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SONGS OF TWO WORLDS 

"tTTT 



BY THE AUTHOR OP 



"THE EPIC OF HADES" 



^CDvavra trw€Toi<riv 



LONDON 
C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., i, PATERNOSTER SQUARE 

1878 



{The rights of translation and of reproiluction are resented^ 



PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. 



The demand for a re-issue of " So^gs of Two Worlds " 
makes it essential to lose no time in presenting this 
volume to the public. 

The writer confidently hopes that he has omitted 
little or nothing worth preserving. But the task of selec- 
tion is always difficult ; and if by chance any poem which 
has found friends is absent from the present issue, it can 
easily be reinstated when the time comes for a collected 
edition of his poetical works. 

Penbryn, AprUf 1878. 



CONTENTS. 



FIRST SERIES 



• «• 



Soul Music 
Love's Mirror 
On a Young Poet 
To the Setting Sun 
The Treasure of Hope . 
The Legend of Faith 

By the Sea 

Voices 

Weakness made Strong 
"Waking ... ..• 

At Havre de Grace 
When I am Dead ... 

Love's Suicide 

The River of Life ... 

A Heathen Hjrmn 

In Trafalgar Square 

Watch 

Browned 

The Wanderer 

The Weary River . . . 

Truth in Falsehood 

Two Voyages 



••• 



PAGE 
3 

5 
7 

lO 

II 
13 

15 
i8 

23 

24 
26 

33 

34 

36 

39 

41 

45 

47 

49 
86 

87 
90 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



The Wise Rule 

The Voice of One Crying 

Other Days ... 

The True Man 

Passing 

Fetters ... 

Rich and Wise 

Love in Death 

Dear Little Hand 

Still Waters 

In R^ent Street 

From the Desert ... 

Dumb 

Faith without Sight 

Caged 

Too Much Knowledge 

On a Flight of Lady-Birds 

On an Old Minster 

The Bitter Harvest 

Of Lov.e and Sleep 

Blind 

To Hfic Picture 

The Return ... 

For Ever 

Behind the Veil 

Visiona ... 

Doubt 

St. David's Head 

In Volhynia . . . 

The Living Past 

Changes 

Alone 

Sea Voices ... 

Berlin, 1871 

The Beacon ... 

The Garden of Regret 



,... 



• • • • 



PAGE 

93 

... 95 
96 

... 98 

99 
... 100 

lOI 

... 108 

109 

... 112 

"5 
... 117 

121 
... 122 

125 
... 126 

130 

... 134 

13S 
... 140 

141 

... 143 

145 
... 146 

149 

... 152 

154 
... 157 

159 
... 161 

162 
... 165 

167 
... 169 

171 



CONTENTS. 



VU 



SECOND SERIES. 



PAGE 



To an Unknown Poet 






... 175 


Comfort ... 






179 


Song 






... 180 


Oh, Snows so Pure 






182 


The Beginnings of Faith 






... 183 


A Memory 






185 


The New Order 






... 186 


At Midnight 






190 


Nemesis 






... 192 


To a Child of Fancy 






195 


Song 






197 


The Organ-Boy ... 






198 


Processions ... 






.. 207 


For Life... 






208 


In the Park ... 






... 210 


Loss and Gain 






213 


Song 




• • • 


:?I5 


The Apology 






216 


Song 






... 229 


As in a Picture 






230 


At an Almshouse 






... 231 


A Yorkshire River 






233 


For Judgment 






... 235 


Ode on a Fair Spring Morning 




236 


Love Triumphant 


t •• 




... 245 


Tolerance 


• • • • ■ • 




246 


A Hjmui in Time of Idols 


■ • • 




... 248 


On a Modem Painted Window 




251 


A Midsummer Night ... 


• • ■ 




... 252 


Good in Everything 


• • • • • • 




254 


The Reply 


• • • 




... 255 


The Touchstone . . . 


■ • ■ • • . 




257 


Nothing Lost 


• * a 




... 266 


The Hidden Self .. 


■ • • ■ a • 




268 



f 



VIU CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Marching ... ... ... ... ... ... 269 

V/OUxagC ... ... ... ... ... •«• 2yl 

Gilbert Beckett and the Fair Saracen ... ... ... 272 

To*a Child of Fancy ... ... ... ... 280 

A Cynic's Day-Dream ... ... ... ... ... 283 

To a Lost Love ... ... ... ... ... 291 

In Memory of a Friend ... ... ... ... 292 

It Shall be Well ... ... ... ... 296 

A Remonstrance ... ... ... ... 297 



THIRD SERIES. 

i^ong ••■ ... ... ... ... ... 3^^ 

The Home Altar ... ... ... 303 

The Voyage ... ... ... ... ... ... 305 

The Food of Song ... ... ... ... 307 

The Youth of Thought ... ... ... ... 310 

K^^^XA^f m • m ••■ ••• ••• ••• <•• m '^ ^^ 

At Chambers ... ... ... ... ... ... 317 

Evensong ... ... ... ... ... 320 

, ooii^ ••* ••• ••• ••• ••• • • • 33 

AXU XiftSU ••• >>• ••• ••• ••■ ••■ «3^^^ 

Song ... ... ... ... ... ... 3^3 

The Dialogue ... ... ... ... ... 365 

The Birth of Verse ... ... ... ... ... 367 

1^ OIXc^ ••• ••• ••• ••• ••* «•• j^^\w 

The Enigma ... ... ... ... ... ... 37^ 

To the Tormentors ... ... ... ... 375 

Children of the Street ... ,.. ... ... ... 379 

An Ode to Free Rome ... ... ... ... 388 

A Memorial ... ... ... ... ... ... 409 

A Separation Deed ... ... ... ... 414 

O On^ ••• ••• ••• ••• ••« ■•• £Lx7 

X^ X CvXwI^i w ••• ■•• •»• «•• •■• ••• 4 * O 

To my Motherland ... ... .:. ... ... 421 



l' 



;. 



FIRST SERIES. 
1872. 



B 



SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



SOUL-MUSIC. 

My soul is as a bird 

Singing in fair weather, 
Deep in shady woodlands through the eveningfi 
dewy calm ; 

Every glossy feather 

On her full throat stirred, 
As she pours out, rapt, unconscious, all the 
sweetness of her psalm ; 

Mounting high, and higher, higher, 

Soaring now, now falling, dying ; 

Now through silvery pauses sighing; 

Throbbing now with joyous strife, 

And rushing tides of love and life. 

Till some ray of heavenly fire 



SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Shot obliquely through the shade, 
Pierces her ; and lo ! the strain 
Of the music she has made 
Fills her with a sudden pain. 

Then she forgets to sing 
Her former songs of gladness ; 

Sitting mute in silence sweeter than the old 
forgotten lays ; 
Till anon some note of sadness, 
' Long-drawn, languishing, 

Faint at first, swells onward slowly to a subtler 
depth of praise, 
As the low, wild, minor, broken 
By the ghosts of gayer fancies, 
Like a rippling stream advances. 
Till the full tide grown too deep, 
. Whispers first, then falls asleep. 
Then, as souls with no word spoken 
Grow together, she, mute and still, 
Thrills through with a secret voice. 
Which the- farthest heaven can fill. 
And constrains her to rejoice. 

And the passer-by who hears, 
Not the burst of pleasure, 
Swelling upward, sweet, spontaneous, to the 
portals of the sky, 



love's mirror. 

But a chastened measure, 
Low and full of tears ; 
And anon the voiceless silence, when the last 
notes sink and die. 
Deems some influence malign, 
Checks the current of the song ; 
For that none are happy long. 
Nay ; but to the rapt soul come 
Sounds that strike the singer dumb, 
And the silence is Divine ; 
For when heaven gives back the strain, 
All its joyous tones are o'er ; 
First the low sweet notes of pain. 
Then, the singer sings no more. 



-♦♦- 



LOVE'S MIRROR. 

I SEE myself reflected in thine eyes, 
The dainty mirrors set in golden flame 
Of eyelash, quiver with a sweet surprise. 
And most ingenuous shame. 

Like Eve, who hid her from the dread command 
Deep in the dewy blooms of paradise ; 
So thy shy soul, love calling, fears to stand 
Discovered at thine eyes. 



SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or, like a tender little fawn, which lies 
Asleep amid the fern, and waking, hears 
Some careless footstep drawing near, and flies, 
Yet knows not what she fears. 

So shrinks thy soul ; but, dearest, shrink not so ; 
Look thou into mine eyes as I in thine : 
So our reflected souls shall meet and grow, 
And each with each combine 

In something nobler ; as when one has laid 
Opposite mirrors on a cottage wall ; 
And lo ! the never-ending colonnade, 
The vast palatial hall. 

So our twin souls, by one sweet suicide. 
Shall fade into an essence more sublime ; 
Living through death, and dying glorified, 
Beyond the touch of time. 



-•♦■ 



ON A YOUNG POET 



ON A YOUNG POET. 

Here lay him down in peace to take his rest, 
Who tired of singing ere the day was done, 
A little time, a little, beneath the sun. 
He tarried and gave forth his artless song. 
The bird that sings with the dawn, sings not for long, 
Only when dew is on the grass his breast 
Quivers, but his voice is silent long ere noon. 
So sang he once, but might not long sustain 
The high pure note of youth, for soon, too soon ! 
He ceased to know the sweet creative pain 
Made still one voice, amid the clamorous strife. 
And proved no more the joys or pains of life. 

And better so than that his voice should fail. 
And sink to earth, and lose its heavenlier tone ; 
Perchance, if he had stayed, the sad world's moan, 
The long low discord of incessant wrong, 
Had marred the perfect cadence of his song, 
And made a grosser music to prevail. 
But now it falls as pure upon the ear, 
As sings the brown bird to the star of eve. 



8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or child's voice in grey minster quiring clear. 
Rather then, give we thanks for him than grieve, 
Thoughts of pure joys which but in memory live, 
More joy than lower present joys can give. 

For him, deep rest or high spontaneous strains ; 

For us, fierce strife and low laborious song ; 

For him, truth's face shining out clear and strong ; . 

For us half lights, thick clouds, and darkling days. 

No longer walks his soul in mortal ways. 

Nor thinks our thoughts, nor feels our joys or pains ; 

Nor doubts our doubts, nor any more pursues, 

Knowing all things, the far-off search less cause ; 

Nor thrills with art, or nature's fairest hues. 

Gazing on absolute beauty's inmost laws ; 

Or lies for ever sunk in dreamless sleep. 

Nor recks of us ; — and therefore 'tis we weep. 

But surely if he sleep, some fair faint dream. 
Some still small whisper from his ancient home ; 
Not joy, nor pain, but mixt of each shall come. 
Or if he wake, the thought of earthly days 
Shall add a tender sweetness to his praise ; 
Tempering the unbroken joyance of his theme. 
And by-and-by the time shall come when we. 
Laden with all our lives, once more shall meet. 
Like friends, who after infinite wastes of sea, 
Look in each other's eyes ; and lo \ the sweet 



ON A YOUNG POET. 

Sad fount of memory to its depths is stirred, 
And the past lives again, without a word. 

Mourn, not for him ! perchance he lends his voice 
To swell the fulness of the eternal psalm ; 
Or haply, wrapt in nature's holy calm. 
Safe hid within the fruitful womb of earth, 
He ripens slowly to a higher birth. 
Mourn not for him ! but let your souls rejoice. 
We know not what we shall be, but are sure 
The spark once kindled by the eternal breath. 
Goes not out quite, but somewhere doth endure 
In that strange life we blindly christen death. 
Somewhere he is, though where we cannot tell ; 
But wheresoe'er God hides him, it is well. 



■*¥■ 



lO SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



TO THE SETTING SUN. 

Stay, O sweet day, nor fleet so fast away ; 

For now it is that life revives again. 
As the red tyrant sinks beneath the hill ; 

And now soft dews refresh the arid plain ; 
And now the fair bird's voice begins to thrill ; 

With hidden dolours making sweet her strain. 
And wakes the woods that all day were so still. 

Stay, O sweet day, nor fleet so fast away ; 

For now the rose and all fair flowers that blow. 
Give out sweet odours to the perfumed air. 

And the white palace marbles blush and glow. 
And the low, ivy-hidden cot shows fair. 

Why are time's feet so swift, and ours so slow ? 
Haste, laggard ! night will fall ere you are there. 

Stay, O sweet day, nor fleet so fast away ; 

Soon the pale full-faced moon will slowly climb 
Up the steep sky and quench the star of love. 

Moonlight is fair, but fairer far the time 
When through the leaves the golden shafts above 

Slope, and the minster sounds its faint low chime. 
And the long shadows lengthen through the grove. 



THE TREASURE OF HOPE. II 

Stay, O sweet day, nor fleet so fast away ; 

For, hark ! the chime throbs from the darkling tower ; 
Soon for the last time shall my love be here : 

Fair day, renew thy rays for one brief hour. 
O sweet day, tarry for us, tarry near ; 

To-morrow, love and time will lose their power, 
And sighs be mine, and the unbidden tear. 

Stay, O sweet day, nor fleet so fast away. 

But, ah ! thou ma)r'st not ; in the far-off" west 
Impatient lovers weary till you rise ; 

Or may be caring naught thou traversest 
The plains betwixt thee and thy final skies : 

Go, then ; though darkness come, we shall be blest. 
Keeping sweet daylight, in each other's eyes. 



-♦♦- 



THE TREASURE OF HOPE. 

O FAIR bird, singing in the woods. 

To the rising and the setting sun, 
Does ever any throb of pain 

Thrill through thee ere thy song be done 
Because the summer fleets so fast ; 

Because the autumn fades so soon ; 
Because the deadly winter treads 

So closely on the steps of June ? 



12 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

t 

O sweet maid, opening like a rose 

In love's mysterious, honeyed air, 
Dost think sometimes the day will come 

When thou shalt be no longer fair : 
When love will leave thee and pass on 

To younger and to brighter eyes ; 
And thou shalt live unloved, alone, 

A dull life, only dowered with sighs ? 

O brave youth, panting for the fight. 

To conquer wrong and win thee fame. 
Dost see thyself grown old and spent, 

And thine a still unhonoured name : 
When all thy hopes have come to naught. 

And all thy fair schemes droop and pine 
And wrong still lifts her hydra heads 

To fall to younger arms than thine ? 

Nay ; song and love and lofty aims 

May never be where faith is not ; 
Strong souls within the present live ; 

The future veiled,— the past forgot : 
Grasping what is, with hands of steel, 

They bend what Shall be, to their will ; 
And blind alike to doubt and dread. 

The End, for which the/ are, fulfil. 



THE LEGEND OF FAITH. 1 3 



THE LEGEND OF FAITH. 

They say the Lord of time and all the worlds, 
Came to us once, a feeble, new-bom child ; 
All-wise, yet dumb ; weak, though omnipotent : 
Surely a heaven-sent vision, for it tells 
How innocence is godlike. And the Lord 
Renews, through childhood, to our world-dimmed eyes, 
The half forgotten splendours of the skies. 

And because motherhood is sacreder 

And purer far than any fatherhood, 

\VTiite flowers are feirer than red fruit, and sense 

Brings some retributive pain ; the virgin queen 

Sits 'mid the stars, and cloistered courts are filled 

With vain regrets, dead lives, and secret sighs. 

And the long pain of weary litanies. 

And because we, who stand upon the shore. 
See the cold wave sweep up and take with it 
White spotless souls, and others lightly soiled. 



14 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Yet with no stain God deems indelible : ' 
These are His saints mighty to intercede, 
Those in some dim far country tarry, and there 
Are purified ; and both are reached by prayer. 

And as the faith once given changes not, 
But we are weak as water ; yet is Jife 
A process, and where growth is not is death. 
God gave His priests infallible power to tell 
The true faith as it is, and how it grew : 
And lo ! the monstrous cycle shows complete. 
And the Church brings the nations to her feet. 



-H- 



BY THE SEA. 15 



BY THE SEA. 

A LITTLE country churchyard, 

On the verge of a cliff by the sea ; 
Ah ! the thoughts of the long years past and gone 

That the vision brings back to me. 

For two ways led from the village, — 

One, by the rippled sands, 
With their pink shells fresh from the ebbing wave 

For childish little hands. 

And one 'mid the heath, and the threat'ning 

Loud bees with the yellow thighs. 
And, twinkling out of the golden furze, 

The marvellous butterflies. 

And the boom of the waves on the shingle. 
And the hymn of the lark to the sun ; 

Made Sabbath sounds of their own, ere the chime 
Of the church-going bell had begun. 



1 6 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

. I remember the churchyard studded 
With peasants who loitered and read 
The sad little legends, half effaced, 
On the moss-grown tombs of the dead.. 

And the gay graves of little children, 

Fashioned like tiny cots ; 
With their rosemary and southernwood, 

And blue-eyed forget-me-nots.. 

Till the bell by degrees grew impatient, 
Then ceased as the parsonage door 

Opened wide for the surpliced vicar, 
And we loitered and talked no more. 

I remember the cool, dim chancel, 
And the drowsy hum of the prayers ; 

And the rude psalms vollied from sea-faring throats 
As if to take heaven unawares. 

Till, when sermon-time came, by permission 

We stole out among the graves. 
And saw the great ocean a-blaze in the sun. 

And heard the deep roar of the waves. 

And clung very close together. 

As we spelt out with wonder and tears. 

How a boy lay beneath who was drowned long ago,. 
And was " Aged eleven years." 



BY THE SEA. 1 7 

And heard, with a new-born terror, 

The first surge of the infinite Sea, 
Whose hither-shore is the shore of Death, 

And whose further, the Life to be. 

" Did the sea swallow up little children ? 

Could God see the wickedness done ? 
Nor spare one swift-winged seraph to save 

From the thousands around His throne ? " 

" Was he still scarce older than we were, 

Still only a boy of eleven ? 
Were child-angels children always 

In the beautiful courts of heaven ? " 

Ah me ! of those childish dreamers. 

One has solved the dark riddle since then : 

And knows the dread secret which none may know 
Who walk in the ways of men. 

The other has seen the splendour 

And mystery fading away ; 
Too wise or too dull to take thought or care 

For aught but the needs of the day. 



-•♦- 



1 8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



VOICES. 

Oh ! sometimes when the solemn organ rolls 
Its stream of sound down gray historic aisles ; 
Or the full, high-pitched struggling symphony 
Pursues the fleeting melody in vain : 
Like a fawn through shadowy groves, or heroine 
Voiced like a lark, pours out in burning song 
Her love or grief; or when, to the rising stars 
Linked village maidens chant the hymn of eve ; 
Or Sabbath concourse, flushed and dewy-eyed 
Booms its full bass ; or before tasks begun. 
Fresh childish voices sanctify the mom : 
My eyes grow full, my heart forgets to beat. 
What is this mystic yearning fills my being ? 

Hark ! the low music wakes, and soft and slow 

Wanders at will through flowery fields of sound ; 

Climbs gentle hills, and sinks in sunny vales, 

And stoops to cull sweet way-side blooms, and weaves 

A dainty garland ; then, grown tired, casts down 

With careless hand the fragrant coronal, 

And child-like sings itself to sleep. 






VOICES. 19 

Anon 
The loud strain rises like a strong knight armed. 
Battling with wrong ; or passionate seer of God 
Scathing with tongue of fire the hollow shows. 
The vain deceits of men ; or law-giver, 
Parting in thunder from the burning hill 
With iaucc aflame ; or with fierce rush of wings 
And blazing brand, upon the ciest of Sin, 
The swift archangel swooping ; or the roll 
A\liich follows on the lightning ; — ^all are there 
In that great hurry of sound. 

And then the voice 
Grows thinner like a lark's, and soars and soars, 
And mounts in circles, higher, higher, higher, 
Up to heaven's gate, and lo ! the unearthly song 
Thrills some fine irmer chord, and the swift soul. 
Eager and fluttering Uke a prisoned bird. 
Breaks from its cage, and soars aloft to join 
The enfi^anchised sound, and for a moment seems 
To touch on some dim border-land of being. 
Full (^ high thought and glorious enterprise 
And vague creative fancies, till at length 
Waxed grosser than the thin ethereal air, 
It sinks to earth agaiiL 

And then a strain 
Sober as is tlie tender voice of home, 
Unbroken like a gracious life, and lo 
YoQi^ diildren sit around me, and the love 



20 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



• 



I never knew is mine, and so my eyes 

Grow full, and all my being is thrilled with tears. 

What is this strange new life, this finer sense. 

This passionate exaltation, which doth force 

Like the weird Indian juggler, instantly 

My soul from seed to flower, from flower to fruit, 

Which lifts me out of self, and bids me tread 

Without a word, on reeling dizzy peaks. 

Impossible else, and rise to glorious thoughts, 

High hopes, and inarticulate fantasies 

Denied to soberer horn's ? No spoken thought 

Of bard or seer can mount so far, or lift: 

The soul to such transcendent heights, or work 

So strong a spell of love, or roll along 

Such passionate troubled depths. No painter's hand 

Can limn so clear, the luminous air serene 

Of Paradise, the halcyon deep, the calm 

Of the eternal snows, the eddy and whirl 

Of mortal fight, the furious flood, let loose 

From interlacing hills, the storm which glooms 

Over the shoreless sea. Our speech too oft 

Is bound and fettered by such narrow laws, 

That words which to one nation pierce the heart, 

To another are but senseless sounds, or weak 

And powerless to stir the soul ; but this 

Speaks with a common tongue, uses a speech 

Which all may understand, or if it bear 



VOICES. 21 

Some seeds of difference in it, only such 

As separates gracious sisters, like in form. 

But one by gayer fancies touched, and one 

Rapt by sweet graver thoughts alone, and both 

Mighty to reach the changing moods of the soul, 

Or grave or gay, and though sometimes they be 

Mated with unintelligible words, 

Or feeble and unworthy, yet can lend 

A charm to gild the worthless utterance. 

And wing the sordid chrysalis to float 

Amid the shining stars. 

Oh strange sweet power, 
Ineffable, oh gracious influence, 
I know not whence thou art, but this I know. 
Thou boldest in thy hand the silver key 
That can unlock the sacred fount of tears. 
Which falling make life green ; the hidden spring 
Of purer fancies and high sympathies : 
No mirth is thine, thou art too high for mirth, — 
Like Him who wept but smiled not : mirth is bom 
On the low plains of thoughts best reached by words. 
But those who scale the untrodden mountain peak, 
Or sway upon the trembling spire, are far 
From laughter ; so thy gracious power divine. 
Not sad but solemn, moves the well of tears. 
But not mirth's shallow spring ; tears are divine. 
But mirth is of the earth, a creature bom 
Of careless youth and joyance ; satisfied 



2 2 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

With that which is ; urged by no nobler thirst 
For that which might be ; pained by no regret 
For that which was, but is not : but for thee, 
Oh, fair mysterious power, the whole great scheme 
Lies open like a book ; and if the charm 
Of its high beauty makes thee sometimes gay, 
Yet 'tis an awful joy, so mixed with thought, 
That even Mirth grows grave, and evermore 
The myriad possibiHties unfulfilled. 
The problem of Creation, the immense 
Impenetrable depths of thought, the vague 
Perplexities of being, rise to thy lips 
And keep thee solemn always. 

Oh, fair voice. 
Oh virginal, sweet interpreter, reveal 
Our inner selves to us, lay bare the springs 
The hidden depths of being, the high desires 
Which lie there unsuspected, the remorse 
Which never woke before ; unclothe the soul 
Of this its shroud of sense, and let it mount. 
On the harmonious beat of thy light wings, 
Up to those heights where life is so attuned, 
So pure and self-concordant ; filled so deep 
With such pervading beauty that no voice 
Breaks the ineffable harmony of being. 
And o'er white plain and breathless summit reigns 
A silence sweeter than the sweetest sound. 



WEAKNESS MADE STRONG. 23 



WEAKNESS MADE STRONG. 

If I were poor and weak, 

Bankrupt of hope, and desolate of love ; 
Without a tongue to speak 

The Strange dumb thoughts of thee which through 
me move ; 
Then would I freely venture, sweet, 
To cast my soul down at thy feet. 

Or were I proud and great ; 

Were all men envious, and all women kind ; 
And yet my high estate 

Showed poor beside the riches of my mind : 
Then would I boldly stoop, to rise 
Up to the height of thy dear eyes. 

But being not weak nor strong. 

Cast in the common mould of coarser clay ; 
Sure 'twere to do thee wrong 

To set my humble homage in thy way, 
And cloud thy sunny mom, which I would fain 
Keep clear and fair, with my poor private pain. 



1 

i 

! 

i 



24 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Only since love and I are so ingrown, 

That for my weakness is my love so strong ; 

And scarce I know what love's is, what mine own, 
Nor whether love or I inspire my song : 

Take thou my strength unto thyself, and give 

Strength to my weakness, sweet, and bid me live. 



-♦♦- 



WAKING. 

Open, my soul, thy stately portals wide ; 

Open full wide, and let thy King come in ! 
How shall he come ? In royal pomp and pride. 

Ushered by braying trumpets' clamorous din ; 
Clothed round with purple ; crowned with burning gold : 
A kingly presence, glorious to behold ? 

Nay ; for he is no mortal king, to come 
With trumpet peals and crowds and garish state ; 

But silent to the soul he makes his home : 
He enters by some lowly postern gate ! 

And she, within her chambers far withdrawn. 

Cries like the wakeful bird that greets the dawn. 

It may be she is seated 'mid the throng. 

Crowned with the flowers of life and youth and health; 
Thrilled through by breathing art or passionate song, 

Or feint with hot pursuit of fame or wealth ; 



WAKING. 25 

Rapt by the glorious thoughts of saints or seers, 
Or radiant with the blessed dew of tears. 

And then the wicket swings without a sound, 

And lo ! a ghostly presence, pale and gray, — 
Sad eyes which dwell not on the things around, 
' But gaze for ever on the Far-off Day ! 
Then a low voice, whispering, " Thy King is come ; 
Rejoice, be glad, for here he makes his home." 

Then rises she and hastens to the gate, — 

The royal gate, and there she casts her down : 

Prone at his feet bewails her low estate. 
Yet prays him he will enter to his own ! 

Spurns from her all her robes of pride, and stands, 

Knowing her shame, to do her Lord's commands, 

Whom with a touch he fashions for her part ; 

Dowers with the precious gifts of bard or sage ; 
The hand to fix the dreams of deathless art, 

The imperial will, the patriot's noble rage : 
Or fills with such fine affluence of love. 
That she grows holy as the saints above. 

Then open, O my soul ! thy portals wide, 
Open, and let thy Lord and Ruler come ; 

Open, if haply he may here abide, 
And make within thee his eternal home. 

Open thy gates, thy halls, thine inmost shrine. 

Till all are flooded with the Light divine. 



26 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



AT HAVRE DE GRACE. . 

Above the busy Norman town, 
The high precipitous sea-cliffs rise, 

And from their summit looking down 
The twin-lights shine with lustrous eyes ; 

Far out upon the fields of foam, 

The first to greet the wanderer home. 

Man here has known at last to tame 
Nature's wild forces to his will ; 

Those are the lightning's fires which flame, 
From yon high towers with ray so still : 

And knowledge, piercing through the night 

Of time, has summoned forth the light. 

And there, hard by the lighthouse door, 
The earthly set by the divine ; 

At a stone's cast, or scarcely more. 
Rises a little pagan shrine, 

Where the rough seamen come to pray, 

And wives, for dear ones far away. 



AT HAVRE DE GRACE. 27 

There, on a starry orb, there stands 
A heavenly goddess, proud and fair ; 

No infant holds she in her hands 
Which must a queenly sceptre bear. 

Nay ; wonder not, for this is she 

Who rules the fury of the sea. 

Star of the sea, they call her, yet 

Liker to Her^ doth she show, 
Than Aphrodite, rising wet 

From the white waves, with limbs aglow. 
Calmer she seems, more pure and sweet, 
To the poor kneelers at her feet 

Before her still the vestal fires 

Bum unextinguished day and night ; 

And the sweet firankincense expires 

And fair flowers blow, and gems are bright : 

For a great power in heaven is she, 

This star and goddess of the sea. 

Around the temple, everywhere. 

Rude tablets hung, attest her might ; 

Here the fierce surge she smooths, and there 
Darts downward on a bar of light : 

To quench the blazing ship, or save. 

The shipwrecked from the hungry wave. 



28 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And sea-gifts round the shrine are laid, 
Poor offerings, costlier far than gold : 

Such as the earlier heathen made, 
To the twin Deities of old, — 

Toy ships, shells, coral, glittering spar. 

Brought here by grateful hands from far. 

A very present help indeed. 

This goddess is to whom they bow ; 

We seek Thy face with hearts that bleed. 
And straining eyes, dread Lord ; but Thou 

Hidest Thyself so far away. 

Our thoughts scarce reach Thee as we pray. 

But is this she, whom the still voice 
Of angels greeted in the night ; 

Bidding the poor maid's heart rejoice, • 
With visions hid from wiser sight : 

This heathen nymph, this tinselled queen, 

First of all mothers who have been ? 

Gross hearts and purblind eyes, to make 

An idol of a soul so sweet ! 
Could you no meaner essence take, 

No brazen image with clay feet ; 
No saint from out the crowd of lies, 
False signs and shameful prodigies ? 



AT HAVRE DE GRACE. 29 

For this one bears too great a name. 

Above all other women blest ; 
The blessM mother, — all her fame 

Is His who nestled to her breast : 
They do but dull her glory down, 
These childless arms, this earthly crown. 

Poor peasant mother ! scarce a word 

Thou spak'st, the long-drawn years retain ; 

Only thy womb once bare the Lord ; 
Only thou knew'st the joy, the pain : 

The high hope seeming quenched in blood 

That marked thy awful motherhood. 

No trace of all thy life remains, 

From His first childhood to the cross ; 

A life of htde joys and pains, 
Of humble gain and trivial loss : 

Contented if the ewes should bear 

Twin lambs, or wheat were full in ear. 

Or if sometimes the memory 

Of that dread message of the night 

Troubled thy soul, there came to thee 
New precious duties ; till the flight. 

The desert sands, the kneeling kings. 

Showed but as half-forgotten things. 



^O SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or sometimes, perhaps, while pondering all 
In thy fond heart of word and deed. 

Some shade of doubt on thee would fall, 
Still faithful to the older creed : 

Could this thy Son indeed be He, 

This child who prattled at thy knee ? 

And of thy after-life, thy age, 
Thy death, no record ; not a line 

On all the fair historic page 

To mark the life these hold divine : 

Only some vague tradition, faint 

As the sick story of a saint 

But thou no longer art to-day 
The sweet maid-mother, fair and pure ; 

Vast time-worn reverend temples gray. 
Throne thee in majesty obscure ; 

And long aisles stretch in minsters high, 

'Twixt thee, fair peasant, and the sky. 

They seek to honour thee, who art 
Beyond all else a mother indeed ; 

With hateful vows that blight the heart, 
With childless lives, and souls that bleed : 

As if their dull h3rmns' bairen strain 

Could fill a mother with aught but pain ! 



i 



AT HAVRE DE GRACE. 3 1 

To the gross earth they'bind thee down 
With coils of fable, chain on chain ; 

Frotn plague or war to save the town ; 
To give, or hold ; the sun, or rain ; 

To whirl through air a favourite shrine, — 

These are thy functions, and divine. 

And see, in long procession rise 

The fair Madonnas of all time ; 
They gaze from sweet maternal eyes. 

The dreams of every Christian clime : 
Brown girls and icy queens, the breast 
And childish lips proclaim them blest. 

Till as the gradual legend grew, 

Bom without stain, and scorning death ; 

Heavenward thou soarest through the blue. 
While saints and seers aspire beneath : 

And fancy-nurtured cam'st to be 

Queen over sky and earth and sea. 

Oh, sin ! oh, shame ! oh, folly ! Rise ; 

Poor heathen, think to what you bow ; 
Consider, beyond God's equal skies, 

What pains that faithful soul must know, — 
She a poor peasant on the throne 
Raised for the Lord of Life, alone. 



32 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

O sweet ! O heart of hearts 1 O pure 
Above all purest maids of earth 1 

O simple child, who didst endure 
The burden of that awful birth : 

Heart, that the keenest sword didst know. 

Soul bowed by alien loads of woe ! 

Sweet soul ! have pity ; intercede, 

Oh mother of mothers, pure and meek ; 

They know no evil, — rise and plead 

For these poor wandering souls and weak ; 

Tear off those pagan rags, and lead 

Their worship where 'tis due indeed. 

For wheresoever there is home. 
And mothers yearn with sacred love. 

There, since from Heaven itself they come. 
Are symbols of the life above : 

Again the sweet maid-mother mild, 

Again the God-begotten child. 



-♦♦- 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 33 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 

When I am dead and turned to dust, 
Let men say what they will, I care not aught ; 
Let them say I was careless, indolent. 
Wasted the precious hours in dreaming thought, 
Did not the good I might have done, but spent 
My soul upon myself, — sometimes let rise 
Thick mists of earth betwixt me and the skies : 
What must be must 

But not that I betrayed a trust ; 
Broke some girl's heart, and left her to her shame ; 
Sneered young souls out of faith ; rose by deceit ; 
Lifted by credulous mobs to wealth and feme ; 
Waxed fat while good men waned, by lie and cheat ; 
Cringed to the strong ; oppressed the poor and weak 
When men say this, may some find voice to speak. 
Though I am dust 



D 



34 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



LOVE'S SUICIDE. 

Alas for me for that my love is dead ! 

Sunk fathom-deep, and may not rise again ; 
Self-murdered, vanished, fled beyond recall, 
And this is all my pain. 

Tis not that she I loved is gone from me. 

She lives and grows more lovely day by day ; 
Not Death could kill my love, but though she lives, 
My love has died away. 

Nor was it that a form or face more fair 

Forswore my troth, for so my love had proved 
Eye-deep alone, not rooted in the soul ; 
And 'twas not thus I loved. 

Nor that by too long dalliance with delight 

And recompense of love, my love had grown 
Surfeit with sweets, like some tired bee that flags 
'Mid roses over-blown. 



LOVE'S SUICIDE, 35 

None of these slew my love, but some cold wind, 
Some chill of doubt, some shadowy dissidence. 
Bom out of too great concord, did overcloud 
Love's subtle inner sense. 

So one sweet changeless chord, too long sustained. 

Falls at its close into a lower tone : 
So the swift train, sped on the long, straight way. 
Sways, and is overthrown. 

For difference is the soul of life and love. 

And not the barren oneness weak souls prize : 
Rest springs from strife, and dissonant chords beget 
Divinest harmonies. 



-♦♦- 



36 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



THE RIVER OF LIFE. 

Bright with unnumbered laughters, and swollen by a 

thousand tears, | 

Rushes along, through upland and lowland, the river of 

life; 
Sometimes foaming and broken, and sometimes silent 

and slumbrous. 
Sometimes through rocky glens, and sometimes through 

flowery plains. 
Sometimes the mountains draw near, and the black depths 

swirl at their bases. 
Sometimes the limitless meads fade on the verge of the 

sky. 
Sometimes the forests stand round, and the great trees 

cast terrible shadows. 
Sometimes the golden wheat waves, and girls fill their 

pitchers and sing. 



THE RIVER OF LIFE. 37 

Always the same strange flow, through changes and 

chances unchanging, 
Always — in youth and in age, in calm and in tempest 

the same — 
Whether it sparkle transparent and give back the blue 

like a mirror. 
Or sweep on turbid with flood, and black with the 

garbage of towns— 
Whether the silvery scale of the minnow flash on the 

pebbles. 
Or whether the poisonous ooze cling for a shroud round 

the dead — 
Whether it struggle through shoals of white blooms and 

feathery grasses. 
Or bear on its bosom the hulls of ocean-tost navies — the 

same. 



Flow on, O mystical river, flow on through desert and 

city; 
Broken or smooth, flow onward into the Infinite sea. 
Who knows what urges thee on, what dark laws and 

cosmical forces 
Stain thee, or keep thee pure, and bring thee at last to thy 

goal? 
What is the cause of thy rest or unrest, of thy foulness 

or piureness ? 
What is the secret of Hfe, or the painful riddle of death? 



38 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Why is it better to be than to cease, to flow on than to 

stagnate ? 
Why is the river-stream sweet, while the sea is as bitter 

as gall ? 

Surely we know not at all, but the cycle of Being is 

eternal, 
Life is eternal as death, tears are eternal as joy. 
As the stream flowed, it will flow ; though 'tis sweet, yet 

the sea will be bitter : 
Foul it with filth, yet the deltas grow green and the ocean 

is clear. 
Always the sun and the winds will strike its broad surface 

and gather 
Some purer drops from its depths, to float in the clouds 

of the sky ; — 
Soon these shall fall once again, and replenish the full- 
flowing river. 
Roll round then, O mystical cycle ! flow onward, inefiable 

stream ! 



-H- 



A HEATHEN HYMN. 39 



A HEATHEN HYMN. 

Lord, the Giver of my days, 

My heart is ready, my heart is ready ; 

1 dare not hold my peace, nor pause, 
For I am fain to sing Thy praise. 

I praise Thee not, with impious pride, 
For that Thy partial hand has given 
Bounties of wealth or form or brain. 
Good gifts to other men denied. 

Nor weary Thee with blind request. 
For fancied goods Thy hand withholds ; 
I know not what to wish or fear. 
Nor aught but that Thy will is best. 

Not whence I come, nor whither I go. 
Nor wherefore I am here, I know ; 
Nor if my life*s tale ends on earth. 
Or mounts to bliss, or sinks to woe. 



40 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Nor know I aught of Thee, O Lord ; 
Behind the veil Thy face is hidden : 
We faint, and yet Thy face is hidden ; 
We cry, — Thou answerest not a word. 

But this I know, O Lord, Thou art, 
And by Thee I too live and am ; 
We stand together, face to face, 
Thou the great whole, and I the part 

We stand together, soul to soul, 
Alone amidst Thy waste of worlds ; 
Unchanged, though all creation fade, 
And Thy swift suns forget to roll. 

Wherefore, because my life is Thine, 
Because, without Thee I were not ; 
Because, as doth the sea, the sun. 
My nature gives back the Divine. 

Because my being with ceaseless flow 
Sets to Thee as the brook to the sea; 
Turns to Thee, as the flower to the sun. 
And seeks what it may never know. 

Because, without me Thou hadst been 
For ever, seated midst Thy suns ; 
Marking the soulless cycles turn, 
Yet wert Thyself Unknown, unseen. 



IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. 41 

I praise Thee, everlasting Lord, 
In life and death, in heaven and hell : 
What care I, since indeed Thou art, 
And I the creature of Thy word 

Only if such a thing may be : 
When all Thy infinite will is done, 
Take back the soul Thy breath has given, 
And let me lose myself in Thee. 



-*♦- 



IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. 

Under the picture gallery wall. 

As a sea-leaf clings to a wave-worn rock. 

Nor shrinks firom the surging impetuous shock 

Of the breakers which gather and whiten and fall,- 

A child's form crouches, nor seems to heed 

The ceaseless eddy and whirl of men : 

Men and women with hearts that bleed. 

Men and women of wealth and fame. 

High in honour, or sunk in shame. 

Pass on like phantoms, and pass again. 

And he lies there like a weed. 

A child's form, said I ; but looking again 
It is only the form that is childish now. 
For age has furrowed the low dull brow. 



42 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And marked the pale face with its lines of pain. 
Yet but few years have fled, since I first passed by, 
For a dwarf's life is short if you go by the sun, 
And marked in worn features and lustreless eye 
Some trace of youth's radiance, though faint and thin ; 
But now, oh, strange jest ! there's a beard to his chin. 
And he lies there, grown old ere his youth is done, 
With his poor limbs bent awry. 

What a passer-by sees, is a monstrous head. 
With a look in the eyes as of those who gaze 
On some far-off sight with a dumb amaze ; 
A face as pale as the. sheeted dead, 
A frail body propped on a padded crutch, 
And lean long fingers, which flutter the keys 
Of an old accordion, returning their touch 
With some poor faint echoes of popular song, 
Trivial at all times and obsolete long. 
Psalm-tunes, and African melodies. 
Not difliering very much. 

And there he sits nightly in heat and cold. 

When the fountains fall soft on the stillness of June, 

Or when the sharp East sings its own shrill tune. 

Patiently playing and growing old. 

The long year waxes and wanes, the great 

Flash by in splendour from rout or ball. 

Statesmen grown weary with long debate, 



IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. ' 43 

Hurry by homewards, and fling him alms ; 
PitiM women, touched by the psalms, , 
Bringing back innocence, stoop by the wall 
Where he lies at Dives' gate. 

What are his thoughts of, stranded there ? 
While life ebbs and flows by, again and again, 
Does the old sad Problem vex his poor brain ? 
" Why is the world so pleasant and fair, 
Why, am I only who did no wrong 
Crippled and bent out of human form ? 
Why are other men tall and strong ? 
Surely if all men were made to rejoice. 
Seeing that we come without will or choice. 
It were better to crawl for a day like a worm,- 
Tban to lie like this so long ! 

"The blind shufiies by with a tap of his staff, 

The tired tramp plods to the workhouse ward, — 

But he carries his broad back as straight as a lord. 

And the blind man can hear his little ones laugh, 

While I lie here like a weed on the sand, 

With these crooked limbs, paining me night and day. 

Is it true, what they tell of a far-off" land. 

In the sweet old faith which was preached for the poor, — 

Where none shall be weary or pained any more, 

Nor change shall enter nor any decay, 

And the stricken down shall stand ? " 



44 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS, 

f 

And perhaps sometimes when the sky is clear, 

And the stars show like lamps on the sweet summer night, 

Some chance chord struck with a sudden delight, 

Soars aloft with his soul, and brings Paradise near. 

And then — for even nature is sometimes kind — 

He Ues stretched under palms with a harp of gold ; 

Or is whirled on by coursers as fleet as the wind ; 

And is no more crippled, nor weak nor bent ; 

No more painful nor impotent ; 

No more hungry, nor weary nor cold, — 

But of perfect form and mind. 

Or may be his thoughts are of humbler cast, 

For hunger and cold are real indeed ; 

And he looks for the hour when his toil shall be past. 

And he with sufficient for next day's need : 

Some humble indulgence of food or fire. 

Some music-hall ditty, or marvellous book. 

Or whatever it be such poor souls desire ; 

And with this little solace, for God would fain 

Make even his measures of joy and pain, 

He drones happily on in his quiet nook, 

With hands that never tire. 

Well, these random guesses must go for nought ; 

Seeing it is wiser and easier far 

To weigh to an atom the faintest star. 

Than to sound the dim depths of a brother's thought 



WATCH. 45 

But whenever I hear those poor snatches of song, 
And see him lie maimed in body and soul, 
While I am straight and healthy and strong, 
I seem to redden with a secret shame, 
That we should so differ who should be the same, 
Till I hear their insolent chariot wheels roll 
The millionaires along. 



-•♦- 



WATCH. 

Oh, hark ! the languid air is still, 

The fields and woods seem hushed and dumb 
But listen, and you shall hear a thrill, 

An inner voice of silence come. 
Stray notes of birds, the hum of bees, 

The brook's Hght gossip on its way, 

Voices of children heard at play, 
Leaves whispering of a coming breeze. 

Oh, look ! the sea is fallen asleep. 

The sail hangs idle evermore ; 
Yet refluent from the outer deep. 

The low wave sobs upon the shore. 



46 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Silent the dark cave ebbs and fills, 

Silent the broad weeds wave and sway ; 
Yet yonder fairy fringe of spray 

Is bom of surges vast as hills. 

Oh, see ! the sky is deadly dark. 

There shines not moon nor any star ; 
But gaze awhile, and you shall mark 

Some gleam of glory from afar : 
Some half-hid planef s vagrant ray ; 

Some lightning flash which wakes the world ; 

Night's pirate banner slowly furled ; 
And, eastward, some faint flush of day. 



-H- 



DROWNED. 47 



DROWNED. 

Only eighteen winters old ! 
Lay her with a tender hand 
On the delicate, ribbed sea-sand : 

Stiff and cold ; ay, stiff and cold 

What she has been, who shall care ? 
Looking on her as she lies 
With those stony, sightless eyes, 

And the sea-weed in her hair. 

Think, O mothers ! how the deep 
All the dreary night did rave ; 
Thundering foam and crested wave. 

