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THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
GIFT OF

Richard Petrie

Bversle^ lEMtion

THE WORKS
OF

ALFRED LORD TENNYSON

IN SIX

VOLUMES

VOLUME

IV

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK
ATLANTA

BOSTON CHICAGO
SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN &
LONDON

CO., Limited
BOMBAY CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN

CO. OF
TORONTO

CANADA,

Ltd.

THE WORKS OF

ALFRED

LORD TENNYSON
VOLUME

IV

ANNOTATED BY

ALFRED LORD TENNYSON

EDITED BY

HALLAM LORD TENNYSON

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

1908
All rights reserved

Copyright, 1893,

MACMILLAN AND

By

CO.

Copyright, 1907, 1908,

By
Set

the MACMILLAN COMPANY.

up and electrotyped. Published May,

1894.

New

edition

in

six

1893.

volunaes, September,

Reprinted February,
1896.

October, 1899; September, 1903.

New

edition,

with the author's notes, July. 1908.

NerfaootJ \Brts9
J, S,

Cushinp Cu.

Berwick & Smith Co.

2fforwood, Mass., U.S.A.

New

edition,

CONTENTS OF VOL.

IV
FAGB

The Lover's Tale

Ballads and Other Poems:

Dedication

83

The

85

First Quarrel

Rizpah

96

The Northern Cobbler

The Revenge A Ballad of the Fleet
The Sisters
The Village Wife or, The Entail
:

In the Children's Hospital

Emmie

Poem to the Princess Alice

The Defence of Lucknow
Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cobham
Dedicatory

....
....
.

Profundis

The Two Greetings

The Human Cry
Sonnets

163

209

.......

223

227

the Rev.

W. H.

Victor

Brookfield

228
229

230

Hugo

Translations, etc.

231
:

Brunanburh
Achilles over the Trench
To Princess Frederica on her Marriage
Battle of

Sir

148

185

Montenegro

To

132

196

Prefatory Sonnet to the "Nineteenth Century"

To

I2i

.172
.174

Columbus
The Voyage of Maeldune

De

107

235

....

John Franklin

244
246
247

To Dante

248
V

930139

CONTENTS

vi

TiRESIAS

To

AND OtHER PoEMS

PAGE

E. Fitzgerald

251

Tiresias

The Wreck

254
263

Despair

276

The Ancient Sage

The Flight
To-morrow
The Spinster's Sweet-Arts

287

320

Locksley Hall Sixty Years After

331

299

310

Prologue to General Hamley

The Charge

of the

357

Heavy Brigade

at Balaclava

Epilogue

359
363

To Virgil
The Dead Prophet

367

370

Early Spring
Prefatory
" Frater

Poem

376
to

my

Brother's Sonnets

Ave Atque Vale

"

Helen's Tower

379
381

....
......

382

Epitaph on Lord Stratford de Redcliffe

383

Epitaph on General Gordon

384

Epitaph on Caxton

385

To the Duke of Argyll

Hands all Round

386

Freedom
To H.R.H. Princess Beatrice
The Fleet
Opening of the Indian and Colonial Exhibition by the
Queen

389

Poets and their Bibliographies

398

Demeter and Other Poems:

To the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava
On the Jubilee of Queen Victoria
To Professor Jebb

....

387

392
393
395

401

Demeter and Persephone

405
409
410

Owd Roa

417

CONTENTS

vii

PAGE

Vastness

429

The Ring

434
458
463

Forlorn

Happy
To Ulysses
To Mary Boyle
The Progress of Spring

473
477
482

Merlin and the Gleam

488

Romney's Remorse

494

Parnassus

501

By an

503

Far

Evolutionist

Far Away

505

Politics

506

Beautiful City

507

The Roses on the Terrace

The Play
On One who affected an Effeminate Manner
To One who ran down the English
The Snowdrop
The Throstle
The Oak
In Memoriam
William George Ward

508

To W.

C.

Macready

Appendix and Notes

508
.

....

509
509
510
511

512
513

514
515

THE

LOVER'S TALE.

The original Preface to The Lover's

Two
in my nineteenth year.
'

composed

Tale

'

states that

it

was

only of the three parts

then written were printed, when, feeling the imperfection of the

poem,

withdrew

it

from the

One

press.

of

my

friends

ever who, boylike, admired the boy's work, distributed

our

common

parts,

associates of that hour

without

ments which

my knowledge,
had

some copies of these two

without the omissions and amend-

in contemplation,

misprints of the compositor.

and marred by the many

Seeing that these two parts have

had deemed

of late been mercilessly pirated, and that what I

scarce worthy to live

doned

if I suffer

is

not allowed to die,

the whole

poem

at last to

accompanied with a reprint of

The Golden Supper
mature
life

May

1879.

'

how-

among

'

the
?

may

come

sequel

not be par-

into the light

work of my

ARGUMENT.
Julian, whose cousin and

wedded

to his friend

the story of his

speaks (in Parts

own
II.

and the sound of

for a

and

foster-sister, Camilla,

has been

Lionel, endeavours to narrate

rival,

love for her, and the strange sequel.

and

III.) of

He

having been haunted by visions

bells, tolling for a funeral,

and

at last ringing

marriage; but he breaks away, overcome, as he approaches

the Event, and a witness to

it

completes the

tale.

I.

Here

far away, seen

from the topmost

Filling with purple

gloom

Between the tufted

hills,

the vacancies

the sloping seas

Hung

in mid-heaven,

White

as white clouds, floated

Oh

cliff,

and half-way down rare

from sky

to sky.

pleasant breast of waters, quiet bay,

Like to a quiet mind in the loud world,

Where

sails,

the chafed breakers of the outer sea

THE LOVER'S TALE.

Sank powerless,

And

withers on the breast of peaceful love;

Thou
The

as anger falls aside

didst receive the growth of pines that fledged

watch 'd thee, as Love watcheth Love,

hills that

In thine

own

To make

it

Keep thou
Even now

The

essence, and delight thyself

wholly thine on sunny days.

thy

the

name

of 'Lover's Bay.'

Goddess

of the Past, that takes

and sometimes touches but one

heart,

That quivers, and

Sweeps suddenly

is silent,

all its

half-moulder'd chords

old melody, begins to play

That

which pleased her

string

and sometimes

To some
air

See, sirs.

first.

I feel

thy breath;

come, great Mistress of the ear and eye

Thy breath
Have

is

of the

pinewood; and

tho' years

hollow' d out a deep and stormy strait

Betwixt the native land of Love and me.

Breathe but a

Will draw

The

me

little

on me, and the

to the rising of the sun.

lucid chambers of the

And East

sail

of Life.

morning

star.

THE LOVER'S

TALE.

Permit me, friend,

my hand

To

pass

On

those dear

The
As

hills, that

sight that throbs

The memory's

muse

brows, and

never more will meet

and aches beneath

my

touch,

grows upon

lights are darken' d thus,

vision hath a keener edge.

me now

the semicircle

Of dark-blue waters and the narrow

Of curving beach
Its pale

fringe

wreaths of dripping green

the summerhouse
its

pink shells

aloft

That open'd on the pines with doors

prythee,

tho' there beat a heart in either eye;

For when the outer

It

my

across

mountain nest

the pleasure-boat that rock'd.

Light-green with

Upon

of glass,

its

own shadow,

keel to keel,

the dappled dimplings of the wave.

That blanch'd upon

its

side.

O
They come, they crowd upon me

Moved from

Love,
all at

O Hope
once

the cloud of unforgotten things.

That sometimes on the horizon

of the

mind

THE LOVER'S TALE.

Lies folded, often sweeps athwart in storm

Flash upon flash they lighten thro'

me

days

Of dewy dawning and the amber eves

When

thou and

Camilla, thou and I

I,

Were borne about

the bay or safely

moor'd

Beneath a low-brow' d cavern, where the tide

Plash' d, sapping

The

its

worn

ribs;

and

slowly-ridging rollers on the

without

all

cliffs

Clash' d, calling to each other, and thro' the arch

Down

those loud waters, like a setting

star,

Mixt with the gorgeous west the lighthouse shone,

And

silver-smiling

Would

Venus

ere she fell

often loiter in her balmy blue,

To crown

it

with herself.

Here, too,

Waver'd

From

at

his

Gleams

my

love

anchor with me, when day hung

mid-dome

in

Heaven's airy

halls;

of the water-circles as they broke,

Flicker'd like doubtful smiles about her lips,

Quiver' d a flying glory on her hair,

THE LOVER'S TALE.

Leapt like a passing thought across her eyes;

And mine

with one that will not pass,

And heaven
Most

pass too, dwelt on

starry-fair,

my

till

earth

heaven, a face

but kindled from within

As 'twere with dawn. She was dark-hair 'd, dark-eyed

Oh, such dark eyes

Will govern a whole

Careless of

all

a single glance of
life

from birth to death,

things else, led on with light

In trances and in visions

You

look at them,

lose yourself in utter ignorance;

You cannot

And

them

find their depth; for they go back,

farther back,

and

still

withdraw themselves

Quite into the deep soul, that evermore

Fresh springing from her fountains in the brain,
Still

pouring

Her narrow

thro', floods

with redundant

portals.

Trust me, long ago

I

should have died,

To

if it

were possible

die in gazing on that perfectness

Which

do bear within me

had died,

life

THE LOVER'S TALE.

But from

my

farthest lapse,

Thine image,

Upon

On

like a

charm

the waters, push'd

my

latest ebb,

and strength

of light

me back

again

these deserted sands of barren

life.

Tho' from the deep vault where the heart of Hope

and crumbled in the dark

Fell into dust,

Forgetting

how

to

render beautiful

Her countenance with quick and

Thou

didst not sway

me upward;

While thou, a meteor

Didst swathe thyself

For ever?

He, that

healthful blood

could

all

round Hope's quiet urn

saith

it,

hath o'erstept

slippery footing of his narrow wit.

And

fall'n

And

perish

of the sepulchre.

The

away from judgment.

To which my

Thou

art light,

spirit leaneth all her flowers,

length of days, and immortality

Of thought, and freshness ever

self-renew'd.

For Time and Grief abode too long with Life,

And,

like all other friends

They grew aweary

So

Time and

i'

the world, at last

of her fellowship

Grief did beckon unto Death,

THE LOVER'S
And Death drew nigh and beat
But thou didst

sit

alone

TALE.

the doors of Life;

the inner house,

wakeful portress, and didst parle with Death,

'This

is

a charmed dwelling which

hold;

'

So Death gave back, and would no further come.

Yet

Nor

is

my

life

nor in the present time.

in the present place.

To me

alone,

Push'd from his chair of regal heritage,

The Present
So

that, in that I

And cannot

the vassal of the Past

is

have lived, do

and am,

die,

I live.

in having

been

portion of the pleasant yesterday.

Thrust forward on to-day and out of place;

body journeying onward, sick with

The weight

as

if

of age

upon my limbs.

The

grasp of hopeless grief about

And

all

my

heart,

the senses weaken'd, save in that.

Which long ago

they had glean'd and garner'd up

Into the granaries of

The

toil,

memory

clear brow, bulwark of the precious brain.

Chink' d as you

see,

and seam'd

and

all

the while

THE LOVER'S TALE.

lo

The

and mingles with the growths

light soul twines

Of vigorous

early days, attracted, won,

made one

Married,

with, molten into all

The

beautiful in Past of act or place,

And

like the all-enduring camel, driven

Far from the diamond fountain by the palms,

Who

toils across the

middle moonlit nights,

the white heats of the blinding noons

Or when

Beat from the concave sand; yet in him keeps

draught of that sweet fountain that he loves,

To

stay his feet

From

from

and

falling,

his spirit

bitterness of death.

Ye ask me,

When

began to

Or from

the after- fulness of

Flow back again unto

And

first

Between
Its

my

should

my

is

clearer in

my

I tell

you?

heart,

slender spring

of love, tho' every turn

present flow.

How

How

love.

friends,

life

and depth

than

all

Ye know not what ye

should the broad and open flower

ask.
tell

THE LOVER'S TALE.

ii

What

sort of

In

green sheath, close-lapt in silken folds,

It

its

bud

seem'd to keep

Yet was not the

was, when, prest together

it

sweetness to

its

less

itself,

sweet for that

seem'd?

it

For young Life knows not when young Life was born,
But takes

Warm

it all

for granted

Looking on her
as

can remember

in the heart, his cradle,

Love in the womb, but

Or

neither Love,

resteth satisfied.

him

that brought

men know

not when they

fall

Into delicious dreams, our other

So know
This

is

not when

my sum

began

say

inward sap, the hold

My

outward circling

Which
Is to

yet upholds

me

daily life

For how should

Can ye

take

off

air

my

life.

that my love

rather,

My

was

my

growth.

have on earth.

wherewith

life,

asleep

to love.

knowledge

of

Grew with myself

to the light

breathe.

and evermore

and daily death

have lived and not have loved?

the sweetness from the flower,

The colour and the sweetness from the

rose,

THE LOVER'S TALE.

12

And
'i

place them by themselves

heir motions

And

and

from the

their brightness

stars,

then point out the flower or the star?

Or build

a wall betwixt

And

me where

tell

my

am?

I live I

I live:

whate'er

is

and

life

love,

'Tis even thus:

love; because

In that

Is

or set apart

love

fountain to the one

fountain to the other; and whene'er

Our God unknits

There

is

the riddle of the one,

no shade or fold

of mystery

Swathing the other.

Many, many
(For they seem

And

many and my most

of life,

well I could have linger' d in that porch.

So unproportion'd
In the

The

years,

Maydews

flush

to the dwelling-place,)

of childhood, opposite

and dawn

of youth,

we

Apart, alone together on those

Before he saw

my

And he was happy

day

my

lived together,

hills.

father died,

that he saw

it

not;

THE LOVER'S TALE.

But

From

and the
the

she,

How
On

my

like

the

Under

The

light at once.

do number equal

love, is of

years,

an age with me.

each other was the birth of each

same morning, almost the same hour,

the selfsame aspect of the stars,

(Oh falsehood

How

daisy on his grave

same clay came into

As Love and
So

first

of all starcraft

my

born.

was the birth of each

like each other

sister of

we were

!)

mother

she that bore

Camilla close beneath her beating heart.

Which
With

And

to the imprison'd spirit of the child,

its

true-touched pulses in the flow

hourly visitation of the blood.

Sent notes of preparation manifold,

And mellow' d echoes

My

mother's

sister,

of the outer world

mother

of

my

love,

my

Who

had a twofold claim upon

One

twofold mightier than the other was.

In giving so

And

so

much beauty

much wealth

as

heart.

to the world.

God had

charged her with

THE LOVER'S TALE.

14

Loathing to put
Left her

own

it

life

from herself

with

for ever,

and dying

it;

thus,

Crown' d with her highest act the placid face

And

breathless

body

of her

good deeds

So were we born, so orphan' d.

past.

She was mother-

less

And

Of those two

pillars

which from earth uphold

Our childhood, one had

The

fallen away,

and

all

careful burthen of our tender years

Trembled upon the

Her

So from each

without a father.

life,

to

me

other.

delightedly

He

that gave

fulfill'

All lovingkindnesses, all offices

Of watchful care and trembling tenderness.

He waked

for both:

Dreaming

of both

Because

was divided, and shot forth

it

Boughs on each

he pray'd for both: he slept

nor was his love the

side, laden

with wholesome shade,

Wherein we nested sleeping or awake,

And

less

sang aloud the matir^-song of

life.

THE LOVER'S TALE.

She was

The

my

foster-sister

15

on one arm

flaxen ringlets of our infancies

Wander' d, the while we rested: one

common

Pillow' d us both: a

Was on

us as

we

lay

light of eyes

our baby

soft lap

lips,

Kissing one bosom, ever drew from thence

The stream

One

life,

one stream, one

sustenance, which,

Still larger

Made
All

of

all

all

moulding

all

still

one blood,

life,

as thought

grew

large,

the house of thought.

our tastes and fancies

like,

perhaps

but one; and strange to me, and sweet,

Sweet thro' strange years to know that whatsoe'er

Our general mother meant

Our mutual mother

for

me

alone.

dealt to both of us

So what was earliest mine in earliest

I

shared with her in

whom

life,

myself remains.

As was our childhood, so our infancy,

They
Of

me, was a very miracle

fellow-feeling and

They

We

tell

tell

cried

me

that

communion.

we would not be

alone,

when we were parted; when

wept.

THE LOVER'S

Her

smile

TALE.

up the rainbow on

lit

my

Stay'd on the cloud of sorrow; that

The sound

Than

To

tears,

we loved

more

of one-another's voices

the gray cuckoo loves his name, and learn'd

lisp in tune together;

that

we

slept

In the same cradle always, face to face.

Heart beating time

to heart, lip pressing lip,

Folding each other, breathing on each other.

Dreaming together (dreaming

of each other

They should have added),

the

till

morning

light

Sloped thro' the pines, upon the dewy pane

Falling, unseal' d our eyelids,

To

gaze upon each other.

At thought

And

faints,

A man

in

of

which

my

and hath no

some

still

atar in the

bosom

Till,

drunk with

its

It fall

And

on

that

its

own

If this

be

true.

whole soul languishes

pulse,

no breath

garden should infuse

Rich

Of sweetness, and

and we woke

of the rose,

own wine, and

overfull

in smelling of itself.

thorns

way my wish

if

leads

this

be true

me evermore

as tho'

THE LOVER'S
Still to

Why

believe

it

TALE.

so sweet a thought,

'tis

in the utter stillness of the soul

Doth question' d memory answer

Of

Most

not, nor tell

our closest-drawn.

this our earliest,

17

loveliest, earthly-heavenliest

harmony?

blossom'd portal of the lonely house.

Green prelude, April promise, glad new-year

Of Being, which with

And

earliest violets

lavish carol of clear-throated larks

Fill'd all the

March

of life

These have not seen

thee, these

They cannot understand me.

term of eighteen years.

If I

should

tell

you how

The faded rhymes and

Gray

I will

not speak of thee,

can never know thee,

Pass

we then

Ye would but

laugh,

hoard in thought

scraps of ancient crones,

relics of the nurseries of the world.

Which

are as

gems

set in

my memory.

Because she learnt them with me; or what use

To know
The

her father

daffodil

left

us just before

was blown? or how we found

The dead man

cast

upon

the shore?

All this

THE LOVER'S

Seems

TALE.

your minds

to the quiet daylight of

But cloud and smoke, and in the dark of mine

Move with me

with flame.

Is traced

to the event.

There came a glorious morning, such a one

Mercury

As dawns but once a season.

On

such a morning would have flung himself

From

cloud to cloud, and

To some
'A day

tall

for

And men

mountain

Gods

to soar

Shading his eyes

The prophet and

when

When

first

:
'

Waiting

said to her,

for as that other gazed,

till all

the fiery cloud,

the chariot

and the

into the inmost blue,

for eaves,

to see

we

uplooking and almost

So bathed we were in brilliance.

I

stood,

the pines at noon,

some blessed shape

Before or after have

steeds,

little star

we came from out

With hands

with balanced wings

to stoop,' she answered, 'Ay,

Suck'd into oneness like a

Were drunk

swum

known

in heaven,

Never yet

the spring

Pour with such sudden deluges

of light

Into the middle summer; for that day

THE LOVER'S TALE.

19

Love, rising, shook his wings, and charged the winds

With spiced May-sweets from bound

to

bound, and

blew
Fresh

fire

into the sun, and from within

Burst thro' the heated buds, and sent his soul

Into the songs of birds, and touch' d far-off

His mountain-altars,

his high hills, with flame

Milder and purer.

Thro' the rocks we wound

The

great pine shook with lonely sounds of joy

That came on the sea-wind.

Our bloods ran

free

More warmly on

We

As mountain streams

the sunshine

the heart than

seem'd

clefts

With

And

all

we saw

and openings in the mountains

the blue valley

fill'd

and the glistening brooks,

the low dark groves, a land of love

land of promise, a land of memory,

land of promise flowing with the milk

And honey

brood

on the brow.

often paused, and, looking back,

The

to

of delicious

memories

THE LOVER'S TALE.

20

And down

and

to sea,

Each way from verge

far as eye

to verge a

could ken,

Holy Land,

growing holier as you near'd the bay,

Still

For there the Temple stood.

When we had
The

on some

grassy platform

I gather' d the

stoop'd,

wild herbs, and for her brows

And mine made

Which

hill,

reach'd

garlands of the selfsame flower,

she took smiling, and with

Crown' d her clear forehead.

my work

Once

thus

or twice she told

me
(For

remember

all

things) to let

grow

The

flowers that run poison in their veins.

She

said,

Then

'The

evil flourish in the world.'

playfully she gave herself the lie

'Nothing in nature
So, brother, pluck

is

unbeautiful;

and spare

not.'

So

wove

Ev'n the dull-blooded poppy-stem, 'whose

Hued

with the scarlet of a fierce sunrise,

Like to the wild youth of an

evil prince,

flower,

THE LOVER'S
Is

without sweetness, but

Above the naked poisons

In his old age.'

Grav'n on

My

of his heart

graceful thought of hers

And

the hills she trod

fell

on

While

nymph,

gazed

itself

strike across the soul in prayer,

Burst from the garland

solid glory

light

gazed

and show us

Methought a

light

had wov'n, and stood

on her bright black hair;

methought broke from her dark, dark

shot

itself

mystic light

As from a

My

like a

between us both; tho' while

That we are surely heard.

how

spirit leap'd as with those thrills of bliss

That

And

oh,

coronal slowly disentwined

And

My

fancy

who crowns himself

mountain nymph she look'd! how native

stately

Unto

my

TALE.

into the singing winds;

flash' d

ev'n from her white robe

glass in the sun,

footsteps

and

fell

about

on the mountains.

Last

To what

eyes,

we came

our people call 'The Hill of Woe.'

THE LOVER'S

23

bridge

is

there, that, look'd at

Seems but a cobweb filament

The yawning

And

of

Had

man

from beneath

to link

an earthquake-cloven chasm.

thence one night, w^hen

woful

TALE.

(for so the story

thrust his wife

the winds were loud,

all

went)

and child and dash'd himself

Into the dizzy depth below.

Below,

Fierce in the strength of far descent, a stream

Flies with a shatter' d

The path was

We

mounted

foam along the chasm.

perilous, loosely strown with crags

slowly; yet to both there

The

joy of life in steepness overcome,

And

victories of ascent,

On

all

that

came

and looking down

had look'd down on us; and joy

In breathing nearer heaven; and joy to me,

High over

To

all

the azure-circled earth,

breathe with her as

And more

than joy that

Her guardian and her

Still

if

in heaven itself;
to her

became

angel, raising her

higher, past all peril, until she saw

Beneath her feet the region

far

away,

THE LOVER'S
Beyond

heath and

hill,

hollow lined and wooded to the

And steep-down

lips,

walls of battlemented rock

Gilded with broom, or shatter 'd into

And

spires,

glory of broad waters interfused.

Whence

rose as

it

were breath and steam of gold,

And

over

And

climbing, streak'd or starr'd at

With

all

falling

the great

wood

rioting
inter\'als

brook or blossom 'd bush

Framing the mighty landscape

23

the nearest mountain's bosky brows,

Arise in open prospect

And

TALE.

and

last.

to the west,

purple range of mountain-cones, between

Whose

interspaces gush'd in blinding bursts

The incorporate

blaze of sun and sea.

At length
Descending from the point and standing both.
There on the tremulous bridge, that from beneath

Had seem'd

We

a gossamer filament up in air,

paused amid the splendour.

And

All the west

ev'n unto the middle south was ribb'd

THE LOVER'S TALE.

24

And

barr'd with

Held

for a space 'twixt cloud

Rays

of a

mighty

circle,

On

and wave, shower' d down

weaving over

That various wilderness a

Unparallel'd.

The sun below,

bloom on bloom.

tissue of light

the other side, the moon,

Half-melted into thin blue

stood

air,

still,

And

pale and fibrous as a wither' d leaf,

Nor

yet endured in presence of

To

indue his lustre; most unloverlike,

Since in his absence

And

full of light

But

giving light to others.

Next

to her presence

whom

Spoke loudly even into

As

His eyes

to

my

my

outward hearing

and

joy,

this most,

loved so well,

inmost heart

the loud stream.

Forth issuing from his portals in the crag

(A visible link unto the home

Ran amber toward

Parting

my own

Shorn of

Of

its

the west,

of

my

heart),

and nigh the sea

loved mountains was received,

strength, into the

that small bay,

which out

sympathy

to

open main

Glow'd intermingling close beneath the

sun.

THE LOVER'S TALE.

Spirit of

Love

that little

25

hour was bound

Shut in from Time, and dedicate to thee

Thy

fires

They

from heaven had touch' d

on became hallow' d evermore.

fell

We

and the earth

it,

turn'd: our eyes met: hers were bright, and

mine

Were dim with

floating tears, that shot the sunset

In lightnings round me; and

Upon

hallow' d

center'd, glory-circled

memory

like the

of old,

memory,

and in

hope flow'd round me,

Charm'd amid eddies

names

has been

a peculiar treasure, brooking not

Exchange or currency

was borne

my name

Henceforth

her breath.

And

my name

moment,

ere the

Waver 'd and

Because

it

of

that

like a

hour

golden mist

melodious

airs,

onward whirlwind

floated

which was

less

all

other

Hope had

it.

than Hope,

lack'd the power of perfect

But which was more and higher than

Because

shatter

Hope;

all

lower aim;

Hope,

THE LOVER'S

26

Even

name

that this

Did lend such

to

TALE.

which her gracious

lips

gentle utterance, this one name,

In some obscure hereafter, might inwreathe

(How

nobler then

lovelier,

With my life,

!)

her

love, soul, spirit,

life,

her love.

and heart and

strength.

'Brother,' she said, 'let this be call'd henceforth

The

My

Hill of
will is

Hope;

we did not change

did not speak

Love

lieth

deep

Love wraps

his

Constraining

Absorbing

I replied,

'O

sister,

one with thine; the Hill of Hope.'

Nevertheless,

and

'

all

it

the name.

could not speak

my

love.

Love dwells not in lip-depths.

wings on either side the heart,

with kisses close and warm,

the incense of sweet thoughts

So that they pass not to the shrine of sound.

Else had the

Drunk

life of that

delighted hour

in the largeness of the utterance

Of Love; but how should Earthly measure mete

The Heavenly-unmeasured

Who

or unlimited Love,

scarce can tune his high majestic sense

THE LOVER'S
Unto

TALE.

27

the thiindersong that wheels the spheres,

Scarce living in the ^olian harmony,

And

flowing odour of the spacious

air,

Scarce housed within the circle of this Earth,

Be cabin' d up

Which

in

words and

syllables,

pass with that which breathes

them?

Sooner

Earth

Might go round Heaven, and the

strait girth of

Inswathe the fulness of Eternity,

Than language

day which did enwomb that happy hour,

Thou

grasp the infinite of Love.

art blessed in the years, divinest

day

Genius of that hour which dost uphold

Thy

coronal of glory like a God,

Amid

Who
To

thy melancholy mates far-seen.

walk before thee, ever turning round

gaze upon thee

With dwelling on

Thy name

Had

is

till

their eyes are

the light and depth of thine.

ever worshipp'd

died then,

dim

among

had not seem'd

hours!

to die.

Time

THE LOVER'S TALE.

28

For

bliss stood

Had

round

died then,

me

like the light of, Heaven,

had not known the death;

Yea had the Power from whose

Of Life

The Shadow
Whereof

hand the

right

and from whose

issueth,

light

hand floweth

left

of Death, perennial effluences,

to all that

draw the wholesome

air,

Somewhile the one must overflow the other;

Then had he stemm'd my day with

night,

My

it

current to the fountain whence

Even

On

his

own abiding

and driven

sprang,

excellence

me, methinks, that shock of gloom had falPn

Unfelt, and in this glory

The

had merged

other, like the sun I gazed upon.

Which seeming

And dipping

for the

his

moment due

to death,

head low beneath the verge,

Yet bearing round about him his own day.

In confidence of unabated strength,
Steppeth from Heaven to Heaven, from light to
light,

And

holdeth his

undimmed forehead

Into a clearer zenith, pure of cloud.

far

THE LOVER'S TALE.

We
We

trod the shadow of the

downward

On

past from light to dark.

Which none have fathom 'd.

If

hill;

the other side

scoop 'd a cavern and a mountain

Is

29

hall,

you go

far in

(The country people rumour) you may hear

The moaning

of the

woman and

the child,

Shut in the secret chambers of the rock.

I

too have heard a sound

Running

far

The home

on within

perchance of streams
inmost

its

halls,

of darkness; but the cavern-mouth,

Half overtrailed with a wanton weed.

Gives birth to a brawling brook, that passing lightly

Adown

a natural stair of tangled roots.

Is presently received in a

Of

sweet grave

eglantines, a place of burial

Far lovelier than

its

cradle; for unseen,

But taken with the sweetness of the place,

It

makes a constant bubbling melody

That drowns the nearer echoes.

Spreads out a

Low banks

little lake, that,

of yellow sand;

Lower down

flooding, leaves

and from the woods

THE LOVER'S

30

That belt

it

TALE.

rise three dark, tall cypresses,

Three cypresses, symbols

of mortal woe,

That men plant over graves.

Hither we came,

And

sitting

down upon

the golden moss,

Held converse sweet and low

low converse sweet,

The wind

In which our voices bore least part.

Told a lovetale beside

The

To

waters,

us,

how he woo'd

and the waters answering

lisp'd

kisses of the wind, that, sick with love,

Fainted at intervals, and grew again

To

utterance of passion.

Fancy

so fair as is this

Methought

Had drawn
And
To

all

all

Ye cannol shape

memory.

excellence that ever was

herself

from many thousand

the separate

Edens

yers,

of this earth.

centre in this place and time.

I listen'd,

And

her words stole with most prevailing sweetness

Into

my

To

heart, as thronging fancies

boys and

girls

come

when summer days

are new.

THE LOVER'S TALE.

And

soul

and heart and body are

What marvel my Camilla

told

all at

me

31

ease

all?

was so happy an hour, so sweet a place,

It

And

was as the brother of her blood,

And by

that

name

moved upon

Dear name, which had too much

And

her breath;
of nearness in it

heralded the distance of this time

At

first

As

if

her voice was very sweet and low,

she were afraid of utterance;

But in the onward current of her speech,

(As echoes of the hollow-banked brooks

Are fashion' d by the channel which they keep),

Her words did

of their

Her cheek did catch

I

the colour of her words.

heard and trembled, yet

My
But
I

meaning borrow sound,

heart paused
still I

kept

could but hear;

my raised eyelids would not

my

eyes

upon the

sky.

seem'd the only part of Time stood

And saw

the motion of

While her words,

all

syllable

still.

other thingg;

by

syllable.

Like water, drop by drop, upon

my

ear

fall,

THE LOVER'S TALE.

32

Fell;

and

wish'd, yet wish'd her not to speak;

But she spake on, for

did

What marvel my Camilla

Her maiden

name no

me

told

'Perchance, she said, return' d.

Did tremble

'

wish

for I

no hope.
my

No

at the

Camilla,

And

all

approach of Death,

who was mine

the secret of her inmost heart,

all

the

like a

maiden empire

map

There, where

There in

my

hoped myself
I

it

crown 'd myself

seem'd as

tight chain within

riven in twain

saw

to reign as king,

realm and even on

Another! then

Of some

of her mind.

before me, and

There, where that day

Was

not wholly dead,

longer in the dearest sense of mine

For

Lay

did name no wish.

Hope was

But breathing hard

Camilla,

Even then the stars

'

in their stations as I gazed;

But she spake on,

No

all

Hope and Love

dignities of

'

wish,

my

as king,

throne,

tho' a link

my

that life I

inmost frame

heeded not

Flow'd from me, and the darkness

oi the grave,

THE LOVER'S TALE.

The darkness

of the grave

Did swallow up my
Even

and

33

utter night,

vision; at her feet,

the feet of her I loved, I

fell,

Smit with exceeding sorrow unto Death.

Then had

the earth beneath

With such a sound

From cope
With

Her

all

to base

as

me yawning

when an iceberg

had Heaven from

cloven

splits
all

her doors,

her golden thresholds clashing, roll'd

heaviest thunder

had

lain as dead.

Mute, blind and motionless as then

Dead, for henceforth there was no

I lay;

life for

me

Mute, for henceforth what use were words to

Blind, for the day was as the night to

me was

The night

to

The night

in pity took

Because

my

And

me

kinder than the day;

away

grief as yet

Of eyes too weak

me

my

day.

was newly born

to look

upon the

light;

thro' the hasty notice of the ear

Frail Life was startled from the tender love

Of him she brooded

VOL.

IV.

Would

over.

had lain

THE LOVER'S TALE.

34

Until the plaited ivy-tress had

Round my worn

limbs,

and the wild brier had driven

knotted thorns thro'

Its

Leaning

roses

its

on

wound

my

my

unpaining brows,

faded eyes.

The wind had blown above me, and

the rain

Had

fall'n

Had

nestled in this bosom-throne of Love,

But

upon me, and

had been

at rest for

the gilded snake

evermore.

Long time entrancement held me.

All too soon

Life (like a wanton too-officious friend.

Who

will not

With

proffer of unwish'd-for sendees)

Entering

all

hear denial, vain and rude

the avenues of sense

Past thro' into his citadel, the brain.

With hated warmth

And

first

Smote on
Its

the chillness of the sprinkled brook

my

murmur,

Who

of apprehensiveness.

brows, and then I seem'd to hear

as the

drowning seaman

hears.

with his head below the surface dropt

Listens the mufifled

booming

indistinct

THE LOVER'S
Of the confused
His head

floods,

shall rise

The white

35

and dimly knows

no more

light of the

TALE.

weary

and then came in

moon

above,

Diffused and molten into flaky cloud.

Was my

sight

drunk that

did shape to

it

Him

w^ho should

If so

be that the echo of that name

own

that

name?

me

Were

it

not well

Ringing within the fancy had updrawn

fashion and a phantasm of the form

It

should attach to?

That ever lusted

The

Phantom

had the ghastliest

for a body, sucking

foul steam of the grave to thicken

by

it,

There in the shuddering moonlight brought

And what
As he did

it

has for eyes as close to

better that than

his,

its

face

mine

than he

The

friend, the neighbour, Lionel, the beloved,

The

loved, the lover, the

The low-voiced,
All joy, to

happy Lionel,

tender-spirited Lionel,

whom my agony

was a

joy.

O how

her choice did leap forth from his eyes

O how

her love did clothe

itself in

smiles

THE LOVER'S TALE.

36

About

his lips

Then when

and

me

to twit

with the cause

not the land as free thro'

To him

as

upon my head

the effect weigh' d seas

To come my way

Was

not one moment's grace

Was

me?

all

her ways

not his wont to walk

Betsveen the going light and growing night?

Had

not learnt

my

loss before

he came ?

Could that be more because he came

come my way

Why

should he not

And

yet to-night, to-night

Flash' d from

me

Beggar 'd for ever

Robed
With

Come
To

why should

that great
like

crown

of

he.

come my way

his brows

soul,

had with God

and a greedy heir

That scarce can wait the reading

Before he takes possession?

To be invaded

wealth

I fell

beams about

of the bliss he

like a careless

my

must not wear,

an angel to a damned

him

he would?

all

moment and

in a

in those robes of light I

tell

Come

when

if

my way?

rudelv,

of the will

Was mine

and not rather

mood

THE LOVER'S TALE.

A

sacred, secret,

Unspeakable?

unapproached woe,
was shut up with Grief;

She took the body of

my

past delight,

Narded and swathed and balm'd

And

laid

Never

37

it

for herself,

in a sepulchre of rock

it

to rise again.

was led mute

Into her temple like a sacrifice;

I

was the High Priest in her holiest place,

Not

to

Oh

be loudly broken in upon.

friend, thoughts

deep and heavy as these

nigh
O'erbore the limits of

Bent o'er me, and

I

thought

it

I strove to

my

my

brain: but he

neck his arm upstay'd.

was an adder's

fold,

disengage myself, but

and once
fail'd.

Being so feeble: she bent above me, too;

Wan

was her cheek; for whatsoe'er of blight

Lives in the dewy touch of pity had

The red
I

rose there a pale one

saw the moonlight

glitter

made

and her

on

eyes-

their tears

well-

THE LOVER'S

38

And some few

on

Fell

my

TALE.

drops of that distressful rain

face,

and her long

ringlets

moved,

Drooping and beaten by the breeze, and brush'd

My

fallen forehead in their to

and

fro.

For in the sudden anguish of her heart

Loosed from

And

floated

their simple thrall they

on and parted round her neck,

Mantling her form halfway.

Something she ask'd,

Unanswer'd, since

Of

She,

know not

when

woke,

what, and ask'd,

spake not; for the sound

that dear voice so musically low,

And now
As

had flow'd abroad,

it

first

heard with any sense of pain,

had taken

Choked

all

From my

life

away before,

the syllables, that strove to rise

full heart.

The

From

blissful lover, too,

his great hoard of happiness distill'd

Some drops

of solace; like a vain rich

man.

That, having always prosper' d in the world.

Folding his hands, deals comfortable words

THE LOVER'S
To

wounded

hearts

TALE.

39

for ever; yet, in truth,

Fair speech was his and delicate of phrase,

Falling in whispers on the sense, address'

More

to the

As rain

inward than the outward

midsummer midnight

of the

ear.
soft.

Scarce-heard, recalling fragrance and the green

Of the dead spring

No

bud, no

but mine was wholly dead,

no

leaf,

flower,

no

Yet who had done, or who had

And why was

I to

Because

my own

wrong?

suffer' d

darken their pure love,

two did love each other,

as I found, they

If,

me.

fruit for

Why

was darken' d?

was

To

cross between their

To

stand a shadow by their shining doors.

And vex them

Ye know

My

my

star

and them?

Did

darkness?

I love

her?

that I did love her; to this present

full-orb' d love has

And

could

What had

with

happy

not.

Did

I love her.

look upon her tearful eyes?

she done to

innocent of spirit

Break rather

waned

weep ?
let

my

Why

should she weep

heart

whom the gentlest

airs of

Heaven

'

THE LOVER'S TALE.

40

Should kiss with an unwonted gentleness.

Her

What then?

did murder mine?

love

deem'd
I

me

wore a brother's mind: she call'd

She told

The

me

all

her love

brother:

she shall not weep.

brightness of a burning thought, awhile

In battle with the glooms of

Moonlike emerged, and

my

dark

to itself

will,

up

lit

There on the depth of an unfathom'd woe

Reflex of action.

Starting

As from a dismal dream of

my

up

my own

for I loved her, lost

I,

for I loved her, graspt the

laid

it

in her own,

The happy and

Would hold

the

the

my

Him who

unhappy

hand

hand she

and sent

Thro' the blank night to

death,

love in Love;

I,

And

at once.

lov'd,

cry

loving

love, that

made

He

of blessing over them,

Lionel, the happy, and her, and her, his bride

Let them so love that

'Lo!

how

men and

they love each other!

boys
'

may

till

say,

their love

She

THE LOVER'S

TALE.

41

Shall ripen to a proverb, unto all

Known, when

their faces are forgot in the land

One golden dream

from which may death

of love,

Awake them with heaven's music

More

living to

Swallowing

And

its

some happier happiness,

precedent in victory.

as for me, Camilla, as for me,

The dew
They

of tears

an unwholesome dew,
more.

that I love thee but as brothers do,

So shalt thou love

if

is

will but sicken the sick plant the

Deem

Or

in a life

me

still

as sisters do;

thou dream aught farther, dream but

how

could have loved thee, had there been none else

To

love as lovers, loved again by thee.

Or

When

this, or
I

For sure

And

like to this, I spake,

beheld her weep so ruefully;

my

And mask
Shall

somewhat

love should ne'er indue the front

of Hate,

who

lives

Love pledge Hatred

on

others'

moans.

in her bitter draughts,

batten on her poisons?

Love forbid!

THE LOVER'S TALE.

42

Love passeth not the threshold

And Hate

Love,

Shed

The

is

if

of cold Hate,

strange beneath the roof of Love.

thou be'st Love, dry up these tears

for the love of

Love; for tho' mine image,

subject of thy power, be cold in her.

Yet, like cold snow,

Of these sad

tears,

So Love, arraign' d

it

melteth in the source

and feeds
to

their

downward

judgment and

flow.

to death,

Received unto himself a part of blame,

Being

guiltless, as

Who, when

And

all

an innocent prisoner,

the woful sentence hath been past,

the clearness of his fame hath gone

Beneath the shadow of the curse of man,

First falls asleep in swoon,

And

wherefrom awaked,

looking round upon his tearful friends,

Forthwith and in his agony conceives

shameful sense as of a cleaving crime

For whence without some guilt should such grief be?

So died that hour, and

fell

Of forms outworn, but not

to

into the

me

abysm

outworn,

THE LOVER'S TALE.

Who

never hail'd another

There might be one

That made

it

43

was there one?

one other, worth the

sensible.

life

So that hour died

Like odour rapt into the winged wind

Borne into alien lands and

There be some hearts so

when
wreck

They

On

love

their

far

airily built, that they,

is

wreck' d

that sharp ridge of utmost

Above the perilous

seas of

away.

doom

if

Love

can

ride highly

Change and Chance;

Nay, more, hold out the lights of cheerfulness;

As the
Knit

tall

to

ship, that

many

a dreary year

some dismal sandbank

far at sea.

All thro' the livelong hours of utter dark,

Showers slanting light upon the dolorous wave.

For

me

what

light,

what gleam on those black ways

Where Love could walk with banish'd Hope no more?

It

was ill-done

to part you, Sisters fair;

Love's arms were wreath 'd about the neck of Hope,

THE LOVER'S TALE.

44

And Hope

kiss'd Love,

In that close

They

kiss,

said that

and drank her whisper' d

last

tales.

Love would die when Hope was gone,

And Love mourn' d

At

and Love drew in her breath

long,

she sought out

and sorrow 'd

after

Hope;

Memory, and they trod

The same old paths where Love had walk'd with Hope,

And Memory

fed the soul of Love with tears.

THE LOVER'S

TALE.

45

II.

From

that time forth I

But many weary moons

would not see her more;

I lived

alone

Alone, and in the heart of the great forest.

Sometimes upon the

All

day

beside the sea

watch' d the floating isles of shade,

And sometimes on
Insensibly

upon

the shore,

drew her name,

The meaning

My

hills

the sands

until

of the letters shot into

brain; anon the wanton billow wash'd

Them

over,

they faded like

till

The hollow caverns heard me

Of the midforest heard me

my

the black brooks

the

soft winds.

Laden with thistledown and seeds

Paused in their course

Was

all of

The

squirrel

thee

the

love.

to hear

me,

of flowers.
for.

my

voice

merry linnet knew me.

knew me, and

the dragonfly

THE LOVER'S

46

Shot by

me

The rough

like a flash of purple fire.

brier tore

my bleeding palms;

Brow-high, did strike

Yet trod

TALE.

my

forehead as

my

not the wildflower in

Nor bruised

the hemlock,
past;

path,

the wildbird's egg.

Was

this the

Why

grew we then together in one plot?

Why

fed

Why

were our mothers' branches of one stem?

Why

were we one in

Where
Of

Were

we from one fountain? drew one sun?

to

all I

save in that

all things,

have been one had been the cope and crown

hoped and fear'd?

father to this distance,

Vaunt courier

to this double?

if

that

same nearness

and that one

if

Affection

Living slew Love, and Sympathy hew'd out

The bosom-sepulchre

Chiefly

Where
Of

end?

last

of

Sympathy?

sought the cavern and the

we roam'd

hill

together, for the

the loud stream was pleasant,

sound

and the wind

THE LOVER'S
Came wooingly

TALE.

47

with woodbine smells.

Sometimes

All day I sat within the cavern-mouth,

Fixing

my

eyes on those three cypress-cones

That spired above the wood; and with mad hand

Tearing the bright leaves of the ivy-screen,
I cast

them

brook beneath,

in the noisy

And watch 'd them

till

my

they vanish' d from

sight

Beneath the bower of wreathed eglantines

And

(Huge

Had

the fragments of the living rock

all

blocks,

which some old trembling

loosen' d from the mountain,

own

Half-digging their

Did

make bare

The

liveried
spirit

them

to flag

my

it

agony

brain

thro' a mist:
all

my

to thought,

my

blood

languid limbs;

heart seem'd far within me,

Unfrequent, low, as tho'

yet

my

from thought

Crept like marsh drains thro'

And

my

in the spring

In

all over.

As moonlight wandering

of

fell

of all the golden moss.

seem'd

The motions

they

graves) these in

Wherewith the dashing runnel

Had

till

of the world

it

shook me, that

told

my

its

pulses;

frame would shudder,

THE LOVER'S

^g

As

drawn asunder by the rack.

'twere

if

TALE.

But over the deep graves of Hope and Fear,

And

all

the broken palaces of the Past,

Brooded one master-passion evermore.

Like to a low-hung and a

fiery

sky

Above some

fair metropolis, earth-shock'd,

Hung round

with ragged rims and burning folds,-

Embathing
Great

all

with wild and woful hues,

hills of ruins,

and collapsed masses

Of thundershaken columns

And

fused together in the tyrannous light

Ruins, the ruin of

Sometimes

Some one had

all

my

life

and

rise,

me

thought Camilla was no more,

told

me

she was dead, and ask'd

would see her burial: then

If I

To

indistinct.

seem'd

and through the forest-shadow borne

swiftness, I ran

With more than mortal

came upon

The

steepy sea-bank,

The

rear of a procession, curving

The

siiver-sheeted bay

till I

down

round

in front of

which

THE LOVER'S TALE,

Six stately virgins,

all

49

in white, upbare

broad earth-sweeping

pall of whitest lawn,

Wreathed round the bier with garlands

in the dis-

tance,

From

out the yellow woods upon the hill

Look'd

Of a gray steeple

summit and

forth the

low bell

thence

the pinnacles

at intervals

All the pageantry,

tolling.

Save those six virgins which upheld the bier,

Were

stoled from head to foot in flowing black;

One walk'd

abreast with me,

And he was

loud in weeping and in praise

Of

her,

Shook

we

all

He

veil'd his brow,

follow'd: a strong sympathy

my

soul

In tears and cries

How

and

flung myself

told

him

had loved her from the

upon him

my

all

love.

whereat

first;

shrank and howl'd, and from his brow drew back

His hand

to

The very

face

Flash'd thro'

And

push

me from him; and

the face,

and form of Lionel

my

at his feet I

eyes into

seem'd

my

innermost brain.

to faint

and

fall.

THE LOVER'S TALE.

50

To

fall

Albeit

The

and die away.

I

could not rise

lliey past on,

strove to follow,

lordly

They

Phantasms

past and were

in their floating folds

no more

but

Prone by the dashing runnel on the

Alway the inaudible

Artificer

and

and

subject, lord

the audible

grass.

and

slave,

visible,

visible;

All crisped sounds of

wave and

Flatter'd the fancy of

my

leaf

and wind,

fading brain;

The cloud-pavilion'd element,

The mountain,

the wood.

the three cypresses, the cave.

Storm, sunset, glows and glories of the

Below black

fallen

invisible thought,

Shaped by the audible and

Moulded

had

firs,

when

Laid the long night in

moon

silent-creeping winds
silver streaks

and

bars.

my dream

Were wrought

into the tissue of

The moanings

in the forest, the loud brook.

Cries of the partridge like a rusty key

Turn'd

in a lock,

owl-whoop and dorhawk-whirr

THE LOVER'S TALE.

Awoke me

51

were a part of sleep,

not, but

And

voices in the distance calling to

me

And

in

me dream

on.

my

vision bidding

Like sounds without the twilight realm of dreams,

Which wander round

And murmur

the bases of the hills,

at the low-dropt eaves of sleep,

Oftentimes

Half-entering the portals.

The

vision had fair prelude, in the end

Opening on darkness,

To

stately vestibules

caves and shows of Death

With some revenge

even

Made

strange division of

With

her,

whom

to

whether the mind,

to itself
its

unknown,

suffering

have suffering view'd had

been
Extremest pain; or that the clear-eyed

Being blunted in the Present, grew

Spirit,

at length

Prophetical and prescient of whate'er

The Future had

Enchains

Was
All I

of so

in store

belief, the

or that

sorrow of

wide a compass

had loved, and

my

it

which most

my

spirit

took in

dull agony,

THE LOVER'S

52

Ideally to her transferr'd,

TALE.

became

Anguish intolerable.

The day waned;

Alone

I sat

with her

Her warm breath

floated in the utterance

Of silver-chorded tones

With smiles

my brow

about

her lips were sunder'd

of tranquil bliss,

Like morning from her eyes

(As

have seen them

many

Fill'd all with pure clear

which broke in

her eloquent eyes,

a hundred times)

fire,

thro'

In

mine down rain'd

As a vision

Their spirit-searching splendours.

Unto a haggard

light

prisoner, iron-stay'

damp and dismal dungeons underground,

Confined on points of

faith,

when

With torment, and expectancy

Upon

strength

is

shock'd

of worse

the morrow, thro' the ragged walls,

All unawares before his half-shut eyes.

Comes

And

in

upon him

in the

dead of night,

with the excess of sweetness and of awe.

Makes

the heart tremble,

and the

sight run over

THE LOVER'S TALE.

Upon

53

his steely gyves; so those fair eyes

Shone on

my

darkness, forms which ever stood

Within the magic cirque of memory,

Invisible but deathless, waiting

The

still

edict of the will to reassume

The semblance

of those rare realities

Of which they were the

mirrors.

Which was

burst

their

life,

Now

the light

through the cloud of

thought

Keen, irrepressible.

It

was a room

Within the summer-house

Hung round

of

which

spake,

with paintings of the sea, and one

vessel in mid-ocean, her heaved

prow

Clambering, the mast bent and the ravin wind

In her

sail roaring.

From

the outer day.

*

Betwixt the close-set ivies came a broad

/\nd solid

beam

of isolated light.

Crowded with driving atomies, and

Slanting

upon

that picture,

fell

from prime youth

THE LOVER'S TALE.

54

Well-known well-loved.

She drew

Forthgazing on the waste and open

One morning when

the

long ago

it

sea,

upblown billow ran

Shoreward beneath red clouds, and

had pour'd

Into the shadowing pencil's naked forms

Colour and

Of

life

it

was a bond and

seal

friendship, spoken of with tearful smiles;

A monument
The poesy
Symbol 'd

of childhood

of childhood;

We

in storm.

and of love;

my

lost love

gazed on

it

together

In mute and glad remembrance, and each heart

Grew

Was

closer to the other,

riveted and charm-bound, gazing like

The Indian on a

beauty which

That painted

Began

An

to heave

Reel under

To

still-eyed snake,
is

death;

when

low-couch'd

all at

once

vessel, as with inner life,

earthquake,

And

and the eye

us,

upon

my
and

that painted sea;

loud heart-beats,
all at

once, soul,

made

the ground

life

breath and motion, past and flow'd away

those unreal billows

round and round

THE LOVER'S

TALE.

55

whirlwind caught and bore us; mighty gyres

Rapid and

vast, of hissing spray

Far thro' the dizzy dark.

My

wind-driven

Aloud she shriek'd;

heart was cloven with pain;

wound my arms

About her: we whirl'd giddily; the wind

Sung; but

Shrank in

And

clasp'd her without fear: her weight

my

grasp,

my dim

eyes,

parted lips which drank her breath, down-hung

The jaws

of

Death

Her empty phantom

Of

and over

I,

all

the sway

welter' d thro' the dark ever

flung

and whirl

the storm dropt to windless calm,

Down

me

groaning, from

and

and

ever.

THE LOVER'S

56

TALE.

III.

CAME one day and

among

sat

the stones

Strewn in the entry of the moaning cave;

morning

The

air,

sweet after rain, ran over

rippling levels of the lake, and blew

Coolness and moisture and

And

foliage

Upon my

temple.

The day had grown

bud

brows that shook and throbb'd

From temple unto

The

smells of

from the dark and dripping woods

fever' d

The hollow

all

know

To what
not.

tolling of the bell,

height

Then came on me

and

all

As heretofore

vision of the bier.

walk'd behind with one who veil'd his brow.

Methought by slow degrees the

sullen bell

Toll'd quicker, and the breakers on the shore

Sloped into louder surf

And

those that went with me,

those that held the bier before

Moved
Trod

my

face.

with one spirit round about the bay.

swifter steps;

and while

walk'd with these

THE LOVER'S TALE.

In marvel at that gradual change,

Four

bells instead of

Four merry

one began

bells, four

57

thought

to ring,

merry marriage-bells,

In clanging cadence jangling *peal on peal

long loud clash of rapid marriage-bells.

Then

those

who

led the van,

Rush'd into dance, and

and those in

like wild

rear,

Bacchanals

Fled onward to the steeple in the woods

I,

was borne along and

too,

Beat on

The

my

heated eyelids

front rank

Lapsed into

shrieks

Threw down

Waved

all at

once

a sudden halt; the bells

frightful stillness; the surge fell

From thunder
With

made

felt the blast

maids

into whispers; those six

and ringing laughter on the sand

the bier; the

woods upon

the hill

with a sudden gust that sweeping

Took

the edges of the pall,

Until

it

hung, a

little silver

Over the sounding

and blew

it

down

far

cloud

seas: I turn'd:

my

heart

Shrank in me, like a snowflake in the hand.

Waiting

to see the settled

countenance

THE LOVER'S TALE.

58

Of her

loved, adorn' d with fading flowers.

But she from out her death-like chrysalis,

She from her bier, as into fresher

My

sister,

and

my

cousin,

and

life.

my

love.

her hair
Studded with one rich Provence rose a light
her eyes
Of smiling welcome round her
Leapt lightly clad in bridal white

lips

And cheeks
One hand

And

while

when

as bright as

mused nor

yet endured to take

man who

Stept gaily forward, throwing

claspt her

hand

in his

stood with

down

me

his robes,

again the bells

Jangled and clang' d: again the stormy surf

Crash'd in the shingle: and the whirling rout

Led by those two rush'd

Wind-footed

into dance,

to the steeple in the

and

fled

woods.

Till they were swallow' d in the leafy bowers,

And

stood sole beside the vacant bier.

There, there,

my

latest vision

hill.

came behind.

she reach' d to those that

So rich a prize, the

And

she climb' d the

then the event

THE GOLDEN SUFFER.

59

IV.

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.^

(Another speaks.)

He

flies

the event: he leaves the event to

Poor Julian

how he rush'd away;

Those marriage-bells, echoing

But cast a parting glance

at

One golden hour of triumph

before he

He moved

thro' all of

it

Well he had
shall I say?

home.

in that hour of his

majestically

Restrain' d himself quite to the close

This

poem

Introduction, p.

is

3.

and heart

in ear

left his

Would you had seen him

the bells,

me, you saw,

As who should say Continue.'

Solace at least

me

founded upon a story

but now

in

Boccaccio.

See

THE LOVER'S TALE,

6o

Whether they were

Or prophets
I

of

his lady's marriage-bells,

them

in his fantasy,

never ask'd: but Lionel and the girl

Were wedded, and our Julian came again

Back to his mother's house among the pines.
But these, their gloom, the mountains and the Bay,

The whole land weigh' d him down

The Giant

Would

of

Mythology

he would go.

leave the land for ever,

Surely, but for a whisper,

as ^^tna does

and had gone

'Go not

yet,'

sent divinely as seem'd

deem
By that which follow' d but of
As of the visions that he told the event

Some warning

it

this I

Glanced back upon them in his

And

partly

And

No

made them

tho'

he knew

it

not.

thus he stay'd and would not look at her

not for months

After their marriage

Heard

after life,

yet once

but,
lit

toll

the eleventh

moon

the lover's Bay,

more the

Would you could

when

me

tolling bell,

out of

life,

and

said,

but found

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

mother broke

All softly as his

to

it

6i

him

crueller reason than a crazy ear,

For that low knell tolling his lady dead

Dead

and had lain three days without a pulse

All that look'd

And

on her had pronounced her dead.

so they bore her (for in Julian's land

They never

nail a

dumb head up

Bore her free-faced to the free

And

airs of

laid her in the vault of her

What did he then? not

in elm),

own

die: he

is

heaven,
kin.

here and hale

mountain

Not plunge headforemost from

the

And

Leap: not he:

leave the

He knew
Thought

the

And

To

will I

all

kiss her

The dead

knew

of the whisper now.

it.

'This, I stay'd for this;

have not seen you for so long.

Now, now,
be

of Lover's

meaning

that he

love, I

1 will

name

go down into the grave,

alone with

on the

all I love.

lips.

She

returns to me, and

kiss the dead.

there,

is

his

no more

go down

THE LOVER'S

62

The fancy

He

rose

light

Then

him

was but a

at the far

end

flash,

so

vault,

beheld

light,

round about him that which

The

stirr'd

and went, and entering the dim

And, making there a sudden

All

TALE.

all will be.

and went again.

of the vault he

saw

His lady with the moonlight on her face;

Her

breast as in a shadow-prison, bars

Of black and bands

which the moon

of silver,

Struck from an open grating overhead

High

in the wall,

Drown' d in

*It

To

was

the

my

rest, to

and

all

the rest of her

gloom and horror

of the vault.

wish,' he said, 'to pass, to sleep,

be with her

till

the great day

Peal'd on us with that music which rights

And

raised us

Down

hand

in hand.'

And

all,

kneeling there

in the dreadful dust that once was

man,

Dust, as he said, that once was loving hearts,

Hearts that had beat with such a love as mine

Not such

as mine, no, nor for such as her

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

He

softly put his

And

kiss'd her

And

silence

He

arm about her neck

more than once,

made him bold

'O, you

Can

nay, but

hand upon her

warm

wrong him,

chill

you

once

all at

Or am

made immortal,

Mortal once more?

Faint

but

it

beat

It

'

at

pulse with such a

The

heart,

he moan'd, 'not even death

heart,'

:
'

then starting, thought

His dreams had come again.

or

beat

*Do

my

wake or sleep?

love

the heart

which

his

vehemence

it

beat:

own began
that

it

drown'd

feebler motion underneath his hand.

But when at

He

helpless death

till

reverenced his dear lady even in death;

But, placing his true

To

63

last his

doubts were

satisfied.

raised her softly from the sepulchre.

And, wrapping her

He came

in,

all

over with the cloak

and now striding

fast,

and now

Sitting awhile to rest, but evermore

Holding

his golden burthen in his arms,

So bore her

Back

thro' the solitary land

to the mother's

house where she was born.

THE LOVER'S TALE.

64

There the good mother's kindly ministering,

With

Her

half a night's appliances, recall'd

fluttering life

Where?

'

till

Had made
Here

she rais'd an eye that ask'd

the things familiar to her youth

a silent answer

and how came

then she spoke

here

'

and learning

(They told her somewhat rashly as

At once began
'Ay, but you

Send

to

wander and

know

that

bid him come;

'

it

think)

to wail,

you must give

me

back:

but Lionel was away

Stung by his loss had vanish' d, none knew where.

'He

me

casts

out,' she wept,

'and goes

'

a wail

That seeming something, yet was nothing, born

Not from believing mind, but

shatter' d nerve,

Yet haunting Julian, as her own reproof

At some precipitance

in her burial.

Then, when her own true

'Oh

yes,

and you,' she

For you have given

And none
And you

me

spirit

said, 'and
life

none but you?

and love again,

but you yourself shall

shall give

had return'd,

tell

me back when

him

of

it.

he returns.

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

'Stay then a

And keep
And

little,'

yourself,

do your

I will

answer'd Julian, 'here,

none knowing,
will.

No, not an hour; but send

When
And

make

To him you
'And

me

I will

love.

'

Ao your

all their

to yourself

not

stay.

notice of
I return,

And

faintly she replied,

will,

and none

shall

secret to be

house was old and loved them both.

known

all

Had

died almost to serve them any way.

And

all

And

then he rode away; but after

the house had

the land was waste

the loves of both

and

solitary
this,

hour or two, Camilla's travail came

Upon

her,

and that day a boy was born.

Heir of his face and land,

And

to Lionel.

thus our lonely lover rode away.

And pausing

know.'

known.

And

An

him

a solemn offering of you

Not know? with such a

But

may

he returns, and then will

I will

65

at a hostel in a marsh,

THE LOVER'S TALE.

66

There fever seized upon him

myself was then

Travelling that land, and meant to rest an hour;

And
It

sitting

down

to such a base repast,

makes me angry yet

speak of

to

it

heard a groaning overhead, and climb'd

The moulder 'd

And

stairs (for

in a loft, with

none

everything was vile),

to wait

on him,

Found, as

it

Raving

dead men's dust and beating

A
A

of

seem'd, a skeleton alone,

hearts.

dismal hostel in a dismal land,

malarian world of reed and rush

flat

But there from fever and

my

care of

him

Sprang up a friendship that may help us

For while we roam'd along the dreary

And
I

yet.

coast.

waited for her message, piece by piece

learnt the drearier story of his life;

And,

and honour'd Lionel,

tho' he loved

Found

that the

Dwelt in

sudden wail his lady made

his fancy

did he know her worth,

Her beauty even? should he not be

taught,

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

Ev'n by the price

The

that others set

upon

it,

value of that jewel he had to guard?

Suddenly came her notice and we

I

67

past,

with our lover to his native Bay.

