Cornell University Library 
 PR4149.B9P6 
 
 Poems. 
 
 3 1924 013 438 126 
 
PR 
 
p ^ 
 
 Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013438126 
 
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laoems?* 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 G. F. JPODLEY 
 
 A.R.A., F.S.A. 
 
 LONDON 
 GEORGE BELL AND SONS 
 T899 
 
I\56^^t,a 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS : CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. 
 
TO VICTORIA, QUEEN AND EMPRESS. 
 
 O Gracious Lady, these heart-songs of mine 
 [fain would bring Thee ; take them, they are 
 
 Thine. 
 Thy heart doth knit all hearts in unity ; 
 To Thee we offer ours, so shall they be 
 Thine Em.pire, — one in loyal amity. 
 
 Empress ! Britannia s soul is linked with 
 Thine own, — 
 Linked by the love we bear the Lands that cluster 
 round Thy Throne. 
 
 August, 1900. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Prelude 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ix -y 
 
 BRIDGEFOOT. 
 
 Anticipation . ... 
 
 At Bridgefoot . . 
 
 In My Garden ... 
 Beneath the Yews . 
 
 To Spring ... 
 
 Sonnet j By the River, Morning . . 
 
 A Summer Day 
 
 By the River ; Love, My Light . . 
 By the River ; Evening 
 Sunrise and Sunset . . . 
 
 Sunset 
 
 Autumn . . . 
 
 October J The Passing of the Lingering Year 
 
 November . . . . . 
 
 In My Garden; Winter .... . . 
 
 The Garden that I Love ; January . . . 
 
 THE ARTS. 
 
 Prologue , 
 Painting 
 Poetry . , 
 Music 
 Sculpture 
 
 3 
 4 
 6 
 
 7 
 8 
 
 lO 
 
 II 
 
 12 
 
 13 
 
 IS 
 i6 V 
 
 17 
 i8 
 
 20 
 21 
 23 
 
 27 
 29 
 
 32 
 
 35 
 38 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 A Plea for Colour in Sculpture 
 Architecture; the Minster . . 
 Nature, the Queen of All . . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 39 
 
 ■ 41 
 
 ■ 44 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 The Guarding Sea, 1898 . . . . 
 
 Rest and Unrest ... 
 
 Nature's Heraldry . . 
 
 Take the Balance in your Hand 
 
 Through the Thin Tracery of the Leafless Trees 
 
 The Present and the Past 
 
 Creative Imaginings .... 
 
 When in the Wistful Watches of the Night 
 Love and Friendship . ... . . 
 
 Age and Youth 
 
 Immortal Thought 
 
 O Beauty, dwell with us once more 
 
 The Past . .... 
 
 The Dome of Heaven . 
 At Bryngwyn; November 
 Evening; At Kinnersley 
 "Old Place," Sussex 
 In North Wales . 
 At Deene Rectory 
 Nature's Obedience 
 Flashing Thoughts 
 
 Change 
 
 Amor Fidelis . . 
 Old Days .... 
 
 47 
 48 
 
 5° 
 51 
 52 
 S3 
 55 
 57 
 58 
 59 
 61 
 62 
 64 
 66 
 67 
 68 
 69 
 70 
 72 
 74 
 75 
 76 
 78 
 
 79 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sonnet j " Dear Love, the silent sweetness of 
 
 thy smile" 80 
 
 Sonnet; "Ages have, silent, heard the oars 
 
 OF TIME" 81 
 
 The Silence of the Night 82 
 
 The Memory of the Past 83 
 
 I SAID unto the Night . 86 
 
 A Summer Night on the Coast of Dorset . . 87 
 
 Love the Conqueror 89 
 
 Love not too Well 91 
 
 Sonnet; Solitude 93 
 
 The Unknown 94 
 
 On the Ever-Changing Year, but Chiefly in 
 
 Praise of Spring 95 
 
 Sonnet ; Summer 97 
 
 Sonnet ; Winter 98 
 
 In Praise of the Sun 99 
 
 An Early Recollection of Grasmere . . . . loi 
 
 Has the World lost its Mystery? 103 
 
 Christmas Eve 104 
 
 Christmas 105 
 
 The Christmas Rose 106 
 
 The Poet 107 
 
 June 22ND, 1897 108 
 
 Peace, 29TH August, 1898 m 
 
 October, 1899 j Land of the Freeborn . . . 112 
 
 ITALY. 
 
 The St. Gothard Pass: The Water-Shed . . 117 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To A Friend, from Villa Nuti, Bellosguardo . 119 
 
 On the Heights above Fiesole 121 
 
 At Verona 122 
 
 At Venice 124 
 
 Leaving Italy . 126 
 
 LEGENDS. 
 
 Gyptis and Protis 129 
 
 Pierre de Provence and La Belle Magnelone ; 
 
 Daughter of the King of Naples . . . 133 
 
 A Legend 140' 
 
 Helen of Sparta 143 
 
 A Legend 145 
 
 A True Vision of the Night 150 
 
 MORS ET VITA. 
 
 Beneath the Belfry 155 
 
 January 14TH, a.d. 1892 156 
 
 The Day Lord Tennyson was Buried in West- 
 minster Abbey 157 
 
 To Be — To Live — To Love — What More to Ask? 159 
 
 Prospice , . 160 
 
 U-Lux Perpetua Luceat Eis 161 
 
 Vita Sterna 162 
 
 »^Into the Silent Hermitage of Death. . . . 163 
 
 '•-' The Harbour 164 
 
 Vita Via 165 
 
 I/'Beati Mortui 166 
 
 L'Envoi 167 
 
PRELUDE. 
 
 To touch a note not inharmonious 
 With earth's glad music, as it passes by, 
 Swelling the strain; this is a poet's joy. 
 
 To strike a chord, which, for a little while, 
 May sound and dwell within the hearts of men 
 Before it dies ; this is a poet's hope. 
 
 To lean and listen to .i^olian notes 
 
 That linger, ere, wind-wafted, they shall pass — 
 
 Floating away ; this is a poet's rest. 
 
 To break into full ecstasy of song 
 
 With thoughts that wing his willing heart to 
 
 heaven. 
 On Music borne ; this is a poet's meed. 
 
 What if perchance, one new-born melody 
 May echo on and fill the world with love 
 That never dies ; that were a poet's crown. 
 
BriDgefoot, 
 
ANTICIPATION. 
 
 Long had I dwelt within the noisy Town, 
 
 The Town all mute of Nature's melodies ; 
 
 And then, — it was fair spring-tide's wakening dawn- 
 
 I came within the music of the stream, 
 
 I came within the music of the air 
 
 Glad with the songs of winged choristers. 
 
 Here, the sweet melody of Nature's voice ; 
 
 There, the rent discord of the restless Town, 
 
 That, like the burden of a wearying strain, 
 
 Falls and re-falls on vexed and tired ears 
 
 In harsh monotony. 
 
 Would it were mine 
 To live, to muse, within the quiet rest 
 Of this still music of the country side, 
 Forget the jarring babble of the Town, 
 And watch the passing pageant of the years. 
 
AT BRIDGEFOOT. 
 
 Flow, River, flowing by my garden side. 
 
 Flow thou in constancy, 
 Murmur thy placid music to each tree 
 That seems to answer " Here shall I abide." 
 
 I come to make contented home by thee. 
 
 Teach me thy constancy ; 
 I come to watch the silver of thy gleam, 
 And hear thy whispered music, murmuring stream. 
 
 Thou flowest on' beside my garden flowers, 
 That sweeten golden hours ; 
 
 silver thread that flows away from me, 
 
 1 give thee some of their sweet fragrancy. 
 
 Old house, I love thee, though a new-found friend. 
 
 Found by life's river-side. 
 Flow, flow, fair Colne, content I would abide, 
 And rest and listen ; thou thy way dof ^wend. 
 
s 
 
 Flow, River, constant in inconstancy, 
 
 Flow by each sheltering tree : 
 For me there is content and constancy ; 
 I do not, restless, seek an unknown sea. 
 
IN MY GARDEN. 
 
 I PLUCKED a briar rose to-day, and thought, 
 Why is the world made so divinely fair ? 
 Is it to gladden hearts, or bring a tear. 
 Each simple flower is thus divinely wrought ? 
 
 A gentle voice made answer in my ear, 
 "To win your love the world is thus with beauty 
 fraught." 
 
BENEATH THE YEWS. 
 
 A THRUSH is singing in the old yew tree 
 With few contented notes ; the rippling stream, 
 That flows beside my meadow path, doth give 
 Its friendly music to the listening air. 
 
 Now the song ceases, but the stream runs on 
 All but inaudible ; the wind, unfelt. 
 Plays with the music, — steals away with it ; 
 And restful silence, and the unburdened air. 
 Wrap my stilled senses in serene repose. 
 Men crowd in cities. Man needs man, they say. 
 
 But here, for me, there is assured content 
 In grateful silence, gracious solitude. 
 
TO SPRING. 
 
 Thy breath, supernal Spring, 
 Wafts the glad songs that ring 
 Blithely through all the land. 
 
 Linger with thy young face, 
 Immaculate in grace, 
 And libera], lavish hand. 
 
 Must thou pass ever on 
 Northward, with parting song. 
 Thou and thy gladsome band ? 
 
 Is not fair England sweet. 
 When, at thy dainty feet. 
 Low nestle young flowers ? 
 
 We are content with thee ; 
 Why speed thee o'er the sea, 
 Forsaking thy bowers ? 
 
They are thy own, sweet Spring, 
 Thy songs the blithe birds sing, 
 For thee heaven's showers. 
 
 Why pass thus ever on, 
 Northward, with farewell song. 
 To die on icy strand ? 
 
 Stay, if thou lov'st us, Spring ! 
 Hark how the woods do ring ! 
 Gladness in all the Land ! 
 
lO 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 BY THE RIVER,— MORNING. 
 
 Dark, slender stems lie mirrored on the stream, 
 Silver 'neath ebony. So in Life's day 
 May sombre sorrow, shadowing sadness, lay 
 Their transient darkness on the ampler gleam 
 From Heaven sent. Here, ruffled shadows seem 
 Sharpened and disciplined by heaven's light, 
 The while Life's river floweth day and night, 
 Now dim, now glittering, as in fitful dream. 
 
 Greater the glory than the slender shade ; 
 Slight are the trembling threads athwart the stream ; 
 They are but shadows o'er the broad light laid. 
 
 The steadier, fuller light, the gladdening beam 
 Shall grow, until the glory of the West 
 Slants, shimmering, fading, sinking into rest. 
 
II 
 
 A SUMMER DAY. 
 
 O FAIR, O sweet, O Queenly summer day ! 
 For Thee the sunflowers gild the sombre yews, 
 And jasmines star, with silver, ruddy walls ; 
 For Thee white roses veil the sheltering eaves, 
 While red have climbed to gain the stretching ridge, 
 And, clustering, seem like rubies, silver-set. 
 Upon yon gleaming light of azure sky. 
 For Thee our Lady's lilies stand, pure, sweet and tall ; 
 For Thee the effulgent sun rejoices over all. 
 
12 
 
 BY THE RIVER. 
 
 LOVE, MV LIGHT. 
 
 The moon has risen red, the restless stream 
 Has changed its pallor into running gold ; 
 The river flows by darkened trees that seem 
 To wrap a glory in a sable fold. 
 
 My love is like a light that goldens all 
 The moving stream of Life. Amid the gloom 
 Of lengthening, darkening, shadows that enthral, 
 O Love, thou art a light to lead me home ! 
 
13 
 
 BY THE RIVER. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 Constant in change, flow, river, to the sea ; 
 And I, like thee, passing the fields of life. 
 Nurture fair flowers that I gather not. 
 
 O distant, growing shadows that I ken. 
 Ye cast gray gloom on more than meadow lands, 
 Indefinite, unknown, veiled in dim light. 
 
 Sufficient this for me and thee, O stream, 
 That we are travelling, gently, to a sea, 
 Whose waves shall wash the abiding harbour's walls. 
 
 Clear calm of heaven, dark, shifting, restless clouds. 
 Ye are reflected in this stream of Life. 
 Changing, but constant. River seek thy rest. 
 
 For me, this eve, content and rest are here : 
 I would retard the passing of the day. 
 Calm, bright and glad, ineff"able and fair, 
 With its o'er-hanging azure dome of heaven. 
 
 And all the beauty of the green, fair land. 
 
14 
 
 I would keep back the glory of the West. 
 I am content ! 
 Uncertain future, lingering, stay thy foot ! 
 
IS 
 
 SUNRISE AND SUNSET. 
 
 Now, in the east, cometh the conquering sun ; 
 The baffled clouds retreat — his victory won ; 
 
 Is there a crowning glory for the west ? 
 Will flaming skies proclaim the Monarch's rest ? 
 
 Flash the last splendour on the River's breast — 
 Pour the red gold o'er all the ruddy west ! 
 
 O dying day! O River, rushing by. 
 Ye will return no more; in splendour die ! 
 
i6 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 Crimson and scarlet, purple, green and gold ; 
 And all to deck the dying of a day ! 
 
 What hast thou done, O Day, to be so crowned 
 With sudden splendour ere thy coming death ? 
 Has some great thought throbbed in a heart to-day ? 
 Some gracious picture flashed upon a mind ? 
 Or some, erst unheard, harmony been sung ? 
 Has some sweet secret sacrifice been made, 
 Some all unselfish deed of love been born ? 
 Is this the birth-hour of a Kingly soul ? 
 Or has some simple saint attained his rest this eve ? 
 
 Is thine but Nature's glad obedience 
 To laws that make the dying of a Day 
 Glow with a greater glory than a Dawn ? 
 
