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 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013604404 
 
THE SOUL'S DESTROYER AND OTHER POEMS 
 
THE SOUL'S DESTROYER 
 AND OTHER POEMS BY 
 WILLIAM H. DA VIES 
 
 LONDON: ALSTON RIVERS LTD. 
 
 BROOKE ST. HOLBORN BARS 
 
 MCMVII 
 
f\4^a.2.?>q 
 
 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS 
 LONDON AND TONBRIDGB 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 The Soul's Destroyer 
 Love's Coming 
 In a Lodging House 
 Autumn . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 page |vii. 
 
 XXI, 
 
 „ xxiii 
 „ xxvi 
 
 Sleep 
 Death 
 
 
 
 
 
 „ xxvii 
 „ xxix 
 
 Beauty's Light . 
 Lines to a Sparrow 
 
 
 
 
 
 XXX 
 
 „ xxxii 
 
 A Drinking Song 
 Love Absent . 
 
 
 
 
 
 „ XXXV 
 
 „ XXX vii 
 
 The Prover 
 
 
 
 
 
 „ xxxviii 
 
 Saints and Lodgers 
 The Lodging House 
 The Hill-side Park 
 
 Fire 
 
 
 
 
 „ xxxix 
 xlii 
 xlv 
 
THE SOUL'S DESTROYER 
 London ! What utterance the mind finds here ! 
 In its academy of art, richer 
 Than that proud temple which made Ophir poor, 
 And the resources famed of Sheba's Queen. 
 And its museums, hoarding up the past, 
 With their rare bones of animals extinct ; 
 And woven stuffs embroidered by the East 
 Ere other hemispheres could know that Peace 
 Had trophies pleasanter to win than War ; 
 The great man, wrought to very life in stone — 
 Of genius, that raises spirits that 
 It cannot lay until their will is wrought — 
 Till in their eyes we seek to wander awed, 
 Lost in the mind's immensity, to find 
 The passage barred, the spirit gone away. 
 And not without sweet sounds to hear : as I 
 Have heard the music, like a hiding child, 
 Low chuckling its delight behind a wall, 
 Which, with a sudden burst and joyous cry, 
 Out leapt and on my heart threw its sweet weight- 
 When strolling in the palace-bounded parks 
 Of our great city on a summer's morn. 
 Now, one who lives for long in London town 
 Doth feel his love divided 'tween the two — 
 /,A city's noise and Nature's quiet call : 
 
 Vll. 
 
His heart is as a mother's, that can hear 
 
 Voices of absent children o'er the sea 
 
 Calling to her, and children's voices home. 
 
 E'en when old Thames rolls in his fog, and men 
 
 Are lost, and only blind men know their way ; 
 
 When Morning borrows of the Evening's lamps, 
 
 Or when bewildered millions battle home 
 
 With stifled throats, and eyes that burn with pain — 
 
 Still are there lovers faithful to such moods. 
 
 But in thy slums, where I have seen men gaunt. 
 
 In their vile prisons where they wander starved 
 
 Without a jailer for their common needs — 
 
 Heard children whimper to their mother's moan ; 
 
 Where rich ones, had they love, with willing hands, 
 
 Have privilege to win their godhead soon 
 
 By charity that's needless in new realms — 
 
 Oh, who can love thy slums with starving ones ! 
 
 Where children live, like flowers in Ocean's dells, 
 
 Unvisited by light or balmy wind : 
 
 As daffodils, that plead with their sweet smiles 
 
 Our charity for their rude father March. 
 
 Thy place is in the slums, O Charity, 
 
 These are thy churches for thy visitings ; 
 
 The charity that seeks is nobler far 
 
 Than charity that must at home be sought. 
 
 This London served my life five years. 
 
 viii. 
 
 y 
 
In sheer disgust to know intemperance 
 
 And poverty, and leaning to the set 
 
 Who lays this precious intellect to sleep, 
 
 As though no beauty was in all the world, 
 
 With heaven and earth scarce worthy of a thought, 
 
 And helpless grown of every future joy — 
 
 Methought return to Nature might restore 
 
 Youth's early peace and faith's simplicity. 
 
 Though Hope be an illusion, yet our life 
 
 Were never so bewildered as without it ; 
 
 An April day of sunny promises 
 
 When we are suffering actual cold and want. 
 
 And child of Discontent — without such hints 
 
 Of coming joy Life's name were Vanity, 
 
 Hopeless had I become, a wreck of men ; 
 
 A derelict that neither sinks nor floats, 
 
 Is drifting out of sight of heaven and earth. 
 
 Not of the ways of men, but in their ways. 
 
 And there lived one, now to another wed. 
 
 Whom I had secret wish to look upon, 
 
 With sweet remembrance of our earlier years. 
 
 Her presence then a pool of deep repose 
 
 To break Life's dual run from Innocence 
 
 To Manhood, and from Manhood unto Age, 
 
 And a sweet pause for all my murmuring ; 
 
 Until a way, for which is no account, 
 
 ix. 
 
