T o THE M EMORY OF JAMES DARMESTETE R

A mori et D olor:

S acrum

P R E F A C E

I HAVE always thought that one should write poetry as s sa only one die ; that is to y, at the last extremity d o and when i t is impossible to otherwise . And yet,

- - after some three and twenty years of much refraining, I find myself possessed of a considerable volume sa of Collected Poems , to y nothing of that larger quantity of verse disseminated in the waste -paper baskets i of London , Par s , Italy, Touraine, Auvergne . By no means all my published poems are reprinted here ; I as have retained such seemed to me the best . In ff sending them out to a ront the world anew, with some I re- fresh companions , have carefully considered them all re - , revised the greater part, and written a good I many . have hesitated under what name to publish them, and, persuaded that no reader will remember I two foreign names , in addition to an English one , have reverted to that which I bore when first I wrote D arm e stet er them . Mary James has no longer a right to exist . As regards the English public , Madame D uc laux x she has given no proof of her e istence has , she hopes, before her a modest future of French prose , and leaves her English verses to Mary Robinson . I send forth this little book with scant ex pectance of immediate success . Entirely lyrical , intellectual , or romantic , these little poems must sound as the merest vn PR EFACE

’ t ootling of C or d o n s reed -pipe i n ears acc ustomed to y I the martial music of our times . Yet , li ke all poets , trust these little songs may find an audience to -morrow they have that saving virtue of sincerity which is the l I se e sa t of Art . B ut if the necessary grac e that they I possess , how clearly, alas l do perceive the magnificent qualities they lac k ! Here there is nothing of the rush , the sumptuous abundance , the vigour, the splendour of Byron or Hugo nothing of that sensuous magi c and flooding glory which mak e certain lines of

Keats and Swinburne blaze , as it were , in colour on the I V page . Still fancy that Wordsworth, Tennyson , igny, and even the immortal Goethe— all the meditative poets— might have cared to read some of these sober little songs . a it We c nnot all be great poets but the humblest, I i . they be sincere , may give a genu ne pleasure have mar ked in red the days on which I discovered c ertain w ho poets, most certainly minor, died c enturies ago . With what delight I made acquaintance with Ausonius and Dr . Donne, still more so with joachim de Bellay, r : en Ma ie de Franc e, or Shahid the Bactrian dear, x chanting books, e humed from the dustiest corner of the library, that never counted on me for an audience . I may have to wait as long till I repay my debt to some w ho other studen t perchance , beside a bookstall of fish Cape Town or Honolulu , may my poems from b o x the fourpenny , or light on them in some anthology . I B ut count on his appreciation .

Depend upon it, after the very greatest names i n poet ry (who are to all of us a second religion) the h u s minor poets ave the happiest lot . Each of worships in the temples of Dante , Shakespeare , e Goethe, Moli re ; but each of us also has some private niche , some inconsiderable intimate shrine ,

' w ho for the poet no one praises, is all the more our own . How dreary the state and rank of your - second best great poet , enthroned in dismal glory on the less frequented slopes of Parnassus Who lights a vm PREFACE taper or pulls a posy for Dryden or Schiller or A lfie ri

w e . We admire them sincerely ; in theory, love them How often in the year do we tak e down their works w ho his and read them Take the case of a writer , in w person , unites one of the greatest of epic riters to the most e x quisite of minor poets which do we read the “ more often , Lycidas or Paradise Regained I live in a Catholic country where almost every city b i c oasts of its histor c athedral . They are nearly But always empty . turn down the side street, enter yon barn - like chapel topped by a wooden cross : the o f whitewashed walls of the sanctuary of St . Anthony Padua are thronged with worshippers intimate and in c o m devout . St . Peter and St . Paul have their hi hda s parable domes ; save on g y and holidays, they have them all to themselves In the work -a-day hours of life, when you snatch at a prayer in passing, as you s — pluc k a ro e over a fenc e , half furtively the swift petition , the familiar avowal , are, apparently, for the a Lesser Saint . The ch pel of the Minor Poet may be too small to admit the crowd ; it may be thronged when three or fou r are gathered together . None the I less, it has its use and place . It is, believe , a mis take, to suppose , as Tolstoy contends, that no Art is legi timate save that which has for its obj ect the happi s I ne s of the greatest number . Yet admit that the w ho poet consciously addresses a few is, by definition , the Minor Poet, the man of a smaller race , the younger w ho his h brother, , whatever merits, s al l not obtain the full inheritance . “ Shall Life be an Ode ? Or shall Life be a ” ? da Darme ste ter Drama wrote one y James , the friend of all my verses and the occasion of many among them . My life has been an Ode, of which those pages are the scattered fragments . If ever I its e have escaped from tranquil sequences , it has b en but for an instant and through some partial opening of se t the gates of Imagination , in movement by some incident in real life or some episode of my reading . P REFACE

I have never been able to write about what w as not known to me and near . Tim Blac k , the Scapegoat, and most of the personages of the New Arcadia, lived on a common in Surrey near my garden gates : all of them are drawn from human models . The Romantic

Ballads were inspired by my historical studies . Some persons of culture have refused me the right to e x press myself in those simple forms of popular song which I have loved since childhood as sincerely as any peasant .

If the critics would only believe it , they have come as naturally to me , if less happily, than they came of old to a Lady Wardlaw, a Lady Linsday, or a Lady Nairn .

as . We women have a privilege in these matters , M

Gaston Paris has reminded us . We have always been s the prime makers of ballads and love song , of anony mous snatches and screeds of popular song . We meet together no longer on Mayday, as of old, in Provence , te sor to se t the fashion in n and sonnets . But some old wife or other, crooning over her fire of stic ks, in Scot ’ d A osta land or the Val , in Roumania or Gascony, is probably at the beginning of most romantic Ballads .

Mine, of course , have the fatal defec t of having c rystal l ised too soon they lac k the patient polish of succeed ing generations . But that it is , most obviously, not in w a my power to remedy . The only y would be for my - readers to learn them by heart, half forget them, and re - - is write them , omitting the non essential . It a necessary process ; but I can only offer them in their unripeness, reminding my readers that the beautiful ' ’ rzf ettz p of the T uscan hills, the ballads of Scotland and

Piedmont, have all at one moment lac ked the admirabl e atina p which age and time alone confer .

M A R ! D U CLA UX .

OLM E T CANTA L , ,

Se tember 1 0 1 . p , 9 C O NT E N T S

A N I TA LIA N GA R D E N A ND OT H E R L! R I CS

A n as teris k i n he new oems PAGE d ica tes t p F LORENTINE M A ! R EMEMBRANCE VENETIAN NOCTUR NE I NVOCATIONS THE F EAST OF S T . JOHN TR EASUR E SONG TEMPLE GARLANDS TO A R OSE D EAD AT M ORNING STR EWINGS PALLO R TUSCAN CYPR ESS LOVE WITHOUT WINGS SEMITONES E LYS IUM STORNELLI AND STRAMBOTTI ’ C ELIA S H OME -COMING POSIES A LTERNATIVES

R OSA R OSA R UM A N OASIS CASTELLO TOR R ENTS A UE A D E TR ISTE POPLA R LEAVES SPR ING UNDER CYPRESSES M USIC A RT AND LIFE x i CONTENTS

LYRI CS . A PASTO RAL OF PA R NASSUS A SEARCH F OR APOLLO AN ADD R ESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE WILD CHER R Y BRANCHES TUSCAN OLIVE APPR EHENSION FRIENDSHIP T w o LOVER S A GR EY DAY A SONG PAR ADISE FANCIES A DIALOGUE LE R O I EST MORT LETHE A RIFIOR ITA A PASTOR AL DAWN-ANGELS TO A D RAGON FLY SON G OF A STO R MY NIGHT T w o SISTERS LOVE R S LONDON STUDIES THANKSGIVING PO R FLOWE R S MAIDEN LOVE O A RT L VE, DEATH , AND SONNET PONS VITAE THE CUP OF LI F E LOVE AND VISION LOVE AMONG THE SAINTS THE SPR INGS OF FONTANA SERENADE THE FROZEN R IVE R NEU RASTHENIA PAGE SONG NIGHT SONG SO NNET T HE DEPARTURE GOING SOUTH LOVE I N T HE WORLD THREE SONGS T HE DEAD FRIEND A N O R CHARD A T AVIGNON TWILIGHT FOREIGN SPRING THE SIBYL E PT HAT HA SERENA A FRENCH LILY SPR ING ! MAIDENS ADAM AND EVE WRITING HISTORY SOLDIER S PASSING THE BOOKWOR M MELANCHOLIA SONG OLD SONGS ‘ TO MY MUSE ! MICHAEL MAS

S G I L ON S OF THE NNER IFE . ‘ FOREWORD ‘ TWO THE LIONS . ‘ RELIGIONS ‘ THE LOST SHEEP x iii CONTENTS

SONGS OF THE I NNER LIFE . ‘ THE GATE OF TEAR S ‘ TESTE SIBYLLA K Y SEE , AND E SHALL FIND ! BEAUTY ! R HYTHM ! THE VALLEY DAR WINISM THE STAR S ETRUSCAN TOMBS FIRE-FLIES THE IDEA THE WALL ‘I UST I CE GOD IN A HEART UNDER THE TR EES THE IDEAL A CLASSIC LANDSCAPE VERSAILLES THE ONE CERTAINTY PERSONALITY TUBER OSES THE BAR R IER ! THE ROAD LEADING NOWHERE SPRING AND AUTUMN FAI R GHOSTS SOUVENI R THE VISION THE PR ESENT A GE LIBERTY VE R IT A T E M DI LE x I TAKING POSSESSION VI S HT A SPA Z ENO SACRIFICE CONTENTS

SONGS OF THE I NNER LIFE . A JON! UIL IN THE PISAN CAMPO SANTO ‘ UNUM EST NECESSAR IUM CALAIS BEACON R R THE GOSPEL ACCO DING TO ST . PETE A CONTROVER SY O T o O R / ANTIPH N THE H LY SPI IT I

POEMS AND I DYLLS . THE WIDOW HELEN IN THE WOOD Lo ss

’ THE CHILDR EN S ANGEL SIR E LDRI C T HE GAR DENER OF SINOPE I UTZI SCHULTHEISS CONSTANCE AND M A RT UCC I O PH I LUM E NE TO AR ISTIDES . THE WIDOWER OF HAIDERABAD THE DEER AND THE PR OPHET THE SLUMBER OF KING SOLOMON

T N W A R HE E CADIA . T H E HAND -BELL R INGERS T H E O LD COUPLE T HE SCAPE -GOAT CHUR CH -GOING T I M T HE WISE WOMAN T H E R OTHERS M E N A ND MONKEYS

R OMANTIC BALLADS . W O THE TO ER F ST . MAUR ' THE DUKE OF GUE LDR E S WEDDING ROSAMUNDA XV CONTENTS

R OMANTIC B ALLADS . CAPTAIN GOLD AND FR ENCH JANET A BALLAD OF OR LEANS T H E DEATH OF THE COUNT OF A R M A NA C

SI R HUGH A ND T H E S\VANS T H E MO‘VER RUDEL A ND T HE LADY OF TR IPOLI T H E DEAD MOTHER T HE O DEATH F PRESTER JOHN .

XVI

Flor e/1 rifl e

S TILL, still is the Night still as the pause after pain Still and as clear

Deep , solemn , immense veiling the stars in the clear Thrilling and luminous blue of the moon -shot atmo sphere

Ah, could the Night remain

' ‘ sa u Who, truly, shall y thou art s llen or dark or unseen ,

Thou , O heavenly Night , Clear o’er the valley of Olives asleep in the quivering

light, ’ - Clear o er the pale red hedge of the rose, and the lilies al l white Down at my feet in the green

0 Nay, not as the Day, thou art light, Night, with a beam Far more clear and divine Never the noon w as blue as these tremulous heavens o r

thine ,

Pulsing with stars half seen , and vague in a pallid shine , Vague as a dream . 3 FLO R ENTINE M A !

Night , clear with the moon , filled with the dreamy fire

Shining in thic ket and close , Fire from the lamp in his breast that the luminous fire fly throws Night, full of wandering light and of song, and the

blossoming rose ,

Night, be thou my desire

so Night, Angel of Night, hold me and cover me Open thy wings — Ah, bend above and embrace till I hear in the one bird that sings

The throb of thy musical heart in the dusk , and magical things

Only the Night can know . R em eméran c e

3E

0 0 NIGHT of Death, night that bringest all Night full of dreams and large with promises, 0 night that holdest on thy shadow y knees

Sleep for all fevers , hope for every thrall

e Bring thou to my belov d, when I die, The memory of our enchanted past

So let her turn , remembering me at last,

And I shall hear and triumph where I lie .

Then let my face , pale as a waning moon , Rise on thy dark and be again as clear ; Let my dead voice find I ts forgotten tune And strike again as swee tly on her c ar O ff u n e As when , upon my lips , one far j , 0 Thy name , Death she could not brook

hear . Ven e tian N oc tu r n e

DOWN the narrow Calle where the moonlight cannot

enter, The houses are so high ’ Silent and alone w e pierced the night s dim core and centre

O nly you and I .

Clear and sad our footsteps rang along the hollow em pav ent , Sounding like a bell ' ’ Sounding li ke a voice that cries to souls in Life s enslavement , There is Deat h as well

Down the narrow dark we went, until a sudden whiteness Made us hold our breath Al l the white Salute towers and domes in moonlit

brightness, Ah Could this be Death ? I n v ocat zon s

3 2

’ S N a 0 O O G in the nighting le s throat, music ,

Dropt as it fell by a falling star,

All of the silence is filled with thy pain , s Listening til l it hall echo again . 0 ’ 0 song in the nightingal e s throat , music , Thou art the soul of the silence afar

0 space of the moon in the starl ess heaven ,

Raining a whiteness on moorland and sea,

Falling as lightly and purely as dew, All of the shadow thou filt e re st through 0 i s s space of the moon n the starle heaven , Surely the night is the shadow of thee

0 O silence of Death , world of darkness, a When over me the last sh dow shall fall , Holdest thou safe in the night all around

Any moon to arise, any music to sound Of 0 O f O silence Death , world darkness,

Say, shall we feel thee or know thee at all Tne Fe t S 0672 as of t . 7

39 M A AN goes twanging a mandoline down in the valley, A gi rl sings late

By the city gate, - A chorus rings from the wine shop , there, in the alley,

O ornel t/oirer ernel mari e makin ( , g, ! I cannot sl eep and o n: To I l t' A’ of w aking

The lanterns strung in the Piazza burn scarlet and

yellow, They swing and shine In a fiery line ; ’ The fi re -flies flit thro the fields where the corn is

mellow .

A l read in tbe E art d /d f t/Jt’ morro ( y , , w Pal e: w ito toe t ie! renewal of a s orrow

Where moth or rust can never come, A

And round about the doors of it

I O T o a R os e Dead at Mor ning

0 PU R P LE blossoms, rained upon , ’ - O er which the noon day never shone , Whi ch n ever knew the clearest prime

And fragrance of the summer time ,

0 blossoms, shedding all your leaves,

Before they feel the coolest dew, My soul that so untimely grieves And sheds be n song is even as you

I I ST R o w poppy buds about my quiet head

And pansies on mine eyes , And rose -leaves on the lips that were so red

Before they blanched with sighs .

Let gilly - flow e rs breathe their spicy breath

Under my tired feet, B ut do not moc k t he heart that starved to death With aught of fresh or sweet

1 2 T H E great white lilies in the grass Are pallid as the smile of death For they remember still—alas The graves they Sprang from underneath . The angels up in heaven are pale

For all have died, when all is said Nor shall the lutes of Eden avail To let them dream they are not dead .

1 3 T uscan Cyp r ess

(SIXTEEN R ISPETTI)

’ M ! mother bore me neath the streaming moon ,

And all the enchanted light is in my soul .

I have no place amid the happy noon ,

I have no shado w there nor aureole .

Ah, lonely whiteness in a clouded sky,

You are alone , nor less alone am I

Ah, moon , that makest all the roses grey, The roses I behold are w an as they

What good is there , Ah me, what good in Love w e a Since , even if you love me , must p rt ;

And since for either, and you cared enough, There’s but division and a broken heart ?

sa And yet , God knows , to hear you y My Dear

I would lie down and stretch me on the bier . sa And yet would I, to hear you y My own

With mine own hands drag down the burial stone . 1 4 T USCAN CYP R E SS

I sa love you more than any words can y, And yet you do not feel I love you so And slowly I am dying day by day,

You look at me , and yet you do not know .

You look at me , and yet you do not fear se e You do not the mourners with the bier.

You answer when I speak and wish me well,

- And still you do not hear the passing bell .

0 0 sea Love , Love , come over the , come here , Come bac k and kiss me once when I am dead !

Come back and lay a rose upon my bier,

Come , light the tapers at my feet and head .

Come bac k and kiss me once upon the eyes ,

So I , being dead , shall dream of Paradise sa Come , kneel beside me once and y a prayer,

So shall my soul be happy anywhere .

e I sowed the field of Lov with many seeds,

With many sails I sailed before the blast , And all my crop is only bitter weeds a My s ils are torn , the winds have split the mast .

All of the winds have torn my sails and shattered ,

All of the winds have blown my seed and scattered ,

All of the storms have burst on my endeavour, SO let me sleep at last and sleep for ever .

so - so I am pale to night, mere a ghost , - Ah , what, to morrow , shall my spirit be

No living angel of the heavenly host , N O happy soul , blithe in eternity . 1 5 T USCAN CYP R ESS Nay I shal l wander on ben eath the moon

A lonely phantom seeking for you , soon d A wan ering ghost, see king you timidly, s ee Whom you will tremble , dear , and start to

When I am dead and I am quite forgot , What care I if my spirit lives or dies ?

To wal k with angels in a grassy plot, And pl uc k the lilies gro w n in Paradise ?

Ah , no the heaven of all my heart has been

To hear your voice and catch the sighs between . I Ah , no the better heaven I fain would give , o f our But in a cranny y soul to live .

VIII .

Ah me, you well might wait a little while ,

And not forget me Sweet , until I die

I had a home , a little distant isle, S s k With hadowy trees and tender misty y.

w as d I had a home It l ess ear than thou ,

And I forgot , as you forget me now.

I had a home , more dear than I could tell ,

And I forgot , but now remember well .

Love me to - day and thin k not on to -morrow

Come , take my hands, and lead me out of doors ,

There in the fields let us forget our sorrow, Tal king of Venice and Ionian shores Tal king of all the seas innumerable Where w e will sail and sing when I am well

Tal king of Indian roses gold and red , w — Which e will plait in wreaths when I am dead . I 6

T USCAN CYPRESS

0 s k ships that sail , O masts against the y, Will you not stop awhile in passing by 0 0 O prayers that h p e, faith that never knew, Will you not take me on to heaven with you

XI V.

Flower of the Cypress, little bitter bloom , You are the only blossom left to gather

I n ever prized you , grown amid the gloom ,

B ut well you last, though all the others wi ther .

Flower of the Cypress, I will bind a crown

Tight round my brows to still these fancies down .

Flower of the Cypress, I will tie a wreath

Tight round my breast to kill the heart beneath .

Ah, Love , I cannot die , I cannot go Down in the dark and leave you all alone

Ah, hold me fast, safe in the warmth I know,

And never shut me underneath a stone . Dead i n the grave And I can never hear if If you are ill or you miss me , Dear .

, G , Dead oh my od and you may n eed—me yet While I shall Sleep while I—while I forget

XVI .

Come away Sorrow, Sorrow come away sit Let us go in some cool , shadowy place

There shall you sing and hush me al l the day, ’ While I will dream about my lover s face .

Hush me , O Sorrow, lik e a babe to sleep , Then close the lids above mine eyes that weep

Rock me , O Sorrow, like a babe in pain ,

Nor, when I sl umber, wake me up again . I 8 L ove Wi tnon t Wings

(EIGHT SONGS)

I THOUGHT no more the worst endures I die , I end the Strife, You swiftly took my hands in yours And drew me back to life

sat We when shadows darken , And let the ‘shadows be

Each was a soul to hearken , Devoid of eyes to see

You came at dusk to find me I knew you well enough O lights that dazzle and blind me I t no is fri end, but Love

H OW is it possible

You should forget me , Leave me for ever And never regret me I 1 9 LOVE WITHOUT WINGS

I was the soul of you ,

Past love or loathing, Lost in the whole of you ? Now, am I nothing

The fallen oak still keeps its yellow leaves B ut all its growth is o ’ er

So, at your name, my heart still beats and gri eves Although I love no more .

And so I shall meet you

Again , my dear How shall I greet you What shall I hear ?

I I , you forgot (But w ho shall say You loved me not — Yesterday

VI .

Ah me , do you remember still The garden where w e strolled together T he empty groves, the little hill Starred o ’ er wi th pale Italian heather ?

And you to me said n ever a word,

Nor I a singl e word to you . ho w And yet sweet a thing was heard ,

Resolved , abandoned by us two

I k now you love me not I do no t love you Only at dead of night

I smile a little , softly dreaming of you

Until the dawn is bright . 20 LOVE WITHOUT WINGS

' I love you not ; you love me not ; I know it But when the day is long I haun t you like the magic of a poet,

And charm you like a song .

VIII . 0 Death of things that are, Eternity Of things that seem Of all the happy past remains to me, - To day, a dream

bl e sséd Long days of love and wakening thought ,

All , all are dead ;

Nothing endures we did, nothing we wrought,

Nothing w e said .

But once I dreamed I sat and sang with you ’ On Ida s hill . o f w e There, in the echoes my life , two Are singing still .

2 1 Seni it on es

G IVE me a rose not merely sweet and fresh,

Not only red and bright, But caught about in such a thorny mesh A S rankles in delight .

Smile on me, Sweet but look not only kind The smile that most endears Trembles on pallid lips from eyes half- blind

With brine of bitter tears .

Ah , could I clasp thee in mine arms ,

And thou not feel me there,

Asleep and free from vain alarms, Asleep and unaware

Ah , could I kiss thy pallid check , And thou not know me nigh

Asleep at last , and very meek , as Who wert as proud I . 22 SEMITON ES

We did not dream, my Heart, and yet With what a pang we woke at last We were not happy in the past so It is bitter to forget .

did We not hope, my Soul , for Heaven

Yet now the hour of death is nigh ,

How hard, how Strange it is to die

Like leaves along the tempest driven .

23 E lysium

IN TO the valley of Death am I come , Into the asphodel meadow,

Where in the grass there is never a tomb , Where there is rest and shadow

E All of the world is stranged to my eyes , Scarce can I see you or hear you You that are far from my faint Paradise

Though I am with you and n ear you .

w as All that I hoped for and all that I , Drops like a cloak from my shoulders, Leaving the soul unenc umbered to pass Out of the ken of beholders .

Yea, in the valley of Death I awoke ,

Pallid and strange as a vision . All of my sorrow is vanished as smoke These are the valleys Elysian

2+

STO R NELLI AND ST R AMBOTTI

o i L ve is a bird that breaks its voice w th singing, Love is a rose blown open till it fall , Love is a bee that dies of its own stinging, ] And Love the tinsel cross upon a pal . in Love is the Siren , towards a quic ksand bring g

nchanted fishermen that hear her call . E — — Love is a broken heart, Farewell , the wringing

Of dying hands . Ah , do not love at all

>l< Rosemary leaves

She w ho remembers cannot love again .

