It may be from his side His loved ones died, And last of some bright band, (Together now once more,) He sought his home, the land Where they had gone before.

No matter—limes have made As cool a shade, And lingering breezes pass As tenderly and slow, As if beneath the grass A monarch slept below.

No grief, though loud and deep, Could stir that sleep; And earth and heaven tell Of rest that shall not cease, Where the cold world's farewell Fades into endless peace.



VERSE: GIVE ME THY HEART

With echoing steps the worshippers Departed one by one; The organ's pealing voice was stilled, The vesper hymn was done; The shadows fell from roof and arch, Dim was the incensed air, One lamp alone with trembling ray, Told of the Presence there!

In the dark church she knelt alone; Her tears were falling fast; "Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death Upon my soul are cast! Have I not shunned the path of sin, And chosen the better part?" What voice came through the sacred air?— "My child, give me thy Heart!"

"Have I not laid before Thy shrine My wealth, oh Lord?" she cried; "Have I kept aught of gems or gold, To minister to pride? Have I not bade youth's joys retire, And vain delights depart?"— But sad and tender was the voice— "My child, give me thy Heart!"

"Have I not, Lord, gone day by day Where Thy poor children dwell; And carried help, and gold, and food? Oh Lord, Thou knowest it well! From many a house, from many a soul, My hand bids care depart:"— More sad, more tender, was the voice— "My child, give me thy Heart!"

"Have I not worn my strength away With fast and penance sore? Have I not watched and wept?" she cried; "Did Thy dear Saints do more? Have I not gained Thy grace, oh Lord, And won in Heaven my part?"— It echoed louder in her soul— "My child, give me thy Heart!"

"For I have loved thee with a love No mortal heart can show; A love so deep, my Saints in heaven Its depths can never know: When pierced and wounded on the Cross, Man's sin and doom were mine, I loved thee with undying love, Immortal and divine!

"I love thee ere the skies were spread; My soul bears all thy pains; To gain thy love my sacred Heart In earthly shrines remains: Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs, Without one gift divine, Give it, my child, thy Heart to me, And it shall rest in mine!"

In awe she listened, and the shade Passed from her soul away; In low and trembling voice she cried— "Lord, help me to obey! Break Thou the chains of earth, oh Lord, That bind and hold my heart; Let it be Thine, and Thine alone, Let none with Thee have part.

"Send down, oh Lord, Thy sacred fire! Consume and cleanse the sin That lingers still within its depths: Let heavenly love begin. That sacred flame Thy Saints have known, Kindle, oh Lord, in me, Thou above all the rest for ever, And all the rest in Thee."

The blessing fell upon her soul; Her angel by her side Knew that the hour of peace was come; Her soul was purified: The shadows fell from roof and arch, Dim was the incensed air— But Peace went with her as she left The sacred Presence there!



VERSE: THE WAYSIDE INN

A little past the village The Inn stood, low and white; Green shady trees behind it, And an orchard on the right; Where over the green paling The red-cheeked apples hung, As if to watch how wearily The sign-board creaked and swung.

The heavy-laden branches, Over the road hung low, Reflected fruit or blossom From the wayside well below; Where children, drawing water, Looked up and paused to see, Amid the apple-branches, A purple Judas Tree.

The road stretched winding onward For many a weary mile— So dusty foot-sore wanderers Would pause and rest awhile; And panting horses halted, And travellers loved to tell The quiet of the wayside inn, The orchard, and the well.

Here Maurice dwelt; and often The sunburnt boy would stand Gazing upon the distance, And shading with his hand His eyes, while watching vainly For travellers, who might need His aid to loose the bridle, And tend the weary steed.

And once (the boy remembered That morning, many a day— The dew lay on the hawthorn, The bird sang on the spray) A train of horsemen, nobler Than he had seen before, Up from the distance galloped, And halted at the door.

Upon a milk-white pony, Fit for a faery queen, Was the loveliest little damsel His eyes had ever seen: A serving-man was holding The leading rein, to guide The pony and its mistress, Who cantered by his side.

Her sunny ringlets round her A golden cloud had made, While her large hat was keeping Her calm blue eyes in shade; One hand held fast the silken reins To keep her steed in check, The other pulled his tangled mane, Or stroked his glossy neck.

And as the boy brought water, And loosed the rein, he heard The sweetest voice that thanked him In one low gentle word; She turned her blue eyes from him, Looked up, and smiled to see The hanging purple blossoms Upon the Judas Tree;

And showed it with a gesture, Half pleading, half command, Till he broke the fairest blossom, And laid it in her hand; And she tied it to her saddle With a ribbon from her hair, While her happy laugh rang gaily, Like silver on the air.

But the champing steeds were rested— The horsemen now spurred on, And down the dusty highway They vanished and were gone. Years passed, and many a traveller Paused at the old inn-door, But the little milk-white pony And the child returned no more.

Years passed, the apple-branches A deeper shadow shed; And many a time the Judas Tree, Blossom and leaf, lay dead; When on the loitering western breeze Came the bells' merry sound, And flowery arches rose, and flags And banners waved around.

Maurice stood there expectant: The bridal train would stay Some moments at the inn-door, The eager watchers say; They come—the cloud of dust draws near— 'Mid all the state and pride, He only sees the golden hair And blue eyes of the bride.

The same, yet, ah, still fairer; He knew the face once more That bent above the pony's neck Years past at that inn-door: Her shy and smiling eyes looked round, Unconscious of the place, Unconscious of the eager gaze He fixed upon her face.

He plucked a blossom from the tree— The Judas Tree—and cast Its purple fragrance towards the Bride, A message from the Past. The signal came, the horses plunged— Once more she smiled around: The purple blossom in the dust Lay trampled on the ground.

Again the slow years fleeted, Their passage only known By the height the Passion-flower Around the porch had grown; And many a passing traveller Paused at the old inn-door, But the bride, so fair and blooming, The bride returned no more.

One winter morning, Maurice, Watching the branches bare, Rustling and waving dimly In the grey and misty air, Saw blazoned on a carriage Once more the well-known shield, The stars and azure fleurs-de-lis Upon a silver field.

He looked—was that pale woman, So grave, so worn, so sad, The child, once young and smiling, The bride, once fair and glad? What grief had dimmed that glory, And brought that dark eclipse Upon her blue eyes' radiance, And paled those trembling lips?

What memory of past sorrow, What stab of present pain, Brought that deep look of anguish, That watched the dismal rain, That watched (with the absent spirit That looks, yet does not see) The dead and leafless branches Upon the Judas Tree.

The slow dark months crept onward Upon their icy way, 'Till April broke in showers And Spring smiled forth in May; Upon the apple-blossoms The sun shone bright again, When slowly up the highway Came a long funeral train.

The bells toiled slowly, sadly, For a noble spirit fled; Slowly, in pomp and honour, They bore the quiet dead. Upon a black-plumed charger One rode, who held a shield, Where stars and azure fleurs-de-lis Shone on a silver field.

'Mid all that homage given To a fluttering heart at rest, Perhaps an honest sorrow Dwelt only in one breast. One by the inn-door standing Watched with fast-dropping tears The long procession passing, And thought of bygone years,

The boyish, silent homage To child and bride unknown, The pitying tender sorrow Kept in his heart alone, Now laid upon the coffin With a purple flower, might be Told to the cold dead sleeper; The rest could only see A fragrant purple blossom, Plucked from a Judas Tree.



VERSE: VOICES OF THE PAST

You wonder that my tears should flow In listening to that simple strain; That those unskilful sounds should fill My soul with joy and pain— How can you tell what thoughts it stirs Within my heart again?

You wonder why that common phrase, So all unmeaning to your ear, Should stay me in my merriest mood, And thrill my soul to hear— How can you tell what ancient charm Has made me hold it dear?

You marvel that I turn away From all those flowers so fair and bright, And gaze at this poor herb, till tears Arise and dim my sight— You cannot tell how every leaf Breathes of a past delight.

You smile to see me turn and speak With one whose converse you despise; You do not see the dreams of old That with his voice arise— How can you tell what links have made Him sacred in my eyes?

Oh, these are Voices of the Past, Links of a broken chain, Wings that can bear me back to Times Which cannot come again— Yet God forbid that I should lose The echoes that remain!



VERSE: THE DARK SIDE

Thou hast done well, perhaps, To lift the bright disguise, And lay the bitter truth Before our shrinking eyes; When evil crawls below What seems so pure and fair, Thine eyes are keen and true To find the serpent there: And yet—I turn away; Thy task is not divine— The evil angels look On earth with eyes like thine.

Thou hast done well, perhaps, To show how closely wound Dark threads of sin and self With our best deeds are found. How great and noble hearts, Striving for lofty aims, Have still some earthly cord A meaner spirit claims; And yet—although thy task Is well and fairly done, Methinks for such as thou There is a holier one.

Shadows there are, who dwell Among us, yet apart, Deaf to the claim of God, Or kindly human heart; Voices of earth and heaven Call, but they turn away, And Love, through such black night, Can see no hope of day; And yet—our eyes are dim, And thine are keener far— Then gaze till thou canst see The glimmer of some star.