This love

is

makes

77^(2/

Beginning

But

and yet

my

of us

call,

say the bird

however sweet.

neighbour whistle answers him

What matter?
Yet when

my

some

know no more.

at the sequel

will not hear

if

mind, the soul

the sequel pure; tho'

Not such am
That

of the brain, the

there are others in the wood.

saw her (and

thought him crazed,

Tho' not with such a craziness as needs

cell

Oh
But

and keeper), those dark eyes of hers

such dark eyes

all

from these

and not her eyes alone.

to

where she touch 'd on

earth.

For such a craziness

No

less

as Julian's look'd

than one divine apology.

THE LOVER'S TALE.

68

So sweetly and so modestly she came

To

young hero

greet us, her

'You gave

'Kiss him,' she said.

He, but for you, had never seen

His other father you

Forgive him,

Talk of

if

lost

his

arms

in her

me

Kiss him, and then

name be

Julian too.

hopes and broken heart

Some sudden

him

vivid pleasure hit

And
By

more resolved

the

To come and
Before he

And

left

revel for

his

there.

him

had borne the dead,

one hour with him

the land for evermore;

then to friends

they were not manywho lived

Scatteringly about that lonely land of his,

And bade them

And

Julian

own

to go,

sent at once to Lionel, praying

that great love they both

knew

all

again.

once.

it

Sent such a flame into his face,

But he was

life

banquet of farewells.

to a

made

a solemn feast

Sat at a costlier; for

all

round his

never

hall

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

From column on
Not such

as here

69

column, as in a wood,

to

an equatorial one,

Great garlands swung and blossom' d; and beneath.

Heirlooms, and ancient miracles of Art,

Chalice and salver,

wines

that,

Heaven knows

when,

Had

suck'd the

And

kept

thro' a

it

of

fire

some forgotten

hundred years of gloom.

Yet glowing in a heart of ruby

cups

Where nymph and god ran ever round

Others of glass as costly

Moveable and

And

trebling

Why

need

his

resettable at will.

all

I tell

was

the rest in value

you

all ?

old, has in

it

Wonder'd

some strange

And

as his,

rare or fair

before the guest

(I told

Ah heavens

suffice to say

Was brought
at

in gold

some with gems

That whatsoever such a house

And

sun.

and

they, the guests,

light in Julian's eyes

you that he had his golden hour).

such a

To such

feast, ill-suited as it

seem'd

a time, to Lionel's loss and his

THE LOVER'S TALE.

70

And

He

that resolved self-exile

never would

revisit,

from a land

such a feast

So rich, so strange, and stranger ev'n than rich.

But rich as for the nuptials of a king.

And

Two

stranger yet, at one end of the hall

great funereal curtains, looping down,

Parted a

little

ere they

About a picture

Some

And

met

the floor,

of his lady, taken

years before, and falling hid the frame.

just

above the parting was a lamp

So the sweet figure folded round with night

Seem'd stepping out

of darkness with a smile

our solemn we ate and drank,

And might the wines being
such nobleness
Well then

feast

of

Have

jested also, but for Julian's eyes.

And something weird and

What was

it?

for our lover

wild about

it all

seldom spoke,

Scarce touch 'd the meats; but ever and anon

priceless goblet with a priceless wine

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

Arising, show'd he drank

And when

beyond

71

his use;

the feast was near an end, he said

'There

is

a custom in the Orient, friends

read of

it

in Persia

Will honour those

when a man

who

feast with him,

And shows them whatsoever he

Of

his treasures the

all

accounts

most beautiful.

Gold, jewels, arms, whatever

This custom

he brings

it

may

be.

'

Pausing here a moment,

all

The

guests broke in

upon him with meeting hands

And

cries about the

banquet

Who

could desire more beauty at a feast?

The
Here

'Beautiful!

lover answer'd, 'There

sitting

Before

my

who

desires

time, but hear

it.

me

is

more than one

Laud me not
to the close.

This custom steps yet further when the guest

Is

loved and honour 'd to the uttermost.

THE LOVER'S TALE.

y2

For

He

he hath shown him gems or gold,

after

him

brings and sets before

That which

is

The beauty

that

"O my

in rich guise

thrice as beautiful as these,

is

dearest to his heart

heart's lord,

would

And

could show you," he

says,

" Ev'n

my

heart too."

To show you what

And my

is

dearest to

my

*But solve

me

had a

falling sick,

all

first

a doubt.

years ago

one who loved

faithful serv^ant,

His master more than

He

heart.

heart too.

knew a man, nor many

He

propose to-night

on earth beside.

and seeming close on death.

His master would not wait

until he died,

But bad his menials bear him from the door.

And
I

leave

knew

him

in the public

way

to die.

another, not so long ago,

Who

found the dying servant, took him home.

And

fed,

and cherish'd him, and saved

his life.

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

I

ask you now, should this

His

service,

Who

thrust

whom
him

does

out, or

it

first

73

master claim

belong to? him

him who saved

his life?'

This question, so ilung down before the guests,

And balanced

When some
Was

either

way by

each, at length

were doubtful how the law would hold,

'landed over by consent of

To one who had

all

not spoken, Lionel.

Fair speech was his, and delicate of phrase.

And he beginning

languidly

Weigh' d on him yet

Glanced

his

loss

but warming as he went.

at the point of law, to pass it by.

Affirming that as long as either lived.

By

all

The

the laws of love

and

gratefulness.

service of the one so saved was due

adding, with a smile.

many weeks a semi-smile
'body and soul
a strong conclusion

All to the saver

The
As

first

at

And

life

for

and limbs,

all

his to

work

his will.'

THE LOVER'S

74-

Then

To

Julian

made

bring Camilla

And

crossing her

And

looking as

Is lovelier

a secret sign to

down

own

much

than

before them

me
all.

picture as she came,

lovelier as herself

others

all

TALE.

on her head

diamond

circlet,

veil, that

seemed no more than gilded

and from under

Flying by each fine

With seeds

of gold

with that grace of hers,

so,

wave against the wind,

Slow-moving

as a

That

mist behind

And

flings a

And

it

in the sun

bearing high in arms the mighty babe.

The younger
With

air,

an Eastern gauze

ear,

this

roses,

over

who

Julian,

none so rosy

all

himself was crown'

as himself

her babe and her the jewels

Of many generations

of his

house

Sparkled and flash 'd, for he had decked them out

As

for a

solemn

So she came in
I

sacrifice of love
:

am

long in telling

it,

never yet beheld a thing so strange,

Sad, sweet, and strange together

floated in

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

While

And

all

the guests in

75

mute amazement rose

slowly pacing to the middle hall,

Before the board, there paused and stood, her breast

Hard-heaving, and her eyes upon her

Not daring yet

feet,

to glance at Lionel.

But him she carried, him nor

lights

Dazed or amazed, nor eyes

men; who cared

Only

to use his

And hungering

own, and staring wide

for the gilt

About him, look'd,

When

and jewell'd world

as he is like to prove,

Julian goes, the lord of

*My
Ev'n

of

guests,' said Julian:

to the uttermost:

Of

all

my

Of

all

things

treasures the

Then waving

upon

'

all

he saw.

you are honour' d now

in her behold

most beautiful.

earth the dearest to me.'

us a sign to seat ourselves,

Led

his dear lady to a chair of state.

And

I,

Fire,

nor feast

by Lionel

saw his face

sitting,

and dead ashes and

Thrice in a second,

felt

all fire

again

him tremble

too,

76

THE LOVER'S TALE.

And heard him

muttering, 'So like, so like;

She never had a

Some cousin

And

sister.

of his

knew none.

and hers

O God,

then he suddenly ask'd her

if

so like!'

she were.

She shook, and cast her eyes down, and was dumb.

And

then some other question' d

From

foreign lands, and

Another,

To

if

all their

the

still

boy were hers

if

she

came

she did not speak.

but she

queries answer 'd not a word,

Which made

the

amazement more,

Said, shuddering,

'Her spectre

'

till

one of them

But his friend

Replied, in half a whisper, 'Not at least

The

spectre that will speak

Terrible pity,

if

if

spoken

one so beautiful

Prove, as I almost dread to find her,

But Julian, sitting by

her,

dumb

answer'd

all:

but dumb, because in her you see

'She

is

That

faithful servant

Obedient

Which

to.

to her

whom we

spoke about.

second master now;

will not last.

have here to-night a guest

THE GOLDEN SUPPER.

So bound

to

me by common

love and loss

bind him more? in his behalf,

What!

shall I

Shall

exceed the Persian, giving him

77

That which of

things

all

the dearest to me,

is

Not only showing? and he himself pronounced

That

my

'Now
Not

rich gift

all

is

be dumb, and promise

break in on what

to

Or whisper, while

And

wholly mine to give.

show you

you

word

say by

all of

my

all

heart.'

then began the story of his love

As here to-day, but not so wordily

The

passionate

moment would

not suffer that

Past thro' his visions to the burial; thence

Down
And

then rose up, and with him

Once more
Lionel,

And

hour in his own hall;

to this last strange

as

who

by enchantment;

fain

had

my

And were

it

free gift,

all

guests

but he,

risen, but fell again.

sat as if in chains

'Take

all his

to

my

whom

he said

cousin, for your wife;

only for the giver's sake.

THE LOVER'S

78

And

tho' she

seem so

like the

TALE.

one you

lost,

Yet cast her not away so suddenly,

Lest there be none

left

here to bring her back:

Here he ceased.

I leave this land for ever.'

Then

And

He

taking his dear lady by one hand,

bearing on one arm the noble babe.

slowly brought

And

them both

to Lionel.

there the widower husband and dead wife

Rush'd each

at

each with a

For some new death than

cry, that rather

seem'd

for a life renew' d;

Whereat the very babe began

to wail;

At once they turn'd, and caught and brought him in

To

their

With

charm 'd

kisses,

round him closed and claspt again.

But Lionel, when

From

him

circle, and, half killing

at last

he freed himself

wife and child, and lifted up a face

All over glowing with the sun of life.

And

love,

and boundless thanks

the sight of

So frighted our good friend, that turning

to

this

me

THE GOLDEN SUFFER.

And

saying, 'It

is

over: let us go

There were our horses ready

'

at the

doors

We

bad them no

He

past for ever from his native land;

And

with him,

farewell, but

my

Julian,

mounting these

back

to

mine.

79

BALLADS
AND OTHER POEMS

ALFRED TENNYSON
MY GRANDSON.
Golden-hair'd Ally whose name

one with mine,

is

Crazy with laughter and babble and earth's new wine,

Now

that the flower of a year

little

blossom,

Glorious poet

Laugh,

who

for the

and a half

is

thine,

mine, and mine of mine.

never hast written a

name

at the

head of

my

May'st thou never be wrong'd by the

line.

verse

name

is

that

thine.
is

mine

'.

THE
(in

'Wait a

little,'

FIRST QUARREL.
the

you

isle

say,

of wight.)

'you are sure

it'll

all

come

right,'

But the boy was born

i'

wan

trouble, an' looks so

an'

so white

an' once I ha' waited

Wait!

hadn't to wait for

long.

Now

wait, wait, wait for Harry.

doing

Harry and

No,

no, you are

me wrong
I

were married

up

his

my man

was

the boy can hold

head.

The boy was born

in wedlock, but after

dead;
85

THE FIRST QUARREL,

86

work'd for him

I ha'

fifteen years, an' I

work

an' I

wait to the end.

I

am

all

my

alone in the world, an' you are

only

friend.

n.

Doctor,

you can

if

wait, I'll tell

you the

tale o'

my

life.

When

Harr>' an' I were children, he call'd

little

me

his

own

wife;

was happy when

was with him, an'

sorrj'

when he

was away,
An' when we play'd together,

loved

him

better than

play;

He

workt

me

the daisy chain

he

made me

the cow-

slip ball.

He

fought the boys that were rude, an'

better than

loved

him

all.

Passionate girl tho'

grace.

was, an' often at

home

in dis-

THE FIRST QUARREL.

I

never could quarrel with Harry

87

had but

to look

in his face.

III.

There was a farmer in Dorset of Harry's kin, that had

need

Of a good

stout lad at his farm; he sent, an' the father

agreed;

So Harry was bound

to the Dorsetshire

farm for years

an' for years;

I

walked with him down to the quay, poor

lad, an'

we

move, we heard them

a-

parted in tears.

The boat was beginning

to

ringing the bell,

'I'll

never love any but you,

little

God

bless you,

my own

Nell.'

rv.

was a child, an' he was a child, an' he came to harm;

There was a

girl,

the farm.

a hussy, that workt with

him up

at

THE FIRST QUARREL.

88

One had deceived

her an'

left

her alone with her sin

an' her shame,

And

so she was

most

And

wicked with Harry; the

girl

was the

to blame.

years went over

till I

that

was

little

had grown so

tall,

The men would

say of the maids, 'Our Nelly's the

flower of 'em
I

didn't take heed

all.'

o'

them^ but I taught myself

all I

could

To make

home

a good wife for Harry,

when Harry came

for good.

VI.

seem'd unhappy, and often as happy

Often

For

heard

it

but you;

abroad in the

fields 'I'll

too.

never love any

THE FIRST QUARREL.

*I'll

never love any but you

morning song

of the

the nightingale's

hymn

the

'

89

lark,
*I'll

never love any but you

'

in the dark.

vn.

And Harry came home

at last, but

he look'd at

me

sidelong and shy,

Vext

me

a bit,

till

he told

me

that so

many

years had

gone by,
I

had grown so handsome and

forgot

tall

that

might ha'

him somehow

For he thought
to look at

there were other ladshe was fear'd

me now.

vm.

Hard was

the frost in the field,

we were married

o'

Christmas day.

Married among the red berries, an'

May

all

as

merry as

THE FIRST QUARREL,

90

Those were the pleasant times,

my

were

We

seem'd

wind

my

house an'

my man

pride,

like ships

the Channel a-sailing with

i'

an' tide.

K.
But work was scant in the

Isle, the'

he tried the

vil-

lages round.

So Harry went over the Solent

to see

if

work could be

found;

An' he wrote
as I

come

I'll

'I ha' six

weeks' work,

little

wife, so far

know;
for an

hour to-morrow, an' kiss you before

I go.'

X.

So

I set to righting the house, for

that

An'

hit

wasn't he coming

day?

on an old deal-box

corner away.

that

was push'd in a

THE FIRST QUARREL.

It

was

full of

91

old odds an' ends, an' a letter along wi'

the rest,
I

had

better ha' put

my naked hand

in a hornets'

nest.

XI.

'Sweetheart

read

'

was the

this

letter

this

was the

letter I

*You promised

to find

me work

near you, an'

wish

was dead
Didn't you kiss

my
An'

me

an'

promise? you haven't done

it,

lad,

almost died

o'

your going away, an'

wish that

I had.'

xn.

too wish that

had

in the pleasant times

that

had

the

first

past,

Before

quarrell'd with Harry

an' the

last.

7ny quarrel

THE FIRST QUARREL.

92

XIII.

For Harry came

me

drove

An' he told

'What can

it

it

I flung

in, an'

him

the letter that

wild,

me

once, as simple as any child,

all at

matter,

my

lass,

what

did wi'

my

single

life?

been

I ha'

you as ever a

as true to

An' she wasn't one

'I'm none

o'

the worst.'

The man
a

to his wife;

'Then,'

I said,

love?

Come,

o' the best.'

An' he smiled at me, 'Ain't you,

come,

man

little

wife, let

isn't like the

it

my

rest

woman, no need

to

make such

stir.

But he anger' d

me

all

the more, an' I said 'You were

keeping with her.

When

was a-loving you

all

along an' the same as

before.'

An' he didn't speak for a while, an' he anger 'd

more and more.

me

THE FIRST QUARREL.

Then he

my hand

patted

gones be

in his gentle way, 'Let by-

'Bygones! you kept yours hush'd,'

married

93

I said,

'when you

me

By-gones ma' be come-agains; an' she

in her shame

an' her sin

You'll have her to nurse

my child,

if

my

lying

hate her

an'

I die o'

in!

You'll
I

make her
hate you

Ah, Harry,

my

its

second mother!

man, you had better ha' beaten

me

black an' blue

Than

ha'

spoken as kind as you did, when

were so

crazy wi' spite,

'Wait a

little,

my

lass, I

am

sure

it

all

'ill

come

right.'

XIV.

An' he took three turns in the rain, an'

him, an' when he came in

watch 'd

THE FIRST QUARREL.

94
I felt that

my

heart was hard, he was

all

wet thro' to

the skin,

An'

never said

'off

wi' the wet,' I never said 'on wi'

the dry,

So

knew my

me

heart was hard,

when he came

to

bid

goodbye.

'You said that you hated me, Ellen, but that

isn't true,

you know;
I

am

going to leave you a bit

I

you'll kiss me before

go?

XV.

'Going! you're going to her

I
I

was near
i'

my

time wi' the boy,

my

head

had sooner be cursed than kiss'd

well what

But

if

you

will,'

must

ha'

been

didn't

know

said

light
'I

kiss her

turn'd

'

meant.

my face

an' he went.

from him, an' he turn'd

his face

THE FIRST QUARREL.

95

XVI.

And

then he sent

me

letter, 'I've

gotten

my work

to do;

You wouldn't

kiss

me,

my

lass,

an' I never loved

any

but you;
I

am

sorry for all the quarrel an' sorry for what she

wrote,
I ha' six

weeks' work in Jersey an' go to-night by the

boat.'

xvu.

An' the wind began to

rise, an' I

thought of him out

at sea,

An'

I felt I

to

had been

to

blame; he was always kind

me.

'Wait a

little,

my

lass, I

am

sure

it

'ill

all

come

right '

An' the boat went down that night

down

that night.

the

boat went

RIZPAH.
17.

I.

Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and

sea

And

Willy's voice in the wind, 'O mother,

come out

to me.'

Why

me

should he call
I

to-night,

when he knows

that

cannot go ?

For the downs are

as bright as day,

and the

full

moon

stares at the snow.

II.

We

should be seen,

my

dear; they would spy us out

of the town.

96

RIZPAH.

The loud black

97

nights for us, and the storm rushing

over the down,

When

cannot see

my own

hand, but

am

by the

led

creak of the chain,

And

my

grovel and grope for

drenched with the

son

till I

find myself

rain.

m.
Anything

fallen again?

nay

what was

there left to

fall?
I

have taken them home,

I

have hidden them

What am

have number' d the bones,

all.

saying? and what are you? do you

come

as a spy?

Falls? what falls?

must

who knows?

As the

tree falls so

it lie.

IV.

Who

let

her in?

how long

have you heard?

has she been? you

what

RIZPAH.

98

Why

did you

sit

so quiet?

you never have spoken a

word.

O to

pray with

me

yesa

lady

none

of

their

spies

But the night has crept into ray heart, and begun to
darken

Ah

you,
know

The

blast

my

eyes.

that have lived so

soft,

what should you

of the night,

and the burning sharae and the

bitter frost

and the fright?

I

have done

made
I

it,

while you were asleep

you were only

for the day.

have gather 'd

my

baby together

and now you may

go your way.

VI.

Nay for

it's

kind of you. Madam, to

dying wife.

sit

by an old

RIZPAH.
But say nothing hard of

my

99

boy,

have only an hour

of life.
I kiss'd

my boy

in the prison, before he

went out

to

die.

'They dared me
told
I

me

to

do

he

it,'

and he never has

said,

a lie.

whipt him for robbing an orchard once when he was

but a child

'The farmer dared

me

do

to

it,'

he said; he was

always so wild

And

idle

and couldn't be

could

idle

my Willy he never

rest.

The King should have made him

a soldier, he

would

have been one of his best.

VII.

But he lived with a

would

let

They swore

lot of

wild mates, and they never

him be good;

that he dare

swore that he would;

not rob the mail, and he

RIZPAH.

loo

And he
all

He

took no

life,

but he took one purse, and

when

was done

flung

my

it

among

his fellows

I'll

none of

it,

said

son.

VIII.

came

into court to the Judge

told

them

God's own

him

my

truth

for

and the lawyers.

tale,

but

they kill'd him, they kill'd

robbing the mail.

They hang'd him

in chains for a

show

we had always

borne a good name

To be hang'd
that

Dust

That

all

and

then put away

isn't

enough shame ?

to dust

him

for a thief

low

down

let

us hide

but they set

so high
the ships of the world could stare at him,

passing by.

God

'ill

pardon the hell-black raven and horrible

fowls of the air.

RIZPAH.
But not the black heart of the lawyer who

and hang'd him

kill'd

him

there.

DC.

And

the jailer forced

last

away.

had bid him

my

goodbye;

They had
I

me

fasten'd the door of his cell.

'O mother!

heard him cry.

I couldn't get

back tho'

he had something

tried,

further to say,

And now

me

never shall

know

The

it.

jailer forced

away.

X.

Then

since I couldn't but hear that cry of

that

was dead.

They seized me and

down on my
^Mother,

my boy

shut

me up

they fasten'd

me

he

call'd in the dark to

me

bed.

mother!'

year after year

RIZPAH,

loa

They beat me
I

And

you

know

that

couldn't but hear;

then at the

and

They

me

for that, they beat

last

they found

had grown so stupid

still

me

let

worked

abroad again

but

the

creatures

had

my bone

was

their will.

XI.

my

Flesh of

flesh

was gone, but bone of

left
I stole

them

from the lawyers

all

and

you, will you

call it a theft?

My

baby, the bones that had suck'd me, the bones

had laughed and had cried

that

Theirs?

moved

no
in

they are mine

my

not

theirs

they had

side.

XII.

Do you

think

'em,

was scared by the bones?

buried 'em

all

kiss'd

'EIZPAH.
I

am

can't dig deep, I

old

103

in

the

night by the

churchyard wall.

My Willy

'ill

ment
But

'ill

rise

up whole when the trumpet

of judg-

sound,

charge you never to say that

I laid

him

in holy

ground.

xin.

They would

scratch

him up

they

would hang him

again on the cursed tree.

Sin?

And

read

yes

we are sinners,

me

toward

*Full

of

Yes,

it

let all that be.

men
and mercy, the Lord'

let

me

again;

compassion

know

a Bible verse of the Lord's good will

'Full of compassion

hear

and mercy

long-suffering.'

yes

For the lawyer

is

born but to murder

the Saviour

lives but to bless.

He'W never put on

of the worst.

the black cap except for the worst

RIZPAH.

I04

And

the

first

may be

last

have heard

and the may be

Suffering O long-suffering
last

it

in church

first.

yes, as the

Lord must

know,

Year

after

year in the mist and the wind and the

shower and the snow.

XIV.

Heard, have you? what? they have told you he never

repented his

How

sin.

do they know

it? are they his

mother? are you

of his kin?

Heard

have you ever heard, when the storm on the

downs began.

The wind
'ill

that

moan

'ill

wail like a child and the sea that

like a

man?

XV.

Election, Election
well.

and Reprobation

it's

all

very

RIZPAH.
But

go to-night to

my

105

boy, and

I shall

not find

him

in Hell.

For

cared so

much

look'd into

my

for

that the

Lord has

care,

And He means me I'm

I

my boy

happy with Willy,

sure to be

know not where.

XVI.

And

if

he be lost

but

my soul,

to save

is all

your

my boy be

gone

that

desire

Do you

think that

care for 7ny soul

if

to the fire?
I

have been with

leave

me

God

in the dark

go,

go,

you may

alone

You never have borne a child

you

are just as hard

as a stone.

xvn.

Madam,

beg your pardon

to be kind,

think that you

mean

RIZPAH.

io6

But

cannot hear what you say for

in the

my

Willy's voice

wind

The snow and

the sky so bright

he used

but to

call

in the dark,

And he

calls to

the gibbet

Nay

me now from

the church and not from

for hark

you can hear

it

yourself

it is

coming

shaking

the walls

Willy

the moon's in a cloud

going.

He

calls.

Good-night.

am

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

i.

Waait

our Sally cooms

till

in, fur

thou

mun

a'

sights^

to tell.

Eh, but

be maain glad to seea tha sa

Xast awaay on

'arty an' well.

a disolut land wi' a vartical soon-!

Strange fur to goa fur to think what saailors

an' a'

*Summat

a'

seean

doon;

to drink

sa'

'ot?'

I 'a

nowt but Adam's

wine
What's the

'eat o' this little

'ill-side to the 'eat o'

the line?
1

The vowels

at,

pronounced separately though

conjunction, best render the sound of the long

dialect.
etc.,

it

The

andj, and

'

wood.'

107

have

to trust that

them the broader pronunciation.

00 short, as in

in this

as cra'ii>i' , datin\ ivhat, at (I),

better to leave the simple

readers will give

-

in the closest

and

look awkward except in a page of express phonetics,

thought

my

But since such words

THE NORTHERN COBBLER,

io8

n.

'What's

tha bottle a-stanning theer?

i'

'

I'll tell tha.

Gin.

But

thou wants thy grog, tha

if

mun

goa fur

it

down

to the inn.

Naay

fur I

be maa in-glad, but thaw tha was iver sa

dry,

Thou

naw gin

gits

fro' the bottle theer, an'

I'll tell

tha why.

ni.

Mea

thy sister was married,

an'

end

Ten

o'

when wur

it?

back-

June,

year sin', and

wa

'greed as well as a fiddle

i'

tune:
I

could

fettle

and clump owd booots and shoes wi' the

best on 'em

As

fer

as

fro'

all,

Thursby thurn hup

Hutterby Hall.

to

Harmsby and

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

We

was busy as beeas

i'

the

bloom

109

an' as 'appy as

could think,

'art

An' then the babby wur burn, and then

taakes to

the drink.

IV.

An'

weant gaainsaay

shaamed on

We

it

it,

my

thaw

lad,

be hafe

now.

could sing a good song at the Plow, we could sing

a good song at the Plow;

Thaw once

of a frosty night I slither'd an' hurted

my

huck,^

An'

coom'd neck-an-crop soomtimes

the squad an' the

An' once

my

down

i'

muck:

fowt wi' the Taailor

not

hafe ov a man,

lad

Fur he scrawm'd an' scratted

it

slaape

maade

'er sa

my faace

like a cat, an'

mad

That Sally she turn'd a tongue-banger,^ an' raated

ma, 'Sottin' thy braains
1

Hip.

Scold.

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

no

Guzzlin' an' soakin' an' smoakin' an' hawmin'

i'

about

the laanes,

Soa sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch thy

'at to

the

Squire;

An'

loook'd cock-eyed at

my

noase an'

seead 'im

a-gittin' o' fire;

But

sin' I

wur hallus

i'

liquor an' hallus as droonk as

a king,
Foalks' coostom flitted awaay like a kite wi' a brok-

ken

string.

An' Sally she wesh'd foalks' cloaths to keep the wolf

fro' the

Eh

door,

but the moor she riled me, she druv

me

to drink

the moor.

Fur

fun',

owd
An'

when

stockin'

grabb'd the

back wur turn'd, wheer

'er

wur

'id,

munny

she maade, and

o' liquor, I did.

1

Sally's

Lounging.

wear'd

it

THE NORTHERN COBBLER,

iii

VI.

An' one night

cooms 'oam

like a bull gotten loose

at a faair,

An' she wur a-waaitin' fo'mma, an' cryin' and

tearin'

'er 'aair,

An'

tummled

athurt the craadle an' swear' d as I'd

break ivry stick

O' furnitur

'ere

the 'ouse, an'

i'

gied our Sally a

kick,

An'

mash'd the taables an'

chairs, an' she an'

the

babby beal'd,^
Fur

knaw'd naw moor what

did nor a mortal beast

o' the feald.

vn.

An' when
Sally

waaked

i'

the murnin' I seead that our

went laamed

Cos' o' the kick as

gied

'er,

an' I

ashaamed;
1

Bellowed, cried out.

wur dreadful

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

112

An' Sally wur sloomy^ an' draggle taail'd in an owd

turn gown,

An' the babby's faace wurn't wesh'd an' the

'ole 'ouse

hupside down.

vm.
An' then

minded our

Sally sa pratty an' neat an'

sweeat,
Straat as a pole an' clean as a flower fro'

'ead to

f eeat

An' then

minded

the fust kiss I gied 'er by Thursby

thurn

Theer wur a lark a-singin'

'is

best of a Sunday at

mum,
Couldn't see 'im, we 'eard 'im a-mountin' oop 'igher
an' 'igher,

An' then

'e

turn'd to the sun, an'

sparkle o'

shined like a

can see 'im?'

fire.

'Doesn't tha see 'im,' she axes, 'fur

an'

'e

Sluggish, out of spirits.

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

Seead nobbut the smile

o' the

113

sun as danced in

'er

pratty blue eye;

An'

says '1

mun

gie tha a kiss,' an' Sally says 'Noa,

thou moant,

But

gied

'er a kiss, an'

then anoother, an' Sally says

'doant!'

DC.

An' when we coom'd into Meeatin', at

all in

wur

fust she

a tew.

But, arter,

we sing'd

the

'ymn togither

like birds

on

a beugh;

An' Muggins

God

fur

'e

preach'd

o' Hell-fire an' the

loov o'

men,

An' then upo' coomin' awaay Sally gied

me

a kiss ov

'ersen.

X.

Heer wur a

Down

fall fro'

out o' heaven

drinkin'
VOL.

a kiss to a kick like Saatan as fell

IV.

i'

i'

Hell-fire

Hell;
I

thaw

theer's

naw

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

114

Mea

kep the wolf

fur to kick our Sally as

fro'

the

door,
All along o' the drink, fur I loov'd 'er as well as afoor.

XI.

Sa like a great num-cumpus

blubber' d awaay o' the

bed
^Weant niver do

it

naw moor;

an' Sally loookt

'

up

an' she said,

upowd

*I'll

the

weant;

it^ tha

thou'rt like the rest o'

men.

Thou' 11 goa

snififin'

about the tap

till

Theer's thy hennemy, man, an'

tha does

it

agean.

knaws, as knaws

tha sa well.

That,

if

tha seeas 'im an' smells 'im tha' 11

f oiler

'im

slick into Hell.'

XII.

'Naay,

'

says

'Weant tha?

I,

'

'fur I

weant goa

she says, an'

sniffin'

mysen

'mayhap.'
1 I'll

uphold

it.

about the tap.'

thowt

i'

mysen

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

'Noa:

an' I started

'

awaay

113

like a shot, an'

down

to

the Hinn,

An'

browt what tha seeas stannin' theer, yon big

black bottle

o' gin.

XIII.

^That caps ow^t,'^ says Sally, an' saw she begins to

cry,

But

puts

says
'Stan'

it

inter *er 'ands an' I says to 'er, 'Sally,'

I,

'im theer

power ov

'is

i'

naame

the

o'

the Lord an' the

Graace,

Stan' 'im theer, fur

I'll

loook

my hennemy

strait

i'

the faace,
Stan' 'im theer

i'

the winder, an' let

ma

loook

at

'im

then,

'E seeams naw moor nor watter, an'

oan

'e's the

Divil's

sen.'

XIV.

An'

I w^ur

an'

down

i'

tha mouth, couldn't do

all,
1

That's beyond everything.

naw work

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

Ii6

my

Nasty an' snaggy an' shaaky, an' poonch'd

*and

wi' the hawl,

But she wur a power

my

coomfut, an' sattled 'ersen

o'

o'

knee,

An' coaxd an'

mysen

me oop

coodled

agean

till

feel'd

free.

XV.

An'

Sally

she

gawmin'

As thaw

it

tell'd

it

about,

an'

stood a-

foalk

in.

wur summat bewitch 'd istead

of a quart o'

gin;

An' some on 'em said

it

wur watter

an'

wur chousin'

the wife,

Fur

couldn't 'owd 'ands

saave

my

shaws

wur

it

nobbut to

life;

An' blacksmith
'e

off gin,

it

'e strips

to

me

the thick ov

'is

airm, an'

me,

'Feeal thou this! thou can't graw this upo' watter!'

says he.
1

Staring vacantly.

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

An' Doctor

'e calls o'

Sunday an'

117

just as candles

was

lit,

'Thou moant do
bit

by

it,'

he

says, 'tha

An'

'e

break 'im

off

bit.'

'Thou'rt but a ]\Iethody-man,

down

mun

'

says Parson,

and

laays

'is 'at,

points to the bottle o' gin, 'but

fur that;

respecks tha

'

An' Squire, his oan very sen, walks down

fro' the 'All

to see,

An'

'e

spanks

'is

'and into mine, 'fur

respecks tha,'

says 'e;

An' coostom agean draw'd in

like a

wind

fro' far an'

wide,

And browt me

the booots to be cobbled fro' hafe the

coontryside.

XVI.

An' theer
daay;

'e stans an'

theer

'e shall

stan to

my

dying

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

ii8

I 'a

gotten to loov 'im agean in anoother kind of a

waay,

Proud on 'im,

like,

my

lad, an'

keeaps 'im clean

an' bright,

Loovs 'im, an' roobs 'im, an' doosts 'im, an' puts
'im back

the light.

i'

XVII.

Wouldn't a pint

a' sarv^ed

Naw

as well as a quart?

doubt

But

liked a bigger feller to fight wi' an' fowt

Fine an' meller

But

moant,

'e

my

mun

lad,

be by

and

this, if I

it

out.

cared to taaste.

weant, fur I'd feal mysen

clean disgraaced.

XVIII.

An' once

said to the Missis,

'My

lass,

when

cooms

to die,

Smash the bottle

to smithers, the Divil's in 'im,' said

1.

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

But arter

my

chaanged

mind, an'

if

119

Sally be left

aloan,
I'll

hev 'im a-buried wi'mma an' taake 'im afoor the

Throan.

XIX.

Coom

thou

yon

laady a-steppin'

'eer

along

the

streeat,

Doesn't tha knaw

'er

sa pratty, an'

feat, an'

neat,

ammost

spick-

an' sweeat?

Look

at the cloaths

on

'er

back, thebbe

span-new,

An' Tommy's faace be as fresh as a codlin wesh'd

''

the dew.

XX.

'Ere be our Sally an'

Baacon

Tommy,

an'

we be a-goin

an' taates, an' a beslings-puddin'

an'

to dine,

Adam's

wine;
1

pudding made with the

first

milk of the cow after calving.

THE NORTHERN COBBLER.

I20

But

if

tha wants ony grog tha

mun

goa fur

it

down

to

the Hinn,

Fur

weant shed a drop on

Sally's

oan kin.

'is

blood, noa, not fur

THE REVENGE.
A BALLAD OF THE FLEET.

At Flores

And

in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,

a pinnace, like a flutter 'd bird,

far

came

flying

from

away

'Spanish ships of war at sea!

three

we have

sighted

fifty-

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: "Fore God

am

no coward;
But

cannot meet them here, for

my

ships are out of

gear,

And

the half

my men

are sick.

must

fly,

but follow

quick.

We

are six ships of the line; can

three

121

we

fight

with

fifty-

THE REVENGE.

Then spake

Sir

Richard Grenville:

*I

know you

are

no coward;

You

fly

them

for a

But I've ninety

moment

to fight with

men and more

them again.

that are lying sick

ashore.
I

should count myself the coward

if

left

them,

my

Lord Howard,

To these

Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.

III.

So Lord Howard past away with

five

ships of war that

day,
Till

he melted like a cloud in the silent summer

heaven;

But Sir Richard bore in hand

the land

Very carefully and slow.

Men

of Bideford in

Devon,

all

his sick

men from

THE REVENGE.
And we

them on the

laid

For we brought them

And

they blest
left to

To

the

him

ballast

123

down below;

aboard,

all

in their pain, that they were not

Spain,

thumbscrew and the

stake, for the glory of the

Lord.

IV.

He

had only a hundred seamen

to

work the ship and

to fight,

And he

sailed

away from Flores

till

the Spaniard

came

in sight.

With

his

huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather

bow.
'Shall

we

Good

Sir Richard, tell us

For

fight or shall

to fight is but to die

There'll be

And

we

little

of

fly?

now.

us left by the

be

set.'

Sir

Richard said again

men.

'We be

time this sun

all

good English

THE REVENGE,

124

Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the

devil,

For

never turn'd

my back upon Don

or devil yet.'

V.

Sir

Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a

hurrah, and so

The

little

Revenge ran on sheer

into the heart of the

foe,

With her hundred

fighters

on deck, and her ninety

sick below;

For half of their

fleet to the right

and

half to the left

were seen,

And

the

little

Revenge ran on

thro' the long sea-lane

between.

VI.

Thousands

of their soldiers look'd

down from

their

decks and laugh'd.

Thousands
little

of their

craft

seamen made mock

at the

mad

THE REVENGE.
Running on and

By

on,

delay'd

till

their mountain-like

125

San Philip

that, of fifteen

hun-

dred tons,

And up-shadowing high above

us with her yawning

tiers of guns,

Took

the breath from our sails,

and we

stay'd.

VII.

And

while

now

like a

cloud

Whence

the great San Philip

hung above us

the thunderbolt will fall

Long and

loud.

Four galleons drew away

From

the Spanish fleet that day.

And two upon

the larboard and two

upon

the battle-thunder broke from

them

the starboard

lay.

And

all.

VIII.

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself

and went

THE REVENGE.

126

Having

that within her

womb

that

had

left

her

ill

con-

tent;

And

the rest they

hand

came aboard

us,

and they fought us

to hand,

For a dozen times they.came with their pikes and

musqueteers,

And

a dozen times we shook 'em

off as

a dog that

shakes his ears

When

he leaps from the water to the land.

IX.

And

the sun went down, and the stars

over the

summer

came out

far

sea.

But never a moment ceased the

fight of the

one and

the fifty-three.

Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built

galleons came,

Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battlethunder and flame;

Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with
her dead and her shame.

THE REVENGE.

127

For some were sunk and many were shatter 'd, and so
could fight us no more

God

of battles,

was ever a battle

like

this in the

world before ?

For he said 'Fight on

Tho' his vessel was

And

it

chanced

fight

all

but a wreck;

when

that,

on

half of the short

summer

night was gone,

With a

grisly

wound

be drest he had

to

left

But a bullet struck him that was dressing

it

the deck.

suddenly

dead,

And

himself he was

wounded again

in the side

and

the head.

And he

said 'Fight

on

fight

on

XI.

And

the night went down,

over the

summer

sea,

and the sun smiled out

far

THE REVENGE.

128

And

the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us

all in a

ring;

But they dared not touch us again,

we

still

for they fear'd that

could sting,

So they watch 'd what the end would be.

And we had

not fought them in vain,

But in perilous plight were we,

Seeing forty of our poor hundred were

And

half of the rest of us

maim'd

slain,

for life

In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate

strife;

And

the sick
stark

And

in the hold were

most of them

and cold.

the pikes were all broken or bent,

was

And

men down

all of it

the masts

and the powder

spent;

and the rigging were lying over the

side;

But Sir Richard cried in his English pride,

'We have fought such

a fight for a day and a night

As may never be fought again

We

have

won

great glory,

my men

THE REVENGE.
And

129

a day less or more

At sea or ashore,

We

die

Sink

does

me

it

matter when?

the ship, Master

Gunner

sink

her, split her

in twain
Fall into the

Spain

hands of God, not into the hands of

XII.

And

the gunner said 'Ay, ay,' but the

seamen made

reply

'We have

And

We

children,

we have

wives,

Lord hath spared our

the
will

make

let

us go;

lives.

the Spaniard promise,

if

we yidd,

to

We shall live to fight again and to strike another

blow.

And

to the

the lion there lay dying,

and they yielded

foe.

XIII.

And

the stately Spanish

him

then,

men

to their flagship bore

THE REVENGE.

I30

Where they

caught at

And

him by

laid

the mast, old Sir Richard

last,

they praised

him

to his face with their courtly

foreign grace;

But he rose upon their decks, and he cried

'I

have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant

and
I

true;

my

have only done

With a

And he

man

duty as a

joyful spirit I Sir

fell

upon

man

is

bound

to

do

Richard Grenville die!

their decks,

'

and he died.

XIV.

And

they stared at the dead that had been so valiant

and

true,

And had holden

the power

and glory

of Spain so

cheap

That he dared her with one

little

ship and his English

few;

Was he

devil or

knew,

man?

He

was devil for aught they

THE REVENGE.

131

But they sank his body with -honour down into the
deep,

And

they

mann'd

the

Revenge with a swarthier alien

crew,

And away

she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her

own;

When

a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke

from

And

sleep,

and the weather

the water began to heave

to

moan.

And

or ever that evening ended a great gale blew.

And

a wave like the wave that

is

raised by an earth-

quake grew.
Till

it

smote on their hu41s and their

masts and their

And

And

and

fell

Revenge

herself

on the

shot-shat-

went down by the island

crags
lost

their

navy of Spain,

the little

To be

and

flags.

the whole sea plunged

ter' d

sails

evermore in the main.

THE
They have

And

left the

SISTERS.

doors ajar; and by their clash,

prelude on the keys,

Their favourite

Evelyn begins

which

it

know

I call

'O diviner

the song,

'The Tables Turned.

Air.'

EVELYN.

diviner Air,

Thro' the heat, the drowth,

.the dust, the glare,

Far from out the west in shadowing showers,

Over

all

Making

the

meadow baked and

and

fresh

All the bowers

bare,

fair

and the

flowers,

Fainting flowers, faded bowers.

Over

all this

weary world of

Breathe, diviner Air

132

ours,

THE
A

sweet voice that

Now

I33

SISTERS.

you scarce could better

that.

follows Edith echoing Evelyn.

EDITH.

diviner light,

Thro' the cloud that roofs our noon with night,

Thro' the blotting mist, the blinding showers.

Far from out a sky for ever bright.

Over

all

the woodland's flooded bowers,

Over

all

the

Over

all this

meadow's drowning

flowers.

ruin'd world of ours.

Break, diviner light

Marvellously

like, their

voices

and themselves

somewhat deeper than the

Tho' one

is

As one

somewhat graver than the other

is

Edith than Evelyn.

You count
For

other.

Your good Uncle,

whom

the father of your fortune, longs

this alliance

Which voice most

let

me

ask you then.

takes you? for

do not doubt

Being a watchful parent, you are taken

134

THE

SISTERS.

tho'

sometimes

With one or other:

You may be

fear

doubt

flickering, fluttering in a

Between the two

which

must not be

which might

Be death

to

Evelyn

gayer, wittier, prettier, says

is

one

The common

No

Woo

if

one may

her and gain her then

graver

Who

No

trust it:

will

their

no wavering, boy

easily

go by contrast,

and so
as

by

well.

likes.

prized each other more.

mother and her

passionately

sister

loved

still.

But that

my

best

And

oldest friend, your Uncle, wishes

And

that I

To be my

To

she?

perhaps the one for you

sisters ever

so

More

is

and laugh so

jest

For love

Not

voice,

but the paler and the graver, Edith.

The

they both are beautiful

it,

know you worthy everyway

son, I might, perchance, be loath

part them, or part from

Should marry, or

all

them

and yet one

the broad lands in your view

THE

SISTERS.

i35

which our house has held

Three hundred years
pass
From

bay window

this

will

My

father with a child

A hand upon
Smoothing

Were

the

head

silver, 'get

of either child,

them wedded

For see

them
this

wine

I of

last fierce

yet retains a

mine, and

go lame?

of his

down

'

wound.
it

flow'd

charge at Waterloo,

memory

my

the terrible ridge

first

He

As birds make readv

do

it

me

this,

Come

passion.

my

Yet must you change your name

say that you can

left

of its youth.

Here's to your happy union with

You

him Svhy?

the slopes of Portugal,

caught the laming bullet.

Which
As

and

say.

the grape from whence

that brave soldier,

Plunged in the

And

why should

of his wars,

Was blackening on

When

own

would he

'

prattling Edith ask'd

Ay, why? said he, 'for

told

on either knee,

their locks, as golden as his

And once my

Then

collaterally.

child

no

fault of

as willingly

for their bridal-time

mine

THE

i^

SISTERS.

l^ change of feather: for

Some

An

all that,

binis are sick and sullen

old and w-orthy

my boy,

when they

name but mine

!

that stirr'd

Among

our civil wars and earlier too

Among

the Roses, the

/care not

more venerable,

no

name

for a

moult.

mine.

fault of

a happier marriage than my own

Once more

Yoa

see yon

Lombard poplar on the

The highway running by

Of sward

One

to left

bright

right,

in a world of song,

Whirrd by, which,

my way,

an amber

An open

I dozed; I woke.

The

where, long ago.

watching overhead

aerial poplar wave,

Turning

leaves a breadth

it

May morning

I lay at leisure,

The

and

plain.

after it

spire.

landaulet

had past me, show'd

the loveliest face

on

earth.

face of one tiiere sitting opposite.

On whom I brooght a
That time I did not

strange unhappiness.

see.

THE

SISTERS.
Love

I37

at first sight

with goodly rhyme and reason

Possible
glimpse, and
a face
Gone
a moment strange.
Yet once, when
May seem

for

for

at first

in

came on

one lightning-fork

Flash'd out the lake; and tho'

That

Of

day

full

I loiter'd

after, yet in retrospect

and mountain conquers

The Sun himself has limn'd

Not quite

like the critic's blurring

The

veriest beauties of the

The

darkest faults

the face for me.

a gash.

no,

comment make

work appear

the sweet eyes frown

My

sole

the other,

the lips

memorial

both indeed.

So that bright face was flash'd

And by

the day.

the shadows are too deep,

And

Seem but

all

so quickly, no, nor half as well.

For look you here

Of Edith

there

than momentary thunder-sketch

less

lake

first

lake Llanberris in the dark,

moonless night with storm

The

it

the poplar vanish' d

thro' sense

to be

found

and soul

THE

138

Long

after, as it

SISTERS.

seem'd, beneath the

tall

Tree-bowers, and those long-sweeping beechen boughs

Of our

New

Forest.

was there alone

The phantom

of the whirling landaulet

For ever past

me by when
:

Of laughter drew me

Down

one quick peal

thro' the

glimmering glades

to the snowlike sparkle of a cloth

On

fern

My

Rosalind in this Arden

and foxglove.

Lo, the face again,

Edith

all

One bloom

of youth, health, beauty, happiness,

And moved

to

merriment

at a passing jest.

me

There one of those about her knowing

Call'd

me

to join

them; so with these

What seem'd my crowning

woo'd her

The worse

Ay

no,

my

hour,

spent

day of days.

then, nor unsuccessfully.

for her, for

me! was

not quite; for

content?

now and then

thought

Laziness, vague love-longings, the bright

Had made

a heated haze to magnify

May,

THE
The charm
Is

of Edith

SISTERS.

139

that a man's ideal

high in Heaven, and lodged with Plato's God,

Not

findable here

content,

and not content.

man may be

In some such fashion as a

That having had the portrait

of his friend

Drawn by an

artist,

*Good! very

like! not altogether he.'

As yet

looks at

Edith love

7?ie.

loved Edith,

Then came

Flattering myself that

Not

Had
I

of the fool this

I that

says,

all

Age

made

the day

my

when

I,

doubts were fools

that doubts of all

day of Edith's love or mine

braced

my

purpose to declare myself :

stood upon the stairs of Paradise.

The golden
I

and

had not bound myself by words,

Only, believing

Born

it,

spoke

it

gates would

open

at a word.

told her of my passion,

And

lost

Had

caught her hand, her eyelids

seen

and found again, had got so

fell

far.

heard

Wheels, and a noise of welcome at the doors

THE

I40

On

SISTERS.

a sudden after tvvo Italian years

Had

blossom of her health again,

set the

The younger

There was the

The mother
The

sisters

Evelyn, enter' d

sister,

and altogether

face,

fell

there,

she.

about the daughter's neck,

closed in one another's arms.

Their people throng' d about them from the

And

in the thick of question

I fled

And

and reply

the house, driven by one angel face,

all

the Furies.

I
I

hall,

was bound

could not free myself in honour

Not by

to her;

bound

the sounded letter of the word.

But counterpressures of the yielded hand

That timorously and

faintly

echoed mine,

Quick blushes, the sweet dwelling

Upon me when
Were

of her eyes

she thought I did not see

these not bonds? nay, nay, but could I

Loving the other? do her that great wrong?

Had

not dream 'd

loved her yestermorn?

wed hei

THE
Had

not kno\vn where Love, at

Grew

SISTERS.

141

first

a fear,

and form?

after marriage to full height

Yet after marriage, that mock-sister there

Brother-in-law

the

nearness of

fiery

it

Unlawful and disloyal brotherhood

What end but darkness could ensue from

For

all

the three?

So Love and Honour

Tho' Love and Honour join'd

me up and down

retreating.

Edith wrote

'My mother

A widow
God

ask

less guile

as the

'

did not

(I

than

soul,

plump cheek

many

tell

you

a child.

she wrought us harm,

not knowing) 'are you

The

letter)

You

will not find

On

me

help the wrinkled children that are Christ's

As well
Poor

bids

with

jarr'd

to raise the full

High-tide of doubt that sway'd

Advancing nor

this

ill?

'

'you have not been here of

me

here.

At

last I

(so ran
late.

go

that long-promised visit to the North.

I told

your wayside story to

my mother

THE

142

And

Evelyn.

SISTERS.

She remembers you.

Farewell.

Pray come and see

my

With ever-growing

cataract, yet she thinks

Again

She sees you when she hears.

Cold words from one

That

'Pray

my

see

farewell.'

had hoped to warm so

my image on

could stamp

come and

Almost blind

mother.

her heart

mother, and farewell.'

Cold, but as welcome as free airs of heaven

Selfish, strange!

After a dungeon's closeness.

What dwarfs

are

men

Utter 'd a stifled cry

And

No

all in

to

vain for her

bride for me.

To win

my

strangled vanity

have vext myself

cold heart or none

Yet so

my

path was clear

the sister.

Whom
For Evelyn knew not of

woo'd and won.

my

former

suit,

Because the simple mother work'd upon

By Edith pray'd me not

to

whisper of

And Edith would be bridesmaid on

But on that day, not being

it.

the day.

all at ease,

far

THE SISTERS.
I

from the

altar

Before the

glancing back upon her,

first 'I

The bridesmaid

will

ring

So,

upon

utter' d,

saw

turn'd again, and placed

the finger of

when we

She wept no

was

'

pale, statuelike, passionless

'No harm, no harm'

My

143

my

bride.

parted, Edith spoke

tear,

but round

In utter silence for so long,

my
I

no word,

Evelyn clung

thought

*What, will she never set her sister free?

We
As

left her,

happy each in each, and then,

each in each

tho' the happiness of

Were not enough, must

fain have torrents, lakes,

Hills, the great things of

To

lift

And

us as

it

Nature and the

Better have sent

Our Edith

thro' the glories of the earth,

To change

with her horizon,

his

fair,

were from commonplace.

help us to our joy.

Were not

own imperial

if

true

Love

all-in-all.

THE

144

Far

off

Save that
Is

SISTERS.

My

we went.

God,

would not

live

think this gross hard-seeming world

our misshaping vision of the Powers

Behind the world,

that

make our

griefs our gains.

For on the dark night of our marriage-day

great Tragedian, that had quench' d herself

The

In that assumption of the bridesmaid

That loved

With

our true Edith her brain broke

over-acting,

Beneath a

To

me

till

she rose and fled

pitiless rush of

the deaf church

Before that altar

They found

she

so

to
I

Autumn

be

let in

rain

to pray

think; and there

her beating the hard Protestant doors.

She died and she was buried ere we knew.

I learnt it first.

The

had

to speak.

At once

bright quick smile of Evelyn, that had sunn'd

The morning

And on

of our marriage, past

away

our home-return the daily want

Of Edith

in the house, the garden,

still

THE
Haunted us

SISTERS.

145

and by and

like her ghost;

by,

Either from that necessity for talk

Which
Of

lives with blindness, or plain

innocence

nature, or desire that her lost child

Should earn from both the praise of heroism.

The mother broke her promise

And

to the dead,

told the living daughter with what love

Edith had welcomed

And

all

my

brief

wooing

of her.

her sweet self-sacrifice and death.

Henceforth that mystic bond betwixt the twins

Did
So

far that

Back
I

not

tell

you they were twins?

no caress could win

to that passionate

had from her

at

first.

my

answer of

Not

prevail'd
wife

full

heart

that her love,

Tho' scarce as great as Edith's power of

Had

love.

lessen' d, but the mother's garrulous wail

For ever woke the unhappy Past again.

Till that

dead bridesmaid, meant

Put forth cold hands between

The very fountains

VOL. IV.

us,

to

be

and

my

fear'd

of her life were chill' d;

bride,

THE

146

SISTERS.

So took her thence, and brought her here, and here

whom

She bore a child,

we

reverently

call'd

Edith; and in the second year was born

second

this I

named from

Evelyn; then two weeks

her

own

self,

no more she join'd,

In and beyond the grave, that one she loved.

Now

in this quiet of declining

life,

Thro' dreams by night and trances of the day,

The

sisters glide

Both beautiful

about

alike,

me hand

nor can

in hand,

I tell

One from

the other, no, nor care to tell

One from

the other, only

They smile upon me,

The
I

they come,

remembering

love they both have borne me,

bore them both

From
I

till,

know

either

divided as

by the

know not which

all

and the love

am

stillness of the grave

of these I love the best.

^\}Xyou love Edith; and her

own

true eyes

quick Evelyn

Are

traitors to her; our

The

merrier, prettier, wittier, as they talk.

THE
And

not without good reason,

Is yet untouch' d

Dearest of

But

And

if

all

there

and

things

lie

I that

think

'

my good

147

son

hold them both

well, I

am

not sure

a preference eitherway,

in the rich vocabulary of

'Most dearest
I

SISTERS.

Love

be a true superlative

likewise love your Edith most.

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

'OuSE-KEEPER Sent tha my

OR,

lass, fur

THE

ENTAIL.^

New Squire coom'd

last night.

Butter an' heggs

yis

yis.

I'll

goa wi' tha back:

all right;

Butter

warrants be prime, an'

warrants the heggs

be as well,

Hafe a pint

o'

milk runs out when ya breaks the

shell.

n.

Sit thysen

down

fur a bit: hev a glass o' cowslip

wine!
I liked the

owd Squire

gells o'

an'

'is

gells as

thaw they was

mine,
1

See note

to

'Northern Cobbler.'
148

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

Fur then we was

THE ENTAIL.

OR,

one, the Squire an'

all es

'is

149

darters

me,

an'

Hall but Miss Annie, the heldest,

niver not took to

she:

But Nelly, the

on 'em

last of

the cletch,i I liked 'er the fust

all.

Fur hoffens we

talkt o'

my

darter es died o' the fever

at fall

An'

thowt 'twur the will

she said

it

wur

o' the

Lord, but Miss Annie

draains.

Fur she hedn't naw coomfut in

thanks fur

Eh! thebbe

'er,

an' arn'd

naw

'er paains.

all wi'

the

Lord

my

childer, I han't got-

ten none

Sa new Squire's coom'd wi'

owd

'is taail

in

'is

'and, an'

Squire's gone.

m.
Fur

'staate

that

be

i'

taail,

my

lass: tha

be?
1

A brood

of chickens.

dosn'

knaw what

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

I50

But

knaws the

it

'When

OR,

THE ENTAIL.

law, I does, for the lawyer ha

towd

me.
theer's

naw

'ead to a 'Ouse by the fault o' that

ere maale

The

gells they counts fur nowt,

and the next un he

taakes the taail.

IV.

What be

the next

un

like ?

can tha

tell

ony harm on

'im lass?

Naay

sit

down

naw

'urry

sa

cowd!

hev

another

glass

Straange an'
fall o'

Not

cowd

fur the time

we may happen

snaw

es I cares fur to hear

ony hann, but

I likes

to

knaw.
An'

'oaps es

coom
We'd anew

'e

beant boooklarn'd: but

fro' the

dosn' not

shere;

o' that wi' the Squire, an'

larnin' ere.

'e

we haates boook-

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

OR,

THE ENTAIL.

Fur Squire wur a Varsity scholard, an' niver lookt

15]

arter

the land

Wheats
'is

or tonups or taates

'e

'ed hallus a

boook

i'

'and,

Hallus aloan wi'

'is

boooks, thaw nigh upo' seventy

year.

An' boooks, what's boooks? thou knaws thebbe naither 'ere nor theer.

VI.

An' the

gells,

he towd

That

'is

it

taail

down

they hedn't

naw

taails, an'

the lawyer

me
were soa tied up es he couldn't cut

a tree

*Drat the trees,' says

to

I,

be sewer

haates 'em,

my

lass,

Fur we puts the muck

muck

o' the

fro' the grass.

land an' they sucks the

152

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

OR,

THE ENTAIL.

vn.

An' Squire wur hallus a-smilin', an' gied to the tramps

goin' by

An'

the wust

all o'

in

'is

i'

the parish

wi'

hoffens a drop

eye.

An' ivry darter

o'

Squire's hed her

awn

ridin-erse

to 'ersen,

An' they rampaged about wi' their grooms, an' was

'untin' arter the

men,

An' hallus a-dallackt^ an' dizen'd out, an' a-buyin'

new
While

cloathes.

'e sit like

athurt

An'

'is

'is

a great glimmer-gowk^ wi'

'is

glasses

noase.

noase sa grufted wi' snuff es

it

couldn't be

scroob'd awaay.

Fur atween

'is

readin' an' writin' 'e sniff t

up a box

in a daay.

An'

'e

niver runn'd arter the fox, nor arter the birds

wi'
1

'is

gun,

Overdrest in gay colours.

Qwl.

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

An'

'e

'e

THE ENTAIL.

niver not shot one 'are, but

Charlie

An'

OR,

'is

153

leaved

it

to

awn ponds, but Charlie

'e

'e

son,

niver not fish'd

'is

cotch'd the pike.

For

'e warn'i-

kind

But

to

not burn to the land, an'

it

an'

didn't take

like;

gie fur a

I ears es 'e'd

pound

'e

howry^ owd book thutty

moor.

An' 'e'd wrote an owd book, his awn sen, sa

es 'e'd

An'

'e

gied

coom

to

knaw'd

be poor;

be fear'd fur to

tell

tha 'ow

much

fur

an owd scratted stoan.

An'

'e

digg'd up a loomp

i'

the land an' 'e got a

brown

pot an' a boan.

An'

'e

bowt owd money,

gowd
An'

'e

o' the

bowt

shaame
But

'e

little

to

es wouldn't goa, wi'

good

Queen,
statutes all-naakt an'

which was a

be seen;

niver loookt ower a

bill,

to owt,
1

Filthy.

nor

'e

niver not seed

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

154

An'

'e

niver

OR,

THE ENTAIL.

knawd nowt but boooks,

an' boooks, as

thou knaws, beant nowt.

vm.

But owd Squire's laady es long es she lived she kept

'em

Thaw

all clear,

es long es she lived I niver

hed none

of 'er

darters 'ere;

But arter she died we was

all es

one, the childer an'

me,
An' sarvints runn'd in an' out, an'

off ens

we hed 'em

to tea.

Lawk! 'ow

laugh'd

when

the lasses 'ud talk o' their

Missis's waays,

An' the Missisis talk'd

some

o'

the lasses.

tell

tha

like

'er

derken'd

my

I'll

o' these daays.

Hoanly Miss Annie were saw stuck oop,

mother afoor
'Er an' 'er blessed darter
door.

they niver

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

An' Squire

'e

smiled an'

'e

OR,

THE ENTAIL.

smiled

till

155

'e'd gotten a

fright at last,

An'

the 'turney's letters they

'e calls fur 'is son, fur

foller'd sa fast;

But Squire wur afear'd

meek

as a

'Lad, thou

o'

'is

son, an' 'e says to 'im,

mouse,

mun

cut off thy taail, or the gells

'ull

goa

to the 'Ouse,

Fur

I finds es I

'elp

An'

if

me

be that

i'

debt, es I 'oaps es thou '11

a bit.

thou' 11 'gree to cut off thy taail I

mysen

may

saave

yit.'

X.

But Charlie
'e

'e sets

back

'is ears,

an' 'e swears, an'

says to 'im 'Noa.

I've gotten the 'staate

iver let

goa

by the

taail an'

be dang'd

if

156

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

Coom! coom!

feyther,'

says,

'e

THE ENTAIL.

OR,

'why shouldn't thy

boooks be sowd?
I

soom

hears es

weight

i'

o'

thy boooks

mebbe worth

their

gowd.'

XI.

Heaps

an' heaps o' boooks, I ha' see'd 'em, belong'd

to the Squire,

But the

lasses 'ed teard out leaves

kindle the

Sa moast on

'is

i'

the middle to

fire;

owd big boooks

fetch'd nigh to

nowt

at the saale,

And

Squire were at Charlie agean to git im to cut

'

off

'is taail.

xn.

Ya wouldn't

find Charlie's likes

'e

were that outda-

cious at 'oam,

Not thaw ya went

tooth

coamb

fur to raake out Hell wi' a small-

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

Droonk

THE ENTAIL.

OR,

157

droonk wi' the

wi' the Quoloty's wine, an'

farmer's aale,

Mad

wi' the lasses an' all

an'

wouldn't cut

'e

off

the taail.

xm.
Thou*s coom'd oop by the beckj and a thurn be
a-grawin' theer,
I niver

ha seed

it

sa white wi' the

Maay

es I see'd it

to-year

Theerabouts Charlie joompt

and

it

gied

me

a scare

tother night,

Fur

thowt

it

wur Charlie's ghoast

i'

the derk, fur

it

loookt sa white.
*Billy,'

says

'e,

'hev a joomp!'

thaw

the banks o'

the beck be sa high.

