Front matter
ftsnis. SUBSCRIBERS' EDITION. POEMS. BY ROBERT W. THOM, Author of "Jock o* the Knowe." GLASGOW: PUBLISHED BY ROBERT W. THOM, 29 govanhill street, govanhill. 1880. to the Jicblemen;, gaiies, anb (Sentkmen, who, by their kind patronage, have enabled me to lay THE FOLLOWING PAGES BEFORE THE PUBLIC, THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY AND GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY THE 'AUTHOR. 29 Govanhill Street, Govanhill. Glasgow. CONTENTS. PAQB The Mother's Dream, 9 The Comforter, 13 Love's Immortality, 16 The Hills of Heaven, 18 Is He my Father's Brother? 19 Maroona by the Sea, 21 Sonnet, 25 The Youth and Maiden, 26 Earl Clifford, 30 The Gold Seeker, 42 Amdalvar, 49 Torthoral 54 Sonnet, . • 56 'Twas Autumn, 57 The Record of the Days 59 Sonnet, 61 Waiting for Sunrise, 62 The Faith of the Soul, 66 The Thinker and the Earth, 68 Where shall I see Thee, O my God? 70 Truth, • . . 71 Sonnet, 72 The Thinker, 73 A Psalm of Labour, 74 Waiting, 76 Sorrow's Crown, 78 The Psalm of Peace, 80 Weary Spirit, Lean on Me, 81 The Voice, CONTENTS.
PAGE O My Spirit, Cleave to God, . . ... . . . 84 Sonnet, 85 The Blessed Land, 86 Sonnet, 87 The Cross and Chain, 88 The Angel of the Tomb, 90 Where are the Dead? 93 Shakespeare Tercentenary Poem, 96 Sonnets, 101 Alone by a Lake, 103 MELSHIQUIRE— The Castle, 105 Melshiquire, 106 Misery and the Angels, 108 Lamentation, . .• . . . : • • • 112 The Dedication ' 115 The Poet of the Latter Times, 119 The Choice of Melshiquire, 121 The Teachings of Melshiquire, 126 Song of Melshiquire, 129 The Prison Song of Melshiquire, 131 The Death Song of Melshiquire, 136 CLEON THE PATRIOT, 139 THE TREVANIONS 201 Sonnet, 298 THE VISION OF GERVASE 299 Sonnets, $ o t m s . THE MOTHER'S DREAM. Softly the mourners pass and go, For now their task is done ; To Death's still tent is borne away The marvellous work, in common clay, That was the widow's son.
The Last had lingered at the door, And now the Last is gone ; And she sits in her lonely cot, Amid the darkness of her lot, Amid her woe alone. O Love Divine ! Thy angel treads The midnights of the deep, The sulph'rous clouds of battle fields, The night of sin the city yields, And the strange land of sleep — Say to Thy angel, touch these eyes, Breathe on that fever'd brow ; What does the world Mind shapes and frames, So rich in loves, in powers, in fames, Hold for that widow now . Dead is the soul within her life, The life within her soul : He is in heaven, and, lo ! between Their spirits lies the blue serene, The stars in glory roll. _ POEMS. Who enters at the cottage door . I know his robe, the dove He beareth on his out-stretch'd hand : He cometh from the Blessed Land, Thy Angel, God of Love !
Part I
In his hall, whose floor no longer Foot of friend or menial trod, Sitting 'mid his desolation In the freedom of a god ; While, through narrow casements stealing, Many a splendour, gaunt and tall, From the evening sun of autumn, Flutter'd on the vacant wall, — To his purer self — the holy, Sang the master of the lyre, Sang the great heart, in its fulness, Sang the Poet Melshiquire. " 'Neath the starlight, 'neath the sunlight, Still the Wilderness is spread, Still the chosen Israel wanders By the appointed Moses led ; Still the sacred mountain thunders, Still the cloud of smoke descends, Where, o'er heads of trembling thousands, Heaven's blue silence stoops and bends : And they dawn in hallow'd moments On the vision of the seer, And the awful Voice in seasons Chasten'd souls of Prophets hear. i MELSHIQUIRE. j " If th' Eternal Voice should, speaking, Through the inner silence roll, That between the hallow'd Sinai Lieth, and my list'ning soul, Saying, ' Mine are all the treasures Time, and space, and earth behold, Gladden thou thy heart, O Poet !
Ask for empire, fame, or gold.' I would answer, ' These I crave not — Would not ask them though combined They already move as shadows In the presence of my mind. " ' Shadows that shall pass and flutter, Where time's troubled light shall go ; God, my Being asks a blessing That nor change nor end shall know. Touch it, God, till it discovers Love unmeasured, and its roll Through the hours, and days, and seasons O'er a mind, and o'er a soul, Lonely, as a well untasted In a desert, flowing on ; As a star that thought has reach'd not, Singing, God, to Thee alone. •' 'Touch my mind, till holy Mercy In its fulness stands revealed, Working, hidden in my blessings, In my sorrows unconcealed. Touch it, O my Father, touch it, Till, awaking, it can see Angels haunt its desert places ; Christ walk on its troubled sea.
Touch it till it feels Thy Spirit On its darkness move, unsought, Now it glows a pure emotion, Now it flames a holy thought ; THE CHOICE OF MELSHIQUIRE. 123 Now, from 'mid a transient sun-burst, Lo ! it pours a song of praise ; Now, it swells a psalm of gladness From the gloom of troubled days. " ' Touch my soul, O Father, touch it, Till it feels itself divine, Till its grarid immortal being Glows with love akin to Thine : Till the love that feels its loving Burns, the true celestial fire, Till the torrent of its gladness Pours from raptured heart and lyre Lays that rise, and, with the burden ■ Of heaven's psalm commingling, roll ; Songs of Peace, the native music Of the hallow'd land of Soul.' "
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