Part 3

God the Devil, thy reign of revel is here for ever eclipsed and fled: God the Liar, everlasting fire lays hold at last on thee, hand and head: God the Accurst, the consuming thirst that burns thee never shall here be fed.

II

England, queen of the waves whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee round, Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found? Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaims thee crowned.

Times may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason and fraud and fear: Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far and near: Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from year to year.

Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and defame and smite, We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons of night, We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written of life in light.

Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not but eyeless foes: Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as madness grows: Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory, beholds and glows.

Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face of truth: Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy deathless youth: Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the serpent's tooth.

Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at heel in vain: Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead and plain: Thou art thou: and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the strength of Spain.

Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee England's place: Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed with grace: Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as fair of face.

How shalt thou be abased? or how shall fear take hold of thy heart? of thine, England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with hopes divine? Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her darkness shine.

England, none that is born thy son, and lives, by grace of thy glory, free, Lives and yearns not at heart and burns with hope to serve as he worships thee; None may sing thee: the sea-wind's wing beats down our songs as it hails the sea.

TO A SEAMEW

When I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine: Such life my heart remembers In all as wild Septembers As this when life seems other, Though sweet, than once was mine; When I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine.

Such life as thrills and quickens The silence of thy flight, Or fills thy note's elation With lordlier exultation Than man's, whose faint heart sickens With hopes and fears that blight Such life as thrills and quickens The silence of thy flight.

Thy cry from windward clanging Makes all the cliffs rejoice; Though storm clothe seas with sorrow, Thy call salutes the morrow; While shades of pain seem hanging Round earth's most rapturous voice, Thy cry from windward clanging Makes all the cliffs rejoice.

We, sons and sires of seamen, Whose home is all the sea, What place man may, we claim it; But thine--whose thought may name it? Free birds live higher than freemen, And gladlier ye than we-- We, sons and sires of seamen, Whose home is all the sea.

For you the storm sounds only More notes of more delight Than earth's in sunniest weather: When heaven and sea together Join strengths against the lonely Lost bark borne down by night, For you the storm sounds only More notes of more delight.

With wider wing, and louder Long clarion-call of joy, Thy tribe salutes the terror Of darkness, wild as error, But sure as truth, and prouder Than waves with man for toy; With wider wing, and louder Long clarion-call of joy.

The wave's wing spreads and flutters, The wave's heart swells and breaks; One moment's passion thrills it, One pulse of power fulfils it And ends the pride it utters When, loud with life that quakes, The wave's wing spreads and flutters, The wave's heart swells and breaks.

But thine and thou, my brother, Keep heart and wing more high Than aught may scare or sunder; The waves whose throats are thunder Fall hurtling each on other, And triumph as they die; But thine and thou, my brother, Keep heart and wing more high.

More high than wrath or anguish, More strong than pride or fear, The sense or soul half hidden In thee, for us forbidden, Bids thee nor change nor languish, But live thy life as here, More high than wrath or anguish, More strong than pride or fear.

We are fallen, even we, whose passion On earth is nearest thine; Who sing, and cease from flying; Who live, and dream of dying: Grey time, in time's grey fashion, Bids wingless creatures pine: We are fallen, even we, whose passion On earth is nearest thine.

The lark knows no such rapture, Such joy no nightingale, As sways the songless measure Wherein thy wings take pleasure: Thy love may no man capture, Thy pride may no man quail; The lark knows no such rapture, Such joy no nightingale.

And we, whom dreams embolden, We can but creep and sing And watch through heaven's waste hollow The flight no sight may follow To the utter bourne beholden Of none that lack thy wing: And we, whom dreams embolden, We can but creep and sing.

Our dreams have wings that falter, Our hearts bear hopes that die; For thee no dream could better A life no fears may fetter, A pride no care can alter, That wots not whence or why Our dreams have wings that falter, Our hearts bear hopes that die.

With joy more fierce and sweeter Than joys we deem divine Their lives, by time untarnished, Are girt about and garnished, Who match the wave's full metre And drink the wind's wild wine With joy more fierce and sweeter Than joys we deem divine.

Ah, well were I for ever, Wouldst thou change lives with me, And take my song's wild honey, And give me back thy sunny Wide eyes that weary never, And wings that search the sea; Ah, well were I for ever, Wouldst thou change lives with me.

_Beachy Head: September 1886._

PAN AND THALASSIUS

A LYRICAL IDYL

THALASSIUS

Pan!

PAN

O sea-stray, seed of Apollo, What word wouldst thou have with me? My ways thou wast fain to follow Or ever the years hailed thee Man.

Now If August brood on the valleys, If satyrs laugh on the lawns, What part in the wildwood alleys Hast thou with the fleet-foot fauns-- Thou?

See! Thy feet are a man's--not cloven Like these, not light as a boy's: The tresses and tendrils inwoven That lure us, the lure of them cloys Thee.