Fur he ca'd

'is 'erse

Billy-rough-un, thaw niver a hair

wur awry;
But Billy
'is

fell

neck,

bakkuds

o' Charlie, an'

Charlie

'e

brok

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

158

Sa theer wur a hend

OR,

THE ENTAIL.

o' the taail, fur 'e lost 'is taail

i'

the beck.

XIV.

Sa

'is taail

wur

lost an'

'is

boooks wur gone an'

'is

boy wur dead,

An' Squire
lift

'e

oop

smiled an'

'is

'e

smiled, but

niver not

'ead:

Hallus a soft un Squire! an'

naw

'e

'e

smiled, fur 'e hedn't

friend,

Sa feyther an' son was buried togither, an' this wur

the hend.

XV.

An' Parson as hesn't the

call,

nor the mooney, but

hes the pride,

'E reads of a sewer an' sartan 'oap

But

o' the tother side;

beant that sewer es the Lord, howsiver they

praay'd, an' praay'd,

Lets them inter 'eaven easy es leaves their debts to be

paaid.

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

Siver the

rattled

THE ENTAIL.

down upo' poor

159

ovvd Squire

the wood,

i'

An'

mou'ds

OR,

cried along wi' the gells, fur they weant niver

coom

to

naw good.

XVI.

Fur Molly the long un she walkt awaay wi' a

hofficer

lad,

An' nawbody 'eard on

to the

coorse she be gone

bad

An' Lucy wur laame

'ed

'er sin, sa o'

o'

one

leg, sweet' arts

she niver

none

Straange an' unheppen ^ Miss Lucy

we naamed her

'Dot an' gaw one!

An' Hetty wur weak

i'

the hattics, wi'out

ony harm

i'

the legs.

An' the fever 'ed baaked Jinny's 'ead as bald as one

o'

them heggs.

An' Nelly wur up

fro' the

craadle as big

as a cow,
1

Ungainly, awkward.

i'

the

mouth

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

i6o

An' saw she

mun

OR,

hammergrate,^

lass,

An' es for Miss Annie es call'd

foalks to

'A hignorant

Has

my

me

afoor

my awn

faace

village wife as 'ud

hev to be larn'd her

plaace,

Miss Hannie the heldest hes now be a-grawin*

fur
sa

or she weant git

onyhow

a maate

awn

THE ENTAIL.

howd,

knaws

that

mooch

o' shea, es it

beant not

fit

to

be

towd!

xvn.
Sa

didn't not taake

kindly ov

it

owd Miss Annie

to

saay

Es

should be talkin agean 'em, es soon es they went

awaay.

Fur, lawks!

'ow

Nelly she gied

cried

me

when they went,

'er 'and,

Fur I'd ha done owt for the Squire an'

long' d to the land;
1

an' our

Emigrate.

'is gells

es be-

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

Boooks, es

But

OR,

THE ENTAIL.

i6i

said afoor, thebbe neyther 'ere nor theer

sarved 'em wi' butter an' heggs fur huppuds o'

twenty year.

xvra.

An' they hallus paaid what

hax'd, sa I hallus deal'd

wi' the Hall,

An' they knaw'd what butter wur, an' they knaw'd

what a hegg wur an'

Hugger-mugger they

all;

lived, but they wasn't that easy

to please,

Till I gied

'em Hinjian curn, an' they laaid big heggs

es tha seeas;

An'

niver puts saame^

1'

my

butter, they does

it

at

Willis's farm,

Taaste another drop

o' the

wine

tweant

do tha naw

harm.
XIX.

Sa new Squire's coom'd wi'

owd

'is taail

Squire's gone;
iLard.

in 'is 'and, an'

THE VILLAGE WIFE;

62

OR,

THE ENTAIL.

heard 'im a roomlin' by, but arter

my

nightcap wur

on;

Sa

han't clapt eyes on 'im

yit, fur

he coom'd

last

night sa laate

Pluksh!

!Mhe

hens

i'

the peas!

why

didn't tha

hesp the gaate?

A cry

accompanied by a clapping of hands

passing fowl.

to scare tres-

THE CHILDREN'S

IN

HOSPITAL.

EMMIE.

Our

doctor had call'd in another,

him

never had seen

before,

But he sent a

chill to

my

heart

when

saw him come

in at the door.

Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other

lands

Harsh red

hair, big voice, big chest,

big merciless

hands

Wonderful cures he had done,

too of

He

yes, but they said

him

was happier using the knife than in trying

the limb,
163

to save

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

64

And

that

can well believe, for he look'd so coarse

and so
I

red,

who would break

could think he was one of those

their jests

And mangle

on the dead.

the living

dog

had loved him and

that

fawn'd at his knee

Drench' d with the hellish oorali

that

ever such

things should be

n.

Here was a boy

am

sure that

some

of our children

would die
But for the voice of Love, and the smile, and the
comforting eye

Here was a boy

of

its

in the ward, every

bone seem'd out

place

Caught in a mill and crush'd

it

was

all

but a hope-

less case

And he handled him

and

gently enough; but his voice

his face were not kind,

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

And

was but a hopeless case, he had seen

it

made up

And he

his

said to

more
'All the

165

it

and

mind,

me

roughly 'The lad will need

little

of your care.'

more need,'

told him, 'to seek the

Lord

Jesus in prayer;

They

are

all as

his children here,

all

my own

pray for them

But he turn'd to me,

set a

and

'Ay,

broken bone ?

Then he mutter' d

good woman, can prayer

'

half to himself, but I

know

that

heard him say

AH

very well

but the good

Lord Jesus has had

his

day.'

m.

Had ?

has

it

come ?

It

has only dawn' d.

It will

come

by and by.

how could

I serve in

world were a

lie ?

the wards

if

the hope of the

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

i66

How

could

bear with the sights and the loathsome

smells of disease

But that

He

said *Ye

do

it

to me,

when ye do

it

to

these'

IV.

So he went.

And we

past to this ward where the

younger children are laid

Here

is

the cot of our orphan, our darling, our

little

meek

maid;

Empty you
her so

see just

now

We have lost her who loved

much

Patient of pain tho' as quick as a sensitive plant to

the touch;

Hers was the

prettiest prattle,

it

often

moved me

to

tears.

Hers was the

gratefullest heart I have

found in a child

of her years

Nay you remember our Emmie; you used

the flowers;

to

send her

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

How

i(>>j

she would smile at 'em, play with 'em, talk to

'em hours

They

that can

Lord are
Little guess

after hours!

wander

at will

where the works of the

reveal'

what joy can be got from a cowslip out

of the field;

Flowers to these

know

'spirits in prison

'

are all they can

of the spring,

They freshen and sweeten

the wards like the waft of

an Angel's wing;

And

she lay with a flower in one hand and her thin

hands crost on her breast

Wan, but

as pretty as heart

her at

rest.

so

Quietly sleeping
little

Nurse,

thro'

can desire, and we thought

quiet,

our doctor said 'Poor

dear,

must do
it,

I fear.'

it

to-morrow; she'll never

live

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

i68

V.

walk'd with our kindly old doctor as far as the head

of the stair,

Then

return'd to the ward; the child didn't see I

was there.
VI.

Never since

was nurse, had

been so grieved and

so vext

Emmie had

heard him.

Softly she call'd

from her

cot to the next,

*He

says

shall I

shall never live thro'

it,

Annie, what

do?'

Annie consider'd.

'If I,' said

the wise

little

Annie,

'was you,
I

should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to help me,

Emmie, you
It's all in the

come

to

for,

see.

picture there: "Little children should

me."

'

(Meaning the print

that

always can please

you gave

us, I find that it

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

Our

children, the dear

169

Lord Jesus with children about

his knees.)

and

*Yes,

I will,' said

Emmie,

'but then

if

call to

the Lord,

How

should he
in the

know

ward

that it's

me? such

a lot of beds

That was a puzzle

Again she consider'd

for Annie.

and said:
*

Emmie, you put out your arms, and you

leave 'em

outside on the bed

The Lord has

it

him

so

much

to see to

but,

Emmie, you

tell

plain,

It's the little girl

terpane.

with her arms lying out on the coun-

'

vn.

had

sat three nights

by the child

could not watch

her for four

My

brain had begun to reel

more.

I felt I

could do

it

no

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

I70

That was

my sleeping-night,

would

but

thought that

pass.

There was a thunderclap once, and a

on the

And

never

it

clatter of hail

glass,

there was a

phantom cry

that I heard as I tost

about.

The motherless

bleat of a

lamb in the storm and the

darkness without;

My sleep was

broken besides with dreams of the dread-

ful knife

And

fears for our delicate

escape with her

Then

And

me and

the doctor

scarce would

life;

in the gray of the

by

Emmie who

morning

it

seem'd she stood

smiled.

came

at his hour,

and we went

to see

to the child.

vm.

He

had brought his ghastly

asleep again

tools:

we believed her

IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

Her

dear, long, lean, little

171

arms lying out on the

counterpane;

Say that His day

is

done

Ah why

should

we

care

what they say?

The Lord

of the children

had past away.

had heard

her,

and

Emmie

POEM TO THE PRINCESS

DEDICATORY

ALICE.

Dead

Princess, living Power,

on

True

life, live

Born

of true life

From
The

and

and

earthly love

if

that,

which lived

the fatal kiss,

if

love, divorce thee not

and

life

if

what we

call

once from out

spirit flash not all at

This shadow into Substance

then perhaps

The mellow' d murmur

of the people's praise

From

and

thine

own

State,

Where Love and Longing

Ascends to thee

Thy

and

all

our breadth of realm,

dress thy deeds in light,

March morn

this

that sees

Soldier-brother's bridal orange-bloom

Break

thro' the

yews and cypress of thy grave,

And

thine Imperial mother smile again.

May

send one ray to thee

and who can

172

tell

DEDICATORY POEM TO PRINCESS

Thou

ALICE.

England's England-loving daughter thou

Dying

so English thou wouldst have her flag

Borne on thy

coffin

where

is

he can swear

But that some broken gleam from our poor earth

May

touch thee, while remembering thee,

At thy pale feet

this ballad of the

Of England, and her banner

deeds

in the East?

I lay

173

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

Banner

of England, not for a season,

banner of

Britain, hast thou

Floated in conquering battle or

flapt to the battle-

cry!

Never with mightier glory than when we had rear'd

thee on high

Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of

Lucknow
Shot thro' the

staff

or the halyard, but ever

we

raised

thee anew,

And

ever

upon

the topmost roof our banner of

land blew.
174

Eng-

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW

175

n.

Frail were the works that

defended the hold that we

held with our lives

Women

and children among

us,

God

help them, our

children and wives

Hold

it

we might

and

for fifteen days or for twenty

at most.

'Never surrender,
his post

charge you, but every

man

die at

*
!

Voice of the dead

whom we

loved, our Lawrence the

best of the brave

Cold were

him
'Every

his

brows when we kiss'd him

we

laid

that night in his grave.

man

die at his post!

'

and there hail'd on our

houses and halls

Death from

their rifle-bullets,

and death from

their

cannon-balls,

Death in our innermost chamber, and death

slight barricade,

at our

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

176

Death while we stood with the musket, and death

while we stoopt to the spade,

Death

to the dying,

often there

and wounds

wounded,

to the

for

fell,

Striking the hospital wall,

crashing thro'

it,

their

shot and their shell,

Death

for their spies

men were

were among

us, their

marks-

told of our best,

So that the brute bullet broke thro' the brain that

could think for the rest;
Bullets

would sing by our foreheads, and

bullets

would

rain at our feet

Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that

girdled us round

Death

at the

glimpse of a finger from over the breadth

of a street,

Death from the heights

and death

Mine?

yes,

in the

a mine!

and creep

of the

mosque and

the palace,

ground

Countermine!

thro' the hole

down,

down?

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

Keep

the revolver in

hand

177

you can hear him

the

murderous mole
Quiet, ah

wait

quiet

the point of the pickaxe

till

be thro'
Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again
than before

Now

let it
is

And

speak, and you

fire,

and the dark pioneer

no more

ever

upon

the topmost roof our banner of Eng-

land blew 1

m.
Ay, but the foe sprung his mine

many

times,

and

it

chanced on a day

Soon

as the blast of that

underground thunderclap

echo'd away.

Dark

thro' the

smoke and the sulphur

like so

many

fiends in their hell

Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell

upon
VOL.

IV.

yell

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

178

Fiercely on

all

What have

they done? where

the defences our myriad

fell.

Out yonder.

it?

is

enemy

Guard the Redan

Storm

at the Water-gate!

storm, and

it

storm at the Bailey-gate!

ran

Surging and swaying

all

round

us, as

ocean on every

side

Plunges and heaves at a bank that

is

daily devour'd

by the tide
So many thousands that
shall

if

they be bold enough,

who

escape?

Kill or be kill'd, live or die, they shall

soldiers

know we

are

and men

Ready! take aim

at their leaders

their

masses are

gapp'd with our grape

Backward they

reel like the wave, like the

wave

fling-

ing forward again.

Flying and foil'd at the

last

by the handful they could

not subdue;

And

ever

upon

land blew.

the topmost roof our banner of Eng-

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

179

IV.

Handful of men

as

we were, we were English

in heart

and in limb,
Strong with the strength of the race to

command,

to

obey, to endure,

Each

of us fought as

if

hope

for the garrison

hung but

on him;
Still

could we

watch at

all

points?

we were every

day fewer and fewer.

There was a whisper among

us,

but only a whisper

that past

'Children and wives

if

the tigers leap into the fold

unawares

Every

man

die at his post

and the foe may outlive

us at last

Better to

fall

by the hands that they

into theirs

Roar upon roar

sprung

love, than to fall

in a

moment two mines by

the

enemy

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

So

Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor

palisades.

Rifleman, true

hand be
Sharp

your heart, but be sure that your

as true

the

is

is

fire

of assault, better

aimed are your

flank fusillades

Twice do we

hurl

them

to earth

from the ladders

to

which they had clung.

Twice from the ditch where they

shelter

we

drive

them with hand-grenades;

And

ever

upon

the topmost roof our banner of Eng-

land blew.

V.

Then on another wild morning another wild

earth-

quake out-tore
Clean from our lines of defence ten or twelve good
paces or more.
Rifleman, high on the roof, hidden there from the
light of the sun

One has

leapt

up on the breach, crying out: 'Follow

me, follow

me

'

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

Mark him

he

falls

down goes

Had

he.

the traitors had

Boardings and

Now

then another, and hhn too, and

they been bold enough then,

make way

fire,

who can

tell

but

won?

rafters

for the

double-charge

we

i8i

it

and they

and

doors

an

embrasure

It is

charged and

gun
with grape

run.

Praise to our Indian brothers, and let the dark face

have his due

Thanks

to the kindly dark faces

faithful

who

fought with us,

and few,

Fought with the bravest among

and smote them, and

us,

and drove them,

slew.

That ever upon the topmost roof our banner in India

blew.

VI.

Men

will forget

We

can

what we

and not what we do.

fight

But to be soldier
night

suffer

all

day and be sentinel

all

thro' the

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

82

Ever the mine and

assault,

our

sallies, their

lying

alarms,

Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and

soundings to arms.

Ever the labour of

fifty

that

had

to

be done by

five,

Ever the marvel among us that one should be

left

alive.

Ever the day with

its

traitorous death

from the loop-

holes around.

Ever the night with

its coffinless

corpse to be laid in

the ground,

Heat

like the

mouth

of a hell, or a deluge of cataract

skies.

Stench of old

offal

decaying, and infinite torment of

flies.

Thoughts of the breezes of

May blowing

over an Eng-

lish field.

Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the

wound

that

would not

be heal'd.

Lopping away
knife,

of

the

limb by the

pitiful-pitiless

THE DEFENCE OF Lb CKNOW.

Torture and trouble in vain,
us a

for

183

it

never could save

women who tended

the hospital bed,

life.

Valour of delicate

Horror of

women

in

travail

among

the dying

and

dead,
Grief for our perishing children, and never a

moment

for grief.

Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of

Havelock

baffled, or beaten, or

butcher'd for

relief,

all

that

we knew

Then day and

night, day

and night, coming down on

the still-shatter' d walls

Millions of musket-bullets, and thousands of cannon

ballsBut ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

vn.

Hark cannonade,
by the scout.

fusillade

is

it

true

what was told

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

84

Outram and Havelock breaking

fell

their

way through

the

mutineers?

Surely the pibroch of Europe

is

ringing again in our

ears!

All

on a sudden the garrison

utter a jubilant shout,

Havelock' s glorious Highlanders answer with conquering cheers,

Sick from the hospital echo them,

women and

chil-

dren come out,

Blessing the wholesome white faces of Havelock'

good

fusileers.

Kissing the war-harden' d hand of the Highlander wet

with their tears

Dance

to the

you?

pibroch

is it

saved

we

are saved

is

it

you?

Saved by the valour of Havelock, saved by the bless-

Heaven

ing of

'Hold

it

for fifteen days

seven

And

'

we have held

it

for eighty-

ever aloft on the palace roof the old banner of

England blew.

SIR

JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

(in wales.)

My

friend should meet

To

take

I
I

me

me somewhere

hereabout

to that hiding in the hills.

have broke their cage, no gilded one,

trow

read no more the prisoner's mute wail

Scribbled or carved upon the pitiless stone;

I

find hard rocks, hard life, hard cheer, or none,

am

For

But

God

emptier than a
with

is

me

friar's brains;

in this wilderness,

These wet black passes and foam-churning chasms-

And God's

would

Not now

free air,

and hope

of better things.

knew

their speech;

hope

to

do

it

not

some

185

now

to glean,

scatter' d ears,

SIR

86

JOHN OLD CASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

Some

ears for Christ in this wild field of

But,

bread,

Wales

This tongue that

merely for bread.

wagg'd

They

said with such heretical arrogance

Against the proud archbishop Arundel

So much God's cause was

fluent in

But as a Latin Bible

crowd;

'Bara

'

what use

to the

it

is

here

The Shepherd, when

I speak,

Vailing a sudden eyelid with his hard

'Dim

Saesneg' passes, wroth at things of old

Had

No

fault of

He

might be kindlier

Not

mine.

least art thou,

he God's word in Welsh

happily come the day

thou

little

Bethlehem

In Judah, for in thee the Lord was born;

Nor thou

in Britain, little Lutterworth,

Least, for in thee the

word was born again.

Heaven-sweet Evangel, ever-living word.

Who

whilome spakest

About the

soft

to the

South in Greek

Mediterranean shores.

JOHN OLD CASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

SIR

And

then in Latin to the Latin crowd,

As good need was

Hereafter thou,

Must
Yet

thou hast come

learn to use the tongues of

art

to talk

our

isle.

fulfilling Pentecost,

thou thine

own

Not peace, a sword, a

the world.

all

witness that thou bringest

fire.

What did he

My

187

frighted Wiclif-preacher

whom

say.

crost

In flying hither? that one night a crowd

Throng' d the waste

field

about the city gates:

The king was on them suddenly with

Why

there? they

Some

cried on

came

to hear their preacher.

Cobham, on

Ay, for they love

me

a host.

the

Then

good Lord Cobham;

but the king

nor voice

took and hang'd,

Took, hang'd and burnt how many thirty-nine
rebels
Call'd
rebellion hang'd, poor friends,
Nor

finger raised against

him

as

it

And burn'd
Labels

alive as heretics! for your Priest

to take the king along with him

All heresy, treason

May make men

but to call

traitors.

men

traitors

SIR

88

JOHN OLD CAS TLB, LORD COB HAM.

Rose

of Lancaster,

Red

in thy birth, redder with household war,

Now

reddest with the blood of holy men,

Redder

to be, red rose of Lancaster

somewhere

If

in the North, as

Rumour sang

Fluttering the hawks of this crown-lusting line

By

firth

and loch thy

That were

my

So to

this

Once my

king

help his

To

save his soul.

allegiance due.

own from

He

my

dead.

friend was he.

would have given

d, doubtless

my

life

scathe, a thousand lives

might have come

to learn

Wiclif's learning: but the worldly Priests

Who
What

fear the king's hard

to foreign war.

might have stricken a

But he would not;

Back

common-sense should

rotten piles uphold their mason-work.

Urge him
I

my

nay, murder'

cleaved

fast friend

To

Our

silver sister grow,^

rose, there

Self -starved, they say

to the pure

had he will'd

lusty stroke for

far liever led

my

friend

and universal church,

1

Richard IL

him.

find

SIR

JOHX OLD CASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

189

But he would not: whether that heirless flaw

In his throne's

He

leans

make him

title

on Antichrist; or

feel so frail,

mind,

that his

So quick, so capable in soldiership,

In matters of the

More worth than

Runs

all

in the rut, a

Burnt

good
my

Burnt too,

the

Sir

of this world,

to the Priest.

Roger Acton, my dear friend

faithful preacher, Beverley

Lest the false faith

to thy

two witnesses

make merry over them

but thirty-nine have risen and stand,

Dark with the smoke

Before thy

Cry

kingdoms

coward

Lord give thou power

Two nay

while

faith, alas the

light,

of

human

sacrifice.

and cry continually

against whom?
Him, who should bear

Of

Justice

Who

My

what!

the kingly, kindly boy;

took the world so easily heretofore,

boon companion, tavern-fellow

Who

the sword

gibed and japed

in many

him

merry

tale

I90

SIR

JOHN OLD CASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

That shook our sides

Friars, absolution-sellers,

when

And

nunneries,

Had

set the wits aflame.

monkeries

the wild hour

Harry

Or Amurath

Summoners,

at Pardoners,

of

and the wine

Monmouth,

of the East?

Better to sink

Thy

fleurs-de-lys in slime again,

Thy

royalty back into the riotous

Of wine and harlotry

Thy comrade

And

thy shame,

fling

fits

and mine,

than to persecute the Lord,

play the Saul that never will be Paul.

Burnt, burnt

Dooms
The

and

and while

this

mitred Arundel

our unlicensed preacher to the flame.

mitre-sanction' d harlot draws his clerks

Into the suburb

Sworn

their hard celibacy.

to be veriest ice of pureness,

molten

Into adulterous living, or such crimes

As holy Paul

Among

a shame

the heathen

to speak of

them

JOHN OLD CASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

SIR

191

Sanctuary granted

yea him
Who hacks his mother's throat denied

To

bandit, thief, assassin

Who

to

him,

mother tongue.

finds the Saviour in his

The Gospel,

to

the Priest's pearl, flung

down

The

swine, lay-men, lay-women,

God

willing, to outlearn the filthy friar.

who

will

Ah

rather. Lord, than that thy Gospel,

To

course and range thro'

all

to swine

come,

meant

the world, should be

Tether' d to these dead pillars of the Church

Rather than

so, if

thou wilt have

it so.

Burst vein, snap sinew, and crack heart, and life

Pass in the

Lord,

fire

of

Babylon

To

but

thee,

long,

friend should meet

the copse, the fountain

is

how

how long

My
Here

dead wood,

and

me

here.

a Cross

bow not head nor

knees.

Rather to thee, green boscage, work of God,

Black holly, and white-flower'd wayfaring-tree

drawn

Rather

to thee, thou living water,

By

good Wiclif mountain down from heaven,

this

SIR

192

JOHN OLDCASILE, LORD COBHAM.

And speaking

clearly in thy native tongue

No Latin He

Eh! how

To

worship Holy Cross

And
By

anger'd Arundel asking

God's work,

I said,

me

spread mine arms,

a cross of flesh and blood

(My good

That was heresy.

holier.

this

come and drink!

that thirsteth,

friend

'Images?

time should be with me.)

'

'Bury them as God's truer images

Are daily buried.'

'Heresy.

Hairshirt and scourge

Do penance
Not

Good

let

God

in his heart,

me and my God?

repent,

hears him.

'What

'

man

'Fast,

'

profits

'Heresy

an

ill

Priest

would not spurn

counsel of good friends, but shrive myself

No, not

(My

nay,

shriven, not saved?

Between

Penance?'

to

an Apostle.'

friend

is

'Heresy.'

long in coming.)

'Pilgrimages?

'

'Drink, bagpipes, revelling, devil's-dances, vice.

The poor man's money gone

Who

reads

of

'Heresy'

begging

to fat the friar.

saints

in

Scripture

'

SIR

JOHN OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

(Hath he been here

Have

Bread

not found me gone again?

mislearnt our place of meeting?)

left after

That was

their

the blessing?

main

'

how

test-question

'He

veil'd Himself in flesh,

His

flesh in bread,

Then

193

'Bread

they stared,

glared

and now

body and bread

He

at

me

veils

together.'

rose the howl of all the cassock' d wolves,

'No bread, no bread.

God's body!'

Archbishop,

Bishop,
Priors,

Canons, Friars, bellringers, Parish-clerks

'No bread, no bread

Power

of the keys

'

'

'Authority

Then

I,

God

of the Church,

help me,

So mock'd, so spurn'd, so baited two whole days

I lost

And

myself and

fell

from evenness.

rail'd at all the Popes, that ever since

Sylvester shed the

venom

of world-wealth

Into the church, had only prov'n themselves

God pardon
the world yea, that proud

Poisoners, murderers.

Me, them, and

all

Well

That mock-meek mouth of

That

traitor to

VOL. IV.

all

utter Antichrist,

King Richard and

o

the truth,

Priest,

yOHX OLDCASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

194

SIR

Who

rose and

doom'd me

to the fire.

Amen!
Nay,

can burn, so that the Lord of

Be by me

in

my

life

death.

Those three

Was

On

like the

fhe??i

Son

of

God

Not burnt were

the smell of burning

That was a miracle

These Pharisees,

had not

past.

Caiaphas-Arundel

turn?

He

here again,

He

thwarting their traditions of Himself,

He

would be found a heretic

And doom'd

to

they.

to convert the king.

this

What miracle could

the fourth

burn

to Himself,

alive.

So, caught, I burn.

Burn? heathen men have borne

as

much

as this,

For freedom, or the sake of those they loved,

Or some

less cause,

some cause

For every other cause

The moth

Her

How

is less

far lesb

than mine;

than mine.

will singe her wings,

and singed

return,

love of light quenching her fear of pain

now,

my

soul,

we do not heed

the fire?

JOHN OLD CASTLE, LORD COBHAM.

SIR

Faint-hearted? tut!

faint-stomach'd!

God

burn for Him.

willing, I will

faint as I

195

am,

Who comes?
A

thousand marks are

Friend?

set

upon my head.

foe perhaps a tussle for

Nay, but

my

Thou

friend.

knew

have not broken bread for

None?

then!

art so well disguised,

Hast thou brought bread with thee ?

thee not.

it

am damn'd

fifty

hours.

already by the Priest

For holding there was bread where bread was none

No

My

bread.

friends await

Up

Lead on then.

Not
I

am

For

Climb

far.

the

first

me yonder?

mountain?

Is it far?

and reach me down thy hand.

not like to die for lack of bread,

must
1

live to testify

He

Yes.

by

fire.^

was burnt on Christmas Day, 141 7.

COLUMBUS.
Chains,

my good

Some wonder

We

lord

at our

in your raised brows

Whom

isles of gold.

know you deign

the king

read

chamber ornaments.

brought this iron from our

Does

once he rose from

off

to visit

him

his throne to greet

Before his people, like his brother king?

I

saw your face that morning in the crowd.

At Barcelona

tho'

So bearded.

Yes.

To meet me,

roar'd

Bad me be

The

you were not then

The

my name;

seated, speak,

story of

The crowd's

my

city deck'd herself

and

the king, the queen

tell

voyage, and while

roar

fell as at

them
I

all

spoke

the 'Peace, be

196

still

COLUMBUS.
And when

197

ceased to speak, the king, the queen.

Sank from their thrones, and melted into

And

knelt,

and

In praise to

And

lifted

God who

tears,

hand and heart and voice

led

me

thro' the waste.

then the great 'Laudamus' rose to heaven.

Chains for the Admiral of the Ocean

chains

For him who gave a new heaven, a new earth

As holy John had prophesied of me,

Gave glory and more empire

Of Spain than

Who

all their battles

East,

And came upon

the

And saw

him

and

sail'd the

Mountain

Dragon's mouth.

of the World,

the rivers roll from Paradise

Chains

we

are Admirals of the Ocean, we,

and our sons

Hath sign'd

it

Of the Ocean

Our

chains for

push'd his prows into the setting sun.

And made West

We

to the kings

title,

for ever.

Ferdinand

and our Holy Catholic queen

of the IndiesAdmirals we

which we never mean

to yield.

COLUMBUS.

19^

Our guerdon not alone

for

But our amends for

we might have done

The

all

what we did,

vast occasion of our stronger life

Eighteen long years of waste, seven in your Spain,

Lost, showing courts

and kings a truth the babe

Will suck in with his milk hereafter

earth

sphere.

y^^xt you at Salamanca?

We

fronted there the learning of

all

No.
Spain,

All their cosmogonies, their astronomies

Guess-work they guess 'd

Is

morning-star to the

No

guess-work

Some thought
King David

it

but the golden guess

it,

full

round of

was certain of

heresy, but that

my

truth.

goal

would not hold.

call'd the heavens a hide, a tent

Spread over earth, and so this earth was

Some
That

cited old Lactantius

trees

Walk'd

The

could

grew downward, rain

like the

fly

it

fell

flat

be
upward,

men

on ceilings? and besides.

great Augustine wrote that none could breathe

COLUMBUS.

199

Within the zone of heat; so might there be

Two Adams,

two mankinds, and that was clean

Against God's word: thus was

my

And

chiefly to

And

thought to turn

Once more

to

beaten back,

sorrow by the Church,

my

face from Spain, appeal

France or England; but our Queen

Recall' d me, for at last their Highnesses

Were

half-assured this earth might be a sphere.

All glory to the all-blessed Trinity,

All glory to the

mother

of our Lord,

And Holy Church, from whom

Not even by one hair's-breadth
I

have accomplish' d what

Not

On my
Of my

The

yet

not

first

first

all

last

never swerved

of heresy,

came

to do.

night a dream

I sail'd

voyage, harass' d by the frights

crew, their curses and their groans.

great flame-banner borne by Teneriffe,

The compass,

like

an old friend

false at last

In our most need, appall' d them, and the wind

COLUMBUS.

200

Still

westward, and the weedy seas

The

landbird, and the branch with berries on

The carven

staff

On Guanahani
San Salvador

Grew

and

but

it,

last the light, the light

changed the name;

I call'd it;

as I gazed,

at length

and the

light

and brought out a broad sky

not those alien palms,

new nature not
The marvel of that
Of dawning over

fair

That Indian

isle,

but our most ancient East

Moriah with Jerusalem; and

The

saw

glory of the Lord flash up, and beat

Thro'

all

the

homely town from

jasper, sapphire,

Chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, sardius.

Chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase,

and those twelve

woke, and thought death

Jacynth, and amethyst

Pearl
I

am

and

written in the Lamb's

To walk

own Book

gates.
I shall

die

of Life

within the glory of the Lord

Sunless and moonless, utter light

The Lord had

To mind me

but no

sent this bright, strange

of the secret

vow

made

dream

to

me

COLUMBUS.

When

Moor

Spain was waging war against the

I strove

myself with Spain against the Moor.

There came two voices from the Sepulchre,

Two

friars

crying that

The Moslem from her

if

Spain should oust

limit, he, the fierce

Soldan of Egypt, would break down and raze

The blessed tomb

That,

if

of Christ;

whereon

our Princes harken'd to

Whatever wealth

my

vow'd

prayer.

brought from that new world

Should, in this old, be consecrate to lead

A new
And

crusade against the Saracen,

Gold?
If left

am

Holy Sepulchre from

free the

thrall.

had brought your Princes gold enough

alone

Being but a Genovese,

handled worse than had

been a Moor,

And

breach' d the belting wall of Cambalu,

And

given the Great Khan's palaces to the Moor,

Or

clutch' d the sacred

And

cast

it

to the

crown of Prester John,

Moor

but

had

brought

From Solomon's now-recover'd Ophir

all

COLUMBUS.

202

The gold

Would

Solomon's navies carried home,

that

that have gilded

me

Blue blood of Spain;

Tho' quartering your own royal arms of Spain,

I

have not

blue blood and black blood of Spain,

The noble and

the convict of Castile,

Howl'd me from Hispaniola;

The

flies at

And cloud

home,

that ever

for

swarm about

the highest heads, and

Truth in the distance

you know

murmur down

these outbuzz'd me so

That even our prudent king, our righteous queen

I

pray'd them being so calumniated

They would commission one

To

judge between

Fonseca

They

my

slander' d self

my main enemy

sent

me

of weight

and worth

and me

at their court,

out his tool, Bovadilla, one

As ignorant and impolitic as a beast

Blockish irreverence, brainless greed

who sack'd

upon my papers, loosed

My

dwelling, seized

My

captives, feed the rebels of the crown,

Sold the crown-farms for

all

All bat free leave for all to

but nothing, gave

work the mines.

COLUMBUS.
Drove

me and my good

brothers

203

home

in chains,

a single piece
Weigh'd nigh four thousand Castillanos so
They
me weigh'd him down into the abysm
And

gathering ruthless gold

tell

The hurricane

The

of the latitude

on him

fell,

seas of our discovering over-roll

Him

and his gold; the

frailer caravel,

With what was mine, came happily

to the shore.

There was a glimmering of God's hand.

And God
Hath more than glimmer' d on me.
I

swear to you

The thunders
*0

O my

lord,

heard his voice between

in the black

Veragua nights,

soul of little faith, slow to believe!

Have

not been about thee from thy birth?

Given thee the keys of the great Ocean-sea?

Set thee in light
Is it I

till

time shall be no more?

who have deceived

Endure

thee or the world?

thou hast done so well for men, that

Cry out against thee

was

With mine own Son?

'

it

otherwise

men

COLUMBUS.

204

And more

than once in days

Of doubt and cloud and storm, when drowning hope

Sank

but out of sight,

all

'Be not cast down.

Fear not.
I

know

am

'

And

lead thee by the hand,

I shall

that he has led

heard his voice,

hear his voice again

me

all

my

life,

not yet too old to work his will

His voice again.

Still for all that,

my

lord,

lying here bedridden and alone,

Cast

off,

put by, scouted by court and king

his followers,
Flower into fortune our world's way and

The

first

Without a roof that

With scarce a coin

to

And
I

all

discoverer starves

can

call

mine own,

buy a meal withal.

seeing what a door for scoundrel scum

open'd

to the

West, thro' which the

lust,

Villany, violence, avarice, of your Spain

Pour'd in on

all

those happy naked isles

Their kindly native princes slain or sl?ved.

I,

COLUMBUS.

205

Their wives and children Spanish concubines,

Their innocent hospitalities quench' d in blogd,

Some dead
Some

of hunger,

over-labour' d,

some beneath

some by

their

the scourge,

own

hands,

Yea, the dear mothers, crazing Nature,

kill

Their babies at the breast for hate of Spain

Ah God,

the harmless people

whom we

found

In Hispaniola's island-Paradise!

Who

took us for the very Gods from Heaven,

And we have
And

sent

them very

fiends

from Hell;

myself, myself not blameless, I

Could sometimes wish

had never led

the way.

Only the ghost of our great Catholic Queen

Smiles on me, saying, 'Be thou comforted!

This creedless people will be brought to Christ

And own

the holy governance of

Rome.

'

But who could dream that we, who bore the Cross
Thither, were

excommunicated

there.

For curbing crimes that scandalised the Cross,

COLUMBUS.

2o6

By him,

the Catalonian Minorite,

Rome's.Vicar

These hard memorials

Clung closer

Than any
Pardon

You

And

believe

of our truth to

to us for a longer

Spain

term

friend of ours at Court? and yet

too harsh, unjust.

see that

I will

am

rack'd with pains.^

have hung them by

have them buried in

Sir, in that flight of

Own

who

in our Indies?

my

my

bed,

grave.

ages which are God's

voice to justify the dead

perchance

Spain once the most chivalric race on earth,

Spain then the mightiest, wealthiest realm on earth,

So made by me, may seek to unbury me.

me

To

lay

Or

in that vaster Spain

in

some shrine
I

of this old Spain,

leave to Spain.

Then some one standing by my

grave will say,

'Behold the bones of Christopher Colon

*

Ay, but the chains, what do they

mean

'

the chains?'

sorrow for that kindly child of Spain

COLUMBUS.

Who

then will have to answer,

Bound

same bones back

these

Which he unchain'd

O Queen

And

purgatory,

As they do
Is here

anon

Ablier than

my

son will speak for

You

has been no play with

And

ready

Who

fain

him

tho' our

till

him and

his

and condoned

the death.

had pledged her jewels on

wept with

tell

Holy Catholic Queen,

Whose hope was mine

Who

word.

fevers, fights.

at,

loyal to

last

plays with me, that one,

shipwrecks, famines,
Mutinies, treacheries wink'd
am

me

One

will not.

Hidalgos

son

the Court, I pray you

King Ferdinand who

That

my

Stay,

can in these spasms that grind

You move about

life

much

moment.

Bone against bone.

Whose

thro' the Atlantic sea,

seest the souls in Hell

I suffer all as

for the

These same chains

for all the world to come.'

Heaven who

of

207

my

first

voyage.

to spread the Catholic faith,

me when

I return' d in chains,

COLUMBUS.

2o8

Who

sits

beside the blessed Virgin now,

To whom
She

is

gone

Rack'd

my

send

prayer by night and day

but you will

as I

am

tell

the King, that

I,

with gout, and wrench' d with pains

Gain'd in the service of His Highness, yet

Am

ready to

And

readier,

One

last

And

save the

sail forth

if

the

King would

voyage.

hear, to lead

Holy Sepulchre from

am

thrall.

old and slighted: you have dared

Somewhat perhaps

am

last

crusade against the Saracen,

Going?

on one

in

coming? my poor thanks!

but an alien and a Genovese.

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

(founded on an

IRISH LEGEND.

WAS the chief of the race

A.D.

7OO.)

he had stricken my father

dead
But

gather'd

my

fellows together, I swore

would

strike off his head.

Each

of

them look'd

like a king,

and was noble

in

birth as in worth,

And each

of

them boasted he sprang from the oldest

race upon earth.

Each was

as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of

song,

And each

of

them

liefer

had died than have done one

another a wrong.
VOL.

IV.

209

2TO

He

lived

THE VOYAGE OF

MA ELD UNE.

on an

ocean

isle

in the

we

sail'd

on a

Friday morn

He

that

ii\nd

had

slain

we came

my father the

day before

to the isle in the ocean,

was born.

and there on

the shore was he.

But a sudden blast blew us out and away thro' a

boundless sea.

m.

And we came

to the Silent Isle that

we never had

touch'd at before,

Where

And

a silent ocean always broke on a silent shore,

the brooks glitter' d

on

in the light without sound,

and the long waterfalls

Pour'd in a thunderless plunge to the base of the

mountain

walls,

x\nd the poplar and cypress unshaken by storm flourish' d

up beyond

sight,

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

And

211

the pine shot aloft from the crag to an unbelievable height,

And

high in the heaven above

there flicker' d a

it

songless lark,

And

the cock couldn't crow,

low,

and the

bull couldn't

and the dog couldn't bark.

And round

we went, and

it

thro'

it,

but never a mur-

mur, a breath
It

was

all of it fair as life, it

And we

was

hated the beautiful

all of it

quiet as death,

whenever we

for

Isle,

strove to speak

Our voices were thinner and

fainter than

any

flitter-

mouse-shriek;

And

the

men

that were

mighty of tongue and could

raise such a battle-cry

That a hundred who heard

it

would rush on a thousand

lances and die

they to be

dumb'd by

the

charm

so

fluster'd with

anger were they

They almost
away.

fell

on each other; but

after

we

sail'd

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

212

IV.

And we came

to the Isle of Shouting,

we landed, a

score of wild birds

Cried from the topmost summit with

human

voices

and words;

Once

in

an

hour

they cried, and whenever

their

voices peal'd

The

steer fell

down

from the

field,

And

the

men

at the

plow and the

harv^est

died

dropt dead in the valleys and half of

the cattle went lame,

And

the roof sank in

on the hearth, and the dwelling

broke into flame;

And

the shouting of these wild birds ran into the

hearts of

Till they

my

crew.

shouted along with the shouting and seized

one another and slew;

But

drew them the one from the other;

we could not

stay,

saw that

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDLWE.

And we

left the

dead

to the birds

and we

213

sail

d with

our wounded away.

And we came

to the Isle of Flowers: their

met us out on

breath

the seas,

For the Spring and the middle Summer

sat

each on

the lap of the breeze;

And

the red passion-flower to the

cliffs,

and the dark-

blue clematis, clung,

And

Starr 'd

lus

And

with a myriad blossom the long convolvu-

hung;

the topmost spire of the

mountain was

lilies

in

lieu of snow.

And

the lilies like glaciers

winded down, running out

below
Thro' the

fire

gorse,

Of millions

of the tulip

and poppy, the blaze

of

and the blush

of roses that sprang without leaf or a thorn

from the bush;

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

214

And

the whole isle-side flashing

down from

the peak

without ever a tree

Swept

like a torrent of

gems from

the sky to the blue

of the sea;

And we

roll'd

upon capes

of crocus

and vaunted our

kith and our kin,

And we

wallow' d in beds of

lilies,

and chanted the

triumph of Finn,
Till each like a

golden image was pollen'd from head

to feet

And each was

as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the

middle-day heat.

Blossom and blossom, and promise of blossom, but

never a fruit

And we

hated the Flowering

that

And we

we hated

the isle

was mute.

tore

them

And we

Isle, as

in bight

left

away.

up the flowers by the million and flung

and bay,

but a naked rock, and in anger we sail'd

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

215

VI.

And we came
the cliffs

to the Isle of Fruits

all

round from

and the capes,

Purple or amber, dangled a hundred fathom of grapes,

And

the

warm melon

lay like a little sun

on the tawny

sand,

And

the

fig

ran up from the beach and rioted over the

land.

And

the

mountain arose

like a jewell'd throne thro'

the fragrant air.

Glowing with

all-colour' d

plums and with golden

masses of pear.

And

the crimson

and

upon bine and

scarlet of berries that flamed

vine.

But in every berry and

fruit

was the

poisonous

pleasure of wine;

And

the peak of the

that ever

And

mountain was apples, the hugest

were seen,

they prest, as they grew, on each other, with

hardly a leaflet between,

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

2i6

And

of

all

them redder than

rosiest health or than

utterest shame,

And

when Even descended,

setting,

the very sunset

aflame;

And we

stay'd three

madden'd,

His sword on

till

and we gorged and we

days,

every one drew

his fellow to slay him,

and ever they

struck and they slew;

And

myself,

had eaten but

sparely,

and fought

till I

sunder' d the fray,

Then

bad them remember

my

father's death,

and we

sail'd away.

vn.

And we came

to the Isle of Fire

we were

lured by

the light from afar.

For the peak sent up one league of

fire to

the North-

ern Star;

Lured by the glare and the

stand upright.

blare, but scarcely could

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

For the whole

isle

shudder' d and shook like a

zi-j

man

in

a mortal affright;

We

were giddy besides with the

and so crazed

fruits

that at last

There were some leap'd into the

sail'd,

we had gorged,

and away we

fire;

and we past

Over that undersea

where the water

isle,

is

clearer

bliss,

what a

than air

Down we

look'd: what a garden!

Paradise there

Towers

low down in a rainbow

of a happier time,

deep
Silent palaces, quiet fields of eternal sleep

And

three of the gentlest

whate'er

and best

of

my

people,

could say,

Plunged head down in the

sea,

and the Paradise

trembled away.

vm.

And we came

to the

Bounteous

lean low on the land.

Isle,

where the heavens

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

2i8

And

dawn from

ever at

the cloud glitter' d o'er us a

sunbright hand,

Then

it

open'd and dropt

he rose from his

Bread enough

for his

at the side of

each man, as

rest,

need

till

the labourless day dipt

under the West;

And we wander' d about

it

and

thro'

it.

never was

time so good

And we

sang of the triumphs of Finn, and the boast

of our ancient blood.

And we gazed

at the

wandering wave as we

sat

by the

gurgle of springs.

And we chanted

the

songs

of

the Bards

and the

glories of fairy kings;

But

at length

stretch
Till

For there
Isle

to

be weary,

to sigh,

and

to

and yawn.

we hated
hand

we began

the Bounteous Isle and the sunbright

of the dawn,

was not an enemy near, but the whole green

was our own,

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

And we took

to

playing at

ball,

219

and we took

to

throwing the stone,

And we took

to

playing at battle, but that was a

perilous play,

For the passion of

battle

was in

us,

we

slew and

we

sail'd away.

And we

past to the Isle of Witches

and heard

their

musical cry

Xome

to us,

come, come' in the stormy red of a

sky

Dashing the

fires

and the shadows

of

dawn on

the

beautiful shapes,

For a wild witch naked as heaven stood on each of

the loftiest capes,

And

a hundred ranged

on the rock

like white sea-

birds in a row,

And

a hundred

gamboU'd and pranced on

in the sand below.

the wrecks

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

220

And

hundred splash'd from the ledges, andbosom'd

the burst of the spray,

But

knew we should

on each

and

hastily

in an evil time to the Isle of the

Double

fall

other,

sail'd away.

And we came
Towers,

One was

of smooth-cut stone,

one carved

all

over with

flowers,

But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under

the dells.

And

they shock 'd on each other and butted each other

with clashing of

And

bells.

the daws flew out of the

Towers and jangled and

wrangled in vain,

And

the clash and

boom

of the bells rang into the

heart and the brain.

Till the passion of battle

with the Towers,

was on

us,

and

all

took sides

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUiXE.

There were some

more

And

221

for the clean-cut stone, there

were

for the carven flowers,

the wrathful thunder of

God

peal'd over us

all

the day,

For the one

half slew the other,

we

sail'd

who had

sail'd

and

after

away.

XI.

And we came
with

He had

Brendan

of yore,

lived ever since

were

And

St.

to the Isle of a Saint

on the

Isle

and

his winters

fifteen score.

his voice

was low as from other worlds, and his

eyes were sweet,

And

his white hair sank to his heels

beard

And he

fell to

and

his white

be

this pur-

his feet.

spake to me, *0 Maeldune,

let

pose of thine

Remember

the words of the

"Vengeance

is

mine

"
!

Lord when he told us

THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE.

222

His

fathers have slain thy fathers in

war or in single

strife,

Thy

fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life

for a life,

Thy

had

father

murder

Go back

slain his father,

how long

shall the

last?

to the Isle of

Finn and

suffer the Past to

be

Past.'

And we

we heard him

as

And

kiss'd the fringe of his beard

the

Holy man he

and we pray'd

pray,
assoil'd us,

and sadly we

sail'd

away.

xn.

And we came
there

The man
let

on the shore was

that

him

and the
I

had

slain

we were blown from, and

he.

my

father.

saw him and

of the travel, the trouble, the strife

sin,

landed again, with a tithe of

Isle of

be.

weary was

When

to the Isle

Finn.

my men, on

the

DE PROFUNDIS:
THE TWO GREETINGS.

Out

of the deep,

Where

all that

my

was

child, out of the deep,

to be, in all that was,

Whirl' d for a million aeons thro' the vast

Waste dawn

Out

of multitudinous-eddying light

of the deep,

Thro'

And

all this

child, out of the deep.

changing world of changeless law,

every phase of ever-heightening

And nine
With

my

long months of antenatal gloom,

this last

Touch'd with

moon,

Whose

her dark orb

thou comest, darling boy;

in lineament

and prophet

face

this crescent

earth's light

Our own; a babe

Perfect,

life.

and limb

of the perfect

man;

and form are hers and mine

223

in one,

DE PROFUNDIS.

224

Indissolubly married like our love;

Live, and be happy in thyself, and serve

This mortal race thy kin so well, that

May

bless thee as

we

bless thee,

men

young

life

Breaking with laughter from the dark; and

The

fated cKannel where thy

motion

may

lives

Be prosperously shaped, and sway thy course

Along the years

of haste

and random youth

Unshatter'd; then full-current thro'

And

last in

By quiet

To

kindly curves, with gentlest

fields,

that last

man;

full

fall,

a slowly-dying power,

deep where we and thou are

still.

II.

Out

of the deep,

From

the Spirit of

of the deep,

From

child, out of the deep.

that great deep, before our world begins,

Whereon
Out

my

my

God moves

as he will

child, out of the deep,

that true world within the world

we

see.

DE PROFUNDIS.
Whereof our world

Out

is

but the bounding shore

of the deep, Spirit, out of the deep,

With

this ninth

Down yon

dark

moon,
sea,

that sends the

'Let us

make man' and

From

that

Drew

to this shore

In thine

Of

lit

is

art

thou

not ours. They said

that

which should be man,

man can

look upon,

by the suns and moons

own shadow and

That thou

And

one light no

the shadows.

all

hidden sun

thou comest, darling boy.

For in the world, which

And

225

dear Spirit half-lost

this fleshly sign

who wailest being born

banish'd into mystery, and the pain

this divisible-indivisible

Among

world

the numerable-innumerable

Sun, sun, and sun, thro' finite-infinite space

In finite-infinite

And

shatter' d

Who made
Out

of

VOL.

Time

our mortal

phantom

of that infinite

One,

thee unconceivably Thyself

His whole World-self and

IV.

veil

all

in all

DE PROFUNDIS.

226

Live thou

And

and of the grain and husk, the grape

ivyberry, choose;

From death

and

still

to death thro' life

depart

and

life,

and

find

Nearer and ever nearer Him, who wrought

Not Matter, nor

But

this

the finite-infinite.

main-miracle, that thou art thou,

With power on thine own

act

and on the world.

DE PROFUNDIS,

227

THE HUMAN CRY.

Hallowed be Thy name

Halleluiah!

Infinite Ideality!

Immeasurable Reality!
Infinite Personality!

Hallowed be Thy name

Halleluiah

n.

for

We

feel

we

are nothing

We

feel

we

are something

all is

Thou and

thai also has

in

Thee;

come from

Thee;

but Thou will help us to be.

Hallowed be Thy name Halleluiah

We know we

are nothing

PREFATORY SONNET
TO THE 'nineteenth CENTURY.'

Those

that of late

had

fleeted far

now

and

To touch

all shores,

Of others

their old craft seaworthy

Have
Our

fast

leaving to the skill

still,

charter'd this; where, mindful of the past,

true co-mates regather

round the mast;

Of diverse tongue, but with a common

Here, in this roaring

moon

will

of daffodil

x\nd crocus, to put forth and brave the bfast;

For some, descending from the sacred peak

Of hoar high-templed
Their

lot

with ours to rove the world about;

And some
If

Faith, have leagued again

are wilder comrades, sworn to seek

any golden harbour be for

men

In seas of Death and sunless gulfs of Doubt.

TO THE REV.

W. H. BROOKFIELD.

Brooks, for they call'd you so that knew you

Old Brooks, who loved

How

oft

How

oft the

Would echo

How

Who

him we paced

of

of

walk of limes.

Now

both are gone to

humorous-melancholy mark.

some inward agony

is it

kindlier, trustier Jaques, past

cannot laud this

SkiSs ovap

God

that

the lost light of those dawn-golden times.

You man

Our

Mary's chimes!

helpless laughter to your jest!

loved you well

Dead

St.

Cantab supper, host and guest.

oft with

Him,

mouth my rhymes.

so well to

we two have heard

best,

dream

bless you.

life,

it

so?

away!

looks so dark:

of a shadow, go

I shall join

you in a day.

rest.

MONTENEGRO.
They

rose to where their sovran eagle sails,

They kept

their faith, their freedom,

on the height,

Chaste, frugal, savage, arm'd by day and night

Against the Turk; whose inroad nowhere scales

Their headlong passes, but his footstep

And

fails,

red with blood the Crescent reels from fight

Before their dauntless hundreds, in prone flight

By thousands down

smallest

the crags

among peoples

Of Freedom

and

thro' the vales.

rough rock-throne

warriors beating back the

Of Turkish Islam
Great Tsernogora

for five

hundred

swarm

years.

never since thine

own

Black ridges drew the cloud and brake the storm

Has breathed

a race of mightier mountaineers.

TO VICTOR HUGO.
Victor in Drama, Victor in Romance,
Cloud-weaver of phantasmal hopes and

French

of the French,

and Lord

of

fears,

human

tears;

Child-lover; Bard whose fame-lit laurels glance

Darkening the wreaths of

Beyond our

strait, their

all

that

would advance,

claim to be thy peers;

Weird Titan by thy winter weight

of years

As yet unbroken, stormy voice

of

France

Who

so they say;

dost not love our England

know

not

England,

Will

make one people

And

I,

France,
ere

all

man

to

man's race be run:

desiring that diviner day.

Yield thee

full

thanks for thy

To younger England

be

in the

full

boy

courtesy

my

son.

TRANSLATIONS, ETC.

BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.
Constantinus,

King of

to Athelstan, allied

the Scots, after having sworn allegiance

himself with the Danes of Ireland under

Anlaf, and invading England,

his brother

Edmund

was defeated by Athelstan and

with great slaughter at Brunanburh in the

year 937.
I.

Athelstan King,

Lord among

Earls,

Bracelet-bestower and

Baron of Barons,

He

with his brother,

Edmund

Atheling,

Gaining a lifelong
Glory in
1 I

have more or

lation of this

battle,

less availed

poem

in the

myself of

my

son's prose trans-

Contemporary Review (November

1876).

235

236

BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.
Slew with the sword-edge

There by Brunanburh,
Brake the shield-wall,

Hew'd

the lindenwood,^

Hack'd

the battleshield,

Sons of Edward with hammer' d brands.

n.

Theirs was a greatness

Got from

their Grandsires

Theirs that so often in

Strife with their

enemies

Struck for their hoards and their hearths and

their

homes.

in.

Bow'd

the spoiler,

Bent the Scotsman,

Fell the shipcrews

Doom'd
1

to the death.

Shields of lindenwood.

BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.
All the field with blood of the fighters

Flow'd, from when

first

the great

Sun-star of morningtide,

Lamp
Lord

of the

everlasting,

Glode over earth

Sank

Lord God

till

the glorious creature

to his setting.

IV.

There lay many a man

Marr'd by the

Men

javelin,

of the Northland

Shot over shield.

There was the Scotsman

Weary

We

of war.

the West- Saxons,

Long

as the daylight

Lasted, in companies

237

BA T TLE OF BR UNANB URH.

338

Troubled the track of the host that we hated,

Grimly with swords

that

were sharp from the grind-

stone,

Fiercely

we hack'd

at the flyers before us.

VI.

Mighty the Mercian,

Hard was

his hand-play,

Sparing not any of

*

Those

that with Anlaf,

Warriors over the

Weltering waters

Borne in the bark's-bosom,

Drew

to this island

Doom'd

to the death.

vn.

Five young kings put asleep by the sword-stroke,

Seven strong Earls of the army of Anlaf

Fell

on the

war-field,

numberless numbers,

Shipmen and Scotsmen.

BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.

239

vm.

Then

the Norse leader,

Dire was his need of

Few were

it,

his following.

Fled to his warship

Fleeted his vessel to sea with the king in

Saving his

life

on the fallow

flood.

EX.

Also the crafty one,

Constantinus,

Crept to his North again,

Hoar-headed hero

X.

Slender warrant had

He

to

be proud of

The welcome

He

that

was

of war-knives

reft of his

Folk and his friends that had

it,

240

BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH,
Fallen in conflict,

Leaving his son too

Lost in the carnage,

Mangled

to "morsels,

youngster in war

XI.

Slender reason had

He

to

The

be glad of

clash of the war-glaive-

Traitor and trickster

And

He

spurner of treaties

nor had Anlaf

With armies

so

broken

reason for bragging

That they had the better

In perils of battle

On

places of slaughter

The

struggle of standards.

The

rush of the javelins,

BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.
The

241

crash of the charges, ^

The wielding
The play

weapons

of

that they play'd with

The children

Edward.

of

XII.

Then with

their nail'd

prows

Parted the Norsemen, a

Blood-redden'd

relic of

Javelins over

The

jarring breaker, the deep-sea billow,

Shaping their way toward Dyflen

Shamed

again,

in their souls.

xm.
Also the brethren,

King and Atheling,

Each

Went

to his

in his glory.

own

in his

own West-Saxonland,

Glad of the war.

1

VOL.

Lit.
IV.

'

the gathering of men.'

Dublin.

242

BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.

XIV.

Many

a carcase they left to be carrion,

Many

a livid one,

many

a sallow-skin

Left for the white-tail 'd eagle to tear

it,

Left for the horny-nibb'd raven to rend

Gave

to the garbaging

That gray

war-hawk

to gorge

beast, the wolf of the weald.

XV.

Never had huger

Slaughter of heroes
Slain by the sword-edge

Such

as old writers

Have

writ of in histories

Hapt

in this

Up

isle,

since

from the East hither

Saxon and Angle from

Over the broad billow
Broke into Britain with

and
it,

it,

and
and

BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.
Haughty war-workers who
Harried the Welshman, when
Earls that were lured by the

Hunger

Hold

of glory gat

of the land.

243

ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH.

ILUD, xviii. 202.

So saying, light-foot

Then
The

Iris

rose Achilles dear to Zeus; and round

warrior's puissant shoulders Pallas flung

Her fringed

aegis,

and around

his

head

glorious goddess wreath' d a golden cloud,

The

And from

it

lighted an all-shining flame.

As when a smoke from a

Far
All

pass'd away.

off

from out an island

day the men contend

From

their

Their

fires

own

see,

city,

girt

by

heaven

foes,

in grievous

waj

but with set of sun

flame thickly, and aloft the glare

Flies streaming,

May

city goes to

and

if

perchance the neighbours round

sail to

help them in the war;

So from his head the splendour went to heaven.

244

ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH.

From

245

wall to dyke he slept, he stood, nor join'd

The Achaeans

honouring

his wise mother's

There standing, shouted, and Pallas

far

word-

away

Call'd; and a boundless panic shook the foe.

For

like the clear voice

Blown by

when a trumpet

shrills,

the fierce beleaguers of a town,

So rang the clear voice of ^akides;

And when

the brazen cry of

Was heard among

Were

troubled,

^akides

the Trojans,

all their

hearts

and the full-maned horses whirl'd

knowing

The

chariots backward,

And

sheer-astounded were the charioteers

To

see the dread, unwearible

griefs at

hand;

fire

That always o'er the great Peleion's head

Burn'd, for the bright-eyed goddess

made

it

burn.

Thrice from the dyke he sent his mighty shout.

Thrice backward reel'd the Trojans and

And

there

Among

and then twelve

their spears

and

allies;

of their noblest died

chariots.

TO PRINCESS FREDERICA ON HER

MARRIAGE.

YOU

that were eyes

and

light to the

King

till

he

past away

From

He saw

the darkness of life

not his daughter

King

He

he

sees you to-day,

blesses the wife.

blest

her: the

blind

SIR

JOHN FRANKLIN.

ON THE CENOTAPH

Not

IN

WEST^HNSTER ABBEY.

here! the white North has thy bones; and thou,

Heroic

sailor-soul,

Art passing on thine happier voyage

Toward no

earthly pole.

now

TO DANTE.
(written at request of the FLORENTINES.)

King, that hast reign' d six hundred years, and grown

In power, and ever growest, since thine

own

Fair Florence honouring thy nativity,

Thy Florence now

Hath sought
I,

the

crown

of Italy,

the tribute of a verse from me,

wearing but the garland of a day.

Cast at thy feet one flower that fades away.

riRESIAS

AND OTHER POEMS

TO
Old

Fitz

E.

who from your suburb

Where once
Glance

FITZGERALD.

at the

grange,

tarried for a while,

wheeling Orb of change,

And

greet

it

Whom

yet- 1

see as there you sit

with a kindly smile;

Beneath your sheltering garden-tree,

And while your

And plant on

doves about you

shoulder,

Or on your head
As

if

they

hand and knee,

their rosy feet,

knew your

Whatever moved

flit,

diet spares

in that full sheet

Let down to Peter at his prayers;

Who

live

on milk and meal and grass;

And once
Your

at first

(As Shakespeare has

To

tried

table of Pythagoras,

And seem'd

Then

weeks

for ten long

float
fell

'a.

it;

thing enskied

'

airy-light

above the ways of men,

from that half-spiritual height

TO

252

Chill'd,

One

night

FITZGERALD.

E.

till I

tasted flesh again

when

earth was winter-black,

And all the heavens flash' d in frost;

And on me, half-asleep, came back
That wholesome heat the blood had

And

set

And

me climbing

glaciers, over

To meet me

lost,

icy capes

which there

roll'd

long-arm' d vines with grapes

Of Eshcol hugeness;

for the cold

Without, and warmth within me, wrought

To mould
That Lenten

Who

the dream; but

fare

none can say

makes Lenten thought.

reads your golden Eastern lay.

Than which

know no

version done

In English more divinely well;

planet equal to the sun

Which

cast

it,

that large infidel

Your Omar; and your Omar drew

Full-handed plaudits from our best
In modern

letters,

and from two,

Old friends outvaluing

Two

am

still alive.

nearing seventy-four,

While you have touch 'd

And

the rest.

voices heard on earth no more;

But we old friends are

And

all

so

at seventy- five,

send a birthday line

Of greeting; and

my

son,

who

dipt

TO

E.

FITZGERALD.

