Chapter 3

But when they came on the morrow, They talk'd not over their task, As he listen'd there by the furrow; For the dead mouth could not ask--

_How went the battle, my brothers?_ But that he will never know: For his mouth the red earth smothers As they shoulder their spades and go.

Yet he cannot sleep thereunder, But ever must toss and turn. _How went the battle, I wonder?_ --And that he will never learn!

_When winter trees bestrew the path, Still to the twig a leaf or twain Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath, But that foreknown, forlorner pain-- To fall when green leaves come again!_

II. THE MARINE

(_Poitevin_)

The bold Marine comes back from war, So kind: The bold Marine comes back from war, So kind: With a raggety coat and a worn-out shoe. "Now, poor Marine, say, whence come you, All so kind?"

I travel back from the war, madame, So kind: I travel back from the war, madame, So kind: For a glass of wine and a bowl of whey, 'Tis I will sing you a ballad gay, All so kind.

The bold Marine he sips his whey, So kind: He sips and he sings his ballad gay, So kind: But the dame she turns toward the wall, To wipe her tears that fall and fall, All so kind.

What aileth you at my song, madame, So kind? I hope that I sing no wrong, madame, So kind?

Or grieves it you a beggar should dine On a bowl of whey and the good white wine, All so kind?

It ails me not at your ballad gay, So kind: It ails me not for the wine and whey, So kind:

But it ails me sore for the voice and eyes Of a good man long in Paradise.-- Ah, so kind!

You have fair children five, madame, So kind: You have fair children five, madame, So kind:

Your good man left you children three; Whence came these twain for company, All so kind?

"A letter came from the war, Marine, So kind: A letter came from the war, Marine, So kind: A while I wept for the good man dead, But another good man in a while I wed, All so kind."

The bold Marine he drained his glass, So kind: The bold Marine he drained his glass, So kind. He said not a word, though the tears they flowed, But back to his regiment took the road, All so kind.

MARY LESLIE

_Before Vittoria, June_ 20, 1813

O Mary Leslie, blithe and shrill The bugles blew for Spain: And you below the Castle Hill Stood in the crowd your lane. Then hearts were wild to watch us pass, Yet laith to let us go! While mine said, "Fare-ye-well, my lass!" And yours, "God keep my Jo!"

Here by the bivouac fire, above These fields of savage play, I'll lift my love to meet thy love Twa thousand miles away,

Where yonder, yonder by the stars, Nightlong there rins a burn, And maids with lovers at the wars May list their wraiths' return.

More careless yet my spirit grows Of fame, more sick of blood: But I can think of Badajoz, And yet that God is good. Beyond the siege, beyond the stour, Beyond the sack of towns, I reach to pluck ae lily-floo'r Where leaders press for crowns.

O Mary! lily! bow'd and wet With mair than mornin's rain! The bugles up the Lawnmarket Shall sound us home again.

Then fare-ye-well, these foreign lands, And be damn'd their bitter drouth. With your dear face between my hands And the cup held to my mouth, My love, It's clean cup to my mouth!

JENIFER'S LOVE

Small is my secret--let it pass-- Small in your life the share I had, Who sat beside you in the class, Awed by the bright superior lad: Whom yet with hot and eager face I prompted when he missed his place.

For you the call came swift and soon: But sometimes in your holidays You meet me trudging home at noon To dinner through the dusty ways, And recognized, and with a nod Passed on, but never guessed--thank God!

Truly our ways were separate. I bent myself to hoe and drill,

Yea, with an honest man to mate, Fulfilling God Almighty's will; And bore him children. But my prayers Were yours--and, only after, theirs.

While you--still loftier, more remote, You sprang from stair to stair of fame, And you've a riband on your coat, And you've a title to your name; But have you yet a star to shine Above your bed, as I o'er mine?