17 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 The first faint tinge is on the hanging wood, 
 For, here and there, a bough drops russet gold. 
 Amid the Summer glory of its green ; 
 And on it lingers yet the October sun. 
 
 Deal gently with the children of the Spring ; 
 Let still the leaves wave, green upon the blue 
 Of yonder sunlit sky. A little while 
 Dwell with me, golden glory of the year ! 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
 THE PASSING OF THE LINGERING YEAR. 
 
 Say not the glory of the year is gone. 
 
 E'en now the world puts on its richest robes, 
 
 And Colour holds high festival. 
 
 Splendour of green and gold o'er all the woods ! 
 The splendour of a thousand blended hues ; 
 Russet and crimson, midst the lingering green 
 Of oaks — the last to bud, the last to yield ; 
 Glory of orange and of amber pale. 
 Mixed with dark, drooping fringes of the birch 
 That hang, like strands of purple silk, against 
 The silver of the gleaming sky beyond. 
 
 The maple bush has flamed to burning red. 
 While, green, the ash-leaves fell but yester-night. 
 And show like emeralds on the darker bank. 
 
 And still the sweetness of the meadow stays. 
 And, blue, the winding river brings the sky 
 
19 
 
 Adown to mingle with the hues of earth, 
 And make the grass seem greener for the blue 
 Of the o'er-hanging Dome thus mirrored there ; 
 And the fair sky seem bluer for the green 
 Of smiling meadow-lands that lie below. 
 
 Now Autumn's sunset gilds Day's latest hour ; 
 The last gleam glows the tenderest of all, 
 Like Music, dearest as it dies away ; 
 So sad, so sweet, the passing of the Year ! 
 
20 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 One young red rose clings to my old brick wall, 
 Ruby and russet blend their varied tints. 
 
 Though now November days are nearly gone, 
 Not last of summer roses seemest thou, but first 
 To tell the coming of a fairer hope. 
 
 Above my Garden wall, red, golden, trees. 
 With here and there a bough of steadfast green, 
 Stand calm against the blue pelucid sky. 
 
 Was ever summer beauty fair as this ? 
 
 A little while, more gay than fair young May, 
 November mounts her crimson to the sky. 
 
 And thou, rare rose, art worth a thousand blooms 
 That lavish Summer strews on halcyon days. 
 
21 
 
 IN MY GARDEN. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 When will Spring's kisses wake the sleeping flowers, 
 Bid the brown, budding branches don their leaves. 
 Days grow to sweeter, calmer, happier hours, 
 And flower bend to flower, swayed by a softer breeze ? 
 
 What will my Garden be when Summer's sun 
 Shall stream on scented wealth of flowers, and bees 
 Shall buzz their thanks, their honied feast begun. 
 And birds sing out their greetings to the young-leaved 
 trees ? 
 
 Pass, pass, ye winter days ! and on the stream 
 Shall leap the trout and fall the gray May-fly, 
 Kingfishers flash above its rippling gleam, 
 And,old, cold Winter gone, young Spring lead Summer 
 nigh. 
 
22 
 
 Come, Spring ! and waken all the slumbering flowers, 
 Come, Spring ! and with thy hoped-for, lengthening, 
 
 hours, 
 Lead thou Queen Summer to her rose-crowned bowers. 
 
■'3 
 
 THE GARDEN THAT I LOVE. 
 
 JANUARY, 
 
 Grow to thy Easter beauty, Garden mine ; 
 Let all thy sheltering trees flush green and soft ; 
 Gold daffodils erect their heads aloft, 
 Once more the land be glad and resonant with song. 
 
 Burst into Summer sweetness, Garden mine ; 
 Scent the still air with wafted fragrancy ; 
 The world lies hushed in fond expectancy, 
 The Summer-Queen shall come to gladden thee and 
 me. 
 
 Flush to thy Autumn splendour. Garden mine. 
 When all the woods are crimson, gold-flecked grown ; 
 Crown the old year with glory, ere 'tis flown. 
 And let it sink in beauty, like the westering sun. 
 
24 
 
 Now wrapt in wintry whiteness, Garden mine ; 
 Cold lies the lawn 'neath pall of silvery snow ; 
 The o'er-hanging sky is gray, dim shadows grow, 
 And death-like silence mourns the dying of the year. 
 
 Another Easter cometh, Garden mine. 
 And many a one, while this fair earth shall last ; 
 To thee green Summer gladness hastens fast, 
 To thee the ruddy Autumn, though my feet have 
 passed. 
 
Cl)e ;artg. 
 
27 
 
 THE ARTS. 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 What were the world to me 
 Without the pictured visions men have wrought ? 
 True visions mirrored on their minds and hearts, 
 Hearts that were joyous with ecstatic love 
 Of all the fair things which on earth rejoice; 
 Or sad with wistful longings, — hearts that sought 
 Fair Truth and Beauty to entrance our souls. 
 
 What were the world without the uplifted Fanes 
 That men have raised beneath the Dome of Heaven ; 
 Dwellings of God, or homes and hearths for men ? 
 
 What were the world to me without the notes 
 Men have entwined, all musical and sweet. 
 Wedding harmonious thoughts to melody ? 
 Ah Music ! without Thee e'en Heaven were dumb ! 
 
28 
 
 What were the world without the poet's lay, 
 That sings of Dawn, of Night, of Death, of Life ? 
 
 What were the world without the impassioned love 
 We lay, as equal worship, at your feet 
 Creative Art and Nature, twin-like Queens ? 
 
29 
 
 PAINTING. 
 
 O GROWING glories of a changing day, 
 From first, faint, rosy flush of earliest dawn, 
 To paling pallor of a pensive eve. 
 Shall ye be visions in our memory. 
 To fade and pass, as lingering sunset-glow 
 Pales into dimness, when the deepening blue. 
 Too soon, is sprinkled o'er with lonely stars — 
 Fair, fading, fleeting visions unportrayed ? 
 
 Shall all the fancy of a poet's thought 
 Be only told to listening ears and hearts, 
 Dream-like and unportrayed ? 
 
 Shall we but hear 
 Of Venus' fairest form, and Psyche's grace, 
 And all the visions of long vanished days. 
 When earth seemed visited by many gods ? 
 
 Shall love unpictured pass, and all fair fame 
 Of deeds of courage and of Chivalry ? 
 
30 
 
 Shall we but hear of Mary and her Child, 
 Nor seek to see portrayed by painter's hand, 
 The love, the faith, the hope ineffable 
 In that dear Virgin face, with gaze that looks 
 Calm, and assured, into futurity ? 
 
 O picturing Art! great wonders thou hast wrought! 
 Thou, loving Nature, makest her thine own. 
 And givest new glory to a grateful world. 
 
 Think of the great procession passed by — 
 Those mighty painters of the elder time — 
 Who bade the world rejoice it was so fair, 
 And brought high heavenly visions down to earth. 
 
 Think of the vanguard that has passed on. 
 And of the rear-guard marching in its path, 
 Albeit attended by a crowd of serfs. 
 
 O pictured glories of the land and sea. 
 Limned by true loving hands, mysteriously ! 
 That bring sweet Nature to the murky town. 
 And show its beauty to half-opened eyes 
 Of those who know but little of its joys. 
 O pictured passion, manifested dreams ! 
 
31 
 
 We laud Thee, Art, for visions mirrored clear, 
 From out the dim and growing mist of years ; 
 We praise Thy hand, that pictures things that are. 
 The strange imaginings of what may be, 
 And poet-painter's dreams of imagery. 
 
32 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 As in some ancient play the Chorus sings 
 Of passing scenes, so thou, fair mirroring Muse 
 Of Poesy, dost ever, singing, blend 
 All things with Music as they hasten by ; 
 Sadness and sighing, joy and gladness thrill 
 With sweetest Music, if they hear thy voice. 
 
 What in the wide world is there but that thou 
 Wilt sing of it, as it is passing by ? 
 
 Wide world? Nay, that were narrow bound for 
 thee; 
 Thou dost o'er-leap the world to sing of Heaven — of 
 Hell. 
 
 Ah, what sweet songs of linked words have filled 
 Our gladdened hearts with gracious harmony ! 
 What radiant light, what glory there has fallen. 
 
33 
 
 Even on the darkest paths and weariest ways, 
 As, singing, thou hast passed, queenlike, by. 
 And hast set ringing echoes of thy notes 
 Till all the world is filled with melody ! 
 
 Music, poor Maid, has seven notes to use, — 
 But thine the myriad sighs, the myriad sobs, 
 Of all sad creatures in a mourning world 
 To make thy melancholy music with ! 
 
 Thou hast the kissing of the joyous waves, 
 Dancing in all the splendour of the sun, 
 To make glad singing with ; 
 Thou hast the tender whispers of the trees. 
 Thou hast the fierce, sonorous thunder-crash, 
 Thou hast the chirping of the blithesome birds. 
 Thou hast the sobbing of the unquiet wind. 
 The mighty voice of the inviolate sea. 
 The gentle murmur of the lazy brook, 
 The wondering voices of young joyous life. 
 The impassioned pleading of the hearts of men 
 Of which to blend thy varied symphonies ; 
 And thine the dirges for the peace of Death. 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 But yet thou nothing needest, Poetry ! 
 Nay, Thou dost give a glory to the sun, 
 Silverest the shimmer of the star-lit sea, 
 In beauty settest diamonds for the night, 
 Claspest thy golden girdle round the world. 
 
 Thou, dowered Queen of all the universe. 
 Sceptred and crowned, dost condescend to bend 
 And touch the meanest things and make them fair. 
 
 The frescoes from a painter's hand will pale, 
 And paler, fainter fade. Thy fadeless art 
 For ever paints a glory for the centuries. 
 
35 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Seven notes upon thy lute, — and yet a mine 
 Of endless treasure they become for us ! 
 Good faithful steward, thou hast earned much, 
 For with few talents thou hast dowered the world 
 And given our hearts unutterable thoughts. 
 Thoughts all too deep, too richly wove, for words ! 
 
 The king upon his throne by thee is soothed. 
 And little feet of peasant maids, by thee 
 Are moved to dances in the City streets. 
 
 Thy notes, dear Music, sweeten all the air. 
 And make, while thou art nigh, the restless town 
 Into a paradise for those that list 
 To thy harmonious chords and melodies. 
 
 Music ! Thou art companion of our way ; 
 For thou canst haunt us in the City streets. 
 Or add a sweetness to still country paths. 
 With long remembered songs and symphonies. 
 
36 
 
 And not for man alone thy notes ; even now 
 The air is glad with glee of joyous birds, 
 Thy little songsters — careless choristers. 
 
 The placid stillness of the silent air 
 Is sweetly, softly touched by thy dear hand. 
 And quivering leaves make tender music heard. 
 And unknown lips seem making dulcet song. 
 
 The stately Minster lifts thy soaring chords 
 Along its aisles, they quiver in its heights ; 
 And village Belfrys send their Vesper chimes, 
 Rising and sinking, all melodiously. 
 O'er woods and meadows with thy presence filled. 
 
 O Music ! thou hast power to raise a heart. 
 From out the hell of a forlorn despair. 
 With pleading, plaintive, notes, now veiled, now clear. 
 And all mellifluous, weaving part with part, — 
 Sadness with sweetness — discords all resolved 
 Into a harmony of certainty. 
 And melody complete and unperplexed. 
 
 My heart hath loved thee. Music ! and, for me, 
 Thy seven notes have woven melodies. 
 
37 
 
 Or crashed into great harmonies of sound ; 
 Have told my heart, in language it can hear, 
 Of thoughts ideal, wove in unknown words ; 
 Thoughts that shall float and hover round the mind. 
 In strange and solemn sounds, of deep intent, 
 Kindling my soul with keen expectancy. 
 Setting my heart aflame with eager quest. 
 O gracious Music ! Friend mysterious ! 
 Strange voice, as if from other world than ours ! 
 Thou leadest us through paths of strange delights, 
 Then bidd'st us wait, and listen for the notes 
 That angels' wings may waft in ecstasies. 
 
38 
 
 SCULPTURE. 
 
 Great sculpturing Art ! Thine the similitude 
 Of all the fair things that this earth doth know. 
 
 Pale marble, chiselled by the skilful hand, 
 Silent, thou speakest as in human form ; 
 Scentless, thou smil'st, and greet'st us, carved rose, 
 With many a wreathed leaf in sculptured band. 
 
 What time the light of heaven around thee falls 
 We see Creation's work before the breath of life 
 Was given to animate the new-born world. 
 
 Thy art in Greece imaged the perfect type 
 Of man, and Christian sculpture doth recall 
 Remembered Saints and Heroes who, on earth, 
 Wrought for the Benediction of mankind. 
 Thine are the Angels, standing 'neath the Throne, 
 Who, moveless, poise their censers in mid-air. 
 In silent worship, while the Ages pass. 
 
39 
 
 A PLEA FOR COLOUR IN SCULPTURE. 
 
 Thy art, O Sculpture, in the elder time. 
 
 Was decked with all fair tinctures of the world, 
 
 And form and colour happily were wed. 
 
 But now thou art the ghost of thine own self; 
 
 Thy pallid marble but the form portrays, 
 
 Pale, ghostly, cold ! glow like to life again. 
 
 And stand the perfect image of the things we see. 
 
 It was not thus that Venus rose one morn. 
 Girt with the gold-tipped azure of the sea. 
 It was not thus that Adam, and fair Eve, 
 Stood 'mid the sheltering green of Paradise, 
 Which rose against the purple of the hills. 
 And sheen of silver of the fair, far sky ; 
 So, not unwrought with Nature's beauteous blush, 
 Untouched with azure and with gleam of gold. 
 The marble shone beneath a Grecian sky. 
 