253

In some forgotten book of mine

With sallow

And

dating

Has

My

hit

Fitz,

on

this,

a year ago,

which you

and welcome,

Less for

Of one

scraps of manuscript,

many

its

know

for the sake

recalling gracious times,

When,

in our younger

You found some merit

And

as I

own than

will take

more pleasure

in

London

my

days,

rhymes.

in your praisCo

TIRESIAS.
I

w^SH

were as in the years of old,

While yet the blessed daylight made

itself

Ruddy

and woke

These

thro'

eyes,

both the roofs of

now

dull,

sight,

but then so keen to seek

The meanings ambush' d under

The

What omens may foreshadow

And woman, and

My

all

they saw,

flame of sacrifice.

flight of birds, the

fate to

man

the secret of the Gods.

son, the Gods, despite of

human

prayer,

Are slower to forgive than human kings.

The

great God, Ares, burns in anger

Against the guiltless heirs of

Our Cadmus, out

of

whom

still

him from Tyre,

thou

art,

who found

Beside the springs of Dirce, smote, and

Thro'

all its folds

still'd

the multitudinous beast.

The dragon, which our trembling

fathers call'd

The God's own son.

A
When

tale, that told to

me,

but thine age, by age as winter-white

As mine

is

now, amazed, but made

254

me

yearn

TIRE SIAS.

255

For larger glimpses of that more than

Which

rolls the

heavens, and

lifts,

man

and

lays the deep.

Yet loves and hates with mortal hates and loves.

And moves unseen among

my

Then, in

the ways of men.

wanderings

all

the lands that lie

Subjected to the Heliconian ridge

Have heard

Was more

this footstep fall, altho'

to scale the highest of the heights

With some strange hope

One naked peak

the

Would climb from

To

to see the nearer

sister of the

God.

sun

out the dark, and linger there

silver all the valleys with her shafts

There once, but long ago,

Of

my wont

years, I lay; the

The noonday crag made

For shadow

the

till its

myriad

rose

falls

silence in the hollows underneath.

There in a secret olive-glade

Pallas

term

hand burn; and sick

not one bush was near

Following a torrent

Found

five-fold thy

winds were dead for heat;

saw

Athene climbing from the bath

In anger; yet one glittering foot disturb'

The

lucid well; one

snowy knee was prest

Against the margin flowers; a dreadful light

Came from her golden hair, her golden helm

And all her golden armour on the grass.
And from her virgin breast, and virgin eyes
Remaining

fixt

on mine,

till

mine grew dark

TIRESIAS.

256

For

ever,

and

heard a voice that said

'Henceforth be blind, for thou hast seen too much,

And speak

no man may believe.

the truth that

Son, in the hidden world of sight, that lives

Behind

this darkness, I

Beyond

all

work

Beyond

all

dreams

behold her

of those

as

it

whom,

were, perforce,

The power

flash'

but

me

not,

to

chain' d and coupled with the curse

Of blindness and

And heard

at a glance,

upon me

of prophesying

No power so

still,

carve the stone^

Godlike womanhood,

of

Ineffable beauty, out of

And

who

their unbelief,

when

earthquake,

Shrine-shattering

who heard

spake of famine, plague.

fire,

flood,

thunder-

bolt.

And
And

angers of the

Gods

expiation lack'd

Theirs, or

mine own

For blood,

for war,

for evil

done

no power on Fate,
for

when

whose

issue

the crowd would roar

was their doom,

To cast wise words among the multitude

Was flinging fruit to lions; nor, in hours
Of

civil outbreak,

Would each waste

Of

when

stronger states, was

The madness

knew

the twain

mine the voice

of our cities

Whoever turn'd upon

My

each, and bring on both the yoke

to curb

and their kings.

his heel to hear

warning that the tyranny of one

rIRE SIAS.
Was

My

257

prelude to the tyranny of

all ?

counsel that the tyranny of

all

Led backward

to the tyranny of

one ?

This power hath work'd no good

And

to aught that lives,

these blind hands were useless in their wars.

therefore that the unfulfill'd desire,

The

grief for ever

born from griefs to be.

The boundless yearning

Could that stand

To some

Who

past

forth,

great citizen,
it,

of the Prophet's heart

and
win

like a statue, rear'd

all

praise from all

saying, 'That was he

In vain!
Virtue must shape

Whom

itself in

deed, and those

weakness or necessity have cramp 'd

Within themselves, immerging, each, his urn

In his own well, draw solace as he may.

Menoeceus, thou hast eyes, and

Too

can hear

plainly what full tides of onset sap

Our seven high

gates,

and what a weight

Rides on those ringing axles! jingle of

of

war

bits.

Shouts, arrows, tramp of the hornfooted horse

That grind the glebe

Of

to

powder

Stony showers

that ear-stunning hail of Ares crash

Along the sounding

Shock

walls.

Above, below,

after shock, the song-built towers

and gates

Reel, bruised and butted with the shuddering

War-thunder of iron rams; and from within

TIRESIAS.

258

The

comes a murmur void

city

Lest she be taken captive

of joy,

maidens, wives,

And mothers with their babblers of

And oldest age in shadow from the

the dawn,
night.

Falling about their shrines before their Gods,

And

wailing 'Save us.'

And

they wail to thee

cannot see thine own,

These eyeless

eyes, that

See

only in thy virtue

this, that

The saving

To me,
Is war,

of our

the great

Thebes;

God

and human

Blood-red from

With stormy

Ares, whose one bliss

sacrifice

himself

battle, spear

and helmet

on a mast

light as

lies

for, yesternight,

tipt

at sea.

Stood out before a darkness, crying 'Thebes,

Thy Thebes

shall fall

The seed

Cadmus

of

By his own hand

and

if

perish, for I loathe

yet

one

if

one of these

of these

'

My
No

sound

And

is

son,

breathed so potent to coerce,

to conciliate, as their

names who dare

For that sweet mother land which gave them birth

Nobly

to do,

nobly to die.

Their names.

Graven on memorial columns, are a song

Heard

And

in the future; few, but

more than wall

rampart, their examples reach a hand

Far thro'

all years,

and everywhere they meet

TIRESIAS.

And

kindle generous purpose, and the strength

To mould

into action pure as theirs.

it

Fairer thy fate than mine,

Be

259

to

end well

best

if life's

and thou refusing

end

this,

Unvenerable will thy memory be

While*

men

Thou, one of

No

stone

Nor

in this

the lips

in

shall not

thine

if

thou dare

Cadmus

then

tongue thy glorious doom,

pavement but

Of Dirce laving yonder

To

but

yon marble girth

every hoof that clangs

Heard from

these, the race of

is fitted

Whose echo

To

move

shall

shall ring thy

it,

name

and the springs

battle-plain.

murmur

the roofs by night, will

own Thebes, while Thebes

thee

thro' thee shall

stand

Firm-based with

all

her Gods.

The Dragons' cave

Half hid, they

tell

me, now in flowing vines

Where once he dwelt and whence he roU'd himself

At dead of night
Before

it,

thou knowest, and

altar-fashion' d,

where of

that

smooth rock

late

The woman-breasted Sphinx, with wings drawn back,

Folded her lion paws, and look'd to Thebes.

There blanch the bones of

whom

Mixt with her own, because the

she slew, and these

fierce beast

wiser than herself, and dash'd herself

Dead

in her rage

but thou art wise enough,

found

TIRESIAS.

26o

Tho' young,

Of

to love thy wiser, blunt the curse

Pallas, hear,

Believe

Thy

speak

it,

tho' I speak the truth

let

thine

own hand

strike

youthful pulses into rest and quench

The red God's

Thy

and

anger, fearing not to plunge

torch of life in darkness, rather

thou

Rejoicing that the sun, the moon, the

Send no such

light

upon

the ways of

stars

men

As one great deed.

Thither,

my

son,

and there

Thou, that hast never known the embrace of

Offer thy

maiden

love,

life.

This useless hand

I felt

He

one warm

tear fall

upon

Gone

it.

will achieve his greatness.

But for me,

I

would that

And mingled

On whom
The

were gather 'd to

about their ocean-islets

faces of the

Gods

Here trampled by

rest.

flash

the wise man's word.

the populace underfoot,

There crown'd with worship

The men

my

with the famous kings of old.

and these eyes will

knew, and watch the chariot whirl

About the goal again, and hunters race

The shadowy

lion,

and the warrior-kings,

In height and prowess more than human, strive

Again

for glory, while the

golden lyre

find

TIRE SIAS.

261

sounding in heroic ears

Is ever

Heroic hymns, and every way the vales

Wind, clouded with the

Of those who mix

On

one

grateful incense-fume

odour

all

to the

Gods

one far-shining

far height in

fire.

'One height and one far-shining

And
For

while

fancied that

and opulent end,

And would defend

should

If I

The

fire'

friend

would require

this brief idyll

less diffuse

my

his

deem

it

judgment

well,

over nice

tolling of his funeral bell

Broke on

my Pagan

Paradise,

And mixt

the

dream

And

the

phantoms

all

With present

grief,

of classic times

of the dream,

and made the rhymes,

That miss'd his living welcome, seem

Like would-be guests an hour too

Who down

the highway

With easy laughter

Is bolted,

Gone

find the gate

and the master gone.

into darkness, that full light

Of friendship

By

late,

moving on

past, in sleep,

night, into the deeper night

away

TIRESIAS.

262

The deeper night?

Than our poor

If night,

What

life,

Our

silent,

And him

dawn on

all

earth

be

toil to

maim'd by

so

living out?

Remembering

Now

twilight

what barren

day

clearer

night,

Not mine

were worth

to

me

the golden hours

and so many dead.

the last;

and laying

flowers,

This wreath, above his honour 'd head,

And

praying

that,

Shall fade with

My

when

him

from hence

into the

unknown,

close of earth's experience

May

prove as peaceful as his own.

THE WRECK.

HroE me, Mother! my Fathers belong' d

to the

church

of old,
I

am

driven by storm and sin and death to the ancient

fold,

I cling to the

Catholic Cross once more, to the Faith

that saves.

My

brain

is full

of the crash of wrecks,

and the roar

of waves,

My life
I

am

itself is

a wreck,

have sullied a noble name,

flung from the rushing tide of the world as a

waif of shame,
I

am

roused by the wail of a child, and awake to a

livid light.

And

a ghastlier face than ever has haunted a grave by

night,

would hide from the storm without,

would

flee

from the storm within,

I

would make

my

life

one prayer

in his sin,
263

for a soul that

died

THE WRECK.

264
I

was the tempter, Mother, and mine was the deeper

fall;

your

I will sit at

you

feet, I will

hide

my

face, I will tell

all.

n.

He

that they gave

me

to,

Mother, a heedless and

innocent bride
I

never have wrong' d his heart,

have only wounded

his pride

Spain in his blood and the Jew

stately

and

dark-visaged,

tall

man

never stept thro' a Prince's

his anger

was kindled, would venture

princelier-looking
hall.

And who, when

to give

him

the nay?

man

to

be loved by the

could have loved him too,

if

the blossom can

And

man men fear

women they say.

And

doat on

Or

is

the blight.

the young green leaf rejoice in the frost that sears

it

at night;

He would open

the books that

prized,

and

toss

them

away with a yawn,

Repell'd by the magnet of Art to the which

was drawn.

my nature

THE WRECK.
The word

of the Poet

by

whom

265

the deeps of the world

are stirr'd,

The music

that robes

it

in language beneath

and be-

yond the word

My

Shelley would

fall

from

my

hands when he cast a

contemptuous glance

From where he was poring

over his Tables of Trade

and Finance;

My

hands,

when

heard him coming would drop

from the chords or the keys,

But ever

I fail'd to

please him, however

strove to

All day long far-off in the cloud of the city,

and there

please

Lost,

head and

consol,

And

at

heart, in

and share

home

if

woman and
His formal

the chances of dividend,

sought for a kindly caress, being

weak.

snow on the

kiss fell chill as a flake of

cheek

And

so,

in

He

when

my

bore him a

girl,

when

held

it

aloft

joy,

look'd at

coldly,

it

and said

to

me

'Pity

it

isn't

boy.'

The one thing given me,

to

love

and

to live for,

glanced at in scorn

The

child that

I felt I

basely born

could die for

as

if

she were

THE WRECK,

266
I

had lived a wild-flower

life,

was planted now in a

tomb

The

daisy will shut to the shadow, I closed

to the

By

heart

gloom;

threw myself
the

my

all

abroad

would play

my part

with

young

the low foot-lights of the world

and

caught the

wreath that was flung.

m.
Mother,

have not

babbled of

however their tongues may have

me

Sinn'd thro' an animal vileness, for

all

but a dwarf

was he.

And

all

but a hunchback too; and

first,

With

pity

look'd at him,

askance

not he

the knight for an

amorous

girl's

romance
Tho' wealthy enough

to

have bask'd in the light of a

dowerless smile.

Having lands
Indian

But

at

home and abroad

in a rich West-

isle;

came on him once

at a ball, the heart of a lis-

tening crowd

Why, what
aloud

brow was there

he was seated

speaking

THE WRECK.
To women,
helm

267

the flower of the time,

and men

at the

of state

Flowing with easy greatness and touching on

all

things

great.

Science, philosophy, song

till I felt

myself ready to

weep
For

knew not what, when

heard that voice,

as

mellow and deep

As a psalm by a mighty master and peal'd from an

organ,

roll

Rising and falling

for.

Mother, the voice was the

voice of the soul;

And

the sun of the soul

made day

in the dark of his

wonderful eyes.

Here was the hand

me the
And

he,

ring

He

helpt

row

that

would help me, would heal

heart that was wise

poor man, when he learnt that

I

hated the

wore,

me

with death, and he heal'd

me

with sor-

for evermore.

IV.

For

broke the bond.

brought

me

The small sweet

That day

my

nurse had

the child.

face was flush' d, but

Mother and smiled.

it

coo'd to the

THE WRECK.

268

'Anything

ailing,'

ask'd her,

'with baby?'

She

shook her head,

And

Mother kiss'd

the Motherless

her haste and

it,

and turn'd in

fled.

Low warm winds had

gently breathed us away from

the land

Ten long sweet summer days upon deck,

in

When

sitting

hand

hand

he clothed a naked mind with the wisdom and

wealth of his own,

And

bow'd myself down

as a slave to his intellectual

throne,

When

he coin'd into English gold some treasure of

classical song,

When

he flouted a statesman's

error, or

flamed at a

public wrong,

When

he rose as

it

were on the wings of an eagle be'

yond me, and past

Over the range and the change
first

When

of the world

from the

to the last,

he spoke of his tropical home in the canes by

the purple tide,

And

the high star-crowns of his palms

wooded mountain-side,

on the deep-

THE WRECK.
And

269

robed in lianas that dropt

cliffs all

to the

brink

of his bay,

And

trees like the towers of a minster, the sons of a

winterless day.

'Paradise there!' so he said, but I seem'd in Paradise then

With the

great love

first

greatest of

Ten long days

had

felt for the

first

and

men;

of

summer and

sin

But days of a larger light than

if it

must be so

ever again shall

know
Days

that will glimmer, I fear, thro' life to

my

latest

breath

*No

frost there,'

so he said, 'as in truest

Love no

Death.'

VI.

Mother, one morning a bird with a warble plaintively

sweet

Perch'd on the shrouds, and then

at
I

took

my

it

down

feet;

made

we fondled

it,

Stephen

died, and I thought of the child for a

moment,

it,

and
But

fell fluttering

he

it

a cage,

I,

I scarce

know why.

THE WRECK.

270

vn.

But

sin be sin, not inherited fate, as

if

many

will

say.

My sin

to

my desolate

little

one found

me

on

at sea

day,

When

her orphan wail

came borne

in the shriek of a

growing wind.

And

a voice rang out in the thunders of

Heaven

And down

'

Thou

Ocean and

hast sinn'd.'

in the cabin were we, for the towering crest

of the tides

Plunged on the vessel and swept in a cataract

off

from

her sides.

And

ever the great storm grew with a howl and a hoot

of the blast

In the rigging, voices of hell

then

came

the crash

of the mast.

'The wages of sin

'I

am

is

death,

'

and there

began

the Jonah, the crew should cast

me

to

weep,

into the

deep,

For ah God, what a heart was mine

to forsake her

even for you.

'Never the heart among women,' he

said,

'more ten-

der and true.

'The heart! not a mother's

darling alone.'

heart,

when

left

my

THE WRECK.

271

'Comfort yourself, for the heart of the father

will

care for his own.

*The heart of the father

will spurn her,' I cried, 'for

the sin of the wife,

The cloud

of the mother's

darken her

Then

his pale face twitch'd;

As

shame

love you,

And he spoke
I

and yet

'O Stephen,

love you,

'would God, we had

'
!

not

only the

storm;

till

after a little,

yearn 'd

For his voice again, and he call'd to

and there
'The

and

'

lean'd away from his arms

never met

will enfold her

life.'

as

me

'Kiss

me!

turn'd

heart, the heart!

'

kiss'd him, I clung to the

sinking form,

And

the storm

went roaring above

us,

and he

was

out of the storm.

vm.

And

then, then. Mother, the ship stagger' d under a

thunderous shock,

That shook us asunder,

as

if

she had struck and crash'd

on a rock;
For a huge sea smote every soul from the decks of

The Falcon but one

THE WRECK.

272

All of them, all but the

man

that

was lash'd to the

helm had gone;

And

I fell
I

and the storm and

knew no more

Lost myself

cabin

Dead

the days went by, but

lay

dead by the dead on the

like the

floor,

me, and

to the death beside

lost to the loss that

was mine.

With a dim dream, now and

then, of a

hand giving

bread and wine.

Till I

woke from

and the
But the face

the trance,

and the ship stood

still,

skies were blue,

had known,

Mother, was not the face

that I knew.

DC.

The

mask

strange misfeaturing

me, that

that I

saw so amazed

Stumbled on deck,

half

mad.

would

fling myself

over and die

But one

he was waving a

the wreck

'Woman'

he

graspt

at

flag

the one man

my arm 'stay

left

there'

on

crouch' d upon deck

'We

are sinking,

and yet

he cried, 'a

sail

there's hope: look yonder,*

THE WRECK.
In a tone so rough that

273

broke into passionate

tears,

and the wail

Of a beaten babe,
us
All

till I

saw that a boat was nearing

then

on a sudden

thought,

I shall

look on the child

again.

X.

They lower 'd me down

the side,

and there

in the boat

I lay

With sad eyes

fixt

on the

lost

sea-home, as we glided

away.

And

sigh'd,

low dark hull dipt under the

as the

smiling main,

*Had

stay'd with him, I

out of

my

had now

with

/';;/

been

pain.

XI.

They took us aboard

the crew were gentle, the cap-

tain kind;

But

/ was

the lonely slave of an often-wandering

mind;
For whenever a rougher gust might tumble a stormier
wave,

*0 Stephen,'

moan'd,

Ocean-grave.

*I

am coming to

thee in thine

THE WRECK.

274

And

again,

when

a balmier breeze curl'd over a peace-

fuller sea,
I

found myself moaning again 'O child,

am coming

to thee.'

xn.

The broad white brow

of the Isle

that

bay with the

colour 'd sand

Rich was the rose

of sunset there, as

we drew

to the

land;
All

so quiet

would hardly blanch into

the ripple

spray

At the feet of the

and

cliff;

pray'd

'my child'

for I still could pray

*May her
by

Of a

life

be as blissfully calm, be never gloom 'd

the curse

sin,

not hers

'
!

Was

it

well with the child?

I

Who

had borne

my

flower

wrote to the nurse

on her hireling heart; and

an answer came

Not from

the

nurse

nor

yet to the wife

to

her

maiden name
I

shook as
well

open'd

tlie letter

knew

that

hand too

THE WRECK.
And from

it

paper,

a scrap,

275

dipt out of the 'deaths' in

fell.

*Ten long sweet summer days' of

fever,

and want

of

care

And gone
came

that
to

me

day of the storm

there.

Mother, she

DESPAIR.

A man
life

and

his v.ife

having

God, and hope of a

this, resolve to end
drowned, but the. man

lost faith :n a

come, and being utterly miserable in

to

themselves by drowning.

The woman

is

rescuea by a minister of the sect he had abandoned.

Is it you, that preach' d in the

chapel there looking

over the sand?

Follow 'd us too that night, and dogg'd

me

us,

and drew

to land?

n.

What did

I feel

should

Does

it

that night?

You

are curious.

How

I tell?

matter so

yetwas

much what

it

I felt?

You rescued me

well

That you came unwish'd

and the deep and

for, uncall'd,

between

me

my doom,

Three days since, three more dark days

gloom
276

of the Godless

DESPAIR.
Of a

life

277

without sun, without health, without hope,

without any delight

In anything here upon earth ? but ah God, that night,
that night

When

the rolling eyes of the lighthouse there

on the

neck

fatal

Of land running out

into rock

they had saved many

hundreds from wreck

Glared on our way toward death,
as

Does

it

we

remember

thought,

past.

how many

matter

wreck' d at

*Do you

fear?

'

they saved?

we

are all of us

last

and there came

thro' the roar of the

breaker a whisper, a breath,

*Fear?

am

not with you?

am

frighted at life not

death.

in.

And

the suns of the limitless Universe sparkled

and

shone in the sky,

Flashing with
light

fires as of

was a

God, but we knew that

their

lie

Bright as with deathless hope

but,

however they

sparkled and shone.

The dark
of

little

woe

worlds running round them were worlds

like our

own

DESPAIR.

278

No

soul in the heaven above,

no

soul

on the

earth

below,

over with lamentation and woe.

fiery scroll written

IV.

we were nursed

See,

in the drear nightfold of your

fatalist creed,

And we

turn'd to the growing dawn,

dawn indeed.

When

the light of a

we had hoped

Sun that was coming would

for

scat-

ter the ghosts of the Past,

And

cramping creeds that had madden' d the peo-

the
ples

would vanish

at last.

And we broke away from

the

Christ, our

human

brother and friend.

For

He

spoke, or

it

seem'd that

He

spoke, of a Hell

without help, without end.

V.

Hoped

for a

dawn and

it

came, but the promise had

faded away;

We

had past from a cheerless night to the glare of a

He

is

drearier day;

only a cloud and a smoke

of

fire.

who was once

a pillar

DESPAIR.

The

worm

guess of a
its

in the dust

279

and the shadow

of

desire

Of a worm

as

it

writhes in a world of the weak trod-

den down by the

Of a dying worm

strong,

in a world, all massacre, murder,

and wrong.
VI.

we poor orphans

of nothing

alone on that lonely

shore

Born

of the brainless Nature

who knew not

that

which

she bore

Trusting no longer that earthly flower would be heavenly fruit

Come

from the brute, poor souls

no

souls

and

to

die with the brute

vn.

Nay, but

am

not claiming your pity

know you

of

oldSmall pity for those that have ranged from the narrow

warmth

of your fold,

Where you bawl'd

God
Till

the dark side of your faith

and a

of eternal rage.

you flung us back on ourselves, and the human

heart,

and

the Age.

DESPAIR.

28o

VIII.

But pity
in

the Pagan

held

it

a vice

was

in her

and

God

that

me,

Helpless, taking the place of the pitying

should be
Pity for

And

all

that aches in the grasp of

pity for our

own

selves

an idiot power,

on an earth

that bore not

a flower;
Pity for

And

all that suffers

pity for our

own

on land or in

selves

till

air or the deep,

we long'd

for eternal

sleep.

DC.

'Lightly step over the sands! the waters

them
Life with

with

And

its

anguish, and horrors, and errors

hear

away

it all!'

she laid her hand in

loyal

you

call

my own

she was

always

and sweet

Till the points of the

about our

foam

in the dusk

came playing

feet.

There was a strong sea-current would sweep us out to

the main.

'Ah God'

tho' I felt as I

in vain

spoke

was taking the name

DESPAIR.
'Ah God

'

and we turn'd

embraced, she and

Knowing

the

281

to each other,

we

kiss'd,

we

I,

Love we were used

to believe everlasting

would die

We

had read their know-nothing books and we lean'd

to the darker side

Ah God,

died,

We

Him, perhaps, perhaps,

should we find

if

we

we died;

if

never had found

Him

on

earth, this earth is a

fatherless Hell

'Dear Love, for ever and ever, for ever and ever

Never a cry
Never a

fare-

'

well,

so desolate, not since the world began.

kiss

so sad,

no, not since the

coming

of

man!

X.

But the blind wave cast

a valueless

Not a grain

me

ashore,

and you saved me,

life.

of gratitude

man from the wife.

am left alone on the

mine

land,

You have parted

the

alone

in

she

is

all

the sea;
If a curse

having

meant ought,
let

me

be.

would curse you

for not

DESPAIR.

282

XI.

Visions of youth
water,
I

for

my

brain was drunk with the

seems;

it

had past into perfect quiet

at length out of pleasant

dreams,

And
Of

drowning

the transient trouble of

when match 'd with

what was

it

the pains

the hellish heat of a wretched life rushing back

thro' the veins?

xn.

Why
And

should

one son had forged on his father

fled,

if I

believed in a God,

other

And

I live ?

and

is

would thank him, the

dead.

there was a baby-girl, that had never look'd

on

the light:

Happiest she of us

all,

for she past

from the night

to the night.

xm.
But the crime,

if

a crime, of her eldest-born, her

glory, her boast.

DESPAIR.

283

Struck hard at the tender heart of the mother, and

broke

it

almost;

Tho', glory and shame dying out for ever in endless

time,

Does

it

matter so

much whether crown' d

for a virtue,

or hang'd for a crime?

XIV.

And

ruin'd by him, by him, I stood

there,

naked,

amazed
In a world of arrogant opulence, fear'd myself turning
crazed.

And

would not be mock'd in a madhouse

and

she,

the delicate wife.

With a

grief that could only

be cured,

if

cured, by

the surgeon's knife,

XV.

Why

should we bear with an hour of torture, a mo-

ment
If

every

And

of pain,

man

die for ever,

if all

his griefs are in vain.

the homeless planet at length will be wheel'd

thro' the silence of space.

Motherless evermore of an ever-vanishing race.

DESPAIR,

284

When

worm

the

last

From

shall

have writhed

brother-worm will have

the dead fossil skull that

an earth that

is

its

last,

and

its

fled
is left

in the rocks of

dead?

XVI.

Have

crazed myself over their horrible infidel writ-

ings?

yes,

For these are the new dark ages, you

see, of the

pop-

ular press,

When

the bat

comes out

whooping

And Doubt

is

the sun

at

of his cave,

the lord of this dunghill

them turn'd

And Hope

and crows

to

and the moon.

Sun and the Moon

Till the

and the owls are

noon.

will

of our science are both of

into blood.

have broken her heart, running after

a shadow of good;

For their knowing and know-nothing books are

ter' d

We

from hand

to

scat-

hand

have knelt in your know-all chapel too looking

over the sand.

XVII.

What!

should call on that Infinite Love that has

served us so well?

DESPAIR.
Infinite cruelty rather that

Made

foreknew

us,

made

285

everlasting Hell,

foredoom 'd

us,

us,

and does what

he will with his own;

Better our dead brute mother

who never

has heard us

groan

xvin.

Hell?

have been

The

men were

the souls of

if

immortal, as

men

told,

lecher would cleave to his lusts, and the miser

would yearn

And

for his gold,

so there were Hell for ever! but were there a

God

as

you

say.

His Love would have power over Hell

till

it

utterly

vanish' d away.

XEX.

Ah

yet

have had some glimmer, at times, in

my

gloomiest woe.

Of a God behind
aught that

But the

God

of

all

after all

the

great

God

for

know;

Love and

of Hell together

they can-

not be thought.
If there

be such a God, may the Great

and bring him.

to

nought

God

curse

him

DESPAIR.

286

XX.

Blasphemy! whose

the fault?

is

is

it

mine?

why

for

would you save

A madman

vex you with wretched words, who

to

best in his grave

Blasphemy!

ay,

why

is

not, being

damn'd beyond hope

of grace?

would

were yonder with her, and away from your

faith

and your face

Blasphemy! true!
scandalous

have scared you pale with

my

talk.

But the blasphemy to

77iy

mind

way

lies all in the

that

you walk.

XXI.

Hence! she

is

gone! can

I stay?

can

breathe di-

vorced from the Past?

You needs must have good

escape you at

lynx-eyes

if

do not

it

a felo-

last.

Our orthodox coroner doubtless

will

find

de-se,

And

the stake and the cross-road, fool,

does

it

matter to

me ?

if

you

will,

THE ANCIENT
A

THOUSAND summers

From

Was no
From

A
A

ere the time of Christ

out his ancient city

Whom

SAGE.

came a Seer

one that loved, and honour' d him, and yet

disciple, richly garb'd, but

wasteful living,

scroll of verse

till

follow' d

that old

man

worn

in his

hand

before

cavern whence an affluent fountain pour'd

From darkness

into daylight, turn'd and spoke.

This wealth of waters might but seem to draw

From yon dark

Yon summit
The cloud
Whereby

cave, but, son, the source

half-a-league in air

that hides

it

am

wearied of our

Force

city, son,

higher,

and higher,

higher

still,

the cloud was moulded,

The cloud descended.

is

is

the heavens

and whereout
from the heights.

and go

To spend my one last year among the hills.

What hast thou there ? Some deathsong for the Ghouls
To make their banquet relish? let me read.
287

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

288

"How

far thro' all the

That nightingale

What power

is

bloom and brake

heard

but the bird's could

make

This music in the bird?

How

summer-bright are yonder

And

And

skies,

earth as fair in hue

yet what sign of aught that lies

Behind the green and blue?

But man to-day

is

fancy's fool

As man hath ever been.

The nameless Power,

Were never heard

If

or Powers, that rule

or seen."

thou would' st hear the Nameless, and wilt dive

own

Into the Temple-cave of thine

There, brooding by the central

May' St haply

learn the

By which thou
As

if

self.

altar,

thou

Nameless hath a voice,

wilt abide,

if

thou be wise,

thou knewest, tho' thou canst not know;

For Knowledge

That sees and

the swallow

is

stirs

on the lake

the surface-shadow there

But never yet hath dipt into the abysm.

The Abysm

of all

Abysms, beneath, within

The

blue of sky and sea, the green of earth.

And

in the million-millionth of a grain

Which

And

cleft

and

cleft

again for evermore,

ever vanishing, never vanishes,

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

To me, my

more mystic than myself,

son,

Or even than

And when

the

Nameless

is

seest the

And
Thy

if

me.

to

thou sendest thy free soul thro* heaven,

Nor understandest bound nor

Thou

289

boundlessness.

Nameless of the hundred names.

the Nameless should withdraw from all

frailty

counts most

Might vanish

"And

like thy

since

real, all

shadow

from when

thy world

in the dark.

this earth

began

The Nameless never came

Among us, never spake with man.

And never named the Name "
Thou
Nor

canst not prove the Nameless,

O my

son,

canst thou prove the world thou movest in.

Thou

canst not prove that thou art

body alone.

Nor

canst thou prove that thou art spirit alone,

Nor

canst thou prove that thou art both in one

Thou
Nor

Thou

Am

canst not prove thou art immortal, no

yet that thou art mortal

canst not prove that

nay my son.

I,

who speak with

thee,

not thyself in converse with thyself.

For nothing worthy proving can be proven,

Nor

yet disproven

wherefore thou be wise,

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.

And

cling to Faith

beyond the forms

of Faith

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

290

She reels not in the storm of warring words,

at the clash of 'Yes

She brightens

She sees the Best that glimmers

She

feels the

Sun

is

'

and 'No,'

thro' the Worst,

hid but for a night,

She spies the summer thro' the winter bud,

tastes the fruit before the

She

blossom

falls.

She hears the lark within the songless egg,

She finds the fountain where they wail'd 'Mirage'

"What Power? aught akin to Mind,

The mind in me and you?
Or power

Who

as of the

see not

Gods gone blind

what they do?

But some in yonder city hold,

my

That none but Gods could build

So beautiful,
All

work

of

vast, various, so

man,

yet, like all

beauty with defect

And

is

not known, but

Within ourselves

On

is

this half-deed,

till

"

son,

this

house of ours.

beyond
work of man,

That which knows.

felt thro'

what we

feel

highest, shall descend

and shape

it

at the last

According to the Highest in the Highest.

"

What Power but

And
And stir

the Years that

make

break the vase of clay.

the sleeping earth,

and wake

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

The bloom

What

that fades

291

away?

Days and Hours

rulers but the

That cancel weal with woe,

And wind the front of youth with

And cap our age with snow? "
The days and hours

And seem
Or

flowers,

are ever glancing by,

and shade,

to flicker past thro' sun

short, or long, as Pleasure leads, or Pain;

But with the Nameless

Tho'

we, thin minds,

is

nor Day nor Hour;

who creep from thought

to

thought,

Break into 'Thens

'

and 'Whens

'

the Eternal

This double seeming of the single world

My

words are

like the babblings in a

Now:

dream

Of nightmare, when the babblings break the dream.

But thou be wise in

Nor

this dream-w^orld of ours,

take thy dial for thy deity.

But make the passing shadow serve thy

"The

years that

Undo
And

the stripling wise

work again,

leave him, blind of heart

The

Who

their

made

last

and

least of

clings to earth,

and

eyes,

men;

and once would dare

Hell-heat or Arctic cold.

And now one

will.

breath of cooler air

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

292

Would

loose

His winter

He
The

him from

chills

withers

him

his hold;

to the root,

marrow and mind;

kernel of the shrivell'd fruit

Is jutting thro' the rind;

The

tiger

The
The

palsy wags his head;

wife, the sons,

Would
The

spasms tear his chest,

him

best

by which he once was wrung

knows? or whether

Be yet but

love

fain that he were dead;

griefs

Were never worth

Who

who

yolk,

the while "

this earth-narrow life

and forming

in the shell?

" The shaft of scorn that once had stung

But wakes a dotard smile."

The

placid gleam of sunset after storm

"The

statesman's brain that sway'd the past

Is feebler than his knees;

The

passive sailor wrecks at last

In ever-silent seas;

The warrior hath

The Learned

forgot his arms,

all his lore;

The changing market

frets or

charms

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

293

The merchant's hope no more;

The prophet's beacon burn'd

And now

is lost

The plowman

To mix

He knows

in cloud;

passes, bent with pain,

with what he plow'd;

The poet whom

As heir

in vain,

his

Age would quote

of endless

fame

not ev'n the book he wrote.

Not even

his

own name.

For man has overlived his day,

And, darkening

in the light.

Scarce feels the senses

To mix
The

break away

with ancient Night."

must break before the bird can

shell

" The years that

Had
By

all

when my Youth began

set the lily

my

fly.

and rose

ways where'er they ran.

Have ended mortal

foes;

My rose of love for ever gone,

My lily of truth and trust
They made her

And changed

lily

and rose in one,

her into dust.

rosetree planted in

And
Her

my

grief.

growing, on her tomb,

dust

is

greening in your

leaf.

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

294

Her blood

slender

And

When

men

So dark that

The doors

tell

all is

son, the world

Who knows

bloom.

in your

waving

there,

laughing back the

In vain you

My

is

lily

is

me

'Earth

is fair

dark as night."

dark with griefs and graves,

cry out against the Heavens.

but that the darkness

of

light,

is

in

man?

Night may be the gates of Light;

For wert thou born or blind or deaf, and then

Suddenly heal'd, how would 'st thou glory in

The splendours and

And

No

all

the voices of the world

we, the poor earth's dying race, and yet

phantoms, watching from a phantom shore

Await the

last

The phantom

And show

and

largest sense to

make

walls of this illusion fade.

us that the world

"But vain

is

wholly

fair.

the tears for darken'd years

As laughter over wine.

And

O
For

vain the laughter as the tears,

brother,
all

And

mine

that laugh,
all

or thine.

and

all

that

that breathe are

one

Slight ripple

weep

on the boundless deep

That moves, and

all is

gone."

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

295

But that one ripple on the boundless deep

Feels that the deep

is

boundless, and

itself

For ever changing form, but evermore

One with

motion

the boundless

"Yet wine and laughter

The lamps

alight,

of the deep.

and

friends!

and

set

call

For golden music, and forget

The darkness

of the pall."

If utter darkness closed the day,

my

son

But earth's dark forehead

flings athwart the

Her shadow crown' d with

stars

To northward some that never set, but

From sight and night to lose themselves
I

heavens

and yonder out

pass
in day.

hate the black negation of the bier,

And wish

the dead, as happier than ourselves

And

higher, having climb' d one step

Our

village miseries,

To

might be borne in white

burial or to burning,

With songs

beyond

hymn'd from hence

in praise of

death,

and crown' d with

flowers

"O worms

and maggots

Without their hope

of wings!

But louder than thy rhyme the

Of

of to-day

silent

that world-prophet in the heart of

Word
man.

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

296

"Tho' some have gleams or

Of more than mortal

so they say

things."

To-day ? but what of yesterday ?

for oft

I call'd,
On
Who knew no books and no philosophies,
In my boy-phrase 'The Passion of the Past.'

me, when boy, there came what then

The

first

gray streak of earliest summer-dawn,

The

last

long stripe of waning crimson gloom,

As

and early were but one

the late

if

height, a broken grange, a grove, a flower

Had murmurs

'Lost and gone and lost and gone!

some divine farewell

and away

breath, a whisper

Desolate sweetness

What had he
I

loved, what

know not and

And more,
Sat

all

had he

lost,

the

boy?

speak of what has been.

ray son

for

more than once when

alone, revolving in myself

The word

that

The mortal

And

far

far

is

the symbol of myself.

limit of the Self was loosed,

past into the Nameless, as a cloud

Melts into Heaven.

Were

strange not

touch' d

mine

But utter clearness, and

The gain
Were Sun

my

and yet

limbs, the limbs

no shade of doubt,

thro' loss of Self

of such large life as match' d with ours

to spark

unshadovvable in words.

Themselves but shadows of a shadow-world.

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

"And

idle

gleams will come and go,

But

still

the clouds remain;

The clouds themselves

297

"

are children of the Sun.

"And Night and Shadow rule below

When only Day should reign."
And Day and Night

And

idle

Some

the Night was father of the Light,

night no day
ill

no good

touch thy world again

such counter-terms,

Are border-races, holding, each

By

endless war

to that

But holds a

get thee back

in

son,

is

there

and since

weird casket, which for thee

skull, is neither thine

But in the hand of what

Or

my

own

its

but night enough

In yon dark city

The key

me.

to

Light was father of the Night,

say, the

And some,

No
No

are children of the Sun,

gleams to thee are light

man's hand when

is

nor mine.

more than man.

man

is

more than man,

Let be thy wail and help thy fellow men.

And make
And

fling free

And send
Nor

thy gold thy vassal not thy king,

list

alms into the beggar's bowl,

the day into the darken' d heart;

for

guerdon in the voice of men,

dying echo from a falling wall;

THE ANCIENT SAGE.

298

Nor

To

care

for Hunger hath the Evil eye

vex the noon with

Thy presence
Nor

roll

gems, or fold

sumptuous looms;

thy viands on a luscious tongue,

Nor drown

thyself with flies in

Nor thou be

And

fiery

in the silk of

rageful, like a

lose thy life

by usage of thy sting;

Nor harm an adder

Nor make

honied wine;

handled bee,

thro' the lust for

harm.

a snail's horn shrink for wantonness;

And more think well

Do-well will follow thought
And in the fatal sequence of this world
!

An

evil

thought

may

soil thy children's

blood;

But curb the beast would cast thee in the mire,

And

leave the hot

swamp

of voluptuousness

cloud between the Nameless and thyself,

And lay thine uphill shoulder to the wheel.

And climb the Mount of Blessing, whence,
Look higher, then

perchance

hundred ever-rising mountain

And

past the range of Night and

The high-heaven dawn

Strike

on the Mount

of

if

thou mayest

thou

beyond

lines,

Shadow

see

more than mortal day

of Vision
So, farewell.

THE FLIGHT.

Are you

my

How

sleeping ? have you forgotten ? do not sleep,

sister

ca7i

dear

you sleep? the morning brings the day

hate and fear;

The cock

has crow'd already once, he crows before

his time;

Awake

the creeping

glimmer

steals,

the hills are

white with rime.

n.

Ah, clasp

me

in your arms, sister, ah, fold

me

to your

breast

Ah,

let

me weep my

fill

once more, and cry myself

to

rest!

To

rest? to rest
for

Than

to

and wake no more were better

rest

me,

waken every morning

see:
299

to that face I loathe to

THE FLIGHT.

300

in.

envied your sweet slumber,

all

night so calm you

lay,

The

night was

morn

calm, the

is

calm, and like

another day;

But

could wish yon moaning sea would rise and

burst the shore.

And

such a whirlwind blow these woods, as never blew

before.

IV.

For, one by one, the stars went

down

across the gleam-

ing pane,

And

project after project rose, and

all

them were

of

vain;

The blackthorn-blossom

fades and

falls

and leaves the

bitter sloe,

The hope

catch at vanishes and youth

is

turn'd to

woe.

Come, speak a

little

comfort!

all

night

pray'd with

tears.

And

yet no comfort

appears,

came

to

me, and now the morn

THE FLIGHT.
When

he will tear

me from

301

me

your side, who bought

for his slave

me

This father pays his debt with me, and weds

my

to

grave.

VI.

What

father, this or

mine, was he, who, on that sum-

mer day

When

had

fall'n

from

the crag

off

we clamber' d up

in play,

Found, fear'd

me

kiss'd me,

He

kiss'd

dead, and groan'd, and took and

and again

me; and

loved

him then; he was my

father then.

vn.

No

father now, the tyrant vassal of a tyrant vice

The Godless Jephtha vows

his child

...

to

one cast

of the dice.

These ancient woods,

this

Hall at

last will

go

per-

haps have gone,

Except his own meek daughter yield her

soul to one

life,

heart,

THE FLIGHT.

302

vm.

To one who knows

scorn him.

O the formal mock-

ing bow,

The

masks his

cruel smile, the courtly phrase that

malice

now

But often in the sidelong eyes a gleam of

all

things

ill
It is

not Love but Hate that weds a bride against her

will;

rx.

Hate, that would pluck from this true breast the

locket that

The precious

wear,

crystal into

which

braided Edwin's

hair!

The

love that keeps this heart alive beats

on

it

night

and day

One golden

He

left

curl, his

golden

gift,

before he past away.

us weeping in the woods; his boat was on the

sand;

How

slowly

down

the land!

the rocks he went,

how

loth to quit

THE FLIGHT.
And

all

my

life

was darken' d, as

303

saw the white

sail

run,

And

darken, up that lane of light into the setting sun.

XI.

How

often have

we watch' d

the sun fade from us thro'

the West,

And

follow

Edwin

to those isles, those islands of the

Blest!

not there ? would

Is he

were there, the friend, the

bride, the wife,

With him, where summer never

Sun

dies,

with Love, the

of life

xn.

O would

were in Edwin's arms

once more

to feel

his breath

Upon my cheek

on Edwin's ship, with Edwin,

ev'n

in death,

Tho'

all

about the shuddering wreck the death-white

sea should rave.

Or

if

lip

were laid to lip on the pillows of the wave.

XIII.

Shall I take

him?

forsworn

kneel with hitn? I swear and swear

THE FLIGHT.

304

To

love

him most, whom most

whom

The Fiend would

yell,

lie, to lie

honour

grave would yawn,

the

mother's ghost would

To

loathe, to

scorn?

my

rise

in God's own

house

the

blackest of

all lies!

XIV.

Why rather

than that hand

in

mine, tho'

every

pulse would freeze,

I'd sooner fold an icy corpse dead of

ease

some

foul dis-

Wed him?

I will

not

wed him,

let

them spurn me

from the doors.

And

I will

wander

till

I die

about the barren moors.

XV.

The

dear,

mad

bride

who stabbM her bridegroom on

her bridal night

If

mad, then

am mad,

but sane,

if

she were in the

right.

My

father's

madness makes

me mad but

words are

only words
I

am

not mad, not yet, not quite

the birds

There

listen

how

THE FLIGHT,

305

XVI.

Begin to warble yonder in the budding orchard

The

trees

from earth to Heaven upon the

lark has past

morning breeze

How

gladly,

were

one of those, how early would

wake

And

yet the sorrow that I bear

is

sorrow for his sake.

xvn.

They

whom

love their mates, to

their songs, that

they sing; or else

meet

The morning with such music, would never be

so

sweet

And

tho'

these

Heavens are

And Love

is fire,

fathers will

not hear, the blessed

just.

and burns the

feet

would trample

it

to dust.

xvni.

door was ppen'd in the house

stealthy foot

who?

who? my

father sleeps

way creeps

upon the

stair

he

some

one

this

THE FLIGHT,

3o6
If

he?

he

yes,

may have
He! where
and

lurks, listens, fears his

victim

fled

some sharp-pointed thing? he comes,

is

me

finds

dead.

XIX.

Not

he, not yet

ples burn

And

and time

to act

fancies flutter me, I

idle

but how my tem-

know not where

to

turn

Speak

to

me,

sister;

counsel me; this marriage must

not be.

You

only
to

know

the love that

makes the world a world

me!

XX.

Our

gentle mother, had she lived

but we were

left

alone

That other

left

us to ourselves; he cared not for his

own;
So

all

the

woods

My Edwin

summer long we roam'd

in these wild

of ours.

loved to call us then 'His two wild wood-

land flowers.'

THE FLIGHT.

307

XXI.

Wild

flowers blowing side

and

Wild

by side in God's

free light

air,

flowers of the secret woods,

when Edwin found

us there,

Wild woods

which we roved with him, and heard

in

his passionate vow.

Wild woods
parted

in

which we rove no more,

if

we be

now

xxn.

You

will not leave

me

thus in grief to wander forth

forlorn;

We

never changed a bitter word, not once since we

were born;

Our dying mother join'd our hands; she knew

this

father well;

She bad us

love, like souls in

Heaven, and now

I fly

from Hell,

xxm.

And you with me; and we

shall

light

upon some

lonely shore.

Some lodge within

waters roar.

the waste sea-dunes,

and hear the

THE FLIGHT.

3o8

And

see the ships from out the

West go dipping

thro'

the foam,

And

sunshine on that

sail at last

which brings our

Edwin home.
xxrv.

But look, the morning grows apace, and

lights the

old church-tower,

And

lights the clock

strikes the
I

bide no more,

Arise,

my own

the

hand points

five

O me

it

hour
I

meet

my

true sister,

fate,

come

whatever
forth

ills

betide

the world

is

wide.

XXV.

And

yet

my

heart

is ill at

ease,

my

eyes are

dim with

dew,
I

If

seem

to see a

new-dug grave up yonder by the yew

we should never more

return, but

wander hand

in

hand

With breaking

hearts, without a friend,

and in a

dis-

tant land.

XXVI.

sweet, they tell

harsh of mind.

me

that the world

is

hard, and

THE FLIGHT,
But can

it

309

be so hard, so harsh, as those that should

be kind?

That matters not:

let

come what

will; at last the

end

is sure,

And

every heart

endure.

that loves with

truth

is

equal to

TOMORROW.

Her,

Honour was

that yer

Honour?

last

spakin' to?

Whin, yer

year

when

Standin' here be the bridge,

last

yer

Honour

was here ?
An' yer Honour ye gev her the top of the mornin',

'Tomorra

What did

'

says she.

they call her, yer

Honour? They

call'd hei

Molly Magee.
An' yer Honour's the thrue ould blood that always

manes

to

be kind,

But there's rason in

all things,

yer Honour, for Molly

was out of her mind.

Shure, an' meself remimbers

wan night comin' down

be the sthrame.
An'

it

seems to

me now

like a bit of yisthei-day in a

dhrame
310

TOMORROW.

311

there

was but a

Magee wid her

batchelor,

Here where yer Honour seen her

moon,

slip of a

But

hard thim

Molly

Danny O'Roon
'You've been takin' a dhrop
says 'Troth, an' I

o' the

crathur

an'

'

Danny

been

Dhrinkin' yer health wid Shamus O'Shea at Katty's

shebeen;^

But

must be

away ?

'Ochone

lavin' ye soon.'

are ye goin'

'

'Goin' to cut the Sassenach whate' he says 'over the

say

'

'An' whin will ye meet

me

agin?' an'

hard him

'Molly asthore,
I'll

meet you agin tomorra,'

door.

says he, 'be the chapel-

'

'An' whin are ye goin' to lave me?'

mornin'

'

'An' shure thin ye'll meet

tomorra, Machree

Monday

me

tomorra?'

'Tomorra,

Thin Molly's ould mother, yer Honour,

likin' for

'O'

says he;

that

had no

Dan,

Call'd from her cabin an' tould her to

come away

from the man,

An' Molly Magee

kem

flyin'

acrass me, as light as a

lark,
1

Grog-shop.

TOMORROW.

312

An' Dan stood there for a minute, an' thin wint into
the dark.

But wirrah! the storm that night

rain that

An' the sthrames runnin' down

'ud

'a

the

tundher, an'

fell,

back

at the

o' the glin

dhrownded Hell.

in.

But airth was

at

pace nixt mornin', an' Hiven in

its

glory smiled.

As the Holy Mother

Glory that smiles

o'

at

her

sleepin' child

Ethen

she stept an the chapel-green,

an' she turn'd

herself roun'

Wid

a
to

diamond dhrop

in her eye, for

Danny was not

be foun'.

An' many's the time that

down

watch' d her at mass lettin'

the tear.

For the Divil a Danny was

there,

yer Honour, for

forty year.

IV.

Och, Molly Magee, wid the red

white

o' the

o' the rose an'

the

May,

An' yer hair as black as the night, an' yer eyes as

bright as the day

TOMORROW.
Achora, yer laste

little

313

whishper was sweet as the

lilt

of a bird

me

Acushla, ye set

heart batin' to music wid ivery

word
An' sorra the Queen wid her sceptre in sich an

illi-

gant han',

An' the

fall

of yer foot in the

snow an the
An' the sun

kem

dance was as light as

Ian',

out of a cloud whiniver ye walkt in

the shtreet,

An' Shamus O'Shea was yer shadda, an' laid himself

undher yer
An'

loved ye meself wid a heart and a half,

darlin',

'Ud

'a

feet,

me

and he

shot his

own sowl dead

for a kiss of ye,

Molly

Magee.

Y.

But shure we wor betther frinds whin

crack'd his

skull for her sake,

An' he ped

me back wid

the best he could give at

ould Donovan's wake

For the boys wor about her agin whin Dan didn't

come

to the fore.

An' Shamus along wid the

to the door.

rest,

but she put thim

all

TOMORROW.

314

An', afther,
to

me

thried her meself av the bird 'ud

come

call,

But Molly, begorrah, 'ud listhen

to naither at all, at

all.

VI.

An' her nabours an'

wid

her, airly

f rinds

and

*Your Danny,' they

'ud consowl an' condowl

late,

says, *niver crasst

over say to the

Sassenach whate;

He's gone to the

States,

aroon,

an'

he's married

another wife.

An' ye' 11 niver

agin in

set eyes

an the face of the thraithur

life

An' to dhrame of a married man, death

alive, is a

mortial sin.'

But Molly says 'I'd his hand-promise, an' shure

meet me

he'll

agin.'

vn.

An' afther her paarints had

wan

inter' d glory, an'

both in

day,

She began

to spake to herself, the crathur,

and whish-

per, an' say

'Tomorra, Tomorra!' an' Father Molowny he tuk her

in han',

TOMORROW.

315

*Molly, you're manin',' he says, 'me dear, av I undherstan',

That ye '11 meet your paarints agin an' yer Danny

O'Roon

Wid

afore

God

his blessed Marthyrs an' Saints;

him

'

she gev

an'

a frindly nod,

^Tomorra, Tomorra,' she says, an' she didn't intind

to desave.

But her wits wor dead, an' her hair was as white as
the

snow an a grave.

vm.
Arrah now, here

last

month they wor

diggin' the bog,

an' they foun'

Dhrownded

in black bog-wather a corp lyin'

undher

groun'.

EC.

Yer Honour's own

agint,

he says to

me

wanst, at

Katty's shebeen,

*The Divil take

come wid

all

the black Ian', for a blessin' 'ud

the green!'

An' where 'ud the poor man,

thin, cut his bit o' turf

for the fire?

But och

man

bad scran
intire

to the

bogs whin they swallies the

TOMORROW.

3i6

An' sorra the bog that's in Hiven wid

all

the light an'

the glow,

An' there's hate enough, shure, widout thim in the

Divil's kitchen below.

X.

Thim

ould blind nagers in Agypt,

hard his River-

ence say,

Could keep

their haithen kings in the flesh for tne

Jidgemint day.
An', faix, be the piper

o'

Moses, they kep the cat an'

the dog,

But

it

work av they lived be an

'ud 'a been aisier

Irish bog.

XI.

How-an-iver they laid

this

body they foun' an the

grass

Be the chapel-door,

an'

the people 'ud see

it

that

wint into mass

But a

frish gineration

had

riz,

an'

most

of the ould

was few.
An'

didn't

knew.

know him

meself, an' none of the parish

TOMORROW.

317

xn.

But Molly kem limpin' up wid her

lamed

Thin a

iv a

she was

stick,

knee,

slip of a

gossoon

Molly Magee ?
An' she stood up

call'd,

'Div ye know him,

'

strait as the

Queen

of the world

she lifted her head

*He

said he would

down dead an

meet me tomorra!' an' dhropt

the dead.

xm.
Och, Molly, we thought, machree, ye would
agin into

Whin we

start

back

life.

laid yez, aich be aich, at yer

wake

like hus-

ban' an' wife.

Sorra the dhry eye thin but was wet for the
that

Sorra

f rinds

was gone

the

silent

throat

but

we

hard

it

cryin'

'Ochone!'
An' Shamus O'Shea that has now ten childer, han-

some

Him

an'

tall,

an' his childer

all.

wor keenin'

as

if

he had

lost thira

TOMORROW.

318

XIV.

Thin

his Riverence buried thim both in

wan grave be

the dead boor-tree/

The young man Danny O'Roon wid

his ould

woman,

Molly Magee.

XV.

May

all

the flowers o' Jeroosilim blossom an' spring

from the

grass,

Imbrashin' an' kissin' aich other

as ye did

over

yer Crass

An' the lark

Sun
An'

tell

out o' the flowers wid his song to the

fly

an' the

Moon,

thim in Hiven about Molly Magee an' her

Danny O'Roon,
Holy

Till

St.

Pether gets up wid his kays an' opens

the gate

An' shure, be the Crass, that's betther nor cuttin' the

Sassenach whate

To be

there

wid the Blessed Mother, an' Saints an'

Marthyrs galore,

An

'

singin' yer 'Aves' an' 'Fathers

more.
1

Elder-tree.

'

for iver an' iver-

TOMORROW.

319

XVI.

An' now that

tould yer

Honour whativer

hard an'

seen,-

Yer Honour

'11

in potheen.

give

me

a thrifle to dhrink yer health

THE

Milk

for

my

about

When

SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

sweet-arts, Bess

fur

it

mun

be the time

now

Molly cooms in

fro'

the far-end close wi' her

paails fro' the cow.

Eh! tha be new

to the

plaace

thou'rt

gaapin'

doesn't tha see

I calls

'em

arter the fellers es

once was sweet upo'

me?
II.

Naay

to

be sewer

it

be past

'er time.

What maakes

'er sa laate?

Goa

to the laane at the back, an'

loook thruf Mad-

dison's gaate!

m.
Sweet-arts!

Molly belike may

upo' one.
320

'a

lighted

to-night

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

Sweet-arts

thanks to the Lord that

321

niver not

lis-

ten 'd to noan!

So

I sits i'

o' the

An'

my

oan armchair wi'

my oan

kettle theere

hob,

Tommy

the fust,

Tommy

an'

the second, an'

Steevie an' Rob.

IV.

Rob, coom oop

spite o' the

'ere o'

I 'a

my

knee.

sees that

i'

men

kep' thruf thick an' thin

to

Thou

my

two 'oonderd a-year

mysen;

Yis! thaw tha call'd

me

es pretty es

ony

lass

i'

the

Shere,

An' thou be es pretty a Tabby, but Robby

seed

thruf ya theere.

V.

Feyther 'ud saay

wur ugly

es sin, an'

beant not

vaain.

But

niver wur downright hugly, thaw

thowt

An'

i'

i'

pink ribbons, ye said

it I

wur

did, but I beant sich a fool as

ye thinks;
IV.

'ud 'a

pinks,

liked to 'ear

VOL.

soom

plaain,

wasn't sa plaain

pretty

An'

ma

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

322

Ye was stroakin ma down

the

wi'

'air,

as I be a-

stroakin o' you,

But whiniver

loook'd

i'

the glass

wur sewer

that

it

couldn't be true;

Niver wur pretty, not

but ye knaw'd

I,

wur pleas-

it

ant to 'ear,

Thaw

me

warn't not

it

es

wur

pretty, but

my

two

'oonderd a-year.

VI.

D'ya mind the murnin' when we was a-walkin'

to-

gither, an' stood

By

the claay'd-oop pond, that the foalk be sa scared

at,

Wheer

i'

Gigglesby wood,

the poor

es 'ed

wench drowndid

hersen, black Sal,

been disgraaced?

arm

An'

An'

my waaist;
me es wur alius

feel'd thy

es I stood

wur a-creeapin about

afear'd of a man's gittin' ower

fond,
I sidled

awaay an' awaay

till I

plumpt foot

fust

i'

the

pond;
And, Robby,

niver

'a

liked tha sa well, as I did that

daay.

Fur tha joompt in thysen, an' tha hoickt

a flop fro' the claay.

my

feet wi'

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

Ay, stick oop thy back, an' set oop thy
gie

Fur

ma

taail,

323

tha

may

a kiss,

walk'd wi' tha

way hoam

the

all

an'

wur niver

sa nigh saayin' Yis.

But wa boath was

we was shaamed

sich a clat

i'

to

cross Gigglesby Greean,

Fur a cat may loook

mun

at a

king thou knaws but the cat

be clean.

Sa we boath on us kep out

o' sight o' the

winders

o'

Hinn

Gigglesby

Naay, but the claws

o' tha

quiet

they pricks clean

thruf to the skin

An' wa boath slinkt 'oam by the brokken shed

i'

the

laane at the back,

Wheer the poodle runn'd

oop

o' the

An' tha squeedg'd

was forced
Fur

at tha once, an'

thou runn'd

thack;

my

'and

i'

the shed, fur theere

we

to 'ide.

seed that Steevie wur coomin', and one o' the

Tommies

beside.

vn.

Theere now, what

can

art'a

mewin

at,

Steevie? for owt

tell

Robby wur

fust to

as well.

be sewer, or

mowt

'a

liked tha

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

324

vni.

Robby,

But,

in'

An'

thowt

my

thowt shall

upo' coomin'

My

o'

tha

all

the while

wur chaang-

gown,
I

chaange

my

staate? but,

Lord,

down

bran-new carpet es fresh es a midder

o' flowers

i'

Maay

Why

'edn't tha

ower wi'
An'

it

wur

clatted all

claay.

could

wiped thy shoes?

'a

cried

ammost,

fur

seed that

it

couldn't be,

An' Robby

gied tha a raatin that sattled thy coortin

me.

o'

An' Molly an'

me was

agreed, as

we was

a-cleanin'

the floor,

That a man be a durty thing an* a trouble an' plague

wi' indoor.

But

rued

it

arter a bit, fur I stuck to tha

more na

the rest,

But

couldn't 'a lived wi' a

all fur

man

an' I

knaws

it

be

the best.

DC.

Naay

let

ma

smooth

stroak tha

es silk,

down

till

maakes tha

es

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

But

'ed married tha,

if I

Robby, thou'd not

325

been

'a

worth thy milk,

Thou'd niver
work

And

'a

all

that I

be true;

awaay,

Thou

the

to do,

loovs tha to

me

'a left

taaen to the bottle beside, so es

'ears

But

cotch'd ony mice but

'a

my

maake thysen

'appy, an' soa purr

dear.

'ed wellnigh purr'd

ma awaay

fro'

my

oan two

'oonderd a-year.

Swearin agean, you Toms, as ye used to do twelve

years sin'

Ye

niver 'card Steevie swear 'cep'

coomin'
An' boath

o'

it

wur

at a

dog

in.

ye

mun

be fools to be hallus a-shawin'

your claws,

Fur

niver cared nothink for neither

an' one

o'

ye

dead ye knaws

Coom

giv hoaver then, weant ye

fine

warrant ye soom

daay

Theere, lig

down

I shall

hev to gie one or tother

awaay.

Can't ye taake pattern by Steevie? ye shant hev a

drop

fro' the paail.

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS,

326

Steevie be right good manners bang thruf to the tip

o' the taail.

XI.

Robby,

down

git

oop
Steevie,
fur

my

o'

my
me

lad,

Robby wur

wi'tha, wilt tha? let Steevie

coom

knee.

thou 'ed very nigh been the Steevie

fust to

be sewer,

'e

wur burn an' bred

i'

the 'ouse,

But thou be

es

'ansom a tabby es iver patted a mouse.

xn.

An'

beant not vaain, but

quieter

Nor her

knaws

o'

'ed led tha a

life

wi' the hepitaph yonder!

loovin' wife

An' 'cos

"A

faaithful an'

"
!

thy farm by the beck, an' thy windmill oop

o' the croft,

Tha thowt

tha would marry ma, did tha? but that wur

a bit ower

Thaw

soft,

thou was es soaber es daay, wi' a niced red

faace, an' es clean

Es a

shillin' fresh fro' the

o' the

Queean,

mint wi' a bran-new 'ead

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

An' thy farmin'
kep'

That

it

es clean es thysen', fur, Steevie, tha

sa neat

niver not spied sa

327

much

es a

poppy along

wi'

the wheat,

An' the wool of a

thistle

seeadin'

an'

a-fiyin'

tha

haated to see;

'Twur

es

bad

chaumber

es a battle-twig^ 'ere

my

i'

oan blue

me.

to

Ay, roob thy whiskers agean ma, fur

could

'a

taaen

to tha well.

