Chapter 6

For the first time I venture forth, From our blue mountains of the north. My kinsman kept the lodge that stood Guarding the entrance near the wood, By the stone gateway grey and old, With quaint devices carved about, And broken shields; while dragons bold Glared on the common world without; And the long trembling ivy spray Half hid the centuries' decay. In solitude and silence grand The castle towered above the land: The castle of the Earl, whose name (Wrapped in old bloody legends) came Down through the times when Truth and Right Bent down to armed Pride and Might. He owned the country far and near; And, for some weeks in every year, (When the brown leaves were falling fast And the long, lingering autumn passed,) He would come down to hunt the deer, With hound and horse in splendid pride. The story lasts the live-long year, The peasant's winter evening fills, When he is gone and they abide In the lone quiet of their hills.

I longed, too, for the happy night, When, all with torches flaring bright, The crowding villagers would stand, A patient, eager, waiting band, Until the signal ran like flame-- "They come!" and, slackening speed, they came. Outriders first, in pomp and state, Pranced on their horses through the gate; Then the four steeds as black as night, All decked with trappings blue and white, Drew through the crowd that opened wide, The Earl and Countess side by side. The stern grave Earl, with formal smile And glistening eyes and stately pride, Could ne'er my childish gaze beguile From the fair presence by his side. The lady's soft sad glance, her eyes, (Like stars that shone in summer skies,) Her pure white face so calmly bent, With gentle greetings round her sent Her look, that always seemed to gaze Where the blue past had closed again Over some happy shipwrecked days, With all their freight of love and pain: She did not even seem to see The little lord upon her knee. And yet he was like angel fair, With rosy cheeks and golden hair, That fell on shoulders white as snow: But the blue eyes that shone below His clustering rings of auburn curls, Were not his mother's, but the Earl's.

I feared the Earl, so cold and grim, I never dared be seen by him. When through our gate he used to ride, My kinsman Walter bade me hide; He said he was so stern. So, when the hunt came past our way, I always hastened to obey, Until I heard the bugles play The notes of their return. But she--my very heart-strings stir Whene'er I speak or think of her-- The whole wide world could never see A noble lady such as she, So full of angel charity.

Strange things of her our neighbours told In the long winter evenings cold, Around the fire. They would draw near And speak half-whispering, as in fear; As if they thought the Earl could hear Their treason 'gainst his name. They thought the story that his pride Had stooped to wed a low-born bride, A stain upon his fame. Some said 'twas false; there could not be Such blot on his nobility: But others vowed that they had heard The actual story word for word, From one who well my lady knew, And had declared the story true.

In a far village, little known, She dwelt--so ran the tale--alone. A widowed bride, yet, oh! so bright, Shone through the mist of grief, her charms; They said it was the loveliest sight-- She with her baby in her arms. The Earl, one summer morning, rode By the sea-shore where she abode; Again he came--that vision sweet Drew him reluctant to her feet. Fierce must the struggle in his heart Have been, between his love and pride, Until he chose that wondrous part, To ask her to become his bride. Yet, ere his noble name she bore, He made her vow that nevermore She would behold her child again, But hide his name and hers from men. The trembling promise duly spoken, All links of the low past were broken; And she arose to take her stand Amid the nobles of the land. Then all would wonder--could it be That one so lowly born as she, Raised to such height of bliss, should seem Still living in some weary dream? 'Tis true she bore with calmest grace The honours of her lofty place, Yet never smiled, in peace or joy, Not even to greet her princely boy. She heard, with face of white despair, The cannon thunder through the air, That she had given the Earl an heir. Nay, even more, (they whispered low, As if they scarce durst fancy so,) That, through her lofty wedded life, No word, no tone, betrayed the wife. Her look seemed ever in the past; Never to him it grew more sweet; The self-same weary glance she cast Upon the grey-hound at her feet, As upon him, who bade her claim The crowning honour of his name.

