Chapter II

But if the day should ever rise-- It could not and it cannot be-- Yet, if the sun should ever see, Looking upon us from his skies, A day that took thy heart from me;

If loving thee still more and more, And still so willing to be blind, I should the bitter knowledge find, That Time had eaten out the core Of love, and left the empty rind;

If the poor lifeless words, at last, (The soul gone, that was once so sweet,) Should cease my eager heart to cheat, And crumble back into the past, And show the whole a vain deceit;

If I should see thee turn away, And know that prayer, and time, and pain, Could no more thy lost love regain, Than bid the hours of dying day Gleam in their mid-day noon again;

If I should loose thy hand, and know That henceforth we must dwell apart, Since I had seen thy love depart, And only count the hours flow By the dull throbbing of my heart;

If I should gaze and gaze in vain Into thine eyes so deep and clear, And read the truth of all my fear Half mixed with pity for my pain, And sorrow for the vanished year;

If not to grieve thee overmuch, I strove to counterfeit disdain, And weave me a new life again, Which thy life could not mar, or touch, And so smile down my bitter pain;

The ghost of my dead Past would rise And mock me, and I could not dare Look to a future of despair, Or even to the eternal skies, For I should still be lonely there.

All Truth, all Honour, then would seem Vain clouds, which the first wind blew by; All Trust, a folly doomed to die; All Life, a useless empty dream; All Love--since thine had failed--a lie.

But see, thy tender smile has cast My fear away: this thought of mine Is treason to my Love and thine; For Love is Life, and Death at last Crowns it eternal and divine!

VERSE: RECOLLECTIONS

As strangers, you and I are here; We both as aliens stand, Where once, in years gone by, I dwelt No stranger in the land. Then while you gaze on park and stream, Let me remain apart, And listen to the awakened sound Of voices in my heart.

Here, where upon the velvet lawn The cedar spreads its shade, And by the flower-beds all around, Bright roses bloom and fade; Shrill merry childish laughter rings, And baby voices sweet, And by me, on the path, I hear The tread of little feet.

Down the dark avenue of limes, Whose perfume loads the air, Whose boughs are rustling overhead, (For the west wind is there,) I hear the sound of earnest talk, Warnings and counsels wise, And the quick questioning that brought Such gentle calm replies.

Still the light bridge hangs o'er the lake, Where broad-leaved lilies lie, And the cool water shows again The cloud that moves on high;-- And one voice speaks, in tones I thought The past for ever kept; But now I know, deep in my heart Its echoes only slept.

I hear, within the shady porch, Once more, the measured sound Of the old ballads that were read, While we sat listening round; The starry passion-flower still Up the green trellice climbs; The tendrils waving seem to keep The cadence of the rhymes.

I might have striven, and striven in vain, Such visions to recall, Well known and yet forgotten; now I see, I hear, them all! The Present pales before the Past, Who comes with angel wings; As in a dream I stand, amidst Strange yet familiar things!

Enough; so let us go, mine eyes Are blinded by their tears; A voice speaks to my soul to-day Of long forgotten years. And yet the vision in my heart, In a few hours more, Will fade into the silent past, Silently as before.

VERSE: ILLUSION

Where the golden corn is bending, And the singing reapers pass, Where the chestnut woods are sending Leafy showers upon the grass,

The blue river onward flowing Mingles with its noisy strife, The murmur of the flowers growing, And the hum of insect life.

I, from that rich plain was gazing Towards the snowy mountains high, Who their gleaming peaks were raising Up against the purple sky.

And the glory of their shining, Bathed in clouds of rosy light, Set my weary spirit pining For a home so pure and bright!

So I left the plain, and weary, Fainting, yet with hope sustained, Toiled through pathways long and dreary Till the mountain top was gained.

Lo! the height that I had taken, As so shining from below, Was a desolate, forsaken Region of perpetual snow.

I am faint, my feet are bleeding, All my feeble strength is worn, In the plain no soul is heeding, I am here alone, forlorn.

