IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ-THE FLOWER. 273 IN THE GARDEN AT NIGHTINGALES warbled without, Nightingales sang in his woods : The Master was far away: Nightingales warbled and sang Of a passion that lasts but a day; Still in the house in his coffin the Prince of courtesy lay. Two dead men have I known In courtesy like to thee: Two dead men have I loved With a love that ever will be: Three dead men have I loved and thou art last of the three. THE FLOWER. The people said, a weed. To and fro they went Thro' my garden-bower, And muttering discontent Cursed me and my flower. Then it grew so tall It wore a crown of light, But thieves from o'er the wall Stole the seed by night. Sow'd it far and wide By every town and tower, Till all the people cried, 'Splendid is the flower.' T 274 REQUIESCAT-THE SAILOR BOY-THE ISLET. Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed. And some are pretty enough, And some are poor indeed; And now again the people Call it but a weed. REQUIESCAT. FAIR is her cottage in its place, 'My mother clings about my neck, My sisters crying, "Stay for shame;" My father raves of death and wreck, They are all to blame, they are all to blame. 'God help me! save I take my part Of danger on the roaring sea, A devil rises in my heart, Far worse than any death to me.' THE ISLET. Where yon broad water sweetly slowly WHITHER, O whither, love, shall we go, glides. It sees itself from thatch to base Dream in the sliding tides. And fairer she, but ah how soon to die! cease. Her peaceful being slowly passes by To some more perfect peace. THE SAILOR BOY. He rose at dawn and, fired with hope, Shot o'er the seething harbour-bar, And reach'd the ship and caught the rope, And whistled to the morning star. And while he whistled long and loud He heard a fierce mermaiden cry, 'O boy, tho' thou art young and proud, I see the place where thou wilt lie. The sands and yeasty surges mix In caves about the dreary bay, And on thy ribs the limpet sticks, And in thy heart the scrawl shall play.' 'Fool,' he answer'd, 'death is sure To those that stay and those that roam, But I will nevermore endure To sit with empty hands at home. For a score of sweet little summers or so?' The sweet little wife of the singer said, On the day that follow'd the day she was wed, Whither, O whither, love, shall we go?' A mountain islet pointed and peak'd ; 'Thither, O thither, love, let us go.' 'No, no, no! For in all that exquisite isle, my dear, THE SPITEFUL LETTER-LITERARY SQUABBLES. 275 There is but one bird with a musical Brief, brief is a summer leaf, throat, And his compass is but of a single note, That it makes one weary to hear.' 'Mock me not! mock me not! love, let us go.' 'No, love, no. But this is the time of hollies. O hollies and ivies and evergreens, How I hate the spites and the follies! LITERARY SQUABBLES. Aн God! the petty fools of rhyme For the bud ever breaks into bloom on That shriek and sweat in pigmy wars Before the stony face of Time, And do their little best to bite And strain to make an inch of room When one small touch of Charity And I too, talk, and lose the touch The noblest answer unto such Rhymes and rhymes in the range of the Is perfect stillness when they brawl. What would you have of us? Human life? Were it our nearest, Were it our dearest, (Answer, O answer) We give you his life.' II. But still the foeman spoil'd and burn'd, And cattle died, and deer in wood, And bird in air, and fishes turn'd And whiten'd all the rolling flood; And dead men lay all over the way, Or down in a furrow scathed with flame : And ever and aye the Priesthood moan'd, Till at last it seem'd that an answer came. 'The King is happy In child and wife; Take you his dearest, Give us a life.' III. The Priest went out by heath and hill; The King was hunting in the wild ; They found the mother sitting still; She cast her arms about the child. The child was only eight summers old, His beauty still with his years increased, His face was ruddy, his hair was gold, He seem'd a victim due to the priest. The Priest beheld him, And cried with joy, 'The Gods have answer'd: We give them the boy.' IV. The King return'd from out the wild, The mother said, 'They have taken the child To spill his blood and heal the land: The land is sick, the people diseased, And blight and famine on all the lea: The holy Gods, they must be appeased, So I pray you tell the truth to me. They have taken our son, They will have his life. Is he your dearest ? Or I, the wife?' V. The King bent low, with hand on brow, He stay'd his arms upon his knee : 'O wife, what use to answer now? For now the Priest has judged for me.' The King was shaken with holy fear; 'The Gods,' he said, 'would have chosen well; Yet both are near, and both are dear, VI. The rites prepared, the victim bared, 'Me, not my darling, no!' He caught her away with a sudden cry; Suddenly from him brake his wife, And shrieking 'I am his dearest, I— I am his dearest!' rush'd on the knife. And the Priest was happy, 'O, Father Odin, We give you a life. Which was his nearest ? Who was his dearest? The Gods have answer'd ; We give them the wife!' WAGES. GLORY of warrior, glory of orator, glory of song, Paid with a voice flying by to be lost on an endless seaGlory of Virtue, to fight, to struggle, to right the wrongNay, but she aim'd not at glory, no lover of glory she: Give her the glory of going on, and still to be. The wages of sin is death: if the wages of Virtue be dust, Would she have heart to endure for the life of the worm and the fly? She desires no isles of the blest, no quiet seats of the just, To rest in a golden grove, or to bask in a summer sky: Give her the wages of going on, and not to die. THE HIGHER PANTHEISM. THE sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains- Is not the Vision He? tho' He be not that which He seems ? Earth, these solid stars, this weight of body and limb, Dark is the world to thee: thyself art the reason why; Glory about thee, without thee; and thou fulfillest thy doom Speak to Him thou for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet- God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice, Law is God, say some: no God at all, says the fool; For all we have power to see is a straight staff bent in a pool; And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man cannot see; |