She who remembers si ts at home and grieves .

26 ’ Ce/ia s H onee C 0772ing

T F M R o . ( . . )

M A NS IDE , kil t your skirts and go - Down the stormy garden ways, s Pluc k the la t sweet pinks that blow,

Gather roses, gather bays, Since our Celia comes to-day h That as been too long away .

Crowd her chamber with your sweets Not a flower but grows for h e r Make her bed with linen sheets That have lain in lavender ; Light a fire before sh e come she Lest find us chill at home .

Ah, what j oy when Celia stands By the leaping blaze at las t Stooping down to warm her hands b e n umb éd All with the blast, While we hide he r cloak away

To assure us of her stay . 27 ’ C E LI A s H OME-COMING

Cyder bring and cowslip wine , Fruits and flavours from the East, Pears and pippins too, and fine Saffron loaves to

China dishes , silver c ups, For the board where Celia sups

’ Then, when all the feasting s done ,

She shall draw us round the blaze,

Laugh , and tell us every one Of her far triumphant days

C elia, out of doors a star, By the hearth a holier

28 Posies

I MADE a posy for my love As fair as she is soft and fine

The lilac thrift I made it of, - And lemon yellow columbine .

w o e B ut is me for my despair, floWe rs For my pale , woe is me bolder man has given her A branch of c rimson peony

29 Alter nati v es

D R S EA E T , should I love you more If you understood me ? sic k If, when I am and sore, i Straightway you div ned wherefore, Then with herbs and healing store Of your love imbued me

Nay, I have instead, you know, In your heart an arbour Where the great winds never go

That about my spirit blow.

Where the sweet wild roses grow,

Sweeter thrushes harbour .

What a joy at last to rest Safe therein from sorrow ' d What a spur, when sore distresse , To at last attain your breast When the night is loneliest What a h0pe of morrow

3 0 B ry nas

fi ‘

T H E Dryads dwell in Easter woods, Though mortals may not see them there

They haunt our rustling solitudes, And love the solemn valleys where

The bracken mocks their tawny hair .

And where the rushes make a hedge

With flowering lilies round the lak e, They come to shelter in the sedge ; They dip their shining feet and slake

Their thirst where shallow waters break .

B ut through the sultry noon their home s S urrounds some mooth old beechen stem . B ehold how thick the empty dome

Is heaped with russet leaves for them, Where burr or thistle never came

And there they lie in languid floc ks, A drift of sweetness unespied They dream among their tawny locks Until the welcome eventide

Breathe freshly through the woods outside . 3 ! D R YADS And then a gleam of white is seen Among the huge old ilex - boughs The Dryads love its sombre green

- They mak e the tree their summer house , r And the e they swing and there carouse .

B ut, if the tender moon by chance

Come up the skies with silver feet, They spring upon the ground and danc e

Where most the turf is thick and sweet, ’ And would that we were there to se e t

Nay Nay ! For should the woodman find A Dryad in a hol low tree,

“ He drops his hatchet, stri cken blind n w h I k ow not y, unless it be ’ The maid s Immortal , and not he

se e For none may the nymph uncursed . And things unchristian haunt the woods

They stoop above our wells athirst, They love our rustling solitudes Where olden magic ever broods The Dryads dwell in Easter woods

3 2

R OSA R OSA R U M

For, as thou passest down thy many a blossom there

Groweth for thee lilies and laden bays ,

And rose and lavender .

B ut down the darkling well on e only In all the year is shed And o ’ er that chill and secret

A sudden dawn of red . J n Oasis

! OU wandered in the desert waste , athirst ; My soul I gave you as a well to drink

A littl e while you lingered at the brin k , W And then you ent, nor either bl essed or cursed .

The image of your face , which san k that day

Into the magic waters of the well ,

Still haunts their clearness, still remains to tell w ho Of one looked and drank and could not Stay .

su n The shines down, the moon slants over it, The stars look in and are reflected not

Only your face , unchanged and unforgot,

Shines through the deep, till all the wave are lit .

My soul I gave you as a well to drink , And in its depths your face is clearer far Than any shine of sun or moon or star

Since then you pause by many a greener brink .

3 S T H E Triton in the Ile x -wood

I s lonely at Castello .

The snow is on him like a hood,

- The fountain reeds are yellow .

B ut never Triton sorrowed yet For weather chill or mellow

He mourns, my Dear, that you The gardens of Castello Tor r en ts a

I KNOW that if our lives could meet

Li ke torrents in a sudden tide , Our souls should send their shining Sheet Of waters far and wide .

I B ut , ah my dear, the springs of mine Have never yet begun to flow so And yours , that were full and fine, d ry so long ago

3 7 ’ A u oaae Tr iste

T H E last pale rank of poplar -trees

B egins to glimmer into light, With stems and branches fai ntly Against a heaven one dimly sees

B eyond the failing night .

A poin t of grey that grows to green ’ ’ Fl ec k d o er with rainy yellow bars ,

A sudden whitening of the stars,

A pallor where the moon has been , A peace the morning mars ;

I When , lo a shiver of the breeze f And all the ru fled birds awake , The rustling aspens stir and shake

For, pale , beyond the pallid trees ,

The dawn begins to break .

w an And now the air turns cool and ,

A drizzling rain begins to fall , The sky clouds over with a pall w as The night , that for me, is gone

The day has come for all .

3 8 Poplar L eav es

T H E wind blows down the dusty street And through my soul that grieves I t brings a sudden odour sweet

A scent of poplar leaves .

0 leaves that herald in the spring, 0 freshness young and pure , Into my weary soul you bring

The vigou r to endure .

The wood is out of sight , Where all the poplars grow

Straight up and tall and silver white,

They quiver in a row.

My love is out of sight, bu t near And through my soul that grieves A sudden memory wafts her here

A S fresh as poplar leaves .

3 9 ’ Sp r ing Un ae r Cyp r esses 4k

U N R DE the cypresses , here in the stony is Woods of the mountain , the Spring too sunny .

Rare Spring and early,

Birds singing sparely, sea- Pal e green hell ebore smelling of honey .

Desolate , bright, in the bl ue Lenten weather ,

Cones of the cypresses sparkle together,

Shining brightly,

Loosely and lightly,

The winds lift the branches and stir them and feather.

su n Where the pierces, the sharp boulders glitter flitte r Desolate , bright and the white moths Pallidly over The bells that cover - With fain t smelling green all the fragran t brown litter . Down in the plain the sun ripens for hours Look in the orchards a mist of pale flo w e rs Past the rose - hedges A - bloom to the edges ,

A smoke of bl ue olives, a vision of towers 4 0

Music

A!

BEFO R E the dawn is yet the day so I lie and dream deep , So drowsy-deep I cannot say

If yet I wake or sleep .

is B ut in my dream a tune there , And rings so fresh and sweet That I would rather di e than miss

The utmost end of it .

And yet I know n o t an it be

Some music in the lane , Or but a song that rose with me

From sl eep, to sink again .

so And so, alas , and even I waste my life away Nor if the tun e be real I know,

Or but a dream astray .

4 2 A r t and L ye (A SONNET)

W HEN autumn comes , my orchard trees alone, Shal l bear no fruit to dec k the reddening year When apple gatherers climb the branches sere r Only on mine no ha vest shall be grown . w For hen the pearly blossom first was blown ,

I filled my hands with delicate buds and dear, I n I c I dipped them thine y waters clear,

0 . well of Art and turned them all to stone .

Therefore, when winter comes , I shall not eat Of mellow apples such as others prize I shall go hungry in a magi c spring All round my head and bright before mine eyes

The barren , strange, eternal blossoms meet , an- z I , not less hungered, ga e and sing.

4 3 d Pastor al of Par nass us

“ ° ’ a 0 erc/zé «ven i r'v i 0 11 on ede M 1 p ( 1 I c c

A T morning dawn I left my Sheep And sought the mountains all aglow

The shepherds said , The way is steep

Ah, do not go

I left my pastures fresh with rain , - My water courses edged with bloom, A larger breathing space to gain And Singing room .

Then of a reed I wrought a flute ,

And as I went I sang and played .

But though I sang, my heart was mute

And sore afraid .

Because the great hill and the s ky Were full of glooms and glorious Beyond all light or dark that I

Imagined thus . A PASTO R AL OF PA R NASSUS

A sudden sense, a second sight,

Showed God, who burns in every briar .

Then sudden voices , strong and bright ,

Flashed up like fire .

A nd turning where that music rang saw I aloft, and far away, The watching poets and they sang

Through night and day . — And very sweet ah , sweet indeed Their voices sounded high and deep . I blew an echo on my reed A S one asleep .

I heard . My h eart grew cold with dread , For what would happen if they heard Would not these nightingales strike dead Their mocking- bird ?

’ Then from the mountain s steepest crown , ff Where white cli s pierce the tender grass, saw Sl I an arm reach owly down ,

Heard some word pass .

“ The end is come , I thought, and still

I am more happy, come what may, To die upon Parnassus - hill

Than live away .

Then hands and faces luminous And holy voices grew one flame

Come up, poor Singer, and Sing with us

They sang I came .

So ended all my wandering This is the end and this is sweet and All night , all day, to listen sing

Below their feet . 4 5 A S ear c a f or d poll o

P5 7

IN 0 DEED I have sought thee too long, Apollo ,

Nights and days , by brakes and bowers,

- — By wind haunted waters , by wolf haunted hollow, And where the city smoke-cloud lowers And 1 have listened hours on hours Where the holy O mphé of violins

The organ oracle overpowers ,

While the musical tumult thic kens and thins ,

Till the Singing women begin to Sing, Invoking as I do their Master and King 0 But thou tarriest long, Apollo

Could I find but thy footprints, oh , there would I

follow . Thou God of wanderers show the way I

But never I found thee as yet , my Apollo,

Save indeed in a dream one day . w ho (If that or this be the dream, shall say

A man passed playing a quaint sweet lyre , w as his w as His face young though hair grey, And his bl ue eyes gleamed wi th a wasting fire As he sang the songs of an ancient land t A singing no hearer could half unders and . ? Can this have been Thou , my Apollo 46 fi n Address to tae N ig b t ing al e

(FR OM A R IST OPHANES)

R Wi O DEA one, wi th tawny ngs ,

Dearest of singing things ,

Whose hymns my company have been ,

Thou art come , thou art found , thou art seen s Bid, with the mu ic of thy voice, -s Sweet ounding rustler, the heart rej oice

Ah louder, louder, louder Sing, Flute out the language of the spring ;

Nay, let those low notes rest, ana ze st my nightingale , nightingale, carol thine p

Come , my companion , cease from thy sl umbers,

Pour out thy holy and musical numbers, i Sing and lament with a sweet throat div ne,

Itys of many tears , thy son and mine h Cry out , and quiver, and s ake , dusky throat, li u id e Throb with the thrill of thy q st note . Through the wide country and mournfully through - Leafy haired branches and boughs of the yew, Widens and rises the echo until - Even the throne room of God it shall fill . 47 A N A D DR ESS T o TH E N IGHTINGALE

- Then , when Apollo, the bright loc ked, hath

Lo, he shall answer thine elegy, bird ,

- Playing his ivory seven stringed lyre, ’ s Standing a God in the high God quire . A y, bird, not he alone Hark from immortal throats arise Diviner threnodies That sound and swoon in a cel estial moan

And answer bac k thine own .

Come , my companion , cease from thy slumbers,

Pour out thy holy and musical numbers,

Sing and lament with a sweet throat divine , so n Itys of many tears , thy and mine

Cry out, and quiver, and shak e , dusky throat,

Throb with the thrill of thy liquid est note . Through the wide country and mournfully through - Leafy haired branches and boughs of the yew,

Widens and rises the echo, until Even the throne - room of God i t shall fil l

4 8

W I LD CHE R R Y BR ANCHES

v .

0 s Such light and music , blo som,

Were ours when I pluc ked you one moonrise , and you

Remember in fragrance her smile that you knew, A s h you lived in her and, as you lay on her bosom

Onc e, for a moment , and blossomed anew . VI .

As I took you I looked, half in awe, where my friend Crowned with completeness All heaven ’s peace and the whole earth ’ s sweetness

So does her soul all souls transcend ,

So, in my love for her, all loves blend .

VI I . For more than the vast everlasting heaven Declares in its infinite mute appeal

To hearts that feel , More than the secret and solace of even

Know of God, may a love reveal .

VIII . For then indeed it was clear to my soul

That in loving the one I loved the whole, s Fulfilled all aim , attained every goal w as And God with me , eternity round me ,

Though Life still bound me .

I X . Past is that hour but the heart ’s trouble lessens has B ecause it been .

When I die , when free of its selfish screen

The god in me soars to the Godhead, the Presenc e

May seem to it first as the love onc e seen .

x .

We , flowers , have lived to our blossoming hour, And not in vain did we rise from the root ;

Whether we perish or rip en to power, We know what sweetness it is to flower

Let life or death be the fruit . 5 0 Tusc an Olives

(SEVEN R ISPETTI)

T H E colour of the olives who shall say ’ In winter on the yellow earth they re blue,

A wind can change the green to white or grey, B ut they are olives still in every hue

!

But they are olives always , green or white , As love is love in torment or delight f B ut they are olives , ru fled or at rest ,

As love is always love in tears or j est .

- We wal ked along the terraced olive yard , And tal ked together till we los t the way ;

We met a peasant, bent with age and hard, Bruising the grape - skins in a vase of Clay ;

- Bruising the grape skins for the Second wine , We did not drin k , and left him, Love of mine ; Bruising the grapes already bruised enough w e He had his meagre wine, and our love . SI T USCAN O LI VE s

We climbed one morning to the sunny height Where chestnuts grow no more and olives gro w -o ff o - Far the Circling m untains Cinder white ,

The yellow river and the gorge below .

o f P Turn round, you said, O flower aradise ;

I did not turn , I looked upon your eyes . ” “ s ee Turn round, you said , turn round and the view

I did not turn , my Love, I look ed at you .

H OW hot it was I Across the white -hot wall Pale Olives Stretch towards the blazing street ;

You broke a branch , you never spoke at all , B ut gave it me to fan with in the heat

You gave it me without a sign or word, w And yet, my dear, I think you kne I heard . You gave i t me without a word or sign n Under the olives first I called you mi e . V .

At Lucca, for the autumn festival , The streets are tulip - gay ; but you and I

Forgot them, seeing over church and wall ’ ’ G uinigi s tower soar i the blac k -blue sky ; A stem of delicate rose against the blue tw o And on the top lonely olives grew,

Crowning the tower, far from the hills , alon e

As on our risen love our lives are grown .

Who would have thought we should stand again

together,

Here , with the convent a frown of towers above us 5 2 T USCAN O LIV E S

- Here, mid the sere wooded hills and wintry weather

Here , where the olives bend down and seem to love us

- Here , where the fruit laden olives half remember All that began in their shadow last November W w e Here , here we knew must part, must part and Sever w e Here , where know we shall love for aye and

ever .

VI I .

Reach up and pluc k a branch, and give it me,

That I may hang it in my Northern room,

That I may find it there, and wake and see —Not you not you l—dead leaves and wintry

gloom .

O senseless olives, wherefore should I tak e Your leaves to balm a heart that can but ache ? du Why should I take y hence , that can but Show ? How much is left behind I do not know .

5 3 A ppr elzen sion

‘g

T H E hills come down on every side ,

The marsh lies green below,

The green , green valley is long and wide , c Where the grass grows thi k with the rush beside ,

And the white sheep come and go .

Down in the marsh i t is green and Still You may linger all the day,

Till a shadow slan ts from a western hill ,

And the colour goes ou t of the flowers in the rill ,

And the sheep look ghostly gray .

And never a change in the great green flat

Till the change of night, my friend . 0 sat wide green valley where we two ,

How I wished that our lives were as peaceful as that , And seen from end to end

O foolish dream , to hope that such as I

Who answer only to thine easiest moods , ’ Should fill thy heart, as o er my heart there broods The perfect fulness of thy memory I flit across thy soul as white birds fly Across the untrodden desert solitudes A momen t ’s flash of wings fair interludes s k That leave unchanged the eternal sand and y. 5 4 A PP R EHENSION

Even such to thee am I ; but thou to me A s the embracing Shore to the sobbing sea, - Even as the sea itself to the stone tossed rill . B ut who , but who shall give such rest to thee The deep mid-ocean waves perpetually

Call to the land, and call unanswered still .

As dreams the fasting nun of Paradise , A nd finds her gnaw ing hunger pass away In thinking of the happy bridal day That soon Shall dawn upon her watching eyes

So, dreaming of your love , do I despise

Harshness or death of friends , doubt, slow decay, — Madness, all dreads that fills me with dismay

And creep about me oft with fell surmise .

For you are true , and all I hoped you are , 0 perfect answer to my calling heart

And very sweet my life is, having thee . Yet must I dread the dim end shrouded far m ust I Yet dream : should once the good planks start, How bottomless yawns beneath the boiling sea

5 5 ’ Fr ien asaip m

FO R your sovereign sake, my friend ,

All my lovers are estranged , Shadow lovers without end

B ut last night they were avenged .

On the middl e of the night

One by one I saw them rise ,

Passing i n the ghostly light,

Silent, with averted eyes .

First, my master from the South

With the laurels round his brow, - And the bi—tter smiling mouth , Left me withou t smiling now . Then came one long used to rule w as Al l I , or did , or had

Plato , that I read at school

Till my playmates called me mad .

Maiden saints as pure as pearls,

B eautiful , divine , austere - l E o lian Sweeter voiced girls,

Left their friend of many a year . 5 6

Tw o L over s $1“

I LOVE my lover on the heights above me

He mocks my poor attainmen t with a frown .

I , looking up as he is looking down , By his di spleasure guess he still doth love me For his ambitious love would ever prove me More excellent than I as yet am shown

So, straining for some good ungrasped , unknown ,

I vainly would become his image of me .

And, reaching through the dreadful gulfs that sever

Our souls , I strive with dark ness nights and days, ’ to w rd s Till my perfected work him I raise ,

Who laughs thereat, and scorns me more than ever

Yet his upbraiding is beyond all praise . This lover that I love I call Endeavour .

I have another lover loving me ,

Himsel f beloved of all men , fair and true, He would not have me change although I grew

Perfec t as Light , because more tenderly W He loves myself than loves hat I might be . 5 8 Two LOVE R S

Low at my feet he sings the winter through,

w o n . And , never , I love to hear him woo su n For in my heaven both and moon is he, - flo odin To my bare life a fruitful g Nile , His voice like April airs that in our isle W ake sap in trees that slept since autumn went .

His words are all caresses , and his smile The relic of some Eden ravishment

And he that loves me so I call Content .

5 9 A G r ey D ay

’ I WAIT alone i n a stranger s land ,

By u nremembered floods I stand ,

Whose Shores unhaunted are . w ho I sorrow, and shal l comfort me The wide grey sky or the wide grey sea ? Or Love that lingers afar

’ B ut Love has no help for my heart s behoof ; - The Sky is flat as a prison roof,

Hopeless of moon or star . Oh sea take my heart in thy waves and beat Its passion out at the tardy feet

Of Love that lingers afar .

Thou shouldst not sorrow, sad wind , but I ,

But I , oh I for canst thou not fly And follow thy wish over border and bar s Thou , soulless wind , canst ari e and go, While my Wild desire is too faint and slow

To reach him who lingers afar .

6 0 LAST night I met my own true love Walking in Paradise s A halo hone above his hair,

A glory in his eyes .

We sat and sang iii alleys green And heard the angels play ; s Believe me, thi was true last night is - Though it false to day.

6 1 Pa r adise Fan c ies

I .

T H R OUGH Paradise garden

A minstrel strays , An old golden Viol

For ever he plays .

e Birds fly to his h ad,

B easts lie at his feet, For non e of God ’s angels

Make music so sweet .

And here, far from Eden ,

And lonely and mute , I listen and long For my heart 13 the lute

On the topmost branch of the Tree of Life There hung a ripe red apple, The angels singing underneath cl l All praised its crimson app e . 6 2 PA R ADISE FANCIES

They plucked it once to play at ball , But ’mid the shouts and laughter ’ ’ The apple fell o er Heaven s edge,

Sad angels looking after .

A nd while they smiled to se e it rest

Beside a peaceful chapel ,

An old priest flung it farther still , 1” Bah , what a battered apple

Sing, oh the flowers in Paradise

Rose , lily and girasol e In al l the fields of Paradise Every flower is a soul . A climbing bindweed you are there -fi ne With petals lily , Around my rose -bush pink and fair

Your curling tendrils twine .

Too close those slender tendrils cling, So close I cannot breathe ’ i Till o er my dead red roses sw ng,

Your lilies wreath on wreath .

6 3 4 D ialogu e

T H E dandelions in the grass , Are blown to fairies’ cloc ks On this green ban k I pluc kt (Alas) - The last of lady smoc ks .

Let them die, What care I ?

Roses come when field flowers pass .

B ut these s un - sated sultry hours Will make your roses fall Their large wide -open crimson flowers

M ust die like daisies small . Sweet as yet I ’ ll forget (When they die) they lived at all

64

Let/ze

£ 5.

C - OME with me to Lethe lake , ’ Come, since Love is o er,

He whose thirst those waters slake,

Thirsteth nevermore . There the sleepy hemloc k grows - In the night shade ranks, Crimson poppies rows on rows ts Flush i quiet ban ks .

Drin k with me of Lethe - lake

Deep and deeper yet , Drin k wi th me for dead Love ’s sake w e Drin k till forget .

Since our roses all are dead , — Lost our laurel boughs , Let these poppies hang instead Round our aching brows .

6 6 A Rifior it a

FLOWERS in the wall H ow could he leave the house where he w as born ? (We ebildren played togetoer [n w arm or wintry w eatber) How could he leave this house where he w as born ?

I coun t the stones for him and love them all .

Flowers on the stone se a P The Siren loves the , but I the ast r

I n warm or P The Siren loves the sea, but I the ast k roc . Upon my I sing alone, alon e

67 A Past or al

4 :

I T was Whit Sunday yesterday, The neighbours met at Ch urc h to pray B ut I remembered it w as May - And went a wandering far away .

I rested on a shady lawn , n Behind I heard green branches tor ,

And through the gap there looked a Faun ,

Green ivy hung from either horn .

We buil t ourselves a flowery house

With roof and walls of tangled boughs, But whilst w e sat and made carouse

The church bells drowned our songs and vows .

and s k The light died out left the y, d We sighed and rose and said goo bye . —H e We had forgotten and I , was That he dead, that I must die .

6 8 Dawn - Angels

A LL I night watched awake for morning, a-flam e At last the East grew all ,

The birds for welcome sang, or warning,

And with their singing morning came .

Along the gold -green heavens drifted

Pale wandering souls that shun the light,

Whose cloudy pinions torn and rifted,

Had beat the bars of Heaven all night .

These clustered round the moon , but higher A troop of shining spirits went,

Who were not made of wind or fire , di v - B ut some ine dream element .

i Some held the Light , wh le those remaining Shook out their harvest - coloured wings A faint unusual music raining w as (Whose sound Light) on earthly things .

as They sang, and a mighty river

Their voices washed the night away,

From East to West ran one white shiver, x w as And wa en strong their song Day .

