LYRICAL POEMS
[p.63]
[THE CHURCH OF BROU][°]
I
THE CASTLE
°[1]Down the Savoy° valleys sounding,
Echoing round this castle old,
°[3]'Mid the distant mountain-chalets°
Hark! what bell for church is toll'd?
5In the bright October morning
Savoy's Duke had left his bride.
From the castle, past the drawbridge,
Flow'd the hunters' merry tide.
Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering;
10 Gay, her smiling lord to greet,
From her mullion'd chamber-casement
Smiles the Duchess Marguerite.
From Vienna, by the Danube,
Here she came, a bride, in spring.
15Now the autumn crisps the forest;
Hunters gather, bugles ring.
[p.64] °[17]Hounds are pulling, prickers° swearing,
Horses fret, and boar-spears glance.
Off!—They sweep the marshy forests.
20 Westward, on the side of France.
Hark! the game's on foot; they scatter!—
Down the forest-ridings lone,
Furious, single horsemen gallop——
Hark! a shout—a crash—a groan!
25Pale and breathless, came the hunters;
On the turf dead lies the boar—
God! the Duke lies stretch'd beside him,
Senseless, weltering in his gore.
In the dull October evening,
30 Down the leaf-strewn forest-road,
To the castle, past the drawbridge,
Came the hunters with their load.
In the hall, with sconces blazing,
Ladies waiting round her seat,
°[35]Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais°
Sate the Duchess Marguerite.
Hark! below the gates unbarring!
Tramp of men and quick commands!
"—'Tis my lord come back from hunting—"
40 And the Duchess claps her hands.
Slow and tired, came the hunters—
Stopp'd in darkness in the court.
"—Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters!
To the hall! What sport? What sport?"—
[p.65] 45Slow they enter'd with their master;
In the hall they laid him down.
On his coat were leaves and blood-stains,
On his brow an angry frown.
Dead her princely youthful husband
50 Lay before his youthful wife,
Bloody, 'neath the flaring sconces—
And the sight froze all her life.
In Vienna, by the Danube,
Kings hold revel, gallants meet.
55Gay of old amid the gayest
Was the Duchess Marguerite.
In Vienna, by the Danube,
Feast and dance her youth beguiled.
Till that hour she never sorrow'd;
60 But from then she never smiled.
'Mid the Savoy mountain valleys
Far from town or haunt of man,
Stands a lonely church, unfinish'd,
Which the Duchess Maud began;
65Old, that Duchess stern began it,
In grey age, with palsied hands;
But she died while it was building,
And the Church unfinish'd stands—
°[69]Stands as erst° the builders left it,
70 When she sank into her grave;
°[71]Mountain greensward paves the chancel,°
°[72] Harebells flower in the nave.
[p.66] "—In my castle all is sorrow,"
Said the Duchess Marguerite then;
75"Guide me, some one, to the mountain!
We will build the Church again."—
°[77]Sandall'd palmers,° faring homeward,
Austrian knights from Syria came.
"—Austrian wanderers bring, O warders!
80 Homage to your Austrian dame."—
From the gate the warders answer'd:
"—Gone, O knights, is she you knew!
Dead our Duke, and gone his Duchess;
Seek her at the Church of Brou!"—
85Austrian knights and march-worn palmers
Climb the winding mountain-way.—
Reach the valley, where the Fabric
Rises higher day by day.
Stones are sawing, hammers ringing;
90 On the work the bright sun shines,
In the Savoy mountain-meadows,
By the stream, below the pines.
On her palfry white the Duchess
Sate and watch'd her working train—
95Flemish carvers, Lombard gilders,
German masons, smiths from Spain.
Clad in black, on her white palfrey,
Her old architect beside—
[p.67] There they found her in the mountains,
100 Morn and noon and eventide.
There she sate, and watch'd the builders,
Till the Church was roof'd and done.
Last of all, the builders rear'd her
In the nave a tomb of stone.
105On the tomb two forms they sculptured,
Lifelike in the marble pale—
One, the Duke in helm and armour;
One, the Duchess in her veil.
°[109]Round the tomb the carved stone fretwork°
110 Was at Easter-tide put on.
Then the Duchess closed her labours;
And she died at the St. John.
II
THE CHURCH
Upon the glistening leaden roof
Of the new Pile, the sunlight shines;
The stream goes leaping by.
The hills are clothed with pines sun-proof;
5'Mid bright green fields, below the pines,
Stands the Church on high.
What Church is this, from men aloof?—
'Tis the Church of Brou.
At sunrise, from their dewy lair
10Crossing the stream, the kine are seen
Round the wall to stray—
[p.68] The churchyard wall that clips the square
Of open hill-sward fresh and green
Where last year they lay.
15But all things now are order'd fair
Round the Church of Brou.
°[17]On Sundays, at the matin-chime,°
The Alpine peasants, two and three,
Climb up here to pray;
20Burghers and dames, at summer's prime,
°[21]Ride out to church from Chambery,°
°[22] Dight° with mantles gay.
But else it is a lonely time
Round the Church of Brou.
25On Sundays, too, a priest doth come
From the wall'd town beyond the pass,
Down the mountain-way;
And then you hear the organ's hum,
You hear the white-robed priest say mass,
30 And the people pray.
But else the woods and fields are dumb
Round the Church of Brou.
And after church, when mass is done,
The people to the nave repair
35 Round the tomb to stray;
And marvel at the Forms of stone,
°[37]And praise the chisell'd broideries° rare—
Then they drop away.
The princely Pair are left alone
40In the Church of Brou.
[p.69]
III
THE TOMB
So rest, for ever rest, O princely Pair!
In your high church, 'mid the still mountain-air,
Where horn, and hound, and vassals never come.
