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1 8 9 7

Contents

Sonnet to Rossetti

I . INSIDE THE WINDOW

The M issionArt

MusicNatureLove

11 .OU TSIDE THE WINDOW

Law

I II . IN THE WORLDWork ingPlaying

IV. BEYOND THE WORLD

8 1 6637

ContentsPAGE

V. PERSONAL AND CR IT ICAL PIECESOu S ir E. Burne-'ones

’

Garden of the Hesperides

On Mr Swinburne’s Astrophel

In Memoriam. William MorrisOu Mr Gladstone’s Retirement from Political L ife

M ISCELLANEOU S P IECESDay and NightDeath’s Ante-chamberIn a Music Hall

Mephistophiles confined toThe Sunset of Life

O n Rossett i’

s Versic les

and F ragments

WHEN from the workshop of a jewellerThe workers part, they sweep the corners round,And sc raps of gold and precious stones are foundBeneath the dust broom of the scavenger.And from this dust of jewels

, which the whirrOfworking wheels throughout the day has ground,I nto a smooth and even surface bound,To-morrow’s jewels shall glow lovel ier.So from thy works wrought out so wonderous lyFell down the dust of precious thoughts and rare

,

And small rich pieces of verse fi lligree.

Sweeping thy death chamber w ith loving careThey found these fragments

,and have brought themfme

To polish my rude verse and make i t fair.

I . Inside the W indow

SOMEWH ILE a growing need has mastered me,

D efined but unexpressed of one deep powerThat should uphold the tree of l ife

,not stayed

By props without, but feeding it Within .

And be ing in the law I turned to thatOpened the books , and heard the judgment setBut the law answered

,I t i s not in me.

”

Then summoned I my heart and said to her,

H ere I am chained immovable. But youAre tempest-free to roam. And here awhileI need you not. Therefore

,my heart

,arise

And traverse all the ways that we have been,

Seeking some comfort. Where I led you forthLike an untutored child

,not knowing then

What precious memories were bes towed on you.

Revisit them again,and at the sight

Awake to clearer knowledge . So she wentPassing thro’ church and gallery of artAnd back return ing

,these she brought to me .

I nside the Window

DU LL-EYED and heavy headed, stem and bold,Upon a world that knows me not, I gaze(For he is dead who made me, many days)Out of a w ilderness of tarnished gold .

Lo I was worshipped in the days of oldI n I taly

,to me they poured their praise

,

And ever at feast seasons they would raiseThe offerings of duty manifold .

Where are my flowers now and frankincense,That hid my feet and bathed my senses roundWhere the deep music thrilling in mine ears ?All parted from me when they brought me thence .And yet— have men a nobler worship foundThan that they gave me in those long past years ?

YET gaze a li ttle longer. You shall seeThe gracious bending down of heavenly love

,

And human sympathy seen clear aboveThe far horizon of heaven’s mystery.

What has time’s passage wrought on us that weShould worship not ? For here the sculptor woveThree gifts that most man’s heart to worshipmove

Godhead,Maternity

,Virginity .

My guide told me there were three things there ' Maternity,Virginity and the Madonna. I thought he was right.

I nside the Window

The Virg in in the full young life unspentAnd linen head-gear bare of ornamentThe Matron in the l ife-exchanging breastThe deep Madonna

,in the sad head ben t

By weight of God, which over much OppressedHer human soul to suffer perfect rest.

And then she led an unaccustomed voiceThat sounded sweetly but reluctantlyFrom a far off and half familiar realmNot to be visited but when the heart

,

Passed thro’ the fire,has purged herself of dross.

SLEEP on, Valkyrie. Thine, a bed of rockCurtained in flame. For many a l ingering yearThe howling storm shall fill thee not with fear

,

Nor ever shalt thou feel the thunder’s shock.

Sleep,till the hero’s courage shall unlock

Those gates of sleep, which Wotan, with a tear,'issed into s ilence till his foot shall near

,

And all the fire gods fury spurn and mock .

Before that kiss thou rod ’st, the thunderer’s child,Cloud-shielded and thy spear the l ightning,To bear the heroes to thy father’s hall.Another kiss shall wake thee

,calm and mild.

And to an earth-born hero thou shalt bringAn earthly love

,and count i t more than all .

I ns ide the Window

a THE frightened air about my head is shrillWish maidens of the war god , with your cry ;Ever since the night you passed me thunderouslyFlinging we ird cries from yonder craggy hill.Why in my work do ye pursue me still ?No hero’s courage flashes from mine eyeI ride no chariot of victory

And for my spear I wield a goose’s quill .Go speed your message over sea and land.

To ward the danger from your father’s throne,

Ye need a keener eye,a stronger hand.

And,though my soul for briefest space has flown

Through those high regions which the Gods have planned,Earth i s my place. So much to me is shown .

I answered These are but the works of manWhich from the truth perchance have wandered farEven of themselves who then misconstrues themShall into double error plunge the soul .Therefore go forth to nature and discernWh at lessons are there in the fields and treesDr from the mountains and pellucid springsWhat thoughts arise

,or down the o’erlapping vales,

Drawn by the broad blue distance, sweep alongBearing fresh l ife and bring me word again.

Therefore she went and these she brought to me.6

I nside the Window

WHEN on the bosom of a fleecy cloudFaint with the kisses of the dying kingI musing lie

,who fast i s journeying

To where black night shall wrap him in her shroud,Much I misdoubt that man i s not endowedWith ears to hear the messages I bring,Which I to catch grow faint w ith listening,But in their bearing I am apt and proud .

I think my l ips are fluent as the lipsOf other gods , my feet are swifter far ,And in my mind is subtle wisdom stored.

Jove as the l ight from yon round pellet sl ips,Breathe in mine ear of what these secrets are.I shall be faithful in thy business

,lord .

IF in the realm of nature I were king,PM have two palaces of fair renown.

Not one for country ease, and one for town,But one for Autumn and the other Spring.

One where the voices of all nature sing,

And the breeze,stealing from the hay new-mown

Her hidden sweets,and scent of flowers fresh blown,

Touches the sallows,softly whispering.

But when wild Autumn tears her treasures down,I’ld plant my palace on those northern peaks

7

Inside the Window

Crowning the moorland like a broken wall.Where

,midst wild cries

,the voice of si lence speaks

Wh ere orange deer’s-hair deepens into brown’Till sinks the night of winter over all.

NOT in a dark Cathedral, where the kneesPress velvet and the l ips from cups of goldD rink precious wine and endlessly o’ertoldOne long dark stream of muttered mysteriesS inks into ears half heeding. Not from theseDrink I God’s Spiri t

,but where mountains bold

Rise in di sdain and tempests, wintry cold,Cut out the heart of man’s infirmities.

There with a jut of rock for altar railWith bitter bread and rough and eager wine,Oh peaks that only hardiest feet have trod,Spirits that in the valley droop and fail,Turn to their Maker

,with a touch divine,

To take the Sacrament ordained of God .

SOME folk there are ( I think not overwi se ),Who of fair I taly affect a scornCrying for rugged mountains upward born

,

More manly air,more fresh and stormy skies.

8

Inside the Window

Yet let them understand ere they despise .

For in the face no rugged chasms yawnRich hued it i s. And know the earth has worn

Aye for her face this realm of I taly’s .Yea

,in the stillness of the noon we hear

Her speech,we feel the sweetness of her breath,

We touch her cheek rich-dyed with many a hueUnwrapped from mountain he ights her brows appear

,

Eye-browed with soft beech-copses and beneathHer eyes are set a lovely liquid blue.

ALL other powers have failed and fallen. The sun,

Like some great Eastern monarch absolute,Extends his empire over man and brute

,

Earth,air and water each and everyone .

Man pants and frets ere work is half begunWinds wander restlessly in swift voluteTrees’ sinews wither to the very rootAnd so all lingers t ill the day is done .

N ight follows and he sleeps. The clouds, poor paleDetractors of his glory, then advance,Conspiring how his sleep may be their chanceTo draw a web about him nor prevail.For at hi s ri sing

,lo they shrink and fail

Before the splendour of his countenance.9

Sammy ’s

I ns ide the Window

MV poet’s mistress has a neck of snowLilies her breasts Her fair cheeks rosilyAre touched w ith dainty colour RosemaryB reathes out from lips that mock Dan Cupid’s bow.

When sw ift words ri se,men say the breezes blow

Hatred and anger find their parodyIn the swift tumult of the ravening sea

And death is melted into sunset’s glow.

Yet are a maiden’s cheeks far lovelierThan any flower . Breath out-perfumes scent.Earth’s grandeur fades when human souls depart.And storms that ocean to loud anger stirQuick w itted cloud and warring elementAre but the shadows ofman’s angry heart .