The black stream flows along, Whose waters we despise— Show us reflected there Some fragment of the skies; 'Neath tangled thorns and briars, (The task is fit for thee,) Seek for the hidden flowers, We are too blind to see; Then will I thy great gift A crown and blessing call; Angels look thus on men, And God sees good in all!



VERSE: A FIRST SORROW

Arise! this day shall shine, For evermore, To thee a star divine, On Time's dark shore.

Till now thy soul has been All glad and gay: Bid it awake, and look At grief to-day!

No shade has come between Thee and the sun; Like some long childish dream Thy life has run:

But now the stream has reached A dark, deep sea, And Sorrow, dim and crowned, Is waiting thee.

Each of God's soldiers bears A sword divine: Stretch out thy trembling hands To-day for thine!

To each anointed Priest God's summons came: Oh, Soul, he speaks to-day And calls thy name.

Then, with slow reverent step, And beating heart, From out thy joyous days, Thou must depart.

And, leaving all behind, Come forth, alone, To join the chosen band Around the throne.

Raise up thine eyes—be strong, Nor cast away The crown, that God has given Thy soul to-day!



VERSE: MURMURS

Why wilt thou make bright music Give forth a sound of pain? Why wilt thou weave fair flowers Into a weary chain?

Why turn each cool grey shadow Into a world of fears? Why say the winds are wailing? Why call the dewdrops tears?

The voices of happy nature, And the Heaven's sunny gleam, Reprove thy sick heart's fancies, Upbraid thy foolish dream.

Listen, and I will tell thee The song Creation sings, From the humming of bees in the heather, To the flutter of angels' wings.

An echo rings for ever, The sound can never cease; It speaks to God of glory, It speaks to Earth of peace.

Not alone did angels sing it To the poor shepherds' ear; But the sphered Heavens chant it, While listening ages hear.

Above thy peevish wailing Rises that holy song; Above Earth's foolish clamour, Above the voice of wrong.

No creature of God's too lowly To murmur peace and praise: When the starry nights grow silent, Then speak the sunny days.

So leave thy sick heart's fancies, And lend thy little voice To the silver song of glory That bids the world rejoice.



VERSE: GIVE

See the rivers flowing Downwards to the sea, Pouring all their treasures Bountiful and free— Yet to help their giving Hidden springs arise; Or, if need be, showers Feed them from the skies!

Watch the princely flowers Their rich fragrance spread, Load the air with perfumes, From their beauty shed— Yet their lavish spending Leaves them not in dearth, With fresh life replenished By their mother earth!

Give thy heart's best treasures— From fair Nature learn; Give thy love—and ask not, Wait not a return! And the more thou spendest From thy little store, With a double bounty, God will give thee more.



VERSE: MY JOURNAL

It is a dreary evening; The shadows rise and fall: With strange and ghostly changes, They flicker on the wall.

Make the charred logs burn brighter; I will show you, by their blaze, The half-forgotten record Of bygone things and days.

Bring here the ancient volume; The clasp is old and worn, The gold is dim and tarnished, And the faded leaves are torn.

The dust has gathered on it— There are so few who care To read what Time has written Of joy and sorrow there.

Look at the first fair pages; Yes—I remember all: The joys now seem so trivial, The griefs so poor and small.

Let us read the dreams of glory That childish fancy made; Turn to the next few pages, And see how soon they fade.

Here, where still waiting, dreaming, For some ideal Life, The young heart all unconscious Had entered on the strife.

See how this page is blotted: What—could those tears be mine? How coolly I can read you, Each blurred and trembling line.

Now I can reason calmly, And, looking back again, Can see divinest meaning Threading each separate pain.

Here strong resolve—how broken; Rash hope, and foolish fear, And prayers, which God in pity Refused to grant or hear.

Nay—I will turn the pages To where the tale is told Of how a dawn diviner Flushed the dark clouds with gold.

And see, that light has gilded The story—nor shall set; And, though in mist and shadow, You know I see it yet.

Here—well, it does not matter, I promised to read all; I know not why I falter, Or why my tears should fall;

You see each grief is noted; Yet it was better so— I can rejoice to-day—the pain Was over, long ago.

I read—my voice is failing, But you can understand How the heart beat that guided This weak and trembling hand.

Pass over that long struggle, Read where the comfort came, Where the first time is written Within the book your name.

Again it comes, and oftener, Linked, as it now must be, With all the joy or sorrow That Life may bring to me.

So all the rest—you know it: Now shut the clasp again, And put aside the record Of bygone hours of pain.

The dust shall gather on it, I will not read it more: Give me your hand—what was it We were talking of before?

I know not why—but tell me Of something gay and bright. It is strange—my heart is heavy, And my eyes are dim to-night.



VERSE: A CHAIN

The bond that links our souls together; Will it last through stormy weather? Will it moulder and decay As the long hours pass away? Will it stretch if Fate divide us, When dark and weary hours have tried us? Oh, if it look too poor and slight Let us break the links to-night!

It was not forged by mortal hands, Or clasped with golden bars and bands; Save thine and mine, no other eyes The slender link can recognise: In the bright light it seems to fade— And it is hidden in the shade; While Heaven nor Earth have never heard, Or solemn vow, or plighted word.

Yet what no mortal hand could make, No mortal power can ever break: What words or vows could never do, No words or vows can make untrue; And if to other hearts unknown The dearer and the more our own, Because too sacred and divine For other eyes, save thine and mine.

And see, though slender, it is made Of Love and Trust, and can they fade? While, if too slight it seem, to bear The breathings of the summer air, We know that it could bear the weight Of a most heavy heart of late, And as each day and hour flew The stronger for its burthen grew.

And, too, we know and feel again It has been sanctified by pain, For what God deigns to try with sorrow He means not to decay to-morrow; But through that fiery trial last When earthly ties and bonds are past; What slighter things dare not endure Will make our Love more safe and pure.

Love shall be purified by Pain, And Pain be soothed by Love again: So let us now take heart and go Cheerfully on, through joy and woe; No change the summer sun can bring, Or the inconstant skies of spring, Or the bleak winter's stormy weather, For we shall meet them, Love, together!



VERSE: THE PILGRIMS

The way is long and dreary, The path is bleak and bare; Our feet are worn and weary, But we will not despair. More heavy was Thy burthen, More desolate Thy way;— Oh Lamb of God who takest The sin of the world away, Have mercy on us.

The snows lie thick around us In the dark and gloomy night; And the tempest wails above us, And the stars have hid their light; But blacker was the darkness Round Calvary's Cross that day;— Oh Lamb of God who takest The sin of the world away, Have mercy on us.

Our hearts are faint with sorrow, Heavy and hard to bear; For we dread the bitter morrow, But we will not despair: Thou knowest all our anguish, And Thou wilt bid it cease,— Oh Lamb of God who takest The sin of the world away, Give us Thy Peace!



VERSE: INCOMPLETENESS

Nothing resting in its own completeness Can have worth or beauty: but alone Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness, Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.

Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, Gracious though it be, of her blue hours; But is hidden in her tender leaning To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers.

Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly Into Day, which floods the world with light; Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy Just because it ends in starry Night.

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow From Strife, that in a far-off future lies; And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow) Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes.

Life is only bright when it proceedeth Towards a truer, deeper Life above; Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth To a more divine and perfect Love.

Learn the mystery of Progression duly: Do not call each glorious change, Decay; But know we only hold our treasures truly, When it seems as if they passed away.

Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness; In that want their beauty lies: they roll Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.



VERSE: A LEGEND OF BREGENZ

Girt round with rugged mountains The fair Lake Constance lies; In her blue heart reflected Shine back the starry skies; And, watching each white cloudlet Float silently and slow, You think a piece of Heaven Lies on our earth below!

Midnight is there: and Silence, Enthroned in Heaven, looks down Upon her own calm mirror, Upon a sleeping town: For Bregenz, that quaint city Upon the Tyrol shore, Has stood above Lake Constance, A thousand years and more.

Her battlements and towers, From off their rocky steep, Have cast their trembling shadow For ages on the deep: Mountain, and lake, and valley, A sacred legend know, Of how the town was saved, one night, Three hundred years ago.

Far from her home and kindred, A Tyrol maid had fled, To serve in the Swiss valleys, And toil for daily bread; And every year that fleeted So silently and fast, Seemed to bear farther from her The memory of the Past.

She served kind, gentle masters, Nor asked for rest or change; Her friends seemed no more new ones, Their speech seemed no more strange; And when she led her cattle To pasture every day, She ceased to look and wonder On which side Bregenz lay.

She spoke no more of Bregenz, With longing and with tears: Her Tyrol home seemed faded In a deep mist of years; She heeded not the rumours Of Austrian war and strife; Each day she rose contented, To the calm toils of life.

Yet, when her master's children Would clustering round her stand, She sang them ancient ballads Of her own native land; And when at morn and evening She knelt before God's throne, The accents of her childhood Rose to her lips alone.

And so she dwelt: the valley More peaceful year by year; When suddenly strange portents, Of some great deed seemed near. The golden corn was bending Upon its fragile stalk, While farmers, heedless of their fields, Paced up and down in talk.

The men seemed stern and altered, With looks cast on the ground; With anxious faces, one by one, The women gathered round; All talk of flax, or spinning, Or work, was put away; The very children seemed afraid To go alone to play.

