Part 2
They leave their meads of asphodel, The starry spaces where they dwell, Where quiet lies: They leave their windless, glassy sea, The angel songs and melody Of Paradise, To walk again the old-time way Once dear to mortal eyes.
With beating heart I watch them ride Across the gathering shades that hide That country bright; The faces that I loved of yore, Eyes that shall smile on me no more With mortal light; Shadows of all good things and fair Come from the past to-night.
So, when the dying sunset gleams Behind the hills, the Gate of Dreams Stands open wide; And all along the golden road From those fair mansions of their God Where they abide-- Dear memories of the days that were-- I see the shadows ride.
GHOSTS
The sky is overcast, The wind wails loud; Grey ghosts go driving past In driving cloud; And, in the beating rain Against the window-pane Dead fingers beat again, Dead faces crowd.
O, grey ghosts, waiting still, My fire burns bright; Without is cold and chill, Here, warm and light. And would you have me creep Outside to you, and sweep With you along the steep Of the grey night?
Nay, once I held you dear, Before you fled Adown the shadowy, drear Paths of the dead; But now the churchyard mould Has left you all too cold, Your hands I cannot hold, Your touch I dread.
Yet linger patiently, Ghosts of the past, Soon there shall come to me That morn's chill blast That calls me too to tread Those ways of doubt and dread, And numbered with the dead To lie at last.
OUR LADY OF DARKNESS
When the toils of the day are over and the sun has sunk in the west, And my lips are tired of laughter, and my heart is heavy for rest, I will sit awhile in the shadows, till Our Lady of Darkness shall shed The healing balms of her silence and her dreams upon my head.
Ye seek in vain in your temples--she dwells not in aisles of stone; Apart, and at peace, and silent, she waits in the night alone. Her eyes are as moonlit waters, her brows with the stars are bound, And her footsteps move to music, but no man has heard the sound.
No incense burns at her altar--at her shrine no lamplight gleams, But she guards the Fountains of Quiet, and she keeps the key of Dreams, And I will sit in the shadows and pray her, of her grace, To open her guarded visions and grant me to dream of your face.
I ask not to break the silence, but only that you shall stand, As oft you stood in the old-time, with your hand upon my hand; So I will sit very quiet, that Our Lady of Darkness may shed Her balms of healing and silence and of dreams upon my head.
DALUAN
Daluan, the Shepherd, When winter winds blow chill, Goes piping o'er the upland, Goes piping by the rill; And whoso hears his music Must follow where he will.
Daluan, the Shepherd, (So the old story saith) He pipes the tunes of laughter, The songs of sighing breath; He pipes the souls of mortals Through the dark gates of Death.
Daluan, the Shepherd, Who listens to his strain Shall look no more on laughter, Shall taste no more of pain, Shall know no more the longing That eats at heart and brain.
Daluan, the Shepherd-- Beside the sobbing rill, And through the dripping woodlands, And up the gusty hill, I hear the pipes of Daluan Crying and calling still.
DEAD--AND LIVING
_The Question_
If we should tap on your pane to-night, dear, Standing here in the dark outside, As in the far-off days and bright, dear, Say, would you fling the window wide?
Nay, you would turn to the firelight's gold, dear, Saying, "'Tis but a dream that fled;" Deep we lie in the churchyard mould, dear, Who shall remember to love the dead?
(Ah, the dead, who shall come no more, dear, Gone and forgotten, so you say-- Standing here in the dark at your door, dear,-- Dead and forgotten and gone for aye.)
Your hours pass with laughter and song, dear, Do we blame you that you forget? All our years are empty and long, dear, We, in our graves, remember yet.
We remember, and ofttimes rise, dear, From our beds 'neath the churchyard sod, Walking ever, with wistful eyes, dear, Old-time ways that in life we trod.
We remember, who are forgot, dear-- Do we blame you that you forget? How should we live in your lightest thought, dear? Only--the dead remember yet.
_The Reply_
Do we forget?--We cannot hear your call; Your tap upon the pane Sounds to our ears but as the leaves that fall, Or beat of sobbing rain.