Not satisfied but answered I repl iedBe still and rest awhile. But waywardlyShe strayed thro’ all my house

,and entrance found

Into a sacred chamber that had lainUnmoved and covered with the dust of yearsWherein I kept a memory of mineLike those dear keepsakes of a little lifeLong past and sleeping which the mother’s loveDares not destroy but cannot bear to seeSave for one day, blackest of all the year,To sorrow consecrate. . And then she mounts

I O

I nside the Window

Wit h even tread the unaccustomed stairAnd takes her treasures out and looks at themWith still despairing hands and silent eyes.So l ike a faithful dog that enters thereFinding the door unbarred and brings to herA tiny shoe

,and lays it at her feet

,

So my heart brought these memories to me.

MY love’s eyes follow me though all else fadeSo when the clouds are driving duskilyAcross the blue pavilion of the sky

,

Yet ever and anon they leave displayedA glimpse of heaven . And even when their shadeI s deepest over me

,yet

,dreaming

,I

Scale them and gaze into thy very eye,

And by that dream alone am overpaid .

Even in the world of art i s found no hueTo match the hollow vacant sky’s deep blueWhat colour then shall inky pen prepare

0, my love’s eyes, that I may picture youLit by that pure and maiden bosom thereS ith emptiness shews forth a hue so fair ?

I nside the Window

THE Spring i s here. Come let us welcome it,0 Mistress mine, whose eye is l ike a starShining by day. Let no harsh discord marFrom our twain lips a welcome sweet and fit.Come we will s ing together— stay a bitHow shall we sing together ? She is farDown by the shore where fresh sea voices are,And birds returning homewards perch and sit.Yet spring is there, and spring is here as wellAnd in her voice are sweeter notes than mineTo render greeting to the gracious spring.

We may not meet below,but I can tell

In the lark’s realm, at least, our songs combine,Therefore I s it and watch it as I s ing.

ALTHOU GH I l ive,my life l ies dreamily

A woven wonder paced upon the floorAnd one small spot, hard by the ocean shore,The only fragment of reality.

Thou Wi th a touch,a look

,hadst l ifted me

Into a realm I dreamed not of beforeAnd when thy finger fell from me, the moreMy fall was heavy in obscurity.

Thou art the one thing beautiful and rareA Goddess

,stand ing out so clear and tall

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I nside the Window

Looks homeward,on a spire l ike some tall wand

M id trees and clustered houses heavilyDark outl ined on the fading sunset sky.

So , l ike a rock-hewn statue doth he s tandUntil the darkness fall . And ever thro’The images that time revolving brings

,

Tho’ his eyes move and look on other things,S t ill in his heart that picture so on youI gazed, I cannot shut you out of view,C raven too deep by fond imaginings .

Then said my heazt to me , I have done my part.There i s no further profit in the past.Here you are brought unto the river’s mouth

,

The wide sea lies beyond. The world I meanWhere in are mighty tides

,winds contrary

,

And towering storms, which none may hope to crossBut by the aid of some true compass. ThinkHow shall thy course be shaped and to what end.

Here is a w indow Opens on the worldLook down from it and see and understand .

”

So I looked down and saw but understoodOnly a t ithe of what was pass ing there.Yet as I understood it thus it runs

I I . O u tside the W indow

THAT muse,whichever of the nine she be

,

Who has descended from Olympus highOr sped from Tempe’s vale, to keep her watchOver the muddy ways of Lincoln’s Inn

,

Must I invoke. In sooth a sorry museBy now, I think, amid the London smoke.Wearing a wig no doubt while down her back

,

From those fair shoulders which Apollo praisedWhen he grew merry, hangs a gown of blackMade of alpaca— Base materialWhich Silvius bears to keep his topper dryTaking his sunday walk with Mary Ann

,

O r silk the profit of those London slumsSo aptly designated Spittal fields.

How s trange,my muse ( I will no t name you now,

Fearing the law of l ibel), seem those daysWhen you were sitting robed in green and goldWith shoulders bare and flowers about your head

,

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Outs ide the Window

Hearing the tinkling pipe of Gannymede,

Jove’s J ester. O r if great Apollo cameTo lead your chorus with his manly voice,Listening all ears to his enthralling strain .

And all your duty was to comfort manToil wearied drinking in from woods and treesAnd bubbling streams

,and breezes in the reeds,

And chirping wood birds wonderfully sweet,

Their hidden melodies,to sing again

The thoughts that there you drank unconsciously.

How altered now But all i s altered now.

I had a garden and a field of hay,Where as a boy I used to play and romp

,

And toss the hay about with sunburnt hands,

And pick the wild flowers bedded in the banks,O r scattered through the grass dispersedly.

But now they have destroyed my field and flowers,And stacked instead pale-faced and sickly bricksInto long rows of weakly cottages.And, now and then, they bring me bags of gold,Saying that times are hard and rents are low

,

And No. 6 i s always in arrear.But I bewail the golden buttercupsAnd star faced daisies that I used to love .

Yet everywhere the walls are rising now.

Even perhaps the sides of Tempe’s valeAre sprinkled down with workmen’s cottages

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Outs ide the Window

And some contractor rake s the sovereigns‘

in.

O r builds a tower upon Olympus’ peak,Higher than Watkin’s Tower at Wembly Park.

And 3rd returns from Athens, one and nine,Are issued by the Railway Companies.But, Wayward Muse, where are you wanderingI sent for you to s ing of Lincoln’s innAnd you have led me through my childhood’s time,The buttercups and dais ies of fresh youthThese are long past and into Tempe’s valeWhere I may never come . O r if at allOnly when I have served my sentence hereOnly when I have done with dusty briefsAnd squeaking quills and yards ofmeasured tape .Sing then of Lincoln’s Inn and that your eyes

,

May follow mine,and that your heart may know

To beat the weary hours along with mine,Peer from this window. Tell me what y ou see .I see the noiseless hurrying to and froOf l istless clerks bearing the tape-tied scroll.I see a brougham standing at the doorOf some great lawyer, where the lady StubbsI s trying to persuade that master mindThat her aunt’s will i s fraudulent and void.

I see wigs passing. Some are old and darkAs are their owners’ faces

,both with years

And legal wisdom,then there passes one

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O uts ide the Window

Fresh curled and new and under it a faceAs fresh but striving to look old and graveAnd heavy with responsibil ity.

Be wise,good boy, and play not with o ld age .

’Twill be thy master soon enough. I seeThe shadows of the gables on the ground,Like gi ants fallen prone and worshippingBefore the awful majesty of law.

I see the trees four planted evenlyEach one toward a corner of the CourtAnd bounded by each other and the courtTo grow a 'uarter of its wonted size .And so in my heart’s soil, that’s beaten outAnd made a path for men to walk upon

,

The planted green i s bounded by the Court,

(Only we spell i t w ith a capital ‘ CAnd by my fellows here and walled all roundWith Rules and orders

,forms and precedents

,

And stunted of its vigour. N or can spr ingMy spring

,my world beyond nor April showers

,

The soft hearts ofmy kinsfolk breaking forthNor the fresh murmur of their musical voices

,

Revive it ever to a forest tree.I see the flowers in even beds disposed

,

Dying for lack of air and light . Poor FlowersYet wherefore poor ? For happier than I

,

Ye are who cannot taste unhappiness1 8

Outs ide the Window

Whose life can only hold them for a whileOf pleasant sunshine and reviving rain,And dies from storm or darkness. Here I feelA touch upon my shoulder from the Muse.You sent for me to sing of what I sawThen let me stand neglected by your sideThe wh ile your eyes are roving up and down .

A thousand pardons. Then your eyes beholdAnother s ight than mine N0. But the sameThough I perhaps should phrase i t differently.

”

' Then Madam,if your business calls you forth

To prompt a Judge with law on negligence,

I nspire the eloquence of a fat Q.C.,

O r breathe a pleading in a Junior’s ear,

Begone,and I w ill tell the rest myself.”

She rises,bows, and I am left alone.

Alone at last. How long to be alone ?How strange and pleasant to be left aloneTo wreak my naughty w i ll in pen and inkA school-boy

,playing in his master’s desk

Tossing the hated task-books on the floor,

I s not more free and mischievous than IWriting no more to order. School-boys stillBy whatsoever name we call ourselvesSoldier or tinker

,pedlar

,engineer

,

Merchant nor least, though lastly, barristerNay

,barristers are school-boys most of all.