While your darlings lay asleep. 

How she cleft the midnight air ; 
And the idiot surge beneath 
Whirled her sea-ward to her death, 

Angry that she was so fair. 



48 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Tossed her, beat her, till no more 
Rage could do, through all the night ; 
Then with morning's ghastly light. 

Flung her down upon the shore. 

Mother ! when brief years ago 
You were happy in your child, 
Smiling on her as she smiled. 

Thought you she would perish so ? 

Man ! who made her what she is ; 
What, if when you falsely swore 
You would love her more and more, 

You had seen her lie like this. 

And, O Infinite Cause ! didst Thou, 
When Thou mad'st this hapless child, 
Dowered with passions, fierce and wild, 

See her lie as she lies now ? 

Filled with wild revolt and rage. 
All I feel I may not speak ; 
Fate so strong, and we so weak. 

Like rats in a cage, — like rats in a cage. 



■44- 



I 



THE WANDERER. 49 



THE WANDERER. 

I REARED my virgin Soul on dainty food, 
I fed her with rich fruit and garnered gold 
From those fair gardens sown by pious care 
Of precious souls of old. 

^ The long procession of the fabulous Past, 
Rolled by for me— the earliest dawn of time ; 
The seven great days ; the garden and the sword ; 
The first red stain of crime ; 

The fierce rude chiefs who smote, and burned, and slew, 
And all for God ; the pitiless tyrants grand, 
\Vho piled to heaven the eternal monuments. 
Unchanged amid the sand ; 

The fairy commonwealths, where Freedom first 
Inspired the ready hand and glowing tongue 
To a diviner art and sweeter song 
Than men have feigned or sung ; 

£ 



50 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

The strong bold sway that held mankind in thrall, 
Soldier and jurist marching side by side, 
Till came the sure slow blight, when all the world 
Grew sick, and swooned, and died ; 

Again the long dark night, when Learning dozed 
Safe in her cloister, and the world without 
Rang with fierce shouts of war and cries of pain. 
Base triumph, baser rout ; 

Till rose a second dawn of light again. 
Again the freemen stood in firm array 
Behind the foss, and Pope and Kaiser came. 
Wondered and turned away ; 

And then the broadening stream, till the sleek priest 
Aspired to tread the path the Pagan trod. 
And Rome fell once again, and the brave North 
Rose from the church to God. 

All these passed by for me^ till the vast tide 
Grew to a sea too wide for any shore ; 
Then doubt overspread me, and a cold disgust, 
And I would look no more. 

For something said, " The Past is dead and gone. 
Let the dead bury their dead, why strive with Fate ? 
Why seek to feed the children on the husks 
Their rude forefathers ate ? " 



THE WANDERER. 51 

" For even were the Past reflected back 
As in a mirror, in the historic page, 
For us its face is strange, seeing that the race 
Betters from age to age." 

" And if, hearing the tale we told ourselves. 
We marvel how the monstrous fable grew ; 
How in these far-off years shall men discern 
The fictive from the true ? " 



Then turned I to the broad domain of Art, 
To seek if haply Truth lay hidden there ; 
Well knowing that of old close links connect 
The true things and the fair. 

Fair forms I found, and rounded limbs divine, 
The maiden's grace, the tender curves of youth, 
The majesty of happy perfect years, 
But only half the truth. 

For there is more, I thought, in man, and higher. 
Than animal graces cunningly combined ; 
Since oft within the unlovely frame is set 
The shining, flawless mind. 

So I grew weary of the pallid throng. 
Deep-bosomed maids and stalwart heroes tall. 
One type I saw, one earthy animal seal 
Of comeliness in all ! 



52 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

But not the awful, mystical human soul — 
The soul that grovels and aspires in turn — 
The soul that struggles outwards into light 
Through lips and eyes that bum. 

So, from the soulless marbles, white and bare 
And cold, too-perfect art, I turned and sought 
The canvases, where Christian hands have left 
The fruits of holy thought 

Passion I found, and love, and godlike pain, 
The swift soul rapt by mingled hopes and fears, 
Eyes lit with glorious light from the Unseen, 
Or dim with sacred tears. 

But everywhere around the living tree 
I marked the tangled growths of fable twine. 
And gross material images confuse 
The earthly and divine. 

I saw the Almighty Ruler of the worlds. 
The one unfailing Source of Light and Love, 
A sullen gray-beard set on rolling clouds, 
Armed with the bolts of Jove. 

The Eternal Son, a shapeless new-born child, 
Supine upon His peasant-mother's knees, 
Or else a ghastly victim, crushed and worn 
By physical agonies. 



THE WANDERER. 53 

The virgin mother — now a simple girl ; 
Or old and blurred with tears, and wan with sighs ; 
And now a goddess, oft-times giving back 
The harlot-moders eyes. 

Till faring on what spark of heaven was there, 
Grew pale, then went out quite ; and in its stead, 
Dull copies of dull common life usurped 
The empire of the dead. 

Or if sometimes, rapt in a sweet suspense, 
I knew a passionate yearning thrill my soul. 
As down long aisles from lofty quires I heard 
The solemn music roll ; 

Or if at last the long-drawn symphony. 
After much weary wandering seemed to soar 
To a finer air, and subtle measures bom 
On some diviner shore, 

I thought how much of poor mechanical skill, 
How little fire of heart, or force of brain. 
Was theirs who first devised or now declared 
That magical sweet strain ; 

And how the art was partial, not immense. 

As Truth is, or as Beauty, but confined 

To this pur later Europe, not spread out, 

Wide as the width of mind. 
• • • # * 



54 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

So then from Art, and all its empty shows 
And outward-seeming truth, I turned and sought 
The secret springs of knowledge which lie hid 
Deep in the wells of thought. 

The hoary thinkers of the Past I knew ; 
AVhose dim vast thoughts, to too great stature grown, 
Flashed round as fitful lightning flashes round 
The black vault of the Unknown. 

Who, seeing that things are Many, and yet are One ; 
That all things suffer change, and yet remain — 
That opposite flows from opposite. Life and Death, 
Love, Hatred, Pleasure, Pain — 

Raised high upon the mystical throne of life 
Some dim abstraction, hopeful to unwind 
The tangled maze of being, by one rude guess 
Of an untutored mind. 

The sweet Ideal Essences revealed. 
To that high poet-thinker^s eyes I saw ; 
The archetypes which underset the world 
With one broad perfect Law. 

The fair fantastic Commonwealth, too fair 
For earth, wherein the wise alone bore rule — 
So wise that oftentimes the sage himself 
Shows duller than the fool ; 



THE WANDERER. 55 

And that white soul, clothed with a satyf s form, 
Which shone beneath the laurels day by day. 
And, fired with burning faith in God and Right, 
Doubted men's doubts away ; 

And him who took all knowledge for his own. 
And with the same swift logical sword laid bare 
The depths of heart and mind, the mysteries 
Of earth and sea and air ; 

And those on whom the visionary East 
Worked in such sort, that knowledge grew to seem 
An ecstasy, a sudden blaze, revealed 
To crown the mystic's dream ; 

Till, once again, the old light faded out, 
And left no trace of that fair day remain — 
Only a barren method, binding down 
Men's thoughts with such a chain 

That knowledge sank self-slain, like some stout knight 
Clogged by his harness ; nor could wit devise 
Aught but ignoble quibbles, subtly mixed 
With dull theologies. 

Not long I paused with these ; but passed to him 
Who, stripping, like a skilful wrestler, cast 
From his strong arms the precious deadly web, 
The vesture of the past. 



56 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And looked in Nature's eyes, and, foot to foot, 
Strove with her daily, till the witch at length 
Gave up, reluctant, to the eyes of the mind 
The secret of her strength. 

And then the old fight, fought on modem fields, — 
Whether we know by sense or inward sight — 
Whether a law within, or use alone, 
Mark out the bounds of right 

All these were mine ; and then the ancient doubt. 
Which scarce kept silence as this master taught 
The undying soul, or that one subtly probed 
The process of our thought, 

And shuddered at the dreadful innocent talk 
To the cicala's chirp beneath the trees — 
Love poised on silver wings, love fallen and fouled 
By black iniquities ; 

And laughed to scorn thtir quest of cosmic law. 
Saw folly in the mystic and the schools, 
And in the newer method gleams of truth 
Obscured by childish rules ; 

Rose to a giant's strength, and always cried — 
You shall not find the truth here, she is gone ; 
What glimpse men had, was ages since, and these 
Go idly babbling on — 



^ 



THE WANDERER. 57 

Jangles of opposite creeds, alike untrue, 
Quaint puzzles, meaningless logomachies, 
Efforts to pierce the infinite core of things 
With purblind finite eyes. 

Go, get you gone to Nature, she is kind 

To reasonable worship ; she alone 

Thinks scorn, when humble seekers ask for bread, 

To offer them a stone. 

* * • # * 

And Nature drew me to her, and awhile 
Enchained me. Day by day, things strange and new 
Rose on me ; day by day, I seemed to tread 

Fresh footsteps of the true. 

I laid life's house bare to its inmost room 
With lens and scalpel, marked the simple cell 
Which might one day be man or creeping worm. 
For aught that sense could tell, — 

Thrust life to its utmost home, a speck of gray 
No more nor higher, traced the wondrous plan. 
The infinite wise appliances which shape 
The dwelling-place of man, — 

Nor halted here, but thirsted still to know. 
And, with half-blinded eyesight, loved to pore 
On that scarce visible world, bom of decay 
Or stranded on the shore. 



58 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Marked how the Mother works with earth and gas, 
And with what subtle alchemy knows to blend 
The vast conflicting forces of the world 
To one harmonious end ; 

And, nightly gazing on the splendid stars, 
Essayed in vain with reverent eye to trace 
The chain of miracles by which men learnt 
The mysteries of space ; 

And toiled awhile with spade and hammer, to learn 
The long long sequences of life, and those 
Unnumbered cycles of forgotten years 
Ere life's faint light arose ; 

And loved to trace the strange sweet life of flowers, 
And all the scarce suspected links which span 
The gulf betwixt the fungus and the tree. 
And 'twixt the tree and man. 

Then suddenly, "What is it that I know ? 
I know the shows and changes, not the cause ; 
I know but long successions, which usurp 
The name and rank of laws. 

" And what if the design I think I see 
Be but a pitiless order, through the long 
Slow wear of chance and suffering working out 
Salvation for the strong? 



THE WANDERER. 59 

" How else, if scheme there be, can I explain 
The cripple or the blind, the ravening jaw. 
The infinite waste of life, the plague, the sword, 
The evil, thriftless law, 

" Or seeming errors of design, or strange 
Complexities of structure, which suggest 
A wiU which sported with its power, or worked 
Not careful for the best ? " 

I could not know the scheme, nor therefore spend 
My soul in painful efforts to conform 
With those who lavished life and brain to trace 
The story of a worm ; 

Nor yet with those who, prizing overmuch 
The unmeaning jargon of their science, sought 
To hide, by arrogance, from God and man 
Their poverty of thought. 

And, blind with fact and stupefied by law, 
Lost sight of the Creator, and became 
Dull bigots, narrowed to a hopeless creed. 

And priests in all but name. 
« » « « * 

Thus, tired with seeking truth, and not content 
To dwell with those weak souls who love to feign 
Unending problems of the life and love 
Which they can ne'er explain ; 



6o SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Nor those who, parrot-like, are proud to clothe 
In twenty tongues the nothing that they know ; 
Nor those whom barren lines and numbers blind 
To all things else below ; 

And half-suspecting, when the poet sang 
And drew my soul to his, and round me cast 
Fine cords of fancy, but a sleight of words, 
Part stolen from the past — 

I thought. My life lies not with books, but men ! 
Surely the nobler part is his who guides 
The State's great ship through hidden rocks and sands 
Rude winds and popular tides, — 

A freeman amongst freemen, — and contrives. 
By years of thought and labour, to withdraw 
Some portion of their load from lives bent down 
By old abusive law ! 

A noble task ; but how to walk with those 
Who ever by fate's subtle irony hold 
The freeman's ear — the cunning fluent knave. 
The dullard big with gold ? 

And how, where worthier souls bore rule, to set 
The Faction higher than Truth, or stoop to cheat, 
With cozening words and shallow flatteries 
The Solons of the street? 



THE WANDERER. 6l 

Or, failing this, to wear a hireling sword — 
Ready, whatever the cause, to kill and slay. 
And float meanwhile, a gilded butterfly, 
My brief inglorious day — 

Or, in the name of Justice, to confuse. 
For hire, with shameless tongue aud subtle brain, 
Dark riddles, which, to honest minds unwarped, 
Are easy to explain — 

Or, with keen salutary knife, to carve 
For hire the shiinking limb ; or else to feign 
Wise words and healing powers, though knowing naught 
In face of death and pain — 

Or grub all day for pelf 'mid hides and oils. 
Like a mole in some dark alley, to rise at last, 
After dull years, to wealth and ease, when all 
The use for them is past — 

Or else to range myself with those who seek 
By reckless throws with chance, by trick and cheat, 
Swift riches lacking all the zest of toil. 
And only bitter-sweet 

Or worst, and still for hire, to feign to he^u- 
A Yoice which called not, calling me to tell 
Now of an indolent heaven, and now, obscene 
Threats of a bodily heU 



62 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Then left I all, and ate the husks of sense ; 
Oh, passionate coral lips ! oh, shameful fair ! 
Bright eyes, and careless smiles, and rounded snows ! 
Oh, golden rippling hair ! 

Oh, rose-strewed feasts, made glad with wine and song 
And laughter-lit ! oh, whirling dances sweet. 
When the mad music faints awhile and leaves 
Low beats of rhythmic feet ! 

Oh, glorious terrible moments, when the sheen 
Of silk, and straining limbs flash thundering by, 
And name and fame and honour itself, await 
Worse hazard than the die ! 

All these were mine. Then, thought I, I have found 
The truth at last ; here comes not doubt to pain ; 
Here things are what they seem, not figments, bom 
Of a too busy brain. . 

But soon, the broken law avenged itself; 
For, oh, the pity of it ! to feel the fire 
Grow colder daily, and the soaring soul 
Sunk deep in grosser mire. 

And oh, the pity of it ! to drag down lives 
Which had been happy else, to ruin and waste 
The precious affluence of love, which else . 
Some humble home had graced 



THE WANDERER. 63 

And oh ! the weariness of feasts and wine ; 
The jests where mirth was not, the nerves unstrung, 
The throbbing brain, the tasteless joys, which keep 
Their savour for the young. 

These came upon me, and a vague unrest. 

And then a gnawing pain ; and then I fled. 

As one some great destruction passes, flees 

The dty of the dead. 
• « » « « 

Then, pierced by some vague sense of guilt and pain ; 

" God help me !" I said. " There is no help in life, 

Only continual passions waging war. 

Cold doubt and endless strife ! " 

But He is hiU of peace, and truth, and rest, 
I g^e myself to Him ; I strive to find 
AVhat words divine have fidlen fi-om age to age 
Fresh from the Eternal mind. 

And so, upon the reverend page I dwelt, 
Which shows Him formless, self-contained, all-wise, 
Passionless, pure, the soul of visible things. 
Unseen by mortal eyes ; 

Who oft across dim gu]& of time revealed. 
Grew manifest then passed and left a foul 
Thick mist of sense and emv to obscure 
The upward gazing soul ; 



64 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And those which told of opposite principles, 
Of Light with Darkness waning evermore ; 
Ah me ! 'twas nothing new, I had felt the fight 
Within my soul before. 

And those wise answers of the far-off sage. 
So wise, they shut out God, and can enchain 
To-day in narrow bonds of foolishness 
The subtle Eastern brain. 

And last, the hallowed pages dear to all, 
Which bring God down to earth, a King to fight 
With His people's hosts ; or speaking awful words 
From out the blaze of light,— 

Which tell how earthly chiefs who loved the right. 
Were dear to Him ; and how the poet king 
Sang, from his full repentant heart, the strains 
Sad hearts still love to sing. 

And how the seer was filled with words of fire. 
And passionate scorn and lofty hate of ill 
So pure, that we who hear them seem to hear 
God speaking to us still. 

But mixed with these dark tales of fraud and blood. 
Like weeds in some fair garden ; till I said, 
" These are not His ; how shall a man discern 
The living from the dead ? 



THE WANDERER. 65 

" I will go to that fair Life, the flower of lives ; 
I will prove the infinite pity and love which shine 
From each recorded word of Him who once 
Was human, yet Divine. 

" Oh, pure sweet life, crowned by a godlike death ; 
Oh tender healing hand ; oh words that give 
Rest to the weary, solace to the sad. 
And bid the hopeless live ! 

" Oh pity, spuming not the penitent thief; 
Oh wisdom, stooping to the little child ; 
Oh infinite purity, taking thought for lives 
By sinful stains defiled ! 

" With thee, will I dwell, with thee." But as I mused, 
Those pale ascetic words renewed my doubt : 
The cheek, which to the smiter should be turned, 
The offending eye plucked out 

The sweet impossible counsels which may seem 
Too careless of the state ; nor recognise 
A duty to the world, not all reserved 
For that beyond the skies. 

" And was it truth, or some too reverent dream 
Which scorned God's precious processes of birth. 
And spumed aside for Him, the changeless laws 
Which rule all things of earth ? 



66 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" Or how shall some strange breach of natural law 
Be proof of moral truth ; yet how deny 
That He who holds the cords of life and death 
Can raise up those who die ? 

" Yet how. to doubt that God may be revealed ; 
Is He more strange, incarnate, shedding tears, 
Than when the unaided scheme fulfils itself 
Through countless painful years ? 

" But if revealed He be, how to escape 
The critic who dissects the sacred page, 
Till God's gift hangs on grammar, and the saint 
Is weaker than the sage ! " 

These warring thoughts held me, and more; but when 
The simple life divine shone forth no more, 
And the fair truth came veiled in stately robes 
Of philosophic lore ; 

And 'twas the apostle spoke, and not the Christ ; 
The scholar, not the Master ; and the Church 
Defined itself, and sank to earthly thrones : 
" Surely," I said, " my search 

" Is vain ; " and when with magical rite and spell 
They killed the Lord, and sought with narrow creed, 
Half-fancy, half of barbarous logic bom. 
To heal the hearts that bleed ; 



THE WANDERER. 67 

And heretic strove with heretic, and the Church 
Slew for the truth itself had made : again, 
" Can these things be of Him ? " I thought, and felt 
The old undying pain. 

And yet the fierce false prophet turned to God 
The gross idolatrous East ; and far away. 
Beyond the horrible wastes, the lewd knave makes 
A paradise to-day. 

« « « « « 

Yet still deep down, within my being I kept 
Two sacred fires alight through all the strife, — 
Faith in a living God ; faith in a soul 
Dowered with an endless life. 

And therefore though the world's foundations shook, 
I was not all unhappy ; knowing well 
That He whose hand sustained me would not bear 
To leave my soul in helL 

But now I looked on nature with strange eyes. 
For something whispered, " Surely all things pass ; 
All life decays on earth or air or sea, — 
All wither like the grass." 

" These are, then have been, we ourselves decline, 
And cease and turn to earth, and are as they : 
Shall our dear animals rise ; shall the dead flowers 
Bloom in another May ? 



68 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" The seed springs like the herb, but not the same ; 
And like us, not the same, our children rise ; 
The type survives, though suffering gradual change, 
The individual dies. 

" How shall one seek to sever, e'en in thought. 
Body and soul ; how show to doubting eyes 
That this returns to dust, while the other soars 
Deathless beyond the skies ? 

"And if it be a lovely dream — no more. 
And life is» ended with our latest breath, 
May not the same sweet fancy have devised 
The Lord of life and death ? 

"We know Him not; we may not even conceive 
Beginning or yet ending. Is it more 
To image an Eternal World, than one 
Where nothing was before? 

" Whence came the Maker? Was He uncreate ? 
Then why must all things else created be ? 
Was He created ? Then, the Lord I serve, 
Lies farther off than He, 

" Or if He be indeed, yet the soul dies. 
Why, what is He to us ? not here, not here ! 
His judgments fall, wrong triumphs here — aright sinks ; 
What hope have we, or fear?" 



THE WANDERER. 69 

I could not answer, yet when others came, 
Affiiming He was not, and bade me live 
In the present only, seizing miconcemed 
What pleasures life could give. 

My doubt grown fiercer, scoffed at them, " Oh foob. 
And blind, your joys I know ; the universe 
Confutes you ; can you see right yield to might. 
The better to the worse, — 

^ Nor bum to adjust them ? If it were a dream. 
Would all men dream it ? Can your thoughts conceive 
The end you tell of better than the life. 
Which all men else beHeve ? 

*' Or if we shrink as from a hateful voice. 
From mute analogies of fi:ame and shape. 
Surely no other than a breath Divine 
Gave reason to the ape." 

" What made all men to call on God ? what taught 
The soaring soul its lofty heavenward flight ? 
What made us to discern the strait bounds set. 
To sever wrong from right ? 

'' Be sure, no easier is it to declare 
He is not than He is : " and I who sought 
Firm ground, saw here the same too credulous faith 
And impotence of thought 



70 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And when they brought me their fantastic creed, 
With a figment for a god — ^mock ceremonies — 
Man worshipping himself — mock priests to kill 
The soul's high liberties, — 

I spumed the folly with a curse, and turned 
To dwell with my own soul apart, and there 
Found no companion but the old doubt grown. 

To a horrible despair. 
« « « « « 

Then, as a man who, on a sunny day. 
Feeling some trifling ache, unknown before. 
Goes careless from his happy home, and seeks 

A wise physician's door. 

And when he comes forth, neither heeds nor sees 
The joyous tide of life or smiling sky. 
But always, always hears a ceaseless voice 
Repeatmg " Thou shalt die." 

So all the world flowed by, and all my days 
Passed like an empty vision, and I said, 
" There is no help in life ; seeming to live. 
We are but as the dead." 

And thus, I tossed about long time ; at last 
Nature rebelled beneath the constant pain, 
And the dull sleepless care forgot itself, 
In frenzy of the brain. 



THE WANDERER. 7 1 

And sometimes all was blackness, unrelieved, 
And sometimes I would wander day and night, 
Through fiery long arcades, which seared my brain 
With flakes of blinding light 

And then I lay unmoved in a gray calm ; 
Not life nor death, and the past came to seem 
Thought, act, faith, doubt, things of but little worth, 

A dream within a dream. 

« • « « • 

But, when I saw my country like a cloud, 
Sink in the East, and the free ocean wind 
Fanned life's returning flame and roused again 

Slow pulse and languid mind ; 

» 

Soon the great rush and mystery of the sea, 
The grisly depths, the great waves coursing on, 
Dark with white spuming crests which threaten death, 
Swoop by, and so are gone. 

And the strong sense of weakness, as we sped — 
Tossed high, plunged low, through many a furious night. 
And slept in faith, that some poor seaman woke 
To guide our course aright 

All lightened something of my load, and seemed 
To solace me a little, for they taught, 
That the impalpable unknown might stretch, 
Even to the realms of thought 



72 SONGS OF IIVO WORLDS. 

And SO I wandered into many lands, 
And over many seas ; I felt the chill 
Which in mid-ocean strikes on those who near 
The spire-crowned icy hill, 

And threaded fairy straits beneath the palms, 
Where, year by year, the tepid waters sleep.; 
And where, round coral isles, the sudden sea 
Sinks its unfathomed deep. 

Upon the savage feverish swamp, I trod 
The desert sands, the fat low plains of the East ; 
On glorious storied shores and those where man 
Was ever as the beast. 

And, day by day, I felt my frozen soul, 
Soothed by the healing influence of change, 
Grow softer, registering day by day, 

Things new, unknown, and strange. 

Not therefore, holding what it spumed before. 
Nor solving riddles, which before perplexed ; 
But with new springs of sympathy, no more 

By impotent musings vexed. 
« « « « ♦ 

And last of all I knew the lovely land 
Which was most mighty, and is still most fair ; 
Where world-wide rule and heavenward faith have left 

Their traces every where. 



THE WANDERER. 73 

And as from province to province I wandered on, 
City or country, all was fair and sweet ; 
The air, the fields, the vines, the dark-eyed girls, 
The dim arcaded street ; 

The minsters lit for vespers, in the cool ; 
Gay bridals, solemn burials, soaring chant. 
Spent in high naves, gray cross, and wayside shrine. 
And kneeling suppliant ; 

And painting, strong to aid the eye of faith, 
And sculpture, figuring awful destinies ; 
Tall campaniles, crowning lake-lit hills. 
And sea-worn palaces. 

Then, as the sweet days passed me one by one. 
New tides of life through body and soul were sent ; 
And daily sights of beauty worked a calm 
Inefiable content 

And soon, as in the spring, ere frosts are done, 
Deep down in earth the black roots quicken and start, 
I seemed to feel a spring of faith and love 
Stir through my frozen heart. 
* * « » « 

Till one still summer eve, when as I mused 
By a fair lake, from many a silvery bell. 
Thrilled from thin towers, I heard the Angelus, 
Deep peace upon me fell. 



74 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And following distant organ-swells, I passed 
Within the circuit of a lofty wall, 
And thence within dim aisles, wherein I heard 
The low chant rise and fall. 

And dark forms knelt upon the ground, and all 
Was gloom, save where some dying day-beam shone. 
High in the roof, or where the votive lamp 
Burned ever dimly on. 

Then whether some chance sound or solemn word 
Across my soul a precious influence cast. 
Or whether the fair presence of a faith 
Bom of so great a past, 

Smote on me — lo ! the wintry days were gone. 
And once again the spring-time, and once more 
Faith from its roots bloomed heavenward — and I sank 
Weeping upon the floor. 
« « « « « 

Long time within that peaceful home I dwelt 
With those grave brethren, spending silent days 
And watchful nights, in solemn reverent thought. 
Made glad by frequent praise. 

And the awakened longing for the Truth, 
With the great dread of what had been before. 
The ordered life, the nearer view of heaven. 
Worked on me more and more. 



THE WANDERER. 75 

So that, I lived their life of prayer and praise, 
Alike in summer heats and wintry snows. 
Pacing chill cloisters 'neath the waning stars. 
Long ere the slow sun rose. 

And speaking little, and bringing down my soul, 
With frequent fast and vigil, saw at length 
Truth's face show daily clearer and more clear 
To failing bodily strength. 

For living in a mystical air, and grown 
Athirst for faith and truth ; at last I brought 
The old too-active logic to enforce 
The current of my thought 

And wishing to believe, I took for true 
The shameless subtleties which dare to tell 
How the Eternal charged one hand to hold 
The keys of heaven and helL 

" For if a faith be given, then must there be 
A Church to guard it, and a tongue to speak. 
And an unerring mind to rule alike 
The strong souls and the weak." 

" And, because God's high purpose stands not still. 
But He is ever with His own, the tide 
Of miracle and dogma ceases not. 
But flows down strong and wide, 



76 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" To the world's ending." So my mind fell prone, 
Before the Church ; and teachings new and strange ; 
The wafer, which they turned into their God, 
By some incredible change — 

The substance which is changed, and yet retains 
The self-same .accidents ; the Virgin Queen, 
Immaculate in birth, and without death, 
Soaring to worlds unseen — 

The legends, always foolish, sometimes fair. 
Of saints who set all natural laws at naught ; 
The miracles, the portents, not the charm. 
Of the old Pagan thought — 

These shook me not at all, who only longed 
To drain the healing draught of faith again. 
And dreaded, with a coward's dread, the thought 
Of the old former pain. 

The more incredible the tale, the more 
The merit of belief; the more I sought 
To reason out the truth, I knew the more 
The impotence of thought 

And thus the swift months passed in prayer and praise. 
Bringing the day when those tall gates should close. 
And shut me out from thought and life and all 
Our heritage of woes. 



THE WANDERER. 77 

Then, one day, when the end drew very near, 
Which should blot out the past for ever, and I 
Waited impatient, longing for the hour 
When my old self should die ; 

I knelt at noon, within the darkened aisles. 
Before a doll tawdry with rich brocade. 
And all ablaze with gems, the precious gifts 
Which pious hands had made : 

Nor aught of strange I saw, so changed was I, 
In that dull fetish ; nay, heaven's gate unsealed. 
And the veiled angels bent before the throne, 
Where sat their Lord revealed. 

While like a flood the ecstasy of faith 
Surged high and higher, only to fall at last 
Lower and lower, when the rapture failed 
And faded, and was past 

Lo, a sweet sunbeam, straying through the gloom 
Smote me, as when the first low shaft of day 
Aslant the night-clouds shoots, and momently 
Chases the mists away. 



And that ideal heaven was closed, and all 
That reverend house turned to a darkened room, 
A den of magic, masking with close fumes 
The odours of the tomb. 



78 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Then passed I forth. Again my soul was free ; 
Again the summer sun and exquisite air 
Made all things smile ; and life and joy and love 
Were round me everywhere. 

And over all the earth there went a stir, 
A movement, a renewal. Round the spring 
In the broad village street, the dark-eyed girls 
Were fain to dance and sing 

For the glad time. The children played their play. 
Like us who play at life ; light bursts of song 
Came from the fields, and to the village church 
A bridal passed along. 

Far on the endless plain, the swift steam drew 
A soft white riband. Down the lazy flow 
Of the broad stream, I marked, round sylvan bends, 
The seaward barges go. 

The brown vine-dresser, bent among his vines. 
Ceased sometimes from his toil to hold on high 
His laughing child, while his deep-bosomed wife 
Cheerful sat watching by. 

And all the world was glad, and full of life, 
And I grew glad with it, and quickly came 
To see my past life as it was, and feel 
A salutary shame. 



THE WANDERER. 79 

For what was it I had wished ? To set aside 
The perfect scheme of things, to live apart . 
A sterile life, divorced from light and love, 
Sole, with an empty heart 

And wherefore to fatigue the Eternal ear 
With those incessant hymns of barren praise ? 
Does not a sweeter sound go up to Him 
From well-spent toilsome days, — 

And natural life, refined by honest love. 
And sweet unselfish liturgies of home. 
The scheme of being, worked out by duteous souls, 
Careless of what may come ? 

What need has He for praise ? The flowers, the woods, 
The winds, the seas, the plains, the mountains, praise 
Their Maker, with a grander litany 
Than our poor voices raise. 

What need has He of them ? And looking back 
To those gray walls which late had shown so fair, 
I felt as one who from a dungeon 'scapes 
To free unfettered air. 

And half distrustful of myself, and full 
Of terror of what might be, once more fled. 
With scarce a glance behind, as one who flees 
The city of the dead. 



So SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

All through that day and night I journeyed on 
To the northward. With the dawn a tender rose 
Blushed in mid-heaven, and looking up, I saw 
Far off, the eternal snows. 

Then all day higher, higher, from the plain. 
Beyond the tinkling folds, beyond the fair 
Dense, self-sown chestnuts, then the scented pines. 
And then an eager air, 

And then the rough paths and the nearer snows ; 
And ever as I climbed, I seemed to cast 
My former self behind, and all the rags 
Of that imlovely past : 

The doubts, the superstitions, the regrets. 
The awakening ; as the soul which hears the loud 
Archangel summon, rising, casts behind 
Corruption and the shroud. 

For I was come into a higher land, 

And breathed a purer air than in the past ; 

And he who brought me to the dust of death 

Had holpen me at last 

» . • • « ' . « 

What then ? A dream of sojourn 'mid the hills, 
A stir of homeward travel, swift and brief, 
Because the very hurry of the change 

Brought somewhat of relief. ' 



THE WANDERER. 8l 

A dream of a fair dty^ the chosen seat 
Of all the pleasures, impotent to stay 
The thirsty soul, whose water-springs were laid 
In dear lands far away. 

A dream of the old crowds, the smoke, the din 
Of our dear mother, dearer far than fair ; 
The home of lofty souls and busy brains. 
Keener for that thick air. 

Then a long interval of patient toil. 
Building the gradual framework of my art. 
With eyes which cared no more to seek the whole, 
Fast fixed upon the part 

And mind, which shunned the general, absorbed 
In the particular only, till it saw 
What boimdless possibilities lie between 
The matter and the law ! 

How that which may be rules, not that which must ; 
And absolute truth revealed, would serve to blind 
The soul's bright eye, and sear with tongues of flame 
The sinews of the mind. 

How in the web of life, the thread of truth 
Is woven with error ; yet a vesture fair 
Comes from the loom — a precious royal robe 
Fit for a god to wear. 

G 



82 SONGS OF TWO WORLPS. 

Till at the last, upon the crest of toil 
Sat Knowledge, and I gained a newer truth : 
Not the pale queen of old, but a soft maid. 
Filled with a tender ruth. 

And, ray by ray, the clear-faced unity 
Orbed itself forth, and lo ! the noble throng 
Of patient souls, who sought th^ truth in act. 
And grew, through silence, strong. 

Till prizing union more than dissidence. 
And holding high the race, I came to prove 
A spring of sympathy within, which swelled 
To a deep stream of love. 

And Knowledge gave me gold, and power, and fame. 
And honour ; and Love, a clearer, surer view : 
Thus in calm depths I moored my weary soul 
Fast anchored to the True. 



And now the past lies far away, and I 
Can scarce recall those vanished days again ; 
No more the old faith stirs me, and no more 
Comes the old barren pain. 



THE WANDERER. 83 

For now each day brings its appointed toil, 
And every hour its grateful sum of care ; 
And life grows sweeter, and the gracious world 
Shows day by day more fair. 

For now I live a two-fold life ; my own 
And yet another's ; and another heart 
Which beats to mine, makes glad the lonely world 
Where once I lived apart 

And little lives are mine to keep unstained, 
Strange mystic growths, which day by day expand. 
Like the flowers they are, and set me in a fair 
Perpetual wonderland. 

New senses, gradual language, dawning mind. 
And with each day that passes, traced more strong 
On those white tablets, awful characters 
That tell of right and wrong. 

And what hand wrote them ? One brief life dechned 
Went from us, and is not. Ah ! what and where 
Is that fair soul ? Surely it somewhere blooms 
In purer, brighter air. 

What took it hence, and whither ? Can I bear 
To think, that I shall turn to a herb, a tree, 
A little earth or lime, nor care for these, 
Whatever things may be ? 



84 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or shall the love and pity I feel for these 
End here, nor find a higher type or task? 
I am as God to them, bestowing more 
Than they deserve or ask. 

And shall I find no Father? Shall my being 
Aspire in vain for ever, and always tend 
To an impossible goal, which none shall reach, — 
An aim without an end ? 

Or, shall I heed them when they bid me take 
No care for aught but what my brain may prove ? 
I, through whose inmost depths firom birth to death, 
Strange heavenward currents move ; 

Vague whispers, inspirations, memories. 
Sanctities, yearnings, secret questionings, 
And oft amid the fullest blaze of noon. 
The rush of hidden wings ? 

Nay ; my soul spurns it ! Less it is to know 
Than to have faith : not theirs who cast away 
The mind God gave them, eager to adore 
Idols of baser clay. 

But theirs, who marking out the bounds of mind, 
And where thought rules, content to understand, 
Know that beyond its kingdom lies a dread 
Immeasurable land. 



THE WANDERER. 85 

A land which is, though fainter than a cloud, 
Full of sweet hopes and awful destinies : 
A dim land, rising when the eye is clear 
Across the trackless seas. 



O life ! O death ! O faithful wandering soul ! 
O riddle of being, too hard to understand ! 
These are Thy dreadful secrets, Lord ; and we 
The creatures of Thy hand. 

O wells of consciousness, too deep for thought. 
These are Thy dwelling, awful Lord Divine ; 
Thine are we still, the creatures of Thy hand. 
Living and dying, Thine. 



-♦♦- 



86 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



THE WEARY RIVER. 

There is a ceaseless river, 
Which flows down evermore 

Into a wailing ocean, 
A sea without a shore. 

Broken by laughing ripple. 
Foaming with angry swell, 

Sweet music as of heaven. 
Deep thunder as of hell. 

Gay fleets float down upon it, 
And sad wrecks, full of pain : 

But all alike it hurries 
To that unchanging main. 

Sometimes 'tis foul and troubled, 
And sometimes clear and pure ; 

But still the river flows, and still 
The dull sea doth endure. 

And thus 'twill flow for ever. 
Till time shall cease to be : 

O weary, weary river, 
O bitter, barren sea. 



TRUTH IN FALSEHOOD. 87 



TRUTH IN FALSEHOOD. 

Your little hand in mine I rest : 
The slender fingers, white and long, 
Lie in my broad palm, rude and strong, 

Like birdlings in their nest 

Yours, like yourself, so soft and white. 

So delicately free from soil ; 

Mine simbrowned, hard with moil and toil. 
And seamed with scars of fight. 

Dear love ! sometimes your innocence 
Strikes me with sudden chills of fear ; 
What if you saw before you, dear, 

The secret gulfs of sense ? — 

The coarseness, the deceit, the sin, 
We know, who 'mid the sordid crowd 
Must press, nor midst the tumult loud 

Can hear the voice within ? 

What if you saw me with the eyes 
Of others, — ^nay, my own, — or heard 
The unworthy tale, the biting word, 

The sneer that worldlings prize ? 



88 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or knew me as I am indeed, 
No hero free from blot or stain, 
But a poor soul who drags his chain 

With halting feet that bleed, — 

Who oft-time slips and falls, content, 
Though bruised and weary, faint and worn. 
He toils all night, if with the mom 

When life and strength are spent. 

He sees some far-off struggling ray, 
Dispel the palpable obscure, 
And on the eastern hills, the pure 

White footprints of the day ? 

But you, oh love, can never know 

These darkling paths ; for you the light 
Shines always changeless, always bright. 

The self-same tempered glow. 

And love with innocence combined 
The nunnery of your heart shall guard, 
And faith with eye unfailing ward 

The jewel of your mind. 

So be it : I would sooner be 
Steeped to the lips in lie and cheat, 
A very monster of deceit. 

Than bare myself to thee. 



TRUTH IN FALSEHOOD. 89 

Nay, rather would I dare to hear 

At that great day from lips of flame, 

Blown to all souls my tale of shame, 
Than whispered in thine ear. 

Strange riddle, to those who never knew 
Of good with evil intertwined 
The two-fold self, the links that bind 

The false things to the true ; 

But to the seeing eye more clear 

Than blaze of noonday. So be sure 
If my stained life might keep thine pure, 

I'd glory in it, dear. 



-•♦• 



90 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



TWO VOYAGES. 

Two ships which meet upon the ocean waste, 
And stay a little while, and interchange 
Tidings from two strange lands, which lie beneath 
Each its own heaven and particular stars, 

And fain would tarry ; but the impatient surge 
Calls, and a cold wind from the setting sun 
Divides them, and they sadly drift apart, 
And fade, and sink, and vanish, 'neath the verge — 

One to the breathless plains and treacherous seas 
Smitten by the tyrannous Sun, where mind alone 
Withers amid the bounteous outer-world, 
And prodigal Nature dwarfs and chains the man — 

One to cold rains, rude winds, and hungry waves 
Spilt on the frowning granite, niggard sims. 
And snows and mists which starve the vine and palm, 
But nourish to more glorious growth the man. 



TWO VOYAGES. 9 1 

One to the scentless flowers and songless birds, 
Swift storms and poison stings and ravening jaws : 
One to spring violets and nightingales, 
Sleek-coated kine and honest gray-eyed skies. 

One to lie helpless on the stagnant sea, 

Or sink in sleep beneath the hurricane : 

One to speed on, white-winged, through summer airs, 

Or sow the rocks with ruin — ^who shall tell ? 

So with two souls which meet on life's broad deep, 
And cling together but may not stay ; for Time 
And Age and chills of Absence wear the links 
Which bind them, and they part for evermore- 
One to the tropic lands of fame and gold, 
And feverish thirst and weariness of soul; 
One to long struggles an J a wintry life. 
Decked with one sweet white bloom of happy love. 

For each, one fate, to live and die apart. 
Save for some passing smile of kindred souls ; 
Then drift away alone, on opposite tides. 
To one dark harbour and invisible goal. 



■44- 



94 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

How shall the sins of the few be reckoned against the 

many? 
Are there no tender hearts and kind 'midst the selfish 

and proud; 
Merciful souls and pure, full of love for their suffering 

brothers ; 
Pitiful, touched with compassion and care for the 

desolate crowd? 

Cry, said the voice, cry aloud. 



Nay, but the world is ruled by merciless rules unbending ; 
The feeble folk fade from the earth, and only the mighty 

remain ; 
Not men alone, but all things send upwards a clamour 

unending ; ^ 

Always the whole creation travails in sorrow and pain. 
Cry, said the voice, cry again. 



Are not our sins and our fathers' worked out in our 

children's sorrow? 
Does not excess of laughter sink at its close in a sigh ? 
Mirth and enjoyment to-day turn to pain and repentance 

to-morrow ; 
Thousands are bom every hour, in the place of the 

thousands who die. 

Cry, said the stubborn voice, cry. 



OTHER DAYS. 95 

Lo ! He hath made all things ; good and evil, sorrow and 
pleasure ; 

Not as your ways are His ways, yet are ye not all in His 
hand? 

Just is He, though ye know not the measure wherewith 
He will measure ; 

Dark things shall one day be clear ; to obey is to under- 
stand ! 

Thus that voice, solemn and grand. 



-♦♦- 



OTHER DAYS. 

O Thrush, your song is passing sweet. 
But never a song that you have sung 

Is half so sweet as thrushes sang 
When my dear love and I were young. 

O Roses, you are sweet and red, 
Yet not so red nor sweet as were 

The roses that my mistress loved 
To bind within her flowing hair. 

Time filches fragrance from the flower ; 

Time steals the sweetness from the song ; 
Love only scorns the tyranf s touch. 

And with the growing years grows strong. 



1 



g6 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



THE TRUE MAN. 

Take thou no thought for aught save right and truth, 
Life holds for finer souls no equal prize ; 
Honours and wealth are baubles to the wise, 
And pleasure flies on swifter wing than youth. 
If in thy heart thou bearest seeds of hell, 
Though all men smile, yet what shall be thy gain? 
Though all men frown, if truth and right remain, 
Take thou no thought for aught ; for it is well. 

Take thou no thought for aught ; nor deem it shame 
To lag behind while knaves and dullards rise ; 
Thy soul asks higher guerdon, purer fame, 
Than to loom large and grand in vulgar eyes. 
Though thou shouldst live thy life in vile estate, 
Silent, yet knowing that deep within thy breast 
Unkindled sparks of genius lie repressed, — 
Greater is he who is, than seemeth, great. 



THE TRUE MAN. 97 

If thou shouldst spend long years of hope deferred, 
Chilled through with doubt, and sickening to despair ; 
If as cares thicken friends grow cold and rare, 
Nor favouring voice in all the throng be heard ; 
If all men praise him whom thou know'st to be 
Of lower aims and duller brain than thine, — 
Take thou no thought, though all men else combine 
In thy despite : their praise is naught to thee. 



Bethink thee of the irony of fate. 
How great men die inglorious and alone ; 
How Dives sits within upon his throne. 
While good men crouch with Lazarus at the gate. 
Our tree of life set on Time's hither shore 
Blooms like the secular aloe once an age : 
The great names scattered on the historic page 
Are few indeed, but the unknown are more. 



Waste is the rule of life : the gay flowers spring. 
The fat fruits drop, upon the untrodden plain ; 
Sea-sands at ebb are silvered o'er with pain ; 
The fierce rain beats and mars the feeble wing ; 
Fair forms grow fairer still for deep disease ; 
Hearts made to bless are spent apart, alone. 
What claim hast thou to joy, while others moan ? 
God made us all, and art thou more than these? 

H 



98 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Take thou no care for aught save truth and right ; 
Content, if such thy fate, to die obscure ; 
Wealth palls and honours, Fame may not endure, 
And loftier souls soon weary of delight 
Keep innocence ; be all a true man ought ; 
Let neither pleasure tempt, nor pains appal : 
Wlio hath this, he hath all things, having naught ; 
Who hath it not, hath nothing, having all. 



-•♦- 



PASSING. 

To spring, to bloom, to fade, — 
This is the sum of the laborious years ; * 
Life preludes death as laughter ends in tears : 

All things that God has made 
Suffer perpetual change, and may not long endure. 