TWO DUETS

_From "Arion," an unpublished Masque_

I

_He._ Aglai-a! Aglai-a! Sweet, awaken and be glad. _She._ Who is this that calls Aglaia? Is it thou, my dearest lad? _He._ 'Tis Arion, 'tis Arion, Who calls thee from sleep-- From slumber who bids thee To follow and number His kids and his sheep. _She._ Nay, leave to entreat me! If mother should spy on Us twain, she would beat me. _He._ Then come, my love, come! And hide with Arion Where green woods are dumb!

_She._ Ar-i-on! Ar-i-on! Closer, list! I am afraid!

_He._ Whisper, then, thy love Arion, From thy window, lily maid.

_She._ Yet Aglaia, yet Aglaia Hath heard them debate Of wooing repenting-- "Who trust to undoing, Lament them too late."

_He._ Nay, nay, when I woo thee, Thy mother might spy on All harm I shall do thee.

_She._ I come, then--I come! To follow Arion Where green woods be dumb.

SONG

Sparrow of Love, so sharp to peck, Arrow of Love--I bare my neck Down to the bosom. See, no fleck

Of blood! I have never a wound; I go Forth to the greenwood. Yet, heigh-ho! What 'neath my girdle flutters so?

'Tis not a bird, and yet hath wings, 'Tis not an arrow, yet it stings; While in the wound it nests and sings-- Heigh-ho!

_He._ Of Arion, of Arion That wound thou shalt learn; What nothings 'tis made of, And soft pretty soothings In shade of the fern.

_She._ When maids have a mind to, Man's word they rely on, Old warning are blind to-- I come, then--I come To walk with Arion Where green woods are dumb!

II

_He._ Dear my love, and O my love, And O my love so lately! Did we wander yonder grove And sit awhile sedately? For either you did there conclude To do at length as I did, Or passion's fashion's turn'd a prude, And troth's an oath derided.

_She._ Yea, my love--and nay, my love-- And ask me not to tell, love, While I delay'd an idle day What 'twixt us there befell, love. Yet either I did sit beside And do at length as you did, Or my delight is lightly by An idle lie deluded!

THE STATUES AND THE TEAR

All night a fountain pleads, Telling her beads, Her tinkling beads monotonous 'neath the moon; And where she springs atween, Two statues lean-- Two Kings, their marble beards with moonlight strewn.

Till hate had frozen speech, Each hated each, Hated and died, and went unto his place: And still inveterate They lean and hate With glare of stone implacable, face to face.

One, who bade set them here In stone austere, To both was dear, and did not guess at all: Yet with her new-wed lord Walking the sward Paused, and for two dead friends a tear let fall.

She turn'd and went her way. Yet in the spray The shining tear attempts, but cannot lie. Night-long the fountain drips, But even slips Untold that one bead of her rosary: While they, who know it would Lie if it could, Lean on and hate, watching it, eye to eye.

NUPTIAL NIGHT

Hush! and again the chatter of the starling Athwart the lawn! Lean your head close and closer. O my darling!-- It is the dawn. Dawn in the dusk of her dream, Dream in the hush of her bosom, unclose! Bathed in the eye-bright beam, Blush to her cheek, be a blossom, a rose!

Go, nuptial night! the floor of Ocean tressing With moon and star; With benediction go and breathe thy blessing On coasts afar.

Hark! the theorbos thrum O'er the arch'd wave that in white smother booms "Mother of Mystery, come! Fain for thee wait other brides, other grooms!"

Go, nuptial night, my breast of hers bereaving! Yet, O, tread soft! Grow day, blithe day, the mountain shoulder heaving More gold aloft! Gold, rose, bird of the dawn, All to her balcony gather unseen-- Thrill through the curtain drawn, Bless her, bedeck her, and bathe her, my Queen!

HESPERUS

Down in the street the last late hansoms go Still westward, but with backward eyes of red The harlot shuffles to her lonely bed; The tall policeman pauses but to throw A flash into the empty portico; Then he too passes, and his lonely tread Links all the long-drawn gas-lights on a thread And ties them to one planet swinging low.

O Hesperus! O happy star! to bend O'er Helen's bosom in the trancèd west-- To watch the hours heave by upon her breast And at her parted lip for dreams attend: If dawn defraud thee, how shall I be deem'd. Who house within that bosom, and am dreamed?

