Chapter 3
Linger, I ask no more,-- Thou art enough for ever--thou alone; What future can restore, When thou art flown, All that I hold from thee and call my own?
VERSE: HOMEWARD BOUND
I have seen a fiercer tempest, Known a louder whirlwind blow; I was wrecked off red Algiers, Six-and-thirty years ago. Young I was, and yet old seamen Were not strong or calm as I; While life held such treasures for me, I felt sure I could not die.
Life I struggled for--and saved it; Life alone--and nothing more; Bruised, half dead, alone and helpless, I was cast upon the shore. I feared the pitiless rocks of Ocean; So the great sea rose--and then Cast me from her friendly bosom, On the pitiless hearts of men.
Gaunt and dreary ran the mountains, With black gorges, up the land; Up to where the lonely Desert Spreads her burning, dreary sand: In the gorges of the mountains, On the plain beside the sea, Dwelt my stern and cruel masters, The black Moors of Barbary.
Ten long years I toiled among them, Hopeless--as I used to say; Now I know Hope burnt within me Fiercer, stronger, day by day: Those dim years of toil and sorrow Like one long dark dream appear; One long day of weary waiting-- Then each day was like a year.
How I cursed the land--my prison; How I cursed the serpent sea-- And the Demon Fate that showered All her curses upon me; I was mad, I think--God pardon Words so terrible and wild-- This voyage would have been my last one, For I left a wife and child.
Never did one tender vision Fade away before my sight, Never once through all my slavery, Burning day or dreary night; In my soul it lived, and kept me, Now I feel, from black despair, And my heart was not quite broken, While they lived and blest me there.
When at night my task was over, I would hasten to the shore; (All was strange and foreign inland, Nothing I had known before;) Strange looked the bleak mountain passes, Strange the red glare and black shade, And the Oleanders, waving To the sound the fountains made.
Then I gazed at the great Ocean, Till she grew a friend again; And because she knew old England, I forgave her all my pain: So the blue still sky above me, With its white clouds' fleecy fold, And the glimmering stars, (though brighter,) Looked like home and days of old.
And a calm would fall upon me, Worn perhaps with work and pain, The wild hungry longing left me, And I was myself again: Looking at the silver waters, Looking up at the far sky, Dreams of home and all I left there Floated sorrowfully by.
A fair face, but pale with sorrow, With blue eyes, brimful of tears, And the little red mouth, quivering With a smile, to hide its fears; Holding out her baby towards me, From the sky she looked on me; So it was that last I saw her, As the ship put out to sea.
Sometimes, (and a pang would seize me That the years were floating on,) I would strive to paint her, altered, And the little baby gone: She no longer young and girlish, The child, standing by her knee, And her face, more pale and saddened With the weariness for me.
Then I saw, as night grew darker. How she taught my child to pray, Holding its small hands together, For its father, far away; And I felt her sorrow, weighing Heavier on me than my own; Pitying her blighted spring-time, And her joy so early flown.
Till upon my hands (now hardened With the rough, harsh toil of years) Bitter drops of anguish falling, Woke me from my dream, to tears; Woke me as a slave, an outcast. Leagues from home, across the deep; So--though you may call it childish-- So I sobbed myself to sleep.
Well, the years sped on--my Sorrow, Calmer, and yet stronger grown, Was my shield against all suffering, Poorer, meaner, than her own. Thus my cruel master's harshness Fell upon me all in vain, Yet the tale of what we suffered Echoed back from main to main.
You have heard in a far country Of a self-devoted band, Vowed to rescue Christian captives Pining in a foreign land. And these gentle-hearted strangers Year by year go forth from Rome, In their hands the hard-earned ransom, To restore some exiles home.
I was freed: they broke the tidings Gently to me: but indeed Hour by hour sped on, I knew not What the words meant--I was freed! Better so, perhaps; while sorrow (More akin to earthly things) Only strains the sad heart's fibres-- Joy, bright stranger, breaks the strings.
Yet at last it rushed upon me, And my heart beat full and fast; What were now my years of waiting, What was all the dreary past? Nothing--to the impatient throbbing I must bear across the sea: Nothing--to the eternal hours Still between my home and me!
