Poems

Book I. Page Page

The Path of Life . . .37 The Grange 5 Silver and Gold . . .18 The Foot of the Cross . 39 Sleep and Death . . .20 Saint Catherine . . .40 Truth and Doubt . .22 The Crucifix . . . .41 Things Unseen . . -23 A Pilgrimage . . . .42 Gods Warnings . . .24 Forgiveness .... 44 Prepared to Die . . .26 A Penitent"s Prayer . 45 The Legion of Honor . . 29 The Church of the Braves 30 The Good Shepherd . . 31 Matins 46 Lauds 47 The Hours . . . .48 Rest in Peace . . .32 Vespers 49 The Prisoners of Death , 34 Compline 50

Book II

Forget-me-not . . . 51 Ruby 66 Love 69 Grace 70 No Witness . . . .71 From Sleep to Death . . VI CONTENTS.

BOOK II

— continued. PAGE PAGE The Column of Blood . . 75 Submission .... 86 The Sisters . . . .76 Rebecca and Rachel . 87 No Name . . .- . .77 Sibylla 88 The Silent Battle . . 80 Wives' Sisters . . .91 The Haunted Harp . . 82 So Like ! 93 The Language of Flowers . 83 Each Time 94 A Mystery . . . .85 Harpist and Poet. . . 96

Book III

Cliff-Gate . . . .97 The Moments .... 129 Amy 109 The Earth and the Church 130 The Pilgrims of the Sea . 112 Translation .... 132 The Living and the Dead . 113 The Lovers . . . .133 The Seaweed . . . .114 Found Drowned . . . 134 The Star of the Sea . . 116 Home Brightness . . . 136 Army and Navy . . .119 The Better Part . . .137 The Fall of the Leaf. . 120 The Prayer of the Sea . 139 The Lifeboat Men . . 121 One Taken, the Other Left 141 Shot and Shell . . . 123 Eighteen - hundred -and - seventy -four . . .143 By Land and by Sea . . 124 Out of the Depths . . 127

Book IV. Arden

Introduction . . . .147 The Stars of Memory . . 148 The Village .... 150 The Marsh-Moor . . . 153 The Gipsy . . . I56 The Flowers . . . t^_ The Lost Bride . . . i59 Dora l6l CONTENTS. vii

BOOK IV.

— continued. PAGE PAGE Blanche 163 Parted 170 Memory's Dream . . . 165 The Fairies .... 171 The Orphans .... 166 The Victoria Cross . . 172 Mabel 167 A Sea-Dream .... 174 Sun and Moon . . .168 The Bondage of Gold . . 177 Lost Love .... 169 Conclusion . . . .179

Book V. The Valley Of Tears

Twilight 183 Eastward .... 211 Dreamland . . . .189 Westward .... 221 Legends 195 Shadows 232 Traditions .... 202 Mysteries .... 242 FRAGMENTS. The Guardian Angel . . 249 Resignation .... 253 Mammon-Worship . . . 250 For Love .... 254 The Way of the Cross . 251 In Memory .... 255 The Work of Life . . 252 Epilogue

Prologue

. Night, like a dark-eye'd Squaw, hath rocked to rest The drowsy Day, upon her red-skin breast — And creeping, like a shadow, overhead, Hath borne away the sleepy Sun to bed — From Star to Star, the Moon is climbing high, Within the cloud-roofed Wigwam of the sky — Yet, all the while, is looking looks of light, Most lovingly, upon her love, the Night ! Then I, dream-dreaming, at the death of day, Myself unto myself, begin to say — Would that the dreams we dream could be re-wrought Within the magic crucible of Thought ! The dross of Doubt out-shaken, and the gold Of Truth re-moulded in a truer mould ! Myself unto myself, I make reply — Am I a Post ? What is Poetry? E

PROLOGUE.