Set me to run again, and she received 
 Into her favour one who was my friend. 
 Oft had I mourned those days for ever gone ! 
 We went together side by side to school, 
 Together had our holidays in fields 
 Made golden by June's buttercups ; in woods, 
 Where under ferns fresh pulled I buried her, 
 And called her forth like Lazarus from the grave ; 
 She'd laughing come, to shake her curls until 
 Methought to hear full half a hundred bells. 
 A grown-up world took playful notice soon, 
 Made me feel shame that grew a greater love ; 
 She was more chary of her laughter then, 
 And more subdued her voice, as soft and sweet 
 As Autumn's, blowing through his golden reeds. 
 In her sweet sympathies she was a woman 
 When scarcely she was more than child in years ; 
 And yet one angry moment parted us. 
 And days of longing never joined us more. 
 
 One morning I awoke with lips gone dry. 
 
 The tongue an obstacle to choke the throat, 
 
 And aching body weighted with more heads 
 
 Than Pluto's dog ; the features hard and set, 
 
 As though encased in a plaster cast ; 
 
 With limbs all sore through falling here and there 
 
To drink the various ales the Borough kept 
 
 From London Bridge to Newington, and streets 
 
 Adjoining, alleys, lanes obscure from them, 
 
 Then tho ug^I^t nf home and of the purer life, 
 
 Qfjvfaiujre^akv -and having room to breathe, 
 
 A sunny sky, green field, and water's sound ; 
 
 Of peaceful rivers not yet fretful grown 
 
 As when their mouths have tasted Ocean's salt ; 
 
 And where the rabbits sit amid their ferns, 
 
 Or leap, to flash the white of their brown tails. 
 
 Less time a grey crow picks the partridge clean, 
 
 I was apparelled, and, with impulse that 
 
 Was wonderful in one of many sprees, 
 
 Went rapidly from street to street. 
 
 I still had vision clear of Nature's face, 
 
 Though muddled in my senses to the ways 
 
 And doings of the days and nights before, 
 
 I heard the city roaring like a beast 
 
 That's wronged by one that feared an open strife 
 
 And triumphed by its cunning — as I walked. 
 
 It followed on for hours with rushing sound, 
 
 As some great cataract had burst all bounds 
 
 And was oncoming with its mangled pines — 
 
 The fallen sentinels — to choke the sea. 
 
 Once in awhile the sound, though not less near. 
 
 Seemed distant, barred by dwellings closely joined. 
 
But at a corner's turn heard full again ; 
 Yet lessened soon and sure to softer ways 
 Of a low murmuring — as though it found 
 Anger was vain, and coaxed for my retijrn. 
 All day walked I, and that same night, scorning 
 The shelter of a house, lay peaceful down 
 Beneath the glorious stars ; beneath that nest 
 Of singing stars men call the Milky Way ; 
 Thought it, maybe, the way that spirits take, 
 And heavenly choir to sing triumphal march 
 For dead men for the New Jerusalem. 
 I was alone : had left the Borough in 
 Safe care of my old cronies, who would keep 
 Its reputation from becoming changed 
 Into a quiet neighbourhood. 
 
 As with a shipwrecked seaman cast ashore, 
 
 And carried to a land's ixiterior 
 
 By the rude natives, there to work and slave 
 
 Quarries and mines of their barbaric king ; 
 
 Who after years escapes his servitude 
 
 To wander lost, at last to see before 
 
 Him mountains which he climbs to see beyond, 
 
 When on their top to stand — behold, the sea ! 
 
 And, wonders more, a fleet of friendly flags 
 
 Lying at anchor for his signalling — 
 
 xii. 
 
Such joy a hundred times a day was mine / 
 
 To see at every bend of the road the face 
 
 Of Nature different. And oft I sat 
 
 To hear the lark from his first twitter pass 
 
 To greater things as he soared nearer heaven ; 
 
 Or to the throstle, singing nearer home, 
 
 With less of that abandon and wild fire. 
 
 But steady, like a sheltered light from wind. 
 
 What joy was mine, sweet Nature, to return ! 
 
 The flowers wild, reared on thine own pure milk 
 
 Of dew and rain, and by thy sunbeams warmed, 
 
 Speckled the green with light of various hues ; 
 
 The hawthorn it caught slippery Mercury, 
 
 And smothered him to smell of where he'd been ; 
 
 And everything that had a voice made sound, 
 
 The speechless things were gladsome in dumb smiles. 
 
 It was a day of rest in heaven, which seemed 
 
 A blue grass field thick dotted with white tents 
 
 whicti L,ii'e slepf late in, though t'were holiday. 
 
 Yon lord or squire in his great house, 
 
 Who busies himself guessing all his days 
 
 The age of horses and the weight of hogs, 
 
 The breed of hounds — not such as he hath held 
 
 The ear to Nature's quiet heart-beat. No ; 
 
 He overlooks the flol^rer to spy the fox, 
 
 Ignores the lark's song for the halloing horn. 
 
 Xlll. 
 
Nor hears the echo of that horn he loves — 
 
 Not such as he is rich in Nature's stores. 
 