How the voyage passed, I know not; Strange it was once more to stand With my countrymen around me, And to clasp an English hand. But, through all, my heart was dreaming Of the first words I should hear, In the gentle voice that echoed, Fresh as ever, on my ear.
Should I see her start of wonder, And the sudden truth arise, Flushing all her face and lightening The dimmed splendour of her eyes? Oh! to watch the fear and doubting Stir the silent depths of pain, And the rush of joy--then melting Into perfect peace again.
And the child!--but why remember Foolish fancies that I thought? Every tree and every hedge-row From the well-known past I brought: I would picture my dear cottage, See the crackling wood-fire burn, And the two beside it seated, Watching, waiting, my return.
So, at last we reached the harbour. I remember nothing more Till I stood, my sick heart throbbing, With my hand upon the door. There I paused--I heard her speaking; Low, soft, murmuring words she said; Then I first knew the dumb terror I had had, lest she were dead.
It was evening in late autumn, And the gusty wind blew chill; Autumn leaves were falling round me, And the red sun lit the hill. Six-and-twenty years are vanished Since then--I am old and grey, But I never told to mortal What I saw, until this day.
She was seated by the fire, In her arms she held a child, Whispering baby-words caressing, And then, looking up, she smiled: Smiled on him who stood beside her-- Oh! the bitter truth was told, In her look of trusting fondness-- I had seen the look of old!
But she rose and turned towards me (Cold and dumb I waited there) With a shriek of fear and terror, And a white face of despair. He had been an ancient comrade-- Not a single word we said, While we gazed upon each other, He the living: I the dead!
I drew nearer, nearer to her, And I took her trembling hand, Looking on her white face, looking That her heart might understand All the love and all the pity That my lips refused to say-- I thank God no thought save sorrow Rose in our crushed hearts that day.
Bitter tears that desolate moment, Bitter, bitter tears we wept, We three broken hearts together, While the baby smiled and slept. Tears alone--no words were spoken, Till he--till her husband said That my boy, (I had forgotten The poor child,) that he was dead.
Then at last I rose, and, turning, Wrung his hand, but made no sign; And I stooped and kissed her forehead Once more, as if she were mine. Nothing of farewell I uttered, Save in broken words to pray That God would ever guard and bless her-- Then in silence passed away.
Over the great restless ocean Six-and-twenty years I roam; All my comrades, old and weary, Have gone back to die at home.-- Home! yes, I shall reach a haven, I, too, shall reach home and rest; I shall find her waiting for me With our baby on her breast.
VERSE: LIFE AND DEATH
"What is Life, Father?" "A Battle, my child, Where the strongest lance may fail, Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled, And the stoutest heart may quail. Where the foes are gathered on every hand, And rest not day or night, And the feeble little ones must stand In the thickest of the fight."
"What is Death, Father?" "The rest, my child, When the strife and the toil are o'er; The Angel of God, who, calm and mild, Says we need fight no more; Who, driving away the demon band, Bids the din of the battle cease; Takes banner and spear from our failing hand, And proclaims an eternal Peace."
"Let me die, Father! I tremble and fear To yield in that terrible strife!"
"The crown must be won for Heaven, dear, In the battle-field of life: My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, He loveth the weak and small; The Angels of Heaven are on thy side, And God is over all!"
VERSE: NOW
Rise! for the day is passing, And you lie dreaming on; The others have buckled their armour, And forth to the fight are gone: A place in the ranks awaits you, Each man has some part to play; The Past and the Future are nothing, In the face of the stern To-day.
Rise from your dreams of the Future-- Of gaining some hard-fought field; Of storming some airy fortress, Or bidding some giant yield; Your Future has deeds of glory, Of honour (God grant it may!) But your arm will never be stronger, Or the need so great as To-day.
Rise! if the Past detains you, Her sunshine and storms forget; No chains so unworthy to hold you As those of a vain regret: Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever, Cast her phantom arms away, Nor look back, save to learn the lesson Of a nobler strife To-day.
Rise! for the day is passing: The sound that you scarcely hear Is the enemy marching to battle-- Arise! for the foe is here! Stay not to sharpen your weapons, Or the hour will strike at last, When, from dreams of a coming battle, You may wake to find it past!
