Part 1

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

POEMS OF THE UNKNOWN WAY

HORIZONS AND LANDMARKS

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. TORONTO

HORIZONS AND LANDMARKS

_POEMS_

BY SIDNEY ROYSE LYSAGHT

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON 1911

CONTENTS

PAGE

THREE AGES OF MAN 1

FIRST HORIZONS 3

THE FOUNTAIN-SPRINGS 14

OUR HOMELAND 18

SHELTER AND FELLOWSHIP 20

THE FOREST 23

FIRST LOVE 31

THE WORLD’S END 33

YOUTH 37

NEW HORIZONS 40

THE QUEST OF YOUTH 42

THE ROAD INTO THE WORLD 46

THE COUNTRY OVER THE HILL 53

YOUTH AND LOVE 58

THE SPIRIT AND THE FLESH (I.-IV.) 62

IN THE WORLD 71

HEARTH LIGHT 81

THE TEST OF FAITH 83

CHILDREN’S FAITH 91

A RUINED CHAPEL 93

NORTH AND SOUTH 98

INTERPENETRATIONS 101

LIFE AND LOVE 104

BRICK HORIZONS 105

FIRST PATHWAYS 109

HIDDEN PATHS 112

THE PATHS OF THE INFINITE 114

A DESERTED HOME 117

BEYOND THE FARTHEST HORIZON 119

A HALT ON THE WAY 126

OLD LANDMARKS 128

_THREE AGES OF MAN_

_The child is part of all that he beholds; Youth with his dreams of love the world enfolds; Man takes life in his hands, and mars or moulds._

_Freed of its load, washed of its gathered stain, In the child’s spirit life is born again. Of all he sees and loves he is a part: Faith lights his footsteps; filtered through his heart The everlasting fountain-springs o’er-run In rills of joy, and life and he are one._

_Youth is life’s lover, eager to embrace And reach the soul that lights so fair a face; But, as the lover on the maid confers From his own dreams a beauty more than hers, So youth illumines with the radiant hues Of heart’s desire the vision he pursues._

_Man is life’s guardian;--unknown issues wait On his intent: his sight directs blind fate. ’Tis his before the Belly-god to kneel, Or sow the harvests of life’s commonweal,-- To quit his post, or guard through pain and death The hope with which creation travaileth._

_The child gives love, and makes the world his own; Youth looks for harvests which he has not sown; Man shares God’s burden on the road unknown._

FIRST HORIZONS

An open window filled with blue, The scent of meadows wet with dew, The talk of rooks beyond the park, A cart wheel’s creak, a sheep-dog’s bark, Greeted our waking: then we sped Along the rushy path that led Down to the peat-brown river pool, And, glowing, dived through ripples cool, While startled coots in skimming flight Slipped among sedges out of sight, Or from his lonely watch the crane Rose on slow wings; then out again And home to breakfast. Oh, the smell Of furze bloom and bog-asphodel Along the track! but still more sweet The fragrance of the cakes of wheat, The tea, the toast, the home-baked bread, The roasted apples, all outspread On damask white. Anon, our chairs Pushed back, we knelt for morning prayers, And, planning new adventures, heard The voice devout but not the word. No lingering then;--a hundred things, New schemes, imagined happenings, Called us away to wood and field-- For any hour of life might yield Some wonder, some unthought of bliss, Some miracle we dared not miss. And gladness, hidden in the springs Of purpose at the heart of things, Showed us a world where work was play, And common labours of the day Sweet service; but we knew not then The burdens men have laid on men,-- Nay, only those perennial tasks Which earth of all her children asks For fruitfulness; and glad were we Of that good fellowship to be; Nor sought more honour than to share The sower’s toil, the shepherd’s care. But most we loved the merry ring Of whetted scythes, the rhythmic swing Of mowers, and with fork and rake All day to follow in their wake; And homeward in the eventide On the piled waggon load to ride, While, half asleep amid the hay, Dim fields we saw and uplands grey, And heard beneath our swaying load The rumbling wheel along the road.