 I've seen proud Autumn in more gold arrayed, 
 
 Ere cold October strips and blows him bare, 
 
 Than ever delved from earth or ta'en from water's wash ; 
 
 More pearls seen scattered to a summer's morn 
 
 Than ocean e'er possessed in depths or out, 
 
 Though in his water's workshop like a slave ; 
 
 Who sees a cobweb strung with dew pearls, sees 
 
 A finer work than jewelled crowns of gold. 
 
 Few are thy friends, sweet Nature, in these days, 
 
 But thou art still the Solitary's love. 
 
 The glory of the river's long since gone, 
 
 The land is sped and beauty unrevealed. 
 
 The motor-car goes humming down the road, 
 
 Like some huge bee that warns us from its way. 
 
 On, on, we speed by fire on slippery rails. 
 
 And earth goes spinning back from whence we came, 
 
 And through the trees, or on the hills' smooth tops 
 
 That cut the heaven clean — the day's one orb 
 
 Race with us till he sinks before the dark, 
 
 Clouds towering with him, to his back and front ; 
 
 We speed our way through tunnels under ground, 
 
 Where one sees naught but faces of his kind. 
 
 Let others praise thy parts, sweet Nature ; I 
 
 Who cannot know the barley from the oats, 
 
 xiv. 
 
Nor call the bird by note, nor name a star, 
 
 Claim thy heart's fulness through the face of things. 
 
 The lonely shepherd in his hut at night, 
 
 He dreams of Beauty in the feverous towns, 
 
 Of Love and Gaiety, of Song and Dance ; 
 
 With fore-paws on his master's crook, the dog 
 
 Sleeps dreaming his life's duty — though his flocks 
 
 Are countless, and the hills on which they roam : 
 
 So faithful I to thee, like shepherd's dog, 
 
 To follow thee with joy in all thy moods, 
 
 As docile as the lamb that Una led. 
 
 When man shall stand apart from this dear world, 
 
 And have his vision's manifold increase. 
 
 To see it rolled at morning when the sun 
 
 Makes lamps of domes and lighthouses of fanes,. 
 
 With its green fields, blue waters, and its hills, 
 
 And smiling valleys filled with brooks and flowers ; 
 
 To hear the music of the world once his. 
 
 Singing in unison with other spheres — 
 
 He shall exclaim, " I have God's second heaven 
 
 Ere I have known the wonder of His first." 
 
 Six days had gone, and I near home. 
 Where toil the Cymry deep in sunless pits. 
 And emptying all their hills to warm the world. 
 Soon saw familiar scenes, and saw no change : 
 
 XV. 
 
The rookery, where never silence seemed — 
 
 For every hour seemed it to be disturbed 
 
 By strange new-comers, aliens to invade ; 
 
 Or, maybe, known ones bringing envied stores 
 
 Which stay-at-homes would clamour to divide. 
 
 And near that rookery a river ran, 
 
 And over it a bridge too small for piers ; 
 
 Another crossing, of irregular stones, 
 
 Was seen, which in the springtime flooded o'er ; 
 
 And I had heard the river tell their number. 
 
 And spell — like letters of an alphabet. 
 
 That it would never tire repeating day 
 
 And night. When young I oft had bared my feet 
 
 To go from bank to bank, leapt stone to stone, 
 
 My ankles wetted on a sunken one. 
 
 Beyond the bridge was seen the village spire — 
 
 My courage failed. I feared to see in life 
 
 She who was now the heroine of dreams, 
 
 And sweet familiar of my solitude 
 
 And silence, and whose shadowy hand kept full 
 
 The cup of memory ; and in such mood 
 
 Entered an inn, to seek that courage which 
 
 Makes man abuse his friends, to wish them foes ; 
 
 Or puts unnatural pity in his mind 
 
 To help strange ones, forgetful of his own. 
 
 Not one known face had met my own, or voice 
 
 xvi. 
 
To recognise, until that moment came ; 
 And then such sight to see that had the man 
 Been other than he was had not surprised : 
 He who had wed my love stood shaking there 
 While to his lips another held the glass 
 Which his own hand lacked power to raise unspilled ; 
 And there stood he, in manner of a beast 
 That's drinking from a trough, but more the greed. 
 We greeted as old friends ; few moments passed 
 When I inquired of her, in casual way, 
 On which a fearful change came over him : 
 " Why, she hath filled the house with merry men 
 To mock her husband," he replied, and turned 
 His head in fear. And well I knew his thoughts, 
 And of such demons in a drunkard's dream. 
 The sleepless dream that wearies flesh and brain. 
 This curse of drink, in village and in town, 
 The curse of nations, their decline and fall, 
 Ere they can question purpose of this life ; 
 And so 'twill be until the mind is reared 
 To see the beauty that is in the world, 
 Of science, art, and Nature at all times ; 
 To know that temperance and sobriety 
 Is truer joy — e'en though the grave ends all — 
 Than an unnatural merriment that brings 
 A thousand tortures for its hundred joys. 
 VOL. V. — B xvii- 
 
He now seemed worse and moved about the room, 
 And many a sound of triumph, anguish made, 
 Though from his unseen foes receiving knocks 
 And giving in return. We stood in awe ! 
 One looked at me and said : " He should be home. 
 And we are much to blame for him ; wouldst thou 
 See him safe there ? for none can censure thee." 
 " Nay, I would rather tread his threshold floor, 
 And dare all devils of his fancy there, 
 Than front his wife and children innocent." 
 As some lone hunter might at sunrise see, 
 Upon the margent of a woodland pool. 
 Huge prints of something alien to his lore, 
 And know not if 'twere fowl or beast, or freak 
 Of man — so awed, amazed I stood ; until 
 He grew more calm, then coaxed him home. 
 