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Outs ide the Window

We are instructed” by solic itors(Our private tutors lessons given usAnd hard it i s to learn and construe them ,

Then we must go to school (that’s into court)To say our lessons to the master thereThe stem preceptor

,wry and yellow faced

,

Who sits above,arrayed in wig and gown

,

Not as of old in gown and mortar board,And asks us 'uest ions catechises usAs to when Lord Mountnessing made h is wi llWhat remedies the so th section givesAgainst defaulting debtors. All of whichWe tryto answer, saying with a bowMay’t please your Lordship,” in the place of Sir.Poor school-boys For our work is harder farThan what they gave us when they called it SchoolOur hours far longer lesser holidays

,

Long sleepless nights wait ing the reckoning dayAnd Father Christmas s ings us ditties nowOf Christmas bills, instead of Chri stmas gi fts.And if indeed I do my lessons hereThroughout the term of l ife, well, patiently,Perhaps w ith honour i s my conduct good

,

And no black mark set down against my nameWhat i s the pri ze that death can ofi’er me ?See cutt ings from the papers following.

Last night there passed away Sir Thomas Jones20

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Outs ide the Window

Hold not more useless ashes of the pastThan these old leathern tomes . 0 may my graveBe far from these beneath the Open sky

,

Beneath the fall ing rain no ashes darkBe kept ofme

,but all my earthly frame

Shall pass away by natural decayInto the elements of earth and air

,

As shall my soul be taken into God .

By natural decay. The hearts of menBe they my grave. I ask no other one .

So to the eye though perished utterly,Pass ing to other hearts I l ive in themAs our dust bodies passing into dustBring forth fresh flowers and cups of golden juice .

Which,held in leaden case or mummy bands,

Ape an unnatural mockery of l ife,

And crumble in the air unprofiting .

Yet comes a voice and whispers in my earThese things are but the refuse of man’s life,And must be buried in a useless grave.Love is immortal and can never die .

Seeming to die,i t passes to fresh hearts

And feeds fresh souls only by perishing.

Your life’s profession is a cypher ? TrueAnd if you l ive for that, you die indeed.

But l ive beyond it. Where you touch the worldIn hours of rest ing, touch with hand of gold

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Outs ide the Window

And make the earth smile bright beneath your feet.True friendly mon itor and wisely warned.

Yet— yet— for me I think it otherwise,

For see I am a l ittle thing enough,And for my task

, one work and one aloneWhich I must do with all my soul

,the power

,

Might, strength, and striving of a passionate heart.Law or a human sympathy What doubtIf such the choice . O r shall I rise and stand

,

Writs in my hand and quibbles at my heart,Demanding entrance to the house of l ifeYet law i s no t ignoble ' That I know.

I t i s a fence,an honourable bar,

That guards from perjury and violenceAnd visible results that wait on wrong

,

Al l that i s left of Eden . Which withoutWe could not now enjoy the flowers of l ife,Rest in the shadow of her banks of trees ,Or eat her fruits in freedom. Yet no t allAre to be lopped and sawn for stake o r rail .Some are less hard and sturdy in the trunk

,

More sweet in blossom or in spreading leaf.And such am I

,if any use at all.

0 Muse of law, i t is not that I wooedWith fick le voice or with unsingle heart.All through my boyhood I believed myselfA lawyer born

,and as I grew in years

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Outs ide the Window

My prayer was ever skill in argument.”Arrived at man’s estate I wooed you st ill,No t from the heart, perhaps, but faithfully,And you accorded favours moderate,As to a bridegroom of a parent’s choice

,

Letting me kiss your hand,but not your cheek.

'issing the cheek of law what words are theseWhat is her cheek ? Dry yellow parchment skinLined with indentures of perpetual pensMaking more haggard her undying face.And all the while another spoke to me,Sounding sweet music

,which I heeded not.

So she grew sorry, leaving me awhile,Till I should feel a want, and turn to her.And even here

,within the house of law

,

Guarded so closely by law’s ministers,

S trange faces rise and greet me,voices strange

Speak in a language heard but seldom there.How often at my desk of solid oak(P icked up a bargain somewhere second-hand)I sit

,trying to chain my thoughts to law.

And then the sun,who should know better now

Old lively patriarch,comes peeping in

,

Making my books look, 0 so dull and dry,

My carpet shabbier even than before,

And showing up the dust on everything,Cries laughingly Poor l ittle man of laws,

24

Outs ide the Window

What ever are you doing tucked awayIn that dark hole ? Come out, and show yourself.And then he tells me how in distant woodsThe birds are singing

,and the daffodils

Make spear heads through the sheaf of sword-l ikeleaves

,

And how the crocuses are coming upAnd talks of o ld red mansions ivy-gr ownSet in green lawns, which freed from winter’s graspShow the first sign of sprouting blade to -day.

And having well aroused and maddened me,He mounts his coach of clouds, and rides away.

Or when the thickness of a London fogCrowds round my close and chequered window-panes ,The light tree branches turn to heavy lines,Making a chart upon the face of heaven,Dividing it in infinite small squaresAs if to show howhard it is to win ,How small a space for each. The darkness growsFiend faces form themselves

,and cry to me

,

You may not mount to heaven come down to

hellAnd see the wonders and the tortures there.The glow of seething souls, the unending moan,The long black streams of impotent remorseWhere in the eternal souls are plunged and drowned

,

And yet l ive on in drowning evermore.25

Outs ide the Window

And utter darkness reigns,albeit a light

,

Red like the glowing of an angry woundLights up the silence of its hollow halls .And then the breeze of spring

,God’s messenger

,

Like a fresh Spirit chases forth the fiends.

And I am staring at a cold,grey sky

,

Like the unconscious grey of emptiness,Which greets our waking from a stunning blow.

And sometimes through the short close summernight

,

Restless I l ie and dream that over meLaw l ike a stone i s weighing

,under which

I l ie,death-swathed in living burial .

Whi le overhead,yea

,on the very stone

That shuts me down,the passing footstep light

Lingers,and joyous voices humanly

Speak greet ing then a mighty organ soundsAnd follow low,

pure voices prai sing God.

And from beneath I cry,and sound is none

My throat is dry,and cannot make a sound

I strain,and not an inch the stone is moved .

And if my life has buried me so deep,

What burial awaits me after death ?Tell me my brethren

,learned in the law.

There i s no place for us in all w ide heaven .

God needeth not our rules. His Spiri t thereSwells all hearts equally with love and joy

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Outside the Window

Which law’s knife lopped to make them equal here .

No t heaven then. Nor does the Devil needOur crabbed practice or procedure slowDelaying vengeance

,but a flash ing sword

O r close-clamped fetter works his royal will,

U ttered w ith swift command executive .

Therefore not Hell . And is it Chaos thenAnd shall we s it to all eternityIn some dark hall midway ’twixt heaven and hell

,

And,l ike a bubbling fountain underground

,

Mutter our jargon over,hearing suits

And giving judgments,none regarding them ?

Or shall our spirits never leave the earth,And stray about these dim and sullen squares,Inhabit these dark rooms

,while happier ones

Bask in God’s sunshine ? Haply thi s shall be.

And, while I write, the room wherein I sitI s thronged with spirits

,who in former days

Wrought here the pri son task unmurmuring.

And now they sit and act the past again,O r watch the present, l ike a far-ofi” sceneShewn through the arch that severs l ife and death .

Even while I write, one leaning over me

Reads,s ighs

,and turns away. About the Court

Whereon I gaze,the printless footsteps pass

,

The faded eyes stray stealthily aboutLooking for stairs that are not passages

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Outside the Window

Long s ince removed. The Phantom fingers playRound locks that yield not to them. Thendoor

Opes suddenly. The spirit enters in,

Finds not a trace of what he used to know,

Aye, and to love for ever custom b'reedsA kind of love in most unlovely thingsAnd turns again

,and restless wanders out

Through court of Just ice,otfic e

,l ibrary

,

Nothing the same nor ever rest fo r him.

And as your workshops are destroyed and gone,So have they pulled you down

,0 men of laws .

Ye are not built unt il the end of timeBut temporary sheds and shanties

,raised

Till law grows greater,needs a finer house

,

When she shall pull you down and cast you by.

Yet,ifwe mould ourselves to finer clay,

We with our l ives may build a house on earth,O r help to build it . Stately towers rise,Long graceful colonnades

,translucent domes.

And when the work is done the world shall end.