We alter day by day ; 
Each little moment, as life's current rolls, 
Stamps some faint impress on our yielding souls ; 

We may not rest nor stay. 
Drifting on tides unseen to one dread goal and sure. 

Our being is compassed round 
With miracles ; on this our life-long sleep, 
Strange whispers rise from the surrounding deep. 

Like that weird ocean sound y 
Borne in still summer nights on weary watching ears. 



»i 



FETTERS. 99 

The selves we leave behind 
Affright us like the ghosts of friends long dead ; 
The old love vanished in the present dread, 

They visit us to find 
New sorrows, alien hopes, strange pleasures, other fears. 



-♦♦- 



FETTERS. 

Oh who shall say that we are free ! 

Surely life's chains are strong to bind 
From youth to age, from birth to death, 
Body and mind. 

We run the riotous race of youth, 

Then turn from evil things to good : 
Tis but a slower pulse, a chill 
Of youth's hot blood. 

We mount the difficult steeps of thought, 

Or pace the dusty paths of gain : 
'Tis but that sense receding leaves 
A keener brain. 

Time takes this too, and then we turn 
Our dim eyes to the hidden shore ; 
Life palls, and yet we long to live, — 
Ay, nothing more. 



lOO SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



RICH AND WISE. 

Wild flowers in spring Mrere sweet to childish hands 
As riches to the wretch possessing naught ; 

And as the water-springs in desert lands 
Are the pale victories of patient thought : 

But sweeter, dearest, sweeter far, 

The hours when we together are. 

No more I know the childish joys of old, 

Nor yet have learnt the grave delights of age : 

A miser, gloat I on thy locks* rich gold ; 
A student, ponder on thy souFs fair page. 

Thus do I grow both rich and wise. 

On these fair locks and those deep eyes. 

Therefore in wit and wealth do I increase, 
Poring on thee, as on a fair writ book ; 

No panic-fear can make that rich stream cease, 
Nor doubts confuse the crystal of thy look. 

Some to the mart some to the oratory 

May turn them : thou art both to me. 



•■ ^ ■ •• . « * 
* ^ ^ • 



I \ 



LOVE IN DEATH. lOI 



LOVE IN DEATH. 

Dear heart ! what a little time it is since Francis and I 

used to walk 
From church in the still June evenings together, busy 

with laving talk ; 
And now he is gone, far away over seas, to some strange 

foreign country, — and I 
Shall never rise from my bed any more, till the day when 

I come to die. 

I tried not to think of him during the prayers ; but when 

his dear voice I heard, 
I failed to take part in the hymn ; for my heart fluttered 

up to my throat like a bird. 
And scarcely a word of the sermon I caught I doubt 

'twas a grievous sin ; 
But 'twas only one poor little hour in the week that I 

had to be happy in. 



lO^ .SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

When the blessing was given, and we left the dim aisles 

for the light of the evening star ; 
Though I durst not lift up my eyes from the ground, yet 

I knew that he was not far. 
And I hurried on, though I fain would have stayed, till I 

heard his footstep draw near ; 
And love rising up in my breast like a flame, cast out 

every shadow of fear. 



Ah me ! 'twas a pleasant pathway home, — ^a pleasant 

pathway and sweet ; 
Ankle deep through the purple clover, breast high 'mid 

the blossoming wheat ; 
I can hear the landrails prate through the dew, and the 

night-jars' tremulous thrill. 
And the nightingale pouring her passionate song from 

the hawthorn under the hill. 



One day, when we came to the wicket gate, 'neath the 

elms, where we used to part. 
His voice began to falter and break as he told me I had 

his heart 
And I whispered back that mine was his : we knew what 

we felt long ago ; 
Six weeks are as long as a lifetime almost, when you lov6 

each other so. 



LOVE IN DEATH. IO3 

So we put Up the banns, and were man and wife, in the 

sweet fading time of the year, 
And till Christmas was over and past, I knew no shadow 

of sorrow or fear. 
It seems like a dream already, alas ! a sweet dream 

vanished and gone. 
So hurried and brief while passing away, so long to look 

back upon 



I had only had him three little months, and the world 

lay frozen and dead, 
When the summons came, which we feared and hoped, 

and he sailed over seas for our bread. 
Ah, well ! it is fine to be wealthy and grand, and never 

to need to part ; 
But 'tis better far to love and be poor, than be rich with 

an empty heart 



Though I thought 'twould have killed me to lose him at 

first, yet was he not going for me ? 
So I hid deep down in my breast all the grief, which I 

knew it would pain him to see. 
He'd surely be back by the autumn, he said ; and since 

his last passionate kiss. 
He has scarcely been out of my thoughts, day or night, 

for a moment, from that day to this. 



L_ 



104 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

When I wrote to him how I thought it would be, and he 

answered so full of love, 
Ah ! there was not an angel happier than I, in all the 

white chorus above. 
And I seemed to be lonely no longer, the days and the 

weeks passed so swiftly away ; 
And the March winds died, and the sweet April showers 

gave place to the blossoms of May. 



And then came the sad summer-eve, when I sat with the 

I 

little flock in the sun, 
And Patience ran in with the news of the ship — Ah, well ! 

may His will be done. 
They said that all hands were lost, and I swooned away 

on the floor like a stone ; 
And another life came, ere I knew he was safe, and my 

own was over and gone. 



And now I lie helpless here, and shall never rise up 
again; 

I grow weaker and weaker, day by day, till my weakness 
itself is a pain. 

Every morning the slow dawn creeps; every evening I see 
from my bed 

The orange-gold fade into lifeless gray, and the old even- 
ing star overhead. 



LOVE IN DEATH. I05 

Sometimes by the twilight dim, or the awful birth of the 

day, 
As I lie, very still, not asleep nor awake, my soul seems 

to flutter away ; 
And I float far beyond the stars, till I thrill with a 

rapturous pain, 
And the feeble touch of a tiny hand recalls me to life 

again. 



And the doctor says she will live. Ah ! 'tis hard to leave 

her alone. 
And to think she will never know, in the world, the love 

of the mother who's gone. 
They will tell her of me, by-and-by, and perhaps she will 

shed me a tear ; 
But if I should stoop to her bed in the night, she would 

start with a horrible fear. 



She will grow into girlhood, I trust, and will bask in the 

light of love. 
And I, if I gain to see her at all, shall only look on from 

above. 
I shall see her and cannot aid, though she fall into evil 

and woe. 
Ah, how can the angels find heart to rejoice, when they 

think of their dear ones below ? 



I06 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And Francis, he too will forget me, and go on the journey 

of life ; 
And I hope, though I dare not think of it yet, will take 

him another wife — 
It will hardly be Patience, I think, though she. liked him 

in days gone by. 
^Vas that why she came ? But what thoughts are these 

for one who is soon to die ? 



I hope he will come ere I go, though I feel no longer the 

thirst 
For the sound of his voice and the light of his eye, which 

I used to feel at first. 
Tis not that I care for him less, but death dries with a 

finger of fire. 
The tender springs of innocent love and the torrents of 

strong desire. 



And I know we shall meet again. I have done many 

things that are wrong. 
But surely the Lord of Life and of I-rOve cannot bear to 

be angry long. 
I am only a girl of eighteen, and have had no teacher 

but love ; 
And, it may be, the sorrow and pain I have known will 

be counted for me above. 



LOVE IN DEATH. I07 

For I doubt if the minister knows all the depths of the 

goodness of God, 
When he says, He is jealous of earthly love, and bids me 

bow down 'neath the rod. 
He is leamM and wise I know, but somehow to d)dng 

eyes 
God opens the secret doors of the shrine that are closed 

to the leamM and wise. 



So now I am ready to go, for I know He will do what is 

best. 
Though He call me away while the sun is on high, like 

^a child sent early to rest 
I should like him to see her first, though the yearning is 

over and past : 
But what is that footstep upon the stair? Oh, my 

darling at last, at last ! 



-•♦- 



1 



I08 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



DEAR LITTLE HAND. 

Dear little hand that clasps my own, 

Embrowned with toil and seamed with strife ; 

Pink little fingers not yet grown 
To the poor strength of after-life, — 
Dear little hand ! 

Dear little eyes which smile on mine 
With the first peep of morning light ; 

Now April-wet with tears, or fine 

With dews of pity, or laughing bright 
Dear little eyes ! 

Dear little voice, whose broken speech 
All eloquent utterance can transcend ; 

Sweet childish wisdom strong to reach 
A holier deep than love or friend : 
Dear little voice ! 

Dear little life ! my care to keep 
From every spot and stain of sin ; 

Sweet soul foredoomed, for joy or pain, 
To struggle and — which? to fall or win? 
Dread mystical life ! 



STILL WATERS. I09 



STILL WATERS. 

A CRUEL little stream I know, 

Which slowly, slowly crawls between 

The ooze banks, fringed with sedges green, 

That serve to bind its feeble flow. 

So sheltered that no passing breath 
Of west-wind stirs it ; nay, the blast 
Which strips the tall elms and is past, 

Scarce wakes to life its face of death. 

On its black surface year by year 

The marsh flowers, grown untimely old. 

Shed their soft petals like a tear. 

And hopeless drown their faded gold. 

Deep in its darkling depths the pike 
Darts with hb cruel jaws ; by night 

The black eels, sinuous, serpent-like. 
Twist like fell ghosts that fear the light 



no SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Spring shuns it, summer loves it not ; 

The low fat fields are lit with bloom, 
But here the watery sedges rot, 

And all the months are clothed with gloom. 

Autumn's first footstep sears to brown 

Its coarse green fiinge ; the first cold breath, 

Ere yet the oak-leaf flutters down, . 
Binds its dull life in icy death. 

I hate, I hate you, crawling stream ! 

Dumb, creeping, murderous wretch, I long 
To see the sunlit ripples gleam. 

To hear the torrent's jubilant song. 

But you, dull monster, all the years 
Lie rolling on your sullen flood. 

And take your fill of mortal tears ; 

Yet, like the Churchmen, spill not blood. 

The dark gap in the ice, the boat 
Keel upward, or the drifting oar ; 

Or, like of old, the little coat, 
The white clothes heaped upon the shore : 

And some young life is over and gone, 
And some fond heart is broken in twain ; 

And you flow smoothly, smoothly on, 
Taking no heed for death or pain. 



STILL WATERS. Ill 

They come and grapple with hooks until 
They reach the slimy deep, where lies 

The white thing, very cold and still, 
With death's gaze in its stony eyes. 

And you just make a ripple, and then 
Flow smoothly onward : you who slew 

Young innocent lives of painted men. 
Long ere the crowded city grew ; 

And shall in long years yet to be. 

Pierce unborn mothers with that sharp pain, 
Which only a mother feels when he 

Who was her first-bom comes again, 

A clay-cold heap. I would that I 

Had but the archangel's flaming brand ; 

So would I bum thy dull springs dry, 
And choke thy flow with hills of sand. 

Yet why ? Whatever soft souls prate. 

Babbling of universal good, 
Love is the sister-child of hate. 

And all good things are bought with blood. 

Virtue were not if vice were not. 
Nor darkness if there were not light 

Creep on ; fiilfil thy murderous lot ; 
For wrong has equal life with right. 



112 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



IN REGENT STREET. 

One of the nightly hundreds who pass 
Wearily, hopelessly, under the gas. 

But the old sad words had a strange new tone, 
And the wild laugh seemed tQ sink to a moan. 

So that turning as one constrained to look. 
The strange sight stifled the voice of rebuke : 

For I looked on a girFs face pure and fair. 
Blue-eyed, and crowned with a glory of hair. 

Such as my dead child-sister might own. 
Were she not a child still, but a woman grown ; 

Full of the tender graces that come 

To the cherished light of an ancient home ; 

Even to that touch of a high disdain, 

Which is bom of a name without blot or stain. 



IN REGENT STREET. 1 13 

Strange ; as if one should chance to meet 
An angel of light in that sordid street ! 

" O child, what misery brings you here, 

To this place of vileness and weeping and fear ? '' 

" I am no more than the rest," she said, 
Proudly averting her beautiful head ! 

Then no response, till some kinder word 
Stole in unawares, and her heart was stirred. 



tt 



I was a wife but the other day. 
Now I am left without hope or stay ! 

" Work did I ask ? What work is for you ? 
What work can those delicate fingers do ? 

" Service ? But how could I bear to part 
From the child with whom I had left my heart ? 

" Alms ? — ^Yes, at first ; then a pitiless No : 
The State would provide me whither to go. 

" But in sordid prisons it laid my head 

With the thief and the harlot ; therefore I fled. 

" One thing alone had I left untried. 
Then I put off" the last rag of pride." 

I 



114 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" What came ? You were of an honoured race, 
Now you must live with your own disgrace." 

" But many will buy where few will give, 
And I die every day that my child may live/' 

Motherly love sunk to this ! Ah, well. 
Teach they not how He went down into hell : 

Only blind me in heart and brain, 
Pr ever I look on the like again. 



-•♦- 



FROM THE DESERT. 1 15 



FROM THE DESERT. 

Thou hast visited me with Thy storms, 

And the vials of Thy sore displeasure 

Thou hast poured on my head, like a bitter draught 

Poured forth without stint or measure ; 

Thou hast bruisfed me as flax is bruised ; 

Made me clay in the potter's wheel ; 

Thou hast hardened Thy face like steel, 

And cast down my soul to the ground ; 

Burnt my life in the furnace of fire, like dross, 

And left me in prison where souls are bound : 

Yet my gain is more than my loss. 

What if Thou hadst led my soul 

To the pastures where dull souls feed ; 

And set my steps in smooth paths, far away 

From the feet of those that bleed ; 

Penned me in low, fat plains. 

Where the air is as still as death, 

AnH Thy great winds are sunk to a breath, 



Il6 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And Thy torrents a crawling stream, 

And the thick steam of wealth goes up day and night, 

Till Thy sun gives a veilM light. 

And heaven shows like a vanished dream ! 

What if Thou hadst set my feet 

With the rich in a gilded room ; 

And made me to sit where the scomers sit, 

Scoffing at death and doom ! 

What if I had hardened my heart 

With dark counsels line upon line ; 

And blunted my soul with meat and wine. 

Till my ears had grown deaf to the bitter cry 

Of the halt and the weak and the impotent ; 

Nor hearkened, lapt in a dull content, 

To the groanings of those who die ! 

My being had waxed dull and dead 

With the lusts of a gross desire ; 

But now Thou hast purged me throughly, and burnt 

My shame with a living fire. 

So bum me, and purge my will, 

Till no vestige of' self remain. 

And I stand out white without spot or stain. 

Then let Thy flaming angel at last 

Smite from me all that has been before ; 

And sink me, freed from the load of the past, 

In Thy dark depths evermore. 



DUMB. 117 



DUMB. 

All men are poets if they might but tell 
The dim ineffable changes which the sight 
Of natural beauty works on them : the charm 
Of those first days of Spring, when life revives 
And all the world is bloom ; the white-fringed green 
Of summer seas swirling around the base 
Of overhanging cliffs ; the golden gleam 
Seen from some breezy hill, where far and wide 
The fields grow ripe for harvest ; or the storm 
Smiting the leaden surf, or echoing 
On nightly lakes and unsuspected hills, 
Revealed in liuid light ; or first perceived, 
High in mid-heaven, above the rosy clouds, 
The everlasting snows. 

And Art can move. 
To higher minds, an influence as great 
As Nature's self; when the rapt gazer marks 
The stainless mother folding arms divine 
Around the Eternal Child, or pitying love 



Il8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Nailed to the dreadful cross, or the white strength 
Of happy heathen gods, or serpent coils 
Binding the agonized limbs, till from their pain 
Is bom a thing of beauty for all time. 

And more than Nature, more than Art can move 

The awakened soul — heroic soaring deeds ; 

When the young champion falls in hopeless fight. 

Striking for home ; or when, by truth constrained. 

The martyr goes forth cheerful to his fate — 

The dungeon, or the torture, or, more hard, 

The averted gaze of friends, the loss of love, 

The loneliness of soul, which truth too oft 

Gives to reward the faith which casts aside 

All things for her ; or saintly lives obscure. 

Spent in a sweet compassion, till they gain. 

Living, some glow of heaven ; or passionate love, 

Bathing our poor world in a mystic light. 

Seen once, then lost for ever. These can stir 

Life to its depths, till silence grows a load 

Too hard to bear, and the rapt soul would fain 

Speak with strange tongues which startle as they come, 

Like the old saints who spake at Pentecost 

But we are dumb, we are dumb, and may not tell 
What stirs within us, though the soul may throb 
And tremble with its passion, though the heart 
Dissolve in weeping : dumb. Nature may spread 



DUMB. 119 

Sublimest sights of beauty ; Art inspire 

High thoughts and pure of God-like sacrifice ; 

Yet no word comes. Heroic daring deeds 

Thrill us, yet no word comes ; we are dumb, we are 

dumb. 
Save that from finer souls at times may rise, 
Once in an age, faint inarticulate sounds, 
Low halting tones of wonder, such as come 
From children looking on the stars, but still 
With power to open to the listening ear 
The Fair Divine Unknown, and to unseal 
Heaven's inner gates before us evermore. 

Ah, few and far between ! The earth grows green. 
Fair shows Art's glorious work froni year to year, 
Great deeds and high are done from day to day. 
But the voice comes not which has power to wake 
The sleeping soul within, and animate 
The beauty which informs them, lending speech 
To what before was dumb. They come, they go, 
These sweet impressions spent on separate souls, 
Like raindrops on the endless ocean-plains. 
Lost as they fall. The world rolls on ; lives spring, 
Blossom, and fade ; the play of life is played 
More vivid than of old, on a wider stage. 
With more consummate actors ; yet the dull. 
Cold jaws of sullen silence swallow up 
The strain, and it is lost But if we might 



120 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Paint all things as they are, find voice to speak 

The thoughts now mute within us, let the soul 

Trace on its sensitive surface vividly, 

As does the sun our features, all the play 

Of passion, all the changeful tides of thought, 

The mystery, the beauty, the delight, 

The fear, the horror, of our lives, — our being 

Would blaze up heavenward in a sudden flame, 

Spend itself, and be lost 

Wherefore 'tis well 
This narrow boundary that hedges in 
The strong and weak alike. Thought could not live, 
Nor speech, in that pure aether which girds round 
Life's central dwelling-place. Only the dull 
And grosser atmosphere of earth it is 
Which vibrates to the sweet birds' song, and brings 
Heaven to the wondering ear. Only the stress. 
The pain, the hope, the longing, the constraint 
Of limited faculties circling round and round 
The grim circumference, and finding naught 
, Of outlet to the dread unknown b6yond, 
Can lend the poet voice. Only the weight. 
The dulness of our senses, which makes dumb 
And hushes half the finer utterance. 
Makes possible the song, and modulates 
The too exalted music, that it falls 
So soft upon the listening soul, that life, 
Not withered by the awful harmony, 



FAITH WITHOUT SIGHT. 121 

Nor drunk with too much sweetness, nor struck blind 
By the too vivid presence of the Unknown, 
Fulfils its round of duty — elevated. 
Not slain by too much splendour — comforted, 
Not thunder-smitten — soothed, not laid asleep — 
And ever, through the devious maze of being, • 
Fares in slow narrowing cycles to the end 



-H- 



FAITH WITHOUT SIGHT. 

No angel comes to us to tell 
Glad news of our belovM dead : 

Nor at the old familiar board, 

They sit among us, breaking bread. 

Three days we wait before the tomb. 
Nay, life-long years ; and yet no more, 

For all our passionate tears, we find 
The stone rolled backward fi:om the door. 

Yet are they risen as He is risen ; 

For no eternal loss we grieve. 
Blessed are they who ask no sign. 

And, never having seen, believe. 



1 



122 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



CAGED. 

Alas for fame ! I saw a genius sit, 

Draining full bumpers with a trembling hand, 
And roll out rhapsodies of folly, life 

By soaring fancies hard to understand. 
Lonely he seemed, whom all men should admire ; 

And some were there who sneered a covert sneer. 
Quenching with logic cold the sacred fire ; 

And one who hardly checked a rising tear, 



Because life's order binds with chains of steel 
The struggling individual soul ; because 

The fair fine flower of life doth oft conceal 
A hidden worm which always frets and gnaws 

The inner heart from which its perfumes come. 
And round the deep-set core of golden fire 

Foul creeping creatures make their constant home- 
Black hatred, wild revolt, and gross desire. 



CAGED. 123 

What is this bar that Nature loves to place 

Before the too aspiring heart and brain, — 
Bringing down goodly hopes to deep disgrace, 

Keeping high pleasure balanced by low pain, 
Pure thoughts by secret failings, subtler joys 

With grosser sense or hopeless depths of woe, — 
Setting our lives in barren counterpoise. 

Which says. Thus far, no further shalt thou go. 



Is it that Nature, envious of her own, 

Even as the fabled gods of primal years. 
Because to too great statxire it is grown. 

Hates her consummate work, and inly fears 
Lest the soul, once enfranchised, soar too high, 

Up to some Spiritual place of Souls, 
Where the world's feeble echoes faint and die. 

And in fine waves a purer sether rolls ? 



There is no infinite in Nature. All 

Is finite, set within a self-made bound. 
Thought builds round space itself a brazen wall, 

And hates the barren cycle's endless round. 
Xife grown too perfect is not life at all ; 

Some hidden discords sweeten every strain ; 
No virtue is, where is no power to fall, 

Nor true delight without a touch of pain. 



124 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And this it is that limits evermore 

The life of man to this its low estate, 
Aud gives the soul's light pinions power to soar 

Only a little space toward heaven's gate. 
Creatures we are of the earth, and not the sky. 

Bound down, constrained, confined; and yet 'tis 
well: 
No angel's wings are ours to mount on high. 

No chains have power to keep our souls in hell. 



And since to realms of thought we may aspire. 

Higher than these in which we breathe and are, 
And know within the same creative fire 

As that which lights and warms the furthest star, 
So should our restless spirits grow content 

With what is theirs, nor covet to be free ; 
Since boundless power is oft most impotent. 

And narrow bonds the truest liberty. 



-•♦- 



TOO MUCH KNOWLEDGE. 1 25 



TOO MUCH KNOWLEDGE. 

Oh, if we had but eyes to see 

The glory which around us lies, 
To read the secrets of the earth. 

And know the splendours of the skies ; 

And if we had but ears to hear 

The psalm of life which upward rolls 

From desert tent and city street. 
From every meeting-place of souls ; 

And if we had but tongues to tell 

The dumb thoughts that shall ne'er be heard, 
The inarticulate prayers which rise 

From hearts by passionate yearnings stirred, - 

Our souls would parch, like Semele*s, 
When her dread Lord blazed forth confessed. 

Ah, sometimes too much knowledge blights, 
And Ignorance indeed is blest ! 



126 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



ON A FLIGHT OF LADY-BIRDS. 

Over the summer sea, 

Floating on delicate wings, 
Comes an unnumbered host 

Of beautiful fragile things ; 
Whence they have come, or what 

Blind impulse has forced them here, 
What still voice marshalled them out 

Over wide seas without fear. 
You cannot tell, nor I. 

But to-day the air is thick 

With these strangers from far away : 
On hot piers and drifting ships 

The weary travellers stay. 
On the sands where to-night they will drown, 

On tlie busy waterside street, 
Trampled in myriads down 

By the careless wayfarers' feet. 
The beautiful creatures lie. 



i 



ON A FLIGHT OF LADY-BIRDS. I27 

Who kngws what myriads have sunk * 

To drown in the oily waves, 
Till all our sea-side world shows 

Like a graveyard crowded with graves ? 
Humble creatures and small, 

How shall the Will which sways 
This enormous unresting ball, 

Through endless cycles of days, 
Take thought for them or care ? 

And yet, if the greatest of kings. 

With the wisest of sages combined, 
Never could both devise — 

Strong arm and inventive mind — 
So wondrous a shining coat, 

Such delicate wings and free. 
As have these small creatures which float 

Over the breathless sea 
On this summer morning so fair ; 

* « » « « 

And the life, the wonderful life. 

Which not all the wisdom of earth 
Can give to the humblest creature that moves 

The mystical process of birth — 
The nameless principle which doth lurk 

Far away beyond atom, or monad, or cell, 
And is truly His own most marvellous work — 

Was it good to give it, or, given, well 
To squander it thus away ? 



128 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

For surely a man might think 

So precious a gift and grand — 
God's essence in part — should be meted out 

With a thrifty and grudging hand. 
And hard by, on the yellowing com, 

M)rriads of tiny jaws 
Are bringing the husbandman's labour to scorn, 

And the cankerworm frets and gnaws. 
Which was made for these for a prey. 

For a prey for these ? but, oh ! 

Who shall read us the riddle of life — 
The prodigal waste, which naught can redress 

But a cycle of sorrow and strife. 
The continual sequence of pain. 

The perpetual triumph of wrong. 
The whole creation in travail to make 

A victory for the strong. 
And not with frail insects alone ? 

For is not the scheme worked out 

Among us who are raised so high ? 
Are there no wasted minds among men — 

No hearts that aspire and sigh 
For the hopes which the years steal away. 

For the labour they love, and its meed of fame 
And feel the bright blade grow rusted within. 

Or are bom to inherited shame. 
And a portion with those that groan ?^ 



: 



ON A PLIGHT OF LADY-BIRDS. 1 29 

How are we fettered and caged 

Within our dark prison-house here ! 
We are made to look for a loving plan ; 

We find everywhere sorrow and fear. 
We look for the triumph of Good ; 

And, fi'om all the wide world around, 
The lives that are spent cry upward to heaven. 

From the slaughter-house of the ground, 
Till we feel that Evil is lord. 

And yet are we bound to believe, 

Because all our nature is so. 
In a Ruler touched by an infinite ruth 

For all His creatures below. 
Bound, though a mocking fiend point. 

To the waste, and ruin, and pain — 
Bound, though our souls should be bowed in despair — 

Bound, though wrong triumph again and again, 
And we cannot answer a word. 



-•♦- 



130 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



ON AN OLD MINSTER. 

Old minster, when my years were few, 
And life seemed endless to the boy ; 
Clear yet and vivid is the joy 

AVith which I gazed and thought on you. 

Thin shaft and flower-wrought capital. 
High-springing arch, and blazoned pane. 
Quaint gurgoyles stretching heads profane, 

And stately throne and carven stall. 

The long nave lost in vaporous gray, 
The mailed recumbent forms which wait, 
In mockery of earthly state, 

The coming of the dreadful day. 

The haunted aisles, the gathering gloom. 
By some stray shaft of eve made fair : 
The stillness of the mouldering air. 

The faded legends of the tomb. 



ON AN OLD MINSTER. 131 

I loved them alL What care had I, — 
I, the young heir of all the past, — 
That neither youth nor life might last, 

That all things living came to die ! 

The past was spent, the past was done, 

The present was my own to hold ; 

Far off within a haze of gold 
Stretched the fair future, scarce begun. 

For me did pious builders rear 
■ Those reverend walls ; for me the song 

Of supplication, ages long. 
Had gone up daily, year by year. 

And thus I loved you ; but to-day 
The long past near and nearer shows ; 
Less bright, more clear, the future grows. 

And all the world is growing gray. 

But you scarce bear a deeper trace 

Of time upon your solemn brow ; 

No sadder, stiller, grayer now. 
Than when I loved your reverend face. 

And you shall be when I am not ; 

And you shall be a thing of joy 

To many a frank and careless boy 
When I and mine are long forgot 



132 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Grave priests shall here with holy rage, 
Whose grandsires are as yet unborn, 
Lash, with fierce words of saintly scorn. 

The heats of youth, the greed of age. 

Proud prelates sit on that high throne. 

Whose young forefathers drive the plough ; 
While Norman lineage nods below. 

In aged tramp or withered crone. 

And white-haired traders feign to pray. 
Sunk deep in thoughts of gain and gold ; 
And sweet flower-faces growing old, 

Give place to fresher blooms than they. 

With such new shape of creed and rite 
As none now living may foretell ; 
A faith of love which needs not hell, 

A stainless worship, pure and white. 

Or, may be, some reverting change 
To the old faith of vanished days : 
The incensed air, the mystic praise, 

The barbarous ritual, quaint and strange. 

Who knows ? But they are wrong who say 
Man's work is brief and quickly past ; 
If you through all these centuries last. 

While they who built you pass away. ' 



ON AM OLD MINSTER* 1 33 

The wind, the rain, the sand, are slow ; 

Man fades before his work ; scant trace 

Time's finger findeth to efface 
Of him whom seventy years lay low. 

The grass grows green awhile, and then 
Is as before ; the work he made 
Casts on his grave a reverend shade 

Through long successive lives of men. 

But he ! where is he ? Lo, his name 
Has vanished from his wonted place, 
Unknown his tongue, his creed, his race ; 

Unknown his soaring hopes of £une. 

Only the creatures of the brain, — 

Just laws, wise precepts, deathless verse ; 
These weave a chaplet for the hearse, 

And through all change unchanged remain. 

These will I love as age creeps on ; 

Gray minster, these are ever young ; 

These shall be read and loved and sung 
When every stone of you is gone. 

No hands have built the monument 
Which to all ages shall endure ; — 
High thoughts and fancies, sweet and pure, 

Lives in the quest of goodness spent 



134 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

These, though no visible forms confine 
Their spiritual essence fair ; 
Are deathless as the soul they bear, 

And, as its Maker is, divine. 



-•♦- 



THE BITTER HARVEST. 

Who reaps the harvest of his soul. 

And garners up thought's golden grain. 

For him in vain life's tempests rave, 
Fate's rude shocks buffet him in vain. 

The storms which shipwreck feebler souls, 
Beat harmlessly on him ; the wind. 

Which whirls away the domes of pride, 
Braces the sinews of his mind. 

He is set within a tower of strength, 
Beyond thick walls and cloisters still ; 

Where, as he sits, no faintest breath 
Stirs the smooth current of his will. 

He is stretched in a smiling valley where, 
When hills are dark, the full sun shines ; 

Brings gold upon the waving fields, 
And purple clusters on the vines. 



] 



THE BITl'ER HARVEST. 1 35 

He lies in a boundless sylvan shade, 
While all the fields are parched around ; 

And hears a sweet bird, singing, singing. 
With one clear monotone of sound. 

Far, far away from the busy crowd 
And chaffering of the mart, he stands. 

Like a statue on a lonely hill, 

Pondering a scroll within its hands. 

Or one who, from high convent walls. 

Looks down at eve upon the plain. 
And sees the children at their sport, 

And turns to chant and prayer again ; 

So rich, and yet so very poor. 

So fruitful, yet so void of fruit ; 
Removed from human hopes and fears. 

Far as the man is from the brute ; 

So troubled, 'neath a face of calm ; 

So bound with chains, though seeming free ; 
So dead, though with a name to live, 

That it were better not to be. 



-♦♦- 



136 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



OF LOVE AND SLEEP. 

I SAW Sleep stand by an enchanted wood, 
Thick lashes drooping o'er her heavy eyes ; 

Leaning against a flower-cupped tree she stood, 
The night air gently breathed with slumbrous sighs. 

Such cloak of silence o'er the world was spread, 

As on Nile sands clings round the mighty dead. 

About her birds were dumb, and blooms were bowed, 
And a thick heavy sweetness filled the air ; 

White robed she seemed ; and hidden as in a cloud, 
A star-like jewel in her raven hair. 

Downward to earth her cold torch would she turn 

With feeble fires that might no longer bum. 

And in her languid limbs and loosened zone 
Such beauty dwelt ; and in her rippling hair, 

As of old time was hers, and hers alone, 
The mother of gods and men divinely fair ; 

When whiter than white foam or sand she lay, 

The fairest thing beneath the eye of day. 



OF LOVE AND SLEEP. 1 37 

To her came Love, a comely youth and strong. 

Fair as the morning of a day in June ; 
Aromid him breathed a £sdnt sweet air of song. 

And his limbs moved as to a joyous tune : 
With golden locks blown back, and eyes aflame, 
To where the sleeping maiden leant, he came. 

Then they twain passed within that mystic grove 

Together, and with them I, myself unseen. 
Oh, strange, sweet land ! wherein all men may prove 
, The diings they would, the things which might have 

been; 
Hopeless hopes blossom, withered youth revives, 
And sunshine comes again to darkened Hves. 

What sights were theirs in that blest wonder-land ? 

See, the white mountain-summits, framed in cloud. 
Redden with sunset ; while below them stand 

The solemn pine-woods like a funeral crowd ; 
And lower still the vineyards twine, and make 
A doable vintage in the tranquil lake. 

Or, after stonn-tost nights, on some sea isle 
The sadden tropical morning bursts ; and lo ! 

Bright birds and feathery palms, the green hills smile, 
Strange barks, with swarthy crews, dart to and fro ; 

And on the blue bay, glittering like a crown. 

The white domes of some fair historic town. 



138 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or, they fare northward, ever northward still, 
At midnight, under the unsetting sun ; 

O'er endless snows, from hill to icy hill. 

Where silence reigns with death, and life is done 

Till from the North a sweet wind suddenly ; 

And hark ! the warm waves of the fabulous sea. 



Or, some still eve, when summer dajrs are long. 
And the mown hay is sweet, and wheat is green. 

They hear some wood-bird sing the old fair song 
Of joys to be, greater than yet have been. 

Stretphed 'neath the snowy hawthorn, till the star. 

Hung high in heaven, warns them that home is far. 

Or, on the herbless, sun-struck hills, by night. 
Under the silent peaks, they hear the loud 

Wild flutes ; and onward, by the ghostly light. 

Whirled in nude dances, sweeps the maddened crowd ; 

Till the fierce eddy seize them, and they prove 

The shame, the rapture, of unfettered love. 

Or, by the sacred hearth they seem to sit. 

While firelight gleams on many a sunny head ; 

At that fair hour, before the lamp is lit. 

When hearts are fullest, though no word be said, — 

When the world fades, and rank and wealth and fame. 

Seem, matched with this, no better than a name. 



OF LOVE AND SLEEP. 139 

All these they knew ! and then a breeze of day 

Stirred the dark wood ; and then they seemed to come 

Forth with reluctant feet among the gray, 
Bare fields, unfancifiil ; and all the flame 

Was burnt fi"om out Love's eyes, and fi"om his hair, 

And his smooth cheek was marked with lines of care. 

And paler showed the maid, more pure and white 
And holier than before. But when I said, 

" Sweet eyes, be opened ; " lo, the unveiled sight 
Was as the awfiil vision of the dead ! 

Then knew I, breathing slow, with difficult breath. 

That Love was one with Life, and Sleep with Death. 



-••- 



I40 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



BLIND. 

» 

The girl who from her father's door 

Sees the cold storm-cloud sweep the sea, 
Cries, wrestling with her anguish sore, 

My love ! my love ! ah, where is he ? 
And locks her fears within her breast, 

Sickening ; while 'neath the breathless blaze 
He lies, and dreams, in broken rest, 

Of homely faces, — happier days. 

But when a calm is on the deep, 

And scarcely from the quivering blue. 
The waves, soft murmur, half asleep. 

Speaks hope that he is well, and true : 
The brave ship sinks to rise no more 

Beneath the thunderous surge ; and he^ 
A pale corpse floating on the sea, 

Or dashed like seaweed on the shore. 



1 



TO HER PICTURE. 141 



TO HER PICTURK 

As one who on a lonely bed of pain 

Feels the soft hand he felt when he was young ; 
Or, who at eve, on some far Eastern plain, 

Hears the old songs once by his mother sung : 
So to me, looking on thy portrait, dear, 
Thou and my youth and love are ever near. 

It may be that the painter failed to show, 

How should he not ? the soul within thine eyes,- 

Their blue unruffled depths, thy cheeks aglow 
With virgin blushes that unbidden rise ; 

Thy coral lips, thy white neck, round, and fair. 

Or the sweet prodigal auburn of thy hair. 

How should he ? Not for him thou wast, but me ; 

Love shot no sudden splendour in his eyes ; 
Love guided not his hand, content to see 

Mere beauty, as of sunset-hills or skies ; 
Nor soothed his dull ear with the mystic strain, 
Heard once a life, and nevermore again. 



142 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Only the lovely shell he saw ; the cloak, 

The perfect vesture of the hidden soul. 
Not for his eyes thy slumbering angel woke, 

Stretched in deep sleep, where love's broad waters roll : 
Had he but seen her wings of silver move, 
He had forgot to paint, and learned to love. 

Yet is his skill to me for ever blest, 

For that which it has left of grace and truth ; 

Those sweet eyes shine, yet need no time of rest, 
Still thy fair cheek retains its rounded youth. 

In wakeful nights I light my lamp, and know 

The same dear face I knew long years ago. 

» 

Yet worn am I, too old for love, and gray. 

Too faithful heart, thou shouldst not still abide 
With such as I, nor longer deign to stay : 

These are the follies wiser worldlings chide. 
Thou wouldst transfer those glances, wert thou wise, 
To younger lives and more responsive eyes. 

Ah ! no, remain ; not thus you looked of yore ; 

Another, perhaps more worthy, bore the prize ; 
I could not tell you then the love I bore, 

Or read the soft requital in your eyes ; 
Now no change comes, now thou art always kind, 
Then thou wast cold and changeful as the wind. 



THE RETURN. 1 43 



THE RETURN. 

He stood above the well-known shore ; 

Behind, the sea stretched dull and gray ; 
And slowly with the breeze of mom 

The great ship forged away. 

Almost he wished she might return, 

And speed him to some further change ; 

The old scenes greeted him again. 
And yet all things were strange. 

There were the dreams he used to dream 
In the long nights when day was here ; 

The shady Sunday path to church, 
The winding brooklet clear. 

The woods where violets grew in Spring, 
The fallow where they chased the hare, 

The gable peeping through the elms, 
All filled him with despair. 



144 SONGS OF TWO WORX.DS. 

For all was there except the past — 
The past, his youth for dross had sold ! 

The past which after-years in vain 
Prize more than all their gold. 

Then age fell on him with a flash, 

Time smote him, and his soul grew gray ; 

And thoughts in busier scenes unknown, 
Chased youth and hope away. 

The past, which seemed so near before, 
A step might gain it, came to be 

A low cloud sunk beyond a gulf, 
Wider than any sea. 

Nor what the present had in store, 
Knowing ; at last his great suspense 

Grew to a bitter load of pain, 
Too great for mortal sense. 

So, by the well-known paths at last, 
He gained the well-remembered door, 

Sick for a voice which he should hear, 
Ah ! never, never, more. 

Strange children round, a stranger's face 
Of wonder, so the dream was o'er. 

He turned ; the dead past comes not back. 
No, never, never, more. 



FOR EVER. 



145 



FOR EVER. 

For ever and for ever 

The changeless oceans roar ; 
And dash their thundering surges down 

Upon the sounding shore : 
Yet this swift soul, this lightning will, 
Shall these, while they roll on, be still ? 

For ever and for ever 

The eternal mountains rise. 
And lift their virgin snows on high 

To meet the silent skies. 
Yet shall this soul which measures all. 
While these stand steadfast, sink and fall ? 

For ever and for ever 

The swift sims roll through space ; 
From age to age they wax and wane. 

Each in its ordered place : 
Yet shall this soul, whose inner eye 
Foretells their cycles, fade and die ? 



146 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

For ever and for ever 
We have been, and we are, 

Unchanging as the ocean wave. 
Unresting as the star : 

Though suns stand still, and time be o'er 

We are, and shall be, evermore. 



-H- 



BEHIND THE VEIL. . 

I PACED along 
The dim cathedral wrapped in reverend gloom ; 
I heard the sweet child's song 
Spring upwards like a fountain ; and the boom 
Of the tempestuous organ-music swell ; 
The hushed low voices and the silvery bell ; 
The incense-laden air ; the kneeling throng : 
I knew them all, and seemed to hear the cry 
Of countless myriads, rising deep and strong, — 
Help us I we faint, we die. 
Our knees are weak, our eyes are blind ; 
We seek what we shall never find. 
Show but Thy face, and we are Thine, 
Unknown, Ineffable, Divine ! 



BEHIND THE VEIL. I47 

I heard the loud 
Muezzin from the slender minaret call 
" To prayer, To prayer ; " and lo 1 the busy crowd, 
Merchant and prince and water-carrier, all 
Turned from the world, and, rapt in worship, knelt, 
Facing the holy city ; and I felt 
That from those myriads kneeling, prostrate, bowed, 
A low moan rises to the throne on high, — 
Not shut out quite by error's thickest cloud, — 
Help us ! we faint, we die. 
Our knees are weak, our eyes are blind ; 
We seek what we shall never find. 
Show but Thy face, and we are Thine, 
Unknown, Ineffable, Divine. 

I stood before 
The glaring temples on the burning plains ; 
I heard the hideous roar 
Rise to the stars to drown the shrieks of pain. 
What time the murderous idol swept along. 
I listened to the innocent, mystic song. 
Breathed to the jewelled Lotus evermore, 
In the elder lands, through the ages, like a sigh. 
And heard in low, sweet chant, and hateful roar, — 
Help us ! we faint, we die. 
Our knees are weak, our eyes are blind ; 
We seek what we shall never find. 
Show but Thy face, and we are Thine, 
Unknown, Ineffable, Divine ! 



148 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Ay: everywhere 
Echoes the same exceeding bitter cry. 
Yet can the Father bear 
To hide His presence from the children's eye ; 
Lets loose on good and bad the plague and sword ; 
And though wrong triumph, answers not a word ? 
Only deep down in the heart doth He declare 
His constant presence ; there, though the outward sky 
Be darkened, shines a little speck of fair, — 
A light which cannot die. 
Though knees be weak, and eyes be blind ; 
Though we may seek, and never find ; 
Here doth His hidden glory shine. 
Unknown, Ineffable, Divine ! 



-»♦- 



VISIONS. 149 



VISIONS. 

Oft in the blazing summer noon, 
And oft beneath the frosty moon, 
When earth and air were hushed and still, 
And absolute silence seemed to fill 
The farthest border-lands of space, 
I loved in childish thought to trace 
Glimpses of change, which might transform 
The voiceless calm to furious storm ; 
Broke the dull spell, which comes to bind 
In after-years the sluggish mind ; 
And pictured, borne on fancy's wings. 
The end of all created things. 

Then have I seen with dreaming eye. 
The blue depths of the vaulted sky 
Rent without noise ; and in their stead 
A wonder-world of fancy spread, 
A golden city, with domes and spires. 
Lit by a strange sun's mystic fires. 
Portals of dazzling chrysolite, 
Long colonnades of purest white ; 



150 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Streets paved with gold and jewels rare; 
And higher, in the ambient air,. 
A shining Presence undefined : 
Swift seraphs stooping swift as wind 
From pole to pole, and that vast throng 
Which peopled Dante's world of song ; 
The last great inquest which shall close 
The tale of human joys and woes ; 
The dreadful Judge, the opening tomb. 
And all the mystery of doom. 
Then woke to find the vision vain, 
And sun or moon shine calm again.^ 

No longer, save in memory's glass, 
These vanished visions come and pass ; 
The clearer light of fuller day 
Has chased these earlier dreams away. 
Faith's eye grows dim with too much light. 
And fancy flies our clearer sight. 
But shall we mourn her day is o'er, 
That these rapt visions come no more ? 
Nay ; knowledge has its splendours too, 
Brighter than Fancy's brightest hue. 
I gaze now on the heavens, and see 
How, midst their vast immensity, 
By cosmic laws the planets roll, 
Sped onwards by a central soul ; 



VISIONS. 151 

How farther still, and still more far, 

World beyond world, star beyond star. 

So many, and so far, that speech 

And thought must fail the sum to reach. 

This universe of nature. teems 

With things more strange than fancy's dreams ; 

And so at length, with clearer eye. 

Soar beyond childhood's painted sky, 

Up to the Lord of great and small, 

Not onewhere, but pervading all : 

Who made the music of the spheres. 

And yet inclines an ear that hears 

The faintest prayer, the humblest sigh. 

The strong man's groan, the childish cry ; 

Who guides the stars, yet without whom 

No humblest floweret comes to bloom. 

No lowliest creature comes to birth, 

No dead leaf flutters to the earth : 

Who breathed into our souls the breath, 

Which neither time nor change nor death, 

Nor hurtling suns at random hurled 

And dashed together, world on world. 

Can ever kill or quench, till He 

Bends down, and bids them not to be. 



-♦♦- 






152 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



DOUBT. 

