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Legends and Lyrics. Part 1
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Год написания книги: 2017
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VERSE: A FALSE GENIUS
I see a Spirit by thy side,Purple-winged and eagle-eyed,Looking like a Heavenly guide.Though he seem so bright and fair,Ere thou trust his proffered care,Pause a little, and beware!If he bid thee dwell apart,Tending some ideal smartIn a sick and coward heart;In self-worship wrapped alone,Dreaming thy poor griefs are grownMore than other men have known;Dwelling in some cloudy sphere,Though God’s work is waiting here,And God deigneth to be near;If his torch’s crimson glareShow thee evil everywhere,Tainting all the wholesome air;While with strange distorted choice,Still disdaining to rejoice,Thou wilt hear a wailing voice;If a simple, humble heart,Seem to thee a meaner part,Than thy noblest aim and art;If he bid thee bow beforeCrownèd Mind and nothing more,The great idol men adore;And with starry veil enfoldSin, the trailing serpent old,Till his scales shine out like gold;Though his words seem true and wise,Soul, I say to thee – Arise.He is a Demon in disguise!VERSE: MY PICTURE
Stand this way – more near the window —By my desk – you see the lightFalling on my picture better —Thus I see it while I write!Who the head may be I know not,But it has a student air;With a look half sad, half stately,Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.Little care I who the painter,How obscure a name he bore;Nor, when some have named Velasquez,Did I value it the more.As it is, I would not give itFor the rarest piece of art;It has dwelt with me, and listenedTo the secrets of my heart.Many a time, when to my garret,Weary, I returned at night,It has seemed to look a welcomeThat has made my poor room bright.Many a time, when ill and sleepless,I have watched the quivering gleamOf my lamp upon that picture,Till it faded in my dream.When dark days have come, and friendshipWorthless seemed, and life in vain,That bright friendly smile has sent meBoldly to my task again.Sometimes when hard need has pressed meTo bow down where I despise,I have read stern words of counselIn those sad reproachful eyes.Nothing that my brain imagined,Or my weary hand has wrought,But it watched the dim IdeaSpring forth into armèd Thought.It has smiled on my successes,Raised me when my hopes were low,And by turns has looked upon meWith all the loving eyes I know.Do you wonder that my pictureHas become so like a friend? —It has seen my life’s beginnings,It shall stay and cheer the end!VERSE: JUDGE NOT
Judge not; the workings of his brainAnd of his heart thou canst not see;What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,In God’s pure light may only beA scar, brought from some well-won field,Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.The look, the air, that frets thy sight,May be a token, that belowThe soul has closed in deadly fightWith some infernal fiery foe,Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,And cast thee shuddering on thy face!The fall thou darest to despise —May be the angel’s slackened handHas suffered it, that he may riseAnd take a firmer, surer stand;Or, trusting less to earthly things,May henceforth learn to use his wings.And judge none lost; but wait, and see,With hopeful pity, not disdain;The depth of the abyss may beThe measure of the height of painAnd love and glory that may raiseThis soul to God in after days!VERSE: FRIEND SORROW
Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her,“Grief will pass away,Hope for fairer times in future,And forget to-day.” —Tell her, if you will, that sorrowNeed not come in vain;Tell her that the lesson taught herFar outweighs the pain.Cheat her not with the old comfort,“Soon she will forget” —Bitter truth, alas – but matterRather for regret;Bid her not “Seek other pleasures,Turn to other things:” —Rather nurse her cagèd sorrow’Till the captive sings.Rather bid her go forth bravely.And the stranger greet;Not as foe, with spear and buckler,But as dear friends meet;Bid her with a strong clasp hold her,By her dusky wings —Listening for the murmured blessingSorrow always brings.VERSE: ONE BY ONE