Only the blessed Saints are smiling dumb,
5From the rich painted windows of the nave,
°[6]On aisle, and transept,° and your marble grave;
Where thou, young Prince! shalt never more arise
From the fringed mattress where thy Duchess lies,
On autumn-mornings, when the bugle sounds,
10And ride across the drawbridge with thy hounds
To hunt the boar in the crisp woods till eve;
And thou, O Princess! shalt no more receive,
Thou and thy ladies, in the hall of state,
The jaded hunters with their bloody freight,
15Coming benighted to the castle-gate.
So sleep, for ever sleep, O marble Pair!
Or, if ye wake, let it be then, when fair
On the carved western front a flood of light
Streams from the setting sun, and colours bright
20Prophets, transfigured Saints, and Martyrs brave,
In the vast western window of the nave,
And on the pavement round the Tomb there glints
A chequer-work of glowing sapphire-tints,
And amethyst, and ruby—then unclose
25Your eyelids on the stone where ye repose,
And from your broider'd pillows lift your heads,
And rise upon your cold white marble beds;
[p.70] And, looking down on the warm rosy tints,
Which chequer, at your feet, the illumined flints,
30Say: What is this? we are in bliss—forgiven—
Behold the pavement of the courts of Heaven!
Or let it be on autumn nights, when rain
Doth rustlingly above your heads complain
On the smooth leaden roof, and on the walls
35Shedding her pensive light at intervals
The moon through the clere-story windows shines,
And the wind washes through the mountain-pines.
Then, gazing up 'mid the dim pillars high,
°[39]The foliaged marble forest° where ye lie,
40Hush, ye will say, it is eternity!
This is the glimmering verge of Heaven, and these
The columns of the heavenly palaces!
And, in the sweeping of the wind, your ear
The passage of the Angels' wings will hear,
°[45]And on the lichen-crusted leads° above
The rustle of the eternal rain of love.
[REQUIESCAT][°]
Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;
Ah, would that I did too!
5Her mirth the world required;
She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,
And now they let her be.
[p.71] Her life was turning, turning,
10 In mazes of heat and sound.
But for peace her soul was yearning,
And now peace laps her round.
°[13]Her cabin'd,° ample spirit,
It flutter'd and fail'd for breath
15To-night it doth inherit
°[16] The vasty° hall of death.
[CONSOLATION][°]
Mist clogs the sunshine.
Smoky dwarf houses
Hem me round everywhere;
A vague dejection
5Weighs down my soul.
Yet, while I languish,
Everywhere countless
Prospects unroll themselves,
And countless beings
10Pass countless moods.
Far hence, in Asia,
On the smooth convent-roofs,
On the gilt terraces,
°[14]Of holy Lassa,°
15Bright shines the sun.
[p.72] Grey time-worn marbles
°[17]Hold the pure Muses°;
°[18]In their cool gallery,°
°[19]By yellow Tiber,°
20They still look fair.
°[21]Strange unloved uproar°
Shrills round their portal;
°[23]Yet not on Helicon°
Kept they more cloudless
25Their noble calm.
Through sun-proof alleys
In a lone, sand-hemm'd
City of Africa,
A blind, led beggar,
30Age-bow'd, asks alms.
No bolder robber
°[32]Erst° abode ambush'd
Deep in the sandy waste;
No clearer eyesight
35Spied prey afar.
Saharan sand-winds
Sear'd his keen eyeballs;
Spent is the spoil he won.
For him the present
40Holds only pain.
Two young, fair lovers,
Where the warm June-wind,
[p.73] Fresh from the summer fields
Plays fondly round them,
45Stand, tranced in joy.
With sweet, join'd voices,
And with eyes brimming:
°[48]"Ah," they cry, "Destiny,°
Prolong the present!
50Time, stand still here!"
The prompt stern Goddess
Shakes her head, frowning;
Time gives his hour-glass
Its due reversal;
55Their hour is gone.
With weak indulgence
Did the just Goddess
Lengthen their happiness,
She lengthen'd also
60Distress elsewhere.
The hour, whose happy
Unalloy'd moments
I would eternalise,
Ten thousand mourners
65 Well pleased see end.
The bleak, stern hour,
Whose severe moments
I would annihilate,
Is pass'd by others
70In warmth, light, joy.
[p.74] Time, so complain'd of,
Who to no one man
Shows partiality,
Brings round to all men
75Some undimm'd hours.
A [DREAM]
Was it a dream? We sail'd, I thought we sail'd,
Martin and I, down the green Alpine stream,
Border'd, each bank, with pines; the morning sun,
On the wet umbrage of their glossy tops,
5On the red pinings of their forest-floor,
Drew a warm scent abroad; behind the pines
The mountain-skirts, with all their sylvan change
Of bright-leaf'd chestnuts and moss'd walnut-trees
And the frail scarlet-berried ash, began.
10Swiss chalets glitter'd on the dewy slopes,
And from some swarded shelf, high up, there came
Notes of wild pastoral music—over all
Ranged, diamond-bright, the eternal wall of snow.
Upon the mossy rocks at the stream's edge,
15Back'd by the pines, a plank-built cottage stood,
Bright in the sun; the climbing gourd-plant's leaves
Muffled its walls, and on the stone-strewn roof
Lay the warm golden gourds; golden, within,
Under the eaves, peer'd rows of Indian corn.
20We shot beneath the cottage with the stream.
On the brown, rude-carved balcony, two forms
Came forth—Olivia's, Marguerite! and thine.
[p.75] Clad were they both in white, flowers in their breast;
Straw hats bedeck'd their heads, with ribbons blue,
25Which danced, and on their shoulders, fluttering, play'd.
They saw us, they conferred; their bosoms heaved,
And more than mortal impulse fill'd their eyes.
Their lips moved; their white arms, waved eagerly,
Flash'd once, like falling streams; we rose, we gazed.