69 To a D r agon F5 »

‘2

! o u - n-fl ? hail from Dream land , Drago y ? A stranger hither so am I . And (sooth to say) I wonder w hy We either of us came ’ Are you (that shine so bright i the air) ’ King Oberon s state - messenger ? how Come tell me my old friends fare , Is Dream - land still the same ?

w o n Who the latest tourney fight, - ? King Arthur, or the red cross Knight Or he w h o bore away the bright ’ ’ R enow n d M amb rino s casque ? ’ I s Caliban king s councillor yet ? Cross M entor j ester still and pet ? Is Suc kling out of love and debt ? Has Spenser done his task ?

Say, have they settled over there ,

Which is the loveliest Guinevere, Or Gloriana or the fair Young Queen of Oberon ’s Court ? And does Titania torment still M ike Drayton and sweet -throated Will ? In sooth of her amours ’ twas ill

To make such merry sport . 70 To A D RAGON FL! I Ah, have been too long away

No doubt I shall return some day , ’ B ut now I m lost in love and may ’ Not leave my Lady s sight .

Mine is (of course) the happier lot, — Yet tell them I forget them not, My pretty gay compatriot, - When you go home to night .

71 ‘ S ong of a Stormy N igb i 9 7

I N my pal e garden yesternight - The statues glimmered ghostly white, The brooding trees that hau n ted me

Flapped dusky wings despairingly .

- v Both air and sky death hea y were, w as B ut oh my heart heavier, is For life (I said) useless grief,

And death an undesired relief.

Then the wind rushed up

Clad in darkness and hail , Whirling the rain

As a rent white veil ,

B ut my heart, my heart ,

Was glad of the gale . The roar of the wind

Grew hoarser and higher, Til l the thunder spoke w as And its voice fire . B ut my heart w as freed

From the storm of desire .

- My lilies passion sweet are dead, ’ Love s purple , royal roses shed, B ut heart and garden are besprent With flowers of patience and con tent . 72

Two Si sr s as

Dear banished Childhood no w to us You seem a rarer thing Than aught of good or glorious

The coming years can bring . Take bac k these older selves again Bring Mab and Nannie in the lane Playi ng at queen and king

For you were Louis , Mabel , then , w as And I Antoinette .

You , tall and strong, a king of men ’ I, less but don t forget I always showed at hint of fear ’ vvaucd c wd é o vk o r x y g p fi fip, When your eyes would be w e t

Do you remember how w e left

The shelter of the shed,

Our foes upon us right and l eft, ’ And t ow rd s the duc k -pond fled “ You shrank . Fly, Louis I cried , for best Is honour Green waves heard the rest

Gurgling above my head .

B ut you were first at climbing trees , ’ At vaulting o er the gate,

And you were not afraid of bees, h You rode the pony straig t,

And once you took the fence , and then ,

Laughing, you leapt it bac k again An Amazon of e igh t

And you were kinder too than I, w e For often when played , My taste for tears and tragedy

Would make your soul afraid . s Your pirates never fel t the la h , Your blackamoors would always wash

As white as any maid . 74 Two SISTERS

And often when I w as not well You’d bring to give me ease - Such tempting gifts a crab apple,

Some unripe pods of peas ,

Nasturtium berries, heavy bread

That you had made yourself, you said, And gum from damson trees

H ow sorrowful you used to look , 1 And mind much more than , When grown -up people showered rebuk e

On sins that made you c ry . Ah you were good and I w as not What made you weep would make me plot Revenge and Tragedy

You used to thin k me very wise ,

I thought you very fair, ’ For each seemed i n the other 3 eyes

A creature strange and rare . I All that I read told to you , And rhymed you strings of verses too About your golden hair .

Verses more eloquent by far - Than these I write to day,

Your either eye was then a star ,

Your cheek the bloom of May . I twined flower - fancies round your name Yet those and these both mean the same w a Though writ another y. L over s

So glad am I, my only Love, So glad that I could fly Above the clouds and far enough us Join hands, and let try We ’ ll watch the world that spins below Amid a mist of stars Along the mil ky way we ’l l go

Towards the heavenly bars .

And, smiling soft at one another, Sweet angels looking o’ er “ Shall cry, These lovers love each other ; Never were such before

76 ’ ' L onaofl St ad zes

OUTS IDE T H E MUSEUM

A LL day it rained, but now the air I s clear and fine . The sunset glow has fallen where The w et sti e e ts shine

They take the colours of the west, T h e gold and rose . is Yet over head, I thin k , best, Where softly glows

A space of luminous tender bl ue, a B ut fl ked with fire, As though the perfect peace there knew

A pure desire .

Beneath the fluted columns rise ,

With grey, broad frieze And every dove that coos and flies

Is grey as these .

AFTER T H E STORM I N MA R CH Hans: how the wind sighs out of sight Sorrow and warning . wr It raged and estled in pain all night,

It sighs at morning . 77 LONDON S'rv m as The very trees where the wild winds wreak

The wrongs of the city, Groan and c reak as they fain would speak

Pardon and pity .

Heart, keep silence forebode no more Warning and sorrow . n l Who k ows, the heavens may ho d in - for to morrow .

78 ’ ’ Tban ésg zw ng f or Flowe r s

— ! o u bring me flow ers behold my shaded room

Is grown all glorious and alive with Light .

M oonshine of pallid primroses , and bright ’ ff - 0 Da odil suns that light the way the tomb .

— ’ You bring me dreams 1 through sl eep s close -lidded

gloom, i Sad v olets mourn for Sappho all the night, ' Where purple saflr on s make antique delight ’ ’ c row n d Mid memorials of Narcissus doom .

A scent of herbs now sets me musing on ’ Men dead i the fennel -beds on Marathon I My flowers , my dreams and shall lie as dead

Flowers fade, dreams wake, men die but never dies

The soul whereby these things were perfected , I t i leaves the world on flower w th memories .

79 M aia/en L ove

4 :

O H and Love , hast thou con quered my proud heart That did so long deny thy sovereignty ? Hast given lordship and command of me ? Even to another, lesser than thou art Whose footfall bids the shameful blood upstart To my pale cheeks and beat so clamorously see About my head , I cannot hear or ’ Whose coming tis that bids my life depart .

Ah me my heart is as an instrument ’ That only answers one musician s hand,

A vision one alone may represent,

A cipher but one sage can understand, as far Yet to this one as blank , as dull , , As such dead things to their possessors are

80

Sonnet

f H is G o o sent a poet to re orm earth . un But when he came and fo d it cold and poor,

Harsh and unlovely, where each prosperous boor

Held poets light for all their heavenly birth, He thought—Myself can make one better worth i — The liv ng in than this full of old lore,

M usic and light and love, where Saints adore ’ ow n And Angels, all within mine soul s girth .

di e B ut when at last he came to , his soul n ew Saw earth (flying past to Heaven) , with love , And all the unused passi on i n him cried I O God, your Heaven know and weary of.

Give me this world to work in and make whol e .

God spoke Therein , thou fool , hast lived and died

8 2 ( Fons On ce m

l .

’ L d - I AY and reamed beside a stream s well head , And praised the waters cool beyond compare My fain lips met a fresh er li keness there d But drank a raught as salt as tears new shed . sea w as And, knowing from no the stream fed ,

I wondered greatly, as I grew aware How wearily a wayworn people fare ’ For evermore beside that river s bed .

fleshl e ss For, silently as wal k the dead, his They wen t along, and each one on head - Held straight a water jar no two the same, ’ a Yet e en the le st a burden hard to bear, h ’ And eac , when to the river s spring he came ,

Poured from his urn its weight of water there .

saw - I them pass me, ghostly, hollow eyed, - With faces dreamy still , forlorn of pain , And did not dare to break their solemn chain ’ a Till , bold with fear, I thought Wh te er betide 8 3 FONS Vrr1£ — This secret I must learn and trembling cri ed Oh ye wind - wal ki n g wanderers I am fain To know ye and your fate , are ye dead men Or e x iled souls whose bod ies have not died ?

T hen one made answer We are they that grieved ’ Through God s decree, that grieved and murmured not, Nor would forestall the end that He reprieved

And after D eath, ere Life be qui te forgot We gather all our outgrown loss and fears And feed the stream of these our tears .

’ L ove ana Vision

545?

M ! love is more than life to me And you look on and wonder In what can that i llusion be I You think labour under .

Yet you , too, have you never gone, w et Some and yellow even , Where russet moors reach on and on Beneath a windy heaven

B rown moors, which, at the western edge ,

A watery sunset brushes, With misty rays yon cloudy ledge C asts down upon the rushes .

see You no more but shade your eyes ,

Forget the showery weather,

Forget the wet , tempestuous skies

And look upon the heather .

O fairyland, fairyland

It sparkles , lives, and dances, f By every gust swayed down and anned , - And every rain drop glances . 86 Lov e AND Vl SI O N

Never in j ewel or wine the light Burned li ke the purple heather is And some palest pink , some white,

Swaying and dancing together .

Every stem is sharp and clear, Every bell is ringing, N O doubt, some tune we do not hear ’ i For the thrushes sleepy sing ng .

all Over , like the bloom on a grape, The lilac seeding-grasses

Have made a haze , vague, without shape , i For the w nd to change as it passes .

Under all is the budding ling, - Grey green with scarlet notches , i s Bossed w th many a mo sy thing,

- And gold with lichen blotches .

Here and there slim rushes stand

Aslan t as carried lances . I saw it, and called it fai ryland saw You never it , the chance is

Brown moors and stormy skies that kiss At eve in rainy weather You saw—but what the heather is w ho Saw I , love the heather . L ofve H m ong tne Sain ts

A r Assisi is the Church Well I know the frescoed wall

Colours dim , Martyrs slim, o u Saints y scarcely see at all , Till the slanting sunbeams search

Through the church, ’ Waking life where er they fall .

Every evening wall and vaul t, Saint and city, starts and wakes , sun One by one, as the

Broadens through the dusk , and makes

Greys and reds , and deep cobal t Of the vaul t

Teem with Saints, and towers, and lakes .

High among them, clear to see, Is one stately fresco set

There they stand , hand in hand, Bride and bridegroom gravely

Francis and Saint Poverty . Well I s ee

All the Saints attending, yet . 8 8

LOVE A M ONG TH E Sai NT s

w as Yet , O Warder, it wise Thus to Spurn him Was it well

Love is strong, lasting long, Him thou canst not bind in Hell

Scourge him , burn , he never dies , Ph oeni x -wise

Riseth he unconquerable .

Only martyred Love returns With an altered face and air

Not a child, sweet and mild, an d Fit for daily kiss care , B ut a spirit which aches and burns , Swift he turns

All your visions to despair .

Love you cannot reach or find, Love that aches within the soul , V ague and faint, till the Saint ow n Cries, beyond his control , For some answer that his blind Heart can find ow n B ut in its vain diastol e .

Ah, beware That phantom Love

Drives to madness, and destroys .

Yet, to all Love must call , Only we may choose the voice . ’ w e And whate er are or prove, h Loat e or love, Hangs upon that instant ’ s choice

90 T/ze Spr ings of Fon tana

T H E o n tana springs of F well high on the mountain , Out of the roc k of the granite they pour Twenty o ro more Ripple and runnel and freshet and fountain

Well, happy tears, from the heart of the mountain o ntana Up at F .

See, not a step can we take but a spring ’ Breaks from the roots of the blond -flo w e r d chestnuts - (Look , in the wate—r their long golden breast knots Flung in caress from a tuft of the ling,

From a stone, anything, o ntana Up at F .

Of Twenty or more, and no one the twenty Gushes the same here the waters abundant

Babble redundant, Filling the vale with the bruit of their plenty ;

Here a mere ripple , a tric kle , a scanty o ntana Dew on F .

Surely one noonday the Prophet in heaven

Slept , and the wand of the desert fell 9 ! T H E SPRINGS OF FONTANA

Fell to the roc k , and the roc k was riven . Lo, all arou nd it eternally well (A miracle n The springs of Fonta a . Waters of boon Deluge or drought cannot al ter your current , Swi ft in D ecember and icy in jun e,

Full when the icicl e hangs on the torrent, Full when the river is dry and the noon

Parches Fontana .

Over the rocks Over the tree - root that tangles and bloc ks Robbing from all that resists you a sunny

- Scent of th e cistus and roc k hidden honey,

Yarrow, campanula, thyme, agrimony Flow from Fontana

Flow, happy waters, and gather and rally, Rush to the plain . Limain Flow to the heavenly fields of , Bl ue as a dream in the folds of the valley

Feed them and fatten with blossom and grain , Springs of Fontana

Rivers of springs,

Born many times in renewal unending,

Bright , irresistible, purest of things,

Blessing the roc ks that oppose you , befriending Pastures and cattle and men i n your wending

Forth from Fon tana .

Born (who knows how ?) a mysterious fountain

Out of the stone and the dust of the mountain , w e Bound to a country know little of, I How shall bless ye and praise ye enough , Of Image Love , Springs of Fontana 9 2

Tae Fr oz en Rw er

T H E silver -powdered willows of the Quai

- Rise frosty clear against the roseate skies, The winter sunlight mellows ere it dies

And lingers where the frozen river lies .

Between the hurrying wharves, a sheet of grey It sleeps beneath the parapet of stone

A sudden desolation , empty, lone

And silen t with a silence of its own .

All round the city vast and loud and gay If one should weary of the press and din ‘ ! is And venture here , beware the crust thin ; — s One step and lo, the Abys would draw him in .

Athwart the happiest lives of every day ’ Beside the Lovers Wal k , the household mart , Thin k ye there lies no silent road apart N O mute and frozen Chasm of the heart ?

94» ’ N ear as t ben za

I WATCH the happier people of the house

Come in and out , and tal k , and go their ways I sit and gaze at them I cannot rouse

My heavy mi nd to share their busy days .

I watch them glide, like skaters on a Stream , Across the brilliant surface of the world . B ut I am underneath they do not dream ’ How deep below the eddying flood is w hirl d .

They can not come to me , nor I to them an d But, if a mightier arm could reach save , Should I forget the tide I had to stem ? Should I, like these , ignore the abysmal wave

Yes in the radiant air how could I k now H ow is ? black it , how fast it is, below

9 5 T m; great things that I love I canno t do The littl e things I do I cannot love I never knew

so so . O ur earth vain , void the heavens above

A dream in daytime , aimlessly I rove , And wander through A world whose wonders are not vast enough T o hide one haunting image from my vi ew.

I nd And nought, fi , is sweet , and nothing true

0 Love , my Love, If I coul d give my life and

O H for the wings of a dove ,

To fly far away from my own soul , Reach and be merged in the vast whole Heaven of infinite Lo ve

he Oh that I were as t rain ,

To fall and be lost in the great sea, d One with the waves, till the drowne Me Might not be severed again

Infinite arms of the air , Surrounding the stars and wi thout strife Blending our life with their l arge Lift me and carry me there

9 8 Sonn et

SINCE childhoo d have I dragged my life along

The dusty purlieus and approach of Death ,

Hoping the years would bring me easier breath ,

And turn my painful Sighing to a song .

B ut , ah , the years have done me cruel wrong, For they have robbed me of that happy faith r Still in the world of men I move a w aith, ' Who - to the shadow world not yet belong .

Too long, indeed, I linger here and take T he room of Others but to droop and sigh

Wherefore , O spinning sisters , for my sake , No more the little tangled knots untie

But all the skein , I do beseech you , break ,

And spin a stronger thread more perfectly .

99 T/ze Depa r tu re

T H E night wears on , the lawns are grey with dew, T he Easter of the dawn will soon be here

And I must leave the happy world I knew,

And front the Heaven I worship and I fear .

a aw e Dawn th t in and trembling I desire, Bloom in the skies as flaming and as bright As Enoch saw the chariot -wheels of fire i Divide the darkness of the desert n ght .

Ah , when beside that palm tree in the sand

The fiery swiftness trembled, did his will

Grow faint , to leave the long familiar land Or did he feel a dizzier terror still on e Lest , like a dream, that chariot should be g l eave in the wilderness alone

1 00

’ L ov e in t/ze Wor /a

— T H E Olives where w e wal k to day - In the olive groves are white and grey, And underneath the shimmering trees - is One almond bough faintly pink ,

And lilac blow the anemones .

In all the flowers , in all the leaves, The secret of their pallor heaves

A tender hint of vanished bliss . A rapture j ust beyond the brin k

Of feeling, which we still must miss .

Perhaps when we are dead , my dear,

Our phantoms still shall wander here, And breathe in this Elysian wood

(As others breathe for us , I think ) ,

A beauty dimly understood .

t o: T6 r ee Songs

I .

H sea A EART as deep as the , s s k A heart as va t as the y,

Thou shouldest have given to me , 0 Spirit, since I must die For how shall I feel and attain

The joy and the fear and the strife, The hope of the world and the pain In the few short years of a life ?

The floc ks that brui s e the mountain grass Send out beneath their feet

Such thymy fragrance as they pass,

That all the fell is sweet .

Sometimes a stranger breathes thy name, 0 Love of long ago And in my heart there leaps to flame - w o e A long remembered .

Thou sentest them an angel , Lord , s Since they were preciou in Thine eyes,

An angel with a flaming sword, T O drive them out of Paradise .

For thus they kept the dream of bliss,

The hope in something out of sight, Nor ever knew how sad it is

To weary of our best delight . 1 03 ’ ’ Toe Deaa Fr i en a

WH EN you were alive, at least, There were days I never met you .

In the study, at the feast,

By the hearth , I could forget you .

Moods there were of many days I When , methinks, did not mind you .

Now, oh now, in any place ’ Wheresoe er I go, I find you

You but how profoundly changed, ’ 0 you dear -b el ov d d ead woman

Made mysterious and estranged, - All pervading, superhuman .

Ah to meet you as of yore,

Kind, alert , and quic k to laughter

You , the friend I loved Before

Not this tragic friend of After . 1 04

’ An Gr eb ara at fl fvig n on

\e

T H E hills are white, but not with snow

They are as pale in summer time , For herb or grass may never grow

Upon their slopes of lime . Within the circle of the hills

A ri ng, all flowering in a round, An orchard-ring of almond fills

The plot of stony ground .

More fair than happier trees, I think , Grown in well -watered pasture land

These parched and stunted branches, pin k

Above the stones and sand .

0 white, austere , ideal place ,

Where very few will care to come , Where spring hath lost the waving grace She wears for us at home

Fain would I sit and watch for hours

The holy whiteness of thy hills,

Their wreath of pale auroral flowers ,

Their peace the silence fills .

A plac e of secret peace thou art , Such peac e as in an hour O f pain e One moment fills the amaz d heart ,

And never comes agai n . 1 06 Tw i/ignt

< 8:

WHEN I was young the twilight seemed too long .

How often on the western window seat I leaned my book again s t the misty pane s s And pelled the la t enchanting lines again ,

The while my mother hummed an ancient song, Or sighed a little and said “ The hour is sweet

When I , rebellious , clamoured for the light .

now B ut I love the soft approach of night, And now with folded hands I sit and dream While all too fleet the hours of twilight seem

And thus I know that I am growing old .

0 granaries of Age O manifold And royal harvest of the common years There are in all thy treasure—house no ways But lead by soft descent and gradual slope T O memories more exquisite than Hope . Of Thine is the Iris born Olden tears, And thrice more happy are the happy days

That live divinely in thy lingering rays . 1 07 TWILIGHT So autumn roses bear a lovelier flower SO in the emerald after -su nset hour The orchard wall and trembling aspen trees

Appear an i nfinite Hesperides . A w e y, as at dusk sit with folded hands, n Who knows, who cares in what encha ted lands We wander whil e the undying memories throng ?

When I was young the twilight seemed too long .

1 08

R ETROSPECT

’ S0 they ve c ut the lilac bush ; a thousand thousand pities ! ’ Twas the blue Old -fashioned sort that never grows in C i ties . There w e little children played and chaunted aimless

ditties , While oft the old grandsire looked at us and smil ed his Nunc Dimittis ! 0 Green , green with an cient peace , and full of

and sunny, 0 Lusty fields of Warwic kshire, land of mil k

honey, I Might live to pl uc k again a spi ke of agrimony, A Silver tormentilla leaf or ladysmo c k upon ye

r Patience , for I keep at heart your pu e and p erfec t

seeming, I se e as m can you wide awake as clearly i n drea ing,

Softer, with an inner light, and dearer, to my deeming, Than when beside your brooks at noon I watched the sallows gleaming ! For eign Sp r i ng

T H E charlock and the hemloc k flowers Have hung their laces o’ er the green The buttercups are bright and sheen

A s though the Spring w ere ours .

B ut through the poplar-ran k there shines The white interminable way And down the hill the budding vines

Go softly gloved in grey .

Amid a purer loftier s ky The foreign s un burns far and bright O mistier fields O tenderer light !

I pause awhile and sigh .

” I Tli a Siay l

LD Old i s B EHO , the earth young again The blackthorn whitens in the rain , b afll in The flowers come g wind and hail ,

The gay, wild nightingale

Cries out his heart in wood and vale . (A nd in my beurt Mere rises too

For s ome delig/Jt I never knew I)

0 n Spri g , thou art a subtle thing,

Wiser than we , thou Sibyl , Spring Thy tresses blown across our face I n Life ’ s mid Remind us of some holier plac (A nd unaw are: toe Jull es t fi nd A new religion Too t all toeir doubts bar/e l ef t oebind l )

1 1 2

(I n Me f orests of Pa ragu ay tbere g row s a plant u btcb t/te pea s a nts (all Seren uite unnoti e ble and et a er ume so attr ti v e t/zat a , g c a y of p f ac f/tose w lzo b v e lu ked t/ze ow' er b i dent are s id benc ort/r to ro m a p c fl y a cc a gf a h w ods in ess nt in ues t o anot/zer bloss om t e o c a ly q f . )

’ I N Paraguayan forests there s a flower

The shepherds call Serena . (Of all that blooms on herb or tree Serena ' is the flower for me !)

The white magnolia on her brazen tower, The lemon -fresh verbena And roses where their purple cl usters shower Are nothing to Serena

For where the wild liana shrouds the forest

In darkness , under cover,

Serena grows, so pure and smal l

You never notic e her at all . N O herborist, no botanist , no florist, Hath cared to con thee over Thou little lonely blossom that abhorrest The gazes of thy lover 1 1 4 SERENA

But here and there methin ks a weary shepherd , In quest of dewy blossom, Stoo ps down to pl uck the grass in flower - Beneath a white acacia bower,

To cool some ancient scar of ape or leopard , Some bite of snake or ’possum 10 And he starts and smiles, the happy shepherd , Serena i n his bosom

his d And through veins there steals a subtle won er, A magic melancholy s t (So faint a sen e , it canno be

A hope nor yet a memory) , But something haunts the bough he sl umbers under

That makes it rare and holy, the And lo shadows are a thing to ponder, And every herb the Moly Or else (who knows ?) some lithe and amber maiden Who steals to meet her lover Goes singing with an idle art s To ea e the gladness at her heart, Along the sombre paths and cypress -shad en

Deep glades the roses cover, And fills her arms with garlands heavy laden

The dewdrops sprinkle over .