Who but has seen 
Once in his Hfe, when youth and health ran high, 
The fair, clear face of truth 

Grow dark to his eye ? 

Who but has known 
Cold mists of doubt and icy questionings 
Creep round him like a nightmare, blotting out 

The sight of better things. 

A hopeless hour. 
When all the voices of the soul are dumb. 
When o'er the tossing seas 

No light may come. 

When God and right 
Are gone, and seated on the empty throne 
Are dull philosophies and words of wind. 

Making His praise their own. 



DOUBT. 153 

Better than this, 
The burning sins of youth, the old man's greed, 
Than thus to live inane ; 

To sit and read, 

And with blind brain 
Daily to treasure up a deadly doubt, 
And live a life from which the light has fled. 

And faith's pure fire gone out. 

Until at last. 
For some blest souls, but never here for all. 
Bums out a sudden light. 

And breaks the thrall. 

And doubt has fled. 
And the soul rises, with a clearer sight 
For this its pain, its sorrow, its despair, 

To God and truth and right 

Plead we for those . 
Gently and humbly, as befitteth men 
On whom the same chill shade 

Broods now as then. 

So shall they learn 
How an eternal wisdom rules above. 
And all the cords of Being are gathered up 

In an unfailing love. 



154 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



ST. DAVID'S HEAD. 

Salt sprays deluge it, wild waves buffet it, hurricanes 

rave; 
Summer and winter, the depths of the ocean girdle it 

round ; 
In leaden dawns, in golden noon-tides, in silvery moon- 
light 
Never it ceases to hear the old sea's mystical sound. 
Surges vex it evermore 
By gray cave and sounding shore. 

Think of the numberless far-away centuries, long before 

man. 
When the hot earth with monsters teemed, and with 

monsters the deep. 
And the red sun loomed faint, and the moon was caught 

fast in the motionless air, 
And the warm waves seethed through the haze in a secular 

sleep. 

Rock was here and headland then. 
Ere the little lives of men. 



ST. David's head. 155 

Over it long the mastodons crashed through the tropical 
forest, 

And the great bats swooped overhead through the half- 
defined blue ; 

Then they passed, and the hideous ape-man, speechless 
and half-erect, 

Through weary ages of time tore and gibbered and 
slew. 

Grayer skies and chiller air. 
But the self-same rock was there. 



Then the savage came and went, and Briton and Roman 

and Saxon, 
Till our England grew rich and great, and her white 

sails covered the sea ; 
Thus through all this long story of ours, civil progress 

and vanquished foeman. 
From Crecy to Trafalgar, from the bondsman down to 

the free, 

Still those dark rocks, and beneath 
Keeps the sea its face of death. 



So it shall be when the tide of our greatness has ebbed 

to the. shallows ; 
So when there floats not a ship on this storm-tossed 

westerly main, 



156 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Hard by, the minster crumbles, the city has shrunk to a 

village ; 
Thus shall we shrink one day, and our forests be path- 
less again; 

And the headland stem shall stand, 
Guarding an undiscovered land. 

Vex it, O changeless ocean ; rave round it, tempests 

unceasing ; 
Sink it, great earthquakes, deep in the depths of the 

fathomless sea ; 
Bum them, fierce fires of the centre^ bum rock and 

ocean together, 
Till the red globe flare throughout space, through the 

ages to be. 

Cease, make an end, dull world, begone ; 
How shall I cease while you roll on ? 

Time, oh, horrible ! Space, oh, terrible ! Infinite Void ! 
Dreadfiil abysses of Being ! blighting a finite brain ; 
How shall the creatures of thought subsist, when the 

thinker ceases ? 
Begone, dull figments, be done ! not alone shall you dare 
to remain. 

Without me yoii yourselves must fall ; 
I hold the measure of you all. 



IN VOLHYNIA. 157 



IN VOLHYNIA. 

In Volh)mia the peasant mothers, 

When spring-time brings back the leaves, 

And the first swallows dart and twitter 
Under the cottage eaves, — 

Sit mute at their windows, and listen, 
With eyes brimming over with tears, 

To the broken sounds which are wafted 
To their eager watching ears. 

And throw out bread and honey 
To the birds as they scintillate by ; 

And hearts full of yearning and longing, 
Borne out on the wings of a sigh. 

For they think that their dear lost children, 

The little ones who are gone, 
Come back thus to the heartsick mothers 

Who are toiling and sorrowing on. 



158 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And those sun-lit wings and flashing 
White breasts, to their tear-dimmed eyes 

Bring' visions of white child-angels 
Floating in Paradise. 

And again to the sounds they hearken, 
Which grew silent while incomplete. 

The music of childish laughter, 
The patter of baby feet. 

Till the hearts which are barren and childless, 
The homes which are empty and cold : 

The nests whence the young have departed, 
Are filled with young life as of old. 

Thus each spring, to those peasant mothers, 
Comes the old Past again and again ; 

And those sad hearts quicken and blossom. 
In a rapture of sorrowless pain. 



-•♦- 






THE LIVING PAST. 1 59 



THE LIVING PAST. 

FAITHFUL sk)uls that watch and yearn, 
Expectant of the coming light, 

With kindling hearts and eyes that bum 
With hope to see the rule of right ; 

The time of peace and of good will, 

When the thick clouds of wrong and pain 

Roll up as from a shining hill, 
And never more descend again ; 

The perfect day, the golden year, 
The end of sorrow and of sighs ; 

Whether the heavenly change be here, 
Or far beyond the sunset skies, — 

1 cherish you, I love your faith, 

I long with you that this may be ; 
But hark, a dreary voice which saith, 
" Vain dreamer, what were it to thee ! " 



l6o SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

For though the blest hour strike before 
Another sunrise vex the earth, 

And pain and evil rule no more, 
But vanish in the newer birth, — 

Though war and hatred come to cease, 
And sorrow be no more, nor sin, 

And in their stead an endless peace 
Its fair unbroken reign begin, — 

What comfort have ye ? What shall blot 
The memories of bitter years, 

Of joys which have been, but are not. 
And floods of unforgotten tears ? 

The painful records graven clear 
On carven rock or deathless page ; 

The long unceasing reign of fear, 
The weary tale of lust and rage ; 

The ills whose dark sum baffles thought. 
Done day by day beneath the sun ? 

" That which is done,^ the old sage taught, 
" Not God Himself can make undone." 

For that which has been still must live, 
And 'neath the shallow Present last. 

Oh, who will sweet oblivion give, 
Who free us from the dreadful Past ! 



CHANGES. l6l 



CHANGES. 

You see that tall house opposite ? 
Three times within tl^e fleeting year, 
Since last the summer-time was here. 

Great changes have gone over it 

For first a bridal bright and gay 

Filled the long street with riotous sound ; 

And amid smiles firom all around. 
The newly-wedded passed away. 

And when the violets came once more. 
And lambs were bom, a concourse went. 
Still gayer, still more innocent. 

To christening from that stately door. 

And now the mute house dull and drear, 
From blinded eyes, stares blank and white ; 
And amid dust and glaring light, 

The black lines slowly disappear. 



M 



1 62 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



ALONE. 

What shall it profit a man 
To have stood by the source of things, 
To have spent the fair years of his youthful prime 
In mystical questionings ; 
To have scaled the lovely height, 
While his brothers slept below ; 
To have seen the vision bright 
Which but few on earth may know, — 
If when his task be done 
He lives his life alone ? 
If in the busy street 
None come whom he may greet ? 
If in his lonely room 

With the night the shadows deepen into ghostly 
shapes of gloom ? 

It may be his soul may say, 
" I have gained me a splendid dower ; 
I can look around on the toiling crowd, 
With the pride of a conscious power. 



ALONE. 163 

I can hear the passer-by 
Tell of all my world-wide fame ; 
I have friends I shall not see 
Who dwell fondly on my name. 
If the sweet smile of wife 
Light not my joyless life, 
If to my silent home 
No childish laughter come, 
Shall I no solace find 

In communion with the monarchs of the fair 
broad realm of mind ? " 

But when sickness wears him, or age 
Creeps on, and his soul doth yearn 
For the tender hand and the soothing voice 
That shall nevex more return 
When the crowd of careless fiiends. 
Not unkind, but each one set 
Safe within white walls of home, 
All the world without foiget, — 
Shall not old memories rise 
Twixt book and weary eyes. 
Till knowledge come to seem 
A profitless vague dream ? 
Shall not he sometimes sigh 
For the careless past unleam^l, and the happy 
days gone by? 






164 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Ah ! not to be happy alone, 
Are men sent, or to be glad. 
Oft-times the sweetest music is made 
By the voices of the sad. 
The thinker oft is bent 
By a too-great load of thought ; 
The discoverer's soul grows sick 
With the secret vainly sought : 
Lonely may be the home, 
No breath of fame may come. 
Yet through their lives doth shine 
A purple light Divine, 
And a nobler pain they prove 
Than the bloom of lower pleasures, or the 
fleeting spell of love. 



-♦♦- 



SEA VOICES. 165 



SEA VOICES. 

Peace, moaning Sea ; what tale have you to tell ? 

What mystic tidings, all unknown before ? 

"\\Tiether you break in thunder on the shore, 
Or whisper like the voice within the shell, 
O moaning Sea, I know your burden well. 

Tis but the old dull tale, filled full of pain ; 
The finger on the dial-plate of time. 
Advancing slow with pitiless beat sublime, 

As stoops the day upon the fading plain ; 

And that has been which may not be again. 

The voice of yearning, deep but scarce expressed, 
For something which is not, but may be yet ; 
Too full of sad continuance to forget. 

Too troubled with desires to be at rest. 

Too self-conflicting ever to be blest. 



1 66 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

The voice of hopes and aspirations high, 
Swallowed in sand, or shivered on the rock ; 
Tumultuous life dashed down with sudden shock ; 
And passionate protests, narrowed to a sigh, 
From hearts too weak to live, — too strong to die. 

The voice of old beliefs which long have fled, 
Gone with a shriek, and leaving naught behind, 
But some vague utterance, cold as wintry wind, — 
Some dim remembrance of a ghostly dread 
Which lingers still when faith itself is dead. 

And, above all, through thunderous wintry roar, 
And summer ripple, this, and this alone. 
For ever do I make this barren moan : — 

No end, there is no end, — on Time's dull shore 

I wail, I beat, I thunder, evermore. 



-H- 



BERLIN, 187 1. 167 



BERLIN, 1 87 1. 

The spring day was all of a flutter with flags ; 

The mad chimes were beating like surf in the air ; 
The beggars had slunk out of sight with their rags ; 

And the balconies teemed with the rich and the fair. 

And below, on each side, the long vistas were set 
In a frame-work of faces, patient and white, — 

Wives, mothers, sweethearts, with full eyes wet. 
And sick hearts longing to see the sight 

Till at length, when the evening was waning, there ran 
A stir through the crowd, and far-off, like a flame. 

The setting smi burned on the helms of the van. 

And with trampling of hoofs the proud conquerors 
came. 

"And with every step they advanced, you might hear 
Women's voices, half maddened with long-deferred joy : 

" Thank God ! he is safe. See, my love, we are here ! 
See ! here am I, darling ; and this is our boy ! " 



1 68 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or, " Here am I, dearest, still faithful and true ; 

Your own love as of old ! '' Or an agonised cry, 
As the loved face came not with the comrades she knew, 

And the rough soldiers found not a word to reply. 

And pitiful hands led her softly away, 

With a loving heart rent and broken in twain ; 

And the triumph sweeps onward, in gallant array, — 
The life and the hope, the despair and the pain. 

Where was it? In Egypt, Assyria, Greece, Rome? 

Ages since, or to-day ; in the old world, or new ? 
Who shall tell? From all time these strange histories 
come; 

And to-day, as of old, the same story is true. 

And the long line sweeps past, and the dull world 
rolls on 

Though the rapture is dead and the sad tears are dry ; 
And careless of all, till the progress be done. 

Life rides like a conqueror triumphing by. 



■♦»- 



THE BEACON. 1 69 



THE BEACON. 

Fair shines the beacon from its lonely rock, 
Stable alone amid the unstable waves : 

In vain the surge leaps with continual shock, 
In vain around the wintry tempest raves, 
And ocean thunders in her sounding caves. 

For here is life within the gate of death. 

Calm light and warmth amid the storm without ; 

Here sleeping love breathes with untroubled breath. 
And faith, clear-^yed, pierces the clouds of doubt 
And monstrous depths which compass her about. 

So calm, so pure, yet prisoned and confined ; 

Fenced by white walls from pleasure as from pain. 

Not always glooms the sea or shrieks the wind : 
Sometimes light zephyrs curl the azure main. 
And the sweet sea-nymphs glide with all their train. 



1 70 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or Aphrodite rises from the foam, 
And lies all rosy on the golden sand, 

And o'er the purple plains the Nereids roam ; 

Sweet laughter comes borne from the joyous band, 
And faint sweet odours from the far-off land. 

And straightway the impatient soul within 

Loathes its white house which to a jail doth turn ; 

Careless of true or false, of right or sin. 

Careless of praying hands or eyes that bum, 
Or aught that sense can feel or mind discern. 

Knowing but this, — that the imknown is blest, 
Holding delight of free untrammelled air : 

Delight of toil sweeter than any rest. 

Fierce storms with cores of calm for those who dare, 
Black rayless nights than fairest noons more fair. 

And drifting forth at eve in some frail boat. 
Beholds the old light, like a setting star. 

Sink in the sea, and still doth fare and float 
Adown the night till day-break shows afar, — 
And hark the faint low thunders of the bar. 

Nor if indeed he reach the Blessfed Isle, 

Nor if those pitiless crests shall plunge him down. 

Knows he ; but whether breathless azure smile. 
Or furious night and horrible tempests frown, 
Living or dying. Freedom wears a crown. 



THE GARDEN OF REGRET. I7^ 



THE GARDEN OF REGRET. 

Beyond the dim walls of the shadowy Past, 

A sweet vague host of fancies flourishes, 
Like garden seeds in some rough hollow cast. 

Which all unasked the kind earth nourishes, 
And sends up tender blooms more sweet and fair 
Than the dull Present rears with all its care. 

There on its thin stem hangs the frail white flower ; 

Far sweeter now she shines within the shade, 
Than when of old within the trim-kept bower 

And perfumed lush parterres her home she made ; 
Because her sister blooms are past and gone, 
And this alone it is that lingers on. 

The same white flower, — but oh, the depths of change ! 

Before, the creamy petals, broad and strong, 
Were all adust with gold, and filled with strange 

Sweet scents, which lurked the odorous depths among ; 
Deep in her honeyed wells, the bee would stay 
Content, and birds sing round the live-long day. 



172 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

The same white flower — ^yet changed in scent and hue. 

Now the fair feeble petals curl and shrink ; 
The dead smooth surfaces are veined with blue ; 

No honeyed draughts they hold for bee to drink, 
Nor busy hum, nor joyous song is heard. 
What hath she left to charm or bee or bird ? 



Only a faint sweet odour lingers yet, 

Dearer than those rich scents of former years : 

A fragile fairness, fairer through regret, 
And watered by the dewy fount of tears. 

To me that outcast flower is dearer grown. 

Than when in those fair gardens overblown. 

I set her in the garden of my heart, 

And water her from life's sincerest spring ; 

And lo ! once more the frail stems quicken and start, 
Fair honeyed blooms arise and blithe birds sing : 

The old sweet flower in scent and gorgeous hue. 

But not the tender grace that once I knew. 

Alas ! not in the Present will she grow ; 

The Present has its own blooms sweet and bright ; 
Within its fom: walls life's fair pleasures blow, 

And each gay season brings its own delight : 
Far ofl" in dewy shades the exile sweet 
Grows fair, and paths untrodden by living feet. 



THE GARDEN OF REGRET. I' 

There let her stay. I know not if my theme 
Be love, or some fair child of heart or mind : 

Young friendships, hopes, beliefs, which like a dream 
Pass from us leaving some sweet ghost behind. 

Leave them behind, they have been ; others are, 

And shall be. Lo ! the spring time is not far. 



SECOND SERIES. 
1874. 



TO AN UNKNOWN POET.* 

DBAS Mend, who, two long centuries ago, 
Didst tread where since mj' grandsires trod, 

Along thy devious Usk's untroubled flow, 
Breathing thy soul to God. 

I seek, I, bom ia these our later days, 
Uang the measure thou didst love. 
With halting tribute of too lardy pruse, 
' A poet throned above. 

I in the self-same venerable halls 
And gray quadrangles made my home. 

Which heard, new-built, within their recent walls, 
Thy youlhiiil footeteps come. 

A Uttle grayer now and stiller grown. 

The tranquil refiige now, as then. 
Where our dear country glories in her own. 

Apart from alien men. 

' Hcnt7 Vwigban, the Silnrist, died near Brecon, 1695. 



176 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

There, on thy musings broke the painful sound 
Of arms ; the long-plumed cavaliers 

Clanged thro' the courts — the low fat fields around 
Were filled with strife and tears. 

Constrained by promptings of thy ancient race, 
Thy gown and books thou flungst away. 

To meet the sturdy Roundhead face to face 
On many a hard-fought day, 

Till thy soft soul grew sick, and thou didst turn 
To our old hills ; and there, ere long, 

Love for thy Amoret, at times, would bum 
In some too fervid song. 

But soon thy wilder pulses stayed, and, life 
Grown equable, thy sweet muse mild. 

Sobered by tranquil love of child and wife. 
Flowed pure and undefiled. 

A humble healer thro' a life obscure. 
Thou didst expend thy homely days ; 

Sweet Swan of Usk ! few know how clear and pure 
Are thy unheeded lays. 

One poet shall become a household name 

Into the nation's heart ingrown ; 
One more than equal miss the meed of fame, ^ 

And live and die unknown. 



TO AN UNKNOWN POET. 1 77 

So thou, surviving in thy lonely age, 

All but thy own undying love 
Didst pour upon the sympathetic page. 

Words which all hearts can move — 



So quaintly fashioned as to add a grace 
fo the sweet fancies which they bear. 

Even as a bronze delved from some ancient place 
For very rust shows fair. 

« 

" They all are gone into the world of light ! " 

It is thy widowed muse that sings, 
And then mounts upward from our dazzled sight 

On heavenward soaring wings. 

" He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may 
know " 

" At first sight if the bird be flown ; " 
" But what fair dell or grove he sings in now," 

" That is to him unknown." 



" And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams " 
" Call to the soul when man doth sleep," 

" So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted 
themes," 
" And into glory peep." 

N 



178 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" O father of eternal life and all " 
" Created glories under Thee ! " 
" Resume Thy Spirit from this world of thrall " 

" Into true liberty." 

» » » « « 

Thou hast rejoined thy dear ones now, and art, 
Dear soul, as then thou wouldst be, free. 

I, still a prisoner, strive to do my part 
In memory of thee. 

Thou art so high, and yet unknown : shall I 

Repine that I too am obscure ? 
Nay, what care I, though all my verse shall die. 

If only it is pure ? 

So some new singer of the days to be, 
Reading this page with soft young eyes. 

Shall note the tribute which I pay to thee 
With youth's sweet frank surprise. 

And musing in himself, perchance shall say, 
" Two bards whom centuries part are here — 

One whose high fame and name defy decay, 
And one who held him dear." 



COMFORT. 179 



COMFORT. 

Tho' love be bought and honour sold, 
The sunset keeps its glow of gold, 
And round the rosy summits cold 
The white clouds hover, fold on fold. 

Tho' over-ripe the nations rot, 
Tho' right be dead and faith forgot, 
Tho' one dull cloud the heavens may blot, 
The tender leaf delayeth not 

Tho' all the worid lie sunk in ill, 
The bounteous autumns mellow still, 
By virgin sand and searwom hill 
The constant waters ebb and fill 

From out the throng and stress of lies, 
From out the painful noise of sighs. 
One voice of comfort seems to rise : 
" It is the meaner part that dies." 



l8o SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



SONG. 

If ever, dear, 
I might at last the barren victory gain, 
After long struggle and laborious pain, 

And many a secret tear, 
To think, since think I must of thee, 
Not otherwise than thou of me. 

Haply I might 
Thy chilling coldness, thy disdain, thy pride. 
Which draw me, half reluctant, to thy side, 

With a like meed requite. 
And I my too fond self despise, 
Seeing with disenchanted eyes. 

But now, alas, 
So fast a prisoner am I to my love, 
No power there is that can my chains remove. 

So sweet the caged hours pass. 
That, if it parted me from thee, 
I would not willingly grow free. 



I 



SONG. l8l 

Nor would I dare 
To ask for recompense of love again, 
Who love thee for the height of thy disdain. 

Thou wouldst not show so fair 
If we should own an equal flame, 
Unequal souls, in love the same. 

Full well I know 
That what I worship is not wholly thee, 
But a fair dream, a pious fantasy. 

Such as at times doth grow 
On yearnings of the cloistered mind, 
Or the rapt vision of the blind. 

Scorn me then, sweet, 
I would not thou shouldst leave thy lofty place. 
Thy lover should not see thee face to face, 

But prostrate at thy feet. 
No recompense, no equal part I seek. 
Only that thou be strong and I be weak. 



-♦♦- 



1 82 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



OH, SNOWS so PURE ! 

Oh, snows so pure ! oh, peaks so high ! 
I lift to you a hopeless eye. 

I see your icy ramparts drawn 
Between the sleepers and the dawn. 

I see you, when the sun has set, 
Flush with the dying daylight yet. 

I see you, passionless and pure. 
Above the lightnings stand secure ; 

But may not climb, for now the hours 
Are spring's, and earth a maze of flowers. 

And now, 'mid summer's dust and heat, 
I stay my steps for childish feet. 

And now, when autumn glows, I fear 
To lose the harvest of the year. 



THE BEGINNINGS OF FAITH. 1 83 

Now winter frowns, and life runs slow, 
Even on the plains I tread thro' snow. 

While you are veiled, or, dimly seen. 
Only reveal what might have been ; 

And where high hope would once aspire 
Broods a vast storm-cloud dealing fire. 

Oh, snows so pure ! oh, peaks so high ! 
I shall not reach you till I die ! 



-•*- 



THE BEGINNINGS OF FAITH. 

All travail of high thought, 
All secrets vainly sought, 
All struggles for right, heroic, perpetually fought 

Faint gleams of purer fire. 
Conquests of gross desire. 
Whereby the fettered soul ascends continually higher. 

Sweet cares for love or friend 
Which ever heavenward tend. 
Too deep and true and tender to have on earth their end. 



184 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. I 

! 

Vile hearts malign and fell, 
Lives which no tongue may tell, 

So dark and dread and shameful that they breathe a 
present hell. 

White 'mountain, deep-set lake. 
Sea wastes which surge and break. 
Fierce storms which, roaring from the north, the midnight 
forests shake. 

Fair moms of summer days. 
Rich harvest eves that raise 
The soul and heart overburdened to an ecstasy of praise. 

Low whispers, vague and strange. 
Which through our being do range. 
Breathing perpetual presage of some mighty coming 
change. 

These in the soul do breed 
Thoughts which, at last, shall lead 
To some clear, firm assurance of a satisfying creed. 



■♦♦- 



A MEMORY. 185 



A MEMORY. 

Down dropped the sun upon the sea, 
The gradual darkness filled the land, 
And 'mid the twilight, silently, 
I felt the pressure of a hand. 

And a low voice : " Have courage, friend. 
Be of good cheer, 'tis not for long ; 
He conquers who awaits the end. 
And dares to suffer and be strong." 

I have seen many a land since then. 
Known many a joy and many a pain, 
Victor in many a strife of men. 
Vanquished again and yet again. 

The ancient sorrow now is not. 
Since time can heal the keenest smart ; 
Yet the vague jmemory, scarce forgot. 
Lingers deep down within the heart 

Still, when the ruddy flame of gold 
Fades into gray on sea and land, 
I hear the low sweet voice of old, 
I feel the pressure of a hand. 



1 86 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



THE NEW ORDER. 

The old lives are dead and gone and rotten, 
The old thoughts shall never more be thought, 

The old faiths have failed and are forgotten. 
The old strifes are done, the fight is fought. 

And with a clang and roll, the new creation 

Bursts forth 'mid tears and blood and tribulation. 

Sweet they were, the old days that are ended. 
The golden years, the happy careless hours 

Then, like Pagan gods on the asphodel extended. 
Dreaming, men wove them fancies fair as flowers. 

Love laid near them, Art to cheer them, youthful Beauty 

Sitting crowned upon the marble throne of Duty. 

All good things were theirs to cherish — lives grown finer 

From the heritage of long ancestral ease. 
And a nobler port, and temperate mien diviner 

Than their labours and their vigils leave to these ; 
Gentler voices, smiles more gracious, and the fashion 
Of their soft lives tuned to pity and compassion. 



THE NEW ORDER. 1 87 

Xaught men knew of science, now grown rigid 

With its teaching of inexpiable sin ; 
Nqr the dull pedantic gospel, dead and frigid, 

Of a heaven where mind alone may enter in, 
Doom awaiting, stem and silent, all transgression, 
And no saint with power to make an intercession. 

For a Ruler, as men thought they saw above them, 
More than earthly rulers, pitiful and mild, 

A Father with a stronger love to love them 
Than the love an earthly father bears his child — 

God above them, and for pleader and defender 

Christ's fece stooping, like his mother's, true and tender. 

But now there seems no place for the Creator 

To hold his long unbroken chain of law. 
Nor any need for heaven-sent Mediator, 

Nor the Providence our fathers thought they saw. 
Only a dull world-system, always tending 
To a blind goal, by a blind rule unbending. 

And for the courtesy and tender graces, 

The chivalries and charities of old, 
A dull and equal arrogance effaces 

Soft sympathies by hard demands and cold ; 
And the giver giveth not, lest any blame him. 
And the taker may not take, lest taking shame him. 



1 



1 88 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Be Still, oh ye of little faith, repining 

That the purpose of the Eternal will is dead. 

The silent stars forget not yet their shining, 
Daily the full sun journeys overhead. 

How shall mind's realm alone forget its reason. 

When the sure years roll season after season ? 

There shall rise from this confused sound of voices 

A firmer faith than that our fathers knew, 
A deep religion, which alone rejoices 

' In worship of the Infinitely True, 
Not built on rite or portent, but a finer 
And purer reverence for a Lord diviner. 

There shall come firom out this noise of strife and groaning 

A broader and a juster brotherhood, 
A deep equality of aim, postponing 

All selfish seeking to the general good. 
There shall come a time when each shall to another 
Be as Christ would have him — lyother unto brother. 

There shall come a time when knowledge wide extended. 
Sinks each man's pleasure in the general health, 

And all shall hold irrevocably blended 
The individual and the commonwealth; 

When man and woman in an equal union 

Shall merge, and marriage be a true communion. 



THE NEW ORDER. 1 89 

There shall come a time when brotherhood shows stronger 
Than the narrow bounds which now distract the world; 

When the cannons roar and trumpets blare no longer, 
And the ironclad Tusts, and battle flags are furled ; 

When the bars of creed and speech and race, which sever, 

Shall be fused in one humanity for ever. 

Oh, glorious end ! oh, blessed consummation ! 

Oh, precious day ! for which we wait and yearn. 
Thou shalt come, and knit men nation unto nation. 

But not for us, who watch to-day and bum, 
Thou shalt come, but after what long years of trial. 
Weary watchings, baffled longings, dull denial ! 



-•♦■ 



190 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



AT MIDNIGHT. 

They were two poor young girls, little older than children, 
Who passed through the midnight streets of the city 
Singing. 

Poorly clad, morning-eyed, with a strange look of shyness, 
Linked arms, and round cheeks, and smooth heads bent 

together. 
Singing. 

Singing, great Heaven ! with their fresh childish voices. 
Some low murmured ditty, half hymn-tune, half love-song, 
Singing, 

Always by hushed square, and long street deserted. 

As from school by the old village street on fair evenings, 

Singing, 

Singing, and knowing it not, the old burden 

That is born out of secular wrongs and oppressions. 

Singing, 



AT MIDNIGHT, 191 

Of selfish riches, of misery and hunger, 

Of sin that is bred of the wants of the wretched, 

Singing, 

Of poor bribes that purchase souls, of the endless, 

Perpetual harvest of pain and of evil, 

Singing, 

So, they passed to the flaring sin-befouled places. 
And amid the thick throng of the fallen I lost them, 
Singing, 

A hymn-tune, a love-song, a prayer chanted backward, 
A witch spell unholy, a sweet suffrage saintly 
Singing. 



-H- 



192 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



NEMESIS. 

Who, without fear 
Piercing the inmost deeps of silent thought, 
Has won the prize with lonely labour sought. 
And many a bitter tear. 
He in his breast doth hold 
A rarer thing than gold, 
And a fair treasure greater than in words is told. 

For he shall learn. 
Not from another's lore, but his own soul. 
Whither life's hidden oce'an currents roll,. 
And with sure helm shall turn 
Into a haven fair. 
Where, on the breathless air. 
Nor wave nor storm shall break, but peace is everywhere. 

There, in light boat 
Laid on the soft breast of the summer sea, 
Lapt day by day in great tranquillity, 

He carelessly shall float 



NEMESIS. 193 

He scarce shall see or hear 
A sight or sound of fear, 
Only a low-voiced siren always gliding near. 

Without the bar 
The enormous surges leap from sea to sky. 
Upon the ghostly inland summits high 
The avalanche thunders far. 
On the dull plains below, 
In long successions slow 
The toiling generations sow, and reap, and sow. 

Dream-like, he sees 
The lurid smoke blot the beleaguered town, 
Or the great earthquake shake the city down ; 
Labours and miseries ; 
Fire takes them — famine, flood. 
And fever's hideous* brood. 
By night the black skies redden with a glare like blood. 

For him, meanwhile. 
Laid in the shelter of his silken sail. 
The' wind and storm on sea and land prevail. 
The enchanted waters smile. 
Always in that calm deep, 
Wherein life's currents sleep, 
He sees high heaven reflected, tho' all men may weep. 

o 



194 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Yet now and then 
Between the stars and him, deep, sunk below, 
He starts to see a strange dead semblance grow, 
Gone from the eyes of men. 
Some thin and pale-eyed ghost, 
By marred reflections crost. 
Of thoughts, and faiths, and yearnings long since lost. 

And if these fade 
Betimes, he slowly gains to peace again ; 
But if too long they tarry, such a pain 
Those clear depths doth invade, 
That for sheer terror he, 
And utter misery. 
Flies to the storm-wrapt hills and hungry calling sea. 



-H- 



TO A CHILD OP FANCY. 1 95 



TO A CHILD OF FANCY. 

My little dove, my little lamb, 
In whom again a child I am ; 
My innocent, on whose fair head 
The glories of the imknown are shed ; 

Who thro' the laughing summer day 
Spendest the rosy hours in play, 
Too much by joyous life possest 
To give a willing thought to rest ; 

Who, with the earliest shades of night. 
White-robed, in happy slumbers light, 
Recallest in thy stainless calm 
An angel resting from its psalm ; 

Whence art thou come? What power could teach. 
The secret of thy broken speech ? 
What agile limb, what stalwart arm. 
Like thy sweet feebleness can charm ? 



196 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

With what a rapture of surprise 
This fair world meets thy steadfast eyes, 
As if they saw reflected there 
Faint images of scenes more fair. 

Leaving another heaven behind, 
A heaven on earth thou cam'st to find ; 
This world, so full of misery. 
Opens celestial gates for thee. 

Oh ! if thou mightst not e'er grow wise 
With the sad learning bom of sighs ; 
If those soft eyes might never here 
Grow dim for any bitter tear. 

Vain thought, — no creature bom of earth 
Blooms best 'neath cloudless skies of mirth ; 
Only soft rains and clouds can dress 
Life's tree with flowers of blessedness. 

Whatever the lot thy fate shall give> 
At least, while life is mine to live, 
Thou shalt not lack a share of love, 
My little lamb, my little dove ! 






SONG. 197 



^ SONG. 

It was not that thy eyes 

Were blue as autumn skies, 

It was not that thy hair 

Was as an angeFs fair. 

No excellence of form could move 

A finer soul to so much love. 

Nor that in thee I sought 
For precious gems of thought, 
Nor ever hoped to find 

Hid treasure in thy mind. 

Gray wisdom comes with time and age. 

And thine was an imwritten page. 

But that I seemed in thee 

My other self to see, 

Yet purer and more high 

Than meets my inner eye. 

Like that enamoured boy who, gazing down, 

His lower self would in his higher drown. 



193 SONGS OF TWO WORLD?. 



THE ORGAN-BOY. 

Great brown eyes, 

Thick plumes of hair, 

Old corduroys 

The worse for wear. 

A buttoned jacket, 

And peeping out 

An ape's grave poll, 

Or a guinea pig's snout. 

A sun-kissed face. 

And a dimpled mouth. 

With the white flashing teeth 

And soft smile of the south. 

A young back bent, 

Not with age or care. 

But the load of poor music 

'Tis fated to bear. 

But a commonplace picture 

To commonplace eyes, 

Yet full of a charm 

Which the thinker will prize. 



THE ORGAN BOY. 1 99 

They were stem cold rulers, 

Those Romans of old. 

Scorning art and letters 

For conquest and gold ; 

Yet leavening mankind. 

In inind and in tongue, 

With the laws that they made 

And the songs that they sung : 

Sitting rose-crowned. 

With pleasure-choked breath. 

As the nude young limbs crimsoned, 

Then stiffened in death : 

Piling up monuments 

Greater than praise, 

Thoughts and deeds that shall live - 

To the latest of days : 

Adding province to province, 

And sea to sea, 

TiU the idol feU down 

And the world rose up free. 

And this is the outcome. 
This vagabond child 

With that statue-like face 
And eyes soft and mild ; 
This creature so humble. 
So gay, yet so meek. 
Whose sole strength is only 
The strength of the weak. 









200 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Of those long cruel ages 

Of lust and of guile, 

Naught left us to-day 

But an innocent smile. 

For the laboured appeal 

Of the orator's art, 

A few childish accents 

That reach to the heart. 

For those stem legions speeding 

O'er sea and o'er land, 

But a pitiful glance 

And a suppliant hand 

I could moralize still ; 

But the organ begins, 

And the tired ape swings downward 

And capers and grins : 

And away flies romance. 
And yet, time after time. 
As I dwell on days spent 
In a sunnier clime, 
Of blue lakes deep set 
In the olive-clad mountains. 
Of gleaming white palaces 
Girt with cool fountains, 
Of minsters where every 
Carved stone is a treasure,' 
Of sweet music hovering 
'Twixt pain and 'twixt pleasure ; 



THE ORGAN BOY. 201 

Of chambers enriched 

On all sides, overhead, 

With the deathless creations 

Of hands that are dead ; 

Of still cloisters holy, 

And twilight arcade, 

Where the lovers still saunter 

Thro' chequers of shade ; 

Of tomb and of temple, 

Arena and column, 

'Mid to-day's garish splendours, 

Sombre and solemn ; 

Of the marvellous town 

With the salt flowing street, 

Where colour bums deepest. 

And music most sweet ; 

Of her the great mother. 

Who centuries sate 

'Neath a black shadow blotting 

The days she was great ; 

Who was plunged in such shame — 

She, our source and our home — 

That a foul spectre only 

Was left us of Rome ; 

She who, seeming to sleep 

Thro' all ages to be. 

Was the priests, is mankind's. 

Was a slave, and is free ! 



202 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

I turn with grave thought 
To this child of the ages, 
And to all that is writ 
In Time's hidden pages. 
Shall young Howards or Guelphs, 
In the days that shall come, 
Wander forth seeking bread 
Far from England and home ? 

Shall they sail to new continents, 

English no more, 

Or turn — strange reverse — 

To the old classic shore ? 

Shall fair locks and blue eyes, 

And the rose on the cheek, 

Find a language of pity 

The tongue cannot speak — 

** Not English, but angels ? " 

Shall this tale be told 

Of Romans to be 

As of Romans of old ? 

Shall they too have monkeys 

And music ? Will any 

Try their luck with an engine 

Or toy spinning-jenny? 

Shall we too be led 
By that mirage of Art 



THE ORGAN BOY. 203 

Which saps the true strength 

Of the national heart ? 

The sensuous glamour, 

The dreamland of grace, 

Which rot the strong manhood 

They fail to replace ; 

Which at once are the glory, 

The ruin, the shame. 

Of the beautiful lands 

And ripe souls whence they came ? 

Oh, my England ! oh, Mother 
Of Freemen ! oh, sweet. 
Sad toiler majestic, 
With labour-worn feet ! 
Brave worker, girt round. 
Inexpugnable, free. 
With tumultuous sound 
And salt spume of the sea. 
Fenced off from the clamour 
Of alien mankind 
By the surf on the rock. 
And the shriek of the wind, 
Tho' the hot Gaul shall envy, 
The cold German flout thee, 
Thy far children scorn thee, 
Still thou shalt be great. 
Still march on uncaring. 



204 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Thy perils unsharing, 

Alone, and yet daring 
Thy infinite fate. 
Yet ever remembering 
The precepts of gold, 
That were written in part 
For the great ones of old — 
" Let other hands fashion 
The marvels of art ; 
To thee fate has given 
A loftier part. 
To rule the wide peoples ; 
To bind them to thee *' 
By the sole bond of loving, 
That bindeth the free. 
To hold thy own place, 
Neither lawless nor slave ; 
Not driven by the despot. 
Nor tricked by the knave. 

But these thoughts are too solemn, 

So play, my child, play. 

Never heeding the connoisseur 

Over the way, 

The last dances of course ; 

Then, with scant pause between, 

"Home, Sweet Home," the "Old Hundredth," 

And " God Save the Queea'' 



THE ORGAN BOY. 205 

See the poor children swarm 

From dark court and dull street, 

As the gay music quickens 

The lightsome young feet 

See them now whirl away, 

Now insidiously come, 

With a coy grace which conquers 

The squalor of home. 

See the pallid cheeks flushing 

With innocent pleasure 

At the hurry and haste 

Of the quick-footed measure. 

See the dull eyes now bright, 

And now happily dim, 

For some soft-dying cadence 

Of love-song or hymn. 

Dear souls, little joy 

Of their young lives have they. 

So thro' hjrmn-tune and song-tune 

Play on, my child, play. 

For tho' dull pedants chatter 

Of musical taste, 

Talk of hindered researches. 

And hours run to waste ; 

Tho' they tell us of thoughts 

To ennoble mankind 

Which your poor measures chase 



2o6 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

From the labouring mind ; 
While your music rejoices 
One joyless young heart, 
Perish bookworms and books, 
Perish learning and art — 
Of my vagabond fancies 
I'll e'en take my fill 
" Qualche cosa, signor ? " 
Yes, my child, that I will. 



-H- 



PROCESSIONS. 207 



PROCESSIONS, 

To and fro, to and fro, 
The long, long processions go, 
Fainter now and now more bright, 
Now in shadow, now in light ; 
Gay and sad, and gay again. 
Mixed of pleasure, mixed of pain. 
Bridal song and biuial dirge. 
Rippling blue and leaden surge ; 
Sunlit plain and storm-wrapt hill. 
Saintly lives or stained with ill ; 
Youth and fire and frolic mirth. 
Cold age bending back to earth ; 
Hope and faith and high .endeavour. 
Dead lives slowly waning ever ; 
Gleams of varying sun and shade. 
Buds that burst, and flowers that fade ; 
Lives that spring, and lives that fall. 
And a Hidden Will o'er all. 



2o8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



FOR LIFE. 

Shut in by self, as by a brazen wall, 
In a dry, windless court alone. 
Where no refreshing dews of eve may fall, 
Nor morning sun has shone. 

But ever broader, ever higher, higher, 
And ever yearly stronger grown. 
In long circuitous folds high towers aspire 
Around her central throne. 

And every year adds some fair outer-court, 
Green, lit with fountains, tended well, 
Some dainty pleasaunce fit for joy and sport. 
But not wherein to dwell. 

Or some high palace spired with fretted gold, 
And tricked with gems of thought and art ; 
In blank perspective ranks its chambers cold. 
Too fair to touch the heart. 



FOR LIFE. 209 

For far within the inmost coil of towers, 
Wrapt round with shadows like a cloak, 
Where on the twilight hush of slow-paced hours 
Full utterance never broke ; 

Neither of laughter nor the painful sound 
Of great thoughts come to sudden birth, 
Nor murmurs from the Sea that frets around 
The dull laborious earth ; 

Nor voice of love or child, nor note of glee. 
Nor sigh, nor any weal nor woe — 
Naught but a chill, at times, as hopelessly 
The slow years come and go ; 

She broods immured, a devil or a saint. 
Shut fast within a lonely cell. 
Peopled with beatific visions faint. 
Or ghostly shapes of helL 

And every year she hears from some high gate 
That breaks the dizzy circuit of the wall. 
By hands invisible, but strong as fate. 
The loud portcullis fall. 

And every year upon her duller ear 
Faint and more faint the outward echoes come. 
Fainter the mingled tones of hope and fear, 
To this her cloistered home. 



^ 



210 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



Till, when the weary circuit's done and past, 
The last gate clangs, the tall towers sway and fall, 
A great voice calls with thunders, and at last 
The captive breaks her thrall ! 



-♦♦- 



IN THE PARK. 

The stock-jobbers' madams dash 
In splendour thro' park and street. 
'Tis a lightning of wheels that flash, 
'Tis a thunder of high-stepping feet. 
Shrink aside, vile churl, for these princesses bold — 
These creatures of jewels and ermine and gold — 

As they loll by in insolent pride, 
Scarce deigning a glance of the eye. 
They scatter their mud stains far and wide 
On the humbler passer-by — 
Some rhymester it may be, whose bitter pen 
Shall pay them their mud stains with interest again. 

And, meanwhile, in some fetid street 

Their spouse and provider sits — 

A swindler fattening on lie and cheat, 

Sole fruit of his sordid wits — 
Full fed and bloated, or wan and pale. 
And haunted with fears of an imminent gaol. 



IN THE PARK. 211 

When my lady of high degree 

Rolls by with her lackers ablaze, 

It gladdens my heart, good madams, to see 

The disdain of you in her gaze. 
I love her little, but, matched with you, 
I could fall on my knees to a pride so true. 

Or when Lais rattles by 

In her vesture of visible shame, 

Poor child, I whisper, and who am I 

To call her dead life by its name ? 
Sad tawdry splendours that, one sure day. 
Will spread swift pinions and flutter away ! 

But with you, vile spawn of deceit. 

What need to be chary of ire ? 

Get down, I say, on your useless feet. 

And cleanse them with honest mire. 
Down with you, 'tis time, ere your coaches be made 
The central block of a new barricade. 

Yet, perhaps, since in this poor life 
Things are double, each against each, 
Among you sometimes is the mother and wife 
With her darlings to cherish and teach, 
The gentle lady, tender and kind, 
With no shadow of evil on heart or mind 



212 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Ah, riddle of things ! ah, great 

Perpetual struggle and war ! 

The good which should be, inseparate, 

From the evil things that are — 
How shall I, with purblind vision, arraign 
The marvellous measures of joy and pain ? 

Roll by then, brave dames, roll by ; 

You are part of a scheme, I trow. 

No more will I look with a covetous eye 

On your splendours of pomp and show ; 
For I see in your gorgeous chariots the strife, 
The problem, the wonder, the satire, of life. 



-♦♦- 



LOSS AND GAIN. 213 



LOSS AND GAIN. 

From day to day, from year to year, 
New waves of change assail us here ; 
Each day, each year, prolongs the chain 
Where pleasure alternates with pain. 

New earth-bom exhalations rise. 
To hide the heavens from our eyes ; 
New clouds obscure the vision fair. 
Which once was round us everywhere. 

New precious obligations come. 
New sanctities of love and home. 
New tender hopes, new anxious fears, 
And sweet experiences of tears. 

Old tastes are lost, old thoughts grow strange, 
Old longings gradually change. 
Old faiths seem no more dear or true, 
Lost in the full light of the new. 



214 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Youth's boundless aspirations fled, 
And every wild ambition dead ; 
Love not a meteor blinding sight, 
But a pure ray of sober light. 

And for the passionate self of old, 
A deep affection, calm, not cold ; 
A pitying love serenely kind, 
A broader trust, a juster mind, 

A faith which occupies the heart, 
Tho' the brain halts to bear its part, 
Which threat and promise fail to move. 
Like the dim consciousness of love. 