 It was not ^rajf the hawthorn and the rose 
 
40 
 
 Caught the sun's sinking rays o'er Bourges' doors. 
 And even at Tintern, 'mid fair nature there, 
 And 'neath our English dim and humid sky, 
 The carv6d leaves were green, the roses red. 
 With but the shelter of a hanging eave.^ 
 
 Ah Sculpture ! claim thine own, and let us see 
 Thy portraits of all fair things as they are ; 
 Again the chisel's work be made to glow 
 Into the thousand tinctures of the world. 
 
 ' The external western doorways at Bourges Cathedral and 
 those at Tintern Abbey had traces of gold and colour remaining 
 when I saw them. It was the work of the fourteenth century. 
 
41 
 
 ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 THE MINSTER. 
 
 Vast power of the greatest of all arts ! 
 Greatest, for most akin to Nature's work, 
 And most creative of the works of men ! 
 Thine is the spirit of Creation's work, 
 Imbued with beauty of the simplest flower, 
 Instinct with grandeur of the Mountain side ! 
 
 All Nature stoops and yields her service here. 
 Not this, nor that, is seen, but very life 
 Of Nature, breathed in rich redundancy, 
 That grows into a temple, made with hands ; 
 But, vivified by soul and mind of man. 
 It stands the very image of God's work. 
 
 How many hands have wrought, one mind conceived ! 
 Yet seems it as one great harmonious chord, 
 Full and complete, that soundeth lastingly 
 Through all the massive time it shall endure. 
 
42 
 
 Stern storms of heaven may beat against its walls, 
 The blanching sunlight sleep upon its roof; 
 Perchance both deem it part of Nature's work, 
 That needs must be so disciplined by all 
 Vicissitudes, — as o'er the mountain Dome 
 Or gloomy clouds obscure or rain-storms sweep. 
 Or loving sunbeams rest them all the day. 
 
 So stands the mighty Fane, and takes its share 
 Of all, as mountains do, now smiling back 
 To heaven's smile, then darkening to its frown. 
 Claiming, and owning, its full share of all. 
 
 Now enter in. Ah, words may not express 
 What heart of man hath yearned to conceive ; 
 The finite dowered with Infinitude ! 
 
43 
 
 When music, new-born, falls on wakening ears, 
 And grows to fullest consonance of sound. 
 It, lingering, haunts the mind a little while. 
 Passing and dying, all too soon, away. 
 
 When fair a building, risen, stands revealed — 
 Music made manifest, — it is for aye. 
 
 The moving air makes music in the trees, 
 Whispering and sighing; rising, dying now; 
 The enduring mountain liveth evermore, 
 Smiles in the sunlight, frowns beneath the storm, 
 And stands a felt, though unseen, presence in the 
 night. 
 
 So doth the massive Minster ; now it glooms 
 Dim, 'gainst the golden glory of the west ; 
 Anon it kindles, lit from dawning east, 
 A steadfast vision, clear, articulate. 
 
44 
 
 NATURE, THE QUEEN OF ALL. 
 
 Yet what are all men's arts but tributes laid 
 At Thy dear feet, Mother and Queen of all ! 
 Out of our poverty we lay them down, 
 Our feeble best, poor offerings at Thy shrine. 
 
 After our labours, weary with our toil. 
 Weary for very pleasure of our craft. 
 We come to rest on Thy magnificence. 
 
 We strive to catch Thy spirit's faintest breath, 
 And make it into music for our song ; 
 We fain would match the beauty of Thy face, 
 As on a mirror, making it our own : 
 But, faint, our echoes mock us, and we see 
 Feeble and half-caught visions of Thy grace. 
 
 O Art ! Thou leadest us to Nature's shrine ; 
 Perchance to leave us there unsatisfied, 
 Yearning for beauty and a glory infinite. 
 
iS@t0ceUaneous i^oems- 
 
47 
 
 THE GUARDING SEA, 1898. 
 
 Rise, ebb, and ebbing, flow, and rise again, 
 Thou guardian Sea, around this wave-girt isle — 
 Our England set within its water's clasp. 
 Stand firm, and firmer stand, enduring Hearts, 
 Ye English steadfast Hearts ! guard ye your Sea ; 
 Though ye will ebb, and, dying, pass away, 
 And make brief stay; as doth the changing tide, 
 Stand in your loyalty, — your sons shall guard 
 Our England and her faithful, guarding Sea. 
 The Land is worthy, time hath wrought for it ; 
 God made it fair, and man hath kept it free. 
 Guard ye from all its foes, within, without, 
 Our Land enclasped by the guarding Sea. 
 
48 
 
 REST AND UNREST. 
 
 Placid, thou meltest into yonder sky, 
 
 Broad, blue sea ; 
 And, blue and broad, the sky seems kissing thee, 
 
 Bending from high, 
 
 To thee, blue sea. 
 
 Thou hast a cincture like a silver band, 
 
 Calm, blue sea ; 
 That gently sinks and rises bashfully. 
 
 Girdling the land, 
 
 Amorous sea ! 
 
 Would thou wert ever thus, quiescent sea. 
 
 Waning waves ; 
 Still, with thy silver ripple that now laves 
 
 Yon sandy lea 
 
 With lisping waves. 
 
49 
 
 But thou wilt rise in stormy wrath once more, 
 
 Angry sea ; 
 And moaning winds will dash thy foam from thee 
 
 To yonder shore ; 
 Only brief rest for thee, unquiet sea ! 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 NATURE'S HERALDRY. 
 
 We quarter blue with silver, red with gold ; 
 Silver on blue, blue on the silver's sheen ; 
 Gold on the scarlet, scarlet on the gold. 
 No passing day but darkness greeteth light, 
 And light doth smile within dim, sheltering shade. 
 So Nature weaves her tones of harmony. 
 Giving and taking, blending into one 
 Darkness and light, — light and the slumbering, shade. 
 Is there not Death in Life, and Life in Death ? 
 
SI 
 
 TAKE THE BALANCE IN YOUR HAND. 
 
 Take the balance in your hand ; 
 Which weighs most, — a world of sand, 
 Or some great thought a poet brings, 
 Or some sure song he sweetly sings. 
 That thus the world with music rings ? 
 
 Which serves best for influence, 
 Perchance a thousand years from hence ? 
 Which shall stay, endure the best, — 
 One truth on which the Ages rest. 
 Or this proud earth, from east to west ? 
 
 Swift-winged, shifting years go by ! 
 Wind-strewn, sea-swept sands grow dry ! 
 Great Thoughts, statue-like, shall stand 
 While Time and Shadows, hand in hand. 
 Pass to the uncertain, misty land. 
 
52 
 
 THROUGH THE THIN TRACERY OF THE 
 LEAFLESS TREES. 
 
 Through the thin tracery of the leafless trees 
 Long level lands are seen, and stretch their length 
 To where blue hills, that rise from out the plain, 
 Stand faint against far clouds and farther sky ; 
 Not all in one bare view displayed to sight. 
 But vaster made through sense of mystery. 
 And fairer seeming from the veiling screen 
 That gives us endless pictures for our eyes. 
 Immeasurable thoughts for our imaginings. 
 
 We yearn for unknown things. Half hidden views 
 Are consonant with life's dim mysteries ; 
 They fit our moods, are more akin with us 
 Who live within faint glimmer of a light 
 That only shows the half of what is there — 
 Reveals but only half of all we fondly feel. 
 
S3 
 
 THE PRESENT AND THE PAST. 
 
 A VOICE said unto me : " Dwell not apart, 
 Count not the frozen hours of the past ; 
 Hard, fixed, unalterable they must dwell, 
 In voiceless silence, soon to be forgot." 
 
 A gentler, and an unperplexdd, voice 
 Replied : " With distance music sweeter grows, 
 And distance mellows harshness, — fairest flows 
 Far off the stream that faintest moonlight knows." 
 
 The first voice urged : " What is the past to thee ? 
 Lay low the dead, and let the living stand ! 
 Now is the only time I know. Now is 
 A fulcrum, or a sword, to lift, to rule." 
 
 The other said : " Yet is there tranquil rest 
 In sweetness of a long gone poet's lay ; 
 In passed gladness of the dawn of day. 
 And yester-eve's great glory of the west." 
 
54 
 
 Then the first voice : " There shall be other joys, 
 Greater as years are piled upon the years ; 
 I long for what I know not, the unknown 
 Is dazzling, — speaks mysterious words of light." 
 
 Sighing, the quiet voice said : " Come what may. 
 Memory is dear, it will not take away 
 From Hope the light for other, coming, days, 
 Yet casts its pensive after-glow on trodden ways." 
 
55 
 
 CREATIVE IMAGININGS. 
 
 Oft doth the gentle, gladsome, whispering stream, 
 
 Or vex^d thunder of the clashing clouds. 
 
 Make equal music for the unequal mind. 
 
 We tinge the glowing glory of the west, 
 
 Ere the day dies, with yet more golden light. 
 
 And palest pallor of a primrose flower 
 
 Grows paler yet with fading memories. 
 
 And faint remembrance of long passed joy, 
 
 In dim, blue distance of a childhood's hour. 
 
 We worship at a shrine ourselves have made, — 
 
 Fill empty niches with vague images ; 
 
 We raise our castles till they touch the clouds, 
 
 People a desert, and find solitude 
 
 Amid the thronging crowds of City streets. 
 
 The faint, stored, perfume of a faded flower 
 May overpower the fragrance of a rose 
 
56 
 
 Fresh gathered, and the moveless, silent air 
 
 May make melodious music for fond memory. 
 
 O Sun, thou lightest more than mountain heights ! 
 
 And, Shadow, thou dost cast thy gloom o'er more 
 
 Than valleys, lying dim and dark below ! 
 
 The hearts of men, their present thoughts, are tinged 
 
 By the remembered splendour of a Dawn, 
 
 Or Evening's rosy sinking of the sun ; 
 
 And Night, that throws its mantle o'er the World, 
 
 Is present with us though the Day is born. 
 
 We live within dim light of days long gone. 
 And hear faint, lingering, echoes of forgotten songs. 
 
57 
 
 WHEN IN THE WISTFUL WATCHES OF 
 THE NIGHT. 
 
 When in the wistful watches of the night 
 
 My mind doth poise her wings, and takes her flight, 
 
 Skimming fair fields of infinite delight, 
 
 She hears imagined voices, mystic notes. 
 That strangely whisper, ere their music floats 
 Away to azure skies, calm seas, and placid moats. 
 
 O silent night ! unfettered now the mind 
 Can frame its fancies, benediction find, 
 And cast its burdening troubles to the wind. 
 
 And rest till coming day shall break to morn. 
 Till Hope shall gild a gray and dreary dawn ; 
 Ere all the glaring ills of day are born. 
 
58 
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Friendship, thy bloom is next akin to love, 
 Deep-rooted both, and o'er you both do move 
 The heaven-sent rays that bring you both to flower- 
 Rose-crowned, or lily-crowned, — 
 For each its own sweet dower. 
 
59 
 
 AGE AND YOUTH. 
 
 AGE. 
 
 Nay, jingle out no lightsome rhymes for me, 
 Have not the ages heard the sighing sea 
 
 In its monotony ? 
 Is this a time for dainty pleasantry. 
 Now the world's old, and like a leafless tree, 
 
 Winds moaning winterly ? 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Yet time there was when all the world was glad. 
 And made gay music, like a piper lad, 
 Recking of nothing sad. 
 
 AGE. 
 
 The world complaining, sighing, passing on. 
 Leaves but faint echoes of a sad'ning song 
 The leaf-strewn path along. 
 
6o 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Yet nature shall with smiles greet each young spring, 
 When earth grows young again, and woods do ring 
 With song, — for youth will sing ! 
 
 THE CHORUS. 
 O melancholy, sit apart and sigh ; 
 We will rejoice in fair things passing by. 
 Though they and Time shall die. 
 
6i 
 
 IMMORTAL THOUGHT. 
 
 O Time, great Builder ! shall the thoughts of men 
 
 Grow to a stately edifice ; and then, 
 
 Standing awhile, the glory of a day. 
 
 Thy hand but touch with grace its drear decay ? 
 
 Yet here and there a carved flower is found 
 Half hidden, lying low, on grassy ground, 
 And here and there the thoughts of one long gone 
 Shall live, — or dying, die to be re-born. 
 
62 
 
 O BEAUTY, DWELL WITH US ONCE 
 MORE. 
 
 I WOULD that all the world were fair, 
 
 I would we dwelt with beauty all around. 
 
 Men are content to live their ugly lives ; 
 
 " What does it matter ? " saying like blunt fools. 
 
 What does it matter? Cleanse your minds from 
 that,— 
 Talk not profanity. Was not the world 
 Born fair for us ? Does not the eastern sky 
 Flush like a rose to greet each fair young day ? 
 Does not the west turn crimson ere the night 
 Sees the slow solemn march of myriad stars ? 
 Does not the moon sail through fair fleecy clouds. 
 And hold her Court of beauty in the sky ? 
 And, on the earth, does not the daisy smile ? 
 
 Time was when all the world was fair, but now 
 Not e'en the sea remains immaculate. 
 
63 
 
 Time was when every common thing men made 
 Was comely, and did image things with life. 
 And now men make them dead — " for use alone ! " 
 The stately ships bore sails, and kindly wind 
 Would swell them, curving them in beauteous lines, 
 What matter if but troughs will carry food 
 To feed the careless herd ? 
 
 Return O Beauty, dwell with us once more ! 
 
64 
 
 THE PAST. 
 