We cannot see you standing at the door, Or passing through the gloom; We strain our ears, yet hear your step no more In the familiar room.
And seeing not--but waiting, with a numb, Bewildered heart and brain, And hearing not--but only winds that come And wail against the pane,
And dreaming of you in some brighter sphere, We--we, too--grieve and fret That you, whom still we hold so dear, so dear, Should all so soon forget.
THE MASTER OF SHADOWS
Into the western waters Slow sinks the sunset light, And the voice of the Wind of Shadows Calls to my heart to-night--
Calls from the magic countries, The lost and the lovely lands Where stands the Master of Shadows, Holding the dreams in his hands.
All the dreams of the ages Gather around him there, Visions of things forgotten And of things that never were.
Birds in the swaying woodlands, Creatures furry and small, Turn to the Master of Shadows And he gives of his dreams to all.
Lo! I am worn and weary, Sick of the garish light; Blow, thou Wind of the Shadows, Into my heart to-night.
Out of the magic countries, The lost and the lovely lands, Where he, the Master of Shadows, Waits, with the dreams in his hands.
_DIANE AU BOIS_
Through the sere woods she walks alone, With bow unstrung and empty quiver; Her hounds are dead, her maidens gone, She walks alone forever; Watching the while with wistful eyes Her crescent shining in the skies.
The flutes of Pan are silent now, Hushed is the sound of Faunus' singing; Through winds that shake the withering bough No dryad's voice is ringing. Syrinx has left her river deep, E'en old Silenus sound doth sleep.
The startled deer before her flee, The nightingales with music meet her; Yet never mortal eye shall see Or mortal voices greet her. Her shrines with weeds are overgrown, Their fires are out; their worship done.
Yet sometimes, so 'twas told to me, The children playing in the meadows May hear her song, that mournfully Comes floating through the shadows, And sometimes see, through boughs grown bare, The moonlit brightness of her hair.
And, it may be, her weary feet, White gleaming through those dusky spaces, May, after many wanderings, meet The dear, familiar places; And find, beyond the sunset's gold, Ghosts of the Gods she knew of old.
THE RED HORSE
He came and whinnied at my door, The wild red horse, with flowing mane; And I--I crossed the threshold o'er, Leaving behind my wonted life, And hope of joy, and fear of pain, And clasp of friend, and kiss of wife, And clinging touch of childish hands, And love and laughter, grief and glee, And rode him out across the sands Beside a dark, mysterious sea.
Across my face his mane was blown, I saw the eddying stars grow dim, And suddenly the past had grown A dream of weariness gone by, And I was fain to ride with him Forever up a darkening sky, And hear the far, thin, fairy tune That through the darkness seemed to beat, Until at length the crescent moon Was lying underneath our feet.
And there the unknown beaches lay With stars for silvery pebbles strown, And thin and faint and far away Came all the noises of the world, And up those glimmering reaches blown The whispering waves of darkness curled. And there my wild steed paused at last, And there, wrapped round in dreams, I lie, And in the wind that whistles past I hear a far, faint, fairy cry.
THE ADVENTURERS
We rode from the north, a valiant band, With shining armour and swords aflame, Till we came at length to a silent land-- To a sunless, shadowy land we came, A desolate land, without a name.
No songs of birds in that land were known, No voices of human joy or pain, But mists on the silent winds were blown, And shadows clung to our bridle rein, Dim forms that no answer gave again.
Then some grew tired of those weary ways And hied them back to a happier coast, And many followed some phantom face Down one of the winding ways that crossed That shadowy land, and so were lost.
And the rust grew red on our harness bright, And dull grew our swords, and a dream the Quest, And ever wearier grew the fight With thronging phantoms that round us pressed, And ever our hearts grew sick for rest.
Till, few and feeble who were so strong, Weary, who dreamed we could never tire, We won at last through those ways so long, And, bathed in the sunset, dome and spire, We saw the City of Heart's Desire.
THE WATCHER OF THE THRESHOLD
Silent amid the shadows Outside my door, The Watcher of the Threshold Waits evermore.
One day the door will open, And I shall see The Watcher of the Threshold Beckon to me.
And I must leave the firelight, And seek the gloom Where stands that shadowy figure Outside my room.
