Chapter 2

THE WORKER.

Forth went he from the ebb and flow of men, Whose busy vortex drowneth quiet thought, To hold communion with wise Nature's soul In solitude. Amongst lone woods he roamed, Listing the murmurs of the swaying boughs That quivered with the spirit of the breeze, Threading their archëd aisles with solemn heart, And hiving in his soul a myriad thoughts That fell unseen upon him. Oft he stood On mountain fronts, and gazed long hours away, Tracing the sweep of hill and dale, now veined With glistening waters, and now dark with groves, Still changing till sight lost identity, And the ideal and the real met. He saw the sun enter the golden gates Of Night, that closed upon his radiant path, And left Earth wondering; and star by star Unlid their shining orbs, and o'er heaven's plain Wheel their bright cars to greet him in the East. He saw the morn break beautiful and pure, Like virgin from her slumbers, and robe earth In dewy brightness, cresting the far hills With glorious halos of oncoming day. All loveliness of earth and sky he sought, And pondered with a heart attent to learn, Knowing that Beauty, like a parent stream, Is nourished by each trickling rill that flows Into it; and the soul that would be apt To work its highest counsels out, must toil Through long apprentice-ship to mastery, By units gath'ring fitness for the whole.

Thus did he, till with spirit brimming up With glorious inspiration, he returned, And set the god-like in him to create; His swelling soul grew patient to the work, Wise with the sense of innate potency, And on the shapeless marble still he wrought With faith and firm assurance. Many came Amid their aimless wanderings, and stood Beside that quiet worker, wondering At the majestic purpose on his brow, And vapouring forth their self-important views, That turned his course as little as the air Swerveth the eagle in his lightning flight. Many applauded with patronic warmth And empty commendation, and no scorn Curled his proud lip, not one defiant word Echoed their nothings into transient life. But as the marble grew beneath his hands To shape and comeliness, his soul-deep eyes Flashed with the joy of high accomplishment, And scanned each valiant critic with a glance That sifted all his littleness away.

Thus did he till his work stood perfected, A woman beautiful with youth and grace, But like a Vestal singled from her sex To show the beauty of pure innocence. Her form was such as rapt Endymion Saw on the heights of Latmos when he slept And dreamed Heaven down to him. A glorious shape That to the brightness of ethereal charms Join'd the familiar sweetness of a maid; A soft clear forehead circled by the light That heaven sets lambent on its imaged self; A face that beaming on the heart of man As by a silent teaching in the sense Makes goodness natural. Upon each limb Grace laid its sweet commandment lovingly, Whilst the fair bosom glowed with tenderness, As from the fulness of a soul beneath, Woman's divinest attribute possessed Unsullied and entire; and through the frame And every feature radiating went A lovely sense of gentleness and love.

Bright is the summer of Cyprus, Undimm'd the skies and clear, Blue and clear as a maiden's eyes That loves and hath never felt sadness. Then, Time is a sunlit river Flowing 'mid flowers and green pastures Brightly onward to heaven! There is music pervading the air, Music of voice and of instrument, And the silver toning of laughters Blendeth in jubilant chorus; Bands of maidens and youths With flowing garments of purple, And zones jewelled and bright As the mystic girdle of Venus, Wreathëd with myrtle and roses, And their beauty wantonly bared To the swimming glances of passion, Evermore sweep o'er the pathways, Strewing sweet flowers as they go To the sacred altars of Venus 'Neath the feet of the snow-white kine, That must bleed at the shrine of the goddess; Care is forgotten, for life Hath no aim and no mission but pleasure; Its cup is a foretaste of Paradise, Drain the sweet draught to the dregs, The fountain will flow on for ever! 'Tis the feast day of Venus--Hail! Hail!

Pygmalion stood beside his master-piece, Still with his mind devote to mighty thoughts And busy inspiration, for through Time The worker must be constant to his toil, Heedless of pleasure and the idle toys For which man bartereth eternity; Life is his seed-time, after life his rest. Had he not joyed to scan that lovely form, And mark each glorious lineament, that held A model up to Nature of pure grace Unblemished by the shadow of a fault? Had he not loved with more than Artist soul The beauteous creature of his heaven-drawn power, And oped again the flood-gates of his heart To the full current of humanity? Had he not thanked the gods for victory, And gloried in his strength with conscious might That made e'en fame his fellow? Yet he stood Silent and sad beside his finished work. What lacked he yet? Life! life! for his creation: "What have I wrought," he uttered, "what achieved? Naught! naught! my power hath wasted on a stone, Changed its rude seeming haply unto grace, But as it was, so is it now, mere stone; My beauteous image, emblem of my soul, Cast in the mould of thought's supremest good, Fairer than all of womankind on Earth, Is yet more worthless and more transient Than is the meanest wretch who feels the life Throb quenchlessly within him. Time may strew Its fragments blindly o'er the face of Earth, Scatter its spotless beauties, yet pass on And leave the world no poorer than it was. There is no beauty separate from soul; From it as from a spring flow all the streams That clothe this dust with living loveliness Else doomed to deep aridity and death. O lovely daughter of my craving soul! Hope of my life! Divinest shape of Earth! Can I regard thy beauty thus and know Thou art the empty semblance of a worthless thing. Are those sweet charms where loveliness hath set The limits of her potency, mere dust Unnobled by the passage of a soul, Rescued a moment from the senseless mass, That soon again shall have thee for its own? What hath my soul begotten? Death in life-- A child of Earth unblessed, unstamped of heaven. First-fruit of Spirit love! is this thy fate? Gods! hear me from your thrones! Must it be so?" Forth sped he. Like a stream that is swayed in the sunlight, Breaking in flashes of brightness, The people of Cyprus were gathered Around the temple of Venus; Mirth and music ascended. Amid the fumes of the incense, Loud as when pleasure hath knocked On a heart that is hollow and empty. Maidens rejoiced in their shame, And fancied their lewdness devotion, Banishing thought from their bosoms, And making them giddy with passion. Men forgetting their birthright, And the glorious spirit of freedom, Made themselves slaves unto folly, And lust, and imbecile pleasure. Life was summed up in the Present, For foolishness knoweth no Future.

Through the deluded mass Pygmalion prest, As each true soul must on its course to Fame, Blind to the follies that beset his path, The empty pleasures, and fictitious joys; Deaf to the jeers and mockings of the crowd, Their sottish laughters and unmeaning mirth, His senses all attent to his great aim, Fixed on the prize of immortality. Within the Temple separate he stood From the base host of giddy worshippers, And prostrated his soul with strong desire At the bright shrine of Cytherea's power.

"O Cypris! goddess! Light of heaven and Earth! That from the snow-crest of the waving sea, The endless worker--the unresting soul, Sprang'st in the glory of thy charms divine, And Beauty mad'st immortal! That dost hold The sacred urn of everlasting love, Whose draught is life, strength, rapture to the soul, And pouring of its fulness o'er the Earth, Makest its drooping energies revive, To struggle onward through the fight of life! O thou divinest arbitress of fate! Stoop from thy starry throne, receive my prayer, And grant me life, breath, being for my work. Let not the love that glorifies a man, Sink 'neath the level of humanity, And take unto its Holiest a shape Of woman's dust engraven on a stone; Grant that this first-fruit of my soul may be Endued with lovely immortality; That she may have the throbbing pulse of life, Quick'ning with every gracious influence, To work some sweet seraphic Purpose out, And walking 'mongst Earth's multitudes exalt Man's soul to worship Beauty, that when I The Worker shall have gone unto my rest, A glorious witness may remain to tell That such an one wrought, struggled and attained."