 Let my heart rest 
 Amid the silent shadows of the past ; 
 To-day's fierce light strikes on uncertain ways, 
 The past lies placid, reconciled, at peace ; 
 Its power is with us, effortless and calm. 
 
 Let my eyes dwell 
 Upon great painter's poems, long since wrought,- 
 Rich, as with colours of a beauteous dawn. 
 
 Let my ears hear 
 The melodies of more melodious days, 
 Sweet as the wakening notes of birds at morn. 
 
 Let my soul list 
 To the clear rhythm of old poetry, 
 To other, simpler, and more joyous lays 
 Than those that restless rise, and feeble fall 
 Now on our heedless, or our vexdd ears. 
 
65 
 
 Worship, O heart ! 
 Within the temples built in days long gone ; 
 Raised for all time they stand, magnificent, 
 And, silent, offer up their voiceless praise ! 
 
 Wait, weary heart, in hope ! 
 As one at night, upon a wreck, would, watching, 
 
 wait, 
 Perchance to see a Dawn flash on the world again ! 
 
66 
 
 THE DOME OF HEAVEN. 
 
 The sun is shining on the shimmering sea, 
 
 White waves gleam blue within their cresting curves, 
 
 And blue, and soft, and still, faint shadows sleep 
 
 Upon the level land in amity, 
 
 Or climb the cliif, or stretch across the lea. 
 
 O Land ! O Sea ! thy beauty is for me 
 Surpassing fair, but ever, over all, 
 The Dome of heaven hangs in vaster calm. 
 Shadow the day, O Night ! then land and sea 
 Shall sleep beneath, — one in tranquillity. 
 
6; 
 
 AT BRYNGWYN— November. 
 
 The beech trees strew the hill with russet red ; 
 Pale gray, the pigeons flit and flutter by, 
 The dark stems rise athwart the silver sky, 
 And green, the summer oaks stand yet in constancy. 
 
 O still, O sweet November day, stay, stay ! 
 
 Pass not, in golden beauty, all too soon away. 
 
 The world is fair, and Life by Hope is led 
 From morn to morn. Love crowning each young year, 
 For ever clad in beauty, far and near. 
 For ever glad, sweet changing songs to hear. 
 
 O full, O fair, O lingering Life, stay, stay ! 
 
 Pass not to death and silence all too soon away. 
 
68 
 
 EVENING— AT KINNERSLEY. 
 
 The long lawn lies in gently deepening shade, 
 
 But sunlight lingers on the Cedar tree ; 
 
 Its darkening boughs have turned gray-green below, 
 
 Above its stems are ruddy as red gold, 
 
 With emerald leaves, against the clear blue sky 
 
 Flecked with pale gray and rosy, filmy clouds. 
 
 A golden glory girdles all the west, 
 Gold, 'twixt the mantling screen of darkening trees : 
 The purple hills stretch out their varied length 
 Against the silver, melting into green. 
 Of yonder sky so infinitely calm. 
 
 List to the twittering notes, the broken songs, 
 Of tired birds before they wing their way 
 And hie them home. So, with their latest lay, 
 In lingering beauty dies, too soon, the summer day. 
 
69 
 
 "OLD PLACE," SUSSEX. 
 
 Time hath dealt gently with thee, fair Old Place ; 
 And now thy youth to thee is all renewed 
 By touch of gentle art, and tender grace. 
 And added beauty, — sweet vicissitude ! 
 
 Thy garden blooms again, old friends meet there, 
 Lilies and roses, pansies, flower afresh 
 And mingle, once again, in fragrancy. 
 Making the Old Place young again for us. 
 
 Within thou art as never seen before. 
 For loving care has cast its spell o'er thee. 
 
 Now jewelled windows tell their varied tale — 
 Fair eastern spoils adorn each oaken floor, 
 And make fit foreground for strange imaged things 
 That clothe the walls in antique tapestries. 
 
 Fair place ! both old and young, for us thou art 
 An earthly Paradise for present rest. 
 
70 
 
 IN NORTH WALES, 
 When Foxglove and Heather did jewel all the Land. 
 
 Lux et Umbra vicissim, sed semper Amor. 
 
 The ever-changing glory of the hills ! 
 
 Now they stand bright against the gleaming sky — 
 
 Silver against the blue, — and all the vale. 
 
 In brooding shadow, stretches out below, 
 
 And wan, and dark, and drear the river runs. 
 
 And now the valley glistens into light. 
 Laughs to the darkened, gloomy mountain tops ; 
 And, blue and silver, glides the river on 
 Through meadows green, inwove with golden flowers. 
 
 Dimness and light by turn ; for now, again 
 The sun has crowned with splendour all the heights, 
 And the low level land lies clad in gloom ; 
 And wan, and dark, and drear the river runs. 
 
71 
 
 Marvel of this our ever-changing world ! 
 Glory and gloom, — gloom and the golden light ! 
 High, o'er the shifting clouds, the changeless Dome, 
 And o'er the changing world a changeless Love. 
 
72 
 
 AT DEENE RECTORY. 
 
 We sat within the porch that summer night. 
 My host, boy Cecil, I from London come. 
 
 Chiefly in silence did the hour pass by. 
 Ah ! how the still air, full of gentle sound. 
 Spoke to my listening heart of country calm. 
 The while the lazy lapping of the Lake 
 Made gentle bass for all the higher notes, 
 The whispered treble from surrounding trees. 
 
 Then darkly gloomed the woods before the porch, 
 Standing against the star-bestudded sky ; 
 While on our left, above the shimmering Lake, 
 Hung the calm glory of the harvest moon. 
 
 Is all the world in utter peace and rest ? 
 Is all the universe in deep repose — 
 Unmoved and unmoving? 
 
 Then, as I looked up to the darkening trees, 
 That stood a solemn belt against the sky, 
 
73 
 
 A star appeared between the flickering leaves — 
 Was seen a moment and again was hid, 
 Passing behind that screen of leafy shade, 
 Then reappeared again, from dark boughs freed. 
 
 Inconstant world ! heaven shows that, at thy best, 
 Thou and thy wandering sons find little rest. 
 
74 
 
 NATURE'S OBEDIENCE. 
 
 The thunder crashes — from each silent rock 
 Shall sullen, sudden echoes make response. 
 
 The golden moon is risen — climbs the sky, 
 And, lo, wan water flushes into gold. 
 
 The sun doth strike upon the dewy lawn ; 
 Behold a thousand diamonds shall gleam 
 Sparkling, in instant, glad obedience. 
 
 Enter your chamber, now all veiled in gloom, 
 Light but a single taper, and behold 
 From each dim mirror there shall flash a light, 
 From each dark pane shall glow a radiancy. 
 
 Sad, strike the placid strings, the air is filled 
 With throbbing notes and sympathetic sighs : 
 Glad, lightly touch them, and the cheerful air 
 Shall laugh and sing, filled with gay melody. 
 
 Shall all things thus yield swift obedience ? 
 Ah, Love ! Shall love go unrequited, unobeyed ? 
 
75 
 
 FLASHING THOUGHTS. 
 
 What are the greatest and the clearest thoughts 
 That flash upon the mirror of the mind, — 
 Maybe in darkest hours of black night ? 
 
 Those that, e'en dreamlike, oft do visit us — 
 Thoughts of Life, Love, of many lesser things 
 Found, as beneath our feet, unknown, unsought ; 
 As when one treads upon the woodruffe's leaves, 
 And fills the unconscious air with sudden scent ; 
 Thoughts glad with surest messages of Life, 
 Or sad with dim uncertainties of Death ; 
 Thoughts as some flashing lights o'er darkening seas, 
 Like stars scarce seen between drear drifting clouds. 
 Or like clear bells that ring their music out, 
 Drowning, a little while, discordancies. 
 
76 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 Time's great procession ever passeth by, 
 Crowned Kings, and peasants clad in poverty, 
 Worlds, suns, and stars, and atoms of the dust 
 Alike are hastening on, nor pause nor rest 
 Is granted to the greatest or the least 
 Of all imaginable things. Change, change ! 
 For ever change ! The ebb and flow of all 
 The troublous waters, and the weary waste 
 Of restless oceans ! Rivers rushing on. 
 To be absorbed, or turned to seas or mists. 
 
 Is there no rest for any creature then ? 
 No endless calm of infinite repose ? 
 
 The Maiden Spring doth come, but turns away 
 To pay her homage to the Summer Queen. 
 
 O conquering Summer Queen, Thou wilt abide ? 
 
77 
 
 Be satisfied, nor weary of Thy joy ? 
 
 Alas ! in glory Thou, too, diest away, 
 
 And pensive Autumn spreads o'er all the land 
 
 A woven pall of russet, crimson, gold. 
 
 With here and there a slender thread of green, 
 
 A little sad remembrance of the spring 
 
 That was so full of hope and joyous life. 
 
 Too soon doth Autumn die, and Winter sigh 
 Her dirge and plaint for all the passing year. 
 
 Is there no rest for weary Nature, then ? 
 No Sabbath for a worn and weary world ? 
 No place of peace, and calm and careless joy, 
 Where souls can wait, with ready, folded wings, 
 To work with Angels in the fields of God ? 
 
 Perchance it is to reach such halcyon Land 
 All worlds, like pilgrims, are but hastening on, 
 Restless, to gain a paradise of rest. 
 
78 
 
 AMOR FIDELIS. 
 
 It is not only beauty that doth claim 
 The heart's allegiance indescribable ; 
 Beauty we worship, but it passes by, 
 A fading image for fond memory. 
 
 They meet, for whom a single glance — a touch- 
 Transfigures liking, as with magic wand. 
 Into the lasting passion of a life. 
 And heart doth lean on heart. 
 
 The willow, growing by the rivulet, 
 Seems to despise and spurn the lowly bank. 
 Lifting its head to all the winds of heaven. 
 But love is like the sure forget-me-not 
 In its humility. It needeth naught. 
 But grows in ever grateful constancy. 
 
79 
 
 OLD DAYS. 
 
 Time was when cottage-casement, hearth and roof, 
 Were made delightful in simplicity. 
 
 The porch gave welcome with its sheltering smile, 
 Trim gardens shed their ordered fragrance out, 
 And ancient yews were taught to make a bower. 
 
 Now poor folk live hard by the dusty road, 
 Tradesmen retire behind their iron rails, 
 Rich men are careless of their ancient homes, 
 The land disfigured with dismodesty. 
 
 O Beauty, linger where yon old oak fence 
 Echoes the silvery gray of birchen stems. 
 And muUioned panes flash in the ancient Hall. 
 
 Sweet, simple, stately Beauty, smile on the scene for 
 aye! 
 
8o 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Dear Love, the silent sweetness of thy smile 
 Steals, like some gentle music, o'er my heart. 
 For joy and sadness, with thee taking part, 
 Make but one melody that doth beguile 
 And shorten for me many a weary mile 
 Of Life's long journey as I pass along. 
 Content to mellow it with thy sweet song. 
 Ah, Love, thy smile is as a pleasant isle 
 Set in the uncertain waters of a sea. 
 That darkly glooms beneath a frowning sky 
 While sunlight sleeps upon a grassy lea 
 Where only softest shadows gently lie, — 
 To show, amid dim doubts, there yet may be 
 Love's light, and steadfast, sure serenity. 
 
SONNET. 
 
 Ages have, silent, heard the oars of time 
 Beat on a waveless, or storm-tossdd sea. 
 Ages have known the poet's changing rhyme 
 And the winds' murmur of monotony. 
 
 Now glad, now sad, the waves upon the lea 
 Are tossed, and lost upon the sandy shore, 
 Or lap in lessening ripples, till no more 
 They catch a reflex of the light of heaven 
 And sink in dark'ning, death-like, night's embrace. 
 
 Blow, airs of heaven ! let sweetening change be given 
 To languid seas, and to our human race. 
 Blow, winds of heaven ! breathe on the arid strand — 
 Give freshened life, and, ere the world shall die. 
 Revive it as with new creating hand. 
 
 Beat, oars of time — beat on the uncertain sea. 
 Gain to the harbour where for thee and me 
 At length still shelter and sure rest shall be. 
 
82 
 
 THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 There is a silence ere the Day is born, 
 When nightingales have ceased their fluty lay, 
 Ere twittering notes proclaim the earliest dawn. 
 Faint preludes to the songs that gladden day. 
 
 O night's deep silence ! dearer thou to me 
 Than freshest burst of morn's full melody. 
 Than all the music of the day's sweet song, 
 Exuberant music that the birds prolong ; 
 Dearer than summer songs thy silence rests 
 On all the air, and in the silent nests. 
 
 Still night ! is all the splendour of the west. 
 And gladness of the east, wrought to enshrine thy rest? 
 
83 
 
 THE MEMORY OF THE PAST. 
 
 Thou canst not rob my memory of its years ; 
 Thou canst not hide the visions of fair scenes ; 
 Thou canst not hush remembered melodies 
 OjPby-gone days, O Time ! 
 
 Remembered yet 
 The first uncertain making of a chord, 
 The child's first gathering of Spring's primrose flowers, 
 The first strange stirrings of a Childhood's love, 
 The first enchantment of the Mountain's power, 
 The first soft vision of the Lake's repose. 
 
 Remembered yet the first sight of the sea. 
 O'er which the moon had laid broad path of light 
 Leading to dark, dim mystery like a shore, 
 
 Remembered yet the Abbey, lying low. 
 Hard by the wide-spread River in the north, 
 The crimsoned woods, seen through gray, broken walls, 
 The stepping stones, the leaf-strewn path beyond, 
 
84 
 
 The flowers, whose tints have faded long ago, 
 Their very scent yet sweet to memory. 
 