30One moment, on the rapid's top, our boat
Hung poised—and then the darting river of Life
(Such now, methought, it was), the river of Life,
Loud thundering, bore us by; swift, swift it foam'd,
Black under cliffs it raced, round headlands shone.
35Soon the plank'd cottage by the sun-warm'd pines
Faded—the moss—the rocks; us burning plains,
Bristled with cities, us the sea received.
[LINES][°]
WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS
In this lone, open glade I lie,
Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand;
And at its end, to stay the eye,
°[4]Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees° stand!
5Birds here make song, each bird has his,
Across the girdling city's hum.
How green under the boughs it is!
How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!
[p.76] Sometimes a child will cross the glade
10To take his nurse his broken toy;
Sometimes a thrush flit overhead
Deep in her unknown day's employ.
Here at my feet what wonders pass,
°[14]What endless, active life is here°!
15What blowing daisies, fragrant grass!
An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear.
Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod
Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out,
And, eased of basket and of rod,
20Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout.
°[21]In the huge world,° which roars hard by,
Be others happy if they can!
But in my helpless cradle I
°[24]Was breathed on by the rural Pan.°
25I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd,
Think often, as I hear them rave,
That peace has left the upper world
And now keeps only in the grave.
Yet here is peace for ever new!
30When I who watch them am away,
Still all things in this glade go through
The changes of their quiet day.
Then to their happy rest they pass!
The flowers upclose, the birds are fed,
35The night comes down upon the grass,
The child sleeps warmly in his bed.
[p.77] Calm soul of all things! make it mine
To feel, amid the city's jar,
That there abides a peace of thine,
40Man did not make, and cannot mar.
The will to neither strive nor cry,
°[42]The power to feel with others give°!
Calm, calm me more! nor let me die
Before I have begun to live.
[THE STRAYED REVELLER][°]
The Portico of Circe's Palace. Evening.
A YOUTH. [CIRCE].°
The Youth. Faster, faster,
O Circe, Goddess,
Let the wild, thronging train,
The bright procession
5Of eddying forms,
Sweep through my soul!
Thou standest, smiling
Down on me! thy right arm,
Lean'd up against the column there,
10Props thy soft cheek;
Thy left holds, hanging loosely,
°[12]The deep cup, ivy-cinctured,°
I held but now.
[p.78] Is it, then, evening
15So soon? I see, the night-dews,
Cluster'd in thick beads, dim
The agate brooch-stones
On thy white shoulder;
The cool night-wind, too,
20Blows through the portico,
Stirs thy hair, Goddess,
Waves thy white robe!
Circe. Whence art thou, sleeper?
The Youth. When the white dawn first
25Through the rough fir-planks
Of my hut, by the chestnuts,
Up at the valley-head,
Came breaking, Goddess!
I sprang up, I threw round me
30My dappled fawn-skin;
Passing out, from the wet turf,
Where they lay, by the hut door,
I snatch'd up my vine-crown, my fir-staff,
All drench'd in dew—
35Came swift down to join
°[36]The rout° early gather'd
In the town, round the temple,
°[38]Iacchus'° white fane°
On yonder hill.
40Quick I pass'd, following
The wood-cutters' cart-track
Down the dark valley;—I saw
On my left, through, the beeches,
[p.79] Thy palace, Goddess,
45Smokeless, empty!
Trembling, I enter'd; beheld
The court all silent,
°[48]The lions sleeping,°
On the altar this bowl.
50I drank, Goddess!
And sank down here, sleeping,
On the steps of thy portico.
Circe. Foolish boy! Why tremblest thou?
Thou lovest it, then, my wine?
55Wouldst more of it? See, how glows,
Through the delicate, flush'd marble,
The red, creaming liquor,
Strown with dark seeds!
Drink, then! I chide thee not,
60Deny thee not my bowl.
Come, stretch forth thy hand, then—so!
Drink—drink again!
The Youth. Thanks, gracious one!
Ah, the sweet fumes again!
65More soft, ah me,
More subtle-winding
°[67]Than Pan's flute-music!°
Faint—faint! Ah me,
Again the sweet sleep!
70 Circe. Hist! Thou—within there!
°[71]Come forth, Ulysses°!
°[72]Art° tired with hunting?
°[73]While we range° the woodland,
°[74]See what the day brings.°
[p.80] 75 Ulysses. Ever new magic!
Hast thou then lured hither,
Wonderful Goddess, by thy art,
The young, languid-eyed Ampelus,
Iacchus' darling—
80Or some youth beloved of Pan,
°[81]Of Pan and the Nymphs°?
That he sits, bending downward
His white, delicate neck
To the ivy-wreathed marge
85Of thy cup; the bright, glancing vine-leaves
That crown his hair,
Falling forward, mingling
With the dark ivy-plants—
His fawn-skin, half untied,
90Smear'd with red wine-stains? Who is he,
That he sits, overweigh'd
By fumes of wine and sleep,
So late, in thy portico?
What youth, Goddess,—what guest
95Of Gods or mortals?
Circe. Hist! he wakes!
I lured him not hither, Ulysses.
Nay, ask him!
The Youth. Who speaks? Ah, who comes forth
100To thy side, Goddess, from within?
How shall I name him?
This spare, dark-featured,
Quick-eyed stranger?
Ah, and I see too
105His sailor's bonnet,
[p.81] His short coat, travel-tarnish'd,
°[107]With one arm bare°!—
Art thou not he, whom fame
This long time rumours
°[110]The favour'd guest of Circe,° brought by the waves?
Art thou he, stranger?
The wise Ulysses,
Laertes' son?
Ulysses. I am Ulysses.
115And thou, too, sleeper?
Thy voice is sweet.
It may be thou hast follow'd
Through the islands some divine bard,
By age taught many things,
°[120]Age and the Muses°;
And heard him delighting
The chiefs and people
In the banquet, and learn'd his songs,
Of Gods and Heroes,
125Of war and arts,
And peopled cities,
Inland, or built
By the grey sea.—If so, then hail!