Thus prayed he. And an answer stirred his soul, "That which is born of Truth dies never. Time Still takes its sweet impression as it flies, And drops it seed-like into some wise heart, Where it may blossom and bear fruit anew To make its good perpetual. Thy prayer Is heard. The fire shall go from Heaven. Thy work Shall live."

Homeward he sped, and by his work stood soon. O'er that sweet visage once so motionless, To his rapt gaze there stole the rays divine That bear all high intelligence of heaven, And undulating o'er each graceful line Made the cold stone angelic. Liquid eyes, Bright with all pure imaginings, and full Of young emotion, love, and gentleness, Beamed softly on him in dim wonderment; Whilst from her lips that parted half for speech, Flowed the deep sweetness of a woman's smile, And o'er his perplex'd spirit shed the light Of Hope and glad assurance. All her frame Glowed with the rosy hue of life and youth, And melting from the rigidness of stone Sank into attitudes of peerless grace.

And when conviction strengthened in his soul As the awak'ning beauties of his work Expanded 'neath the spirit influence, He clasp'd the maid unto his beating heart, As father might the daughter of his love, Rejoicing with blent pride and tenderness In the supernal beauty of his child. Hearing within him murmurs of a voice-- "I have accomplish'd, have not wrought in vain, Left no faint record written on the tide Of life, to perish with its setting wave; But my fair work shall live for evermore, And through the phalanx of advancing Ages Speed like a herald sounding to the world, 'Behold a man who crushed oblivion, 'And girding up his soul in faith and love 'Wrought like a God beyond the reach of Time!'"

ODE TO FANCY.

O! thou art a sweet and playful thing, And light as a lark upon the wing, Pouring the melody of thy mirth, In sunny showers down to the earth. The sunbeams pave o'er the crystal waters A pathway for thee to Triton's daughters, Down in the depths of the waving sea, Where their bright archëd palaces be: There mermaids hasten unto thy side, And sing their songs till the ravished tide Feels the soft music through all its swells, And whispers them o'er to the coral shells. Fays are thy playmates at dewy e'en, For o'er their land they have made thee queen, Crowned thee with flowers of fadeless hue, And drained thy health in the honey dew; And over mountain, and hill, and dale, 'Lumed by the glow of the moonbeams pale, Thy merry train in the stillness dance, Like a beam of pleasure and radiance; Thine are the revels each summer night, Held on the mead by the glow-worm's light, Till maidens, straying at early dawn, Trace thy blithe footsteps upon the lawn; Thus dost thou lead on thy joyous rout, And trip around till thou'rt wearied out; And in the harebells the yellow bee Creeps in the morning to waken thee Forth from thy sweet dreams of joy and love, That rise in odorous breath above.

Like some fair wizard thou weavest spells Over all flowers, and brooks, and dells, Wreathing above every mossy bed, Till with bright dreams it is canopied And through the rose-coloured atmosphere All things more lovely and bright appear, Losing the faintness of earthly things, And shining with heaven's illuminings. Thine are the Naiads and Nymphs which rise From dell and fountain to daze our eyes; Thine are the spirits 'mid leafy trees, Whose voices come to us on the breeze. Thine are the maidens whose trackless feet Bear to the flower cups their honey sweet, Pressing their perfume till through and through Is pierced the soul of the rising dew.

Lead me, sweet sprite, to thy sunny dwelling! Is it where brooklets are softly welling Amid the greenwoods with many a fall, Making the lily-cups musical? Is it where mosses and violets meet, And blend their lives in an union sweet, Whither the butterflies speed to tell Glad tales of the flowers thou lovest so well? Is't in the covert whose lonely shade The ring-dove her resting place hath made, Lulled by the melody of her note Till dreams of Elysium round thee float? Is't on the breast of the sunlit sea, With ripples of glory to circle thee, Bright flashing dolphins to bear thy car, And waft thee to glorious isles afar? Is't in some cave where the light of day Borrows new hues from the diamond ray, Paven with jewels and silv'ry sand Borne by the waves from the mermaid's land Is't in the arms of the balmy gale Over the ocean thou lovest to sail, Loosing the folds of thy silken hair To float at will on the perfumed air? Is it by valley or heath-clad mountain? Is it by streamlet or limpid fountain? Tell me, and I will come to thee, Follow thy flight through immensity!

Dost thou not roam in the realms of sleep, While stars above thee their bright watch keep, Lapping the soul in a crystal sea, Whose every swell is felicity? And in the halls of her quiet home, Where darkness pillars the starry dome, Making all beauty more beautiful, And keeping the moonbeams soft and cool, Dost thou not sit till the morning beams Weaving the fabric of happy dreams, Bringing dear visions to weeping eyes, Till sorrow transforms to paradise? Dost thou not kiss sweet lips till they smile, And murmur of joys they knew erewhile, And build up hopes that are shatter'd quite, Decking the past in a robe of light?

O! thou art a kind and gentle thing, Bearing the gifts that _good_ angels bring, Joying in all that is bright and free, And soothing the sting of misery; If thou would'st dwell in my beating heart, And breathe thy fragrance through every part, I would ever love and obey thee, Never slight thee and never betray thee Into the hands of cruel scoffers, Who sell their souls to fill their coffers, Crush every flower beneath their feet, And make the sole bliss of life--to cheat; Cheat the greenwoods of happy ramblers, To rear a race of slaves and gamblers; Cheat the summer, cheat the spring, Cheat the sweet flowers of their ministring; Cheat the soft meadows and sunny skies Of their glad tribute from glist'ning eyes; Cheat the birds in their leafy bowers, Cheat every day of its few short hours, Cheat even life of its little pleasure, Dealing its needfuls out in short measure; Cheating all beauty while they draw breath, But true to _one_ commerce, that is--Death!

Come to me then, and I'll cherish thee, Thou shalt my loving companion be; From the cold world we will live apart, And build up a new one within my heart.

WHAT IS A SIGH?

It is the sound Raised by the sweeping of an angel's wing, As through the air It bears a prayer Of the soul's uttering.

It is the sweet Melodious echo of some thrilling thought Retold by sadness Unto gladness, Which memory hath brought.

It is the hymn Breath'd ever by the votaries of love, Whose dulcidence, Soft and intense, Soars dreamily above.

It is the sign Of Earth's fraternity, the only tie That links us all, Both great and small, In common sympathy.

It is the heart Issueing from its prison house of clay; Perchance gladly, Perchance sadly, Wending on its way.

IONE.

Sad are the glances from thy deep blue eyes, Ione, Soft as the mirror of the summer skies When twilight shadows o'er its surface steal, And twinkling stars their radiant orbs reveal! Why are they sad Which were so glad, Ione? Have their rays bathed in dew-drops 'mid the air, And still the sparkling moisture trembles there? Then, smile, for dewy tears Melt when the sun appears, Ione! Yet thou art very beautiful in sadness, Ione! More beautiful e'en than in gladness, And the sweet music of thy gentle sighs Comes like the language of thy speaking eyes; What do they say? Tell me their lay, Ione! Fain would I learn from thee what passing thought Can with such plaintive melody be fraught-- Ah! wherefore turn away, Stay, yet a little stay, Ione!