This gossip, if old Walter heard, He checked it with a scornful word: I never durst such tales repeat; He was too serious and discreet To speak of what his lord might do; Besides, he loved my lady too. And many a time, I recollect, They were together in the wood; He, with an air of grave respect, And earnest look, uncovered stood. And though their speech I never heard, (Save now and then a louder word,) I saw he spake as none but one She loved and trusted, durst have done; For oft I watched them in the shade That the close forest branches made, Till slanting golden sunbeams came And smote the fir-trees into flame, A radiant glory round her lit, Then down her white robes seemed to flit, Gilding the brown leaves on the ground, And all the waving ferns around. While by some gloomy pine she leant And he in earnest talk would stand, I saw the tear-drops, as she bent, Fall on the flowers in her hand.-- Strange as it seemed and seems to be, That one so sad, so cold as she, Could love a little child like me-- Yet so it was. I never heard Such tender words as she would say, And murmurs, sweeter than a word, Would breathe upon me as I lay. While I, in smiling joy, would rest, For hours, my head upon her breast. Our neighbours said that none could see In me the common childish charms, (So grave and still I used to be,) And yet she held me in her arms, In a fond clasp, so close, so tight-- I often dream of it at night. She bade me tell her all--no other My childish thoughts e'er cared to know: For I--I never knew my mother; I was an orphan long ago. And I could all my fancies pour, That gentle loving face before. She liked to hear me tell her all; How that day I had climbed the tree, To make the largest fir-cones fall; And how one day I hoped to be A sailor on the deep blue sea-- She loved to hear it all!

Then wondrous things she used to tell, Of the strange dreams that she had known. I used to love to hear them well, If only for her sweet low tone, Sometimes so sad, although I knew That such things never could be true. One day she told me such a tale It made me grow all cold and pale, The fearful thing she told! Of a poor woman mad and wild Who coined the life-blood of her child, And tempted by a fiend, had sold The heart out of her breast for gold. But, when she saw me frightened seem, She smiled, and said it was a dream. When I look back and think of her, My very heart-strings seem to stir; How kind, how fair she was, how good I cannot tell you. If I could You, too, would love her. The mere thought Of her great love for me has brought Tears in my eyes: though far away, It seems as it were yesterday. And just as when I look on high Through the blue silence of the sky, Fresh stars shine out, and more and more, Where I could see so few before; So, the more steadily I gaze Upon those far-off misty days, Fresh words, fresh tones, fresh memories start Before my eyes and in my heart. I can remember how one day (Talking in silly childish way) I said how happy I should be If I were like her son--as fair, With just such bright blue eyes as he, And such long locks of golden hair. A strange smile on her pale face broke, And in strange solemn words she spoke: "My own, my darling one--no, no! I love you, far, far better so. I would not change the look you bear, Or one wave of your dark brown hair. The mere glance of your sunny eyes, Deep in my deepest soul I prize Above that baby fair! Not one of all the Earl's proud line In beauty ever matched with thine; And, 'tis by thy dark locks thou art Bound even faster round my heart, And made more wholly mine!" And then she paused, and weeping said, "You are like one who now is dead-- Who sleeps in a far-distant grave. Oh may God grant that you may be As noble and as good as he, As gentle and as brave!" Then in my childish way I cried, "The one you tell me of who died, Was he as noble as the Earl?" I see her red lips scornful curl, I feel her hold my hand again So tightly, that I shrink in pain-- I seem to hear her say, "He whom I tell you of, who died, He was so noble and so gay, So generous and so brave, That the proud Earl by his dear side Would look a craven slave." She paused; then, with a quivering sigh, She laid her hand upon my brow: "Live like him, darling, and so die. Remember that he tells you now, True peace, real honour, and content, In cheerful pious toil abide; That gold and splendour are but sent To curse our vanity and pride." One day some childish fever pain Burnt in my veins and fired my brain. Moaning, I turned from side to side; And, sobbing in my bed, I cried, Till night in calm and darkness crept Around me, and at last I slept. When suddenly I woke to see The Lady bending over me. The drops of cold November rain Were falling from her long, damp hair; Her anxious eyes were dim with pain; Yet she looked wondrous fair. Arrayed for some great feast she came, With stones that shone and burnt like flame; Wound round her neck, like some bright snake, And set like stars within her hair, They sparkled so, they seemed to make A glory everywhere. I felt her tears upon my face, Her kisses on my eyes; And a strange thought I could not trace I felt within my heart arise; And, half in feverish pain, I said: "Oh if my mother were not dead!" And Walter bade me sleep; but she Said, "Is it not the same to thee That I watch by thy bed?" I answered her, "I love you, too; But it can never be the same; She was no Countess like to you, Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame." Oh the wild look of fear and dread! The cry she gave of bitter woe! I often wonder what I said To make her moan and shudder so. Through the long night she tended me With such sweet care and charity. But should weary you to tell All that I know and love so well: Yet one night more stands out alone With a sad sweetness all its own.