I honour and welcome thee.
130The Youth. The Gods are happy.
They turn on all sides
Their shining eyes,
And see below them
°[134]The earth and men.°
°[135]They see Tiresias°
Sitting, staff in hand,
[p.82] On the warm, grassy
°[138]Asopus° bank,
His robe drawn over
140His old, sightless head,
Revolving inly
°[142]The doom of Thebes.°
°[143]They see the Centaurs°
In the upper glens
°[145]Of Pelion,° in the streams,
Where red-berried ashes fringe
The clear-brown shallow pools,
With streaming flanks, and heads
Rear'd proudly, snuffing
150The mountain wind.
They see the Indian
Drifting, knife in hand,
His frail boat moor'd to
A floating isle thick-matted
155With large-leaved, low-creeping melon-plants,
And the dark cucumber.
He reaps, and stows them,
Drifting—drifting;—round him,
Round his green harvest-plot,
160Flow the cool lake-waves,
°[161]The mountains ring them.°
They see the Scythian
On the wide stepp, unharnessing
His wheel'd house at noon.
165He tethers his beast down, and makes his meal—
Mares' milk, and bread
[p.83] °[167]Baked on the embers°;—all around
The boundless, waving grass-plains stretch, thick-starr'd
With saffron and the yellow hollyhock
170And flag-leaved iris-flowers.
Sitting in his cart,
He makes his meal; before him, for long miles,
Alive with bright green lizards,
And the springing bustard-fowl,
175The track, a straight black line,
Furrows the rich soil; here and there
Clusters of lonely mounds
Topp'd with rough-hewn,
Grey, rain-blear'd statues, overpeer
°[180]The sunny waste.°
They see the ferry
On the broad, clay-laden.
°[183]Lone Chorasmian stream°;—thereon
With snort and strain,
185Two horses, strongly swimming, tow
The ferry-boat, with woven ropes
To either bow
Firm harness'd by the mane; a chief,
With shout and shaken spear,
190Stands at the prow, and guides them; but astern
The cowering merchants, in long robes,
Sit pale beside their wealth
Of silk-bales and of balsam-drops,
Of gold and ivory,
195Of turquoise-earth and amethyst,
Jasper and chalcedony,
°[197]And milk-barr'd onyx-stones.°
[p.84] The loaded boat swings groaning
In the yellow eddies;
200The Gods behold them.
They see the Heroes
Sitting in the dark ship
On the foamless, long-heaving
Violet sea,
205At sunset nearing
°[206]The Happy Islands.°
These things, Ulysses,
The wise bards also
Behold and sing.
210But oh, what labour!
O prince, what pain!
They too can see
Tiresias;—but the Gods,
Who give them vision,
215Added this law:
That they should bear too
His groping blindness,
His dark foreboding,
His scorn'd white hairs;
°[220]Bear Hera's anger°
Through a life lengthen'd
To seven ages.
They see the Centaurs
On Pelion;—then they feel,
225They too, the maddening wine
Swell their large veins to bursting; in wild pain
They feel the biting spears
[p.85] °[228]Of the grim Lapithæ,° and Theseus,° drive,
°[229]Drive crashing through their bones°; they feel
230High on a jutting rock in the red stream
°[231]Alcmena's dreadful son°
Ply his bow;—such a price
The Gods exact for song:
To become what we sing.
235They see the Indian
On his mountain lake; but squalls
Make their skiff reel, and worms
In the unkind spring have gnawn
Their melon-harvest to the heart.—They see
240The Scythian; but long frosts
Parch them in winter-time on the bare stepp,
Till they too fade like grass; they crawl
Like shadows forth in spring.
They see the merchants
°[245]On the Oxus stream°;—but care
Must visit first them too, and make them pale.
Whether, through whirling sand,
A cloud of desert robber-horse have burst
Upon their caravan; or greedy kings,
250In the wall'd cities the way passes through,
Crush'd them with tolls; or fever-airs,
On some great river's marge,
Mown them down, far from home.
°[254]They see the Heroes°
255Near harbour;—but they share
Their lives, and former violent toil in Thebes,
°[257]Seven-gated Thebes, or Troy°;
[p.86] Or where the echoing oars
Of Argo first
°[260]Startled the unknown sea.°
°[261]The old Silenus°
Came, lolling in the sunshine,
From the dewy forest-coverts,
This way, at noon.
265Sitting by me, while his Fauns
Down at the water-side
Sprinkled and smoothed
His drooping garland,
He told me these things.
270But I, Ulysses,
Sitting on the warm steps,
Looking over the valley,
All day long, have seen,
Without pain, without labour,
°[275]Sometimes a wild-hair'd Mænad°—
°[276]Sometimes a Faun with torches°—
And sometimes, for a moment,
Passing through the dark stems
Flowing-robed, the beloved,
280The desired, the divine,
Beloved Iacchus.
Ah, cool night-wind, tremulous stars!
Ah, glimmering water,
Fitful earth-murmur,
285Dreaming woods!
Ah, golden-hair'd, strangely smiling Goddess,
And thou, proved, much enduring,
[p.87] Wave-toss'd Wanderer!
Who can stand still?
290Ye fade, ye swim, ye waver before me—
The cup again!
Faster, faster,
O Circe, Goddess,
Let the wild, thronging train,
295The bright procession
Of eddying forms,
Sweep through my soul!
[MORALITY]
We cannot kindle when we will
The fire which in the heart resides,
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides.
5 But tasks in hours of insight will'd
Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.
With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
10Of the long day, and wish 'twere done.
Not till the hours of light return,
All we have built do we discern.
Then, when the clouds are off the soul,
When thou dost bask in Nature's eye,
[p.88] 15Ask, how she view'd thy self-control,
Thy struggling, task'd morality—
Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air.
Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.