VERSE: CLEANSING FIRES
Let thy gold be cast in the furnace, Thy red gold, precious and bright, Do not fear the hungry fire, With its caverns of burning light: And thy gold shall return more precious, Free from every spot and stain; For gold must be tried by fire, As a heart must be tried by pain!
In the cruel fire of Sorrow Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail; Let thy hand be firm and steady, Do not let thy spirit quail: But wait till the trial is over, And take thy heart again; For as gold is tried by fire, So a heart must be tried by pain!
I shall know by the gleam and glitter Of the golden chain you wear, By your heart's calm strength in loving, Of the fire they have had to bear. Beat on, true heart, for ever; Shine bright, strong golden chain; And bless the cleansing fire, And the furnace of living pain!
VERSE: THE VOICE OF THE WIND
Let us throw more logs on the fire! We have need of a cheerful light, And close round the hearth to gather, For the wind has risen to-night. With the mournful sound of its wailing It has checked the children's glee, And it calls with a louder clamour Than the clamour of the sea. Hark to the voice of the wind!
Let us listen to what it is saying, Let us hearken to where it has been; For it tells, in its terrible crying, The fearful sights it has seen. It clatters loud at the casements, Round the house it hurries on, And shrieks with redoubled fury, When we say "The blast is gone!" Hark to the voice of the wind!
It has been on the field of battle, Where the dying and wounded lie; And it brings the last groan they uttered, And the ravenous vulture's cry. It has been where the icebergs were meeting, And closed with a fearful crash; On shores where no foot has wandered, It has heard the waters dash. Hark to the voice of the wind!
It has been on the desolate ocean, When the lightning struck the mast; It has heard the cry of the drowning, Who sank as it hurried past; The words of despair and anguish, That were heard by no living ear; The gun that no signal answered: It brings them all to us here. Hark to the voice of the wind!
It has been on the lonely moorland, Where the treacherous snow-drift lies, Where the traveller, spent and weary, Gasped fainter and fainter cries; It has heard the bay of the bloodhounds, On the track of the hunted slave, The lash and the curse of the master, And the groan that the captive gave. Hark to the voice of the wind!
It has swept through the gloomy forest, Where the sledge was urged to its speed, Where the howling wolves were rushing On the track of the panting steed. Where the pool was black and lonely, It caught up a splash and a cry-- Only the bleak sky heard it, And the wind as it hurried by. Hark to the voice of the wind!
Then throw more logs on the fire, Since the air is bleak and cold, And the children are drawing nigher, For the tales that the wind has told. So closer and closer gather Round the red and crackling light; And rejoice (while the wind is blowing) We are safe and warm to-night. Hark to the voice of the wind!
VERSE: TREASURES
Let me count my treasures, All my soul holds dear, Given me by dark spirits Whom I used to fear.
Through long days of anguish, And sad nights, did Pain Forge my shield, Endurance, Bright and free from stain!
Doubt, in misty caverns, 'Mid dark horrors sought, Till my peerless jewel, Faith to me she brought.
Sorrow, that I wearied Should remain so long, Wreathed my starry glory, The bright Crown of Song.
Strife, that racked my spirit, Without hope or rest, Left the blooming flower, Patience, on my breast.
Suffering, that I dreaded, Ignorant of her charms, Laid the fair child, Pity, Smiling, in my arms.
So I count my treasures, Stored in days long past-- And I thank the givers, Whom I know at last!
VERSE: SHINING STARS
Shine, ye stars of heaven, On a world of pain! See old Time destroying All our hoarded gain; All our sweetest flowers, Every stately shrine, All our hard-earned glory, Every dream divine!
Shine, ye stars of heaven, On the rolling years! See how Time, consoling, Dries the saddest tears, Bids the darkest storm-clouds Pass in gentle rain; While upspring in glory, Flowers and dreams again!
Shine, ye stars of heaven, On a world of fear! See how Time, avenging, Bringeth judgment here; Weaving ill-won honours To a fiery crown; Bidding hard hearts perish; Casting proud hearts down.
Shine, ye stars of heaven, On the hours' slow flight! See how Time, rewarding, Gilds good deeds with light; Pays with kingly measure; Brings earth's dearest prize; Or, crowned with rays diviner, Bids the end arise!