The wind blew loud that dreary night: Its wailing voice I well remember: The stars shone out so large and bright Upon the frosty fir-boughs white, That dreary night of cold December. I saw old Walter silent stand, Watching the soft white flakes of snow With looks I could not understand, Of strange perplexity and woe. At last he turned and took my hand, And said the Countess just had sent To bid us come; for she would fain See me once more, before she went Away--never to come again. We came in silence through the wood (Our footfall was the only sound) To where the great white castle stood, With darkness shadowing it around. Breathless, we trod with cautious care Up the great echoing marble stair; Trembling, by Walter's hand I held, Scared by the splendours I beheld: Now thinking, "Should the Earl appear!" Now looking up with giddy fear To the dim vaulted roof, that spread Its gloomy arches overhead. Long corridors we softly past, (My heart was beating loud and fast) And reached the Lady's room at last: A strange faint odour seemed to weigh Upon the dim and darkened air; One shaded lamp, with softened ray, Scarce showed the gloomy splendour there. The dull red brands were burning low, And yet a fitful gleam of light, Would now and then, with sudden glow, Start forth, then sink again in night. I gazed around, yet half in fear, Till Walter told me to draw near: And in the strange and flickering light, Towards the Lady's bed I crept; All folded round with snowy white, She lay; (one would have said she slept;) So still the look of that white face, It seemed as it were carved in stone, I paused before I dared to place Within her cold white hand my own. But, with a smile of sweet surprise, She turned to me her dreamy eyes; And slowly, as if life were pain, She drew me in her arms to lie: She strove to speak, and strove in vain; Each breath was like a long-drawn sigh. The throbs that seemed to shake her breast, The trembling clasp, so loose and weak, At last grew calmer, and at rest; And then she strove once more to speak: "My God, I thank thee, that my pain Of day by day and year by year, Has not been suffered all in vain, And I may die while he is near. I will not fear but that Thy grace Has swept away my sin and woe, And sent this little angel face, In my last hour to tell me so." (And here her voice grew faint and low,) "My child, where'er thy life may go, To know that thou art brave and true, Will pierce the highest heavens through, And even there my soul shall be More joyful for this thought of thee." She folded her white hands, and stayed; All cold and silently she lay: I knelt beside the bed, and prayed The prayer she used to make me say. I said it many times, and then She did not move, but seemed to be In a deep sleep, nor stirred again. No sound woke in the silent room, Or broke the dim and solemn gloom, Save when the brands that burnt so low, With noisy fitful gleam of light, Would spread around a sudden glow, Then sink in silence and in night. How long I stood I do not know: At last poor Walter came, and said (So sadly) that we now must go, And whispered, she we loved was dead. He bade me kiss her face once more, Then led me sobbing to the door. I scarcely knew what dying meant, Yet a strange grief, before unknown, Weighed on my spirit as we went And left her lying all alone.

We went to the far North once more, To seek the well-remembered home, Where my poor kinsman dwelt before, Whence now he was too old to roam; And there six happy years we past, Happy and peaceful till the last; When poor old Walter died, and he Blessed me and said I now might be A sailor on the deep blue sea. And so I go; and yet in spite Of all the joys I long to know, Though I look onward with delight, With something of regret I go; And young or old, on land or sea, One guiding memory I shall take-- Of what She prayed that I might be, And what I will be for her sake!

