New Year met me somewhat sad: Old Year leaves me tired, Stripped of favourite things I had Baulked of much desired: Yet farther on my road to-day God willing, farther on my way. New Year coming on apace What have you to give me? Bring you scathe, or bring you grace, Face me with an honest face; 10 You shall not deceive me: Be it good or ill, be it what you will, It needs shall help me on my road, My rugged way to heaven, please God.

Watch with me, men, women, and children dear, You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear, Watch with me this last vigil of the year. Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme; Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream; Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart. Watch with me blessèd spirits, who delight All through the holy night to walk in white, Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight. I know not if they watch with me: I know 10 They count this eve of resurrection slow, And cry, 'How long?' with urgent utterance strong. Watch with me Jesus, in my loneliness: Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes; Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless. Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night; To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight: I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.

Passing away, saith the World, passing away: Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day: Thy life never continueth in one stay. Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey That hath won neither laurel nor bay? I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May: Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay On my bosom for aye. Then I answered: Yea. Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: 10 With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play; Hearken what the past doth witness and say: Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay: Watch thou and pray. Then I answered: Yea. Passing away, saith my God, passing away: Winter passeth after the long delay: 20 New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May. Though I tarry wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray: Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day, My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say. Then I answered: Yea. AMEN It is over. What is over? Nay, now much is over truly!- Harvest days we toiled to sow for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly, Now the wheat is garnered duly. It is finished. What is finished? Much is finished known or unknown: Lives are finished; time diminished; Was the fallow field left unsown? Will these buds be always unblown? 10 It suffices. What suffices? All suffices reckoned rightly: Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, Roses make the bramble sightly, And the quickening sun shine brightly, And the latter wind blow lightly, And my garden teem with spices. THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS, AND OTHER POEMS, 1866 THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS Till all sweet gums and juices flow, Till the blossom of blossoms blow, The long hours go and come and go, The bride she sleepeth, waketh, sleepeth, Waiting for one whose coming is slow:- Hark! the bride weepeth. 'How long shall I wait, come heat come rime?'- 'Till the strong Prince comes, who must come in time' (Her women say), 'there's a mountain to climb, A river to ford. Sleep, dream and sleep; 10 Sleep' (they say): 'we've muffled the chime, Better dream than weep.' In his world-end palace the strong Prince sat, Taking his ease on cushion and mat, Close at hand lay his staff and his hat. 'When wilt thou start? the bride waits, O youth.'- 'Now the moon's at full; I tarried for that, Now I start in truth. 'But tell me first, true voice of my doom, Of my veiled bride in her maiden bloom; 20 Keeps she watch through glare and through gloom, Watch for me asleep and awake?'- 'Spell-bound she watches in one white room, And is patient for thy sake. 'By her head lilies and rosebuds grow; The lilies droop, will the rosebuds blow? The silver slim lilies hang the head low; Their stream is scanty, their sunshine rare: Let the sun blaze out, and let the stream flow, They will blossom and wax fair. 30 'Red and white poppies grow at her feet, The blood-red wait for sweet summer heat, Wrapped in bud-coats hairy and neat; But the white buds swell, one day they will burst, Will open their death-cups drowsy and sweet- Which will open the first?' Then a hundred sad voices lifted a wail, And a hundred glad voices piped on the gale: 'Time is short, life is short,' they took up the tale: 'Life is sweet, love is sweet, use to-day while you may; 40 Love is sweet, and to-morrow may fail; Love is sweet, use to-day.' While the song swept by, beseeching and meek, Up rose the Prince with a flush on his cheek, Up he rose to stir and to seek, Going forth in the joy of his strength; Strong of limb if of purpose weak, Starting at length. Forth he set in the breezy morn, Crossing green fields of nodding corn, 50 As goodly a Prince as ever was born; Carolling with the carolling lark;- Sure his bride will be won and worn, Ere fall of the dark. So light his step, so merry his smile, A milkmaid loitered beside a stile, Set down her pail and rested awhile, A wave-haired milkmaid, rosy and white; The Prince, who had journeyed at least a mile, Grew athirst at the sight. 60 'Will you give me a morning draught?'- 'You're kindly welcome,' she said, and laughed. He lifted the pail, new milk he quaffed; Then wiping his curly black beard like silk: 'Whitest cow that ever was calved Surely gave you this milk.' Was it milk now, or was it cream? Was she a maid, or an evil dream? Here eyes began to glitter and gleam; He would have gone, but he stayed instead; 70 Green they gleamed as he looked in them: 'Give me my fee,' she said.- 'I will give you a jewel of gold.'- 'Not so; gold is heavy and cold.'- 'I will give you a velvet fold Of foreign work your beauty to deck.'- 'Better I like my kerchief rolled Light and white round my neck.'- 'Nay,' cried he, 'but fix your own fee.'- She laughed, 'You may give the full moon to me; 80 Or else sit under this apple-tree Here for one idle day by my side; After that I'll let you go free, And the world is wide.' Loth to stay, but to leave her slack, He half turned away, then he quite turned back: For courtesy's sake he could not lack To redeem his own royal pledge; Ahead too the windy heaven lowered black With a fire-cloven edge. 90 So he stretched his length in the apple-tree shade, Lay and laughed and talked to the maid, Who twisted her hair in a cunning braid And writhed it shining in serpent-coils, And held him a day and night fast laid In her subtle toils. At the death of night and the birth of day, When the owl left off his sober play, And the bat hung himself out of the way, Woke the song of mavis and merle, 100 And heaven put off its hodden grey For mother-o'-pearl. Peeped up daisies here and there, Here, there, and everywhere; Rose a hopeful lark in the air, Spreading out towards the sun his breast; While the moon set solemn and fair Away in the West. 'Up, up, up,' called the watchman lark, In his clear réveillée: 'Hearken, oh hark! 110 Press to the high goal, fly to the mark. Up, O sluggard, new morn is born; If still asleep when the night falls dark, Thou must wait a second morn.' 'Up, up, up,' sad glad voices swelled: 'So the tree falls and lies as it's felled. Be thy bands loosed, O sleeper, long held In sweet sleep whose end is not sweet. Be the slackness girt and the softness quelled And the slowness fleet.' 120 Off he set. The grass grew rare, A blight lurked in the darkening air, The very moss grew hueless and spare, The last daisy stood all astunt; Behind his back the soil lay bare, But barer in front. A land of chasm and rent, a land Of rugged blackness on either hand: If water trickled its track was tanned With an edge of rust to the chink; 130 If one stamped on stone or on sand It returned a clink. A lifeless land, a loveless land, Without lair or nest on either hand: Only scorpions jerked in the sand, Black as black iron, or dusty pale; From point to point sheer rock was manned By scorpions in mail. A land of neither life nor death, Where no man buildeth or fashioneth, 140 Where none draws living or dying breath; No man cometh or goeth there, No man doeth, seeketh, saith, In the stagnant air. Some old volcanic upset must Have rent the crust and blackened the crust; Wrenched and ribbed it beneath its dust Above earth's molten centre at seethe, Heaved and heaped it by huge upthrust Of fire beneath. 150 Untrodden before, untrodden since: Tedious land for a social Prince; Halting, he scanned the outs and ins, Endless, labyrinthine, grim, Of the solitude that made him wince, Laying wait for him. By bulging rock and gaping cleft, Even of half mere daylight reft, Rueful he peered to right and left, Muttering in his altered mood: 160 'The fate is hard that weaves my weft, Though my lot be good.' Dim the changes of day to night, Of night scarce dark to day not bright. Still his road wound towards the right, Still he went, and still he went, Till one night he espied a light, In his discontent. Out it flashed from a yawn-mouthed cave, Like a red-hot eye from a grave. 170 No man stood there of whom to crave Rest for wayfarer plodding by: Though the tenant were churl or knave The Prince might try. In he passed and tarried not, Groping his way from spot to spot, Towards where the cavern flare glowed hot:- An old, old mortal, cramped and double, Was peering into a seething-pot, In a world of trouble. 180 The veriest atomy he looked, With grimy fingers clutching and crooked, Tight skin, a nose all bony and hooked, And a shaking, sharp, suspicious way; His blinking eyes had scarcely brooked The light of day. Stared the Prince, for the sight was new; Stared, but asked without more ado: 'My a weary traveller lodge with you, Old father, here in your lair? 190 In your country the inns seem few, And scanty the fare.' The head turned not to hear him speak; The old voice whistled as through a leak (Out it came in a quavering squeak): 'Work for wage is a bargain fit: If there's aught of mine that you seek You must work for it. 'Buried alive from light and air This year is the hundredth year, 200 I feed my fire with a sleepless care, Watching my potion wane or wax: Elixir of Life is simmering there, And but one thing lacks. 'If you're fain to lodge here with me, Take that pair of bellows you see- Too heavy for my old hands they be- Take the bellows and puff and puff: When the steam curls rosy and free The broth's boiled enough. 210 'Then take your choice of all I have; I will give you life if you crave. Already I'm mildewed for the grave, So first myself I must drink my fill: But all the rest may be yours, to save Whomever you will.' 'Done,' quoth the Prince, and the bargain stood, First he piled on resinous wood, Next plied the bellows in hopeful mood; Thinking, 'My love and I will live. 220 If I tarry, why life is good, And she may forgive.' The pot began to bubble and boil; The old man cast in essence and oil, He stirred all up with a triple coil Of gold and silver and iron wire, Dredged in a pinch of virgin soil, And fed the fire. But still the steam curled watery white; Night turned to day and day to night; 230 One thing lacked, by his feeble sight Unseen, unguessed by his feeble mind: Life might miss him, but Death the blight Was sure to find. So when the hundredth year was full The thread was cut and finished the school. Death snapped the old worn-out tool, Snapped him short while he stood and stirred (Though stiff he stood as a stiff-necked mule) With never a word. 240 Thus at length the old crab was nipped. The dead hand slipped, the dead finger dipped In the broth as the dead man slipped,- That same instant, a rosy red Flushed the steam, and quivered and clipped Round the dead old head. The last ingredient was supplied (Unless the dead man mistook or lied). Up started the Prince, he cast aside The bellows plied through the tedious trial, 250 Made sure that his host had died, And filled a phial. 'One night's rest,' though the Prince: 'This done, Forth I start with the rising sun: With the morrow I rise and run, Come what will of wind or of weather. This draught of Life when my Bride is won We'll drink together.' Thus the dead man stayed in his grave, Self-chosen, the dead man in his cave; 260 There he stayed, were he fool or knave, Or honest seeker who had not found: While the Prince outside was prompt to crave Sleep on the ground. 'If she watches, go bid her sleep; Bit her sleep, for the road is steep: He can sleep who holdeth her cheap, Sleep and wake and sleep again. Let him sow, one day he shall reap, Let him sow the grain. 270 'When there blows a sweet garden rose, Let it bloom and wither if no man knows: But if one knows when the sweet thing blows, Knows, and lets it open and drop, If but a nettle his garden grows He hath earned the crop.' Through his sleep the summons rang, Into his ears it sobbed and it sang. Slow he woke with a drowsy pang, Shook himself without much debate, 280 Turned where he saw green branches hang, Started though late. For the black land was travelled o'er, He should see the grim land no more. A flowering country stretched before His face when the lovely day came back: He hugged the phial of Life he bore, And resumed his track. By willow courses he took his path, Spied what a nest the kingfisher hath, 290 Marked the fields green to aftermath, Marked where the red-brown field-mouse ran, Loitered a while for a deep-stream bath, Yawned for a fellow-man. Up on the hills not a soul in view, In a vale not many nor few; Leaves, still leaves, and nothing new. It's oh for a second maiden, at least, To bear the flagon, and taste it too, And flavour the feast. 300 Lagging he moved, and apt to swerve; Lazy of limb, but quick of nerve. At length the water-bed took a curve, The deep river swept its bankside bare; Waters streamed from the hill-reserve- Waters here, waters there. High above, and deep below, Bursting, bubbling, swelling the flow, Like hill torrents after the snow,- Bubbling, gurgling, in whirling strife, 310 Swaying, sweeping, to and fro,- He must swim for his life. Which way?-which way?-his eyes grew dim With the dizzying whirl-which way to swim? The thunderous downshoot deafened him; Half he choked in the lashing spray: Life is sweet, and the grave is grim- Which way?-which way? A flash of light, a shout from the strand: 'This way-this way; here lies the land!' 320 His phial clutched in one drowning hand; He catches-misses-catches a rope; His feet slip on the slipping sand: Is there life?-is there hope? Just saved, without pulse or breath,- Scarcely saved from the gulp of death; Laid where a willow shadoweth- Laid where a swelling turf is smooth. (O Bride! but the Bridegroom lingereth For all thy sweet youth.) 330 Kind hands do and undo, Kind voices whisper and coo: 'I will chafe his hands'-'And I'-'And you Raise his head, put his hair aside.' (If many laugh, one well may rue: Sleep on, thou Bride.) So the Prince was tended with care: One wrung foul ooze from his clustered hair; Two chafed his hands, and did not spare; But one held his drooping head breast-high, 340 Till his eyes oped, and at unaware They met eye to eye. Oh, a moon face in a shadowy place, And a light touch and a winsome grace, And a thrilling tender voice that says: 'Safe from waters that seek the sea- Cold waters by rugged ways- Safe with me.' While overhead bird whistles to bird, And round about plays a gamesome herd: 350 'Safe with us'-some take up the word- 'Safe with us, dear lord and friend: All the sweeter if long deferred Is rest in the end.' Had he stayed to weigh and to scan, He had been more or less than a man: He did what a young man can, Spoke of toil and an arduous way- Toil to-morrow, while golden ran The sands of to-day. 360 Slip past, slip fast, Uncounted hours from first to last, Many hours till the last is past, Many hours dwindling to one- One hour whose die is cast, One last hour gone. Come, gone-gone for ever- Gone as an unreturning river- Gone as to death the merriest liver- Gone as the year at the dying fall- 370 To-morrow, to-day, yesterday, never- Gone once for all. Came at length the starting-day, With last words, and last words to say, With bodiless cries from far away- Chiding wailing voices that rang Like a trumpet-call to the tug and fray; And thus they sang: 'Is there life?-the lamp burns low; Is there hope?-the coming is slow: 380 The promise promised so long ago, The long promise, has not been kept. Does she live?-does she die?-she slumbers so Who so oft has wept. 'Does she live?-does she die?-she languisheth As a lily drooping to death, As a drought-worn bird with failing breath, As a lovely vine without a stay, As a tree whereof the owner saith, "Hew it down to-day."' 390 Stung by that word the Prince was fain To start on his tedious road again. He crossed the stream where a ford was plain, He clomb the opposite bank though steep, And swore to himself to strain and attain Ere he tasted sleep. Huge before him a mountain frowned With foot of rock on the valley ground, And head with snows incessant crowned, And a cloud mantle about its strength, 400 And a path which the wild goat hath not found In its breadth and length. But he was strong to do and dare: If a host had withstood him there, He had braved a host with little care In his lusty youth and his pride, Tough to grapple though weak to snare. He comes, O Bride. Up he went where the goat scarce clings, Up where the eagle folds her wings, 410 Past the green line of living things, Where the sun cannot warm the cold,- Up he went as a flame enrings Where there seems no hold. Up a fissure barren and black, Till the eagles tired upon his track, And the clouds were left behind his back, Up till the utmost peak was past, Then he gasped for breath and his strength fell slack; He paused at last. 420 Before his face a valley spread Where fatness laughed, wine, oil, and bread, Where all fruit-trees their sweetness shed, Where all birds made love to their kind, Where jewels twinkled, and gold lay red And not hard to find. Midway down the mountain side (On its green slope the path was wide) Stood a house for a royal bride, Built all of changing opal stone, 430 The royal palace, till now descried In his dreams alone. Less bold than in days of yore, Doubting now though never before, Doubting he goes and lags the more: Is the time late? does the day grow dim? Rose, will she open the crimson core Of her heart to him? Take heart of grace! the potion of Life May go far to woo him a wife: 440 If she frown, yet a lover's strife Lightly raised can be laid again: A hasty word is never the knife To cut love in twain. Far away stretched the royal land, Fed by dew, by a spice-wind fanned: Light labour more, and his foot would stand On the threshold, all labour done; Easy pleasure laid at his hand, And the dear Bride won. 450 His slackening steps pause at the gate- Does she wake or sleep?