REALITY.

O the heart has dreams Elysian! That steal o'er it calm and sweet, Hushing pain like a magician Who binds spirits at his feet.

But the forms that throng its mazes Are too bright for mortal birth, And the scenes that fancy raises Far too beautiful for earth.

Let us turn with humbler spirits To the things that God has made, Pass the weakness flesh inherits, Since the sunshine, too, has shade.

'Tis the pride of human nature That makes life seem cold and drear, Drawing up a dwarfish stature To o'ertop its proper sphere.

Gath'ring round it misty fancies, Like the mountain's cloudy wreath, Till the spirit's errant glances See no beauty underneath.

There are true hearts beating nigh us As we fight the fight of life, Hearts unstain'd by guilty bias, Hearts unharden'd by its strife.

There are gentle bosoms swelling With all motions pure and kind, That unceasingly are welling Solace to the weary mind.

Few there are without possessing Some good virtue in their heart, Whence, beneath love's soft compressing, As from flowers, sweet perfumes start.

Dreamer, turn then to the real With a frank and trusting soul, Not alone to the ideal Let thy genial currents roll.

Pierce the clay that oft encloses The pure brightness of a gem, Think thee, flowers less fair than roses, In their sweetness rival them.

Thus in truth, and not in dreaming, Life will blossom to the full, Unto love's eyes all things seeming Prism'd through the beautiful.

RETROSPECTION.

Oh, my heart throbs ever wildly, half in joy and half in scorning, As the course of my life's story dimly flits across my mind, Now that fate seems clear and steady, and the mist that veil'd its morning Has resolved into bright sunshine with the azure heaven behind.

And I cry with exultation--"Bless he who feeling in him Precepts of pure grace and beauty guiding on his willing soul, Yields himself unto their teaching, nor lets toil nor danger win him To forsake the race he runneth till he resteth at the goal."

I was sprung, from lineage noble, with a spirit inly burning To uphold my name and honor taintless from the blast of shame, I was born to be a freeman, by my birthright therefore spurning All the gilded chains of fashion that make freedom but a name.

From the forms and outward emblems of the deep-lored spirit Nature Drew I inspiration early for the moulding of my thought, Gath'ring strength from her o'erflowing, till I grew unto the stature Of a man nerved to accomplish all the good her wisdom taught.

So when years had ripen'd on me, and the world's great portals yawning, Bid me enter the enchanted palace of youth's mystic life, Eager, breathless to explore it, at each step new wonders dawning, I went on with stedfast courage, arm'd alike for peace or strife.

And I loved, that I might ever in my bosom bear a treasure Strong to ransom life from sorrow, strong to furnish it with joy; So I sought with keenest insight--neither small nor scant the measure To content my requisition--purest gold without alloy.

And I found it lying lowly, far beneath my proud line's dreaming, Who if they perchance had seen it, would with scorn have turn'd away, But I sought it with soul-gladness, e'en with pride, for to my seeming A pure gem is worth the lifting though it lie amongst the clay.

She was fair, a lumin'd beauty rippling o'er each chisell'd feature, Changing ever like the sunshine playing on the summer sea, Revelations of God's spirit permeating through his creature, Making loveliness all perfect by infused divinity.

What to me though all her dow'ry were the wealth of love and kindness, And a heart full fraught with feelings vein'd with gentleness and grace? Which the worldling holds as nothing, smitten with judicial blindness, But which I o'er all things prizing, wed her in the weak world's face.

Scared my kinsmen were and bitter for the shame and the dishonour, Said they, I had brought upon them and the noble name I bore; And my sire with passion burning launch'd his deepest curses on her, And as though I were a felon, drove me fiercely from his door.

I was destined for some puppet, some gold image of his choosing, Doubtless, who was made to worship like the golden calf of old, With no merit but her riches, but such shame my soul refusing, I was cast forth without blessing, poor and guideless from the fold.

Poor?--Not poor, for she went with me, pouring still with patient spirit Balm upon my wounded feelings, peace upon my burning soul; So that though man's love was reft me, 'twas the better to inherit That which far transcends man's favour,--sentience of Heaven's sweetest dole.

Words of scorn and deep contemning gave I back for their reviling, For my soul waxed wroth within me to be judged by such as they, Fools so sage in their great folly, that they shake their bells, and smiling With an imbecile self-blindness, sneer the wise of heart away.

Let them wear their masking purple, threadbare now with vilest uses, All the ancient gloss and brightness faded from it through their stains, _They_ may be disgraced, degraded, but true nobleness, ne'er loses By relinquishing its trappings, whilst the spirit still remains.

Did I shame them that I ceded all the forms and false adorning That doth deck them for their stations heedless of the stuff within, And stood forth in my own fashion, such as God had made me, scorning To be made a man of tinsel, to be honoured for my kin.

Did I shame them that rejoicing in the freedom of my spirit I asserted all its fulness, spite of prejudice and pride; Whilst they, slaves of wealth and fashion, trembling cowards did not dare it, Would not risk a pointed finger e'en to gain an angel bride.

Was the noble name they cited but the badge of slaves and vassals, Bound beyond emancipation to obey another's mood? Better far to be a peasant 'neath the shadow of their castles, Than debase the soul within me to such brutish servitude.

What were they with all their lordship, all their riches, measured duly, That they looked with scorn upon her in her unadornëd worth? Ashy fruit with surface golden, she with goodness leavened throughly, All her wealth by heaven imparted, their's derived alone from Earth.

Oh! I felt a high compassion for their warp'd and narrow feelings As I press'd my bride unto me, and read o'er her gentle eyes, Gaining deeper insight daily, meeting ever new revealings Of the grace of woman's spirit, and her holy sympathies.

So we pilgrim'd on together, buffeting the ills about us, Sharing hope, and joy, and sorrow, as we shared our daily bread, Keeping still a pleasaunce scathless in our hearts, though all without us Might be cheerless desolation, and the sky with clouds o'erspread.

Through much toil and tribulation, we attain'd at last to honour With no succour from my kindred, I upreared my house alone, And I see my cherish'd maiden, with admiring gazes on her, Glide amid the high and noble with a grace beyond their own.

And those proud ones now are gracious, bowing fawningly before her, Whilst she with her true eyes calmly takes the measure of their hearts, Weighs aright the honied speeches, and the praise they heap upon her, Her own innocence instinctively disarming all their arts.

For she knows their tongues are venal, sold to flatter wealth and power, And to crouch with serpent homage in the dust at Fortune's shrine, Ready to revile and slander if calamity should lower, And to flout as base, deceitful, what they late had termed divine.

Thus unmask'd and sifted throughly let them stoop and fawn at pleasure, Little reck I to revenge me better for their former spite As I mark their degradation falling on them in full measure When they humble themselves vilely, thus, to one who reads them right.

THE STORMY PETREL.