But fur thy bairns, poor Steevie, a bouncin' boy an'

a

gell.

xni.

An' thou was es fond

my
But

o'

thy bairns es

be mysen

o'

cats.

niver not wish'd fur childer,

hevn't

naw

likin'

fur brats;

Pretty

anew when ya

dresses

'em oop,

an'

they goas

fur a walk.

Or

sits

wi'

their

'ands afoor 'em, an' doesn't not

'inder the talk!

But their bottles

o'

pap, an' their

mucky

bibs, an' the

clats an' the clouts.

An' their mashin' their toys to pieaces an' maakin'

ma

deaf wi' their shouts,

1

Earwig.

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

328

An' hallus a-joompin' about

ma

as

if

they was set upo'

springs,

ma hawkard

An' a haxin'

questions, an' saayin' on-

decent things,

ma 'hugly' mayhap to my faace, or

my gown
I mun part them Tommies
dear

An' a-callin'
tearin'

Dear

dear

Steevie git down.

XIV.

Ye be wuss nor the men-tommies, you.

na moor

Tom,

lig theere o' the

o' the

tell'd ya,

o' that!

cushion, an' tother

Tom

'ere

mat.

XV.

Theere!

Tommies

To

by

my

married the

O Lord,

loove an' obaay the

To be

Hed

ha' master'd thnn!

Tommies

couldn't

'a

stuck

word.

border 'd about, an' waaked, when Molly 'd

put out the

light,

By a man coomin'

in wi' a hiccup at

ony hour

o' the

night

An' the taable staain'd wi'

*is

boots

o' the stairs,

'is

aale, an'

the

mud

o'

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

An' the stink

An' noan

o'

my oan
I

pipe

i'

the 'ouse, an' the

mark

o'

'ead o' the chairs!

'is

Sa

o' 'is

329

likes

my

me

four sweet-arts 'ud 'a let

hed

'a

waay,

'em bestwi'

taails

when they

'evn't a

word

to saay.

XVI.

An'

I sits

oan
Wi'

my

i'

my

oan

little

my

parlour, an' sarved by

little lass,

oan

garden outside, an'

little

my

oan bed

o'

sparrow-grass,

An'

my oan
mine

An'

my

oan

like a

door-poorch wi' the woodbine an'

a-dressin'
fine

it

jess-

greean,

Jackman

i'

purple a roabin' the 'ouse

Queean.

xvn.

An' the
i'

When

little gells

bobs to

ma

hoffens es I be abroad

the laanes,
I

goas fur to coomfut the poor es be

down

wi'

their haaches an' their paains

An' a haaf-pot

o'

jam, or a mossel

o'

meat when

it

beant too dear,

They maakes ma
sion theer,

a graater

Laady nor

'er

i'

the

man-

THE SPINSTER'S SWEET-ARTS.

330

Hes

'es halliis to

hax of a

man how much

to spare or

to spend;

An' a spinster

be an'

I will be, if

soa please God,

to the hend.

xvni.

Mew! mew!
Molly
It

should

Bess wi'

the milk! what ha

maade our

sa laate?
'a

been

'ere

by seven, an' theere

it

be

strikin' height

'Cushie wur craazed fur

maakin'
An'

'er

'er

cauf o'

my

I 'eard 'er

moan,

thowt to mysen 'thank

Theere

cauf well

God

that I hevn't

naw

oan.

Set

it

down

Now Robby
You Tommies
Till

Robby

shall waait to-night

an' Steevie 'es 'ed their lap

ye right.

an'

it

sarves

LOCKSLEY HALL
SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

Late,

my

grandson

half the

morning have

paced

these sandy tracts,

Watch'd again the hollow ridges roaring

Wander'd back
curlews
I

to living

into cataracts,

boyhood while

heard the

call,

myself so close on death, and death

itself in

Locks-

ley Hall.

So

your

happy

suit

was blasted

she

the faultless,

the divine

And you

liken

boyish babble

this

boy-love of yours

with mine.

myself have often babbled

doubtless of a foolish

past

Babble, babble

babble at

our old England

last.

331

may go down

in

LOCKSLEY HALL

332

him!' curse your fellow-victim?

'Curse

call

him

dotard in your rage?

Eyes that lured a doting boyhood well might fool a

dotard's age.

Jilted for a wealthier! wealthier? yet perhaps she

was

not wise;
I

remember how you

kiss'd the miniature with those

sweet eyes.

Amy's arms about

In the hall there hangs a painting

my
Happy

neck

children in a sunbeam sitting on the ribs of

wreck.

In

my

life

there was a picture, she that clasp'd

my

neck had flown;

I

was

left

within the shadow sitting on the wreck

alone.

Yours has been a slighter ailment,

will

you sicken for

her sake?

You, not you

earthlier

Amy

your modern amourist

of

easier,

make.

loved me,
child;

is

Amy

fail'd

me,

Amy

was a timid

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

But your Judith

me

driven

but your worldling

1,1,1,

she had never

wild.

She that holds the diamond necklace dearer than the

golden ring,
She that finds a winter sunset fairer than a morn of
Spring.

She that in her heart

is

brooding on his briefer lease

of life,

While she vows

'till

death shall part

us,

'

she the would-

be-widow wife.

She the worldling born of worldlings

father,

mother

be content,
Ev'n the homely farm can teach us there

is

something

in descent.

Yonder

in that chapel, slowly sinking

now

into the

ground,
Lies the warrior,

my

forefather, with his feet

upon

the hound.

Cross'd! for once he sail'd the sea to crush the Mos-

lem in

Dead

his pride;

the warrior,

dead his

which he died.

glory,

dead the cause

in

LOCKSLEY HALL

334

Yet how often

and

Amy

in the mouldering aisle

have stood,

Gazing

for

one pensive moment on that founder of

our blood.

There again

stood to-day, and where of old

we

knelt

in prayer,

Close beneath the casement crimson with the shield

of Locksley

there.

All in white Italian marble, looking

still

as

if

she

smiled,

Lies

my Amy dead
dead the

Dead

in child-birth,

dead the mother,

child.

and sixty years

ago,

and dead her aged hus-

band now
I this old

white-headed dreamer stoopt and kiss'd her

marble brow.

Gone

the fires of youth, the follies, furies, curses,

passionate tears.

Gone

like fires

planet's

"Fires that

fall'n

and floods and earthquakes of the

dawning

shook
away.

me

years.

once, but

now

to silent ashes

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

335

Cold upon the dead volcano sleeps the gleam of dying

day.

Gone

the tyrant of

my

youth, and mute below the

chancel stones,
All his virtues

forgive

them

black in white above

his bones.

Gone

comrades of

the

my

bivouac,

some

in fight

against the foe.

Some

thro' age

and slow

diseases,

gone as

all

on earth

will go.

Gone with whom

for forty years

my

life

in golden

sequence ran,

She with

all

the

charm

of

woman, she with

all

the

breadth of man.

Strong in will and rich in wisdom, Edith, yet so

lowly-sweet.

Woman

to her

inmost heart, and

woman to

her tender

feet,

Very woman of very woman, nurse of ailing body

and mind.
She that link'd again the broken chain that bound
to

my

kind.

me

LOCKSLEY HALL

336

Here to-day was

Amy with me,

while

wander' d

down

the coast,

Near us Edith's holy shadow, smiling

at the slighter

ghost.

Gone our

Leonard early

lost at

Amy's kin and mine

art left

sailor son thy father,

sea;

Thou

alone,

to

Gone

my

boy, of

me.

thy tender-natured mother, wearying to be left

alone,

Pining for the stronger heart that once had beat beside
her own.

Truth, for Truth

is

Truth, he worshipt, being true as

he was brave

Good,

for

Good

is

Good, he follow' d, yet he look'd

beyond the grave,

Wiser there than you, that crowning barren Death as
lord of

Deem

all.

this over-tragic

drama's closing curtain

is

the

pall!

Beautiful was death in him,

kept the deck,

who saw

the death, but

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

women and

Saving

their babes,

337'

and sinking with the

sinking wreck,

Gone

Ever? no

for ever!

for since our

dying race

began,
Ever, ever, and for ever was

the leading light of

man.

Those

that in barbarian burials kill'd the slave,

and

slew the wife.

themselves the

Felt within

second

sacred

passion

of the

life.

Indian warriors dream of ampler hunting grounds be-

yond the night;

Ev'n the black Australian dying hopes he

shall return,

a white.

Truth for

truth,

and good

for

good

The Good,

the

True, the Pure, the Just

Take

the

charm For ever

'

'

from them, and they crum-

ble into dust.

Gone

the cry of

'Forward, Forward,' lost within a

growing gloom;
Lost, or only heard in silence

tomb.
VOL.

IV.

from the silence of

LOCALS LEV HALL

33^

my

Half the marvels of

morning, triumphs over time

and space,
Staled by frequence, shrunk by usage into

commonest

commonplace

'Forward

'

rang the voices then, and of the

many mine

was one.
Let us hush

this cry of

'Forward'

till

ten thousand

years have gone.

Far among the vanish' d races, old Assyrian kings

would
Captives

flay

whom

they caught

...

battle

iron-hearted

victors they.

Ages

while

after,

in

Asia,

he that led the wild

Moguls,

Timur

built

human

his

ghastly tower

of

eighty thousand

skulls,

Then, and here in Edward's time, an age of noblest

English names.
Christian conquerors took and flung the conquer'
Christian into flames.

Love your enemy,

of the great;

bless your haters, said the Greatest

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

among

Christian love

339

the Churches look'd the twin

of heathen hate.

From

the golden alms of Blessing

man had

coin'd

himself a curse

Rome

Rome

of Caesar,

of Peter,

which was crueller?

which was worse ?

France had shown a light to

Gospel,
Celtic

all

Demos

all

men, preach 'd a

men's good;

rose a

Demon,

shriek' d

and slaked the

light with blood.

Hope was

ever on her mountain, watching

till

the

over darkness from the

still

day begun

Crown'd with sunlight

unrisen sun.

Have we grown

at last

beyond the passions

of the

primal clan?
'Kill

your enemy, for you hate him,'

enemy

'

still,

'your

was a man.

Have we sunk below them ? peasants maim

less horse,

the help-

and drive

Innocent cattle under thatch, and burn the kindlier

brutes alive.

LOCKSLEY HALL

340

Brutes, the brutes are not your wrongers

burnt

at

midnight, found at morn,

Twisted hard in mortal agony with their offspring,

born-unborn.

Clinging to the silent mother!

Are we devils? are

we men?
Sweet

St.

Francis of Assisi, would that he were here

again.

He

that in his Catholic wholeness used to call the

very flowers
Sisters,

brothers

and

the beasts

whose

pains are

hardly less than ours

Chaos, Cosmos
all will

Read

Cosmos, Chaos

who can

the wide world's annals, you,

wisdom

Hope

how

tell

end?
and take

their

for your friend.

the best, but hold the Present fatal daughter of

the Past,

Shape your heart

the hour will

Ay,

if

to front the hour, but

dream not

dynamite and revolver leave you courage

wise:

that

last.

to be

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

When

341

was age so cramm'd with menace? madness?

written, spoken lies?

Envy wears

mask

the

of Love, and, laughing sober

fact to scorn.

Cries to Weakest as to Strongest,

'Ye are equals,

equal-born.'

Equal-born?

yes,

if

yonder

hill

be level with the

flat.

Charm

us, Orator, till the

Lion look no

larger than

the Cat,

Till the

Cat

thro' that

mirage of overheated language

loom
Larger than the Lion,

Demos

end in working

its

own doom.
Russia bursts our Indian barrier, shall we fight her?
shall

Pause

we

yield?

before you sound the trumpet, hear the voices

from the

field.

Those three hundred millions under one Imperial

sceptre now.
Shall

we hold them?

shall

suffrage of the plow.

we

loose

them? take the

LOCKSLEY HALL

342

Nay, but these would

feel

and follow Truth

if

only

you and you,

when you speak were

Rivals of realm-ruining party,

wholly true.

Plowmen, Shepherds, have

once, and

found, and

more than

could find,

still

Sons of God, and kings of

men

in utter nobleness of

mind.

Truthful,

trustful,

looking upward to the practised

hustings-liar;

So the Higher wields the Lower, while the Lower

is

the Higher.

Here and there

a cotter's babe

is

royal-born by right

divine;

Here and there my

lord

is

lower than his oxen or his

swine.

Chaos,

Cosmos!

Cosmos, Chaos!

once again the

sickening game;

Freedom,

free to slay herself,

and dying while they

shout her name.

Step by step we gain'd a freedom

known

to all;

known

to

Europe,

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

Step by step we rose to greatness,

we may

sters

You

that
is

woo

343

thro' the tongue-

fall.

the Voices

them

tell

'old experience

a fool,'

Teach your

flatter' d

read can

kings that only those

who cannot

rule.

Pluck the mighty from their

seat,

but set no

meek

ones in their place;

Pillory

Wisdom

in your markets, pelt your offal at her

face.

Tumble Nature

heel o'er head, and, yelling with the

yelling street.

Set the feet above the brain

and swear the brain

is

in

the feet.

Bring the old dark ages back without the

faith, with-

out the hope.

Break the

State, the

their ruins

Authors

ster,

down

essayist,

Church, the Throne, and

roll

the slope.

atheist,

novelist,

realist,

rhyme-

play your part.

Paint the mortal shame of nature with the living hues

of Art.

LOCKSLEY HALL

344

Rip your

brothers' vices open, strip your

own

foul

passions bare

Down

with Reticence,

ward

naked

Feed the budding

let

down with Reverence

them

rose of

for-

stare.

boyhood with the drainage

of your sewer;

Send the drain into the fountain,

lest

the stream

should issue pure.

Set the

maiden fancies wallowing

in the troughs of

Zolaism,

Forward, forward, ay and backward, downward too

into the abysm.

Do

your best to charm the worst, to lower the rising

race of

Have we

men;

risen

from out the beast, then back into the

beast again?

Only 'dust

to dust

'

for

me

that sicken at your lawless

din,

Dust in wholesome old-world dust before the newer

world begin.

Heated am I? you

you wonder

comes mine age

well,

it

scarce be-

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

Patience

let

the dying actor

mouth

345

his last

upon

the

stage.

Cries of unprogressive

dotage

the dotard fall

ere

asleep?

Noises of a current narrowing, not the music of a

deep?

Ay, for doubtless

for

After

all

less

am

old,

and think gray thoughts,

we

the stormy changes shall

find a change-

May?

madness,

After

am

gray

after

Jacobism

massacre,

and

Jacquerie,

Some

diviner force to guide us thro' the days

I shall

not see?

When

the schemes

Republics

and

all

the systems.

Kingdoms and

fall.

Something kindlier, higher, holier

all for

each and

each for all?

All the

full-brain,

half-brain races, led by Justice,

Love, and Truth;

All the millions

my

youth?

one

at length

with

all

the visions of

LOCKSLEY HALL

346

All diseases quench' d by Science,

no man

halt,

or

deaf or blind;

Stronger ever born of weaker, lustier body, larger

mind?
Earth at

last

a warless world, a single race, a single

tongue
I

have seen her

far

away

for is not Earth as yet so

young ?

Every

tiger

madness muzzled, every serpent passion

kill'd.

Every grim ravine a garden, every blazing desert

tiird,

Robed

in

universal

harvest

up

to either pole she

smiles,

Universal

ocean

softly

washing

all

her

warless

Isles.

Warless? when her tens are thousands, and her thousands millions, then
All her harvest all too narrow

who can fancy warless

men?
Warless? war will die out
late or soon?

late

then.

Will

it

ever?

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

Can

it,

till

this

world the

Dead

and

outworn earth be dead as yon dead

moon?

new astronomy

the

347

calls her.

On

this

day

at this hour,

In this gap between the sandhills, whence you see the

Locksley tower,

Here we met, our

meeting

latest

Amy

sixty years

ago
She and

the moon was

falling greenish thro' a rosy

glow.

Just above the gateway tower,

see her

and even where you

now

Here we stood and

claspt each other, swore the seem-

ing-deathless vow.

Dead, but how her living glory

lights the hall, the

dune, the grass

Yet the moonlight

is

the sunlight,

and the sun himself

will pass.

Venus near her

smiling downward at this earthlier

earth of ours,

Closer on the Sun, perhaps a world of never fading

flowers.

LOCKSLEY HALL

348

Hesper,
all

All

whom
good

the poet call'd the Bringer

home

of

things.

good things may move

in Hesper, perfect peoples,

perfect kings.

Hesper

Venus were we native

to that splendour or

in Mars,

We

should see the Globe we groan

evening

in, fairest of their

stars.

Could we dream
ness, lust

of wars

and

and carnage,

craft

and mad-

spite.

Roaring London, raving

Paris, in that point of peace-

ful light?

Might we not in glancing heavenward on a

star so

silver-fair,

Yearn, and clasp the hands and murmur, 'Would to

God

that

we were

there' ?

Forward, backward, backward, forward, in the immeasurable

sea,

Sway'd by vaster ebbs and flows than can be known

to

you or me.

All the suns

man,

are

these but symbols of innumerable

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

Man

or

Mind

that sees a

shadow

349

of the planner or

the plan?

Is there evil

sphere

but on earth? or pain in every peopled

Well be grateful
tion

'

for the

sounding watchword 'Evolu-

here.

Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good,

And Reversion
What

are

men

ever dragging Evolution in the

that

He

mud.

should heed us? cried the king

of sacred song;

Insects of an hour, that hourly

work

their

brother

insect wrong,

While the
fiery

silent

Heavens

roll,

and Suns along their

way,

All their planets whirling

round them,

flash a million

miles a day.

Many an Mon moulded

earth

before

her highest,

man, was born.

Many an
and

^on

too

may

pass

when

earth

is

manless

forlorn,

Earth so huge, and yet so bounded

plots of land

pools

of salt,

and

LOCKSLEY HALL

350

Shallow skin of green and azure

chains

of mountain,

grains of sand

Only That which made

meant us

us,

to

be mightier

by and by,
Set the sphere of
the

human

all

the boundless

Heavens within

eye.

Sent the shadow of Himself, the boundless, thro' the

human

soul;

Boundless inward, in the atom, boundless outward, in

********

the

Here

is

Whole.

Locksley Hall,

my

grandson, here the lion-

guarded gate.

Not to-night

come
Wreck'd

your

ter'd

Good,

in Locksley Hall

to-morrowyou, you

so late.

train

or

all

but wreck'd? a shat-

wheel? a vicious boy!

this forward,

you that preach

it,

is

it

well to

wish you joy?

Is it well that

in the

while

we range with

Science, glorying

Time,

City children soak and blacken soul and sense in city

slime ?

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

There among the glooming

35

alleys Progress halts

on

palsied feet,

Crime and hunger

on the

cast our

maidens by the thousand

street.

There the Master scrimps his haggard sempstress of

her daily bread,

There a single sordid

attic holds the living

and the

dead.

There the smouldering

iire

of fever creeps across the

rotted floor.

And

the

crowded couch

of incest in the warrens of

the poor.

Nay, your pardon, cry you 'forward,' yours are hope

and youth, but

Eighty winters leave the dog too lame to follow with

the cry,

Lame and

old,

and past

his time,

and passing now

into the night;

Yet

would the rising race were

half as eager for the

light.

Light the fading gleam of Even? light the glimmer

of the

dawn?

LOCKSLEY HALL

352

Aged

may

eyes

take the growing glimmer for the

gleam withdrawn.

Far away beyond her myriad coming changes earth

will

be

Something other than the wildest modern guess of you

and me.

Earth

may

reach her earthly-worst, or

she gain her

if

earthly-best,

Would

she find her

human

offspring this ideal

man

at

rest?

Forward then, but

Time

still

remember how

the course of

will swerve,

Crook and turn upon

many

a backward

grandson!

Death and

in

itself

streaming curve.

Not

the Hall

to-night,

my

Silence hold their own.

Leave the Master in the

first

dark hour of his

last

sleep alone.

Worthier soul was he than

am, sound and honest,

rustic Squire,

Kindly landlord, boon companion

is

liar.

youthful jealousy

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

353

Cast the poison from your bosom, oust the madness

from your brain.

Let the trampled serpent show you that you have not
lived in vain.

Youthful

youth and age are scholars yet but in the

lower school,

Nor

he the wisest

is

man who

never proved himself a

fool.

Yonder

lies

less

our young sea-village

and

Art and Grace are

less

Science grows and Beauty dwindles

roofs

of slated

hideousness

There

is

one old Hostel

left us

where they swing the

Locksley shield.
Till the

peasant cow shall butt the 'Lion passant'

from his

field.

Poor old Heraldry, poor old History, poor old Poetry,

passing hence,
In the

common

mon-sense

deluge drowning old political com-

Poor old voice of eighty crying after voices that have

fled!

LOCKSLEY HALL

354

All I loved are vanish'd voices, all

my

steps are

on

the dead.

All the world

is

ghost to me, and as the phantom dis-

appears,

Forward

far

and

far

from here

is all

remember

the hope of eighty

years.

In this Hostel

repent

it

o'er his

grave

Like a clown

by chance he

met me

refused the

hand he gave.

From

that

casement where the

trailer

mantles

all

the

mouldering bricks
I

was then in early boyhood, Edith but a child of

six

While

I shelter' d

in this archway

from a day of driv-

ing showers

Peept the winsome face of Edith like a flower among

the flowers.

Here

to-night! the Hall to-morrow,

when they

toll

the Chapel bell

Shall I hear in

thee well.'

one dark room a wailing,

'I

have loved

SIXTY YEARS AFTER.

Then

a peal that shakes the portal

one has

355

come

to

claim his bride,

Her

and put me from

that shrank,

started

my

side

You,

my

from

Silent echoes

her, shriek' d,

and

Leonard, use and not abuse

your day.

Move among your

people,

know them,

follow

him who

led the way.

Strove for sixty widow' d years to help his homelier

brother men,

Served the poor, and built the cottage, raised the

and drain'd the

school,

fen.

Hears he now the Voice that wrong' d him? who

swear

it

shall

cannot be?

Earth would never touch her worst, were one in

fifty

such as he.

Ere she gain her Heavenly-best, a God must mingle

with the game

Nay, there

may be

those about us

whom we

neither

see nor name,

Felt within us as ourselves, the Powers of Good, the

Powers

of

111,

356

LOCKSLEY HALL SLXTY YEARS AFTER.

Strowing balm, or shedding poison in the fountains

of the Will.

Follow you the Star that lights a desert pathway,

yours or mine.

Forward,

you see the highest

till

Human

Nature

is

divine.

Follow Light, and do the Right

control his
Till

for

man can

half-

doom

you find the deathless

xA.ngel

seated in the vacant

tomb.

Forward,

let

the stormy

moment

fly

and mingle with

the Past.
I

that loathed, have

conquer at the

Gone

at eighty,

come

to love

Love

will

and you

will

him.

last.

mine own

age,

and

bear the pall;

Then

leave thee Lord

Locksley Hall.

and Master,

latest

Lord

of

PROLOGUE TO GENERAL HAMLEY.

Our

birches yellowing and from each

The
While

light leaf falling fast,

squirrels

from our

Were bearing

off

fiery

beech

the mast,

You came, and look'd and loved

the view

Long-known and loved by me,

Green Sussex fading into blue

With one gray glimpse

And, gazing from

We

of sea;

this height alone,

spoke of what had been

Most marvellous

in the wars your

own

Crimean eyes had seen;

And now
Some

like old-world inns that take

warrior for a sign

That therewithin a guest may make

True cheer with honest wine
Because you heard the lines

Nor
I

utter'd

word

read

of blame,

dare without your leave to head

These rhymings with your name,

357

358

PROLOGUE TO GENERAL HAMLEY.

Who know
I fain

you but as one of those

would meet again,

Yet know you, as your England knows

That you and

Were

all

your

men

soldiers to her heart's desire,

When,

You saw

in the vanish 'd year,

the league-long rampart-fire

Flare from Tel-el-Kebir

Thro' darkness, and the foe was driven.

And Wolseley

overthrew

Arabi, and the stars in heaven

Paled, and the glory grew.

THE CHARGE OF THE HEAVY BRIGADE

AT BALACLAVA.
October

The

25, 1854.

charge of the gallant three hundred, the

Heavy

Brigade

Down

the hill,

Thousands

of

down

the

hill,

thousands of Russians,

horsemen, drew to the valley

and

stay'd;

For Scarlett and

Scarlett's three

hundred were riding

by

When

the points of the Russian lances arose in the

sky;

And

he call'd 'Left wheel into line

!'

and they wheel'd

and obey'd.

Then he

look'd at the host that had halted he

knew

not why,

And he

turn'd half round, and he bad his trumpeter

sound

To

the charge,

and he rode on ahead,

blade
359

as he

waved

his

CHARGE OF THE HEAVY BRIGADE.

36o

To

the gallant three

hundred whose glory

will never

die
'Follow,' and up the

Follow' d the

hill,

up the

hill,

up the

hill,

Heavy Brigade.

n.

The

trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might

of the fight

Thousands

of

horsemen had gather' d there on the

height.

With a wing push'd out

to the left

and a wing

to the

right.

And who

shall escape

if

they close? but he dash'd up

alone

Thro' the great gray slope of men,

Sway'd his sabre, and held his own

Like an Englishman there and then;
All in a

moment

follow 'd with force

Three that were next in their

Wedged
Fought

fiery course.

themselves in between horse and horse.

for their lives in the

narrow gap they had

made
Four

amid thousands!

and

up the

hill,

up the

the

Heavy

hill,

Gallopt

the

Brigade.

gallant

three

hundred,

CHARGE OF THE HEAVY BRIGADE.

361

m.
Fell like a cannonshot,

Burst like a thunderbolt,

Crash 'd like a hurricane,

Broke

thro' the

mass from below.

Drove

thro' the

midst of the

Plunged up and down,

Rode

flashing

foe,

and

to

fro,

blow upon blow.

Brave Inniskillens and Greys

Whirling their sabres in circles of light

And some

Who

And were

When

its

roll'd

O mad
When

wings from the

them around

for the charge

our

own good

left

crowd

and the

right,

like a cloud,

and the

battle

were we.

redcoats sank from sight.

Like drops of blood in a dark-gray

And we

fight.

only standing at gaze.

the dark-muffled Russian

Folded

And

of us, all in amaze,

were held for a while from the

sea.

turn'd to each other, whispering,

all

dis-

may' d,
*Lost are

the

Brigade

gallant

three

hundred of

IV.

Lost one and

all

'

were the words

Mutter' d in our dismay;

Scarlett's

CHARGE OF THE HEAVY BRIGADE.

362

But they rode

like Victors

and Lords

Thro' the forest of lances and swords

In the heart of the Russian hordes,

They

rode, or they stood at bay

Struck with the sword-hand and slew,

Down
The

with the bridle-hand drew

foe from the saddle

and threw

Underfoot there in the fray

Ranged

like a storm or stood like a rock

In the wave of a stormy day;

Till suddenly

shock upon shock

Stagger 'd the mass from without.

Drove

it

in wild disarray,

For our men gallopt up with a cheer and a shoutj

And

Up

the

foeman surged, and waver'd, and

up the

the hill,

And

hill,

up the

hill,

reel'd

out of the

field.

over the brow and away.

V.

Glory to each and to

all,

and the charge that they

made
Glory to
Note.

made

The

this

squadron
Brigade

The

'

'

the three hundred,

all

'three hundred' of the

all

the Brigade

'Heavy Brigade' who

famous charge were the Scots Greys and the 2nd

of

Inniskillings

the

remainder of

the

'

Heavy

subsequently dashing up to their support.

three

'

were

Scarlett's

aide-de-camp,

trumpeter and Shegog the orderly,

him.

and

Elliot,

who had been

close

and the
behind

EPILOGUE.
Irene.

Not

this

way

star

among

will

you

set

your name

the stars.

Poet.

What way ?
Irene.

You

praise

when you should blame

The barbarism

juster

of wars.

epoch has begun.

Poet.

Yet tho'

And

this

Those

modern

sun,

eyes the blue to-day,

You wrong me,

I

cheek be gray,

that bright hair the

passionate

little

friend.

would that wars should cease,

would the globe from end

Might sow and reap

363

to

end

in peace,

EPILOGUE.

364

And some new

Or Trade

From war

Spirit o'erbear the old,

Powers

re-frain the

with kindly links of gold,

Or Love with wreaths

Slav,

Teuton, Kelt,

My
With

of flowers.

count them

all

and small.

the peoples, great

That wheel bet\veen the

poles.

But since, our mortal shadow.

To

all

friends and brother souls.

111

waste this earth began

Perchance from some abuse of Will

In worlds before the

Involving

To make

He

man

ours he needs must

fight

true peace his own,

needs must combat might with might

Or Might would

And who

loves

War

rule alone;
for

Is fool, or crazed, or

But

worse;

let the patriot-soldier

His meed

Nay

War's own sake

of

tho' that

take

fame in verse;
realm were in the wrong

For which her warriors bleed.

It still

The

were right to crown with song

warrior's noble deed

crown the Singer hopes may

last.

For so the deed endures;

But Song

will vanish in the Vast;

EPILOGUE.

And

365

that large phrase of yours

'A Star among the

stars,'

my

dear,

Is girlish talk at best;

For dare we dally with the sphere

As he did

half in jest,

Old Horace?
'The

stars

'I will strike'

But scarce could

The man

now we

see, as

The

ours,

fires that

see,

and Time,

in Space

So drew perchance a happier

Than

said he

with head sublime,'

who rhyme

lot

to-day.

arch this dusky dot

Yon myriad-worlded way

The

vast sun-clusters' gather'd blaze.

World-isles in lonely skies.

Whole heavens within themselves, amaze

Our brief humanities;

And

so does Earth; for

Homer's fame,

Tho' carved in harder stone

The

falling

drop

As mortal as

will

my

make

his

name

own.

Irene.

No!
Poet.
Let

it

live

Earth passes,

then

ay,

all is lost

till

when?

EPILOGUE.

366

In what they prophesy, our wise men,

Sun-flame or sunless

And deed and song

Away, and

As

far as

all in

man can

frost,

alike are swept

vain

see,

except

The man himself remain;

And

tho', in this lean age forlorn.

Too many

a voice

man can

That

Not

He

cry

have no after-morn.

yet of these

The man

may

am

I.

remains, and whatso'er

wrought of good or brave

Will mould him thro' the cycle-year

That dawns behind the grave.

And

here the Singer for his Art

Not

all

in vain

may plead

*The song that nerves a nation's heart

Is in itself a deed.'

TO

VIRGIL.

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE MANTUANS FOR THE

NINETEENTH CENTENARY OF VIRGIL'S DEATH.

Roman

Virgil, thou that singest

Ilion's lofty temples

Ilion falling,

Rome

wars,

and

robed in

fire,

arising,
filial faith,

and Dido's pyre;

II.

Landscape-lover, lord of language

more than he

that sang the

Works and Days,

All the chosen coin of fancy

flashing out

from many a golden phrase;

m.

Thou

that singest
tilth

All the

charm

wheat and woodland,

and vineyard, hive and horse and herd;

of all the

Muses

often flowering in a lonely word;

TO

368

VIRGIL.

IV.

Poet of the happy Tityrus

piping underneath his beechen bowers;

Poet of the poet-satyr

whom

the laughing

shepherd bound with

flowers

Chanter of the Pollio, glorying

in the blissful years again to be,

Summers

meadow,

of the snakeless

unlaborious earth and oarless sea;

VI.

Thou

that seest Universal

Nature moved by Universal INIind;

Thou

majestic in thy sadness

at the doubtful

doom

of

human kind;

VII.

Light

among

the vanish'd ages;

star that gildest yet this

phantom shore;

Golden branch amid the shadows,

kings and realms that pass to rise no more;

TO

VIRGIL.

369

vin.

Now

thy

Forum

roars

no longer,

dome

fallen every purple Caesar's

The' thine ocean-roll of rhythm

sound

for ever of Imperial

Rome-

IX.

Now

the

Rome

of slaves hath perish'd,'

and the
I,

Rome

of

freemen holds her place,

from out the Northern Island

all

the

human

loved thee since

my

day began,

sunder 'd once from

race,

X.

I salute thee,

Mantovano,

I that

Wielder of the
ever

VOL.

IV.

stateliest

measure

moulded by the

lips ot

man.

THE DEAD PROPHET.

182-.

I.

Dead!

And

the

Muses cried with a stormy cry

'Send them no more, for evermore.

Let the people die.'

n.

Dead!
*Is it he then

And

brought so low?

a careless people flock' d from the fields

With a purse

to

pay for the show.

III.

Dead, who had served his time,

Was one

Had

of the people's kings.

labour'd in lifting them out of slime,

And showing

them, souls have wings

THE DEAD PROPHET.

371

rv.

Dumb

on the winter heath he

His friends had

And

roll'd his

That

all

the

stript

him

lay.

bare,

nakedness everyway

crowd might

stare.

storm-worn signpost not to be read,

And

On

a tree with a

moulder 'd nest

barkless bones, stood stark by the dead;

its

And behind him, low

in the West,

VI.

With

shifting ladders of

And

blurr'd in colour

The sun hung over

And

glared at a

shadow and

light,

and form.

the gates of Night,

coming storm.

VII.

Then

glided a vulturous Beldam forth,

That on dumb death had thriven;

They

call'd her

And

'Reverence

'

here upon earth,

'The Curse of the Prophet

'

in

Heaven.

THE DEAD PROPHET.

372

VIII.

She knelt

'We worship him

'

'So great so noble was he

She

all

but wept-

clear' d her sight, she arose, she

The

swept

dust of earth from her knee.

IX.

Great! for he spoke and the people heard,

And

his eloquence caught like a flame

From zone

to

Had won

zone of the world,

till

his

Word

him a noble name.

X.

Noble

he sung, and the sweet sound ran

Thro' palace and cottage door,

For he touch 'd on the whole sad planet of man,

The kings and

the rich

and the poor;

XI.

'And he sung not alone

But

a sun

coming up

Great and noble

For man

is

of

an old sun

in his youth

O yes but yet

a lover of Truth,

set,

THE DEAD PROPHET.

373

XII.

'And bound

to follow,

wherever she go

Stark-naked, and up or down,

Thro' her high hill-passes of stainless snow.

Or

the foulest sewer of the town

XIII.

Noble and great

O aybut then,

Tho' a prophet should have his due.

Was he
Shall

men?

noblier-fashion'd than other

we

see to

it,

and you?

XIV.

'For since he would

As a lord

We

of the

sit

on a Prophet's

Human

seat,

soul.

needs must scan him from head to feet

Were

it

but for a wart or a mole ?

'

XV.

His wife and

But she

his child stood

by him

in tears,

she push'd them aside.

*Tho' a name

Yet a truth

may
is

last for

a thousand years.

a truth,' she cried.

THE DEAD PROPHET.

374

XVI.

And she that had haunted his pathway still,

Had often truckled and cower'
When he rose in his wrath, and had yielded

her

will

To

the master, as overpower' d,

XVII.

She tumbled his helpless corpse about.

'Small blemish upon the skin!

But

think

we know what

is fair

without

Is often as foul within.'

xvm.
She crouch'd, she tore him part from

And

part.

out of his body she drew

The red 'Blood-eagle

She held them up

'

of liver

and heart;

to the view;

xrx.

She gabbled, as she groped in the dead,

And
1

all

the people were pleased;

Old Viking term

for lungs,

liver,

etc.,

conqueror out of the body of the conquered.

when

torn by the

THE DEAD PROPHET.

*See,

what a

'And the

little heart,'

she said,

liver is half-diseased

XX.

She tore the Prophet after death,

And

the people paid her well.

Lightnings flicker'd along the heath;

One

shriek' d

'The

fires of

Hell!

375

EARLY SPRING.

Once more
Makes

the

And domes

Heavenly Power

things new,

all

the red-plow'd hills

loving blue;

\\'ith

The blackbirds have

The

Openo a door

From

their wills,

throstles too.

Heaven;

in

skies of glass

Jacob's ladder

falls

On greening grass,
And o'er the mountain-walls
Young

angels pass.

in.

Before them

And

fleets the shov/er.

burst the buds,

376

EARLY

SPRING.

And shine the level lands,

And flash the floods;
The

from their hands

stars are

Flung

thro' the

woods,

IV.

The woods with

How

living airs

softly fann'd.

Light airs from where the deep,

All

down

the sand,

Is breathing in his sleep,

Heard by

follow, leaping blood,

The

the land.

season's lure

heart, look

down and up

Serene, secure.

Warm

as the crocus cup,

Like snowdrops, pure

VI.

and fade

Past, Future glimpse

Thro' some slight

spell,

gleam from yonder

Some

far blue fell,

vale,

yji

EARLY

378

And

SPRING,

how

sympathies,

frail,

In sound and smell

vn.

Till at thy chuckled note,

Thou twinkling

The

bird,

fairy fancies range,

And,

Ring

lightly stirr'd.

little bells

From word

change

of

to word.

VIII.

For now the Heavenly Power

Makes

And

things new.

thaws the cold, and

The

The

all

flower with

fills

dew;

blackbirds have their wills,

The poets

too.

PREFATORY POEM TO MY BROTHER'S

SONNETS.
Midnight June yiy 1879.
J

Midnight

in no midsummer tune

The breakers
The cuckoo

lash the shores

of a joyless June

Is calling out of doors

And thou hast

To that which

vanish' d from thine

looks like

True brother, only

By

those

Midnight

who

to

own

rest,

be known

love thee best.

and joyless June gone by,

And from

the deluged park

The cuckoo

of a worse July

Is calling thro' the

dark:
379

MIDNIGHT.

38o

But thou

And

underground,

art silent

o'er thee streams the rain,

True poet, surely

When

Truth

is

be found

to

found again.

m.
And, now

Far

off

From

And
Of

unsummer'd

to these

The summer

bird

phantom cuckoo

out a

phantom

thro' this

skies

is still,

cries

hill;

midnight breaks the sun

sixty years away.

The

light of days

when

life

begun,

seem to-day,

The days

that

When

all

my

As

all

my

As

all

thou wert was one with me.

May

all

griefs

were shared with thee.

hopes were thine

thou art be mine

'FRATER AVE ATQUE VALE.'

Row

us out from Desenzano, to your Sirmione row

So they row'd, and there we landed

Sirmio

There

to

mer

*0

venusta

me

thro' all the groves of olive in the

sum-

glow,

There beneath the

Roman

ruin where the purple

flowers grow,

Came

that 'Ave atque Vale

'

of the Poet's hopeless

woe,

Tenderest of

Roman

poets nineteen-hundred years

ago,

'Frater

Gazing

Ave atque Vale

at the

'

as we wander'd

to

and

fro

Lydian laughter of the Garda Lake

below
Sweet Catullus' s all-but-island, olive-silvery Sirmio!
381

HELEN'S T0WER.1
Helen's Tower, here

Dominant over

sea

I stand,

and land

Son's love built me, and

hold

Mother's love in letter'd gold.

Love
I

am

is

in

Would my
As either
I

and out

of time,

mortal stone and lime.

granite girth were strong

love, to last as long

should wear

my crown

entire

To and thro' the Doomsday

And be found of angel eyes

fire,

In earth's recurring Paradise.

Written

at the request of

my

382

friend,

Lord

Dufferin.

EPITAPH ON LORD STRATFORD DE

REDCLIFFE.
In Westminster Abbey.

Thou third great Canning, stand among

And noblest, now thy long day's work
Here

silent in our

Who wert

our best
hath ceased,

Minster of the West

the voice of England in the East

383

EPITAPH ON GENERAL GORDON.

In the Gordon Boys' National Memorial

Home

NEAR Woking.

Warrior

Now
Thou

of

God, man's friend, and

somewhere dead

tyrant's foe,

far in the waste

livest in all hearts, for all

Soudan,

men know

This earth has never borne a nobler man.

384

EPITAPH ON CAXTON.
In St. Margaret's, Westminster.
Fiat Lux

Thy

prayer was
shall last

Thou

Light

(his

motto)

more

sawest a glory growing

on the

But not the shadows which that

Till

Light

while

night,

light

would

shadows vanish in the Light of Light.

385

VOL.

IV.

Time

cast,

TO THE DUKE OF ARGYLL.

O

Patriot Statesman, be thou wise to know

The

limits of resistance,

Determining concession;

Not only

And be

and the bounds

still

be bold

to slight praise but suffer scorn;

thy heart a fortress to maintain

The day

against the

moment, and

the year

Against the day; thy voice, a music heard

Thro'

And

all

the yells

faction,

and counter-yells of feud

and thy

will, a

power

to

make

This ever-changing world of circumstance,

In changing, chime with never-changing Law.
386

HANDS ALL ROUND.

First pledge our

Then drink

to

Queen

this

solemn night,

England, every guest;

That man's the best Cosmopolite

Who
May

loves his native country best.

freedom's oak for ever live

With stronger
That man's the

life

from day

to

day;

true Conservative

Who

lops the moulder' d branch away.

God

the traitor's

Hands

all

round

hope confound!

To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,

And the great name of England, round and round.

To all the loyal hearts who long

To keep our English Empire whole
To all our noble sons, the strong

New England

of the Southern Pole

To England under Indian skies,

To those dark millions of her
387

realm!

HANDS ALL ROUND.

388

To Canada whom we

love

and

prize,

Whatever statesman hold the helm.

Hands

all

round

God the traitor's hope confound!

To this great name of England drink, my
And all her glorious empire, round and

To

all

round.

our statesmen so they be

True leaders

To

friends.

of the land's desire!

both our Houses,

Beyond

may

the borough

they see

and the shire

We sail'd wherever ship could sail.

We founded many a mighty state;
Pray

God

our greatness

may not

fail

Thro' craven fears of being great.

Hands

all

round

God the traitor's hope confound!

To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.

FREEDOM.

O THOU

SO fair in

summers gone,

While yet thy fresh and virgin soul

Inform'd the pillar'd Parthenon,

The

So

glittering Capitol;

fair in

southern sunshine bathed,

But scarce of such majestic mien

As here with forehead vapour- swathed

In meadows ever green;

in.

For thou

Thy

glorious eyes were

To mark
The

when Athens reign'd and Rome,

in

many

dimm'd with pain

a freeman's

home

slave, the sconrge, the chain;

389

FREEDOM.

390

IV.

follower of the Vision,

still

In motion to the distant gleam,

Howe'er blind

May

jar thy

force

and brainless

Of Knowledge fusing
Of

civic

Of Love

will

golden dream

class with class,

Hate no more

to be.

to leaven all the mass,

Till every Soul be free;

VI.

Who

yet, like Nature,

By changes

all

wouldst not mar

too fierce and fast

This order of Her

Human

Star,

This heritage of the past;

vn.

scorner of the party cry

That wanders from the public good,

Thou

when the nations rear on high

Their idol smear' d with blood.

FREEDOM.

391

vm.

And when

they roll their idol

down

Of saner worship sanely proud;

Thou
As

loather of the lawless

of the lawless

crown

crowd;

IX.

How

long thine ever-growing

Hath

still'

Tho' some of

To

Men

mind

d the blast and strewn the wave,

late

would

raise a

wind

sing thee to thy grave,

loud against

all

forms of power

Unfurnish'd brows, tempestuous tongues

Expecting

all

things in an hour

Brass mouths and iron lungs

TO

H.R.H. PRINCESS BEATRICE.

Suns of Love make day of human

Two

Which
Were

else with all its pains,

utter darkness

That brightens

And warms
The

the child's

later-rising

Which from

To move

one,

thro' the

Sun

and

the

life,

griefs,

Sun

of

and deaths,

dawn

Mother's tender eyes.

awakening world

and one

of spousal Love,

her household orbit draws the child

in other spheres.

The Mother weeps

At that white funeral of the single

life.

Her maiden daughter's marriage; and her

Are half of pleasure, half of pain
Is

happy

ev'n in leaving her!

True daughter, whose

Have seen

but Thou,

all-faithful, filial eyes

the loneliness of earthly thrones.

Wilt neither quit the widow' d Crown, nor

This

tears

the child

later light of

let

Love have risen in vain.

But moving thro' the Mother's home, between

The two

that love thee, lead a

summer

Sway'd by each Love, and swaying

to

life,

each Love,

Like some conjectured planet in mid heaven

Between two Suns, and drawing down from both

The

light

and genial warmth

392

of

double day.

THE

You, you, {/"you

shall fail to

What England

On

you

will

Should

FLEET.*

is,

come

and what her

the curse of

England

this old

Which Nelson
1

The speaker

understand

said that

fall

left so great.

he should hke

other outlying portions of the Empire, the

important coaling stations were

thoroughly

all-in-all,

the land.

all

to

be assured that

Crown

being as

colonies,

and

promptly and as

fortified as the various capitals of the self-governing

He

was credibly informed this was not so. It was

some degree of anxiety about the
efficacy of present provision to defend and protect, by means of
swift well-armed cruisers, the immense mercantile fleet of the
Empire. A third source of anxiety, so far as the colonies were
concerned, was the apparently insufficient provision for the rapid
manufacture of armaments and their prompt despatch when
colonies.

impossible, also, not to feel

ordered to their colonial destination.

Hence

the necessity for

manufacturing appliances equal to the requirements, not of

Great Britain alone, but of the whole Empire.

But the keystone

of the whole was the necessity for an overwhelmingly powerful

fleet

was

and

efficient

defence for

all

This

necessary coaling stations.

as essential for the colonies as for Great Britain.

the one condition for the continuance of the Empire.

It

was

All that

Continental Powers did with respect to armies England should

effect

with her navy.

It

was

essentially a defensive force,

could be moved rapidly from point to point, but

393

it

and

should be

THE FLEET.

394

n.

His

isle,

Her

Ocean-power on

the mightiest

Our own

fuller franchise

what would

Her ancient fame

Were

she

earth,

every sea

fair isle, the lord of

that be worth

of Free

...

a fallen state?

m.

Her

dauntless

army

scatter' d,

Her island-myriads
The

fleet of

Her

England

fleet is in

And

and so

small,

fed from alien lands

is

her all-in-all;

your hands,

in her fleet her Fate.

IV.

You, you, that have the ordering of her

fleet,

If yoM should only compass her disgrace.

When all men starve,

the wild

mob's million

feet

Will kick you from your place,

But then too

equal to

all

fleet that

that

late,

was expected from it.

would first readily

colonists

they realised

too

how

late.
It

was

to strengthen the

tax themselves, because

essential a powerful fleet

was

to the safety,

not only of that extensive commerce sailing in every sea, but

ultimately to the security of the distant portions of the Empire.

Who

could estimate the loss involved in even a brief period of

Any amount of money timely

would be quite insignificant when compared with the possible calamity he had referred to.' Extract
disaster to the Imperial

expended

Navy?

in preparation

from Sir Graham Berry s Speech

November 1886.

at the Colonial Institute, gth

OPENING OF THE INDIAN AND COLONIAL

EXHIBITION BY THE QUEEN.
Written at the Request of the Prince of Wales.

Welcome, welcome with one voice

In your welfare we rejoice,

Sons and brothers that have

From

isle

sent,

and cape and continent,

Produce of your

field

and

flood.

Mount and mine, and primal wood;

Works

And

of subtle brain

and hand.

splendours of the morning land,

Gifts from every British zone;

Britons, hold your

May we

own

find, as ages run,

The mother

And may

featured in the son;

yours for ever be

That old strength and constancy

395

396

OPENING OF INDIAN AND COLONIAL

Which

has

made your

fathers great

In our ancient island State,

And wherever

her flag

fly,

Glorying between sea and sky,

Makes

the might of Britain

known;

own

Britons, hold your

in.

Britain fought her sons of yore

Britain fail'd; and never more,

Careless of our growing kin,

Shall

Men

we

sin our fathers' sin,

day

that in a narrower

Unprophetic

rulers they

Drove from out the mother's nest

That young eagle

To

of the

West

forage for herself alone

Britons, hold your

own

rv.

Sharers of our glorious past,

Brothers, must
Shall

we not

we

thro'

part at last?

good and

Cleave to one another

Britain's

still?

myriad voices

call.

ill

EXHIBITION BY THE QUEEN.

'Sons, be welded each

and

all,

Into one imperial whole,

One

with Britain, heart and soul

One

life,

one

flag,

one

Britons, hold your

one Throne

fleet,

own

397

POETS AND THEIR BIBLIOGRAPHIES.

Old

poets foster'd under friendlier skies,

Old

Virgil

who would

At dawn, and lavish

write ten lines, they say,

all

the golden day

To make them wealthier in his readers' eyes;

And you, old popular Horace, you the wise
Adviser of the nine-years-ponder'd

And

Catullus,
If,

lay,

you, that wear a wTeath of sweeter bay,

whose dead songster never dies;

glancing downward on the kindly sphere

That once had

You

roll'd

see your Art

You should be

still

you round and round the Sun,

shrined in

human

shelves,

jubilant that you flourish'd here

Before the Love of Letters, overdone.

Had swampt

the sacred poets with themselves.

398

DEMETER AND OTHER POEMS.

TO THE MARQUIS OF DUFFERIN

AND

At

AVA.

times our Britain cannot

rest,

At times her steps are swift and rash;

She moving,

at her girdle clash

The golden keys

Not

swift or rash,

The

To
Her

of East

when

and West.

late she lent

sceptres of her West, her East,

one, that ruling has increased

greatness and her self-content.

m.
Your

made

rule has

Their

ruler.

Have added
Of Gauntlet
*

VOL. IV.

the people love

Your viceregal days

fulness to the phrase

in the velvet glove.'

2D

401

TO THE MARQUIS OF DUFFER IN.

402

IV.

But since your name

Not

all,

as

will

honouring your

Of Statesman, have

grow with Time,

golden portal to

made

fair

fame

the

name

my rhyme

But more, that you and yours may know

From me and mine, how dear

We

owed

To you and

a debt

you, and are owing yet

yours,

and

still

would owe.

VI.

For he

your India was his Fate,

And drew him

over sea to you

He fain had ranged her thro' and

To serve her myriads and the State,

thro',

vn.

soul that, watch'd from earliest youth.

And on

Had
By one

thro'

many

a brightening year,

never swerved for craft or

fear,

side-path, from simple truth;

TO THE MAKQUIS OF DUFFER IN.

Who

might have chased and claspt Renown

And

caught her chaplet here

and there

In haunts of jungle-poison'd air

The

flame of

life

went wavering down;

rx.

But ere he

And

lay

left

on

your

fatal shore,

that funereal boat,

Dying, 'Unspeakable

'

he wrote

'Their kindness,' and he wrote no more;

X.

And

sacred

And now
And

is

the latest word;

the Was, the Might-have-been,

those lone rites

And one

drear sound

have not seen.

have not heard,

XI.

Are dreams that scarce

Not

there to bid

When That
Fell

and

will let

my boy

me

be,

farewell.

within the coffin

fell.

Red

Sea,

flash' d into the

403

404

TO THE MARQUIS OF DUFFERIN,

xn.

Beneath a hard Arabian

moon

And

alien stars.

The

sons before the fathers die,

Not mine

and

To

why

question,

may meet him soon;

xra.

But while

Nor

My

my

life's late

eve endures,

settles into hueless gray,

memories

of his briefer

day

Will mix with love for you and yours.

ON THE JUBILEE OF QUEEN VICTORIA.

Fifty times the rose has flower'd and faded,

Fifty times the golden harvest fallen,

Since our

Queen assumed

the globe, the sceptre.

She beloved for a kindliness

Rare in Fable or History,

Queen, and Empress of India,

Crown' d so long with a diadem

Never worn by a worthier.

Now

with prosperous auguries

Comes

at last to the

Crowning year

bounteous

of her Jubilee.

m.
Nothing of the

lawless, of the Despot,

Nothing of the

vulgar, or vainglorious.

All

is

gracious, gentle, great

405

and Queenly.

4o6

ON THE JUBILEE OF QUEEN

VICTORIA.

IV.

You then

joyfully, all of you,

Set the mountain aflame to-night,

Shoot your

stars to the

Deck your

houses, illuminate

firmament,

All your towns for a festival,

And

in each let a multitude

Loyal, each, to the heart of

One

full

Hail the

Of

it,

voice of allegiance,
fair

Ceremonial

this year of her Jubilee.

Queen, as true to womanhood

as

Queenhood,

Glorying in the glories of her people,

Sorrowing with the sorrows of the lowest

VI.

You, that wanton in

Spare not

now

to

afifluence.

be bountiful.

Call your poor to regale with you,

All the lowly, the destitute,

Make

their

neighbourhood healthfuUer,

Give your gold

to the Hospital,

Let the weary be comforted.

ON THE JUBILEE OF QUEEN

VICTORIA.

Let the needy be banqueted,

Let the maim'd in his heart rejoice

At

this glad

And

Ceremonial,

this year of her Jubilee.

vn.

Henry's

fifty

years are

all

in shadow,

Gray with distance Edward's

Ev'n her Grandsire's

fifty

fifty

summerSj

half forgotten.

vni.

You, the Patriot Architect,

You

that shape for Eternity,

Raise a stately memorial.

Make

it

regally gorgeous.

Some Imperial
Rich

Institute,

in symbol, in ornament,

Which may speak

to the centuries.

All the centuries after us.

Of

this great

And

Ceremonial,

this year of her Jubilee.

EX.

Fifty years of ever-broadening

Commerce

Fifty years of ever-brightening Science

Fifty years of ever-widening

Empire

407

4o8

ON THE JUBILEE OF QUEEN

VICTORIA.

You, the Mighty, the Fortunate,

You, the Lord-territorial,
You, the Lord- manufacturer,

You, the hardy, laborious,

Patient children of Albion,

You, Canadian, Indian,

Australasian, African,
All your hearts be in harmony,
All your voices in unison,

Singing 'Hail to the glorious

Golden year

of her Jubilee

XI.

Are there thunders moaning in the distance?

Are there spectres moving in the darkness?

Trust the

Hand

of Light will lead her people,

Till the thunders pass, the spectres vanish.

And the Light is Victor, and the darkness

Dawns into the Jubilee of the Ages.

TO PROFESSOR

JEBB.

With the Following Poem.

Fair things are slow to fade away,

Bear witness you, that yesterday

From

out the Ghost of Pindar in you

RoU'd an Olympian; and they say^

That here the torpid

mummy

Of Egypt bore a grain

As

that

wheat

as sweet

which gilds the glebe of England,

Sunn'd with a summer of milder heat.

So may
If

this

legend for awhile,

greeted by your classic smile,

Tho' dead in

its

Trinacrian Enna,

Blossom again on a colder

1

In Bologna.

isle.

They
409

say, for the fact

is

doubtful.

DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE.

(In Enna.)

Faint as a climate-changing bird that

on the threshold

Falls

And can no more,

Led upward by

Who
Until

When

thro' at

here thy hands

thy lost
thee,

thro'

self.

and

And welcome

When

O my

of ghosts

and dreams,

dumb

dazed and

once from

child,

state to state.

brought thee hither, that the day.

Might break

Saw

God

laid thee at Eleusis,

With passing

On

of her native land,

thou earnest,

the

flies

dawn

All night across the darkness, and at

first

let fall the gather' d flower,

clouded memories once again

sudden nightingale

flash' d into

and

a frolic of song

gleam

as of the

moon.

she peers along the tremulous deep.

Fled wavering o'er thy face, and chased away

That shadow

of a likeness to the king

Of shadows, thy dark mate.

Queen

of

the dead no more

eyes
410

Persephone

my

child!

Thine

DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE.

41

Again were human-godlike, and the Sun

swimming

Burst from a

fleece of winter gray,

And robed

thee in his day from head to feet

'Mother!

and

'

was folded in thine arms.

Child, those imperial, disimpassion'd eyes

Awed even me
That

oft

at

first,

thy mother

eyes

had seen the serpent-wanded power

Draw downward

into

Hades with

his drift

Of

flickering spectres, lighted

By

the red race of fiery Phlegethon;

But when before have Gods or

from below

men beheld

The

Life that had descended re-arise,

And

lighted from above

him by

the

Sun?

So mighty was the mother's childless

cry that rang thro' Hades, Earth,

So in

The

this pleasant vale

field of

With

we stand

cry,

and Heaven

again.

Enna, now once more ablaze

flowers that brighten as thy footstep

All flowers

but for

falls.

one black blur of earth

Left by that closing chasm, thro' which the car

Of dark Aidoneus

And

here,

my

rising rapt thee hence.

child, tho' folded in thine arms,

I feel the deathless heart of

Within me shudder,

lest the

motherhood
naked glebe

Should yawn once more into the

gulf,

and thence

DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE.

412

The

whinnyings of the team of Hell,

shrilly

Ascending, pierce the glad and songful

And
Jet

upward

No!

mid-day blossom.

thro' the

For, see, thy foot has touch 'd

it;

Of blank earth-baldness clothes

And

air,

once their arch'd necks, midnight-maned,

all at

all

the space

itself afresh,

breaks into the crocus-purple hour

That saw thee vanish.

/

Child,
I

envied

human

when thou wert gone,

wives, and nested birds.

Yea, the cubb'd lioness; went in search of thee

Thro'

Thy

many

a palace,

many

a cot, and gave

breast to ailing infants in the night,

And set the mother waking in amaze

To find her sick one whole; and forth again
Among the wail of midnight winds, and cried,
'Where

is

my

loved one?

Wherefore do ye wail?

And out from all the night an answer shrill 'd,

'We know not, and we know not why we wail.'
I

climb' d on

And

all

the

cliffs of all

ask'd the waves that

the seas.

moan about

'Where? do ye make your moaning

the world

for

my

child?'

voices came

And round from all the world the

'We know not, and we know not why we moan.'
'Where
I

'?

and

stared from every eagle-peak,

thridded the black heart of

all

the woods.

DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE.

I

413

peer'd thro' tomb and cave, and in the storms

Of Autumn swept across the

The murmur
Me, me,

city,

and heard

of their temples chanting me,

desolate

the

Mother!

'Where'?

and

turn'd,

by many a waste, forlorn of man.

And

fled

And

grieved for

man

thro' all

my

grief for thee,

The

jungle rooted in his shatter 'd hearth,

The

serpent coil'd about his broken shaft,

The scorpion crawling over naked

I

skulls;

saw the tiger in the ruin'd fane

Spring from his fallen God, but trace of thee

I

saw not; and

far on, and, following out

league of labyrinthine darkness,

On

came

three gray heads beneath a gleaming

'Where

'

*We know

And

and

heard one voice from

not, for

we spin

not of Gods, and

There

is

the lives of

rift.

the three

all

men,

know not why we spin

a Fate beyond us.

'

Nothing knew.

Last as the likeness of a dying man,

Without his knowledge, from him

far-off

flits

to

warn

friendship that he comes no more.

So he, the

Drew from

God

of dreams,

who heard my

cry,

thyself the likeness of thyself

Without thy knowledge, and thy shadow past

Before me, crying 'The Bright one in the highest

DEMETER AXD PERSEPHONE.

414

Is brother of the

in the lowest,

Bright and Dark have sworn that

And
Of

Dark one

the child

I,

Power

thee, the great Earth-Mother, thee, the

That

her buried

lifts

life

from gloom

to

bloom,

Should be for ever and for evermore

Bride of Darkness,'

So the Shadow wail'd.

Then
I

Earth- Goddess, cursed the

I,

would not mingle with

Gods

their feasts; to

Their nectar smack' d of hemlock on the

of

Heaven.

me
lips,

Their rich ambrosia tasted aconite.

The man,

that only lives

Seem'd nobler than

My

and loves an hour,

their hard Eternities.

quick tears kill'd the flower,

The

and

bird,

my

ravings hush'd

lost in utter grief I fail'd

To send my

life thro'

And golden

grain,

olive-yard and vine

my

gift to helpless

man.

Rain-rotten died the wheat, the barley-spears

Were hollow-husk' d,
Pale at

my

grief,

Sickening, and

Then He,

Who still
On earth

is

fell,

and the sun,

drew down before his time

^tna

kept her winter snow.

the brother of this Darkness,

He

highest, glancing from his height

a fruitless fallow,

The wonted steam

And

the leaf

prayer of

when he miss'd

of sacrifice, the praise

men, decreed

that thou should' st dwell

DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE.

415

For nine white moons of each whole year with me,

Three dark ones in the shadow with thy King.

Once more
Will see

the reaper in the

me by

Blessing his

gleam

dawn

of

the landmark far away,

field,

or seated in the dusk

Of even, by the lonely

threshing-floor.

Rejoicing in the harvest and the grange.

Yet

I,

am

Earth-Goddess,

With them, who

What meant

still

but ill-conten;

Those gray heads,

are highest.

they by their 'Fate beyond the Fates

But younger kindlier Gods to bear us down.

As we bore down the Gods before us ? Gods,

To quench,

not hurl the thunderbolt, to stay,

Not spread

the plague, the famine;

To

Gods indeed,

send the noon into the night and break

The

sunless halls of

Hades

Till thy dark lord accept

And

all

the

Shadow die

into

Heaven?

and love the Sun,

into the Light,

When thou shalt dwell the whole bright year with me,
And souls of men, who grew beyond their race.
And made

themselves as Gods against the fear

Of Death and Hell; and thou

As Queen of Death,

that hast

that worship

from men.

which

is

Fear,

Henceforth, as having risen from out the dead,

Shalt ever send thy life along with

From buried

mine

grain thro' springing blade,

and

bless

DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE.