 We reached his home, a cottage lone and small 
 
 And such a place was my ideal to live, 
 
 Where I might walk it round, touch its four sides, 
 
 Free to the sun in every latitude, 
 
 Unto the first and final look on earth. 
 
 And at its door three little Aprils played. 
 
 Three little children, little Aprils all. 
 
 So full were they of April's quarrelling and love ; 
 
 Who, when they saw us coming, ran to meet us, 
 
 xviii. 
 
To make a bridal entry with their laughter ; 
 But seeing one a stranger, and their father cold, 
 Fell back, and followed hushed a funeral train. 
 Sure, thought I, our whole duty is to leave 
 Our children's state exalted 'bove our own : 
 Equipping them with kinder thoughts than ours, , 
 And they do likewise in their day ; so through 
 The generations to at last attain 
 The climax of our mortal purity. 
 Had I so failed to these poor little ones 
 If she and I were sharing of their lives ! 
 We entered, and we stood before her face, 
 And it was stern, as woe affects the man. 
 Not that sweet resignation of her sex. 
 She looked on me as one unjustly served, 
 A look regretful, part resigned, as if 
 Some retribution was my right to claim. 
 Her once blue sapphire eyes had not a gleam. 
 As they would never smile or weep again. 
 And had no light to draw the waters up 
 Which staled upon her heart. All seemed 
 So plain : that she had loved without avail. 
 And reasoned, then had widowed her own self, 
 A widowhood in which Death claimed no part. 
 All night he raved, and in his madness died. 
 And I have seen his death-look on a beast 
 B 2 xix. 
 
Baring the teeth 'twas powerless to use 
 
 Against a foe of greater strength, and there 
 
 Lay dead, intentions hatefully revealed. 
 
 Such his dread look : the vicious show of teeth 
 
 Made bare in hatred to his unseen foes. 
 
 Such is this drink that fathers half our sins ; 
 
 It makes a simple one responsible 
 
 For deeds which memory makes no count to save, 
 
 And proves man guilty in his innocence. 
 
 When he shall stand before his judging God 
 
 He needs must answer charges strange to him 
 
 And his own mind — to One who sees all things ; 
 
 And what He sees, He never can forget. 
 
 May God have mercy on our frailties ! 
 
 Sure we, though set a thousand years of pain, 
 
 Nor once to murmur at vicissitude. 
 
 Still ill deserved those promises fulfilled 
 
 Of an eternity of bliss with Him ; 
 
 And who can know the thoughts of him in hell. 
 
 Who sacrificed eternity of joy 
 
 To gratify this little life on earth ! 
 
 Were't not for God Almighty's mercy, trees 
 
 Would 'scape the thunderbolt, th' unfeeling rocks 
 
 The lightning's blast ; all ills to fall on man. 
 
 Who hides his conscience in a covered cage. 
 
 As dumb and silent as a moulting bird. 
 
 XX. 
 
LOVE'S COMING 
 
 An hour or more she's gone, 
 
 And we are left alone, 
 
 I and her bird. 
 
 At last he twittered some, 
 
 To hear my loved one come, 
 
 And I, too, heard. 
 
 When she had entered. 
 He tilted then his head. 
 If right or wrong ; 
 But when her voice was heard 
 A frenzy seized the bird 
 To rave in song. 
 
 " Peace, pet, my love is near, 
 
 Her voice I cannot hear 
 
 In such a din ; 
 
 Thou couldst not call more loud 
 
 Unto a smiling cloud 
 
 That May hides in." 
 
 Now, what his thoughts could be — 
 
 If she still spake and he 
 
 In harmony ; 
 
 Or had forgetful grown, 
 
 Enamoured of his own 
 
 Sweet melody — 
 
 XXI. 
 
Is not my say ; I know 
 
 I out with her must go 
 
 To hear her story. 
 
 We left that raving thing — 
 
 Made worse by laughter — sing 
 
 Out his mad glory. 
 
 XXll. 
 
IN A LODGING HOUSE 
 
 " Get to thy room," a voice told me, 
 
 " From sottish lips in blasphemy " ; 
 
 And I said this : " If I go there, 
 
 Silence will send to me Despair ; 
 
 Then my weak What I Am will be 
 
 Mocked by that one I wish to be ; 
 
 And leeches of regret will lie 
 
 On me to palely stupefy, 
 
 Close sucking at my heart's content " — 
 
 Yet I arose, to my room went. 
 