And no more do we know the plan of it,Or wherewithal we make it glorious,Than coral insects working in the sea'now what a wondrous land shall rise to life,What woods

,what shores

,what flowers cover it

And w ith our hearts a house i s built in heaven,28

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Outs ide the Window

Unapt to bear, like some great capital,The massive building in the open street

,

Some inner court of life shall have my work,

Far from the horror of the desolate place,

Where the beasts howl far from the mountainheights

,

Where avalanches crash and tempests roarFar even from the busy throng of men

,

Who would not heed it . Haply one or two,

Fleeing the bustle and the noon-day glareWithin the quiet of those square grey wallsAnd shady galleries

,shall raise the eye

U p to my stone and read the story thereAnd pause awhile and think in solitudeAnd

,when again he mingles with the crowd

,

Shall feel the stronger fo r his sojourn there .

S o moralising in a lofty strain,

A sound of thunder coming from the doorArouses me the edges bending in

,

As if a hurricane was clamouringFo r my opinion on a point abstruseTouching the mysteries of light and air.Who is it ?” Hasti ly the Muse is sentUnder the table

,and the law resumes.

Then enter Clerk ' for the last half hour,sir,

I have been hammering to make you hear.”

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Outs ide the Window

What i s it, Edwards Mr Bullard’s clerkAbout the Wapping Mortgage .

” Shew him in.

(Scene closes on the poet discussing w i th the clerkwhether the title i s affected by a sub-demise to Skinflintin fee tail, w ith every appearance of interest).

I I I . In the World

Work i ng

Commer ce A n Ode

DAME of the Sandstone Eyel ids,and battlements born

on the brow,

Lips of iron to guard thee, with fuming of smoke andof fire

Lifting aloft to the distance the finger that never shalltire

Queen of the earth for ages, but mightier never than now

Far in the days of chaos and darkness thou wert notseen,

Nor yet in the earth’s fair spring in the day that shebrought forth men.

Comfort and help were none and she was harsh to usthen

,

Grudgingly raising her bounty from under her mantle ofgreen .

C

I n the World

But men grew weary with waiting, eyes grew dull andforlorn

,

Lips were heavy and fevered with sucking the papsthat repelled.

Ah but the infant creation was suddenly weaned, andthere swelled

Forth from the darkness a voice that a helper, commerce,was born .

Born on a stony hill-s ide with never a shelteringtree

Watched by the lions for midwives and bathed in theboisterous rain

Born of a mother that hated, a father too weak tomaintain '

What wonder thy heart grew callous,thine eye unready

to see .

Till then, the stony uplands were fenced, as with arail.

And pastures lying behind them,and rivers that wound

and leapt,

Danced through the mountain gorges where never aman had stept

,

Past hill- tops towering to heaven, too high for pleasure to

scale.

I n the World

Pleasure, thine elder sister, more loved and quicker tothrive

Nurtured in easy places and schooled in a garden offlowers.

But thou ' the sea was thy cradle, thy master thetempest that lowers

And by shores and loneliest dales thou wert nouri shedand kept alive.

Power that piercest the mountains, and bridgest thevalleys across

,

Leading from hill to hill with the grip of an ironglove

,

Hast thou given us more to help us than taken of whatwe love

Is our sore at thy strokes or comfort the greater,our gain

o r loss ?

And in the earth who in wanton youth was proud of herdress so fair,

And deigned not to disarray it to give us j ewels orgold

,

Now she has felt thy finger ere beauty i s yet growno ld

A woman stricken in fever,and shaven of all her

hair.

I n the World

Her mantle of green and silver,bound round with a

gi rdle of flowers,Ruthlessly torn asunder and tarnished by fingersblack

,

Boring her fair round breasts as she stretches boundon her back .

Ah, Earth ' thou hast cause to sorrow. Thy hurt i sdeeper than ours .

Commerce A fair young mistress thou wert in the dayslong gone .

The noblest cit ies of men were knights that sought forthy love .

Foremost amongst them Venice in vanguard peerlesslystrove.

On the Sea’s arena they fought, they died, and thousmilest thereon .

Birds of the Chase they rode, whose w ide wings whiterthan milk

,

Maimed and powerlessly hanging were dyed in theblood of the foe.

Breathless they rode through the tempest, and, lashedby the bail and the snow

,

Pressing to lay at thy feet a riband, a piece of

s ilk.

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I n the World

Feel how should we ? Our hearts are cast her furnaceupon ;

Fuel to feed her engine, and smoulder, and flame, andglow

Rising in smoke to the sky from the fire that ragesbelow.

Nations are cast on the fire ; consumed ; and the wheelspins on

Above,the angels are watching the thousands that comeand go ,

Poured by pipes into cities,drained back by dykes to

the meadCovering

,as insects cover, the pasture whereon they

feed ;Toiling with pale drawn faces. Ah God , shall it ever

be so

Hearing the mass of d iscords,and longi ng to step the

earThe roar of the teeming workshop, the breath of thespiri ts that pant

The wailing of women’s voices, gr own dry with waiting

and wantThe noiseless rythmical sweep of the pens, are the sounds

they hear.

I n the World

How long shall the sounds continue ? The years growweary and fall .

S till we are heaped on the fire, consumed, and ourashes are cast

,

Refuse l ike, on the stream that’s sweeping soundless ly

past.Shall the wheel go whirring for ever ? or what is the end

of it all ?

S till shall we serve this mistress, no longer gracious o rfair

Grind out gold at her bidding ; and grant her the usageof l ives

Dance in Fetish before her,and sunder our hearts with

knivesBow down low at her altar that cannot pity nor

spare

There i s no heart’s joy she can grant us ; no love, noteven a smile

No sweet refreshing at noontide no rest at close ofthe day.

Heaped wealth is rising around us and still love’sbeggars we stay.

Is there none more ready to cherish ? Pause and consider awhile.

In the World

From the silence of sylvan splendour, from heights of thecavernous hills

Listen a voice i s calling, silver, and old, andpure .

I am the Earth,thy mother

,I am while the years

endure,

And still in my o ld worn heart a motherly longingthrills.

In youth I was light and wanton 5 I brushed my childrenaside

Left them to fight alone w ith hunger, and want, andpain.

Now that my hands are withered, they feel for mysons again.

The day has been sore for us both. Come back in theevening tide

Listen And leave the mistress,whose gifts were prick

ings and smarts .Leave her standing aloft in the red of the eveningglare

Leave her to crumble and fall an idol who ruled,made

fairWith the painting of faith

,and fed wi th the incense of

burning hearts.

I n the World

Then shall be joy once more,and the earth be eased of

her pain.

Her tresses fair and abundant,her sores grown over

and healed,

Wrapped with a coating of moss,and salved with a

covering fieldTumours of brick die down, and veins flow freely

again.

And no more smoke and curs ing shall hide the light ofthe stars

And the ruined courts of the prison shall quiver withrising flowers ;

Mothers shall s it,and children run through the happy

hours,

Playing around the scaffold,and kissing between the

bars.

Lay down, 0 Soldier, thy glory ; lay down, 0 merchant,

thy goldAnd come, let us counsel together how all may be

swept away.

Then shall the earth be made a field for the angels’play

,

And God shall walk in the midst as He walked in Edenof old.

I n the World

P laying

A M orning in F [orem e

FLORENCE . 1 0-30 on a winter morn,And gloriously fine. The clear blue sky,Not flecked or tainted by a single cloud,Spread over us. The distance, half as blueAnd twice as misty, ever and anonPeered down the sudden turning of the street,Beneath the broad black eaves . I sauntered outQuite idly. Where to go and what to seeLeaving to chance. Across the Trinita

,

Then down an alley winding in and ou t,

Then through a little s ilen t square,wherein

Were palms and laurels planted and it laySleeping and dreaming in the morning sunNot having power to wake it. SuddenlyThe P itt i Palace from a r is ing hillLifted its rocky head and stared at me .

Thursday. The state apartments to be seen .

Why not ? So in I wandered. I was metBy (if I dare so style h is might iness)

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I n the World

A Flunkey,too magnific ent fo r words .

Height— s ix feet s ix, at least a l iveryOf royal scarlet overlac ed wi th gold.

I felt inclined to fall before his feetAnd cry O Signior most magnific ent,

I am not come for plunder. Only tell,Where that fond man

,who arrogates himself

To be thy Lord,has his apartments here .

And may I be allowed to view the same ?But do not strike or blast me wi th your wand.

Yet managed to refrain and stammered outA hasty phrase

,half English and half French

,

(Part in I talian, but a minor part, )Something about ' Appartements Royales .He l istened answered w ith a wave of the hand

,

Far slighter than Jove’s bending of the brow,To indicate the way that I must go .

So , only anxious to escape unscathed,l hurried off across another court

,

Through a glass door,and there the offic e was .