. 2 i Myself unto myself, I answer thus — Music is Poetry — It floats to us, Across the undulations of the air, Enters our hearts, and breaks in echoes there — For what are Haydn's wondrous harmonies ! Or Handel's arch-dramatic rhapsodies ! Or what Mozart's semi-seraphic chords ! Or what Beethoven's tender symphonies ! Or what Rossini's sweeter melodies ! But Poems, set in sounds, instead of words ! Painting is Poetry — On paths of light, The life-like colours seem to come and go, And smile upon us, through the gates of sight — For what did else the Lords of Art, all times ! What did the mighty Michael Angelo ! What did Murillo ! Rubens ! Raphael ! And thousands, of whom time would fail to tell ! But shape their thoughts in tints, instead of rhymes Language is Poetry — It breathes in words, Which, whether they be uttered at the time, And whether they be clad in simple chords, Or whether they be clothed in richer rhyme, Or whether they be gather'd afterwards, And whether sprung from the more ancient Bards, The Master-poets, down from Solomon, Or whether to the Modern more akin,

PROLOGUE.

. 3 The later Poets, down to Tennyson, Are all creations of the soul within — Am I a poet ? Who can say he is ? I know not if I be — I know but this — If, to love all things beautiful on earth, Although with love, not worthy of their worth — And, loving them, to love the One who gave More to the world than such a world could crave — And, loving Him, to love Him in His works, In which His Hand, however hidden, lurks — And, loving Him in them, to love to raise A voice, however feeble, in His praise — If this be Poetry — and not a sham — And this, to be a Poet — then, I am ! b z

Book I. The Grange And Other Poems

Broad lands, wellwatered, on the coast of Kent Rich acres, richer than a thousand Banks — With wood, and turf, and intersecting streams — And, overlooking all of them, the Grange — More of the past, than present, was the Grange ! One half, all ruin ! and the other half, Half ruin, and half habitable ! Yet Was never modern mansion half as strong ! Thick-set in buttresses — from midst of which Like some great bird, the central tower rose, Grey, golden-crested, overlapping all — With plumes of Gothic arches, feather-like — But shatter'd here and there, like broken wings ! Yet was the Grange not wholly of the past — For old Sir Hugh, the fourteenth Baronet, For forty years had lived upon the land, And, dying there, had left his eldest son, To 'scape the Kentish law of Gavel-kind, Sole heir to all his real estate in Kent — While he, Sir John, since then the Baronet, Himself, had lived, three summers, at the Grange, And winters, with his wife, the Lady Jane !

Sir John, a Catholic, of Catholics ! Of Englishmen, was all an Englishman ! His heart and soul, in all he said and did ! Not one in Kent, from boyhood, was his like — For, who could run as fast, or walk as far, Or leap as wide, or climb as high, as he — Or swim, or dive, or ride, or drive, as well — Or sail a match, or row a race, as he — Or fish more skilfully ; or better shoot ! Who else, in meditation, thought as deep ! Who else, in argument, discussed as clear ! Or read, or wrote, or spoke, as well as he ! And, more than all, who more devoutly did, As well, for God, his duty towards God, As, too, for man, his duty towards men ! And, one with him, in all he said or did ! And, one with him, in faith and charity ! Though far beyond all women beautiful ! Was she, his three years' wife, the Lady Jane !

No artist could have modelled such a form ! Nor painter could have painted such a face ! No hand could reproduce her, but the Hand, That, out of nothing, made her what she was ! Yet, this is some-like, what she seemed to be — Her figure, else but somewhat slight and short, Was yet so perfect, that she might be tall — Her head, the sweetest, on the sweetest neck, That ever lost itself in woman's breast — With snow-pink arms, and hands — and fairy feet — Each part in due proportion to the whole — Then, hair, deep brown, and soft, and delicate — With, here and there, a wayward little lock, Creeping from out the closely clustered plaits, And lying smilingly upon her brow — One little star-like scar upon her cheek, More dear than any dimple in the world— And then, her face ! oh ! God ! how passing fair !

Worthy of Thee, the Lord of all things bright ! And yet, though each and every feature there, Was, in itself, most perfect and complete, And out-transcending every other face ; Yet was her face, as nothing, to her eyes — For all her heart, and soul, was in her eyes ! Such they — whom yet, three years of wedlock found Still childless — though the freshness of their love Had withered not, the turning of a leaf ! But, on the fourth year from her wedding day, To her, the Lady Jane, in waking sleep, Still childless, came a Vision, in the night, On which the old year bringeth forth the new !