 I knew't : scarce off my garments were 
 
 When came the funeral gathering there 
 
 To bury my dead hopes, as night 
 
 By night to mock my Fancy's sight. 
 
 There was a meeting-house adjoined, 
 
 Where rich ones, rare and few of kind, 
 
 Fed little children, came to cheer 
 
 Parents with music sweet to hear. 
 
 While now I grieved a real voice stole 
 
 Into my room, and sang this soul 
 
 To heaven from hell, though I knew well 
 
 Silence would drift it back to hell 
 
 When that sweet sound was heard no more. 
 
 She sang to me a chanted shore 
 
 Where seamaids' dripping tresses spread 
 
To make the rocks gold carpeted ; 
 
 She sang me back to childhood's way, 
 
 To fields with lambs to see at play, 
 
 And sheep that coughed like men. Again 
 
 I saw quaint treasures of the main, 
 
 Dried fishes, model ships, and shells, 
 
 And coral stalks, and seaweed bells, 
 
 In my grandfather's house. Ah ! sweet 
 
 To bear his boast through school and street- 
 
 " Master of my own ship was I." 
 
 Again I heard his footsteps nigh, 
 
 As to and fro the passage dark 
 
 He walked, as though on his own bark ; 
 
 When granny, I, a sister, brother, 
 
 Huddled under cosy cover. 
 
 Now have I lived my score and ten, 
 
 Yet less my hope than older men. 
 
 No collier bowelled in the earth 
 
 But Hope shall flush with rosy breath ; 
 
 No seaman drowning in the main. 
 
 Nor traveller perished on a plain, 
 
 Where all is silent, and the wind 
 
 Prowls day and night in vain to find 
 
 A living thing to make a moan, 
 
 Or mountaineer was lost — nay, none 
 
 Of these but Hope makes less afraid, 
 
 xxiv. 
 
And flatters to some call for aid. 
 
 Yet here lives one a score and ten, 
 
 And less his hope than older men. 
 
 I cared not for that singer's grace, 
 
 If plain she were or fair of face. 
 
 Or what her station, age might be — 
 
 She was a Voice, no more to me, 
 
 But such an one, so sweet and fresh, 
 
 I made no judgment on her flesh. 
 
 It seemed a spirit there to float. 
 
 Alighting with such raptured note 
 
 That it must ease its heart of. Oh, 
 
 Woman ; thy sweet voice none others know 
 
 As they to whom thou'rt seldom heard ; 
 
 Who have no flower to tend, no bird 
 
 For pet, no child to play — to give 
 
 A cultured joy to ones that live 
 
 In common lodging house. To hear 
 
 A sweet voice is to me more dear 
 
 Than sound of organs, bands, or bells. 
 
 Discordant bursts lead out soft swells 
 
 Of instrumental harmony — 
 
 Love's voice is from all discord free, 
 
 Here darkly die, die darkly here, 
 
 And lack e'en Friendship's common tear ; 
 
 A wreck of men, one score and ten. 
 
 And less thy hope than older men. 
 
 XXV. 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 Autumn grows old : he, like some simple one, 
 In Summer's castaway is strangely clad ; 
 Such withered things the winds in frolic mad 
 Shake from his feeble hand and forehead wan. 
 
 Autumn is sighing for his early gold, 
 And in his tremble dropping his remains ; 
 The brook talks more, as one bereft of brains. 
 Who singeth loud, delirious with the cold. 
 
 now with drowsy June one hour to be ! 
 Scarce waking strength to hear the hum of bees. 
 Or cattle lowing under shady trees. 
 
 Knee deep in waters loitering to the sea. 
 
 1 would that drowsy June awhile were here. 
 The amorous South wind carrying all the vale — 
 Save that white lily true to star as pale, 
 Whose secret day-dream Phoebus burns to hear. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
SLEEP 
 
 Life's angel half, sweet Sleep, 
 
 When, like the mermaid, thou 
 
 In all thy loveliness 
 
 Dost rise from out the deep 
 
 Where Life is foul to see — 
 
 Men wake to scheme and sin. 
 
 But thou dost keep them pure 
 
 In that sweet hour with thee. 
 
 The flower upon the hill, 
 Where caves and crags and peaks 
 Carry the thunder on 
 After the heavens are still. 
 Knows thee : as that cared flower 
 Within some sheltering wood. 
 And houses built by men, 
 And in my lady's bower. 
 
 If Age hath followed Truth, 
 
 A conscience clean and pure 
 
 Is unto him as is 
 
 Sweet Innocence to Youth ; 
 
 But Age and Innocence 
 
 Dost thou, sweet sleep, reward : 
 
 Thou givest rest to both. 
 
 To both art recompense. 
 
 xxvii. 
 
Yet thou hast awful power 
 When thou art lying still 
 And breathing quietly ! 
 Was it not such an hour 
 Dark Murder slunk away, 
 Fearing thy innocence 
 More than the watchfulness 
 Of men in armed array ? 
 