One day, out in the meadow With strangers from the town, Some secret plan discussing, The men walked up and down. Yet, now and then seemed watching, A strange uncertain gleam, That looked like lances 'mid the trees, That stood below the stream.

At eve they all assembled, Then care and doubt were fled; With jovial laugh they feasted; The board was nobly spread. The elder of the village Rose up, his glass in hand, And cried, "We drink the downfall "Of an accursed land!

"The night is growing darker, "Ere one more day is flown, "Bregenz, our foemen's stronghold, "Bregenz shall be our own!" The women shrank in terror, (Yet Pride, too, had her part,) But one poor Tyrol maiden Felt death within her heart.

Before her, stood fair Bregenz; Once more her towers arose; What were the friends beside her? Only her country's foes! The faces of her kinsfolk, The days of childhood flown, The echoes of her mountains, Reclaimed her as their own!

Nothing she heard around her, (Though shouts rang forth again,) Gone were the green Swiss valleys, The pasture, and the plain; Before her eyes one vision, And in her heart one cry, That said, "Go forth, save Bregenz, And then, if need be, die!"

With trembling haste and breathless, With noiseless step she sped; Horses and weary cattle Were standing in the shed; She loosed the strong white charger, That fed from out her hand, She mounted, and she turned his head Towards her native land.

Out—out into the darkness— Faster, and still more fast; The smooth grass flies behind her, The chestnut wood is past; She looks up; clouds are heavy: Why is her steed so slow?— Scarcely the wind beside them, Can pass them as they go.

"Faster!" she cries, "Oh faster!" Eleven the church-bells chime: "Oh God," she cries, "help Bregenz, And bring me there in time!" But louder than bells' ringing, Or lowing of the kine, Grows nearer in the midnight The rushing of the Rhine.

Shall not the roaring waters Their headlong gallop check? The steed draws back in terror, She leans upon his neck To watch the flowing darkness; The bank is high and steep; One pause—he staggers forward, And plunges in the deep.

She strives to pierce the blackness, And looser throws the rein; Her steed must breast the waters That dash above his mane. How gallantly, how nobly, He struggles through the foam, And see—in the far distance, Shine out the lights of home!

Up the steep banks he bears her, And now, they rush again Towards the heights of Bregenz, That tower above the plain. They reach the gate of Bregenz, Just as the midnight rings, And out come serf and soldier To meet the news she brings.

Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight Her battlements are manned; Defiance greets the army That marches on the land. And if to deeds heroic Should endless fame be paid, Bregenz does well to honour The noble Tyrol maid.

Three hundred years are vanished, And yet upon the hill An old stone gateway rises, To do her honour still. And there, when Bregenz women Sit spinning in the shade, They see in quaint old carving The Charger and the Maid.

And when, to guard old Bregenz, By gateway, street, and tower, The warder paces all night long, And calls each passing hour; "Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud, And then (Oh crown of Fame!) When midnight pauses in the skies, He calls the maiden's name!



VERSE: A FAREWELL

Farewell, oh dream of mine! I dare not stay; The hour is come, and time Will not delay: Pleasant and dear to me Wilt thou remain; No future hour Brings thee again.

She stands, the Future dim, And draws me on, And shows me dearer joys— But thou art gone! Treasures and Hopes more fair, Bears she for me, And yet I linger, Oh dream, with thee!

Other and brighter days, Perhaps she brings; Deeper and holier songs, Perchance she sings; But thou and I, fair time, We too must sever— Oh dream of mine, Farewell for ever!



VERSE: SOWING AND REAPING

Sow with a generous hand; Pause not for toil or pain; Weary not through the heat of summer, Weary not through the cold spring rain; But wait till the autumn comes For the sheaves of golden grain.

Scatter the seed, and fear not, A table will be spread; What matter if you are too weary To eat your hard-earned bread: Sow, while the earth is broken, For the hungry must be fed.

Sow;—while the seeds are lying In the warm earth's bosom deep, And your warm tears fall upon it— They will stir in their quiet sleep; And the green blades rise the quicker, Perchance, for the tears you weep.

Then sow;—for the hours are fleeting, And the seed must fall to-day; And care not what hands shall reap it, Or if you shall have passed away Before the waving corn-fields Shall gladden the sunny day.

Sow; and look onward, upward, Where the starry light appears— Where, in spite of the coward's doubting, Or your own heart's trembling fears, You shall reap in joy the harvest You have sown to-day in tears.



VERSE: THE STORM

The tempest rages wild and high, The waves lift up their voice and cry Fierce answers to the angry sky,— Miserere Domine.

Through the black night and driving rain, A ship is struggling, all in vain To live upon the stormy main;— Miserere Domine.

The thunders roar, the lightnings glare, Vain is it now to strive or dare; A cry goes up of great despair,— Miserere Domine.

The stormy voices of the main, The moaning wind, and pelting rain Beat on the nursery window pane:- Miserere Domine.

Warm curtained was the little bed, Soft pillowed was the little head; "The storm will wake the child," they said:- Miserere Domine.

Cowering among his pillows white He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright, "Father, save those at sea to-night!" Miserere Domine.

The morning shone all clear and gay, On a ship at anchor in the bay, And on a little child at play,— Gloria tibi Domine!



VERSE: WORDS

Words are lighter than the cloud-foam Of the restless ocean spray; Vainer than the trembling shadow That the next hour steals away. By the fall of summer raindrops Is the air as deeply stirred; And the rose-leaf that we tread on Will outlive a word.

Yet, on the dull silence breaking With a lightning flash, a Word, Bearing endless desolation On its blighting wings, I heard: Earth can forge no keener weapon, Dealing surer death and pain, And the cruel echo answered Through long years again.

I have known one word hang starlike O'er a dreary waste of years, And it only shone the brighter Looked at through a mist of tears; While a weary wanderer gathered Hope and heart on Life's dark way, By its faithful promise, shining Clearer day by day.

I have known a spirit, calmer Than the calmest lake, and clear As the heavens that gazed upon it, With no wave of hope or fear; But a storm had swept across it, And its deepest depths were stirred, (Never, never more to slumber,) Only by a word.

I have known a word more gentle Than the breath of summer air; In a listening heart it nestled, And it lived for ever there. Not the beating of its prison Stirred it ever, night or day; Only with the heart's last throbbing Could it fade away.

Words are mighty, words are living: Serpents with their venomous stings, Or bright angels, crowding round us, With heaven's light upon their wings: Every word has its own spirit, True or false, that never dies; Every word man's lips have uttered Echoes in God's skies.



VERSE: A LOVE TOKEN

Do you grieve no costly offering To the Lady you can make? One there is, and gifts less worthy Queens have stooped to take.

Take a Heart of virgin silver, Fashion it with heavy blows, Cast it into Love's hot furnace When it fiercest glows.

With Pain's sharpest point transfix it, And then carve in letters fair, Tender dreams and quaint devices, Fancies sweet and rare.

Set within it Hope's blue sapphire, Many-changing opal fears, Blood-red ruby-stones of daring, Mixed with pearly tears.

And when you have wrought and laboured Till the gift is all complete, You may humbly lay your offering At the Lady's feet.

Should her mood perchance be gracious— With disdainful smiling pride, She will place it with the trinkets Glittering at her side.



VERSE: A TRYST WITH DEATH

I am footsore and very weary, But I travel to meet a Friend: The way is long and dreary, But I know that it soon must end.

He is travelling fast like the whirlwind, And though I creep slowly on, We are drawing nearer, nearer, And the journey is almost done.

Through the heat of many summers, Through many a springtime rain, Through long autumns and weary winters, I have hoped to meet him, in vain.

I know that he will not fail me, So I count every hour chime, Every throb of my own heart's beating, That tells of the flight of Time.

On the day of my birth he plighted His kingly word to me:- I have seen him in dreams so often, That I know what his smile must be.

I have toiled through the sunny woodland, Through fields that basked in the light; And through the lone paths in the forest I crept in the dead of night.

I will not fear at his coming, Although I must meet him alone; He will look in my eyes so gently, And take my hand in his own.

Like a dream all my toil will vanish, When I lay my head on his breast— But the journey is very weary, And he only can give me rest!



VERSE: FIDELIS

You have taken back the promise That you spoke so long ago; Taken back the heart you gave me— I must even let it go. Where Love once has breathed, Pride dieth: So I struggled, but in vain, First to keep the links together, Then to piece the broken chain.

But it might not be—so freely All your friendship I restore, And the heart that I had taken As my own for evermore. No shade of reproach shall touch you, Dread no more a claim from me— But I will not have you fancy That I count myself as free.

I am bound by the old promise; What can break that golden chain? Not even the words that you have spoken, Or the sharpness of my pain: Do you think, because you fail me And draw back your hand to-day, That from out the heart I gave you My strong love can fade away?

It will live. No eyes may see it; In my soul it will lie deep, Hidden from all; but I shall feel it Often stirring in its sleep. So remember, that the friendship Which you now think poor and vain, Will endure in hope and patience, Till you ask for it again.