They asked me of my name,height

,weight

,and age,

Ofmy profession,what I drank for dinner,

How many times I ’d had the whooping cough,And so forth and they bade me take a seat,The while they took a form and fi lled in it .Then enter doubtfully two English girls(Girls I have called them, though they topped my years

43

I n the World

By two or three). The same demands were made,But modified to suit a lady’s case.They sat and such a scratching of the pensNot great St Peter at the golden gate

,

Will be so ravenous of part icularsNor any peri seeking entrance

,wait

Half as submissive as we waited there.The wri ting over

, one offi c ial roseAnd disappeared (No not mysteri ously’Twas only through a door.— More wait ing. ) ThenReturning

,handed us two documents

,

Which he called t ickets,and the other one

Came up forthw ith,demanding Tickets please.

Then growing tired of the ir piece of fun,They let us in

,to see what we might see.

And ‘ I suppose that wondrous catalogueOf weights and measures

,facts and fantasies

,

I s copied out in fair round characters,

In some huge volume with a metal clasp,

Sealed with his majesty’s imperial seal,

And countersigned by some high ministerAnd put away

,and then who looks at it ?

Some day,no doubt, when I have taken seat

Upon the highest pinnacle of fame(And pray that it be something 'uite distinctFrom any pinnacle I yet have seenThe part I occupy will be framed and glazed

,

44

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I n the World

While on the other side he grants the mobCharters c onfirming them their l ibertiesWh ich they proceed to take in diverse w i se.Then in the corners

,the four cardinal virtues

Are sitting on the seven deadly sinsThree upon two . So one has only one.

Descend a little from the demi-gods,

That flood the ce iling. Al l about the HallGlass cases standing

,hold embroidery

,

Plate of all fashion,jewels

,rosaries

The ornamental portions of an age,

Whose fabric long has crumbled. As we keepQuaint frescoes and small carven pinnacles,From some old building when we pull i t down .

First came the plate. Ye Gods,what splendid plate

After Cell ini,partly by his hand.

Such legends,such pursuits

,such fairy forms

Wrought with the even finish of the day.Yet in my ignorance, and all unusedTo courtly ways, I hold such plate as thisMore fitly shewn in case or cabinetThan on the board and honest crockeryThe best for dining with a quiet mind .

I shrink from tak ing up the last remains,

Of what has cloaked a maiden’s nakedness,So leave them unconsumed. My knife is stayedBy fear of cutting off a cupid’s toe.

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I n the World

My choicest morsel stays upon the plateBy lodging in a cornucopia.

And so my d inner suffers grievously.Well

,I might be less scrupulous perhaps

,

Were nymphs to me an everyday affair,

And all my food served up with goddesses .Nor is i t so with royalties

,who sit

,

Adorned w ith jewels and the airs of court,

Watching old Neptune rising through the sea1 mean the soup— while graceful Nereids playIn the seclusion of the gravy boats.And Ceres

,great earth-mother

,scarce i s seen

Beneath the burden, heavier than she boreIn olden t ime

, o f grapes and oranges .And in the salad bowl an earwig crawl sAcross Pan’s forehead

,and he smites it not.

Those were rare times when royalty was royal,

And dressed in draperies of damask silk,

And never dined without its crown of gold,

Nor drove abroad, but in the car of stateWith prancing steeds and horsemen not a few.

How are we fallen From the envious sunTop hat or bonnet shields the princely headLike any other— Here my reverieI s rudely interrupted

,

' S i,Signor.

Ah Questa molto Bella and I hearMy fair companions whispering apart

,

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I n the World

Their new acquaintance has a taste in plateExtremely critical. And find myselfS taring Athena out of countenance .I start and blush and ask the date of it.And then the Conduttore shews us roundMarking the points of interest. This cupOnce held the fell draught of a poisoner.That c ruc ifix a

‘

holy father boreOn his last pilgrimage . The casket there(The Signorine will observe) was madeOnly from sealing-wax and rushes dried

,

Looking like marble at a yard or two.

15 i t no t wonderful ? This MercuryWas cast from pieces of the very tongsWith which S t. Dunstan tweaked his MajestyThe Devil . Then the Frescoes have their turn.

This yoke of oxen would appear to ploughI f we would move across the room this way(Guiding us in among the furniture) .This painted Cupid looked in bold reliefI f we would be so good as squeeze our headsInto this cabinet . Your elbow hereAgainst the pane of glass. E cco S ignor

,

See,i t i s easy.

” So we try it tooWith varying results declaring allWe see it plainly but c onfide upstairsWe caught not one stray word of all he said.

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I n the World

Then, after sundry wonders of the kind,Here was the end of what he had to show

,

Another man would take us up the stairs .The fee one Lira. Grazia

,Signor 1

The other man appeared conducted usU p a broad staircase, and unlocked a door.Then, first demanding payment in advance,He let us in to wander where we would.

We wandered. Through long brilliant corridors,

From room to room,and yellow changed to blue,

And blue to red,then orange

,violet

,

As if a rainbow lay across the place .And the gold varying from room to roomLike prisoned sunshine

,which would wax and wane

To do a monarch service . Bedrooms now,

Now rooms of state here the king dressed,and here

The Queen sat talking ere she went to rest,While all the fairest maidens Florence knewHung round about her in a graceful knot

,

Sitting or kneel ing li stened while she spoke,

And filled the gaps of s ilence with soft speech .

Then at the wonted signal went they forthAll save a few who knew her inmost heart

,

Who stayed for further counsel ; while the l ightDarkened about the windows

,and the voice

More rich from silence and the evening t imeFlowed out from heart to heart. So ranted I

,

D ,

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I n the World

Careless of fact. But what same Queen was this ?Said my companion who had spoken most.I thought that Florence was republicanI n former times . You cannot speak, for shame,I n such rich terms ofmodern Royalty.

”

Then slyly said her friend,He thinks, perhaps,

That any history w ill do for us.

I was at school not many ages since .Then Badeker you know 1” She hit me hardAnd I was fain confess that fancy lightHad quite outstripped old plodding history.

But I protested, if they tied me downTo Badeker, (and here a -splendid shrug'Learnt from the gay I talian), ’Twas an endTo conversation and they laughed, and saidThey made me free of Badeker . l bowedAnd thence the talk flowed on without reserve .

So having wandered through the rooms of state,(Like other rooms of state, which we despiseAs fi t amusement for the vulgar herd,Being in England but be ing hereThe past rich glamour of old FlorentinesMakes all of interest), demanded weThe Botticelli late discovered there.And being now on virgin ground, unstirredBy plough of Ruskin o r rapacious Crowe,We played the cri t ic blamed the pallid tones

,

SO

I n the World

But held the picture gracefully composedThought that great Pan had borne most patientlyThe pulling of his lock of hair, and praisedThe floral pattern on Minerva’s breast.Then down the stairs, and leaving state aboveWe strolled into the l ittle court behind

,

Where the old palace l ies more orderly,

And less terific with its jutting stones. ‘

And leaning on a rail, we breathed and peeredInto the darkness of a hollow grotWhere weird sea monsters, scarce distinguishableSo old were they, so white and moss-o’er grown,Drove boldly through the surf in miniatureWith which the l ight breeze lapped their hoary sides.While Father Neptune, not himself exemptFrom ravages of time, for in his skullWhere hollowed out, some idle birds had builtCareless of oceanic majesty,Leaning upon his trident

, gazed with prideUpon a sea some twenty feet across .And was he happier ( I wonder nowWhen in old I lium they bowed to him,

Offered him incense, prayed his furtheranceAcross the ocean which was all hi s own.

Maybe the ' ocean nymphs were wayward thingsAnd hard to keep in order then the sea ,How very trying to a peaceful god

5 1

I n the World

(And gods at times were peacefully inclined. )And then the dolphins

,though a splendid team

,

Must have been sadly difficult to matchSo many cares surrounded his wide ru le.And now, l ike many a worn and past o ld manWhose range of acts was wide, whose range of thoughtWas wider st ill, silent, he babbles onTo that half-human figure at hi s side,(Who may be Venus self for ought I know, )Of chariot race s through the boiling surf

,

Of how he shouted down the roaring sea,

And stayed its hand,even in the very act

Of tearing up frail ships, - and how at night,(This was a youngster when his heart was gay,His form less portly than it since has grown

,)H e floated up from caverns, sea-weed hung,With scarce a follower

,and with the moon

Cast ing a shimmer on the even sand,Sang in a liquid voice so sweet a songTh at a fair princess, whom he deigned to wooIn her high tower on the rocky cliff,Sprang in the sea which parted in surpriseSending out silver flashes and a cryAnd how he drew her to the depths below.