4i6

Their garner' d Autumn

also,

reap with me,

Earth-mother, in the harvest hymns of Earth

The worship which

The
Of

is

Love, and see no more

Stone, the Wheel, the dimly-glimmering lawns

that Elysium, all the hateful fires

Of torment, and the shadowy warrior glide

Along the

silent field of

Asphodel.

OWD
Naay, noa mander ^

o'

R0A.1

use to be callin' 'im Roa, Roa,

Roa,

Fur the dog's stoan-deaf, an'

Stan'

But

Fur

'e's blind, 'e

can naither

nor goa.

means

fur to

maake

'is

owd aage

as 'appy as

iver I can,

owas owd Roaver moor nor

I iver

owad mottal

man.

Thou's rode of

'is

back when a babby, afoor thou was

gotten too owd.

Fur 'e'd fetch an' carry

like owt, 'e

was

alius as

good

as gowd.

Eh, but 'e'd

howd*

fight wi' a will

'is

when

'e

fowt; 'e could

oan,

An' Roa was the dog as knaw'd when an' wheere to

bury his boane.
1

VOL.

Old Rover.
IV.

Manner.

2E

Hold.
417

OlVD ROA.

4i8

An'

'e

kep his head hoop

not

down

wi'

like a king, an' 'e'd niver

'is taail,

Fur 'e'd niver done nowt

we was
An'

'e

sarved

when
I

i'

'e

be shaamed on, when

to

Howlaby Daale.

me

sa well

cooms

to

when

'e

lived, that, Dick,

be dead,

thinks as I'd like fur to hev

soom

soort of a sarv'ice

read.

Fur

'e's

moor good sense na

the Parliament

man

'at

stans fur us 'ere.

An' I'd voat fur 'im,

my

oan

sen,

could but stan

if 'e

fur the Shere.

*Faaithful an' True

'

them words be

i'

Scriptur

an'

Faaithful an' True

UU

be fun'

upo' four short legs ten times fur one

upo' two.

An' maaybe they'll walk upo' two but

runs upo' four,^

knaws they

Bedtime, Dicky! butwaait

till tlia

'ears it

be strikin'

the hour.

Fur

wants to

tell

tha o'

Roawhen we

lived

laby Daale,
*

Found.

'Ou'

as in 'house.'

i'

How-

OWD
Ten

year sin

one glass

Naay naay!

Wi' haafe
like a

my
o'

mun nobbut

hev'

the 'ouse, an' belt^ long

daay
the chimleys a-twizzen'd^ an'

band

The

fellers as

An'

sattle their

fall o'

tha

of aale.

Straange an' owd-farran'd

afoor

419

ROA.

o'

twined

haay.

maakes them

coom

picturs, 'ud

at the

the year,

ends upo' stools to pictur the door-

poorch theere,
An' the Heagle

'as

hed two heads stannin' theere

the brokken stick;

o*

An' they niver 'ed seed sich

ivin'

as

graw'd

hall

ower the brick;

An' theere

i'

the 'ouse one night

on

it

now

all

Goan

but

it's

down, an'

into mangles an' tonups,^ an' raaved slick thruf

by the plow
Theere, when the 'ouse wur a house, one night I'wur
sittin' aloan,

'

Owd-farran'd,' old-fashioned.

On

2 Built.

5 Ivy.

'

Twizzen'd,' twisted.

a staff ragule.

Mangolds and

turnips.

OlVD ROA.

420

my

Wi' Roaver athurt

feeat, an'

sleeapin'

still

as a

stoan,

Of a Christmas Eave,

an'

as

cowd

as this, an' the

midders ^ as white,
An'

the

fences

all

on 'em

bolster' d

oop

wi'

the

windle^ that night;

An' the cat wur a-sleeapin' alongside Roaver, but

wur awaake.
An' smoakin' an' thinkin'

o'

things

Doant

maake

thsyen sick wi' the caake.

Fur the men

ater supper 'ed sung their songs an' 'ed

'ed their beer,

An' 'ed goan their waays; ther was nobbut three, an'

noan on 'em

They was

all

theere.

on 'em fear'd

not sleeap

i'

Ghoast an' dussn't

o' the

the 'ouse.

But Dicky, the Ghoast moastlins

was nobbut a

rat

or a mouse.

An'

loookt out wonst

was

all

at the night, an'

the daale

of a thaw,

Meadows.

'

Drifted snow.

Once.

Moastlins,' for the

most

part, generally.

OPVn ROA.
Fur

seed the beck coomin'

snaake

An'

bank

fro' the

An' then as
o'

Saw

my

snaw

o' the

i'

slushin'

the doorwaay, I feeald

down

it

drip

neck.

turn'd in agean, an'

times

like a long black

to the beck,

stood

down

the snaw,

i'

heard great heaps

421

thowt

o'

the

good owd

was goan,

'at

An' the munney they maade by the war, an' the times
'at

Fur

was coomin' on;

thowt

the Staate was agawin' to let in furri-

if

ners' wheat,

Howiver was

British farmers to stan' agean o' their

feeat.

Howiver was

fur to find

my

rent an' to paay

my

men?
An'

all

along

o'

the feller^ as turn'd

'is

back of

hissen.

Thou

slep

i'

the

chaumber above

us,

we couldn't

ha'

'eard tha call,

Sa Moother 'ed
craadle an'

tell'd

ma

to bring tha

all;
1

Peel.

down, an' thy

422

Fur the

gell o'

own

ROA.

farm

'at slep

the

wi' tha then 'ed

gotten wer leave,

Fur to goa that night to

'er foalk

by cause

o'

the

when Moother

'ed

Christmas Eave;

But

my

clean forgot tha,

lad,

gotten to bed.

An'

slep

my

i'

chair hup-on-end, an' the

Traade runn'd
dream' d

Till I

'at

my

i'

Freea

'ead.

Squire walkt

in, an' I says

to

him

'Squire, ya're laate,

Then

seed at

theer

An'

i'

'e says

'is

faace wur as red as the Yule-block

the graate.

'can ya paay

me

the rent to-night?

'

an' I

says to 'im 'Noa,

An'

howd hard

cotch'd

'e

o'

my

hairm,^

'

Then hout

to-night tha shall goa.'

'Tha'll

niver,

says

'

Christmas Eave'

Then

waaked

tearin'

An'

I,

'be a-turnin

an' I fun

my

ma

it

was Roaver a-tuggin' an'

slieave.

thowt as 'e'd goan clean- wud,^ fur

knaw'd

'is

hout upo'

intent;

Arm.

Mad.

noawaays

own
An'

ROA.

423

says 'Git awaay, ya beast,' an'

kick an'

Then

'e

'a

'e

tummled up

brokken

'is

stairs, fur I

An'

down

my

i'

'eard 'im, as

if

'e'd

little

Dicky, thy chaumber door

wouldn't sneck;
I slep'

'im a

neck.

An' I'd clear forgot,

An'

I fetcht

went.

chair agean wi'

my

hairm hingin'

to the floor.

thowt

it

was Roaver a-tuggin' an'

tearin'

me

wuss nor afoor,

An'

thowt

Moother

'What

kick'd 'im agean, but

'at I

kick'd thy

istead.

theere fur? the house

arta snorin'

is

afire,'

she said.

Thy Moother

'ed

bean a-naggin' about the

gell o' the

farm,

She

'ud spy

off ens

not a mossel

summut wrong when

o'

harm;

An' she didn't not solidly mean

waay
Fur the
i'

in the

which

wur gawin'

that

to the bad.

gell

was as howry a trollope as iver traapes'd

the squad.

Latch.

mud, but there

is

there warn't

Tiie ^^\ ^v^g ^s dirty a slut as ever trudged

is

a sense of slatternliness in 'traapes'd'

not expressed in 'trudged.'

own

424

But Moother was free of

kep

An'

my chair,
ma then.

i'

rilin'

says 'I'd be

let

ma

mun

*Ya

good

ma

haafe ower

run fur the lether.^

if

tha'd onywaays

i'

the chair, an' screead

fur

Git oop,

if

ya're ony-

for owt.

says 'If I beant

good

noawaays

not

nowadaays

nowt

'Yit I beant sich a

do

to tha, Bess,

a-

Howl gone wud ^

waays good

And

was nobbut

fur I thowt she

be good,

But she skelpt

like a

'er tongue, as I offens 'ev

mysen,

tell'd 'er

Sa

ROA.

Nowt^

of all

Nowts

as 'ull hallus

as 'e's bid.'

'But the stairs

is

afire,'

she said;

then

seed

'er

a-cryin', I did.

An' she beald 'Ya

sharp about

Sa

it

mun

an'

saave

little

Dick, an' be

all,'

runs to the yard fur a lether, an' sets 'im agean

the wall,

She half overturned me and shrieked

Ladder.

A thoroughly

like

an owl gone mad.

insignificant or worthless person.

OlVD ROA.
An'

claums an'

425

mashes the winder hin, when

gits to the top,

But the heat druv

hoiit

i'

my

heyes

till I

feald

mysen

ready to drop.

Thy Moother was howdin'

the lether, an' tellin'

me

not to be skeard,

An'

wasn't afeard, or

thinks leastwaays as I wasn't

af eard ;

But

couldn't see fur the smoake wheere thou was

my

a-liggin,

lad,

An' Roaver was theere

yaupin' like

i'

chaumber a-yowlin'

the

an'

mad;

An' thou was a-bealin' likewise, an' a-squealin', as

if

tha was bit,

An'

wasn't a bite but a burn, fur the merk's^ o'

it

thy shou'der yit;

Then

out Roa, Roa, Roa, thaw I didn't haafe

I call'd

think as 'e'd

But

'(?

coom' d

to the

wV my

bairn V Hs mouth

winder theere!

He coom'd
'eard

'ear,

tJu'tif the fire

'is

like a

Hangel

o'

naame,
1

Mark.

marcy

as soon

as 'e

OWD

426

Or

like tother

Hangel

ROA.

Scriptur 'at

i'

summun

seed

i'

the flaame,

When summun

'ed hax'd fur a son, an' 'e promised a

son to she,

An' Roa was as good as the Hangel

fur

Sa

i'

saavin' a son

me.

browt tha down, an'

I says 'I

mun gaw up

agean

fur Roa.'

*Gaw up agean

mun
An'

claumb'dup agean

'is 'air

'e

I tell'd 'er

'Yeas

clemm'd^

to the winder, an'

the 'ead.

coom'd

at fust fur

Fur

'

goa.'

owd Roa by
An'

varmint?

fur the

off

i'

my

'ands an' I taaked 'im

dead;

smell'd like a herse a-singein', an' seeam'd

as blind as a poop.

An' haafe on 'im bare as a bublin'.^

couldn't

wakken 'im oop,

But

browt 'im down, an' we got to the barn, fur the

barn wouldn't burn

Wi' the wind blawin' hard tother waay, an' the wind
wasn't like to turn.
1

Clutched.

'

Bubbling,' a young unfledged bird.

An'

/kep
a

own

ROA.

Roa

till *e

a-callin' o'

427

waggled

'is taail

fur

bit,

But the cocks kep a-crawin' an' crawin'

I 'ears

'em

all night, an'

yit;

An' the dogs was a-yowlin'

all

round, and thou was

a-squealin' thysen,

An' Moother was naggin' an' groanin' an' moanin'

an' naggin' agean;

An'

I 'card the

when
Fur the

bricks an' the baulks^

rummle down

the roof gev waay.

fire

was a-raagin' an' raavin' an' roarin' like

judgment daay.

Warm enew

theere sewer-ly, but the barn was as

cowd

as owt,

An' we cuddled and huddled togither, an' happt^

wersens oop as we mowt.

An'

browt Roa round, but Moother 'ed bean sa

soak'd wi' the thaw

'At she cotch'd 'er death o'
soul,

i'

cowd

that night,

the straw.

Beams.

Wrapt

ourselves.

poor

OFTD ROA.

428

Haafe

o' the

parish runn'd oop

when

the rigtree^ was

tummlin' in

Too

laate

but

it's

all

ower

now hall

hower

an'

ten year sin;

Too

laate, tha
I'll

mun

git tha to bed,

squench the

Fur we meant

'ev

but

I'll

coora an'

light.

naw moor

fires

and soa

little

Dick,

good-night.
1

The beam

the ridge.

that runs along the roof of the house just beneath

VASTNESS.

Many

a hearth upon our dark globe sighs after

many

a vanish' d face,

Many

a planet

by many a sun may

roll

with the dust

of a vanish' d race.

Raving

politics,

never at rest

as this

poor earth's

pale history runs,

What

is it all

but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a

million million of suns?

m.
Lies upon this side, lies upon that side, truthless
violence

mourn 'd by

the Wise,

Thousands of voices drowning

torrent of lies

upon

his

own

in a popular

lies;

IV.

Stately purposes, valour in battle, glorious annals of

army and

fleet,

429

VASTNESS.

430

Death

for the right cause, death for the

wrong cause,

trumpets of victory, groans of defeat;

V.

Innocence seethed in her mother's milk, and Charity

setting the martyr aflame;

Thraldom who walks with

and recks not

the banner of Freedom,

to ruin a realm in her

name.

VI.

Faith at her zenith, or

all

but

lost in the

gloom

of

doubts that darken the schools;

Craft with a bunch of all-heal in her hand, follow'd

up by her

vassal legion of fools;

vn.

Trade

flying over a thousand seas with her spice

and

her vintage, her silk and her corn;

Desolate ofhng, sailorless harbours, famishing populace,

wharves forlorn;

vm.
Star of the morning,

Hope

in the sunrise;

gloom

of

the evening. Life at a close;

Pleasure

who

flaunts

flying robe

on her wide down-way with her

and her poison' d rose;

VASTNESS.

431

rx.

Pain, that has crawl 'd from the corpse of Pleasure, a

worm which
up again

Stirs

him back

writhes

day, and at night

all

in the heart of the sleeper,

and

stings

to the curse of the light;

Wealth with his wines and his wedded harlots; honest

Poverty, bare to the bone;

Opulent Avarice, lean

as Poverty;

Flattery gilding

the rift in a throne;

XI.

Fame blowing

out from her golden trumpet a jubilant

challenge to

Time and

to Fate;

Slander, her shadow, sowing the

laurel' d graves of the

nettle

on

all

the

Great;

xn.

Love

for

the maiden,

crown' d with marriage, no

regrets for aught that has been.

Household

happiness,

gracious

children,

debtless

competence, golden mean;

xm.
National hatreds of whole generations, and pia:my
spites of the village spire;

VASTNESS.

432

Vows

that will last to the last death-ruckle,

that are snapt in a

moment

and vows

of fire;

XIV.

He

that has lived for the lust of the minute,

in the doing

He

it,

flesh

and died

without mind;

that has nail'd all flesh to the Cross,

till

Self

died

out in the love of his kind;

XV.

Spring and

Summer and Autumn and

Winter, and

all

these old revolutions of earth;

Empire

All new-old revolutions of

tide

what

is all

of

it

change

of

the

worth ?

XVI.

What

the philosophies,

all

the sciences, poesy, vary-

ing voices of prayer?

All that

is

with

noblest, all that

is

basest, all that is filthy

all that is fair?

XVII.

What

is it all, if

own

we

all of

corpse-coffins at

us end but in being our

last,

Swallow' d in Vastness, lost in Silence, drown'd in the

deeps of a meaningless Past?

VASTNESS.

433

xvni.

What but

murmur

moment's anger
Peace,

let it

ever

be

the

of

the gloom, or a

gnats in

of bees in their hive?

for I loved him,

and love him

dead are not dead but

2F

alive.

for

gbuattJ> to

tfee

fon. |. ^nm\i loteeU.

THE

RING.

Miriam and her Father.

Miriam

(singing).

Mellow moon

of heaven,

Bright in blue,

Moon

of married hearts.

Hear me, you

Twelve times in the year
Bring

me

bliss.

Globing Honey Moons

Bright as

this.

Moon, you fade

From

at

times

the night.

Young again you grow

Out

of sight.

434

THE RING,

435

Silver crescent-curve,

Coming

soon,

Globe again, and make

Honey Moon.

my

Shall not

love last,

Moon, with you.

For ten thousand years

Old and new?

Father.

And who was he

with such love-drunken eyes

They made a thousand honey moons

of

one?

Miriam.

The prophet

of his own,

The words, and mine

Said Hubert,

And

when

bridegroom.'

my Hubert his

the setting.

'Air and Words,'

sang the song, 'are bride

Does

it

please you?

Father.
Mainly, child.

Because
She

With

I
,

all

hear your Mother's voice in yours.

why, you shiver tho' the wind

the

warmth

of

summer.

is

west

THE

436

RING.

Miriam.
Well,

On

a sudden I

With

all

know not

I felt

what, a breath that past

the cold of winter.

Father

{mutterifig to himself).

Even

The Ghost

in

Man, the Ghost

But cannot wholly free

Are calling

to

itself

that

so.

once was Man,

from Man,

each other thro' a dawn

Stranger than earth has ever seen; the veil

Is rending,

and the Voices

of the

day

Are heard across the Voices of the dark.

No

sudden heaven, nor sudden

But

thro' the Will of

And

utter

Ionian

hell, for

man,

One who knows and

knowledge

is

rules

but utter love

Evolution, swift or slow.

an ever opening height,

An ever lessening earth and she perhaps,
Thro'

My

all

the Spheres

Miriam, breaks her

With me

latest earthly link

to-day.

Miriam.

You speak
Your 'Miriam breaks
Breaking an old one ?

'

is

so low, what

making

new

is it?

link

THE

RING.

437

Father.

No,

Have been

till

now each

for we,

my

child.

other's all-in-all.

MmiAM.

And you

the lifelong guardian of the child.

Father.
I,

and one other

whom you

have not known.

Miriam.

And who? what

other?

Father.

Whither are you bound ?

For Naples which we only

left in

May?

Miriam.

No

father, Spain,

With April and

but Hubert brings

the swallow.

me home

Wish me

joy!

Father.

What need to wish when Hubert weds in you

The heart of Love, and you the soul of Truth
In Hubert?

THE

438

RING.

Miriam.

Tho' you used

The

to call

me once

lonely maiden-Princess of the wood,

Who meant

to sleep her

hundred summers out

Before a kiss should wake her.

Father.
Ay, but

Your

found you, take

fairy Prince has

now

this ring.

Miriam.
'lo t'amo'

and these diamonds beautiful!

'From Walter,' and

for

me from you

then?

Father.
Well,

One way

for

Miriam.
Miriam.

Miriam am

not?

Father.

This ring bequeath' d you by your mother, child,

Was

to

be given you

such her dying wish

Given on the morning when you came

Or on

the day you married.

of age

Both the days

Now close in one. The ring is doubly yours.

Why do you look so gravely at the tower?

THE

RING,

439

MlRL4M.
I

never saw

it

yet so

all

ablaze

With creepers crimsoning

As

perpetual sunset linger'd there,

if

And

to the pinnacles.

ablaze too in the lake below

all

And how

the birds that circle round the tower

Are cheeping to each other of their

To summer

flight

lands

Father.

And
Fly

care

not.

that has

made you

grave ?

Birds and brides must leave

the

nest.

Child,

Than

in

am

happier in your happiness

mine own.
Miriam.
It is

not that

Father.

What

else?

Miriam.

That chamber in the tower.

Father.

What chamber,
Your nurse

is

here?

child?

THE RING.

440

Miriam.

My
She comes to dress

me

Mother's nurse and mine.

my

in

bridal veil.

Father.

What did

she say?

Miriam.

She

Had been
She fear'd

About
Is

my

abroad for
I

my

you and

said, that

poor health so long

had forgotten

her,

and

ask'd

Mother, and she said, 'Thy hair

golden like thy Mother's, not so

fine.'

Father.

What then ? what more ?

Miriam.

She said

perhaps indeed

She wander' d, having wander' d now so

far

that you,
the common date of death
When I was smaller than the statuette
Of my dear Mother on your bracket here
You took me to that chamber in the tower,

Beyond

The topmost

And

a chest

there were books

there,

by which you knelt

and dresses

ring too which you kiss'd, and

left to

I,

she said.

me,

THE

RING.

babbled, Mother, Mother

used

stretch' d my hands
woman came
me from my nurse. I hear her yet

To

prattle to her picture

As

if I

saw her; then a

And caught

as

441

sound of anger like a distant storm.

Father.
Garrulous old crone.

Miriam.

Poor nurse!
Father.

bad her keep,

Like a seal'd book,

For

myself would

all
tell

mention
you

all

of the ring.

to-day.

Miriam.
'

She too might speak to-day,

she

'

mumbled.

scarce have learnt the title of your book,

But you

will turn the pages.

Father.
Ay, to-day!
I

brought you to that chamber on your third

September birthday with your nurse, and

An

icy breath play

To

take and kiss the ring.

on me, while

stoopt

felt

Still,

THE

442

RING.

MlRL\M.

This very ring

lo t'amo?

Father.
Yes, for

some wild hope was mine

my

That, in the misery of

married

Miriam your Mother might appear

The

She came to you, not me.

Far-off, is

Muriel

life,

to

me.

storm, you hear

your step-mother's voice.

Miriam.
Vext, that you thought

Or

at

My

my

my Mother came

crying 'Mother?

to

me?

or to find

'

Mother's diamonds hidden from her there,

Like worldly beauties in the Cell, not shown

To

dazzle

all that

see

them ?

Father.

Wait a while.

Miriam Erne
And Muriel Erne the two were cousins lived
Your Mother and step-mother

With Muriel's mother on

the down, that sees

thousand squares of corn and meadow, far

As the gray deep, a landscape which your eyes

Have many a time ranged

over

when

a babe.

THE

RING.

443

Miriam.
I

climb'd the

And

Came on

We

hill

with Hubert yesterday,

from the thousand squares, one silent voice

saw

the wind,

far off

and seem'd

to say 'Again.'

an old forsaken house,

Then home, and

past the ruin'd mill.

Father.

And
I

there

found these cousins often by the brook.

For Miriam sketch'd and Muriel threw the

The

equal age, but one was

girls of

And one was

No

dark,

fly;

fair.

and both were beautiful.

voice for either spoke within

my

heart

Then, for the surface eye, that only doats

On

outward beauty, glancing from the one

To

the other,

The raven

Were

knew not

For

ringlet or the gold

yet not
all

that

The brook

And

in

mine

it

most,

but both

used to walk

melancholy; mine

the hall, the farm, the field;

ample woodland whisper'd

that feeds this lakelet

yon arching avenue

Tho' mine, not mine,

And

which pleased

dowerless, and myself,

This Terrace morbid,

And

that

'debt,'

murmur'd

'debt,'

of old elms,

heard the sober rook

carrion crow cry 'Mortgage.'

THE

444

RING.

Miriam.
Father's fault

Visited on the children

Father.
Ay, but then

A kinsman, dying, summon' d me to Rome

He left me wealth and while I journey'd hence,
And saw the world fly by me like a dream,
And while I communed with my truest self,
I

woke

to all of truest in myself,

Till, in the

The form

gleam of those mid-summer dawns,

and the face

of Muriel faded,

Of Miriam grew upon me,

till I

knew;

Heaven and made

And

past and future mix'd in

The

rosy twilight of a perfect day.

MlRL4M.

So glad? no tear for him, who

left

you wealth,

Your kinsman?
Father.
I

He

loved

my name

Home, and
So

far

had seen the man but once;

not me; and then

thro' Venice,

gone down, or so

where a

far

up

pass'd

jeweller.

in life.

That he was nearing his own hundred, sold

THE RING.

445

This ring to me, then laugh'd 'the ring

And weird and worn and

'Why weird?

'

is

weird.'

wizard-like was he.

ask'd him; and he said 'The souls

Of two repentant Lovers guard the ring;

Then with
'And

if

They

still

a ribald twinkle in his bleak eyes

you give the ring

remember what

to
it

any maid,

them

cost

here.

And bind the maid to love you by the ring;

And if the ring were stolen from the maid,
The

theft

were death or madness to the

So sacred those Ghost Lovers hold the

And

then he told their legend

Two
Had

lovers parted by a scurrilous tale

thief.
gift.'

'Long ago

quarrell'd,

the

till

This ring "lo t'amo

And

man

repenting sent

" to his best beloved,

sent

it

on her birthday.

Return' d

it

on her birthday, and

She in wrath
that

day

His death-day, when, half-frenzied by the

He

wildly fought a rival suitor,

The

causer of that scandal, fought and

And

she that

And found
From

his

came

to part

them

ring,

him

all

fell;

too late,

a corpse and silence, drew the ring

dead

finger,

wore

it till

her death,

Shrined him within the temple of her heart.

Made

every

moment

of her after life

THE

446

virgin victim to his

And
"I

dying

RING.

memory,

and rear'd her arms, and cried

rose,

see him, lo t'amo, lo t'amo."

'

Miriam.

Legend or

Did

true

so tender should be true

he believe it? did you ask

him?

Father.

Ay!
But that half skeleton, like a barren ghost

From

out the fleshless world of spirits, laugh'd:

hollow laughter

Miriam.
Vile, so near the ghost

Himself, to laugh at love in death!

But you?

Father.
Well, as the bygone lover thro'

Had

this ring

sent his cry for her forgiveness, I

Would

call thro' this 'lo t'amo' to the heart

Of Miriam; then

'From Walter

'

bad the man engrave

on the

Name, surname,

all as

ring,

and send

it

wrote

clear as noon, but he

Some younger hand must have engraven

His

fingers

were so

stiffen'

d by the frost

the ring-

THE
Of seven and ninety

'Miriam

that

'

And Muriel

RING.

447

winters, that he scrawl'd

might seem a 'Muriel

claim'd and open'd what

For Miriam, took the

'

meant

and flaunted

ring,

it

whom I loved and love.

A mountain stay'd me here, a minster there,

Before that other

galleried palace, or a battlefield.

Where stood

the sheaf of Peace

And on your Mother's

A week betwixt

birthday

and when

but

coming home

all

but yours

the tower as

Was

all

ablaze with crimson to the roof,

And

all

ablaze too plunging in the lake

Head-foremost

The tower and

now

who were those that stood between

phantom

that rich

of the tower?

Muriel and Miriam, each in white, and like

May-blossoms in mid autumn

light shot

What sparkled

there

So close together.

But coming nearer

'O Miriam

Miriam!

The hand

it

they?

lake.

whose hand was that? they stood

am

not keen of sight.

Muriel had the ring

have you given your ring to her?

Miriam redden'd, Muriel clench'd

'

that

'O Miriam,

if

She glanced

at

wore

it,

you love
me,

till I

me

cried again:

take the ring!

at Muriel,

and was mute.

you cannot love me,

let it be.'

Muriel standing ever

statue-like

'Nay,

Then

was

upward on them from the

if

THE RING.

448

She turn'd, and

And

her soft imperial

way

saying gently: 'Muriel, by your leave,'

Unclosed the hand, and from

And

gave

it

me, who pass'd

'lo t'amo, all

is

drew the

it

Muriel

well then.'

ring.

down her own,

it

fled.

Miriam.

Poor Muriel
Father.
Ay, poor Muriel,

What
Not

follows

when you hear

Miriam loved me from the

first.

but on her marriage-morn

thro' the ring;

This birthday, death-day, and betrothal ring,

Laid on her table overnight, was gone;

And

after hours of search

And hubbub, Muriel

Found

My

and doubt and

enter'd with

in a chink of that old

it,

moulder'd

Miriam nodded with a pitying

As who should say

Then

One

'that those

who

and she were married

threats.

'See!
floor!

smile,
lose

can

find.*

for a year.

year without a storm, or even a cloud;

And you my Miriam born

my Miriam

within the year;

And

she

I sat

beside her dying, and she gaspt:

dead within the year.

'The books, the miniature, the lace are hers,

My

ring too

when

She marries; you

she

comes

of age, or

you loved me,

when

kept your word.

THE
You

love

me

RING.

"lo t'amo."

still

449

Murielno

She cannot love; she loves her own hard

Her

firm will, her fix'd purpose.

Miriam not Muriel

And

Gleam 'd

burial

for a

which

my

lives

eyes,

own on

in her

swore the vow, then with

Upon

life,

and our buried

moment

Promise me,

have the ring.'

shall

there the light of other

Beyond our

she

self,

earth.

latest kiss

them, closed her eyes, which would not close,

But kept their watch upon the ring and you.

Your birthday was her death-day.

Miriam.

poor Mother

And

you, poor desolate Father, and poor me,

The

little senseless,

Saved when your

worthless, wordless babe,

life

was wreck 'd

Father.
Desolate? yes!
Desolate as that sailor,

Had

the storm

parted from his comrade in the boat.

And dash'd

half

Nay, you were

WcxC always

And

whom

sure

And saw

am

dead on barren sands, was

my

one solace; only

ailing.
I,

I.

you

Muriel's mother sent.

by Muriel, one day came

you, shook her head, and patted yours.

THE RING.

450

And

smiled, and

making with a kindly pinch

Each poor pale cheek a momentary

^

That should be

fix'd,

'

rose

she said; 'your pretty bud,

So blighted here, would flower into

full

health

Among our heath and bracken. Let her come

And we will feed her with our mountain air,
And send her home to you rejoicing.' No
We could not part. And once, when you my girl
Rode on my shoulder home the tiny fist
Had graspt a daisy from your Mother's grave

By

the lych-gate was Muriel.

'Among

You

damp

the tombs in this

scorn

my

'Ay,' she said,

vale of yours!

Mother's warning, but the child

We

Is paler than before.

often walk

In open sun, and see beneath our feet

The mist

of

And shroud

autumn gather from your

the tower;

Your gilded vane, a

and once we only saw

light

(Our old bright bird that

Above

above the mist

still is

long;

till I

veering there

'

and there she paused,

believing that the girl's

Lean fancy, groping

One

for

it,

could not find

likeness, laugh'd a little

and found her two

'A warrior's crest above the cloud of war

'A

'

his four gold letters) 'and the light,'

She said, 'was like that light

And

lake,

fiery

'

phoenix rising from the smoke.

The pyre he burnt

in.'

'Nay,' she

said, 'the light

THE RING.

451

That glimmers on the marsh and on the grave.'

And spoke no more,

Miriam,

am

but turn'd and pass'd away.

not surely one of those

Caught by the flower that closes on the

But

after ten slow

In aiming at an

To
I

strike

came,

weeks her

all

but hopeless mark

struck; I took,

it,

fly.

fix'd intent,

you there;

I left

went, was happier day by day;

For Muriel nursed you with a mother's care;

on that clear and heather-scented height

Till

The rounder cheek had brighten'd

She always came to meet

And

all

me

into bloom.

carrying you,

her talk was of the babe she loved

So, following her old pastime of the brook.

She threw the

That angling

Had

to the

me; but oftener

mother.

weaken'd, nursing

She used

On

for

fly

to

little

'Muriel's health

Miriam.

this of yours.

But when the matron saw

'

Not

risen to, she was bolder.

You

sent the fatal ring

To Miriam,'
all

Strange!

shun the wailing babe, and doats

That hinted love was only wasted

In

left

'Doubtless

the world

my

'

bait,

'Ever since

I told

her 'sent

ay, but ever since

dear one sees but you

Ir your sweet babe she finds but you

she makes

Her

heart a mirror that reflects but you.'

And

then the tear

fell,

the voice broke.

Her

heart!

THE

452
I

RING.

gazed into the mirror, as a

Who

sees his face in water,

man

and a

stone,

That glances from the bottom of the pool.

Strike

upward

Gratitude

thro' the

shadow; yet

loneliness desire

to

So skilled a nurse about you always

Some
Well
'I

you know

it

When all at once

A cold air pass'd
Fell

married Muriel Erne.

take thee Muriel for

had forgotten

nay

kind of pity too

half remorseful
well,

at last,

keep

my wedded

wife

'

was your birthday, child

with some electric

between

us,

thrill

and the hands

from each other, and were join'd again.

No

second cloudless honeymoon was mine.

For by and by she sicken' d

of the farce.

She dropt the gracious mask of motherhood,

She came no more to meet me, carrying you,

Nor ever cared

Nor ever

let

you on her knee.

to set

you gambol in her

sight,

Nor

ever cheer'd you with a kindly smile,

Nor

ever ceased to clamour for the ring;

Why had
Why had
And

sent the ring at

made her

love

first

me

to

her?

thro' the ring,

then had changed ? so fickle are

Not she

The

men

the best

but now my love was hers again.

ring by right, she said, was hers again.

At times too shrilling

in her angrier

moods,

THE RING.

453

'That weak and watery nature love you?

"/<? t'amo, lo

Against

my

t'amo

"

'

heart, but often while her lips

Were warm upon my cheek, an

As from the grating
Past over both.

of a sepulchre.

pliable idiot I to break

But

still

she

icy breath.

my vow,
my vow;

told her of

No

made her outcry

for the ring;

For one monotonous fancy madden 'd

Till I myself

And even

was madden' d with her

My

her,
cry,

that *Io t'amo,' those three sweet

Italian words,

A
A

No!

flung herself

became a weariness.

people too were scared with eerie sounds,

footstep, a low throbbing in the walls,

noise of falling weights that never

Weird whispers,

bells that

fell.

rang without a hand,

Door-handles turn'd when none was at the door.

And bolted doors that open'd of themselves:

And one betwixt the dark and light had seen
Her, bending by the cradle of her babe.

Miriam.

And

remember once

By noises
I

in the house

that being

waked

and no one near

cried for nurse, and felt a gentle

Fall

on

my

hand

forehead, and a sudden face

THE

454

Look'd

And
Or

upon me

in

RING.
gleam and pass'd,

like a

was quieted, and slept again.

is it

some

half

memory

of a

dream?

Father.

Your

September birthday.

fifth

MlRL\M.

And
The hand,

the face,

my Mother.
Father.
Miriam, on that day

Two

lovers parted

Mere want

Bound by

Had

of gold

by no scurrilous

and

still

first

love

ask'd us to their marriage, and to share

Than

for twenty years

the golden cord of their

Their marriage-banquet.

*I

tale

am

Muriel, paler then

ever you were in your cradle, moan'd,

my

fitter for

bed, or for

cannot go, go you.

She clung to

me

'

And

my

grave,

then she rose,

with such a hard embrace,

So lingeringly long, that half-amazed

I

parted from her, and

And when

the

went alone.

bridegroom murmur' d,

ring,
I felt for

what

The guardian

could not

find, the key,

of her relics, of he7- ring.

'With

this

THE
I

kept

it

as a sacred

About me,

gone!

RING.

455

amulet

and gone

Then, hurrying home,

in that

embrace!

found her not in house

up the toweran icy

Fled by me. There, the chest was open
Or garden

The

air

Among them
I

Muriel lying on her face

raised her, call'd her 'Muriel, Muriel

The

fatal ring lay

me

Glared at

And chafed
All

all

sacred relics tost about the floor

Dead

the freezing hand.

round one finger pointed

Dead

With some remorse, had

stolen,

torn

it

from her

!^

took

red mark ran

straight, the rest

inwards.

Then

!'

near her; the glazed eye

as in horror.

Were crumpled

wake

and maybe stung

worn the ring

finger, or as

if

For never had I seen her show remorse

As if
Miriam.

those two Ghost lovers

Father.
Lovers yet

Miriam.
Yes, yes!

Father.

but dead so long, gone up so

That now their ever-rising

life

has dwarf 'd

far.

THE RING.

456

Or

lost the

As we

moment

of their past

on

earth,

forget our wail at being born.

Asif
Miriam.

a dearer ghost had

Father.
-wrench'd

it

Miriam.

Had
Till

floated in with sad reproachful eyes,

from her own hand she had torn the ring

In fright, and fallen dead.

Am

half afraid to

wear

And

myself

it.

Father.
Well, no more

No

bridal music this

You have
With

Her

is

broken, and has

that, still

spirit

drawn downward

too,

may

Her maiden coming

Her

her free.

left

for

an hour,

hovering by the church, where she

Was married
Some

but fear not you

the ring she guarded; that poor link

earth

Except

linger,

like a

till

she sees

Queen, who leaves

colder province in the North to gain

capital city,

Clash welcome

where the loyal

linger,

till

bells

her own, the babe

away.

THE
She lean'd

to

RING.

457

from her Spiritual sphere,

Her

lonely maiden-Princess, crown' d with flowers,

Has

enter' d

on the

larger

woman-world

Of wives and mothers.

But the bridal

Your nurse

is

waiting.

Kiss

me

veil

child and go.

FORLORN.
I.

*He

is fled

He

that

wish him dead

wrought

the flattery

my

and the

ruin
craft

Which were my undoing

In the night, in the night,

When

the storms are blowing.

II.

*Who was

witness of the crime?

Who shall now reveal it?

He is fled, or he is dead,
Marriage will conceal

it

In the night, in the night,

While the gloom

is

growing.

III.

Catherine, Catherine, in the night

W^hat

There

is

is

this you're

laughter

dreaming?

down

in Hell

At your simple scheming

458

FORLORN.

459

In the night, in the night,

When

the ghosts are fleeting.

IV.

You

hand

to place a

in his

Like an honest woman's,

You

that lie with wasted lungs

Waiting

for your

In the night,

summons

the night

the deathwatch beating

There

will

Hard

to

come

a witness soon

be confuted.

All the world will hear a voice

Scream you are polluted

In the night

When

the night,

the owls are wailing

VI.

Shame and marriage. Shame and marriage.

Fright and foul dissembling.

Bantering bridesman, reddening priest,

Tower and

altar

In the night,

When

the

mind

trembling
the night,
is

failing!

FORLORN.

46o

vn.

Mother, dare you

How

kill

your hand

is

your child?

shaking

Daughter of the seed of Cain,

What

you're taking?

is this

In the night,

the night,

While the house

is

sleeping.

VIII.

Dreadful

O
You

has

it

come

to this,

unhappy creature?
that

would not tread on a worm

For your gentle nature

In the night,

the night,

the night of weeping

IX.

Murder would not

veil

your

Marriage will not hide

sin,

it.

Earth and Hell will brand your name,

Wretch you must abide

In the night,

Long before

it

the night.

the dawning.
X.

Up, get up, and

Tell

tell

him you were

him

all,

lying

FORLORN.

Do

not die with a

You

that

know

In the night,

lie in

461

your mouth,

you're dying

the night,

While the grave

yawning.

is

XI.

you

No

will not die before,

Tho' you'll ne'er be stronger;

You

will live

Then

till

little

In the night,

thai

longer

is

born.

...

the night,

While the Fiend

is

prowling.

XII.

Death and marriage, Death and marriage

Funeral hearses rolling

Black with bridal favours mixt!

Bridal bells with tolling

In the night,

When

the night,

the wolves are howling.

XIII.

Up, get up, the time

Tell

Tell

him now

him

all

is short,

or never

before you die,

Lest you die for ever

In the night,

Where

there's

...

the night.

no

forgetting.

FORLORN.

462

XIV.

Up

she got, and wrote

him

all,

All her tale of sadness,

Blister' d every

And

word with

tears,

eased her heart of madness

In the night, and nigh the dawn,

And

while the

moon was

setting.

HAPPY.
THE leper's bride.
I.

Why

wail you, pretty plover? and what

is it

that

you

fear?

he sick your mate like mine? have you

Is

is

And

lost

him,

he fled?

there

the heron

rises

from his watch beside the

mere.

And

flies

above the leper's hut, where

lives

the

live

and

living-dead.
II.

Come

back, nor

let

me know

it

would he

die alone?

And

has he not forgiven

me

yet, his over-jealous

bride.

Who

am, and was, and will be

his, his

own and only

own.

To

share his living death with him, die with

side by side?

463

him

HAPPY.

464

III.

Is that the leper's

hut on the solitary moor,

Where noble Ulric

leper's

The door

My

is

dwells forlorn, and wears the

weed?

open.

He

is

he standing at the door,

soldier of the Cross ?

it is

he and he indeed

IV.

My

roses

off

We

will

he take them now

mine,

his

from

the tree

planted both together, happy in our marriage

morn ?
God,

Thy

fight

leper to compass

him

could blaspheme, for he fought

for Thee,

And Thou

hast

made him

with scorn
V.

Hast spared the

flesh of thousands, the

coward and

the base.

And

set a crueller

mark than Cain's on him,

the

good and brave

He

sees me, waves

me from

him.

I will

front

him

face to face.

You need not wave me from

into your grave.

you.

would leap

HAPPY.

465

VI.

My

Holy Cross and

warrior of the

of the conquering

sword,

The

you

No

you cast aside

roses that

once more

bring

me,

O my

these.

nearer? do you scorn

me when you

tell

lord,

You would not mar

the beauty of your bride with

your disease.
VII.

You

say your

Who

body

is

yearn to lay

so foul

my

then here

stand apart,

loving head upon your leprous

breast.

The

may

leper plague

my

my

scale

skin but never taint

heart;

Your body

is

not foul to me, and body

is

foul at

best.
VIII.

loved you

first

when young and

fair,

but

now

I love

you most;

The

fairest flesh at last is filth

on which the worm

will feast;

This poor rib-grated dungeon of the

holy

human

ghost.

This house with

all

its

hateful needs no cleaner

than the beast,

VOL.

IV.

2H

HAPPY.

466

IX.

This coarse diseaseful creature which in Eden was

divine,

This Satan-haunted ruin,

This wall of solid

flesh that

this little city of sewers,

comes between your

soul

and mine,
Will vanish and give place to the beauty that endures,
X.

The beauty

that endures

When we

on the Spiritual height.

shall stand transfigured, like

Hermon

Christ on

hill,

And moving each

to music, soul in soul

and

light in

light.

Shall flash thro' one another in a

moment

as

we

will.
XI.

Foul

foul

word was yours not mine,

the

that right

Which

fell'd the foes before

fells the

And sway'd
Holy

And

worship

you

as

the

woodman

wood.

the sword that lighten 'd back the sun of

land,

clove the
it

hand

Moslem

into blood-

crescent moon, and changed

HAPPY.

467

XII.

And once

worshipt

all

too well this creature

of

decay,

For Age

will

chink the face, and Death will freeze

the supplest limbs

Yet you in your mid manhood

the grief

when

yesterday

They bore

the Cross before you to the chant of

funeral hymns.

XIII.

'Libera me,

The

Domine

Priest

you sang the Psalm, and when

'

pronounced you dead, and flung the

mould upon your

feet,

beauty came upon your face,

not that of living

men,
But seen upon the

silent

brow w^hen

life

has ceased

to beat.

XIV.

'Libera

Who

710s,

Domine

'

you

knew not one was

saw you kneel beside your

bier,

there

and weep-

ing scarce could see;

May

come

a little nearer, I that heard,

and changed

the prayer

And

sang the married 'nos

'

for the solitary 'me.'

HAPPYo

468

XV.

My

beauty marred by you? by you! so be

is

All

it.

well

If I lose it

and myself

in the higher beauty, yours.

My beauty lured that falcon from his eyry on the fell,

Who never caught one gleam of the beauty which
endures

XVI.

The Count who sought

us

Who

me

whisper'd
nearer

He

to

snap the bond that link'd

life to life.

'your Ulric

loves'

little

still

hiss'd, 'Let us revenge ourselves, your Ulric

my

lie

wife

woos

'

by which he thought he could subdue

me

to

his will.
XVII.

knew

that

you were near

me when

I let

the lips?

him

kiss

my

brow;

Did

he touch

me on

was jealous,

anger' d, vain.

And

meant
of

to

make you

jealous.

Are you jealous

me now?

Your pardon,

O my

love,

if I

ever gave you pain.

HAPPY,

469

xvin.

You never once accused me, but

wept alone, and

sigh'd

In the winter of the Present for the summer of the

Past;

That icy winter silence

how

it

froze

you from your

bride,

Tho'

made one barren

effort to

break

it

at the last.

XIX.
I

brought you, you remember, these roses, when

knew
You were parting

and you took them

you frown' d;

tho'

You

for the war,

frown' d and yet you kiss'd them.

All at

once

the trumpet blew,

And you

spurr'd your fiery horse, and you hurl'd

them

to the ground.

XX.

You parted

And

for the

Holy War without

clear myself unask'd

not

I.

word

My

to

me,

nature was

too proud.

And him

When

I
I

saw but once again, and

was praying in a storm

and loud

far

away was

he.

the crash was long

HAPPY.

470

XXI.

That God would ever

slant

His bolt from

falling

on

your head

Then

I lifted

up

my

eyes,

he was coming down the

fell
I clapt

my

The sudden

hands.

fire

from Heaven had

dash'd him dead,

And

sent
fire

him

charr'd and blasted to the deathless

of Hell.
XXII.

See, I

sinn'd but for a moment.

repented and

repent,

And

trust

myself forgiven by the

God

to

whom

kneel.

little

nearer?

Till I

Yes.

I shall

hardly be content

be leper like yourself,

my

love,

from head

I,

would

slight our

to heel.
XXIII.

foolish dreams, that you, that

marriage oath
I

held you at that

Now God

has

moment even

made you

leper in

dearer than before;

His loving care

for

both,

That we might cling together, never doubt each

other more.

HAPPY.

471

XXIV.

The

who

Priest,

join'd you to the dead, has join'd

our hands of old;

man and

If

wife be but one

flesh, let

mine be

leprous too,

As dead from

all

the

human

race as

if

beneath the

mould
you be dead, then

If

am

dead,

who only

live for

you.

XXV.

Would Earth

tho' hid in cloud not

be follow' d by the

Moon?
The

leech forsake the dying bed for terror of his

life?

The shadow
of

Or

if

leave the Substance in the brooding light

noon?

/ had been

wife

the leper would you have left the

XXVI.

Not take them ?

must
I

Still

you wave

me

have worn them year by year

both had

What?

fling

off

poor roses

go

them

gracious.

from the

bush we

set

to

No

you?

well that

were hardly

HAPPY.

472

Your plague but passes by the touch.

little

nearer yet
XXVII.

There, there

he buried you, the Priest; the Priest

is

not to blame.

He
I

joins us once again, to his either office true

thank him.
the

am

happy, happy.

Kiss me.

In

name

Of the everlasting God,

you.

I will

live

and die with

TO ULYSSES.
I.

Ulysses, much-experienced man,

Whose
Her

From

eyes have

tribes of

known

this globe of ours.

men, and trees and flowers,

Corrientes to Japan,

II.

To you
I

that bask below the Line,

soaking here

in

winter wet

The century's three strong eights have met

To drag me down to seventy-nine.

III.

In summer

To

if I

reach

you, yet young,

my

day

who breathe

Of summer-winters by the palm

And

orange grove of Paraguay,

473

the balm.

TO ULYSSES.

474

IV.

I tolerant of

Who
On
Of

the colder time,

love the winter woods, to trace

paler heavens the branching grace

leafless elm, or

naked

lime,

V.

And

see

My

my

cedar green, and there

giant ilex keeping leaf

When

frost is

Or marvel how

keen and days are

in

brief-

English air

VI.

My

yucca, which no winter quells,

Altho' the months have scarce begun,

Has push'd toward our

faintest sun

spike of half-accomplish'd bells

VII.

Or watch

The

the waving pine which here

warrior of Caprera

A name

set,

that earth will not forget

Till earth has roll'd her latest

year

TO ULYSSES.

475

VIII.

I,

once half-crazed for larger light

On

broader zones beyond the foam,

But chaining fancy now

Among

at

downs

the quarried

home

of

Wight,

IX.

Not

less

would yield

For your rich

I

know

not,

full

thanks to you

your tale of lands

gift,

your Arabian sands

Your cane, your palm,

tree-fern,

bamboo.

X.

The wealth

of tropic

Your Oriental

bower and brake

Where man, nor only Nature

Your wonder

Eden-isles,

of the boiling lake

smiles

XI.

Phra-Chai, the

Shadow

Phra-bat the step

Crag-cloister

of the Best,

your Pontic coast

Anatolian Ghost

Hong-Kono:, Karnac. and

all

the rest.

TO ULYSSES,

476

XII.

Thro' which

I follow'd line

by

line

Your leading hand, and came, my

To

prize your various book,

gift of

slenderer value, mine.

friend,

and send

TO MARY BOYLE.
With the following Poem.

I.

Spring-flowers'

Your leave

While you

of

still

delay to take

Town,

Our elmtree's ruddy-hearted blossom-flake

Is fluttering

down.

n.

Be

There

truer to your promise.

Our cuckoo
Be needle

to the

Nor

wait,

heard

call.

magnet

of your word,

till all

in.

Our vernal bloom from every

And garden

And

all

pass,

the gold from each

Drop

vale and plain

to the grass.

477

laburnum chain

TO MARY BOYLE.

478

IV.

memory

Is

with your Marian gone to

Dead with
For ere she

My

*I

the

left us,

rest,

dead?

when we met, you

prest

hand, and said

come with your

spring- flowers.'

You came

not,

friend;

My

birds would sing,

Take then this spring-flower

You heard not.

send,

This song of spring,

VI.

Found yesterday

By mine
As

forgotten mine own rhyme

old

self,

be forgotten by old Time,

I shall

Laid on the shelf

vn.

A rhyme

that flower' d betwixt the whitening sloe

And kingcup
And more

blaze,

than half a hundred years ago,

In rick-fire days.

TO MARY BOYLE.

479

vin.

When

Dives loathed the times, and paced his land

In fear of worse,

And

sanguine Lazarus

felt

a vacant hand

Fill with his purse.

IX.

For lowly minds were madden 'd

By tonguester

And once

When

well

to the height

tricks.

remember

that red night

thirty ricks,

X.

All flaming,

made an English homestead

These hands of

Have

Hell-

mine

helpt to pass a bucket from the well

Along the

line,

XI.

When

this bare

dome had

not begun to gleam

Thro' youthful curls.

And you were

His

then a lover's fairy dream.

girl of girls;

TO MARY BOYLE.

48o

xn.

And

you, that

now

are lonely,

and with Grief

Sit face to face,

Might

find a flickering

glimmer

of relief

In change of place.

XIII.

What

use to brood? this

And

life of

mingled pains

joys to me,

Despite of every Faith and Creed, remains

The Mystery.

XIV.

Let golden youth bewail the friend, the wife,

For ever gone.

He

dreams of that long walk

thro' desert life

Without the one.

XV.

The

silver year should cease to

Not long

mourn and

to wait

So close are we, dear Mary, you and

To

that

dim

gate.

sigh-

TO MARY BOYLE.

481

XVI.

Take, read

and be the

Or many

He

your Poet makes

or few,

rests content, if his

faults

young music wakes

wish in you

xvn.

To change

our dark Queen-city,

all

her realm

Of sound and smoke.

For his clear heaven, and these few lanes of elm

And whispering

oak.

THE PROGRESS OF

The

SPRING.

groundflame of the crocus breaks the mould,

Fair Spring slides hither o'er the Southern sea,

Wavers on her thin stem the snowdrop cold

That trembles not

Come,

The

Spring, for

to kisses of the

now from

spear of ice has wept

bee

the dripping eaves

all

itself

away.

And hour by hour unfolding woodbine

leaves

O'er his uncertain shadow droops the day.

She comes

The

Her

The

loosen' d rivulets run;

frost-bead melts

upon her golden

hair;

mantle, slowly greening in the Sun,

Now wraps
To

now arching

her close,

leaves her bare

breaths of balmier air;

n.

Up

leaps the lark, gone wild to

About her glance the

tits,

482

welcome

and

her.

shriek the jays,

THE PROGRESS OF

SPRING.

483

Before her skims the jubilant woodpecker,

The

bosom blushes

linnet's

at her gaze,

While round her brows a woodland culver

Watching her

And

in her

Patient

the secret splendour

looks,

sits

of the brooks.

She comes on waste and wood.

farm and

field

but enter also here.

Diffuse thyself at will thro'

And,

and gracious

open palm a halcyon

Come, Spring

On

large light eyes

flits.

all

my

blood,

tho' thy violet sicken into sere.

Lodge with me

the year

all

III.

Once more

downy

drift against the brakes.

Self -darken' d in the sky,

But gladly see

I thro'

Yon blanching

On
They

apricot like snow in snow.

will thine eyes not

These

descending slow!

the wavering flakes

brook in forest-paths,

their perpetual pine, nor

round the beech;

fuse themselves to little spicy baths,

Solved in the tender blushes of the peach;

They

On

lose themselves

that

Thy gay

And
Thy

new

and die

life that

lent-lilies

gems

the hawthorn line;

wave and put them

by,

out once more in varnish' d glory shine

stars of celandine.

THE PROGRESS OF SPRING.

484

IV.

She

hamlet.

floats across the

But in the

Heaven

lours,

tearful splendour of her smiles

slowly-thickening chestnut towers

I see the

Fill out the spaces

by the barren

tiles.

Now past her feet the swallow circling flies,

A clamorous cuckoo stoops to meet her hand;
Her light makes rainbows in my closing eyes,
I

hear a charm of song thro'

Come, Spring

To

roll

all

the land.

She comes, and Earth

is

glad

her North below thy deepening dome.

But ere thy maiden birk be wholly clad,

And

these low bushes dip their twigs in foam.

Make

all true

hearths thy home.

V.

Across

my

garden

The fountain

and the thicket

The blackcap warbles, and the

The
Still

stirs.

pulses high in sunnier

jets.

turtle purrs.

starling claps his tiny castanets.

round her forehead wheels the woodland dove,

And

scatters

The kingcup

on her throat the sparks

fills

of dew.

her footprint, and above

Broaden the glowing

isles of

vernal blue.

Hail ample presence of a Queen,

THE PROGRESS OF SPRING.

485

Bountiful, beautiful, apparell'd gay,

Whose

mantle, every shade of glancing green,

Flies

back in fragrant breezes

tunic white as

to display

May

VI.

She whispers, 'From the South

For on a tropic mountain was

bring you balm,

I

born,

While some dark dweller by the coco-palm

Watch' d

my

From under
I sat

far

meadow zoned

rose a muffled

moan

beneath a solitude of snow;

There no one came, the

turf

Plunged gulf on gulf thro'

I

with airy morn;

of floods;

was

fresh, the

all their

woods

vales below.

saw beyond their silent tops

The steaming marshes

The

slant seas leaning

on the mangrove copse.

And summer basking

About a land

of the scarlet cranes.

in the sultry plains

of canes;

vn.

'Then from
I

my

vapour-girdle soaring forth

scaled the buoyant highway of the birds.

And drank
That

the

dews and

drizzle of the North,

might mix with men, and hear their words

THE PROGRESS OF SPRING.

486

On

pathway 'd plains;

for

while my hand exults

Within the bloodless heart

To work old laws

of

Love

of lowly flowers

to fresh results,

Thro' manifold effect of simple powers

I

too would teach the

Beyond

the darker hour to see the bright,

That his fresh

The

man

life

may

still-fulfilling

close as

it

began,

promise of a light

Narrowing the bounds

of night.'

vm.

So wed thee with

The coming

my

may mark

soul, that I

year's great

good and varied

And new developments, whatever

Be struck from out the clash

Or whether,

spark

of warring wills;

since our nature cannot rest.

The smoke

of war's volcano burst again

From hoary deeps

that belt the changeful West,

of the kings of

Old Empires, dwellings

Or should

those

fail,

men;

that hold the helm.

While the long day

of

knowledge grows and

warms,

And

ills.

in the heart of this

most ancient realm

hateful voice be utter' d,

Soundina; 'To arms

to

and alarms

arms

'
!

THE PROGRESS OF SPRING.

487

IX.

simpler, saner lesson might he learn

Who
Thy

And

How

reads thy gradual process, Holy Spring.

leaves possess the season in their turn,

in their time thy warblers rise

March

surely glidest thou from

And

changest, breathing

Thy scope

of operation,

Larger and

it,

May,

the sullen wind,

day by day,

fuller, like the

Thy warmths from bud

on wing.
to

to

human mind

bud

Accomplish that blind model in the seed.

And men have

hopes, which race the restless blood.

many changes may succeed

That

after

Life,

which

is

Life indeed.

MERLIN AND THE GLEAM.

YOUNG Mariner,

You from
Under

the haven

the sea-cliff,

You

that are

The

gray Magician

With eyes

/am

of

watching

wonder,

Merlin,

And /am

dying,

/am Merlin
Who follow The

Gleam.

II.

Mighty the Wizard

Who

me

found

at sunrise

woke me
me Magic!

Sleeping, and

And

learn'd

Great the Master,

And sweet

When

the Magic,

over the valley,

MERLIN AND THE GLEAM.

In early summers,

Over the mountain,

On human
And

all

Moving

faces,

around me,
to

melody,

Floated The Gleam.

in.

Once

at the croak of a

crost

Raven who

it,

barbarous people.

Blind to the magic,

And

deaf to the melody,

Snarl' d at

A demon
The

and cursed me.

vext me,

light retreated.

The landskip darken'd,

The melody deaden' d,

The Master

whisper'

'Follow The Gleam.'

IV.

Then

to the melody,

Over a wilderness
Gliding, and glancing at
Elf of the woodland,

489

490

MERLIN AND THE GLEAM.

Gnome

of the cavern,

and Giant,

Griffin

And dancing

of Fairies

In desolate hollows,

And

wraiths of the mountain,

And

rolling of dragons

By warble

of water,

Or

cataract music

Of

falling torrents,

Flitted

Down
And
And

The Gleam.

from the mountain

over the level.

streaming and shining on

Silent river.

Silvery willow.

Pasture and plowland,

Innocent maidens.
Garrulous children.

Homestead and

harvest,

Reaper and gleaner.

And rough-ruddy
Of lowly
Slided

faces

labour,

The Gleam

MERLIN AND THE GLEAM.

491

VI.

Then, with a melody

Stronger and statelier,

Led me

To

at length

the city

Of Arthur
Touch' d

and palace

the king;

at the

golden

Cross of the churches.

Flash' d

on the Tournament,

Flicker'd and bicker'd

From helmet

And

last

to helmet.

on the forehead

Of Arthur the blameless

Rested The Gleam.

VII.

Clouds and darkness

Closed upon Camelot;
Arthur had vanish'
I

knew not whither.

The king who loved me,

And cannot

die;

For out of the darkness

Silent

and slowly

The Gleam,

that

glimmer

had waned

to a wintry

492

MERLIN AND THE GLEAM.

On

icy fallow

And faded
Drew

forest,

to the valley

Named of the shadow,

And slowly brightening
Out

of the glimmer,

And

slowly

moving again

to a

Yearningly tender,

on the shadow.

Fell

No

longer a shadow.

But clothed with The Gleam.

VIII.

And

broader and brighter

The Gleam

flying

Wed

to the

melody,

Sang

thro' the world;

And

onward,

slower and fainter.

Old and weary,

But eager
I saw,

to follow,

whenever

In passing

Hamlet

it

glanced upon

or city,

That under the Crosses

The dead man's garden,

The mortal

hillock,

melody

MERLIN AXD THE GLEAM.

Would break

And

into blossom;

so to the land's

Last limit

And can no

came
longer,

But die rejoicing,

For

thro' the

Magic

Him the Mighty,

Who taught me in childhood,
Of

There on the border

Of boundless Ocean,

And

all

but in Heaven

Hovers The Gleam.

rx.

Not

of the sunlight.

Not

of the moonlight,

Not

of the starlight

young Mariner,

Down

to the haven.

Call your companions.

Launch your

vessel.

And crowd your

And, ere

it

canvas.

vanishes

Over the margin.

After

it,

follow

it.

Follow The Gleam.

493

ROMNEY'S REMORSE.
'

read Hayley's Life of

Romney

the other day

Romney

wanted but education and reading to make him a very fine

How toucliing
painter; but his ideal was not high nor fixed.
He married at nineteen, and because
is the close of his life
Sir Joshua and others had said that " marriage spoilt an artist
almost immediately left his wife in the North and scarce saw her
!

till

when old, nearly mad and quite desolate,

and she received him and nursed him till
This quiet act of hers is worth all Romney's pictures

the end of his

he went back

he died.

life;

to her

even as a matter of Art,

am

Remaiiis of Edward Fitzgerald,

'Beat,

Who

little

heart

To

once more?

sit

and

Literary

give you this and this'

the

Lady Hamilton?

never weary painting you.

Good,

Or spinning

{^Letters

vol. i.)

What!

are you?

am

sure.'

at

Cassandra, Hebe, Joan,

your wheel beside the vine

Bacchante, what you will; and

if

I fail

To conjure and concentrate into form

And colour all you are, the fault is less
What Artist ever yet
In me than Art.
Could make pure

Why

should

light live

on the canvas?

so disrelish that short

494

word?

Art!

ROMNEY'S REMORSE.
Where am

snow on

I ?

all

the hills

495

so hot,

So fever'd! never colt would more delight

To roll himself in meadow grass than

To wallow in that winter of the hills.

Nurse, were you hired? or came of your

To

wait on one so broken, so forlorn?

Have
I

am

And

not met you somewhere long ago?

but sure

all

yes

have

will not

One draught

deny

am

ashamed.

Could kneel
For

me

my

of icy water.

The drops upon my

in Kendal church

hired you for a season there.

then we parted; but you look so kind

That you

own will

sultry throat

There

forehead.

am

you

spill

Your hand shakes.

a trouble to you.

for your forgiveness.