VERSE: A CROWN OF SORROW

A Sorrow, wet with early tears Yet bitter, had been long with me; I wearied of this weight of years, And would be free.

I tore my Sorrow from my heart, I cast it far away in scorn; Right joyful that we two could part-- Yet most forlorn.

I sought, (to take my Sorrow's place,) Over the world for flower or gem-- But she had had an ancient grace Unknown to them.

I took once more with strange delight My slighted Sorrow; proudly now, I wear it, set with stars of light, Upon my brow.

VERSE: THE LESSON OF THE WAR (1855)

The feast is spread through England For rich and poor to-day; Greetings and laughter may be there, But thoughts are far away; Over the stormy ocean, Over the dreary track, Where some are gone, whom England Will never welcome back.

Breathless she waits, and listens For every eastern breeze That bears upon its bloody wings News from beyond the seas. The leafless branches stirring Make many a watcher start; The distant tramp of steed may send A throb from heart to heart.

The rulers of the nation, The poor ones at their gate, With the same eager wonder The same great news await. The poor man's stay and comfort, The rich man's joy and pride, Upon the bleak Crimean shore Are fighting side by side.

The bullet comes--and either A desolate hearth may see; And God alone to-night knows where The vacant place may be! The dread that stirs the peasant Thrills nobles' hearts with fear-- Yet above selfish sorrow Both hold their country dear.

The rich man who reposes In his ancestral shade, The peasant at his ploughshare, The worker at his trade, Each one his all his perilled, Each has the same great stake, Each soul can but have patience, Each heart can only break!

Hushed is all party clamour; One thought in every heart, One dread in every household, Has bid such strife depart. England has called her children; Long silent--the word came That lit the smouldering ashes Through all the land to flame.

Oh you who toil and suffer, You gladly heard the call; But those you sometimes envy Have they not given their all? Oh you who rule the nation, Take now the toil-worn hand-- Brothers you are in sorrow, In duty to your land. Learn but this noble lesson Ere Peace returns again, And the life-blood of Old England Will not be shed in vain.

VERSE: THE TWO SPIRITS (1855)

Last night, when weary silence fell on all, And starless skies arose so dim and vast, I heard the Spirit of the Present call Upon the sleeping Spirit of the Past. Far off and near, I saw their radiance shine, And listened while they spoke of deeds divine.

The Spirit of the Past.

My deeds are writ in iron; My glory stands alone; A veil of shadowy honour Upon my tombs is thrown; The great names of my heroes Like gems in history lie; To live they deemed ignoble, Had they the chance to die!

The Spirit of the Present.

My children, too, are honoured; Dear shall their memory be To the proud lands that own them; Dearer than thine to thee; For, though they hold that sacred Is God's great gift of life, At the first call of duty They rush into the strife!

The Spirit of the Past.

Then, with all valiant precepts Woman's soft heart was fraught; "Death, not dishonour," echoed The war-cry she had taught. Fearless and glad, those mothers, At bloody deaths elate, Cried out they bore their children Only for such a fate!

The Spirit of the Present.

Though such stern laws of honour Are faded now away, Yet many a mourning mother, With nobler grief than they, Bows down in sad submission: The heroes of the fight Learnt at her knee the lesson, "For God and for the Right!"

The Spirit of the Past.

No voice there spake of sorrow: They saw the noblest fall With no repining murmur; Stern Fate was lord of all. And when the loved ones perished, One cry alone arose, Waking the startled echoes, "Vengeance upon our foes!"

The Spirit of the Present.

Grief dwells in France and England For many a noble son; Yet louder than the sorrow, "Thy will, Oh God, be done!" From desolate homes is rising One prayer, "Let carnage cease! On friends and foes have mercy, Oh Lord, and give us peace!"

The Spirit of the Past.

Then, every hearth was honoured That sent its children forth, To spread their country's glory, And gain her south or north. Then, little recked they numbers, No band would ever fly, But stern and resolute they stood To conquer or to die.

The Spirit of the Present.

And now from France and England Their dearest and their best Go forth to succour freedom, To help the much oppressed; Now, let the far-off Future And Past bow down to-day, Before the few young hearts that hold Whole armaments at bay.

The Spirit of the Past.

Then, each one strove for honour, Each for a deathless name; Love, home, rest, joy, were offered As sacrifice to Fame. They longed that in far ages Their deeds might still be told, And distant times and nations Their names in honour hold.

The Spirit of the Present.

Though nursed by such old legends, Our heroes of to-day Go cheerfully to battle As children go to play; They gaze with awe and wonder On your great names of pride, Unconscious that their own will shine In glory side by side!

Day dawned; and as the Spirits passed away, Methought I saw, in the dim morning grey, The Past's bright diadem had paled before The starry crown the glorious Present wore.

VERSE: A LITTLE LONGER

A little longer yet--a little longer, Shall violets bloom for thee, and sweet birds sing; And the lime branches where soft winds are blowing, Shall murmur the sweet promise of the Spring!

A little longer yet--a little longer, Thou shalt behold the quiet of the morn; While tender grasses and awakening flowers Send up a golden mist to greet the dawn!

A little longer yet--a little longer, The tenderness of twilight shall be thine, The rosy clouds that float o'er dying daylight, Nor fade till trembling stars begin to shine.

A little longer yet--a little longer, Shall starry night be beautiful for thee; And the cold moon shall look through the blue silence, Flooding her silver path upon the sea.

A little longer yet--a little longer, Life shall be thine; life with its power to will; Life with its strength to bear, to love, to conquer, Bringing its thousand joys thy heart to fill.

A little longer yet--a little longer, The voices thou hast loved shall charm thine ear; And thy true heart, that now beats quick to hear them, A little longer yet shall hold them dear.

A little longer yet--joy while thou mayest; Love and rejoice! for time has nought in store; And soon the darkness of the grave shall bid thee Love and rejoice and feel and know no more.

* * *

A little longer still--Patience, Beloved: A little longer still, ere Heaven unroll The Glory, and the Brightness, and the Wonder, Eternal, and divine, that waits thy Soul!

A little longer ere Life true, immortal, (Not this our shadowy Life,) will be thine own; And thou shalt stand where winged Archangels worship, And trembling bow before the Great White Throne.

A little longer still, and Heaven awaits thee, And fills thy spirit with a great delight; Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten, Our Sun a darkness, and our Day a Night.

A little longer, and thy Heart, Beloved, Shall beat for ever with a Love divine; And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal, No creature knows and lives, will then be thine.

A little longer yet--and angel voices Shall ring in heavenly chant upon thine ear; Angels and Saints await thee, and God needs thee: Beloved, can we bid thee linger here!

VERSE: GRIEF

An ancient enemy have I, And either he or I must die; For he never leaveth me, Never gives my soul relief, Never lets my sorrow cease, Never gives my spirit peace-- For mine enemy is Grief!

Pale he is, and sad and stern; And whene'er he cometh nigh, Blue and dim the torches burn, Pale and shrunk the roses turn; While my heart that he has pierced Many a time with fiery lance, Beats and trembles at his glance: Clad in burning steel is he, All my strength he can defy; For he never leaveth me-- And one of us must die!

I have said, "Let ancient sages Charm me from my thoughts of pain!" So I read their deepest pages, And I strove to think--in vain! Wisdom's cold calm words I tried, But he was seated by my side:- Learning I have won in vain; She cannot rid me of my pain.

When at last soft sleep comes o'er me, A cold hand is on my heart; Stern sad eyes are there before me; Not in dreams will he depart: And when the same dreary vision From my weary brain has fled, Daylight brings the living phantom, He is seated by my bed, Bending o'er me all the while, With his cruel, bitter smile, Ever with me, ever nigh;-- And either he or I must die!

Then I said, long time ago, "I will flee to other climes, I will leave mine ancient foe!" Though I wandered far and wide-- Still he followed at my side.

And I fled where the blue waters Bathe the sunny isles of Greece; Where Thessalian mountains rise Up against the purple skies; Where a haunting memory liveth In each wood and cave and rill; But no dream of gods could help me-- He went with me still!