Fifty Years of English Song. Selections from the poets of the reign of Victoria. Edited and arranged by H. F. Randolph

Front matter

FIFTY YEARS OF ENGLISH SONG. FIFTY YEARS OF English Song SELECTIONS FROM THE POETS OF THE REIGN OF VICTORIA. EDITED AND ARRANGED BY HENRY F-RANDOLPH. * # # The Poets of the Second Half of the Reign. The Writers of Vers de Societe. NEW YORK: ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & CO. Copyright, 18S7, By Anson D. F. Randolph & Co. Œnfbcrsitn IUtms : John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. UNTO J. H. F-R. THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED. CONTENTS. Biographical and Bibliographical Notes xv Page MATTHEW ARNOLD. from •sohrab and rustum' 3 The Scholar-Gypsy 9 Dover Beach 17 Philomela iS Immortality 19 East London 20 ROBERT BUCHANAN. FROM ' THE BOOK OF ORM.' Inscription to F. W. C. 21 The Shadow 22 The Dream of the World without Death 25 The Happy Earth 2S The Vision of the Man Accurst 29 FROM THE ' CORUISKEN SONNETS.' We are Fatherless 38 Lord, art Thou here ? 39 Quiet Waters 40 The Ballad of Judas Iscariot 40 LEWIS MORRIS.

FROM ' THE EPIC OF HADES? Clytæmnestra 47 Marsyas 56 FROM ' THE ODE OF LIFE: The Ode of Evil CONTENTS. VIII EDWIN ARNOLD. FROM ' THE LIGHT OF ASIA.' The Renunciation 65 Sidddrtha and the Mother of the Dead Child . . 73 She and He 76 After Death in Arabia 79 JAMES THOMSON. FROM ' THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT' . . • S2 A Voice from the Nile . 91 FROM 'SUNDAY UP THE RlfER' 97 ALFRED AUSTIN. Hymn to Death 99 from 'the human tragedy.' The Journey of Gods rid and Olympia to Milan . . 104 The Death of Gods rid and Olympia 113 A Question 114 An Answer 115 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. FROM • ATALANTA IN CALYDON.' Chorus Il6 The Garden of Proserpine 118 Memorial Verses on the Death of Theuphile Gautier 121 A Forsaken Garden 127 MATHILDE BLIND. FROM 'THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN' . . . . 130 The Street-Children's Dance 13S The Dead 142 SEBASTIAN EVANS.

Arnaud de Merveil 143 EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE. from ' firdausi in exile' 151 The Return of the Swallows 155 The Apotheosis of St. Dorothy CONTENTS. IX Lying in the Grass irg The Fear of Death 162 HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON KING. FROM ' THE DISCIPLES.' From the ' Overture ' 163 The Sermon in the Hospital 167 Agesilao Milano 178 THOMAS GORDON HAKE. The Sun-Worshipper 1S1 The Snake-Charmer 184 AUGUSTA WEBSTER. FROM ' SISTER ANNUNCIATA' 1S9 To One of Many 195 In the Storm 196 THOMAS ASHE. Psamathe 19S JOHN ADDINGTON SVMONDS. Intellectual Isolation 203 At Amalfi 206 Vintage 208 Beati Illi 209 AGNES MARY FRANCIS ROBINSON. The Scape-Goat 210 Jutzi Schultheiss 211 Le Roi est Mort 216 A Classic Landscape 216 Invocations 217 Remembrance 21S WILLIAM BELL SCOTT. Woodstock Maze 219 Saint Margaret 223 Parting and Meeting again 224 Outside the Temple 225 Parted Love 226 Pygmalion X CONTENTS.