Far in the wilderness of waves, Where vision dieth 'mid endless motion, Where only the madden'd storm-wind raves, And sinketh its chains in the soundless ocean; Far from the ken and the power of men, And lone as though Earth were in chaos again, The Stormy Petrel cleaveth the air, And maketh the surging billow its lair.

The black cloud scuddeth along on high, Silent and swift as the angel Death, Led by Euroclydon through the sky Unto its victim with bated breath, Whilst only God and the Petrel seeth The path by which the Avenger fleeth, And with shrill accent of wail and mourning Riseth the Petrel's wild cry of warning.

Anon the bones of the wreck come past Bitterly mock'd of the roaring tide, From wave to wave in derision cast With scorn and jeers at poor human pride; And still the Petrel with lightning sweep Circles their way through the raging deep, Settling in awe on some shatter'd spar, And tracking its course as it drifts afar.

Into this realm of the winds and waves Man cometh not with his living soul, But like the mounds over clammy graves, Over his body the surges roll; No mortal weeper hath seen his tomb, Buried he lies in eternal gloom, Save that the Petrel with wailing cry Hover'd around as he floated by.

What doth the Petrel so far away From the home of love and the field of strife? In this lone spot doth the Petrel stay To show the beauty and power of LIFE. For the broad Earth and the boundless sea, Time and the endless eternity, All, all acknowledge the spirit's controul, And like the frail body, were made for the soul.

TO ----

When the stars are up and keeping Holy vigils in the skies, Whilst Night's train is passing slowly, Footsteps hush'd, and voices lowly, And on earth sweet dreams are steeping Slumbering souls in Paradise, In my heart there comes a vision, Angel-like from its elysian, Bent upon some blessed mission, And its form resembleth thee In thy grace and purity.

I with trancëd rapture gazing, Scan each lineament divine, Trace again thy pensive sweetness, Beauty's soul, and love's completeness, Heart and hands devoutly raising Like a pilgrim at Love's shrine, Evermore within me feeling Like a charm thy beauty stealing, Hushing pain, and sorrow healing, And I pray to dream for ever Gazing thus, and waking never;

For the morn comes, and the Real Once again resumes its sway, Scattereth these radiant fancies, Cloudeth o'er thy gentle glances, And still seeking my Ideal Through this life I take my way, Weary, heart-sick, longing, sighing, Praying much, yet no replying, Phantom Hope before me flying Leading ever back to thee, To behold thee in thy beauty, Feel that love is only duty, Meritless, save that so dying Gain I Love's eternity.

THE MERMAID.

A mermaid smoothing her sunny hair, Fanned by the breath of the summer air, Sang to me,--"Love, wilt thou go with me "Down to the depths of the purple sea?"-- "Maiden, ah yes! I will go with thee, "And lap my soul in felicity!"

Down we went through the crystal waters Evermore waving round Neptune's daughters, Down, till the light of the starry sky Melted away like an echoed sigh, And the rapt breast of the restless ocean Sank into still dreams of past emotion, Down, and we stood on a pleasant shore Paven with shells from the Naiad's store, Shining and rosy-lipp'd such as keep The mermaid's songs for their balmy sleep. Flowers there were set with sparkling gems, Gleaming amid the white coral stems, And flinging their measure of light and scent Up through the translucent firmament. And as the air by a bird's wing laven, Or a deep pool by a white hand waven, Floated the swells of the dewy tide Round the sea-maiden and me beside. Onward we went where a diamond portal Kept the pure light of the dawn immortal, Making the heart sicken o'er to win The halcyon joys it enclosed within; Entered we under its arching sweep Into the palace hall of the deep, Where 'neath the vault of its lofty dome Have the nymphs and mermen gay their home; There sat old Neptune upon his throne, A foaming wave that was turn'd to stone, And round about him his merry crew With brimming cups of the purple dew; Wandering far through the lumin'd halls, Where light was bred in the ruby walls, Stray'd the fair Naiads with golden hair, That wanton'd about in the perfumed air; And flowing robes round their white limbs waved, Like moonbeams bright into substance laved. Neptune in tones that spread far and wide, "Ho! Ho! a man with a mermaid bride!" And the blue dome rung with cruel laughter, Till all the arches mutter'd it after; Then came the nymphs in a radiant string, And circled us round like Saturn's ring, Forms that appearing to mortal eyes Dazzle them so that the spirit dies. Then to my mermaid old Neptune saith, "Hymn the rash mortal unto his death!" She with a voice that murmuring stole Deep as a heaven thought into my soul-- "O! in the land that is under the waves "To dwell with my love in the coral caves, "To bind his brows with a diamond zone, "And call the light of his eyes mine own; "To roam with him through the boundless space, "And make the billow our resting place, "There sing our songs till we fall asleep, "And dream of Elysium in the deep; "Waves are flowing for ever and ever, "O they will rock us for ever and ever, "Hush every sorrow to quiet rest, "And pillow love in each other's breast; "O they will sink us deeper and deeper, "Until they themselves sleep with the sleeper, "Until there is only love awake, "That cannot sleep for his own sweet sake; "Come in my bosom, then, come with me, "Down to the depths of the purple sea!" All my soul thrill'd and panted for bliss As pilgrims thirst in the wilderness; I cried, "O maiden, whose softest sighs "Are sweeter than all Earth's melodies, "If thou wilt wander with me for ever, "And naught have power our true hearts to sever, "I shall forget all that earth calls fair, "And all that I fondly treasured there, "The meadows and hills and sunny dells, "And the birds and fragrant heather-bells, "And I will follow thee through the deep, "Where waves shall rock us to tender sleep; "All powers of ocean I will defy, "And follow thee though it be but to die!" Neptune then, "Youth thou hast bravely said, "And meet art thou with a nymph to wed, "So thou shalt live out thy little span "Unscathed by the hands of the blithe merman."

So they bound me fast in cruel sleep, And bore me silently from the deep, And ne'er have I seen my mermaid more, Though oft I watch for her on the shore.

THE SPIRIT OF THE AIR.

A spirit came to me on the breeze Sweet with the breath of the orange trees, Floated about me, and murmur'd soft, "O Poet! wilt fly with me far aloft? "And I will show thee the realms of space "Where the lightning can find no resting place. "We will away to the home of morn, "And see the first youngling sunbeams born. "We will away to the cave of Night, "And wake the echoes to sudden fright, "And then we'll wander among the stars "And mark the roll of their golden cars?"-- "Spirit! I'll go with thee through the sky, "For my soul pants ever to soar on high, "If thou wilt bear me upon thy wings, "And guide me amid our bright wanderings."

Swiftly we went through the sunny air, Higher than ever the skylark dare, And the bright clouds where the summer beams Slumber and revel in golden dreams, Lay far beneath us like dewy fumes Hovering over the flower-blooms. Higher we went till the puny Earth Dwindled away to an atom girth, And the record of our rapid way Was the far death of a starry ray; Then we drew nigh to the palace bright Where morning treasures her dewy light, Cool'd by the breath of the angels' wings, And sweet with their musical utterings. There we saw the young day-beams awaken, And the earth's rays from their soft tresses shaken, And there we saw the sweet zephyrs rise, That woo the flowers with gentle sighs, And kiss the mist from the streamlet's tide, As tears are kiss'd from a happy bride; The angels of Joy and bliss were there, Lapt in the folds of the balmy air, Breathing their pæans till far away The echoes went with the light of day; The spirit said, "Hence the ray of morn, "Like a poor child unto sorrow born, "Wends to the earth with sweet smiles uplit, "And from the darkness awakens it; "But though it whisper of peace and love, "And tell the world of the joys above, "They will not hearken unto the voice "Whose accents faint make the flowers rejoice, "But still grovel on in strife and sorrow, "And make the signal of war, 'the morrow.'" Onward we went through the heavens afar Swift as the course of a shooting star, Until dark shadows began to fall Around our way, like a funeral pall, Deeper and deeper, and then the gloom Grew thick as it were the Night's own tomb; There was no sound save the rushing wave Closing the furrow our passing clave; There was no sound save the beating heart, That at its own throbbings seemed to start; There was no sound save the ebb and flow Of my own breathing drawn long and low; Then the air-spirit gave forth a cry That rang through the arches of the sky, Whereat a myriad echoes leapt Forth from the darkness 'mid which they slept, Shouted an answer in fierce surprise, That rumbled far into faintest sighs, Then slowly sank to their rest again, And left the Night to her silent reign. On we went whilst the sounds grew dimmer, Till stars afar began to glimmer Like flashing lights on a lonely mere, Like tapers dim round a sable bier; Onward, till many a radiant world In solemn glory across us whirl'd, Shaking the air in their mighty march, Like thunder beneath its prison arch; Ever louder the swift wind bore us The swell of their eternal chorus, Filling the soul of the boundless sky With strains of adoring harmony. Past us came Mars all fiery and red, Like a warrior stain'd with the blood he shed; And his voice o'er all rang clear and high Pealing for ever Truth's battle-cry; Saturn came with his blazing ring, Like a crown round the brows of a Titan king, Circled by many a satellite, That made his pathway through heaven bright; The star of eve like a maiden sphere, Gleaming with beauty and grace, drew near, Sweeping along 'mid heaven's panoply, The sweetest and fairest child of the sky; Onward they came in myriad lines From space whereon the sun never shines, But fades away like a twinkling star 'Neath orbs whose glory is greater far; Many a beautiful world appear'd, Such as not even Fancy hath rear'd, Sinless and happy as Heaven will be, And stamp'd with the seal of Eternity.

But sadly we sank to Earth again, And heard the discord and strife of men, Like a harp that jars from a sudden fall, And turns to discord tones musical.

WHY DO I LOVE THEE?

'Tis not because thou art so fair, So beautiful unto the sight; 'Tis not because thy silken hair Curls o'er a neck of spotless white; 'Tis not because thy speaking eye Claims kindred with the deep blue sky, Alone I love thee!

No! 'tis because around thee gleams The light of innocence and truth, Adorning with its radiant beams, And pure reflex the charms of youth; Because thine every word and thought With thy soul's gentleness is fraught, Therefore I love thee!

LADY ANNABEL.

She had suitors many, many, The fair Lady Annabel, But she loved him more than any, For she knew he loved her well. She was rich, but he was lowly, Lowly in the world's esteem, But that made her love more holy, As the darkness gilds the beam; For she knew his manly honour, All the beauties of his mind, And they sweetly stole upon her Like the scent borne on the wind; So she loved him ere she knew it, Ere she thought to close her heart 'Gainst the tender spells that drew it Evermore to take his part When in idlesse or in malice Others lightly spoke of him, Careless that in his life's chalice They poured sadness to the brim; For he was a dreamer throughly, Feeding on sweet Poesie, And few knew his spirit truly, And none prized it well as she; But upon the thymy mosses, With wild flowers by his side, Blossoms that the summer glosses For the brow of fairy bride, He would lie and weave bright fancies From the maze within his heart, Which her gentle smiles and glances Kindled with an angel's art; For a firmament of beauty Hung like heaven o'er his mind, And it seem'd a sacred duty To hymn all the fair it shrined; So he praised her golden tresses, And he thought them fair and soft As the locks the sun caresses On bright angels far aloft; And her eyes so blue and tender, Made for love to glisten through, That their gentleness might render Love as welcome as the dew; And her cheeks with roses blushing, And her lips with sunshine drest, Her white bosom gently hushing With its swells all ill to rest, All came to him in his dreaming Like things from another sphere, Till bewildered by their gleaming He felt only they were dear. Must he perish, must he languish For the love of one so fair, Till the cruel sting of anguish Change a blessing to despair? He is poor, and favour never Smiles on one so weak as he, Poverty still comes to sever All hopes of felicity. But she loves him, and communion With his soul gives strength to hers, So they blend their lives in union Careless of cold fashion's slurs; She resigns what earth calls treasure, Titled suitors, wealthy-dower, That is _commerce_, she seeks pleasure, For she knows life's but an hour, Far too short and full of sadness, Far too full of grief and pain, For the heart to barter gladness For a shadow or for gain; So she fondly stood beside him, And she placed her hand in his With a smile that seem'd to chide him For the shade that veil'd his bliss, As he thought how he could duly Make return for all her love, Only could he serve her truly, Love her as the light above; And she said "We will live gaily In some sylvan hermitage, Worshipping all beauty daily, Till my foolish heart grow sage; We will have sweet flowers about us, Birds to sing from every tree No suspicious friends to doubt us, So we must live merrily!"

Thus they went, and of their marriage Jesting spake the giddy world; Nobles, pillow'd in their carriage, Laugh'd aloud with proud lips curled, And fair ladies smiled their pity, With a sigh for mortal folly, Whilst rich merchants in the city Frown'd, and called it, "Melancholy." What they said, or what they ponder'd Little reck'd fair Annabel, As with joyous hearts they wander'd By green vale and shady dell; And she cried "O! life was never Made to be ambition's fool, Bound in fashion's chains, and ever Banish'd from the Beautiful!"

TO JENNY LIND.

ON HER RE-APPEARANCE IN ENGLAND

MAY 4th. 1848.

Summer hath come, led on by sunny May The blue-eyed, round whose brow the first pure ray That trembles from the opening gates of dawn Still seems to circle, and the mossy lawn, As they glide gently onward, ever breathes A beauty and a fragrance, which enwreathes Within the being until every thought With a strange mystery of joy is fraught. And where the hazel forms a leafy screen Of verdant matting, the cuckoo, unseen, Chaunts forth her woodnotes through the stilly air, Whose silent motions far the accents bear. And thou hast come, sweet Nightingale! once more O'er our entrancëd spirits to outpour Thy liquid warblings! 'Mid the flow'rets' scent And summer's gladness rises interblent Thy loving welcome! Not the bird that sighs Her thrilling love-tale through the moonlit skies Of Italy, as erst to Juliet's ear From the pomegranate tree 'twas wafted near, Seizes the soul with ravishment more sweet Than thy soft tones, stealing unto the seat Of passion, waking echoes in the breast Of love, and purity, and quiet rest, Murmuring through the windings of the soul, Till interpenetrated is the whole With holy harmonies, and blissful sense Of joyance, and straightway is refted thence All baser feeling, and all earthly leaven, By the dear magic of that voice from heaven. Fair Priestess of the Beautiful! that bringest Missions of sweetness from above, and flingest In a rich flood of song--now faint, yet clear As Helicon's own murmurs to the ear, Now swelling till around our being floats In thrilling cadences thy bell-like notes,-- The poetry of poetry, the deep Mysterious essences whose wavings steep Life in the bliss of angels, and the real In the ethereal hues of the ideal; A welcome to thee! heartfelt as the lay Hymn'd by the panting lark to the young day, Joyous and loving as the sunny beam That greets the early primrose, when the dream Of flowery revels through the noontide hours First steals upon it. Such a joy is ours Now, as with falt'ring tones our spirits hail Thy glad return, O sweetest Nightingale!