Whereat the monsters mentioned heretoforeAttempt a wink, but, having scarce one eyeBetween the three of them,

with small success.52

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IV. Beyond the World

B efore the C2731 Cafes

I HAD a dream which filled me yesternightFull of strange thoughts too wild to l ive in me .Just as a w ine cask filled too full with wineWill crack and burst and all the wine be lost

,

My dreaming hulk,fulfilled to breaking point,

Cracked into waking,and this wine of dreams

Ran wild and pall id into daylight’s glare.Yet with a hasty zeal I saved a partS tored in my memory and here i t is .Sleeping I lay and dreams came over meAnd in my dream one took me by the handAnd said, ' Arise, I have a sight for thee .

”

I heard his voice hi s face I did not see.I never saw his face. Through all the whileUnti l hi s presence merged in greater things

,

Something forbad me look at h im. I knewOnly a mystical and thrill ing soundThat clothed my senses with obedience.

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Beyond the World

Then up we moved my chamber silentlyParting to let u s pass . On high we rose

,

And down beneath our fee t the earth grew blueXVith distance . Tall trees dwindled into mossThat sucks the rock

,and wondrous wavy lines

Came gently circling as the earth spun round.

Swifter than light we mounted through the spaceHeld by our sun, and through the liquid airWe slid

,as through clear water. P lanets now

Came whirl ing pas t and dancing asteroids,

The ir graceful pursuivants and,now and then

,

Wandering comets from the hollow voidPeered wistfully

,breathed dankly

,over us,

And went the ir ghostly way. Thick darkness nowAnd through the darkness upwards st ill we slid

,

Into the region of another sun,

A brighter far. And gold and si lver ballsCame sail ing past. Then regions of strange s torms

,

And whirring hail and boil ing meteors.Still upward t ill the sense grew sick and dim

,

And I cri ed faintly,

' I can bear no more.I am a thing of earth and in this voidI peri sh . Let me die at rest .” But s tillWe moved

,and clouds of darkness covered me .

And when my senses came to me againStrengthened and purified I know not howThe storms were left behind. The air released

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Beyond the World

Was calm about as. We were moving nowMore slowly

,and a vast illumined mass

That seemed to shroud a greater light within,Shone out above. Then whispered me my guide .Prepare thyself

,for we are close at hand .

”

And all the while, dissolving like a mist,The light grew rarer

,and a Shape within

More firm,more bold

,but fifty times more brigh t,

Grew from the misty halo round about .And then I saw the city of beaten gold

,

Four s'uare, majest ic flooded with a l ightMost wonderful, that streaming through the gates,Guarded not clouded by a single pearl,Shot out twelve pathways through the quivering air

,

By which the great rewarded might ascend .

And even the smooth and infinite extentOf golden wall was dimmed

,and even the vast

,

And rare foundat ions of it, Sardonyx,Chrysoph ras, sapphire, emerald and the rest,Whereby ’twas builded on the ether pure

,

Grew dim and lurid l ike a dying eye .Close to the wall we lay

,which

,l ike a plain

That beat and quivered in the towering sun,

Spread from me . And I felt me utterly,More utterly in that I came so near

,

Shut from the city. So a drowning manClutching a ring beneath the parapet

,

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Beyond the World

That fronts the sea,might hang, and hear the throng

Pass and repass him in the angry night,

And know himself too weak to make them hear.Not long I waited

, (for my guide had goneAlthough I knew not when he left my side

,)Unt il the light

,that equally before

Had i ssued forth from all the gates of pearl,

Swung forward to the sid e at which I layAnd from the others faded Till aboveStood forth the Christ

,that was the Source of all .

Around Him clustered the redeemed,who stood,

The ir faces radiant with a gentler lightMaking the softness of a bank of cloudsThat shades the sun’s noon glory. Shading H isStill to a narrow pathway, as the cloudsShut in the sun

,and

,through the ir spirit forms

Gently diffused,a soft and pearly l ight,

Spread on the deep embrasures of the walls.A Triumph

,mild, serene, magnific ent ,

Sat on His Face,wherefrom the wondrous eyes

,

To the far di stance gazing earnestly,

Looked for the coming up of other soulsWho should defeat the world. And following them,

And partly too grown dizzy with the light,

I turned and looked. A faint horizon cloudWas coming into sight. As if a breeze

,

Had moved i t nearer,disarraying it58

Beyond the World

With interchanges of an early cloud,

That spring has fashioned and is playing w ith .

F irst distantly and vague the cloud appeared,And then a close grey throng. But when that throngCame where the ray

,dispersing hitherto

Over the brink of chaos, gathered inAn ordered path

,the light passed into them

,

Or l ike a prism they divided itInto a thousand parts. And each was seenClad in the colours that he loved on earth

,

And bearing them to heaven . On Ou they cameTill I might see the faces

,and divide

The women from the men . Some st ill were paleWith suffering

,some strong and eagle-eyed

As never tempted some intense and fullAs never weak but all were soft and pure.Then halted they before the city wall

,

And one by one advanced. He welcomed them,

As He had known and loved them in past days.Some greeting personal to each . PerhapsWhat danger overcome

,what sin removed

,

Wh at pain borne patiently and each in turnPassed him and mingled wi th the throng behind.

And as they passed Him by, I turned my gazeUpon the crowd that waited patiently

,

And watched the faces l ighting,as a friend

,

S ister beloved,or father, joined with them

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Beyond the World

I n soft embrace with greeting low and deepThe gentle binding of the ancient t ieNot severed but suspended . Those indeedThat waited longer had the cup of joyMore deeply filled . To see the longi ng eyes,Growing more hungry

,as the throng went by

And still their hope remained unsatisfied,Suddenly

,with supreme unearthly j oy

,

Break into l ight But still one face remainedU nsatisfied . I t was a woman’s face,Drawn pale with watching

,and her body thin

Shewed through the sombre robe that covered her.Upon her forehead one great swollen markAs from a blow. The last had passed her by,And still she gazed and gazed. Then start ing up,She hailed the Master who had turned aboutAnd in her voice a throbbing undersongThat sounded strangely at the gates of peaceWhere is my boy ? He surely should be here.They tell me that they killed him yesternight.Where i s he now Whereat with saddened browAnd low still voice the Master spoke to her.I t may not be that we receive him here .

Sad— sad it i s almost a shadow castAcross our heaven, to have rent apartMother and son . But yet it must be so .

He deeply s inned and he repented not,60

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Beyond the World

And answered, Wonderful is woman’s love 1”

But yet I saw a change between the faceBent down, and raised again and st ill He said

,

I t may not be. H ere is no place for him.

”

N0 place for me,” she answered, springing up,And as she sprang she grew immense in size

,

I ntense in sorrow. Bring me to my boyWhere i s my son ? Where i s my only sonAnd at her piteous wail ing, lo the sceneWent misty and the glory of the l ightAnd all the wonder of the towering burghGrew like the faded fresco on a wallPainted by some old monk of long ago.

And then the mother, growing vaster ever,Black outlined

,pale as death

,her raven hair

S treaming behind her and the deadly woundWild gleaming on her forehead started forthAcross the far faint l ines that lingered thereB lotting them out, and filled the air w ith night.

V . P ersonal and C r i tic al P iec es

074 5 57 E B um e—jones’

Garden

of Me H esper id’es

O GLOOMY sisters of the western sunGuarding the treasure which to touch is death

,

Engrafted on a tree This very oneWhich your fair circle round enc ompassethYe are the ministers of Jove, who saithLet none approach 1” and to make guard more true,He bent him toward the ground and at his breath

U p sprang a snake of silver scales and blue,Who is your help -mate still to watch the long hours

through.

What i s the secret he has hidden thereWithin those balls of gold. And do ye knowAnd feel its influenc e when your wanton hairSweeps lightly past them ? Depth of weal or woe ?

Or, chance, some secret, that if man might know63

Personal and Crit i cal P ieces

He should become far might ier than his lord ?Or would it shed soft sleep on all belowOlympus’ peak and death to man restoredRob Jove of all the gain the ir toil to him afford ?

And i s he sooth at pains to turn awayMan’s eyes therefrom

,that stil l i t might endure

Why were ye planted, fragrant as the dayAnd we ird as moonlight rather as a lureTo snare his heart

,than as a sentry sure

To hear his foot afar and challenge himTo meet his hand with hands so soft and pure ?And thou brigh t beast with visage keen and grimWhy stare at me so fierc ely through the shadows dim ?

0 wonderful confusion of sweet thoughtSad eyes

,soft throats

,and gently throbbing breasts

,

Fringed with deep tresses wonderfully wrought.Broad leaves where never song birds built theirnests.