 Thou makest War to cease 
 Awhile, and armies pause ; 
 And in the midst of strife 
 Thou bringest them to peace ; 
 The tyrant must delay 
 The cruel deed at thy command ; 
 Oppressed ones know thy balm 
 Can take their fears away. 
 
 xxvm. 
 
DEATH 
 
 Beauty '11 be no fairer than 
 
 Aged dame so shrunk and wan, 
 
 Whom she looks on proudly. Now, 
 
 Did Death strike them sudden low, 
 
 Strike them down, a little while 
 
 Vanished Beauty's velvet smile, 
 
 Ugly grinner she, and few 
 
 Mark the difference 'tween these two. 
 
 Nothing here shall arbitrate, 
 
 Chivalry intimidate. 
 
 Hour of doom, or change Death's laws ; 
 
 Kings hire no ambassadors. 
 
 Death makes monarchs grinning clowns. 
 
 Fits their skulls for bells, not crowns. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
BEAUTY'S LIGHT 
 
 Think not her face is patched with pink, 
 
 Or is a jumbled mess to seem, 
 
 As berries red, that neither sink 
 
 Nor swim in shadows of pale cream — 
 
 Oh, no ! her face it is not white, 
 
 Nor red, nor brown, nor dark, nor fair. 
 
 Nor yellow sure, though all the light 
 
 Of gold and yellow flower meets there ; 
 
 So radiant is my loved one's face 
 
 There's not one colour there to trace. 
 
 I know not where the light turns on : 
 Whether that wondrous ball of hair 
 And golden fire reflects upon 
 Her cheeks, creating sunbeams there, 
 I cannot tell ; but it is sweet 
 Back of that column white as snow 
 To let my fingers link and meet 
 Under her hair falls, and to know 
 Her mine ; where it feels warm ; a nest 
 Just emptied by the birds at rest. 
 
 A thousand sunbeams on each cheek 
 Are crowding eager to o'erleap 
 Her blue eye's fence rails, where they seek 
 To drown themselves in pools so deep ; 
 
 XXX. 
 
And leapt them seems that many have, 
 Yet, strange to say, not one could drown, 
 But may be seen afloat the wave, 
 To bob their bodies up and down ; 
 And not a beam that leapt the fence 
 Lost its soul's light in consequence. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
LINES TO A SPARROW 
 
 What shall we call thee — mouse o' the air, 
 
 To raid our buds, make our trees bare, 
 
 To rob the sunlight of its grain, 
 
 More mischievous than April's rain ; 
 
 To rob our orchards, and to knock 
 
 Young blossoms down, to spoil and pock 
 
 Nature's fair face, in spite and wrath — 
 
 As he, thy brother of the earth, 
 
 Who creeps at night time slyly forth 
 
 To tear our satins, silks, and what 
 
 He cannot munch makes wanton rot? 
 
 Nay, not like him art thou, for he 
 
 Doth from his own poor shadow flee, 
 
 And is a fearsome wretch, to show 
 
 A guilt his conscience should not know ; 
 
 And so ridiculous his fear 
 
 That Innocence, without a tear 
 
 Delights to prison him ; but thou 
 
 Art guiltier than we will allow. 
 
 It is in wintry weather when 
 
 The robin turns a beggar, then 
 
 Jays, pigeons, steal the squirrel's store ; 
 
 But, when the winter's stress is o'er, 
 
 They are dishonourable no more — 
 
 Yet thou art thief, despoiler ever, 
 
 xxxii. 
 
Through sunny and through stormy weather. 
 Time was thou didst perform great work, 
 And slay slugs, bugs, and things that lurk 
 In pioneer's path ; of late 
 Thou hast incurred our mortal hate, 
 And we would hunt thee out of life — 
 Were't not for such unequal strife ; 
 Our gins and traps, we must confess. 
 Are vain, and powder powerless ; 
 And all our cunning arts are vain, 
 The triumph thine, and ours the pain. 
 Man cannot shake thee off : as though 
 A billow reared and plunged to throw 
 The wind that on its arched crest 
 Jockeyed from shore to shore, and rest 
 Not for a moment gave — e'en so 
 Thy triumph none can overthrow. 
 With all this fuss of thee, I doubt 
 Thou art all bad, as men make out ; 
 Not Cocky Sparrow, nor Jim Mouse, 
 O foolish man, that robs thy house : 
 If thou wouldst know what takes thy feed, 
 Set trap for hand of human greed ; 
 'Tis not that sparrows, mice are sly — 
 On men who govern men keep eye. 
 Brown Sparrow, with us everywhere, 
 VOL. V. — c. xxxiii. 
 
Go, multiply without a care : 
 Wlien larks sing over fields unroamed, 
 And sealed woods by night are stormed, 
 Surrendering unto nightingales — 
 When cuckoos call to hills from vales, 
 Thou, Sparrow mine, art here and near, 
 To find all times, come year, go year. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
A DRINKING SONG 
 
 A Bee goes mumbling homeward pleased, 
 
 He hath not slaved away his hours ; 
 
 He's drunken with a thousand healths 
 
 Of love and kind regard for flowers. 
 
 Pour out the wine, 
 
 His joy be mine. 
 
 Forgetful of affairs at home, 
 He hath sipped oft and merrily ; 
 Forgetful of his duty — Oh ! 
 What can he say to his queen bee ? 
 He says in wine, 
 " Boo to her shrine ! " 
 
 The coward dog that wags his tail, 
 And rubs the nose with mangy curs, 
 And fearful says, " Come play, not fight," 
 Knows not the draught to drown his fears ; 
 Knows not the wine. 
 The ruby shine. 
 
 Poor beggar, breathless in yon barn. 
 Who fears a mouse to move thy straw. 
 Must Conscience pester thee all night, 
 And fear oppress with thoughts of law ? 
 O dearth of wine, 
 No sleep is thine. 
 
 C 2 XXXV. 
 
Is Bacchus not the god of gods, 
 
 Who gives to Beauty's cheeks their shine ? 
 
 O Love, thou art a wingless worm ; 
 
 Wouldst thou be winged, fill thee with wine ; 
 
 Fill thee with wine. 
 
 And wings be thine. 
 
 Then, Bacchus, rule thy merry race. 
 And laws like thine who would not keep ? 
 And when fools weep to hear us laugh, 
 We'll laugh, ha 1 ha ! to see them weep. 
 O god of wine, 
 My soul be thine. 
 
 XXXVl 
 
LOVE ABSENT 
 
 Where wert thou, love, when from Twm Barium turned 
 
 The moon's face full the way of Alteryn. 
 
 And from his wood's dark cage the nightingale 
 
 Drave out clear notes across the open sheen ? 
 
 I stood alone to see the ripples run 
 From light to shade, and shade to light in play ; 
 Like fearsome children stealing guilty moves 
 When Age is dozing — when thou wert away. 
 
 The banks of Alteryn are no less sweet, 
 Nor Malpas brook more chary of his flowers, 
 And I unchanged as they ; but thou, dear love, 
 AUowest Time to part us with his hours. 
 
 XXX Vll. 
 
THE PROVER 
 
 If Life gives friends, 
 
 'Tis Death that keeps them true : 
 
 When living long 
 
 Time proves them false and few ; 
 
 So Life's a boon 
 
 When death is coming soon. 
 
 Life hath no joy 
 
 Except we cherish some 
 
 Illusive dream : 
 
 If Wisdom come, 
 
 Life were no boon — 
 
 Did Death not come more soon. 
 
 I loved a maid 
 
 Time hath proved false to be ; 
 
 Would Death had come 
 
 When true that maid to me ! 
 
 Life were a boon 
 
 Had death been coming soon. 
 
SAINTS AND LODGERS 
 
 Ye saints, that sing in rooms above, 
 
 Do ye want souls to consecrate ? 
 
 Here's " Boosy '' Bob, " Pease Pudding " Joe, 
 
 And " Fishy Fat," of Billingsgate. 
 
 Such language only they can speak, 
 
 It juggles heaven and hell together ; 
 
 One threatens, with a fearful oath. 
 
 To slit a nose like a pig's trotter. 
 
 Here's sporting Fred, swears he is robbed, 
 And out of fifteen shillings done 
 By his own pal, who would not lend 
 Sixpence to back a horse that won. 
 
 Here's Davie, he's so used to drink, 
 When sober he is most bemuddled ; 
 He steers his craft with better skill, 
 And grows quite sly when he is fuddled. 
 
 Here's " Brummy " Tom, a little man, 
 Who proudly throws his weight in drink ; 
 He knows men think him poor when sober, 
 And then, ashamed, to bed doth slink. 
 
 The " Masher " who, by his kind deeds, 
 The friendship of our house hath lost ; 
 He lent out cash that's not repaid — 
 They hate him worst who owe him most. 
 
 xxxix. 
 
Here's " Irish " Tim, outspoken wretch, 
 Insult him, he is thy staunch friend ; 
 But say " Good morning," civil like, 
 He'll damn thee then to thy life's end. 
 
 What use are friends if not to bear 
 Our venom and malicious spleen ! 
 Which, on our life ! we dare not give 
 To foes who'll question what we mean. 
 
 Come down, ye saints, to old " Barge " Bill, 
 And make- his wicked heart to quake. 
 His stomach nothing can upset. 
 He boils his tea an hour to make. 
 
 Ye saints above, come to these sinners : 
 To " Sunny " James, and " Skilly " Bob, 
 "The Major," "Dodger," "Tinker" George, 
 And " Deafy," he's the lodger's snob. 
 
 Here's " Yank," we call "All Legs and Wings," 
 He's so erratic in his motion ; 
 And poor wee " Punch," a sickly man — 
 He's worse when he hath ta'en his lotion. 
 
 " Haymaker " George, a pig for pickles, 
 And " Brass," for old clay pipes swops new ; 
 Here's " Balmy " Joe, he's cursed clean, 
 Sweeps beetles in one's mutton stew. 
 
 xl. 
 
