Part 7

The soul that saw it, the hand that drew, Whence light as thought's or as faith's glance flew, And stung to life the sepulchral past, And bade the stars of it burn anew,

Held no less than the dead world fast The light live shadows about them cast, The likeness living of dawn and night, The days that pass and the dreams that last.

Thought, clothed round with sorrow as light, Dark as a cloud that the moon turns bright, Moved, as a wind on the striving sea, That yearns and quickens and flags in flight,

Through forms of colour and song that he Who fain would have set its wide wings free Cast round it, clothing or chaining hope With lights that last not and shades that flee.

Scarce in song could his soul find scope, Scarce the strength of his hand might ope Art's inmost gate of her sovereign shrine, To cope with heaven as a man may cope.

But high as the hope of a man may shine The faith, the fervour, the life divine That thrills our life and transfigures, rose And shone resurgent, a sunbright sign,

Through shapes whereunder the strong soul glows And fills them full as a sunlit rose With sense and fervour of life, whose light The fool's eye knows not, the man's eye knows.

None that can read or divine aright The scriptures writ of the soul may slight The strife of a strenuous soul to show More than the craft of the hand may write.

None may slight it, and none may know How high the flames that aspire and glow From heart and spirit and soul may climb And triumph; higher than the souls lie low

Whose hearing hears not the livelong rhyme, Whose eyesight sees not the light sublime, That shines, that sounds, that ascends and lives Unquenched of change, unobscured of time.

A long life's length, as a man's life gives Space for the spirit that soars and strives To strive and soar, has the soul shone through That heeds not whither the world's wind drives

Now that the days and the ways it knew Are strange, are dead as the dawn's grey dew At high midnoon of the mounting day That mocks the might of the dawn it slew.

Yet haply may not--and haply may-- No sense abide of the dead sun's ray Wherein the soul that outsoars us now Rejoiced with ours in its radiant sway.

Hope may hover, and doubt may bow, Dreaming. Haply--they dream not how-- Not life but death may indeed be dead When silence darkens the dead man's brow.

Hope, whose name is remembrance, fed With love that lightens from seasons fled, Dreams, and craves not indeed to know, That death and life are as souls that wed.

But change that falls on the heart like snow Can chill not memory nor hope, that show The soul, the spirit, the heart and head, Alive above us who strive below.

AN OLD SAYING

Many waters cannot quench love, Neither can the floods drown it. Who shall snare or slay the white dove Faith, whose very dreams crown it, Gird it round with grace and peace, deep, Warm, and pure, and soft as sweet sleep? Many waters cannot quench love, Neither can the floods drown it.

Set me as a seal upon thine heart, As a seal upon thine arm. How should we behold the days depart And the nights resign their charm? Love is as the soul: though hate and fear Waste and overthrow, they strike not here. Set me as a seal upon thine heart, As a seal upon thine arm.

A MOSS-ROSE

If the rose of all flowers be the rarest That heaven may adore from above, And the fervent moss-rose be the fairest That sweetens the summer with love,

Can it be that a fairer than any Should blossom afar from the tree? Yet one, and a symbol of many, Shone sudden for eyes that could see.

In the grime and the gloom of November The bliss and the bloom of July Bade autumn rejoice and remember The balm of the blossoms gone by.

Would you know what moss-rose now it may be That puts all the rest to the blush, The flower was the face of a baby, The moss was a bonnet of plush.

TO A CAT

I

Stately, kindly, lordly friend, Condescend Here to sit by me, and turn Glorious eyes that smile and burn, Golden eyes, love's lustrous meed, On the golden page I read.

All your wondrous wealth of hair, Dark and fair, Silken-shaggy, soft and bright As the clouds and beams of night, Pays my reverent hand's caress Back with friendlier gentleness.

Dogs may fawn on all and some As they come; You, a friend of loftier mind, Answer friends alone in kind. Just your foot upon my hand Softly bids it understand.

Morning round this silent sweet Garden-seat Sheds its wealth of gathering light, Thrills the gradual clouds with might, Changes woodland, orchard, heath, Lawn, and garden there beneath.

Fair and dim they gleamed below: Now they glow Deep as even your sunbright eyes, Fair as even the wakening skies. Can it not or can it be Now that you give thanks to see?