-the time is late- Does she sleep now, or watch and wait? She has watched, she has waited long, Watching athwart the golden grate With a patient song. Fling the golden portals wide, The Bridegroom comes to his promised Bride; Draw the gold-stiff curtains aside, Let them look on each other's face, 460 She in her meekness, he in his pride- Day wears apace. Day is over, the day that wore. What is this that comes through the door, The face covered, the feet before? This that coming takes his breath; The Bride not seen, to be seen no more Save of Bridegroom Death? Veiled figures carrying her Sweep by yet make no stir; 470 There is a smell of spice and myrrh, A bride-chant burdened with one name; The bride-song rises steadier Than the torches' flame: 'Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate; 480 The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait. 'Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: 490 The frozen fountain would have leaped, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow. 'Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now these are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; 500 Must wear a veil to shroud her face And the want graven there: Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care? 'We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seemed never soft to her, Though tossed of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; 510 We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs showed in her locks That used to be so brown. 'We never heard her speak in haste; Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. 520 There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet. 'You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead? Lo, we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head. 530 Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread.' MAIDEN-SONG Long ago and long ago, And long ago still, There dwelt three merry maidens Upon a distant hill. One was tall Meggan, And one was dainty May, But one was fair Margaret, More fair than I can say, Long ago and long ago. When Meggan plucked the thorny rose, 10 And when May pulled the brier, Half the birds would swoop to see, Half the beasts draw nigher; Half the fishes of the streams Would dart up to admire: But when Margaret plucked a flag-flower, Or poppy hot aflame, All the beasts and all the birds And all the fishes came To her hand more soft than snow. 20 Strawberry leaves and May-dew In brisk morning air, Strawberry leaves and May-dew Make maidens fair. 'I go for strawberry leaves,' Meggan said one day: 'Fair Margaret can bide at home, But you come with me, May; Up the hill and down the hill, Along the winding way 30 You and I are used to go.' So these two fair sisters Went with innocent will Up the hill and down again, And round the homestead hill: While the fairest sat at home, Margaret like a queen, Like a blush-rose, like the moon In her heavenly sheen, Fragrant-breathed as milky cow 40 Or field of blossoming bean, Graceful as an ivy bough Born to cling and lean; Thus she sat to sing and sew. When she raised her lustrous eyes A beast peeped at the door; When she downward cast her eyes A fish gasped on the floor; When she turned away her eyes A bird perched on the sill, 50 Warbling out its heart of love, Warbling warbling still, With pathetic pleadings low. Light-foot May with Meggan Sought the choicest spot, Clothed with thyme-alternate grass: Then, while day waxed hot, Sat at ease to play and rest, A gracious rest and play; The loveliest maidens near or far, 60 When Margaret was away, Who sat at home to sing and sew. Sun-glow flushed their comely cheeks, Wind-play tossed their hair, Creeping things among the grass Stroked them here and there; Meggan piped a merry note, A fitful wayward lay, While shrill as bird on topmost twig Piped merry May; 70 Honey-smooth the double flow. Sped a herdsman from the vale, Mounting like a flame, All on fire to hear and see, With floating locks he came. Looked neither north nor south, Neither east nor west, But sat him down at Meggan's feet As love-bird on his nest, And wooed her with a silent awe, 80 With trouble not expressed; She sang the tears into his eyes, The heart out of his breast: So he loved her, listening so. She sang the heart out of his breast, The words out of his tongue; Hand and foot and pulse he paused Till her song was sung. Then he spoke up from his place Simple words and true: 90 'Scanty goods have I to give, Scanty skill to woo; But I have a will to work, And a heart for you: Bid me stay or bid me go.' Then Meggan mused within herself: 'Better be first with him, Than dwell where fairer Margaret sits, Who shines my brightness dim, For ever second where she sits, 100 However fair I be: I will be lady of his love, And he shall worship me; I will be lady of his herds And stoop to his degree, At home where kids and fatlings grow.' Sped a shepherd from the height Headlong down to look, (White lambs followed, lured by love Of their shepherd's crook): 110 He turned neither east nor west, Neither north nor south, But knelt right down to May, for love Of her sweet-singing mouth; Forgot his flocks, his panting flocks In parching hill-side drouth; Forgot himself for weal or woe. Trilled her song and swelled her song With maiden coy caprice In a labyrinth of throbs, 120 Pauses, cadences; Clear-noted as a dropping brook, Soft-noted like the bees, Wild-noted as the shivering wind Forlorn through forest trees: Love-noted like the wood-pigeon Who hides herself for love, Yet cannot keep her secret safe, But coos and coos thereof: Thus the notes rang loud or low. 130 He hung breathless on her breath; Speechless, who listened well; Could not speak or think or wish Till silence broke the spell. Then he spoke, and spread his hands, Pointing here and there: 'See my sheep and see the lambs, Twin lambs which they bare. All myself I offer you, All my flocks and care, 140 Your sweet song hath moved me so.' In her fluttered heart young May Mused a dubious while: 'If he loves me as he says'- Her lips curved with a smile: 'Where Margaret shines like the sun I shine but like a moon; If sister Meggan makes her choice I can make mine as soon; At cockcrow we were sister-maids, 150 We may be brides at noon.' Said Meggan, 'Yes;' May said not 'No.' Fair Margaret stayed alone at home, Awhile she sang her song, Awhile sat silent, then she thought: 'My sisters loiter long.' That sultry noon had waned away, Shadows had waxen great: 'Surely,' she thought within herself, 'My sisters loiter late.' 160 She rose, and peered out at the door, With patient heart to wait, And heard a distant nightingale Complaining of its mate; Then down the garden slope she walked, Down to the garden gate, Leaned on the rail and waited so. The slope was lightened by her eyes Like summer lightning fair, Like rising of the haloed moon 170 Lightened her glimmering hair, While her face lightened like the sun Whose dawn is rosy white. Thus crowned with maiden majesty She peered into the night, Looked up the hill and down the hill, To left hand and to right, Flashing like fire-flies to and fro. Waiting thus in weariness She marked the nightingale 180 Telling, if any one would heed, Its old complaining tale. Then lifted she her voice and sang, Answering the bird: Then lifted she her voice and sang, Such notes were never heard From any bird when Spring's in blow. The king of all that country Coursing far, coursing near, Curbed his amber-bitted steed, 190 Coursed amain to hear; All his princes in his train, Squire, and knight, and peer, With his crown upon his head, His sceptre in his hand, Down he fell at Margaret's knees Lord king of all that land, To her highness bending low. Every beast and bird and fish Came mustering to the sound, 200 Every man and every maid From miles of country round: Meggan on her herdsman's arm, With her shepherd May, Flocks and herds trooped at their heels Along the hill-side way; No foot too feeble for the ascent, Not any head too grey; Some were swift and none were slow. So Margaret sang her sisters home 210 In their marriage mirth; Sang free birds out of the sky, Beasts along the earth, Sang up fishes of the deep- All breathing things that move Sang from far and sang from near To her lovely love; Sang together friend and foe; Sang a golden-bearded king Straightway to her feet, 220 Sang him silent where he knelt In eager anguish sweet. But when the clear voice died away, When longest echoes died, He stood up like a royal man And claimed her for his bride. So three maids were wooed and won In a brief May-tide, Long ago and long ago. JESSIE CAMERON 'Jessie, Jessie Cameron, Hear me but this once,' quoth he. 'Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, But I'm no mate for you,' quoth she. Day was verging toward the night There beside the moaning sea, Dimness overtook the light There where the breakers be. 'O Jessie, Jessie Cameron, I have loved you long and true.'- 10 'Good luck go with you, neighbor's son, But I'm no mate for you.' She was a careless, fearless girl, And made her answer plain, Outspoken she to earl or churl, Kindhearted in the main, But somewhat heedless with her tongue, And apt at causing pain; A mirthful maiden she and young, Most fair for bliss or bane. 20 'Oh, long ago I told you so, I tell you so to-day: Go you your way, and let me go Just my own free way.' The sea swept in with moan and foam, Quickening the stretch of sand; They stood almost in sight of home; He strove to take her hand. 'Oh, can't you take your answer then, And won't you understand? 30 For me you're not the man of men, I've other plans are planned. You're good for Madge, or good for Cis, Or good for Kate, may be: But what's to me the good of this While you're not good for me?' They stood together on the beach, They two alone, And louder waxed his urgent speech, His patience almost gone: 40 'Oh, say but one kind word to me, Jessie, Jessie Cameron.'- 'I'd be too proud to beg,' quoth she, And pride was in her tone. And pride was in her lifted head, And in her angry eye And in her foot, which might have fled, But would not fly. Some say that he had gipsy blood; That in his heart was guile: 50 Yet he had gone through fire and flood Only to win her smile. Some say his grandam was a witch, A black witch from beyond the Nile, Who kept an image in a niche And talked with it the while. And by her hut far down the lane Some say they would not pass at night, Lest they should hear an unked strain Or see an unked sight. 60 Alas, for Jessie Cameron!- The sea crept moaning, moaning nigher: She should have hastened to begone,- The sea swept higher, breaking by her: She should have hastened to her home While yet the west was flushed with fire, But now her feet are in the foam, The sea-foam, sweeping higher. O mother, linger at your door, And light your lamp to make it plain, 70 But Jessie she comes home no more, No more again. They stood together on the strand, They only, each by each; Home, her home, was close at hand, Utterly out of reach. Her mother in the chimney nook Heard a startled sea-gull screech, But never turned her head to look Towards the darkening beach: 80 Neighbours here and neighbours there Heard one scream, as if a bird Shrilly screaming cleft the air:- That was all they heard. Jessie she comes home no more, Comes home never; Her lover's step sounds at his door No more forever. And boats may search upon the sea And search along the river, 90 But none know where the bodies be: Sea-winds that shiver, Sea-birds that breast the blast, Sea-waves swelling, Keep the secret first and last Of their dwelling. Whether the tide so hemmed them round With its pitiless flow, That when they would have gone they found No way to go; 100 Whether she scorned him to the last With words flung to and fro, Or clung to him when hope was past, None will ever know: Whether he helped or hindered her, Threw up his life or lost it well, The troubled sea, for all its stir Finds no voice to tell. Only watchers by the dying Have thought they heard one pray 110 Wordless, urgent; and replying One seem to say him nay: And watchers by the dead have heard A windy swell from miles away, With sobs and screams, but not a word Distinct for them to say: And watchers out at sea have caught Glimpse of a pale gleam here or there, Come and gone as quick as thought, Which might be hand or hair. 120 SPRING QUIET Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush. Full of fresh scents Are the budding boughs 10 Arching high over A cool green house: Full of sweet scents, And whispering air Which sayeth softly: 'We spread no snare; 'Here dwell in safety, Here dwell alone, With a clear stream And a mossy stone. 20 'Here the sun shineth Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, Though far off it be.' THE POOR GHOST 'Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me, With your golden hair all fallen below your knee, And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea, And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?' 'From the other world I come back to you, My locks are uncurled with dripping drenching dew. You know the old, whilst I know the new: But to-morrow you shall know this too.' 'Oh not to-morrow into the dark, I pray; Oh not to-morrow, too soon to go away: 10 Here I feel warm and well-content and gay: Give me another year, another day.' 'Am I so changed in a day and a night That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright, Is fain to turn away to left or right And cover up his eyes from the sight?' 'Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend, I loved you for life, but life has an end; Through sickness I was ready to tend: But death mars all, which we cannot mend. 20 'Indeed I loved you; I love you yet, If you will stay where your bed is set, Where I have planted a violet, Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet.' 'Life is gone, then love too is gone, It was a reed that I leant upon: Never doubt I will leave you alone And not wake you rattling bone with bone. 'I go home alone to my bed, Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head, 30 Roofed in with a load of lead, Warm enough for the forgotten dead. 'But why did your tears soak through the clay, And why did your sobs wake me where I lay? I was away, far enough away: Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day.' A PORTRAIT I She gave up beauty in her tender youth, Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways; She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze On vanity, and chose the bitter truth. Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth, Servant of servants, little known to praise, Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and days: She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth That with the poor and stricken she might make A home, until the least of all sufficed 10 Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake, Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss. So with calm will she chose and bore the cross And hated all for love of Jesus Christ. II They knelt in silent anguish by her bed, And could not weep; but calmly there she lay. All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray Shone through upon her, warming into red The shady curtains. In her heart she said: 'Heaven opens; I leave these and go away; 20 The Bridegroom calls,-shall the Bride seek to stay?' Then low upon her breast she bowed her head. O lily flower, O gem of priceless worth, O dove with patient voice and patient eyes, O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth, O maid replete with loving purities, Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth To raise it with the saints in Paradise. DREAM-LOVE Young Love lies sleeping In May-time of the year, Among the lilies, Lapped in the tender light: White lambs come grazing, White doves come building there: And round about him The May-bushes are white. Soft moss the pillow For oh, a softer cheek; 10 Broad leaves cast shadow Upon the heavy eyes: There winds and waters Grow lulled and scarcely speak; There twilight lingers The longest in the skies. Young Love lies dreaming; But who shall tell the dream? A perfect sunlight On rustling forest tips; 20 Or perfect moonlight Upon a rippling stream; Or perfect silence, Or song of cherished lips. Burn odours round him To fill the drowsy air; Weave silent dances Around him to and fro; For oh, in waking The sights are not so fair, 30 And song and silence Are not like these below. Young Love lies dreaming Till summer days are gone,- Dreaming and drowsing Away to perfect sleep: He sees the beauty Sun hath not looked upon, And tastes the fountain Unutterably deep. 40 Him perfect music Doth hush unto his rest, And through the pauses The perfect silence calms: Oh, poor the voices Of earth from east to west, And poor earth's stillness Between her stately palms. Young Love lies drowsing Away to poppied death; 50 Cool shadows deepen Across the sleeping face: So fails the summer With warm, delicious breath; And what hath autumn To give us in its place? Draw close the curtains Of branched evergreen; Change cannot touch them With fading fingers sere: 60 Here the first violets Perhaps will bud unseen, And a dove, may be, Return to nestle here. TWICE I took my heart in my hand (O my love, O my love), I said: Let me fall or stand, Let me live or die, But this once hear me speak- (O my love, O my love)- Yet a woman's words are weak; You should speak, not I. You took my heart in your hand With a friendly smile, 10 With a critical eye you scanned, Then set it down, And said: It is still unripe, Better wait awhile; Wait while the skylarks pipe, Till the corn grows brown. As you set it down it broke- Broke, but I did not wince; I smiled at the speech you spoke, At your judgement that I heard: 20 But I have not often smiled Since then, nor questioned since, Nor cared for corn-flowers wild, Nor sung with the singing bird. I take my heart in my hand, O my God, O my God, My broken heart in my hand: Thou hast seen, judge Thou. My hope was written on sand, O my God, O my God: 30 Now let thy judgement stand- Yea, judge me now. This contemned of a man, This marred one heedless day, This heart take Thou to scan Both within and without: Refine with fire its gold, Purge thou its dross away- Yea, hold it in Thy hold, Whence none can pluck it out. 40 I take my heart in my hand- I shall not die, but live- Before Thy face I stand; I, for Thou callest such: All that I have I bring, All that I am I give, Smile Thou and I shall sing, But shall not question much. SONGS IN A CORNFIELD A song in a cornfield Where corn begins to fall, Where reapers are reaping, Reaping one, reaping all. Sing pretty Lettice, Sing Rachel, sing May; Only Marian cannot sing While her sweetheart's away. Where is he gone to And why does he stay? 10 He came across the green sea But for a day, Across the deep green sea To help with the hay. His hair was curly yellow And his eyes were grey, He laughed a merry laugh And said a sweet say. Where is he gone to That he comes not home? 20 To-day or to-morrow He surely will come. Let him haste to joy Lest he lag for sorrow, For one weeps to-day Who'll not weep to-morrow: To-day she must weep For gnawing sorrow, To-night she may sleep And not wake to-morrow. 