Perhaps in some long twilight hour, Like those we have known of old, When past shadows gather round you, And your present friends grow cold, You may stretch your hands out towards me,— Ah! you will—I know not when— I shall nurse my love and keep it Faithfully, for you, till then.



VERSE: A SHADOW

What lack the valleys and mountains That once were green and gay? What lack the babbling fountains? Their voice is sad to-day. Only the sound of a voice, Tender and sweet and low, That made the earth rejoice, A year ago!

What lack the tender flowers? A shadow is on the sun: What lack the merry hours, That I long that they were done? Only two smiling eyes, That told of joy and mirth: They are shining in the skies, I mourn on earth!

What lacks my heart, that makes it So weary and full of pain, That trembling Hope forsakes it, Never to come again? Only another heart, Tender and all mine own, In the still grave it lies; I weep alone!



VERSE: THE SAILOR BOY

My Life you ask of? why, you know Full soon my little Life is told; It has had no great joy or woe, For I am only twelve years old. Ere long I hope I shall have been On my first voyage, and wonders seen. Some princess I may help to free From pirates, on a far-off sea; Or, on some desert isle be left, Of friends and shipmates all bereft.

For the first time I venture forth, From our blue mountains of the north. My kinsman kept the lodge that stood Guarding the entrance near the wood, By the stone gateway grey and old, With quaint devices carved about, And broken shields; while dragons bold Glared on the common world without; And the long trembling ivy spray Half hid the centuries' decay. In solitude and silence grand The castle towered above the land: The castle of the Earl, whose name (Wrapped in old bloody legends) came Down through the times when Truth and Right Bent down to armed Pride and Might. He owned the country far and near; And, for some weeks in every year, (When the brown leaves were falling fast And the long, lingering autumn passed,) He would come down to hunt the deer, With hound and horse in splendid pride. The story lasts the live-long year, The peasant's winter evening fills, When he is gone and they abide In the lone quiet of their hills.

I longed, too, for the happy night, When, all with torches flaring bright, The crowding villagers would stand, A patient, eager, waiting band, Until the signal ran like flame— "They come!" and, slackening speed, they came. Outriders first, in pomp and state, Pranced on their horses through the gate; Then the four steeds as black as night, All decked with trappings blue and white, Drew through the crowd that opened wide, The Earl and Countess side by side. The stern grave Earl, with formal smile And glistening eyes and stately pride, Could ne'er my childish gaze beguile From the fair presence by his side. The lady's soft sad glance, her eyes, (Like stars that shone in summer skies,) Her pure white face so calmly bent, With gentle greetings round her sent Her look, that always seemed to gaze Where the blue past had closed again Over some happy shipwrecked days, With all their freight of love and pain: She did not even seem to see The little lord upon her knee. And yet he was like angel fair, With rosy cheeks and golden hair, That fell on shoulders white as snow: But the blue eyes that shone below His clustering rings of auburn curls, Were not his mother's, but the Earl's.

I feared the Earl, so cold and grim, I never dared be seen by him. When through our gate he used to ride, My kinsman Walter bade me hide; He said he was so stern. So, when the hunt came past our way, I always hastened to obey, Until I heard the bugles play The notes of their return. But she—my very heart-strings stir Whene'er I speak or think of her— The whole wide world could never see A noble lady such as she, So full of angel charity.

Strange things of her our neighbours told In the long winter evenings cold, Around the fire. They would draw near And speak half-whispering, as in fear; As if they thought the Earl could hear Their treason 'gainst his name. They thought the story that his pride Had stooped to wed a low-born bride, A stain upon his fame. Some said 'twas false; there could not be Such blot on his nobility: But others vowed that they had heard The actual story word for word, From one who well my lady knew, And had declared the story true.

In a far village, little known, She dwelt—so ran the tale—alone. A widowed bride, yet, oh! so bright, Shone through the mist of grief, her charms; They said it was the loveliest sight— She with her baby in her arms. The Earl, one summer morning, rode By the sea-shore where she abode; Again he came—that vision sweet Drew him reluctant to her feet. Fierce must the struggle in his heart Have been, between his love and pride, Until he chose that wondrous part, To ask her to become his bride. Yet, ere his noble name she bore, He made her vow that nevermore She would behold her child again, But hide his name and hers from men. The trembling promise duly spoken, All links of the low past were broken; And she arose to take her stand Amid the nobles of the land. Then all would wonder—could it be That one so lowly born as she, Raised to such height of bliss, should seem Still living in some weary dream? 'Tis true she bore with calmest grace The honours of her lofty place, Yet never smiled, in peace or joy, Not even to greet her princely boy. She heard, with face of white despair, The cannon thunder through the air, That she had given the Earl an heir. Nay, even more, (they whispered low, As if they scarce durst fancy so,) That, through her lofty wedded life, No word, no tone, betrayed the wife. Her look seemed ever in the past; Never to him it grew more sweet; The self-same weary glance she cast Upon the grey-hound at her feet, As upon him, who bade her claim The crowning honour of his name.

This gossip, if old Walter heard, He checked it with a scornful word: I never durst such tales repeat; He was too serious and discreet To speak of what his lord might do; Besides, he loved my lady too. And many a time, I recollect, They were together in the wood; He, with an air of grave respect, And earnest look, uncovered stood. And though their speech I never heard, (Save now and then a louder word,) I saw he spake as none but one She loved and trusted, durst have done; For oft I watched them in the shade That the close forest branches made, Till slanting golden sunbeams came And smote the fir-trees into flame, A radiant glory round her lit, Then down her white robes seemed to flit, Gilding the brown leaves on the ground, And all the waving ferns around. While by some gloomy pine she leant And he in earnest talk would stand, I saw the tear-drops, as she bent, Fall on the flowers in her hand.— Strange as it seemed and seems to be, That one so sad, so cold as she, Could love a little child like me— Yet so it was. I never heard Such tender words as she would say, And murmurs, sweeter than a word, Would breathe upon me as I lay. While I, in smiling joy, would rest, For hours, my head upon her breast. Our neighbours said that none could see In me the common childish charms, (So grave and still I used to be,) And yet she held me in her arms, In a fond clasp, so close, so tight— I often dream of it at night. She bade me tell her all—no other My childish thoughts e'er cared to know: For I—I never knew my mother; I was an orphan long ago. And I could all my fancies pour, That gentle loving face before. She liked to hear me tell her all; How that day I had climbed the tree, To make the largest fir-cones fall; And how one day I hoped to be A sailor on the deep blue sea— She loved to hear it all!

Then wondrous things she used to tell, Of the strange dreams that she had known. I used to love to hear them well, If only for her sweet low tone, Sometimes so sad, although I knew That such things never could be true. One day she told me such a tale It made me grow all cold and pale, The fearful thing she told! Of a poor woman mad and wild Who coined the life-blood of her child, And tempted by a fiend, had sold The heart out of her breast for gold. But, when she saw me frightened seem, She smiled, and said it was a dream. When I look back and think of her, My very heart-strings seem to stir; How kind, how fair she was, how good I cannot tell you. If I could You, too, would love her. The mere thought Of her great love for me has brought Tears in my eyes: though far away, It seems as it were yesterday. And just as when I look on high Through the blue silence of the sky, Fresh stars shine out, and more and more, Where I could see so few before; So, the more steadily I gaze Upon those far-off misty days, Fresh words, fresh tones, fresh memories start Before my eyes and in my heart. I can remember how one day (Talking in silly childish way) I said how happy I should be If I were like her son—as fair, With just such bright blue eyes as he, And such long locks of golden hair. A strange smile on her pale face broke, And in strange solemn words she spoke: "My own, my darling one—no, no! I love you, far, far better so. I would not change the look you bear, Or one wave of your dark brown hair. The mere glance of your sunny eyes, Deep in my deepest soul I prize Above that baby fair! Not one of all the Earl's proud line In beauty ever matched with thine; And, 'tis by thy dark locks thou art Bound even faster round my heart, And made more wholly mine!" And then she paused, and weeping said, "You are like one who now is dead— Who sleeps in a far-distant grave. Oh may God grant that you may be As noble and as good as he, As gentle and as brave!" Then in my childish way I cried, "The one you tell me of who died, Was he as noble as the Earl?" I see her red lips scornful curl, I feel her hold my hand again So tightly, that I shrink in pain— I seem to hear her say, "He whom I tell you of, who died, He was so noble and so gay, So generous and so brave, That the proud Earl by his dear side Would look a craven slave." She paused; then, with a quivering sigh, She laid her hand upon my brow: "Live like him, darling, and so die. Remember that he tells you now, True peace, real honour, and content, In cheerful pious toil abide; That gold and splendour are but sent To curse our vanity and pride." One day some childish fever pain Burnt in my veins and fired my brain. Moaning, I turned from side to side; And, sobbing in my bed, I cried, Till night in calm and darkness crept Around me, and at last I slept. When suddenly I woke to see The Lady bending over me. The drops of cold November rain Were falling from her long, damp hair; Her anxious eyes were dim with pain; Yet she looked wondrous fair. Arrayed for some great feast she came, With stones that shone and burnt like flame; Wound round her neck, like some bright snake, And set like stars within her hair, They sparkled so, they seemed to make A glory everywhere. I felt her tears upon my face, Her kisses on my eyes; And a strange thought I could not trace I felt within my heart arise; And, half in feverish pain, I said: "Oh if my mother were not dead!" And Walter bade me sleep; but she Said, "Is it not the same to thee That I watch by thy bed?" I answered her, "I love you, too; But it can never be the same; She was no Countess like to you, Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame." Oh the wild look of fear and dread! The cry she gave of bitter woe! I often wonder what I said To make her moan and shudder so. Through the long night she tended me With such sweet care and charity. But should weary you to tell All that I know and love so well: Yet one night more stands out alone With a sad sweetness all its own.