Tho' much be taken, much is left, 
Not all forsaken nor bereft ; 
From change on change we come to rest 
And the last moment is the best 



-•♦- 



SONG. 215 



SONG. 

" Only a woman's hair," 
A fair lock severed and dead ; 
But where is the maiden — where 
That delicate head ? 

Perhaps she is rich and fair, 
Perhaps she is poor and worn, 
And 'twere better that one somewhere 
Had never been bom. 

And the careless hand that threw 
That faded tress away — 
Ah ! the false heart that once beat true, 
Ah ! love flung away. 



\ 



2l6 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



THE APOLOGY. 

I MAY not scorn, I cannot prize 
Those whose quick-coming fancies rise 
Only in quaint disguise — 

Some trick of speech, or mien, or dress. 
Some obsolete uncomeliness. 

Some ancient wickedness. 

Strange words antique for things not strange. 
Like broken tower and mouldering grange, 
Made fair through time and change. 

Legends of knight, and squire, and dame. 
With this our common life the same 
In glory and in shame. 

Mean lives and narrow aims which owe 
The glamour and the charm they show 
To that strange " Long ago ; " 



THE APOLOGY. 21 7 

Nay, meaner, lower than our own, 
Because To-day is wider grown, 

Knows deeper, and is known. 

I doubt if anything there be 
Which best thro' mask of chivalry, 
Reveals myself to me ; 

Myself, its yearnings and desires. 
Its glimpses of supernal fires. 

The something which aspires ; 

Myself, the thing of blot and stain, 
Which fallen, rises, falls again, 
A mystery of pain ; 

Myself, the toiler slow to earn, 
The thinker sowing words that bum. 
The sensuous in turn. 

The vanquished, the disgraced, the saint, 
Now free as air, now bound and faint. 
By everyday constraint 

Or, if too near the present lies 
For common brains and common eyes 
To probe its mysteries, 



2i8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

If feeble fancy fails to tear 
The outer husk of fact, and bare 
The seed to vital air, 



But too extended, too immense. 
Life's orb a vast circumference 

Stretches for mortal sense ; 

If simpler shows the past, more fair. 
Set in a pure and luminous air, 

Not dimmed by mists of care, 

Seeming to breathe a lighter strain 
Of lutes and lyres where none complain 
With undertones of pain ; — 

If haply there we seem to view 
Ourselves, behind a veil, yet true 

The germ from which we grew. 

Not less our duty and our pride 
Forbid to leave unsought, untried, 
The glories at our side. 

What ? shall the limner only paint 
Blue hills with adumbrations faint. 
Or misty aureoled saint, 



THE APOLOGY. 219 

And scorn to ponder flower or tree, 
Ripe fields, child-faces, summer sea. 
And all fair things that be ; 

Nor care thro' passion's endless play 
Our living brethren to portray, 
Who fare to doom to-day. 

When the sun's finger deigns to trace 
Each line and feature of man's face. 
Its beauty and disgrace ? 

Or shall the skilled musician dare 
Only to sound some jocund air 
Arcadian, firee from care. 

Round whom in strains that scorn control 
The mighty diapasons roll. 

That speak from soul to souL 

Our mystical modem music deep. 
Not piped by shepherds to their sheep. 
But wrung from souls that weep ; 

Where seldom melody is heard. 
Nor simple woodland note of bird, 
So deep a depth is stirred. 



2 20 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Such blended harmonies divine 
Across the core of sweetness twine 
As round the grape the vine ? 

Or shall some false cold dream of art 
Corrupt the voice and chill the heart, 
And turn us from our part, 

Blot out the precious lesson won 
From all the ages past and done. 

That bard and seer are one ? 

Dull creed of earthy souls ! who tell 
That, be the song of heaven or hell, 
Who truly sings, sings well. 

And with the same encomiums greet 
The satyr baring brutish feet. 

And pure child-angels sweet ; 

I 

Whose praise in equal meed can share 
The Mgenad with distempered hair, 
The cold Madonna fair. 

Great singers of the past ! whose song 
Still streams down earthward pure and strong, 
Free from all stain of wrong. 



THE APOLOGY. 221 

Whose lives were chequered, but whose verse 
The generations still rehearse ; 

Yet never soul grew worse. 

What is it that these would ? shall I,. 
Bom late in time, consent to lie 
In the old misery ? 

I — who have learnt that flesh is dust, 
What gulfs dissever love from lust, 
The wrongful from the just — 

Put on again the rags of sense, 
A Pagan without innocence, 

A Christian in offence ? 

Perish the thought ! I am to-day 
What God and Time have made me ; they 
Have ordered, I obey. 

And day by day the labouring earth 
Whirls on — glad mysteries of birth. 

Sad death throes, sorrow, mirth. 

Youth's flower just bursting into bloom. 
Wan age, a sun which sets in gloom, 
The cradle, and the tomb. 



1 



2 22 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

These are around me — hope and fear, 
Not fables, but alive and near, 

Fresh smile and scarce-dried tear. 

These are around me, these I sing. 
These, these of every thought and thing, 
My verse shall heavenward wing. 

The sun but seems to kiss the hill, 
And all the vast eternal Will 

Is moving, working, still. 

God is. Truth lives, and overhead 
Behold a visible glory spread ; 
Only the past is dead. 

Courage arise ; if hard it seem 
To sing the present, yet we deem 
'Tis worthier than a dream. 

Awake, arise, for to the bold 
The seeming desert comes to hold 
Blossoms of white and gold. 



Shall I then choose to take my side 
With those who love their thoughts to hide 
In vague abstractions wide ? 



THE APOLOGY. 223 

Whose dim verse struggles to recall 
The hopes, the fears that rise and fall 
Deep in the souls of all 

Who fitly choose a fitting theme. 
Not things which neither are nor seem, 
No visionary dream, 

But the great psalm of life, the long 
Harmonious confluence of song 
Thro' all the ages strong. 

But grown to wider scale to-day. 
And sweeping fuller chords than they 
Knew who have passed away. 

A worthy theme for worthy bard 
But all too often blurred and marred 
By intonations hard. 

So that the common eye and ear 
Can dimly see and faintly hear 

What should be bright and clear. 

Who wing the fiery thought so high, 
An arrow shot into the sky. 
Its failing forces die. 



2 24 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And all the straining eye discerns 
Is but a spark which feebly bums, 

Then quenched to earth returns. 

Or with a borrowed lyre devote 
Hoarse accent and untuneful throat 
To sound a difficult note, 

By currents of conflicting thought, 
And counter themes which rise unsought, 
And jangling chords distraught. 

Not song, but science, sign not sound. 
Not soaring to high heaven, but bound 
Fast to the common ground. 

Who with a pitiless skill dissect 
What secret sources, vexed and checked, 
Surge upward in effect. 

And trace in endless struggling rhyme 

How hearts forlorn of love and time 

Have rotted into crime. 

Or those who, baffled and opprest 
By life's incessant fierce unrest. 

Where naught that is seems best, 



THE APOLOGY. 225 



Assail the tjrrant, lash the wrong, 
Till but a wild invective long, 
Is left in lieu of song. 

Most precious all, yet this is sure. 
The song which longest shall endure 
Is simple, sweet, and pure. 

Not psychologic riddles fine. 
Not keen analysis, combine 
In verse we feel divine. 



Nor fierce overbalanced rage alone, 
Which mars the rh5nne, and dulls the tone- 
They may not sing who groan ; 

But a sweet cadence, wanting much 
Of depth, perhaps, and fire, but such 
As finer souls can touch, 

To finer issues ; such as come 
To him who far afield must roam. 

Thinking old thoughts of home. 

Or who in Sabbath twilights hears 
His children lisp a hymn, and fears 
Lest they should see his tears. 



226 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Wherefore, my soul, if song be thine, 
If any gleam of things divine 

Thro' thee may dimly shine, 

If ever any faintest note 
Of far-off sweetness swell thy throat. 
True echo tho' remote. 

This is my task, to sing To-day, 
Not dead years past and fled away, 
But this alone — ^To-day. 

Or if I pause a little space 
Striving, across the gulf, to trace 
Some fine, forgotten face — 

Some monarch of the race whose name 
Still lives upon the lips of fame. 

Touched by no stain of shame ; 

Some sweet old love-tale, ever young, 
Which of old time the burning tongue 
Of god-like bard has sung ; 

Some meed of effort nobly won. 
Some more than human task begun. 
Precious though left undone ; 



THE APOLOGY. 227 

Some awfiil story, strong to show 
How passions unrestricted flow 
Into a sea of woe ; 

Not less my powers I strive to bend, 
Not less my song aspires to tend 
To one unchanging end, 

By lofty aspirations, stirred 
Thro' homely music, daily heard, 

Trite phrase and common word. 

Simple, but holding at the core 
Thoughts which strange speech and varied lore 
Have hid from men before. 

To lift how little howsoe'er 
The hearts of toilers struggling here, 
In joyless lives and sere. 

To make a little lighter yet 
Their lives by daily ills beset. 

Whom men and laws forget 

To sing, if sing I must, of love 
As a pure spell, with power to move 
DuU hearts to things above. 



228 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

But choosing rather to portray 
The warring tides of thoughts which stray 
Thro' doubting souls to-day. 

Or if at times, with straining eye 
And voice, I dwell on things which lie 
Hidden in Futurity, 

And strive to tell in halting rhyme 
The glorious dawn, the golden prime, 
The victories of Time, 

The race transfigured, wrong redressed. 

None worn with labour, nor oppressed. 

But peace for all and rest, 

And knowledge throwing wide the shrine 
From whose broad doorways seems to shine 
An effluence Divine ; — 

If of these visions fain to dream. 
Not less I hold, whatever may seem. 
The Present for my theme, 

The vain regret remembering. 
Which lost occasion knows to bring, — 
Afraid, yet bound, to sing. 



SONG. 229 



SONG. 

Ah ! love is like a tender flower 

Hid in the opening leaves of life. 

Which, when the springtide calls, has power 

To scorn the elemental strife — 

So strong, that well it knows to gain 

Fresh sweetness from the wind and rain. 

So strong, and yet so weak, alas ! 

It waits the wooing of the sun ; 

'Mid frosts and snows the brief hours pass, 

And when they melt the spring is done. 

Gay blooms and honeyed fruits may come, 

But spring is dead, and birds are dumb. 



230 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



AS IN A PICTURE. 

White, on a cliff they stood ; 
Beyond, a cypress wood. 

Three there were — one who wept, 
And one as though he slept ; 

One with wide steadfast eyes 
Fixed in a sad surprise. 

Day, like a dying hymn, 
Grew gradually dim. 

A solitary star 

Gleamed on them from afar. 

Beneath, by sand and cave 
Sobbed the continual wave. 



AT AN ALMSHOUSE. 23 1 

Long time in reverent thought 
Who these might be I sought, 

Then suddenly I said, 

" Oh, Lord of quick and dead ! " 



-•♦■ 



AT AN ALMSHOUSK 

Beneath these shadows holy 
Age rests, or paces slowly, 
And muses, muses always 
On that which once has been. 
Recalling years long ended. 
And vanished visions splendid ; 
The throb, the flush of old days, 
When all the world was green. 

When every hour brought pleasure, 
And every flower a treasure. 
And whispered words were spoken. 
And love was everywhere. 
The swift brief hour of passion, 
And then the old, old fashion, 
The childish accents broken — 
Oh, precious days and fair ! 



232 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

The years of self-denial, 
Blissful tho' full of trial, 
The young blooms waxing stronger, 
The older come to fruit 
The tranquil days of gladness, 
The gradual calm and sadness. 
When childhood cheers no longer, 
And all the house is mute. 

Gone, but not wholly taken ; 
Left, yet not all forsaken. 
Again the worn hearts cherish 
The memories of home ; 
Again love-whispers greet them, 
Their children run to meet them. 
Blest dreams which never perish 
Until the end be come. 



-H- 



A YORKSHIRE RIVER. 233 



A YORKSHIRE RIVER. 

The silent surfaces sleep 

With a sullen viscous flow, 

And scarce in the squalid deep 

Swing the dead weeds to and fro, 

And no living thing is there to swim or creep 

In the sunless gulfs below. 

And beneath are the ooze and the slime. 
Where the corpse lies as it fell, 
The hidden secrets of crime 
Which no living tongue shall tell, 
The shameful story of time, 
The old, old burden of hell. 

All the grasses upon the bank 

Are bitter with scurf and drift, 

And the reeds are withered and dank ; 

And sometimes, when the smoke clouds shift, 

You may see the tall shafts in a hideous rank 

Their sulphurous fumes uplift. 



234 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

From the black blot up the stream 

The funeral barges glide, 

And the waves part as in a dream, 

From broad bow and sunken side ; 

And 'tis "greed, greed!" hisses from coal and from 

steam. 
Foul freightage and turbid tide, 

Like the life of a slumbering soul 
Grown dull in content and health. 
Whose dark depths lazily roll, 
Whose still currents creep by stealth. 
Nor sorrow nor yearning comes to control 
The monotonous tide of wealth. 

Fair or foul, in life as in death. 

One blight and corruption o'er all, 

Blow on them, great wind, with thy breath. 

Fall, blinding water-floods, fall. 

Till the dead life below awakeneth, 

And deep unto deep doth call ! 



-H- 



FOR JUDGMENT. 235 



FOR JUDGMENT. 

The form was young, the &ce was fair, 
Her hands seemed still together tied, 

'Twas as if Eve was standing there. 
With the stem guardian at her side. 

I mused on all the depths of will, 

Of judgment, knowledge, right, and wrong. 
The pleadings crept their cotuse, and still 

I sat in musings sad and long. 

But when they ceased the tale of shame. 
And the cold voice pronounced her name. 

But one thought held me, that was all, 
'Twas thus we did my sister calL 



236 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING. 

Come, ifriend, let us forget 

The turmoil of the world a little while. 

For now the soft skies smile, 

The fields with flowers are set. 

Let us away awhile 

With fierce unrest and carking thoughts of care, 

And breathe a little while the jocund air, 

And sing the joyous measures sung 

By those firee singers, when the world was young. 

For still the world is young, for still the spring 

Renews itself, and still the lengthening hours 

Bring back the month of flowers. 

The leaves are green to-day as those of old. 

For Chaucer and for Shakspeare ; still the gold 

Of August gilds the rippling breadths of wheat ; 

Young maids are fair and sweet 

As when they frolicked gay, with flashing feet, 



ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING. 237 

Round the old May-pole. All young things rejoice. 

No sorrow dulls the blackbird^s mellow voice, 

Thro' the clear summer dawns or twilights long. 

With aspect not more dim 

Thro* space the planets swim 

Than of old time o'er the Chaldean plain. 

We only, we alone, 

Let jarring discords mar our song. 

And find our music take a lower tone. 

We only with dim eyes 

And laboured vision feebly strain. 

And flout the undying splendours of the skies. 



Oh, see how glorious show. 

On this fair mom in May, the clear-cut hills, 

The dewy lawns, the hawthorns white, 

Argent on plains of gold, the growing light 

Pure as when first on the young earth 

The faint warm sunlight came to birth. 

There is a nameless air 

Of sweet renewal over all which fills 

The earth and sky with life, and everywhere, 

Before the scarce seen sun begins to glow. 

The birds awake which slumbered all night long. 

And with a gush of song, 

First doubting of their strain, then full and wide 

Raise their fresh hymns thro' all the country side. 



238 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Already, above the dewy clover, 

The soaring lark begins to hover 

Over his mate's low nest ; 

And soon, from childhood's early rest 

In hall and cottage, to the casement rise 

The little ones with their fresh morning eyes. 

And gaze on the old Earth, which still grows new. 

And see the tranquil heaven's miclouded blue. 

And, since as yet no sight nor sound of toil 

The fair spread, peaceful picture comes to soil, 

I^ook from their young and steadfast eyes 

With such an artless sweet surprise 

As Adam knew, when first on either hand 

He saw the virgin landscapes of the morning land. 

Oh, youth, dawn, springtide, triune miracle. 

Renewing life in earth, and sky, and man. 

By what eternal plan 

Dost thou revive again and yet again ? 

There is no mom that breaks, 

No bud that bursts, no life that comes to birth. 

But the rapt fancy takes, 

Far from the duller plains of mind and earth, 

Up to the source and origin of things, 

Where, poised on brooding wings, 

It seems to hover o'er the immense inane. 

And see the suns, like feeble rings of light, 

Orb from the gray, and all the youngling globe 



ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING. 239 

A coil of vapour circling like a dream, 

Then fixed compact for ever ; the first beam 

Strike on the dark and undivided sea, 

And wake the deeps i^iath life. Oh, mystery 

That still dost baffle thought, 

Though by all sages sought. 

And yet art daily done 

With each returning sun. 

With every dawn which reddens in the skies, 

With every opening of awakened eyes ! 

How shall any dare to hold 

That the fair world groweth old. 

And now hath spent on time 

The glories of its prime ? 

Beautiful were the days indeed 

Of the Pagan's simple creed. 

When all of life was made for girl and boy, 

And all religion was but to enjoy. 

The fair chivalric dream 

To some may glorious seem. 

When from the sleeping centuries, 

Awakened Europe seemed to rise. 

It may be that we cannot know, 

In these ripe years, the glory and the glow 

Of those young hours of time, and careless days, 

Borne down too much by knowledge, and opprest. 

To halt a little for the needed rest. 



240 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And yield ourselves awhile to joy and praise. 

Yet every year doth bring 

With each recurrence of the genial hour 

The infancy of spring, 

With store of tender leaf and bursting flower, 

And still to every home 

Fresh childish voices come. 

And eyes that opened last in Paradise,. 

And with each rosy dawn 

Are night and death withdrawn. 

Another world rises for other eyes ; 

Again begins the joy, the stress, the strife. 

Ancient as time itself, and wide as life. 

We are the ancients of the world indeed ; 

No more the simple creed. 

When every hill and stream and grove 

Was filled with shy divinities of love, 

Allures us, serving as our King 

A Lord of grief and suffering. 

Too much our wisdom burdens to permit 

The fair, thin visions of the past, to flit 

From shade to shade, or float from hill to hill. 

We are so compassed round by ill. 

That all the music of our lives is dumb. 

Amid the turbulent waves of sound that rise. 

The discord bom of doubts, and tears, and sighs. 

Which daily to the listening ear do come ; 



I 



ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING. 241 

Nay, oft, confounded by the incessant noise 
Of vast world-engines, grinding law on law, 
We lose the godhead that our fathers saw, 
And all our higher joys, 
And bear to plod on daily, deaf and blind, 
To a dark goal we dare not hope to find. 

But grows the world then old? 

Nay, all things that are bom of time 

Spring upwards, and expand from youth to prime, 

Spring up from flower to fruit. 

From song-tide till the days are mute, 

Green blade to ear of gold. 

But not the less through the eternal round 

The sleep of winter wakes in days of spring. 

And not the less the bare and frozen ground 

Grows blithe with blooms that burst and birds that 

sing. 
Nature is deathless ; herb^and tree^ 
Through time that has been and shall be, 
Change not, although the outward form 
Seem now the columned palm 
Nourished in zones of calm. 
And now the gnarled oak that defies the storm. 
The cedar's thousand summers are no more 
To her than are the fleeting petals gay 
Which the young spring, ere March is o'er. 
Scarce offered, takes away. 

R 



.1 



U2 



SONGS OF TWO WORU^S. 



Eternal are her work^ tt i. 

Alike in ahort-«v Jt JS"^\*'^' 

nower and ever-dianging sea. 

^e, too, are deathless; we 
Eternal as the Earth, 

We cannot cease to be 

WMe springtide con.es or binh. 

If our bemg cease to hold 
Reflected lights divine 

On budding lives, they day by dav Hn ,.• 
With unabated gold. ^ ''^ ^^^ ^o shme 

Though lost it mav b*» »« 

j-otbethatL^^ptr,::^:^^^'^^ 

0%Ae baser part forgets to'be. 
And if^thm the hidden Treasury 
Of the great Ruler we awhile should rest 
Or rssue with a higher sfcim,, • ^ 

With all our baser'alTo;t2e7T 
Were we not thus contL!^' "' ^^°'' 

Our thoughts too mighty are 
The sanctities that bless, ' 

^e::Sgt:r^^'^^«^*^^- 

Beyondl3 r ^ ""'' °° ^^^ ^gs 
beyond the ghm„,er of the fiirthest star 



ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING, 243 

The watcher who with patient eye 

Scans the illumined sky, 

Knows when the outward rushing fire shall turn, 

And in far ages Jience shall brightly bum 

For eyes to-day undreamt of. The clear voice 

From Greece or Israel thro' the centuries heard 

Still bids us tremble or rejoice. 

Stronger than living look or word 

The love of home or race, 

Which doth transfigure us, and seems to bring 

On every heaven-lit face 

Some shadow of the glory of our King, 

Fades not on earth, nor with our years doth end ; 

Nay, even earth's poor physical powers transcend 

The narrow bounds of space and time. 

The swift thought by some mystic sympathy 

Speeding through desert sand, and storm-tost sea. 

And shall we hold the range of mind 

Is to our little lives confined ; 

That the pure heart in some blest sphere above, 

Loves not which here was set on fire of love ; 

The clear eye scans not still, which here could scan 

The confines of the Universal plan ; 

The seer nor speaks nor thinks his thoughts sublime. 

And all of Homer is a speck of lime ? 

• 
Nay, fiiend, let us forget 
The conflicts of our doubt a little while, 
Again our springs shall smile ; 



244 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

We shall not perish yet 

If God so guide our fate, 

The nobler portions of ourselves shall last 

Till all the lower rounds of life be past, 

And we, regenerate. 

We too again shall rise, 

The same and not the same. 

As daily rise upon the orient skies 

New dawns with wheels of flame. 

So, if it worthy prove, 

Our being, self-perfected, shall upward move 

To higher essence, and still higher grown, 

Not sweeping idle harps before a throne. 

Nor spending praise where is no need of praise, 

But through unnumbered lives and ages come 

Of pure laborious days. 

To an eternal home, 

Where spring is not, nor birth, nor any dawn, 

But life's full noontide never is withdrawn. 



■^♦- 



LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 245 



LOVE TRIUMPHANT, 

Love took me up, a naked, helpless child, 
Love laid me sleeping on the tender breast, 
Love gazed on me with saintly eyes and mild, 
Love watched me as I lay in happy rest, 
Love was my childhood's stay, my chiefest good, 
My daily friend, my solace and my food. 

But when to Love's own stature I was come, 
Treading the paths where fabled Loves abound. 
Hard by the Cytherean's magic home. 
Loveless I paced alone the enchanted ground. 
Some phantoms pale I marked, which fied away, 
And lo, my youth was gone ; my hair turned gray. 

Loveless I lived long time, until I knew 
A. thrill since childish hours unknown before. 
My cloistered heart forth to the wicket flew. 
And Love himself was waiting at the door. 
And now, howe'er the treacherous seasons move. 
Love dwells' with me again, and I with Love. 



246 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Love folds me round, Love walks with me, Love takes 

My heart and bums it with a holy fire ; 

Love lays me on his silver wings, and makes 

My fainting soul to thinner air aspire. 

Love of the Source, the Race, the True, the Right, 

This is my sole companion day and night 



-♦♦■ 



TOLERANCE. 

Call no faith false which e*er has brought 
Relief to any laden life, 
Cessation from the pain of thought, 
Refreshment 'mid the dust of strife. 

What though the thing to which they kneel 
Be dumb and dead as wood or stone. 
Though all the rapture which they feel 
Be for the worshipper alone ? 

They worship, they adore, they bow 
Before the Ineffable Source, before 
The hidden soul of good ; and thou. 
With all thy wit, what dost thou more ? 



TOLERANCE. 247 

Kneel with them, only if there come 
Some zealot or sleek knave who strives 
To mar the sanctities of home, 
To tear asimder wedded lives ; 

Or who by subtle wile has sought, 
By shameful promise, shameful threat, 
To turn the thinker from his thought. 
To efface the eternal landmarks set, 

'Twixt faith and knowledge ; hold not peace 
For such, but like a sudden flame 
Let loose thy scorn on him, nor cease 
Till thou has covered him with shame. 



•*¥■ 



248 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



I 

1 

A HYMN IN TIME OF IDOLS. 



Though they may crowd 

Rite upon rite, and mystic song on song ; 

Though the deep organ loud 

Through the long nave reverberate full and strong ; 

Though the weird priest, 

Whom rolling clouds of incense half conceal, 

By gilded robes increased, 

Mutter and sign, and proudly prostrate kneel ; 

Not pomp, nor song, nor bended knee 

Shall bring them any nearer Thee. 

I would not hold 

Therefore that those who worship still where they. 

In dear dead days of old, 

Their distant sires, knelt once and passed away. 

May not from carven stone, 

High arching nave and reeded column fine, 

And the thin soaring tone 



A HYMN IN TIME OF IDOLS. 249 

Of the keen organ catch a breath divine, • 

Or that the immemorial sense 
Of worship adds not reverence. 

But by some bare 

Hill side or plain, or crowded city street, 

Wherever purer spirits are, 

Or hearts with love inflamed together meet. 

Rude bench and naked wall. 

Humble and sordid to the world-dimmed sight 

On these shall come to fall 

A golden ray of consecrating light, 

And thou within the midst shalt there 

Invisible receive the prayer. 

In every home, 

Wherever there are loving hearts and mild. 

Thou still dost deign to come, 

Cilothed with the likeness of a little child. 

Upon the hearth thou still 

Dwellest with them at meat, or work, or play. 

Thou who all space dost fill 

Art with the pure and humble day by day ; 

Thou treasurest the tears they weep, 

And watchest o'er them while they sleep. 

Spirit and Word, 

That still art hid in every faithful heart, 



2SO SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Indwelling Thought and Lord — 

How should they doubt who know thee as thou art ? 

How think to bring thee near 

By magic words, or signs, or any spell, 

Who art among us here. 

Who always in the loving soul dost dwell, 

Who art the staff and stay indeed 

Of the weak keees and hands that bleed? 

Then let them take 

Their pagan trappings, and their lifeless lore ; 

Let us arise and make 

A worthy temple where was none before* 

Each soul is its own shrine, 

Its priesthood, its sufficient sacrifice. 

Its cleansing fount divine. 

Its hidden store of precious sanctities. 

Those only fit for priestcraft are 

From whom their Lord and King is far. 



-M- 



ON A MODERN PAINTED WINDOW. 25 1 



ON A MODERN PAINTED WINDOW. 

Time was they lifted thee so high 
Between the gazer and the sky, 
That all the worshipper might see 
Was God no more, but only thee. 

So high was set thy cross, that they 
Who would thy lightest Tiest obey, 
Saw not thy gracious face, nor heard 
More than an echo of thy word. 

But now 'tis nearer to the ground, 
The weeping women kneel aroimd, 
The scoffers sneering by, deride 
Thy kingly claims, thy wounded side. 

Only two beams of coimnon wood. 
And a meek victim bathed in blood, 
Rude nails that pierce the tortured limb. 
Mild eyes with agony grown dim. 



252 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Aye, but to those who know thee right 
Faith strengthens with the nearer sight ; 
Love builds a deeper, stronger, creed 
On those soft eyes and hands that bleed. 

Raised but a little from the rest, 
But higher therefore and more blest ; 
No more an empty priestly sign, 
But the more human, more divine. 



-H- 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT. 

The long day wanes, the broad fields fade ; the night, 
The sweet June night, is like a curtain drawn. 
The dark lanes know no faintest sound, and white 
The pallid hawthorn lights the smooth-pleached lawn. 
The scented earth drinks from the silent skies 
Soft dews, more sweet than softest harmonies. 

There is no stir nor breath of air, the plains 
Lie slumbering in the close embrace of night, 
Only the rustling landrail's note complains ; 
The children's casement shows the half-veiled light, 
Only beneath the solemn elm trees tall 
The fountain seems to fall and cease to fall.. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT. 253 

No change will come, nor any sound be made 
Thro' the still hours which shall precede the day ; 
Only the bright-eyed stars will slowly fade, 
And a thin vapour rise up cold and gray. 
Then a soft breeze will whisper fresh and cold. 
And up the swift sun hurries red as gold. 

And then another dawn, another link 

To bind the coming to the vanished day, 

Another foot-pace nearer to the brink 

Whereon our perilous footsteps hardly stay, 

Another line upon the secular page 

Of birth-throes, bridals, sick-beds, youth and age. 

Sweet summer night, than summer days more fair. 
Safe haven of the weary and forlorn, 
Splendid the gifts the luminous noontides bear, 
Lovely the opening eyelids of the mom ; 
But thou with softest touch transfigurest 
This toilwom earth into a heaven of rest 



-H- 



254 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



GOOD IN EVERYTHING. 

The white shafts of the dawn dispel 
The night clouds banked across the sky ; 
The sluggish vapours curl and die, 

And the day rises. It is well. 

Unfold, ye tender blooms of life ; 

Sing, birds ; let all the world* be gay. 

'Tis well, — the morning of our day 
Must rise 'mid joyous songs and strife. 

Beat, noonday sun, till all the plain 
Swoons, and life seems asleep or dead : 
'Tis well, — the harvest of our bread. 

Is sown in sorrow and reaped in pain. 

Close, evening shadows, soft and deep. 
When life reviving breathes once more ; 
Fall, silent night, when toil is o'er. 

And the soul folds her wings in sleep. 



) 



Come joy or grief, come right or wrong, 
In good or evil, life or death ; 
We are the creatures of His breath : 

Nor shall his hand forsake us long. 



-H- 



THE REPLY, 

If I were to answer you 

As you would, my soul would soar 

Like the lark from earth-bom eyes, 

Soar and hide in far-off skies. 

Soar and come to mortal view 

Nevermore. 

Whatsoever chance befall, 
Of myself I'd die possest. 
If they hold a willing mind 
Silken threads like steel can bind. 
Only to be free is blest — 
Free is all. 

Press me not, of earth am I ; 
Paths there are I dare not tread. 
Sweet are fields and flowers, the smile 
Of girlhood ; but a little while 
Blossoms youth, and overhead 
Laughs the sky. 



1 



THE REPLY. 255 



256 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

What have we to do with love, — 
We for whom the seasons bring 
Nothing else than golden hours, 
Sun that bums, nor cloud that lowers. 
Thro' whose veins the tides of spring 
Lightly move ? 

But if any pain should come 
To o'ercloud your summer, dear, 
Pain another's heart may share, 
Come and we our fate will dare, — 
Come, forgetting doubt and fear. 
To your home. 



-M- 



, 



THE TOUCHSTONE. 257 



THE TOUCHSTONE. 

Said one, " Tis Use must lend 
The clue oiu: thoughts to bend 
To the trae end." 

Then I. " But can your thought 
Reach thus for ages sought, 
The eternal ' Ought ? ' " 

" Would not the martyr spurn 
The truth you teach, to leam. 
Rot, rather, — bum ? " 

" Were not death's self more sweet 
Than to live incomplete 
A life effete?" 

Then he. " But who shall hold 
They grasped not over bold 
Their faith of old," 



s 



258 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" Hoarding a random creed 
For which they bore to bleed, 
Not proved indeed ? " 

" For who the truth shall seize 
Grasps it by slow degrees, 
Not snatched, as these." 

" And who would save his kind 
Must spend the clue to find 
Not heart, but mind." 

Then I. " But mind alone 
Is dead as wood or stone. 
Stirs naught and none." 

" And who with prying eyes 
Will motive analyze, 
For him it dies." 

" And all his hours remain 
A barren, endless plain, 
Not joy nor pain : " 

" A tideless, windless sea, 
A blank eternity. 
Still doomed to be." 



(C 



THE TOUCHSTONE. 259 

Then he. " The Use we teach 
All forms of being can reach, 
Saves all by each." 

No hasty glance or blind, 
To passing goods confined. 
Changeful as wind ; " 



" But with a steadfast view 
Piercing the boundless blue 
Up to the True," 

" Contented to efface 
Self, if from out its place 
Blossoms the race ; " 

^* If from lives crushed and wrecked, 
A perfected effect, 
Man stands erect" 

" To whom all pleasures show 
An aspect mean and low 
Beside to know." 



it 



Holding all other thought 
Than which for this is sought 
A thing of naught " 



26o SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" This seeking, nothing less, 
What broader happiness 
Most lives may bless ? " 

Then I. " If the desire 

To which your thoughts aspire 

Blazed forth afire ; " 

" If all the task were done, 
All stubborn contests won 
Beneath the sun ; " 

" If hope came not to cheer, 
Nor bracing chill of fear, 
Sweet sigh nor tear ; " 

" But all the race should sleep 
In a broad calm, too deep 
For one to weep." 

" And o'er all lands should reign 
A dull content inane. 
Worse far than pain ; " 

" If, all its griefs forgot. 
Slowly the race should rot. 
Fade and be not ; " 



« 



(I 



THE TOUCHSTONE. 26 1 

Would not the thought oppress 
The dream that once could bless, 
With such distress," 

That, from the too great strain, 
Life withered, heart and brain. 
Would rise in vain ? " 

Then he. " The outcome this 
Of all philosophies 
Who seeks shall miss." 



« 



Who toil aright, for those 
Life's pathway, ere it close, 
Is as the rose." 



" The spires of wisdom stand 
Piled by the unconscious hand. 
From grains of sand" 

" And pleasure comes unsought 
To those who take but thought 
For that they ought ; " 

" A bloom, a perfume rare, 
A deep-hid jewel fair 
For those who dare." 



262 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" So who the race aright 
Loveth, a clearer sight 
Shall yet requite ; " 

" And, since he seeks it less, 
An unsought happiness 
His toil shall bless." 

Then I. " 'Twere strange indeed 
Should not our longing need 
A clearer creed." 

" If only this were blest. 
To ponder well how best 
To serve the rest" 

" Since grows ; 'tis understood, 
The happy multitude, 
From each man's good," 

" From general sacrifice. 
How should for each arise. 
Content for sighs ? " 

" Or shall we deem it true 
That who the road pursue 
To gain the True," 



THE TOUCHSTONE. 263 

" May not the summit gain 
By paths direct and plain 
To heart and brain," 

" But with averted mind, 
And sedulously blind, 
The end must find ? " 

" Is truth a masker, then. 
Rejoiced to mock the ken 
Of toiling men?" 

** Now tricked as Use, now Right, 
But always in despite 
Of our poor sight" 

"Doth it not rather seem 
We live, whatever we deem, 
As in a dream," 

" Acting, but acting still 
The dictates to fulfil 
Of a sure Will," 

" Seeing in Use and Right, 
Twin rays indefinite 
Of a great Light," 



264 . SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

"A mystic Sun and clear, 
Which through mind's atmosphere 
Can scarce appear,** 

" But which not less we know; 
In all fair flowers that grow, 
Loud storms that btow/' 

" In noble thought and word, 
In aspirations heard. 
When hearts are stirred," 

" In every breathing breathy 
Life that awakeneth, 
Life that is death," 

" Whether serene it shine 
Or clouds our view confine^ 
Wondrous, Divine?" 

Then he. " Shafl this excuse 
Him who a dream should choose 
Rather than Use,'^ 

" That he prefer to hold 
Some dark abstraction old. 
Remote and cold," 



THE TOUCHSTONE. 265 

" Some thin ghost, fancy-dressed, 
Whereby men's souls oppressed, 
Forfeit the best," 

" And for a dream neglect 
What splendours of effect 
Their lives had decked ?" 

Then I. " Though mind and brain 
Wither and are in vain. 
And thought a pain ; " 

" Though sorrow, like a thief. 
Follow to rob belief. 
And faith be grief; " 

" Though my obedience show 
No fruit I here may know 
Save utter woe ; " 

" Though health and strength decay ; 
Yea, though the Truth shall slay, 
I will obey." 



-H- 



266 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



NOTHING LOST. 

Where are last year's snows, 
Where the summer's rose, — 
Who is there who knows ? 

Or the glorious note 
Of some singer's throat 
Heard in years remote ? 

Or the love they bore 
Who, in days of yore, 
Loved, but are no more ? 

Or the faiths men knew 

When, before mind grew. 

All strange things seemed true ? 



The snows are sweet spring rain. 
The dead rose blooms again, 
Young voices keep the strain. 



NOTHING LOST. 267 

The old affection mild 

Still springs up undefiled 

For love, and friend, and child. 

The old faiths grown more wide, 

Purer and glorified, 

Are still our lifelong guide. . 

Nothing that once has been, 
Tho' ages roll between 
And it be no more seen. 

Can perish, for the Will 
Which doth our being fulfil 
Sustains and keeps it still 



■4*' 



268 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



THE HIDDEN SELF. 

I KNOW not if a keener smart 
Can come to finer souls than bis 

Who hears men praise him, mind or heart, 
For something higher than he is. 

Who fain would say, " Behold me, friends, 
That which I am, not what you deem, 

A thing of low and narrow ends, 
Sordid, not golden as I seem. 

See here the hidden blot of shame, 

The weak thought that you take for strong, 

The brain too dull to merit fame, 
The faint and imitative song." 

But dares not, lest discovery foul 
■ Not his name only, but degrade 
Heights closed but to the soaring soul. 
Names which scorn trembles to invade ; 



MARCHING. 269 

And doth his inner self conceal 

From all men in his own despite, 
Hiding what he would fain reveal, 

And a most innocent hypocrite. 



-♦♦- 



MARCHINa 

Once, and once again. 
From the thick crowd of men, 
Loud toil and high endeavour, 
There comes a secret sound, 
Where the thinkers stand around. 
And sometimes 'tis " For ever," 
Sometimes " Never." 

Always that ceaseless throng 
Has filed those paths along. 
Those painful hills ascended ; 
Thro' fair meads of success, 
Thro' barren sands they press. 
Defeats and triumphs splendid. 
Till 'tis ended. 

The glory and the shame 
Different, and yet the same 
The efforts and the aspirations. 



270 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Unlike in mien and speech, 
. Pressed onwards each on each. 
Go the endless alternations 
Of the nations. 

And the rhythm of their feet, 

The ineffable low beat 

Of those vast throngs pacing slowly. 

Floats on the sea of Time 

Like a musical low chime 

From a far isle, mystic, holy, 

Tolling slowly. 

And from the endless column 
Goes up that strange rhyme solemn 
Of thoughts which naught shall sever, 
The contrast sad and sweet, 
Of opposite streams which meet 
Sometimes the glad " For ever," 
Sometimes "Never." 



•4¥- 



COURAGE. 271 



COURAGE ! 

There are who, bending supple ]cnees, 
Live for no end except to please. 

Rising to fame by mean degrees ; 
But creep not thou with these. 

They have their due reward ; they bend 
Their lives to an unworthy end — 

On empty aims the toil expend 
Which had secured a friend. 

But be not thou as these, whose mind 
Is to the passing hour confined ; 

Let no ignoble fetters bind 
Thy soul, as free as 'wind. 

Stand upright, speak thy thought, declare 
The truth thou hast that all may share ; 

Be bold, proclaim it everjrwhere : 
They only live who dare. 



272 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



GILBERT BECKETT AND THE FAIR 

SARACEN. 

The last crusader^s helm had gleamed 

Upon the yellow Syrian shore ; 
No more the war-worn standards streamed, 

The stout knights charged and fell no more ; 
No more the Paynim grew afraid — 

The crescent floated o'er the cross. 
But to one simple Heathen maid 

Her country's gain was bitter loss ; 

For love, which knows not race or creed, 

Had bound her with its subtle chain, — 
Love, which still makes young hearts to bleed, 

For this one, mingled joy with pain. 
And left for one brief hour of bliss. 

One little span of hopes and fears. 
The memory of a parting kiss, 

And what poor solace comes of tears. 



GILBERT BECKETT AND THE FAIR SARACEN. 273 

A lowly English squire was he, 

A prisoner chained, enslaved, and sold ; 
A lady she of high degree. 

'Tis an old tale and often told : 
'Twas pity bade the brown cheek glow, 

'Twas love and pity drew the sigh, 
'Twas love that made the soft tear flow. 

The sweet sad night she bade him fly. 



Far from the scorching Syrian plain 

The brave ship bears the Saxon home ; 
Once more to mists and rains again. 

And verdant English lawns,. they come. 
I know not if as now 'twas then, 

Or if the growing ages move 
The careless, changeful hearts of men 

More slowly to the thoughts of love ; 



But woman's heart was then, as now, 

Tender and passionate and true. 
Think, gentle ladies, ye who know 

Love's power, what pain that poor heart knew ; 
How, living always o'er again 

The sweet short past, she knew, too late, 
'Twas love had bound the captive's chain. 

Which broken,'left her desolate. 

T 



274 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

4 

Till by degrees the full young cheek 

Grew hollow, and the Hquid eyes 
Still gazing seaward, large and meek, 

Took something of a sad surprise ; 
As one who learns, with a strange chill, 

'Mid youth and wealth's unclouded day, 
Of sad lives full pf pain and ill. 

And thinks, "And am I too as they ? " 



And by degrees most hateful grew 

All things that once she held so dear — 
The feathery palms, the cloudless blue. 

Tall mosque and loud muezzin clear. 
The knights who flashed by blinded street. 

The lattice lit by laughing eyes. 
The songs around the fountain, sweet 

To maidens under Eastern skies. 



And oft at eve, when young girls told 

Tales precious to the girlish heart. 
She sat alone, and loved to hold 

Communion with her soul apart. 
Till at the last, too great became 

The hidden weight of secret care. 
And girlish fears and maiden shame 

Were gone, and only love was there. 



31 w .fm -utii.. 



GILBERT BECKETT AND THE FAIR SARACEN. 275 

And SO she fled. I see her still 

In fancy, desolate, alone, 
Wander by arid plain and hill, 

From early dawn till day was done ; 
Sun-stricken, hungry, thirsty, faint. 

By perilous paths I see her move, 
Clothed round with pureness like a saint, 

And fearless in the might of love. 



Till lo ! a gleam of azure sea, 

And rude ships moored upon the shore. 
Strange, yet not wholly strange, for he 

Had dared those mystic depths before. 
And some good English seaman bold. 

Remembering those he left at home. 
Put gently back the offered gold. 

And for love's honour bade her come. 



And then they sailed. No pirate bark 

Swooped on them, for the Power of Love 
Watched o'er that precious wandering ark. 

And this his tender little dove. 
I see those stalwart seamen still 

Gaze wondering on that childish form. 
And shelter her from harm and ill, 

And guide her safe through wave and storm. 



276 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Till under grayer skies a gleam 

Of white, and taking land she went, 
Following our broad imperial stream, 

Or rose-hung lanes of smiling Kent 
Friendless I see her, lonely, weak, 

Thro' fields where every flower was strange, 
Go forth without a word to speak, 

By burgh and thorp and moated grange. 



For all that Love himself could teach 

This passionate pilgrim to our shore. 
Were but two words of Saxon speech, 

Tw9 little words and nothing more — 
** Gilbert " and " London '' ; like a flame 

To her sweet lips these sounds would come. 
The syllables of her lover's name, 

And the far city of his home. 



I see her cool her weary feet 

In dewy depths of crested grass ; 
By clear brooks fringed with meadow-sweet, 

And daisied meads, I see her pass ; 
I see her innocent girlish glee, 

I see the doubts which on her crowd, 
Overjoyed with bird, or flower, or tree, 

Despondent for the fleeting cloud. 



GILBERT BECKETT AND THE FAIR SARACEN. 277 

I see her passing slow, alone, 

By burgh and thorp and moated grange. 
Still murmuring softly like a moan 

Those two brief words in accents strange. 
Sometimes would pass a belted earl 

With squires behind in brave array ; 
Sometimes some honest, toilwom churl 

Would fare with her till close of day. 



The saintly abbess, sweet and sage, 

Would wonder as she ambled by. 
Or white-plumed knight or long-haired page 

Ride by her with inquiring eye. 
The friar would cross himself, and say 

His paternosters o'er and o'er ; 
The gay dames whisper Welladay ! 

And pity her and nothing more. 



But tender women, knowing love 

And all the pain of lonelihood. 
Would feel a sweet compassion move. 

And welcome her to rest and food, 
And walk with her beyond the hill. 

And kiss her cheek when she must go ; 
And " Gilbert " she would murmur still. 

And " London " she would whisper low. 