30 May sang with Rachel In the waxing warm weather, Lettice sang with them, They sang all together:- 'Take the wheat in your arm Whilst day is broad above, Take the wheat to your bosom, But not a false love. Out in the fields Summer heat gloweth, 40 Out in the fields Summer wind bloweth, Out in the fields Summer friend showeth, Out in the fields Summer wheat groweth; But in the winter When summer heat is dead And summer wind has veered And summer friend has fled, 50 Only summer wheat remaineth, White cakes and bread. Take the wheat, clasp the wheat That's food for maid and dove; Take the wheat to your bosom, But not a false false love.' A silence of full noontide heat Grew on them at their toil: The farmer's dog woke up from sleep, The green snake hid her coil. 60 Where grass stood thickest, bird and beast Sought shadows as they could, The reaping men and women paused And sat down where they stood; They ate and drank and were refreshed, For rest from toil is good. While the reapers took their ease, Their sickles lying by, Rachel sang a second strain, And singing seemed to sigh:- 70 'There goes the swallow- Could we but follow! Hasty swallow stay, Point us out the way; Look back swallow, turn back swallow, stop swallow. 'There went the swallow- Too late to follow: Lost our note of way, Lost our chance to-day; Good bye swallow, sunny swallow, wise swallow. 80 'After the swallow All sweet things follow: All things go their way, Only we must stay, Must not follow; good bye swallow, good swallow.' Then listless Marian raised her head Among the nodding sheaves; Her voice was sweeter than that voice; She sang like one who grieves: Her voice was sweeter than its wont 90 Among the nodding sheaves; All wondered while they heard her sing Like one who hopes and grieves:- 'Deeper than the hail can smite, Deeper than the frost can bite, Deep asleep through day and night, Our delight. 'Now thy sleep no pang can break, No to-morrow bid thee wake, Not our sobs who sit and ache 100 For thy sake. 'Is it dark or light below? Oh, but is it cold like snow? Dost thou feel the green things grow Fast or slow? 'Is it warm or cold beneath, Oh, but is it cold like death? Cold like death, without a breath, Cold like death?' If he comes to-day 110 He will find her weeping; If he comes to-morrow He will find her sleeping; If he comes the next day He'll not find her at all, He may tear his curling hair, Beat his breast and call. A YEAR'S WINDFALLS On the wind of January Down flits the snow, Travelling from the frozen North As cold as it can blow. Poor robin redbreast, Look where he comes; Let him in to feel your fire, And toss him of your crumbs. On the wind in February Snowflakes float still, 10 Half inclined to turn to rain, Nipping, dripping, chill. Then the thaws swell the streams, And swollen rivers swell the sea:- If the winter ever ends How pleasant it will be! In the wind of windy March The catkins drop down, Curly, caterpillar-like, Curious green and brown. 20 With concourse of nest-building birds And leaf-buds by the way, We begin to think of flowers And life and nuts some day. With the gusts of April Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall, On the hedged-in orchard-green, From the southern wall. Apple-trees and pear-trees Shed petals white or pink, 30 Plum-trees and peach-trees; While sharp showers sink and sink. Little brings the May breeze Beside pure scent of flowers, While all things wax and nothing wanes In lengthening daylight hours. Across the hyacinth beds The wind lags warm and sweet, Across the hawthorn tops, Across the blades of wheat. 40 In the wind of sunny June Thrives the red rose crop, Every day fresh blossoms blow While the first leaves drop; White rose and yellow rose And moss-rose choice to find, And the cottage cabbage-rose Not one whit behind. On the blast of scorched July Drives the pelting hail, 50 From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot Blue heaven grown lurid-pale. Weedy waves are tossed ashore, Sea-things strange to sight Gasp upon the barren shore And fade away in light. In the parching August wind Corn-fields bow the head, Sheltered in round valley depths, On low hills outspread. 60 Early leaves drop loitering down Weightless on the breeze, First fruits of the year's decay From the withering trees. In brisk wind of September The heavy-headed fruits Shake upon their bending boughs And drop from the shoots; Some glow golden in the sun, Some show green and streaked, 70 Some set forth a purple bloom, Some blush rosy-cheeked. In strong blast of October At the equinox, Stirred up in his hollow bed Broad ocean rocks; Plunge the ships on his bosom, Leaps and plunges the foam,- It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea, That they were safe at home. 80 In slack wind of November The fog forms and shifts; All the world comes out again When the fog lifts. Loosened from their sapless twigs Leaves drop with every gust; Drifting, rustling, out of sight In the damp or dust. Last of all, December, The year's sands nearly run, 90 Speeds on the shortest day, Curtails the sun; With its bleak raw wind Lays the last leaves low, Brings back the nightly frosts, Brings back the snow. THE QUEEN OF HEARTS How comes it, Flora, that, whenever we Play cards together, you invariably, However the pack parts, Still hold the Queen of Hearts? I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze, Resolved to fathom these your secret ways: But, sift them as I will, Your ways are secret still. I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again; But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain: 10 Vain hope, vain forethought too; The Queen still falls to you. I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel: 'There should be one card more,' You said, and searched the floor. I cheated once; I made a private notch In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch; Yet such another back Deceived me in the pack: 20 The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown An imitative dint that seemed my own; This notch, not of my doing, Misled me to my ruin. It baffles me to puzzle out the clue, Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you: Unless, indeed, it be Natural affinity. ONE DAY I will tell you when they met: In the limpid days of Spring; Elder boughs were budding yet, Oaken boughs looked wintry still, But primrose and veined violet In the mossful turf were set, While meeting birds made haste to sing And build with right good will. I will tell you when they parted: When plenteous Autumn sheaves were brown, 10 Then they parted heavy-hearted; The full rejoicing sun looked down As grand as in the days before; Only they had lost a crown; Only to them those days of yore Could come back nevermore. When shall they meet? I cannot tell, Indeed, when they shall meet again, Except some day in Paradise: For this they wait, one waits in pain. 20 Beyond the sea of death love lies For ever, yesterday, to-day; Angels shall ask them, 'Is it well?' And they shall answer, 'Yea.' A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW 'Croak, croak, croak,' Thus the Raven spoke, Perched on his crooked tree As hoarse as hoarse could be. Shun him and fear him, Lest the Bridegroom hear him; Scout him and rout him With his ominous eye about him. Yet, 'Croak, croak, croak,' Still tolled from the oak; 10 From that fatal black bird, Whether heard or unheard: 'O ship upon the high seas, Freighted with lives and spices, Sink, O ship,' croaked the Raven: 'Let the Bride mount to heaven.' In a far foreign land, Upon the wave-edged sand, Some friends gaze wistfully Across the glittering sea. 20 'If we could clasp our sister,' Three say, 'now we have missed her!' 'If we could kiss our daughter!' Two sigh across the water. Oh, the ship sails fast With silken flags at the mast, And the home-wind blows soft; But a Raven sits aloft, Chuckling and choking, Croaking, croaking, croaking:- 30 Let the beacon-fire blaze higher; Bridegroom, watch; the Bride draws nigher. On a sloped sandy beach, Which the spring-tide billows reach, Stand a watchful throng Who have hoped and waited long: 'Fie on this ship, that tarries With the priceless freight it carries. The time seems long and longer: O languid wind, wax stronger;'- 40 Whilst the Raven perched at ease Still croaks and does not cease, One monotonous note Tolled from his iron throat: 'No father, no mother, But I have a sable brother: He sees where ocean flows to, And he knows what he knows, too.' A day and a night They kept watch worn and white; 50 A night and a day For the swift ship on its way: For the Bride and her maidens -Clear chimes the bridal cadence- For the tall ship that never Hove in sight for ever. On either shore, some Stand in grief loud or dumb As the dreadful dread Grows certain though unsaid. 60 For laughter there is weeping, And waking instead of sleeping, And a desperate sorrow Morrow after morrow. Oh, who knows the truth, How she perished in her youth, And like a queen went down Pale in her royal crown: How she went up to glory From the sea-foam chill and hoary, 70 From the sea-depth black and riven To the calm that is in Heaven? They went down, all the crew, The silks and spices too, The great ones and the small, One and all, one and all. Was it through stress of weather, Quicksands, rocks, or all together? Only the Raven knows this, And he will not disclose this.- 80 After a day and year The bridal bells chime clear; After a year and a day The Bridegroom is brave and gay: Love is sound, faith is rotten; The old Bride is forgotten:- Two ominous Ravens only Remember, black and lonely. LIGHT LOVE 'Oh, sad thy lot before I came, But sadder when I go; My presence but a flash of flame, A transitory glow Between two barren wastes like snow. What wilt thou do when I am gone, Where wilt thou rest, my dear? For cold thy bed to rest upon, And cold the falling year Whose withered leaves are lost and sere.' 10 She hushed the baby at her breast, She rocked it on her knee: 'And I will rest my lonely rest, Warmed with the thought of thee, Rest lulled to rest by memory.' She hushed the baby with her kiss, She hushed it with her breast: 'Is death so sadder much than this- Sure death that builds a nest For those who elsewhere cannot rest?' 20 'Oh, sad thy note, my mateless dove, With tender nestling cold; But hast thou ne'er another love Left from the days of old, To build thy nest of silk and gold, To warm thy paleness to a blush When I am far away- To warm thy coldness to a flush, And turn thee back to May, And turn thy twilight back to day?' 30 She did not answer him again, But leaned her face aside, Weary with the pang of shame and pain, And sore with wounded pride: He knew his very soul had lied. She strained his baby in her arms, His baby to her heart: 'Even let it go, the love that harms: We twain will never part; Mine own, his own, how dear thou art.' 40 'Now never teaze me, tender-eyed, Sigh-voiced,' he said in scorn: 'For nigh at hand there blooms a bride, My bride before the morn; Ripe-blooming she, as thou forlorn. Ripe-blooming she, my rose, my peach; She woos me day and night: I watch her tremble in my reach; She reddens, my delight, She ripens, reddens in my sight.' 50 'And is she like a sunlit rose? Am I like withered leaves? Haste where thy spicèd garden blows: But in bare Autumn eves Wilt thou have store of harvest sheaves? Thou leavest love, true love behind, To seek a love as true; Go, seek in haste: but wilt thou find? Change new again for new; Pluck up, enjoy-yea, trample too. 60 'Alas for her, poor faded rose, Alas for her her, like me, Cast down and trampled in the snows.' 'Like thee? nay, not like thee: She leans, but from a guarded tree. Farewell, and dream as long ago, Before we ever met: Farewell; my swift-paced horse seems slow.' She raised her eyes, not wet But hard, to Heaven: 'Does God forget?' 70 A DREAM Sonnet Once in a dream (for once I dreamed of you) We stood together in an open field; Above our heads two swift-winged pigeons wheeled, Sporting at ease and courting full in view. When loftier still a broadening darkness flew, Down-swooping, and a ravenous hawk revealed; Too weak to fight, too fond to fly, they yield; So farewell life and love and pleasures new. Then as their plumes fell fluttering to the ground, Their snow-white plumage flecked with crimson drops, I wept, and thought I turned towards you to weep: But you were gone; while rustling hedgerow tops Bent in a wind which bore to me a sound Of far-off piteous bleat of lambs and sheep. A RING POSY Jess and Jill are pretty girls, Plump and well to do, In a cloud of windy curls: Yet I know who Loves me more than curls or pearls. I'm not pretty, not a bit- Thin and sallow-pale; When I trudge along the street I don't need a veil: Yet I have one fancy hit. 10 Jess and Jill can trill and sing With a flute-like voice, Dance as light as bird on wing, Laugh for careless joys: Yet it's I who wear the ring. Jess and Jill will mate some day, Surely, surely: Ripen on to June through May, While the sun shines make their hay, Slacken steps demurely: 20 Yet even there I lead the way. BEAUTY IS VAIN While roses are so red, While lilies are so white, Shall a woman exalt her face Because it gives delight? She's not so sweet as a rose, A lily's straighter than she, And if she were as red or white She'd be but one of three. Whether she flush in love's summer Or in its winter grow pale, 10 Whether she flaunt her beauty Or hide it away in a veil, Be she red or white, And stand she erect or bowed, Time will win the race he runs with her And hide her away in a shroud. LADY MAGGIE You must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear, For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see; And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy year, 'Twill be little lord or lady at my knee. Oh, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil, That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost? You're as white as I turned once down by the mill, When one told me you and ship and crew were lost: Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl (It was the Miller's Nancy told it to me), 10 Philip with the merry life in lip and curl, Philip my playfellow drowned in the sea! I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint; I stood stunned at the moment, scarcely sad, Till I raised my wail of desolate complaint For you, my cousin, brother, all I had. They said I looked so pale-some say so fair- My lord stopped in passing to soothe me back to life: I know I missed a ringlet from my hair Next morning; and now I am his wife. 20 Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring, I'm all crimson and gold from top to toe: All day long I sit in the sun and sing, Where in the sun red roses blush and blow. And I'm the rose of roses says my lord; And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky, While I hold him fast with the golden cord Of a curl, with the eyelash of an eye. His mother said 'fie,' and his sisters cried 'shame,' His highborn ladies cried 'shame' from their place: 30 They said 'fie' when they only heard my name, But fell silent when they saw my face. Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you think I was so fair when we played boy and girl, Where blue forget-me-nots bloomed on the brink Of our stream which the mill-wheel sent a whirl? If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now, Sitting where a score of servants stand, With a coronet on high days for my brow And almost a sceptre for my hand. 40 You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown, A stranger on land and at home on the sea, Coasting as best you may from town to town: Coasting along do you often think of me? I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower, With hands grown white through having nought to do: Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hour Till I nigh wish myself a child with you. WHAT WOULD I GIVE? What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through, Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do; Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all. What would I give for words, if only words would come; But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb: Oh, merry friends, go your own way, I have never a word to say. What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears, To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years, To wash the stain ingrain and to make me clean again. THE BOURNE Underneath the growing grass, Underneath the living flowers, Deeper than the sound of showers: There we shall not count the hours By the shadows as they pass. Youth and health will be but vain, Beauty reckoned of no worth: There a very little girth Can hold round what once the earth Seemed too narrow to contain. SUMMER Winter is cold-hearted Spring is yea and nay, Autumn is a weather-cock Blown every way: Summer days for me When every leaf is on its tree; When Robin's not a beggar, And Jenny Wren's a bride, And larks hang singing, singing, singing, Over the wheat-fields wide, 10 And anchored lilies ride, And the pendulum spider Swings from side to side, And blue-black beetles transact business, And gnats fly in a host, And furry caterpillars hasten That no time be lost, And moths grow fat and thrive, And ladybirds arrive. Before green apples blush, 20 Before green nuts embrown, Why, one day in the country Is worth a month in town; Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion That days drone elsewhere. AUTUMN I dwell alone-I dwell alone, alone, Whilst full my river flows down to the sea, Gilded with flashing boats That bring no friend to me: O love-songs, gurgling from a hundred throats, O love-pangs, let me be. Fair fall the freighted boats which gold and stone And spices bear to sea: Slim, gleaming maidens swell their mellow notes, Love-promising, entreating- 10 Ah! sweet, but fleeting- Beneath the shivering, snow-white sails. Hush! the wind flags and fails- Hush! they will lie becalmed in sight of strand- Sight of my strand, where I do dwell alone; Their songs wake singing echoes in my land- They cannot hear me moan. One latest, solitary swallow flies Across the sea, rough autumn-tempest tossed, Poor bird, shall it be lost? 20 Dropped down into this uncongenial sea, With no kind eyes To watch it while it dies, Unguessed, uncared for, free: Set free at last, The short pang past, In sleep, in death, in dreamless sleep locked fast. Mine avenue is all a growth of oaks, Some rent by thunder strokes, Some rustling leaves and acorns in the breeze; 30 Fair fall my fertile trees, That rear their goodly heads, and live at ease. A spider's web blocks all mine avenue; He catches down and foolish painted flies That spider wary and wise. Each morn it hangs a rainbow strung with dew Betwixt boughs green with sap, So fair, few creatures guess it is a trap: I will not mar the web, Though sad I am to see the small lives ebb. 40 It shakes-my trees shake-for a wind is roused In cavern where it housed: Each white and quivering sail, Of boats among the water leaves Hollows and strains in the full-throated gale: Each maiden sings again- Each languid maiden, whom the calm Had lulled to sleep with rest and spice and balm Miles down my river to the sea They float and wane, 50 Long miles away from me. Perhaps they say: 'She grieves, Uplifted, like a beacon, on her tower.' Perhaps they say: 'One hour More, and we dance among the golden sheaves.' Perhaps they say: 'One hour More, and we stand, Face to face, hand in hand; Make haste, O slack gale, to the looked-for land!' My trees are not in flower, 60 I have no bower, And gusty creaks my tower, And lonesome, very lonesome, is my strand. THE GHOST'S PETITION 'There's a footstep coming: look out and see,' 'The leaves are falling, the wind is calling; No one cometh across the lea.'