In vain it is to question Of how, or why, The Watcher of the Threshold Makes no reply.
Only amid the shadows Silent he stands, With eyes that hold a secret, And folded hands.
Still standing in the darkness Outside my door, The Watcher of the Threshold Waits evermore.
THE GREY RIDER
Why ride so fast through the wind and rain, Grey Rider of the Shee? Lest a soul should call for me in vain To-night, O Vanathee.
Now, whose is the soul shall seek thine aid, Grey Rider of the Shee? The soul of one that is sore afraid To-night, O Vanathee.
O fears he the flurry of wind and rain, Grey Rider of the Shee? More deep is the dread that sears his brain To-night, O Vanathee.
Does he fear the tumult of clanging blows, Grey Rider of the Shee? Nay, darker still is the fear he knows To-night, O Vanathee.
Does he fear the loss of wife or child, Grey Rider of the Shee? Nay, a terror holds him that's still more wild To-night, O Vanathee.
O what should make him so sore afraid, Grey Rider of the Shee? He fears a wraith that himself has made To-night, O Vanathee.
Then how shall you cleanse from fear his mind, Grey Rider of the Shee? I will touch his eyes, and they shall be blind To-night, O Vanathee.
Yet still may he know the voice of fear, Grey Rider of the Shee? I will touch his ears that he shall not hear To-night, O Vanathee.
Yet that wraith may linger around his bed, Grey Rider of the Shee? No terror shall touch the quiet dead To-night, O Vanathee.
_Shee, Sidhe_--Fairies.
_Vanathee, Bean-an-Tighe_--Woman of the house.
JOAN THE MAID
Still, they say, she moves through the old-time places, Joan the Maid, with her great sword girt at her side; Sheen of wings and shimmer of angel faces Gather around her as she on doth ride.
Rheims or Orleans may see her thus in splendour, Never the old Domremy streets she knew, Here she walks as a maiden, shy and slender, Brushing with bare brown feet the evening dew.
Oft do the children, playing in the meadows, See her watching them, white and very fair, Smiling lips and eyes that dream in the shadows, Lilies of France she loved so in her hair.
So she comes, through those quiet roadways stealing, Where in the grey church still her people bend, Unto the Maiden, their own saint, appealing; Hears them name her saviour of France and friend.
She has forgotten now the mocking faces, Prison, and wounds, and torture of the flame; Still, they say, she moves through the old-time places, Joan the Maid, whence once, long since, she came.
NEWBURY TOWN
Rupert's soldiers came riding, riding, All in the sunshine riding down, Scented curls on the breezes flowing, Banners dancing and bugles blowing, Gaily the troops came riding, riding, Through the streets of Newbury town.
Bells in the church towers all were swinging, Flags were waving and flowers were strown; Roses lay in the road before them, Roses rained from the casements o'er them, All in the streets, with shout and singing, Prayed that the King might win his own.
Rupert's soldiers came riding, riding, All in the darkness riding down; Never a church-bell chimed to greet them, Never a maid came forth to meet them; Broken, defeated, they came riding Through the streets of Newbury town.
Never more while the bells are calling Rupert's soldiers come riding down; They have ridden, with bugles blowing Into a land beyond our knowing, Never more shall their footsteps falling Haunt the streets of Newbury town.
Yet, as I sit here, idly dreaming, Watching the water onward flow, Still I see, in the sun or shadow, Rupert's soldiers across the meadow, Banners blowing and lovelocks streaming, Riding back from the long ago.
And in my dreams they still are riding, Victor or vanquished, riding down; Now with the roses strewn before them-- Now with the darkness gathering o'er them-- Rupert's soldiers, forever riding Through the streets of Newbury town.
A CHRISTMAS HYMN
No room for Thee, O Baby Jesukin, No room within the inn; Only the stable door is standing wide, And there inside The ox and ass their patient foreheads bow Before Thee now.
No room for Thee, O little Lord of all, In cottage or in hall; Yet o'er Thy stable angel voices sound Telling around To the wide world a Prince is born to them In Bethlehem.