And this was what she saw — or seemed to see — A court of prince-like pillars, straight and tall ; Of rarest wood, and crowned with purest gold ; Rich-robed in purple of the darkest dye ; Gold-ringed ; and ranged, in line of order; like A gallery of carved and gilded kings — In midst of which, an Altar, all of gold ; Whereat, beneath a score of star-like lamps, Down-flashing on a rising incense-cloud, And silvering the vapour, as it rose, A woman, weeping silently, inclined ; Praying, as womanhood alone can pray — Weeping for her, the weeper ; womanlike — Though knowing not, the while, for what she wept- Weeping with her ; though hearing not her prayer- Whose voiceless lips, though moving rapidly, Did but accompany her voiceless heart — The sleeper, sleeping, wept ; and weeping, woke — Again she slept — and, sleeping, saw again, The golden Altar, and the incense-cloud — The king-like pillars, and the star-like lamps — The same, in scene — yet not, in all, the same — For, now, before the golden Altar, stood, In priestly vestments, one, who, though a Priest, Moreover seemed, a Father and a King — And, at his feet, the self-same weeper stood — The same — and yet, ah ! no — oh ! not the same — For, now, her winter had been changed to spring !

And she, no longer weeping prayers of tears, But, weeping tears of gratitude and love, Was wedding to the service of his Lord The Baby- Answer to her tears and prayers — And, once again, weeping with her, for joy, The sleeper, waking, wept — and, weeping, woke ! Yet once again she slept — and saw again, The Altar, crowned with lamps, and incense-robed- And saw again, upon the Altar steps, A King-like Priest, more kingly than the last ; Because more saintly he, than he of old — And, at his feet, a kneeling multitude, Whom as he blessed, she knew him, by his face, To be the Answer to the weeper's prayer — And, once again, with sweetest tears of all, The sleeper, weeping, woke — and, waking, wept !

At length, the ruddy Sun uprose, and held The new year cradled on his lap — and then, The Lady Jane, uprising with the sun, Went, fasting, to the early parish-mass ; Whereat, when she had heard the preacher speak Of Samuel, the prayer-begotten child, And afterward, the great High Priest of God — She, looking from the Vision she had seen, Foresaw the future, as it was to be — Nine times had waxed and waned the monthly moon When, at the ninth, she being at her full, There came another Angel to the Grange, Bringing to Lady Jane her motherhood — The self-same Sun, that lit her baby boy, As rosy as himself, into the world ; Beheld him, midway between rise and set, Borne from her bosom, in his Father's arms, Up to the Parish Church, and Parish Priest, And christened, there, into the Church of Christ, By name of Francis — after him, who was The Patriarch and Father of the poor, And Saint, seraphic, of Assisium — He, Francis, year by year, from babyhood, To childhood first, and up to boyhood next, Through boyhood then, and up to manhood last, Grew, Christ-like, both in stature and in grace — While, each succeeding year, the Lady Jane, Remembering the Vision she had seen, Renewed her vow, and vowed her son to God — Near to the Grange, there lived, upon his farm, A wealthy yeoman, Boniface by name — A widower — and, with an only child — Whose face had grown so like her mother's face, That it had kept him still a widower — An only child, and daughter, Eleanor — Whose grace was nature ! and whose nature, grace !

Her smiles were all the sunshine of his days ! Her tears were all the rainbows of his skies ! Her voice was all the music of his ears ! Her face, the only beauty of his dreams ! Her love, the only sweetness of his life ! 'Twas strange ; yet, so it was ; that, though the Grange Kept open hands of friendship with the Farm, And there were constant passings to and fro, With interchange of visits, and the like, Yet, not in childhood, did their children meet — No ! not till midnight of that Christmas eve, •Whereon came Francis, after twenty years, To look on Eleanor at sweet sixteen ! And so it was, that, while the Angels, all, Kept highest holyday, with all the Saints, In honor of the Birth of Jesus Christ, And every church was garlanded in green, And Earth was full of carols and of bells, They met, the first time, at the midnight mass — He, Francis, comeliest of Kentish men — She, Eleanor, the fairest maid in Kent — Who, being such, what wonder that they met !