The wind blew loud that dreary night: Its wailing voice I well remember: The stars shone out so large and bright Upon the frosty fir-boughs white, That dreary night of cold December. I saw old Walter silent stand, Watching the soft white flakes of snow With looks I could not understand, Of strange perplexity and woe. At last he turned and took my hand, And said the Countess just had sent To bid us come; for she would fain See me once more, before she went Away—never to come again. We came in silence through the wood (Our footfall was the only sound) To where the great white castle stood, With darkness shadowing it around. Breathless, we trod with cautious care Up the great echoing marble stair; Trembling, by Walter's hand I held, Scared by the splendours I beheld: Now thinking, "Should the Earl appear!" Now looking up with giddy fear To the dim vaulted roof, that spread Its gloomy arches overhead. Long corridors we softly past, (My heart was beating loud and fast) And reached the Lady's room at last: A strange faint odour seemed to weigh Upon the dim and darkened air; One shaded lamp, with softened ray, Scarce showed the gloomy splendour there. The dull red brands were burning low, And yet a fitful gleam of light, Would now and then, with sudden glow, Start forth, then sink again in night. I gazed around, yet half in fear, Till Walter told me to draw near: And in the strange and flickering light, Towards the Lady's bed I crept; All folded round with snowy white, She lay; (one would have said she slept;) So still the look of that white face, It seemed as it were carved in stone, I paused before I dared to place Within her cold white hand my own. But, with a smile of sweet surprise, She turned to me her dreamy eyes; And slowly, as if life were pain, She drew me in her arms to lie: She strove to speak, and strove in vain; Each breath was like a long-drawn sigh. The throbs that seemed to shake her breast, The trembling clasp, so loose and weak, At last grew calmer, and at rest; And then she strove once more to speak: "My God, I thank thee, that my pain Of day by day and year by year, Has not been suffered all in vain, And I may die while he is near. I will not fear but that Thy grace Has swept away my sin and woe, And sent this little angel face, In my last hour to tell me so." (And here her voice grew faint and low,) "My child, where'er thy life may go, To know that thou art brave and true, Will pierce the highest heavens through, And even there my soul shall be More joyful for this thought of thee." She folded her white hands, and stayed; All cold and silently she lay: I knelt beside the bed, and prayed The prayer she used to make me say. I said it many times, and then She did not move, but seemed to be In a deep sleep, nor stirred again. No sound woke in the silent room, Or broke the dim and solemn gloom, Save when the brands that burnt so low, With noisy fitful gleam of light, Would spread around a sudden glow, Then sink in silence and in night. How long I stood I do not know: At last poor Walter came, and said (So sadly) that we now must go, And whispered, she we loved was dead. He bade me kiss her face once more, Then led me sobbing to the door. I scarcely knew what dying meant, Yet a strange grief, before unknown, Weighed on my spirit as we went And left her lying all alone.

We went to the far North once more, To seek the well-remembered home, Where my poor kinsman dwelt before, Whence now he was too old to roam; And there six happy years we past, Happy and peaceful till the last; When poor old Walter died, and he Blessed me and said I now might be A sailor on the deep blue sea. And so I go; and yet in spite Of all the joys I long to know, Though I look onward with delight, With something of regret I go; And young or old, on land or sea, One guiding memory I shall take— Of what She prayed that I might be, And what I will be for her sake!



VERSE: A CROWN OF SORROW

A Sorrow, wet with early tears Yet bitter, had been long with me; I wearied of this weight of years, And would be free.

I tore my Sorrow from my heart, I cast it far away in scorn; Right joyful that we two could part— Yet most forlorn.

I sought, (to take my Sorrow's place,) Over the world for flower or gem— But she had had an ancient grace Unknown to them.

I took once more with strange delight My slighted Sorrow; proudly now, I wear it, set with stars of light, Upon my brow.



VERSE: THE LESSON OF THE WAR (1855)

The feast is spread through England For rich and poor to-day; Greetings and laughter may be there, But thoughts are far away; Over the stormy ocean, Over the dreary track, Where some are gone, whom England Will never welcome back.

Breathless she waits, and listens For every eastern breeze That bears upon its bloody wings News from beyond the seas. The leafless branches stirring Make many a watcher start; The distant tramp of steed may send A throb from heart to heart.

The rulers of the nation, The poor ones at their gate, With the same eager wonder The same great news await. The poor man's stay and comfort, The rich man's joy and pride, Upon the bleak Crimean shore Are fighting side by side.

The bullet comes—and either A desolate hearth may see; And God alone to-night knows where The vacant place may be! The dread that stirs the peasant Thrills nobles' hearts with fear— Yet above selfish sorrow Both hold their country dear.

The rich man who reposes In his ancestral shade, The peasant at his ploughshare, The worker at his trade, Each one his all his perilled, Each has the same great stake, Each soul can but have patience, Each heart can only break!

Hushed is all party clamour; One thought in every heart, One dread in every household, Has bid such strife depart. England has called her children; Long silent—the word came That lit the smouldering ashes Through all the land to flame.

Oh you who toil and suffer, You gladly heard the call; But those you sometimes envy Have they not given their all? Oh you who rule the nation, Take now the toil-worn hand— Brothers you are in sorrow, In duty to your land. Learn but this noble lesson Ere Peace returns again, And the life-blood of Old England Will not be shed in vain.



VERSE: THE TWO SPIRITS (1855)

Last night, when weary silence fell on all, And starless skies arose so dim and vast, I heard the Spirit of the Present call Upon the sleeping Spirit of the Past. Far off and near, I saw their radiance shine, And listened while they spoke of deeds divine.

The Spirit of the Past.

My deeds are writ in iron; My glory stands alone; A veil of shadowy honour Upon my tombs is thrown; The great names of my heroes Like gems in history lie; To live they deemed ignoble, Had they the chance to die!

The Spirit of the Present.

My children, too, are honoured; Dear shall their memory be To the proud lands that own them; Dearer than thine to thee; For, though they hold that sacred Is God's great gift of life, At the first call of duty They rush into the strife!

The Spirit of the Past.

Then, with all valiant precepts Woman's soft heart was fraught; "Death, not dishonour," echoed The war-cry she had taught. Fearless and glad, those mothers, At bloody deaths elate, Cried out they bore their children Only for such a fate!

The Spirit of the Present.

Though such stern laws of honour Are faded now away, Yet many a mourning mother, With nobler grief than they, Bows down in sad submission: The heroes of the fight Learnt at her knee the lesson, "For God and for the Right!"

The Spirit of the Past.

No voice there spake of sorrow: They saw the noblest fall With no repining murmur; Stern Fate was lord of all. And when the loved ones perished, One cry alone arose, Waking the startled echoes, "Vengeance upon our foes!"

The Spirit of the Present.

Grief dwells in France and England For many a noble son; Yet louder than the sorrow, "Thy will, Oh God, be done!" From desolate homes is rising One prayer, "Let carnage cease! On friends and foes have mercy, Oh Lord, and give us peace!"

The Spirit of the Past.

Then, every hearth was honoured That sent its children forth, To spread their country's glory, And gain her south or north. Then, little recked they numbers, No band would ever fly, But stern and resolute they stood To conquer or to die.

The Spirit of the Present.

And now from France and England Their dearest and their best Go forth to succour freedom, To help the much oppressed; Now, let the far-off Future And Past bow down to-day, Before the few young hearts that hold Whole armaments at bay.

The Spirit of the Past.

Then, each one strove for honour, Each for a deathless name; Love, home, rest, joy, were offered As sacrifice to Fame. They longed that in far ages Their deeds might still be told, And distant times and nations Their names in honour hold.

The Spirit of the Present.

Though nursed by such old legends, Our heroes of to-day Go cheerfully to battle As children go to play; They gaze with awe and wonder On your great names of pride, Unconscious that their own will shine In glory side by side!

Day dawned; and as the Spirits passed away, Methought I saw, in the dim morning grey, The Past's bright diadem had paled before The starry crown the glorious Present wore.



VERSE: A LITTLE LONGER

A little longer yet—a little longer, Shall violets bloom for thee, and sweet birds sing; And the lime branches where soft winds are blowing, Shall murmur the sweet promise of the Spring!

A little longer yet—a little longer, Thou shalt behold the quiet of the morn; While tender grasses and awakening flowers Send up a golden mist to greet the dawn!

A little longer yet—a little longer, The tenderness of twilight shall be thine, The rosy clouds that float o'er dying daylight, Nor fade till trembling stars begin to shine.

A little longer yet—a little longer, Shall starry night be beautiful for thee; And the cold moon shall look through the blue silence, Flooding her silver path upon the sea.