THE GOLD SEEKERS.

Ever onward sweep the Nations, marching with a mighty train, Prince and peasant, youth and maiden, toiling, struggling o'er Life's plain;

Turning from the land that bore them, from the loving ties of old, Still to wander, weary pilgrims, o'er the wide world after gold.

Little reck they of the dangers, little reck they of the woes, Urged along by strong endeavour, heedless both of friends and foes;

Gazing on the shadow moving at their sides till sun hath set, Ever whisp'ring to their spirit, "Courage! we will grasp it yet!"

Over plain and over mountain, rocks their zeal cannot resist, Up the rugged heights they clamber till they perish in the mist;

Down the precipital hollows blindly falling as they speed, Calling still with dying accents on their fellows to take heed;

Over stream, and trackless ocean, with the storm-cloud hatching nigh, Ever waiting there to thunder at the bidding of the sky;

Tossing on the angry billow, heart and soul beset with fear, Yet with longing all unshaken, onward through the blast they steer;

Over marsh, and sandy desert, sinking 'neath the scorching sun, Hopeless, weary, madly thirsting, slowly dying one by one;

Leaving many a bone to whiten by the wayside, and to tell By mortality's drear tide-marks, how its surges rose and fell;

Through the spring, and through the summer, when the flowers are on the lea; Through the Autumn when the blossoms fade and wither drearily;

Through the chill and ghostly Winter when the year is in its shroud, And corruption preys on Nature, stooping fiercely from its cloud;

Through the light and through the darkness, through the rain and through the snow, Striving onward without resting seeking it above, below,

In the earth, and in the water, in the rock, and in the clay, Gathering up the sandy beaches, searching, sifting them away;

Never resting, but with spirits eager, breathless to attain, Evermore they hurry forward to their purpose o'er life's plain,

With their garments waxen olden, and their sandals wearing out, And the sinews growing weaker that once bore them up so stout,

With the vision ever dimmer to discern the cherish'd prize, Till at length upon the highway, at each step some pilgrim dies,

His glazed eyes still feebly turning e'en in death unto the goal That yet glimmers far beyond him, the life haven of his soul.

But a stalwart phalanx presseth onward still with hearts serene, Strong in faith and stedfast courage, meeting toil with dauntless mien;

Working out their primal mission through the calm and through the blast, Gath'ring fitness for the Future from the Present, and the Past.

Thus enduring, thus pursuing upheld by a mighty hand Through all dangers of the travel, come they to the Golden Land,

Find the treasures they are seeking richly pour'd into their breast; Toil and danger ever finish'd, now they sweetly take their rest,

With the light of glory shining from the Godhead on their souls, Whilst above them the broad banner of Eternity unrolls.

TO WOMAN.

Beautiful Spirit! Angel of the Earth! That glidest through the storm-tost world, And bearest Blessings of peace and rest unto the weak, Giddy and faint within its vortex whirled; O! fairest, Sweetest Pilot of the wavering soul Through the wide-yawning gulfs and shoals of crime, Whence issue siren-spells that seek To sink the wayward in their noxious slime; Emblem of Purity! That like the star of Bethlehem dost lume The wise of heart through this life's deepest gloom To hope, and joy, and blessedness, Hail to thee! Thou art the Priestess of all Holiness! Standing midway betwixt the earth and heaven, Part shared of either, Mortality inwrought with purer leaven, Good sympathies, sweet thoughts, and stainless love, That like distillëd perfume float above To charm the breather!

O vision of soft eyes and flowing hair, Mild gentle eyes that chasten as they glance, And on their dewy brightness ever bear The heart's warm language writ in radiance! O blessed smiles! heaven's golden sunrays shed On life's cold stream, Renewëd summer when the old is fled Like a dream! O voice tinct with the spirit's sweetness, Last tone of heaven's clear harmonies Ere in the silence of wide space it dies, Music's completeness! O gentle laughters! rising from the crystal spring Of joyance and free-hearted sympathy, Pure rills to trickle sunnily From eyes and rosy lips in liquid warbling, Sweetly ye win us To shrine the blest spirit of Beauty Within us!

O tender heart! Love's everlasting dwelling, Beautiful fountain of all generous thoughts, From whose unsealëd fulness, ever welling, Come to mankind their purest pleasure draughts; O gentle heart! Grief's only sanctuary, Safe refuge from the rude assaults of woe, Throbbing with mild compassion constantly, That never change nor withering can know; From the pure spring of virgin slumbers Peace falls upon the soul when thou art by, Lulling it sweeter than Philomel's numbers, Lapping it deep within felicity. O brightest! dearest! still there floats to thee The incense of pure minds eternally, Thoughts sown of loveliness, that bud and bloom, And through the summer-time of after years Shed sweet perfume, Love-imaginings that rise through tears Like rainbows, and soft dreams That are the heaven-gleams, Caught from the deep Of Elysian sleep!

THE POET.

You might think, to look upon them with their arms around each other, And the tale that he is breathing softly crimsoned on her cheek, That a sweeter spell enwound them than the love she bears a brother, And that sweeter words are spoken than the words that brothers speak.

For, fair one, she loves him dearly, dearly as a woman's spirit Full of gentleness and beauty loves all pure and holy things, Just as though some blessëd angel, screened from sight, were floating near it, Fanning every tender feeling into motion with its wings.

So she hears with echoed rapture hopes that in his breast are swelling, Of the glory and the honour that have sunned his poet's dream, Charmed him by their bright illusion madly from his quiet dwelling To immerse him in life's ocean, there to lose him like a stream.

Ay! look in her eyes, poor poet, kiss the tears that tremble brightly On their fringes till thou deem'st them her pure soul distill'd for thee, They are true ones, they are fond ones, and that vision, coming nightly, May refresh thee like a fountain rising 'mid sterility.

Backward from her upturned beauty did he smooth the golden tresses, That Madonna-like fell clust'ring round the softness of her cheek; 'Twas a frank one, and a fair one, with the grace that truth impresses Beaming o'er it without shadow, so he gazed but did not speak.

Then he whispered, "Bright May, dear May, in the world where I am going, Going, it may be unwisely, but some magic draws me on, There to win the fame and honour with whose fire my soul is glowing, Thou shalt be my guiding angel, thou shalt be my helicon.

I will paint thee in my verses, thee, so beautiful and tender, Till that world shall thrill with pleasure, and pure hearts shall cherish thee; Bright May, dear May, they will love thee, and thy gentleness shall render Earth again a sunny Eden dedicate to Poesy.

They will crown me for _thy_ beauty, they will love me for _thy_ sweetness, They will shrine my name in glory, hear it like a household thing, They will feel the spell of beauty, think of heaven for thy meetness, Thus I'll do the poet's mission, thou an angel's ministring."

So he went into the wide world with bright hopes around him playing, Youth to make his footsteps buoyant, and firm trust to nerve his heart, Fame and glory clear before him like a sun the path arraying, Witless that the golden vision of his dreams could ere depart.

II.

There are thousands in the highways buffeting the waves beside them, Struggling onward without respite in pursuit of sandbuilt gain; There are thousands sinking daily, but the selfish crowd deride them, Only hurry on the swifter--there's no time to pity pain.

Ah! what hope for thee, poor poet! in the race that they are running, When the jar of stormy passions makes thy temples wildly beat; Can'st thou wrestle with the torrent, can'st thou stand against their cunning, Who will crush thee without mercy, like a flower beneath their feet.

Wherefore did'st thou leave thy dwelling 'mid the calm and pleasant places, Where no sorrow came to rouse thee from the heaven of thy dreams, Where the wood-birds gave thee music, and the path the wild bee traces For its sweetness thou could'st follow, or repose by gentle streams.

O poor world! immersed in folly, O dull world! that will not hearken To the music of a Poet singing of the Beautiful, Close your heart against its teaching, though it be so sweet, and darken All the sunshine of the spirit by the coldness of your rule.

* * * * *

Who would bid us draw the curtain that conceals the poet's sorrow, Who would need to _hear_ his anguish when they look upon his brow,-- It is written there in tracings far more true than tongue could borrow, It is brimming in his glances, once so bright, so woeful now.

Gaze upon him! dost thou know him? to his long-left home returning, For his step is very feeble, and his cheek is very pale, And amid it like a sunset is the hectic plague-spot burning, Ye who know no shatter'd hope-dreams, gaze upon him--there's the tale!

O the holy love of woman! O the gentle love of woman! Breathing like a balmy zephyr on the fever'd brows of care, Centrate sweetness of all sweetness, only in its sorrow human, Joy without you were a phantom, grief without you were despair!

See! how tenderly she leads him with her arm around him pressing, As to shield him from the rough world that had wrought him so much woe, And his eyes are filled with moisture, scarcely can he breathe his blessing, But she feels it in the throbbing of his full heart as they go.

Gaze again into her kind eyes, gaze into them, weary poet, Fill thy soul with holy calmness from the fountain of her love, If there's peace for thy poor spirit in this earth they will bestow it, For she is a gentle angel sent to bless thee from above.

And she said, as she bent o'er him, half in language, half in glances, For there is a hidden meaning far too deep for words to tell, "We will dwell," she said, "with nature, nourishing all gentle fancies, And the lark shall be our minstrel, and the flowers shall love us well."

So he smiled upon her gently with a glance more sad than weeping, That a bitter thrill ran through her like a harp struck suddenly, And she thought upon the summer with cold shadows o'er it creeping, And she thought upon the flowers fading on the mossy lea.

But she turn'd her till the paleness, and the tears that would be flowing Faded from her that they might not be the mirrors of his own; Smiling comfort on him ever, evermore as they were going, For she said "Ah! there are none to smile on him but I alone."

III.

He is lying in the sunshine with the blithe birds round him singing, There are flowers beside his pillow, there are flowers beneath his feet, Summer pours her treasures round him, like a gentle maiden flinging Fragrant blossoms from her bosom o'er a path to make it sweet.

She is kneeling in the sunshine with the radiant glory o'er her, And his palm is on her tresses, her's are folded on her breast; He were very calm and happy, only for the love he bore her, Which was far too sweet a feeling to resign it e'en for rest.

"Bright May! dear May! draw still nearer, nearer, dear May! till my spirit Sun itself within your brightness, as the lark doth in the day; Soon the air will be so lumined that my weakness will not bear it, So I'll gather new strength from thee to support me on my way.

"There are tears within your eyes, May, let me kiss them from your eyes, May, They will taste as sweet to me as do the dews upon the rose; Dear eyes how I love them! they oft tell me of the skies, May, Tell me secrets of the Blessed more than mortal spirit knows.

"Ah! I knew not in the old time half the sweetness that doth linger Round the simple things of Nature which the proud heart passes by, Now I see there's not a wildflower but doth point with warning finger, To the unobservant passer, truths of immortality.

"Bright May, thou shalt be my beadsman, and thy golden tresses drooping Round thee shall be all the vesture that my loving soul shall seek; Thou shalt be a meet confessor for a lowly poet stooping To breathe forth his secret failings, and read pardon on thy cheek.

"Bright May! I have been a strayer from the narrow path that wanders Through this world to lead the traveller to a glad eternity, I have been an erring madman, for the blind heart never ponders Till the fancied light it follows lead it from felicity.

"I have been most false and perjured, false to all a poet's duty, Even whilst my heart was boasting proudly of a poet's creed, I have loudly claimed the title of a worshipper of beauty, Yet could gaze upon a flower till I thought it but a weed.

"Yes! I dwelt amid the woodlands with bright streamlets singing round me, Sunny dells, moss-paven alleys, and cool shades to ramble in; All was happy, all was peaceful, yet e'en there ambition found me, Charm'd me forth into the rough world to engulph me in its din.

"Yes! I wearied of the woodlands, of the streams and sunny places Where I lay me in the summer to dream all the noontide o'er, Like the child of a sweet mother lapt within her fond embraces Drawing fitness from her beauty to lisp forth in poet's lore.

But the time is drawing nigh; now, when my soul sublimed from folly Shall see all things in their trueness, with no sun-veil drawn between; Know that glory is mere weakness and that aim alone is holy Which, wrought out in life with patience, fits man for a higher scene.

EVENING.

Far away in Western ether Day and Night at length have met, Like old friends that come together, And their eyes with tears are wet.

In the heart, too, joy and sorrow Meet together without pain, Loving friends who, on the morrow, At the dawning, part again.

'Tis the time for sweet contentment, Thoughts all dedicate to love, Soften'd down from all resentment, Chasten'd as the light above.

'Tis the time to breathe a blessing Forth on all things good and fair, That make life so sweet, repressing Like a charm the strokes of care.

Tis the time when those who love us Rise like stars in Fancy's sky, Shining steadily above us, Though afar, in seeming nigh.

Sure our life is but a gloaming Deep'ning slowly unto Night, To give rest unto the roaming, To the sad, dreams of delight.

Should not _life_, then, be contentment, Only dedicate to love, Softened down from all resentment, Holy as the light above.

LIFE.

Many a bright and pleasant vision Hath the heart in youth, Visions that the wizard Fancy Conjures by sweet Necromancy, Ever robed in hues Elysian, From the world of Truth; Many a bright and pleasant vision Cheers the heart of youth!

Just as though the curtain parted From the Life Unseen, And a portion of its gladness, Unalloy'd by any sadness, O'er the ripening spirit darted Like the morning's sheen, Making us awhile pure-hearted And our sky serene.

Many a pleasure from the real Hath our manly prime, Though the mystic light is shaded, And the rosy dreams have faded; For our strengthen'd spirits see all Things matured by Time, Growing out of the ideal Unto truth sublime;

Blossom unto fruitage golden, Hope to certainty; All things by divine transition Keeping pace with life's ambition, New joys springing from the olden As we pass them by Climbing still, by faith upholden, Onward to the sky.