B ut , in the crown she binds , her slender fingers Have set the u ndreamed-o f flower And from that moment she forgets Her lover and her carcanets she Nor any more sings among the singers , But wanders hour on hour

Deep in the wood and deeper, where there lingers The secret and the power Now he and she shall wander at the leading i Of one enchanted v sion ,

Recall the thing they have not seen , Remember what hath never been , 1 1 5 SERENA

And seek in vain the flower they pl ucked unheeding, And scorn with mild derision The roses where the happy bees are feeding - Or lily beds Elysian .

set O undiscovered blossom, slight and wan ,

So deep in forest closes , ’ w ho k now st B e mine , ever, as thou , The l east apparent loved the most Low - music at the first faint breathing onset, The summer when it closes ,

The silvery moonrise better than the sunset , And thee than autumn roses

1 1 6

Sp r ing 4 P ING S R , the tender maiden , Like a girl who greets her lover, n Comes , her apro laden Deep with flower and l eaf we lik ed of old Not a sprig forgetting That we then demanded of her Changing not nor setting

Out of place the tiniest frill or fold .

See , the aspen still is Hung awry to droop and falter Still the leaves o f lilie s

Lift aloft their tall and tender sheath .

Wiser than the sages , Spring would never dare to alter What so many ages

Showed already right in bloom and wreath .

Ah , could Spring remember Every thril l and fancy perished ’ In the soul s December ; Lost for ever, faded from the truth Holy things and tender,

Dead , alas however cherished . 0 Breathe, Spring, and render That forgotten radiance of our youth 1 1 8 ’ Maiaen s

fi r 0 RARE bright courage of the stars That pierce the abysmal depth of night Lo , dancing Hesper, Vega, Mars . And all the heavens pulse with light .

80 maidens in a world Of woe

Smile unafraid, and, smiling, save ;

As fair, as innocently brave A S almonds flowering in the snow

1 1 9 A dam and E ‘ve

WH EN Adam fell asleep in Paradise He made hims elf a helpmeet as he dreamed 10 she And , stood before his waking eyes , S And was the woman that his vision eemed .

She knel t beside him there in tender awe fi nd s To the living fountain of her oul , And SO in cither ’ s eyes the other saw

The light they missed in Heaven , and knew the goaL

- Of Thrice blessed Adam , husband thine Eve She brought thee for her dowry death and Shame She taught thee one may worship and deceive B ut yet thy dream and she were still the same Nor ever in the desert turned thine eyes Towards Lilith by the brooks of Paradise .

1 20

S oldie r s Passing

d z

L G lanetre e - A ON the p dappled pearly street,

Full flooded with the gay Parisian light,

I watch the people gather, left and right , ' Far o flI hear the clarion shrilling sweet

Nearer and nearer comes the tramp of feet

And, while the soldiers still are out of sight, O ver the crowd the wave of one delight fi s tran s ure . B reaks , and g all the dusty heat

So ha ve I seen the western Alps turn rose When the reflection of the rising s un

Irr adiates al l their peaks and woods and snows . Even so this various nation blends in one A S down the street the sacred banner goes , And every Frenchman feels himself its son

1 22 Tb e Bookwor m

1 1;

T H E whole day long I Sit and read Of days when men were men indeed And women knightlier far I fight wi th Joan of Arc I fall With Talbot from my castle -wall I watch the‘ gu iding star

B ut when at last the twilight falls And hangs about the book -lined walls

And creeps across the page ,

Then the enchantment goes, and I Close up m y vol umes with a sigh

To greet a narrower age .

Home through the pearly dusk I go And watch the London lamplight glow Far off in wavering lines

A pale grey world with primrose gleams , And i n the West a cloud that seems s My distant Apennine .

so O Life full of truths to teach , s Of secrets I hall never reach, 0 world of Here and Now

Forgive , forgive me , if a voice,

A ghost, a memory be my choice And more to me than Thou 1 23 Melan cb olia

(For an engrav ing by A lbrec/zt D u rer)

SO many years I toiled like Caliban To fetch the stones and earth to build my lan e ; 8 0 many years I thought before the brain n Rel ucta t would divulge the final plan .

Years upon years to forge the invented tools as n e w Novel , all my temple should be ; Years upon years to fashion and to hew

The stones that should astound a world of fools .

C ui bono — Now shall I build lo , the sal t Hath lost its savour and I have no will What reck I now of gate or dome or vaul t

Among the ruins of the thing undone I sit and ask myself C ui bono ? till s su n The sun Sets , and a bat flies pa t the .

1 24

' Ola Songs 4 I — T H S song I wrote ah me , how long ago When up the stair of Heaven and down again

(For even then I could not long remain) ,

With happy feet I used to come and go .

This Od e I sang beneath a laurel -bough Where I had sought for Truth among the dead is This little verse (and still the page red),

To soothe some easier pang forgotten now .

I took the dew of lilies grown apart i The scanty w ne of amphoras and, bright

And clear, the blood that flows from trivial scars

But with the bitter ink of mine ow n heart

I have not written and I must not write ,

Let rust and acid dim the eternal stars .

1 26 T o any Mus e

T H E vast Parnassus never knew thy face , 0 0 Muse of mine , frail and tender elf That d an c est in a moonbeam to thysel f Where olives rustl e in a lonely place And yet thou hast a sort of Tuscan grace ’ Thou may st outlive me Some unborn Fil e lf One day may range thee on his studious shelf

With Lenau, Leopardi, and their race .

’ so And , some time , the sole sad scholar s friend , his The melancholy comrade of dreams, ’ Thou may st , O Muse , escape a little whil e The none the le s s inevitable end

Take heart, therefore , and sing the thing that

seems, ’ And watch the world s disaster with a smile .

1 27 Miob ael tn as

WE had not thought the s ky could burn so bl ue sto rms and For Summer hath her , Spring her veils But now a crystal fire seems burning through

Yon vaul t of wide turquoise no vapour pales .

The summer green is changed and manifold

The cherries and the maples flame in rose ,

The beechwood studs the hill with rusty gold ,

- And yellow bend the trembling poplar rows .

And all the roses that we mourned for dead B urst out in flower and bloom from every stal k

The purple asters burn amid the red, - And starry dahlias frame the terrace wal k .

how Bright apples the trees beyon d the field , The meado w - saffron springs among the grass ;

For every branch now bears its ripened yield , For every flow e ret feels the summer pass

For Venus dances in a frosty sky At twilight o ’ er the tawny mountain tops

For all things rage and revel ere they die,

And know the hour is near when summer stops . 1 28

’ For ew ora

T ( o 1. D . )

N WH E I die , all alone, I shall look at last

For thy tender face, my own , e Thy face, belov d , So far removed From all our happy past

Nay, all day, all day long Still thou linge rest here ffl Halting in its mu ed song,

Thy voice , unaltered,

Still murmurs, fal tered,

The old words still as dear .

Thou art dead, years ago, Dead and in the grave

I am all alone , I know And yet how often

Thy kind eyes soften , And smile and guide and save

Smil est - thou , angel ghost

Yet, no heavens ope All thou art I had, and lost ; And now remember O ’ er life’ s dull ember

Nor call my dream a hope . I 3 1 Tb e Tw o Lions kl?

U Two lions stand pon my path, Nor noon nor night can hide them

And, look I late or look I rath, w a I see no y beside them . I And, look I forth or look back , I see but fear and sorrow Two lions stand upon my trac k

- Yesterday and To morrow .

1 3 2

Tb a Lost Sbeep

H rantest 0 T OU g ease of heart, Lord , And them that wander in distress Thou gatherest at thy knees Thou leadest thy lost Sheep apart Into the paths of pleasantness,

Into the paths of peace .

w as dim 0 The Valley of Death , Light , And vas t the waste of vain desires Where wandered mine unrest ’ Thou camest o er the mountain rim , Thou foundest me amid the briers

To hush me on thy breast .

0 0 O calm , j oy, to lie, Love, One moment hel d against thy heart In breathless rapt amaze I dared to thin k that such as I

Should wander nevermore apart,

B ut pasture in thy rays .

w as 0 The Valley of Death cold , Lord , And far from thy paternal farms I mourned and murmured there Bu t how forsaken is the fold n Where, cast abando ed from thine arms , I di e of my despair 1 3 4 Tbe Gate of Tea r s

G . . (T o . A S )

FA R upon the farther side Of the Gate of Tears Lies a country calm and wide There is peace at eventide Far upon the farther side

Of the Gate of Tears .

Never gale or tempest blows Thro ’ the Gate of Tears That autumnal valley knows Neither nightingale nor rose All the hil ls are crowned with snows

Where the snowdrop peers .

There a broken heart may rest,

Free from hopes or fears, ’ undist ress d Undesiring, ; While the sunset in the west

Gilds the worst and greys the best,

Through the Gate of Tears .

1 3 5 “61

With a great c ry the Sibyl woke and left

The long walls of Assyrian Babylon , Wrenching her torn blac k robes and locks undone

From them that hung upon her right and left .

P she ale , shrieking, mad, the curious crowd cl eft w Swift as a homing swallo , and darted on ’ Thro leagues of tawny solitude alone, Prophesying a riddle as one bereft

- - Not for to day I speak , but for to morrow a Mad, c ll me Liar, call me Sage and priest, To -morrow I shall be the fount of Truth

she B ut once fal tered , babbling words of ruth an d And yearning hope, a new tender sorrow, While up in heaven a star rose in the east .

Beau ty

A N D shall not B eauty reign beyond the grave is There Life , Life eternal , there as here ’ For none may die, tho he desire the dear And dark repose of Death’ s abysmal wave

’ ’ a Thro Life s unending round for eons still, w e so and Even as moved, must we move chan e Thro ’ all the marvels of her mystic range

Sea, rose or tempest, soul or star or hill .

w e B ut only here , perchance, know the grace

Of Beauty and the magic of her dream , And here I love to watch the things that seem The dawn that filters thro’ the veils of space

The noon that spreads a glare implacabl e ’ O er all the plain , and drives the shepherd home

The peace of forests, and the greeny dome

Of ancien t oaks above a holy well .

I hold my breath until the blac kbird stops

I mark enchanted , past our cottage eaves , The roses of the sunset shed their leaves I n shining pin k upon the mountain tops . 1 3 8 B EAUTY I watch a lonely fountain dance all night In silver music to the silen t moon ’ o f une While , trembling thro the mil ky skies j ,

The stars shine faintly amid the flooding light .

mix I dream I divinely soul and earth . ’ But if hereafter, mid the moving stars ,

We find thee not in our long avatars, 0 May I thee , Beauty, and thy dearth

1 3 9 R/ty tli tn

as

0 BEAT and pause that count the life of man , Throb of the pulsing heart Rippl e of tides and stars beyond our scan ’ ’ ’ Rhythm 0 the ray 0 the s un and the red 0 the Thrill of the lightning ’s dart

All , all are one beyond this world of shows .

Neither with eyes that se e nor ears that hear ‘ w e May discern thee here,

Nor comprehend, O Life of life, thy laws , B ut all our idols praise the perfect whole

And I have worshipped thee , O rhythmic soul , Chiefl y in beat and pause .

0 beat and pause that count the life of man , Throb of the pulsing heart Rippl e of tides and stars beyond our scan ’ ’ ’ Rhythm 0 the ray 0 the sun and the red o the Thrill of the lightning’s dart

! ea . , all are one behind our world of shows

1 40

T H E VALLEY

For neither he nor I have ever seen ’ The lava rushing from the crater s edge, The rocks cast up like foam ;

Though somewhile, as I dreamed amid the green , saw - I thought I , beyond the cypress hedge,

Those torrents blast my home .

Fire , flood, fierce earthquakes of an elder world ,

Red flames and smoke of swirling lava streams, ash Tempests of and snow, ’ Whereby the rock I stand upon w as hurl d

Down hither, oft ye haunt, ye haun t my dreams, 0 storms of long ago ’ F R u nc hain d That O CE , volcanic , belching fire ,

Which shook the mountains then , and filled the coombs

With groaning tongues of flame , sa Where is it Still , th ey y, as dread , as dire ,

Sprung undiminished from a world of tombs ,

It dwells in u s the same . And yet how tranquil sleeps the mountain now The water runnels trace their crystal rings ’ A nd , thro the grasses, gleam The tawny ox en p ull the trident plough

And turn the soil , while soft the farmer sings

To cheer the straining team .

H ow tranquil smiles the valley, broad and calm Those elemental energies of old Swoon they indeed beneath ?

Whisper, O wi nd , made sweet with musk and balm

O sunset, rain an influence in thy gold 0 - Answer, cirrus wreath

Nay, thou shal t be mine answer, vale of rest That wast so wild and art so beautiful

Behold, I understand

As waterfalls , that clear the mountain crest

In torrents, fill the runnels clear and full That nourish all our land 1 4 2 T H E VALLEY

o So, through a myriad channels, b und in peace And fruitful , runs the Force of primitive fire , Divided and divine ’ The unnumbered travail of our earth s increase ,

The lives of men who toil , foresee , aspire, The growth of grain and vine

x n The patient o en ploughi g through the clod,

The very dragonflies about the stream , s The larks that sing and oar, Employ the force of that tremendous G od

Who lurks behind our thought, beyond our

dream ,

And whom the worlds adore .

1 4 s Dar win ism

WH EN first the u nflow ering Fern - forest

Shadowed the dim lagoons of old ,

A vague, unconscious, long unrest

Swayed the great fronds of green and gold .

x Until the fle ible stem grew rude,

The fronds began to branch and bower, And 10 ! upon the unblossoming wood -flow er There breaks a dawn of apple .

Then on the fruitful forest-boughs For ages long the unquiet ape Swung happy in his airy house

And pl uc ked the apple, and sucked the grape .

Until at l ength i n him there stirred

The old, u nchanged, remote distress, That pierced his world of wind and bird

With some divine unhappiness .

Not love , nor the wild fruits he sought , Nor the fierce battles of his clan

Could still the unborn and aching thought ,

Until the brute became th e man . Long since and now the same unrest Goads to the same invisible goal , ’ ’ u ndream d u n uess d Till some new gift, , g , End the new travail of the soul . 1 44

T H E STA R S

0 ff stars that dance indi erent in the Abyss, O ur Earth may seem as bright to you beyond

Yourselves, to them that breathe your delicate air, As desolate Life in the Lunar years A s long and the straight rivers of the stars

And primal snows divide as drear a world .

w e And men , perchance, as , in every world Fill with their dreams the bright and vast abyss i A Christ has d ed in vain on all the stars, A nd each , unhappy, seeks a star beyond Where God rewards the dead through endless years

And so we circle, dumb, in the silent air .

What shall we find more holy in all the air ?

Lo, when the first huge, incandescent world

Burst out of chaos and flamed a million years , ’ Until , with too much flaming, thro the abyss Flake after flake dropped o ff and flamed beyond That was t he God w ho lit the host of stars

For Light , the stars for breath, the realms of air ff For Hope, beyond this dark and su ering world,

Nought in the Abyss, nor ought in the endless years . E tr uscan Tombs

0 w e T thin k the face love shall ever die , ff And be the indi erent earth , and know us not To thin k that one of us shall live to cry On one long buried in a dis tan t spot

O wise Etruscans , faded in the night ‘ - Yourselves , with scarce a rose leaf on your trace

You kept the ashes of the dead in sight ,

And shaped the vase to seem the vanished face .

B ut, O my love , my life is such an urn h i T at tender memories mould w th constan t touch , Until the dust and earth of it they turn To your dear image that I love so much

A sacred urn , filled with the sacred past , That Shall recall you while the clay shal l last .

These cinerary urns wi th human head h And human arms t at dangle at their sides , a The earliest potters m de them for their dead, ’ ’ To keep the mother s ashes or the bride s . 1 47 ETRUSCAN T O M as

O rude attempt of some long - spent despair With symbol and with emblem discontent

To keep the dead alive and as they were, The actual features and the glance that wen t

u The ang ish of your art was not in vain , 10 For , upon these alien shelves removed

The sad immortal images remain , And show that once they lived and once you loved

But oh, when I am dead may none for me Invoke so drear an immortal ity

B eneath the branches of the olive yard Ar e roots where cyclamen and violet grow M i d B eneath the roots the earth is deep and ,

And there a king w as buried long ago .

The peasants digging deeply in the mould

Cast up the autumn soil about the place, saw x d And a gleam of une pected gol ,

And underneath the earth a living face .

With Sleeping lids and rosy lips he lay, Among the wreaths and gems that mark the king, One momen t then a little d ust and clay

Fel l shrivelled over wreath and urn and ring .

his A carven slab recalls name and deeds,

Writ i n a language no man living reads .

in Here lies the tablet graven the past, - Clear charactered and firm and fresh of line . is See , not a word gone and yet how fast The secret no man living may divine 1 48

— Fire flies

7g

To - NIGHT I watch the fire-flies rise And shine along the air S They float beneath the starry kies,

As mystical and fair, Above the hedge where dimly glows

The deep gold of the Persian rose .

I watch the fire -flie s drift and float

Each is a dreamy flame, - Star coloured each , a starry mote , Like stars not all the same

B ut whiter some, or faintly green , r O wannest blue was ever seen .

They cross and cross and disappear, And then again they glow

Still drifting faintly there and here,

Still crossing to and fro, As though in all their wandering w They wove a ide and shining thing . 1 5 0 FI R E -FLIES

fire - flies O , would I knew the weft You have the weaving of !

For, as I watch you move , bereft

Of thought or will or l ove , 0 w I fear, listless flames, you eave

The fates of men who strive and grieve .

w eb The of life , the weft of dreams, You weave it ceaselessly

A strange and filmy thing i t seems, And made in mystery Of wind and darkness threaded through

With light these heavens n ever knew .

O pale, mysterious, wandering fire ,

Born of the earth , alive

With the same breath that I respire, Who know and thin k and strive

You circle round me, stranger far Than any charm of any star

Ah me, as faint as you , as slight, As hopelessly remote w ho As you, still across the night

Innumerably float ,

Intangible as you , I see

The motives of our destiny .

For ah, no angel of the stars ,

No guardian of the soul , Stoops down beyond the heavenly bars

Our courses to control , But filled and nouri shed with our breath

Are the dim hands that weave our death . 1 5 1 FI R E - ELIES

They weave with many threads our

- A subtle tinted thing, So interwoven that non e control s His own imagining ; For every strand wi th other strands

They twine and bind with viewless hands .

They weave the future of the past Their mystic web is wrought

With dreams from which we woke at last, And many a secret thought ’ w e For still they weave , howe er strive, b - The w e new woven for none alive .

And still the fire -flies come and go Each is a dreamy flame Still palely drifting to and fro The very way they came

As though , across the dark they wove

Fate and the shining web thereof.

Yet, even were I sure of it, I would not lift a hand To break the threads that shine and a For, ah , I underst nd

Ruin , indeed, I well might leave b B ut a new w e could never weave .

1 5 2

T H E sun falls through the olive -trees

And shines upon the wall below, And lights the wall which cannot know

The Sunlight that it never sees . I lie and dream the Eternal Mind Rains down on me and fill s me full With secrets high and wonderful

And still my soul is deaf and blind .

j ustic e

T o M . ( . B )

Lord, what is Justice Say, Shall Man be j ust Shal l mortals strike a ray Out of the dust ? ”

One sage w as j ust : He spake Friend, thine is thine

Keep all thou hast, and tak e . Nothing is mine

1 54 G od in a H ea r t

N O CE, where the unentered Temple stood, at noon No sun-ray pierced the dim unwindowed aisle And all the flooding whiteness of the moon

Could only bathe the outer peristyle .

And as we passed w e praised the Temple front

“ B ut one went in vsii th careless feet he trod ’ The long-forgo tten pavement moss d and bl unt

- And found the altar of the unprayed to God .

He reached and lit the tapers of the shrine And let their radiance flood the vault obscure i B ut ah upon what ev l things to shine,

Blind, crawling, chill , discoloured, and impure .

0 B urn on , Light , burn clearer in the gloom, ’ illumin d And show the foulness of the room .

1 5 5 ’ Un aer tb e Tr ees

“Kw

I LAY ful l length n ear lonely trees Heart -full of Sighing silences So far as eyes coul d see all round

w as . There no life, no stir, no sound

I thought no more down i n the grass Of all that must be or that was a My weary br in forgot to ache, w as My heart still and did not break .

’ 80 close I lay to earth s large breast I could have dreamed myself at rest Only that then the grass must be d Above instea of u nder me .

Wherefore, I thought, should I regain My an x ious life that is so vain w Here ill I lie , forgetting strife,

- - Till death shall end this death in life . 0 Ah , no because , coward will ,

Thy desti ned wor k thou must fulfil ,

B ecause no soul , be it great or small , C an rise alone or lonely fall , 1 5 6

’ Tb e I aeal

T H E night is dark and warm and very still , Only the moon goes pallid and alon e

The moon and I the whol e wide heavens fill ,

And all the earth lies little , lost , un known .

I wal k along the byways of my Soul ,

Beyond the streets where all the world may go, Until at last I reach the hidden goal Built up in strength where only I may k now.

For in my Soul a temple have I made ,

Set on a height, divine and steep and far,

Nor often may I hope those floors to tread ,

Or reach the gates that glimmer like a star .

0 secret, inner shining of my dream , How cl ear thou risest o n my soul to -night

Forth wil l I fare and see k the heavenly beam,

And stand within the precinc ts of the light .

’ c urtain d And I will press beyond the door, And up the empty aisle where no one Sings

There wil l I fall before thee and adore, And feel the shadowy win nowi ng of thy wings . 1 5 8 T H E IDEAL

So will I reach thee, Spirit for I have known

Thy voice , and looked upon thy blinding eyes And well thou knowest the world to me is grown

One dimness whence thy dreamy beacons rise .

ask Nor I any hope nor any end, That thus for thee I dream al l day, all night B ut, like the moon along the Skies , I wend , Knowing no world below my borrowed light .

1 5 9 ’ A Classic L an as cape

02

T H I S wood might be some Grecian heritage x Of the antique world, this hoary ile wood

So broad the shade , so deep the solitude,

So grey the air where Oread fancies brood .

Beyond, the fields are tall with purpl e sage The sky bends downward like a purple sheet ’ - — A purple wind fill ed sail i the noonday heat

And past the river shine the fields of wheat .

x O tender wheat, O Starry sa ifrage , - s O deep red tulip , how the fields are fair o ff Far the moun tains pierce the quivering air,

- Ash coloured, mystical , remote , and bare .

How far they look , the Mountains of Mirage

Or northern Hills of Heaven , how far away I n fron t the long paulonia - blossoms sway

From leafless boughs across that dreamy grey . 0 world, how worthy of a golden age How might Theocritus have sung and found

The Oreads here , the Naiads gathering round , Their pallid locks still dripping to the ground 0 For me, world , thou art how mere a stage ,

Whereon the human soul must ac t alone ,

I n a dead language, with the plot un known , ha er s Nor l earn what pp when the play is done . 1é0

Tb e One Cer tain ty k s IG LY L HT I hold my life , wi th little dread

And little hope for what may spring therefrom , B ut live like one that builds a summer ’s home -u - Of branches on a dried p river bed , And takes no thought of frescoed bl ue and red

To pain t the walls, and plans no golden dome ,

Knowing the flood , when autumn rains are come , its Shall rol l ruining waters overhead .