 Remembered yet by me 
 The first sight of the Minster — stately cliff. 
 Wrought o'er with beauty ; its magnificence 
 A very revelation of delight. 
 
 Such some recalled moments of past joys. 
 
 I hear across the lake the far-off bells, 
 Now faintly falling, dying now away, 
 And fitful, rising, crashing clear again, 
 Startling the air with sudden melody. 
 Long, long remembered music, silent now.' 
 
 Soft haze o'er all the land and filmy light, 
 As that of other days — far days recalled ; 
 And in my heart the stillness of the past 
 For my companion on this autumn day. 
 
 Linger awhile, dear memories of my youth, 
 
 ' Early reminiscences of Snowdon, Windermere, Bolton 
 Abbey and York Minster are alluded to. 
 
8s 
 
 And fill the measure up of present life, 
 As in a store-house, for the coming years. 
 
 Which the most gracious thing on earth to-day- 
 Fresh Youth, so sanguine of much coming joy, 
 Or Age, that brings its solace from the past ? 
 
86 
 
 I SAID UNTO THE NIGHT. 
 
 I SAID unto the Night : " Thou canst not hide 
 From me the loved Vision of my mind : " 
 I said to Morn : " Thou canst not clearer find 
 The constant Presence ever by my side." 
 
 I said unto the Sea : " Sea, thou art vast, 
 But vaster, deeper, stronger is my love. 
 More constant than day's imaged blue above, 
 That changeth ever — dies, in gloom, at last. 
 
 I said unto the Flowers : " Ye are sweet, 
 And fair and fragrant is my summer bower. 
 But fairer, sweeter, gladder is the hour 
 When Love returns to me with eager feet." 
 
87 
 
 A SUMMER NIGHT ON THE COAST OF 
 DORSET. 
 
 Calm is the glory of this summer riight ; 
 All luminous the sky, and the dark woods, 
 Unstirred by any wandering whispering wind, 
 Stand still against the clear lucidity. 
 Stars glisten, and yon ridge of fleecy cloud 
 Is lit with gleaming silver of the moon. 
 Far off the planets silently march by. 
 Seen here and there in thin obscurity. 
 Through the soft veil and slowly moving film 
 Of slender, scarcely screening, silvery clouds 
 Which hang above the shimmer of the sea. 
 
 The fleeting hours shall pass, and there shall be 
 The growing glory of a summer sun. 
 Out-blotting all the glimmer of the moon. 
 And paling quivering of the pensive stars 
 From out the now blue, dim infinitude. 
 
88 
 
 And so time passes, rest and calm of night 
 Lead on to work and glare of restless day, 
 And men and worlds still travel on their way. 
 
 But now, a little while, this summer night 
 Gives us a pause, unutterably bright, 
 While on the lake-like sea quivers the rippling light. 
 
89 
 
 LOVE THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 Love, yield thy heart unto my love ; 
 For me fair lands and sky above 
 Seem now as naught for thought of thee ; 
 Give thyself up unto my love ! 
 It is a thing that needs must be ! 
 
 A seed is sown, I know not how, 
 Sown by the winds of heaven I trow ; 
 Its roots strike deep and deeper still. 
 Yield thy heart up to love, I vow 
 Its boughs shall shelter thee from ill. 
 
 I look into thy wondering eyes, 
 I see thy flush of glad surprise ; 
 Ah, Love, I'll conquer all thy fear. 
 Sweet ! give thyself to love, hush sighs ; 
 Love wills it, certes thou must hear. 
 
go 
 
 Our hands are clasped, our hearts are one ! 
 Beat, Heart ! beat, Heart ! for Love has won. 
 Dear God, this mystery of love ! 
 It burns more constant than the sun, 
 And makes low earth as heaven above. 
 
91 
 
 LOVE NOT TOO WELL. 
 
 Love not too well, — contented keep thy love 
 
 In narrowed bound ; 
 Let love be ruled, and let thy heart not rove, 
 
 And do not wound 
 The loving heart that giveth thee its trust. 
 Be still, O heart ! and love but as you must. 
 
 Love may be generous, yet yield thy heart 
 
 Chiefly to one ; 
 Love may be ample, but the larger part, 
 
 For one alone 
 Must ever be. Content with love, be true. 
 Then, come what may, the heart shall nothing rue. 
 
 Love for the sake of the dear one you love. 
 
 And for no gain ; 
 Rather refuse thou aught, the more to prove 
 
 Thou dost refrain 
 
92 
 
 From any token of a Lover's heart 
 
 Save that when hearts, O Heart ! have but one part. 
 
 Love then for aye, and it may be that thou, 
 
 Fond heart, wilt gain 
 A love impassioned — hear an unuttered vow, 
 
 And not in vain ! 
 Ah Love ! dark doubt has passed, love now for aye ! 
 The dawn has grown into the perfect day. 
 
93 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 What freedom like to thine, free Solitude ? 
 Alone with all unfettered thoughts, in peace 
 Apart, now weary jarring discords cease. 
 And care-freed Silence greets in gentle mood. 
 I dwell within the pleasaunce of my mind. 
 Feed on sweet thoughts of fancy's varied page ; 
 Culling the flowers of many a silent age ; 
 Good fellowship in Solitude I find. 
 
 Alone, I hear a whispering, still small voice 
 That answers to my faintly uttered call, 
 And pours melodious music in my ear. 
 Sweet mystic harmonies no man shall hear ; 
 Faint, quivering notes that rise, and as they fall 
 Bid my rapt soul in Solitude rejoice. 
 
94 
 
 THE UNKNOWN. 
 
 Life may be glad, much knowledge comes to us, 
 yet we 
 Learn still within the shadow of a dim unknown. 
 
 As a poor peasant, ignorant and dull, may toil 
 Beneath the shadowed shelter of a mighty Dome, 
 So we, poor at the best, and ignorant of much. 
 Live on within the shadow of a great unknown. 
 
 A vast Cathedral, towering o'er his lowly home, 
 To him is one stupendous world of mystery. 
 This great creation, rich with all the thoughts of men 
 Long gone, is but to him a mass of carved stones, — 
 This rock-like Fane, inscribed with thousand thoughts 
 
 of men 
 Who built, and worshipped in its calm benignity. 
 Is all to such a one incomprehensible. 
 
 So, in the shadow of a vast unknown, we rest. 
 
95 
 
 ON THE EVER-CHANGING YEAR, BUT 
 CHIEFLY IN PRAISE OF SPRING. 
 
 Now is the world made glad, hoping for Summer time ; 
 And dancing Spring makes gay the path that Queen 
 shall tread, 
 Strewing the land with flowers. 
 O passing sweet, fond hope for summer hours ! 
 
 Soon comes the Summer Queen, hot, fierce, and pas- 
 sionate, 
 
 Glowing with eager love, crowned with a thousand 
 flowers. 
 Passing to her bright bowers : 
 
 Ah, hopes unsatisfied ! Ah, barren hours ! 
 
 Then are all men refreshed with goodly fruits and 
 
 fair, 
 Then, idly gay, the leaves, scarlet and russet, fall. 
 Fall for a woven pall 
 
96 
 
 E'er the year dies. Is this the end of all ? 
 Dark, cold and dreary winter ! now thy bitter time, 
 Brief days and lessening light, long nights and length- 
 ening gloom. 
 O for Sweet Spring to dawn ! 
 O for the gladness of a year new born ! 
 
97 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 Long-hoped-for Summer days at last have come ; 
 The happy Springtime now has come of age, 
 Passing to freedom from her pupilage : 
 She, bringing with her sweetest treasure home. 
 Decks the fair land with all she can employ, 
 Sweet'ning the balmy air with Summer scent. 
 Crowning the year with full ennoblement 
 Of Summer triumph, and of Summer joy. 
 
 And so sweet Spring, the fairest maid ere seen. 
 Becomes a matron, and is crowned by Love. 
 And maiden Spring becomes the Summer Queen, 
 
 Now is the earth made royal, and, above, 
 The sky resplendent in its Summer sheen. 
 While loyal birds with music fill each grove. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 The sky is colourless, the land is white ; 
 The river stagnates into silentness, 
 And all the darkened air is motionless : 
 Cold is the sun, and like an Anchorite. 
 
 Can we not laud Thee, O thou Winter chill ? 
 For what weird beauty in Thy leafless trees, 
 Now swaying, bending to the restless breeze, 
 Or moveless standing dark against yon hill ! 
 
 E'en now, 'midst glimmer of the sinking sun. 
 That tints the white world with a crimson blush, 
 The brief day dies ; soon is black night begun ; 
 Perchance to flame the sky with flashing flush 
 Of Northern Lights, which, when their course is run, 
 Pale at the coming of the dawn's chill hush. 
 
99 
 
 IN PRAISE OF THE SUN. 
 
 Small wonder that men called thee God, and wor- 
 shipped thee, 
 O Sun that gladdens all the circling world ! 
 From silvery shimmer of the wakening East, 
 To golden glory of the flushing West, 
 Thou hast the very presence of a god ! 
 
 Upon the sea unshadowed pour thy rays. 
 And on the land the very shadows fall 
 Obedient to thy benefice of light. 
 
 Thou bid'st us all to labour at thy rise. 
 And birds to praise thee to the paling moon ; 
 And, when thou distant grow'st, thy fainter rays 
 Light autumn's woods, grown golden in thy praise, 
 And make them fairer than in summer days. 
 
 The simple scene, the level-lying land, 
 Is lit into the sweetness of a smile. 
 And gazes up to thee in gratitude — 
 
lOO 
 
 And great thy glory on the mountain's height ! 
 
 Fair flowers all claim their colour from thy light, 
 And pale like corpses, when thou dost withdraw. 
 Blue, dancing seas that sparkle 'neath thy rays 
 Darken to blackness if the mirroring moon 
 Is yet not risen to tell where thou hast gone. 
 
 Thy glory falls on the majestic woods 
 Hanging above the gleaming river's sheen, 
 And lights their myriad boughs — their thousand tints. 
 
 O for a brush to paint the gorgeous scene. 
 And words to tell of thy magnificence, 
 Resting in splendour on the. mantling green. 
 
 Then early evening owns thy ruddy rays. 
 And all the Land in glory lies around. 
 The while the river flushes into gold. 
 And o'er the darkening woods thy splendour sinks to 
 rest. 
 
 Small wonder that men called thee God, and wor- 
 shipped thee, 
 O Sun that gladdens all the land and sea. 
 
lOI 
 
 AN EARLY RECOLLECTION OF GRASMERE. 
 
 It was the evening of an Autumn day, 
 A little while before the sun should set ; 
 And shadows, lengthening, fell upon the land. 
 
 We walking then, upon a meadow's path 
 That stretched across the vale 'neath Rydal Mount, 
 The day and year both sinking to their close, 
 Repose and pensive quiet o'er the place. 
 And in the silent presence of the hills, 
 Stood there aside to let an old man pass, 
 Ceasing our idle talking of the day 
 That broke the stillness of serenity. 
 
 Then, in our boyish reverence, we knew 
 That William Wordsworth walked along the path. 
 Which we, in common courtesy, had left. 
 
 The ancient hills the poet loved grew dim, 
 Day's crown of glory faded in the West ; 
 And Nature's poet passed from out our sight. 
 In meditation in the evening-tide. 
 
I02 
 
 So, with the gathered harvest of his days, 
 He passed, in thoughtful silence, to his Home, 
 And dwells within the memory of a world 
 Enriched, ennobled, sweetened by his song. 
 
I03 
 
 HAS THE WORLD LOST ITS MYSTERY? 
 
 Has the world lost its mystery because 
 We learn to lean upon a new-made crutch, 
 And spell out knowledge by a new-found light ? 
 
 Is the sea's mystery — the moon-swayed tide — 
 The less because we girdle it with ships, 
 And lay our cables on its fathomed rocks ? 
 
 Is the world's mystery of beauty less 
 Because we mar it, and then pass it by ? 
 
 Nay ; knowledge leads to greater mysteries, 
 And leaves us groping still, like half-blind men. 
 
I04 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 I WOULD the bells rang in perpetual peace, 
 
 And, changing, clanged a dying discord's knell ; 
 
 I would the world rolled on in amity ; 
 
 That all mankind had conquered enmity ; 
 
 That men lived in a new-found unity, 
 
 That wrongs were righted, and the gladdened world 
 
 Joyed in a peace, new-bom, for evermore. 
 
 Impossible ? Nay, for the Angels sang 
 A benison of peace to earth this morn, 
 And joy-bells echo glory to high heaven ! 
 
 Cease, ye discordant notes, and all the world 
 Were filled with music, yet unheard before. 
 
 Swing, chime, faint bells above the noisy town, 
 Swing,, clash, clear bells o'er silent meadow lands — 
 Ring in the coming of a dawning day ! 
 
los 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 GLORIA IN EXCELSIS — IN TERRA PAX. 
 
 I WOULD that we could raise upon the earth 
 A fairer Temple than the world has seen, 
 Were it but feeblfest image of high heaven, 
 And but a reflex of our beauteous world, 
 
 In honour of our God. 
 I would that we could fill that Temple fair. 
 With grander floods of gracious harmonies — 
 
 Lauding our God — 
 Than ever human mind hath yet conceived. 
 Were they but faintest echoes of the strains 
 That Angels dwell amongst. 
 
 I would discordant notes were all resolved 
 Into a chord of perfect harmony, 
 
 Filling the universe. 
 
 I would that all fair Earth, and fairer Heaven 
 Made but one paradise, though parted far, 
 And men, with Angels, sang one " Gloria." 
 
io6 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 
 
 Thou brave, fair flower — white, pale gold, pale green ; 
 With starlike petals and thy pallid heart ; 
 Prophet of summer joys, thou smiling comest 
 To greet, with touch of hope for Spring, our hearts — 
 Our wintry hearts, and keep them from despair. 
 