278 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And sometimes sottish boors would rise 

From wayside tavern, where they sate, 
And leer with heated vinous eyes. 

And stagger forth with reeling gait, 
And from that strong unswerving will 

And clear gaze shrink as from a blow ; 
And " Gilbert " she would murmur still. 

And " London " she would whisper low. 



Then by the broad suburban street, 

And city groups that outward stray 
To take the evening, and the sweet 

Faint breathings of the dying day — 
The gay young 'prentice, lithe and slim, 

The wimpled maid, demurely shy. 
The merchant somewhat grave and prim, 

The courtier with his rolling eye. 



And more and more the growing crowd 

Would gather, wondering whence she came 
And why, with boorish laughter loud, 

And jeers which burnt her cheek with flame. 
For potent charm to save from ill 

But one word she made answer now : 
For ** Gilbert " she would murmur still. 

And " Gilbert " she would whisper low. 



GILBERT BECKETT AND THE FAIR SARACEN. 279 

Till some good pitiful soul — not then 

Our London was as now overgrown — 
Pressed through the idle throng of men, 

And led her to his home alone, 
And signing to her he would find 

Him whom she sought, went forth again, 
And left her there with heart and mind 

Distracted by a new-bom pain. 



For surely then, when doubt was o'er, 

A doubt before a stranger came. 
He loved me not, or loves no more. 

Oh, virgin pride ! oh, maiden shame ! 
Almost she fled, almost the past 

Seemed better than the pain she knew ; 
Her veil around her face she cast : 

Then the gate swung — and he was true. 



Poor child ! they christened her, and so 

She had her wish. Ah, yearning heart. 
Was love so sweet then ? would you know 

Again the longing and the smart ? 
Came there no wintry hours when you 

Longed for your native skies again. 
The creed, the tongue your girlhood knew, 

Aye, even the longing and the pain ? 



28o SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Peace ! Love is Lord of all. But I, 

Seeing her fierce son's mitred tomb, 
Conjoin with fancjr's dreaming eye 

This love tale, and that dreadful doom. 
Sped hither by a hidden will, 

0*er sea and land I watch her go ; 
" Gilbert " I hear her murmur still, 

And " London " still she whispers low. 



•4*- 



TO A CHILD OF FANCY. 

The nests are in the hedgerows. 
The lambs are on the grass ; 
With laughter sweet as music 
Thy hours lightfooted pass, 
My darling child of fancy. 
My winsome prattling lass. 

Blue eyes, with, long brown lashes. 
Thickets of golden curl, 
Red little lips disclosing 
Twin rows of fairy pearl. 
Cheeks like the apple blossom. 
Voice lightsome as the merle. 



TO A CHILD OF FANCY. 28 1 

A whole Spring's fickle changes 
In every short-lived day, 
A passing cloud of April, 
A flowery smile of May, 
A thousand quick mutations 
From graver moods to gay. 

Far off, I see the season 

When thy childhood's course is run. 

And thy girlhood opens wider 

Beneath the growing suil 

And the rose begins to redden, 

But the violets are done. 

And further still the summer. 
When thy fair tree, fully grown, 
Shall burgeon, and grow splendid 
With blossoms of its own. 
And the fruit begins to gather. 
But the buttercups are mown. 

If I should see thy autumn, 
'Twill not be close at hand, 
But with a spirit vision, 
From some far distant land. 
Or, perhaps, I hence may see thee 
Amongst the angels stand. 



282 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

I know not what of fortune 
The future holds for thee, 
Nor if skies fair or clouded 
Wait thee in days to be, 
But neither joy nor sorrow 
Shall sever thee from me. 

Dear child, whatever changes 
Across our lives may pass, 
I shall see thee still for ever, 
Clearly as in a glass, 
The same sweet child of fancy, 
The same dear winsome lass. 



-♦♦- 






A cynic's day-dream. 283 



A CYNIC'S DAY-DREAM. 

Some men there be who can descry 
No charm in earth or sea or sky, 
Poor painful bigot souls, to whom 
All sights and sounds recall the tomb. 
And some who do not fear to use 
God's world for tavern or for stews. 
Some think it wisdom to despoil 
Their years for gold and troublous toil ; 
While others with cold dreams of art 
Would feed the hunger of the heart, 
And dilettanti dare to stand, 
Eternities on either hand ! 

But with no one of these shall I 

Make choice to live my life or die, — 

Rather let me elect to give 

What span of life is mine to live, 

To honest labour, daily sought, 

Crowned with the meed of patient thought ; 

To precious friends for ages dead, 



284 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

. But loved where'er their words axe read ; 
To others living with us still, 
Who sway the nation's mind and will 
By eloquent pen or burning word, 
Where hearts are fired and souls are stirred. 
So thro' the tranquil evenings long, 
Let us awake our souls with song, 
Such song as comes where no words come, 
And is most mighty when most dumb. 
Then soar awhile on wings of art ; 
Not that which chokes the vulgar mart, 
But subtle hints and fancies fine. 
When least completed most divine, — 
Sun-copies of some perfect thought. 
Thro' bronze or canvas fitly wrought. 
Known when in youth 'twas ours to see 
Thy treasure-houses, Italy. 
Then turn from these to grave debate 
What change of laws befits the State, 
By what wise schemes and precepts best 
To raise the humble and oppressed. 
And slay the twin reproach of Time, 
The fiends of Ignorance and Crime. 

Or what if I might come to fill 
A calmer part, and dearer still. 
With one attempered soul to share 
The joys and ills 'tis ours to bear; 



A cynic's day-dream. 285 

To grow together, heart with heart, 
Into a whole where each is part ; 
To blend together, soul with soul. 
Neither a part, but each the whole^; 
With strange creative thrills to teach 
The dawning mind, the growing speech. 
To bind around me precious bands 
Of loving hearts and childish hands, 
Atid lose the stains of time and sense 
In those clear deeps of innocence ? 

So if kind fate should grant at length, 
. Ere frame and brain have lost their strength. 

In my own country homestead dear 

To spend a portion of the year. 

What joys were ours if modest wealth 

Should come with still unbroken health ! 

There, sheltered from the ruder wind. 

Thro' the thick woods we'll range, to find 
' The spring's first flower, the autumn's fruit. 

Strange fungus or misshapen root 

Mark where the wood-quist or the thrush 

Builds on tall pine or hazel bush ; 

See the brave bird with speckled breast 

Brood fearless on the teeming nest, 

And bid the little hands refirain 

From every act of wrong and pain. 

Observe the gossip conies sit 



286 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

By their own doors, the white owl flit 
Thro' the dim fields, and still enjoy 
The wondering talk of girl or boy. 
Sweet souls, which at life's portal stand, 
And all within, a wonderland — 
Oh, treasure of a guileless love, 
Fit prelude of the joys above ! 

There, when the swift week nears its end. 

To greet the welcome Sunday friend. 

Through the still fields we'll wend our way. 

To meet the guest at close of day. 

And then, when little eyes in vain 

Long time have sought the coming train, 

A gradual distant sound, which fills 

The bosom of the folded hills. 

Till with white steam or ruddy light 

The wayworn convoy leaps to sight. 

Then stops and sets the traveller down. 

Bringing the smoke and news of town. 

And then the happy hours to con;e. 

The walk or ride which leads us home. 

Past the tall woods through which 'twould seem 

Home's white walls hospitably gleam, — 

The well-served meal, the neighbour guest. 

The rosy darlings curled and dressed ; 

And when the house grows silent, then 

The lengthened talk on books and men ; 



A cynic's day-dream. 287 

And on the Sunday morning still, 
The pleasant stroll by wood-crowned hill 
To church, wherein my eyes grow dim 
Hearing my children chant the hymn ; 
And seeing in their earnest look 
Something of innocent rebuke, 
I lose the old doubt's endless pain, 
And am a little child again. 

If fate should grant me such a home, 
So sweet the tranquil days would come, 
I should not need, I trust, to sink 
My weariness in lust or drink. 
Scant pleasure should I think to gain 
From endless scenes of death and pain ; 
'Twould little profit me to slay 
A thousand innocents a day ; 
I should not much delight to tear 
With wolfish dogs the shrieking hare ; 
With hoVse and hound to track to death 
A helpless wretch that gasps for breath ; 
To make the fair bird check its wing. 
And drop, a dying, shapeless thing ; 
To leave the joy of all the wood 
A mangled heap of fur and blood, 
Or else escaping, but in vain. 
To pine, a shattered wretch, in pain ; 
Teeming, perhaps, or doomed to see 
Its young brood starve in misery ; 



288 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

With neither risk nor labour, still 
To live for nothing but to kill — 
I dare not ! If perplexed I am 
Between the tiger and the lamb ; 
If fate ordain that these shall give 
Their poor brief lives that I may live ; 
Whatever the law that bids them die, 
Others shall butcher them, not I,— 
Not such my work. Surely the Lord, 

I 

Who made the devils by a word. 

Not men, but those who'd wield them well, 

Gave these sad tortures of his Hell. 

Ah ! fool and blind, to wander so ; 
Who hast lived long enough to know 
With what insane confusions teem 
The mazes of our waking dream, — 
The dullard surfeited with gold 
His bloated coffers fail to hold, 
While the keen mind and generous brain 
From penury aspire in vain ; 
Love's choicest treasures flung away 
On some vile lump of coarsest clay ; 
Pure girlhood chained to wretches foul, 
Tainted in body as in soul ; 
The precious love of wife or child 
Not for the loving heart and mild. 
But for the sullen churl, who ne'er 



A cynic's day-dream. 289 

Knew any rule but that of fear ; 
Fame, like Titania, stooping down 
To set on asses' ears a crown ; 
The shallow dunce, the fluent fool, 
The butt and laughter of the school, 
By fortune's strange caprice grown great, 
A light of forum or debate ; 
The carnal lump devoid of grace, 
With each bad passion in his face, 
A saintly idol, round whose knees 
Crowd throngs of burning devotees. 

Great heaven ! how strange the tangle is ! 
What old perplexity is this ? 
The very words of my complaint, 
What else are they than echoes faint 
Of the full fire, the passionate scorn. 
Of high-souled singers and forlorn. 
Who, in our younger England, knew 
No care for aught but what was true. 
But loved to lash with bitter hate 
The shameless vices of the great ; 
Who bade, in far-off days of Rome, 
In verse their indignation come ; 
Who, when we learn the secrets hid 
Beneath the eldest Pyramid, 
Or in those dim days further still. 
Whose nameless ruin builds the hill, 

u 



290 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Push back our search where'er we can, 
Till j5rst the ape became the man, 
Will in rude satire bid us find 
The earliest victories of mind ? 
Strong souls, rebellious with their lot, 
Who longed for right and found it not ; 
Too strong to take things as they seem. 
Too weak to comprehend the scheme. 
Too deeply fired with honest trust 
To dream that God might be unjust ; 
Yet, seeing how unequal show 
His seeming measures here below,. 
By paradoxes girt about. 
Grew thro' excess of faith to doubt. 
Oh, faithful souls, who love the true, 
Tho' all be false, yet will not you ; 
Tho* wrong shall overcome the right. 
Still is it hateful in your sight 
Tho' sorely tempted, you, and tried. 
The truth stands always at your side ; 
Tho' falsehood wear her blandest smile, 
You only she shall ne'er beguile ; 
For you, 'mid spectral sights and shows, 
Life blushes with a hidden rose, — 
Thro' the loud din of lower things 
You hear the sweep of angel wings. 
And with a holy scorn possest, 
Wait till these clamours sink to rest 



TO A LOST LOVE. 29 1 



TO A LOST LOVE. 

Cold snowdrops which the shrinking new-bom year 
Sends like the dove from out the storm-tost ark ; 

Sweet violets which will not tarry here 
Beyond the earliest flutings of the lark ; 

Bright celandines which dot the tufted brake 
Before the speckled thrush her nest has made ; 

Fair frail anemones which star-like shake 
And twinkle by each simny bank and glade ; 

Pale primroses wherewith the virgin spring, 
As with a garland, binds her comely head ; 

No eyes have I for you, nor voice to sing. 
My love is dead ! 

For she was young and pure and white as you, 
And fairer and more sweet, and ah ! as frail. 

I dare not give to her the honour due, 

Lest, for a strain so high, my voice should fail. 



292 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Like you, she knew the springtide's changeful hours ; 

Like you, she blossomed er6 the coming leaf ; 
Like you, she knew not summer's teeming showers ; 

Like you, as comely, and, alas ! as brief. 

You may not see the roses, nor might she ; 

Such swift short beauty is its only fruit ; 
So a sweet silence is her eulogy, 

And praise is mute. 



-H- 



IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND.* 

Beneath the feathery fronds of palm 
The white stone of a double grave, 
And on the horizon, blue and calm. 
The tropic ocean wave. 

Twas three years since, no more, that thou, 
Dear friend, with us, in daily round. 
Didst labour where we labour now, 
'Mid London's surge of sound. 

• Ernest Schalch, Attorney-General for Jamaica, who, with his 
only sister, died of yellow fever in February, 1874. 



IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 293 

Treading the dull slow paths of law, 
With little of reward or gain, 
To feel a high ambition gnaw 
Thy heart with tooth of pain. 

Viewing with scant content the crowd 
Fulfil the immemorial rule 
Which drives the fool with plaudits loud 
To glorify the fooL 

And so with patient scorn didst gain 
To winnow from the growing heap 
Of barren precedent the grain 
Which lies there buried deep. 

Till last, congenial labour came. 
To call thee o'er the tropic sea, 
And exile, gilt by toil and fame. 
Severed thy friends from thee. 

Brief as we hoped, but ah, how long ! 
Though Ut by news of days well spent. 
Of rights defined, of law made strong, 
Of rebels grown content. 

Of ordered codes so reasoned out, 
Speaking with voice so true and clear. 
That none who hear them still may doubt 
Tis Justice speaketh here." 



u r 



294 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Yet not the less thou barest part 
In the old talk we loved before ; 
The newest growths of thought or art 
Delighted more and more, 

And all the marvels of thy isle, 
The lavish wealth of sea and land, 
The skies with their too constant smile, 
White surf on breathless strand, 

The shallow nature fierce, yet gay. 
Of our dark brethren ; thou didst learn. 
Noting — ^but gazing, far away. 
With eyes that still would yearn, 

For that fair time when, toil being done, 
The happy day at length should come. 
When with our kindly autumn sun 
Thou should'st revisit home. 



It was this very year ; and then 
The plague, which long time, dealing death, 
Had vexed the shores of kindred men. 
On those breathed deadly breath. 

And one, I know not who, their guest, 
Sickening, Love drew them forth to tend» 
Careless of needful food and rest. 
Their fever-stricken friend, 



IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 295 

Who owed to them life's refluent power ; 
While for those duteous martyrs twain, 
Brother and Sister^ one blest hour 
Brought one release from pain. 



Too generous natures ! kindred souls !- 
And now, round those twin tombs the wave. 
Forgetful of their story, rolls. 
And the palms shade their grave. 

* ♦ * ♦ ♦ 

And we — what shall we say of thee ? — 
Thou hast thy due reward, oh, friend — 
We serve a High Necessity, 
To an Invisible End. 

That waste nor halting comes at all 
In all the scheme is all we know ; 
The force was formed that bade thee fall. 
Millions of years ago. 

The clouds of circumstance unite. 
The winds of fate together roll ; 
They meet ; there bursts a sudden light, 
And consecrates a soul ! 



-•♦- 



296 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



IT SHALL BE WELL. 

If thou shalt be in heart a child, 
Forgiving, tender, meek, and mild. 
Though with light stains of earth defiled, 
• Oh, soul, it shall be well. 

It shall be well with thee indeed. 
Whatever thy race, thy tongue, thy creed ; 
Thou shalt not lose thy fitting meed. 
It shall be surely well. 

Not where, nor how, nor when we know, 
Nor by what stages thou shalt grow ; 
We may but whisper faint and low, 
It shall be surely well 

It shall be well with thee, oh, soul, 
Tho' the heavens wither like a scroll ; 
Tho' sun and moon forget to roll, 
Oh, soul, it shall be well 



A REMONSTRANCE. 297 



A REMONSTRANCE. 

If ever, for a passing day, 
My careless rhymes shall gain to please, 
I would that those who read may say, 
" Left he no more than these ? " 

For sure it is a piteous thing 
That those blest souls to whom is given 
The instinct and the power to sing, 
The choicest gift of heaven. 

Not from high peak to peak alone 
Our faithful footsteps care to guide, 
But oft by plains of sand and stone, 
Dull wastes, and naught beside. 

Who the low crawling verse prolong. 
Careless alike of fame and time ; 
The form, but not the soul of song — 
A dreary hum of rh5rme. 

A straight road, by a stagnant stream, 
Where the winged steed, which late would soar 
From the white summits like a dream, 
Creeps slowly evermore. 



298 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

A babble of sound, like that flat noise 
Which, when the harmonies grow dumb, 
Between the s)miphon)r's awful joys, 
Too oft is heard to come. 

Grave error ; since not all of life 
Is rhythmic ; oft by level ways 
We walk ; the sweet creative strife. 
The inspired heroic days, 

Are rare for all, — ^no food for song, 
Are common hours ; and those who hold 
The gift, the inspiration strong, 
More precious far than gold, 

Only when heart is fired and brain, 
And the soul spreads its soaring wing, 
Only when nobler themes constrain. 
Should ever dare to sing. 




THIRD SERIES. 
1876. 



SONG. 

Tell me where I may quench the too fierce fire 

Of hope and of desire ; 

Tell me how I may from my soul remove 

The sting and pain of love ; 

Tell me, and I will give to thee, 

Magician, my whole soul in fee. 

And yet I know not what of fit reward, 

For enterprise so hard, 

I might convey thee in a loveless soul, 

Whose currents no more roll : 

A corpse, corruptible and cold, 

Were no great prize to have and hold. 



302 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Time only is it that will deign to take 

Such things for their own sake, 

Preferring age to youth, grey hairs to brown, 

And to bright smiles the frown. 

Time takes the hope. Time dulls the smart. 

And first makes slow, then stops the heart. 

Wherefore to Time I will address my song. 

Time, equable and strong. 

Take thou all hopes and longings clean away- 

And yet I prithee stay ; 

Forbear, for rather I would be 

Consumed than turn to ice with thee. 



-H- 



THE HOME ALTAR. 303 



THE HOME ALTAR. 

Why should we seek at all to gain 
By vigils, and in pain, 
By lojiely life and empty heart, 
To set a soul apart 
Within a cloistered cell. 
For whom the precious, homely hearth would serve as 
weU? 

There, with the early breaking morn, 
Ere quite the day is bom, 
The lustral waters flow serene, 
And each again grows clean ; 
From sleep, as from a tomb. 
Bom to another dawn of joy,, and hope, and doom. 

There through the sweet and toilsome day. 
To labour is to pray ; 
There love with kindly beaming eyes 
Prepares the sacrifice ; , 
And voice and innocent smile 
Of childhood do our cheerful liturgies beguile. 



304 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

There, at his chaste and frugal feast, 
Love sitteth as a Priest ; 
And with mild eyes and mien sedate, 
His deacons stand and wait ; 
And round the holy table 
Paten and chalice range in order serviceable. 

And when ere night, the vespers said. 
Low lies each weary head. 
What giveth He who gives them sleep, 
But a brief death less deep ? 
Or what the fair dreams given 
But ours who, daily dying, dream a happier heaven ? 

Then not within a cloistered wall 
Will we expend our days ; 
But dawns that break and eves that fall 
Shall bring their dues of praise. 
This best befits a Ruler always near, 
This duteous worship mild, and reasonable fear. 



-•^ 



THE VOYAGE. 305 



THE VOYAGK 

Who climbs the Equatorial main 
Drives on long time through mist and cloud, 
Through zones of storm, through thunders loud, 
For many a night of fear and pain. 

Till one night all is clear, and lo ! 
He sees with wondering, awe-struck eyes, 
In depths above, in depths below, 
Strange constellations light the skies — 

New stars, more splendid and more fair. 
Yet not without a secret loss : 
He seeks in vain the Northern Bear, 
And finds instead the Southern Cross. 

Yet dawns the self-same sun — the same 
The deep below the keel which lies ; 
Though this may bum with brighter flame. 
And that respond to bluer skies, 

X 



3o6 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

The self-same earth, the self-same sky : 

And though through clouds and tempests driven, 

The self-same seeker lifts an eye 

That sees another side of heaven. 

No change in man, or earth, or aught, 
Save those strange secrets of the night ; 
Nor there, save that another thought 
Has reached them through another sight. 

Which may but know one hemisphere, 
The earth's mass blotting out the blue, 
Till one day, leaving shadows here, 
It sees all heaven before its view. 



-•♦- 



THE FOOD OF SONG. 307 



THE FOOD OF SONG. 

How best doth vision come 

To the poef s mind, — 

Lonely beneath the blue, unclouded dome, 

Or battling with the mighty ocean-wind ; 

In fair spring mornings, with the soaring lark, 

Or amid roaring midnight forests dark ? 

Shall he attune his voice 

To sweetest song, 

When earth and sea and sky alike rejoice. 

And men are blest, and think no thought of wrong. 

In some ideal heaven, some happy isle. 

Where life is stiffened to a changeless smile ? 

Or best amid the noise 

Of high designs. 

Loud onsets, shatterings, awful battle joys, 

Wherefor the loftier spirit longs and pines ; 

Or amid seething depths of leaden sea ; 

Or to loud thunders rolling dreadfully ? 



308 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Nature is less than naught 

In smUe or frown, 

But for the formless, underlying thought 

Of mind and purpose greater than our own ; 

This only can these empty shows inform, 

Smiles through the calm, and animates the storm. 

Nor yet the clang and rush 

Of mightier thought, 

The steeps, the snows, the gulfs, that whelm and cnisb 

The seeker with the treasure he has sought ; 

Too vast, too swift, too formless to inspire 

The Active hand, or touch the lips with fire. 

But rather 'mid the throng 

Of toiling men 

He finds the food and sustenance of song, 

Spread by hidden hands, again, and yet again. 

Where'er he goes, by crowded city street. 

He fares thro' springing fancies sad and sweet — 

Some innocent baby smile ; 

A close-wound waist ; 

Fathers and children ; things of shame and guile ; 

Dim eyes, and lips at parting kissed in haste ; 

The halt, the blind, the prosperous thing of ill ; 

The thief, the wanton, touch and vex him still. 



THE FOOD OF SONG. 309 

Or if sometimes he turn 

With a new thrill, 

And strives to paint anew with words that bum 

The inner thought of sea, or sky, or hill : 

It is because a breath of human life 

Has touched them: joy and suffering, rest and strife. 

And he sees mysteries 

Above, around, 

Fair spiritual fleeting agencies 

Haunting each foot of consecrated ground. 

And so, these fading, raises bolder eyes 

Beyond the furthest limits of the skies, 

And every thought and word. 

And all things seen. 

And every passion which his heart has stirred. 

And every joy and sorrow which has been. 

And every step of life his feet have trod, 

Lead by broad stairs of glory up to God. 



-•♦- 



3IO SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



THE YOUTH OF THOUGHT. 

Oh happy days ! oh joyous time ! 

When thought was gay and man was young, 
And to a golden flow of rhyme, 

Life like a melody was sung ; 

When, in the springtime of the earth, 
The cloud-capt hill, the dewy grove, 

Clear lake and rippling stream gave birth 
To shy Divinities of love ; 

When often to the jovial feast 
Of love or wine the people came, 

And Nature was the only priest 
And Youth and Pleasure knew not shame. 

Nor darker shape of wrong or ill 

The fearful fancy might inspire, 
Than vine-crowned on some shady hill, 

The Satyr nursing quaint desire. 



THE YOUTH OF THOUGHT. 311 

And if some blooming youth or maid 
In depths of wood or stream were lost, 

Some love-lorn Deity, 'twas said, 

The blissful truant's path had crossed. 

Sweet time of fancy, giving place 

To times of thinking scarce less blest. 

When Wisdom wore a smiling face. 
And Knowledge was like Fancy drest, 

And Art with Language lived ingrown, 
The cunning hand and golden tongue ; 

By this the form Divine was shown, 
By that its deathless praises sung. 

When in cool temples fair and white. 

By purple sea, or myrtle shade, 
The gods took shape to mortal sight. 

By their own creatures' hands re-made. 

And daily, to the cheerful noise 

Of wrestling, or the panting race — 

Through the clear laughter of the boys. 
And tender forms of youthful grace — 

Grave sages walked in high debate 
Beneath the laurel grove, and sought 

To solve the mysteries of Fate, 

And sound the lowest deeps of Thought ; 



312 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Nor knew that they, as those indeed, 
Were naked, taking fair for right ; 

With beauty only for all creed. 

Yet not without some heaven-sent light. 

Now preaching clear the deathless soul ; 

Now winging love from sloughs of shame ; 
And oft from earthly vapours foul. 

Soaring aloft with tongues of flame. 

Knew they no inward voice to vex 
The careless joyance of their way — 

No pointing finger stern, which checks 
The sad transgressor of to-day ? 

Fair dream, if any dream he fair. 
Which knows no fiiller life than thine ; 

Which only moves through earthly air, 
And builds on shadows half divine ; 

How art thou fled ! For us no more 
Dryad or Satyr haunts the grove ; 

No Nereid sports upon the shore. 
Nor with wreathed horn the Tritons rove ; 

Who breathe a fuller, graver air. 

Long since to manhood's stature grown ; 

Who leave our childhood's fancies fair. 
For pains and pleasures of our own. 



THE YOUTH OF THOUGHT. 313 

< 

For us no more the young vine climbs, 
Its gadding tendrils flinging down ; " 

Who move in sadder, wiser times, 
Whose thorns are woven for a crown. 

The lily and the passion-flower 
Preach a new tale of gain and loss, 

And in the wood-nymph's closest bower 
The springing branches form the Cross. 

" A great hope traversing the earth," 

Has taken all the young world's bloom. 
And for the joy and flush of birth. 
Has left the solemn thought of doom ; 

And made the body no more divine. 
And built our Heaven no longer here ; 

And given for joyous fancies fine. 
Souls bowed with holy awe and fear. 

And far beyond the suns, removed 
The godhead seen by younger eyes. 

Far from the people once beloved, 
And girt by dreadful mysteries. 

Fulfilled with thoughts, more fair and dear 

Than all the lighter joys of yore, 
Immeasurable hopes brought near. 

And Heaven laid open more and more. 



314 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

But not with love and peace alone 

Time came, which older joys could take ; 

But with fierce brand and hopeless groan, 
Red war, the dungeon, and the stake ; 

And lives by Heaven too much opprest, 
And cloisters dim with tears and sighs, 

And young hearts withered in the breast, 
And fasts and stripes and agonies. 

And for Apollo breathing strength. 
And Aphrodite warm with life ; 

A tortured Martyr come at length, 
To the last pang of lifelong strife. 

While round us daily move no more 
Those perfect forms of youthful grace, 

No more men worship as before 

The rounded limb, the clear-cut face. 

Who see the dwarfed mechanic creep, 
With hollow cheek, and lungs that bleed. 

Or the swart savage fathoms deep. 
Who comes to air, to sleep, and breed. 

Aye, but by loom, or forge, or mine. 
Or squalid hut, there breaks for these 

Hope more immense, awe more divine 
Than ever dawned on Sokrates. 






THE YOUTH OF THOUGHT. 315 

While if we seek to live again 

In careless lives the pagan charm, 
We only prove a lifelong pain, 

For that clear conscience void of harm. 

For in the manhood of God^s days 
We live, and not in careless youth ; 

The essence more than form we praise, 
And Beauty moves us less than Truth. 

From youth to age ; till cycles hence 

Another and a higher Spring, 
And with a truer innocence. 

Again the world shall think and sing. 



-•♦- 



3l6 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



SONG. 

I WOULD thou mighf St not vex me with thine eyes, 
Thou fair Ideal Beauty, nor would'st shame 

All lower thoughts and visions as they rise. 
As in mid-noon a flame. 

For now thy presence leaves no prospect fair, 
Nor joy in act, nor charm in any maid, 

Nor end to be desired, for which men dare, 
Thou making me afraid. 

Because life seems through thee a thing too great 
To spend on these, which else might grow to thee ; 

So that fast bound, I idly hesitate : 
I prithee set me free ; 

Or, hold me, if thou wilt, but come not near. 
Let me pursue thee still in ghostly grace ; 

Far off let me pursue thee, for I fear 
To faint before thy face. 



AT CHAMBERS. 317 



AT CHAMBERS. 

To the chamber, where now uncaring 

I sit apart from the strife, 
While the fool and the knave are sharing 

The pleasures and profits of life, 

There came a faint knock at the door, 
» Not long since on a terrible day ; 
One faint little knock, and no more ; 
And I brushed the loose papers away. 

And as no one made answer, I rose. 
With quick step and impatience of look, 

And a glance of the eye which fi*oze, 
And a ready voice of rebuke. 

But when the door opened, behold ! 

A mother, low-voiced and mild. 
Whose thin shawl and weak arms enfold 

A pale little two-year-old child. 



3l8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS: 

What brought her there ? Would I relieve her ? 

Was all the poor mother could say ; 
For her child, scarce recovered from fever, 

Left the hospital only that day. 

Pale, indeed, was the child ; yet so cheerful. 
That, seeing me wonder, she said. 

Of doubt and repulse, grown fearful, 
" Please look at his dear little head ; " 

And snatched off the litde bonnet. 

And so in a moment laid bare 
A shorn little head, and upon it 

No trace of the newly-come hair. 

When, seeing the stranger's eye 
Grow soft ; with an innocent guile 

The child looked up, shrinking and shy, 
With the ghost of a baby smile. 

Poor child ! I thought, so soon come 
To the knowledge of lives oppressed. 

To whom poverty comes with home. 
And sickness brings food and rest : 

Who art launched forth, a frail little boat. 
In the midst of life's turbulent sea. 

To be sunk, it may be, or to float 

On great waves that care nothing for thee. 



AT CHAMBERS. 319 

What awaits thee ? An early peace 

In the depth of a little grave, 
Or, despite all thy ills to increase, 

Through some dark cliance, mighty to save ; 

Till in stalwart manhood you meet 

The strong man, who regards you to-day, 

Crawling slowly along the street, 
In old age withered and gray ? 

Who knows ? But the thoughts I have told 
In one instant flashed through my brain, 

As the poor mother, careful of cold. 
Clasped her infant to her again. 

And I, if I searched for my purse. 

Was I selfish, say you, and wrong ? 
Surely silver is wasted worse 

Than in earning the right to a song. 



-M- 



320 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



EVENSONG. 



The hymns and the prayers were done, and the village 

church was still, 
As I lay in a waking dream in the churchyard upon the 



hill. 



The graves were all around, and the dark yews over my 

head, 
And below me the winding stream and the exquisite 

valley were spread. 

The sun was sloping down with a glory of dying rays, 
And the hills were bathed in gold, and the woods were 
vocal with praise. 

But from the deep-set valley there rose a vapour of grey, 
And the sweet day sank, and the glory waxed fainter and 
faded away. 



EVENSONG. 321 

Then there came, like a chilling wind, a cold, low 

whisper of doubt, 
Which silenced the echo of hymns, and blotted the 

glories out. 

And I wrestled with powers unseen, and strove with a 

Teacher divine. 
Like Jacob who strove with the angel, and found with 

the dawn a sign. 

» « » » « 

For I thought of the words they sing : It is He that 

hath made us indeed; 
And my thought flew back to the fathers of thought and 

their atheist creed — 

How atom with atom at first fortuitously combined, 
Formed all, from the worlds without to the innermost 
worlds of mind ; 

And I thought: What, if this be true, and no Maker 

there is indeed, 
And God is the symbol alone of a feeble and worn-out 

creed ; 

And from uncreate atoms, impelled by a blind chance 

driving on free. 
Grew together the primal forms of all essences that be 1 



322 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Then a voice : If they were, indeed, they were separate 

one from one 
By a gulph as broad as yawns in space betwixt sun and 

sun — 

Self-centred and self-contained, disenvironed and isolate ; 
Drawn together by a hidden love, torn apart by a hidden 
hate. 

What power was this — chance, will you say? But chance, 

what else can it mean 
Than the hidden Cause of things by human reason 

unseen ? 

Chance ! Then Chance were a name for God, or each 

atom bearing a soul 
Indivisible, like with like, part and whole of the Infinite 

Whole. 

Were God, as the Pantheist taught, God in earth, and in 

sky, and in air, 
God through every thought and thing, and made manifest 

everywhere ; 

The spring and movement of things — the stir, the 

breathing of breath. 
Without which all things were quenched in the calm 

of an infinite death ; 



EVENSONG. 323 

Or/ if within each there lay some germ of an unbom 

power, 
God planted it first, God quickened, God raised it from 

seed to flower. 



Though beneath the weird cosmical force, which we 

wield and yet cannot name. 
From the germ or the rock ve draw out low gleams of 

life's faintest flame; 

Though we lose the will that commands, and the muscles 

that wait and serve. 
In some haze of a self-set spring of the molecules of 

nerve ; 

Though we sink all spirit in matter, and let the Theo- 

gonies die. 
Life and death are; thinker and thought; outward, 

inward ; I, and not I 
And the I is the Giver of life, and without it the matter 

must die. 



Then I ceased for a while from thought, as I lay on the 

long green grass. 
Hearing echoes of hymns anew, and letting the moments 

pass. 



324 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

The evening was mounting upward ; the sunbeams had 

left the hiU ; 
But the dying daylight lingered, and all the valley was 

Still 

« • • • * 

Then I said : But if God there be, how shall man by his 

thinking find, 
Who is only a finite creature, the depths of the Infinite 

Mind — 

Who sounds with a tiny plummet, who scans with a 

purblind eye. 
The depths of that fathomless ocean, the wastes of that 

limitless sky ? 

Shall we bow to a fetish, a symbol, which maybe neither 

sees nor hears ; 
Or, seeing and hearing indeed, takes no thought for our 

hopes or fears ; 

Who is dumb, though we long for a word ; who is deaf, 

though his children cry ; 
Who is Master, yet bears with evil — Lord, and lets all 

precious things die? 

Or if in despair we turn from the godless and meaningless 

plan, ' 
What do we, but make for ourselves a God in the image 

of man — 



EVENSONG. 325 

A creature of love and hate, a creature who makes for 

good, 
But barred by an evil master from working the things 

that he would ? 

If he be not a reflex image, we may not know him at all ; 
If he be, we are God ourselves — to ourselves we shall 
stand or fall. 

w 

Then the voice : But what folly is this ! Cannot God 

indeed be known, 
If we know not the hidden essence that forms Him and 

builds His throne ? 

Is all our knowledge naught, of sea, and of sky, and of 

star, 
Till we know them, not as they seem to our thinking, but 

as they are ? 

We who build the whole fabric of knowledge on vague 

abstractions sublime; 
We who whirl through an iilfinite space, and live in an 

infinite time ; 

We who prate of Motion and Force, not knowing that 

on either side 
Black gulphs unavoidable yawn, dark riddles our thought 

deride ; 



336 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Shall we hold our science as naught of all things of 

earth, because 
We know but the seemings and shows, the relations, and 

not the cause — 

Not only as he who admires the rainbow and cloud of 

gold, 
Knows that 'tis but a form of vapour his wondering eyes 

behold ; 

But as he who sees and knows, and knowing would fain 

ignore 
What he knows since the essence of things is hid, and he 

knows not more — 

Or who would not love his love, or walk hand in hand 

with his friend, 
Since he sees not the roots of the tree from whose 

branches life's blossoms depend? 

Or how should the sight we see, any more than the sound 

we hear, 
Be a thing which exists for our thought, apart from the 

eye or the ear; 

Is not every atom of dust, which compacted we call the 

earth, 
A miracle baffling our thought with insoluble wonders of 

birth? 



EVENSONG. 327 

And know we not, indeed, that the matter which men 

have taught, 
Is itself an essence unseen and untouched — ^but by spirit 

and thought ? 

Tush ! It is but a brain-sick dream. What was it that 

taught us the laws 
Which stand as a bar between us and the thought of the 

Infinite Cause ? 

Is He infinite, out of relation, and absolute, past finding 

out? 
Reach we not an antinomy here? feel we here no striving 

of doubt? 

How, then, shall the finite define the bounds of the 

infinite plan. 
This is finite, and infinite this : here is Deity, here is 

man. 

If our judgment be relative only, how then shall our 

brain transcend 
The limits of relative 'thought grown too [eager to 

comprehend ? 

For he passes the bounds of relation, if any there be 

who can 
Distinguish the absolute God firom the relative in man : 



328 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

He has bridged the gulph ; he hag leaped o'er the bound ; 

he has seen with his eyes 
For a moment the land imseen, that beyond the mountain 

peaks lies. 

Nay ! we see but a part of God, since we gaze with a 

finite sight ; 
And yet not Darkness is He, but a blinding splendour of 

light. 

Do we shrink from this lights and let our dazzled eyeballs 

fall? 
Nay ! a God fully known or utterly dark, were [not God 

at all. 

Though we hold not that in some sphere which our 

thought may never conceive. 
There comes not a time when, to know may be all, and 

not, to believe ; 

Nor yet that the right which we love, and the wrong 

which we hate to-day. 
May not show as reversed, or as one, when the finite has 

passed away ; 

God we know in our image indeed, since we are in the 

image of Him, 
Of His splendour a faint low gleam, of His glory a reflex 

dim. 



EVENSONG. 329 

Bowing not to the all unknown, nor to that which is 

searched out quite; 
But to That which is known, yet unknown — ^to the 

darkness that comes of light, 
To the contact of God with man, to the struggle and 

triumph of right 



Then I ceased for a while from thought, as I lay on 

the long green grass. 
Hearing echoes of h)rmns grown nearer, and letting the 

moments pass. 

Exult, oh dust and ashes ! the low voices seemed to say; 
And then came a sudden hush, and the jubilance faded 
away. 

The evening was dying now, and the moon-rise was on 

the hill. 
And the soft light touched the river, and all the valley 

was stilL 



Then I thought : But if God there be, and our thought 

may reach Him indeed. 
How should this bare knowledge alone stand in lieu of a 

fuller creed ? 



33© SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

If He be and is good, as they say, how yet can our 

judgment approve, 
'Mid the rule of His iron laws, the place of His infinite 

love? 

The rocks are built up of death, earth and sea teem 

with ravin and wrong ; 
The sole law in Nature we learn, is the law that 

strengthens the strong. 

Through countless ages of time, the Lord has withdrawn 

Him apart 
From all the world He has made, save the world of the 

human heart. 

Without and within all is pain, from the cry of the child 

at birth, 
To its parting sigh in age, when it looks for a happier 

earth. 

Should you plead that God's order goes forth with a 

measured footstep sublime, 
Know you not that you thrust Him back thus to the first 

beginnings of time, — 

That a spark, a moment, a flash, and His work was over 

and done ; 
And the worlds were sent forth for ever, each circling 

around its sun. 



EVENSONG. 331 

Bearing with it all secrets of being, all potencies 

undefined, 
All forms and changes of matter, all growths and achieve- 

ments of mind. 

What is there for our worship in this, and should not our 

reason say. 
He is, and made us indeed, but hides Him too far away ? 

Though He lives, yet is He as one dead ; and we, who 

would prostrate fall 
Before the light of His Presence, we see not nor know 

Him at all. 

Then the voice : Oh folly of doubt ! what is time that 

we deem so far. 
What else but a multiple vast of the little lives that are? 

He who lives for the fifty years, which scarce rear thought 

to its prime. 
Already a measure has lived of a thousand years of time. 

Twice this, and Christ spoke not yet, and from this what 

a span appears. 
The space till our thought is lost in the mists of a million 

years ! 



332 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

A thousand millions of years — ^we have leapt with a 

thought, with a word ; 
To the time when no flutter of life 'neath the shield of the 

trilobite stirred. 

All time is too brief for our thought, and yet we would 

bring God nigh, 
Till He worked in His creature's sight, man standing 

undazzled by. 

Such a God were not God indeed ; nor, if He should 

change at all. 
Should we hold, as we hold Him now, the God of both 

great and small. 

How know we the great things from small ? how mark we 

the adequate cause. 
Which might make the Creator impede the march of His 

perfect laws, — 

We, who know but a part, not the whole ? Or were it a 

fitting thought 
He should stoop in our sight to amend the errors His 

hand had wrought. 

So His laws were not perfect at all? or should He amend 

them indeed. 
How supply by a fitful caprice the want of a normal 

creed? 



EVENSONG. 333 

All life is a mode of force, and all force that is force 

must move ; 
'Tis a fridtion of Outward and Inward, a contrast of 

Hatred and Love. 

Joy and Grief, Right and Wrong, Life and Death, Finite, 

Infinite, Matter and Will, 
These are the twin wheels of the Chariot of Life, which 

without them stood stilL 

Would you seek in an order reversed and amended a 

Hand divine ? 
Nay, the Wonder of wonders lies in unchangeable 

design. 

Should God break His law as He might; should He 

stoop from His infinite skies 
To redress that which seems to us wrong, to raise up the 

life that dies ; 

Should He save firom His wolf His lamb, from His tiger 

His innocent child ; 
Should He quench the fierce flames as they bum, or the 

great waves clamoiuing wild, 

I think a great cry would go up firom an orderless 

Universe, 
And all the fair fabric of things would wither, as under a 

curse. 



334 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

'Tis the God of the savage, is this. What do we who rise 

by degrees 
To the gift of the mind that perceives, and the gift of the 

eye that sees ? 

Do not all our natures tend to a law of unbending rule. 
Till equity comes but to mend the law that was made by 
the fool ? 

Who shows highest? — the child or the savage, whose 

smiles change to rage or to tears ? 
Or the statesman moving, unmoved, through a nation's 

desires and fears ? 

Or the pilgrim whose eyes look onward, as if to a 

distant home, 
Never turning aside from his path, whatever allurements 

may come? 

All Higher is more Unmoved ; and the more untwoken 

the law, 
The more sure does the Giver show to the eyes of a 

wondering awe. 

Nor is it with all of truth that they make their voices 

complain, 
Who weary our thought with tales of a constant ruin and 

pain. 



EVENSONG. 335 

It is but a brain-sick dream that would gloat o'er the 1 

hopeless bed, 
Or the wreck, or the crash, or the fight, with their tales of 

the dying and dead. 

Pain comes ; hopeless pain, God knows and we know, 

again and again; 
But even pain has its intervals blest, when 'tis heaven to 

be firee from pain. 

And I think that the wretch who lies pressed by a load 

of incurable ill, 
With a grave pity pities himself, but would choose to have 

lived to it still ; 

And, as he whom the tiger bears in his jaws to his blood- 
stained den 

Feels no pain nor fear, but a wonder what comes in the 
wonderful " Then," 

He pities himself and yet knows, as he casts up life's 

chequered sum. 
It were best on the whole to have lived, whatever calamity 

come. 

And the earth is full of joy. Every blade of grass that 

springs ; 
Every cool worm that crawls content as the eagle on 

soaring wings ; 



33^ SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Every summer day instinct with life ; every dawn when 

from waking bird 
And morning hum of the bee, a chorus of praise is 

heard; 

Every gnat that sports in the sun for his little life of a 
day; 

Every flower that opens its cup to the dews of a per- 
fumed May; 

Every child that wakes with a smile, and sings to the 

ceiling at dawn ; 
Every bosom which knows a new hope stir beneath its 

virginal lawn ; 

Every yojmg soul, ardent and high, rushing forth into life's 

hot fight ; 
Every home of happy content, lit by love's own mystical 

light ; 

Every worker who works till the evening, and takes before 

night his wage. 
Be his work a furrow straight-drawn, or the joy of a 

bettered age ; 

• 

Every thinker who, standing aloof from the throng, finds 

a high delight 
In striking with voice or with pen a stroke for the 

triumph of right ; — 



EVENSONG. 337 

All these know that life is sweet; all these, with a 

consonant voice, 
Read the legend of Time with a smile, and that which 

they read is, " Rejoice ! " . 

« * * « » 

Then again I ceased from thought, as I lay on the long 

green grass, 
Hearing hymns which grew fuller and fuller, and letting 

the moments pass. 

Exult, oh dust and ashes ! exuk and rejoice ! they said. 
For blessed are they who live, and blessed are they who 
are dead. 