No room for Thee--yet the wise Kings have sped To kneel beside Thy bed, Offering their gifts, myrrh, frankincense, and gold, To Thee to hold; And all the angel armies of the air Are gathered there.
No room for Thee--yet the wide earth is Thine, And this poor heart of mine; Though oft Thy Hand has tried its doors in vain, Yet come again; Wide open now it stands--O Light of Light, Enter to-night.
THE SHEPHERDS' SONG
We be silly shepherds, Men of no renown, Guarding well our sheepfolds Hard by Bethlehem town; Baby Jesus, guard us all, Cot and sheepfold, bower and stall.
Wild the wind was blowing, Sudden all was still, Laughter soft of angels Rang from hill to hill. Baby Jesus, Thou wast born Ere that midnight paled to morn.
Seek we now Thy presence With our gifts of love; Felix brings a lambkin, I will give a dove. Baby Jesus, small and sweet, Lo, we lay them at Thy feet.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
Just a little baby lying in a manger, God of Gods and Light of Lights, the mighty King of Kings, Hark! the choiring angels chant their glad evangels, All the air is pulsing with the music of their wings.
Just a little baby on Mary's breast that bore Him, Helpless feet, and clinging hands, and lips that knew no word, And the darkness ringing with the angels' singing, Sounding through the solemn night, "All glory to the Lord."
Just a little baby wrapped in swaddling clothing-- All the earth forever thrills rejoicing in that birth, Through the centuries flying still hears those angels crying, "Glory be to God on high, and peace, goodwill to earth."
_DE PROFUNDIS_
Lord, from this prison-house that we have built, This dark abode of pain and misery, Failure and guilt, We stretch our hands, we stretch our hands to Thee, Lord, set us free.
O Lord, Thou knowest all--Thou knowest well The groping hands, the eyes that would not see, The feet that fell; Yet are we fain--are fain to come to Thee, Lord, set us free.
Bitter the chains that we have borne so long, The chains of sin we wove so heedlessly; Lo, Thou art strong, Out of the deeps we cry--we cry to Thee, Lord, set us free.
THE CRY OF THE DAMNED
Have you no pity for us?--You, who stand Within that Heaven that we may never win, Who know the golden streets of that fair land Our weary feet are fain to be within. Have you no ruth for us, who must abide In the great horror of the night outside?
We, too, once knew of laughter and delight, Who now must walk these weary roads of pain; Our hearts were pure as yours, our faces bright, In that glad life we may not know again; We might have gained your Heaven too--even we Who dwell with madness and with memory.
Within the pleasant pastures where your feet Stray, comes there never thought of our distress? Do our wails never mar your music sweet? Our parched throats change your draught to bitterness? Your chance was ours--we lost it; yes, we know Ours was the fault--but, is it easier so?
Yet was it ours?--The dazzled eyes and blind, The wills that knew, but could not hold the good, The groping feet, that failed the path to find, The wild desires that filled the tainted blood? Have you no ruth, who those bright barriers crossed, For us, who saw them open--and are lost?
OUR LADY OF REMEMBRANCE
She stoops to us from her dim recess With weary and wistful eyes; She has grown so tired of the censer's swing, Of the white-robed choir and the songs they sing, Of the priest's pale hand, upraised to bless, And the feast and the sacrifice.
They bow to her as the Mother blest Of the great and awful God; But her heart holds dearest His early years, The childish laughter, the childish tears, Ere His feet had the road of sorrows pressed, Or the way to the cross had trod.
Her thoughts go back to the days of yore-- Away from the garish light, And the organ's droning melody, To the starry shores of Galilee, To the vines that shaded her cottage door, And the hush of the Eastern night.
So she bends to us from her dim recess With weary and wistful eyes, And turns away from the tapers' light To dream of the cool and the hush of night, From the priest's pale hand, upraised to bless, To the starry Eastern skies.
MAID MARY
Maid Mary sat at her cottage door By the Lake of Galilee; Tall and stately her lilies were, But never was lily one-half so fair Or half so pure as she. (O Mary, Maid and Mother of God, I pray you, pray for me.)