And wherefore should I plant my ground and sow ? I re e k Since , though not of the day or hour,

The conqueror comes at last, the alien foe

Shall come to my defenceless place in power,

With force , with arms , wi th strenuous overthrow,

Taking the goods I gathered for his dower .

1 6 2 Pers onality (A SESTINA)

w ho s As one goes between high garden wall ,

Along a road that never has an end,

With still the emp ty way behind, in front , Which he must pace for evermore alone

So, even so, is Life to every soul , i Walled in w th barriers which no Love can break .

And yet, ah me how often would we break

Through fence and fold, and overleap the walls , To lin k ourselves to some beloved soul

Hearing her answering voice until the end, w a Going her chosen y, no more alone,

But happy comrades , seeing Heaven in front .

’ But, ah, the barrier s high and still my front I dash against the stones in vain , nor break

A passage through , but still remain alone . Sometimes I hear across high garden walls A voice the wind brings over, or an end Of song that sin ks like dew into my soul . 1 63 PERSONALITY

Since others sing, let me forget , my Soul , - How dreary long the road goes on in front, ’ A nd tow rd s how flat, inevitabl e an end .

Come, let me look for daisies , l et me break The gillyflow ers that shelter in the walls sad B ut, ah it is so to be alone

For ever, irremediably alone ,

Not only I or thou , but every soul , Each cased and fastened wi th invisible walls . Shall w e go mad with it or bear a front Of desperate courage doomed to fail and break Or trudge in sullen patience till the end

is Ah, hope of every heart, there an end An end when each shall be no more alone, B ut strong enough and bold enough to break This prisoning self and find that larger Soul (Neither of thee nor me) enthroned in front ’ Of Time, beyond the world s remotest walls

I trust the end I sing within my walls ,

Sing all alone , to bid some listening soul

Wait till the day break , watch for me in front

TUBE R OSES — Everything dies that lives everything dies ’ How shall we k eep the flower w e loy d so l ong ? 0 press to death the transient thing we prize , x Crush it, and Shut the eli ir in a song .

A song is neither li ve nor sweet nor white

It hath no heavenly blossom tall and pure ,

No fragranc e can it breathe for our delight,

It grows not, neither lives it may endure .

Sweet Tuberose , adieu you fade too fast m Only a drea , only a thought, can last .

’ Who d s tay to muse if Death could never wither ? Who dream a dream if Passion did not pass

B ut , once deceived, poor mortals, hasten hither ’ To watch the world in Fancy s magic glass .

0 Truly your city, men , hath no abiding

B uilt on the sand i t crumbles, as i t must

And as you build , above your praise and chiding,

The columns fall to crush you to the dust .

’ fashio n d B ut in the mirage of a dream,

Having nor life nor sense , a bubble of nought, The enchanted City of the Things that Seem

Keeps till the end of time the eternal Thought .

- Forswear to day, forswearing j oy and sorrow, w - 0 - Fors ear to day, man , and take to morrow.

1 66 Tfi e Ba r r ie r

9 7 LAST night I dreamed I stood once more Beneath our garden wall . saw I the willows bending grey,

The poplar springing tall .

0 paths where oft I pluc ked the rose, 0 the steepl e in sky, 0 k Common swelling dar ly green , How glad at heart was I

My hand I raised to lift the latch , 10 w as ! B ut , the gate gone a And all around , y, all around There ran a wall of stone

0 years when oft we pluck ed the rose, When oft we laughed and cried 0 Thou hast no gate, Youth , our Youth, When once w e Stand outside

1 67 ’ ’ R oaa L eaaing l Vow b ere

396

T H E road leading nowhere Is bright in the morn We troop it and foot it

By thic ket and thorn .

With fewer companions We pace it at even ; The road leading nowhere

Is pleasan t and even . But oh there’s an hour That is fatal and still ’Tis the hal t after noon

At the top of the hill .

’Tis the look of the road As it slips out of sight ’ Tis the flight of the day d And the read of the night .

1 6 8

Fair Gb osts

Ne

WH EN the e x treme of autumn whirls the oak - leaf from

the forest,

Till from the withered ling, The hardiest birds take wing 0 Courage, Heart there surges through this winter

thou abhorrest, T he Vision of the spring

When the oncoming years di spel the magic of our morning Till all the Past is shed With petals falling red ’ Pe rish d ill usions, hope defeated, passion turned to

scorning, Eternal friendship dead — ! Ah, in how many an hour of twilight, Soft they

wake and flutter, A nd hover round us yet, The ghosts of our regret n Evermore altered faces , names we ever hear or utter And nevermore forget 0 Rock , tormented forest , all thy branches torn and hoary In vain the tempest stings ’ The skies I watch are Spring s , Lovelier still and haloed with the soft poetic glory Of all remembered things 1 70 S ou ‘ven i r

V N as E E a garden , full of branch and blooth, Seen in a looki ng-glass appears more fair

With boughs suspended in a magic air,

More spacious and more radiant than the truth ,

So I remember thee , my happy youth,

And smile to look upon the days that were , o d As they had never t ld of oubt or care,

As I had never wept for grief or ruth .

So, were our spirits destined to endure,

- So, were the after life a promise sure ,

And not the moc king mirage of our death ,

Through all eternity might heaven appear

The still , the vast , the radiant souvenir

Of one unchanging moment known on earth .

1 71 Tb e Vision G

SOM ETIMES when I sit musing all alone

The sick diversity of human things ,

I nto my soul , I know not how, there springs

The vision of a world unlike our own .

0 Z stable ion , perfect, endless , one, Why banntest thou a soul that hath no wings ?

I look on thee as men on mirage springs ,

Knowing the desert bears but sand and stone .

Yet as a passing mirror in the street Flashes a glimpse of gardens out of range u - Thro gh some poor sic k room open to the heat,

So, in a world of doubt and death and change ,

The vision of eternity is sweet , n The visi on of eter ity is strange .

1 72

L iber ty

as

I R L BE TY, fiery Goddess , dangerous Saint God knows I worship thee no less than they Who fain would se t thee in the common w ay i To battl e at their sides w thout restraint ,

Redoubtabl e Amazon Who, never faint, Climb e st the barricades at break of day, - With tangled locks and blood besmirched array, Thy torch low-smoking through the carnage taint

B ut I would se t thee in a golden shrine

Above the enraptured eyes of dreaming men ,

Where thou shouldst reign immutable , divin e , A hope to all generations and a sign

- Slow guiding to the stars, through quag and fen , The scions of thine aye - unvanquished line

1 74 Ver itatem D il ex i

— (I n M emor iam E rnest R ena n)

R H T UT is an Idol , spake the Christian sage . Thou shalt not w orship Truth divorced from

Love . Truth is but God ’ s reflection Look above t So Pascal wrote , and s ill we muse the page .

“ v Truth is di ine , said Plato, but on high

She dwells , and few may be her ministers , For Truth is sad and lonely and divers e Heal thou the weakling with a generous lie

B ut thou in Truth d elighted s t Thou of soul

- As subtle shimmering as the rainbow mist ,

And still in all her service didst persist .

For no one truth thou lovedst , but the Whol e .

l 75 Tabing Possession

fig: N WH E , in the wastes of old , the Arabian Sheikh

Beheld a sudden peace amid the sands ,

With springing waters and green pasture lands, - Fringed with the waving palm and cactus spike ,

Think ye he stayed to fashion fence or dyke Nay for he called into his hollowed hands Till all his hounds came trooping swift in bands

- - Sheep dog and wolf hound, terrier, c ur, and tyk e ,

They bayed with deep, full voices on the calm . Then he So far as the last echoes die

The land is mine , pasture and spring and pal m

So men who watch afar the H Ope Divine Rally a pac k of sectaries and cry O Behold the Land of Promise urs, not thine

VI SH T A SPA

He went his palace -terraces to win “ Farewell I cast me to the quiet plain . He would have leapt but 10 a voice spake plain sin Mortal thy Master saith thou shalt not .

’ un uess d Z And at his side , g , oroaster trod 0 O sudden peace of heart , deep delight ’ Of souls outgrown religion s earlier rite , thirstin ' fo r Yet spent and g the springs of God , When 10 ! at last the Prophet deigns appear ’ Vishtas a rei n d p g in rapture many a year .

1 78 Z en o

fi g

T H E Greeks narrate that Z eno Cypriote - aa s Ger B l ben Manas eh , Lord of Truth

Twi xt Citium and Athens, in his youth

Trading in Tyrian purple , plied his boat .

Still in the Porch and Grove the Athenians quote o The l ean Ph enician merchant, swart, uncouth , ’ Who Stopped to read beside the copyist s booth , And l eft his cargo twenty years afloat

w as He the first who said to Man Renounce . Follow thy soul thou hast no other claim ’ And yield to Fate as lambs to the eagle s pounce .

s Do right . Fear nothing, deeming all the ame .

Yet not for that we heap his tomb with crowns . w as B ut, Duty, he first to breathe thy name

1 79 Sacr ifice

I - D O PAT ENT EYE and tender saint ,

Too far from thee I stand, With vain desires perplex ed and faint ;

Reach out thy helping hand . is No fire on the holy hill , No voice on Sinai now

B ut , in our gloom and darkness still

Abiding, help me thou .

They move on whom thy light is shed Through lives of larger scope For them beneath the false and dead

There stirs a quickening hope . So on some gusty morn we mark

The reddening tops of trees , And hear in carols of the lark T hes e sian p promises .

1 80

Unum est N ecessar ium

3 ~

I THOUGHT that I was ravished to a height Whence earth w as lost with all I onc e had known ; I ’ saw the stars flash dwindling thro the night , Li ke sparklets from a blac kening yule - log thrown ; And nothing else remained of all that is

Save the essential life of souls alone .

B ehold ! Li ke flowers of light against the abyss — I watch ed them move and shine how soft and clear !

With trailing rays of light , with streams of bliss, With haloes of a heavenly atmosphere

Like flowers at dusk , when first the froth and bloom Of blond immense Chrysanthemums appear ’ To shake a loose , fresh aureol e o er the gloom (If human sense and common Vision might Divine the splendours of that Upper Room f Where motion , j oy, and li e are one with light)

Like flowers made meteors , then , or meteors flowers, - The radiant spirits circled holy bright .

10 And I heard a voice from Heaven , not ours , “ ” This is the Race, it cried, this is the Race

Of Radiating Souls, the large in heart, And where they circl e is a holy place 1 8 2 UNUM EST NECESSARIUM

0 az Yet not of them, G er, k now thou art Lo ok further Then with an x ious sight astrain l pierced the depth of space from part to part, h And lo adrift as leaves t at eddy in vain ,

I watched the vacant, vagran t, aimless dance Of Souls concentred in their bliss or pain b Unneigh oured souls, the drift of time and c hance .

0 w bright, unthrifty stars that glo and spend n n Your radiance unregarding, whe my gla c e

Fell from the fulgence where your orbits trend, w ho So far, I felt as men smile in dreams

And wake, at rainy dawn , wi thout a friend o So bare they lo ked, bereft of all their beams Poor spheres that trail their cloudy mantles dim

Where throb and fret a few faint feverish gleams . ” V Look , said the oice, for thou art such an one Many are ye the uncentred Souls are fe w A

I gazed and as we used to fix the sun ’ In London thro the fogs our valleys knew,

B eneath their shrouds I saw these too were bright . w B e thankful then acclaimed the Voice ane ,

Adore , and learn that all men love the Light f And, as the motion of their mu fled fires s Grew more di tinct to mine undazzl ed sight ,

- I half forgot those glad and gracious quires,

In pity of their dearth who dream and yearn ,

Pent up and shrouded in their lone desires .

b Aye , even as plants that grow i n cham ers turn

Their twisted branches towards the window spac e, s And langui h for the daylight they discern, So longed these spirits for the Light of Grace And aye their pass ionate yearning would attract - Some beam within their cloudy dwelling place , 1 8 3 UNUM EST NECESSARIUM

’ Some dewy star -beam to their parc h d contac t

B ut, even as dew or raindrop , when they fall

Upon the insatiate earth , are changed in the act , Cease to be water, and no more at all Are either d ew or rain - but only mire So the benignant rays of Heaven w ould pall And faint into a maze of misty fire At touch of these concentred spirits aye

Locked in their long ungenerous desire .

Thus, shrouded each alone , nor far nor nigh w as Their shine shed , nor shared by any mate

Secret and still each burned, a separate I,

Lost in no general glory , penetrate sk With no sweet mutual marvels of the y, s And bitter isolation w a their state .

Unj ust Eternity I mourned aghast . n O dread, uncha ging, predetermined Fate, Shall evermore the Future ape the Past ? ”

V . Thou seest nor Past nor Future , cried the oice is Such the life thou leadest, such thou wast,

Art , shal t be such thy bent is and thy choice, 0 - centre seeking Soul that cannot love ,

Nor radiate , nor relinquish, nor rej oice w ho Know, they are wise squander Look above

And 10 a beam of their transcendent bliss

Who, ever giving, ever losing, move - In self abandoned bounty through the abyss,

Pierced to my soul with so divine a dart , I swooned with pain , I wakened to a kiss e ” Bless d, I sang, are ye the large i n heart Irradiate with the light in alien eyes

For ye have chosen indeed the brighter part , ” And where ye circle is our Paradise .

1 84

CALAIS B EACON

Those pale and filmy rays that reach to mariners , lost in the night, A hOp e of dawn and a light How soft and vague they lie along the darkness ’ shrouding o er,

The dim sea and the shore . many fall in vain across the untenanted marshes to die, And few where sailors cry n though the moo go out in clouds, and all of the stars grow wan , h T eir paleness shineth on.

O souls, that save a world by night , ye too are no rays

of the noon , No glory and flood of the moon B ut pal e and tender -Shining things as yon faint beacon r a ar, Whiter than any star .

No planet names that all may tell , no meteor radianc e

and glow,

For a wondering world to know .

You shine as pale and soft as that, you pierce the

stormy night , And know not of your light ! Tb e G o e cc or t o St sp l a ding . Peter

To - M o R R o w or in twenty centuries The sudden fal ling Open of a lid On some grey tomb beside the Pyramid

May bring the First Evangel to our eyes .

who That day, knows with what aghast surprise

Our priests Shall touch the very deeds He did,

And learn the tru th so many ages hid, s And find, perchance , the Chri t did never rise . What then Shall al l our faith be accounted vain Nothing be left of all our nights of prayer ?

Nothing of all the scruples , all the tears Of endless generations ’ endless years ?

Take heart Be sure the fruits of these remain . Hark to the Inner Witness Chri s t is there

1 87 A Contr oversy

LET us no more dispute of Heaven and Hell How should we know what none hath ever seen We ’ ll watch instead the same sweet miracle

That every April work in wood and green .

The apples in our orchard are a bower

- Of budding bright green leaf and pearly flower, No two alike of all the myriad blossom ’ —flushin Some faintly g as a maiden s bosom , d as Some purse in hardy pin k , and some pale s As whitening tars above the twilit val e .

If sometimes from His balcony on high,

The Lord of all the stars , with musing eye , d Look down upon this orchard of our worl , Methinks he marks as blossom dewy -pearled - Sprung from the branches of the self same tree , Our varying faiths—and all the creeds there be f c Indi ferently radiant , chiefly lear For that ripe harvest of the later year Which promises a winter - wealth of mead To fill the goblet up and brim the bowl H I S wine of generous thought and ample deed Sprung from the blossom of a perfec t soul . 1 88

ANTIPHON T o THE HOLY SPI R IT

M en .

The mass of unborn matter knew Thee , And 10 the Splendid silent s un Sprang out to be a witness to Thee w ho Who art the All , art the One The airy plants unseen that flourish s Their floating strands of filmy ro e ,

Too small for Sight, are Thine to nourish For Thou art all that breathes and grows .

Thou art the ripening of the fallows , The swelling of the buds in rain Thou art the j oy of birth that hallows The s ending of the flesh in twain 0 0 v Life, Love, how undi ided ’ b ro o d e st Thou o er this world of Thine ,

Obscure and strange , yet surely guided To reach a distant end divine I

M en. We know Thee in the doubt and terror That reels before the world we see We knew Thee in the faiths of error

We know Thee most who most are free . This phantom of the world around Thee

Is vast, divine, but not the whole w e We worship Thee , and have found Thee In all that satisfies the soul

W m M en and o en.

w e how H ow shall serve , shall we own Thee, O breath of Love and Life and Thought ? w ho ? How shall we praise , are not shown Thee w e w ho ? How Shall serve , are as nought

Yet, though Thy worlds maintain unbroken

The silence of their awful round ,

A voice within our souls hath spoken ,

And w e who seek have more than found . 1 9 0 Poem s and

T H E W1 Do w

is - His tomb all her garden plot ,

And rai n or sunshine find her there . — She plants her bl ue forget -me not With hands but half unclasped from Her loving mercies overbrim O ’ er all the tombs that neighbour him On each she sets a dewy -pearled Sweet pin k or fernl e t fresh - u ncurled She pl ucks the withering Violets And here if anywhere forgets

The emptiness of all the world .

Here , where she used to sob for hours, Her deep fidelity unchanged

Hath found a cal m that is not ours , x A peac e e alted and estranged . Here i n the long light summer weather She brings the books they chose together And reads the verse he liked the most A nd as here, as softly a ghost, Comes gliding through the winter gloom To say her ayer beside the tomb she 10523 Of him and n ever lost .

1 94 ’ H elen in tb e Wooa

L P - I E T the yew tree shadow, thrown

Slantwise across the graves, and grown

So long I knew the day waxed late , And opened wide the churchyard gate ; Paused there for from the church behind

Voices of women thrilled the wind , And organ music rose and rang

I heard the village choir that sang .

B ut I, that had no heart for song,

Sighed, shut the gate, and went along - The lane (where rows of elms, wind vexed, Nodded fantastic heads perple x ed ’ diml b o d ed At winter s y woes) ,

Until the trees grew thic k and close .

The rain was over, but the copse - Shook down at whiles some after drops , ’ ’ Tho sunshine , thro wet branches seen ,

Flic kered in living flakes of green ,

- And, where below ground ivy grew,

A fallen heaven lay darkly blue .

w as So soon the tempest scarce done, And all the w et world sang and shone More lovely yet I thin k the place Found but in grief an added grace While I— the tears fell and I sighed

It was a year sinc e Helen died . ‘9 5 HELEN IN TH E WOO D

At last I raised mine eyes . B ehold , ’ The branches green , the brac ken s gold

Gained a new meaning in my sight,

That found the centre of their light . For down the dim wood - arches came Was it a star ? Was it a flame

No ; there my Helen went, all white .

as J ust of old , above the large

Sweet eyes, the hair made golden marge ’ ’ w e t Thro tangled fern , thro grass still , Her feet went firmly on —and yet ’ w as I knew, altho no word said,

She did not live , she was not dead .

Ah, having loved we cannot lose The deepest grave can ne ’er refuse

The phantom of the Past, the ghost Of all we loved and owned and lost !

So once , one moment, Helen dear,

I saw thee still beside me here .

I praised the old familiar grace . she She paused, looked me in the face, Smiled —once her smile that understood , Passed and how lonely w as the wood

I trod the w ay I wen t before ’ I passed the church s open door . The hymn went pealing up the s ky 0 ho w love , how deep broad how high

And now the engine slac kens pac e And staggers up the mountain side And now the depths of night divide

And l et a lighter darkness through ,

A tangible , dim smoke of blue

That lights the world, and is not Light

B efore the dawn , beyond the night .

The vapour clings about the grass

And makes its greenness very green , Through it the tallest pine - tops pass

Into the night, and are not seen .

A little wind begins to stir,

The haze grows colourless and bright,

Thicker and darker springs the fir,

The train swings slowly up the height, Each mil e more Slowly swings the train ,

B efore the mountains, past the plain .

And through the light that is not day I feel her now as there she lay

Close in my arms, and still asleep so c so Close in my arms, lear, dear

I hold her close, and warm, and near,

Who sleeps where it is cold and deep .

That is my boasted memory — That, the impression of a mood , f E fects of light on grass and wood, see Such things as I shall often .

B ut Her God, I may try in vain , I shall n ever see her again

She will never say one new word,

Scarce echo one I often heard . Even in dreams sh e is not quite here

Flitting, escaping still . I fear

Her voice will go, her face be bl urred

Wholly, as long year follows year . 1 9 8 Often enough I thin k I have got

The turn of her head and neck , but not — The face never the face that Speaks .

My mind goes seeking, and seeks and seeks .

Sometimes, indeed, I feel her at hand , o S metimes feel sure She will understand, If only I do not look or thin k O ut of an empty cup I drin k at a ’ Down Lung Arno agai n to -day I went alone the self- same way I wal ked with her and heard her tell she s s What would do when h e w a well . All else the same Upon the hil l White Samminiat o watching still

Among its pointing cypresses .

And that long, farthest Apennine Stil l lifts a dusky, reddish lin e I Against the bl ue . How warm it is And every tower and every bridge Stands crisp and sharp in the brilliant air Only along the mountain ridge And on the hil l - spurs everywhere T h e olives are a smoke of bl ue, Until upon the topmost height They pale into a li vi d white

Against the intense, c lear, salien t hue ’ - Of that mid heaven s azure light .

This , for one day, my darling knew.

s We meant to rest here , pas ing through . H ow pleased She w as with everything B ut most that winter was away

So soon , and birds began to sing ;

For all the streets were full of flowers, The sky so bl ue above the towers as - Just such a day it is to day,

When in the sun it feels like May . I 99 w So here I pace here the sun is warm ,

With no light weight dragging my arm , Here in the sun we hoped would save

Oh , sunny portal of the grave , I Florenc e, how well know your tric k Lay all the walls with sunshine thic k

As paint put colours in the air, Strange southern trees upon your slopes ; And make your streets at Christmas fair With flourish of roses ; fill with hopes

And wonder all who gaze on you , Loveliest town earth ever knew

Then , presto take them unaware With a blast from an open grave behind — The icy blast of the wind a knife ’ ’ Thrust in one s bac k to take one s life . ’ x Oh, tis an e cel lent , cunning snare, For the flowers grow on and do not mind

(Who sees , if the petals be thickened and poc ked x And the Olive , and cypresses , and ile grow on .

It is only the confiden t heart that is mocked, It is only the delicate life that is gone

How I hate it , all this mask Those beggars really seem to bask In this moc k sunshine even I

Turn giddy in the blinding light . — It is all a pretence it is all a lie Have I not seen my darling die

- Those moc king, leering, thin faced apes,

Who twang their sharp guitars al l night,

They are but thin unreal shapes , - w The figures of a mirage Sho . They do not really live, I know

B ut once I heard them swear and fight,

By God , the Assassin then they cried .

he off . she . T mask fell then Yes, died ZOO

’ T H E C HILDREN S ANGEL

B ut when w e clasped our treasure in our hold

Less perfect , like all treasure, being attained

Behold, below the lovely eyes , behold w as About the mouth, the radiant face stained ! True quoth the Vendor, yet if words or blows

Were ought avail , or children less a pest, Those lips and eyes would blossom like the rose !