Are they tears?

they do me too much grace

for

me?

Mary, Mary

Vexing you with words

Words
Of

born of

only,

fever, or the

that dark opiate dose

Wild babble.

fumes

you gave me,

words,

have stumbled back again

common day, the sounder self.

God stay me there, if only for your sake,
Into the

The

truest, kindliest,

noblest-hearted wife

That ever wore a Christian marriage-ring.

My

curse

upon the Master's apothegm,

That wife and children drag an

Artist

down

ROMNEY'S REMORSE.

496

my lodestar in the Heaven of Art,

me from the household fire on earth.

This seem'd

And
To you my
lured

days have been a

life- long lie,

Grafted on half a truth; and tho' you say

*Take comfort you have won the Painter's fame,'

The

best in

me

that sees the worst in

me.

And groans to see it, finds no comfort there.

What fame? I am not Raphael, Titian no

Nor even a

Wrong

Sir Joshua,

there!

The

some

will cry.

painter's

fame? but mine,

that

grew

Blown

May

into glittering

by the popular breath.

awhile beneath the sun,

float

may

The rainbow hues of heaven about

roll

it

There

The

colour' d bubble bursts above the abyss

Of Darkness,

utter Lethe.

Is it so?

Her sad

To make

eyes plead for

it

my own

fame with

me

dearer.

Look, the sun has risen

To

flame along another dreary day.

How

Your hand.

bright you keep your marriage-

ring!

Raise me.

thank you.

ROMNEY'S REMORSE.
Has your

mood?

am

497

opiate then

Bred

this black

Than

other Masters, of the chasm between

Work and

And

or

Or does

Ideal?

conscious,

the

gloom

Age

of

upon

suffering cloud the height I stand

Even from myself ? stand? stood

more

no more.

And
The world would

lose, if

Might

Should vanish unrecorded.

One

On

favour?

am

bankrupt of

your obedience, and

yet

such a wife as you

my

crave

claim

all

strongest wish

Falls flat before your least unwillingness.

would you

Still
I

dream 'd

When

last

please you

if it

sit to

me?

summer noon,

seated on a rock, and foot to foot

With your own shadow

You

night of that clear

in the placid lake,

claspt our infant daughter, heart to heart.

had been among the

hills,

and brought you down

length of staghorn-moss, and this you twined

About her cap.

Mother and

I see the

child.

picture yet.

sound from

far

away.

No louder than a bee among the flowers,

A fall of water luU'd the noon asleep.
You

still'

Which

it

for the

moment with

often echo'd in me, while

a song

stood

Before the great Madonna-masterpieces

Of ancient Art
VOL.

IV.

in Paris, or in
2

Rome.

ROMNEY'S REMORSE.

498

Mary,

my

crayons

You should have been

Had
The

known you

but

can, I will.

if I

might have made you once,

know you now

as I

true Alcestis of the time.

Sit, listen

That

remember

even
I

Beat upon mine

a proof

remember 'dj^z/.

at times

^Beat upon mine,

All

it,

Your song

heart! beat, beat!

little

you are mine,

mine from your

my

sweet

pretty blue eyes to your feet,

My
Less profile

turn to

me

three-quarter

'Sleep, little blossom,

For

give you this, and

And

my

honey,

my

sweet.'

face.
bliss!

give you this

blind your pretty blue eyes with a kiss

Sleep

Too

early blinded

by the

kiss of death

'Father and Mother will watch you grow'

You
'

watch' d not

I,

she did not grow, she died.

Father and Mother will watch you grow,

And

gather the roses whenever they blow,

And

find the white heather wherever

you go,

My
Ah,

my

sweet.'

white heather only blooms in heaven

With Milton's amaranth.

There, there, there

a child

ROMNEY'S REMORSE.
Had shamed me

at

Stampt into dust

it

Down,

tremulous,

you

499

idle tools,

awry,

all

Blurr'd like a landskip in a ruffled pool,

Not one

stroke firm.

Seduced

me from

Who

love her

To win

This Art, that harlot-like

you, leaves

still,

me

harlot-like.

and whimper, impotent

her back before

die

and then

Then, in the loud world's bastard judgment-day.

One

truth will

damn me

Who

feel

no touch

Than

all

the myriad

The corpse

of every

with the mindless mob.

my

of

temptation, more

lies,

that blacken

man

that gains a

*This model husband, this fine Artist

What matters?

round

name;
'

Six foot deep of burial

Will dull their comments

Ay, but

Fool,

mould

when

the shout

Of His descending peals from Heaven, and throbs

Thro' earth, and

*Why

left

all

her graves,

if

you wife and children?

According

to

my word?

'

and

He

should ask

for

my

sake,

replied

'Nay, Lord, for Art,' why, that would sound so

mean
That

all

the dead,

For bolder

flings his

Would

And

the

doom

of Hell

sins than mine, adulteries.

Wife-murders,

Who

who wait

turn,

nay,

the ruthless

bowstrung

and glare

at

Harem

Mussulman
in the sea.

me, and point and

gibber at the worm, who, living,

made

jeer,

ROMNEY'S REMORSE.

500

The wife

of wives a widow-bride,

and

lost

Salvation for a sketch.

I

The

coals of

am

wild again

you heap upon

fire

my

head

Someone knocking

Have crazed me.

there with

out?

No!

Me

Will
or

my

my

Indian brother come?

coffin

Should

know

to find

the

man ?

This worn-out Reason dying in her house

May

leave the

windows blinded, and

Bid him farewell

for

me, and

tell

if so,

him
Hope!

hear a death-bed Angel whisper 'Hope.'

"The

miserable have no medicine

But only Hope

He

"
!

said

His crime was of the senses;

Mine; worse,

it

...

of the

in the play.

mind

cold, calculated.

Tell
let

'Beat
1

lean

little

my

my

and manynone like you.

you more than when we married.

yes, I

Human

son

breast.

heart' on this fool brain of mine.

once had friends

I love

me

head upon your

Hope

hope, or fancy that, perhaps.

forgiveness touches heaven, and thence

For you forgive me, you are sure of that

Reflected, sends a light on the forgiven.

PARNASSUS.
monumentum
Quod non
Exegi

Possit diruere

Annorum

series et fuga

innumerabilis

Horace.

temporum.

I.

What

be those crown' d forms high over the sacred

fountain?

Muses have raised

Bards, that the mighty

to the heights

of the mountain,

And

over the flight of the Ages

me up
Lightning

Goddesses, help

thither

may

shrivel the laurel of Caesar, but

mine

would not wither.

Steep

is

the mountain, but you, you will help

overcome

And

me

to

stand with

it,

my

head in the zenith, and

roll

my

voice from the summit.

Sounding

for ever

and ever

thro' Earth

and her

listen-

ing nations,

And mixt

with the great Sphere-music of stars and of

constellations.
COI

PARNASSUS.

502

What be

those two shapes high over the sacred foun-

tain,

Taller than

all

the Muses,

and huger than

the

all

mountain?

On

those two

known peaks they stand

ever spreading

and heightening;
Poet, that evergreen laurel

blasted by

is

more than

lightning!

Look, in their deep double shadow the crown'd ones

all

disappearing!

Sing like a bird and be happy, nor hope for a deathless

hearing!

'Sounding for ever and ever?' pass on!

the

sight

confuses

These are Astronomy and Geology,

terrible

Muses

in.

If

the lips were touch'd with

Pierian

fire

from

off

pure

altar,

Tho' their music here be mortal need the singer

greatly care?

Other songs for other worlds! the

would not

within him

falter;

Let the golden Iliad vanish.

there.

fire

Homer

here

is

Homer

BY AN EVOLUTIONIST.
The Lord

let the

house of a brute to the soul of a

man,

And
And

the

the

man

Lord

said

'Not

'Am

your debtor?

make

yet: but

it

as clean as

you

can,

And

If

then

I will let

my body come

you a

better.'

from brutes,

my

soul uncertain, or

a fable,

Why

not bask amid the senses while the sun of

morning
I,

shines,

the finer brute rejoicing in

my

hounds, and in

my

stable.

Youth and Health, and birth and wealth, and choice

of

women and

of

wines?

n.

What

hast thou

done

breaking

my

for

me, grim Old Age, save

bones on the rack?

503

BY AN E VOL U TIONIS T.

504

Would

had past in the morning that looks so

bright from afar

Old Age.
Done

for thee

starved the wild beast that was linkt

with thee eighty years back.

Less weight

on a

now for

the ladder-of-heaven that hangs

star.
I.

If

my body come

from brutes,

tho'

somewhat

finer

than their own,

I

am

heir,

and

this

my

kingdom.

Shall the royal

voice be mute?

No, but

if

the rebel subject seek to drag

me from

the

throne,

Hold

the sceptre,

Human

Soul,

and

rule thy Prov-

ince of the brute.

II.

have climb 'd to the snows of Age, and

gaze at a

field in the Past,

Where

sank with the body at times in the sloughs

of a low desire.

But

hear no yelp of the beast, and the

Man

is

quiet

at last

As he stands on the heights

of a height that

is

of his life with a glimpse

higher.

FAR FAR AWAY.

(for music.)

What

sight so lured

As where

him

thro' the fields

he knew

earth's green stole into heaven's

Far

What sound was

The mellow

far

hue,

dearest in his native dells?

lin-lan-lone of evening bells

Far

What vague

own

away

away.
far

world-whisper, mystic pain or joy.

Thro' those three words would haunt him when a boy,

Far

away
far

whisper from his dawn of life? a breath

From some

fair

dawn beyond

the doors of death

Far
Far, far,

The

how

What charm

away
far

far? from o'er the gates of Birth,

faint horizons, all the

bounds of
Far

in words, a

earth,

away
far

charm no words could give?

dying words, can Music make you

Far
505

live

away?
far

POLITICS.

We

move, the wheel must ahvays move,

Nor always on

And

if

we move

the plain,
to such a goal

As Wisdom hopes

Then you

to gain,

that drive,

and know your

Craft,

Will firmly hold the rein,

Nor lend an

random

ear to

Or you may

cries,

drive in vain.

For some cry 'Quick' and some cry 'Slow,'

But, while the hills remain.

Up hill 'Too-slow will need the whip,

Down hill 'Too-quick,' the chain.
'

506

BEAUTIFUL

CITY.

Beaxttiful city, the centre and crater of

European confusion,

you with your passionate shriek for the rights

of an equal humanity,

How

often your Re-volution has proven but

E-volution
Roll'd again back on

itself in

a civic insanity
507

the tides of

THE ROSES ON THE TERRACE.

Rose, on this terrace

fifty

years ago,

When I was in my June, you in your May,

Two words, 'My Rose set all your face aglow.
And now that I am white, and you are gray,
That blush of fifty years ago, my dear.
Blooms in the Past, but close to me to-day
'

As

this red rose,

Glows

which on our terrace here

in the blue of fifty miles away.

THE
Act

first,

You

And

PLAY.

this Earth, a stage so

all

yet be patient.

In some

gloom' d with woe

but sicken at the shifting scenes.

fifth

Our Playwright may show

Act what

this wild

508

Drama means.

ON ONE WHO AFFECTED AN EFFEMINATE MANNER.

While man and woman
I

still

Which

types

But, friend,

TO ONE

all

are incomplete,

man and woman

prize that soul where

Nature's male and female plan

man-woman

is

not woman-man.

WHO RAN DOWN THE

You make our

Our darker

faults too gross,

future.

May

At times the small black

May seem

meet,

ENGLISH.

and thence maintain

your fears be vain

fly

upon the pane

the black ox of the distant plain.

509

THE SNOWDROP.
Man\',

many welcomes

February fair-maid,

Ever as of old time,

Solitary firstling,

Coming

in the cold time.

Prophet of the gay lime>

Prophet of the

May

time,

Prophet of the roses,

Many, many welcomes

February fair-maid
510

THE THROSTLE.
'Summer
I

coming, summer

is

know

it,

know

it,

Light again, leaf again,

Yes,

my

wild

life

coming.

is

know

it.

again, love again,'

Poet.

little

Sing the new year in under the blue.

Last year you sang

'New, new, new, new

it

'
!

as gladly.
Is it

then so

new

That you should carol so madly?

'Love again, song again, nest again, young again.

Never a prophet so crazy

And

hardly a daisy as yet,

See, there

is

friend,

little

hardly a daisy.

'Here again, here, here, here, happy year'!

warble unchidden, unbidden

Summer

And

is

coming,

all

is

coming,

my

dear,

the winters are hidden.

5"

THE OAK.
LwE

thy Life,

Young and

old,

Like yon oak,

Bright in spring.

Living gold

Summer-rich

Then; and then

Autumn-changed,
Soberer-hued

Gold again.

All his leaves

Fall'n at length,

Look, he stands.

Trunk and bough.

Naked
512

strength.

MEMORIAM.

IN

W.
Farewell, whose

like

G.

Ward.

on earth

Whose Faith and Work were

My

friend, the

I shall

not find,

bells of full accord,

most unworldly of mankind,

Most generous

of all Ultramontanes,

Ward,

How subtle at tierce and quart of mind with

How loyal in the following of thy Lord
513

VOL. IV.

mind,

TO

W.

C.

MACREADY.

1851.

Farewell, Macready, since to-night we part;

Full-handed thunders often have confessed

Thy power,

We

well-used to

move

the public breast.

thank thee with our voice, and from the heart.

Farewell, Macready, since this night

Go, take thine honours home

we

part.

rank with the best,

Garrick and statelier Kemble, and the rest

Who made

a nation purer through their art.

Thine

that our

is it

drama did not

down

die,

Nor

flicker

And

those gilt gauds men-children

to brainless

pantomime.

swarm

to see.

Farewell, Macready; moral, grave, sublime;

Our Shakespeare's bland and universal eye

Dwells pleased, through twice a hundred years,

on

thee.

514

APPENDIX AND NOTES

TO THE

POETICAL WORKS
OF

ALFRED. LORD TENNYSON

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

1908
Ai^ rights reserved

Copyright, 1908,

By

the MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and elcctrotyped.

Published July, 1908.

NoriDooti i^re
Berwick & Smith Oo.
J. S. Gushing Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

APPENDIX.

APPENDIX.
The

following note was written by

Heyne's Homer:
us

me

my

and

"My

father,

brother

my

who

Charles

father in his copy of

taught us Greek,

write

the

made

substance of

Heyne's notes on the margin to show that we had read them

and we followed the same command of

Homers,

Virgils,

and Juvenals,

several commentators.

learnt

My

well

In the

our

the criticisms of these

etc.,
little

his, writing in

Louth school C. and

should say absolutely nothing."

father often expressed a wish that he could find time to

translate the Iliad into rhythmical prose.

Not long

after the

publication of his Achilles over the Trench^ with his help

made the following experimental translation of the Sixth

Book during some of our long walks through the Sussex
lanes round Aldworth, or over the Downs at Freshwater;
and when in print it was finally revised by him from the point
of view of rhythm, and by

my

uncle, Professor Lushington,

from the point of view of scholarship.

Iliad which

poetic feeling

think most struck

my

The

passages in the

father for their beauty of

and diction were the two

that he translated into

blank verse, and the parting of Paris, which he translated into

prose (p. 537) as

it

stands here.

517

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

5i8

THE SIXTH BOOK OF HOMER'S

ILIAD.

of Diomede and Glaucus

Hector bids his mother pray
Athene Hector summons Paris to the battle The farewell
of Hector and Andromache The parting of Pans.

The meeting

to

So

the

betwixt the Trojans and

dread crash of conflict

Achaians was deserted of the gods.

And many
and thither
the other

a time the battle drove thro' the plain hither

each host levelling their bronze spears against

between the rivers of Simois and of Xanthus.

Telamonian Ajax, the bulwark

First

of the

Achaians,

broke a phalanx of the Trojans, and gave light to his people

striking

the

man who was

the son of Eussoms,

Him
helmet

he struck
;

Akamas
thro'

first

and pierced him

among

noblest

the Thracians,

the mighty warrior.

the ridge of his horse-maned

and the bronze

in the forehead,

point passed thro" the bone, and darkness covered his eyes.

Then Diomede, loud in the battle-cry, slew Axylus the son

who dwelt in stately-built Arisbe he was rich in the

of Teuthras,

good things of

life,

and was loved of

men, dwelling as he did

in his

all

twain

it

of

charioteer,

And
after

in his stead

him and his

and the twain

for

he loved

bitter

death from him,

and Diomede took the

all

house hard by the thoroughfare.

Yet not one of those then could bar

and meet

men,

fellow Kalesius,

life

of the

who was now

his

dipt into the underworld.

Euryalus slew Dresus and Opheltius, and followed

Aisepus and Pedasus,

whom

nymph Abarbarea

in the

former time bare to princely Boucolion.

Now
by
ing

Boucolion was son of the noble Laomedon, the eldest

birth, offspring of his mother's secret love

among

for shepherd-

the flocks Boucolion mingled with Abarbarea in

APPENDIX.

519

embracement, and she conceiving bare him twin male

love's

children.

And

the son of Mekistus loosed their strength and their

beauteous limbs by death, and from their shoulders stript off

their armour.

And

Polypoites, the stedfast in battle, slew Astyalus

Odysseus put

to

bronze spear

and Teucer, godlike Aretaon.

Then

the death

Pidytes a Percosian

with

and
his

Antilochus, the son of Nestor, smote Ablerus with

and king Agamemnon, Elatus, who dwelt

his flashing spear

in the height of

Pedasus by the banks of the fair-flowing

Satnioeis.

And

hero

the

And now

Phylakus flying

overtook

Leitus

Eurypylus put Melanthius

and

to the death.

Menelaus, loud in the battle-cry, took Adrestus

horses being brought to trouble in a bush of

alive, for his

tamarisk fled wildly

over the plain

and they brake the

curved chariot, snapping short the pole, but themselves sped

to the city,

And

where the

rest in panic likewise whirled

was rolled

their lord

forth

onward.

from the chariot beside

the wheel in the dust on his face, prostrate.

Then by him stood Menelaus,

supplicated

"

som
"

alive,

sire

knees,

son of Atreus, and accept a worthy ran-

for large the treasure that

wealthy

his

him

Take me
;

the son of Atreus, with long-

and then Adrestus, clasping

shadowing spear;

is

stored in the house of

my

both bronze and gold, and long-laboured iron,

Out of these

untold ransom

my

if

sire

would lavishly bestow on thee an

he learnt that

was

still

living nigh unto

the ships of the Achaians."

tried to move within his breast the heart
now he would have straightway given him

So he spake and
of Menelaus, and

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

520

down

over to his servant to lead

Achaians

to

the swift ships of the

had not Agamemnon come up

"

tender-hearted

wrought

brother!

show such

dost thou

pity?

escape

the mother

but

may

may

all

bear in her

wherefore

benefits indeed

May no

escape our hands, ay and violent death

whom

meet him run-

Menelaus!

Have such

house by Trojans?

to thine

to

word

ning, and, loudly chiding him, spake this

womb

soul of

been

them

not even the babe

!

let

not even him

be utterly destroyed together out of Ilios,

unsepulchred and unknown!

^'

Thus speaking the prince turned the mind of his brother,

him righteously.
So he thrust the warrior Adrestus aside with his hand, and
king Agamemnon wounded him in the loins, and the man
fell backward
and Atreides, setting his heel on his breast,
counselling

drew forth the ashen spear.

Then

it

was that Nestor cheered on the Argives, shouting

aloud:

"O friends, Danaan heroes, servants of Ares! Let none

now tarry behind intent on pillage, so that he may go bearing
as much as can be to the ships
but let us slay men, and then
;

of a truth at your leisure shall ye strip the dead corpses on

the plain."

Thus speaking he aroused the strength and heart of each

Then had the Trojans again been driven by the

man.

Achaians, dear to Ares, up into

courage

but that

Ilios,

cowed by

their lack of

Helenus, the son of Priam, stood by

^neas and Hector, and spake

and he was the
among augurs
" ^neas and Hector, since the stress of battle
;

you twain most of

1

all

wisest

lies

on

the Trojans and Lycians, in that ye are

Possibly a mere form of address, see

ix.

252.

APPENDIX.

521

the best thro' every enterprise in counsel and in combat

stay here

"And, moving

hither

and

thither, restrain the people in

front of the gates before they, flying,

women, and become a triumph

Then when ye have cheered on

"

fight with the

weary

need of

it

compelleth

altho'

women
citadel

the

to

will

and speak then

to

her gather together the aged

the

clear-eyed

Athene

in

the

open with the key the doors of the sacred house

her lay the robe which seemeth to her the largest and the

most
in

of

we

are exceeding

" Let her

let

temple

let

we

us.

" But do thou, Hector, go to the city

thy mother and mine, and

arms of the

every phalanx,

Danaans, tarrying here,

for the

into the

fall

to their enemies.

and

beautiful of those that are stored in her palace,

that

which her soul most delighteth, upon the knees of the

flowing-haired Athene.
" Let her

vow unto her

to sacrifice in the temple

yearling heifers, which have never

mercy on the

city

infant children

"

felt tlie

twelve

goad, so she have

and on the wives of the Trojans and

their

So haply she may hold back from holy Troy the son of

Tydeus, the
of panic

fierce

for sure

warrior, the

am

that he

is

mighty man, the

creator

even now the mightiest of

the Achaians.
"

Nay we have never had such dread even of Achilles, the

men who they say was born of a goddess but this
man that is now before us greatly rages, and no one is able

leader of

to countervail his might."

Thus he spake, and Hector did not disobey the word of

but forthwith sprang all-armed to the ground

his brother,

from his chariot.

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS,

522

And

brandishing his two keen spears passed everywhere

them

thro' the army, arousing

to the

combat; and he awoke

the dread cry of battle.

So they wheeled round and stood front to front with the

and the Argives gave ground, and paused from

Achaians

slaughter.

For they thought that one of the immortals had descended

from the starry heaven to help the Trojans, in such wise they

had wheeled themselves round

Trojans, shouting aloud

" High-hearted Trojans

and Hector cheered on the

and far-famed

and speak with our aged

go

to

and with our

councillors,

vow unto them

they pray to the gods, and

that

wives,

my

be men,

allies,

be mindful of your eager prowess !-^while

friends,
Ilios,

hecatombs."

Thus speaking, Hector of the glancing helmet departed

and the black-hided rim that was outermost round
shield

upon

and^on

either side

his bossy

smote him as he moved on

neck

his

his ankles.

Then

Glaucus, the son of Hippolochus, and the son of

Tydeus, longing for the combat, met

betwixt

either

army

and

nigh unto one another,

first

when

in

the

they

midmost

had

field

approached

spake Diomede, loud

in

the

battle-cry

"Who

art thou,

good

sir,

of mortal

men?

for

have never

seen thee heretofore in the battle which giveth glory to the

warrior

and now thou hast

far

surpassed

all

men

my long-shadowing
me in my might are the

valour, in that thou hast awaited

"

Yet those who confront

of hapless parents.

of heaven,
battle.

But

if

in thy

spear.

children

thou art one of the immortals out

indeed with the gods of heaven

will

not do

APPENDIX.

523

"Nay, not even the son of Dryas, the strong Lycurgus,

lived long

"

who

He who

fought with the gods of heaven

former time chased the nurse-nymphs of

in a

maddened Dionysus down the hallowed Nysean mountain

while they

together cast abroad on

all

ground

the

their

of sacrifice, for the man-slaying Lycurgus with his

vessels

ox-goad chastised them.

''

And Dionysus

ocean

in

fear

wave of the

plunged into the

and Thetis below received him scared

bosom, such a mighty terror gat hold on him

her

into

at the

angry

shout of the warrior.

"

Whereat of a

nor did he

gods who live at

and the son of Kronos made him blind,
since of all the immortal gods he was

truth with Lycurgus the

ease were aggrieved

live long,

abhorred.

"Nor
combat

with

indeed
but

the

blessed

gods

thou beest of mortal men,

if

am

the glorious son of Hippolochus answered

" Great-hearted son of Tydeus, wherefore

my

full

soon the

doom,"

limit of thy

of

to

eat the fruit

of the earth, draw hither, that thou mayst find

And

willing

who

lineage

even as

is

him

thou ask

dost

the generation of leaves, such

is

that of men.
"

The

leaves

wind streweth them on the ground, and

when

the forest flourisheth and produceth others,

of spring descendeth

so one generation of

men

the hour

produceth,

and another ceaseth altogether.

" Yet

thou

if

wouldst

hearken, that thou mayst

there

is

that

"There

is

knoweth

also

learn

know my

of

me

lineage

these
:

things,

many

man

it.

a city of Ephyra, in a nook of horse-pastured

Argos; and there dwelt Sisyphus who was of

all

men

the

BALLADS AXD OTHER POEMS.

524

shrewdest

Sisyphus, the son of ^olus, and he begat a son

even Glaucus

and Glaucus begat the princely Bellerophon.

gods bestowed on

the

''And

manhood, but Proetus imagined

he drave him forth from among

among

strongest

the Argives

him the beauty of

fair

him

evil in his heart against

was

his people, since Proetus

for

Zeus had subdued them

unto his sceptre.

.

"

Now

the fair Anteia, the wife of Proetus,

mingle with him privily

way could she

in love's

maddened

embracement; but

prevail over the noble nature

to

no

in

and wise heart

of Bellerophon,

" And she with lying words spake to king Proetus

thou

would

mingle

would not
'

mayst

or

Proetus,

die.

love's

in

thou

slay

embracement

Mayst

Bellerophon who
with

me

altho'

So she

said,

and wrath possessed the king when he

heard thereof; yet he was loth to slay him, for his soul

felt

awe at the doing of it so he sent him to Lycia, and gave

him devices of doom, marking on a folded tablet many a
;

deathful symbol.
''

And

he bad him show them to his father-in-law, in hope

that he might perish

but he went to Lycia under the gods'

good guidance.

"And when

he had come to Lycia, and to the river

Xanthus, the king of broad Lycia honoured him with

graciousness

all

nine days he entertained him, and nine bulls

he sacrificed.
" Yet

when on

the tenth

day the rosy dawn appeared,

then he questioned him, and asked to see the token

which he had brought

for his

own behoof from

that

Proetus his

son-in-law.
"

Now

after

he had received that

evil

token of his son-in-

APPENDIX.
law, then indeed

he

first

525

bad him slay the unconquerable

Chimaera, which was of birth divine not mortal

and behind a dragon, and a wild goat

lion,

in

in

front a

the middle

and breathing out the dreadful might of burning

fire;

and

obeying the signs from heaven, he slew her.

'Next he fought with the glorious Solymi

he

fiercest fight,

thirdly he
"

And

of cunning the king

full

he chose from out

and

bravest,

ward

truth the
;

and

smote down the manlike Amazons.

another plot

returning

of a

he ever underwent with warriors

said,

set

an ambush

for princely

wove

men

broad Lycia the

for

him

that were

but those no more came home-

Bellerophon smote them

all

to the death.

So when now the king was aware that he was the strong
offspring of a god, he kept him there with himself, and gave
"

him

to wife his

all his

own

daughter, and bestowed on him half of

kingly honours.

"And

the Lycians meted unto

than unto

all

the others

fair

him a

with

richer portion of land

tilth for

corn and with

plantations, so that he might dwell therein.

"

And

his wife bare three children to the wise Bellerophon

Isander and Hippolochus and Laodameia.

"'

Now

Zeus, the sage in counsel, lay with Laodameia

and

she bare him the godlike Sarpedon of the brazen helmet.

" But
to

when even Bellerophon

likewise to

all

the gods grew

be hateful, then alone through the Aleian plain he wan-

dered, eating out his heart,

"And

and shunning the track of men.

Ares, insatiable of war, slew his son Isander

he fought with the glorious Solymi

when

and Artemis, goddess of

the golden rein, in anger slew Laodameia.

"

But Hippolochus begat me, and from him

descended; and he sent

joined

me

me

to Troy,

ever to excel and to surpass

boast to be

and many a time enall

others,

and not

to

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

526

bring shame on the race of

my

fathers,

who

Ephyra and

in

broad Lycia were ever the bravest warriors.'

and

blood

So he spake, and Diomede, loud

in the

"It

from

is

this

noble race

boast to be

descended."

was

battle-cry,

gladdened.

He

planted his spear deep in the rich-pastured earth, and

words addressed the shepherd of the people

in mild

"

Of a

surety thou art

of hospitality

bound

to

me by

old ancestral bonds

since in former days the godlike CEneus was

the host of the princely Bellerophon in his

own

and

palace,

kept him twenty days.

'

Each

also gave to the other fair gifts of hospitality

for

GEneus gave a baldrick gleaming with purple, and Bellerophon

gave a goblet with double handles and golden, and

behind me in

"Yet
infant

my home when

do not remember Tydeus, for he

when m

left it

parted.

me

left

still

an

Thebai there perished the people of the

Achaians.
" Wherefore

Argos

now

am

and thou mine

thy kindly host in the midst of

in Lycia,

whensoever

may

visit

thy people.
"

So

mellay
I

may

let
;

of one another even in the

us avoid the spears

for

many

slaughter,

whomsoever my

are the Trojans and their noble allies that

whomsoever
feet

the

god

shall give to

can overtake in the pursuing

too are the Achaians for thee, to destroy

me, and

and many

whomsoever thou

art able.

" But let us exchange arms with one another

our comrades

may

likewise

know

that

we proclaim

that these

the friend-

ship of ourselves and of our fathers.''

Thus they twain held converse

and rushing down from

APPENDIX.

by the hand, and each

their chariots, each took the other

pHghted

527

his troth to the other.

Then indeed
of Glaucus

away the reason

Zeus, the son of Kronos, took

so that he exchanged his arms with those of

son

Diomede, the

Tydeus,

of

golden

bronze

for

the

worth of a hundred bulls for that of nine.

when Hector had come unto

Meanwhile
gates

and the oak

the

Skaian

around him ran the wives of the

tree,

Trojans, and their daughters, asking

him of sons and brothers,

kinsmen and husbands.

And

he straightway bad them go pray to the gods,

procession

all in

but grief brooded over many.

Now when

he came to the

at last

fair

house of Priam, that

were

was built with polished colonnades (and in

it

chambers of polished stonework, ranged near

one another,

where the sons of Priam

slept

by

their

to

wedded wives

fifty

and

there too for his daughters on the other side opposite within

the court were twelve roofed chambers of polished stonework,

ranged near to one another, where by their chaste wives slept

the sons-in-law of Priam), then his noble mother, the giver

of kindly

gifts,

met Hector, leading

est to see of her daughters

to

him Laodice, the

and she put her hand

in his,

fair-

and

spake to him, and called him by his name

why art thou come, leaving the impetuous battle?

now the ill-omened sons of the Achaians afflict thee,

" Son,

Surely

fighting around the city

hither to

come and

to

lift

wherefore a yearning hath sent thee

thine hands in prayer to Zeus from

the citadel.
" But tarry until

with thou mayst

the other immortals

thou drink est.

fetch thee the honey-sweet wine, where-

first
;

pour libation to Zeus the

and then thyself

father,

and

shalt gladden thyself

to
if

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

528

" For wine greatly exalteth the courage of the weary

even as thou

Then

art

weary thro' fighting

for

heart,

thy kinsmen."

the great Hector of the glancing helmet

made answer

to her:

"Bring me not the honey-hearted wine,

lest

thou unnerve me, and

and

pour out

fear to

washen hands,

for

to

forget

my

noble mother,

might and

my

valour;

Zeus the sparkling wine with un-

not at

it is

my

meet that one polluted with

all

blood, and with mire, should offer prayer to the cloud-girdled

son of Kronos.
" But do thou go to the temple of Athene, the Gatherer of

with

Spoil,^

women

sacrificial

gathering together the aged

gifts,

and the robe that

is

to thee the

most

beautiful,

and

the largest, of those stored in thy palace, and that one in

which thy soul most delighteth

lay that on the knees

of the

flowing -haired Athene.

"

And vow

unto her to

sacrifice in the

which have never

ling heifers,

mercy on the

city,

felt

temple twelve year-

the goad

so she have

and on the wives of the Trojans, and on

their infant children.

"

So haply she may hold back from holy

Ilios the

son

of Tydeus, the fierce warrior, the mighty man, the creator of

panic

ay,

go thou

of Spoil, and
haply,

"
for

when

to the

go

will

temple of Athene, the Gatherer

after Paris that

may

call

him

if

he hearken.

I speak,

would that the earth would straightway yawn

Olympian Zeus hath nurtured him

to be a

for

him

mighty curse

to

the Trojans, and to the great-hearted Priam and to his sons

also.

that

the house of

gotten

all

might behold him go down into the gates of

Hades

then could

say that

my

soul had for-

her joyless misery."

1

Or

stronger, "

Goddess of Havoc."

A. T.

APPENDIX.
So he spake, and she passing
attendants

to

529
the palace called her

and they gathered together the aged women

throughout the

Then she

city.

herself descended

into her fragrant

chamber,

where were the robes of divers colours, wrought by Sidonian

w^omen (whom lordly Alexander himself had brought from
Sidon,

along the same way

over the broad seas

sailing

whereby

he brought Helen the daughter of a noble

and taking one of these Hecuba bare

it

as a

gift to

that one which was -the fairest with divers colours

was the

largest

and

it

glittered like a star,

and

it

'^

sire)

Athene

and which
lay

below

the rest.

all

on, while many an aged woman hastened after

when they came to the temple of Athene in the high
fair-faced Theano opened the doors unto them, the

So she passed
her; and
city,

the

daughter of Kisseus, the wife of the horse-taming Antenor

Trojans had made her the priestess of Athene.

for the

Then
Athene

all
;

of them crying aloud

and the

fair-faced

up

lifted

their

hands to

Theano, taking the robe,

set

it

on

the knees of the flowing-haired Athene, and with sacred vows

she prayed to the daughter of Zeus the mighty

"Sovran Athene, saviour of cities, fair among goddesses,

now the spear of Diomede and grant also that

break thou

he himself
" That

fall

headlong before the Skaian gates!

we may forthwith

sacrifice

yearling heifers which have never

mercy on the

city,

felt

in thy temple

twelve

the goad, so thou have

and on the wives of the Trojans, and on

their infant children."

Thus she spake

in prayer, but Pallas

Athene bowed not

her head.
1

Or

"

on the same voyage when."

3 Threw her head backward

VOL.

IV.

Qr

" divinely born."

in sign of refusal.

BALLADS AND

530

Thus they prayed

which he had

all

chamber, his

rich-pastured

and

hall,

and Hector

of Priam

to the beauteous house of

built along with

of craftsmen in
his

daughter of Zeus the mighty

to the

and Hector had passed

O TILER POEMS.

Alexander

men who were then

^

Troy

the best

they wrought for him

his courtyard, nigh to the houses

in the capitol.

There Hector, dear

to Zeus, entered

and

in his

hand he

grasped his spear, eleven cubits in length, and in front

tered the weapon's bronze point, and around

glit-

ran a golden

it

ring.

And

he found Paris in his chamber, busied about his

beauteous armour, his shield and breastplate, and handling

his

crooked bow.

But Argive Helen sat with her

women -servants,

bidding

those about her work on the glorious broideries.

And

Hector,

when he saw him, upbraided him

in

words

that were bitter

"

Good

sir,

thine heart

thou dost not well to conceive

this

anger in

the people waste away, fighting around the city

and the towering ramparts

and

it

was

thy sake that

all for

the war and the battle-shout are kindled about our stronghold.

" Yea, thou thyself wouldst be angered with one

whom

thou

sawest a laggard hanging back from the grievous battle

Up

then, lest quickly the city be burnt with a

And

the lordly Alexander spake to

" Hector, since thou upbraidest

yond reason, therefore

will

him

me

in

consuming

fire

answer

in reason

speak unto thee

and not

be-

but do thou

heed, and hearken unto me.

"Surely not so much in anger, or in indignation against

the Trojans,

abode

abandon myself

my chamber;

in

to sorrow.
1

Or

" deep-soiled."

but

would

fain

APPENDIX.
"

And now my

myself

it

me

" But
battle

with soothing

and even

forth to the combat,

seemeth that so

now

shifteth

me

hath counselled

wife

words, and hath urged

531

it

would be

to

for

victory

my armour

for the

better

one man, now to the other.

to the

come

then, tarry

or go,

and

let

me

put on

will follow after,

and

deem

that

shall

overtake thee/'

So he

said,

and Hector of the glancing helmet made no

answer; then Helen spake to him in words of comfort

" Brother of

me

triver of mischief

"

an

Would

that

the wretch without

me

of

shame

on the day when

my

mother

hurricane had swept by, and borne

evil

of

me

the con-

the baleful!
first

bare me,

me away

to

mountain, or to the wave of the loud-roaring ocean where the

wave would have been my

had happened!
"

Howsoever seeing

bitterness, then

band,

who

annihilation,^ before these evils

that the gods have thus ordained this

would that

could have

felt

had mated with a nobler hus-

the indignation of

men and

the

multitude of their reproaches!

man

" But this

in the future

hath not any stedfastness, nay nor will have

therefore

believe that he will reap the fruit

of his doing.
" Yet

come now,

enter,

and be seated on

this couch,

O my

brother, for the trouble touch eth thine heart nearer than any
all

thro'

me

Alexander.

We

two

of us

destiny

poor wretch, and

for whom

that even hereafter

men that are to be."

Then the mighty Hector

we

shall

Lit.

"

guilt

of
evil

be sung in song for

of the glancing helmet answered

her:
1

thro' the

Zeus hath ordained an

swept

me

far off."

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

532

me to be seated, for
me since now all my desire is to go
Trojans, who greatly yearn for me in mine

" Albeit in love, Helen, do not urge

thou wilt not persuade

and help the

absence.
" But do thou arouse him^

me

overtake

now

even while

mine own home, that

to

and mine own beloved

^'

For

again

now

let

him haste himself

within the city

may

for

my

look upon

shall

to

go

household,

and mine infant son.

wife,

do not know

or whether

and

am

if I

back to them

shall ever return

me by

the gods will slay

the hands

of the Achaians."

So Hector of the glancing helmet spake, and departed

and then
ing

full

soon came he to his house, that goodly dwell-

but he did not find within the

white-armed

halls the

Andromache.

She with her boy and the fair-robed handmaiden was

standing on the tower, weeping and wailing

when he did not

threshold,

"Come

find his noble

and spake among

now,

O women,

his

tell

and Hector,

wife within, stayed

me

whither hath the

truly!

white-armed Andromache gone from the palace?

to
to

my

sisters, or to

the fair-robed wives of

temple of Athene,

the

women

Trojan

And

" Hector, for thou

is

gone nor

where

are propitiating the

the busy house-dame

bad'st

the
awfi.il

my

other

Is

she gone

brethren? or
long-haired

goddess?"

made answer

me

on the

servant-women

to

him

speak altogether truly

she

to thy sisters, nor to the fair-robed wives of thy

brethren, nor to the temple of Athene, where the other long-

haired

Trojan

women

are propitiating the awful goddess.

" But she passed to the great tower of Ilios, hearing that

the Trojans were sore beset, and that the Achaians mightily
1

Or

" fair-tressed."

APPENDIX.
prevailed

even like a

533

she departed in great haste toward the rampart,

madwoman

and the nurse beareth the boy along

with them."

So spake the house-dame and Hector sped from the

same way, down thro' the stately streets.
;

palace, back the

And when,

he had come

after passing thro' the great city,

Skaian gates whereby he thought to pass out into

to the

the plain, there his richly-dowered

wife ran to meet him,

Andromache, the daughter of great-hearted Eetion.

(Eetion

who

dwelt beneath wooded Placos in Hypoplacian

Thebai, and was king of the Cilicians

was wedded

Lo

to

then, she

came

like

Him

unto a

meet him

to

went with her, holding

babe

and

his

daughter

Hector of the bronze helmet.)

;

and the handmaiden

her bosom the tender boy, the

in

the darhng son of Hector.

fair star,

Hector used to

Scamandrius

call

but the others

Astyanax, "king of the city," for Hector alone upheld Ihos.

Even then he smiled, looking upon his boy in silence

Andromache stood nigh unto him weeping, and she
put her hand into his, and spake, calling him by name
while

" Dearest, thy

courage

destroy thee, nor dost thou

will

me

have pity on thine infant son, nor on

full

will

"

soon

be thy widow

massacre thee,

But

the earth
for

will

far better
if I

all

of

them

would

lose thee

me, when thou

full

falling

be

it

for

since

for

upon

me

never again

mine

own

the

forlorn,

who

soon the Achaians

thee.

to

descend beneath

will there

meetest

be comfort

thy doom, nay,

nought but sorrow.

"

And

have no longer a

father, or a noble

of a truth the lordly Achilles slew

the

well-thronged

city
1 "

of

the

my

since

and wasted

the

lofty-gated

Cilicians,

Richly-won."

mother

father,

BALLADS AXD OTHER POEMS.

534

Yea, he slew Eetion. yet he did not despoil him

Thebai.

for his soul felt

" But he

awe

at the

burnt him with

mound above

raised a

doing of

rich-wrought armour, and

his

him, and the

nymphs

of the mountain,

daughters of segis-bearing Zeus, planted elms around

"And

my

those

one day

palace, in

it.

it.

who dwelt within our

went down into the gates

seven brethren,

them

of

all

of

Hades;

as

they watched by their slow-footed oxen, and by their

slew them,

for the swift-footed, lordly Achilles

white-fleeced sheep.
"

my mother who was

Moreover

Placos

her

and again he

freed

her,

who poureth

Artemis,

queen beneath wooded

he led captive hither with

all

his other trophies

taking a boundless

forth her arrows,

ransom

yet

smote her dead

in

the palace of her father.

"

And

now. Hector, thou

mother, and

my

husband

pray thee

the tower, lest

brother,

art to

me my

ay and

and noble

father,

my own

more,

now have pity, and tarry

thou make thy boy an orphan, and

strong

here on
thy wife

a widow.
'

And

range our host by the

easiest to climb,

fig-tree,

and the battlement

where the

to be scaled

citadel

is

for thrice

there have their bravest striven to enter with either Ajax,

and the far-famed Idomeneus, and with the sons of Atreus,

and the
"

or

valiant son of Tydeus.

Whether some one wise

their

own

spirit

urgeth

in

prophecy instructed them

them

on,

and

commandeth

them."

And

the mighty Hector of the glancing helmet answered

her:
'

All

am

these

things indeed have

in exceeding

looked

to,

my

wife, but

shame before the Trojans, and the long-

APPENDIX.
robed

women,

Trojan

535

cowardlike

if

stand apart, and

avoid the combat.

"

Nor doth my

learnt always

to

suffer

spirit

me

to avoid

since

it,

have

be valiant, and to fight foremost among

the Trojans, striving to win great glory for myself and for

my

father.

" Yea, for well

day

will

be when

my mind and

secret heart, the

sacred Ilios shall perish,

and Priam, and

know

in

the people of Priam of the good ashen spear.

"Yet not so much do the woes to come of the Trojans

Hecuba herself, or of Priam the king, or of

grieve me, or of

my

who may

brethren

fall

many

a brave one

in

the dust

by the hands of our enemies, as thy woes, w^hen some one of

away

the bronze-armoured Achaians shall lead thee

and rob thee

his bride) weeping,

"

So then thou mayst abide

weave

loom

at the

at the

be

(to

of thy day of freedom.

in

Argos, and thou mayst

woman

bidding of another

and

thou mayst bear the water of Messei's and Hypereia,

against thy

will,

some one may

" And haply

ing

Lo the

'

of

battle

around

"So
sorrow
turn

and strong necessity

when he seeth thee weepwho was the foremost in

horse-taming Trojans, when they battled
say,

of Hector,

wife

the

all

Ilios.'

haply some
will

one

be thine

shall

me beneath

hear thy cry

the

when thou

So speaking, the
his babe, but

say hereafter, and a fresh

thro' longing for such a

away from thee the day of

cover

all

compel thee.

will

mound
art

captivity

but

husband

may

of the dead, before

dragged away

to

the earth
I

live to

glorious Hector leaned forward

toward

back the babe shrank into the bosom of his

fair-zoned nurse, crying

troubled at the sight of his beloved

1 Lit. "

trailing-robed."

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

536
father,

scared at the helmet's

horse-mane

seeing

and

glitter,

at the crest

nod grimly from the top

it

of

of the

helmet.

And

his beloved father

straightway from
helmet, and set

his

in his hands,

other gods
" Zeus

glittering.

kissed his darUng son, and danced

he spake in prayer to Zeus, and to the

and

all

ye gods, grant

become even

also

Hector took the

glorious

the

upon the ground,

it

Then when he had

him

and noble mother laughed aloud;

head

Trojans, like

as

am, a

me mighty

reign over Ilios,

now
man

my

that this,

of

and

in strength,

and then men may

may

babe,

renown among the

say,

full

of power to

when he

returneth

and
Lo he is far nobler than his father
may he bear home blood-dyed trophies of his slaughtered
foemen and may his mother rejoice in her heart
from the

battle,

'

'

So speaking, he
wife,

laid

tearfully

babe

his

and she received him

and her husband

pitied

and he caressed her with

her,

called her

in the

hands of his dear

bosom, smiling

into her fragrant

her as he looked upon

hand, and spake, and

his

by name

" Darling, be not grieved in thy heart overmuch

me

my

man

shall

that

no man hath escaped

send

against

fate to

his

Hades

full

for

sure

no

am

doom, nor the bad man, nor

even the good, when once he hath come to be.^

''

But go thou to thine home, and busy thyself about thine

household cares, the loom and the

thine handmaids to ply their

" But
all

work

distaff;

and command

also.

we men will look to the battle all

all we w^ho were born in Ilios."

of us

most

of

myself;

Thus speaking,
1 "

the glorious
After he has

Hector took his

first

been born."

horsetail-

APPENDIX.
crested helmet

and

his beloved

always turning back

upon

returned homeward,

wife

look after him, and weeping tear

to

tear.

Then

quickly she reached the goodly

home

of Hector, the

men, and she found within many a handmaiden

slayer of

and she aroused a wailing

still

537

in all of them.

own home,

they wailed in his

living

And

Hector

for

for they said to

themselves that he would nevermore return from the combat,

or escape from the strength

Nor did

and the hands of the Achaians.

Paris linger in his lofty

halls, but

when he had

girt on his gorgeous armour, all of varied bronze, then he

rushed through the

when a

glorying in his airy feet.

city,

stall-kept horse, that is

breaketh his tether,

and

And

as

barley-fed at the fnatiger,

dasheth

the plain, spurni?ig

thro''

being wont to bathe himself in the fair-running river,

it,

and

rioting,

reareth his head,

and his

viane flieth backward

on either shoulder, and he glorieth in his beaidy, and his

and meadows of
Priam, Paris, from the

knees bear him at the gallop to the haunts

the

mares

height

even so

of Pergamus,

ran

the son of

all in

la7ighingfor lightheartedness,

And

in act to turn

converse

Alexander spake
" Fair

sir, in

eagerness by
to thy

like

the sun,

his swift feet bare him.

straightway he found his godlike brother

even while
sweet

arms, glittering

and

with his wife

him

to

first

the

lordly

very truth

my

Hector,

from the place where he had h olden

tarrying

have kept thee back now in thine

nor came

in

due time according

commandment."

And Hector of the glancing helmet spake in answer to him

"Good sir, no man who is just could scoff at thee for thy
:

works

in war. for

thou art valiant

a laggard, and hast not the will

but of set purpose art thou

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

538
"

And mine

heart grieveth within me,

when

the reproaches heaped on thee by the Trojans

much
"

hearken to

who

suffer so

for thy sake.

But

after, if

let

us pass, and

we

make amends

shall

for this here-

Zeus ever grant us to consecrate in our halls the cup

who

of freedom to the everlasting gods

we have driven

forth out of

dwell in heaven,

RETICENCE.
Not

to Silence

would

build

temple in her naked

field

Not to her would raise a shrine

She no goddess is of mine

But to one of

Her

finer sense,

half sister, Reticence.

Latest of her worshippers,

I

would shrine her

Not

in

my

verse

like Silence shall she stand,

Finger-lipt, but with right

Moving toward her

lip,

hand

and there

Hovering, thoughtful, poised in

air.

Her garment slips, the left hand holds

Her up-gather'd garment folds,

And

veils a breast

Than aught
Near the
I

of

more

fair to

Anadyomene

me

shrine, but half in sun,

would have a

when

Troy the well-greaved Achaians.'"

river run.

Such

as never overflows

With

flush of rain, or

molten snows.

Often shallow, pierced with

light,

APPENDIX

539

Often deep beyond the sight,

Here and there about the lawn

Wholly mute, but ever drawn

Under either grassy brink

In many a silver loop and
Variously from

With long

its far

tracts of

link

spring,

murmuring.

Partly river, partly brook,

Which
Where

in

one delicious nook,

the doubtful shadows play,

Lightly lisping, breaks away

Thence, across the summit hurPd,

Showers

in a whisper o'er the world.

NOTES.

NOTES.
p. 3.

The Lovers Tale.

The

Lover's Tale states that

Two

nineteenth year.

original Preface to

The

was composed

my

it

in

only of the three parts

then written were printed, when, feeling the

imperfection of the poem,
the press.
boylike,

One

my

of

withdrew

friends

it

from

however who,

admired the boy's work, distributed

associates of that hour

among our common

some copies of

these two parts, without

my

knowledge, without the omissions and amend-

ments which I had in contemplation, and

marred by the many misprints of the compositor.
Seeing that these two parts have of
been mercilessly pirated, and that what I
had deemed scarce worthy to live is not
allowed to die, may I not be pardoned if I

late

suffer

the

the

the whole

poem

at

last

to

accompanied with a
sequel a work of my mature
hght

come
reprint
life

into

of

The

Golden Supper?

p. 85.

The First Quarrel.

Ballads

and

olher
543

[First

Poems

published

1880.

in

Dedicated

544

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

to Alfred

Browning Stanley Tennyson, born

1878. Ed.]
Founded on
is

me by Dr.

facts told

Dabbs, who

The poor woman

the doctor.

He

with her husband.

the quarrel for Jersey

quarrelled

started the night

of

the boat, in which he

was, struck a reef and went down.

[More than once

much among

in his

fisher folk

life

my

father lived

both on the east and

on the south coast. Carlyle's comment on the

poem was '* Ah, but that's a dreary tragic
tale.
Poor fellow, he was just an honest plain
man, and she was a curious production of the
century, and I am sorry for that poor girl too."
:

Ed.]
/. 96.

RizPAH.
title

[First

see 2

pubhshed

Samuel

in

1880.

For the

Ed.]

xxi.

Founded on a paragraph which I read in a

penny magazine. Old Brighton (lent me by my
friend and neighbour Mrs. Brotherton^), about
a poor

woman

at

Brighthelmstone groping for

the body of her son at nights on the Downs.

He

had been hung

in

chains

for

highway

1 " I told him the story one day at Farringford, knowing

would touch him, and he came up to see my husband
and me next day, and asked me to tell it him again: on
which I gave him the little penny magazine I found it in.
Many
It was an unpretentious account of Old Brighton.'
months after he took me up to his library, after a walk,
and read me what he called Bones. That was before it
was called Rizpah and published."
it

'

Mary Brotherton.

NOTES,

545

robbery, and his corpse had been

lows, as

["When

on the

flesh to decay, his

after night,

more tempestuous
quent

had caused

elements

the

and

clothes

night

left

gal-

was customary in the eighteenth century.

the

in

weathers,

all

the weather the

made

visits,

the

aged mother,

sacred

and the
more frepilgrim-

age to the lonely spot on the Downs, and

it

was noticed that on her return she always

away with her in

watched it was

dis-

covered that the bones of the hanging

man

brought

something

apron.

Upon

her

being

were the objects of her search, and as the

wind and rain scattered them on the ground

she conveyed them to her home. There she
kept them, and, when the gibbet was stripped
of

its

horrid burden, in the dead silence of

them in the hallowed

Shoreham Churchyard.

the night she interred

enclosure

What
(^Old

p. 107.

Old

of

a sad

story of a

"
!

Bnghton.)YAir\

The Northern Cobbler.

in 1880.

Ed.]

of gin in his

[First

Founded on a

A man

published

fact

that

up a bottle
window when he gave up drink-

heard in early youth.

ing.

Rizpah

Brighton

village

set

drunkard, hearing this

poem

read at a Village Reading, rose from his seat

and left the room. " Sally," I suppose, got on
his brain,

"Women

and he was heard to grumble

knaws too mooch nowadaays."

out,

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

546
p.

08.

Verse

fettle

iii.

and clump [mend and put new

Ed.].

soles to.

p. 109. Verse

iv.

squad

p. 109. Verse

iv.

scrawni'd an' scratted [clawed and

scratched.
p.

no. Verse

V.

Ed.].

[dirt.

Ed.].

Ed.].

ze'^^^W [spent.

p. 113. Verse

ix.

tew [stew.

p. 114. Verse

xi.

num-cumpus, non-compos.

/. 116. Verse xiv.

p. 121.

Ed.].

snaggy [ill-tempered.

The Revenge:

Ed.].

A Ballad

of the Fleet.
The Nineteenth Century,
March 1878, under the title of "Sir Richard
[First published in

Grenville

a Ballad of the Fleet"

published in Ballads

and Poems

afterwards

The

1880.

line

At Floras

in the Azores Sir

Richard Grenville

lay

my father's desk for two years, but he

work and finished the ballad at last all
at once in a day or two.
He wrote to my
mother " Sir Richard Grenville, in one ship,

was on
set to

The Revenge, fought

fifty-three

of the line for fifteen

story, outrivalHng

hours

Agincourt."

Spanish ships
a tremendous
Carlyle's

ment on the poem was: "Eh!

have got the grip of

his

you

Ed.]

it."

This tremendous story

Walter Raleigh in

com-

Alfred,

is

told

Report of

finely

the

by

truth

NOTES.

547

of the fight about the Isles of Azores this

last summer, and by Froude
also by Bacon.

"The

action," says Froude, ''struck a deeper

terror,

though

it

was but the action of a single

ship, into the hearts of the Spanish people

dealt a more deadly blow upon their fame

and moral strength than the Armada itself."

it

Richard Grenville commanded

Sir

Raleigh's

first

Sir

Walter

colony which went out to Vir-

ginia.

He

stitious

reverence by the Spaniards,

was always regarded with super-

who

de-

clared for instance that he would carouse three

or four glasses of wine, and take the glasses

his teeth and crush them to pieces
and swallow them down. The Revenge was
the same ship of 500 tons in which Drake had

between

sailed against the

Armada

three years before

this sea-fight.^

Flores
p. 125. Verse
in

vii.

is

a dissyllable, Az6res a trisyllable.

Pronounced

galleons.

"medaUion" (derived irom

p. 129. Verse

xi.

gunner,

man,

Sir

Richard

whom

to split

like "allion"

galea).

"commanded

the master

he knew to be a most resolute

and sink the

ship, that thereby

nothing might remain of glory or victory to the

1

The English Admirals," in

" I must tell one more
been made familiar to us all, and

See R. L. Stevenson,

"

Virginibus Puerisqiie, p. 205

which has lately

that in one of the noblest ballads in the English language.
I had written my prose abstract, I shall beg the reader to
believe, when I had no notion that the sacred bard designed an immortality for Grenville."
story,

548

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

Spaniards, seeing in so

many

hours they were

not able to take her, having had about fifteen

men, and

hours' time, fifteen thousand

three

of

sail

men

of war to perform

it

fifty-

withal

(Raleigh).
p. 130. Verse

xiii.

*/ have fought for Queen and Faith

valiant

have only
to

man and true ;

done my duty as

man

like

bound

is

do:

With a joyful spirit ISir Richard Grenville die !

" His exact words were

'
:

Here

die

I,

Rich-

ard Greenfield, with a joyful and quiet mind,

for that I

have ended

my

as a true soldier

life

ought to do, that hath fought for

Queen,
soul

religion,

most

joyfully

his country,

Whereby my
departeth out of this body

and honour.

and shall always leave behind it an everlasting

fame of a valiant and true soldier that hath
done his duty as he was bound to do.' When
he had finished these or such other like words,
he gave up the Ghost with a great and stout
courage, and no man could perceive any true
sign of heaviness in him."
(Jan Huygen van
Linschoten, translated into EngHsh 1598.)
/. 131. Verse xiv.

wind from the lands

awoke frojn sleep.

Whe7i a

West

Indies.

"

fleet

they

of

had

ruin'

merchantmen

NOTES.
joined

the

Armada immediately

forming in

battle,

549

all

140

sail

the

after

and of these

140 only 32 ever saw Spanish harbour."

Gervase Markham wrote a poem entitled

The Most Honorable Tragedie of Sir Richard

Grenuikj Knight, in 1595, and in his postscript

poem

to the

writes

"

What became of

the

Revejige after Sir Richard's death, divers re-

port diversly, but the most probable and suf-

proofe sayeth, that within fewe dayes

ficient

after the knightes death, there arose a great

storme from the West and North-West, that

all

the Fleet was dispersed, as well the Indian

which were then come unto them,

Fleet,

the rest of the

arivall

as all

Armada, which attended

their

of which fourteen sayle, together with

the Reve?ige, and her two hundred Spanyards

were cast away uponn the He of

so

that

St.

Michaels

pleased them to honour the buriall of

it

renowned ship the Revenge, not

suffering

her to perrish alone, for the great honour shee

atchieved in her hfe-time."

/. 132.

The

Sisters.

[First published in 1880.

founded on a
a

girl

story,

who consented

sister,

groom.

known

to

my

Partly

father, of

to be bridesmaid to her

although she secretly loved the bride-

The

night

after

the

wedding the

poor bridesmaid ran away from home.

They

searched for her high and low, and at

last

she was found, knocking at the church door.

550

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

in the

"pitiless

rush

of

autumn

rain,"

her

wits

gone

The

great Tragedian, that had quench'd herself

In that assumption of the bridesmaid.

The scene

of the picnic was a personal ex-

perience in the

quote as

his

New

own

My
Save that

He

Forest.

belief these Unes

God,

would not

would often
:

live

think this gross hard-seeming world

misshaping vision of the Powers

Behind the world, that make our griefs our
Is our

gains.

Ed.]
/. 137. lines 6-10.

A moonless night with stor?fi o?ie lightning-fork

Flash' d out the lake;

and tho' I loitef-'d

there

The full day after, yet in retrospect

That less than vioniejitary thunder-sketch

Of lake and 77iountain

What I saw myself

conque7's all the day.

at Llanberis, in

North

The Entail.

[First

Wales.
/. 148. 7iz" Village

pu Wished
herself
life

/. 150.

Verse

Wife;
in

or,

1880.

Ed.]

the only portrait that

is

in the Lincolnshire

iii.

The

the fault

0'

is

village wife

drawn from

poems.

that ei-e 7nadle.

of the heir male.

p. 155. Verse

ix.

'

Ouse [Workhouse.

Ed.].

By

default

NOTES.
/. 156.

551

xi. Heaps an' heaps d' boo'dks.

This really
happened to some of the most valuable books
in the great library formed by Johnson's
friend, Bennet Langton.

Verse

p. 159. Verse

Siver

xv.

earth rattled

the

moti'ds.

down on poor

[However,

the

old Squire's cofhn.

Ed.]
/. 162. Verse xix.
/. 163.

roomlin' [rumbling.

Ed.].

In the CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

lished in 1880.

Ed.]

[First pub-

true story told

me

by Mary Gladstone. The doctors and hospital

are unknown to me.
The two children are
the only characters

taken from

nurse and not the poet

p. 164. Verse

life

in

this

dramatic poem, in which the hospital

little

ooi-ali

i.

is

speaking throughout.

or curari (extracted

from the

Strychnos toxifera) J which paralyzes the nerves

while
/. 172.

The Nineteenth Century, April 1879,

wards
1

the victim feels.

Dedicatory Poem to the Princess Alice.

[First published with The Defence of Lucknow
in

p.

still

72. line 2.

in

Ballads and Poems, 1880.

fatal

kiss.

Princess

after-

Ed.]

AHce (Grand Duchess

of Hesse-Darmstadt) died of kissing her child,

who was

ill

with diphtheria

(December

14th,

1878).
p. 172. line

II.

Thy

Soldier-brother's.

[The Duke of

Connaught, married on March 13th, 1879, to

Louise Marguerite, Princess of Prussia. Ed.]

552
p. 174.

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

The Defence
The

old

of Lucknow.
used during the defence of

flag,

the Residenc}', was hoisted on the

who

Lucknow

by General Wilson, and the

flagstaff
still

survived from the siege were

soldiers
all

mus-

on parade, in honour of this poem, when

my son Lionel (who died on his journey from
A tribute overIndia) visited Lucknow.
tered

whelmingly touching.
p. 175. Verse

Laivrence.

ii.

Sir

Henry Lawrence died

of his wounds on July 4th, 1857.

/. 182. Verse

vi.

Ever

the

mine and assault, our

sallies,

their

lying alarms.

See
3292 feet of gallery alone was dug out.
Outram's account and Colonel Inglis's modest

manly record.
Sept. 25th by
/. 185.

Sir

John

Lucknow was

relieved

on

Havelock and Outram.

Oldcastle, Lord Cobham.

published in 1880.

Ed.]

[First

took as subject

poem Sir John Oldcasde, Lord Cobham, because he is a fine historical figure.
He was named by the people " the good Lord
As a folCobham," a friend of Henry V.

of this

lower of Wyclif, he was cited before a great

council of

the

Church, which was presided

Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, and was condemned to be burnt alive

He escaped from the Tower to
for heresy.
over by

NOTES.