A little longer yet—a little longer, Life shall be thine; life with its power to will; Life with its strength to bear, to love, to conquer, Bringing its thousand joys thy heart to fill.

A little longer yet—a little longer, The voices thou hast loved shall charm thine ear; And thy true heart, that now beats quick to hear them, A little longer yet shall hold them dear.

A little longer yet—joy while thou mayest; Love and rejoice! for time has nought in store; And soon the darkness of the grave shall bid thee Love and rejoice and feel and know no more.

* * *

A little longer still—Patience, Beloved: A little longer still, ere Heaven unroll The Glory, and the Brightness, and the Wonder, Eternal, and divine, that waits thy Soul!

A little longer ere Life true, immortal, (Not this our shadowy Life,) will be thine own; And thou shalt stand where winged Archangels worship, And trembling bow before the Great White Throne.

A little longer still, and Heaven awaits thee, And fills thy spirit with a great delight; Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten, Our Sun a darkness, and our Day a Night.

A little longer, and thy Heart, Beloved, Shall beat for ever with a Love divine; And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal, No creature knows and lives, will then be thine.

A little longer yet—and angel voices Shall ring in heavenly chant upon thine ear; Angels and Saints await thee, and God needs thee: Beloved, can we bid thee linger here!



VERSE: GRIEF

An ancient enemy have I, And either he or I must die; For he never leaveth me, Never gives my soul relief, Never lets my sorrow cease, Never gives my spirit peace— For mine enemy is Grief!

Pale he is, and sad and stern; And whene'er he cometh nigh, Blue and dim the torches burn, Pale and shrunk the roses turn; While my heart that he has pierced Many a time with fiery lance, Beats and trembles at his glance: Clad in burning steel is he, All my strength he can defy; For he never leaveth me— And one of us must die!

I have said, "Let ancient sages Charm me from my thoughts of pain!" So I read their deepest pages, And I strove to think—in vain! Wisdom's cold calm words I tried, But he was seated by my side:- Learning I have won in vain; She cannot rid me of my pain.

When at last soft sleep comes o'er me, A cold hand is on my heart; Stern sad eyes are there before me; Not in dreams will he depart: And when the same dreary vision From my weary brain has fled, Daylight brings the living phantom, He is seated by my bed, Bending o'er me all the while, With his cruel, bitter smile, Ever with me, ever nigh;— And either he or I must die!

Then I said, long time ago, "I will flee to other climes, I will leave mine ancient foe!" Though I wandered far and wide— Still he followed at my side.

And I fled where the blue waters Bathe the sunny isles of Greece; Where Thessalian mountains rise Up against the purple skies; Where a haunting memory liveth In each wood and cave and rill; But no dream of gods could help me— He went with me still!

I have been where Nile's broad river Flows upon the burning sand; Where the desert monster broodeth, Where the Eastern palm-trees stand; I have been where pathless forests Spread a black eternal shade; Where the lurking panther hiding Glares from every tangled glade; But in vain I wandered wide, He was always by my side! Then I fled where snows eternal Cold and dreary ever lie; Where the rosy lightnings gleam, Flashing through the northern sky; Where the red sun turns again Back upon his path of pain;— But a shadowy form was with me— I had fled in vain!

I have thought, "If I can gaze Sternly on him he will fade, For I know that he is nothing But a dim ideal shade." As I gazed at him the more, He grew stronger than before!

Then I said, "Mine arm is strong, I will make him turn and flee:" I have struggled with him long— But that could never be!

Once I battled with him so That I thought I laid him low; Then in trembling joy I fled, While again and still again Murmuring to myself I said, "Mine old enemy is dead!" And I stood beneath the stars, When a chill came on my frame, And a fear I could not name, And a sense of quick despair, And, lo! mine enemy was there!

Listen, for my soul is weary, Weary of its endless woe; I have called on one to aid me Mightier even than my foe. Strength and hope fail day by day; I shall cheat him of his prey; Some day soon, I know not when, He will stab me through and through; He has wounded me before, But my heart can bear no more; Pray that hour may come to me, Only then shall I be free; Death alone has strength to take me Where my foe can never be; Death, and Death alone, has power To conquer mine old enemy!



VERSE: THE TRIUMPH OF TIME

The tender delicate Flowers, I saw them fanned by a warm western wind, Fed by soft summer showers, Shielded by care, and yet, (oh Fate unkind!) Fade in a few short hours.

The gentle and the gay, Rich in a glorious Future of bright deeds, Rejoicing in the day, Are met by Death, who sternly, sadly leads Them far away.

And Hopes, perfumed and bright, So lately shining, wet with dew and tears, Trembling in morning light; I saw them change to dark and anxious fears Before the night!

I wept that all must die— "Yet Love," I cried, "doth live, and conquer death—" And Time passed by, And breathed on Love, and killed it with his breath Ere Death was nigh.

More bitter far than all It was to know that Love could change and die— Hush! for the ages call "The Love of God lives through eternity, And conquers all!"



VERSE: A PARTING

Without one bitter feeling let us part— And for the years in which your love has shed A radiance like a glory round my head, I thank you, yes, I thank you from my heart.

I thank you for the cherished hope of years, A starry future, dim and yet divine, Winging its way from Heaven to be mine, Laden with joy, and ignorant of tears.

I thank you, yes, I thank you even more That my heart learnt not without love to live, But gave and gave, and still had more to give, From an abundant and exhaustless store.

I thank you, and no grief is in these tears; I thank you, not in bitterness but truth, For the fair vision that adorned my youth And glorified so many happy years.

Yet how much more I thank you that you tore At length the veil your hand had woven away, Which hid my idol was a thing of clay, And false the altar I had knelt before.

I thank you that you taught me the stern truth, (None other could have told and I believed,) That vain had been my life, and I deceived, And wasted all the purpose of my youth.

I thank you that your hand dashed down the shrine, Wherein my idol worship I had paid; Else had I never known a soul was made To serve and worship only the Divine.

I thank you that the heart I cast away On such as you, though broken, bruised and crushed, Now that its fiery throbbing is all hushed, Upon a worthier altar I can lay.

I thank you for the lesson that such love Is a perverting of God's royal right, That it is made but for the Infinite, And all too great to live except above.

I thank you for a terrible awaking, And if reproach seemed hidden in my pain, And sorrow seemed to cry on your disdain, Know that my blessing lay in your forsaking.

Farewell for ever now:- in peace we part; And should an idle vision of my tears Arise before your soul in after years— Remember that I thank you from my heart!



VERSE: THE GOLDEN GATE

Dim shadows gather thickly round, and up the misty stair they climb, The cloudy stair that upward leads to where the closed portals shine, Round which the kneeling spirits wait the opening of the Golden Gate.

And some with eager longing go, still pressing forward, hand in hand, And some with weary step and slow, look back where their Beloved stand— Yet up the misty stair they climb, led onward by the Angel Time.

As unseen hands roll back the doors, the light that floods the very air Is but the shadow from within, of the great glory hidden there— And morn and eve, and soon and late, the shadows pass within the gate.

As one by one they enter in, and the stern portals close once more, The halo seems to linger round those kneeling closest to the door: The joy that lightened from that place shines still upon the watcher's face.

The faint low echo that we hear of far-off music seems to fill The silent air with love and fear, and the world's clamours all grow still, Until the portals close again, and leave us toiling on in pain.

Complain not that the way is long—what road is weary that leads there? But let the Angel take thy hand, and lead thee up the misty stair, And then with beating heart await, the opening of the Golden Gate.



VERSE: PHANTOMS

Back, ye Phantoms of the Past; In your dreary caves remain: What have I to do with memories Of a long-forgotten pain?

For my Present is all peaceful, And my Future nobly planned: Long ago Time's mighty billows Swept your footsteps from the sand.

Back into your caves; nor haunt me With your voices full of woe; I have buried grief and sorrow In the depths of Long-ago.

See the glorious clouds of morning Roll away, and clear and bright Shine the rays of cloudless daylight— Wherefore will ye moan of night?

Never shall my heart be burthened With its ancient woe and fears; I can drive them from my presence, I can check these foolish tears.

Back, ye Phantoms; leave, oh leave me To a new and happy lot; Speak no more of things departed; Leave me—for I know ye not.

Can it be that 'mid my gladness I must ever hear you wail, Of the grief that wrung my spirit, And that made my cheek so pale?

Joy is mine; but your sad voices Murmur ever in mine ear: Vain is all the Future's promise, While the dreary Past is here.

Vain, oh worse than vain, the Visions That my heart, my life would fill, If the Past's relentless phantoms Call upon me still!



VERSE: THANKFULNESS

My God, I thank Thee who hast made The Earth so bright; So full of splendour and of joy, Beauty and light; So many glorious things are here, Noble and right!

I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made Joy to abound; So many gentle thoughts and deeds Circling us round, That in the darkest spot of Earth Some love is found.

I thank Thee more that all our joy Is touched with pain; That shadows fall on brightest hours; That thorns remain; So that Earth's bliss may be our guide, And not our chain.

For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon Our weak heart clings, Hast given us joys, tender and true, Yet all with wings, So that we see, gleaming on high, Diviner things!