 Thy blossoms linger long, as if in hope 
 To greet the tardy children of the year ; 
 Alas ! ere they are born, thy beauty dies. 
 But passing prelude to their loveliness. 
 
 Palest of flowers, close to earth thou bloom'st, 
 As if to kiss the land and bid it wake, — 
 As hearts of men should wake — for Christmastide 
 Has waked new love, recovered paradise. 
 
I07 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 Careless of restless time, musing on thoughts 
 That other poets have strewn upon their way- 
 Like flowers — making earth a garden fair ; 
 To him the air is musical with notes 
 That ring and sing with melody. 
 
 To him 
 Great the beneficence of poetry, 
 That gladdens hearts — fills wistful eyes with tears- 
 Tears re-creating Paradise ! 
 To him 
 True is the tender voice of poesy, , 
 Falling as music of the village bells, 
 That floats and rises to the evening sky. 
 And showers a benediction on the fields. 
 Eager he muses on the ways of men, 
 And fain would find new light for surer path. 
 The while he sings new songs of earth and heaven. 
 
I08 
 
 JUNE 22ND, 1897. 
 
 Queen of our Western Isle, Queen of our Sea ! 
 One voice, one soul, to-day is greeting Thee. 
 
 A maiden reigned : from million minds forth went 
 A Nation's hope, born of a new content. 
 That grew and gathered, till, now crowned with years, 
 A deepening reverence our affection shares. 
 
 Queen of our hearts. Queen of our Land and sea ! 
 The Nation's voice this day re-crowneth Thee ; 
 For Thou dost reign in loyal hearts. Our love 
 Increaseth ever ; earth and sky above 
 Ring royally to-day with gladsome praise. 
 Lauding our God for peace and prosperous days. 
 
 From many a far-off land our Brothers come 
 Across the parting seas, — from other home — 
 
I op 
 
 To do Thee honour, loyal love proclaim, 
 And swell the long procession of Thy fame. 
 
 They shall return, shall tell our heart doth beat 
 As one with theirs, in amity complete : 
 One sun doth travel o'er our seas and lands ; 
 One Benediction rests on grasped hands. 
 
 Ye Belfries, shower your music o'er the Town ; 
 Mellifluous bells, swing, swing and pour adown. 
 From airy heights, your gracious melodies. 
 Ye fill a Royal heart with memories. 
 And thoughts of all the unforgotten days ; 
 Ring low to Her, — ring loud, for Her, our praise. 
 
 O sun ! stream down thy rays, and, o'er Her head, 
 Thy wonted brightness, like a blessing, shed. 
 Ye banners, wave ! Your stately curves display, 
 With more than moving wind unfurl to-day ; 
 For thousand, thousand voices rend the air 
 With loud acclaiming shout. Blare, trumpets, blare— 
 The Queen is passing ! Onward ring the cheer ! 
 
no 
 
 Ah, my full heart, what means this sudden tear ? 
 Our widowed Mother, England's Queen, is here. 
 
 Empress of far-off climes. Queen of our Land and 
 Sea! 
 Thy Empire's loving voice this day is blessing Thee. 
 
Ill 
 
 PEACE, 29TH AUGUST, 1898. 
 
 Now may new dawn of Hope bring brighter day, 
 Dark warring clouds retreat, ashamed, away, 
 Now may harsh discords slowly, surely cease. 
 Courage has dared to say " Let there be peace ! " 
 
 An Emperor pleads for peace in arming days. 
 Wins for His name — His reign — immortal praise, 
 Strives to roll back the horror of dread war. 
 And crown fair Peace a Queen for evermore, 
 
 O Kingly heart — peace lover ! Thou dost raise 
 Aloft a banner, in uncertain days, 
 Inscribed with " Peace, Goodwill, Eternal Right." 
 Christ lead, with peace, the Ages marching in His 
 might ! 
 
 1899. 
 
 O dawn of Hope, shalt thou relapse to Night — 
 Thy promise fade — thy mirage mock our sight ? 
 
112 
 
 OCTOBER, 1899. 
 
 Land of the free-born, and Lord of the sea, 
 Great England ! our hearts are faithful to Thee ! 
 Thy heart beateth true for Thy shore and Thy lea. 
 
 Brave sons were Thine, untarnished their shield. 
 Honoured they died, on the Ocean or Field ; 
 Courteous as Conquerors, — stubborn to yield. 
 
 Brave sons are Thine, all loyal they live, 
 Faithful would die, — let them homage receive ! 
 They for our England their heart's blood would give. 
 
 Peace they would cherish, but honour maintain. 
 Forgive, but forget not ; again and again 
 For Justice and Right they would fight might and main. 
 
 Insult they brook not, and spurn the dark lie. 
 
 Constant in courage, in valour to vie. 
 
 They for our England would live or would die. 
 ****** 
 A Royal heart, a Mother's heart, to-day 
 
 Goes out and joins with England's heart, to lay 
 
 Her guerdon for the'brave, — the veiled Bay. 
 
"3 
 
 A People's heart, a People's loyal heart, 
 Unites with Her's to-day and bears its part. 
 Heart of the peasant ! heart in City mart ! 
 
 Beat! beat this day with Her's and mourn the slain ; 
 The silent slain, stretched on the ensanguined plain. 
 O God, the bitter scourge of war restrain ! 
 
3talp. 
 
117 
 
 THE ST. GOTHARD PASS; 
 THE WATER-SHED. 
 
 Sad, pallid, gray, speed River, speeding north ; 
 Glad, blue, and flecked with pearls, flow, flowing south, 
 Angry and wan, dashing against dark rocks. 
 Surging and hurrying to the chilly north. 
 Speed, River, speeding to the northern sea. 
 
 But now, 'neath shimmer of the southern sun. 
 Glide, lingering River, .to the Italian Land 
 To seek thy rest within a placid Lake. 
 Though litttle playful eddies, here and there. 
 Seem shy, and turn them to the north again, 
 They soon, too joyous, hie them to the south. 
 Flow, River, flowing to the southern Lake. 
 
 There was the snow, cold, gray, on mountain tops. 
 Here as some burnished silver, azure-set. 
 On thy bright sky — O sunlit Italy. 
 
 O glowing glory of Italian lands. 
 Fair, sweet, and clear beneath your southern sky ! 
 
ii8 
 
 In emerald green, pearl-decked, the acacias stand 
 Against the blue and purple far-off hills, 
 And hang their glistening, drooping, blossoms down. 
 The fir trees stand in solemn solitude. 
 Dark on the heights against the gleaming sky — 
 The snow-born streamlets, lazy, leap adown 
 To mix their silver with the River's gold ; 
 And by thy light, O Italy, the land 
 Glows into glory on this southern side. 
 Flow, sunlit River, flow, and seek thy rest. 
 
119 
 
 TO A FRIEND, FROM VILLA NUTI, 
 BELLOSGUARDO. 
 
 O FRIEND within gray gloom of London streets, 
 I, in a far-off country of the South, 
 With Alps and sea between us many a mile, 
 Would tell thee of the splendour of an eve 
 Seen from the terrace of this ancient place. 
 
 The sun has set behind the Apennines, 
 Their purple masses bounding all the plain 
 That stretches, hazy green, unto their feet. 
 They stand against the pageant of a West 
 Flushed to rich, rosy, throbbing glow ; the sky, 
 Silver and green, melts into blue above. 
 Girdle of golden glory ! Barred with clouds 
 Crimson and scarlet, flecked with silvery gray. 
 
 Far off Carrara's peaks stand purple red ; 
 Beyond, pellucid sky, ineffable ! 
 The faint, few clouds, like clustering islands, seem 
 Floating upon a sea of golden light. 
 
I20 
 
 Fairer, more roseate yet, the flushing west 
 Grows in its splendour ! 
 
 Now the glory pales, — 
 Is veiled — is faint — lingers — it dies — is gone ! 
 
 Thy poets and thy painters, Tuscany, 
 Have stayed such beauty for the centuries. 
 They saw thy everlasting hills enshrined 
 In many a passing pageant's mystery. 
 But none more fair than that one passed now. 
 
 I would stretch out my hands across the years. 
 And worship with them at this wondrous shrine. 
 
121 
 
 ON THE HEIGHTS ABOVE FIESOLE. 
 
 Old olives, gray, touched with faint tints of green. 
 
 Their days so nearly gone ; 
 And round them, twining, cling the tender vines, 
 
 Their young life scarce begun. 
 High, o'er them both, a thousand cypress trees 
 
 Sway to the gentle air. 
 They stand, dark green, against the purple hills, 
 
 And darker yet, against 
 The lucid, blue infinitude of heaven. 
 
 Here, by the road, red roses deck the day ; 
 Sweet is the air with summer scent of pines, 
 And in my heart the gladness of the Morn ! 
 
 There, far below, the ancient towers and Dome 
 Of Florence rise, in fullest flood of light. 
 While Bellosguardo rests in ambient shade ; 
 And in my heart the love of this fair Land, 
 Where rapt Angelico his mystic visions dreamt. 
 
122 
 
 AT VERONA. 
 
 A STREET far-Stretching, and its western end 
 Shut in by dark and gloomy Roman walls ; 
 While, through their topmost arches, there is seen 
 The brightness of the Italian sky beyond, 
 Framed by the darkness of the enduring pile. 
 
 And at the eastern end, with curtained doors. 
 O'er which fair colours of the Gothic art 
 Picture a vision of a heavenly scene, 
 Stands out the Church of Anastatia 
 In fulness of the light. 
 
 At that far end 
 Memento of the dim and pagan days ; 
 But here the nearer hope — ^the Christian time. 
 
 And now a child has pushed aside the veil 
 Hanging within the lintel of the door. 
 And, from the distant altar, there doth gleam 
 The star-like tapers round the enshrined Cross. 
 
123 
 
 Far off the Pagan City's darkened gate, 
 But here a Christian portal, and an Altar's light. 
 
 Shine out, O Light of Life, o'er all the world, 
 And lift the lingering shadows from the days of men ! 
 
124 
 
 AT VENICE. 
 
 Long, low, the stretching lands lead on to thee, 
 Fair Venice, lying on the level sea. 
 
 Men live, and think their little thoughts ; exalt 
 To-day's small deeds, and pass away and die ; 
 The while the great world moveth ever on. 
 
 Some leave the faint-heard voices of their toil. 
 Long lingering art, or artifice of words ; 
 These echoes, dying, pass, and silence falls. 
 Some leave a lingering love, to be recalled, 
 A little while, by hearts that soon forget. 
 But all things, ceasing, pass to calm decay. 
 
 Is this the end of all ? 
 
 Perchance a while 
 Some deeds, some gracious thoughts, stay in the world 
 As if to take deserved rest with us — 
 Their strength, their beauty, yet too great to die. 
 
125 
 
 Thus did I muse at Venice, as I stood 
 Beneath the fading glamour of the west, 
 Among departing glories of great Days 
 'Midst lingering beauty, early found, but now 
 Sad with decay, and sadder from men's scorn. 
 
 Venice ! No hills defend, no walls encompass thee ; 
 Thine only guard the shallow, lapping sea ; 
 And yet for thee an Immortality. 
 
126 
 
 LEAVING ITALY. 
 
 Stretch out, blue lake, unto thy purple hills ; 
 
 Here, at my feet, a thousand tints of green 
 
 Are strewn with flowers, silver, gold and blue ; 
 
 And o'er my head, white flecked, the azure sky ; 
 
 And in my heart the glory of the land, 
 
 Here, where the Brescian mountains guard the plain. 
 
 The slender campaniles stand in light. 
 Against soft shades of sloping mountain sides, 
 And send faint music of their bells to die 
 Upon the bosom of the unruffled lake. 
 The young vines trail from tree to tree and sway 
 Their gentle curves, festooning all the land. 
 Acacias hang their silvery petals down. 
 And tapering spires of cypress upward point 
 Dark 'gainst the flood of light upon the plain. 
 
 Now for my heart some sadness of farewell. 
 Yet these fair pictures shall I take with me 
 Across the level waters of the sea. 
 To deck the frescoed walls of memory. 
 
3tcgenti0* 
 
129 
 
 GYPTIS AND PROTIS. 
 
 King Nannos held high festival at Aries, 
 Assembling all the warriors of his tribe, 
 That Gyptis, his fair daughter, might that day 
 Choose for a husband one from out the guests. 
 And so the feast began — sweet Gyptis free 
 To give herself in marriage to the man 
 That pleased her best. 
 
 Her heart was all her own, 
 For love had breathed no image on that heart 
 Which, like an unstained mirror, clear and bright, 
 Shone in its beauteous, virgin purity. 
 
 The maid loved not, save with a daughter's love 
 For all the Gaulish warriors were rough 
 Of mien, uncouth, ungracious, savage-like, 
 And found no favour in the maiden's eyes. 
 
 So the rude feast went on, in common sort 
 K 
 
13° 
 
 With much loud talk and bearish merriment, 
 But Gyptis silent sat in shy disdain. 
 
 On that same day there came unto the Court, 
 And only reached it when the feast was set, 
 A young Greek, Protis, noble, brave and fair. 
 Commander of a Colony of Greeks 
 Landed that very day on Gaulish coast. 
 
 Late had he come, and sat at the King's board 
 Among the uncouth warriors of the tribe, 
 Nor knew he aught of what the King had ruled. 
 