VERSE: WAITING
"Wherefore dwell so sad and lonely, By the desolate sea-shore, With the melancholy surges Beating at your cottage door?
"You shall dwell beside the castle Shadowed by our ancient trees; And your life shall pass on gently, Cared for, and in rest and ease."
"Lady, one who loved me dearly Sailed for distant lands away; And I wait here his returning Hopefully from day to day.
"To my door I bring my spinning, Watching every ship I see; Waiting, hoping, till the sunset Fades into the western sea.
"After sunset, at my casement, Still I place a signal light; He will see its well-known shining Should his ship return at night.
"Lady, see your infant smiling, With its flaxen curling hair-- I remember when your mother Was a baby just as fair.
"I was watching then, and hoping: Years have brought great change to all; To my neighbours in their cottage, To you nobles at the hall.
"Not to me--for I am waiting, And the years have fled so fast, I must look at you to tell me That a weary time has past!
"When I hear a footstep coming On the shingle--years have fled-- Yet amid a thousand others, I shall know his quick, light tread.
"When I hear (to-night it may be) Some one pausing at my door, I shall know the gay soft accents, Heard and welcomed oft before!
"So each day I am more hopeful, He may come before the night: Every sunset I feel surer He must come ere morning light.
"Then I thank you, noble lady, But I cannot do your will: Where he left me, he must find me. Waiting, watching, hoping, still!"
VERSE: THE CRADLE SONG OF THE POOR
Hush! I cannot bear to see thee Stretch thy tiny hands in vain; Dear, I have no bread to give thee, Nothing, child, to ease thy pain! When God sent thee first to bless me, Proud, and thankful too, was I; Now, my darling I, thy mother, Almost long to see thee die. Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; God is good, but life is dreary.
I have watched thy beauty fading, And thy strength sink day by day; Soon, I know, will Want and Fever Take thy little life away. Famine makes thy father reckless, Hope has left both him and me; We could suffer all, my baby, Had we but a crust for thee. Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; God is good, but life is dreary.
Better thou shouldst perish early, Starve so soon, my darling one, Than in helpless sin and sorrow Vainly live, as I have done. Better that thy angel spirit With my joy, my peace, were flown, Than thy heart grew cold and careless, Reckless, hopeless, like my own. Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; God is good, but life is dreary.
I am wasted, dear, with hunger, And my brain is all opprest, I have scarcely strength to press thee, Wan and feeble, to my breast. Patience, baby, God will help us, Death will come to thee and me, He will take us to his Heaven, Where no want or pain can be. Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; God is good, but life is dreary.
Such the plaint that, late and early, Did we listen, we might hear Close beside us,--but the thunder Of a city dulls our ear. Every heart, as God's bright Angel, Can bid one such sorrow cease; God has glory when his children Bring his poor ones joy and peace! Listen, nearer while she sings Sounds the fluttering of wings!
VERSE: BE STRONG
Be strong to hope, oh Heart! Though day is bright, The stars can only shine In the dark night. Be strong, oh Heart of mine, Look towards the light!
Be strong to bear, oh Heart! Nothing is vain: Strive not, for life is care, And God sends pain, Heaven is above, and there Rest will remain!
Be strong to love, oh Heart! Love knows not wrong, Didst thou love--creatures even, Life were not long; Didst thou love God in Heaven, Thou wouldst be strong!
VERSE: GOD'S GIFTS
God gave a gift to Earth:- a child, Weak, innocent, and undefiled, Opened its ignorant eyes and smiled.
It lay so helpless, so forlorn, Earth took it coldly and in scorn, Cursing the day when it was born.
She gave it first a tarnished name, For heritage, a tainted fame, Then cradled it in want and shame.
All influence of Good or Right, All ray of God's most holy light, She curtained closely from its sight.
Then turned her heart, her eyes away, Ready to look again, the day Its little feet began to stray.
In dens of guilt the baby played, Where sin, and sin alone, was made The law that all around obeyed.
With ready and obedient care, He learnt the tasks they taught him there; Black sin for lesson--oaths for prayer.
Then Earth arose, and, in her might, To vindicate her injured right, Thrust him in deeper depths of night.
Branding him with a deeper brand Of shame, he could not understand, The felon outcast of the land.