CHANT ROYAL OF HIGH VIRTUE

Who lives in suit of armour pent And hides himself behind a wall, For him is not the great event, The garland nor the Capitol. And is God's guerdon less than they? Nay, moral man, I tell thee Nay: Nor shall the flaming forts be won By sneaking negatives alone, By Lenten fast or Ramazàn; But by the challenge proudly thrown-- _Virtue is that becrowns a Man!_

God, in His Palace resident Of Bliss, beheld our sinful ball, And charged His own Son innocent Us to redeem from Adam's fall.

"Yet must it be that men Thee slay." "Yea, tho' it must, must I obey," Said Christ; and came, His royal Son, To die, and dying to atone For harlot, thief, and publican. Read on that rood He died upon-- _Virtue is that becrowns a Man!_

Beneath that rood where He was bent I saw the world's great captains all Pass riding home from tournament Adown the road from Roncesvalles-- Lord Charlemagne, in one array Lords Caesar, Cyrus, Attila, Lord Alisaundre of Macedon ... With flame on lance and habergeon They passed, and to the rataplan Of drums gave salutation-- _"Virtue is that becrowns a Man!"_ Had tall Achilles lounged in tent For aye, and Xanthus neigh'd in stall, The towers of Troy had ne'er been shent, Nor stay'd the dance in Priam's hall. Bend o'er thy book till thou be grey, Read, mark, perpend, digest, survey, Instruct thee deep as Solomon, One only chapter thou canst con, One lesson learn, one sentence scan, One title and one colophon-- _Virtue is that becrowns a Man!_

High Virtue's best is eloquent With spur and not with martingall: Swear not to her thou'rt continent: BE COURTEOUS, BRAVE, AND LIBERAL. God fashion'd thee of chosen clay For service, nor did ever say, "Deny thee this," "Abstain from yon," But to inure thee, thew and bone. To be confirmèd of the clan That made immortal Marathon-- _Virtue is that becrowns a Man!_

ENVOY

Young Knight, the lists are set to-day! Hereafter shall be time to pray In sepulture, with hands of stone. Ride, then! outride the bugle blown! And gaily dinging down the van, Charge with a cheer--_"Set on! Set on! Virtue is that becrowns a Man!"_

CORONATION HYMN

_Tune_--Luther's Chorale "Ein' feste burg ist unser Gott"

I

Of old our City hath renown. Of God are her foundations, Wherein this day a King we crown Elate among the nations. Acknowledge, then, thou King-- And you, ye people, sing-- What deeds His arm hath wrought: Yea, let their tale be taught To endless generations.

II

So long, so far, Jehovah guides His people's path attending, By pastures green and water-sides Toward His hill ascending; Whence they beneath the stars Shall view their ancient wars, Their perils, far removed. O might of mercy proved! O love past comprehending!

III

He was that God, for man which spake From Sinai forth in thunder; He was that Love, for man which brake The dreadful grave asunder. Lord over every lord, His consecrating word An earthly prince awaits; Lift then your heads, ye gates! Your King comes riding under.

IV

Be ye lift up, ye deathless doors; Let wave your banners o'er Him! Exult, ye streets; be strewn, ye floors, With palm, with bay, before Him! With transport fetch Him in, Ye ransom'd folk from sin-- Your Lord, return'd to bless! O kneeling king, confess-- O subject men, adore Him!

THREE MEN OF TRURO

I

E. W. B.

_Archbishop of Canterbury: sometime the First Bishop of Truro. October_ 1896

The Church's outpost on a neck of land-- By ebb of faith the foremost left the last-- Dull, starved of hope, we watched the driven sand Blown through the hour-glass, covering our past, Counting no hours to our relief--no hail Across the hills, and on the sea no sail!

Sick of monotonous days we lost account, In fitful dreams remembering days of old And nights--th' erect Archangel on the Mount With sword that drank the dawn; the Vase of Gold The moving Grail athwart the starry fields Where all the heavenly spearmen clashed their shields.