- 'There's a footstep coming; O sister, look.'- 'The ripple flashes, the white foam dashes; No one cometh across the brook.'- 'But he promised that he would come: To-night, to-morrow, in joy or sorrow, He must keep his word, and must come home. 'For he promised that he would come: 10 His word was given; from earth or heaven, He must keep his word, and must come home. 'Go to sleep, my sweet sister Jane; You can slumber, who need not number Hour after hour, in doubt and pain. 'I shall sit here awhile, and watch; Listening, hoping, for one hand groping In deep shadow to find the latch.' After the dark, and before the light, One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping, 20 Who had watched and wept the weary night. After the night, and before the day, One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping- Watching, weeping for one away. There came a footstep climbing the stair; Some one standing out on the landing Shook the door like a puff of air- Shook the door, and in he passed. Did he enter? In the room centre Stood her husband: the door shut fast. 30 'O Robin, but you are cold- Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you Look like a stray lamb from our fold. 'O Robin, but you are late: Come and sit near me-sit here and cheer me.'- (Blue the flame burnt in the grate.) 'Lay not down your head on my breast: I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you In the shelter that you love best. 'Feel not after my clasping hand: 40 I am but a shadow, come from the meadow Where many lie, but no tree can stand. 'We are trees which have shed their leaves: Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there; Only I grieve for my wife who grieves. 'I could rest if you would not moan Hour after hour; I have no power To shut my ears where I lie alone. 'I could rest if you would not cry; But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping- 50 Watching, weeping so bitterly.'- 'Woe's me! woe's me! for this I have heard. Oh night of sorrow!-oh black to-morrow! Is it thus that you keep your word? 'O you who used so to shelter me Warm from the least wind-why, now the east wind Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see. 'O my husband of flesh and blood, For whom my mother I left, and brother, And all I had, accounting it good, 60 'What do you do there, underground, In the dark hollow? I'm fain to follow. What do you do there?-what have you found?'- 'What I do there I must not tell: But I have plenty: kind wife, content ye: It is well with us-it is well. 'Tender hand hath made our nest; Our fear is ended, our hope is blended With present pleasure, and we have rest.'- 'Oh, but Robin, I'm fain to come, 70 If your present days are so pleasant; For my days are so wearisome. 'Yet I'll dry my tears for your sake: Why should I tease you, who cannot please you Any more with the pains I take?' MEMORY I I nursed it in my bosom while it lived, I hid it in my heart when it was dead; In joy I sat alone, even so I grieved Alone and nothing said. I shut the door to face the naked truth, I stood alone-I faced the truth alone, Stripped bare of self-regard or forms or ruth Till first and last were shown. I took the perfect balances and weighed; No shaking of my hand disturbed the poise; 10 Weighed, found it wanting: not a word I said, But silent made my choice. None know the choice I made; I make it still. None know the choice I made and broke my heart, Breaking mine idol: I have braced my will Once, chosen for once my part. I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold, Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live. My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old, Grows old in which I grieve. 20 II I have a room whereinto no one enters Save I myself alone: There sits a blessed memory on a throne, There my life centres. While winter comes and goes-oh tedious comer!- And while its nip-wind blows; While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose Of lavish summer. If any should force entrance he might see there One buried yet not dead, 30 Before whose face I no more bow my head Or bend my knee there; But often in my worn life's autumn weather I watch there with clear eyes, And think how it will be in Paradise When we're together. A ROYAL PRINCESS I, a princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest, Would rather be a peasant with her baby at her breast, For all I shine so like the sun, and am purple like the west. Two and two my guards behind, two and two before, Two and two on either hand, they guard me evermore; Me, poor dove, that must not coo-eagle that must not soar. All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow Scented woods and foreign spices, with all flowers in blow That are costly, out of season as the seasons go. All my walls are lost in mirrors, whereupon I trace 10 Self to right hand, self to left hand, self in every place, Self-same solitary figure, self-same seeking face. Then I have an ivory chair high to sit upon, Almost like my father's chair, which is an ivory throne; There I sit uplift and upright, there I sit alone. Alone by day, alone by night, alone days without end; My father and my mother give me treasures, search and spend- O my father! O my mother! have you ne'er a friend? As I am a lofty princess, so my father is A lofty king, accomplished in all kingly subtilties, 20 Holding in his strong right hand world-kingdoms' balances. He has quarrelled with his neighbours, he has scourged his foes; Vassal counts and princes follow where his pennon goes, Long-descended valiant lords whom the vulture knows, On whose track the vulture swoops, when they ride in state To break the strength of armies and topple down the great: Each of these my courteous servant, none of these my mate. My father counting up his strength sets down with equal pen So many head of cattle, head of horses, head of men; These for slaughter, these for breeding, with the how and when. 30 Some to work on roads, canals; some to man his ships; Some to smart in mines beneath sharp overseers' whips; Some to trap fur-beasts in lands where utmost winter nips. Once it came into my heart, and whelmed me like a flood, That these too are men and women, human flesh and blood; Men with hearts and men with souls, though trodden down like mud. Our feasting was not glad that night, our music was not gay: On my mother's graceful head I marked a thread of grey, My father frowning at the fare seemed every dish to weigh. I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place, 40 My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais: A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face; It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon, Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love's secret lore is known, They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne? The singing men and women sang that night as usual, The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall, A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral. Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept; My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have wept 50 To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept. I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on, They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon, They lit my shaded silver lamp, and left me there alone. A day went by, a week went by. One day I heard it said: 'Men are clamouring, women, children, clamouring to be fed; Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread.' So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear, Vulgar naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear; Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near. 60 But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark: 'There are families out grazing like cattle in the park.' 'A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark.' A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way; One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day; One was my youngest maid as sweet and white as cream in May. Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp; Voices said: 'Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp.' 'Howl and stamp?' one answered: 'They made free to hurl a stone 70 At the minister's state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown.' 'There's work then for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown.' 'One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head, Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread: Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead.' 'After us the deluge,' was retorted with a laugh: 'If bread's the staff of life, they must walk without a staff.' 'While I've a loaf they're welcome to my blessing and the chaff.' These passed. The king: stand up. Said my father with a smile: 'Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, 80 She's sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?' He too left me. Shall I touch my harp now while I wait,- (I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate-) Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state; Or shall my woman stand and read some unimpassioned scene, There's music of a lulling sort in words that pause between; Or shall she merely fan me while I wait here for the queen? Again I caught my father's voice in sharp word of command: 'Charge!' a clash of steel: 'Charge again, the rebels stand. Smite and spare not, hand to hand; smite and spare not, hand to hand.' There swelled a tumult at the gate, high voices waxing higher; 91 A flash of red reflected light lit the cathedral spire; I heard a cry for faggots, then I heard a yell for fire. 'Sit and roast there with your meat, sit and bake there with your bread, You who sat to see us starve,' one shrieking woman said: 'Sit on your throne and roast with your crown upon your head.' Nay, this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth, I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith, I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and wreath; With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, 100 I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land. They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give; I, if I perish, perish; they to-day shall eat and live; I, if I perish, perish; that's the goal I half conceive: Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and show The lesson I have learned which is death, is life, to know. I, if I perish, perish; in the name of God I go. SHALL I FORGET? Shall I forget on this side of the grave? I promise nothing: you must wait and see Patient and brave. (O my soul, watch with him and he with me.) Shall I forget in peace of Paradise? I promise nothing: follow, friend, and see Faithful and wise. (O my soul, lead the way he walks with me.) VANITY OF VANITIES Sonnet Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain, Ah, woe is me for glory that is past: Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last, Glory that at the last bringeth no gain! So saith the sinking heart; and so again It shall say till the mighty angel-blast Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast And showering down the stars like sudden rain. And evermore men shall go fearfully Bending beneath their weight of heaviness; And ancient men shall lie down wearily, And strong men shall rise up in weariness; Yea, even the young shall answer sighingly Saying one to another: How vain it is! L. E. L. 'Whose heart was breaking for a little love.' Downstairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all; But in my solitary room above I turn my face in silence to the wall; My heart is breaking for a little love. Though winter frosts are done, And birds pair every one, And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun. I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown, I find no nest, while nests are in the grove: Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone, 10 My heart that breaketh for a little love. While golden in the sun Rivulets rise and run, While lilies bud, for springtide is begun. All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof: They cannot guess, who play the pleasant parts, My heart is breaking for a little love. While beehives wake and whirr, And rabbit thins his fur, 20 In living spring that sets the world astir. I deck myself with skills and jewelry, I plume myself like any mated dove: They praise my rustling show, and never see My heart is breaking for a little love. While sprouts green lavender With rosemary and myrrh, For in quick spring the sap is all astir. Perhaps some saints in glory guess the truth, Perhaps some angels read it as they move, 30 And cry one to another full of ruth, 'Her heart is breaking for a little love.' Though other things have birth, And leap and sing for mirth, When springtime wakes and clothes and feeds the earth. Yet saith a saint: 'Take patience for thy scathe;' Yet saith an angel: 'Wait, for thou shalt prove True best is last, true life is born of death, O thou, heart-broken for a little love. Then love shall fill they girth, 40 And love make fat thy dearth, When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth.' LIFE AND DEATH Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet To shut our eyes and die: Nor feel the wild flowers blow, nor birds dart by With flitting butterfly, Nor grass grow long above our heads and feet, Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, Nor sigh that spring is fleet and summer fleet, Nor mark the waxing wheat, Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat. Life is not good. One day it will be good 10 To die, then live again; To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main, Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood Rich ranks of golden grain Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain: Asleep from risk, asleep from pain. BIRD OR BEAST? Did any bird come flying After Adam and Eve, When the door was shut against them And they sat down to grieve? I think not Eve's peacock Splendid to see, And I think not Adam's eagle; But a dove may be. Did any beast come pushing Through the thorny hedge 10 Into the thorny thistly world, Out from Eden's edge? I think not a lion, Though his strength is such; But an innocent loving lamb May have done as much. If the dove preached from her bough and the lamb from his sod, The lamb and dove Were preachers sent from God. 20 EVE 'While I sit at the door Sick to gaze within Mine eye weepeth sore For sorrow and sin: As a tree my sin stands To darken all lands; Death is the fruit it bore. 'How have Eden bowers grown Without Adam to bend them! How have Eden flowers blown 10 Squandering their sweet breath Without me to tend them! The Tree of Life was ours, Tree twelvefold-fruited, Most lofty tree that flowers, Most deeply rooted: I chose the tree of death. 'Hadst thou but said me nay, Adam, my brother, I might have pined away; 20 I, but none other: God might have let thee stay Safe in our garden, By putting me away Beyond all pardon. 'I, Eve, sad mother Of all who must live, I, not another Plucked bitterest fruit to give My friend, husband, lover- 30 O wanton eyes, run over; Who but I should grieve?- Cain hath slain his brother: Of all who must die mother, Miserable Eve!' Thus she sat weeping, Thus Eve our mother, Where one lay sleeping Slain by his brother. Greatest and least 40 Each piteous beast To hear her voice Forgot his joys And set aside his feast. The mouse paused in his walk And dropped his wheaten stalk; Grave cattle wagged their heads In rumination; The eagle gave a cry From his cloud station; 50 Larks on thyme beds Forbore to mount or sing; Bees drooped upon the wing; The raven perched on high Forgot his ration; The conies in their rock, A feeble nation, Quaked sympathetical; The mocking-bird left off to mock; Huge camels knelt as if 60 In deprecation; The kind hart's tears were falling; Chattered the wistful stork; Dove-voices with a dying fall Cooed desolation Answering grief by grief. Only the serpent in the dust Wriggling and crawling, Grinned an evil grin and thrust His tongue out with its fork. 70 GROWN AND FLOWN I loved my love from green of Spring Until sere Autumn's fall; But now that leaves are withering How should one love at all? One heart's too small For hunger, cold, love, everything. I loved my love on sunny days Until late Summer's wane; But now that frost begins to glaze How should one love again? 10 Nay, love and pain Walk wide apart in diverse ways. I loved my love-alas to see That this should be, alas! I thought that this could scarcely be, Yet has it come to pass: Sweet sweet love was, Now bitter bitter grown to me. A FARM WALK The year stood at its equinox And bluff the North was blowing, A bleat of lambs came from the flocks, Green hardy things were growing; I met a maid with shining locks Where milky kine were lowing. She wore a kerchief on her neck, Her bare arm showed its dimple, Her apron spread without a speck, Her air was frank and simple. 10 She milked into a wooden pail And sang a country ditty, An innocent fond lovers' tale, That was not wise nor witty, Pathetically rustical, Too pointless for the city. She kept in time without a beat As true as church-bell ringers, Unless she tapped time with her feet, Or squeezed it with her fingers; 20 Her clear unstudied notes were sweet As many a practised singer's. I stood a minute out of sight, Stood silent for a minute To eye the pail, and creamy white The frothing milk within it; To eye the comely milking maid Herself so fresh and creamy: 'Good day to you,' at last I said; She turned her head to see me: 30 'Good day,' she said with lifted head; Her eyes looked soft and dreamy, And all the while she milked and milked The grave cow heavy-laden: I've seen grand ladies plumed and silked, But not a sweeter maiden; But not a sweeter fresher maid Than this in homely cotton, Whose pleasant face and silky braid I have not yet forgotten. 