The children never cared to kiss the rest .

B ut every day, all weathers , wet or fine ,

Since first I hung your Angel at the door, e ‘ Each bless d morning, on the strok e of nine , - And every week day evening after four,

- The children from the school house troop in bands , - Rush down the street their helter skelter run ,

Snatc h at your Angel with their chubby hands,

And laugh and leap to kiss it one by one .

And would you thin k they minded, if I played My lash about their nec ks ? Who cares ? Not they !

For impudent, delighted, unafraid,

They laugh their riotous laugh and rush away .

The M erchant paused . We looked each in the fac e

The other, bade our fancy one farewell

Nay, keep your Angel in i ts olden place , “ We cried , good friend it is not yours to sell .

? What, did you think us basest of the earth and i That we, grown old, heartsic k w th the truth ,

Should rob the littl e children of their mirth, ’ And take the children s Angel from their youth .

202 SI R E LD R I C rod e by field and fen

To reach the haunts of heathen men . About the dusk he came into

A wood of birchen grey, And on the other Side he kne w

The heathen country lay .

s Tis but a night (he ang) to ride , A nd Christ shall reach the other side The moon cam’e peering thro ’ the trees

And found him undismayed , For still he sang his litanies

And as he rode he prayed .

as He looked young, as pure and glad

As ever looked Sir Galahad .

About the middle of the night

He came upon the brink , Of running waters cool and white

And lighted there to drink . And as he knelt a hidden foe C so rept from behind and smote him . 203 S I R E L D R I C

He turned he felt his heart’ s blood run He sought his enemy

And shall I l eave my deeds undone , And die for such as thee

w as And since a Knight either man ,

They wrestled till the dawn began .

Then in the dim and rustling place

Amid the thyme and dew, E ldric Sir deal t the Stroke of grace , a- And san k dyi ng too ,

And thought upon that other’s plight w as Who not sure of Heaven that night . He dipped his fingers in his breast He sought in vain to rise

He leaned across his foe at rest,

And murmured, I baptize

When 10 the sun broke overhead Himse There, at his side , lf lay dead

204

T H E GARDENER O P SINOPE

The peopl e loved him . B ut the hearts

Of tyrants have no sense of love ,

Their natures keep no pulse thereof. Yet have they passions in their blood

Sharp fears , suspicion , and the smarts

Of pride misprised, and subtl e darts

Of envy, petty malices, And mean revenges born of these That breed and breed, a deadly brood .

So when it chanced the governor

Of all those Paphlagonian lands , Came once along the windy Shore

To bless some Temple in the sands , And heard how Phocas took his c ase

At home on feasts and holidays .

Heeding no gods or goddesses, A s giving neither blame or praise To priest or vestal—but instead

Worked in his garden , prayed , or read, th e Tended the sick , buried dead,

And , though he never sacrificed

To any god in heaven or hell , Made all his life acceptabl e

To one dead man , a criminal , Christ

The governor, hearing of these things , Hated this gardener for a life With love and prayer for soaring wings , And scented through with innocent flowers , Was sore rebuke to his o w n hours

With cunning, l ust and malice rife . h So, having found w ere Phocas dwel t, ’ The lowliest of Christ s followers, d He hired two privy mur erers, Who often in such times as these Have rid him of his enemies

And , having bade them go, he felt r Me ry, and supped and slept at ease . 206 T H E GARDENER OF SINOPE

The two hired murderers went their w ay

That night, towards the quiet place

Where Phocas dwelt . Yet had not they

Gone half a furlong from the gate,

Along the woody, desolate,

Wild country, when the open space

Grew thic k with storm and white with hail ,

Rai n that the wind rent as a veil , r And lightning, till the thunder d owned

Their voices , crying as they found s e The flooding a at their feet . Aghast

They stumbled, harried by the blast,

Torn by the hail , half blind with fire , Weary with b afll ing waves that higher

And colder crept at their knees . And still

The storm raged on and did not tire,

The storm raged on and knew no law .

saw At last , half dead wi th fear, they ' ofl Far , dim shining on the hill , w as - A light that no levin light, Steadier far and far less bright

And, carrying it, an ancient man

Walked slowly towards them . As he came

The spen t storm slac kened, and the flame “ ’ Z Faded . Tis eus, our guardian

Said one the other cried, All hail ,

Poseidon , ruler of seas B ut he d They spoke to merely smile , and said

Half Sighing, Much these gods avail Come to my house , for verily a Ye have great need of rest and bre d . i And , turning up the hil l w th them, He led them through a pleasant field

Of yellowing corn , until they came To a wide garden full of grass

And flowering shrubs, and trees that yield

Sweet fruit for eating, and a plot Of s ummer flowers among them w as 207 T H E GARDENER O P SINOPE

Where , past the garden , stood a cot Of wattles , with a fountain nigh

And, entering in , the weary men

Sank down in anguish , like to die .

B ut Phocas spread fresh rushes then

And let them on the rushes lie , And gave them bread and fruit to eat i With w ne for drinking, clear and sweet .

And when at last they san k to sleep ,

B uried in Sl umber sound and deep, The gardener rose and left the house - And stood beneath his apple trees , And watched the planets in the boughs

Like heavenly fruit , and felt the breeze Breathe on him somewhere out of sight

The thyme smelt, where his slow feet trod Along the grass ; all round the night

Compassed him like the love of God .

Then Phocas slept not , but he dreamed . All round him was a stir of w ings And raiment and soft feet it seemed A shine and music of heavenly things i A light of faces, a shimmer of ha r, And heavenly maidens round him there .

Dorothy, crowned wi th roses, stooped To pluck a rose from his red rose tree

- White rose Cecily, where there drooped

A snowy rosebud , tenderly

Laid it inside her music book . Then Agnes took an olive bough - And bound it crown wise round her brow, While Margaret all the rest forsook

For daisies in the grass to look . Our Lady Mary herself came down To gather lilies for a crown And sen t her angel -messenger w as Where Phocas, all bewildered, . 208

T H E GARDENER OP SINOPE

They, being aroused, fell to and eat Amai n and dran k right thirstily The rustic feast before them s e t

And Phocas went and brought them fruit,

Honey, and cakes of wheat to boot .

And , when at last their feasting ends, “ as k He saith I fain would ye , friends, What errand took ye on the road That only l eads to my abode The younger guest laughed out Not you w e Not to seek such as you came, ’ B ut some foul Christian- what s his name May Charon take him and his crew

w e Nay, friend (the elder said) , bore A message from the governor ? ” To one call ed Phocas . Know ye him

Then before Phocas day grew dim And Death came su rging in his ears Because the worst of all his fears

Grew plain before him . Quietly He rose and answered I am he

Z By eus , the god of strangers , then , Shouted the younger of the men , I Get henc e , and quickly, I pray you , fly

The elder said What, overbold, Thou knowest well that thou and I M ust answer for him ? Let him die is Better he than us , for he old

Whereat the younger said, Outside w e Last night in the cold had surely died, us B ut that this gardener succoured . ” I will not slay him . Yet for us (The elder spake) “ the dreadful night And cruel storm and lightning bright ’ ” Were safer than our rul er s hate . 21 0 T H E GARDENER O E SINOPE

“ Here Phocas answered, Do not wait,

But make an end, and quickly . I ’ Have God s sure warrant I shall die .

Slay me and fear not . Know that death Gives all life only promise th

No Christian fears to die . B ut this I ask you lay me in the grave - Outside, where the apple orchard is .

Now make an end I pardon you .

O Christ, my Saviour, I pray Thee , save ” These men that know not what they do . Then Phocas led them to the shade

Of apple boughs, and on the sward

Awhile he knelt . The younger prayed w And ept the elder drew his sword,

Struck at the reverent , bowed head

Once, twic e, and Phocas lay there dead .

One brought bac k the bloody sword, ’ T o w claimed a murderer s reward .

l yatz i Scb u l tb eiss

Toss,

u tz i S u he iss m e ie v M s i c o ses her if s o f t nce an d [J ch lt , a d al y t , l g t ra vis io n be u se in mo me n o f n e she ef uses to for som e , ca a t a g r r pray turbu le nt k nights ]

T H E gift of God was mine I lost

For aye the gift of Pentecost .

I never knew why God bestowed On me the vision and the load B ut what He wills I have no will

To question , blindly following still The hand that even from my birth Hath shown me Heaven , forbidding Earth . I w as a child when first I dre w

In sight of God a subtle , new, Faint happiness had drawn about

My soul , and shut the whole earth out .

Yet I w as sick . I lay in bed So weak I could not lift my head So weak , and yet so quite at rest, Pillowed upon my Saviour ’ s breast I smiled and suddenly I fel t Great wings encompass me , and dwelt 21 2

JUTz r SCHULTH EISS

All , for some other girl to find she w h o And loves me everywhere,

My mother, whom I often kissed In absenc e with vain lips that missed

My mother more than God above .

M uch bound was I with earthly love .

So Slight my strength, I never could Have freed myself from servitude . saw B ut He who loves us my pain ,

And w ith on e blow struc k free my chain .

Weeping I knelt within the gloom

One evening in my convent room ,

Trying with all my heart to pray, And sobbing that my thoughts would stray When suddenly again I fel t The unearthly light and rest I dwel t

- Rapt in mid heaven the whole night through ,

And through my cell the angels flew,

The angels sang, the angels shone .

The Saints in glory , one by one , Floated to God and under Him

Circled the shining Seraphim .

N ow from that day my heart was free ’ And I w as God s then gradually

The convent learned the solemn truth, And they were glad because my youth Was pleasing in the sight of Him

Who filled my spirit to the brim . They wrote my visions down and made

A treasure of the words I said . And far and wide the news w as spread a That I by God w s visited . ’ Then many sought our convent s door, And lands and dower began to pour With blessings on our house for thus

Men praised the Lord w ho favoured us . 2 1 4 JUT Z I SCHULTHEISS

For seven long years the gift was mine , I often saw the angels shine Suddenly down the cloister ’ s dark Deserted length at night and oft At the high mass I seemed to mark

A stranger music , high and soft,

That swam about the heavenly Cup, And caught our ruder voices up

And often , nay, indeed at will , I would lie bac k and let the still Cold trance creep over me— and see

Mary and all the Saints flash by,

Till only God was left and I .

The gift of God w as mine I lost

For aye the gift of Pentecost .

so Once, possessed with God, I stood i - o In prayer w thin the apple w od ,

When some one softly called my name ,

And shattered all my happy mood .

Towards me an ancient Sister came , “ ii tz i Quic k , J , to the hall She cried ;

And swiftly after her I hied, c And swiftly rea hed the convent hall , Now ful l of struggl e and loud with brawl

For twenty roistering knights - at-arms Z ’ All bound for urich s tournament, ’ Had craved at noon the conven t s alms , w e And though fasted, it being Lent , w e No less gave them food enew, In the great barn without the gate Becau s e they were so rough a crew i Yet, hav ng feasted long and late , They stormed at last the postern door And sac ked the buttery for more Then one cried “ Nassau Straightway as Hapsburg The battle w begun . 21 5 JUT Z I SCHULTH EISS

So spake the Sister, saying Pray That Christ forgive their Sins to-day

B ut I looked still before me where

The unseemly blows and clamour were , ff And cold my heart grew, sti and cold ,

For I had prayed so much of old, -at - So vainly for these knights arms , Who filled the country with alarms

Too often had I prayed in vain , Too often pu t myself in pain

For these irreverent, brawling, rough , And godless k nights—I had prayed enough

Let God, I cried, do all He please

I pray no more for such as these .

Then swift I turned and fled , as though sin I fled from , and strife , and woe,

Who fled from God, and from His grace . Nor stayed I till I reached the place

Where I had prayed an hour ago .

I stood again beneath the shade The flowering apple -orchard made as The grass was still tall and green ,

As fresh as ever it had been . I heard the littl e rabbits rush As swiftly through the wood the thrush - Was Singing Still the self same song, Yet Something there w as changed and wrong . Or through the grass or through my heart

Some deadly thing had passed athwart, And left behind a blighting trac k a For the old peace comes never b c k . The gift of God was mine I lost

For aye the gift of Pentecost,

2 1 6

’ Constan c e ana M artu ccio

A ter B ort accio ( f . )

0 V LO E , that steepest all our years

In sorrow, making present bliss

Bitter with recoll ected tears , Surely even death thy guerdon is di e B ut ah, could parting lovers ,

They would not mourn , they would not sigh,

Not death they fear, but dread the parting kiss .

0 b athest Love , that all our dreams

In glory, since apart, afar, The phantom of the loved one seems More real than men and women are

O Love , that when our blood runs chill Floods all the heart with memory still

- - Sweet bitter Love, be still our guiding star

w w o e I praise thee, hile I mourn the

Of Constance, beautiful and good, M art uc c io Of Constance and ,

Twin lovers since their babyhood . Alas for either breaking heart The day is come when lovers part

For so decrees a father cold and shrewd . 21 8 CONSTANCE AND M A RT U CCI O

And they must part To Barbary M artuc c io With freighted ships ,

To win what treasure there may be ,

To fight and spoil the paynim foe , ’ To half- forget his lady s eyes trafli c In of rare merchandise , While she remains and waits— ’ Tis harder

M art u c c io . Take comfort , says Think what delight Shall ours be soon

When I return , as now I go A n d is not Love so large a boon That lovers losing happiness so Let slip a thing vastly less, As men in sunlight think not on the moon

He ceased . With grief he dared not tell . “ He called her Love , he called her Bride ,

Gave one long kiss , one brief farewell She fell against the fountain - side

And lay awhil e there , moaning low, M artuc c io M artuc c io Ah,

With passionate eyes that weep not , strained and wide .

And all the days and half the nights

- She sat upon the fountain Stair, Till brooding on her lost delights

Made loneliness grow lonelier there . If other maidens came her way

They ceased their song and hushed their play, i And w th bowed heads went on and prayed for her .

Until a year had passed and fled . The world again in flower with spring

Made even Constance raise her head, Made even Constance smile and sing And in that May there came a man - w an Weary and travel worn and ,

As one returned from perilous wandering. 2 1 9 CONSTANCE AND M A RTU CCI O

- Came underneath the myrtle trees, Saw Co n stance by the fountain stand

With lilies reaching to her knees, set With roses on either hand . Abou t her knees the lilies rise Like starry flowers look her eyes S She stands like pring and smiles upon the land . He stayed awhile and looked at her With such sad meaning in his face It seemed as though he could not bear

To ruin all her tender grace .

Then in his hand he took a ring, And sighed awhile to hear her sing f o r Come back , my Love, come home , Spring here

sh e He sighed, and kneeling where stood,

Said, Lady, I have news to tell Now Mary grant thy news be good - Said Constan ce, white as lily bell . am I a sailor, lady dear, I t w as my captain sent me here ’ M artuc c io o he s G mito . Pray Heaven

- Lady, the spring to day is fair, ’ But it must know a winter s blight .

Lady, the lilies that you wear Will wither long before the night What Came you from so far away To tell me it is Spring to -day Tell what you dare not tell Kill me outright

Constance, my lord is very ill . ” “ she Ah , Heaven , cried , my love is dead

I love him said she , calm and Still . Have you no word from his deathbed ?

At the last hour this ring he gave,

Saying something, but a whelming wave ” Drowned it and him , and all but me, he said . 220

CONSTANCE AND M A R T U CC I O Until where thorns once caught her feet

Thin rushes bent, and at the noise

The timid lizards made retreat ,

And wild duck rose , fearing decoys

She looked, and l o the trees were gone

And overhead the white moon shone, sea And wet the earth shone , that the destroys .

She followed where the waters led , ’ (Grown wide and shallow) o er the sands . The north -wind whistled round her head

And clasped her close with ai ry hands, Fain to forget the drowning cries ’ Of sailors and their widows sighs, its And caught her hair and loosed it from bands .

At last, behold on either Side

And all before her waters were ,

White waters desolate and wide, rou hlier And here the wind blew g . She leant against a tall blac k stak e —s Of driftwood uch as fishers make ,

To keep their boats safe when they are not there .

She kissed her ring and looking down , se e She wept such Shallow waves to , So shallow that they could not drown H ow Shall I die and come to thee, My lost M artuc c io she cried . And then a twisted rope she spied b oatl et That held to a stake some ou t at sea . She strained upon it with her hands That left red stains where they had stayed

Her feet go sinking through the sands , And through the out -drifting waters wade she She reached the boat , slipt the rope,

And, taking leave of life and hope, and and Lay down upon the planks, dreamed, prayed . 222 CONSTANCE AND M A RT U CCI O

’ And as she gan to pray and weep sea A quiet fell on and Sky,

The rough waves cradled her to sleep , - The north wind sang her l ullaby, And all the stars came out to see she That was Sleeping peacefully,

Who slept all night, all day, until the night grew nigh .

a >1<

At morning Prince M artuc c io Looked out across the southern sea ’ That shipw re c k d him a year ago w ho w as He once our enemy, n ow Who is grown beloved and great ,

Who saved the King and saved the State,

Who reigns the proudest prince in Barbary .

And he is great and young and rich,

Yet often by the sea he stands, As though his straining eyes would reach

The secrets of imagined lands . saw And thus he a little craft , And watched the gentle breezes waft It Slowly on towards the Moorish sands .

‘ n o w ater is As wanderers where ,

With blackened tongue and aching throat ,

- Finding a fruit tree, full of bliss d esiréd Strip it of its load, ask And not, is it good or bad Or poison - sweet to send men mad M artuc c io So yearned towards the little boat .

i And know ng not wherefore he yearned, hi s He watched it while it came way, A nd felt not how the hot sun burned Nor any drenching of the Spray . ’ - w as At last , when noon day heat o er

The boat struck sharp against the shore, c io — M artuc stept therein where something lay . 223 CONSTANCE AND M A R T U C C I O

A mantle, first , of faded red ,

- And then a robe of laurel green , Then a beloved brown—rippl ed head -flu shed With sleep face the curls between , C ” onstanc e , he cried , Constance awake How came you hither —for my sake ? Or has our year-long parting never been

She opened wide her happy eyes That shone so strangely sweet and bright s She said We are in Paradi e, w as s e I too lost at alast night, ’ ? o u What did you thin k when y were drown d , I could stay happy on dry ground ’ No, no, I came to you , my heart s delight .

Then all her pas sion overcame ’ w ho A maid knew no maiden s art, ’ And calling on M artu c c io s name

She threw herself upon his heart . B ut seeing how her lover smiled

She grew to earth right reconciled ,

And nevermore did these true lovers part .

For in the palace of the King

They two were wed in Barbary, And plighted wi th the self-same ring sea That with both lovers crost the , And crost at last with both together When in the calmest summer weather

They too set sail for home and Sicily .

224

PH I LU M E NE T o ARISTIDES And in the solitary dark I moan so b For weariness, and all night alon e fo r x Vain prayers help, and toss in ve ed unrest . And find no way to endure, for none is best

Then , suddenly, a spirit makes i t plain That through my fever thou art free of pain

Thou Sleepest safe , my friend I bear for thee

What is no anguish , nay, but j oy for me A a — y, j oy ; y, glee such laughter in me wakes That oftentime my swelling throat nigh breaks ! Ah, then no more I sorrow Till at last - fi t My fever and thy relief be past,

When all my soul protests, and prays in vain

My ending torture may begin again .

Likewise, when I make merry among my friends

In song or l aughter, soon my pleasure ends .

My soul is shaken with a storm of fears, x An an ious presage strains mine eyes to tears, I faint and yearn wi th unexplained regret

For some prenatal blessing I forget .

Unless indeed so close our natures be ,

Thy pain untold , unknown , is pain to me .

So by thy j oy of life , unknown , untold,

I , in the shadow of death , shall be consoled

now e Lo , i t wer no marvellous thing, should I , o w n For mine sak e, long in thy stead to die . For am not 1 the prey of all thy pains Doth not thy fever burn and surge in my veins

Indeed, my friend , I cannot even tell

If thou being dead , my life were possible . 0 0 B ut thou , master and lord soul of me Hast no such double sense ; my life to thee

Is needless , unrequired, save as a price, su fli e Readily paid though poor, which shall c

To cheat the envious darkness of thy days . B ut I to all the gods in heaven give praise

That I , a woman , none remembereth, 226 PHI LU M E NE T O A R ISTIDES

I, even I , shall turn aside thy death My lips shall taste the blac k and bitter wine n o w Faint ghosts in Hades press even for thine , mix And I shall with the earth, but thou go whole

Since for thy soul I render up my soul .

Shall not I than k the gods and sing, being glad That in their eyes my prayer such favour had ?

For thou shalt live , triumphant over death s The sharp, la t agony, the catch in the breath , th e The ache of starting eyes, the red, blind night, o f The fruitless search hands that grasp at light,

And, worst of all , the horror of what may be ,

Thou shalt not know, but I , but I, for thee .

227 ’ ’ ’ Tb e Wiaow er of H aiaer abaa

«!

A T morning when I wake , no more tvvilit I hear her in the hour,

Who beats the clay upon the floor,

Or gri nds the sorghu m into flour .

And when at sunset I return ,

I half forget the quiet child ,

Still brightening up her brazen urn ,

Who never raised her head or smiled .

But when the night draws on , I fear as She stands before me, pal e ash, And still the trembling voice I hear ’ h That bleats beneath my mother s las .

And I remember how she died Hanged to the flowering mango -bough

For I behold the Suicide ,

And i t is I that trembl e now .

My mother wears upon her breast

A silver image of the dead . The best of all we have the best ff We o er her with bended head . 228

’ Tb e Deer ana tlze Pr opb et SE N M A HU TS AN, enemy of those

Who praise the prophet Mahomet,

Far in the forest laid his net, And laid it deep in tangled brier -rose ff And tufts of da odil and thyme and violet .

One early morning, pin k and grey As early mornings are in May A fallow deer went forth to take the air And wandering down the forest glades that w ay She fell into the snare .

’ Alas, poor soul , twas all in vain

She sought to venture bac k again ,

Or bounded forth with hurrying feet, Or pl uc ked with horn and hoof the net T00 well the mazy toils were Set

Around her russet an kles neat .

hO e she All p being gone, bowed her innocent head “ ” 0 she And wept . Heaven , that is most j ust,

said, In thy mysterious ends I acquiesc e Yet of thy mercy deign to bless The little ones I left at home d - Twin fawns, still reaming on their brac ken bed

When I went forth to roam, w s And wandered careless where the net a spread . 23 0 T H E DEER AND THE PR OPHET 0 And yet , Heaven , how shall they live,

Poor yeanlings , if their mother die Their only nourishment am I They have no other food beside the mil k I

And save my breast no warmth at night,

While still the frost lies crisp and white, ” As lie it will until the roses blow . And here she fetched so deep a sigh

That her petition could no further go .

s the Now as she hu hed, huntsman strode in sight Who every morning went that way To see if Heaven had led the hoped - for prey

Into his nets by night . saw And when he the fallow deer, d an d He stoo and laughed aloud clear, And laid his hand upon her nec k

Of russet with a snowy fleck , And forth his hunting-knife he drew

Aha he cried, my pretty dame, Into my nets full easily you came a I B ut forth again , my m iden , spring not you

And as he laughed, he would have slit sa The throat that w no help from it . 10 n B ut a trembli g took the air, A rustling of the leaves about the sn are - And Some one , dusk and slim ,

There, sudden , stayed his hand and smiled at him .

w as Now, never there huntsman yet w as s et Who, when the tangl ed snare

And in the snare the comely game , Endured the loosening of the net .

aflame Our huntsman turned an angry face , And none the lesser w as his wroth se e To non e other, by my troth,

Than Mahomet himself, the immortal Mahomet ,

Who stood beside the net . 23 1 T H E DEER AND THE PROPHET

Ha, old Impostor he began ” B ut Peac e, the prophet said , my man w e For while argue, you and I,

The hungry fawns are li ke to die .