In dereliction by the deafening shore We sought no more aloft, but sunk our eyes, Probing the sea for food, the earth for ore. Ah, yet had one good soldier of the skies Burst through the wrack reporting news of them, How had we run and kissed his garment's hem!

Nay, but he came! Nay, but he stood and cried, Panting with joy and the fierce fervent race, "Arm, arm! for Christ returns!"--and all our pride, Our ancient pride, answered that eager face: "Repair His battlements!--Your Christ is near!" And, half in dream, we raised the soldiers' cheer.

Far, as we flung that challenge, fled the ghosts-- Back, as we built, the obscene foe withdrew-- High to the song of hammers sang the hosts Of Heaven--and lo! the daystar, and a new Dawn with its chalice and its wind as wine; And youth was hope, and life once more divine!

* * * * *

Day, and hot noon, and now the evening glow, And 'neath our scaffolding the city spread Twilit, with rain-wash'd roofs, and--hark!--below, One late bell tolling. "Dead? Our Captain dead?" Nay, here with us he fronts the westering sun With shaded eyes and counts the wide fields won.

Aloft with us! And while another stone Swings to its socket, haste with trowel and hod! Win the old smile a moment ere, alone, Soars the great soul to bear report to God. Night falls; but thou, dear Captain, from thy star Look down, behold how bravely goes the war!

II

A. B. D.

_Canon Residentiary and Precentor of Truro December_ 1903

Many had builded, and, the building done, Through our adornèd gates with din Came Prince and Priest, with pipe and clarion Leading the right God in.

Yet, had the perfect temple quickened then And whispered us between our song, _"Give God the praise. To whom of living men Shall next our thanks belong?"_

Then had the few, the very few, that wist His Atlantean labour, swerved Their eyes to seek, and in the triumph missed, The man that most deserved.

He only of us was incorporate In all that fabric; stone by stone Had built his life in her, had made his fate And her perfection one;

Given all he had; and now--when all was given-- Far spent, within a private shade, Heard the loud organ pealing praise to Heaven, And learned why man is made.--

To break his strength, yet always to be brave; To preach, and act, the Crucified ... Sweep by, O Prince and Prelate, up the nave, And fill it with your pride!

Better than ye what made th' old temples great, Because he loved, he understood; Indignant that his darling, less in state, Should lack a martyr's blood.

She hath it now. O mason, strip away Her scaffolding, the flower disclose! Lay by the tools with his o'er-wearied clay-- But She shall bloom unto its Judgment Day, His ever-living Rose!

III

C. W. S.

_The Fourth Bishop of Truro May_ 1912

Prince of courtesy defeated, Heir of hope untimely cheated, Throned awhile he sat, and, seated,

Saw his Cornish round him gather; "Teach us how to live, good Father!" How to die he taught us rather:

Heard the startling trumpet sound him, Smiled upon the feast around him, Rose, and wrapp'd his coat, and bound him

When beyond the awful surges, Bathed in dawn on Syrian verges, God! thy star, thy Cross emerges.

_And so sing we all to it--_

Crux, in coelo lux superna, Sis in carnis hac taberna Mihi pedibus lucerna:

Quo vexillum dux cohortis Sistet, super flumen Mortis, Te, flammantibus in portis!

ALMA MATER

_Know you her secret none can utter?_ Hers of the Book, the tripled Crown? Still on the spire the pigeons flutter, Still by the gateway flits the gown; Still on the street, from corbel and gutter, Faces of stone look down.

Faces of stone, and stonier faces-- Some from library windows wan Forth on her gardens, her green spaces, Peer and turn to their books anon. Hence, my Muse, from the green oases Gather the tent, begone!

Nay, should she by the pavement linger Under the rooms where once she played, Who from the feast would rise to fling her One poor _sou_ for her serenade? One short laugh for the antic finger Thrumming a lute-string frayed?

Once, my dear--but the world was young then-- Magdalen elms and Trinity limes-- Lissom the blades and the backs that swung then, Eight good men in the good old times-- Careless we, and the chorus flung then Under St Mary's chimes!