And she, whose censure thou dost dread,
20Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek,
See, on her face a glow is spread,
A strong emotion on her cheek!
"Ah, child!" she cries, "that strife divine,
Whence was it, for it is not mine?
25"There is no effort on my brow—
I do not strive, I do not weep;
I rush with the swift spheres and glow
In joy, and when I will, I sleep.
Yet that severe, that earnest air,
30 I saw, I felt it once—but where?
"I knew not yet the gauge of time,
Nor wore the manacles of space;
I felt it in some other clime,
I saw it in some other place.
35 'Twas when the heavenly house I trod,
And lay upon the breast of God."
[DOVER BEACH][°]
The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
[p.89] Upon the straits;—on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
5Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
10Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
°[15]Sophocles° long ago
°[16]Heard it on the Ægæan,° and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
20Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
25Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
30To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
[p.90] Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
35And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
[PHILOMELA][°]
Hark! ah, the nightingale—
The tawny-throated!
Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
°[4]What triumph! hark!—what pain°!
°[5]O wanderer from a Grecian shore,°
Still, after many years, in distant lands,
Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain
°[8]That wild, unquench'd, deep-sunken, old-world pain°—
Say, will it never heal?
10And can this fragrant lawn
With its cool trees, and night,
And the sweet, tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew,
To thy rack'd heart and brain
15Afford no balm?
Dost thou to-night behold,
Here, through the moonlight on this English grass,
°[18]The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild°?
Dost thou again peruse
20With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes
°[21]The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame°?
Dost thou once more assay
[p.91] Thy flight, and feel come over thee,
Poor fugitive, the feathery change
25Once more, and once more seem to make resound
With love and hate, triumph and agony,
°[27]Lone Daulis,° and the high Cephissian vale°?
Listen, Eugenia—
°[29]How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves°!
30Again—thou hearest?
Eternal passion!
°[32]Eternal pain°!
[HUMAN LIFE][°]
What mortal, when he saw,
Life's voyage done, his heavenly Friend,
Could ever yet dare tell him fearlessly:
°[4]"I have kept uninfringed my nature's law°;
°[5]The inly-written chart° thou gavest me,
To guide me, I have steer'd by to the end"?
Ah! let us make no claim,
°[8]On life's incognisable° sea,
To too exact a steering of our way;
10Let us not fret and fear to miss our aim,
If some fair coast have lured us to make stay,
Or some friend hail'd us to keep company.
Ay! we would each fain drive
At random, and not steer by rule.
15Weakness! and worse, weakness bestow'd in vain
Winds from our side the unsuiting consort rive,
We rush by coasts where we had lief remain;
Man cannot, though he would, live chance's fool.
[p.92] No! as the foaming swath
20Of torn-up water, on the main,
Falls heavily away with long-drawn roar
On either side the black deep-furrow'd path
°[23]Cut by an onward-labouring vessel's prore,°
And never touches the ship-side again;
25Even so we leave behind,
As, charter'd by some unknown Powers
°[27]We stem° across the sea of life by night,
The joys which were not for our use design'd;—
The friends to whom we had no natural right,
30The homes that were not destined to be ours.
[ISOLATION][°]
TO MARGUERITE
°[1]Yes°! in the sea of life enisled,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.
5The islands feel the enclasping flow,
And then their endless bounds they know.
°[7]But when the moon° their hollows lights,
And they are swept by balms of spring,
And in their glens, on starry nights,
10The nightingales divinely sing;
And lovely notes, from shore to shore,
Across the sounds and channels pour—
[p.93] Oh! then a longing like despair
Is to their farthest caverns sent;
15For surely once, they feel, we were
Parts of a single continent!
Now round us spreads the watery plain—
Oh might our marges meet again!
Who order'd, that their longing's fire
20Should be, as soon as kindled, cool'd?
Who renders vain their deep desire?—
A God, a God their severance ruled!
And bade betwixt their shores to be
°[24]The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea.°
[KAISER DEAD][°]
April 6, 1887
What, Kaiser dead? The heavy news
°[2]Post-haste to Cobham° calls the Muse,
°[3]From where in Farringford° she brews
The ode sublime,
°[5]Or with Pen-bryn's bold bard° pursues
A rival rhyme.
Kai's bracelet tail, Kai's busy feet,
Were known to all the village-street.
"What, poor Kai dead?" say all I meet;
10 "A loss indeed!"
O for the croon pathetic, sweet,
°[12] Of Robin's reed°!
[p.94] Six years ago I brought him down,
A baby dog, from London town;
15Round his small throat of black and brown
A ribbon blue,
And vouch'd by glorious renown
A dachshound true.
His mother, most majestic dame,
°[20]Of blood-unmix'd, from Potsdam° came;
And Kaiser's race we deem'd the same—
No lineage higher.
And so he bore the imperial name.
But ah, his sire!
25Soon, soon the days conviction bring.
The collie hair, the collie swing,
The tail's indomitable ring,
The eye's unrest—
The case was clear; a mongrel thing
30 Kai stood confest.
But all those virtues, which commend
The humbler sort who serve and tend,
Were thine in store, thou faithful friend.
What sense, what cheer!
35To us, declining tow'rds our end,
A mate how dear!
For Max, thy brother-dog, began
To flag, and feel his narrowing span.
And cold, besides, his blue blood ran,
40 Since, 'gainst the classes,
°[41]He heard, of late, the Grand Old Man°
Incite the masses.
[p.95] Yes, Max and we grew slow and sad;
But Kai, a tireless shepherd-lad,
45Teeming with plans, alert, and glad
In work or play,
Like sunshine went and came, and bade
Live out the day!
Still, still I see the figure smart—
°[50]Trophy in mouth, agog° to start,
Then, home return'd, once more depart;
Or prest together
Against thy mistress, loving heart,
In winter weather.