" Australian " Bill, ta'en sick away, 
 Came home to find his wife hath slid 
 To other arms ; he's done with Liz, 
 But in his heart he wants the kid. 
 
 Here's Jack, so mean he begs from beggars, 
 Who make scant living door to door ; 
 Here's " Slim," a quiet man awake, 
 Whose sleep's a twenty horse-power snore. 
 
 Here's " Sailor," pacing to and fro, 
 Twice on his four hours' watch to see ; 
 Ten paces forward, ten go aft — 
 A silent man and mystery. 
 
 " The Watchman " takes twelve naps a day 
 And at each wake his mouth is foul ; 
 When he shall wake from his last sleep 
 He'll have good cause to curse his soul. 
 
 Here's gentle Will, who knows most things, 
 Throws light on Egypt and the Nile — 
 And many more to consecrate. 
 If, Christian folk, ye think worth while. 
 
 Toy sellers, fish-men, paper-men, 
 A few work barges, few are cadgers ; 
 Some make up flowers from wire and wool. 
 Some pensions take — such are our lodgers. 
 
 xli. 
 
THE LODGING HOUSE FIRE 
 My birthday — yesterday, 
 Its hours were twenty-four ; 
 Four hours I lived lukewarm, 
 And killed a score. 
 
 I woke eight chimes and rose, 
 Came to our fire below. 
 Then sat four hours and watched 
 Its sullen glow. 
 
 Then out four hours I walked, 
 The lukewarm four I live, 
 And felt no other joy 
 Than air can give. 
 
 My mind durst know no thought. 
 It knew my life too well : 
 'Twas hell before, behind. 
 And round me hell. 
 
 Back to that fire again, 
 Ten hours I watch it now, 
 And take to bed dim eyes 
 And fever's brow. 
 
 Ten hours I give to sleep, 
 More than my need, I know ; 
 But I escape my mind 
 And that fire's glow, 
 xlii. 
 
For listen : it is death 
 To watch that fire's glow ; 
 For, as it burns more red 
 Men paler grow. 
 
 better in foul room 
 That's warm, make life away. 
 Than homeless out of doors. 
 Cold night and day. 
 
 Pile on the coke, make fire, 
 Rouse its death-dealing glow ; 
 Men are borne dead away 
 Ere they can know. 
 
 1 lie ; I cannot watch 
 
 Its glare from hour to hour ; 
 It makes one sleep, to wake 
 Out of my power. 
 
 I close my eyes and swear 
 It shall not wield its power ; 
 No use, I wake to find 
 A murdered hour 
 
 Lying between us there ! 
 
 That fire drowsed me deep. 
 
 And I wrought murder's deed — 
 
 Did it in sleep. 
 
 xliii. 
 
I count us, thirty men, 
 Huddled from Winter's blow, 
 Helpless to move away 
 From that fire's glow. 
 
 So goes my life each day — 
 Its hours are twenty-four — 
 Four hours I live lukewarm, 
 And kill a score. 
 
 No man lives life so wise 
 But unto Time he throws 
 Morsels to hunger for 
 At his life's close. 
 
 Were all such morsels heaped — 
 Time greedily devours, 
 When man sits still — he'd mourn 
 So few wise hours. 
 
 But all my day is waste, 
 I live a lukewarm four 
 And make a red coke fire 
 Poison the score. 
 
 xliv. 
 
THE HILL-SIDE PARK 
 
 Some banks cropped close, and lawns smooth mown and 
 
 green, 
 
 Where, when a daisy's guiltless face was seen, 
 
 Its pretty head came sacrifice to pride 
 
 Of human taste — I saw upon the side 
 
 Of a steep hill. Without a branch of wood 
 
 Plants, giant-leaved, like boneless bodies stood. 
 
 The flowers had colonies, not one was seen 
 
 To go astray from its allotted green, 
 
 But to the light like mermaid's faces came 
 
 From waves of green, and scarce two greens the same. 
 
 And everywhere man's ingenuity 
 
 On fence and bordering : for I could see 
 
 The tiny scaffolding to hold the heads 
 
 And faces overgrown of flowers in beds 
 
 On which their weak-developed frames must fall, 
 
 Had they not such support upright and tall. 
 
 There was a fountain, and its waters' leap 
 
 Was under a full-quivered Cupid's keep. 
 
 And from his mother's lips the spray was blown 
 
 Upon adjusted rock, selected stone ; 
 
 And so was placed that all the waters fell 
 
 Into a small ravine in a small dell. 
 
 And made a stream, where that wee river raved. 
 
 As gold his locks and margent amber paved. 
 
 xlv. 
 
This park, it was a miracle of care, 
 But sweeter far to me the prospects there : 
 The far beyond, where lived Romance near seas 
 And pools in haze, and in far realms of trees. 
 I saw where Severn had run wide and free. 
 Out where the Holms lie flat upon a sea 
 Whose wrinkles wizard Distance smoothed away, 
 And still sails flecked its face of silver-grey. 
 
 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 6007.A93S8 
 
 The soul's destroyer, and other poems. 
 
 3 1924 013 604 404 
 
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