553

Wales, and four years later was captured and

burnt in chains.
/.

'Dim

86. line 9.

Welsh

Saesjieg.^

'No

English.'

John of Beverley, burnt Jan. 19th, 1414.

/. 189. line 9.

/. 189. line 18.

My

boofi

companion.

Sir

This passage has

John Falstaff
For Oldcastle, etc.,
Henry IV.

reference to the story that

was

for

Sir

John Oldcastle.

see Epilogue to 2

p. 190. hne 5.

Or A7nurath
[Cf. 2 Be7iry

" This

is

IV.

v.

ii.

of the East?

48

the English, not the Turkish court

Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,

But Harry Harry."
Ed.]
p. 193.
p. 196.

Hne

15.

Sylvester.

Columbus. [First
Columbus on

He became Pope
published in
his

return

999.

1880.

into

Ed.]

Spain was

thrown into chains.

My poem

Columbus was founded on

in Washington Irving's
" The caravels set sail
Life of Columbus
early
in
October, bearing off Columbus
shackled like the vilest of culprits, amid the
scoffs and shouts of a miscreant rabble, who
of

the following passage

:

took a brutal joy in heaping insults on his

venerable

head,

and sent

curses

after

him

from the island he had so recently added to

554

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

The worthy

the civilized world.

well

caravel, felt deeply grieved

They would have taken

this

Villejo,

as

Andreas Martin, the master of the

as

at

situation.

his

off his irons,

he would not consent.

but to

he

*No,' said

commanded me by

proudly,

'

letter to

submit to whatever Bobadillo should

their Majesties

order in their name; by their authority he has

me

put upon
until

these chains

they shall order

wear them

I will

them

be taken

to

off,

and I will afterwards preserve them as relics

and memorials of the reward of my services.'

'He

did

history.

cabinet,

so,'
'

adds

his

son Fernando in his

saw them always hanging

and he requested

that,

in his

when he

died,

they might be buried with him.'"

/. 197. line 12.

the

Dragon's

the channel so

7?i02{th.

[Bocca del Drago,

named by Columbus between

the island of Trinidad and South America.

Ed.]
/. 197.

Hne 13. the Mountain of the World.

Peak in Ceylon. Ed.]

/. 198. line

14.

King David,

etc.

[Cf.

Psalm

[Adam's

civ. 2.

Ed.]
/. 198.

Hne

16.

Lactantius.

[A famous Christian apolby some the

ogist of the fourth century, called

Christian Cicero.
p. 200.

Hne

4.

Guanahani.

island discovered

Ed.]
[Native

name

by Columbus.

of the

Ed.]

first

NOTES.
Cajubalu.

/. 20I. line i6.

555

[Cf.

" Cambalu, seat of Cathayan Can."

Paradise Lest,

388.

xi.

Ed.]
/. 201. line 18. Prester John.

tooth-picker

"I

[Cf.

now from

will

you a

fetch

furthest inch

the

of

you the length of Prester John's

Prester John
foot" (yMuch Ado, 11. i. 274).

Asia, bring

was a legendary Christian king.

[The name given

/. 202. line 6. Hispaniola.

by Columbus.
/. 203.

Ed.]

Hayti

to

Ed.]

hne 12. Veragua. [A Spanish province of

Grenada in South America. Ed.]

/. 206. line

Catalo7iian Mi?iorife.

I.

Benedictine

West Indies

He

monk
in

[Bernard

New

Bull, a

Pope to the
ApostoHc Vicar.

sent by the

June 1493 as

continually tried

thwart Columbus.

to

Ed.]
/. 209.

The Voyage of Maeldune. [First pubhshed

in 1880.
By this story my father intended to
represent, in his

genius

own

original way, the Celtic

and enjoyed writing the poem,

had a genuine love

for the

of the Irish genius.

as he
pecuhar exuberance

Ed.]

The oldest form of Maeldune is

Book of the Dun Cow (1160 a.d.).
the legend in Joyce's

Old

Celtic

but most of the details are mine.

p. 211.

Verse

iii.

flittermouse.

bat.

in
I

The
read

Romances^

556

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

Finn was the most famous of old
He was commander of the
Feni of Erm and was father of the poet

p. 218. Verse

viii.

leaders.

Irish

He

Ossian.

was

284, at Athbrea

killed, a.d.

on the Boyne.
/. 220. Verse x.

Roman
/. 221. Verse

[Symbolical

of the

St.

xi.

Brejidan

between

contest

CathoUcs and Protestants.

on

sailed

Ed.]

voyage

his

some time in the sixth century from Kerry,

and some say he visited America.
p. 223.

De

Frofundis.

[Begun

at

the birth of his

son Hallam, Aug. nth, 1852;

in

/. 224.

first

published

The Nineteenth Century, May 1880.

Ed.]

Part H.
of making my individuality as it were dissolve
and fade away into boundless being, and this
At times

have possessed the power

not a confused state but the clearest of the

clearest, the surest of the surest, utterly

beyond

words, where death was an almost laughable

impossibihty, and the loss of personality,
it

true hfe.

p. 228.

if

so

were, seeming no alteration but the only

(See The Holy Grail,

ad Jin.)

Frefatory Sonnet to The Nineteenth

Century. [First pubhshed in the first number of The Nineteenth Century, March 1877,
afterwards in Ballads

and

other Foems, 1880.

Ed.]
p. 228. line 3.

their old craft.

The Contemporary Re-

NOTES.
/. 228. line

557

7.

Here, in

this

roaring moon of daffodil.

Written in March.
/. 229.

To THE Rev.
published

Sermofts,

Brookfield^s

and

W. H. Brookfield.
[First
Lord Lyttelton's Preface to

in

afterwards

other Poems, 1880.

Master of Trinity, wrote

most amusing man

my

At

age

it

is

"He

was

far the

ever met, or shall meet.

not likely that

again see a whole

Ballads

in

Thompson, the

Dr.

ever

shall

party lying on the floor

purposes of unrestrained laughter, while

for

one of

their

number

is

pouring

forth, with a

perfectly grave face, a succession of imaginary

dialogues between characters, real and fictitious,

one exceeding another

in

humour and

drollery."

Ed.-]
/. 230.

Montenegro.

[Written

talking

after

with

Gladstone about the bravery of the Monte-

and

negrins,

Century,

and

Tser?iogora

name

(Black

mountain).

Montenegro.

Victor Hugo.

[PubHshed

Centuiy,

June 1877,
Ballads and other Poems, 1880.
teenth

After

my

son Lionel's

Ballads

in

Ed.]

for

Slavonic

To

published in The Nineteenth

other Poeyns, 1880.

p. 230. line 12.

/. 231.

first

March 1877, afterwards

visit

to

in

The

The Nine-

afterwards

in

Ed.]

him

in Paris.

558

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

Hugo thanked my

[Victor

father

in the

following letter

MON EMINENT ET CHER

CONFRERE,

Je

Hs

avec Amotion vos vers superbes, c'est un reflet

de gloire que vous m'envoyez. Comment n'aimerais-je
tels

hommes

pas I'Angleterre qui produit des

que vous

TAngleterre de Wilberforce

TAn-

de Milton et de Newton! TAngleterre

France et Angleterre sont pour
de Shakespeare
gleterre

moi un seul peuple comme Verite et Liberty

sont une seule lumiere. Je crois a Tunite divine.
J'aime tons les peuples et tous
j'admire vos

nobles vers.

les

Recevez

hommes

mon

et

cordial

serrement de main.

Victor Hugo.
heureux de connaitre votre charmant
m'a semble, que serrer sa main, c'etait

J'ai dte
fils

il

presser la votre.

Ed.]

/. 235.

Battle of Brunanburh.
in 1880.

Ed.]

myself of

my

poem

in 77ie

published

[First

have more or

less availed

son's prose translation of this

Contemporary Revieiv, November

1876.
[" But

tell

your father

version of your Battle of

to myself,

the

way

to

and afterwards

that,

when

it

verse dialogue"
la?n Tennysoii).

saw

his

I said

to others, 'There's

render .'Eschylus' Chorus

unless indeed

Brunanburh,

at last

might overpower any blank

{Edward FitzGerald

Ed.]

to

Hal-

NOTES,
p. 244.

559

Achilles over the Trexch. [First published

in The Nineteenth Centuiy, August, 1877.
Ed.]

/. 246.

To Princess Frederic a on her Marriage.

on

[Written

marriage

the

of

Princess

Frederica, daughter of George V., the

King of

Rammingen
Pubhshed

at

Windsor,

in 1880.

the

cenotaph

April

24th,

[Written in 1877 for

Abbey, and

Westminster

in

1880.

Ed.]

John Franklin.

/. 247. Sir

bhnd

Hanover, with Baron von Pawel-

published in Ballads a?id Other Poems, 1880.

Ed.]
/. 248.

To D.ANTE.

[Written for the

sary of Dante's birth at

people of Florence,
published in Ballads

The few

lines

In

anniver-

May

14th,

to

and

1865,

and Other Poems,

addressed

curious history.

sixth

the request of the

1880.

Dante have a

1865 Monckton Milnes

(Lord Houghton) met a brother of

my

father's

Canon Warburton, and said to him,

"Tennyson is not going to the Dante Centenary, but he has given me some lines which
friend

am

to

recite to the Florentines,"

and he

The same evening

Canon Warburton met his brother, who obthen repeated the

lines.

served, " Milnes has just been saying to

some

lines

recite at the Centenary, for

himself."

me

which Tennyson has given him to

He then

he

repeated the

is

not

lines.

going

Some

560

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

fifteen years or so later,

my

father

was talking

Canon about the probably short-lived

duration of all modern poetical fame. " Who,"
said he, "will read Alfred Tennyson one hunto the

dred years hence ? And look at Dante after

"That," Warburton
hundred years!"

six

renewal of the garland-of-

answered, "is a

"What do you mean?"

"Your own words " "What can you mean?"
" Don't you remember those lines you gave
a-day superstition."
!

Milnes

to

Centenary
the

lines,

them out

you at the Dante

had quite forgotten
whereupon Warburton then wrote
to

recite

"

My

as far as

Shortly afterwards

Canon

for

father

he could remember them.

I

a letter, telling

was able

him

that

recalled the correct version of the

father

would say

"One must

^schylus,

father

poem.

had

My

distinguish from

among the poets the great sage

who are both great thinkers and
like

send the

to

my

Shakespeare,

poets of

all,

great artists,

Dante,

and

Goethe." Ed.]
p. 249. {^TiRESiAS

AND OTHER PoEMS was affection"To my good friend, Robert

ately dedicated

Browning, whose genius and geniality

will

best

may be best, and make most

what may be worst."

appreciate what

allowance for

Browning had previously dedicated a Selection of his

own poems

to

my

father

NOTES.

561

To Alfred Tennyson
In poetry

and consummate,

illustrious

In friendship noble and sincere.

These brother-poets revelled as it were in each

and were always most loyal to
one another. For example, on one occasion
Browning was very angry because an anonymous critic had accused my father of plagiarism and, knowing the wealth of similes and

other's praise,

metaphors

in his

conversation,

poems and in
Lecky
to

said

suspected of plagiarism
well

suspect

pockets."
/. 251.

To E.
1885.

1876,
with

the

ordinary

his

"

Tennyson

why, you might as

Rothschilds

of

picking

Ed.]

Fit z Gerald.

[First

Written after our

pubhshed in
Woodbridge,

visit to

when we sailed down the river Orwell

Edward FitzGerald.
He died before

Tiresias was published.

His vegetarianism had interested my father,

and he was charmed by the picture of the
lonely philosopher, a '' man of humorousmelancholy

mark,"

among

with

his

gray

floating

which perched
and knee,
shoulder
and
head
him
on
about
and cooed to him as he sat in the sunshine

locks, sitting

beneath

his roses.

FitzGerald wrote to Fanny

Kemble of our

"Who

should send in

visit,

Sept. 2ist, 1876

his card to

VOL.

IV.

his doves,

me

last

2o

week, but the old poet

562

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

himself

he and

son Hallam passing

his elder

through Woodbridge from a town in Norfolk.

'Dear old

ran the card in pencil, 'we

Fitz,'

are passing thro'.'

twenty years

had not seen him

he

much

looked

for

same,

the

except for his fallen locks; and what really

me

we fell at once into

we had only been parted
I
twenty days instead of so many years.

surprised

was, that

the old humour, as

suppose

age

this is a sign of

But so

desirable.

days,

if

not
He

was.

it

altogether

stayed two

and we went over the same old grounds

some of the old stories, and

of debate, told

was

all

well.

suppose

may never

see

him

again."

The dream,
poem,

my

to

which allusion

is

made

" I never saw any landscape that

to the landscapes I have seen in

cant compared

came

for

and

at the

to eat a

blood.

my

dreams.

mountains

this.

have

had gone

end of the time, when

mutton-chop,

When

most wonderful exweeks, living only on

six

forget the sensation.

my

the

of the

ever had was

without meat
vegetables

with

One

imagined.

came up

of Switzerland seem insignifi-

The mountains

periences

in the

father related to us in these words

never

went

I shall

felt

never

such joy in

to sleep, I

dreamt

that I saw the vines of the South, with huge

Eshcol branches,
the

trailing

North." Ed.]

over the glaciers of

NOTES.
/. 251. line 16.

a thing enskied.^

Measure,

i.

iv.

Ed.]

[Partly written at the

TiRESiAS.
Ulysses;

260-261.

34.

Omar Khayyam.

Rubdiydt of

//.

[See Measuj-e for

Ed.]

[FitzGerald's translation of the

/. 252. line 13. golde?i.

p. 254.

563

same time

published in 1885.

first

For the close of the poem

Frag. X. No.
Toicrt Aa/X7ret

i.

of the

<dprjvoL

cf.

Pindar,

afXtov rav ivOdSe vvKxa

/xeVos

/xi/

as

Ed.]

KOLTO}

<fiOLVLKOp6SoL<;

aKLapa

XifSavo)

Kttt

Xet/x(ove(T<rt

cvt

koI

Trpoa.(TTLov avrtov

;>^vcreots

KapTrot?

/8e-

/SpiOev.
Kttt

Tot fxlv iTTTrot? yvfxvacTLOL^ re, rot

TOt

8c

(fiopfjLLyyecrcn

TepirovTai,

evavOrjs aTras reOaXev oX/So'i

08/xa
ait

p. 263.

8'

^m

Se Treo-crot?,

irapa

Se

a<f>tcnv

'

Iparov Kara ^uypov KtSvarai

/xtyi/i;p'Ta)v

The Wreck.
Italian vessel,

Trj\<f>av2 TravTOia

[First published in 1885.

catastrophe (see

Catania for

Trvpl

viii.)

named

New

OeCjv

The

which happened to an
the Rosifia,

bound from

York, was the nucleus of the

poem. One day, at the end of October, she

was nearly capsized by a sudden squall in the
middle of the Atlantic. All hands were summoned instantly to take in sail, and all, together
with the captain, were actively engaged, when
an enormous wave swept the deck of every

564

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

person, leaving only one

living

who happened

to

be below.

he struggled against wind and

when

ing an instant's repose,

a Portuguese brigantine, bore

as she

/. 269.

Verse

of the crew
For eight days

sea,

the

without tak-

Marianna,

down upon

was sinking, and rescued him.

her,

Ed,]

vi.

Mother, one morning a bird with a warble

plaintively sweet

and

Perch' d on the slwotids,

dow7i at

theft fell fluttering

my feet.

This happened in the Pembroke Castle on

our voyage to Copenhagen in 1883 with the
Gladstones.
p. 274.

Verse

xii.

The broad white brow of

the Isle

that bay

with the coloured sand.

Alum Bay
/. 276.

Despair.
Century,

in the Isle of

[First published in

November

Tiresias, 1885.

/. 278.

Verse
See,

Wight.

1881,

The Ni?ieteenth
afterwards

iv.

we were nursed in
your fatalist creed.

In

creed

my boyhood

and

the

came

assuredly,

drear nightfold of

across this Calvinist

however unfathomable

mystery, if one cannot believe

freedom of the human will as of the
life is hardly worth the living.
the

in

Ed.]

in

the

divine,

NOTES.
p. 287.

The Anciext

My

Sage.

565

[First published in 18S5.

father considered this as

later

poems.

What

one of

his best

Ed.]

the Ancient Sage says

is

not the phi-

losophy of the Chinese philosopher Laot-ze,

but

it

was written

raaxims.

my
of

["

after reading his life

What

and

might have believed,"

"about the deeper problems

'A thousand summers ere the birth of

father said,
life

Christ.'

my

In

stronger faith in

had

in youth."

old

age,

think

have a

God and human good than I

Compare with this poem The

Mystic, written in his boyhood, which records

his early intimations, or indistinct visions, of

the mind's power to pass beyond the shadows

of the world

to pierce

beyond the enveloping

clouds of ignorance and illusion, and to reach

some region of pure

calm, where

perfect

light

and untroubled

knowledge should have

extinguished doubt.

THE MYSTIC
Angels have talked with him, and showed him
thrones

Ye knew him not he was not one of ye,

Ye scorned him with an undiscerning scorn
Ye could not read the .marvel in his eye.
The still serene abstraction he hath felt
The vanities of after and before
:

Albeit, his spirit

The

and

his secret heart

stern experiences of converse lives,

566

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

many a fiery change
and chastened, and made free.
Ahvays there stood before him, night and day,
Of wayward vary colored circumstance,

The

Had

The

linked woes of
purified,

imperishable presences serene

Colossal, without form, or sense, or sound,

Dim shadows

but unwaning presences

Fourfaced to four corners of the sky

And
One
And

yet again, three shadows, fronting one,

forward, one respectant, three but one

yet again, again

For the two

One shadow

first

and evermore,

were not, but only seemed.

in the midst of a great light.

One reflex from eternity on time,

One mighty countenance of perfect

calm.

Awful with most invariable eyes.

For him the

silent

congregated hours,

Daughters of time, divinely

tall,

beneath

Severe and youthful brows, with shining eyes

Smiling a godlike smile (the innocent light

Of

earliest

with

youth pierced through and through

all

Keen knowledges

of

low-embowed

Upheld, and ever hold

aloft the

Which droops low hung on

Both birth and death

eld)

cloud

either gate of

he in the centre

life,

fixt.

Saw far on each side through the grated gates

Most pale and clear and lovely distances.
He often lying broad awake, and yet
Remaining from the body, and apart
In intellect and power and will, hath heard

NOTES.
Time

And

567

flowing in the middle of the night,

things creeping to a day of

all

How

could ye

know him?

The narrower circle

The last, with which

Ye were

doom.
yet within

he had wellnigh reached

a region of white flame,

Pure without heat, into a larger

air

Upburning, and an ether of black blue,

Investeth and ingirds

all

other

lives.

Ed.]
p, 294. line 16.

The phantom walls of this

Or may
Free-will

Then

higher.

that

which

which knows

will

is

me

has always seemed to

he can stop

and knows

to a

for

it

there must be that

enlarge his cage, give him

a higher and a higher perch, and at

off"

Man's

use of a parable?

but a bird in a cage

lower perch, or he can mount

the

at

make

is

illusion fade.

the top of his cage, and let

last

him out

break
to

be

one with the only Free-will of the Universe.

p. 296. line 6.

poem
Past

TJie Passion of the Past.''

is

very personal.

used to

far away,

feel

p. 505.

when

The whole

This Passion of the

a boy.

[See

Far

Ed.]

/. 296. line 23.

Btit utter clearness f

This

is

and

thro' loss of Self.

also a personal experience

have had more than once.

which

568

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

[Professor Tyndall wrote
In the year 1885

and other

were published Th'esias

by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Poe?ns,

a copy of this remarkable volume

to

author.

its

am

poem

contains a

It

For

indebted

called

The

Ancient Sage.

My

is,

your attention to a passage

to call

is

on

further

poem

poem,

special purpose in introducing this

however,

greatly

.vvhich

The

me.

interested

throughout, a discussion between a be-

liever in

immortality and one

believe.

The method pursued

who

unable to

is

The Sage

is this.

reads a portion of the scroll, which he has taken

from the hands of

and then brings

his follower,

own arguments

his

to bear

upon

portion,

that

with a view to neutralising the scepticism of the

younger man.

title Tif'esias, full

and

me

of

here remark that

of admiration for their freshness

father

died,

to contribute a chapter

your

with

journals.

to

father

On

there, to

carefully

knew

that

my

written

my

first visit

had

interview

ancient

in

the receipt of your request,

my

asked

book which

the

read

first

his son,

store of references to

up the account of

and

had

after I

and you,

you contemplate publishing.

some small

read

poems published under the

Seven years

vigour.

them your

me

Let

the whole series

looked

to Farringford,

profound astonishment,

found

described that experience of your father's which,

in the

mouth

of the Ancient Sage, was

made the

ground of an important argument against materialism

and

in favour

of personal immortality

NOTES.

569

eight-and-twenty years afterwards.

pletely forgotten
in black

but

it,

and white.

here

it

had com-

was

recorded

you turn to your

If

father's

account of the wonderful state of consciousness

superinduced by thinking of his

compare

it

own name, and

with the argument of the Ancient

Sage, you will see that they refer to one and the

same phenomenon.

And
Sat

all

more,

my

The word that is

The mortal limit

And

son! for more than once

when

alone, revolving in myself

the symbol of myself,

of the Self was loosed,

past into the Nameless, as a cloud

Melts into Heaven.

Were

touched

strange not mine

and

my

limbs, the limbs

yet

no shade of

doubt,

But

utter clearness,

and

thro' loss of Self

The gain of such large life as match'd with ours

Were Sun to spark unshadowable in words,

Themselves but shadows of a shadow-world.

Ed.]
p. 299.

The Flight.
This

p. 310.

is

[First published in 1885.

a very early

Tomorrow.

Ed.]

poem.

[First published in

1885.

Ed.]

me by Aubrey de Vere.
young man was laid out on the

This story was told

[The body of a
by the door of a chapel in the West of
Ireland, and an old woman came, and recognized it as that of her young lover, who had

grass

been

lost in

a peat-bog

many

years

before

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

570

him

the peat having kept

when she
/.

320.

The

SPINSTER'S Sweet-Arts.

Hshed
/, 331.

fresh

in

and

as

fair

Ed. J

saw him.

last

pub-

[First

1885. Ed.]

LocKSLEY Ball Sixty Years After.

pubHshed

and

1886,

in

mother, partly because

seemed

it

[First

dedicated
to

to

my

that the two Locksley Halls were likely to

my

father

be

in

the future two of the most historically interesting of his poems, as descriptive of the tone of

the age at two distant periods of his

life

partly

because the following four lines were written

immediately

death of

after the

my

brother,

and described his chief characteristics

Truth, for Truth

is

Truth, he worshipt, being

true as he was brave

Good,

for

Good

is

Good, he foUow'd, yet he

look'd beyond the grave

Truth

for Truth,

and Good

for

Good

The

Good, the True, the Pure, the Just

Take the charm " For ever " from them and
Ed.]
they crumble into dust.

A dramatic
are imaginary.

poem, and the Dramatis Personae

Since

it is

in these days to regard

as a story of the poet's

I

not

be

allowed to

much the fashion

poem and story
or part of it, may

so

each
life,

remind

my

readers of

some event which comes

to the poet's knowledge, some hint flashed
from another mind, some thought or feeling

the possibility, that

NOTES.

571

mood coming
may strike

own, or some

arising in his

he knows not whence or how

chord from which a

and

that this

poem

other eyes

to

evolves

may

its

bear small

relation to the thought or fact or feeling

which the poem owes

to

whether the

birth,

its

Hfe,

tenor be dramatic or given as a parable ?

Gladstone says " The method in the old
:

Locksley Hall and the

each the maker

is

new

the same.

is

In

outside his work, and in

each we have to deal with

it

as strictly 'im-

personal' " {^Nineteenth Century,

Jan. 1887).

In the hall there hangs a painting.

These four lines were the nucleus of the
poem, and were written fifty years ago.

p. 332. line 5.

p. 335. line

I.

Cold upon

dead volcano

the

sleeps the

gleam of

dying day.

[My

father always quoted this line as the

most imaginative
/. 339. line 10. peasants

in the

poem.

77iaiin.

The

Ed.]

modern

Irish

cruelties.

/. 342. line 3.

Plowmen, Shepherds, etc. and the three

show that the hero does not
has been said) by any means dislike the

following verses
(as

democracy.
p. 345. line 6. Jacquerie.

Originally a revolt in

Picardy nobles

against

the

appHed

to insurrections of the

1358
and afterwards

mob.

572

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

This and the eight following verses show
that he

p. 348. line

is

not a pessimist, I think.

B ringer home.

I.

ecrvepe, iravTa c^epets*

^epets olv,

<f)ipL^

atya,

fxarepL TratSa.

<f>peL<i

Sappho.
p. 357.

Prologue

General

to

pubhshed

Ham ley.
Written

Ed.]

1885.

in

[First

from

Aldworth, Blackdown.
/. 358. line 8.

[Where

Tel-el-Kebir.

September
p, 359.

Lord Wolseley

under Arabi Pasha,

defeated the Egyptians

Ed.]

13th, 1882.

The Charge of the Heavy Brigade at

Balaclava.

[First published in Macjuillan's

Magazine, ]\Iarch 1882

in Tiresias.

Ed.]

it

officer,

who was

was " the

known, and that

this

charge, said that

''

gambling and horse-racing

to it."

[The following

my

in

excitement " he had ever

finest

were nothing

afterwards, in 1885,

(See note at end of poem.)

Mr. Kinglake.

An

Written at the request of

what Kinglake wrote

is

father at the time

1ST

for

Instant.

Scarlett seeing the

enemy and preparing

to

confront him.
Scarlett
marching eastward with his
is
" 300 " in marching order, when, casting his

NOTES.
eyes

towards

the

573

on

heights

his

left,

i.e.

towards the north, he sees a host of Russians

breaking

over

advancing

the

Thereupon he
wheel into

and

sky-line

towards

downhill

presently

the

south.

instantly gives the order, " Left

line

"

The

the " 300 " no longer

to the

enemy, but confront him.

Before the order.

of this

effect

make

show

is

to

their flank

After the order.

1
One

peculiarity attending that ist Instant

was that apparently the idea of not accepting

on terms of one
anybody

battle

to

to

ten did not occur

2ND Instant.
Suspense.

The acreage

of Russian horsemen

is

descend-

ing the hill-side at a trot, and the " 300 " confronting
line,

them

the

are deliberately dressing their

regimental

officers

directing

process ivith their faces to their

men

the

as in a

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

574

This

barrack yard.

in the

presence of a vast

mass of cavalry coming down the

assail

them

imagine,

was

an

hill-side

and, as

interesting

to
I

phenomenon.

a rare

3RD Instant,

The Russiafi halt and

The Russians

Scarlett's determination.

slacken and

Scarlett,

halt.

things considered, determines that he will

all

lead the charge, and for that purpose takes

the usual course,

i.e.

places himself in front of

the line with his aide-de-camp, followed

his

by

trumpeter and one orderly.

Orders to

His passage over

intervening

charge.

the

space marked only, so far as observers could

" and one
tell, by one shout of " Come on
!

wave of

his sword.

4TH Instant.
The combat maintained by
This personal, and

the four.

something mediaeval,

like

and not yet involving the tumult of

The

four penetrate so deeply into the

battle.

column

as to be secure from the approaching crash

that will follow

when

their

own

line

comes

up.

5TH Instant.
The crashing charge of

the

Greys and one

squadron of the Inniskillingers.

6th Instant.
The fight within

The 2nd

squadron

the column.

of

the

Inniskillings,

NOTES.

575

hearing on the outside their comrades of the

ist

squadron, crash on the right.

Ed.]
p. 365.

Epilogue.

Lines
'

The

6, 7.

/ will strike'

See Hor. Od.

i.

me

Quodsi

35, ^d

i.

p. 367.

To

[Was

Mantuans
Nineteenth
afterwards

written at the request of the

nineteenth

and

death,

Virgil's

sidera vertice.

the

for

first

Tiresias,

curious misprint in the

the

poem

"

Thou

centenary of
in

The

1882,

and

pubHshed

September

Century^
in

lyricis vatibus inseres,

Subhmi feriam
Virgil.

said he^

head sublime.^

stars with

There was a

1885.
first

printed copies of

that singest

tithe

and

vineyard" instead of "tilth and vineyard."

Ed.]
p. 369. Verse ix.

sundered once from all the

human

race.

[Cf.

Et penitus

toto divisos orbe Britannos.

Virg. Eel.

i.

67.

Ed.]
/. 369. Verse

x.

Furg.
p. 370.

Mantovano,
vi.

74.

Mantuan.

The Dead Prophet.

TiresiaSj

prophet.

[Cf.

Dante,

Ed.]

1885.

Ed.]

[First pubhshed in
About no particular

576

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

[My

father said

when

writing this

" While I live the

When

He

die the

owls

know about

ghouls

had a strong conviction

likes to

poem

!
!

that the world

the roughnesses, eccen-

and defects of a man of genius, rather

is.
At this time he said
" I am sure that
of Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle
Froude is wrong. I saw a great deal of
them.
They were always 'chaffing' one
another, and they could not have done that
tricities,

than what he really

they had got on so

Froude thinks." Ed.]
if

/. 376.

Early

[An

Spring.

early

first

pa?iio?ij

Boston, U.S.A.,

Mary

1885.

lowing lines on
death,

Nature
*'

well

badly together

poem,

as

'

slightly

published in The Youth's Com-

altered,

Tiresias,

'

my

1884, afterwards in

Brotherton,

father,

expressed

his

the

fol-

written after his

toward

attitude

He

look'd on Nature's lowest thing

For some sublime God's word

And

lived for ever listening

Lest

God

should speak unheard."

Ed.]
/. 379.

Prefatory Poem to my Brother's Sonnets.

[Published in 1880.

at

Ed.]

Addressed

to

my

Tennyson Turner, who died

Cheltenham on April 25th, 1879, after a

brother, Charles

NOTES.
spent with his wife

life

577

among

his parishioners

in Grasby, Lincohi shire.

[His sonnets, Lefty's Globe, Time a7id Tiui-

On

iighf,

seeing a child blush on his first view

The Buoy Bell, The School- bofs

Dream, On shooting a swallow in eai'ly youth,
had in my father's judgment all the tenderness
of the Greek epigram, and he ranked sonnets
such as Time and Twilight, and The Holy
Emerald, among the noblest in the language.
of a

corpse^

My

uncle with his aquiUne nose, dark eyes

and black hair was very like my father, and

Thackeray seeing him in middle life called
him a " Velasquez tout crach^."
No one
who reads his poems can fail to see the
"alma beata e bella" breathing through them.

The poem was

written as a preface to the

Ed.]

Collected Sonnets, published in 1880.

p. 381.

'Frater Ave atque Vale.'

when my

father

and

[Written in 1880

I visited

Sirmione, the

peninsula of Catullus on the Lago di Garda.

He

rejoiced in the old olives, the old ruins,

and the greensward stretching down

to the

blue lake with the mountains beyond.

First

March
and other

published in The Nineteenth Century,

1883, and

afterwards in

Tiresias

Poems, 1885. Ed.]

p. 381. line 4.

to
VOL.

IV.

where
very

the purple flowers

beautiful

2P

Iris

grow.

with

[Refers

deep purple

578

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

flowers {Iris befiacensis) which grows beneath

Lake of Garda.

the ruins near the

/. 382.

HELEN'S Tower.

Ed.]

[Written in 1861 for Lord

Dufferin in answer to the following letter

Clandeboy,- Belfast,

My dear
me

will think

at

Mr. Tennyson

wonder

you

if

very presumptuous for doing what

many months^

after

last,

1861.

Sept. 24//^,

hesitation,

have

determined to do.

You must know

here

that

Ireland there rises a high

park

in

look

down

not only on an extensive

of Irish

land,

but

which
tract

my

in

from the top of

hill,

on

also

George's

St.

Channel, a long blue line of Scotch coast, and

Man.

the mountains of the Isle of

On

summit

the

of this

world tower which

have built an old-

hill I

have called

my

after

mother

" Helen's Tower/'

In

have placed on a golden tablet the

it

my

birthday verses which

on the day

age,

beautifying

it

no pains

in

devices.

In fact

Beneath

Art."

and

there

a perfect

tion

my

tower

and
with

is

a rough

have spared

all

imaginable

little

"Palace of
its

form

only one thing wanting to

make

is

outline

of

situation.

Now
it

mother wrote to me

came of

is

little

and that

since
silent.

it

was
Yet

is

gem

"<2 voice. ^^

built
if

of architecture and decora-

and

all

he chose there

world able to endow

it

It

is

now

that time
is

it

ten years

has stood

one person

with this priceless

in the

gift,

and

NOTES.
by sending
crown

it

me some

little

short distich for

for ever with a glory

and render

obtain,

579

friendship which

poet of our age.

it

its

it

it

to

cannot otherwise

a memorial of the personal

builder

Yours

the great

for

felt

ever,

DUFFERIN.
Afterwards

published in

Tiresias

and

other

The

fancy

Poems, 1885. Ed.]

earth's recurring Paradise.

p. 382. line 12.

some poets and theologians

of
is

to

that Paradise

be the renovated earth.

Epitaphs on Lord St r.\tford de RedGeneral Gordon, and Cax ton.

[PubHshed in Tiresias and other Poems, 1885.
The epitaph on General Gordon first pubTimes, May 7, 1885, was
lished in The
written in answer to a request made by the
American poet Whittier. In 1878 Gordon

pp. 383-385.

cliff e,

called

on

learnt

that

my
my

in

father

was alone, he glided

spirit-like into the

voice, " Mr.

room, and said

Tennyson,

man who

homes

for

can do

them

General soon after

it.

in a

want you

to

You

thing for our young soldiers.

the

Having

London.

father

We

solemn

do somealone are

want training-

over

was sent

to Mauritius

and then nothing more could be done

the

Gordon Boys'

Home

was

The

England."

all

this

initiated

until

by

my

and founded by the King after Gordon's

death and in his memory.
Ed.]

father,

58o
p. 386.

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

To THE Duke
the

Duke

of Argyll.
the

resigned

(1881) on account of

/. 387.

of Privy Seal

vehement opposition

his

First published in

to Gladstone's Irish Bill.

Th-estas

when

[Written

office

and other Poems,

Ed.]

1885.

all Rovxd. When this poem was

and published in 1882 it was sung all
over the Empire on the Queen's birthday.
arranged by Sir
[Set to music by my mother

Haxds

recast

Edward FitzGerald

Charles Stanford.
of the

edition (vol.

first

my

know I wTote these

the Tears running down my Cheeks."
him

father said to
lines with

"

writes

648-650) that

i.

Ed.]
/. 389.

Freedom.
zine,

pubHshed

[First

T?idepe7ide?it,

1884, and in

December

New York
Maga-

1884, afterwards in Tiresias

and other Poems,

1885.

" It were good that

should follow

in the

Afac??iil/a?i''s

the

Ed.]

men

in their innovations

example

of

Time

which indeed innovateth greatly but

itself,

quietly,

and by degrees, scarce to be perceived.

It is good also not to try experiments
.

in

States except the necessity be urgent, or the

utiHty evident

and well

to

beware that

it

be

the reformation that draweth

on the change,

and not the desire of change

that pretendeth

the change
/. 389. Verse

i.

" (Bacon).

pillar''d

Parthenon.

"column'd Parthenon."

Misprinted

NOTES.
/. 392.

To H.R.H.

Princess

marriage with

Prince

[and

July 23rd, 1885

Times,

581

23rd,

July

On

Beatrice.

her

Henry of Battenberg,
first

pubHshed

the

in

and afterwards

1885,

My

Tiresias atid othej- Poems.

father

in

sent

the poem to Queen Victoria, and she wrote

him about the wedding as follows

to

Queen

Fro7ti the

Osborne,

Atig.

'jth,

1885.

Dear Lord Tennyson ... As I gazed on

the happy young couple, and on my two sons
Alfred and Arthur and their bonnie bairns,

could not but

of

trial

feel

might come, and earnestly prayed

would spare

my

sad in thinking that their hour

God

sweet Beatrice and the husband

she so truly loves and confides

in, for long,

long

to each other.

no

inroad of any kind had

and how heavy has God's
hand been since then on me!
Till sixty-one

been made

real

in our circle,

Mother, husband, children, truest friends,

have been taken from me, and yet

endure," and
lines
I

shall try to

do

so.

all

must"sdll

Your

beautiful

have been greatly admired.

wish you could have seen the wedding, for

every one says

it

The

pretty,

simple,

was the

prettiest they ever saw.

little

village

church,

all

decorated with flowers, the sweet young bride,

the

handsome young husband, the ten bridesof them quite children with flowing

maids, six

582

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

fair hair,

the brilliant sunshine and the blue sea,

made up

all

Believe

me

pictures

not

be

to

forgotten.

always yours affectionately,

V. R.

And he answered

thus

Ald WORTH,
As

I.

to the sufferings of this

A2ig. gth, 1885.

momentary

we

life,

can but trust that in some after-state, when we

see clearer,

having

for

we shall thank the Supreme Power

made us, thro' these, higher and

greater beings.
surely cannot be unlawful to pray that

Still it

our children, and our children's

may

children,

pass thro^ smoother waters to the other shore.

The wedding must have been beautiful, the

Peace of Heaven seemed on the day.
Your Majesty's

affectionate subject,

Tennyson.
Ed.]
/. 392. line

Two

I.

me

"

Suns

Sims.

[Sir

There are

twin

We may

George Darwin

in the

writes to

heavens many double

Suns revolving about one another.

well imagine that such systems

may

have planets attached to them, of course

visible to us.

Each of such

in-

planets would

have a double day, one arising from the

illu-

mination of one Sun, and the other from the

Your father was not concerned

Sun.
the orbit of such a planet,
computing
with
movinof under the attraction of two centres

other

NOTES.

583

The conception

stead of one as in our case.

seems

to

me

with the rest

/. 393.

The Fleet.

and fits in admirably

of the poem."
Ed.]
very

fine,

published in the

[First

Ti7nes

April 23rd, 1885, afterwards in Locksley Hall

1886. Ed.]

Sixty Years After,

/. 395.

Opening of the Indian and Colonial

Exhibition by the Queen, May 4th, 1886.
[First published in Locksley

shadow of a great
very

ill

Hall Sixty Years

This ode was written under the

After, 1886.

in India,

grief, as his son Lionel was

and died on April 20th.

Ed.]
/. 398.

Poets and their Bibliographies.

and

published in Tiresias

[First

other Poems, 1885.

Ed.]
p. 399.

\Pemeter and other Poems was dedicated

to

Lord DufTerin

of

gratitude

as a tribute of affection

for

the

unremitting

shown by Lady Dufferin and himself

brother Lionel during his
Lidia.

From

earliest

been

an affectionate

None

where he was

more about
ters

from

his

terms of his

to

my

last fatal illness in

always
nature.

and

kindness

childhood Lionel's had

and

beautiful

of his age in the India Office,

for

India,

some time a clerk, knew

and I have not a few let-

chiefs,

speaking in the warmest

ability,

and of the high place

584

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

had he Hved, he would have made for
While shooting in Assam he caught

that,

himself.

jungle
fell

On

fever.

dangerously

home

started for

return to Calcutta he

his

the beginning of April,

at

and passed away peacefully

at nine that

silver

moon.

at three

The

afternoon of April 20th.

was

in

the

burial service

same evening, under

The

He

and never recovered.

ill,

a great

ship stopped off Perim,

and

the coffin was lowered into a phosphorescent

sea.

/. 401.

Ed.]

To THE Marquis of Dufferin and Ava.

See Me7noir,

[First published in 1889.

pp.
/. 405.

On

the Jubilee of Queen Victoria.

lished in

pamphlet form and

ii.

Magazine, April

on the

1887,

To Professor J ebb.

[Pub-

in Macjuillaii's
fiftieth

anni-

Ed.]

versary of the Queen's coronation.

/. 409.

vol.

322-323. Ed.]

pubHshed in 1889.
Cambridge for the
He gave him the folfirst time in
1872.
lowing Sapphic in English with the Greek
cadence, because Jebb admired it

My

father

[First

met Jebb

at

Faded

Gone

ev'ry violet,

all

the roses

the glorious promise

Broken

in this

and the victim,

anger of Aphrodite,

Yields to the victor.

What impressed my

father most in this visit

Cambridge was the change in the relations
between don and undergraduate. While he
to

NOTES.

585

his terms (i 828-1 831) there was

" a great gulf fixed " between the teacher and

was keeping
the

As he

taught.

said

to

Master of Trinity

present

want of love

in

Dr. Butler, the

" There was a

Cambridge then

"

and

in

consequence he had written in 1830 these

denunciatory Hnes
:

Therefore your Halls, your ancient Colleges,

Your

statued

portals

with

old

and

kings

queens.

Your gardens, myriad-volumed libraries.

Wax-lighted chapels, and rich carven screens.
Your doctors, and your proctors, and your
deans.

Shall not avail you,

when

the

Day-beam

New-risen o'er awaken'd Albion.

Nor

No

sports

yet your solemn organ-pipes that blow

Melodious thunders

thro'

your vacant courts

At noon and eve, because your manner

Not with

this

Because the

sorts

age wherefrom ye stand apart,

lips

of

little

children preach

Against you, you that do profess to teach

And

teach us nothing, feeding not the heart.

Ed.]
/. 410.

Demeter and Persephone. [First published

in 1889.
Cf the Homeric Hymn to Demeter;
Hesiod, Theog. 912

and Fasti

iv.

ff.

419

and Ovid,

Afet. v. 341,

The poem was writbecause I knew that my

ff.

ten at

my

father

considered Demeter one of the most

beautiful

request,

types

of

womanhood.

He

said

586

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

"I

write

will

this

like

it,

but when

must put

an antique

I write

into a frame

it

some-

modern about it. It is no use giving

a mere rechauffe of old legends."
He would
thing

give as an example of the frame

Yet

I,

And
To

Earth-Goddess,

the

all

Shadow

am

but ill-content

die into the Light.

who

Signor Francisco Clementi,

lated

poem

this

into

Italian

trans-

and told

my

father that the Itahan youth were grateful to

him and had

much by his work, he

"I send you my best

profited

wrote, Feb. 4th, 1891

and generous comdone any good to your

countrymen or others, by what I have written,
that is more grateful to me than any modern
fame, which to a man nearing 82
for I was

thanks

born

your

for

1809

in

colourless."

/. 412.

lines

12, 13.

seems

Ed.]

somewhat

pale

and

gave thy breast^ the breast which

had suckled
/. 413.

kind

If I have

mentary.

thee.

lines 15-18.
*

Where

'

and I heard one

voice

from

all the

three

We know not, for we spin the lives of men,

And not of Gods, and hiow not why we spin!

There

is

a Fate beyond

us.''

NOTES.

587

Cf.

Talia saecla,' suis dixerunt,

Concordes

stabili

currite,' fusis

'

fatorum numine Parcae.

Virgil, Eel. iv. 46.

/. 415. line II. bear us down. [Cf. Aesch.

907, etc.
t]

fxr]v

From.

Vinct.

TL Zev^, KaCirep av6d8r)<i cf)pcv(s)V

ecrraL raTretvos, k.t.X.

Ed.]
/. 417.

OwD
I

RoA.

published

[First

1889.

in

Ed.]

read in one of the daily papers of a child

saved by a black retriever from a burning

The

house.

details

in

When

course, mine.

this

story

are,

of

the Spectator, reviewing

The Norther7i Farmer, etc, remarked that I

must have found these poems difficult to
accomphsh, as being out of my way, I wrote
to a friend that they were easy enough, for I

knew

the 7nen

men and

by which

their

I meant the kind of

manner of speaking, not any

particular individual.
/. 426.

hne

I.

xiii.

/. 429.

Or

like tother

Hangel,

etc.

See Judges

20.

Vastness.

[First published in

The

Nineteetith

afterwards in
November 1885
Demeter and other Foetns, 1889. Ed.] The
last line means " What matters anything in this
Centicr\\

world without faith in the immortality of the

soul

and of Love?

"

588

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

p. 434.

The

/. 436.

lines 8-15.

Ring.

Voices of the day

//le

heard across

Af'e

No

the Voices of the dark.

sudden heaven, nor sudden

But

thro'

rules

the

of 0?ie

IVitl

And utter knowledge

Ionian

father

own

height,

would quote these

lines as giving
is

one of

Ed.]

line 2.

The

lonely

maiden- Princess of the wood.

vol.

i.

p. 368.

line 15.

thousand squares of corn afid meadow, far

landscape which your eyes

As the gray deep, a

Have many a time

rafiged over

when a

babe,

Ed.]

[The view from Aldworth.

/. 455.

an ever opening

See The Day-Dream,

/. 442.

but utter love

belief that " the after-hfe

progress."
/. 438.

for man,

ever lessening earth.

[My
his

is

hell,

who knows a fid

Evolution, swift or slow,

Thro' all the Sphe?'es

An

Ed.]

[First published in 1889.

lines II, 12.

red mark ran

All round one finger.

Mr. Lowell told

thing like

once

it,

me

this legend, or

some-

of a house near where he had

lived.

[In answer to a letter respecting the legend

Mr. Lowell writes " I shall only be too glad
:

NOTES.

589

be in any the

remotest way the moving

new poem by one to whom we are
all so nobly indebted.
Henry James, by the
way, to whom I told the legend many years ago,
made it the subject of a short story. But this
would be no objection, for the poet would make
it his own by right of eminent domain."
Ed.]
to

cause of a

/. 458.

Forlorn. [An
1889. Ed.]

/. 463.

Happy

[First

Power of

early

poem,

pubhshed

Spiritual

in

first

pubHshed

^^

1889.

in

the

Love, and was suggested

by the following letter in the /s/e of Wight

County Press from the Rev. Edward BoucherJames, Vicar of Carisbrooke.
" Dean Milman has remarked that the protection

and care afforded by the Church

blighted race of lepers was

beautiful of

The

its

offices

among

to this

the most

during the Middle Ages.

leprosy of the thirteenth and fourteenth

centuries was supposed to be a legacy of the

crusades, but was in

all

probability the

off-

and unwholesome diet,

miserable lodging and clothing, physical and
meagre

spring

of

moral

degradation.

Church

in

sufferers

were most

the

The

seclusion

services

of

the

of these unhappy

affecting.

The

of looking to the public welfare

is

stern duty

tempered

with exquisite compassion for the victims of

this

loathsome disease.

The

ritual

sequestration of the leprous differed

for

little

the

from

590

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

After the leper had been

the burial service.

sprinkled with holy water, the priest conducted

him

church, the leper singing

the

into

psalm

the

Libera me, Domine,' and the crucifix

'

and bearer going before. In the church a

black cloth was stretched over two trestles in
front of the altar, and the leper leaning at its

The

side devoutly heard mass.

up a

of the leper's
church,

him

if it

priest, taking

threw

Httle earth in his cloak,

on one

it

and put him out of the

feet,

did not rain too heavily

took

to his hut in the midst of the fields,

then uttered the prohibitions

'

and

forbid you

entering the church ... or entering the com-

pany of

home
cluded

others.

forbid you quitting your

He

without your leper's dress.'

:

'

Take

this

token of humility

and wear

dress,

conit

in

take these gloves, take this

clapper, as a sign that you are forbidden to

You

speak to any one.

are not to be indig-

nant at being thus separated from others, and

as to your httle wants,

vide for you, and

good people

God

Then in this old ritual

*When it shall come

will

follow these sad

pass

to

shall pass out of this world,

in his hut,
first

and not

in

pro-

he

words

that the leper

shall

be buried

the churchyard.'

At

there was a doubt whether wives should

follow their husbands

or

will

not desert you.'

remain

in

the

who had been

world

The Church decided

that

leprous,

and marry again.

the

marriage-tie

NOTES.
was

and

indissoluble,

unhappy beings
solation.
With

591

this

so bestowed on these
immense source of con-

love

stronger

than

tins

were followed into banishment from the haunts of men by their faithful
wives.
Readers of Sir J. Stephen's Essays on
living death, lepers

Ecclesiastical Biog7'aphy will recollect the de-

of the founder of the Franciscan

Order, how, controlling his involuntary disgust,
scription

Francis

St.

of Assisi

washed

the

feet

and

dressed the sores of the lepers, once at least

reverently applying his lips to their wounds."

This ceremony of quasi-\mx\2X varied considerably at different times

and

in

different

In some cases a grave was dug, and

places.

the leper's face was often covered during the

Ed.]

service.

473-

To

Ulysses.

cleverest
Ulysses

grave's

man

/. 474.

Verse

essays.

ever saw."

was the

before seeing

1889.
My
" Gifford Palgrave is the

[First published in

father used to say

title

Ed.]

of a volume of Pal-

He died
my poem.

at

vii.

Or watch

the wavi^ig pine

The warrior of Cap re ra

Monte Video

which here
set.

Wellingtonia which Garibaldi planted

at Farringford in April 1864.

when

Garibaldi said

to me, alluding to his barren island (Caprera),

"I wish

had your trees."

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

592

\^Extract fro7n Lettej-

to the

Duke

of Argyll.

Farringford.

Did you hear Garibaldi repeat any Italian poetry ?

had heard that he himself had made
I
songs and hymns and I asked him, " Are you a
poet ? " " Yes," he said quite simply, whereupon
I spouted to him a bit of Manzoni's great ode
I

did, for

(the Cinque Maggie^, that which Gladstone translated.

don't

know whether he

began immediately

to

quoted, with great

"

with

it,

but he

Foscolo and

fragment of his

fervour, a

beginning

Sepolchri,

relished

Ugo

speak of

navigante

II

che

veleggio," etc., and ending with " Delle Parche

il

he afterwards wrote out for

me and they certainly seem to be fine, whatever
What a noble
the rest of the poem may be.
I expected to see a hero and I was
human being
canto," which verses
;

One cannot say of him what

not disappointed.
Chaucer says of the ideal knight, " As meke he was
of port as is a maid;" he is more majestic than
meek, and his manners have a certain divine simplicity in them, such as I have never witnessed in
a native of these islands.

Yours,

A. Tennyson.

Ed.]
/. 475.

Verse

your

ix.

I hiow
The
/. 475.

Verse

/. 475.

Verse

/.

475. Verse

tale

of lands

not.

of Nejd.

Oriental Eden-isles.

X.
x.

tale

The

woiider of the boili7iglake.

Philippines.

In Dominica.

xi.

Phra- C/iai,

The Shadow

the

Shadow of the

of the Lord.

Best.

Certain

obscure

markings on a rock in Siam, which express

NOTES.

593

Buddha

the image of

more

the Buddhist

to

or less distinctly according to his faith and

moral worth.

his

Verse

p. 475.

Phra-bat

xi.

the step.

The

footstep of

the Lord on another rock.

p. 475.

Verse

The monastery

Crag-cloister.

xi.

of

Sumelas.
/. 475.

Verse

Anatolian Ghost.

xi.

Anatolian Spectre

stories.

p. 475.

Verse

xi.

Hong-Kong.

/. 475.

Verse

xi.

Karfiac.

/. 477.

To Mary Boyle.
and
of

first

my

believe

^''y

that

[Written at

Verse

iv.

/. 479.

Verse

x.

Farringford

She was an aunt

(Audrey Tennyson,
the

heart

better

your Marian.

it

Boyle).

?iee

father wrote to her:

stronger at 74 than ever

/. 478.

Cities.

Travels in Egypt.

published in 1889.

wife's

In 1883

The Three

of

"I

me

did at 18."

Lady Marian

verily

beats

Ed.]
Alford.

an English homestead Hell.

Near
[See Memoir, vol. i. p. 41.

Cambridge, 1830.
Cf.

The Prijuess,

As of some

When

fire

iv.

against a stormy cloud,

the wild peasant rights himself, the rick

Flames, and his anger reddens in the heavens.

/. 482.

The Progress of
youth.

VOL.

IV.

First

Spring.

pubhshed
2

[Written in early

in 1889.

Ed.]

594
p. 484.

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

Verse

v.

The starling

[My

claps his tiny castenets.

"This

father said in 1889:

written

fifty-six

on the sloping

ago under

years
at

field

poem was

suppose the

same phrase
modern

published) in a

novel, not taken from the

but

ehus

Somersby, and then

four or five years ago I see the

(before the

was

line

the

critics

poem, I presume,
would not believe

that." Ed.]
p. 488.

Merlin and the Gleam.

Nimue

have read that Nimue means the

" Gleam,"
the

published

[First

In the story of Merlin afid

Ed.]

in 1889.

which

in

signifies

the early imagination

Verse

my

poem

Verse

higher poetic imagination.

iv.

is

alludes to the

v.

Pastorals.

[For those who cared

literary

history

Gleam.

From

magic of Merlin

he
his

know about
and

to

wrote

Merli?i

boyhood he had

that

spirit of

poetry

felt

his

the

the

which

bade him know his power and follow throughout his work a pure and high ideal, with a
simple and single devotedness and a desire
to ennoble the life of the world, and which
helped him through doubts and
" endure as seeing

Him who

is

difficulties to

invisible."

Great the Master,

And sweet the Magic,

When over the valley,

NOTES.

595

In early summers,

Over the mountain,

On human
And

all

faces,

around me,

Moving

to

melody,

Floated the Gleam.

In

his

through

youth he sang of the brook flowing

his

upland

valley, of the

"ridged wolds"

home, of the mountainglen and snowy summits of his early dreams,

and of the beings, heroes and fairies, with
which his imaginary world was peopled. Then
was heard the " croak of the raven," the harsh
that rose above his

voice of those

who were unsympathetic

The light retreated,

The landskip darken 'd.
The melody deaden'd,
The Master whisper'd
"Follow the Gleam."
Still

the inward voice told

him not

faint-hearted but to follow his ideal.

to

be

And by

the delight in his own romantic fancy, and

by the harmonies of nature, " the warble of
water," and "cataract music of falling torrents," the inspiration of the poet was renewed.

His Eclogues and English Idyls followed, when

he sang the songs of country life and the joys

and

griefs

of country folk, which

through and through.

he knew

596

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

Innocent maidens,
Garrulous children,

Homestead and harvest,

Reaper and gleaner,

And rough-ruddy
Of lowly labour.

faces

somewhat of the
and of humanity from
own experience, he rose to a melody

By

degrees, having learnt

real philosophy of hfe

his

"stronger and stateher."

He

celebrated the

glory of "

human love and of human heroism"

human thought, and began what he

and of
had already devised,
" typifying above

his

all

Epic of King Arthur,

life of man,"

things the

wherein he had intended to represent some of

the great rehgions of the world.

posed that

this

was

to

He

had pur-

be the chief work of

his

manhood. Yet the death of his friend, Arthur

Hallam, and the consequent darkening of the
whole world for him made him almost fail in
nor any longer for a while did
this purpose
;

the splendour of his spiritual

nor in the Gleam that had " waned to

he rejoice
visions,

in

a wintry glimmer."

Clouds and darkness

Closed upon Camelot
Arthur had vanish'd
I knew not whither,
The king who loved me,
And cannot die.

'

NOTES.

597

Here my father united the two Arthurs, the

Arthur of the Idylls and the Arthur " the man
he held as

half

divine."

fought with death, and had

He

rious to find " a stronger faith his

hope

himself had

come

for himself, for all those in

sorrow and

humankind, that never forsook

for universal

him through the

And

out victo-

own," and a

future years.

broader and brighter

The Gleam

onward,

flying

Wed

to the melody,

Sang

thro' the world.

I saw,

whenever

it glanced upon
Hamlet or city,
That under the Crosses
The dead man's garden.
The mortal hillock.

In passing

Would break

And

Last limit

Up

blossom

into

so to the land's
I

came.

end he faced death with the same

and unfaihng courage that he had
always shown, but with an added sense of the
awe and the mystery of the Infinite.
to the

earnest

can no longer.

But die rejoicing,

For

thro' the

Of Him

Magic

the Mighty,

BALLADS AXD OTHER POEMS.

598

Who

taught

me

in

childhood,

There on the border

Of boundless Ocean,

And

all

but in

Heaven

Hovers the Gleam.

That

the reading of the poet's riddle as

is

he gave

it

He

me.

to

thought that Merliji

Gleam would probably be enough

biography for those friends who urged him

and

the

494.

/. 498.

RoMNEVS Remorse.
Ed.]
line 24.

JVit/i

[First published in 1889.

Milton's a?naranth.
"

Towards

to

Ed.]

write about himself.

/.

of

Lowly reverent
and to the

either throne they bow,

ground

With solemn adoration down they cast

Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold,
Immortal amarant, a flower which once
In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life,
Began to bloom but, soon for Man's offence
To Heaven removed where first it grew,
;

there grows

And

flowers

aloft,

shading the

Fount of

Life," etc.

Far. Lost,
/. 500.

line 5.

fny

arrived

him.

349-35

7-

When his brother

Romney did not know

Indian brother.

from India,

iii.

NOTES.
/. 500.

He

12.

line

said

it

599

"The

in

Measure for Measure,

iii.

i.

play.

the
2

Cf.

miserable have no other medicine

But only hope."

/. 501.

Parnassus. [First published in 1889. Norman

Lockyer visited him in October 1890, and
said of

my

father

with astronomy."
/. 503.

" His

By an Evolutionist.
ford,

and

first

mind

[Written at

Farring-

My

published in 1889.

brought " Evolution" into Poetry.

his

saturated

is

Ed.]

father

Ever since

Cambridge days he believed

in

He

it.

has given, perhaps, the best expression of this

belief in a remarkable passage in

Sea Drea??is,

beginning "But round the North, a light,"

less

vol.

There we have a dream of the

p. 505.

of progress throughout

spirit

and the " note never out of tune

"

the

i.

rest-

ages,

underlying

it. Ed.]
/.

505.

F.iR FAR away.

could read

{For Music.)

Before

on a stormy da)the wind and crying

was

in the habit

of spreading my arms to
out, " I hear a voice that's speaking in the

wind," and

the words "

far,

far

always a strange charm for me.

lished in 1889.

He

in

in the

window

wrote

at

"

had

[First pub-

this after his severe

As he was

1888.

illness

away

lying

on

his

sofa

Aldworth, and looking out

on the great landscape of the weald of Sussex,

he said that he had wonderful thouofhts about

6oo

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

God and

the Universe, and

charmed him with

when heard
Politics.

/. 508.

[Addressed

Beautiful City.
1889. Ed.]

always

and

Ed.]

to Gladstone,

and

first

Ed.]
Paris.

The Roses on the

[First

looking

over a sea or a lake, he was never

published in 1889.
/. 507.

if

bells

as

their " lin-lan-lone,"

tired of hstening to them.

/, 506.

felt

Distant

the other world.

into

[First

pubHshed

in

At Aldworth.
About this time
to Mrs. Richard

TERiLiCE.

published in 1889.

he sent the following

lines

Boyle for her Ros Rosariiin

THE ROSEBUD
The night with sudden odour reel'd,
The southern stars a music peal'd,
Warm beams across the meadow stole
For love flew over grove and field,
Said, " Open, Rosebud, open, yield

Thy
See also

letter

from Aldworth

fragrant soul."

from
:

"

my

father to

The Book

Dean Hole

of Roses

was

welcomed by me I do not worship

rosy means
the yellow but the Rosy Roses
and the homage of my
red, not yellow
youth was given to what I must ever look up
the Provence
to as the Queen of Roses
but then you as a great Rose master may not
I never see my Queen of
agree with me.
heartily

NOTES.

6oi

We

Roses anywhere now.

have just been

planting a garden of Roses, and

out

that

to find

associated

the

of our

native

berberis

were glad

them

with

we had

wit

you

as

Ed.]

advise.

The Play, and On One who affected

AN Effeminate Manner. [First published

//. 508, 509.

in 1889.

/. 509.

Ed.]

To One who ran down the English.

[Written at Aldworth, and

published in

first

1889. Ed.]
/.

510.

The Snowdrop.
about

i860, and

[Written
first

Farringford

at

published in 1889.
"

Ed.]
/. 511.

The Throstle.

[First

Review, October

terwards in Dei7ieter

My

father

pubhshed

1889, and

and

in the

iV^w

misprinted;

af-

other Foems, 1889.

had been writing his poem, By afi

between severe attacks of gout

Evolutionist,

in the winter of 1889.

and other birds

Toward

(at Farringford).

he

sat

in

his

He

fed the thrushes

as usual out of his

window

the end of February

kitchen -garden summer-house,

Hstening attentively to the different notes of

the thrush,

and

finishing

his

which had been begun

garden years ago
Throstle,

song of The
in the

same

Summer is coming, is coming, my

And all the winters are hidden.

dear,

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.

6o2

Talking of hopefulness, he said

kiss of the Future."

/.

512.

The Oak.
father

[First

called

this

pubhshed

"

Hope

is

the

in

My

1889.

poem "clean-cut hke a

The allusion is to the gold

Greek epigram."
young oak leaves

of the

the autumnal

Ed.]

in spring,

and

to

gold of the fading leaves (at

Aldworth). Ed.]

In Memoriam

/. 513.

lished

in

Ward was

G.

Ward.

[First

a neighbour of

my

pub1889.

father's at Fresh-

and was one of the leaders of the Oxford Movement, and a great friend of Cardinal
Newman's. He died in 1882. Ed.]

water,

"f

W.

The Athenceum, May nth,

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