No need had we the world to roam To find new shores, for round our home Our undiscovered lands arose In autumn mists, in winter snows. On summer nights in whispering trees We heard the wash of Indian seas, And ripening waves of harvest rolled Over our hills the realms of gold; And flood-time mapped familiar lands With island shores and foreign strands; And tidings of unventured ways We gathered in the darkening days When leafless woods began to moan And twilight opened gates unknown. A narrower, homelier world we knew In winter time, and kinder grew The sheltering bounds of landmarks old; And, gathered within farm and fold, The sound of voices and the stir Of labour seemed the merrier Because so lonely and so wide And homeless was the world outside. Then we discovered golden shores, Our El Dorado’s treasure stores, Amid the piled up sheaves of grain Within the barn; and while the rain Beat on the roofs we burrowed deep In rustling caves, or from the heap Threw down our golden citadel, While girls unbound the sheaves that fell For threshing, and as each new load Between the spinning rollers flowed, The hum of wheels, the engine’s drone A sudden octave fell in tone; And grain was stored, and billows soft Of straw went rolling to the loft, And out on skies of cheerless grey The winnowed chaff was blown away.

But after days of winter rains Came mornings when our window-panes Were bright with sunshine and embossed With silver trellises of frost; And out we rushed across the yard, Down rutty cart tracks, frozen hard, And round the farm sheds and the fold To match our blood against the cold; And every one we met was gay, And had the pleasant word to say. What, then, were dreams of summer worth, While magic regions of the north Lay round us, and o’er fields of snow, Along the river’s overflow, Were Arctic seas, with many a shore And frozen inlet to explore?-- Or while we tracked through forests bare Wild creatures to their hidden lair? Or, when the snow had drifted deep, We helped to find the scattered sheep, Or, with the shepherds and their dogs, Sat round a fire of brush and logs At nightfall, when old tales were told Of other days, and clear and cold The starlight shone above the fold?

Not then, but when the wild South-west Filled the dim land with its unrest At twilight, and the woods began To talk of things unknown to man, And on the garden paths we heard Strange footsteps, but no answering word Came to our call;-- ’twas then the spell Of mystery about us fell, The awe that held us half-afraid To pass beyond our gates, but made The shelter of our homely bounds So welcome, and familiar sounds So sweet; ’twas then before us rose The vision of ancestral foes, And in our ears old battle calls At night around beleaguered walls Rang; and, though all was safe and still, Old dangers set our hearts a-thrill, And in the silent courtyard made Each door and arch an ambuscade; And passing through our sleeping camp We heard the stabled horses champ, And started as a halter whirred Along the chain rings when they stirred.

Then, with our day’s adventures o’er, Safe housed, we heard the muffled roar Of winds without, and round the fire Sought for the land of heart’s desire, Or sailed across the Spanish main In well-loved books; or lived again In knightly days of long ago, And heard the horn of Ivanhoe At Ashby lists; or, on his steed At Acre, saw King Richard lead His pilgrim soldiers, worn and thin, That broke the ranks of Saladin:-- Till, in the thickest of some fight, Or when the captive maiden’s plight Was sorest, suddenly the spell Was broken, and a welcome bell Our own forgotten days restored And called us to the supper board; Where, with our elders gathered round, Good cheer and fellowship we found, And oft a neighbour or a guest To tell the news or speed the jest.

And all too quickly afterwards Our bedtime came, and at their cards And talk we left them. In the hall The firelight flickered on the wall, Deep shadows thronged the winding stair, And overhead, we knew not where, A footstep fell upon the floor Of some deserted corridor.

But, once within our cheerful room, No hidden phantom of the gloom Came near us; and in bed we lay And heard the wind that far away Now seemed to blow,--as storms outside Might seem to those whose vessels ride Rocked on the gentle rise and fall Of tides within the haven wall.

THE FOUNTAIN-SPRINGS

Were they not memories of things known before,-- Not the strange vision of an unknown shore, That met us when in childhood we began To look upon our dwelling-place, and ran Fearless to meet our fortune; when our eyes Saw life with wonder, but without surprise; When, though newcomers, no strange note we heard In voice of wind or wave or song of bird; And looking on the hills and trees and flowers We loved, and without question made them ours; And trusted the dumb creature and the hand That guided us, nor sought to understand? Were they not greetings of things old and dear,-- Not the strange voices of an alien sphere,-- That greeted us and linked us, with a bond Of speech familiar, to some home beyond?

We were a part of all that we beheld In those young days: it was our joy that welled Into the sunshine with the mountain rill, Our heart that in the rose’s heart lay still, Our wings that held the sea-bird o’er the foam, Our feet that brought the wandering outcast home. Earth had no secret that we could not share, For everything we saw and loved we were.