Lights are shining, bells are tolling, In the busy vale below; Near me night's black clouds are rolling, Gathering o'er a waste of snow.

So I watch the river winding Through the misty fading plain, Bitter are the tear-drops blinding, Bitter useless toil and pain-- Bitterest of all the finding That my dream was false and vain!

VERSE: A VISION

Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, Drearily waileth the chill night breeze. The long grass waveth, the tombs are white, And the black clouds flit o'er the chill moonlight. Silent is all save the dropping rain, When slowly there cometh a mourning train, The lone churchyard is dark and dim, And the mourners raise a funeral hymn:

"Open, dark grave, and take her; Though we have loved her so, Yet we must now forsake her, Love will no more awake her: (Oh, bitter woe!) Open thine arms and take her To rest below!

"Vain is our mournful weeping, Her gentle life is o'er; Only the worm is creeping, Where she will soon be sleeping, For evermore-- Nor joy nor love is keeping For her in store!"

Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, And drearily wave in the chill night breeze. The dark clouds part and the heavens are blue, Where the trembling stars are shining through. Slowly across the gleaming sky, A crowd of white angels are passing by. Like a fleet of swans they float along, Or the silver notes of a dying song. Like a cloud of incense their pinions rise, Fading away up the purple skies. But hush! for the silent glory is stirred, By a strain such as earth has never heard:

"Open, oh Heaven! we bear her, This gentle maiden mild, Earth's griefs we gladly spare her, From earthly joys we tear her, Still undefiled; And to thine arms we bear her, Thine own, thy child.

"Open, oh Heaven! no morrow Will see this joy o'ercast, No pain, no tears, no sorrow, Her gentle heart will borrow; Sad life is past; Shielded and safe from sorrow, At home at last."

But the vision faded and all was still, On the purple valley and distant hill. No sound was there save the wailing breeze, The rain, and the rustling cypress trees.

VERSE: PICTURES IN THE FIRE

What is it you ask me, darling? All my stories, child, you know; I have no strange dreams to tell you, Pictures I have none to show.

Tell you glorious scenes of travel? Nay, my child, that cannot be, I have seen no foreign countries, Marvels none on land or sea.

Yet strange sights in truth I witness, And I gaze until I tire, Wondrous pictures, changing ever, As I look into the fire.

There, last night, I saw a cavern, Black as pitch; within it lay Coiled in many folds a dragon, Glaring as if turned at bay.

And a knight in dismal armour On a winged eagle came, To do battle with this dragon; And his crest was all of flame.

As I gazed the dragon faded, And, instead, sate Pluto crowned, By a lake of burning fire; Spirits dark were crouching round.

That was gone, and lo! before me, A cathedral vast and grim; I could almost hear the organ Peal alone the arches dim.

As I watched the wreathed pillars, Groves of stately palms arose, And a group of swarthy Indians Stealing on some sleeping foes.

Stay; a cataract glancing brightly, Dashed and sparkled; and beside Lay a broken marble monster, Mouth and eyes were staring wide.

Then I saw a maiden wreathing Starry flowers in garlands sweet; Did she see the fiery serpent That was wrapped about her feet?

That fell crashing all and vanished; And I saw two armies close-- I could almost hear the clarions, And the shouting of the foes.

They were gone; and lo! bright angels, On a barren mountain wild, Raised appealing arms to Heaven, Bearing up a little child.

And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly Gathered in my eyes sad tears, And the fiery pictures bore me Back through distant dreams of years.

Once again I tasted sorrow, With past joy was once more gay, Till the shade had gathered round me-- And the fire had died away.

VERSE: THE SETTLERS

Two stranger youths in the Far West, Beneath the ancient forest trees, Pausing, amid their toil to rest, Spake of their home beyond the seas; Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly, Of the hearts they loved so well. In their chilly northern country. "Would," they cried, "some voice could tell Where they are, our own beloved ones!" They looked up to the evening sky Half hidden by the giant branches, But heard no angel-voice reply. All silent was the quiet evening; Silent were the ancient trees; They only heard the murmuring song Of the summer breeze, That gently played among The acacia trees. And did no warning spirit answer, Amid the silence all around; "Before the lowly village altar She thou lovest may be found, Thou, who trustest still so blindly, Know she stands a smiling bride! Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly To the stranger at her side. Yes, this day thou art forgotten, Forgotten, too, thy last farewell, All the vows that she has spoken, And thy heart has kept so well. Dream no more of a starry future, In thy home beyond the seas!" But he only heard the gentle sigh Of the summer breeze, So softly passing by The acacia trees.

And vainly, too, the other, looking Smiling up through hopeful tears, Asked in his heart of hearts, "Where is she, She I love these many years?" He heard no echo calling faintly: "Lo, she lieth cold and pale, And her smile so calm and saintly Heeds not grieving sob or wail-- Heeds not the lilies strewn upon her, Pure as she is, and as white, Or the solemn chanting voices, Or the taper's ghastly light." But silent still was the ancient forest, Silent were the gloomy trees, He only heard the wailing sound Of the summer breeze, That sadly played around The acacia trees

VERSE: HUSH

"I can scarcely hear," she murmured, "For my heart beats loud and fast, But surely, in the far, far distance, I can hear a sound at last." "It is only the reapers singing, As they carry home their sheaves, And the evening breeze has risen, And rustles the dying leaves."

"Listen! there are voices talking." Calmly still she strove to speak, Yet her voice grew faint and trembling, And the red flushed in her cheek. "It is only the children playing Below, now their work is done, And they laugh that their eyes are dazzled By the rays of the setting sun."

Fainter grew her voice, and weaker As with anxious eyes she cried, "Down the avenue of chestnuts, I can hear a horseman ride." "It was only the deer that were feeding In a herd on the clover grass, They were startled, and fled to the thicket, As they saw the reapers pass."

Now the night arose in silence, Birds lay in their leafy nest, And the deer couched in the forest, And the children were at rest: There was only a sound of weeping From watchers around a bed, But Rest to the weary spirit, Peace to the quiet Dead!

VERSE: HOURS

When the bright stars came out last night, And the dew lay on the flowers, I had a vision of delight-- A dream of by-gone hours.

Those hours that came and fled so fast, Of pleasure or of pain, As phantoms rose from out the past Before my eyes again.

With beating heart did I behold A train of joyous hours, Lit with the radiant light of old, And, smiling, crowned with flowers.

And some were hours of childish sorrow, A mimicry of pain, That through their tears looked for a morrow They knew must smile again.

Those hours of hope that longed for life, And wished their part begun, And ere the summons to the strife, Dreamed that the field was won.

I knew the echo of their voice, The starry crowns they wore; The vision made my soul rejoice With the old thrill of yore.

I knew the perfume of their flowers; The glorious shining rays Around these happy smiling hours Were lit in by-gone days.

Oh stay, I cried--bright visions, stay, And leave me not forlorn! But, smiling still, they passed away, Like shadows of the morn.

One spirit still remained, and cried, "Thy soul shall ne'er forget!" He standeth ever by my side-- The phantom called Regret!

But still the spirits rose, and there Were weary hours of pain, And anxious hours of fear and care Bound by an iron chain.

Dim shadows came of lonely hours, That shunned the light of day, And in the opening smile of flowers Saw only quick decay.

Calm hours that sought the starry skies For heavenly lore were there; With folded hands and earnest eyes, I knew the hours of prayer.

Stern hours that darkened the sun's light, Heralds of coming woes, With trailing wings, before my sight From the dim past arose.

As each dark vision passed and spoke I prayed it to depart: At each some buried sorrow woke And stirred within my heart.

Until these hours of pain and care Lifted their tearful eyes, Spread their dark pinions in the air And passed into the skies.