I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept The best in store; We have enough, yet not too much To long for more: A yearning for a deeper peace, Not known before.

I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls, Though amply blest, Can never find, although they seek, A perfect rest— Nor ever shall, until they lean On Jesus' breast!



VERSE: HOME-SICKNESS

Where I am, the halls are gilded, Stored with pictures bright and rare; Strains of deep melodious music Float upon the perfumed air:- Nothing stirs the dreary silence Save the melancholy sea, Near the poor and humble cottage, Where I fain would be!

Where I am, the sun is shining, And the purple windows glow, Till their rich armorial shadows Stain the marble floor below:- Faded Autumn leaves are trembling, On the withered jasmine tree, Creeping round the little casement, Where I fain would be!

Where I am, the days are passing O'er a pathway strewn with flowers; Song and joy and starry pleasures Crown the happy smiling hours:- Slowly, heavily, and sadly, Time with weary wings must flee, Marked by pain, and toil, and sorrow, Where I fain would be!

Where I am, the great and noble Tell me of renown and fame, And the red wine sparkles highest, To do honour to my name:- Far away a place is vacant, By a humble hearth, for me, Dying embers dimly show it, Where I fain would be!

Where I am, are glorious dreaminess, Science, genius, art divine; And the great minds whom all honour Interchange their thoughts with mine:- A few simple hearts are waiting, Longing, wearying, for me, Far away where tears are falling, Where I fain would be!

Where I am, all think me happy, For so well I play my part, None can guess, who smile around me, How far distant is my heart— Far away, in a poor cottage, Listening to the dreary sea, Where the treasures of my life are, Where I fain would be!



VERSE: WISHES

All the fluttering wishes Caged within thy heart Beat their wings against it, Longing to depart, Till they shake their prison With their wounded cry; Open wide thy heart to-day, And let the captives fly.

Let them first fly upward Through the starry air, Till you almost lose them, For their home is there; Then, with outspread pinions, Circling round and round, Wing their way, wherever Want and woe are found.

Where the weary stitcher Toils for daily bread; Where the lonely watcher Watches by her dead; Where with thin weak fingers, Toiling at the loom, Stand the little children, Blighted ere they bloom.

Where, by darkness blinded, Groping for the light, With distorted conscience Men do wrong for right; Where, in the cold shadow, By smooth pleasure thrown, Human hearts by hundreds Harden into stone.

Where on dusty highways, With faint heart and slow, Cursing the glad sunlight, Hungry outcasts go: Where all mirth is silenced, And the hearth is chill, For one place is empty, And one voice is still.

Some hearts will be lighter While your captives roam For their tender singing, Then recal them home; When the sunny hours Into night depart, Softly they will nestle In a quiet heart.



VERSE: THE PEACE OF GOD

We ask for Peace, oh Lord! Thy children ask Thy Peace; Not what the world calls rest, That toil and care should cease, That through bright sunny hours Calm Life should fleet away, And tranquil night should fade In smiling day;— It is not for such Peace that we would pray.

We ask for Peace, oh Lord! Yet not to stand secure, Girt round with iron Pride, Contented to endure: Crushing the gentle strings That human hearts should know, Untouched by others' joy Or others' woe;— Thou, oh dear Lord, wilt never teach us so.

We ask Thy Peace, oh Lord! Through storm, and fear, and strife, To light and guide us on, Through a long struggling life: While no success or gain Shall cheer the desperate fight, Or nerve, what the world calls, Our wasted might:- Yet pressing through the darkness to the light.

It is Thine own, oh Lord, Who toil while others sleep; Who sow with loving care What other hands shall reap: They lean on Thee entranced, In calm and perfect rest: Give us that Peace, oh Lord, Divine and blest, Thou keepest for those hearts who love Thee best.



VERSE: LIFE IN DEATH AND DEATH IN LIFE

I.

If the dread day that calls thee hence, Through a red mist of fear should loom, (Closing in deadliest night and gloom Long hours of aching dumb suspense,) And leave me to my lonely doom.

I think, beloved, I could see In thy dear eyes the loving light Glaze into vacancy and night, And still say, "God is good to me, And all that He decrees is right."

That, watching thy slow struggling breath, And answering each imperfect sign, I still could pray thy prayer and mine, And tell thee, dear, though this was death, That God was love, and love divine.

Could hold thee in my arms, and lay Upon my heart thy weary head, And meet thy last smile ere it fled; Then hear, as in a dream, one say, "Now all is over,—she is dead."

Could smooth thy garments with fond care, And cross thy hands upon thy breast, And kiss thine eyelids down to rest, And yet say no word of despair, But, through my sobbing, "It is best."

Could stifle down the gnawing pain, And say, "We still divide our life, She has the rest, and I the strife, And mine the loss, and hers the gain: My ill with bliss for her is rife."

Then turn, and the old duties take— Alone now—yet with earnest will Gathering sweet sacred traces still To help me on, and, for thy sake, My heart and life and soul to fill.

I think I could check vain weak tears, And toil,—although the world's great space Held nothing but one vacant place, And see the dark and weary years Lit only by a vanished grace.

And sometimes, when the day was o'er, Call up the tender past again: Its painful joy, its happy pain, And live it over yet once more, And say, "But few more years remain."

And then, when I had striven my best, And all around would smiling say, "See how Time makes all grief decay," Would lie down thankfully to rest, And seek thee in eternal day.

II.

But if the day should ever rise— It could not and it cannot be— Yet, if the sun should ever see, Looking upon us from his skies, A day that took thy heart from me;

If loving thee still more and more, And still so willing to be blind, I should the bitter knowledge find, That Time had eaten out the core Of love, and left the empty rind;

If the poor lifeless words, at last, (The soul gone, that was once so sweet,) Should cease my eager heart to cheat, And crumble back into the past, And show the whole a vain deceit;

If I should see thee turn away, And know that prayer, and time, and pain, Could no more thy lost love regain, Than bid the hours of dying day Gleam in their mid-day noon again;

If I should loose thy hand, and know That henceforth we must dwell apart, Since I had seen thy love depart, And only count the hours flow By the dull throbbing of my heart;

If I should gaze and gaze in vain Into thine eyes so deep and clear, And read the truth of all my fear Half mixed with pity for my pain, And sorrow for the vanished year;

If not to grieve thee overmuch, I strove to counterfeit disdain, And weave me a new life again, Which thy life could not mar, or touch, And so smile down my bitter pain;

The ghost of my dead Past would rise And mock me, and I could not dare Look to a future of despair, Or even to the eternal skies, For I should still be lonely there.

All Truth, all Honour, then would seem Vain clouds, which the first wind blew by; All Trust, a folly doomed to die; All Life, a useless empty dream; All Love—since thine had failed—a lie.

But see, thy tender smile has cast My fear away: this thought of mine Is treason to my Love and thine; For Love is Life, and Death at last Crowns it eternal and divine!



VERSE: RECOLLECTIONS

As strangers, you and I are here; We both as aliens stand, Where once, in years gone by, I dwelt No stranger in the land. Then while you gaze on park and stream, Let me remain apart, And listen to the awakened sound Of voices in my heart.

Here, where upon the velvet lawn The cedar spreads its shade, And by the flower-beds all around, Bright roses bloom and fade; Shrill merry childish laughter rings, And baby voices sweet, And by me, on the path, I hear The tread of little feet.

Down the dark avenue of limes, Whose perfume loads the air, Whose boughs are rustling overhead, (For the west wind is there,) I hear the sound of earnest talk, Warnings and counsels wise, And the quick questioning that brought Such gentle calm replies.

Still the light bridge hangs o'er the lake, Where broad-leaved lilies lie, And the cool water shows again The cloud that moves on high;— And one voice speaks, in tones I thought The past for ever kept; But now I know, deep in my heart Its echoes only slept.

I hear, within the shady porch, Once more, the measured sound Of the old ballads that were read, While we sat listening round; The starry passion-flower still Up the green trellice climbs; The tendrils waving seem to keep The cadence of the rhymes.

I might have striven, and striven in vain, Such visions to recall, Well known and yet forgotten; now I see, I hear, them all! The Present pales before the Past, Who comes with angel wings; As in a dream I stand, amidst Strange yet familiar things!

Enough; so let us go, mine eyes Are blinded by their tears; A voice speaks to my soul to-day Of long forgotten years. And yet the vision in my heart, In a few hours more, Will fade into the silent past, Silently as before.



VERSE: ILLUSION

Where the golden corn is bending, And the singing reapers pass, Where the chestnut woods are sending Leafy showers upon the grass,

The blue river onward flowing Mingles with its noisy strife, The murmur of the flowers growing, And the hum of insect life.

I, from that rich plain was gazing Towards the snowy mountains high, Who their gleaming peaks were raising Up against the purple sky.

And the glory of their shining, Bathed in clouds of rosy light, Set my weary spirit pining For a home so pure and bright!

So I left the plain, and weary, Fainting, yet with hope sustained, Toiled through pathways long and dreary Till the mountain top was gained.

Lo! the height that I had taken, As so shining from below, Was a desolate, forsaken Region of perpetual snow.

I am faint, my feet are bleeding, All my feeble strength is worn, In the plain no soul is heeding, I am here alone, forlorn.