Us The joy of the wild woods never Leaves free of the thirst it slakes: The wild love throbs in us ever That burns in the dense hot brakes Thus.

Life, Eternal, passionate, awless, Insatiable, mutable, dear, Makes all men's law for us lawless: We strive not: how should we fear Strife?

We, The birds and the bright winds know not Such joys as are ours in the mild Warm woodland; joys such as grow not In waste green fields of the wild Sea.

No; Long since, in the world's wind veering, Thy heart was estranged from me: Sweet Echo shall yield thee not hearing: What have we to do with thee? Go.

THALASSIUS

Ay! Such wrath on thy nostril quivers As once in Sicilian heat Bade herdsmen quail, and the rivers Shrank, leaving a path for thy feet Dry?

Nay, Low down in the hot soft hollow Too snakelike hisses thy spleen: "O sea-stray, seed of Apollo!" What ill hast thou heard or seen? Say.

Man Knows well, if he hears beside him The snarl of thy wrath at noon, What evil may soon betide him, Or late, if thou smite not soon, Pan.

Me The sound of thy flute, that flatters The woods as they smile and sigh, Charmed fast as it charms thy satyrs, Can charm no faster than I Thee.

Fast Thy music may charm the splendid Wide woodland silence to sleep With sounds and dreams of thee blended And whispers of waters that creep Past.

Here The spell of thee breathes and passes And bids the heart in me pause, Hushed soft as the leaves and the grasses Are hushed if the storm's foot draws Near.

Yet The panic that strikes down strangers Transgressing thy ways unaware Affrights not me nor endangers Through dread of thy secret snare Set.

PAN

Whence May man find heart to deride me? Who made his face as a star To shine as a God's beside me? Nay, get thee away from us, far Hence.

THALASSIUS

Then Shall no man's heart, as he raises A hymn to thy secret head, Wax great with the godhead he praises: Thou, God, shalt be like unto dead Men.

PAN

Grace I take not of men's thanksgiving, I crave not of lips that live; They die, and behold, I am living, While they and their dead Gods give Place.

THALASSIUS

Yea: Too lightly the words were spoken That mourned or mocked at thee dead: But whose was the word, the token, The song that answered and said Nay?

PAN

Whose But mine, in the midnight hidden, Clothed round with the strength of night And mysteries of things forbidden For all but the one most bright Muse?

THALASSIUS

Hers Or thine, O Pan, was the token That gave back empire to thee When power in thy hands lay broken As reeds that quake if a bee Stirs?

PAN

Whom Have I in my wide woods need of? Urania's limitless eyes Behold not mine end, though they read of A word that shall speak to the skies Doom.

THALASSIUS

She Gave back to thee kingdom and glory, And grace that was thine of yore, And life to thy leaves, late hoary As weeds cast up from the hoar Sea.

Song Can bid faith shine as the morning Though light in the world be none: Death shrinks if her tongue sound warning, Night quails, and beholds the sun Strong.

PAN

Night Bare rule over men for ages Whose worship wist not of me And gat but sorrows for wages, And hardly for tears could see Light.

Call No more on the starry presence Whose light through the long dark swam: Hold fast to the green world's pleasance: For I that am lord of it am All.

THALASSIUS

God, God Pan, from the glad wood's portal The breaths of thy song blow sweet: But woods may be walked in of mortal Man's thought, where never thy feet Trod.

Thine All secrets of growth and of birth are, All glories of flower and of tree, Wheresoever the wonders of earth are; The words of the spell of the sea Mine.

A BALLAD OF BATH

Like a queen enchanted who may not laugh or weep, Glad at heart and guarded from change and care like ours, Girt about with beauty by days and nights that creep Soft as breathless ripples that softly shoreward sweep, Lies the lovely city whose grace no grief deflowers. Age and grey forgetfulness, time that shifts and veers, Touch not thee, our fairest, whose charm no rival nears, Hailed as England's Florence of one whose praise gives grace, Landor, once thy lover, a name that love reveres: Dawn and noon and sunset are one before thy face.

Dawn whereof we know not, and noon whose fruit we reap, Garnered up in record of years that fell like flowers, Sunset liker sunrise along the shining steep Whence thy fair face lightens, and where thy soft springs leap, Crown at once and gird thee with grace of guardian powers Loved of men beloved of us, souls that fame inspheres, All thine air hath music for him who dreams and hears; Voices mixed of multitudes, feet of friends that pace, Witness why for ever, if heaven's face clouds or clears, Dawn and noon and sunset are one before thy face.

Peace hath here found harbourage mild as very sleep: Not the hills and waters, the fields and wildwood bowers, Smile or speak more tenderly, clothed with peace more deep, Here than memory whispers of days our memories keep Fast with love and laughter and dreams of withered hours. Bright were these as blossom of old, and thought endears Still the fair soft phantoms that pass with smiles or tears, Sweet as roseleaves hoarded and dried wherein we trace Still the soul and spirit of sense that lives and cheers: Dawn and noon and sunset are one before thy face.

City lulled asleep by the chime of passing years, Sweeter smiles thy rest than the radiance round thy peers; Only love and lovely remembrance here have place. Time on thee lies lighter than music on men's ears; Dawn and noon and sunset are one before thy face.

IN A GARDEN

Baby, see the flowers! --Baby sees Fairer things than these, Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.

Baby, hear the birds! --Baby knows Better songs than those, Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.

Baby, see the moon! --Baby's eyes Laugh to watch it rise, Answering light with love and night with noon.

Baby, hear the sea! --Baby's face Takes a graver grace, Touched with wonder what the sound may be.

Baby, see the star! --Baby's hand Opens, warm and bland, Calm in claim of all things fair that are.

Baby, hear the bells! --Baby's head Bows, as ripe for bed, Now the flowers curl round and close their cells.

Baby, flower of light, Sleep, and see Brighter dreams than we, Till good day shall smile away good night.

A RHYME

Babe, if rhyme be none For that sweet small word Babe, the sweetest one Ever heard,

Right it is and meet Rhyme should keep not true Time with such a sweet Thing as you.

Meet it is that rhyme Should not gain such grace: What is April's prime To your face?

What to yours is May's Rosiest smile? what sound Like your laughter sways All hearts round?

None can tell in metre Fit for ears on earth What sweet star grew sweeter At your birth.

Wisdom doubts what may be: Hope, with smile sublime, Trusts: but neither, baby, Knows the rhyme.

Wisdom lies down lonely; Hope keeps watch from far; None but one seer only Sees the star.

Love alone, with yearning Heart for astrolabe, Takes the star's height, burning O'er the babe.

BABY-BIRD

Baby-bird, baby-bird, Ne'er a song on earth May be heard, may be heard, Rich as yours in mirth.

All your flickering fingers, All your twinkling toes, Play like light that lingers Till the clear song close.

Baby-bird, baby-bird, Your grave majestic eyes Like a bird's warbled words Speak, and sorrow dies.

Sorrow dies for love's sake, Love grows one with mirth, Even for one white dove's sake, Born a babe on earth.

Baby-bird, baby-bird, Chirping loud and long, Other birds hush their words, Hearkening toward your song.

Sweet as spring though it ring, Full of love's own lures, Weak and wrong sounds their song, Singing after yours.

Baby-bird, baby-bird, The happy heart that hears Seems to win back within Heaven, and cast out fears.

Earth and sun seem as one Sweet light and one sweet word Known of none here but one, Known of one sweet bird.

OLIVE

I

Who may praise her? Eyes where midnight shames the sun, Hair of night and sunshine spun, Woven of dawn's or twilight's loom, Radiant darkness, lustrous gloom, Godlike childhood's flowerlike bloom, None may praise aright, nor sing Half the grace wherewith like spring Love arrays her.

II

Love untold Sings in silence, speaks in light Shed from each fair feature, bright Still from heaven, whence toward us, now Nine years since, she deigned to bow Down the brightness of her brow, Deigned to pass through mortal birth: Reverence calls her, here on earth, Nine years old.

III

Love's deep duty, Even when love transfigured grows Worship, all too surely knows How, though love may cast out fear, Yet the debt divine and dear Due to childhood's godhead here May by love of man be paid Never; never song be made Worth its beauty.

IV

Nought is all Sung or said or dreamed or thought Ever, set beside it; nought All the love that man may give-- Love whose prayer should be, "Forgive!" Heaven, we see, on earth may live; Earth can thank not heaven, we know, Save with songs that ebb and flow, Rise and fall.

V

No man living, No man dead, save haply one Now gone homeward past the sun, Ever found such grace as might Tune his tongue to praise aright Children, flowers of love and light, Whom our praise dispraises: we Sing, in sooth, but not as he Sang thanksgiving.

VI

Hope that smiled, Seeing her new-born beauty, made Out of heaven's own light and shade, Smiled not half so sweetly: love, Seeing the sun, afar above, Warm the nest that rears the dove, Sees, more bright than moon or sun, All the heaven of heavens in one Little child.

VII

Who may sing her? Wings of angels when they stir Make no music worthy her: Sweeter sound her shy soft words Here than songs of God's own birds Whom the fire of rapture girds Round with light from love's face lit; Hands of angels find no fit Gifts to bring her.

VIII

Babes at birth Wear as raiment round them cast, Keep as witness toward their past, Tokens left of heaven; and each, Ere its lips learn mortal speech, Ere sweet heaven pass on pass reach, Bears in undiverted eyes Proof of unforgotten skies Here on earth.

IX

Quenched as embers Quenched with flakes of rain or snow Till the last faint flame burns low, All those lustrous memories lie Dead with babyhood gone by: Yet in her they dare not die: Others, fair as heaven is, yet, Now they share not heaven, forget: She remembers.

A WORD WITH THE WIND