40 Seven springs have passed since then, as I Count with a sober sorrow; Seven springs have come and passed me by, And spring sets in to-morrow. I've half a mind to shake myself Free just for once from London, To set my work upon the shelf And leave it done or undone; To run down by the early train, Whirl down with shriek and whistle, 50 And feel the bluff North blow again, And mark the sprouting thistle Set up on waste patch of the lane Its green and tender bristle. And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, Crisp primrose leaves and others, And watch the lambs leap at their pranks And butt their patient mothers. Alas, one point in all my plan My serious thoughts demur to: 60 Seven years have passed for maid and man, Seven years have passed for her too; Perhaps my rose is overblown, Not rosy or too rosy; Perhaps in farmhouse of her own Some husband keeps her cosy, Where I should show a face unknown. Good-bye, my wayside posy. SOMEWHERE OR OTHER Somewhere or other there must surely be The face not seen, the voice not heard, The heart that not yet-never yet-ah me! Made answer to my word. Somewhere or other, may be near or far; Past land and sea, clean out of sight; Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star That tracks her night by night. Somewhere or other, may be far or near; With just a wall, a hedge, between; 10 With just the last leaves of the dying year Fallen on a turf grown green. A CHILL What can lambkins do All the keen night through? Nestle by their woolly mother The careful ewe. What can nestlings do In the nightly dew? Sleep beneath their mother's wing Till day breaks anew. If in a field or tree There might only be 10 Such a warm soft sleeping-place Found for me! CHILD'S TALK IN APRIL I wish you were a pleasant wren, And I your small accepted mate; How we'd look down on toilsome men! We'd rise and go to bed at eight Or it may be not quite so late. Then you should see the nest I'd build, The wondrous nest for you and me; The outside rough perhaps, but filled With wool and down; ah, you should see The cosy nest that it would be. 10 We'd have our change of hope and fear, Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet: I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer, Or hop about on active feet, And fetch you dainty bits to eat. We'd be so happy by the day, So safe and happy through the night, We both should feel, and I should say, It's all one season of delight, And we'll make merry whilst we may. 20 Perhaps some day there'd be an egg When spring had blossomed from the snow: I'd stand triumphant on one leg; Like chanticleer I'd almost crow To let our little neighbours know. Next you should sit and I would sing Through lengthening days of sunny spring; Till, if you wearied of the task, I'd sit; and you should spread your wing From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask. 30 Fancy the breaking of the shell, The chirp, the chickens wet and bare, The untried proud paternal swell; And you with housewife-matron air Enacting choicer bills of fare. Fancy the embryo coats of down, The gradual feathers soft and sleek; Till clothed and strong from tail to crown, With virgin warblings in their beak, They too go forth to soar and seek. 40 So would it last an April through And early summer fresh with dew: Then should we part and live as twain, Love-time would bring me back to you And build our happy nest again. GONE FOR EVER O happy rose-bud blooming Upon thy parent tree, Nay, thou art too presuming; For soon the earth entombing Thy faded charms shall be, And the chill damp consuming. O happy skylark springing Up to the broad blue sky, Too fearless in thy winging, Too gladsome in thy singing, 10 Thou also soon shalt lie Where no sweet notes are ringing. And through life's shine and shower We shall have joy and pain; But in the summer bower, And at the morning hour, We still shall look in vain For the same bird and flower. UNDER THE ROSE 'The iniquity of the fathers upon the children.' Oh the rose of keenest thorn! One hidden summer morn Under the rose I was born. I do not guess his name Who wrought my Mother's shame, And gave me life forlorn, But my Mother, Mother, Mother, I know her from all other. My Mother pale and mild, Fair as ever was seen, 10 She was but scarce sixteen, Little more than a child, When I was born To work her scorn. With secret bitter throes, In a passion of secret woes, She bore me under the rose. One who my Mother nursed Took me from the first:- 'O nurse, let me look upon 20 This babe that costs so dear; To-morrow she will be gone: Other mothers may keep Their babes awake and asleep, But I must not keep her here.'- Whether I know or guess, I know this not the less. So I was sent away That none might spy the truth: And my childhood waxed to youth 30 And I left off childish play. I never cared to play With the village boys and girls; And I think they thought me proud, I found so little to say And kept so from the crowd: But I had the longest curls And I had the largest eyes And my teeth were small like pearls; The girls might flout and scout me, 40 But the boys would hang about me In sheepish mooning wise. Our one-street village stood A long mile from the town, A mile of windy down And bleak one-sided wood, With not a single house. Our town itself was small, With just the common shops, And throve in its small way. 50 Our neighbouring gentry reared The good old-fashioned crops, And made old-fashioned boasts Of what John Bull would do If Frenchman Frog appeared, And drank old-fashioned toasts, And made old-fashioned bows To my Lady at the Hall. My Lady at the Hall Is grander than they all: 60 Hers is the oldest name In all the neighbourhood; But the race must die with her Though she's a lofty dame, For she's unmarried still. Poor people say she's good And has an open hand As any in the land, And she's the comforter Of many sick and sad; 70 My nurse once said to me That everything she had Came of my Lady's bounty: 'Though she's greatest in the county She's humble to the poor, No beggar seeks her door But finds help presently. I pray both night and day For her, and you must pray: But she'll never feel distress 80 If needy folk can bless.' I was a little maid When here we came to live From somewhere by the sea. Men spoke a foreign tongue There where we used to be When I was merry and young, Too young to feel afraid; The fisher folk would give A kind strange word to me, 90 There by the foreign sea: I don't know where it was, But I remember still Our cottage on a hill, And fields of flowering grass On that fair foreign shore. I liked my old home best, But this was pleasant too: So here we made our nest And here I grew. 100 And now and then my Lady In riding past our door Would nod to Nurse and speak, Or stoop and pat my cheek; And I was always ready To hold the field-gate wide For my Lady to go through; My Lady in her veil So seldom put aside, My Lady grave and pale. 110 I often sat to wonder Who might my parents be, For I knew of something under My simple-seeming state. Nurse never talked to me Of mother or of father, But watched me early and late With kind suspicious cares: Or not suspicious, rather Anxious, as if she knew 120 Some secret I might gather And smart for unawares. Thus I grew. But Nurse waxed old and grey, Bent and weak with years. There came a certain day That she lay upon her bed Shaking her palsied head, With words she gasped to say Which had to stay unsaid. 130 Then with a jerking hand Held out so piteously She gave a ring to me Of gold wrought curiously, A ring which she had worn Since the day I was born, She once had said to me: I slipped it on my finger; Her eyes were keen to linger On my hand that slipped it on; 140 Then she sighed one rattling sigh And stared on with sightless eye:- The one who loved me was gone. How long I stayed alone With the corpse I never knew, For I fainted dead as stone: When I came to life once more I was down upon the floor, With neighbours making ado To bring me back to life. 150 I heard the sexton's wife Say: 'Up, my lad, and run To tell it at the Hall; She was my Lady's nurse, And done can't be undone. I'll watch by this poor lamb. I guess my Lady's purse Is always open to such: I'd run up on my crutch A cripple as I am,' 160 (For cramps had vexed her much) 'Rather than this dear heart Lack one to take her part.' For days day after day On my weary bed I lay Wishing the time would pass; Oh, so wishing that I was Likely to pass away: For the one friend whom I knew Was dead, I knew no other, 170 Neither father nor mother; And I, what should I do? One day the sexton's wife Said: 'Rouse yourself, my dear: My Lady has driven down From the Hall into the town, And we think she's coming here. Cheer up, for life is life.' But I would not look or speak, Would not cheer up at all. 180 My tears were like to fall, So I turned round to the wall And hid my hollow cheek Making as if I slept, As silent as a stone, And no one knew I wept. What was my Lady to me, The grand lady from the Hall? She might come, or stay away, I was sick at heart that day: 190 The whole world seemed to be Nothing, just nothing to me, For aught that I could see. Yet I listened where I lay: A bustle came below, A clear voice said: 'I know; I will see her first alone, It may be less of a shock If she's so weak to-day:'- A light hand turned the lock, 200 A light step crossed the floor, One sat beside my bed: But never a word she said. For me, my shyness grew Each moment more and more: So I said never a word And neither looked nor stirred; I think she must have heard My heart go pit-a-pat: Thus I lay, my Lady sat, 210 More than a mortal hour- (I counted one and two By the house-clock while I lay): I seemed to have no power To think of a thing to say, Or do what I ought to do, Or rouse myself to a choice. At last she said: 'Margaret, Won't you even look at me?' A something in her voice 220 Forced my tears to fall at last, Forced sobs from me thick and fast; Something not of the past, Yet stirring memory; A something new, and yet Not new, too sweet to last, Which I never can forget. I turned and stared at her: Her cheek showed hollow-pale; Her hair like mine was fair, 230 A wonderful fall of hair That screened her like a veil; But her height was statelier, Her eyes had depth more deep; I think they must have had Always a something sad, Unless they were asleep. While I stared, my Lady took My hand in her spare hand Jewelled and soft and grand, 240 And looked with a long long look Of hunger in my face; As if she tried to trace Features she ought to know, And half hoped, half feared, to find. Whatever was in her mind She heaved a sigh at last, And began to talk to me. 'Your nurse was my dear nurse, And her nursling's dear,' said she: 250 'I never knew that she was worse Till her poor life was past' (Here my Lady's tears dropped fast): 'I might have been with her, But she had no comforter. She might have told me much Which now I shall never know, Never never shall know.' She sat by me sobbing so, And seemed so woe-begone, 260 That I laid one hand upon Hers with a timid touch, Scarce thinking what I did, Not knowing what to say: That moment her face was hid In the pillow close by mine, Her arm was flung over me, She hugged me, sobbing so As if her heart would break, And kissed me where I lay. 270 After this she often came To bring me fruit or wine, Or sometimes hothouse flowers. And at nights I lay awake Often and often thinking What to do for her sake. Wet or dry it was the same: She would come in at all hours, Set me eating and drinking And say I must grow strong; 280 At last the day seemed long And home seemed scarcely home If she did not come. Well, I grew strong again: In time of primroses, I went to pluck them in the lane; In time of nestling birds, I heard them chirping round the house; And all the herds Were out at grass when I grew strong, 290 And days were waxen long, And there was work for bees Among the May-bush boughs, And I had shot up tall, And life felt after all Pleasant, and not so long When I grew strong. I was going to the Hall To be my Lady's maid: 'Her little friend,' she said to me, 300 'Almost her child,' She said and smiled Sighing painfully; Blushing, with a second flush As if she blushed to blush. Friend, servant, child: just this My standing at the Hall; The other servants call me 'Miss,' My Lady calls me 'Margaret,' With her clear voice musical. 310 She never chides when I forget This or that; she never chides. Except when people come to stay, (And that's not often) at the Hall, I sit with her all day And ride out when she rides. She sings to me and makes me sing; Sometimes I read to her, Sometimes we merely sit and talk. She noticed once my ring 320 And made me tell its history: That evening in our garden walk She said she should infer The ring had been my father's first, Then my mother's, given for me To the nurse who nursed My mother in her misery, That so quite certainly Some one might know me, who… Then she was silent, and I too. 330 I hate when people come: The women speak and stare And mean to be so civil. This one will stroke my hair, That one will pat my cheek And praise my Lady's kindness, Expecting me to speak; I like the proud ones best Who sit as struck with blindness, As if I wasn't there. 340 But if any gentleman Is staying at the Hall (Though few come prying here), My Lady seems to fear Some downright dreadful evil, And makes me keep my room As closely as she can: So I hate when people come, It is so troublesome. In spite of all her care, 350 Sometimes to keep alive I sometimes do contrive To get out in the grounds For a whiff of wholesome air, Under the rose you know: It's charming to break bounds, Stolen waters are sweet, And what's the good of feet If for days they mustn't go? Give me a longer tether, 360 Or I may break from it. Now I have eyes and ears And just some little wit: 'Almost my Lady's child;' I recollect she smiled, Sighed and blushed together; Then her story of the ring Sounds not improbable, She told it me so well It seemed the actual thing:- 370 Oh, keep your counsel close, But I guess under the rose, In long past summer weather When the world was blossoming, And the rose upon its thorn: I guess not who he was Flawed honour like a glass, And made my life forlorn, But my Mother, Mother, Mother, Oh, I know her from all other. 380 My Lady, you might trust Your daughter with your fame. Trust me, I would not shame Our honourable name, For I have noble blood Though I was bred in dust And brought up in the mud. I will not press my claim, Just leave me where you will: But you might trust your daughter, 390 For blood is thicker than water And you're my mother still. So my Lady holds her own With condescending grace, and fills her lofty place With an untroubled face As a queen may fill a throne. While I could hint a tale- (But then I am her child)- Would make her quail; 400 Would set her in the dust, Lorn with no comforter, Her glorious hair defiled And ashes on her cheek: The decent world would thrust Its finger out at her, Not much displeased I think To make a nine days' stir; The decent world would sink Its voice to speak of her. 410 Now this is what I mean To do, no more, no less: Never to speak, or show Bare sign of what I know. Let the blot pass unseen; Yea, let her never guess I hold the tangled clue She huddles out of view. Friend, servant, almost child, So be it and nothing more 420 On this side of the grave. Mother, in Paradise, You'll see with clearer eyes; Perhaps in this world even When you are like to die And face to face with Heaven You'll drop for once the lie: But you must drop the mask, not I. My Lady promises Two hundred pounds with me 430 Whenever I may wed A man she can approve: And since besides her bounty I'm fairest in the county (For so I've heard it said, Though I don't vouch for this), Her promised pounds may move Some honest man to see My virtues and my beauties; Perhaps the rising grazier, 440 Or temperance publican, May claim my wifely duties. Meanwhile I wait their leisure And grace-bestowing pleasure, I wait the happy man; But if I hold my head And pitch my expectations Just higher than their level, They must fall back on patience: I may not mean to wed, 450 Yet I'll be civil. Now sometimes in a dream My heart goes out of me To build and scheme, Till I sob after things that seem So pleasant in a dream: A home such as I see My blessed neighbours live in With father and with mother, All proud of one another, 460 Named by one common name From baby in the bud To full-blown workman father; It's little short of Heaven. I'd give my gentle blood To wash my special shame And drown my private grudge; I'd toil and moil much rather The dingiest cottage drudge Whose mother need not blush, 470 Than live here like a lady And see my Mother flush And hear her voice unsteady Sometimes, yet never dare Ask to share her care. Of course the servants sneer Behind my back at me; Of course the village girls, Who envy me my curls And gowns and idleness, 480 Take comfort in a jeer; Of course the ladies guess Just so much of my history As points the emphatic stress With which they laud my Lady; The gentlemen who catch A casual glimpse of me And turn again to see, Their valets on the watch To speak a word with me, 490 All know and sting me wild; Till I am almost ready To wish that I were dead, No faces more to see, No more words to be said, My Mother safe at last Disburdened of her child, And the past past. 'All equal before God'- Our Rector has it so, 500 And sundry sleepers nod: It may be so; I know All are not equal here, And when the sleepers wake They make a difference. 'All equal in the grave'- That shows an obvious sense: Yet something which I crave Not death itself brings near; Now should death half atone 510 For all my past; or make The name I bear my own? I love my dear old Nurse Who loved me without gains; I love my mistress even, Friend, Mother, what you will: But I could almost curse My Father for his pains; And sometimes at my prayer Kneeling in sight of Heaven 520 I almost curse him still: Why did he set his snare To catch at unaware My Mother's foolish youth; Load me with shame that's hers, And her with something worse, A lifelong lie for truth? I think my mind is fixed On one point and made up: To accept my lot unmixed; 530 Never to drug the cup But drink it by myself. I'll not be wooed for pelf; I'll not blot out my shame With any man's good name; But nameless as I stand, My hand is my own hand, And nameless as I came I go to the dark land. 'All equal in the grave'- 540 I bide my time till then: 'All equal before God'- To-day I feel His rod, To-morrow He may save: Amen. DEVOTIONAL PIECES DESPISED AND REJECTED My sun has set, I dwell In darkness as a dead man out of sight; And none remains, not one, that I should tell To him mine evil plight This bitter night. I will make fast my door That hollow friends may trouble me no more. 'Friend, open to Me.'-Who is this that calls? Nay, I am deaf as are my walls: Cease crying, for I will not hear 10 Thy cry of hope or fear. Others were dear, Others forsook me: what art thou indeed That I should heed Thy lamentable need? Hungry should feed, Or stranger lodge thee here? 'Friend, My Feet bleed. Open thy door to Me and comfort Me.' I will not open, trouble me no more. 20 Go on thy way footsore, I will not rise and open unto thee. 'Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see Who stands to plead with thee. Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou One day entreat My Face And howl for grace, And I be deaf as thou art now. Open to Me.' Then I cried out upon him: Cease, 30 Leave me in peace: Fear not that I should crave Aught thou mayst have. Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more, Lest I arise and chase thee from my door. What, shall I not be let Alone, that thou dost vex me yet? But all night long that voice spake urgently: 'Open to Me.' Still harping in mine ears: 40 'Rise, let Me in.' Pleading with tears: 'Open to Me that I may come to thee.' While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold: 'My Feet bleed, see My Face, See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace, My Heart doth bleed for thee, Open to Me.' So till the break of day: Then died away 50 That voice, in silence as of sorrow; Then footsteps echoing like a sigh Passed me by, Lingering footsteps slow to pass. On the morrow I saw upon the grass Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door The mark of blood for evermore. LONG BARREN Thou who didst hang upon a barren tree, My God, for me; Though I till now be barren, now at length Lord, give me strength To bring forth fruit to Thee. Thou who didst bear for me the crown of thorn, Spitting and scorn; Though I till now have put forth thorns, yet now Strengthen me Thou That better fruit be borne. 10 Thou Rose of Sharon, Cedar of broad roots, Vine of sweet fruits, Thou Lily of the vale with fadeless leaf, Of thousands Chief, Feed Thou my feeble shoots. IF ONLY If I might only love my God and die! But now He bids me love Him and live on, Now when the bloom of all my life is gone, The pleasant half of life has quite gone by. My tree of hope is lopped that spread so high, And I forget how summer glowed and shone, While autumn grips me with its fingers wan And frets me with its fitful windy sigh. When autumn passes then must winter numb, And winter may not pass a weary while, 10 But when it passes spring shall flower again; And in that spring who weepeth now shall smile, Yea, they shall wax who now are on the wane, Yea, they shall sing for love when Christ shall come. DOST THOU NOT CARE? I love and love not: Lord, it breaks my heart To love and not to love. Thou veiled within Thy glory, gone apart Into Thy shrine, which is above, Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or care For this mine ill?- I love thee here or there, I will accept thy broken heart, lie still. Lord, it was well with me in time gone by That cometh not again, 10 When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I? I fresh, I cheerful: worn with pain Now, out of sight and out of heart; O Lord, how long?- I watch thee as thou art, I will accept thy fainting heart, be strong. 'Lie still,' 'be strong,' to-day; but, Lord, to-morrow, What of to-morrow, Lord? Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from sorrow, Be living green upon the sward 20 Now but a barren grave to me, Be joy for sorrow?- Did I not die for thee? Did I not live for thee? Leave Me to-morrow. WEARY IN WELL-DOING I would have gone; God bade me stay: I would have worked; God bade me rest. He broke my will from day to day, He read my yearnings unexpressed And said them nay. Now I would stay; God bids me go: Now I would rest; God bids me work. He breaks my heart tossed to and fro, My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk And vex it so. 10 I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me; Day after day I plod and moil: But, Christ my God, when will it be That I may let alone my toil And rest with Thee? MARTYRS' SONG We meet in joy, though we part in sorrow; We part to-night, but we meet to-morrow. Be it flood or blood the path that's trod, All the same it leads home to God: Be it furnace-fire voluminous, One like God's Son will walk with us. What are these that glow from afar, These that lean over the golden bar, Strong as the lion, pure as the dove, With open arms and hearts of love? 10 They the blessed ones gone before, They the blessed for evermore. Out of great tribulation they went Home to their home of Heaven-content; Through flood, or blood, or furnace-fire, To the rest that fulfils desire. What are these that fly as a cloud, With flashing heads and faces bowed, In their mouths a victorious psalm, In their hands a robe and palm? 20 Welcoming angels these that shine, Your own angel, and yours, and mine; Who have hedged us, both day and night On the left hand and the right, Who have watched us both night and day Because the devil keeps watch to slay. Light above light, and Bliss beyond bliss, Whom words cannot utter, lo, Who is This? As a King with many crowns He stands, And our names are graven upon His hands; 30 As a Priest, with God-uplifted eyes, He offers for us His sacrifice; As the Lamb of God for sinners slain, That we too may live He lives again; As our Champion behold Him stand, Strong to save us, at God's Right Hand. God the Father give us grace To walk in the light of Jesus' Face. God the Son give us a part In the hiding-place of Jesus' Heart: 40 God the Spirit so hold us up That we may drink of Jesus' cup; Death is short and life is long; Satan is strong, but Christ more strong. At His Word, Who hath led us hither. The Red Sea must part hither and thither. As His Word, Who goes before us too, Jordan must cleave to let us through. Yet one pang searching and sore, And then Heaven for evermore; 50 Yet one moment awful and dark, Then safety within the Veil and the Ark; Yet one effort by Christ His grace, Then Christ for ever face to face. God the Father we will adore, In Jesus' Name, now and evermore: God the Son we will love and thank In this flood and on the further bank: God the Holy Ghost we will praise In Jesus' Name, through endless days: 60 God Almighty, God Three in One, God Almighty, God alone. AFTER THIS THE JUDGEMENT As eager homebound traveller to the goal, Or steadfast seeker on an unsearched main, Or martyr panting for an aureole, My fellow-pilgrims pass me, and attain That hidden mansion of perpetual peace Where keen desire and hope dwell free from pain: That gate stands open of perennial ease; I view the glory till I partly long, Yet lack the fire of love which quickens these. O passing Angel, speed me with a song, 10 A melody of heaven to reach my heart And rouse me to the race and make me strong; Till in such music I take up my part Swelling those Hallelujahs full of rest, One, tenfold, hundredfold, with heavenly art, Fulfilling north and south and east and west, Thousand, ten thousandfold, innumerable, All blent in one yet each one manifest; Each one distinguished and beloved as well As if no second voice in earth or heaven 20 Were lifted up the Love of God to tell. Ah, Love of God, which Thine own Self hast given To me most poor, and made me rich in love, Love that dost pass the tenfold seven times seven, Draw Thou mine eyes, draw Thou my heart above, My treasure ad my heart store Thou in Thee, Brood over me with yearnings of a dove; Be Husband, Brother, closest Friend to me; Love me as very mother loves her son, Her sucking firstborn fondled on her knee: 30 Yea, more than mother loves her little one; For, earthly, even a mother may forget And feel no pity for its piteous moan; But thou, O Love of God, remember yet, Through the dry desert, through the waterflood (Life, death) until the Great White Throne is set. If now I am sick in chewing the bitter cud Of sweet past sin, though solaced by Thy grace And ofttimes strengthened by Thy Flesh and Blood, How shall I then stand up before Thy face 40 When from Thine eyes repentance shall be hid And utmost Justice stand in Mercy's place: When every sin I thought or spoke or did Shall meet me at the inexorable bar, And there be no man standing in the mid To plead for me; while star fallen after star With heaven and earth are like a ripened shock, And all time's mighty works and wonders are Consumed as in a moment; when no rock Remains to fall on me, no tree to hide, 50 But I stand all creation's gazing-stock Exposed and comfortless on every side, Placed trembling in the final balances Whose poise this hour, this moment, must be tried?- Ah Love of God, if greater love than this Hath no man, that a man die for his friend, And if such love of love Thine Own Love is, Plead with Thyself, with me, before the end; Redeem me from the irrevocable past; Pitch Thou Thy Presence round me to defend; 60 Yea seek with piercèd feet, yea hold me fast With piercèd hands whose wounds were made by love; Not what I am, remember what Thou wast When darkness hid from Thee Thy heavens above, And sin Thy Father's Face, while thou didst drink The bitter cup of death, didst taste thereof For every man; while Thou wast nigh to sink Beneath the intense intolerable rod, Grown sick of love; not what I am, but think Thy Life then ransomed mine, my God, my God. 70 GOOD FRIDAY Am I a stone and not a sheep That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross, To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss, And yet not weep? Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved; Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky, 10 A horror of great darkness at broad noon- I, only I. Yet give not o'er, But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock. THE LOWEST PLACE Give me the lowest place: not that I dare Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died That I might live and share Thy glory by Thy side. Give me the lowest place: or if for me That lowest place too high, make one more low Where I may sit and see My God and love Thee so. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 1848-69 DEATH'S CHILL BETWEEN (Athenaeum, October 14, 1848) Chide not; let me breathe a little, For I shall not mourn him long; Though the life-cord was so brittle, The love-cord was very strong. I would wake a little space Till I find a sleeping-place. You can go,-I shall not weep; You can go unto your rest. My heart-ache is all too deep, And too sore my throbbing breast. 10 Can sobs be, or angry tears, Where are neither hopes nor fears? Though with you I am alone And must be so everywhere, I will make no useless moan,- None shall say 'She could not bear:' While life lasts I will be strong,- But I shall not struggle long. Listen, listen! Everywhere A low voice is calling me, 20 And a step is on the stair, And one comes ye do not see, Listen, listen! Evermore A dim hand knocks at the door. Hear me; he is come again,- My own dearest is come back. Bring him in from the cold rain; Bring wine, and let nothing lack. Thou and I will rest together, Love, until the sunny weather. 30 I will shelter thee from harm,- Hide thee from all heaviness. Come to me, and keep thee warm By my side in quietness. I will lull thee to thy sleep With sweet songs:-we will not weep. Who hath talked of weeping?-Yet There is something at my heart, Gnawing, I would fain forget, And an aching and a smart. 40 -Ah! my mother, 'tis in vain, For he is not come again. HEART'S CHILL BETWEEN (Athenaeum, October 21, 1848) I did not chide him, though I knew That he was false to me. Chide the exhaling of the dew, The ebbing of the sea, The fading of a rosy hue,- But not inconstancy. Why strive for love when love is o'er? Why bind a restive heart?- He never knew the pain I bore In saying: 'We must part; 10 Let us be friends and nothing more.' -Oh, woman's shallow art! But it is over, it is done,- I hardly heed it now; So many weary years have run Since then, I think not how Things might have been,-but greet each one With an unruffled brow. What time I am where others be, My heart seems very calm- 20 Stone calm; but if all go from me, There comes a vague alarm, A shrinking in the memory From some forgotten harm. And often through the long, long night, Waking when none are near, I feel my heart beat fast with fright, Yet know not what I fear. Oh how I long to see the light, And the sweet birds to hear! 30 To have the sun upon my face, To look up through the trees, To walk forth in the open space And listen to the breeze,- And not to dream the burial-place Is clogging my weak knees. Sometimes I can nor weep nor pray, But am half stupefied: And then all those who see me say Mine eyes are opened wide 40 And that my wits seem gone away- Ah, would that I had died! Would I could die and be at peace, Or living could forget! My grief nor grows nor doth decrease, But ever is:-and yet Methinks, now, that all this shall cease Before the sun shall set. REPINING (Art and Poetry [The Germ, No. 3], March 1850) She sat alway thro' the long day Spinning the weary thread away; And ever said in undertone: 'Come, that I be no more alone.' From early dawn to set of sun Working, her task was still undone; And the long thread seemed to increase Even while she spun and did not cease. She heard the gentle turtle-dove Tell to its mate a tale of love; 10 She saw the glancing swallows fly, Ever a social company; She knew each bird upon its nest Had cheering songs to bring it rest; None lived alone save only she;- The wheel went round more wearily; She wept and said in undertone: 'Come, that I be no more alone.' Day followed day, and still she sighed For love, and was not satisfied; 20 Until one night, when the moonlight Turned all the trees to silver white, She heard, what ne'er she heard before, A steady hand undo the door. The nightingale since set of sun Her throbbing music had not done, And she had listened silently; But now the wind had changed, and she Heard the sweet song no more, but heard Beside her bed a whispered word: 30 'Damsel, rise up; be not afraid; For I am come at last,' it said. She trembled, tho' the voice was mild; She trembled like a frightened child;- Till she looked up, and then she saw The unknown speaker without awe. He seemed a fair young man, his eyes Beaming with serious charities; His cheek was white but hardly pale; And a dim glory like a veil 40 Hovered about his head, and shone Thro' the whole room till night was gone. So her fear fled; and then she said, Leaning upon her quiet bed: 'Now thou art come, I prithee stay, That I may see thee in the day, And learn to know thy voice, and hear It evermore calling me near.' He answered: 'Rise, and follow me.' But she looked upwards wonderingly: 50 'And whither would'st thou go, friend? stay Until the dawning of the day.' But he said: 'The wind ceaseth, Maid; Of chill nor damp be thou afraid.' She bound her hair up from the floor, And passed in silence from the door. So they went forth together, he Helping her forward tenderly. The hedges bowed beneath his hand; Forth from the streams came the dry land 60 As they passed over; evermore The pallid moonbeams shone before; And the wind hushed, and nothing stirred; Not even a solitary bird, Scared by their footsteps, fluttered by Where aspen-trees stood steadily. As they went on, at length a sound Came trembling on the air around; The undistinguishable hum Of life, voices that go and come 70 Of busy men, and the child's sweet High laugh, and noise of trampling feet. Then he said: 'Wilt thou go and see?' And she made answer joyfully: 'The noise of life, of human life, Of dear communion without strife, Of converse held 'twixt friend and friend; Is it not here our path shall end?' He led her on a little way Until they reached a hillock: 'Stay.' 80 It was a village in a plain. High mountains screened it from the rain And stormy wind; and nigh at hand A bubbling streamlet flowed, o'er sand Pebbly and fine, and sent life up Green succous stalk and flower-cup. Gradually, day's harbinger, A chilly wind began to stir. It seemed a gentle powerless breeze That scarcely rustled thro' the trees; 90 And yet it touched the mountain's head And the paths man might never tread. But hearken: in the quiet weather Do all the streams flow down together?- No, 'tis a sound more terrible Than tho' a thousand rivers fell. The everlasting ice and snow Were loosened then, but not to flow;- With a loud crash like solid thunder The avalanche came, burying under 100 The village; turning life and breath And rest and joy and plans to death. 'Oh! let us fly, for pity fly; Let us go hence, friend, thou and I. There must be many regions yet Where these things make not desolate.' He looked upon her seriously; Then said: 'Arise and follow me.' The path that lay before them was Nigh covered over with long grass; 110 And many slimy things and slow Trailed on between the roots below. The moon looked dimmer than before; And shadowy cloudlets floating o'er Its face sometimes quite hid its light, And filled the skies with deeper night. At last, as they went on, the noise Was heard of the sea's mighty voice; And soon the ocean could be seen In its long restlessness serene. 120 Upon its breast a vessel rode That drowsily appeared to nod As the great billows rose and fell, And swelled to sink, and sank to swell. Meanwhile the strong wind had come forth From the chill regions of the North, The mighty wind invisible. And the low waves began to swell; And the sky darkened overhead; And the moon once looked forth, then fled 130 Behind dark clouds; while here and there The lightning shone out in the air; And the approaching thunder rolled With angry pealings manifold. How many vows were made, and prayers That in safe times were cold and scarce. Still all availed not; and at length The waves arose in all their strength, And fought against the ship, and filled The ship. Then were the clouds unsealed, 140 And the rain hurried forth, and beat On every side and over it. Some clung together, and some kept A long stern silence, and some wept. Many half-crazed looked on in wonder As the strong timbers rent asunder; Friends forgot friends, foes fled to foes;- And still the water rose and rose. 'Ah woe is me! Whom I have seen Are now as tho' they had not been. 150 In the earth there is room for birth, And there are graves enough in earth; Why should the cold sea, tempest-torn, Bury those whom it hath not borne?' He answered not, and they went on. The glory of the heavens was gone; The moon gleamed not nor any star; Cold winds were rustling near and far, And from the trees the dry leaves fell With a sad sound unspeakable. 160 The air was cold; till from the South A gust blew hot, like sudden drouth, Into their faces; and a light Glowing and red, shone thro' the night. A mighty city full of flame And death and sounds without a name. Amid the black and blinding smoke, The people, as one man, awoke. Oh! happy they who yesterday On the long journey went away; 170 Whose pallid lips, smiling and chill, While the flames scorch them smile on still; Who murmur not; who tremble not When the bier crackles fiery hot; Who, dying, said in love's increase: 'Lord, let thy servant part in peace.' Those in the town could see and hear A shaded river flowing near; The broad deep bed could hardly hold Its plenteous waters calm and cold. 180 Was flame-wrapped all the city wall, The city gates were flame-wrapped all. What was man's strength, what puissance then? Women were mighty as strong men. Some knelt in prayer, believing still, Resigned unto a righteous will, Bowing beneath the chastening rod, Lost to the world, but found of God. Some prayed for friend, for child, for wife; Some prayed for faith; some prayed for life; 190 While some, proud even in death, hope gone, Steadfast and still, stood looking on. 'Death-death-oh! let us fly from death; Where'er we go it followeth; All these are dead; and we alone Remain to weep for what is gone. What is this thing? thus hurriedly To pass into eternity; To leave the earth so full of mirth; To lose the profit of our birth; 200 To die and be no more; to cease, Having numbness that is not peace. Let us go hence; and, even if thus Death everywhere must go with us, Let us not see the change, but see Those who have been or still shall be.' He sighed and they went on together; Beneath their feet did the grass wither; Across the heaven high overhead Dark misty clouds floated and fled; 210 And in their bosom was the thunder, And angry lightnings flashed out under, Forked and red and menacing; Far off the wind was muttering; It seemed to tell, not understood, Strange secrets to the listening wood. Upon its wings it bore the scent Of blood of a great armament: Then saw they how on either side Fields were down-trodden far and wide. 220 That morning at the break of day Two nations had gone forth to slay. As a man soweth so he reaps. The field was full of bleeding heaps; Ghastly corpses of men and horses That met death at a thousand sources; Cold limbs and putrifying flesh; Long love-locks clotted to a mesh That stifled; stiffened mouths beneath Staring eyes that had looked on death. 230 But these were dead: these felt no more The anguish of the wounds they bore. Behold, they shall not sigh again, Nor justly fear, nor hope in vain. What if none wept above them?