VERSE: THE TWO INTERPRETERS

"The clouds are fleeting by, father, Look in the shining west, The great white clouds sail onward Upon the sky's blue breast. Look at a snowy eagle, His wings are tinged with red, And a giant dolphin follows him, With a crown upon his head!"

The father spake no word, but watched The drifting clouds roll by; He traced a misty vision too Upon the shining sky: A shadowy form, with well-known grace Of weary love and care, Above the smiling child she held, Shook down her floating hair.

"The clouds are changing now, father, Mountains rise higher and higher! And see where red and purple ships Sail in a sea of fire!" The father pressed the little hand More closely in his own, And watched a cloud-dream in the sky That he could see alone: Bright angels carrying far away A white form, cold and dead, Two held the feet, and two bore up The flower-crowned, drooping head.

"See, father, see! a glory floods The sky, and all is bright, And clouds of every hue and shade Burn in the golden light. And now, above an azure lake, Rise battlements and towers, Where knights and ladies climb the heights, All bearing purple flowers."

The father looked, and, with a pang Of love and strange alarm, Drew close the little eager child Within his sheltering arm; From out the clouds the mother looks With wistful glance below, She seems to seek the treasure left On earth so long ago; She holds her arms out to her child, His cradle-song she sings: The last rays of the sunset gleam Upon her outspread wings.

Calm twilight veils the summer sky, The shining clouds are gone; In vain the merry laughing child Still gaily prattles on; In vain the bright stars, one by one, On the blue silence start, A dreary shadow rests to-night Upon the father's heart

VERSE: COMFORT

Hast thou o'er the clear heaven of thy soul Seen tempests roll? Hast thou watched all the hopes thou wouldst have won Fade, one by one? Wait till the clouds are past, then raise thine eyes To bitter skies.

Hast thou gone sadly through a dreary night, And found no light, No guide, no star, to cheer thee through the plain-- No friend, save pain? Wait, and thy soul shall see, when most forlorn, Rise a new morn.

Hast thou beneath another's stern control Bent thy sad soul, And wasted sacred hopes and precious tears? Yet calm thy fears, For thou canst gain, even from the bitterest part, A stronger heart.

Has Fate overwhelmed thee with some sudden blow? Let thy tears flow; But know when storms are past, the heavens appear More pure, more clear; And hope, when farthest from their shining rays, For brighter days.

Hast thou found life a cheat, and worn in vain Its iron chain? Has thy soul bent beneath earth's heavy bond? Look thou beyond; If life is bitter--there for ever shine Hopes more divine.

Art thou alone, and does thy soul complain It lives in vain? Not vainly does he live who can endure Oh be thou sure, That he who hopes and suffers here, can earn A sure return.

Hast thou found nought within thy troubled life Save inward strife? Hast thou found all she promised thee, Deceit, And Hope a cheat? Endure, and there shall dawn within thy breast Eternal rest!

VERSE: HOME AT LAST

Child, do not fear; We shall reach our home to-night, For the sky is clear, And the waters bright; And the breezes have scarcely strength To unfold that little cloud, That like a shroud Spreads out its fleecy length Then have no fear, As we cleave our silver way Through the waters clear.

Fear not, my child! Though the waves are white and high, And the storm blows wild Through the gloomy sky; On the edge of the western sea, See that line of golden light, Is the haven bright Where home is awaiting thee; Where, this peril past, We shall rest from our stormy voyage In peace at last.

Be not afraid; But give me thy hand, and see How the waves have made A cradle for thee. Night is come, dear, and we shall rest; So turn from the angry skies, And close thine eyes, And lay thy head on my breast: Child, do not weep; In the calm, cold, purple depths There we shall sleep.

VERSE: UNEXPRESSED

Dwells within the soul of every Artist More than all his effort can express; And he knows the best remains unuttered; Sighing at what we call his success.

Vainly he may strive; he dare not tell us All the sacred mysteries of the skies: Vainly he may strive; the deepest beauty Cannot be unveiled to mortal eyes.

And the more devoutly that he listens, And the holier message that is sent, Still the more his soul must struggle vainly, Bowed beneath a noble discontent.

No great Thinker ever lived and taught you All the wonder that his soul received; No true Painter ever set on canvas All the glorious vision he conceived.

No Musician ever held your spirit Charmed and bound in his melodious chains, But be sure he heard, and strove to render, Feeble echoes of celestial strains.

No real Poet ever wove in numbers All his dream; but the diviner part, Hidden from all the world, spake to him only In the voiceless silence of his heart.

So with Love: for Love and Art united Are twin mysteries; different, yet the same: Poor indeed would be the love of any Who could find its full and perfect name.

Love may strive, but vain is the endeavour All its boundless riches to enfold; Still its tenderest, truest secret lingers Ever in its deepest depths untold.

Things of Time have voices: speak and perish. Art and Love speak--but their words must be Like sighings of illimitable forests, And waves of an unfathomable sea.

VERSE: BECAUSE

It is not because your heart is mine--mine only-- Mine alone; It is not because you chose me, weak and lonely, For your own; Not because the earth is fairer, and the skies Spread above you Are more radiant for the shining of your eyes-- That I love you!

It is not because the world's perplexed meaning Grows more clear; And the Parapets of Heaven, with angels leaning, Seem more near; And Nature sings of praise with all her voices Since yours spoke, Since within my silent heart, that now rejoices, Love awoke!

Nay, not even because your hand holds heart and life; At your will Soothing, hushing all its discord, making strife Calm and still; Teaching Trust to fold her wings, nor ever roam From her nest; Teaching Love that her securest, safest home Must be Rest.

But because this human Love, though true and sweet-- Yours and mine-- Has been sent by Love more tender, more complete, More divine; That it leads our hearts to rest at last in Heaven, Far above you; Do I take you as a gift that God has given-- --And I love you!

VERSE: REST AT EVENING

When the weariness of Life is ended, And the task of our long day is done, And the props, on which our hearts depended, All have failed or broken, one by one; Evening and our Sorrow's shadow blended Telling us that peace is now begun.

How far back will seem the sun's first dawning, And those early mists so cold and grey! Half forgotten even the toil of morning, And the heat and burthen of the day: Flowers that we were tending, and weeds scorning, All alike withered and cast away.

Vain will seem the impatient heart, which waited Toils that gathered but too quickly round; And the childish joy, so soon elated At the path we thought none else had found; And the foolish ardour, soon abated By the storm which cast us to the ground.

Vain those pauses on the road, each seeming As our final home and resting-place; And the leaving them, while tears were streaming Of eternal sorrow down our face; And the hands we held, fond folly dreaming That no future could their touch efface.

All will then be faded:- night will borrow Stars of light to crown our perfect rest; And the dim vague memory of faint sorrow Just remain to show us all was best, Then melt into a divine to-morrow:- Oh, how poor a day to be so blest!

VERSE: A RETROSPECT

From this fair point of present bliss, Where we together stand, Let me look back once more, and trace That long and desert land, Wherein till now was cast my lot, and I could live, and thou wert not.

Strange that my heart could beat, and know Alternate joy and pain, That suns could roll from east to west, And clouds could pass in rain, And the slow hours without thee fleet, nor stay their noiseless silver feet.

What had I then? a hope, that grew Each hour more bright and dear, The flush upon the eastern skies That showed the sun was near:- Now night has faded far away, my sun has risen, and it is day.

A dim Ideal of tender grace In my soul reigned supreme; Too noble and too sweet I thought To live, save in a dream-- Within thy heart to-day it lies, and looks on me from thy dear eyes.

Some gentle spirit--Love I thought-- Built many a shrine of pain; Though each false Idol fell to dust, The worship was not vain, But a faint radiant shadow cast back from our Love upon the Past.

And Grief, too, held her vigil there; With unrelenting sway Breaking my cloudy visions down, Throwing my flowers away:- I owe to her fond care alone that I may now be all thine own.

Fair Joy was there--her fluttering wings At times she strove to raise; Watching through long and patient nights, Listening long eager days: I know now that her heart and mine were waiting, Love, to welcome thine.

Thus I can read thy name throughout, And, now her task is done, Can see that even that faded Past Was thine, beloved one, And so rejoice my Life may be all consecrated, dear, to thee.

VERSE: TRUE OR FALSE

So you think you love me, do you? Well, it may be so; But there are many ways of loving I have learnt to know. Many ways, and but one true way, Which is very rare; And the counterfeits look brightest, Though they will not wear.

Yet they ring, almost, quite truly, Last (with care) for long; But in time must break, may shiver At a touch of wrong: Having seen what looked most real Crumble into dust; Now I chose that test and trial Should precede my trust.

I have seen a love demanding Time and hope and tears, Chaining all the past, exacting Bonds from future years; Mind and heart, and joy and sorrow, Claiming as its fee: That was Love of Self, and never, Never Love of me!

I have seen a love forgetting All above, beyond, Linking every dream and fancy In a sweeter bond; Counting every hour worthless, Which was cold or free:- That, perhaps, was--Love of Pleasure, But not Love of me!

I have seen a love whose patience Never turned aside, Full of tender, fond devices; Constant, even when tried; Smallest boons were held as victories, Drops that swelled the sea: That I think was--Love of Power, But not Love of me!

I have seen a love disdaining Ease and pride and fame, Burning even its own white pinions Just to feed its flame; Reigning thus, supreme, triumphant, By the soul's decree; That was--Love of Love, I fancy, But not Love of me!

I have heard--or dreamt, it may be-- What Love is when true; How to test and how to try it, Is the gift of few: These few say (or did I dream it?) That true Love abides In these very things, but always Has a soul besides.

Lives among the false loves, knowing Just their peace and strife: Bears the self-same look, but always Has an inner life. Only a true heart can find it, True as it is true, Only eyes as clear and tender Look it through and through.

If it dies, it will not perish By Time's slow decay, True Love only grows (they tell me) Stronger, day by day: Pain--has been its friend and comrade; Fate--it can defy; Only by its own sword, sometimes Love can choose to die.

And its grave shall be more noble And more sacred still, Than a throne, where one less worthy Reigns and rules at will. Tell me then, do you dare offer This true Love to me? . . . Neither you nor I can answer; We will--wait and see!

VERSE: GOLDEN WORDS

Some words are played on golden strings, Which I so highly rate, I cannot bear for meaner things Their sound to desecrate.

For every day they are not meet, Or for a careless tone; They are for rarest, and most sweet, And noblest use alone.

One word is POET: which is flung So carelessly away, When such as you and I have sung, We hear it, day by day.

Men pay it for a tender phrase Set in a cadenced rhyme: I keep it as a crown of praise To crown the kings of time.

And LOVE: the slightest feelings, stirred By trivial fancy, seek Expression in that golden word They tarnish while they speak.

Nay, let the heart's slow, rare decree, That word in reverence keep Silence herself should only be More sacred and more deep.

FOR EVER: men have grown at length To use that word, to raise Some feeble protest into strength, Or turn some tender phrase.

It should be said in awe and fear By true heart and strong will, And burn more brightly year by year, A starry witness still.

HONOUR: all trifling hearts are fond Of that divine appeal, And men, upon the slightest bond, Set it as slighter seal.

That word should meet a noble foe Upon a noble field, And echo--like a deadly blow Turned by a silver shield.

Trust me, the worth of words is such They guard all noble things, And that this rash irreverent touch Has jarred some golden strings.

For what the lips have lightly said The heart will lightly hold, And things on which we daily tread Are lightly bought and sold.

The sun of every day will bleach The costliest purple hue. And so our common daily speech Discolours what was true.

But as you keep some thoughts apart In sacred honoured care, If in the silence of your heart, Their utterance too be rare;

Then, while a thousand words repeat Unmeaning clamours all, Melodious golden echoes sweet Shall answer when you call.