Many a pleasant recollection Hath the heart of Age, That life's tide hath staunchly breasted, Wrought, achieved and nobly rested, Musing with calm retrospection Their past pilgrimage; Many a sweet and wise reflection Hath the heart of Age;

Looking forward, dreaming ever Of the Better Land; Waiting for the promised glory, That shall bind their temples hoary With a brightness fading never On that holy strand, Crowning life's devout Endeavour With a bounteous hand.

SORROW.

Through the Earth a Spirit goeth Onward still from morn till night, Silent as the Time-stream floweth Out of darkness into light.

And her heart is very tender, Full of love and kindliness, Yearning evermore to render Goodness fuller, error less.

Through the Earth the spirit wendeth, And full many a little child With light heart her course attendeth, By her gentle eyes beguiled;

Turning to her fond embraces, Playing round her as she goes, With no shade on their glad faces Deeper than the budding rose.

A maiden dreaming of her lover Like a star amid the night, Felt the spirit bend above her, In between her and the light;

And she quivered back in terror From the spirit's offered kiss; Ah! how often, thus, doth error Backward fright our souls from bliss!

Then the spirit "Ah! thou dearest, Wilt thou close thy heart from me? Through the shadow that thou fearest Heaven's own light will shine on thee.

"Like the streams that most refresh us In the desert parch'd and drear, Sorrow renders love more precious, Makes the cherish'd one more dear."

On--the spirit circled gently, Kindly round a Poet's heart, Gazing through the veil intently After life's diviner part;

And the poet bent to meet her, For he said "The truth will be Made through Sorrow ever sweeter, Ever clearer unto me.

"We are blinded by the sunlight From the heaven's _unclouded_ blue, But through mist we eye the One-light Till we read it through and through."

To the beautiful the Spirit Open'd wide her loving breast, Wooed their souls to nestle near it And from life's excitement rest,

Whispering, "Sleep on Sorrow's bosom, Dear ones, and your souls will rise With fresh sweetness on their blossom, Richer perfume, brighter dyes."

Most shrunk from her, but some weeping Yielded to her soft controul; And whilst on that bosom sleeping Heaven-dew fell upon each soul.

Young and old fled from her ever Waving off her proffered grace, Thwarting each divine endeavour, Trembling still before her face;

And she said "Ah! ye are blinded, Seeing not the things that are, For unto the earnest-minded Sorrow is life's guiding star;

"Not delusive, not unsparing, Richer fraught with good than pain, Unto life sweet blessings bearing Though she scatter them in rain."

I.

WRITTEN AT ULLESWATER.

The tide is rippling to my very feet, The mountains are before me, and around, Stretching in misty grandeur till they meet In one dim bourne, their hoary summits crown'd With cloudy chaplets, such as might have bound The new-born Thunderer when Saturn fell, All wonder-stricken, from his mighty throne. The sun is shining upon wooded slopes, And distant headlands, with faint shadows thrown Amid its brightness like the shatter'd hopes Of a young noontide, and its golden light Crests the upheaving waters till each swell Is tremulous with glory, and the sight Pictures strange fancies which no tongue can tell.

II.

There is a spell by which the panting soul Shakes from its stainless pinions all the gyves Wherewith our frail mortality still strives To bind it downward 'neath its stern controul; When springing from the earth like the sweet lark That wings its flight in music to the sky, Amid the spheres it wanders, where the eye Trembles to blindness, and the last faint spark Of Earth's far gleaming flickers and expires; Thine is the charm, dear Poesy, which sets The cagëd spirit on its heavenward flight, And fills its being with those pure desires, And holy aspirations, which like light Shower on the world in distillations bright.

III.

We wander on through life as pilgrims do O'er trackless deserts to a distant shrine, Weary and parch'd, and to our longing view Springs many a false mirage of joy divine, That fades before us as we fain pursue The empty picture which our fancy drew. O thou, my heart! seek not the empty shows And gilded nothings of this little Time, But let thine endless effort be to climb Above Earth's petty vanities and woes Unto a nobler range of feelings, joys, Which no false leaven of decay alloys, But whose substantial sweetness may increase, And make thy journey pleasure, and thy slumber peace.

IV.

Sweet spirits of the Beautiful! where'er ye dwell, Whether upon the misty mountain tops With mantling crags about ye, or in dell And sunny valley, by the hazel copse Wherein the ring-dove nestles, or by streams That wander amid woodlands, with the sheen Of noontide trembling through the leafy screen Down to their mossy banks in fitful gleams, That murmur with the linnets and at e'en Sigh with the plaintive nightingale, and oft Mirror your bright eyes in the sparkling dew, Circle me ever with your joyous crew, Bring inspirations to me bland and soft, And sun my slumbers still with happy dreams.

V.

We are ambitious overmuch in life, Straining at ends of hard accomplishment, And goaded onward by poor discontent, We build our little Babels up through strife, And bitterness of soul, and motions rife With passions that oft slay the innocent, Like Priests of Lust plunging the cruel knife Into the victims of their wilderment. Not thus do thou, but with a patient hand Place thou thine acorn in the fertile soil, Labouring ever with unhurtful toil, And cheerful hope until the seed expand, Grow with the strength of truth, and ripening Time, And stand at last in majesty sublime.

VI.

Mountains! and huge hills! wrap your mighty forms Close with mantle of eternal cloud; Gather around ye the fierce band of storms; And let the stainless snow-drift be your shroud. Back from your rugged steeps, and caverns hoar Bellow in hoarse disdain the tempest's roar; Laugh at the rolling thunder; let the flash Of its fierce lightning lumine but your scorn; Down your deep-furrow'd slopes let torrents dash, And on the winds their hollow rage be borne. Ye mighty ones! Why should ye bow your pride, And doff your venerable crowns, or dress Your wrinkled brows in smiles, or lay aside The dread insignias of your mightiness!

VII.

TO ELLA.

Ofttimes I gaze upon thine eyes, fair child, Till sense forgets all but the beautiful, And my entranced and raptured heart is full Of blissful visions, pure, and bland, and mild In their o'erstealing, as the rosy sleep That falls upon an infant, wafting it In balmy dreams to heaven. Within the deep The thrilling sea of their blue loveliness, By sun-reflected gleams of heaven uplit, My spirit bathes in sweet unconsciousness Of aught material, and oft doth drink Of beauty there, whose freshness never dies, Till, pleasure-lapt, it feels as it could sink Beneath the waves, and enter paradise.

VIII.

I traverse oft in thought the battle-plain Of my past life, 'mid many a shatter'd dream Of pleasure, and of hope, which youth in vain Based on the shifting sands of Time's swift stream, Fond bulwarks 'gainst the strong assaults of pain; And 'mid their ruins, like an exiled man Gazing on scenes where he can dwell no more, I stand and mourn their sweet enchantment o'er, Where both life's pleasures and its cares began. Earth crumbles 'neath our feet as we walk on, And leaves a gulf behind none can retrace; Its pleasures flash a moment and are gone; But if we treasure in our soul _love's_ grace, _That_ will refresh and gladden all our race.

* * * * *

C. WHITTINGHAM, CHISWICK.