Book II

: 'THE MAN AND THE SHADOW.' O perishable Brother, what a World ! How wondrous and how fair ! Look ! look ! and think ! What magic mixed the tints of yonder west, Wherein, upon a cushion soft as moss, A heaven pink-tinted like a maiden's flesh, The dim Star of the Ocean lieth cool In palpitating silver, while beneath Her image, putting luminous feelers forth, Bathes liquid, like a living thing o' the Sea. What magic? What Magician ? O my Brother, What strange Magician, mixing up those tints, Pouring the water down, and sending forth The crystal air like breath, snowing the heavens \VTith luminous jewels of the day and night, Looked down, and saw thee lie a lifeless clod, And lifted thee, and moulded thee to shape, Colored thee with the sunlight till thy blood Ran ruby, poured the chemic tints o' the air Through eyes that kindled into azure, stole The flesh-tints of the lily and the rose ROBERT BUCIIAArAN. 23 grass To make thee wondrous fair unto thyself, Knitted thy limbs with ruby bands, and blew Into thy hollow heart until it stirred, — Then to the inner chamber of his Heaven Withdrawing, left in midst of such a world The living apparition of a Man, — A mystery amid the mysteries, — A lonely Semblance, with a wild appeal To which no form that lives, however dear, Hath given a tearless answer, — a Shape, a Soul, Projecting ever as it ageth on A Shade which is a silence and a sleep.

I saw a Hind at sunrise — dumb he stood, And saw the Dawn press with her rosy feet The dewy sweetness from the fields of hay, Felt the World brighten — leaves and flowers and Grow luminous — -yet beside the pool he stood, Wherein, in the gray vapor of the marsh, His mottled oxen stood with large blank eyes And steaming nostrils : and his eyes like theirs Were empty, and he hummed a surly song Out of a hollow heart akin to beast's : Yea, sun nor star had little joy for him, Nor tree nor flower, — to him the world was all Mere matter for a ploughshare. On the hill Above him, with loose jerkin backward blown By winds of morning, and his white brow bare Like marble, stood a singer — one of those Who write in heart's-blood what is blotted out With ox-gall ; and his Soul was in his eyes To see the coming of the beautiful Day, His lips hung heavy with beauty, and he looked Down on the surly clod among the kine, And sent his Soul unto him through his eyes, Transfiguring him with beauty and with praise Into the common pathos.

Of such stuffs Is mankind shapen, both, like thee and me, Wear westward, to the melancholy Realm Where all the gathered Shades of all the world Lie as a cloud around the feet of God. This darkens all my seeking. O my friend ! If the whole world had royal eyes like thine, I were much holpen ; but to look upon Eyes like the ox-herd's, blank as very beast's, Shoots sorrow to the very roots of life. Aye ! there were hope indeed if each Man seemed A Spirit's habitation, — but the world Is curst with these blank faces, still as stone, And darkening inward. Have these dumb things Souls? If they be tenantless, dare thou and I Christen by so sublime a name the Wind Bred in the wasting body ? Yestermorn, In yonder city that afar away Staineth the peaceful blue with its foul breath, I passed into a dimly-lighted hall, And heard a lanthorn-jawed Philosopher Clawing his straw-like bunch of yellow hair, With skeletonian periods and a voice Shrill as the grating of two bones, ' O Soul,' Quoth he, ' O beauteousness we name the Soul, Thou art the Flower of all the life o' the World, And not in every clod of flesh shoots forth The perfect apparition of thy tints Immortal !

Flower and scented bloom of things, Thou growest on no dunghill in the sun ! ' A flower, a flower immortal ? How I laughed ! Clip me the lily from its secret roots, And farewell all the wonder of the flower ! THE DREAM OF THE WORLD WITHOUT DEATH. FROM

Book III

; ' SONGS OF CORRUPTION.' Now, sitting by her side, worn out with weeping, Behold, I fell to sleep, and had a vision, Wherein I heard a wondrous Voice intoning: Crying aloud, 'The Master on His throne Openeth now the seventh seal of wonder, And beckoneth back the angel men name Death.' And at His feet the mighty Angel kneeleth, Breathing not ; and the Lord doth look upon him, Saying, ' Thy wanderings on earth are ended.' And lo ! the mighty Shadow sitteth idle Even at the silver gates of heaven, Drowsily looking in on quiet waters, And puts his silence among men no longer. The world was very quiet. Men in traffic Cast looks over their shoulders ; pallid seamen Shivered to walk upon the decks alone; And women barred their doors with bars of iron, In the silence of the night; and at the sunrise Trembled behind the husbandman afield.