Then again they ceased and were still, and my thought 

began once more. 
But touched with a silvery gleam of hopes that were 

hidden before. 

The moon had climbed up in the sky, far above the pines 

on the hill. 
And the river ran molten silver, and all the valley was 

stilL 

« « * « « 

Then I said : But if God there be, who made us indeed 

and is good. 
What guide has He left for our feet to walk in the ways 

that He would? 

z 



338 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

For though He should speak indeed, yet, as soon as His 

voice grew dumb, 
It were only through human speech that the message it 

bore might come, 

Sunk to levels of human thought, and always marred 

and confined 
By the chain of a halting tongue, and the curse of a 

finite mind ; 

So that he who would learn, indeed, what precepts His 

will has taught, 
Must dim with a secular learning the brightness his soul 

has sought 

Who can tell how those scattered leaves through gradual 

ages grew. 
Adding chaff and dust from the world to the accents 

simple and true ? 

If one might from the seer^s wild visions, or stories of 

fraud and blood, 
Or lore of the world-worn Sultan, discern the sure voice 

of good. 

Such a mind were a God to itself; or if you should 

answer. For each 
God has set a sure mentor within, with power to convince 

and teach; 



EVENSONG. 339 

Yet it speaks with a changeful voice, which alters with 

race and clime, 
Nay, even in the self-same lands is changed with the 

changes of time ; 

So that 'twixt the old Europe of story and that which we 

know to-day, 
Yawns a gulph, as wide almost as parts us from far 

Cathay ; 

What power has such voice to help us ? Or if we should 

turn instead 
To the precious dissonant pages, which keep what the 

Teacher said ; 

How reduce them to one indeed, or how seek in vain to 

ignore 
The forgotten teachers who taught His counsels of mercy 

before ? 

Not "an eye for an eye" alone, was the rule which they 

loved to teach. 
But Mercy, and Pity, and Love, though they spoke 

with a halting speech. 

And He spake with the tongue of those who had spoken 

and then were dumb. 
And clothed in the words of the Law, which He loved, 

would His precepts come ; 



340 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Nor always perfect was He in thought, in act, or in 
word, 

Who withered in haste the fig-tree, and drove to destruc- 
tion the herd ; 

Who was angiy sometimes, and spoke with quick words 

and fiery hate ; 
Who offered too-perfect counsels, and took little thought 
for the State. 

Other teachers have drawn more millions, who follow 

more faithful than we ; 
Other teachers have taught a rule as stem and unselfish 

as He. 

If we shrink from the Caliph fierce, who carved out a 

faith with his sword, 
What say we of the pilgrim who sways the old East with 

his gentle word ? 

Or what of the sage whose vague words, over populous 

wastes of .earth, 
Have led millions of fettered feet to the grave firom the 

day of birth ? 

Or how can we part indeed, the show, the portent, the 

sign. 
From the simple words which glow with the light of a 

teaching Divine ? 



EVENSONG. 341 

And if careless of these, as of growths which spring up 

and bear fruit and fall, 
Yet how shall our thought accept the crowning wonder 

of all? 

Yet if this we reject, wherein doth our faith and assur- 
ance lie ? 

What is it to us that God lives, we who live for a little 
and die ; 

Or why were it not more wise to live as the beasts of 

to-day. 
Taking life, while it lasts, as a gift, and secure of the 

future as they ? 

Then the voice : Oh, disease of doubt ! now I seem to 

hold you indeed, 
Keeping fast in my grasp at length the sum of your 

dreary creed. 

How else should man prove God's will, than through 

methods of human thought ? 
How else than through human words should he gather the 

things that he ought ? 

If the Lord should speak day by day from Sinai, 'mid 

clouds and fire, 
Should we hear 'mid those thunders loud the still voices 

which now inspire ? 



342 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Would not either that awful sound, like that vivid and 
scorching blaze, 

Confuse our struggling thought, and our tottering foot- 
steps amaze ? 

Or, if it should peal so clear that to hear were to obey 

indeed, 
'Twere a thing of dry knowledge alone, not one of a 

faithful creed ; 

No lantern for erring feet, but a glare on a white, straight 

road. 
Where life struggled its weary day, to sink before night 

with its load ; 

Where the blinded soul might long for the shade of a 

cloud of doubt. 
And yearn for dead silence, to blot that terrible utterance 

out. 

Yet Grod is not silent indeed; not seldom from every 

page— 
From the lisping story of eld to the seer with his noble 

rage; 

From the simple life divine, with its accents gentle and 

true. 
To the thinker who formed by his learning and watered 

the faith as it grew : 



EVENSONG. 343 

All are fired by the Spirit of God. Nor true is the doubt 

you teach, 
That God speaks not to all men the same, but differs 

'twixt each and each. 

Each differs from each a little, with difference of race 

and of clime ; 
Each is changed, but not transformed, with the onward 

process of time ; 

Each nation, each age, has its laws, whereto it shall 

stand or fall. 
But built on a wider Law, which is under and over Jhem 

all. 

Nor doubt we that from Western wilds to the long-sealed 

isles of Japan, 
There nms the unbroken realm of a Law that is common 

to man. 

Not as ours shows the law they obey, and yet it is one 

and the same, 
Though it comes in a varying shape, and is named by 

another name. 

Not so shall your doubt prevail ; nor if any should dream 

to-day, 
By praise of Jew or of Greek, to dissolve His glory 

away. 



344 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Can they hold that God left His world with no gleam of 

glory from Him, 
No light clouds edged with splendour,, no radiance of 

Godhead dim. 

Others were before Christ had come. Oh ! dear dead 

Teacher, whose word. 
Long before the sweet words on the Hill, young hearts 

had quickened and stirred ; 

Who spak'st of the soul and the life ; with limbs chilled 

by the rising death. 
Yielding up to thy faith, with a smile, the last gasp of 

thy earthly breath ; — 

And thou, oh golden-mouthed sage, who with brilliance 

of thought as of tongue. 
Didst sing of thy Commonwealth ^dr, the noblest of 

epics imsung; 

In whose pag6s thy Master's words shine forth, sublimed 

and. refined 
In the music of perfect language, inspired by a faithful 

mind; — 

And ye seers of Israel and doctors, whose breath was 

breathed forth to move 
The dry dead bones of the Law with the life of a larger 

love ; — 



i 



EVENSONG. 345 

Or thou, great Saint of the East, in whose footsteps the 

millions have trod 
Till from life, like an innocent dream, they passed and 

were lost in God ; — 

And thou, quaint teacher of old, whose dead words, 

though all life be gone, 
Through the peaceful Atheist realms keep the millions 

labouring on ; — 

Shall I hold that ye, as the rest, spake no echo of things 

divine. 
That no gleam of a clouded sun through the mists of 

your teaching may shine ? 

Nay ; such thoughts were to doubt of God. Yet, strange 

it is and yet sure, 
No teacher of old was full of mercy as ours, or pure. 

Twixt the love that He taught, and the Greek with his 

nameless, terrible love, 
Yawns a gulph as wide as parts hell beneath and heaven 

above: 

Twixt His rule of a Higher Mercy and that which the 

Rabbi taught, 
Lies the gulph between glowing Act and barren ashes of 

Thought 



346 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

For the pure thought smirched and fouled, or buried in 

pedant lore, 
He brought a sweet Reason of Force, such as man knew 

never before. 

What to us are the men of the East, though they preach 

their own Gospel indeed ? 
We are men of the West, and shall stand or fall by a 

Western creed. 

Though we see in those Scriptures antique, faint flames of 

Diviner fire. 
Who would change to Buddha from Christ, as a change 

firom lower to higher? 

Nay ! He is our Teacher indeed. Little boots it to-day 

to seek 
To arraign, with a laboured learning, the words that men 

heard Him speak ; 

To cavil, to carp, to strive, through the mists of an age- 
long haze. 

To dim to a common light the star which could once 
amaze; 

To fix by some pigmy canon, too short for the tale of 

to-day. 
The facts of a brief life, fled eighteen centuries away ; 



EVENSONG. 347 

To mark by a guess, and to spurn, as born of a later age, 
The proofs which, whenever writ, bear God's finger on 
every page ; 

Or to sneer at the wonders they saw Him work, or 

believed they saw ; 
We who know that unbending sequence is only a phase 

of law, 

No wonder which God might do if it rested on witness of 

men. 
Would turn to it our thought of to-day as it turned the 

multitudes then. 

Nor proved would avail a "whit if the teaching itself were 

not pure ; 
Nor if it were pure as His would make it one whit more 

sure. 

And for the great Wonder of all. If any there be who 

fears 
That the spark of God in his breast may be quenched in 

a few short years ; 

Who feels his faith's fire blaze up more clear than it 

burnt before. 
By the thought of the empty tomb and the stone rolled 

back from the door : 



343 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

For him was the miracle done. If no proof makes 

dearer to me 
Than His word to my inner sense, the Higher life that 

shall be ; 

If no Force that has once leapt forth can ever decline 

and faU, 
From the dead forces stirring the worlds, to the Life-force 

which dominates all ; 

But the sum of life is the same, and shall be when the 

world is done, 
As it was when its first faint spark was stirred by the kiss 

of the sun ; — 

If I feel a sure knowledge within, which shall never be 

blotted out, 
A Longing, a Faith, a Conviction too strong for a 

Whisper of Doubt 

That my life shall be hid with a I^ord, who shall do the 
thing that is best-^ . 

To be purged, it may be, long time, or taken at once to 
rest, — 

To live, it may be, myself; from all else, individual, sole, 
Or blended with other lives, or sunk in the Infinite 
whole — 



EVENSONG. 349 

(Though I doubt not that that which is I may endure in 

the ages to be, 
Since I know not what bars hold apart the Not-Me 

and the piystical Me ; — ) 

How else than thro' Him do I grasp the faith that for 

Greek and Jew 
Was hidden, or but dimly seen, which nor Moses nor 

Sokrates knew ? 

Ay ! He is our Teacher indeed. He is risen, and we 

shall rise ; 

But if only as we He rose, not the less He lives in the 

skies. 

» 

And if those who proclaim Him to<iay in the dim gray 

lands of the East, 
Prove him not by portent or sign, not by trick or secret 

of priest ; 

But for old cosmogonies dead, and faint precepts too 

w^ak for our need. 
Offer God broughtnearer to man in a living and glowing 

creed. 

The pure teaching, the passionate love, taking thought 
for the humble and weak. 

The pitiful scorn of wrong which His Scriptures every- 
where speak. 



350 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Not writ for the sage in his cell, but preached 'mid the 

turmoil and strife. 
And touched with a living brand from the fire of the 

Altar of Life. 

So, of all the wonders they tell, no wonder our hearts 

has stirred 
Like the Wonder which lives with us still in a living and 

breathing Word. 

More than portents, more than all splendours of rank 

loyal hearts devise, 
More than visions of heavenly forms caught up and lost 

in the skies. 

This the crowning miracle shows, before which we must 

prostrate fall ; 
For this is the living voice of the Lord and Giver of all. 



Then I ceased again from thought, as I lay on the long 

green grass, 
Thrilled through by a music of hymns, and letting the 

moments pass. 

Exult and rejoice ! they sang in high unison, now com- 
bined 

Which were warring voices before, the voices of heart 
and mind 



EVENSONG. 351 

The earth was flooded with light, over valley and river 

and hill, 
And this is the hymn which I heard them sing, while the 

world lay still : 



Exult, oh dust and ashes ! Rejoice, all ye that are 

dead ! 
For ye live too who lie beneath, as we live who walk 

overhead. 

As God lives, so ye are living ; ye are living and moving 

to-day. 
Not as they live who breathe and move, yet living and 

conscious as they. 

And ye too, oh living, exult Young and old, exult and 

rejoice ; 
For the Lord of the quick and the dead lives still : we 

have heard His voice. 

We have heard His voice, and we hear it sound wider 

and more increased. 
To the sunset plains of the West from the peaks of the 

furthest East. 

For the quick and the dead, it was given ; for them it is 
sounding still. 

And no pause of silence shall break the clear voice of 
the Infinite WiU. 



3S2 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Not only through Christ long smce, and the teachers of 

ages gone. 
But to-day He speaks^ day by day, to those who are 

toiling on ; 

More clear perhaps then to the ear, and with nigher 

voice and more plain. 
But still the same Teacho* Divine, speaking to us again 

and again. 

For I like not his creed, if any there be, who shall dare 

to hold 
That God comes to us only at times far away in the 

centuries old. 

Not so ; but He dwells with us still ; and maybe, though 

I know not indeed, 
He will send us a Christ again, with a fuller and perfecter 

creed — 

A Christ who shall speak to all men, East and West, and 

North and South, 
Till the whole world shall hear and believe the gracious 

words of His mouth. 

When knowledge has pierced through the wastes, chaining 

earth together and sea, 
And the bars of to-day are lost in the union of all that 

shall be ; 



EVENSONG. 353 

And the brotherhood that He loved is more than a 

saintly thought, 
And the wars and the strifes which we mourn are lost in 

the peace He taught ; 

Then Christ coming shall make all things new. Or it 

may be that ages of pain 
Shall quench the dim light of to-day, bringing back the 

thick darkness again. 

And then, slow as the tide which flows on though each 

wave may seem to recede, 
Man advances again and again to the Rock of a higher 

creed. 

Or it may be no teacher shall come down again with 

God in his face. 
But the light which before was reflected from One shall 

shine on the race. 

And as this wide earth grows smaller, and men to men 

nearer draw. 
There may spring from the root of the race the flower of 

a nobler law. 

Growing fairer, and still more fair; or maybe, through 

long ages of time, 
Man shall rise up from type to type, to the strength of 

an essence sublime, 

2 A 



354 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Removed as far in knowledge, in length of life, and in 

good 
From us as we from the mollusc which gasped in the 

first warm flood, — 

A creature so wise and so high that he scorns all allure- 
ment of ill. 

Marching on through an ordered life in the strength of a 
steadfast will. 

Who knows ? But, however it be, we live, and shall live 

indeed, 
In ourselves or in others to come. What more doth our 

longing need ? 

Hid with God, or on earth, we shall see, burning brighter 

and yet more bright. 
The sphere of humanity move throughout time on its 

pathway of light -, 

Circling round with a narrower orbit, as age upon age 

fleets away. 
The centre of Force and of Being, the Fountain of Light 

and of Day, 

Till, nearer drawn, and more near, at last it shall naerge 

and fall 
In its source ; man is swallowed in God, the Part is lost 

in the All ; 



EVENSONG. 355 

One more world is recalled to rest, one more star adds its 

fire to the sun, 
One light less wanders thro* space, and the story of man 

is done. 

« « « « * 

Then slowly I rose to go from my place on the long green 

grass, 
Where so long I had lain in deep thought, and letting 

the moments pass. 

A great light was flooding all the plains of the earth and 

the sky. 
The low church and the deep-sunk vale, and the place 

where one day I shall lie, 

^he fresh graves of those we have lost, the dark yews 

with their reverend gloom, 

< 

And the green wave which only marks the place of the 
nameless tomb ; 

And thro' all the clear spaces above — oh wonder ! oh 

glory of Light ! — 
Came forth myriads on myriads of worlds, the shining 

host of the night, — 

The vast forces and fires that know the same sun and 

centre as we ; 
The faint planets which roll in vast orbits round suns we 

shall never see ; 



356 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

The rays which had sped from the first, with the awful 

swiftness of light, 
To reach only then, it might be, the confines of mortal 

sight 

Oh, wonder of Cosmical Order ! oh, Maker and Ruler 

of all. 
Before whose Infinite greatness in silence we worship 

and fall ! 

Could I doubt that the Will which keeps this great 

universe steadfast and sure 
Can be less than His creatures thought, full of goodness, 

pitiful, pure ? 

Could I dream that the Power which keeps those great 

suns circling around, 
Takes no thought for the humblest life which flutters and 

falls to the ground ? 

I 

Oh, Faith ! thou art higher than all. Then I turned 

from the glories above. 
And from every casement new-lit there shone a soft 

radiance of love. 

Young mothers were teaching their children to fold little 

hands in prayer ; 
Strong fathers were resting from toil, 'mid the hush of the 

Sabbath air. 






EVENSONG. 357 

Peasant lovers strolled thro' the lanes, shy and diffident, 

each with each, 
Yet knit by some subtle union too fine for their halting 

speech. 

Humble lives, to low thought, and low; but linked, to 

the thinker's eye. 
By a bond that is stronger than death, with the lights of 

the farthest sky. 

Here as there, the great drama of life rolled on, and a 

jubilant voice 
Thrilled through me ineffable, vast, and bade me exult 

and rejoice. 

Exult and rejoice, oh soul ! sang my being to a mystical 

hymn 
As I passed by the cool bright wolds, as I threaded my 

pinewoods dim ; 

Rejoice and be sure ! as I passed to my fair home under 

the hUl, 
Wrapt round with a happy content, — and the world and 

my soul were still. 



-•♦- 



358 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



SONG. 

Beam on me, fair Ideal, beam on me ! 

Too long thou hast concealed thee in a cloud ; 
Mine is no vision strong to pierce to thee, 

Nor voice complaining loud, 
Whereby thou mightest find thy dear, and come 
To thine own heart, and long expecting home. 

1 00 long thou dost withdraw thee from mine eyes ; 

Too long thou lingerest Ah, truant sweet ! 
Dost thou no reckoning take of all my sighs. 

While Time with flying feet 
Speeds onward, till the westering sun sinks low — 
With cruel feet so swift and yet so slow ? 

Time was I thought that thou wouldst come a maid 
White-armed, with deep blue eyes and sunny head ; 

But, ah ! too long the lovely vision stayed. 
And then, when this was fled, 

Fame, with blown clarion clear, and wide-spread wings, 

Fame, crown and summit of created things. 



sOxNG. 359 

And then in guise of Truth, when this grew faint, 
Truth in Belief and Act, and Life and Thought, 

AVhite-robed and virginal, a pure cold saint, 
Thou cam'st a while, long sought ; 

But only in glimpses earnest thou, so I 

Watch wearily until thou passest by. 

I wait, I watch, I hunger, though I know 

Thou wilt not come at all who stay'st so long. 

My hope has lost its strength, my heart its glow ; 
I grow too cold for song : 

Long since I might have sung, hadst thou come then, • 

A song to echo through the souls of men. 

Yet, since 'tis better far to dream in sleep. 
Than wholly lose the treacheries of time, 

I hold it gain to have seen thy garments sweep 
On the far hills sublime : 

Still will I hope thy glorious face to see, — 

Beam on me, fair Ideal, beam on me ! 



-♦♦- 



360 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



AT LAST. 

Let me at last be laid 

On that hillside I know which scans the vale, 

Beneath the thick yews* shade. 

For shelter when the rains and winds prevail. 

It cannot be the eye 

Is blinded when we die, ^ . 

So that we know no more at all 

The dawns increase, the evenings fall ; 

Shut up within a " mouldering " chest of wood 

Asleep, and careless of our children's good. 

Shall I not feel the spring. 

The yearly resurrection of the earth, 

Stir thro' each sleeping thing 

With the fair throbbings and alarms of birth 

Calling at its own hour 

On folded leaf and flower, 

Calling the lamb, the lark, the bee, 

Calling the crocus and anemone, 

Calling new lustre to the maiden's eye. 

And to the youth love and ambition high ? 



i 



AT LAST. 361 

Shall I no more admire 

The winding river kiss the daisied plain ? 

Nor see the dawn's cold fire 

Steal downward from the rosy hills again ? 

Nor watch the frowning cloud, 

Sublime with mutterings loud, 

Burst on the vale, nor eves of gold. 

Nor crescent moons, nor starlight cold. 

Nor the red casements glimmer on the hill 

At Yule-tides, when the frozen leas are still ? 

Or should my children's tread 

Through Sabbath twilights, when the hymns are done, 

Come softly overhead. 

Shall no sweet quickening through my bosom run. 

Till all my soul exhale 

Into the primrose pale. 

And every flower which springs above 

Breathes a new perfume from my love ; 

And I shall throb, and stir, and thrill beneath 

With a pure passion stronger far than death ? 

Sweet thought ! fciir, gracious dream. 

Too fair and fleeting for our clearer view ! 

How should our reason deem 

That those dear souls, who sleep beneath the blue 

In rayless caverns dim, 

|Mid ocean monsters grim, 



362 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or whitening on the trackless sand, 

Or with strange corpses on each hand 

In battle-trench or city graveyard lie, 

Break not their prison-bonds till time shall die ? 



Nay, 'tis not so indeed. 

With the last fluttering of the failmg breath 

The clay-cold form doth breed 

A viewless essence, far too fine for death ; 

And ere one voice can mourn, 

On upward pinions borne, 

They are hidden, they are hidden, in some thin air, 

Far from corruption, far from care, 

Where through a veil they view their former scene, 

Only a little touched by what has been. 



Tpuched but a little ; and yet, 

Conscious of every change that doth befal, 

By constant change beset,' 

The creatures of this tiny whirling ball. 

Filled with a higher being, . 

Dowered with a clearer seeing, 

Risen to a vaster scheme of life, 

To wider joys and nobler strife. 

Viewing our little human hopes and fears 

As we our children's fleeting smiles and tears. 



SONG* 363 

Then, whether with fire they burn 

This dwelling-house of mine when I am fled, 

And in a marble urn 

My ashes rest by my beloved dead, 

Or in the sweet cold earth 

I pass from death to birth, 

And pay kind Nature's life -long debt 

In heart's-ease and in violet — 

In chamel-yard or hidden ocean wave. 

Where'er I lie, I shall not scorn my grave. 



-♦♦- 



SONG. 

1^0 VE- SIGHS that are sighed and spent in vain, 

Ah ! folly, folly. 

Thou dost transmute into a precious pain. 

Sweet melancholy. 

Ah ! folly, folly. 

Ah ! fair melancholy, 

Sweeter by far thy mild remedial pain. 

Than if fierce hope should rise and throb again. 

High hopes of glory sunk to naught. 
Ah ! folly, folly, 



364 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And deep perplexities of baffled thought 

Thou healest, melancholy. 

Ah ! folly, folly, 

Ah ! sweet melancholy. 

Thou dost bear with thee a balm unsought, 

To heal the wounds of love and pride and thought. 

Yet thou art a trivial cure for ill, 

Pale melancholy. 

Fitting best a feebler brain and will, 

Ah ! folly, folly. 

Ay, sweet melancholy, 

Folly art thou, folly. 

Who only may not trivial ills endure 

Will in thy pharmacy repose his cure. 

Since thou shalt not heal the wounds I know, 

Pale melancholy, 

I will seek if any comfort grow 

In jovial folly, 

Ah ! folly, folly, 

Worse than melancholy, 

No other cure there is for Fortune's smart 

Than a soul self-contained, and a proud innocent heart.- 



-•♦■ 



THE DIALOGUE. 365 



THE DIALOGUE. 

Unto my soul I said, 

" Oh, vagrant soul ! 
When o*er my Hving head 

A few years roll, 
Is't true that thou shalt fly 
Far away into the sky, 
Leaving me in my place 
Alone with my disgrace? 

" For thou wilt stand in the East, 

The night withdrawn. 
White-robed as is a priest, 

At the door of dawn ; 
While I within the ground, 
In misery fast bound, 
Shall lie, blind, deaf, and foul, 
Since thou art fled, O soul." 



3'36 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Then said my soul to me : 

" Thy lot is best ; 
For thou shalt tranquil be, 

Sunk deep in rest, 
While naked I shall know 
The intolerable glow 
When as, the sun, shall rise 
A fire in fiery skies. 

" Thou shalt lie cool and dark, 

Forgetting all ; 
I shall float shamed and stark, 

Till the sun fall. 
Thou shalt be earth in earth, 
Preparing for new birth ; 
While me in the heaven fierce. 
Pure glories fright and pierce." 

Then said I to my soul. 

And she to me : 
" Where'er life's current roll 

We twain shall be, 
Part here and part not here. 
Partners in hope and fear, 
Until, our exile done. 
We meet at last in one." 



-H- 



1 



THE BIRTH OF VERSE. 367 



THE BIRTH OF VERSE. 

Blind thoughts which occupy the brain, 
Dumb melodies which fill the ear, 

Dim perturbations, precious pain, 
A gleam of hope, a chill of fear, — 

These seize the poet's soul, and mould 

The ore of fancy into gold. 

And first no definite thought there is 
In all that affluence of sound, 

Like those sweet formless melodies 
Piped to the listening woods around. 

By birds which never teacher had 

But love and knowledge : they are glad. 

Till, when the chambers of the soul 
Are filled with inarticulate airs, 

A spirit comes which doth control 
The music, and its end prepares ; 

And, with a power serene and strong, 

Shapes these wild melodies to song. 



r 

I 



368 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Or haply, thoughts which glow and burn 
Await long time the fitting strain, 

Which, swiftly swelling, seems to turn 
The silence to a load of pain ; 

And somewhat in him seems to cry, 

" I will have utterance, or I die ! " 

Then of a sudden, full, complete, 
The strong strain bursting into sound, 

Words come with rhythmic rush of feet. 
Fit music girds the language round, 

And with a sweetness all unsought 

Soars up the winged embodied thought. 

But howsoever they may rise, 

Fit words and music come to birth ; 

There soars an angel to the skies. 

There walks a Presence on the earth — 

A something which shall yet inspire 

Myriads of souls unborn with fire. 

And when his voice is hushed and dumb, 
The flame burnt out, the glory dead, 

He feels a thrill of wonder come 

At that which his poor tongue has said ; 

And thinks of each diviner line — 

" Only the hand that wrote was mine." 



SONG. 369 



SONG. 

Oh ! were I rich and mighty, 
With store of gems and gold, 
And you, a beggar at my gate, 
Lay starving in the cold ; 
I wonder, could I bear 
To leave you pining there ? 

Or, if I were an angel, 
And you an earth-born thing. 
Beseeching me to touch you 
In rising with my wing ; 
I wonder should I soar 
Aloft, nor heed you more ? 

Or, dear, if I were only 
A maiden cold and sweet, 
And you, a humble lover, 

I 

Sighed vainly at my feet ; 

I wonder if my heart 

Would know no pain or smart ? 

2 B 



370 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



THE ENIGMA. 

The gaslights flutter and flare 

On the cruel stones of the street, 
And beneath in the sordid glare 

Pace legions of weary feet ; 
Fair faces that soon shall grow hard, 

Shy glances already grown bold, 
The wrecks of a girlhood marred 

By shame and hunger and cold. 

But here, as she passes along. 

Is one whose young cheek still shows, 
'Mid the pallid, pitiful throng, 

The fresh bloom of a tender rose. 
Not long has she walked with vice, 

A recruit to the army of 111, 
A fresh lamb for the sacrifice 

That steams up to Moloch still. 



THE ENIGMA. 37 C 

And the spell through which youth draws all, 

The faint sh)aiess in hurrying walk, 
The lithe form slender and tall, 

The soft burr in her simple talk. 
Constrains the grave passer, whose brain 

Is long leagues of fancy apart, 
To thrill with a sudden pain 

And an emptiness of heart. 



Poor child ! since it is not long 

Since you were indeed but a child, 
A gay thing of bird-like song, 

And even as a bird is wild ; 
With no shadow of thought or care, 

Laughing all the sweet hours away, 
When every morning was fair. 

And every season a May. 



Through the red fallow on the hill 

The white team laboured along, 
While you roamed the green copses at will, 

And mimicked the cuckoo's song ; 
While they tossed and carried the hay. 

While the reapers were hid in the wheat, 
You had only to laugh and to play, 

Or to bathe in the brook your feet 



372 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

For your mother left you a child, 

Your rough father's pride and joy : 
Rejoiced that his girl was as wild 

And fearless as any boy. 
Though you would not plunder the nest, 

Nor harry the shrieking hare, 
You could gallop bare-backed with the best. 

And knew where the orchises were. 



" Like a boy" was what they said. 

With your straight limbs and fearless face ; 
Like a girl in the golden head. 

Gay fancies, and nameless grace. 
Like a boy in high courage and all 

Quick forces, and daring of will ; 
Like a girl in the peril to fall, 

And innocent blindness to ill. 



And even now, on the sordid street. 

As you pass by the theatre door. 
You bring with you some freshness sweet 

Of the brightness and breezes of yore. 
Not yet are the frank eyes grown bold, 

Not yet have they lost all their joy ; 
Not yet has time taken the gold 

From the short crisp curls of the boy. 



THE ENIGMA. 373 



And if truly a boy's they were, 

Not thus would he pace forlorn ; 
Nor would careless passers-by dare 

To shoot out the lips of scorn. 
Is it Nature or man that makes 

An unequal judgment arraign 
Those whose equal nature takes 

The mark of the self-same stain ? 



Leaving this one, shame and disgrace ; 

Leaving that one, honour and fame ; 
To this one, confusion of face. 

To that one, a stainless name : 
A high port and respect and wealth 

For the one who is guilty indeed, 
While the innocent walks by stealth 

Through rough places with feet that bleed. 



Do I touch a deep ulcer of Time, 

A created or ultimate ill, 
A primal curse or a crime. 

Self-inflicted ^through ignorance still ? 
But meanwhile, poor truant, you come 

With a new face year after year. 
Leaving innocence, freedom, and home 

For these dens of weeping and fear. 



374 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS, 

To decline by a swift decay, 

To a thing so low and forlorn, 
That, for all your fresh beauty to-day. 

It were better you never were bom ; 
Or to find in some rare-sent hour. 

As a lily rooted in mire, 
• Love spring with its pure white flower 

From the lowest depths of desire. 



Heaven pity you ! So little turns 

The stream of our lives from the right ; 
So like is the flame that bums 

To the hearth that gives warmth and light ; 
So fine the impassable fence, 

Set for ever 'twixt right and wrong. 
Between white lives of innocence 

And dark lives too dreadful for song. 



-♦♦- 



TO THE TORMENTORS. 375 



TO THE TORMENTORS. 

Dear little friend, who, day by day. 

Before the door of home 

Art ready waiting till thy master come, 

With monitory paw and noise. 

Swelling to half delirious joys. 

Whether my path I take 

By leafy coverts known to thee before. 

Where the gay coney loves to play. 

Or the loud pheasant whirls from out the brake 

Unharmed by us, save for some frolic chase, 

Or mnocent pantmg race ; 

Or who, if by the sunny river's side 

Haply my steps I turn. 

With loud petition constantly dost yearn 

To fetch the whirling stake from the warm tide ; 

Who, if I chide thee, grovellest in the dust, 

And dost forgive me, though I am unjust, 

Blessing the hand that smote ; who with fond love 

Gazest, and fear for me, such as doth move 



376 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Those finer souls which know, yet may not see. 
And are wrapped round and lost in ecstasy ; — 

And thou, dear little friend and soft, 

Breathing a gentle air of hearth and home ; 

Whose low purr to the lonely ear doth oft 

With deep refreshment come ; 

Though thy quick nature is not frank and gay 

As that one's, yet with graceful play 

Thou dost beguile the eveningsj and dost sit 

With mien demurely fit ; 

With half-closed, eyes, as in a dream. 

Responsive to the singing steam. 

Most delicately clean and white. 

Thou baskest in the flickering light ; 

Quick-tempered art thou, and yet, if a child 

Molest thee, pitiful and mild ; 

And always thy delight is, simply neat. 

To seat thee faithful at thy master's feet ; — 

And thou, good friend and strong, 
\\^o art the docile labourer of the world ; 
Who groanest when the battle mists are curled 
On the red plain ; who toilest all day long 
To make our gain or sport ; who art the care 
That cleanses idle lives, which, but for thee 
And thy pure, noble nature, perhaps might sink 
To lower levels, bom of lust and drink, 



i 



TO THE TORMENTORS. 377 

And half-forgotten sloughs of infamy, 

Which desperate souls could dare ; — 

And ye, fair timid things, who lightly play 

By summer woodlands at the close of day ; — 

What are ye all, dear creatures, tame or wild ? 

What other nature yours than of a child, 

Whose dumbness finds a voice mighty to call. 

In wordless pity, to the souls of all 

Whose lives I turn to profit, and whose mute 

And constant friendship links the man and brute ? 

Shall I consent to raise 

A torturing hand against your few and evil days ? 

Shall I indeed delight 

To take you, helpless kinsmen, fast and bound. 

And while ye lick my hand 

Lay bare your veins and nerves in one red wound. 

Divide the sentient brain ; 

And while the raw flesh quivers with the pain, 

A calm observer stand. 

And drop in some keen acid, and watch it bite 

The writhing life : wrench the still beating heart, 

And with calm voice meanwhile discourse, and bland, 

To boys who jeer or sicken as they gaze. 

Of the great Goddess Science and her gracious ways ? 

Great Heaven ! this shall not be, this present hell. 
And none denounce it ; well I know, too well. 



37^ SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

That Nature works by ruin and by wrong, 
Taking no care for any but the strong, 
Taking no care. But we are more than she ; 
We touch to higher levels, a higher love 
Doth through our being move. 
Though we know all our benefits bought by blood, 
And that by suffering only reach we good ; 
Yet not with mocking laughter, nor in play, 
Shall we give death or carve a life away. 

And if it be indeed 

For some vast gain of knowledge, I might give 

These humble lives that live, 

And for the race should bid the victim bleed, 

Only for some great gain, 

Some counterpoise of pain ; 

And that with solemn soul and grave. 

Like him who from the fire 'scapes, or the flood. 

Who would save all, ay, with his heart's best blood, 

But of his children chooses which to save ! 

Surely a man should scorn 

To owe his weal to others' death and pain ? 

Sure 'twere no real gain 

To batten on lives so weak and so forlorn ? 

Nor were it right indeed 

To do for others what for self were wrong. 

'Tis but the same dead creed, 

Preaching the naked triumph of the strong ; 



CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 379 

And for this Goddess Science, hard and stem, 
We shall not let her priests torment and burn : 
We fought the priests before, and not in vain ; 
And as we fought before, so will we fight again. 



-»♦- 



CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 

Bright boys vociferous. 
Girl-children clamorous. 
Shrill trebles echomg, 
Down the long street 
Every day come they there. 
Afternoon foul or fair. 
Shouting and volleying. 
Through wintry winds and cold. 
Through summer eves of gold, 
Running and clamouring. 
Never a day but brings, 
Ragged and thinly clad, 
Battling with poverty, 
Hunger, and wretchedness. 
Brave little souls forlorn. 
Gaining hard bread. 



380 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

" Terrible accident ; 
Frightful explosion. Sir ; 
News from Australia, 
News from America ; 
Only one halfpenny, 
Special edition, Sir, 
Echo^ Sir, Echo ! " 

• 

Thus they shout breathlessly, 
Dashing and hurrying. 
Threading the carriages, 
Under the rapid feet ; 
Frightening the passer-by, 
Down the long street : 
On till they chance to meet 
Some vague philosopher. 

« « « 

And straightway the hurry, 
And bustle, and noise, 
Fade away in his thought 
Before tranquiller joys. 
Here are problems indeed, 
Not to solve, it is true, 
But on every side filling 
The fanciful view ; 
Which ere he has grasped them 
Are vanished and gone, 
But leave him in solitude 
Never alone. 



' 



CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 38 1 

Thoughts of Fate, and of Life, 
And the end of it all, 
Of the struggle and strife 
Where few rise, many fall ; 
Thoughts of Country and Empire, 
Of Future and Past, 
And the centuries gliding 
So slow, yet so fast 
Old fancies, yet strange. 
Thoughts sad and yet sweet, 
Of lives come to harvest, 
And lives incomplete ; 
Of the lingering march, 
Of the Infinite plan, 
Bringing slowly, yet surely, 

The glory of man ; 

Of otu* failures and losses. 

Our victory and gain ; 

Of our treasure of hope 

And our Present of pain. 

And, higher than all, 

That these young voices teach 

A glowing conviction 

Too precious for speech ; 

That somewhere down deep 

In each natural soul 

Sacred verities sleep. 

Holy waterfloods roll ; 



382 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

That to young lives untaught, 
Without friend, without home, 
Some gleams of a light 
That is heavenlier come ; 
That to toil which is honest 
A voice calls them still, 
Which is more than the tempter's 
And stronger than ill. 

For, poor souls, 'twere better. 

If pleasure were all, 

Not to strive thus and labour, 

But let themselves fall. 

They might gain, for a time. 

Higher wages than this. 

And that sharp zest of sinning 

The innocent miss. 

They might know fuller life. 

And, should fortune befriend. 

Escape the Law's pains 

From beginning to end. 

Or, if they should fail, 

\Vhat for them does home bring 

Which should make of a prison 

So dreadful a thing? 

These children, whom formalists, 

Narrow and stem. 

Have denied what high principle 



CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 383 

Comes from to leam ; 
To whom this great empire, 
Whose records they cry, 
Is a book sealed as close ' 
As the ages gone by ; 
Who bear a name great 
Among nations of earth. 
But are English alone 
By the fortune of birth ; 
These young mouths that come 
To a board well-nigh bare, 
Who elsewhere were riches, 
But here a grave care. 

Great Empire ! fast bound 
By invisible bands, 
That convey to earth's limits 
Thy rulers' commands ; 
Who sittest alone 
By thy rude northern sea, 
On an ocean-built throne. 
The first home of the free. 
Whom thy tall chimneys shroud 
In a life-giving gloom ; 
Who clothest mankind . 
With the work of thy loom ; 
Who o'er all seas dost send out 
Thy deep-laden ships ; 



384 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Who teachest all nations 

The words of thy lips ; 

Who despatchest thy viceroys 

Imperially forth 

To the palms of thy East 

And the snows of thy North ; 

Who holdest vast empires 

Of dark subtle men 

By the might of just laws 

And the sword of the pen ; 

Who are planted wherever 

A white foot may tread, 

On the poisonous land 

Which for ages lies dead ; ^ 

^Vho didst nourish the freeman 

With milk from thy breast, 

To the measureless Commonwealth 

Lording the West ; 

AVho holdest to-day 

Of those once subject lands 

A remnant too mighty 

For weaklier hands ; 

^Vho in thy isle-continent, 

Hourly increased, 

Rearest empires of freemen 

To sway the far East ; 

Who art set on lone islets 

Of palm and of spice, 



CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 385 

On deserts of sand 

And on mountains of ice ; 

Who bring'st Freedom wherever 

Thy flag is unfurled : 

The exemplar, the envy, 

The crown of the World ! 

What is't thou dost owe 

To these young lives of thine. 

What else but to foster 

This dim spark divine ? 

Think of myriads like these 

Without teaching or Rome, 

Who with pitiful accents 

Beseeching thee come ; 

Think how Time, whirling on, 

Time that never may rest, 

Brings the strength of the loins 

And the curve of the breast. 

Till, with poor minds still childish, 

These children are grown 

To the age that shall give them 

Young lives of their own ; 

Think of those, who to-day 

In the sweet country air 

Live, as soulless, almost, 

As the birds which they scare ; 

Think of all those for whom,] 

2 c 



386 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

To the immature brain, 
The dull whirr of the loom 
Brings a throbbing of pain ; 
Think of those poor lives fallen 
Which never shall rise, 
For the lack of the warning 
Their country denies, — 
Fallen, ruined, and lost, 
Through all time that shall be. 
Fallen for ever and lost 
To themselves and to thee ; — 
Thou who standest, girt round 
By strong f6es on each side. 
Foes who envy thy greatness. 
Thy glory, thy pride ; 
Thou, who surely shalt need 
Heart and soul, brain and hand. 
Brain to plan, hand to bleed. 
For thy might, O dear land ! 



Till, while slowly he ponders 
These thoughts in his brain. 
See ! there swiftly comes rushing 
A young troop again. 

" Terrible accident ; 
Frightful explosion, Sir ; 



CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 387 

News, Sir, from Germany ; 
Latest from India ; 
Special edition, Sir, 
Only one half-penny ! " 
Thus the revoluble 
Assonant Echo. 

Again they rush breathlessly ; 
Dashing and hurrymg, 
Frighting the passer-by. 
Shouting and volleying. 
Bright boys vociferous. 
Girl-children clamorous, 
On till they meet again 
Some vague philosopher. 



-•♦- 



\ 



3^8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 

Leap, all ye seven hills ; be glad, O hallowed ground. 

Built up of ruin through the infinite years ; 

Be glad, and let the sound 

Of joy arise, of joy unmixed with tears, 

Till all the sacred dust beneath 

Quicken from out the grasp of death. 

And Kingdom, Commonwealth, and Empire, each, 

The will to govern and the brain to teach. 

Warrior and jurist, and the eloquent tongue. 

The plastic hand of art, the holy fire of song. 

Live once again, if ever they were dead. 

For now the night is past, the dawn is come ; 

The strength of evil spent, the black dream fled, 

After the age-long gloom the heavens grow red. 

Man, exiled long, turns to his ancient home : 

Once more, with longing hearts, the nations yearn ; 

Once more they call, with lips and eyes that biun, 

Thy name, regenerate Rome I 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 389 

# 

Old art thou, Rome, and worn : 

So old that scarce our eyes can trace 

The sum of centuries on thy face. 

So thick beneath thy soil the empires lie 

That Heaven's own air above thee seems to die ; 

And on thy plains forlorn 

By night the plague-mist broods with ghastly breath, 

And the chill leprous vapours settle down 

Even to the shrunken limits of the town : 

Old art thou, and to-day thy Romans dwell 

Nestling within the broken shell 

Of palace and of temple, and the hand 

Of cunning, vanished skill shines through the wall 

Of humble hovels tottering to their fall ; 

And oft the delvers 'mid thy ruins start 

To see some breathing miracle of art ; 

And fair tall columns stand. 

Amid the sordid present, like the ghost ; 

Showing from out the meanness of to-day 

The high hope sunk, the ruin, the decay ; 

Of some once great ideal spent and lost 

Thou wert not pure nor good, 

O Rome, in those great days our hearts recall 

On violence thy growing power was built. 

On violence and guilt ; 

The simpler lives that made thy Commonwealth, 

The general sober health. 



39© SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Were lived for power, and that through weary time 
The triumph to the Capitol might climb, 
With Death in its train ; and long before thy fall 
Thy sated eyes were daily drunk with blood. 
Thy pitiless hands were busy with scourge and chain. 
A proud cold mistress wert thou, stem and grave, 
Trampling out life and freedom from thy slave, 
Till the rude wild barbarians, one by one, 
Lost the fair pride and vigour of the free, 
And for their gods took luxury and thee. 
And ere thy race was run 
Thy mailed legions, speeding fast and far. 
O'er land and sea had borne the blight of war, 
Till the world lay asleep. 
And one foul canker of ignoble peace 
Consumed thee, slow and deep ; 
And amid dreamy languors of delight, 
And hot red flushes mixt of lust and blood, 
Rose-crowned thou satest, thy weary eyes aglow 
With death-throes of the nude young limbs below ; 
And fierce praetorians hurling down 
The hardly conquered blood-stained crown ; 
And poison and plot, and nameless sloughs of sin. 
These were the joys thou gavest thy soul to win ; 
These the dead centuries brought, nor seemed as they 
would cease. 

And then thou wert divided, and the rude 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 39 1 

Fierce savage from the boundless plains laid bare 

Thy fertile fields, and the slow-stealing tide 

Of ruin, oft beat back, broke high and higher, 

And low and lower ; like a dying fire 

Thy empire sank, till sink it might no more. 

And after long, long years 

Of rapine and of tears. 

Thou, the corrupt, the lewd. 

Forgetting all thy life that was before. 

The guilty, gave thy harlot limbs to wear 

The white robes of the saintly crucified ; 

And with vain sacrifice and heathen rite. 

And re-established idols, and the steam 

Of thy discarded censers, thou didst turn, 
* The God-sent words that bum, 

The pure commands of light, 
' Into a sickly sensual dream ; 

And over all the past 

Didst such strange glamour cast. 

That thou, who once wert drunk with blood of saint 

And martyr — thou, who once didst flout and scorn 

The grand old kingdoms not of thee. 

Didst stoop to bend a lowly knee 

To a poor fisher, Hebrew bom. 

Him by a foolish fable didst thou take 

For priest and mler ; and, with craft to make 

All things thy own, once more thou didst regain 

Thy old bad mle ; and threats of pain 



392 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

And promise ; bound with fierce constraint 
Thy savage conquerors, till thou cam'st to be 
The mistress of the world, the foe of all the free. 