55I see the tail, like bracelet twirl'd,
In moments of disgrace uncurl'd,
Then at a pardoning word re-furl'd,
A conquering sign;
Crying, "Come on, and range the world,
60 And never pine."
Thine eye was bright, thy coat it shone;
Thou hast thine errands, off and on;
In joy thy last morn flew; anon,
A fit! All's over;
°[65]And thou art gone where Geist° hath gone,
And Toss, and Rover.
Poor Max, with downcast, reverent head,
Regards his brother's form outspread;
Full well Max knows the friend is dead
70 Whose cordial talk,
And jokes in doggish language said,
Beguiled his walk.
[p.96] And Glory, stretch'd at Burwood gate,
Thy passing by doth vainly wait;
75And jealous Jock, thy only hate,
°[76] The chiel° from Skye,°
Lets from his shaggy Highland pate
Thy memory die.
Well, fetch his graven collar fine,
80And rub the steel, and make it shine,
And leave it round thy neck to twine,
Kai, in thy grave.
There of thy master keep that sign,
And this plain stave.
[THE LAST WORD][°]
Creep into thy narrow bed,
Creep, and let no more be said!
Vain thy onset! all stands fast.
Thou thyself must break at last.
5Let the long contention cease!
Geese are swans, and swans are geese.
Let them have it how they will!
Thou art tired; best be still.
They out-talk'd thee, hiss'd thee, tore thee?
10Better men fared thus before thee;
Fired their ringing shot and pass'd,
Hotly charged—and sank at last.
[p.97] Charge once more, then, and be dumb!
Let the victors, when they come,
15When the forts of folly fall,
Find thy body by the wall!
[PALLADIUM][°]
°[1]Set where the upper streams of Simois° flow
Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood;
°[3]And Hector° was in Ilium° far below,
And fought, and saw it not—but there it stood!
5It stood, and sun and moonshine rain'd their light
On the pure columns of its glen-built hall.
Backward and forward roll'd the waves of fight
Round Troy—but while this stood, Troy could not fall.
So, in its lovely moonlight, lives the soul.
10Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin air;
Cold plashing, past it, crystal waters roll;
We visit it by moments, ah, too rare!
We shall renew the battle in the plain
°[14]To-morrow;—red with blood will Xanthus° be;
°[15]Hector and Ajax° will be there again,
°[16]Helen° will come upon the wall to see.
Then we shall rust in shade, or shine in strife,
And fluctuate 'twixt blind hopes and blind despairs,
And fancy that we put forth all our life,
20And never know how with the soul it fares.
[p.98] Still doth the soul, from its lone fastness high,
Upon our life a ruling effluence send.
And when it fails, fight as we will, we die;
And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end.
[REVOLUTIONS]
Before man parted for this earthly strand,
While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood,
God put a heap of letters in his hand,
And bade him make with them what word he could.
5And man has turn'd them many times; made Greece,
Rome, England, France;—yes, nor in vain essay'd
Way after way, changes that never cease!
The letters have combined, something was made.
But ah! an inextinguishable sense
10Haunts him that he has not made what he should;
That he has still, though old, to recommence,
Since he has not yet found the word God would.
And empire after empire, at their height
Of sway, have felt this boding sense come on;
15Have felt their huge frames not constructed right,
And droop'd, and slowly died upon their throne.
One day, thou say'st, there will at last appear
The word, the order, which God meant should be.
Ah! we shall know that well when it comes near;
20The band will quit man's heart, he will breathe free.
[p.99]
[SELF-DEPENDENCE][°]
Weary of myself, and sick of asking
What I am, and what I ought to be,
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.
5And a look of passionate desire
O'er the sea and to the stars I send:
"Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me,
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!
"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters,
10On my heart your mighty charm renew;
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!"
From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,
15In the rustling night-air came the answer:
"Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.
"Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them
20Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.
"And with joy the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll;
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.
[p.100] 25"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see."
O air-born voice! long since, severely clear,
30A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear:
"Resolve to be thyself; and know that he,
Who finds himself, loses his misery!"
A SUMMER [NIGHT]
In the deserted, moon-blanch'd street,
How lonely rings the echo of my feet!
Those windows, which I gaze at, frown,
Silent and white, unopening down,
5Repellent as the world;—but see,
A break between the housetops shows
The moon! and, lost behind her, fading dim
Into the dewy dark obscurity
Down at the far horizon's rim,
10Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose!
And to my mind the thought
Is on a sudden brought
Of a past night, and a far different scene.
Headlands stood out into the moonlit deep
15As clearly as at noon;
The spring-tide's brimming flow
Heaved dazzlingly between;
Houses, with long white sweep,
[p.101] Girdled the glistening bay;
20Behind, through the soft air,
The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away,
The night was far more fair—
But the same restless pacings to and fro,
And the same vainly throbbing heart was there,
25And the same bright, calm moon.
And the calm moonlight seems to say:
Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast,
Which neither deadens into rest,
Nor ever feels the fiery glow
30That whirls the spirit from itself away,
But fluctuates to and fro,
Never by passion quite possess'd
And never quite benumb'd by the world's sway?—
And I, I know not if to pray
35Still to be what I am, or yield and be
Like all the other men I see.
For most men in a brazen prison live,
Where, in the sun's hot eye,
With heads bent o'er their toil, they languidly
40Their lives to some unmeaning taskwork give,
Dreaming of nought beyond their prison-wall.
And as, year after year,
Fresh products of their barren labour fall
From their tired hands, and rest
45Never yet comes more near,
Gloom settles slowly down over their breast;
A while they try to stem
The waves of mournful thought by which they are prest,
[p.102] And the rest, a few,
50Escape their prison and
On the wide ocean of life anew.
There the freed prisoner, where'er his heart
Listeth, will sail;
Nor doth he know how these prevail,
55Despotic on that sea,
Trade-winds which cross it from eternity.