Nay, l et the mother go . Within an hour, I say, She s hall ret u rn for thee to spare or slay she Or, if be not here, Then I wi ll stand your slave in surety for the

deer .

The huntsman turned and stared a while .

For sure, the fool is void of guile ’ Well , he shall be my slave i sooth , And work as in his idle youth ! ” He n ever worked , the rogue O ur huntsman

laughed for glee, And bent and loosed the tangles j oyfully

And forth the creature bounded , wild and free .

- But when she reached the brac ken bed , Where still the young ones lay abed B elow the hawthorn branches thic k ” “ she m Awake, cried , y fawns, and mil k me quic k For I have left within the net The very prophet Mahomet

“ Ah cried the little fawns, and heard

(B ut understood not half a word) .

Quic k , quick , our little mother, quic k away, uic klier ! And come bac k all the q cried the fawns, And called a last goodbye A nd sad w h sat a little , they knew not y, And watched their mother bounding, white and re g y, ’ Dim in the distance , o er the dewy lawns

And wide, unfriendly forests all in flower . so And the deer returned within an hour .

Now, said the prophet, smiling, kill ” Or tak e the ransom, as you will . 23 2

Tb e Slumber of K ing Solom on !

T H E house is all of sandal -wood

And boughs of Lebanon , The chamber is of beaten gold

Where sleeps King Solomon .

With thirty horsemen to the left

And thirty to the right , Upon their mighty horses set him To guard from the night .

as They watch silent as the moon , Drawn sword and gathered rein They will not stir till Solomon

Shall rise and move again .

And whiter than their white armour, Brighter than spear or sword ,

Four Angels guard the dreaming King,

Four Angels of the Lord .

Four Angels at the four corners , And burning over head

The Glory of God, the great Glory

That never shall be said .

Sleep well , sleep well , King Solomon , uard e th For He that g thee,

He neither slumbers , nay, nor sleeps ,

Through all eternity .

With thirty horsemen to the left

And thirty to the right,

Sleep well , sleep well , King Solomon , Sleep through the eternal night . 2 3 4 AR CAD I A

T H E HAND - BELL R INGERS

I left the fire with its flicker and roar,

And drew the c urtains back . On the edge of the grass stood the ringers four

A dim white railing behind , and the moor

A waste of endless black ,

a With, somewhere burning, aloof, af r, A single lonely light B ut never a glimmer of moon or star To Show where the unseen heavens are ’ Through the whol e dark width 0 the night .

In front of the rail , in a shadowy row, Stood the ringers, dim and brown

Their faces burned with a faded glow,

And spots of light , now high, now low, a With the bells le pt up and down .

But gaze the figure , barely guessed, The shadowy face grows clear

The tall , red prophet who leads the rest , The sallow lad with the hollow chest se You e them all appear .

d You catch the way they look and stan , The listening clench of the eyes - a The great round hand bells , golden and gr nd ,

Grasped a couple in either hand,

And the arms that fal l and rise .

So much I behold, and would never complain , se e As much and no more could I . As cl ear as air is the window pane ’ Twixt me in the light and them i n the rain , Yet strange they look to me 23 8 T H E HAND -BELL R INGERS

Grim, solemn figures , all in a row, Intent on the carol they ring ; ’ B ut I se e no less i the pane aglow

The flowers reflected, and to and fro

The flames their flicker fling .

My ribbon breast - knot dances across The leader’s solemn brow The moony lamps burn low i ’ the moss

And my own pale face, as it seems , they toss , - With the ringing hand bells now .

SO is so dark the night, dark , alas

I look on the world, no doubt ’ see - Yet I no less i the window glass, The room within than the trees and grass

And men I would study without .

239 — (THE WORKHOUSE OLD STYLE)

T H E bracken withers day by day,

The furze is out of bloom . v is O er the common the heather grey, And there ’ s no gold left on the broom And the least wind flutters a golden flec k

From three tall aspens that grow in the bec k .

- Yet , oh, I shall miss it to morrow night , sea The wild, rough of furze

And th e cows coming down , looking large and white ,

And the tin k of each bell as it stirs ,

The aspens brushing the tender sky,

And the whirr of the geese as they homeward fly.

’ Tis the first grief ever I owned to mind

- Until to night , good neighbour

For I could work when John went blind, And I never dreaded labour so so n And Willie grew good a ,

We never fretted, I and John . 240

T H E O L D COUPLE

Ah , we remember, I and John , The waiting till youth is spoiled ’ I d o w e so n never my bread to a ,

And Sit while he toiled and moiled , And s ee the lass he hoped to

Grow old unmarried, since I was alive .

w as w a That the y in our time, though, B ut I n ever liked the way

It kept us singl e till forty, I know, And married us old and grey And s et me only one child on my knee no t ff as Who shall su er much from me .

And so to - morrow w e leave the place u To go to the House p yon . ’ sa Yes , as you y, tis a sad disgrace ’ We ve worked hard, I and John ’ w e We ve worked until can work no more . The Lord shouldn ’ t grant a long life to the Tb e Scap e- G oa t

!

SH E lived in the hovel alone, the beautiful child .

Alas, that it should have been so

But her father died of the drink , and the sons were

wild , And where was the girl to go ?

Her brothers left her alone in the lonely hut . Ah , it was dreary at night When the wind whistled rig‘ht thro’ the door that never

would shut,

And sent her sobbing with fright .

She never had slept alone when the stifling room — Held her, brothers , father all . i Ah, better their v olence , better their threats , than the gloom That now hung close as a pal]

’ w as When the hard day s washing was done , it sweeter to Stand Hearkening praises and vows , To feel her cold fingers kept warm in a sheltering

hand ,

Than crouch in the desolate house . 243 T H E SCAPE-GOAT

she w as Ah, me only a child and yet so aware sin Of the shame which follows on .

A poor, lost, terrified child She stept in the snare , Knowing the toils she w as in .

Yet, now, when I watch her pass with a heavy reel , V Shouting her illainous song,

I t is only pity or shame, do you think , that I feel For the infinite sorrow and wrong

n With a sick , stra ge wonder I ask , Who shall answer sin the ,

Thou , lover , brothers of thine Or he w ho left standing thy hovel to perish in w ho Or I , gave no sign

244

C H U R CH -GOING T I M

w as . Yes, quite a saint he Although He never w as a likely man

At his own trade indeed, I know ’ ’ Many s the day I ve pitied Nan .

She had a time of it, his wife ,

With all those children and no wage,

As li ke as not , from Tim . The life

She led She looked three times her age . The half he had he ’ld give to tramps w as If they were hungry, or it cold P ampering up them idle scamps, N While an grew lean and pinched and old .

’ He ld let her grumble . Not a word Or blow from him she ever had ’ And yet I ve heard her sigh, and heard r Her say she wished as he w u bad .

Atop of all the fever came

And Tim went hobbling past on sticks .

Still one felt happier, all the same, ’ six When he ld gone by to church at .

Not that I wished to go . Not I so With Joe wild, and all those boys

It takes my day to clean , and try

To settle down the dust and noise . — B ut still out of it all , to glance so And see Tim hobbling by, calm, As though he heard the angels’ chants And saw their branching crowns of pal m .

And when he smiled, he had a look One’s burden seemed to lose and roll ’ Li ke Christian s in the picture -book w as It a comfort, on the whol e . 246 C HU R CH -GOING T I M

m - w It ade one easier like, someho I t made one, somehow, feel so sure, That far above the dust a‘ nd row

The glory of God does still endure .

’ ’ sa You y he s well , though he can t stir ’ — s e e I m sure you mean it kind B ut , , ’ ’ I t s not for him I m crying, sir, ’ ’

I t s sir it s . not for Tim, for me Tb e Wise Woman

I N the last low cottage in Blackthorn Lane The Wise -woman lives alone n The broke thatch lets in the rain , The glass is shattered in every pane

With stones the boys have thrown .

For w ho would not throw stones at a witch Take any safe revenge ’ ’ For the father s lameness, the mother s stitch ,

The Sheep that died on its back in a ditch, A n d the mildewed corn in the grange O nly be sure to be out of Sight Of the witch ’ s baleful eye

So the stones, for the most, are thrown at night , f Then a scu fle of feet, a hurry of fright How fast those urchins fly !

’ The witch s garden is run to weeds, Never a phlox or a rose,

B ut infamous growths her brewing needs,

Or slimy mosses the rank soil breeds,

Or tares such as no man sows . 24 8

T H E WISE -WOMAN

his h They let him rant but , deep in eart , Each thought of some thing of his own ’ Wounded or hurt by the Wise -woman s art a Some friend estranged, or some lover ap rt . r Their hearts g ew cold as stone .

his And the Heir spoke on , in eager youth , His blue eyes full of flame

And he claspt the witch, as he spoke of the Truth Pa And the dead, cold st and of Love and of Ruth

B ut their hearts were still the same ,

w ho Till at last For the sake of Christ died , ” Mother, forgive them, he said . us ! Come , let kneel , let us pray he cried - s B ut horror stricken , agha t, from his side The witch brok e loose and fled Fled right fast from the brave amends He would mak e her then and there From the chance that Heaven so seldom sends

To turn our bitterest foes to friends, ! Fled, at the name of a prayer

so Poor lad, he stared , amazed and grieved . He had argued half an hour

And yet the beldam herself believed, i she No less than the v llagers deceived , In her own unholy power Though surely a witch Should know very well ’ T is she the lie for which will burn . She must have learn ed that the deepest spell Her art includes could ne ’er compel A quart of cream to turn .

w h ’ And y, knowing this , should one sell one s soul To gain such a life as hers The life of the bat and the burrowing mol e

To gain no vision and no control , Not even the power to c urse ? 25 0 T H E WISE -WOMAN

’ i Tis strange , and a r ddle still in my mind -d a as as To y well then . There ’s never an answer I could find Unless—O folly of humankind O vanity born with men Rather it may be than merely remain n A woma poor and old, No longer li ke to be courted again

For the sallow face deep lined wi th pain , sa Or the heart grown d and cold .

Such bitter souls may there be, I think ,

So craving the power that slips ,

Rather than lose i t, they would drin k

The waters of Hell , and lie at the brin k

Of the grave , with eager lips .

They sooner would, than slip from sight, Meet every eye askance

Sooner be counted an imp of the night, Sooner live on as a curse and a blight Than j ust be forgotten

Perchance .

25 1 Tbe R otb er s

” 676

A s as far you can see, the moor

Spreads on and on for many a mil e, And hill and dale are covered o ’ er With many a fragrant splash and isle

Of vivid heather, purple still ,

Though bracken is yellow on dingl e and hill . f The heather bells are sti f and dry, Yet honey is sweet in the inmost c ell ’ so The brac ken s withered that stands high,

But sleeping cattle love i t well .

Thorny fern and honeyless heather, h A friend w o chills with the blightin g weather .

A mile towards the western sun The Rothers have their wooded park Never another so fair an one

Sees from his poise the singing lark . When Rother of Rother first began

Rec ks not the memory of man .

I t stands there still , a red old house, s e t Rother, round with branchy pines is The heather red beneath the boughs , And red are the trunks where the slant sun And the earth is ruddy on hol low and height ’ B ut the blood of a Rother s heart is white . 2 5 2

T H E ROTH a s

They brought him home as cold as stone, Into his house they bore him in Nor at his burial any one

Was there to mourn him, of his kin , tw o i Save those bab es, grave and grand w ho In black , could not understand . P oor wondering children , clad in c rape,

Who knew not what they had to mourn , Careful their sash should keep its shape

That papa, when he should return , Might praise each little stiff new gown si All day they never would t down . P oor, childish mutes , they stood all day

With outspread skirts and outspread hair,

And baby lips , less pink than grey

(So pale they were) , and solemn stare

They watched our mourning, pained and dumb , o Wondering when papa w uld come,

And give them each a ride on his horse, t And toss them bo h in the air, and say

A Rother is sure in the saddle, of course,

B ut never a Rother rode better than they, And sent them up to bed at last

To sleep till morning, sound and fast . At last each whitish-flax en head - Drooped heavily, each baby cheek Its pallid shadow-roses shed The straight blac k l egs grew soft and weak Father and frocks ali ke forgot They fell asleep , and sorrowed not,

Yet pitiable they were, alone w They were, t i n heiresses of five, a With l nds and houses of their own , And never a friend in the world alive - Save on e old great aunt , over in France, n Who k ew them not, nor cared, perchance . 25 4 T HE ROTHERS

We little fancied she would come ’ o Quit palms, and sun , and table d h te For two unknown small girls at home B ut soo n there came a scented note s With half the phra es underscored ,

And French at every second word .

And soon she followed . She would sigh,

And clasp her hands , and swear by God

Her blac k wig ever slipped awry, And quavered wi th a trembling nod w as Her face powdered very white, n Her blac k eyes danced under brows of ight . Such paint Yet were I ever to feel ’ Utterly lost , no saint I d pray,

B ut , crooked of ringlets and high of heel , I ’ d call to the rescue old Miss May

No haloed angel sweet and slender, so so so Were half kind, staunch , tender .

She loved the children well , but most The girl w ho least w as li ke herself i Maud e , at worst a plaintive ghost, a lau hin Maudie, at best g g elf, ‘

With eyes deep flowering under dew,

Such tender looks of lazy blue .

Florence was stronger, commonplace

No doubt, but good , sincere, and kind

There was no Rother in her face . There was no Rother I could find Within her nature but w ho knows ? ’ My son shal l not marry a daughter of Flo s .

se e You I hate the Rothers , I

Unj ust, perhaps all are not vile b e— It may but I cannot try,

When I thin k of a Rother now, to smile .

You hate the Jews , perhaps the Turks In every heart some hatred lurks . 2 5 5 T H E ROTHERS

B u t these two girls I never hated , I thought them better than their race Who would not thin k a c urse out -dated When from so fresh and young a fac e

The Rother eyes looked fran kly out , In the Rother smile no Rother’ s doubt

Well , they were young, and wealthy, and fair

It seemed not long sin ce they were born ,

When Florence married Lawrence Dare ,

Then Maud, alas Sir Thomas Thorn

A bitter, dark , bad, cruel man

Sir Thomas, now, of the Rother clan .

For now w e come to the very root Of the passionate rancour I keep at heart Flowering in words (but the bitter fruit Is still unripe for its sterner part)

. w as Well , Maud, too, married Miss May she i To go wherever w shed to be .

Homeless , after sixteen years Of sacrifice Where could she go ? sh e she B ut , smiled , choked back her tears, ” “ so Of course , she said, it must be ,

So kind, her girls, to let her come Three months to each in her married home

And first at Rother with the Thorns In her Old home Sh e stayed a guest

>1< =1< B ut must I thin k of all the scorns

That made your age a bitter j est, Whose memory li ke a star appears Thro’ the Violent dark of that House of tears — Your Maud was changed a craven slave To her unloving husband now she The bitter words could not brave, 25 6

T H E ROTHERS

So strange the east, that soon I turned To watch the shining west appear Under a billow of smoke there burned — A bel t of blinding s—ilver, sheer White length of light, wherefrom there shone su n A round, white, dazzling, rayless .

- There mirror like it hung and blazed, w as n And all the earth below stra ge , And all the scene whereon I gazed ’ - Even to the view line s farthest range, Hill , Steeple, moor, all , near and far, W - as flat as shifting side scenes are .

Lifeless, a country in the moon x It seemed, that white and vague e panse,

So substanceless and thin , that soon

I fell to wonder, by some chance Of a sketcher ’s fancy—how would fare The tones of flesh in that white glare ? A scrupl e of the painter’ s eye Which notes all possible effect

I scarcely daub, but I love to try .

Full of the whim, I recollect , I stretched my own right arm and gaz ed The hand showed blac k where the sunlight blaz ed .

Too near, too near I smiled and turned ,

I shook the reins and rode away, Glanced where the eastern forest burned - w ho With its gold green oaks . B ut were they ? In the phaeton , there , beneath the trees ’ Let em prove my fancy A grip of the knees,

I reached them . Why, the Thorns they were i The Thorns, liv d and clear and plain

In the ugly light . Nor could I dare c ase Enquire if my friend were at or in pain , ’ - So bitter sour looked Maudie s mouth, The whol e face dried like grass in a drouth . 25 8 T H E ROTHERS B ut what’s the figure bent and weak ? Set up beside them, rolled in wraps

I saw it sway I could not speak .

I looked, let one long minute lapse Then looked again I stopped them . Saw ? Oh, is there then on earth no law ? No thunder in Heaven As before, It was indeed an old grey head

That j erked from side to side no more ,

Only an old grey woman , dead,

That drives beside them , shawled and dressed They could not let her die at rest

Wail , Maudie, wail your best I k now You had not thought her dead enough i You thought her dy ng, merely, and though w as w as The air cold, the road rough ’ sa s Could y Her three month stay is o er, is She our promised guest no more .

Now l et her go to Florenc e Dare,

No need for us to nurse her now.

The drive will do her good , the air

Strike freshly on her fevered brow,

And, in the carriage, rugs are spread

Where , as you know, I found her dead,

Because they cast her away, my friend s Becau e her nursling murdered her .

There, my long story has an end

At last . I leave you to infer l The mora , old enough to be true ” Do good, and it is done to you . B ut bid me not forgive and forget

Forget my friend, forget a c rime, Because the county neighbours fret ’ That I ll not meet at dinner - time

Ingratitude and murder Nay, d e fil ed sa Touch pitch and be , I y. 2 59 ’ Men ana Mon bey s m

T H E hawthorn lane was full of flower

- Across the hedge , the apple trees Sent down with every gust of breeze

- - A light, loose petalled blossom shower .

The wide green edges of the lane -flow ers Were filmed with kedloc k , and white ’ Archangels tall , the bees delight , ’ Sprang l ustier for the morning s rain .

The scent of May was heavy -sweet

The noon poured down upon the land . The nightingales on either hand

Called, and were sil ent in the heat .

The herds, th e flowers, the nightingales All drows ed and I upon the edge Of grass beneath the flowering hedge Lay dreaming of its shoots and trails .

When , starting at the sound of feet, I saw the Italian vagrants pass - The monkey, man , and peasant lass , Who figure on our vill ge street 2go

T O P ST HE TOWER . MAUR

Now hush , lady, my sweet lady, The moon ’s still small and young If they ’re home before the curfew bell ’ ’ ” They ll not ha stayed too long .

’ St . Maur has ta en his youngest son , ’ To the riverside they re gone , To se e the busy mason -men

B uilding a tower of stone .

0 w hy do they build the tower so strong Against the riverside v saw I ne er the wall , father, w as so That strong and wide . God knows the tower had need be strong Between my foes and thee

Should onc e Lord Armour enter, child, ” An ill death would ye dee .

We need not fear Lord Armour, father, Nor any of his kin

Since God has given us such a wall , ” They cannot enter in .

i O tw ce, my babe , and thrice, my babe , w as Ere ever that I born , Lord Armour’ s men have entered in x Betwi t the night and the morn . And once I found my nurse ’s room Was red with bloody men I would not have thy mother die

As died my mother then .

And ’ tis not seven nights ago

I heard, clear in a dream,

The bugle cry of Armour,

Shril l over wood and stream . 266 H E F T R T TOWER O S . MAU

so But if foul a raid, father, so Fell out long agone , Why did they never build before A wall and tower of stone

’ Many s the time , my pretty babe, Ere ever this way you went , We built the tower both thick and broad ’ ’ A n s we might a well ha stent .

’ w e Many s the time built the tower, Wi’ the grey ston e and the brown . But aye the floods i n autumn

Washed all the building down .

A nd in my mind I see the morn When we ’ll be brought to dee ’ Yoursel and your seven brothers,

And your young mother, and me .

A And oh, were it any but rmour, she Oh God, were it any but Before the Lord, my eyes grow dark ” see With the ill sight t hat I .

- Among the busy mason men ,

Are building at the tower, ’ There s a swarthy gipsy mason ,

A lean man and a dour .

’ He s lain the hammer down at last Out of his bony hand

Did ye never hear the spell , St . Maur, Gars any tower to stand

’ O what s the spell , thou blac k gipsy , I prithee rede it now There never was a mason -man

Shall earn such wage as thou . 267 T H E OP ST TOWER . MAUR

I dare not speak the spell , St . Maur,

Lest you should do me an ill ,

For a cruel spell , and an evil spell , I S the spell that works your will .

’ ’ man There s no spell but I l l risk it , , An ’ the price were half my lands To keep my wife and children safe ’ ” Out of Lord Armour s hands .

0 a , more than l nds , and more than fee , ’ You ll pay me for the spell ’ l ’ An the price were ha f my heart s red blood, ’ ” as w I d pay it down ell .

O what’s the blood of a sinful heart To bind th e stones that fall ’ St . Maur, you ll build your christened child

Alive into the wall .

. so St Maur has turned on his heel light, And angry he turns away Gang to the devil another time - When ye ask what ye ask to day .

’ ’ He s ta en his young son by the han d ’ H e s opened wide the gate , ’ Your mother s been sic k a month by now, ’ ’ ” And she ll mourn sore if we re late .

They had not gone a little way, An ’ the child began to call

See how the flood runs high, father, A nd washes at the wall

They had not gone a mic kle way, d St . Maur began to broo ,

Tis the bugl e cry of Armour, ” Shrill over stream and wood . 268

T H E W O E ST TO ER . MAUR

’ You ll stand so still and stark , my lad ’ ’ ’ I ll build i n two s and thf e e s ’ And I ll throw you a red, red apple in ,

When the stones reach to your knees .

’ so You ll stand still and stark , my lad I ’ ll lay the stones in haste And I ’ll throw you the forester’ s whistle

When they reach above your waist .

’ You ll stand so still and stark , my lad, You ’ll watch the stones that rise ’ ’ And I ll throw you in your father s sword ,

When they reach above your eyes .

’ And if you tire o the play, my lad, You ’ ve but to raise a Shout ’ ’ 0 At the l east word your father s mouth, ’ ” st0 I ll p and pluc k you out .

T h e - gipsy man build quic k and light, A S if he played a play,

And the child laughs with a frighted laugh, And the tower ceases to sway .

St . Maur stares out of his bloodshot eyes, Like one that’s well nigh mad

The tower stands fast, and the stones rise high

About the little lad .

O father, father, lift me out

The stones reach over my eyes, se e And I cannot you now, father,

So swift the walls uprise .