Not when defenceless on the earth we stood In childhood doubted we that life was good. Not when love made us part of everything Could we distrust the hidden fountain-spring. But when the years began to separate From Life our lives, when all that once seemed great In heaven and earth, all wonder and delight Were narrowed to the measure of our sight; When knowledge of the suffering and wrong That nature dealt the weak to serve the strong, When records of man’s greed and lust and pride Defaced life’s beauty, and its hope belied,-- How had we then that mockery withstood, Or trusted that the source of life was good, Had not the memory of its old caress Reproached our hearts in their unfaithfulness; Had we not once beheld a face so sweet It could not but express a heart that beat For us, and knew what waited us, the while It armed us for the darkness with its smile; Had we not known those vanished hours that wove Of homely human bonds immortal love; Of flowers, and stars, and woods, and mountain streams, And things that die, imperishable dreams?

OUR HOMELAND[1]

Ours was a land of green and gold; More gold than green, when every fold Of down and upland was a blaze Of furze in bloom on April days. But when the summer-time was o’er, And fields of corn against the moor Waved gold on purple, and a haze Of sunlight filled the woodland ways, And far-off mountain boundaries Made azure lines on azure skies,

[1] Here, and in the other poems of this volume, with few exceptions, the country described is the south-west of Ireland.

And earth and heaven together drew, Ours was a land of gold and blue. Yet sometimes, just at evenfall, When every old grey limestone wall And crumbling tower and rocky height Caught the last gleam of level light, And in the west a crimson glow Flushed the high cloud-field’s broken floe, And deepening shades encompassed us, And domes of coral cumulus Above the mountains far away In opal waters mirrored lay, Ours was a land of rose and grey.

SHELTER AND FELLOWSHIP

In the midst of life unknown, Spaces boundless, pathways lone, Earth of things that pass and fade Homely shelter round us made,-- Dropped a veil of changing light O’er the changeless infinite, Over the unfathomed drew Morning’s gold and noonday’s blue, Lifted in the evening skies Rose-illumined boundaries, Wove the light of moon and stars Into silver prison-bars.

We forget what deeps we winged Ere we found our place on earth, Ere the blue horizons ringed Sheltered homelands of our birth. Whispers of the unknown spoke Through our dreams; but all we know Waited for us when we woke On the green earth long ago. Love we found, and welcome kind, Fellowship with everything We were playmates of the wind, Comrades of the bird on wing. Creatures dumb we understood, Knew them kin,--the shy or bold,-- Hid with these in cave and wood, Watched with those o’er hearth and fold. Happy on our way we went, Meadow secrets, forest clues, Learning from the firwoods’ scent, Winning from the wild flowers’ hues.

Trusting life itself, we grew One with all we loved and knew; Every thought we sent a-wing Linked us with some living thing; Every kindness that we did Treasure for us somewhere hid. So, outside ourselves was sown All that grew to be our own; So we put our wealth in trust Past the reach of moth and rust. Wherefore, no defeat or lure Now can leave us wholly poor; Never can we fail to find Somewhere a sweet face and kind,-- Somewhere shelter and a friend Waiting at the journey’s end.

THE FOREST

Far away to hills of blue, Sunlit pastures, uplands wide, Ways familiar, homes we knew, Round us lay on every side Save on one; on one alone, Where the ancient forest spread, Paths began with ends unknown, Twilight loomed in daylight’s stead.

Soft as waves of summer seas Flowing on a lonely strand, Rolled along that wall of trees Shining waves of meadow-land; Bright as founts of lighted spray Tossed against a rocky ledge, Banks of primrose, boughs of May Fringed the forest’s sombre edge.

Here the wild domain began Touched not by the hand of man, Tangled, orderless, o’er-grown, Tended not nor reaped nor sown, Yet majestically decked In the robes of its neglect, With the forms that beauty shaped Out of its confusion draped:-- Beauty that our youthful eyes Sought not, but in other guise Reached us, and before our feet With a reassurance sweet, When the path was dark and drear Into wonder changed our fear. Soon the spirit of the woods Made us creatures of its own, Charmed us to its ancient moods, Tuned us to its sombre tone; Whispered in the tangled deeps, Showed us, in the twilight rays, Secrets that the noonday keeps, Wonders lost on homely ways. Where the forest creatures led Lay our path;--the fox that crept Through the fern, or, overhead, Squirrels that before us leapt, These we followed, or perchance Startled herds that past us flew, Leaving but an antler’s glance Through the tree trunks for a clue. In their wildness something stirred Eager passion of the chase, Made us foes of beast and bird, Spoilers of the nesting-place; Yet their wildness we could share, We were creatures of the wood, With them reached the hidden lair Not pursuing, but pursued. These, the wild and timid things, Kinship in our hearts awoke,-- These we knew; but whisperings Came of strange unearthly folk,-- Dwarfs, and Leprechauns and elves,-- Seen by others, not ourselves; Though at times a cry’s escape, Or a gliding shadow-shape, Proved them near us as they stole Out of sight from hole to hole; Or when from the unknown track Half afraid we hastened back, While the night began to close Round us and the wind arose: Then throughout the forest stirred Old enchantments, and we heard Rushing wings of phantom hosts Overhead; and whispering ghosts, Outcasts of forgotten tombs Wandering through the forest glooms, Crossed our path; and demons grim Hung on every creaking limb. Then how glad were we to near Homely ways and human cheer, When, beyond the forest bounds, Once again familiar sounds Reached us, and the end of day Glimmered on horizons grey, Over uplands far away.