I could not see a kirkyard near or far ; I thirsted for a green grave, and my vision Was weary for the white gleam of a tombstone. But hearkening dumbly, ever and anon I heard a cry out of a human dwelling, And felt the cold wind of a lost one's going. REIGAr. One struck a brother fiercely, and he fell, And faded in a darkness ; and that other Tore his hair, and was afraid, and could not perish. One struck his aged mother on the mouth, And she vanished with a gray grief from his hearth-stone One melted from her bairn, and on the ground With sweet unconscious eyes the bairn lay smiling. And many made a weeping among mountains, And hid themselves in caverns, and were drunken. I heard a voice from out the beauteous earth, Whose side rolled up from winter into summer, Crying, ' I am grievous for my children.' I heard a voice from out the hoary ocean, Crying, ' Burial in the breast of me were better, Yea, burial in the salt flags and green crystals.' I heard a voice from out the hollow ether, Saying, 'The thing ye cursed hath been abolished — Corruption, and decay, and dissolution ! ' And the world shrieked, and the summer-time was bitter, And men and women feared the air behind them, And for lack of its green graves the world was hateful.

Now at the bottom of a snowy mountain I came upon a woman thin with sorrow, Whose voice was like the crying of a sea-gull, Saying, ' O Angel of the Lord, come hither, And bring me him I seek for on thy bosom, That I may close his eyelids and embrace him. ' I curse thee that I cannot look upon him ! I curse thee that I know not he is sleeping ! Yet know that he has vanished upon God ! ' I laid my little girl upon a wood-bier, And very sweet she seemed, and near unto me ; And slipping flowers into her shroud was comfort, ' I put my silver mother in the darkness, And kissed her, and was solaced by her kisses, And set a stone, to mark the place, above her. 'And green, green were their quiet sleeping-places, So green that it was pleasant to remember That I and my tall man would sleep beside them. ' The closing of dead eyelids is not dreadful, For comfort comes upon us when we close them, And tears fall, and our sorrow grows familiar ; 'And we can sit above them where they slumber, And spin a dreamy pain into a sweetness, And know indeed that we are very near them. ' But to reach out empty arms is surely dreadful, And to feel the hollow empty world is awful, And bitter grow the silence and the distance. ' There is no space for grieving or for weeping ; No touch, no cold, no agony to strive with, And nothing but a horror and a blankness ! ' So far, so far to seek for were the limits Of affliction ; and men's terror grew a homeless Terror, yea, and a fatal sense of blankness.

There was no little token of distraction, There was no visible presence of bereavement, Such as the mourner easeth out his heart on. There was no comfort in the slow farewell, Nor gentle shutting of beloved eyes, Nor beautiful broodings over sleeping features. There were no kisses on familiar faces, No weaving of white grave-clothes, no last pondering Over the still wax cheeks and folded fingers. There was no putting tokens under pillows, There was no dreadful beauty slowly fading, Fading like moonlight softly into darkness. There was no churchyard paths to walk on, thinking How near the well-beloved ones are lying. There were no sweet green graves to sit and muse on, Till grief should grow a summer meditation, The shadow of the passing of an angel, And sleeping should seem easy, and not cruel, Nothing but wondrous parting and a blankness. THE HAPPY EARTH. FROM