“ ! O father, lift me out, father I cannot breathe at all ,

For the stones reach up beyond my head, ’ ’ ” it s And dark down i the wall . 270 T H E OP ST A TOWER . M UR

But never an answer spake St . Maur, Never a word but one i ’ Have you finished your dev l s work , mason , Or when will the deed be done

Oh, the work is done that ye wished, St . Maur, ’ Twill last for many a year There ’ s scarc e a sound in the wal l by now

A mother might not hear .

in Gang home, gang home peace, St . Maur, A nd sleep sound if you can ’ There s never a flood shall roc k this tower, And never a mortal man .

Gang home and kiss your bonny wife, And bid her mourn and fast ’ She ll weep a year for her youngest child, ’ B ut she ll dry her eyes at last .

’ You ll say he fell in the flood, St . Maur, ’ ’ B ut you ll not deceive yoursel , ’ For you ve lost the bonniest thing you had, ’ And you l l remember well .

him Your wife will mourn a year, St . Maur, ’ You ll mourn him all your life, ’ For you ve lost the bonniest thing you had, ” Better than bairns or wife .

271 ’ T/ze Duke of G u eld res Wedding

(1 4 05 )

T H E Queen and all her waiting maids Are playing at the bal l ; ’ Mary Harcourt , the King s cousin ,

Is fairest of them al l .

The Queen and all her waiting maids Are out on Paris green ’ Mary Harcourt , the King s cousin ,

Is fairer than the Queen .

The King sits i n his council room,

The grey lords at his side , ’ A nd thro the open window pan e

He sees the game outside .

- The King sits in the Council room , The young lords at his feet ; s And through the pane he see the ball ,

And the ladies young and fleet .

O bonny Mary Harcourt Is seventeen to -day ’ Tis time a lover courted her,

And carried her away .

Where shall I give my own cousin Where shall I give my ki n And w ho shal l be the peer of Franc e Her sl ender hand to win 272

’ T H E DUKE OF G U E L D R E S WEDDING 0 shall I learn to brace a sword, And brighten up a lance ’ I ve learned to pull the flowers all day, All night I ’ve learned to danc e

0 shall I marry a Flemish knight , And learn a Flemish tongue ?

Would I had died an hour ago, ” When I was blithe and young ? Twice the moon and thrice the moon Has wax ed and waned away The streets of G ueld re s town are braw With sammet and with say And out of every window hang The crimson squares of sil k

The fountains run with claret wi ne , fl The runnels ow with milk .

The ladies and the k nights of France , H ow gallantly they ride And all in sil k and red roses

The fairest is the bride .

Now welcome, Mary Harcourt,

Thrice welcome, lady mine There ’s not a k night in all the world so Shall be true as thine .

’ There s venison in the aumbry, Mary, ’ There s claret in the vat . Come in and dine within the hall ” Where once my mother sat .

They had not filled a cup at dine , A cup but barely four, When the Duke of Limburg’s herald

Came riding to the door . 274 ’ T HE DUKE O P G U E LDR Es WEDDING

’ O where s the D uke o f G ueld res ’ O where s the groom so gay My master sends a wedding-glove -d a To grace the wedding y.

’ O where s the Duke of G ueld re s Upon his wedding night That I may cast this iron glove And challenge him to fight

G ueldres is a gallant knight, Gallant and good to se e

So swift he bends to raise the glove ,

Lifting it courteously .

His coat is of the white velvet ,

His cap is of the blac k , A cloak of gold and silver work

Hangs streaming at his back .

’ ’ H e s ta en the cloak from his shoulders As gallan t as may be

Take this, take this, Sir Messenger, You ’ ve ridden far for me

Now speed you back to Limburg

As quickly as you may, ’ - I ll meet your lord to morrow morn , ’ ” - - To day s my wedding day . The morrow Mary Harcourt Is standing at the door

I let him go with an angry word, ’ se e And I ll him never more .

k in Mickle I wept to leave my , Mickle I wept to stay G ueld res Alone in foreign , when

My ladies rod e away . 275 ’ W T H E DUKE O E GU E LDR E S EDDING

w e t - With tears I my wedding sheets, That were so fine and white G ueld res B ut for one glint of your eye , , ’ I d give my soul to -night 0 long waits Mary Harcourt , Until the sun is down The mist creeps up along the street, And darkens all the town .

0 long waits Mary Harcourt , Till grey the dawn up springs B ut w ho is this that rides so fas t That all the pavement rings

o uself n G ueld res Is that y in the daw , Or is it your ghost so w an Now hush ye, h ush ye, my bonny bride, ’ Tis I, a living man .

’ o n There s blood up n my ha ds , Mary, ’ There s blood upon my lance . Go i n and leave a rougher knight ’ ” Than e er ye met i n France .

’ 0 a G u eld res wh t s the blood of a foe, , T hat I should keep away ? I did not love you yesternight ’ - I d di e for you to day .

’ “ G ueldres I ll hold your dripping horse , , I ’ll hold your heavy lance I’ d rather die your serving maid

Than live the Queen of France .

’ H e s caught her in his happy arms, ' H e s clasped her to his side .

Now God give every gallant knight . A s blithe and bonny a bride 276

R OSA M U N DA

i The w ne is in the goblet, i The w ne is in the cup . It stands upon the cupboard shelf ; ” Go, lift the cover up .

Ho, wife Ho , Rosamunda

Come hither, come and see The good red wine is troubled How came this thing to be

The sea wind yester even ” Hath troubled it, I thin k .

Come hither, Rosamunda

Come hither, come and drin k

h ow Alas, shalt I drin k it When I am not athirst ? ”

Come hi ther, Rosamunda,

Come here and drink the first .

Alas, how shall I drink it, That never dran k of wine ’ f Thou l t qua f it, Rosamunda, By this drawn sword of mine

I drin k it to my lover,

I drink it, and I die My lover is the king of France A ” dead woman am I .

278 Captain G old and Fren cb f an et

T H E first letter our Captain wrote To the Lord of Mantua Did you ever see French Janet (He wrote) on any day

se e Did ye ever French Janet, That w as so blithe and coy ? The littl e serving-lass I stole From the mountains of Savoy ?

Last week I lost French Janet Hunt for her up and down A nd send her bac k to me , my Lord , ’ ” 0 From the four walls the town . For thirty days and thirty nights

There came no news to us . Suddenly old grew Captain Gold his And voice grew tremulous .

’ O Mantua s a bonny town , And She ’ s long been our ally But help came none from Mantua-town ’ Dim grew our Captain s eye .

0 send me Janet home again Our Captain wrote an ew

A lass is but a paltry thing, And yet my heart’ s in two 279 CAPTAIN GOLD AND FR ENc H JANET

’ - Ha ye searched in every convent close, And sought in every den ? ’ 0 C Mistress man , or bride of hrist, I ’ll have her back again

’ O Mantua s a bonny town , And she ’ s long been our ally B ut help cometh none from Mantua town ” And sick at heart am I . For thirty days and thirty nights No news came to the camp a in And the life w n ed old Captain Gold , As the oil wanes in a lamp . The third moon swelled towards the full When the third letter he wrote What will ye take for Janet Red gold to fill your moat Red wine to fil l your fountains full Red blood to wash your streets

Oh, send me Janet home, my Lord , ’ Or ye ll no die in your sheets

0 Love, that makes strong towers to sway, And captains ’ hearts to fall I feared they might have heard his sobs

- Right out to Mantua wall .

For thirteen days and thirteen nights No messenger came bac k A nd when the morning rose again ,

Our tents were hung with blac k .

The dead bell rang through all the camp w e B ut rung i t low and dim , Lest the Lombard hounds in Mantua

Should know the end of him . 280

A BALLAD O E ORLEANS

Six t orts around Orleans town yf , A nd six ty f orts of s tone Six tyf orts at our gates last nigbt T o-day tbere is not one

The blood ran o ff our spears all night As the rain runs o ff the roofs ’ G od rest their souls that fell i the fight Among our horses’ hoofs They came to rob us of our own

With sword and spear and lance, They fell and cl utched the stubborn earth , And bit the dust of France

Six t orts around O rleans town y f , A nd six tyf orts of s tone Six ty f orts at our gates l ast nigbt

We fought across the moonless dark Against their unseen hands A knight came ou t of Paradise

And fought among our bands .

Fight on , O maiden knight of God

Fight on and never tire , ’ For 10 the misty break 0 the day Sees all their forts on fire

Six t orts around Orl eans town y f , A nd six tyf orts of stone Six ty f orts at our gates las t nigbt T o-da tber is not one y e .

28 2 Tk e D eat b of t lze Count of

Ar manac

TH ERE’ S nothing in the world so dear ” To a true knight , he cried, ’ As his o w n Sister s honour Now God be on o u r side

The ‘walls of Alexandria

That stand so broad and high , The walls of Ale x andria his They answered to cry .

r And thrice , his trumpets bla ing, He rides around those walls

Come forth, ye knights of Lombardy,

Ye craven knights he calls .

0 A rmanac luc kless Count of , Why rode ye forth at noon Was there no hour at even ? No morning cool and boon 28 3 T HE DEATH o r TH E COUNT O P A RM A NA c

The swords of Al e x andria

You kept them all at bay . o h o But , the su mmer sun at n on

It stri kes more deep than they .

Oh for a drin k of water Oh for a moment’ s space To loose the iron helm and let The wind blow on his face

hi s He turned eyes from l eft to right, And at his hand there stood The shivering white poplars That fringe a littl e wood .

h e And as reeled along the grass,

Behold, as chill as ic e

The water ran beneath his foot , P And he thought it aradise .

A rmanac O A rmanac His distant knights rang out “ And A rmanac there answered them

The mountains round about .

0 A rmanac l uckless Count of , The day is lost and won

Your hosts fight ill without a chief,

A nd the foe is three to one .

At dusk there rides a Lombard squire,

With his train , into the copse , And when they reach th e water -side s s The horse whinni e and stop . 284

’ Captain Or tis Booty

(or

CAPTAIN O RTIS (the tale I tell Petit told i n his chronicle)

Gained from Alva, for service and duty ’ At Antwerp s capture, the strangest booty .

Then each captain chose , as I hear,

That for guerdon he held most dear, Craved what in chief he set heart of his on Out strode Ortis, and claimed the prison

Such a tumult for, be assured, Greatly the j udges and priests demurred No mere criminals alone in that Stygian

Darkness died, but the foes of religion .

There lay heretics by the score,

Anabaptists, and many more ,

Hard to catch To let loose , when caught, your

Timid hares, to forego the torture

Folly Suddenly sank the noise . Alva spoke in his steely voice ’ H e s n my soldier, sa s flaw or blemish Let him burn as he likes these Flemish . 286 CAPTAIN ORTIS ’ BOOTY

as Sire , you please, the governor said , Only King Philip ’s edict read Alva spoke What is king or Cortes ” i . Open the portals, cr ed Captain Ortis

Loose the prisoners, set them free . Only—each pays a ransom -fee

Out, be sure, poured the gold in buckets ,

Piles on piles of broad Flanders ducats .

A y, there followed not gold alone

Men and women and children , thrown

In chains to perish , came out forgiven ’ Saw . light , friends faces, and thought it heaven

so O ut they staggered, hal t and blind

From rac k and darkness, they scarce could find b le sséd The gate where daughter and mother,

Father and brother, all found each other . Freedom Our darlings Let God be prai sed So cried all then said one , amazed , us Who is he, under Heaven , that gave Thought and pity w b g cared to save us

Captain Ortis (the answer ran) , ’ The Spanish Lancer here s the man . A ’ i y, but don t kill him w th too much caressing ’ ” Death s a sour salad with sweetest dressing .

Danger, indeed for never hath been A In brave old ntwerp such a scen e .

Boldest patriot, fairest woman ,

Blessing him , knelt to the Spanish foeman .

Ortis looted his prize of gold ,

And yet, I think , if the truth be told,

He found, when the ducats were gone with

pleasure,

That heretic blessing a lasting treasure . 287 CAPTAIN ORTIS’ BOOTY

Yet my captain , to c ertain eyes , w ar- - Seems hardened and worldly wise . ’ ” “ andso Twere, for a hero, you say, more h me t n To give the freedom, nor ake the ra som .

’ True but thin k of this hero s lot . x No Qui ote he, nor Sir Launcelot , - a B ut a n eedy soldier, half s t rved , remember, With cold and hunger that northern Decembe r

J ust such an one as Parma meant When he wrote to Philip in di scontent “ Antwerp must yield to our men ere much longer, n U less you leave us to die of hunger .

i Wages , clothing, they do w thout, ’ Wine, fire even they ll learn , no doubt, — ’ To live without meat for their mouths th ey re zealous ” Only they die first as yet, poor fellows .

! es , and I praise him, for my part, - This man war beaten and tough of heart, m Who, sche ing a booty, no doubt , yet planned it More like a hero , I thin k , than a bandit .

What My friend is too coarse for you Will nou ght l ess than a Galahad do ? Rough and ready this soldier -sort is — ! Well ball a hero w as Cap tain Ortis

288

SI R HUGH A ND THE SwA Ns

Now, for the king in prison , ’ There s two will dare to die . ’ ’ There s Hugh o the Rose, the Jester, ’ Sir Hugh o the Rose , and I . )

We came upon the castle moat A S the dawn w as weak and grey ’ ” ’ There s still an hour, quoth Hugh O the Rose

An hour till break of day .

Give me the files , the muted files, Give me the rope to fling ’ i I ll sw m to the prison window, And hand them to the king .

’ I ll swim to the castle and back , Sir John , is B efore the morn light, And we ’ ll both lie hid i ’ the rushes here ” - Till w e take the boat to night .

w e We tied the files, tied the rope ,

In a littl e leather sack . o ff Sir Hugh struc k from the mirky bank , his The satchel on bac k .

I watched him cleave the w an water

A bold swimmer w as he .

My heart beat high in my bosom,

For I thought the king was free . I watched him shoot the middle stream And reach the other side Fling up the rope, the king cried out

That never should have cried .

The sun uprist beyond the dyke It w as a deadly gleam . The startled swans that sleep i ’ the moat Began to whir and scream . 290 Sm HUGH AND THE SWAN S

’ Woe s me, that saw them stretch their necks A nd hiss, as traitors do I saw them arch their evil wings

And stri ke and stun Sir Hugh .

’ The king looked out o the window bars, And he w as sad belike But I could not see my lord the king For the drowned face in the dyke .

The sleepy warders woke and stirred, The swans are mad in the moat I lifted up Sir Hugh o’ the Rose

And laid him in the boat .

I made him a sark of rushes ,

With stones at the feet and head . In the deepest dyke of Flanders ’ Sir Hugh o the Rose lies dead .

29 ! T i m M ower

TH EY were three bonny mowers Were mow ing half the day They were three bonny lasses A - making of the hay .

Who’ ll go and fetch the basket P ” ” Not I . Nor I . Nor I . They had no time for falling out Ere Nancy Bell came by .

’ 3 What s in your basket, Nancy Bell Sweet cakes and c urrant wine, an d And venison cider, lads ; C ome quickly, come and dine .

They were tw o bonny mowers Fell to among the best a- The youngest sits fasting, a His head upon his bre st .

a Wh t ails ye, bonny mower, You sit so mournfully ? Alas what ails me, Nancy Bell ’ ” T is all the love of thee . 292

Rudel and M e Lady qf Tr ip oli

PART I . TH ERE w as in all the world of Franc c No singer half so sweet The first note of his viol brought A crowd into the street . And as he sat in Avignon

With princes at their wine, In all that lusty company \ s Vas none o fresh and fine .

’ His kirtl e s of the Arras - blue

His cap of pearls and green, His golden curls fall tumbling round The bonniest face I ’ve seen B ut hark the lords are laughing loud And lusty in their mirth For each has pledged his o w n lady Th e fairest dame on earth .

R Now, hey, Rudel You singer, udel ’ a ? Say, who s the f irest lass I’ll wager many a lady’s eyes Have been your looking-glass 294 R UDEL AND THE LADY OF Tarpo n

’ ’ His l ady s portrait each has ta en ,

And d ashed it on the board . Then lightly laugheth Geoff rey Rudel

And counts the treasured hoard .

He lifts them up and lays them down With fingers nimble and deft He lifts them up and lays them down

Till only one is left .

There ’ s only a twist of silver

About a parchment s kin , ’ That s lain so close again s t a heart ’ The colour s worn and thin .

’ There s only a twi s t of foreign wire There’ s only a faded face i ff What ails , what a ls Geo rey Rudel

He has fallen from his place .

He ’s fallen plumb across the board Wi thout a word or sign The golden curls that hide his face h Are dabbled in t e wine .

’ H e s fallen numb and dumb as death , While all the princes stare Then up one old Crusading Knight his Arose, and touched hair

ff Rudel , Rudel , Geo rey Rudel , Give me her picture back Without her face against my breast and The world grows dim black .

ff Rudel , Rudel , Geo rey Rudel , Give back my life to me ff Or I will kill you , Geo rey Rudel And take it desperately 29 5 RUDEL AND THE LADY o r T arpo n

Then straightway awoke and rose Rudel And hey, but he was white l Thin and fierce his lips were set H is eyes were cold and bright .

’ an The picture s in his left h d, ’ a The d gger s in the right . e Stabb d to the core, upon the floor - Fell down that stranger knight .

a Rang loud the swords in the scabb rds, The voices loud and high

Let pass, let pass c ri ed out Rudel , Let pas s before he die

The lords fell bac k in grim array Around the dying man For pity and pardon let him kneel

And pray, if so he can B ut never a word said Geoffrey ” she P Save only, Who is One momen t smiled the dying man The Lady of Tripoli 1

sea- He Opened wide his bl ue eyes,

Dead, in a face of stone .

Out to the windy dark Rudel ,

Unhindered, rushed alone .

PART II . Hew the timbers of sandal wood

And planks of ivory, Rear up the shining masts of gold us sea And let put to . Sew the sails with a sil ken thread all That are sil ken too, Sew them with scarlet pomegranates Upon a sheet of blue . 296

R UDEL AND THE LADY o r T arp o n

- Heave to, O mariners, heave ashore

As swiftly as may be .

Go , now, my stripling page, along

The streets of Tripoli , sa And y Rudel , Rudel has come ” s a And ay th t I am he .

’ h tw o An our s gone by, an hour or , ’ B ut still we re far from night , When 10 ! there glides along the quay A lady like a light .

You could not tell how tall she was So heaved the light and fell

The shining of enchanted gems , v The waving of a eil , She drifts along the golden dec k And stands before Rudel . B ut as she bends to kiss Rudel

He starts to meet her eyes, That glitter in her ancient skin

Like Fire that never dies .

she B ut as bends to clasp Rudel , ’ He trembles neath her hair, Ravelled in many a snowy ring

Abou t her shoulders bare .

a And as she calls his name loud , Her voic e is thin and strange As night - winds in the standing reeds ’ When the moon s about to change .

’ w She s opened ide her bridal arms, She ’ s bent her wintry face ff What ails, what ails Geo rey Rudel

He has fallen from his place . 29 8 RUDEL AND THE LADY o r T arp o n He ’ s fallen pl umb across the board

Without a word or sign , so His golden loc ks that stream bright,

Are dabbled in the wine .

’ H e s opened wide his dazzled eyes ,

Dead in a face of stone . Into the windy dark of Death d His spirit rifts alone .

299 Tb e Dead Marb er “6k

LO R D R OLAND on his roan horse a Is riding far and f st , Though white the eddying snow is driven Along the northern blast

’ - There s snow upon the holly bush, There ’s snow upon the pine There ’ s many a bough beneath the snow He had not thought so fin e For the last time Roland crossed the moor He rode to Palestine .

Now pal e across the windy hills ’ A castle gins to rise, With unsubstantial turrets thin Against the windy skies .

0 Welcome, welcome, Towers of Sands, I welcome you again

Yet often in my Syrian tent, saw I you far more plain .

Lord Roland sp urs his roan horse Through all the snow and wind ’ h e s wan And soon reached those towers so , And left the moor behind .

Welcome, Sir John the Steward H o w oft in Eastern lands ’ d I ve calle to mind your English fac e, t And sighed o thin k of Sands . 3 00

T H E DEAD MOTHER

has The moon dropt behind the moor, The night is quiet and still What makes the flesh of Lord Roland T O shudder and turn chill

’ 0 Something stirs in the light the flame , Aye drifting nigher and nigher ” My hands are chill , says a voice in the wind, ’ I ll warm them at the fire .

’ 0 Give me a crust your bread, my son , ’ 0 Give me a cup your wine . Long have I fasted for your sake ’ And long you ll fast for mine . Lord Roland stares across the dusk With stern and dreadful eyes, ’ ’ 0 There s only a wind in the light the fire ,

A wind that shudders and sighs .

My limbs are fain t, sighs a voice in the wi nd My feet are bruised and torn ’ ’ I t s long I ve seen no linen sheets, ’ ” I ll rest me here till morn .

’ a There s an eerie shape in the ch mber now, And shadowy feet that move The fire goes out in a sullen ash, Li ke the angry end of love

Of And out doors the red cock cries , And then the white and the grey - Where one spirit crossed Whinny moor, ’ There s t w o that hurry away .

And silen t sits Lord Roland, alone, ff Sti , with a look of dread ; An d the chilly beams of morning fall ’ About a dead man s head . 3 02 Té e D eaf/z of Pr ester j o/m

Y x x u ( ASHT . )

N his WHE Prester John was like to die , he called priests and said Of O Mages, seers, and sorcerers, sayers holy sooth, Where ’s the soul of a faithful man when the body’ s cold and dead Where ’s the soul of a corpse on the bier ?

Answer, and speak the truth .

The priests stood round the couch in rows beside the

dying king, ? a Will no one speak s id Prester John , Ye who have time and breath ? I s there not one of all my priests will answer me this thing : ’ Where s the soul Of a faithful man on th e first night after death ?

Then up and spake the oldest seer, and he was white as rime Have I not fasted ninety years to see what none may se e P Between thy death and mine (he said) is but a little

time , h 0 And w at I speak , King, I speak for me no less

than thee .

When Death had loosed the soul of a man , it kneels upon the bier Among the lights about the head , lighter and brighter than they, 3 03 T H E DEATH OF PRESTER JOHN

And sings the lauds Of G od all night in a sweet voice and a clear, An d sings the lauds of God all night un til the dawn

of day . And when the watching soul hath waked until the

morning rise , i A wind comes rushing with the dawn , a w nd of youth and mirth

. a i And down the breeze ma den moveth , flying Angel w 15 e ’ And deeper is the j oy 0 the soul than all the j oy Of earth .

’ The maid shall take his hands in hers and Welc ome, she shall say, ‘ Behold thy Conscie nce ! look at me ! Thou art my master, thou For I was fair, b ut thou hast made me fairer than the day . w as 0 z And I bright but turn , Soul , and ga e upon me now

an Of s Behold the Sai nts, in r ks blis , shall throng on either hand And pre ss to greet them amorously Whence camest thou ? and whe n how Ah, say fares the world of earth, the loving, sorrow ing land 0 the Art thou content with Heaven , Soul , after life of men 2’

: n But One shall speak Be patie t, Spirits The will Of God is best w ho a Respect the Soul , , we ry from the dolorous pass

and sore, Enjoys eternal bliss—at last and enters into rest B ut ask him no t ye may not ask if he would live ’ once more .

UN IN BR OTHER PR INTE RS OK ING AND LONDON. W S, , W