And shadows deep wherein the fancy restsTo shelter from so dread a mysteryAs fearing to be struck with deadly pestsDeeming itself a trespasser to beO h ground that heavenly power has wreathed so awfully.

64

Personal and Crit i cal P ieces

Nay do not dance I About the tree they swim,

Mocking the motion of a river reedIn the wind music evening breathes on him .

Aye I am captive to the sight indeedAnd ever thickening mists mine eyes impede .

Great Goddess Trio Cease awhile the dance .Ye are not hungry w ith the spider’s greed.

Sit on the slope, and to my wistful tranceS ing me the threatened fruits of mine intemperance.

Lo they are silent and the dance is st ill .The song, the music of the breeze doth cease,And on ' the tree

,and on the grassy hill

I s shed around an universal peace.The fruit still hangs. Fruit never to increase

,

Never to fall . Still,s t ill that serpent thing

Gleams like a spirit striving for release.And

,for the Goddesses deny to sing

,

Those pendant balls of gold still whet our questioning .

0 Golden lure of l ife O maidens fairAnd 0 keen serpent lurking there behindYou daze the eye

,you tangle with your hair

,

And then you spit your poison on the mind .

When shall the hour,embosomed on the wind,65

Personal and C r i t i ca l P ieces

Bring to us men a nobler aim than these ?O r shall we st i ll lust for the golden rind

O r dream away our life beneath the treesLosing our souls’ strength here fo r heaven s eternit ies ?

On M 7 Swz'

fl bum e’

s A sfrofikel

VERSE i s the people of a poet’s mindThat bear his gifts

,so none be left behind.

Verse i s the mystic band,A torch in every hand,

Life’s way intent to find.

15 his a weighty gift ? The ir backs are broad .

Love’s burden ? Bosoms fair to be adored.

I s hi s gift gay and bright ?Lo then the ir limbs are light

And grace in every word.

66

Personal and C r it ical P ieces

3.

But whose like thine alike were strong and swift,

To bear the weight,to scale the mountain rift ?

Who bore love’s burden so ?Held torches to our woe

That still would drift and drift ?

4 .

Still are thy verse folk fair, they still are strong.

But what is given them to bear along ?What food of l ife prepare theyWhat heaven- li t torches bear they ?

What message in thy song ?

5 .

I hear the dancing of their myriad feet,

The sound of all thy voices that is sweetSo from the mountain-side

,

Seeking the endless tide,The bubbling waters meet.

6.

They ri se obedient to my soul ’s commandsThy fair creations in their measured bands .But see their faces stareBeneath their braided hair

,

And, nothing in their hands.67

Personal and C ri t ical P ieces

7 .

Only they dance beside me as I l ie,Fair-coloured groups

, defiling gracefully.

All sound one monotoneNo ecstasy i s shewn

No laughter,nor a sigh .

8 .

Hearts empty empty and vain l ips thatN0 word of all the visions that I seek.

And as one fair face dipsAnd I l ift up my lips

,

No fervour in that cheek.

9.

Where are the thundrous thoughts that used to roll ?Where i s the fire that flamed and scorched the soul ?Where is the great broad seaOf swell ing symphony

,

Bearing to l ife the whole ?

I O.

Thou hadst drunk deep the cup of bitternessLust came and sat by thee in golden dress.And

,with the turmoil past

,

Thou hadst no voice at lastEither to curse or bless.

68

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Personal and Cr i t i cal P ieces

1 5 .

When the round sunset hall came floating byWhere in the great gods l ive eternally

,

Passed not from earth thy flightU p by that bridge of l ight,

The rainbow in the sky ?

16.

But still thy voice i s silent from it allEvening has come on thee, night SpreadsAnd over sea and skyAnd mountains spiring high

The mists of silver fall .

1 7.

Yet though the heaven i s swathed in darknessThe heavy earth i s silent at our feetI n one vast awesome hush,Still s ilent rivers rush

Some far-ofi’ sea to greet.

1 8.

So we must render thanks to thee, I deemThat thou hast given as beside the streamThat rushes toward a seaRemoving endlessly

Somewhere to sit and dream.

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Personal and Cri t i cal P ieces

M emor z’

am M l lz'

am Mor r is

(D ied Octoéer 1 896)

O F many men of virtue, rank, and power,Has death bereft us in a month or twoAnd yet my voice i s raised in praise of oneWho boasted not of rank

,who loved not power

,

But l ived for virtue only. William MorrisWhen our time’s story comes in historyWhere shall thy name be written ? High enough

,

I f I might write the story of our time .

True earnest worker for the people’s good,Deep in our day he lived

,yet loved withal

The fashion of old time, and not despisedThe legacy our fathers left to us.

He loved the stories of heroic deedsOf gods

,and giants

,and the twi sted forms

Of snarl ing dwarfs, and told them in our ears ,Making sweet music of thi s English tongue.Most rightly deeming that these tales of old

,

Wherein man wrote the truest part of him,

Must still for us be true. But not aloneFrom legends of the past, he drew the voiceO f honour, but he touched and beaut ifiedThe useful things

,the needs of every day

7 1

Personal and Cr i t ical P ieces

Making art practical to human life.He loved sweet Nature. Loving her, he bentHer form and spirit to our daily use .Flowers grew on the walls

,and colours pure

,

Disposed as Nature most had taught to him,

Came at h is mandate and the graceful vine,

N0 longer now the bane of human-kind,

Bent her proud head,consent ing to adorn

The marg in of a book. And printed speech,The stubbornest

,grew graceful at his touch.

And,be it but a few had use of these

,

(For the high work of human brain demandsH igh recompense

,

’twas so in every ageSuch few were no t the measure of his good.Was not the man, who traced those fair designs,Spread those fair colours, and imprinted deepOn honest page those graceful borderings,The happier thereby ? 0 think i t so .

And far above all thi s a work he wrought.Poor erring boys

,who trembled on the brink

O f sheer destruction,l ike a growing tree

Whose roots Spread forth,half o ’er a precipice,

Half into sand,he took

,and planted them

In a fair garden girt about wi th flowers,And bade them weave the things he shewed them there

,

Growing pure in heart and fairy tales of old,And legendary forms of fearless men

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Personal and Cr it ica l P ieces

Who slew and spared not and like them to slayThe evi l beasts that ravened in their hearts.Shall not his memory l ive for this alone ?And to crown all

,although his mind was great,

Far greater than it seemed to all the world,He deemed it less and so the noble mindShewed nobler for the humbleness of heart.Sleep softly Morris 2 May thy memoryBe washed as gently by succeeding years

,

As the slow quiet Thames,undreaming yet

Of spire and college and the laden barge,

Washes those lawns at 'elmscott. Lie in peaceWhere’er thou l iest for thy part in life

,

Though meek and silent,none the less endures

TO after-ages indispensable.

On M 7’ Gladstone? Refz'

remem‘

f rom P ol itical L ife

Is GLADSTONE really gone ? A space of calmHangs o’er us. For a moment all i s peace,And in that peace he passes. Well

,I think

Upon a story that was told to meOnce by a friend who in his Childhood’s day

73

Personal and C rit ical P ieces

Lived in a far off country VicarageOne of those o ld and stalwart English homes

,

That seems to promise us a thousand yearsOf quietude

,enjoyment

,and content.

Hard by there grew an oak,a mighty tree

,

Spreading abroad its curled arms everywhere ,And no one knew whose hand had planted it

,

For far beyond the memory of our t imeThose very boughs had spread and flourished there.And underneath

,the rustic flute-player

P iped to the dancers on the first of May.

And many an ancient fest ival was heldOf England’s childhood Many a vicar pastHad greeted there the village gathering,With no respect of person . Children oft,Worn out with morning romps, had flung themselvesPanting w ithin the circle that it madeOf shadowy purple on the grass at noon .

But when he knew it,i t was ben t w i th years

Long,long its prime was over here and there

A branch had withered and the bark was gone.And here it had been struck with l ightning,And one tall bough had perished from the trunk.

Folk often said it stood too near the houseAnd thought that mischief would befall one day.

My father,said my friend, had thought the same

And when a tempest passed across the land74

Personal and Cri t ical P ieces

Would wake at night and listen for the crashAnd in the morning from his window peer,To tell himself the oak was standing yet.But tempests came and went

,the boisterous winds

Threw down a multitude of lesser treesThroughout the forests

,but our ancient oak

Still stood in triumph and defied them all.One day the sun sank in an autumn calmN0 leaf was s t irring singing us to restWith gentle songs of wood birds fell the night.And when the sweet-breathed morning called to us,Lo the o ld oak lay prone upon the grass.How long it stood indeed was wonderfulBut most of all we wondered how i t fell.And now the threatened danger was removed,We only thought on what it once had beenAnd all of us were sad that i t was gone .

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M i scel laneous P ieces

Rating thee so, how l ittle see they stillThese things are hostile to thee not thine own,But making contrary to thy grave will.I f death o r wrong beneath thy rule are known,Down from thine ear they shrink in undertone.And Revelry is veiled in borrowed rays,Not daring to endure night’s steadfast gaze .

And by such revellers thou art belied.

Wantons,that call thee wanton Slaves that start

From thy robes’ fringes . Therefore I have tried,Albeit to know the fulness of thy heartT00 young and frail, to paint thee in a part.

So the o ld Psalmist gave, and he was right,Speech to the day

,and knowledge to the night.

Truth,but the truth told tamely. Sooth is it,

'nowledge is father unto keen debateAnd silence preludes ever-sparkl ing witAnd quiet thought has rooted up rank hate,And in its stead plants love immaculate.And speech that passes

,in itself

,i s nought

But current co in exchanging thought w ith thought.

Therefore, as thought is far more excellent,By so much is the night more rare and deep

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M i scel laneous P ieces

Than wayward day whose boasted hours are spentOnly in speaking. When he falls asleepAnd s ilence comes to us

,the night doth keep

Her watch, with s ilver brow and bosom meekThinking fresh speeches out for him to speak.

And what a speech Upon the moor at mornThe w ild wind whispers

,st irring i ts low hair

,

And the swift clouds upon that w ind upbornCry out how free they wander through the air,And how divine he is who set them there.The trees take up the song so often told,When the warm sunshine melts them into gold.

Then at the waning,when the sun’s red eyes

B id the lost day a sorrowful adieu,Yet in those orbs a hope of future lies,Time takes me by the hand and leads me throughGrey gentle twilight’s dusky avenue

And by an antechamber starry brightHe brings me to the mighty hall of night.

And ye that enter, see that with awe ye comeWith no loud riot ing or song profane.The night shall mask it not with general hum,

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Mi scel laneous P ieces

But hear i t w ith a chilling cold disdainO r with clear echo cast it back againAs giving forth command

,

’t is not her choiceTo be disturbed with such unthoughtful voice.

No light is set among us where we are,Calm in our awe and silent but insteadA gentler glow irradiates from afar

,

Where the wide roof i s bent above our head .

O r from one s ilver lamp a gleam is shed.

And,with the world so darkened

,Heaven is seen

Above the dusk more pure,and more serene .

Here we may bring our griefs and spread themUnseen by others

,seen by him alone

And all the strain of ignorance and doubtAnd every ill that under day is known .

H ere hang our hearts l ike roses overblown,By the long sunshine pi tiless out-worn.

And from their languor, scentless and forlorn,

The night will water them wi th silver dew,Feed them w ith s ilence till they bloom again,And greet the ris ing day with vigour new.

And whatsoe’er may be of want and pain,I n all that hall

,some thought of love is fain

80 .

M i scel laneous P ieces

To soften it yet no words break the air.Only thought’s mini sters are moving there.

Here prayers are answered and God’s voice i s heard .

Here widowed hearts are healed,if that may be.

Here to his mistress sings the fai thful bird.

Here with her needle staunch PenelopeWrought a dece i t more rare than fealty.

And many deeds of praise have here been done,

Which had not scope beneath the tyrant sun.

0 mighty,and O world enfolding hall

,

Yet crowded never though the world increase,

On thy broad pavement there i s room for all,Who

,sitting in the silence, shall not cease

To commune w ith thy spirit’s mysteries,

Beneath heaven’s roof,which mighty piers upbore

From long lost ages on the earthly floor

In some far corner find a place for me.I shall not riot nor as he that liesFast bound in slumber use it carelessly.

’Tis written on thy gates ' This Hall suppliesGood hope to all who seek it, and denies

Access to no one, for the only keyTo ope the gate i s man’s humility.

”

*

F 8 1

M i scel laneous P ieces

D eafk’

s Am‘e—Chaméer

SHALL our spirits,loosed by the death throe

,wander

Listless over the earth’s drawn face ?Sit in the shade of the woods

,o r squander

Unheard sighs by their dwelling place ?Wither away in the fruitless painTo speak to the souls they loved again ?Stray to the ending of time beyond ourVision in regions of endless space ?

Who knows but the spirits ofmen dissolving,Like living water in fine rare mist,Are poised

,an ocean of clouds revolving

,

Cold and fervent,an endless l ist.

Gross and haggard they float and flyAbove the earth and beneath the sky

,

And wait fo r the message of God absolvingTheir souls in a limitless Eucharist.

Some are purple and full of pass ion.

Some are yearning with pale lean l ip.

Some are broad,which the sunbeams splash

Dyeing their edge with a golden strip.

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M i scel laneous P ieces

And some are joyous and lightly passIn the long white train of a parent massAnd move around it in graceful fashion

,

And rise and sunder, and pause and dip.

And the sad lone spirits whose stay was painfulClose down and cover the earth with rain .

And those of temper on earth disdainfulLie stretched in easy and cold disdain.

And many, whose lives on earth were rentBy the power of a tyrannous element,Freed by death from the fetter baneful

,

Meet and greet in the air again.

And some wi ll sit by the silent riverAnd some will brood on the lonely moorAnd some in wistful lest haste wil l shiverOn the high rough rock that it needs endure.And the great of the earth are moving there

,

Like snow hills drift ing in open air,

Against whose wh iteness the strained eyes quiver,

As ocean mighty,as snowflakes pure.

And the soft faint heart of the gentle wooerGlows in the ray of the sunset warmAnd the bright hearts round him

,fewer and fewer

,

An endless circle of dance perform .

83

Mi scel laneous P ieces

And the heavy and thoughtful s it and wai tAbout the porch of the sun’s closed gateAnd the angry shout of the evil-doerSounds in the wrack of the rising storm.

And just for a l ittle,where life had birth

We w i ll linger,and touch it lovingly

And wander over the sea’s wide girth,And into the haunts of the sea-gull pry.

And having greeted the friends we keepWith soft faint breath as we l ie asleep,Then

,freed from earth and the taint of earth

,

We ri se and melt in the open sky.

[77 a Music H all

PALACE or lowly cottage, calm or storm,

I n scenes that harrow, and fair l ights that please,The same obedient elements performWhat various offic es.

The pure brow of the virgin queen, absorbedI n grief for man, her gentle face and meekGrows from the self same colour that i s daubedUpon the harlot’s cheek .

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M i scel laneous P ieces

M ephz'

sz‘opk z

'

les confi ned 70 H ell

HOW shall I l ive My food is fire and bloodMy passion i s the whirlwind unw ithstoodMy laughter i s the sounding thunderclapMy whispering the roaring of the flood .

Before my feet are wrath and terror spreadMy brows are with a cloud encompassed

,

Through which mine eyes,l ike brands of

downOu the bleak empire of the voiceless dead.

J oyless revenge has waned for many a dayTorture has palled

,and horror has grown grey

The fibre-searching instruments are coldThe joy of using them has passed away.

I can no longer bear this bleak abodeFrescoed wi th all the races death has rode.I cry aloud for living beating hearts

And fair young flesh to canker and corrode.86

M i scel laneous P ieces

But everv creature of the living wombSharp fingered Death has dragged within theAnd all the sweetness that is hid therein

He sucks away before he gives me room.

Deep lust unsatisfied returns againTo tear the heart and feed upon the brain .

So , for the treasures that I cannot reach,I rend myself

,and tenfold i s the pain .

I am a spiri t lost, that once was good.

But goodness is a dream scarce understood .

And from the palaces of lust I cryHow shall I l ive

,my food is fire and blood I

Tke S am e' of L ife

CLEAR i s the ray the parting sunlightSheddeth o’er mountain

,mere and stream .

And in the flickering, darkening twilight,Food may be found from many a dream .

Pure is the ray which scarcely t intethRippling waters w i th blood red hue .

Deep is the shadow which it SheddethOver the hills and the waters too .

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M i sce l laneous P ieces

Thus i s the end ofmany a mortalRestful and gentle, pure and good.

Such as the light which scarcely hoversOver the peaceful sleeping wood .

’Tis as the spirit,the higher nature,

Casts a last glimpse on its earthly abodeGiveth a last fond kiss at partingSoon to attend the throne of God .

TU RNBU LL AND SPEARS , PRINTERS , EDIN BU RGH .

U NIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

LosAngelesTh is book is DU E on th e last d ate stamped bel ow.