy, Floated around Heaven’s azure bridal bed In listless splendour; others did convoy Earth’s treasures o’er the deep that plotted to destroy. </div> <div class="stanza"> There rose as from the sea a strange mirage Out of the past; the clouds like floating drapes Each moment changed, and ocean’s long rivage Was wreathed by magic in a thousand shapes, Now gemmed with flashing isles, now girt with solemn capes. </div> <div class="stanza"> And all the cities that have loved the sea To their destruction, passed along the sky, And I beheld them, as the drowning see, In that last moment when they sink to die, All life’s forgotten scenes unrolled by memory.{47} </div> <div class="stanza"> Time-honoured Greece, whose fingers clutched the wave And clasped it to a heart that beats no more, Sank with her wisdom in a silent grave, Leaving her sons a splendour to deplore While moans the tideless sea around each classic shore. </div> <div class="stanza"> Rich Carthage, whose swift keels swam round the world, Phœnicia’s loveliest daughter. Her fair hand Was fought for by the nations; Fate hath hurled, Her and her glory from their sea-throne grand, Buried like some old palm beneath the burning sand. </div> <div class="stanza"> Great Venice stood amid the nuptials gay Blessing as bride the fair but fickle sea; But all her pride and pomp have passed away, Dukes, doge, ships, senate, riches, sovereignty, That once compelled the world to fall on bended knee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Imperial Rome, set like a lustrous gem Within seven guardian jewels! Tyrant Time Stole from her thoughtful brow its diadem And the three wreaths that crowned her all-sublime, Stained though their golden leaves with many a bloody crime.{48} </div> <div class="stanza"> Proud Spain! once mistress of the sea, before The fool Ambition led her ships in vain Against the bulwarks of old England’s shore, When God smote down her pride upon the main And sank her power so low, it never rose again. </div> <div class="stanza"> Then fell a mist before my wondering sight Over the past, and slowly there arose Our blessèd Britain in her glorious might, The awe and admiration of her foes, Whose land of liberty protecting seas enclose. </div> <div class="stanza"> The diamond of nations, set in gold, Flashing with truth that sparkles o’er the earth, Compared to her what empery of old Hath wrought for suffering man such deeds of worth, Or filled with living light dark lands of ageless dearth? </div> </div></div> {49} <h2>THE BLACK KNIGHT.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> To King Banalin’s court there came From divers lands beyond the sea A score of knights, with hearts aflame With love for lady Ursalie, Whose wondrous beauty and fair fame Were sung by Europe’s minstrelsy. </div> <div class="stanza"> Each lord in retinue did bring A noble and a princely band, Whose deeds the troubadours did sing Through length and breadth of Christian land, And each by turn besought the King The favour of his daughter’s hand. </div> <div class="stanza"> But spake the King to each brave lord, “When first the sun shall shine in May A tourney in the palace-yard We do appoint, and on that day Who holds his own with spear and sword Shall take our daughter fair away.”{50} </div> <div class="stanza"> Whereat the Lady Ursalie Blanched as a lily of the vale, For many moons had waned since she First pledged her love to Sir Verale, And for that sick to death was he Her trembling lips turned ashen pale. </div> <div class="stanza"> The heavy scent of musk and myrrh Hung all about the inner room, Dim taper lights did faintly stir To life the arras through the gloom,— She bade her handmaid bring to her The treasure-box that held her doom. </div> <div class="stanza"> With lightest touch a secret spring Upraised the silver casket’s lid; She took therefrom a golden ring, A broken coin, a heart hair-thrid, And many a sweet and precious thing Wherein her plighted troth was hid. </div> <div class="stanza"> “Then welcome death, if death it prove,” She said and kissed with lips still pale Each sweet remembrance of his love;— “I will not fail thee, Sir Verale, Though from thy couch thou canst not move To don for me thy coat of mail.”{51} </div> <div class="stanza"> Unto the chapel straight she went And knelt before the altar-stone; Her face within her hands she bent Praying with many a tear and moan Until the day was well-nigh spent, When came a beadsman she had known; </div> <div class="stanza"> “O! Father! join thy prayer with mine The life of Sir Verale to save; O! plead then at our Lady’s shrine For health to one so young and brave. For I will wed, with help divine, No other lord this side the grave.” </div> <div class="stanza"> The holy friar knelt him there And crossed him, and began to tell His beads, each counted for a prayer, Until the sound of vesper-bell Stole through the darkling twilight air And warned them of the day’s farewell. </div> <div class="stanza"> Each day at morn and noon and night Her trusted handmaid she did send To learn if her belovèd knight In life’s estate was like to mend, And on the eve of April’s flight This message came her heart to rend.{52} </div> <div class="stanza"> “Tell thou my lady fair,” he said, To her who bore the answer back, “To-morrow will I leave this bed And wear my suit of armour black; To-morrow will I win and wed Or lose both love and life, alack.” </div> <div class="stanza"> The Lady Ursalie knew well He could not rise, so ill he was, And shuddered as her maid did tell His dying state, then forth did pass Unto the chapel, as the bell Proclaimed the holy evening mass. </div> <div class="stanza"> The morrow broke with golden rush And chased the gloom of night away; The pipe of blackbird, song of thrush, Rose with the skylark’s roundelay, The wild flowers started with a blush To meet the first bright morn of May. </div> <div class="stanza"> The palace-yard was all prepared; Bright-hued pavilions stood around, The banners waved, the armour glared, The eager steeds tore up the ground, And twenty princes who had dared The tourney in the lists were found.{53} </div> <div class="stanza"> The King and Queen on daïsed throne Received each knight on bended knee; But like an image carved in stone Sat lovely Lady Ursalie And none who saw her would have known For her the tourney was to be. </div> <div class="stanza"> But one there knelt in sable mail Of whom the King in accents rude, Did ask his name, and why this bale Of armour black, he did intrude; He answered: “I am Sir Verale, Long months thy daughter have I wooed. </div> <div class="stanza"> And by this sable suit I wear, This sterling blade of Spanish steel, This iron shield and trusty spear,— But chiefly by the love I feel, I ask to wife thy daughter fair And that, proud King, is why I kneel.” </div> <div class="stanza"> When Lady Ursalie that voice Did hear, her heart beat high with fears, Her troubled soul did half rejoice And memory filled her eyes with tears; But as she smiled upon her choice There fell a clash of shields and spears.{54} </div> <div class="stanza"> Knight after knight was overthrown, Some ready for the bier and shroud, At last the black knight stood alone— And in the air applause rang loud As proudly strode he to the throne Pursued by all the noble crowd. </div> <div class="stanza"> Then cried the King: “Right nobly won, Most puissant, worthy Sir Verale, I would the words were well undone That erst in anger I did rail.” The knight replied, “Words injure none, And after-grief doth not avail. </div> <div class="stanza"> And now, O King, thou soon shalt wis Thy daughter is forever mine, And when thy loving liegemen miss Both thee and all thou callest thine, They shall recall the Black Knight’s kiss And know that love hath power divine.” </div> <div class="stanza"> Then at the Lady Ursalie The Black Knight looked and she arose. But what strange visage she did see That his raised vizor did disclose— Is still an awful mystery Which only that dead lady knows.{55} </div> <div class="stanza"> For when her eyes of lustre rare Gazed there, where none could see a face, A flash of lightning rent the air; And, passing in a moment’s space, The Black Knight was no longer there And of his steed there was no trace. </div> <div class="stanza"> All looked at Lady Ursalie, Who blushed with love like any bride: “No power can take my soul from thee, I come, I come,” she faintly cried, And swooned in arms held hastily And smiling closed her eyes and died. </div> <div class="stanza"> But who the Black Knight was none knew, Though one said who had second sight, He watched a raven as it flew In circles slow and did alight Upon the tourney ground and grew Into a sable horse and knight. </div> <div class="stanza"> By some, it is believed and said, That Sir Verale gave one deep sigh And turned himself on his sick bed And muttered a low welcome cry, And ere the watchers knew, was dead, As his dear lady’s soul passed by. </div> </div></div> {56} <h2>THE GOLDEN LINE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> As each small ripple of the mighty sea Reflects a tiny image of the sun Until in radiance joining one by one, They do present a path of brilliancy; In this broad stripe of gold that comes to me From the horizon, as though God had spun A thread of golden thought for me alone, Out of His universal mystery— So from the mirror of each human soul Shall flash the radiance of God’s great love Which ever shineth on us from above Until Love’s splendour lighteth up life’s whole, And man shall look on man, and soul through soul behold One flaming line of Truth, God’s pure and shining gold. </div> </div></div> {57} <h2>SWEET OF MY LIFE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Love is to life as perfume to the rose, A sweet unseen enjoyment that doth lend Rapture to beauty—so doth Nature send The harmony of happiness that flows Half-way between hot Passion’s leaps and throes And Apathy, where worn-out feelings end, Throughout the universe, there doth attend Upon all active ordering, repose. O Thou! the fair embodiment of good, Who first within me struck the chord of Love, Necessity of Life! in thee doth move The pure quintessence of pure womanhood, Without thy love my life would be as bare As fairest rose without its perfume rare. </div> </div></div> {58} <h2>HASTINGS.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> The Saxons fought hard in the fatal fray, O! sing of the battle on Hasting’s shore, When the arrows of Normandy won the day. </div> <div class="stanza"> Flushed by debauch at the break of day, Their keen-edged axes athirst for gore, The Saxons fought hard in the fatal fray. </div> <div class="stanza"> Proud soldiers fell down on their knees to pray, Lord! yield us the victory, we implore; When the arrows of Normandy won the day. </div> <div class="stanza"> King Harold, whose heart never felt dismay, Spake loud of the deeds they had done before; The Saxons fought hard in the fatal fray. </div> <div class="stanza"> Taillefer the jongleur, sang well his lay And laughed as he flung up the lance he bore, When the arrows of Normandy won the day. </div> <div class="stanza"> Duke William in England proclaimed his sway; King Harold lay dead; the battle was o’er; The Saxons fought hard in the fatal fray, But the arrows of Normandy won the day. </div> </div></div> {59} <h2>SHELLEY.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> A bird of song, far soaring to its home, Over the sea-waves cleaves with tireless wing The cloudless blue; but, swiftly gathering, A storm breaks up the crystal into foam That dashes mountain-high ’gainst Heaven’s dome Now darkened. Down the aerial harpies fling The sweet-voiced minstrel and sad surges sing The dirge of death with sorrow burdensome. O Heart of Hearts! high-beating o’er the world From whom fell sweetest song that unto man Told love and life, since life and love began; Like some lone bird thou wert by Nature hurled Into the restless jaws of death’s devouring sea With still a Song of Songs to bear thee company. </div> </div></div> {60} <h2>MORNING.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> The gray of dawn peeps up behind night’s folds, While darkling clouds yet dim the distant sky; Long miles of mist disperse along the wolds, And from the dewy boughs the songsters fly. </div> <div class="stanza"> The feathered minstrels of the opening day, Refreshed by long and undisturbed repose, Arrange the plumes that night has turned astray, And all their ruffled beauties now disclose. </div> <div class="stanza"> The late, lone bat, like some lost refugee, Seeks dark security from pressing morn, And scatters, as it hides in hollow tree, Bright butterflies that soon the scene adorn. </div> <div class="stanza"> The busy ants from their great hills descend In careful haste, and cross the grassy plain, Saluting silently each passing friend, But disregarding strangers with disdain.{61} </div> <div class="stanza"> The lumbering beetle, lazy and begrimed, With laggard steps begins the dreary day, After the toiling snail hath long beslimed His burdened march upon the open way. </div> <div class="stanza"> Along its silken threads the spider walks, And shakes the hanging dew-drop to the ground; No chance entanglement his duty balks, As patiently he treads each subtle round. </div> <div class="stanza"> Forth from the little door of his domain The gentle bee, armed with industrious powers, Seeks treasure-trove, and soon returns again, Weighed with the honey of a hundred flowers. </div> <div class="stanza"> Within the wood the dove begins to coo, Telling, with swelling breast, his gentler mate How he has sought her presence but to sue, And all day long her love will supplicate. </div> <div class="stanza"> Out of the root-roofed archway of yon beech, The natural portal of his spacious cell, The nut-brown squirrel doth his neck far reach, To spy if all is safe within the dell.{62} </div> <div class="stanza"> The marigolds unfold their yellow heads, That vie in colour with the saffron sun; The violets stretch within their scented beds, And raise their beauteous faces, one by one. </div> <div class="stanza"> Along the meadow land the daisies pied Proclaim their presence to the pearl-laid grass; The morning-glories, in their prudish pride, Ope wide their eyes, to gaze in nature’s glass. </div> <div class="stanza"> And whilst within the parsonage dull sleep Still holds the inmates with mesmeric power, The martins one unending circle keep, In morning service round the old church tower. </div> <div class="stanza"> The robin, rosy from his early bath, With quaint conceit, which unto him belongs, Hops, uninvited, down the garden path And breaks the silence with his tuneless songs. </div> <div class="stanza"> Whereat the watch-dog rousing from his sloth, Chases the bold invader far away, And, careless though the chanticleer be wroth, With joyful bark proclaims the break of day. </div> </div></div> {63} <h2>LOVE’S VOICE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> As little streams that start to find the sea Proclaim with babbling tongues their voyaging And with proud riot make the meadows ring, Or fill the wild woods with much noisy glee, As of their course they tell each waving tree And wandering bird that chances near to wing; So shallow lovers in the world’s ear sing Their plaint of passion with vain minstrelsy. But vast as restless ocean’s deep expanse, Superbly splendid, solemnly sublime, Whose music beats upon the shore of time In rhythmic beauty, is my heart’s romance: But as no song can sound the mighty sea, My soul is silent in its love for thee. </div> </div></div> {64} <h2>LILIES AND POPPIES.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> White lilies languish on their graceful stems, Red poppies laugh amid the growing corn; Lilies at poppies look with lofty scorn And cherish dear their own chaste diadems; Poppies at lilies scoff, their scarlet gems Blaze in the splendor of a life, love-born And love-begetting, and do most adorn Those whom love’s beauty unto death condemns. Lay the white blossoms on the lowly bier Of her who passed away, so pure and young,— Fling the red passion-poisoned flowers among Her syren-sisters who live sinning here. O! star-souled lily! white for none to blame. O! blood-stained poppy! red with blush of shame. </div> </div></div> {65} <h2>TO BACCHUS.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> The poet sings in love-sick verse Plaints thy goblets soon disperse; Pluck the willow from his head, ’Twine the vine-leaf in its stead, Fill the bowl with drink divine, Give the wounded minstrel wine; And the fool now fraught with pain, Ne’er shall weep for love again. See! it scarcely stains his lips, Yet to draughts have turned his sips. Subtle raptures swiftly fill Every vein with fiery thrill; Long before its rage is o’er Pants the reeling wretch for more; Squeeze the grape, fill high the bowl, Wine shall cheer the wounded soul. Let the ruddy torrent flow, Heal all wounded hearts below, Freely let the red stream pour, With its storm the blood shall roar; Surges of mad ecstacy Shall embroil life’s phantasy; Clouds of joy before the brain Dull the deeper sense of pain. Love is great; but in life’s dream Wine alone shall reign supreme; To old Bacchus! drink and sing; Cupid’s Victor! Pleasure’s King! </div> </div></div> {66} <h2>LOVE’S WHISPERS.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I hear soft breathings in the gentle breeze, Though whence or how they spring I cannot tell. They whisper on the hill and in the dell, Along the streamlets and among the trees; Like the sweet humming of a thousand bees In harmony, as if some magic spell Fashioned the dew to music as it fell, Like merry mermaids, chanting ’neath the seas, Or fairy chorus in a moon-lit grove, Or band of nightingales, each to its rose Trilling of love when all things else repose. Such sweet sounds haunt me wheresoe’er I rove Shaping themselves to words that sing to me, “Happy art thou of men, thy loved one loves but thee!”{67} </div> </div></div> <h2>WORK.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Work! use all thy will, give all thy might, Ply all thy strength, Until the golden dawn of early light Shall change at length Into deep purple shades, soft, pure and bright, That bring glad tidings of the peaceful night. </div> <div class="stanza"> Work! while the subtle seasons onward roll In certain course, The ways of this frail world to help control; That keen remorse In life’s last moment—’ere thy deeds unroll May strike no sudden anguish to thy soul. </div> <div class="stanza"> Work! taking lessons from the mighty Past, What men have done; Yet let not those old masters hold thee fast, They have begun; What later souls must finish. They have cast The first stones at earth’s evil—not the last.{68} </div> <div class="stanza"> Work! but seek not false Ambition’s flame To light thee on; Not so the men of wisdom ever came In days long gone; No sordid dream,—no bare desire for Fame Has left on Memory’s lips one worthy name. </div> <div class="stanza"> Work! in the hope of sowing seedlings great; Let others reap,— That, when stern Nature bids thy step abate, Thy body sleep, Thy soul shall tremble not at Death’s dark gate, But calm and sure shall meet its After-Fate. </div> </div></div> {69} <h2>WHERE BLUE BELLS NOD.