 As a fair flower 'midst uncomely weeds, 
 Like a bright gleam of light amidst the gloom, 
 So Protis sat in beauteous nobleness ; 
 Silent and gentle, in his manhood's grace. 
 And then a swift and strange smile lit his face, 
 As sudden sun-gleam lights a shadowed vale. 
 For he had seen the fair, sweet Gyptis now — 
 There, where she sat at her proud Father's side. 
 And her heart kindled at that look of love. 
 And from that moment both their hearts were one. 
 
131 
 
 " Gracious and noble — like a god he seems ; 
 O heart, the sweetness of his lingering smile ! " 
 And all her heart rejoiced, glad with love, 
 As thus, amid the throng, she mused alone. 
 
 Then Protis prayed : 
 " O Fair, O Sweet, — ^jewel among the swine — 
 O heart, sweet heart, would God that heart were 
 
 mine ! " 
 And all his soul rejoiced glad with love. 
 
 Now it was ordered by the King that day 
 That he to whom his daughter offered wine 
 Was, then and there, to be her faithful choice. 
 And she obeyed, but had been sad at heart. 
 
 So, when the feast was well nigh ended, calm 
 Did Gyptis rise, in maiden modesty; 
 Her beauteous eyes were cast upon the ground. 
 Her hands held up the golden cup of wine ; 
 Like a fair spirit did she pass along ; 
 Then stood before young Protis wistfully. 
 And raised her eager, questioning eyes to his. 
 
132 
 
 Grew pale, and murmured some word heard by none ; 
 Then raised her golden goblet doubtingly, 
 Outstretched were Protis' hands, — he took the cup 
 All eagerly, and raised it to his lips. 
 
 O swift the love that leapt from eye to eye ! 
 O strong the love that sped from heart to heart ! 
 O sweet the unity of soul and soul ! 
 
 So Love, the great refiner of the world, 
 Wrought for the coming, better, days of Gaul. 
 
133 
 
 PIERRE DE PROVENCE AND LA BELLE 
 
 MAGNELONE ; DAUGHTER OF THE 
 
 KING OF NAPLES. 
 
 Young Pierre de Provence heard of Magnelone, 
 
 Of all her beauty and her modesty, 
 
 And he determined on a certain day, 
 
 To join the tournament that would be held 
 
 At Naples, 'neath her eyes. 
 
 In bright steel armour was he clad, his shield 
 Bore silver crossed keys, and for his crest 
 A silver key — the emblems of his name. 
 
 Bright the sun sparkled on the glittering steel, 
 And unabashed he rode, and jousted well. 
 And looked the very flower of chivalry. 
 
 And then — then as he passed the Royal thrones, 
 He saw fair Magnelone, and all his heart 
 Flamed into passion for the love of her. 
 
134 
 
 And her heart kindled from the flame that sped 
 From out his eager eyes. 
 
 For Love there is but morn, — nor noon nor 
 eve — 
 True Love but knows the glory of the dawn ; 
 Unknown, unloved, one moment, then, for aye, 
 Beloved, and known as only Love can know. 
 
 Now the proud King of Naples promised 
 To give his daughter to a neighbouring prince 
 In marriage, and the day was near at hand. 
 
 Then, for there seemed to be no other way, 
 Together did these lovers leave the court, 
 And sought the shelter of a neighbouring wood, 
 And told their love on that long summer day. 
 
 Fair Magnelone, all weary of the way. 
 And of the summer sun, lay down to rest ; 
 And sweetly slept, beneath her lover's eyes. 
 
 Hung by a silver thread on her fair breast 
 Pierre saw a little bag of silken work. 
 And he was fain to open it, and found 
 
135 
 
 Three rings that he had given her, through her nurse. 
 This moved his heart to yet more ardent love. 
 
 Just then a raven, swooping, snatched away 
 And dropped the bag, which floated on the sea. 
 Pierre found a boat and rowed to rescue it. 
 
 But rude the wind did blow, and all unkind ; 
 And Pierre was carried out, far out to sea, 
 And landed, many days from that same time, 
 At Alexandria. 
 
 There did the Sultan see him, and, for Page, 
 Did take him to his palace that was nigh. 
 
 Now Magnelone, when she awoke from sleep, 
 Finding herself alone, called piteously : 
 " Pierre ! Pierre ! " And yet again shecried " Pierre, Pierre !" 
 No answer came, and then the sun sunk down. 
 The gloaming passed, night fell, and in that wood 
 She spent a sad and solitary time. 
 
 Next morn, and many days,, she wandered on — 
 To Rome, to Genoa, and at the last. 
 
136 
 
 To Aigner Mort, and on the Island built 
 
 A Church, and for the sick a Hospital ; 
 
 For she had brought from Naples many gems, 
 
 And these she sold, and, with the wealth of gold, 
 
 She ministered to all poor strangers there. 
 
 Thither Pierre's mother chanced to come, and heard 
 Praise of the holy woman's pious deeds. 
 And of her charity for all distressed. 
 Then did the Countess open out her heart. 
 Telling how she had lost her dear son Pierre, 
 Who went to Naples to the tournament 
 And came not back again. 
 
 Now at that time 
 To the sad Countess there was brought a fish 
 Wherein was found a little silken bag 
 That held three rings. The Countess knew them all 
 For she had given them to her dear son Pierre. 
 She showed them to the pious Magnelone ; 
 Both knew the rings too well. " Ah, lost to me ! 
 Lost to me, dearest Pierre," the mother cried, 
 And echo sad filled all the heart of Magnelone. 
 
137 
 
 Even as his son the Sultan treated Pierre, 
 And, weary of his oft repeated quest, 
 He granted him to visit fair Provence. 
 
 Eager he did embark to seek his Magnelone. 
 The vessel stayed for water at an isle 
 They call Lagona, and Pierre went on shore, 
 And laid him down within a shadowing wood, 
 And thought of that sad day when he, and her 
 He loved, rested together 'neath the sheltering trees. 
 
 " Fair speed the day, sweet Heart, I come to thee." 
 Up sprang a breeze ; the sails already spread, 
 And the ship, restless, stirred the ebbing sea, 
 Pierre not on board. They called for him in vain. 
 And, at the last, reluctant, let the ship 
 Spring to the mandates of the swelling sails 
 And plough the unfurrowed sea. 
 
 There, at Lagona, Pierre was left alone. 
 Half starved, and wretched in his solitude. 
 
 He fell to illness, and had nearly died 
 Of all his woes, when — so it chanced — one day 
 Some fishermen did land upon the Isle, 
 
138 
 
 And found him desolate and wellnigh dead. 
 He, lying half uncaring, on the shore, 
 Heard the men asking, "What to do with him ? " 
 And one said ; "He should go to Magnelone." 
 
 The words brought courage to his fainting heart. 
 His pale, sad face flushed into eagerness. 
 " What sayest thou of Magnelone, my friend ? " 
 He asked. Then told they him that was the name 
 Borne by a Church and Hospital upon 
 The coast of Provence, built, and tended by, 
 A holy woman there. 
 
 " Fair name and dear," he said, "Ah, take me there. 
 That dying I may hear the sweetness of its sound." 
 
 So, faint and feeble, was he carried there. 
 Where his loved Magnelone did tend the sick. 
 
 But now she knew him not, for his young face. 
 That once was fair and glad, was shadowed o'er 
 With grief, — ^as all his hopes, that seemed so sure, 
 Were faded into blankness. 
 
 And her dear face was veiled — he knew her not. 
 One day, as Magnelone passed by, she heard 
 
139 
 
 Pierre sighing, and she asked him why he sighed, 
 And all his weary sorrow then he told. 
 And sadly said, " No more, ah, never more 
 Shall I see her, my Love, my Magnelone ! " 
 
 She knew him now, and her heart yearned with love. 
 But yet she did constrain herself, and said : 
 " Pray thou to God, with whom all things may be." 
 And as she went she heard his faint, dear voice 
 Pray, " Jesu, O dear Lord, now comfort me ! " 
 
 Then went she, with glad heart, into the Church, 
 And knelt before the Altar of the Sacrifice, 
 While tears of joy ran down her upturned face ; 
 Gladsome she said, " O Jesu, O dear Lord, 
 Now hast thou comforted our souls again." 
 
 Then she arose and donned her Royal robes, 
 And bade that Pierre should to her presence come. 
 
 Needs it the more to tell — when heart is clasped to 
 heart ? 
 
 For love ills are but brief, come joy come pain,— 
 Love turneth all things into richest gain. 
 
I40 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 It was the day that Adam and fair Eve 
 In sadness saw the last of Paradise, 
 The last of that sweet, strange and joyous scene ; 
 Where perfect order perfect garden made ; 
 For all the place was decked with fairest flowers, 
 And all the o'erhanging dome of heaven shone bright, 
 Silver and blue, in sweet serenity. 
 
 Alas ! no more for Eve those flowers shall bloom ; 
 Alas ! no more for her the azure sky 
 Shall light the glories of a Paradise. 
 For her, cast out, no more the new-born world 
 Shall look to heaven in smiling gratitude. 
 
 And now she takes her solitary way ; 
 For the remorseful Adam hurried on, 
 Eager to leave his sorry shame behind ; 
 And thus, disconsolate, is Eve alone. 
 
HI 
 
 And then, to her astonished eyes, the air 
 Darkened with falling snow, to her 
 A new and fearful sight ; and soon the ground 
 Was turned to white, and hidden by the snow. 
 
 " Ah me ! no more shall budding flowers be seen ? 
 Ah me, no more the sweetness of the grass. 
 And all the glories of the Paradise ? 
 Is all the world to be enwrapped for aye 
 In cold monotony ? Is this a pall 
 To hide the glories of the world I loved ? 
 A farewell this to all its sweet delights ? " 
 
 She wept. It was the first tear dropped on earth, 
 The first of all that weary waste of woe 
 That sirice has watered myriads of earth's paths ; 
 Ah, would to God that it had been the last ! 
 Ah me, the long-drawn years of bitterness ! 
 Ah me, the tears of all the centuries. 
 Since that sad shedding of our Mother's tears ! 
 
 'Twas then a wistful Angel hovering near, — 
 An Angel fresh from all the joys of heaven — 
 Paused wondering, thrilled with sympathy divine. 
 
142 
 
 For the sight moved him strangely, and a tear 
 Fell down upon the snow-enthralldd earth, 
 And where it fell up-sprang a modest flower, 
 That hung its head, nor looked at Eve's sad shame, 
 A beauteous, drooping flower which men do call 
 " The Snowdrop," pure as was the Angel's tear. 
 
 So runs the legend. Does it touch your heart ? 
 Poor Eve ! and all poor souls in misery, 
 We'll drop a tear for them, and it may chance 
 That we, and they, and all the world shall be 
 A little richer for the sympathy. 
 So here and there an added flower shall spring. 
 And earth again become a!s it was made : 
 Love can remake the world a Paradise. 
 
143 
 
 HELEN OF SPARTA. 
 
 " Again," so said the priests, " a maiden life 
 Is now demanded to appease the gods — 
 The angry gods, that hunger for a Hfe." 
 
 And so the lot did fall on Helen there 
 In Sparta, and the altar was set up ; 
 The maid, obedient, to its stones was bound. 
 
 The dark and dreaded moment now is come, 
 The knife is raised in the priest's right hand. 
 High o'er his head it glitters in the sun, 
 Now stays a moment — bitter, cruel time ! 
 But dark the hand shows empty against the light 
 Of heaven, and the dread sacrifice is stayed : 
 An eagle, swooping, snatched the knife away. 
 Was it thy eagle, Jove, turned merciful ? 
 
 So thus a plague was stayed ; for human life 
 Was no more taken in Sparta to appease 
 
144 
 
 " The angry gods." Kind Justice had sent down 
 Mercy to lead the world to juster ways. 
 
 I would that Justice reigned, then all the world 
 Were ruled by gentle Mercy evermore. 
 
I4S 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 It chanced that on a certain day, long past, 
 
 Alphonsus, called " the Chaste," King of Castile, 
 
 Had brought to him some precious stones most rare. 
 
 And much iine gold. Rude lumps of heavy gold 
 
 And uncut gems lay in an oaken chest, 
 
 Enclaspt with iron. So the King did muse 
 
 If it were well of these to make a Cross. 
 
 For, as he held some rounded ruby stones. 
 
 He thought him of the drops of ruby blood, 
 
 Eight hundred years before from Those dear Hands 
 
 Had fallen as a ransom on the earth. 
 
 " These were a ransom for a King," he said ; 
 " Perchance in coming years I much may need 
 Such priceless things to barter for a life." 
 So went he to the church, and as he knelt, 
 Still thinking of the treasures newly brought. 
 
 But praying, fe)ang:ui0 Cl)n0ti »»altia me, 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 And gazing on the silver Altar Cross, 
 
 Which on that Altar now long time had stood, 
 
 " O Christ," he cried, " O agonizing death, 
 
 Which on the Altar of Thy Cross was paid, 
 
 As the world's ransom, boon above all price ; 
 
 Shall not those things men deem of greatest worth 
 
 And of most beauty, deck Thy Royal Throne ? " 
 
 So did he dedicate those treasures rare. 
 To be set round the image of the Christ, 
 And Corpus C6ri0ti »>altja nu, he prayed. 
 
 Then went he to the Palace, thinking still 
 Of Jesus' pains upon the bitter Cross. 
 Along the quays he saw the crossed masts, 
 And outstretched wings of poising birds aloft ; 
 Along the beach the crossed anchors lay. 
 And Cru;C fillEliSf sang he on his way. 
 