Or, having met, what wonder that they loved ! So they, who never yet in all their lives, Together lost one minute of one day ; Now, lost so many minutes of each day Together, that their very days became No longer known, by rise and set of sun, But marked, by meeting or by parting hour ! Till, measured by such intercourse as this, And more than this, some known and some unknown Their days, at length, outran the solar days ! Yet, spite of this, and all — the Lady Jane, Remembering the Vision she had seen, Renewed her vow, and vowed her son to God ! Then Boniface, the yeoman, sought Sir John — No ! not in anger — nor in humble pride — Nor yet in proud humility — nor yet, Above all else, in greed of rank or wealth — But only with a love-learnt fear for her ! And, after many walkings, to and fro, And, after many talkings, here and there, <5 THE GRANGE.

The Yeoman and the Baronet, took hands, And Eleanor and Francis were betrothed ! Yet, knowing this, and all — the Lady Jane, Remembering the vision she had seen, Renewed her vow, and vowed her son to God ! That very year, the Parish Church poured forth, On Grange and Farm, though intermixed with sighs, The sweetest music of her marriage bells — For Eleanor and Francis, hand in hand, Had vowed, before the Parish Priest, to be, Each to the other, all in all, till death ! Yet, hearing this, and all — the Lady Jane, Remembering the Vision she had seen, Renewed her vow, and vowed her son to God ! That very year, alas ! those very bells Sighed forth, on Grange and Farm, with deeper sighs, Their saddest echoes, in a mournful knell — For, though no purer brow had worn the wreath, Nor truer hand, than Eleanor's, the ring — Nor ever wife, more loving, or more loved, Had crossed the threshold of a second home — That very year, alas ! the hand of death, Alas ! though guided by the hand of God !

Had laid its pulseless fingers on her heart — r I And mourners lent her body to the earth, While Angels gave her soul to Paradise ! Yet, after many tears, the Lady Jane, Remembering the Vision she had seen, Renewed her vow, and vowed her son to God ! And, after many years of widowhood, In which he wept his heart into his eyes — ■ And, after many travels, east and west — And many dangers, both by land and sea — And many cared-not-for escapes of life — Came Francis back again to Lady Jane ! Who, full of faith and hope and charity, Remembering the Vision she had seen, Renewed her vow, and vowed her son to God As Monica for Saint Augustine prayed — Till, after many years, her prayers were heard And, from a Heretic, he came to be, As Bishop, Saint, and Doctor of the Church, The foremost champion of Christendom — So, too, for Francis, prayed the Lady Jane — Albeit, never he a Heretic !

But yet, that he might give his life to God. And, after many prayers, her prayer was heard — ' 7 And, laying at her feet his rank and wealth, n THE GRANGE To be, as though they had not ever been — And turning thence, his back upon the world, And leaving all his foot-prints Heavenwards, He, Francis, left his title to the Grange, And, consecrating all himself to God, In minor Orders — step by step, became, Sub-deacon, first — then Deacon — and then Priest- Archbishop, last — and Primate of the land ! Thus, after many prayers, the Lady Jane, Believing in the Vision she had seen, Fulfilled her vow, and gave her son to God ! And now, within his own Cathedral Church, She kneels ; together with a multitude, Who throng his feet, and hang upon his lips ; And sees him stand, as Samuel of old, And raise his hand to bless the people there — And, wailing for his blessing, with the rest, She sees the Vision of the past fulfilled, And leaves the future of her son to God ! c '•> iS SILVER AND GOLD. i There reigned, of old, Long years, upon a throne of gold, With silver sceptre, silver crown, and ring, A golden-haired and golden-bearded King — 2 And, from the first, For silver and for gold athirst, Came men, to him, from every land on earth, And sold themselves, as Esau sold his birth — 3 He bound their brains, Long years, in gold and silver chains, And made them dig for him, as serfs and slaves.

For gold and silver, till they dug their graves — 4 At length, at last, Men saw, with joy, his throne down cast, By Jesus, Mary's son, of Bethlehem, And holy Poverty, restored by them — •9 t SILVER AND GOLD. 5 Oh ! wondrous change ! As strange as true ! as true as strange ! That Gold should have been looked upon as dead And Poverty allowed to reign instead ! 6 But Gold, alas ! Still lives ! and hence it comes to pass, That Christians leave their Christ — as they of old, Who left their God, to serve a calf of gold — 7 Oh ! men ! take heed ! Beware ye, of the gold and silver greed ! Remember ye, that ye must all adore One King alone, and he was ever poor ! c . 2G SLEEP AND DEATH. i Can it be Sleep, that holds my Babe so still ! Whose little hands upon her snow-white dress, Lie clasped and motionless, As if secure from all approach of ill ! 2 How still she lies !

Too still for one so young ! She scarcely breathes ! Her breath, if there at all. Leaves not her lips so small — But dies away upon her silent tongue ! 3 Break not the charm that binds the throbbing air ! Breathe not a whisper on the silence round ! Lest the least sound Awake the little loved one lying there ! 4 See ! drops as bright, upon her forehead glow, As those that wove her white Baptismal wreath ! Oh ! can it be the dew of Death, That crowns the whiteness of her baby brow ! SLEEP AND DEATH. 21 5 Can she be dead ! Then Death is Sleep indeed ! The Sleep of Peace — for better — for the best ! It is, to be at rest ! From Death for ever and for ever freed ! 6 Yet must she lie among the Cypress shades — A tiny cross, to mark her tiny bed — What then ! She is not dead ! Before the fruit is ripe, the blossom fades ! 7 She is not dead !

She is not dead ! but risen ! Her body only will be buried there ! The veil her soul has ceased to wear ! And one more Angel has been crowned in Heaven ! TRUTH AND DOUBT. i Arrayed in golden-girdled vest, With glory sceptr'd in her hand, Truth, like the Sun, from land to land, Lightens the world, from East to West — 2 And, like the Sun, though far above, Truth seems to pass from place to place- Yet, like the Sun, at rest in space, Moves not, although she seems to move- 3 Across the light, from time to time, Doubt draws her shadows, one by one — Like clouds that float across the Sun, And move, in mists, from clime to clime- 4 They are but mists — they come in vain — They cross the light, and vanish soon — Like clouds across the Sun at noon — And leave the Truth unveiled again. i THINGS UNSEEN. i Saint Paul, defining Faith to be ' The evidence of things unseen ' — What may the modern maxim mean ! ' That men believe, because they see ' 2 We walk by Faith, and not by sight — And know but little of the way — What seems to us the break of day, Is often but the sheen of night ! 3 We shall not dare, if we be wise, To count upon another breath !

For we may be asleep in death, Before another Sun arise ! 4 God help us, when in death we sleep ! And see those things as yet unseen ! And hear those words, and what they mean • As you have sown, so shall you reap.' GOD'S WARNINGS. . To ears long deaf, to eyes long dim — To hard hearts, hardened many days- God sends His warnings, many ways ; To bring His truants back to Him I 2 To one, a near escape from death — From death, so fairly face to face — A rescue from that half-embrace ! A new lease of that half-lost breath ! 3 To someone, at another time, The terror of a deep disgrace ! A shadow, seen in every place ! And overhanging him, like crime ! 4 To one, the loss of past good name! As to another, loss of health ! To one, the loss of former wealth ! And to another, loss of fame ! E GOD'S WARNINGS. 5 To this one, hopes, and doubts, and fears To that one, undeserved success — To this, a thirst of happiness — To that, a dreary drought of tears — 6 To each, however deaf or blind, To each, however gone astray, God sends some warning, on the way, That leaves angelic prints behind. 7 To all, however much in vain !