Book V

; ' SONGS OF SEEKING.' Sweet, sweet it was to sit in leafy Forests, In a green darkness, and to hear the stirring Of strange breaths hither and thither in the branches ; And sweet it was to sail on crystal Waters, Between the dome above and the dome under, The Hills above me and the Hills beneath me ; And sweet it was to watch the wondrous Lightning Spring flashing at the earth, and slowly perish Under the falling of the summer Rain. I loved all grand and gentle and strange things, — The wind-flower at the tree-root, and the white cloud, The strength of Mountains, and the power of Waters. And unto me all seasons uttered pleasure : Spring, standing startled, listening to the skylark, The wild flowers from her lap unheeded falling; And Summer, in her gorgeous loose apparel ; And Autumn, with her dreamy drooping lashes ; And Winter, with his white hair blown about him, Yea, everywhere there stirred a deathless beauty, A gleaming and a flashing into change, An under-stream of sober consecration.

Yet nought endured, but all the glory faded, And power and joy and sorrow were interwoven ; There was no single presence of the Spirit. THE VISION OF THE MAN ACCURST.

BOOK VIII.

How in the end the Judgment dread Shall by the Lord thy God be said, — While brightly in a City of Rest Shall flash the fountains of the Blest, And gladdening around the Throne All mortal men shall smile, — save one — Children of Earth, hear, last and first, The Vision of the Man Accurst. Judgment was over ; all the world redeemed Save one Man, — who had sinned all sins, whose soul Was blackness and foul odor. Last of all, When all was lamb-white, thro' the summer Sea Of ministering Spirits he was drifted On to the white sands ; there he lay and writhed, Worm-like, black, venomous, with eyes accurst Looking defiance, dazzled by the light That gleamed upon his clenched and blood-stained hands : While with a voice low as a funeral bell, The Seraph, sickening, read the sable scroll, And as he read the Spirits ministrant Darkened and murmured, ' Cast him forth, O Lord !

And, from the Shrine where unbeheld He broods, The Lord said, ''Tis the basest mortal born — Cast him beyond the Gate ! ' The wild thing laughed Defiant, as from wave to wave of light He drifted, till he swept beyond the Gate, Past the pale Seraph with the silvern eyes ; And there the wild Wind, that for ever beats About the edge of brightness, caught him up, And, like a straw, whirled round and lifted him, And, on a dark shore in the Underworld Cast him, alone and shivering ; for the Clime Was sunless, and the ice was like a sheet Of glistening tin, and the faint glimmering peaks Were twisted to fantastic forms of frost, And everywhere the frozen moonlight steamed Foggy and blue, save where the abysses loomed Sepulchral shadow. But the Man arose, With teeth gnashed beast-like, waved wild feeble hands At the white Gate (that glimmered far away, Like to the round ball of the Sun beheld Through interstices in a wood of pine), Cast a shrill curse at the pale judge within Then groaning, beast-like crouched.

Like golden waves That break on a green island of the south, Amid the flash of many plumaged wings, Passed the fair days in Heaven. By the side Of quiet waters perfect Spirits walked, Low singing, in the star-dew, full of joy In their own thoughts and pictures of those thoughts Flashed into eyes that loved them ; while beside them, After exceeding storm, the Waters of Life With soft sea-sound subsided. Then God said, ' 'T is finished — all is well ! ' But as He spake A voice, from out the lonely Deep beneath, Mocked ! Then to the Seraph at the Gate, Who looketh on the Deep with steadfast eyes For ever, God cried, ' What is he that mocks ? ' The Seraph answered, ''Tis the Man accurst!' And, with a voice of most exceeding peace, God asked, ' What doth the Man ? ' The Seraph said : ' Upon a desolate peak, with hoar-frost hung, Amid the steaming vapors of the Moon, He sitteth on a throne, and hideously Playeth at Judgment; at his feet, with eyes Slimy and luminous, squats a monstrous Toad ; Above his head pale phantoms of the Stars Fulfil cold ministrations of the Void, And in their dim and melancholy lustre His shadow, and the shadow of the Toad Beneath him, linger.

Sceptred, throned, and crowned, The foul judgeth the foul, and sitting grim, Laughs ! ' With a voice of most exceeding peace The Lord said, ' Look no more ! ' The Waters of Life Broke with a gentle sea-sound gladdening — God turned and blest them ; as He blest the same, A voice, from out the lonely Void beneath, Shrieked ! Then to the Seraph at the Gate, Who looketh on the Deep with steadfast eyes For ever, God cried, 'What is he that shrieks ? The Seraph answered, ' 'T is the Man accurst ! ' And, with a voice of most exceeding peace, God asked, ' What doth the Man ? ' The Seraph said : ' Around him the wild phantasms of the fog Moan in the rheumy hoar-frost and cold steam. Long time, crowned, sceptred, on his throne he sits Playing at Judgment; then with a shrill voice cries — '"Tis finished, thou art judged!" and, fiercely laughing He thrusteth down an iron heel to crush The foul Toad, that with dim and luminous e\res So stareth at his Soul.

Thrice doth he lift His foot up fiercely — lo ! he shrinks and cowers Then, with a wild glare at the far-off Gate, Rushes away, and, rushing thro' the dark, Shrieks ! ' With a voice of most exceeding peace The Lord said, ' Look no more ! ' The Waters of Life, The living, spiritual Waters, broke, Fountain-like, up against the Master's Breast, Giving and taking blessing. Overhead Gathered the shining legions of the Stars, Led by the ethereal Moon, with dewy eyes Of lustre : these have been baptized in fire, Their raiment is of molten diamond, And 't is their office, as they circling move In their blue orbits, evermore to turn Their faces heavenward, drinking peace and strength From that great Flame which, in the core of Heaven, Like to the white heart of a violet burns Diffusing rays and odor.

Blessing all, God sought their beauteous orbits, and behold ! The eyes innumerably glistening Were turned away from Heaven, and with sick stare, Like the blue gleam of salt dissolved in fire, They searched the Void, as human faces look On horror. To the Seraph at the Gate, Who looketh on the Deep with steadfast eyes, God cried, ' What is this thing whereon they gaze ? The Seraph answered, ' On the Man accurst.' And, with a voice of most exceeding peace, God asked, 'What doth the Man? ' The Seraph said : ' O Master ! send Thou forth a tongue of fire To wither up this worm ! Serene and cold, Flooded with moon-dew, lies the World, and there The Man roams ; and the image of the Man In the wan waters of the frosty sphere Falleth gigantic. Up and down he drifts, Worm-like, black, venomous, with eyes accursed, Waving his bloody hands in fierce appeal, So that the gracious faces of Thy Stars Are troubled, and the stainless tides of light Shadow pollution.

With wild, ape-like eyes, The wild thing whining peers thro' horrent hair, And rusheth up and down, seeking to find A face to look upon, a hand to touch, A heart that beats ; but all the World is void And beauteous. All alone in the Cold Clime, Alone within the lonely universe, Crawleth the Man accurst ! ' Then said the Lord, ' Doth he repent ? ' And the fair Seraph said, ' Nay he blasphemeth ! Send Thou forth Thy fire ! ' But with a voice of most exceeding peace, Out of the Shrine where unbeheld He broods, God said, ' What I have made, a living Soul, Cannot be unmade, but endures for ever.' Then added, ' Call the Man ! ' The Seraph heard, And in a low voice named the lost one's name ; The wild Wind that for ever beats the Gate Caught up the svord, and fled thro' the cold Void. 'T was murmured on, as a lorn echo fading, From peak to peak.

Swift as a wolf the Man Was rushing o'er a waste, with shadow streaming Backward against a frosty gleaming wind, When like a fearful whisper in his ear 'T was wafted ; then his blanched lips shook like leaves In that chill wind, his hair was lifted up, He paused, his shadow paused, like stone and shadow, And shivering, glaring round him, the Man moaned, ' Who calls ? ' and in a moment he was 'ware Of the white light streaming from the far Gate, And looming, blotted black against the light, The Seraph with uplifted forefinger, Naming his name ! And ere the Man could fly, The wild Wind in its circuit swept upon him, And, like a straw, whirled him, and lifted him, And cast him at the Gate, — a bloody thing — Mad, moaning, horrible, obscene, unclean ; A body swollen and stained like the wool Of sheep that in the rainy season crawl About the hills, and sleep on foul damp beds Of bracken rusting red.

There, breathing hard, Glaring with fiery eyes, panted the Man, With scorched lips drooping, thirsting as he heard The flowing of the Fountains far within. Then said the Lord, ' Is the Man there? ' and ' Yea,' Answered the Seraph pale. Then said the Lord, 'What doth the Man ?' The Seraph, frowning, said : 'O Master, in the belly of him is fire, He thirsteth, fiercely thrusting out his hands, And threateneth, seeking water ! ' Then the Lord Said, 'Give him water — let him drink ! ' The Seraph, Stooping above him, with forefinger bright Touched the gold kerbstone of the Gate, and lo ! Water gushed forth and gleamed ; and lying prone The Man crawled thither, dipt his fevered face, Drank long and deeply ; then, his thirst appeased, Thrust in his bloody hands unto the wrist, And let the gleaming Fountain play upon them, And looking up out of his dripping hair, Grinned mockery at the giver.

Then the Lord Said low, ' How doth the Man ? ' The Seraph said : ' It is a Snake ! He mocketh all Thy gifts, And, in a snake's voice half-articulate, Blasphemeth ! ' Then the Lord : ' Doth the Man crave To enter in ? ' ' Not so,' the Seraph said, ' He saith ' ' What saith he ? ' ' That his Soul is filled With hate of Thee and of Thy ways ; he loathes Pure pathways where the fruitage of the Stars Hangeth resplendent, and he spitteth hate On all Thy Children. Send Thou forth Thy fire ! In no wise is he better than the beasts, The gentle beasts, that come like morning dew And vanish. Let him die ! ' Then said the Lord : 'What I have made endures; but 'tis not meet This thing should cross my perfect work for ever. Let him begone ! ' Then cried the Seraph pale : ' O Master ! at the frozen Clime he glares In awe, shrieking at Thee ! ' ' What doth he crave ? ' Neither Thy Heaven nor by Thy holy ways.

He murmureth out he is content to dwell In the Cold Clime for ever, so Thou sendest A face to look upon, a heart that beats, A hand to touch — albeit like himself, Black, venomous, unblest, exiled, and base: Give him this thing, he will be very still, Nor trouble Thee again.' The Lord mused. Still, Scarce audible trembled the W'aters of Life — Over all Heaven the Snow of the same Thought Which rose within the Spirit of the Lord Fell hushedly ; the innumerable Eyes Swam in a lustrous dream. Then said the Lord : ' In all the waste of worlds there dwelleth not Another like himself — behold he is The basest Mortal born. Yet 't is not meet His cruel cry, for ever piteous, Should trouble my eternal Sabbath-dayr. Is there a Spirit here, a human thing, Will pass this day from the Gate Beautiful To share the exile of this Man accurst, — That he may cease the shrill pain of his cry, And I have peace ? ' Hushedly, hushedly, Snowed down the Thought Divine — the living Waters Murmured and darkened.

But like mournful mist That hovers o'er an autumn pool, two Shapes, Beautiful, human, glided to the Gate And waited. 'What art thou ? ' in a stern voice The Seraph said, with dreadful forefinger an- ■» Pointing to one. A gentle voice replied, ' I will go forth with him whom ye call curst ! He grew within my womb — my milk was white Upon his lips. I will go forth with him ! ' ' And thou?' the Seraph said. The second Shape Answered, ' I also will go forth with him ; I have kist his lips, I have lain upon his breast, I bare him children, and I closed his eyes ; I will go forth with him ! ' Then said the Lord, 'What Shapes are these who speak?' The Seraph swered : ' The woman who bore him and the wife he wed — The one he slew in anger — the other he stript, With ravenous claws, of raiment and of food.' Then said the Lord, ' Doth the Man hear?' ' He hears.

Answered the Seraph ; ' like a wolf he lies, Venomous, bloody, dark, a thing accurst, And hearkeneth, with no sign ! ' Then said the Lord ' Show them the Man,' and the pale Seraph cried, ' Behold ! ' Hushedly, hushedly, hushedly, In heaven fell the Snow of Thought Divine, Gleaming upon the Waters of Life beneath And melting, — as with slow and lingering pace, The Shapes stole forth into the windy cold, And saw the thing that lay and throbbed and lived, And stooped above him. Then one reached a hand And touched him, and the fierce thing shrank and spat, Hiding his face. ' Have they beheld the Man ? ' The Lord said ; and the Seraph answered, ' Yea; ' And the Lord said again, ' What doth the Man ? ' ' He lieth like a log in the wild blast, REIGAT. And as he lieth, lo ! one sitting takes His head into her lap, and moans his name, And smooths his matted hair from off his brow, And croons in a low voice a cradle song ; And lo ! the other kneeleth at his side, Half-shrinking in the old habit of her fear, Yet hungering with her eyes, and passionately- Kissing his bloody hands.' Then said the Lord, ' Will they go forth with him ? ' A voice replied, ' He grew within my womb — my milk was white L^pon his lips.

I will go forth with him ! ' And a voice cried, ' I will go forth with him ; I have kist his lips, I have lain upon his breast, I bore him children, and I closed his eyes ; I will go forth with him ! ' Still hushedly Snowed down the Thought Divine, the Waters of Life Flowed softly, sadly ; for an alien sound, A piteous human cry, a sob forlorn Thrilled to the heart of Heaven. The Man wept. And in a voice of most exceeding peace The Lord said (while against the Breast Divine The Waters of Life leapt, gleaming, gladdening) ' The Man is saved ; let the Man enter in ! ' FROM THE 'CORUISKEN SONNETS.'4 ii. WE ARE FATHERLESS I found Thee not by the starved widow's bed, Nor in the sick-rooms where my dear ones died ; In Cities vast I hearkened for Thy tread, And heard a thousand call Thee, wretched-eyed, Worn out, and bitter.

But the Heavens denied Their melancholy Maker. From the Dead Assurance came, nor answer. Then I fled Into these wastes, and raised my hands, and cried ' The seasons pass — the sky is as a pall — Thin wasted hands on withering hearts we press - There is no God — in vain we plead and call, In vain with weary eyes we search and guess — Like children in an empty house sit all, Cast-away children, lorn and fatherless.' VI. LORD, ART THOU HERE ? Lord, art Thou here? far from the citied zones, Brooding in melancholy solitude ; Hushing Thy breath to awful undertones, Darkening Thy face, if mortal foot intrude. Father, how shall I meet Thee in this mood ? How shall I ask Thee why Thou dwell'st with stones While far away the world, like Lazarus, groans, Sick for Thy healing. Father, if Thou be'st good, And wise, and gentle, oh come down, come down !

Come like an Angel with a human face, Pass through the gates into the hungry Town, Comfort the weary, send the afflicted grace, Shine brighter on the graves where we lay down Our dear ones, cheer them in the narrow place ! QUIET WATERS. O Rainbow, Rainbow, on the livid height Softening its ashen outlines into dream, Dewy yet brilliant, delicately bright As pink wild-roses' leaves, why dost thou gleam So beckoningly? Whom dost thou invite Still higher upward on the bitter quest? What dost thou promise to the weary sight In that strange region whence thou issuest ? Speakest thou of pensive runlets by whose side Our dear ones wander sweet and gentle-eyed, In the soft dawn of some diviner Day ? Art thou a promise ? Come those hues and dyes From heavenly Meads, near which thou dost arise, Irised from Quiet Waters, far away !