·तमसो माज्योतिर्गमय
※※※※
SAN TINIKETAN
VISWA BHARATI
LIBRARY
12
4.
FT

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·JEAN INGELOW'S POEMS.

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·LYRICAL
AND OTHER POEMS
SELECTED FROM THE WRITINGS
OF
JEAN INGELOW
Fourth Edition
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON AND NEW YORK
1895

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·CONTENTS PAGE REQUIESCAT IN PACE I A COTTAGE IN A CHINE . 15 SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER 20 THE HIGIL TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE . 33 WHEN SPARROWS BUILD . . 39 .SONGS OF SEVEN . . 41 WINSTANLEY 51 62 NOR IN VAIN I WAITED THE LONG WHITE SEAM . SONG IN TIIREE PARTS 63 64 69 IN THE NURSERY . ECHO AND THE FERRY 71 78 SAILING BEYOND SEAS AN OLD WIFE'S SONG . 79 82 SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS . 1 THE SERMON, FROM BROTHERS AND A SERMON 98 SONG OF EVENING-APPRENTICED 116 . . THE MIDDLE WATCH OF THE NIGIIT . I17 THE MORNING WATCH-THE COMING IN OF THE MER- MAIDEN I21 . A SONG OF DAWN-A MORN OF MAY I22 . .

·vi CONTENTS. PAGE 124 A DEAD YEAR . AN ANCIENT CHESS KING , 129 A SNOW MOUNTAIN . . 129 SLEEP . 130 131 COMPENSATION DIVIDED 131 A TOWING SONG . 137 138 LIKE A LAV'ROCK IN THE LIFT THE DOVE SAID GIVE US PEACE' . THE LETTER L 139 140 166 . . • THOUGH ALL GREAT DEEDS . WISHING . . FAILURE . 167 167 168 181 FROM THE BELL BIRD' . VERSES SENT WITH A DIAMOND SONG, FROM PRELUDES TO A PENNY READING 182 DUET, FROM PRELUDES TO A PENNY READING 183 . FOR EXMOOR, SONG PROM PRELUDES TO A PENNY READING . 184 186 SONG FOR THE NIGHT OF CHRIST'S RESURRECTION NOTE. The songs, “When I sit on Market Days," " " Like a Lav'rock in the Lift," " The Dove said 'Give us Peace,'" and the sonnet, “We are much Bound to Them that do Succeed," are reprinted from "Mopsa the Fairy," now pụblished by Messrs Wells Gardner, Darton & Co., Paternoster Buildings, London.

·REQUIESCAT IN PACE !
MY heart is sick awishing and awaiting :
The lad took up his knapsack, he went, he went
his way;
And I looked on for his coming, as a prisoner through
the grating
Looks and longs and longs and wishes for its opening
day.
On the wild purple mountains, all alone with no other,
The strong terrible mountains, he longed, he longed
to be;
And he stooped to kiss his father, and he stooped to kiss
his mother,
And till I said 'Adieu, sweet Sir,' he quite forgot me.
He wrote of their white raiment, the ghostly capes that
screen them,
Of the storm winds that beat them, their thunder-rents
and scars,
And the paradise of purple, and the golden slopes atween
them,
And fields, where grow God's gentian bells and His
crocus stars.

·8 REQUIESCAT IN PACE!" He wrote of frail gauzy clouds, that drop on them like fleeces, And make green their fir forests, and feed their mosses hoar; Or come sailing up the valleys, and get wrecked and go to pieces, Like sloops against their cruel strength : then he wrote no more. O the silence that came next, the patience and long aching! They never said so much as 'He was a dear-loved son ;' Not the father to the mother moaned, that dreary stillness breaking : "Ah! wherefore did he leave us som-this, our only one?' They sat within, as waiting, until the neighbours prayed them, At Cromer, by the sea.coast, 'twere peace and change to be;' And to Cromer, in their patience, or that urgency affrayed them, Or because the tidings tarried, they came, and took me. It was three months and over since the dear lad had started : On the green downs at Cromer I sat to see the view; On an open space of herbage, where the ling and fern had parted, Betwixt the tall white lighthouse towers, the old and the new.

·REQUIESCAT IN PACE! 9 Below me lay the wide sea, the scarlet sun was stooping, And he dyed the waste water, as with a scarlet dye; And he dyed the lighthouse towers; every bird with white wing swooping Took his colours, and the cliffs did, and the yawning sky. Over grass came that strange flush, and over ling and heather, Over flocks of sheep and lambs, and over Cromer town; And each filmy cloudlet crossing drifted like a scarlet feather Torn from the folded wings of clouds, while he settled down. When I looked, I dared not sigh :- In the light of God's splendour, With his daily blue and gold, who am I? what am I? But that passion and outpouring seemed an awful sign and tender, Like the blood of the Redeemer, shown on earth and sky. O for comfort, O the waste of a long doubt and trouble ! On that sultry August eve trouble had made me meek; I was tired of my sorrow O so faint, for it was double In the weight of its oppression, that I could not speak!

·10 REQUIESCAT IN PACE! And a little comfort grew, while the dimmed eyes were feeding, And the dull ears with murmur of waters satisfied ; But a dream came slowly nigh me, all my thoughts and fancy leading Across the bounds of waking life to the other side. And I dreamt that I looked out, to the waste waters turning, And saw the flakes of scarlet from wave to wave tossed on ; And the scarlet mix with azure, where a heap of gold lay burning On the clear remote sea reaches; for the sun was gone. Then I thought a far-off shout dropped across the still water- A question as I took it, for soon an answer came From the tall white ruined lighthouse : ‘If it be the old man's daughter That we wot of,' ran the answer, 'what then-who's to blame?' I looked up at the lighthouse all roofless and stormbroken: A great white bird sat on it, with neck stretched out to sea; Unto somewhat which was sailing in a skiff the bird had spoken, And a trembling seized my spirit, for they talked of me ·REQUIESCAT IN PACE! II I was the old man's daughter, the bird went on to name him; "He loved to count the starlings as he sat in the sun; Long ago he served with Nelson, and his story did not shame him : Ay, the old man wasa good man-and his work was done.' The skiff was like a crescent, ghost of some moon departed, Frail, white, she rocked and curtseyed as the red wave she crossed, And the thing within sat paddling, and the crescent dipped and darted, Flying on, again was shouting, but the words were lost. I said, 'That thing is hooded; I could hear but that floweth The great hood below its mouth :' then the bird made reply, 'If they know not, more's the pity, for the little shrewmouse knoweth, And the kite knows, and the eagle, and the glead and pye.' And he stooped to whet his beak on the stones of the coping; And when once more the shout came, in querulous tones he spake, 6. What I said was more's the pity;" if the heart be long past hoping, Let it say of death, “I know it,” or doubt on and break.

·I 2 REQUIESCAT IN PACE! Men must die-one dies by day, and near him moans his mother; They dig his grave, tread it down, and go from it full loth: And one dies about the midnight, and the wind moans, and no other, And the snows give him a burial—and God loves them both. "The first hath no advantage-it shall not soothe his slumber That a lock of his brown hair his father aye shall keep; For the last, he nothing grudgeth, it shall nought his quiet cumber That in a golden mesh of his callow eaglets sleep. "Men must die when all is said, e'en the kite and glead know it, And the lad's father knew it, and the lad, the lad too; It was never kept a secret, waters bring it and winds blow it, And he met it on the mountain--why then make ado?' With that he spread his white wings, and swept across the water, Lit upon the hooded head, and it and all went down; And they laughed as they went under, and I woke, the old man's daughter,' And looked across the slope of grass, and at Cromer town.

·REQUIESCAT IN PACE !
13
And I said, 'Is that the sky, all grey and silver suited ?'
And I thought, 'Is that the sea that lies so white and
wan?
I have dreamed as I remember: give me time I was
reputed
Once to have a steady courage-O, I fear 'tis gone!
And I said, 'Is this my heart? if it be, low 'tis
beating,
So he lies on the mountain, hard by the eagles'
brood;
I have had a dream this evening, while the white and
gold were fleeting,
But I need not, need not tell it—where would be the
good ?
Where would be the good to them, his father and his
mother?
For the ghost of their dead hope appeareth to them
still.
While a lonely watchfire smoulders, who its dying red
would smother,
That gives what little light there is to a darksome
hill?'
I rose up, I made no moan, I did not cry nor falter,
But slowly in the twilight I came to Cromer town.
What can wringing of the hands do that which is ordained
to alter ?
He had climbed, had climbed the mountain, he would
ne'er come down.

·REQUIESCAT IN PACE!
But, O my first, O my best, I could not choose but love
thee:
O, to be a wild white bird, and seek thy rocky bed!
From my breast I'd give thee burial, pluck the down and
spread above thee;
I would sit and sing thy requiem on the mountain
head.
Fare thee well, my love of loves! would I had died
before thee;
O, to be at least a cloud, that near thee I might flow,
Solemnly approach the mountain, weep away my being
o'er thee,
And veil thy breast with icicles, and thy brow with
snow!

·A COTTAGE IN A CHINE. 15 A COTTAGE IN A CHINE. WE E reached the place by night, And heard the waves breaking : They came to meet us with candles alight To show the path we were taking, A myrtle, trained on the gate, was white With tufted flowers down shaking, With head beneath her wing, A little wren was sleeping- So near, I had found it an easy thing To steal her for my keeping From the myrtle bough that with easy swing Across the path was sweeping. Down rocky steps rough-hewed. Where cup-mosses flowered, And under the trees, all twisted and rude, Wherewith the dell was dowered, They led us, where deep in its solitude Lay the cottage, leaf-embowered. The thatch was all bespread With climbing passion flowers; They were wet, and glistened with raindrops, shed That day in genial showers. Was rlever a sweeter nest,' we said, "Than this little nest of ours.'

·16 A COTTAGE IN A CHINE. We laid us down to sleep : But as for me--waking, I marked the plunge of the muffled deep On its sandy reaches breaking; For heart-joyance doth sometimes keep From slumber, like heart-aching. And I was glad that night, With no reason ready, To give my own heart for its deep delight, That flowed like some tidal eddy Or shone like a star that was rising bright With comforting radiance steady. But on a sudden-hark ! Music struck asunder Those meshes of bliss, and I wept in the dark, So sweet was the unseen wonder; So swiftly it touched, as if struck at a mark The trouble that joy kept under. I rose-the moon outshone : I saw the sea heaving, And a little vessel sailing alone, The small crisp wavelet cleaving; 'Twas she as she sailed to her port unknown- Was that track of sweetness leaving. We know they music made In heaven, ere man's creation; But when God threw it down to us that strayed, It dropt with lamentation, And ever since doth its sweetness shade With sighs for its first station.

·A COTTAGE IN A CHINE. 17 Its joy suggests regret- Its most for more is yearning; And it brings to the soul that its voice hath me', No rest that cadence learning, But a conscious part in the sighs that fiet Its nature for returning. O Eve, sweet Eve! methought When sometimes comfort winning, As she watched the first children's tender sport Sole joy born since her sinning, If a bird anear them sang, it brought The pang as at beginning. While swam the unshed tear, Her prattlers little hcecling, Would murmur, 'This bird, with its carol clear, When the red clay was kneaden, And God made Adam our father dear, Sang to him thus in Eden.' The moon went in--the sky And earth and sea hiding, I laid me down, with the yearning sigh Of that strain in my heart abiding; I slept, and the barque that had sailed so nigh In my dream was ever gliding I slept, but waked amazed, With sudden noise frighted, And voices without, and a flash that dazed Mine eyes from candles lighted. Ah ! surely,' methought, by these shouts upraised. Some travellers are benighted.' B ·18 A COTTAGE IN A CHINE. A voice was at my side- "Waken, madam, waken! The long-prayed-for ship at her anchor doth ride. Let the child from its rest be taken, For the captain doth weary for babe and for bride- Waken, madam, waken! "The home you left but late, He speeds to it light-hearted; By the wires he sent this news, and straight To you with it they started.' O joy for a yearning heart too great, O union for the parted ! We rose up in the night, The morning star was shining ; We carried the child in its slumber light Out by the myrtles twining: Orion over the sea hung bright, And glorious in declining. Mother, to meet her son, Smiled first, then wept the rather ; And wife, to bind up those links undone, And cherished words to gather, And to show the face of her little one, That had never seen its father. That cottage in a chine, We were not to behold it; But there may the purest of sunbeams shine, May freshest flowers enfold it, For sake of the news which our hearts must twine With the bower where we were told it!

·A COTTAGE IN A CHINE.
19
Now oft, left lone again,
Sit mother and sit daughter;
They bless the good ship that sailed over the main,
And the favouring wind that brought her;
While still some new beauty they fable and feign
For the cottage by the water.

·20
SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER.
SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER.'
WHILE
ripening corn grew
thick and deep,
And here and there men stood to reap,
One morn I put my heart to sleep,
And to the lanes I took my way.
The goldfinch on a thistle-head
Stood scattering seedlets while she fed;
The wrens their pretty gossip spread,
Or joined a random roundelay.
On hanging cobwebs shone the dew,
And thick the wayside clovers grew;
The feeding bee had much to do,
So fast did honey-drops exude :
She sucked and murmured, and was gone,
And lit on other blooms anon,
The while I learnt a lesson on
The source and sense of quietude.
For sheep.bells chiming from a wold,
Or bleat of lamb within its fold,
Or cooing of love-legends old
To dove-wives make not quiet less ;
Ecstatic chirp of winged thing,
Or bubbling of the water-spring,
Are sounds that more than silence bring
Itself and its delightsomeness.

·SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. 21 While thus I went to gladness fain, I had but walked a mile or twain Before my heart woke up again, As dreaming she had slept too late : The morning freshness that she viewed With her own meaning she endued, And touched with her solicitude The naturęs she did meditate. If quiet is, for it I wait; To it, ah! let me wed my fate, And, like a sad wife, supplicate My roving lord no more to flee; If leisure is—but, ah ! 'tis not- 'Tis long past praying for, God wot; The fashion of it men forgot, About the age of chivalry. Sweet is the leisure of the bird ; She craves no time for work deferred; Her wings are not to aching stirred Providing for her helpless ones. Fair is the leisure of the wheat; All night the damps about it fleet; All day it basketh in the heat, And grows and whispers orisons. Grand is the leisure of the earth; She gives her happy myriads birth, And after harvest fears not dearth, But'goes to sleep in snow-wreaths dim. Dread is the leisure up above The while He sits whose name is Love, And waits, as Noah did, for the dove, To wit if she would fly to him.

·22 SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. “He waits for us, while, houseless things, We beat about with bruised wings On the dark floods and water-springs, The ruined world, the desolate sea; With open windows from the prime All night, all day, He waits sublime, Until the fulness of the time Decreed from His eternity. Where is our leisure ?-Give us rest. Where is the quiet we possessed? We must have had it once-were blest With peace whose phantoms yet entice. Sorely the mother of mankind Longed for the garden left behind; For we prove yet some yearnings blind Inherited from Paradise.' Hold, heart!' I cried; 'for trouble sleeps : I hear no sound of aught that weeps; I will not look into thy dceps- I am afraid, I am afraid !' Afraid !' she saith ; and yet 'tis true That what man dreads he still should view- Should do the thing he fears to do, And storm the ghosts in ambuscade.' 'What good ?' I sigh. "Was reason meant To, straighten branches that are bent, Or soothe an ancient discontent, The instinct of a race dethroned ? Ah! doubly should that instinct go Must the four rivers cease to flow, Nor yield those rumours sweet and low Wherewith man's life is undertoned.'

·SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. 2 *Yet had I but the past,' she cries, *And it was lost, I would arise And comfort me some other wise. But more than loss about me clings : I am but restless with my race; The whispers from a heavenly place, Once dropped among us, seem to chase Rest with their prophet-visitings. The race is like a child ; as yet Too young for all things to be set Plainly before him with no let Or hindrance meet for his degree; But ne'ertheless by much too old Not to perceive that men withhold More of the story than is told, And so infer a mystery. • If the Celestials daily fly With messages on missions high, And float, our masts and turrets nigh, Conversing on Heaven's great intents; What wonder hints of coming things, Whereto man's hope and yearning clings, Should drop like feathers from their wings And give us vague presentiments ? And as the waxing moon can take The tidal waters in her wake And lead them round and round to break Obedient to her drawings dim; So may the movements of His mind, The first Great Father of mankind, Affect with answering movements blind, And draw the souls that breathe by Him.

·24 SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. 6 We had a message long ago That like a river peace should flow, And Eden bloom again below. We heard, and we began to wait : Full soon that message men forgot ; Yet waiting is their destined lot, And waiting for they know not what They strive with yearnings passionate. Regret and faith alike enchain; There was a loss, there comes a gain; We stand at fault betwixt the twain, And that is veiled for which we pant. Our lives are short, our ten times seven; We think the councils held in heaven Sit long, ere yet that blissful leaven Work peace amongst the militant. Then we blame God that sin should be: Adam began it at the tree, “The woman whom Thou gavest me;' And we adopt his dark device. O long Thou tarriest ! come and reign And bring forgiveness in Thy train, And give us in our hands again The apples of Thy Paraclise.' Far-seeing heart ! if that be all, The happy things that did not fall, I sighed, 'from every coppice call They never from that garden went. Behold their joy, so comfort thee, Behold the blossom and the bee, For they are yet as good and free As when poor Eve was innocent. 6 ·SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. 25 .. • But reason thus : If we sank low, If the lost garden we forego, Each in his day, nor ever know But in our poet souls its face; Yec we may rise until we reach A height untold of in its speech A lesson that it could not teach Learn in this darker dwelling-place." And reason on : “ We take the spoil ; Loss made us poets, and the soil Taught us great patience in our toil, And life is kin to God through death. Christ were not One with us but so, And if bereſt of Him we go ; Dearer the heavenly mansions grow, His home, to man that wandereth." Content thee so, and ease thy smart.' With that she slept again, my heart, And I admired and took my part With crowds of happy things the while : With open velvet butterflies That swung and spread their peacock eyes, As if they cared no more to rise From off their beds of camomile. The blackcaps in an orchard met, Praising the berries while they ate ; The finch that flew her beak to whet Before she joined them on the tree ; The water-mouse among the reeds His bright eyes glancing black as beads, So happy with a bunch of seeds--- I felt their gladness heartily.

·26 SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. But I came on, I smelt the hay, And up the hills I took my way, And down them still made holiday, And walked, and wearied not a whit; But ever with the lane I went Until it dropped with steep descent, Cut deep into the rock, a tent Of maple branches rooſing it. Adown the rock small runlets wept, And reckless ivies leaned and crept, And little spots of sunshine slept On its brown steeps and made them fair; And broader beams athwart it shot, Where martins cheeped in many a knot, For they had ta'en a sandy plot And scooped another Petra there. And deeper down, hemmed in and hid From upper light and life amid The swallows gossiping, I thrid Its mazes, till the dipping land Sank to the level of my lane : That was the last hill of the chain, And fair below I saw the plain That seemed cold cheer to reprimand. Half-drowned in sleepy peace it lay, As satiate with the boundless play Of sunshine on its green array. And clear-cut hills of gloomy blue To keep it safe rose up behind, As with a charmed ring to bind The grassy sea, where clouds might find A place to bring their shadows to. :

·SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. 27 I said, and blest that pastoral grace, "How sweet thou art, thou sunny place! Thy God approves thy smiling face :' But straight my heart put in her word ; She said, 'Albeit thy face I bless, There have been times, sweet wilderness, When I have wished to love thee less, Such pangs thy smile administered.' But, lo! I reached a field of wheat, And by its gate full clear and sweet A workman sang, while at his feet Played a young child, all life and stir- A three years' child, with rosy lip, Who in the song had partnership, Made happy with each falling chip Dropped by the busy carpenter. This, reared a new gate for the old, And loud the tuneful measure rolled, But stopped as I came up to hold Some kindly talk of passing things. Brave were his eyes, and frank his mien ; Of all men's faces, calm or keen, A better I have never seen In all my lonely wanderings. And how it was I scarce can tell, We seemed to please each other well; I lingered till a noonday bell Had sounded, and his task was done. An oak had screened us from the heat; And ’neath it in the standing wheat, A cradle and a fair retreat, Full sweetly slept the little one.

·28 SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. The workman rested from his stroke, And manly were the words he spoke, Until the smiling babe awoke And prayed to him for milk and food. Then to a runlet forth he went, And brought a wallet from the bent, And bade mne to the meal, intent I should not quit his neighbourhood. For here,' said he, are bread and beer, And meat enough to make good cheer; Sir, eat with me, and have no fear, For none upon my work depend, Saving this child ; and I may say That I am rich, for every day I put by somewhat; therefore stay, And to such eating condescend.' We ate. The child-child fair to see- Began to cling about his knee, And he down leaning fatherly Received some softly-prattled prayer ; He smiled as if to list were balm, And with his labour-hardened palm Pushed from the baby-forehead calm Those shining locks that clustered there. The rosy mouth made fresh essay- O would he sing, or would he play?' I looked, my thought would make its wax- Fair is your child of face and limb, The round blue eyes full sweetly shine.' He answered me with glance benign- 'Ay, Sir; but he is none of mine, Although I set great store by him.'

·SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. 29 With that, as if his heart was rain To open--nathless not complain-- He let my quiet questions gain His story : 'Not of kin to me,' Repeating; but asleep, awake, For worse, for better, him I take, To cherish for my dead wife's sake, And count him as her legacy. I married with the sweetest lass That ever stepped on meadow grass ; That ever at her looking-glass Some pleasure took, some natural care; That ever swept a cottage floor And worked all day, nor e'er gave o'er Till eve, then watched beside the door Till her good man should meet her there. * But I lost all in its fresh prime; My wife fell ill before her time- Just as the bells began to chime One Sunday morn. By next day's light Her little babe was born and dead, And she, unconscious what she said, With feeble hands about her spread, Sought it with yearnings infinite. With mother-longing still beguiled, And lost in fever-fancies wild, She piteously bemoaned her child That we had stolen, she said, away. And ten sad days she sighed to me, I cannot rest until I see My pretty one! I think that he Smiled in my face but yesterday."

·30 SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. “Then she would change, and faintly try To sing some tender lullaby ; And "Ah!” would moan, “if I should die, Who, sweetest babe, would cherish theo?" Then weep, "My pretty boy is grown; With tender feet on the cold stone He stands, for he can stand alone, And no one leads him motherly.” 'Then she with dying movements slow Would seem to knit, or seem to sew : “ His feet are bare, he must not go Unshod :" and as her death drew on, “O little baby," she would sigh; “My little child, I cannot die Till I have you to slumber nigh- You, you to set mine eyes upon.” When she spake thus, and moaning lay, They said, “She cannot pass away, So sore she longs : " and as the day Broke on the hills, I left her side. Mourning along this lane I went; Some travelling folk had pitched their tent Up yonder : there a woman, bent With age, sat meanly canopied. "A twelvemonths' child was at her side : “Whose infant may that be ? " I cried. “ His that will own him," she replied ; “ His mother's dead, no worse could be.” “Since you can give or else I erred- See, you are taken at your word," Quoth I; "that child is mine; I heard, And own him! Rise, and give him me," .

·SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER. 31 She rose amazed, but cursed me too ; She could not hold such luck for true, But gave him soon, with small ado. I laid him by my Lucy's side : Close to her face that baby crept, And stroked it, and the sweet soul wept; Then, while upon her arm he slept, She passed, for she was satisfied. "I loved her well, I wept her sore, And when her funeral left my door I thought that I should nevermore Feel any pleasure near me glow; But I have learned, though this I had, 'Tis sometimes natural to be glad, And no man can be always sad Unless he wills to have it so. “Oh, I had heavy nights at first, And daily wakening was the worst : For then my grief arose, and burst Like something fresh upon my head. Yet when less keen it seemed to grow, I was not pleased—I wished to go Mourning adown this vale of woe For all my life uncomforted. “I grudged myself the lightsome air, That makes man cheerful unaware ; When comfort came, I did not care To take it in, to feel it stir: And yet God took with me His plan, And now for my appointed span I think I am a happier man For having wed and wept for her.

·32
SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER.
* Because no natural tie remains,
On this small thing I spend my gains;
God makes me love him for my pains,
And binds me so to wholesome care :
I would not lose from my past life
That happy year, that happy wife !
Yet now I wage no useless strife
With feelings blithe and debonair.
• I have the courage to be gay,
Although she lieth lapped away
Under the daisies, for I say,
“Thou wouldst be glad if thou couldst see :"
My constant thought makes manifest
I have not what I love the best,
But I must thank God for the rest
While I hold heaven a verity.'
He rose, upon his shoulder set
The child, and while with vague regret
We parted, pleased that we had met,
My heart did with herself confer;
With wholesome shame she did repent
Her reasonings idly eloquent,
And said, 'I might be more content:
But God go with the carpenter.'

·THE HIGH TIDE.
33
THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST
OF LINCOLNSHIRE.
6
(1571.)
THI
'HE old mayor climbed the belfry tower,
The ringers ran by two, by three;
• Pull, if ye never pulled before;
Good ringers, pull your best,' quoth he.
Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells !
Ply all your changes, all your swells,
Play uppe
"The Brides of Enderby.
Men say it was a stolen tyde
The Lord that sent it, He knows all;
But in myne ears doth still abide
The message that the bells let fall :
And there was nought of strange, beside
The flights of mews and peewits pied
By millions crouched on the old sea wall.
I sat and spun within the doore,
My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ;
The level sun, like ruddy ore,
Lay sinking in the barren skies,
And dark against day's golden death
She moved where Lindis wandereth,
My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth.

·34 THE HIGH TIDE. *Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !' calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song. •Cusha! Cusha ! all along Where the reedy Lindis floweth, Floweth, floweth ; From the meads where melick groweth Faintly came her milking song- Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !' calling, 'For the dews will soone be falling; Leave your meadow grasses mellow Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, From the clovers lift your head; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking shed.' If it be long, ay, long ago, When I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow, Swiſt as an arrowe, sharpe and strong ; And all the aire, it seemeth mee, Bin full of floating bells (sayth shce), That ring the tune of Enderby. Alle fresh the level pasture lay And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away · The steeple towered from out the greene;

·THE HIGH TIDE. 35 ) And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide. The sianherds where their sedges are Moved on in sunset's golden breath, The shepherde lads I heard afarre, And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth; Till floating o'er the grassy sea Came downe that kyndly message free. The Brides of Mavis Enderby.' Then some looked uppe into the sky, And all along where Lindis flows To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows. They sayde, 'And why should this thing be? What danger lowers by land or sea ? They ring the tune of Enderby! For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down; For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, They have not spared to wake the towne: But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pirates flee, Why ring "The Brides of Enderby"?' I looked without, and lo! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main : He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, • Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 6

·36
THE HIGH TIDE.
"The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe,
The rising tide comes on apace,
And boats adrift in yonder townie
Go sailing uppe the market-place.'
He shook as one that looks on death:
'God save you, mother !' straight he saith;
• Where is my wife, Elizabeth ?'
'Good sonne, where Lindis winds away,
With her two bairns I marked her long;
And ere yon bells beganne to play
Afar I heard her milking song.'
He looked across the grassy lea,
To right, to left, 'Ho Enderby!'
They rang 'The Brides of Enderby!'
With that he cried and beat his breast;
For, lo! along the river's bed
A mighty eygre reared his crest,
And uppe the Lindis raging sped,
It swept with thunderous noises loud;
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud,
Or like a demon in a shroud.
And rearing Lindis backward pressed
Shook all her trembling bankes amaine;
Then madly at the eygre's breast
Flung uppe her weltering walls again.
Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout
Then beaten foam flew round about
Then all the mighty floods were out.

·THE HIGH TIDE. 37 So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat, Before a shallow seething wave Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea. Upon the roofe we sate that night, The noise of bells went sweeping by; I marked the lofty beacon light Stream from the church tower, red and high- A lurid mark and dread to see ; And awsome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang 'Enderby.' They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And I--my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; And yet he moaned beneath his breath, O come in life, or come in death! O lost ! my love, Elizabeth.' 6 And didst thou visit him no more ? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

·38 THE HIGH TIDE. That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas! To manye more than myne and mee : But each will mourn his own (she saith), And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth. I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lindis shore, *Cusha! Cusha! Cusha !' calling Ere the early dews be falling; I shall never hear her song, *Cusha! Cusha !' all along Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Goeth, floweth; From the meads where melick groweth When the water winding down, Onward floweth to the town. I shall never see her more Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Shiver, quiver; Stand beside the sobbing river, Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling To the sandy lonesome shore I shall never hear her calling, 'Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot ; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; -

·WHEN SPARROWS BUILD.
39
Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow;
Lightfoot, Whitefoot,
From your clovers lift the head;
Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow,
Jetty, to the milking shed.'
WHEN SPARROWS BUILD.
WHEN sparrows build,
THEN sparrows build, and the leaves break forth,
My old sorrow wakes and cries,
For I know there is dawn in the far, far north,
And a scarlet sun doth rise ;
Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads,
And the icy founts run free,
And the bergs begin to bow their heads,
And plunge, and sail in the sea.
O my lost love, and my own, own love,
And my love that loved me so !
Is there never a chink in the world above
Where they listen for words from below?
Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore,
I remember all that I said,
And now thou wilt hear me no more--no more
Till the sea gives up her dead.
Thou didst set thy foot on the ship, and sail
To the ice-fields and the snow;
Thou wert sad, for thy love did nought avail,
At the end I could not know ;

·40
WHEN SPARROWS BUILD.
How could I tell I should love thee to-day,
Whom that day I held not dear?
How could I know I should love thee away
When I did not love thee anear?
We shall walk no more through the sodden plain
With the faded bents o'erspread,
We shall stand no more by the seething main
While the dark wrack drives o'erhead;
We shall part no more in the wind and the rain
Where thy last farewell was said ;
But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again
When the sea gives up her dead.

·SONGS OF SEVEN.
41
SONGS OF SEVEN.
SEVEN TIMES ONE.
EXULTATION.
THERE'$ no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in heaven:
I've said my 'seven times over and over,
Seven times one are seven.
I am old, so old, I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done :
The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one times one.
O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing
And shining so round and low;
You were bright ! ah bright ! but your light is failing -
You are nothing now but a bow.
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven
That God has hidden your face?
I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.
O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow,
You've powdered your legs with gold !
O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow,
Give me your money to hold !

·42 SONGS OF SEVEN. O columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle doves dwell! O cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell ! And show me your nest with the young ones in it; I will not steal them away; I am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet- I am seven times one to-day. SEVEN TIMES TWO. ROMANCE You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes, How many soever they be, And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges Come over, come over to me. Yet bird's clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys, And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days. "Turn again, turn again,' once they rang cheerily, While a boy listened alone ; Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily All by himself on a stone. Poor bells ! I forgive you ; your good days are over, And mine, they are yet to be ; No listening, no longing, shall aught, aught discover : You leave the story to me.

·SONGS OF SEVEN.
43
The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather,
Preparing her hoods of snow ;
She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather :
O, children take long to grow.
I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster,
Nor long summer bide so late ;
And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster,
For some things are ill to wait.
I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover,
While dear hands are laid on my head ;
* The child is a woman, the book may close over,
For all the lessons are said.'
I wait for my story-the birds cannot sing it,
Not one, as he sits on the tree;
The bells cannot ring it, but long years, () bring it!
Such as I wish it to be.
SEVEN TIMLS THREE.
LOVE.
I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover,
Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate;
Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover--
Hush, nightingale, hush ! O, sweet nightingale, wait
Till I listen and hear
If a step draweth near,
For my love he is late !

·44 SONGS OF SEVEN. The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer : To what art thou listening, and what dost thou sec? Let the star-clusters grow, Let the sweet waters flow, And cross quickly to me. "You night moths that hover where honey brims over From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep; You glowworms, shine out, and the pathway discover To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. Ah, ny sailor, make haste, For the time runs to waste, And my love lieth deep- • Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night.' By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight; But I'll love him more, more Than e'er wife loved before, Be the days dark or bright. SEVEN TIMES FOUR. MATERNITY. Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall ! When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses, And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small ! Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all.

·SONGS OF SEVEN. 45 Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups ! Mother shall thread them a daisy chain ; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow, That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain : Sing, Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow'- Sing once, and sing it again. Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, Maybe he thinks on you now ! Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups, Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall- A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall ! Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure, God that is over us all ! SEVEN TIMES FIVE. WIDOWHOOD. I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan Before I am well awake; 'Let me bleed! O let me alone, Since I must not break !' For children wake, though fathers sleep With a stone at foot and at head : O sleepless God, for ever keep, Keep both living and dead !

·46 SONGS OF SEVEN. I lift mine eyes, and what to see But a world happy and fair ! I have not wished it to mourn with me Comfort is not there. O what anear but golden brooms, And a waste of reedy rills ! O what afar but the fine glooms On the rare bluc hills ! I shall not die, but live forlore- How bitter it is to part ! O to meet thee, my love, once more ! O my heart, my heart ! No more to hear, no more to see! O that an echo might wake And waft one note of thy psalm to me Ere my heart-strings break! I should know it how faint soe'er, And with angel voices blent; O once to feel thy spirit ancar; I could be content ! Or once between the gates of gold, While an entering angel trod. But once-thee sitting to behold On the hills of God! - SEVEN TIMES SIX. GIVING IN MARRIAGE. To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch, and then to lose : To see my bright ones disappear, Drawn up like morning dews-- 2 ·SONGS OF SEVEN. 47 To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch, and then to lose : This have I done when God drew near Among His own to choose. To hear, to heed, to wed, And with thy lord depart In tears that he, as soon as shed, Will let no longer smart.- To hear, to heed, to wed, This while thou didst I smiled, For now it was not God who said, Mother, give me thy child.' O fond, O fool, and blind, To God I gave with tears ; But when a man like grace would find, My soul put by her fears- O fond, O fool, and blind, God guards in happier spheres ; That man will guard where he did bind Is hope for unknown years. To hear, to heed, to wed, Fair lot that maidens choose, Thy mother's tenderest words are said, Thy face no more she views ; Thy mother's lot, my dear, She doth in nought accuse ; Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, To love and then to lose.

·48
SONGS OF SEVEN.
SEVEN TIMES SEVEN.
LONGING FOR HOME,
I.
A song of a boat :-
There was once a boat on a billow:
Lightly she rocked to her port remote,
And the foam was white in her wake like snow,
And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow
And bent like a wand of willow.
II.
I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat
Went curtseying over the billow,
I marked her course till a dancing mote
She faded out on the moonlit foam,
And I stayed behind in the dear loved home;
And my thoughts all day were about the boat
And my dreams upon the pillow.
III.
I pray you hear my song of a boat,
For it is but short :-
My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat,
In river or port.
Long I looked out for the lad she bore,
On the open desolate sea,
And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore,
For he came not back to me
Ah me!

·SONGS OF SEVEN. 49 IV. A song of a nest :- There was once a nest in a hollow : Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed, Soft and warm, and full to the brim- Vetches leaned over it purple and dim, With buttercup buds to follow. V. I pray you hear my song of a nest, For it is not long :- You shall never light, in a summer quest The bushes among Shall never light on a prouder sitter, A fairer nestful, nor ever know A softer sound than their tender twitter, That wind-like did come and go. VI. I had a nestful once of my own, Ah happy, happy I ! Right dearly I loved them: but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly- O, one after one they flew away Far up to the heavenly blue, To the better country, the upper day, And I wish I was going too. VII. I pray you, what is the nest to me, My empty nest ? And what is the shore where I stood to see My boat sail down to the west ? D

·50
SONGS OF SEVEN.
Can I call that home where I anchor yet,
Though my good man has sailed?
Can I call that home where my nest was set,
Now all its hope hath failed ?
Nay, but the port where my sailor went,
And the land where my nestlings be:
There is the home where my thoughts are sent,
The only home for me
Ah me!

·WINSTANLEY.
:51
WINSTANLEY.
THE APOLOGY.
Quo Tell the cedar to the reeds and rushes,
v01
the cedar to the reeds and rushes,
Water-grass, you know not what I do;
Know not of my storms, nor of my hushes,
And I know not you.'
Quoth the reeds and rushes, Wind! O waken!
Breathe, O wind, and set our answer free,
For we have no voice, of you forsaken,
For the cedar tree.'
Quoth the earth at midnight to the ocean,
Wilderness of water, lost to view,
Nought you are to me but sounds of motion ;
I am nought to you.'
6
Quoth the ocean, ' Dawn ! Ofairest, clearest,
Touch me with thy golden fingers bland;
For I have no smile till thou appearest
For the lovely land.'
Quoth the hero dying, whelmed in glory,
Many blame me, few have understood;
Ah, my folk, to you I leave a storya
Make its meaning good.'

·WINSTANLEY.
Quoth the folk, “Sing, poet! teach us, prove us ;
Surely we shall learn the meaning then :
Wound us with a pain divine, O move us,
For this man of men.'
WINSTANLEY's deed, you kindly folk,
With it I fill my lay,
And a nobler man ne'er walked the world,
Let bis name be what it may.
The good ship 'Snowdrop'tarried long,
Up at the vane looked he;
Belike,' he said, for the wind had dropped,
She lieth becalmed at sea.'
The lovely ladies flocked within,
And still would each one say,
Good mercer, be the ships come up?'
But still he answered 'Nay.'
Then stepped two mariners down the street,
With looks of grief and fear:
"Now, if Winstanley be your name,
We bring you evil cheer.
'For the good ship “Snowdrop" struck-she struck
On the rock--the Eddystone,
And down she went with threescore men,
We two being left alone.
* Down in the deep, with freight and crew,
Past any help she lies,
And never a bale has come to shore
Of all thy merchandise.'

·WINSTANLEY.
53
* For cloth o' gold and comely frieze,'
Winstanley said, and sighed,
"For velvet coif, or costly coat,
They fathoms deep may bide.
'O thou brave skipper, blithe and kind,
O mariners bold and true,
Sorry at heart, right sorry am I,
A-thinking of yours and you.
Many long days Winstanley's breast
Shall feel a weight within,
For a waft of wind he shall be 'feard
And trading count but sin.
"To him no more it shall be joy
To pace the cheerful town,
And see the lovely ladies gay
Step on in velvet gown.'
The 'Snowdrop' sank at Lammas-tide,
All under the yeasty spray;
On Christmas Eve the brig 'Content'
Was also cast away.
He little thought o' New Year's night,
So jolly as he sat then,
While drank the toast and praised the roast
The round-faced Aldermen,
While serving-lads ran to and fro
Pouring the ruby wine,
And jellies trembled on the board,
And towering pasties fine, -

·54 WINSTANLEY. While loud huzzas ran up the roof, Till the lamps did rock o'erhead, And holly-boughs from rafters hung Dropped down their berries red, He little thought on Plymouth Hoe, With every rising tide, How the wave washed in his sailor lads, And laid them side by side. There stepped a stranger to the board : Now, stranger, who be ye?' He looked to right, he looked to left, And Rest you merry,' quoth he; For you did not see the brig go down, Or ever a storm had blown; For you did not see the white wave rear At the rock-the Eddystone. 6 She drave at the rock with sternsails set; Crash went the masts in twain; She staggered back with her mortal blow, Then leaped at it again. "There rose a great cry, bitter and strong, The misty moon looked out! And the water swarmed with seamen's heads, And the wreck was strewed about. 6 I saw her mainsail lash the sea As I clung to the rock alone; Then she heeled over, and down she went, And sank like any stone.

·WINSTANLEY. 55 She was a fair ship, but all's one! For nought could bide the shock.' I will take horse,' Winstanley said, And see this deadly rock.' 6 For never again shall barque o' mine Sail over the windy sea, Unless, by the blessing of God, for this Be found a remedy.' Winstanley rode to Plymouth town All in the sleet and the snow, And he looked around on shore and sound As he stood on Plymouth Hoe. Till a pillar of spray rose far away, And shot up its stately head, Reared and fell over, and reared again: "'Tis the rock! the rock !' he said. Straight to the Mayor he took his way: Good Master Mayor,' quoth he, 'I am a mercer of London town, And owner of vessels three, 'But for your rock of dark renown, I had five to track the main.' You are one of many,' the old Mayor said, "That on the rock complain. 6 "An ill rock, mercer! your words ring right, Well with my thoughts they chime, For my two sons to the world to come It sent before their time.'

·56
WINSTANLEY.
• Lend me a lighter, guod Master Mayor,
And a score of shipwrights free,
For I think to raise a lantern tower
On this rock o' destiny.'
The old Mayor laughed, but sighed also;
Ah, youth,' quoth he, is rash;
Sooner, young man, thou'lt root it out
From the sea that doth it lash.
Who sails too near its jagged teeth,
He shall have evil lot ;
For the calmest seas that tumble there
Froth like a boiling pot.
. And the heavier seas few look on nigh,
But straight they lay him dead;
A seventy-gun ship, sir !--they'll shoot
Higher than her mast-head.
O, beacons sighted in the dark,
They are right welcome things,
And pitchpots flaming on the shore
Show fair as angel wings.
* Hast gold in hand ? then light the land,
It 'longs to thee and me;
But let alone the deadly rock
In God Almighty's sea.'
Yet said he, Nay--I must away,
On the rock to set my feet;
My debts are paid, my will I made,
Or ever I did thee greet.