Reins lay loose and the ways led random-- Christ Church meadow and Iffley track, "Idleness horrid and dog-cart" (tandem), Aylesbury grind and Bicester pack-- Pleasant our lines, and faith! we scanned 'em: Having that artless knack.

Come, old limmer, the times grow colder; Leaves of the creeper redden and fall. Was it a hand then clapped my shoulder?-- Only the wind by the chapel wall! Dead leaves drift on the lute ... So, fold her Under the faded shawl.

Never we wince, though none deplore us, We who go reaping that we sowed; Cities at cock-crow wake before us-- Hey, for the lilt of the London road! One look back, and a rousing chorus! Never a palinode!

Still on her spire the pigeons hover; Still by her gateway haunts the gown. Ah! but her secret? You, young lover, Drumming her old ones forth from town, Know you the secret none discover? Tell it--when _you_ go down.

Yet if at length you seek her, prove her, Lean to her whispers never so nigh; Yet if at last not less her lover You in your hansom leave the High; Down from her towers a ray shall hover-- Touch you, a passer-by!

CHRISTMAS EVE

Friend, old friend in the Manse by the fireside sitting, Hour by hour while the grey ash drips from the log; You with a book on your knee, your wife with her knitting, Silent both, and between you, silent, the dog.

Silent here in the south sit I; and, leaning, One sits watching the fire, with chin upon hand; Gazes deep in its heart--but ah! its meaning Rather I read in the shadows and understand.

Dear, kind she is; and daily dearer, kinder, Love shuts the door on the lamp and our two selves:

Not my stirring awakened the flame that behind her Lit up a face in the leathern dusk of the shelves.

Veterans are my books, with tarnished gilding: Yet there is one gives back to the winter grate Gold of a sunset flooding a college building, Gold of an hour I waited--as now I wait--

For a light step on the stair, a girl's low laughter, Rustle of silk, shy knuckles tapping the oak, Dinner and mirth upsetting my rooms and, after, Music, waltz upon waltz, till the June day broke.

Where is her laughter now? Old tarnished covers-- You that reflect her with fresh young face unchanged-- Tell that we met, that we parted, not as lovers; Time, chance, brought us together, and these estranged.

Loyal were we to the mood of the moment granted, Bruised not its bloom, but danced on the wave of its joy; Passion--wisdom--fell back like a fence enchanted, Ringing a floor for us both--whole Heaven for the boy!

Where is she now? Regretted not, though departed, Blessings attend and follow her all her days! --Look to your hound: he dreams of the hares he started, Whines, and awakes, and stretches his limbs to the blaze.

Far old friend in the Manse, by the green ash peeling Flake by flake from the heat in the Yule log's core, Look past the woman you love. On wall and ceiling Climbs not a trellis of roses--and ghosts--of yore?

Thoughts, thoughts! Whistle them back like hounds returning-- Mark how her needles pause at a sound upstairs. Time for bed, and to leave the log's heart burning! Give ye good-night, but first thank God in your prayers!

THE ROOT

Deep, Love, yea, very deep. And in the dark exiled, I have no sense of light but still to creep And know the breast, but not the eyes. Thy child Saw ne'er his mother near, nor if she smiled; But only feels her weep.

Yet clouds and branches green There be aloft, somewhere, And winds, and angel birds that build between, As I believe--and I will not despair; For faith is evidence of things not seen. Love! if I could be there!

I will be patient, dear. Perchance some part of me Puts forth aloft and feels the rushing year And shades the bird, and is that happy tree Then were it strength to serve and not appear, And bliss, though blind, to be.

TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME A BOX OF VIOLETS

Nay, more than violets These thoughts of thine, friend! Rather thy reedy brook-- Taw's tributary-- At midnight murmuring, Descried them, the delicate Dark-eyed goddesses, There by his cressy bed Dissolved and dreaming Dreams that distilled into dew All the purple of night, All the shine of a planet.

Whereat he whispered; And they arising--