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Where blue-bells nod beneath the trees And violets scent the summer breeze I love to lie the whole day long And listen to the wild bird’s song, While bees hum in their harmonies. </div> <div class="stanza"> Proud wealth can buy its days of ease, But not made up of hours like these; To none doth rank or fame belong Where blue-bells nod. </div> <div class="stanza"> In vain the arts may strive to please The sense with novel images; For me, this sweet, cool fern among, All Nature’s right, all Art is wrong; Ah! leave me with my birds and bees, Where blue-bells nod. </div> </div></div> {70} <h2>LOSS AND GAIN.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Since thou hast come the world and I have parted, Like chance-met friends whom love has never chained, Away it spins, mad-brained and merry-hearted, While I count o’er what I have lost and gained. My losses are the breath of idle greeting, The siren-song of pleasure, folly’s laugh, Wealth’s patron smile, the pedant’s wit most fleeting, And all that goes to make youth’s epitaph. My gain is thee, who hath removed my blindness, Torn off the mask of sin, stript shame’s disguise, Shown me man’s frailty, taught me gold’s unkindness, And made a very heaven beneath the skies. So do I feel like one from dreams awaking Who laughs at night and all its foolish making. </div> </div></div> {71} <h2>TRIO. FOUNDED ON A WELL KNOWN PASSAGE OF DANTE.</h2> <h3>I.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Do you remember, dear, the day we sat And read together from an old love-book Alone in that sweet, calm, sequestered nook Which Nature made for souls to marvel at? Beneath us stretched a soft and shining mat Of velvet verdure; leaves and blossoms shook As songsters all their melodies forsook To hear a legend from Love’s laureate We knew no fear, for there was no one by, The stream seemed in its ripple to repeat That tale of Lancelot, so sadly sweet, Whom love enthralled in endless slavery. Ah, me! there is no greater grief than when we feel The thought of happier days o’er present sorrows steal. </div> </div></div> {72} <h3>II.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> When from your lips the words fell on mine ear Full many a thought our souls together drew In sympathy, that with the story grew Still more intense, and oh! so wondrous near. Our eyes were dimmed by Love’s all-pitying tear And from our cheeks the blushing colour flew As if ashamed of its divulgent hue;— How well we understood the story, dear! The blue vault overhead bore not a cloud Upon its surface; on our sky of love Not e’en the shadow of a sigh did move, Where now the soul-storm rages long and loud. Ah, me! there is no greater grief than when we feel The thought of happier days o’er present sorrows steal. </div> </div></div> {73} <h3>III.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> But one sweet passage from the book you read The o’ergrown bud of love contrived to burst, And all the beauty it had warmly nursed Broke in our trembling hearts and blossomèd. Youth’s long-fought fire our unloosed fancies fed; Our souls felt Love’s unsatiable thirst; O! happiest moment then, but now the worst, When life’s blue sky grew all aflame with red! But when you told how that long looked for smile Was kissed by noble Lancelot, then—then— You kissed my quivering lips; nor read again; And bliss eternal breathed in us awhile. Ah, me! there is no greater grief than when we feel The thought of happier days o’er present sorrows steal. </div> </div></div> {74} <h2>DE SENECTUTE.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Ninety years forever fled Seem but ninety minutes past, As I, waiting for the last, Live alone among the dead. </div> <div class="stanza"> Musing in the gloom and glow, Lo! I see a ghostly train, Spectres conjured by the brain, Images of long ago. </div> <div class="stanza"> From the soul rise strangled cries, Death-groans from the sins it wrought; From the mind spring buried thought, Poisoned hopes, vain sympathies. </div> <div class="stanza"> In a weird, phantasmal band, Seen as though in life’s eclipse, Perished women kiss my lips, Dead men take me by the hand.{75} </div> <div class="stanza"> Infant figures glad with glee, Cluster in unbidden band, Clasp my old and palsied hand Pulsing high with memory. </div> <div class="stanza"> Pass light fingers through my hair, Once like their’s all tangled gold, Silvery now and thin and old, Bleached with age and blanched with care. </div> <div class="stanza"> Softly touch my parchment skin, Laugh and touch again and ask That I throw aside time’s mask, Dull with years and dark with sin. </div> <div class="stanza"> Look into my dim, dead eyes, Dimmer now with tears that start From the little left of heart That to those dear souls outflies.{76} </div> <div class="stanza"> Crowds of spirit-children pass, Faces, lost long years ago, Buds, soon buried in the snow, Playmates—comrades in the class. </div> <div class="stanza"> Chide me for my childish tears, Bid me join the childish game, Call me by a childish name None have named for scores of years. </div> <div class="stanza"> Youths, high-souled, with aims that age Neither blighted nor betrayed, Look with truth-lit eyes that made Noble life’s short pilgrimage. </div> <div class="stanza"> Friends whose friendship now I crave, Hearts whose love I yet would feel, One by one before me steal, In and out my living grave.{77} </div> <div class="stanza"> All things I have seen and known, Read in book and dreamed in dream, Stand as true as they did seem When I claimed them for my own. </div> <div class="stanza"> I have tried the truth of life, Kissed love’s lips till they grew cold, Drained the cup and clutched the gold, Mingled in the human strife. </div> <div class="stanza"> Seen men come and go like leaves Through the falls of many years, Joined their laughter, shared their tears, In the plot the great God weaves. </div> <div class="stanza"> Ninety years forever fled, Seem but ninety minutes past, And I, waiting for the last, Live alone among the dead. </div> </div></div> {78} <h2>THE COMING OF SUMMER.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Grim Winter rose and girded on his sword To battle with the world. At each swift blow The wind hissed cold, and at the sound abhorred Birds ceased their singing and the river’s flow Stayed in its course, the sun’s warm glow Reached not the flowers through the air’s dark frown, The last leaves perished, and the crystal snow Paled the soft bosom of the earth so brown And all her pulsing life was frozen down. </div> <div class="stanza"> Within Time’s wondrous palace of past years Nature sat grieving on her ancient throne; Her furrowed cheeks were wet with scalding tears, And from her wrinkled mouth ’scaped many a moan; For she was brooding on delights long flown, When all was bright and happy and the land Flourished in fruitfulness, and there was known No sign of sorrow, ere stern Winter’s hand Gave right of spoil to all his ruthless band.{79} </div> <div class="stanza"> “Ah me!” she cried aloud in accents sad, “That ever son of Time should work such woe, And he of all the offspring I have had, The eldest, unto whom my love did go Like streams that meadow margins overflow With rainy surfeit for the thirsty earth; Whom I had hoped from childhood would upgrow Rich in high thought, bold deed and noble worth, And yet Woe’s curse fell on him from his birth.” </div> <div class="stanza"> In simple beauty Spring knelt gently down, Kissed the sad tears from Nature’s care-worn face, Smoothed from her thoughtful brow each troublous frown With tender hands, that left of pain no trace, And then upstood in modest maiden grace, Saying: “Behold! mine hour hath come to me; I go to make my love a resting-place Against his coming from beyond the sea— A throne most fitting for his sovereignty.”{80} </div> <div class="stanza"> So Spring walked forth into the icy cold, And as her first soft footfall touched the earth, A joyous thrill on everything took hold, And from the spot a snowdrop white had birth; Then a bold robin piped across the dearth Of frozen land a loud defiant sound; Then Winter knew his power was little worth, And sped him forth to higher vantage ground, With all his yelling rout fast flying round. </div> <div class="stanza"> The birds set up a chorus of glad song, Watching their nests among the shady trees; Insects in quick innumerable throng Made live the earth and air; gold-laden bees Scorned the fine butterflies that flew at ease Among the blossomed beauties of the fields; The strong young leaves defied the assaulting breeze, Spreading the brightness of their verdant shields To guard the nurseling fruit that Autumn yields.{81} </div> <div class="stanza"> Where the thin moonbeams cast their joys along A verdured vale of rapturous delight Spring caught the echoes of the herald’s song, And saw the flowerets in the dead of night Lift up their watchful faces, glad and bright, And heard the birds soft singing through the shade, Singing for Summer and the morning light; Then sank her soul within her, and afraid, She watched the circuit that the fast moon made. </div> <div class="stanza"> As Death, unseen, poised high his vengeful dart, And Nature knelt beside Spring’s fallen form, Night’s outer curtain ’gan to wave and part Before the sun’s first breath, so bright and warm; The diamond dew to rainbows did transform, The flowers raised up their heads to their full height, The breeze bore on its wings a music storm As every bird sang forth in full delight And loudest strain the sighings of the night.{82} </div> <div class="stanza"> And Spring, revived a little, moved her head, And to her mother said, in accents mild: “Before he comes, alas! I may be dead. O hasten to him, mother, for thy child, And give him this, I plucked it in the wild, And tell him ere King Death his mantle throws I would he kissed my lips, and on me smiled. O haste thee, mother mine! take this white rose, And bid him come my dying eyes to close.” </div> <div class="stanza"> With her last word the golden door swung free, A blaze of sunshine scattered all the gloom, Sweet music rolled in a voluptuous sea, The radiant air was filled with scent and bloom, And Summer stood, the bravest-hearted groom That ever bride had waited for and won; But Spring lay like an image on a tomb, Her too-short pilgrimage already done, Her blue eyes closed, her latest breath begun:{83} </div> <div class="stanza"> And as her soul forsook its frail abode, Golden-haired Summer, with a cry of pain, Across the threshold of Time’s palace strode, With tears that fell in showers like to rain, Calling on Spring to come to life again. But tears could not disturb her last repose, And all the calling of his heart was vain. Summer still thinks of Spring—his grief he shows, When golden raindrops fall upon the rose. </div> </div></div> {84} <h2>RONDEL.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> God’s wisdom all my spirit fills With faith that puts to flight all doubt, The snow dissolving into rills Refreshing earth from last year’s drought Adown the peeping slopes of hills Carve their increasing channels out, God’s wisdom all my spirit fills With faith that puts to flight all doubt. </div> <div class="stanza"> The day that stirs, the night that stills; Spring’s masque of flowers; rich summer’s rout; Each wonder, far past finding out, With joy and love my bosom thrills; God’s wisdom all my spirit fills With faith that puts to flight all doubt. </div> </div></div> {85} <h2>THE ABBEY WALLS.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> This was the Abbey long years ago When a priest was pious, a lord was brave And a lady repeated her Ave slow With fair eyes fixed on the architrave As she heard a sanctified voice that clave The clear bright air with a holy strain: All have been lost in Time’s great wave— Only the old grey walls remain. </div> <div class="stanza"> One arch still stands of all the row That circled the Abbey so tall and brave, These flags as legend would have us know, Are the very stones that used to pave The cloister-walk, when a proud margrave Heard from his hiding a love-talk plain Which he never forgot and never forgave, Only the old grey walls remain.{86} </div> <div class="stanza"> Here where the nettle and nightshade grow By a nameless stone, is the quiet grave Of a murdered priest;—they laid him low Under the walk of the quiet nave. ’Tis whispered alas! that a dagger gave A stab to the heart that brought no pain; Of all the story that Time could save Only the old grey stones remain. </div> </div></div> <h3>ENVOI.</h3> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Ballade! To that dead lady go Say Love still sings its sad refrain; Of its lofty hope and sunny glow Only its old grey walls remain. </div> </div></div> {87} <h2>THE VIOLET.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Born in the night and christened with the dew, The violet lifts its face for morning’s kiss; And each fair petal, filled with Nature’s bliss, Weaves from the sunshine a sweet robe of blue. The birds look down and wonder how it grew, For yesterday the leaves where now it is Lay green i’ the grass, and nought was like to this, Earth’s earliest counterfeit of Heaven’s hue. The shy hepatica; the showdrop white; The trebly mounted trillium; the blaze Of golden daffodil with sunny rays— Have all arisen in their beauty bright; But none of Flora’s first-born can compare, With this blue-blossomed darling of the air. </div> </div></div> {88} <h2>LA FARFALLA.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Bright little butterfly, mounting at morning Over Love’s garden of sweet delight, Heedless of harm and the honey-bee’s warning, Bent upon pleasure, in pains despite. Gaily thou flutterest, gaudily flaunting All thy fair charms to the winds that kiss Like a soul in elysian happiness haunting New meadows of bliss. </div> <div class="stanza"> When the first grey beam of the dawn uplifting Shadows of sleep from a world of dreams, From sea-marge to mountain and meadow-land drifting, Lighted at last on thy wings’ bright gleams Kissed thee and waked thee and whispered thee hasten To herald the sun where it might not smite In the deeps of dark dells where white flowers wasten And languish for light.