·WINSTANLEY.
57
'If I must die, then let me die
By the rock, and not elsewhere;
If I may live, O let me live
To mount my lighthouse stair.'
The old Mayor looked him in the face,
And answered : 'Have thy way;
Thy heart is stout, as if round about
It was braced with an iron stay :
"Have thy will, mercer! choose thy men,
Put off from the storm-rid shore ;
God with thee be, or I shall see
Thy face and theirs no more.'
Heavily plunged the breaking wave,
And foam flew up the lea,
Morning and even the drifted snow
Fell into the dark grey sea.
Winstanley chose him men and gear ;
He said, 'My time I waste,'
For the seas ran seething up the shore,
And the wrack drave on in haste.
But twenty days he waited and more,
Pacing the strand alone,
Or ever he set his manly foot
On the rock--the Eddystone.
Then he and the sea began their strife,
And worked with power and might:
Whatever the man reared up by day
The sea broke down by night.

·58 WINSTANLEY. He wrought at ebb with bar and beam, He sailed to shore at flow; And at his side, by that same tide, Come bar and beam also. Give in, give in,' the old Mayor cried, Or thou wilt rue the day.' • Yonder he goes,' the townsfolk sighed, But the rock will have its way. 6 For all his looks that are so stout, And his speeches brave and fair, He may wait on the wind, wait on the wave, But he'll build no lighthouse there.' In fine weather and foul weather The rock his arts did flout, Through the long days and the short days, Till all that year ran out. With fine weather and foul weather Another year came in: "To take his wage,' the workmen said, "We almost count a sin.' Now March was gone, came April in, And a sea-fog settled down, And forth sailed he on a glassy sea, He sail'd from Plymouth town. With men and stores he put to sea, As he was wont to do; They showed in the fog like ghosts full faint- A ghostly craft and crew.

·WINSTANLEY.
59
And the sea-fog lay and waxed alway,
For a long eight days and more ;
"God help our men !' quoth the women then;
For they bide long from shore.'
They paced the Hoe in doubt and dread :
• Where may our mariners be?'
But the brooding rog lay soft as down
Over the quiet sea.
A Scottish schooner made the port,
The thirteenth day at e'en :
. As I am a man,' the captain cried,
'A strange sight I have seen:
* And a strange sound heard, my masters all,
At sea, in the fog and the rain,
Like shipwrights' hammers tapping low,
Then loud, then low again.
' And a stately house one instant showed,
Through a rift, on the vessel's lee :
What manner of creatures may be those
That build upon the sea ? '
Then sighed the folk, The Lord be praised !
And they flocked to the shore amain;
All over the Hoe that livelong night,
Many stood out in the rain.
It ceased, and the red sun reared his head,
And the rolling fog did flee;
And, lo! in the offing faint and far
Winstanley's house at sea !

·60 WINSTANLEY. In fair weather with mirth and cheer The stately tower uprose ; In foul weather, with hunger and cold, They were content to close ; Till up the stair Winstanley went, To fire the wick afar; And Plymouth in the silent night Look'd out, and saw her star. Winstanley set his foot ashore : Said he, My work is done ; I hold it strong to last as long As aught beneath the sun. "But if it fail, as fail it may, Borne down with ruin and rout, Another than I shall rear it high, And brace the girders stout. . A better than I shall rear it high, For now the way is plain, And though I were dead,' Winstanley said, "The light would shine again, 6 Yet were I fain still to remain, Watch in my tower to keep, And tend my light in the stormiest night That ever did move the deep; And if it stood, why then 'twere good, Amid their tremulous stirs, To count each stroke when the mad waves broke, For cheers of mariners.

·WINSTANLEY. 61 But if it fell, then this were well, That I should with it fall; Since, for my part, I have built my heart In the courses of its wall. Ay! I were fain, long to remain, Watch in my tower to keep, And tend my light in the stormiest night That ever did move the deep.' With that Winstanley went his way, And left the rock renowned, And summer and winter his pilot star Hung bright o'er Plymouth Sound. But it fell out, fell out at last, That he would put to sea, To scan once more his lighthouse tower On the rock o' destiny. And the winds woke, and the storm broke, And wrecks came plunging in; None in the town that night lay down Or sleep or rest to win. The great mad waves were rolling graves, And each flung up its dead; The seething flow was white below, And black the sky o'erhead. And when the dawn, the ciull, grey dawn, Broke on the trembling town, And men looked south to the harbour mouth, The lighthouse tower was down.

·62
NOT IN VAIN I WAITED.
Down in the deep where he doth sleep,
Who made it shine afar,
And then in the night that drowned its light,
Set, with his pilot star.
Many fair tombs in the glorious glooms
At Westminster they show;
The brave and the great lie there in state :
Winstanley lieth low.
NOT IN VAIN I WAITED.
SHE
HE was but a child, a child,
And I a man grown ;
Sweet she was, and fresh, and wild,
And, I thought, my own.
What could I do? The long grass groweth,
The long wave floweth with a murmur on:
The why and the wherefore of it all who knoweth?
Ere I thought to lose her she was grown--and gone.
This day or that day in warm spring weather,
The lamb that was tame will yearn to break its tether.
But if the world wound thee,' I said, 'come back to me,
Down in the dell wishing--Wishing, wishing for thee.'
The dews hang on the white may,
Like a ghost it stands,
All in the dusk before day
That folds the dim lands:

·THE LONG WHITE SEAM.
63
Dark fell the skies when once belated,
Sad, and sorrow-fated, I missed the sun;
But wake, heart, and sing, for not in vain I waited.
O clear, O solemn dawning, lo, the maid is won !
Sweet dews, dry early on the grass and clover,
Lest the bride wet her feet while she walks over;
Shine to-day, sunbeams, and make all fair to see :
Down the dell she's coming-coming, coming with me.
THE LONG WHITE SEAM.
As I came round the harbour buoy,
No wave the land-locked water stirred,
The crags were white as cream;
And I marked my love by candle-light
Sewing her long white seam.
It's aye sewing ashore, my dear,
Watch and steer at sea,
It's reef and furl, and haul the line,
Set sail and think of thee.
I climbed to reach her cottage door;
O sweetly my love sings !
Like a shaft of light her voice breaks forth
My soul to meet it springs
As the shining water leaped of old,
When stirred by angel wings.
Aye longing to list anew,
Awake and in my dream,
But never a song she sang like this,
Sewing her long white seam.

·64
SONG IN THREE PARTS.
Fair fall the lights, the harbour lights,
That brought me in to thee,
And peace drop down on that low roof
For the sight that I did see,
And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear
All for the love of me.
For O, for (), with brows bent low
By the candle's flickering gleam,
Her wedding gown it was she wrought,
Sewing the long white sean.
SONG IN THREE PARTS.
THE
"HE white broom flatt'ring her flowers in calm June
weather,
O most sweet wear ;
Forty-eight weeks of my life do none desire mo
Four am I fair.
Quoth the brown bee,
* In thy white wear
Four thou art fair.
A mystery
Of honeyed snow
In scented air
The bee lines flow
Straight unto thee.
Great boon and bliss
All pure I wis,
And sweet to grow

·SONG IN THREE PARTS. 55 Ay, so to give That many live. Now as for me, I,' quoth the bee, * Have not to give, Through long hours sunny Gathering I live: Aye debonair Sailing sweet air After my fare, Bee-bread and honey. In thy deep coombe O thou white broom, Where no leaves shake, Brake, Bent nor clover, I a glad rover Thy calms partake. While winds of might From height to height Go bodily over. Till slanteth light, And up the rise Thy shadow lies, A shadow of white, A beauty-lender Pathetic, tender. Short is thy day? Answer with " Nay,' Longer the hours That wear thy flowers ·66 SONG IN THREE PARTS. Than all dull, cold Years manifold That gift withhold. A long liver, O honey-giver, Thou by all showing Art made bestowing, I Thy greater lot, Nor thy white wear. But, as for me, I,' quoth the bee, Never am fair.' envy not 11. The nightingale lorn of his note in darkness brooding Deeply and long, * Two sweet months spake the heart to the heart. Alas! all's over, O lost my song.' One in the tree, Hush now! Let be: The song at ending Left my long tending Over also. Let be, let us go Across the wan sea. The little ones care not, And I fare not, Amiss with thee.

·SONG IN THREE PARTS. 67 Thou hast sung all, This hast thou had. Love, be not sad; It shall befall Assuredly, When the bush buddeth And the bank studdeth- Where grass is sweet And damps do fleet, Her delicate beds With daisy heads That the Stars Seven Leaned down from heaven Shall sparkling mark In the warm dark Thy most dear strain Which ringeth aye true- Piercing vale, croft Liſted aloft Dropt even as dew With a sweet quest To her on the nest When damps we love Fall from above, " Art thou asleep? Answer me, answer me, Night is so deep Thy right fair form I cannot see ; Answer me, answer me, Are the eggs warmı? Is't well with thee?"

·68
SONG IN THREE PARTS.
Ay, this shall be
Assuredly.
Ay, thou full fain
In the soft rain
Shalt sing again.'
III.
A fair wife making her moan, despised, forsaken,
Her good days o'er;
'Seven sweet years of my life did I live beloved,
Seven-no more.'
Then Echo woke--and spoke,
No more no more.'
And a ware broke
On the sad shore
When Echo said
No more.'
Nought else made reply,
Nor land, nor loch, nor sky
Did
any
comfort try,
But the wave spread
Echo's faint tone
Alone,
All down the desolate shore,
'No more-no more.'

·IN THE NURSERY. 69 IN THE NURSERY. 'WE THERE do you go, Bob, when you're fast asleep?' Where? well, once I went into a deep Mine father told of, and a cross man said He'd make me help to dig, and eat black bread. I saw the Queen once, in her room, quite near. She said, “You rude boy, Bob, how came you here?": Was it like mother's boudoir ?' Grander far, Gold chairs and things--all over diamonds-Ah!' • You're sure it was the Queen ?' 'Of course, a crown Was on her, and a spangly purple gown.' 'I went to heaven last night.' O Lily, no, How could you?' Yes I did, they told me so, And my best doll, my favourite, with the blue Frock, Jasmine, I took her to heaven too.' 6 What was it like?' "A kind of I can't tell- A sort of orchard place in a long dell, ·70 IN THE NURSERY. With trees all over flowers. And there were birds Who could do talking, say soft pretty words; They let me stroke them, and I showed it all To Jasmine. And I heard a blue dove call, “Child, this is heaven.” I was not frightened when It spoke; I said, “Where are the angels then ?". "Well?' "So it said, “ Look up and you shall see.” There were two angels sitting in the tree, As tall as mother, they had long gold hair. They let drop down the fruit they gather'd there, And little angels came for it--so sweet. Here they were beggar children in the street, And the dove said they had the prettiest things, And wore their best frocks every day.' And wings, Had they no wings? O yes, and lined with white Like swallow wings, so soft-so very light, Fluttering about.' "Well?' 6 Well, I did not stay. So that was all.' "They made you go away?' * I did not go-but-1 was gone.' I know.' * But it's a pity, Bob, we never go Together.'

·ECHO AND THE FERRY.
71
“Yes, and have no dreams to tell,
But the next day both know it all quite well.'
* And, Bob, if I could dream you came with me
You would be there perhaps.'
Perhaps--we'll see.'
ECHO AND THE FERRY.
AY
Y, Oliver! I was but seven, and he was eleven;
He looked at me pouting and rosy. I blushed
where I stood.
They had told us to play in the orchard (and I only
seven!
A small guest at the farm); but he said, 'Oh, a girl was
no good!
So he whistled and went, he went over the stile to the
wood.
It was sad, it was sorrowful! O..ly a girl-only seven!
At home in the dark London smoke I had not found it
out.
The pear-trees looked on in their white, and blue birds
flash'd about,
And they too were angry as Oliver. Were they eleven?
I thought so. Yes, every one else was eleven-eleven!
So Oliver went, but the cowslips were tall at my feet,
And all the white orchard with fast-falling blossom was
litter'd;
And under and over the branches those little birds
twitter'd,

·72 ECHO AND THE FERRY. While hanging head downwards they scolded because I was seven. A pity. A very great pity. One should be eleven. But soon I was happy, the smell of the world was so sweet, And I saw a round hole in an apple-tree rosy and old. Then I knew! for I peeped, and I felt it was right they should scold ! Eggs small and eggs many. For gladness I broke into laughter; And then some one else-oh, how softly !--came after, came after With laughter--with laughter came after. And no one was near us to 'utter that sweet mocking call, That soon very tired sank low with a mystical fall. But this was the country--perhaps it was close under heaven; Oh, nothing so likely; the voice might have come from it even. I knew about heaven. But this was the country, of this Light, blossom, and piping, and flashing of winys not at all. Not at all. No. But one little bird was an easy forgiver : She peeped, she drew near as I moved from her domicile small, Then flashed down her hole like a dart-like a dart from the quiver. And I waded atween the long grasses and felt it was bliss.

·ECHO AND THE FERRY. 73 -So this was the country; clear dazzle of azure and shiver And whisper of leaves, and a humming all over the tall White branches, a humming of bees. And I came to the wall 1 little low wall-and looked over, and there was the river, The lane that led on to the village, and then the sweet river Clear shining and slow, she had far far to go from her snow; But each rush gleamed a sword in the sunlight to guard her long flow, And she murmur'd, methought, with a speech very soft very low. "The ways will be long, but the days will be long,' quoth the river, 'To me a long liver, long, long !' quoth the river-the river. I dreamed of the country that night, of the orchard, the sky, The voice that had mocked coming after and over and under. But at last-in a day or two namely-Eleven and I Were very fast friends, and to him I confided the wonder. He said that was Echo. Was Echo a wise kind of bee That had learned how to laugh: could it laugh in one's ear and then fly And laugh again yonder?' 'No; Echo'-he whispered it low- ·74 ECHO AND THE FERRY. Was a woman, they said, but a woman whom no one could see And no one could find; and he did not believe it, not he, But he could not get near for the river that held us asunder. Yet I that had money-a shilling, a whole silver shilling- We might cross if I thought I would spend it.' 'Oh yes, I was willing' And we ran hand in hand, we ran down to the ferry, the ferry, And we heard how she mocked at the folk with a voice clear and merry When they called for the ferry; but oh! she was verywas very Swift-footed. She spoke and was gone; and when Oliver cried, * Hie over! hie over! you of the ferry--the man ferry!' By the still water's side she was heard far and wide-she replied And she mocked in her voice sweet and merry, You man of the ferry, You man of-you man of the ferry!' Hie over!' he shouted. The ferryman came at his calling, Across the clear reed-bordered river he ferried us fast; Such a chase! Hand in hand, foot to foot, we ran on: it surpass'd ·ECHO AND THE FERRY. 75 All measure her doubling-so close, then so far away falling, Then gone, and no more. Oh! to see her but once unaware, And the mouth that had mocked, but we might not (yet sure she was there!), Nor behold her wild eyes and her mystical countenance fair. We sought in the wood, and we found the wood-wren in her stead; In the field, and we found but the cuckoo that talked overhead; By the brook, and we found the reed-sparrow deep-nested, in brown- Not Echo, fair Echo! for Echo, sweet Echo! was flown. So we came to the place where the dead people wait till God call. The church* was among them, grey moss over roof, over wall. Very silent, so low. And we stood on a green grassy mound And looked in at a window, for Echo, perhaps, in her round Might have come in to hide there. But no; every oakcarven seat Was empty. We saw the great Bible-old, old, very old, And the parson's great Prayer-book beside it ; we heard the slow beat Of the pendulum swing in the tower; we saw the clear gold ·76 ECHO AND THE FERRY. Of a sunbeam float down to the aisle and then waver and play On the low chancel step and the railing, and Oliver said, Look, Katie ! look, Katie! when Lettice came here to be wed She stood where that sunbeam drops down, and all white was her gown; And she stepped upon fowers they strew'd for her.' Then quoth small Seven: ‘Shall I wear a white gown and have flowers to walk upon ever? All doubtful: 'It takes a long time to grow up,' quoth Eleven; You're so little, you know, and the church is so old, it < can never Last on till you're tall.' And in whispers-because it was old And holy, and fraught with strange meaning, half felt, but not told, Full of old parsons' prayers, who were dead, of old days, of old folk, Neither heard nor beheld, but about us, in whispers we spoke. Then we went from it softly and ran hand in hand to the strand, While bleating of flocks and birds piping made sweeter the land And Echo came back e'en as Oliver drew to the ferry, O Katie !! O Katie !''Come on, then !' Come on, then !' For, see, ·ECHO AND THE FERRY. 77 The round sun, all ied, lying low by the tree'-'by the tree.' "By the tree.' Ay, she mocked him again, with her voice sweet and merry: Hie over!' Hie over!' You man of the ferry'- the ferry.' •You man of the ferry You man of--you man of-the ferry.' Ay, here--it was here that we woke her, the Echo of old; All life of that day seems an echo, and many times told. Shall I cross by the ferry tomorrow, and come in my white To that little low church? and will Oliver meet me anon? Will it all seem an echo from childhood pass'd overpassid on? Will the grave parson bless us? Hark, hark! in the dim failing light I hear her,! As then the child's voice clear and high, sweet and merry Now she mocks the man's tone with 'Hie over ! Hie over the ferry!' And Katie.' 'And Katie.' 'Art out with the glowworms to-night, My Katie?' 'My Katie!' For gladness I break into laughter And tears. Then it all comes again as from far-away years; Again, some one else-oh, how softly !--with laughter comes after, Comes after with laughter comes after.

·78 SAILING BEYOND SEAS. SAILING BEYOND SEAS. (Old Style.) METHOUGHT the stars were blinking bright, And the old brig's sails unfurled ; I said, 'I will sail to my love this night At the other side of the world.' I stepped aboard--we sailed so fast- The sun shot up from the bourne; But a dove that perched upon the mast Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn. O fair dove! O fond dove ! And dove with the white breast, Let me alone, thc drcam is my own, And my heart is full of rest. My true love fares on this great hill, Feeding his sheep for aye;' I looked in his hut, but all was still, My love was gone away. I went to gaze in the forest crcek, And the dove mourned on apace; No flame did flash, nor fair blue reck Rose up to show me his place. O last love ! O first love! My love with the true heart, To think I have come to this your home, And vet--we are apart!' 8

·AN OLD WIFE'S SONG.
79
My love! He stood at my right hand,
His eyes were grave and sweet.
Methought he said, In this far land,
O, is it thus we meet !
Ah, maid most dear, I am not here;
I have no place-no part--
No dwelling more by sea or shore,
But only in thy heart.'
O fair dove! O fond dove !
Till night rose over the bourne,
The dove on the mast, as we sailed fast,
Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn.
AN OLD WIFE'S SONG.
A
ND what will ye hear, my daughters dear 2-
, what will ye hear this night?
Shall I sing you a song of the yuletide cheer,
Or of lovers and ladies bright?
'Thou shalt sing,' they say (for we dwell far away
From the land where fain would we be),
'Thou shalt sing us again some old-world strain
That is sung in our own countrie.
• Thou shalt mind us so of the times long ago,
When we walked on the upland lea,
While the old harbour light waxed faint in the white,
Long rays shooting out from the sea ;

·AN OLD WIFE'S SONG. "While lambs were yet asleep, and the dew lay deep On the grass, and their fleeces clean and fair. Never grass was seen so thick nor so green As the grass that grew up there ! "In the town was no smoke, for none there awoke At our feet it lay still as still could be ; And we saw far below the long river flow, And the schooners a-warping out to sea. of 'Sing us now a strain shall make us feel again As we felt in that sacred peace morn, When we had the first view of the wet sparkling dew, In the shyness of a day just born.' So I sang an old song-it was plain and not long- I had sung it very oft when they were small; And long ere it was done they wept every one: Yet this was all the song--this was all :- The snow lies white, and the moon gives Signt, I'll out to the freezing mere, And ease my heart with one little song, For none will be nigh to hear. And it's O my love, my love! And it's O my dear, my dear! It's of her that I'll sing till the wild woods ring, When nobody's nigh to hear. My love is young, she is young, is young; When she laughs the dimple dips. We walked in the wind, and her long locks bles Till sweetly they touched my lips.

·AN OLD WIFE'S SONG.
81
And I'll out to the freezing mere,
Where the stiff reeds whistle so low,
And I'll tell my mind to the friendly wind,
Because I have loved her so.
Ay, and she's true, my lady is true !
And that's the best of it all;
And when she blushes my heart so yearns
That tears are ready to fall.
And it's O my love, my love!
And it's O my dear, my dear!
It's of her that I'll sing till the wild woods ring,
When nobody's nigh to hear.

·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS.
N
SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS.
INTRODUCTION.
CHILD AND BOATMAN.
* MARTIN, I wonder who makes all the songs.'
"You do, sir??
"Yes, I wonder how they come.'
• Well, boy, I wonder what you'll wonder next!'
* But somebody must make them ?'
Sure enough.'
'Does your wife know?'
She never said she did.'
"You told me that she knew so many things.'
"I said she was a London woman, sir,
And a fine scholar, but I never said
She knew about the songs."
I wish she did.'
And I wish no such thing; she knows enough,
She knows too much already. Look you now,
This vessel's off the stocks, a tidy craft.'
"A schooner, Martin ??
'No, boy, no; a brig,
Only she's schooner-rigged a lovely craft.'
*Is she for me? O, thank you, Martin dear.
What shall I call her ?'
$

·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 83 'Well, sir, what you please.' Then write on her " The Eagle." Bless the child ! Fagle ! why, you know nought of eagles, you. When we lay off the coast, up Canada way, And chanced to be ashore when twilight fell, That was the place for eagles ; bald thcy were, With eyes as yellow as gold.' O, Martin dear, Tell me about them.' "Tell ! there's nought to tell, Only they snored o' nights and frighted us.' Snored ? 'Ay, I tell you, snored ; they slept upright In the great oaks by scores ; as true as time, If I'd had aught upon my mind just then, I wouldn't have walked that wood for unknown gold; It was most awſul. When the moon was full, I've seen them fish at night, in the middle watch, When she got low. I've seen them plunge like stones, And come up fighting with a fish as long, Ay, longer than my arm ; and they would sail- When they had struck its life out-they would sail- Over the deck, and show their fell, fierce eyes, And croon for pleasure, hug the prey, and speed Grand as a frigate on a wind.' My ship, She must be called “The Eagle" after these. Martin, you'll ask your wife about the songs When you go in at dinner-time?' « Not I.'

·84
SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS.
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE UNSATISFIED
HEART.
WHEN in a May-day hush
Chanteth the Missel-thrush,
The harp of the heart makes answer with murmurous
stirs ;
When Robin-redbreast sings,
We think on budding springs,
And Culvers when they coo are love's remembrancers.
But thou in the trance of light
Stayest the feeding night,
And Echo makes sweet her lips with the utterance
wise,
And casts at our glad feet,
In a wisp of fancies fleet,
Life's fair, life's unfulfilled, impassioned prophecies.
Her central thought full well
'Thou hast the wit to tell,
To take the sense o' the dark and to yield it so ;
The moral of moonlight
To set in a cadence bright,
And sing our loftiest dream that we thought none did
know.
I have no nest as thou,
Bird on the blossoming bough,
Yet over thy tongue outfloweth the song o' my soul,

·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 8 6 Chanting, Forego thy strife, The spirit out-acts the life, But much is seldom theirs who can perceive the whole. 6 Thou drawest a perfect lot All thine, but holden not, Lie low, at the feet of beauty that ever shall bide; There might be sorer smart Than thine, far-seeing heart, Whose fate is still to yearn, and not be satisfied.' SAND MARTINS. I PASSED an inland-cliff precipitate: From tiny caves peeped many a soot-black poll; In each a mother-martin sat elate, And of the news delivered her sinall soul Fantastic chatter! hasty, glad, and gay, Whereof the meaning was not ill to tell : "Gossip, how wags the world with you to-day ?' 'Gossip, the world wags weil, the world wags well.' And heark’ning, I was sure their little ones Were in the bird-talk, and discourse was made. Concerning hot sea-bights and tropic suns, For clear sultriness the tune conveyed ;- . And visions of the sky as of a cup Hailing down light on pagan Pharaoh's sand, And quivering air-waves trembling up and up, And blank stone faces marvellously bland.

·86
SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS.
When should the young be fledged and with them
hie
Where costly day drops down in crimson light?
(Fortunate countries of the fire fly
Swarm with blue diamonds all the sultry night,
And the immortal moon takes turn with them.)
When should they pass again by that red land,
Where lovely mirage works a broidered hem
To fringe with phantom-palms a robe of sand ?
"When should they dip their breasts again and play
In slumberous azure pools clear as the air,
Where rosy-winged flamingos fish all day,
Stalking amid the lotus blossom fair ?
* Then, over podded tamarinds bear their flight,
While cassias blossom in the zone of calms,
And so betake them to a south sea-bight,
To gossip in the crowns of cocoa-palms
Whose roots are in the spray.
O, haply there
Some dawn, white-winged they might chance to find
A frigate standing in to make more fair
The loneliness unaltered of mankind.
"A frigate come to water : nuts would fall,
And nimble feet would climb the flower-flushed strand,
While northern talk would ring, and therewithal
The martins would desire the cool north land.

·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 87 . And all would be as it had been before; Again at eve there would be news to tell ; Who passed should hear them chant it o'er and o'er, "Gossip, how wags the world ?" "Well, gossip well.") A POET IN HIS YOUTH, AND THE CUCKOO- BIRD. ONCE upon a time, I lay Fast asleep at dawn of day; Windows open to the south, Fancy pouting her sweet mouth To my ear. She turned a globe In her slender hand, her robe Was all spangled; and she said, As she sat at my bed's head, Poet, poet, what, asleep! Look! the ray runs up the steep To your roof.' Then in the golden Essence of romances olden, Bathed she my entrancèd heart. And she gave a hand to me, Drew me onward, Come!' said she ; And she moved with me apart, Down the lovely vale of Leisure. Such its name was, I heard say, For some Fairies trooped that way; Common people of the place, Taking their accustomed pleasure (All the clocks being stopped), to race ·88 SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. Down the slope on palfreys fleet. Bridle bells made tinkling sweet ; And they said, 'What signified Faring home till eventide : There were pies on every shelf, And the bread would bake itself.' But for that I cared not, fed, As it were, with angels' bread, Sweet as honey; yet next day All foredoomed to melt away ; Gone before the sun waxed hot, Melted manna that was not. Rock-doves' poetry of plaint, Or the starling's courtship quaint, Heart made much of; 'twas a boon Won from silence, and too soon Wasted in the ample air : Building rooks far distant were. Scarce at all would speak the rills, And I saw the idle hills, In their amber hazes deep, Fold themselves and go to sleep, Though it was not yet high noon. Silence ? Rather music brought From the spheres! As if a thought, Having taken wings, did fly Through the reaches of the sky. Silence? No, a sumptuous sigh That had found embodiment, That had come across the deep After months of wintry sleep, ·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 89 And with tender heavings went Floating up the firmament. 0,' I mourned, half slumbering yet, ""Tis the voice of my regret- Mine!' and I awoke. Full sweet Saffron sunbeams did me greet; And the voice it spake again, Dropped from yon blue cup of light Or some cloudlet swan's-down white On my soul, that drank full fain The sharp joy-the sweet pain- Of its clear, right innocent, Unreproved discontent. How it came where it went- Who can tell ? The open blue Quivered with it, and I, too, Trembled. I remembered me Of the springs that used to be, When a dimpled white-haired child, Shy and tender and half wild, In the meadows I had heard Some way off the talking bird, And had felt it marvellous sweet, For it laughed : it did me greet, Calling me : yet, hid away In the woods, it would not play. No. And all the world about, While a man will work or sing, Or a child pluck flowers of spring, Thou wilt scatter music out, ·90 SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. Rouse him with thy wandering note, Changeful fancies set afloat, Almost tell with thy clear throat, But not quite--the wonder-rife Most sweet riddle, dark and dim, That he searcheth all his life, Searcheth yet, and ne'er expoundeth ; And so winnowing of thy wings, Touch and trouble his heart's strings, That a certain music soundeth In that wondrous instrument, With a trembling upward sent, That is reckoned sweet above By the Greatness surnamed Love. O, I hear thee in the blue; Would that I might wing it too! () to have what hope hath seen! O to be what might have been ! O to set my life, sweet bird, To a tune that oft I heard When I used to stand alone Listening to the lovely moan Of the swaying pines o'erhead, While, a-gathering of bee-bread For their living, murmured round, As the pollen dropped to ground, All the nations from the hives ; And the little brooding wives On each nest, brown dusky things, Sat with gold-dust on their wings.

·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 91 Then beyond (more sweet than all) Talked the tumbling waterfall; And there were, and there were not (As might fall, and form anew Bell-hung drops of honey-dew) Echoes of_I know not what t; As if some right-joyous elf, While about his own affairs, Whistled softly otherwheres ; Nay, as if our mother dear, Wrapped in sun-warm atmosphere, Laughed a little to herself, Laughed a little as she rolled, Thinking on the days of old. "Ah! there be some hearts, I wis, To which nothing comes amiss. Mine was one. Much secret wealth I was heir to : and by stealth, When the moon was fully grown, Anti she thought herself alone, I have heard her, ay, right well, Shoot a silver message down To the unseen sentinel Of a still, snow-thatched town. 6 Once, a while ago, I peered In the nest where Spring was reared. There, she, quivering her fair wings, Flattered March with chirrupings; And they fed her ; nights and days Fed her mouth with much sweet food, And her heart with love and praise, ·92 SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. Till the wild thing rose and flew Over woods and water-springs, Shaking off the morning dew In a rainbow from her wings. 'Once (I will to you confide More), o once in forest wide, I, benighted, overheard Marvellous mild echoes stirred, And a calling half defined, And an answering from afar; Somewhat talked with a star, And the talk was of mankind. 6"Cuckoo, cuckoo !” Float anear in upper blue : Art thou yet a prophet true? Wilt thou say, “ And having seen Things that be, and have not been, Thou art free o' the world, for nought Can despoil thee of thy thought"? Nay, but make me music yet, Bird, as deep as my regret, For a certain hope hath set, Like a star; and left me heir To a crying for its light, An aspiring infinite, And a beautiful despair ! "Ah! no more, no more, no more I shall lie at thy shut door, Mine ideal, my desired, Dreaming thou wilt open it, And step out, thou most admired, By my side to fare, or sit, ·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 93 Quenching hunger and all drouth With the wit of thy fair mouth, Showing me the wished prize In the calm of thy dove's eyes, Teaching me the wonder-rife Majesties of human life, All its fairest possible sum, And the grace of its to come. 6 What a difference! Why of late All sweet music used to say, “She will come, and with thee stay To-morrow, man, if not to-day.” Now it murmurs, “Wait, wait, wait ! » A RAVEN IN A WHITE CHINE. I saw when I looked up, on either hand, A palehigh chalk-cliff, reared aloft in white; A narrowing rent soon closed toward the land- Toward the sea, an open yawning bight. The polished tide, with scarce a hint of blue, Washed in the bight ; above with angry moan A raven, that was robbed, sat up in view, Croaking and crying on a ledge alone. 'Stand on thy nest, spread out thy fateful wings, With sullen hungry love bemoan thy brood, For boys have wrung their necks, those imp-like things, Whose beaks dripped crimson daily at their food.

·94
SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS.
Cry, thou black prophetess ! cry, and despair,
None love thee, none! Their father was thy foe,
Whose father in his youth did know thy lair,
And steal thy little demons long ago.
'Thou madest many childless for their sake,
And picked out many eyes that loved the light.
Cry, thou black prophetess' sit up, awake,
Forebode; and ban them through the desolate night.'
Lo! while I spake it, with a crimson hue
The dipping sun endowed that silver flood,
And all the cliffs flushed red, and up she flew,
The bird, as mad to bathe in airy blood.
"Nay, thou may'st cry, the omen is not thine,
Thou aged priestess of fell doom, and fate!
It is not blood : thy gods are making wine,
They spilt the must outside their city gate,
And stained their azure pavement with the lees :
They will not listen though thou cry aloud.
Old Chance, thy dame, sits mumbling at her case,
Nor hears; the fair hag, Luck, is in her shroud.
*They heed not, they withdraw the sky-hung sign :
Thou hast no charm against the favourite race;
Thy gods pour out for it, not blood, but wine;
There is no justice in their dwelling-place!
"Safe in their father's house the boys shall rest,
Though thy fell brood doth stark and silent lie;
Their unborn sons may yet despoil thy nest :
Cry, thou black prophetess ! lift up I cry, cry.'

·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS.
95
THE WARBLING OF BLACKBIRDS.
WHEN I hear the waters fretting,
When I see the chestnut letting
All her lovely blossom falter down, I think, 'Alas the
day!'
Once with magical sweet singing,
Blackbirds set the woodland ringing,
That awakes no more while April hours wear themselves
away.
In our hearts fair hope lay smiling,
Sweet as air, and all beguiling;
And there hung a mist of bluebells on the slope and
down the dell;
And we talked of joy and splendour
That the years unborn would render,
And the blackbırds helped us with the story, for they
kpew it well.
Piping, fluting, ‘Bees are humming,
April's here, and summer's coming ;
Don't forget us when you walk, a man with men, in
pride and joy ;
Think on us in alleys shady,
When you step a graceful lady;
For no fairer day have we to hope for, little girl and boy.
* Laugh and play, O lisping waters,
Lull our downy sons and daughters ;
Come, O wind, and rock their leafy cradle in thy
wanderings coy;

·96 SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. When they wake we'll end the measure With a wild sweet cry of pleasure, And a "Hey down derry, let's be merry! little girl and boy!" SEA-MEWS IN WINTER-TIME. I WALKED beside a dark grey sea, And said, 'O world, how cold thou art ! Thou poor white world, I pity thee, For joy and warmth from thee depart. Yon sing wave licks off the snow, Winds on the crag each other chase, In little powdery whirls they blow The misty fragments down its face. The sea cold, and dark its rim, Winter sits cowering on the wold, .. And I, beside this watery brim, Am also lonely, also cold.' I spoke, and drew toward a rock, Where many mews made twittering sweet; Their wings upreared, the clustering flock Did pat the sea-grass with their feet. A rock but half submerged, the sea Ran up and washed it while they fed ; Their fond and foolish ecstasy A wondering in my fancy bred.

·SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. 97 Joy companied with every cry, Joy in their food, in that keen wind, That heaving sea, that shaded sky, And in themselves, and in their kind. The phantoms of the deep at play! What idless graced the twittering things; Luxurious paddlings in the spray, And delicate lifting up of wings. Then all at once a flight, and fast The lovely crowd flew out to sea ; If mine own life had been recast, Earth had not looked more changed to me. Where is the cold? Yon clouded skies Have only dropt their curtains low To shade the old mother where she lies Sleeping a little, 'neath the snow. 6 The cold is not in crag, nor scar, Not in the snows that lap the lea, Not in yon wings that beat afar, Delighting, on the crested sea; No, nor in yon exultant wind That shakes the oak and bends the pine. Look near, look in, and thou shalt find No sense of cold, fond fool, but thine!' With that I felt the gloom depart, And thoughts within me did unfold, Whose sunshine warmed me to the heart- I walked in joy, and was not cold.

·98
THE SERMON.
THE SERMON,
FROM
BROTHERS AND A SERMON."
*
TH
'HEN went the sun into the west, and down
Upon the water stooped an orange cloud,
And the pale milky reaches flushed, as glad
To wear its colours; and the sultry air
Went out to sea, and puffed the sails of ships
With thymy wafts, the breath of trodden grass :
It took moreover music, for across
The heather belt and over pasture land
Came the sweet monotone of one slow bell,
And parted time into divisions rare,
Whereof each morsel brought its own delight.
They ring for service,' quoth the fisherman;
'Our parson prcaches in the church to-night.'
"And do the people go ?' my brother asked.
'Ay, sir ; they count it mean to stay away,
He takes it so to heart.
He's a rare man,
Our parson; half a head above us all.'
That's a great gift, and notable,' said I.
Ay, sir ; and when he was a younger man
He went out in the lifeboat very oft,
6

·THE SERMON. 99 Before the “Grace of Sunderland” was wrecked. He's never been his own man since that hour; For there were thirty men aboard of her, Anigh as close as you are now to me, And ne'er a one was saved. They're lying now, With two small children, in a row: the church And yard are full of seamen's graves, and few Have any names. She bumped upon the reef; Our parson, my young son, and several more Were lashed together with a two-inch rope, And crept along to her; their mates ashore Ready to haul them in. The gale was high, The sea was all a boiling seething froth, And God Almighty's guns were going off, And the land trembled. When she took the ground, She went to pieces like a lock of hay Tossed from a pitchfork. Ere it came to that, The captain reeled on deck with two small things, One in each arm-his little lad and lass. Their hair was long, and blew before his face, Or else we thought he had been saved; he fell, But held them fast. The crew, poor luckless souls ! The breakers licked them off; and soine were crushed, Some swallowed in the yeast, some flung up dead, The dear breath beaten out of them: not one Jumped from the wreck upon the reef to catch The hands that strained to reach, but tumbled back With eyes wide open. But the captain lay And clung-the only man alive. They prayed ·100 THE SERMON. “For God's sake, captain, throw the children here !” “Throw them!" our parson cried; and then she struck: And he threw one, a pretty two-years' child; But the gale dashed him on the slippery verge, And down he went. They say they heard him cry. .Then he rose up and took the other one, And all our men reached out their hungry arms, And cried out, " Throw her, throw her!” and he did. He threw her right against the parson's breast, And all at once a sea broke over them, And they that saw it from the shore have said It struck the wreck and piecemeal scattered it, Just as a woman might the lump of salt That 'twixt her hands into the kneading-pan She breaks and crumbles on her rising bread. We hauled our men in : two of them were dead- The sea had beaten them, their heads hung down; Our parson's arms were empty, for the wave Had torn away the pretty, pretty lamb; We often see him stand beside her grave: But 'twas no fault of his, no fault of his. “I ask your pardon, sirs ; I prate And never have I said what brought me here. Sirs, if you want a boat to-morrow morn, I'm bold to say there's ne'er a boat like mine.' Ay, that was what we wanted,' we replied; • A boat, his boat;' and off he went, well pleased. We, too, rose up (the crimson in the sky Flushing our faces), and went sauntering on, And thought to reach our lodging, by the cliff. and prate, ·THE SERMON. IOI And up and down among the heather beds, And up and down between the sheaves, we sped, Doubling and winding; for a long ravine Ran up into the land and cut us off, Pushing out slippery ledges for the birds, And rent with many a crevice, where the wind Had laid up drifts of empty eggshells, swept From the bare berths of gulls and guillemots. So, as it chanced, we lighted on a path That led into a nutwood; and our talk Was louder than bescemed, if we had known, With argument and laughter; for the path, As we sped onward, took a sudden turn Abrupt, and we came out on churchyard grass, Und close upon a porch, and face to face With those within, and with the thirty graves. We heard the voice of one who preached within, And stopped. "Come on,' my brother whispered me, It were more decent that we enter now; Come ch! we'll hear this rare old demigod : I like strong men and large; I like grey heads, And grand gruff voices, hoarse though this may be With shouting in the storm.' 6 It was not hoarse, The voice that preached to those few fishermen And women, nursing mothers with the babes Hushed on their breasts; and yet it held then not : Their drowsy eyes were drawn to look at us, Till, having leaned our rods against the wall, And left the dogs at watch, we entered, sat, And were apprised that, though he saw us not, ·102 THE SERMON. The parson knew that he had lost the eyes And ears of those before him, for he made A pause-a long dead pause--and dropped his arms, And stood awaiting, till I felt the red Mount to my brow. And a soft fluttering stir Passed over all, and every mother hushed The babe beneath her shawl, and he turned round And met our eyes, unused to diffidence, But diffident of his; then with a sigh Fronted the folk, lifted his grand grey head, And said, as one that pondered now the words He had been preaching on with new surprise, And found fresh marvel in their sound, " Behold! Behold !" saith He, “I stand at the door and knock.' Then said the parson : What ! and shall He wait, And must He wait, not only till we say, “Good Lord, the house is clean, the hearth is swept, The children sleep, the mackerel-boats are in, And all the nets are mended; therefore I , Will slowly to the door and open it :" But must He also wait where still, behold ! He stands and knocks, while we do say, “Good Lord, The gentlefolk are come to worship here, And I will up and open to Thee soon; But first I pray a little longer wait, For I am taken up with them ; my eyes Must needs regard the fashion of their clothes, And count the gains I think to make by them ; Forsooth, they are of much account, good Lord ! Therefore have patience with me--Wait, dear Lord ! Or come again ?"

·THE SERMON. 103 What ! must He wait for THIS- For this ? Ay, He doth wait for this, and still, Waiting for this, He, patient, raileth not; Waiting for this, e'en this He saith, “ Behold! I stand at the door and knock." O patient hand! Knocking and waiting-knocking in the night When work is done! I charge you, by the sea Whereby you fill your children's mouths, and by The might of Him that made it-fishermen! I charge you, mothers ! by the mother's milk He drew, and by His Father, God over all, Blessed for ever, that ye answer Him ! Open the door with shame, if ye have sinned ; If ye be sorry, open it with sighs. Albeit the place be bare for poverty, And comfortless for lack of plenishing, Be not abashed for that, but open it, And take Him in that comes to sup with thee ; “ Behold!” He saith, “I stand at the door and knock." >> Now, hear me: there be troubles in this world That no man can escape, and there is one That lieth hard and heavy on my soul, Concerning that which is to come :- I say As a man that knows what earthly trouble means, I will not bear this ONE-I cannot bear This ONE-I cannot bear the weight of you- You- every one of you, body and soul; You, with the care you suffer, and the loss ·104 THE SERMON. That you sustain; you, with the growing up To peril, maybe with the growing old To want, unless before I stand with you At the great white throne, I may be free of all, And uttter to the full what shall discharge Mine obligation: nay, I will not wait A day, for every time the black clouds rise, And the gale freshens, still I search my soul To find if there be aught that can persuade To good, or ought forsooth that can beguile From evil, that I miserable man! If that be so) have left unsaid, undone. * So that when any risen from sunken wrecks, Or rolled in by the billows to the edge Of the everlasting strand, what time the sea Gives up her dead, shall meet me, they may say Never, “Old man, you told us not of this ; You left us fisher-lads that had to toil Ever in danger of the secret stab Of rocks, far deadlier than the dagger; winds Of breath more murderous than the cannon's; waves Mighty to rock us to our death; and gulfs Ready beneath to suck and swallow us in: This crime be on your head; and as for us- What shall we do?" but rather--nay, not so, I will not think it ; I will leave the dead, Appealing but to life: I am afraid Of you, but not so much if you have sinned As for the doubt if sin shall be forgiven. The day was, I have been afraid of pride- Hard man's hard pride; but now I am afraid ·THE SERMON. 105 Of man's humility. I counsel you, By the great God's great humbleness, and by His pity, be not humble over-much. See! I will show at whose unopened doors He stands and knocks, that you may never say, “I am too mean, too ignorant, too lost ; He knocks at other doors, but not at mine." See here ! it is the night ! it is the night! And snow lies thickly, white untrodden snow, And the wan moon upon a casement shines- A casement crusted o'er with frosty leaves, That make her ray less bright along the floor. A woman sits, with hands upon her knees, l'oor tired soul! and she has nought to do, For there is neither fire nor candle-light: The driftwood ash lies cold upon her hearth; The rushlight flickered down an hour ago; Her children wail a little in their sleep For cold and hunger, and, as if that sound Was not though, another comes to her, Over God's undefiled snow-a song- Nay, never hang your heads--I say, a song. . And doth she curse the alehouse, and the sots That drink the night out and their earnings there, And drink their manly strength and courage down, And drink away the little children's bread, And starve her, starving by the self-same act Her tender suckling, that with piteous eyes Looks in her face, till scarcely she has heart To work, and earn the scanty bit and drop That feed the others?

·106 THE SERMON. Does she curse the song? I think not, fishermen ; I have not heard Such women curse. God's curse is curse enough. To-morrow she will say a bitter thing, Pulling her sleeve down lest the bruises show- A bitter thing, but meant for an excuse- My master is not worse than many men :" But now, ay, now she sitteth dumb and still ; No food, no comfort, cold and poverty Bearing her down. My heart is sore for her ; How long, how long? When troubles come of God, When men are frozen out of work, when wives Are sick, when working fathers fail and die, When boats go down at sea-then nought behoves Like patience ; but for troubles wrought of men Patience is hard--I tell you it is hard. 6 O thou poor soul! it is the night-the night; Against thy door drifts up the silent snow, Blocking thy threshold : “Fall," thou sayest, "fall, fall, Cold snow, and lie and be trod underfoot. Am not I fallen? Wake up, and pipe, O wind, Dull wind, and beat and bluster at my door: Merciful wind, sing me a hoarse rough song, For there is other music made to-night That I would fain not hear. Wake, thou still sea, Heavily plunge. Shoot on, white waterfall. O, I could long like thy cold icicles Freeze, freeze, and hang upon the frosty cliff And not complain, so I might melt at last In the warm summer sun, as thou wilt do! S- ·THE SERMON. 107 6" But woe is me! I think there is no sun; My sun is sunken, and the night grows dark: None care for me. The children cry for bread, And I have none, and nought can comfort me; Even if the heavens were free to such as I, It were not much, for death is long to wait, And heaven is far to go!” 3 And speak'st thou thus, Despairing of the sun that sets to thee, And of the earthly love that wanes to thee, And of the heaven that lieth far from thee? Peace, peace, fond fool! One draweth near thy door Whose footsteps leave no print across the snow; The sun has risen with comfort in his face, The smile of heaven, to warm thy frozen heart And bless with saintly hand. What ! is it long To wait and far to go? Thou shalt not go ; Behold, across the snow to thee He comes, Thy heaven descends ;-and is it long to wait? Thou shalt not wait : “This night, this night," He saith, 'I stand at the door and knock." 'It is enough--can such an one be here- Yea, here? O God forgive you, fishermen! One! is there only one? But do thou know, O woman pale for want, if thou art here, That on thy lot much thought is spent in heaven; And, covering the heart a hard man broke, One standeth patient, watching in the night, And waiting in the day-time.

·108 THE SERMON. What shall be If thou wilt answer? He will smile on thee: One smile of His shall be enough to heal The wound of man's neglect; and He will sigh, Pitying the trouble which that sigh shall cure; And He will speak--speak in the desolate night, In the dark night: “For me a thorny crown Men wove, and nails were driven in my hands And feet: there was an earthquake, and I died; I died, and am alive for everniore. ""I died for thee! for thee I am alive, And my humanity doth mourn for thee, For thou art mine ; and all thy little ones, They, too, are mine, are mine. Behold, the house Is dark, but there is brightness where the sons Of God are singing, and, behold, the heart Is troubled : yet the nations walk in white; They have forgotten how to weep; and thou Shalt also come, and I will foster thee And satisfy thy soul ; and thou shalt warm Thy trembling life beneath the smile of God. A little while it is a little while A little while, and I will comfort thee; I go away, but I will come again." *But hear me yet. There was a poor old man Who sat and listened to the raging sea, And heard it thunder, lunging at the cliffs As like to tear them down. He lay at night; And “Lord have mercy on the lads," said he, “ That sailed åt noon, though they be none of mine ! For when the gale gets up, and when the wind ·THE SERMON. 109 Flings at the window, when it beats the roof, And lulls, and stops, and rouses up again, And cuts the crest clean off the plunging wave, And scatters it like feathers up the field, Why, then I think of my two lads : my lads That would have worked and never let me want, And never let me take the parish pay. No, none of mine ; my lads were drowned at sea- My two-before the most of these were born. I know how sharp that cuts, since my poor wife Walked up and down, and still walked up and down, And I walked after, and one could not hear A word the other said, for wind and sea That raged and beat and thundered in the night- The awfullest, the longest, lightest night That ever parents had to spend -a moon That shone like daylight on the breaking wave. Ah me! and other men have lost their lads, And other women wiped their poor dead mouths, And got thom home and dried them in the house, And seen the driftwood lie along the coast, That was a tidy boat but one day back, And seen next tide the neighbours gather it To lay it on their fires. “Ay, I was strong And able-bodied-loved my work ;-but now I am a useless hull: 'tis time I sank; I am in all men's way; I trouble them; I am a trouble to myself : but yet I feel for mariners of stormy nights, And feel for wives that watch ashore. Ay, ay !

·IIO THE SERMON. If I had learning I would pray the Lord To bring them in : but I'm no scholar, no; Book-learning is a world too hard for me: But I make bold to say, O Lord, good Lord, I am a broken-down poor man, a fool To speak to Thee : but in the Book 'tis writ, As I hear say from others that can read, How, when Thou camest, Thou didst love the sea, And live with fisherfolk, whereby 'tis sure Thou knowest all the peril they go through, And all their trouble. As for me, good Lord, I have no boat; I am too old, too old- My lads are drowned; I buried my poor wife; My little lasses died so long ago That mostly I forget what they are like. Thou knowest, Lord; they were such little ones. I know they went to Thee, but I forget Their faces, though I missed then sore. O Lord, I was a strong man; I have drawn good food And made good money out of Thy great sea : But yet I cried for them at nights; and now, Although I be so old, I miss my lads, And there be many folk this stormy night Heavy with fear for theirs. Merciful Lord, Comfort them; save their honest boys, their pride, And let them hear next ebb the blessedest, Best sound-the boat-keels grating on the sand. 'I cannot pray with finer words : I know Nothing ; I have no learning, cannot learn ·THE SERMON. III Too old, too old. They say I want for nought, I have the parish pay; but I am dull Of hearing, and the fire scarce warms me through. God save me. I have been a sinful man- And save the lives of them that still can work, For they are good to me; ay, good to me. But, Lord, I am a trouble ! and I sit, And I am lonesome, and the nights are few That any think to come and draw a chair, And sit in my poor place and talk a while. Why should they come, forsooth? Only the wind Knocks at my door, O long and loud it knocks, The only thing God made that has a mind To enter in." Yea, thus the old man spake : These were the last words of his aged mouth- BUT ONE DID KNOCK. One came to sup with him, That humble, weak old man; knocked at his door In the rough pauses of the labouring wind. I tell you that One knocked while it was dark, Save where their foaming passion had made white Those livid seething billows. What He said In that poor place where He did talk a while, I cannot tell : but this I am assured, That when the neighbours came the morrow morn, What time the wind had bated, and the sun Shone on the old man's floor, they saw the smile He passed away in, and they said, “He looks As he had woke and seen the face of Christ, And with that rapturous smile held out his arms To come to Him!”

·112 THE SERMON. Can such an one be here, So old, so weak, so ignorant, so frail ? The Lord be good to thee, thou poor old man ; It would be hard with thee if heaven were shut To such as have not learning! Nay, nay, nay, He condescends to them of low estate ; To such as are despised He cometh down, Stands at the door and knocks. Yet bear with me. I have a message; I have more to say. Shall sorrow win His pity, and not sin- That burden ten times heavier to be borne ? What think you? Shall the virtuous have His care Alone? O virtuous women, think not scorn, For you may lift your faces everywhere ; And now that it grows dusk, and I can see None though they front me straight, I fain would tell A certain thing to you. I say to you ; And if it doth concern you, as methinks It doth, then surely it concerneth all. I say that there was once-I say not here- I say that there was once a castaway, And she was weeping, weeping bitterly ; Kneeling, and crying with a heart-sick cry That choked itself in sobs—“O my good name! O my good name!” And none did hear her cry! Nay; and it lightened, and the storm-bolts fell, And the rain splashed upon the roof, and still She, storm-tost as the storming elements- She cried with an exceeding bitter cry, "O my good name!” And then the thunder-cloud ·THE SERMON. 113 Stooped low and burst in darkness overhead, And rolled, and rocked her on her knees, and sliook The frail foundations of her dwelling-place. But she--if any neighbours had come in, (None did): if any neighbours had come in They might have seen her crying on her knees, And sobbing “Lost, lost, lost !” beating her breastller breast for ever pricked with cruel thorns, The wounds whereof could neither balm assuage Nor any patience heal --beating her brow, Which ached, it had been bent so long to hide From level eyes, whose meaning was contempt. 'Oye good women, it is hard to leave The paths of virtue and return again. What if this sinuer wept, and none of you Comforted her? And what if she did strive To mend, and none of you believed her strife, Nor looked upon her? Mark, I do not say, Though it was hard, you therefore were to blame; That she had aught against you, though your feet Never drew ncar her door. But I beseech Your patience. Once in old Jerusalem A woman knceled at consecrated feet, Kissed them, and washed them with her tears. What then? I think that yet our Lord is pitiful : I think I see the castaway e'en now ! And she is not alone : the heavy rain Splashes without, and sullen thunder rolls, But she is lying at the sacred feet Of One transfigured. H ·114 THE SERMON. And her tears flow down Down to her lips--her lips that kiss the print Of nails; and love is like to break her heart ! Love and repentance-for it still doth work Sore in her soul to think, to think that she, Even she, did pierce the sacred, sacred feet, And bruise the thorn-crowned head. O Lord, our Lord How great is Thy compassion! Come, good Lord, For we will open. Come this night, good Lord; Stand at the door and knock. And is this all ? .. Trouble, old age and simpleness, and sin-- This all? It might be all some other night; But this night, if a voice said, "Give account Whom hast thou with thee?" then must I reply, Young manhood have I, beautiful youth and strength, Rich with all treasure drawn up from the crypt Where lies the learning of the ancient world- Brave with all thoughts that poets fling upcy The strand of life, as driftweed after storms: Doubtless familiar with Thy mountain heads, And the dread purity of Alpine snows, Doubtless familiar with Thy works concealed For ages from mankind-outlying worlds, And many moonèd spheres-and Thy great store Of stars, more thick than mealy dust which here Powders the pale leaves of Auriculas. This do I know, but, Lord, I know not more. Not more concerning them--concerning Thee, I know Thy bounty; where Thou givest much

·THE SERMON.
115
Standing without, if any call Thee in
Thou givest morc." Speak, then, O rich and strong:
Open, O happy young, ere yet the hand
Of him that knocks, wearied at last, forbear;
The patient foot its thankless quest refrain,
The wounded heart for evermore withdraw.'
I have heard many speak, but this one man
So anxious not to go to heaven alone
This one man I remember, and his look,
Till twilight overshadowed him. He ceased,
And out in darkness with the fisher folk
We passed; and stumbled over mounds of moss,
And hcard, but did not see, the passing beck.
Ah, graceless hcart, would that it could regain
From the dim storehouse of sensations past
The impress full of tender awe, that night,
Which fell on me! It was as if the Christ
Had been drawn down from heaven to track us home,
And any of the footsteps following us
Might have been His.

·116
SONG OF EVENING.
SONG
OF EVENING.
(Old English Nlanner.)
APPRENTICEN.
‘COME
OME out and hear the waters shoot, the owlet hoot,
the owlet hoot ;
Yon crescent moon, a golden boat, hangs dim bchind
the tree, O!
The dropping thorn makes white the grass, ( sweetest
lass, and sweetest lass;
Come out and smell the ricks of hay adown the croft
with me, O!!
My granny nods before her whcel, and drops her reel,
and drops her reel;
My father with his crony talks as gay as gay can be, O!
But all the milk is yet to skim, ere light wax dim, ere
light wax dim;
How can I step adown the croft, my 'prentice lad,
with thee, O?'
And must ye bide, yet waiting's long, and love is strong,
and love is strong;
And O! had I but served the time, that takes so long
to flee, O!

·THE MIDDLE WATCH OF THE NIGHT.
117
And thou, my lass, by morning's light wast all in white,
wast all in white,
And parson stood within the rails, a-marrying me and
thee, O.
THE MIDDLE WATCH OF THE NIGHT.
1.
WOKE in the night, and the darkness was heavy and
deep;
I had known it was dark in my sleep,
And I rose and looked out,
And the fathomless vault was all sparkling, set thick
round about
With the ancient inhabiters silent, and wheeling too far
For man's heart, like a voyaging frigate, to sail, where
remote
Il the sheen of their glory they float,
Or man's soul, like a bird, to fly near, of their beams to
partake,
And dazed in their wake,
Drink day that is born of a star.
I murmured, 'Remoteness and greatness, how deep you
are set,
How afar in the rim of the whole;
You know nothing of me, or of man, nor of earth, O,
nor yet
Of our light-bearer-drawing the marvellous moons as
they roll,
Of our regent, the sun.

·118 THE MIDDLE WATCH OF THE NIGHT. I look on you trembling, and think, in the dark with ny soul, 'How small is our place 'mid the kingdoms and nations of God: These are ater than we, every one.' And there falls a great fear, and a dread cometh over, that cries, O my hope! Is there any mistake? Did He speak? Did I hear? Did I listen aright, if He spake? Did I answer Him duly ? For surely I now am awake, If never I woke until now.' And a light, baffling wind, that leads nowhither, plays on my brow. As a sleep, I must think on my day, of my path as untrod, Or trodden in dreams, in a dreamland whose coasts are a cloubt; Whose countries recede from my thoughts, as they grope round about, And vanish, and tell me not how. Be kind to our darkness, O Fashioner, dwelling in light, And feeding the lamps of the sky; Look down upon this one, and let it be sweet in Thy sight, I pray Thee, to-night. O watch whom Thou madest to dwell on its soil, Thou Most High! For this is a world full of sorrow (there may be but one); Keep watch o'er its dust, else Thy children for aye are undone, For this is a world where we die.

·THE MIDDLE WATCH OF THE NIGHT. 119 II. With that, a still voice in my spirit that moved and that yearned, (There fell a great calm while it spake), I had heard it erewhile, but the noises of life are so loud, That sometimes it dies in the cry of the street and the crowd : To the simple it conieth,- the child, or asleep, or awake, And they know not from whence; of its nature the wise never learned By his wisdom ; its secret the worker ne'er earned By his toil; and the rich among men never bought with his gold; Nor the times of its visiting monarchs controlled, Nor the jester put down with his jeers (For it moves where it will), nor its season the aged discerned By thought, in the ripeness of years. O elder than reason, and stronger than will ! A voice, when the dark world is still : Whence cometh it? Father Immortal, Thou knowest ! and we We are sure of that witness, that sense which is sent us of Thee; For it moves, and it yearns in its fellowship mighty and dread, And let down to our hearts it is touched by the tears that we shed; It is more than all meanings, and over all strife ; On its tongue are the laws of our life, And it counts up the times of the dead.

·I 20 THE MIDDLE WATCH OF THE NIGHT. III I will fear you, O stars, nevermore. I have felt it! Go on, while the world is asleep, Golden islands, fast moored in God's infinite deep. Hark, hark to the words of sweet fashion, the harpings of yore ! How they sang to Him, seer and saint, in the far-away lands : * The heavens are the work of Thy hands; They shall perish, but Thou shalt endure ; Yca, they all shall wax old-- But Thy throne is established, O God, and Thy years are made sure ; They shall perish, but Thou shalt endure- They shall pass like a tale that is told.' Doth He answer, the Ancient of Days ? Will He speak in the tongue and the fashion of men ? (Hist! hist! while the heaven-hung multitudes shine in His praise, His language of old.) Nay, He spoke with them first; it was then They lifted their cyes to His throne : * They shall call on Me, “ Thou art our Father, our God, Thou alone !” For I made them, I led them in deserts and desolate ways; I have found them a Ranson Divine; I have loved them with love everlasting, the children of men ; I swear by Myself, they are Mine.'

·THE MORNING WATCH. 121 THE MORNING WATCH. THE COMING IN OF THE MERMAIDEN.' THE 'HE moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under ; Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder- There's a sea-ghost all in grey, A tall shape of wonder ! I am not satisfied with sleep, The night is not ended. But look how the sea-ghost comes, With wan skirts extended, Stealing up in this weird hour, When light and dark are blended. A vessal! To the old pier end Her happy course she's keeping; I heard them name her yesterday : Some were pale with weeping; Some with their heart-hunger sighed, She's in--and they are sleeping. O! now with fancied greetings blest, They comfort their long aching : The sea of sleep hath borne to them What would not come with waking, And the dreams shall most be true In their blissful breaking.

·I 22 A SONG OF DAWN. The stars are gone, the rose-bloom comes- No blush of maid is sweeter; The red sun, half-way out of bed, Shall be the first to greet her. None tell the news, yet sleepers wake, And rise, and run to meet her. Their lost they have, they hold ; from pain A keener bliss they borrow. How natural is joy, my heart ! How easy after sorrow! For once, the best is come that hope Promised them 'to-morrow.' A SONG OF DAWN. (Old English Ilanner.) A MORN OF MAY. ALL LL the clouds about the sun lay up in golden creases, (Merry rings the maiden's voice that sings at dawn of day); Lambkins woke and skipped around to dry their dewy fleeces, So sweetly as she carolled, all on a morn of May. Quoth the Sergeant, 'Here I'll halt; here's wine of joy for drinking; Το my heart she sets her hand, and in the strings doth play; All among the daffodils, and fairer to my thinking, And fresh as milk and roses, she sits this morn of May.'

·A SONG OF DAWN. 123 Quoth the Sergeant, Work is work, but any ye might make me, If I worked for you, dear lass, I'd count my holiday. I'm your slave for good and all, an' if ye will but take me, So sweetly as ye carol upon this morn of May.' * Medals count for worth,' quoth she, and scars are worn for honour; But a slave an' if ye be, kind wooer, go your way.' All the nodding daffodils woke up and laughed upon her. O! sweetly did she carol, all on that morn of May. Gladsome leaves upon the bough, they fluttered fast and faster, Fretting brouk, till he would speak, did chide the dull delay : Beauty! when I said a slave, I think I meant a master; So sweetly as ye carol all on this morn of May. Lass, I love you! Love is strong, and some men's hearts are tender.' Far she sougift o'er wood and wold, but found not aught to say ; Mounting lark nor mantling cloud would any counsel render, Though sweetly she had carolled upon that morn of May. Shy, she sought the wooer's face, and deemed the wooing mended; Proper man he was, good sooth, and one would have his way : So the lass was made a wife, and so the song was ended. O! sweetly she did carol all on that morn of May.

·124 A DEAD YEAR. A DEAD YEAR. TOOK a year out of my life and story- A dead year, and said, 'I will hew thec a tomb! “ All the kings of the nations lie in glory;" Cased in cedar, and shut in a sacred gloom ; Swathed in linen, and precious unguents old ; Painted with cinnabar, and rich with gold. "Silent they rest, in solemn salvatory, Sealed from the moth and the owl and the flitter mouse- Each with his name on his brow. “ All the kings of the nations lie in glory, Every one in his own house :" Then why not thou? Year,' I said, thou shalt not lack Bribes to bar thy coming back; Duth oll Egypt wear her best In the chambers of her rest? Doth she take to her last bcd Beaten gold, and glorious red ? Envy not! for thou wilt wear In the dark a shioud as fair; Golden with the sunny ray 'Thou withdrawest from my day; Wrought upon with colours fine Stolen from this life of mine:

·A DEAD YEAR. 125 Like the dusty Libyan kings, Lie with two wide-open wings On thy breast, as if to say, On these wings hope flew away; And so housed, and thus adorned, Not forgotten, but not scorned, Let the dark for evermore Close thee when I close the door; And the dust for ages fall In the creases of thy pall; And no voice nor visit rude Break thy sealed solitulie.' I took the year out of my life and story, The dead year, and said, 'I have hewed thee a tomb! “All the kings of the nations lie in glory," Cased in cedar, and shut in a sacred gloom; Dut for the sword, and the sceptre, and diadem, Sure thou didst reign like them.' So I laid her with those tyrants old and hoary, According to my vow; For I said, 'The kings of the nations lie in glory, And so shalt thou !' * Rock,' I said, 'thy ribs are strong, That I bring thee guard it long; Hide the light from buried eyes- Hide it, lest the dead arise.' Year,' I said, and turned away, "I am free of thec this day; All that we two only know I forgive and I forego, 6 ·126 A DEAD YEAR. So thy face no more I meet In the field or in the street.' Thus we parted, she and I; Life hid death, and put it by ; Life hid death, and said, Be free! I have no more need of thee.' No more need! O mad mistake, With repentance in its wake! Ignorant, and rash, and blind, Life had left the grave behind; But had locked within its hold, With the spices and the gold, All she had to keep her warm In the raging of the storm. Scarce the sunset bloom was gone, And the little stars outshone, Ere the dead year, stiff and stark, Drew me to her in the dark ; Death drew life to come to her, Beating at her sepulchre, Crying out, 'How can I part With the best share of my heart? Lo, it lies upon the bier, Captive, with the buried year. O my heart!' And I fell prone, Weeping at the sealed stone; "Year among the shades,' I said, "Since I live, and thou art dead, Let my captive heart be free Like a bird to fly to me.' And I stayed some voice to win, But none answered from within:

·A DEAD YEAR. 127 And I kissed the door--and night Deepened till the stars waxed bright; And I saw them set and wane. And the world turned green again. "So,' I whispered, 'open door, I must tread this palace floor- Sealèd palace, rich and dim. Let a narrow sunbeam swim After me, and on me spread While I look upon my dead; Let a little warmth be free To come after; let me see Through the doorway, when I sit Looking out, the swallows Ait, Settling not till daylight goes; Let me smell the wild white rose, Smell the woodbine and the may; Mark, upon a sunny day, Sated from their blossoms rise lioney-bees and butterflies. Let me hear, O! let me hear, Sitting by my buried year, Finches chirping to their young, And the little noises flung Out of clefts where rabbits play, Or from falling water-spray ; And the gracious echoes woke By man's work: the woodman's stroke, Shout of shepherds, whistlings blithe, And the whetting of the scythe; Let this be, lest, shut and furled From the well-beloved world, ·128 A DEAD YEAR. I forget her yearnings old, And her troubles manifold, Strivings sore, submissions mect, And my pulse no longer beat, Keeping time and bearing pait With the pulse of her great heart. 'So! swing open door, and shade Take me: I am not afraich, For the time will not be long; Soon I shall have waven strong - Strong enough my own to win From the grave it lies within.' And I entered. On her bier Quiet lay the buried year; I sat down where I could see Life without and sunshine free', Duath within. And I between Waited my own heart to wean From the sluvud that shaded her In the rock-hewn sepulchre- Waited till the dead should say, • Heart, be free of me this day- Waited with a patient will- AND I WAIT BETWEEN THEIL STILL. 6 3 I take the year back to my life and story, The dead year, and say, 'I will share in thy lomb). "All the kings of the nations lie in glory; Cased in cedar, and shut in a sacred gloom! Thev reigned in their lifetime with sceptre and diadem, But thou excellest them;

·A SNOW MOUNTAIN. 129 For life doth make thy grave her oratory. And the crown is still on thy brow"; " All the kings of the nations lie in glory,” And so dost thou.' 22 AV ANCIENT CHESS KING HA APLY some Rajah first in the ages gone Amid his languid ladies fingered thee, While a black nightingale, sun-swart as he, Sing his one wife, love's passionate oraison; Haply thou may'st have pleased Old l’rester John Among his pastures, when full royally He sat in teni, grave shepherds at his knee, While lamps of balsam winked and glimmered on. What doust thou here? Thy masters are all dead ; My heart is full of ruth and yearning pain At sight of thce; O king that hast a crown Outlasting Reirs, and tell'st of greatness fied Thiough cloud-hung nights of unabated rain And murmurs of the dark majestic town. A SNOIT MOUNTAIN. CAN AN I make white enough my thought for thee, Or wash my words in light? Thou hast no mate To sit aloft in the silence silently And twin those matchless heights undesecrate. 1 ·130 SLEEP Reverend as Lear, when, lorn of shelter, he Stood, with his old white head, surprised at fate; Alone as Galileo, when, set free, Before the stars he mused disconsolate. Ay, and remote, as the dead lords of song, Great masters who have made us what we are, For thou and they have taught us how to long And feel a sacred want of the fair and far: Reign, and keep life in this our deep desire- Our only greatness is that we aspire. : SLEEP. (A woman speaks.) O SLEEP, we are beholden to thee, sleep, Thou bearest angels to us in the night, Saints out of heaven with palms. Seen by thy light Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep; Love is a pouting child. Once I did sweep Through space with thee, and lo, a dazzling sight- Stars ! They came on, I felt their drawing and might: And some bad dark companions. Once (I weep When I remember that) we sailed the tide, And found fair isles, where no isles used to bide, And met there my lost love, who said to me, That 'twas a long mistake: he had not died. Sleep, in the world to come how strange 'twill be Never to want, never to wish for thee!

·DIVIDED.
131
COMPENSATION.
ONE
NE launched a ship, but she was wrecked at
sea ;
He built a bridge, but floods have borne it down;
He meant much good, none came : strange destiny,
His corn lies sunk, his bridge bears none to town,
Yet good he had not meant became his crown ;
For once at work, when even as nature free,
From thought of good he was, or of renown,
God took the work for good and let good be.
So wakened with a trembling after sleep,
Dread Miona Roa yields her fateful store ;
All gleaming hot the scarlet rivers creep,
And fanned of great-leaved palms slip to the shore,
Then stolen to unplumbed wastes of that far deep,
Lay the foundations for one island more.
DIVIDED
I.
AN N empty sky, a world of heather,
Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom;
We two among them wading together,
Shaking out honey, treading perfume

·132 DIVIDED Crowds of bees are giddy with clover, Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet. Flusheth the rise with her purple favour, Gloweth the cleft with her golden ring, 'Twixt the two brown butterflies waver, Lightly settle, and sleepily swing. We two walk till the purple dieth And short dry grass under foot is brown; But one little streak at a distance lieth Green like a ribbon to prank the down. 11. Over the grass we stepped unto it, And God He knoweth how blithe we were ! Never a voice to bid us eschew it: green ribbon that showed so fair ! Hey the Hey the green ribbon ! we kneeled beside it, We parted the grasses dewy and shecn; Drop over drop there filtered and slided A tiny bright beck that trickled between. Tinkle, tinkle, sweetly it sang to us, Light was our talk as of faëry bells- Faëry wedding-bells faintly rung to us Down in their fortunate parallels.

·DIVIDED. 133 Hand in hand, while the sun peered over, We lapped the grass on that youngling spring; Swept back its rushes, smoothed its clover, And said, Let us follow it westering.' 111. A dappled sky, a world of meadows, Circling above us the black rooks fly Forward, backward; lo, their dark shadows Flit on the blossoming tapestry- Flit on the beck. for her long grass parteth As hair from a maid's bright eyes blown back And, lo, the sun like a lover darteth His flattering smile on her wayward track. Sing on! we sing in the glorious weather Til one steps over the tiny strand, So narrow, in sooth, that still together On either brink we go hand in hand. The beck grows wider, the hands must sever. On either margin, our songs all done, We move apart, while she singeth ever, Taking the course of the stooping sun. He prays, 'Come over'--I may not follow; I cry, 'Return'-but he cannot come: We speak, we laugh, but with voices hollow; Our hands are hanging, our hearts are numb.

·134 DIVIDED. IV. A breathing sigh, a sigh for answer, A little talking of outward things : The careless beck is a merry dancer, Keeping sweet time to the air she sings. A little pain when the beck grows wider; Cross to me now-for her wavelets swell;' 'I may not cross'-and the voice beside her Faintly reacheth, though heeded well. No backward path; ah! no returning : No second crossing that ripple's flow : 'Come to me now, for the west is burning; Come cre it darkens ; '-'Ah, no! ah, no! Then cries of pain, and arms outrcaching- The beck grows wider and swift and deep: Passionate words as of one beseeching- The loud beck drowns them; we walk, and weep). V. A yellow moon in splendour drooping, A tired qucen with her state oppressed, Low by rushes and swordgrass stooping, Lies she soft on the waves at rest. The desert heavens have felt her sadness; Her earth will weep her some dewy tears; The wild beck ends her tune of gladness, And goeth stilly as soul that fears.

·DIVIDED.
135
We two walk on in our grassy places
On either marge of the moonlit flood,
With the moon's own sadness in our laces,
Where joy is withered, blossom and bud.
VI.
A shady freshness, chafers whirring,
A little piping of leaf-hid birds;
A flutter of wings, a fitful stirring,
A cloud to the castward snowy as curds.
Bare grassy slopes, where kids are tethered ;
Round valleys like nests all fern ylined ;
Round hills, with fluttering tree-tops feathered,
Swell high in their freckled robes behind.
A rose-flush tender, a thrill, a quiver,
Whenegolden gleams to the tree-tops glide ;
A flashing edge for the milk-white river,
The beck, a river--with still sleek tide.
Broad and white, and polished as silver,
On she goes under fruit-laden trees;
Sunk in leafage cooeth the culver,
And 'plamneth of love's cisloyalties.
Glitters the dew and shines the river,
Up comes the lily and dries her bell;
But two are walking apart for ever,
And wave their hands for a mute farewell.

·136 DIVIDED VII. A braver swell, a swifter sliding; The river hasteth, her banks recede : Wing-like sails on her bosom gliding Bear down the lily and drown the reed. Stately prows are rising and bowing (Shouts of mariners winnow the air), And level sands for banks endowing The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair. While, O my heart ! as white sails shiver, And crowds are passing, and banks stretch wide How hard to follow, with lips that quiver, That moving speck on the far-off side! Farther, farther--I see it-know it My eyes brim over, it melts away : Only my heart to my heart shall show it As I walk desolate day by day. VIII. And yet I know past all doubting, truly- A knowledge greater than grief can dim- I know, as he loved, he will love me duly Yea, better-e'en better than I love him. And as I walk by the vast calm river, The awful river so drcad to see, I say, 'Thy breadth and thy depth for ever Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.'

·A TOWING SONG.
137
A TOWING SONG.
I.
WHEN
HEN I sit on market-days amid the comers and
the goers,
Oh! full oft I have a vision of the days without alloy,
And a ship comes up the river with a jolly gang of
towers,
And a 'pulle haul’e, pull’e haul'e, yoy! heave, hoy!'
11.
There is busy talk around me, all about mine ears it
hummeth,
But the wooden wharves I look on, and a dancing,
heaving buoy,
For 'tis tiderime in the river, and she cometh-oh, she
cometh !
With a 'pull'e haule, pull'c haule, yoy! heave, hoy!
III.
Then I hear the water washing, never golden waves were
brighter,
And I hear the capstan creaking—'tis a sound that
cannot cloy:
Bring her to, to ship her lading, brig or schooner, sloop
or lighter,
With a 'pull'e haul'e, pulle haule, yoy! heave, hoy!”

·138
LIKE A LAV'ROCK IN THE LIFT.
IV.
Will ye step aboard, my dearest ? for the high scas lie
before us.'
So I sailed adown the river in those days without
alloy.
We are launched! But when, I wonder, shall a sweeter
sound float o'er us
Than yon pull'e haule, pull'e haule, yoy! heave,
hoy!'
LIKE A LAV'ROCK IN THE LIFT.
I.
IT'S
T'S we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye,
All the world and we two, and Heaven rest our
stay !
Like a lav'rock in the lift, sing, O bonny bi.de!
All the world was Adam oncc, with Eve by his side.
II.
What's the worki, my lass, ny love !--what can it do?
I am thine, and thou art mine ; life is sweet and new.
If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by,
For we two have gotten leave, and once morc we'll try.
III.
Like a lav'rock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride!
It's we two, and we two, happy side by side.

·THE DOVE SAID GIVE US PEACE.' 139 Take a kiss from me thy man ; now the song begins : All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins.' IV. When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt «lry my tears, lassie, I'll dry thine. It's we two, it's we iwo, while the world's away, Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding-day. THE DOVE SAID "GIVE US PEACE.' ONE NE morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease; 'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, 'Hear the story, hear the story!' And the lark sang, 'Give us glory!' And the dove said, 'Give us peace!' Then I hearkened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, To that muimur from the woodland of the cove, my dear, the dove When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty!' When the wren sang, 'Give us beauty!' She made answer, 'Give us love!'

·140
THE LETTER L.
Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my
beloved ;
Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the
year's increase,
And my prayer goes up, 'Oh, give us, crowned in youth
with marriage glory,
Give for all our life's dear story,
Give us love, and give us peace!'
THE LETTER L.
ABSENT.
WE E sat on grassy slopes that meet
With sudden dip the level strand;
The trees hung overhead--our feet
Were on the sand.
Two silent girls, a thoughtful man,
We sunned ourselves in open light,
And felt such April airs as fan
The Isle of Wight;
And smelt the wall-flower in the crag
Whereon that dainty waft had ſed,
Which made the bell-hung cowslip wag
Her delicate head;
And let alighting jackdaws fleet
Adown it open-winged, and pass
Till they could touch with outstretched feet
The warmed grass.

·THE LETTER L.
141
The happy wave ran up and rang
Like service bells a long way off,
And down a little freshet sprang
From mossy trough,
And splashed into a rain of spray,
And fretted on with daylight's loss,
Because so many bluebells lay
Leaning across.
Blue martins gossiped in the sun,
And pairs of chattering daws flew br,
And sailing brigs rocked softly on
In company
Wild cherry boughs above us spread
The whitest shade was ever seen,
And flicker, flicker, came and filed
Sun spots between.
Bees murmured in the milk-white bloom
As babes will sigh for deep content
When their sweet hearts for peace make room,
As given, not lent.
And we saw on: we said no word,
And one was lost in musings rare,
One buojant as the waft that stirred
Her shining hair.
His eyes were bent upon the sand;
Unfathomed deeps within then lay.
A slender rod was in his hand
A hazel spray.

·142
THE LETTER L.
Her eyes were resting on his face,
As shyly glad, by stealth to glean
Impressions of his manly grace
And guarded mien;
The mouth with steady sweetness set,
And eyes conveying unaware
The distant hint of some regret
That harboured there.
She gazed, and in the tender flush
That made her face like roses blown,
And in the radiance and the hush,
Her thought was shown.
It was a happy thing to sit
So near, nor mar his reverie ;
She looked not for a part in it,
So meek was she.
But it was solace for her eyes,
And for her heart, that yearned to him,
To watch apart in loving wise
Those musings dim.
Lost-lost, and gone! The Pelham woods
Were full of doves that cooed at ease;
The orchis filled her purple hoods
For dainty bees.
He heard not; all the delicate air
Was fresh with falling water-spray:
It mattered not-he was not there,
But far away.

·THE LETTER L.
143
Till with the hazel in his hand,
Still drowned in thought, it thus befell :
He drew a letter on the sand
The letter L.
And looking on it, straight there wrought
A ruddy flush about his brow;
His letter woke him : absent thought
Rushed homeward now.
And half-abashed, his hasty touch
Effaced it with a tell-tale care,
As if his action had been much,
And not his air.
And she? she watched his open palm
Smooth out the letter from the sand,
And rose, with aspect almost calm,
And filled her hand
With cherry bloom, and moved away
To gather wild forget-me-not,
And let her errant footsteps stray
To one sweet spot,
As if she coveted the fair
White lining of the silver-weed,
And cuckoo-pint that shaded there
Empurpled seed.
She had not feared, as I divine,
Because she had not hoped, Alas!
The sorrow of it! for that sign
Came but to pass ;

·144 THE LETTER L. And yet it robbed her of the right To give, who looked not to receive, And made her blush in love's despite That she should grieve. A shape in white, she turned to gaze; Her eyes were shaded with her hand, And half-way up the winding ways We saw her stand. Green hollows of the fringed cliff, Red rocks that under waters show Blue reaches, and a sailing skiff, Were spread below. She stood to gaze, perhaps to sigh, Perhaps to think; but who can tell, How heavy on her heart must lie The letter L! 6 She came anon with quiet grace ; And What,' she murmured, -silent yet ! He answered, 'Tis a haunted place, And spell-beset. O speak to us, and break the spell!' • The spell is broken,' she replied. I crossed the running brook, it fell, It could not bide. And I have brought a budding world, Of orchis spires and daisies rank, And ferny plumes but half uncurled, From yonder bank ; 3 6 ·THE LETTER L. 145 "And I shall weave of them a crown, And at the well-head launch it free, That so the brook may float it down, And out to sea. 6 Thcre may it to some English hands From fairy meadow seem to come; The fairyest of fairy lands- The land of home.' Weave on,' he said, and as she wove We told how currents in the deep, With branches from a lemon grove, Blue bergs will sweep ; And messages from shipwrecked folk Will navigate the moon-lcd main, And painted boards of splintered oak Their port regain. Then floated out by vagrant thought, My soul beheld on torrid sand The wasteful water set at nought Man's skilful hand, And suck out gold-dust from the box, And wash it down in weedy whirls, And split the wine-keg on the rocks, And lose the pearls. "Ah! why to that which needs it not,' Methought, should costly things be given ? How much is wasted, wrecked, forgot, On this side heaven !'

·146 THE LETTER L So musing, did mine ears awake To maiden tones of sweet reserve, And manly speech that seemed to make The steady curve Of lips that uttered it defer Their guard, and soften for the thought: She listened, and his talk with her Was fancy-fraught. "There is not much in liberty'- With doubtful pauses he began; And said to her and said to me, "There was a man- "There was a man who dreamed one night That his dead father came to him ; And said, when fire was low, and light Was burning dim- ""Why vagrant thus, my sometime pride, Unloved, unloving, wilt thou roam ? Sure home is best !” The son replied, “I have no home." (“Shall not I speak ?” his father said, “Who early chose a youthful wife, And worked for her, and with her led My happy life. “Ay, I will speak, for I was young As thou art now, when I did hold The prattling sweetness of thy tongue Dearer than gold ;

·THE LETTER L. 147 666 And rosy from thy noonday sleep Would bear thee to admiring kin, And all thy pretty looks would keep My heart within. " " Then after, ʼmid thy young allies-- For thee ambition flushed my brow- I coveted the schoolboy prize Far more than thou. ("I thought for thee, I thought for all My gamesome imps that round me grew The dews of blessing heavicst fall Where carc falls too. ""And I that sent my boys away, In youthful strength to earn their bread, And died before the hair was grey Upon my head "" I say to thee, though free from care, A lonely lot, an aimless life, The crowning comfort is not there- Son, take a wife.” 6" Father beloved," the son replied, And failed to gather to his breast, With arms in darkness searching wide, The formless guest. 6"I am but free, as sorrow is, To dry her tears, to laugh, to talk ; And free, as sick men are, I wis, To rise and walk,

·148
THE LETTER L.
6" And free, as poor men are, to buy
If they have nought wherewith to pay ;
Nor hope, the debt before they die,
To wipe away.
66 What 'vails it there are wives to win,
And faithful hearts for those to yearn,
Who find not aught thereto akin
To make return ?
6" Shall he take much who little gives,
And dwells in spirit far away,
When she that in his presence lives,
Doth never stray,
""But waking, guidcth as besecms
The happy house in order trim,
And tends her babes; and sleeping, dreams
Of them, and him ?
""O base, O cold,"-while thus he spake
The dream broke off, the vision fled ;
He carried on his speech awake
And sighing said
"" I had—ah happy man !I had
A precious jewel in my breast,
And while I kept it I was glad
At work, at rest !
"" Call it a heart, and call it strong
As upward stroke of eagle's wing;
Then call it weak, you shall not wrong
The beating thing.

·THE LETTER L.
149
«« In tangles of the jungle reed,
Whose heats are lit with tiger eyes,
In shipwreck drifting with the weed
'Neath rainy skies,
"" Still youthful manhood, fresh and keen,
At danger gazed with awed delight,
As if sea would not drown, I ween,
Nor serpent bite.
6" I had_ah happy! but 'tis gone,
The priceless jewel; one came by,
And saw and stood awhile to con
With curious eye,
"" And wished for it, and faintly smiled
From under lashes black as doom,
With subtle sweetness, tender, mild,
That did illume
"The perfect face, and shed on it
A charm, half feeling, half surprise,
And brim with dreams the exquisite
Brown blessed eyes.
6" Was it for this, no more but this,
I took and laid it in her hand,
By dimples ruled, to hint submiss,
By frown unmanned ?
"" It was for this and O farewell
The fearless foot, the present mind,
And steady will to breast the swell
And face the wind !

·150 THE LETTER L. I gave the jewel from my breast, She played with it a little while As I sailed down into the west, Fed by her smile; "" Then weary of it-far from land, With sigh as deep as destiny, She let it drop from her fair hand Into the sea ""And watched it sink; and 1—and I,- What shall I do, for all is vain ? No wave will bring, no gold will buy, No toil attain; 6. Nor any diver reach to raise My jewel from the blue abyss ; Or could they, still I should but praise Their work amiss. Thrown, thrown away! But I love yet The fair, fair hand which did the deed: That wayward sweetness to forget Were bitter meed. ""No, let it lie, and let the wave Roll over it for evermore; Whelmed where the sailor hath his grave-- The sea her storc. ""My heart, my sometime happy heart ! And O for once let me complain, I must forego life's better part - Man's dearer gain.

·THE LETTER L. 151 I worked afar that I might rear A peaceful home on English soil; I laboured for the gold and gear- I loved my toil. «"For ever in my spirit spake The natural whisper, Well 'twill be When loving wife and children break Their bread with thee!' ““The gathered gold is turned to dross, The wife hath faded into air, My heart is thrown away, my loss I cannot spare. Not spare unsated thought her food- No, not one rustle of the fold, Nor scent of eastern sandalwood, Nor gleam of gold ; (“Nor quaint devices of the shawl, Får less the drooping lashes meek : The gracious figure, lithe and tall, The dimpled cheek ; 6" And all the wonders of her eyes, And sweet caprices of her air, Albeit, indignant reason cries, Fool! have a care. ““Fool! join not madness to mistake; Thou knowest she loved thee not a whit; Only that she thy heart might break- She wanted it, ·152 THE LETTER L. "Only the conquered thing to chain So fast that none might set it free, Nor other woman there might reign And comfort thee. 6" Robbed, robbed of life's illusions sweet ; Love dead outside her closed door, And passion fainting at her feet To wake no more; ""What canst thou give that unknown bride Whom thou didst work for in the waste, Ere fated love was born, and cried. Was dead, ungraced ? "“No more but this, the partial care, The natural kindness for its own, The trust that waxeth unaware, As worth is known : "" Observance, and complacent thought Indulgent, and the honour due That many another man has brought Who brought love too. “Nay, then, forbid it, Heaven !” he said, “ The saintly vision fades from me; O bands and chains! I cannot wed- I am not free.' >> With that he raised his face to view; • What think you,' asking, 'of my tale? And was he right to let the dew Of morn exhale, ·THE LETTER L. 153 And burdened in the noontide sun, The grateful shade of home forego- Could he be right ?-I ask as one Who fain would know.' He spoke to her and spoke to me; The rebel rose-hue dyed her cheek; The woven crown lay on her knee; She would not speak. averse And I with doubtful pause- To let occasion drift away- I answered If his case were worse Than word can say, • Time is a healer of sick hearts, And women have been known to choose, With purpose to allay their smarts, And tend their bruise, "These for themselves. Content to give, In their own lavish love complete, Taking for solc prerogative Their tendance sweet. “Such meeting in their diadem Of crowning love's æthereal fire, Himself he robs who robbeth them Of their desire. • Therefore the man who, dreaming, cried Against his lot that evensong, I judge him honest, and decide That he was wrong.'

·154 THE LETTER L. When I am judged, ah may my fate,' He whispered, in thy code be read! Be thou both judge and advocate.' Then turned, he said Fair weaver !' touching, while he spoke, The woven crown, the weaving hand, . And do you this decree revoke, Or may it stand? *This friend, you ever think her right- She is not wrong, then?' Soft and low The little trembling word took flight: She answered, 'No.' PRESENT. A meadow where the grass was deep, Rich, square, and golden to the view, A belt of elms with level sweep About it grew. The sun beat down on it, the line Of shade was clear beneath the trees; There, by a clustering eglantine, We sat at ease. And the buttercups ! that field O'the cloth of gold, where pennons swam- Where France set up his lilied shield, His oriflanıb, ·THE LETTER L. 155 And Henry's lion-standard rolled : What was it to their matchless sheen, Their million million drops of gold Among the green! We sat at ease in peaceful trust, For he had written, 'Let us meet; My wife grew tired of smoke and dust, And London heat, * And I have found a quiet grange, Set back in meadows sloping west, And there our little ones can range And she can rest. Come down, that we may show the view, And she may hear your voice again, And talk her woman's talk with you Along the lanc. Since he had drawn with listless hand The letter, six long years had fled, And winds had blown about the sand, And they were wed. Two rosy urchins near him played, Or watched, entranced, the shapely ships That with his knife for them he made of elder slips. And where the flowers were thickest shed, Each blossom like a burnished gem, A creeping baby reared its head, And coocd at thein.

·156
THE LETTER L.
And calm was on the father's face,
And love was in the mother's eyes ;
She looked and listened from her place,
In tender wise.
She did not need to raise her voice
That they might hear, she sat so nigh;
Yet we could speak when 't was our choice,
And soft reply,
Holding our quiet talk apart
Of household things; till, all unscaled,
The guarded outworks of the heart
Began to yield;
And much that prudence will not dip
The pen to fix and send away,
Passed safely over from the lip
That summer day.
'I should be happy,' with a look
Towards her husband where he lay,
Lost in the pages of his book,
Soft did she say.
'I am, and yet no lot below
For one whole day eludeth care;
To marriage all the stories flow,
And finish there:
As if with marriage came the end,
The entrance into settled rest,
The calm to which love's tossings tend,
The quiet breast.

·THE LETTER L.
157
For me love played the low preludes,
Yet life began but with the ring,
Such infinite solicitudes
Around it cling.
' I did not for my heart divine
Her destiny so mcck to grow;
The higher nature matched with mine
Will have it so.
Still I consider it, and still
Acknowledge it my master made,
Above me by the steadier will
Of nought afraid
'Above me by the candid speech ;
The temperate judgment of its own:
The keener thoughts that grasp and reach
At things unknown.
"But I look up and he looks down,
And thus our married eyes can meet;
Unclouded his, and clear of frown,
And gravely sweet.
. And yet, O good, ( wise and true!
I would, for all my fealty,
That I could be as much to you
As you to me;
And knew the deep secure content
Of wives who have been hardly won,
And, long petitioned, gave assent,
Jealous of none;

·'158 THE LETTER L. * But proudly sure in all the earth No other in that homage shares, Nor other woman's face or worth Is prized as theirs.' I said: 'And yet no lot belowo For one whole day eludeth care. Your thought.' She answered, 'Even so. I would beware. *Regretful questionings; be sure That very seldom do they rise, Not for myself do I endure- I sympathise. * For once-she turned away her head, Across the grass she swept her hand- "There was a letter once,' she said, 'Upon the sand.' There was, in truth, a letter writ On sand,' I said, "and swept from view ; But that same hand which fashioned it Is given to you. 'Efface the letter; wherefore keep An image which the sands forego?' Albeit that fear had seemed to sleep,' She answered lov, I could not choose but wake it now; For do but turn aside your face, A house on yonder hilly brow Your eyes may trace.

·THE LETTER L. 159 The chestnut shelters it; ah me, That I should have so faint a heart ! But yestereve, as by the sea I sat apart, 'I heard a name, I saw a hand Of passing stranger point that way- And will he incet her on the strand, When late we stray ? For she is come, for she is there, I heard it in the dusk, and heard Admiring words, that named her fair, But little stirred By beauty of the wood and wave, And weary of an old man's sway; For it was swceter to enslave Than to obey -The voice of one that near us stood, The rustle of a silken fold, A scent of castern sandalwood, A gleam of gold ! A lady! In the narrow space Between the husband and the wife, But nearest him-she showed a face With dangers rife ; A subtle smile that dimpling fled, As night-black lashes rose and fell : I looked, and to myself I said, • The letter L.'

·160 THE LETTER L. He, too, looked up, and with arrest Of breath and motion held his gaze, Nor cared to hide within his breast His deep) amaze; Nor spoke till on her near advance His dark cheek fushed a ruddier hue; And with his change of countenance Hers altered too. Lenore !' his voice was like the cry Of one entreating; and he said But that—then paused with such a sigh As mourns the dcad. And seated near, with no demur Of bashful doubt she silence broke, Though I alone could answer her When first she spoke. She looked : her eyes were beauty's own; She shed their swectness into his; Nor spared the married wife one moan That bitterest is. She spoke, and lo, her loveliness Methought she damaged with her tonguc And every sentence made it less, All falsely rung. The rallying voice, the light demand, Half flippant, half unsatisfied; The vanity sincere and bland- The answers wide.

·THE LETTER L. 161 And now her talk was of the East, And next her talk was of the sea; And has the love for it increased You shared with me?' 6 He answered not, but grave and still With earnest eyes her face perused, And locked his lips with steady will, As one that mused That mused and wondered. Why his gaze Should dwell on her, methought, was plain; But reason that should wonder raise I sought in vain. And near and near the children drew, Attracted by her rich array, And genis that trembling into view Like raindrops lay. He spoke : the wife her baby took And pressed the little face to hers; What pain soe'er her bosom shook, What jealous stirs Might stab her heart, she hid them so, The cooing babe a veil supplied ; And if she listened none night know, Or if she sighed ; Or if forecasting grief and care Unconscious solace thence she drew, And lulled her babe, and unaware Lulled sorrow too.

·162 THE LETTER L. The lady, she interpreter For looks or language wanted none, If yet dominion stayed with her- So lightly won ; If yet the heart she wounded sore Could yearn to her, and let her see The homage that was evermore Disloyalty; If sign would yield that it had bled, Or rallied from the faithless blow, Or sick or sullen scooped to wed, She craved to know. Now dreamy deep, now sweetly keen, Her asking eyes would round him shine; But guarded lips and settled mien Refused the sign. And unbeguiled and unbetrayed, The wonder yet within his breast, It seemed a watchful part he played Against her quest. Until with accent of regret She touched upon the past once more, As if she dared him to forget His dream of yore, And words of little weight let fall The fancy of the lower mind; How waxing life must needs leave all Its best behind;

·THE LETTER L. 163 How he had said that, he would fain (One morning on the halcyon sea) That life would at a stand remain Eternally; And sails be mirrored in the deep, As then they were, for evermore, And happy spirits wake and sleep Afar from shore : 'The well-contented hcart be fed Ever as then, and all the world (It were not small) unshadowed When sails were furled. "Your words'-a pause, and quietly With touch of calm self-ridicule : It may be so--for then,' said he, I was a fool.' With that he took his book, and left An awkward silence to my care, That soon I filled with questions deft And bebonair; And slid into an easy vein. The favourite picture of the year; The grouse upon her lord's domain- The salmon weir; Till she could feign a sudden thought, Upon neglected guests, and rise, And make us her adieux, with nought In her dark eyes.

·164 THE LETTER L. Acknowledging or shame or pain; But just unveiling for our view A little smile of still disdain As she withdrew. Then nearer did the sunshine creep, And warmer came the wafting breeze ; The little babe was fast asleep On mother's knees. Fair was the face that o'er it leant, The cheeks with beauteous blushes dyed The downcast lashes, shyly bent, That failed to hide Some tender shame. She did not see; She felt his cyes that would not stir, She looked upon her babe, and he So looked at her. So grave, so wondering, so content, As one new waked to conscious life, Whose sudden joy with fear is blent, He said, 'My wife.' “My wife, how beautiful you are !! Then closer at her side reclined, "The bold brown woman from afar Comes to me blind. And by comparison, I see The majesty of matron grace, And learn how pure, how fair can be My own wife's face :

·THE LETTER L. 165 • Pure with all faithful passion, fair With tender smiles that come and go; And comforting as April air After the snow. • Fool that I was ! my spirit frets And marvels at the humbling truth, That I have deigned to spend regrets On my bruised youth. * Its idol mocked thee, seated nigh, And shamed me for the mad mistake; I thank my God He could deny, And she forsake. . Ah, who am I, that God hath saved Me from the doom I did desire, And crossed the lot myself had craved, To set me higher ? What have I done that He should bow From heaven to choose a wife for me? And what deserved, He should endow My home with THEE? My wife!' With that she turned her face To kiss the hand about her neck; And I went down and sought the place Where leaped the beck- The busy beck, that still would run And fall, and falter its refrain ; And pause and shimmer in the sun, And fall acain.

·166 THOUGH ALL GREAT DEEDS. It led me to the sandy shore, We sang together, it and 1– The daylight comes, the dark is o'er, The shadows fly.' I lost it on the sandy shore, () wife!' its latest murmurs fell, O wife, be glad, and fear no more The letter L.' THOUGII ALL GREAT DEEDS. TH 'HOUGH all great deeds were proved but fables fine Though earth's old story could be told anew, Though the sweet fashions loved of them that sue Were empty as the ruined Delphian shrine- Though God did never man, in words benign, With sense of His great Fatherhood endue, Though life immortal were a dream untrue, And He that promised it were not divine- Though soul, though spirit were not, and all hope Reaching beyond the bourne, melted away; Though virtue had no goal and good no scope, But both were doomed to end with this our clay- Though all these were not,--to the ungraced heir Would this remain,--to live, as though they were.

·FAILURE. 167 WISHING WHI HEN I reficct how little I have done, And add to that how little I have seen, Then furthermore how little I have won Of joy, or good, how little known, or been: I long for other life morc full, more keen, And yearn to change with such as well have run- Yet reason mocks me-nay, the soul, I ween, Granted her choice would dare to change with none; No,--not to feel, as Blondel when his lay Pierced the strong tower, and Richard answered it- No, not to do, as Eustace on the day llc left fair Calais to her weeping fit- No, not to bc-Columbus, waked from sleep When his new world rose from the charnièd deep. FAILURE. WE E are much bound to them that do succeed ; But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound To such as fail. They all our loss expound; They comfort us for work that will not speed, And life-itself a failure. Ay, his deed, Sweetest in story, who the dusk profound Of Hades flooded with entrancing sound, Music's own tears, was failure. Doth it read ·168 THE BELL-BIRD. Therefore the worse? Ah, no! So much to dare, He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne.- So much to do; impetuous even there, He pours out love's disconsolate sweet moan He wins; but few for that his deed recall : Its power is in the look which costs him all. FROM "THE BELL-BIRD.' 6 SCENE.-A home in the Australian bush. Present--a father, a mother, and a son. The bell-bird sounds, and the father speaks. ‘TOLL, Toll.' The bell-bird sounding far away, Hid in a myall grove.' He raised his head, The bush glowed scarlet in descending day, A masterless wild country-and he said, My father (Toll'). 'Full oft by her to stray, As if a spirit called, have I been led; Oft seems she as an echo in my soul- ('Toll')—from my native towers by Avon' ("Toll'). (Toll.') 'Oft as in a dream I see full fain The bell-tower beautiful that I love well, A seemly cluster with her churches twain. I hear adown the river faint and swell And lift upon the air that sound again, It is, it is—how sweet no tongue can tell, For all the world-wide breadth of shining foam, The bells of Evesham chiming "Home, sweet home."

·THE BELL-BIRD. 169 "The mind hath mastery thus-it can clefy The sense, and make all one as it DID HEAR- Nay, I mean more; the wraiths of sound gone by Rise; they are present 'neath this dome all clear. ONE, sounds the bird--a pause--then doth supply Some ghost of chimes the void expectant ear; Do they ring bells in heaven? The learnedest soul Shall not resolve me such a question. (*Toll.') (Toll.") 'Say I am a boy, and fishing stand By Avon-('Toll')-on line and rod intent, How glitters deep in dew the meadow land- What, dost thou flit, thy ministry all spent, Not many days we hail such visits bland, Why steal so soon the rare enravishment? Ay gone! the soft deceptive echoes roll Away, and faint into remoteness.' ("Toll.') While thus he spoke the doom'd sun touched his bed In scarlet, all the palpitating air Still loyal waited on. He dipped his head, Then all was over, and the dark was there; And northward, lo! a star, one likewise red But lurid, starts from out her day-long lair, Her fellows trail behind ; she bears her part, The balefullest star that shines, the Scorpion's heart. Or thus of old men feigned, and then did fear, Then straight crowd forth the great ones of the sky In flashing flame at strife to reach more near. The little children of Infinity, They next look down as to report them 'Here,' From deeps all thoughts despair and heights past high ·170 THE BELL-BIRD. Speeding, not sped, no rest, no goal, no shore, Still to rush on till time shall be no more. Loved vale of Evesham, 'tis a long farewell, Not laden orchards nor their April snow These eyes shall light upon again : the swell And whisper of thy storied river know, Nor climb the hill where great De Montfort fell In a good cause hundreds of years ago ; So fall'n, elect to live till life's ally, The river of recorded deeds, runs dry. This land is very well, this air,' saith he, 'Is very well, but we want echocs here Man's past to feed the air and move the sca; Ages of toil make English furrows dear, Enriched by blood shed for his liberty, Sacred by love's first sigh and life's last fear, We come of a good nest, for it shall yearn Poor birds of passage, but may not return, 'Spread younger wings, and beat the winds afar. There sing more poets in that one small isle Than all isles else can show-of such you are ; Remote things come to you unsought erewhile, Near things a long way round as by a star. Wild dreams!' He laughed, ‘A sage right infantile; With sacred fear behold life's waste deplored, Undaunted by the leisure of the Lord. "Ay go, the island dream with eyes make good, Where Freedom rose, a lodestar to your race; And Hope that leaning on her anchor stood Did smile it to her feet: a right small place.

·THE BELL-BIRD. 171 Call her a mother, high such motherhood, Home in her name and duty in her face; Call her a ship, her wide arms rake the clouds, And every wind of God pipes in her shrouds. “Ay, all the more go you. But some have cried “The ship is breaking up ;” they watch amazed While urged toward the rocks by some that guide; Bad steering, reckless steering, she all dazed Tempteth her doom ; yet this have none denied Ships men have wrecked and palaces have razed, But never was it known beneath the sun, They of such wreckage built a goodlier one. 6 'God help old England an't be thus, nor less God help the world.' Therewith my mother spakc, Perhaps He will! By time, by faithlessness, By the world's want long in the dark awake, I think He must be almost due: the stress Of the great tide of life, sharp, miscry's achc, In a reclusepess of the soul we rue Far off, but yet - He must be almost due. "God manifest again, the coming King.' Then said my father, 'I beheld crewhile, Sitting up dog-like to the sunrising, The giant doll in ruins by the Nile, With hints of red that yet to it doth cling, Fell, battered, and bewigged its cheeks were vile, A body of evil with its angel fled, Whom and his fellow fiends men worshipped. • The gods die not, long shrouded on their biers, Somewhere they live, and live in memory yet;

·172 THE BELL-BIRD. Were not the Israelites for forty years Hid from them in the desert to forget Did they forget ? no more than their last feres- Sons of to-day with faces southward set, Who dig for buried lore long ages fled, And sift for it the sand and search the dead. ‘Brown Egypt gave not one great poet birth, But man was better than his gods, with lays He soothed them restless, and they zoned the earth And crossed the sea ; there drank immortal praise ; Then from his own best self with glory and worth And beauty dowered he then for dateless days. Ever "their sound goes forth” from shore to shore, When was there known an hour that they lived more? 'Because they are beloved and not believed, Admired not feared, they draw men to their feet; All once, rejected, nothing now, received, Where once found wanting, now the most complete Man knows to-day, though manhood stand achieved, His cradle-rockers made a rustling sweet; That king reigns longest which did lose his crown, Stars that by poets shine are stars gone down. Still drawn obedient to an unseen hand, From purer heights comes down the yearning west, Like to that eagle in the morning land, That swooping on her predatory quest, Did from the altar steal a smouldering brand, The which she bearing home it burned her nest, And her wide pinions of their plumes bereaven, Spoiled for glad spiring up the steeps of heaven.

·THE BELL-BIRD. 173 'I say the gods live, and that reign abhor, And will the nations it should dawn? Will they Who ride upon the perilous edge of war? Will such as delve for gold in this our day? Neither the world will, nor the age will, nor The soul-and what, it cometh now? Nay, nay, The weighty sphere, unready for release, Rolls far in front of that o'ermastering peace. "Wait and desire it; life waits not, free there To good, to evil, thy right perilous- All shall be fair, and yet it is not fair. I thank my God He takes th' advantage thus; He doth not greatly hide, but still declare Which side He is on and which He loves, to us, While life impartial aid to both doth lend, And heed not which the choice nor what the end. Nor say Among the few upright, О to be found, And ever search the nobler path, my son, "tis sweet to find me common ground Too high, too good, shall leave the hours alone" Nay, though but one stood on the height renowned, Deny not hope, nay will, to be that one. Is it the many fall’n shall lift the land, The race, the age !-Nay, 'tis the few that stand.' While in the lamplight hearkening I sat mute Methought "how soon this fire must needs burn out. Among the passion flowers and passion fruit That from the wide verandah hung,' misdoubt Was mine. And wherefore made I thus long suit To leave this old white head? His words devout, ·174 THE BELL-BIRD. His blessing not to hear who loves me so He that is old, right old-I will not go.' HIS JOURNEY. But ere the dawn their counsels wrought with me, And I went forth; alas that I so went Under the great gum forest canopy, The light on every silken filament Of every flower, a quivering ecstasy Of perfect paleness made it ; sunbeams sent Up to the leaves with sword-like flash endued Each turn of that grey drooping multitude. I sought to look as in the light of one Returned. Will this be strange to me that day? Flocks of green parrots clamorous in the sun Tearing out milky maize-stiff cacti grey As old men's beards—here stony ranges lone, There dust of mighty flocks upon their way To water, cloudlike on the bush afar, Like smoke that hangs where old-world cities are. Is it not made man's last endowment here To find a beauty in the wilderness; Feel the lorn moor above his pastures dear, Mountains that may not house and will not bless To draw him even to death? He must insphere His spirit in the open, so doth less Desire his feres, and more that unvex'd wold And fine afforested hills, his dower of old. But shall we lose again that new-found sense Which sees the earth less for our tillage fair?

·THE BELL-BIRD. 175 Oh, let her spcak with her best eloquence To me, but not her first and her right rare Can equal what I may not take from hence. The gems are left : it is not otherwhere The wild Nepean cleaves her matchless way, Nor Sydney harbour shall outdo the day. Adding to-day this--that she lighteth it.' But I beheld again, and as must be With a world-record by a spirit writ, It was more beautiful than memory, Than hope was more complete. Tall brigs did sit Each in her berth the pure flood placidly, Their topsails drooping 'neath the vast blue dome Listless, as waiting to be sheeted home, And the great ships with pulse-like throbbing clear, Majestical of mien did take their way Like living creatures from some grander sphere, That having boarded ours thought good to stay, Albeit enslaved. They most divided here From God's great art and all His works in clay, In that their beauty lacks, though fair it shows That divine waste of beauty only He bestows. HE SAILS. The day was young, scarce out the harbour lights That morn I sailed : low sun-rays tiemulous On golden loops sped outward. Yachts in flights Flutter'd the water air-like clear, while thus It crept for shade among brown rocky bights With cassia crowned and palms diaphanous, ·176 THE BELL-BIRD. And boughs ripe fruitage dropping fitfully, That on the shining ebb went out to sea. 'Home,' saith the man self-banished, 'my son Shall now go home.' Therewith he sendeth him Abroad, and knows it not, but thence is won, Rescucd, the son's true home. His mind doth limn Beautiful pictures of it, there is none So dear, a new thought shines erewhile but dim, "That was my home, a land past all compare, Life, and the poetry of life, are there.' But no such thought drew near to me that day; All the new worlds flock forth to greet the old, All the young souls bow down to own its sway, Enamoured of strange richness manifold; Not to be stored, albeit they seek for aye, Besieging it for its own life to hold, E'en as Al Mamoun fain for treasures hid, Stormed with an host th' inviolate pyramid, And went back foiled but wise to walled Bagdad. So I, so all. The treasure sought not found, But some divine tears found to superadd Themselves to a long story. The great round Of yesterdays, their pathos sweet as sad, Found to be only as to-day, close bound With us, we hope some good thing yet to know, But God is not in haste, while the lambs grow The Shepherd leadeth softly. It is great The journey, and the flock forgets at last (Earth ever working to obliterate The landmarks) when it halted, where it passed;

·THE BELL-BIRD. 177 And words confuse, and time doth ruinate, And memory fail to hold a theme so vast; There is request for light, but the flock feeds, And slowly ever on the Shepherd leads. Home,' quoth my father, and a glassy sea Made for the stars a mirror of its breast, While southing, pennon-like, in bravery Of long-drawn gold they trembled to their rest. Strange the first night and morn, when Destiny Spread out to float on, all the mind oppressed; Strange on their outer roof to speed forth thus, And know th' uncouth sea-beasts stared up at us. LONDON. But yet more strange the nights of falling rain, That splashed without -a sea-coal fire within ; Life's old things gone astern, the mind's disdain, For murmurous London makes soft rhythmic din. All courtier thoughts that wait on words would fain Express that sound. The words are not to win Till poet made, but mighty, yet so mild Shall be as cooing of a cradle-child. Sensation like a piercing arrow flies, Daily out-going thought. This Adamhood, This weltering river of mankind that hies Adown the street; it cannot be withstood. The richest mundane miles not otherwise Than by a symbol keep possession good, Mere symbol of division, and they hold The clear pane sacred, the unminted gold

·178
THE BELL-BIRD.
And wild outpouring of all wealth not less.
Why this? A million strong the multitude,
And safe, far safer than our wilderness
The walls ; for them it daunts with right at feud,
Itself declares for law; yet sore the stress
On steeps of life: what power to ban and bless;
Saintly denial, waste inglorious,
Desperate want, and riches fabulous.
Of souls what beautiful embodiment
For some ; for some what homely housing writ;
What keen-eyed men who beggared of content
Eat bread well earned as they had stolen it;
What flutterers after joy that forward went,
And left them in the rear unqueened, unfit
For joy, with light that faints in strugglings drear
Of all things good the most awanting here.
Some in the welter of this surging tide
Move like the mystic lamps, the Spirits Seven,
Their burning love runs kindling far and wide,
That fire they needed not to steal from heaven,
'Twas a free gift flung down with them to bide,
And be a comfort for the hearts bereaven,
A warmth, a glow, to make the failing store
And parsimony of emotion more.
What glorious dreams in that find harbourage,
The phantom of a crime stalks this beside,
And those might well have writ on some past page,
In such an hour, in such a year, we--died,

·THE BELL-BIRD.
179
Put out our souls, took the mean way, false wage,
Course cowardly; and if we be denied
The life once loved, we cannot always rue
The loss; let be: what vails so sore ado ?
And faces pass of such as give consent
To live because 'tis not worth while to die;
This never knew the awful tremblement
When some great fear sprang forward suddenly,
Its other name being hope--and there forthwent
As both confronted him a rueful cry
From the heart's core, one urging him to dare,
"Now! now! Leap now.' The other, Stand, forbear.'
A nation reared in brick, how shall this be?
Nor by excess of life death overtake.
To die in brick of brick her destiny
And as the hamadryad eats the snake
His wife, and then the snake his son, so she.
Air not enough, 'though every one doth take
A little,' water scant, a plague of gold,
Light out of date-a multitude born old.
And then a three-day siege might be the end ;
E'en now the rays get muddled struggling down
Through heaven's vasty lofts, and still extend
The miles of brick and none forbid, and none
Forbode ; a great world-wonder that doth send
High fame abroad, and fear no setting sun,
But helpless she through wealth that flouts the day
And through her little children, even as they.

·180
THE BELL-BIRD.
ENGLAND IN THE SPRING.
But forth of London, and all visions dear
To eastern poets of a watered land
Are made the commonplace of nature here,
Sweet rivers always full, and always bland.
Beautiful, beautiful! What runlets clear
Twinkle among the grass. On every hand
Fall in the common talk from lips around
The old names of old towns and famous ground
It is not likeness only charms the sense,
Not difference only sets the mind aglow,
It is the likeness in the difference,
Familiar language spoken on the snow,
To have the Perfect in the Present tense,
To hear the ploughboy whistling, and to know
It smacks of the wild bush, that tune-'Tis ours,
And look! the bank is pale with primrose flowers,

·VERSES SENT WITH A DIAMOND.
181
VERSES SENT WITH A DIAMOND.
WHILE Time a grim old lion gnawing lay,
And mumbled with his teeth yon regal tomb,
Like some immortal tear undimmed for aye,
This gem was dropped among the dust of doom.
Dropped, haply, by a sad, forgotten queen,
A tear to outlast name, and fame, and tongue:
Her other tears, and ours, all tears terrene,
For great new griefs to be hereafter sung.
Take it --a goddess might have wept such tears,
Or Dame Electra changed into a star,
That waxed so dim because her children's years
In 'leaguered Troy were bitter through long war.
Not till the end to end grow duil or waste,-
Ah, what a little while the light we share !
Hand after hand shall yet with this be graced,
Signing the Will that leaves it to an heir.

·182
SONG.
SONG,
FROM PRELUDES TO A PENNY READING.
1.
O
MY heart! what a coil is here !
Laurie, why will ye count me dear!
Laurie, Laurie, lad, make not wail,
With a wiser lass ye'll sure prevail,
For ye sing like a woodland nightingale.
And there's no sense in it under the sun;
For of three that woo I can take but one,
So what's to be done what's to be done?
And
There's no sense in it under the sun.
II.
Hal, brave Hal, from your foreign parts
Come home, you'll choose among kinder hearts.
Forget, forget, you're too good to hold
A fancy 'twere best should faint, grow cold,
And fade like an August marigold;
For of three that woo I can take but one,
And what's to be done-what's to be done?
There's no sense in it under the sun,
And
Of three that woo I can take but one.

·DUET.
183
III.
Geordie, Geordie, I count you true.
Though language sweet I have none for you.
Nay, but take me home to the churning mill
When cherry boughs white on yon mounting hill
Hang over the tufts o' the daffodil.
For what's to be done--what's to be done ?
Of three that woo I must e'en take one,
Or there's no sense in it under the sun,
And
What's to be done-what's to be done?
DUET.
FROM PRELUDES TO A PENNY READING.
She.. WHI
HILE he dreams, mine old grand-sire,
And yon red logs glow,
Honey, whisper by the fire,
Whisper, honey, low.
He. Honey, high's yon weary hill,
Stiff's yon weary loam ;
Lacks the work o' my goodwill,
Fain I'd take thee home.
O how much longer, and longer, and longer,
An' how much longer shall the waiting last?
Berries red are grown, April birds are flown,
Martinmas gone over, ay, and harvest past.
j

·184 FOR EXMOOR. She. Honey, bide, the time's awry, Bide awhile, let be. He. Take my wage then, lay it by, Till't come back with thee. The red money, the white money, Both to thee I bring- She. Bring ye ought beside, honey? He. Honey, ay, the ring. Duet. But how much longer, and longer, and longer, O how much longer shall the waiting last ? Berries red are grown, April birds are flown, Martinmas gone over, and the harvest past. FOR EXMOOR. SONG FROM PRELUDES TO A PENNY READING. Exmoor FOR For Exmoor, where the red deer run, my weary heart doth cry. She that will a rover wed, far her foot shall hie. Narrow, narrow, shows the street, dull the narrow sky. (Buy my cherries, whiteheart cherries, good my masters, buy.) For Exmoor O he left me, left alone, aye to think and sigh, Lambs feed down yon sunny coombe, hind and yearling shy, ·FOR EXMOOR. 185 Mid the shrouding vapours walk now like ghosts on high. (Buy my cherries, blackheart cherries, lads and lasses, buy.) For Exmoor- Dear my dear, why did ye so? Evil days have I, Mark no more the antler'd stag, hear the curlew cry. Milking at my father's gate while he leans anigh. (Buy my cherries, whiteheart, blackheart, golden girls, o buy.)

·186 THE NIGHT OF SONG FOR THE NIGHT OF CHRIST'S RESURRECTION. (A llumble Imitation.) 6 And birds of calm sit brooding on the charmèd wave.' IT is the noon of night, And the world's Great Light Gone out, she widow-like doth carry her ; The moon hath veiled her face, Nor looks on that dread place Where He lieth dead in sealed sepulchre; And heaven and hades, emptied, lend Their flocking multitudes to watch and wait the end. Tier above tier they rise, Their wings new line the skies, And shed out comforting light among the stars; But they of the other place The heavenly signs deface, The gloomy brand of hell their brightness mais; Yet high they sit in throned state- It is the hour of darkness to them dedicate. And first and highest set, Where the black shades are met, ·CHRIST'S RESURRECTION. 187 The lord of night and hades leans him down ; His gleaming eyeballs show More awful than the glow, Which hangeth by the points of his dread crown; And at his feet, where lightnings play, The fatal sisters sit and weep, and curse their day. Lo! one, with eyes all wide, As she were sight denied, Sits blindly feeling at her distaff old ; One, as distraught with woe, Letting the spindle go, Her starry-sprinkled gown doth shivering fold ; And one right mournful hangs her head, Complaining, Woe is me! I may not cut the thread. 6 · All men of every birth, Yea, great ones of the earth, Kings and their councillors, have I drawn down ; But I am held of thee, Why dost Thou trouble me, To bring me up, dead King, that keep'st Thy crown? Yet for all courtiers hast but ten Lowly, unlettered, Galilean fishermen. Olympian heights are bare Of whom men worshipped there, Immortal feet their snows may print no more ; Their stately powers below Lie desolate, nor know This thirty years Thessalian grove or shore; But I am elder far than they ;- Where is the sentence writ that I must pass away ·188 THE NIGHT OF Art thou come up for this, Dark regent, awful Dis? And hast thou moved the deep to mark our ending? And stirred the dens beneath, To see us eat of death, With all the scoffing heavens toward us bending? Help! powers of ill, see not us die!' But neither demon dares, nor angel deigns, reply. Her sisters, fallen on sleep, Fade in the upper deep, And their grim lord sits on, in doleful trance; Till her black veil she rends, And with her death-shriek bends Downward the terrors of her countenance : Then, whelmed in night and no more seen, They leave the world a doubt if ever such have been. And the winged armies twain Their awful watch maintain ; They mark the earth at rest with her Gitat Dead, Behold, from antres wide, Green Atlas heave his side; His moving woods their scarlet clusters shed, The swathing coif his front that cools, And tawny lions lapping at his palm-edged pools. Then like a heap of snow, Lying where grasses grow, See glimmering, while the moony lustres creer, Mild-mannered Athens, dight In dewy marbles white, Among her goddesses and gods asleep;

·CHRIST'S RESURRECTION.
189
And swaying on a purple sea,
The many moored galleys clustering at her quay.
Also, 'neath palm trees' shade,
Amid their camels laid,
The pastoral tribes with all their flocks at rest ;
Like to those old-world folk,
With whom two angels broke
The bread of men at Abram's courteous 'quest,
When, listening as they prophesied,
His desert princess, being reproved, her laugh denied.
Or from the Morians' land
See worshipped Nilus bland,
Taking the silver road he gave the world,
To wet his ancient shrine
With waters held divine,
And touch his temple steps with wavelets curled,
And list, ere darkness change to grey,
Old minstrel-throated Memnon chanting in the day.
Moreover, Indian glades,
Where kneel the sun-swart maids,
On Gunga's flood their votive flowers to throw,
And launch i' the sultry night
Their burning cressets bright,
Most like a fleet of stars that southing go,
Till on her bosom prosperously
She floats them shining forth to sail the lulled sea.
Nor bend they not their eyne
Where the watch-fires shine,

·190 THE NIGHT OF By shepherds fed, on hills of Bethlehem : They mark, in goodly wise, The city of David rise, The gates and towers of rare Jerusalem ; And hear the 'scaped Kedron fret, And night dews dropping from the leaves of Olivet. But now the setting moon To curtained lands must soon In her obedient fashion, minister; She first, as loth to go, Lets her last silver flow Upon her Master's sealed sepulchre ; And trees that in the garden spread, She kisseth all for sake of His low-lying head, Then 'neath the rim goes down; And night with darker frown Sinks on the fateful garden watched long; When some despairing eyes, Far in the murky skies, The unwished waking by their gloom foretell; And blackness up the welkin swings, And drinks the mild effulgence from celestial wings. Last, with amazed cry, The hosts asunder fly, Leaving an empty gulf of blackest hue; Whence straightway shooteth down, By the Great Father thrown, A mighty angel, strong and dread to view; And at his fall the rocks are rent, The waiting world doth quake with mortal tremblement;

·CHRIST'S RESURRECTION. 191 The regions far and near Quail with a pause of fear, More terrible than aught since time began, The winds, that dare not fleet, Drop at his awful feet, And in its bed wails the wide ocean; The flower of dawn forbears to blow, And the oldest running river cannot skill to flow. At stand, by that dread place, He lifts his radiant face, And looks to heaven with reverent love and fear; Then, while the welkin quakes, And muttering thunder breaks, And lightnings shoot and ominous meteors drear, And all the daunted earth doth moan, He from the doors of death rolls back the sealed stone- -In regal quiet deep, Lo, One new waked from sleep! Behold, He standeth in the rock-hewn door! Thy children shall not die Peace, peace, thy Lord is by ! He liveth!--they shall live for evermore. Peace! lo, He lifts a priestly hand, And blesseth all the sons of men in every land. Then, with great, dread and wail, Fall down, like storms of hail, The legions of the lost in fearful wise ; And they whose blissful race Peoples the better place, Lift up their wings to cover their fair eyes,

·192
NIGHT OF CHRIST'S RESURRECTION.
And through the waxing saffron brede,
Till they are lost in light, recede, and yet recede.
So while the fields are dim,
And the red sun his rim
First heaves, in token of his reign benign,
All stars the most admired,
Into their blue retired,
Lie hid the faded moon forgets to shine,-
And, hurrying down the sphery way,
Night flies, and sweeps her shadow from the paths of day,
But look! the Saviour blest,
Calm after solemn rest,
Stands in the garden 'neath His olive boughs;
The earliest smile of day
Doth on His vesture play,
And light the majesty of His still brows;
While angels hang with wings outspread,
Holding the new-won crown above His saintly head.
THE END.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNK, HANSON AND CO,
EDINBURGH AND LONDON,

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