* * *
God gave a gift to Earth:- a child, Weak, innocent, and undefiled, Opened its ignorant eyes and smiled.
And Earth received the gift, and cried Her joy and triumph far and wide, Till echo answered to her pride.
She blest the hour when first he came To take the crown of pride and fame, Wreathed through long ages for his name.
Then bent her utmost art and skill To train the supple mind and will, And guard it from a breath of ill.
She strewed his morning path with flowers, And Love, in tender dropping showers, Nourished the blue and dawning hours.
She shed, in rainbow hues of light, A halo round the Good and Right, To tempt and charm the baby's sight.
And every step, of work or play. Was lit by some such dazzling ray, Till morning brightened into day.
And then the World arose, and said-- Let added honours now be shed On such a noble heart and head!
O World, both gifts were pure and bright, Holy and sacred in God's sight:- God will judge them and thee aright!
VERSE: A TOMB IN GHENT
A smiling look she had, a figure slight, With cheerful air, and step both quick and light; A strange and foreign look the maiden bore, That suited the quaint Belgian dress she wore Yet the blue fearless eyes in her fair face, And her soft voice told her of English race; And ever, as she flitted to and fro, She sang, (or murmured, rather,) soft and low, Snatches of song, as if she did not know That she was singing, but the happy load Of dream and thought thus from her heart o'erflowed: And while on household cares she passed along, The air would bear me fragments of her song; Not such as village maidens sing, and few The framers of her changing music knew; Chants such as heaven and earth first heard of when The master Palestrina held the pen. But I with awe had often turned the page, Yellow with time, and half defaced by age, And listened, with an ear not quite unskilled, While heart and soul to the grand echo thrilled; And much I marvelled, as her cadence fell From the Laudate, that I knew so well, Into Scarlatti's minor fugue, how she Had learned such deep and solemn harmony. But what she told I set in rhyme, as meet To chronicle the influence, dim and sweet, 'Neath which her young and innocent life had grown: Would that my words were simple as her own.
Many years since, an English workman went Over the seas, to seek a home in Ghent, Where English skill was prized; nor toiled in vain; Small, yet enough, his hard-earned daily gain. He dwelt alone--in sorrow, or in pride. He mixed not with the workers by his side; He seemed to care but for one present joy-- To tend, to watch, to teach his sickly boy. Severe to all beside, yet for the child He softened his rough speech to soothings mild; For him he smiled, with him each day he walked Through the dark gloomy streets; to him he talked Of home, of England, and strange stories told Of English heroes in the days of old; And, (when the sunset gilded roof and spire,) The marvellous tale which never seemed to tire: How the gilt dragon, glaring fiercely down From the great belfry, watching all the town, Was brought, a trophy of the wars divine, By a Crusader from far Palestine, And given to Bruges; and how Ghent arose, And how they struggled long as deadly foes, Till Ghent, one night, by a brave soldier's skill, Stole the great dragon; and she keeps it still. One day the dragon--so 'tis said--will rise, Spread his bright wines, and glitter in the skies. And over desert lands and azure seas, Will seek his home 'mid palm and cedar trees. So, as he passed the belfry every day, The boy would look if it were flown away; Each day surprised to find it watching there, Above him, as he crossed the ancient square, To seek the great cathedral, that had grown A home for him--mysterious and his own.
Dim with dark shadows of the ages past, St. Bavon stands, solemn and rich and vast; The slender pillars, in long vistas spread, Like forest arches meet and close o'erhead; So high that, like a weak and doubting prayer, Ere it can float to the carved angels there, The silver clouded incense faints in air: Only the organ's voice, with peal on peal, Can mount to where those far-off angels kneel. Here the pale boy, beneath a low side-arch, Would listen to its solemn chant or march; Folding his little hands, his simple prayer Melted in childish dreams, and both in air: While the great organ over all would roll, Speaking strange secrets to his innocent soul, Bearing on eagle-wings the great desire Of all the kneeling throng, and piercing higher Than aught but love and prayer can reach, until Only the silence seemed to listen still; Or gathering like a sea still more and more, Break in melodious waves at heaven's door, And then fall, slow and soft, in tender rain, Upon the pleading longing hearts again.