Golden morrows showed no mark, Glittering pathways gave no trace, Where those legions of the dark Made their noonday hiding-place. Where the elfin hosts had rushed, Where had fallen the wizard bane Not a flower had been crushed, Never dewdrop had a stain.

Then an idle way we took Where the little wandering brook, Overflowing mossy wells, Flashing out of twilight shades, Beckoned us to secret dells, Led us into fairy glades. Here the sunlight filtered through Woven trellises of blue, Dropping from a sky unseen Into hollows golden-green. Jays, in azure flashes, slid Out of hollows where they hid; Golden crested wrens among Feathery boughs of larches hung; Gentle winds in dreaming firs Touched æolian dulcimers; Dancing shadows fell across Fairy rings on floors of moss; Over rocks of weathered grey Tapestries of wild rose lay; Here the forest’s magic spells Hung on dappled foxglove bells; Here the dreams of twilight pale, Stealing out to golden light, Shaped themselves in petals frail Clothed themselves in blossoms white.

Not within the golden dell Could we rest:--the wild and lone Laid on us a stronger spell, Called us to a world unknown. Down untrodden paths would break Gleams remote, that still foretold New discoveries to make, Always greater than the old. There, beyond us, never gained, Lay the regions of our quest, There our wonderlands remained Unbeholden, unpossessed;-- Wonderlands no truth could mar, Dreams no wakening could blot, Lovelier because so far, Real because we found them not.

FIRST LOVE

Our treasures hardly seemed our own, And barren our adventures were Till comrades shared them:--one alone I could not share.

We had no aims nor joys apart, No secret we could long withhold: One only, hidden in my heart, I kept untold.

I see the little village church, The faces that we used to know, The parson in his pulpit-perch, The clerk below; The bare grey walls, the windows dim, The crystal stains that filtered through The golden wings of seraphim, The robes of blue.

A sudden ray of sunshine fell Soft on a little maiden’s hair, And, lo! a joy I dared not tell, And could not share.

My treasure hardly seemed my own, My secret joy a burden grew, In fear lest others had been shown Its wonder too.

Her heart my secret never guessed; And she is gone,--I know not where, And now with those who loved her best The loss I share.

THE WORLD’S END

Where did they end,--those pathways wild and lone Through the dark forest? Lay some shore unknown Beyond them, where the wind first taught the trees The sweet sad voices of the murmuring seas? Oh, whither did they call? The long arcades Led ever to remoter, dimmer shades; And from the farthest crest a pathway dipped Down to some lonelier aisle or darker crypt. Dear were the open fields to us, and dear The homely path, the sound of human cheer; But ’twas the way no foot of man had worn, The forest’s undiscoverable bourne, That made our world so wide, its end so far: And when, in the evening through the trees, a star Shone o’er the darkening solitudes, it seemed Nearer than those long quests of which we dreamed.

One day we wandered farther than before Through leafy maze and dusky corridor Into the forest’s heart, when far away We saw a low horizon line of grey Where all before was dark; and by degrees Through wider openings among the trees The daylight grew; and we who thought we stood Deep in the hidden cloisters of the wood Were at its end,--only at last to find A world like that which we had left behind. There, out beyond us in the evening gold, Lay homely meadowlands, and farm and fold: The path we followed to the unknown shore Led in the end but to some cottage door.

There, with the forest’s end, those regions vast That childhood showed us, into dreamland passed. The great world was beyond us; far away, Over the hills, the lands we knew not lay,-- But others knew them! Now the secret clue We followed melted in the noonday’s blue, Or hid among the stars. That broken road Taught us the boundaries of our abode,-- The gulf ’twixt heaven and earth. A bridge unseen The hope or faith of man might build between Our home on earth and some celestial shore; But ’twas for us no longer to explore The paths of brave adventure which we trod In childhood, to the unknown lands of God.

YOUTH