One by one the sands are flowing,One by one the moments fall;Some are coming, some are going;Do not strive to grasp them all.One by one thy duties wait thee,Let thy whole strength go to each,Let no future dreams elate thee,Learn thou first what these can teach.One by one (bright gifts from Heaven)Joys are sent thee here below;Take them readily when given,Ready too to let them go.One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,Do not fear an armèd band;One will fade as others greet thee;Shadows passing through the land.Do not look at life’s long sorrow;See how small each moment’s pain;God will help thee for to-morrow,So each day begin again.Every hour that fleets so slowlyHas its task to do or bear;Luminous the crown, and holy,When each gem is set with care.Do not linger with regretting,Or for passing hours despond;Nor, the daily toil forgetting,Look too eagerly beyond.Hours are golden links, God’s token,Reaching Heaven; but one by oneTake them, lest the chain be brokenEre the pilgrimage be done.VERSE: TRUE HONOURS
Is my darling tired already,Tired of her day of play?Draw your little stool beside me,Smooth this tangled hair away.Can she put the logs together,Till they make a cheerful blaze?Shall her blind old Uncle tell herSomething of his youthful days?Hark! The wind among the cedarsWaves their white arms to and fro;I remember how I watched themSixty Christmas Days ago:Then I dreamt a glorious visionOf great deeds to crown each year —Sixty Christmas Days have found meUseless, helpless, blind – and here!Yes, I feel my darling stealingWarm soft fingers into mine —Shall I tell her what I fanciedIn that strange old dream of mine?I was kneeling by the window,Reading how a noble band,With the red cross on their breast-plates,Went to gain the Holy Land.While with eager eyes of wonderOver the dark page I bent,Slowly twilight shadows gatheredTill the letters came and went;Slowly, till the night was round me;Then my heart beat loud and fast,For I felt before I saw itThat a spirit near me passed.Then I raised my eyes, and shiningWhere the moon’s first ray was brightStood a wingèd Angel-warriorClothed and panoplied in light:So, with Heaven’s love upon him,Stern in calm and resolute will,Looked St. Michael – does the pictureHang in the old cloister still?Threefold were the dreams of honourThat absorbed my heart and brain;Threefold crowns the Angel promised,Each one to be bought by pain:While he spoke, a threefold blessingFell upon my soul like rain.HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;VICTOR IN A GLORIOUS STRIFE;SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM:Such the honours of my life.Ah, that dream! Long years that gave meJoy and grief as real thingsNever touched the tender memorySweet and solemn that it brings —Never quite effaced the feelingOf those white and shadowing wings.Do those blue eyes open wider?Does my faith too foolish seem?Yes, my darling, years have taught meIt was nothing but a dream.Soon, too soon, the bitter knowledgeOf a fearful trial rose,Rose to crush my heart, and sternlyBade my young ambition close.More and more my eyes were clouded,Till at last God’s glorious lightPassed away from me for ever,And I lived and live in night.Dear, I will not dim your pleasure,Christmas should be only gay —In my night the stars have risen,And I wait the dawn of day.Spite of all I could be happy;For my brothers’ tender careIn their boyish pastimes everMade me take, or feel a share.Philip, even then so thoughtful,Max so noble, brave and tall,And your father, little Godfrey,The most loving of them all.Philip reasoned down my sorrow,Max would laugh my gloom away,Godfrey’s little arms put round me,Helped me through my dreariest day;While the promise of my Angel,Like a star, now bright, now pale,Hung in blackest night above me,And I felt it could not fail.Years passed on, my brothers left me,Each went out to take his shareIn the struggle of life; my portionWas a humble one – to bear.Here I dwelt, and learnt to wanderThrough the woods and fields alone,Every cottage in the villageHad a corner called my own.Old and young, all brought their troubles,Great or small, for me to hear;I have often blessed my sorrowThat drew others’ grief so near.Ah, the people needed helping —Needed love – (for Love and HeavenAre the only gifts not bartered,They alone are freely given) —And I gave it. Philip’s bounty,(We were orphans, dear,) made toilProsper, and want never fastenedOn the tenants of the soil.Philip’s name (Oh, how I gloried,He so young, to see it rise!)Soon grew noted among statesmenAs a patriot true and wise.And his people all felt honouredTo be ruled by such a name;I was proud too that they loved me;Through their pride in him it came.He had gained what I had longed for,I meanwhile grew glad and gay,’Mid his people, to be servingHim and them, in some poor way.How his noble earnest speeches,With untiring fervour came;HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;Truly he deserved the name!Had my Angel’s promise failed me?Had that word of hope grown dim?Why, my Philip had fulfilled it,And I loved it best in him!Max meanwhile – ah, you, my darling,Can his loving words recall —’Mid the bravest and the noblest,Braver, nobler, than them all.How I loved him! how my heart thrilledWhen his sword clanked by his side.When I touched his gold embroidery,Almost saw him in his pride!So we parted; he all eagerTo uphold the name he bore,Leaving in my charge – he loved me —Some one whom he loved still more:I must tend this gentle flower,I must speak to her of him,For he feared – Love still is fearful —That his memory might grow dim.I must guard her from all sorrow,I must play a brother’s part,Shield all grief and trial from her,If it need be, with my heart.Years passed, and his name grew famous;We were proud, both she and I;And we lived upon his letters,While the slow days fleeted by.Then at last – you know the story,How a fearful rumour spread,Till all hope had slowly faded,And we heard that he was dead.Dead! Oh, those were bitter hours;Yet within my soul there dweltA warning, and while others mourned him,Something like a hope I felt.His was no weak life as mine was,But a life, so full and strong —No, I could not think he perishedNameless, ’mid a conquered throng.How she drooped! Years passed; no tidingsCame, and yet that little flameOf strange hope within my spiritStill burnt on, and lived the same.Ah! my child, our hearts will fail us,When to us they strongest seem;I can look back on those hoursAs a fearful, evil dream.She had long despaired; what wonderThat her heart had turned to mine?Earthly loves are deep and tender,Not eternal and divine!Can I say how bright a futureRose before my soul that day?Oh, so strange, so sweet, so tender —And I had to turn away.Hard and terrible the struggle,For the pain not mine alone;I called back my Brother’s spirit,And I bade him claim his own.Told her – now I dared to do it —That I felt the day would riseWhen he would return to gladdenMy weak heart and her bright eyes.And I pleaded – pleaded sternly —In his name, and for his sake:Now, I can speak calmly of it,Then, I thought my heart would break.Soon – ah, Love had not deceived me,(Love’s true instincts never err,)Wounded, weak, escaped from prison,He returned to me; to her.I could thank God that bright morning,When I felt my Brother’s gaze,That my heart was true and loyal,As in our old boyish days.Bought by wounds and deeds of daring,Honours he had brought away;Glory crowned his name – my Brother’s;Mine too! – we were one that day.Since the crown on him had fallen,“VICTOR IN A NOBLE STRIFE,”I could live and die contentedWith my poor ignoble life.Well, my darling, almost wearyOf my story? Wait awhile;For the rest is only joyful;I can tell it with a smile.One bright promise still was left me,Wound so close about my soul,That, as one by one had failed me,This dream now absorbed the whole.“SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM,” —Ah, my darling, few and rareBurn the glorious names of Poets,Like stars in the purple air.That too, and I glory in it,That great gift my Godfrey won;I have my dear share of honour,Gained by that belovèd one.One day shall my darling read it;Now she cannot understandAll the noble thoughts, that lightenThrough the genius of the land.I am proud to be his brother,Proud to think that hope was true;Though I longed and strove so vainly,What I failed in, he could do.I was long before I knew it,Longer ere I felt it so;Then I strung my rhymes togetherOnly for the poor and low.And, it pleases me to know it,(For I love them well indeed,)They care for my humble verses,Fitted for their humble need.And, it cheers my heart to bear it,Where the far-off settlers roam,My poor words are sung and cherished,Just because they speak of Home.And the little children sing them,(That, I think, has pleased me best,)Often, too, the dying love them,For they tell of Heaven and rest.So my last vain dream has faded;(Such as I to think of fame!)Yet I will not say it failed me,For it crowned my Godfrey’s name.No; my Angel did not cheat me,For my long life has been blest;He did give me Love and Sorrow,He will bring me Light and Rest.VERSE: A WOMAN’S QUESTION
Before I trust my Fate to thee,Or place my hand in thine,Before I let thy Future giveColour and form to mine,Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.I break all slighter bonds, nor feelA shadow of regret:Is there one link within the Past,That holds thy spirit yet?Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee?Does there within thy dimmest dreamsA possible future shine,Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,Untouched, unshared by mine?If so, at any pain or cost, oh, tell me before all is lost.Look deeper still. If thou canst feelWithin thy inmost soul,That thou hast kept a portion back,While I have staked the whole;Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so.Is there within thy heart a needThat mine cannot fulfil?One chord that any other handCould better wake or still?Speak now – lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay.Lives there within thy nature bidThe demon-spirit Change,Shedding a passing glory stillOn all things new and strange? —It may not be thy fault alone – but shield my heart against thy own.Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one dayAnd answer to my claim,That Fate, and that to-day’s mistake,Not thou – had been to blame?Some soothe their conscience thus: but thou, wilt surely warn and save me now.Nay, answer not– I dare not hear,The words would come too late;Yet I would spare thee all remorse,So, comfort thee, my Fate —Whatever on my heart may fall – remember I would risk it all!VERSE: THE THREE RULERS
I saw a Ruler take his standAnd trample on a mighty land;The People crouched before his beck,His iron heel was on their neck,His name shone bright through blood and pain,His sword flashed back their praise again.I saw another Ruler rise —His words were noble, good, and wise;With the calm sceptre of his penHe ruled the minds and thoughts of men;Some scoffed, some praised – while many heard,Only a few obeyed his word.Another Ruler then I saw —Love and sweet Pity were his law:The greatest and the least had part(Yet most the unhappy) in his heart —The People, in a mighty band,Rose up, and drove him from the land!VERSE: A DEAD PAST
Spare her at least: look, you have taken from meThe Present, and I murmur not, nor moan;The Future too, with all her glorious promise;But do not leave me utterly alone.Spare me the Past – for, see, she cannot harm you,She lies so white and cold, wrapped in her shroud;All, all my own! and, trust me, I will hide herWithin my soul, nor speak to her aloud.I folded her soft hands upon her bosom,And strewed my flowers upon her —they still live —Sometimes I like to kiss her closed white eye-lids,And think of all the joy she used to give.Cruel indeed it were to take her from me;She sleeps, she will not wake – no fear – again:And so I laid her, such a gentle burthen,Quietly on my heart to still its pain.I do not think that any smiling Present,Any vague Future, spite of all her charms,Could ever rival her. You know you laid her,Long years ago, then living, in my arms.Leave her at least – while my tears fall upon her,I dream she smiles, just as she did of yore;As dear as ever to me – nay, it may be,Even dearer still – since I have nothing more.VERSE: A DOUBTING HEART
Where are the swallows fled?Frozen and dead,Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore.Oh doubting heart!Far over purple seas,They wait, in sunny ease,The balmy southern breeze,To bring them to their northern homes once more.Why must the flowers die?Prisoned they lieIn the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.Oh doubting heart!They only sleep belowThe soft white ermine snow,While winter winds shall blow,To breathe and smile upon you soon again.The sun has hid its raysThese many days;Will dreary hours never leave the earth?Oh doubting heart!The stormy clouds on highVeil the same sunny sky,That soon (for spring is nigh)Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.Fair hope is dead, and lightIs quenched in night.What sound can break the silence of despair?Oh doubting heart!Thy sky is overcast,Yet stars shall rise at last,Brighter for darkness past,And angels’ silver voices stir the air.VERSE: A STUDENT
Over an ancient scroll I bent,Steeping my soul in wise content,Nor paused a moment, save to chideA low voice whispering at my side.I wove beneath the stars’ pale shineA dream, half human, half divine;And shook off (not to break the charm)A little hand laid on my arm.I read; until my heart would glowWith the great deeds of long ago;Nor heard, while with those mighty dead,Pass to and fro a faltering tread.On the old theme I pondered long —The struggle between right and wrong;I could not check such visions high,To soothe a little quivering sigh.I tried to solve the problem – Life;Dreaming of that mysterious strife,How could I leave such reasonings wise,To answer two blue pleading eyes?I strove how best to give, and when,My blood to save my fellow-men —How could I turn aside, to lookAt snowdrops laid upon my book?Now Time has fled – the world is strange,Something there is of pain and change;My books lie closed upon the shelf;I miss the old heart in myself.I miss the sunbeams in my room —It was not always wrapped in gloom:I miss my dreams – they fade so fast,Or flit into some trivial past.The great stream of the world goes by;None care, or heed, or question, whyI, the lone student, cannot raiseMy voice or hand as in old days.No echo seems to wake againMy heart to anything but pain,Save when a dream of twilight bringsThe fluttering of an angel’s wings!VERSE: A KNIGHT ERRANT
Though he lived and died among us,Yet his name may be enrolledWith the knights whose deeds of daringAncient chronicles have told.Still a stripling, he encounteredPoverty, and struggled long,Gathering force from every effort,Till he knew his arm was strong.Then his heart and life he offeredTo his radiant mistress – Truth;Never thought, or dream, or faltering,Marred the promise of his youth.So he rode forth to defend her,And her peerless worth proclaim;Challenging each recreant doubterWho aspersed her spotless name.First upon his path stood Ignorance,Hideous in his brutal might;Hard the blows and long the battleEre the monster took to flight.Then, with light and fearless spirit,Prejudice he dared to brave;Hunting back the lying cravenTo her black sulphureous cave.Followed by his servile minions,Custom, the old Giant, rose;Yet he, too, at last was conqueredBy the good Knight’s weighty blows.Then he turned, and, flushed with victoryStruck upon the brazen shieldOf the world’s great king, OpinionAnd defied him to the field.Once again he rose a conqueror,And, though wounded in the fight,With a dying smile of triumphSaw that Truth had gained her right.On his failing ear re-echoingCame the shouting round her throne;Little cared he that no futureWith her name would link his own.Spent with many a hard-fought battle,Slowly ebbed his life away,And the crowd that flocked to greet herTrampled on him where he lay.Gathering all his strength, he saw herCrowned and reigning in her pride!Looked his last upon her beauty,Raised his eyes to God, and died.VERSE: LINGER, OH, GENTLE TIME
Linger, oh, gentle Time,Linger, oh, radiant grace of bright To-day!Let not the hours’ chimeCall thee away,But linger near me still with fond delay.Linger, for thou art mine!What dearer treasures can the future hold?What sweeter flowers than thineCan she unfold?What secrets tell my heart thou hast not told?Oh, linger in thy flight!For shadows gather round, and should we part,A dreary starless nightMay fill my heart, —Then pause and linger yet ere thou depart.Linger, I ask no more, —Thou art enough for ever – thou alone;What future can restore,When thou art flown,All that I hold from thee and call my own?VERSE: HOMEWARD BOUND
I have seen a fiercer tempest,Known a louder whirlwind blow;I was wrecked off red Algiers,Six-and-thirty years ago.Young I was, and yet old seamenWere not strong or calm as I;While life held such treasures for me,I felt sure I could not die.Life I struggled for – and saved it;Life alone – and nothing more;Bruised, half dead, alone and helpless,I was cast upon the shore.I feared the pitiless rocks of Ocean;So the great sea rose – and thenCast me from her friendly bosom,On the pitiless hearts of men.Gaunt and dreary ran the mountains,With black gorges, up the land;Up to where the lonely DesertSpreads her burning, dreary sand:In the gorges of the mountains,On the plain beside the sea,Dwelt my stern and cruel masters,The black Moors of Barbary.Ten long years I toiled among them,Hopeless – as I used to say;Now I know Hope burnt within meFiercer, stronger, day by day:Those dim years of toil and sorrowLike one long dark dream appear;One long day of weary waiting —Then each day was like a year.How I cursed the land – my prison;How I cursed the serpent sea —And the Demon Fate that showeredAll her curses upon me;I was mad, I think – God pardonWords so terrible and wild —This voyage would have been my last one,For I left a wife and child.Never did one tender visionFade away before my sight,Never once through all my slavery,Burning day or dreary night;In my soul it lived, and kept me,Now I feel, from black despair,And my heart was not quite broken,While they lived and blest me there.When at night my task was over,I would hasten to the shore;(All was strange and foreign inland,Nothing I had known before;)Strange looked the bleak mountain passes,Strange the red glare and black shade,And the Oleanders, wavingTo the sound the fountains made.Then I gazed at the great Ocean,Till she grew a friend again;And because she knew old England,I forgave her all my pain:So the blue still sky above me,With its white clouds’ fleecy fold,And the glimmering stars, (though brighter,)Looked like home and days of old.And a calm would fall upon me,Worn perhaps with work and pain,The wild hungry longing left me,And I was myself again:Looking at the silver waters,Looking up at the far sky,Dreams of home and all I left thereFloated sorrowfully by.A fair face, but pale with sorrow,With blue eyes, brimful of tears,And the little red mouth, quiveringWith a smile, to hide its fears;Holding out her baby towards me,From the sky she looked on me;So it was that last I saw her,As the ship put out to sea.Sometimes, (and a pang would seize meThat the years were floating on,)I would strive to paint her, altered,And the little baby gone:She no longer young and girlish,The child, standing by her knee,And her face, more pale and saddenedWith the weariness for me.Then I saw, as night grew darker.How she taught my child to pray,Holding its small hands together,For its father, far away;And I felt her sorrow, weighingHeavier on me than my own;Pitying her blighted spring-time,And her joy so early flown.Till upon my hands (now hardenedWith the rough, harsh toil of years)Bitter drops of anguish falling,Woke me from my dream, to tears;Woke me as a slave, an outcast.Leagues from home, across the deep;So – though you may call it childish —So I sobbed myself to sleep.Well, the years sped on – my Sorrow,Calmer, and yet stronger grown,Was my shield against all suffering,Poorer, meaner, than her own.Thus my cruel master’s harshnessFell upon me all in vain,Yet the tale of what we sufferedEchoed back from main to main.You have heard in a far countryOf a self-devoted band,Vowed to rescue Christian captivesPining in a foreign land.And these gentle-hearted strangersYear by year go forth from Rome,In their hands the hard-earned ransom,To restore some exiles home.I was freed: they broke the tidingsGently to me: but indeedHour by hour sped on, I knew notWhat the words meant – I was freed!Better so, perhaps; while sorrow(More akin to earthly things)Only strains the sad heart’s fibres —Joy, bright stranger, breaks the strings.Yet at last it rushed upon me,And my heart beat full and fast;What were now my years of waiting,What was all the dreary past?Nothing – to the impatient throbbingI must bear across the sea:Nothing – to the eternal hoursStill between my home and me!How the voyage passed, I know not;Strange it was once more to standWith my countrymen around me,And to clasp an English hand.But, through all, my heart was dreamingOf the first words I should hear,In the gentle voice that echoed,Fresh as ever, on my ear.Should I see her start of wonder,And the sudden truth arise,Flushing all her face and lighteningThe dimmed splendour of her eyes?Oh! to watch the fear and doubtingStir the silent depths of pain,And the rush of joy – then meltingInto perfect peace again.And the child! – but why rememberFoolish fancies that I thought?Every tree and every hedge-rowFrom the well-known past I brought:I would picture my dear cottage,See the crackling wood-fire burn,And the two beside it seated,Watching, waiting, my return.So, at last we reached the harbour.I remember nothing moreTill I stood, my sick heart throbbing,With my hand upon the door.There I paused – I heard her speaking;Low, soft, murmuring words she said;Then I first knew the dumb terrorI had had, lest she were dead.It was evening in late autumn,And the gusty wind blew chill;Autumn leaves were falling round me,And the red sun lit the hill.Six-and-twenty years are vanishedSince then – I am old and grey,But I never told to mortalWhat I saw, until this day.She was seated by the fire,In her arms she held a child,Whispering baby-words caressing,And then, looking up, she smiled:Smiled on him who stood beside her —Oh! the bitter truth was told,In her look of trusting fondness —I had seen the look of old!But she rose and turned towards me(Cold and dumb I waited there)With a shriek of fear and terror,And a white face of despair.He had been an ancient comrade —Not a single word we said,While we gazed upon each other,He the living: I the dead!I drew nearer, nearer to her,And I took her trembling hand,Looking on her white face, lookingThat her heart might understandAll the love and all the pityThat my lips refused to say —I thank God no thought save sorrowRose in our crushed hearts that day.Bitter tears that desolate moment,Bitter, bitter tears we wept,We three broken hearts together,While the baby smiled and slept.Tears alone – no words were spoken,Till he – till her husband saidThat my boy, (I had forgottenThe poor child,) that he was dead.Then at last I rose, and, turning,Wrung his hand, but made no sign;And I stooped and kissed her foreheadOnce more, as if she were mine.Nothing of farewell I uttered,Save in broken words to prayThat God would ever guard and bless her —Then in silence passed away.Over the great restless oceanSix-and-twenty years I roam;All my comrades, old and weary,Have gone back to die at home. —Home! yes, I shall reach a haven,I, too, shall reach home and rest;I shall find her waiting for meWith our baby on her breast.