-is The sleeper less at rest for this? Is not the young child's slumber sweet When no man watcheth over it? These had deep calm; but all around There was a deadly smothered sound, 240 The choking cry of agony From wounded men who could not die; Who watched the black wing of the raven Rise like a cloud 'twixt them and heaven, And in the distance flying fast Beheld the eagle come at last. She knelt down in her agony: 'O Lord, it is enough,' said she: 'My heart's prayer putteth me to shame; Let me return to whence I came. 250 Thou for who love's sake didst reprove, Forgive me for the sake of love.' SIT DOWN IN THE LOWEST ROOM (Macmillan's Magazine, March 1864.) Like flowers sequestered from the sun And wind of summer, day by day I dwindled paler, whilst my hair Showed the first tinge of grey. 'Oh what is life, that we should live? Or what is death, that we must die? A bursting bubble is our life: I also, what am I?' 'What is your grief? now tell me, sweet, That I may grieve,' my sister said; 10 And stayed a white embroidering hand And raised a golden head: Her tresses showed a richer mass, Her eyes looked softer than my own, Her figure had a statelier height, Her voice a tenderer tone. 'Some must be second and not first; All cannot be the first of all: Is not this, too, but vanity? I stumble like to fall. 20 'So yesterday I read the acts Of Hector and each clangorous king With wrathful great Aeacides:- Old Homer leaves a sting.' The comely face looked up again, The deft hand lingered on the thread: 'Sweet, tell me what is Homer's sting, Old Homer's sting?' she said. 'He stirs my sluggish pulse like wine, He melts me like the wind of spice, 30 Strong as strong Ajax' red right hand, And grand like Juno's eyes. 'I cannot melt the sons of men, I cannot fire and tempest-toss:- Besides, those days were golden days, Whilst these are days of dross.' She laughed a feminine low laugh, Yet did not stay her dexterous hand: 'Now tell me of those days,' she said, 'When time ran golden sand.' 40 'Then men were men of might and right, Sheer might, at least, and weighty swords; Then men in open blood and fire, Bore witness to their words, 'Crest-rearing kings with whistling spears; But if these shivered in the shock They wrenched up hundred-rooted trees, Or hurled the effacing rock. 'Then hand to hand, then foot to foot, Stern to the death-grip grappling then, 50 Who ever thought of gunpowder Amongst these men of men? 'They knew whose hand struck home the death, They knew who broke but would not bend, Could venerate an equal foe And scorn a laggard friend. 'Calm in the utmost stress of doom, Devout toward adverse powers above, They hated with intenser hate And loved with fuller love. 60 'Then heavenly beauty could allay As heavenly beauty stirred the strife: By them a slave was worshipped more Than is by us a wife.' She laughed again, my sister laughed, Made answer o'er the laboured cloth: 'I would rather be one of us Than wife, or slave, or both.' 'Oh better then be slave or wife Than fritter now blank life away: 70 Then night had holiness of night, And day was sacred day. 'The princess laboured at her loom, Mistress and handmaiden alike; Beneath their needles grew the field With warriors armed to strike. 'Or, look again, dim Dian's face Gleamed perfect through the attendant night; Were such not better than those holes Amid that waste of white? 80 'A shame it is, our aimless life: I rather from my heart would feed From silver dish in gilded stall With wheat and wine the steed- 'The faithful steed that bore my lord In safety through the hostile land, The faithful steed that arched his neck To fondle with my hand.' Her needle erred; a moment's pause, A moment's patience, all was well. 90 Then she: 'But just suppose the horse, Suppose the rider fell? 'Then captive in an alien house, Hungering on exile's bitter bread,- They happy, they who won the lot Of sacrifice,' she said. Speaking she faltered, while her look Showed forth her passion like a glass: With hand suspended, kindling eye, Flushed cheek, how fair she was! 100 'Ah well, be those the days of dross; This, if you will, the age of gold: Yet had those days a spark of warmth, While these are somewhat cold- 'Are somewhat mean and cold and slow, Are stunted from heroic growth: We gain but little when we prove The worthlessness of both.' 'But life is in our hands,' she said: 'In our own hands for gain or loss: 110 Shall not the Sevenfold Sacred Fire Suffice to purge our dross? 'Too short a century of dreams, One day of work sufficient length: Why should not you, why should not I Attain heroic strength? 'Our life is given us as a blank; Ourselves must make it blest or curst: Who dooms me I shall only be The second, not the first? 120 'Learn from old Homer, if you will, Such wisdom as his books have said: In one the acts of Ajax shine, In one of Diomed. 'Honoured all heroes whose high deeds Thro' life, till death, enlarge their span: Only Achilles in his rage And sloth is less than man.' 'Achilles only less than man? He less than man who, half a god, 130 Discomfited all Greece with rest, Cowed Ilion with a nod? 'He offered vengeance, lifelong grief To one dear ghost, uncounted price: Beasts, Trojans, adverse gods, himself, Heaped up the sacrifice. 'Self-immolated to his friend, Shrined in world's wonder, Homer's page, Is this the man, the less than men, Of this degenerate age?' 140 'Gross from his acorns, tusky boar Does memorable acts like his; So for her snared offended young Bleeds the swart lioness.' But here she paused; our eyes had met, And I was whitening with the jeer; She rose: 'I went too far,' she said; Spoke low: 'Forgive me, dear. 'To me our days seem pleasant days, Our home a haven of pure content; 150 Forgive me if I said too much, So much more than I meant. 'Homer, tho' greater than his gods, With rough-hewn virtues was sufficed And rough-hewn men: but what are such To us who learn of Christ?' The much-moved pathos of her voice, Her almost tearful eyes, her cheek Grown pale, confessed the strength of love Which only made her speak: 160 For mild she was, of few soft words, Most gentle, easy to be led, Content to listen when I spoke And reverence what I said; I elder sister by six years; Not half so glad, or wise, or good: Her words rebuked my secret self And shamed me where I stood. She never guessed her words reproved A silent envy nursed within, 170 A selfish, souring discontent Pride-born, the devil's sin. I smiled, half bitter, half in jest: 'The wisest man of all the wise Left for his summary of life "Vanity of vanities." 'Beneath the sun there's nothing new: Men flow, men ebb, mankind flows on: If I am wearied of my life, Why so was Solomon. 180 'Vanity of vanities he preached Of all he found, of all he sought: Vanity of vanities, the gist Of all the words he taught. 'This in the wisdom of the world, In Homer's page, in all, we find: As the sea is not filled, so yearns Man's universal mind. 'This Homer felt, who gave his men With glory but a transient state: 190 His very Jove could not reverse Irrevocable fate. 'Uncertain all their lot save this- Who wins must lose, who lives must die: All trodden out into the dark Alike, all vanity.' She scarcely answered when I paused, But rather to herself said: 'One Is here,' low-voiced and loving, 'Yea, Greater than Solomon.' 200 So both were silent, she and I: She laid her work aside, and went Into the garden-walks, like spring, All gracious with content, A little graver than her wont, Because her words had fretted me; Not warbling quite her merriest tune Bird-like from tree to tree. I chose a book to read and dream: Yet half the while with furtive eyes 210 Marked how she made her choice of flowers Intuitively wise, And ranged them with instinctive taste Which all my books had failed to teach; Fresh rose herself, and daintier Than blossom of the peach. By birthright higher than myself, Tho' nestling of the self-same nest: No fault of hers, no fault of mine, But stubborn to digest. 220 I watched her, till my book unmarked Slid noiseless to the velvet floor; Till all the opulent summer-world Looked poorer than before. Just then her busy fingers ceased, Her fluttered colour went and came; I knew whose step was on the walk, Whose voice would name her name. * * * * * * * Well, twenty years have passed since then: My sister now, a stately wife 230 Still fair, looks back in peace and sees The longer half of life- The longer half of prosperous life, With little grief, or fear, or fret: She loved, and, loving long ago, Is loved and loving yet. A husband honourable, brave, Is her main wealth in all the world: And next to him one like herself, One daughter golden-curled; 240 Fair image of her own fair youth, As beautiful and as serene, With almost such another love As her own love has been. Yet, tho' of world-wide charity, And in her home most tender dove, Her treasure and her heart are stored In the home-land of love: She thrives, God's blessed husbandry; She like a vine is full of fruit; 250 Her passion-flower climbs up toward heaven Tho' earth still binds its root. I sit and watch my sister's face: How little altered since the hours When she, a kind, light-hearted girl, Gathered her garden flowers; Her song just mellowed by regret For having teased me with her talk; Then all-forgetful as she heard One step upon the walk. 260 While I? I sat alone and watched My lot in life, to live alone, In mine own world of interests, Much felt but little shown. Not to be first: how hard to learn That lifelong lesson of the past; Line graven on line and stroke on stroke; But, thank God, learned at last. So now in patience I possess My soul year after tedious year, 270 Content to take the lowest place, The place assigned me here. Yet sometimes, when I feel my strength Most weak, and life most burdensome, I lift mine eyes up to the hills From whence my help shall come: Yea, sometimes still I lift my heart To the Archangelic trumpet-burst, When all deep secrets shall be shown, And many last be first. 280 MY FRIEND (Macmillan's Magazine, Dec. 1864.) Two days ago with dancing glancing hair, With living lips and eyes: Now pale, dumb, blind, she lies; So pale, yet still so fair. We have not left her yet, not yet alone; But soon must leave her where She will not miss our care, Bone of our bone. Weep not; O friends, we should not weep: Our friend of friends lies full of rest; 10 No sorrow rankles in her breast, Fallen fast asleep. She sleeps below, She wakes and laughs above: To-day, as she walked, let us walk in love; To-morrow follow so. LAST NIGHT (Macmillan's Magazine, May 1865.) Where were you last night? I watched at the gate; I went down early, I stayed down late. Were you snug at home, I should like to know, Or were you in the coppice wheedling Kate? She's a fine girl, with a fine clear skin; Easy to woo, perhaps not hard to win. Speak up like a man and tell me the truth: I'm not one to grow downhearted and thin. If you love her best speak up like a man; It's not I will stand in the light of your plan: 10 Some girls might cry and scold you a bit, And say they couldn't bear it; but I can. Love was pleasant enough, and the days went fast; Pleasant while it lasted, but it needn't last; Awhile on the wax and awhile on the wane, Now dropped away into the past. Was it pleasant to you? To me it was; Now clean gone as an image from glass, As a goodly rainbow that fades away, As dew that steams upward from the grass, 20 As the first spring day, or the last summer day, As the sunset flush that leaves heaven grey, As a flame burnt out for lack of oil, Which no pains relight or ever may. Good luck to Kate and good luck to you: I guess she'll be kind when you come to woo. I wish her a pretty face that will last, I wish her a husband steady and true. Hate you? not I, my very good friend; All things begin and all have an end. 30 But let broken be broken; I put no faith In quacks who set up to patch and mend. Just my love and one word to Kate: Not to let time slip if she means to mate;- For even such a thing has been known As to miss the chance while we weigh and wait. CONSIDER (Macmillan's Magazine, Jan. 1866.) Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:- We are as they; Like them we fade away, As doth a leaf. Consider The sparrows of the air of small account: Our God doth view Whether they fall or mount,- He guards us too. 10 Consider The lilies that do neither spin nor toil, Yet are most fair:- What profits all this care And all this coil? Consider The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks; God gives them food:- Much more our Father seeks To do us good. 20 HELEN GREY (Macmillan's Magazine, March 1866.) Because one loves you, Helen Grey, Is that a reason you should pout, And like a March wind veer about, And frown, and say your shrewish say? Don't strain the cord until it snaps, Don't split the sound heart with your wedge, Don't cut your fingers with the edge Of your keen wit; you may, perhaps. Because you're handsome, Helen Grey, Is that a reason to be proud? 10 Your eyes are bold, your laugh is loud, Your steps go mincing on their way; But so you miss that modest charm Which is the surest charm of all: Take heed, you yet may trip and fall, And no man care to stretch his arm. Stoop from your cold height, Helen Grey, Come down, and take a lowlier place; Come down, to fill it now with grace; Come down you must perforce some day: 20 For years cannot be kept at bay, And fading years will make you old; Then in their turn will men seem cold, When you yourself are nipped and grey. BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON B.C. 570 (Macmillan's Magazine, October 1866.) Here where I dwell I waste to skin and bone; The curse is come upon me, and I waste In penal torment powerless to atone. The curse is come on me, which makes no haste And doth not tarry, crushing both the proud Hard man and him the sinner double-faced. Look not upon me, for my soul is bowed Within me, as my body in this mire; My soul crawls dumb-struck, sore-bested and cowed. As Sodom and Gomorrah scourged by fire, 10 As Jericho before God's trumpet-peal, So we the elect ones perish in His ire. Vainly we gird on sackcloth, vainly kneel With famished faces toward Jerusalem: His heart is shut against us not to feel, His ears against our cry He shutteth them, His hand He shorteneth that He will not save, His law is loud against us to condemn: And we, as unclean bodies in the grave Inheriting corruption and the dark, 20 Are outcast from His presence which we crave. Our Mercy hath departed from His Ark, Our Glory hath departed from His rest, Our Shield hath left us naked as a mark Unto all pitiless eyes made manifest. Our very Father hath forsaken us, Our God hath cast us from Him: we oppressed Unto our foes are even marvellous, A hissing and a butt for pointing hands, Whilst God Almighty hunts and grinds us thus; 30 For He hath scattered us in alien lands, Our priests, our princes, our anointed king, And bound us hand and foot with brazen bands. Here while I sit my painful heart takes wing Home to the home-land I must see no more, Where milk and honey flow, where waters spring And fail not, where I dwelt in days of yore Under my fig-tree and my fruitful vine, There where my parents dwelt at ease before: Now strangers press the olives that are mine, 40 Reap all the corners of my harvest-field, And make their fat hearts wanton with my wine; To them my trees, to them my garden yield Their sweets and spices and their tender green, O'er them in noontide heat outspread their shield. Yet these are they whose fathers had not been Housed with my dogs, whom hip and thigh we smote And with their blood washed their pollutions clean, Purging the land which spewed them from its throat; Their daughters took we for a pleasant prey, 50 Choice tender ones on whom the fathers doat. Now they in turn have led our own away; Our daughters and our sisters and our wives Sore weeping as they weep who curse the day, To live, remote from help, dishonoured lives, Soothing their drunken masters with a song, Or dancing in their golden tinkling gyves: Accurst if they remember through the long Estrangement of their exile, twice accursed If they forget and join the accursèd throng. 60 How doth my heart that is so wrung not burst When I remember that my way was plain, And that God's candle lit me at the first, Whilst now I grope in darkness, grope in vain, Desiring but to find Him Who is lost, To find Him once again, but once again. His wrath came on us to the uttermost, His covenanted and most righteous wrath: Yet this is He of Whom we made our boast, Who lit the Fiery Pillar in our path, 70 Who swept the Red Sea dry before our feet, Who in His jealousy smote kings, and hath Sworn once to David: One shall fill thy seat Born of thy body, as the sun and moon 'Stablished for aye in sovereignty complete. O Lord, remember David, and that soon. The Glory hath departed, Ichabod! Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon, Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod, Before we go down quick into the pit, 80 Remember us for good, O God, our God:- Thy Name will I remember, praising it, Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face, And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ; Thy Name will I remember in my praise And call to mind Thy faithfulness of old, Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days, And end me as a tale ends that is told. SEASONS (Macmillan's Magazine, Dec. 1866.) Oh the cheerful Budding-time! When thorn-hedges turn to green, When new leaves of elm and lime Cleave and shed their winter screen; Tender lambs are born and 'baa,' North wind finds no snow to bring, Vigorous Nature laughs 'Ha, ha,' In the miracle of spring. Oh the gorgeous Blossom-days! When broad flag-flowers drink and blow, 10 In and out in summer-blaze Dragon-flies flash to and fro; Ashen branches hang out keys, Oaks put forth the rosy shoot, Wandering herds wax sleek at ease, Lovely blossoms end in fruit. Oh the shouting Harvest-weeks! Mother earth grown fat with sheaves Thrifty gleaner finds who seeks; Russet-golden pomp of leaves 20 Crowns the woods, to fall at length; Bracing winds are felt to stir, Ocean gathers up her strength, Beasts renew their dwindled fur. Oh the starving Winter-lapse! Ice-bound, hunger-pinched and dim; Dormant roots recall their saps, Empty nests show black and grim, Short-lived sunshine gives no heat, Undue buds are nipped by frost, 30 Snow sets forth a winding-sheet, And all hope of life seems lost. MOTHER COUNTRY (Macmillan's Magazine, March 1868.) Oh what is that country And where can it be, Not mine own country, But dearer far to me? Yet mine own country, If I one day may see Its spices and cedars, Its gold and ivory. As I lie dreaming It rises, that land: 10 There rises before me Its green golden strand, With its bowing cedars And its shining sand; It sparkles and flashes Like a shaken brand. Do angels lean nearer While I lie and long? I see their soft plumage And catch their windy song, 20 Like the rise of a high tide Sweeping full and strong; I mark the outskirts Of their reverend throng. Oh what is a king here, Or what is a boor? Here all starve together, All dwarfed and poor; Here Death's hand knocketh At door after door, 30 He thins the dancers From the festal floor. Oh what is a handmaid, Or what is a queen? All must lie down together Where the turf is green, The foulest face hidden, The fairest not seen; Gone as if never, They had breathed or been. 40 Gone from sweet sunshine Underneath the sod, Turned from warm flesh and blood To senseless clod, Gone as if never They had toiled or trod, Gone out of sight of all Except our God. Shut into silence From the accustomed song, 50 Shut into solitude From all earth's throng, Run down tho' swift of foot, Thrust down tho' strong; Life made an end of Seemed it short or long. Life made an end of, Life but just begun, Life finished yesterday, Its last sand run; 60 Life new-born with the morrow, Fresh as the sun: While done is done for ever; Undone, undone. And if that life is life, This is but a breath, The passage of a dream And the shadow of death; But a vain shadow If one considereth; 70 Vanity of vanities, As the Preacher saith. A SMILE AND A SIGH (Macmillan's Magazine, May 1868.) A smile because the nights are short! And every morning brings such pleasure Of sweet love-making, harmless sport: Love, that makes and finds its treasure; Love, treasure without measure. A sigh because the days are long! Long long these days that pass in sighing, A burden saddens every song: While time lags who should be flying, We live who would be dying. DEAD HOPE (Macmillan's Magazine, May 1868.) Hope new born one pleasant morn Died at even; Hope dead lives nevermore. No, not in heaven. If his shroud were but a cloud To weep itself away; Or were he buried underground To sprout some day! But dead and gone is dead and gone Vainly wept upon. 10 Nought we place above his face To mark the spot, But it shows a barren place In our lot. Hope has birth no more on earth Morn or even; Hope dead lives nevermore, No, not in heaven. AUTUMN VIOLETS (Macmillan's Magazine, November 1868.) Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring: Of if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves, Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves, Their own, and others dropped down withering; For violets suit when home birds build and sing, Not when the outbound bird a passage cleaves; Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves, But when the green world buds to blossoming. Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth, Love that should dwell with beauty, mirth, and hope: Or if a later sadder love be born, Let this not look for grace beyond its scope, But give itself, nor plead for answering truth- A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn. 'THEY DESIRE A BETTER COUNTRY' (Macmillan's Magazine, March 1869.) I I would not if I could undo my past, Tho' for its sake my future is a blank; My past, for which I have myself to thank, For all its faults and follies first and last. I would not cast anew the lot once cast, Or launch a second ship for one that sank, Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank, Or break by feasting my perpetual fast. I would not if I could: for much more dear Is one remembrance than a hundred joys, 10 More than a thousand hopes in jubilee; Dearer the music of one tearful voice That unforgotten calls and calls to me, 'Follow me here, rise up, and follow here.' II What seekest thou far in the unknown land? In hope I follow joy gone on before, In hope and fear persistent more and more, As the dry desert lengthens out its sand. Whilst day and night I carry in my hand The golden key to ope the golden door 20 Of golden home; yet mine eye weepeth sore For the long journey that must make no stand. And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee? Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right; One exile holds us both, and we are bound To selfsame home-joys in the land of light. Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?- Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound. III A dimness of a glory glimmers here Thro' veils and distance from the space remote, 30 A faintest far vibration of a note Reaches to us and seems to bring us near, Causing our face to glow with braver cheer, Making the serried mist to stand afloat, Subduing langour with an antidote, And strengthening love almost to cast out fear, Till for one moment golden city walls Rise looming on us, golden walls of home, Light of our eyes until the darkness falls; Then thro' the outer darkness burdensome 40 I hear again the tender voice that calls, 'Follow me hither, follow, rise, and come.' THE OFFERING OF THE NEW LAW, THE ONE OBLATION ONCE OFFERED (Lyra Eucharistica, 1863.) Once I thought to sit so high In the Palace of the sky; Now, I thank God for His Grace, If I may fill the lowest place. Once I thought to scale so soon Heights above the changing moon; Now, I thank God for delay- To-day, it yet is called to-day. While I stumble, halt and blind, Lo! He waiteth to be kind; 10 Bless me soon, or bless me slow, Except He bless, I let not go. Once for earth I laid my plan, Once I leaned on strength of man, When my hope was swept aside, I stayed my broken heart on pride: Broken reed hath pierced my hand; Fell my house I built on sand; Roofless, wounded, maimed by sin, Fightings without and fears within: 20 Yet, a tree, He feeds my root; Yet, a branch, He prunes for fruit; Yet, a sheep, these eves and morns, He seeks for me among the thorns. With Thine Image stamped of old, Find Thy coin more choice than gold; Known to Thee by name, recall To Thee Thy home-sick prodigal. Sacrifice and Offering None there is that I can bring, 30 None, save what is Thine alone: I bring Thee, Lord, but of Thine Own- Broken Body, Blood Outpoured, These I bring, my God, my Lord; Wine of Life, and Living Bread, With these for me Thy Board is spread. CONFERENCE BETWEEN CHRIST, THE SAINTS, AND THE SOUL (Lyra Eucharistica, 1863.) I am pale with sick desire, For my heart is far away From this world's fitful fire And this world's waning day; In a dream it overleaps A world of tedious ills To where the sunshine sleeps On th' everlasting hills. Say the Saints-There Angels ease us Glorified and white. 10 They say-We rest in Jesus, Where is not day nor night. My Soul saith-I have sought For a home that is not gained, I have spent yet nothing bought, Have laboured but not attained; My pride strove to rise and grow, And hath but dwindled down; My love sought love, and lo! Hath not attained its crown. 20 Say the Saints-Fresh Souls increase us, None languish nor recede. They say-We love our Jesus, And He loves us indeed. I cannot rise above, I cannot rest beneath, I cannot find out Love, Nor escape from Death; Dear hopes and joys gone by Still mock me with a name; 30 My best belovèd die And I cannot die with them. Say the Saints-No deaths decrease us, Where our rest is glorious. They say-We live in Jesus, Who once dièd for us. Oh, my Soul, she beats her wings And pants to fly away Up to immortal Things In the Heavenly day: 40 Yet she flags and almost faints; Can such be meant for me? Come and see-say the Saints. Saith Jesus-Come and see. Say the Saints-His Pleasures please us Before God and the Lamb. Come and taste My Sweets-saith Jesus- Be with Me where I am. COME UNTO ME (Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1864.) Oh, for the time gone by, when thought of Christ Made His Yoke easy and His Burden light; When my heart stirred within me at the sight Of Altar spread for awful Eucharist; When all my hopes His promises sufficed, When my Soul watched for Him by day, by night, When my lamp lightened and my robe was white, And all seemed loss, except the Pearl unpriced. Yet, since He calls me still with tender Call, Since He remembers Whom I half forgot, I even will run my race and bear my lot: For Faith the walls of Jericho cast down, And Hope to whoso runs holds forth a Crown, And Love is Christ, and Christ is All in all. JESUS, DO I LOVE THEE? (Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1864.) Jesus, do I love Thee? Thou art far above me, Seated out of sight Hid in Heavenly Light Of most highest height. Martyred hosts implore Thee, Seraphs fall before Thee, Angels and Archangels, Cherub throngs adore Thee; Blessed She that bore Thee! 10 All the Saints approve Thee, All the Virgins love Thee. I show as a blot Blood hath cleansed not, As a barren spot In Thy fruitful lot. I, fig-tree fruit-unbearing; Thou, righteous Judge unsparing: What canst Thou do more to me That shall not more undo me? 20 Thy Justice hath a sound- Why cumbereth it the ground? Thy Love with stirrings stronger Pleads-Give it one year longer. Thou giv'st me time: but who Save Thou shall give me dew; Shall feed my root with Blood, And stir my sap for good? Oh, by Thy Gifts that shame me, Give more lest they condemn me: 30 Good Lord, I ask much of Thee, But most I ask to love Thee; Kind Lord, be mindful of me, Love me, and make me love Thee. I KNOW YOU NOT (Lyra Messianica, 1864.) O Christ, the Vine with living Fruit, The twelvefold-fruited Tree of Life, The Balm in Gilead after strife, The valley Lily and the Rose; Stronger than Lebanon, Thou Root; Sweeter than clustered grapes, Thou Vine; O Best, Thou Vineyard of red wine, Keeping thy best wine till the close. Pearl of great price Thyself alone, And ruddier than the ruby Thou; 10 Most precious lightning Jasper stone, Head of the corner spurned before: Fair Gate of pearl, Thyself the Door; Clear golden Street, Thyself the Way; By Thee we journey toward Thee now, Through Thee shall enter Heaven one day. I thirst for Thee, full fount and flood; My heart calls Thine, as deep to deep: Dost Thou forget Thy sweat and pain, They provocation on the Cross? 20 Heart-pierced for me, vouchsafe to keep The purchase of Thy lavished Blood: The gain is Thine, Lord, if I gain; Or if I lose, Thine own the loss. At midnight (saith the Parable) A cry was made, the Bridegroom came; Those who were ready entered in: The rest, shut out in death and shame, Strove all too late that Feast to win, Their die was cast, and fixed their lot; 30 A gulf divided Heaven from Hell; The Bridegroom said-I know you not. But Who is this that shuts the door, And saith-I know you not-to them? I see the wounded hands and side, The brow thorn-tortured long ago: Yea; This Who grieved and bled and died, This same is He Who must condemn; He called, but they refused to know; So now He hears their cry no more. 40 'BEFORE THE PALING OF THE STARS' (Lyra Messianica, 1864.) Before the paling of the stars, Before the winter morn, Before the earliest cockcrow Jesus Christ was born: Born in a stable, Cradled in a manger, In the world His hands had made Born a stranger. Priest and king lay fast asleep In Jerusalem, 10 Young and old lay fast asleep In crowded Bethlehem: Saint and Angel, ox and ass, Kept a watch together, Before the Christmas daybreak In the winter weather. Jesus on His Mother's breast In the stable cold, Spotless Lamb of God was He, Shepherd of the fold: 20 Let us kneel with Mary maid, With Joseph bent and hoary, With Saint and Angel, ox and ass, To hail the King of Glory. EASTER EVEN (Lyra Messianica, 1864.) There is nothing more that they can do For all their rage and boast; Caiaphas with his blaspheming crew, Herod with his host, Pontius Pilate in his Judgement-hall Judging their Judge and his, Or he who led them all and passed them all, Arch-Judas with his kiss. The sepulchre made sure with ponderous Stone, Seal that same stone, O Priest; 10 It may be thou shalt block the holy One From rising in the east: Set a watch about the sepulchre To watch on pain of death; They must hold fast the stone if One should stir And shake it from beneath. God Almighty, He can break a seal And roll away a Stone, Can grind the proud in dust who would not kneel, And crush the mighty one. 20 * * * * * * * There is nothing more that they can do For all their passionate care, Those who sit in dust, the blessed few, And weep and rend their hair: Peter, Thomas, Mary Magdalene, The Virgin unreproved, Joseph, with Nicodemus, foremost men, And John the Well-beloved, Bring your finest linen and your spice, Swathe the sacred Dead, 30 Bind with careful hands and piteous eyes The napkin round His head; Lay Him in the garden-rock to rest; Rest you the Sabbath length: The Sun that went down crimson in the west Shall rise renewed in strength. God Almighty shall give joy for pain, Shall comfort him who grieves: Lo! He with joy shall doubtless come again, And with Him bring His sheaves. 40 PARADISE: IN A DREAM (Lyra Messianica, second edition, 1865.) Once in a dream I saw the flowers That bud and bloom in Paradise; More fair they are than waking eyes Have seen in all this world of ours. And faint the perfume-bearing rose, And faint the lily on its stem, And faint the perfect violet Compared with them. I heard the songs of Paradise: Each bird sat singing in his place; 10 A tender song so full of grace It soared like incense to the skies. Each bird sat singing to his mate Soft cooing notes among the trees: The nightingale herself were cold To such as these. I saw the fourfold River flow, And deep it was, with golden sand; It flowed between a mossy land With murmured music grave and low. 20 It hath refreshment for all thirst, For fainting spirits strength and rest: Earth holds not such a draught as this From east to west. The Tree of Life stood budding there, Abundant with its twelvefold fruits; Eternal sap sustains its roots, Its shadowing branches fill the air. Its leaves are healing for the world, Its fruit the hungry world can feed, 30 Sweeter than honey to the taste And balm indeed. I saw the gate called Beautiful; And looked, but scarce could look, within; I saw the golden streets begin, And outskirts of the glassy pool. Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars, Oh green palm-branches many-leaved- Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, Nor heart conceived. 40 I hope to see these things again, But not as once in dreams by night; To see them with my very sight, And touch, and handle, and attain: To have all Heaven beneath my feet For narrow way that once they trod; To have my part with all the saints, And with my God. WITHIN THE VEIL (Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1865.) She holds a lily in her hand, Where long ranks of Angels stand, A silver lily for her wand. All her hair falls sweeping down; Her hair that is a golden brown, A crown beneath her golden crown. Blooms a rose-bush at her knee, Good to smell and good to see: It bears a rose for her, for me; Her rose a blossom richly grown, 10 My rose a bud not fully blown, But sure one day to be mine own. PARADISE: IN A SYMBOL (Lyra Eucharistica, second edition, 1865.) Golden-winged, silver-winged, Winged with flashing flame, Such a flight of birds I saw, Birds without a name: Singing songs in their own tongue (Song of songs) they came. One to another calling, Each answering each, One to another calling In their proper speech: 10 High above my head they wheeled, Far out of reach. On wings of flame they went and came With a cadenced clang, Their silver wings tinkled, Their golden wings rang, The wind it whistled through their wings Where in Heaven they sang. They flashed and they darted Awhile before mine eyes, 20 Mounting, mounting, mounting still In haste to scale the skies- Birds without a nest on earth, Birds of Paradise. Where the moon riseth not, Nor sun seeks the west, There to sing their glory Which they sing at rest, There to sing their love-song When they sing their best: 30 Not in any garden That mortal foot hath trod, Not in any flowering tree That springs from earthly sod, But in the garden where they dwell, The Paradise of God. AMOR MUNDI (The Shilling Magazine, 1865.) 'Oh, where are you going with your love-locks flowing On the west wind blowing along this valley track?' 'The downhill path is easy, come with me an' it please ye, We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.' So they two went together in glowing August weather, The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right; And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight. 'Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven, Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?' 10 'Oh, that's a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous,- An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt.' 'Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly, Their scent comes rich and sickly?'-'A scaled and hooded worm.' 'Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?' 'Oh, that's a thin dead body which waits th' eternal term.' 'Turn again, O my sweetest,-turn again, false and fleetest: This way whereof thou weetest I fear is hell's own track.' 'Nay, too steep for hill-mounting,-nay, too late for cost-counting: This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back.' 20 WHO SHALL DELIVER ME? (The Argosy, Feb. 1866.) God strengthen me to bear myself; That heaviest weight of all to bear, Inalienable weight of care. All others are outside myself, I lock my door and bar them out The turmoil, tedium, gad-about. I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all? If I could once lay down myself, 10 And start self-purged upon the race That all must run! Death runs apace. If I could set aside myself, And start with lightened heart upon The road by all men overgone! God harden me against myself, This coward with pathetic voice Who craves for ease, and rest, and joys: Myself, arch-traitor to myself; My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe, 20 My clog whatever road I go. Yet One there is can curb myself, Can roll the strangling load from me, Break off the yoke and set me free. IF (The Argosy, March 1866.) If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day, O, what a day to-day would be! But now he's away, miles and miles away From me across the sea. O little bird, flying, flying, flying To your nest in the warm west, Tell him as you pass that I am dying, As you pass home to your nest. I have a sister, I have a brother, A faithful hound, a tame white dove; 10 But I had another, once I had another, And I miss him, my love, my love! In this weary world it is so cold, so cold, While I sit here all alone; I would not like to wait and to grow old, But just to be dead and gone. Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed, Fair where I am lying: Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead- He for whom I am dying. 20 Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it, And on the stone write my name; If he never comes, I shall never know it, But sleep on all the same. TWILIGHT NIGHT (The Argosy, March 1866.) I We met, hand to hand, We clasped hands close and fast, As close as oak and ivy stand; But it is past: Come day, come night, day comes at last. We loosed hand from hand, We parted face from face; Each went his way to his own land. At his own pace, Each went to fill his separate place. 10 If we should meet one day, If both should not forget, We shall clasp hands the accustomed way, As when we met So long ago, as I remember yet. II Where my heart is (wherever that may be) Might I but follow! If you fly thither over heath and lea, O honey-seeking bee, O careless swallow, 20 Bid some for whom I watch keep watch for me. Alas! that we must dwell, my heart and I, So far asunder. Hours wax to days, and days and days creep by; I watch with wistful eye, I wait and wonder: When will that day draw nigh-that hour draw nigh? Not yesterday, and not, I think, to-day; Perhaps to-morrow. Day after day 'to-morrow' thus I say: 30 I watched so yesterday In hope and sorrow, Again to-day I watch the accustomed way.