Lights are shining, bells are tolling, In the busy vale below; Near me night's black clouds are rolling, Gathering o'er a waste of snow.

So I watch the river winding Through the misty fading plain, Bitter are the tear-drops blinding, Bitter useless toil and pain— Bitterest of all the finding That my dream was false and vain!



VERSE: A VISION

Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, Drearily waileth the chill night breeze. The long grass waveth, the tombs are white, And the black clouds flit o'er the chill moonlight. Silent is all save the dropping rain, When slowly there cometh a mourning train, The lone churchyard is dark and dim, And the mourners raise a funeral hymn:

"Open, dark grave, and take her; Though we have loved her so, Yet we must now forsake her, Love will no more awake her: (Oh, bitter woe!) Open thine arms and take her To rest below!

"Vain is our mournful weeping, Her gentle life is o'er; Only the worm is creeping, Where she will soon be sleeping, For evermore— Nor joy nor love is keeping For her in store!"

Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, And drearily wave in the chill night breeze. The dark clouds part and the heavens are blue, Where the trembling stars are shining through. Slowly across the gleaming sky, A crowd of white angels are passing by. Like a fleet of swans they float along, Or the silver notes of a dying song. Like a cloud of incense their pinions rise, Fading away up the purple skies. But hush! for the silent glory is stirred, By a strain such as earth has never heard:

"Open, oh Heaven! we bear her, This gentle maiden mild, Earth's griefs we gladly spare her, From earthly joys we tear her, Still undefiled; And to thine arms we bear her, Thine own, thy child.

"Open, oh Heaven! no morrow Will see this joy o'ercast, No pain, no tears, no sorrow, Her gentle heart will borrow; Sad life is past; Shielded and safe from sorrow, At home at last."

But the vision faded and all was still, On the purple valley and distant hill. No sound was there save the wailing breeze, The rain, and the rustling cypress trees.



VERSE: PICTURES IN THE FIRE

What is it you ask me, darling? All my stories, child, you know; I have no strange dreams to tell you, Pictures I have none to show.

Tell you glorious scenes of travel? Nay, my child, that cannot be, I have seen no foreign countries, Marvels none on land or sea.

Yet strange sights in truth I witness, And I gaze until I tire, Wondrous pictures, changing ever, As I look into the fire.

There, last night, I saw a cavern, Black as pitch; within it lay Coiled in many folds a dragon, Glaring as if turned at bay.

And a knight in dismal armour On a winged eagle came, To do battle with this dragon; And his crest was all of flame.

As I gazed the dragon faded, And, instead, sate Pluto crowned, By a lake of burning fire; Spirits dark were crouching round.

That was gone, and lo! before me, A cathedral vast and grim; I could almost hear the organ Peal alone the arches dim.

As I watched the wreathed pillars, Groves of stately palms arose, And a group of swarthy Indians Stealing on some sleeping foes.

Stay; a cataract glancing brightly, Dashed and sparkled; and beside Lay a broken marble monster, Mouth and eyes were staring wide.

Then I saw a maiden wreathing Starry flowers in garlands sweet; Did she see the fiery serpent That was wrapped about her feet?

That fell crashing all and vanished; And I saw two armies close— I could almost hear the clarions, And the shouting of the foes.

They were gone; and lo! bright angels, On a barren mountain wild, Raised appealing arms to Heaven, Bearing up a little child.

And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly Gathered in my eyes sad tears, And the fiery pictures bore me Back through distant dreams of years.

Once again I tasted sorrow, With past joy was once more gay, Till the shade had gathered round me— And the fire had died away.



VERSE: THE SETTLERS

Two stranger youths in the Far West, Beneath the ancient forest trees, Pausing, amid their toil to rest, Spake of their home beyond the seas; Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly, Of the hearts they loved so well. In their chilly northern country. "Would," they cried, "some voice could tell Where they are, our own beloved ones!" They looked up to the evening sky Half hidden by the giant branches, But heard no angel-voice reply. All silent was the quiet evening; Silent were the ancient trees; They only heard the murmuring song Of the summer breeze, That gently played among The acacia trees. And did no warning spirit answer, Amid the silence all around; "Before the lowly village altar She thou lovest may be found, Thou, who trustest still so blindly, Know she stands a smiling bride! Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly To the stranger at her side. Yes, this day thou art forgotten, Forgotten, too, thy last farewell, All the vows that she has spoken, And thy heart has kept so well. Dream no more of a starry future, In thy home beyond the seas!" But he only heard the gentle sigh Of the summer breeze, So softly passing by The acacia trees.

And vainly, too, the other, looking Smiling up through hopeful tears, Asked in his heart of hearts, "Where is she, She I love these many years?" He heard no echo calling faintly: "Lo, she lieth cold and pale, And her smile so calm and saintly Heeds not grieving sob or wail— Heeds not the lilies strewn upon her, Pure as she is, and as white, Or the solemn chanting voices, Or the taper's ghastly light." But silent still was the ancient forest, Silent were the gloomy trees, He only heard the wailing sound Of the summer breeze, That sadly played around The acacia trees



VERSE: HUSH

"I can scarcely hear," she murmured, "For my heart beats loud and fast, But surely, in the far, far distance, I can hear a sound at last." "It is only the reapers singing, As they carry home their sheaves, And the evening breeze has risen, And rustles the dying leaves."

"Listen! there are voices talking." Calmly still she strove to speak, Yet her voice grew faint and trembling, And the red flushed in her cheek. "It is only the children playing Below, now their work is done, And they laugh that their eyes are dazzled By the rays of the setting sun."

Fainter grew her voice, and weaker As with anxious eyes she cried, "Down the avenue of chestnuts, I can hear a horseman ride." "It was only the deer that were feeding In a herd on the clover grass, They were startled, and fled to the thicket, As they saw the reapers pass."

Now the night arose in silence, Birds lay in their leafy nest, And the deer couched in the forest, And the children were at rest: There was only a sound of weeping From watchers around a bed, But Rest to the weary spirit, Peace to the quiet Dead!



VERSE: HOURS

When the bright stars came out last night, And the dew lay on the flowers, I had a vision of delight— A dream of by-gone hours.

Those hours that came and fled so fast, Of pleasure or of pain, As phantoms rose from out the past Before my eyes again.

With beating heart did I behold A train of joyous hours, Lit with the radiant light of old, And, smiling, crowned with flowers.

And some were hours of childish sorrow, A mimicry of pain, That through their tears looked for a morrow They knew must smile again.

Those hours of hope that longed for life, And wished their part begun, And ere the summons to the strife, Dreamed that the field was won.

I knew the echo of their voice, The starry crowns they wore; The vision made my soul rejoice With the old thrill of yore.

I knew the perfume of their flowers; The glorious shining rays Around these happy smiling hours Were lit in by-gone days.

Oh stay, I cried—bright visions, stay, And leave me not forlorn! But, smiling still, they passed away, Like shadows of the morn.

One spirit still remained, and cried, "Thy soul shall ne'er forget!" He standeth ever by my side— The phantom called Regret!

But still the spirits rose, and there Were weary hours of pain, And anxious hours of fear and care Bound by an iron chain.

Dim shadows came of lonely hours, That shunned the light of day, And in the opening smile of flowers Saw only quick decay.

Calm hours that sought the starry skies For heavenly lore were there; With folded hands and earnest eyes, I knew the hours of prayer.

Stern hours that darkened the sun's light, Heralds of coming woes, With trailing wings, before my sight From the dim past arose.

As each dark vision passed and spoke I prayed it to depart: At each some buried sorrow woke And stirred within my heart.

Until these hours of pain and care Lifted their tearful eyes, Spread their dark pinions in the air And passed into the skies.



VERSE: THE TWO INTERPRETERS

"The clouds are fleeting by, father, Look in the shining west, The great white clouds sail onward Upon the sky's blue breast. Look at a snowy eagle, His wings are tinged with red, And a giant dolphin follows him, With a crown upon his head!"

The father spake no word, but watched The drifting clouds roll by; He traced a misty vision too Upon the shining sky: A shadowy form, with well-known grace Of weary love and care, Above the smiling child she held, Shook down her floating hair.

"The clouds are changing now, father, Mountains rise higher and higher! And see where red and purple ships Sail in a sea of fire!" The father pressed the little hand More closely in his own, And watched a cloud-dream in the sky That he could see alone: Bright angels carrying far away A white form, cold and dead, Two held the feet, and two bore up The flower-crowned, drooping head.

"See, father, see! a glory floods The sky, and all is bright, And clouds of every hue and shade Burn in the golden light. And now, above an azure lake, Rise battlements and towers, Where knights and ladies climb the heights, All bearing purple flowers."

The father looked, and, with a pang Of love and strange alarm, Drew close the little eager child Within his sheltering arm; From out the clouds the mother looks With wistful glance below, She seems to seek the treasure left On earth so long ago; She holds her arms out to her child, His cradle-song she sings: The last rays of the sunset gleam Upon her outspread wings.

Calm twilight veils the summer sky, The shining clouds are gone; In vain the merry laughing child Still gaily prattles on; In vain the bright stars, one by one, On the blue silence start, A dreary shadow rests to-night Upon the father's heart