May not you rejoice as I, Seeing the sky Change to heaven revealed, and bid Earth reveal the heaven it hid All night long from stars and moon, Now the sun sets all in tune?

What within you wakes with day Who can say? All too little may we tell, Friends who like each other well, What might haply, if we might, Bid us read our lives aright.

II

Wild on woodland ways your sires Flashed like fires; Fair as flame and fierce and fleet As with wings on wingless feet Shone and sprang your mother, free, Bright and brave as wind or sea.

Free and proud and glad as they, Here to-day Rests or roams their radiant child, Vanquished not, but reconciled, Free from curb of aught above Save the lovely curb of love.

Love through dreams of souls divine Fain would shine Round a dawn whose light and song Then should right our mutual wrong-- Speak, and seal the love-lit law Sweet Assisi's seer foresaw.

Dreams were theirs; yet haply may Dawn a day When such friends and fellows born, Seeing our earth as fair at morn, May for wiser love's sake see More of heaven's deep heart than we.

HAWTHORN DYKE

All the golden air is full of balm and bloom Where the hawthorns line the shelving dyke with flowers. Joyous children born of April's happiest hours, High and low they laugh and lighten, knowing their doom Bright as brief--to bless and cheer they know not whom, Heed not how, but washed and warmed with suns and showers Smile, and bid the sweet soft gradual banks and bowers Thrill with love of sunlit fire or starry gloom. All our moors and lawns all round rejoice; but here All the rapturous resurrection of the year Finds the radiant utterance perfect, sees the word Spoken, hears the light that speaks it. Far and near, All the world is heaven: and man and flower and bird Here are one at heart with all things seen and heard.

THE BROTHERS

There were twa brethren fell on strife; Sweet fruits are sair to gather: The tane has reft his brother of life; And the wind wears owre the heather.

There were twa brethren fell to fray; Sweet fruits are sair to gather: The tane is clad in a cloak of clay; And the wind wears owre the heather.

O loud and loud was the live man's cry, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "Would God the dead and the slain were I!" And the wind wears owre the heather.

"O sair was the wrang and sair the fray," (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "But liefer had love be slain than slay." And the wind wears owre the heather.

"O sweet is the life that sleeps at hame," (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "But I maun wake on a far sea's faem." And the wind wears owre the heather.

"And women are fairest of a' things fair," (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "But never shall I kiss woman mair." And the wind wears owre the heather.

Between the birk and the aik and the thorn (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) He's laid his brother to lie forlorn: And the wind wears owre the heather.

Between the bent and the burn and the broom (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) He's laid him to sleep till dawn of doom: And the wind wears owre the heather.

He's tane him owre the waters wide, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) Afar to fleet and afar to bide: And the wind wears owre the heather.

His hair was yellow, his cheek was red, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) When he set his face to the wind and fled: And the wind wears owre the heather.

His banes were stark and his een were bright (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) When he set his face to the sea by night: And the wind wears owre the heather.

His cheek was wan and his hair was grey (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) When he came back hame frae the wide world's way: And the wind wears owre the heather.

His banes were weary, his een were dim, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) And nae man lived and had mind of him: And the wind wears owre the heather.

"O whatten a wreck wad they seek on land" (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "That they houk the turf to the seaward hand?" And the wind wears owre the heather.

"O whatten a prey wad they think to take" (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "That they delve the dykes for a dead man's sake?" And the wind wears owre the heather.

A bane of the dead in his hand he's tane; Sweet fruits are sair to gather: And the red blood brak frae the dead white bane. And the wind wears owre the heather.

He's cast it forth of his auld faint hand; Sweet fruits are sair to gather: And the red blood ran on the wan wet sand. And the wind wears owre the heather.

"O whatten a slayer is this," they said, (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "That the straik of his hand should raise his dead?" And the wind wears owre the heather.

"O weel is me for the sign I take" (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "That now I may die for my auld sin's sake." And the wind wears owre the heather.

"For the dead was in wait now fifty year," (Sweet fruits are sair to gather) "And now shall I die for his blood's sake here." And the wind wears owre the heather.

JACOBITE SONG

Now who will speak, and lie not, And pledge not life, but give? Slaves herd with herded cattle: The dawn grows bright for battle, And if we die, we die not; And if we live, we live.

The faith our fathers fought for, The kings our fathers knew, We fight but as they fought for: We seek the goal they sought for, The chance they hailed and knew, The praise they strove and wrought for, To leave their blood as dew On fields that flower anew.

Men live that serve the stranger; Hounds live that huntsmen tame: These life-days of our living Are days of God's good giving Where death smiles soft on danger And life scowls dark on shame.

And what would you do other, Sweet wife, if you were I? And how should you be other, My sister, than your brother, If you were man as I, Born of our sire and mother, With choice to cower and fly, And chance to strike and die?

No churl's our oldworld name is, The lands we leave are fair: But fairer far than these are, But wide as all the seas are, But high as heaven the fame is That if we die we share.

Our name the night may swallow, Our lands the churl may take: But night nor death may swallow, Nor hell's nor heaven's dim hollow, The star whose height we take, The star whose light we follow For faith's unfaltering sake Till hope that sleeps awake.

Soft hope's light lure we serve not, Nor follow, fain to find: Dark time's last word may smite her Dead, ere man's falsehood blight her, But though she die, we swerve not, Who cast not eye behind.

Faith speaks when hope dissembles: Faith lives when hope lies dead: If death as life dissembles, And all that night assembles Of stars at dawn lie dead, Faint hope that smiles and trembles May tell not well for dread: But faith has heard it said.

Now who will fight, and fly not, And grudge not life to give? And who will strike beside us, If life's or death's light guide us? For if we live, we die not, And if we die, we live.

THE BALLAD OF DEAD MEN'S BAY

The sea swings owre the slants of sand, All white with winds that drive; The sea swirls up to the still dim strand, Where nae man comes alive.

At the grey soft edge of the fruitless surf A light flame sinks and springs; At the grey soft rim of the flowerless turf A low flame leaps and clings.

What light is this on a sunless shore, What gleam on a starless sea? Was it earth's or hell's waste womb that bore Such births as should not be?

As lithe snakes turning, as bright stars burning, They bicker and beckon and call; As wild waves churning, as wild winds yearning, They flicker and climb and fall.

A soft strange cry from the landward rings-- "What ails the sea to shine?" A keen sweet note from the spray's rim springs-- "What fires are these of thine?"

A soul am I that was born on earth For ae day's waesome span: Death bound me fast on the bourn of birth Ere I were christened man.

"A light by night, I fleet and fare Till the day of wrath and woe; On the hems of earth and the skirts of air Winds hurl me to and fro."

"O well is thee, though the weird be strange That bids thee flit and flee; For hope is child of the womb of change, And hope keeps watch with thee.

"When the years are gone, and the time is come, God's grace may give thee grace; And thy soul may sing, though thy soul were dumb, And shine before God's face.

"But I, that lighten and revel and roll With the foam of the plunging sea, No sign is mine of a breathing soul That God should pity me.

"Nor death, nor heaven, nor hell, nor birth Hath part in me nor mine: Strong lords are these of the living earth And loveless lords of thine.

"But I that know nor lord nor life More sure than storm or spray, Whose breath is made of sport and strife, Whereon shall I find stay?"

"And wouldst thou change thy doom with me, Full fain with thee would I: For the life that lightens and lifts the sea Is more than earth or sky.

"And what if the day of doubt and doom Shall save nor smite not me? I would not rise from the slain world's tomb If there be no more sea.

"Take he my soul that gave my soul, And give it thee to keep; And me, while seas and stars shall roll Thy life that falls on sleep."

That word went up through the mirk mid sky, And even to God's own ear: And the Lord was ware of the keen twin cry, And wroth was he to hear.

He's tane the soul of the unsained child That fled to death from birth; He's tane the light of the wan sea wild, And bid it burn on earth.

He's given the ghaist of the babe new-born The gift of the water-sprite, To ride on revel from morn to morn And roll from night to night.

He's given the sprite of the wild wan sea The gift of the new-born man, A soul for ever to bide and be When the years have filled their span.

When a year was gone and a year was come, O loud and loud cried they-- "For the lee-lang year thou hast held us dumb Take now thy gifts away!"

O loud and lang they cried on him, And sair and sair they prayed: "Is the face of thy grace as the night's face grim For those thy wrath has made?"

A cry more bitter than tears of men From the rim of the dim grey sea;-- "Give me my living soul again, The soul thou gavest me, The doom and the dole of kindly men, To bide my weird and be!"

A cry more keen from the wild low land Than the wail of waves that roll;-- "Take back the gift of a loveless hand, Thy gift of doom and dole, The weird of men that bide on land; Take from me, take my soul!"

The hands that smite are the hands that spare; They build and break the tomb; They turn to darkness and dust and air The fruits of the waste earth's womb; But never the gift of a granted prayer, The dole of a spoken doom.

Winds may change at a word unheard, But none may change the tides: The prayer once heard is as God's own word; The doom once dealt abides.

And ever a cry goes up by day, And ever a wail by night; And nae ship comes by the weary bay But her shipmen hear them wail and pray, And see with earthly sight The twofold flames of the twin lights play Where the sea-banks green and the sea-floods grey Are proud of peril and fain of prey, And the sand quakes ever; and ill fare they That look upon that light.

DEDICATION

1893

The sea of the years that endure not Whose tide shall endure till we die And know what the seasons assure not, If death be or life be a lie, Sways hither the spirit and thither, A waif in the swing of the sea Whose wrecks are of memories that wither As leaves of a tree.

We hear not and hail not with greeting The sound of the wings of the years, The storm of the sound of them beating, That none till it pass from him hears: But tempest nor calm can imperil The treasures that fade not or fly; Change bids them not change and be sterile, Death bids them not die.

Hearts plighted in youth to the royal High service of hope and of song, Sealed fast for endurance as loyal, And proved of the years as they throng, Conceive not, believe not, and fear not That age may be other than youth; That faith and that friendship may hear not And utter not truth.

Not yesterday's light nor to-morrow's Gleams nearer or clearer than gleams, Though joys be forgotten and sorrows Forgotten as changes of dreams, The dawn of the days unforgotten That noon could eclipse not or slay, Whose fruits were as children begotten Of dawn upon day.

The years that were flowerful and fruitless, The years that were fruitful and dark, The hopes that were radiant and rootless, The hopes that were winged for their mark, Lie soft in the sepulchres fashioned Of hours that arise and subside, Absorbed and subdued and impassioned, In pain or in pride.

But far in the night that entombs them The starshine as sunshine is strong, And clear through the cloud that resumes them Remembrance, a light and a song, Rings lustrous as music and hovers As birds that impend on the sea, And thoughts that their prison-house covers Arise and are free.

Forgetfulness deep as a prison Holds days that are dead for us fast Till the sepulchre sees rearisen The spirit whose reign is the past, Disentrammelled of darkness, and kindled With life that is mightier than death, When the life that obscured it has dwindled And passed as a breath.

But time nor oblivion may darken Remembrance whose name will be joy While memory forgets not to hearken, While manhood forgets not the boy Who heard and exulted in hearing The songs of the sunrise of youth Ring radiant above him, unfearing And joyous as truth.

Truth, winged and enkindled with rapture And sense of the radiance of yore, Fulfilled you with power to recapture What never might singer before-- The life, the delight, and the sorrow Of troublous and chivalrous years That knew not of night or of morrow, Of hopes or of fears.

But wider the wing and the vision That quicken the spirit have spread Since memory beheld with derision Man's hope to be more than his dead. From the mists and the snows and the thunders Your spirit has brought for us forth Light, music, and joy in the wonders And charms of the north.

The wars and the woes and the glories That quicken and lighten and rain From the clouds of its chronicled stories, The passion, the pride, and the pain, Whose echoes were mute and the token Was lost of the spells that they spake, Rise bright at your bidding, unbroken Of ages that break.

For you, and for none of us other, Time is not: the dead that must live Hold commune with you as a brother By grace of the life that you give. The heart that was in them is in you, Their soul in your spirit endures: The strength of their song is the sinew Of this that is yours.

Hence is it that life, everlasting As light and as music, abides In the sound of the surge of it, casting Sound back to the surge of the tides, Till sons of the sons of the Norsemen Watch, hurtling to windward and lee, Round England, unbacked of her horsemen, The steeds of the sea.