To all, however hard of heart ! He sends these warnings, on His part, To bring them to Himself again. . 2b PREPARED TO DIE. i Should Death come suddenly — And soul and sense be rudely torn apart, Through some defect of head or heart, What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! 2 Should Death come wearily — With slowly-going pulse, and laboured breath, And weakness fainting into death — What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! 3 Should Death come cruelly — Amid the crash and crush of broken trains, And shattered limbs, and scattered brains— What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! 4 Should Death come terribly — Midst falling masts and spars, and breaking decks. And vessels sinking into wrecks — What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! PREPARED TO DIE. 27 fell, s Should Death come ruthlessly — Midst blood, and fire, and wounds, and battle And booming shot, and bursting shell — What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! 6 Should Death come horribly — With suffocating smoke, and scorching flame, From floor, and door, and window-frame — What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! 7 Should Death come wickedly — And coward blow, or yet more coward knife, Or food-mixed poison end our life — What matter ! so we be prepared to die !

S Should Death come painfully — With hunger, like a purgatory, first, And all the agonies of thirst — What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! 9 Should Death come mournfully — With loving hearts and loving faces round, And loving arms about us wound — What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! _S PREPARED TO DIE. 10 Should Death come wretchedly — Afar from friends, without one tear or sigh, Or aching heart, or weeping eye — What matter ! so we be prepared to die ! THE LEGION OF HONOR. i King of Christ's Christendom, Head, Heart, and Hands ! Ruling, from royal Rome, Over all lands ; Breaking the solitude Round thy retreat, These, from the multitude, Kneel at thy feet. 2 Their's is the loyalty, Taught by the Truth ! Oh ! let thy royalty Smile on their youth ! Many men meditate How to be free !

These come to dedicate Their lives to thee ! THE CHURCH OF THE BRAVES. i The Sea, with its dashing waves, Beats against the face of the rock ! But the rock stands fast, while the waves Are crushed into foam by the shock ! 2 The Wind, with its rushing gusts, Blows against the breasts of the trees ; But the trees stand firm, while the gusts Are carried away with the breeze ! 3 The World, with its savage sects, Wars against the Church of the braves ; But the Church moves not, while the sects Pass away, like the wind and the waves ! THE GOOD SHEPHERD. i The Shepherd loves his flock ! Oh ! who can tell How many weary days, and sleepless nights, Watchings, and fastings, tears, and sighs, and prayers, He offers on the altar, for his sheep ! Oh ! who can tell ! but angels, who can count The thorns which make the Shepherd's crown on earth ! 2 The Shepherd loves his flock !

Oh ! who can tell How many sheep, which otherwise had died, Astray in heresy, or lost in sin, He gathers daily back into the Fold! Oh ! who can tell ! but angels, who can count The jewels which will make his crown in Heaven ! REST IN PEACE. i Her child lay dying on her breast — Without a sigh, without a tear ! And yet he whispered in her ear, ' I long — but cannot go to rest — ' 2 ' Oh ! love ! ' his mother answered thus, ' The way seems dark, but light is there For God is present everywhere — And you will go to Him from us ! ' 3 ' Oh ! mother ! ' was her child's reply, ' It is not that the way seems dark ! For there is light within the ark ! I long — but yet I cannot die.' 4 ' Oh ! love,' his mother thus replied, ' Fear not, but give to God thy breath, And He will carry thee through death Himself, for He Himself has died — ' REST IN PEACE. 33 5 ' Oh ! mother dear,' he whispered still, ' I long — but cannot go from thee !

I hear my angel calling me ! I will — but cannot do my will ! 6 ' Oh ! mother darling ! lay me down, And go thee to thy harp, and play — And when thy music melts away, Then I will go and seek my crown ' — 7 His mother laid him on her bed — And played him Weber's sweetest strain- And, when she went to him again, He slept in peace — for he was dead. D . THE PRISONERS OF DEATH. i For debts, of pardoned mortal sin, And venial, due to God, from birth ; There is a debtor's prison — in The bowels of the Earth — 2 And thither, every soul, is sent, To whose account such debts are laid — To wait therein, in banishment, Until such debts are paid — 3 Thither, is sent, when called to die, Each soul, that hath not worn, till death. The vestments of humility, So rough, and rare, beneath ! 4 Thither, is sent, when hence removed By death— to wait a life above — Each soul, that hath another loved, With more than lawful love !