The shadows darkened along the shore Of the Lake of Galilee; What steps were those, as the twilight fell? Lo, God's great angel, Gabriel: "Hail, blessed of God!" spake he. (O Gabriel, Prince of the hosts of God, I pray you, pray for me.)
Maid Mary knelt on her cottage floor By the Lake of Galilee; And kneeling, dreamed strange dreams and sweet Of baby fingers and dimpled feet, And a Holy Thing to be: (O Christ, the Virgin-born Son of God, I pray You, pray for me.)
But she did not dream, as the night passed o'er By the Lake of Galilee, Of the weary ways that the feet should tread, Of a thorny crown for a baby head, Or a cross on Calvary. (O Son of Mary, O thorn-crowned God, I pray You, pray for me.)
THE TWO CROWNS
The young King rode through the City street, So gallant, gay and bold; There were roses strewn 'neath his horse's feet, His brows were bound with gold, And his heart was glad for his people's cheers Along his pathway rolled.
Glad was his heart and bright his face, For life and youth were fair; And he rode through many a pleasant place-- Broad street and sunny square-- Till he came to the market-place and saw A crucifix stand there.
Hushed were the crowd's exultant cries, To awe-struck silence grown; For they saw the young King's laughing eyes Grow grave beneath his crown, As the crowned King looked up, for lo! A crowned King looked down.
Grave were the eyes above, and sad; The face with pain was lined, And the pierced hands no sceptre had; Both brows a crown did bind. But the earthly King was crowned with gold-- The Christ with thorns entwined.
Slowly the young King homeward rode In awe and wondering; He had looked that day on the face of God, And learned that for a king The lordliest crown his brows can bear Is the crown of suffering.
A SPARROW IN CHURCH
Thou, Who hast said no sparrow e'er shall fall Without Thy knowledge, lend me now Thine aid. I cry to Thee, O mighty Lord of all, Thy little living creature, sore afraid.
All my short life these fluttering wings have known Only the freedom of Thy sun and rain, And now they beat against these walls of stone-- Lord of the sparrows, shall they beat in vain?
The terrors of Thine House encompass me, Upon Thine altar I myself have laid; Hearken, O Lord, Thy sparrow calls to Thee, Thy little living creature, sore afraid.
SEA-GULLS
Where the dark green hollows lift Into crests of snow, Wheeling, flashing, floating by, White against the stormy sky, With exultant call and cry Swift the sea-gulls go.
Fearless, vagabond and free, Children of the spray, Spirits of old mariners Drifting down the restless years-- Drake's and Hawkins' buccaneers, So do sea-men say.
Watching, guarding, sailing still Round the shores they knew, Where the cliffs of Devon rise Red against the sullen skies, (Dearer far than Paradise) 'Mid the tossing blue.
Not for them the heavenly song; Sweeter still they find Than those angels, row on row, Thunder of the bursting snow Seething on the rocks below, Singing of the wind.
Fairer than the streets of gold Those wild fields of foam, Where the horses of the sea Stamp and whinny ceaselessly, Warding from all enemy Shores they once called home.
So the sea-gulls call and cry 'Neath the cliffs to-day, Spirits of old mariners Drifting down the restless years-- Drake's and Hawkins' buccaneers-- So do sea-men say.
MY DOG AND I
My dog and I, the hills we know Where the first faint wild roses blow, We know the shadowy paths and cool That wind across the woodland dim, And where the water beetles swim Upon the surface of the pool.
My dog and I, our feet brush through Full oft, the fragrant morning dew, Or, when the summer sun is high, We linger where the river flows Chattering and chuckling as it goes-- Two happy tramps, my dog and I.
Or, when the winter snows are deep, Into some fire-lit nook we creep, And, while the north wind howls outside, See castles in the dancing blaze, Or, dozing, dream of summer days And woodland stretches, wild and wide.
My dog and I are friends till death, And when the chill, dark angel's breath Shall call him from me, still I know, Somewhere within the shadowy land Waiting his master he will stand Until my summons comes to go.
And, in that life so strange and new, We'll tramp the fields of heaven through, Loiter the crystal river by; Together walk the hills of God As when the hills of earth we trod, Forever friends, my dog and I.
SNOWDROPS