Chapter VI

Rejoice, ye tribes of Israel, the Lord was on your side,
Your fierce presumptuous enemies have fallen in their pride?
But, Jephthah, thou art childless now, lift up thy voice and weep!
No sound of wailing can disturb thy daughter’s dreamless sleep!

MAY, 1858.

DE PROFUNDIS.

I’ve seen the Ocean try to kiss the Moon,
Till the wild effort of his hopeless love
Tortured him into madness, and the roar
From his great throat was terrible to hear;
And his vast bosom heaved such awful sighs
As made Earth tremble to her very bones,
And all her children cling to her for fear.
And I have watched and seen a gentle change
Come over him, till, like a child, he lay,
That, disappointed, cries herself asleep,
And on her sorrow angels paint a dream
So happy that her face is one sweet smile.
So have I seen the love-tost Ocean smile
After his fury, till I almost hoped
That the gay Moon would never tempt him more.
But ever his heart throbs at her approach,
And he awakes in all the strength of love,
And frets himself to madness, watching her.

And when, as I have sometimes seen, the Sun,
His mighty rival, struts before his eyes
With her he loves, and warmly looks on her,
Oh! how his heart is torn with jealousy!
Oh! how he froths and foams and moans and raves,
Till all his energy is lost in sleep,
From which his love will rouse him soon again!

So did I learn the Ocean’s tale of love,
Watching him, day by day, for many years,
Hearing him often murmur in his sleep
Such sweet, sad murmurs, that I pitied him;
And, like Electra, sat beside his bed
Till all the madness of his love awoke.

O Ocean! thou art like the human heart,
Which craves forever what it cannot have,
And, though a little it forget its strife
Of longing, only wakes to long again
For that which is no more accessible
Than is the Moon to thee! Yet, shouldst thou lie
Dull, sluggish, motionless, thy very life
Would grow corrupt, and from the stagnant mass
All things abominable would creep forth
To soil with slimy poison the fair Earth;
And that alone which moves thee to thy heart
Can keep thee pure and bright and beautiful!

So, by the anguish of a hopeless love,--
So, by the madness born of mental pain,--
So, by the endless strife of joy and fear,--
So, by all sufferings, tortures, agonies,--
So, by the powers that shake it to its depths,--
So, by the very loss of what it seeks,--
The heart is purified, and that which seems
Its death gives it a fresher, truer life.

LOCHLEVEN.

“We passed Lochleven, and saw the Castle on the Lake from which
poor Queen Mary escaped.”--_The Queen’s Journal._

I.

Sweet words of pity! Oh! if thou could’st rise,
Fair Queen, from out the darkness of the tomb,
And their old beauty light again thine eyes,
And thy persuasive lips no more be dumb,--
If thou, in all thy charms, should’st thus appear,
How thy full heart would throb! With what surprise
And rapture thou would’t watch thy gentle peer,
By sad Lochleven, as, with tender sighs,
She mourned thy fate,--“Poor Mary wandered here.”

II.

This vengeance Time hath brought thee; and thy foe,
Should she, too, rise with envy in her breast,
Would see thee throned with mercy in the best
And purest heart that ever beat below
The purple of a Queen; whose veins are warm
With that same blood that gave the beauteous glow
To thine own cheeks. In her still lives the charm,
For which, in spite of all, men worshipped thee,--
Refined by honour, truth and purity.

UNUS ABEST.

I.

A group of merry children played;
The smiling sun to watch them stayed;
A cloud came by with deadly shade;
“Unus abest.”

II.

Bright faces glow ’mid dance and game;
Hush! some one named a well-known name;
But dance and song go on the same;
“Unus abest.”

III.

A father joins his children’s mirth;
A mother mourns an awful dearth;
“Ashes to ashes, earth to earth;”
“Unus abest.”

IV.

One sits before a lonely fire,
Watching the flame’s unsteady spire
Wasting with suicidal ire;
“Unus abest.”

V.

Thus, day by day, in house or street,
We miss some form we used to meet;
Some human heart has ceased to beat;
“Unus abest.”

VI.

The years pass on; our hair is grey;
A few years more we’ll pass away,
Each leaving to his friends to say
“Unus abest.”

VII.

Then let us live that, when the call
Of the Great Trumpet wakes us all,
These words from God’s high throne may fall:
“NULLUS ABEST.”

THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN.

(_St. Luke’s Gospel_, xv. 17-32.)

I.

Long, my Father, have I wandered
From the home I loved of old,--
All Thy tender mercies squandered,
All Thy loving-kindness sold.

II.

I have sinned against Thy goodness,
Mocked Thy sorrow, scorned Thy love;
Treated all Thy care with rudeness,
’Gainst Thy gentle Spirit strove.

III.

Far from Thy free, bounteous table,
I have fed on husks of sin;
Wayward, thankless, and unstable,
Father, wilt Thou take me in?

IV.

Take me, oh! in mercy take me,
To Thy blessed home again,
And let no enticement shake me,--
Satan’s wiles nor wicked men.

V.

I am sinful, doubting, fearing--
Thou canst banish all alarm;
I am weak, and blind, and erring--
Thou canst shield from every harm.

VI.

Look upon me, crushed and broken,
Humble, contrite, at Thy feet.
Dost Thou know me? Hast Thou spoken?
“Hast Thou come Thy child to meet!”