{89} </div> <div class="stanza"> Thou hast bathed in the sun-flashing spray that arises From ripples that laugh on the brook’s fair face, Thou hast gazed in the mirror that Nature devises For Beauty’s delight in her own sweet grace, Thou hast basked in the heat of the noon-tide splendour When cricket piped high in the grass beneath, And the blossoms that carried thy burden so tender Were crowned with a wreath. </div> <div class="stanza"> The lily grew pale for thou passed its perfection, The violet bowed in a passion of grief, The daisy had hope of thy gracious election, The blue-bell despaired of its heart’s relief, The hyacinth spread all its beauties before thee, The marjoram blushed as it caught thine eye, The mignonette flung its sweet fragrance o’er thee— But thou passed them by.{90} </div> <div class="stanza"> Light was thy heart and the pleasures thou scattered Were pure as the flowers on which they fell, Till the red rose sought thee and caught thee and flattered, With promise of love thou hast known too well. All the long hours till the low sun glamoured The bright blushing petals to kiss and to toy, Thou paused in thy flight, for thy heart enamoured Drank deeply of joy. </div> <div class="stanza"> The blossoms that drooped in the dark and were sighing For tidings of light thou wert bidden to tell Lay down in despair, dreading death, and yet dying And great was the grief in deeps of the dell, For thou hadst forgotten the message of morning And the work of the day thou wast given to do, For the love of the rose and the honey-bee’s scorning For thy love was true.{91} </div> <div class="stanza"> Poor little butterfly! dying so sadly At the rise of the moon o’er the ripe-gold grain; Dost thou rue of the pleasure thou tasted so madly, Would’st thou take back thy love to take life again? Ah, no! Love is sweeter and meeter than duty, And shall hold thee in joy till thy last breath beats, Till thou liest at rest—a dead marvel of beauty Surrounded by sweets. </div> </div></div> {92} <h2>COWPER.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> A gentle stream purled on its peaceful way Through woodlands fair and meadows wondrous sweet, Chancing at length a cavern dark to meet Within whose depth ne’er fell the light of day; Lo! as it entered, heavenward flew the spray All loth to pass beyond and backward beat, As though the natural course it would defeat That plunged it where the sun cast not a ray. Through that lone cave of blackness on it sped, Its happy music turned to mournful sigh, Until it reached the end, when earth and sky Shone doubly bright that seemed for so long dead;— Thus didst thou pass, sweet singer, through the gloom Of life’s dark hollow. Light came at the tomb. </div> </div></div> {93} <h2>RAIN.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Love only laughs when sunshine floods the air, When winds flute summer music through the trees, When nature’s masquers are attired to please And Flora holds gay gala everywhere; But now Heaven’s brow is underknit with care, Low clouds burst forth a-weeping, flowery leas Are drowned with runnels and the ponds grow seas, Leaves droop beneath the dripping loads they bear, And silence reigns in each late lute-filled bough; The cricket chorus and the humming crowd That tell how labour lightens earth’s hard way Are all—all gone. Love hears no music now— Only an endless falling, sharp and loud, The dreary rhythm of a rainy day. </div> </div></div> {94} <h2>HYMN.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> When the calm of night is falling And the cares of day are o’er, Hear the voice of Jesus calling;— Go to Him and sin no more. </div> <div class="stanza"> When the heart is sad and troubled He alone can peace restore, By his love is life ennobled;— Go to Him and sin no more. </div> <div class="stanza"> When the soul in grief and anguish Mourns the evil done before, Let your faith no longer languish;— Go to Him and sin no more.{95} </div> <div class="stanza"> Go to Him! for He can only Soothe the pain and heal the sore, All who are distressed and lonely;— Go to Him and sin no more. </div> <div class="stanza"> Go to Him! lay down your burden, At His feet His love implore, Ask in penitence for pardon;— Go to Him and sin no more. </div> <div class="stanza"> Go to Him! He hath invited All to enter Heaven’s door, Sinners by His love united;— Go to Him and sin no more. </div> </div></div> {96} <h2>THE GREAT PLAY.</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> There is a playwright older than the years, Who maketh all men actors in his play, And, though they know not what they do or say, The purpose of the plot in all appears. Each in his turn, beset with inborn fears, Enters unseen, youth’s comedy so gay, Laughs through the hours that glide too soon away Beneath the clouds of soul-consuming tears. Then manhood’s tragedy with perils fraught, Pursues its fickle fortunes to the end, When Fate, the villain of the piece doth send By whom the last exciting scene is wrought; A timely stab from Death’s sure-falling knife Brings down the curtain o’er the play of life. </div> </div></div> <hr class="full" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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