 It chanced that as he went along the road 
 He met two strangers, tall and fair young men, 
 Goodly of form and beauteous to behold, 
 Strange-looking, twin-like, not as other men ; 
 With them the King made speech, and welcomed them 
 
147 
 
 In kingly fashion. " Welcome, Sirs," quoth he, 
 " What seek ye in this town and company ? 
 Good honest work ? Or curiosity, 
 Perchance, hath led you hither ? Welcome still." 
 
 To him the twain replied, all modestly, 
 " We come to work in this dominion." 
 " And what work can ye do ? " replied the King. 
 " We work in gold, and polish precious stones." 
 " Well met, good Sirs, I need such cunning men, 
 Who lovingly will form a lustrous Rood 
 From unwrought gold and uncut jewels rare." 
 
 So went he to the Palace and did give 
 To them the treasure, saying thus, " Good Sirs, 
 Spare not your labour, but let all your craft 
 Be given to Him Who laboured for us all 
 In loving throes of pain upon the Rood. 
 Form me of these a Cross most bright and fair, 
 Fit to be set up in the Altar's midst." 
 
 Now went the King to dinner, trusting all 
 To these young men, and left them at their work. 
 
 But then the King did question, " Were it wise 
 
148 
 
 To leave it thus with strangers, trusting all 
 
 These gems and gold to men yet all unknown 
 
 To me and to my Court ? " Then straight he sent 
 
 His messengers, to see if all were well. 
 
 They, when the house before them rose in sight, 
 
 Did marvel much to see a wondrous thing ; 
 
 Forth from the windows streamed a golden light, 
 
 And solemn music floated in the air. 
 
 And, as they thought, they heard the Church's Hymn, 
 
 The Crur fiHellg, €VUV fitiellSf, sung 
 
 In tones Angelic. So they went again 
 
 Unto the King and told what they had seen. . 
 
 Then rose the King in awe, but not in fear, 
 
 Making the Holy Sign across his breast. 
 
 And went unto the house, and entered in. 
 
 And heard faint echoes of jfllieltS ring 
 
 Still yet about the vault, mysteriously. 
 
 And all the place was lit with light unseen. 
 
 And fainter, fainter sank the unearthly song. 
 
 And lo ! a marvel was there wrought indeed ; 
 
 Alone a Cross, against the panels dark. 
 
149 
 
 Glittering with gold and jewels, stood most fair, 
 Flashing the mystic light through all the place, 
 As shines the mystic Cross through all the world. 
 
 Then took the King the Rood with awful joy, 
 And called his folk, and gave it to his Priests, 
 And, David-like, went up unto the Church, 
 Rejoicing, joyous, with a gladsome heart. 
 And, whilst ^QEe 2Deum rang about the place, 
 And incense floated heaven-ward like a prayer, 
 He, praying <aD JS^ZX (SlOVm, 0alta nO0, 
 Upon the Altar, with his Kingly hand. 
 Did dedicate that Angels' Rood to God. 
 
ISO 
 
 A TRUE VISION OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 I DREAMT a dream last night, — its visions seemed 
 As real as any passing scenes are real. 
 
 My dream fell thus. 
 I, walking on a road well known to me, 
 Came, on a sudden, to a changed land ; 
 Hills where no hills should be, and solemn woods, 
 Where woods had never darkly gloomed before, 
 Stood 'gainst the opal of an evening sky ; 
 And, dim, a Castle rose from meadow lands 
 That stretched up to the foreground's flowered bank ; 
 And, hearing faint, clear notes, thin organ notes, 
 I looked, and saw a Lady and a Knight — 
 The Lady singing some sure song of love. 
 He, list'ning, resting on the flower-decked grass ; 
 While Love, who blew the bellows, made the place 
 Melodious with the sound of fluty pipes. 
 
Like questioning Music to the Lady's song. 
 
 How well I knew it all ! 
 The very vision that the Painter saw, 
 Rich in calm colour of the eventide — 
 Tender and true as that sweet song of love. 
 
 I, wondering little, passed along my way, 
 Along a road, neglected, little trod, 
 And, suddenly, I came where ruined walls 
 Stood, with a ruined richness, round the place. 
 Carved marble columns, and entablatures. 
 As of a strange, far land were strewn around. 
 Among the thorny tangles of the Rose — 
 Flowers and thorns — the thorns, the flowers of love ! 
 
 How well I knew it all ! 
 Constrained I looked with half ashamed eyes, 
 There to the right, among the fallen stones. 
 Good God ! the tender love in her dear face ! 
 Good God ! his sadness, — set at nought by love ! 
 
 How well I knew it all ! 
 " Love 'mid the ruins " there ! and so I woke, 
 
152 
 
 And knew the mirrored vision on my mind, 
 The triumph, and the sadness love had brought, 
 The beauty by the painter-poet wrought ! 
 
 Note. — Most readers will recognize the subject of the dream 
 — the two pictures by Sir Edward Bume-Jones, the "Chant 
 d' Amour," and "Love among the Ruins." Not only in my 
 dreams do they seem to me to be two of the most beautiful and 
 poetical of modem paintings. 
 
 June, 1898. — Alas ! that we shall have no more such pictures 
 from the vanished hand of the poet-painter. 
 
S^oxs et Mita. 
 
" The poet sings upon the earth grave-riven. . . 
 Sing, Seraph with the glory ! Heaven is high ; 
 Sing, poet with the sorrow ! Earth is low." 
 
 E. B. Browning. 
 
IS5 
 
 BENEATH THE BELFRY. 
 
 Ye bells may ring a thousand years, joy-bells for 
 many hearts ; 
 Ye are glad voices of the past — songs of the centuries. 
 
 Ring, swing and clash, and tell your message out. 
 There's many a heart, full many a joy, wrapt in your 
 memories. 
 
 Ye bells may toll a thousand years ; tears, tears for 
 many eyes ; 
 Ye are sad voices from the past — sighs of the centuries. 
 Knell, toll and moan, and, mournful, tell your tale, 
 There's many an ear — one more true heart — deaf to 
 your melodies. 
 
156 
 
 JANUARY 14TH, A.D. 1892. 
 
 But yesterday ! 
 
 And all high hopes and happy hours were theirs. 
 
 But yesterday ! 
 
 And English hearts were gathered into one, 
 
 Wishing and hoping all felicity 
 
 For Him and His. Now hope is turned to grief, 
 
 And England's greeting changed to sad " farewell." 
 
 Not Thine a name which shall be numbered 
 Among our Kings, in England's stately line ; 
 Not for Thy head our Crown of Royalty ; 
 The Crown of Love, alone, is Thine to-day, — 
 To-day when hearts are gathered into one. 
 To mourn an Heir of England's loyalty. 
 
157 
 
 THE DAY LORD TENNYSON WAS 
 BURIED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 October i2th, 1892. 
 
 Golden in glory stand the October woods ; 
 And golden ever shall thy memory be ; 
 While each green Spring, each Summer in its round, 
 Shall still recall thy various song, and thee. 
 
 Even Christmas bells shall ring thy memory in 
 With gladsome tidings of the Christ, new-born. 
 For our poor thoughts are lifted by thine own 
 To see the thousand splendours of the world. 
 To know life greater than it seemed before ; 
 And, through the clouds and darkness on our way, 
 To seek the haven of the cloudless life. 
 In wistful hope for faithful pilotage. 
 
 Pass through the shadows to the dim unknown, 
 From this our world, made brighter for thy light ; 
 Pass to the silent Abbey, hushed in peace, 
 
IS8 
 
 From this our world which thou hast filled with song, 
 Pass to thy rest and immortality. 
 
 For us no more new music of thy notes, 
 For us no more the mirror of thy words. 
 Which, as a crystal stream, did image all 
 Fair things, seen and unseen, of earth and heaven ; 
 Now knows, no more, the Land thy loyal love. 
 
 No more fresh pictures for our eager eye. 
 No more fresh music for our listening ear ; 
 Thy magic hand is stayed ; thy voice is still ; 
 And yet we see thy visions, and thy notes 
 Ring on and fill the world with melody. 
 
159 
 
 TO BE— TO LIVE— TO LOVE— WHAT MORE 
 TO ASK? 
 
 To be — to live — to love, what more to ask ? 
 To watch earth's beauty as it passes by, 
 From tender dawn to evening's glorious close, — 
 From earliest silvery Spring to Autumn's gold ; 
 What more to ask, what nearer joy to know ? 
 
 This ; the expectancy of night's calm rest, 
 The wistful waiting, the undying day. 
 
i6o 
 
 PROSPICE. 
 
 Shall I look back across the darkening sea ? 
 Shall I not onward gaze ? What though my sail, 
 Languid and lone, may hang all listlessly. 
 
 Shall I look back ? Faint heart, for what avail ? 
 Shall I not onward, eastward gaze ? Kind wind 
 May waft me, and, at Dawn, the Haven I may find. 
 
i6i 
 
 LUX PERPETUA LUCEAT EIS. 
 
 Here, in the silent aisle, I pace the floor, 
 Beneath the fading banners of the dead ; 
 Here — where, in darkness, resting head by head, 
 The dead are laid at rest that did adore. 
 
 And shall adore ; but in supernal light 
 Unbroken, streaming from the great white Throne ; 
 There, where souls stand in courts to men unknown, 
 And sing their Lauds in days that know not night, 
 
 M 
 
1 62 
 
 VITA iETERNA. 
 
 'TWAS not on man alone God breathed the h'fe 
 Immortal ; for each flower of the field 
 Was waked to life by everlasting breath. 
 
 We men, and flowers, pass ; but all are born. 
 Born with the gift of God's enduring Life. 
 
 Immensity of power ! hid in frail shell. 
 Or fragile stem of any simple flower. 
 Each with its ancient line of Ancestry 
 And gift of Life, — God-like and unrevoked ! 
 
 God ! more than imaged in humanity, 
 Thy likeness, and thine own Divinity 
 Thou giv'st to man, — the Life that cannot cease. 
 
 O great procession, passing, passing on 
 To gain the gates of an Eternal Home, 
 To rest beneath the Throne of Him, the Life of life ! 
 
i63 
 
 INTO THE SILENT HERMITAGE 
 OF DEATH. 
 
 Into the silent Hermitage of Death 
 Ere night shall many a lonely soul retreat. 
 
 Ere mom shall break, a thousand souls be born 
 Into the thronged palace of the day. 
 
 O dark, dim, veiled Death inscrutable ! 
 
 O Life, we know thee — and shall fuller know ! 
 
 Break, endless day ! and myriad souls shall win — 
 
 Within the eternal gates — their Mansion and their 
 Home. 
 
164 
 
 THE HARBOUR. 
 
 The waves of Life are lessening on the shore ; 
 They catch a faint and fading light, scarce more. 
 The tide of Life flows, ebbing gently by. 
 To be absorbed on arid sands, and die. 
 
 The wind is hushed, last songs of songsters cease ; 
 The West has laid its glamour down in peace. 
 Dark night is near us — silent, solemn night ; 
 But dawn shall break, the Harbour stand in light. 
 
i6s 
 
 VITA VIA. 
 
 Life is a road, a gate at either end, 
 
 The gate of Life behind — of Death before. 
 
 Love guards the path, and guides us all the way, 
 As through a garden, where calm Hope doth rest. 
 There Death meets Life, and Love, with crimson wings, 
 Stands by the gray, dark, narrow opening door. 
 
 Whence is the light that gilds Love's sheltering 
 wings ? 
 And what the golden glory streaming forth ? 
 
 M 3 
 
1 66 
 
 BEATI MORTUI. 
 
 The scudding clouds are speeding o'er the sky, 
 They shall lay low their vapours on the land, 
 And rest them there, — forget to hurry by, 
 Then kiss the expectant earth and arid sand. 
 Like souls content to die. 
 
 The mighty river ever rushes on 
 To join the fuller waters of the sea, 
 Lashed with the rain, — the wailing wind for song ; 
 Soon it shall gently meet Infinity, — 
 As souls Eternity. 
 
 And man, in all the turmoil of his way 
 Hurries him on, nor pauses in his quest. 
 Till in the calm, still evening of his day 
 He finds in death unutterable rest, — 
 
 His soul God's welcome guest. 
 
i67 
 
 L ENVOI. 
 
 Go thou in hope, tny book, be not ashamed 
 
 To face the world, thotc canst not all be blamed, 
 
 For thou and I tell but of things well famed — 
 
 Of beauty and of bounty on the earth, 
 
 Of thoughts to which a poet giveth birth, — 
 
 Som,e sighs of sorrow, fewer smiles of mirth. 
 
 Of Arts that tell of Natur^ s gracious hand. 
 The pictured visions of the sea and land, — 
 Melodious music, simple, subtle, grand. 
 
 Of Thee, beloved Art, Infinitude 
 
 Imaginable made. In quietude 
 
 Lift, with thee, hearts entranced to loftier mood.^ 
 
 ' Coleridge says, "The principle of Gothic architecture is 
 infinity made imaginable.'' 
 
1 68 
 
 Of Life, of Love, of many a lesser thing 
 That pass in beauty, and their gladness bring 
 To make the world with mystic music ring. 
 
 Be not ashamed if we for love are bold ; 
 
 Do not Loves willing wings the world enfold? 
 
 Is not Loves hand held out for all to hold? 
 
 Small boon to others, but, forsooth, for me 
 Some slender solace— passing fragrancy — 
 These fragile flowers of my poesy. 
 
 My hand has strayed upon the keys of earth. 
 Striking some careless chords, and giving birth. 
 Maybe, to music that hath slender worth. 
 
 Small mutter ! yet, perchance, in after days. 
 My love for Love — for beauty — shall win praise 
 For Thee, loved Mother, crowned from Age to Age; 
 And light, with flickering flame. Thy gold- 
 illumined page. 
 
CHISWICK press: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON,