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Legends and Lyrics. Part 1
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Год написания книги: 2017
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VERSE: A FAREWELL
Farewell, oh dream of mine!I dare not stay;The hour is come, and timeWill not delay:Pleasant and dear to meWilt thou remain;No future hourBrings thee again.She stands, the Future dim,And draws me on,And shows me dearer joys —But thou art gone!Treasures and Hopes more fair,Bears she for me,And yet I linger,Oh dream, with thee!Other and brighter days,Perhaps she brings;Deeper and holier songs,Perchance she sings;But thou and I, fair time,We too must sever —Oh dream of mine,Farewell for ever!VERSE: SOWING AND REAPING
Sow with a generous hand;Pause not for toil or pain;Weary not through the heat of summer,Weary not through the cold spring rain;But wait till the autumn comesFor the sheaves of golden grain.Scatter the seed, and fear not,A table will be spread;What matter if you are too wearyTo eat your hard-earned bread:Sow, while the earth is broken,For the hungry must be fed.Sow; – while the seeds are lyingIn the warm earth’s bosom deep,And your warm tears fall upon it —They will stir in their quiet sleep;And the green blades rise the quicker,Perchance, for the tears you weep.Then sow; – for the hours are fleeting,And the seed must fall to-day;And care not what hands shall reap it,Or if you shall have passed awayBefore the waving corn-fieldsShall gladden the sunny day.Sow; and look onward, upward,Where the starry light appears —Where, in spite of the coward’s doubting,Or your own heart’s trembling fears,You shall reap in joy the harvestYou have sown to-day in tears.VERSE: THE STORM
The tempest rages wild and high,The waves lift up their voice and cryFierce answers to the angry sky, —Miserere Domine.Through the black night and driving rain,A ship is struggling, all in vainTo live upon the stormy main; —Miserere Domine.The thunders roar, the lightnings glare,Vain is it now to strive or dare;A cry goes up of great despair, —Miserere Domine.The stormy voices of the main,The moaning wind, and pelting rainBeat on the nursery window pane: -Miserere Domine.Warm curtained was the little bed,Soft pillowed was the little head;“The storm will wake the child,” they said: -Miserere Domine.Cowering among his pillows whiteHe prays, his blue eyes dim with fright,“Father, save those at sea to-night!”Miserere Domine.The morning shone all clear and gay,On a ship at anchor in the bay,And on a little child at play, —Gloria tibi Domine!VERSE: WORDS
Words are lighter than the cloud-foamOf the restless ocean spray;Vainer than the trembling shadowThat the next hour steals away.By the fall of summer raindropsIs the air as deeply stirred;And the rose-leaf that we tread onWill outlive a word.Yet, on the dull silence breakingWith a lightning flash, a Word,Bearing endless desolationOn its blighting wings, I heard:Earth can forge no keener weapon,Dealing surer death and pain,And the cruel echo answeredThrough long years again.I have known one word hang starlikeO’er a dreary waste of years,And it only shone the brighterLooked at through a mist of tears;While a weary wanderer gatheredHope and heart on Life’s dark way,By its faithful promise, shiningClearer day by day.I have known a spirit, calmerThan the calmest lake, and clearAs the heavens that gazed upon it,With no wave of hope or fear;But a storm had swept across it,And its deepest depths were stirred,(Never, never more to slumber,)Only by a word.I have known a word more gentleThan the breath of summer air;In a listening heart it nestled,And it lived for ever there.Not the beating of its prisonStirred it ever, night or day;Only with the heart’s last throbbingCould it fade away.Words are mighty, words are living:Serpents with their venomous stings,Or bright angels, crowding round us,With heaven’s light upon their wings:Every word has its own spirit,True or false, that never dies;Every word man’s lips have utteredEchoes in God’s skies.VERSE: A LOVE TOKEN
Do you grieve no costly offeringTo the Lady you can make?One there is, and gifts less worthyQueens have stooped to take.Take a Heart of virgin silver,Fashion it with heavy blows,Cast it into Love’s hot furnaceWhen it fiercest glows.With Pain’s sharpest point transfix it,And then carve in letters fair,Tender dreams and quaint devices,Fancies sweet and rare.Set within it Hope’s blue sapphire,Many-changing opal fears,Blood-red ruby-stones of daring,Mixed with pearly tears.And when you have wrought and labouredTill the gift is all complete,You may humbly lay your offeringAt the Lady’s feet.Should her mood perchance be gracious —With disdainful smiling pride,She will place it with the trinketsGlittering at her side.VERSE: A TRYST WITH DEATH
I am footsore and very weary,But I travel to meet a Friend:The way is long and dreary,But I know that it soon must end.He is travelling fast like the whirlwind,And though I creep slowly on,We are drawing nearer, nearer,And the journey is almost done.Through the heat of many summers,Through many a springtime rain,Through long autumns and weary winters,I have hoped to meet him, in vain.I know that he will not fail me,So I count every hour chime,Every throb of my own heart’s beating,That tells of the flight of Time.On the day of my birth he plightedHis kingly word to me: -I have seen him in dreams so often,That I know what his smile must be.I have toiled through the sunny woodland,Through fields that basked in the light;And through the lone paths in the forestI crept in the dead of night.I will not fear at his coming,Although I must meet him alone;He will look in my eyes so gently,And take my hand in his own.Like a dream all my toil will vanish,When I lay my head on his breast —But the journey is very weary,And he only can give me rest!VERSE: FIDELIS
You have taken back the promiseThat you spoke so long ago;Taken back the heart you gave me —I must even let it go.Where Love once has breathed, Pride dieth:So I struggled, but in vain,First to keep the links together,Then to piece the broken chain.But it might not be – so freelyAll your friendship I restore,And the heart that I had takenAs my own for evermore.No shade of reproach shall touch you,Dread no more a claim from me —But I will not have you fancyThat I count myself as free.I am bound by the old promise;What can break that golden chain?Not even the words that you have spoken,Or the sharpness of my pain:Do you think, because you fail meAnd draw back your hand to-day,That from out the heart I gave youMy strong love can fade away?It will live. No eyes may see it;In my soul it will lie deep,Hidden from all; but I shall feel itOften stirring in its sleep.So remember, that the friendshipWhich you now think poor and vain,Will endure in hope and patience,Till you ask for it again.Perhaps in some long twilight hour,Like those we have known of old,When past shadows gather round you,And your present friends grow cold,You may stretch your hands out towards me, —Ah! you will – I know not when —I shall nurse my love and keep itFaithfully, for you, till then.VERSE: A SHADOW
What lack the valleys and mountainsThat once were green and gay?What lack the babbling fountains?Their voice is sad to-day.Only the sound of a voice,Tender and sweet and low,That made the earth rejoice,A year ago!What lack the tender flowers?A shadow is on the sun:What lack the merry hours,That I long that they were done?Only two smiling eyes,That told of joy and mirth:They are shining in the skies,I mourn on earth!What lacks my heart, that makes itSo weary and full of pain,That trembling Hope forsakes it,Never to come again?Only another heart,Tender and all mine own,In the still grave it lies;I weep alone!VERSE: THE SAILOR BOY
My Life you ask of? why, you knowFull soon my little Life is told;It has had no great joy or woe,For I am only twelve years old.Ere long I hope I shall have beenOn my first voyage, and wonders seen.Some princess I may help to freeFrom pirates, on a far-off sea;Or, on some desert isle be left,Of friends and shipmates all bereft.For the first time I venture forth,From our blue mountains of the north.My kinsman kept the lodge that stoodGuarding the entrance near the wood,By the stone gateway grey and old,With quaint devices carved about,And broken shields; while dragons boldGlared on the common world without;And the long trembling ivy sprayHalf hid the centuries’ decay.In solitude and silence grandThe castle towered above the land:The castle of the Earl, whose name(Wrapped in old bloody legends) cameDown through the times when Truth and RightBent down to armèd Pride and Might.He owned the country far and near;And, for some weeks in every year,(When the brown leaves were falling fastAnd the long, lingering autumn passed,)He would come down to hunt the deer,With hound and horse in splendid pride.The story lasts the live-long year,The peasant’s winter evening fills,When he is gone and they abideIn the lone quiet of their hills.I longed, too, for the happy night,When, all with torches flaring bright,The crowding villagers would stand,A patient, eager, waiting band,Until the signal ran like flame —“They come!” and, slackening speed, they came.Outriders first, in pomp and state,Pranced on their horses through the gate;Then the four steeds as black as night,All decked with trappings blue and white,Drew through the crowd that opened wide,The Earl and Countess side by side.The stern grave Earl, with formal smileAnd glistening eyes and stately pride,Could ne’er my childish gaze beguileFrom the fair presence by his side.The lady’s soft sad glance, her eyes,(Like stars that shone in summer skies,)Her pure white face so calmly bent,With gentle greetings round her sentHer look, that always seemed to gazeWhere the blue past had closed againOver some happy shipwrecked days,With all their freight of love and pain:She did not even seem to seeThe little lord upon her knee.And yet he was like angel fair,With rosy cheeks and golden hair,That fell on shoulders white as snow:But the blue eyes that shone belowHis clustering rings of auburn curls,Were not his mother’s, but the Earl’s.I feared the Earl, so cold and grim,I never dared be seen by him.When through our gate he used to ride,My kinsman Walter bade me hide;He said he was so stern.So, when the hunt came past our way,I always hastened to obey,Until I heard the bugles playThe notes of their return.But she – my very heart-strings stirWhene’er I speak or think of her —The whole wide world could never seeA noble lady such as she,So full of angel charity.Strange things of her our neighbours toldIn the long winter evenings cold,Around the fire. They would draw nearAnd speak half-whispering, as in fear;As if they thought the Earl could hearTheir treason ’gainst his name.They thought the story that his prideHad stooped to wed a low-born bride,A stain upon his fame.Some said ’twas false; there could not beSuch blot on his nobility:But others vowed that they had heardThe actual story word for word,From one who well my lady knew,And had declared the story true.In a far village, little known,She dwelt – so ran the tale – alone.A widowed bride, yet, oh! so bright,Shone through the mist of grief, her charms;They said it was the loveliest sight —She with her baby in her arms.The Earl, one summer morning, rodeBy the sea-shore where she abode;Again he came – that vision sweetDrew him reluctant to her feet.Fierce must the struggle in his heartHave been, between his love and pride,Until he chose that wondrous part,To ask her to become his bride.Yet, ere his noble name she bore,He made her vow that nevermoreShe would behold her child again,But hide his name and hers from men.The trembling promise duly spoken,All links of the low past were broken;And she arose to take her standAmid the nobles of the land.Then all would wonder – could it beThat one so lowly born as she,Raised to such height of bliss, should seemStill living in some weary dream?’Tis true she bore with calmest graceThe honours of her lofty place,Yet never smiled, in peace or joy,Not even to greet her princely boy.She heard, with face of white despair,The cannon thunder through the air,That she had given the Earl an heir.Nay, even more, (they whispered low,As if they scarce durst fancy so,)That, through her lofty wedded life,No word, no tone, betrayed the wife.Her look seemed ever in the past;Never to him it grew more sweet;The self-same weary glance she castUpon the grey-hound at her feet,As upon him, who bade her claimThe crowning honour of his name.This gossip, if old Walter heard,He checked it with a scornful word:I never durst such tales repeat;He was too serious and discreetTo speak of what his lord might do;Besides, he loved my lady too.And many a time, I recollect,They were together in the wood;He, with an air of grave respect,And earnest look, uncovered stood.And though their speech I never heard,(Save now and then a louder word,)I saw he spake as none but oneShe loved and trusted, durst have done;For oft I watched them in the shadeThat the close forest branches made,Till slanting golden sunbeams cameAnd smote the fir-trees into flame,A radiant glory round her lit,Then down her white robes seemed to flit,Gilding the brown leaves on the ground,And all the waving ferns around.While by some gloomy pine she leantAnd he in earnest talk would stand,I saw the tear-drops, as she bent,Fall on the flowers in her hand. —Strange as it seemed and seems to be,That one so sad, so cold as she,Could love a little child like me —Yet so it was. I never heardSuch tender words as she would say,And murmurs, sweeter than a word,Would breathe upon me as I lay.While I, in smiling joy, would rest,For hours, my head upon her breast.Our neighbours said that none could seeIn me the common childish charms,(So grave and still I used to be,)And yet she held me in her arms,In a fond clasp, so close, so tight —I often dream of it at night.She bade me tell her all – no otherMy childish thoughts e’er cared to know:For I – I never knew my mother;I was an orphan long ago.And I could all my fancies pour,That gentle loving face before.She liked to hear me tell her all;How that day I had climbed the tree,To make the largest fir-cones fall;And how one day I hoped to beA sailor on the deep blue sea —She loved to hear it all!Then wondrous things she used to tell,Of the strange dreams that she had known.I used to love to hear them well,If only for her sweet low tone,Sometimes so sad, although I knewThat such things never could be true.One day she told me such a taleIt made me grow all cold and pale,The fearful thing she told!Of a poor woman mad and wildWho coined the life-blood of her child,And tempted by a fiend, had soldThe heart out of her breast for gold.But, when she saw me frightened seem,She smiled, and said it was a dream.When I look back and think of her,My very heart-strings seem to stir;How kind, how fair she was, how goodI cannot tell you. If I couldYou, too, would love her. The mere thoughtOf her great love for me has broughtTears in my eyes: though far away,It seems as it were yesterday.And just as when I look on highThrough the blue silence of the sky,Fresh stars shine out, and more and more,Where I could see so few before;So, the more steadily I gazeUpon those far-off misty days,Fresh words, fresh tones, fresh memories startBefore my eyes and in my heart.I can remember how one day(Talking in silly childish way)I said how happy I should beIf I were like her son – as fair,With just such bright blue eyes as he,And such long locks of golden hair.A strange smile on her pale face broke,And in strange solemn words she spoke:“My own, my darling one – no, no!I love you, far, far better so.I would not change the look you bear,Or one wave of your dark brown hair.The mere glance of your sunny eyes,Deep in my deepest soul I prizeAbove that baby fair!Not one of all the Earl’s proud lineIn beauty ever matched with thine;And, ’tis by thy dark locks thou artBound even faster round my heart,And made more wholly mine!”And then she paused, and weeping said,“You are like one who now is dead —Who sleeps in a far-distant grave.Oh may God grant that you may beAs noble and as good as he,As gentle and as brave!”Then in my childish way I cried,“The one you tell me of who died,Was he as noble as the Earl?”I see her red lips scornful curl,I feel her hold my hand againSo tightly, that I shrink in pain —I seem to hear her say,“He whom I tell you of, who died,He was so noble and so gay,So generous and so brave,That the proud Earl by his dear sideWould look a craven slave.”She paused; then, with a quivering sigh,She laid her hand upon my brow:“Live like him, darling, and so die.Remember that he tells you now,True peace, real honour, and content,In cheerful pious toil abide;That gold and splendour are but sentTo curse our vanity and pride.”One day some childish fever painBurnt in my veins and fired my brain.Moaning, I turned from side to side;And, sobbing in my bed, I cried,Till night in calm and darkness creptAround me, and at last I slept.When suddenly I woke to seeThe Lady bending over me.The drops of cold November rainWere falling from her long, damp hair;Her anxious eyes were dim with pain;Yet she looked wondrous fair.Arrayed for some great feast she came,With stones that shone and burnt like flame;Wound round her neck, like some bright snake,And set like stars within her hair,They sparkled so, they seemed to makeA glory everywhere.I felt her tears upon my face,Her kisses on my eyes;And a strange thought I could not traceI felt within my heart arise;And, half in feverish pain, I said:“Oh if my mother were not dead!”And Walter bade me sleep; but sheSaid, “Is it not the same to theeThat I watch by thy bed?”I answered her, “I love you, too;But it can never be the same;She was no Countess like to you,Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame.”Oh the wild look of fear and dread!The cry she gave of bitter woe!I often wonder what I saidTo make her moan and shudder so.Through the long night she tended meWith such sweet care and charity.But should weary you to tellAll that I know and love so well:Yet one night more stands out aloneWith a sad sweetness all its own.The wind blew loud that dreary night:Its wailing voice I well remember:The stars shone out so large and brightUpon the frosty fir-boughs white,That dreary night of cold December.I saw old Walter silent stand,Watching the soft white flakes of snowWith looks I could not understand,Of strange perplexity and woe.At last he turned and took my hand,And said the Countess just had sentTo bid us come; for she would fainSee me once more, before she wentAway – never to come again.We came in silence through the wood(Our footfall was the only sound)To where the great white castle stood,With darkness shadowing it around.Breathless, we trod with cautious careUp the great echoing marble stair;Trembling, by Walter’s hand I held,Scared by the splendours I beheld:Now thinking, “Should the Earl appear!”Now looking up with giddy fearTo the dim vaulted roof, that spreadIts gloomy arches overhead.Long corridors we softly past,(My heart was beating loud and fast)And reached the Lady’s room at last:A strange faint odour seemed to weighUpon the dim and darkened air;One shaded lamp, with softened ray,Scarce showed the gloomy splendour there.The dull red brands were burning low,And yet a fitful gleam of light,Would now and then, with sudden glow,Start forth, then sink again in night.I gazed around, yet half in fear,Till Walter told me to draw near:And in the strange and flickering light,Towards the Lady’s bed I crept;All folded round with snowy white,She lay; (one would have said she slept;)So still the look of that white face,It seemed as it were carved in stone,I paused before I dared to placeWithin her cold white hand my own.But, with a smile of sweet surprise,She turned to me her dreamy eyes;And slowly, as if life were pain,She drew me in her arms to lie:She strove to speak, and strove in vain;Each breath was like a long-drawn sigh.The throbs that seemed to shake her breast,The trembling clasp, so loose and weak,At last grew calmer, and at rest;And then she strove once more to speak:“My God, I thank thee, that my painOf day by day and year by year,Has not been suffered all in vain,And I may die while he is near.I will not fear but that Thy graceHas swept away my sin and woe,And sent this little angel face,In my last hour to tell me so.”(And here her voice grew faint and low,)“My child, where’er thy life may go,To know that thou art brave and true,Will pierce the highest heavens through,And even there my soul shall beMore joyful for this thought of thee.”She folded her white hands, and stayed;All cold and silently she lay:I knelt beside the bed, and prayedThe prayer she used to make me say.I said it many times, and thenShe did not move, but seemed to beIn a deep sleep, nor stirred again.No sound woke in the silent room,Or broke the dim and solemn gloom,Save when the brands that burnt so low,With noisy fitful gleam of light,Would spread around a sudden glow,Then sink in silence and in night.How long I stood I do not know:At last poor Walter came, and said(So sadly) that we now must go,And whispered, she we loved was dead.He bade me kiss her face once more,Then led me sobbing to the door.I scarcely knew what dying meant,Yet a strange grief, before unknown,Weighed on my spirit as we wentAnd left her lying all alone.We went to the far North once more,To seek the well-remembered home,Where my poor kinsman dwelt before,Whence now he was too old to roam;And there six happy years we past,Happy and peaceful till the last;When poor old Walter died, and heBlessed me and said I now might beA sailor on the deep blue sea.And so I go; and yet in spiteOf all the joys I long to know,Though I look onward with delight,With something of regret I go;And young or old, on land or sea,One guiding memory I shall take —Of what She prayed that I might be,And what I will be for her sake!VERSE: A CROWN OF SORROW
A Sorrow, wet with early tearsYet bitter, had been long with me;I wearied of this weight of years,And would be free.I tore my Sorrow from my heart,I cast it far away in scorn;Right joyful that we two could part —Yet most forlorn.I sought, (to take my Sorrow’s place,)Over the world for flower or gem —But she had had an ancient graceUnknown to them.I took once more with strange delightMy slighted Sorrow; proudly now,I wear it, set with stars of light,Upon my brow.VERSE: THE LESSON OF THE WAR (1855)
The feast is spread through EnglandFor rich and poor to-day;Greetings and laughter may be there,But thoughts are far away;Over the stormy ocean,Over the dreary track,Where some are gone, whom EnglandWill never welcome back.Breathless she waits, and listensFor every eastern breezeThat bears upon its bloody wingsNews from beyond the seas.The leafless branches stirringMake many a watcher start;The distant tramp of steed may sendA throb from heart to heart.The rulers of the nation,The poor ones at their gate,With the same eager wonderThe same great news await.The poor man’s stay and comfort,The rich man’s joy and pride,Upon the bleak Crimean shoreAre fighting side by side.The bullet comes – and eitherA desolate hearth may see;And God alone to-night knows whereThe vacant place may be!The dread that stirs the peasantThrills nobles’ hearts with fear —Yet above selfish sorrowBoth hold their country dear.The rich man who reposesIn his ancestral shade,The peasant at his ploughshare,The worker at his trade,Each one his all his perilled,Each has the same great stake,Each soul can but have patience,Each heart can only break!Hushed is all party clamour;One thought in every heart,One dread in every household,Has bid such strife depart.England has called her children;Long silent – the word cameThat lit the smouldering ashesThrough all the land to flame.Oh you who toil and suffer,You gladly heard the call;But those you sometimes envyHave they not given their all?Oh you who rule the nation,Take now the toil-worn hand —Brothers you are in sorrow,In duty to your land.Learn but this noble lessonEre Peace returns again,And the life-blood of Old EnglandWill not be shed in vain.VERSE: THE TWO SPIRITS (1855)
Last night, when weary silence fell on all,And starless skies arose so dim and vast,I heard the Spirit of the Present callUpon the sleeping Spirit of the Past.Far off and near, I saw their radiance shine,And listened while they spoke of deeds divine.The Spirit of the Past.My deeds are writ in iron;My glory stands alone;A veil of shadowy honourUpon my tombs is thrown;The great names of my heroesLike gems in history lie;To live they deemed ignoble,Had they the chance to die!The Spirit of the Present.My children, too, are honoured;Dear shall their memory beTo the proud lands that own them;Dearer than thine to thee;For, though they hold that sacredIs God’s great gift of life,At the first call of dutyThey rush into the strife!The Spirit of the Past.Then, with all valiant preceptsWoman’s soft heart was fraught;“Death, not dishonour,” echoedThe war-cry she had taught.Fearless and glad, those mothers,At bloody deaths elate,Cried out they bore their childrenOnly for such a fate!The Spirit of the Present.Though such stern laws of honourAre faded now away,Yet many a mourning mother,With nobler grief than they,Bows down in sad submission:The heroes of the fightLearnt at her knee the lesson,“For God and for the Right!”The Spirit of the Past.No voice there spake of sorrow:They saw the noblest fallWith no repining murmur;Stern Fate was lord of all.And when the loved ones perished,One cry alone arose,Waking the startled echoes,“Vengeance upon our foes!”The Spirit of the Present.Grief dwells in France and EnglandFor many a noble son;Yet louder than the sorrow,“Thy will, Oh God, be done!”From desolate homes is risingOne prayer, “Let carnage cease!On friends and foes have mercy,Oh Lord, and give us peace!”The Spirit of the Past.Then, every hearth was honouredThat sent its children forth,To spread their country’s glory,And gain her south or north.Then, little recked they numbers,No band would ever fly,But stern and resolute they stoodTo conquer or to die.The Spirit of the Present.And now from France and EnglandTheir dearest and their bestGo forth to succour freedom,To help the much oppressed;Now, let the far-off FutureAnd Past bow down to-day,Before the few young hearts that holdWhole armaments at bay.The Spirit of the Past.Then, each one strove for honour,Each for a deathless name;Love, home, rest, joy, were offeredAs sacrifice to Fame.They longed that in far agesTheir deeds might still be told,And distant times and nationsTheir names in honour hold.The Spirit of the Present.Though nursed by such old legends,Our heroes of to-dayGo cheerfully to battleAs children go to play;They gaze with awe and wonderOn your great names of pride,Unconscious that their own will shineIn glory side by side!Day dawned; and as the Spirits passed away,Methought I saw, in the dim morning grey,The Past’s bright diadem had paled beforeThe starry crown the glorious Present wore.