And then, oh Rome, 
Began thy worst abasement ; for till now 
Thy vices were the vices of the strong, — 
Thy life as theirs in whom the tide 
Runs over-strong, and the hot pride 
Of life and all its fires so fiercely glow. 
That scarce amid the tumult and the throng 
They hear the sweet old voices come, 
Telling of innocence and home. 
For always 'mid the turmoil and the din 
Of passion and the long laborious sin 
Pure voices rose : sweet bursts of song 
Sage words of wisdom, histories fair, 
Immortal codes of laws, which still 
Downward the gratefiil centuries bear, 
Rhetoric which shall scarcely die. 
Philosophies remote and high. 
And breathing art ; and through the long 
Ages, one firm unswerving will 
Moulding the world, till man became 
Roman in soul and name. 

But now thou knew'st to take 

Another form of rule, and thou, who erst 



1^ 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME, 393 

Didst march with mail-clad warriors, battling down 

Opposing wills, and first among the first, 

Won'st firom a conquered world the hard-earned crown. 

Now like a cold black snake 

Around the blighted souls of men didst glide, 

And with feigned messages of doom. 

And monstrous fable and immoral threat, 

A womanish, subtle conqueror, didst set 

Thy foot upon mankind ; nor trick, nor cheat. 

Nor secret craft, nor wile, nor dark deceit. 

Nor hypocrite pretence didst leave untried. 

Nor thought nor deed of gloom. 

Thy empire thou didst base on groans and sighs 

Of lifelong captives shut from life and love, 

And at thy bidding all the sacred ties 

Of home thou didst unloosen and remove 

All thought but thought for thee. So didst thou 

build 
Thy throne on suffering ; while thy pontiffs sate 
'Mid well-carved n3rmphs and pictures fair, 
And pagan joyance ever3rwhere. 
And made their atheist fancies bold 
With philosophic sneers of old, 
As the augurs did ; and in the sacred name 
Of God, careless, and flushed with wine, they filled 
The sanctuary with revel, and the shame 
Of lust of power and greed insatiate ; 
And scoffed at Christ, and mocked the zeal 



394 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Of those too faithful souls and pure, 
Whom faster far than chains or steel 
Their high religion could immure, 
And who from convent prisons sad, 
Their impious feasts made glad. 

Or these lewd triflers passed ; and then, 

Worse tyranny of purer men. 

Stem zealots who, believing, sought 

To kill the sacred life of thought 

By scourge, and chain, and axe, and stake. 

And o'er mind's seething ocean spread 

Such calm as when the winds are dead ; 

And not in vain, for year by year. 

Brought low by horrid chills of fear. 

The world's high pulse beat weak and faint, 

Till lying vision of sickly saint. 

And fabulous dogma could replace 

The Pagan tenderness and grace. 

And o'er all lands thy priests swarmed far and near, 

Close to the blood-stained rulers' dying ear. 

With venal gloss for unrepented sin. 

And secret absolution, and did win 

The credulous faith of woman ; and if e'er 

Some bolder soul, grown jealous, turned to God 

From all thy forgeries, it with dreadful fear, 

And chain, and dungeon, and the iron rod. 

And blood and fire, thou didst subdue 



1 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 395 

To thine own ends, and with a hideous skill 
Thou madest the whole world bow before thy will, 
Till thy vast fable grew 

To a black nightmare, blighting heart and soul ; 
And ever with thy prisons filled with pain. 
And thy dark shadow, blasting the world's brain, 
So long time did the weary centmies roll, 
And thou didst wax and batten on the blood 
Of the innocent and good. 

And then there came 

Another dawn with thunders, and the flame 

Of its red lightning flashed from soul to soul. 

And thought a waking giant rose and broke 

Thy hateful bonds, and soared to heaven and spoke 

The godlike words which erst thou didst control. 

And the dread salutary storm of war 

Burst o'er unhappy Europe far ; 

And the brave North from out its cold 

Gray, frozen plains rushed forth to meet 

The Pagan South, which at thy feet 

Had spent its manhood : and the bold 

High soul of England, she who sate 

Behind her sea-cliffs isolate. 

These spumed thy hateful yoke and thee, 

And, taking heart, grew great and free. 

And overspread the world ; but thou, 

Knowing the voice of doom. 



39^ SONGS OF Tl^O WORLDS 

Ruthless, with fire and sword didst trample out 

The nascent soul within thee^ and enslave 

The whole fair South in blackest depths of gloom. 

There, in an ignorance too dark for doubt. 

And a worse death than that which feeds the grave, 

Thou didst engulf her. There did she remain. 

Dead, while life surged around her ; joy, and pain. 

High hopes and aspirations, all forgot 

There, chained to earth, the nations groveUed and were not, 

And there some grovel now. 

Ah ! glorious city, what pangs were thine 

In those long shameful years ! 

Cold as a corpse round which the graveclothes twine, 

Thou diank'st the cup of tears ; 

Thy vesture they divided, and did tear 

In simder thy own Italy, fair and sweet 

And thou could'st bear 

To see her trampled under alien feet ! 

Sometimes thy sons, filled with such holy fire 

As in all time doth patriot hearts inspire. 

Would rear thy fallen Commonwealth once more 

In vain, or else by burning words would strive 

To make the dry bones of thy Empire live ; 

And then time fled, and voice and arm would fail, 

And death and silence reign. The day of doom, 

Which touched the souls of men with tongues of flame, 

Broke not on thee. Upon thy living tomb 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 397 

Of that great travail whence the freeman came, 

Stole but a passing murmur, quickly gone ; 

And then thy hateful life crept smoothly on, 

Untroubled, as before. The tyrants slew 

And worked their selfish schemes of petty wrong 

Upon thy Italy, yet no lightning flash 

Shot from thy eyes, O mighty mother, to dash 

The spoiler to the earth ; for thou wast bound 

In womanish fetters : sunk so sad, so deep. 

In such a lifeless lethargy profound. 

That no cry came to break thy shameful slfeep : 

So well thy crafty guardians knew 

To stop thy ears ; while to the far 

Dim ends of earth they stretched their hands, 

Armed with all pitiless commands. 

And mental tortures worse than death. 

And sad confessions wrung from failing breath, 

And stamped out thought, and strove to still 

The world's great tumult to their will, 

And in this shameful mould recast 

Thy illimitable Past ! 

Slow is God's purpose deep. 

And slow the cycles creep 

To the full end ; and we who know 

Fruitless the long years come and go. 

Fruitless the brief lives lived and spent 

To change the old wrong impotent ; 



39^ SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Who, while we hopeless droop and fade 
Beneath thick Error's poison shade, 
See it to glorious stature rise, 
And lose its summit in the skies — 
See a false halo shed round crime, 
And error consecrate by time 
Grow weary of delay, and fain 
The eternal purpose to arraign. 
Ah ! blind and weak of faith ; for see, 
When least we think the thing shall be. 
By secret ways remote and still 
Fares on the one unchanging will, 
By trackless paths ; in seasons known 
By one intelligence alone ; 
And oft, when least we heed or think, 
Our footsteps tremble on the brink : 
And often, when we seem to hold 
The future, with its store of gold, 
Lo I quick the fairy gleam is gone. 
And leaves us hopeless and alone. 

And so with thee : 

The furious storm of change had passed once more 

And left thee as before. 

There seemed no shadow on the glaring sky, 

No little cloud which any might descry ; 

A time ^o more of wild imaginings ; 

A time of mistresses and kings. 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 399 

Secret police, confessors, Bourbons, spies, 

Dark prisons filled with patriot sighs : 

Rome basking, with her vulture wings outspread, 

As if all nobler thoughts and dreams were dead ; 

O'er all our Europe not a breath or stir 

But foul intr^e of king and minister, — 

One deep corruption to replace 

The kindly ties of common race. 

Secure thou seem'dst of ruin, ay, secure ; 

But, God be praised, not sure. 

For lo ! from out that calm and silence deep, 

A loud and bitter cry ! 

Europe, awaking from her nightmare sleep, 

Lifted her voice on high ; 

And the peoples who long time had crouched before 

That subtle deadly yoke. 

Had risen again, had risen and once more 

The voice of freedom spoke, — 

Whispered first with a low unmeaning murmur ; 

Then, 'mid fire and cannon smoke, 

Spoke out loud, as, with hand and voice grown firmer 

The Revolution woke. 

And over many a fair and stately city 

The fiend of civil strife, 

Drunk with conquest, blind to reverence, dead to pity, 

Rose to an awful life, — 

Rose till all our Europe, trodden under 



400 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

The thing the priests had wrought, 

Rang with confused unmeaning thunder 

Of inarticulate thought ; 

And the lonely dreamer, stem and crimson-handed, 

And the patriot mad with hope. 

And the zealot and the socialist, commanded 

More than Emperor or Pope. 

And they seized thee, and with joy and exultation 

Baptized thee. Commonwealth ; 

While thy Pontiff, long perplexed 'twixt Church and 

nation. 
Slunk out of thee by stealth. 
. Till the legions of thy sister, France the glorious — 
She who once awoke the world — 
Over liberty and commonwealth victorious. 
Against thy life were hurled ; 

And thou sankest down at last, though battling bravely 
For the freedom thou hadst won ; 
Never losing heart, but striving sternly, gravely. 
Till hope and life were done. 
And o'er every race, from Germany enlightened 
To God-forgotten Spain, 

The chains of the oppressor's hand were tightened, 
The fetters forged again. 

Once more the informer ruled, the sleek confessor 
Sate by the ear of kings ; 
A nightmare on the race, a dark assessor 
Prompting to shameful things. 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 40I 

" All things are mine," the priest said ; " I am master 
Of pomps, and thrones, and powers : " 
Nor marked the shadows ever gliding faster 
Of the inexorable hours ! 

For slowly in Time's hidden womb 
Fate's secret forces did mature. 
The silent energies obscure 
The destinies of doom ; 
And tiny Piedmont, set beneath the mountain, 
To one foreseeing brain 

Seemed the prime source, the fair upspringing foun- 
tain 
Of Italy again. 

And craft, than priestcraft subtler still. 
And cunning and unswerving will, 
These worked in silence long ; and then 
The rash Triumvir, king of men, 
The Roman without stain or guile. 
Rushed from his rocky sea-girt isle. 
And thy frank monarch marched, and he 
Who France enslaved but made thee free. 
And chased the spoiler out and broke his power. 
And drove him, beaten back, to fort and tower : 
And thou, rich Lombardy, wert free. 
And over thee, fair Tuscany, 
The onward flowing tide of freedom broke, 
And kingdom after kingdom woke, 

2 D 






402 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Till last on thee, O sweet South, bound 

In utter darkness, prisoned and confined, 

There broke with high tumultuous sound 

An echo of the mighty northern wind. 

Again the red-clad dreamer rose 

And rushed unarmed upon his foes. 

And did prevail — such strength there is in faith — 

And did prevail ! 

And all the dark and hateful things that be. 

All gyves and instruments of tyranny. 

Fell from thy limbs and left thee free ; 

And at thy prison gate 

And hideous, rayless cell, 

No more the gaoler sate. 

Making the Paradise God made, a hell. 

And all was free through Italy, free, free !' 

From thy cold Alp to burning Sicily : 

Free everywhere, O Rome, except for thee 

And thy gray, silent Venice weeping by the sea ! 

And then thy force seemed spent again, 
O Italy, and the slow crawhng years 
Deferred thy fulness, till thy growing pain 
Prompted rash onsets checked in blood and tears ; 
Yet, through defeat thou didst advance and gain 
Thy Venice, and through defeat 
And agony of Mentana didst advance 
To destiny complete, 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 403 

Till thy too jealous sister, France — 

She who with foreign fanatic and fool 

Did buoy thy oppressor's rule — 

She, by strong blows from the victorious North, 

Broken and crushed, and sunk in ruin, fell ; 

And, with her trumpets sounding the swift knell 

Of priestcraft, Italy marched forth, 

And the priests' hirelings shrank and were afraid. 

And strong and calm, and gloriously arrayed. 

Thou sawest her conquering legions come ; 

And not in battle guise, or hasty strength, 

But after patient waiting, and at length, 

Thy Italy came home ! 

And time it was indeed 

She came ; ay, it was time ; for scarce had ceased 

The boldest utterance that ever priest 

Had launched against our race. 

Ay ! it was time indeed. 

Scarce had the echoes died within the hall, 

Where the weird power which tottered to its fall 

Spake forth with voice and threat more bold 

Than ever fruious Pontiff launched of old, — 

Spake forth amid the sycophant crowd, 

The Jesuit suborned from every clime. 

The stolid Eastern left behind of time. 

The supple Italian mad for place ; 

And those, the shame of every freer race, 



404 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Who come to hate the liberty they know, 

And thoughts and lives that grow ; 

Who into freemen's gatherings slip — 

Smooth actors false, who play their part 

With tolerance upon the lip , 

And tyranny at heart ; 

The pale apostate, worldly wise ; 

The trickster bland with wolfish eyes. 

All these, and more, were there ; 

And with intrigue, and trick, and wile, 

Did each indignant soul beguile, 

Till the mild zealot of the pagan chair 

Stood forth amid the thunder and the flame ; 

Stood forth^oh, blasphemy and shame ! — 

Infallible — oh, mighty mocking name ! — 

Infallible o'er peoples and o'er kings. 

Infallible o'er earthly thoughts and things. 

Too late to stay the madness and the crime. 

Thou camest, O Italy. Ay, 'twas time, 'twas time ! 

Yes ! it was time. 

And now a Rome regenerate once more 

Amid her queenly cities sits sublime. 

Fair Venice, fresh like Cypris from the seas ; 

Ravenna, dim with hoary memories ; 

Milan, with spires of marble clustering white ; 

Genoa, on terraced hill-sides clear and bright ; 

Florence, the flower of cities ; and thou, fair town, 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME. 405 

On the blue crescent of whose bay, 
Though dynasties and nations pass away, 
The burning hill looks down 
That whelmed thy sisters ; — these 
And others, twinkling, like the Pleiades 
'Mid the large stars, with gems of form and hue 
Fairer than e'er thy ancient Romans knew. 
Kneel round thee where thou sittest as a Queen, 
Re-clothed with all the glories that have been. 

The glories ? Yes, but not the might. 

That to the colder North has flown, 

To where she lieth — she. 

The little Island under grayer light, 

'Mid loud perpetual surges of the sea, 

By boisterous winds o'erblown. 

Seated upon two hemispheres, and can teach. 

As thou couldst once, a universal speech ; 

Or to the vast and thinly-peopled West, 

Unknown to thee, where humble homes are blest 

With deep content and plenty, though the State 

Grow rotten ; or, it may be, to the great 

Vast form which broods o'er Europe like a cloud. 

As did thy Goths ; or, maybe, to the strong. 

Stem race of banded freemen, which grows free 

Through bonds, and, gaining freedom, set thee free : 

Heirs of thy mail-clad legions gone before. 

Ah ! mockery, that Time can do no more ! 



406 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Ay ! the long centuries mock us as they roll ; 

And we, we cannot tell 

To what far goal fares on the world's great soul, 

Whether to ill or well. 

Art thou indeed, black ghost, 

For ever taken from our eyes and fled, 

Among the hateful growths long lapsed and lost. 

Which now are sunk and dead ? 

Or shalt thou from the coward fears of men 

Who hear the Atheist bray. 

And morbid doubters doubting heaven away. 

Grow strong to blight again ? 

Or shall a happier fate, great Church of old, 

The hidden riches of thy life unfold — 

Great Church which men have strangled ! — till we see 

What sacred treasures, more than gems and gold. 

What power of faith and ordered liberty, 

Thy nursing arms enfold ? 

Grant it, O saints on earth and saints above. 

Who have made pure her foulness with your love ; 

Grant it, pale monks, who from dim convent room 

Saw angels through the gloom ; — 

Grant it, sweet ministering women ; all 

Who raised, who raise to-day, the feet that fall ; 

Who for fair works of mercy live. 

To pray, to work, to succour, and to give ; — • 

And ye limners who saw the mother mild 

Adore the Eternal Child, 



[ 



•ywgm^n 



AN ODE TO FREE ROME, 407 

Grant it, if e'er to mortal prayer 'tis given 
To speed the will of Heaven ; — 
Grant that from out all changes there may come 
A new, regenerate Rome ! 

We know not, but 'tis clear 

Her old dominion comes not, and 'tis well ; 

For maybe, in some happy future near, 

Or maybe distant, comes a newer birth, 

A peaceful federation of the earth : 

Who shall discern or tell ? 

Is it a dream ? But in thy Senate, Rome, 

Which was a dream, a dreamer sits to-day — 

Two there were once, but one has passed away ; 

The mightier, amid the happy dead 

He dreams not any more — 

And one there is who bends a whitened head, 

A happy dreamer, who fulfilled his dream, 

And has attained his home, 

And dreams to-day of Tiber's deepened stream 

White with the sails of yore ; 

And dreams along thy poisoned, lonely plain — 

The work of long neglect and of the priest — 

The sounds of happy toil which long have ceased, 

The vine and com again ; 

The peace, the plenty, which thy Romans knew ; 

The glory, not the dominance of old ; 

The waving wheat, or maize with sheen of gold ; 



4o8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. . 

And, where the robber lurks upon the hill, 

Again the purple clusters fill; 

Science to knit a long-dissevered race, 

And mild-eyed, gradual knowledge to efface. 

By tranquil method subtly strong, 

The centuries of ignorance and wrong ; 

The priest no ruler, but a fi*iend 

To guide the feeble feet that heavenward tend ; 

Leaving, in place of his old rule. 

The simple teaching of the school. 

The vespers in the twilights dim. 

The children's voices in the innocent hymn, 

The blessed, saintly souls which take 

A life of pity for their Master's sake, 

A fuller life than that the Pagan knew ; 

O dreamer, dream thy dream, and dream it true ! 



-H- 



A MEMORIAL. 409 



A MEMORIAL. 

White marbles, treasures of the mine, 
Fair carvings round a jewelled cross. 

Adorn the delicate golden shrine 
Where love commemorates its loss. 

Thus England strives to glorify 
One whose fine nature blended here 

The artist hand, the seeing eye. 
The high musician's subtle ear. 

Around him groups each useful art 
Which gives us covering, shelter, food ; 

Which knits the nations thrust apart ; 

Which smooths the hill, or spans the flood. 

And, in the fair relief which runs 
Around the high-set basement, stand, 

Each in the noblest of her sons 
The royal arts of brain and hand. 



4IO SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Homer and Shakspeare, Kings of Song ; 

Mozart and Handel, Lords of Sound ; 
Phidias ; and Angelo, the strong ; 

Sweet Raphael, throned with painters round 

While, at the broad base, carven white. 

Like sentinels on either hand, 
Symbolic to the finer sight, 

The great Earth's four divisions stand. 

Her strong bull, Europe seems to ride ; 

Asia, her huge obedient beast ; — 
With queens of fancy on each side ; — 

With eagle faces of the East. 

Afric, with kneeling camel mild ; 

And broad-lipped Nubian, swart of hue ; 
Columbia, keen, with bison wild ; 

Indian ; and Inca of Peru. 

And, canopied within the shrine, 
Gazing with contemplative eyes, 

That comely form and features fine 
Of one who was as good as wise. 

Who spent what intervals were his. 
From graver duties of the State, 

Not in the silken frivolous ease 
And laboured leisure of the great : 



A MEMORIAL. 4IL 

Nor walked with those who cared for naught 

But how the careless hours to fill, 
Nor any joy of act or thought 

Naught but to game, and dance, and kill. 

These drew him not, whose happy home 
Filled every thought ; who knew the love 

Of a true wife, and children come, 
His tenderness and love to move. 

And rested there with Art and Song, 
Science and Thought, — a. glorious quire. 

And Love, the Master-Player, strong 
To wake each separate chord with fire. 

A thousand homes like his there be 

In this our happy, peaceful land ; 
But none set high for all to see, 

Nor girt by watchers on each hand. 

Nor yet so gracious and refined 

As is the stately life of Kings, 
Who, safe from every ruder wind. 

See time fleet by on noiseless wings. 

A Royal home ! In all the life 

Of England came not days like these ; 

Stem days of war and civil strife ; 
Soft days of sensual sloth and ease ; 



412 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

All these were hers. But this had come 

Never at all, this ordered life, 
This finer and more gracious home 

Built on the hearts of man and wife, 

Till this man came. Let those who know 
^Vhat perils compass round a throne, 

WTiat fierce temptations bum and glow 
Round one who lives and breathes alone. 

Think it more honour to have been 
So pure, that never slander's breath 

Touched the first subject of his Queen, 
Blameless in life, bewailed in death, 

Than to have, ranged in peaceful strife 
The gathered firuit of brain and hand. 

And drawn the precious arts of life 
Together firora every distant land, 

Till under those long aisles of glass 

Men thronged, and dreamt the end of war- 

Nor, tho' Time mocks our hopes, alas ! 
Deem we since then the change so far, — 

Higher than this, or to have led 
Our rugged English mind and heart 

To love the mighty Masters, dead. 
Who live in every living Art 



A MEMORIAL. 413 

Or, with wise kindness, to have sought 

The seeker, who elects to take 
No other riches than his thought. 

Counting all gain, for knowledge sake. 

Most precious deeds, and fit to earn 

What record loving hearts devise ; 
High monument, and words that burn. 

But, more than all of them, we prize 

Exceeding these as it exceeds 

The fame of warriors strong to kill ; 
Ay, even the statesman's thoughts and deeds. 

Which sway the docile nation's will — 

The high example, white and pure ; 

The fair life, dutiful and mild ; 
The loving thought, which shall endure 

Beyond the love of wife and child. 

Rest, happy shade ! within the shrine 

Thy love has built, securely rest ! 
And teach,* from out thy calm divine, 

Peoples and Kings what life is best 



-♦♦- 



414 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



A SEPARATION DEED. 

Whereas we twain, who still are bound for life, 

Who took each other for better and for worse, 

Are now plunged deep in hate and bit'ter strife, . 

And all our former love is grown a curse ; 

So that ^twere better, doubtless, we should be 

In loneliness, so that we were apart. 

Nor in each other's changed eyes looking, see 

The cold reflection of an alien heart : 

To this insensate parchment we reveal 

Our joint despair, and seal it with our seal. 

Forgetting the dear days not long ago, 
When we walked slow by starlight through the com ; 
Forgetting, since our hard fate wills it so, 
All but our parted lives and souls forlorn ; 
Forgetting the sweet fetters strong to bind 
Which childish fingers forge and baby smiles. 
Our common pride to watch the growing mind. 
Our common joy in childhood's simple wiles, 
The common tears we shed, the kiss we gave, 
Standing beside the open little grave ; 



A SEPARATION DEED. 41$ 

Forgetting these and more, if to forget 

Be possible, as we would fain indeed. 

And if the past be not too deeply set 

In our two hearts, with roots that, touched, will bleed ; 

Yet, could we cheat by any pretext fair 

The world, if not ourselves — ^'twere so far well-^ 

We would not put our bonds from us, and bare 

To careless eyes the secrets of our hell ; 

So this indenture witnesseth that we. 

As follows here, do solemnly agree. 

We will take each our own, and will abide 
Separate from bed and board for all our life ; 
Whatever chance of weal or woe betide, 
Naught shall re-knit the husband and the wife. 
Though one grow gradually poor and weak. 
The other, lapt in plenty, will not heed ; 
Though one, in mortal pain, the other seek. 
The other may not answer to the need ; 
We, who through long years did together rest 
In wedlock, heart to heart, and breast to breast. 

One shall the daughter take, and one the boy, — 
Poor boy, who shall not hear his mother's name. 
Nor feel her kiss ; poor girl, for whom the joy 
Of her sire's smile is changed for sullen shame : 
Brother and sister, who, if they should meet, 
With faces strange, amid the careless crowd, 



4l6 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Will feel their hearts beat with no quicker beat, 
Nor inward voice of kinship calling loud : 
Two widowed lives, whose fulness may not come ; 
Two orphan lives, knowing but half of home. 



We have not told the tale, nor will, indeed. 
Of dissonance, whether cruel wrong or crime. 
Or sum of petty injuries which breed 
The hate of hell when multiplied by time, 
Dishonour, falsehood, jealous fencies, blows. 
Which in one moment wedded souls can sunder ; 
But, since our yoke intolerable grows. 
Therefore we set our seals and souls as under : 
Witness the powers of wrong and hate and death. 
And this indenture also witnesseth. 



-•♦- 



r 



SONG. 417 



SONG. 

They mount from glory to glory, 

They sink from deep unto deep, 
They proclaim their sweet passionate story. 

They tremble on chords that weep, 
And with them my soul spreads her wings, 
And my heart goes out to them and sings. 

And chord into chord interlaces, 

like the leaves that protect some fair bloom ; 
And with subtle and tremulous graces, 

And tender lights dappled with gloom. 
Like the fall of an ocean-borne bell. 
The harmonies quicken and swell. 

Then swift from those languishing voices 
And accents which marry and die. 

Like the sound of a trumpet, rejoices 
One clear note unfaltering, high. 

And my soul, through its magical power, 

Bursts and dies like an aloe in flower. 



2 E 



4l8 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 



FREDERIC. 

As these sheets came in from the printer, 
My lad who had brought me them said, 

** Please, Sir, as I passed his office. 
They told me that Frederic was dead." 

And I knew in a moment thrill through me, 

First a keen little pang and smart, 
Then a sudden revolt and rebellion 

Seize on me and fill my heart. 

As he went on with boyish prattle. 

Before I had courage to speak : 
" He died of consumption, they said. Sir ; 

And he earned sixteen shillings a week." 

" How old was he? " " Just seventeen. Sir : 

He had grown very tall and white." 
And I thought of the childish features, 

The bright cheeks, and eyes still more bright, 

I 
I 



\ 
FREDERIC 419 

When, withdrawn from his school far too early, 

He came with his treasured prize, 
To show to his new-found master, 

With a simple pride in his eyes ; 

And how it soon proved that his writing 

Was so clear, and skilful, and fine. 
That I set him the task to decipher 

The hieroglyphs which are mine. 

'Twas four years ago, and so splendid 

Did my first book of songs appear, 
That, though ofttimes already rejected, 

I sent them forth now without fear. 

Nor in vain. And now many fiiends know them, 

And critics are kindly in praise, 
But the cold little hand that adorned them 

Has cast up the brief sum of its days ! 

Sixteen shillings ! this pittance could purchase 

The flower of those boyish years ! 
This could give to that humble ambition 

Dull entries, whose total is tears I 

Poor young life which was bursting to blossom, 
Which had borne its own fruitage one day, 

Had those budding years mingled together 
Slow labour with healthfuUer play ! 



420 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

Is it man that has done this, or rather, 
These dead blasts that blow, blow, blow, blow, 

Week by week, month by month, till beneath them 
Life withers and pulses beat slow ? 

The dull winds that to-day are slaying 
Young and old with their poisonous breath, 

\Vhich slew the rash singer who praised them, 
Not the less with a premature death. 

Is it man with bad laws and fools' customs. 
False pride, poverty, ignorant greed ? 

Is it God making lives for His pleasure. 
Dooms these innocent victims to bleed ? 

Great riddle which one day shall be clearer, 
Be our doubts with all reverence said ; 

But a strong power constrained me to write them, 
When I heard little Frederic was dead. 



-»«- 



TO MY MOTHERLAND. 42 1 



TO MY MOTHERLAND. 

Dear motherland, forgive me, if too long 

I hold the halting tribute of my song ; 

Letting my wayward fancy idly roam 

Far, far from thee, my early home. 

There are some things too near. 

Too infinitely dear 

For speech ; the old ancestral hearth, 

The hills, the vales that saw our birth. 

Are hallowed deep within the reverent breast : 

And who of these keeps silence, he is best 

Yet would not I appear. 

Who have known many a brighter land and sea 

Since first my boyish footsteps went from thee, 

The less to hold thee dear ; 

Or lose in newer beauties the immense 

First love for thee, O birth-land, which fulfils 



422 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

My inmost heart and soul, — 

Love for thy smiling and sequestered vales. 

Love for thy winding streams which sparkling roll 

Through thy rich fields, dear Wales, 

From long perspectives of thy folded hills. 

Ay ! these are sacred, all ; 

I cannot sing of them, too near they are. 

What if from out thy dark yews, gazing far, 

I sat and sang, Llangunnor ! of the vale 

Through which fair Towy winds her lingering fall, 

Gliding by D3nievor's wood-crowned steep, 

And, alternating swift with deep. 

By park and tower a living thing 

Of loveliness meandering ; 

And traced her flowing, onward still. 

By Grongar dear to rh)rme, or Drysllw3m's castled hill, 

Till the fresh upward tides prevail. 

Which stay her stream and bring the sea-borne sail, 

And the broad river rolls majestic down 

Beneath the gray walls of my native town. 

Would not my fancy quickly stray 

To thee, sea-girt St David's, far away, 

A minster on the deep ; or, further still. 

To you, grand mountains, which the stranger knows 

Eryri throned amid the clouds and snows. 

The dark lakes, the wild passes of the north ; 



TO MY MOTHERLAND. .423 



Or Cader, a stern sentinel looking forth 
Over the boisterous main ; or thee, dear Isle 
Not lovely, yet which canst my thought beguile — 
Mona, from whose fresh wind-swept pastures came 
My grandsire, bard and patriot, like in name 
Whose verse his countrymen still love to sing 
At bidding-feast or rustic junketing? 

Ah, no ! too near for song, and ye too near, 

My brethren of the ancient race and tongue ; 

The bardic measures deep, the sweet songs sung 

At congresses, which fan the sacred fire 

Which did of old your ancestors inspire ; 

The simple worship sternly pure, 

The faith unquestioning and sure, 

Which doth the priest despise and his dark ways, 

And riseth best to fullest praise 

Beneath some humble roof-tree, rude and bare, 

Or through the mountains' unpolluted air ; 

Who know not violence nor blood. 

And who, if sometimes ye decline fi*om good. 

Sin the soft sins which gentler spirits move. 

Which warmer Fancy breeds, and too much love. 

I may not sing of you, 
Or tell my love — others there are who will, 
Who haply bear not yet a love so true 
As that my soul doth fill — 



[34 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. 

If to applause it lead, or gam, or lame ; 
Better than this it were to bear the pain 
^Vhich comes to higher spirits when they know 
They fire in other souls no answering glow ; 
Love those who Jove me not again. 
And leave my country naught, not even a name. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 



These poems were originally published in three volumes, 
issued in the years 1872, 1874, and 1875. The fol- 
lowing are a few selections from the Press notices 
which appeared as they were issued. 

(first series.) 

"No one after reading the first two poems — almost perfect in 
rhythm and all the graceful reserve of true lyrical strength — could 
loubt for an instant that this book is the result of lengthened 
thought and assiduous training in poetic forms. These poems will 
assuredly take high rank among the class to which they belong." — 
British Quarterly Review^ April, 1872. 

" If this volume is the mere prelude of a mind growing in power, 
we have in it the promise of a fine poet In * The Wander- 
ing Soul,* the verse describing Socrates has that highest note of 
critical poetry, that in it epigram becomes vivid with life, and life 
reveals its inherent paradox. It would be difficult to describe the 
famous irony of Socrates in more poetical and more accurate words 
than by saying that he doubted men's doubts away." — Spectator^ 
February 17th, 1872. 

"Throughout there is the true lyrical note, the 'cry * that seems 
to veil itself in the harmony of the language it chooses, and so 
makes itself only the more imperatively felt. Seldom, indeed, does 

it fall to the lot of the critic to come on such a prize as this 

No extracts could do justice to the exquisite tones, the felicitous 
phrasing and delicately wrought harmonies of some of these poems." 
— Nonconformist, March 27th, 1872. 

** In all this poetry there is a purity and delicacy of feeling which 
comes over one like morning air." — Graphic, March i6th, 1872. 



426 OPINIONS or THE PRESS. 



(SECOND SERIES.) 

** In earnestness, sweetness, and the gift of depicting nature, the 
writer may be pronounced a worthy disciple of his compatriot, 
Henry Vaughan, the SilurisL Several of the shorter poems are 
instinct with a noble purpose and a high ideal of life. One perfect 
picture, marginally annotated, so to speak, in the speculations 
which it calls forth, is 'The Organ-Boy.' But the most note- 
worthy poem is the *Ode on a Fair Spring Morning,* which has 
somewhat of the charm and truth to nature of * L' Allegro and II 
Penseroso.* It is the nearest approach to a master-piece in the 
volume." — Saturday Revitw^ May 30th, 1874. 

"If in any respect this second series is superior to the first, it is 
in a certain mellowness and warmth of tune. The poem entitled 
•To an Unknown Poet* is a wonderful combination of insight, 
melody, picture, and suggestion. * The Organ-Boy * brings out a 
strong contrast in a most powerful and felicitous way.'* — British 
Quarterly Review^ July 1st, 1874. 

"This volume is a real advance on its predecessor of the same 
name, and contains at least one poem of great originality, as well 
as many of much tenderness, sweetness, and beauty. * The Organ - 
Boy * we have read again and again, with fresh pleasure on every 
reading. It is as exquisite a little poem as we have read for many 
a day. — Spectator, June 13th, 1874. 

"The reception of the New Writer's first series shows that, in 
his d^jee, he is one of the poetical forces of the time. Of the 
school of poetry of which Horace is the highest master, he is a not 
undistinguished pupil." — Academy, August nth, 1874. 

" This series is superior to the first No person of the least 
sensitiveness could read a few pages of this volume, and deny that 
the writer possesses the * vision of the poet. ' The glance, the touch, 
the hint suffice, and you have not only a picture, but a series of 
pictures. Of the poems we can only say that they are quick with 
wisdom and high thought, touched with phantasy, and flowing 
easily into imaginative forms." — Nonconformist, June 24th, 1874. 

"A warm welcome is due to this pleasant and able volume of 
poems, which is marked by distinctness of aim, artistic clearness 
of execution, and that particularly imaginative lustre which belongs 
to the truly poetic mind." — Guardian, September 20th, 1874. 

"The verses are full of melodious charm, and sing themselves 
almost, without music" — Blackwood's, August 1st, 1874. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 427 



(third series.) 

** Not unworthy of its predecessors. It presents the same com- 
mand of metre and diction, the same contrasts of mood, the same 
grace and sweetness. It cannot be denied that he has won a 
definite position among contemporary poets." — Times ^ October i6th, 

1875. 

" * Evensong' shows power, thought, and courage to grapple with 
the profoundest problems. In the *Ode to Free Rome we find 
worthy treatment of the subject and passionate expression of 
generous sympathy." — Saturday Review^ July 31st, 1875. 

** More perfect in execution than either of its predecessors. .... 
The pure lyrics are sweeter and richer. In the * Birth of Verse ' 
every stanza is a little poem in itself, and yet a part of a perfect 
whole." — Spectator , May 22nd, 1875. 

" * Evensong * is a poem in which the source of inspiration is the 
sublimity to which thought is led by the contemplation of meta- 
physical problems. It would be impossible to give any notion* of 
the poem by quotations." — Atherksum, May 8th, 1875. 

** It would be well, indeed, if our more successful versifiers as a 
rule fulfilled their early promise as calmly, equably, and melodiously 
as ■ the author. His range of moral sympathy is large, and his 
intellectual view is wide enough to embrace a great variety of 
subjects." — Guardian, September ist, 1875. 

" If each book that he publishes is to mark as steady improve- 
ment as have his second and third, the world may surely look for 
something from the writer which shall immortalize him and remain 
as a treasure to literature." — Graphic, ]\mQ ist, 1875. 

" The author's healthiness and uprightness of feeling refresh one 
like a cold air after a hot and sultry day. * The Home Altar ' 
should in future adorn every collection of English religious verse. 

.... The exquisite cadence of these verses The farewell 

that he threatens cannot be permitted." — Examiner, May 8th, 1875. 

" The high hopes we had been led to entertain are here realized. 

At one page he is celebrating the doubts bred of science, 

and on the next the poor little * Arabs,* enlisted in the sale of the 
cheap newspapers, have due celebration, and that more successfully 
than was even the case with that wonderful poem in the last volume, 
'The Organ-Boy.* We despair of doing justice to this choice 
volume by extract" — Nonconformist, May 19th, 1875. 



BV THE SAME AUTHOR. 



FOURTH EDITION. 

CompUU in (me volume, unifcrm with " Songs of Two IV or Ids. ' 

Crown 8vo, price ys. 6d, 

THE EPIC OF HADES. 

/JV THREE BOOKS. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON BOOK II.* 

" Fresh, picturesque, and by no means deficient in intensity ; but the most 
conspicuous merits of the author are the judgment and moderation with which his 
poem is designed, his self-possession within his prescribed limits, and the unfail- 
mg elegance of his composition, which shrinks from obscurity, exuberance, and 
rash or painful effort as religiously as many recent poets seem to cultivate such 
interesting blemishes. .... Perhaps the nne bursts of music in Marsyas, and 
the varied emotions portrayed in Andromeda, are less characteristic of the author 
than the prompt, yet graceful, manner in which he passes from one figure to 

another Fourteen of these pieces written in blank verse which bears 

comparison with die very best models make up a thoroughly enjoyable little 

volume Fully suited to maintain and crown the reputation the author 

has acquired by those which have preceded it." — Pall Mall Gazette^ March 
loth, 1876. 

** It is natural that the favourable reception given to his * Songs of Two Worlds' 
should have led the author to continue his poetical exercises, and it is, no doubt, 
a true instinct which has led him to tread the classic paths of song. In his 
choice of subject he has not shrunk from venturing on ground occupied by at 
least two Victorian poets. In neither case need he shrink from comparison. His 
Marsyas is full of fine fancy and vivid description. His Andromeda has to us 
one recommendation denied to Kingsley's — a more congenial metre ; another is 
its unstrained and natural narrative.'>r-5'<»/K«i»y Review, May 20th, 1876. 

" In his enterprise of connecting the Greek myth with the higher and wider 
meaning which Christian sentiment naturally finds for it, his success has been 
great. The passage in which Apollo's victory over Marsyas and its effect are 
described is full of exquisite beauty. It is almost as fine as verse on such a 

subject could be The little volume is delightful reading. From the first 

line to the last, the high and delicate aroma of purity breathes through the 
various spiritual fables.' —Spectator, May 27th, 1876. 



* Book II. was issued as a separate volume prior to the pubCcation of Books I. 
and HI. and of the complete work. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 429 

" The blank verse is statelvt yet sweet, free, graceful, and never undignified. 
We could have well wished that space had permitted us to make extracts. We 
confidently believe that our readers will agree with us in regarding this as one 
of the finest and most suggestive proems recently published. We trust to have, 
ere long, more poetic work from his hand." — British Quarterly Review, April 
zst, 1876. 

*' The writer has shown himself more critical than his friends, and the result 

is a eradual, steady progress in power, which we franklv acknowledge 

This long passage studded with graces." — Academy y April 29th, 1876, 

" No lover of poetry will question his right to rank as a true poet. _ His mark 
is made upon the age, and his future must be a matter of enduring interest."-— 
Sunday Times, March 26th, 1876. 

** From first to last, the work is that of a true poet, and such as a true poet 
alone could accomplish."— ky/aw^^r^tf, March 27th, 1876. 

"Told as only a poet could tell such stories, with clearness of outline and 
chastity- of colour ; with rich, vivid imagination, alwajrs moulded and guided by 
an instinct of true artistic moderation and restraint ; with a pathos and a tender- 
ness which brings home to us the love and the sorrows even of those dim shades, 
and enable us to feel across the ages the quick throb of human brotherhood. The 
world has to thank him for four volumes of true and exquisite poetry." — Liverpool 
Albion, March i8th, 1876. 

" English blank verse of an exquisite sort, than which the Laureate himself 
pens none more ^ritcX.."— Illustrated News^ May 27th, 1876. 



-♦♦- 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON BOOKS I. AND III. 
AND THE COMPLETE WORK. 

"The author's present volumes continue the promise of his earlier work, and 
advance it somewhat further towards fulfilment. In one sense the idea of his 
Epic is not only ambitious but audacious, for it necessarily awakens reminiscences 
of Dante. Not unfrequently he is charmingly pathetic, as in his Helen and 
Psyche. There is considerable force and no small imagination in the description 
of some of the tortures in the 'Tartarus.' There is genuine poetical feeling in 
the ' Olympus.' ■ • •. - We might invite attention to many other passap^es. But 
it is more easy to give honest general praise than to single out particular ex- 
tracts." — Times, February 9th, 1877. 

** The various symbolisms of the ancient myths are worked out with quite as 
much poetical feeling as in the former part .... The whole of this lasf portion 

of the poem is exceedingly beautiful Nor will any, except critics of limited 

view, fail to recognize in the Epic a distinct addition to their store of those com- 
panions of whom we never grow tired." — Athenaeum, March 3rd, 1877. 

" Clytemnestra is a striking dramatic study Tht whole passage is as 

tragic as it is graphic Thus the author has achieved the task he set him- 
self of showing that the m3rths of classic antiquity are capable of interpretation 
by a modem singer. A simple, lucid style, a spontaneous power of song, and a 



':-^- 



430 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

bri {ht, fearless fancy enable him to seize and retain the sympathies of his audience. 
We believe that the Epic will approve itself to students as one of the most con- 
siderable and original feats of recent English poetry." — Saturday Review^ March 
31st, 1877. 

" We notice the same thoug;htfulness and penetrating sympathy which have 
enabled the author, without doing violence to the sweet rounded grace of the old 
myths, to impart an undercurrent of present-day meaning and reference which 
should find for them a wider audience than could be expected for anything in 
the character of a severely Pagan revival merely. Thought, fancy, music, and 
penetrating svmpathy we have here, and that radiant, unnamable suggestive 
delicacy which enhances the attraction with each new reading." — Britutk Quar- 
terly Review^ April, 1877. 

** The author most certainly possesses very great powers ; but he is writing; far 
too fast. We gladly repeat, however, that the present work is by far his greatest 
achievement ; that the whole tone of it is noble, and that portions, more especially 
the concluding lines, are excessively beautiful." — Westminster Review^ April, 
1877. 

" The work is one of which any singer might justly be proud. In fact, the 
Epic is in every way a remarkably poem, which to be appreciated must not only 
be read, but studied. It is that rarest of things, a book one would care to buy 
and keep."— Cra/Air, March loth, 1877. 

" This is in our opinion, in a high and serious sense, a remarkable poem — ^re- 
markable alike for thought, for music, and for fine suggestive quality. We look 
forward still to being made yet more the writer's debtors." — Nonconformist ^ 
February aist, 1877. 

"All his poems have proved him appreciative, thoughtful, and scholarly. 
"The Epic ot Hades' should rank highest of his work." — Examiner^ February 
a4th, 1877. 

" We do not hesitate to advance it as our opinion that ' The Epic of Hades ' 
will enjoy the privilege of being classed amongst the poems in the English lan- 
guage which will live."— CwiV Service Gazette^ March 17th, 1877. 

"Exquisite beauty of melodious verse. . ... A remarkable poem, both in 
conception and execution. We sincerely wish for the author a complete literary 
success." — Literary IVorld^ March, 30th, 1877. 

" The author never sinks low, but he often rises high, and thus you have poetry 
which pleases you as you read, which shocks no sensibility, never wearies you, 
and often raises you into a serener atmosphere, in which the earthiness of the 
earth is lost sight of, and the pure and almost the divine are found. It will be 
surprising if the reader does not come to the conclusion that the author is a poet 
of very high ordtx."— Scotsman, April 27th, 1877. 

"Will live as a poem of permanent power and charm. It will receive high ap- 
preciation from all who can enter into its meaning for its graphic and liquid 
pictures of external beauty, the depth and truth of its purgatorial ideas, and the 
ardour, tenderness, and exaltation of its spiritual )iie."'—S^ctatorf May 5th, 
1877. 

" I have lately been reading a poem which has interested me very much, a 
poem called 'The Epic of Hades.' Many of you may never have heard of it ; 
most of you may never have seen it. It is, as I view it, another gem added to 
the wealth of the poetry of our language." — Mr, Brigkfs s^ech on Cobden at 
Bradford, July 95th, 1877. 



«< 



I have derived from it a deep pleasure and refreshment such as I never 
thought modem poetry could give. — The Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol.