Part 4
You were no friends: but you are brothers now: Equal, the laurels on each victor's brow: Triumphing generations throng each car. This night, I hear those measured tides of sound, Surging above that crownless king discrowned, Dead on that sacred senatorial ground: Low in the dark hangs, burning from afar, With pale and solemn fires, the Julian Star.
1889
THE TROOPSHIP.
At early morning, clear and cold, Still in her English harbour lay The long, white ship: while winter gold Shone pale upon her outward way.
Slowly she moved, slowly she stirred, Stately and slow, she went away: Sounds of farewell, the harbour heard; Music on board began to play.
Old, homely airs were thine, great ship! Breaking from laughter into tears: And through them all good fellowship Spoke of a trust beyond all fears.
Still, as the gray mists gathered round, Embracing thee, concealing thine; Still, faintly from the Outward Bound Came melodies of _Auld Lang Syne_.
Oh, sad to part! Oh, brave to go Between the Piers of Hercules, And through the seas of fame, and so Meet eastern sun on eastern seas!
O richly laden! swiftly bear, And surely, thy two thousand men; Till round them burn the Indian air: And English lips will hail them then.
NEW YEAR'S DAY: 1890.
DEAD.
_To Olivier Georges Destrée._
In Merioneth, over the sad moor Drives the rain, the cold wind blows: Past the ruinous church door, The poor procession without music goes.
Lonely she wandered out her hour, and died. Now the mournful curlew cries Over her, laid down beside Death's lonely people: lightly down she lies.
In Merioneth, the wind lives and wails, On from hill to lonely hill: Down the loud, triumphant gales, A spirit cries Be strong! and cries Be still!
1887.
SANCTA SILVARUM.
_To the Earl Russell._
I.
Deep music of the ancient forest! Through glades and coverts with thy magic winding; And in the silence of our hushed hearts finding Tremulous echoes of thy murmur, Unshapen thoughts thronging and throbbing: O music of the mystery, that embraces All forest depths, and footless far-off places! Thou art the most high voice of nature, Thou art the voice of unseen singers, Vanishing ever deeper through the clinging Thickets, and under druid branches winging A flight, that draws our eyes to follow: Yet, following, find they only forest; But lonely forest, stately melancholy, A consecrated stillness, old and holy; Commanding us to hail with homage Powers, that we see not, hid in beauty: A majesty immeasurable; a glorious Conclave of angels: wherewithal victorious, The Lord of venerable forests, Murmuring sanctuaries and cloisters, Proclaims his kingdom over our emotion: Even as his brother Lord of the old ocean Thunders tremendous laws, in tempest Embattled between winds and waters. O mighty friendship of mysterious forces, O servants of one Will! Stars in their courses, Flowers in their fragrance, in their music Winged winds, and lightnings in their fierceness! These are the world's magnalities and splendours: At touch of these, the adoring spirit renders Glory, and praise, and passionate silence.
1886.
II.
The moon labours through black cloud, Through the vast night, dark and proud: The windy wood dances. Still the massed heavens drive along: And, of all night's fiery throng, The moon alone glances.
How the lights are wild and strange! Only one light doth not change, From living fires flowing: Where, on fragrant banks of fern, Steadily and stilly burn The greenwood worms glowing.
Going down the forest side, The night robs me of all pride, By gloom and by splendour. High, away, alone, afar, Mighty wills and workings are: To them I surrender.
The processions of the night, Sweeping clouds and battling light, And wild winds in thunder, Care not for the world of man, Passionate on another plan: O twin worlds of wonder!
Ancients of dark majesty! Priests of splendid mystery! The Powers of Night cluster: In the shadows of the trees, Dreams, that no man lives and sees, The dreams! the dreams! muster.
Move not! for the night wind stirs: And the night wind ministers To dreams, and their voices: Ah! the wild moon earthward bowed From that tyranny of cloud: The dim wood rejoices.
What do I here? What am I, Who may comprehend nor sky, Nor trees, nor dreams thronging? Over moonlight dark clouds drive: The vast midnight is alive With magical longing.
1889.
III.
Through the fresh woods there fleet Fawns, with bright eyes, light feet: Bright eyes, and feet that spurn The pure green fern.
Headed by leaping does, The swift procession goes Through thickets, over lawns: Followed by fawns.
Over slopes, over glades, Down dells and leafy shades, Away the quick deer troop: A wildwood group.
Under the forest airs, A life of grace is theirs: Courtly their look; they seem Things of a dream.
Some say, but who can say? That a charmed troop are they: Once youths and maidens white! These may be right.
IV.
Over me, beeches broad beneath blue sky In light winds through their cooling leaves rejoice: Now, the red squirrel, lithe and wild, runs by; Anon the wood dove from deep glades, with voice Of mellow music, lulls the air: All murmurs of the forest, stirs and cries, Come stilly down green coverts; the high fern Smells of rich earth aglow from burning skies. Hither my greenwood ways love best to turn: Hither my lone hours gladliest fare.
But not for melancholy solitude; Not for the fond delight of loneliness: Though here nor voice, nor alien feet, intrude. Lone am I: but what lone dreams dare repress High presences of vanished days? Long billowy reaches of unnumbered trees Roll downward from this haunt, and break at length Against such walls, as no man unmoved sees, But hails the past of splendour and of strength: And heights of immemorial praise.
That Castle gray, marvellous with mighty years, Crowning the forest deeps in pride of place: Towers, royal in their histories of tears, And royal in their chronicles of grace: Am I alone, beholding those? The solitary forest bowers me round: Yet companies august go through the glade, Crowned and resplendent! stately and discrowned! All, solemn from the tragedies they played: Remembering, each the doom, the close.
Alone! Nay, but almost, would that I were Alone: too high are these great things for me. Immeasurable glooms and splendours here Usurp the calm noon, where my rest should be: O proud, O ancient Towers! farewell. I turn from you, and take the world of men: Gladly I mix me with the common day: But should they vex me with their tumult: then, Hither my feet will find the accustomed way; Then cast once more your heightening spell.
1889
BAGLEY WOOD.
_To Percy Addleshaw._
The night is full of stars, full of magnificence: Nightingales hold the wood, and fragrance loads the dark. Behold, what fires august, what lights eternal! Hark, What passionate music poured in passionate love's defence! Breathe but the wafting wind's nocturnal frankincense! Only to feel this night's great heart, only to mark The splendours and the glooms, brings back the patriarch, Who on Chaldaean wastes found God through reverence.
Could we but live at will upon this perfect height, Could we but always keep the passion of this peace, Could we but face unshamed the look of this pure light, Could we but win earth's heart, and give desire release: Then were we all divine, and then were ours by right These stars, these nightingales, these scents: then shame would cease.
1890.
CORONA CRUCIS.
_To the Rev. Father Goldie, S. J._
Deficit inter tenebras cor triste: Unde fulgebit mihi lux petita? O cor infidum! Nonne dicis, Christe! Ego sum Via, et Veritas, et Vita.
Via amara Tu, Veritas dura, Vita difficilis, tremende Deus! Deliciarum Via, Veritas pura, Vita vitarum Tu, et amor meus!
Non Te relinquam, carae Dator crucis, Rex caritatis, Domine dolorum! Splendet longinqua mihi patria lucis, Et diadema omnium amorum.
1893.
A SONG OF ISRAEL.
_To the Rev. Stewart Headlam._
Praise ye Him, with virginals and organs: Praise ye Him, with timbrel and flute! Come from the field, glorify His temple, With red corn, with the ripe first fruit.
He is God, who brought us out from Egypt, Gave us lands of vineyard and oil: He is God, who made the Kings of Canaan, Made their kingdoms, to be our spoil.
Praise ye Him, with psaltery and cymbal: Praise ye Him, with viol and harp! Through the Wilderness, through the rough places, Led He us, for whom Death grew sharp.
Sinai, with thunders and with voices, Praised our God, the Giver of Law: Jordan stayed the rushing of his waters; Israel passed over, and saw:
Saw the plenty, saw the Land of Promise, Saw, and praised Him, the Lord of lords: King of armies, terrible and holy; Light to our eyes, and strength to our swords.
Where be now the gods of all the nations? Where is Baal? Where Ashtaroth? Fallen! fallen! before the God of Jacob: None withstood the day of His wrath.
Praise ye Him, with virginals and organs: Praise ye Him, with music and voice! Praise the Name of the Lord God Jehovah: Praise Him, praise Him, ye Tribes His choice!
1889
THE DARK ANGEL.
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust To rid the world of penitence: Malicious Angel, who still dost My soul such subtile violence!
Because of thee, no thought, no thing, Abides for me undesecrate: Dark Angel, ever on the wing, Who never reachest me too late!
When music sounds, then changest thou Its silvery to a sultry fire: Nor will thine envious heart allow Delight untortured by desire.
Through thee, the gracious Muses turn To Furies, O mine Enemy! And all the things of beauty burn With flames of evil ecstasy.
Because of thee, the land of dreams Becomes a gathering place of fears: Until tormented slumber seems One vehemence of useless tears.
When sunlight glows upon the flowers, Or ripples down the dancing sea: Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers, Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.
Within the breath of autumn woods, Within the winter silences: Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods, O Master of impieties!
The ardour of red flame is thine, And thine the steely soul of ice: Thou poisonest the fair design Of nature, with unfair device.
Apples of ashes, golden bright; Waters of bitterness, how sweet! O banquet of a foul delight, Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!
Thou art the whisper in the gloom, The hinting tone, the haunting laugh: Thou art the adorner of my tomb, The minstrel of mine epitaph.
I fight thee, in the Holy Name! Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith: Tempter! should I escape thy flame, Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death
The second Death, that never dies, That cannot die, when time is dead: Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries, Eternally uncomforted.
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust! Of two defeats, of two despairs: Less dread, a change to drifting dust, Than thine eternity of cares.
Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so, Dark Angel! triumph over me: Lonely, unto the Lone I go; Divine, to the Divinity.
1893.
A FRIEND.
His are the whitenesses of soul, That Virgil had: he walks the earth A classic saint, in self-control, And comeliness, and quiet mirth.
His presence wins me to repose: When he is with me, I forget All heaviness: and when he goes, The comfort of the sun is set.
But in the lonely hours I learn, How I can serve and thank him best: God! trouble him: that he may turn Through sorrow to the only rest.
1894.
TO A PASSIONIST.
Clad in a vestment wrought with passion-flowers; Celebrant of one Passion; called by name Passionist: is thy world, one world with ours? Thine, a like heart? Thy very soul, the same?
Thou pleadest an eternal sorrow: we Praise the still changing beauty of this earth. Passionate good and evil, thou dost see: Our eyes behold the dreams of death and birth.
We love the joys of men: we love the dawn, Red with the sun, and with the pure dew pearled Thy stern soul feels, after the sun withdrawn, How much pain goes to perfecting the world.
Canst thou be right? Is thine the very truth? Stands then our life in so forlorn a state? Nay, but thou wrongest us: thou wrong'st our youth, Who dost our happiness compassionate.
And yet! and yet! O royal Calvary! Whence divine sorrow triumphed through years past: Could ages bow before mere memory? Those passion-flowers must blossom, to the last.
Purple they bloom, the splendour of a King: Crimson they bleed, the sacrament of Death: About our thrones and pleasaunces they cling, Where guilty eyes read, what each blossom saith.
1888.
ADVENTUS DOMINI.
_To the Rev. Radclyffe Dolling._
Et cherubim et seraphim descendit Rex: Caelos caelorum linquit salvaturus nos. Deserit, ne per saecula stet mortis lex, Angelos Deus noster et Archangelos.
Tu, miserator! Tu, Christe misericors! Tu, peccatores nos qui solus redimis: Ut caeli gaudeant, ut moriatur mors, Veni cum Angelis et cum Archangelis!
1890.
MEN OF ASSISI.
_To Viscount St. Cyres._
A crown of roses and of thorns; A crown of roses and of bay: Each crown of loveliness adorns Assisi, gleaming far away On Umbrian heights, in Umbrian day.
One bloomed, when Cynthia's lover sang Cynthia, and revelry, and Rome: And one his wounded hands did hang, Whose heart was lovelier Love's dear home; And his, an holier martyrdom.
Are the spring roses round thine head, Propertius! as they were of old? In the gray deserts of the dead, Glows any wine in cups of gold? Not all the truth, dead Cynthia told!
And round thine head, so lowly fair, Saint Francis! thorns no longer close: Paradise roses may be there, And Mary lilies: only those. Thy sister, Death, hurt not thy rose.
We to thy shade, with song and wine, Libation make, Propertius! While suns or stars of summer shine, Thy passionate music thrills through us: Hail to thee, hail! We crown thee, thus.
But when our hearts are chill and faint, Pierced with true sorrow piteous: Francis! our brother and God's Saint, We worship thee, we hail thee, thus: Praying, _Sweet Francis! pray for us._
O city on the Umbrian hills: Assisi, mother of such sons! What glory of remembrance fills Thine heart, whereof the legend runs: _These are among my vanished ones._
1890.
MEN OF AQUINO.
_To Charles Mulvany._
Those angry fires, that clove the air, Heavy with Rome's imperial lust: Those bitter fires, that burn and flare Unquenched, above their kindler's dust: Aquinum can their birth declare.
The wicked splendours of old time, Juvenal! stung thy passionate heart. Wrath learned of thee a scorn sublime; The Muses, a prophetic art: Yet pride and lust kept still their prime.
A greater birth, Aquinum knows: Rank upon rank, in stately wise; Rank upon rank, in ordered rows; Like sacred hosts and hierarchies, The march of holy science goes.
Vain, a man's voice, to conquer men! Rome fell: Rome rose: Aquinum lent The world her greater citizen: Armed for Rome's war, Saint Thomas went, Using God's voice: they listened, then.
Ah, Juvenal! thy trumpet sound: Woe for the fallen soul of Rome! But the high saint, whose music found The altar its eternal home, Sang: _Lauda Sion!_ heavenward bound.
A fourfold music of the Host, He sang: the open Heavens shone plain. Then back he turned him to his post, And opened heavenly Laws again, From first to last, both least and most.
O little Latin town! rejoice, Who hast such motherhood, as this: Through all the worlds of faith one voice Chaunts forth the truth; yet stays not his, Whose anger made a righteous choice.
1890
LUCRETIUS.
_To William Nash._
I.
Visions, to sear with flame his worn and haunted eyes, Throng him: and fears unknown invest the black night hours. His royal reason fights with undefeated Powers, Armies of mad desires, legions of wanton lies; His ears are full of pain, because of their fierce cries: Nor from his tended thoughts, for all their fruits and flowers, Comes solace: for Philosophy within her bowers Falls faint, and sick to death. Therefore Lucretius dies.
Dead! And his deathless death hath him, so still and stark! No change upon the deep, no change upon the earth, None in the wastes of nature, the starred wilderness. Wandering flames and thunders of the shaken dark: Among the mountain heights, winds wild with stormy mirth: These were before, and these will be: no more, no less.
1890.
II.
Lucretious! King of men, that are No more, they think, than men: Who, past the flaming walls afar, Find nought within their ken:
The cruel draught, that wildered thee, And drove thee upon sleep, Was kinder than Philosophy, Who would not let thee weep.
Thou knowest now, that life and death Are wondrous intervals: The fortunes of a fitful breath, Within the flaming walls.
Without them, an eternal plan, Which life and death obey: Divinity, that fashions man, Its high, immortal way.
Or was he right, thy past compare, Thy one true voice of Greece? Then, whirled about the unconscious air, Thou hast a vehement peace.
No calms of light, no purple lands, No sanctuaries sublime: Like storms of snow, like quaking sands, Thine atoms drift through time.
1889.
III.
Mightiest-minded of the Roman race, Lucretius! In thy predestined, purgatory place, Where thou and thine Iphigenia wait: What think'st thou of the Vision and the Fate, Wherewith the Christ makes all thine outcries vain? Art learning Christ through sweet and bitter pain, Lucretius?
Heaviest-hearted of the sons of men, Lucretius! Well couldst thou justify severe thoughts then, Considering thy lamentable Rome: But thou wilt come to an imperial home, With walls of jasper, past the walls of fire: To God's proud City, and thine heart's desire, Lucretius!
1887.
ENTHUSIASTS.
_To the Rev. Percy Dearmer._
Let your swords flash, and wound the golden air of God: Bright steel, to meet and cleave the splendour of His sun! Now is a war of wars in majesty begun: Red shall the cornfields ripen, where our horses trod, Where scythe nor sickle swept, but smote war's iron rod: Where the stars rose and set, and saw the blood still run. So shall men tell of us, and dread our deeds, though done: New annals yet shall praise time's fiercest period.
Let your swords flash, and wound the glowing air: now play A glorious dance of death, with clash and gleam of sword. Did Syrian sun and moon stand still on Israel's day? Those orbs halt over Ajalon at Joshua's word? Of us, who ride for God, shall Christian children say: _To battle, see! flash by armed angels of the Lord._
1891.
CADGWITH.
_To Laurence Binyon._
_Man is a shadow's dream!_ Opulent Pindar saith: Yet man may win a gleam Of glory, before death.
Saith golden Shakespeare: _Man Is a dream's shadow!_ Yet, Though death do all death can, His soul toward life is set.
I, living with delight This rich autumnal day, Mark the gulls' curving flight Across the black-girt bay.
And the sea's working men, The fisher-folk, I mark Haul down their boats, and then Launch for the deep sea dark.
Far out the strange ships go: Their broad sails flashing red As flame, or white as snow: The ships, as David said.
Winds rush and waters roll: Their strength, their beauty, brings Into mine heart the whole Magnificence of things:
That men are counted worth A part upon this sea, A part upon this earth, Exalts and heartens me.
Ah, Glaucus, soul of man! Encrusted by each tide, That, since the seas began, Hath surged against thy side:
Encumbering thee with weed, And tangle of the wave! Yet canst thou rise at need, And thy strong beauty save!
Tides of the world in vain Desire to vanquish thee: Prostrate, thou canst again Rise, lord of earth and sea:
Rise, lord of sea and earth, And winds, and starry night. Thine is the greater birth And origin of light.
1892.
II.
My windows open to the autumn night, In vain I watched for sleep to visit me: How should sleep dull mine ears, and dim my sight, Who saw the stars, and listened to the sea?
Ah, how the City of our God is fair! If, without sea, and starless though it be, For joy of the majestic beauty there, Men shall not miss the stars, nor mourn the sea.
1892.
III.
Mary Star of the Sea! Look on this little place: Bless the kind fisher race, Mary Star of the Sea!
Send harvest from the deep, Mary Star of the Sea! Mary Star of the Sea! Let not these women weep.
Mary Star of the Sea! Give wife and mother joy In husband and in boy: Mary Star of the Sea!
With intercession save, Mary Star of the Sea! Mary Star of the Sea! These children of the wave.
Mary Star of the Sea! Pour peace upon the wild Waves, make their murmurs mild: Mary Star of the Sea!
Now in thy mercy pray, Mary Star of the Sea! Mary Star of the Sea! For sailors far away.
Mary Star of the Sea! Now be thy great prayers said For all poor seamen dead: Mary Star of the Sea!
1892
VISIONS.
_To Mrs. de Paravicini._
I.
Each in his proper gloom; Each in his dark, just place: The builders of their doom Hide, each his awful face.
Not less than saints, are they Heirs of Eternity: Perfect, their dreadful way; A deathless company.
Lost! lost! fallen and lost! With fierce wrath ever fresh: Each suffers in the ghost The sorrows of the flesh.
O miracle of sin! That makes itself an home, So utter black within, Thither Light cannot come!
O mighty house of hate! Stablished and guarded so, Love cannot pass the gate, Even to dull its woe!
Now, Christ compassionate! Now, bruise me with thy rod: Lest I be mine own fate, And kill the Love of God.
1893.
II.
O place of happy pains, And land of dear desires! Where Love divine detains Glad souls among sweet fires.
Where sweet, white fires embrace The red-scarred, red-stained soul: That it may see God's Face, Perfectly white and whole.
While with still hope they bear Those ardent agonies: Earth pleads for them, in prayer And wistful charities.
O place of patient pains, And land of brave desires! Us now God's Will detains Far from those holy fires.
Us the sad world rings round With passionate flames impure: We tread an impious ground, And hunger, and endure:
That, earth's ordeal done, Those white, sweet fires may fit Us for our home, and One, Who is the Light of it.
1892.
III.
Since, O white City! I may be, I, a white citizen of thee: I claim no saint's high grace Mine, but a servant's place.
I think not vainly to become A king, who knew no martyrdom: Nor crown, nor palm, I crave; But to be Christ's poor slave.
Angels! before the Lord of lords, Shine forth, His spiritual swords! Flash round the King of kings The snow of your white wings!
But I, too fresh from the white fire, Humble the dreams of all desire: Nay! let me shine afar, Who am Heaven's faintest star.
Upon the eternal borders let My still too fearful soul be set: There wait the Will of God, A loving period.