Awhile he holds some false way, undebarr'd
By thwarting signs, and braves
The freshening wind and blackening waves
60And then the tempest strikes him; and between
The lightning-bursts is seen
Only a driving wreck.
And the pale master on his spar-strewn deck
With anguished face and flying hair,
65Grasping the rudder hard,
Still bent to make some port he knows not where,
Still standing for some false, impossible shore.
And sterner comes the roar
Of sea and wind, and through the deepening gloom
70Fainter and fainter wreck and helmsman loom
And he, too, disappears and comes no more.
Is there no life, but there alone?
Madman or slave, must man be one?
Plainness and clearness without shadow of stain!
75Clearness divine.
Ye heavens, whose pure dark regions have no sign
Of languor, though so calm, and though so great
Are yet untroubled and unpassionate;
Who though so noble, share in the world's toil.
80And, though so task'd, keep free from dust and soil!
[p.103] I will not say that your mild deeps retain
A tinge, it may be, of their silent pain
Who have longed deeply once, and longed in vain—
But I will rather say that you remain
85A world above man's head, to let him see
How boundless might his soul's horizon be,
How vast, yet of which clear transparency!
How it were good to live there, and breathe free!
How fair a lot to fill
90Is left to each man still!
[GEIST'S GRAVE][°]
Four years!—and didst thou stay above
The ground, which hides thee now, but four?
And all that life, and all that love,
Were crowded, Geist! into no more?
5Only four years those winning ways,
Which make me for thy presence yearn,
Call'd us to pet thee or to praise,
Dear little friend! at every turn?
That loving heart, that patient soul,
10Had they indeed no longer span,
To run their course, and reach their goal,
°[12]And read their homily° to man?
That liquid, melancholy eye,
From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs
[p.104] °[15]Seem'd surging the Virgilian cry,°
The sense of tears in mortal things—
That steadfast, mournful strain, consoled
By spirits gloriously gay,
And temper of heroic mould—
20What, was four years their whole short day?
Yes, only four!—and not the course
Of all the centuries yet to come,
And not the infinite resource
Of Nature, with her countless sum
25Of figures, with her fulness vast
Of new creation evermore,
Can ever quite repeat the past,
Or just thy little self restore.
Stern law of every mortal lot!
30Which man, proud man, finds hard to bear,
And builds himself I know not what
Of second life I know not where.
But thou, when struck thine hour to go,
On us, who stood despondent by,
35A meek last glance of love didst throw,
And humbly lay thee down to die.
Yet would we keep thee in our heart—
Would fix our favourite on the scene,
Nor let thee utterly depart
40And be as if thou ne'er hadst been.
[p.105] And so there rise these lines of verse
°[42]On lips that rarely form them now°;
While to each other we rehearse:
Such ways, such arts, such looks hadst thou!
45We stroke thy broad brown paws again,
We bid thee to thy vacant chair,
We greet thee by the window-pane,
We hear thy scuffle on the stair.
We see the flaps of thy large ears
50Quick raised to ask which way we go;
Crossing the frozen lake, appears
Thy small black figure on the snow!
Nor to us only art thou dear
Who mourn thee in thine English home;
°[55]Thou hast thine absent master's° tear,
Dropt by the far Australian foam.
Thy memory lasts both here and there,
And thou shalt live as long as we.
And after that—thou dost not care!
60In us was all the world to thee.
Yet, fondly zealous for thy fame,
Even to a date beyond our own
We strive to carry down thy name,
By mounded turf, and graven stone.
65We lay thee, close within our reach,
Here, where the grass is smooth and warm,
Between the holly and the beech,
Where oft we watch'd thy couchant form,
[p.106] Asleep, yet lending half an ear
70To travellers on the Portsmouth road;—
There build we thee, O guardian dear,
Mark'd with a stone, thy last abode!
Then some, who through this garden pass,
When we too, like thyself, are clay,
75Shall see thy grave upon the grass,
And stop before the stone, and say:
People who lived here long ago
Did by this stone, it seems, intend
To name for future times to know
80The dachs-hound, Geist, their little friend.
[EPILOGUE]
[TO LESSING'S LAOCOON][°]
°[1]One morn as through Hyde Park° we walk'd,
My friend and I, by chance we talk'd
Of Lessing's famed LAOCOON;
And after we awhile had gone
5In Lessing's track, and tried to see
What painting is, what poetry—
Diverging to another thought,
"Ah," cries my friend, "but who hath taught
Why music and the other arts
10Oftener perform aright their parts
Than poetry? why she, than they,
Fewer fine successes can display?
[p.107] "For 'tis so, surely! Even in Greece,
Where best the poet framed his piece,
°[15]Even in that Phœbus-guarded ground°
°[16]Pausanias° on his travels found
Good poems, if he look'd, more rare
(Though many) than good statues were—
For these, in truth, were everywhere.
20Of bards full many a stroke divine
°[21]In Dante's,° Petrarch's,° Tasso's° line,
°[22]The land of Ariosto° show'd;
And yet, e'en there, the canvas glow'd
With triumphs, a yet ampler brood,
°[25]Of Raphael° and his brotherhood.
And nobly perfect, in our day
Of haste, half-work, and disarray,
Profound yet touching, sweet yet strong,
°[29]Hath risen Goethe's,° Wordsworth's° song;
30Yet even I (and none will bow
Deeper to these) must needs allow,
They yield us not, to soothe our pains,
Such multitude of heavenly strains
As from the kings of sound are blown,
°[35]Mozart,° Beethoven,° Mendelssohn.°"
While thus my friend discoursed, we pass
Out of the path, and take the grass.
The grass had still the green of May,
And still the unblackan'd elms were gay;
40The kine were resting in the shade,
The flies a summer-murmur made.
°[42]Bright was the morn and south° the air;
The soft-couch'd cattle were as fair
As those which pastured by the sea,
[p.108] 45That old-world morn, in Sicily,
When on the beach the Cyclops lay,
And Galatea from the bay
°[48]Mock'd her poor lovelorn giant's lay.°
"Behold," I said, "the painter's sphere!
50The limits of his art appear.
The passing group, the summer-morn,
The grass, the elms, that blossom'd thorn—
Those cattle couch'd, or, as they rise,
Their shining flanks, their liquid eyes—
55These, or much greater things, but caught
Like these, and in one aspect brought!
In outward semblance he must give
A moment's life of things that live;
Then let him choose his moment well,
60With power divine its story tell."
Still we walk'd on, in thoughtful mood,
And now upon the bridge we stood.
Full of sweet breathings was the air,
Of sudden stirs and pauses fair.
65Down o'er the stately bridge the breeze
Came rustling from the garden-trees
And on the sparkling waters play'd;
Light-plashing waves an answer made,
And mimic boats their haven near'd.
°[70]Beyond, the Abbey-towers° appear'd,
By mist and chimneys unconfined,
Free to the sweep of light and wind;
While through their earth-moor'd nave below
Another breath of wind doth blow,
75Sound as of wandering breeze—but sound
In laws by human artists bound.
[p.109] °[77]"The world of music°!" I exclaimed:—
"This breeze that rustles by, that famed
Abbey recall it! what a sphere
80Large and profound, hath genius here!
The inspired musician what a range,
What power of passion, wealth of change
Some source of feeling he must choose
And its lock'd fount of beauty use,
85And through the stream of music tell
Its else unutterable spell;
To choose it rightly is his part,
And press into its inmost heart.
°[89]"Miserere Domine°!
90The words are utter'd, and they flee.
Deep is their penitential moan,
Mighty their pathos, but 'tis gone.
They have declared the spirit's sore
Sore load, and words can do no more.
95Beethoven takes them then—those two
Poor, bounded words—and makes them new;
Infinite makes them, makes them young;
Transplants them to another tongue,
Where they can now, without constraint,
100Pour all the soul of their complaint,
And roll adown a channel large
The wealth divine they have in charge.
Page after page of music turn,
And still they live and still they burn,
105Eternal, passion-fraught, and free—
°[106]Miserere Domine°!"
°[107]Onward we moved, and reach'd the Ride°
Where gaily flows the human tide.
[p.110] Afar, in rest the cattle lay;
110We heard, afar, faint music play;
But agitated, brisk, and near,
Men, with their stream of life, were here.
Some hang upon the rails, and some
On foot behind them go and come.
115This through the Ride upon his steed
Goes slowly by, and this at speed.
The young, the happy, and the fair,
The old, the sad, the worn, were there;
°[119]Some vacant,° and some musing went,
120And some in talk and merriment.
Nods, smiles, and greetings, and farewells!
And now and then, perhaps, there swells
A sigh, a tear—but in the throng
°[124]All changes fast, and hies° along.
125Hies, ah, from whence, what native ground?
And to what goal, what ending, bound?
"Behold, at last the poet's sphere!
But who," I said, "suffices here?
"For, ah! so much he has to do;
°[130]Be painter and musician too°!
The aspect of the moment show,
The feeling of the moment know!
The aspect not, I grant, express
Clear as the painter's art can dress;
135The feeling not, I grant, explore
So deep as the musician's lore—
But clear as words can make revealing,
And deep as words can follow feeling.
But, ah! then comes his sorest spell
°[140]Of toil—he must life's movement° tell!
[p.111] The thread which binds it all in one,
And not its separate parts alone.
The movement he must tell of life,
Its pain and pleasure, rest and strife;
145His eye must travel down, at full,
The long, unpausing spectacle;
With faithful unrelaxing force
Attend it from its primal source,
From change to change and year to year
150Attend it of its mid career,
Attend it to the last repose
And solemn silence of its close.
"The cattle rising from the grass
His thought must follow where they pass;
155The penitent with anguish bow'd
His thought must follow through the crowd.
Yes! all this eddying, motley throng
That sparkles in the sun along,
Girl, statesman, merchant, soldier bold,
160Master and servant, young and old,
Grave, gay, child, parent, husband, wife,
He follows home, and lives their life.
And many, many are the souls
Life's movement fascinates, controls;
165It draws them on, they cannot save
Their feet from its alluring wave;
They cannot leave it, they must go
With its unconquerable flow.
But ah! how few, of all that try
170This mighty march, do aught but die!
[p.112] For ill-endow'd for such a way,
Ill-stored in strength, in wits, are they.
They faint, they stagger to and fro,
And wandering from the stream they go;
175In pain, in terror, in distress,
They see, all round, a wilderness.
Sometimes a momentary gleam
They catch of the mysterious stream;
Sometimes, a second's space, their ear
180The murmur of its waves doth hear.
That transient glimpse in song they say,
But not of painter can pourtray—
That transient sound in song they tell,
But not, as the musician, well.
185And when at last their snatches cease,
And they are silent and at peace,
The stream of life's majestic whole
Hath ne'er been mirror'd on their soul.
"Only a few the life-stream's shore
190With safe unwandering feet explore;
Untired its movement bright attend,
Follow its windings to the end.
Then from its brimming waves their eye
Drinks up delighted ecstasy,
195And its deep-toned, melodious voice
For ever makes their ear rejoice.
They speak! the happiness divine
They feel, runs o'er in every line;
Its spell is round them like a shower—
200It gives them pathos, gives them power.
No painter yet hath such a way,
Nor no musician made, as they,
[p.113] And gather'd on immortal knolls
Such lovely flowers for cheering souls.
205Beethoven, Raphael, cannot reach
The charm which Homer, Shakespeare, teach.
To these, to these, their thankful race
Gives, then, the first, the fairest place;
And brightest is their glory's sheen,
°[210]For greatest hath their labour been.°"
[p.116]